Hi 
 
 Loved I Not Honour More ! 
 
 )) 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNIE ROTH WELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " AVICE GRAY," * REQUITAL," ETC., ETO. 
 
 ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
 1887 
 
dM^lsriE^ FtK. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and eighty-six, by Hunter, Rose & Co., in tha office of 
 the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
 PaiNTBD AND BOUND BY 
 
 HUNTER, ROSE & CO., 
 Toronto. 
 
-0^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ~*^m*- 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE. 
 
 Miss Kino's Heresies . 9 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 HUMPTY DUMPTY SaT ON THE WaLL 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Dross and Crown 34 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 UB Rosa . 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 ;n THE Toils 67 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ned Barber's Revelation . . , . , , 69 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 W"iLL Against Will 85 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 JuiD Femina Posstt 94 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 lUMPTY DuMPTY HAD A GrEAT FaLL .... 117 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Imor ViNciT Omnia . ... . . . . 335 
 
u 
 
 "LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MISS KING S HERESIES. 
 
 HE town of Fairport was, some years ago, and for 
 that matter, still is, a place of some pretensions. 
 If certain ill-natured persons, and a few such are, 
 mhappily, to be found in all localities — had been known 
 )ccasionally to whisper that the pretensiois were some- 
 wrhat higher than were actually warranted by fact, others, 
 jn the contrary, had asserted as decidedly that the de- 
 traction was but the outcome of either jealousy or dis- 
 ppointment. Certainly, as a port, the name was hardly 
 >ome out ; the little stream which emptied into the little 
 iver, which was itself only a tributary, was navigable 
 r craft only of the lightest burden ; nor, except in re- 
 rd of the clear skies that hung above it, could it in 
 stice be called * fair/ The water, * the river ' par excel- 
 nee, lay to the south ; the little river, which bore the 
 phonious title of 'Snake Creek,' formed its eastern 
 undary ; while to the north and west there stretched, 
 tily broken here and there by a rare clump of wood- 
 
10 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE! 
 
 }f 
 
 land, a waste of common, in no respect more, and in some 
 respects less, attractive than commons generally are. 
 
 But the raiaon d'etre of Falrport lies in the quarries, 
 of which th(< desoUte rock -strewn common was once the 
 outward garb. Stone, of a colour and texture that made it 
 valuable for building purposes, had been here provided 
 by Nature and utilized by man ; and where, not long 
 before, the foot-print of foxes and the cry of the water- 
 hen on the banks of Snake Creek had been the only 
 signs of life, the sound of blast and chisel now made the 
 air resonant, and Fairport grew. 
 
 For this development of the resources of Nature money 
 had, of course, been needed. Nature, as a rule, dislikes 
 giving anything for nothing, usually bestowing her trea- 
 sures only as the reward of toil, and demanding as the 
 price of research into her mysteries, ardent and sincere 
 devotion, and sometimes life itself. On this occasion, 
 however, the baser equivalent had seemed sufficient. 
 Money alone had been required, and had been provided 
 by those who, as some said, now laid claim to the posses- 
 sion of Fairport and all that it contained. 
 
 The ill-natured persons aforesaid had been heard to 
 remark that the lirm of Beckett & Beckett were monopo- 
 lists. Without pausing to inquire whether the name 
 monopolist be really such a term of reproach as was by 
 them intended, and as is sometimes insisted on, it must 
 be admitted that the accusation, if such it is to be called 
 was in the main correct. Beckett & Beckett had founc 
 the money which had made the town, and they certainly 
 to use a modern expression, * ran the town ' now that i 
 was made. They had built the houses inhabited by th( 
 
MISS kino's heresies. ]1 
 
 quarrymen, and paid the wages of those who «l\velt 
 therein ; they had erected and endowed a church, and 
 founded an especial school ; they supplied their depend- 
 ents with all necessaries of life at much less trouble and 
 at no more ^^st than could have been compassed else- 
 where ; in health they furnished work, and in sickness 
 they gave assistance. Of course the matter had two 
 sides ; provision and protection, on the one part, demanded 
 gratitude and obedience on the other ; and the ill-natured 
 were not slow to observe that Beckett & Beckett expected 
 to buy the souls and bodies of tlie quarrymen for the 
 price they paid. But however this ^may be — and it is but 
 fair to say that by many the slander was indignantly cast 
 back in the teeth of those who made it — there was no 
 more doubt about the power of Beckett and Beckett than 
 there .was about their wealth, and of that there was no 
 doubt whatever. Those who said they knew best averred 
 that seven figures would be insufficient to set it down. 
 
 The firm in full was Beckett, Hall, Davis «& Beckett ; 
 but the second partner had some time before entered on 
 eternal obligations, leaving an infant heir, whose only 
 share in the business was to draw therefrom a portion of 
 the proceeds at stated seasons ; the third still nominally 
 kept his place, but a speculative temperament demanded 
 fuller personal excitement than was to be found in the 
 solidity of a stone quarry, and derived its gratification from 
 the fluctuations of a less substantial stock-in-trade in scenes 
 removed. And as he no more meddled in the affairs of the 
 firm than his particular predilection was allowed to affect 
 its stability, all management was left in the hands of the 
 first and last members — cousins, not brothers — Ralph and 
 
12 " LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! " 
 
 Henry Beckett. Of these, the former was a wholesome- 
 tempered, hearty, if somewhat dictatorial man, of some- 
 thing over forty years of age ; he was the husband of a 
 young wife, and the father of two little daughters. Henry 
 Beckett was a bachelor, several years younger ; no one had 
 ever called or thought him dictatorial, but neither had 
 any one ever dreamed of laying heartiness to his charge. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett was five-and-twenty, very little, very 
 pretty, and very vain. She had a passion for dress, and 
 a strong dislike of anything approaching to useful labour, 
 of which taste and aversion her husband's ample means 
 fortunately aflforded her full gratification. Her sister, 
 Celestine King, had not quite reached her twenty-fourth 
 birthday. No one had ever called her a beauty, but no 
 one could ever deny her some claim to remark. She was 
 rather above than under the average height of women, 
 with a lissome figure, a thoughtful face, the whitest teeth 
 that ever were seen, eyes of no particular colour, but of 
 amazing depth and clearness, and a smile as sweet as it 
 was rare. 
 
 If Miss King felt any repentance for having accepted 
 her sister's invitation to spend the early months of the 
 summer in the quietude of Fairport, she had shown no 
 sign of it when the first fortnight of her visit had come 
 to an end. She had in that space of time won her way 
 to the aflfections of her small twin nieces ; she had dis- 
 covered that her sister was in no degree changed by 
 marriage from that which she had been as Sylvia King ; 
 she had learned to like and rather to admire and respect 
 her brother-in-law ; she had explored, as far as was 
 practicable, most of the town and the windings of Snake 
 
MISS kino's heresies. 13 
 
 Creek ; she had been through the quarries, with a cheer- 
 ful, tranquil face and a free step which had gainec' Lhe 
 admiration of the rough men there at work, and had 
 followed the tramroads to the railway track, a mile and a 
 half behind the town ; she had sung in the church choir> 
 and' had been called on by the heads of the four or live 
 families who constituted the limited society of which she 
 was to form a part; she had made one or two acquaint- 
 ances whom she was inclined to like, and she had seen 
 more than one pei*son whom she wished to avoid. 
 
 There are not many places to which late April does not 
 bring or add some charm, and the unlovely landscape 
 about Fairport, if it did not exactly blossom as the rose, 
 at all events gave evident signs of the influence of the 
 sweet season. Along the borders of Snake Creek the 
 delicate water-weeds were springing, and the willows and 
 alders broke into tender green ; against the dark back- 
 ground of the yet leafless woods the flowers of the horn- 
 beam and of the wild fruit trees showed white ; under the 
 blue skies that bent over the quarries the rpinpools in the 
 hollows gleamed like bits dropped from heaven ; in the 
 soft, warm haze of the atmosphere harsh outlines became 
 less harsh, discordant sounds were less discordant ; the 
 youth of the year threw that glamour over all sur- 
 roundings which only youth, whether of Nature or of 
 human nature, can bestow. Anyone who had seen Fair- 
 port at this time would have been content to abide thore 
 if only the year could be all spring. 
 
 Some of the spring brightness seemed to be reflected in 
 Mrs. Beckett's face as she lingered one morning in the 
 breakfast-room after her ' lord and master,' as she was 
 
14 "LOVED I NOT flONOUB MORE!" 
 
 fond of calling him, had departed to his daily occupations. 
 Everyone knew that the vassalage was a pleasant fiction, 
 but the harmless delusion hurt no one ; but no one was 
 less likely to own a master than the little lady who, 
 while looking so innocent and so fragile, yet essayed the 
 rule of all around her. Of all despotisms that which 
 reigns by force of weakness is the most certain and the 
 most tyrannical, and Mrs. Beckett had long since found 
 it out. 
 
 She was sitting in her favourite attitude, in her favour- 
 ite place — in a streak of sunshine that poured on fine 
 mornings through the south-eastern window. She gently 
 moved her rocking-chair to and fro, with her feet crossed 
 in front of the fire, which, more for appearance sake than 
 from necessity, burned in the grate. Her white fingers were 
 as usual idle, except that they twisted and tied and un- 
 tied the ribbons that hung from her waist, as she looked 
 with some earnestness at her sister, who stood in the 
 window, a scarf thrown round her shoulders and her hat 
 in her hand. 
 
 It was not probably the fascination of the view that 
 detained Miss King at the window, for the reason that 
 she by this time knew it pretty well by heart. Through 
 the break in the houses at the foot of the slope of lawn 
 she looked as always down to the bend of the river where 
 the little wharf jutted out into the stream, and the mast 
 and rigging of a sioop moored there broke the sky line ; 
 she could trace the c urse of the larger stream beyond — 
 white and shining under the morning sun, and see the 
 line of wood on the farther shore, and — that was all. 
 Nor was tiio human element much more diversified ; an 
 
MISS king's heresies. 15 
 
 'occasional quarry man changing his place of work, a few 
 children whose pace on their way to school betrayed little 
 dread of discipline, and now and then a woman with her 
 market basket on her arm, was all the variety presented 
 by the street. And yet Celestine waited as if either in 
 expectation or in doubt. 
 
 Whatever had been the subject of conversation be- 
 tween herself and her sister there had come a pause. Mrs. 
 Beckett's smile was very blight, but her eyes were some- 
 what keen, and on Celestine's cheek was a tinge of red 
 not always to be seen there. 
 
 Her wvords when she spoke again seemed d propos of 
 nothing. 
 
 * And you have lived here five years ? ' 
 ' Why not ? ' asked her sister rather quickly. Her tone 
 
 seemed to imply that she found some imputation in the 
 words. 
 
 ' No reason. Only I suppose if you had not happened 
 to marry Ralph you would have lived somewhere else.' 
 
 ' Upon my word, that is a wise speech ! That is the 
 worst of clever people — they are always saying something 
 ridiculous.' 
 
 * You know I am not clever, Sylvia. I should only 
 like to be, which is a very different thing,' 
 
 ' And it's not as if I were here all the time,' returned 
 Mrs. Beckett, in an injured tone, and replying in femi- 
 nine fashion to what had not been said. * You know I 
 don't like the place, and there has never been a year that 
 I have not been away for a good part of it. There are a 
 great many nice things about money, but one of the best 
 of them is that you can go — and live — where you please.' 
 
16 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 Miss King was at any rate clever enough not to retort 
 that in spite of all Mr. Beckett's money, his wife was 
 compelled to pass the greater part of her time n Fair- 
 port, a place, which by her own confession she did not 
 like. Instead of this obvious retaliation she merely ut- 
 tered the platitude : * Yes, money is a nice thing,* and 
 allowed her eyes, as if in confirmation, to wander over 
 the handsome and harmonious appointments of the room. 
 
 * No one would imagine you thought so, my dear,' said 
 Mrs. Beckett, plaintively. * To go back to what we were 
 saying just now ' 
 
 ' Please, don't go back to it. I thought we had dis- 
 posed of the subject.' 
 
 * Well, in one sense I suppose it is disposed of, and T 
 am sorry for it. Never having seen him, of coarse, I 
 can't judge; but from what I have heard, I don't see 
 how you can expect to do better.' 
 
 'Perhaps I am the best judge of that myself.' 
 
 * You ought to consider, Celestine, that you are nearly 
 four-and-twenty, and that Mrs. King's means will not 
 allow you much chance. Like myself you ha^'^ only a 
 good marriage to look to ' 
 
 Miss King coloured deeply. ' Don't talk about it any 
 more, Sylvia, we shall never agree. I can't look on mar- 
 riage as a means of mainf<enance. I hope it will never be 
 absolutely a question of that with me ; but, if it were, 
 marriage would be the last I should either choose or think 
 of.' 
 
 * Well, I think it is the only proper means for a woman, 
 though I must say you have rather a coarse way of put- 
 ting it. But I don't want to offend you. Suppose I say 
 
MISS kino's heresies. 17 
 
 hat I think married life is the only happy life, and 
 that it is time you settle down to enjoy it ? ' 
 
 * That would certainly sound far prettier. Well, Sylvia, 
 find me the desirable jpartiy whom I can love and admire 
 for himself as well as for his advantages, and perhaps I 
 may tollow your advice.* 
 
 Mrs. Beckett's eye sparkled. * Is that a bargain ? Hon- 
 est ? ' 
 
 ' I think I may say yes, if you fulfil my conditions. 
 But let us talk of someone else now. What did you 
 tldnk of Elsie Frank's marriage ? ' 
 
 ' What could I think, except that the poor deluded girl 
 will repent and regret it all her life ? ' 
 
 * Yet they are very much attached to each other, and 
 she will have scope for the exercise of her especial ta- 
 lent.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! especial talent ! I hate a woman with an 
 especial talent ; she is almost as bad as one with a mis- 
 sion ; perhaps even worse.' 
 
 * A talent is sometimes very useful, Sylvia.' 
 
 * Do j^u mean as a bread-winner ? Oh, that's a dif- 
 ferent thing ; but a woman in society with one cultivated 
 talent is generally a nuisance to everyone else.' 
 
 ' Then if your children have talents you will not en- 
 courage them ? ' 
 
 * Certainly not to any mischievous extent. I shall 
 3ring them up to look nice in a drawing-room, to be able 
 make a good match when their time comes.' 
 
 Miss King was silent, but her sister was evidently 
 iware that the silence was not of the sort that gives con- 
 sent. 
 
18 ''LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 ' Of course I don't expect to convert you to my ideas 
 any more than I intend to adopt youns ; but there is, as 
 you say, no occasion to dispute about it. We can each 
 keep our own opinion, and see who comes out best. And 
 I have no more time to talk now, for I am going to ride 
 with Henry this morning, and I must go and dress. I 
 wish you would learn to ride, Celestine.' 
 
 * That I might ride with Mr. Henry Beckett ? ' asked 
 Celestine, archly. 
 
 ' Well, why not ? ' returned her sister, sharply. ' You 
 like him, don't you ? ' 
 
 * Well — yes, perhaps I do ; I don't dislike him.' 
 ' That's rather faint praise. Why, Ralph thinks there's 
 
 not another such man in the world. Do you not think 
 him very good-looking ?' 
 
 * Yes, he is handsome. No one could deny that.' 
 ' And you must allow he is good. I often think that 
 
 no one seems to think more of people's welfare and hap- 
 piness than he does.* 
 
 ' To tliink ? Yes, perhaps so. Is he not even a little in- 
 clined to pose as a philanthropist ? * #■ 
 ' To pose ? Celestine, how excessively ill-natured 1 ' 
 ' Was I ill-natured or rude ? I beg your pardon — I 
 forgot I was speaking of Ralph's cousin. But I am afraid 
 I only expressed what I thought — gave back the impres- 
 sion his words and manner have given me. Do you 
 know, he a little reminds me of Humpty Dumpty ? ' 
 
 * Humpty Dumpty ! ' said Mrs. Beckett, with a gasp. 
 
 * Is that very irreverent ? I don't mean personally, 
 though perhaps his figure is a little provocative of the 
 comparison, but in regard to his moral position. He does 
 
MISS king's HEAKSI£S. 19 
 
 ot seem to me to be really at such a great altitude, to 
 look down from a mountain height where the air is clear 
 
 nd pure ; but to be just enough over head to make him 
 believe in his own eminence — in fact, perched on the top 
 of the wall.* 
 
 * What extraordinary things 3'ou do say, Celestine ! * 
 ^rs. Beckett's face had lengthened, and her voice had 
 aken on a plaintive minor tone. *I wouldn't have 
 lalph hear you for the world.' 
 
 Celestine had already learned that her sister was in the 
 abit of shouldering, when it suited her, her own views, 
 pinions, or scruples — when she felt such things — on 
 Ralph.' She therefore smiled, as she replied : * I don't 
 itend him to hear me, and it is quite possible I may be 
 ntirely wrong. Look, Silvia, who is that across the 
 treet there ? Quick ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Beckett jumped up with alacrity, and ran to the 
 i^indow. ' That man ? ' she exclaimed, in accents of great 
 isappointment. ' Oh, that's only Philip Crevolin ! ' 
 
 ' And who may he be ? ' 
 
 * Why, haven't you heard any of us speak of Ralph's 
 eutenant ? He's a little of everything and a great deal 
 f all. He's reponsible for everything and everybody — 
 
 r those that keep the books, and those that do the woik, 
 well ; he manages all the business that Ralph don't 
 tend to, and possibly some that he does, and, besides 
 at, he enters into all Henry's vagaries about the people, 
 ough I don't believe they always pull quite together, 
 alph is very strict, and Henry's inclined to be lax, and 
 ere^'s a great deal of trouble and discontent among the 
 en sometimes, and then no one seems to be able to get 
 u with them so well as Philip.' 
 
• l> 
 
 20 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE! 
 
 * He is a distinguished-looking figure/ said Celestine. 
 
 * Yes, he's distinguished enough, poor fellow ! ' 
 
 * What do you mean ? ' inquired Miss King. 
 ' You'll know when you see him. He's been away or 
 
 business, or you'd have met him before ; for Ralph thinks 
 there's no one like him, and he's here a great doal. The 
 children are very fond of him, too. He is a nice fellow 
 in his way. It's not my way, but that's not his fault. I 
 did not know he had come back.' 
 
 Miss King could have told her sister that the samt 
 figure had passed the same spot at the same hour the 
 morning before ; but, probably for good reasons of hei 
 own, she held her peace. She followed with her jye^ 
 the retreating figure of him of whom they had been 
 speaking, until a curve of the road hid him from view ; 
 and then, as if her interest in the window were over 
 turned from it, and put on her hat. 
 
 * Where are you going to walk ? ' asked Mrs. Beckett. 
 
 * I thought there must be some flowers in the woods bj 
 this time, and I was going to look for them. Why ? ' 
 
 * I meant to ask if Elise and the children might go with 
 you, but the woods are too far ; if you are going through 
 the quarries and across the track, that is.' 
 
 ' I was told that was the best place to look, but I car 
 go somewhere else, if you wish,' said Celestine, with t 
 readiness that seemed to say it was no new thing for he 
 to give up her own will. 
 
 * Oh, no ; I only wanted to know. But I don't alto 
 gether like your going into the quarries alone. The men 
 are, as a rule, civil enough, but still ' 
 
 Miss King's rare smile broke over her face. * If that i 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON THE WALL. 21 
 
 1 you are afraid of, Sylvia, I think you may make your 
 Dind easy. Why, I have never met with any rudeness or 
 ncivility in my life, and it is surely not here among your 
 )eople that I shall find dread or danger for the first time.' 
 he left the room as she spoke ; and Mrs. Beckett looked 
 ■ter her with a puzzled expression, which suddenly 
 eared away, and gave place to a mischievous smile. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON THE WALL. ^ 
 
 TlF any seal had been required to Mrs. Beckett's resolve 
 If that her sister should become the wife of her hus- 
 band's cousin, it had been found in the slight oppo- 
 tion she had detected, or thought she had detected, in 
 [!!elestine's words and manner. She was perfectly sincere 
 a her expressed opinion that the all-important consider- 
 tion in a woman's fate was a good establishment, and to 
 her justice was anxious to do her best for her sister in 
 hat regard. But, sad to say, there was now mingled 
 ith her generosity a slight feeling of pique which had 
 een excited by the words 'you have lived here five 
 ears.' Though they seemed innocent enough, she could 
 nagine that there had been a decided emphasis on the 
 lere ;' and was there not a touch of irony in the expres- 
 on * money is a nice thing,' from a girl who had just 
 voided, if not refused, a more advantageous offer than 
 d ever fallen in her girlhood to pretty Sylvia King ? 
 
22 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE." 
 
 even an implication that though money was nice there 
 might be something nicer — something of which she — Syl- 
 via — had failed ? The little lady felt a little anger min- 
 gling with her anxiety for the accoraplishmenc of her little* 
 plans. That place of abode which was good enough foi 
 her was good enough for Celestine, surely — that way oi 
 life and that companionship which had seemed fair an( 
 good to Sylvia, she — Celestine — had surely no right t( 
 set herself above. 
 
 No doubt Mrs. Beckett did not carrv out this train oj 
 thought consciously, and most likely would have quit«^ 
 repudiated the motives and ideas had they been set be-l 
 fore her as her own. And as she was no less an adept at| 
 self-deception than the rest of her sex and kind, she per- 
 haps imagined that in thus working for her sister s great| 
 and permanent advantage, against her present perversej 
 will and inclination, she was returning good for evil in 
 very Christian way. 
 
 That Mrs. Beckett should have formed the design ofl 
 bringing about a match between her sister and her cousin-j 
 in-law (if there be such a relation), was less remarkablj 
 than that she should have found a consenting party ii 
 one of those in whose supposed welfare she was interest 
 ing herself. Heny Beckett had been for some years ail 
 object of marked attention to the not very numerouj 
 marriageable ladies of Fairport, and having failed to finf 
 a corresponding attraction in any of those whose regai] 
 he might, without any great amount of self-conceit, hai 
 believed attainable, and being — singular to say — a mt 
 who took but little pleasure in the temporary winnii 
 and wearing of feminine hearts, was beginning to find thi 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON THE WALL. 23 
 
 attei tion a little wearisome. Miss King possessed the 
 charm of novelty, which is sometimes worth a good deal 
 in the account, besides those more intrinsic, which Mr. 
 Beckett was quite capable of appreciating ; and when he 
 perceived, as he very soon came to do, the project enter- 
 tained by his cousin's wife, he was more than willing to 
 fall in with her views. If he had not fallen in love as 
 into a rapid current, he was at all events wading in de- 
 liberately and determinedly as into a safe and shallow 
 stream. That Miss King did not appear to be aware of, 
 or if aware of it was perfectly indifferent to, her sister's 
 plan, was, of course, the one touch needed to give piquancy, 
 to — the pursuit, I was going to say, but that would be too\ 
 ardent a word. It did, however, invest Celestine with ^A 
 attraction with which willingness to receive and meet his 
 addresses never would have endowed her ; and ter'ied to 
 confirm and strengthen a resolution which had in the be- 
 ginning been formed perhaps with some hesitation. 
 
 He felt a momentary surprise when on arriving, pre- 
 pared for his ride with Mrs. Beckett, that lady informed 
 him that in consequence of a slight headache she had 
 changed her mind ; but surprise vanished when she said 
 carelessly, a few moments later, that her sister was gone 
 to look for flowers in the woods across the track, and that 
 * she really did not like her going so often into the quar- 
 ries alone, but Celestine was always so venturesome ! ' 
 A few words of very mild regret at the loss of the com- 
 pany of the one sister was quickly followed by an offer to 
 go — as the ride was abandoned — to the protection of the 
 other ; an offer so eagerly accepted that Mr. Beijkett could 
 scarcely help smiling as he put on his hat and set forth in 
 
24 ** LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 quest of the lady supposed to be so much in need of his 
 care. 
 
 Neither perhaps did Miss King feel much astonishment, 
 when on her homeward way she encountered her would- 
 be adorer. To her sister she had disclaimed being clever 
 but one less entitled than she to plead guilty to the charge 
 would have been competent to penetrate Sylvia's motives 
 and detect the transparent finesse in which she indulged. 
 Celestine was not in the least a vain woman, but neither 
 was she very obtuse ; and it is as necessary that a woman 
 should be obtuse, in order not to perceive when a man f 
 really prefers and seeks her, as it is requisite that she 
 be vain in order to attribute to him a passion he does 
 not feel ; which last is the mistake most often made of 
 the two. 
 
 She had at this time no actual or personal dislike to 
 Mr. Beckett ; that is to say she had as yet seen no one 
 whom she liked better ; but she was very far from feeling 
 for him any extraordinary regard, or from believing that 
 such she should ever come to feel. She knew that if 
 arraigned by her sister as to any possible objection to him, 
 she could assign none. Though not in either face or form 
 a model, his appearance was far beyond criticism ; his 
 intercourse with wider circles than that of Fairport had 
 been frequent enough and long enough to give him a cul- 
 ture which Fairport alone never could have bestowed ; 
 his temper was considered amiable and equable ; he could 
 surround the woman on whom his choice fell with all 
 things materially desirable; and his life and character 
 were above reproach. And yet Celestine felt that were 
 the arraignment made, she would be compelled to say, 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY SA.T ON THE WALL. 26 
 
 ' were he otlier tluin he ia, he were unhancUomef and 
 being no otlcer than as he is, I do not like him.' 
 
 The woods, where the sap was stirring, and the buds 
 [were swelling, where the early blossoms peeped here and 
 ihere from the brown carpet of sere leaves, and the first 
 )irds uttered now and tlien a note of welcome to the 
 ipring, were very sweet and peacelul, and Celestine felt 
 hat she would have much preferred to enjoy them with- 
 >ut Mr. Beckett's ' soft society/ but politeness required 
 ;hat she should seem pleased to see him ; so she put forth 
 ler hand and spoke a civil word of greeting as he ap- 
 Iproached her through the dickering lights and shadows 
 [under the leafless boughs. 
 
 *I thought you were to ride with my sister to-day/' 
 ihe said when the first salutations were over. 
 
 ' Your sister's headache disappointed me/ he replied; 
 Lnd he added gallantly, * and I cannot regret it now.' 
 
 Miss King did not betray her knowledge of the sudden- 
 less of the headache, nor her disbelief in its reality. Her 
 left hand was filled with flowers, delicate spring- beauty, 
 )ale celandines, and the bright yellow blossoms of the 
 
 lake- weed, and to these she drew attention. 
 You love flowers ? ' he asked. 
 
 * Yes, 1 am very foi'.d of such as these. But — perhaps 
 
 is very bad taste in me — I am no florist, I know nothing 
 
 their cultivation, and those rare specimens which usu- 
 lly delight people, give me comj)aratively little pleasure. 
 
 ' Surely you cannot prefer Nature in the rough,' said 
 Lr. Beckett. 
 
 The emphasis on the pronoun was not to be mistaken, 
 
 id Celestine gave the speaker rather a scornful glance. 
 B 
 
26 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 * I did not suppose you could think that Nature, real 
 Nature, had any rough,' she said. 
 
 He looked a little confused. * Perhaps I expressec 
 myself ill. I did not mean to imply my own opinion 
 to Nature's handiwork, rough or otherwise, but only m^ 
 assurance that you would be a disciple of culture in anj 
 form.' 
 
 * Why should you feel so assured ? * 
 ' Ah, there I am not sure, I can answer you. I can onh 
 
 say — I thought so — I hoped so.' 
 
 Perhaps she considered it safer not to pursue her inquil 
 ries further, and ask why he should have so hoped. Aj 
 all events she did not answer at once, and after a pause ol 
 a moment or two he spoke again. 
 
