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1 2 3

A TRUE FRIEND.

A MOfeVBI*.

• ADELINE SERGEANT,

Author of '' The Luck of the^ Home;' ''A Life

Sentence;* etc^etc.

Montreal :

JOHN LOVELL & SON,
23 St. Nicholas Street.

PZ3

194G

Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year i«9u^ by
John LoTell <^ Son, in the office of the Minister of A^rMton
and Statiitica at Otuwa.

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A TRUE FRIESTD.

CHAPTER I.

AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP.

Janbtta was the music governess-^-a brown little thing of
no particular importance ; and Margar^'t Adair was a beauty
and an heiress, and the only daughter of people who
thought themselves very distinguished indeed ; so that the
two had not, you might' think, very much in common, and
were not likely to be attracted one to the other. Yet, in
spite of diflfering circumstances, they jre close friends
and allies; and had been such ever since they were
together at the same fashionable school where Miss Adair
was the petted favorite of all, and Janeita Colwyn was the
pupil-teacher in the shabbiest of frocks, who got
snubbing and did most of the haji LjgQrlcI "A^ great
S Bbiiue WM ' glvfflln SevtfAl d iirecUons^ Miss Adair's
attachment to poor little Tanetta.

** It is an unsuitable friendship," Miss Folehampton, the
principal of the schbolV observed on more than one
occasion, ** and I am sure hfio not know how Lady Caro-
line will like it."

Lady Caroline was, of course^ifar^aret Adair's mamma.

Miss Pblehampton felt her responsibility so keenly in the
matter that at last she resolved to speak " very seriously "
to her dear Margaret. She always talked of " her dear
Margaret," Janetta used to say, when she was going to make
herself particularly disagreeable. For ** her dear Margaret "
was the pet pupil, the show pupil of the establishment:
her air of perfect breeding gave distinction, Miss Fole-
hampton thought, to the whole school; and her refine-
ment, her exemplary behavior, her industry, and her
talent formed the theme of many a lecture to less accoro-

- ■%

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«•-•

A TRUE FRIEND,

plished and Icm decorous pupils. For, contrary to aU
conventional expectations, Margaret Adair was not stupid,
although she was beautiful and well-behaved. She was an
exceedingly intelligent girl ; she had an aptitude for several
arts and accomplishments, and she was remarkable for the '
delicacy of her taste and the exquisite discrimination of
which she sometimes showed herself capable. At the
same time she was not as clever — ('' not as glaringlv
clever," a friend of hers once expressed it) — as little
Janetta Colwyn, whose nimble wits gathe red knowledg e as
a bee collects honey under the most unfavorable circum-
stances. Janetta had to learn her lessons when the other
girls had gone to bed, in a little room under the roof ; a
room which was like an ice-house in winter and an oven in
summer ; she was never able to be in time for her classes,
and she often missed them altogether; biit, in spite of
these disadvantages, she generally proved herself the most
advanced pupil m her division, and if pupil-teachers had
been allowed to take prizes, would have carried off every
first prize in the school. This, to be sure, was not
allowed. It would not have been '< the thing " for the
little governess-pupil to take away the prizes from the girls
whose parents paid between two and three hundred a year
for their tuition (the fees were high, because Miss Pole-
hampton's school was so exceedingly fashionable) ; there-
fore, Janetta's marks were not co untgd, and her exercises
were put aside and dia not come into competition with
those of the Other girls, and it was generally understood
amongst the teachers that, if you wished to stand well with
Miss Polehampton, it would be better not to praise Miss
Colwyn, but rather to put forward the ments of some
charming Lady Mary or Honorable Adeliza, and leave
Janetta in the obscurity from which (according to Miss
Polehampton) she v/as fated never to emerge.

Unfortunately for the purposes of the mistress of the
school, Janetta was rather a favorite with the girls. She
was not adored, like Margaret ; she was not looked up to
and respected, as was the Honorable Edith Gore ; she was
nobody's pet, as the little Ladies Blanche and Rose
Amberley had been ever since they set foot in the school ;
but she was everybody's friend and comrade, the recipient
of everybody's confidences, the sharer in everybody's joys
or woes. The fact was that Janetta had the inestimable

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A nUE PniEND, %

^ of sympftthy ; she understood the difficulties of people
around her better than many women of twice her age would
have done; and sh^ was bo bright and sunny-tempered
and quick-wilted that her very presence in a room was
enougti to dispel gloom and ill-temper. She was, there-
fore, deservedly popular, and did more to keep up the
character of Miss Polehampton's school for comfort and
cheerfulness than Miss Polehampton herself was ever likely
to be aware. And the girl most devoted to Janetta was
Marmret Adair.

<' Remain for a few moments, Margaret ; I wish to speak
to you,*' said Miss Polehampton, majestically, when one
evening, directly after prayers, the show pupil advanced to
bid her teachers good-nisht.

The girls all sat round the room on wooden chairs, and
Miss Polehampton occupied a high-backed, cushioned seat
at a centre table while she read the portion of Scripture
with which the da^'s work concluded. Near her sat the
governesses, English, French and German, with little
Janetta bringing up the rear in the draughtiest place and
the most uncomfortable chair. After prayers, Miss Pole-
hampton and the teachers rose, and their pupils came to
bid them good-night, offering hand and cheek to each in
turn. There was always a great deal of kissing to be got
through on thieve occasions. Miss Polehampton blandly
insisted on ^kl^sing all her thirty pupils every evening ; it
made them feel more as if they were at home, she used to
say; and her example was, of course, followed by the
teachers and the girls.

Margaret Adair, as one of the oldest and tallest girls in
the school, generally came forward first for that evening
salute. When Miss Polehampton made, the observation
just recorded, she stepped back to a position beside her
teacher's chair in the demure attitude of a well-behaved
school-girl — ^hands crossed over the wrists, feet in position,
head and shoulders carefully erect, and eyes gently lowered
towards the carpet. Thus standing, she was yet perfectly
well aware that Janetta Colwyn gave her an odd, impisn
little look of mingled fun and anxiety behind Miss Pole-
hampton's back ; for it was generally known that a lecture
was impending when one of the girls was detained after

grayers, and it was very unusual for Margaret to be
ictured! Miss Adair did not, howerer, look discom-

A nUE J^MEfTD.

poMd A momentary tmile flitted across her face u
Janetta*! ^\ny grimace, but it was instantly succeeded by
the look of simple gravity becoming to the occasion.

When the last of the pupils and the last also of the
teachers had filed out of the room, Miss Polehampton
turned and surveyed the waiting girl with some uncertainty.
She was really fond of Marearet Adair. Not onl^ did she
bring credit to the school, but she was a good, nice, lady-
like girl (such were Miss Polehampton's epithets), and
very fair to look upon. Margaret was tall, slender, and
exceedingly graceful in her movements ; she was delicately
&ir, and had hair of the silkiest texture and palest gold ;
her eyes, however, were not blue, as one would have
•expected them to be ; they were hazel brown, and veiled
by long brown lashes — eyes of melting soilness and dreami-
ness, peculiarly sweet in expression. Her features were
a very little too long and thin for perfect beauty ; but they
gave her a Madonna-like look of peace and calm which
many were ready enthusiastically to admire. And there
was no want of expression in her face ; its faint rose bloom
varied aUnost at a word, and the thin curved lips were as
sensitive to feeling as could be desired. What was want-
ing in the face was what ^ave it its peculiar maidenly
charm — a lack of passion, a little lack, perhaps, of strength.
But at seventeen we look less for these 9J^aracteristics
than for the sweetness and docility whiqi Margaret
certainly possessed. Her dress of soft, white muslin was
quite simple — the ideal dress for a young ^irl — and yet it
was so beautifully made, so perfectly finished in every
detail, that Miss Polehampton never looked at it without
an uneasy feeling that she was too well-dressed for a school-
girl. Otners wore muslin dresses of apparently the same
cut and texture ; but what the casual eye might fail to
observe, the schoolmistress was perfectly well aware of,
namely, that the tiny frills at neck and wrists were of the
costliest Mechlin lace, that the hem of the dress was
bordered with the same material, as if it had been the
commonest of things ; that the embroidered white ribbons
with which it was trimmed had been woven in Frande
especially for Miss Adair, and that the little silver buckles
at her waist and on her shoes were so ancient and beautiful
as to be of almost historic importance. The effect was
diat of simplicity ; but it was the costly simplicity of

A TKVE Fit t END,

absolute perfection. Margaret's mother was nerer conleftt
unless her child was clothMl from head to foot in materials
of the softest, finest and best. It^was a sort of outward
srmbol of what she desired for the girl in all relations of
life.

This it was tha( disturbed Miss Polehampton's mind as
she stood and looked uneasily for a moment at Margaret
Adair. Then she took the girl bv the hand.

" Sit down, my dear," she said, in a kind voice» " and
let me talk to you for a few moments. I hope you are not
tired with standing so long."

*' Oh, no, thank you ; not at all," Margaret answered,
blushing slightly as she took a seat at Miss Polehampton'i
left hand. She was more intimidated by this unwonted
kindness of address than by any imaginable severity.
The schoolmistress was tall and imposing in appearance :
her manner was usually a little pompous, and it did not
s^em quite natural to Margaret that she should speak to
gently.

" My dear," said Miss Polehampton, "when your dear
mamma gave you into my charge, I am sure she^taisidered
me responsible for the influences under which you were
brought, and the friendships that you made UL^er my
roof."

" Mamma knew that I could not be hurt by any friend-
ship that I made here^* said Margaret, with the softest
flattery. She was quite sincere : it was natural to her to
say "pretty things ' to people.

" Quite so," the schoolmistress admitted. " Quite so,
dear Margaret, if you keep within your own grade in society.
There is no pupil in this establishment, I am thankful to
say, who is not of suitable family and prospects to become
your friend. You are young yet, and do not understand
the complications in which people sometimes involve them*
selves by making friendships out of their own sphere
But / understand, and I wish to caution you."

" I am not aware that I have made any unsuitable friend*
ships," said Margaret, with a rather proud look in her hazel
eyes.

« Well— no, I hope not," said Miss Polehampton with
a hesitating little cough. "You understend, my dear,
that in an establishment like mine, persons must be em-
ployed t6 do certain work who are not quite equal ia

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.» ^vua woiu — /vui ciJiiu. xou Will not arive him away.
She has left him at our door."

Wyvis walked into the room, shut the door behind him,
and leaned against it.

" Upon my word," he said, sarcastically, " you will give
this lady — whose name I haven't the pleasure of knowing
— a very fine idea of our domestic relations. I am not
such a brute, I hope, as to drive away my own child from
my door ; but I certainly should like to know first whether
it is my child ; and more particularly wbethei h is my son
and heir, as I have no doubt that this young gentleman is
endeavoring to persuade you. Did j^ou bring the child
here ? " he said, turning sharply to Janetta.

"I brought him into the house, certainly," she said,
rising from her knees and facing him. " I found him out-
side your fence ; and he told me that his name was Julian
Wyvis Brand."

** Pretty evidence," said Mr. Brand, very rudely, as
Janetta thought. " Who can tell whether the child is not
some beggar's brat that has nothing to do with me ? "

" Don't you know your own little boy when you see
him ? " Janetta demanded, indignantly.

" Not I. I have not set eyes on him since he was a baby.
Turn round, youngster, and let me have a look at yoa."

The child faced him instantly, much as Janetta herself
had done. There was a fearless look in the baby face,
an innocent, guileless courage in the large dark eyes, which
must surely, thought Janetta, touch a father's heart. But
Wyvis Brand looked as if it would take a great deal to
move him.

A TRUE FRIEND,

" For ten minutes or so, only. They wanted to ask me
a question about the healthiness of Brand Hall, drains^^

but he did not take his eyes from his father's face as he
replied.

" I come with mammy from Paris."

" And pray where is your mother ? "

"Gone back again. She told me to find my father.
Are you my father ? " said the child, with the utmost fear-
lessness.

" What is your name ? " asked Wy vis, utterly disregard-
ing the question.

" Julian Wyvis Brand."

** He's got the name pat enough," said Wyvis, with a
sardonic laugh. " Well, where did you live in Paris ?
What sort of a house had you ? "

" It was near the church," said the little boy, gravely.
" The church with the big pillars round it. There was a
bonnet shop under our rooms, and the rooms were al! pink
and white and gold — prettier than this," he said, wistfully
surveying the gloomy room in which he stood.

" And who took care of you when your mother was
out ? " asked Mr. Brand. Even Janetta could see, by the
swift, subtle change that had passed over his face, that he
recognized the description of the room.

" Susan. She was my nurse and mammy's maid as well.
She was English."

The man nodded and set his lips. " He knows what to
say," he remarked.

" Oh, Wyvis j " exclaimed his mother, as if she could
repress her feelings no longer ; " don't you see how like
he is to you ! — don't you /<?<?/ that he is your own child ? "

" I confess the paternal feelings are not very strong in
me," said her son, dryly, "but I have a fancy the boy is

A TRUE FRIEND,

;;Margaret Adair I » cried Janetta. fl„.Mn

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11 lb uiiiiecessaiy, moiner, sam vvyvis, coiaiy. "i
am as convinced as vou can wish mi» tn he thnt tv»ic I'e
J unci s cniiu.

But Mrs. Brand, with trembling fingers and parted lips,
was helping Janetta to unfasten the knots of the big hand-
kerchief in which the child's worldly goods were wrapped
up. Wyvis Brand stood silently beside the two women,
while little Julian pressed closer and pointed out his
various treasures as they were one by one disclosed.

" That's my book," he said ; " and that's my best suit.
And that's — oh, I don't know what that is. I don't know
why mammy put it in."

" / know," said Wyvis Brand, half under his breath.

The object that called forth this remark was a small
morocco box, loosely wrapped in tissue-paper. Wyvis
took it out of his mother's hand, opened it, and stood
silently gazing at its contents. It held a ring, as Janetta
could easily see — a hoop of gold in which were three opals
— not a very large or costly-looking trinket, but one which
seemed to have memories or associations connected with
it — to judge, at least, by the look on Wyvis Brand's dark
face. The women involuntarily held their breath as they
glanced at him.

At last with a short laugh, he slipped the little case into
his pocket, and turned upon his heel.

" I suppose that this is evidence enough," he said. " It
is a ring I once gave her — our engagement ring. Not one-
of much value, or you may be sure that she would never
have sent it back." ,

" Then you are convinced — ^you are certain " His

mother did not finish the sentence, but her son knew what
she meant.

*^ That he is my son ? my wife's child? Oh, yes, I am

A TRUE PRIEND,

Can I go, father ? "
Mr. Colwvn made a crrimar.p.

« Tt^tWARr. i>/Mif A\^^

: case into

i5iit little Julian was not minded to be treated in this way.

TTic laror<» ayrao K«»*l Vr»-~"- ^----^ 'x^t'-i- r.^r • '

puzzled and rather wistful expression. He now suddenly
started from his position at Mrs. Brand's knee, and pur-
sued his father to the door.

" Say good-night, please," he said, pulling at Mr. Brand's
coat with a fearlessness which amused Janetta and startled
Mrs. Brand.

Wyvis looked down at him with a curious and indescrib-
able expression. " You're not shy, at any rate," he said,
drily. "Well, good-night, voting man. What?" — the
boy had held up his face to be kissed.

The father hesitated. Then a better and softer feeling
seemed to pass over his face. He stooped down and let
the child put his arms round his neck, and press a warm
kiss on his cheek. A short laugh then escaped his lips, as
if he were half-ashamed of his own action. He went out
of the room and shut the door behind him without looking
round, and little Julian returned to his grandmother's knee,
looking well satisfied with himself.

Janetta felt that she ought to go, and yet that she hardly
liked trusting the child to the sole care of Mrs. Brand, who
w:.s evidently so much unnerved as to be of little use in
deciding what was to be done with him. And at the first
hint of departure grandmother and child both clung to her
as if they felt her to be their sheet-anchor in storm. She
was not allowed to go until she had inspected the nursery
and pronounced it too damp for Julian's use, and seen a
little bed made up for the child in Mrs. Brand's own room,
where a fire was lighted, and everything looked cosey and
bright. Poor little Julian was by this time half-dead with
sleep ; and Janetta could not after all make up her mind to
leave him until she had seen him tucked up and fast

A TRUE FRIEND, g,

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"is

has made him seem harder and sterner than he is. I can-
not thank you enough for all that you have done to-day."

" Oh, Mrs. Brand, I have done nothing," said Janetta,
blushing at the elder woman's praise. " But may I come
to see you and little Julian again ? I should like so much
to know how he gets on."

" You may come, dear, if your father will let you," said
Mrs. Brand, with rather a troubled look. " It would be
a blessing — a charity — to me : but I don't know whether
it would be right to let you — your father must decide."

And then Janetta took her leave.

She was surprised to find that Mr. Brand was lounging
about the hall as she came out^ and that he not only opened
the door for her but accompanied her to the garden gate.
He did not speak for a minute or two, and Janetta, not
seeing her way clear to any remarks ot her own, wondered
whether they were to walk side by side to the gate in utter
silence. Presently, however, he said, abruptly.

"I have not yet heard to whom I am :i. lebted tor the
appearance of that little boy in my house."

" I am not exactly responsible,'* said Janetta, " I only
found him outside and brought him in to make inquiries.
My name is Janetta Colwyn."

" Colwyn ? What ? the doctor's daughter ? "

"Yes, the doctor's daughter," said Janetta, smiling
frankly at him, ** and your second cousin."

Wyvis Brand's hand went up to his hat, which he lifted
ceremoniously.

" I wish I had had the introduction earlier," he said, in
a much pleasanter tone.

A TRUE FRIEND.

Street ; and she had resolutely to drive away unwelcome
thoiights before she could resign herself to eniovment nf

" >Vhat you could not sec," he said, perhaps more to
himself than to her, " was what no one will ever guess.
Nobody knows what the last few years have been to me.
My mother has seen more of it than any one else, but even
to her my life has been something of a mystery — a sealed
book. You should remember this — remember all that I
have passed through — before you blame me for the way in
which I received that child to-day."

" I did not blame you," said Janetta, eagerly. " I only
felt that th'^'-e was a great deal which I could not under-
stand."

He turned his gloomy eyes upon her. " Just so," he
said. " You cannot understand. And it is useless for you
to try."

" I am very sdrry," Janetta faltered, scarcely knowing
Avhy she said so.

Wyvis laughed. " Don't trouble to be sorry over my
affairs," he said. " They are not worth sorrow, I assure
you. But — if I may make one request — will you kindly
keep silence (except, of course, to your parents^ about this
episode ? I do not want people to begin gossiping about
that unhappy woman who has the right, unfortunately, to
call herself my wife."

Janetta promised, and with her promise the garden gate
was reached, and the interview came to an end.

^ T/^UJS FRIEND, g^

friend's arm caressingly. "I q^ ^ -^ ^

,^^_ J Jt

, L

:■

buried in the contemplation of his difficulties, than any-
body knew, and it completely escaped his memory until
afterwards that he ought to have offered Miss Colwyn an
escort. Janetta, however, was well used to going about
the world alone, and she proceeded briskly to the spot
where she had left Nora, and was much astonished to find
that young person deep in conversation with a strange
young man.

But the young man had such an attractive face, such
pleasant eyes, so courteous a manner, that she melted
towards him before he had got through his first sentence.
Nora, of course, ought to have introduced him ; but she
was by no means well versed in the conventionalities of
society, and therefore left him to do what he pleased, and
to introduce himself.

" I find that I am richer than I thought," said Cuthbert
Brand, " in possessing a relative whom I never heard of
before ! Miss Colwyn, are we not cousins ? My name is
Brand— Cuthbert Brand."

Jafietta's face lighted up. ** I have just seen Mrs. Brand
and your brother," she said, offering him her hand.

" And, oh, Janetta ! " cried Nora at once, " do tell us
what happened. Have you left the little boy at Brand
Hall? And is it really Mr. Brand's little boy? "

" Yes, it is, and I have left him with his father," said
Janetta, gravely. "As it is getting late, Nora, we had
better make the best of our way home."

" Yoii will let me accompany you ? " said Cuthbert,
eagerly, while Nora looked a little bit inclined to pout At

^ rjiC/£ FRIEND,

"Yes, I like a white dog," said Margaret, tranquilly.
" Mamma's poodle snaps at strangers, so Sir Philip thou£M.

uscu lu uit^bc wuuus, uiiQ lo iiie roau uciwecn mem ana

m»%» «««•

••Ml. i> >, iv.uiijr uu iiui icvjuiic ail cscuri."

A compromise was finally effected. Cuthbert walked
with them to the end of the wood, and the girls were to be
allowed to pursue their way together along the Beaminster
road. He made himself very agreeable in thci»" walk
through the wood, and did not leave them without a hone
that he might be allowed one c'ay to call upon his nev
discovered cousins.

" He ha« adopted us, apparently, as well as yourself,"
said Nora, as the two g rls tramped briskly along the
Beaminster road. " He seems to forget that we are not
his relations."

" He is very pleasant and friendly," said Janetta.

" But why did you say he might call ? " pursued Nora.
*'I thought that you would say that we did not have
visitors — or something of that sort."

" My dear Nora ! But we do have visitors."

" Yes ; but not of that kind."

" Don't you want him to come ? " said Janetta, in some
wonderment ; for it had struck her that Nora had shown
an unusual amount of friendliness to Mr. Cuthbert Brand.

" No, I don't," said Nora, almost passionately. " I don'f
want to see him down in our shabby, untidy little drawing-
room, to hear mamma talk about her expenses and papa's
difficulties — to see all that tribe of children in their old
frocks — to see the muddle in which we live ! I don't want
him there at all."

" Dear Nora, I don't think that the Brands have been
accustomed to live in any very grand way. I am sure the
rooms I went into this evening were quite shabby — ^nearly

^ TRUE FRIEND,
"Are you intendin.^ tomv^ on„ .:^^:^.. _

«S

II ■ — I

» -I T r\r*T"

cried Janetta, warmly. " Nobody looks down on father,
because he does good, honest work in the world, and every-
body respects him ; but I am afraid that a good many
people look down on the Brands. You know that as well
as I do, Nora ; for you have heard people talk about them.
They are not at all well thought of in this ne ighborhood.
I don't suppose tfiere ^Tinrch' Honor andglorytobe gained
by relationship to them."

In which Janetta was quite right, and showed her excel-
lent sense. But Nora was not inclined to be influenced
by her more sagacious sister.

" You may say what you like," she observed ; ** but I
know very well that it is a great advantage to be related to
'the County.' Poor papa has no connections worth
speaking of^ and mamma's friends are either shopkeepers
or farmers ; but your mother was the Brands' cousin, and
see how the Adair s took you up ! They would never have
made a fuss over me"

" What nonsense you talk, Nora ! " said Janetta, in a
disgusted tone.

" Nonsense or not, it is true," said Nora, doggedly ;
" and as long as people look down upon us, I don't want
any of your fine friends and relations in Gwynne Street."

Janetta did not condescend to argue the point ; she con-
tented herself with telling her sister of Wyvis Brand's
desire that the story of his wife's separation from him
should not be known, and the two girls agreed that it
would be better to mention their evening's adventure only
to their father.

A TRUE FRIEND.

x^ ((cucitti iiiciiMawic to uproariousncss prevailed in Mrs.
Colwyn's abse. !", a-iJ it must be confessed that neither
Janetta nor > a ;ried very hard to repress the little ones'
noise. It was a cc iifort to be able, for once, to enjoy
themselves v 'hout fear of Mrs. Colwyn's perpetual snarl
and grumble. A. most exciting pillow-fight was going on
in the upstairs regions, and here Janetta was holding her
own a^^ boldly as the boldest, when the sound of an open-
ing door made the combatants pause in their mad career.

" What's that? The front door ? It's mamma ! " cried
Georgie, with conviction.

" Get into bed, Tiny I " shouted Joey. Tiny began to
cry.

" Nonsense, children," said Nora, with an air of author-
ity. " You know that it can't be mamma. It is papa, of
course, coming in for his supper. And one of us must go
down."

'' I'll go," said Janetta, hurriedly. " I want a little talk
with him, you know."

There was a general chorus of ** Oh, don't go, Janetta ! "
** Do stay ! " " It will be no fun when you are gone 1 '*
which stimulated Nora to a retort.

"Well, I must say you are all very polite," she said.
** One would think that I was not here at all ! "

" You are not half such good fun as Janetta," said Joey.
"You don't throw yourself into everything as she does."

" I must throw myself into giving father his supper, I'm
afraid," said Janetta, laughing, " so good-night, children,
and do go to bed quietly now, for I don't think father will
like such a dreadful noise."

* A TRUE FRIEND. g^

. . .*' ^^^' certainly. I am too voung t . .

TnoQgmTui oi ner lattier's requirements ; but it was never
troublesome to Tnn#»t»a a«*i -- xt_-_ ^i-_,,^t j * .. . .

me tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It seemed so
easy to Janetta to be good, she thought ! But perhaps it
was no easier to Janetta than to other people.

Janetta ran down to the dining-room, where she found
her father surveying with a rather dissatisfied air the cold
and scanty repast which was spread out for him. Mr.
Colwyn was so much out that his meals had to be irregular,
and he ate them just when he had a spare half hour. On
this occasion he had been out since two o'clock in the
afternoon, and had not had time even for a cup of tea.
He had been attending a hopeless case, moreover, and
one about which he had been anxious for some weeks.
Fagged, chilled, and dispirited, it was no wonder that he
had returned home in not the best of tempers, and that he
was a little disposed to find fault when Janetta made her
appearance.

'* Where is mamma ? " he began. " Out, I suppose, or
the children would not be making such a racket over-
head."

" They are ^oing to be quiet now, dear father," said his
daughter, kissing him, '' and mamma has gone out to
supper at Mrs. Maitland's. I am going to have mine with
you if you will let me."

"And is this what you are going to have for your
supper? " said Mr. Colwyn, half ruefully, half jestingly, as
he glanced again at the table, where some crusts of bread
reposed peacefully on one dish, and a scrag of cold mutton
on another. " After your sojourn at Miss Polehampton's
and among the Adairs, I suppose you don't know how to
cook, Jenny?"

A TRUE FRIEND.

don't you think so ? I have always thought of loving

once and once nnlv— HItp Paul and Virgir.io v^mi Vr^r^^xr or

ness into the armchair that Janetta had wheeled fnrw«r*i

fnr Ki«» uxtT.t* ^^^ • ^^ ^^^^ yourSCIl, Child. I

shall be glad of a few minutes' rest before I begin my
supper."

Janetta in a big white apron, Janetta flitting backwards
and forwards between kitchen and dining-room, with flushed
checks and brightly shining eyes, was a pretty sight — " a
sight to make an old man young," thought Mr. Colwyn,
as he watched her furtively from beneath his half-closed
eyelids. She looked so trim, so neat, so happy in her
work, that he would be hard to satisfy who did not admire
her, even though she was not what the world calls strictly
beautiful. She succeeded so well in her cooking opera-
tions, with which she would not allow the servant to inter-
meddle, that in a very short time a couple of dainty dishes
and some coffee smoked ui)on the board ; and Janetta
bidding her father come to the table, placed herself near
him, and smilingly dispensed tlie savory concoction.

She would not enter upon any account of her evening's .
work until she felt sure that the wants of her father's
inner man were satisfied ; but when supper was over, and
iiis evening pipe — the one luxury in the day he allowed
l.imsclf — alight, she drew up a hassock beside his chair
and prepared for what she called "a good long chat."

Opportunities for such a chat with her father were rather
rare in that household, and Janetta meant to make the
most of this one. Nora had good-naturedly volunteered
to stay away from the dining-room, so as to give Janetta
the chance that she wished for ; and as it was now barely
ten o'clock, Janetta knew that she might perhaps have an
hour of her father's companionship — if, at least, he were
not sent for before eleven o'clock. At eleven he would
probably go to Mrs. Maitland's to fetch his wife home.

j4 TRVE friend.
rather melancholy sort of mai

«9

*• Well, you have put your head into the lion's den ! " he

■aiu «(. laai, iii u iiuii-iiuiiiuruus (UtlC.

" What I want to know is," said Janctta, ** why it is
thought to be a lion's den 1 I don't mean that I have
heard the expression before, but I have jgathered in difTer
ent ./ays an utipression that people avoid the house~ '

" The family, not the house, Janet ! "

" Of course I wfan the family, father, dear. What have
thev done that they should be shunned ? "

" There is a good deal against them in the eyes of the
world. Your poor mother, Janetta, always stood up for
them, and said that they were more sinned against than
sinning." .

" 7%ey f But these young men were not grown up
then ? "

" No ; it was their father and "

Mr. Colwyn stopped short and seemed as if he did not
like to go on.

" Tell me, father," said Janetta, coaxingly.

" Well, child, I don't know that you ought to hcair old
scandals. But you arc too wise to let them haria you.
Brand, the father of these two young fellows, married a
baflnaid; the daughter of a low publican in the neighbor-
hood."

** What I The Mrs. Brand that I saw to-day ? SAg a
barmaid — that quiet, pale, subdued-looking woman ? "

" She has had trouble enough to make her look sub-
dued, poor soul ! She was a handsome girl then ; and I
daresay the world would have overlooked the marriage in
time if hei character had been untarnished. ' But stories
which I need not repeat were afloat* ; and from what I
have lately heard they are not yet forgotten."

Tn^ounty mean to ' cut ' him."
.. «> TVS/ uiiiiiir, surciy."

"Yes, it is unfair; but it is the way of the world,
Janctta. If a woman's reputation is ever so slightly
blackened, she can never get it fair and white again.
Hence, my dear, I am a little doubtful as to whether you
must go to Brand Hall again, as long as poor Mrs. Brand
is there."

" Oh, father, and I promised to go 1 "

** You must not make rash prouiises another time, my
child."

** But she wants me, father — she is so lonely and so
sad ? "

" I am sorry, my Janet, but I don't know **

'^0^, do let me, father. I shall not be harmed ; and I
don't mind what the world says."

** But perhaps / mind," said Mr. Colwyn, quaintly.

CHAPTER X.

MARGARET.

Janetta looked so rueful at thi;; remark that her father
laughed a little and pulled her ear.

"I am noi ^'v^*'^ ^o taking m ich notice of what the
world says," he told htr, "a'\d if J thought it right for you
to go to Brand Hall I should take no notice of town talk ;
but I think that I can't decide this matter without seeing
Mrs. Brand for myself."

" I thought you had seen her, father?"

'vi#^

qpipiliPiiiiiifijiij,i.j>.ii .1 . . J, «. .(,_

WJTT:

^ r^C^^ FRIEND,

H^ tried his best, and made himself so agreeable and
amusing that Janetta lost a good deal of her shyness, and
forgot her troubles. She had a quick tongue of her own,
as everybody at Miss Poleliampton's was aware ; and she
soon found that she had not lost it. She was a good deal
surprised to find that not a word was said at the dinner
table about the cause of Margaret's return : in her own
home it would have been the subject of the evening ; it
would have been discussed from every point of view, and
she would probably have been reduced to tears before the
first hour was over. But here it was evident that the
matter was not considered of great importance. Margaret
looked serene as ever, and joined quietly in talk which was
alarmingly unlike Miss Polehampton's improving conver-
sation : talk about county gaieties and county magnates :
gossip about neighbors — gossip of a harmless although
frivolous type, for Lady Caroline never allowed any talk at
her tabic that was anything but harmless, about fashions,
about old china, about music and art. Mr. Adair was

Sassionately fond of music, and when he found that
[iss Colywn really knew something of it he was in his
element. They discoursed of fugues, sonatas, concertos,

.. quartettes, and trios, until even Lady Caroline raised
her eyebrows a little at the very technical nature of the
conversation ; and Sir Philip exchanged a congratulatory
smile with Margaret over her friend's success. For the
delight of finding a congenial spirit had brought the crim-
son mto Janetta's olive cheeks and the brilliance to her
dark eyes : she had looked insignificant when she went in
to dinner ; she was splendidly handsome at dessert. Mr.

. Adair noticed her flashing, transitory beauty, and said to
himself that Margaret's taste was unimpeachable ; it was
just like his own ; he had complete confidence in Marga-
ret.

When the ladies went back to the drawing-room. Sir
Philip turned with a look of only half-disguised curiosity
to his host. ** Lady Caroline brought her back then ? "
he said, longing to ask questions, yet hardly knowing how
to frame them aright.

Mr. Adair gave a great laugh. " It's been the oddest
thing I ever heard of," he said, in a tone of enjoyment.
" Margaret takes a fancy to that little black-eyed girl — a
nice little thing, too, don't you think ? — and nothing must

ai
s(
fc
\A

▼r»?w!?^iifipii«

mmmmmmmwiii'^fiKWiKm

A TRUE FRIEND,

serve but that her favorite must walk with her, sit by her,
and so on — you know the romantic way girls have ? The
schoolmistress interfered, said it was not proper, and so on \
forbade it. Miss Colwyn would have obeyed, it seems,
but Margaret took the bit in a quiet way between her teeth.
Miss Colwyn was ordered to take her meals at a side table :
Margaret insisted on taking her meals there too. The
school was thrown into confusion. At last Miss Polehamp-
ton decided that the best way out of the difficulty was first
t(? complain to us, and then to send Miss Colwyn home,
straight away. She would not send Margaret home, you
know ! "

" That was very hard on Miss Colwyn," said Sir Philip,
gravely.

'* Yes, horribly hard. So Margaret, as you heard,
appealed to her mother, and when Lady Caroline arrived,
she found that not only were Miss Colv/yn's boxds packed,
but Margaret's as well ; and that Margaret had declared
that if her friend was sent away for what was after all her
fault, she would not stay an hour in the house. Miss Pole-
hampton was weeping : the girls were in revolt, the teach-
ers in despair, so my wife thought the best way out of the
difficulty was to bring both girls away at once, and settle
it with Miss Colwyn's relations afterwards. The joke is
thar Margaret insists on it that she has been ' expelled.' "

"So she told me."

" The schoolmistress said something of that kind, you
know. Caroline says the woman entirely lost her temper
and made an exhibition of herself. Caroline was glad to
get our girl away. But, of course, it's all nonsense about
being * expelled ' as a punishment ; she was leaving of her
own accord."

" One could hardly imagine punishment in connection
with her," said Sir Philip, warmly.

" No, she's a nice-looking girl, isn't she ? and her little
friend is a good foil, poor hctle thing."

" This affair may prove of some serious inconvenience
to Miss Colwyn, I suppose ? "

" Oh, you may depend upon it, she won't be the loser,"
said Mr. Adair, hastily. " We'll see about that. Of course
she will not suffer any injury through my daughter's friend-
ship for her."

Sir Philip was not so sure about it. In spite of hia

wpppppp

fill. Ill I.IIIJW.^I

A TRVE FR1E^W.

, intense admiration for Margaret's beauty, it occurred to
him that the romantic partisanship of the girl with beauty,
position, and wealth for her less fortunate sister had not
been attended with very brilliant results. No doubt Miss
Adair, reared in luxury and indulgence, did not in the
least realize the harm done to the poor governess-pupil's
future by her summary dismissal from Miss Polehampton's
boarding-school To Margaret, anything that the school- .
mistress chose to say or do mattered little ; to Janetta
Colwyn, it might some day mean prosperity or adversity
of a very serious kind. Sir Philip did not quite believe in
the compensation so easily promised by Mr. Adair. He
made u mexital note of Miss Colwyn's condition and pros-
pects, and said to himself that lie would not forget her.
And this meant .a good deal from a busy man like Sir
Philip Ashley.

Meanwhile there had bfien another conversation going
on in the drawing-room between the three la,dies. Mar-
garet put her arm affectionately round Janet ta's waist as
they stood by the hearthrug, and looked at her mother
with a smile. Lady Caroline sank into an easy-chair on
the other side of the fireplace, and contemplated the two
girls.

" This is better tiian Claremont House, is it not, Janet ? "
said Margaret.

" Indeed it is," Janetta answered, gratefully.
' " You found the way to papa's iieart by your talk about
music — did she not, mamma ? And does not this dress
suit her beautifully ? "

"It wants a little alteration in the sleeve," said Lady
Caroline, with the placidity which Janetta had always
attributed to Margaret as a special virtue, but which she
now found was merely characteristic of the house and
family in general, " but Markham can do that to-morrow.
There are some people coming in the evening, and the
sleeve will look better shortened."

The remark sounded a little inconsequent in Janetta's
ear, but Margaret understood and assen* ^d. It meant
that Lady Caroline was on the whole pleased with Janetta,
and did not object to introducing her to her friends.
Margaret gave her mother a little smile over Janetta's
head, while that yOkUig person was gathering up her cour-
age in two hands, so to speak, before addressing Lady
Caroline.

A TRUE FRIEND,

** I am very much obliged to you," she said at last, witi
a thrill of gratitude in her sweet voice which was very
pleasant to the ear. " But — I was thinking— what time
would be the most convenient for me to go home to-
morrow?"

" Home ? To Beaminster ? " said Margaret. " But you
need not go, dear ; you can write a note and tell them
that you are staying here."

** Yes, my dear ; I am sure Margaret cannot part with
you yet," said Lady Caroline, amiably.

" Thank you ; it is most kind of you," Janetta answered,
her voice shaking. " But I must ask my father whether I
can stay — and hear what he says ; Miss Polehampton will
have written to him, and "

** And he will be very glad that we have .cscued you
from her clutches," said Margaret, with a soft triumphant
little laugh. " My poor Janetta ! What we suffered at
her hands ! "

Lady Caroline lying back in her easy chair, with the
candle light gleaming upon her silvery grey and white bro-
cade with its touches of soft pink, and the diamonds flash-
ing on her white hands, so calmly crossed upon the handle
of her ivory fan, did not feel quite so tranquil as she
looked. It crossed her mind that Margaret v/as acting
inconsiderately. This little Miss Colwyn had her living to
earn ; it would be no kindness to unfit her for her pro-
fession. So, when she spoke it was with a shade more
decision than usual in her tones.

" We will drive you over to Beaminster tomorrow, my
dear Miss Colwyn, and you can then see your family, and
ask your father if you may spend a few days with Margaret.
I do not think that Mr. Colwyn will refuse us," she said,
graciously. " I wonder when those' men are coming,
Margaret. Suppose you open the piano and let us have a
little music. You sing, do you not ? "

*' Yes, a little," said janetta.

" A little ! " exclaimed Margaret, with contempt. " She
has a delightful voice, mamma. Come and sing at once,
Janetta, darling, and astonish mamma."

Lady Caroline smiled. She had heard a great many
singers in her day, and did not expect to be astonished.
A little governess-pupil, an under-teacher in a boarding-
school ! Dear Margaret's enthusiasm certainly carried
her away.

ffp

A TRUE FRIEND,

But when Janetta sang, Lady Caroline was, after all,
rather surprised. The girl had a remarkably sweet and
rich contralto voice, and it had been well trained ; and,
moreover, she san^ with feeling and passion which were
somewhat unusual m one so young. It seemed as if some
hidden power, some latent characteristic came out in her
singing because it found no other way of expressing itself.
Neither Lady Caroline nor Margaret understood why
Janetta's voice moved them so much; Sir Philip,* who
came in with his host while the music was going on, heard
and was charmed also without quite knowing why ; it
was Mr. Adair alone whose musical knowledge and ex-
perience of the world enabled him, feather-headed as in
some respects he was, to lay his finger directly on the
salient features of Janetta's singing.

" It's not her voice altogether, you know," he said after-
. wards to Philip Ashley, in a moment of confidence ; " it's
soul. She's got more of that commodity than is good for
a woman. It makes her singing lovely, you know — brings
tears into one's eyes, and all that sort of thing — but upon
my honor I'm thankful that Margaret hasn't got a voice
like that ! It's women of that kind that are either heroines
of virtue — or go to the devil. They are always in ex-
tremes."

" Then we may promise ourselves some excitement in
watching Miss ColWyn's career," said Sir Philip, dryly.

After Janett.'., Margaret sang ; she had a sweet mezzo-
soprano voice, of no great strength or compass, but per-
fectly trained and very pleasing to the ear. The sort
of voice, Sir Philip thought, that would be soothing to the
nerves of a tired man in his own house. Whereas, Janetta's
singing had something impassioned in it which disturbed
and excited instead of soothing. But he was quite ready
to admire when Marg^/et called on him for admiration.
They were sitting together on a sofa, and Janetta, who
had just finished one of her songs, was talking to, or being
talked to, by Mr. Adair. Lady Caroline had taken up a
review.

" Is not Miss Colwyn's voice perfectly lovely ? " Mar-
garet asked, with shining eyes.

" It is very sweet."

" Don't you think she looks very nice ? " — Margaret
was hungering for admiration of her fritnd.

A TRUE FRIEND,

** She is a very pretty girl. You are very fond of each
other?" '

" Oh, yes, devoted. I am so glad I succeeded ! " said the
girl, with a great sigh.

" In getting her away from the school ? *'

«*Yes."

** You think it was for her good ? "

Margaret opened her lovely eyes.

*• For her good ? — to come here instead of staying in
that close uncomfortable house to give music lessons, and

bear Miss Polehampton's snubs ? " It had evidently

neve/ occurred to her that the change could be any-
thing but beneficial to Janetta.

"It is very pleasant for her, no doubt," said Sir Philip,
smiling in spite of his disapproval. **I only wondered
whether it was a good preparation for the life of hard
work which probably lies before her."

He saw that Margaret colored, and wondered whether
she would be offended by his suggestion. After a mo-
ment's pause, she answered, gravely, but quite gently — •

" I never thought of it in that way before, exactly. I
want to keep her here, so that she shotid never have to
work hard at all."

" Would she consent to that ? "

" Why not ? " said Margaret.

Sir Philip smiled and said no more. It w^s curious, he
said to himself, to see how little conception Margaret had
of lives unlike and outside her own. And Janetta's brave
but sensitive little face, with its resolute brows and lips
and brilliant eyes, gave promise of a determination and an
originality which, he felt convinced, would never allow her
to become a mere plaything or appendage of a wealthy
household, as Margaret Adair seemed to expect. But his
words had made an impression. At night, when Lady
Caroline and her daughter were standing in the charming
little room which had always been appropriated to Mar-
garet's use, she spoke, with the unconscious habit of saying
frankly anything that had occurred to her, of Sir Philip's
remarks.

" It was so odd," she said ; " Sir Philip seemed to think
that it would be bad for Janetta to stay here, mamma.
Why should it be bad for her, mamma, dear ? "

" I don't think it will be at all bad for her to spend a

mmmm.

MliP

liP

A TRVE FRIEND,

day or two with us, darling," said Lady Caroline, keeping
somewhat careful watch on Margaret's face as she spoke.
" But perhaps it had better be by-and-bye. You know she
wants to go home to-morrow, and we must not keep her
away from her duties or her own sphere of life."

"No," Margaret answered, "but her duties will not
always keep her at home, you know, mamma, dear."

" I suppose not, my dearest," said Lady Caroline,
vaguely, but in the caressing tone to which Margaret
was accustomed. " Go to bed, my sweetest one, and we
will talk of all these things to-morrow."

Meanwhile Janetta was wondering at the luxury of the
room which had been allotted to her, and thinking over
the events of the past day. When a tap at the door an-
nounced Margaret's appearance to say good-night, Janetta
was standing before the long looking-glass, apparently in-
specting herself by the light of the rose-tinted wax candles
in silver sconces which were fixed on either side of the
mirror. She was in her dressing-gown, and her long and
abundant hair fell over her shoulder in a great curly mass.

" Oh, Miss Vanity ! " cried Margaret, with more gaiety
of tone than was usual with her, " are you admiring your
pretty hair ? "

" I was thinking," said Janetta, with the intensity which
often characterized her speech, " that now I understood
you — now I know why you were so different from other
girls, so sweet, so calm and beautiful ! You have lived in
this lovely place all your life ! It is like a fairy palace — a
dream-house — to me ; and you are the queen of it, Mar<.
garet — a princess of dreams I "

" T hope I shall have something more than dreams to
reign over some day," said Margaret, putting her arms
round her friend's neck. " And whatever I am queen over,
you must share my queendom, Janet. You knew how
fond I am of you — how I want you to stay with me always
and be my friend."

" I shall always be your friend — always, to the last day
of my life 1 " said Janetta, with fervor. The two made a
pretty picture, reflected in the long mirror ; the tall, fair
Margaret, still in her soft wliite silk frock, with her arm
round the smaller figure of the dark girl whose curly
masses of hair half covered her pink cotton dressing-gown,
and whose brown face was upturned so lovingly to her
fiiend's.

A TRUE FRIEND,

of the

"And i am sure it will be good for you to stay with me,"
said Margaret, answering an unspoken objection in her
mind.

*< Good for me ? It is delicious — it is lovely ! " cried
Janetta, rapturously. " I have never had anything so nice
in my whole life. Doar Margaret, you are so good and so
kind — if there were only anything that I could do for you
in return ! Perhaps some day I shall have the chance,
and if ever I have — then you shall see whether I am true
to my friend or not ! "

Margaret kissed her, with a little smile at Janetta's
enthusiasm, which was so far different from the modes of
expression customary at Helmsley Court, as to be almost
amusing.

-•'&'.

CHAPTER IV.

ON THE ROAD.

Miss Polehampton had, of course, written to Mr. and
Mrs. Colwyn when she made up her mind that Janetta was
to be removed from school ; and two or three letters had
been interchanged before that eventful day on which
Margaret declared that if Janetta went ^e should go too.
Margaret had been purposely kept in the dark until almost
the last moment, for Miss Polehampton did not in the
least wish to make a scandal, and annoyed as she was by
Miss Adair's avowed preference for Janetta, she had ar-
ranged a neat little plan by which Miss Colwyn was to go
away " for change of air," and be transferred to a school
at Worthing kept by a relation of her own at the beginning
of the following term. These plans had been upset by a
foolish and ill-judged letter from Mrs. Colwyn to her step-
daughter, which Janetta had not been able to keep from
Margaret's eyes. . This letter was full of reproaches to
Janetta for giving so much trouble to her friends j " for, of
course," Mrs. Colwyn wrote, " Miss Polehampton's con-
cern for your health is all a blind in order to get you
away : and if it hadn't been for Miss Adair taking you up,
she would have been only too glad to keep you. But
knowing Miss Adair's posrdon, she sees very clearly that

■ If i

A TRUE FRIEND.

it isn't fit for you to be friends with her, and so she wants
to send you away."

This was in the main true, but Janetta, in the blithe con-
fidence of youth, would never have discovered it but for
that letter. Together she and Margaret consulted over it,
for when Margaret saw Janetta crying, she almost forced
the letter from her hand ; and then it was that Miss Adair
vindicated her claim to social superiority. She went
straight to Miss Polehampton and demanded that Janetta
should remain; and when the schoolmistress refused to
alter her decision, she calmly replied that in that case she
should go home too. Miss Polehampton was an obstinate
woman, and would not concede the point; and Lady
Caroline, on learning the state of affairs, at once perceived
that it was impossible to leave Margaret at the school
where open warfare had been declared. She accordingly
brought both girls away with her, arranging to send Janetta
to her own home next morning.

** You will stay to luncheon, dear, and I will drive you
over to Beaminster at three o'clock," she said to Janetta at
breakfast. " No doubt you are anxious to see your own
people."

Janetta looked as if she might find it difficult to reply,
but Margaret interposed a remark — as usual at the right
moment.

" We will practice our duets this morning — if Janetta
likes, that is ; and we can have a w alk in the garden too.
Shall we have the landau, mamma ? "

"The victoria, I think, dear," said Ladjr Caroline,
placidly. " Your father wants you to ride with him this
afternoon, so I shall have the pleasure of Miss Colwyn's
society in my drive."

Margaret assented ; but Janetta became suddenly aware,
by a flash of keen feminine intuition, that Lady Caroline
had some reason for wishing to go with her alone, and that
she had purposely made the arrangement that she spoke
of. However, there was nothing to displease her in this,
for Lady Caroline had been most kind and considerate to
her, so far, and she was innocently disposed to believe in
the cordiality and sincerity of every one who behaved with
common civility.

So she spent a pleasant morning, singing with Margaret,
loitering about the garden with Mr Adair, while Margaret

A TRUE FRIEND.

3«

and Sir Philip gathered roses, and enjoying to the full all
the sweet influences of peace, refinement, and prosperity
by which she was surrounded.

Margaret left her in the afternoon with rather a hasty
kiss, and an assurance that she would see her again at
dinner. Janetta tried to remind her that by that time she
would have left the Court, but Margaret did not or would
not hear. The tears came into the girl's eyes as her friend
disappeared.

" Never mind, dear," said Lady Caroline, who was
observing her closely, " Margaret has forgotten at what
hour you were going and I would not remind her — it
would spoil her pleasure in her ride. We will arrange for
you to come to us another day when you have seen your
friends at home."

" Thank you," said Janetta. " It was only that she did
not seem to remember that I was going — I had meant to
say good-bye."

'' Exactly. She thinks that I am going to bring you
back this afternoon. We will talk about it as we go, dear.
Suppose you were to put on your hat now. The carriage
will be here in ten minutes."

Janetta prepared for her departure in a somewhat bewil-
dered spirit. She did not know precisely what Lady
Caroline meant. She even felt a little nervous as she took
her place in the victoria and cast a last look at the stately
house in which she had spent soniie nineteen or twenty
pleasant hours. It was Lady Caroline who spoke first.

" We shall miss your singing to-night," she said, amiably.
"Mr. Adair was looking forward to some more duets.
Another time, perhaps "

" I am always pleased to sing," said Janetta, brightening
at this address.

"Yes — ye — es," said Lady Caroline, with a doubtful
little drawl. " No doubt : one always likes to do what
one can do so well ; but — I confess I am not so musical as
my husband or my daughter. I must explain why dear
Margaret did not say good bye to you. Miss Colwyn. I
allowed her to remain in the belief that she was to see you
again to-night, in order that she might not be depressed
during her ride by the thought of parting with you. It is
always my principle to make the lives of those dear to me
as happy as possible," said Margaret's mother, piously.

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3S ^ TJiC/£ FRIEND.

'' And if Margaret had been depressed during her ride>
Mr. Adair and Sir Philip might have sufTered some depres-
sion also, and that would be a great pity."

" Oh, yes," said Janetta. But she felt chilled^ without
knowing why.

''I must take you into my confidence," said Lady
Caroline, in her softest voice. " Mr. Adair has plans for
our dear Margaret. Sir Philip Ashley's property adjoins
our own: he is of good principles, kind-hearted, and
intellectual : he is well off, nice-looking, and of a suitable
age — he admires Margaret very much. I need say no
more, I am sure."

Again she looked keenly at Janetta's face, but she read
there nothing but interest and surprise.

" Oh — does Margaret know ? " she asked.

*' She feels more than she knows," said Lady Caroline,
discreetly. " She is in the first stage of — of— emotion. I
did not want th t afternoon's arrangements to be interfered
with."

'' Oh, no ! especially on my account," said Janetta,
sincerely.

" When I go home I shall talk quietly to Margaret,"
pursued Lady Caroline, " and tell her that you will come
back another day, that your duties called you home — they
do, I am sure, dear Miss Colwyn — and that you could not
return with me when you were so much wanted."

" I'm afraid I am not much wanted," said Janetta, with
a sigh ; ** but I daresay it is my duty to go home "

" I am sure it is," Lady Caroline declared ; ** and duty
is so high and holy a thing, dear, that you will never regret
the performance of it."

It occurred dimly to Janetta at that point that Lady
Caroline's views of duty might possibly differ from her
own ; but she did not venture top say so.

" And, of course, you will never repeat to Margaret '*

Lady Caroline did not complete her sentence. The
coachman suddenly checked the horses' speed : for some
unknown reason he actually stopped short in the very
middle of the country road between Helmsley Court and
Beaminster. His mistress uttered a little cry of alarm.

"What is the matter, Steel ?"

The footman dismounted and touched his hat.

" I'm afraid there has been an accident, my lady/' he

A TRUE FRIEND,

said, as apologetically, as if he were respoMwble for the
accident.

'' Oh ! Nothing horrible, I hope t " said Lady Caroline,
drawing out her smellins-bottle.

" It's a carriage accident, my lady. Leastways, a cab.
The 'orse is lying right across the road, my lady."

** Speak to th" people, Steel," said her ladyship, with
great dignity. " They must not be allowed to block up
the road in this way."

" May I get out ? " said Janetta, eagerly. " There is a
lady lying on the path, and some people bathing her face.
Now they are lifting her up — I am sure they ought nv * to
lift her up in that way — oh, please, I must go just for one
minute ! " And, without waiting for a reply, she stepped
out of the victoria and sped to the side of the woman who
had been hurt.

** Very impulsive and undisciplined," said Lady Caroline
to herself, as she leaned back and held the smelling-bottle
to her own delicate nose. " I am glad I have got her out
of the house so soon. Those men were wild about her
singing. Sir Philip disapproved of her presence, but he
was charmed by her voice, I could see that ; and poor,
dear Reginald wad positively absurd about her voice.
And dear Margaret does not sing so well — it is no use
pretending that she does — and Sir Philip is trembling on
the verge — oh, yes, I am sure that I have been very wise.
What is that girl doing now ? "

The victoria moved forward a little, so that Ladv Caro-
line could obtain a clearer view of what was gomg on.
The vehicle which caused the obstruction — evidently a
hired fly from an inn — was uninjured, but the horse had
fallen between the shafts and would never rise again. The
occupants of the fly — a lady, and a much younger man,
perhaps her son — had got out, and the lady had then
turned faint. Lady Caroline heard, but was not in any
way hurt. Janetta was kneeling by the side of the lady —
kneeling in the dust, without any regard to the freshness
of her cotton frock, by the way — and had already placed
her in the right position, and was ordering the half-dozen
people who had collected to stand back and give her air.
Lady Caroline watched her movements and gestures with
placid amusement, and went so far as to send Steel with
the offer of her smelling salts ; but as this offer was

I'-v.

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'^mn^imtinm^m

A TRUE FRIEND,

rejected she felt that nothing else could be done. So she
sat and looked on critically.

The woman — Lady Caroline was hardly inclined to call
her a lady, although she did not exactly know why — ^was
at present of a ghastly paleness, brt her features were
finely cut, and showed traces of former beauty. Her hair
was grey, with rebellious waves in it, but her eyebrows
were still dark. She was dressed in black, with a good
deal of lace about her ; and on her ungloved hand Lady
Caroline's keen sight enabled her to distinguish some very
handsome diamond rings. The effect of the costume was
a little spoiled by a large gaudy fan, of violent rainbow
hues, which hung at her side ; and perhaps it was this
article of adornment which decided Lady Caroline in her
opinion of the woman's social status. But about the man
she was equally positive in a different way. He was a
gentleman : there could be no doubt of that. She put up
her eyeglass and gazed at him with interest. She almost
thought that she had seen him somewhere before.

A handsome man^ indeed, and a gentleman ; but, oh,
what an ill-tempered one, apparently ! He was dark, with
fine features, and black hair with a slight inclination to
wave or curl (as far at least as could be judged when the
extremely well-cropped state of his head was taken into
consideration) ; and from these indications Lady Caroline
judged him to be " the woman's " son. He was tall,
muscular, and active looking ; it was the way in which his
ulack eyebrows were bent above his ej^es which made the
observer think him ill-tempered, for his manner and his
words expressed anxiety, not anger. But that frown, which
must have been habitual, gave him a distinctly ill-humored
look. ^

At last the lady opened her eyes, and drank a littl
water, and sat up. Janetta rose from her knees, and turne
to the young man with a smile. " She will soon be bettt
now," she said. "I am afraid there is nothing else that j
can do — and I think I must go on."

" I am very much obliged to you for your kind assist
ance," said the gentleman, but without any abatement of
the gloom of his expression. He gave Janetta a keen look
— almost a bold look — Lady Caroline thought, and then
smiled a little, not very pleasantly. " Allow me to take
you to your carriage."

>'l

A TRUE FRIEND,

•e done. So she

y inclined to call
know why — was
er features were
sauty. Her hair
ut her eyebrows
ck, with a good
oved hand Lady
iguish some very
the costume was
violent rainbow
laps it was this
^ Caroline in her
It about the man
i^ay. He was a
lat. She put up
est. She almost
before.

leman ; but, oh, I

[e was dark, with

|it inclination to

udged when the]

was taken into

Lady Caroline

He was tall.

^ay in which his

w^hich made the

nanner and his

at frown, which

z\\y ill-humored

drank a littl
ees, and turne
soon be bettt
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iir kind assist
abatement of
tta a keen look
kht, and then
Iw me to tak&

Janetta blushed, as if she were minded to say that it was
not her carriage ; but returned to the victoria, and was
handed to her seat by the young man, who then raised his
hat with an elaborate flourish which was not exactly En-
glish. Indeed, it occurred to Lady Caroline at once that
there was something French about both the travelers.
The lady with the frizzled grey hair, the black lace dress
and mantel, the gaudy blue and scarlet fan, was quite
foreign in appearance ; the young man with the perfectly
fitting frock-coat, the tall hat, the flower in his button-hole,
was — in spite of his perfectly English accent — foreign too.
Lady Caroline was cosmopolitan enough to feel an access
of greater interest in the pair in consequence.

" They have sent to the nearest inn for a horse," said
Janetta, as the carriage moved on ; " and I dare say they
will not have long to wait."

" Was the lady hurt ? "

" No, only shaken. She is subject to fainting fits, and
the accident quite upset her nerves, her son said."

'' Her son ? "

" The gentleman called her mother."

" Oh ! You did not hear their name, I suppose ? "

" No. There was a big B on their traveling bag."

« B— B— ? " said Lady Caroline, thoughtfully. " I don't
know any one in this neighborhood whose name begins
with B, except the Bevans. They must have been merely
passing through; and yet the young man's face seemed
familiar to me."

Janetta shook her head. " I never saw tht.v before,"
she said.

" He has a very bold and unpleasant expression," Lady
Caroline remarked, decidedly. " It Spoils him entirely :
otherwise he is a handsome man."

The girl made no answer. She knew, as well as Lady

aroline, that she had been stared at in a manner that was
ot quite agreeable to her, and yet she did not like to en-
Morse that lady's condemnation of the stranger. For he
^was certainly very nice-looking — and he had been so kind
"^to his mother that he could not be entirely bad — and to
her also his face was vaguely familiar. Could he belong
to Beaminster?

As she sat and meditated, the tall spires of Beaminster
Cathedral came into sight, and a few minutes brought the

A TRUE FRIEND,

carriage across the grey stone bridge and down the prin-
cipal street of the quaint old place which called itself a
city, but was really neither more nor less than a quiet
country town. Here Lady Caroline turned to her young
guest with a question — " You live in Gwynne Street, I
believe, my dear ? "

" Yes, at number ten, Gwynne Street," said Janetta,
suddenly starting and feeling a little uncomfortable. The
coachman evidently kr/ew the address already, for at that
moment he turned the horse's heads to the left, and the
carriage rolled down a narrow side-street, where the tall
red brick houses had a mean and shabby aspect, and
seemed as if constructed to keep out sun and air as much
as possible.

Janetta always felt the closeness and the shabbiness a
little when she first came home, even from school, but
when she came from Helmsley Court they struck her with
redoubled force. She had never thought before how dull
the street was, nor noticed that the railings were broken
down in front of the door with the brass-plate that bore
her father's name, nor that the window-curtains were torn
and the windows sadly in need of washing. The little
flight of stone steps that led from the iron gate to the door
was also very dirty ; and the servant girl, whose head
appeared against the area railings as the carriage drove up,
was more untidy, more unkempt, in appearance than ever
Janetta could have expected. " We can't be rich, but we
might be clean I " she said to herself in a subdued frenzy
of impatience, as she fancied (quite unjustly) that she saw
a faint smile pass over Lady Caroline's delicate, impassive
face. No wonder she thinks me an unfit friend for dear
Margaret. But — oh, there is my dear, darling father!
Well, nobody can say anything against him at any rate 1 *'
And Janetta's face beamed with sudden joy as she saw
Mr. Colwyn coming down the dirty steps to the ricketty
little iron gate, and Lady Caroline, who knew the surgeon
by sight, :iodded to him with friendly condescension.

" How are you, Mr. Colwyn ? " she said, graciously. "I
have brought your daughter home, you see, and I hope
you will not scold her for what has been my daughter's
fault — ^not your's."

"I am very glad to see Janetta, under any circum-
stances/' said Mr. Colwyn, gravely, as he raised his h.^t.

A TRUE FRIEND,

He was a tall spare man, in a shabby coat, with a care-
worn aspect, and kindly, melancholy eyes. Janetta
noticed with a pang that his hair was greyer than it had
been when last she went back to school.

'* We shall be glad to see her again at Helmsley Court,"
said Lady Caroline. " No, I won't get out, thank you. I
have to get back to tea. Your daughter's box is in front.
I was to tell you from Miss Polehampton, Mr. Colwyn,
that her friend at Worthing would be glad of Miss Col-
wyn's services after the holidays."

* I am much obliged to your ladyship," said Mr. Colwyn,
with grave formality. *' I am not sure that I shall let my
daughter go."

" Won't you ? Oh, but she ought to have all possible
advantages ! And can you tell me, I.!r. Colwyn, by any
chance, who are the people whom we passed on the road
to Beaminster — an oldish lady in black and a young man
with very dark hair and eyes? They had B on their
luggage, I believe."

Mr. Colwyn looked surprised.

" I think I can tell you," he said, quietly. "They were
on their way from Beaminster to Brand Hall. The young
man was a cousin of my wife's : his name is Wyvis Brand,
and the lady in black was his mother. They have come
home after an absence of nearly four-and-twenty years."

Lady Caroline was too polite to say what she really felt
—that she was sorry to hear it.

CHAPTER V.

WYVIS BRAND.

On the evening of the day on which Lady Caroline drove
with janetta Colwyn to Beaminster, the lady who had
fainted by the wayside was sitting in a rather gloomy-
Jooking room at Brand Hall — a room known in the house-
hold as the Blue Drawing-room. It had not the look of a
drawing-room exactly : it was paneled in oak, which had
grown black with age, as had also the great oak beams
that crossed the ceiling and the polished floor. The
furniture also was of oak, and the hangings of dark but

A TRUE FRIEND.

■••-,

faded blue, while the blue velvet of the chairs and the
square of Oriental carpet, in which blue tints also prepon-
derated, did not add cheerfulness to the scene. One or
two great blue vases set on the carved oak mantel-piece,
and some smaller blue ornaments on a sideboard, matched
the furniture in tint ; but it was remarkable that on a day
when country gardens v/ere overflowing with blossom,
there was not a single flower or green leaf in any of the
vases. No smaller and lighter ornaments, no scrap of
woman's handiwork — lace or embroidery — enlivened the
place : no books were set upon the table. A fire would
not have been out of season, for the evenings were chilly,
and it would have had a cheery look ; but there was no
attempt at cheeriness. The woman who sat in one of the
high-backed chairs was pale and sad : her folded hands lay
listlessly clasped together on her lap, and the sombre
garb that she wore was as unrelieved by any gleam of
brightness as the room itself. In the gathering gloom of
a chilly summer evening, even the rings upon her fingers
could not flash. Her white face, in its setting of rough,
wavy grey hair, over which she wore a covering of black
lace, looked almost statuesque in its profound tranquillity.
But it was not the tranquillity of comfort and prosperity
that had settled on that pale, worn, high-feat '•ed face — it
was rather the tranquillity that comes of accepted sorrow
and inextinguishable despair.

She had sat thus for fully half an hour when the door
was roughly opened, and the young man whom Mr.
Colwyn had named as Wyvis Brand came lounging into
the room. He had been dining, but he was not in even-
ing dress, and there was something unrestful and reckless
in his way of moving round the room and throwing himself
in the chair nearest his mother's, which roused Mrs.
Brand's attention. She turned slightly towards him, and
became conscious at once of the fumes of wine and strong
tobacco with which her son had made her only too familiar.
She looked at him for a moment, then clasped her hands
tightly together and resumed her former position, with
her sad face turned to the window. She may have-
breathed a sigh as she did so, but Wyvis Brand did not
hear it, and if he had heard it, would not perhaps have
very greatly cared.

" Why do you sit in the dark ? " he said at last, in a
vexed tone.

-Tgr;T'CT?g?g.-:-- Tr: ::-- g?« t .T<T —

A TRUE FRIEND,

" I will ring for lights," Mrs. Brand answered quietly.

" Do as you like : I an: not going to stay : I am going
out," said the young man.

The hand that his mother had stretched out towards the
bell fell to her side : she was a submissive woman, used to
taking her son at his word.

" You are lonely here," she ventured to jemark, after a
short silence : " you will be glad when Cuthbert comes
down."

" It's a beastly hole," said her son, gloomily. " I
would advise Cuthbert to stay in Paris. What he will do
with himself here, I can't imagine."

" He is happy anywhere," said the mother, with a stifled
sigh.

Wyvis uttered a short, harsh laugh.

" That can't be said of us, can it ? " he exclaimed, putting
his hand on his mother's knee in a rough sort of caress.
" We are generally in the shadow while Cuthbert is in the
sunshine, eh ? The influence of this old place makes me
poeHcal, you see."

" You need not be in the shadow," s?.id Mrs. Brand.
But she said it with an effort.

"Needn't I?" said Wyvis. He thrust his hands into
his pockets and leaned back in his chair with another
laugh. ** I have such a lot to make me cheerful, haven't

His mother turned her eyes upon him with a look of
yearning tenderness which, even if the room had been less
dimly lighted, he would not have seen. He was not much
in the habit of looking for sympathy in other people's faces.

" Is the place worse than you expected ? " she asked,
with a tremor in her voice.

" It is mouldier — and smaller," he replied, curtly.
" One's childish impressions don't go for much. And it
is in a miserable state — roof oui of repair — fences falling
down — drainage imperfect. It has been allowed to go to
rack and ruin while we were away."

" Wyvis, Wyvis," said his mother, in a tone of pain,
** I kept you away for your own sake. I thought you
would be happier abroad."

" Oh — happier 1 " said the young man, rather scornfully.
" Happiness isn't meant for me : it isn't in my line. It
makes no difference to me whether I am here or in Paris.

A TRUE FRIEND,

. ^ .

I should have been here long ago if I had had any idea
that things were going wrong in this way."

" I suppose," said Mrs. Brand, carefully controlling her
voice, " that you will not have the visitors you spoke of if
the house is in so bad a state."

"Not have visitors? Of course I shall have visitors.
What else is there for me to do with myself? We shall
get the house put pretty straight by the 12th. Not that
there will be any shooting worth speaking of on my place."

" If nobody comes before the 12th, I think we can make
the house habitable. I will do my best, Wyvis."

Wyvis laughed again, but in a softer key. " You ! "
l\e said. *• You can't do much, mother. It isn't the sort
of thing you care about. You stay in your own rooms
and do your needle-work ; I'll see to ine house. Some
men are coming long before the 12th — the day after to-
morrow, I believe."

"Who?"

" Oh, Bering and St. John and Ponsonby, I expect. I
don't know whether they will bring any one else."

" The worst men of the worst set you know ! " sighed
his mother, under her breath. " Could not you have left
them behind ? "

She felt rather than saw how he frowned — how his hand
twitched with impatience.

" What sort of friends am I likely to have ? " he said.
** Why not those that amuse me most ? "

Then he rose and went over to the window, where he
stood for some time looking out. Turning round at last,
he perceived from a slight familiar movement of his
mother's hand over her eyes that she was weeping, and it
seemed as if his heart smote him at the sight.

" Come, mother," he said, kindly, " don't take what I
say and do so much to heart. You know I'm no good,
and never shall do anything in tliv, world. You have
Cuthbert to comfort you "

" Cuthbert is nothing to me — nothing — compared with
you, Wyvis."

The young man came to her sfde and put his hand on
her shoulder. The passionate tone had touched him.

" Poor mother ! " he said, softly. " You've suffered a
good deal through me, haven't you ? I wish I could make
you forget all the past — but perhaps you wouldn't thank
me if I could."

A TRUE FRIEND,

" No," she said, leaning forward so as to rest her fore-
head against his arm. " No. For there has been bright-
ness in the past, but 1 see little brightness in the future
either for you or for me."

** Well, that is my own fault," said Wyvis, lightly but
bitterly. " If it had not been for my own youthful folly I
shouldn't be burdened as I am now. I have no one but
myself to thank."

" Yes, yes, it was my fault. I pressed you to do it — to
tie yourself for life to the woman who has made you miser-
able ! " said Mrs. Brand, in a tone of despairing self-accu-
sation. '' I fancied — then — that we were doing right."

