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1
2
3
1
2
3
4
5
6
THE REPROACH
Of
ANNESLEY
BT
MAXWELL GRAY
AUTHOR OF "THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND," ETC
TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRYCE, PUBLISHER.
PR l^o 13
^7
p^^^
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Cana-la In the yoar one
thoiwaiid eight hundred and eighty-nine by Wii^UAM DMYcii, at the
Uu^)artuieut of Agriculture.
890155
CONTENTS.
PARTL
CHAP. PAoa.
I.- -Footsteps 1
II —Fire-light 10
HI.— Shadows 20
IV.— The Meet 29
v.- Spring Flowers , 38
VI.— Thorns 47
PART II.
I. — Apple Blossoms 56
II. — Archery 02
III. — Sunset on Arden Down 68
M ♦ ( — irS-x^rrrrta. ^' itvTvii c«ts\t ivtvn x.nctxi , ••■• ••••••••••••••••■• fXj
v.— Storm ■ 84
CONTENTS.
PART III.
CHAP. p^Ol.
I. — Light and Shatle 92
II.— Over the Hills and Far Away .• 104
III. — On the Balcuny 113
IV. — Unspoken Thouglits 122
v. — What the Pine Saiijjr 130
VI. — The Inheritaiicu 139
VII.— Bythe River I44
PART IV.
I. —Sheep-shearing 151
II. — The Question I59
III. — At Sunset Igy
IV. — Conflict 176
V. — A Verdict I84
VI.— Predictions 192
VII.— The Squire of Gledoswortli 201
PART V.
I. — An English Triumph 210
II. — By the Hearth 219
III. -Sibyl 228
IV. — Spirits 237
V. — The Vacant Chair. 244
VI. — Benediction 249
PART VI.
I. — On the Brink 266
II. — Buried Alive 264
III.— The Wedding Dress 274
IV. — Face to Face 283
V . — ix.es lOiation 290
VI. — Conclusion 30q
By THE 8 AMI AUTHOR.
THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND.
author.
PRI388 NOTIOB3S
' Kwnarkable and provokluff book -rKlili i ... ^
dreadful vicarious gutterlL must affect thS ^1^ i. *.„• J, ^^T' %«rd, wtjoge
chanioter worthily drawS ; «^ Liifai. Lrir.^wi"-^t°*^^''*K*' "^*'"' '" ""oble
and loviiiB Kvcranl i« «n~w «„= i. »£. 'L 'i*?™**'"*'' *"* **>« woman loved by
t«mp^r^^ove;iS!"-Z?JLr female character, drawn b, any coiJ
anai;Bi'B''Ae*i:S*LTof f^llfdlfh:,n'e*^vwhr^^^^^ f." ,"•* "«"'»'« """"'^y <"
the ^imlj-gla ot tenor wMcHi^^^Z ^iT, u 1m" *«"j*f' »"«> '» "tt^rly mast^
originality. "-6«,./dw^ • . . ihe norel has the merit* ^ «. Jring power and
deBcriptiouBof BceLiTMtath^delSC; ^J"',.'"''"/*'' *?'^ "^ "»»«'' «» '«> "'^
thisnoveHBuncomm^^l'^ce^^^^^^^ respect, indeed.
martyrdom^^'po^r Kfe/Ja Cvril'Maitlan!."""','^''' varied and dramatic, and the
Is real f«elin» in the relXn'ofthlrpfi^r J """"'. P°*erf""y (lencribed. There
which he lias 1^1 unscathed • f„ Jof /k °l ^l"^"^ *'««»> t^e prison life, through
average, "-i/^^ unscathed , in fact, the boolc is, from end to end, far above the
exce^lonaUraS'^^rlSd i;&th"rlhS!?n??"i *"*".? f^'li' " '» » -»"^ «"
an.i has in it the essence of he nobl^t kind of^^^^^^
It 88 a sensational novel merelv Mrt «im,?il » */• ' r • ^^ *•*•** ^^o read
provides pleasure of rver^SZ Wnd"^ ^I*i d.^'or.^"^*"* *" **•« '«'"'• «*
The Ktory is of intense lnteiestTh«pwr;*«- """^i??..?* '* <'°°* P"« »"* Ich.
kind that fascinate It Si fSdlof tSuiw?„";*,^„f * '*^f^, POrt«yed. wd are of •
of most moving pathos/'-So^^nT^ incident, powerful deMriptlon, ud loene^^
TORONTO : WILLIAM BRYOE. PUBLISHER.
-•M Their Wt ii M.
Dr. Morse's Indian
Root i'ills.
Dr. Morse's Indian
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Dr. Morse's Indian
Root Pills.
Dr. Morses Indian
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Dr. Morse's Indian
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Dr. Mors'i's Indian
Root Pills.
Dr. Morse's Indian
Root Pills.
Dr. Morse's Indian
Root Pills
Cured of Indigestion and Htadache.
St. Andrew %, Que.,— March 31, 18B7.
W. II. CoMsiotK.
Dkvk Sih,-Moh8k's Indian Root
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l-'i>r moiith-i I suffered from Indlgeition
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had a bad taste hi my inuutli every
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PilU, all thcKe trouble, disappeared, my
fond digested well and my ftlcep wa.
refrcthing. My health is now guud.
Danikl IIokan.
What Morie's PUli are thought of at
Riverbaak, Ont.
Rivcrbank, Jan. 31, 18S7.
Mr. Comstock.
Dear Sir,— I write to tell you in thin
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Indian Root Pills have a good name.
I will give you the names of one or two
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Mrs. Jas. Gilmour, the mother of a
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tome, "1 thank vou very much for the
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Yours Respectful,
Mrs. Mary Hollis,
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— To save Doctor's Billa use Dr.
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PBICB 25c. PER BOX.
For Sale by all Dealers.
W. H. COMSTOCK,
Sole Proprietor,
BBOCKVILLB. ... ONTABIO.
i
THE EEPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
PART /.
CHAPTER I.
fOOISlEPS.
Silence and solitude reigned all around ; a solitude invaded by
the appearance of no living creatures save distant flocks of sheep
dotted at large over upland pastures or grouped in wattled folds ;
a silence rather deepened than broken by the peculiar and by no
means unmusical sound of the wind sweeping through the short
pale-yellow bents which rose sparsely above the fine rich down-turf
The narrow, white high-road ran straight along the summit of the
down ; it was unfenced on one side where the turf sloped so
abruptly towards a rich cultivated level as to make this almost in-
visible from the roaH and on the other bounded by a bank, purple
in summer with wiM thyme, and crested by a high quickset
hedge, which effectually concealed the northern slope of the
down and the wooded country beneath it spreading away to the
sea. This thorn hedge, which, in default of leaves and blossoms,
bore masses of thick and hoary lichen, instead of growing erect
from its bank, running nearly east and west, was arched over to
the north-east in an accurate curve, due to the fierce briny sweep
of the prevailing winds, and was by the sa^pie agency smoothly
shorn on the windward side. These strong salt winds, blowing off
the sea and frequently rising to gales, give all the trees and hedges
within their influence a marked family likeness, stunting their
growth, and forcing them to bow to the north-east as if suddenly
made rigid in the height of a south-west gale.
But the salt south-west was silent on this cloudy March after-
nnnn anr
itc nlofp
bleak
id.
r'hirling
'liio*
from the flinty chalk road, and quieting gradually down as tie
sun drew nearer the west, was sweeping over the short turf with
Us low, lonely sound, which is half whistle and half moan. The
• THE REPROACH OF ANN EST EY.
rich level to the south of the down, sprinkled though it was with
occasional farnis, each having its cluster of ricks and elmtrees, and
varied here ai^d there by a village spire rising from a little circle
oi thatched roofs, looked solitary beneath the grey sky. It ter-
minated on the cast in some picturescjucly broken hills. Inter-
rupted by a long, level grey band, which was the sea, and on
the south in more hills of moderate height and irregular outline,
whicn derived an unusual grandeur this afternoon from the leep
purple shadows resting upon them, and emphasizing their contour
ngamst the silvery grey nky, a sky full of latent light. On the
west again there were hills of gentler outline, beyond these little
glimpses of plain and woodland, and on the farthest limit a curv
ing break filled with a polished surface of sea, reflecting the dim
yellow lustre of the dorlining sun, which glowed faintly through
the curdling clouds above. **
The wind went on singing its strange low song to the bleak
down-land; tht far off farms and villages gave no sign of life;
but one sohtar) seagull sailed slowly by on its wide, unearthly,
ooking wings far below the level of the high-road, yet far above
the plain beneath, uttering its complaining cry, and receiving the
pale reflected sun-rays upon its cream white plumage, thus making
a centre of light upon the purply-grey darkness of the plain and
the hills. It passed gradually out of sight, and the silence
seemed more death-like than before.
Yet life and music were near, and only awaiting the summons
Irfw f'i" ^"u u^'"" ^""beams to spring forth and make the
earth glad with beauty and melody. The gnarled, storm-bent
thorns were showing tiny leaf-buds on their brown branches
where the taiigled grey lichens did not usurp their place: cows-
ips were pushing little satmy spirals through the short turf on
the hedge-banks ; down in the copses, and beneath sheltered
hedge-rows, primroses were showing their sweet, pensive faces,
and white violets were budding. Many a nest was already built
many a bird already felt the welcome pressure of eg-s beneath
us warm breast and tasted the fulness of the spring-time; the
tell elms on the plam already wore their warm purple robe of
blossom; black buds on grey ash-stems in the copses were
nT^t^"^ »? bursting-point above the primroses. Yet all seemed
Iiteless ; the red-brown leaves on the oak boughs shivered in the
a\^rj^t r*' scarcely possible to prophesy of the green and golden
glory that would clothe them in one brief month. Could those
dry bones live r
Presently something black rose silently and swiftly above the
•eenturfhnrHpr />f fh«^Koiu,^„j Ti__-r.. •. ^"""7 *""vc inc
human
---_...., „v....^w....6 i..a^^ juse siicnuy ana swittly a
green turf bnrH.r .f the chalk road. Beneath it appeared
face, ne
of a nii
fully ou
Hew
keen wii
blink, ii
fair hail
round tl
stepping
gazing s
from be
latter.
and wall
his foots
then rcj
self, " E
Soon
panting,
the road
and mui
motionle
but one
and dart
imitators
who looi
spectral!
sheep-do,
wind, an(
uttered s
the right
on the pj
of their
the flock
grumblini
the bewil
occasiona
his maste
behind h
gent activ
[ gave little
with a sl(
his long
which bl<
I creatures.
it was with
mtrees, and
little circle
ky. It ter-
hitls, inter-
sea, and on
liar outline,
m the leep
leir contour
It. On the
these little
imit a curv-
ing the dim
itly through
} the bleak
ign of life;
, unearthly-
t far above
ceiving the
hus making
e plain and
the silence
e summons
make the
storm bent
1 branches
ace; cows-
)rt turf on
I sheltered
isive faces,
iady built ;
js beneath
-time ; the
le robe of
>pses were
ill seemed
;red in the
md golden
}uld those
FOOTSTEPS. I
face, next a pair of broad shoulders, and finally the whole figure
of a man emerged, as if from the heart of the earth, and stood
fully outlined agamst the chill sky.
He was young, and strop ly rather than ;racefully built: the
keen wmd, from which he did not flinch by so much as an eye-
blmk imparted a healthy pink to his clear complexion. His
fair hair was crisped by the wind, and his grey eyes looked all
round the wide scene, on which his back had been turned while
stepping lightly up the down, in a singular manner. Instead of
gazing straightforward like other people's they looked downwards
from beneath his eyelids, as if he had difficulty in raising the
latter. Having rapidly surveyed earth, sea and sky, he turnef'
and walked westwards along the ed-e of turf by the road, so that
his footsteps still made no sound, drew a watch from his pocket
sdf""Tarl''' "» ^"^^'*^ ^^ ^^'"^ overcoat, muttering to him-
Soon he heard a sound as of a multitudinous scraping and
panting above which tinkled a bell; a cloud of dust rose from
the road, showing as it parted the yellow fleeces and black lees
and muzzles of a flock of Southdown sheep. He stood aside
motionless upon the turf, to let them pass without hindrance;
but one of the timid creatures, nevertheless, took fright at him
and darted down the slope, followed by an unreasoning crowd of
irnita ors. It did not need a low faint cry from the shepherd,
who loomed far behind above the cloud of white dust, himself
spectral-looking in his long, greyish-white smock-frock, to send the
sheep-dog sweeping over the turf, with his fringes floating in the
wind, and his tongue hanging from his formidable jaws, while he
uttered short angry barks of reproof, and drove the truants into
the right path again. But again and yet again some indiscretion
on the part of the timid little black-faces demanded the energies
of their lively and fussy guardian, who darted from one end of
the flock to the other with joyous rapidity, hustling this sheep.
grumbling at that, barking here, remonstrating there, and driving
the bewildered creatures hither and thither with a zeal that was
occasionally in excess, and drew forth a brief monosyllable from
his master, which caused the dog to fly back and walk sedately
behind him with an instant obedience as delightful as his intelli-
gent activity. The actual commander of this host of living things
gave httle sign of energy, but walked heavily behind hU charges
with a slow and slouching gait, partially supporting himself on
his long crooked stick. anH rarrwinrr ..„H'»- «-•" »-'' > u
_,L,;-i, ui ^ J • , "' '■•j—a '<"Uvi tii3 icii aim a iamb
whicii bleated m the purposeless way characteristic of these
creatures. Yet the shepherd's gaze was everywhere, and he,
1—3
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
like his zealous lieutenant, the dog, could distinguish each of
these numerous and apparently featureless creatures from the
other, and every now and then a slight motion of his crook, or
some inarticulate sound, conveyed a whole code of instructions
to the eager watchful dog, who straightway acted upon them.
AH this the young man motionless on the turf watched with
interest, as if a flock of sheep were something uncommon or
worthy of contemplation ; and when they had all gone by, and
the shepherd himself passed in review, his yellow sun-bleached
beard shaken by the keen wind he was facing, he transferred his
attention to him.
" Blusterous," said the shepherd, making his crook approach
his battered felt hat, when he came up with him.
"Very blusterous," answered the gentleman, nodding in a
friendly manner and going on his way.
This was their whole conversation, and yet the shepherd pon-
dered upon it for miles, and recounted it to his wife as one of
the day's chief incidents.
"And I zes to 'n, 'Blusterous* — I zes; and he zes to me,
'Terble blusterous,' he zes. Ay, that's what 'ee zed, zure
enough," he repeated, with infinitesimal variations, while smoking
his ai'ter-supper pipe in his chimney-corner.
Thus, you see, human intercourse may be carried on in these
parts of the earth with a moderate expenditure of words.
Gervase Rickman went his way pondering upon the shepherd
and his flock. How foolishly helpless and helplessly foolish the
bleating innocent-faced sheep looked, as they blundered aimlessly
out of the road, one bhndly following the next in front with such
lack of purpose, that the wonder was that here and there a
solitary sheep should have sufficient intellect to strike on a fresh
path and mislead his fellows. And how abject they were to the
superior intellect and volition of the dog; how lumultuously they
fled before him, thus involving themselves in fresh disorder j how
tamely they yielded to his behests, when so small an exercise of
will on the part of each might have baffled him, in spite of his
terrible fangs; above all, how like, how very like the mass of
mankind, " the common herd," as they were so aptly called, they
seemed to his musing fancy !
With what a sheep-like fidelity do men follow the few who
from time to time blunder upon original paths, how blindly do
they pursue them to unknown goals, and how abjectly do
multitudes permit themselves to be swayed by the will of one
with sufficient daring, energy, and intellect to dominate them !
The mass needs a man, a strong personality, a powerful volition
FOOTSTEPS.
$
guish each of
ures from the
f his crook, or
of instructions
d upon them.
watched with
uncommon or
gone by, and
f sun-bleached
transferred his
rook approach
nodding in a
shepherd pon-
wife as one of
he zes to me,
'ee zed, zure
while smoking
ed on in these
ivords.
1 the shepherd
sly foolish the
lered aimlessly
rent with such
i and there a
rike on a fresh
ey were to the
lultuously they
disorder ; how
an exercise of
in spite of his
e the mass of
tly called, they
' the few who
ow blindly do
V abjectly do
he will of one
>minate them!
werful volition
to lead it; it bows to the strongest, to a Moses, a Caesar, a
Gregory, a Charlemain, a Cromwell or a Napoleon ; democracy
is but the shadow of a shade — the aimless revolt of the aimless
many against shackles that have been silently forged in the pro-
cess of the ages — a revolt ending in the incoherence of anarchy,
weltering helplessly on till one is born strong enough to lead and
create anew ; then the centuries solder and cement his work, and
give it a fleeting permanence, and thus a civilization is born. Or
the centuries refuse their sanction, and the work slowly resolves
itself again to chaos. So Gervase Rickman mused.
But he was not of the herd ; he would follow none. He felt
within himself an intensit' -^f purpose, and a passion of con-
centration, together with ^ crength of intellect that must lift
him above his fellows. So he thought and mused, not knowing
what was within him and into what channels the current of his
character would set.
He went on his way, still keeping to the turf, and thus still
silently, for it was his habit to move with as little sound as pos-
sible, until a barrow rose steeply before him and compelled him to
take the road. He was now approaching the end of the down
road, at the extremity of which, where the thorn hedge ended,
there stood a little lonely inn in an empty courtyard, fenced by a
low stone wall. On one side of the small house was a tree,
bending as usual to the north-east, and imparting that air of
perfect loneliness which the presence of a single tree invariably
gives to an isolated building. The inn proclaimed itself the
" Traveller's Rest " by a sign over its low porch and closed door.
There were no flowers in the little court, though it faced the
south ; neither tree nor vegetable grew in the barren enclosure,
which was tenanted solely by a large deer-hound stretched in a
watchful attitude before the porch.
Mr. Rickman did not look at the inn, though a side glance
of his eyes took in the dog with a sparkle of satisfaction ; while
the dog on hearing his footsteps, which were also faintly audible
to two women in an upper room, slightly pricked his ears and
looked at him with an indifferent air, dropping his muzzle com-
fortably on to his fore-paws again when he had passed.
Another road crossed the level chalk road at right angles just
beyond the solitary inn. Opposite the inn-front on the turf was
a stagnant pond, the milky water of which was crisped to ripples
by the keen wind, and in the angle' formed by two roads stood a
wooden sign-post.
When he reached the sign-post, Gervase Rickman leant against
it with his back towards the inn, which was now some distance
I
6 THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
S.°.'^*''?V^*^^^''^*i °''^'' *^^ ^""^^d ^''Panse of level champain to
f„ 1 1 ^K ^^ "^'1-"?^ ^PP'^"" *° "^^"^ t'^e ^'"d, Which caught him
^l'''w^,^'^\''}^^^^^''^^ '■"ffled his hair, a^d obliged him t^
press his low felt hat more firmly over his brows; the sou^d I
made among the withered stalks above the sward pleased him
and he mused and mused in the stillness, an image of peacefu
centaXowV"' ''^ "'"^' '^^^"^^^ ^"^ '^^ °^ ^^ '"-
nfK^ he was thus musing, his quick ears caught the sound
of footsteps m the distance behind him; but he did not turn
?nter.^fv^°' ^^\^°°e^^P« ^^^^ those of a Stranger and coud no"
interest him, so he thought. They were the firm elastic steps o
a man in the flower of life, they smote the hard road with an even
joyous rhythm, and were accompanied by the clear cheery tones
of a voice smgmg, ^"ccijr lones
"As we lay, all the day,
In the Bay of Biscay, O f *
in Sfi^ s°"g^a"d footsteps penetrated to the quiet upper chamber
m the inn, where two women sat together, on2 wasted with mortal
sickness and wearing the unnatural rose of fever in her facT the
other radiant with youth and health. The latter paused in her
reading and looked up as the strain of manly song broke upon
L'^rr i^Ve^att^r,^ "^^ ^-^^"^'^ ^-^ ^^'•^^-^^' -<^ '^^
gentI^man/'^°°'^ ''°''^'" "^'^ *^^ '■^^^^'' "^"^ ^^^ ^°i^« ^^ a
w Jn I ''"^^' r"* joyously on his way, and paused in his sons
C^^ ' ^^\'^' motionless figure at the foo? of the sign-Jost
tte dark^ni."''A '''" Sf^^^ dreamily away over the vflley to
aLT^ ^ ™^'' ^^' ^"^ to P"'"Pose a thing strongly to
gam his purpose, he was thinking; fate is but the Ihadow of an
siw tKn.'^J'T '^ "^!?'' "^^ ^^ ^" ^'' °^" '^^"ds. In fancy he
wX k!.2 u^'^u'^^^P ?"''^" o'^ ^^^ 0" along the dusty high-
way by the shepherd, whose figure suggested all sorts of Ufes
to his mmd save the august image of the Shepherd of mankfnd
" To Medmgton four-and-a-half miles," was written on one of
the arms of the sign-post above his head, and the pedestrian
reading this, paused a moment and looked at the sikn? figure
beneath which with averted 'gaze appeared unconscloii of h I
« M ^'''V^^ °"^y """^^ *° Medington ? » he asked.
No ; there are four," repUed Rickman, facing about, but not
'el champain to
t shadows were
lich caught him
obliged him to
i ; the sound it
d pleased him,
ige of peaceful
: of quiet con-
ight the sound
did not turn
r and could not
elastic steps of
d with an even
r cheery tones
jpper chamber
2d with mortal
1 her face, the
paused in her
g broke upon
:ened, and she
le voice of a
d in his song
the sign-post,
the valley to
I strongly to
shadow of an
In fancy he
; dusty high-
rts of images
of mankind,
in on one of
»e pedestrian
silent figure
icious of his
•out, but not
FOOTSTEPS. m
SSon*' ^^''"^ ^' °^ *^' ''""^''■' ^' ^^ ^^P"«<J to his
"Which takes me past Arden Manor?" asked the stranger
who looked as if he would enjoy a friendly chat ^ '
" Neither."
"Surely that is Arden Manor I saw lying beneath the down
by the church as I came along f" "
"Yes." ^
"An old gentleman named Rickman lives there, I think- a
^Z t^ ^^y-T^"'* Z^ ^ ^""'^^' ^ho collects antiqu ties " '
"A Mr. Rickman, F.R.S., lives there," repiied Gervase with a
J/ ^u^ *T^^^^'^ ^'^^ * ^""^""^y a"d that's about all," he
Tfriend bv 'aIZ^ M ^° ""''' '\' ^°^"^ ^^^"^ ^akwell and meet
SvSy g'oni"' "" °" *'^ "^' '' ^^^-^^-- I have
rnm^?J Fa ^'% "^"'^^ "?^*- ^^ ^^^ '^^^P straight on you will
come to Arden Cross at the foot of the hill. For Arden Manor
Turn unM° T' 'f ;^^^t^^ '^"^^^ y°" away fronf Medi^gton
*T S J^ .^ '^"^ *° ^^^ "ght, and you go direct over the downs
to^Medington, or straight on by the high-road you get to MeS!
"tS '"^''"i A'"de" Cross," reflected the stranger aloud
Thank you. I remember the down path now. that if the short
marches/' '"" ""'^^ ""' '° " ''^^' ' ^his wind is too rnuch for
Gervase opened his jacket, and in the shelter thus made the
stranger, stooping, for he was tall, struck a match and Sfed a
short pipe thus giving the other the opportunity of a cl?se and '
unobserved scrutiny of his face in the glow of the^match It was
mai goes to he heart of every woma.., old or young.
menfallfto tt "°- ^°°''"/hought Gervasef consigning him
mentally to the majority of mank nd. '« Edward Anneslev nn
doubt J an ofBcer, by his moustache and swagge^" ^' "'^ "
hike a's^dir^fr'^""' IK 'ZW = ^houghlhe stranger walked
sTiSeve^'fiLe'^^^lbht" ^^,^P«/Pr^<^hing 7rom b^ehind
' eves On Lmi .K . ""' ■r''^ ht a flame in his veiled grey
I eyes. On came the steps, swift, light, and even, very diffefen^
« THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY. '
from the soldier's firm strides, though telling like them of youth,
health, and a light heart ; yet Gervase, for all the stir of fueling
they evoked within him, appeared to take no notice of them, but
continued his rapt contemplation of the shadowed hill-slopes,
brightened now by long moted shafts of light from the sinking
sun, around which the clouds were breaking away in beautiful
glory as the keen wind stilled itself more and more in shifting to
a warmer quarter.
A voice soon accompanied the light footsteps, echoing in a
woman's round, clear notes, the soldier's song ;
*• There we lay, all the day.
In the Bay of Biscay, O I*
At this point Mr. Rickman left the post against which he had
so long been leaning, and strolled quietly on without turning his
head, while the singer, who made rapid progress, repeated her
snatch of song, and the hound, which had been lying before the
inn-door, flew before and around her in widening sweeps, all
the grace and strength of its lithe slender body showing to the
utmost advantage, until it included Gervase in its gyrations,
whereupon he turned and waited, while a tall young woman came
up with him.
"I thought you would never see me, Gervase," she said.
"What deadly schemes were you meditating under the sign-
post ? "
•«I was watching the weather," he replied; "the wind is
chopping round, we shall have a change. Where have you
been ? "
"With Ellen Gale; I am glad for her sake the wind is
changing, the east wind is so bad for her."