 ' But I will confess to a liking, on my own part, foi 
 taking raw material and ascertaining what can be made 
 of it by cultivation.' 
 
 ' And I for my part,' said Miss King, * confess to a belie 
 that in the course of cultivation the raw material is verj 
 often spoiled.' 
 
 ' Now you must speak for the sake of contradiction !J 
 exclaimed Mr. Becket, with a vexed look ; and Celestii 
 thought she liked him better when he appeared inclini 
 to reprove her than when he was too anxious to pleasl 
 ' Carry out your principle to its limits and what become 
 of all improvement, either of mind, body or condition- 
 nay, indeed, that of the soul itself ? ' 
 
 * Oh, you take me too seriously ! ' said Celestine, laugl 
 ing. • You go too deep. I never thought of carrying o« 
 principles to their limits ; and because I expressed a pT<j 
 ference for a bunch of wild flowers, picked by my o^ 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTT SAT ON THE WALL. 27 
 
 hands in the woods on a spring morning, to a bouquet 
 purchased for me out of season at the florist's, you wouM 
 make out that I set a bar to all improvement ! For shame, 
 Mr. Beckett, to so interpret me ! Have some compassion 
 on a superficial mind like mine, which can only entertain 
 one idea at a time.' 
 
 Mr. Beckett did not echo her mirth. ' You misunder- 
 stand me,* he said, in a displeased tone. You are not 
 superiicial ; and if I am serious it is not without cause. It 
 is that I see so much to be done, and find so few inclined 
 to do anything — even of those who — ' he paused. 
 
 ' Do you mean the work of the world ? ' 
 
 * Not exactly. There are other things besides work, to- 
 my mind. No — the work is done, after a fashion ; only 
 I wish it were sometimes done in a better way.' 
 
 * And yet I am told you have found a very good way 
 |to do some of it,* ventured Celestine. 
 
 * You mean what my cousin and myself have en- 
 [deavoured to accomplish for our workmen and the town V 
 
 said Mr. Beckett, complacently, and looking pleased 
 igain. ' Yes, I trust we iiave effected something, but it 
 ^ difficult — * he paused again. 
 
 ' Human nature has the reputation of being rather a 
 fifficult material to work with at all times,' said Celes- 
 tine. * I suppose it is no more easily dealt with here than 
 Elsewhere.' 
 
 ' I do not like to say it is less easy to deal with here 
 lan elsewhere,' said Mr. Beckett, ' but there are times 
 '^hen I am almost compelled to fear it.* 
 
 They had reached the edge of the woods and come out 
 ^n the track, within sight of the quarries and within 
 
28 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!** 
 
 sound of the blasts and the picks. It was a wild scene — a 
 scene which even the calm brightness of the April morn- 
 ing could not much redeem or soften. The gaunt frames 
 of the derricks stood out gray and ghastly against the 
 blue of the sky ; the tramroads, with here and there a 
 heavy-laden train of trucks thereon, wound in every di- 
 rection dark and rusty ; the thick, black smoke of engines 
 rose noisome into the sweet, pure air ; while the sunshine 
 splintered on, yet failed to gild or vivify the riven rode, 
 which, in masses more or less stupendous, lay torn from 
 its native hold. The place looked as if Nature had put 
 forth her utmost power of resistance to the forces which 
 man had brought against her, and as if, though compelled 
 at last to yield, she had submitted with the worst possible 
 grace. Nor, to say truth, was the human element engaged 
 in her disintegration to all outward appearance much 
 more amenable to softening influences than that surround- 
 ing stone witii which pick and powder were the only 
 arguments available. 
 
 Mr. Beckett stopped a moment and looked over the 
 quarry with its busy hive of workers. * It is a wide field, 
 he said, * and a hard one to do rightly by. It is so hard 
 to make people understand what is for their good.' 
 
 ' Most people think they understand that without makB 
 ing/ said Celestine rather pointedly. 
 
 ' But if you thought them mistaken you would not] 
 therefore cease to strive for what you believed their| 
 benefit ? ' 
 
 * I don't know,' she answered doubtfully. * You can'l 
 do people much good against their will' 
 
 She knew she vexed him, but she could not help thel 
 words. He looked annoyed, but resumed. 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTT SAT ON THE WALL. 29 
 
 'And here,' he said, 'there are so many conflicting 
 interests to be reconciled, so many differing temperaments 
 to be considered, so many various dispositions to be taken 
 into account. And it is so difficult to deal with them in 
 the mass/ 
 
 * Impossible, I should think,* said Celestine, ' as no two 
 atoms of the human mass are alike.' 
 
 ' But how can one have a separate individuality for 
 every individual case with which one has to deal ? ' 
 
 * Do you ask me ; Only I suppose through that sym- 
 pathy with each which would unconsciously bestow it.* 
 
 * Ah, I see you understand it. Could you teel that, do 
 you think ? Could you show it ? Oh, how much you 
 might help, if you could — and would ! * 
 
 * What a confusion of the potential mood,* said Celes- 
 tine, with a laugh a little forced. * I don't know what I 
 could do. I have never done anything yet.' 
 
 ' You must begin,' said Mr. Beckett. * I believe you 
 are formed by Nature ' 
 
 He stopped suddenly. Something had evidently hap- 
 pened in the quarry. Many of the men had thrown down 
 their picks and left their drills, and were gathered in 
 groups speaking excitedly and with gesticulation. Pres- 
 ently a figure, which Celestine recognized in an instant, 
 came from the largest of these groups and hastily ap- 
 proached her companion ; then catching sight of herself 
 he paused as suddenly and made a motion of his hand 
 towards Mr. Beckett. 
 
 'Will you excuse me?' the latter said. 'Will you 
 wait here for me one moment, while I see what has 
 occurred and what Crevolii; wants ? ' 
 
30 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 She signed assent and stood still watching the two men 
 while they sustaired a short conversation beyond her 
 hearing. Mr. Crevolin's figure and bearing were in 
 repose, if that coald be called repose, which was, even in 
 stillness, instinct with life and vigour, quite as remarkable 
 as she had thought them when she had observed him 
 from her sister's window that morning and the preceding, 
 day. He was tall, and every movement showed a union 
 of strength and grace rarely found together in such 
 perfection, the poise of his head was proud and dignified, 
 and his gesture was very decided and yet refined. He 
 was at too great a distance to allow his features to be 
 discernible, but Celestine fancied that the profile outlined 
 against the gray- green stone was firmly and delicately 
 cut, and she could see that the hand, with which he 
 emphasized his words, was as supple as it was strong. 
 Why should a man so gifted as he appeared, so trusted 
 as she knew him to be, have been called ' poor fellow * by 
 such a woman as her sister, one who might, she thought, 
 have been supposed likely to rate at their full value such 
 visible advantages as he possessed. 
 
 The colloquy was not of long duration, and when it 
 was over Mr. Crevolin went quickly away without nearer 
 approach, Mr. Beckett returning 60 her side. She looked 
 at him inquiringly. 
 
 * There has been an accident,' he said, speaking quietly, 
 though she could see that he was agitated. ' One of the 
 men has been badly hurt in a blast.' 
 
 ' Oh, how did that happen ? ' 
 
 ' Through his own fault or carelessness, I am afraid, 
 from what I hear. They hope it is not fatal, but Crevolin 
 
~i 
 
 HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT OF THE WALL. 81 
 
 ays the hurts are very serious, and he has a wife and 
 amily — young children, I believe/ 
 
 * Poor things ! Whao can be done for them ? How 
 an I help them ? What do they want ? ' 
 
 ' I have given Crevolin directions that they shall have 
 11 they require/ 
 
 ' But don't you want to go to the poor man at once 
 rourself ? There is really no occasion that you should 
 ;ome back with me/ She looked at him as she spoke, 
 md saw that he was very pale. 
 
 ' It is not necessary. I seldom visit the people. The 
 nan has been taken home, and Crevolin has seen him 
 md sent for the surgeon. Nothing will be neglected. 
 
 revolin is always thoughtful and useful, poor fellow.' 
 
 Again, Miss King wondered why the epithet was ap- 
 )lied, and again something restrained her from asking the 
 •eason. Other food for thought was afforded by the fact 
 hat Mr. Beckett was contented to employ a deputy, no mat- 
 er how efficient, where she would have imagined that,hold- 
 ng his views,he would have thought personal attention in- 
 dispensable. These two subjects so engrossed her mind 
 hat it was in complete silence she resumed her walk. 
 
 * You've heerd about Holmes, sir ? ' asked a rough- 
 ooking man, coming forward when they had nearly 
 )assed through the quarries on their way to the town. 
 
 * Mr. Crevolin told me. Are the injuries as severe as 
 16 seemed to think ? ' 
 
 * Well, I was one as helped carry him home, sir, and I 
 ho aid say he's hurt nigh about as bad as could be. He 
 nayn't die, some on 'em says ; but if he lives he'll never 
 )ut a foot under him again.' 
 
 * How did it happen ? * 
 
32 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 * No one just knows, except he didn't calculate the blast 
 — maybe he warn't altogether fit to be there, you know 
 his fault, sir — for he hain't spoke since they lifted himf 
 The rock lay acrost him, and one of his legs is smashed 
 to pieces besides.* 
 
 ' Could I do anything for his poor wife ? Shall I g< 
 to her ? ' said Miss King, addressing the man. 
 
 * Nothing just now, I guess, obleeged to ye, mem, all 
 the same,' he answered, civilly enough, but with appar- 
 ent surprise. He had been looking at her earnestly, and 
 as if in some doubt, which appeared now suddenly U 
 clear away. * Mabbe arter a while — but it's no sight for 
 the like 6' you — and she's got women folk round her ; anc 
 Mr. Crevolin — he'll see that it's all right.' 
 
 He glanced at Mr. Beckett, but as the latter did no! 
 speak again, he made a respectful reverence to Miss Kini^ 
 and went back to his work. Celestine had noticed botli 
 what had and what had not been said. She had remarkec 
 that Mr. Beckett had uttered no word of friendly sympa 
 thy, and that to his sympathy and compassion no appea 
 had been made. Why should Mr. Crevolin be always re 
 f erred to as the anchor of trust, and not he who professed 
 so deep an interest in those whose welfare depended oi 
 him, and of whose lives he had, in a measure, assumed 
 the especial care ? "Was it possible that natural tempera- 
 ment placed a bar to the execution of good intention 
 Could it be that, while knowing it needful, he yet lacked 
 that sympathy requisite to give benefits their true value 
 and charm ? That, possessing all the will to do good, he 
 yet failed of the power to make others feel and believe 
 it ? Did the doubt she was conscious of in her own mind 
 
HUMPTY DXJMPTT SAT ON THE WALL. 33 
 
 regarding him exist also in the minds of others, colour- 
 ing their feelings and abating their trust ? Worse still, 
 did it exist in his own ? And, above all, why did he also 
 speak of Mr. Crevolin at one moment as ' poor fellow,* and 
 in the next refer to him as the one person to be relied 
 on, and competent to fulfil all needs ? 
 
 The man who had addressed them rejoined his com- 
 panions at their work, and looked after the retreating 
 figures as they disappeared. 
 
 * Think they'll make it out, Tom ? ' inquired one of his 
 fellows, a slim, bright young man, with a broad grin on 
 his face. 
 
 ' That's hard to tell. My Jess, that's nurse-girl up to 
 the boss', says the little 'un wants it a match, but the gal 
 herself don't seem no ways keen/ 
 
 1 regret to state that by the term ' little 'un,' the quarry- 
 man alluded to Mrs. Beckett, for by that irreverent, if 
 endearing, appellation the pretty, tiny woman was known 
 in the vernacular of the quarries. 
 
 ' Would it be good for us, Tom, think ? ' 
 
 * I know what 'ud be a heap better. Hope she don't 
 have nothing to say to him. She ain't his style.' 
 
 * She's a pretty cool style, Tom, seems to me. The little 
 " un's allers a smilin'," but this one's got a face like a 
 winter day — still and cloudy like.* 
 
 ' Think so ? * said Tom, contemptuously. * Well, mabbe 
 you know best. Shouldn't wor^der if you was a first- 
 class judge inhuman natur*. But I wanted a good look 
 at her^myselt, and I've got it. I've got some notions of 
 I my Town, too. If that gal's face is a winter day, it's 
 winter J with a promise of the spring in it — not the fall 
 [sunshine that gives you your first taste of the frost' 
 
34 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE." 
 
 All unconscious of the impression she had made, and 
 of the freedom with which her affairs had been dis-i 
 cussed, Miss King had wended her way homewards, and, 
 dismissed her escort on reaching her sister's gate. * I am 
 sure you must have much to attond to ; do not let me 
 detain you,' she had said, ignoring the delay which 
 seemed to await an invitation to enter with her. ' And 
 if there is any way in which I can be of use to that poor 
 family, be sure to let me know.' 
 
 Mr. Beckett had thanked her, but had only given a ' 
 qualified assent. ' I will see — I will take care they have 
 all they want ; but it would not be a fit place for you to 
 
 go.' 
 
 That evening as ' Auntie Oil,' as her small nieces were ■. 
 fond of calling her, was assisting as usual in the enter- 
 tainment of the little ones, their mother was annoyed 
 and provoked to hear significant prominence given' to the 
 old-time histor}'- of how Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CROSS AND CROWN. 
 
 jN the next evening Miss King stood again in the 
 
 window where we first saw her, but as changed 
 
 as the scene she looked on were jnost of her 
 
 feelings and ideas. Where she had then watched the 
 
 glitter of the morning, she now saw only the last shafts 
 
 of a stormy sunset ; and her placid features wore a per- 
 
 i 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. ^ 86 
 
 plexed expression, while over her tranquil mind had 
 poured a current of unaccustomed experiences and 
 emotions, which had left it shaken and disturbed, as a 
 lake is disturbed by autumn winds. 
 
 She had that day solved the slight mystery that had 
 attached itself in her fancy to Mr. Crevolin, and if the 
 solution had not been without some element of romance, 
 it had also not been without some pain. Going early in 
 the forenoon, unexpectedly into the drawing-room, she 
 had found him in conference with her sister, and before 
 she had tima to retreat she was summoned by Sylvia and 
 forced to return. 
 
 * This is my sister, whom you have not yet met, I think, 
 Mr. Crevolin. Celestine, this is our aide-de-camp, fore- 
 most now in all good works of peace, as I believe he once 
 was in all brave deeds of war. You two should have 
 sympathies in common, and be friends.' 
 
 Mr. Crevolin flinched visibly, and, as he bowed in re- 
 turn for Celestine's silent salutation, turned a little away. 
 Then, as if moved by some sudden thought or impulse, he 
 stepped quickly forward into the full light of the window 
 — and she saw. 
 
 She saw ; and, simultaneously with one involuntary 
 and momentary shock of repulsion, a wave of compassion 
 and sympathy rose in her heart, whose power drove the 
 blood back through her veins, and left her deadly pale. 
 
 For Mr. Crevolin was one of those who, from the cradle 
 to the tomb, are marked and stand apart — one of those 
 who, for no fault as for no known cause, bear a brand 
 which should surely, in its terrible distinctness, have been 
 reserved only for the sons of Cain. Over his right cheek 
 
80 ^ " LOVED I KOT HONOUB MORE ! " 
 
 and temple spread and darkened a crimson stain, nevei 
 while his life lasted to be effaced or removed. Beyond 
 disguise or denial, past hope of being attributable to 
 wound or scar, it proclaimed itself a birth-mark indis- 
 putable aixd undisputed. Those who, at different timeS) 
 had seemed to think themselves entitled to offer well- 
 meant, if useless, consolation had professed to find in its 
 form, if form it could be said to have, resemblance to 
 certain emblems, either cheering or sacred, such as 
 anchor, key, or cross ; but all these comparisons were, of 
 course, fanciful, though perhaps the last came nearest the 
 truth, as it certainly was the most appropriate. 
 
 As Celestine looked at him, with the surprise and the 
 infinite pity she would have given worlds to conceal 
 shining in her eyes, the stain appeared to fade and die; 
 only by comparison, however, for it was the flush that 
 rose and deepened over the other cheek and the broad 
 brow that for the moment blotted out the indelible blusli 
 which Nature in a cruel mood had seen fit to stamp on 
 one who had never known cause for shame. 
 
 It might have been thought that in the course of eight 
 and twenty years Philip Crevolin would have grown care- 
 less of observation. Was his present confusion only the 
 evidence of still living sensitiveness under the scrutiny 
 of a new witness, or did he, even in that first moment, 
 recognise that he was in the presence of the one woman 
 for whose sake he would have washed to be as other men ? 
 He had borne the intrusive curiosity of many eyes ; he 
 had at his country's call faced death on the field ; and 
 from neither had he ever blenched as he did when he met 
 the glance of Celestine King, and saw her compassionate 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. 87 
 
 feelings look from the windows of her soul. A.nd it was 
 with a deep sense of seli-contempt for so blenching, and 
 a determination to be no more a coward for her than he 
 had ever been before friend or foe, that he faced the light 
 and allowed her to know the worst that could be known. 
 
 But his embarrassment had passed almost before it had 
 been well perceived, while hers remained. As he spoke 
 a few more words to Mrs. Beckett — they consisted of an 
 errand relative to the injured man Holmes — in a voice 
 which Miss King was net surprised to find one of soft 
 and full cadence and intonation, she had time to observe 
 him further, and to think that perhaps Nature had marred 
 her handiwork on purpose, lest it might otherwise have 
 been too fine. The lines and features of his face were 
 singularly perfect, a!id the pale olive skin, save for the 
 brand, so clear as to show the tracery of the veins. The 
 sharp 3^t delicate curves of his mouth were unhidden by 
 the short moustache he wore, and no beard concealed the 
 firm, strong lines of cheek and chin. But the eyes were 
 the most remarkable feature in a remarkable face. Full 
 and heavy-lidded as those of a woman, they had in their 
 blueness all a woman's softness until they became those 
 of a man of strong will and passion in the sudden, steely 
 flash that all at once revealed what they would be in 
 danger, in anger, or in scorn ; a glance so penetrating that 
 when in the course of her scrutiny Celestine met it once, 
 she turned away her own, and yet felt an irresistible at- 
 traction to look and meet it once again. 
 
 He did not speak to her, but bowed low, and had taken 
 leave with a simple dignity that seemed only a natural 
 part of his free grace of form and manner before she had 
 
S8 "LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 recovered herself sufficiently to address to him a word oi 
 her own account. 
 
 Stie felt as if she should never recover the self-respeci 
 she had lost with her self-possession ; and with that de 
 sire to lay the blame of her own shortcomings on some 
 one else, from which even the purest natures are not 
 wholly free, she turned on her sister as the door closed. 
 
 * Sylvia, why did you not warn me ? You had no riglit 
 to expose me to such a shock.' ' 
 
 * I did mean to, but something always put it off. It's 
 well as it is. I think you got over the shock very well. 
 
 * I did not. He must have seen that I pitied him.' 
 ' Well, why not ! He must be used to that, I shoulii 
 
 think. And you'll get tised to him like the rest of us ; oi 
 if you don't you can shut your eyes while you talk U 
 him, — though it's almost a pity to do that, because hi 
 features and figure are so fine.' 
 
 ' Sylvia, how heartlessly you talk ! ' 
 
 * Because I see something to admire instead of dwelling 
 only on the misfortune and defect. You have the queer- 
 est way of reading things backwards, my dear ! It is' 
 well society sets bounds for us — I should hate to risk the. 
 chance of your actions being as different from other peo- 
 ples' as your thoughts and words. 
 
 Without replying to her sister's speech, which may or 
 may not have borne a deeper meaning than was actually 
 expressed in the words, Celestine made a remark on some 
 indifferent subject ; and then, escaping, endeavoured to 
 find in a long and lonely walk diversion for thought that 
 had been considerably disturbed, and was not, to say 
 truth, particularly self-gratulatory. It was not perhaps 
 
 I 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. 89 
 
 an especially well-chosen remedy ; for as she had been 
 careful to keep secret the direction in which she meant to 
 pro, and was not on this occasion either met or overtaken 
 by anyone, fancy had full freedom to roam whithersoever 
 she pleased ; and it would not be surprising if, with fancy's 
 usual contrariety, she chose to exercise herself in those 
 very flights which Celestine had intended to avoid. 
 
 Later in the day she had been strolling with the nurse 
 and babies on the borders of the little river, where the 
 silken catkins of the willows, and the yellow * chickens* 
 feet ' of the drooping birches were treasures coveted of in- 
 fantine eyes, when some threatening clouds making their 
 appearance in the west, she sent her party home by the 
 nearest route, while she pursued her own way over a foot 
 bridge that led by a somewhat longer road through a part 
 of the town with which she was not as familiar as the 
 rest, and which she took this opportunity to explore. 
 The street of common wooden houses that sloped up from 
 the bridge level wore a very decidedly unattractive aspect, 
 and she was passing through it with firm and rather 
 hasty steps, when her attention was excited by the noise 
 of children's voices in hot dispute, that came from a sort 
 of lane or alley on her left hand. 'You did ! ' * I didn't!' 
 ' I say you did hit him ! ' 'I say you lie ! ' were some of 
 the fragmentary amenities of speech that struck her ears. 
 She followed the sound, and soon came on a group of six 
 or seven boys and girls of differing ages, but all quite 
 young, standing round the prostrate figure of the smallest 
 of their number, who lay on the ground. He was a fair- 
 haired, half-dressed little fellow, about three years old. 
 He lay quite still and silent, and there was blood on his 
 face. 
 
40 ' "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 ' What is the matter here ? what have you done ? 
 asked Miss King in a voice of authority. 
 
 Apparently much frightened at the result of thoii 
 quarrel, the children cowered together and did not speak. 
 
 * Tell me at once, who is this child, and who hurt him !' 
 Either the definite question or perhaps the -desire of 
 
 accu^iing somebody elicited a reply. * He's Holmes* bc^', 
 and Jack Barber knocked him down, ' said two or three 
 voices. 
 
 * It's a lie ! I didn't do it ! ' denied the boy designated ; 
 but Celestine thought she saw his falsehood in his face. 
 
 * Are you not ashamed of yourself, you big boy ? * was 
 all she said, but he felt as if her look withered him, 
 He had never encountered just such a glance from just 
 such eyes before. 
 
 Celestine stooped over the child ; she saw that the 
 blood proceeded only from a cut of the lip produced by 
 his own te^ch, but the lips were very white, and he was 
 evidently more than half stunned by the violence of the 
 fall, and the contact of the little head with the ground. 
 
 * Where does he live ! * she asked. ' Are none of you 
 going to help him up and take him home ! ' 
 
 Several fingers indicated a house she had already passed 
 on her way from the bridge, but no one stirred. Impatient 
 at their stupidity, Celestine lifted the child and carried 
 him off, the small crowd following, open-mouthed, to see 
 the end of the performance, and in some trepidation as to 
 
 r who would be most likely to get the blame. 
 
 I Miss King knocked at the door, but as it stood ajar and 
 the boy's weight was more than she had calculated on, 
 
 '■ she pushed it open and went in. Even h^ she not been 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. 41 
 
 told where she was going, she would have recognized the 
 place, for the bed on which Holmes lay, had, for greater 
 convenience, been moved from the smaller room within, to 
 the outer chamber, and beside the injured man sat Mr. 
 Crevolin. As her eyes fell On him, they took in also at a 
 moment's glance, and with a quickness and certainty that 
 never afterwards failed her memory, the whole scene be- 
 sides. She saw the sick man's pallor, and the spasm of 
 pain that crossed his face as he moved when her entrance 
 startled him ; she saw the nervous, vigorous form beside 
 him, ministering to his wants as, or before, they were 
 expressed ; she saw the wife and mother, in whom the 
 ^aces of great beauty yet lingered among manifest evi- 
 dences of neglect, bending over the cradle where an infant 
 la^; she saw two or three older children engaged in 
 various occupations or amusements ; she noticed the mix- 
 ture of squalor with the signs of other and better tastes; 
 she remarked that on the little table that bore the medi- 
 cines and other appliances of illness, lay a book from 
 which Mr. Crevolin had evidently been reading aloud ; 
 and beside it, in a common glass, and exhaling a rare 
 beauty and fragrance, which, even in that uncongenial 
 atmosphere was felt — perhaps all the more felt from 
 being uncongenial — were three or four rare and valuable 
 hot-house roses. 
 
 A^s she entered the room with her burden, Mr. Crevo- 
 lin sprang up to meet her, with an eager look. There 
 was no embarrassment now in face or manner, no turn of 
 the head, or sensitive droop of the wonderful eyes, as he 
 accosted her, quite forgetful of self, and it was to him, 
 rather than to the mother who rushed forward, excited 
 c 
 
4f "LOVED I NOT HONOaR MORE!" 
 
 and vociferant, that she addressed her few words of ex 
 planation as to how she came there, and how she haj 
 found the child. 
 
 * He is not much hurt, Mrs. Holmes,' he said, when the 
 child's head having been bathed, and his mouth moistened 
 with brandy — brandy which Celestine noticed came from 
 a flask in Mr. Crevolin's own pocket — ^he moved and 
 opened his eyes ; * but you have reason to be thankful it 
 is no worse. Perhaps you do not know this lady to whom 
 we are all so much obliged — she is Mrs. Beckett's sister, 
 Miss King.' , 
 
 He went through the introduction with a certain state- 
 liness that, considering the place and circumstances, 
 would have possessed a strong element of the ludicrous 
 for Celestine had she not instinctively felt that it was, 
 or that he thought it the right thing to do. Mrs, 
 Holmes, who had known perfectly well who her visitor 
 was, but who had seemed inclined to be a little on the de- 
 fensive, and whose fa(;e had worn a slightly hard expres- 
 sion, softened immecliately. 
 
 * I'm sure I'm more than thankful to Miss King, and I 
 hope she won't think none the worse of me, that in my 
 fright I couldn't say so at once. The young ones is so 
 forever in mischief I never know the minute some on 'em 
 
 won't be fetched home dead, and after yesterday ' 
 
 she broke off with a sob, and tried to swallow her tears 
 
 * Don't fret more than you can help about it,' said 
 Celestine, gently. * We must hope for the best. Do you 
 suffer very much ? ' she added, turning to the man, her 
 face lighted by the sympathy that this time she was not 
 f raid to s how. 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. 43 
 
 * Well, ma'am, I can't say as 1 don't, and speak the 
 |ruth,' he answered with a feeble attempt at a smile. 
 But I can't b'lieve even that's better than to think of the 
 time when I shall have to lie here without sutferins:.' 
 
 She mistook his meaning. * Oh, don't say that ! ' she 
 eiclaimed, eagerly, yet softly. * Mr. Crevolin has assured 
 us that you are not fatally hurt.' 
 
 Holmes appeared equally satisfied with herself as to 
 the authority of the opinion ; but though he tried to 
 smile again, he shook his head. ' I know that, ma'am. 
 Sometimes, through the long night that's passed, I've 
 partly wished I was. If 'taint fatal one way, 'tis another. 
 All the best part of me will be dead, they say, if I 
 do get better ; an J. why should the rest, that can be no 
 good to anyone, but only a load, be left ? ' 
 
 Celestine's rare smile broke and beamed like morning 
 on the uplands. ' Is that all ? Then I would not worry 
 over it till the time comes. I never borrow trouble. If 
 I want a loan, I always ask for something nice.' 
 