*• I suppose we w^re doing right," said Wyvis Brand
sternly, but not as if the thought gave him any consolation.
" It was better perhaps that I should marry the woman
whom I thought I loved — instead of leaving her or wrong-
ing her — but I wish to God that I had never seen her
face ! "

" And to think that I persuaded you into marrying her,"
moaned the mother, rocking herself backward and forward
in the extremity of her regretful anguish ; " I — ^who ought
to have been wiser — who might have interfered "

'* You couldn't have interfered to much purpose. I was
mad about her at the time/' said her son, beginning to
walk about the room in :*, restless, aimless manner. " I
wish, mother, that you would cease to talk about the past.
It seems to me sometimes like a dream ; if you would but
let it lie still, I think that I could fancy it was a dream.
Remember that I do not blame you. When I rage against
the bond, I am perfectly well aware that it was one of my
own making. No remonstrance, no command would have
availed with me for a moment. I was determined to go
my own way, and I went."

It was curious to remark that the roughness and harsh-
ness of his first manner had dropped away from him as it
did drop now and then. He spoke with the polished
utterance of an educated man. It was almost as though
he at times put on a certain boorishness of demeanor, feel-
ing it in some way demanded of him by circumstances

but not natural to him after all.

" I will try not to vex you, Wyvis," said his mother,
wistfully.

** You do not vex me exactly," he answered, " but you

<%
yi

42 A TRUE FRIEND.

stir my old memories too . ften. I want to forget the past.
Why else did I come down here, where I have never been
since I was a child ? where Juliet never set foot, and where
I have no association with that miserable passage in my
life ? "

" Then why do you bring those men down, Wyvis ? For
they know the past : they will recall old associations ^"

" They aifluse me. I cannot be without companions.
I do not pretend to cut myself off from the whole world."

As he spoke thus briefly and coldly, he stopped to strike
a match, and then lighted the wax candles that stood on
the black sideboard. £y this act he meant perhaps to put
a stop to the conversation of which he was heartily tired.
But Mrs. Brand, in the half-bewildered condition of mind
to which long anxiety and sorrow had reduced her, did not
know the virtue of silence, and did not possess the magic
quality of tact.

" You might find companions down here," she said, per-
tinaciously, " people suited to your position — old friends of
your father's, perhaps "

"Will they be so willing to make friends with my
father's son ? " Wyvis burst out bitterly. Therf, seeing
from her white and stricken face that he had hurt her, he
came to her side and kissed her penitently. " Forgive me,
mother," he said, " if I say what you don't like. I've been
hearing about my father ever since I came to Beaminster
two days ago. I have heard nothing but what confirmed
my previous idea about his character. Even poor old
Colwyn couldn't say any good of him. He went to the
devil as fast as ever he could go, and his son seems likely
to follow in his footsteps. That's the general opinion,
and, by George, I think I shall soon do something to jus-
tify it."

" You need not live as your father did, Wyvis," said his
mother, whose tears were flowing fast.

" If I don't, nobody v/ill believe it," said the young man,
moodily. " There is no fighting against fate. The Brands
are doomed, mother : we shall die out and be forgotten —
all the better for the world, too. It is time we were done
with : we are a bad lot."

" Cuthbert is not bad. And you — Wyvis, you have your
child."

" Have I ? A child that I have not seen since it was

'•"'— fn-igni-.T-n Tr.:

'•^i^.&p^UwrtBiWMdta*

A TRUE FRIEND,

six months old ! Brought up by its mother — a woman
without heart or principle or anything that is good 1 Much
comfort the child is likely to be to me when I get hold of
it."

" When will that be ? " said Mrs. Brand, as if speaking
to herself rather than to him. But Wyvis replied :

** When she is tired of it — not before. I do not know
where she is,"

" Does she not draw her allowance? "

" Not regularly. And she refused her address when she
last appeared at Kirby's. I suppose she wants to keep
the child away from me. She need not trouble. The last
thing I want is her brat to bring up."

" Wyvis ! " • .

But to his mother's remonstrating exclamation Wyvis
paid no attention in the least : his mood was fitful, and he
was glad to step out of the ill-lighted room intb the hall,
and thence to the silence and solitude of the grounds about
the house.

Brand Hall had been practically deserted for the last
few years. A tenant or two had occupied it for a little
time soon after its late master's withdrawal from the
country ; but the house was inconvenient and remote from
towns, and it was said, moreover, to be damp and un-
healthy. A caretaker and his wife had, therefore, been its
only inhabitants of late, and a great deal of preparation
had been required to make it fit for its owner when he at
last wroteto his agents in Beaminster to intimate his inten-
tion of settling at the Hall.

The Brands had for many a long year been renowned
as the most unlucky family in the neighborhood. They
had once possessed a great property in the county ; but
gambling losses and speculation had greatly reduced their
wealth, and even in the time of Wyvis Brand's grandfather
the prestige of the family had sunk very low. In the days
of Mark Brand, the father of Wyvis, it sank lower still.
Mark Brand was not only " wild," but weak : not only
weak, but wicked. His career was one of riotous dissipa-
tion, culminating in what was generally spoken of as " a
low marriage " — with the barmaid of a Beaminster public-
house. Mary Wyvis had never been at all like the typical
barmaid of fiction or real life : she was always pale, quiet,
aqd refined-looking, and it was not difficult to see how she

A TRUE FRIEND,

had developed into the sorrowful, careworn woman whom
Wyvis Brand called mother ; but she came of a thoroughly
bad stock, and was not untouched in reputation. The
county people i ut Mark Brand after his marriage, and
never took any notice of his wife ; and they were horrified
when he insisted on naming his eldest son after his wife's
family, as if he gloried in the lowliness of her origin. But
when Wyvis was a small boy, his father resolved that
neither he nor his children should be flouted and jeered at
by county magnates any longer. He went abroad, and
remained abroad until his death, when Wyvis was twenty
years of age and Cuthbert, the younger son, was barely
twelve. Some people said that the discovery of some par-
ticularly disgraceful deed was imminent when he left his
native shores, and that it was for ^his reason that he had
never returned to England ; but Mark Brand himself always
spoke as iC his health were too weak^ his nerves too delicate,
to bear the rough breezes of his own country and thef
brusque manners of his compatriots. He had brought up
his son according to his own ideas ; and the result did not
seem entirely satisfactory. Vague rumors occasionally
reached Beaminster of scrapes and scandals in which the
young Brands figured ; it was said that W)rvis was a par-
ticularly black sheep, and that he did his best to corrupt
his younger brother Cuthbert. The news that he was
coming back to Brand Hall was not received with enthu-
siasm by those who heard it.

Wyvis' own story had been a sad one — perhaps more
sad than scandalous ; but it was a story that the Beamin-
ster people were never to hear aright. Few knew it, and
most of those who knew it had agreed to keep it secret.
That his wife and child were living, many persons in Paris
were aware ; that they had separated was also known, but
the reason of that separation was to most persons a secret.
And Wyvis, who had a great dislike to chatterers, made
up his mind when he came to Beaminster that he would
tell to nobody the history of the past few years. Had it
not been for his mother's sad face, he fancied that he could
have put it out of his mind altogether. He half resented
the pertinacity with which she seemed to brood upon it.
the fact that she had forwarded — had almost insisted upon
— the unfortunate marriage, weighed heavily upon her
mind. There had been a point at which Wyvis would have

A TRUE FRIEN'D, 45

given it up. But his mother haa espoused the side of the
girl, persuaded the young man to fulfill bis promises to her
— and reper*^'i it ever since. Mrs. Wyvis Brand had
developed an uncontrollable love for strong drink, as well
as a temper that made her at times more like a mad woman
than an ordinary human being ; and when she one day dis-
appeared from her husband's home, carrying his child with
her, and announcing in a subsequc^nt letter that she did not
mean to return, it could hardly be wondered at if Wyvis
drew a long breath of relief, and hoped that she never
would.

CHAPTER VI.

JANETTA AT HOME.

When Lady Caroline drove away from Gwynne Street,
Janetta was left by the tumble-down iron gate with her
father, in whose hand she had laid both her own. He
looked at her interrogatively, smiled a little and said —
" Well, my dear ? " with a softening of his whole face
which made him positively beautiful in Janet^a's eyes.

" Dear, dearest father ! " said the girl, with an irre-
pressible little sob. " I am so glad to see you again I '*

" Come in, my dear," said Mr. Colwyn, who was not an
emotional man, although a sympathetic one. " We have
been expecting you all day. We did not think that they
would keep you so long at the Court."

" 1*11 tell you all about it when I get in," said Janetta,
trying to speak cheerily, wi-th an instinctive remembrance
of the demands usually niade upon her fortitude in her own
home. ** Is mamma in ? " She always spoke of the pre-
sent Mrs. Colwyn, as " mamma," to distinguish her from
her own mother. " I don't see any of the children."

" Frightened away by the grand carriage, I expect,**
said Mr. Colwyn, with a grim smile. ** I see a head or
two at the window. Here, Joey, Georgie, Tiny — where
are you all ? Come and help to carry your sister's things
upstairs." He went to the front door and called again ;
whereupon a side door opened, and from it issued a slip-
shod, untidy-looking woman in a shawl, while over her

A TRUE FRIEND.

sKy

shoulder and under her arm appeared a little troop of
children in various stages of growth and untidiness. Mrs.
Colwyn had the peculiarity of never being ready for any
engagement, much less for any emergency : she had been
expecting Janctta all day, and with Janetta some of the
Court party ; but she was nevertheless in a state of semi-
undress, which she tried to conceal underneath her shawl ;
and on the first intimation of the approach of Lady Caro-
line's carriage she had shut herself and the children into a
back room, and declared her intention of fainting on the
spot if Lady Caroline entered the front door.

" Well, Janetta," she said, as she advanced towards her
step-daughter and presented one faded cheek to be kissed,
" so your grand friends have brought you home ! Of
course they wouldn't come in ; I did not expect them, I
am sure. Come into the front room — and children, don't
crowd so ; your sister will speak to you by-and-bye."

" Oh, no, let me kiss them now," said Janetta, who was
receiving a series of affectionate hugs that went far to
blind her eyes to^ the general deficiency of orderliness and
beauty in the house to which she had come. " Oh, dar-
lings, I am so glad to see you again ! Joey, how you have
grown ! And Tiny isn't Tiny any longer ! Georgie, you
have been plaiting your hair ! And here are Curly and
Jinks ! But where is Nora ? "

" Upstairs, curling her hair," shouted the child who was
known by the name of Jinks. While Georgie, a well-grown
girl of thirteen, added ir a lower tone,

" She would not come down until the Court people had
gone. She said she didn't want to be patronized."

Janetta colored, and turned away. Meanwhile Mrs.
Colwyn had dropped into the nearest arm-chair, and Mr.
Colwyn strayed in and out of the room with the expression
of a dog that has lost its master. Georgie hung upon
Janetta's arm, and the younger children either clung to
their elder sister, or stared at her with round eyes and
their fingers in their mouths. Janetta felt uncomfortably
conscious of being more than usually interesting to them
all. Joe, the eldest boy, a dusty lad of fourteen, all legs
and arms, favored her with a broad grin expressive of
delight, which his sister did not understand. It was Tiny,
the most gentle and delicate of the tribe, whp let in a little
light on the subject.

T3"

A TRUE FRIEND.

had

" Did they send you away from school for being
naughty ? " she asked, with a grave look into Janetta's
face.

A chuckle from Joey, and a giggle from Georgie, were
instantly repressed by Mr. Colwyn's frown and Mrs.
Colwyn's acid remonstrance.

" What are you thinking of, children ? Sister is ntfver
naughty. We do not yet quite understand why she has
left Miss Polehampton's so suddenly, but of course she has
some good reason. She'll explain it, no doubt, to her
papa and me. Miss Polehampton has been a great deal
put out about it all, and has written a long letter to your
papa, Janetta ; and, indeed, it seems to me as if it would
have been more becoming if you had kept to your own
place and not tried to make friends with those above
you "

"Who are those above her, I should like to know?"
broke in the grey-haired surgeon with some heat. " My
Janet's as good as the best of then any day. The Adairs
are not such grand people as Miss Polehampton makes
out — I never heard of such insulting distinctions 1 "

" Fancy Janetta being sent away — regularly expelled 1 "
muttered Joey, with anothei chuckle.

" You are very unkind to talk in that way ! " said Janetta,
addressing him, because at that moment she could not bear
to look at Mr. Colwyn. " It was not that that made Miss
Polehampton angry. It was what she called insubordina-
tion. Miss Adair did not like to see me having meals at
a side-table — though I didn't mind one single bit ! — and
she left her own place and sat by me — and then Miss
PoLhampton was vexed — and everything followed natural-
ly. It was not just my being friends with Miss Adair that
made her send me away.

* It seems to me," said Mr. Colwyn, " that Miss Adair
was very inconsiderate."

" It was all her love and friendship, father," pleaded
Janetta. " And she had always had her own way ; and of
course she did not think that Miss Polehampton really
meant "

Her weak little excuses were cut short by a scornful
laugh from her stepmother.

" It's easy to see that you have been made a cat's-paw
of, Janetta," she said. " Miss Adair was tired of school^

4t A TRUE FRIEND,

and took the opportunity of making a to-do about you, so
as to provoke the schoolmistress and get sent away. It
does not matter to her, of course : she hasn't got her liv-
ing to earn. And if you lose your teaching, and Miss
Polehampton's recommendations by it, it doesn't affect
her. Oh, I understand these fine ladies and their ways."

<* Indeed," said Janetta, in distress, " you quite mis*
understand Miss Adair, mamma. Besides, it ha» not de-
prived me of my teaching : Miss Polehampton had told
me that I might go to her sister's school at Worthing if I
liked ; and she only let me go yesterday because she
became irritated at — at — some of the things that were
said "

" Yes, but I shall not let you go to Worthing," said Mr.
Colwyn, with sudden decisiveness. " You shall not be
exposed to insolence of this kind any longer. Miss Pole-
hampton had no right to treat you as she did, and I shall
write and tell her so."

'' And if Janetta stays at home," said his wife com-
plainingly, '' what is to become of her career as a music-
teacher? She can't get lessons here, and there's the
expense '*

'' I hope I can afford to keep xay daughter as long as I
am alive," said Mr. Colwyn with some vehemence.
** There, don't be vexed, my d' \x child," and he laid his
hand tenderly on Janetta's shoulder, '' nobody blames
you ; and your friend erred perhaps from over-affection ;
but Miss Polehampton " — with energy — " is a vulgar, self-
seeking, foolish old woman, and I won't have you enter
into relations with her again."

And then he left the room, and Janetta, forcing back
the tears in her eyes, did her best to smile when Georgie
and Tiny hugged her simultaneously and Jinks beat a tat-
too upon her knee.

" Well," said Mrs. Colwyn, lugubriously, " I hope every-
thing will turn out for the best ; but it is- not at all nice,
Janetta, to think that Miss Adair has been expelled for
your sake, or that you are thrown out of work without a
character, so to speak. I should think the Adairs would
see that, and would make some compensation. If they
don't offer to do so, your papa might suggest it "

" I'm sure father would never suggest anything of the
kind," Janetta flashed out ; but before Mrs. Colwyn could
protest, a diversion was effected by the entrance of the

ntm

A TRUE FRIEND.

missing Nora, and all discussion was postponed to a more
fitting moment.

For to look at Nora was to forget discussion. She was
the eldest of the second Mrs. Colwyn's children — a girl
just seventeen, taller than Janetta and thinner, with the
thinness of immature girlhood, but with a fair skin and a
mop of golden-brown hair, which curled so naturally that
her younger brother's statement concerning those fair locks
must surely have been a libel. She had a vivacious, nar-
row, little face, with large eyes like a child's — that is to
say, they had the transparent look that one sees in some
children's eyes, as if the color had been laid on in a sin-
gle wash without any shadows. They were very pretty
eyes, and gave light and expression to a set of rather small
features, which might have been insignificant if they had
belonged to an insignificant person. But Nora Colwyn
was anything but insignificant.

'< Have your fine friends gone ? " she said, peeping iiii.o
the room in pretended alarm. " Then I may come in.
How are you, Janetta, after your sojourn in the halls o<
dazzling light V* ^^

** Don't be absurd, Nora," said her sister, with a ftldftUre^
backward dart of remembrance to the tranquil )MaWK} ^k j
the rooms at Helmsley Court and the silver acceilts of '
Lady Caroline. " Why didn't you come down before?"

" My dear, I thought the nobility and gentry were block-
ing the door," said Nora, kissing her. "But since they
are gone, you might as well come upstairs with me and
take off your things. Then we can have tea.*'

Obediently Janetta followed her sister to the little room
which they always shared when Janetta was at home. It
might have looked very bare aiid desolate to ordinary eyes,
but the girl felt the thrill of pleasure that all young crea-
tures feel to anything that bears the name of home, *ad
became aware of a satisfaction such as she had not experi-
enced in her luxurious bedroom at Helmsley Court. >Tora
helped her to take off her hat and cloak, and to unpack
her box, insisting meanwhile on a detailed relation of all
the events that had led to Janetta's return/ three weeks
before the end of the term, and shrieking with laughter over
what she called " Miss Foley's defeat."

" But, seriously, Nora, what shall I do with myself, if
father will not let me go to Worthing? **

A TRUE FRIEND,

W-

l)-.

"Teach the children at home," said. Nora, briskly;
" and save mt the trouble of looking after them. I should
like that. Or get some pupils in the town. Surely the
Adairs will recommend you!"

This constant reference to possible aid from the Adairs
troubled Janetta not a little, and it was with some notion
of combatting the idea that she repaired to the surgery
after tea, in order to get a few words on the subject with
her father. But his first remark was on quite a different
matter.

*' Here's a pretty kettle of fish, Janet ! The Brands are
back again I "

" So I heard you say to Lady Caroline."

" Mark Brand was a cousin of your mother^s," said Mr.
Colwyn, abruptly ; " and a bad lot. As for these sons of
his, I know nothing about them — absolutely nothing.
But their mother " he shook his head significantly.

** We saw them to day," said Janetta.

" Ah, an accident of that kind would be a shock to her :
she does not look strong. They wrote to me from the
* Clown,* where they had stayed for the last two days;
sc^S^^estion relative to the drainage of Brand Hall. I
V *<^nh) the * Crown ' and saw them. He's a fine-looking

"He has not altogether a pleasant expression," re-
marked Janetta, thinking of Lady Caroline's strictures ;
"but I— liked— his face."

" He looks ill-tempered," said her father. " And I can't
say that he showed me much civility. He did not even
know that your poor mother was dead. Never asked
whether she had left any family or anything."

" Did you tell him ? " asked Janetta, after a pause.

" No. I did not think it worth while. I am not
anxious to cultivate his acquaintance."

" After all, what does it matter ? " said the girl coax-
ingly, for she thought she saw a shadow of disappointment
upon his face.

*• No, what does it matter ? " said her father, brighten-
ing up at once. " As long as we are happy with each
other, these outside people need not disturb us, need
they ? "

" Not a bit," said Janetta. " And — ^you are not angry
with me, are you, father, dear ? "

A TRUE FRIEND.

" Why should I be, my Janet? You have done nothing
wrong that I know of. If there is any blame it attaches
to Miss Adair, not to you."

" But I do not want you to think so, father. Miss Adair
is the greatest friend that I have in all the world."

And she found a good many opportunities of repeating/
this conviction of hers during the next few days, for Mrs.
Colwyn and Nora were not slow to repeat the sentiment
with which they had greeted her — that the Adairs were
" stuck-up " fine people, and that they did not mean to
take any further notice of her now that they had got what
they desired.

Janetta stood up gallantly for her friend, but she did
feel it a little hard that Margaret had not written or come
to see her since her return home. She conjectured — and
in the conjecture she wj^s nearly right — ^that Lady Caroline
had sacrificed her a !itde in order to smooth over things
with her daughter : mat she had represented Janetta as
resolved upon going, resolved upon neglecting Margaret
and not complying with her requests ; and that Margaret
was a little offended with her in conseq^uence. She wrote
an affectionate note of excuse to her friend, but Margaret
made no reply.

In the first ardor of a youthful friendship, Janetta's
heart ached over this silence, and she meditated much as
she lay nights upon her little white bed in Nora's attic (for
she had not time to meditate during the day) upon the
smoothness of life which seemed necessary to the Adairs
and the means they took for securing it. On the whole,
their life seemed to her too artificial, too much like the life
of delicate hot-house flowers under glass ; and she came
to the conclusion that she preferred her own mode of
existence — troublous and hurried and common as it might
seem in the eyes of the world to be. After all, was it not
pleasant to know that while she was at home, there was a
little more comfort than usual for her over-worked, hardly-
driven, careworn father ; she could see that his meals were
properly cooked and served when he came in from long
and weary expeditions into the country or amongst the
poor of Beaminster ; she could help Joey and Georgie in
the evenings with their respective lessons; she could
teach and care for the younger children all day long. To
her stepmother she did not feel that she was very useful ;

5«

A iRQE FRIEND,

but she could at any rate make new caps for her, new lace
fichus and bows, which caused Mrs. Colwyn occasionally
to remark with some complacency that Janetta h<cd been

Suite wasted at Miss Polehamp ton's school : her proper
estiny was evidently to be a milliner.

Nora was the one person of the family who did not
seem to want Janetta's help. Indirectly, however, the
elder sister was more useful to her than she knew ; for the
two went out together and were companions. Hitherto
Nora had walked alone, and had made one or two un-
desirable girl acquaintances. But these were dropped
when she had Janetta to talk to, dropped quietly, without
a word, much to their indignation, and without Janetta's
knowing of their existence.

It became a common thing for the two girls to go out
together in the long summer evenings, when the work of
the day was over,'and stroll along the country roads, or
venture into the cool shadow of the Beaminster woods.
Sometimes- the children went with them : sometimes
Janetta and Nora went, alone. And it was when they
were alone one evening that a somewhat unexpected inci-
dent came to pass.

The Beaminster woods ran for some distance in a
northerly direction beyond Beaminster, and there was a
point where only a wire fence divided them from the
grounds of Brand Hall. Near this fence Janetta and her
sister found themselves one evening — not that they had
purposed to reach the boundary, but that they had strayed
a little from the beaten path. As they neared the fence
they looked at each other and laughed.

" I did not know that we were so near the lordly dwell-
ing of your relations ! " said Nora, who loved to tease, and
knew that she could always rouse Janetta's indignation by
a reference to her " fine friends."

" I did not know either," returned Janetta, • good-
humoredly. " We can see the house a Httle. Look at the
great red chimneys."

"I have been over it," said Nora, contemptuously.
" It's a poor little place, after all — saving your presence,
Netta ! I wonder if the Brands mean to acknowledge
your existence ? They ^"

She stopped short,' for her foot had caught on some-
thing, and she nearly stumbled. Janetta stopped alsOf

»ii*i II ■III

jt TRUE FRIEND,

and the two sisters uttered a sudden cry of surprise. For
what Nora had stumbled over was a wooden horse — a
child's broken toy — and deep in the bracken before them,
with one hand beneath his flushed and dimpled cheek,
there lay the loveliest of all objects — a sleeping child.

CHAPTER VII.

NORA'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

" He must have lost his way," said Janetta, bending over
him. " Poor little fellow ! "

** He's a pretty little boy," said Nora, carelessly. " His
nurse or his mother or somebody will be near, I dare say- —
perhaps gone up to the house. Shall I look about ? "

" Wait a minute — he is awake — he will tell us who he
is."

The child, roused by the sound of voices, turned a little,
stretched himself, then opened his great dark eyes, and
fixed them full on Janetta's face. What he saw there
must have reassured him, for a dreamy smile came to his
lips, and he stretched out his little hands to her.

*' You darling ! " cried Janetta. " Where did you come
from, dear ? What is your name ? "

The boy raised himself and looked about him. He
looked about five years old, and was a remarkably fine and
handsome child. It was in perfectly clear and distinct
English — almost free from any trace of baby dialect — that
he replied —

" Mammy brought me. She said I should find my
father here. I don't want my father," he remarked,
decidedly.

"Who is your father? What is your name?" Nora
asked.

" My name is Julian Wyvis Brand," said the little fellow,
sturdily ; " and I want to know where my father lives, if
you please, 'cause it'll soon be my bed-time, and I'm
getting very hungry."

Janetta and her sister exchanged glances.

"Is your father's name Wyvis Brand, too?" asked
Janetta.

■j-i

A TRUE FRIEND.

** Yes, same as mine," said the boy, nodding. He stood
erect now, and she noticed that his clothes, originally of
fashionable cut and costly material, were torn and stained
and shabby. He had a little bundle beside him, tied up
in a gaudy shawl; and the broken toy-horse seemed to
have fallen out of it.

** But where is your mother ? "

" Mammy's gone away. She told me to go and find my
father at the big red house there. I did go once ; but they
thought I was a beggar, and they sent me away. I don't
know what to do, I don't. 1 wish mammy would come."

" Will she come soon ? "

" She said no. Never, never, never. She's gone over
the sea again," said the boy, with the abstracted, medita-
tive look which children sometimes assume when they are
concocting a romance, and which Janetta was quick to
remark. " I think she's gone rijht off to America or
London. But she said that I was to tell my father that
she would never come back."

" What are we to do ? " said Nora, in an under tone.

" We must take him to Brand Hall," Janetta answered,
" and ask to see either Mrs. Brand or Mr. Wy vis Brand. "

" Won't it be rather dreadful ? "

Janetta turned hastily on her sister. " Yes," she said,
with decision, ** it is very awkv/ard, indeed, and it may be
much better that you should not be mixed up in the matter
at all. You must stay here while I go up to the house."

" But, Janetta, wouldn't you rather have some one with
you?"

"I think it will be easier alone," Janetta answered.
" You see, I have seen Mrs. Brand and her son already,
and I feel as if I knew what they would be like. Wait for
me here : I daresay I shall not be ten minutes. Come,
dear, will you go with me to see if we can find your
fether?"

" Yes," said the boy, promptly putting his hand in hers.

" Are these your things in the bundle ? "

" Yes ; mammy put them there. There's my Sunday
suit, and my book of * Jack, the Giantkiller,' you know.
And my wooden horse ; but it's broke. Will you carry the
horse for me ? — and Til carry the bundle."

" Isn't it too heavy for you ? "

** Not a bit," and the little fellow grasped it by both
hands, and swung it about triumphantly.

A TRUE FRIEND.

" Come along, then," said Janetta, with a smile. " Wait
for me here, Nora, dear : I shall then find you easily when
I come back."

She marched off, the boy stumping after her with his
burden. Nora noticed that after a few minutes' walk her
sister gently relieved him of the load and carried it herself.

" Just like Janetta," she soliloquized, as the two figures
disappeared behind a clump of tall trees ; '' she was afraid
of spoiling the moral if she did not let him try at least to
carry the bundle. She always is afraid of spoiling the
moral : I never knew such a conscientious person in my life.
I am sure, as mamma says, she sets an excellent example."

And then Nora balanced herself on the loose wire of the
fence, which made an excellent swing, and poising herself
upon it she took off her hat, and resigned herself to waiting
for Janetta's return. Naturally, perhaps, her meditations
turned upon Janetta's character.

" I wish I were like her," she said to herself. " Wherever
she is she seems to find work to dp, and makes herself
necessary and useful. Now, I am of no use to anybody.
I don't think I was ever meant to be of use. I was meant
to be ornamental ! " She struck the wire with the point of
her little shoe, and looked at it regretfully. " I have no
talent, mamma says. I can look nice, I believe, and that is
all. If I were Margaret Adair I am sure I should be very
much admired ! But being only Nora Colwyn, the doctor's
daughter, I must mend socks and make puddings, and eat
cold mutton and wear old frocks to the end of the chapter I
What a mercy I am taller than Janetta 1 My old dresses are
cut down for her, but she can't leave me her cast-off ones.
That little wretch, Georgie, will soon be as tall as I am, I
believe. Thank goodness, she will never be as pretty."
And Miss Nora, who was really excessively vain, drew out
of her pocket a small looking-glass, and began studying
her features as therein reflected : first her eyes, when she
pulled out her eyelashes and stroked her eyebrows ; then
her nose, which she pinched a little to make longer ; then
her mouth, of which she bit the lips in order to increase
the color and judge of the effect. Then she took some
geranium petals from the flowers in her belt and rubbed
them on her cheeks : the red stain became her mightily,
she thought, and was almost as good as rouge.

Thus engaged, she did not hear steps on the pathway by

A TRUE FRIEND,

which she and Janetta had come. A man, youn^ and slim,
with a stoop and a slight halt in his walk, with bright,
curling hair, worn rather longer than Englishmen usually
wear it, with thin but expressive features, and very brilliant
blue eyes — this was the personage who now appeared upon
the scene. He stopped short rather suddenly when he
became aware of the presence of a young lady upon the
fence — perhaps it was to him a somewhat startling one :
then, when he noted how she was engaged, a smile broke
gradually over his countenance. He once made a move-
ment to advance, then restrained himself and waited ; but
some involuntary rustle of the branches above him or twigs
under his feet revealed him. Nora gave a little involun-
tary cry, dropped her looking-glass, and colored crimson
with vexation at finding that some one was watching her.

" What ought I to do, I wonder ? " Such was the thought
that flashed through the young man's mind. He was
remarkably quick in receiving impressions and in drawing
conclusions. '^ She is not a French girl, thank goodness,
fresh from a convent, and afraid to open her lips ! Neither
is she the conventional young English lady, or she would
not sit on a fence and look at herself in a pocket looking-
glass. At least, I suppose she would not : how should I
know what English girls would do P At any rate, here
goes for addressing her."

All these ideas passed through his* mind in the course
of the second or two which elapsed while he courteously
raised his hat, and advanced to pick up the fallen hand-
glass. But Nora was too quick for him. She had slipped
off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach
it ; and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and
anger, she almost turned her back upon him, and stood
looking at the one angle of the house which she could
see.

The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a
smile, and ventured on the remark that he had been wait-
ing to make.

"I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle
you."

** Not at all," said Nora, with dignity. But she did not
turn round.

" If you are looking for the gate into the grounds," he
resumed, with great considerateness of manner, ^' you will

A TRUE FRIEIfD.

find it about twenty yards further to your left, Can I have
the pleasure of showing you the way ? "

"No, thank you," said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. )
*' I am waiting for my sister." She felt that some explan-
ation was necessary to account for the fact that she did,
not immediately walk away.

" Oh,^ I beg your pardon," said the young man once
more, but this time in a rather disappointed tone. Then^
brightening — " But if your sister has gone up to our house
why won't you come in too ? "

*' Your house ? " said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing
him with an air of fearless incredulity, which amused him
immensely. " But you are not Mr. Brand ? "

" My name is Brand," said the young fellow, smiling the
sunniest smile in the world, and again raising his hat, with
what Nora now noticed to be a rather foreign kind of
grace : *' and if you know it, I feel that it is honored
already."

Nora knitted he^ brows. " I don't know what you
mean," she said, impatiently, "but you are not Mr.
Brand of the Hall, are you ? "

" I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand —
Cuthbert Brand, at your service."

" Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand ? " said Nora impul-
sively. " Not the father of the dear little boy that we found
here just now ? "

Cuthbert Brand's fair face colored. He looked exces-
sively surprised.^

" The father — a little boy ? I am afraid," he said, with
some embarrassment of manner, " that I do not exactly
know what you mean-— — "

" It is just this," said Nora, losing her contemptuous
manner and coming closer to the speaker ; " when my
sister and I were walking this way we saw a little boy
lying here fast asleep. He woke up and told us that his
name was Julian Wyvis Brand, and that his mother had
left him here, and told him to find his father, who lived at
that red house."

" Good heavens ! And the woman — ^what became of
her?"

" The boy said she had gone away and would not come
back."

** J trust she may not/' muttered Cuthbert angrily tQ

A TRUE FRirND,

k '

,. ■,,

himself. A red flush colored his brow as he went on.
" My brother's wife," he said formally, " is not — at pre-
sent — on very friendly terms with him ; we did not know
that she intended to bring the child home in this manner :
we thought that she desired to keep it — where is the boy,
by the way ? "

" My sister has taken him up to the Hall. She said
that she would see Mr. Brand."

Cuthbert raised his eyebrows. " See my brother ? " he
repeated, as if involuntarily. " My brother ! "

" She is his second cousin, you know : I suppose that
gives her courage,** said Nora smiling at the tone of
horror which she fancied must be simulated for the occa-
sion. But Cuthbert was in earnest — he knew Wyvis
Brand's temper too well to anticipate anything b\it a rough
reception for any one who seemed inclined to meddle v/ith
his private affairs. And if Nora's sister were like herself I
For Nora did not look like a person who would bear
roughness or rudeness from any one.

" Then are you my cousin, too ? " he asked, suddenly
struck by an idea that sent a gleam of pleasure to his
eye.

" Oh, no," said Nora, demurely. " I'm no relation. It
is only Janetta — her mother was Mr. Brand's father's
cousin. But that was not my mother — ^Janetta and I are
stepsisters."

"Surely that makes a relationship, however," said
Cuthbert, courageously. " If your stepsister is my second
cousin, you must be a sort of step-second-cousin to me.
Will you not condescend to acknowledge the connec-
tion ? "

" Isn't the condescension all on your side ? " said Nora
coolly. " It may be a connection, but it certainly isn't a
relationship."

" I am only too glad to hear you call it a connection,"
said Cuthbert, with gravity. And then the two laughed —
Nora rather against her will — Cuthbert out of amusement at
the situation, and both out of sheer light-heartedness.
And when they had laughed the ice seemed to be broken,
and they felt as if they were old friends.

" I did not know that any of our relations were living
in Beaminster," he resumed, after a moment's pause.

" I suppose you never even heard our name," said Nora,
wucily.

A TRUE FRIEND,

said

'' I don't — ^know " he began, in some confusion.

"Of course you don't. Your father had a cousin and
she married a doctor — a poor country surgeon, and so of
course you forgot all about her existence. She was not
my mother, so I can speak out, you know. Your father
never spoke to her again after she married my father."

** More shame to him I I remember now. Your father
is James Colwyn."

Nora nodded. " I think it was a very great shame,"
she said.

" And so do I," said Cuthbert, heartily.

" It was all the worse," Nora went on, quite forgetting
in her eagerness whom she was talking to, ** because Mr.
Brand was not himself so very much thought of, you know
— people did not think — oh, I forge , 1 I beg your pardon ! "
she suddenly ejaculated, turning crimson as she remem-
bered that the man to whom she was speaking was the
son of the much-abused Mr. Brand, who had been con-
sidered the black sheep of the county.

" Don't apologize, pray," said Cuthbert, lightly. " I'm
quite accustomed to hearing my relations spoken ill of.
What was it that people did not think ? "

" Oh," said Nora, now covered with confusion, ** of
course I could not tell you."

" It was so very bad, was it ? " said the young man, laugh-
ing. " You need not be afraid. Really and seriously, I
have been told that my poor father was not very popular
about here, and I don't much wonder at it, for although
he was a good father to us he was rather short in manner,
and, perhaps, I may add, in temper. Wyvis is like him
exactly, I believe."

" And are you ? " asked Nora.

Cuthbert raised his hat and gave it a tremendous flourish.
" Mademoiselle, I have not that honor," he replied.

" I suppose I ought not to have asked," said Nora to
herself, but this time she restrained herself and did not
say it aloud. " I wonder where Janetta is ? " she mur-
mured after a moment's silence. '' I did not think that
she would be so long."

If Cuthbert thought the remark ungracious, as he
might well have done, he made no sign of discomfiture.
"Can I do anything?" he asked. "Shall I go to the
house and find out whether she has seen my brother ? But
then I shall have to leave you."

.K'

I- '.'•

60 A TRUE FRIEND.

** Oh, that doesn't matter," said Nora, innocently.

'* Doesn't it ? But I hardly like the idea of leaving you
all alone. There might be tramps about. If you are like
all the other young ladies I have known, you will have an
objection to tramps."

** I am sure," said Nora, with confidence, ** that I am
not at all like the other young ladies you know ; but at
the same time I must confess that I don't like tramps."

** I knew it. And I saw a tramp — I am sure I did — a
little while ago in this very wood. He was ragged and dirty,
but picturesque. I sketched him, but I thmk he would
not be a pleasant companion for you."

•* Do you sketch ? " said Nora quickly.

*' Oh, yes, I sketch a little," he answered in a careless
sort of way — for what was the use of telling this little girl
that his pictures had been hung in the Salon and the A':a-
demy, or that he had hopes of one day rising to fame and
fortune in his recently adopted profession ? He was not
given to boasting of his own success, and besides, this child
— ^with her saucy face and guileless eyes — would not under-
stand either his ambitions or his achievements.

But Nora's one talent was for drawing, and although

the instruction she had received was by no means of the

best, she had good taste and a great desire to improve

her skill. So Cuthbert's admission excited her interest at

•once.

" Have you been sketching now ? " she asked. " Oh, do
let me see what you have done ? "

Cuthbert's portfolio was under his arm. He laughed,
hesitated, then dropped on one knee beside her and began
to exhibit his sketches. It was thus — side by side, with
heads very close together — that Janetta, much to her
amazement, found them on her return.

i. '■'

CHAPTER VIII.

FATHER AND CHILD.

Janetta had set off on her expedition to Brand Hall otrt
of an impulse of mingled pity and indignation — ^pity for
the little boy, indignation against the mother who could

A TRUE FRIEND.

desert him, perhaps against the father too. This feelinp;
prevented her from realizing all at once the difficult posi-
tion in which she was now placing herself; the awkward-
ness in which she would be involved if Mr. Brand declared
that he knew nothing of the child, or would have nothing
to do with il. "In that case," she said to herself, with
an admiring glance at the lovely little boy, *' I shall have
to adopt him, I think ! I wonder what poor mamma would
say ! "

She found her way without difficulty to the front-door
of the long, low, rambling red house which was dignified
by the name of Brand Hall. The place had a desolate
look still, in spite of its being inhabited. Scarcely a win-
dow was open, and no white blinds or pretty curtains could
be seen a;: the casements. The door was also shut ; and
a3 it was one of those wide oaken doors, mantled with
creepers, and flanked with seats, .. hich look as if they
should always stand hospitably open, it gave the stranger
a sense of coldness and aloofness to stand before it. And,
also, there was neither bell nor knocker — a fact which
showed that few visitors ever made their appearance at
Brand Hall. Janetta looked about her in dismay, and
then tapped at the door with her fingers, while the child
followed her every movement with his great wondering
eyes, and finally said, gravely —

'^ I think they have all gone to sleep in this house, like
the people in the * Sleeping Beauty ' story."

" Then you must be the Fairy Prince to wake them all
up," said Janetta, laughingly.

The boy looked at her as if he understood ; then, sud-
denly stooping, he picked up a fallen stick and proceeded
to give the door several smart raps upon its oaken panels.

This summons procured a response. The door was
opened, after a good deal of ineffectual fumbling at bolts
and rattling of chains, by an old, white-haired serving man,
who looked as if he had stepped out of the story to which
Julian ha \ alluded. He was very deaf, and it was some
time before Janetta could make him understand that she
wanted to see Mrs. Brand. Evidently Mrs. Brand was
not in the habit of receiving visitors; At last he conducted
lier to the dark little drawing-room where the mistress of
the house usually sat, and here Janetta was received by
the pale, grey-haired woman whom she had seen fainting

-V5a

A TRUE fiRIE/^J).

I '■■■•

'.y '

on the Beaminstcr road. It was curious to notice the
agitation of this elderly lady on Janetta's appearance. She
stood up, crashed hci handkerchief between her trem-
bling fingers, took a step towards her visitor, and then
stood still, looking at her with such extraordinary anxiety
that Janetta was quite confused and puzzled by it. Seeing
that her hostess could not in any way assist her out of her
difficulty, she faced it boldly by introducing herself.

** My name is Janetta Colwyn," she began. " I believe
that mv mother was a relation of Mr. Brand's — a

cousm-

** Yes, a first cousin," said Mrs. Brand, nervously,
often heard hirn speak of her — I never saw her "

She paused, looked suspiciously at Janetta, and colored
all over her thin face. Janetta paused also, being taken
somewhat by surprise.

'* No, I don't suppose you ever saw her," she said, " but
then you went abroad, and my dear mother died soon after
I was born. Otherwise, I daresay you would have known
her."

Mrs. Brand gave her a strange look. ** You think so ? "
she said. " But no — you are wrong : she always looked
down on me. She never would have been friendly with
me if she had lived."

" Indeed," said Janetta, very much astonished. " I
always heard that it was the other way — that Mr. Brand
was angry with /ler for marrying a poor country surgeon,
and would not speak to her again."

" That is what they may have said to you. But you
were too young to be told the truth," said the sad-faced
woman, beginning to tremble all over as she spoke. " No,
your mother would not have been friends with me. I was
not her equal — ^^and she knew I was not."

" Oh, indeed, you make a mistake : I am sure you do,**
cried Janetta, becoming genuinely distressed as this view
of her mother's character and conduct was fixed upon her.
" My mother was always gentle and kind, they tell me ; I
am sure she would have been your friend — as I will be, if
you will let me." She held out her hands and drew those
of the trembling woman into her warm young clasp. " I
am a cousin too," she said, blushing a little as she asserted
herself in this way, " and I hopt? you will let me come to
see you sometimes and make yo i less lonely."

A TRUE FRIEND,

'< I am always lonely, and I always shall be lonely to the
end of time," said Mrs. Brand, slowly and bitterly. " How-
ever" — with an evident attempt to recover her self-posses-
sion " — " I shall always be pleased to see you. Pid— did—
your father send you here to-night ? "

" No," said Janetta, remembering her errand. " He does
not know "

'' Does not know ? " The pale woman again looked
distressed. " Oh," she said, turning away with a sigh and
biting her lip, " then I shall not see you again."

" Indeed you will," said Janetta, warmly. " My father
would never keep me away from any one who wanted me
— and one of my mother's relations too. But I came to-
night because I found this dear little boy outside your
grounds. He tells me that his name is Julian Wyvis
Brand, and that he is your son's little boy."

For the first time Mrs. Brand turned her eyes upon the
child. Hitherto she had not noticed him much, 'idently
thinking that he belonged to Janetta, and was also a visitor.
But when she saw the boy's sweet little face and large dark
eyes, she turned pale, and made a gesture as vof warning or
dislike.

" Take him away ! take h'm away, ' she said. " Yes, I
c^n see that it is her child — ar/^ his child too. She iiust
be here too, and she has been the ruin of my boy's life I "
And then she sank into a chair and burst into an agony of
tears.

Janetta felt, with an inexpressible pang, that she had set
foot in the midst of some domestic tragedy, the like of
which had never come within her ken before. She was
conscious of a little recoil from it, such as is natural to a
young girl who has not learnt by experience the meaning
of sorrow ; but the recoil was followed by a rush of that
sympathy for which she had always shown a great capacity.
Her instinct led her instantly to comfort and console. She
knelt down beside the weeping woman and put one arm
round her, drawing the little boy forward with her left hand
as she spoke.

" Oh, don't cry — don't cry ! " she murmured. " He has
come to be a joy and a comfor,, to you, and he wants you
to love him too."

" Won't you love me, grandmamma ? " said the sweet
childish voice. And Julian laid his hand on the poor
. woman's shaking knee. ** Don't cry, grandmamma*"

-^^i

A TRUE FRIEND,

it:\

';■■ '■:

-.. 'if

It was this scene which met the eyes of Wyvis Brand
when he turned the handle of the drawing-room door and
walked into the room. His mother weeping, with a child
before her, and a dark-haired girl on her knees with one
arm round the weeping woman and one round the lovely
child. It was a pretty picture, and Wyvis Brand was not
insensible to its beauty.

He stood, looking from one to another of the group.

" What does all this mean ? " he asked, in somewhat
harsh tones.

His mother cried aloud and caught the child to her
breast.

" Oh, Wyvis, be kind — ^be merciful," she gasped. " This
is your child — your child. You will not drive him away.
She has left him at our door."

Wyvis walked into the room, shut the door behind him,
and leaned against it.

" Upon my word," he said, sarcastically, " you will give
this lady — whose name I haven't the pleasure of knowing
— a very fine idea of our domestic relations. I am not
such a brute, I hope, as to drive away my own child from
my door ; but I certainly should like to know first whether
it is my child ; and more particularly whethei it is my son
and heir, as I have no doubt that this young gentleman is
endeavoring to persuade you. Did you bring the child
here ?" he said, turning sharply to Janetta.

"I brought him into the house, certainly," she said,
rising from her knees and facing him. " I found him out-
side your fence ; and he told me that his name was Julian
Wyvis Brand."

** Pretty evidence," said Mr. Brand, very rudely, as
Janetta thought. " Who can tell whether th<» child is not
some beggar's brat that has nothing to do with me ? "

" Don't you know your own little boy when you see
him ? " Janetta demanded, indignantly.

" Not I. I have not set eyes on him since he was a baby.
Turn round, youngster, and let me have a look at you."

■"iiijni

A TRUE FSIEND.

" Where do you come from ? " said Mr. Brand, sternly.

" From over the sea."

" That's no answer. Where from ? — what place ? **

The boy looked at him without answering.

" Are you dumb ? " said Wyvis Brand, harshly. " Or
have you not been taught what to say to that question ?
Where do you come from, I say ? "

Mrs. Brand murmured an inarticulate remonstrance ;
Janetta's eyes flashed an indignant protest. Both women
thought that the boy would be dismayed and frightened.
But he, standing steady and erect, did not flinch. His
color rose and his hands clenched themselves at his side,
but he did not take his eyes from his father's face as he
replied.

" I come with mammy from Paris."

" And pray where is your mother ? "

" Gone back again. She told me to find my father.
Are you my father ? " said the child, with the utmost fear-
lessness.

" What is your name ? " asked Wyvis, utterly disregard-
ing the question.

" Julian Wyvis Brand."

" He's got the name pat enough," said Wyvis, with a
sardonic laugh. " Well, where did you live in Paris ?
What sort of a house had you ? "

" It was near the church," said the little boy, gravely.
" The church with the big pillars round it. There was a
bonnet shop under our rooms, and the rooms were all pink
and white and gold — prettier than this," he said, wistfully
surveying the gloomy room in which he stood.

" Susan. She was my nurse and mammy's maid as well.
She was English."

The man nodded and set his lips. " He knows what to
say," he remarked.

" Oh, Wyvis j " exclaimed his mother, as if she could
repress her feelings no longer ; " don't you see how like
he is to you ! — don't yow feel that he is your own child ? "

" I confess the paternal feelings are not very strong in
me/' said her son, dryly, ''but I have a fancy the boy is

-«»A.

A TRUE FRIEND.

y
\

mine for all that. Haven't you a letter or a remembrance
of some sort to give me. young man ? "

The boy shook his htad.

" There may be something amongst his things — some
book or trinket that you would remember," said Janetta,
speaking with timidity. Mr. Brand gave her a keen look,
and Mrs. Brand accepted the suggestion with eagerness. •

** Oh, yes, yes, let us look. Have you a box, my dear,
or a bag ? — oh, a bundle, only : give it me, and let me
see what is inside."

" It is unnecessary, mother," said Wyvis, coldly. " I
am as convinced as you can wish me to be that this is
Juliet's child."

But Mrs. Brand, with trembling fingers and parted lips,
was helping Janetta to unfasten the knots of the big hand-
kerchief in which the child's worldly goods were wrapi)ed
up. Wyvis Brand stood silently beside the two women,
while little Julian pressed closer and pointed out his
various treasures as they were one by one disclosed.

" That's my book," he said ; " and that's my best suit.
And that's — oh, I don't know what that is. I don't know
why mammy put it in."

" / know," said Wyvis Brand, half under his breath.

At last with a short laugh, he slipped the little case into
his pocket, and turned upon his heel.

" I suppose that this is evidence enough," he said. " It
is a ring I once gave her — our engagement ring. Not one-
of much value, or you may be sure that she would never
have sent it back."

" Then you are convinced — you are certain " His

mother did not finish the sentence, but her son knew what
she meant.

^* That he is my son ? my wife's child? Oh, yes, I am

A TRUE FRIEND.

pretty sure of that. He had better be put to bed,'* said
Wyvis, carelessly. " You can find a room for him some-
where, I dare say."

" There is the old nursery," said Mrs. Brand, in breath-
less eagerness. " I looked into it yesterday ; it is a nice,
cheerful room — but it has not been used for a long
time "

" Do as you like ; don't consult me," said her son. " I
know nothing about the matter." And he turned to the
door, without another look towards his son.

But little Julian was not minded to be treated in this way.
His large eyes had been fixed upon his father with a
puzzled and rather wistful expression. He now suddenly
started from his position at Mrs. Brand's knee, and pur-
sued his father to the door.

" Say good-night, please," he said, pulling at Mr. Brand's
coat with a fearlessness which amused Janetta and startled
Mrs. Brand.

Wyvis looked down at him with a curious and indescrib-
able expression. " You're not shy, at any rate," he said,
drily. "Well, good-night, voung man. What?" — the
boy had held up his face to be kissed.

Janetta felt that she ought to go, and yet that she hardly
liked trusting the child to the sole care of Mrs. Brand, who
wcs evidently so much unnerved as to be of little use in
deciding what wa;s to be done with him. And at the first
hint of departure grandmother and child both clung to her
as if they felt her to be their sheet-anchor in storm. She
was not allowed to go until she had inspected the nursery
and pronounced it too damp for Julian's use, and seen a
little bed made up for the child in Mrs. Brand's own room,
where a fire was lighted, and everything looked cosey and
bright. Poor little Julian was by this time half-dead with
sleep ; and Janetta could not after all make up her mind to
leave him until she had seen him tucked up and fast

A TRUE FRIEND,

asleep, ihen she bethought herself of Nora, and turned
to go. Mrs. Brand, melted out of her coldness and shy
reserve, caught her by the hand.

" My dear," she said, " what should we have done with-
out you ? "

"I don't think that I have done very much," said
Janetta, smiling.

" You have done more than I could ever do. If I had
brought that child to my son he would never have acknow-
ledged it."

" He does not look so hard," said the girl involuntarily.

" He is hard, my dear — hard in his way — but he is a
good son for all that — and he has had sore trouble, which
has made him seem harder and sterner than he is. I can-
not thank you enough for all that you have done to-day."

" Oh, Mrs. Brand, I have done nothing," said Janetta,
blushing at the elder woman's praise. " But may I come
to see you and little Julian again ? I should like so much
to know how he gets on."

"You may come, dear, if your father will let you," said
Mrs. Brand, with rather a troubled look. " It would be
a blessing — a charity — to me : but I don't know whether
it would be right to let you- — your father must decide."

And then Janetta took her leave.

She was surprised to find that Mr. Brand was lounging
about the hall as she came out^ and that he not only opened
the door for her but accompanied her to the garden gate.
He did not speak for a minute or two, and Janetta, not
seeing her way clear to any remarks oi her own, wondered
whether they were to walk side by side to the gate in utter
silence. Presently, however, he said, abrupLiy.

"I have not yet heard to whom I am ii. iebted for the
appearance of that little boy in my house."

" I am not exactly responsible," said Janetta, " I only
found him outside and brought him in to make inquiries.
My name is Janetta Colwyn."

" Colwyn ? What ? the doctor's daughter ? "

"Yes, the doctor's daughter," said Janetta, smiling
frankly at him, ** and your second cousin."

Wyvis Brand's hand went up to his hat, which he lifted
ceremoniously.

" I wish I had had the introduction earlier," he said, in
a much pleasanter tone.

A TRUE FRIEND,

Janetta could not exactly echo the sentiment, and there-
fore maintained a discreet silence.

" You must have thought me a great brute," said Wyvis,
with some sensitiveness in his tone.

" Oh, no : I quite saw how difficult it was for you to
understand who I was, and how it had all come about."

" You saw a great deal, then."

" Oh, I know that it sounds impertinent to say so,"
Janetta ansvvercd, blushing a lit lie and walking a trifle
faster, " but I did iiot mean it rudely, I assure you."

He seemed to take no notice. He was looking straight
before him, with a somewhat sombre expression in his fine
daik eyes.

" What you could not see," he said, perhaps more to
himself than to her, " was what no one will ever guess.
Nobody knows what the last few years have been to me.
My mother has seen more of it than any one else, but even
to her my life has been something of a mystery — a sealed
book. You should remember this — remember all that I
have passed through — before you blame me for the way in
which I received that child to-day."

** I did not blame you," said Janetta, eagerly. " I only
felt that th'^-e was a great deal which I could not under-
stand."

He turned his gloomy eyes upon her. " Just so," he
said. " You cannot understand. And it is useless for you
to try."

" I am very sdrry," Janetta faltered, scarcely knowing
why she said so.

Wyvis laughed. " Don't trouble to be sorry over my
affairs," he said. *' They are not worth sorrow, I assure
you. But — if I may make one request — will you kindly
keep silence (except, of course, to your parents) about this
episode ? I do not want people to begin gossiping about
that unhappy woman who has the right, unfortunately, to
call herself my wife."

Janetta promised, and with her promise the garden gate
was reached, and the interview came to an end.

A TKUE FRIEND^

!#■

iS'.

; ' :•

CHAPTER IX.

CONSULTATION.

Janetta was rather surprised that Mr.Wyvis Brand did not
oflfer to accompany her for at least part of her way home-
wards, but she set down his remissness to absorption in his
own rather complicated aifairs. In this she was not mis-
taken. Wyvis was far more depressed, and far more deeply
buried in the contemplation of his difficulties, than any-
body knew, and it completely escaped his memory until
afterwards that he ought to have offered Miss Colwyn an
escort. Janetta, however, was well used to going about
the world alone, and she proceeded briskly to the spot
where she had left Nora, and was much astonished to find
that young person deep in conversation with a strange
young man.

But the young man had such an attractive face, such
pleasant eyes, so courteous a manner, that she melted
towards him before he had got through his first sentence.
Nora, of course, ought to have introduced him ; but she
was by no means well. versed in the conventionalities of
society, and therefore left him to do what he pleased, and
to introduce himself.

" I find that I am richer than I thought," said Cuthbert
Brand, " in possessing a relative whom I never heard of
before ! Miss Colwyn, are we not cousins ? My name is
Brand — Cuthbert Brand."

Jafietta's face lighted up. " I have just seen Mrs. Brand
and your brother," she said, offering him her hand.

" And, oh, Janetta ! " cried Nora at once, " do tell us
what happened. Have you left the little boy at Brand
Hall? And is it really Mr. Brand's little boy? "

" Yes, it is, and I have left him with his father,*' said
Janetta, gravely. ** As it is getting late, Nora, we had
better make the best of our way home."

" YoU will let me accompany you ? " said Cuthbert,
eagerly, while Nora looked a little bit inclined to pout at

A TRUE FRIEND.

7«

her sister's serious tone. '' It is, as you say, rather late ;
and you have a long walk before you."

" Thank you, but I could not think of troubling you.
My sister and I are quite accustomed to going about by
ourselves. We escort each other," said Janetta, smiling,
so that he should not set her down as utterly ungracious.

" I am a good walker," said Cuthbert, coloring a little.
He was half afraid that they thought his lameness a dis-
qualification for accompanying them. " I do my twenty
miles a day quite easily."

" Thank you," Janetta said again. " But I could not
think of troubling you. Besides, Nora and I are so well
used to these woods, and to the road between them and
Beaminster, that we really do not require an escort."

A compromise was finally effected. Cuthbert walked
with them to the end of the wood, and the girls were to be
allowed to pursue their way together along the Beaminster
road. He made himself very agreeable in their walk
through the wood, and did not leave them without a ho»^e
that he might be allowed one ('ay to call upon his nev -
discovered cousins.

" He has adopted us, apparently, as well as yourself,"
said Nora, as the two grls tramped briskly along the
Beaminster road. " He seems to forget that we are not
his relations."

" He is very pleasant and friendly," said Janetta.

" But why did you say he might call ? " pursued Nora.
'•I thought that you would say that we did not have
visitors — or something of that sort."

" My dear Nora ! But we do have visitors."

" Yes ; but not of that kind."

" Don't you want him to come ? " said Janetta, in some
wonderment ; for it had struck her that Nora had shown
an unusual amount of friendliness to Mr. Cuthbert Brand.

" No, I don't," said Nora, almost passionately. " I don!t
want to see him down in our shabby, untidy little drawing-
room, to hear mamma talk about her expenses and papa's
difficulties — to see all that tribe of children in their old
frocks — to see the muddle in which we live ! I don't want
him there at all."

" Dear Nora, I don't think that the Brands have been
accustomed to live in any very grand way. I am sure the
rooms I went into this evening were quite shabby — ^nearly

-ifc;

A TRUE FRIEND,

as shabby as ours, and much gloomier. What does it
matter?"

" It does not, matter to you," said Nora ; " because you
are their relation. It is different for us. You belong to
them and we don't."

^< I think you are quite wrong to talk in that way. It is
nothing so very great and grand to be related to the
Brands."

" They are * County ' people," said Nora, with a scorn-
ful little emphasis on the word. ** They are like your grand
Adairs : they would look down on a country doctor and
his family, except just now and then when they could make
them useful."

" Look down on father ? What are you thinking of? *'
cried Janetta, warmly. ** Nobody looks down on father,
because he does good, honest work in the world, and every-
body respects him ; but I am afraid that a good many
people look down on the Brands. You know that as well
as I do, Nora j for you have heard people talk about them.
They are not at all well thought of in this neig hborhood.
I don't supposelHere BTtmdrKonor and glorytobe gained
by relationship to them."

In which Janetta was quite right, and showed her excel-
lent sense. But Nora was not inclined to be influenced
by her more sagacious sister.

" You may say what you like," she observed ; ** but I
know very well that it is a great advantage to be related to
*the County.' Poor papa has no connections worth
speaking of, and mamma's friends are either shopkeepers
or farmers ; but your mother was the Brands' cousin, and
see how the Adairs took you up ! They would never have
made a fuss over me^

" What nonsense you talk, Nora ! " said Janetta, in a
disgusted tone.

" Nonsense or not, it is true," said Nora, doggedly ;
" and as long as people look down upon us, I don't want
any of your fine friends and relations in Gwynne Street."

A TRUE FRIEND,

in a

It was quite dark when they reached home, and they
entered the house in much trepidation, fearing a volley of
angry words from Mrs. Colwyn. But > their surprise and
relief Mrs. Colwyn was not at hoir '^. The children ex-
plained that an invitation to supper had come to her from
a neighbor, and that '' after a great deal of luss," as one of
them expressed it, she had accepted it and gone, leaving
word that she should not be back until eleven o'clock, and
that the children were to go to bed at their usual hour. It
was past the younger children's hour already, and they of
course were jubilant.

The elder sisters set to work instantly to get the young
ones into their b^ .j, ^'Jt this was a matter of some difficulty.
A general incli'iaJc to uproariousness prevailed in Mrs.
Colwyn's abse\ !", w.A it must be confessed that neither
Janetta nor > a tried very hard to repress the little ones'
noise. It was a comfort to be able, for once, to enjoy
themselves w '^hout fear of Mrs. Colwyn's perpetual snarl
and grumble. \ most exciting pillow-fight was going on
in the upstairs regions, and here Janetta was holding her
Dwn a:> boldly as the boldest, when the sound of an open-
ing door made the combatants pause in their mad career.

" What's that? The front door ? It's mamma ! " cried
Georgie, with conviction.

" Get into bed, Tiny I " shouted Joey. Tiny began to
cry.

** Nonsense, children," said Nora, with an air of author-
ity. " You know that it can't be mamma. It is papa, of
course, coming in for his supper. And one of us must go
down."

'* I'll go," said Janetta, hurriedly. " I want a little talk
with him, you know."

There was a general chorus of " Oh, don't go, Janetta ! "
" Do stay ! " " It will be no fun when you are gone ! "
which stimulated Nora to a retort.

"Well, I must say you are all very polite," she said.
** One would think that I was not here at all ! "

" You are not half such good fun as Janetta," said Joey.
"You don't throw yourself into everything as she does."

A TRUE FRIEND,

She was nearly choked by the fervent embraces they all
bestowed upon her before she went downstairs. Nora,
who stood by, rolling up the ribbon that she had taken
from Tiny's hair, felt a little pang of jealousy. Why was
it that everyone loved Janetta and valued her so mnch?
Not for what she did, because her share of househola duty
was not greater than that of Nora, but for the way in which
she did it. It always seemed such a pleasure to her to do
anything for any one — to serve another : never a toil, never
a hardship, always a deep and lasting pleasure. To Nora
it was often a troublesome matter to help her sister or her
schoolboy brother, to attend on her mother, or to be
thoughtful of her father's requirements ; but it was never
troublesome to Janetta. And as Nora thought of all this,
the tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It seemed so
easy to Janetta to be good, she thought ! But perhaps it
was no easier to Janetta than to other people.

'* Where is mamma ? " he began. " Out, I suppose, or
the children would not be making such a racket over-
head."

" They are going to be quiet now, dear father," said his
daughter, kissing him, '' and mamma has gone out to
supper at Mrs. Maitland's. I am going to have mine with
you if you will let me."

" And is this what you are going to have for your
supper? " said Mr. Colwyn, half ruefully, half jestingly, as
he glanced again at the table, where some crusts of bread
reposed peacefully on one dish, and a scrag of cold mutton
on another. " After your sojourn at Miss Polehampton's
and among the Adairs, I suppose you don't know how to
cook^ Jenny ? "

A TRUE FRIEND,

his
to
dth

rour

|» AS

read
Itton
Ion's
to

'' Indeed I rio, father, and I'm going to scramble some
eggs, and make some coffee this very minute. I am sorry
the table is not better arranged, but I have been out, and
was just having a little game with the children before they
went to bed. If you will sit down by tlic fire, I shall be
ready in a very few minutes, and then I can tell you about
a wonderful adventure that Nora and I had this evening in
the Beaminster wood."

" You should not roam about those woods so much by
yourselves ; they are too lonely," said Mr. Colwyn ; but
he said it very mildly, and dropped with an air of weari-
ness into the armchair that Janetta had wheeled forward
for him. " Well, well ! don't hurry yourself, child. I
shall be glad of a few minutes' rest before I begin my
supper."

Janetta in a big white apron, Janetta flitting backwards
and forwards between kitchen and dining-room, with flushed
cheeks and brightly shining eyes, was a pretty sight — " a
sight to make an old man young," thought Mr. Golwyn,
as he watched her furtively from beneath his half-closed
eyelids. She looked so trim, so neat, so happy in her
work, that he would be hard to satisfy who did not admire
her, even though she was not what the world calls strictly
beautiful. She succeeded so well in her cooking opera-
tions, with which she would not allow the servant to inter-
meddle, that in a very short time a couple of dainty dishes
and some coffee smoked upon the board ; and Janetta
bidding her father come to the table, placed herself near
him, and smilingly dispensed the savory concoction.

She would not enter upon any account of her evening's
work until she felt sure that the wants of her father's
inner man were satisfied ; but when supper was over, and
his evening pipe — the one luxury in the day he allowed
himself — alight, sl\e drew up a hassock beside his chair
and prepared for what she called "a good long chat."

Opportunities for such a chat with her father were rather
rare in that household, and Janetta meant to make the
most of this one. Nora had good-naturedly volunteered
to stay away from the dining-room, so as to give Janetta
the chance that she wished for ; an^ as it was now barely
ten o'clock, Janetta knew that she might perhaps have an
hour of her father's companionship — if, at least, he were
not sent for before eleven o'clock. At eleven he would
probably go to Mrs. Maitland's to fetch his wife home.

7«

A THUE FRIEND,

»>

" Well, Janet, and what have you to tell me ? " he said
kindly, as he stretched out his slippered feet to the blaze,
and took down his pipe from the mantel-piece. The lines
had cleared away from his face as if by magic ; there was
a look of rest and peace upon his face that his daughter
liked to see. She laid her hand on his knee and kept it
there while she told him of her experiences that evening at
Brand Hall.

Mr. Colwyn's eyebrows went up as he listened. His
face expressed astonishment, and something very like per-
plexity. But he heard the whole story out before he said
a word.

" Well, you have put your head into the lion's den ! " he
said at last, in a half-humorous tone.

" What I want to know is," said Janetta, " why it is
thought to be a lion's den ! I don't mean that I have
heard the expression before, but I have gathered in differ
ent ./ays an impression that people avoid the house—

" The family, not the house, Janet ! "

" Of course I mean the family, father, dear. What have
they done that they should be shunned ? "

** There is a good deal against them in the eyes of the
world. Your poor mother, Janetta, always stood up for
them, and said that they were more sinned against than
sinning." .

" They 1 But these young men were not grown up
then ? "

" No ; it was their father and "

Mr. Colwyn stopped short and seemed as if he did not
like to go on.

" Tell me, father," said Janetta, coaxingly.

" Well, child, I don't know that you ought to hear old
scandals. But you are too wise to let them hariA you.
Brand, the father of these two young fellows, married a
bafhiaidy the daughter of a low publican in the neighbor-
hood."

<* What ! The Mrs. Brand that I saw to-day ? She a
barmaid — that quiet, pale, subdued-looking woman ? "

" She has had trouble enough to make her look sub-
dued, poor soul ! She was a handsome girl then ; and I
daresay the world would have overlooked the marriage in
time if hei character had been untarnished. " But stories
which I need not repeat were afloat*; and from what I
have lately heard they are not yet forgotten."

A TRUE FRIEND.. 77

" After all these years ! Oh, that does seeni hard,"
said Janetta, sympathetically.

" Well — there are some things that the world does not
forgive, Janet. I have no doubt that the poor woman is
much more worthy of respect and kindness than her wild
sons ; aiid yet the fact remains that if Wyvis Brand had
come here with his brother alone, he would have been
received everywhere, and entertained and visited and
honored like any other yo'.mg man of property and toler-
able repute ; but as he has brought his mother with him,
I am very much afraid that many of the' nicest people in
the county mean to 'cut' him."

" It is very unfair, surely."

"Yes, it is unfair; but it is the way of the world,
Janetta. If a woman's reputation is ever so slightly
blackened, she can never get it fair and white again.
Hence, my dear, I am a little doubtful as to whether you
must go to Brand Hall again, as long as poor Mrs. Brand
is there."

" Oh, father, and I promised to go I "

" You must not make rash promises another time, my
child."

" But she wants me, father — she is so lonely and so
sad ? "

" I am sorry, my Janet, but I don't know "

'^OJi, do let me, father. I shall not be harmed ; and I
don't mind what the world says."

" But perhaps / mind," said Mr. Colwyn, quaintly.

CHAPTER X.

MARGARET.

Janetta looked so rueful at this remark that her father
laughed a little and pulled her ear.

"I am not given to taking m ich notice of what the
world says," he told htr, " and ii I thought it right for you
to go to Brand Hall I should take no notice of town talk ;
but I think that I can't decide this matter without seeing
Mrs. Brand for myself."

" I thought you had seen her, father?"

wmmiimm^

A TRUE FRIEND.

fe "v

" For ten minutes or so, only. They wanted to ask me
a question about the healthiness of Brand Hall, drains,
and all that kind of thing, That young Brand struck me
as a very sullen-looking fellow."

" His face lightens up when he talks," said Janet ta,
coloring and feeling hurt for a moment, she could not have
told why.

** He did not talk to me," said her father, drily. " I
am told that the other son has pleasanter manners."

" Cuthbert ? Oh, yes," Janetta said, quickly. " He is
much more amiable at first sight ; he made himself very
agreeable to Nora and me." And forthwith she related
how the second son had made acquaintance with her
sister and herself.

Mr. Colwyn did not look altogether pleased.

" H*ra ! — they seem very ready to cultivate us," he said,
with a slight contraction of the brow. " Their father
used not to know that I existed. Janet, I don't care for
Nora to see much of them. You I can trust ; but she is a
bit of a featherbrain, and one never knows what may
happen. Look to it."

" I will, father."

"And " will call on Mrs. Brand and have a chat with
her. Poor soul ! I daresay she has suffered. Still that
does not make her a fit companion for my girls."

•" If I could be of any use to her, father "

** I know that's all you think of, Janet. You are a good
child — always wanting to help others. But we must not
let the spirit of self-sacrifice run away with you, you
know."

He pinched her cheek softly as he spoke^ and his daugh-
ter carried the long supple fingers of his hand to her lips
and kissed them tenderly.

" Which reminds me," he went on rather inconsequently,
** that I saw another of your friends to-day. A friend
whom you have not mentioned for some time, Janetta."

"Who was that? " asked Janetta, a little puzzled by his
tone.