She came between Gervase and the setting sun, which grew
more radiant each moment, and now sent forth a dazzling mesh
of golden rays to tangle themselves in the line growth of curling
hairs roughed by the wind from her rich plaits beneath, thus
forming a saint-like halo around the face of Alice Lingard, a
face distinguished by that indefinable charm, which is the very
essence of beauty, and yet is often wanting in tha most perfect
features. It was a charm which went to the very heajt of the
young man walking by her side, and yet which he could not
describe ; he knew only that ft was lacking to every other face
hP haH PVPr fiPl»n • Vip Vn'^iw alcn fVial- if mnc nnf nU^a^ «■/% <>..<.-..
one to discover that hidden grace. For each face has its own
charm, the magic of which has different power over different
\, echoing in a
the wind is
FOOTSTEPS, g
people, and enchants many or few, according to its own intrinsic
potency.
The two yalked on together at Alice's brisker pace, talking
with the uncfcnstraint of familiar friends ; Alice involved in the
glory of the warm sun-rays, while a deeper rose bloomed in her
face as the fresh a-r touched it, and her blood warmed with the
exercise; Gervase for the most part listening, and monosyllabic.
They passed a large deserted chalk quar.y, its steep cliff-sides
looking ghost-hke save where a stray sunbeam shot its long
gold lustre upori them, and then they came round the shoulder
of the down and saw, nestling beneath it, a church with a low
square, grey tower and a gabled stone house sheltered from the
south-west by a row of weather-beaten Scotch firs; lower down
along the valley ran a straggling village, all thatch and greenery.
cT?r i I ^^* J^^ ''^^^^' ^""^ "^'PP^^ '"*° ^ deep sandy lane with
steep banks and overhangmg hedges, and here in sheltered nooks
finy'StoTe light"' '''''' '"*'' ^"' ^'°^^'^ ^^'^ ^^^'^^
"But not a violet is out yet," said Alice.
This was the moment of Gervase's triumph. He took from
a deep pocket a something carefully folded in a leaf, and
uncovering it presented to his companion, with a quiet smile, a
iideSTeal"'"' "°^''^' ^'^'-^^^P^^' ^"^ ''' - ^ ^"-^"g
her^fresJtr^ ^n'*\*? T^^i"f.^»0" ^^ Pleasure, and lifted it to
her fresh tace to inhale its delicate fragrance. "To think that
you should find the first ! » she said, half jealously.
He was in the seventh heaven, but said nothing He had
wX^i^f^'^'n'^ 't ^"^'^"S °f *hose violets for f week, and
now hi t7v '^""''^.y ^° ^^'^'' '^'"^ ^°^ her that afternoon and
now he had his reward w seeing her caress the flowers and talk
of them for a good five minutes till the sound of hoofs alone the
lane behind them made her look up. ^
CHAPTER IL
ii
III
FIRE-LIGHT.
The rapid beat of hoofs and the roll of wheels drew nearer
and nearer, and a dog-cart drawn by a serviceable cob flashed
down the hill towards the pedestrians with many a scattered
pebble and spark of fire, for the dusk was now falling.
On reaching them, the driver pulled up the cob, gave the reins
to the groom, sprang to the ground, all in a flash of time, and
was shaking hands with Gervase and Alice, and walking by their
side almost before they had time to recognize him. Alice gave
him a frank smile of welcome, and Gervase smiled too, but he
murmured something inaudibly to himself that was not flattering
to the new comer.
The latter was a young man, with a dark, strong, intelligent
tace, which had just missed being handsome. He walked well,
dressed well, and had about him a certam air which would have
challenged attention anywhere. He did not look Tfke a parish
doctor.
" And how are they all at Arden ? " he asked, in a full cordial
voice. "Where did you get those violets? It is enough to
make a man mad. I thought these were the first." And he
drew a second little bunch of white violets from his breast-pocket
and gave them to Alice, who received them with another frank
smile.
" How kind of you to think of me ! " she said. " Gervase
found these, but he was only five minutes ahead of you."
Gervase smiled inwardly; the new-comer's face darkened
and he silently returned the rude observation the former had
made upon him a moment before ; and then comforted himself
by the reflection, " Gervase is nobody."
" So you have been visiting my patients again. Mips Lingard,"
he said aloud ; " you must not go about making people well in
this reckless way. How are we poor doctors to live ? "
" Did you find Ellen any better ? ■" she asked,
" She was wonderfully perked up, as the cottagers say ; I knew
you had been there, without any telling. We must try to get her
FIRE-LIGHT.
If
through the spring winds. I say, Rickman, you haven't seen such
a thing as a stray cousin anywhere about, have you ? "
"I did catch sight of such a creature half-an-hour since," he
rephed. " He asked me the way to Medington by Arden Manor,
where one Paul, it appeared, had agreed to meet him."
" A tall, good-looking fellow with a pleasant face "
" And a beautiful voice," interrupted Alice. " It must be the
gentleman I heard singing past the ' Traveller's Rest,' Gervase.
I was just going to ask if you had seen him."
" He sings like a nightingale. Yes ; that was no doubt Ted.
Oh ! you will all like him. I shall bring him over to the Manor,
if I can. I don't say if I may," he added with a smile.
" Because you know we are always pleased to see your friends,"
returned Gervase. " But your cousin is an old friend of ours,
Annesley, and evidently remembered us. He asked if a queer
old fellow named Rickman lived in Arden Manor down there."
" The rascal ! Did you tell him he was speaking to the queer
old fellow's son ? " on
" Not I. I wanted to hear what he would say about us."
"What a shame ? " said Alice ; " those are the bad underhand
ways Sibyl and I are always trying to overcome in you. Well,
Dr. Annesley, here is Arden Cross, but no cousin, apparently " '
"He would be well over St. Michael's Down by this time"
added Gervase. " But who is this, coming down the lane ? " '
Two figures emerged from the deeply-shadowed lane which
led from the down to the paler dusk of the cross-roads, and
discovered themselves to be an elderly labouring man and a
youth, who touched their hats and then stopped.
" Evening, miss; evening, sir. Ben up hoam, Dacter? Poor
E-ln was terble bad 's marning," said the elder, who was no other
than the host of the "Traveller's Rest," Jacob Gale.
'•Ellen was better," replied the doctor cheerfully.
"Oh ! yes ; she was really quite bright when I saw her," added
Alice, m a still more encouraging voice.
The man shook his head. " She won't never be better " he
growled, " though she med perk up a bit along of seeing you,
miss. I ve a zin too many goo that way to be took in, bless your
heart. How long do ye give her, Dacter? I baint in no hurry
vur she to goo, as I knows on," he added, with a view to contradict
erroneous impressions.
The doctor rpnl if H that !<■ """' Jtyts"'— ji»'- */- -«=- = =k • i.i
,, --X- — ^ *- ""^ xmpuooiuic tO say; she miKnt
anger for months, or she might go that night.
*. 1^^®^ all goos the zame way," continued the man, "one after
tether, nothun caint stop em. There was no pearter mayde
12
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
about than our Eln a year ago come Middlemass, a vine-growed
mayde she was as ever I zeen," he repeated in a rough voice,
through which the very breath of tragedy sighed ; " zing she 'ood
like a thrush, and her chakes like a hrose. A peart mayde was
our Eln, I war'nt she was."
" She is very happy ; she is willing to go," said Alice, trying
to comfort him.
" Ah ! they all goos off asy. My missus she went fust ; a vine
vigure of a ooman, too. Vive on 'em lies down Church-lytten
there, Miss Lingard, and all in brick graves, buried comfortable.
They've a got to goo and they goos. Hreuben here, he'll hae to go
next. There's the hred in 's chakes, and he coughs terble aready."
Reuben smiled pensively ; he was a handsome lad, with dark
eyes .;nd a delicate yet brilliant pink-and-white complexion.
" Nonsense," interposed Paul, " Reuben's well enough. Yoti
shouldn't frighten the boy. Give him good food, and his cough
will soon go. Don't you believe him, Reuben. You are only
growing fast."
" He'll hae to goo long with t'others," continued the father,
"dacters ain't no good agen a decline. A power of dacter's stuff
ben inside of they that's gone. They've all got to goo, all got to
goo."
" Reckon I'll hae to goo," added Reuben, in a more cheerful
refrain to his father's melancholy chant.
Alice tried in vain to reason the pair into a more hopeful frame
of mind, and then scolded them, and finally bid them good-night,
and they parted, the heavy boots of the two Gales striking the
road in slow funereal beats as they trudged wearily up-hill, the
lighter steps of the gentlefolk making swift and merry music
downwards.
" Oh, Paul ! " said Alice, turning to him after a backward glance
at the father and son, "we muse save Reuben j we cannot let
him die ! "
" My dear Alice, you must not take all the illnesses in the parish
to heart," interposed Gervase; "the boy will be all right, as
Annesley told him. Why try to deprive Gale of his chief earthly
solace ? The old fellow revels in his own miseries. It is a kind
■;f distinction to that class of people to have a fatal disease in
:lieir family."
"Hereditary too," added Paul'j "as respectable as a family
^,host in higher circles."
" Or the curse of Gledesworth. I am glad the curse does not
blight the tenants as well as the landlord," continued Gervase.
For Arden Manor belonged to the Gledesworth estate.
*»
FIRE-LIGHT.
(3
« Or the Mowbray temper," lau-hed Paul. " Nay, dear Miss
Lingard, do not look so reproachiul. I am doing my best for
Keuben. But he is consumptive, and I doubt if he will stand
another wmter, though his lungs are still whole. We must try to
accept facts. Why, we poor doctors would be fretted to fiddle-
stnngs m a month if we did not harden our hearts to the inevitable "
• /'?"'i^ ,^^/f inevitable?" asked Alice, with an earnest gaze
into his dark-blue eyes that set his heart throbbing. " Need this
bnghr young life be thrown away ? I know how good your heart
IS, and how you often feel most when you speak most roughly,
liut If Reuben were Gervase, you know that he would not have
to die.
" You mean that I should order Gervase to the South. Doubt-
less.
" Very well. And if we set our wits to work we may expatriate
Ktuben. W- must. Gervase, you are great at schemes. Scheme
Keuben into a warm climate before next winter."
"We have received our orders, Annesley,"' replied Gervase.
laughing, as they turned up a broad lane, at the end of which the
grey manor house, with its gables and mullioned windows, loomed
massive in the dusk-a dusk deepened on one side by the row
of wind-bowed firs. '
Paul accompanied them, as a matter of course, though he had
turned quite out of his homeward way ; while his servant, without
asking or receiving orders, drove the dog-cart round to the stable-
fn^;/^''^^' '^'-"^^ :°"'^ ^^'^ f°""^ his way alone, so accus-
tomed was he to its welcome hospitality.
ainl«°"^!! t'^^g^teway, with its stone piers topped by stone
globes, and up the drive bounded by velvet turf of at least a cen!
tury's groWlh, the three walked in the deepening dusk, and saw a
ruddy glow in the uncurtained windows of the hall, round the porch
l7^1 'nyr^le grew mingled with ivy and roses. Gervase opened
i.L^oK^'J.K^^^"'^'^'^ ^ 'P^^'°"^ '^^'l wainscotted in oak,
carved about the doorways and the broad chimney-piece, beneath
which, on the open hearth, burnt a fire of wood. Th^ leS
Sfn. f r'"''""'y?u*?^ P^^'''^^^ ^^"^' on a broad staircasf
shining and slippery with beeswax and the labour of generations!
se"ttLlTnd^.hP •''"'?' 'T' ''''^^'^' °f ^™°"^ ^"d «ome oaken
fhP S^K *^^^'" .°[^" old quaint fashion ; and upon a table near
the^ hearth, on which a tea-service was set out.
nf th! fi • ^"l' u'*^"^'' ^° ^ ^^* ^'"ing bolt uprighi in front
orade .ST "I^^"^ '^ stared, as if inquiring of sime poten
oracle, and sometime rning its head nth a blissful wink, in
14
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
yw
response to its mistress's voice. This lady was small and slight,
with a rosy, unwrinkled face, grey hair, and an expression so inno-
cent and sweet as to be almost childlike, yet she resembled Gervase
sufficiently to prove herself his mother. Mrs. Rickman's gram-
mar was hazy and her spelling uncertain ; she was not srre if
metaphysics were a science or an instrument; she habitually
curtsied to the new moon, and did nothing important on a Friday
(which sometimes caused serious domestic inconvenience) ; but
her manners were such as immediately put all who addressed her
at their ease, and her pleasant uncritical smile encouraged, even
invited, people to tell her their troubles and confess their mis-
doings.
"Come, children," she said cheerily, rising when the door
opened to busy herself at the table, " here is tea just made.
What, Paul ? I did not see you in the dusk. We have not seen
you for an age, three days at least. Gervase, throw me on a fresh
log, my dear."
•' We certainly deserve no tea at this time of night," said Alice,
who was busy laying aside her hat and furs. " Come, Hubert,
leave the doctor alone and lie down by Puss."
The deer-hound, who had been fawning on Paul, stretched
himself on the rug on one side of the fire, not daring to take the
middle, since Puss disdained to move so much as a paw to make
way for the new-comer.
Alice took the chair Gervase placed for her, and began showing
Mrs. Rickman her two bunches of violets, one of which she put
in water, and the other (Paul observed with a thrill that it was
his) in her dress.
" And where are Mr. Rickman and Sibyl ?" he asked, flushing
with a secret joy, while Gervase was deeply ponde?ing the dis-
position of the violets, and persuading himself that his bunch was
the more cherished, since it was secured from fading, and yet not
quite sure on the point.
" Sibyl is at the parsonage practising with the choir," said Mrs.
Rickman. "Mr. Rickman is on the downs examining some
barrows which have just been opened, and no one knows when he
will be back. Alice, my dear child, what a fearful state your hair
is in ! "
Alice put up her hands with a futile attempt to smooth her
curly wind-blown hair. « It doesn't matter in the firelight," she
replied.
" Miss Lingard is quite right about the firelight," said Paul, in
his stately manner. " An elegant negligence suits best with this
idle moment in the dusk. Yes, if you forgive my saying so, Alice,
FIRE-LIGHT.
■s
you make a delightful picture on that quaint settle, with the
hound at your knee, and the armour above your head, and the
hearth blazing beneath that splendid old chimney near."
He did not add what he thought, that the grace with which she
sat half-reclined in the cross-legged oaken scat, and the sweet ex-
pression of her face lighted by the flickering flames, made the
chief charm of the picture.
" Dr. Annesley," replied Alice, meeting his gaze of earnest and
respectful admiration, " you are becoming a courtier. I do not
recognize my honest old friend, Paul, with his blunt but wholesome
rebuff's."
" It is I who am rebuff"ed now," he replied, singularly discom-
posed by the gravity of her manner.
" Nonsense, Paul," interrupted Mrs. Rickman. " Alice can only
be pleased by such a pretty compliment. You ought to be of
Gervase's profession."
"Yes; I always maintained that Annesley would make a
first-rate lawyer," added Gervase.
" Heaven forbid ! " exclaimed Annesley, with a fervour that was
almost religious.
Gervase laughed, and rose to settle a half-burnt log which
threatened to fall when burnt asunder, thus ruining a fire land-
scape on which Alice had been dreamily gazing.
" How cruel you are— you have shattered the most romantic
vision of crags and castles I" she said. " And you have destroyed
the poetry of the hour, for I must light these candles."
" Were you seeing your future in the fire ? " Paul asked, light-
ing the candles she brought forward, thrilling with delicate emotion
when he touched her hand accidentally, and caught the play of the
candle-light on her features.
Gervase watched them narrowly, though furtively, with a secret
pity for Paul, for a vision less keen than his might detect a total
absence of response on her part to the young doctor's unspoken
feeling ; and then he thought of his own future, which he read in
the dull red glow of the fire, while the others kept up a desultory
conversation in which their thoughts did not enter.
He had drifted, he scarcely knew how, into the office of Whe-
well and Son, solicitors. His mind in those early days had taken
no bent sufficiently strong to make him resist his father's desire
that he should follow law, since he declined the paternal profession
of ohvsic. a nrofpssinn whif'h Mr P;^Vrr>o« „ i r.^A 1 — :_:
with a fair practice, had early left because he said he could not
endure the whims of sick people, but really because, having a com-
petency, he wished to pursue his favourite studies in the quiet of
i6
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
I'v;
Arden, where oibyl was born when Gervase was about nine years
old.
But once in the office, he found much to interest him, and after
making progress from a desire to do his duty and please hia
parents, whose hopes all rc-ted on their only son, ambition av.o'(.e
in him, and he decided to in vice himself the head of the firm, :;nd
the firm the head of the protession in the county. Th.' j, at eight-
and-twenty, he had accomplished. Whewell and Son w .' now
Whewell and Rickman. The younger Whewell had renounced a
profession that wearied him, and the elder was at an age when love
of ease is stronger than love of power, and it was well known that
the junior partner was the soul of the business, which daily in-
creased.
As far as a country solicitor could rise, Gervase Rickman
intended to rise, and then he intended to enter Parliament,
where he felt his powers would have an opportunity of develop-
ing. This purpose he had as yet confided to no one, though he
was daily feeling his way and laying the foundations of local
popularity. A. man who makes himself once heard in the House
of Commons has, he knew, providing he possesses the genius of
a ruler of men, a destiny more brilliant than that of any sovereign
in the civilized world, and Gervase, looking at the burning brands
and listening to the harmonious blending of Paul's deep voice with
Alice's pure treble, saw such magnificent prospects as the others
did not dream him capable of entertaining. And through all
those princely visions Alice moved with an imperial grace.
•* But what has become of your cousin all this time ? " Alice
was asking the doctor.
" Over the downs and in Medington by this time. We don't
dine till half-past seven, so my mother will have a good hour to
purr over the fellow and make mu;lt o< biru. Ned iiwayswas
a lucky fellow, if you remember, \m. Ui'-'!man. P> lad the
knack of making friends."
" He was a winning and well-behaved boy, I remember," she
replied. " How fond Sibyl was of him I "
" It is just the same now, or rather it was at school. What-
ever Ned did, people liked him. If he neglected his lessons, he
always got off in class by means of lucky shots. Other fellows'
shots failed. Born under a happy star."
" Yet he must inherit the curse of Gledesworth," Alice said.
" (}: ! that is at an end. Reginald Annesley, being in a lunatic
asylum, fulfils the conditions of the distich,
" Whanne ye lorde ys mewed in stonen celle,
Gledesworth thanne ahalle brake hys spelle."
FIR -UGHT.'
\t
It nine years
•'since the
to his son.
Reginald is
"Facts seem against the theory," Gervase said,
estate cannot now pass from Reginald Anneuley
By the way, have you not heard, Paul? Young
dead, killed while elephant-hunting' in South Africa."
"Captain Annesley ? Reginald? Dead?" cried Paul, with
excitement. " We heard he was in Africa, and his wife and baby
came home. Are you sure ? Is it not some repetition of poor
Julian's story ? "
" It is perfectly true," replied Gervase, who was agent to the
Glcdesworth estate; "the news arrived yesterday."
Paul Annesley's father was first cousin to the Annesley who
owned the estate, and who was only slightly acquaint J with him.
Paul did not even know any of those Annesley.s, and the mad
Annesley having had three sons, one of whom was married, and
all of whom had grown to manhood, the prospect of inli riting the
family estates had never entered his wildest dreams. But now
only two lives stood between him and that rich inheritance; the
life of an elderly maniac and that of an infant. No one knew
better than he how large a percentage of male infants dit
" It is terribly sad," he said. " Oh ! it does seem as
curse was a reality, and worked still."
" I never believed in the curse," said Mrs. Rickman ; '
disbelieve it still. People die when the Almighty sees fit, \\
for us to ask why."
But Alice was a firm believer in the curse of Gledeswort and
defended its morality stoutly. Why, if blessings are attach d to
birth, should not pains and penalties cling to it as well ? she a ked.
Was it worse to be a doomed Annesley than the offspring )f a
criminal or the inheritor of fatal disease, like the family at the
" Traveller's Rest ? "
" I think I would rather be an Annesley," she added, turn ng
to Paul with a smile that seemed to reach the darkest recesses of
his heart, and kindle a glow of vital warmth within him.
Then they fell to discussing the Gledesworth legend. In the
days of King John a lord of Gledesworth died, leaving one young
son, and the dead lord's brother, not content with seizing the lands,
drove the idow and orphan from his door. One day in the har i
winter weather, the widow appeared in want at the usurper's gatt ;
and begged bread for the starving child. And because she wa-
importunate, the wicked baron set his hounds upon them and
they killed the heir. Then xht- wiHnw r-nrcA/i *»,o ^«,«>» h
ned into the forest and was seen no more. But from that hour
Gledesworth lane's never descended to the eldest son; so surely
as a man owned Gledesworth, sorrow of some kind befeU him •
if the
and I
is not
It
1' s
ill
II
THE S^PSOACH OF ANNESLBY.
suffered from, he c„TsaU%paT„t '""'^"' """' ""^
ge. .hr.s,o„en SMt?"' '"'"'^" ^"'" ^'^ "^"'^'^ y" '»..
chlngeTforl'sto^Tu'trfanr"/' '^'f^^<'»^ '*" to ex-
"Vmi "" ™™<^«''.areaU his descendants to be doomed?"
e«errSrernS=47h'feS.so?''''r«°°'' »"'"''■
world," Alice said ' rudimentary and finite
.heV?m^r4'''''ifke«3't'he fr"'?^ *Sl««" "f'"'™ f'
though only a Gid of rSuri™ "^ "' k °^ •"^'"^ «"»'' "•'"d^
Mrs. lUckiianrkind heart ,rn,?huw ""if ="«!<>» "Wch cheered
Annesleys sceptic "in andSI? J^f ^' J "^ ^' "^ ""»""« «'
all lost ihemXes S Ae oW i«, ■" t'f ^^'^ " "Wch they
ofEvii, the um;?o?^St?inVrtt?sr^s"4nLns
and was durscoWed for v^r„„o ^ "'j"" ^" «"= afternoon,
lived in thatVuseC h^" SeeS t^fT^' ^^^ ^
placedtherebyhersuardian, rt,n I yfj being an orphan
from each other" Sv and ,x t\"'^ f^''^ ™8ht benefit
together 50 haroiyXtAlSh„„?Ht'' r*^'^". ^-d g™wn up
of her own liufi'fi.r,'^;- LTctt^^^^^^^
later'Sfe :a3Tbo" t .^1^.°'^rr^^t^'^\^'^7^'^^^
are not tired, I should likeTou to let ^, rS """'"''• " y""
the Liberal i^eeting next week » """"■'^ ""^ '^^'^ "«
tota"fS Sib^K:r'<'' "'" ^^'^ 'f " would no. be better
.wo";e!re"att'/;„\tt t'Js u'ifi;' "sfat'''^^^''"" "-•«> •"
hall furthest frira the sL "case ' hth r 1" '" ""' '°™" "' *«
-ched the landing, SSX^^'^^tSr.,^^^'^.^..^^
lamp m tts centra and by the fitful r^lotf ^^^^^SS*
FIRE-LIGHT.
19
iften observed,
fatal line, was
ig the wicked
t victims who
h likes to ex-
i>e doomed ? "
3d and for ill
tary and finite
seen ; but not a gesture or look of Gervase could escape her,
and she was surprised when, taking a roll of notes from his
pocket, his form dilated, his eyes kindled as they took a com-
manding glance of the wide space before him, and he sent his
voice, which in conversation was harsh, echoing through the hall
with a power which she had never suspected, and invested the
political common-places which he uttered with a certain dignity.
The cat sprang up in alarm ; Hubert rose and sat listening at his
mistress's feet with a critical air ; Alice cried " Hear, hear ! " and
« No, no I " at intervals, for a good half-hour. Then the door
opened, and Sibyl returned from her choir practice and made an
addition to the audience.
"And did you ever hear such rubbish in your life, Sibyl?",
Alice asked, laughing.
"No," she replied, "I was never at a political meeting before."
'SI
m
.A
CHAPTER IIL
{^
in '
M'
SHADOWS.
Edward Annesley, finding no trace of his cousin at Arden
Cross, took the path indicated to him over the next link in the
chain of downs, dismissing Gervase Rickman from h'? mind with
a dim momentary remembrance of having seen and a.jliked him
before.
Thus every day we pass men and women whose hearts leap and
ache like our own, taking no more count of them than of the
stones along our path, though any one of these may turn the
current of our destiny and alter our very nature.
The setting sun was now breaking through the splendour of the
shifting clouds and lighting up, like a suddenly roused memory,
the once-famihar but half-forgotten landscape, with its limits of
hill and sea, its lake-like sheet of slate roofs down in the hollow
where the confluence of two slow streams formed the River Mede. a
The lake of blue roofs, brooded over by a dim cloud of misty I
smoke, out of which rose the tall white church tower, its western ^
face touched by the sun's fleeting glow, was Medington, the town
in which he had passed many a school-boy's holiday.
AH was now familiar : the furze in which he and Paul once
killed snakes and looked for rabbit-holes j the copses where
they gathered nuts and blackberries ; and the hamlet with the a
stone bridge over its mirror-like stream, widening into a pond at I
the foot of the hill, which fell there in an abrupt steep, down I
which the cousins had made many a rapid descent, tobogganing ]
in primitive fashion. There stood the mill with its undershot I
wheel ; the plaintive cry of the moor-hen issued from the dry I
sedge rustling m the March wind ; all sorts of long-forgotten
ob>ects appeared and claimed old acquaintance with him. The m
chimes of the church clock came floating through the dim grey 1
air like a friendly voice from far-off boyhood, and after a little ^
musical melancholy prelude, struck six deep notes.