 These words, for some unknown reason, seemed to bring 
 her at once more en rapport with her hearers. Beyond 
 a few questions relative to actual needs to be supplied no 
 more was said as to Holmes' state, but the conversation 
 became general ; and while his wife spoke of the children, 
 of the difficulty of keeping ' Jemmy * — who, in her lap was 
 fast regaining colour and cheerfulness, and earnestly re- 
 garding the * strange lady ' — out of the manifold dangers 
 of the street, while she had the house and baby to attend 
 to, and his elder sisters were at work or at school, while 
 she made many and various inquiries into Miss King's 
 affairs, domestic and social, her likes and dislikes, her 
 
44 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 home, and her comparative love for that place, and Fairj 
 port, with a freedom which though very free, somehovl 
 just escaped being offensive, and while Celestine repliel 
 with less averseness than she would have thought possji 
 ble beforehand, the latter had time to look about h( 
 and to come to some conclusions from what she saw. ^ 
 
 The room was one of those which it is perhaps a pitjj 
 that they who are fond of expressing their admiraticin 
 for picturesque ' interiors ' have not sometimes the oppol- 
 tunity of studying at closer acquaintance, and in detail. 
 The house, originally comfortably built, bore unmistak- 
 able signs of the habitation of a family careless as to 
 cleanliness or order ; every article of furniture, though 
 once good, was more or less broken and defaced, some ap- 
 plied to uses for which they had never been intended, and 
 some which snould have been there were missing alto- 
 gether; the floor had had time to forget when it had last 
 been cleaned, and in the windows the vacant places of 
 two or three panes of glass were supplied with substances 
 entirely foreign to the purpose. And yet though the 
 place had that uncared-for look,* which to the initiated 
 eye tells of wilful poverty — the poverty that is a sure 
 fruit of a union of unsteady husband and thriftless wife 
 — there were some touches that redeemed it from utter 
 squalor, and hinted at some inconsistencies of tastes ic 
 its inhabitants. There were flashes of bright colour in 
 the bed-clothing, and in the flowers of a splendid Japan 
 lily in full bloom, which looked most incongruous with 
 its surroundings; though the walls were smoky there 
 hung on them several highly-tinted prints, which, if not 
 fq,ultle8s in execution, were very imaginative in concep- 
 
CROSS AND CROWN. 45 
 
 tion and treatment ; and though the children were poorly 
 dressed, and their abundant hair bore a strong resem- 
 blance to a hay -stack in a storm, they were, with the ex- 
 ception of Jemmy's temporary paleness, fat and rosy, as if 
 they were stinted neither in quantity nor quality of food. 
 
 Celestine carried away with her two distinct and very 
 new impressions. The first was this : Mr. Crevolin had 
 retreated to the window, and stood looking out, as if in 
 her converse with Mrs. Holmes he had no desire to take a 
 part, and during a pause she lifted the book which he 
 had let fall down upon the table; it was a volume of 
 Will Carleton's poems, and was open at * Gone with a 
 Handsomer Man.' Curious to know whether the some- 
 what singular selection had been the choice of reader or 
 listener, she turned to the title-page, and found the ini- 
 tials ' P. C' inscribed in a bold hand thereon. Her action, 
 and perhaps her slight surprise, had not passed unnoticed, 
 for as she glanced at Mr, Crevolin she saw, though the 
 bright, observant eyes were quickly averted, something 
 like a smile on his lips as she laid the book down. 
 
 The other incident was of a difierent nature. While 
 speaking to Jemmy, when he had become capable of 
 speaking, she had remarked that his eyes were fixed 
 on a long spray of the willow blossoms, part of the 
 woodland spoil of herself and her little nieces, which, in 
 jspite of the adventure with himself, still depended from 
 [her belt. She took it out at once, and offered it to him. 
 
 ' I don't want it,' said the child. * Dey's on'y weeds.' 
 
 * For shame, Jemmy,' said the mother, in a chiding and 
 ^et coaxing tone. * Take what the lady gives you.' 
 
 But the child repeated, with a child's uncompromising 
 rankness, * I don't care for it. It's a weed/ 
 
46 " LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE ! " 
 
 C-elcstine accepted the reproof. The child could n< 
 understand that the mind of a master-poet had been abJle 
 to find, in all created nature, no thing to which to likeln 
 the robe of the enchantress who enchanted the enchanter, 
 so lovely as that same weed, the * satin, shining palm on 
 sallows in the windy gleams ' of spring ; but " Celestine 
 thought she saw the meaning of the costly roses. | 
 
 She might have remained longer, unmindful of tli? 
 time, but for a sudden dash of rain against the panes. | 
 The clouds had kept their promise. 
 
 * Will you wait until the shower is over ? * asked Mr. j 
 Crevolin. * I think it will be but a shower.' 
 
 * I think I had better not. I would rather risk the rain 
 than my sister's anxiety if I do not appear.' 
 
 She did not observe the little curl of Mrs. Holmes' lip, 
 which, however, vanished, as she graciously expressed a 
 desire to be better acquainted with Miss King ; and hav- 
 ing said a kind farewell to the wounded man, she went 
 out, but the first few moments proved to her that she had 
 under-rated the rain. One of those sudden and heavy 
 squalls so common in the spring was sweeping up from 
 the west, and that the sun was already gleaming behind 
 it was no guarantee that those would not sufi*er on whom 
 fell the weight of its present anger. 
 
 She had gone but a few steps when she heard feet 
 behind her, and glancing round, she saw Mr. Crevolin 
 coming quickly up. He held an overcoat on his arm, 
 which, without waiting to ask permission, he threw, as a 
 heavy splash of raiii descended, around her shoulders, 
 and fastened by the sleeves around her neck. 
 
 * I beg your pardon for my roughness,' he said ; * but 
 
I 
 
 CROSS AND CROWN. 47 
 
 this will save you from some of the consequences of your 
 imprudence. It's not much of a robe of state, but it 
 will keep off the worst of the wet.' 
 
 ' But you — * she stammered. 
 
 * I ! ' he answered, carelessly. * Do not stay to argue^ 
 but walk as fast as you can.' 
 
 They did walk fast, and Celestine was glad that the 
 storm had so far cleared the streets that there were but 
 few witnesses of her strange attire, to be robed in which 
 she had passively submitted, while wondering at her own 
 submission. Their speed was too great to admit of con- 
 versation, and before they reached the end of their walk 
 the weight of the squall was over, and only a few large 
 and scattered drops of the rain remained of its spent force. 
 Mr. Crevolin removed the coat as they reached the gate, 
 and declined Miss King's invitation to come in and get 
 dry, of which, owing to his generosity to her, he stood 
 very much and very evidently in need. 
 
 ' Do you always try to atone when you harm ? * he 
 asked. * If you had waited, as I wished you to do, I 
 should not have got wet at all' 
 
 He spoke lightly, but she coloured to the roots of her 
 hair. * Is that generous ? Surely you know I meant to 
 act for the best.' 
 
 He looked at her with a sudden softening of the eyes. 
 * Yes — I know — I had no right to say that. Of course, 
 you act for the best ; only it's not always when we 
 mean the most good that we do the least harm. Forgive 
 me ; I forgot you could not understand. No ; I won't! 
 come in this time, thank you. Go in and change your 
 shoes. Good-bye.' He went away quickly, and while 
 
48 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 I 
 
 she wondered a little at his somewhat abrupt departure 
 she remembered that though on the previous day she had 
 given no invitation to Mr. Beckett, she had felt sure thtn 
 with him to receive and to accept would have been tlie 
 same. 
 
 Also, when she came to reflect on the matter, as she stood 
 looking out into the stormy sunset, she could not decide 
 why she should be glad to escape question as to what 
 had detained her, and as to why the rain had done her 
 no more harm. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SUB ROSA. 
 
 ;AE.TOUS subjects of speculation amused Celestine's 
 imagination for the next two days, during which 
 a continuance of the wild weather detained her 
 within doors. If amoug these Mr. Crevolin occupied tlie 
 first place, it is perhaps little to be wondered at, and for it 
 there was more than one cause. There was about him 
 something sufficiently remarkable to have excited her 
 attention in any case ; but when, on her expressing some 
 interest and making some inquiries, she found a sudden 
 and marked disinclination on Mrs. Beckett's part to say 
 anything further on the subject, the repression, of course, 
 set her mind to work to discover the cause and reason, 
 and riveted the thoughts it was intended to disengage. 
 Remorse also played its part in the drama of her thought, 
 
I 
 
 SUB ROSA. 49 
 
 She could not"forgive herself the display of her feeling 
 when she had first seen him ; and that he appeared to 
 have forgotten it did not lessen her self-reproach, or abate 
 her desire to atone. 
 
 >ier mind also dwelt at some length on the incidents 6f 
 her visit to Mr. Holmes. Like too many other people, 
 Celestine's only knowledge hitherto of those of a class 
 in life differing from her own had been derived from 
 servants, deferential or otherwise, as the case might be, 
 but in any event a class apart in life and interests ; and 
 her sudden introduction to the manage in Bridge street 
 had been an experience as interesting as it was new. 
 She would have thought beforehand that she would be 
 out of place and awkward, but she had not felt so. 
 Different in tone as she and Mrs. Holmes undoubtedly 
 were, there was yet a harmonizing note in the chord. 
 
 On this subject, however, warned by past experience, 
 she said nothing. She possessed her soul in patience for 
 two days; and when the third morning came, bright 
 and breezy, she took counsel with herself only, and went, 
 this time of set purpose and intention, down to Holmes' 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Crevolin was not there, but his absence was com- 
 pensated by the information she gained concerning him. 
 True, she did not learn much as to his parentage or 
 antecedents ; that he had been a soldier all knew — that 
 he had been a soldier in command might be guessed 
 from his prompt decision, his instant submission where 
 submission was needful, and his exaction of obedience 
 where obedience was just ; he had come from some un- 
 known place some three years ago, and was believed by 
 
 V 
 
50 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 some people to be of French extraction, t)ut of this no 
 one was sure, and for this no one cared while he was— 
 what he was ; the one man to whom all others looked 
 for advice, assistance, and instruction, the one man who 
 could always be depended on for sympathy and con- 
 solation, the one man who could do all things at once 
 and think of all things at the same time. Had all 
 this commendation and reverence been openly spoken in 
 obvious words of praise, Miss King might perhaps have 
 doubted some of its sincerity ; but, coming, as it did, in i 
 a mass of indirect testimony, and by inference, it left no 
 room for doubt as to what was thought of him by those 
 who seemed to know him best. And as sh e listened, and 
 felt her esteem bespoken, and her heart warmed with 
 admiration of the character unfolded before her, Celestine 
 found herself instituting comparisons which she hated 
 herself for making, even while she made them. 
 
 She flattered herself that this day she also gained 
 ground in the good opinion of the family. She assisted 
 to shift the posture of the wounded man with a touch 
 which he was pleased to say was * the easiest he'd felt 
 yet 'cept Mr. Crevolin's;' she fortunately remembered 
 the ingredients of a salve^iiv^hich she could recommend to 
 Mrs. Holmes for a burnt finger ; and little Jemmy's good 
 graces were completely won by the presentation of sweet- 
 meats with which Celestine had provided herself on the 
 way, and which were, for a reason she probably under- 
 stood, if she might not have been quite willing to explain, 
 the most expensive to be obtained in Fairport. 
 
 She said nothing at home of her visit, but was so well 
 pleased with it that she repeated it the next day, on 
 
SUB ROSA. . 61 
 
 which occasion she made the acquaintance of one or two 
 neighbours who dropped in, professedly to see the sick 
 man, though Miss King could not help suspecting that 
 she herself was equally the object of their curiosity. To 
 this she made no objection; on the contrary, she perhaps 
 exerted herself more to please than she had sometimes 
 done in more shining circles, and was vain enough to think 
 that she made a favourable impression. 
 
 In order not to be troublesome, and trying to believe 
 that she wondered why she herself took so much trouble, 
 she did not go again for three days. She had hitherto 
 liad no self-confessed motive for her visits but that need- 
 ful and friendly attention which she had thought it ri^t 
 to show ; but when this time on leaving the house she 
 met Mr. Crevolin approaching it, she knew it was not 
 alone from neighbourly charity that they had been made^ 
 
 If there were a moment's hesitation on his part as to 
 whether he should bow and pass on, it was quickly over- 
 come. Her smile and greeting were so unmistakably 
 those of invitation that he turned and walked beside her. 
 
 She had imagined that he might perhaps offer a word 
 of explanation as to his abrupt departure when she had 
 last seen him, now more than a week ago ; but when 
 none such came she decided that it was more fitting none 
 such should have been spoken. 
 
 ' I am very grateful to you for coming here as you have 
 done,' said Mr. Crevjlin, after a few ordinary civilities 
 had been exchanged between them. * You are doing 
 good. Though perhaps some might regret that your first 
 experiences among the employes should be of those who, 
 however they interest me, are certainly not among the 
 pattern families of the place.' 
 
52 ** LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! '* 
 
 ' Are they some of the raw material with which Mr, 
 Beckett fifids it so hard to deal ? ' she asked, unguardedly, 
 
 'Did he complain of difficulty?' said Mr. Crevolin, 
 quickly. ' But I beg your pardon — I had no right to aslc 
 that. Raw material ? There is no such thing as human 
 raw material out of the cradle, and scarcely there. The 
 Holmes family, and most like them, are in an advanced 
 state of manufacture.' 
 
 ' And do you think so differently from him as to be- 
 lieve them incapable of improvement ? ' - 
 
 * 1 did not say that. But it is a not uncommon mis- 
 take ' — and Celestine wondered whether it was a mistake 
 he believed Mr. Beckett to have made — * to suppose that 
 because a process has not been productive of approved or 
 desirable results it has therefore been less thorough than 
 a more favourable one, or can therefore be more easily 
 counteracted or undone.' 
 
 * Can we then never repair what has been wrongly 
 begun ? That would be very hard.' 
 
 * It is hard. Nevertheless it is in some sense true that, 
 as George Eliot says, " consequences are unpitying." But 
 that is not quite all I mean. I do not want you to mis- 
 understand me again.' 
 
 In the last word was the recollection and the atone- 
 ment she had wished for, and it pleased her. 
 
 * Ask yourself,' he continued. * That lace at your throat 
 and a coarse towel came originally from the same flax 
 fibre ; the difierence between them is solely in the treat- 
 ment each has received since it left the parent stem. But 
 could any effort now change the texture of either, or make 
 one subserve the purpose of the other ? ' 
 
SUB ROSA. 53 
 
 She t!iought she understood the parable. * I am afraid 
 the lace has no purpose. It is very useless.' 
 
 * Forbid it, you should say or think so ! ' he answered 
 with a quickness that showed how instantly he had fol- 
 lowed her thoughts, and a look which it a little contused 
 her to meet. 
 
 * But you think,' she said, laughing at his comparison, 
 ' that when human beings have become towels it is no 
 use to try to make lace of them ? ' 
 
 * Not the least use. You might as well try to trans- 
 form an earthen flower-pot into a china vase. Habits, 
 manners, tastes and opinions are the outward form of the 
 human flax and clay.' 
 
 * But humanity has more than outward form,' she ven- 
 tured. ' What ought your flower-pot to contain ? * 
 
 ' You are right to rebuke me. No — I have not lived 
 so long, and my life has not been — what it has been — not 
 to know that flowers of rarest beauty and perfume are 
 often grown in coarsest vessels, as the finest porcelain 
 may be degraded to base uses. No ; I do not question 
 improvement ; what else are all our efforts for ? Why 
 else are we so made that we can never cease to strive ? 
 What I do depreca.te is that expectation of radical change 
 which some people entertain and work for — an expecta- 
 tion which can but lead to disappointment. My own 
 opinion is — ^you can take it for as much or as little as it is 
 worth — that when once humanity has passed through 
 those phases of experience that harden it as the furnace 
 fire hardens the flower-pot you must accept it as it is — 
 do you remember the charming portrait of " My Kate/' 
 
 " The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude. 
 She took as she found them and did them all good — *' 
 
54 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 did not made ; there it is — do the very best you can for 
 and with it, but expect no more.' 
 
 * Your doctrines are very different from those which my 
 brother-in-law holds,' said Celestine. 
 
 *Are you sure you ever heard him give expression to 
 any ?' And Celestine, on reflection, could not remember 
 that she had. * Mr. Beckett is very generous and very 
 just ; but I think he only concerns himself with material 
 needs. He pays good wages for good work ; he provides 
 abundant supplies for a fair price, but he does not trouble 
 himself about abstract questions. He endeavours to 
 make his commands reasonable, and he expects obedience 
 — a duty on both sides. He hears that the children go to 
 school, and he sees on Sunday that they and their parents 
 go to church ; if a man is drunk he reads him a lecture 
 the next time he sees him, and if any one is sick he sends 
 the doctor. Beyond that he does not go.' 
 
 Celestine could not help smiling. 
 
 ' I suppose you think that a considerable distance ? I 
 admit that it is much further than a great many ever 
 wish or try to go. But there is something more, and it 
 is this which Mr. Henry Beckett is endeavouring to do. 
 It is he who would like, socially and morally, to mould 
 the place on his pattern.' 
 
 * And you do not think he is succeeding ? ' 
 
 ' I do not like to say so. I have no right to criticise 
 his ideas and mode of action. If I think that a firmer 
 discipline occasionally and a stronger personal sympathy 
 at all times would be more successful in some of the cir- 
 cumstances we have to consider, that is only my opinion, 
 and I may be wrong. He is kind enough often to make 
 
SUB ROSA. 65 
 
 me his deputy, and to provide me the means of giving 
 assistance which would otherwise be beyond my power. 
 And he makes no objection to my doing things at my 
 own time and in my own way.' 
 
 ' I should think not 1 ' was Celestine's reflection ; and 
 she also felt more than a suspicion that if Mr. Henry 
 Beckett were often confiding it was because he doubted 
 his own power of performance at first hand. But she 
 gave her thought no voice. 
 
 ' With regard to the Holmes family,' resumed Mr. Cre- 
 volin, after a moment's pause, * I fear they will be " im- 
 proved " now in some respects, though by rather harsh 
 and sudden means. To tell the truth they have always 
 been regarded — perhaps rather unjustly — as mauvaia 
 sujets. There is no real harm in her, but I have been 
 told that when she had beauty she was very vain, and I 
 know that now she has lost it she is very careless ; and 
 he has never been a sober man. He will be one now 
 perforce, unless some one pours drink down his throat, 
 for, unless I am greatly mistaken, the poor fellow will 
 never move alone again.' 
 
 ' Then what will become of them ! ' exclaimed Celes- 
 tine. 
 
 ' Don't be alarmed about them. If I am not optimist 
 enough to think that whatever is must be absolutely^ for 
 the best, I have sufficient faith to believe there is no 
 night so long or so dark as not to end in morning. If he 
 no longer earns, he can no longer waste his earnings, and 
 she will of necessity be roused toJiejiiQQi'eijareful wife 
 and mother. You will not lose your interest, and others 
 will not neglect or forget.' 
 
56 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 If by othevB he meant himself, Celestine felt very sure 
 he would not forget, and still less neglect. He turned 
 now to retrace his steps, but hesitated a moment as he 
 said good-bye. I 
 
 * There is one thing I should like to say if I dared,' he \ 
 said, with a smile. 1 
 
 * I have been told that you are not deficient in cour- 
 age.' 
 
 - ' It is this. You thought — I know you thought — that 
 I should have been reading the Bible instead of Will 
 Carleton to Holmes the other day.' 
 
 Celestine could not help the tell-tale colour that crept 
 up into her cheek, but she stood her ground. * I did not 
 think you should do anything but just what you did,' 
 she disclaimed. 
 
 ' Your face betrays you,' he said, while a smile of in- 
 expressible sweetness curved his handsome mouth. ' Never I 
 try to play the hypocrite, lor you will not succeed. But 
 that you may not think that I fail either to teach Scrip- 
 ture or to practice its teachings — according to my ability ^ 
 — any more than yourself, I will ask you a question. 
 Why did you take little Jemmy those French sweetmeats 
 the other day ? Would not simpler ones have pleased 
 the child as well ? ' 
 
 Celestine looked astonished for a moment ; then, as his 
 meaning broke upon her, she blushed again, a rosy red. 
 
 * Perhaps,' she said, ' the child, if not — ' Then she 
 gathered up her courage, and said, bravely : ' No, you 
 know they would not. And — I took them for the same 
 reason that yovb took the roses.' 
 
 His eyes flashed as his thought answered hers. ' Ah. 
 
IN THE TOILS. 5? 
 
 I see you understand ! ' in the same words Mr. Beckett 
 had used, but this time they were followed by no ques- 
 tion. ' I see you remember David's lesson to Araunah 
 and you know it is not only to the Lord that we must 
 not offer that which costs us nothing. If our gifts be in 
 charity, we may please ourselves — they may be little or 
 much, and of whatsoever we choose ; but if we aspire to 
 be their friends and sympathizers, we must give of the 
 best we have to the poor.' 
 
 He bowed and left her, and she watched the active, 
 graceful figure out of sight. Then she turned and walked 
 onward with a face of deep thought and a heavy sigh. 
 If any one had been there to ask her, I wonder if she 
 could have confessed to knowing why she sighed ? 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN THE TOILS. 
 
 |HROUGH the lengthening spring days that follow- 
 ed, as April sobbed herself away in fitful gusts 
 and tfears, and May came in with cool and fickle 
 smiles, Celestine saw but little of Mr. Crevolin. Though 
 she was no less assiduous than before in all kind and 
 needful attentions to the Holmes family, and though 
 she faithfully continued her visits to them — visits during 
 which she was not likely to be allowed to forget him oi* 
 to learn to think the less of him from what she heard — 
 she never happened to meet him there again — h^ad al- 
 D 
 
58 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 ways either just departed, or was expected, but did not 
 arrive while she remained. She was disappointed, and 
 as yet was not afraid to confess to herself that she was 
 so ; the acquaintance had promised her a new interest, | 
 and intercourse with a mind which she had at once felt ' 
 was more in consonance with her own than any she had 
 yet met with in Fairport, and she felt aggrieved at being 
 denied its further development. She remembered that 
 her sister had foretold that she would see much of Mr. 
 Crevolin, as he was often at her house; but though she 1 
 heard of his beinj^ everywhere else he did not come. 
 
 She could have but little idea that it was of firm pur- 
 pose he avoided her, and still less could she have imagined 
 the cause. She could not know that he, like herself, had 
 recognized the sympathetic mind, but, unlike herself, had 
 recognized far more. She could not guess that her pure, 
 tranquil face and deep eyes, her tender blush, and her soft 
 words had roused his sleeping heart to life, and wakened 
 in him all at once those feelings which all the rosy beauty 
 he had seen had so far never touched ; feelings which, as 
 time went on, and he had never yet experienced them, he 
 had begun to hope that Nature had denied him, as he 
 believed she had forbidden him their exercise and gratifi- 
 
 i 
 
 cation; feelings so exquisitely sweet and precious that | 
 he hugged them to his soul as a new life bestowed on him, 
 and at the same time bitter as death in the face of the 
 knowledge that they must be forever and inexorably 
 stifled and trampled down. She could not know that 
 while every look, every movement, every thread of her 
 chestnut hair, was a delight to him, he forced himself to 
 shun Wobql as an evil or a curse, knowing that in avoid- 
 
IN THE TOlLa 69 
 
 ance was his only refuge from worse pain ; that if he saw 
 her in the distance alone, a darii shadow crossed his eyes, 
 that when she was not alone, his sensitive mouth contract- 
 ed painfully, and a frown drew together his straight brows; 
 she could not know that he remembered, and lived on in 
 remembrance, every word she had spoken, every look she 
 had given him ; and that there lay upon his heart some of 
 the willow blossoms she had worn. But — that when her 
 image became sweetest to him, and his own thoughts most 
 passionate and tender, he would lift his hand and touch 
 the stain upon his face. 
 
 His absence appeared to excite no remark in others, and 
 something restrained Celestine from asking her sister why 
 her prophecy was so far from being fulfilled. Indeed 
 between herself and Sylvia there was now more than one 
 point of disagreement. Mrs. Beckett had become aware 
 of the visits to Bridge street, and had expressed extreme 
 disapproval, and as Celestine did not on that account dis- 
 continue them, she considered her authority set at naught 
 and herself aggrieved. Besides this, Sylvia generally 
 spoke now of Mr. Crevolin less with appreciation of his 
 character than with pity for his hopeless personal mis- 
 fortune and defect — a pity which, as Celestine was con- 
 scious of feeling it herself, was all the more repugnant to 
 her when expressed by others. 
 
 On one occasion, and by special invitation, he had 
 dined with them; but several other persons had been 
 present, and Mr. Crevolin, in his grave business aspect, 
 was so changed a man from him whom she had known at 
 Holmes' bed-side, and she — Celestine herself—had been so 
 markedly the object of Mr. Beckett's attentions, that the 
 evening had afforded her very little pleasure. 
 
60 "LOVED r NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 Mr. Beckett's intentions were indeed by this time per- 
 fectly apparent to everyone else as well as to her ; and 
 she felt herself in a dilemma from which extrication might 
 not be easy. She would not admit that his chance of 
 favour with her was less than it had been a mouth ago- 
 she stoutly affirmed to herself that he had never had a 
 chance at all ; but she felt quite sure that he only waited 
 some slight sign of encouragement that he would receive 
 a favourable reply to prefer his petition, and as, knowing 
 what her answer must be, she dared not give that encour- 
 agement, he did not ask the question, and she was debar- 
 red the satisfaction of knowing that she had said — and 
 that he knew she had said — no. 
 
 In the meantime, as nothing at all had been said, mat- 
 ters progressed outwardly much more in accordance with 
 Mr. Beckett's wishes than with her own. She was unable, 
 without showing a consciousness she did not like to betray, 
 to decline or avoid many things which, of her own will, 
 she would have left undone, and the doing of which, she 
 was aware, gave a colour to her motives and intentions, 
 which she was very unwilling they should wear. Among 
 other instances she had yielded, when hard pressed, 
 to Sylvia's persistent solicitations about the riding. Miss 
 King had never been fond of the exercise, and was no 
 horsewoman, but the steeds were warranted steady, and 
 of the efficiency of Mr. Beckett's escort there could be no 
 doubt. Mrs. Beckett was incapable of perceiving that 
 what is granted unwillingly might as well be denied, and 
 was satisfied that dangers were avoided, and that her 
 pet project must receive further advancement every time 
 she succeeded in forcing her sister and cousin into the 
 
IN THE TOILS. 61 
 
 unbroken and uninterrupted companionship entailed by 
 a two hours' ride. 
 
 Celestine soon became convinced that her name and in- 
 terests were joined to those of Mr. Beckett in people's 
 minds in a manner highly displeasing to her ; eyes follow- 
 ed her, and children's fingers pointed during her walks and 
 rides, and once or twice words not meant for her ears 
 had drifted to her hearing. But she felt that the con- 
 clusions drawn were perfectly natural, and that no matter 
 how she rebelled against them, and however much with- 
 out foundation she knew them to be, while no statement 
 was made, she could not contradict. 
 
 She also saw reason to suppose that she was no longer 
 looked on with quite the same favour by her friends in 
 Bridge street, a favour in which she had more than 
 hoped she had taken a firm stand. Though well aware 
 that Jack Barber had been the delinquent with regard to 
 little Jemmy Holmes, she had loyally abstained from any 
 word of accusation, and her generous discretion had won 
 her the devotion of himself and his associates, and at first 
 the approbation of some older heads who were equally 
 well acquainted with the facts of the case. Jack's father, 
 indeed, who was no other than the rough man who had 
 addressed her in the quarry on the morning of the acci- 
 dent, and who was one pf the most disturbing elements 
 of the turbulent atmosphere of Bridge street, had at first 
 expressed quite unqualified approval of her ; which add- 
 ed to her own helpful hand and heart-felt words had 
 caused her to be received with a readiness and an ab- 
 sence of suspicion never yet accorded to any one connect- 
 ed with * the boss.' Now, however^ a change appeared to 
 
62 "LOVED I NOT HONOUK MORE!" 
 
 preep over the scene. Symptoms of the discontent whfcli 
 Sylvia had proclaimed, which Mr. Beckett had inferrjed, 
 and which Mr. Crevolin had not denied, manifested them- 
 selves visibly, if not strongly. Frankness and freedjom 
 disappeared, and a taint of cool politeness, like a mist, 
 tangible if transparent, spread itself over an intercourse 
 heretofore hearty and free from cloud. 
 