" Another friend whom I don't quite approve of," said
her father, in the same half-quizzical way, " though from a
different reason. If poor Mrs. Brand is not respectable
enough, this friend of yours, Janet, is more than respect-
able ; ultra-respectable — aristocratic even^ "

A TRUE FRIEND,

a
le
It-

" Margaret Adair ! *' cried Janetta, flushing to the very
roots of her hair. " Did you see her, father ? Has she
quite forgotten me ? " And the tears stood in her ejres.

" I did not see Miss Margaret Adair, my dear," said her
father kindly. " I saw her mother, Lady Caroline."

" Did you speak to her, father ? "

" She stopped hef ponies and spoke to me in the High
Street, Janet. She certainly has very winning manners."

** Oh, has she not, father ! " Janetta's cheeks glowed.
** She is perfectly charming, I think. I do not believe that
she could do anything disagreeable or unkind."

Mr. Colwyn shook his head, with a little smile. " I am
not so sure of that, Janetta. These fine ladies sometimes
do very cold and cruel things with a perfectly gracious
manner."

"But Lady Caroline would not," said Janetta, coax-
ingly. " She was quite kind and sweet to me all the time
that I stayed at her house, although "

"Although afterwards," said Mr. Colwyn, shrewdly,
** she could let you stay here for weeks without seeming to
remember you, or coming near you for an hour ! "

Janetta's cheeks crimsoned, but she did not reply.
Loyal as she was to her friend, she felt that there was not
much to be said for her at that moment.

" You are a good friend," said her father, in a half-
teasing, half-aflectionate tone. " You don't like me to say
anything bad of her, do you ? Well, my dear, for your
comfort I must tell you that she did her best to-day to
make up for past omissions. She spoke very pleasantly
about you."

" Did she say why — why " Janetta could not com-
plete the sentence.

" Why they had not written or called ? Well, she gave
some sort of an explanation. Miss Adair had been unwell
—she had had a cold or something which looked as if it
might turn to fever, and they did not like to write until
she was better."

" I knew there was some good reason 1 " said Janetta
fervently.

" It is well to take a charitable view of things," returned
her father, rather drily ; but, seeing her look of protest, he
changed his tone. " Well, Lady Caroline spoke very
kindly, my dear, I must acknowledge that. She wants
you to go over to Helmsley Court to-morrow."

A TRUE PRIEND,

your
I'm in

dis'

"Can I go, father?"

Mr. Colwyn made a grimace. " Between
reputable friends and your aristocratic ones,
difficulty, Janet."

" Don't say so, father dear ! "

" Well, I consented," said Mr. Colwyn, in rather a
grudging tone. " She said that she would send her car-
riage for you to-morrow at noon, and that she would send
you back again between six and seven. Her daughter was
most anxious to see you, she said."

Janetta lifted up a happy face. " I knew that Margaret
would be true to me. I never doubted her."

Mr. Colwyn watched her silently for a moment, then he
put his hand upon her head, and began smoothing the
thick black locks. " You have a very faithful nature, my
Janet," he said, tenderly, " and I am afraid that it will
suffer a great many shocks in this work-a-day world of ours.
Don't let it lead you astray, my child. Remember there
is a point at which faithfulness may degenerate into sheer
obstinacy."

" I don't think it will ever do so with me."

" Well, perhaps not, for you have a clear head on those
young shoulders of yours. But you must be careful."

" And I may go to Lady Caroline's, father ? "

" Yes, my dear, you may. And now I must go : my time
is up. I have had a very pleasant hour, my Janet."

As she raised herself to receive her father's kiss, she
felt a glow of pleasure at his words. It was not often that
he spoke so warmly. He was a man of little speech on
ordinary occasions : only when he was alone with his best-
loved daughter, Janetta, did he ever break forth into ex-
pressions of affection. His second marriage had been in
some respects a failure ; and it did not seem as if he re-
garded his younger children" with anything approaching
the tenderness which he bestowed upon Janetta. Good-
humored tolerance was all that he gave to them : a deep
and almost passionate love had descended from her mother
to Janetta.

He went out to fetch his wife home from her supper-
party ; and Janetta hastened up to her room, not being
anxious to meet her stepmother on her return, in the state
of rampant vani^^v and over-excitement to which an assem-
bly of her friends usually brought her. It could not be said

A TRUE FRIEND,

that Mrs. Colwyn actually drank too much wine or beer
or whisky ; and yet there was often a sensation abroad
that she had taken just a little more than she could bear ;
and her stepdaughter was sensitively aware of the fact.
From Nora's slighting tone when she had lately spoken of
her mother, Janetta conjectured that the sad truth of Mrs.
Colwyn's danger had dawned ipon the girl's mind also,
and it certainly accounted for some new lines in Mr. Col-
wyn's face, and for some addi'aonal streaks of white in his
silvering hair. Not a word had been said on the subject
amongst the members of the family, but Janetta had an un-
easy feeling that there were possibly rocks ahead.

At this moment, however, the prospect of seeing her
dear Margaret again completely obliterated any thought
of her stepmother from Janetta's mind ; and when she was
snugly ensconced in her own little, white bed, she could
not help shedding a few tears of relief and joy. For
Margaret's apparent fickleness had weighed heavily on
Janetta's mind ; and she now felt proud of the friend in
whom she had believed in spite of appearances, and of
whose faithfulness she had steadily refused to hear a doubt.
These feelings enabled her to bear with cheerfulness some
small unpleasantnesses next morning from her stepmother
on the subject of her visit. " Of course you'll be too grand
to do a hand's turn about the house when you come back
again from Helmsley Court ! " said Mrs. Colwyn, snap-
pishly.

" Dear mamma, when I am only going for half a day ! "

" Oh, I know the ways of girls. Because Miss Adair,
your fine friend, does nothing but sit in a drawing-room
all day, you'll be sure to think that you must n^.eds follow
her example ! "

" I hope Margaret will do something beside sit in a
drawing-room," said Janetta, with her cheery laugh j
"because I am afraid that she might find that a little dull."

But in spite of her ch jeriness her spirits were perceptibly
lowered when she set foot in the victoria that was sent for
her at nooa. Her stepmother's way of begrudging her
the friendship which school-life had bestowed upon Janetta
was :*s distasteful to her as Miss Polehampton's con vic-
tim 1*" its unsuitability had been. And for one moment
the C'lfs of vexation gathered in her brown eyes as she
was driving away from the shabby little house in Gwynne

A TRUE FRIEND,

Street ; and she had resolutely to drive away unwelcome
thoughts before she could resign herself to enjoyment of
h€r visit.

The day was hot and close, and the narrow streets of
old Beaminster were peculiarly oppressive. It was delight-
ful to bowl swiftly along the smooth high road, and to
enter the cool green shades of the park round Helmsley
Court. " How pleasant for Margaret to live here always ! '*
Janetta said to herself with generous satisfaction in her
friend's good fortune. " I wonder what she would do in
Gwynne Street ! " And then Janetta laughed, and felt
that what suited her would be very inappropriate to
Margaret Adair.

Janetta's unselfish admiration for her friend was as simple
as it was true, and it was never alloyed by envy or toady-
ism. She would have 1 een just as pleased to see Mar-
garet in a garret as in i palace, supposing that Margaret
werg pleased witli the gair*^t. And it was with almost
passionate delight that she at length flung herself into her
friend's arms, and felt Margaret's soft lips pressed to her
brown flushed cheeks.

" Margaret ! Oh, ir is delightful to see you again ! " she
exclaimed.

" You poor darling : did you think that we were never
c^Ofu: to meet ? " said Margaret. " I have been so sorry,
Ileal- "

** i knew that you would come to see me, or send for
me as soon as you could," said Janetta quickly. ** I
trusted you, Margaret."

" I have had such a bad cold," Margaret went on, still
excusing herself a little, as it seemed to Janetta. " I have
had to stay in two rooms for nearly a fortnight, and I went
down to the drawing-room only last night."

f* I wish I could have nursed you ! Do^^'t you re-
member how I nursed you through one cf your bad colds
at school ? "

" Yes, indeed. I wish you could have nursed me now ;
but mamma was afraid that I had caught measles or scarlet
fever or something, and she said it would not be right to
send for you."

Janetta was almost pained by the accent of continued
excuse.

" Of course, dear, I understand," she said, pressing her

^ TRUE FRIEND,

«3

friend's arm caressingly. '' I am so sorry you have been
ill. You look quite pale, Margaret."

The two girls were standing in Margaret's sitting-room,
adjoining her bedroom. Margaret was dressed completely
in white, with long white ribbons floating amongst the
dainty folds of her attire ; but the white dress, exquisitely
as it was fashioned, was less becoming to her than usual,
for her face had lost a little of its shell-like bloom. She
turned at Janetta's words and surveyed herself a little
anxiously in a long glass at her side.

'* 1 do look pale in this dress," sh : said. **-Shall I
change it, Janetta ? "

"Oh, no, dear," Janetta answered, in some surprise.
" It is a charming dress."

" But I do not like to look so pale," said Margaret,
gravely. " I think I will ring for Villars."

" You could not look nicer — to me — in any dress ! "
exclaimed her ardent admirer.

" You dear — oh, yes ; i:ut there iirny be visitors at
luncheon."

" I thought you would be alone," faltered Jnnei'.a, with
a momentary glance at her o'.vn neat ar i clean, but plain,
little cotton frock.

" Well, perhaps there will ho only one person beside
youiself," said Margaret, tuning aside her long neck to
catch a glimpse of the shining coi s behind. And I don't
know that it matt s — it is only Sir T'hlip Ashley."

" Oh, I remen er him. He was here when we came
back from Brighton."

"He is often here."

" What lovely flowers ! " Janetta exclaimed, rather to
break a pause that followed than because she had looked
particularly at a bouquet that filled a large white vase on
a table. But the flowers really were lovely, and Margaret's
face expressed some satisfaction. " Did they come out of
your garden ? "

" No, Sir Philip sent them."

" Oh, how nice ! " said Janetta. But she was a IHtle
surprised too. 1 id not the Adairs plenty of flowers with-
out receiving contributions from Sir Philip's conservatories ?

" And you have a dog, Margaret?" — as a pretty little
white Esquimaux dog came trotting into the room. " What
a darling ! with a silver collar, too ! "

«4

A TRUE FRIEND.

"Yes, I like a white dog," said Margaret, tranquilly.
" Mamma's poodle snaps at strangers, so Sir Philip thought
that it would be better for me to have a dog of my own."

Sir Philip again ! Janetta felt as if she must ask
another question or two, especially when she saw that her
friend's white eyelids had been lowered, and? that a delicate
flush was mantling the whiteness of her cheek ; but she
paused, scarcely knowing how to begin ; and in the pause,
the gong for luncheon sounded, and she was (somewhat
hastily, she fancied) led downstairs.

Lady Caroline and Mr. Adair received their visitor with
great civility. Sir Philip came forward to give her a very
kindly greeting. Their behavior was so cordial that
Janetta could hardly believe that she had doubted their
liking for her. She was not experienced enough as yet to
see that all this apparent friendliness did not mean any-
thing but the world's way of making things pleasant all
round. She accepted her host's attentions with simple
pleasure, and responded to his airy talk so brightly that he
lost no time in assuring his wife after luncheon that his
daughter's friend was really '* a very nice little girl."

After luncheon, Janetta thought at first that she was
again going to be defrauded of a talk with her friend.
Margaret was taken possession of by Sir Philip, and walked
away with him into a conservatory to gather a flower ; Mr.
Adair disappeared, and Janetta was left for a few moments'
conversation with Lady Caroline. Needless to remark,
Lady Caroline had planned this little interview ; she had
one or two things that she wanted to say to Miss Colwyn.
And she really did feel kindly towards the girl, because —
after all — she was Margaret's friend, and the mother was
ready to allow Margaret her own way to a very great
extent.

** Dear Miss Colwyn," she. began, * I have been so sorry
that we could not see more of you while our poor Margaret
was ill. JVbw I hope things will be different."

Janetta remarked that Lady Caroline was very kind.

" I have been thinking of a method by which I hoped
to bring you together a little more — after the holidays.
Of course we are going away very soon now — to Scotland ;
and we shall probably not return until October; but when
that time comes — my dear Miss Colwyn ; 1 am sure you
will not be offended by the question I am going to ask? "

" Oh, no," said Janetta, hastily.

A TRUE FRIEND,

I sorry
Igaret

Id.

loped
[days.
Ilaiid )
Iwhen
you
Isk?"

" Are you intending to give any singing or music lessons
in the neighborhood ? "

" If I ran get any pupils, I shall be only too glad to do
so."

" Then wiil you begin with dear Margaret ? "

" Margaret^ " said Janetla, in some astonishment. " But
Margaret has had the same teaching that I have had,
exactly ! "

" She needs somebody to help her. She has not your
talent or your perseverance. And she would so much
enjoy singing with you. I tru^t that you will not refuse
us, Miss Colwyn."

" I shall be very glad to do anything that I can for
Margaret," said Janetta, flushing.

" Thank you so much. Once a week then — when we
come back again. And about terms "

"Oh, Lady Caroline, I shall be only too glad to sing
with Margaret at any time without "

" Without any talk about terms ? " said Lady Caroline,
with a charming smile of comprehension. " But that, my
dear, I could not possibly allow. No, we must conduct
the matter on strictly business-like principles, or Mr.
Adair would be very much displeased with me. Suppose

we say " And she went on to suggest terms which

Janetta was too much confused to consider very attentively,
and agreed to at once. It was only afterwards that she
discovered that they were lower than any which she should
ever have thought of suggesting for herself, and that she
should have to blush for Lady Caroline's meanness in
mentioning them to her father ! But at present she saw
nothing amiss.

Lady Caroline went on smoothly. " I want her to make
the most of her time, because she may not be able to study
up by-and-bye. She will come out this winter, and I shall
take her to town in the spring. I do not suppose that I
shall ever have another opportunity — if, at least, she
marries as early as she seems likely to do."

" Margaret ! Marry I " ejaculated Janetta. She had
scarcely thought of such a possibility.

** It is exceedingly probable," said Lady Caroline, rather
coldly, " that she will marry Sir Philip Ashley. It is a
perfectly suitable alliance."

It sounded as if she spoke of a royal marriage !

A TRUE FRIEND,

CHAPTER XI.

janetta's promises.

" But please," Lady Caroline proceeded, " do not mention
what I have said to anyone, least of all to Margaret. She
is so sensitive that I should not like her to know what I
have said." '

" I will not say anything," said Janetta.

And then Lady Caroline's desire for conversation seemed
to cease. She proposed that they should go in search of
her daughter, and Janetta followed her to the conservatory
in some trouble and perplexity of mind. It struck her that
Margaret was not looking very well pleased when they
arrived — perhaps, she thought, because of their appear-
ance — and that Sir Philip had a very lover-like air. He
was bending forward a little to take a white flower from
Ma-garet's hand, and Janetta could not help a momentary
dmile when she saw the expression of his face. The ear-
nest dark eyes were full of tenderness, which possibly he
did not wish to conceal. Janetta could never doubt but
that he loved her ** rare pale Margaret " from the very bot-
tom of his heart.

The two moved apart as Lady Caroline and Janetta came
in. Lady Caroline advanced to Sir Philip and walked
away with him, while Margaret laid her hand on Janetta's
arm and led her oflF to her own sitting-room. She scarcely
spoke until they were safely ensconced tliere together, and
then, with a half-pouting, mutinous expression on her softly
flushed face —

" Janetta." she began, '* there is something I must tell
you."

*'Yes, dear?"

" You saw Sir Philip in the conservatory ? "

"Yes."

** I can't think why he is so fooHsh," said Mar^ret ;
" but actually, Janetta — he wants to marry me."

"Am I to call him foolish fox that ? "

A TRUE FRIEND,

,nd

tly

:eU

" Yes, certainly. I am too young. I want to see a
little more of the world. He is not at all the sort of man
that I want to marry."

" Why "not ? " said Janetta, after waiting a little while.

"Oh," said Margaret, with an intonation that — ^for her
— -Wafe almost petulant ; '' he is so absurdly suitable ! "

** Absurdly suitable, dear Margaret ? "

" Yes. Everything is so neatly arranged for us. He is
the right age, he has the right income, the right views, the
right character — he is even " — said Margaret, with increas-
ing Indignation — ** even the right height I It is absurd.
I am not to have any will of my own in the matter, because
it is all so beautifully suitable. I am to be disposed of like
a slave ! "

Here was indeed a new note of rebellion.

" Your father and mother would never make you marry
a man whom you did not like," said Janetta, a little doubt-
fully.

** I don't know. Papa would not ; but mamma ! 1 am

afraid mamma will try. And it is very hard to do what
mamma does not like."

" But you could explain to her "

" I have nothing to explain," said Margaret, arching her
delicate brows. '* I like Sir Philip very well. I respect
him very much. I think his house and his position would
suit me exceedingly well ; and yet I do not want to marry
him. It is so unreasonable of me, mamma says. And I
feel that it is j and yet — What can I do ? "

" There is — ^nobody — else ? " hazarded Janetta.

Margaret opened her lovely eyes to their fullest extent.

" Dearest Janetta, who else could there be ? Who else
have I seen ? I have been kept in the schoolroom until
now-^^when I am to be married to this most suitable man !
Now, confess, Janetta, would you like it ? Do your people
want to marry you to anybody ? "

" No, indeed," said Janetta, smiling. " Nobody has
expressed any desire that way. But really I don't know
what to say, Margaret ; because Sir Philip does seem so
perfectly suitable — and you say you like him ? "

" Yes, but I only like him ; I don't love him." Mar-
garet leaned back in her chair, crossed her hands behind
her golden head, and looked dreamily at the opposite wall.
** You know I think one ought to love the man one marries

A TRUE FRIEND.

^-don't you think so ? I have always thought of loving
once and once only — like Paul and Virginia, you know, or
even Romeo and Juliet — and of giving all for love ! That
would be beautiful ! "

" Yes, it would. But it would be very hard too," said
Janetta, thinking how lovely Margaret looked, and what a
heroine of romance — what a princess of dreams — she would
surely be some day. And she, poor, plain, brown, little
Janetta ! There was probably no romance in store for her
at all.

But Life holds many secrets in her hand ; and perhaps
it was Janetta and not Margaret for whom a romance wat
yet in store.

" Hard ? Do you call it hard ? " Margaret asked, with
a curiously exalted expression, like that of a saint absorbed
in mystic joys. " It would be most easy, Janetta, to give
up everything for love."

** I don't know," said Janetta — for once unsympathetic.
" Giving up everything means a great deal. Would you
like to go away from Helmsley Court, for instance, and live
in a dingy street with no lady's maid — only a servant of all-
work — on three hundred a year ? "

" I think I could do anything for a man whom I loved,**
sighed Margaret ; " but I cannot feel as if I should ever
care enough for Sir Philip Ashley to do it for him.'

" What sort of a man would you prefer for a hu&oand,
then ? " asked Janetta.

'' Oh, a man with a history. A man about whom there
hung a melancholy interest — a man like Rochester in *■ Jsokt
Eyre ' '

" Not a very good-tempered person, I'm afraid ! "

" Oh, who cares about good temper ? "

" I do, for one. Really, Margaret, you draw a
which is just like my cousin, Wyvis Brand."

Janetta was sorry when she had said the words,
garet's arms came down from behind her head, and her
eyes were turned to her friend's face with an immediate
awakening of interest.

" Mr. Brand, of Brand Hall, you mean ? I remember
you told me that he was your cousin. So you have met
him ? And he is like Rochester ? "

"I di 1 not say that exactly," said Janetta, becoming
provokfd with herself. " I only said that you spoke of a

Mar-

A TRUE FRIEITD.

»9

)er
let

ling
Ua

rather melancholy sort of man, with a bad temper, and I
thought that the description applied very well to Mr.
Brand."

" What is he like ? Dark?"

« Yes."

" Handsome ? "

** I suppose so. I do not like any face, however hand-
some, that is disfigured by a scowl."

" Oh, Janetta, how charming 1 Tell me some more about
him ; I am so much interested."

" Margaret, don't be silly 1 Wyvis Brand is a very dis-
agreeable man — not a good man either, I believe— and I
hope you will never know him."

" On the contrary," said Margaret, with a new wilful
light in her eyes, " 1 intend mamma to call."

** Lady Caroline will be too wise."

" Why should people not call upon the Brands ? I hear
the same story everywhere — * Oh, no, we do not intend to
call.' Is there really anything wrong about them ? "

Janetta felt some embarrassment. Had not she put
nearly the same question to her own father the night be-
fore ? But she could not tell Margaret Adair what her
father had said to her.

" If there were — and I do not know that there is— you
could hardly expect me to talk about it, Margaret," she
said, with some dignity.

Margaret's good breeding came to her aid at once. " I
beg your pardon, dear Janetta. I was talking carelessly.
I will say no more about the Brands. But I must remark
that it was you who piqued my curiosity. Otherwise there
is nothing extraordinary in the fact of two young men set-
tling down with their mother in a country house, is there ? "

* Nothing at all."

" And I am not likely to see anything of them. But,
Janetta," said Margaret, reverting to her own affairs, " you
do not sympathize with me as I thought you would. Would
not you think it wrong to marry where you did not love ?
Seriously, Janetta?"

" Yes, seriously, I should," said Janetta, her face growine
graver, and her eyes lighting up. " It is a profanation of
marriage to take for your husband a man whom you don't
love with your whole heart. Oh, yes, Margaret, you are
quite, quite right in that — ^but I am sorry too, because Sir
Philip seems so nice."

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A TRUE FRIEND,

•"And, Janetta, dear, you will help me, will you not ?**

"Whenever I can, Mai^aret? But what can I do for
you?"

" You can help me in many ways, Janetta. You don't
know how hard it is sometimes " — ^and Margaret's face re-
rumed a wistful, troubled look. " Marnma is so kind j but
she \^nts me sometimes to do things that I do not ll!-e,
and she is so surprised yrYitn I do not wish to do them."

•* You ^ill make h^r Understand in time," said Janetta,
almost reverentially. Her ardent soul was thrilled with the
conception of the true state of things as she imagined it ; of
Margaret's pure, sweet nature being dragged down to
Lady Caroline's level of artificial worldliness. For, not-
withstanding all Lady Caroline's gentleness of manner,
Janetta was beginning to find her oht. She began to see
that this extreme softness and suavity covered a' very p(Jr-
sistent will, and that it was Lady Caroline who _ruled- t!:c
housej|nd the family with an iron hand in a vglveL-glpve.

" I am afraid not," said Margaret, submissively. " She
is so much more determined than I am. Neither papa
nor I could ever do anything against her. And in most
things I like her to manage for me. But not my mar-
riage I '*

" No, indeed."

" Will you stand by me, Janetta, dear ? "

" Always, Margaret."

" You will always be my friend ?"

" Always dear."

" You make me feel strong when you say * always ' so
earnestly, Janetta."

** Because I believe," said Janetta, quickly, " that friend-
shi p is as stro ng-a tie as anyJn-^he world. I don't think,
it ought to be any less binding than the tie between
sisters, between parents and child, even " — and her voice
dropped a little—" even between husband and wife. I
have heard it suggested that there should be a ceremony
— a sort of form — for the making of a friendship as there is
for other relations in life ; a vow of truth and fidelity which
two friends could promise to observe. Don't you think
that it would be rather a useless thing, even if the thought
is a pretty one ? Because we make and keep or break our
vows in onr own heart, and no promise would bind us
more than our own hearts can

A TRUE FRIENJ>,

9«

" I hope yours binds you to me, Janetta ? " said Mar-
garet, half playfully, half sadly.

" It does, indeed."

And then the two girls kissed each other after the man-
ner of impulsive and affectionate girls, and Margaret wiped
away a tear that had gathered in the corner of her eye.
Her face soon became as tranquil as ever ; but Janetta's
brow remained grave, her lips firmly pressed together long
after Margaret seemed to have forgotten what had been
said.

Things went deeper with Janetta than with Margaret.
Girlish and unpractical as some of their speeches may
appear, they were spoken or' listened to by Janetta with
the utmost seriousness. S he was not of ^ nature to take
things -lightly. And during the pause that followed the
conversation about friendship, she was mentally register-
ing a very serious and earnest resolution, worthy indeed
of being ranked as the promise or the vow of which she
spoke, that she would always remain Margaret's true and
faithful friend, in spite of all the chances and changes of
this transitory world. A youthful foolish thing to do,
perhaps ; but the world is so constituted that the things
done or said by very young and even very foolish persons
sometimes dominate the whple lives of much older and
wiser persons. And more came out of that silent vow of
Janetta's than even she anticipated.

The rest of the day was very delightful to her. She and
Margaret were left almost entirely to themselves, and they
formed a dozen plans for the winter when Margaret should
be back again and could resume her musical studies. Ja-
netta tried to express her natural reluctance at the thought
of giving lessons to her old school-companion, but Mar-
garet laughed her to scorn. ** As if you could not teach
me ? " she said. " Why, I know nothing about the theory
of music — ^nothing at all. And you were far ahead of any-
body at Miss Polehampton's ! You will soon have dozens
of pupils, Janetta. I expect all Beaminster to be flocking
to you before long."

She did not say, but it crossed her mind that the fact of
her taking lessons from Janetta would probably serve as a
very good advertisement. For Miss Adair was herself
fairly proficient in the worldly wisdom which did not at
all gratify her when exhibited by her mother.

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9fl

^ TRUE FRIEND,

Tanetta was sent home m tlie gathering twilight with a
delightfully satisfied feeling. She was sure that Margaret's
friendship was as faithful as her own. And why should there
not be two women as faithful to each other in friendship as
ever Damon and Pythias, David and Jonathan, had been of
pld ? " Margaret will always be her own sweet, high-souled
self," Janetta mused. " It is I who may perhaps fall awny
from my ideal— I hope not ; oh, I hope not 1 I hope that
I shall always be faithful and true ! "

There was a very tender look upon her face as she sat
in Lady Caroline's victoria, her hands clasped together
upon her lap, her mouth firmly closed, her eyes wistful.
The expression was so lovely that it beautified the whole
of her face, which was not in itself strictly handsome, but
capable of as many changes as an April day. She was so
deeply absorbed in thought that she did not see a gentle-
man lift his hat to her in passing. It was Cuthbert Brand,
and when Ihe carriage had passed him he stood still for
a moment and looked back at it.

" I should like to paint that girl's face," he si.,id to him-
self. " There is soul in it — character — passion. Her
sister is prettier by far ; but I doubt whether she is capa-
ble of so much."

But the exalted beauty had faded away by the time
Janetta reached her home, and when she entered the house
she was again the bright, sensible, energetic, and affection-
ate sister and daughter that they all knew and loved : no
great beauty, no genius, no saint, but a generous-hearted
English girl, who tried to do her duly arid to love her
neighbor as herself.

Her father met her in the hall.

" Here you are," he said. " I hardly expected you
home as yet. Everybody is out, so you must tell me your
experiences and adventures if you have any to tell.**

"I have not many," said Janetta, brightly. "Only
everybody has been very, very kind."

" I'm glad to hear of it ; but I should be surprised if
people were not kind to my Janet.'*

" Nobody is half so kind as you are," said Janetta, fond-
ly. " Have you been very busy to-day, father ? "

*' Very, dear. And I have been to Brand Hall."

He drew her inside his consulting-room as he spoke.
It was a little room near the hall-door, opposite the*

A TRUE FRIEND,

dining-room. Janetta did not often go there, and felt as if
some rather serious communication were to be made.

" Did you see the little boy, father ? "

" Yes — ^and his grandmother."

" And may I go to see Mrs. Brand ? "

Mr. Colwyn paused for a moment, and when he spoke
his voice was broken by some emotion. " If you can do
anything to help and comfort that poor woman, my Janet/'
he said at length, " God forbid that I should ever hinder
you 1 I will not heed what the world says in face of sor-
row such as she has known. Do what you can for her."

" I will, father ; I promise you I will."

" It is the second promise that I have made to-day,"
said Janetta, rather thoughtfully, as she was undressmg
herself that night ; '' and each of^them turns on the same
subject — on being a friend to some one who needs friend-
ship. The vocation of some women is to be a loving
daughter, a true wife, or a good mother ; mine, perhaps, is
to be above everything else a true friend. I don't think
my promises will be hard to keep ! "

But even Janetta, in her wisdom, could not foresee what
was yet to come.

CHAPTER XII.

JANETTA REMONSTRATES.

It was with a beating heart that Janetta, a few days later,
crossed once more the threshold of her cousin's house.
Her father's words about Mrs. Brand had impressed her
rather painfully, and she felt some shyness and constraint
at the thought of the reason which he had given her for
coming. How she was to set about helping or comforting
Mrs. Brand she had not the least idea.

These thoughts were, however, put to flight by an un-
looked-for scene, which broke upon her sight as she
entered the hall. This hall had to be crossed before any
of the other rooms could be reached \ it was low-ceiled,
paneled in oak, and lighted by rather small windows, with
stained glass in the lower panes. Like most rooms in the
house it had a gloomy look, which was not relieved by the

A TRUE FRIEND,

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V*'

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square of faded Turkey carpet in tlie centre of the black
polished hoards of the floor, or by the half-dozen dusky
portraits in oak frames which garnished the walls. When
Janetta was ushered in she found this ante-room, or en-
trance chamber occupied by three persons and a child.
These, as she speedily found, consisted of Wyvis Brand
and his little boy, and two gentlemen, one of whom was
laughing immoderately, while the other was leaning over
the back of the chair and addressing little Julian.

Janetta halted for a moment, for the old servant who
had admitted her seemed to think that his work was done
when he had uttered her name, and had already retreated ;
and his voice being exceedingly feeble, the announcement
ha,d passed unnoticed by the majority of the persons pre-
sent, if not by all. Wyvis Brand had perhaps seen her,
for his eyes were keen, and the shado^v in which she stood
was not likely to veil her from his sight ; but he gave no
sigB of being conscious of her presence. He was standing
with his back to the mantel-piece, his arms crossed behind
his head ; there was a curious expression on his face, half-
imile, half-sneer, but it was evident that he was merely
looking and listening, not interfering with what was going
on.

It needed only a glance to see that little Julian was in a
state of extraordinary excitement. His face was crimson,
his eyes were sparkling and yet full of tears ; his legs were
planted sturdily apart, and his hands were clenched. His
head was drawn back, and his whole body also seemed as
if it wanted to recoil, but placed as he was against a strong
oaken table he could evidently go back no further. The
gentleman on the chair was offering him something —
Janetta could not at first see what — and the boy was
vehemently resisting.

" I won't have it ! I won't have it ! " he was crying, with
the whole force of his lungs. " I won't toiiph it I Take the
nasty stuff away ! "

Janetta wondered whether it were medici^ he was
refusing, and why his father did not insist upon obedience.
But Wyvis Brand, still standing by the mantel piece, only
laughed aloud.

^ No shirking ! Drink it up ! " said the strange gentle-
man, in what Janetta thought a curiously unpleasant voice.
*' Come, come, it will make a man of you **

A TRUE FRIEND,

" I don't want to be made a man of 1 I won't touch it 1
I promised I never would I You can't make me 1 "

You must be taught not to make rash promisesi" laid
the man, laughing. " Come now "

But little Julian had suddenly caught sight of Janetta's
figure at the door, and with a great bound he escaped from
his tormentor and flung himself upon her, burying his face
in her dress, and clutching its folds as if he would never
let them go,

♦* It's the lady 1 the lady 1 " he gasped out. " Oh, please
don't let them make me drink it 1 Indeed, I promised
not."

Janetta came forward a little, and at her appearance
every one looked more or less discomfited. The gentle-
man on the chair she recognized as a Mr Strangways, a man
of notoriously evil life, who had a house near Beaminster,
and was generally shunned by respectable people in the
neighborhood. He started up, and looked at her with
what she felt to be a rather insolent gaze. Wyvis Brand
stood erect, and looked sullen. The other gentleman, who
was a stranger, rose from his chair in a civiller manner than
his friend had done.

Janetta put her arms round the little fellow, and turned
a rather bewildered face towards Mr. Brand. " Was it —
was it — medicine ?." she asked.

" Of a kind," said Wyvis, with a lau^h.

"It was brandy — eau-de-vie — horrid hot stuff that
maman used to drink," said little Julian, with a burst of
angry sobs, " and I prom^'<'ed not — I oromised old Susan
that I never would I "

" It was only a joke," said the master of the house,
coming forward now, and anxious perhaps to avert the
storm threatened by a sudden indignant flash of Janetta's
great dark eyes. " We were not in earnest of course*" (A
smothered laugh and ejaculation from Mr. Strangways
passed without notice.) " The boy does not know how to
take a joke — he's a milksop."

" I'm not ! I'm not ! " said little Julian, still struggling
with violent sobs. " I'm not a milksop I Oh, say that I'm
not ! * Do tell father that I'm not— not "

" Certainly you are not. You are a very brave little boy,
and know how to keep your word," said Janetta, with de-
cision. " And now you must come with me to your ^rand-
•*^other j I came to see her this afternoon."'

lipiw^iiipiinpiilPMnii^plPnn

m^mm

Lupippptii iyiiiiiii jwrnm

96 J TRUE FRIEND.

' She gathered him into her strong, young arms as if she
would have carried him from the room, but he struggled
manfully to keep his feet, although he still held her dress.
Without a word, Wyvis strode to the door and held it open
for the pair. Janetta forgot to thank him, or to greet him
in any way. She swept past him in a transport of silent
fury, flashing upon him one look of indignation which
Wyvis Brand did not easily forget. It even deafened him
for a moment to the sneering comment of Mx. Strang-
ways, which fell on Janetta's ears just as she was leaving
the room.

" That's a regular granny's boy. Well for him if he
always gets a pretty girl to help him out of a difficulty."

Wyvis, who had stood for a moment as if transfixed by
Janetta's glance, hastily shut the door.

Janetta paused in the corridor outside. She was flushed
and panting ; she felt that she could not present herself to
Mrs. Brand in that state. She held the boy close to her,
and listened while he poured forth his story in sobbing
indistinctness.

" Old Susan — she was their English servant — she had
been always with maman — she had told him that brandy
made people mad and wicked — and he did not want to be
mad and wicked — and he had promised Susan never to
drink brandy ; and the naughty gentleman wanted him to
take it, and he would not — would not — ^would not 1 "

" Hush, dear," said Janetta, gently. " There is no need
to cry over it. You know you kept your word as a gentle«
man should."

The boy's eyes flashed through his tears. "Fathei
thinks I'm a — I'm a milksop," he faltered.

* Show him that you are not," said Janetta. She saw
that it was no use to talk to Julian as to a baby. " If you
are always brave and manly he won't think so."

" I will be always brave," said the little fellow, choking
back his sobs and regarding her with the clear, fearless
gaze which she had noticed in him from the first. And at
this moment a door opened, and Mrs. Brand, who had
heard voices, came out in some surorise to see what was
the matter.

Janetta was glad to see the loving way in which the boy
ran into his grandmother's arms, and the tenderness with
which she received him, Mrs. ^cand courteously invited

A TRUE PRIB17D,

h{n: IsfQetft into the drawing-room, but her attention was
given far more to little Julian than to Janetta, and in two
minutes he had poured the whole story into her ear. Mrs*
Brand did not say much ; she sat with him in her lap look-
ing excessively pained and grieved ; and that frozen look
of pain upon her face made Janetta long — but long in vain
— to comfort her. Tea was brought in by-and-bye, and
then Julian was dismissed to his nursery — ^whither he went
reluctantly; holding his face up to be kissed by Janetta,
and asking her to " come back soon." And when he was
gone, Mrs. Brand seemed unable to contain herself any
longer, and broke forth passionately.

** A curse is on us all — I am sure of that. The boy will
be ruined, and by his father too."

" Oh, no," Janetta said, earnestly. " His father would
not really hurt him, I feel sure."

'' You do not know my son. He is like his own father,
my husband — and that is the way my husband began witV
Wyvis."

" But — he did not succeed ? "

" Not altogether, because Wyvis had a strong head, and
drew back in time ; but his father did him harm — untold
harm. His father was a bad man. I do not scruple to
say so, although he was my husband ; and there is a taint,
a sort of wild strain, in the blood. Even the boy inherits
it ; I see that too clearly. And Wyvis — ^Wyvis will not
hold himself in for long. He is falling amongst those
racing and betting men again — the Strangrvays were always
to be feared — and before long he will tread in his father's
steps and break my heart, and bring down my grey hairs
with sorrow to the grave.

She burst into a passion of tears as she spoke. Janetta
felt inexpressibly shocked and startled. This revelation
of a dark side of life was new and appalling to here She
could hardly understand Mrs. Brand's dark anticipations.

She took the mother's hand and held it gently between
her own, uttering some few soothing sentences a? she did
so. Presently the poor woman's sobs grew quieter, and
she returned the pressure of Janetta's hand.

" Thank you, my dear," she said at last. " You have a
very kind heart. But it is no use telling me to be com-
forted. I understand my sons, as I understood my hus-

7 ■ ^ ■

K<\

■^1

liPPWPiHf!

wmmm

mmmmmmmm^

98 A TRUE FRIEND,

band before ttiem. They cannot help it. What is in the
blood will come out."

" Surely," said Janetta, in a very low tone, " there is
always the might and the mercy of God to fall back upon
— to help us when we cannot help ourselves."

*^ Ah, my dear, if I could believe in that I should be a
happier woman," said Mrs. Brand, sorrowfully.

tanetta stayed a little longer, and when she went the
elder woman allowed herself to be kissed affectionately,
and asked in a wistful tone, as Julian had done, when she
would come again.

The girl was glad to find that the hall was empty when
she crossed it again. She had no fancy for encountering
the insolent looks (as she phrased it to herself) of Wyvis
Brand and his hateful friends. But she had reckoned
without her host. For when she reached the gate into the
high-road, she found Mr. Brand leaning against it with his
elbows resting on the topmost bar, and his eyes gloomily
fixed on the distant landscape. He started when he saw
her, raised his hat and opened the gate with punctilious
politeness. Janetta bowed her thanks, but without any
smile ; she was not at all in charity with her cousin, Wyvis
Brand.

He allowed her to pass him, but before she had gone half
a dozen yards, he strode after her and caught her up.
" Will you let me have a few words with you ? " he said,
rather hoarsely.

" Certainly, Mr. Brand." Janetta turned and faced him,
still with the disapproving gravity upon her brow.

" Can't we walk on for a few paces ? " said Wyvis, with
evident embarrassment. " I can say what I want to say
better while we are walking. Besides, they can see us from
the house if we stand here."

Privately Janetta thought that this would be no draw-
back, but she did not care to make objections, so turned
once more and walked on silently.

" I want to speak to you," said the man, presently, with
something of a shamefaced air, " about the little scene you
came upon this afternoon "

"Yes," said Janetta. She did not know how con-
temptuously het- lips curled as she said the word.

"You came at an unfortunate moment," he went on,
awkwardly enough. ".I was about to interpose ; I should

A TRUE FRIEND,

the

is
>on

e a

the

:ely,
she

irhen

jring

^yvis

oned

othe

thhis

omily

e saw

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^Vyvis

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:r up.
said,

him,

L with
jo say
from

Idraw-
irned

I, with
leyou

con-
It on,
Ihould

not have allowed Jack Strangways to go too far. Of course
you thought that I did not care."

" Yes,' said Janetta, straightforwardly. Wyvis bit his
lip.

" I am not quite so thoughtless of my son's welfare," he
said, in a firmer tone. " There was enough in that glass
to madden a child — almost to kill him. You don't suppose
I would have let him take that ? "

" I don't know. You were offering no objection to it
when I came in."

" Do you doubt my word ? " said Wyvis, fiercely.

" No. I believe you, if you mean really to say that you
were not going to allow your little boy to drink what Mr.
Strangways offered him."

" I do mean to say it " — in a tone of hot anger.

Janetta was silent.

* Have you nothin^; to say, Miss Colwyn ? "

** I have no right to express any opinion, Mr. Brand."

" But I wish for it ! "

" I do not see why you should wish for it," said Janetta,
coldly, " especially when it may not be very agreeable to
you to hear."

** Will you kindly tell me what you mean ? " The words
were civil, but the tone was imperious in the extreme.

"I mean that whether you were going to make Julian
drink that poisonous stuff or not, you were inflicting a
horrible torture upon him," said Janetta, as hotly as Wyvis
himself could have spoken. " And I cannot understand
how you could allow your own child to be treated in that
cruel way. I call it wicked to make a child suffer."

Had she looked at her companion, she would have seen
that his face had grown a little whiter than usual, and that
he had the pinched look about his nostrils which — as his
mother would have known — ^betokened rage. But she did
not look ; and, although he paused for a moment before
replying, his voice was quite calm when he spoke again.

" Torture ? Suffering ? These are very strong words
when applied to a little harmless teasing."

" I do not call it harmless teasing when you are trying
to make a child break a promise that he holds sacred."

" A very foolish promise ! "

" I am not so sure of that." »

" Do you mean to insult me ? " said Wyvis, flushing to
the roots of his hair. *

rmiff

v^^m^fif^p

A TRUE PRIRlfD.

** Insult you ? No ; certainly not. I don't know why
you should say so 1 "

" Then I need not explain/' he answered drily, though
still with that flush of annoyance on his face. ** Perhaps
if you think over what you have heard of that boy's ante-
cedents, you will know what I mean."

It was Janetta's turn to flush now. She remembered the
stories current respecting old Mr. Brand's drinking habits,
and the rumors about Mrs. Wy vis Brand's reasons for living
away from her husband. She saw that her words had
struck home in a manner which she had not intended.

" I beg your pardon/' she said involuntarily ; " I never
meant — I never thought — anything — I ought not to have
spoken as I did."

, "You had much better say what you mean," was the
answe**, spoken with bitter brevity.

" Well, then, I will." Janetta raised her eyes and looked
at him bravely. " After all, I am a kinswoman of yours,
Mr. Brand, and little Julian is my cousin too ; so I Aave
some sort of a right to speak. I never thought of his
antecedents, as you call them, and I do not know much
about them ; but if they were — if they had been not
altogether what you wish them to be — don't you see that
this very promise which you tried to make him break was
one of his best safeguards ? "

" The promise made by a child is no safeguard," said
Wyvis, doggedly.

** Not if he is forced to break it ) " exclaimed Janetta,
with a touch of fire.

They walked on in silence for a minute or two, and then
Wyvis said,

** Do you believe in a promise made by a child of that
age?*'

" Little Julian has made me believe in it. He was so
thoroughly in earnest. Oh, Mr. Brand, do you think that
it was ri^ht to force him to do a thing against his con-
science m that way ? '*

" You use hard words for a very simple thing. Miss
Colwyn," said Wyvis, in a rather angry tone. " The boy
was not forced — I had no intention of letting him drink the
brandy."

" No," said Janetta, indignantly. " You only let him
think that he was to be forced to do it — ^you only made him

A TRUE FMISND,

tot

.«j faith in you as his natural protector, and believe that
you wished him to do what he thought wrong ! And you
say there was no cruelty in that ? "

Wyvis Brand kept silence for some minutes. He was
impressed in spite of himself by Janetta's fervor.

** I suppose," he said, at last, " that the fact is — I don't
know what to do with a child. I never had any terching
or training when I was a child, and I don't know how to
ffive it. I know I'm a sort of heathen and savage, and the
boy must grow up like me — that is all."

*' It is often said to be a heathen virtue to keep one's
word," said Janetta, with a half smile.

" Therefore one that I can practice,* you mean ? Do you
always keep your word when you give it ? "

" I try to."

" I wish I could get you to give your word to do one
thing."

" What is that ? "

Wyvis spoke slowly. " You see how unfit I am to bring
up a child — I acknowledge the unfitness — and yet to send
him away from us would almost break my mother's heart
— you see that."

"Yes."

" Will not you sometimes look in on us and give us a
word of advice or — or — rebuke ? You are a cousin, as
you reminded me, and you have the right. Will you help
us a little now and then ? "

" You would not like it if I did."

" Was I so very savage ? I have an awful temper, I
know. But I am not quite so black as I'm painted. Miss
Colwyn. I do want to do the best for that boy — if I knew
how "

"Witness this aft rnoon," said Janetta, with good-
humored satire.

" Well, that shows that I don*t know how. Seriously,
I am sorry — I can't say more. Won't you stand our friend,
Cousin Janetta ? "

It was the first time he had addressed her in that way.

" How often am I to be asked to be somebody's friend,
I wonder 1 " said Janetta to herself, with a touch of humor.
But she answered, quite gravely, " I should like to do
what I can — ^but I'm afraid there is nothing that I can do,
especially " — with a sudden flush — " if your friends — the

I09

A TRUE FRIEND.

people who come to your house — are men like Mr. Strang-
ways."

Wyvis looked at her sideways, with a curious look upon
his face.

" You object to Mr. Strangways ? "

" He is a man whom most people object to."

" Well — if I give up Mr. Strangways and his kind "

" Oh, will you. Cousin Wyvis ? "

Sh(» turned an eager, sparkling face upon him. It oc-
currc^d to him, almost for the first time, to admire her. With
that light in her eye, that color in her cheek, Janetta was
almost beautiful. He smiled.

" I shall be only too glad of an excuse," he said, with
more simplicity and earnestness than she had as yet
distinguished in his voice. " And then — you will come
again ? "

I will— gladly."

Shake hands on it after your English fashion," he said,
stopping short; and holding out his own hand. " I have
been so long abroad that I almost forget the way. But it
is a sign of friendliness, is it not? "

Janetta turned and laid her hand in his with a look of
bright and trustful confidence. Somehow it made Wyvis
Brand feel himself unworthy. He said almost nothing
more until they parted at Mr. Colwyn's door.

CHAPTER XIII.

..c

SHADOWS.

But Janetta 'lad not much chance of keeping her promise
for some time to come. She was alarmed to find, on her
return home that evening, that her father had come
in sick and shivering, with all the symptoms of a violent
cold, followed shortly by high fever. He had caught
a chill during a long drive undertaken in order to see
a -lotherless child who had been suddenly taken ill,
and in whose case he took a great interest. The child
rapidly recovered, but Mr. Colwyn's illness had a serious
termination. Pleurisy came on, and made such rapid in-
roads upon his strength that in a very few days his recov-

A TRUE FRIEND,

103

ery was pronounced impossible. Gradually growing weaker
and weaker, he was not able even to give couisel or direc-
tion to his family, and could only whisper to Janetta, who
was his devoted nurse, a few words about " taking care "
of the rest.

" I wi'il always do my very best for them, father ; you
may be sure of that," said Janetta, earnestly. The look
of anxious pain in his eyes gave her the strength to speak
firmly — she must set his mind at ease at any cost.

" My faithful Janet," she heard him whisper ; and then
he spoke no more. With his hand still clasped in hers he
died in the early morning of a chill October day, and the
world of Beaminster knew him no more.

The world seemed sadly changed for Janetta when her
father had gone forth from it ; and yet it was not she who
made the greatest demonstration of mourning. Mrs. Col-
wyn passed from one hysterical fit into another, and Nora
sobbed herself ill ; but Janetta went about her duties with
a calm and settled gravity, a sober tearlessness, which
caused her stepmother to dub her cold and heartless half
a dozen times a day. As a matter of fact the girl felt as if
her heart were breaking, but there was no one but herself
to bear any of the commonplace little burdens of daily life
which are so hard to carry in the time of trouble ; and but
for her thoughtful presence of mind the whole house would
have degenerated into a state of chaos. She wrote neces-
sary letters, made arrangements for the sad offices which
were all that could be rendered to her father now, inter-
viewed the dressmaker, and ordered meals for the children.
It was to her that the servants and tradespeople came for
orders ; it was she who kept her mother's room quiet, and
nursed Nora, and provided necessary occupation for the
awed and bewildered children.

** You c'on't seem to feel it a bit, Janetta," Mrs. Colwyn
said to her on the day before the funeral. " And I'm sure
you were always your father's favorite. He never cared
half so munh for any of the children as he did for you, and
now you can't even give him a tributary tear."

Mrs. Colwyn was fond of stilted expressions, and the
thought of " a tributary tear " seemed so incongruous to
Janetta when compared with her own deep grief, that —
much to Mrs. Colwyn's horror — she burst into an agitated
little laugh, as nervous people sometimes do on the most
solemn occasions.

104

A TRUE FRIEND,

** To laugh when your father is lying dead in the house 1 "
ejaculated Mrs. Colwyn, with awful emj basis. " And you
that he thought so loving and dutiful 1 "

Then poor Janetta collapsed. She was worn out with
watching and working, and from nervous laughter she
passed to tears so heart-broken and so exhausting that
Mrs. Colwyn never again dared to accuse her openly of
insensibility. And perhaps it was a good thing for Janetta
that she did break down in this way. The doctor who had
attended her father was growing very uneasy about her.
He had not been deceived by her apparent calmness.
Her white face and dark-ringed eyes had told him all that
Janetta could not say. " A good thing too ! " he muttered
when, on a subsequent call, Tiny told him, with rather a
look of consternation, that her sister " had been crying."
" A good thing too ! If she had not cried she would have
had a nervous fever before long, and then what would be-
come of you all ? "

During these dark days Janetta was inexpressibly touched
by the marks of sympathy that reached her from all sides.
Country people trudged long distances into town that they
might gaze once more on the worn face of the man who had
often assuaged not only physical but mental pain, and had
been as ready to help and comfort as to prescribe. Towns-
folk sent flowers for the dead and dainties for the living ;
but better than all their gifts was the regret that they
expressed for the death of a man whom everyone liked and
respected. Mr. Colwyn's practice, though never very lucra-
tive, had been an exceedingly large one ; and only when
he had passed away did his townsfolk seem to appreciate
him at his true worth.

In the sad absorption of mind which followed upon his
death, Janetta almost forgot her cousins, the Brands. But
when the funeral took place, and she went with her brother
Joe to the grave, as she insisted upon doing in spite of her ,
stepmother's tearful remonstrances, it was a sort of relief
and satisfaction to her to see that both W} vis and Cuthbert
Brand were present. They were her kinsmen, after all, and
it was right for them to be there. It made her feel momen-
tarily stronger to know of their presence in the church.

But at t'le grave she forgot them utterly The beautiful
and consoling words of the Burial Service fell almost un-
heeded on her ear. She could only think of the blank

A TRUE FRIEND,

105.

jey
ind

ate

that was made in her life by the absence of that loving
voice, that tender sympathy, which had never failed her
once. " My faithful Janet ! " he had called her. There
was no one to call her " my faithful Janet " now.

She was shaken by a storm of silent sobs as these thoughts
came over her. She made scarcely a sound, but her figure
was swayed by the tempest as if it would have fallen. Joe,
the young brother, who could as yet scarcely realize the
magnitude of the loss which he had sustained, glanced at
her uneasily ; but it was not he, but Wyvis Brand, who
suddenly made a step forward and gave her — ^just in time
— the support of his strong arm. The movement checked
her and recalled her to herself. Her weeping grew less
violent, and although strong shudders still shook her
frame, she was able to walk quietly from the grave to the
carriage-door, and to shake hands with Wyvis Brand with
some attempt at calmness of demeanor.

He came to the house a few days after the funeral, but
Janetta happened to be out, and Mrs. Colwyn refused to
see him. Possibly he thought that some slight lurked
within this refusal, for he did not come again, and a visit
at a later date from Mrs. Brand was so entirely embarrass-
ing and unsatisfactory that Janetta could hardly wish
for its repetition. Mrs. Colwyn, in the deepest of widow's
weeds, with a white handkerchief in her hand, was yet not
too much overcome by grief to show that she esteemed
herself far more respectable than Mrs. Brand, and could
" set her down," if necessary ; while poor Mrs. Brand,
evidently comprehending the reason of Mrs. Colwyn's
bridlings and tossings, was nervous and flurried, sat on the
edge of a chair, and looked — poor, helpless, elderly woman
— as if she had never entered a drawing-room before.

The only comfort Janetta had out of the visit was a
moment's conversation in the hall when Mrs. Brand took
her leave.

" My dear — my dear," said Mrs. Brand, taking the girl's-
hand in hers, *' I am so sorry, and I can't do anything to
comfort you. Your father was very kind to me when I
was in great trouble, years ago. I shall never forget his
goodness. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you
must let me do it for his sake."

Janetta put up her face and kissed the woman to whom
her father had been " very kind." It comforted her to

.1?^

io6

A TRUE FRIEND.

hear of his goodnens once again. She loved Mrs. Brand
for appreciating it.

That little sentence or two did her more good than the
long letters which she was receiving every few days from
Margaret, her chosen friend. Margaret was sincerely
grieved for Janetta's loss, and said many consoling things
in her sweet, tranquil, rather devotional way ; but she had
not known Mr. Colwyn, and she could not say the words
that Janetta's heart was aching for — the words of praise
and admiration of a nobly unselfish life which alone could
do Janetta any good. Yes, Margaret's letters were dis-
tinctly unsatisfactory — not from want of feeling, but from
want of experience of life.

Graver necessities soon arose, however, than those of
consolation in grief. Mr. Colwyn had always been a poor
man, and the sum for v/hich he had insured his life was
only sufficient to pay his debts and funeral expenses, and
to leave a very small balance at his banker's. He had
bought the house in Gwynne Street in which he lived, and
there was no need, therefore, to seek for another home ;
and Mrs. Colwyn had fifty pounds a year of her own, but
of course it was necessary that the two elder girls should
do something for themselves. Nora obtained almost
immediately a post as under-teacher in a school not far
from Beaminster, and Georgie was taken in as a sort of
governess-pupil, while Joe was offered — chiefly out of con-
sideration for his father's memory — a clerkship in a mer-
cantile house in the town, and was considered to be well
provided for. Curly, one of the younger boys, obtained
a nomination to a naval school in London. Thus only
Mrs. Colwyn, Tiny, and " Jinks " remained at home —
with Janetta.

With Janetta! — That was the difficulty. What was
Janetta to do? She might probably with considerable
ease have obtained a position as resident governess in a
family, but then she would have to be absent from home
altogether. And of late the Colwyns had found it best
to dispense with the maid-servant who had hitherto done
the work of the household — a fact which meant that Jan-
etta, with the help of a charity orphan of thirteen, did it
nearly all herself.

" I might seni home enough money for you to keep an
efficient servant, mamma," she said one day, " if I could
go away and find a good situation."

A TRUE FRIEND.

107

It never occurred either to her or to her stepmother
that any of her earnings were to belong to Janetta, or be
used for her behoof.

" It would have to be a very good situation indeed,
then," said Mrs. Colwyn, with sharpness. " I don't sup-
pose you could get more than fifty pounds a year — ^if so
much. And fifty pounds would not go far if we had a
woman in the house to feed and pay wages to. No, you
had better stay at home and get some daily teaching in the
neighborhood. With your recommendations it ought to be
easy enough for you to do so."

** I am afraid not," said Janetta, with a little sigh.

" Nonsense ! You could get some if you tried — if you
had any energy, any spirit. I suppose you would like to
sit with your hands before you, doing nothing, while I
slaved my fingers to the bone for you," said Mrs. Colwyn,
who never got up till noon, or did anything but gossip and
read novels when she was up ; " but I would be ashamed
to do that if I were a well-educated girl, whose father spent
I don't know how much on her voice, and expected her to
make a living for herself by the time she was one-and-
twenty ! I must say, Janetta, that I think it very wrong
of you to be so slack in trying to earn a little money, when
Nora and Georgie and Joey are all out in the world doing
for themselves, and you sitting here at home doing nothing
at all."

"Ian sorry, mamma," said Janetta, meekly. "I will
try to get something to do at once." '

She did not think of reminding Mrs. Colwyn that she
had been up since six o'clock that morning helping the
charity orphan to scrub and scour, cooking, making beds,
sewing, teaching Tiny between whiles, and scarcely get-
ting five minutes' rest until dinner-time. She only began
to wonder how she could manage to get all her tasks into
the day if she had lefisons to give as well. " I suppose I
must sit up at night and get up earlier in the morning,"
she thought to herself. " It is a pity I am such a sleepy
person. But use reconciles one to all things."

Mrs. Colwyn meanwhile went on lecturing.

" And above all things, Janetta, remember that you ask
high terms and get the money always in advance. You
are just like your poor father in the way you have about
money; I never saw anyone so unpractical as he was.

xo8

A TRUE FRIEND,

I'm sure half his bills are unpaid yet, and never will be
paid. I hope you won't be like him, I'm sure "

" I hope I shall be like him in every possible respect,"
said Janetta, with compressed lips. She rose as she spoke
and caught up the basket of socks that she was mending.
** I don't know how you can bear to speak of him in that
slighting manner," she went on, almost passionately.
" He was the best, the kindest of men, and I cannot bear
to hear it." And then she hurriedly left the room and
went into her father's little surgery — as it had once been
called — to relieve her overcharged heart with a burst of
weeping. It was not often that Janetta lost patience, but
a word against her father was sufficient to upset her self-
command nowadays. She rested her head against the
well-worn arm-chair where he used to sit, and kissed the
back of it, and bedewed it with her tears.

" Poor father ! dear father ! " she murmured. " Oh, if
only you were here, I could bear anything ! Or if she had
loved you as you deserved, I could bear with her and work
for her willingly — cheerfully. But when she speaks
against you, father dear, how can I live with her? And
yet he told me to take care of her, and I said I would.
He called me * his faithful Janet.' I do not want to be
unfaithful, but — oh father, father, it is hard to live without
you 1 "

The gathering shades of the wintry day began to gather
round her ; but Janetta, her face buried in the depths of
the arm-chair, was oblivious of time.* It was almost dark
before little Tiny came running in with cries of terror to
summon her sister to Mrs. Colwyn's help.

" Mamma's ill — I think she's dying. Come, Janet, come,"
cried the child. And Janetta hurried back to the dining-
room.

She found Mrs. Colwyn on the sofa in a state of" apparent
stupor. For this at first Janetta saw no reason, and was
on the point of sending for a doctor, when her eye fell
upon a black object which had rolled from the sofa to the
ground. Janetta. looked at it and stood transfixed.

There was no need to send for a doctor. And Janetta
saw at once that she could not be spared from home. The
wretched woman had found a solace from her woes, real
and imaginary, in the brandy bottle.

A TRUE FRIENIK

CHAPTER XIV.

janetta's failure.

The terrible certainty that Janetta had now acquired of
Mrs. Colwyn's inability to control herself decided her in
the choice of an occupation. Sh^ knew that she must, if
possible, earn something ; but it was equally impossible
for her to leave home entirely, or even for many hours at
a stretch ; she was quite convmced that constant watching,
and even gentle restraint, could alone prevail in checking
the tendency which her stepmother evinced. She under-
stood now better than she had ever done why her father's
brow had been so early wrinkled and his hair grey before
its time. Doubts ls, he had discovered his wife's unfor-
tunate tendency, and, while carefully concealing it or
keeping it within bounds, had allowed it often to weigh
heavily upon hii3 mind, "^anetta realized with a great
shock that she could not hope to exert the influence or the
authority of her father, that all her efforts might possibly
be unavailing unless they were seconded by Mrs. Colwyri
herself, and that public disgrace might yet be added to the
troubles and anxieties of their lives.

There is something so particularly revolting in the
spectacle of this kind of degradation in a woman, that
Janetta felt as if the discovery that she had made turned
her positively ill. She had much ado to behave to the
children and the servant as if nothing were amiss ; she got
her stepmother to bed, and kept Tiny out of the room,
but the effort was almost more than she knew how to bear.
She passed a melancholy evening with the children —
melancholy in spite of herself, for she did her best to be
cheerful — and spent a sleepless night, rising in the morning
with a bad headache and a conviction as of the worthless-
ness of all things which she did not very often experience.

She shrank sensitively from going to Mrs. Colwyn's
room. Surely the poor woman would be overcome with
pain and shame ; surely she would understand how terrible

f..

;'«

A TRUE FRIEND,

the exposure of her disgrace had been to Janetta. Biit at
last Mrs. Colwyn's bell sounded sharply, and continued to
ring, and the girl was obliged to run upstairs and enter her
stepmother's room.

Mrs. Colwyn was sitting up in bed, with the bell-rope in
her hand, an aggrieved expression upon her face.

" Well, I'm sure ! Nine o'clock and no breakfast ready
for me ! I suppose I may wait until everybody else in the
house is served first ; I must say, Janetta, that you are very
thoughtless of my comfort."

Contrary to her usual custom Janetta offered no word of
excuse or apology. She was too much taken aback to
speak. She stood and looked at her stepmother with
slightly dilated eyes, and neither moved nor spoke.

" What are you staring at ? " said Mrs. Colwyn, sinking
back on her pillows with a faint — very faint — touch of
uneasiness in her tones. ** If you are in a sulky mood,
Janetta, I wish you would go away, and send my breakfast
up by Phcebe and Tiny. I have a wretched headache this
morning and can't be bothered."

" What would you like ? " said Janetta, with an effort.

" Oh, anything. Some coffee and toast, perhaps. I dare
say you won't believe it — you are so unsympathetic — but I
was frightfully ill last night. I don't know how I got to
bed ; I was quite insensible for a time — all from a narcotic
that I had t^ken for neuralgia "

"I'll go an(i get ypur breakfast ready," said J^inetta
abruptly. " I will send it up as soon as I can."

She left the room, unheeding some murmured grumbling
at her selfishness, and shut the door behind her. On the
landing it must be confessed that she struck her foot
angrily on the floor and clenched her hands,, while the
color flushed into her mobile, sensitive little face. There
was nothing that Janetta hated more than a lie. And her
stepmother was lying to her now.

She sent up the breakfast tray, and did not re-enter tne
room for some time. When at last she came up, Mrs.
Colwyn had had the fire lighted and was sitting beside it
in a rocking-chair, with a novel on her lap. She looked up
indolently as Janetta entered.

" Going out ? " she said, noticing that the girl was in
her out-door wraps. *' You are always gadding."

" I came to speak to you before I went out," said

A TRUE FRIEND,

III

Janetta, patiently. " I am going to the stationer's, and to
the Beaminster Argus Office. I mean to make it well
known in the town that I want to give music and singing-
lessons. And, if possible, I shall give them here — at our
own house."

" You'll do nothing of the sort ! " said Mrs. Colwyn,
shrilly. " I'll not have a pack of children about the house
playing scales and sin'^ing their Do, Re, Mi, till my head
is fit to split. You'll remember, Miss, that this is my house,
and that you a ' living on my money, and behave your-
self."

** Mamma," said Janetta, steadily, advancing a step
nearer, and turning a shade paler . than she had been
before, " please think what you are saying. I am willing
to work as hard as I can, and earn as much as I can. But
I dare not go away from home — at any rate for long-—
unless I can feel sure that — that what happened last night
— will not occur again."

" What happened ! — what happened last night ? — I don't
know what you mean."

" Don't say that, mamma : you know — ^you know quite
well. And think what a grief it would have been to dear
father-^— what a disgrace it will be to Joe and Nora and the
little ones and all of us — if it ever became known ! Think
of yourself, and the shame and the sin of it ! "

" I've not the least notion what you are talking about,
Janetta, and I beg that you w:ill not address me in that
way," said Mrs. Colwyn, with an attempt at dignity. " It
is very undutiful indeed, and I hope that I shall hear no
more of it."

" I'll never speak of it again, mamma, unless you make
it necessary. AH I mean is that you must understand — I
cannot feel safe now — I must be at home as much as
possible to see that Tiny is safe, and that everything is
going on well. You must please let me advertise for
pupils in our own house."

Mrs. Colwyn burst into tears'. ** Oh, well, have your
own way ! I knew that you would tyrannize, you always
do whenever you get the chance, and very foolish I have
been to give you the opportunity. To-spe^k in that way
to your father's wife — and all because she had to take a
'""ie something for her | nerves, and because of her

iralgia ! But I '^am nobody now {'nobojdy, evenjn.my

little
neui

A TRUE FRIEND,

own house, where I'm sure I ought to be mistress if any-
body isl"

Janetta could do or say nothing more. She gave her
stepmother a dose of sal volatile, and went away. She
had already searched every room and every cupboard in
the house, except in Mrs. Colwyn's own domain, and had

Cut every bottle that she could find under lock and ke^ ;
ut she left the house with a feeling of terrible insecunty
upon her, as if the earth might open at any moment
beneath her feet.

She put advertisements in the local papers and left
notices at some of the Beaminster shops, and, when these
attempts produced no results, she called systematically on
all the people she knew, and did her best — very much
against the grain — to ask for pupils. Thanks to her
perseverance she soon got three or four children as music
pupils, although at a very low rate of remuneration. Also,
she gave two singing lessons weekly to the daughter of the
grocer with whom the Colwyns dealt. But these were not
paid for in money, but in kind. And then for a time she
got no more pupils at all.

Janetta was somewhat puzzled by her failure. She had
fully expected to succeed as a teacher in Beaminster.
*' When the Adairs come back it will be better," she said,
hopefully, to herself. " They have not written for a long
time, but I am sure that they will come home soon. Per-
haps Margaret is going to be married and will not want
any singing lessons. But I should think that they would
recommend me : I should think that I might refer to Lad^
Caroline, and surely people would think more of my abili-
ties then."

But it was not confidence in her abilities that was lack-
ing so much as confidence in her amiability and discre-
tion, she soon found. She called one day at the house of
a schoolmistress, who was said to want assistance in the
musical line, and was received with a stiffness which did
not encourage her to make much of her qualifications.

" The fact is, Miss Colw)m," said the preceptress at
length, '' I have heard of you from Miss Polehampton."

Janetta was on her feet in a moment. " I know very well
what that means," she said, rather defiantly.

<< Exactly. I see that Miss Polehampton's opinion of
|oa 18 justifiable. You will excuse my mentionii^; to you^

to^
ref
mil

A TRUE FRIEND,

as it is all for your own good, Miss Colwyn, that Miss
Polehampton found in you some little weakness of temper,
some want of the submissiveness and good sense which
ought to characterize an under-teacher's demeanor. I
have great confidence in Miss Polehampton's opinion."

*' The circumstances under which I left Miss Polehamp-
ton's could be easily explained if you would allow me to
refer you to Lady Caroline Adair/' said Janetta, with
mingled spirit and dignity.

"Lady Caroline Adair? Oh, yes, ^ have heard all
about that," said the schoolmistress, in a tone of deprecia-
tion. ** I do not need to hear any other version of the
story. You must excuse my remarking. Miss Colwyn,
that temper and sense are qualities as valuable in music-
teaching as in any other ; and that your dismissal from
Miss Polehampton's will, in my opinion, be very much
against you, in a place where ^xiss Polehampton's school
is so well known, and she herself is so much respected."

" I am sorry to have troubled you," said Janetta, not
without stateliness, although her lips trembled a little as she
spoke. " I will wish you good-morning."

The schoolmistress bowed solemnly, and allowed the
girl .to depart. Janetta hastened out of the house — glad
to get away before the tears that had gathered in her eyes
could fall.

At an ordinary time she would have been equally care-
ful that they did not fall when she was in the street ; but
on this occasion, dazed, wounded, and tormented by an
anxiety about the future, which was beginning to take the
spring out of her youth, she moved along the side-walk
with perfect unconsciousness that her eyes were brim-
ming over, and that two great tears were already on her
cheeks.

It was a quiet road, and there was little likelihood of
encountering any one whom she knew. Therefore Janetta
was utterly abashed when a gentleman, who had met her,
took off his hat, glanced at her curiously, and then turned
back as if by a sudden impulse, and addressed her by
name.

" Miss Colwyn, I think ? "

She looked up at him through a blinding haze of tears,
and recognized the tall, spare figure, the fine sensitive
face, the kind, dark eyes and inteUectual forehead. The

tl4

A TRUE FRIEND.

coal-black beard and moustache nearly hid his mouth,
but Janetta felt instinctively that this tell-tale feature
would not belie the promise of the others.

" Sir Philip Ashley," she murmured, in her surprise.

« I beg your pardon," he said, with the courtesy that
she so well remembered ; *' I stopped you on impulse, I
fear, because I felt a great desire to express to you my
deep sympathy with you in your loss. It may seem im-
nertinent for me to speak, but I knew your father and re-
spected and trusted him. We had some correspondence
about sanitary matters, and I was greatly relying on his
help in certain reforms that I wish to institute in Beaminsler.
He is a great loss to us all."

" Thank you," Janetta said unsteadily.

" Will you let me ask whether there is anything in which
I can help you just now."

" Oh, no, nothing, thank you." She had brushed away
the involuntary tear, and smiled bravely as she replied.
" I did not think that I should meet anybody : it was
simply that I wa§ disappointed about — about — some
lessons that I hoped to get. Quite a little disappoint-
ment, you see."