He took the old field-nath. fhinkinrr nf tKi««^ ~~a _;,-_i- r__
... 1 \, 1 1. ---J '''"••o •'• tx.siigo ana people lui-
gotten for years, and reflected that the two boys who played in those
fields and who afterwards passed a year or two at a French school
SHADOWS. 31
together, were now men, partly estranged by the exigencies of life,
tntil he found himself in the clean, wind-swept streets of the town,
|vhere the lamps were every moment showing tiny points of
[rellow fire in the dusk, and the shop-windows were casting pale
and scant radiance upon the almost deserted pavement ; for even
In the High Street there were few passengers at this hour, and
little was heard save the cries of children at play, and the occa-
sional rumble of a cart and still more occasional roll of a carriage.
No one knows what becomes of the inhabitants of small country
towns when they are not going to church or to market ; the
houses stand along the streets, but rarely give any sign of life ;
khe shops offer their merchandise apparently in vain.
I He stopped before a large red-brick house, draped with grace-
ful hangings of Virginia creeper, now a mass of bare brown
branches rattling drily in the wind; a house which withdrew itself,
as if in aristocratic exclusiveness, some yards back from the line
of houses rising flush with the street, and was fenced from
Intruders by a high iron railing, behind which a few evergreens
rew, half stifled by the thick coating of dust upon their shining
leaves. There were three doors, one on each side, and one
approached by a flight of steps in the middle j on one of the
Bide doors the word " Surgery," was painted, and upon the
tailings was a brass plate, with ** Paul Annesley, Surgeon, &c,"
pgraved upon it.
He was admitted by the central door into a large hall
sccupying the whole depth of the house, and having a glass
garden-door on, its opposite side. He had scarcely set foot
vithin it when a door on his right opened, and from its
bomparative darkness there issued into the radiance of th^ lamp-
lit hall a tall and stately woman, with snow-white hair, and large
^right, blue eyes. Save her snowy hair, she showed no sign of
■%t ; her step was elastic, her figure erect as a dart.
" How do you do. Aunt Eleanor ? " said Edward, going up to
ber and kissing the still blooming cheeks offered for his salute.
" I missed Paul, as you see. How well you are looking ! "
Mrs. Annesley held his hands and looked into his face with a
leraphic smile, while she replied to his salutations, and said,
Vith formal cordiality —
"Welcome, dear nephew, welcome to our dwelling. Paul
Ihould have been here to receive you, but his medical duties
Vive doubtless detained him. You know what martyrs to
3iity medical men are. You rnay rciucmbcr your dear uncle's
Ife with its constant interruptions."
" Yes, I remember," returned Edward, not dreaming that his
22
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
'^^"^^^^^'^^tli^^^f '"^"-"^ --i^ted in drinking tea
slowXU ,uSvte"fs fnlrttr -^"^ ^^"^'"^ ^^^ «
darkened by heavy cfiftains fn Thf ^^^^ ^'■^^'"g-room, which was
by the mfuf gleam'of thTfiVe " iXT'' '"I?."^"' ""'^ "^^ted
sad and solitary but for fhi i, • ^^^.^' "^^ '^^^ ^0"'^ be very
my dearest S is oft ^^uchr' to' hif fl,r "^^ *" ^^''^'^ ^^^^
dear Edward, is mv tn-^,7«c. , • ^ ^e"ow-creatures. That
with the a r o? HaSdv fm'°"'°''''°-"-" ^"- ^nnesley sank
throne-like arm cha L Jy^heTT and ^TT^ .^^'"^ "P°» h"'
sweetly as she arranged the whl;. ."^^^.^ softly and smiled
cap, which bore buJ^a traditila l\ " m""^' °^ ^^' ^^J^^^te
cap she had long since'dSS as SoS *' ''' ^'°^'^
^^^^^T^^l^l^ ^^^^^^^ took his seat on
women conscious ofT ^'.^r^to ^h^rr^^. '"^ '"'^^' ^^^ ^^^
there was old rich hcei7hJ ™, ^^^^""^ °" s"ch trifles •
costly jewels, old friends of f/'^>"^ *^°"^ ^^^"^^k; a l?w
-s on her hand, thTSl°ond^sr;h^h"e^^^^^^^^ 'Z fi'^ ""^
broke It mto a thousand tiny fierce flam^.T ^u ^'^^'^ht and
well formed lips showed a C of nerfer T. ? ^^^e^™"^^. her
imposing, as well as a handsome IJrT ^ ''^'' ^^" '^^^ ^"
weS^nTntr^Shl^dl^^^^^^^^^ T^ ^^' '^^"^ ^^e
and sisters, and telling him^var ou hS; . "^ '^J7 ^^^ "^^^^^^^
while the firelight played unonTh J 1 '^J"' of famUy news:
Vou don't look a dryolderftanv™'' ""^ "''"''">"« "«"•
nothing bu.,d„ire yo'u ?oftl,et" CZL?' ' ""' ""^
nrarhco «« ..„.,_ _, , ' " '" miuw now to flatter. TTJa «,, .-
j^oar uiu aunt I And nnv >,r>,., ^ """ J'""' '"
kave you bereaved of their hearts in' Si mann^rT- '""*"« "*"
SHADOWS.
83
((
I am not a lady-killer. I am
"None," he replied, laughing,
put down as a slow fellow."
"Nay, my dear kinsman; I cannot believe that the ladies of
these days have such bad taste. You have grown into such a tall
fellow, you remmd me of my sainted husband "
My mother thinks me like my Uncle Walter," he reolied
wondermg by what process his lamented uncle Ld been
canonized after death, since during his life his iniured wffe
rwrcrSranXr^Jr^'^'""^^'^
me witn cruel candour. Here comes a carriage Is it Paiil'«! > »
m some men would have been undignified, but in Sni only gave
assurance of boundless vitality, and came in brinSng a breath of
^J^io^^^if^t^^^^^^^^^^ ^ -^^^^^^- ^' ^-^^^^ mfnh1,oVaX;'
The cousins met with less of the savage indifference which
fSs'ThV^hooi: f "I; ^' *° 'T^' '^ welco^ their'S
even said thL^° ^"'^r T'l" *^^" °"^^' ^"^ smiled. Paul
even said that he was delighted to see his dear Ted that it felt
e%t T:^:„Tthl^ l°"f '^^^^ ^h^' ^^ hoped he iould
oe aoie to extend the brief visit he purposed makine • while
faurl.lTf J^"' '' ^^ ^'™ g°°d t° see hfs lear oM
so tllv Then fh "^'\^^^ ? ^"^ '^^ °^d f^»°^ loo'=ng
so jolly. Then they shook hands a?ain, and the firpi.aht
danced upon Paul's irregular features and dark iry blue e/es
and^brought mto unusual prominence a white scar 'beneatffi
chins:uti7ovTr'him' '°" ^^"' ^°* ''''' ^^' ^^ '^'^ -'<^
to nffin^vf ""^ K ""'^^^y ^^'P °^ ^'^ *^o"si"'s hand, Paul turned
'"s mother, who presented each cheek to him as she had done
o Edward, and solemnly blessed him, as if he had been absent
IHan' u^oTif ^ Th' ' l^T" ^°" -^"--^ti^ histS
c^r-f y^^" "PO" It- Then Paul enquired with an air of deen
ot":t?n?^Tr t' ^^'"P^^'"^ "^*h which she appea e5
had h?nnn ^^f!'^ '" *^^ "'^''^^^a and was informed that all
had happily yielded to treatment, save one.
I still have that dreadful feeline of constrir^inn aero- mv
eyes^ She said, in a tone of mournful resignation: ^
Have you, indeed ? » returned Paul, earnestly. « Perhaos a
little wine and your dinner may remote it If^not, I wT ^ve
24
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
i :i
you a draught. I will take Ned at once to his room, and then
we can dine without delay."
Edward's surprise at finding his comely aunt the victim of so
many dreadful pains was forgotten in the lively chat of the
dinner-table, as well as in the great satisfaction that meal afforded
him after his long walk.
"Your renown has already preceded you, Edward," Paul
observed. " Arden is already full of your arrival."
" Arden ? Why I saw no soul there ! "
" No ? Have you forgotten the sign-post ? "
" What ! was that squint-eyed fellow an acquaintance of yours ? "
he asked.
"What do you think of that, mother, as a description of
Gervase Rickman ? " said Paul.
"You don't mean to say that was Gervase Rickm.an?"
exclaimed Edward. " I thought I had some faint remembrance
of him. Heaven only knows what I said about his father ! If
he recognized me, why on earth couldn't he say so ? "
" He was not sure till he described you to' me. By the way,
mother, I forgot to say why I was late. I met Rickman, and had
to turn in at Arden."
It is thus that Love demoralizes ; nothing else would have made
Paul Annesley invent lies, especially useless ones. His mother
looked amused at his demure face, then she glanced at Edward
and laughed.
" And how was dear Sibyl ? " she asked with satirical gravity.
" Sibyl ? oh ! I believe she was very well. She was out. You
remember little Sibbie, Ned ? " Paul said, tranquilly.
" A little mischievous imp who was always teasing us ? Oh !
yes, I daresay I should scarcely recognize her now. Is she grown
into a beauty ? "
" Are not all ladies beautiful ? " returned Paul. " You shall go
over and judge for yourself before long:"
• " I heard a sad piece of news at Arden," he continued ;
" Captain Annesley is dead."
" Who was he ? " asked Edward, indifferently. " There is an
Annesley in the looth Hussars ; I never met him."
Mrs. Annesley flushed deeply and said nothing for a few
moments. Paul looked at her, and the unspoken thought flashed
from one to the other, " this brings us very near the Gledesworth
inheritance."
" How very sad I " she said at last, in rather a hard voice,
while Paul bit his lips and then drank som - wine, half ashamed
at the interpretation of the swift glance.
SHADOWS.
25
Z'n.v.T^' . ^l^^'^f'^' a "I'nute, " because after me, you are
the next heir to the infant son he leaves."
^^a'^^a 'l^'^^stly; the idea of my being your heir!" replied
sht'Ind^'^^ "'^^ 'P?^'ly enlightened as to^he exact relat on
sh.p, and properly refreshed on the subject of the half-forgotten
egend, m which he apparently took but a languid intere^ anS
the conversation presently drifted to other topics
..n/lnnl'""^' ^V'-u^""'''^y P'^'^y^^ «""^^ ^o'^-^tas, and Edward
sang some songs to her accompaniment till Paul, who had been
s7umbl"''Th'e''otT' '".' " ^'^ T"" ^' ^" ^^y' sank ?nto a sweet
describ np M<: Hf ' ^""^ '^n "''""'"S in low tones, Edward
describing his life as an artillery officer in a seaport town not
pTofVs at'wonf h-^hanc- of promotion and his'next bro?he °
progress at Woolwich, and hearing of Paul's position, which was
not a happy one. Dr Walter Annesley's partn^er, who hid carried
on the business since his death, unluckily died soon after Paul
began to practise with him, thus leaving Paul to make his wav •
Slo'tt?- th^""'^ ''^^^"^'^' '^^ '°"*h and we'nt to'oS
Sed and th^"^' T'^ "^^^ ,^°'"S ^' ^™°°'hly as could be
So thev ph.tt^H ?n'!i'' '"^'■""'y P^'^ ^""''« P^^«°"^J expenses,
bo they chatted till the servants appeared, and Mrs. Anneslev
Ss\ S?af ef h'I'k^ ''^"^ I'- '/^''^ ^^"^^ *« Performingihe'
task himself after his labours, which he did not
.u °Tj^i°^! ''^"^ smoke," said Paul with alacrity, when his
mother had bidden them good-night. " I smoke in the^consuUin^
•| Why there ? " asked Edward, doubtfully.
whe,? se.n feu '^he' -patients' tt^ '^ "°* ^-""^'^ T'
tion, and recdve^ti'e^ T^ sHT^^T /taJ
?avoun'' ""' ^"' '■'''P'^°" °^ ^°"' ^"*' I ^^^ y°" -^^ in hTgh
frn3^' f' "''i'^''!'u -y ^''§^^^^'" ^^P"^^ E<i^ard, selecting a cigar
deTca'et^lth!^"^' ''"• " ^^ ^'^^^^' ^ ^^^ - i^ea shI was'in
Paul laughed. " I doubt if any woman in the three kinodnnK.
enjoys such brilliant health as my'dear mother," he replieSf''b^
she is never happy without some fancied ailment. I give her a
httle coloured water and a few bread-pills from time to time."
r.?r^. u "°' ^?*? •. '^^ '^^'^- Annesley's ailments were in an inverse
''May I come tn?'^'' ' ''^ "' *^' ^°°'"' '"^ ^ ^°^* ^°^^^ «^'d'
[In
t'i
1! i
I -Jul
'^ M!
>:.>!
I' '
\
26
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
"Certainly," repliid Paul in some trepidation, and his mother
entered.
" I will not intrude, dear children," she said ; ** I merely come
to tell Edward on no account to rise for our early breakfast unless
he feels quite rested, and to bring him this little gift of my working."
She vanished with a "God bless you, dear boys," before her
nephew had time to thank her, after which both young men
breathed more freely, and Edward took an embroidered tobacco-
pouch from his parcel.
"Poke the fire, Ned," Paul said cheerfully, when the door
closed after her. Then he opened a closet where stood a skeleton
partially draped in a dressing-gown, which the fleshless arm, ex-
tended as if in declamation, threw back from the ghastly figure,
and crowned by a smoking-cap rakishly tipped on one side on its
skull. " Let's be jolly for once, * have a rouse before the morn.' "
He transferred the dressing-gown from the bare bones to his own
strong young shoulders, and the cap from the grinning skull to
his dark-curleJ brow, beneath which the cruel scar showed. Per-
haps it was Edward's fancy, excited by the suggestive revelation
of the skeleton, which made the scar appear unusually distinct
and livid ; perhaps it was only the light.
" How kmd of my aunt to make this," he said, looking at the
pouch.
" She is kind," commented Paul, his temporary gaiety vanish-
mg as quickly as it came; "no woman has a more heavenly dis-
position than my dear mother when free from those attacks,
which are probably the result of some cerebral lesion."
"Perhaps," Edward suggested hopefully, "she may grow out
of them with advancing years."
" Perhaps," sighed Paul. "But all the Mowbrays are the same,
you know. It is in the blood. My uncle Ralph Mowbray was
offended with my father once, and he laid awake at nights for six
weeks concocting the most stinging phrases he could think of for
a letter he wrote him. I'll show you that letter some day."
" Well ! I hope it will never break out in you, Paul," said
Edward, incautiously.
"I, my dear fellow ? " replied Paul, with his good-tempered
smile, " there is no fear for me. I am a pure- bred Annesley."
I* Ah ! " said Edward, looking reflectively at the fire.
" There has not been a serious explosion since New Year's
Eve," continued Paul, clasping his hands above his head, and
lookmg at the chimney-piece, which was adorned with a centre-
piece of a skull and cross-bones, flanked by several stethoscopes
and other mysterious and wicked-looking instruments, and above
SHADOWS. „
which was the smiling portrait of a lovely little girl, with a strorur
PsychT o? Thorwald"''.^- "^°" '"°" ^°^ ' -'"^^ ^he Parian
t^gH^bo^hrdfand mnZl h^a^th^^'- ^^' '^ ^'^
roip^'-t^risl^Ssr^ & s;;:lj^%s
on y sister Nellie, whose end had been so tragic '
^^ And what did you do ? " he asked.
Paul "soVrav ri'^'.^'^^ °!'^> tea-service after it," replied
« CK n "1°" * "°*'*^^ 'he absence of either."
th.ftSfJ ?/^V^^"f'''^^'" s^^d Edward, inwardly thankful
tha the fiery Mowbray blood did not flow in his veins
was sTaS'v dLT'^'" fJ' P^"'..P-"-vely. " And the deed
was scarcely done, when the door is opened, and in wilks fhn
vicar and stares aghast at the Lares and Penates shattered on tt
drawing-room hearth. My mother turns to h m w h the^o^t
heavenly smile and tishes him a Happv New Year ' AnH^n!!
see what that clumsy boy of mine ha^s'^'done/ The adds auiitlv
ErS • ''' '^^^"^"'^- ' Q"''^ ^ ^--« fortps:?^nVthrng5
ountiL'W* ^ \^'^ something fall,' replies the innocent vicar
quoting the line about ' mistress of herself though China faH'
?empe° "''''"''''"^ ""' °" ^^^'"^ a mother with'such .sweet
Edward mused for some time on the misery of his cousin's lif^
thk^nTJ' ' h"''' *\^y^^"> himself. Td any Eon ?o
Which on Edward's part he would have deeolv resent^H H»
u^Xi'hlm JlftilS r' '^ P^TI!^ heavit fS'hirtSus'io d"'
TmS? h'mself and he suggested that he should marry and have
Kas noTv'et° n'a "''v' ^° ^'^^^ ^^"^ ^^P'^^^ mourn'fuSy, that
< tI "^^y?* J" ^ position to set up housekeeping.
^^ Though indeed—" he added, and suddenly ftopped.
"an?y'et— '° ^'"''' *° '''"^^ °" ^ ^^^^'^ ^^^^h," he replied;
^^^^ "- ^eing
"'" p u "*^ smilea mysteriously. '°
" Who knoLT ??T \" "' '^'■'^^" ^ " Edward added.
t\fU^u °^^ "^ ^"* ^ have never yet spoken. I am not en
titled by my prospects to do so. I ion't^ kr^y, i^ Th^e Z
iiifs
IM
!M
28
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
smallest chance. And when you see her, Ned," he added, with
some hesitation, " perhaps you will remember "
Edward burst out laughing and grasped his cousin's hand.
•* Don't be afraid," he replied, " I am not a lady's man ; and if
I were, Aphrodite herself would not tempt me to spoil other
people's little games. "
" Remember your promise," said Paul solemnly, and they
separated for the night, Edward wishing his cousin success, and
thinking as he took his way upstairs that wh ivover Miss Sibyl
Rickman's character might be, the Rickman blood was reputed
to be an eminently mild and tranquil fluid, well calculated to
temper the fire of such of the terrible Mowbrr.y strain as might
have been transmitted to PuuL
.1
'l
CHAPTER IV,
THE MEET.
Y)^,^ Paul Annesley appeared at breakfast next morning he had
a heavy look, and yawned a good deal, for which he apologized
observing, casua ly, that he had been called up at two in the
morning, and only got home at six.
Mrs Annesley's comment upon this was a tran(iuil remark that
It usually occurred three nights running; but Edward whose
roufed r^'" Sf^ ^T '"^^^^^ °"^^ -^-'^ by sounds whkh
Isieen in th '"^''!?L'^ '° '^^^'^ ^'"^ ^""^^^ '^ he had fallen
fhif ? u *h^gyard-house, questioned his cousin, and learned
that he had ridden five miles on the cob he had used the day
a fnn?' H ' ^J"T V" ^ ^^"' ^hich could be approached only by
a foo path ; that he had tied the Admiral to a gate in a field and
left him while he visited the patient, who died. '
In the meantime, the horse had broken loose, and, after a long
and tantalizing chaste round the field, Paul dropped and brokf
b.s lantern, wandered knee-deep into a pool of wi ter, and slipped
?he da^r^T T' '' '^''' ^'^•^^ ^' ^''^^'^^ *° ^^^'k home th oSgh
fate This nrovl "^r'"^'u?""^"S the provoking steed to his
tur;H nf h! f Zu \^^ "°^^'"S more dreadful than being cap-
iSn l&^^.l^^ '^^ P""'"'"' husband, and led back to Med-
Sfnl ^ noH >w^^^ for various sad necessities.
He now stood, with the animal before the door even while the
cousins were talking, a picture of homely traged;.
to tL'Cf these nocturnal adventures, Paul was bent on going
nn, .^'^i' "^^'^^ "^^^ ^^ the "Travellers' Rest" on Arden
Down that day; he was further bent on Edward's accompanying
Taun old pi.!tP7'^"?-Tu^."°'^^"S b^"^^ than an immense
gaunt old chestnut, which had once seen good davs leauirinp
r;^T^fA-i:-?°-"'^- ^-^ ^Itha tWhti^m^an?
he'ioveH 'liL / "t m" T °^3,^"tic Ihorough-bred, Diana, whom
declined inH L '^ '■ ^"' ^^"^^'^^ ^'^h scarcely less heroism
aI thL . ^^/^"^^'"'f ^t^^ted off on their dissimilar steeds.
As they trotted quietly along, Paul stopping occasionally to
f ! ■ ? '■
k
THE REPROACH OF AN NFS LEY.
visit a patient, Edward thou},'ht a good deal about him and his
mother. What a good fellow he was, how cheerfully he faced
the hardships of his lot, and, above all, what an excellent son he
was to that very trying mother ! p'ew sons were so much loved
as he, and his affection for his mother was deep and strong. He
must have been very desperate when he smashed the tea-service ;
It was the sole passionate outbreak on his part of which he had
heard.
He thought of his own kind and sweet-tempered mother, also
a widnw, and to whom his conscience told him he was not as
dutiful as Paul to his wayward parent, and wondered how it
would have fared with himself, had his father married EUanor
Mowbray, as family tradition, confirmed by gentle Mrs. Edward
Annesley's severe strictures on Mrs. Walter, reported that he had
wished to do.
Over the chimney-piece in his bed-room at Medington was a
portrait of Eleanor Mowbray which haunted him. It was taken
at the time of her marriage, and represented a lovely girl in the
childish costume of early Victorian days, with arch blue eyes
peeping out from between two bunches of curls in front of the
cheeks. He had gazed fascinated upon it, vainly trying to detect
the lurkmg demon behind the angel semblance.
He was on a visit to Medington when Nellie's death occurred.
The child, then twelve years old, on being severely and unduly
scolded for some slight fault by her mother, who was chasing her
from place to place, harassed at last beyond endurance, had
turned, seized a brush from the hall table, and thrown it at Mrs.
Annesley. Edward was standing by.
" Unc itiful child ! You have killed me ! You are unfit to
live. Never let me see you again 1 " the mother burst out with
fierce vehemence.
The child took her at her word, and ran out of the garden
door ; Edward never would forget her white face as she turned
before disappearing.
Next morning he saw her slight body borne drowned into that
hall. She had not been missed; being in disgrace, she was
supposed to be hiding about the house somewhere, until she was
found by the river side, and thus tragically brought home.
Were there other demons lurking unseen behind other angel
faces ? he wondered. Did Eleanor Annesley in those innocent
bridal days dream of what shp wns rnnnhiA? a\a ru^ ^v°« ~<>ar
realize the horror of the thing which at times possessed her ? PauL
though he had "sent the tea-service after" the Psyche, did not
dream that the curse of the Mowbmys had fallen on himself;
THE MEET, „
u- k I y . ."^^^ ^^°"* °" every s de by impassible limiN
wh.ch obscure his nature almost as effectually as SiSvid^s S
kappe. or Cloak of Darkness, did the her^ Kd^y pg ence but
what.s stiU stranger, each is an insoluble mystery to himself No
they must be, which prompted thoso d«ds f ' "
raul m the meantime was haunted by the vision of Allrf .inin.
in the carved oak seat beneath the «mour wkh the ho,,n^ "?
"Exrept I be by Sylvia in the night,
There IS no music in the nightinL'ale ;
Unless I look on Sylvia in the day.
X here IS no day for me to look upon »
Then he mused upon the news he heard there and thonal,*
how It would have been with him. had ReginaMTbaby not b^^^^^
born. His prospects were so dark, he could not help thinkinrof
Edward's happier circumstances, his more agreeable life !nd
comparative wealth. «*grccaoie uie and
Now the chestnut pricked up his ears and looked about him
"^our TaI ''?''"'^ ^^'^^ "-"^d DianaWn yoithS
ardour, and they knew that the hounds were near • Paul Dressed
"s naS ief ^^^^?^°-"g «^^^-^ of horses anTckrriagesTo s^^^
nis patient, leaving his cousin to follow at leisure
all bu?near obfecfs'^^th" '5^ ""f '^'''^ "^^'^^ ^'^''^^ich obscited
wL buirrnnt°T ''' ^^\ "^^.'"^^^^ ^P°t °" Which the lonely inn
was Duilt looked gay and animated this mornine In front li th«
^L; ^ ■ \°f^ *he huntsman on his bright bav his s^^rl^t
coat emphasized by the grey background of the nn tL w^
STw'oVof ^-^-',«PL-didly -ountefar-brig'hty'XS,
o'ace' r?t°!.^!iie" h'\ b^°-' --«. exchanging politf co'mmon-
the 'dav'wnnlH hl"r'' '"•"","''' °J ''^*"'" his expressions later in
liLr. ^^. °^ ^^^^ ^'^^^ aiid more forcible. The ma« of
£^iSe:rro.e-pis-'tetrr£S^^
u
3*
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLSY.
Hi I'
of their own breeding, two or three beautifully equipped county
gentlemen, a few ladies, some half-dozen nondescript riders, in-
cluding a clergyman, who said he was only looking on, a rabble of
boys, with half-a-dozen officers from regiments stationed near,
made up the field. A barouche, two landaus, three waggonettes,
a few phaetons, gigs and dogcarts, an empty coal-waggon and a
butcher's cart, were drawn up in the road, and Edward vainly
scanned the ladies in these vehicles in search of the object of
Paul's affection.
Then he glanced at the solitary inn, and thought of the suffer-
mg that a thin wall separated from the animated group of pleasure-
seekers. Reuben Gale was walking Diana up and down, and
exchanging pleasantries with the Whip. His father was leaning
on the low wall, with an empty pewter-pot in his hand, enjoying
the scene just as if his daughter were not dying and he had not all
those graves down in Arden churchyard. People were laughing,
chattmg and smoking; horses were champing their bits, and
sidhng and stamping with the exultation of the coming hunt.