 All this time she saw nothing of Mr. Crevolin, except 
 a shoi-t chance meeting now and then ; and a few words 
 at the church door before or after service was all the 
 speech exchanged between them. . That she could know 
 that this was the reason of much that perplexed her; 
 that she could know that Bridge street looked with ex- 
 treme disfavour on the notion of a union between her and 
 Mr. Beckett, and that having for a few fleeting days hug- 
 ged the hope of an alliance more in accordance with 
 their own desires and their own supposed advantage, 
 they regarded her now as having gone over to the enemy 
 and were wrathful in consequence, was of course impos- 
 sible. But it is not always needful to know the cause in 
 order to feel the effect, and Celestine was sensible of 
 some very unpleasant effects from some unknown cause. 
 She was disappointed, worried, and annoyed ; and while 
 too just to lay altogether to Mr. Beckett's charge that for 
 which he might not be entirely to blame, she yet felt as 
 if he were entangling her in a web she could not break ;. 
 or rather as if she breathed an atmosphere of fine dust 
 which, while it seemed to smother her, she was powerless 
 to blow or brush away. 
 
 Perhaps it is a little singular that to Mr. Crevolin she 
 never thought of attributing any blame at all. 
 
IN THE TOILS. ' 68 
 
 About this time — in the procession of the months May- 
 was now far on her way into the past — Celestine gave 
 her first offence to Mr. Beckett. He' had been dining 
 with them, and they were lingering over the desseit ; the 
 soft twilight fell through the long open, lace-shaded win- 
 dows, over the rich appointments of the room and the 
 glowing colours of the fruit and wine upon the table ; 
 and one last ray of the departed sun had caught, and still 
 hovered over as if loth to leave, Celestine's shining hair, 
 lighting up the glory of her eyes, and imparting to her 
 smooth cheek a tint rarely, save when she blushed, its 
 own. Her lover had never seen her look so nearly beau- 
 tiful. He had become a lover at last; his somewhat 
 sluggish pulse had learned to quicken at the touch of her 
 soft hand, his somewhat stubborn will had been roused 
 by opposition to a strong desire to reduce to capitulation 
 the fortress whose cool purity offered so persistent, if so 
 passive, a resistance. That his flame should have required 
 so much fanning will not, perhaps, redound much to the 
 credit of his passion ; but the fan had been applied, and 
 the flame now burned, after a fashion, fiercely. 
 
 The conversation, which in his hands never strayed far 
 from the affairs of Fairport and his own interest in and 
 efforts therefor, had not been altogether of a cheerful 
 Aature. Some complications had arisen of which Celes- 
 tine now heard for the first time. 
 
 ' This is a disagreeable business about Barber's son,' 
 said Ralph Beckett, helping himself to strawberries. 
 
 'Yes, I was talking to Crevolin about it to-day. He 
 seems to think he can't be taken on again.' 
 
 * Certainly not. There's a limit. You must let Philip 
 have his own way.' 
 
64 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 ' Well, I don't like to rouse the animosity of that fam- 
 ily. But Crevolin says it is not wise to temporize any 
 further, or to yield to persuasion again.' 
 
 * He's quite right. If he said otherwise I am not at all 
 sure I should not have my own say in the matter, though 
 in those things under Philip's rule I seldom interfere, 
 The lad is a drunken, insolent scoundrel, who sets an ex- 
 ample of idleness and insubordination. He must be made 
 an example of in another way.' 
 
 * What has Jack been doing ? ' asked Celestine. 
 
 ' Jack has nothing to do with it,' said her brother-in- 
 law. ' This older boy — a sharp lad of sixteen or seven- 
 teen — was a truck driver, and has been twice discharged 
 for carelessness and disobedience, and twice forgiven and 
 taken on again on promises of amendment never fulfilled. 
 Henry had interceded for him, and I suppose he counts 
 on the same support again; but it can't be done any - 
 more. He must go.' * 
 
 * Will he lose his work ? Won't he be worse idle ? ' 
 
 ' He needn't be idle — ^he can take the pick if he wants 
 work. The more responsible place, and the better pay 
 must be allotted to those who deserve and can retain 
 them. This boy has been intoxicated two or three times 
 lately in the quarry — it's impossible to run the risk of 4 
 such damage as he might do.' 
 
 Celestine was silent, but Mr. Beckett thought he saw 
 some dissent in her face, and spoke again. . 
 
 ' I know you see these people occasionally, Celestine, 
 and are to some extent interested in them ; but in this 
 instance I must request that you do not sympathise too 
 much, or interfere at all.' 
 
IN THE TOILS. 66 
 
 * Certainly not, if you so desire/ she replied. 
 
 * And you need the less regret your compliance when I 
 assure you that the Barbers are a baa lot altogether.' 
 
 * I am sorry/ said Sylvia, ' that I ever took Jessie into 
 the house ; but she's so useful, and the children are so 
 fond of her that I don't like to dismiss her without more 
 cause than I've had 3^et.' 
 
 ' That looks as if one of the lot, at all events, was not 
 very bad,' said Celestine. 
 
 ' The whole of Bridge street are a bad lot/ said Henry 
 Beckett, gloomily, and with an energy the occasion scarce- 
 ly seemed to demand. 
 
 ' I cannot at all allow that,' said Celestine, glad of a 
 chance to disagree. 
 
 At this flat contradiction on his own ground Mr. Beck- 
 ett looked first amazed, and then amused. Her flashes 
 of spirit, while they chafed him, often caused him to ad- 
 mire her the more. 
 
 ' Henry's about right, however,* remarked her brother- 
 in-law. ' There's that man Holmes — I firmly believe he 
 was drunk when he was hurt, and though under the cir- 
 cumstances one can but pity him, what excuse can be 
 made for a man who is drinking while. blasting is going 
 on?' 
 
 On the mention of the Holmes family Mrs. Beckett was 
 not sorry for the opportunity to speak her mind and give 
 some hints concerning them. 
 
 'I'm sure, I hope he'll get better/ she said; 'but I 
 suppose if he does he'll only begin to drink again.' 
 
 ' This may be the saving of him,' said Celestine. ' He 
 has had a severe lesson and will have time to break oflf/ 
 
66 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" J 
 
 * What are the prospects for the man, Henry ? You 
 know the people personally better than I do ? ' asked his 
 cousin. 
 
 * Well, I do 710^ know much of these people, but Dr. 
 Bernard says that, though he'll most likely never walk 
 alone again, he may after a time get about very well on 
 crutches/ 
 
 * Then he'll never be able to do any more work ? ' 
 suggested Mrs. Beckett.' Shall you have to keep all that 
 family in idleness, do you suppose, Ralph ? ' 
 
 * T don't think you need worry about that, Sylvia,' said 
 her husband, laughing. * Possibly we may find some- S 
 thing he can do.' 
 
 * Why, what can a man do on crutches ? But it's no j 
 matter — whatever you do you will get no thanks.' J 
 
 * I don't expect thanks,' said Henry Beckett. 
 
 * I think we ought to expect thanks, as we ought to 
 give them when they are deserved. It is a poor compli- 
 ment to those we benefit to suppose them incapable of 
 gratitude. No doubt Holmes would feel more grateful 
 and independent if he thought he earned wages than he , 
 would if living on gifts.' 
 
 * Who made you so wise all at once in such matters ? ' 
 demanded her sister, with a sudden suspicious look. * 
 
 * Miss King has evidently had an able teacher,' said 
 Mr. Henry Beckett, with an emphasis which Celestine 
 well remembered afterwards. 
 
 * Independent ! ' resumed Sylvia. ' I should think they 
 were independent ; it would be well if they were a little 
 less so sometimes. And as for gratitude, I don't believe 
 that that Mrs. Holmes is ever one bit grateful when I go 
 to see her/ 
 
IN THE TOILS. 67 
 
 This was probably true, Mrs. Beckett generally paid 
 her visits in a dress of silk and lace, and expressed her 
 opinion plainly, by looks if not by words, of the appear- 
 ance of the chair offered her to sit on, and of all things 
 else besides ; and her conversation usually consisted of a 
 mixture of advice and admonition, most of which was so 
 . inappropriate and so unpalatable that nothing less sweet 
 than the power of the money she sometimes left behind 
 her on the table would have sufficed to drive it down. 
 
 * I have always found her civil,' was all Celestine said. 
 She was occasionally obliged to exercise the talent of 
 silence in Sylvia's behalf. 
 
 ' I can't think how you can go there so much,' said her 
 sister again. * The place is horribly dirty. It smells so 
 that I always feel as if I wanted the camphor bottle.' 
 
 * I warned Miss King at first that it was not a fit place 
 for her to go/ said Henry Beckett. 
 
 * I regret that fate compelled me to slight ' your warn- 
 ing,' said Celestine, but she did not look grieved. ' Cir- 
 cumstances effected the introduction quite independently 
 of my own will. But I am sorry to say I have grown 
 very fond of Jemmy since I picked him up out of the 
 dirt.' 
 
 . ' You have a nice taste, I must say,' sneered Sylvia. 
 * To run after a little ragged-robin like that. If you 
 must have acquaintances among the workmen, why don't 
 you choose them from those that are decent and well 
 behaved ? * 
 
 ' My friends are quite decent, and I never see any ill- 
 behaviour,' said Celestine, laughing, though she felt a 
 
68 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE T 
 
 little indignant. * I know they're not patterns, but you 
 can't expect a whole town to be machine-made.' 
 
 Henry Beckett looked confounded for a moment, and 
 then deeply hurt. He did not speak, but his cousin 
 asked, in a tone of marked displeasure, ' Is that your own 
 expression, Celestine, or did you hear it from some one 
 else V 
 
 * Oh, I was not clever enough to invent it,' she replied, 
 laughing again. 
 
 * Well, whoever said it spoke in extremely bad taste; 
 and you must allow me to say, Celestine, that I think it 
 would be better if you talked less of what you cannot be 
 expected to understand.* 
 
 She coloured deeply at the unexpected rebuke. Then 
 all at once it Hashed through her like a sword that it was 
 from Mr. Crevolin she would be supposed to have heard 
 it ; it would be thought they had together irreverently 
 talked over the management of others ; it would be be- 
 lieved they had made light of good intention and earnest 
 effort ; she was shocked and alarmed, and added, hurri- 
 edly, 'The expression was not applied to this place, I as- 
 sure you. I did not hear it here.' 
 
 Her disclaimer, however, came too late ; the impression 
 
 had been given, the explanation passed unheeded. She 
 
 saw the mischief she had done, and sensible that she 
 
 could in no way repair it, she could have bitten her 
 
 ' offending tongue for its worse than careless words. 
 
 Henry Beckett said nothing, but he was very cold and 
 distant for the remainder of the evening. She saw that 
 he was more than offended, and though in the course of a 
 day or two this passed off, and he regained bis usual 
 
NED barbeb's revelation. 69 
 
 manner, she was quite aware that, far from being forgot- 
 ten, the offence had only been shifted to shoulders still 
 less deserving of it than her own. Whether this readi- 
 ness to dispense at his own need, in thought and motive* 
 with that benevolence which he so constantly inculcated, 
 tended to raise him further in her estimation, may per- 
 haps be left to conjecture without any great doubt as to 
 the reply. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 NED jabber's revelation. 
 
 (>^ 
 
 |T was on a soft, purple afternoon of June that Miss 
 King strayed down to the Uttle river to see if there 
 were yet any signs or promise of the white or golden 
 pond lilies that later on would star its waters. Enjoying 
 the soft stillness, she had seated herself in the shade of a 
 heavy clump of alder bushes that screened her from view, 
 when she became aware of voices below her. Looking 
 over the bank, which at this point was rather higher than 
 elsewhere, and permitted a sort of little beach on the edge 
 of the stream, she saw little Jack Barber and an ill-look- 
 ing lad in whom, though she had never seen him, she had 
 no difficulty in recognizing the bad brother she had heard 
 described ; they were bending over the water, and throw- 
 ing in sand and pebbles to watch the ripples break on the 
 somewhat stagnant surface, while they talked in tones by 
 no means lowered, "^hey were evidently unaware of her 
 presence, but not supposing it in any way to concern 
 
70 "LOVED I NOT HONOUB MORRi 
 
 «i 
 
 them she did not make it known ; and having no idea 
 that she could be interested in their conversation she wa8 
 not even conscious that she listened, though her ears 
 caught the apparently unimportant words they said. 
 
 ' Tell y' I will ! ' said the elder lad. ' I tell f I've 
 sworn to do 't, an' I will. 'Tain't nothin' to do. He's -^ 
 easy scared, he's got a liver like a white hen. I'll feel 
 better when I know I've giu him a good 'un.' 
 
 * But s'pose he don't come by himself, Ned ? ' suggested .^ 
 Jack, in a diffident tone. 
 
 ' Well, s'pose he don't, what of it ? All the better, for ; 
 he'll be scared for two. If she was Clip's girl you might 
 
 talk, but since she's gone back on Clip I don't care a ' 
 
 about her ; nor the rest don't, nuthft' 
 
 ' Be you sure you can do it all right, Ned ? ' 
 
 ' Course I kin ; it's easy enough. And no one don't 
 know I kin do it, so they'll never think it's me. Look 
 here, you little fool, if 3^ou give nie away I'll break every 
 bone in your skin. I'd never let you in the fun at all if 
 you hadn't had the luck to seen me gettin' ready.' 
 
 ' Can I see it go off, Ned ? ' 
 
 * I reckon. Anyone '11 see it that's there. Pick, says 
 he ! I'll pay him for that, you bet ! He'd only a' had to 
 speak up like he did afore, and they dars'n't. Yes, I'll 
 pick when I want to, and when I don't want to I'll let it 
 alone." 
 
 They moved away, and Celestine was glad of their de- 
 parture. The appearance of the boy fully bore out the 
 character she had heard given him. Sullen, coarse-fea- 
 tured, and degraded, but yet with a look of keen cunning? 
 he seemed one on whom clemency would be wasted, and 
 
NED barber's revelation. 71 
 
 offered advantages thrown away. His shuffling gait and 
 downcast eyes, combined with his scowl and savage ge»- 
 ture, appeared indicative of a double nature ; one of brutal 
 strength and passion, the other of a capacity for treach- 
 erous evil as yet undeveloped, and only waiting time and 
 opportunity. 
 
 When Celestine went to ride the next morning with 
 Mr. Beckett, the circumstance had escaped her memory ; 
 she had indeed had so little idea of the meaning of the 
 words she had heard that they had passed from her m'nd 
 as quickly as from her ears. Had she been offered her 
 choice this morning she would have stayed at home. She 
 dreaded to be alone with Mr. Beckett, fearing that decla- 
 ration which no conscientious woman wishes to receive 
 when she knows that her answer must be rejection, and 
 whose rejection in this instance would be the signal for ' 
 great annoyance, if not anger, from those she would will- 
 ingly, if she could, have pleased ; and though it is per- 
 haps easier to escape the hearing of unwelcome words on 
 horseback than elsewhere, she knew the time might come 
 when no escape would be allowed her. She dared not, 
 however, refuse the invitation ; for besides that she did 
 not wish to subject herself to Sylvia's questions and 
 reproaches, she was aware that the supposed and intended 
 pleasure was offered as atonement for the late unex- 
 pressed offence, and she knew that she must accept it if 
 she desired peace, 
 
 The consequences which the ride was to entail were 
 certainly among the last she would have supposed within 
 the range of possibilities. 
 
 Whether Mr. Beckett, after his usual fashion, was in 
 
72 "LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 DO haste, or whether, under the same adroit management 
 as once served the same purpose with Miss Fountain's 
 pony. Miss King's faithful steed had broken the thread 
 of the conversation whenever it threatened to become too 
 tender, will never now be known. Mr. Beckett was 
 destined to learn his fate in another way. 
 
 Outward circumstances were agreeable. The day was 
 cool, the air was clover-scented, the sky was blue. " The 
 pleasure of the ride had been marred by no untoward 
 accident, when Mr. Beckett proposed th.at instead of 
 returning as they had come they should pass through the 
 quarries on their way home. 1 
 
 Celestine demurred. * How will the horses stand it ? 
 You know my sister never trusts herself there, and I do 
 not ride near so well as she.' 
 
 * There can be no danger. They are used to the en- | 
 gines, and there is no blasting going on to-day. To make 
 sure, I will ask ; but I know the road is quiet, and you | 
 may, I think, trust me to take care of you.' 
 
 He called to a man not far off who told him that there ^ 
 would be no blast until the afternoon ; and that more- | 
 over it being dinner time and most of the men either gone 
 home or sitting down to eat, most of the trucks and en- | 
 gines were stationary on the tracks. 
 
 Thus assured they entered on the road, which was none 
 of the best, being only a rough cart-track often crossed 
 by the tram-rails and seldom used, as horses were of little 
 service in the quarry. Their own animals behaved tole- 
 rably well, an occasional start or snort when some escape 
 of steam or sudden whistle occurred in too close proximity 
 being their only sign of disapprobation, until they were 
 
NED BARBER^S REVELATION. 73 
 
 far on their way through, when Mr. Beckett all at once 
 called a halt and beckoned to Mr. Crevolin who at some 
 distance off was speaking to some of the men. 
 
 He came, not very quickly, approaching from Celestine's 
 side of the road. Mr. Beckett gave him a cool morning 
 greeting ; Celestine, with whom he had never yet shaken 
 hands, bowed and smiled, and he gravely lifted his hat to 
 her in reply. . 
 
 What was said among them she never remembered— 
 how it happe]|ed she never knew. But suddenly a puff 
 of smoke rose in the air close to them ; on the silence 
 broke first a loud report and then a dull and muffled roar, 
 a shower of dust and small stones fell upon and around 
 them, and in the confusion the horses were plunging 
 madly ; she knew that the bridle of her own was caught 
 by Mr. Crevolin, and that the next moment she was 
 shaken from the saddle and in his arms. 
 
 It was all over in an instant ; but that instant had done 
 and revealed what all time hereafter could never conceal 
 or undo. The unlooked-for shock i ad broken the bonds 
 of self-repression, and opened the eyes which hitherto had 
 had no opportunity to see. 
 
 Whether any man could under the circumstances have 
 kept rigid self-command, may be open to question, but 
 certainly Philip Crevolin could not. He had never yet 
 even touched the hand of the woman he loved — now, in a 
 moment of danger and of fierce alarm she lay against his 
 heart. Her supple waist yielded to his clasp, he felt the 
 throb and swell of her bosom against his own, as her head 
 fell on his shoulder, her cheek touched his, and her breath 
 warmed and fanned it, and her chestnut hair loosened by 
 
74 * LOVED I NOT HONOUR MOBE ! " 
 
 the fall streamed over his arm. Is it any wonder that 
 the ecstacy of the moment brought momentary forgetf ul- 
 ness of all save itself? That for one brief instant he 
 strained her to him in an embrace that means but one 
 thing and tells its own tale ? That when she clung to 
 him in her terror, and their eyes met, his blazed with the 
 fire that one torch alone can kindle ? That in the words 
 ' Oh, my God! are you hurt ? * he said, ' My love ! I love 
 you ! ' as plainly as if for that purpose only, the sj^Uables 
 had been framed ? Had he been able to keep his love 
 quite under lock and key, would his love have been quite 
 worth the having ? 
 
 Celestine at all events found no fault with what she 
 saw, heard, and understood. Her heart gave one quick, 
 answering bound ; but, besides that a woman's instinctive 
 power of concealment is greater, she had less to betray. 
 Her self-knowledge was as yet but a flash, her dignity 
 the habit of a lifetime ; and before one could count thirty, 
 she had released herself and stood alone and steady, com^ 
 posed if pale, and with a quiet face, if with a beating 
 heart. 
 
 It had all happened far more quickly than it can be 
 told, and Gelestine trusted that one at least of the party 
 had remained in ignorance of what the accident had re- 
 vealed. She glanced at Mr. Beckett, but his face told her 
 nothing, and she could only hope that he had really been 
 as unobserved as he appeared. 
 
 To Mr. Crevolin had also returned the outward sem- 
 blance of composure, and with it the full realization of the 
 danger just past— and of some other things besides. He 
 looked very stern and grave now ; every drop of blood 
 
NED barber's revelation. - 76 
 
 had receded from his face, and on his pale cheek the cross 
 stood out distinct and dark ; his lips were compressed, and 
 as he looked at Mr. Beckett's averted face and his efforts 
 to control the spirited, and still excited young mare he 
 rode, he frowned heavilj'. Quite as visibly as the love had 
 burned there a few seconds before, there low gleamed in 
 his eyes, contempt for the man, who in concern for his 
 own safety had forgotten, even for an instant, the woman 
 confided to his charge — the woman for whom he was be- 
 lieved to care. It may be, however, that Mr. Beckett had 
 not been quite so forgetful as he had appeared ; but, if he 
 had planned to discover by his own observation, whether 
 the suspicions that had lately for the first time crossed his 
 mind were well founded, it is to be hoped that he was gra- 
 tified by the results of his investigation. 
 
 The alarm over, it became needful to look for the cause. 
 The excited workmen had gathered, and now made eager 
 and vigilant search in the place where the explosion had 
 occurred, but nothing was discovered, save the remains of 
 a fuse and of an ill-laid train which had never been in- 
 tended for a proper blast, and no one was to be seen far or 
 near. Search and conjecture were alike at last exhausted ; 
 Mr. Beckett's anger, Mr. Crevolin's more quiet inquiries, 
 and the authority of both were of no avail ; of those by 
 whom nothing was known, nothing could be learned, and 
 the inquisition was for the time abandoned. Celestine 
 refused to remount, and Mr. Beckett giving the horses in 
 charge to one of the men, and coldly requesting Mr. Cre- 
 volin's attendance to his cousin's house, with reference to 
 the past occurrei^ce, the three set out to walk the not very 
 lengthy distance home. 
 
76 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE !*' 
 
 On the way, and before they had gone far, Mr. Beckett 
 left them a moment to give some explanations and orders 
 to those men who, alarmed by the unexpected explosion, 
 were hurrying into t^ 3 quarry from the town side. In 
 his absence, and to oreak a tSte-d-tete in which she at 
 least felt very conscious, Celestine moved some few steps 
 off the path to pull some sprays of a creeper that crawled 
 over and draped a large overhanging piece of rock. As 
 she shook the vines something concealed there stirred ; 
 and as she parted the leaves further little Jack Barber 
 sprang out into the sunshine. ^ 
 
 * Hallo ! ' exclaimed Mr. Crevolin. 
 
 The child turned on Celestine a look of wild affright, 
 and uttered an oath terrible to hear from his young lips. 
 
 * By ,' he cried out, * it's Clip ! Go back, missus, and 
 
 don't let him come here ! Keep Clip back, I say ! ' and 
 as he spoke, and before she could address him, he ran off. 
 
 Mr. Crevolin came forward, but the boy was already out 
 of reach. He pulled down some more of the vines and 
 found that the child had not been alone. The elder 
 brother lay on the ground, in the shadow of the rock, ap- 
 parently fast asleep. 
 
 ' Get up,' said Mr. Crevolin ; but the boy did not stir. 
 The command was repeated, emphasized by a push of the 
 foot ; still there was no movement, but the boy emitted 
 a heavy, stertorous breath. 
 
 * The lad's drunk again,* said Mr. Crevolin. 
 
 He looked at Celestine as he spoke, and was astonished 
 to see that she was pale and trembling ; her breath came 
 quick, and she said in a hurried undertone, * Oh, heavens ! 
 it was done on purpose. I remember now ! ' 
 
NED barber's revelation. 77 
 
 * What do you remember ? What do you mean?' he 
 . asked, quickly. 
 
 But with the recollection of the words she had over- 
 heard on the preceding day came other recollections still. 
 She remembered the remark Mr. Beckett had made on the 
 animosity of the Barber family, animosity of which she 
 had just seen and felt ample and terrible proof. She felt 
 assured that the boy's drunken sleep was only a feint to 
 cover his complicity in the explosion, and that whosoever 
 discovered or chastised him would again be the object of 
 his wrath and vengeance. She was really glad that Mr. 
 Beckett had escaped harm, but if any evil should menace 
 
 Philip Crevolin . As she recognized the difference she 
 
 knew her own heart at Itlst, and resolved that by no sign 
 or word of hers should he incur risk or danger. 
 
 * Are you " Clip ? " ' she inquired, looking at him steadily, 
 regardless of his surprise. 
 
 *I believe I am known by that elegant name some- 
 times. Why ? ' 
 
 His answer dyed her cheek, but * Nothing,' she re- 
 plied. 
 
 * Tell me what you mean,' he said again. 
 
 * Nothing,' she reiterated ; but her eyes fell. 
 
 His look searched her face. ' You know something and 
 you are keeping it back,' he said, in a colder tone. 
 
 She lifted her head proudly. * Nothing at any rate that 
 you have any right to ask or know.* 
 
 He looked surprised and pained, but said no more, for 
 Mr. Beckett rejoined them ; and after some continued ex- 
 amination of the boy, which however failed to elicit any 
 sign of consciousness, and many threats of future punish- 
 
78 *' LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!** 
 
 ment which Celestine sincerely wished had not been ut- 
 tered in the hearinf^ of ears that she fully believed under- 
 stood every word spoken, they left him in his seemingly 
 insensible slumber under the shadow of the rocks and 
 vines and went home. The two men entered together by 
 the side door into the office, and Celestine thankfully 
 reached the seclusion of her own room. Never had she 
 been so glad to be alone. 
 
 . She had indeed sufficient matter to exercise her mind. 
 With that fond pride and triumph which must always 
 stir a woman's heart when she first knows herself the 
 possessor of a love that does not jdisplease hex were min- 
 gled other sensations which she might have been less 
 willing to acknowledge, or to allow their true name. 
 But only one thing was quite clear. It was needless that 
 the author of that wonderful book, the 'Golden But- 
 terfly,' should have made his heroine unable to read, and 
 have denied her oral teaching in the matter of love in 
 order to prove her ignorance of it. No amount of out- 
 ward instruction will avail to give the knowledge until 
 the one preceptor comes, as then no efforts will suffice to 
 withhold it. Phyllis, at nineteen, had never had, or 
 heard of, a lover ; she falls a natural captive to the first 
 young man who finds her, — and whom of course she finds 
 — charming. Celestine, at twenty-three, had known and 
 heard as much as most pure women do, and had had her 
 share of admiration and of profiered marriage; yet 
 Phyllis, behind her guardian's walls, was not more ignor- 
 ant of love than she. Words of wooing had fallen as 
 warm as the alphabet or the multiplicahion. table, tender 
 glances might have been given with equal eflfect by her 
 
NED barber's revelation. 79 
 
 grandmother, until that half minute when Philip Crevo- 
 lin's eyes met hers, and his passionate tones thrilled her 
 being as she lay upon his arm. The only difference was 
 this — that when the magic touch was given, and the new 
 emotion sprang to life in both, and both alike felt and 
 confessed its power, Phyllis could not, and Celestine 
 could, give it its true name. 
 