" Was it a little disappointment ? Do you want to give'
lessons — singing lessons ? "

" Yes ; but nobody will have me to teach them," said
Janetta, laughing nervously.

Sir Philip looked back at the house which they had
just passed. " That is Miss Morrison's school : you came
out of it, did you not? Doea she not need your help?"

** I do not suit her."

" Why ? Did she try your voice ? "

" Oh, no. It was for other reasons. She was pre-
judiced against me," said Janetta, with a little gulp.

** Prejudiced ? But why ? — may I ask ? "

" Oh, she had heard something she did not like. It
does not matter : I shall get other pupils by-and-bye."

" Is it important to you to have pupils ? " Sir Philip
asked, as seriously and anxiously as if the fate of the
empire depended on his reply.

" Oh, most important." Janetta's face and voice were
more pathetic than she knew. Sir Philip was silent for a
moment.

" I have heard you sing," he said at length, in his grave,

A TRVE FRIEND,

earnest way. " I am sure that 1 should have no hesita-
tion in recommending you — if my recommendation were of
any use. My mother may perhaps hear of somebody who
wants lessons, if you will allow me to mention the matter
to her."

" I shall be very much obliged to you," said Janetta,
feeling grateful and yet a little startled — it did not seem
natural to her in her sweet humility that Sir Philip and
his mother should interest themselves in her welfare.
JiOh, ver^ much obliged."

Sir Philip raised his hat and smiled down kindly upon
er as he said good-bye. He had been interested from
the very first in Margaret's friend. And he had always
been vaguely conscious that Margaret's friendship was not
likely to produce any very desirable results.

Janetta went on her way, feeling for the moment a little
less desolate than she had felt before. Sir Philip turned
homewards to seek his mother, who was a woman of
whom many people stood in awe, but whose kindness of
heart was never known to fail. To her Sir Philip at once
poured out his story with the directness and Quixotic
ardor which some of his friends found incomprehensible,
not to say absurd. But Lady Ashley never thought so.

She smiled very kindly as her son finished his little tale.

" She is really a good singer, you say ? Mr. Colwyn's
daughter. I have seen him once or twice."

" He was a good fellow."

" Yes, I believe so. Miss Morrison's school, did you
mention ? Why, Mabel Hartley is there." Mabel Hart-
ley was a distant cousin of the Ashleys. " I will call to-
morrow, Philip, and find out what the objection is to Miss
Colwyn. If it can be removed I don't see why she should
not teach Mabel, who, I remember, has a voice."

Lady Ashley carried out her intention, and announced
the result to her son the following evening.

" I have not succeeded, dear. Miss Morrison has been
prejudiced by some report from Miss Polehampton, with
whom Miss Colwyn and Margaret Adair were at school.
She said that the two girls were expelled together."

Sir Philip was silent for a minute or two. His brows
contracted. " I was afraid," he said, " that Miss Adair's
championship of her friend had not been conducted in the
wisest possible manner. She has done Miss Colwyn con-
siderable harm."

Il6

A TRUE FRIEND,

Lady Ashley glanced at him inquiringly. She was
particularly anxious that he should marry Margaret Adair.

'< Is Lady Caroline at home ? " her son asked, after
another and a longer pause.

" Yes. She came home yesterday — with dear Margaret.
I am sure, Philip, that Margaret does not know it if she
has done harm." .

" 1 don't suppose she does, mother. I am sure she
would not willingly injure any one. But I think that she
ought to know the circumstances of the case."

And then he opened a book and began to read.

Lady Ashley never remonstrated. But she raised her
eyebrows a little over this expression of Sir Philip's
opinion. If he were going to try to tutor Margaret Adair,
whose slightest wish had never yet known contradiction,
she thought it probable that the much-wished for marriage
would never take place at all.

A TRUE FRIEND,

117

CHAPTER XV.

A BONE OF CONTENTION.

Poor Janetta, plodding away at her music lessons and
doing the household work of her family, never guessed that
she was about to become a bone of contention. But such
she was fated to be, and that between persons no less dis-
tinguished than Lady Caroline Adair and Sir Philip Ashley
— not to speak of Sir Philip and Margaret !

Two days after Janetta's unexpected meeting with Sir
Philip, that gentleman betook himself to Helmsley Court
in a somewhat warm and indignant mood. He had seen
a good deal of Margaret during the autumn months. They
had been members of the same house-party in more than
one great Scottish mansion : they had boated together,
fished together, driven and ridden and walked together,
until more than one of Lady Caroline's acquaintances had
asked, with a covert smile, " how soon she might be
allowed to congratulate'' . . . The sentence was
never quite finished, and Lady Caroline never made any
very direct reply. Margaret was too young to think of
these things, she said. But other people were very ready
to think of them for her.

The acquaintance had therefore progressed a long way
since the day of Margaret*s return from school. And yet
it had not gone quite so far as onlookers surmised, or as
Lady Caroline wished. Sir Philip was most friendly, most
attentive, but he was also somewhat absurdly unconscious
of remark. His character had a simplicity which occasion-
ally set people wondering. He was perfectly frank and
manly : he spoke without arriere-pensie, he meant what he
said, and was ready to believe that other people meant it
too. He had a pleasant and courteous manner in society,
and liked to be on friendly, terms with every one he met ;
but at the same time he was not at all like the ordinary
society man, and had not the slightest idea that he differed
from any such person — as indeed he did. He had vezy

ft'*

tl8

A TRUE FRIEND,

high aims and ideals, and he took it for granted, w ith a
really charming simplicity, that other people had similar
aims and similar (if not higher) ideals. Consequently he
now and then ran his head against a wall, and was laughed
at by commonplace persons ; but those who knew him
well loved him all the better for his impracticable schemes
and expectations.

But to Margaret he seemed rather like a firebrand. He
took interest in things of which she had never heard, or
which she regarded with a little delicate disdain. A steam-
laundry in Beaminster, for example — what had a man like
Sir Philip Ashley to do with a steam-laundry ? And yet he
was establishing one in the old city, and actually assuring
people that it would " pay." He had been exerting him-
self about the drainage of the place and the dwellings of
the poor. Margaret was sorry in a vague way for the
poor, and supposed that drainage had to be " seen to "
from time to time, but she did not want to hear anything
about it. She liked the pretty little cottages in the village
of Helmsley, and she did not mind begging for a holiday for
the school children (v/ho adored her) now and then ; and
she had heard with pleasure of Lady Ashley's pattern plm-
houses and dainty orphanage, where the old women v/ore
red cloaks, and the children were exceedingly picturesque ;
but as a necessary consequence of her life-training, she did
not want to know anything about disease or misery or sin.
And Sir Philip could not entirely keep these subjects out
of his conversation, although he tried to be very careful
not to bring a look that he knew well — a look of shocked
repulsion and dislike — to Margaret's tranquil face.

She welcomed him with her usual sweetness that after-
noon. He thought that she looked lovelier than ever.
The day was cold, and she wore a dark-green dress with a
good deal of gold embroidery about it, which suited her
perfectly. Lady Carolme, too, was graciousness itself.
She received him in her own little sitting-room — a gem of
a room into which only her intimate friends were admitted,
and made him welcome with all the charm of manner for
which she was distinguished. And to add to her virtues,
she presently found that she had letters to write, and retired
into an adjoining library, leaving the door open between
the two rooms, so that Margaret might still be considered
as under her chaperonage, although conversation could be

A TRUE FRIEND,

v/ore

conducted without any fear of her overhearing what was
said. Lady Caroline knew so exactly what to do and what
to leave undone !

As soon as she was gone, Sir Philip put down his tea-
cup and turned with an eager movement to Margaret.

" I have been wanting to speak to you," he said. " I
have something special — something important to say."

" Yes ? " said Margaret, sweetly. She flushed a little
and looked down. She was not quite ignorant of what
every one was expecting Sir Philip Ashley to say.

" Can you listen to me for a minute or two ? " he said,
with the gentle eagerness of manner, the restrained ardor
which he was capable — unfortunately for him — of putting
into his most trivial requests. '' You are sure you will not
be impatient ? "

Margaret smiled. Should she accept him? she was
thinking. After all, he was very nice, in spite of his little
eccentricities. And really — with his fine features, his tall
stature, his dark eyes, and coal-black hair and beard — he
was an exceedingly handsome man.

" I want you to help me," said Sir Philip, in almost a
coaxing tone. " I want you to carry out a design that I
have formed. Nobody can do it but you. Will you help
me?"

" If I can," said Margaret, shyly.

" You are always good and kind," said Sir Philip,
warmly. *^ Margaret — may I call you Margaret ? I have
known you so long."

This seemed a little irregular, from Miss Adair's point of
view.

"I don't know whether mamma " she began, and

stopped.

" Whether she would like it ? I don't think she would
mind : she suggested it the other day, in fact. She always
calls me * Philip,' you know : perhaps you would do the
same ? "

Again Margaret smiled ; but there was a touch of inquiry
in her eyes as she glanced at him. She did not know very
much about proposals of marriage, but she fancied that
Sir Philip's manner of making one was peculiar. And she
had had it impressed upon her so often that he was about
to make one that it could hardly be considered strange if
his manner somewhat bewildered her.

190

A TRUE FRIEND,

" I want to speak to you," said the young man, lowering'
his earnest voice a little, "about your friend. Miss Colwyn."

Now, why did the girl flush scarlet ? Why did her
hand tremble a little as she put down her cup ? Philip
lost the thread of the conversation for a minute or two,
and simply looked at her. Then Margaret quietly took
down a screen from the mantel-piece and began to fan her-
self. " It is rather hot here, don't you think ? " she said,
serenely. "The fire makes one feel quite uncomfortable."

"It is a large one," said Sir Philip, with conviction.
" Shall I take any of the coal off for you ? No ? Well, as
I was saying, I wished to speak to you about your friend,
Misa Colwyn."

"She has lost her father lately, poor thing," said Mar-
garet, conversationally. " She has been very unhappy."

" Yes, and for more reasons than one. You have not
seen her, I conclude, since his death ? "

" No, he died in August or September, did he not ? It
is close upon December now — what a long time we have
been away ! Poor Janetta ! — how glad she will be to see
mel"

" I am sure she will. But it would be just as well for
you to hear beforehand that her father's death has brought
great distress upon the family. I have had some talk with
friends of his, and I find that he left very little money
behind."

" How sad for them ! But — they have not removed ? —
they are still at their old house : I thought everything was
going on as usual," said Margaret, in a slightly puzzled
tone.

"The house belongs to them, so they might as well
live in it. Two or three of the familly have got situa-
tions of some kind — one child is in a charitable institution,
I believe."

" Oh, how dreadful ! Like Lady Ashley's Orphanage ? "
said Margaret, shrinking a little.

" No, no ; nothing of that kind — an educational estab-
lishment, to which he has got a nomination. But the
mother and the two or three children are still at home, and
I believe that their income is not more than a hundred a
year.'*

Sir Philip was considerably above the mark. But the
mention of even a hundred a year, though not a large
income^ produced little impression upon Margaret

A TRUE FRIEND,

laz

ill
la-
in.

le
U

" That is not very much, is it ? • she said, gently.

" Much ! I should think not," said Sir Philip, driven
almost to discourtesy by the difficulty of making her under-
stand. " Four or five people to live upon it and keep up
a position 1 It is semi-starvation and misery."

" But, Sir Philip, does not Janetta give lessons ? I
should have thought she could make a perfect fortune by
her music alone. Hasn't she tried to get something to
do?"

" Yes, indeed, poor girl, she has. My mother has been
making inquiries, and she finds that Miss Colwyn has ad-
vertised and done everything she could think of — with very
little result. I myself met her three or lour days ago,
coming away from, Miss Morrison's, with tears in her eyes.
She had failed to get the post of music-teacher there."

** But why had she failed ? She can sing and play beau-
tifully ! "

" Ah, I wanted you to ask me that 1 She failed — because
Miss Morrison was a friend of Miss Polehampton's, and
she had heard some garbled and distorted account of Pvliss
Colwyn's dismissal from that school."

Sir Philip did not look at her as he spoke : he fancied
that she would be at once struck with horror and even with
shame, and he preferred to avert his eyes during the
moment's silence that followed upon his account of
Janetta's failure to get work. But, when Margaret spoke,
a very slight tone of vexation was the only discoverable
trace of any such emotion.

" Why did not Janetta explain ? "

Sir Philip's lips moved, but he said nothing.

" That affair cannot be the reason why she has obtained
so little work, of course ? "

" I am afraid that to some extent it is."

** Janetta could so easily have explained it ! "

'* May I ask how she could explain it ? Write a letter
to the local paper, or pay a series of calls to declare that
she had not been to blame ? Do you think that any one
would have believed her? Besides — you call her your
friend : could she exculpate herself without blaming you ;
and dp you think that she would do that ? "

" Without blaming me ? " repeated Margaret. She rose
to her full height, letting the fan fall between her hands,
anu stood silently confronting him. " But," she said, slow-
ly—" T — I was not to blame,"

laa

A TRUE FRIEND.

Sir Philip bowed.*

*' You think that I was to blame ? "
^ " I think that you acted on impulse, without much con-
sideration for Miss Cohvyn's future. I think that you
have done her an injury — which I am sure you will be only
too willing to repair."

He began rather sternly, he ended almost tenderly —
moved as he could not fail to be by the soft reproach of
Margaret's eyes.

** I cannot see that I have done her any injury at all ;
and I really do not know how I can repair it," said the
girl, with a cold stateliness which ought to have warned
Sir Philip that he was in danger of offending. But Philip
was rash and warm-hearted, and he had taken up Janetta's
cause.

"Your best way of repairing it," he said, earnestly,
" would be to call on Miss Morrison yourself and explain
the matter to her, as Miss Colwyn cannot possibly do —
unless she is a very different person from the one I take
her for. And if that did not avail, go to Miss Polehamp-
ton and persuade her to write a letter "

He stopped somewhat abruptly. The look of profound
astonishment oii Margaret's face recalled him to a sense of
limitations. " Margaret ! " he said, pleadingly, " won't you
be generous ? You can afford to do this thing for your
friend ! "

" Go to Miss Morrison and explain ! Persuade Miss
Polehampton ! — after the way she treated us 1 But really
it is too ridiculous. Sir Philip. You do not know my friend,
Miss Colwyn. She would be the last person to wish me
to humiliate myself to Miss Polehampton 1 "

" I do not see that what she wishes has much to do with
it," said Sir PhiHp, very stiffly. " Miss Colwyn is suffer-
ing under an injustice. I ask you to repair that injustice.
I really do not see how you can refuse."

Margaret looked as if she were about to make some
mutinous reply ; then she compressed her lips and lowered
her eyes for a few seconds.

" I will ask mamma what she thinks," she said at last,
in her usual even tones.

" Why should you ask her? " said Sir Philip, impetuous-
ly. " What consultation is needed, when I simply beg you
to be your own true self — that noble, generous self that I
am sure you ar^ ! Margaret, don't disappoint me I "

Phi

Ma
one
to
iicii

A TRUE FRIEND,

" I didn't know," said tlie girl, with proud deliberateness,
'*that you had any special interest in the matter, Sir
Philip/'

** I have this interest — that I love you with all my heart,
Margaret, and hope that you will let me call you my wife
one day. It is this love, this hope, which makes me lon^
to think of you as perfect — always noble and self-sacri-
ficing and just ! Margaret, you will not forbid me to
hope?"

He had chosen a bad time for his declaration of love.
He saw this, and his accent grew more and more suppli-
cating, for he perceived that the look of repulsion, which
he knew and hated, was already stealing into Margaret's
lovely eyes. She stood as if turned into stone, and did not
answer a word. And it was on tnis scene that Lady Caro-
line broke at that moment — a scene which, at first sight,
gave the mother keen pleasure, for it had all the orthodox
appearance of love-making : the girl, silent, downcast, em-
barrassed ; the man passionate and earnest, with head
bent towards her fair face, and hands outstretched in en-
treaty.

But poor Lady Caroline was soon to be undeceived, and
her castle in the air to come tumbling down about her

ears.

Miss

really

friend,

sh me

with
iuffer-
istice.

It last.

luous-
Ig you
Ihat I

CHAPTER XVL

SIR PHILIP'S OPINION.

" Is anything the matter ? " said Lady Caroline, suavely.

She haa been undecided for a minute as to whether she
had not better withdraw unseen, but the distressed expres-
sion on her daughter's face decided her to speak. She
might at least prevent Margaret from saying anything
foolish.

Sir Philip drew back a little. Margaret went — almost
hurriedly — up to her mother, and put her hand into Lady
Caroline's.

" Will you tell him ? will you explain to him, please ? "
she said. " I do not want to hear any more : I would
rather not. We could never understand each other, and I
should be very unhappy."

A TRUE FRIEND,

■

Sir Philip made an eager gesture, but Lady Caroline
silenced him by an entreating glance and then looked
straight into her daughter's eyes. Their limpid hazel
depths were troubled now : tears were evidently very near,
and Lady Caroline detested tears.

" My darling child," she said, " you must not agitate
yourself. You shall hear nothing that you do not want to
hear. Sir Philip would never say anything that would
pain you."

" I have asked her to be my wife," said Sir Philip, very
quietly, ** and I hope that she will not refuse to hear me
say that, at least."

" But that was not all," said Margaret, suddenly turning
on him her grieving e>es — eyes that always looked so much
more grieved than their owner felt — and her flushing, quiver
ing face : " You told me first that I was wrong — selfish and
unjust ; and you want me to humiliate myself — to say that
it was my fault "

" My dearest Margaret ! " exclaimed Lady Caroline, in
amaze, " what can you mean ? Philip, are we dreaming ?
— Darling child, come with me to your room : . you
had better lie down for a little time while I talk to Sir
Philip. Excuse me a moment. Sir Philip — I will come
back."

Margaret allowed herself to be led from the room. This
outbreak of emotion was almost unprecedented in her his-
tory ; but then Sir Philip had attacked her on her tendere/t
side — that of her personal dignity. Margaret Adair found
it very hard to believe that she was as others are, and not
made of a different clay from them.

Some little time elapsed before Lady Caroline's return.
She had made Margaret lie down, administered sal volatile,
covered her with an eiderdown quilt, and seen her maid
bathing the girl's forehead with eau de Cologne and water
before she came back again. And all this took time. She
apologized very prettily for her delay, but Sir Philip did
not seem to heed her excuses : he was standing beside the
fire, meditatively tugging at his black beard, and Lady
Caroline had some difficulty in thinking that she could
read the expression of his face.

" I do not quite understand all this," she said, with her
most amiable expression of countenance, as she seated her-
self on the other side of the soft white hearthrug. " Mar-

A TRUE FRIEND,

185

irn.

Itile,

laid

Iter

iShe

did

the

lady

>uld

garet mentiAied Miss Colwyn's name : I am quite at a
loss to imagine how Miss Colwyn comes to be mixed up
in the matter."

** I am very sorry," said Sir Philip, ruefully. " I never
thought that there would be any difficulty. I seem to have
offended Margaret most thoroughly."

Lady Caroline smiled. " Girls soon forget a man's
offences," she said, consolingly. " What did you say ? "

And then Sir Philip, with somehesitption, told the story
of his plea for Janetta Colwyn.

The smile wa'i frozen on Lady Caroline's lips. She sat
up straight, and stared at her visitor. When he had quite
ended his explanation, she said, as icily as she knew how
to speak —

, " And you asked my daughter to justify Miss Colwyn at
the cost of her own feelings — I might almost say, of her
own social standing in the neighborhood ! "

" Isn't that a little' too strong, Lady Caroline ? « Your
daughter's social standing would not be touched in the
least by an act of common justice. No one who heard
of it but would honor her for exculpating her friend ! "

" Exculpating ! My dear Philip, you are too Quixo-
tic ! Nobody accuses either of the girls of anything but a
little thoughtlessness and defiance of authority "

** Exactly," said Philip, with some heat, ** and therefore
while the report of it will not injure your daughter, it may
do irreparable harm to a girl who has her own way to
make in the world. The gossip of Beaminster tea-tables
is not to be despised. The old ladies of Beaminster are
all turning their backs on Miss Colwyn, because common
report declares her to have been expelled — or dismissed —
in disgrace from Miss Polehampton's school. The fact
that nobody knows exactly why she was dismissed adds
weight to the injury. It is so easy to say, * They don't
tell why she was sent away — something too dreadful to be
talked about,' and so on. My mother tells me that there
is a general feeling abroad that Miss Colwyn is not a person
to be trusted with young girls. Now that is a terrible slur
upon an innocent woman who has to earn her own living,
Liady Caroline ; and I really must beg that you and Mar-
garet will set yourselves to remov^e it."

** Really, Philip I Quite a tirade ! "

Lady Caroline laughed delicately as she spoke, and

ia6

A TRUE FRIEND,

passed a lace handkerchief across her lips as though to
brush away a smile. She was a little puzzled and rather
vexed, but she did not wish to show her true opinion of
Sir Philip and his views.

" And so," she went on, " you said all this to my poor
child ; harrowed her feelings and wounded her self-resjject,
and insisted on it that she should go round Beaminster
explaining that it was her fault and not Janetta Colwyn's
that Miss Polehampton acted in so absurdly arbitrary a
manner ! "

" You choose to put it in that way," said Sir Philip,
drawing down his brows, " and I cannot very well contra-
dict you ; but I venture to think, Lady Caroline, that you
know quite well what I mean."

** I should be glad if you would put it into plain words.
You wish Margaret — to do — what ? "

" I very much wish that she would ;o to Miss Morrison
and explain to her why Miss Colwyi. left school. There
IS no need that she should take any blame upon herself.
You must confess that it was she who took the law into
her own hands, Lady Caroline ; Miss Colwyn was perfect-
ly ready to submit. And I think that as this occurrence
has been made the ground for refusing to give Miss
Colwyn the work that she urgently needs, it is Miss
Adair's plain duty to try at least to set the matter right.
I do not see why she should refuse."

" You have no pride yourself, I suppose ? Do you sup-
pose th^t Mr. Adair would allow it ? "

" Then you might do it for her. Lady Caroline," said
Sir Philip, turning round on. her, with his winning, persua-
sive manner, of which even at that moment she felt the
charm. " It would be so easy for you to explain it quietly
to Miss Morrison, and ask her to give that poor girl a
place in her school ! Who else could do it better? If Mar-
garet is not — not quite strong enough for the task, then
will you not help us out of our difficulty, and do it for
her?"

" Certainly not. Sir Philip. Your request seems to me
exceedingly unreasonable. I do not in the least believe
that Miss Morrison has refused to take her for that reason
only. There is some other, you may depend upon it. I
shall not interfere."

" You could at least give her a strong recommenda-
tion."

A TRUE FRIEND.

\vi

** I know nothing about the girl except that she sings
fairly well," said Lady Caroline, in a hard, determined
Voice. " I do not want to know anything about her — she
has done nothing but make mischief and cause contention
ever since I heard her name. I begin to agree with Miss
Polehampton — it was a most unsuitable friendship."

" It has been a disastrous friendship for Miss Colwyn,
I fear. You must excuse me if I say that it is hardly
generous — after having been the means of the loss of her
first situation — to refuse to help her in obtaining another."

" I think I am the best judge of that. If you mean to
insinuate, Sir Philip, that your proposal for Margaret's hand
which we have talked over before, hinges on her com-
pliance with your wishes in this instance, you had better
withdraw it at once."

" You must be aware that I have no such meaning,"
said Sir Philip, in a tone that showed him to be much
wounded.

" I am glad — for your own sake — to hear it. Neither
Mr. Adair nor myself could permit Margaret to lower her-
self by going to explain her past conduct to a second-rate
fieaminster schoolmistress."

Sir Philip stood silent, downcast, his eyebrows contract-
ing over his eyes until — as Lady Caroline afterwards
expressed it — he positively scowled.

" You disagree with me, I presume ? " she inquired, with
some irony in her tone.

" Yes, Lady Caroline, I do disagree with you. I thought
that you — and Margaret — would be more generous towards
a fatherless girl."

" You must excuse me if I say that your interest in * a
fatherless girl ' is somewhat out of place, Sir Philip. You
are a young man, and it is not quite seemly for you to
make such a point of befriending a little music governess.
I am sorry to have to speak so plainly, but I must say
that I do not think such interest befits a gentleman, and
especially one who has been asking us for our daughter."

" My love for Margaret," said Sir Philip, gravely, " can-
not blind me to other duties."

" There are duties in the world," rejoined Lady Caroline,
" between which we sometimes have to choose. It seems
to me that you may have to choose between your love for
Margaret and your * interest ' in Janetta Colwyn,"

Ill

A TRUE FRIEND,

** I hardly think," said her guest, ** that I deserve this
language, Lady Caroline. However, since these are your
opinions, I can but say that I deeply regret them — and
take my leave. If you or Miss Adair should wish to recall
me you have but to send me a word — a line : I shall be
ready to come. Your daughter knows my love for her. I
am not yet disposed to give up all hope of a recall."

And then he took his leave with a manner of punctilious
politeness which, oddly enough, made Lady Caroline feel
herself in the wrong more than anything that he had said.
She was more ruffled than Margaret had ever seen. her
when at last she sought the girl's room shortly before the
ringing of the dressing-bell.

She found Margaret looking pale and a little frightened,
but perfectly composed. She came up to Lady Caroline
and put her arms round her mother's neck with a caress-
ing movement.

" Dear mamma," she said, '* I am afraid I was not quite
polite to Sir Philip."

" I think, dear, that Sir Philip was scarcely polite to you.
I am not at all satisfied with his conduct. He is quite
unreasonable."

Margaret slowly withdrew her arms from her mother's
neck, looked at her uneasily, and looked down again.

" He thinks that I ought ^o do something for Janetta —
to make people think well o.. *.er, I suppose."

" He is utterly preposterous," said Lady Caroline.

** Do you think I ought to go to Miss Moq-ison about
Janetta, mamma ? "

**No, indeed, my dearest* Your father would never
hear of it."

" I should like to do all that I could for her. I am very
fond of her, indeed I am, although Sir Philip thinks me so
selfish." And Margaret's soft hazel eyes filled with tears,
which fell gently over her delicate cheeks without distort-
ing her features in the least.

" Don't cry, my darling ; please don't cry," said her
mother, anxiously. **Your eyelids will be red all the
evening, and papa will ask what is the matter. Have you
any rose water ? — Of course you will do all you can for
ypur poor little friend : you are only too fond of her —
too generous ! — Sir Philip does not understand you as I do ;
be has disappointed me very much this afternoon/'

A TRUE FRIEND,

139

" He was very unkind," said Margaret, with the f^ntest
possible touch of resentment in her soft tones.

" Think no more of him for the present, dear. T Hare
say he will be here to-morrow, penitent and abashed.
There goes the dressing-bell. Are you ready for Markham
now? Put on your pink dress."

She spoke pleasantly, and even playfully, but she gave
Margaret a searching glance, as though she would have
read the girl's heart if she could. But she was reassured.
Marsaret was smiling now ; she was as calm as ever ; she
had brushed the tears from her eyes with a filmy handker-
chief and looked perfectly serene. ** I am rather glad that
you have found .Sir Philip unreasonable, mamma," she
said, placidly ; "I always thought so, but you did not
quite agree with me."

" The child's fancy is untouched," said Lady Caroline
to herself as she went back to her room, " and I am thank-
ful for it. She is quite capable of a little romantic folly if
nobody is near to put some common-sense into her some-
times. And Philip Ashley has no common-sense at all."

She was glad to see that at dinner Margaret's serenity was
still unruffled. When Mr. Adair grumbled at the absence
of Sir Philip, whom he had expected to see that evening,
the girl only looked down at her plate without a blush or
a word of explanation. Lady Caroline drew her daugh ter's
arm through her own as they left the dining-room with a
feeling that she was worthy of the race to which she
belonged.

But she "Vas not in the least prepared for the first
remark made by Margaret when they reached the drawing-
room.

" Mamma, I must go to see Janetta to-morrow." >

" Indeed, dear ? And why ? "

** To find out whether the things that Sir Philip has been
saying are true."

** No, Margaret, dear, you really must not do that, dar-
ling. It would not be wise. What Sir Philip says does
not matter to us. I cannot have you interfering with Miss
Colwyn's concerns in that way."

Margaret was very docile. She only said, after a mo-
ment's pause —

" May I not ask her to give me the singing lessons we
arranged for me to take ? "

130

A TRUE FRIEND.

Lady Caroline considered for a minute or two and then
said —

" Yes, dear, you may ask her about the singing lessons.
In doing that you will be benefiting, her, and giving her a
practical recommendation that ought to be very valuable
to her."

" Shall I drive over to-morrow ? "

" No, write and ask her to come here to lunch. Then
we can arrange about hours. I have not the least objec-
tion to your taking lessons from her .... especially as
they are so cheap," said Lady Caroline to herself, " but I
do not wish you to talk to her about Miss Polehampton's
conduct. There is no use in such discussions."

*• No, mamma," said the dutiful Margaret.

" And Sir Philip will be pleased to hear that his favorite
is being benefited," said her mother, with a slightly sar-
castic smile.

Margaret held up her stately head. " It matters very
little to me whether Sir Philip is pleased or not," she said
with a somewhat lofty accent, not often heard from the
gentle lips of Margaret Adair.

CHAPTER XVII.

MARGARET'S FRIENDSHIP.

Margaret wrote her note to Janetta, and put her friend
into something of a dilemma. She always felt it difficult
to leave Mrs. Colwyn alone for many hours at a time. She
had done her best to pfevent her from obtaining stimulants,
but it was no easy thing to make it impossible ; and it was
always dangerous to remove a restraining influence. At
last she induced an old friend, a Mrs. Maitland, -to spend
the day with her stepmother, '"hile she went to Helmsley
Court ; and having thus provided against emergencies, she
was prepared to spend some pleasant hours with Margaret.
The day v/as cold and frosty, with a blue sky overhead,
and the ground hard as iron underfoot. A carriage was
sent for Janetta, and the girl was almost sorry that she had
to be driven to her destination, for a brisk walk would have
been more to her taste on this brilliant December day.

A TRUE FRIEND,

131

But she was of course bound to mafke use of the carriage
that came for her, and so she drove off in state, while Tiny
and Jinks danced wildly on the doorstep and waved their
hands to her in hilarious farewells. Mrs. Colwyn was se-
cluding herself upstairs in high indignation at Janetta's
presumption — first, in going to Helmsley Court at all, and,
secondly, in having invited Mrs. Maftland to come to
dinner — but 7anetta did her best to forget the vexations
and anxieties of the day, and to prepare herself as best she
might for the serene atmosphere of Helmsley Court.

It was more than three months since her father's death,
and she had not seen Margaret for what seemed to her like
a century. In those three months she had had some new
and sad experiences, and. she almost wondered whether
Margaret would not think her changed beyond knowledge
by the troubles of the past. But in this fancy Janetta only
proved herself young at heart ; in later years she found, as
we all find, that the outer man is little changed by the most
terrible and heart-rending calamities. It was almost a
surprise to Janetta that Margaret did not remark on her
altered appearance. But Margaret saw nothing very dif-
ferent in her friend. Her black mourning garments cer-
tainly made her look pale, but Margaret was not a suffi-
ciently keen observer to note the additional depth of ex-
pression in Janetta's dark eyes, or the slightly pathetic
look given to her features by the thinning of her cheeks
and the droop of her finely curved mouth. Lady Caroline,
however, noticed all these points, and was quite aware that
these changes, slight though they were, gave force and
refinement to the girl's face. Secretly, she was embittered
against Janetta, and this new charm of hers only added to
her dislike. But, outwardly. Lady Caroline was sweetness
and sympathy personified.

" You poor darling," said Margaret, when she stood with
Janetta in Miss Adair's own little sitting-room, awaiting
the sound of the luncheon bell ; " what you must have suf-
fered ! I hn^ w felt for you, Janetta — oh, more than I can
tell ! You are quite pale, dear ; I do hope you are better
and stronger than you were ? "

" I am quite well, thank you," said Janetta.

" But you must have had so much to bear ! If Host my
friends — my dear father or mother — I know I should be
brolien-hearted. You are so brave and good, Janetta, dear."

13*

A TRUE FRIEND.

** I don't feel so," said Janetta, sorrowfully.

did. It would be rather a comfort sometimes."

"You have a great deal of trouble and

" I wish I

care.

. I am

afraid," said Margaret, softly. She was resolved to be
staunch to her friend, although Sir Philip had been so dis*
agreeable about Janetta. She was going to show him
that she could take her own way of showing friendship.

" There have been a ^ood many changes in the family,
and changes always bnng anxieties with them," said Ja-
netta, firmly. She had particularly resolved that she would
not complain of her troubles to the Adairs ; it would seem
like asking them to help her — ** sponging upon them," as
she disdainfully thought. Janetta had a very fair share of
sturdy pride and independence with which to make her
way through the world.

Margaret would have continued the subject, but at that
moment the bell rang, and Janetta was glad to go down-
stairs.

It was curious, as she remembered afterwards, to find
that the splendors of the house, the elaboration of service,
now produced not the slightest impression upon her. She
had grown out of her former girlish feeling of insignificance
in the presence of powdered footmen and fashionable
ladies' maids. The choice flowers, the silver plate, the
dainty furniture and hangings, which had once excited and
almost awed her imagination, were perceived by her with
comparative indifference. ' She was a woman, not a child,
and these things were but as toys to one who had stood so
lately face to face with the larger issues of life and death.

Mr. Adair and Lady Caroline talked pleasantly to her,
utterly ignoring, of course, any change in her circumstances
or recent source of trouble, and Janetta did her best to
respond. It was by way of trying to introduce a pleasant
subject of conversation that she said at length to her hos-
tess —

" I met Sir Philip Ashley the other day. He is so kind
as to say that he will try to find me some pupils."

" Indeed," said Lady Caroline, drily. She did not ap-
prove of the introduction of Sir Philip's name or of Janetta's
professional employment. Margaret flushed a little, and
turned aside to give her mother's poodle a sweet biscuit.

" Sir Philip is a kind, good fellow," said Mr. Adair, who
had not been admitted behind the scenes ; <* and I am sure

A TRUE FRIEND,

133

shI

am
be
)di8-

him

mily,
d Ja-
^ould
seem
I," as
are of
e her

t that
down-

find

jrvice,

•. She

icance

)nable
, the
dand

r with
child,
)od so
death.
her,
"tances
:st to
:asant
Ir hos-

kind

)t ap-
ktta's
, and
:uit.
r,who
sure

that he will do what he can. Do you know .lis mother
yet ? No ? Ah, she's like an antique chatelaine : one of
the stateliest, handsomest old ladies of the day. Is she not,
Caroline ? "

** She is very handsome," said Lady Caroline, quietly,
" but difficult to get on with. She is the proudest woman
I ever knew."

The servants were out of the room, or she would not
have said so much. But it was just as well to let this pre-
suming girl know what she might expect from Sir Philip's
mother if she had any designs upon him. Uiifortunately
her intended warning fell unheeded upon Janetta's ear.

" Is she, indeed ? " said Mr. Adair, with interest. He
was the greatest gossip of the neighborhood. '* She is one
of the Beauchamps, and of course she has some pride of
family. But otherwise — I never noticed much pride about
her. Now, how does it manifest itself, do you think ? "

" Really, Reginald," said Lady Caroline, with her little
smile ; " how can I tell you ? You must surely have no-
ticed it for yourself With her equals she is exceedingly
pleasant ; but I never knew anyone who could repress in-
solence or presumption with a firmer hand."

" What a pleasant person ! " said Mr. Adair, laughing
and looking mirthfully at Margaret. " We shall have to
be on our good behavior when we see her, shall we not,
my Pearl ? "

This turn of conversation seemed to Lady Caroline so
unfortunate that she rose from the table as soon as possible,
and adjourned further discussion of the Ashleys to another
period. And it was after luncheon that she found occasion
to say to Janetta, in her softiest, silkiest tones —

" Perhaps it would be better, dear Miss Colwyn, if you
would be so very kind as not to mention Sir Philip Ashley
to Margaret unless she speaks of him to you. There is
some slight misunderstanding between them, and Sir Philip
has not been here for a day or two ; but that it will be all
cleared up very shortly, I have not the slightest doubt."

" Oh, I am sure I hope so ! I am very sorry."
- " There is scarcely any occasion to be sorry ; it is quite
a temporary estrangement, I am sure."

Janetta looked at Margaret with some concern when she
had an opportunity of seeing her closely and alone, but she
could distinguish no shade upon the girl's fair brow, no

<i-

134

A TRUE FRIEND.

sadness in her even tones. Margaret talked about Jan-
etta's brothers and sisters, about music, about her recent
visits, as calmly as if she had not a care in the world. It
was almost a surprise to Janetta when, after a little pause^
she asked with some hesitation —

" You said you saw Sir Philip Ashley the other day ? "

" Yes," anF'vered Janetta, blushing out of sympathy, and
looking away, so that she did not see the momentary
glance of keen inquiry which was leveled at her from
Margaret's hazel eyes.

"What did he say to you, dear? " asked Miss Adair.

" He spoke of my father — he was very kind," said
Janetta, unconscious that her answer sounded like a sub-
terfuge in her friend's ears. " He asked me if I wanted
pupils ; and he said that he would recommend me."

*' Oh," said Margaret. Then, after another little pause
— " I daresay you have heard that we are not friends
now ? "

" Yes," Janetta replied, not liking to say more.

. For a moment Margaret raised her beautiful eyebrows.

" So Sir Philip had told her already f^^ she said to her-
self, with a little surprise. And she was not pleased with
this mark of confidence on Sir Philip's part. It did not
occur to her that Lady Caroline had been Janetta's
informant.

" I refused him," she said, quietly. " Mamma is vexed
about it, but she does not wish to force me to marry
against my will, of course."

" Oh, but surely, Margaret, dear, you will change your
mind ? " said Janetta.

" No, indeed," Margaret answered, slightly lifting her
graceful head. " Sir Philip is not a man whom I would
ever marry."

And then she changed the subject. " See what a dear
little piano I have in my sitting-room. Papa gave it to me
the other day, so that I need not practice in the drawing-
room. And what about our singing lessons, Janetta?
Could you begin them at once, or would you rather wait
until after the Christmas holidays ? "

Janetta reflected. " I should like to begin them at
once, dear, if I can manage it."

" Have you so many pupils, then ? " Margaret asked
quickly.

A TRUE FRIEND.

"35

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" Not 80 very many ; but I mean — I am afraid I cannot
spare time to come to Helmsley Court to give them. Do
you go to Beaminster ? Would you very much mind
coming to our house in Gwynne Street ? "

*' Not at all," said Margaret, ever courteous and mindful
of her friend's feelings. '' But I must speak to mamma.
It may be a little difficult to have the horses out some-
times .... that will be the only objection, I think."

But it seemed as if there were other objections. For
Lady C "Proline received the proposition very coldly. It
really took her aback. It was one thing to have little
Miss Colwyn to lunch once a week, and quite another to
send Margaret to that shabby Httle house in Gywnne
Street. ** Who knows whether the drains are all right, and
whether she may not get typhoid fever?" said Lady
Caroline to herself, with a shudder. " There are children
in the house — they may develop measles or chicken-pox at
any moment — you never know when children of that class
are free from infection. And I heard an odd report about
Mrs. Colwyn's habits the other day. Oh, I think it is too
great a risk."

But when she said as much after Jahetta's departure, she
found Margaret for once recalcitrant. Margaret had her
own views of propriety, and these were quite as firmly
grounded as those of Lady Caroline. She had treated
Janetta, she considered, with the greatest magnanimity, and
she meant to be magnanimous to the end. She had made the
gardener cut Miss Colwyn a basket of his best flowers and
his choicest forced fruit ; she had herself directed the
housekeeper to see that some game was placed under the
coachman's box when Miss Colwyn was driven home ; and
she had sent a box of French sweets to Tiny, although she
had never seen that young lady in her life, and had a
vague objection to all Janetta's relations. She felt, there-
fore, perfectly sure that she had done her duty, and she
was not to be turned aside from the path of right.

" I don't think that I shall run into any danger,
mamma," she said, quietly. " The children are to be kept
out of the way, and I shall see nobody but Janetta. She
said so, very particularly. I daresay she thought of these
things."

** I don't see why she should not come here."

" No, nor I. But she says that she has so much to do,"

I3<

A TRUE FRIEND,

" Then it could not be true that she had no pupils, as
she told Sir Philip," said Lady Caroline, looking at her
daughter.

Margaret was silent for a little time. Then she said,
very deliberately —

" I am almost afraid, liiamma, that Janetta is not quite
straightforward."

" That was always my own idea," said Lady Caroline,
rather eagerly. " I never quite trusted her, darling."

" We always used to think her so truthful and cour-
ageous," said Margaret, with regret. " But I am afraid
You know, mamma, I asked her what Sir Philip said to her,
and she did not say a single word about having talked to
him of our leaving Miss Polehampton's. She said he had
spoken of her father, and of getting pupils for her, and so
on."

** Very double-faced ! " commented Lady Caroline.

" And — mamma, she must have seen Sir Philip again,
because he had told her that we — that I — that we had ^
quarreled a little, you know." And Margaret really
believed that she was speaking the truth.

**I think it is quite shocking," said Lady Caroline.
" And I really do not understand, dearest, why you still
persist in your infatuation for her. You could drop her
easily now, on the excuse that you cannot go to Beaminster
so often."

" Yes, I know I could, mamma," said Margaret, quietly.
" But if you do not mind, I would rather not do so.
You see, she is really in rather difficult circumstances. Her
father has left them badly off, I suppose, and she has not
many advanced pupils in Beaminster. We always pro-
mised that she should give me lessons; and if we draw
back now, we may be doing her real harm ; but if I take
— say, a dozen lessons, we shall be giviiig her a recom-
mendation, which, no doubt, will do her a great deal of
good. And after that, when she is * floated,' we can easilv
drop her if we wish. But it would be hardly kind to do it
just now, do you think? "

" My darling, you are quite too sweet," said Lady Caro-
line, languidly. " Come and kiss me. You shall have
your way — until Easter, at any rate."

" We should be giving Sir Philip no reason to blame us
for want of generosity, either," said Margaret,

A TRUE J'jRIEND.

** Exactly, my pet."

There was again a silence, which Margaret broke at last
by saying, with gentle pensiveness — •

" Do you think that she will ask me to be her brides-
maid, mamma, if she marries Sir Philip ? I almost fancy
that I should decline."

" I should think that you would," said Lady Caroline.

'^'

CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW FRIEND,

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Margaret's presents of fruit, flowers, and game con-
ciliated Mrs. Colwyn's good-will, and she made no objec-
tion when Janetta informed her a few days later that Miss
Adair's singing lessons were about to begin. There was
time for two lessons only before Christmas Day, but they
were to be continued after the first week in the New Year
until Margaret went to town. Janetta was obliged, out of
sheer shame, to hide from Mrs. Colwyn the fact that Lady
Caroline had tried to persuade her to lower the already
very moderate terms of payment, on the ground that her
daughter would have to visit Gwynne Street for her
lessons.

However, the first lesson passed off well enough. Mar-
garet brought more gifts of flowers and game, and sub-
mitted gracefully to Janetta's instructions. There was no
time for conversation, for the carriage came punctually
when an h .ur had elapsed, and Margaret, as she dutifully
observed, did not like to keep the horses waiting. She
embraced Janetta very affectionately at parting, and was
able to assure Lady Caroline afterwards that she had not
seen any other member of the family.

Just as Miss Adair's carriage drove away from Mrs. Col-
wyn's door, another — a brougham this time — was driven
up. " The Colwyns must be having a party," said a rather
censorious neighbor, who was sitting with a friend in the
bow-window of the next house. " Or else they are having
very fine pupils indeed." " That's not a pupil," said her
companion, craning forward to get a better view of the
visitor; "that's Lady Ashley, Sir Philip Ashley's mother.
iWhat's she come for, I wonder ? "

138

A TRUE FRIEND.

Janetta wondered too.

She was greatly impressed by Lady A.shley's personality.
The lofty forehead, the aquiline nose, the well-marked eye-
brows, the decided chin, the fine dark eyes, all recalled
Sir Philip to her mind, and she said to herself that when
his hair became silvery too, the likeness between him and
his mother would be more striking still. The old lady's
dignified mannei did not daunt her as Lady Caroline's
caressing tones often did. There was a sincerity, a grave
gentleness in Lad/ Ashley's way of speaking which Janetta
thoroughly appreciated. " Lady Ashley is a true grande
dame^ while Lady Caroline is only a fine lady," she said to
herself, when analyzing her feelings afterwards. *' And I
know which I like best.'^

Lady Ashley, on her side, was pleased with Janetta's
demeanor. She liked the plainness of her dress, the quiet
independence of her manner, and the subdued fire of her
great dark eyes. She opened proceedings in a very friendly
way.

" My son has interested me in your career, Miss Col-
wyn," she said, " and I have taken the liberty of calling in
order to ask what sort of teaching you are willing to under-
take. I may hear of some that will suit you."

*'You are very kind," Janetta answered. "I was
music governess at Miss Polehampton's, and I think that
music is my strong point ; but I should be quite willing to
teach other things — if I could get any pupils."

" And how is it that you do not get any pupils ? "

Janetta hesitated, but a look into the old lady's benevo-
lent face invited confidence. She answered steadily —

" I am afraid that my sudden departure from Miss Pole-
hampton's school has prejudiced some people against
me."

^' And could not somebody write to Miss Polehampton
and get her to give you a testimonial? "

" I am afraid she would refuse."

'< And that is all Margaret Adair's fault, is it not ? " said
Lady Ashley, shrewdly but kindly.

She was amused to see the flush of indignation in Janet-
ta's face. " Margaret's fault ? Oh no, Lady Ashley. It
was not Margaret's fault any more than mine. We were
both not very — not very respectful, perhaps, but I was, if
anything, much worse than Margaret. And she shared my
fate with me ; she left-when I did."

A TRUE FRIEND.

«39

snevo-

Polc-
^ainst

ipton

V said

Janet-

|y. It
were
ras, if
ted my

" You are a staunch friend. I see. And are you friendly
with her still?"

" Oh yes," said Janetta, with enthusiasm. " She is so
good — so kind— so beautiful ! She has been here to-day
to have a singing lesson — perhaps you saw her drive away
just as you came up ? She brought me these lovely flowers
this afternoon."

There wss a kindly look in Lady Ashley's eyes.

** I am very glad to hear it," she said. '* And now, my
dear, would you mind singing me something ? I sha^l be
better able to speak of your qualifications when I have
heard you."

" I shall be very pleased to sing to you," said Janetta,
and she sat down to the piano with a readiness which
charmed Lady Ashley as much as the song she sang,
although she sang it delightfully.

" That is very nice — very nice indeed," murmured Lady
Ashley. Then she deliberated for a moment, and nodded
her head once or twice. " You have been well taught,*'
she said, " and you have a very sympathetic voice. Would
you mind singing at an evening party for me in the course
of the winter ? You will be seen and heard ; and you may
get pupils in that way."

Janetta could but falter out a word of thanks. An in-
troduction of this sort was certainly not to be despised.

" I will let you know when it takes place," said Lady
Ashley, *^and give you a hint or two about the songs.
Will two guineas an evening satisfy you as you are a begin-
ner ? — ^for two songs, I mean ? Very well, then, I shall
count upon you for my next evening party."

She was rising to go, when the door was suddenly thrown
open, and a tall, untidy figure made its appearance in the
aperture. The daylight had almost faded, and the fire gave
a very uncertain light — perhaps it was for that reason that
Mrs. Colwyn took no notice of Lady Ashley, and began lo
speak in a thick, broken voice.

" It's shameful, shameful ! " she said. '* Visitors all
afternoon — never brought them — t'see me — once. Singing
and squalling all the time — not able to get a wink — wink
o' sleep "

" Oh, please, come away," said Janetta, going hurriedly
up to the swaying figure in the faded dressing-gown, and
trying gently to force her backwards. " I will tell you ali
about it afterwards ; please come away just now."

I4D

A TRUE FRIEND,

"I
o'

" 1*11 not come away," said Mrs. Colwyn, thickly,
want some money — money — send Phcebe for a drop
gin

" I'll go, my dear Miss Colwyn," said Lady Ashley,
kindly. She was touched by the despair, in Janetta's face.
" I can't do any good, I am afraid. You shall hear from
me again. Don't come to the door. Shall I send my
servants to you ? "

" Who's that ? Who's that ? " screamed the half-mad-
dened woman, beginning to fling herself wildly out of
Janetta's restraining arms. '^ Let me get at her, you bad
girl 1 letting people into my. house

" Can you manage ? Do you want help ? " said Lady
Ashley, quickly.

" No, no, nothing ; I can manage if you will only please
go," Janetta cried, in her desperation. And Lady Ashley,
seeing that her departure was really wished for, hurried
from the house. And Janetta, after some wrestling and
coaxing and argument, at last succeeded in putting her
Stepmother to bed, and then sat down and wept heartily.

What would Lady Ashley think ? And how could she
now recommend pupils to go to a house where a drunken
woman was liable at any moment to appear upon the
scene ?

As a matter of fact, this was just what Lady Ashley was
saying at that moment to her son.

**She is a thorough little gentlewoman, Philip, «ind a
good musician ; but, with such a connection, how can I
send any one to the house ? "

" It was unlucky, certainly," said Sir Philip, " but you
must remember that you came unexpectedly. Her pupils'
hours will be guarded, most probably, from interruption."

" One could never be sure. I have been thinking of
sending Miss Bevan to her. But suppose a contretemps
of this kind occurred ! Poor Mary Bevan would never get
over it."

*• It is her stepmother, not her own mother," said Sir
Philip, after a little pause. " Not that that makes it much
better for her, poor little thing ! "

" I assure you, Philip, it went to my heart to see that
fragile girl struggling with that big woman. I would have
helped her, but she entreated me to go, and so I came away,
Mfhat else could I do ? "

A TRUE FRIEND.

141

" Nothing, I suppose. There may be murder committed
in that house any day, if this state of things goes on."

Lady Ashley sighed. Sir Philip walked about the room»
with his hands in his pockets and his head bent on his
breast.

" Margaret Adair luid been there to-day/' said his mo*
ther, watching him.

Sir Philip looked up.

" Why ? " he said, keenly.

" To take a singing lesson. She had brought flowers.
Miss Colwyn spoke of her very warmly, and when I touched
on the subject of Miss Polehampton's treatment, would not
allow that Margaret had anything to do with it. She is a
very faithful little person, I should think."

" Far more generous than Margaret," muttered her son.
Then, sombrely, "I never told you what happened at
Helmsley Court the other day. Margaret refused me."

" Refused you — entirely ? "

" No appeal possible."

" On what grounds ? "

" Chiefly, I think, because I wanted her to make repara-
tion to Miss Colwyn."

" Then, Philip, she is not worthy of you."

" She has had a bad training," he said, slowly. " A fine
nature ruined by indulgence and luxury. She has never
been crossed in her life."

" She will find out what it is to be crossed some day.
My poor Phil ! I am very sorry."

" We need not talk auout it, mother, dear. You will be
all in all to me now."

He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his, then
kissed it with a mingling of tenderness and respect which
brought the tears to Lady Ashley's eyes.

** But I do not want to be all in all to you, you foolish
boy," she assured him. " I want to see you with a wife,
with children of your own, with family ties and interests
and delights." *

" Not yet, mother," he answered in a low tone. " Some
day, perhaps."

And from the pained look in his dark eyes she saw that
he suffered more than he would have liked to own for the
loss of Margaret. She said no more, but her heart ached
for her boy, and she was hardly able to comfort herself

A TRUE FRIEND,

with the recollection that Time heals all wounds — even
those that have been made by Love.

Sir Philip had accepted Margaret's refusal as final. He
had no reason to hope that she would ever change her
mind towards him. Perhaps if he had known how large a
part of her thoughts he occupied, in spite of her declara-
tion that she did not like him, he might have had some
hope of a more favorable hearing in the future. But he
had no conception of any under-current of feeling in Mar-
garet Adair. She had always seemed to him so frank, with
a sweet, maidenly frankness, so transparent — without shal-
lowness, that he was thrown into despair when she dis-
missed him. He was singularly ignorant of the nature of
women, and more especially of young girls. His mother's
proud, upright, rather inflexible character, conjoined with
great warmth of affection and rare nobility of mind, had
given him a high standard by which to judge othei women.
He had never had a sister, and was not particularly obser-
vant of young girls. It was therefore a greater disappoint-
ment to him than it would have been to many men to find
that Margaret could be a little bit obstinate, a little bit
selfish, and not at all disposed to sacrifice herself for
others. She lowered his whole conception of woman-
kind.

At least, so he said to himself, as he sat that evening
after dinner over his library fire, and fell into a mood of
somewhat sombre hue. What poets ^d philosophers had
said of the changeful, capricious, shallow, and selfish nature
of women was then true ? His mother was a grand excep-
tion to the rule, 'twas true ; but there were no women like
her now. These modern girls thought of nothing but
luxury, comfort, self-indulgence. They had no high ideals,
no thought of the seriousness of life.

But even as he made his hot accusation against women
of the present day, his heart smote him a little for his
injustice. He certainly did know one girl who was emin-
ently faithful and true ; who \^rked hard, and, as he had
just found out, suffered greatly — a girl whose true nobility
of mind and life was revealed to him as if by a lightning
flash of intuition.

What a helpmate Janetta Colwyn would be to any man !
Her bright intelligence, her gift of song, her piquante,
transitory beauty, her honesty and faithfulness, made up

A TRUE JfRlEJ^D,

an Individuality of distinct attractiveness. And yet he was
not very much attracted. He admired her, he respected
her; but his pulses did not quicken at the thought of her
as they quickened when he thought of Margaret. Why
should they indeed ? She was a country surgeon's daugh-
ter, of no particular family ; she had very undesirable con-
nections, and she was very poor — there was nothing in
Janetta's outer circumstances to make her a fitting wife for
him. And yet the attraction of character was very great.
He wanted a wife who would be above all things able to
help him in his work — work of reform and of philanthropy :
a selfish, luxurious, indolent woman could be no mate for
him. Janetta Colwyn was the woman that he had been
seeking since first he thought of marriage ; and yet— ah,
there was nothing wrong with her except that she was not
Margaret. But of Margaret he must think no more.

Lady Ashley would have been very much astonished if
she had know i how far her idolized son had gone that night
along the road of a resolution to ask Janetta Colwyn to be
bis wife.

CHAPTER XIX.

NORA'S PROCEEDINGS.

Janetta scarcely expected to hear from Lady Ashley
again, and was not surprised that days and weeks passed
on in silence as regarded her engagement to sing at the
evening party. She did not reflect that Christmas brought
its own special duties and festivities, and that she was not
likely to be wanted until these were over. In the mean-
time, the holidays began, and she had to prepare as best
she could, though with a heavy heart, for the home-
coming of her brothers and sisters. There was very little
to " keep Christmas " upon ; and she could not but be
grateful when her scanty store was enlarged by gifts from
the Adairs, and also (to her great astonishment) from Sir
Philip Ashley and from Wyvis Brand.

" Game, of course ! " said Nora, whom she told of these
windfalls on the first night of the sisters' ariival from their
school. " Well, I'm not sorry : we don't often have

144

A TRUE FRIEND,

grouse and woodcock at the luxurious table of Miss Peacock
& Co. ; but from three people at once ! it will surely be
monotonous."

" Don't be ridiculous, Nora. Lady Caroline has sei^it
me a turkey, and the Brands have presented us with fowls
and a side of home-cured bacon — very acceptable too, I
can tell you ! It is only Sir Philip who has sent game."

'* Ah, he is the fine gentleman of them all," said Nora,
whose spirits were high in spite of the depression that
occasionally overcast the whole family when they remem-
bered that this Christmas would be spent without their
father's loving p ^ence in their home. "The others
are coinmonplace ! Have they been here lately ? "

« Wyvis Brand called when I was out, and did not come
in. Mrs. Brand has been."

" Not the other one — Cuthbert ? " said Nora, with great
carelessness.

" No. I think he has been in Paris."

" And haven't you been there at all ? "

" I couldn't go, Nora. I have been too busy. Besides
— there is something that I must tell you — I wish I could
put it off, but I want you to help me."

The two girls were in their bedroom, and in the dark-
ness and stillness of the night Janetta put her arms round
Nora's neck and told her of her mother's besetting weak-
ness. She was surprised and almost alarmed at the effect
upon her stepsister. Nora shuddered two or three times
and drew several painful breaths ; but she did not cry,
and Janetta had expected an agony of tears. It was in a
low, strained voice that the girl said at last —

" You say you have tried to hide it. Even if you have
succeeded, it is not a thing that can be hidden long.
Everybody will soon know. And it will go on from bad to
worse. And — oh, Janetta, she is not your own mother,
but she is mine ! "

And then she burst at last into the fit of weeping for
which Janetta had been waiting. But it was more piteous
than violent, and she seemed to listen while Janetta tried
to comfort her, and passively endured rather than returned
the elder sister's caresses. Finally the two girls fell asleep
in each other's arms.

The effect upon Nora of this communication was very
marked. She looked pale and miserable for the next few

A TJ^C/E FRIEND,

«45

days^ and was irritable when her depression was remarked.
For the children's sakes, Janetta tried to make a few mild
festivities possible : she had a tiny Christmas tree in the
back dining-room, and a private entertainment of snap-
dragon on Christmas Eve ; and on Christmas Day after-
noon the younger ones roasted chestnuts in the kitchen
and listened to the tales that nobody could tell half so
well as "dear old Janet." But Mrs. Colwyn openly
lamented the hard-heartedness thus displayed, and locked
herself into her bedroom with (Janetta feared) some
private stores of her own ; and Nora refused to join the
subdued joviality in the kitchen, and spent the afternoon
over a novel in the front sitting-room. From the state of
her eyes and her handkerchief at tea-time, however,
Janetta conjectured that she had been crying for the
greater part of the time.

It was useless to remonstrate with Mrs, Colwyn, but
Janetta thought that something might be done with her
daughter. When Nora's depression of spirits had lasted
for some days, Janetta spoke out.

" Nora," she said, " I told you of our trouble, because
I thought that you would help me to bear it ; but you are
making things worse instead of better."

" What do you mean ? " asked Nora.

" It is no use fretting over what cannot be helped, dear.
If we are careful we can do much to lessen the danger and
the misery of it all. Mamma has been much better lately :
there has been nothing — no outbreak — since Lady Ashley
came. It is possible that things may be better. But we
must keep home cheerful, dear Nora : it does nobody any
good for you and me to look miserable."

" But I feel so miserable," said Nora, beginning to cry
again.

"And is that the only thing we have to think of?"
demanded Janetta, with severity.

" She is not your mother," murmured the girl.

" I know that, darling, but I have felt the trouble of it
as much as I think you can do."

" That is impossible 1 " said Nora, sitting up, and push-
ing back the disheveled blonde curls from her flushed face
— she had been lying <5n her bed when Janetta found her
and remonstrated ; " quite impossible. Because you are
not of her blood, not of her kith and kin ; and for me —

Z46

A TRUE FRIEND,

for all of us — ^it is worse, because people can always
point to us, and say, * The taint is in their veins : their
mother drank — they may drink, too, one day,* and we
shall be always under a ban ! "

Janetta was struck by the fact that Nora looked at the
matter entirely from her awn point of view — that very little
affection for her mother was mingled with the shame and
the disgrace that she felt. Mrs. Colwyn had never gained
her children's respect ; and when the days of babyhood
were over she had not retained their love. Nora was
hurt, indignant, ashamed ; but she shrank from her mother
more than she pitied her.

" What do you mean by * under a ban ? ' " Janetta
asked, after a little silence.

Nora colored hotly.

" I mean," she said, looking down and fingering her
dress nervously ; " I mean — that — if any of us wanted to

get married "

" Hadn't we better wait until
she said, half-satirically, half

Janetta laughed a little,
the opportunity arises?"
affectionately.

" Oh, you don't know

exclaimed Nora, giving her
shoulders a little impatient twist. " I may have had the
opportunity already, for all you know ! "

Janetta's tone changed instantly. " Nora, dear, have
you anything of that sort to tell me? Won't you trust
me?"

" Oh, there's nothing to tell. It's only — Cuthbert."
" Cuthbert Brand ! Nora ! what do you know of him ? "

"Didn't you know?" said Nora, demurely.

teaches drawing at Mrs. Smith's school."
" Teaches — ^but, Nora, why does he teach?"
" He is an artist : I suppose he likes it."
" How long has he been teaching there ? "
" Soon after I went first," said Nora, casting down her

eyes. There was a little smile upon her face, as though

she were not at all displeased at the confession. But a

cold chill crept into Janetta's heart.

" Has it been a scheme — a plot, then ? Did you suggest

to him that he should come — and pretend that he was a

stranger."
' " Oh> Janetta, don't look so solemn ! No, I did not

suggest it. He met me one day when I was out with

A TRUE FRIEND.

"47

I He

her

[ugh

It a

not
rith

Georgie shopping, and he walked with us for a little way
and found out where we lived, and all about us. And then I
heard from Mrs. Smith that she had arranged with him to
teach drawing to the girls. She did not know who he was,
except that he had all sorts of medals and certificates and
things, and that he had exhibited in the Royal Academy."

" And you did not say to her openly that he was a con-
nection of yours ? "

" He isn't," said Nora, petulantly. ** He is your con-
nection, not mine. There was no use in saying anything,
only Georgie used to giggle so dreadfully when he came
near her that I was always afraid we should be found out."
. " You might at least have left Georgie out of your plot,"
said Janetta, who was very deeply grieved at Nora's
revelations. " I always thought chat she was straight-
forward."

'* You needn't be so hard on us, Janetta," murmured
Nora. " I'm sure we did not mean to be anything but
straightforward."

'* It was not straightforward to conceal your acquain-
tance with Mr. Cuthbert Brand from Mrs. Smith. Especi-
ally," said Janetta, looking steadily at her sister, **ifyou
had any idea he came there to see you."

She seemed to wait for an answer, and Nora felt
obliged to respond.

** He never said so. But, of course " — with a little pout
— " Georgie and I knew quite well. He used to send me
lovely flowers by post — he did not write to me, but I
knew where they came from, for he would sometimes put
his initials inside the lid; and he always looked at my
drawings a great deal more than the others — and he — he
looked at me too, Janetta, and you need not be so
unbelieving."

There was such a curious little touch of Mrs. Colwyn's
irritability in Nora's manner at that moment that Janetta
stood and looked at her without replying, conscious only
of a great sinking at the heart. Vain, affected, irre-
sponsible, childish ! — were all these qualities to appear in
Nora, as they had already appeared in her mother, to lead
her to destruction ? ,^ Mr. Colwyn's word of warning with
respect to Nora flashed into her mind. She brought her-
self to say at last, with dry lips —

" This must not go on."

A TRUE FRIEND,

Nora was up in arms in a moment. ** What must not
fp on ? There is nothing to stop. We have done noth-
mg wrong I "

" Perhaps not," said Janetta, slowly. " Perhaps there
is nothing worse than childish folly and deceit on your
part, but I think that Mr. Cuthbert Brand is not acting in
an honorable manner at all. Either you must put a stop
to it, Nora, or I shall." ■

" What can I do, I should like to know ? "

" You had better tell Mrs. Smith," said the elder sister,
** that Mr. Brand is a second-cousin of mine. That the
connection was so distant that you had not thought of
mentioning it until I pointed out to you that you ought to
do so, and that you hope she will pardon you for what
will certainly '^eem to her very underhand conduct."

Nora shrank a little. " Oh, I can't do that, Janetta : I
really can't. She would be so angry ! "

" There is another way, then : you must tell Cuthbert
Brand not to send you any more flowers, and ask him to
give no more drawing lessons at that school."

" Oh, Janetta, I can't. He has never said that he came
to see me, and it would look as if I thought "

" What yoru do think in your heart," said Janetta. Then,
thinking that she had been a little brutal, she added, more
gently — " But there is perhaps no need to decide to-day
or to-morrow what we are to do. We can think over it
and see if there is a better way. All that I am determined
upon is that your doings must be fair and open."

" And you won't speak to anybody else about it, will
you?" said Nora, rather relieved by this respite, and
hoping to elude Janetta'b vigilance still.

" I shall promise nothing," Janetta answered. " I must
think about it."

She turned to leave the room, but was arrested by a
burst of sobbing and a piteous appeal.

" You are very unkind, Janetta. I thought that you
would have sympathized."

Janetta stood still and sighed. " I don't know what to
say, Nora," she said.

" You are very cold — very hard. You do not care one
bit what I feel."

Perhaps, thought Janetta, the reproach had some truth
in it. At any rate she went quietly out of the room and

A TRUE FRIEND,

«49

closed the door, leaving Nora to cry as long and as heart-
ily as she pleased.

The elder sister went straight to Georgie. That young
person, frank and boisterous by nature, was not given to
deceit, and, although she was reluctant at first to betray
Nora's confidence^ she soon acknowledged that it was a
relief to her to speak the truth and the whole truth to
Janetta. Her account tallied in the main with the one
given by Nora. There did not seem to have been more
than a little concealment, a httle flirting, a little folly ; but
Janetta was aghast to think of the extent to which Nora
might have been compromised, and indignant at Cuthbert
Brand's culpable thoughtlessness — if it was nothing worse.

" What people have said of the Brands is true," she de-
clared vehemently to herself. " They work mischief wher-
ever they go ; they have no goodness, no pity, no feeling
of right and wrong. I thought that Cuthbert looked good,
but he is no better than the others, and there is nothing to
be hoped from any of them. And father told me to take
care of his children — and I promised. What can I do ?
His * faithful Janetta ' cannot leave them to take their own
way — to go to ruin if they please 1 Oh, my poor Nora 1
You did not mean any harm, and perhaps I was hard on
you ! "

She relieved herself by a few quiet but bitter tears ; and
then she was forced to leave the consideration of the mat-
ter for the present, as there were many household duties
to attend to which nobody could manage but herself.

When she was again able to consider the matter, how-
ever, she began to make up her mind that she must act
boldly and promptly if she meant to act at all. Nora had
no father, and practically no mother : Janetta must be
both at once, if she would fulfil her ideal of duty. And by
degrees a plan of action formed itself in her mind. She
would go to the Brands* house, and ask for Cuthbert him-
self. Certainly she had heard that he was in Paris, but
surely he would have returned by this time — for New
Year's Day if not for Christmas Day ! She would see him
and ask him to forbear — ask him not to send flowers to
her little sister, who was too young for such attentions —
to herself Janetta adde<^, "and too silly." He could be
only amusing himself — and he should not amuse himself at
Nora's expense. He had a nice face, too, sho could not

IS©

A TRUE FRIEND.

help reflecting , he did not look like a man who would do
a wanton injury to a fatherless girl. Perhaps, after all,
there was some mistake.

And if she could not see him, she would see Mrs. Brand.
The mother would, no doubt, help her: she had been
always kind. Of Wyvis Brand she scarcely thought. She
hoped that she might not see him — she had never spoken
to him, she remembered, since the day when he had asked
her to be his friend.

CHAPTER XX.

AN ELDER BROTHER.

She did not say a word to Nora about her scheme. The
next day — ^it was the third of January, as she afterwards
remembered — ^was bright and clear, a good day for walk-
ing. She told her sisters that she had business abroad,
and gave them the directions respecting the care of their
house and their mother that she thought they needed ;
then set forth to walk briskly from Gwynne Street to the
old Red House.

She purposely chose the morning for her expedition.
She was not making a call — she was going on business.
She did not mean to ask for Mrs. Brand even, first of all ;
she. intended to ask for Mr. Cuthbert Brand. Wyvis
would probably be out ; but Cuthbert, with his sedentary
habits and his slight lameness, was more likely to be at
home painting in the brilliant morning light than out of
doors.

It was nearly twelve o'clock when she reached her des-
tination. She went through the leafless woods, for that
was the shortest way and the pleasantest — although she had
thought little of pleasantness when she came out, but still
it was good to hear the brittle twigs snap under her feet,
and not the slight coating of frost that made the rims of
the dead leaves beautiful — and it was hardly a surprise to
her to hear a child's laugh ring out on the air at the very
spot where, months before, she and Nora had found little
Julian Brand. A moment later the boy himself came leap-
ing down the narrow woodland path towards her with a

A TRUE FRIEND,

«S»

noisy greeting - and then — to Janetta's vexation and dis-
may — instead ot nurse or grandmother, there emerged from
among the trees the figure of the child's father, Wyvis
Brand. He had a healthier and more cheerful look than
when she saw him last : he was in shooting coat and
knickerbockers, and he had a gun in his hand and a couple
of dogs at his heels. He lifted his hat and smiled, as if
suddenly pleased when he'saw her, but his face grew grave
as he held out his hand. Both thought instinctively of
their last meeting at her father's grave, and both hastened
into commonplace speech in order to forget it.