The warm, damp air was laden with the scent of opening buds,
tram])!ed turf and trodden earth ; the luscious flute-notes of
thrushes, and the tender coo-coo of wood-pigeons came from the ,
copses below and mingled with the occasional neigh of a horse or
whine of a hound. There was a joyous thrill of expectancy that
made Edward forget his steed's shortcomings, and neither he nor
any one else thought of the background of tragedy which shadowed
every human being present. «
Among the horses was a beautiful white Arab, easily distin-
guished by the characteristic spring of the tail from the haunches,
and Edward observed the animal with such interest that he did
not notice the rider. The latter, however, pressed his knees
into the Arab, and sprang forward so suddenly that the excited
La^y backed into an unpretending phaeton, containing an old
geiftleman and a young lady. He caught the flash of a pair of
dark eyes, as he turned after gettinc; free, and apologized, and
then found himself accosted by the Arab's rider, a Highland officer
of his acquaintance, who bestowed some ironical praise upon the
unlucky Larry.
Edward laughed, and explained that it was Hobson's choice.
Captain Mcllvray regretted that he had not known in time to
offer him a mount. "But, my dear fellow," he added in his
affected drawl, " you said you were staying at Medington."
"Yes, I am staying with some friends who live there."
"Really," returned the Highlander, "do you mean to say that
anybody lives in that beastly hole ? "
THE MEET.
33
" Some few thousand people live there, I believe.*
" Ah ! you mean, Annesley, that they don't quite die there,
eh ? " he askedj not at once seeing the rebuke.
" I mean that they live pleasant and profitable lives there," he
replied, wondering if Paul's life were either pleasant or profitable.
Captain Mcllvray appeared to muse in some wonder upon
this assertion, while a humorous twinkle in his eye showed that
he was conscious of his own affectation and of Edward's irritation
over it. But he did not yet see that he had been rude.
"And who are the virtuous people who live the supewior lives
m the stweets of Medington?" he continued, determined not
to be put down, and thus emphasizing the first discourtesy.
"Paul Annesley, my cousin, a doctor," Edward answered, in
the neutral tones which best rebuke rudeness; "that brown
mare with black points is his ; he is visiting a patient in the inn
there," he added, seeing that Captain Mcllvray perceived at last
that he had made'k mistake. " He doesn't pretend to hunt, but .says
he can't help it if the hounds will run in front of him."
"Vewy good weasoning, vewy clever mare," the Highland
officer said. " No idea you had friends there. Thought it was
an inn." Then he asked to be introduced to the cousin, just
as Paul came up on Diana, and Edward introduced them.
"And now, Edward," said Paul, after a few words, "I must
re-mtrbduce you to some old friends."
And, turning, he led him up to the very phaeton into which the
chestnut had just backed, and the owner of the dark eyes,
who had unavoidably heard every word that had passed between
the two officers, proved to be no other than Sibyl Rickman.
" I should never have known you for our old friend, Sibbie," he
said with unaffected admiration. Then the pack moved off to
the copse below the inn, and the phaeton was drawn with the two
horsemen into the moving stream which followed it, so that he
had only time to observe a pretty voice and laugh, an animated
face and an easily excited blush, as the charms which won Paul's
heart.
But Sibyl, having overheard his conversation with the Highland
officer, formed an estimate of his character which she never
altered. She mused on it while talking at the cover-side to Paul,
when Edward was renewing his,acquaintance with Mr. Rickman.
It seemed to the dreamy imaginative Sibyl that so fine a vision of
young manhood had never before been revealed to her. Hi"
very gesture when he patted the neck of the despised old horse
went to her heart, and remained there for ever.
The air was now alive with expectation \ the eager cry ot a
■•:• (
I
i I '
I' I
34
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
across the fie dt 1h '"'""'"", " ''"''"'''• '"ms streaming
be'auseTsm,ir;JJ^.,'i?'™«'' ?'""« ""^ »"'«' high-road!
whS:rcaroLi';tm ftot^e fe™^d'et^L'"^'■^ ^
behind him w.th /c • -? ^'"® °*^ *"^ coppice, looking
w«dVjcro„"rhu\°rd r«r HrfiTd rfT.'-^''
s:i."'t;^^et::;erfacT hr-^^l °' >^"-^
denunciations arLlonHflH ^^^"'^ "^'^^ ^'"^'h and his
aU Ui,„,shed, and once spotless breeches stained with mud. There
THE MEET.
35
IS a cry of "Ware wheat ! » that cunning Uttle brown beast has
bolted straight across a field of young corn. On he dashes, less
hindered by obstacles than any other member of the hunt, which
perhaps makes him grin so sardonically as he flies.
The carriages see most of the fun from the high road ; but now
the hunt has vanished from their view, and spectators can only form
shrewd guesses as to the whereabouts of the pack, and tyros are
begmning to find that hunting is more complicated than it seems.
Paul and Diana have gone as straight as any bird ; only once
did they swerve aside, and that was to avoid over-riding Captain
Mcllvray, whom they observed sitting with an air of bewilder-
ment in the middle of a field, whither his horse (who, after coming
down on his nose, was now picking himself up and continuing
his course riderless and undaunted) had pitched him while taking
a stiff fence. Nothing but delight reigns now in Paul's breast :
neither the shadow of the Mowbray temper nor the glory of Alice
Lingard's presence in the fire-lit hall affects him, and when he
sees another man flying out of his saddle he is half angry lest he
should have contrived to break some bone and so need his aid.
But the man knows how to fall, and is soon mounted again,
followed by Mcllvray, who has escaped with a few bruises, on his
recaptured Arab.
• "^u 5*^ ¥"^' ^^ ^"^ ^^^ "'^^'" ^^^'^^ ^°''go* ^>s advanced age
in the first burst of joyous excitement, and pounded over a field
or two, taking a moderate fence, with the best. But at the
second fence, a good strong bullfinch, horse and rider, dreadfully
mixed up, came rolling down the opposite bank together, and
Edward had to execute a vigorous roll of his own devising to get
free of Larry's hoofs. The old horse appeared none the worse for
his tumble, and the rider, finding that his own bones were intact,
went on with moderate ardour, seeking gates and gaps in fences'.
What with these delays, and the necessity of going softly lest
Larry should come down again, Edward was more than once
thrown out, finding the trail agaip by dint of observation and
surmise, and finally found himself a solitary rider on the slope of
the down, with a spent horse, and the hounds nowhere. " Poor
old fellow ! " he said, patting Larry's hot wet neck, as he walked
quietly along, " I doubt if any horse has done so gallantly as you
to-day. You gave me the best you could, and now we will jog
quietly home." ■* ^
But the thing was to find a road ; and they went through a
couple of fields without seeing a living creature or discovering any
means of reaching the high-road Edward knew to lie along the
valley. The ram had cleared off, the breath of primroses and
3-a
■i :|
36
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
left arm a wooden bS of ni. ' v! ^ "-^^ ^^*""g «" hS
tinually dipped his riSlnH ?!?"¥[ ^hape into which he con-
move JenrrhyS^^^^^^ -f an indescribably graceful
scattered a shower of seed^om over V. ™°*'°/ °^ ^'^ «*^P«'
delightful to watch this man T hL i^? f ^'"^ ^"'■'■°^«' ^^ wa
scious dignity, strid n? S swi^^- ^ '^'^"^'^ '"^ """°"-
of the rigi a.m up an^d do^rtfeX^f^-'"^ '^'^S^^^'^ ^^^^P
h.s golden rain wiJi strenuTs but "etlated'tdf"'^"^ *'^°^'"S
rrll sTcTS;^,^ u^p^Khl h ^^ '-^^ ^-^et
followed by a counif of horses L5.' ^"? '^^'"'^^ ««■ again,
the seed into the oil T?,rman nfo^'J ""''^ f ■^'''''^ *° '^ke
his whip cheerily, and whis led^rn^^n ""^'^ !'''"''^'y' ^^^cked
strange sounds to i^ hor^ L^'"7J?°*^^^^ "ot uttering
nearest way to Medfngton ' °^ ^'"^ ^^^^'^""^ ^sked thi
har?ow"cius"dts' stds" o If '7^°^'- '^^ ^* -th the
burying his finge in hFs curl looked' '>k"^ °^ ^^^ ^^^p and
Edward. ^ '^°'^" '"'° the high-road then!" asked
«cZr<,r4rwrh tT;:aTctrd 'Slt- '^"-'-^ *-
the remote regions of his brain "S v * i^f ';° Penetrate to
agen you medVo along dorhroS" '" *'''^^ '^^"^'^- ^hen
am no g^fint^^l^'road P^^'' "° ^''^' ^^^ ^^^^-i "but how
to g^^^'toTr^fd ? »' "^"'^^^' ^^^--"g ^he sower, "howbehe
fiel^sVet'en^hiL^V';?^^^,^^^^^^^^ '^^^^ at the ma^e of
"Ay." replied the sower who 1 ' J^'^ ^" '^^ valley,
out his dinner from a bundTe " vou'Il''''"^ ''^Z' ""^ ^ri^g'^g
athirt them turmuts ; there' 'a LZn"''''V'^ ^'- Goo%n
pomted his thumb vn^u'ifoVe- h- h Id ^^^^■"'''•" And he
sow'^e: ron:id:!;eT" 5« fe^^^^^ ^"--g that the
over there, with a westward direction of the
THE MEET.
air, and the
37
thumb, sufficient indication of the whereabouts of America, found
a gate, and at last came upon a steep furzy slope the other side
of the turnip- field. The ground gradually became rougher and
steeper, and suddenly he found himself rapidly descending an
almost perpendicular slope which the curve of the ground had
hidden from him. He was just going to dismount, when he was
relieved from that necessity by the sudden collapse of Larry, who
stumbled over a rabbit-hole, and came crashing down head over
heels, and rolled in a most complicated manner to the bottom :
while Edward, on finding himself shot over Larry's head,
instinctively guided his own rolls out of the horse's orbit, and,'
arriving at the bottom by a separate track, kept his bones un-
broken.
The chestnut, less fortunate than his rider, was cut on his
shoulder and knee, and presented a melancholy spectacle when
he scrambled to his feet, and set about to console himself by
browsing on the short turf near him ; and Edward, reflecting that
hun'.ng on a worn-out hack has its drawbacks, began to wonder
what was to be done next
s. '
fM
f ;:
'■
1
' 1
i \\
1
rg'|:i
' i . I^^H
1
1
i
I
CHAPTER V.
' ' 11^^
SPRING FLOWERS.
He found the high-road at last and a cottage, where he turned
, n and washed and bandaged Larry's knee. Then he set off on
the road to Medington on foot, as fast as the woful limp of the
unlucky chestnut would permit, with the bridle over his arn.
and cheerily trolhng out reminiscences of the Bay of Biscay'
The road was long, the Bay of Biscay came to an end. and Larry
heard with interest all about Tom Bowling, whose "soul is gone
Presently they reached a little village of thatched cottages in
gardens dotted on either side of the road, and there beneath the
aT °^ the down Edward recognized the low square tower of
Arden Church, with the manor house just beyond it, and burst
out lustily with « 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay."
"For England, Home, and Beauty," repeated the singer in
f? ^J'^^K*^"' ^°'^^e/ing if the "Golden Horse," picturesquely
shaded by a row of sycamore-trees, furnished good ale (for it
was now quite hot and the sun was struggling through the
Clouds), when he saw a phaeton approaching the turning to the
Manor, and recognized the dark flash of Sibyl Rickman's eyes.
1 he phaeton pulled up. Mr. Rickman condoled with him
upon his melancholy plight, and bade him turn in to Arden at
once ; to which Edward at first demurred, averring that he was
not presentable.
That difficulty was soon got over. Larry was comfortably
stabled; it was agreed that his owner should send for him later
A httle soap and water and a borrowed coat, made Edward quite
presentable, and his host, surveying him with satisfaction, and
cbservmg that he had grown a good deal since he last saw him
condticted him along a panelled corridor to the drawing-room, a
cheerful apartment in white painted wainscot, with an oriel
window looking southward on a sunny old-fashioned eard^n
which was even now bright with early spring flowers. ° '"'
The sun had at last burst through the clouds, and, as the
drawing-room door opened, a flood of sunshine poured through
SPRING FLOWERS.
39
the oriel upon his face, half blinding him for a moment. Then
he saw Mrs. Ri Icman at work in an easy- chair by the fire, and
near her Sibyl with a book, looking, now that she had put off
her wraps, the pretty graceful creature she was.
Having spoken to Mrs. Rickman, he turned once more to the
light, vaguely conscious of a disturbing presence in that direction,
and there, rismg from her seat beneath the glowing oriel window
at a table on which she was arranging some flowers in vases,
with the rich sunshine caUing out all the gold tints in her brown
hair, and making a tiny halo about her head, he saw Alice
Lingard.
He stood still, and fixed a long earnest gaze upon her, not at
first noticing Mrs. Rickman's introduction of "Miss Lingard,
our adopted daughter," while a sudden light irradiated Alice's
eyes and a warm glow suff'used her face. In one hand she held
some daffodils ; as she rose, she overturned a basketful at her
feet, and from the folds of her dress there glided primroses,
violets and other spring flowers, of which the bowls and vases on
the table before her were full.
" O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon ! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim*
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength."
They were all there, those delicate flowers of hope and spring
for which Perdita longed, to give to her young prince; they
made a fit setting for the young and gracious creature who rose
from their midst, scattering them as she rose.
Her clear, tranquil gaze met the stranger's frankly for a
moment, while a slight tremor made the slender daffodils quiver
in her hand ; but his long and silent glance in no way offended
her, nor did it strike any one else as disrespectful. It was as if
he had been gazing all his life at that sweet vision among sun-
shine and flowers ; yet everything within him seemed to die and
be born again as he gazed ; life became glorious and full of dim
delicious mystery in the sudden stir of intense feeling. He did
not say, " This woman shall be mine," for he felt that she was
his and he was hers for ever and ever.
Then he became aware that in rising she had over-turned the
basket of flowers, and after the silent reverence which he made
;u
' h
40
THk REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
I (I J!
! Nil!
iif I
on being introduced, his first action was to kneel before her and
restore the scattered flowers to llieir places.
"It is a sudden leap from winter to spring, from the wet
morning with the hounds to all these flowers and sunshine," he
said, as he handed her a mass of blue violets.
'■Yes, the spring always comes suddenly upon us, when it
does come," Alice replied, grouping the violets.
" But, unluckily, it does not always stay," broke in Mr. Rick-
man, in his rough voice, which resembled the rasping of a chair
drawn over a stone floor; "even the Italians, who know what
sprmg really means, the spring northern poets dream about and
never see, have a proverb to that effect ; about the first swallow,
Sibbie, my dear."
"Nobody wants our musty old proverbs, papa," replied Sibyl,
with a graceful impertinence that always pleased her indulgent
father, " Mr. Annesley would far rather have some dinner."
" Perhaps he would like some violets as a welcome bac^ to
Arden, Alice," suggested Mrs. Rickman. " Those grey Neapo-
htans are the sweetest. I can scarcely believe this is little Ned
Annesley shot up so tall."
" There, Mr. Annesley," Alice said, handing him a bunch of
the double violets, " I present you with the freedom of Arden.
Miss Rickman should have done it as the real daughter of the
house." She looked up with a frank smile, which made him feel
as we do in dreams when we light upon some long-lost treasure
and imagine that an end has now come to all care.
Mr. Rickman began to discourse, in his harsh yet kindly voice,
upon the extensive use of flowers in the religious and civil life
of ihe ancient Greeks, and Edward smiled to himself when he
recalled Gervase's schemes in school-boy days to start his father
on an absorbing monologue, and so divert his attention at critical
moments. Mr. Rickman had not changed in the least; his
small keen blue eye was just as bright, his face as dried-up and
lined, his slight wiry figure had the same scholar's stoop, and his
manner was as absent and dreamy as in those boyish days.
Soon they found themselves at table in the dark oak-panelled
dining-room, but it seemed less dark than when Edward had
last seen it; the pictures, with their fine mellow gloom, still hung
dusky in the darkness ; but some silver sconces and bits of old
china brightened the walls ; a vase holding daffodils made a lustre
against a black panel and harmonized with a blue china bowl of
the same flowers on the table. Yet not these trifles alone
brightened the darkness of that familiar old room.
♦' Yes," replied Mr. Rickman, when Annesley said something
SPRING FLOWERS,
4»
about the unaccustomed brightness the flowers wrou!:,'ht; "the
feminine eye is ever seeking the ornamental. My daughters are
occupied froni morning till night in trying to beautify every-
thing. Happily they do not seek to improve my appearance " —
this was too evident — "and respect the sanctity of my study "
" The dirt of his den," interrupted Sibyl.
"The whole of human history is permeated by this peculiarity
of the female mind," continued Mr. Rickman, abstractedly
gazing into space ; "all legend is pervaded by it. I purpose one
day to bring out a paper on the ' Influence of the Feminine Love
of Ornament upon the Destinies of the Human Race.' My paper
will embrace a very wide range of thought. I suppose there is
no period of human history when the feminine desire to wear
clothes did not manifest itself; the passion for improving upon
the workmanship of nature by art is evinced to-day in the rudest
savage tribes as well as in the highest circles of European fashion.
A necklace has in all nations been the most elementary article of
female attire ; a woman paints her face and tattoos her body long
before she arrives at the faintest rudiment of a petticoat. I need
not remind my readers, — I mean you, my dears, and Annesley —
of the part a necklace played in the tremendous drama of the
French Revolution, and there are numerous episodes in that
sanguinary tragedy "
" But we can't dine on a sanguinary tragedy, papa," said Sibyl ;
for, having started himself upon a congenial topic, her father had
laid down his knife and fork, and with folded hands was placidly
contemplating the joint rapidly cooling before him.
"True, my dear, very true, I had forgotten the dinner," he
replied, with his accustomed meekness, while hastening to carve
the joint ; " the female mind— but perhaps, Annesley, the female
mind may not interest you. At all events you can read my notes
upon the subject later, and you may be able to furnish me with
the results of your own experience in that branch of study."
In spite of his pedantry, Mr. Rickman was in Annesley's
dazzled eyes a charming and interesting old man, with his stores
of out-of-the-way knowledge and his simplicity concerning the
things of every-day life. Mrs. Rickman seemed the most loveable
old lady, as she truly was, and Sibyl the wittiest and prettiest of
sprightly maidens : the simple food before him might have been a
banquet, the Arden home-brewed ale was a drink for gods. It is
difficult for cold blood to realize the enchantment that fell upon
him, the kind of enchantment that makes everything around
one charming, oneself included.
He could not tear himself away. After dinner his host, finding
■'. (.!
43
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
li'lin
him so good a listener, took him ♦o his study and showed him
his treasures— coins, gems and antiquities; but when these
were exhausted, he lingered still as if spell-bound, apparently
listening to the notes of a piano sounding through the house.
Some instinct told him that Alice's hand was evoking the solemn
harmony.
She continued to play when he entered the drawing-room
whither his host led him, looking up to ask if they " minded the
music." He took a seat by Sibyl, his eyes following the slender
fingers which drew the living music from the passive keys, and
his mind full of jnspeakable thoughts. Then she s;.ng the
beautiful song, — °
" Tell me, my heart, why morning's prime
- Looics like the fading «ve," —
which is like the long-drawn sigh of an excessive happiness, and
he listened m ever-growing delight. Sibyl looked at him once
durmg the music and a strange feeling came over her ; his face
was like that of a St. George she had seen pictured somewhere, so
rapt and earnest.
Then, at Mrs. Rickman's request, Sibyl sang, to Alice's accom-
paniment, the following sons :
• Once have I seen and shall love her for ever ;
For the soul that glanced from her eyes .o mine
Is lovely and sweet as its delicate shrine ;
But once have I seen and must love her for ever,
All my heart to her resign ;
Thoujjh never for me her eyes may shine.
Though never perchance may I divine
How 'tis when lives together twine,
Since once I have seen I must love her for ever."
Still he lingered, though the afternoon, which grew more balmy
and beautiful towards its close, was wearing away, and one of the
girls opened the window wide to let in the sunny air, and he knew
that he ought to go.
"And is Raysh Squire alive ? " he asked, seeking some excuse
for hngenng. " I should like to see the old fellow again."
" You may hear him at the present moment, ringing your poor
cousin's knell," said Sibyl, calling his attention to the tolling from
the steeple near, which had not ceased since he approached the
village, though it had been but faintly heard through the rlnspd
windows, and Mr. Rickman suggested' that the ladies should take
their guest to the belfry and reintroduce him, a proposition
Edward eagerly seconded.
SPRING FLOWERS.
4S
:e s accom-
Even while they spoke, Raysh Squire came to the end of his
monotonous and melancholy office in the chill belfry, and went
out into the afternoon sunshine, stretching his stiffened arms
and yawning. As he did so, he saw a figure in shirt-sleeves by a
barrow on the other side of the churchyard wall in the vicarage
grounds, stretching his arms and yawning with ecjual intensity, and
since nothing fosters friendship like a community of interests and
occupation, this sympathetic sight moved him to drag his slow
steps across the mounded turf to that quarter, and, resting his
arnris on the wall, to look over it, just as the figure in shirt-sleeves,
which was that of a young and stalwart man, executed a final
yawn of surpassing excellence, and seating himself on the barrow,
began to fill a short pipe.
" Warm," said the sexton, a long wiry, bony figure, with a
fleshle-'S face, black hair, and whiskers touched with grey.
" Warmish," replied the gardener, slowly, without raising his
eyes from the turf on which he was gazing, while he kindled the
pipe he held in the hollow of his hands.
Then the sexton, turning round towards his cottage, which
stood at the churchyard gate, beckoned to his grandchild to bring
him the mug she held in her hand, which contained his ** four
o'clock," a modest potation of small beer.
"Buryen' of mankind. Josh Baker," said the sexton, after
applying himself to this refreshing cup, and thus concealing his
features for some moments, "is a dryen traade."
" Ay," returned the gardener, after slowly and solemnly sur-
veying the sexton's withered features for some time, "you looks
dried, Raysh Squire." Then he withdrew his gaze and puffed
with long, slow puffs at his pipe, bending forwards, his arms
resting on his legs, which were stretched out apart before him,
and his hands clasped together.
"Buryen' of mankind," continued Raysh, after a thoughtful
pause, during which he sought fresh inspiration from the " four
o clock," " IS a ongrateful traade. Vur why ? Volk never thanks
anybody fur putting of 'em underground."
Josh pushed his felt hat back on his yellow curls, and ap-
parently made a strong effort to take in this strikingly new idea
for a moment or two, after which he replied, " I never yeard o'
nobody returning thanks vur the buryen', not as I knows on. I
haint."
"No, Josh Baker, and I war'nt you never will, wuld boans as you
med niake. A ongrateful traade is buryen', a ongrateful traade."
I hreckon you've put a tidy lot underground, Master Squire,',
said the gardener, after a pause.
■' % w
v. \\
(I
, I •;•
If ?
i
44
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY
t'
"Hreckon, I hev, Josh," returned the sexton, with a slow
lateral extension of the lines in his withered face, resembling
a smile. " Hreckon I've a putt more underground than you
ever drawed out on't, aye, or ever wull. IVe putt a power o*
quality underground, let alone the common zart. Wuld passon,
I buried he, and the Lard knows wiiere I be to putt this here
one, the ground's that vuU. Eln Gale, she's a gwine up under
tree there. I shown her the plaace ; ' And I'll do ee up comfort-
able, Eln,' I zays. ' Thankee kindly, Master Squire,' zes she •
•you allays stood my vriend,' she zays. 'Ay, and I allays ool,
hln,^ zays I, 'and I'll do ee up proper and comfortable, and
won t putt nobody long zide of ee this twenty year to come.'
'Thankee kmdly, Master Squire,' she zes, "tis pleasant and
heartsome up under tree when the pimroses blows, and you allays
stood my vnend.' There aint a many like Eln. A ongrateful
traade is buryen' and a dryin' traade."
J' You aint ben' burying of this yer Capen Annesley, Raysh,"
objected the gardener after some thought. " How be urn to bury
he, if so be as he's yet by a elephant ? "
" Hreckon they'll hae to bury the elephant. Josh Baker, if so
be they haes Christian buryen' in they outlandish plaaces o' the
yearth. I've been a hringen of en' out vur dree martial hours,
and I ve a done what I could vor 'n. I caint do no more I
hringed 's grandfather out and 's brothers, hringed 'em out me-
zelf, and terble dry work 'twas. Av, I've pretty nigh hringed em
all out. Annesleys is come to their last end."
He illustrated this melancholv assertion by a final application
to the "four o'clock," having \ rought which to ..s last end he
handed tlie mug to the little uide-eyed grandchild, who trotted
off with It.
" This yere doctor o' ourn's*a Annesley; there's he left " ob-
jected the gardener. '
"There's Annesleys, and there's Annesleys, Josh Baker. Zame
as wi apples, there's Ribstone Pippins and there's Codlings
They Medington Annesleys is a common zart," said the sexton'
his voice conveying severe rebuke for the gardener's ignorance'
mingled with compassion for his youth. "Ay, Josh E iki r li.is
yere's a knowledgeable world, terble knowledgeable world 'tis to
be zure.
The gardener was too much crushed by this combination of
axiom and illustration to make anv renlv. hpvnnd ^/.nKff.,n„
nazardmg the observation, " Codlings biles well," which was
frowned down, so he continued to smoke steadily with his eyes
fixed on three daisies before him, while the scent of his tobacco,
SPRING FLOWERS,
49
which was a doubtful odour, mingled with the scent of the mown
grass in his barrow with most agreeable results.
The sexton meantime leant upon the mossed stone wall, en-
joying the double pleasure of successful controversy within and
the warmth of the March sunbeams without, and listened with
vague delight to the rich flute-notes of a blackbird near, till the
click of the churchyard-wicket made him turn his head in that
direction and walk slowly thither, while the gardener still more
slowly rose and wheeled his barrow with its fragrant burden to
its destination.