 But in spite of her knowledge of herself, she said to 
 herself, ' Why ? ' Involuntarily her hand went up to her 
 temple until she felt the hot blood rise to shame her, and 
 drew away her fingers with a gesture of anger. No — 
 that did not matter while he was — what she knew him 
 to be ; what could matter while his eyes and voice spoke 
 as they had spoken an hour before ; what could matter 
 while he loved her ? The certainty that he loved her satis- 
 fied her for the present; and all other considerations, 
 social, prudential, and of probability, were lost sight of. 
 
 She had, in respect to other matters, grave reasons for 
 anxiety and wonder. Could it be possible, she thought, 
 that a plot like that which had nearly led to such serious 
 results had been but the outcome of a boy's vengeful 
 spite ? Could he have devised and carried it out alone ? 
 Might it not denote a further disaffection, a spirit of angry 
 resistance, which would lead possibly to graver conse- 
 quences still, not only in the case of Henry Beckett, but 
 might also extend to her brother-in-law, and through him 
 to those nearer yet to her affections ? She had been told 
 not to interfere, and from motives very different from 
 those she would be supposed to hold she had resolved to 
 comply ; but she felt that, knowing what she did, and 
 suspecting more, it might be very difficult — perhaps dan- 
 
80 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE." 
 
 gerous — either to keep the resolution, or to obey the 
 command. 
 
 There was, however, one comfortable reflection. She 
 remembered, well enough to bring the flush again to her 
 face, the words the young rascal had made use of the day 
 before ; she knew on the best authority that she had been 
 talked of in the quarry as ' Clip's girl,* and that to have 
 * gone back on him ' had been there deemed an oflfence. 
 Well, that offence would exist no more. *Clip,' at all 
 events, was popular, and as far as depended upon her 
 should not forfeit his popularity ; and perhaps for his 
 sake she might regain and retain her favour too. ' 
 
 What passed during the lengthened interview in the 
 office Celestine never, even in the after days, fully learne*''!*' 
 There was always one reservation between her and Mr. 
 Crevolin — one trial he had borne for her sake, of which 
 she never knew. 
 
 At luncheon, to which Mr. Henry Beckett remained, 
 both gentlemen were reserved and grave. Sylvia was 
 loquacious enough, but her speech was confined to lavish 
 expressions of disgust and anger for the iniquity of boys 
 who would play the fool in the quarry, and reprehension 
 of the carelessness of those who permitted them the chance 
 to do so. Celestine almost began to hope that of her own 
 particular share in the adventure nothing was to be said ; , 
 but she found afterwards she was not to escape so easily. 
 Visitors occupied Mrs. Beckett's attention during the af- 
 ternoon, and guests at dinner prevented the discussion of 
 family affairs; but as they were parting for the nighty 
 Sylvia followed her sister into her own room and closed 
 the door. 
 

 KED barber's REVEl ATION. 81 
 
 ' I don't want to say a word more than I can help to 
 vex you, Celestine/ she began, rather nervously, and 
 twisting in her fingers the tassel that depended from her 
 fan; 'but I must ask you what you think of all your 
 protdg6s now ? ' 
 
 * Ned Barber is no prot^g^ of mine,* said Celestine. 
 
 * Never mind ; you are mixed up with them all, and 
 you might as well hold a rat in your hand and expect it 
 not to bite, or lift hot coals and expect them not to burn, 
 as look for anything but mischief from any one of them/ 
 
 *You are very unjust, Sylvia. Do you suppose I shall 
 condemn twenty people for the fault of one bad boy ? ' 
 
 * Well, if I am unjust, youjare very unkind,* said Syl- 
 via, with a little choke. * I did hope this would be a 
 lesson to you to keep out of such compaiiy for the future. 
 I should think to-day ought to have given you sufficient 
 warning.' 
 
 * It certainly has,' replied Celestine ; but she did^ wju 
 think it necessary to explain in what way. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett's face cleared a little. 
 
 * Then I hope you'll profit by it, my dear. And — I 
 
 hope, dear, you won't think I am meddling, because I was 
 
 asked to say it — but there is another thing that I want 
 
 to speak about, Celestine — what have you done to annoy 
 
 Henry so much ? ' 
 
 ' I ? nothing that I know'of ;' but she coloured all over 
 neck and brow. 
 
 ''You know you are not telling the truth,' said her sis- 
 ter, slowly, with her eyes fixed upon her, ' You know 
 that when that accident happened to-day he had a very 
 good right to be displeased.* 
 
 f 
 
82 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MOREI' 
 
 ' Upon my word, I don't see it ! ' exclaimed Celestine, 
 flushing this time with anger. ' I think, on the contrary, 
 I am the one aggrieved. For all he did to help me I 
 might have been killed.' 
 
 ' It is you who are unjust now. You know you had no 
 business to fall into Mr. Crevolin's arms.' 
 
 * Would you — and Mr. Beckett — have preferred that I 
 should fall among the stones, and break my neck ? ' 
 
 ' Don't talk nonsense. Henry could have caught you 
 just as well.* 
 
 * I can't see how, Sylvia, in accordance with the laws of 
 gravitation. He sat his horse and I fell oft* mine, Mali- 
 ratta had her forefeet in the air, and when people fall they 
 generally fall downwards.' 
 
 * You can be as flippant as you choose, but you know 
 very well what 1 mean if you would confess it.' Celes- 
 tine certainly did, but she had no intention of confes- 
 sion. * Dear Celestine, do listen a moment, and be reason- 
 able. You know — you must know — what we all — what 
 — what we should all like. I don't know just what has 
 been said — not exactly, that is — but the truth is I have 
 been commissioned by Ralph — only by Ralph, mind — to 
 ask if you will say yes to what Henry is prepared and 
 longing to ask you.' 
 
 * Can't he ask for himself ? ' said Celestine, hotly. Then 
 she added, more quietly, ' No, Sylvia — I should say No! 
 
 * Oh, Celestine, you don't mean it ! ' 
 
 ' I assure you I mean it as seriously as I ever meant 
 anything in my life.' 
 
 * Do think again, Celestine. What can you want, either 
 
 of means or position, more than he can give you ? * 
 I . 
 
NED barber's revelation. 83 
 
 * My dear sister, if Mr. Beckett were President of the 
 United States, or if he were sole owner of the quarries 
 and a whole system of railroads besides, I would not 
 marry him ; and as he has made you his ambassadress you 
 can tell him so.' 
 
 ' Celestine, I can onl}'- think you must be mad/ said 
 Mrs. Beckett, very gravely. ' Of course there are things 
 one cannot even speak of, but you know what I mean. 
 Oh, do be careful, and be warned in time ! ' 
 
 * I don't think I need any warning,' said Celestine, 
 laughing ; ' and so far through my life I have been tol- 
 erably careful. Let us say good-night now, for I am 
 tired. Don't be disappointed ; you can give Mr. Beckett 
 all the consolation he needs, it will not be much, believe 
 me.' 
 
 * Oh, Celestine ! I hoped it would be so different.' 
 *0h, Sylvia! you married for your own pleasure — 
 
 why can't you lee me remain single for mine ? ' 
 
 ' Will you ? ' asked her sister, eagerly, and brightening 
 
 up. * Will you promise me to think of no one else just 
 
 yet ? And 111 take you to Newport with me next month, 
 
 and see what I can do for you there.' 
 
 Miss King smiled rather sadly. ' Dear Sylvia, is there 
 
 nothing in all this wide world worth thinking of or 
 
 looking for but a rich husband ? * 
 
 * Will you come to Newport with me, Celestine ? I'll 
 give you all the necessary dress if you will.' 
 
 * That is a tempting bait,' said Celestine, thoughtfully 
 
 * one that I scarcely feel strength to resist. Well, my 
 dear, I can't promise, just yet ; but perhaps I will.' 
 
84 ''LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE I" i 
 
 Mrs. Beckett left the room with a srXistied smile on 
 her pretty face. Her sister looked after her with a sigh. 
 
 * Dear little shallow thing ! ' she said to herself. ' I'ji 
 sorry to have to disappoint her, when she means it all for 
 the best. It's dreadful to think they all know it ; but 
 perhaps that's all for the best, too.' 
 
 She went to the glass, and looked at herself ; then while 
 her face burned crimson, she lifted her hand and drew her 
 fingers again and slowly over her cheek and temple, while 
 two large tears gathered and fell. She dashed them away, ^ 
 and as if to counter-balance the recollection that had ' 
 brought them, she watched the motion of her own lips, 
 as she repeated, very low and softly, the words that had > 
 told her so much — ' Oh, my God ! are you hurt ? ' — strange 
 words in which to convey a declaration i love ! — and 
 then, lower still, * Philp . Philip ! my Philip ! ' Then, 
 suddenly dropping her head, she hid her face from herself ' 
 in her hands. . . . But why betray any 
 more of her tender foolishness ? Sylvia had called her 
 sister clever — she was but like other weak, loving women 
 after all. 
 
 ' How much I owe Ned Barber ! ' was her last thought 
 before she fell asleep. * There's some good in every one, 
 even in Ned Barber. He has delivered me from Mr. 
 Beckett's suit, and he has shown me Philip's love.' 
 
WILL AGAINST WILL. 85 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WILL AGAINST WILL. 
 
 YLYIA was more than pleased by the success of her 
 little scheme. Believing that Mr. Beckett's pre- 
 tensions were finally disposed of, and thankful 
 for^ if contemptuous of, the judicious manner in which 
 he had obtained assurance without any unpleasant ques- 
 tions or harsh replies, Celestine permitted her manner to 
 soften and lose its constraint ; and Mr. Beckett, drawing 
 from this a good augury, and as little as Celestine herself 
 imagining the real state of the case, allowed his partially 
 aroused suspicions to be lulled to sleep, and his mind and 
 face to lighten of that gloom which 'lad threatened to 
 settle so darkly down. 
 
 So Sylvia was more than pleased. Her woman's wit, or 
 rather cunning, had struck very near the truth, and she 
 had balanced probabilities and calculated chances in a 
 way that did credit to the shrewdness of her little brain. 
 She knew that as long as Mr. Beckett did not ask Celes- 
 tine could not absolutely refuse ; as long as Celestine did 
 not absolutely refuse, Mr. Beckett would not withdraw 
 his suit ; as long as he was known to be a suitor, and ap- 
 parently a favoured one, she believed that Mr. Crevolin, 
 however audacious in thought and desire, would never 
 dare word or sign. Mr. Beckett could follow them to 
 Newport, though Philip Crevolin could not ; and absence 
 would, she hoped, soon cool Celes tine's terrible infatuation. 
 If Sylvia could only maintain them all in their present 
 beliefs — if she could only keap things in abeyance until 
 
86 " LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! " 
 
 she could get away (and she vowed to get away as soon 
 as possible), all might ye't end well. ' 
 
 But in all human calculations there must be an un- 
 known quantity — in all human plans there may be a 
 flaw; a few days after that adventure in the quarry 
 whose dangerous tendencies Mrs. Beckett supposed she 
 , had so skilfully overcome, as she and Celestine were sit. 
 ting together, a servant dropped these words like distilled 
 poison into her ear. ' Mr. Crevolin is in the library, madam, . 
 to see Miss King.* I 
 
 She turned so white that Celestine, whose own consci- I 
 ence told her what passed in her sister's mind, could not | 
 help laughing. | 
 
 'Are you sure it was Miss King he asked for?' inquired ^ 
 Sylvia of the girl. 
 
 The servant, who happened to be that Jessie, the under 
 • nurse who lay beneath the ban of Mrs. Beckett's suspi- 
 cion, answered yes, vith a very keen glance at Celestine 
 as she did so. ^^ 
 
 Sylvia's face was the picture of despair ; but Celestine, 
 who had reflected, more quickly and reasonably than her 
 sister had been able to do, that a man does not usually 
 come of malice prepense at ten o'clock in the morning 
 riuu a?k deliberately and openly for the lady of his affec- 
 tions when he intends making a declaration of love, went 
 down to the interview without any great perturbation, 
 if in considerable perplexity as to what it might portend. 
 She scarcely noticed, certainly took no heed, that as she 
 crossed the hall Jessie, with some sewing in her hand^ 
 entered a small room behind the library which communi- 
 cated with it by sliding doors. - 
 
WILL AGAINST WILL. 87 
 
 Celestine had not thought the interview likely to be of 
 importance, and was not prepared for the set stern look 
 she met, nor for the extreme gi-avity of eyes and voice 
 with which Mr. Crevolin addressed her. She was struck 
 more forcibly than ever before by the sense of suppressed 
 power in his face, and by the impression of self-contrv>l 
 conveyed by his whole bearing and demeanour. ' Bravo 
 deeds in war/ Sylvia had once said. Celestine could 
 now believe in any boldness, any endurance, which he 
 had learned and shown in that furnace fire of trial, that 
 crucible of soul, in which he had spent four years of early 
 manhood. Where were the fire and the tenderness 
 that she knew lay beneath that calm exterior as volcanic 
 flames lie beneath the granite or the snow ? Could it be 
 possible that those steady eyes had so lately flashed love's 
 lightening into her own ? that those hands which now 
 would not move to meet hers had held her a few hours 
 before in an embrace strong as death ? She had not ex- 
 pected any present evidence of remembrance, but she saw 
 now that what could never be forgotten was to be, per- 
 haps forever, as though it had never been. No, never for- 
 gotten. Truly enough had he once said it was 'impossible 
 to undo.' For one moment he had been unable to conceal 
 that he loved her ; and though the mask might be resum- 
 ed, though he was master of himself now, and pacj.^ion felt 
 the rein and curb, she could say in her heart, ' I know it. 
 He can liever take the knowledge from me now.' 
 
 His calmness steadied her, and she did not lose her 
 self-possession ; but she thought he turned, if that were 
 possible, a shade paler when, in accordance with his 
 evident intention^ she gave him only ^ bow in return for 
 
88 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 his own, and remained sta^nding, waiting quietly for what 
 he had to say. 
 
 * I am glad to see/ was what he did say, ' that you have 
 suffered no lasting ill effects from the dangerous events of i 
 the other day.' | 
 
 The words might possibly bear a second interpreta- i 
 tion, and she answered, 'No, I received no harm in any 
 way.' ^ 
 
 He paused an instant, as if considering how best to | 
 frame his next words. * It might have been far different. ] 
 Have you any idea of the risk you ran? that if the | 
 explosion had been better planned, or, even as it was, if '\ 
 the horses had been in motion, you — and Mr. Beckett— : 
 might both have lost your lives ? ' 
 
 * I know it,' she replied, simply; * I know you saved 
 mine.* 
 
 * Nothing of the kind,' he said. * As it happened, the 
 danger was slight. The boy had done his work ill.' 
 
 * I do not like to hear you say, " I took no pains for 
 those thanks." ' She tried to speak lightly, to turn the 
 current of his thought ; but he was not to be led away. 
 
 * I will tell you why I have come,' he went on. ' I have 
 reason — you have given me reason — to believe that you 
 know something of this, and I have come to ask you what 
 it is.' 
 
 Then she saw that he had a serious meaning, and her 
 heart began to fail her. 
 
 * What do you know, or think that I know ? ' 
 
 ' I think I know that the explosion was planned with 
 the deliberate intention of injuring either Mr. Beckett or : 
 myself, in revenge for the loss of his place, by the boy J 
 
WILL AGAINST WILL. 89 
 
 whom we found — drunk or not, as the case may be — 
 hidden under the rock.' 
 
 * That is a horrible idea/ said Celestine. 
 
 < It is ; but can you deny that you entertained it at the 
 moment you saw the boy ? ' 
 
 No, she could not deny that the first suspicion had 
 emanated from her. 
 
 * If it be so, should not so heinous an offence be tracked 
 out, and punished to the fullest limit allowed ? ' 
 
 ' Why do you suppose I know anything about it ? * 
 ' You have only to say that you .do not, and I will not 
 
 ask you another word,' he replied, his eyes fixed upon her. 
 He had so spoken as to force her admission, for again 
 
 she was compelled to be silent. 
 
 * Why should you object to tell me what you know ? * 
 
 * What does Mr. Beckett say about it ? ' was her counter- 
 question. 
 
 ' Mr. Beckett does not agree with me, and, I regret to 
 say, will not move in the matter ' — Celestine felt inclined 
 to be grateful to Mr. Beckett for once, — ' but he did not 
 see or hear what I did, and I had no right to tell him that 
 T/ithout your permission.' 
 
 * Then, if he is v/illing to let it pass, why not do so ? ' 
 
 * Because — I have, perhaps, no right to say it ; but I 
 believe Mr. Beckett's motive is less real clemency than 
 expediency. At all events, he declines to interfere, and 
 Mr. Ralph Beckett has left it to me. I believe there is a ] 
 time when clemency should cease and justice begin, and ^ 
 that it has come with this boy. It must be known that , 
 conduct such as his meets its due.' 
 
 * The attack, if it were one, was not aimed at you,* 
 
90 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 said Celestine, unguardedly. He drew the unavoidable 
 inference from her words, but did not betray it. 
 
 * The more reason why I should sift it out and bring it 
 to punishment. What I might be willing to forgive for 
 myself I have no right to pass over when aimed at those 
 to whom my duty is owed. I believe you can help me, 
 and I entreat that you will/ 
 
 He looked steadily at her, and saw that at the word 
 entreat her eyes fell and her mouth quivered ; but she 
 did not yield. While every word he spoke increased her 
 belief in the justice of his motives and her desire to dc aa 
 he would have her, it yet increased her determination 
 that the dangerous course of action dictated by those 
 motiv*^s should in no degree be attributable to her. 
 
 ' Have you no grounds for suspicion of the boy but 
 those few unfortunate words I made use of ? ' 
 
 ' 1 do no say so. But if you refuse your evidence I 
 shall make ije of any other that I can obtain. Why 
 should you desire to shield this boy ? ' 
 
 Of course she could not tell him. She could not say, 
 as she refused the truth, that far from wishing to shield 
 him she would have been glad to hear that he was locked 
 up for life ; she could not say aloud, as she said in her 
 heart, * I do not wish Ned Barber angered lest he may 
 harm you' So she said nothing. ^^^ 
 
 'Can you not see it as I do?' asked Mr. Crevolin. 
 ' (Ian you not see that for all reasons of law, justice and 
 safety this sort of thing must be put down ?' 
 
 She did — but she could not tell him that she did not 
 want him to be the one to do it. 
 
WILL AGAINST WILL. 91 
 
 * If I tell you this/ she said with a sudden thought, 
 ' will you promise me to do no more in the matter — this 
 once.' 
 
 *No/ he replied, somewhat sternly. * I cannot promise 
 that ; I have told you what I think right. I ask you that 
 I may have the means of justice in my hands.* 
 
 Celestine tried to believe herself angry with him for 
 his refusal of her request, and felt at the same time that 
 she would have respected him less had he complied. 
 
 ' Then I cannot tell you,* she said. 
 
 ' Then permit me to say that I think your kindness 
 outweighs yourjudgment, and that you fail in your duty.' 
 
 The words were hard to hear from him. Was this the 
 man who loved her, and for whose sake she was pursuing 
 a course of which she more than doubted the right if she 
 did not yet doubt the wisdom ? Involuntarily she stood 
 more erect and lifted her head, though she submitted in. 
 silence. 
 
 Mr. Crevolin saw the gesture, and his own heart was; 
 wrung by the pain he had caused her. * I cannot under- 
 stand why you should hesitate,' he said, more gently.. 
 
 * Your share in the matter will never be known.' As he 
 spoke no warning voice whispered to him that Jessie 
 Barber sat in the next room. 
 
 For a moment Celestine's eyes flashed superb scorn. 
 
 * Bo you think / am afraid ? ' she asked. Perhaps he 
 guessed at whom the emphasis on the word pointed, but 
 he saw that whatever her motives, personal fear was not 
 among them, and he felt a fresh throb of admiration 
 added to the feelings he already found it so hard to keep 
 down. 
 
92 " LOVED r NOT HONOUR MORE I " 
 
 ' I cannot tell you — I will not tell you ! ' she exclaimed^ 
 almost rudely in her distress. * You have no right to 
 question me so.' And, with a woman's inconsistency, the 
 light in her eyes all at once went out in tears. 
 
 He softened instantly. * Perhaps not — pardon me for 
 having pressed you so far. I am bound to believe that 
 you have good reason for what seems to me incompre- 
 hensible, and I will say no more. But remember 1 once 
 told you that it is not always when we mean most good 
 that we do least harm.' 
 
 * I wish to harm no one,' said Celestine with a little sob, 
 her feelings torn between the desire for his safety and 
 the wretchedness of doing what he did not approve. 
 
 * I know,' he said softly ; * and I hope you may not 
 regret your kindness in shielding this boy, who if guilty 
 surely deserves no shield. Nor must you expect me to 
 spare him, even though you wish it, if I can bring his 
 guilt home.* 
 
 * Remember, at all events, that I have not helped you 
 to bring it home.' ' ' 
 
 * You certainly have not,' said Mr. Crevolin, smiling for 
 the first time. ' For some unknown reason he has a friend 
 in you, and for whatever justice overtakes him he will 
 have me alone to thank.' . - 
 
 The words smote her, even at the time. Afterwards, 
 when in bitter need she remembered them, she wondered 
 could she have done better ? Would anvthinor she could 
 then have said have changed the course of events, and 
 spared her what was to come ? But the question forever 
 remained unanswered. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett's keen observation found no reason to sup- 
 
WILL AOAINST WILL. 98 
 
 pose that any — from her point of view — ill effects had 
 resulted from the interview that had caused her so much 
 alarm, though no hint was given her of what had passed. 
 Indeed, she rather rejoiced over the unmistakable traces 
 of tears which she detected afterwards on her sister's 
 face, and the uneasiness of manner which was only the 
 faint evidence of the terrible anxiety which Celestine en- 
 dured for the next few days, and could not entirely conceal 
 or control, gave her sincere pleasure. 
 
 Celestine's state of mind was certainly not at this time 
 enviable. Though she tried to stifle them, she could not 
 help feeling doubts as to whether she had acted wisely ; 
 as to whether she had done quite right she unfortunately 
 had no doubt at all. She was in total ignorance as to 
 what was going on, nor except by results when all was 
 ended could she hope to learn ; as to ask a question was 
 impossible without raising those ideas, and exciting 
 those remarks which she was most anxious to let sleep, 
 no one else appeared to think about the matter ; and as 
 no one volunteered her any information, she was forced 
 to bear the suspense as best she could, which, to say 
 truth, was very ill indeed. 
 
 If she felt any disappointment at the sudden and swift 
 dropping of so dense a veil over the bright revelation of a 
 moment she did not yet admit it to herself. A woman's 
 love, when she first knows herself beloved, is very often 
 self-sufficing, and always patient ; and Celestine, though 
 herself unworldly, was yet quite aware that in the eyes 
 of the world Mr. Crevolin's aspirations — if such he held 
 with regard to her — would be so opposed to all its dearest 
 doctrines as to require time for reconciliation with them, 
 
94 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORBl" 
 
 and that the course of love might bo none of the smooth- 
 «Bt. To what he might himself feel in the matter she did 
 not perhaps give sufficient consideration. She forgot that 
 though she had learned to be unmindful of the outward 
 istain, in admiration of the inward purity, he might not be 
 -equally oblivious : and though she believed herself to have 
 measured his character, there were certain items contained 
 in it, without which it would not have been what it was 
 -which she had not yet learned, and did not take into ac- 
 count — a true humility and a great pride. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 
 
 I HERE came a day when Celestine felt she could 
 bear uncertainty and inaction no longer — when 
 she decided that whatever were to be learned, it 
 was better to learn it than to remain in the torments of 
 ignorance and suspense. Fortune favoured her ; her bro- 
 ther-in-law was absent, not to return till the next day, 
 and Mrs. Beckett had dined earlier than usual in order 
 to drive out with the children when the heat had lessened. 
 On this expedition she had requested her sister's com- 
 pany, but Celestine had declined, having plans of her 
 own. In deference to Sylvia she had abstained, for 
 more than a week, from visiting any of her objectionable 
 acquaintances ; on this evening she had resolved to go 
 and see Mrs, Holmes. 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 95 
 
 It was intensely hot ; and before setting out Celestine 
 changed her dress for a white one ; as she laid it aside 
 again that night she wondered by what accident of fate, 
 or by what special direction of Providence, she had been 
 led to put it on. 
 
 It was unendurably hot. Out of the shaded grounds of 
 her sister's dwelling the sinking sun still shone fiercely, 
 and the walks and walls were baking from the heat of 
 the past day. The atmosphere of Bridge street was sti- 
 fling, and Celestine was glad that her sister could not know 
 how well-founded had been her accusation of Mrs. Holmes' 
 domestic management. The wounded man, who was still 
 unable to move, was restless and uncomfortable, his wife 
 fretful and inclined to be discontented : on the shady side 
 of the hot street, the children were gathered in listless 
 groups, scarcely caring even to play, and not a man was 
 to be seen. 
 
 * It's lonesome here to-night,' said Holmes, after Celes- 
 tine had been welcomed, and the first and ordinary topics 
 of conversation had been exhausted. * The men all went 
 over after work to see a clinch come off' at Lockman's, 
 
 'tother side of the river. I'd 'a liked well enough ' he 
 
 broke off" with a groan and moved uneasily. 
 
 * You will go there again some day,' said Celestine, 
 knowing what he meant. * It is hard for you now, but you 
 must wait and hope.' 
 
 ' It's easy to talk,' said the man ungraciously. ' Easy 
 for them as don't feel.' 
 
 * So easy,' said Celestine verj' gently, * and so hard to 
 practice, that I almost feel ashamed of saying it, even 
 though I know it to be true.' 
 
96 "LOVED I NOT HONOUB MORE!" 
 
 , Jhe man softened, and looked at her with admiring 
 eyes, as she smoothed the sheet about him and extended 
 to him the glass that held some cooling drink. ' You've 
 great patience with me, missus, and the sight o' you does 
 me as much good as I can be done now. I know I'm 
 ungrateful, but 'tis hard to be chained here. If 'twain't 
 for you and Clip — Mr. Crevolin, I mean — you've heerd 
 about Ned Barber, I s'pose, ma'am ? None on us hardly 
 thought Mr. Crevolin could ha' been so severe.' 
 
 * I have heard nothing ; what do you mean ? ' asked 
 Celestine, her cheeks blenching and her heart beginning 
 to throb. 
 
 'Why, it seems Mr. Crevolin thought Ned was to 
 blame for the blast that scared the horses 'tother day ; 
 more than that, he believes he did it a'purpose. I wouldn't 
 put it past him ; he defied Mr. Crevolin to prove it — but 
 Clip- — Mr. Crevolin I mean — says he shall have no more 
 work and no more grace, and gave him three days to clear 
 out, if he don't want to risk jail.' 
 
 . * Is he gone ? ' asked Celestine, trembling for the an- 
 swer. * tv 
 
 ' Going to-morrow. I don't know as he'll be much loss. 
 There's folks as rough as him with good in 'em, but none 
 on us ever see much in Ned Barber. His own father 
 never could do nothing with him. I guess Clip — Mr. 
 Crevolin, I mean — is about right to ship him ; no one can 
 ell what ugly mischief he mightn't do yet.' 
 
 Celestine listened with a sick feeling at her heart. Her 
 feeble attempt to baulk a strong man's will had been 
 fruitless, the severity had been shown, and the risk she 
 had so dreaded was fully run. She cared for no more that 
 
QUID PEMINA POSSIT. 97 
 
 was said after that ; she sat on unheeding, and answering 
 almost at random, until she became conscious that the sun 
 had set and the dusk was beginning to fall. 
 
 She was rising to go home when her first Triend, little 
 Jemmy, came in from the street. In her preoccupation 
 she had forgotten the child, and with a feeling of self-re- 
 proach, she now called him over to her side and lifted him 
 on her lap. 
 