*' I am glad to see you again. I hope you are coming
to our place," he said. And she —

" I hope Mrs. Brand is well. Is she at home ? **

" No, she's not," said little Julian, with the frank fear-
lessness of childhood. ** She's gone out for the whole day
with Uncle Cuthbert, and father and I are left all by our-
selves ; and father has let me come out with him ; haven't
you, father ? " He looked proudly at his father, and then
at Janetta, while he spoke.

"So it appears," said Wyvis, with a queer little smile.

" Grandmother said I was to take care of father, so I'm
doing it," Julian announced. " Father thinks I'm a brave •
boy now^ — not a milksop. He said I was a milksop, you
know, the last time you came here."

" Come, young man, don't you chatter so much," said
his father, with a sort of rough affectionateness, which
struck Janetta as something new. " You run on with the
dogs, and tell the servants to get some wine or milk or
something ready for Miss Colwyn. I'm sure you are tired,"
he said to her, in a lower tone, with a searching glance at
her pale face.

It was hardly fatigue so much as disappointment that
made Janetta pale. She had not expected to find both
Mrs. Brand and Cuthbert out, and the failure of her plan
daunted her a little, for she did not often find it an easy
thing to absent herself from home for several hours.

" I am not tired," said Janetta, unsteadily, " but I
thought I should find t^em in — Mrs. Brand, I mean "

" Did you want to see them — my mother, I mean —
particularly ? " askec? Wyvis, either by accident or inten-
tion seeming to parody her words.

" I have not seen her for a long time." Janetta evaded

»$a

A TRUE FRIEND,

siving a direct answer. " I thought that I should have
had a little talk with her. If she is out, I think that I
had better turn back."

" You had better rest for a little while," he said. " It
is a long walk, and in spite of what you may say, you do
look tired. If you have business with my mother, perhaps
I may do as well. She generally leaves all her business
to me."

" No," said Janetta, with considerable embarrassment
of manner. " It is nothing — I can come another time."

He looked at her for a moment as if she puzzled him.

"You have been teaching music in JBeaminster, I
believe ? "

"Yes — and other things."

" May I ask what other things ? "

Janetta smiled. " I have a little sister, Tiny," she said,
"and I teach her everything she learns. Reading,
writing, and arithmetic, you know. And a neighbor's little
boy comes in and learns with her."

"I have been wondering,'* said Wyvis, "whether you
would care to do anything with that boy of mine."

"That dear little Julian? Oh, I should be glad," said
Janetta, more freely than she had yet spoken. " He is
such a sweet little fellow."

" He has a spirit of his own, as you know," said the
father, with rather an unwilling smile. " He is not a bad
little chap ; but he has lately attached himself a good deal
to me, and I have to go into the stables and about the
land a good deal, and I don't think it's altogether good for
him. I found him " — apologetically-*-" using some very
bad language the other day. Oh, you needn't be afraid ;
he won't do it again ; I think I thrashed it out of him — ^"

"Oh, that's worse!" said Janetta, reproachfully.

" What do you mean ? "

" To strike a little fellow like that, when he did not know
that what he was saying was wrong ! And why did you
take him where he would hear language of that kind?
Wasn't it more your fault than his ? "

Wyvis bent his head and shrugged his shoulders- " If
the truth were known, I dare say he heard me use it," he
said dryly. " I'm not mealy-mouthed myself. However,
IVe taught him that he must not do it."

** Have you,. indeed ? And don't you think that example

ji TRUE FRIEND,

>53

will prove stronger than precept, or even than thrashing ? "
said Janetta. " If you want to teach him not to use bad
words, you had better not use them yourself, Mr. Brand."

" Mr. Brand ? " said Wy vis ; ** I thought it was to be
Cousin Wyvis. But I've disgusted you ; no wonder. I
told you long ago that I did not know how to bring up a
child. I asked you to help us — and you have not been
near the place for months."

" How could I help you, if vou mean to train him by
oaths and blows ? " asked Janetta.

" That's plain speaking, at any rate," he said. " Well,
I don't mind ; in fact, I might say that I like you the
better for it, if you'll allow me to go so far. I don't kn h
whether you're right or not. Of course it won't do for him
to talk as I do while he's a baby, but later on it won't
signify ; and a thrashing never did a boy any harm."

" Do you mean that you are in the habit of swearing ? "
said Janetta, with a direct simplicity, which made Wyvis
smile and wince at the same time.

" No, I don't," he said. " I always disliked the habit,
and I was determined that Julian shouldn't contract it.
But I've lived in a set that was not over particular ; and I
suppose I fell into their ways now and then."

** Apart from the moral point of view, no gentleman ever
does it 1 " said Janetta, hotly.

" Perhaps not. Perhaps I'm not a gentleman. My
relations, the publicans of Roxby, certainly were not. The
bad strain in us will out. you see."

" Oh, Cousin Wyvis, I did not mean that," said Janetta,
now genuinely distressed. " It is only that — I do wish
you would not talk in that way — use those words, I mean.
Julian is sure to catch them up, and you see yourself that
that would be a pity."

" I am to govern my tongue then for Julian's sake ? "

" Yes, and for your own."

" Do you care whether I govern it or not, Janetta? "

How oddly soft and tender his voice had grown !

" Yes, I do care," she answered, not very willingly, but
compelled to truthfulness by her own conscience and his
constraining gase.

" Then I swear I will," he exclaimed, impetuously.
" It is something to fftid a woman caring whether one is
good or bad, and I won't prove myself utterly unworthy of
your care,"

»54

A TRUE FRIEND,

** There is your mother : she cares.'*

** Oh, yeS| she cares, poor soul, but she cries over my
sins instead of fighting them. Fighting is not her mitiert
you know. Now, you — you fight well."

'' That is a compliment, I suppose ? " said Janetta,
laughing a little and coloring — not with displeasure — at hi&
tone.

" Yes," he said ; " I like the fighting spirit."

They had been walking slowly along the path, and now
they had reached the gate that opened into the grounds.
Here, as he opened it, Janetta hesitated, and then stopped
short.

" I think I had better make the best of my way back,"
she said. ^' It is getting late."

" Not much after twelve. Are we not friends again ? "

"Oh yes."

"And will you think over what I said about my boy?"

" Do you really mean it ? "

" Most decidedly. You couldn't come here, I suppose
— ^you wouldn't leave home ? "

" No, I could not do that. How would he get to me
every day ? "

" I would bring him myself, or send him in the dog-cart.
I or my brother would look after that." Then, seeing a
sudden look of protest in Janetta's face, he added quickly
—"You don't like that?"

" It is nothing," said Janetta, looking down.

" Is it to me or to my brother that you object ? "

He smiled as he spoke, but, a little to his surprise,
Janetta kept silence, and did not smile. Wyvis Brand
was a man of very quick perceptions, and he saw at once
that if she seemed troubled she bad a reason for it.

" Has Cuchbert offended you ? " he asked.

" I have only spoken to him once — four months ago."

" That is no answer. What has he been about ? I have
some idea, you know," said Wyvis, coolly, "because I
came across some sketches of his which betrayed where
his thoughts were straying. Your pretty sister quite capti-
vated him, I believe. Has he been getting jip a flirtation ? "

" I suppose it is a joke to him and to you," said Janetta,
almost pafisionately, "but it is no joke to us. Yes, I
came to speak to him or to your mother about it. Either
she must leave the school where she is teaching, or ^c
iDUst let ))er ^lone."

A TRUE FRIEND,

t55

" You had better not speak to my mother ; it will only
worry her. Come in, and tell me about it," said Wyvis,
opening the gate, and laying his hand gently on her arm.

She did not resent his tone of mastery. In spite of the
many faults and errors that she discerned m him, it always
seemed to her that a warmer and finer nature lay below
the outside trappings of roughness and coldness than was
generally perceptible. And when this better nature came
to the front, it brought with it a remembrance of the tie of
kinship, and Janetta's heart softened to him at once.

He took her into a room which she guessed to be his
own private sanctum — a thoroughly untidy place, littered
with books, papers, tools, weapons, gardening implements,
pipes and^obacco jars, in fine confusion. He had to clear
av.'ay a pile of books f'-om a chair before she could sit
do <vn. Then he planted himself on a corner of the solid,
square oak table in the middle of the room, and prepared
to listen to her story. Julian, who interrupted them
once, was ordered out of the room again in such a
peremptory tone that Janetta was somewhat startled. But
really the boy did not seem to mind.

By dint of leading questions he drew from her an outline
of the facts of the case, but she softened them, for Nora's
sal;e, as much as possible. She looked at him anxiously
when she had done, to see whether he was angry.

" You know," she said, " I don't want to sow dissension
of any kind between you."

Wyvis smiled. " I know you don't. But I assure you
Cuthbert and I never quarreled in our lives. That is not
one of the sins you can lay to my charge. He is a whim-
sical fellow, and I suspect that this has been one of his
freaks — not meaning to hurt anybody. If you leave him
to me, I'll stop the drawing-lessons at any rate, and
probably the flowers."

" Don't let him think that Nora cares," she said. ** She
is quite a child — if he had sent her bonbons she would
have liked them even better than flowers."

" I understand. I will do my best — as you are so good
as to trust me," he answered, lowering his voice.

A little silence fell between them. Something in the
tone had made Janetta's heart beat fast. Then there rose
up before her — she h^dly knew why — the vision of a
woman, an imaginary woman, one whom she had never

156

A TRUE FRIEND.

seen — the woman with Julian's eyes, the woman who called
herself the wife of Wy vis Brand. The thought had power
to bring her to her feet.

" And now I must really go."

" Not yet," he said, smiling down at her with a very
kindly look in his stem dark eyes. " Do you know you
have given me a great deal of pleasure to-day ? You have
trusted me to do a commission for you — a delicate bit of work
too — and that shows that you don't consider me altogether
worthless."

" You may be sure that I do not."

** Yes, we are friends. I have some satisfaction in that
thought. Do you know that you are the first woman who
has ever made a friend of me ? who has ever trusted me,
and taught me — for a moment or two — to respect myself ?
It is the newest sensation I have had for years."

" Not tlie sensa^^ion of respecting yourself, I hope ? "

" Yes, indeed. You don't know — you will never know-
how I've been handicapped in life. Can you manage to be
friendly with me even when I don't do exactly as you
approve ? You are at liberty to tell me with cotismly
frankness what you dislike."

" On that condition we can be friends," said Janelta,
smiling and tendering her hand. She meant to say good-
bye, but he retained the little hand in his own and went on
talking.

•* How about the boy^ You'll take him for a few hours
every day ? "

" You really mean it ? "

" I do, indeed. Name your own terms."

She blushed a little, but was resolved to be business-like.

" You know I can't afford to do it for nothing," she said.

" He can come from ten to one, if you like to give me "

and then she mentioned a sum which Wyvis thought miser-
ably inadequate.

* ' Absurd I " he cried. '* Double that, and then take
him ! When can he come ? "

" Next week, if you like. But I mean what I say "

• " So do I, and as my will iis stronger than 3'ours I shall
have my owr> way."

Janetta shook her head, and, having by this time got her
hand free, she managed to say goodbye, and left the house
much more cheerfully than she had entered it. Strange to

A TRUE FRIEND.

«S7

died

JWCI

say, she had a curious feeling of trust in Wyvis Brand's
promise to help her ; it seemed to her that he was a man
who would endeavor at all costs to keep his word.

very
r yott
have
work
;ether

n that
n who
d me,
yself ?

now—
;e to be
as you
pusmly

anetta,
good-
ent on

hours

take

|I shall

|got her

house

mge to

CHAPTER XXI.

cuthbert's romance.

Janeita was hardly surprised when, two days later, she
was asked to give a private audience to Mr. Cuthbert
Brand. She had not yet told Nora of the course that she
had pursued, for she was indeed rather unnecessarily
ashamed of it. " It was just like a worldly mamma asking
a young man his intentions about her daughter," she said to
herself, with a whimsical smile. '' Probably nothing will
come of it but a cessation of these silly little attentions to
Nora." But she felt a little shy and constrained when she
entered the drawing-room, and, while shaking hands with
her cousin, she did not lift her eyes to his face.

When she had taken a seat, however, and managed to
steal a glance at him, she was half-provoked, half-reassured.
Cuthbert's mobile face was full of a merry, twinkling
humor, and expressed no penitence at all. She was so
much astonished that she forgot her shyness, and looked
at him inquiringly without opening her lips.

Cuthbert laughed — an irrepressible little laugh, as if he
could not help it. " Look here. Cousin Janetta," he said,
" I'm awfully sorry, but I really can't help it. The idea of
you as a duenna and of Wyvis as a heavy father has been
tickling me ever since yesterday, and I shall have to have
it out sooner or later. I assure you it's only a nervous
affection. If I didn't laugh, I might cry or faint, and that
would be worse, you know.".

" I don't quite see the joke," said Janetta, gravely.

" The joke," said Cuthbert, " lies in the contrast
between yourself and the role you have taken upon you"

" It is a role that I am obliged to take upon me,"
interposed Janetta ; " because my sisters have no father,
and a mother whose health makes it impossible for her to
guard them as she wduld like to do."

** Now you're going to be severe," said Cuthbert ', ** and

,aaS|!>a« M. I 'jM I*1 1»M»iH »* M MW i WW

v^^-7

«s«

A TRUE FRIEND,

'\ ?-

indeed I am guiltless of anything but a little harmless
fooling. I can but tender my humblest apologies, and
assure you that I have resigned my post in Mrs. Smith's
educational estcblishment, and that I will keep my flowers
in future to myself, unless I may send them with your
consent and that of my authoritative elder brother."

Janetta was not mollified. " It is easy for you to talk of
it so lightly," she said, " but you forget that yoii might
have involved both my sisters in serious trouble."

" Don't you think I should have been able to get them
out again ? " said Cuthbert, with all the lightness to which
she objected. " Don't you think that I could have paci-
fied the school-mistress ? There is one thing that I must
explain. My fancy for teaching was a fad, undertaken for
its own sake, which led me accidentally at first to Mrs.
Smith's school. I did not know that your sisters were
there until I had made my preliminary arrangements."

Janetta flushed deeply, and did not reply. Nora's
imagination had been more active than she expected.
Cuthbert, who was watching her, saw the flush and the
look of surprise, and easily guessed what had passed
between the sisters.

" Did you ever read Sheridan's * Rivals ? ' " he asked,
quietly. " Don't you remember the romantic heroine who
insisted on her romance ? She would hardly consent to
marry a man unless he had a history, and would help her
to make one for herself? "

" I don't think that Nora is at all like Lydia Languish."

" Possibly not, in essentials. But she loves romance and
mystery and excitement, as Lydia Languish did. It is a
very harm.> .s romance that consists in sending a few cut
flowers by Parcel Post, Cousin Janetta."

** I know — it sounds very little," Janetta said, " but it
may do harm for all that."

" Has it done harm to yojir sister, then ? " Cuthbert
inquired, with apparent innocence, but with the slight
twinkle of his eye, which told of inward mirth. Janetta
was again growing indignant, and was about to answer
rather sharply, when he once more changed his tone.
" There," he said, " I have teased you quite enough,
haven't I ? I have been presuming on our relationship to
be as provoking as I could, because — honestly — I thought
that you might have trusted me a little inore. , Now, shall
I be serious ? "

A TRUE FRIEND,

«59

)ut it

" If you can," said Janetta.

" That* s awfully severe. By nature, I must tell you, I
am the most serious, not to say melancholy, person in
creation. But on a fine day my spirits run away with me.
Now, Janetta — I may call you Janetta, may not I ? — I am
going to be serious, deadly serious, as serious as if it were
a wet day in town. And the commuitication that I wish
to make to you as the head of the family, which you seem
to be, is that I am head over ears in love with your sister
Nora, and that I beg for the honor of her hand."

" You are joking," said, his hearer, reproachfully.

" Never was joking further from my thoughts. Getting
married is an exceedingly solemn business, I believe. I
want to marry Nora and take her to Paris."

" Oh, this is ridiculous : you can't mean it," said Janetta.

** Why ridiculous ? Did I not tell you that I admired
Miss Lydia Languish? Her desire for a romance was
quite praiseworthy : it is what every woman cherishes in
her heart of hearts : only Nora, being more naive and frank
and child-like than most women, let me see the desire
more clearly than women mostly do. That's why I love
her. She is natural and lovable and lovely. Don't tell me
that I can't win her heart. I know I may have touched
her fancy, but that is not enough. Let me have the chance,
and I think that I can go deeper still."

"You said that you would be serious, but you don't
know how serious this is to me," said Janetta, the tears
rising to her eyes. " My father told me to take care of
her : she is very young — and not very wise ; and how am
I to know whether you mean what you say ? "

" I do mean it, indeed ! " said Cuthbert, in a much
graver tone. , " I have got into the habit of talking as if I
felt very little — a ridiculous habit, I acknowledge — but, in
this matter, I mean it from the bottom of my heart."

" I suppose, then, ' said Janetta, tremulously, " that you
must speak to mamma — and to Nora. I am not at all the
head of the house, although you are pleased — in fun — to
call me so. I am only Nora's half-sister, fond of her and
anxious about her, and ready to do all that I can do for
her good."

Cuthbert looked at her intently. Her face was pale, and
the black dress that she wore was not altogether becoming
to her dark eyes and complexion, but there was something

W-:

i6o

A TRUE FRIEND.

pathetic to him in the weight of care which seemed to sit
upon those young brows and bear dov'n the slender
shoulders of the girl. The new sensation thus given
caused him to say, with sudden earnestness —

" Will you forgive me for having spoken and acted so
thoughtlessly? I never meant to cause you so much
an3fiety. You soe, I am not very well acquainted with
English ways, and I may have made more mistakes than I
knew. When Nora is my wife you shall not have to fear
for her happiness."

" You speak very confidently of making her your wife,"
said Janetta, forgiving him in her heart, nevertheless.
** But you have no house — no profession, have you ? "

" No income, you mean ? " said Cuthbert, with his merry
smile. " Oh, yes, I have a profession. It does not pay me
ij lite so well as it might do, but I think I shall do better
by-and-bye. Then I have a couple of hundreds a year of
my own. Is it too much of a pittance to begin upon ? "

** Nora is quite too young to begin upon anything. If
only you would leave her alone for a year or two ! — till she
is a little more staid and sensible ! "

" But that's too late, don't you see ? That's where my
apologies have to come in. I have disturbed the peace
already, haven't I ? "

" Mr. Brand," said Janetta, gravely, in spite of an excla-
mation of protest from her cousin, '* I don't think that we
are going quite deeply enough into the matter. There
are one or two things that I must say : there is no one else
to say them. Nora is young and foolish, but she is affec-
tionate and sensitive, and if she once cares for you, you
may make the happiness or the misery of her life. Our
dear father told me to take care of her. And I am not
sure that he would have sanctioned her engagement io
you."

** I'd better send Wyvis to talk to you," said Cuthbert,
starting up and nearly upsetting a chair in his eagerness.
" I knew he could manage and — and explain things better
than I could. He's well up in the family affairs. Will
you see him now ? "

"Now?"

" He's outside waiting. He wouldn't come in. I'll go
and send him to you. No, don't object : there are ever so
many things that you two elders had better talk over

A TRUE FRIEND,

i6i

sit
ler
en

so
ich
rith
ml
fear

ife,"
less.

lerry
yme
etter
;ar of
?"

r. If
ill she

re my
peace

ibert,
[mess.
Ibetter
Will

I'll go
^ver so
over

together. I must say," said Cuthbert, beginning to laugh
again in his light-hearted way, " that, when I think of
Wyvis as a family man, bent on seeing his younger brother
se ranger^ and you as Nora's stern guardian, I am seized
with an access of uncontrollable mirth."

He caught up his hat and left the room so quickly that
Janetta, taken by surprise, could not stop him. She tried
to follow, but she was too late : he had rushed off, leaving
the hall-door open, and a draught of cold air was ascending
the stairs and causing her stepmother peevishly to remark
that Janetta's visitors were really intolerable. '* Who was
it, this time ? " she asked of her second daughter Georgie,
who was standing at the window — the mother and her girls
being assembled in Mrs. Colwyn's bedroom, her favorite
resort on cold afternoons.

Georgie gave a little giggle — ^her manners were not per-
fect, in spite of a term at Mrs. Smith's superior seminary
for young ladies — and answered, under her breath —
" It was Mr. Cuthbert Brand."

Nora's book fell from her knee. When she picked it up
her cheeks were crimson and her eyes were flashing fire.
" Don't be absurd, Georgie. It was «e?/."
"Indeed it was, Nora. I suppose he came to see
Janetta, and Janetta has sent him away. Oh, how he's
running, although he is a little lame ! He has caught
some one — ^his brother, I believe it is ; and now the
brother's walking back with him."

" I shall go down," said Mrs. Colwyn, with dignity.
** It is not at all proper for a young person like Janetta to
receive gentlemen alone. I shall go and sit in the drawing-
room myself."

" Then Janetta will take her visitors into the dining-
room," said Nora, abruptly. ** She has only business with
these people, mamma : they don't come to visit us because
they like us— it is only when they want us to do something
for them ; so I would not put myself out for them if I were
you. And as for Janetta's being young, she is the oldest
person amongst us." And then Nora turned to her book,
which she held upside down without being at all aware of
it.

" I do not know what you mean, Nora," was Mrs. Col-
wyn's fretful response ; " and if the other brother is coming

\ '

1 63

A TRL£ FRIEND.

here, I shall certainly not disturb myself, for I believe him
to be a wild, dissipated, immoral, young man."

" Just the sort of man for Janet to receive alone," mur-
mured Georgie, maliciously. Georgie was the member of
the family who ** had a tongue."

Meanwhile Wyvis had come into the house, though
v/ithout Cuthbert, who had thought it better to disappear
into the gathering darkness ; and Janetta received him in
the hall.

He laughed a little as he took her hand. " Cuthbert is
a little impatient, is he not ? Well, he has persuaded me
into talking this matter over with you. I'm to come in
here, am I ? " as Janetta silently opened the sitting-room
door for him. " This looks pleasant," he added after a
moment's pause.

In the gathering evening gloom the shabbiness of the
furniture could not be seen, and the fire-light danced play-
fully over the worn, comfortable-looking chairs drawn up
to the hearth, on the holly and mistletoe which decorated
the walls, and the great cluster of geranium and Christmas
roses which the Adairs had sent to Janetta the day before.
Everything looked homelike and comfortable, and perhaps
it was no wonder that Wyvis — accustomed to the gloom of
his own home, or the garish splendor of a Paris hotel —
felt that he was entering a new sphere, or undergoing
some new experience.

" Don't light the lamp," he said, in his imperious v/ay ;
" let us talk in this half-light, if you don't min4 ? it's pleas-
anter."

*' And easier," said Janetta, softly.

* Easier? Does it need an effort ? "

" I am afraid I have something unpleasant to say."

" So have I. We are quits, then. You can begin."

" Your brother has been asking if he may be engaged to
Nora "

" If he may marry her out of hand, vou mean. That's
what he wants to do."

"We know very little of him," said Janetta, rather un
steadily, ** or of you. Things have been said against you
in Beaminster — you have yourself told me things that I did
not like — indeed, my father almost warned n:e against
you "

A murmur from Wyvis Brand sounded uncommonly like
" the devil he did ! " — but Janetta did not stop to listen.

A TRUE FRIEND,

163

mur-
>er of

lOUgh
ppear
lim in

bert is
Led me
oine in
g-room
after a

\ of the
ed play-
awn up
;co rated
liristmas
before,
perhaps
loom of
hotel—
ergoing

Us V* ay ;
;'s pleas-

jin.
igagedto

That's

lather un
iinst you
that I did
against

lonly lil^<^
listen.

" I never heard anything but vagu'* generalities against
hinti but then I never heard anything particularly good. I
don't like the way in which he has pursued his acquaint-
ance with Nora. I have no authority with her — not much
influence with her mother — and, therefore, I throw myself
on you for help," said Janetta, her musical voice taking a.
pathetically earnest cadence ; " and I ask you to beg your
brother to wait — to let Nora grow older and know her own
mind a little better — to give us the chance of knowing him
before he asks to take her away."

" You have not said cither of the things that I was ex-
pecting to hear," said Wyvis.

" What were those ? "

" How much money he had a year ! "

" Oh, he told me about that."

** Or — an allusion to his forbears : his father's character
and his mother's relations — the two bugbears of Beamin-
ster."

" I think nothing of those, if Cuthbert himself is good."

" Well, he is good. He is as different from me as light
is from darkness. He is a little thoughtless and unprac-
tical sometimes, but he is sweet ^ ompered, honest, true,
clean-living, and God-fearing. Will that suit you ? "

"If he is all that "

" He is that and more. We are not effusive, Cuthbert
and I, but I think him one of the best fellows in the world.
She'll be lucky who gets him, in my opinion."

*' All the more reason, then, why I must say a still more
unpleasant thing than ever," she replied. " Nora is in
great trouble, because she has been told what I have
known for some time. Her mother does not always con-
trol herself; you know what I mean? She must not
marry without telling this — we cannot deceive the man
who is to be her husband — he must know the possible dis-
grace."

" If every woman were as straightforward and honor-
able as you, Janetta, there would be fewer miserable mar-
riages," said Wyvis, slowly. " You are, ho doubt, right to
speak ; but, on the other hand, our family record is much
worse than yours. If one of you can condescend to take
one of u^, I think we shall have the advantage."

Janetta drew a long breath.

" Then, will you heln me in what I ask ? "

I«4

A TRUE FRIEND,

** Yes, I will. I'll speak to Cuthbert and point out how
reasonable you are. Then — ^you'll let him cultivate your
sister's acquaintance, I suppose ? In spite of your dis-
claimers, I believe you are supreme in the house. I wish
there were more like you to be supreme, Janetta. I wish
— to God I wish — that I had met you — a woman like you—
eight years ago."

And before she could realize the meaning of what he
had said to her, thv? man was gone.

CHAPTER XXII.

WYVIS BRAND'S IDEAL.

Everything was satisfactorily settled. Crthbert wr,s pat
on his probation ; Nora was instructed in the prospect
that lay before her, and was allowed to correspond with
her " semi-betrothed," as he insisted on calling himself.
Mrs. Colwyn was radiant with reflected glory, for although
she despised and hated Mrs. Brand, she was not blind to
the advantages that would accrue to herself through con-
nection with a County family. She was not, however, as
fully informed in the details of the little love-£^ifair as she
imagined herself to be. Janetta's share in bringing about
a dinouement and retarding its further development was
quite unknown to her. The delay, which some of Mr.
Colwyn's old friends urged with great vigor, was ascribed
by her chiefly to the hostile influences of Wyvis Brand,
and she made a point of being openly uncivil to that
gentleman when, on flne mornings, he brought his boy to
Gwynne Street or fetched him away on a bright afternoon.
For it had been decided that little Julian should not only
come every day at ten, but on two days of the week should
stay until four o'clock in the afternoon, in order to enjoy
the advantages of Tiny's society. He had been living so
unchildlike a life of late that Janetta begged to keep him for
play as well as for lessons with other children.

Nora went back to her school somewhat sobered by the
unexpected turn of events, and rather ashamed of hei'
assumption (dispelled by Janetta) that Cuthbert Brand had
given drawing Wessons at Mrs. Smith's in order to be near

A TRUE FRIEND,

1«5

thow
i your
r dis-
; wish
[ wish
you—

bathe

wr.s pat
prospect
md with
himself,
although
blind to
igh con-
ever, as
\x as she
ig about
lent was
; of Mr.
ascribed
s Brand,
to that
is boy to
fternoon.
not only
;k should
to enjoy
living so
;p him for

pedbythe
j^ of be*
irand had
to be near

her. Mr. Cuthbert Brand discontinued these lessons, but
opened a class in Beaminster at the half-deserted Art
School, and made himself popular wherever he went. Ja-
netta was half inclined to doubt the genuineness of his
affection for Nora when she heard of his innocent, but
quite enthusiastic, flirtations with other girls. But h^
always solemnly assured her that Nora had his heart, and
Nora only ; and as long as he made Nora happy Janetta
was content. And so the weeks passed on. She had
more to do now that Julian came every day, but she got
no new music pupils, and she heard nothing about the
evening parties at Lady Ashley's. She concluded that Sir
Philip and his mother had forgotten her, but such was not
the case. There had been a death in the family, and the
consequent period of mourning had prevented Lady Ashley
from giving any parties — that was all.

For some little time, therefore, Janetta's life seemed
likely to flow on in a very peaceful way. Mrs. Colwyn
"broke out" only once between ChristmaL and Easter,
and was more penitent and depressed after her outbreak
than Janetta had ever seen her. Matters went on more
quietly than ever after this event. Easter came, and
brought Nora and Georgie home again, and then there was
a period of comparative excitement and jollity, for the
Brands began to come with .much regularity to the little
house in Gwynne Street, and there were merry-makings
almost every day.

But when the accustomed routine began again, Janetta,
in her conscientious way, took herself seriously to task.
She had not been governing herself, her thoughts, her
time, her temper, as she conceived that it was right for
her to do. On reflection, it seemed to her that one person
lately filled up the whole of her mental horizon. And
this person she was genuinely shocked to find was Wyvis
Brand.

Why should she concern herself so much about him?
He was married ; he had a child ; his mother and brother
lived with him, and supplied his need of society. He
went out into the world about Beaminster more than he
used to do, and might have been fairly popular if he had
exerted himself, but this he would never do. There were
fewer reports current about his bad companions, or his
unsteady way of life ; and Janetta gathered from various

t»

A TRUE FRIEND,

sources that he had entirely abandoned that profane and
reckless method of speech for which she had rebuked hira.
He was improving, certainly. Well, was that any reason
why she should think about him so much, or consider his
character and his probable fate so earnestly ? She saw
no reason in it, she told herself ; and perhaps she was

rigl '

It nas another reason even more potent for making
herti v,k< im. He had had an unsatisfactory, troublous
sort oi life ; r** had been unfortunate in his domestic rela-
tions, and he wa;. most decidedly an unhappy man. Many
a woman before Janetta has found reasons of this kind
suffice for love of a man. Certainly, in Janetta's case,
they formed the basis of a good deal of interest. She told
herself that she could not help thinking of hirn. He came
very often, on pretext of bringing or of fetching Julian —
especially on the days when Julian stayed until four
o'clock, for then he would stray in and sit down to chat
with Janetta and her mother until it was sheer incivility
not to offer him a cup of tea. Softened by the pleasures
of hospitality, Mrs. Colwyn would be quite gracious to
him at these times. But now and then she lefl him to be
entertained by Janetta, saying rather sharply that she did
not care to meet the man who chose to behave " so brutally
to her darling Nora."

So that Janetta got into the way of sitting with him,
talking with him on all subjects, of giving him her sage
advice when he asked for it, and listening with interest to
the stories that he told her of his past life. It was natural
that she should think about him a good deal, and about
his efforts to straighten the tangled coil of his life, and to
make himself a worthier father for his little son than his
own father had been to him. There was nothing in the
world more likely than this sort of intercourse to bring
these two kinsfolk upon terms of closest friendship. And
as Janetta indignantly told herself — there was nothing —
nothing more.

She always remembered that his wife was living ; she
never forgot it for a moment. He was, of course, not a
man whom she ever thought of loving — she wac angry with
herself for the very suggestion — but he was certainly a man
who interested her more than any one whom she had ever
ttiet. And he was interested in her too. He liked to talk

A TRUE FRIEND,

167

g—

to her, to ask her advice and listen to her pet thecn^t
She was friend, comrade, sister, all in one. Nothing mo' '.
But the position was, whether they knew it or not, a rather
dangerous one, and an innocent friendship might have
glided into something closer and more harmful had not an
unexpected turn been given to the events of both their
lives.

For some time Janetta had seen little of the Adairs.
They were very much occupied — visiting and receiving
visits — and Margaret's lessons were not persevered in.
But one afternoon, shortly after Ea? j, '^he called at Mrs.
Colwyn's house between three and W\x\ and asked when
she might begin again. Before th' da> ..as settled, how-
ever, they drifted into talk about th t things, and Mar-
garet was soon deeply engaged in a. a<':count of her pre-
sentation at Court.

" I thought you were going ^jtay in town for the
season ? " Janetta asked.

Margaret shook her head. " It was so hot and noisy,"
she murmured. " Papa said the close rooms spoiled my
complexion, and I am sure they spoiled my temper 1 "
She smiled bewitchingly as she spoke.

She was charmingly dressed in cream-colored muslin,
with a soft silk sash of some nondescript pink hue tied
round her waist, and a bunch of roses at her throat to
match the Paris flowers in her broad-brimmed, slightly
tilted, picturesque straw hat. A wrap for the carriage —
fawn-colored, with silk-lining ot rose-pink toned by an
under-tint of grey — carried out the scheme of color sug-
gested by her dress, and suited her fair complexion admir-
ably. She had thrown this wrap over the back of a chair
and removed her hat, so that Janetta might see whether
she was altered or not.

" You are just a trifle paler," Janetta confessed.

As a matter of fact there were some tired lines under
Margaret's eyes, and a distinct waning of the fresh faint
bloom upon her cheek — changes which made of her less the
school girl than the woman of the world. And yet, to
Janetta's thinking, she was more beautiful than ever, for
she was acquiring a little of the dignity given by experi-
ence without losing the simple tranquillity of the exquisite
child.

"X am a little tired," Margaret said. "One sees so

|68

A TRUE FRIEND,

much — one goes to so many places. I sighed for Helms-
ley Court, and dear mamma brought me home."

At this moment a crash, as of some falling body, re-
sounded through the house, followed by a clatter of break-
ing crockery, and the cries of children. Janetta started
up, with .changing color, and apologized to her guest.

" Dear Margaret, will you excuse me for a moment ? I
am afraid that one of the children must have fallen. I
will be back in a minute or two."

" Go, dear, by all means," said Margaret, placidly. " I
know how necessary you arc."

Janetta ran off, being desperately afraid that Mrs. Colwyn
had been the cause of this commotion. But here she was
mistaken. Mrs. Colwyn was safe in her room, but
Phoebe, the charity orphan, had been met, while ascending
the kitchen siair wiih the tea-tray in her hands, by a raid
of nursery people- -Tiny and Curly and Julian Brand, to
wit — had been accidentally knocked down, had broken
the best tea-set and dislocated her own collar-bone ; while
Julian's hand was severely cut and Curly's right eye was
black and blue. Tiny had fortunately escaped without
injury, and it was she, therefore, who was sent to Mar-
garet with a modified version of the disaster.

" Please, Janetta says, will you stay for a little minute
or two till she comes back again ? Curly's gone for the
doctor because Phoebe's done something to one of her
bones ; and Janetta's tying up Julian's thumb because it's
bleeding so dreadfully."

" I have never seen you before, have I ? " said Margaret,
smiling at the slim little girl with the delicate face and
great blue eyes. " You are Tiny ; I have often heard of
you. Do you kliow me ? "

" Yes," said Tiny. " You are the beautiful lady who
sends us flowers and things — Janetta's friend."

" Yes, that is right. And how long will Janetta be ? "

" Oh, not long, she said ; and she hoped you would not
mind waiting for a little while ? "

" Not at all. Is that the doctor ? " as a knock re-
sounded through the little house.

" I dare say it is," said Tiny, running to the door ; and
then after a moment's pause, she added, in a rather disap-
pointed tone, " No, it's Julian's father. It's Mr. Brand."

" Mr. Brand I " said Margaret, half-astonished and half-

A TRUE FRIEND,

169

amused. *• Oh, I have heard of him.'' And even as she
spoke, the door opv'incd, and VVyvis Krand walked straight
into the room.

He gave a very slight start as his eyes fell upon Mar-
guret^ but betrayed no other sign of surprise. Tiny flew
to him at once, dragged at his hand, and effected some
sort of informal introduction, mingled witli an account of
the accident which had happened to Julian.

" Don't you want to go and ascertain the amount of the
injury ? " said Margaret, with a little smile.

" Not at all," said Wyvis, emphatically, and took up his
position by the mantel-piece, whence he got the best view
of her graceful figure and flower-like face. Margaret felt
the gaze and was not displeased by it, admiration was no
new thing to her ; she smiled vaguely and slightly lowered
her lovely eyes. And Wyvis stood and looked.

In spite of his apparent roughness Wyvis Brand was an
impressionable man. He had come into the room cold,
tired, not quite in his usual health, and more than usually
out of humor ; and instead of the ordinary sight of Janetta —
a trim, pleasant, household-fairy sort of sight, it was true,
but not of the wildly exciting kind — he found a vision, as
it seemed to him, of the most ethereal beauty — a woman
whose every movement was full of grace, whose exqui-
sitely modulated voice expressed refinement as clearly as
her delicately moulded features ; whose whole being
seemed to exhale a sort of perfume of culture, as if she
were in herself the most perfect product of a whole civil-
ization.

Wyvis had been in many drawing-rooms and known
many women, more or less intimately, but he had never, in
all his purposeless Bohemian life, come across exactly this
type of woman — a type in which refinement counts for more
than beauty, culture for more than grace. With a sudden
leap of memory, he recalled some scenes of which he had
been witness years before, when a woman, hot, red, excited
with wine and with furious jealousy, had reviled him in the
coarsest terms, had struck him in the face and had spat
out foul and vindictive words of abuse. That woman — ah,
that woman was his wife — had been for many years to him
the type of what women must always be when stripped of
the veneer of society's restraints. Janetta had of late
shaken his conviction on this point ; it was reserved for
Margaret Adair to shatter it to the winds.

170

A TRUE FRlEtTD,

She looked so fair, so dainty, so delicate — he would
have been a marvel amongst men who believed that her
body was anything but " an index to a most fair mind " —
that Wyvis said to himself that he had never seen any
woman like her. He was fascinated and enthralled. The
qualities whicii made her so different from his timid, under-
bred, melancholy mother, or his coarse and self-indulgent
wife, . were those in which Margaret showed jieculiar
excellence. And before these — for the 'first time in his
life — Wyvis Brand fell down and worshipped.

It was unfortunate ; it was wrong ; but it was one of
those things that will happen sometimes in everyday life.
Wyvis was separated from his wife, and hated as much as
he despised her. Almost without knowing what he did,
he laid his whole heart and soul, suddenly and unthink-
ingly, at Margaret's feet. And Margaret, smiling and
serene, utterly ignorant of his past, and not averse to
a little romance that might end more flatteringly than Sir
Philip's attentions had done, was quite ready to accept
the gift.

Before Janetta had bound up Julian's hand, and made
some fresh tea, which she was obliged to carry upstairs her-
self, Mr. Brand had obtained information from Margaret
as to the day and hour on which she was likely to come to
Janetta for her singing-lesson, and also as to several of her
habits in the matter of walks and drives. Margaret gave
the information innocently enough ; Wyvis had no direct
purpose in extracting it; but the attraction which the two
felt towards each other was sufficient to make such know-
ledge of her movements undesirable, and even dangerous
for both.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FORGET-ME-NOTS.

Lady Caroline, always mindful of her daughter's moods,
could not quite understand Margaret's demeanor when she
returned home that afternoon. She fancied that some
news about Sir Philip might have reached the girl's ear
and distressed her mind. But when she skilfully led the

A TRUE FRIEND,

171

|ods,
she

kome
ear
the

conversation in that direction, Margaret said at once, with
a complete absence of finesse that rather disconcerted her
mother —

" No, mamma, I heard nothing about the Ashleys—
mother or son."

*' Dear Margaret," thought Lady Caroline, " is surely
not learning brusqtterie and bad manners from that
tiresome Miss Colwyn. What a very unlucky friendship
that has been 1 "

She did not seize the clue which Margaret unconsciously
held out to ^^fx in the course of the same evening. The
girl was sitting in a shady corner of the drawing-room
holding a feather fan before her face, when she introduced
what had hitherto been, at Helmsley Court, a forbidden
topic — the history of the Brands.

" Papa," she said, quietly, " did you never know any-
thing of the Red House people ? "

Lady Caroline glanced at her husband. Mr. Adair
seemed to find it difficult to reply.

** Yes, of course, I did — in the old days," he answered,
less suavely than usual. ** When the father was a?'ve, I
used to go to the house, but, of course, I was a mere lad
then."

" You do not know the sons, then ? " said Margaret.

" My dear child, I do not hunt. Mr. Brand's only
appearance in society is on the hunting field."

'* But there is another brother — one who paints, I
believe."

" He teaches drawing in some of the schools of the
neighborhood," Lady Caroline interposed, rather dryly.
" I suppose you do not want drawing lessons, dear ? "

" Oh, no,", said Margaret, indiflferendy. " I only thought
it seemed odd that we never met them anywhere."

" Not very suitable acquaintances," murmured Lady
Caroline, almost below her breath. Mr. Adah was look-
ing at an illustrated magazine and did not seem to hear,
but, after a moment's pause, Margaret said,

" Why, mamma? "

Lady Caroline hesitated for a moment. Mr. Adair
shrugged his shoulders. Then she said slowly ;

" His father married beneath him, ray love. Mrs.
Brand is a quite impossible person. If the young men
would pension her off and send her away, the County

■ 72

A TRUE FRIEND,

would very likely take them up. But we cannot receive
the mother."

" That is another of what Sir Philip Ashley would call
class-distinctions, is it not ? " said Margaret, placidly.
"The sort of thing which made Miss Polehampton so
anxious to separate me from poor Janetta."

" Class-distinctions are generally founded on some
inherent law of character or education, dear," said Lady
Caroline, softly. " They are not so arbitrary as young
people imagine. I hope the day will never come when the
distinction of class will be done away with. I " — piously
— " hope that I may be in my grave before that day
comes."

" Oh, of course they are very necessary," said Margaret,
comfortably. " And, if old Mrs. Brand were to go away,
I suppose her sons would be received everywhere ? "

"Oh, I suppose so. The property is fairly good, is it
not, Reginald ? "

" Not very," said Mr. Adair. " The father squandered
a good deal, and I fancy the present owner is economizing
for the sake of his boy."

" His boy ? " A faint color stole into Margaret's cheeks.
" Is he married, papa? "

" Oh, the wife's dead," said Mr. Adair, hastily. It was
part of Lady Caroline's system that Margaret should not
hear more than was absolutely necessary of what she
termed " disagreeable " subjects. Elopements, separation
and divorce cases all came under that head. So that when
Mr. Adair, who knew more of Mr. Brand's domestic
history than he chose to say, added immediately — " At
least I heard so : I believe so," he did not think that he
was actually departing from fact, but only that he was
coloring the matter suitably for Margaret's infant under-
standing. He really believed that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was
divorced from her husband, and it was " the same thing as
being dead, you know," he would have replied if interro-
gated on the subject.

Margaret did not respond, and Lady Caroline never
once suspected that she iiad any real interest in the matter.
But the very fact that Wyvis Brand was represented to her
as a widower threw a halo of romance around his head in
Margaret's eyes. A man who has " loved and lost " is
often invested with a peculiar kind of sanctity in the eyes

A TRUE FRIEND,

173

of a young girl. Wy vis Brand's handsome face and evident
admiration of herself did not prepossess Margaret in his
favor half so much as the fact that he had known loss and
sorrow, and was temporarily ostracized by County socie^
because his mother was "an impossible person." This
last der4ivation appealed to Margaret's imagination more
than me first. It seemed to her a terrible thing to remain
unvisited by the " County." What a good thing it would
be, she reflected, if Mr. Brand could marry some nice girl,
who would persuade him to send his mother back to
France, and for whose sake the County magnates would
extend to him the right hand of fellowship. To reinstate
him in his proper position — the position which Margaret
told herself he deserved and would adorn — seemed to her
an ambition worthy of any woman in the world. For
Margaret's nature was curio\isly mixed. From her father
she had inherited a great love of the beautiful and the
romantic — there was a thoroughly unworldly strrjn in him
which had descended to her ; but, then, it was counteracted
by the influences which she had imbibed from Lady Caro-
line. Margaret used sometimes to rebel against her
mother's maxims of worldly wisdom, but they gradually
permeated her mind, and the gold was so mingled v/ith
alloy that it was difficult to separate one from the other.
She thought herself a very unworldly person. We all have
ideals of ourselves ; and Margaret's ideal of herself was of
a rather saint-like creature, with high aspirations and pure
motives. Where her weakness really lay she had not the
faintest notion.

It was strange even to herself to note the impression
that Wyvis Brand had produced on her. He was certainly
of the type that tends to attract impressionable girls, for
he was dark and handsome, with the indefinable touch of
melancholy in his eyes which lends a subtler interest to the
face than mere beauty. The little that she knew of his
history had touched her. She constructed a great deal
from the few facts or fancies that had been given to her,
and the result was sufficiently unlike the real man to be
recognizable by nobody but Margar-t herself.

It has already been said that the Adair property and
that of Wyvis Brand lay side by side. The Adair estate
was a large one : that of the Brands' comparatively small ;
but at one point thi two properties wer? separated for some

S74

A 7 RUE FRIEND,

J-'

little distance only by a narrow fishing stream, on one side'
of which stretched an outlying portion of Mr. Adair's
park; while on the other side lay a plantation, approached
through the Beaminster woods, and not very far from the
Red House itself. It was in this plantation — which was
divided from the woods only by a wire fence — that Janetta
had found little Julian and had afterwards encountered
Wyvis Brand.

In spring the plantation was a particularly pleasant place.
It was starred with primroses and anemones in the earlier
months of the year, and blue with hyacinths at a later
date. At a little distance the flowers looked like a veil of
color spread between the trees. The brook between the
park and the plantation was a merry little stream, dancing
gaily over golden pebbles, and brightly responsive to the
sunshine that flickered between the lightly-clothed branches
of the trees bordering it on either side. It was famous in
the neighborhood for the big blue forget-me-nots that grew
there ; but it could hardly have been in search of forget-
me-nots that Margaret Adair wandered along its side one
morning, for they were scarcely in season, and her dreamy
eyes did not seem to be looking for them on the bank.

From amongst the trees of the plantation there appeared
suddenly a man, who doffed his cap to Miss Adair with a
look of mingled pleasure and surprise.

** Oh, good-morning, Mr. Brand."

" Good-morning, Miss Adair." No greeting could have
been more conventional. " May I ask if you are looking
for forget-me nots ? There are some already out lower
down the stream. I will show you where they are if you
will turn to the left."

" Thank you," said Margaret.

They moved down the slight slope together, but on dif-
ferent sides of the stream. At last they reached the spot
where a gleam of blue was visible at the water's edge.

" It is on your side," Margaret said, with a little smile.

" I will get them for you," he replied. And she stood
waiting while he gathered the faintly-tinted blossoms.

" And now," she said, as he rose to his feet again, " how
will you give them to me ? I am afraid I cannot reach
across."

" I could come over to you," said Wyvis, his dark eyes
resting upon her eagerly. "Will you ask me to come?"

A TRUE FRIEND,

She paused. " Why should I ask you ? " she said, with
a smile, as if between jest and earnest.

" You are standing on your ground, and I on mine. I
have never in my life been asked to cross the boundary.*'

" I ask you then," said Margaret coloring prettily. She
was half-frightened at the significance of her own words,
when she had spoken them. But it was too late to retract.
It took Wyvis Brand a momer. . only to leap the brook,
and to find himself at her side. Then, taking off his hat
and bowing low, he presented her with the flowers that he
had gathered. She thanked him with a blush.

" Will you give me one ? " he asked, his eyes fixed upon
her lovely face. " Just one ! "

" Why did you not keep one ? " she said, bending over
her nosegay as if absorbed in its arrangement. " They are
so rare that I hardly know how to spare any." Which was
a bit of innocent coquetry on Margaret's part.

"Just one," he pleaded. "As a reward. As a me-
mento."

" A memento of what ? " she asked, separating one or
two flowers from the bunch as she spoke.

" Of this occasion."

" It is such an important occasion,' is it not ? " she said,
with a sweet, mocking little laugh.

"A very important occasion to me. Have I not met
you ? "

" That is a most charming compliment," said Margaret,
who was not unused to hearing words of this kind in Lon-
don drawing-rooms, and was quite in her native element.
*• In reward for it I will give you a flower — which of course
you will throw away as soon as I am out of sight."

"No, not when you are out of sight : when you are out
of mind," he said, significantly.

''The two are synonymous," said Margaret.

" Are they ? Not with me. Throw it away ? I will
show you that it shall not be thrown away."

He produced a little pocket-book and, put the forget-me-
nots into it, carefully pressing th; m down agrinst a blank
page.

" There," he said, as lie made a note in pencil at the
bottom of the page, "tV?* will be always with me now."

" The poor forget-n lot ! " said Margaret, smiling.
" What a sad fate for ik 1 To be torn from its home by

!»•

A TRUE FRIEND,

the brook, taken away from the sun and the air, to languish
out its life in a pocket-book."

" It should feel itself honored," said Wyvis, " because it
18 dying for 3rou.'*

As we have said, this strain of half-jesting compliment
was. not unfamiliar to Margaret ; but she could hardly
remain unconscious of the fact that a deeper note had crept
into his voice during the last few words, and that his eyes
glowvid with a fire more ardent than she usually saw. She
drew back a little, and looked down : she was not exactly
displeased, but she was embarrassed. He noticed and
understood the expression of her face ; and changed his
tone immediately.

" This is a pretty place," he said, indicating the park
and the di ant woods by a wave of his hand. ** I always
regret that I have been away from it so long,"

" You have lived a great deal in France, / believe ? "

" Yes, and in Italy, too. But I tired of foreign lands at
last, and persuaded my mother to come home with me. I
am glad that I came."

" You like the neighborhood ? " said Margaret, in a tone
of conventional interest.

Wyvis laughed. " I don't see much of my nt^'ghbors,"
he said, rather drily. " They don't approve of my family.
But I like the scener' :id I have a friend or two — Miss
Colwyn, for mstancc, 'vL,< is a kinswoman of mine, you
know."

" Oh, yes ! " said Margaret, eagerly. Her momentary
distrust of him vanished when she remembered Janetta.
Of course, Janetta's cousin must be " nice ! " — ** I am so
fond of Janetta : she is so clever and so good."

" It is a great thing for her to have a friend like you,"
said Wyvis, L aking at her wistfully. In very truth, she
was a wonderment to him ; she seemed so ethereal, so
saint-like, so innocent ! And Margaret smiled pensively
in return : unlimited admiration was quite to her taste.

" -Do you often walk here ? " he inquired, when at last
she said that she must return home.

And sh*^ said — " Sometimes."

'* Sometimes " ts a very indefinite and convenient word.
It may nican anything or nothing. In a very short time,
it meant that Margaret took a book out with her and
iralked doini to the boundary stream about three times a

A TRUE FRIEND.

'77

week, if not oftener, and that Wyvrs Brand was always
there to bear her company. Before long a few stepping-
stones were dropped into the brook, so that she could
cross it without wetting her dainty feet. It was shadier
and cooler in the closely-grown plantation than in the open
park. And meetings in the plantation were less likely to
be discovered than in a more public place.

CHAPTER XXIV.
LADY Ashley's garden party.

itary
ketta.
im so

last

rord.

time,

and

les a

It may be wondered that Margaret had so much idle time
upon her hands, and was not more constantly supervised
in her comingi and goings by Lady Caroline. But certain
occurrences in the Adair family made it easy just then for
her to go her own way. Mr. Adair was obliged to ray in
London on business, and while he was away very liule was
doing at Helmsley Court. Lady Caroline took the oppor-
tunity of his absence to ** give way" a little : she snffe.ed
occasionally from neuralgia, and the doctor recommenc-^d
her not to rise much before noon. Margaret's ccnfoi t
and welfare were not neglected. A Miss Stone, a cl:./iant
relation of Lady Caroline's, came to spend a few weeks at
the Court as a companion for Margare' Miss Stone v/as
not at all a disagreeable person. SI could play tennis,
dance, and sing ; she could accompany Margaret's songs :
she cculd talk or be silent, as seemed good to her ; and
she was a model of tact and discretion. She was about
thirty-five, but looked younger : sh^* dressed well, and had
pleasing manners, and without being absolutely handsome
was sufficiently good-looking. Miss Alicia Stone was
almost penniless, and did not like to work ; but she
generally found herself provided for as " sheep-dog " or
chaperon in some house of her numerous aristocratic
friends. She was an amusing talker, aiid Margaret liked
her society well enough, but Miss Sto: • was too clever not
to know when she was not wanted. It soon became
evident to the companion that for some reason Margaret
liked to walk in the park alone in a morning ; and what

Margaret liked was law.

Alicia knew how to efface herself
12

178

4 TRUE FRIEND,

on sucn occasions, so that when Lady Caroline asked at
luncheon what the two had been doing all the morning, it
was easy and natural for Miss Stone to reply, **0h, we
have been out in the park," although this meant only that
she had been sitting at the conservatory door with a novel,
while Margaret had been wandering half a mile away.
Lady Caroline used to smile, and was satisfied.

And Margaret's conscience was very little troubled. She
had never been told, she sometimes said to herself, that she
was not to speak to Mr. Brand. And she was possessed
with the fervent desire to save his soul (and social reputa-
tion), which sometimes leads young women into follies
which they afterwards regret. He told her vaguely that
lie had had a miserable, unsatisfactory sort of life, and that
he wished to amend. He did not add that his first
impulses towards amendment had come from Janetta
Colwyn. Margaret thought that she was responsible for
them, one and all. And she felt it incumbent upon her to
fester their growth, even at the price of a small conceal-
ment — ^although it would, as she very well knew, be a great
one in her parents' eyes.

As the days went on towards summer it seemed to
Janetta as though some interest, some brightness perhaps,
had died out of her life. Her friends — her two chief
friends, to whom her vow of friendship and service had
been s-vorn-^were, in some inexplicable manner, alienated
from her. Margaret came regularly for her singing-lesson,
but never lingered to talk as she had done at first. She
seem'^d pensive, languid, preoccupied. Wyvis Brand had
left off calling for little Julian, except on rare occasions.
Perhaps his frequent loitering in the plantation left him
1,'iit iica.it time for his daily work; he always pleaded
ln.siii'»ss rhen his boy reproached him for his remissness,
or Vv'hep Junetta questioned him somewhat mournfully with
her earnest eyes. Certainly he too seemed preoccupied,
and en he wa.H beguiled into the Colwyns' little drawing-
room le would sit almost silent in Janetta's company,
never nee asking her counsel or opinion as he .lad done
in earlier days. It was possible that in her presence he
felt a sort of compunction, a sort of conscience-stricken
shame And his silence and apparent estrangement lay
upon Janetta's heart like lead.

Poor Janetta was going through a time of depression

A TRUE FRIEND.

179

and disappointment. Mrs. Colwyn had had two or three
terrible relapses, and her condition could no longer be kept
quite a secret from her friends. Janetta had been obliged
to call in the aid of the doctor who had been her father's
best friend, and he recommended various changes of diet
and habits which gave the girl far more trouble than he
knew. Where poverty is present in a home, it is sometimes
hard to do the best either for the sinning or the suffering ;
and so Mrs. Colwyn's weakness was one of the heaviest
burdens that Janetta had to bear. The only gleams of
brightness in her lot lay in the love and gentleness of the
children that she taught, and in her satisfaction with Nora's
engagement to Cuthbert. In almost all other respects
she began to feel aware that she was heavily handicapped.

It was nearly the end of June before she received the
long-expected invitation from Lady Ashley. But it was
not to an evening party. It was a sort of combination
entertainment — a garden-party for the young, and music
for those elder persons who did not care to watch games
at tennis all the afternoon. And Janetta was asked to
sing.

The day of the party was cloudlessly fine, but not too
warm, as a pleasant little summer breeze was blowing.
Janetta donned a thin black dress of some gauzy material,
and thought that she looked very careworn and dowdy in
her little bedroom looking-glass. But when she reached
Lady Ashley's house, excitement had brought a vivid
color to her face ; and when her hostess, after an appre-
ciative glance at her dress, quietly pinned a cluster of
scarlet geranium blooms at her neck, the little songstress
presented an undeniably distinguished appearance. If she
was not exactly pretty, she was more than pretty — she was
striking and original.

Margaret Adair looked up and smiled at her from a
corner, when Janetta first came forward to sing. She was
one of the very few girls who were present, for most of the
young people were in the garden ; but she had insisted on
coming in to hear Janetta's song. She did not care about
playing tennis; it made her hot, and rufiled her pretty
Paris gown, which was not suitable for violent exertion of
an) kind ; she left violent exertion to Alicia Stone, who
was always ready to join in other people's amusements.
Lady Caroline was not present ; her neuralgia was trouble-

i8o

A TRUE FRIEND.

some, and she had every confidence in Alicia's chaperonage
and Margaret's discretion. Poor Lady Caroline was
sometimes terribly mistaken in her reading of character.

To the surprise of a good many people, the Brands were
there. Not Mrs. Brand — only the two young men ; but the
fact was a good deal commented upon, as hitherto " the
County " had taken very little notice of the owner of the
Red House. It was perhaps this fact that had impelled
Sir Philip to show the Brands some courtesy. He declared
that he knew nothing bad of these men, and that they
ought not to be blamed for their father's sins. Personally
he liked them both, and he had no difficulty in persuading
his mother to call on Mrs. Brand, and then to send
invitations for the garden party. But Mrs. Brand, as
usual, declined to go out, and was represented only by her
sons.

What Sir Philip had not calculated on was the air of
possession and previous acquaintance with which Wyvis
Brand greeted Miss Adair. He had hardly expected that
Margaret would come ; and, indeed, Margaret had been
loath to accept Lady Ashley's invitation, especially without
the escort of her mother. On the other hand, Lady
Caroline was very anxious that the world should not know
the extent of the breach between the two families ; and she
argued that it would be very marked if Margaret stayed
away from a -large garden party to which "everybody"
went, and where it would be very easy to do nothing more
than exchange a mere passing salutation with Sir Philip.
So she had rather insisted on Margaret's going ; and the
girl had had her own reasons for not protesting too much.
She knew that Wyvis Brand would be there ; and she had
a fancy for seeing him amongst other men,. and observing
how he bore himself in other people's society.

She was perfectly satisfied with the result. His appear-
ance was faultless — far better than that of Sir Philip, who
sometimes wore a coat until it was shiny at the shoulders,
and was not very particular about his boots. Upright,
handsome, well-dressed, with the air of distinction which
Margaret much preferred to beauty in a man, he was a
distinctly noticeable figure, and Margaret innocently
thought that there was no reason why she should not
show, in a v;ell-bred and maidenly way, of course, her
liking for him.

ai
n(

A TRUE FRIEND,

i8i

She had never had much resistant power, this " rare,
pale Margaret " of Sir Philip's dreams, and it seemed
quite natural to her that Wyvis should hover at her side
and attend to all her wants that afternoon. She did not
notice that he was keeping off other men by his air of
proprietorship, and that women, old and young, were eye-
mg her with surprise and disapprobation as she walked up
and down the lawn with him and allowed him to provide
her with tea or strawberries and cream. She was under a
charm, and could not bear the idea of sending him away.
While Wyvis — for his excuse let it be said that his air of
proprietorship was unconscious, and came simply out of
his intense admiration for the girl and his headlong
absorption in the interest of the moment. He did not at
all know how intently and exclusively he looked at her;
how reverential and yet masterful was his attitude ; and
the sweet consciousness that sat on her down-dropped eye-
lids and tenderly flushed cheeks acted as no warning to
him, but only as an incentive to persevere.

The situation became patent to Janetta, when she stood
up to sing. Margaret looked, nodded, and smiled at her
with exquisite shy friendHness. Janetta returned the greet-
ing ; and then — as people noticed— suddenly flushed scarlet
and as suddenly turned pale. Many persons set this
change of color down to nervousness ; but Sir Philip
Ashley followed the direction of her eyes and knew what
she had seen. -

Miss Adair was sitting in a corner of the room, where
perhaps she hoped to be unremarked ; but her fair beauty
and her white dress made it difficult for her to remain
obscure. Wyvis Brand stood beside her, leaning against
the wall, with arms folded across his breast. He was more
in shadow than was she, for he was touched by the folds of
a heavy velvet curtain ; but his attitude was significant.
He was not looking at the singer, or at the room ; his
whole attention was visibly concentrated upon Margaret.
He was looking at her, some one remarked quite audibly,
as if he never meant to look away again. The close, keen
absorption of that gaze was unusual enough to shock con-
ventional observers. There would have been nothing
insolent or overbold about it were he her husband or
her lover ; but from a man who — as far as " the County "
knew — was a comparative stranger in the land, and almost

I89

A TRUE FRIEND,

an outsider, it was positively shocking. And yet Miss
Adair looked as if she were only pleasantly conscious of
this rude man's stare.

Fortunately for Margaret's reputation, it was currently
believed that Wyvis Brand's wife was dead. Those who
had some notion that she was living thought that he had
divorced her. The general impression was that he was at
any rate free to marry ; and that he was laying siege to the
heart of the prettiest girl in the County now seemed an
indisputable fact. Perhaps Janetta only, of all the persons
assembled together in the room, knew the facts of Wyvis
Brand's unhappy marriage. And to Janetta, as well as to
other people, it became plain that afternoon that he had
completely lost his heart — perhaps his head as well — to
Margaret Adair.

The chatter of the crowd would have revealed as much
to Janetta, even if her own observation had not told her a

good deal. " How that man does stare at that girl ! Is
e engaged to her ? " " Young Brand's utterly gone on
Miss Adair; that's evident." "Is Lady Caroline not
here ? Do you think that she knows ?" " Margaret Adair
is certainly very pretty, but I should not like one of my
girls to let herself be made so conspicuous ! " Such were
some of the remarks that fell on Janetta's ear, and made
her face burn with shame and indignation. Not that she
exactly believed in the reality even of the things that she
had seen. That Wyvis should admire Margaret was so
natural ! That Margaret should accept the offered admi-
ration in her usual serene manner was equally to be
expected. But that either of them should be unwise enough
to give rise to idle gossip about so natural a state of mind
was what Janetta could not understand. It was not
Margaret's fault ; she was very sure of thai. It must be
Wyvis Brand's. He was her cousin, and she might surely
— perhaps — ask him what he meant by putting Margaret in
such a false position ! Oh, but she could not presume to
do that. What would he think of her ? And yet — and
yet — the look with which he had regarded Margaret seemed
to be stamped indelibly upon Janetta's faithful, aching
heart.

A TRUE FRIEND.

CHAPTER XXV.

SIR PHILIP'S DECISION.

" Philip," said Lady Ashley that evening, with some hesi-
tation in her speech ; " Philip — did you — did you notice
Mr. Brand — much — to-day ? "

The guests had all gone ; dinner was over ; mother and
son were sitting in wicker chairs on the terrace, resting
after the fatigues of the day. Sir Philip was smoking a
very mild cigarette : he was not very fond of tobacco, for,
as the Adairs sometimes expressed it, he '' had no small
vices." Lady Ashley was wrapped in a white shawl, and
her delicate, blue-veined hands were crossed upon her lap
in unaccustomed idleness.

" I did notice him," said her son, quietly. " He seemed
to be paying a great deal of attention to Miss Adair."

" Oh, Philip, dear, it distressed me so much ! "

" Why should it distress you, mother ? — it is nothing to
us."

" Well, if you feel in that way about it — still, I am grieved
for the Adairs' sake. After all, they are old friends of
ours. And I had hoped "

"Our hopes are not often realized, are they?" said Sir
Philip, in the gentle, persuasive tones that his mother
thought so winnings ** Perhaps it is best. At any rate, it
is best to forget the hopes that never can be realized."

'* Do you think it is really so, Philip? Everyone was
talking about his manner this afternoon."

" She was giving him every encouragement," said her
son, looking away.

" Such an undesirable match ! Poor Lady Caroline ! "

"We do not know how things are being arranged,
mother. Possibly Lady Caroline and Mr. Adair are favor-
ing an engagement. Miss Adair is hardly likely to act
against their will."

" No, she has scarcely resolution enough for that. Then
you don't think that they met for the first time this after-
noon ? "

^ v\^. ' . '

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. UStO

(716)S72-4S03

184

A TRUE FRIEND,

''Gracious heavens, no I ** said Sir Philip, roused a little
out of his apparent indifference. '* They met quite as old
acquaintances — old friends. I suppose the Adairs have
renewed the friendship. The properties lie side by side.
That may be a reason."

" I am very sorry we asked him here," said Lady Ashley,
almost viciously. ^'I had no idea that he was paying
attention to her, I hope there is nothing wrong about it
—such a very undesirable match ! "

*' I don't really knpw why," said her son, with a forced
smile. " Wy vis Brand is a fine, handsome fellow, and the
property, though small, is a nice one. Miss Adair might
GO worse.**

''I believe her mother thinks that she might marry* a
duke.'*

"And so she might. She is a great beauty, and an
heiress.'* And there was a ring of bitterness in his tone
which pained his mother's heart.

"Ah, Philip," she said^not very wisely — "you need not
regret her. * A fair woman without discretion,' she would
not be the wife for you."

"I beg that you will not say that again, mother." He
did not turn his face towards her, and his voice was stu-
diously gentle, but it was decided too. " She is, as you say,
* a fair woman,' but she has not shown herself as yet * with-
out discretion,' and it is hardly kind to condemn her before
she has dune any wrong."

" I do not think that she behaved well to you, Philip.
But I beg your pardon, my son ; we will not discuss the
matter. It seems hard to me, of course, that 3'ou should
have suffered for any woman's sake."

"Ah, mother, every one does not see me with your
kind eyes," he said, bringing his face round with a smile,
and laying his right hand over one of hers. But the smile
thinly disguised the pain that lingered* like a shadow in
his eyes. " Let us hope, at any rate, that Margaret may
be happy."

Lady Ashley sighed and pressed his hand. " If you
could but meet some one else whom you cared for as much,
Philip 1 " And then she paused, for he had — involuntarily
as it seemed — shaken his head, and she did not like to pro-
ceed further. s

A pause of some minutes followed ,; and then she deter-*
nkied to change the subject

4 TRUE FRIEND,

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" The music went very well this afternoon, I think/' she
said. "Miss Colwyn was in very good voice. Do you*
not like her singing ? ''

" Yes, very much."

" The Watertons were asking me about her. And the
Bevans. I fancy she will get several engagements. Poor
girl, I hope she will.*'

Sir Philip threw away the end of his cigarette, and got
up rather abruptly, Lady Ashley thought. Without a word
he began to pace up and down the terrace, and finally,
turning his back on her, he stared at the garden and the
distant view, now faintly illumined by a rismg moon, as if
he had forgotten his mother's very existence. Lady Ashley
was surprised. He usually treated her with such marked
distinction that to appear for a moment unconscious of her
presence was almost a slight. She was too dignified, how-
ever^ to try to recall his attention, and she waited quietly
until her son turned round again and suddenly faced her
with an air of calm determination.

'^Mother," he said, "I have something important to
say."

"Well, Philip?"

" You have often said that you wanted me to marry."

" Yes, dearest, I do wish it."

" I also see the expediency of marriage. The woman
whom I loved, who seemed to us as suitable as she is
lovely, will not marry me. What shall I look for in my
second choice? Character rather than fortune, health
rather than beauty. This seems to me the wiser way."

" And love rather than expediency," said his mother
quickly.

" Ah I " he drew a long breath. " But we can't always
have love. The other requisites are perhaps more easily
found."

" Have you found them, Philip? " The mother's voice
quivered as she asked the question. He did not answer it
immediately — he stood looking at the ground for some
little time.

" My mind is made up," he said at last, slowly and quiet-
ly ; " I know what I want, and I think that I have found it.
Mother, I am going to ask Miss Colwyn to be my wife."

If a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet, Lady Ashlev
could not have been more amazed. She sat silent,' rigia«
incapable of a reply.

";■■■ .

5*f^W?*P?^v'^!5*^^ ■

186

A TRUE FRIEND,

** I have seen somethilig of her, and I have heard more,"
her son went on, soberly. " She is of sterling worth. She
has intellect, character, affection : what can we want more ?
She is attractive, if not exactly beautifil, and she is good
— thoroughly good and true."

" But her connections, Philip — her relations," gasped
Lady Ashley.

" It will be easy enough to do something for them. Of
course they will have to be provided for— ^way from
Beaminster, if possible. She is an orphan, remember :
these are only her half sisters and brothers.'