"Afternoon," growled Raysh, pulling his hair slightly as he
approached the ladies from the Manor, and looking at them as
much as to say, " What do you want now? "
"You may as well look pleasant, if you can, Raysh," said
Sibyl ; "we have only brought you an old friend."
"You don't remember me. Master Squire, I daresay," said
Annesley. " I was here as a boy with Mr. Gervase Rickman and
my cousin, Paul Annesley."
" I minds ye well enough," replied Raysh. " Master Eddard
you be, and a terble bad buoy you was to be zure. You uid
t'others, between ye, ptetty nigh gallied me to death. Not as I
bears no malice, I ' ee. Buoys is made a purpose to tarment
mankind, zani is malleyshags* and vlays, and buoys they'll be
till kingdom come, 1 hreckon."
•' I fear we did lead you a life of it. I seem to remember get-
ting into the tower and ringing the bells at some unholy hour."
" D'ye mind how I whacked ye vor't ? " replied the old man,
brightening at the recollection. "You minds, Miss Sibyl; you
zeen me laying the stick athirt the shoulders of en' and you
zinged out to me to let en off, and I let en off. I'd gin en a
pretty penneth avore you come," he added, wit! satisfaction.
"And I had forgotten this service, Miss Rickman," said
Annesley, laughing. " Perhaps some day I may repay the debt,
though not in kind. Can we get into the chur* h, Raysh?"
" You med get into church if you'd got ar a kay," replied the
old man ; " but if you aint got ar a kay you'll hae to wait till I
vetches one vor 'ee."
" He gets more arbitrary every day of his life," explained Sibyl
laughing ; " and we spoil him more and more."
Alice stopped at the churchyard gate to see the sexton's ailing
wife, and this circumstance caused Annesley to hurry through
the church with only half an interest m the tombs of his ances-
tors who were buried there, and the humours of his old friend
* Caterpillars.
jl
f
V
] I'll
li: .4llM
46
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
latter and Queen vfctoria hSn^" 7.°k '°"'' ^"^ "^""S ^^ ^^e
that neither of fhL?' • "^f°™ed them, evidently thinkine
sceL without his a?d ^^^^^^'^^^ ^^^'^ have quitted tLs mortal
wu^^^%'b'e' tdT^t^o/f '-Zr^^^ °' '^""^^"' -"d well
nesley.aJants to' d^al f ^i-^^^^et^V^^^^^^^^ ^^^"■
d'L'^tVt-n;;^^^^^^^^^^^
they publican doos Th^^ ^ '°7'^l ^' ^^^ ^^^^ o' my hand,
you b^egins zettrng dovvnVhat 1^^ ^^''l ^ ^^''^ vor'tf when
never knows wherf 'fwll? end Thih •^'^•> "?^1^ '^'g^' y°"
lucy ve a zet me down long wi the lav vnit 00 *u i^i
nar a bit better than thev A^ Ml ? ' ^l^^^ough I wasn't
Ay, that's how ,H *; rough^"'™'- "°"'"° "°*ink,'zes they!
sealad this asseS by tte SsSre of'aTr P<'''"?i^"..»°''. having
fleshless palm, came o'u. of T chSrch thusleS T ^^^""'^
pression upon the old spvfnn ,„!,,!'• ^ l '^^'"8 a good im-
belfty befo'ie fcaUyto'ktgr door"''' '"'""' '° ""^ "P'"'
CHAPTER VL
i
THORNS.
It would have been better if Edward Annesley had resisted the
spell which kept him chained to the spot that afternoon ; but he
did not. He lingered outside the sexton's cottage, waiting for
Alice, and talking to Sibyl of the days when they were children.
" We were such extremely tiresome children," Sibyl said, "that
I can't help hoping that we have a chance of growing into at least
average Christians."
Then it was that some demon inspired him with the notion of
forwarding Paul's suit by proxy, and he replied that one of them,
namely Paul, had matured into something far beyond the human
average, and that all he wanted to bring him to absolute perfec-
tion was a good wife. When he said this he looked straight into
Sibyl's bright eyes, but without evoking the embarrassment he
expected.
Then he blundered further into some observations upon the
wisdom of marrying a friend known from childhood, and said
finally that he thought such a friendship the best feeling to marry
upon. '
" Do you think so ? " she returned wistfully, and with the self-
forgetfulness which lent such a charm to all she said: "I can't
help thinking that /should like a little love."
"A little," he echoed, looking with warm admiration at the
bright face still so unconscious of itself; "oh I Miss Rickman,
it IS not a little, but a great deal of love that such a face as yours
commands !"— He broke off, feeling that he had blundered
seriously. Sibyl bent over a honey plant encrusted with pink-
scented blossom, about which the bees from Raysh Squire's hives
were humming— an old-fashioned cottage plant, the scent of
which ever after stirred unspeakable feelings within her— for a
moment, and then, quickly regaining her composure, replied
What rubbish we are talking ! we want Gervase to nut us down
with one or his little cynical speeches."
" Has Gervase grown into a cynic ? " he asked, wondering how
great an ass he had made of himself, and greatly relieved when
ii
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1
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''■■•M
!
m
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m
;
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I
48
THE REPROACH OF ANN ES LEY.
"'"■
f
the long recital of Grandmother Squire's woes being at last ended
Ah^ce came out from the honeysuckled porch. '
Siby?'sSeS''''«??f ' ^' ^" the loveliest frame of mind to-day,
hi hi She said. Sure enough, Miss Lingard,' she told me « we
but wh^. r° P"'i "P ^"'^. P'-o^idence. hreumatics and alL^ Not
whl if ^^ ^ '?^d,"^e^^'es. There was the twins took off. and
what we yarned m the chollery.' " '
the' co^t'.^^ '°? ■' " f'^™^'?t^d Sibyl, as they turned away from
/eLrSav^\2h j/h'r"'''"l ^°l^ '^>' ^^'- ^he said only
yesterday, Raysh is bad enough, and I've a put up with he this
b"ss un ! '!^VhT'' ^^^ ^^^^'^ ^^' "°^'-g t'oleumahc;'
mess un! Oh! Sybil's gay voice suddenly changed to a
shriek of terror-«« He will be killed ! " she cried and flfwdnwn
t'^f ^^^ *° the high-road, preceded by Tnne ley. who leLfT
' AVsiU?c°rvTH?H°P^"'-"'"^ ^^'^ ^^" to^aU Raysh'
^ro„ i^ ^^\' ^^^ *^^ grating sound of an overturned vehicle
dragged over the gravel, the others turned their faces to the
high-road, where they saw a half-shattered dog-cart, olted alon^
by a powerful iron-,^ey horse, which was kickingSns tt rub
at his heels and maddening himself afresh at evlr^ ck At the
horse's head, and holding him with a grasp of iroZwas Gervlse
R ckman, hatess, and in imminent peril in his backwad course
but making his weight tell fully against the plunging horse whose
' I^'had%°T'r^ ^^^-«t-d altogether for f ^foment ''
friSf.npH "r'd^f tly been struggling for some time with the
frightened animal ; his face was pale with fatigue, and his hair
damp with sweat. At some distance further up the Sad kv the
unfortunate groom who had been thrown out by the overturn of
the venicle, and who occasionally got up and tried to wa L and
then throwing up his arms in agony, fell again, hur° i^the leg '
helD SoZ'' '^'"^^^"^ P^"^^"y °"' "°^ ^"d then cal ing fL'
help Some women came out into the cottage-gardens and
shouted the first male name that occurred to thf m Toshua
Baker came pounding heavily over the vicarage lawn, with widi
spread arms and an action like that of a runaway ^rt-horsl
Raysh issued from the churchyard with a lengthened but
certainly not hurried stride, and arrived in time to bestow h"s
the1po?fiTst°Sibv1 '"!JT °/ ^'^^ ^^' ^'^^P- Annesley Reached
rnfnSr Vj' '« ^^ ^""^ J°'^ ^^'^ ^ 8°°^ sccond, and in a few
minutes the first-comers had cut away the wreck and set the
heff i^smW h-' ?"^"^ ''''■ ^J-g-ggaSy\Mhe" a t's
neaa, m spite of his indignation with Sib"! n-hc *r:'-H t- ^-i u
away from the horse, until the creature, released from the
T'
THORNS,
49
clattering encumbrance at his heels, gradually quieted down,
snorting and quivering less and less.
By that time the owner of the equipage came running up from
a house beyond the village, where he had been visiting a patient,
while the unlucky groom, having dozed off in the afternoon still-
ness, had been taken by surprise when some pigeons flew suddenly
up under the horse's nose and started him off. Before the
frightened lad could get the reins properly in hand, the head-
long course was terminated by a cannon against the bank at
the corner, and he was pitched out.
In a very few minutes the wreck was cleared from the road, the
runaway led off, the injured lad taken into the " Golden Horse,"
and attended to by his master, for whom a four-wheel had been
got ready and the Manor party moved off slowly homewards.
/"r.r ley forgot his prejudice against the "squint-eyed fellow"
of • ;. evious day ; he could not have renewed his acquaintance
w»Lu iuckman, whom he had last seen a lad in his teens, under
better circumstances. His heart warmed towards the sturdy
figure he had seen putting out all its strength against the great
horse, with eyes glowing with courage and determination and every
nerve mstinct with vigour and gallantry.
" Well, Annesley," Gervase said, with a careless laugh, when
they had reached the house, " perhaps you ought to know that
you have been playing the Good Samaritan to Paul's most deadly
foe. You may have heard of some of the misdoings of Davis.
No ? Then you will before long."
"I thought I knew the man," Annesley replied. "What I
not the son of old Dr. Davis, he looks too old ? Why does Paul
dislike him ? He seemed a good fellow."
" That old look is the head and front of his offending. He
gets all Paul's patients by it. It is hard upon Annesley, who
has twice his brains and education. He studied at Paris, as you
know, after walking the London hospitals, while Davis scrambled
through his course as best he could, and took a second-rate
Scotch degree. Yet Davis succeeds ; he so thoroughly looks
the family doctor, and was an aged man in his teens. Paul is
rich in legends of the atrocities committed by Davis *Jirough
Ignorance and stupidity."
Annesley replied that Paul's youthful looks did not seem a
sufficent set-off against skill and science ; but Rickman explained
that other things were against Paul. " You may have noticed,"
he aaded, " that he has an unlucky habit of speaking the truth;
he has never mastered the truism that language is given us to
conceal our thoughts."
I !■-;
'A
CO
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
^^^^^r^^^^^^t:^^^^ '^' ^abit, but did not .ee
ohse^l6LVZ'tlL\1:r:^i r<ickn.an -have you not yet
Animals have no lan^e because thT^ °^ the truth-speaker?
they can communicSfcts treach nth- '^^ *° ^°"<=«^ i
men, that is civilized men on?v exL h!^ ^"^°^' 'P^^^^' B"t
if the savage virtue of truth ^r!^- 7 ""^^"^ of concealments :
chaos. Now, fo Tns^nce PaSnillf^nr '*^ "'^"'^ ^^^"^ to
himself by dr nkine sdS tl. .^ ^"^ *° ^ •*^^" ^^o is killing
and asks Lat is t^rt & ^^ 'S^rt?''^^ '"^^^"^^
you,' replies Paul, 'and if vou HnnMlo •* J^ '^^ '"^tter with
n..n before long ' Wherernn p , •^''^ " ""^ ^^^ ^"' be a dead
in. Davis look! grave In d 4m Lttll''",! °^'n^"^ ^^^'^ <=^"ed
cations and obscu're symptomTand . vi ^h ''^^' ",^?"* '^^'"P^-
name a yard long. ' In ?he merntlnS ' if ^^ ^^'"Plai^t a Greek
lants. even in thi most moderSe^rl "^^'' ' alcoholic stimu-
has studied the use ols7eeS:l^:!Z'; Kj^ '-^^•' ^^-is
" You l!"""^ ' """^ ^^'''" Sibyl observed.
You are a young savage," replied her brother
persiSS Lt:;^ "^ ^'>' "^"^ ^^-'^ •'^ - odds with Davis,-
"Wl^rje^'j^^^^^^^^^^^^
I should like you to observe wsuanv :;;;;/" '^^ Mowbrays are.
you met a delightful felLw named ^avTsrHd^'h" ,^'!, ^"^T' '^^'
ts:^i> "- ^"' '^- ^-not^Snrnorrth^ei^^^^^^^
that grain of salt witJ your slTsSeme„t! "'"'"' ^'^^^^^ *^^
"ButS^;.tMr'^,^"^^^^^^^^^ she replied,
cousm-yes, and on Mrs. Anneslev S 5^'''' ^^*' ^^ yo"
people who are intimate witrtheA^i^f/ 'f 'f^ *?" ^ ^""' ^^d
set, and the Davis set do^t mi^S T/a°"^ t' ' *^^ »^^«
medical profession is a jea'ous one '^ ^' ^"""'^"^^ ^^^- The
himagtifd::i^X',^^
^oesn. look a da/c^dt\ha^nTeX?r!1^o''^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^
ine old rascal wear<! w^^ii " r-^ /^«"=> «tso.
b«i„ .hat keep. tZ^J^' SS .T.t:±,^.^.'SM
^;i^r>- -^ '^'^ «% «.an I ever' heid 't^-"^^ ^^^
THORNS,
5»
you
I only
to do,
"Why, Gervase, he is a rank Tory," cried Sibyl, "and
are a Liberal ! How can you agree with him ? "
" Innocent child 1 Who said that I agreed with him ?
said he talked sense in politics, which I take care never
because people would never listen to me if I did."
'J Really, Gervase," said Alice, "I cannot understand your
politics. With us you always talk like a Conservative, and yet
whenever you write or speak in public you express the most
extreme Liberal opinions."
"Party government," replied Gervase slowly, "is a useful
machine, but it has its drawbacks. (3ne is, that it obliges men
to adopt a certain formula of clap-trap and stick to it."
"Just so," said Annesley, rising to take his leave. '*If you
want to keep your hands clean, you must leave politics alone."
" I don't believe it," cried Ahce warmly. " I cannot believe
that honour and honesty are not necessary in the government of
a great nation. Men are so weak" before evil, so ready to bow
down before the mean and base. If they had but the courage
to stand up before Wrong and say, ' We will not bow down to it,
we do not believe in this god ; Right is stronger than Wrong,'
what a different world it would be ! "
"It would indeed," replied the young men simultaneously, but
each with different meaning, and Gervase explained that he v/as
not speaking of ideal politics but of party government— a very
different matter. Then Edward took his way homeward, musing
upon the sudden fire in Alice, and stirred by her words, though
he seemed to listen to Gervase, who walked part of the way with
him.
Paul Annesley did not appear until dinner was served; he
had been in at the finish of the best run of the season, and on
his return had to make another journey. He was fagged and
half-stupid, in poor condition to entertain the small dinner-party
before him, which was to be augmented later on by a contingent
of young people to tea.
" For Heaven's sake, Ned," he managed to whisper to his
cousin, " entertain all these solemnities for me ! I am dead-beat,
and as stupid as an owl." An order that Edward received and
carried out literally.
For a full hour after dinner the wearied doctor could do
nothing but yawn, until in desperation he went out of the room
and got himself some strong coffee, while his cousin took his
place.
Medington parties were not very brilliant, as a rule; the same
set of people transplanted from house to house, and going through
4— a
m
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,; ■
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J'
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Sa
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
whpn K ""^t ''^"^^ °"* ^g^'" J"st after his dose of coffee and
amusin. ;r'"'i^ '"^ '"^^^^^ '^^ ^°°"^ unnoticed,°o find people
(IS ^' ^"*^ ^'^ ^°"S'" q^ite at home in his place a auepr
feehng came over him. He sat silent and gloom^f n a remnfl
corner, mentally recalling all Edward's past mTsdeeds and dts
paragmgly criticizing his present demeanL. '"''''^^'''' ^"^ ^'^•
stances Indt'^T f ^^^"^^^'L^r' stronger, in better circum-
renoSi? f ^ P'-ofession that he had himself most regretfully
T^ZtilZV'Txxt ^"^^'/^l-?' though perha'ps PaU
was Sot thf ^onH in ^".h^'^off 'ously thought was that Edward
up to^he mS /h °'' ^^ ^^^ ^^^"' ^'^ '"^""^^ ^as "Ot quite
h?|affy%rs'or^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^o- ^^-Vt
r.oc • "u^- ^^f ^ ^l^^'^y reflections, his cou' .n observed to him in
S; he' went '°"'""^ '^ *" '^^^ ^^ ^°^ ^h^^' ^' d' ^boVe^^!
Then he heard his mother request his cousin to do some HttlP
se mce that should have fallen to himself, and again be^n men
hi^eflSrol^"' T'^ '5 ^°°'^^. "P '^y cha'nceani caught
farted with^ 1 ^^^'^'^Sgard scowling face in a mirror, and
W^gL"r;ier^htTeV''^" °' '^' °"" ^^^^""^^^ ^^^^^ made
niJhi^Sw^!^ ^1g'"^ r^^* f '•'^"^^ ''^^^ done without you to-
«&^ .?' ,^/'- A?"es'ey said when the people were gone
Paul was utterly fagged and stupid. Another time it would be
better for you to leave the room altogether. Paul."
„^-*r '"® ^^1^"S "^^"' t^a* cousin of yours," said an elderlv
gentleman whom Paul was helping into his coat in the halP
tht .1, ° '? ^""' ^^l*^"^^^ ^^ "^'^^ t° look in." wS i possfble
eel n.s'r ^^^7^^^'"^' ^°"'^ ^^^ ^° ^^^ -<^^rbity of Paul's
reelings? He would have scouted the idea.
he had S^^^f *" ''"'5 ^' -^^ ^^'' ^^ ^°^ld "°t go to bed until
he had had a few words with his cousin, whom he tonk to h^'
room to smoke. ' "' '" "
"I think," he began, after a few fierce puffs at his pipe, " that
«»
THORNS,
S3
you might have waited for me before calling on the Rickmans.
As I told you, I had arranged my work on purpose to have a
spare morning to-morrow, and meant to drive you over to
luncheon."
He was only half mollified when Edward recounted his mis-
adventures with the chestnut, and his accidental meeting with
the Rickmans at their door.
" You military fellows never suffer from want of assurance," he
grumbled ; " you seem to have made yourself pretty well at home
at the Manor."
" It was not due to personal merit ; I was received as your
cousin," he replied. " I say, Paul, I congratulate you on your
choice. I am glad you forewarned me ; such a charming girl,
and so clever as well as pretty ! "
Paul's eyes flat-ned ; he could scarcely bear even to hear her
admired by another, and the word " pretty " seemed so inade-
quate to express the lofty charm that made a sort of paradise
about Alice.
" And do you suppose," he replied in his haughtiest manner,
'' that my choice would be less than the very highest ? No mere
prettiness would attract me. I may never win her, I may never
even have the right to speak to her. But I shall never decline
upon a meaner choice."
" Oh! you will win her, never fear," replied Edward, on whom
this arrogant tone jarred. " But why not drive over all the same
to-morrow ? It would only be civil to thank Mr. Rickman for
stabliri^ the unlucky chestnut."
**It would be more military than civil," returned Paul with
asperity. " If you begin an acquaintance by coming two days
following to lunch, hoy on earth you are to carry it on. Heaven
only knows ! "
It must have been the iced pudding, Edward thought ; some-
thing has disagreed with him.
" You did not tell me," he added aloud, after long and silent
reflection on the face he had seen in the sunny oriel among the
flowers that morning, " how Miss Lingard came to form one of
the Arden family. Has she been with them long ? "
"When Sibyl was about thirteen they advertised for a girl of
the same age to educate with her. Then Miss Lingard's guardians
placed her there. She has no ties of her own, and having become
attached to them, and they to her, she now considers Arden her
settled home."
" They all appear fond of her, even Gervase," returned Edward.
"She treats him quite as a brother — — "
!-.!
m
1 1
'\k
S-^
54
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
i
«"Sk^ ^h^t strike you? " interrupted Paul.
Oh I yes, she scolded him just as my sisters do me. And
she picked u], his hat and dusted it in the most matter-of-fact
way and he took it without a word of thanks. How pluckilv he
TX^^aa'}"' ^''^''^ ^'''' ■ ^ ^''^' ^'^'^«^^"- I iS^e them
all, he added warmly. " Such genial people, so clever, and yet
so homely m their ways. I like homely way^. I like the dear
Old house. It seemed all sunshine and music and flowers I »
.hh:f:erf4iS:.' '"'''' '"' ''^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^° '^^^^ *»^«
vioIe^J?'^ ^ ''"°'''" ^^ ^^°"^^'' " ^^"'" ^^ 8°* *h°«^ confounded
c./?""' f^a'"^ *° ^^^^ ^'^ ^°"^*" '" his room just before dinner, the
scent of flowers attracted him, and he saw a bunch of doub'e grey
yolets in water on a table. He knew his habits well, and buying
flowers was not among then. ; so he laughed and came to his own
' thTfiir"'--,, K^°"^' ^''^ ^^'' ^™ "-'« ^i°J^ts, I'll wager? anS
the fellow will be sentimental for about half an hour ovir them "
But, now he knew that Edward had been to Arden, where in
a warm nook beneath the south oriel those double violets grew
a spasm clutched at his heart. ^ '
« v"^ !°.^^^^,^.^''^ y°" violets?" he said, tranquilly,
"Violets? What violets?" asked the other with an i,n
successful effort to appear indifferent. ' """
'' Those in your room. They scent the house. Love and a
fire cannot be hid, neither can violets."
"They were given me by the ladies of Arden," «Edward
explained, with an nbarrassed and almost apologetic air
wakedt't T^''"" r-'"J' ''' ^"'^^^ ^«"^«- Then he rose and
walked to tne closet which contained the skeleton, and opening
nw ?°°'"',f °°^ h'« ^'} ^' the grinning skull within uttering in f
low tone the sole word « Damnation ! " Then he returned to the
fireside much refreshed, and quite unnoticed by his cousin, whosi
shght natural powers of observation were now totally obscured
by the circumstance of his having fallen head-ovei^ears in love
• J?^ ^°u"^*^^ *^'^ "°* SO to Arden next day, but on the follow-
•ng day the Rickmans dined with the Annesleys, and aU exceDl
.ng Gervase, arrived early in the afternoon, mking Jie house
according to their custom, their headquarters while carrying on
an extensive shopping campaign. ^ ^
Perhaps it was odd that Edward Annpslpv «,!,« «,»,. ^-* :u,-
fjaying billiards at the club opposite thrBVrlini^oolTho^rsrS'
after long reconnoitring at the wind6w, bethink him that Mrs.
Annesley had lamented having come to the end of her knittb^
THORNS.
ss
I
cotton, and straightway sally forth and enter the fancy-work shop,
where he appeared as much surprised to find the Arden ladies as
they were to see him.
" I want— ah ! — some cotton- -to knit with," he explained in
answer to the shopwoman, when Sibyl told him that she had
thought knitting as a means to kill time was confined to the lower
ranks of the army, and was not affected by officers.
"Officers," he replied with solemnity, "are always delighted to
be useful — when they can."
" A capital proviso," replied Sibyl. " I should have thought
being ornamental exhausted their energies."
" Do not heed that mad girl," said Alice, smiling indulgently ;
"she is out for a holiday."
But he heard a great many more teasing remarks that afternoon
from Sibyl, whose grace and dainty manner carried her safely
through much that in others might have seemed pert, and the
end of it was that Paul, who came in to tea on purpose to meet
the Arden ladies, was scandalized to see the two younger walking
leisurely up the street, accompanied by his cousin, laden with
books from the library.
Mrs. Annesley laughed when she heard of her nephew's civility
in buying cotton for her ; but Paul looked very grim, and watched
him closely all the evening.
Edward sang to Sibyl's accompaniment, and turned her leaves
for her when she sang, and then he sat by her side and talked ;
while Alice played to Gervase's violin, and the elders, including
the watchful Paul, played whist.
No word or movement on Alice's part escaped Edward's
notice ; but something, which was partly the chivalry of deep
feeling, and partly the perverse fate which besets lovers, made
him careful to conceal his interest in her, and appear more
occupied with Sibyl whom he cordially liked. Thus Paul was
put on a wrong scent, and was more genial to him that night than
ever.
" Sibyl is undoubtedly the attraction," he thought
li
r:
'I
:|
II
I H.
PART II
CHAPTER L
APPLE- BLOSSOMS.
A FEW weeks after Edward Annesley left Medington, which he
did without again meeting the Manor family, Paul unexpectedly
arrived at the garrison town in which his cousin was quartered
and spent some days with him, in a dejected frame of mind!
Before returning to Medington, he reminded Edward of his
promise given on his first evening at Medington, to the effect that
he would not spoil his chance of success at Arden Manor, which
the latter renewed, laughing at his cousin's seriousness. Paul
then spoke of his wishes with regard to Alice Lingard, whose
name he did not mention, and of the pecuniary difficulties which
prevented him from asking her to marry him. But he did not say
that he was actually in debt, having lost heavily through running
Diana in a steeplechase, nor did he say that he was in the habit
of associating with men of ample means, rK)tably the Highland
officers to whom Captain Mcllvray had introduced him, and
sharing m amusements that he could not afford
"Dont you t'.ank," Edward said, "that your mother would
furnish funds for the marriage ? She must know that marriage
is an advantage to a doctor, and she is very fond of you."
"She is the best of mothers ; but she would never see that we
could not all Uve under one roof. And I would never subiect
any girl to that. The fact is," he broke out after a gioomy pause
my life is wretched. But when I think of her "—here his face
changed and his eyes kindled,—" it is all different : there is
something to live for. It is maddening that I dare not speak yet.