 ' Why, this is my boy ! ' she said w ith a smile she 
 forced for the child's benefit. * How have you been, dear, 
 all this long time.' 
 
 * He ain't been very well this couple of days,' said his 
 mother. * He's tired like, and droopy — I guess it's tho 
 heat.' 
 
 The child leaned his head against Celestine's bosom in 
 a listless fashion, and she stooped and kissed the little 
 face, though none of the cleanest. ' What have you got 
 in your hand, dear ? ' she said, for the sake of saying 
 something, as she touched his closed fingers. 
 
 The little fellow opened theiju and put inco her white 
 hand a piece of dirty crumpled paper. ' I 'most fordot, 
 he said slowly. ' Dack Barber telled me dive you dis.' 
 
 But for the name Barber Celestine might have paid no 
 attention to the blackened scrawl, but as it was she took 
 the scrap of paper, and by the fading light spelled out the 
 few words it contained, which almost illegible as they 
 were, seemed as she read them to turn to letters of tiame, 
 * Ned's goan to shoot Clip as he cums hum the quarie he 
 give me my jack-knife an I hate to hav him killed, you 
 better tell him.' 
 
 She dropped the paper with a wild scream, for once 
 totally losing her self-command. 
 
98 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE! 
 
 t* 
 
 Mrs. Holmes snatched up the paper, and also read it. 
 She also grasped the situation in a moment, but to a per- 
 ception as quick as Celestine's she joined a far better ap- 
 preciation of motives and circumstances ; a far better ac- 
 quaintance with lawless ways and mannrrs, and the mode 
 of dealing with them ; and with a swift, mental survey, 
 of which Celestine never would have been capable, she 
 knew not only what to dread but what to do. 
 
 * I wonder if it's true '{ ' she said, with what appeared 
 to Celestine unnatural and horrible calmness. ' Jemmy, 
 child, where's Jack Barber V 
 
 ' In the street out there,' replied the child ; and in a 
 few moments the woman had the boy in the room in her 
 firm grasp. 
 
 * You young thief ! * she said, shaking him. * Did you 
 write that, and do you mean it ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' returned the boy, sullenly ; ' but I didn't send 
 it to you. You got nothin' to do with me, as I know. 
 Lemme go.* 
 
 ' You won't go ; and you'll see if I have anything to do 
 with you or not. You'll tell me all about this, or I'll 
 walk you right to the boss, and then if Ned hurts Mr. 
 Crevolin you'll be hung as well as him. Now, speak up. 
 Where's that brother o' yours, Ned Barber ? ' 
 
 * Hid in the quarry. He'll kill me if you let on I told. 
 Jess said she ' — indicating Celestine — * wouldn't give 
 Ned away, and so I thought she'd keep dark on me. He 
 thrashed me 'cause I seen him cleanin' the pistol, an' 
 then he said he was gpin' to shoot plover — there ain't no } 
 plover this time o' year. He got no call to kill Clip. I 
 heard him and Jess talkin' last night; he didn't say^ 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 99 
 
 I 
 
 nothin* about shootin* to Jess, but he told her he'd thrash 
 him like an ear o' corn. Jess said she ' — the finger again 
 — * was a daisy not to split, and Ned had ought to be 
 ashamed to hurt her beau ; and he said she had gone back 
 on Clip now, and so it was no odds.' . v^v 
 
 Celestine could scarcely trust her hearing as she lis- 
 tened to the child's grotesque and rambling, and yet 
 ghastly, talk, and grasped its meaning. She stood white 
 and shaking, only kept from fainting by the tension of 
 suspense. ■ , ^.^v-;^^.:-^ ■ ■■ ■■ ■^■. . ^- •-..■•.; i -.-;. .:-. >,.-,; - 
 
 * Is it — can it be true ? * she asked. 
 
 * It's all solid, I'm afraid,' said Holmes. * Mr. Crevolin 
 went over to the station after tea ; and he's sure to come 
 back through the quarry. He expected to be home about 
 ten/ 
 
 Mrs. Holmes glanced at the clock. * There's time,' she 
 said. ' What does he mean, ma'am, about the girl ? ' 
 
 She noticed instantly the vivid blush that succeeded 
 the paleness on Celestine's face, and drew her own conclu- 
 sions. * Never mind,' said Celestine, * I know what he 
 means, but it does not matter.* 
 
 . * I'm not sure of that,' retorted Mrs. Holmes ; * let me 
 think a minute what's best to do.' 
 
 ' Do ; what can we do ? ' asked her husband. * Here I 
 lie like a log, and not a man to send.' 
 
 * What 'ud be the use of a man ? ' demanded his wife, 
 scornfully. * To tell him his risk, and set him looking for 
 the young villain when he's got a we'pon and 'tother 
 none ? S'pose he*d be scared, or take another road for his 
 own safety ? No, there's only one thing to be done, as I 
 3ee. Miss King must go and meet him/ 
 
100 "LOVBD I NOT flONOUB MORE!" 
 
 Celestine looked at her, uncomprehending. 
 
 Mrs, Holmes pushed the boy into the inner room and 
 closed the door. Then she looked at Ceiestine with a 
 piercing gaze from her black eyes. 
 
 * You'll excuse me, ma'am, T know, at such a time — it's 
 queer to ask, but — but are you going to — to marry Mr. 
 Beckett ? * 
 
 * Heavens, what a time for such questions ! Mr. Beck- 
 ett ? No,' exclaimed Celestine, too much amazed for an- 
 ger, and with another deep blush. 
 
 * No offence, ma'am ; if you ain't, I guess it's all right. 
 You see we think a sight here of you as well as him— 
 Mr. Crevolin, I mean — and we had a notion — now, the 
 quarry's a big place, and we'd never find the boy if we 
 searched all night ; but if you go, and walk through it 
 with Mr. Crevolin — and keep close to him — I rec^ on he'll 
 be safe/ 
 
 * Oh, Mrs. Holmes, how horrible ! Won't you go ? ' 
 
 ' I ? What use would / be ? It's this way ; you go 
 through the quarry, and if you don't meet him till the 
 far side you can tell him all about it, and he'll take you 
 home by another road. If you meet him in the quarry, 
 you can turn and come back with xiim. Keep close to 
 him ; kinder lean on him, and look in his face, like — you 
 heard what the boy said, I guess you know what I mean ; 
 talk and smile, and — and whisper. I warrant Ned'll not 
 fire then. He'll not want to strike you. Understand ? ' 
 
 Celestine did understand. The significance of look and 
 tone which pointed the woman's rapid words was not to 
 be mistaken. She knew the part assigned her well enough 
 — but how could she play it ? 
 
m QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 101 
 
 ' I can't do it, Mrs. Holmes/ she said, helplessly. 
 
 The woman mistook her meaning. 'Well, I didn't 
 s'pose yovJd be afraid. It's not much risk for yoUy but 
 it's pretty sure for him if you ain't there — if you b'lieve 
 the child.' r' 
 
 Celestine never was conscious afterwards of what passed 
 in her mind during those few horrible moments of in- 
 decision. Fear for herself she knew none; but the 
 knowledge of the danger of another curdled her veins, 
 and from what she musjLd-Q^Q shiel d him every fe eling of 
 her woman's nature recoiled. : , '^ ^ '"'""" 
 
 Mrs. Holmes watched the struggle, without, however^ 
 any doubt as to how it would end. ' There's time enough, 
 but there's none to lose,' she said, looking at the clock 
 again. 
 
 Celestine shuddered. ' Why, it is almost dark already.' 
 
 * It'll be too light just now,' said the man, gloomily. 
 * The moon will be up directly. Are you sure you've grit 
 to go ? God ! what it is to lie here and see a woman 
 start for what many a man wouldn't face ! ' 
 
 * Let her alone ; she can do it,' said his wife, in a mean- 
 ing voice. Then she turned to Celestine. * Don't you be 
 in a hurry,' was her last advice. * Walk as fast as you 
 like till you get to the quarry, and then saunter like — 
 look around you and hum a tune — be careless like, as if 
 you was out for a stroll—' 
 
 Celestine hardly heard or heeded the words until their 
 sense came back to her afterwards. Though she did walk 
 fast through the streets, where the few people she met 
 were seeking coolness in the dusk and the fast freshening 
 air, she had self-control enough already to avoid attract- 
 
102 "LOVED I NOT HONOTTR MORE I 
 
 *•« 
 
 ing attention ; and by the time she reached the quarry 
 road she had recalled her mind, and realized what she had 
 to do. Indeed, Mrs. Holmes had not failed to make it 
 pl'in. 
 
 Her one hope of escape from the worst part of the or- 
 deal lay in reaching the other side of the quarry before 
 Mr. Crevolin entered it. To meet him there, though dif- 
 ficult and painful, seemed less iTapossible than the rest. 
 Of her own will she would have flown at her utmost 
 speed over the rough and rugged path ; but remembering 
 the warning to be * careless,' she tried to restrain her des- 
 perate eagerness, and as she came among the rocks she 
 subdued her pace to a somewhat loitering and uncertain 
 step. 
 
 The place looked ghostly enough in the fallen twilight, 
 and the level rays of the lately risen moon, and under 
 the hazy blue vault where twinkled a few pale summer 
 stars. The rocks rose gray in the dimness, the black 
 trucks and waggons cast impenetrable shadows, the rails 
 here and there caught a moonbeam and lay like a silver 
 sword upon the ground. 
 
 Her thoughts were busy as she walked on. For what 
 part of this, for how much of this, was she to blame ? 
 What could she have said, or left unsaid, to avert this 
 that had come to pass ? Had she told all to Mr. Crevolin 
 would speedier measures on his part have forestalled the 
 danger, or would greater severity have ensured a quicker 
 vengeance still ? She tormented herself with doubts as 
 well as fears, and could come to no decision. If she had 
 erred she expiated the error now. 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 103 
 
 She was conscious that, in her white dress, she was a 
 most conspicuous object, and that she must be seen by, 
 the concealed and watchful eyes ; and though she had no 
 doubt of her ov/n safety, it brought a strange sensation 
 to think how fair a mark she offered, ».nd meant to offer. 
 Then aU at once it occurred to her that perhaps her own 
 passport was no longer available — that her immunity as 
 * Clip's girl ' — how her throat contracted and her cheek 
 burned ! — was over, and that her own popularity might 
 prove insufficient protectic a for him. But the child's 
 words came back to her memory ; more had passed than 
 she knew— the boy possessed more information than she 
 could guess at ; and something in the remembered signifi- 
 cance of Mrs. Holmes' tone banished the fear. 
 
 She went on. Behind which of those stones or loaded 
 wains did the young dastard lie hidden ? In which dark 
 comer lurked the watchful eye and vengeful hand? 
 From which mass of shadow might the flash come ? How 
 long would the pure white silenco remain unbroken? 
 How far would she be allowed to go ? 
 
 She went on apparently careless, but with an eager) 
 searching glance in front of her ; there was no need to 
 look aside for the danger yet — it did not menace her, and 
 her only desire was not to see the figure she dreaded to 
 discern approaching. Now and then she stooped for 
 some fragment of rock and feigned to examine it — ^now 
 and then she turned aside to look at some object that 
 seemed to excite her attention — once she tried to obey 
 Mrs. Holmes and ' hum a tune.' But in this she failed 
 The sound of her own voice broke so ghastly in her own 
 ears upon the silence that she stopped in terror of having 
 betrayed herself, and dared not repeat the attempt. 
 
104 " LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! " 
 
 A 
 
 She passed the place where the overhanging rock stood 
 gray and gaunt in the moonlight, draped still in the toni 
 remnants of the creepers and the tangled vines; she 
 passed the place whert the explosion had happened and 
 her plunging horse had thrown her — the remembrance 
 quickened her pulse and her step. She walked a little 
 faster now, beginning tu hope that she should gain the 
 farther side of the quarry in time when — a footstep 
 struck her ear, and echoed in her heart. She stopped, 
 and for an instant her breath stopped with her. 
 
 Then she set her teeth, clinched her hands till the nails 
 entered the soft flesh, and moved forward. Mr. Crevolin 
 was walking at a swinging pace, and in a minute more 
 he stood before her. His look of utter astonishment was 
 her first stab ; but she had not come so far to draw back 
 now. She gave him no time to speak even if surprise 
 had not kept him silent ; she glanced round fearfully, but 
 she said, in a voice whose steadiness struck herself with 
 wonder, *I — I came to meet you,' and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 Surprised past speech, he could only ejaculate, ' Miss 
 King ! * Then, as he looked at her, he saw that her face 
 was set like marble, and that her very lips were white. 
 
 * Are you ill ? ' he asked, anxiously. 
 
 * No, not at all. Won't you take my hand ? ' 
 Doubtful of the evidence of his senses, he extended his 
 
 hand, and for the first time her slender fingers — deadly 
 cold now — lay in his own. The full and instantaneous 
 sense of something he did not understand took from him 
 all desire to press them, soft and passive as they were, 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 105 
 
 and he released her. He fancied — was it only fancy ? — 
 that she was loth to let his hand go. 
 
 ' I am glp.d to meet you,' she said again, as he did not 
 speak. 'Let us walk back together. It has been so 
 warm that it tempted me out, but it is lonely here, and I 
 shall like an escort home.' 
 
 'The pleasure is doubly mine/ he said, stiffly. Re- 
 covered from his first shock of surprise at finding her 
 alone in that unlikely place at that untimely hour, his 
 quick ear detected the false cadence in her voice, and his 
 heart told him there was something wrong. He chafed 
 and writhed under the thought, and looked at her 
 earnestl}'', to discover, if he could, why the strings were 
 out of tune. \ 
 
 He could not tell. She spoke a few more ordinary 
 words, that meant nothing, in the same strained voice, 
 and they moved on together through the white silence. 
 How could he know that under that apparent calm she 
 waged a passionate struggle with herself ? That all her 
 nature rose up in rebellion at the part she seemed to 
 play ? That she said, in her heart, ' I will tell him — I 
 must tell him,' and that a voice answered hers, ' If you 
 do, you court the danger ; tell him what you fear, and he 
 that moment, for your sake, leaves your side, and with 
 your side his safety ? ' 
 
 They had gone some little distance now, and the road 
 grew rougher. The moon had risen higher, and the 
 shadows were deeper and had changed their places. 
 
 ' The path is difficult,' said Celestine. * Please let me 
 take your arm.' 
 G 
 
306 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 4 
 
 He assented, more perplexed than ever; but, as she 
 
 leaned upon him, and he felt her momentary start and 
 the soft contact of her arm, he began to experience some- 
 thing else besides perplexity. He wondered, as her hand 
 lay against him, whether she could not feel the rapid 
 beating of his heart. . , : . , 
 
 He need not have wondered ; every pulse was answered 
 by her own. But where his soul knew as much doubt as 
 passion, hers was filled with the courage which dared the 
 shame that, but for fear for him, would soon have quenched 
 all effort. As he glanced at the pale face, made yet more 
 pallid by the moonlight, how could he read the thoughts 
 that throbbed and surged beneath the silent mask ? How 
 could he guess that she was saying to herself, * The boy 
 knows I did not betray him — he will not hurt me — and 
 if I can make him believe — ' When he marvelled at her 
 restleci change of place, he could not tell that her object 
 was to interpose the whiteness of her dress between him 
 and the deepest of the shadow; when she laughed, he 
 could not know that the mirth was for other ears than 
 his. He only heard that the laugh rang false, and watched 
 her the more closely. 
 
 The walk, a short one in reality, appeared to her to last 
 a lifetime. She obeyed all the commands she had re- 
 ceived, as far as she could remember them ; she leaned 
 upon his arm, she lifted her head to look him in the 
 face; at one moment she would laugh aloud, and the 
 next she would murmur soft and low; uncertain at what 
 instant or at what spot the dreaded eyes might be upon 
 her, she dared relax at none ; and while he became more 
 and more lost in painful wonder, the strain upon her- 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 107 
 
 self grew so far beyond endurance that she feared the 
 overtaxed nerves musfc fail before their work was done. 
 
 They reached a cross-track, where ..ome collected trucks 
 cast a deep shade, and made safe shelter for any who 
 might choose to lurk there. As they neared it her strained 
 sight told her falsely that the shadow moved. She in- 
 stantly crossed to that side, and walked more slowly. 
 
 * Would you mind,' she said, speaking very low, as she 
 looked at him, 'have you any — any objection to put 
 your arm round me ? ' 
 
 The idea passed through his own mind that hers had lost 
 its balance ; but, as he glanced at her, almost in anguish, he 
 met a steady look as cold as the moonlight — a look which 
 held pain and beseeching, but no token of insanity. As 
 impossible was it to attribute levity of speech to those pale 
 lips — and yet the words had been spoken, too plainly for 
 mistake. 
 ; ' Did you not hear me ? Do you mind it ? ' 
 
 Even yet no smallest suspicion of the truth crossed him, , 
 but he complied. He put his arm about her, and she laid', 
 her hand upon his breast, and dropped her face on it ; then 
 suddenly raising her head, and with her cheek touching 
 his, she whispered something into his ear ; but how she 
 must then have looked she could never afterv/ards im- 
 agine ; what she had then said she could never afterwards 
 recall. - - 
 
 He had sometimes allowed himself to fancy what it 
 would be to hold her in his arms, to have her all to himself, 
 with her hands in his, and her eyes upon his own ; to be 
 free to give and receive caresses, to murmur soft words, 
 and hear her low accents in reply. He had his wish — and 
 
108 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE! 
 
 t* 
 
 he realized to the full the flavour of the Dead Sea fruit it 
 proved. The draught, in imagination so sweet and lus- 
 cious, was now as the acrid water of the desert, the food 
 which was to have been as the sustaining bread of life be- 
 came as bitter ashes when once tasted. 
 
 ;; Would the walk never end ? They passed the last of 
 the black trucks, they passed the place made memorable 
 by the accident, they threaded their way among the loose 
 stones where the workmen's picks lay scattered, they left 
 the shining rails behind. 
 
 4.t last they came near the overhanging rock, the last 
 real point of danger. The moon, still higher now, threw 
 a shorter and a blacker shadow, and a faint breeze seemed 
 to sway the ragged tendrils of the vines. Celestine glanced 
 at her companion ; he was turned from the rock, and look- 
 
 ^, ing not at it but at her. Then her eyes went to the shade, 
 and grew there; it was no fancy this time. She saw the 
 
 i^;^ vines wave in the breathless air — she saw a shadow move 
 across the gray face of the rock — she saw, distinct and 
 bright in the moonbeams, a momentary and swiftly-hidden 
 gleam of steel. 
 
 Something seemed to flash through all her veins and 
 warm them, like wine or fire, and then the courage of 
 mortal fear nerved her to desperation. Before he could 
 draw a breath she had moved in front of him ; and, shak- 
 ing out her white drapery, as she stood fair between him 
 and the rock, she laid her hand upoil his arm. 
 
 * Would you like,' she whispered, bending towards him, 
 with her hands lifted now, * would — would you like to 
 kiss me ? And she raised her face to his own. 
 
 ;Now, at last, he believed that his own senses were for- 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 109 
 
 saking him, but he was also at last shaken beyond con- 
 trol. Nothing could have served her purpose better. 
 His blood took fire and his eyes flashed lightning, and 
 it was with a moment's fierce reality that he caught her 
 hands and said in a hoarse, deep voice : 
 
 *Take care — it is not safe to try me too far — do you 
 mean it ?— if you say so / will.' 
 
 But even as he looked into the white appealing face 
 he was struck with shame, and dropped the diold hands - 
 that chilled his own. As soon could he disovV^n his love 
 for her as suspect the purity of her motive and tho^g^ht — 
 as easily as the living light of the diamond could lie, coufu? 
 those clear agonized eyes hold ought but honour. If she 
 were not mad there must be some mystery for whose ex- 
 planation he must be content to wait, and for the first 
 time it struck him that she was afraid. That she could 
 have cause for fear for him, however, never entered his 
 mind ; and attributing all her strange caprice to a past 
 womanish nervous terror of which he had never before 
 supposed her capable, he thought it only lay with him to 
 soothe her to the best of his ability until he could confide 
 her safely to other care. 
 
 ' Do you wish me to kiss you V he asked, gently, look- 
 ing in the still beseeching face, the altered tone, the re- 
 sult of his flash of thought. She signed yes, and with a 
 strong effort for self-control he put his arm around hev 
 and laid a calm and quiet kiss upon her cheek. For what 
 that effort cost him there is no human measure, and Lv. 
 almost doubted, even in the after time, whether he was j 
 ever quite repaid for the renunciation. "^ -^ 
 
 Celestine looked to the rock; the shadow was gone, 
 
110 "LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 the vines had ceased to move, and she knew that the 
 danger was over and her part was done. That martyrs 
 have often survived their torments is also true ; bu nei- 
 ther physical agony nor mental strain can be pushed too 
 far without nature's interposition and remedy of insensi- 
 bility, and Celestine could not have borne much more. 
 
 The short space between the rock and the limit of the 
 quarry ^as soon passed, and the open ground lying from 
 thence id the town was gained. Celestine quickened her 
 pace, but)in the ignorance of just what distance meant 
 securiArf', she hurried faster and farther than was needful, 
 ani6. her over-taxed powers gave way. She stopped sud- 
 denly, and as she put her hand to her head she said 
 faintly : 
 
 ' Wait a moment — I am giddy — and we are safe no"w.' 
 
 He knew then that she had some definite cause for ter- 
 ror, Jnd said quietly : 
 
 ' Yes, you are quite safe with me ; but may I ask what 
 you were afraid of ? ' 
 
 She was aware that he must sooner or later hear it all ; 
 perhaps best now, and better from herself than from an- 
 other. She had time to answer before her reeling senses 
 failed her. ' That boy — he was hidden in the quarry — in 
 wait for you — I knew he would not hurt me, and I 
 thought — ' then she added * I — I feel faint ; let me sit 
 down,' and she trembled ; but his strength supplied the 
 need of hers, and though she utterly lost consciousness 
 she did not fall. 
 
 Then the light broke in on him, and he cursed himself 
 for a fool that he had not seen it long before. 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. Ill 
 
 Perhaps it was not surprising that he had not done so. 
 Naturally fearless, trained to fortitude, and long accus- 
 tomed to a certain amount of lawlessness and to danger 
 in really formidable shapes, it had never occurred to him 
 to anticipate risk from the insignificant reptile he had 
 thv^ught it his duty to crush and throw from his path. 
 Now that it was shown to him he saw his mistake clearly 
 enough. He looked back where the shadows barred the 
 white expanse of moonlight, and though no pulse quick- 
 ened his face grew graver. 
 
 * As near an escape as I ever had,' he thought, * if she 
 is right.' Then his eyes came back and rested on the 
 white dress and whiter face before him, and he realized 
 all that she had meant and done. 
 
 He had laid her on the ground ; he had no other choice 
 in that wild spot. There was neither water nor assist- 
 ance to be had, all he could do was to wait and watch till 
 sense returned, using for her restoration such means as 
 \a,j at his command. 
 
 It was no doubt a cowardly advantage that he took — 
 it must be owned that he had no right to the indemnity 
 he granted himself for past forbearance and future de- 
 privation, but if his pressure of her lifeless hands were 
 stronger than the occasion called for — if the kisses he 
 pressed on her still temples were more fervent than was 
 needful to restore their circulation, it is perhaps more a 
 matter for reprehension than for wonder. And if he could 
 derive gratification from pouring passionate words into 
 deaf ears, and . lavishing caresses on lips and eyes that 
 were sealed and senseless, it would, perhaps, have been 
 hard measure to deny him so poor a recompense for pre- 
 vious self denial. 
 
112 "LOVEB I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 What his thoughts were during those few silent min- 
 utes that he knelt beside her, as he never told them, per- > 
 haps we have no right to guess, but it is safe to say they 
 never touched the truth. 
 
 He had been aware that she was not ignorant of his 
 love for her, that in spite of his careful self-repression it 
 had been revealed to her in that unguarded moment of 
 her own peril — nor had he wished it otherwise. He had 
 believed he knew her well enough to feel assured that she 
 would not disdain so sincere a homage while no voluntary 
 expression betrayed it or offended her, and his lips were 
 not more firmly sealed by his belief that she was pledged 
 to Mr. Beckett, than by his own estimation of the impas- 
 sable bar that divided them, and by his own pride. That 
 scorn which had been plainly visible on his face, as he 
 listened to the only half ambiguous assurances of her en- 
 gagement, and the only half veiled hints as to the impos- 
 sibility of his own suspected pretensions of which he had 
 lately been the recipient in furtherance of Sylvia's little 
 scheme, had been but the reflex of that which he felt for 
 those who could suppose the warning needed. 
 
 But it had never for a moment crossed his mind that 
 she could care for him. He remembered but too keenly 
 her moment of involuntary shrinking when her eyes had 
 first fallen upon him ; and he had too long believed him- 
 self to be stamped and set apart by fate and forbidden all 
 such love as was blessed and vouchsafed other men, to be 
 able to receive now the contradiction of his creed : and 
 that what lay now within his reach was that for which 
 life itself would have been in his eyes cheap purchase, 
 made it only the more natural that, with common, wilful, 
 humr . blindness, he should refuse to see it. 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT, 113 
 
 These two mistakes led to a. third, greater and less ex- 
 cusable still. His experience of women was not wide ; 
 but even he should have known that nothing but love 
 would have given Celestine pov/er to do what she had 
 done that night; this he did not guess, and judging her 
 from his own stand-point, he attributed to her a strength 
 and heroism for which she deserved but little credit, 
 while it exalted her in his estimation almost as much as 
 v^ould the love of which her false courage had been the 
 true sign. 
 
 How it had all come to pass was, of course, as yet dark 
 to him, but for explanation he could be content to wait. 
 What she had done he knew ; the debt he owed her 
 could never be cancelled, but the one return he could now 
 make was to assure her against that misunderstanding 
 she might naturally fear when returning life and recollec- 
 tion should bring back her woman's pride. 
 
 The struggle back from insensibility to conscio' '=!ness, 
 though often described as a romantic episode, involves 
 sensations by no means pleasant ; and Celestine, sick and 
 bewildered, at first found in physical suffering some dis- 
 traction from returning thought. Not for long, how- 
 ever ; as she looked round her memory fully performed 
 her office, and a strong shudder shook her from head to 
 foot. 
 
 ' You are quite safe,' said Mr. Crevolin, quietly. ' But 
 are you sure your fear was well founded ? Are you 
 quite sure you might not be mistaken ? ' 
 
 * I saw him ! ' she answered, trembling still. 
 
 * Just now ? when — ' he stopped abruptly. 
 
 * Yes — behind the vines — under the rock.' 
 
114 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 She felt the blood run back into her face at the recol- 
 lection, and turned away her head. 
 
 Mr. Crevolin made one or two hasty steps, and returned 
 as quickly. Even had it been possible for him to leave 
 her a moment's thought told him that the culprit was 
 probably by this time a mile away. 
 
 ' How can I speak to you 1 ' he said, in a voice that 
 his utmost effort bould not keep quite steady. *I owe you 
 my life ; and for that supreme gift as for the slightest, / 
 thank you is all that I can say.' 
 
 She made a movement of deprecation. Did she know 
 that of his own will he would have fallen at her feet and 
 kissed the hem of her garments ? Most likely — and she 
 most likely also knew that his abstaining at this mom<jnt 
 from doing so was the truest evidence of homage that he 
 could bestow. 
 
 ' Shall I tell you ? ' — she began. 
 
 'Tell me nothing now,' Mr. Crevolin interrupted. 'I 
 don't understand it, but I can wait to learn. You are not 
 fit to talk of it just yet.' 
 
 ' Do — do you think I should have made a good actress ? ' 
 she asked, with an hysterical little laugh and sob to- 
 gether. 
 