" There is the dreadful stepmother ! "

"I think we can manage her. These points do not
concern the main issue, mother. Will you receive her as
your daughter if I bring Janetta Colwyn here as my wife ? "

Lady Ashley had put her handkerchief to her eyes. " I
will do anything to please you, Philip," she said, almost
Inaudibly ; '' but I cannot pretend that this is anything but
a disappointment."

" I have thought the matter well over. I am convinced
that she will make a good wife," said the young man ; and
from his voice and manner Lady Ashley felt that his reso-
lution was invulnerable. "There is absolutely no objection
except the one concerning her relations — and that may be
got over. Mother, you wish for my happiness : tell me
that you will not disapprove."

Lady Ashley got up from her basket chair, and laid
her arms round Philip's neck.

** My dear son," she said, ** I will do my best. I wish
for nothing but your happiness, and I should never think
of trying to thwart your intentions. But you must give
me a little time in which to accustom myself to this new
idea."

And then she wept a little, and kissed and blessed him,
and they parted on the most cordial of terms. Neverthe-
less, neither of them was very happy. Lady Ashley was,
as she had said, disappointed in the choice that he had
made ; and Sir Philip, in spite of his brave words, was
ve^ sore at heart.

Janetta, all unconscious of the honor preparing for her,
was meanwhile passing some miserable hours. She could
not sleep that night — she knew not why. It was the ex-
citement of the party, she supposed. But something

A TRUE FRIEND.

187

beside excitement was stirring in her heart. She tried to
give it a name, but she would not look the thing fairly in
the face, and, therefore, she was not very successful in her
nomenclature. She called it friendly interest in others, a
desire for their happiness, a desire also for their ^ood.
What made the burning pain and unrest of these desires?
Why should they cause her such suffering ? She did not
know — or, more correctly, she refused to know.

She rose in the morning feeling haggard and unrefreshed.
The day was a very hot one ; the breeze had died away,
and there was not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Julian
Brand came in the dogcart with the groom. He had not
seen his father that morning, he said, and he thought that
he had gone away, but he did not know. Gone away ?
Janetta sat down to her work with a heavy heart. It
seemed to her that she must speak either to him or to Mar-
garet. He was compromising her friend, and for Margarefs
sake she must not hold her peace. Well, it was the day
for Miss Adair's singing lesson. When she came that after-
noon, Janetta made up her mind that she would say a
needful word.

But Margaret did not come. She sent a note, asking to
be excused. She had a headache, and could not sing that
afternoon.

" She is afraid to come I " said Janetta, passionately,
and for almost the first time she felt a thrill of anger against
her friend.

Another visitor came, if Margaret did not. About four
o'clock, just as Julian was beginning to wonder when he
would be fetched away, a thundering peal at the door
knocker announced the appearance of Wyvis Brand.
Janetta was in the drawing-room putting away some music
when he came in. She saw that he glanced eagerly round
the room, as if expecting to see someone else — perhaps
Margaret Adair — and her heart hardened to him a little as
she gave him her hand. Had he come at that hour
because Margaret generally took her lesson then ?

" How cold you are ! " cried Wyvis, holding the little
hand for the moment in his own. " On this hot day ! How
can you manage to keep so cool ?•"

If his heart had been throbbing and his head burning as
Janetta's were just then, he might have known how to
answer the question.

jlliip^^ ii!(:.Mg»*"«'?llTpr^%T{'J:TT'' ."

i88

A TRUE FRIEND,

" You have come for Julian, I suppose ? " she said, a
little coldly.

<* Yes — in a minute or two. Won't you let me rest for a
few minutes after my walk in the broiling sun ? "

" Ohi certainly ; you shall have some tea, if you like. I
am at liberty this afternoon," said Janetta, with a little
malice, " as my pupil has just sent me word that she has a
headache, and cannot come."

"Who is your pupil this afternoon?" said Wyvis,
stroking his black moustache.

" Miss Adair."

He gave her a quick, keen glance, then turned away.
She read vexation in his eyes.

" Don't let me trouble you," he said, in a different tone,
as she moved towards the door ; " I really ought not to
stay — I have an engagement or two to fulfill. No tea,
thanks. Is Julian ready ? "

". In a minute or two I will call him. I want to ask you
a question first — if you will let me ? "

** All right ; go on. That's the way people begin dis-
agreeable subjects, do you know ? "

** I don't know whether you will consider this a disagree-
able question. I suppose you will," said Janetta, wiih an *
effort "I promised you once to say nothing to my
friends about your affairs — about Julian's mother, and I
have kept my word. But I must ask you now — does Miss
Adair know that you are married ? "

There was a moment's pause. They stood opposite one
another, and, lifting her eyes to his face, she saw that he
was frowning heavily and gnawing his moustache.

" What does that matter to you f " he said, angrily, at
last.

She shrank a little, but answered steadily —

" Margaret is my friend."

"Well, what then?"

The color rose to Janetta's face. I don't believe you
knew what you were doing yesterday," she said ; " but I
knew — I heard people talking, and I knew what people
thought. They said that you were paying attention to
Miss Adair. They supposed you were going to marry her
soon. None of them seemed to know that — that — your
wife was still alive. And of course I could not tell
them."

»v

A TRUE FRIEND.

189

<* Of course not/' he assented, with curious eagerness ;
** I knew you would keep your word."

'' You made Margaret conspicuous/' Janetta continued^
with some warmth. /' You placed her in a very false posi-
tion. \ishe thinks, as other people thought, that you
want to marry her, she ought to be told the truth at once.
You must tell her — ^yourself — that you were only amusing
yourself— only playing with her, as no man has a right to
play with a girl," said Janetta, with such vehemence that
the tears rose to her great dark eyes and the scarlet color
to her cheeks — '' that you were flirting, in fact, and that
Julian's mother— >'^»/' wife^ Qousin Wyvis — ^is still alive."

CHAPTER XXVI.

" FREE I "

<< And what if I refuse to tell her this? ''said Wyvis
Brand.

" Then I shall tell her myself."

" And break your word to me ? "

" And break my word."

Pie stood looking at her for a minute in silence, and then
an ironical smile curled his lip as he turned aside.

" Women are all alike," he said. " They cannot possibly
hold their tongues. I thought you were superior to most
of your sex. I remember that your father once spoke of
you to me as *• his faithful Janet.' Is this your faith-
fulness ? "

'* Yes, it is, it is," she cried ; and then, sitting down, she
suddenly burst into tears. She was unnerved and agitated,
and so she wept, as girls will weep — ^for nothing at all
sometimes, and sometimes in the very crisis of their fate.

Wyvis looked on, uncomprehending, a little touched,
though rather against his will, by Janetta's tears. He
knew that she did not often cry. He waited for the
paroxysm to pass — ^waited grimly, but with '* compunctuous
visitings." And presently he was rewarded for his patience.
She dried her eyes, lifted up her head, and spoke.

" I don't know why I should make such a fool of my-
self," she said. " I suppose it was because you mentioned

190

A TRUE FRIEND,

my father. Yes, he used to call me his faithful Janet very
often. I have always tried — to — to deserve that name."

'* Forgive me, Janetta," said her cousin, more moved
than he liked to appear. ^' I did not want to hurt you ;
but, indeed, my dear girl, you must let me manage my
af&irs for myself. You are not responsible for Margaret
Adair as you were for Nora ; and you can't, you know,
bring me to book as you d'*d my brother, Cuthbert."

''You mean that I interfere too much in other people's
business ? " said poor Jianetta, with quivering lips.

'* I did not say so. I only say, * DotCt interfere.' "

" It is very hard to do right," said Janetta, looking at
him with wistful eyes. One^s duty seems so divided. Mar-
garet is not my sister — that is true, but she is my friend ;
and I always believed that one had responsibilities and
duties towards friends as well as towards relations."

" Possibly " — in a very dry tone. " But you need not
meddle with what is no concern of yours."

'* It is my concern, if you — my cousin — are not acting
rightly to my friend."

" I say it is no concern of yours at all."

They had come to a deadlock. He faced her, with the
dark, haughty, imperious look which she knew so well
upon his fine features ; she stood silent, angry too, and
almost as imperious. But, womanlike, she yielded first.

" You asked me once to be your friend. Cousin Wyvis.
I want to be yours and Margaret's too. Won't you let me
see what you mean ? "

Wyvis Brand's brow relaxed a little.

" I don't understand your views of friendship : it seems
to mean a right to intermeddle with all the affairs of your
acquaintances," he said, cuttingly ; " but since you are so
good as to ask my intentions "

" If you talk like that, I'll never speak to you again ! "
cried Janetta, who was not remarkable for her meekness.

Wyvis actually smiled.

" Come," he saidj " be friends, Janetta. I assure you I
don*t mean any harm. You must not be straight-laced.
Your pretty friend is no doubt well able to take care of
herself."

But he looked down as he said this and knitted his
brows.

" She has never had occasion to do it,** said Janetta,
epigrammatically.

A TRUE FRIEND,

191

" Then don't you think it is time she learns ? " \

** You have no right to be her teacher."

** Right 1 right I 'cried Wyvis, impatiently. " I am tired
of this cuckoo-cry about my rights ! I have the right to
do what I choose, to get what pleasure out of life I can, to
do my best for myself. It is everybody's right, and he is
only a hypocrite who denies it."

"There is one limitation," said Janetta. "Get what
you can for yourself, if you like — it seems to me a some-
what selfish view — as long as you don't injure anybody
else,"

" Whom do I injure ? " he asked, looking at her defiantly
in the face.

* Margaret."

He dropped his eyes, and the defiance went suddenly
out of his look and voice.

" Injure her ? " he said, in a very low tone. " Surely,
you know, I wouldn't do Ma/ — to save my life."

Janetta looked at him mutely. The words were a revela-
tion. There was a pause, during which she heard, as in a
dream, the sound of children's voices and children's feet
along the passages of the house. Julian and Tiny were run-
ning riot ; but she felt, for the time being, as if she had noth-
ing to do with them : their interests did not touch her : she
dwelt in a world apart. Hitherto Wyvis had stood, hat
in h&iid, as if he were ready to go at a moment's notice ;
but now he changed his attitude. He seated himself de-
terminedly, put down his hat, and looked back at her.

" Weil," he said, " I see that I must explain myself if I
mean to make my peace with you, Janetta. I am, perhaps,
not so bad as you think me. I have not mentioned to
Miss Adair that Julian's mother is alive, because I consider
myself a free man. Julian's mother, once my wife, has
divorced me, and is, I believe, on the point of marrying
again. Surely in that case I am free to marry too."

" Divorced you ? " Janetta repeated, with dilating eyes.

" Yes, divorced me. She has gone out to America and
managed it there. It is easy enough in some of the States
to get divorced from an absent wife or husband, as no
doubt you know. Incompatibility of temper was the
alleged reason. I believe she is going to marry a Chicago
man — something in pork."

" And you are legally free ? "

•-'K

199

A TRUE FRXBND.

" She says so. I fancy there is a legal hitch somewhere,
but I have not yet consulted my lawyers. We were
married by the Catholic rite in France, and the Catholic
Church will probably consider us married still. But Mar-
garet is not a Catholic — nor am I."

'' And you think/' said Janetta, very slowly, ** of many-
ing Margaret?"

He looked up at her and laughed, a little uneasily.

" You think she won't have me ? "

** I don't know. I think you don't know her yet,
Wyvis."

** I dare say not," said her cousin. Then he broke out
in quite a different tone : " No wonder I don't ; she's a
perpetual revelation to me. I "^Y«rr »^w aTTytb^'"g ^'^** her
— §opure, so s^otless^ so exquisile. It's like looking at a
work of art— a bit'oTcIelicate china, or a picture by Francia
or Guido. Something holy and serene about her — some-
thing that sets her apart from the ordinary world. I can't
define it : but it's there. I feel myself made of a coarse,
common clay in her presence : I want to go down on my
knees and serve her like a queen. That's how I feel about
Margaret."

. " Ah ! " said Janetta, "my princess of dreams. That is
what I used to call her. That is what I — used to feel."

" Don't you feel it now ? " said Wy vis, sitting up and
staring at her.

Janetta hesitated. ** Margaret is my dear friend, and I
love her. But I am older — ^perhaps I can't feel exactly in
that way about her now."

" You talk as if you were a sexagenarian," said Wyvis,
exploding into genial laughter. He looked suddenly bnght-
er and younger, as if his outburst of emotion had wonder-
fully relieved him. " I am much older than you, and yet
I see her in the same light. What else is there to say
about her ? She is perfect — ^there is not much to discuss
in perfection."

" She is most lovely — most sweet," saidjanetta, warmly.
" And yet — the very things you admire may stand in your
way, Wyvis. She is very innocent of the world. And if
you have won her — ^her — affection before you have told
her your history **

** You think this wretched first marriage of mine will
stand in the way ? "

it.

A TRUE FRIEND,

«W

** I do. With Margaret and with her parents."

Wyvis frowned again. *« I had better make sure of her
— marry her at once, and tell her afterwards," he said.
But perhaps he said it only to see what Janetta would
reply.

" You would not do that, Wyvis ? "

" I don't know."

" But you want to be worthy of her ? "

" I shall never be that, so it's no good trying."

" She would never forgive you if you married her with-
out telling her the truth."

Wyvis laughed scornfully. " You know nothing about
it. A woman will forgive anything to the man she loves."

" Not a meanness I " said the girl, sharply.

'* Yes, meanness, deceit, lies, anything — so long as it
was done for her sake."

'* I don't believe that would be the case with Margaret
OncQ disgust her, and you lose her love."

" Then she can't have much to give," retorted Wyvis.

Janetta was silent. In her secret heart she did not think
that Margaret couid love very deeply — that, indeed, she
had not much to give.

"Well, what's the upshot?" said her cousin, at last, in
a dogged tone. " Are you satisfied at last f "

" I shall be better satisfied when you make things plain
to the Adairs. You have no right to win Margaret's heart
in this secret way. You blamed Cuthbert for making love
to Nora. It is far worse for you to do it to Margaret
Adair."

" I am so much beneath her, am I not ? " said Wyvis,
with a sneer. And then he once more spoke eagerly. " I
am Neneath her : I am as the dust under her feet. Don't
you think I know that ? I'll tell you what, Janetta, when.
I first saw her and spoke toher^— here, in this room, if you
remember— I tKbught that she was like a being from
another world. I had never seen anyone like her. She is
the fairest, sweetest of women, and I would not harm her
for the world."

" I don't know whether I ought even to listen to you,"
said Janetta, in a troubled voice and with averted head.
" You know, many people would say that you were in
the wrong altogether — that you were not free "

♦* Then they would say a fie 1 1 am legally free, I believe,

'^ JU'liip

194

r^C/£ FRIEND,

and morally freei I am certain. I thank God for it J
have suffered enough."

He looked so stern, so uncompromising, that Janetta
hastened to take refuge in concrete facts.

" But you will tell Margaret everything? "

" In my own good time."

" Do promise me that you will not marry her without
letting her know — if ever it comes to a talk of your
marriage."

" If ever f It will come very soon, I hope. But I'll
promise nothing. And you must not make mischief."

** 1 am like you — I will promise nothing."

" I shall never forgive you, if you step between Mar-
garet and me," said Wyvis.

" I shall never step between you, I hope,*' said Janetta,
in a dispirited tone. ** But it is better for me to promise
nothin^i more."

Wyvis shrugged his shoulders, as if he thought it useless
to argue with her. She was sorry for the apparently un-
friendly terms on which they seemed likely to part ; and
it was a relief to her when, as they were saying good-bye,
he looked into her face rather wistfully and said, " Wish
me success, Janetta, after all."

** I wish you every happiness," she said. But whether
that meant success or not it would have been hard to say.

She saw him take his departure, with little Julian cling-
ing to his hand, and then she set about her household
duties in her usual self-contained and steadfast way. But
her heart ached 3adly — she did not quite know why — and
when she went to bed that night she la^ awake for many
weary hours, weeping silently, but passionately, over the
sorrow that she foresaw for her dearest friends, and,
perhaps, also for herself.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A BIG BRIBE.

It seemed to Janetta as if she had almost expected to see
Lady Caroline Adair drive up to her door about four
o'clock next day, in the very victoria wherein the girl had

A TRUE FRIEND,

»9S

once sat side by side with Margaret's mother, and from
which she had first set eyes on Wyvis Brand. She had
expected it, and yet her heart beat faster, and her color
went and came, as she disposed of Iier pupils in the little
dining-room, and met her visitor just as she crossed the
hall.

'^ Can I speak to you for five minutes, Miss Colwyn ? "
said Lady Caroline, in so suave a voice that for a moment
Janetta felt reassured. Onlpr for a moment, however.
When she had shut the drawing-room door, she saw that
her visitor's face was for once both cOld and hard. Janet-
ta o£fered a chair, and Lady Caroline took it, but without
a word of thanks. She had evidently put on the " fine
lady " manner, which Janetta detested from her heart.

'' I come to speak on a very painful subject," said Lady
Caroline. Her voice was pitched a little higher than
usual, but she gave no other sign of agitation. " You were
at Lady Ashley's garden party the day before yesterday I
believe ? "

Janetta bowed assent.

'* May I ask if you observed anything remarkable in my
daughter's behavior ? You are supposed to be Margaret's
friend : you must have noticed what she was doing all the
afternoon."

'' I do. not think that Margaret could behave unsuitably,"
said Janetta, suddenly flushing up.

** I am obliged to you for your good opinion of my daugh-
ter. But that is not the point. Did you notice whether
she was talking or walking a great deal with one person,
or "

" Excuse me. Lady Caroline," Laid Janetta, '' but I did
not spend the afternoon in watching Margaret, and I am
quite imable to give you any information on the subject"

" I really do not see the use of beating about the bush,"
said Lady Caroline, blandly. "You must know perfectly
well to, what I refer. Mr. Wyvis Brand is a connection of
yours, I believe. I hear on all sides that he and my
daughter were inseparable all the afternoon. Greatly to
my astonishment, I confess.'^

" Mr. Brand is a second cousin of mine, and his brother
is engaged to my half-sister," said Janetta ; " but I have
nothing to do with his acquaintance with Margaret."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Lady Caroline. She put up ^.^sr

196

A TRUE FRIEND.

t(*^^

eye-glass, and carefully inspected Janetta from head to
foot. " Nothing to do with their acquaintance, you say I
May I ask, then, where my daughter met Mr, Brand ? Not
in my house, I think."

Janetta gave a slight start. She had for the moment
utterly forgotten that it was in Gwynne Street that Wyvis
Brand and Margaret had first met.

" I beg your pardon : I forgot," she said. *' Of course
— Margaret no doubt told you — she came here one day for
her singing-lesson, and ^(r. Brand called for his little boy.
It was the first time they had seen each other."

" And how often have they met here since, may I ask ? "

" Never again. Lady Caroline."

** I Was of course to blame in letting my daughter go out
without a chaperon," said Lady Caroline, disagreeably.
" I never thought of danger in this quarter, certainly. I
can quite appreciate your motive. Miss Colwyn. No doubt
it would be very pleasant iox you if Margaret were to marry
your cousin ; but we have prejudices that must be con-
sulted."

" I hope you did not come here meaning to insult me,*'
said Janetta, starting to her feet ; " but I think you cannot
know what you are saying, Lady Caroline. / want my
cousin to inarry your daughter ? I never thought of such
a thing — ^until yesterday I " , -

"And what made you think of it yesterday, pray?
Please let us have no heroics, no hysterics :' these exhibi-
tions of temper are so unseemly. What made you think
so yesterday ? "

" Mr. Brand came here," said Janetta, suddenly growing
very white, "and told me that he cared for Margaret. I
do not know how tiiey had met. He did not tell me. He
— ^he — cares very much for her."

" Cares for her ! What next ? He came here — ^when ?
At Margaret's lesson-time, I suppoj;e ? "

She saw from Janetta's face that her guess was correct.

" I n' id hardly say that Margaret will not come here
again," said Lady Caroline, rising and drawing her laces
closely around her. " There is the amount due to you,
Miss Colwyn. I calculated it before I came out, and I
think you will find it all right. There is one more ques-
tion I must really ask before I go: there seems some
uncertainty concerning the fate of Mr, Brand's first wife ;
perhaps yoa can tell mc whether she is alive or dead ? ^

A TRUE FRIEND,

197

»»

owing
let. I
He

\o you,

and I

ques-

some

wife J

T Poor Janetta scarcely knew what to say. But she told
herself that truth was always best.*

" I believe he — he — is divorced from her/' she stam-
mered; knowing full well how very condemnatory her
words must sound in Lady Caroline's ear. They certainly
produced a considerable effect.

*^ Divorced? And you introduced him to Margaret?
Of course I know that a divorci is often received in society,
and so on, but I always set my face against the prevalent
lax views of marriage, and I hoped that I had brought up
my daughter to do the same. I suppose " — satirically —
*' you did not think it worth while to tell Margaret this
little tact?"

" I did not know it then," Janetta forced herself to say.

"Jndeed?" Lady Caroline's "indeed" was very crush-
ing. " Well, either your information or your discretion
must have been very much at fault. I must say, Miss
Polehampton now strikes me as a woman of great discrimi-
nation of character. I will say good-morning, Miss Col-
wyn, and I think the acquaintance between my daughter
and yourself had better be discontinued. It has certainly
been, from beginning to end, an unsuitable and disastrous
friendship. "

" Before you go. Lady Caroline, will you kindly take
the envelope away that you have left upon the table ? "
said Janetta, as haughtily as Lady Caroline herself could
have spoken. " I certainly shall not take money from you
if you believe such evil things of me. I have known nothing
of the acquaintance between my cousin and Miss Adair ;
but after what you have said I will not accept anything at
your hands."

" Then I am afraid it will have to remain on the table,"
said Lady Caroline, ai: she swept out of the room, " for I
cannot take it back again."

Janetta caught up the envelope. One glance showed
her that it contained a cheque. She tore it across and
across, and was in time to place the fragments on the seat
beside Lady Caroline, just before the carriage was driven
av^ay. She went back into the house with raised head and
flaming cheeks, too angry and annoyed to settle down to
work, too much hurt to be anything but restless and pre-
occupied. The reaction did not set in for some hours ;
but by six o'clock, when the children were all out of doors

19«

A TRUE FRIENJ\

and he'' stepmother had gone to visit a friends and J^inetta
had the house to herself, she lay down on a couch in the
drawing-room with a feeling of intense exhaustion and
fatigue. She was too tired almost to cry, but a tear welled
up now and then, and was allowed to trickle quietly down
her pale cheek. She was utterly wretched and depressed :
the world seemed a dark place to her, especially when she
consjrlered that she had already lost one friend whom she
had so long and so tenderly loved, and that she was not
unlikely to lose another. For Wyvis might blame her —
would blame her, probably — for what she had said to Lady
Caroline.

A knock at the front door aroused her. It was a knock
that she did not know ; and she wondered at first whether
one of the Adairs or one of the Brands were coming to
visit her. She sat up and hastily rearranged her hair and
dried her eyes. The charity orphan was within hearing
and had gone to the door : it was she who presently flung
open the door and announced, in awe-stricken tones —

^* Sir Philip Hashley."

Janetta rose in some concternation. What did this visit
portend ? Had he also come to reproach her for her con-
duct to Margaret and Wyvis ? For she surmised — chiefly
from the way in which she had seen him follow Margaret
with his eyes at the garden-party — that his old love v»as
not dead.

He greeted her with his usual gentleness of manner, and
sat down — not immediately facing her, as she was glad to
think,, scarcely realizing that he had at once seen the
trouble in her face, and did not wish to embarrass hc-r by
a straightforward gaze. He gave her a little time in which
to recover herself, too ; he spoke of indifferent subjects in
an indifferent tone, so that when five minutes had elapsed
Jcaetta was quite herself again, and had begun to speculate
upon her chance of an engagement to sing at another
musical party.

" I ]iope Lady Ashley is well," she said, when at last a
short pause came. '

" Quite well, I thank you, and hoping to see you soon."

"Oh, I am so gr teful to you for saying that." said
Janetta^ impulsively. " I felt that> I did not know whether
she was satisfied with my singing or not. You know I am
a beginner."

A TRUE FRIEND,

199

and
dto

the
r by
hich

s in
psed
ulate

ther

ast a

)on."
said
;ther

II ain

'' I am sure I may say that she was perfectly satisfied,"
r Jd Sir Philip, courteously. " But it was not in allusion
to vour singing that she spoke of wishing to see you
again."

" Lady Ashley is very kind," said Janetta, feeling rather
surprised.

" She would like to see more of you," Sir Philip went on
in a somewhat blundering fasliion. " She is very much
alone : it would be a gi-eat comfort to her to have some
one about her — some one whom she liked — some one who
would be like a daughter to her "

A conviction as to the cause of his visit flashed across
Janetta's mind. He was going to ask her to become Lady
Ashley's companion 1 With her usual quickness she forgot
to wait for the proposition, and answered it before it was
made.

" I wish I could be of some use to Lady Ashley," she
said, with the warm directness that Sir Philip had always
liked. " I have never seen any one like her — I admire her
so much 1 You will forgive me for saying so, I hope ?
But I could not be spared from home to do anything for
her regularly. If she wants a gi^l who can read aloud and
play nicely, I think I know of one, but perhaps I had
better ask Lady Ashley more particularly about the quali-
fications required ? "

" I did not say anything about a companion, did I ? *'
said Sir Philip, with a queer little smile. " Not in your
sense of the word, at any rate."

" Oh, I beg your pardon," said Janetta, suddenly flush-
ing scarlet : *' I thought — I understood "

" You could not possibly know what I meant : I was not
at all clear," said Sir Philip, decidedly. " I had some-
thing else in my mind."

She looked at him inquiringly. He rose from his chair
and moved about the room a little, with an appearance of
agitation whith excited her deepest wonderment. He
averted his eyes from her, and there, was something like a
flush on his naturally pale cheek. He seemed really
nervous.

" Is there anything that I can do for Lady Ashley ? '*
said Janetta, at last, when the silence had lasted as long
^ she thought desirable.

" There is something you can do for jne,"

A TRUE FRIEND,

IS'--

" For you, Sir Philip ? "

Sir Philip faced her resolutely. " Forme, Miss Colwyn.
If I tell you in very few words, will you forgive my abrupt-
ness ? I don't think it is any use beating about the bush
in these matters. Will you be my wife ? That is what I
came to say."

Janetta sat gazing at him with wide open eyes, as if she
thought that he had taken leave of his senses.

" Don't answer at once ; take time," said Sir Philip,
quickly. " I know that I may perhaps have startled you :
but I don't want you to answer hastily. If you would like
time for reflection, pray take it. I hope that reflection
will lead you to say that you will at least try to like me
enough to become my wife."

Janetta felt that he was very forbearing. Some men in
his position would have thought it sufficient to indicate
their choice, and then to expect the favored lady, especially
if she were small and brown and plain, and worked for her
bread, to fall at his feet in an ecstasy of joy. Janetta had
never yet felt inclined to fall at anybody's feet. But Sir
Philip's forbearance seemed to call for additional care and
speed in answering him.

"But — I am sure Lady Ashley " she began, and

stopped.

" My mother will welcome you as a daughter," said Sir
Philip, gently. "She sends her love to vou to-day, and
hopes that you will consent to make me happy."

janetta sat looking at her crossed hands. " Oh, it is
impossible — impossible," she murmured.

" Why so ? If there is no obstacle in — in your own
affections, it seems to me that it would be quite possible,"
said Sir Philip, standing before her in an attitude of some
urgency. " But perhaps you have a dislike to me ? "

" Oh, no." She could not say more — she could not look
up.

"I think I could make your life a happy one. You
would not find me- difficult. And you need have no
further anxiety about your family ; we could find some
way of managing that. You think as I do about so many
subjects that I am sure we should be happy together."

It was a big bribe. 7'hat was how Janetta looked at it
in that moment. She was certain that Sir Philip did not
lo'/e her ; she knew that she did not love Sir Philip ; and

A TRUE FRIEND,

«9I

yet — ^it did seem that she might have a happy, easy,
honored life if she consented to marry him — a life that
would make her envied by many who had previously
scorned her, and which would be, she hoped, productive
of good to those whom she deeply loved. It was a bribe
— ^a temptation. She was tempted, as any girl might have
been, to exchange her life of toil and anxiety for one of
luxury and peace ; but there was something that she would
also have to lose — the clear, upright conscience, the love
of truth, the conviction of well-doing. She could not keep
these and become Sir Philip's wife.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"changes must come."

She raised her eyes at length, and looked Sir Philip in the
face. What a manly, honest, intelligent face it was I
One that a woman might well be proud of in her husband :
the face of a man whom she might very safely trust.
Janetta thought all tliis, as she made her answer.

"I am very sorry, Sir Philip, but I cannot be your
wife."

" You are answerinr me too hastily. Think again — take
a day, a week — a monch if you like. Don't refuse without
considering the matter, I beg of you."

Janetta shook her head. '* No consideration will make
any difference."

" I know that I am not attractive," said her suitor, after
a moment's pause, in a somewhat bitter tone. " I have
not known how to woo — how to make pretty speeches and
protestations — but for all that, I should make, I believe,
a very faithful and loving husband. I am almost certain
that I could make you happy, Janetta — if you will let me
call you so— may I not try ? "

'' I should not feel that I was doing right," said Janetta,
simply.

It was the only answer that could have made Sir Philip
pause. He was quite prepared for hesitation and reluc-
tance of a sort ; but a scruple of conscience was a thine
that he respected. "Why not?" he said, in a surprised
tone.

i'flda

A TRUE FRIEND,

" I have two or three reasons. I don't think I can tell
them to you, Sir Philip ; but they are quite impossible for
me to forget."

" Then I think you would be doing better to tell me,"
said he, gently. He pulled a chair forward, sat down
close to Janetta, and quietly laid his hand upon hers.
" Now, what are they — these reasons ? " he asked.

Her seat was lower than his chair, and she was obliged
to lift her eyes when she looked at him. His face com-
pelled truthfulness. And Janetta was wise enough to know
whom she might trust.

" If I speak frankly, will you forgive me ? " she said.

" If you will speak frankly, I shall esteem it a great
honor."

" Then," said Janetta, bravely, " one of my reasons is
this. You are most kind, and I know that you would be
always good to me. I might even, as you say, be very
happy after a time, but you do not — care for me — you do
not love me, and " — here she nearly broke down — " and —
I think you love some one else."

Sir Philip made a movement as if to take away his hand ;
but he restrained himself and grasped hers still more
closely.

" And who is it that I am supposed to care for ? " he
asked, in a light tone.

" Margaret," Janetta answered, almost in a whisper.
Then there was a silence, and this time Sir Philip did
slowly withdraw his hand. But he did not look angry.

" I see," he said, ** you are a friend of hers : you doubt-
less heard about my proposition to her concerning the
Miss Polehampton business."

Janetta looked surprised. "No, I heard nothing of
that. Aiid indeed I heard very little from Margaret. I
heard a good deal from Lady Caroline."

" Ah, that woman ! " cried Sir Philip, getting up and
making a little gesture with his hand, expressive of con-
tempt. "She is worldly to the core. Did she tell you
why Margaret refused me ? "

*' I did not know — exactly— that she had. Lady Caro-
line said that it was a misunderstanding," said Janetta, the
startled look growing in her eyes.

" Just like her. She wanted to bring me back. Forgive
me for speaking so hotly, but I am indignant with Lady

A TRUE FRIEND,

•03

Caroline Adair. She has done Margaret incalculable
harm."

" But Margaret herself is so sweet and generous and
womanly," said Janetta, watching his face carefully, "that
she would recover from all that harm if she were in other
hands."

*' Yes, yes ; I believe she would," he answered, eagerly.
"It only needs to take her from her mother, and she
would be perfect." He stopped, suddenly abashed by
Janetta's smile. " In her way, of course, I mean," he
added, rather confusedly.

"Ah," said Janetta, " it is certain that I should never be
perfect. And after Margaret 1 "

"I esteem you, I respect you, much more than Mar-
garet."

" But esteem is not enough, Sir Philip. No, you do not
love me ; and I think — if I may say so — that you do love
Margaret Adair."

Sir Philip reddened distressfully, and bit his lip.

'• I am quite sure. Miss CoJwyn, that I have no thoughts
of her that would do you an injustice. I did love Margaret
— perhaps — but I found that I was mistaken in her. And
she is certainly lost to me now. She ^oves another."

" And you will love another one day, if you do not win
her yet," said Janetta, with decision. " But you do not
love me^ and I certainly will never marry any one who
does not. Besides — I should have a feeling of treachery
to Margaret."

" Which would be quite absurd and unwarrantable.
Think of some better reason if you want to convince me.
I hope still to make you believe that I do care for you."

Janetta shook her head. " It's no use, Sir Philip. I
should be doing very wrong if I consented, knowing what
I do. And besides, there is another reason. I cannot
tell it to you, but indeed there is a good reason for my not
marrying you."

" Has it anything to do with position — or — or money,
may I ask? Because these things are immaterial to me."

" And I'm afraid I did not think about them," said
Janetta, with a frank blush, which made him like her better
than ever. " I ought to have remembered how great an
lienor you were doing me and been grateful ! — no, it was
Jiot that."

fl04

^ TRUE FRIEND,

"Then you care for some one else? That is what
it is."

"I suppose it is," said Janetta.

And then a very different kind of blush began — a blush
of shame, which dyed her forehead and ears and neck with
so vivid a crimson hue that Sir Philip averted his eyes in
honest sympathy.

" I'm afraid, then," he said, ruefully, but kindly, " that
there's nothing more to be said."

" Nothing," said Janetta, wishing her cheeks would
cool.

Sir Philip rose from his chair, and stood for a moment
as if not knowing whether to go or stay. Janetta rose
too.

'* If you were to change your mind " he said.

"This is a thing about which I could not possibly
change my mind. Sir Philip."

" I am sorry for it." And then he took his leave, and
Janetta went to her room to bathe her hot face and to
v'onder at the way in which the whirligig of Time brings
its revenges.

"Who would have thought it?" she said to herself,
half diverted and half annoyed. " When Miss Polehamp-
ton used to lecture me on the difference of Margaret's
position and mine, and when Lady Caroline patronized me,
I certainly never thought that I should be asked to become
Lady Ashley. To take Margaret's place 1 I have a feel-
ing — and I always had — that he is the proper husband
for her, and that everything will yet come right between
them. If I had said * yes ' — if I only could have said * yes,*
for the children's sake — I should never haVe got over the
impression that Margaret was secretly reproaching me 1
And as it is, she may reproach me yet. For Wyvis will
not make her happy if he marries her ; and she will not
make Wyvis happy. And as for me, although he is, I sup-
pose, legally divorced from his wife, I do not think that I
could bear to marry him under such circumstances. But
Margaret is different, perhaps, from me."

But the more she meditated upon the subject, the more
was Janetta surprised at Margaret's conduct. It seemed
unlike her; it was uncharacteristic. Margaret might be
for a time under the charm of Wyvis Brand's strong indi-
viduality ; but if she married him, a miserable awakenine

A TRUE FRIEND,

•OJ

was almost sure to come to her at last. To exchange the
smooth life, the calm and the luxury, of Helmsley Court
for the gloom, the occasional tempests, and the general
crookedness of existence at the Red House would be no
agreeable task for Margaret. Of the two, Janetta felt that
life at the Red House would be far the more acceptable to
herself : she did not mind a little roughness, and she had
a great longing to bring mirth anu sunshine into the gloomy
precincts of her cousin's he se. Janetta agreed with Lady
Caroline as to the inadvisability of Margaret's attachment
to Wyvis far more than Lady Caroline gave her credit
for.

Lady Caroline was almost angrier than she had ever
been ift her life. She had had some disagreeable expe-
riences during the last few hours. She had had visitors, since
T.ady Ashley's garden-party, and amongst them had been
numbered two or three of her intimate friends who had
" warned " her, as they phrased it, against '* Margaret's
infatuation for that wild Mr. Brand." Lady Caroline
listened with her most placid smile, but raged inwardly.
That her peerless Margaret should have been indiscreet 1
She was sure that it was only indiscretion — nothihg more
— but even that was insufferable ! And what had Alicia
Stone been doing ? Where had her eyes been ? Had she
been bribed or coaxed into favoring the enemy ?

Miss Stone had had a very unpleasant half-hour with her
patroness that morning. Ii had ended in her going away
weeping to pack up her boxes ; for Lady Caroline literally
refused to condone the injury done to Kargaret by any
carelessness of chaperonage on Miss Stone's part. " You
must be quite unfit for your post, Alicia," she said, severe-
ly. "I am sorry that I shall not be able to recommend
you for Lord Benlomond's daughters. I never thought
you particularly wise, but such gross carelessness I cer-
tainly never did expect." Now this was unfortunate for
Alicia, who had been depending on Lady Caroline's good
offices to get her a responsible position as chaperon to
three motherless girls in Scotland.

Lady Caroline had as yet not said a single word to Mar-
garet. She had not even changed her caressing manner
for one of displeasure. But she had kept the girl with her
all the morning, and had come out alone only because
Margaret had gone for a^drive with two maiden aunts who

;^1

>-*^

•o#

A TRUE FRIEND.

had just arrived for a week» and with whom Lady Caroline
felt that she would be absolutely safe. She was glad that
she had the afternoon to herself. It gave her an opportu-
nity of seeing Janetta Colwyn, and of conducting som^
business of her own as well. For after seeing Janetta she
ordered the coachman to drive to tlie office of her hus-
band's local solicitor, and in this office she remained for
more than half an hour. The lawyer, Mr. Greggs by name,
accompanied her with many smiles and bows to the
carriage.

*' I am sure we shall be able to do all that your ladyship
^ib.»5s," he said, politely. "You shall have information
in a day or two.'' Whereat Lady Caroline looked satis-
fied.

It was nearly six o'clock when she reached home, and
her absence had caused some astonishment in the house.
Tea had been carried out as usual to the seats under the
cedar-tree on the lawn, and Mr. Adair's two sisters were
being waited on by Margaret, fair and innocent-looking as
usual, in her pretty summer gown. Lady Caroline's
white eyelids veiled a glance of sudden sharpness, as she
noticed her daughter's unruffled serenity. Maigaret puz-
zled her. For the first time in her life she wondered
whether she had been mistaken in the girl, who had always
seemed to reproduce so accurately the impressions that
her teachers and guardians wished to make. Had it been
all seeming ? and was Margaret mentally and morally an
ugly duckling, hatched in a hen's nest ?

" Dear mamma, how tired you look," said the girl,
softly. ** Some fresh tea is coming for you directly. I
took Alicia a cup myself, but she would not let me in.
She said she had a headache."

" I dare say," replied Lady Caroline, a little absently.
" At least — I will go to see her presently : she may be
better before dinner. I hope you enjoyed your drive, dear
Isabel."

Isabel was the elder of Mr. Adair's two sisters.

"Oh, exceedingly. Margaret did the honors of her
County so well : she seems to know the place by heart."

" She has ridden with Reginald a c^ood deal," said the
mother.

Margaret had seated herself beside the younger of the
aunts — Miss Rosamond Adair — ajad was talking to her in
a low voice.

A TRUE FRIEND,

J07

" How lovely she is I " Miss Adair murmured to
sister-in-law. " She ought to marry well, Caroline."

her

"I hoi>e so," said Lady Caroline, placidly. "Buc I
always think that Margaret will be difficult to satisfy." It
was not her rdle to confide in her husband's sisters, of all
people in the world.

'' We heard something about Sir Philip Ashley : was
there anything in it ? *'

Lady Caroline smiled. '' I should have thought him
everything that was desirable," she said, "but M-'garet
did not seem to see it in that light. Poor dear Sir Philip
was very much upset." *

" Ah, well, she may do better ! "

" Perhaps so. Of course we should never think of
forcing the dear child's inclinations," said Lady Caroline.

And yet she was conscious that she had laid her hand on
a weapon with which she meant to beat down Margaret's
inclinations to the ground. But it was natural to her to
talk prettily.

Wheels were heard at that moment coming up the drive.
Lady Caroline, raising her eyes, saw that Margaret started
as the sound fell upon her ear.

"A bad sign ! " she said to herself. " Girls do not start
and change color when nothing is wrong. Margaret used
not to be nervous. I wonder how far that man went with
her. She may be unconscious of his intentions — he may
not have any ; and then she will have been made conspi-
cuous for nothing ! I wish the Brands had stayed away
for another year or two."

The sound of wheels had proceeded from a dog-cart in
which Mr. Adair, after an absence of a fortnight, was
driving from the station. In a very few minutes he had
crossed the lawn, greeted his wife, sisters and daughter,
and thrown himself lazily into a luxurious lounging-chair.

" Ah, this is delightful ! " he said. " London is terribly
smoky and grimy at this time of year. And you all look
charming — and so exactly the same as ever I Nothing
changes down here, does it, my Pearl ? "

He was stroking Margaret's hand, which lay upon his
knee, as he spoke. The girl colored and dropped her
eyes.

"Charlies must come to us all/' she said, in a lov
voice.

am 4 TXVB FSIBtfD.

•* A rcry trite remark, my dear," said Lady Caroline,
•miling, " but we need not anticipate changes be/ore they
come. We are just as we were when you went away, Re-
ginald, and nothing at all has happened."

She thought that Margaret looked at her oddly, but she
did not care to meet her daughter's eyes just then. Lady
Caroline was not an unworldly woman, not a very conscien-
tious one, or apt to set a great value on fine moral distinc-
tions ; but she did regret just then that she had not im-
pressed on her daughter more deeply the virtue of perfect
truthfulness.

" By-the-by," said Mr. Adair, " I saw some letters on
the hall table and brought them out with me. Will you
excuse me if I open them? Why — that's the Brands'
crest."

Lady Caroline wished that he had left the words unsaid.
Margaret's face went crimson and then turned very pale.
Her mother saw her embarrassment and hastened to relieve
it.

" Margaret, dear, will you take Alicia my smelling salts ?
I think they may relieve her headache. Tell her not to get
up— I will come and see her soon."

And as Margaret departed, Mr. Adair with lifted eye-
brows and in significant silence handed an envelope to his
wife. She glanced at it with perfectly unmoved com-
posure. It was what she had been expecting : a letter
from Wyvis Brand asking for the hand of their daughter,
Margaret Adair.

CHAPTER XXIX.

MARGARET'S CONFESSION.

Margaret heard nothing of her lover's letter that night
It was not thought desirable that the tranquillity of the
evening should be disturbed. Lady Caroline would have
sacrificed a good deal sooner than the harmonious influ-
ences of a well-appointed dinner and the passionless refine-
ment of an evening spent with her musical und artistic
friends. Mr. Adair's sisters were women of cultured taste,
and she had asked two gentlemen to meet them, therefore

A TRUE FRIEND. M»

it was ouite impossible (from her point of view) to discuss
any ditticult point before the morning. Margaret, who
knew pretty well what was comin^^ spent a rather feverish
half-hour in her room before the nnging of the dinner-bell,
expecting every minute that her mother would appear, or
that she would be summoned to a conference with her
father in the library. But when the dinner hour approached
without any attempt at discussion of the matter, and she
perceived that it was to be left until the morrow, it must
be confessed that she drew a long breath of relief. She
was quite sufficiently well versed in Lady Caroline's tactics
to appreciate the force and wisdom of this reserve. *' It
is so much better, of course," she said to herself, as her
maid dressed her hair, '* that we should not have any
agitating scene just before dinner. I dare say I should cry
—•if they were all very grave and solemn I am sure I should
cry 1 — and it would be so awkward to come down with red
eyes. And, of course, I could not stay upstairs to-night.
Perhaps mamma will come to me to-night when every one
is gone."

And armed with this anticipation, she went downstairs,
looking only a little more flushed than usual, and able to
bear her part in the conversation and the amusements as
easily as if no question as to her future fate were hanging
undecided in the air.

But Lady Caroline did not stay when she visited Mar^
garet that night as usual in her pretty room. She caressed
and kissed her with more than customary warmth, but she
did not attempt to enter into conversation with her in
spite of the soft appeal of Margaret's inquiring eyes. '* My
.dear child, I cannot possibly stay with you to-night," she
said. " Your Aunt Isabel has asked me to go into her
room for a few minutes. Good-night, my own sweetest :
you looked admirable to-night in that lace dress, and your
singing was simply charming. Mr. Bevan was saying
that you ought to have the best Italian masters. Good-
night, my darling," and Margaret was left alone.

She was a little disturbed — a little, not very much. She
was not apt to be irritable or impatient, and she h^d great
confidence m her parents' love for her. She had never
realized that she lived under a yoke. Everything was
made so smooth and easv that she imagined that she had
only to express her will in order to have it granted. That

ftM

A TkUE FHIBND.

\<?i

there might be difficulties she foresaw : her parents might
hesitate and parley a good deal, but she had not the slight-
est fear of overcoming their reluctance in course of time.
She had always been a young princess, and nobody had
ever seriously combated her will.

** I am sure that if I am resolute enough I shall be
allowed to do as I choose," she said to herself; and pos-
sibly this was true enough. But Margaret had never yet
had occasion to measure her resolution against that of her
father and mother.

She went to bed and to sleep, therefore, quite peacefully,
and slept like a child until morning, while Wyvis Brand
was frantically pacing ivp and down his old hall for . the
greater part of the night, and Janetta was wetting her pillow
with silent tears, and Philip Ashley, sleepless like these
others, vainly tried to forget his disappointment in the peru-
sal of certain blue-books. Margaret was the cause of all
this turmoil of mind, but she knew nothing of it, and most
certainly did not partake in it.

She suspected that she was to be spoken to on the sub-
ject of Mr. Brand's letter, when, after breakfast, next
morning, she found that her father was arranging to take
his sisters and Miss Stone for a long drive, and that she
was to be left alone with her mother. Lady Caroline had
relented, so far as Alicia was concerned. It would not
look v;ell, she had reflected, to send away her own kins-
woman in disgrace, and although she still felt exceedingly
angry with Alicia, she had formally received her back into
favor, cautioning her only not to speak to Margaret about
Wyvis Brand. When every one was out of the way Lady
Caroline knew that she could more easily have a conversa-
tion with her daughter, and Margaret wa^ well aware of
her intent. The girl looked mild and unobsc rvant as usual,
but she was busily engaged in watching for danger-signals.
Her father's manner was decidedly flurried : so much was
evident to her : the very way in which he avoided her eye
and glanced uneasily at her mother spoke volumes to Mar-
garet. It did not surprise her to see that Lady Caroline's
face was as cal: n, her smile as sweet as ever : Lady Caroline
always masked her emotion well ; but there was still some-
thing visible in her eyes (which, in spite of herself, ivould
look anxious and preoccupied) that made Margaret uncom-
fortable. Was she going to have a fight with her parents ?
She hoped not : it would be quite too uncomfortable 1

A TRUE FRIEND,

%\\

ts?

" Come here, darling," said Lady Caroline, when the
carnage had driven away ; '* come to my morning-room
and talk to me a little. I want you? "

Margaret faintly resisted. <' It is my practicing timCi
mamma."

" But if I want you, dearest "

" Oh, of course it does not matter," said Margaret, with
her usual instinct of politeness. " I would much rather
talk than practice."

The mother laid her hand lightly within her tall daugh-
ter's arm, and led her towards the morning-room, a place
of which she was especially fond in summer, as it was cool,
airy, and looked out upon a conservatory full of 'blossom-
ing plants. Lady Caroline sank down upon a low soft
couch, and motioned to the girl to seat herself beside her ;
then, possessing herself of one of Margaret's hands and
stroking it gently, she said with a smile —

" Ybu have another admirer, Margaret ? "

This opening differed so widely from any which the girl
had expected that she opened her eyes with a look of
intense surprise.

" Why should you be astonished, darling ? " said Lady
Caroline, with some amusement in her light tones. ** You
have had a good many already, have you not ? And, by
the by, you have had one or two very good offers, Marga-
ret, and you have refused everything. You must really
begin to think a little more seriously of your eligible
suitors ! This last one, however, is not an eligible one at
all."

•* Who, mamma ? " said Margaret, faintly.

" The very last man whom I should have expected to
come forward," said her mother. " Indeed, I call it the
greatest piece of presumption I ever heard of. Consider-
ing that we are not on visiting terms, even."

.** Oh, mamma, do tell me who you mean ! "

l^y Adair arched her pencilled eyebrows over this
movement of impatience. '* Really, Margaret, darling 1
But I suppose I must be lenient : a girl naturally desires
to hear about her suitors ; but you must not interrupt me
another time, love. It is that most impossible man, Mr.
Brand of the Red House."

Margaret's face flushed from brow to chin* *' Why
impossible, mamma? "

3IS

A TRUE FRIEND,

<' Dear child I You are so unworldly ! But there is a
point at which unworldliness becomes folly. We must stop
short of that. Poor Mr. Brand is, for one thing, quite out
of society."

** Not in Paris or London, mamma. Only in this place,
where people are narrow and bigoted and censorious."

" And where, unfortunately, he has to live," said Lady
Caroline, with gentle firmness. " It matters to us very
little what they say of him in Paris or London : it matters
a great deal what the County says."

** But if the County could be induced to take him up 1 "
said Margaret, rather breathlessly. *< He was at Lady
Ashley's the other day, and he seemed to know a great
many people. And if you — we — received him, it would
make all the difference in the world."

** Oh, no doubt we could float him if we chose," said
Lady Caroline, indifferently ; " but would it really be worth
the trouble ? Even if he went everywhere, dear, he would
not be a man that I should care to cultivate ; he has not
a nice reputation at all."

" Nobody knows of anything wrong that he has done,"
Margaret averred, with burning cheeks.

" Well, I have heard of one or two things that are hot
to his credit. I am told that he drinks and plays a good
deal, that his language to his groom is something awful,
and that he makes his poor little boy drunk every night."
In this version had Wyvis Brand's faults and weaknesses
gone forth to the world near Beaminster 1 " Then he has
very disagreeable people to visit him, and his mother is
not in the least a lady — a publican's daughter, and not, I
am afraid, quite respectable in her youth." Lady Caroline's
voice sank to a whisper. " Some very unpleasant things
have been said about Mrs. Brand. Nobody calls on her.
I am very sorry for her, poor thing, but what could one
do ? I would not set foot in the house while she was in it
— I really would not. Mr. Brand ought to send her away.*-

" But what has she done, mamma?"

"There is no necessity for you to hear, Margaret. I
like your mind to be kept innocent of evil, dear. Surely
it is enough if I tell you that there is something; wrong."

The girl was silent for a minute or two : she was begin-
ning to feel abashed and ashamed. It was in a very low
voice thai she said at last —

A TRUE FRIEND,

ar3

" Mr. Brand would probably find another home for her
if he married."

" Oh, most likely. But I do not know that what he
would do affects us particularly. He is quite a poor man :
even is family is not very good, although it is an old one,
and it has been the proverb of the country-side for dissipa-
tion and extravagance for upwards of a century."

" But if he had quite reformed," Margaret murmured.

" My darling, what difference would it make ? I am sure
I do not know why we discuss the matter : it is a little too
ridiculous to speak of it seriously. Your father will give
Mr. Wyvis Brand his answer, and in such a way that he
will not care to repeat his presumptuous and insolent pro-
posal, and there will be an end of it. I hope, dearest, you
have not been annoyed by the man ? I heard something
of his pursuing you with his attentions at Lady Ashley's
party."

" Mamma," said Margaret, in a tragic tone, " this must
not go on. You must not speak to me as you are doing
now. You do not understand the position of affairs at all.
I "

" I beg your pardon, darling — one moment. Will you
give me that palm-leaf fan from the mantel-piece ? It is
really rather a hot morning. Thanks, dear. What was it
you were saying ? "

Lady Caroline knew the value of an adroit interruption.
She had checked the flow of Margaret's indignation for the
moment, and was well aware that the girl would not pro-
bably begin her speech in quite the same tone a second
time. At the same time she saw that she had given her
daughter a momentary advantage. Margaret did not reseat
herself after handing her mother the fan — she remained
standing, a pale, slender figure, somewhat impressive in
the shadows of the half-darkened room, with hands
clasped and head slightly lifted as if in solemn protest.

"Mamma," she began, in a somewhat subdued voice,

I must tell you. Mr. Brand spoke to me before he wrote
to papa. I told him to write."

Lady Caroline put her eyeglass and looked curiously at
her daughter. "You told him to write, my dear child?
And how did that come about ? Don't you know that
it was equivalent to accepting hin^ ? "

** Yes, mamma. And I did accept him.'*

SI4

A TRUR FR/END.

" My dear Margaret I " The tone was that of pitying
contempt. " You must have been out of your senses 1
Weill we can easily rectify the matter — that is one good
thing. Why, my darling, when did he find time to speak
to you ? At Lady Ashley's ? "

" In the park, near the forget-me-not brook," murmured
Margaret, with downcast eyes.

" He met you there ? "

"Yes."

" More tnan once ? And you allowed him to meet you ?
Oh, Margaret ! "

Lady Caroline's voice was admirably managed. The
gr!idual surprise, shocked indignation, and reproach of her
tones made the tears come to Margaret's eyes.

" Indeed, mamma," she said, " I am very sorry. I did
not know at first — at least I did not think — that I was
doing what you would not like. He used to meet me
when I went into the park, sometimes — when Alicia was
reading. Alicia did not know. And he was very nice,
he was always nice mamma. He told me a great deal
about himself — how discontented he was with his life, and
how I might help him to make it better. And I should
like to help him, mamma ; it seems to me it would be a
good thing to dp. And if you and papa would help him
too, he might take quite a different positiou in the County."

" My poor child ! " said Caroline. " My pjor deluded
child ! "

She lay silent for a few moments, thinking how to frame
the argument which she felt was most likely to appeal to
Margaret's tenderer feelings. " Of course," she said at
last, very slowly, " of course, if he told you so mucli about
his past life, he told you about his marriage — about that
little boy's mother."

He said that he had been very unhappy. I do not
thinL/* said Margaret with simplicity, '* that he loved his
first wife as he loves me."

" No doubt he made you think so, dear. His first wife,
indeed ! Did he tell you that his first wife was alive ? "

"Mamma!"

" He says he is divorced from her," said Lady Caroline,
sarcastically, " and seems to think it is no drawback to
have been divorced. 1 and your father think differently.
I do not mean there is any legal obstacle ; but he took a

A TRUE FRIEND.

>f pitying

senses I

)ne good

to speak

mrmured

eet you ?

id. The
:h of her

r, I did
It I was
[neet me
licia was
;ry nice,
;at deal
life, and
should
lid be a
lelp him
l!ounty."
deluded

io frame
ppeal to
said at
\\ about
3ut that

do not
•ved his

St wife,
ve?"

iroline,
)ack to
jrently.
took a

very unfair advantage of your youth and inexperience by
never letting you know that fact — or, at any rate, letting
us know it before he paid you any attention. That stamps
him as not being a gentleman, Margaret."

" Who told you, mamma ? "

"His cousin and your friend," said Lady Caroline,
coldly : " Miss Janetta Colwyn."

Margaret's color had fluctuated painfully for the last
few minutes ; she now sat down on a chair near the open
window, and turned so pale that her mother thought her
about to faint. Lady Caroline was on her feet immediately,
and began to fan her, and to hold smelling salts to her
nostrils ; but in a very short time the girl's color returned,
and she declined any further remedies.

" I did not know this," she said • t last, rather piteously,
" but it is too late to make any difference, mamma, it
really is. I love Wyvis Brand, and he loves me. Surely
you won't refuse to let us love one another ? "

She caught her mothers hand, and Lady Caroline put
her arms around her daughter's shoulders and kissed her
as fondly as ever.

" My poor dear, romantic child ! " she said. " Do you
think we can let you throw yourself quite away ? "

" But I have given my promise ! " ,

" Tour father must tell Mr. Brand that you cannot keep
your promise, my darling. It is quite out of the question."

And Lady Caroline thought she had settled the whole
matter by that statement.

CHAPTER XXX.

IN REBELLION.

Janetta was naturally very anxious to know something
of the progress of affairs between Wyvis and Margaret,
but she heard little for a rather considerable space of time.
She was now entirely severed from Helmsley Court, and
had no correspondence with Margaret. As the summer
holidays had begun, little Julian did not come every morn-
ing to Gwynne Street, but Tiny and Curly were invited to
spend a month at the Red House in charge of Nora, who

216

A TRUE FRIEND,

was delighted to be so much with Cuthbert, and who had
the power of enlivening even the persistent gloom of Mrs.
Brand. Janetta was thus obliged to live a good deal at
home, and Wyvis seemed to shun her society. His
relations at home had heard nothing of his proposal for
Margaret's hand, and Janetta, like them, did not know
that it had ever been actually made. Another event drove
this matter into the background for some little time — for it
was evidently fated that Janetta should never be quite
at peace.

Mrs. Colwyn summoned her rather mysteriously one
afternoon to a conference in her bedroom.

" Of course I know that you will be surprised at what
I am going to say, Janetta," began the good lady, with
some tossings of the head and flourishings of a handker-
chief which rather puzzled Janetta by their demonstra-
tiveness ; " and no doubt you will accuse me of want
of respect of your father's memory and all that sort of
thing ; though I'm sure I don't know why, for he married
a second time, and I am a young woman still and not
without admirers."

"Do you mean," said Janetta, "that you think ?"

She could go no further : she stood and looked helplessly
at her stepmother. .

" Do I think of marrying again ? Well, yes, Janetta,
I do ; and more for the children's good than for my own.
Poor things, they need a father : and I am tired of this
miserable, scraping, cheeseparing life that you are so fond
of. I have been offered a comfortable home and provision
for my children, and I have decided to accept it."

" So soon ! "

"It will not be announced just yet, of course. Not
until the end of the summer. But it is really no use to
wait."

Janetta stood pale and wide-eyed : she did not dare to
let herself speak just yet. Mrs. Colwyn gr^w fretful under
what she felt to be silent condemnation.

** I should like to know what harm it can do to you? "
she said. " I've waited quite as long as many widows do,
and toiled and suffered more than most. Poor James was
the last man to grudge me a little rest and satisfaction as
a reward for all that I have undergone. My own children
will not repine, I am sure, and I look to you, Janetta, to

exj

ho]

acj
col

se(

thj
his
I'll

thj

A TRUE FRIEND,

ai7

explain to them how much for their good it will be, and
how advantageous for them all."

** You can hardly expect me to try to explain «way an
act of disrespect to my father's memory/' said Janetta,
coldly.

'' There is no disrespect to the dead in marrying a
second time."

" After a decent interval."

Mrs. Colwyn burst into tears. " It's the first time in my
life that I've ever been told that I was going to do a thing
that wasn't decent," she moaned. " And when it's all for
his dear children's good, too ! Ah, well ! I'll give it up,
I'll say no, and we will all starve and go down into the
grave together, and then perhaps you will be satisfied."

" Mamma, please do not talk such nonsense. Who is it
that has asked you to be his wife ? "

" Dr. Burroughs," said Mrs. Colwyn, faintly.

Janetta uttered an involuntary exclamation. Dr. Bur-
roughs was certainly a man of sixty-five, but he was strong
and active still j he had a good position in the town, and
a large private income. His sister, who kept his house,
was a good and sensible woman, and Dr. Burroughs him-
self was reputed to be a sagacious man. His fondness
for children was wtU known, and a little thought convinced
Janetta that his choice of a wife had been partly determined
by his liking for Tiny and Curly, to say nothing of the
elder children. He had been a close friend of Mr.
Colwyn, and it was not likely that Mrs. Colwyn's infirmity
had remained a secret from him : he must have learned it
from common town-talk long ago. Angry as Janetta was,
and petrified with surprise, she could not but acknowledge
in her heart that such a marriage was a very good one for
Mrs. Colwyn, and would probably be of immense advan-
tage to the children. And the old physician and his sister
would probably be able to keep Mrs. Colwyn in check :
Janetta remembered that she had heard of one or two
cases of intemperance which had been cured under his
roof. As soon as she could get over her intense feeling
that a slur was thrown on her father's memory by this very
speedy second marriage of his widow, her common-sense
told her that she might be very glad. But it was difficult
to rid herself all at once of her indignation of what she
termed " this indecent haste,"

iiin

wmm

nppp

tit

A TRUE FRIEND,

She made an effort to calm Mrs. Colwyn's fretful sobbing,
and assured her with as much grace as she had at command
that the marriage would not at all displease her if it took
place at a somewhat later date. And she reflected that Dr.
and Miss Burroughs might be depended upon not to violate
conventionalities. Her own soreness with regard to the
little affection displayed by Mrs. Colwyn to her late husband
must be disposed of as best it might : there was no use in
exhibiting it.

And as Mrs. Colwyn had hinted, it fell to Janetta to
inform, the rest of the familv of their mother's intention,
and to quell symptoms of indignation and discontent. After
all, things might have been worse. The children already
liked Dr. Burroughs, and soon reconciled themselves to
the notion of living in a. large, comfortable house, with a
big garden, and unlimited treats and pleasures provided
by their future stepfather and aunt. And when Janetta
had had an interview with these two good people, her
mind was considerably relieved. They were kind and
generous ; and although she could not help feeling that
Dr. Burroughs was marrying for the sake of the children
rather than their mother, she saw that he would always be
thoughtful and affectionate to her, and that she would
probably have a fairly happy and luxurious life. One
thing was also evident — that he would be master in his
own house, as James Colwyn had never been.

The marriage was to take place at Christmas^ and the
house in Gwynne Street was then to be let. Cuthbert and
Nora began to talk of marrying at the same time, for
Nora was somewhat violently angry at her mother's pro-
ceeding, and did not wish to go to Dr. Burroughs' house.
The younger members of the family would all, however,
migrate to The Cedars, as Dr. Burroughs* house was called ;
and there Miss Burroughs was still to maintain her sway.
On this point Dr. Burroughs had insisted, and Janetta was
thankfdl for it, and Miss Burroughs was quite able and
willing to perform the duty of guardian not only to her
brother's step-children, but to her brother's wife.

" And of course you will come to us, too, dear ? " Miss
Burroughs said to Janetta. *' This will be your home
always : Andrew particularly wished me to say so."

" It is very kind of Dr. Burroughs," said Janetta, grate-
fully. " I have no claim on him at all : I am not Mrs,
Colwyn's daughter,"

I si

tori
my
woj
hai
plei

A TRUE FRIEND,

il9

1 sobbing,
command
if it took
1 that Dr.
to violate
rd to the
t husband
10 use in

anetta to
titention,
It. After
already
ielves to
S with a
provided
Janetta
)ple, her
ind and
ng that
children
ivays be

would
One

in his

md the
ert and
ne, for
's pro-
house.
weVer,
:alled ;

sway,
ta was
e and

her

Miss
home

yrate-
MrSt

" As if that made any difference 1 James Colwyn was
one of \ndrcw's best- friends, and for his sake, if for no
other, you will be always welcome."

" I am very much obliged to you," Janetta replied, ** and
I shall be pleased to come to you now and then as a visi-
tor ; but I have made up my mind that now — now that
my duty seems to be done, I had better go out into the
world and try to make a career for myself. I shaV be
happier at work than leading an idle, easy life. But
please do not think me ungraleful — only I must get away."

And Miss Burroughs, looking into the girl's worn face,
and noticing the peculiar significance of her tone, refrained
from pressing the point. She was sure from both that
some hidden pain existed, that there was some secret
reason why Janetta felt that she " must get away." She
was anxious to help the girl, but she saw that it would be
no true kindness to keep her in Beaminster against her
will.

These matters took some time to arrange, and it was
while some of them were still pending that Janetta was
startled by a visit from Margaret Adair.

It was a sultry day towards the end of July, and Miss
Adair looked for once hot and dusty. She was much thin-
ner than she had been, and had a harassed expression
which Janetta could not fail to remark. As she hurriedly
explained, she had walked some little distance, leaving
Alicia Stone at the Post Office, and it afterwards trans-
pired, giving her mother the slip at a confectioner's, in
order to see Janetta once again

" It is very kind of you, dear," said Janetta, touched,
rather against her will, by so unwonted a proof of affec-
tion. " But I am afraid that Lady Caroline would not be
pleased."

" I know she would not," said Margaret, a little bitterly,
" She? did not want me to see any more of you. I told
her how unjust it was to blame you, but she would not
believe me."

" It does not matter, Margaret, dear, I do not much
mind."

" I thou^rht I should like to see you once again." Mar^
garet spoke with unusual haste, and almost in a breathless
manner. " I want to know if you would do something

would do

" So I will, if I can.

say you

>»

lythmg

ip«^

•90

A TRUE FRIEND,

" We were going abroad in a few days. I don't know
where, exactly : they won't tell me. They are angry with
me, Janetta, and I can't bear it," cried Margaret, breaking
suddenly into tears which were evidently very heartfelt,
although they did not disfigure that fair and placid face of
hers in the slightest degree ; •* they were never angry with
me before, and it is terrible. They may take me away
and keep me away for years, and I don't know what to do.
The only thing I can think of is to ask you to help me. I
want to send a message to Wyvis — I want to write to him
if you will give him the letter."

" But why do you not write him through the post ? "

" Oh, because I promised not to post anything to him.
Mamma said she must supervise my correspondence unless
I promised not to write to him. And so I keep my word
— but a few lines through you, Janet, darling, would not
be breaking my word ac all, for it would no. be a letter
exactly. And I want to arrange when I can see him
again."

Tanetta drew back a little. " It would be breaking the
spirit of your promise, Margaret. No, I cannot help you
to do rV It."

** Oh, Janetta, you would never be so hard as to refuse
me ! I only want to tell Wyvis that I am true to him. and
that I don't mind what the world says one bit, because I
know how people tell lies about him ! Yc i know you
always promises to stand by me and to be my best
friend.''

" Yes, but I never promised to do a dishonorable action
-fcr you," said Janetta, steadily.

Margaret started up, her face a-flame directly.

" How dare you say such a thing to me, Janetta ? " she
exclaimed.

•* I cannot hdp it, Margaret, you know that I am right.**

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then.
Margaret turned away with the mien of an insulted prin-
cess.

" I was wrong to come. I thought that you would he
true to the old bond of friendship between us. I shall
never come to you again."

Poor Janetta's heart was very tender, although her reso'
lution was impregnable. She ran after Margaret, putting
her hands on her arm, and imploring her with tears to

A TRUE FRIEND,

n't know
igry with
breaking
heartfelt,
id face of
igry with
ne away
lattodo.
p me. I
te to him

St ? "
to him.
e unless
ny word
uld not
a tetter
>ee him

ing the
-Ip you

> refuse
m. and
cause I
ow you
ly best

action

» " she

right.''
i then
I prin-

jld be
: shall

r resO'
utting
ars to

forgive her for her refusal. " If it were only anything
else, Margaret, dear I If only you did not want me to do
what your father and mother do not wish ! Don't you see
that you are trying to deceive them? If you were acting
openly it would be a different thing 1 Don't be angry with
me for wanting to do right 1 "

" I am not at all angry," said Margaret, with stateliness.
** I am very disappointed, that is all. I do not see that I
am deceiving anybody by sending a message to Wyvis.
But I will not ask you again."

" If only I could ! " sighed Janetta, in deep distress and
confusion of mind. But her anchor of truth and straight-
forwardness was the thing of all'others that she relied on
for safety, and she did not let go her hold. In spite of
Margaret's cold and haughty displeasure, Janetta kissed
her affectionately, and could not refrain from saying,
" Dear, I would do anything for you that I thought right.
But don't — don't deceive your father and mother."

" I will not, as you shall see," returned Margaret, and
she left the the house without again looking at her former
friend. Janetta felt very bitterly, as she watched the
graceful figure down the street, that the old friendship had
indeed become impossible in its older sense. Her very
faithfulness to the lines in which it had been laid down
now made it an offence to Margaret.

Janetta's direct and straightforward dealing had the
effect of driving Margaret, though chiefly out of perversity,
to do likewise. Miss Adair was not accustomed to be
withstood, and, during the unexpected opposition with
which her wishes had been met, her mind had turned very
often to Janetta with unswerving faith in her old friend's
readiness to help her at an emergency.

In this faith she considered that she had been cruelly
disappointed. And her mingled anger, shame, and sorrow
so blinded her to the circumstancies in which she stood,
that she walked quietly up to Lady Caroline and Alicia
Stone in Beaminster High Street, and did not think of
hiding her escapade at all.

" My dearest child, where have you been ? " cried Lady
Caroline, who was always caressing, if inflexible.

" I have been to Janetta Colwyn's, mamma," said Mar-
garet, imperturbably, " to ask her to give a message to Mr.
Brand."