Heaven only knows when I shall be in a position to do so, and in
the meantime there she is in her youth and beauty exposed to the
attentions of every chance comer. And it cannot go on for *>v^r
1 hate every man who goes to that house ; I feel th"at unless T ani
quick, the fated man must come at last, I tell you, Ned. it is the
torture of hell."
APPLE BLOSSOMS.
57
His cousin advised him to end his suspense at once. "You
stand upon a fanciful punctilio, Paul," he said, "and for that
you may spoil her life as well as your own. Speak to her and ask
her to wait for you. You have a profession and a fair start in
it, not to speak of the Gledcsworth contingency, and hope will
give you courage to win > ir way. If she hjves you, she will be
glad to wait ; and if she oes not, why the sooner you know it
the sooner you will get over it and form other ties."
" Get over it I " cried Paul, looking up. '« A man does not gel
over such a passion as this. Certainly not a man of my paste.
Why only to see her is heaven, and to be without her, hell.
The Mowbrays never do anything by halves."
" Then do not do this by halves," returned Edward cheerily.
" Lpy siege to her affections at once, and make up your mind to
win her. And if you had not a penny in the world, is it a light
thing to offer a heart like yours ? I hear men talk of women, and
I hear them speak of their sweethearts and wives, but I never
hear men speak as you do. I believe, Paul, that a deep and
venous passion is a very rare gift from Heaven. And I believe
there is nothing like it in the whole world. Nothing so lifis a
man from earth and reveals Heaven to him, nothing so makes him
hate and despise his meaner self, nothing "
"By Jove," interrupted Paul, with a genial laugh, "the
youngster has got the complaint himself I"
Edward replied that he might take a worse malady, and re-
iterated his advice with regard to decisive measures, and they
parted, Edwaid marvelling at Paul's dejection and discontent.
He did not know how deeply Paul had yearned for a military
life, and what it had cost him to obey his mother's wishes in
renouncing it, nor did he know why Paul had taken that little
holiday and fled to Portsmouth. It was because the demon had
once more entered into Mrs. Annesley.
" What a sweet woman dear Mrs. Annesley is I " the curate's
wife was saying at the Dorcas meeting on the very afternoon of
Paul's flight. " I wonder what keeps her away from us to-day ? "
She little dreamt that it was the devil himself.
It was now mid-April, and at last there was respite from the
bitter sting of the east wind ; every day seemed more lovely than
Its fellow ; in warnri still nights, from the copses by the brook,
charmed silence and echoing through the dreams of sleepers in
Arden Manor. No one there ever referred to their chance visitor
of the early spring except Ell§n Gale, who, when Alice paid her
,1::
S8
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
ui
arcustomed visits, would sometimes allude to the voice they had
hfard singing past the window. " And you were right, miss j
you said it was a gentleman's voice," she often repeated.
"Yes, Ellen, and the voice of a good man," Alice would reply.
■There is so much in a voice."
" Yes, miss ; yours quiets me down my worst days."
Alice and Sibyl were in the music-room on one of these golden
afternoons, surrounded by books, easels, and other evidences of
their daily employments. Sibyl's cat was roiled on the wide
cushioned window-seat beneath the open la ice, through which a
flood of sunshine poured; the deer-hound lay stretched on a
bearskin beneath it, sleeping with one eye, and with the other
lazily watching his mistress, who sat listlessly at the piano, im-
provising in minor keys.
The melancholy of spring was upon Alice, that strange com-
pound of unspeakable feelings ; the strenuous life of the natural
world, its beauty and its melody, stirred depths in her heart that
she was too young to understand ; when some bird-note came
with unexpected passion upon the silence, she felt as if her heart
were being torn asunder and the old orphaned feeling of her
childhood rushed back upon her. The simple interests of her
quiet life now failed her, former occupations grew stale, there was
a hardness and want of she knew not what in the brilliant sunshine
and cloudless sky. She wondered if after all it were true that life,
to all but the very young, is a grey and joyless thing. Hitherto
the future had seemed so full of dim splendour, so pregnant
with bright possibility, all of which had unaccountably faded.
As she sat at the instrument playing dreamy music, she mused
upon that day of transient spring, set like a pearl in a long row
of chill sullen days, when she sat busied with her flowers in the
oriel and the door opened and Edward Annesley appeared.
What a bright world it was into which he stepped ! How long it
seemed since then ! He had vanished out of their life as quickly
as he had entered it ; no one ever mentioned him now. Perhaps
he would never come again..
The thought struck chill to Alice's heart, the colour faded fiom
her face, while the music died away beneath her nerveless fingers.
After a brief pause she be^^an to play again, and sang with
Sibyl the following duet :
"The Coming."
" i lic UUI5ICS icii a trc—iDie,
Their tips with ciimson glowed,
When they hastened to asse'mble
In troops to line his road ;
S9
APPLE BLOSSOMS,
•iTie daisies fall • tremble
And bow beneath his feet
A§ they would fain dissemble
Their joy bis eyes to meet ;
" I'he roses hang to listen
From the briar across the way,
Where the r^r minR; dews still glisten,
/or thr i r»t wo\h he shall say ;
"And the ' ttic breezt bringing
Song > nd < nent anr feathered seed,
Are glad k>\' ,ft his '^.iging
Across thi urr.'' jiead.
^''
" He cannot heed the daisies,
The roses or the breeze ;
He is here— among the mazes
Of the orchard's friendly trecf."
They sang the first four verses to an even-flowing melody in a
major key, but the last to a more powerful measure, accompanied
by mmor chords which resolved themselves into exultant maior
harmonies to burden the phrase "he is here," which was taken
up alternately by the two voices and repeated by them in different
musical intervals m the manner of a fugue, so that the words "he
IS here flew hither and thither, and chased each other above the
harmony m a rapture that seemed as if it would never end, until
ha^rmoiier^ rounded off the song in a joyous melody with major
Scarcely had they made a silence, through which the song of a
blackbird pulsed dehciou'Jy from the orchard hard by, when they
were startled by the sound of a man's voice crying, " Thank vou »
from beneath the window. ^ '
Hubert started up with pricked ears, and the two girls went to
he open lattice and looked out. Just beneath the window on
the broad urf walk .vas a garden-seat lightly shaded by a tall
apple-tree, leafless to-day, but ethereally beautiful with crimson
iin.H !J! ^'■^^'^f «.0Pen blossoms of shell-like grace, which out-
lined the boughs m purest red and white on the pale blue sky
bit ing there was Mrs. Rickman, and standing by her side
looking upwards with a spray of the blossoms just touching his
crisp-curled hair, was Edward Annesley. ^
Alice flushed brightly; Sibyl turned pale.
riuoeri »iood beside his mistress, almost as tall as she, with
\l^»r °" * • ^ window-sill and wagged his tail with a whine of
a?e.S/fi?°n-°"/ i^^"' ^P ^'^ '^"g"^g«' ^^ courteously re-
quested the ladies to descend and welcome the new-comer
'
6o
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
. i| I
IJ
" We were half afraid to speak," the latter said from below.
'* Do, please, go on singing."
But the singers were effectually silenced, and presently came
into the garden, and chairs were fetched and a circle formed be-
neath the glancing shadows of the apple-tree.
" Mr. Annesley has walked seven miles to see us," Mrs. Rick-
man said; "we must make him welcome."
"You are welcome, Mr. Annesley," Alice replied, with her
exquisite smile and tranquil voice.
"Oh ! yes j we are glad to see you," added Sibyl in her light
treble; "it is not everyday that people trouble themselves to
walk seven miles to see us."
Then Edward said that he would not have accepjted his invita-
tion to stay with his friends, had they not lived within a walk of
Arden, and as soon as he had said it, he knew that he had gone
too far, and every one except Mrs. Rickman, who had a happy
knack of seeing nothing that was not delightful, sav/ it too.
"Then," asked this innocent lady, " why not spend a few days
with us ? " This was exactly what he longed to do, but he was
too confounded by his bare-faced hint to reply at first. " What
a clown she must think me ! " was his inward reflection.
Then Mr. Rickman came out with the half-waked air with
which he usually regarded the outer world, and having with
difficulty detached his mind to some extent from the considera-
tion of a human bone, that was probably pre-Adamite, and fixed
it on his guest, added his hospitable entreaties to those of Mrs.
Rickman. Finally it was decided that Annesley should take up
his quarters there and then at the Manor, sending a messenger,
with explanations, for his portmanteau.
Alice looked down on Hubert, whose graceful head lay on her
knee, during this discussion ; but Edward watched her face and
thought he saw a pleased look steal over it when the decisiori was
finally reached, anu just then she looked up and met his earnest
gaze, and all the beauty of the spring rushed into these two
young hearts.
In the meantime Paul Annesley, who had now recovered from
the temporary despondency which drove him away from home,
was enjoying that lovely April afternoon with the intensity that
he was wont to throw into everything, and was at that very
moment driving along the dusty high-road as fast as the Admiral
couid trot, in tus direction oi rxtuen. n. set Oi arcusry materials
had arrived at the Manor, and he had received instructions to
come over as soon as he could find" time, to help the ladies learn
shooting ; not that he waited for invitations to that house, but 9,
APPLE BLOSSOMS.
6i
valid excuse for wasting an hour there was extremely pleasant.
He drove into the stable yard on reaching the Manor, and, hear-
ing that the family were all in the garden, took his way thither
without ceremony, and when he issued from the dark yew walk
which opened into the lowest terrace saw a tableau which struck
him dumb.
At the top of the long and broad turf walk wat; a target ; down
against the house stood Alice in the act of drawing a bow ; her
hands were being placed in the right position by Edward, whom he
had every reason to suppose miles away. Sibyl, leaning upon a
i)ow at some distance, was looking on, and teasing Alice for her
want of skill. Mr. and Mrs. Rickman were atching the' scene
from beneath the apple-tree, and Hubert, sitting very straight on
his tail, was gazing intently before him, evidently turning over in
his mind whether he ought to permit so great a liberty to be taken
with his mistress, Alice drew her bow, the arrow flew singing
towards the target, the extreme edge of which it just grazed.
Edward uttered a word of applause, which Sibyl joyously echoed ;
nobody heard Paul's quick footfall upon the turf walk, except
Hubert, who rose and thrust his muzzle into his hand, so that he
stood for some moments silently watching the progress of the
shooting with a deadly conviction that he was not wanted there.
Perhaps Edward looked a little guilty when he saw his cousin,
and took some quite needless trouble to explain how he came to
be there, but perhaps it was only Paul's fa:icy.
"You have'been before mc, Ned," he said, after he had been
duly welcomed, and in reply to these laboured explanations ; " I
came to start the shooting. You appear to be a past master in
the craft."
" Oh ! yes. We have a good deal of archery. I believe you
are a good shot. Now we can have a regular match."
But Paul's pleasure in the pastime was gone, he scarcely knew
why. He had a great mind to go away and say he was engaged,
but on reflecting that this vengeance would fall only on himself,
thought better of it and remained, apparently in the happiest
muod.
\n
( u
I If
■n
CHAPTER It
ARCHERY.
" And what do 'em call this yere sport ? " asked Raysh Squire>
who was helping the gardener in an extra spell of work at a little
distance from the archers, and, having now finished setting in a
row of young plants along a taut string, was pausing to contem-
plate his work with an admiring eye. " Zimple it looks ; mis'able
zimple."
" Archardry, they calls it," replied Jabez, finishing his own line
of plants, and unbending his body slowly till he reached his nor-
mal height ; " calls it archardry, along o' doing, it nigh a archard.
Poor sport, I 'lows ; give me skittles or quoits."
" Tis poor sport, Jabez," returned Raysh, impressively, " vur
the likes of we. But I hreckon it 's good enough vur gentry.
Mis'able dull they be, poor things, to be zure. My wuld ooman,
she zes to me, * Lard, how I pities they poor gentlefolk, Raysh. '
she zes ; ' vorced to zet wi' clane hands from morning to night
athout zo much as a bit of vittles to hready,'she zes. Terble hard
putt to they be to beat out the time athout siling their hands.
Archardry 's good enough vur they, Jabez Young. But Ive me
agaameof bowlsand a mug of harvest ale." And Raysh majestically
bent his long body till he reached his line of string, which he pulled
up and posted further on, when he dibbled a second row of holes
along its conrse, Jabez, a stout fellow in the prime of life, looking
on admiringly till Raysh was half-way down his row, when it oc-
curred to him to pull up his own line and post it afresh.
" I dunno," Jabez observed, when he had planted half this line,
" but what I'd as zoon hae nothen to do mezelf."
" Ah, you dunno what's good vor 'ee," returned Raysh, with
tolerant contempt ; " you ain't never ben tried that way, Jabez ;
your calling is entirely gineral. So zoon as you putts zummat
into ground, zummat comes out on't, and you never zets down,
zo to zay. Now buryen 's entirely different."
" You med zay zo, Raysh Squire," said Jabez j " what you putts
into ground bides a powerful long time there, I 'lows."
" I lows it do, Jabez, when putt in in a eddicated way. I've
ARCHERY.
«3
a-knowed they as turns over coffins what ain't more than a score
years old. Buryen of mankind, Jabez Young, is a responsive
traade ; tamt everybody, mind, what's equal to it. You med
take your oath of that. You minds when the Queen zent vor me
to Belmmster about that there bigamy job, when Sally White
vound out Jim had had two missuses aready ? Passun and me
sweared- we married 'em regular. Pretty nigh drove me crazy,
that did. There they kept me two martial days athout zo much
as a bell to pull or a church to clane. Two martial days I bid
about they there streets till I pretty nigh gaped my jaws out o'
jint. Ida give vive shiln if I could a brought my church and
chuichyard along wi' me, or had ar' a babby to christen, or so
much as a hrow of taties to dig. « Missus,' I sez to the ooman
what kept the house we bid in, 'wullee let me chop a bit o' vire-
ood vor ee ? I be that dull,' I zes. ' Iss, that I ool ! ' she zes.
And the moor you chops the better you'll plaze me,' she zes.
and she laffed, I 'lows that ooman did laff. Zimmed as though I'd
a lost iTiezelf 'Where's Raysh Squire?' I zimmed to zay
inzide o mezelf all day long. But zo zoon as I heft that ar chopper
1 zimmed to come right agen. ' I minds who I be now,' sez L
1 be Raysh Squire, clerk and zexton o' Arden perish, aye, that
I be, and dedn't I chop that ar ooman's ood I "
"I never ben to Belminster ; mis'able big plaace, bent it?"
Big enough, but ter'ble dull; nothen to zee but shops aud
churches over and over agen. Jim White, he took me along to
see the plaace. We went and gaped at the cathedral : powerful
big he was— I 'lows you'd stare if you zeen he. Jim, he shown
me a girt vield wi' trees in it outside of 'en, and girt houses
pretty nigh so big as the Manor yender \\\ hround. ' This here's
the Close,' he zes. * But where be the beastes ? ' zes I. ' Beastes? '
a zes, « Goo on wi' ye, ye girt zote,' a zes ; ' there baint no beastes
in this yer Close. 'Tis passuns they keeps here, taint beastes ! '
Zure enough, there was passuns gwine in and out o' they housen
and a girt high wall ail hround to pen 'em in. Ay, they keeps em
there avore they makes em into bishops," he explained, with a mag-
nihcent air of wisdom, fully justified in this instance by his eccle-
siastical profession, as Jabez reflected while slowly digesting this
piece of information.
The old-fashioned garden lay on a slope, the vegetable portion
being only separated from the flower-borders on either side the
o* jT J — .""""■ '^•.■■— ' ««t,vxatv,icu 11, uy cspaucTiruii-irees, now
studded with the crimson silk balls of the apple, or veiled with the
fragrant snow of the pear, so that the archerv party on the turf
were well seen by the labourers on the soil, and vice versd. Jabei
ft^
1 1 \
■ 3 1
* 1
'^1
1 1 .
i ■
I
64 THE REPROACH OF ANNE S LEY.
went on planting another row in meditative silence, until an un-
usually wild shot from Sibyl sent an arrow over the flower-border
through some lines of springing peas, into a potato-bed, when he
stopped and called out in loud reproof.
'• You med so well hae the pegs in if you be gwine on like that
there," he growled, when he had found the arrow and brought it
back ; " the haulm's entirely broke, Miss Sibyl, that 'tes."
" Never mind, Jabez," she replied soothingly, " it is the nrst
tmie ; " and she added something about wire-netting.
" Vust time 1 " he grumbled, returning to his cabbages, " A on-
believen young vaggot I I never zee such a mayde vur mischief.
Miss Alice, she never doos like that."
" Ay, Jabez Young, Miss Alice is a vine-growed mayde and
well-mannered as ever I zee," returned Raysh, •* but she's powerful
high. She doos well enough Zundays and high-days when there's
sickness or death, but I 'lows she's most too high vur work-i-days.
Give me tother one work-a-days."
"Ay, Raysh, you was always zet on she."
"I warnt I was. I warnt I be terble zet on that ar mayde, I be.
I mmds her no bigger than six penneth o' hapence, a jumping
into a grave alongside o' dear wuld Raysh, a hiding from her
governess ; well I minds she. I couldn't never abide buoys, but
that ar mayde, I was terble zet on she. I warnt I was. She caint
do nothun athout Raysh, 'tes Raysh here and Raysh there. She's
growed up mis'able pretty. All the young chaps is drawed after
she, 'tother one's too high vor em. She aint vur work-a-days,
Miss Alice aint. She thinks a powerful dale of me, too, do Miss
Alice, she always hev a looked up to me, zame as Miss Sibyl there.
Never plays nothen on the organ, athout I likes. Its ' How do
that goo, Raysh ? ' or • Baint that slow enough, Raysh ? ' Ay,
they thinks a powerful lot of me, they maydes."
"Miss Alice is the prettier spoke," said Jabez. "Ah 1 there
goos that young vaggot again 1 Hright athirt my beans ! Take
em all hround, I 'lows you won't find two better-mannered young
ladies than ourn in all the country zide."
" I warnt you wunt, Jabez Young, or two what shcv.c more res-
pect to they as knows better than theirselves. T n : ;r wouldn't
hae no zaace from en when they was little. A power ,:• thought
I've a giv' to they maydes' manners, to be zure, a power of thought
Mr. Gervase too, as onbelievin a buoy as ever 1 zee and that vore-
right he couldn't hardly hold hisself together, and a well-spoken
young veilow he's growed up. Our Mr. Horace wont be nothen
to he. Passun he spared the hrod and I 'lows he've a spiled the
child, as is hwrote in the Bible." And he bent over the fragrant
. *
ARrHER\.
•5
earth again with a slow smile of complacency extending the wrinkles
of his face laterally, unconsciously cheered as he worked by the
merry call of a cuckoo, the melody of the song-birds, the voices
of the archers and the frequent and musical laugh of Sibyl.
" There never was such a mayde for laughen 1 " Raysh observed
of his favourite, "that open-hearted ! "
Alice laughed more rarely, though she, too, could laugh musi-
cally. It is odd that only women and children laugh gracefully ;
grown men, if they venture beyond a restrained chuckle, bluster
out into an absurd crowing falsetto or a deep blatant haw-haw,
infectious, mirth provoking, but utterly undignified. Gervase
Rickman knew this, and since the loss rf his boy-voice had not
laughed aloud, excc^it at public meetinj^ j, when he produced an
ironical laugh of practised excellence, which was calcuk^ed to dis-
comfit the most brazen-nerved speaker. When he came home
that evenSg and heard his sister's pretty laugh wafted across the
sunny flowery garden, amid the music of the blackbirds and the
cooing of the far-oft' doves, something in it — it may have been the
certainty that it was too joyous to last, it may have been the tragic
propinquity of deep joy to sorrow — touched his heart with vague
pain. For Sibyl was the darling of his heart ; he was proud of
her beauty and talents, and cherished for her schemes and visions
which he was too wise to give voice to.
He too was disma> at the untixpected apparition of the
younger Annesley, but he did not realize the full horror of the
situation, since he naturally concluded that he had come in Paul's
train, and would leave with him before long.
He declined to shoot, with the remark that lookers-on see most
of the game, and sat beneath the apple-tree with his father, on
whom the pleasantness of the scene and the unusual beauty of
the day had prevailed over the charms of the pre-Adamite bone
for an hour or tw^ and his mother, who had fallen completely
into the womanly groove of enjoying life at s "ond-hand.
Though they looked upon the same scene, the son and the
parents saw each a different picture. It was a pleasant scene in
its way. The old-fashioned garden, with its banr'L of deep velvet
turf, its fairy troops of tall narcissus drawn up in the borders, their
slender green lances firmly poised, their shining flower-faces
turned as if in sympathy with their youth and beauty to the
young people near them; with the evening stnbeams touching
the living snow of pear and cherry blossom :>. the net-work of
fruit-trees with a glow as ethereal as that which departing day
kindles on Alpine summits ; and with the stern grey ridge of the
downs outlined against the sky in the background. The square
'I %\
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V:
«
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
massive tower cattlung the warm sunlight on t;,?. iighi. and th^
a pretty betting for ihe group of archers or. the green beneath thp
crimson apple^bloom. Such was .he actual ylcfure but Hcave„
onlykfiowswhatGervi ; sawbvs,' 3. , uui nv,avtn
Nor could any one guess what visions, hope?^, ambitions in.>
restless schemes passed through hi. br.Jy brain a? he sTro?M
about wuh a tranquil, thoughtful air. Iv/r Jid anT.J' fuTpec^
fiS Ttn M^ ^ u'S''^ "P°" ?^"^ ' '^^'"■'■^" '^*^^-' ^-^^ flashing
fiti.. .. m ..iis dark-bine eyes, the occasional spasms of anguish
l.r K^: ' ^""^ S" ^^'■"Sg^^ *^^' ^aged within him, or the deep
feehng^h. gave Edward's features a more spiritu;i beauty, o?
of Ihe' '' •'?' f ""^^nscious passion that Imrnt on the ai a?s
ot the iv'o girls' hearts.
A!ke^ had forgotten her recent melancho! • and when she
remembered It later, thought it only natural lu'at the Arrival of
an unexpected guest and the interest of tht archery should
whllibvl^whT""^ ^'°"' ^"^ P"^ ^^^ ^" ---• ^
r!Sed^Sjn!??h ^' ""°'^ introspective and who sometimes
rtfjelled against the monotony of their simple life, was conscious
of a tranquil expectancy that cast a glamour over everytS
and gave the very apple-blossoms a new beauty. ^^^^^^"'"8
the few words which passed between Edward and Paul
Annesiey that evening were of such a nature that the former came
do.. '^^S"'"^.'^" that something must have disagreed wUh t^e
the flii' 'f^r'''°" of Sibyl and succeeded for a time in^sSmng
^J.T ^ ^^?. uncomfortable passion, when a trivial incident
made the smouldering fire blaze up with redoubled fury
Alice, wearing some narcissus in her dress, was bendine o
pick up her glove, when she dropped a flower Without perSng
U Edward who was just behind her, stooped as she paLed
on and with a rapid dexterity which must h ,v. baffled any
?n hi ^'ott'^o^.r • 7^ j^^^°"^r' T^"' "P "^'^^^'^ and hid" t
m his coat, occupied apparently all the time ir, -- ai.ging a bow
Only Paul ., w the flower episode; . and feU ai^
turned pale, : , nptom of mental periu ■■ . wh^^h di-' not
escape Gervus. .uckman, who pondfered u.c ir ^°^
hiiS'Jrn™ II?/^' ^^ these jealous feelings, P. il could not tear
lumself from the scene which constantly reuu.v< i ,13 sufferings,
ARCHERY.
«r
but lingered till the twilight, when it was still so warm that
Gervase's violin was brought out and part-songs were sung, till
a nightingale began its golden gurgle hard by and charmed
them all into silence.
Perhaps it was something in Sibyl's face, upturned with a rapt
look towards the ruddy mass of apple-bloom, as she listened to
the splendid song, which enlightened her brother, and so wrought
upon him that he drew his bow fiercely across the strings of the
violin, and, using a minor key, played with such pathos that it
seemed as if he were touching the sensitive chords of his own
heart and thus wrought upon those of his listeners. He knew
now why Sibyl was so deeply interested in military things and had
of late made such martial poems, why she had enquired specially
into the functions of artillery and the degree of peril to which
artillery officers are exposed when in action, and he saw through the
innocent artifice which assigned reasons for this sudden interest
and made her avoid the most casual reference to one particular
artillery soldier. Then he thought of Edward's evident admira-
tion for Sibyl, and the attentions he had paid her, and resolved
that Edward should marry her, a consummation that, as he
thought, his strong will and subtle brain could certainly bring
about. There was nothing on earth so dear to him as Sibyl's
happiness, he imagined, scarcely even his own ; and his melodies
grew wilder and more heart-piercing, as he thought these things.
" I never remember such weather for April," Sibyl said later,
feeling vaguely that a day so exceptional could not be repeated.
"There has been no such April since you were born," her
father replied. ** Too good to last.''
Yet it lasted through the three idyllic days that Edward
Annesley spent at Arden,
: (
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CHAPTER III.
SUNSET ON ARDEN DOWN.
Footsteps were so rare on the lonely road which led past the
"Traveller's Rest," that it was scarcely possible ."or any to pass
unheard by at least one of the inmates of that solitary dwelling.