 He saw that with the need for effort her self-control 
 was gone, and his heart yearned over what he believed her 
 pitiful little protest against the belief he might be sup- 
 posed to entertain. 
 
 * I think you should have been a soldier. Nature made 
 a grand mistake when she put your soul and spirit into a 
 woman's tender frame.' 
 
 If it be true that ' greater is he that ruleth himself than 
 
QUID FEMTNA POSSIT. 116 
 
 he that taketh a city/ Philip Crevolin had some claims to 
 be considered a hero. 
 
 A remembrance suddenly occurred to Celestine ; ' which 
 of your comparisons am I the most like now — the late or 
 the towel ? ' she a-sked, with another jarring little laugh. 
 
 ' Neither ; I should say you were made of granite, with 
 steel wire for nerves. Don't talk any more now, you are 
 shivering. Let me take you home.' 
 
 She moved with rather uncertain steps, but he refrained 
 from offering his arm ; during the walk, which was some- 
 what long, for he took a devious and little travelled way 
 in order to" shield her from observation, not a word was 
 spoken. Then he stopped at a small gate leading into an 
 unfrequented part of the grounds. ^- . 
 
 * I must ask you all about this hereafter,' he said, ' and 
 this time you will not refuse me information. At present, 
 until you are rested, and in order not to alarm. Mrs. Beck- 
 ett,' (Celestine guessed the meaning of the somewhat 
 emphasized words), ' the less said the better, perhaps. And 
 — and for myself — ' his voice shook — ' I have no words, 
 but you wijl not think because I cannot find them — ' he 
 stopped ; even his will could not complete the utterance 
 of the commonplace phrases that belied his heart. 
 
 'You are sure you understand — ' Ijegan Celestine. 
 
 ' Be assured I shall not misunderstand you,' he ans- 
 wered purposely altering the form of her question in his 
 reply. *Go in now, and rest.' He was turning away 
 when she suddenly looked up, and for the first time since 
 she had left the rock her eyes met his. He came back at 
 once, and held out his hand with a fiank, free gesture. 
 
116 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 • Years ago/ he said, ' if one of my comrades had done 
 me such service as you have done to-night, a grasp of the 
 band and a promise to be quits, if time and fortune | 
 ever gave the opportunity, would have been all the guer- 1 
 don I had to bestow. I can give you now no less— and \ 
 no more ; will you take it — as he would have done then ? ' I 
 
 Her quick sympathy with him told her instantly what 
 he meant to imply. Imputing her conduct to courage 
 alone he lost sight of any motive which lessened the ] 
 claim of that courage to his gratitude ; but she also recog- 
 nized that in that unembarrassed 'comrade grasp' in which 
 he pressed the hand that was now again warm and i 
 steady, he intended to sign the death-warrant of his love. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett was on the verandah when a few min- 
 utes later Celestine emerged from the shadow of the 
 shrubbery. ' Good heaven, Celestine ! I thought you 
 were a ghost ! ' she exclaimed. ' Whatever are you out so 
 late for ? and in that thin dress without a shawl ! And 
 what have you been doing to yourself ? You look as if 
 you'd had a bad dream.' 
 
 ' I believe I have,' said Celestine, passing her hand 
 over her eyes. 
 
 * Well, go in and go to bed, and get a good sleep. J 
 You'll be surprised, I dare say, but I have made up my "j 
 mind to leave here to-morrow, on account of the heat, 
 and — and other things. I have told Elise to pack up— 
 your things as well as mine. It's early for Newport, but ^^ 
 
 we stay over in C ; I want a good many things, 
 
 and you have absolutely nothing fit to wear. Ralph 
 will be home in the morning, but if not, I know he will 
 have no objection to our going a little sooner than we 
 
QUID FEMINA POSSIT. 117 
 
 J roposed. The heat here is enough to kill one — it's tell- 
 ing on you already. For goodness sake don't get sick, 
 and don't look as if you'd lost all your friends. This 
 place does not agree with you, I'm sure ; you need a 
 change. Go to bed- -and you need not get up early ; we 
 shan't start till the afternoon.* 
 
 Celestine obeyed in silence. She had had no inclina- 
 tion to interrupt her sister's monologue, which, but for 
 her own preoccupation, she would have perceived to be 
 rather excited and confused. In the lassitude consequent 
 on the reaction from the supreme emotions of so short a 
 time before, resistance seemed useless, and all minor mat- 
 ters of small account ; and it never struck her to inquire 
 the reason of Sylvia's very sudden and unexpected re- 
 solve. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 
 
 ^ELESTINEso far obeyed her sister's injunction not 
 ^ ' to get up early that she did not go to bed at all ; 
 past excitement and present reaction forbade all 
 idea of sleep. She took off her dew-drenched dress, 
 touching it tenderly, and kissing its soft folds as she laid 
 it aside ; then she wrapped herself in a warm shawl, and 
 extinguishing the light sat down by the open window and 
 looked out into the brightness and the silence. 
 
 The brightness was scarcely dimmed by shadow, for the 
 moon was now riding high in the heavens ; the silence 
 
118 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 was unbroken save by the ceaseless hum of insects that 
 made a part of it, and the occasional cry of a night-bird • 
 and the effect of the pure solitude on Celestine's over- 
 wrought mind and frame was more soothing than would 
 have been a restless attempt at rest. She sat far into the 
 morning hours, in ' maiden meditation,' if no longer 
 * fancy free,' and whatever may have been her reflections 
 it would seem that they were not all unhappy ; for when 
 she had watched the paling moon sink towards the west- 
 ern horizon, and seen the first flush of dawn given back 
 in rose and pearl from the western sky, she threw herself 
 on her pillow, and if her sleep were none of the soundest, 
 she at least obtained sufiicient oblivion to remove all 
 trace of fatigue and agitation from her face, and to re- 
 store calmness to her thoughts. There were no signs of 
 her long vigil when she rose, and before descending to 
 their late breakfast looked from her window to see her 
 sister who, early as was the hour for her to be abroad, 
 was already in the garden. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett was in high spirits. She had played her 
 cards to the best of her ability, and not unskilfully, and 
 was perhaps not unjustified in the belief that she held the 
 game in her own hands. The chances certainly were 
 largely in her favour, when, partly on account of an un- 
 expected stroke of ill fortune, partly because she lost her 
 own coolness in consequence, she threw them all away. 
 
 Unconscious of the malicious trick that fate was about 
 to play her — delighting in the prospect of a speedy 
 departure from Fairport, and a prolonged sojourn among* 
 congenial scenes and people with plenty of new clothes 
 — pleased with the anticipation of introducing a new 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 119 
 
 and attractive dSbutante — and, more than all, gratified 
 at the near success of her own designs, she felt and 
 looked as bright and happy as the summer morning 
 that smiled around her, when Jier pleasant dreams and 
 shadowings of the future were broken by the sight 
 of her hete noire, as she had now come to consider 
 Mr. Crevolin, approaching her on the garden path. 
 
 Celestine, from the shelter of her curtains, saw the 
 meeting, and wondered what one so unexpected and so 
 unusual should portend. Sylvia advanc(3d with her ac- 
 customed airy grace, but Mr. Crevolin did not take her 
 extended hand ; he bowed low but remained at a little 
 distance, indeed, rather retreated before her. 
 
 Then followed a short colloquy, apparently calm on his 
 part, but on that of Mrs. Beckett broken by some excited 
 gestures and half audible exclamations. Then came a 
 farewell of smiling graciousness from Sylvia, and accom- 
 panied — Celestine was sure — by one anxious glance in 
 the direction of her shaded window from Mr. Crevolin ; 
 and then Mrs. Beckett slowly retraced her steps, entered 
 the house and ascended to Celestine's room. 
 
 ' Isn't it fortunate we arranged to go to-day ? * she ex- 
 claimed. 'What do you suppose Mr. Crevolin has just been 
 here to tell me ? ' 
 
 Celestine signified her inability to guess. 
 
 ' Wasn't it thoughtful of him ? It seems one of those 
 Holmes children is laid up with an attack of throat, and 
 as there is little doubt it is diphtheria, he thought I ought 
 to know it in order to cut off Jessie's communication 
 with Bridge street in time.' 
 
ItO •'LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 1 
 
 H 
 
 0il68tiQ6 turned sick, iery easily she divined that 
 Mr» Crevolin had had more motive for the visit than 
 Sylvia could understand. He was anxious for her — it 
 was her absence from Bridge street that he wished to en- 
 sure by the warning ; and conscious both of the risk she 
 had already run and that to which he would surely be 
 exposed in his care of those who needed and would cer- 
 tainly have it, she felt her courage sink as it had never 
 done in the definite danger of the past night. 
 
 * Is it my poor little Jemmy ? ' she said, so soon as she 
 could speak calmly, remembering the drooping aspect of 
 the child the previous evening. 
 
 * Your Jemmy ! ' repeated Mrs. Beckett. * I do wish you 
 would not use such expressions, Celestine. I c'idn't ask 
 which it was, and it's no matter, for they'll all have it, of 
 course, — this is what I have always been afraid of — that 
 you would catch some horrible disease in those dirty 
 places and bring it home. What a mercy you have not 
 been there lately.' 
 
 ' Is it a bad case ? ' asked Celestine, feeling very guilty. 
 * Will they have all the care they need ? ' 
 
 * Don't worry yourself about it ; of course Dr. Bernard 
 will attend to them. I am more than thankful to be go- 
 ing away ; your philanthropy might lead you dovm to 
 Bridge street to act nurse, for all I know. You'll be 
 safer out of temptation.' 
 
 Celestine hesitated. She did not know how to make 
 the terrible announcement that the mischief was done. 
 
 * I am extremely obliged to Philip, and so I told him,' 
 continued Sylvia, complacently. ' I wish he'd keep out 
 of danger hinjself, but I suppose there's no hope of his 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 121 
 
 Iing so sensible. Well, I shall go and hurry Elise ; we 
 all start about two. Are you ready for breakfast ? ' 
 
 ' Wait a moment,' in a low voice, as her sister turned 
 away. * I am sorry, but I must tell you ; I had better 
 not go with you — I am very sorry, but I was at Holmes' 
 house last night.' 
 
 Mrs. Beckett recoiled with a scream. * Oh, Celestino, 
 how perfectly dreadful of you ! What shall I do ? And 
 I suppose you have been kissing my children since ? ' 
 
 *I have not seen them this morning/ said Celes tine, 
 quickly, and with a deep blush for which the denial 
 scarcely seemed to account, * and I will not if you do not 
 wish it.' 
 
 ' Wish it ! I should think not ! Of course, you can't 
 go with us — you may have caught the complaint. You 
 must go home, and you can join me afterwards, as soon 
 as we can be certain there is no contagion about you.' 
 
 * And suppose there is? ' asked Celestine, quietly, though 
 her voice was not very steady. ' Would it be quite fair 
 to take the danger yon are so much afraid of to Mrs. 
 King, and the children at home 1 ' 
 
 'I never thought of that,' said Sylvia, naively and 
 helplessly. * Oh, dear, why would you give all this trou- 
 ble ? What can we do ? ' 
 
 ' Would it be quite impossible/ asked Celestine, with 
 rather a peculiar sqjile, * for me to remain here until it is 
 proved whether — if I — to perform quaratine in fact, — till 
 it is safe for me to re-enter society V 
 
 Mrs. Beckett reflected. ' If Ralph does not mind it — I 
 suppose you could,' she said, doubtfully. ' Yes, it must 
 be that way ; oh, I hope there is no danger — will you 
 H 
 
122 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! ' 
 
 promise me*faithfully, Celestine, not to leave the house, 
 and to run no further risks, if I let you stay ? ' 
 
 * I shall make no promise, except to take the best care 
 of myself that I can,' said Celestine, in a less submissive 
 tone. ' And as for letting me stay, T do not see how you 
 are to help yourself, if I will not go.' The quiver in her 
 voice as she ended showed how much she felt the care- 
 less selfishness which had dictated all that Sylvia had 
 said ; selfishness so ingenuous and natural that Sylvia had 
 not even tried to mask it ; but the latter was alike in- 
 sensible to either indignation or emotion. 
 
 * By-the-bye,' she said, carelessly, as she was about to 
 leave the room, * 1 almost forgot. I suppose it's not of 
 much consequence, but Mr. Crevolin sent you a message.' 
 It was strange that she did not remark the flash of ea^^er 
 expectation in Celestine's face, ^, 
 
 ' Did he ? Tell it to me exactly,' she exclaimed. 
 
 ' It was merely this : " Will you tell Miss King she 
 will be glad to know there is no further cause for anxiety 
 about that boy — he is gone. And I have seen Mrs. 
 Holmes, and there will never be anything said about the 
 other matter." What did he mean ? What boy ? ' 
 
 Celestine blushed so deeply that it was again a won- 
 der that her sister did not remark it. She understood to 
 the full the import of the message — how much those few^>, 
 words had been intended to convey to her. She would 
 have given her right hand to know what Mrs. Holmes 
 had said, or left unsaid ; her woman's instinct telling her 
 that another woman would as far as possible have been 
 loyal to her, but telling her at the same time that it might 
 have been impossible, under a fire of questions, not to 
 some extent to betray. 
 
 -i 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 123 
 
 ' Only something about the Barbers ; it would not in- 
 terest you,' she replied as quietly as she could. 
 
 'No, indeed ! And I hope this will be the last lesson 
 you will need not to interest yourself in such people 
 again. Now I must go and see after Elise and the chil- 
 dren. I do hope you'll be careful, and not see anyone — 
 anyone, mind — from whom there will be any fear of 
 infection ; and that you will be able to come after me in 
 a week or two.' 
 
 In this way Mrs. Beckett threw away her last trump ; 
 in this way the ' little speck within the fruit ' blighted at 
 last the harvest for which she had toilod with so much 
 care. She wrote and left a letter for her husband — over 
 which that ger^.leman smiled in considerable amusement 
 when he read it — and with many injunctions to Celestine 
 (delivered now at a safe distance) to be careful and 
 obedient, she departed as soon as maids and children 
 could be hurried into readiness for their sudden flitting. 
 
 Celestine, left alone, and having got over the first sense 
 of desertion, felt rather relieved. True^ the empty bouse 
 was somewhat lonely, and it was an uncomfortable sensa- 
 tion to feel that she was to sit down and wait for the 
 symptoms of a dangerous disease, while still worse was it 
 to think of that danger to which he was exposed who 
 had forbidden her to face more thari she had already 
 done, for so she had truly read his early visit and his 
 warning ; but, on the other hand, she was free to pursue 
 her own thoughts, and released from observation, and, if 
 sympathy had failed her in that quarter where she might 
 have imagined she had a right to expec^b it, she thought 
 she knew where to look for it without fear of being dis- 
 appointed. 
 
124 "LOVED I NOT HONOUll MOEE ! ** 
 
 She appreciated to the full the sense of what she be- 
 lieved to be Mr. Crevolin's delicate feigning; but, at the 
 same time, she was not simple enough not to know that 
 she had the night before — if he so chose to take it— 
 crossed the river and burnt her boats. That no choice 
 had seemed to be left her as to what to do could not alter 
 the significance of what she had done. That he would be 
 less quick than herself to perceive was not to be supposed; 
 that he would be less willing than herself to accept was 
 not likely to enter her imagination. ^ 
 
 Here, perhaps, some tender souls, more sensitive than 
 sensible, may be inclined to cry shame on her for permit- ; 
 ting such subjects to her meditations ; but, truth to tell, it 
 never occurred to her to be ashamed of herself. Indeed, 
 it is not certain she did not feel some exultation that, ^ 
 once assured her love was not unsought, she could lavish j 
 it where no taint of worldly motive or of interest would 
 be supposed to influence the gift, and some pride that she 
 had been able to discern true worth and high deserviog I 
 through that mist which interest or worldly motive might ] 
 have raised to obscure them. It must be admitted that ] 
 her ideas were very old-fashioned; if not exactly 'all / 
 for love and the world well lost,' she certainly thought , 
 that love came before the world. She did not expect, how- " 
 ever, altogether to lose the world ; and being in happy \ 
 ignorance both of her lover's mistaken beliefs and her 
 sister's diplomacy, she did not imagine that her waiting | 
 would involve any * long, long anguish of patience.' ] 
 
 Patience endured for a week without being greatly ' 
 overstrained. The weather continued warm and delight- 
 ful, and she spent her time chiefly in the grounds 
 
HUMjbTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 125 
 
 garden ; and if she frequented those walks, and caused her 
 hammock to be slung among those tr^es, which com- 
 manded a view of the road to the quarries, and whence 
 she might expect to catch an occasional glimpse of a 
 slender, active figure on the way thither, who shall 
 blame her ? A nearer view she did not hope for ; she 
 knew him too well to think he would intrude on her 
 when she was, in a measure, unprotected and alone. 
 Every morning and evening Dr. Bernard paid a visit of 
 inquiry — she thought she could guess at whose instance 
 — for those signs of the malady that never appeared ; she 
 could thus ask her own questions as to the welfare of the 
 invalids, and her solitude was lightened by the good- 
 natured sympathy of her brother-in-law, who scofied 
 encouragingly at the idea of danger, and ridiculed as 
 much as he dared his wife's fearful and hasty flight 
 therefrom. Once or twice Celestine imagined that he 
 hesitated whether or not to speak on some subject that 
 perplexed him ; but, if so, the question was settled in the 
 negative, for be3^ond ^the ordinary courtesies of the day 
 no word was ever uttered ; and nothing broke the un- 
 eventful monotony of life until about a week after 
 Sylvia's departure, when Mr. Henry Beckett came to 
 dinner. 
 
 Celestine thought it bad taste in him to come ; other- 
 wise she cared but little, and if he were rather more solemn 
 than usual she did not even remark it. He conversed 
 chiefly with his cousin ; and, secure in the remembrance 
 of what she had said to her sister, Celestine was willing 
 to attribute the visit to business, and to exQuse it though 
 ahe might have wished it unpaid, 
 
126 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE! 
 
 it 
 
 Quite as unexpected, and far more suprising and em- 
 barrassing was %piother visit received this same evening. 
 Before dinner was concluded Mr. Beckett was called away, 
 only, however, to return in a few minutes with Mr. 
 Crevolin, — the last person whom Celestine would have 
 thought, or perhaps then desired to see. 
 
 ' Here is an inquirer into the state of your health, Celes- 
 tine,' said her brother-in-law good humouredly. ' Ho dis- 
 claimed any desire of a personal interview if I could give 
 a good report, but I thought it as well you should answei 
 for yourself at first hand. 
 
 Celestine looked surprised, but no surprise could con- 
 ceal her confusion ; none the less so that as she glanced 
 at Mr. Henry Beckett she saw on his face a dark and 
 ominous frown. Mr. Crevolin appeared perfectly compos- 
 ed, but as the eyes of the two men met the expression of 
 each was unmistakable. Suspicious inquiry looked out, 
 and steady firmness refused to answer ; and plainly legi- 
 ble was the fact that friendly relations between them had 
 ceased to exist, and that a known — if unacknowledged — 
 cause of distrust, if of no more, now reigned in their stead. 
 
 ' I hope you will understand, Miss King,' said Mr. Cre- 
 volin very quietly and scarcely looking at her, ' that I 
 had no intention of intruding on you. Dr. Bernard is 
 unavoidably absent to-night, and as he sometimes does 
 me the honour to make use of me, he begged me on this 
 occasion to take his place. Without giving reasons into 
 which I did not wish to enter, I could scarcely decline ; but 
 I purposely came at an hour when I knew Mr. Beckett 
 would be at home and accessible, in order that without 
 seeing you I might give Dr. Bernard th' "eport on good 
 authority/' 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GBEAT FALL. 127 
 
 Celestine understood thoroughly ; and her comprehen- 
 sion quickened the beating of her heart. 
 
 ' And suppose the report had not been good ? ' she said, 
 uttering in her embarrassment about the worst thing she 
 could have said under the circumstances. ' Suppose I had 
 been less well than, I am very happy to say, I am ? ' 
 
 * We need not speak of it, as fortunately the necessity 
 does not exist.* 
 
 ' You may as well confess, however, as we can all sur- 
 mise it,' said Mr. Beckett, laughing. * Perhaps you were 
 to act as substitute for Bernard as well as messenger, and 
 have got the caustic in your pocket ? ' 
 
 ' I do not admit it,' said Mr. Crevolih, more quietly 
 than before, whife Celestine felt her cheek blanch at the 
 supposition. 
 
 ' But you don't deny it .? That's much the same thing. 
 How would you have liked a deputy then, Celestine ? * 
 
 She would hav^ given the world to escape reply. She 
 glanced at Mr. Crevolin, but he seemed unmoved. * Per- 
 haps ' she said, * as Mr. Crevolin remarked just now, as 
 the case has not arisen, we need not discuss it.' 
 
 '1 should say,' said Mr. Henry Beckett, with languid 
 emphasis, * that in such a case such a deputy would have 
 been altogether inadmissible.' 
 
 There was an instantaneous flash, like that of a sword 
 in sunshine, from Mr. Crevolin's blue eyes, then the 
 heavy white lids dropped as sudde ily, and he spoke no 
 word. Celestine heard the only half- veiled insolence of 
 the tone, she saw the recognition, and also the self- 
 command which for her sake,she knew — forbade itsexpres- 
 
128 "LOVED I NOT flONOUB MORBl" 
 
 sion, and while she strove to imitate the latter, her own 
 spirit rose in arms. 
 
 ' But for my own part I may say/ she added signifi^ 
 cantly, ' that I should certainly have permitted anything 
 that Mr. Crevolin thought necessary, and that Dr. 
 Bernard had deputed him to do.' She rose from the 
 table as she spoke, rather frightened at her own temerity 
 in uttering the words she could not keep back. ' I will 
 have coffee in the drawing-room, Ralph. Perhaps Mr. 
 Crevolin will join you when you come.' She gave the 
 latter a clear, steady glance, and made him a deep inclina- 
 tion as he opened the door for her to leave the room. 
 
 She had made a declaration of war, and sho knew it; 
 but sympathy and indignation had been too strong for 
 prudence. Her pride and her affection were both in 
 revolt. She fully appreciated the anxiety for her which 
 had led to Mr. Crevolin's compliance with a request she 
 knew must have been exquisitely pain^l to him, and her 
 spirit rebelled at the slight assumption of authority and 
 interest conveyed — and she was aware meant to be con- 
 veyed — in Henry Beckett's words and tone, and she had 
 been unable to deny herself the expression of both feel- 
 ings, and the bestowal of such comfort and the infliction 
 of such correction as each man might be inclined to draw. 
 If any mischievous results ensued she might console 
 herself with the assurance that she had after all only 
 added slightly to what some former cause had already 
 and evidently brought about. 
 
 She was soon informed that Mr. Crevolin had departed, 
 from the voices of those who remained ; she heard Henry 
 Beckett's slow tones somewnat raised as if in expostula- 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTT HAD A GREAT FALL. 129 
 
 tion, then a hearty laugh from her brother-in-law, sudden- 
 ly checked and succeeded by tones of inquiry, and then — 
 ominous sound ! — she heard the click of the lock as the 
 door was swiftly and softly closed. 
 
 She waited till the coffee was cold, and till the last 
 rays of the sunset had vanished and the shadows were 
 deep in the room ; then she gave up the idea of anything 
 but a solitary evening, and lighting a shaded lamp on the 
 mantel which diffused a soft light to fall on the piano, 
 she sat down to play. She was no great musician, but 
 her soul had a trick of finding its way through her 
 fingers when she touched the keys. She had, however, 
 been so soothingly occupied but a few minutes when she 
 was conscious of some one behind her, and turning round 
 in quick alarm found Henry Beckett at her shoulder. 
 He had entered the room so silently as to leave her 
 unaware of his approach. 
 
 Nothing could have been more unwelcome, or have 
 irritated her more. Her nerves strung to their utmost 
 tension by the agitation of the scene in the dining-room ; 
 her heart filled with indignant love and admiration, she 
 was little fitted or inclined for the society of one at best 
 less than indifferent to her, and at worst totally repug- 
 nant. She could scarcely refrain from springing to her 
 feet in the eflfort to escape ; and she could not and did 
 not restrain an impatient movement which was at once 
 misinterpreted. 
 
 ' Do not move,' said Mr. Reckett. ' I like to hear you. 
 I have been listening some time. What were you play- 
 ing when I disturbed you ? ' 
 
 * The minuet in " Don Giovanni." I thought every one 
 knew that.' 
 
130 " LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE ! " 
 
 ' I could have said it was something ui that kind. 
 Your music is expressive, one can almost hear the rustle 
 of the farthingales to the stately measure, and the tinkle 
 of high-heeled feet on the polished floor.' 
 
 ' I don't believe they wore either farthingales or high 
 heels there,' said Celestine, who was in no mood for 
 compliment and sentimental comparisons, as she half rose 
 from her seat. * Shall I give you some coflTee ? though 
 I am afraid I cannot recommend it now — it is late.' 
 She knew how rude the words were, but she sincerely 
 hoped he would take offence, and the hint, and go. 
 
 * No, I want no coffee. I want you to listen to me for 
 a moment. I came to say something to you.' 
 
 Celestine sank back with an impatient little sigh. She 
 did not 3''et suspect what was coming, but she felt sure 
 that anything he could have to say must be a nuisance. 
 
 ' May I hope that you will listen favourably. Miss 
 King ? * 
 
 Then the inflection of his voice told her that he had 
 not taken his refusal as final, and that the ordeal was to 
 be gone through. In her nervous annoyance a sudden 
 inclination seized her to laugh, and though she managed 
 to suppress anything quite so unseemly, she gave way to 
 a levity quite as foreign to her nature. 
 
 * That depends entirely on what you say, Mr. Beckett,' i 
 she replied, in a light tone. : 
 
 * I have your brother-in-law's permission to speak to | 
 you, and I am confident that were your sister here she 
 would not withhold hers.' 
 
 It suddenly crossed Celestine's mind to wonder whether 
 if — no, when — Philip Crevolin told her he loved her he 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 131 
 
 would employ such a form of words, or whether he would 
 ask any sanction but that of his own will. 
 
 ' I should not have supposed any consent to be neces- 
 sary except my own/ she said, aloud. 
 
 ' And I have that ? ' asked Mr. Beckett, eagerly. ' I 
 have waited — I have given you time to think — you must 
 know that I have no dearer desire in the world than to 
 call you my wife.' 
 
 The words were out. She had known it, but she had 
 wished, and hoped, never to hear him say so. However, 
 an honest avowal, no matter how distasteful, always de- 
 serves consideration, and, doubtful how best to blend 
 kindness with decision, Celestine for a moment did not 
 speak. 
 
 * You give me hope by your silence,' said Mr. Beckett, 
 in so soft a tone that it angered her and restored her 
 courage. 'May I believe that I am not indifferent to 
 you?* 
 
 All at once there came to her the remembrance of Mr. 
 Crevolin's eyes and voice as he had grasped her hands in 
 the quarry and said, ' Take care ! ' The recollection 
 thrilled her like music, and made the present contrast al- 
 most ludicrous; and it was with scarcely sufficient thought 
 that she uttered the first words that occurred to her, * I 
 thought — I supposed that was all settled, Mr. Beckett.' 
 
 * Settled ! ' he repeated, and he looked surprised, as well 
 he might. 
 
 ' Yes. After what my sister told you I hoped you would 
 never recur to the subject again.' 
 
 * Your sister told me nothing. I don't understand.' 
 *She never gave you my answer? That was very 
 
 wronsr.' 
 
132 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 * Answer to what ? 1 want your answer now/ 
 
 * Did you not authorize her ? ' began Celestine, and 
 
 then stopped short. 
 