A TRVE FRIEND,

** Margaret ! Have ypu quite forgotten yourself? Ollf
that unsuitable friendship of yours !

*' I don't think you need call it unsuitable, mamma,^
Margaret irejoined, with a weary little smile. " Janetta
absolutely refused to give the message, and told me to
obey my parents. I really do not see that you can blame
her."

Lady Caroline replied only by a look of despair which
spoke unutterable things, and then she walked onward to
the spot where she had left the carriage. The three ladies
drove home in complete silence. Lady Caroline was
seriously displeased, Alicia curious, Margaret in rebellion
and disgrace. The state of things was becoming very
grave, for the whole tenor of life at Helmsley Court was
disturbed, and Margaret's father and mother wanted their
daughter to be a credit and an ornament to them, not a
cause of disturbance and irritation. Margaret had kept
up a gallant fight : she had borne silence, cold looks,
absence of caresses, with unwavering courage ; but she
began now to find the situation unendurable. And a little
doubt had lately been creeping into her heart — was it all
worth while ? If Wyvis Brand were really as undesirable
dk parti as'hewas represented to be, Margaret was not
sure that her lot would be very happy as his wife. Hither-
to she had maintained that the stories *^old about him, his
habits and his position, were falsehc. >Js. But if — she
began to think — if they were true, and if a marriage with
him would exclude her from the society to which she had
beeji accustomed, was it worth while, to fight as hard as
she had done ? Perhaps, after all, her mother and her
father were right.

Lady Caroline, not knowing of these weaknesses in
Margaret's defence, was inclined for once to be more
severe than caressing. She went straight to her husband
when she entered the Court, and had a long conversation
with him. Then she proceeded to Margaret's room.

" I have been talking to your father, Margaret," she
said coldly, " and we are both very much distressed at the
course which things are taking."

" So am I, mamma," said Margaret.

" Of course we cannot proceed in the mediaeval fashion,
and lock you up in your own room until you are reason-
able," said Lady Caroline, with a faint smile. " I should

h
ol

Ok,

TRUE FRIEND,

•■3

have thought that your own instinct as a lady would have
precluded you from doing anything that would make it ne-
cessary for us to lay any restraint upon you ; but to-day's
occu*'rence really makes me afraid. You have promised
not to write to Mr. Brand, I think ? "

" Yes. But I meant to send him a little note to-day."

''Indeed? Then what I have to say is all the more
necessary. We do not restrict you to any part of the
house, but you must understand that when you come out
of your own room, Margaret, you are never to be alone.
Alicia will sit with you, if I am engaged. She will walk
with you, if you wish to go out into the garden. I have
no doubt it will be a little unpleasant," said Lady Caroline,
with a slight, agreeable smile, " to be constantly under
surveillance y and of course it will last only until we leave
home next week j but in the meantime, my dear, unless
you will give up your penchant for Mr. Brand, you must
submit to be watched. You cannot be allowed to run off
with messages to this man as if you were a milliner's girl
or a servant maid : we manage these matters differently."

And then Lady Caroline withdrew, though not too late
to see the girl sink down into a large arm-chair and burst
into a very unwonted passion of sobs and tears.

" So tiresome of Margaret to force one to behave in this
absurd manner 1 " reflected Lady Caroline. '* So com-
pletely out of date in modern days ! "

■■M

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE ploughman's SON.

Two or three days after Margaret's visit to Gwynue Street,
Janetta availed herself of Mrs. Colwyn's temporary absence
in Miss Burroughs' company to pay a visit to the Red
House. Her anxiety to know what was occurring between
Wyvis and Margaret had become almost uncontrollable
and, although she was not very likely to hear much about
it from Wyvis or his mother, she vaguely hoped to gather
indications at least of the state of affairs from her cousin's
aspect and manners.
It was plain that Wyvis was not in a happy mood. His

•H

A TRUE FRIEND,

•brow was dark, his tone sarcastic ; he spoke roughly once
or twice to his mother and to his little son. He evidently
repented of his roughness, however, as soon as the words
were out of his mouth, for he went over to Mrs. Brand's
side and kissed her immediately afterwards, and gave some
extra indulgence to Julian by way of making up for his
previous severity. Still the irritation of feeling existed,
and could not be altogether repressed when he spoke ; and
when he was silent he fell into a condition of gloom which
was even more depressing than his sharpness. Janetta
did her best to be cheerful and talkative to Mrs. Brand, and
she fancied that he liked to listen ; for he sat on with them
in the blue room long after Nora and Cuthbert had disap-
peared into the garden and the children were romping in
the wood. Certainly he did not say much to her, but he
seemed greatly disinclined to move.

After a time, Mrs. Brand and Janetta adjourned to the
hall, which was always a favorite place of resort on summer
evenings. Traces of the children's presence made the
rooms more cheerful than they used to be — to Janetta's
thinking. Tiny's doll and Julian's ball were more enliven-
ing to the place than even Cuthbert's sketches and Nora's
bunches of wild flowers. And here, too, Wyvis followed
them in an aimless, subdued sort of way ; and, having
asked and obtained permission to light a cigarette, he
threw himself into a favorite chair, and seemed to listen
dreamily, while Janetta held patient discourse with his
mother on the ailments of the locality and the difficulty
of getting the housework done. Janetta glanced at him
from time to time ; he sat so quietly that she would have
thought him sleeping but for the faint blue spirals of
smoke that went up from his cigarette. It was six o'clock
in the evening, and the golden lights and long shadows
made Janetta long to be out of doors ; but Mrs. Brand
had a nervous fear of rheumatism, and did not want to
move.

" What is that ? " said Wyvis, sudcenly roasing him-
self.

Nobody else had heard anything. He strode suddenly
to the door, and flung it open. Janetta heard the quaver-
ing tones of the old man-servant, an astonished, enrap-
ttired exclamation from Wyvis himself; and she knew —
instinctively — what to expect. She turned round ; it was

A TRUE FRIEND,

935

rotice
lently
^ords
rand's
some
or his
dsted,
\\ and
which
anetta
d, and
L them
disap-
)ing in
but he

to the
iimmer
de the
tnetta's
nliven-
Nora's
Uowed
having
te, he
listen
ith his
fficulty
lat him
d have
rals of
clock
adows
Brand
ant to

^g him-

[ddenly

luavcr-

enrap-

mew —

it was

as she had feared. Margaret was there. Wyvis was lead-
ing her into the room with the fixed look of adoration in
his eyes which had been so much commented upon at
Lady Ashley's party. When she was present, he evident-
ly saw none but her. Janetta rose quickly and with-
drew a little into the back ground. She wished for
a moment that she had not been there — and then it
occurred to her that she might be useful by and by. But
it was perhaps better for Margaret not to see her too soon.
Mrs. Brand, utterly imprepared for this visit, not even
knowing the stranger by sight, and, as usual, quite un-
ready for an emergency, rose nervously from her seat and
stood, timid, awkward, and anxious, awaiting an explan-
ation.

" Mother, this is Margaret Adair," said Wyvis, as quiet-
ly as if his mother knew all that was involved in that very
simple formula. He was still holding the girl by the hand
and gazing in his former rapt manner into her face. It
was not the look of a lover, to Janetta's eye, half so much
as the worship of a saint. Margaret embodied for Wyvis
Brand the highest aspirations, the purest dreams of his
youth.

As to Margaret, Janetta thought that she was looking
exquisitely lovely. Her thinness added to the impression
of ethereal beauty ; there was a delicacy about her ap-
pearance which struck the imagination. Her color fluc-
tuated j her eyes shone like stars ; and her whole frame
seemed a little tremulous, as if she were shaken by some
strange and powerful emotion to her very soul. Her
broad-brimmed straw hat, white dress, and long tan gloves
belonged, as Janetta knew, only to her ordinary attire when
no visitors were to be seen; but simplicity of dress always
seemed to garnish Margaret's beauty, and to throw it into
the strongest possible relief. She k i;,s sufficiently striking
in aspect to frighten poor, timid Mrs. Brand, who was
never happy when she .ound herself in the company of
" fashionable " people. But it was with a perfectly simple
and almost childlike manner that Margaret drew her finger
away from Wyvis' clasp and went up to his mother, hold-
ing out both hands as if in appeal for help.

** I am Margaret," she said. " I ought not to have

•sMm

come : but

what could I do ?
15

They are going to take me

aa6

A rRUS FglElfD.

away from the the Court to-morrow, and I could not go
without seeing you and Wyvis first."

« Wyvis ? " repeated Mrs. Brand, blankly. She had not
taken Margaret's hands, but now she extended her right
hand in a stiff, lifeless fashion, which looked like anything
but a welcome. " I do not know — I do not understand

" It is surely easy enough to understand," said Wyvis>
vehemently. ** She loves me — she has promised to be my
wife — and you must love her, too, for my sake, as well as
for her own."

" Won't you love me a little ? " said Margaret, letting
her eyes rest pleadingly on Mrs. Brand's impassive face.
She was not accustomed lo being met in this exceedingly
unresponsive manner. Wyvis made a slight jesture of
impatience, which his mother perfectly understood. She
tried, in her difficult, frozen way, to say something cor-
dial.

** I am very pleased to see you," she faltered. " You
must excuse me if I did not understand at first. Wyvis did
not tell me."

Then she sank into her chair again, more out of physi-
cal weakness than from any real intention to seat herself.
Her hand stole to her side, as if to still the beating of her
heart; Jier face had turned very pale. Only Janetta
noticed these signs, which betrayed the greatness of the
shock ; Margaret, absorbed in her own affairs, and Wyvis
absorbed in Margaret, had no eyes for the poor mother's
surprise and agitation. Janetta made a step forward, but
she saw that she could do nothing. Mrs. Brand was re-
covering her composure, and the other two were not in a
mood to bear interruption. So she waited, and meanwhile
Margaret spoke.

" Dear Mrs. Brand," she said, kneeling at the side of the
trembling wom?in, and laying her clasped hands on her lap,
" forgive me for startling you like this." Even Janetta
wondered at the marvelous sweetness of Margaret's tones.
" Indeed, I would not have come if there had been any
other way of letting Wyvis know. They made me promise
not to write to him, not to meet him in the wood where
we met before you know, and they watched me, so that I
could not get out, or send a message or anything. It
has been like living in prison during the last few days."

A TRUE FRIEND,

«^

And the girl sobbed a little, and laid her forehead for a
moment on her clasped hands.

" It's a shame — a shame ! It must not go on," exclaimed
Wyvis, indignantly.

" In one way it will not go on," said Margaret, raising
her head. " They are going to take me away, and we are
not to come back for the whole winter — perhaps not next
year at all. I don't know where we a.e going. I shall
never be allowed to write. And I thought it would be
terrible to go without letting Wy vis know that I will never,
never forget him. And I am only nineteen now, and I can't
do as I like ; but, when I am twenty-one, nobody can
prevent me "

" Why should anybody prevent you now ? " said Wyvis
gloomily. He drew nearer and laid his hand upon her
shoulder. " Why should you wait ? You are safe : you
have come to my mother, and she will take care of you.
Why need you go back again ? "

** Is that right, Wyvis ? " said Jpnetta. She could not
keep silence any longer. Wyvis turned on her almost
fiercely. Margaret who had not seen her before started
up ard faced her^, with a look of something like terror.

"1> is no business of yours," said the man. ''This
matter is between Margaret and myself. Margaret must
decide it. I do not ask her to compromise herself in any
"Vray. She shall be in my mother's care. All she will have
to do is to trust to me "

" I think we need hardly trouble you, Mr. Brand," said
another voice. " Margaret will be better in the care of
her own mother than in that of Mrs. Brand or yourself."

Lady Caroline Adair stood on the threshold. Lady
Caroline addressed the little group, on which a sudden
chill and silence fell for a moment, as if her appearance
heralded some portentous crash of doom. The door had
been left ajar when Margaret entered ; it was not easy to
say how much of the conversation Lady Caroline had heard.
Mrs. Brand started up ; Margaret turned very pale and
drew back, while Wyvis came closer to her and put his
arm round her with an air of protective defiance. Janetta
drew a quick breath of relief. A disagreeable scene would
follow she knew well ; and there were probably unpleasant
times in store for Margaret, but these were preferable to
the course of rebellion, open 6x secret, to which the girl
was being incited by her too ardent lover.

ss8

A TRUE FRIEND.

Janetta never admired Lady Caroline so much as she
did just then. Margaret's mother was tlie last person to
show discomposure. She sat down calmly, although no
one had asked her to take a chair, and smilingly adjusted
the lace shawl which she had thrown round her graceful
figure. There were no signs of haste or agitation in her
appearance. She wo*'e a very elegant and becoming dress^
a Paris bonnet on her head, a pair of French gloves on her
slender hands. She became at once the centre of the
group; the ornamental point on which all eyes were fixed.
Every one else was distressed, frightened, or angry j~ but
Lady Caroline's pleasing smile and little air of society was
not for one moment to be disturbed.

" It is really very late for a call," she said, quietly, '' but
as I found that my daughter was passing this way, I thought
I would follow her example and take the opportunity
of paying a visit to Mrs. Brand. It is not, however, the
first time that we have met."

She looked graciously towards Mrs. Brand, but that poor
woman was shaking in every limb. Janetta put her arms
round Mrs. Brand's shoulders. What did Lady Caroline
mean ? She had some purpose to fulfil, or she would not
sit so quietly, pretending not to notice that her daughter
was holding Wyvis Brand by the hand and that one of his
arms was round her waist. There was something behind
that fixed, agreeable smile.

" No,"" said Lady Caroline, reflectively, *' not the first
time. The last time I saw you, Mrs. Brand "

" Oh, my lady, my lady ! " Mrs. Brand almost shrieked,
*' for heaven's sake, my lady, don't go on ! "

She covered her face with her hands and rocked herself
convulsively to and fro. Wyvis frowned and bit his lip :
Margaret started and unconsciously withdrew her hand.
It crossed the minds of both that Mrs. Brand's tone was
that of an inferior, that of a servant to a mistress, not that
of one lady to her equal.

" Why should I not go on ? " said Lady Caroline, glanc-
ing from one to another as if in utter ignorance. " Have
I said anything wrong? I only meant that I was presept
at Mrs. Brand's first wedding — when she married your
father, Mr. Wyvis — ^not your adopted father, of course, but
John Wyvis, the ploughman."

There was a moment's silence. Then Wyvis took a step

/f TRUE FRIEND,

tS9

as she
son to
igh no
Ijusted
raceful
in her
; dresSy
on her
of the
\ fixed,
y ;~but
ity was

jr,''but
bought
irtunity
irer, the

tat poor
er arms
laroline
luld not
aughter
e of his
behind

le first

irieked,

herself
his lip :
hand.
)ne was
otthat

glanc-
I" Have
I present
id your
irse» but

Ik a step

forward and thundered, " What ? " while the veinfs stood
out upon his forehead and his eyes seemed to be gathering
sombre fire. Mrs. Brand, with her head bowed upon her
hands, still rocked herself and sobbed.

" I hope I have not been indiscreet," said Lady Caroline,
innocently. " You look a little surprised. It is surely no
secret that you are the son of Mary Wyvis and her cousin,
John Wyvis, and that you were brought up by Mr. Brand
as his son simply oul '^f consideration for his wife ? I am
sure I beg your pardon if I have said anything amiss. As
Mrs. Brand seems disturbed, I had better go."

** Not until my mother has contradicted this ridiculous
slander," said Wyvis, sternly. But his mother only shook
her head and wailed aloud.

" I can't, my dear — I can't. It's true every word of it.
My lady knows."

• "Of course I know. Come, Mary, don't be foolish,"
said Lady Caroline, in the carelessly sharp tone in which
one sometimes speaks to an erring dependant. " I took
an interest in you at the time, you will remember, although
I was only a child staying at Helmsley Court at the time
with Mr. Adair's family. I was fourteen, I think ; and you
were scullery-maid or something, and told me about your
sweetheart, John Wyvis. There is nothing to be ashamed
of: you were married very suitably, and if Wyvis, the
ploughman, had not been run over when he was intoxicated,
and killed before your baby's birth, you might even now
have been living down at Wych End, with half a dozen
stalwart sons and daughters — of whom you, Mr. Wyvis, or
Mr. Wyvis Brand, as you are generally known, would have
been the eldest — probably by this time a potman or a
pugilist, with a share in your grandfather's public-house at
Roxby. How ridiculous it seems now, does it not?"

Astonishment had kept Wyvis silent, but his gathering
passion could not longer be repressed.

" That is enough," he said. " If you desire to insult me
you might have let it be in other company. Or if you will
send your husband to repeat it "

"I said a pugilist, did I not?" said Lady Caroline,
smiling, and putting up her eye-glass. " Your thews and
sinews justify me perfectly — and so, I must say, does your
wanner of speech." She let her eye run over his limbs
critically, and then she dropped her glass. "You are

«3t»

A TRUE FRIEND,

really wonderfully like poor Wy vis ; he was a very strong
sort of man."

" Will you be so good as to take your leave, Lady Caro-
line Adair ? I wish to treat you with all due courtesy, as
you are Margaret's mother," s-'.id Wyvis, setting his teeth,
^* but you are saying unpardonable things to a man in his
own house."

" My dear man, there is nothing to be ashamed of!"
cried Lady Caroline, as if very much surprised. " Your
father and mother were very honest people, and I always
thought it greatly to Mark Brand's credit that he adopted
you. The odd thing was that so few people knew that you
were not his son. You were only a month or two old when
he married Mary Wyvis, however ; for your father died
before your birth ; but there was no secret made of it at
the time, I believe. And it is nearly thirty years. Things
get forgotten."

** Mother, can this be true ? " said Wyvis, hoarsely. He
was forced into asking the question by Lady Caroline's cool
persistence. He was keenly conscious of the fact that
Margaret, looking scared and bewildered, had shrunk away
from him.

*• Yes, yes, it is true," said Mrs. Brand, with a burst of
despairing tears. " We did not mean any harm, and no-
body made any inquiries. There was nothing wrong about
it — nothing. It was better for you, Wyvis, that was all."

** Is it better for anybody to be brought up to believe a
lie? " said the young man. His lips had grown white, and
his brow was set in very ominous darkness. " I shall hear
more of this story by and by. I have to thank you. Lady
Caroline, for letting in a little light upon my mind. Your
opposition to my suit is amply explained."

" I am glad you take it in that way, Mr. Brand," said
Lady Caroline, for the first time giving him his adopted
name, and smiling very amicably. " As I happened to be
one of the very few people who knew or surmised anything
about the matter, I thought it better to take affairs into my
own hands — especially when I found that my daughter had
come to your house. But for this freak of hers I should
not, perhaps, have interfered. As you are no doubt prepared
now to resign all hope of her, I am quite satisfied with the
result of my afternoon's work. Come, Margaret."

^ TRUE FRIEND.

191

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE FAILURE OF MARGARET.

*' Then I am to understand," said Wyvis, a sudden glow
breaking ou( over his dark face, " that you did not make
this communication carelessly, as at first I thought, but out
of malice prepense ? "

" If you like to call it so — certainly," said Lady Caroline,
with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

" This was your revenge ? — when you found that Mar-
garet had come to mc ! "

" You use strange words, Mr. Wyvis Brand. Revenge
is out of date — a quite too ridiculous idea. I simply mean
that I never wish to intermeddle with my neighbors' affairs,
and should not have thought of bringing this matter for-
ward if your pretentions could have been settled in an
ordinary way. If Margaret " — glancing at her daughter,
who stood white and thunderstricken at her side — ** had
behaved with submission and with modesty, I should not
have had to inflict what seems to be considerable pain
upon you. But it is her fault and yours. Young people
should submit to the judgment of their elders : we do not
refuse to gratify their wishes without good reason."

Lady Caroline spoke with a cold dignity, which she did
not usually assume. Margaret half covered her face with
one hand, and turned aside. The sight of the slow tears
trickling through her fingers almost maddened Wyvis, as
he stood before her, looking alternately at her and at Lady
Caroline. Mrs. Brand and Janetta were left in the back-
ground of the little group. The older woman was still
weeping, and Janetta was engaged in soothing and caressing
her ; but neither of them lost a word which passed between
the man for whom they cared and the woman whom at
that moment they both sincerely hated.

"But is it a good reason?" said Wyvis at last. His
eye flashed beneath his dark brow, his nostril began to
quiver. " If I had been Mark Brand's son, you mean, you
would have given me Margaret ? "

933

A TRUE FRIEND.

V' s-'

" There would then have been no disqualification of
birth," said Lady Caroline, clearly. '* There might then
have been disqualifications of character or of fortune, but
these we need hardly consider now. The other — the
primary — fact is conclusive."

** Mamma, mamma ! " broke out Margaret ; " don't say
these terrible things — please don't. It isn't Wyvis* fault."

" God bless you, my darling ! " Wyvis muttered between
his teeth.

" No, it is not his fault ; it is his misfortune," said Lady
Caroline.

" I am to understand, then. Lady Caroline," said Wyvis,
to whom Margaret's expostulation seemed to have brought
sudden calmness and courage, " that my lowly origin forms
an insurmountable barrier to my marriage with Miss
Adair ? "

" Quite so, Mr. Brand."

"But that there is no other obstacle?"

" I did not say so. Your domestic relations have been
unfortunate, and Mr. Adair strongly objects to giving his
daughter to a man in your position. But we need not go
into that matter ; I don't consider it a subject suitable for
discussion in my daughter's presence."

"Then I appeal to Margaret!" said Wyvis, in a deep,
strong voice. " I call upon her to decide whether my
birth is as much of an obstacle as you say it is."

" That is not fair," said Lady Caroline, quickly. " She
will write to you. She can say nothing now."

"She must say something. She was on the point of
giving me herself — her all — when you came in. She had
promised to be my wife, and she was prepared to keep her
promise almost immediately. She shall not break her word
because my father was a ploughman instead of a landowner
and a gentleman."

For once Lady Caroline made a quick, resistant gesture,
as if some impulse prompted her to speak sharply and
decisively. Then she recovered herself, leaned back in
her chair, and smiled faintly.

" Is the battle to be fought out here and now?" she
said. " Well, then, do your worst, Mr. Brand. But I
must have a word by and by, when you have spoken."

Wyvis seemed scarcely to hear her. He was looking
again, at Margaret. She was not crying now, but one

A TRUE FRIEND.

tion of

;ht then
ine, but
ler— the

on't say
i' fault."
between

lid Lady

d Wyvis,
I brought
Tin forms
ith Miss

lave been
riving his
ed not go
itable for

a deep,
ether my

. " She

point of
She had
keep her
her word
mdowner

t gesture,
irply and
back in

hand still grasped a handkerchief wet with v:r tears. She
had rested the other on the back of her mother's chair.
Janetta marveled at her irresolute attitude. In Margaret's
place she would have flung her arms round Wyvis Brand's
neck, and vowed that nothing but death should Sever her
from him. But Margaret was neither passionately loving
nor of indomitable courage.

Wyvis stepped forward and took her by the hand.
Lady Caroline's eyebrows contracted a little, but she did
not interfere. She seemed to hold herself resolutely aloof
— for a time — and listened, Janetta thought, as if she were
present at a very interesting comedy of modern manners.

** Margaret, look at me 1 " said the man.

His deep, vibrating voice compelled the girl to raise her
eyes. She looked up piteously, and seemed half afraid to
withdraw her gaze from Wyvis' dark earnestness of aspect.

" Margaret — my darling — you said you loved me."

" Yes — rdo love you," she murmured ; but she looked
afraid.

" I am not altered, Margaret : I am the same Wyvis that
you loved — the Wyvis that you kissed down by the brook,
when you promised to be my wife. Have you forgotten ?
Ah no — not so soon. You would not have come here to-
day if you had forgotten."

" I have not forgotten," she said, in a whisper.

" Then, darling, what difference does it make ? There
is no stain upon my birth. I would not ask you to share
a dishonored name. But my parents were honest if they
were poor, and what they were does not affect me. Mar-
garet, speak, tell me, dear, that you will not give me up ! *'

Margaret tried to withdraw her hand. " I do not know
what to say," she whispered.

"Say that you love me."

" I — have said it."

" Then, that you will not give me up ? "

*' Mamma ! " said Margaret, entreatiugly. " You hear
what Wyvis says. It is not his fault. Why — why — won't
you let us be happy? "

" Don't appeal to your mother," said Wyvis, the work-
ings of whose features showed that he was becoming fright-
fully agitated. " You know that she is against me. Listen
to your own heart — what does it say ? It speaks to you
of my love for you, of your own love for me. Darling,

•4-

A TRUE FRIEND.

you know how miserabk my life hasbeeiL,,,Arp yoii gniag.
to scatter all my hopes again aii^Tpluiige me down in the
depths of gloom ? And all for what ? To satisfy a worldly
scruple. It is not even as if I had been brought up in my
early years in the station to which my father belonged. I
have never known him — never known any relations but
the Brands ; and they are not so very much beneath you.
Don't fail me, Margaret I I shall lose all faith in goodness
if I lose faith in you I "

" I think," said Lady Caroline, in the rather dishearten-
ing pause which followed upon Wyvis' words — dishearten-
ing to him, at least, and also to Janetta, who had counted
much upon Margaret's innate nobility of soul ! — ** I think
that I may now be permitted to say a word to my daughter
before she replies. What Mr. Wyvis Brand asks. you to
do, Margaret, is to marry him at once. Well, the time for
coercion has gone by. Of course, we cannot prevent you
from marrying him if you choose to do so, but on the other
hand we shall never speak to you again."

Wyvis uttered a short laugh, as if he were scornfully
ready to meet that contingency, but Margaret's look of
startled horror recalled him to decorum.

" You would be no longer any child of ours,** said Lady
Caroline, calmly. *^ Your father concurs with me in this.
You have known our views so long and so well that we
feel it almost necessary to explain this to you. Mi. Brand
wishes you to choose, as a matter of fact, between his
house and ours. Make your choice — make it now, if you
like ; but understand — and I am very sorry to be obliged
to say a thing which may perhaps hurt the feelings of some
persons present — that if you marry the son of a ploughman
and a scullery-maid — I do not mean to be more offensive
than I can help — you cannot possibly expect to be received
at Helmsley Court."

" But, mamma I he ranks as one of the Brands of the
Red House. Nobody knows."

" But everybody will know," said Lady Caroline, calmly.
** I shall take care of that. I don't know how it is that
Mr. Brand has got possession of the family estate — to
which he has,, of course, no right ; but it has an ugly look
of fraud about it, to winch public attention had better be
drawn at once. Mr. Brand may have been a party to
the deception all along, for aught I know*"

A TRUE FRIEND,

S35

" That statement needs no refutation," said Wyvis,
calmly, though with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. " I
shall prove my integrity by handing oveyfie Red House to
my bro to Cuthbert Brand, who is ot course the right-
ful owner of the place."

" You hear, Margaret ? " said Lady Caroline. " You
will not even have the Red House in your portion. You
have to choose between your mother and father and friends,
position, wealth, refinement, luxury — and Wyvis Brand.
That is your alternative. He will have no position of his
own, no house to offer you ; I am amazed at his selfish-
ness, I must own, at making such a proposition."

" No, madam," s'.id Mrs. Brand, breaking into the con-
versation for the first time, and seeming to forget her
timidity in the defence of her beloved son Wyvis ; " we
are not so selfish as you think. The estate was left to
Wyvis by my husband's will. He preferred that Wyvis
should be master here ; and we thought that no one knew
the tilith."

" But I shall not be master here any longer," said her
son. " I will hand over the place to Cuthbert at once. I
will take nothing on false pretences. So, Margaret, choose
between me and the advantages your mother offers you.
It is for you to decide."

"Oh, I can't, I can't! Why need I decide now?"
said Margaret, clasping her hands. ** Let me have time
.to think 1 "

" No, you must decide now, Margaret," said Lady
Caroline. *' You have done a *ery unjustifiable thing in
coming here to-day, and you must take the consequences.
If you still wish to marry Mr. Wyvis Brand, you had
better accept the offer of his mother's protection and
remain here. If you come away with me, it must be under-
stood that you give up any thought of such a marriage.
You must renounce Mr. Wyvis Brand from^his time forth
and for ever. Pray, don't answer hastily. The question
is this — do you mean to stay here or to come away with
me ? "

She rose as she spoke, and began to arrange the details
of her dress, as though preparing to take her departure.
Margaret stood pale, irresolute, miserable between her
mother and her lover. Wyvis threw out his hands to her
with an imploring gesture and an almost frenzied cry^*

t3f

A TRUE FRIEND,

I
1

** Margaret — love — come to me ! " Janetta held her breath.

But in that moment of indecision, Margaret's wavering
eye fell upon My. Brand. Tiie mother was an unlovely
object in her abject sorrow and despair. Her previous
coldness and awkwardness told against her at that moment.
It suddenly darted through Margaret's mind that she
would have to accept this woman, with her common
associations, her obscure origin, her doubtful antecedents,
in a mother's place. The soul of the girl who had been
brought up by Lady Caroline Adair revolted at the
thought. Wyvis she loved, or thought she loved ; Wy vis
she could accept ; but Wyvis* mother for her own, coupled
with exclusion from the home where she had lived so many
smooth and tranquil years, exclusion also from the society
in which she had been taught that it was her right to take
a distinguished place — this was too much. Her dreams
fell from her like a garment. Plain, unvarnished reality
unfolded itself instead. To be poor and obscure and
unfriended, to be looked down upon and pitied, to be
snubbed and passed by on the other side — this was what
seemed to be the reality of things to Margaret's mind. It
was too much for her to accept. She looked at it and
passed by it.

She stretched out her hand timidly and touched her
mother's arm. *' Mamma," she said falteringly, " I — I will
come with you." And then she burst into tears and fell
upon her mother's neck, and over her shoulder Lady.
Caroline turned and smiled at Wyvis Brand. She had won
her game.

"Of course you will, darling," she said, caressingly.
" I did not think you could have been so wicked as to give
us up. Come with me ! this is not the place for us."

And in the heart-struck silence which fell upon the little
group that she left behind, Lady Caroline gravely bowed
and led her weeping daughter from the room.

** Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! " Janetta suddenly cried out ;
but Margaret never once looked back. Perhaps if she had
seen Wyvis Brand's face just then, she might have given
way. It was a terrible face ; hard, bitter, despairing ;
with lines of anguish about the mouth, and a lurid light in
thse deep-set, haggard-looking eyes. Janetta, in the pity
<rf hei heart, went up to her cousin, and took his clenched
haad between her own.

A TRUE FRIEND,

** Wyvis, dear Wyvis," she said, '* do not look so. Do
not grieve. Indeed, she could not have been worthy of
you, or she would not have done like this. All women are
not like her, Wyvis. Some would have loved you for your-
self."

And there she stopped, crimson and ashamed. For
surely she had almost told him that she ^oved him I— that
secret of which she had long been so much ashamed, and
which had given her so much of grief and pain. But she
attached too much importance to her own vague words.
They did not betray her, and Wyvis scarcely listened to
what she said. He broke into. a short, harsh laugh, more
hideous than a sob.

'* Are not all women like her ? " he said. " Then they
are worse. She was innocent, at any rate, if she was weak.
But she has sold her gouI now, if she ever had one, to the
devil j and, as I would r ther be with her in life and death
than anywhere else, I shall make haste to go to the devil
too."

He shook off her detaining hand, and strode to the door.
There he turned, and looked fixedly at his mother.

" It is almost worse to be weak than wicked, I think/'
he said. " If you had told me the truth long ago, mother,
I should have kept out of this complication. It's been
your fault — my misery and my failure have always been your
fault. It would have been better for me if you had left
me to plough the fields like my father before me. As it is,
life's over for me in this part of the world, and I may as
well bid it good-bye."

Before they, could stop him, he was gone. And Janetta
could not follow, for Mrs. Brand sank fainting from her
chair, and it was long before she could be recovered from
the deathlike swoon into which she fell.

And throughout that evening, and for days to come,
Margaret Adair, although petted and caressed and praised
on every hand, and persuaded into feeling that she had not
.only done the thing that was expected of her, but a very
worthy and noble thing, was haunted by an uneasy
consciousness, that the argument which had prevailed with
her was not the love of home or of her parents, which,
indeed, might have been a very creditable motive for ..er
decision, but a shrinking from trouble, a dislike to effort of
any kind, and an utter distaste for obscurity and humility.

»zs

A TRUE FRIEND,

Janetta's reproachful call rang in her ears for days. She
knew that she had chosen the baser part. True, as she
argued with herself, it was right to obey one's parents, to
be submissive and straightforward, to shrink from the idea
of ingratitude and rebellion ; and, if she had yielded on
these grounds, she might have been somewhat consoled
for the loss of her lover by the conviction that she had
done her duty. But for some little time she was distress-
fully aware that she had never considered her parents in
the matter at all. She had thought of worldly disadvantage
only. She had not felt any desire to stand by Wyvis Brand
in his trouble. She had felt only repugnance and disgust ;
and, having some elements of good in her, she was troubled
and ashamed by her failure ; for, even if she had done r'>ht
in the main, she knew that she had done it in the wrong
waiy.

But, of course, time changed her estimate of herself.
She was so much caressed and iiattered by her family for
her ** exquisite dutifulness," as they phrased it, that she
ended by believing that she had behaved beautifully. And
this belief was a great support to her during the winter
that she subsequently spent with her parents in Italy.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

RETROSPECT. ^

For my part, I am inclined to think that Margaret was
more right than she knew. There was really no inherent
fitness between her temperament and that of Wyvis Brand ;
and his position in the County was one which would have
fretted her inexpressibly. She, who had been the petted
favorite of a brilliant circle in town and country, to take
rank as the wife of a ploughman's son ! It would not have
suited her at all ; and her discontent would have ended in
making Wyvis miserable.

He was, he considered, miserable enough already. He
was sore all over — sore and injured and angry. He had
been deceived in a manner which seemed to him unjus-
tifiable from beginning to end. ^he disclosure of his
parentage explained many little things which had been

A TRUE FRIEND.

-39

He
had
n>us-
)f his
been

puzzling to him in his previous life, but it brought with it
a bafSing, passionate sense of having been fooled and
duped — not a condition of things which was easy for him
to support. Little by little the whole story became clear
to him. For, when he flung out of the Red House after
Margaret's departure, in a tumult of rage and shame, an-
nouncing his determination to go to the devil, he did not
immediately seek out the Prince of Darkness : he only
went to his lawyer. His lawyer told him a good deal,
and Mrs. Brand, in a letter dictated to Janetta, told him
more.

Mary Wyvis, the daughter of the village inn-keeper at
Roxby, was brought up to act as his barmaid, and early
became engaged to marry her cousin, John Wyvis, plough-
man. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, when
Mark Brand appeared upon the scene, and fell desperitsly
in love with the handsome barmaid. She returned his
love, but was too conscientious to elope with him and
forget her cousin, as he wished her to do. Her father
supported John's claim, and threatened to horsewhip the
fine gentleman if he visited the Roxby Arms again. By
way of change, Mary then went into domestic service for
a few weeks at Helmsley Manor. It was not expected
that she would remain there, and it was thought by her
friends that she distinctly " lowered herself " by accepting
this position, for her father was a well-to-do man in his
way; but 'Mary Wyvis made the break with Mark Brand
by this new departure which she considered it essential for
her to make ; and she was thereby delivered from his
attentions for a time. At Helmsley Manor she was treated
with much consideration, being considered a superior
young person for her class ; and although only a scullery
maid in name, she was allowed a good deal of liberty, and
promoted to attend on Lady Caroline Bertie, who, as a
girl of fourteen, was then visiting Mrs. Adair, the mother of
the man whom she afterward married. Mary Wyvis was
lured into confiding one or two of her little secrets to Lady
Caroline ; and when she left Helmsley Court to marry
John Wyvis, that young lady took so much interest in
the affair that she attended the wedding and gave the bride
a wedding-present. And as she often visited the Adairs,
she seldom failed to asked after Mary, until that consum-
mation of Mary's fate which effectually destroyed Lady
Caroline's interest in her.

240

A TRUE FRIEND,

Wyvis the ploughman was accidentally killed, and
Mary's child, named John after his father, was born shortly
after the ploughman's death. It was then that Mark Brand
sought out his old love, and to better purpose than before.
His passion for her had been strengthened by what he
was pleased to call her desertion of him. He proposed
marriage, and offered to adopt the boy. Mary Wyvis ac-
cepted both propositions, and left England with him
almost immediately, in order to escape mocking and slan-
derous tongues.

It was inevitable that evil should be said of her. Mark
Brand's pursuit of her before her marriage to Wyvis had
been well known. That she should marry him so soon after
her drst husband's death seemed to point to some continued
understanding between the two, and caused much gossip
in the neighborhood. Such gossip was really unfounded,
for Mary was a good woman in her way, though not a
very wise one ; but the charges against her were believed
in many places, and never disproved. It was even whis-
pered that the little boy was Mark Brand's own son,
and that John Wyvis had met his death through some foul
play. Rumors of this kind died down in course of time.
But they were certainly sufficient to account for the dis-
favor with which the County eyed the Brands in general,
and Mrs. Brand in particular. Mark Brand lived very
little at the Red House after his marriage. He knew
what a storm of indignation had been spent upon his con-
duct, and he was well aware of the aspersions on his wife's
character. He was too reckless by nature to try to set
things straight : he considered that he did his best for his
family when he left England behind him, and trained the
boys, Wyvis and Cuthbert, to love a foreign land better
than their own.

He grew very fond of Mary's boy during the first few
years of his married life. This fondness led him to wish
that the boy were his own, and the appearance of Cuthbert
did not alter this odd liking for another man's son. He
never cared very much for Cuthbert, who was delicate and
lame from babyhood ; but Wyvis was the apple of his eye.
The boy was called John Wyvis : it was easy enough in a
foreign country to let him slip into the position of the eldest
of the family as Wyvis Brand. A baby son was born
before Cuthbert, and dying a month old, gave Mark all

A TRUE FRIEND,

«4I

the opportunity that he needed. He sent word to old
Wyvis at Roxby that John's boy was dead ; and he then
quietly substituted Wyvis in place of his own son. Every
year, he argued, would make the real difference of age be-
tween John's boy and the dead child less apparent : it would
save trouble to speak of Wyvis as his owp, and trouble-
some inquiries were not likely to be made. Time and use
made him almost forget that Wyvis did not really belong
to him ; and but for his wife's insistence he would not even
have made the will which secured the Red House to his
adopted son. Cuthbert was of course treated with scan-
dalous injustice by this will; but the secret had been well
kept, and the story was fully known to nobody save the
Brands' lawyer and Mary Brand herself.

The way in which Lady Caroline had ferreted out the
secret remained a mystery to the Brands. But they never
gave her half enough credit for her remarkable cleverness.
When she saw Wyvis Brand, she had been struck almost
at once by his likeness to John Wyvis, the /man who mar-
ried her old favorite, Mary. She leaped vquickly to the
conviction that he was not Mark Brand's son. And when
Margaret's infatuation for him declared itself, she went
straight to her husband's man of business, and commis-
sioned him to find out all that could be found out about
the Brands during the period of their early married life in
Italy. The task was surprisingly easy. Mark Brand had
taken few precautions, for he had drifted rather than deli-
berately steered towards the substitution of Wyvis for his
own eldest son. A very few inquiries elicited all that
Lady Caroline wanted to know. But she had not been
quite sure of her facts when she entered the Red House,
and, if Mrs. Brand had been a little cooler and a little
braver, she might have defeated her enemy's ends, and
carried her secret inviolate to her grave.

But courage and coolness were the last things that could
be expected from Mrs. Brand. She had never possessed
i itrong mind, and the various chances and changes of her
^ife had enfeebled instead of strengthening it. Mark Brand
liad proved by no means a loving or faithful husband, and
dil not scruple to taunt her with her inferiority of position^
or to threaten that he would mortify Wyvis' pride some
day by a revelation of his true name and descent. He
was too fond of Wyvis to carry his threat into effect but

949

A TRUE FRIEND.

t'i i'

he made the poor woman, his wife, suffer an infinity of
torture, the greater part of which might have been avoided
if she had chanced to be gifted with a higher spirit and a
firmer will.

Wyvis Brand went immediately to London after tfie in-
terview with his lawyer in Beaminster, and from London,
in a few days, he wrote to Cuthbert. The letter was curt,
but not unfriendly. He wished, he said, to repair the
injustice that had been done, and to restore to Cuthbert
the inheritance that was his by right. He had already in-
structed his lawyers to take the necessary steps, and he was
glad to think that Cuthbert and Nora would now be able
to make the Red House what it ought to be. He hoped
that they would be very happy. For himself, he thought
of immigrating : he was heartily sick of modern civilization,
and believed that he w'ould more easily find friends and
fellow-workers amongst the Red Skins of the Choctaw
Indians than in " County " drawing-rooms. And only by
this touch did Wyvis betray the bitterness that filled his
heart.

Cuthbert rushed up to town at once in a white heat of in-
dignation. He was only just in time to find 'Wyvis at his
hotel, for he had taken his passage to America, and was
going to start almost immediately. But there was time at
least for a very energetic discussion between the two young
men.

"If you think," said Cuthbert, hotly, '* that I'm going
to take your place, you are very much mistaken."

** It is not my place. It has been mine only by fraud."

" Not a bit of it. It is yours by my father's will. He
knew the truth, and chose to take this course."

** Very unfair to you, Cuth," said Wyvis, a faint smile
showing itself for the first time on his haggard face.

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. *' My dear fellow, do
you suppose it's any news to me that my father cared more
for your little finger than for my whole body ? He chose
— practically — to disinherit me in your favor ; and a very
good thing it's been for me too. I should never have taken
to Art if I had been a landed proprietor."

" I don't understand it," said Wyvis, meditatively.
" One would have expected him to be jealous of his wife's
family — and then you're a much better fellow than I am."

" That was the reason," said Cuthbert, sitting down and

A TRUE FRIEND,

«43

smile

nursing his lame leg, after a characteristic fashion of his own
" I was a meek child — a sickly lad who didn't get into
mischief. I was afraid of horses, you may remember, and
hated manly exercises of every kind. . Now you were never
so happy as when you were on a horse's back "

" A strain inherited from my ploughman father, I sup-
pose," said Wyvis, rather grimly.

" And you got into scrapes innumerable ; for which he
liked you all the better. And you — well you know, old
boy, you were never a reproach to him, as the sight of me
was ! "

Cuthbert's voice dropped. He had never spoken of it
before, but he and Wyvis knew well enough that his lame-
ness was the result of his father's brutal treatment of Mary
Brand shortly before the birth of her second son.

" He ought to have been more bent on making amends
than on sacrificing you to me," said Wyvis, bitterly.

" Oh, don't look at it in that way," Cuthbert answered.
The natural sweetness of his disposition made it pain-
fulto him to hear his father blamed, although that
father had done his best to make his life miserable.
" He never meant to hurt me, the poor old man ;
and when he had done it, the sight of my infirmity
became exquisitely painful to him. I can forgive him that ;
I can forgive Rim everything. There are others whom it
is more difficult to forgive."

" You mean "

" I mean women who have not tne courage to be true,'*
said Cuthbert, in a low voice. He did not look at his
brother, but he felt certain that a thrill of pain passed
through him. For a minute or two Wyvis did not speak.

" Well," he said at last, forcing an uneasy laugh, " I
think that she was perhaps right. She might not have been
very happy. And I doubt, after all, whether I ought to
have asked her. Janetta thought not, at any rate."

" Janetta is generally very wise."

" So she is very wise. I am legally quite free, but she
thinks me — morally — bound."

**Well, so do I," said Cuthbert, frankly. "On all
moral and religious grounds, I think you are as much
bound as ever you were. And if Miss Adair refused you
on those grounds, she has more right on lier §ide than I
thought."

A TRUE FRIEND.

" Ah, but she did not," answered Wyvis, dryly. " She
refused me because I was not rich, not *■ in society,' and a
ploughman's son."

" That's bad," said his brother. And then the two sat
for a little time in silence, which is the way of Englishmen
when one wishes to show sympathy for another. • '

'^ But we are not approaching what I want to say at all,"
said Cuthbert, presently. " We must not let our feelings run
away with us. We are both in a very awkward position,
old boy, but we shan't make it better by publishing it to
the world. If you throw up the place in this absurd
fashion — excuse the term — you a//// publish it to the world
at large."

** Do you think that matters to me ? " asked Wyvis,
sternly.

" Perhaps not to you. But it matters to mother, and to
me. And it affects our father's character."

" Your father's, not mine."

" He was the only father you ever knew, and you have
no reason to find fault with him."

Wyvis groaned impatiently. " One has duties to the
living, not to the dead."

*' One has duties to the dead, too. You can't give up
the Red House to me — even if I would take it, which I
won't — without having the whole story made public. My
father hasn't a very good reputation in the County :
people will think no better of him for having lamed me,
disinherited me, and practiced a fraud on them. That'swhat
they will say about the affair, you know. We can't let the
world know."

" Then I'd better go and shoot myself. It seems to me
the only thing I can do."

" And what about Julian ? The estate would pass to
him, of course," said Cuthbert, coolly. He saw that
Wyvis' face changed a little at the mention of Julian's
name.

" No, I could will it to you — make it over to you, with
the condition that it should go to the Foundling Hospital
if you wouldn't accept it."

"I think that a will of that kind could be easily set
aside on the ground of insanity," said Cuthbert, with a
sHght smile.

** I could find a way out of the difiiculty, if I tried^ I have

A TRUE FRIEND,

•«$

no doubt/' said Wyvis, .. jwning gloomily and pulling at
his moustache.

"Don't try," said his brother, leaning forward and
speaking persuasively. " Let things continue much as
they are. I am content : Nora is content. Why should
you not be so, too ? " Then, as Wyvis shook his head :
**Make your mind easy then if you must do something,
by giving me a sum down, or a slice of your income,
old man. Upon my word I wouldn't live in the old place
if you gave it to me. It is picturesque — but damp. Come
let's compromise matters."

" I love every stick and stone in the place," said Wyvis
grimly.

" I know you do. I don't. I want to live in Paris or
Vienna with Nora, and enjoy myself. I don't want to
paint pot-boilers. I say like the man in the parable,
' Give me the portion that belongeth to me,' and I'll go
my way, promising, however, not to spend it in riotous
living. Won't that arrangement suit you ? "

W^vis demurred at first, but was finally persuaded into
making an arrangement of the kind that Cuthbert desired.
He retained the Red House, but he bestowed on his
brother enough to give him an ample income for the life
that Cuthbert and Nora wished' to lead. During his
absence from England, Mrs. Brand and Julian were still
to inhabit the Red House. And Wyvis announced his
intention of going to South America to shoot big game,
from which Cuthbert inferred that his heart, although
bruised, was not broken yet.

CU AFTER XXXIV.

FROM DISTANT LANDS.

have

More than a year had passed away since the events re-
corded in the last chapter. Early autumn was beginning
to touch the leaves with gold and crimson ; the later
flowers were coming into bloom, and the fruit hung purple
and russet-red upon the boughs. The woods about Bea-
minster had put on a gorgeotis mantle, and the gardens
were gay with color, and yet over all there hung the inde-

046

A TRUE FRIEND,

\h.

finable brooding melancholy that comes of the first touch
of decay. It was of this that Janetta Colwyn was chiefly
conscious, as she walked in the Red House grounds and
looked at the yellowing leaves that eddied through the
still air to the gravelled walks and unshorn lawns below.
Janetta was thinner and paler than in days of yore, and
yet there was a peaceful expression upon her face which
gave it an added charm. She had discarded her black
gowns, and wore a pretty dark red dress which suited her
admirably. There was a look of thought and feeling in her
dark eyes, a sweetness in her smile, which would always
redeem her appearance from the old charge of insignificance
that used to be brought against it. Small and slight she
might be, but never a woman to be overlooked.

The past few months had seen several changes in her
family. Mrs. Colwyn was now Mrs. Burroughs, and filled
her place with more dignity than had been expected. She
was kept in strict order by her husband and his sister, and,
like many weak persons, was all the better and happier for
feeling a strong hand over her. The children had accom-
modated themselves very well to the new life, and were
very fond of their stepfather. Nora and Cuthbert had
quitted the Red House almost immediately after their
marriage, and gone to Paris, whence Nora wrote glowing
accounts to her sister of the happiness of her life. And
Janetta had taken up her abode at the Red House, nomi-
nally as governess to little Julian, and companion to Mrs.
Brand, but practically ruler of the household, adviser-in-
chief to every one on the estate ; teacher, comforter, and
confidante in turn, or all at once. She could not remain
long in any place without winning trust and affection, and
there was not a servant in Wyvis Brand's employ who did
not soon learn that the best way of gaining help in need
or redress for any grievance was to address himself or her-
self to little Miss Colwyn. To Mrs. Brand, now more
weak and ailing than ever, Janetta was like a daughter.
And secure in her love, little Julian never knew what it
was to miss a mother's care.

Janetta might have her own private cares and worries,
but in public, at any rate, she was seldom anything but
cheerful. It was a duty that she owed the world, she
thought, to look bright in it, and especially a duty to Mrs.
Brand and little Julian, who would sorely have missed her

A TRUE FRIEND.

Ufl

ready playfulness and her tender little jokes if ever she
had forgotten herself so far as to put on a gloomy coun-
tenance. And yet she sometimes felt very much dispirited.
She had no prospects of prosperity ; she could not expect
to live at the Red House for ever ; and yet, when Wyvis
came home and she had to go — which, of course, must
happen some time, since Mrs. Brand was growing old and
infirm, and Julian would have to go to school — what would
she do ? She asked herself this question many times, and
could never find a very satisfactory answer. She might
advertise for a situation: she might take lodgings in
London, and give lessons : she might go to the house of
her stepfather. Each of these attempts to solve the prob-
lem of her future gave her a cold shudder and a sudden
sickness of heart. And yet, as she often severely told
herself, what else was there for her to do ?

She had heard nothing of the Adairs, save through
common town gossip, for many months. The house was
shut up, and they were still travelling abroad. Margaret
had evidently quite given up her old friend, Janetta, and
this desertion made Janetta's heart a little sore. Wyvis
also was in foreign lands. He had been to many places,
and killed a great many wild beasts — so much all the
world knew, and few people knew anything more. To his
mother he wrote seldom, though kindly. An occasional
note to Julian, or a post card to" Cuthbert or his agent,
would give a new address from time to time, but it was to
Janetta only that he sometimes wrote a really lon^ and
interesting epistle, detailing some of his adventures m the
friendly and intimate way v/hich his acquaintance with her
seemed to warrant. He did not mention any of his private
affairs : he never spoke of that painful last scene at the Red
House, of Margaret, of his mother, of his wife \ but he
wrote of the scenes through which he passed, and the per-
sons whom he met, with an unreserve which Janetta knew
to be the sincerest compliment.

But on this autumnal day she had received a letter in
which another note was struck. And it was for this reason
that she had brought it out into the garden, so that she
might think over it, and read it again in the shadow of the
great beech trees, away from the anxious eyes of Mrs.
Brand and the eager childish questions of Wyvis' boy.

For three pages Wyvis had written in his usual strain.

A TRUE FRIEND,

He was not perhaps an ideally good letter-writer, but he
had a terse, forcible style of his own, and could describe a
scene with some amount of graphic power. In the midst
of an account of certain brigands with whom he had met in
Sicily, however, he had, in this letter, broken off quite
suddenly and struck into a new subject in a new and un-
expected way.

** I had written thus far when I was interrupted : the
date of the letter, you will see, is three weeks ago. I put
down my pen and went out : I found that fever had made
its appearance, so I packed uj) my traps that afternoon
and started for Norway. A sudden change, vou will say ?
Heaven knows why I went there, but I am glad I did.

" It was early in July when I reached the hotel at V .

There was table d hote and many another sign of civiliza-
tion, which bored me not a little. However, I made the
best of a bad job, and went down to dinner with the rest,
took my seat without noticing my companions until I was
seated, and then found myself next to — can you guess who,
Janetta? — I am sure you never will.

" Lady Caroline Adair III

** Her daughter was just beyond her, and Mr. Adair
beyond the daughter, so the fair Margaret was well guarded.
Of course I betrayed no sign of recognition, but I wished
myself at Jericho very heartily. For, between ourselves,
Janetta, I made such an ass of myself last summer that my
ears burn to think of it, and it was not a particularly
honorable or gentlemanly ass, I believe, so that I deserve
to be drowned in the deep sea for my folly. I can only
hope that I did not show what I felt.

*' Miss Adair was blooming : fair, serene, self-possessed
as ever. She did not show any sign of embarrassment, I
can tell you. She did not even blush. She looked at me
once or twice with the faint, well-bred indifference with
which the well-brought-up young lady usually eyes a per-
fect stranger. It was Mr. Adair who did all the embar-
rassment for us. He turned purple when he saw me, and
wanted his daughter to come away from the table. My
ears are quick, and I heard what he said to her, and I
heard also her reply. * Why should I go away, dear papa I
I don't mind in the least.' Kind of her not to mind, wasn't
it ? And do you think I was going to * mind,' after that ?
I lifted up my head, which I had hitherto bent studiously

A TRUE FRIEND.

•49

over my soup, and began to talk to my neighbor on the
other side, a stalwart English clergyman with a blue ribbon
at his button-hole.

" But presently, to my surprise. Lady Caroline addressed
me. ' I hope you have not forgotten me, Mr. Brand,' she
said, quite graciously. I must confess, Janctta, that I
stared at her. The calm audacity of the woman took me
by surprise. She looked as amiable as if we were close
friends meeting after a long absence. I hope you won't
be very angry with me when I tell you how I answered
her. * Pardon me,' I said, * my name is Wyvis — not
Brand.' And then J went on talking to my muscular
Christian on the left.

" She looked just a little bit disconcerted. Not much,
you know. It would take a great deal to disconcert luidy
Caroline very much. But she did not try to talk to me
again ! I choked her off that time, anyhow.

" And, now, let me make a confession. I dQlllt admire
Margaret Adair in the very least. I did, I know : and I
made a fool of myself, and worse, perhaps, about her : but
she does not move one fibre of my heart now, she does not
makjg jt beat a bit faster, and she does not give my eye
more pleasure Ihan a wax doll would give me. She is fair
and sweet and tranquil, I know : but what has she done
with her heart and her brain? I suppose her mother has
them in her keeping, and will make them over to her

husband when she marries? I know a woman who

is worth a dozen Margarets

'' But I have made up my mind to live single, so long as
Julian's mother is alive. Legally, I am not bound ; morally,
I can scarcely feel myself free. And I know that you feel
with me, Janet. The world may call us over-scrupulous ;
but I set your judgment higher than that of the world.
And all I can say about Margaret is that I fell into a
passing fit of madness, and cared for nothing but what my
fancy dictated; and that now I am sanr— clothed in my
right mind, so to speak — I am disgusted with myself for
my folly. Lady Caroline and her daughter should have
taken higher ground. They were right to send me away —
but not right to act on unworthy motives. In the long
nights that I have spent camping out under the quiet stars,
far away from the dwellings of men, I have argued the
thing out with myself, and I say unreservedly that they

•SD

A TRUE FRIEND,

rrcre right and I was wrong — wrong froni beginning to
end, wrong to my mother, wrong to my wife (as she once
was), wrong to Margaret, wrong to myself. Your influence
has always been on the side of right and truth, Janetta,
and you more than once told me that I was wrong.

"So I make my confession. I do not think that I shall
come back to England just yet. I am going to America
next week. You will not leave the Red House, will you ?
While you are there I can feel at ease about my mother
and my boy. I trust you with them entirely, Janetta ; and
I want you to trust me. Wherever I may go, and whatever
I may do, I will henceforward be worthy of your trust and
of your friendship."

This was the letter that Janetta read under the beech
trees ; and as she read it tears gathered in her eyes and
fell upon the pages. But they were not tears of sadness —
rather tears of joy and thankfulness. For Wyvis Brand's
aberration of mind — so it had always appeared to her — had
given her much pain and sorrow. And he seemed now to
have placed his foot upon the road to better things.

She was still holding the letter in her hand when she
reached the end of the beech-tree shaded walk along which
she had been slowly walking. The tears were wet upon
her cheeks, but a smile played on her lips. She did not
notice for some time that she was watched from tlie gate
that led into the pasture-land, at the end of the beech-tree
walk, by a woman, who seemed uncertain whether to speak,
to enter, or to go away.

Janetta saw her at last, and wondered what she was
doing there. She put the letter into her pocket, dashed
the tears from her eyes, and advanced towards the gate.

" Can 1 do anything for you ? " she said.

The woman looked about thirty-five years old, and pos-
sessed the remains of great beauty. She was haggard and
worn : her cheeks were sunken, though brilliantly red, and
her iarge, velvety-brown eyes were strangely bright. Her
dark, waving hair had probably once been curled over her
brow: it now hung almost straight, and had a rough,
dishevelled look, which corresponded with the soiled and
untidy appearance of her dress. Her gown and mantle
were of rich stuff, but torn and stained in many places ;
and her gloves and boots were shabby to the very last
degree, while her bonnet, of cheap and tawdry materials,

A TRUE FRIEND,

%%\

luing to
she once
nfluence
Janetta,

t I shall
America
ill you ?
mother
ta ; ai]d
'hatever
ust and

e beech
yes and
dness —
Brand's
er — had
now to

hen she
; which
t upon
did not
he gate
ch-tree
speak,

le was
dashed
gate.

id pos-
rd and
d, and
Her
k^er her
rough,
ed and
mantle
laces ;
:ry last
terials^

in a

her

had at any rate the one merit of being fresh and new..
Altogether she was an odd figure to be seen in a country
place ; and Janetta wondered gr^^atly whence she came,
and what her errand was at the Red House.

'* Can I do anything for you ? " she asked.

" This is the Red House, I suppose ? " the woman asked,
hoarsely.

" Yes, it is."

« Wy vis Brand's house ? "

Janetta hesitated in surpiise, and then said, " Yes/*
rather distant tone.

" Who are you ? " said the woman, looking at
sharply

" I am governess to Mr. Brand's little boy."

"Oh, indeed. And he's at home, I suppose? "

" No," said Janetta, gravely, ** he has been away for
more than a year, and is now, I believe, on his way to
America."

" You lie 1 " said the woman, furiously ; " and you know
that you lie ! "

Janetta recoiled a step. Was this pefjon mad ?

" He is at home, and you want to keep me out," the
woman went on, wildly. " You don't want me to set foot
in the place, or to see my child again ! He is at home, and
I'll see him if I have to trample on your body first."

** Nobody wants to keep you out," said Janetta, forcing
herself to speak and look calmly, but tingling with anger
from head to foot. " But I assure you Mr. Brand is away
from home. His mother lives here ; she is not very strong,
and ought not to be disturbed. If you will give me your
name "

** My name ? " repeated the other in a tone of mockery.
" Oh yes, I'll give you my name. I don't see why I should
hide it ; do you? I've been away a good long time ; but
I mean to have my rights now. My name is Mrs. Wyvis
Brand : what do you think of that, young lady? "

She drew herself up as she spoke, looking gaunt and
defiant. Her eyes flamed and her cheeks grew hotter and
deeper in tint until they were poppy-red. She showed her
teeth — short, square, white tee'h — as if she wanted to snarl
like an angry dog. But Janetta, after the first moment of
repulsion and astonishment, was not dismayed.
- " I did not know," she said, gravely, " that you had any

a^a

A TRUE FRIEND.

right to call yourself by that name. I thought that you
were divorced from Mr. Wyvis Brand."

" Separated for incr apatibility of temper ; that was all,"
said Mrs. Brand coolly. ** I told him I'd got a divorce,
but it wasn't true. I wanted to be free from him — that's
the truth. I didn't mean him to marry again. I heard
that he was going to be married — is that so ! Perhaps he
was going to marry you ? "

No," Jar^tta answered, very coldly.

" I'm not going to put up with it if he is," was her
visitor's sullen reply. " I've borne enough from him in
my day, I can tell you. So I've come for the boy. I'm
going to have him back ; and when I've got him I've no
doubt but what I can make Wyvis do what I choose. I
hear he's fond of the boy."

" But what — what — do you want him to do ? " said
Janetta, startled out of her reserve. " Do you want —
money from him ? "

Mrs. Wyvis Brand laughed hoarsely. Janetta noticed
that her breath was very short, and that she leaned against
the gate-post for support.

*' No, not precisely," she said. " I want more than that.
I see that he's got a nice, comfortable, respectable house \
and I'm tired of wandering. I'm ill, too, I believe. I
want a place in which to be quiet and rest, or die, as it
may turn out. I mean Wyvis to take me back."

She opened the gate as she spoke, and tried to pass
Janetta. But the girl stood in her way.

" Take you back aftev you have left him and ill-treated
him and deceived hini, you wicked woman I " she broke
out, in her old impetuous way. And for answer, Mrs.
Wyvis Brand raised her hand and struck her sharply across
the face.

A shrill, childish cry rang out upon the air. Janetta
stood mute and trembling, unable for the moment to move
or speak, as little Julian suddenly flung himself into her
arms and tried to drag her towards the house.

** Oh, come away, come away, dear Janetta ! " he cried.
" It's mamma, and she'll take me back to Pans, I know
she will ! I won't go away from you, I won't, I won't I "

His mother sprung towards him, as if to tear him from
Janetta's arm, and then her strength s6emed suddenly to
pass from her. She stopped, turned ghastly white, and

A TRUE FRIEND,

253

then as suddenly very red. Then she flung up her arms
with a gasping, gurgling cry, and, to Jpnetta's horror, she
saw a crimson tide break from her quivering lips. She
was just in time to catch her in her arms before she sank
•enseless to the ground.

CHAPTER XXXV.

JULIET.

There was no help for it. Into Wyvis Brand's house
Wyvis Brand's wife must go. Old Mrs. Brand came feebly
into the garden, and identified the woman as the mother
of Julian, and the wife of her eldest son. She could not
be allowed to die at their door. She could not be taken to
any other dwelling. There were laborers' cottages, only
in the immediate vicinity. She must be brought to the
Red House and nursed by Janetta and Mrs. Brand. A
Woman with a broken blood-vessel, how unworthy soever
she might be, could not be sent to the Beaminster Hospi-
tal three miles away. Common humanity forbade it. She
must, for a time at least, be nursed in the place where she
was taken ill.

So she was carried indoors and laid in the best bedroom,
which was a gloomy-looking place until Janetta began to
make reforms in it. When she had put fresh curtains to
the windows, and set flowers on the window-sill, and ban-
isl:ed some of the old black furniture, the room looked a
trifle more agreeable, and there was nothing on which poor
Juliet Brand's eye could dwell with positive dislike or
dissatisfaction when she came to herself. But for some
time she lay at the very point of death, and it seemed to
Janetta a»d to all the watchers at the bedside that Mrs.
Wyvis Brand could not long continue in the present world.

Mrs. Brand the elder seldom came into the room. She
showed a singular horror of her daughter-in-law : she
would not even willingly speak of her. She pleaded her ill-
heahh as an excuse for not taking her share of the nursing ;
and when it seemed likely that Janetta would be worn out
by it, she insisted that a nurse from the Beaminster Hospital
should be procured. '' It will not be for long," she said

•H

A TRUE FRIEND.

h V

gloomily, when Janetta spoke regretfully of the expense.
For Janetta was chief cashier and financier in the iiouse-
hold.

But it appeared as if she were mistaken. Mrs. Brand
did not die, as everybody expected. She lay for a time
in a very weak state, and then began gradually to recover
strength. Before long, she w^as able to converse, and then
she showed a preference for Janetta's society which puzzled
the girl not a little. For Julian she also showed some
fondness, but he sometimes wearied, sometimes vexed her,
and a visit of a very few minutes sufficed for both mother
and son. Julian himself exhibited not only dislike bu"* ter-
ror of her. He tried to run away and hide when the hour
came for his daily visit to his mother's room ; and when
Janetta spoke to him on the subject rather anxiously, he
burst into ears and avowed he was afraid.

** Afraid of what ? " said Janetta.

But he only sobbed and would not tell.

'' She can't hurt you, Julian, dear. She is ill and weak
and lonely ; and she loves you. It's not kind and loving
of you to run away."

** I don't want to be unkind."

** Or unloving ? " said Janetta.

" I don't love her," the boy answered, and bit his lip.
His eye flashed for a moment, and then he looked down
as if he were ashamed of the confession.

" Julian, dear ? Your mother ? *'

'* I can't help it. She hasn't been very much like a
mother to me."

" You should not say that, dear. She loves you very
much ; and all people do not love in the same way."

** Oh, it isn't that," said the boy, as if in desperation. " I

know she loves me, but — but " And there he broke

down in a passion of tears and sobs, amidst which Janetta
could distinguish only a few words, such as " Suzanne
said " — " father " — " make me wicked too."

<* Do you mean," said Janetta, more shocked than she
liked to show, " that you think your father wicked ? "

*' Oh, no, no ! Suzanne said mother was not good. Not
father."

" But, my dear boy, you must not say that your mother
is not good. You have no reason to say so, and it. is a
terfible thir^g to say."

A TRUE FRIEND,

«S5

((

Not

"She was unkind to father — and to me, too," Julian
burst forth. " And she struck you ; she is wicked and
unkind, and I don't love her. And Suzanne said she would
make me wicked, too, and that I was just like her ; and I
don't want — to — ^be — wicked."

" Nobody can make you wicked if you are certain that
you want to be good," said Janetta, gravely ; " and it was
very wrong of Suzanne to say anything that could make
you think evil of your mother."

" Isn't she naughty, then ? " Julian asked in a bewildered
tone.

"I do not know," Janetta answered, very seriously.
** Only God knows that. We cannot tell. It is the last
thing we ought say."

" But — but — you call me naughty sometimes ? " the
child said, ^.xing a pair of innocent, inquiring eyes upon
her.

" Ah, but, my dear, I do not love you the less," said
Janetta, out of the fullness of her heart, and she took him
in her arms and kissed him.

" You are more like what I always think a mother ought
to be," said Julian. What stabs children inflict on us
sometimes by their artless words ! Janetta shuddered a
little as he spoke. " Then ought I to love her, whether
she is good or bad ? "

Janetta paused. She was very anxious to say only what
was right.

" Yes, my darling," she said at last. '* Love her always,
through everything. She is your mother, and she has a
right to your love."

And then, in simple word?, she talked to him about
right and wrong, about love and duty and life, until, with
brimming eyes, he flung his arms about her, and said —

" Yes, I understand now. And I will love her and take
care of her always, because God sent me to her to do
that."

And he objected no more to the daily visit to his mother's
room.

The sick woman's restless eyes, sharpened by illness,
soon discerned the change in his demeanor.

** You've been talking to that boy about me," she said
one day to Janetta, in a quick, sensitive voice.

" Nothing that would hurt you," Janetta replied, smiling.

iPBPPIffSiR^wiPW'^^ppSSM^WP'TWf''^^

956

A TkUE FRlJii^D.

■S-:

'' Oh, indeed, I'm not so sure of that. He used to run
away from me, and now he sits beside me like a lamb. I
know what you've been saying."

"What?" said Janetta.

<< You've been saying that I'm going to die, and that he
won't be bothered with me long.. Eh ? "

" No : nothingb^f that kind."

"What did yo'nfeay, then?"

" I told him," said Janetta, slowly, " that. God sent him
to you as a little baby to be a help and comfort to you ;
and that it was a son's duty to protect and sustain his
mother, as she had once protected and sustained him."

" And you think he understood that sort of nonsense ? "

" You see for yourself whether he does or not," said
Janetta, gently. " He likes to come and see you and sit
beside you now."

Mrs. Wyvis Brand was silent for a minute or two. A
tear gathered in each of her defiant black eyes, but she
did not allow either of them to fall.

" You're a queer one." she said, with a hard laugh. " I
never met anybody like you before. You're religious,
aren't you ? "

"I don't know: I should like to be," said Janetta,
soberly.

"That's the queerest thing you've said yet. And all
you religious people look down on folks like me."

" Then I'm not religious, for I don't look down on folks
like you at all,'.' said Janetta, calmly adopting Mrs. Brand's
vocabulary.

'" Well, you ought to. I'm not a very good sort myself."

Janetta smiled, but made no other answer. And pres-
ently Juliet Brand remarked —

" I dare say I'm not so bad as some people, but Fve
never been a saint, you know. And the day I came here
I was in an awful temper. I struck you, didn't I ? "

'" Oh, never mind that," said Janetta, hastily. " You
were tired : you hardly knew what you were doing."