Ellen Gale had listened for them as a break in life's monotony
when m health and actively employed, and now, in the long
solitary silences of her fading life, they had become the leading
events of day and night, and much practice had taught her to
discnmmate them with such nicety that she could tell from their
peculiar ring on the hard road whether they were those of youth
or age, man or woman, gentle or simple. Sometimes on a Sunday
afternoon there would be a double footfall, light, yet lingering,
and she knew that sweethearts were passing, and wondered what
. the end of their wooing might be. And then at times some
memory stabbed her to the heart, and she turned her face to the
wall
"Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
Meno costoro "
cried Dante, his pity mingled with something akin to envy, when
he met the lovers of Rimini, united for ever in the terrible
tempestuous hell, whither so many sweet thoughts had brought
them. ®
Sitting at the window one bright April evening, Ellen heard
the heavy, dragging steps of a labouring man whose youth was
worn out of him, and she knew by their ring that they were those
of Daniel Pink, the shepherd.
"You goo on, Eln," cried her father, sceptically, when she told
him who was coming, " you caint tell by the sound."
•* I warnt she can," corrected Mam Gale, Jacob's mother, who
was moving about before the hearth-fire, busy with ironina
"terble keen of hearing i«e be, to be zure."
Ellen smiled with innocent tri^imph when she perceived the
weather-beaten form of the shepherd turn in at the wicket and
clank with a heavy angular gait over the large flints with which
the court was pitched, followed by his shaggy dog.
SUNSET ON ARDEN DOWN
6q
"Ay, here ee be, zurely, Jacob," said Mam Gale, lookine up
from her ironing with a slow smile. "Come on in, Dan'l, she
added, raising her voice to a shrill pitch. " How be ye ? "
"Evening," said the shepherd, stumbling heavily over the
flagged floor of the kitchen, and dropping himself on to a settle
by the fire, while Jacob Gale, briefly acknowledging his entrance
by a sullen nod, and a " Warm 's ev'nen," kept his seat on the
opposite side of the fire, and smoked on.
" How d'ye zim, Eln ? " asked the shepherd, after some minutes'
silence, during which the click of Mam Gale's iron and the song
of the kettle on the fire were heard.
Ellen replied cheerfully that she was better, and hoped to get
out in a day or two ; and she looked yearningly out of the window,
where she could see the blue sky and some martins, who were
busy building a nest in the thatched eave above with much happy
twittering and fuss.
" They be allays like that in a decline, when they be took for
death," said Mam Gale, lugubriously, " poor things, towards the
end they perks up. The many I've zeen goo, shepherd."
" When be ye gwine to 'Straylia, Reub ? " asked the shepherd.
" Not avore Ellen's took," he replied.
"And he baint agwine then, Dan'l," added Mam Gale, sus-
pending her ironing. " What call have he to goo vlying in the
vaace o' Providence, when's time's come vor'n to goo ? Down-
right wicked I calls it."
"Zims as though you rned zo well hae a chance to live, Reub,"
suggested the shepherd, taking the tankard Reuben brought him,
and applying his bearded face to it ; after which he paused,
smacking his lips and pondering deeply upon the flavour of the
draught.
" I med so well live," repeated Reuben wistfully.
" Everythink's upside down out there," said Mam Gale, con-
temptuously; "the minister he zes to me, ee zes, volks walks
along head downwards over there, ee zes."
"And that's what Willum Black zes, zure enough," echoed
Jacob, solemnly, " 's brother went out 'Straylia ; ee zes as how
the zun hrises evenings when volks wants to go to bed, and goes
down ageo rnornings when 'tis time to get up, out there."
"Zo tl' y zes," added Mam Gale, dubiously. "Voik
there's w.'nter bright in the middle o' summer there."
" How do the cam srow if they ^ets winter weather in zummer-
time ? " asked the shepherd, after profound meditation.
Reuben supposed that it grew in the winter, and silent medi-
tation f: '.ow«l, broken only by Mam Gale's reiterated assertions
zays
fell
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.11
90 l^fi^ ii^^PROACH OF ANNESLEY.
to the -^ companiment of the clicking iron that "volk med zo
wel be buned comfortable in Arden church lytten, L goHbo^
head downwards out there." > » «"" "uout
Then the shepherd, seizing an opportunity for which he had
ong been waiting, and diving deep into the recesses of his gar-
men s for something which he extracted with difficuity?produfed
two large ripe oranges. ^* P'uuucea
"My missus zeen em in Medington, and she minded ve» he
In^A "".'^u^ propinquity to it were almost as warm as fhe
good fellow's heart ; "taint only dreppence, she zaid, and El en
Gale med so well hae em whe-^ she can get em "
"It was very kind," rejUed Ellen ; and the shepherd nk into
a pleased silence, and gazed steadily at the jetty fading 4l and
at the oranges on the window-sill before he} besfde tl e Vunch of
rntlance''' P^^y^^t^us he had silently placed there on his
" Mis'ble zet on vlowers, my missus is," he continued. " « Let
the vlowers hide longside of the taaties,' shr ^es, 'vlowers don't
ate nothing' Taaties is viower enough vur me "
"Flowers don't do here." Ellen saic. "it is too keen The
chest°e's."'''' ''' ''^^ ''''" '' "^"' '^"* healthy for sound
"Some thihw Dr. Annesley aint wold enough for his work"
the shepherd said; "Davis is the man for they.'' ^
rS Y^^ r'"* """^'f '"°"Sh Thready, he never ■,iil be, Dan'l Pink."
off? dnir."^.'" T ^'''^^°" ." "^'^^ ' helped dree on us
off. I don't hold with new-vang d things. Give lue a dactor
what hev zeen all our volks off cor , .uabfe."
"Davis hev buried a tidv lot,'' urged the shepherd. "Come
to that, he and his vather e ' have helped o many under
ground as Anne ley and h atl put together "
. -You med truk, Dan'l i k," i. orted Mam Gaic, tossi. her
ironed linen aside with scurn, "but you wunt - ! a cleverer
dacter than ourn in a week o' Zundays. 'S vather, wold Annesley.
was cleverer drunk than any of t'others sober "
"You may say that, mother," added Jacob, returning: "you
. .7' V "" ■ "'"^ '" ""^ ""=' '-^^y ^"" cirinkea a pint ot best
spirits straight off. Zes to me, when he went away, he zes
Don t you never marry a 'ooman with a tongue, Jacob Gale, or
SUNSET ON ARDEN DOWN.
71
fou med want to wet yourn with sum mat stronger than water.'
Didn't zim no drunker than Dan'l there, that a didn't."
•' I never yeard the wold chap drinked avore," said Daniel
meditatively. '
«i"^ij^**^'^'* knowed not to zay in a general way," added Jacob,
wold chap knowed how to carr 's liquor and a didn't drink
reg lar. Married the wrong ooman, that's whore 'twas."
"She was a vast too good vor 'n," added Mam Gale ; " her
family was high and her ways was high, and he knowed he wasn't
the biggest man in 's owr louse. That's the way with men.
They cain't abide to be zecond best indoors, whatever they med
be outdoors."
^ ' Zure enough, a ooman didn't ou^''U to be better than a man,
t aint natural like," commented Jacob. " It's agen the Bible :
vur why ? Eve yet the apple, and Adam he thought he med so
well jine in."
" Let he alone vur that when ee zeen 'twas hripe un," com-
mented Mam Gale with severity.
The shepherd was so struck by Jacob's observation, that he
remained silently gazing at the window, through which the
clones of an April sunset could be seen diffused over the wide
reach of sky, for five full minutes, while his rough-coated dog
who d followed him in and lain tranquilly dozing at his feet'
rou; y the thoughtful look on his master's face, sat up and
watchcu hiir , hoping for a signal to move.
While the shepherd gazed thus, he observed a change in Ellen's
face, which was just before him— a change like that in the sky
when the red flush of sunset spread across it a moment before, a
brightening of hue and a sublimation of expression whi h filled
him with awe. «' She's a thinking of kingdom com., where she's
bound before long," he reflected.
But it was a more tangible gladness, though it partook of the
deepest charm of that undiscovered land, the joy in what is
higher and dearer than self, which thus transfigured Ellen's
pretty hectic face j it was the sight of two figures whose out-
lines were traced upon the pink flushed sky, two young figures
followed by a hound ; they talked as they went, their faces lighted
with the changing rose-tints of the tranqi. i evening.
" Miss Lingard ! so late I " exclaimed Ellen.
"And young Mr. Ann sir / 'Ion;' with her," commented Reu-
ben, rising and lookii,^ out
"I hreckon she've vound somebody to keep company with at
last, added Mam Gale, comprehending the situation at a glance.
Personable she be and pleasant spoke as ever I known. But
i
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
t'other one ^ vs all the sweethearts. Mcnvolk never knowi
what's what."
Little did Alice imagine the construction that would be put
uron this innocent evening stroll. Reuben's disinclination, or
rather that of his friends, to tin- emigration scheme Paul and
Alice had arranged together, had been discussed in family con-
clave that day, and Edward had again brought forward his sugges-
tion that Reuben, if still sound, should enlist in an India-bound
regiment and thus get the benefit of a ic^' warm winters. Alice
had just started to broach the subject that evening, when Sibyl
suddenly suggested that Edward had better follow her, and thus
ex|)lain clearly what he intended.
" A capital idea," added innocent Mrs. Rickman. " You will
soon overtak*.' her if you make haste."
He did not wait for a second bidding, and Alice had not
crossed the first field before Edward was by her side.
He was to leave Arden next morning, and the consciousness of
this brought something into his manner that he would not other-
wise have suffered. He spoke of his prospects, the earliest date
at which he hoped to be promoted, and the chances of remunera-
tive employment open to him, and Alice listened with a courteous
attention, beneath which he hoped rather than saw something
warmer. He referred to the Swiss tour projected by the Rick-
mans for the autumn, and to his own intention, favoured by Mrs.
Rickman, of making the same tour at the same time, and they
both agreed that, to make the excursion perfect, Paul, whose
mother was to be of the party, should manage to be with them.
Nothing more of a personal nature was said, but they each
felt that this evening walk made a change in their lives, putting
a barrier between all the days which went before and all that
were to follow after. They strolled slowly along in the delicious
air, pausing to see the purple hills dark against the translucent
western sky, the colouring of which spread upwards, first gold,
then primrose and pale green edged with violet, to clearest blue,
just flecked by little floating clouds like cars of gold and pearl ;
pausing to look eastward across the plain to the line of grey-blue
sea, and to listen to some deeper burst of melody from the woods
and sky ; pausing, above all, at the chalk quarry, a mysterious
melancholy place, haunted by legends and traditions. Standing,
as they did, on the high-road leading past the wide entrance to
it, they saw a broad level of white chalk, broken here and there
by a milky pool, a small tiled hut anr dark shadow-like spots
upon which a slow accretion of mouU. had encouraged a faint
green growth, half moss, half grass, and surrounded by an almost
SUNSET ON ARDEN DOWN.
rs
semicircular wall of grey chalk cliff with a narrow dark outline
of turf, drawn with sharp accuracy between it and the sky. This
cold pale cliff was shaded and veined here and there, where
no quarrying had been recently done, by such beginnings of
vegetation as clouded the ground, and was broken further by one
or two black spots, which were caves. Some ravens flew croaking
from their holes m the cliff-face with a grim effect, which the
swallows darting about in the sunshine and the larks singina
above could not wholly neutralize.
Perhaps it was the sense of contrast between themselves and
this desolate scene that made them linger in fascinated silence
before it, and while they lingered, the light changed, the sinking
sunbeams filled the sky with molten gold, and the rampart of
cliff turned from ghastly grey to warm yellow ; then it glowed
deep orange, and at last it blushed purest rose.
"I shall never forget this," Edward said, when they turned and
he saw the face of Alice suffused with rose-light against the rose-
red cliffs.
i A few more steps took them to the inn on the crest of the hill.
The shepherd rose and left at their approach, and the new-comers
entered the kitchen, which seemed dark after the brightness
outside. Mam Gale's wrinkled bronzed face, surrounded by a
white-friUed cap tied under her chin, beamed with welcome ; her
purple-veined, labour-darkoned hands and arms, which were
always visible below the small plaid shawl pinned tightly over
her bowed shoulders, ceased to ply the iron, and she came for-
wards to hand chairs to the visitors. The dull glow from the
hearth emphasized rather than dispersed the gloom of the low
smoke-browned kitchen, so that it was scarcely possible to see
even the shining crockery on the black oak dresser, the two great
china dogs and brass candlesticks on the high chimney-piece and
the gaily coloured prints on the walls, and the eye turned with
relief to the small window, where the fading light came through
the tiny leaded panes and centred itself on the face of Ellen,
turned towards the sky as 'f awaiting a benediction, while the
men's faces were in shadow. Alice went to the window and
kissed Ellen's too brightly tinted face, her own looking more healthy
by contrast, and the sight of the two young women, illumined by
the last fading rays of light, touched Edward and made a picture
that long afterwards he liked to dwell upon. He remained silent,
while Alice took the chair offered her and plunged at once into
the subject of Reuben's enlistment, a proposal received at first
with stupefied dismay.
Mam Jale dropped thunderstruck upon a chair, regardless of
l^r f
74
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
the pile of freshly ironed caps she crushed beneath her «n.,r
^::l^^:'^'^^^^^'i;^^ -d when Sgn'Sn at?as
the Comra;.dn!^; st Ou Sen S V""^ ^"^'* ^^^"
SSfe^"'!^' ^°k'" ^' '° ^^^ ">i shThad heard ° espec."
Ellen s"X un"? ' TK ',^' '^•'■? °^"^' ' ™ ""^d °« °f mv V
ro.e'S.e^L™wTed?C^P::,rS,rci'"^ i»r^'.T'^' ^^ "■'
we .„„s. no. take up .Kc^^Js ttae " '' ^'^^■'""' ^''^'''
SS- ^^^JP^ ^ c'c-uldTale" if'Z
Jw''e:.SSet'L^:,e«°ii5.^,n-„d-e^-
SUNSET OM ARDEN DOWN.
7$
spectres. A figure springing up behind a heap of stones by the
road made the Admiral shy violently, and though it proved to be
only that of a loitering child, Thomas, the groom, trembled all
over and was bathed in a cold perspiration, for he knew that ghosts
haunted the pit. As for his master, he punished the Admiral's
mistake with such severity that the horse tore do»vn the hill like
a whirlwind, jerking the light dog-cart from side to side, and
obliging the frightened Thomas to cling on with his hands, while
the white-heat ot passion kept his master firm, so firm that he was
able to turn his head aside and gaze steadily across the dewy
hedge-rows at the two figures walking throu-^h the fields to the
Manor, uutii the bend of the road hid them from his sight./
ill
n.i
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If
it
CHAPTER IV.
MESSRS. WHEWELL AND RICKMAN.
The Streets of Medington were all alive one siinnv «««*«„
Tsrip ZZ:"\tl '" '"' ■"arkefsquarplaTg^Sf
lor sneep and pig, ; shopkeepers were turning their warps nut of
d"c oX"y "' """^^"^ ^^^"^ °" '"^^ pavfmentsZthe gre^
discomfort of passengers; carts-laden with wicker baskets
whence issued mournful cackles and quacks of remons^ranS
from victims unconscious of their doom^nd all sorts^? coZrv
produce, including stout market-women-dolled sbwly imo S
SufTs" Iw^n^'n'"' '°""' ^""^ ventured u^Jfnrstep
ml.u f .-^ pondering its advisability; small flocks of
meekly protesting yet docile sheep, and disorde ly herds of loud?v
rebellious and recalcitrant pigs, were beginning to enter the
streets from divergent country roads ; housemaids, givb.Jhebdl
pulls an extra Saturday cleaning, loitered over S ^ork and
rrcSiS^ihis^r--^^^^--^^-^^^
seizing every opportunity for blundering into fafse poSns to
an extent that almost deprived Rough fhe dog Treason in fh^
passionate indignation it aroused in\is shaggy bre^r dJi^I
laid his crook in this direction and that, and fpread on his arms
and grunted to his four-footed lieutenant, and was so LTrossTd
in taking his charges safely past the vehicles and Li!f ^
through which thev were eager to dart thit Ifil h ^ ''°°'''
distance past he forgot to lo^as^utl'^'^AuTAnn^s^-: Zr'
^ see If cherry-cheeked Martha, his daughter, was on' the look:
out. Then he threw the blinch of flowers he had carried in ?nr
^.^J''\r^ ^'Vi!'' '^' ^^"Sht it just in time S prevent U
!ni InV^'i'"" °^^"': '^^''''' ^ho opened the door bEd h«
and to her dire confusion came out J th.t ^J. ^ "^»
""rsaTi'l'^n H^'r"" things to'cK;; brass with,
fie said, >vuh a good-tempered smile; and he stepped
eh
MESSRS. IVHEWELL AND RICK MAN,
71
briskly down the street, his face darkening when he remembered
the scene at the " Traveller's Rest " the night before.
The shepherd had been thinking of the same scene as he
came along, Ke had related the conversation to his wife on
his return to his lonely cottage, so that they had remained up
beyond their usual hour talking over the dying fire ; Mrs. Pink
would for many days declare in the same words her conviction
that it was better to die right side uppermost in England than to
tempt Providence by journeying to a world in which everything
was upside down, and the very Commandments were probably by
analogy reversed ; while Daniel would as frequently observe that
they raised a "terble lot of ship" out there, that he had once
known a steady youth who enlisted when crossed in love, and
that Ellen might possibly see the harvest carried home.
After the last saying he would generally be silent for some time,
wondermg to what unknown land Ellen would journey then. A
great part of Daniel Pink's time was spent in wondering; the
few events of his own and other lives, however deeply pondered
upon, were soon exhausted, and then there weie long lonely
hours in sunshine and storm, on the wide windy downs, under
the shelter of a bent thorn or a wind-bowed hedge, in the silent
nights when great flocks of stars passed in orderly procession
over the vast black chasms of space above him, or the hurtling
storm swept round him— long empty hours that had to be
filled with thoughts and imaginings of some voiceless kind.
And sometimes the musings of simple shepherds are grander, and
their unspoken sense of the mystery and beauty which enfolds
their obscure lives is deeper, than we imagine.
Gervase Rickman on his way to his ofiice through the market,
nodded condescendingly to the well-known vireather-beaten figure
standmg annng the pens. If he thought of him at all, it was as
a slightly superior animal. Who expects to find a poet or a
prophet beneath a smock frock or fustian jacket ?
Gervase hurried along to his office, which stood just off the
market-square, full of thoughts, for the most part common-place,
even sordid, principally concerning the business affairs of half the
county. He was later than he intended to be, and found the
day's work in full swing when he stepped into the outer office,
whose occupants suddenly became very diligent on his entrance.
He took in every detail as he passed swiftly through, and sprang
up the stairs to his own private room, followed by the white-headed
." '■• ••••■: •"■- vu-jiii^icmiui 3u; vuiii,, anu, uy Virtue oi nis
service, master, of the firm of Whewell and Rickman since before
Oervase was born.
M
7^
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
NHIi
croTsed the Hi^^^h^:^ bow-wmdow, giving upon a street which
nf hn?h f? ^^ f^'^^1 ^} "Sht angles, and commanding a view
™s window h'^'h"?^ ''^'^^"^ market-place at their junction.
U wasZlcTlv H^ 'T. '^"^^ "'""^ '° ^"^y^^«' offices because
n f m^H ^^ t^^\ ^l^ '^' transparent panes were obscured only
he rrm''thon H ^^' ^^ ^f'^ ^^•"^' '^^"^P^^^nt to those within
rS^rlA^y. u^ °P -"^"^ ^'P'" '^'*'^°"*- Rickman's desk was so
fh^f i ^.h'le^i"f g/t it he could, if so minded, observe all
No th^ IT""^ 'V^^ ?f"^ °^ *°^" "f^ ^>^"^^th this window.
Not that he enjoyed such leisure as to need window-gazing to fill
I aS'y XTn ^^^TSl^ '°"' " ''^^ ^ow-windowed roo'm than
nn? c^nf "^"^"^ ^^ ^f "^ ^ ^'"'^ ^^^^ °" ^^is bustling market-day,
and still more vexed at the cause of his delay, which was a
woman. He hastened to look at the letters befor^e him while his
roving glance swept the street as he listened to the old c erk's
communications. ^
"he^n„M"n'f ^' """t^^^ u"^ ^''' "'"'^ P"* ''"t'" the latter said ;
he could not wait, as he was starting on his country rounds
He wrote this note." The note was brief. ^
" r must luive that money, no matter at what interest," it ran "Coulc' T
toldV-P. a":-" ''" GIedes.vorth prospects ? Call befori' "o"' leave «ti!
rjI^^ ^?u'^ ^^1'°"^' .'^''y '''^" y°" "^''^ ^'th rich and idle men ?"
Rickman thought to himself.
his"Jo^rt* TnH "Ik' ""^^'''-i' ^^ '^'^' ^"^ ^^^^ °'^ ^'^^k left him to
his work, and there was silence m the rocm, broken only by the
rapid course of the lawyer's pen.
\.J^!aT "^^'r ^1^^^ ^'^^ '^'■^' ^"^ h^ ^^s »°t fl"'te so sure as
he had been of he potency of human will, and especially of his
nHrH n ^''^ Alice Lingard had given him t^o days before
hurid nn^°7' •"'•'''" ^' ^'"^ ^2™""y ^^'^^d her to marry him,
to FdlrH A T ' T '"""'"'■"' ''>' '^^ "^^^^^"y of putting a sto^
easv^n hi r^'l' apparent designs, was severe and far less
.nnW, than he hac- anticipated- for he was too good
an observer not to have known that Alice would never accept his
firstoffer; he relied upon time and circumstance, the power of
"wdl itdeLrtf wTher" °' ""' '^'"^^^ ^'^^^^^ ^^^' ^^
" My mother," he reflecte'd, while another portion of his arfiv^
Mx^,v. was occupied wuh the subject beneath his pen, ^'i7'the
most amiable of human beings, but siie is the most simple and
MESSRS. IVHEWELL AND RICK MAN.
79
unobservant. My father has talents, but with regard to all that
concerns human life and conduct he is an infant in arms. How on
earth Sibyl and I came by our brains, Heaven alone knows ; on the
whole we should be thankful that we have any. If that stupid
little Sib would but take a fancy to Paul she might catch him
at the rebound. And Paul has expectations. Paul saw them
together last night and enjoyed it as much as I did. But women
are so unreliable, they upset all one's calculations, one never
knows what they will do next. As for that good-looking fool "
Gervase sighed and paused in his work ; he did not like to admit
to himself that he had made too light of him, yet he feared it, and
when he thought of Sibyl's secret he burned with hatred for the
man who had so deeply touched her heart. He looked out upon
the thickening stream of passengers in the street and saw one of
whom he made a mental note, and went on writing with the
under-current thought that nothing was any good without Alice,
and that the very strength of his desire for her love was sufficient
warrant for his winning it. "And what a man she might make of
me ! " he thought, perhaps with some dim deeply hidden notion
of propitiating Providence with the promise of being good if he
could but get his coveted toy.
While his pen flew over the paper he recalled the beginning of
this attachment, now fast developing into a passion.
It was Alice's seventeenth birthday, and he was talking to his
father about her affairs, when the latter remarked that she had
now grown a tall young woman.
" And we shall lose her, Gervase," he added. " She will marry
early. Besides her good looks, she has what men value more,
money."
Then Gervase thought how convenient her little fortune would
be lo a man in his position, and reflected further that, ambitious
as he was, he could not reasonably expect to find a better
match. While thus uiusing, he strolled out into the garden and
saw Alice, yesterday one of "tne children," an overgrown girl,
an encumbrance r*- a toy, sccording to the humour of the moment,
gathering flowev^^ ? re;? ibcious of his observation. It was a dif-
ferent Alice rh:,t he saw that day ; the child was gone, giving place
to a young creatarr) who compelled his homage. He offered her
his birthday i 'n'erp'.ulations with deference, his manner had a
new reserve' " She shall be my wife,' he said to himself with a
beating heart.
Then came the chf^ck on Arden Down. This occurred at
gipsying excursion by the Manor party, during which he found
MH
Ill"
i
im
i ::::!
80
TJ/E REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
hlrsut t^vf^ Yl- "," i'"^^ '^''' '' ^'' '«« ^'-^r'y to press
hl^. suit, but Edward Annesley's visit forced his hand.
thirviewoT?hI.y '•'''' ^"V^P^^^i^g f^"^yand tried to impress
inis view of the affair upon hitn. " You are niakine a mistakr "
ambhbn Ct "°f ""^ ?^ ^^^^^ ^''^ ^'- ^ "'- - -e„
leTve Imi Yl "' ^""'^^"^ i^'*^' ^^'^'' ^^'^^^^^- Otherwise I must
!s my only horS:^' ^°" "" "°^ '"^^ "^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^rden. It
nioTi'^^i'^l^^ Standing by a gate on the down, looking over the
iSalt^'the M^'^'k'^.T^' "'^^ "^ ^"^^'"g '^'^^ half'veUed in
hfi^ .K '''"^ ^'^'^ °^ '^^ ' ^•^"'^"Ps "O'lded in the hedge near
them ; the great spring chorus of birds was borne faintly from the
h.^f K^\u ""'^ '.*'°^^^ '^'■^'g'^t into Alice's eyes and fascinated
a po:L''b:ySrr^ir ''""-• -" "-^ "^-'^ - '^ --"^'
And'l wiir»?'"'''"''» I;" '"j* , " ■^O" "^ *e one woman for me,
"?,„,, L '"""•I ""^ "'*<''"* '" <''=«P. almost menacins tones
Yel inUloT/olSf.. ""' ' ""™ '""' > '^'' -»™-
frorK^iit;rv'irwl''t^;;,'-;V:srsis
"T'r if; "" '"^'"■' If P^'"f""y; ^^^as on .he verge oSs
anlde t hT™ "TJ^^''"/' '^<^ ^"-""oned aU her forces .0 mee
miL.itr^'bts'rS'o.t^^oTgf^rSe'i^sr"'^^-
gently, when she turned away ,,^K bot'o? cV" I wa caS?^^^^
Then tears came to her relief. She quietly checked them
smiled once more, and there was peace between them Aftw
linJ' "^' r'f"' '" ^"W""' "'' "■'"'='^= of theiov^ in W
manner, and she was gradually reassured. He was also Sreful to
draw her observation to the attentions which Edward iSev
Weared to pay to Sibyl, ..d to confide .0 her his :^;rova? of Ih'e
.hJ"!" E<'»'?«'.»'as winning AUce's heart was bitter to Gervase •
that hewaswrnmng Sibyl's, and threate.ning to spoil her lifeTas
almost more bitter. He resolved that Sibyl's life should not he
ZflL^/S:;±f^^A^^^y -o boot andl„rhfm^
the nro.rsub¥e-uea.me«r..;^ sV.;^'4;rmisZ^
I I
MESS US. WHEWELL AND RICK MAN. 8t
Besides, he feured to precipitate whatever designs Ann'jslev mitrht
have with regard to Alice, by pr.unature interference, and con-
tented himself with being at Arden ns much as possible durinji
Edwards visit, and making arrangements to keep him apart from
Alice during his absence, in which small schemes he w^ eieatlv
aided by the transparent simplicity of his mother.