 ' Authorize her ? I never authorized any one -* and 
 
 he also came to an abrupt close. 
 
 Her words had in some degree let the light in on him, 
 and his total unconsciousness told her part of the truth ; 
 but in the excessive awkwardness that ensued neither 
 could finish what they had begun to say. 
 
 Celestine was the first to recover herself. She was 
 somewhat shocked to find that she had been harder on Mr. 
 Beckett than he had deserved ; he, equally with herself, 
 had been duped : but she could say nothing, as to betray 
 Sylvia, more than she had already inadvertently done, 
 was impossible. 
 
 * I am very sorry,' she at last said, gently. ' We have 
 both been under a mistake. I am sure you will forgive 
 me — but please never speak of this again.' 
 
 ' Why forgive ? and why not speak ? I have spoken — 
 it is for you to give the answer that I wait for.' 
 
 ' You must forget it. I cannot answer as you wish.' 
 
 ' Do not say so. I have been led to think ' 
 
 ' Not by me. Mr. Beckett, if we have both been mis- 
 taken, let u.' be sure of the truth now. I hoped you would 
 have spared me the pain of saying no.' 
 
 ' And you do say so ? ' His tone had lost its softness, ; 
 and his face wore almost a sullen look. ;; 
 
 'I must. I can say no other.' J 
 
 'Why?' _^ I 
 
 His persistence began to annoy her, and to abate her 
 regret. ' I can only say — because I do not love you/ — 
 
HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. 133 
 
 * and because you do not love me/ she might have added, 
 had she spoken as she thought ! 
 
 * I will wait ' he began. 
 
 * If we waited till the day of judgment it would make 
 no difference. Please say no more. I am soriy, but it 
 cannot be.' 
 
 ' If you tell me there is no one else * 
 
 * You have no right to ask that/ said Celostine proudly. 
 ' I shall not answer further . 
 
 * I mean that if your heart is free I will not yet aban- 
 don the hope of winning it.' That heart gave a half guilty, 
 half exultant throb, remembering how little its winnei 
 had waited and how surely it was won. * I have the con- 
 sent and approbation of those near to you, and surely — 
 surely no unworthy preference ' 
 
 It must in charity be supposed either that he had said 
 more than he intended, or that Celestine misunderstood 
 him ; but there was, or she fancied it, though she could 
 scarcely credit her hearing some emphasis on the last 
 words. Sorrow took wing and anger filled its place ; and 
 rising to her feet, Celestine faced her admirer with flaming 
 cheeks and flashing eyes. 
 
 ' Mr. Beckett,' she said, ' how can my preference possi- 
 bly signify, provided it does not fall on you ? There is 
 enough said now, and if we are to continue friends let all 
 this be forgotten before we meet again/ Her voice and 
 manner were not to be mistaken ; they plainly enjoined 
 the parting that must precede meeting, and the long ab- 
 sence that would ensure forgetf ulness ; and Mr. Beckett 
 accepted his fate — with a very ill grace indeed. 
 
 That he had some ground for complaint was true ; but 
 
134 *' LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE I" 
 
 he himself was far from blameless. Of all the mistakes 
 he had made, perhaps the last was the greatest and most 
 fatal. It had always been his boast that he acted not 
 from impulse but from judgment ; if that had told him in 
 the present instance to speak with any hope of success 
 when he was actuated by jealous suspicion, and she whom 
 he addrcvssed excited by opposition, it goes to show that 
 judgment is but an unsafe guide in matters of love. But 
 perhaps judgment had less to answer for than a temper 
 for once carried away by angry pique ; cautious where it 
 should have been courageous, and unable to perceive that 
 in some contests no boldness will suffice to win the day. 
 
 Celestine made what excuse she could for him, but her 
 charity was sorely taxed to discover what allowance to 
 admit for the insult she was almost sure she had received; 
 and besides the smart inflicted by this, she felt herself in 
 other respects very badly used. If Sylvia had not 
 scrupled to do so much, was it likely she would have hesi- 
 tated to do more ? and in what other direction the seeds 
 of misconstruction might have been sown, though it was 
 disagreeable to contemplate, it was not hard to guess. 
 
 Under the influence of these feelings she sat down at 
 once, and indited the following short letter to her sister, 
 by whom it was read with sensations, the reverse of vic- 
 torious or satisfactory : ' Dear Sylvia, — I have had a little 
 talk this evening with Mr. Beckett, which has taught us 
 both a good deal that we were rather surprised to learn. 
 Your delicate manoeuvre was but egg-shell china and 
 needed care. It has fallen off the shelf in your absence,^ 
 and all the king's horses, and all the king's men can't set 
 it up again. Poor Humpty Dumpty ! I am afraid he feels 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 135 
 
 the fall more than he might have done, had you not so 
 kindly tried to break it for him. I don't think you need 
 wait for me, as it is no use to go to Newport now. It is 
 a pity you did not take me with you, for I am as well as 
 I ever was in my life. As soon as Dr. Bernard will give 
 me a clean bill of health I shall go home.' 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 
 
 it T was not conducive to Mr. Crevolin's peace of mind 
 it that one of the frequent errands of charity he allow- 
 ed himself took him that same evening along the' 
 north road past Mr. Beckett's house, and brought him 
 back at a moment when, from the darkness without the 
 unclosed windows permitted him a view, through the 
 lace draperies, of the little group and scene at the piano 
 within. The involuntary glance he cast in that direction 
 was sufficiently punished by what he saw. In Mr. 
 Beckett's attitude and gesture, in Celestine's bent head 
 and idle fingers lying listless on the keys, there were 
 visible to him only the signs of reconciliation of what he 
 believed the lovers' quarrel of which he had been unwill- 
 ing witness a short time before ; and the sight sent him 
 to his night's rest with very little capacity or inclination 
 either to obtain or enjoy it. 
 
 A wide latitude always has been, and must be, accord- 
 ed to lovers in the matter of mental blindness ; and that 
 
136 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR M0B5:/* 
 
 Mr. Crevolin supposed Celestine incapable of seeing be- 
 low tbe surface is not the best proof of his own ability ] 
 -4n the same respect. That Mr. Beckett was, in all out- : 
 ward guise and circumstances, a more likely object than 
 himself of the choice of nine women out of ten, his hu- 
 mility was ready to admit ; of what he was conscious ^ 
 lay below, it needed another and a quickened vision to 
 take cognizance, and why should he dare to hope, against 
 all appearance, that he had found the tenth ? 
 
 And if his mistaken trust in appearances militated 
 against his happiness, his true appreciation of Celestine 
 certainly gave him no more comfort. ' I will believe thy- 
 self against thyself,' he might have said ; for having been 
 given distinctly to understand that her hand was pledged 
 to Mr. Beckett, how could he imagine her heart traitor 
 to her faith ? 
 
 That which a more shallow nature than his would have 
 accepted as evidence, if not proof, of what his soul craved, 
 reason, because he allowed reason to be heard, set aside. 
 Feminine instinct on Mrs. Holmes' part had led to a reti- 
 cence in her replies to his questions as to what had brought 
 about the events of that ever-memorable night, which had \ 
 left unshaken his conviction that Celestine's share in them 
 had been indeed only that * good acting ' which she had 
 affirmed it. To him belief in, or compiehension of, a 
 brave deed presented no difficulty ; he had not learned 
 that that physical, courage which is, or ought to be, so in- I 
 herent a part of a man's being, that resolution in action is 
 but its unconscious result, is in a woman of far different 
 quality, being only a latent power, an element foreign to 
 her nature, and requiring the pressure of a feeling stronger 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 137 
 
 than itself to call it into existence at all ; that what in 
 the one sex inspires the deed must in the other be itself 
 inspired by a passion. Therefore, though he could com- 
 prehend and admire to the utmost what he had ottp- 
 posed to be the heroism that had led Celestine to risk her 
 life in defence of his, he was not able to understand that 
 the spring of the courage must have been something 
 deeper than itself — that he must look for it in one of the 
 three levers that move humanity to supreme effort, a pas- 
 sionate love, a deadly hate, or a mortal fear. 
 
 He was not happy. Fortitude, if a good staff, is not 
 warmth and raiment to the shivering and naked soul just 
 awakened to its own needs ; pride is an excellent tonic, 
 but like other tonics it may sometimes only provoke that 
 hunger of the spirit which itself cannot satisfy ; and 
 though since setting down to the new game of passion 
 Philip Crevolin had found in its sweet excitement ample 
 compensation for any number of candles, and would not 
 for any computation of their cost have foregone his ex- 
 perience of gain and loss, yet there was no denying that 
 the candles had been burned. He had proved to the full 
 his capacity for suffering in the same kind and degree as 
 the rest of humanity : and his life and aims, as far as his 
 present occupation and residence in Fairport were con- 
 cerned, had come to shipwreck. 
 
 For if he were blind with regard to the feelings of a 
 woman's heart, there was no want of clearness in his per- 
 ception of the workings ^ a man's mind ; and he knew 
 that it would be no less iW^ossible to himself to inhabit 
 the same place with Celestine when she belonged to ano- 
 ther, than to Mr. Beckett to tolerate the presence of ano- 
 
138 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!' 
 
 ther man who loved her when she belonged to bini. 
 Consistently with Celestine's peace and his own dignity 
 but one course lay before him ; and he was not the man, 
 haviiig once so decided, to shrink from any resolution or 
 any sacrifice that the decision might entail. 
 
 So that in all respects of the existing state of cross- 
 purposes, Celestine had decidedly the best of it. She was 
 troubled by no sense of responsibility, and with that for- 
 tunate faculty of looking to the end, regardless of the in- 
 termediate steps of doubt or difficulty sometimes possessed 
 by her sex, she felt assured that if Philip Crevolin loved 
 her he would tell her so at such time as seemed to him 
 good. Nor perhaps was her faith misplaced ; for when 
 fate creates two souls for the purpose of uniting them she 
 seldom deviates from her first intentions, though she often 
 displays considerable malevolence in her method of carry • 
 ing them out. 
 
 On the other hand, the means for the final accomplish- 
 ment of her designs are often so simple as to be scarcely 
 worth recording. 
 
 In Celestine's case the means were nothing more than 
 the disobedience to orders of which she chose to be guilty 
 the day before her intended departure from Fairport. Dr. 
 Bernard did not prove inexorable to entreaty, and a few ; 
 more days saw Miss King at liberty to go where and when- ^ 
 soever she pleased. Her pleasure did not lead her to join 
 her sister, and she completed he : arrangements for her re- 
 turn home ; but as it was, or as ^fie thought it was, impos- 
 sible to leave without some per^nal farewell to those in 
 whom she had professed so deep an interest, she ventured 
 on a last walk, which was to include Bridge street, in the 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 139 
 
 hope of a chance encounter where she was forbidden a pur- 
 posed interview. Whether she cherished a surmise — ^per- 
 haps a hope — that she might thus gain opportunity for 
 another good-bye, without which it would have been hard 
 to go, we have no right to inquire. 
 
 The late June morning was warm and sultry, and it 
 may have been ouly in consequence of this that Celestine 
 attired herself in the white dress she had never looked at 
 since she had kissed it as she laid it by. Also, it may 
 have been solely from love of their own loveliness that she 
 pulled a quantity of syringa flowers, and fastened them 
 at her belt and throat, as she passed the white-starred 
 branches where they hung. 
 
 In these early hours of the day Bridge street was as 
 deserted as on that never-to-be-forgotten night when 
 Celestine had last seen it. There were no outward signs 
 of life about Holmes's house ; but through the open win- 
 dow, thrown wide to admit whatever air could be induced 
 to enter, came the sound of voices, one of them that of 
 Mr. Crevolin. 
 
 With that swift inclination to fly from the fruition of 
 our own desires and endeavours, of which we have all at 
 times been conscious, Celestine instantly quickened her 
 steps to pass on. Then came the whisper of the silent moni- 
 tor, always heard if not always regarded, that repentance 
 would surely follow close upon the heels of haste, and Celes- 
 tine listened to the voice of warning and turned back. She 
 dared not, in defiance of Mr. Crevolin's express and ex- 
 pressed wishes, go in ; but between the door and the low 
 paling that bounded the road was a plantation of sunflowers^ 
 beneath whose heavy drooping heads the children had im- 
 
140 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 provised a rough bench of pieces of plank and fragments 
 from the quarry, and in this romantic shadow Celestine 
 seated herself to wait till Mr. Crevolin should leave the 
 house, and either give her permission to enter, or become 
 the bearer of her message of interest to those whom he 
 forbade her to see. 
 
 She had not calculated on overhearing what passed 
 within, and the first sounds that came to her ears made 
 her regret her position. Holmes was speaking and the 
 voice that answered him came from the open door, so 
 near Celestine that it made her start. 
 
 * French Joe says her name tells that she belongs 
 
 to Heaven, sir,* said the man, evidently in continuance of 
 some former talk. ' And I guess he's right.' 
 
 * Toil are not right, my friend, to talk about a lady's 
 name with French Joe or any other person.' 
 
 * May be not, sir ; but if you'll excuse it iu a sick and 
 cranky man to say so, 'tain't clear to me but you're of 
 that way of thinking yourself — for I sometimes b'lieve 
 you worship the very stones she sets her foot on.' 
 
 * Some people worship the sun. Holmes : but they don't 
 for that reason want to drag it down from the sky, and 
 make little of its greatness and beneficence.' 
 
 * No,' said the woman's voice ; * nor they don't for that 
 reason pull down their blinds to keep the light out.' 
 There was a significance in the tone that brought the 
 colour to Celestine's cheek. 
 
 ' And you're sure what you say has to be, sir V said 
 the man again. ' No hopes you'll change your mind ? ' 
 
 ' You know I seldom change it. Holmes ; but few know " 
 of my intention yet, so you need not talk about it out of 
 doors/ 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 141 
 
 'For that matter I don't get out o' doors to talk, sir. 
 It'll come hard on us to lose all our frieiids.* 
 
 * You will have one left who can and will do far more 
 and better than I have ever done, Holmes.' 
 
 ' Do you mean Miss King, sir ? ' 
 
 •Yes,' replied Mr. Crevolin; but the word was not 
 uttered with just the decision that usually marked his 
 speech. 
 
 * Begging your pardon, sir,' broke in the woman's voice, 
 ' you mean nothing of the kind. I don't want to say 
 nothing to offend, but that's a rotten reed for us to trust 
 to. You mean Mrs. Henry Beckett, and the sooner you 
 get the mistake out of your mind the better for us all. 
 Miss King will never marry Mr. Beckett any more than 
 I shall.' 
 
 There was a sound as of a closing door, as if the speaker 
 had retreated fromi the consequences of her own impertin- 
 ence ; then a chair was pushed back, and feet moved on 
 the wooden floor ; a few half audible words of farewell 
 were exchanged, and then Mr. Crevolin came from the 
 house and confronted Celestine where she sat, or rather 
 where she stood, as she rose to meet him. 
 
 I read not long since of a heroine whose face was, * in- 
 candescent whiteness pulsating like northern lights.' I 
 can claim no such supernal brilliance for Celestine, but 
 wonder and indignation at her sudden discovery had 
 driven the colour from her cheek, and it wore a paleness 
 that was neither of fear nor of sorrow, while in her eyes, 
 deep and clear as sea water, there shone a light that Mr. 
 Crevolin had certainly never seen there. If the over- 
 whelming revelation of what she must have heard, caused 
 
142 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!'* 
 
 him for the moment to take her expression for that of 
 anger, it must be forgiven to him. The veil separating 
 them had become thin indeed, but as impenetrable if 
 as intangible as the one that divides death from life is 
 that which hangs between lovers until loVe lifts it once 
 for all. 
 
 One uncontrollable start he gave as he first saw the 
 white figure under the shadow of the sun-flower leaves 
 then, as ever, his agitation was instantly chained under, 
 and only found expression in the anxiety of his tone as 
 he addressed her. 
 
 * Why are you here ? It is not safe for you. You 
 should not have come.' 
 
 She felt no displeasure at the abruptness, whose source 
 she well understood ; and in obedience to his desire, ex- 
 pressed by look and gesture only, moved to the gate by 
 his side. 
 
 * Do you not wish me to go in ? ' she asked. 
 'Certainly not.* His voice was very low and rather hoarse 
 
 with his suppressed emotion, but its decision was undoubt- 
 ed, and she never thought of opposition. Indeed, she had 
 enough to do to preserve her outward calmness under the 
 rush and pressure of the new knowledge she now pos- 
 sessed. Easy to perceive now why Philip Crevolin had 
 avoided her — easy to understand now why his care for 
 her safety had been so exercised as to seem of no per- 
 sonal interest ; and her admiration and esteem were only 
 eq^ualled by the indignation she felt that he had borne 
 such needless pain. 'Brave, noble, loyal, self-denying 
 soul,' she said to herself But if self-denial were necessary 
 because he believed her attached and pledged to another 
 
AMORVINCIT OMNIA. 143 
 
 / 
 
 man, how did he account to himself for what she had 
 done for him ? Could masculine miscomprehension go so 
 far as to fail to grasp its real meaning ? Of one thing 
 only she felt sure; she would lie under no such imputa- 
 tion as that of having bestowed her heart and troth on 
 Mr. Henry Beckett. To find words to convey the informa- 
 tion might be difficult, but there should be no more mis- 
 takes. 
 
 As she waited for him to speak again, and as he paused 
 a moment with his hand still upon the gate, she detected 
 a rare irresolution in his manner. 
 
 ' May I walk with you a little way ? ' he said, at last, 
 ' You know the dying are often accorded privileges that 
 would be denied to those who had before them the fuller 
 enjoyment of life.' 
 
 The speech in its extravagance was so unlike him that 
 Celestine looked at him in surprise. 
 
 *I was about to ask you to come with me,' she answered 
 simply. * I have something to say to you.' 
 
 They moved on together for a little distance, but Mr. 
 Crevolin did not speak. 
 
 * I have a favour to ask of you,' continued Celestine. 
 ' I am going home to-morrow, and I wish to leave those 
 of my charges whom you forbid me to see to your espe- 
 cial care.' 
 
 He echoed her words, ' Going home ! I thought you 
 were going to join your sister and go to the sea ? ' 
 
 * No, I never meant it. Will you accept my little 
 legacy ? ' She tried to speak lightly, but she felt her 
 voice shake and fail. 
 
144 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MOllEir' 
 
 He still walked by her side in silence, and glancing at 
 him in some wonder, she saw that he was very pale, and 
 that his face had a look as of physical pain kept under 
 by a strong effort of will. They had reached a road 
 that branched off from the street and led into that path 
 which conducted to the wicket-entrance of the copse 
 where they had parted with the * comrade grasp ; ' into 
 this path Mr. Crevolin struck, as if it were their direct 
 road, and Celestine followed him without remark. 
 
 ' I need not tell you,' he said, at last, and as if there had 
 been no pause, ' I need not tell you that I would take 
 any charge from you — that you should not even have 
 to ask — ' He stopped. The form of his words had al- 
 ready announced refusal, however, and Celestine coloured, 
 abashed and confused. 
 
 ' But,' he added, with effort, * I shall not be here.' 
 
 * Are you going away, too ? Not for long ? ' 
 
 * I — I wish to tell you myself — that — that / must 
 leave my work to you to carry on in future. I have re- 
 signed my position here.' 
 
 She looked at him in utter incredulity. 
 
 * Resigned ! you cannot mean it. To leave your life— - 
 your work here ! ' 
 
 * Why not ? For those who, like me, are willing to do ' 
 it, there is work everywhere in the world.' 
 
 ' But the good you are doing here no one else can do, 
 she said earnestly. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' he replied, with rather a sad smile, * I have been 
 given to understand — I mean I feel assured — that that 
 can never again be either as useful or as acceptable as it 
 has been in the past.' 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 145 
 
 Celestine saw it all. Not more certainly would she 
 have discerned the truth, not more clearly would she have 
 understood that the loss of Philip Crevolin's life work 
 was to be the price of his love for her had it been spoken 
 trumpet- tongued than it was revealed to her in those few 
 hesitating words. How far open- insult had gone hand- 
 in-hand with insinuation of course she could not know ; 
 but her heart swelled, part with indignation, part 
 with a kind of triumph, to think how completely the 
 petty malice had overreached itself. 
 
 But she had no words. Light as the veil might be, it 
 was for his hand to lift it, and not hers. 
 
 They left the road, entered the shadow of the copse- 
 wood, and stood under the tender flicker of the trembling 
 lights ana leaves before he spoke again. 
 
 * You see now/ he said, as he stopped, and she felt that 
 here he meant to say farewell, ' why our positions are 
 reversed, and what you asked of me I must instead peti- 
 tion at your hands.' * . 
 
 ' You are in earnest ? you are quite sure ' 
 
 * I do not wish to talk of it,' he interrupted, very 
 gravely. ' There are some things better unsaid — which 
 friends ' — he dwelt on the word — * understand without 
 saying.' He stooped and gathered some blades of grass, 
 as if scarcely conscious of the action, in an embarrass- 
 ment unusual indeed with him. 
 
 * Perhaps I had better not say this — and yet I cannot 
 help it ; I will plead my former excuse. It was only half 
 exaggeration when I spoke just now of the privileges 
 granted to the dying — when people part forever it might 
 as well be death.' 
 
146 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE." 
 
 Another pause ; she could not tell him how little he 
 need fear the parting. 
 
 ' For what you know/ he said slowly and softly, ' for 
 what I have not been able to hide from you as I ought, I 
 ask no pardon. We do not ask permission of the saints 
 to pay our worship. But I do ask you to believe that 1 
 would have given my right hand rather than that you 
 should have heard your name so profaned as you did just 
 now.' 
 
 Celestine turned away her head that he might not see 
 her smile. Profanation ? when the woman's rough words 
 had done her service that all soft and delicate speech i 
 would have failed to render ! The veil was now so thin 
 tha< it was a marvel the blindest vision did not pierce its | 
 folds. 
 
 * That is all/ he resumed. ' I could not say good-bye 
 without asking so much, but I have no right to say more, 
 except to wish you all good for all your life to come. 
 I shall not be here when you return.' He spoke the 
 words firmly ; she dimly guessed what the firmness cost 
 him, and at last found her own voice, and the courage to 
 use it. 
 
 * There is the more chance that we shall meet elsewhere,' 
 she said. ' It is not likely that I shall ever come back to 
 Fairport again.' 
 
 What was it ? Was it in the words, in the traitorous 
 curve of the scarlet lip that belied their seeming insigni- 
 ficance, in the eyes that strove to lift themselves and 
 failed, in the tell-tale flush and quiver of the half-averted 
 cheek and the wl\ite throat, that the knowledge was con- 
 veyed to him at last that he had been blind to the light 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 147 
 
 that should have led him, deaf to the voice that should 
 have upokan hope and courage ? Who can tell ? What 
 matter which, or if it needed all ? 
 
 ' When all's done, all tried, all counted here. 
 All great arts and all good philosophies. 
 This love just puts its hand out m a dream ♦ 
 
 And straight outstretches all things.' 
 
 For all reasons, or for none, for Philip Crevolin the dawn 
 broke, the silver whisper sounded ; and the veil dropped 
 — at once and forever. 
 
 For one dizzy moment he hesitated ; not now in irreso- 
 lution — that was put away with childish things — but as 
 one dazzled by sudden lightning may put his hand over 
 his eyes to recover certainty of sight, then with one hasty 
 movement forward, he had taken in his own both her un- 
 resisting hands. 
 
 * I said I had no right to ask you more — I was wrong — 
 I did not know — I must know now — I believe I have the 
 right to ask you if that woman's words were true ? ' 
 
 The eager, breathless speech, hot with the haste of pas- 
 sion long checked and now given the rein, was answered 
 but by one quick, sudden upward glance, veiled as quickly 
 before the look that met it. Slight and swift reply, but 
 sufficient. ' Could you believe — ' she murmured but she 
 was allowed to say no more. He released her hands, but 
 only to catch her to his heart with a low, rapturous cry, 
 to clasp her in an embrace that crushed the perfume from 
 the syringa flowers on her breast, and to stop her mouth 
 with kisses; kisses none the less sweet that the lips were 
 now warm and living on which he laid them. 
 
148 "LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE!** 
 
 If she had wished for a summary and unquestioninfr 
 wooing she had her desire. She was certainly given as 
 little opportunity as she had inclination for hesitation or 
 denial ; and during those first blessed moments when they 
 clung together in that silence which is joy's 'perfectest 
 herald ' and in the full and confessed assurance that to 
 each the other was all, she as well as he tasted that one 
 earnest of Heaven that is permitted on earth. 
 
 * My queen, my goddess, my life's one idol ! ' he said 
 when he could let her go enough to look into her face. 
 * Mine now, to have and to hold forever ! Tell me, am I 
 too daring in believing I have won you ? Have I very 
 deeply and presumptuously sinned ? But not now, any 
 more than in my humility do I beg forgiveness— for if 
 you think I need it it would be no use to ask/ 
 
 She laughed, the low, happy ripple in which a woman's 
 fulness of joy runs over. ' You are very masterful—" very 
 vilely proud," I think ; but I believe if you were more 
 humble I could not care for you.' 
 
 ' Ah, I know you care ! I can see now, though I have 
 been a blind fool ; and you cannot close my eyes again. I 
 know it — but tell me so once more.' 
 
 But, for all answer, she hid her face. 
 
 ' Do you know what you are doing ? ' he asked pre- 
 sently. ' I can give you an unstained name, — ' a sudden 
 little catch in his breath showed that one word had come 
 unaware, and she clung to him the closer — * but most of 
 what once went with it was given freely and gladly in a 
 lost cause, and the little that remains is devoted to those 
 who need it more than I. Can you be content with what 
 my hands and brains can do for you ? Not that I mean 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. 149 
 
 to let you go now in any case ; but if you will say " yes, 
 for I love you, Philip," I shall have no excuse for unbelief.' 
 
 ' I love you — Clip,' she whispered, with her face still 
 hidden ; and at the last word, shyly uttered, he folded 
 her in another passionate embrace. 
 
 ' Won t you look at me ? Do you need moon-light and 
 danger to inspire you ? Ah, beloved ! you were not so 
 coy that night when to save my life you risked your 
 own ! 
 
 She shivei'ed a little at the recollection, even in the safe 
 shelter of his arms. 
 
 ' What did you think of me ? Oh, if you knew how I 
 suffered in the idea of what you might believe ! But what 
 else could I do ? ' 
 
 * I thought everything but what I ought to have known. 
 I thought you had a man's soul for difficulty and danger. 
 I never dreamed that what few men would have dared 
 came so easy to a woman's heart.' 
 
 'Ah, how little you know yet !' she said, softly, looking 
 up with a heavenly smile. Then she added, in one of 
 love's sweet paradoxes, * Dear, if I had not loved you I 
 could not have done it, but — if I had not loved you it 
 would have been easier far to do.' 
 
 « « « « » « 
 
 Mrs. Beckett has never been grieved by her sister's de- 
 fective training of daughters. Celestine has 'brought 
 forth men-children only;' and as Sylvia looks at the 
 three gallant nephews who occasionally pay her a visit 
 rom their southern home she feels quite contented that 
 ley are not ' Uncle Henry's ' sons. The latter is still 
 
150 "LOVED 1 NOT HONOUR MORE!" 
 
 unmarried, and likely to remain so ; and as Mrs. Beckett 
 reflects how greatly his celibacy will hereafter benefit the 
 inheritance of the fair fragile beauties, who are already 
 fulfilling what their mother still considers a woman's only 
 proper mission, she is completely reconciled to the frus- 
 tration of those plans for whose success she once strove 
 so assiduously and whose failure she at first sincerely and 
 deeply deplored. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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