" Yes, I did," said Mrs. Brand. " I knew perfectly well.
But I hated you, because you lived here and had care of
Julian. I had heard all about you at Beaminster, you see.
And people said that you would probably raarry Wyvfs
when he came home again. Oh, I've made you blush, have
I ? It was true then ? "

d to run
lamb. I

1 that he

sent him
t to you ;
stain his
him."
nsense ? "
lOt," said
u and sit

two. A

,j but she

ugh. "I
religious,

Janetta,

And all

on folks
i. Brand's

myself.**
ind pres-

but I've
me here
?"
"You

tly well.

care of

you see.

Wy\»5

ish, have

A TRUE FRIEND.

fWfpi^iiiill

^57

^ Not at all ; and you have no right to say sc ."

" Don't be angry, my dear. I don't want to vex you.

But it looks to me rather as though Well, we won't say

any more about it since it vexes you. I shan't trouble you
long, most likely, and then Wyvis can do as he pleases.
But you see it was that thought that maddened me when I
came here, and I felt as if I'd like to frll upon you and
tear you limb from limb. So I struc . you on the face
when you tried to thwart me."

"But — I don't understand," s?;d Janetta, tremulously.
** I thought you did not — love — Wyvis."

Mrs. Brand laughed. ** Not in your way," she said in
ui enigmatic tone. " But a woman tan hate a man and
be jealous of him too. And I was jealous of you, and
struck you. And in return for thai you've nursed me
night and day, and waited on me, until you're nearly
worn out, and the doctor says I owe my life to you. Don't
you think I'm right when I say you're a queer one ? "

" It would • be very odd if I neglected you when you
were ill just because of a moment of passion on your
part," said Janetta, rather stiffly. It was di^rcult to her to
be perfectly natural just then.

" Would it ? Some people wouldn't say so. But come
— ^you say I don't love Wyvis ? "

" I thought so — certainly."

« Well, look here," said Wyvis' wife. « I'll tell )rou
comething. Wyvis was tired of me before ever he married
me. I soon found that out. And you think I should be
caring for him then ? Not I. But there was a time when
I would hitve kissed the very ground he walked on. But
he ii^ver cared for me like that."

" Then— why "

" Why did he marry me ? Chiefly because his old fool of
a mother egged him on. She should have let us alone."

" Did she want him to marry you ? " said Janetta, in
some amaze.

" It doesn't seem likely, does it ? " said Mrs. Brand,
with a sharp, heartless little laugh. " But she sets up for
having a conscience now and then. I was a girl in a shop,
I may tell you, and Wyvis made love to me without the
slightest idea of marrying me. Then Mrs. Brand comes
on the scene : 'Oh, my dear boy, you mustn't make that
young woman unhappy. I was made unhappy by a gentle-

»58

A TRUE FRIEND,

It'

man when I was a girl, and I don't want you to behave at
he did.' "

" And that was very good of Mrs. Brand 1 " said Jan-
etta, courageously.

Juliet made a grimace. '* After a fashion. She had
better have let us alone. She put Wyvis into a fume about
his honor ; and so he asked me to marry him. And I
cared for him — though I caied more about his position —
and I said yes. So we were married, and a nice cat and
dog life we had of it together.'* .

** And then you left him ? "

" Yes, I did. I got tired of it all at last. But I alwavs
lived respectably, except for taking a little too much
stimulant now and then ; and I never brought any dis-
honor on his name. And at last I thought the best thing
for MS both would be to set him free. And I wrote to him
that he was free. But there was some hitch — I don't know
what exactly. Any way, we're bound to each other as fast
as ever we were, so we needn't think to get rid of each
other just yet."

Janetta felt a throb of thankfulness, for Margaret's sake.
Suppose she had yielded to Wyvis' solicitations and be-
come his wife, to be proved only no wife at all ? Her want
of love for Wyvis had at leatt saved her from terrible
misery. Mrs. Brand went on, reflectively —

** When I'm gone, he can marry whom he likes. I onl^
hope it'll be anybody as good as you. You'd make a
capital mother to Julian. And I don't suppose I shall
trouble anybody very long."

" You are getting better — you will soon be perfectly
well."

" Nonsense : nothing of the kind. But ?f I am, I know
one thing," said Mis. Brand, in a petulant tone ; ** I won't
be kept out of my rights any longer. This house seems
to be nice and comfortable : I shall stay here. I am tired
of wandering about the world." .

Janetta was silent and went on with some needlework.

" You don't like that, do you ? " said Mrs. Brand, peer-
ing into her face. " You think I'd be better away."

" No," said Janetta. But she could not say morer

" Do you know where he is ? "

"He? Wyvis?"

" Yes, my husband."

A TRUE FRIEIfD.

aS9

'< I have an address. I do not know whether he is there

or not, but he would no doubt get a letter if sent to the

place. t)o you wish to write to him ? "

" No. But I want you to write. Write and say that I

am here. Ask him to come back."
*' You had better write yourself."
** No. He would not read it. Write for me.*'
Janetta could not refuse. But she felt it one of the

hardest tasks that she had ever had to perform in life.

She was sorry for Juliet Brand, but she shrank with all her

heart and soul from writing to Wyvis to return to her. Yet

what else could she do ?

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE FRUITS OF A LIE.

When she told old Mrs. Brand what she had done, sh^
was amazed to mark the change which came over that sad
and troubled countenance. Mrs. Brand's face flushed
violently, her eyes gleamed with a look as fiear akin to
v/rath as any which Janetta had ever seen upoh it.

**You have promised to write to Wyvis?" she cried.
*• Why ? What is it to you ? Why should you write ? '*

" Why should I not ? " asked Janetta, in surprise.

" He will never come back to her — never. And it is
better so. She spoiled his life with her violence, her
extravagance, her flirtations. He could not bear it ; and
why should he be brought back to sufier all again ? "

" She is his wife still," said the girl, in a low tone.

" They are separated. She tried to get a divorce, even
if she did not succeed. I do not call her his wife."

Janetta shook her head. " I cannot think of it as you
do, then," she said, quietly. " She and Wyvis are married ;
and as they separated only for faults of temper, not for
unfaithfulness, I do not believe that they have any right to
divorce each other. Some people may think differently —
I cannot see it in that way."

" You mean," said Mrs. Brand, with curious agitation
of manner ; " you mean that even if she had divorced him
in America, you would not think him free — free to marry
again ? "

A TRUE F^IEHD.

** No," Janetta answered, " I would not.*

She felt a singular reluctance to answering the question,
and she hoped that Mrs. Brand would ask her nothing
more. She was relieved when Wyvis' mother moved away,
after standing perfectly still for a moment, with her hands
clasped ^^fore ^ er, a strange ashen shade of color dis-
figuring b * h i. isome old face. Janetta thought the face
had growii vr :; ' fully tragic of late ; but she hoped that
when Juliet i ie. t *he house the poor mother would again
recover the serenity oi mind which she had gained during
the past few months of Janetta's gentle companionship.

She wrote her letter to Wyvis, making it as brief and
business-like as possible. She dwelt a good deal on Juliet's
weakness, on her love for the boy, and her desire to see
him once again. At the same time she added her own
conviction that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was on the high road to
recovery, and would soon be fairly strong and well. She
dared not give any hint as to a possible reconciliation, but
she felt, even as she penned her letter, that it was to this
end that she was working. ^< And it is right," she said
steadily to herself; '' there is nothing to gain in disunion :
everything to lose by unfaithfulness. It will be better for
Julian — for. all three — that father and mother should no
longer be divided."

But although she argued thus, she had a somewhat differ-
ent and entirely instinctive feeling in her heart. To begin
with, she could not imagine persons more utterly unsuited
to one another than Wyvis and his wife. Juliet had no
principles, no judgment, to guide her : she was impulsive
and passoinate ; she did not speak the truth, and she
seemed in her wilder moments to care little what she
did. Wyvis had faults — who knew them better than
Janetta, who had studied his character with great and
loving care? — but they were nor of the same kind.
His mood was habitually sombre ; Juliet loved plea-
sure and variety: his nature was a loving one, strong
and deep, although undisciplined ; but Juliet's light and
fickle temperament made her shrink from and almost dis-
like characteristics so different from her own. And Jan-
etta soon saw that in spite of her open defiance of her
husband she was a little afraid of him ; and she could well
imagine that when Wyvis was angry he was a man of whom
a woman might very easily be afraid.

A TRUE FRIEND,

t6l

Yet, when the letter was despatched, Janetta felt a sense
of relief. She had at least done her duty, as she conceived
of it. She did not know what the upshot might be ; but
at any rate, she had done her best to put matters in train
towards the solving of the problem of Wyvis' married
life.

She was puzzled during the next few days by some curi-
ous, indefinable change m Mrs. Brand's demeanor. The
poor woman had of late seemed almost distraught ; she
had lost all care, apparently, for appearances^ .nf* went
along the corridors moaning Wyvis' name sadly i.o ' > rself,
and wringing her hands as if in bitter woe. H . dr«. ^^ was
neglected, and her hair unbrushed : indeed, '>e. : Janetta
was too busy to give her a daughter's loving r&r< ar it was
her custom and her pleasure tc do, poor Mrs. Brand
roamed about the house looking like a mad -j^ lan. Her
madness was, however, of a gentle kind : it took the form
of melancholia, and manifested itself chiefly by continual
restlessness and occasional bursts of weeping and lament.

In one of these outbreaks Janetta found her shortly after
she had sent her letter to Wyvis, and tried by all means
in her power to soothe and pacify her.

" Dear grandmother," she began — for she had caught
the word from Julian, and Mrs. Brand liked her to use it —
"why should you be so sad? Wyvis is coming home,
Juliet is better, little Julian is well, and we are all happy."

" You are not happy," said Mrs. Brand, throwing up
her hands with a curiously tragic gesture. "You are
miserable — ^miserable ; and I am the most unhappy woman
living ! "

" No," said Janetta, gently. " I am not miserable at
all. And there are many women more unhappy than ycu
are. You. have a home, sons who love you, a grandson,
friends — see how many things you have that other people
want ! Is it right to speak of yourself as unhappy? "

" Child," said the older woman, impressively, " you are
young, and do not know what you say. Does happiness
consist in houses and clothes, or even in children and
friends? I have been happier in a cottage than in the
grandest house. As for friends — what friends have J ?
None ; my husband would never let me make friends lest
I should expose my ignorance, and disgrace him by my
low birth and bringing up. I have never had a woman
friend."

■A

,.:V^i:

A TRUE FRIEND.

« But your children," said Janetta, putting her arms ten*
derly round the desolate woman's neck.
, *' Ah, my children ! When they were babies, they were a
pleasure to me. But they have never been a pleasure since.
They have been a toil and a pain and a bondage. That
began when Wyvis was a little child, and Mr. Brand took
a fancy to him and wanted to make every one believe that
he was his child, not John's. I foresaw that there would
be trouble, but he would never listen to me. It was just a
whim of the moment at first, ana then, when he saw that
the deceit troubled me, it became a craze with him. And
whatever he said, I had to seem to agree with. I dared not
contradict him. I hated the deceit, and the more I hated
it, the more he loved it and practiced it in my hearing,
until I used to be sick with misery. Oh, my dear, it is the
worst of miseries to be forced into wrong-doing against
your will."

" But why did you give way ? ' said Janetta, who could
not fancy herself in similar circumstances being forced into
anything at all.

*' My dear, he made me, I dared not cross him. He
made me suffer, and he made the children suffer if ever I
opposed him. What could I do ? " said the poor woman,
twisting and untwisting her thin hands, and looking pite-
ously into Janetta's face. " I was obliged to obey him —
he was my husband, and so much above me, so much more
of a gentleman than I ever was a lady. You know that I
never could say him nay. He ruled me, as he used to say,
with a rod of iron — for he made a boast of it, my dear —
and he was never so happy, I think, as when he was tortur-
ing me and making me wince with pain."

" He must have been " when Janetta stopped short :

she could not say exactly what she thought of Mrs. Brand's
second husband. ,

" He was cruel, my dear : cruel, that is, to women. Not
cruel amongst his own set — among his equals, as he would
have said — not cruel to boys. But always cruel to women.
Some woman must have done him a grievous wrong one
day — I never knew who she was ; but I am certain that it
was so ; and that spured and embittered him. He was
revenging himself on that other woman, I used to think,
when he was cruel to me."

Janetta dared not speak.

A iRUE FRIEND.

•^

. He

;ver I
Oman,
pite-
im — •
more
that I
o say,
ear —
ortur-

^g one
that it
le was
] think,

'' I did not mind his cruelty when it meant nothing but
bodily pain, you know, my dear," Mrs. Brand contmued
patiently. " But it was harder for me to bear when it came
to what L ght be called moral things. You see I loved
him, and I could not say him nay. If he told me to lie, I
had to do it. I never forgave myself for the lies I told at
his bidding. And if he were here to tell me to do the same
things I should do them still. If he had turned Moham-
medan, and told me to trample on the Bible or the Cross,
as I have read in missionary books that Christians have
sometimes been bribed to do, I should have obeyed him.
I was his body and soul, and all my misery has come cut
of that."

" How ? " Janetta asked.

" I brought Wyvis up on a lie,'' the mother answered,
her face growing woefully stern and rigid as she mentioned
his name, " and it has been my punishment that he has
always hated lies. I have trembled to hear him speak
against falsehood — to catch his look of scorn when he be-
gan to see that his father did not speak truth. Very early
he made me understand that he would never be likely to
forgive us for the deception we practiced on him. For his
good, you will say ; but ah, my dear, deception is never
for anybody's good. I never forgave myself, and Wyvis
will never forgive me. And yet he is my child. Now you
see the happiness that lies in having children."

Janetta tried to dissipate the morbid terror of the past,
the morbid dread of Wyvis' condemnation, which hung
like a shadow over the poor woman's mind, but she was
far from being successful.

*' You do not know," was all that Mrs. Brand would say.
" You do not understand." And then she broke out more
passionately —

" I have done him harm all his life. His misery has
been my fault. You heard him tell me so. It is true :
there is no use denying it. And he knows it."

" He spoke in a moment of anger : he did not know
what he said."

" Oh, yes, he did, and he meant it too. I have heard
him say a similar thing before. You see it was I that
brought about this wretched marriage of his — because I
pitied this woman, and thought her case was like my own
—that she loved Wyvis as I loved Mark Brand. I brought

•«4

A TRUE FXISND,

that marriage about, and Wyvis has cursed me erer
since."

''No, no," said Janetta, kissing her troubled face,
"Wyvis would never curse his mother for doing what
ihe thought right. Wyvis loves you. Surely you know
that — you believe that ? Wyvis is not a bad son."

** No, my dear, not a bad son, but a cruelly injured
one," said Mrs. Brand. " And he blames me. I cannot
blame him : it was all my fault for not opposing Mark when
he wanted me to help him to carry out his wicked
scheme."

" I think," said Janetta, tentatively, " that Cuthbert has
more right to feel himself injured than Wyvis."

"Cuthbert?" Mrs. Brand repeated, in an indifferent
tone. "Oh, Cuthbert is of no consequence: his father
always said so. A lame, sickly, cowardly child I If we
had had a strong, healthy lad of our own, Mark would not
have put Wyvis in Cuthbert's place, but with a boy like
Cuthbert, what would you expect him to do ? "

It seemed to Janetta almost as if her mind were begin-
ning to wander : the references to Cuthbert's boyish days
appeared to be so extraordinarily clear and defined —
almost as though she were living again through the time
when Cuthbert was "supplanted by her boy Wyvis. But
when she spoke again, Mrs. Brand's words were perfectly
clear, and apparently reasonable in tone.

" I often think that if I could do my poor boy some
great service, he would forgive me in heart as well as iq
deed. I would do anything in the world for him, Janetta,
if only I could give him back the happiness of which 1
robbed him."

Janetta could jiot exactly see that the poor mother's sini
had been so great against Wyvis as against Cuthbert, but
it was evident that Mrs. Brand could never be brought to
look at matters in this light. The thought that she had
injured her first-born son had taken possession of her
completely, and seriously disturbed the balance of her
faculties. The desire to make amends to Wyvis for her
wrong-doing had already reached almost a maniacal point :
how much further it might be carried Janetta never thought
of guessing

She was anxious about Mrs. Brand, but more so for her
physical than for her mental strength. For her powers were

j4 True friend.

cTcr

for her

evidently failing in every direction, and the doctor spoke
wamingly to Janetta of the weakness of her heart's action,
and the desirability of shielding her from every kind rf
agitation. It was impossible to provide against every kind
of shock, but Janetta promised to do her best.

The winter was approaching before Janetta's letter to
Wyvis received an answer. She was beginning to feel
very anxious about it, for his silence alarmed and also
surprised her. She could hardly imagine a m in of Wyvis'
disposition remaining unmo.edwhen he read the letter
thjt she had sent him. His wife's health was, moreover,
giving her serious concern. She had caught cold on one
of the foggy autumnal days, and the doctor assured her that
her life would be endangered if she did not at once seek
a warmer climate. But she steadily refused to leave the
Red House.

'< I won't go/' she said to Janetta, with a red spot of
anger on either cheek, " until I know whether he. means
to do the proper thing by me or not."

" He is sure to do that ; you need have no fear," said
Janetta, bluntly.

An angry gleam shot from the sick woman's eyes.
*<You defend him through thick and thin, don't you?
Wyvis has a knack of getting women to stick up for him.
They say the worst men are often the most beloved."

Janetta left the room, feeling both sick and sorry, and
wondering how much longer she could bear this kind of
life. It was telling upon her nerves and on her strength
in every possible way. And yet she could not abandon
her post — unless, indeed, Wyvis himself relieved her.
And from hin:i for many weary days there came no word.

But at last a telegram arrived — dated from Liverpool.
" I shall be with you to-morrow, Your letter was delayed,
and reached me only by accident," Wyvis said. And-
then his silence was explained.

Janetta carried the news of his approaching arrival t^
wife and mother in turn. Mrs. Wyvis took it calmly. " '(
told you so," she said, with a triumphant little nod. But
Mrs. Brand was terribly agitated, and even, as it seemed
to Janetta, amazed. '^ I never thought that he would
come," she said, in a loud whisper, with a troubled face and
various nervous movements of her hands. '' I never
thought that he would come back to her. I must be

•if?"

1166

A TRUE FRIEND,

quick. T mast be quick, indeed^. And when Janetta
tried to soothe her, and said that she must now make
haste to be well and strong when Wyvis was retuming,
she answered only in about the self-same words — " never
thought it, my dear, indeed, I never did. But if he is
coming back ,so soon, I must be quick — I must be very
quick."
And Janetta could not persuade her to say why.

CHAPTER XXXVIl.

NIGHT.

It was the night before Wyvis' return. The whole house-
hold seen>ed somewhat disorganized by the prospect.
There was an air of subdued excitement visible in the
oldest and staidest of the servants, for in spite of Wyvis*
many shortcomings and his equivocal position, he was
universally liked by his inferiors if not by those who
esteemed themselves his superiors, in social station. Mrs.
Brand had gone to bed early, and Janetta hoped that she
was asleep ; Mrs. Wyvis had kept Janetta at her bedside
until after eleven o'clock, regaling her with an account of
her early experience in Paris. When at last she seemed
sleepy, Janetta said good-night and went to her own room.
She was tired but wakeful. The prospect of Wyvis' return
excited her ; she felt that it would be impossible to sleep
that night, and she resolved therefore to establish herself
before the fire in her own room, with a book, and to see,
by carefully abstracting her mind from actual fact, whether
she could induce the shy goddess, sleep, to visit her.

She read for some time, but she had great difficulty in
fixing her mind upon her book. She found herself conning
the same words over and over again, without understand-
ing their meaning in the least ; her thoughts flew con-
tinually to Wyvis and his affairs, and to the mother and
wife and son with whom her fate had linked her with such
curious closeness. At last she relinquished the attempt to
read, and sat for some time gazing into the fire. She
heard the clock strike one; the quarter and half-hour
followed at intervals, but still she sat on. Anyone who

A TRUE FRIEND,

ili;

had seen her at that hour would hardly have recognized
her for the vivacious, sparkling, ever cheerful woman who
made the brightness of the Red House ; the sunshine had
left her face, hp; eyes were wistful, alntost sad; the lines
of her '.nouth arooped, and her cheeks had grown very pale.
She felt very keenly that the period of happy, peaceful
work and rest which she had enjoyed for the last few
months was coming to an end. She was trying to picture
to herself what her future life would be, and it was difficult
to imagine it when her old ties had all been severed. " It
seems as if I had to give up everybody that I ever cared
for," she said to herself, not complainingly, but as one
recognizing the fact that some persons are always more or
less lonely in the world, and that she belonged to a lonely
class. ** My father has gone — my brother and sisters do
not need me; Margaret abandoned me; Wyvis and his
mother and Julian are lost to me from henceforth. God
forgive me," said Janetta to herself, burying h6r face in her
hands and shedding some very heartfelt tears, <* if I seem
to be repming at my friends' good fortune ; I do not mean
it ; I wish them every joy. But what I fear is, lest it
should not be for their good — that Wyvis and his mother
and Julian should be unhappy."

She was roused from her reflection by a sound in the
corridor. It was a creaking board, she knew that well
enough ; but the board never creaked unless some one
trod upon it. Who could be walking about the house at
this time of night ? Mrs. Brand, perhaps ; she was
terribly restless at night, and often went about the house,
seeking to tire herself so completely that sleep would be
inevitable on her return to bed. On a cold night, such
expeditions were not, however, unattended by danger, as
she was not careful to protect herself against draughts,
and it was with* the desire to care for her that Janetta at
last rose and took up a soft warm shawl with which she
thought that she might cover Mrs. Brand's shoulders.

V/ith the shawl over her arm and a candle in one hand
she opened her door and looked out into the passage. It
was unlighted, and the air seemed very chilly. Janetta
stole along the corridor like a thief, and peeped into Mrs.
Brand's bedroom ; as was e ;pected, it was empty. Then
she looked into Julian's room, for she had several times
found the grandmother praying bv his bed. at__d£f

mwiiipiipp

s<8

A TRUE FRIEND,

night ; but Julian slumbered peacefully, and nobodj else
was there. Janetta rather wonderingly turned her atten-
tion to the lower rooms of the house. But Mrs. Brand
was not to be found in any of the sitting rooms ; and the
hall door was securely locked and bolted, so that she could
not have gone out into the garden.

" She must be upstairs," said Janetta to herself. ** But
what can she be doing in that upper storey, where there
are only empty garrets and servants rooms ! I did not
look into the spare room, however ; perhaps she has gone
to see if it is ready for Wyvis, and I did not go to Juliet.
She cannot have gone to her, surely ; she never enters the
room unless she is obliged."

Nevertheless, her heart began to beat faster, and she
involuntarily quickened her steps. She did not believe
that Mrs. Brand would seek Juliet's room with any good
intent, and as she reached the top of the stairs her eyes
dilated and her face grew suddenly pale with fear. For a
strange whifF of something — was it smoke ? — came into her
eyes, and an odd smell of burning assailed her nostrils.
Fire, was it fire ? She remembered that Wyvis had once
said that the Red House would burn like tinder if it was
ever set alight. The old woodwork was very combustible,
and there was a great deal of it, especially in the upper
rooms.

Juliet's door was open. Janetta stood before it for the
space of one half second, stupefied and aghast. Smoke
was rapidly filling the room and circling into the corridor ;
the curtains near the window were in a blaze, and Mrs.
Brand, with a lighted candle in her hand, was deliberately
setting fire to the upholstery of the bed where the uncon-
scious Juliet lay. Janetta never forgot the moment's
vision that she obtained of Mrs. Brand's pale, worn, wildly
despairing face — the face of a madwoman,, as she now per-
ceived, whc was not responsible for the deed she did.

Janetta sprang to the window curtains, dragged them
down and trampled upon them. Her thick dressing gown
and the woollen shawl that she carried all helped in
extinguishing the flame. Her app*»arance had arrested
Mrs. Brand in her terrible work ; she paused and began to
tremble, as if she knew in some vague way that she was
doing what was wrong. The flame had already caught
the curtains, which were of a light material, and was creep-

fl
o

A TRUE FRIEND,

them

ing up to the woodwork of the old-fashioned bed, singeing
and blackening as it went. These, also, Janetta tore
down, burning her hands as she did so, and then with her
shawl she pressed out the sparks that were beginning to
fly dangerously near the sleeping woman. A heavy ewer
of water over the mouldering mass of torn muslin and lace
completed her task ; and by that time Juliet had started
from her sleep, and was asking in hysterical accents what
was wrong.

Her screams startled the whole household, and the ser-
vants came in various stages of dress and undress to know
what was the matter. Mrs. Brand had set down her candle
and was standing near the door, trembling from head to
foot, and apparently so much overcome by the shock as to
be unable to answer any question. That was thought very
natural. ** Poor lady ! what a narrow escape ! No won-
der she was upset," said one of the maids sympathetically,
and tried to lead her back to her own room. But Mrs.
Brand refused to stir.

Meanwhile Juliet was screaming that she was burning,
that the whole house was on fire, that she should die of
the shock, and that Wyvis was alone to blame — after her
usual fashion of expressing herself wildly when she was
suffering from any sort of excitement of mind.

" You are quite safe now," Janetta said at last, rather
sharply. " The fire is out : it was never very much. Come
into my room : the bed may be cold and damp now, and
the smoke will make you cough."

She was right ; the lingering clouds of smoke were pro-
ducing unpleasant effects on the throat and lungs of Mrs.
Wyvis Brand; and she was glad to be half led, half car-
ried, by two of the servants into Janetta's room. And no
sooner was she laid in Janetta's bed than a little white
figure rushed out of another room and flew towards her,
crying out :

" Mother ! Mother ! You are not hurt ? "

She was not hurt, but she was shaken and out of breath,
and Julian's caresses were not altogether opportune. Still
she did not seem to be vexed by th.-n Perhaps they were
too rare to be unwelcome. Sht; ^ him creep into bed
besid- her, and lay with her arm r< und him as if he were
stilf a baby at her breast, and then for a time they slept
together, mother and child, as they had not slept since the

9fO

A TRUE FRIEND,

-'\

days of Julian's babyhood. For both it may have been
a blessed hour. Julian scarcely knew what it was to feel a
mother's love ; and with Juliet, the softer side of her nature
had long been hidden beneath a crust of coldness and
selfishnesF. But those nooments of tenderness which a
comnon danger had brought to light would live for ever in
Julian's men>ory.

While these two were sleeping, however, others in the
house were busy. As soon as Juliet was out of the room,
Janetta turned anxiously to Mrs. Brand. *' Come with me,
dear," she said. *' C' ;ae back to your room. You will
catch cold."

She felt no repulsion, nothing but a great pity for the
hapless woman whose nature was not strong enough to
bear the strain to which it had been subjected, and she
wished, above all things, to keep secret the origin <yi <he
fire. If Mrs. Brand would but be silent, she ^\A not think
that Juliet could fathom the secret, but she was not sure
that poor Mrs. Brand would not betray herself. At pre-
sent, she showed no signs of understanding what had been
said to her.

" She is quite upset by the shock," said the maid who
had previously spoken. '' And r>*\ wonder. And oh I Miss
Colwyn, don't you know hov. bui) t your hands are ! You
must have them seek to, I*m srii\..^'

** Never mind my hands, I don't feel them," said Janetta
brusquely. " Help me to get Mrs. Brand to her room,
and then send for a doctor. Go to Dr. Burroughs, he will
know what to do. I want him here as quickly as possible.
And bring me some oil and cotton wool."

The servants looked at one another, astonished at the
strangeness of her tone. But they were fond of her and
always did her bidding gladly, so they performed her
behest, and helped her to lead Mrs. Brand, who was now
p^rfect^ly passive in their hands, into her own room.

But when she was there, the old butler returned to
knc^k at the door . nd ask to speak to Miss Colwyn alone.
jaT>ctta c^Tie out, with a feeling of curious fear. She held
lHc Kindle of the door as he spoke to her.

*' I beg pardon, m'm," he said deferentially, "but hadn't
I bc.tiii keep them gossiping maids out of the room
C'/er there?"

Janetta looked into his face, and saw that he more than
suspected the truth.

A TRUE FRIEND,

S7I

** What do you mean ? " she asked.

'^ The window curtains are burned, m'm, and the bed-
curtains ; also the bed clothes in different places, and one
or two other light articles about the room. It is easy to
see that it was not exactly an accident, m'm."

Then, seeing Janetta's color change, he added kindly,
" But there's no call for you to feel afraid, m'm. We've nU
known as the poor lady's been going off her head for a
good long time ; and this is only perhaps what might have
been expected, seeing what her feelings are. You leave it
all to me, and just keep her quiet, m'm; I'll see to the
room, and nobody else shall put their foot into it. The
master will be home this morning, I hope and tmst."

He hobbled away, and Jane^ta went back to Mrs. Brand.
The reaction was setting in ; iicr own hurts had not been
attended to, and were beginning to give her a good deal of
pain ; and she was conscious of sickness and faintness as
well as fatigue. A great dread of Mrs. Brand's next words
and actions was also coming over her.

But for the present, at least, she need not have been
afraid ! Mrs. Brand was lying on the bed in a kind of
stupor : her eyes were only half-open ; her hands were very
cold.

Janetta did her best to warm and comfort her physi-
cally ; and then, finding that she seemed to sleep more
naturally, she got her hands bound up and sat down to
await the coming of the doctor.

But she was not destined to wait in idleness v y long.
She was summoned to Mrs. Wyvis Brand, who had
awakened suddenly from her sleep and was coughing vio-
lently. Little Julian had to be hastily sent back to his own
room, for iiis mother's cough was dangerou as well as
distressing to her, and Janetta was anxioas that he
should not witness what might prove to be a painful
sight.

And she was not far wrong. For the violent cough pro-
duced on this occasion one of its most serioHs results.
The shock, the exposure, the exertion, had provf;d almost
too much for Mrs. Wyvis Brand's strength. Sh^ ruptured
a blood-vessel just as the doctor entered the house ; and
all that he could do was to check the bleeding with ice, and
K njoin perfect quiet and repose. And when he had seen
»ier, he had to hear from Janetta the story of that terrible

o'-:

ifi

A TRUE FRIEND,

night. She felt that it was wise to trust Dr. Burroughs
entirely, and she told him, in outline, the whole story of
Mrs. Brand's depression of spirits, and of her evident half-
mad notion that she might gain Wyvis' forgiveness for her
past mistakes by some deed that would set him free from
his unloved wife, and enable him to lead a happier life in
the future.

The doctor shook his head when he saw his patient.
" It is just as well for her, perhaps," he said afterwards,
" but it is sad for her son and for those who lo\ e her — if any
one does ! She will probably not recover. She is in a
state of complete prostration ; and she will most likely slip
away in sleep."

" Oh, I am sorry," said Janetta, with tears in her eyes.

The doctor looked at her kindly. " You need not be
sorry for her, my dear. She is best out of a world which
she was not fitted to cope with. You should not wish her
to stay."

" It will be so sad for Wyvis, when he comes home to-
day," murmured Janetta, her lip trembling.

" He is coming to-day, is he ? Early this morning? I
will stay with you, if you like."

Janetta was glad of the offer, although it gave her an
uneasy feeling that the end was nearer than she thought.

wei
not!

Juli|

reti

the

his

pas£

the

not

fathd

doatl

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE LAST SCENE.

** She doii? not i now you,*' Dr. Burroughs said, when, a
few ho .vtti latex, W/^is bent over his mother's pillow and
looked into be * quiet, care-lined face.

" Will she cx ki.ow me ? " asked the young man in a
tone of deeg a tress. " My poor mother 1 I must tell her
how sorry I am +or the pain that I have often given her."

" She may be conscious for a few minutes by-and-bye,**
the ioctor said. " But ; consciousness will only show that
the end is near."

There was a silence in the room. Mrs. Brand had now
lain in a stupor for many hours. Wyvis had been greeted
on Im arxivil with sad news indeed : his mother and wife

A TRUE FRIEND,

273

were seriously ill, and the doctor acknowledged that he did
not think Mrs. Brand likely to live for many hours.

Wyyis had not been allowed to enter his wife's room,
Juliet had to be kept very quiet, lest the haemorrhage should
return. He was almost glad of the respite ; he dreaded
the meeting, and he was anxious to bestow all his time upou
his mother. Janetta had told him something about what had
passed ; he had heard an outline, but only an outline, of
the sad story, and it must be confessed that as yet he could
not understand it. It was perhaps difficult for a man to
fathom the depths of a woman's morbid misery, or of a
doating mother's passionate and unreasonable love. He
grieved, however, over what was somewhat incomprehen-
sible to him, and he thought once or twice with a sudden
sense of comfort that Janetta would explain, Janetta would
make him understand. He looked round for her when this
idea occurred to him ; but she was not in the room. She
did not like to intrude upon what might be the last inter-
view between mother and son, for she was firmly persuaded
that Mrs. Brand would recover consciousness, and would
tell Wyvis in her own way someLaing of what she had
thought and felt ; but she was not far off, and when Wyvis
sent her a peremptory message to the effect that she was
wanted, she came at once and took up her position with
him as watcher beside his mother's bed.

Janetta was right. Mrs. Brand's eyes opened at last, and
rested on Wyvis' face with a look of recognition. She
smiled a little, and seemed pleased that he was there. It
was plain that for the moment she had quite forgotten the
events of the last few hours, and the first words that she
spoke proved that the immediate past had completely faded
from her mind.

« Wyvis ! " she faltered. " Are you back again, dear?
And is — is your father with you ? "

** I am here, mother," Wyvis answered. He could say
nothing more.

" But your father "

Then something — a gleam of reawakening memory —
seemed to trouble her ; she looked round the room, knitted
her brows anxiously, and murmured a few words that
Wyvis could not hear.

'* I remember now," she said, in a stronger voice. ** I
wanted something — I thought it was your father^ but it was

V i" -f ' M

«74

A TRUE FRIEND,

something quite different — I wanted your forgiveness,
Wyvis."

" Mother, mother, don't speak in that way," cried her
son. '' Have you not suffered enough to expiate any
mistake ? "

" Any mistake, perhaps, not any sin," said his mother
feebly. '' Now that I am old and dying, I call things by
their right names, l^did you a wrong, and I did Cuthbert
a wrong, and I am sorry now."

" It is all past," said Wyvis softly. " It does not matter
now."

" You forgive me for my part in it ? You do not hate
me?"

** Mother ! Have I been cold to you then ? I have
loved you all the time, and never blamed you in my heart."

" You said that I was to blame."

" But I did not mean it. I never thought that you would
take an idle word of mine so seriously, mother. Forgive
me, and believe me that I would not have given you pain
for the world if I had thought, if I had only thought that
it would hurt you so much ! "

His mother smiled faintly, and closed her eyes for a
mome >% as if the exertion of speaking had been too much
for her ; but, after a short pause, she started suddenly, and
opened her eyes with a look of extreme terror.

" What is it," she said. " What have I done ? Where
is she ? "

" Who, mother ? "

** Your wife, Juliet. What did I do ? Is she dead ?
The fire— the fire "

Wyvis looked helplessly round for Janetta. He could
not answer : he did not know how to calm his mother's
rapidly increasing excitement. Janetta came forward and
bent over the pillow.

" No, Juliet is not dead. She is in her room ; you must
not trouble yourself about her," she said.

Mrs. Brand's eyes were fixed apprehensively on Janetta's
face.

"Tell me what I did/' she said in a loud whisper.

It was difficult to answer. Wyvis hid his face iu a sort
of desperation. He wondered what Janetta was going to
say, and listened in amazement to her first words.

"You were ill," said Janetta clearly. "You did not

A TRUE FRTEND,

«7S

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know what you were doing, and you set fire to the curtains
in her rooni. Nobody was hurt, and we all understand
that you would have been very sorry to harm anybody. It
is all right, dear grandmother, and you must remember
that you were not responsible for what vou were doing
then."

The boldness of her answer filed VVyvis with admiration.
He knew that he — manlike — would have temporized and
tried in vain to deny the truth, it was far wiser for Janetta
to acknowledge and explain the facts. Mrs. Brand pressed
the girl's hand and looked fearfully in her face.

"She — she was not burned ? "

" Not at all."

" Stoop down," said Mrs. Brand. " Lower. Close to
my face. There — listen to me. I meant *o kill her. Do
you understand ? I meant to set the place on fire and
let her burn. I thought she deserved it for making my boy
miserable."

Wyvis started up, and turned his back to the bed. It
was impossible for him to hear the confession with equa-
nimity. But Janetta still hung over the pillow, caressing
the dying woman, and looking tenderly into her face.

" Yes, you thought so then — I understand," she said.
" But that was because of your illness. You do not think
so now."

"Yes," said Mrs. Brand, in the same loud, hoarse
whisper. ** I think so now."

Then Janetta was silent for a minute or two. The black,
ghastly look in Mrs. Brand's wide-open eyes disconcerted
her. She scarcely knew what to say.

"I have always hated her. I hate her now," said
Wyvis' mother. " She has done me no harm ; no. But she
has injured my boy ; she made his life miserable, and I
cannot forgive her for that."

"If Wyvis forgives her," said Janetta gently, "can
you not forgive her too ? "

" Wyvis does not forgive her for making him unhappy,"
said Mrs. Brand.

" Wyvis," — ^Janetta looked round at him. She could not
sec his face. He was standing with his face to the window
and his back to the bed. " Wyvis, you have come back
to your wife : does not that show that you are willing to
forget the past and to make a fresh beginning. Tell your
mother so, Co;isin Wyvis."

2f6

A TRUE FRIEND,

He turned round slowly, and looked at her, not at his
mother, as he replied :

" Yes, I am willing to begin again," he said. " I never
wished her any harm."

"Then, you will forgive her — for Wyvis' sake? For
Julian's sake ? " said Janetta.

A strange contraction of the features altered Mrs.
Brand's face for a moment : her breath came with diffi-
culty and her lips turned white.

" I forgive," she said at last, in broken tones. " I can-
not quite forget. But I do not want — now — to harm her.
It was but for a time — when my head was bad."

" We know, we know," said Janetta eagerly. '* We under-
stand. Wyvis, tell her that _y<?w understand too."

She looked at him insistently, and he returned the look.
Their eyes said a good deal to each other in a second's
space of time. In hers there was tenderness, expostula-
tion, entreaty ; in his. some shade of mingled horror and
regret. But he yielded his will to hers, thinking it nobler
than his own ; and, turning to his mother, he stooped and
kissed her on the forehead.

" I understand, mother. Janetta has made me under-
stand."

"Janetta — it is always Janetta we have to thank," his
mother murmured feebly. " It was for Janetta as well as
for you that I did it, Wyvis — but it is no use now. And,
God forgive me, I did not know what I did."

She sank into silence and spoke no more for the next
few hours. Her life was quietly ebbing away. Towards
midnight, she opened her eyes and spoke again.

"Janetta — Wyvis," she said softly, and then the last
moment came. Her eyelids drooped, her head fell aside
upon the pillow. There was no more for her to say or do.
Poor Mary Brand's long trial had come to an end at
last.

Juliet was not told of Mrs. Brand's death until after the
funeral, as it was feared that the news might unduly excite
her. As it was, she gave a hoarse little scream when she
heard it, and asked, with every appearance of horror,
whether there was really " a body " in the house. On
being informed by Janetta that " the body " had been
removed, she became immediately tranc^uil, and remarked
confidentially that she was " not sorry, after all, for the

A TRUE FRIEND,

•77

old lady's death : it was such a bore to have one's husband's
mother in the house." Then she became silent and thought-
ful, and Janetta wondered whether some kindlier feeling
were not mixing itself with her self-gratulation. But pre-
sently Mrs. Wyvis Brand broke fortli :

" Look here, I must say this, if I die for it. You know
the night when my room was on fire. Well, now tell me
true : wasn't my mother-in-law to blame for it ? "

Janetta looked at her in speechless dismay. She had
no trust in Juliet's disposition : she did not know whether
she might revile Mrs. Brand bitterly, or be touched by an
account of her mental suffering. Wyvis, however, had
recommended her to tell his wife as much of the truth as
seemed necessary ; ** because, if you don't," he said, " she
is quite sharp enough to find it out for herself. So if she
has any suspicion, tell her something. Anything is better
than nothing in such a case."

And Janetta, taking her courage in both hands, so to
speak, answered courageously :

" May I speak frankly to you, Juliet ? " For Mrs. Wyvis
Brand had insisted that Janetta should always call her by
her Christian name.

" Of course you may. What is it ? "

" It is about Mrs. Brand. You must have known that
for some time she had been very weak and feeble. Her
mind was giving way. Indeed, she was far worse than we
ever imagined, and she was not sufficiently watched. On
that night, it was she whom you saw, and it was she who
set fire to the curtains ; but you must remember, Juliet,
that she was not in her right mind."

" Why^ I might have been burned alive in my bed,"
cried Juliet — an exclamation so thoroughly characteristic
that Janetta could hardly forbear to smile. Mrs. Wyvis
Brand looked terribly shocked and disconcerted, and it
was after a pause that she collected herself sufficiently to
say in her usual rapid manner :

" You may say what you like about her being mad ; but
Mrs. Brand knew very well what she was doing. She
always hated me, and she wanted to get me out of the way."

** Oh, Juliet, don't say so," entreated Janetta.

" But I do say so, and I will say so, and I have reason
on my side. She hated me like poison, and she loved you
dearly. Don't you see what she wanted ? She would have
liked you to take my place."

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X TRUE FRIEND.

" If you say «uch things, Juliet—**

" You'll go out of the room, won't you, my dear ? Why,"
said Juliet, with a hard laugh in which there was very little
mirth, " you don't suppose I mind ? I have known long
enough that she thought bad things of me. Don't you
remember the name you called me when you thought I
wanted Julian ? You had learnt every one of them from
her, you know you had. Oh, you needn't apologize. I
understand the matter perfectly. I bear no malice either
against her or you, though I don't know that I am quite
the black sheep that you both took me to be."

" I am sorry if I was unjust," said Janetta slowly. " But
all that I meant amounts to one thing — that you did not
make my Cousin Wyvis very happy."

" Ah, and that's the chief thing, isn't it ? " said Juliet,
with a keen look. " Well, don't be frightened, I'm going
to change my ways. I've had a warning if anybody ever
had ; and I'm not going to get myself turned out of house
and home. If Wyvis will stick to me, I'll stick to him ;
and I can't say more than that. I should like to see him

»»

now.

" Now, Juliet ? " said Janetta, rather aghast at the idea.
The meeting between husband and wife had not yet taken
place^ and Janetta shrank sensitively from the notion that
Juliet might inflict fresh pain on Wyvis on the very day of
his mother's funeral. But Mrs. Wyvis Brand insisted, and
her husband was summoned to the room.

" You needn't go away, Janetta," said Juliet imperatively.
** I want you as a witness. Well, Wyvis, here I am, and I
hope you are glad to see me."

She lifted herself a little from the couch or which she
lay, and looked at him defiantly. Janetta could see that
he was shocked at the sight of her wasted outlines, her
hectic color, the unhealthy brilliance of her eyes ; and it
was this sight, perhaps, that caused him to say gently :

" I am sorry not to see you looking better."

" The politest speech he has made me for years,** she
said, laughing. ** Well, half a loaf is better than no bread.
We didn't hit it off exactly the last time we saw each other,
did we ? Suppose we try again : should we get on any
better, do you think ? "

" We might try," said Wyvis slowly.

He was pale and grave, but, as she saw, not unwilling
to make peace.

A TRUE FRXEND,

*»

'' All right," she said, holding out her hand to him with
easy, audacious grace, '^ let us try then. I own I was
aggravating— own in your turn that you were tyrannical
now and then ! You witness that he owns up, Janetta —
why, the girl's §one ! Never mind : give me a kiss now we
are alone, Wyvis, and take me to the Riviera to-morrow if
you want to save my life."

Wyvis kissed his wife and promised to do what she asked
him, but he did not look as if he expected to iiave an easy
task.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

MAKING AMENDS.

'^ It is pleasant to be honfe again," said Margaret.

For two years she had noi seen the Court. For two
years she and her parents had roamed over the world,
spending a winter in Egy pt or Italy, a summer in Norway,
a spring or autumn at Biarritz, or Pau, or some other re-
sort of wealthy and idle Englishmen. These wanderings
had been begun with the laudable object of weaning Mar-
garet's heart away from Wyvis Brand, but they had been
continued long after Margaret's errant fancy had been
chided back to its wonted resting place. The habit of
wandering easily grows, and the two years had slipped
awav so pleasantly that it was with a feeling almost of
surprise that the Adairs reckoned up the time that had
elapsed since they left England. Then Margaret had a
touch of fever, and began to pine for her home ; and, as
her will was still law (in all minor points, at least), her
parents at once turned homeward, and arrived at Helmsley
Court in the month of May, when the woods and gardens
were at their loveliest, bright with flowers, and verdant
with the exquisite green of the spring foliage, before it
becomes dusty and faded in the summer-heat.

" It is pl.easant to be at home again," said Margaret,
standing at the door of the conservatory one fair May
morning and looking at the great sweep of green sward
before her, where elm and beech trees made a charming
shade, and beds of brightly-tinted flowers dotted the grass
at intervals* '* I was so tired of foreign towns."

9to A TRUE FRIEND,

"Were you, dear? You did not say so until lately/
said Lady Caroline.

" I did not want to bring you and papa home until you
were ready to come," said Margaret gently.

" Dear child. And you have lost your roses ! English
country air will soon bring them back."

'^I never had piuch color, mamma," said Margaret
gravely. It was almost as though she were not quite
well pleased by the remark.

She moved away from the door, and Lady Caroline's
eyes followea her with a solicitude which had more anxiety
and less pride than they used to show. For Margaret had
altered during the last few months. She had grown more
slender, more pale than ever, and a certain languor was
perceptible in her movements and the expression of her
beautiful eyes. She was not less fair, perhaps, than she
had been before ; and the ethereal character of her beauty
had only been increased by time. Lady Caroline had
been seriously distressed lately by the comments made by
her acquaintances upon Margaret's appearance. " Very
delicate, surely," said' one. " Do you think that your
daughter is consumptive ? " said another. •' She would
be so very pretty if she looked stronger," remarked a third.
Now these were not precisely the remarks that Lady
Caroline liked her friends to make.

She could not quite understand her daughter. Mar-
garet had of late become more and more reticent. She
was always gentle, always caressing, but she was not
expansive. Something was amiss with her spirits or her
health : nobody could exactly say what it was. Even her
father discovered at last that she did not seem well ; but,
although he grumbled and fidgeted about it, he did not
know how to suggest a remedy. Lady Caroline hoped
that the return to England would prove efficacious in re-
storing the girl's health and spirits, and she was encouraged
by hearing Margaret express her pleasure in her English
home. But she felt uneasily that she was not quite sure
as to what was wrong.

" People are beginning to call very quickly," she said,
looking at some cards that lay in a little silver tray. " The
Bevans have been here, Margaret."

** Have they ? When we were out yesterday, I suppose ? "

•* Yes. A.nd the Accringtons, and — oh, ah, yes— two
or three other people."

A TRUE FRIEND,

aSi

■e

"Who, mamma ?" said Margaret, her attention imme-
diately attracted by her mother's hesitation. She turned
away from the- door and entered the morning-room as she
spoke.

"Oh, only Lady Ashley, dear," said Lady Caroline
smoothly. She had quite recovered her self-possession by
this time.

" And Sir Philip Ashley," said Margaret, with equal
calmness, as she glanced at the cards in the little silver
dish. But the lovely color flushed up into her cheeks,
and as she stood with her eyes cast down, still fingering
the cards, her face assumed the tint of the deepest rose-
carnation.

" Is that the reason ? " thought Lady Caroline, with a
sudden little thrill of fear and astonishment. " Surely
not ! After all this time — and after dismissing him so
summarily I Well, there is no accounting for girls' tastes."

She said aloud :

" We ought to return these calls pretty soon, I think.
With such old friends it would be nice to go within the
week. Do you not a^ree with me, love ? "

" Yes, mamma," said Margaret dutifully.

" Shall we go to-morrow then ? To the Bevans first,
and then to the Ashleys ? "

Margaret hesitated. " The Accringtons live nearer the
Bevans than Lady Ashley," she said. *' You might call on
Lady Ashley next day, mamma."

" Yes, darling," said Lady Caroline. She was reassured.
She certainly did not want Margaret to show any alacrity
in seeking out the Ashleys, and she hoped that that tell-
tale blush had been due to mere maiden modesty and not
to any warmer feeling, which would probably be completely
thrown away upon Philip Ashley, who was not the man to
offer himself a second time to a woman who had once
refused him.

She noticed, however, that Margaret showed no other
sign of interest in Sir Philip and his mother ; that she did
not ask for any account of the call paid, without her, by
Lady Caroline a day or two later. Indeed, she turned
away and talked to Alicia Stone while Lady Caroline was
telling Mr. Adair of the visits that she had made. So the
mother was once more reassured.

She was made^uneasy again by an item of news that

aSa

A TRUE FRIEND,

reached her ear soon after her return home. ** Mr. Brand
is coming back," said Mrs. Accrington to her, with a
meaning smile. " I hear that there are great preparations
at the Red House. His wife is dead, you know."

"Indeed/' said Lady Caroline, stiffly.

" Yes, died at Nice last spring or summer, I forget
which ; I suppose he means to settle at home now. They
say he's quite a changed character."

** I am glad to hear it," said Lady Caroline.

She felt annoyed as well as anxious. Was it possible
that Margaret knew that Wy vis Brand was coming home ?
In spite of the inveterate habit of caressing Margaret and
making soft speeches, in spite also of the very real love
that she had for her daughter. Lady Caroline did not
altogether trust her. Margaret had oiice or twice dis-
appointed her too much.

"His little boy," continued Mrs. Accrington in a
conversational tone, " has been spending the time with
Mr. Brand's younger brother and his wife, one of the
Colwyn girls, wasn't she ? And the eldest Colwyn girl,
the one who sang, has been acting as his governess. She
used to be companion to old Mrs. Brand you know."

"I remember," said Lady Caroline, and managed to
change the subject.

She would have liked to question Margaret, but she did
not dare. She watched her carefully for the next few days,
and she was not satisfied. Margaret was nervous and
uneasy, as she had been about the time when Wyvis Brand
made his indiscreet proposal for her hand ; it seemed to
Lady Caroline that she was watching for some person to
arrive — some person who never came. Who was the
person for whom she watched ? so Lady Caroline asked
herself. But she dared not question Margaret.

She noticed, too, that Mr. Adair looked once or twice at
his daughter in a curiously doubtful way, as if he were
puzzled or distressed. And one day he said musingly :

" It is surely time for Margaret to be getting married,
is it not ? "

" Somebody has been saying so to you," said Lady
Caroline, with less urbanity than usual.

" No, no, only Isabel ; she wrote this morning express-
ing some surprise at not having heard jthat Margaret was
engaged before now. I suppose," Mr. Adair hesitated a
littie, " I suppose she will marry ? "

A TRUE PRmfTD,

in a

*' Reginald, what an idea! Of course Margaret will
marry, and marry brilliantly."

'' I am not so s'lre of that," said Mr. Adair, who seemed
to be in low spirits. " Look at my two sisters, and lots of
other girls. How many men has Margaret refused? She
will take up with some crooked stick at last."

He went out without waiting for his wife's reply. Lady
Caroline, harassed in mind and considerably weakened of
late in body, sat still and shed a few silent tears. She was
angry with him, and yet she shared his apprehensions.
Was it possible that their lovely Margaret was turning out
a social failure? To have Margaret at home, fading^
ageing, growing into an old maid like the sisters of
Reginald Adair, that was not to be thought of for a
moment.

Meanwhile Margaret was taking her fate in her own
hands.

She was at that very moment standing in the conserva-
tory opposite a tall, dark man, who, hat in hand, looked
at her expectantly as if he wished her to open the conver-
sation. She had never made a fairer picture than she did
3ust then. She was dressed in white, and the exquisite
fairness of her head and face was thrown into strong relief
by the dark background of fronded fern and thickly
matted creeper with which the wall behind her was over-
grown. Her face was slightly bent, and her hands hung
clasped before her. To her visitor, who was indeed Sir
Philip Ashley, she appeared more beautiful than ever.
But his eye, as it rested upon her, though attentive, was
indifferent and cold.

*' You sent for me, I think ? " he said politely, finding
that she did not speak.

" Yes." Margaret's voice was very low. " I hope you
did not mind my writing that little note ? "

*' Mind ? Not at all. If there is anything I can do for
you ? "

** It is not that I want you to do anything," said Mar-
garet, whose self-possession, not easily disturbed, was now
returning to her. '* It was simply that I had something to
say."

Sir Philip bowed. His role was that of a listener, it
appeared.

" When I was in England before," Margaret went on,
this time with some effort, " you found fault with me — -"

pppffp^^ipp

t§4 A TRVB hRJEND.

<* Presumption on my part, I am sure/* said %\f Philip,
smiling a little. *' Such a thing will certainly not occur
again."

** Oh please hear me," said Margaret, rather hurriedly.
'' Please listen seriously — I am very serious, and I want
you to hear what I have to say."

'* I will listen," said Sir Philip, gravely ; he turned aside
a little, and looked at the flowers as she spoke.

*' I want to tell you that you were right about Janetta
Colwyn. The more I have thought of it, the more sure
I have been that you were right. I ought not to have
been angry when you asked me to prevent people from
misjudging her. I ought to have written to Miss Pole-
hampton and set things straight."

Sir Philip made an inarticulate sound of assent. She
paused for a moment, and then went on pleadingly.

*^ It's such a long time ago now that I do not knoin^ what
to do. I cannot ask mamma. She never liked Janetta
— she never was just to her. I do not even know where
Janetta is, nor whether I can do anything to help her.
Do you know ? "

" I know where she is. At the Red House just now,
with Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbert Brand."

" Then — what shall I do? " said Margaret, more urgent-
ly. " Would it be of any use if I wrote to Miss Polehamp-
ton or anyone about her now ? I will do anything I can
to help her — anything you advise."

Sir Philip changed his position, as if he were slightly
impatient.

" I do not know that there is anything to be done for
Miss Colwyn at present," he replied. " She is in a very
good position, and I do not think she wants material help.
Of course, if you were to see her and tell her that you
regret the manifest injustice with which she was treated
on more than one occasion, I dare say she would be glad,
and that such an acknowledgment from you would draw
out the sting from much that is past and gone. I think
that this is all you can do."

" I will do it," said Margaret submissively. " I will tell
her that I am sorry."

" You will do well," replied Sir Philip in a kinder tone.
*' I am only sorry that you did not see things differently
when we spoke of the matter before."

A TRVB FRIEKD.

•»5

<* T am older now, I have thought more. I have reflected
on what you said/' murmured Margaret.

" You have done my poor words much honor," said he,
with a slight cold smile. " And I am glad to think that the
breach in your friendship is' heal 'd. Miss Colwyn is a
true and loyal friend — I could not wish you a better. I
shall feel some pleasure in the thought, when I am far
from England, that you have her for your friend once
more."

"Far from England "—^Margaret repeated the words
with paling lips.

** Did you not know ? I have accepted a post in Vic-
toria. I shall be out for five years at least. So great a
field of usefulness seems open to me there that I did not
know how to refuse it."

Margaret was mute for a time. Then, with a tremendous
effort, she put another question. " You go — alone ? " she
said.

Sir Philip d' " not look at her.

" No," he said, kicking a small pebble off the tesselated
pavement with the toe of his boot, and apparently taking
the greatest interest in its ultimate fate, " no, I don't go
quite alone. I am taking with me my secretary — and — my
wife. I suppose you know that next week I am going to
marry Miss Adela Smithies, daughter of Smithies the
great brewer? We sail ten days later."

CHAPTER XL.

MY FAITHFUL JANET.

" Good blood," they say, " does not lie." Margaret was
true to her traditions. She did not faint, she did not
weep, over what was complete ruin to her expectations, if
not of her hopes. She held her head a little more erect
than usual, and looked Sir Philip quietly in the face.

" I am very glad to hear it," she said — it was a very
excusable lie, perhaps. " I hope you will be happy."

Strange to say, her calmness robbed Sir Philip of his
self-possession. He flushed hotly and looked away, think-
ing of some words that he had spoken many months ago to

A TkUE FRtR^.X

Margaret's mother — a sort of promise to be ''always
ready " if Margaret should ever change her mind. Had
the changed it now ? But she was not going to leave him
in doubt upon this point.

" You have only just forestalled a similar announcement
on my part/' she said, smiling bravely. '* I dare say you
will hear all about it soon — and I hope that you will wish
me joy."

He looked up with evident relief.

" I am exceedingly glad. I may congratulate you then ? "

"Thank you. Yes, we may congratulate each other."

She still smiled — rather strangely, as he thought. He
wondered who the " happy man " could be ? But of that,
to tell the truth, Margaret was as ignorant as he. She
had invented her little tale of an engagement in self-
defence.

''Ah, Margaret," he said, with a sudden inroulse of
affection, " if only you could have seen as I saw— two
years ago ! "

" But that was impossible," she answered quietly. " And
I think it would be undesirable also. I wanted you to
know, however, that I agree with you about Janetta— -I
think that you were right."

" And you have nothing more to tell me ? '

For the moment he was willing to throw up his appoint
ment in Australia, to fly from the wealthy and sensible
Miss Adela Smithies and incur any odium, any disappoint-
ment, and any shame, if only Margaret Adair would own
that she loved him and consent to be his wife. For,
although he liked and esteemed Miss Smithies, who was a
rather plain-faced girl with a large fortune, he was perfectly
conscious that Margaret had been the one love of his life.
But Margaret was on her guard.

" To tell you ? '' she echoed, as if in mild surprise. " Why
no, I think not, Sir Philip. Except, perhaps, to ask you
not to speak — for the present, at least — of my own pros-
pects, they are not yet generally known, and I do not want
them mentioned just now."

" Certainly. I will respect your confidence," said Sir
Philip. He felt ashamed of that momentary aberration.
Adela was a very suitable wife for him, and he could not
think without remorse that he had ever proposed to him-
self to be untrue to her. How fortunate, he reflected, that
Margaret did not seem to care !

A TRUE FRIEND.

aS;

** Will you come in ? " she said sraciously. " Mamma will
b« so pleased to see you, and she will be glad to congra-
tulate you on your good fortune."

*' Thank you very much, but I fear I must be off. I am
very busy, and I really have scarcely any time to spare."

" I must thank you all the more for giving me some of
your valuable time,*' said Margaret sweetly. **Mu«t you
go?"

' I really must. And — " as he held out his hand — " we
are friends, then, from henceforth ? "

" Oh, of course we are," she answered. But her eyes
were strangely cold, and the smile upon her lips was
conventional and frosty. The hand that he held in his
own was cold, too, and somewhat limp and flabby.

'' I am so glad," he said, growing warmer as she grew
cold, " that you have resolved to renew your acquain-
tance with Miss Colwyn. It is what I should have
expected from your generous nature, and it shows th«t
what I always — always thought of you was true."

" Please do not say so," said Margaret. She ci*i.^e very
near being natural in that moment. She had a choking
sensation in her throat, and her eyes smarted with unshed
tears. But her training stood her in good stead. " It is
very kind of you to be so complimentary," she went on
with a light little laugh. <^And I hope that I shall find
Janetta as nice as she used to be. Good-bye. Bon
voyage.''

" I wish you every happiness," he said with a warm
clasp of her hand and a long grave look into her beautiful
face; and then. he went away and Margaret was left
alone.

She stole up to her room almost stealthily, and locked
the door. She hoped that no one had seen Sir Philip come
and go — that her mother would not question her, or remark
on the length of his visit. She was thoroughly frightened
and ashamed to think of what she had done. She had
been as near as possible to making Sir Philip what would
virtually have been an offer of marriage. What an awful
thought ! And what a narrow escape ! For of course he
would have had to refuse her, and she — what could she
have done then ? She would never have borne the morti-
fication. As it was, she hoped that Sir Philip would accept
the explanation of the little note of summons which she

■p .,j

A TRVF FRIEND,

i#'.

had despatched to him that morning, and would never
inquire what her secret motive had been in writing it.

She set herself to consider the situation. She did not
love Sir Philip. She was not capable of a great deal of
love, and all that she had been capable of she had given to
Wyvis Brand. But the years of girlhood in her father's
house were beginning to pall upon her. She was conscious
of a slight waning of her beauty, of a perceptible diminution
in the attentions which she received and the admiration
that she excited. It had occurred to her lately, as it had
occurred to her parents, that she ought to think seriously
of getting married. The notion of spinsterhood was odious
to Margaret Adair. And Sir Philip Ashley would have
been, as her mother used to say, so suitable a man for her
to marry ! Margaret saw it now.

She wept a few quiet tears for her lost hopes, and then
she arrayed herself becomingly, and, with a look of pur-
pose on her face, went down to tea.

" Do you know, mamma," she said, " that Sir Philip
Ashley is going to marry Miss Smithies, the great brewer's
daughter, and that he has accepted a post in Victoria ? " .

" Margaret 1 "

" It is quite true, mamma, he told me so himself. Why
need you look surprised ? We could hardly expect," said
Margaret, with a pretty smile, "that Sir Philip should
ialways remain unmarried for my sake."

" It is rather sudden, surely ! "

" Oh, I don't think so. By the bye, mamma, shall we
not soon feel a little dull if we are here all alone ? It would
be very nice to fill the house with guests and have a little
gaiety. Perhaps — " with a faint but charming blush —
" Lord Southbourne would come if he were asked "

Lord Southbourne was an exceptionable viscount with
weak brains and a large rent-roll whom Margaret had
refused six months before.

" I am sure he would, my darling ; I will ask him," said
Lady Caroline, with great satisfaction. And she noticed
that Margaret's watch for an unknown visitor had now
come to its natural end.

It was riot more than a month later in the year when
Janetta Colwyn, walking in the plantation near the Red
House, came face to face with a man who was leaning
against the trunk of a fir-tree, and had been waiting for her

fir.M

fiV.

llov.

^ TRUE FRIEND.

i«9

to ap])roach. She looked astonished ; but he was calnip

though he smiled with pleasure, and held out his hands.

" Well, Janetla I ^'

'' Wyvis ! You have come home at last !"

" At last."

** You have not been up to the house yet ? "

" No, I was standing here wishing that I could see you
iir.it of all ; and, just as I wished it, you came in sight. I
t.il.c it as a good omen."

'' I am glad you are back," said Janetta earnestly.

** Are you? Really? And why?"

" Oh, for many reasons. The estate wants you, for one
thing," said Janetta, coloring a little, **and Julian wants

you "

" Don't you want me at all, Janetta?"

** Everybody wants you, so I do, too."

'' Tell me more about everybody and everybody's wants.
llov.' is Julian ? "

" Very well, indeed, and longing to see you before he
gv)C3 to school."

'• Ah yes, poor little man. How does he like the idea
of school? "

" Pretty well." ^

" And how do you like the idea of his going ? "

Janetta's face fell. *' I am sure it is good for him," she
said rather wistfully.

•' But not so good for you. What are you going to do ?
Shall yon live with Mrs. Burroughs, Janet ? '

" No, indeed ; I think I shall take lodgings in London,
and give lessons. I have saved money during the last few
months," said Janetta with something between a tear in
the eye and a smile on the lip, " so that I shall be able to
live even if I get no pupils at first."

" And shall you like that ? "

She looked at him for a moment wij'iout replying, and
then said cheerfully r

" I shalh not like it if I get no pupils."

" And how are Cuthbert and Nora ? "

" Absorbed in baby-worship," said Janetta. ** You will
be expected to fall down and worship also. And your
little niece is really very pretty."

Wyvis shook his head. " Babies are all exactly alike to
me, so you had better instruct me beforehand in what I

^^}

•?. i

il-

390

A TRUE FRIEND,

ought to say. And what about our neighbors, Janet ? Are
the Adairs at home ? "

" Yes," said Janetta, with some reserve of tone.
. '• And the Ashleys?"

** Old Lady Ashley. Sir Philip has married and gone to
the Antipodes."

" Married Margaret? I always thought that would be
the end of it."

*' You are quite wrong. He married a Miss Smithies, a
very rich girl, I believe. And Margaret is engaged to a
certain Lord Southbourne — who is also very rich, I
believe."

" Little Southbonrne ! " exclaimed Wyvis, with a sudden
burst of laughter. " Vou don't say so! I used to know
him at Monaco. Oh, there's no harm in little South ; only
he isn't very bright."

" I am sorry for Margaret," said Janefta.

** Oh she will be perfectly happy. She will always move
in her own circle of society, and that is paradise for
Margaret."

" You are very hard on her, Wyvis," Janetta said, re-
provingly, " She is capable of higher things than you
believe."

"Capable ! Oh, slie may be capable of anything," said
Wyvis, " but she does not do the things that she is capable
of doing."

"At any rate she is very kind to me now. She wrote to
me a few days ago, and told me that she was sorry for our
past misunderstanding. And she asked me to go and stay
with' her when sho was married to Lord Southbourne and
had a house of her own."

" Are you sure that she did not add that it would be such
an advantage to you ? "

" Of course she did not." But Janetta blushed guiltily,
nevertheless.

** And did you promise to accept the invitation ? "

She smiled and shook her head.

" I thought you were such a devoted friend of hers ! "

** I always tried to be a true friend to her. But you
know I think, Wyvis, that some people have not got it in
their nature to be true friends to anyone. And perhaps it
was not — quite — in Margaret's nature."

" I agree with you," said V/yvis. more gravely than he

J TRUE FklEND.

Ipt

had spoken hitherto. ''She has not your depth of affec-
tion, Janctta — your strength of will. You have been a
very true and loyal friend to those you have loved."

Janctta turned away her face. Something in his words
touched her very keenly. After a pause, Wyvis spoke
again.

" I have had reason since I saw you last to Know the
value of your friendship," he said seriously. " I want to
speak to you for a moment, Janetta, before we join the
others, about my poor Juliet. I had not, as you know,
very many months with her after v, left England. But
during tliose few months I became aware that she was a
different creature from the woman I had known in earlier
(lays. She showed me that she had a heart — that she
loved me and our boy after all. — and died craving my
forgiveness, poor soul (though (iod knows that I needed
hers more than she needed mine), for the coldness she had
often shown mo. And she said, Janctta, that yoti had
taught her what love meant, and she charged me to tell
you that your lessons had not been in vain."

Janetta looked up with swimming eyes. *' Poor Juliet I
I am glad that she said that."

" She is at ])eace now," said Wyvis, in a lower voice,
** and the happiness of her later days is due to you. But
how much is not due to you, Janetta I Your magic power
seemed to change my poor wife's very nature : it has made
my child hapjjy : it gave all possible comfort to my mother
on her dying bed — and -.vhat it has done for me no words
can ever tell ! Nojone has been to me what you have
been, Janetta ; the good angel of my life, always inspiring
and encouraging, always ready to give me hope and
strength and courage in my hours of despair."

"You must not say so : I have done nothing, she said,
but she let hef hand lie unresistingly between his own, as
he took it and pressed it tenderly.

" Have you not ? Then I have been woefully mistaken.
And it has come acre 3S me strangely, Janetta, of late, that
of all the losses I ha> **4d, one of the greatest is the loss
of my kinship with you. No doubt you have thought of
that : John Wyvis, the ploughman's son, is not your cousin,
Wyvis Brand."

" I never remembered it," said Janetta.

" Then I must remind you of it now. I cannot call you

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Cousin Janet any longer. May I call you something else,
dear, so that I may not lose you out of my life ? I want
you to be something infinitely closer and dearer and sweeter
than a cousin, Jdnetta; will you forgive me ;^U my errors
and be my wife ? "

^ And when she had whispered her reply, he took her in
his arms and called her, as her father used to call her —

« My faithful Janet ! "

And she thought that she had never borne a sweeter
name.

THE END.

THE KEi^ TO Hl^ALTH nnlocks
all the clopjred secretions of the Stomach, Liver,
Bowels anil Blood, carrying off all hnmors and
.nipuri ties from tbeentire dy8tem,correctiag Acid-
ity, and cnrinKBilionsness, Dyspepsia, Sick Bead-
ache, Constipation, Rbenmatism, Dropsy, Dry
Skin, Dizziness, Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervona
land General Debility, Salt Bbeum, Erysipelas,
'Scrofula, etc. It purifies and ^ridicates firoio: tb«
Blood all poisonous humors, from a common
Pimple to the worst Scrofulous Sore.

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to call her—

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■'TH. nnlocks
tomacb, Liver,
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n'a,Siok Head-
Dropsj, Dry
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cates froic the
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