Truly this unfortunate young man had more than enough to
burden his active brain, and just when it was important, in view
ot the approaching county election, to give his mind entirely to
political affairs. Women seemed to be made expressly to
torment and perplex mankind, as Raysh Squire observed of
boys. If Sibyl, whom he loved with an instinctive clinging
affection almost as deep as his self love, had been but a mar
But then, be reflected, « perhaps we ehould have wanted the
same woman. That fatal sex would still have ruined all "
He had hitherto said that he would not live withoiit Alice •
now he found that he could not. Wealth, success, power and
position, things that he had yearned for and purposed to win
by the strength of his mtellect and energy, suddenly lost all
value m themselves ; without Alice they were nn good
"I must and I will have her/' he muttered, dashing his pen
fiercely into the ink bottle, at the conclusion of his task?
His reflections were disturbed bv the opening of the door •
the not very usual sound of a lady's dress rtstlinp over the
matting was heard, and Mrs. Annesiey met Gervase's fierce
intense gaze with one of her seraphic smiles.
In an instant the young lawyer's glance fell, and changed to
Its everyday suavity as he rose with a smile, in which surprise
and welcome were equally blended, to receive his unexpected
visitor. i'v.i-i.cu
"You are doubtless surprised, Mr. Rickman," she said, taking
the chair he placed tor her, "that I should visit you instead of
sending for you as usual, I have a reason "'
•' Thrxt is of course," replied Gervase. " You know I am
always at your service at any moment."
;' I thought your country clients would scarcely have arrived at
this early hour, and I might therefore seize the opportunity of
cahmg on you on my way home from morning prayers without
difficuE attention at home. My beloved son is, I fear, in sad
"Indeed," returned Gervase, with a look of surprised interest.
.....^^ „^ =:t...r-u a i--a£.w2 suiiiy uvcF rauls note, " i am sorry for
*• Is it possible," continued Mrs. Annesiey, studying his face
83
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
with an astonished air, " that my dfcar boy has not consulted
even you upon the subject ?"
"My dear Mrs. Annesley," returned Gervase, laughing, "do
you suppose that we lawyers discuss our client's affairs even to
their nearest friends ? "
•"True," she replied, annoyed at herself. "I had forgotten
Mr. Rickman for the moment, and was thinking of my young
friend, Gervase. It is most probable that you know more of
these unfortunate complications than I do, for my child I
cannot tell why," she added, applying her handkerchief to her
eyes, has not honoured me with his confidence. I feel this.
Mr. Kickman, as only a sensitive and devoted woman can."
Doubtless, he said, with courteous patience. " Hane the
woman why m the world does she come here plaguing me with
her feehngs ? " he thought.-" You have reason, thfn, t? Tuppo e
that Paul IS in difficuhies of some kind upon ;hich he haV not
consulted you ? " he added.
• "^'■•Annesley,' she continued witl severe dignity, "has
incurred debts of honour, which he doe. not find himself in a
position to discharge without serious inconvenience. I need
fnfnffi^ *f"/°"' ^'' R'^kman, that my son's income is most
tastes. His
insufficient for a young man of his birth and msies. his
professional success has not as yet been by any means oro-
portioned to his talents and ener/y. His youth is'a^.bst hT^
It naturally prejudices those who have every confidence in his
skil . My son is proud ; he prefers to make his own way, and
no longer accepts an allowance from me, as you are aware I
.nH°"'^5" independence, but "-here she dropped her dignity,
and suddenly became natural in a burst of real feeling,-" I do
think he might come to me in his trouble."
"I daresay," Gervase said soothingly, while Mrs. Annesley
daintily dried her tears, " that if he is, as you think, hard up he
sees h.s way out of the scrape, and does not wish to worry you if
he can possibly help himself." / .r u "
.fill '!^l'f ■' ■*"'* 7^* hurts me, Gervase," replied Mrs. Annesley,
fr H?. v°"' ^l-^"' ^TS"''y- "He might know that I would
grudge him nothing. It is hard that a man like Paul should
never mdulge in the tastes and amusements natural to his a-^e
tlrJj\'^''^l' ^' ^! ""'^^^ ^"°^' '° ^"^"'" ^"y sacrifice "to
extricate him. I would rather live in a hovel than see my son
unable to meet debts of honour." ^
"We all know what a devoted mother he has." said the
monT .V''*"*^ "^ '''^"^'' ^^^'^ ^^^^ yo" ^ish to find him the
MESSRS. U' HE WELL AND RICK MAN.
83
"Exactly, dear Gervase; with your accustomed penetration
you go straight to the |)oint."
"Well, then," said Gervase, glancing unobserved at his watch,
why don t you mortgage some of your house-property? Ihat
would be better than selling stock just now. How much do.s he
want ? "
"That I beligve you are in a better position to say than I am."
she replied, with a dry little smile.
Gervase also smiled, and said that the mortgage should be
effected at once, since he knew where to find the money, and in
a surprisingly short time he contrived to get the whole of Mrs.
Annesley s wishes expressed, and learnt that Paul was to be
kept in doubt until the transaction was effected and the money
m his mothers hands, when she intended to surprise him
' Excellent young man," thought Mrs. Annesley, as she swept
down the stairs and through the outer office, where the busy
clerks inspired her with no more fellow-feeling than the sheep in
the pens outside. " He has never given his mother a moment's
anxiety. I suppose nothing would have induced him to run a
horse unless he were quite sure of being able to pay the con-
sequences. Quiet and prudent, the son of a mere physician,
how different from my brilliant Paul ! The blood of the
Mowbrays is not in his veins." She forgot that Paul was not
even the son of a physician, since Walter Annesley had been
but a country doctor, whose untimely death had not improved
his son's prospects.
She walked joyously home through the ever-thickening stream
ot vans and carts, considering what expenses she could cut down
to meet the interest of the mortgage, really f^'-d that a load of
care would be lifted from Paul's heart, but anxious that he
should acknowledge and admire her sacrifice; few thing; uleased
her so much as to be considered a martyr ; she was a u c.man
who could not exist without a grievance.
She wondered how Heaven came to afflict her with such a son.
though she knew very well that she would not have loved him
halt so well had be been steadier and less extravagant. Destiny
had evidently made a mistake in setting a man of his mould to
wield the lancet; perhaps that view had also occurred to Destiny
and resulted in the recent removal ot Reginald Annesley from
the Gledesworth succession.
6-2
i
t'il )
i I;
il
i ■
on SatiM
they V :
macuiiiif:
was the
CHAPTER V. ^
STORM.
Full of these thoughts, ^[rs. Annesley entered her house and
went though her usual iraii(|uil occupations, all of wl ch, however
homely in themselves, were character zed by a certam elegance
peculiar to herself.
The maids trembled when summorw-d one by one to her
presence to be called to account for the various doings and mis-
doings of the week, and were equally awed by reproof ur com-
mendation, though, being human, they preferred the latter.
Certain -Ujjfjty dustings of bric-k-brac by her own hands ocrurred
l-ivs, and the subsidiary dustings and cleanings of which
ihe crown and summit, were truly awful in their im-
;>eifection. She ai ranged fresh flowers, and terrible
fatti of that maid who brought an imperfectly-cleaned
vase for their reception, or spilled the water required for them.
These vveekly duties were all completed, and Mrs. Annesley,
arrayed in fresh laces, was sitting in the drawing-room with some
elegant trifle representing neodle-work in her hand, when about
one o'clock the Rickmans' phaeton drove up to th( door with
Edward Annesley, whom she expected to lunch with her on his
way from Arden.
Paul had returned from his country round, and was watching the
arrival of the phaeton from the window of his consulting-room
with an eager intensity strangely disproportioned to the event.
The grey mare trotted in her leisurely fashion up to the door,
totally ignoring the unusual stimulus of the whip, which Sibyl
applied smartly, in the vain hope of infusing some dasn into her
paces. Mrs. Rickman occupied the front seat by her daughter's
side, and was protesting against her cruelty ; but the grey mare
might have been a flying dragon, and these ladies harpies, for all
Paul caied; his fiery glance was concentrated on the back seat^
in which were Alice Lingard and his cousin. The latter was on
the pavement before the vehicle had stopped. His farewells
were soon said, and the phaeton drove off with the nearest
approach to dash ever made by the grey mare, i*'. response to an
STORAf. 8 J
unusually sharp cut of Sibyl's whip. Edward stood on the pave-
ment looking for some moments after the vanishing carriage, with
an expression that was not lost upon Paul. Then he slowly
turned, crosscil the pavement, turning once more in the direction
of the carnage, now lost to view, and finally went up the steps
and rang the bell. Paul felt that he w 'ill looking in the
direction taken by the phaeton, though i aid no longer see
him.
He had seen what passed between Rd^.ard and Alice at part-
ing ; only the lifting of Alice's ga^^ to Edward's when he wished
her good-bye, but with a look so luminous that it went like a stab
to Pail s heart. These things so wrought upon him, that he
seized ust of Galen from a bracket by the wall and dashed it
to pieces on the ground.
He had scarcely done this, when a patient was announced and
condoled with him upon the accident. Paul smiled grimly in
response, and proceeded to his business, a small, but delicate
operation on the eye, which he effected with a steady and skilful
hand. No one in Medington knew what a skilful surgeon he
was; even his mother did not credit him with professional
excellence.
They were already at table when he went in to luncheon :
Edward, quite unconscious of the storm he had set raging in his
cousin's breast, seemed unusually friendly and pleased to see him.
I was afraid I might miss you. after all," he said, rising and
grasping his hand in a grip so warm that he did not perceive the
coldness with which it was received. " I know what a chance it
IS to catch you at luncheon, especially on a market-day."
" Not when I have guests," replied Paul, with an extra stateli-
ness, which Edward would have been incapable of perceivin'^,
even if his mind had been less pre-occupied ; " only the most
important cases keep me from home under such circumstances."
He never suffers the professional man to obscure the gentle-
man," said Mrs. Annesley.
"He would not be your son if he did," Edward returned
Mrs. Annesley was so light of heart in consequence of her
morning exploit, that she chatted away most graciously and
gaily, and set Edward on the congenial theme of his visit to
Arden, and the virtues of the Rickman family. Paul observed
with ever-deepening gloom that he did not mention Alice, he
only named Sibyl when speaking of the ladies.
After luncheon there was still an h r to waste before Edward's
train was due, and he was yet unconscious of anything unusual
in I'aul, when the latter asked him to go out in the garden with
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86
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
him. The garden was large ; it extended not only by the »ull
breadth of the house to a wall bounded by the para'lel street,
but ran along that street for a little distance at the back of other
houses. Beneath some tall limes, the crimson-edged branches of
which were now showing a few fluttering transparent leaflets, pale
green against the blue sky, there was a stretch of rich deep sward,
the growth of at least a century. Here were benches, and* silting
on one of them, one could see the flower-garden and the back of
the house half hidden in ivy and creepers.
Quite silently the young men strolled through the whole length
of the garden, Edward looking at the scented hyacinths, the
flowering currants, old friend- he knew so well, the great elm with
the long disused swing and the delicate veil of April green about its
lower branches, and vaguely enjoying the mystery and richness of
the spring ; Paul, with his eyes cast down, his lips closed firmly,
his ears deaf to the song of the blackbirds who found homes in
that pleasant garden, and whose music seemed like a romantic
picture painted on the prosaic background of the town noise.
Edward threw himself on a bench and stretched his iegs com-
fortably before him in the sunshine, while he took his short pipe
from his pocket and began to fill it, and was just beginning to
wonder why Paul did not smoke. Then he looked up and was
surprised at the expression on the face of. Paul, who was standing
before him, a dark figure against the sunshine.
Paul was extremely pale his eyes appeared black with intense
feeling, his lips moved as if trying to frame some speech of which
he was incapable, and for a few moments he gazed silently at his
cousin.
"What is the matter, Paul?" the latter asked, changing his
careless attitude for a more upright posture. He had heard some-
thing of Paul's pecuniary straits, and thought that he might be on
the verge of asking help of him. He knew that his introduction
to Captain Mcllvray had been rather unfortunate. Mcllvray and
Paul, being congenial spirits, had rapidly become intimate ; this
intimacy had brought Paul into immediate contact with the other
oflicers of the regiment, and in turn with their friends. Those
Highland officers were all men of means and family, they were
nearly all unmarried, and more or less fast, and the usual conse-
quences of a young man associating with richer men than himself
had ensued. Late hours, play, moderate by a rich man's standard,
but high by a poor man's, steeple-chasing by a horse due at sick
peoples doors, and sucnhice, had combined to empty the doctors
pockets and scandalize his patients, particularly the steady-going
burghers of Medington, who did not care to trust their families or
STORM,
87
themselves to the hands of a young man, who, instead of ocoupying
his leisure with medical books, consorted with a " set of rackety
oiiicers ; " and for all this E iward felt to some extent responsible.
"I asked you," Paul repl-ed in the incisive tones of white-liot
passion, "to come out here, be«ause I think it time to come ioan
understanding."
"An und' standing of what? If it is money, dear fellow, I
think I can promise to help you."
"Money," repeated Paul with ironical laughter, "money
indeed ! "
This lofty scorn of that cause of so much mischief, tlie lack of
which is so excessively inconvenient to ordinary mortals, was less
edifying than amusing \n a man who was head over ears ui debt,
and a half smile stole over Edward's face when he heard it. A
certain grandiose manner which Paul inherited from his mother,
and which sometimes degenerated into affectation, often amused
his simpler-mannered cousin, and provoked him to the expression
of wholesome ridicule. But the cragic set of Paul's features
warned him that anything in the shape of laughter would be ill-
timed, so he composed his face to a decent gravity, observing
that he had feared, from certain hints Paul had given, that times
were hard with him, and that he was delighted to find himself
mistaken.
" If it isn't money," he reflected, " it mrist be love. Though,
how on earth I am to help him at that, I don't know."
" You seem a cup too low," he added aloud. " Come, cheer up ;
whatever it is, you have the world before you, and a stout pair of
arms to fight it with."
" Thank you," Paul replied with sharper irony, " I am in no
need of either your advice or your sympathy."
"Then, what in the world does he want?" thought the other.
" It cannot be his mother's temper."
" Surely you must know what explanation I require," continued
Paul, relieving his irritation by dinting the turf sharply with his
heel. Edward possessed that perfect good temper which results
from the combination of a good digestion, a clean conscience, and
congenial circumstances ; the undisturbed amiability with which
he met his fiery cousin's determination to quarrel with him was
most aggravating. " Is it possible," Paul thought, concentrating
his blazing glance upon that cheerful face, " that this man can be
such a hypocrite as well as traitor ? I wish to know." he added
aloud, "the object of your visits to Arden Manor? "
"Indeed?" The good-tempered face darkened now. "That
is my affair." Edward rose from the bench, made a few steps
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
and then retraced them. "Do you mean to say," he asked,
" that you brour^ht me out here for the express purpose of asking
why I visit at Arden ? "
"for the express purpose," replied Paul, the br . ih coming
audibly through his quivering nostrils.
The momentary irritation passed away and Edward laughed.
" You always were a queer fellow," he said ; " but why this
paternal interest in my goings and comings ? "
"I warned you," continued Paul; "I explained the situation to
you ; I have spoken to you since of my hopes and wishes. You
have indeed honoured my confidence. The very first day you
went there by stealth. It was unnecessary, you might have gone
openly. A second time you went by stealth when every one con-
sfdered you to be miles away. Yet, after what passed in my
presence, secrecy was absurd. Do you suppose me to be blind ?
We all know that a girl flirt delights in trying to make conquests
of those who belong to othei^. That a man should descend so
far is, I own, almost incredible. But one must believe the evidence
of one's senses. That a man, I will not say a gentleman, a
man with the most elementary notions of honour should deliberately
pay his addresses in a quarter to which "
" My dear Paul," interrupted Edward, keeping a grave face
with difficulty, "what a ridicu^ misunderstanding this is!
Beware of jealousy."
" Jealousy ! " cried Paul, flinging uway from him with his eyes
rolling. " Jealousy, indeed ! I saw you," he added inconsisteiitly,
" when you said good-bye .':*. my door to-day. And on that night I
saw you placing her hands on the bow with your 'nfernal fingers "
" And were not jc?lous ? Sensible fellow I Seriously you are
in a painful position, and it makes you, as you told me the other
day, over-sensitive ; you cannot see things in their right pro-
portions ; you exaggerate trifles."
" Is it a trifle that you are almost an inmate of that house ?
that she gives you flowers ? that you treasure up a flower she
drops ? that you look into her eyes as I saw you look an hour
ago ? that you sing with her ? walk alone with her ? act like an
i'^'ot when she is near ? By all that is sacred "
" Come, listen to reason ; I admit you are not jealous. But, as
you said the other day, it makes you wretched in this uncertain
state of affairs even o hear of other men going to the house, much
less being civil to her."
" One must be civil to ladies, especially in their own houses.
I was bound to teach her to shoot. But I am innocent of the
ffi
STORM.
89
Other crimes you impute to me, I swear I am. Look here, Paul.
I will stand more from you than from any man living. But you
go too far. You are hard hit and in a false position, and that
makes you forget yourself. Put an end to all this, for pity's sake •
ask her to marry you and have done with it." '
" Have done with it ; that would, no doubt, be agreeable to
you,' Paul repeated, with a grim smile. " But I may be mis-
taken, after all ; you have no doubt been so obliging as to try to
advance my suit by proxy."
Edward turned red when he remembered his unfortunate essav
m that line in Arden churchyard.
" Nonsense," he replied, laughing. " Come, you have the field
to yourself. I shall not be seeing her for weeks. In the mean-
time, come to the point, and let me congratulate you on being
engaged before I come back again."
The easy way in which ,,.• proposed this impossible thing turned
all Paul's blood to fire, made his head swim, and clouded his eyes
for a moment. He knew that Edward and Alice loved each other,
and, more than that, he knew that Edward, while sjjeaking with
this insolent nonchalance, was fully aware that he had won Alice's
heart. The fire of inextinguishable hate burned in his breast, and
the madness of jealousy possessed him ; the parting look between
the two pierced like a poisoned arrow to the core of his heart ;
it was w .A\ for him that no deadly weapon was at hand or his'
cousin's last words would have been spoken.
"You have no explanation to offer then?" he asked.
" There is nothing to explain. You accuse me of paying too
much attentiv^n to the lady of your choice. I reply that I have
not done so."
"Can you deny that you love Alice Lingard?" he urged.
"Surely you mean Sibyl?" Edward faltered, with a sudden
pallor. " It was she of whom you spoke that night. I had not
even heard of M'ss Lingard's existence."
"Then it is true," Paul said tragically ; and for some moments
neither cousin could do anything but try to realize the painf. '
situation in which they found themselves.
" It was not my mistake alone," added Edward, who was now
grave enough. "Your mother jested on the subject the first
night I spent there."
"Are you engaged to Miss Lingard?" Paul asked, turning a
stony face, from which despair had taken all the fury, towards the
pained glance of his cousin.
" No," he replied, and for the moment wished he could have
wid yes. If he had not already won Alice's heart, he knew that
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
he was on the high road to it. He misht have spoken the night
before, but he considered it scarcely seemly to be so precipitate.
And, now that he had not actually committed himself, he did not
know what to do. He had certainly injured Paul, and in a way
that made atonement impossible.
"I am sorry for this," he said, after a pause, "more sorry than
I can say." And yet he doubted if his advent had done Paul
much harm. He had had the first chance and had missed it.
But what if Alice had seemed to accept his attentions for the
purpose of drawing the laggard lover on ? Girls often did that.
Girls like Alice ? Oh, no ; Alice was different j she was not to be
measured by ordinary standards.
The discovery that Edward had not played him false, and that
he had consequently no grievance against him, served rather to
intensify the jealous anger which devoured Paul's heart. Every
expression of regret on Edward's part was another assurance that
Alice had been stolen from him.
" You must never see her again," he said decisively. An apple-
tree covered with blossom rose behind him and traced its pink
and white branches upon the clear blue sky. He turned and took
a thick bough in his hands and snapped it like a stick of wax, md
the pink tracery was now marked on the green turf at his feet
Edward plucked some of the red twigs of the lime-tree, and
twisted them round his fingers until he nearly brought the blood.
The blackbird fluted melodiously, the hum of the busy market-
place went on, the church clock chimed the hour, and the gnomon
of the tree-shadows changed its place on the turf-dial, while the
two cousins stood silent, facing each other, divided this way and
that by distracting thoughts.
" I cannot promise that," Edward replied at last. " We cannot
both have her, but one must. She is not to be left to linger out
her youth in doubt. I give you three months. That is a long
time. Six weeks ago I had never heard of her."
Paul made another deep dent in the turf. Three months was
no time, and how could he ask a woman to marry him in his
piesent circumstances ? Besides, would Alice forget Edward in
three months ?
Edward was asking himself the same question. He had no
right to believe that she would ever think of him, and yet it
seemed impossible that the stream of their lives, having once
mingled, could ever divide again. But Love is jealous. Alice
VkrtA L'nr^..-*^ P-...I f-%_
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. sac mignc
easily think his own feeling for her, if not followed up in those
three months, a passing fancy, and would certainly quench what-
STORM.
91
ever feeling for himself might have been germinating within her,
when she saw that Paul's happiness depended upon her.
" Three months is no time," Paul said.
" You must indeed be blind," returned Edward, " if you cannot
give
that Edward could
cold-b!joded fellow
and
see what a tremendous advantage those three months will
you. She will think I have forgotten her."
Paul did not think so, yet he wondered
face such a possibility. After all, did this
really care for her ? Surely not as he did.
" I cannot live without her," he cried in his stormy way,
perhaps you can."
"Yes," replied Edward slowly, "I can live without her.
Perhaps I should be no good to her. If only she is happy ! If
she takes you— and I cannot say that I wish that— it must be
as Heaven pleases— I shall forget this, I shall try to be her
friend— yes, and yours. It is something to have known her,
more to have loved her. Heaven bless her I Till three months
then."
He was gone.
Paul was touched. The pendulum of his impetuous nature
swung to »:he other extreme. He could not have yielded that
advantage, and he thought that if Alice took Edward she wouhl
take the better man. He remembered what a golden strand hi-
cousin's friendship had woven in his lonely childhood and through
all his life. A thousand forgotten things revived in his memory ;
he thought what a good fellow Edward was I what days they had
had together I He knew that not every man had such a friond,
and few women such a lover. And a vague foreboding warned
him that the life-long comradeship would never be renewed. At
last he turned to go back to the hr and met a maid tripping
over the turf with a note. " From . Rick man, sir," she said.
He opened it with a pre-occupied air d read:
•' The infant Annesley died this morning. G. R."
He was now the actual heir of Gledesworth. The present
owner was incapable of making a will.
" Poor little fellow I " he exclaimed: " poor baby I poor voune
mother!" / f / e
Then he went in to convey the weighty tidings to Mrs. Annes-
ley.
Edward was now on his way home with a heavy weight on his
heart, thinking that the two best things in his life, his love and
his friendship, had been broken at one blow.
\ ■ ?
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PART TIT.
CHAPTER L
LIGHT AND SHADB.
It was a dark day in May, one of those weird, poetic days, full
of purple shadows broken by bursts of hazy sun-gold, in which
the most lovely and capricious of months hides its youth and
freshness under a gloom borrowed from autumn as if in sport.
Mysterious folds of gloom were woven about the downs •
great masses of purple and umber shade floated solemnly over
the level lands below them ; the hills gn the horizon borrowed
an adventitious grandeur from these broad cloud-shadows, and
from the dark haze swathed about their flanks ; the level band of
sea, where the hills suddenly broke away from the shore, was
dark, dream-hke and lighted by fitful gleams of gold ; here and
there, when a rift in the heavy clouds let the sunshine through in
a long, misty shaft, an unexpected field, cottage or village tower
shone out from the surrounding haze, only to fade into the
warm gloom again with a most magical efi"ect ; the dense dark
woods, which looked autumnal in the shadow, smiled now and
again under the sun-bursts into the exquisitely varied tints of
fresh May foliage.
On such a day nightingales sing in the stillness of the shadowy
woods, and now and then blackbirds interrupt them with their
flute-notes, while larks keep fluttering upwards with sudden
torrents of song. On such a day the cuckoo is less persistent in
his merry defiance, and doves moan continually in fragrant fir-
woods.
The square and solid tower of Arden church looked darker
and grander beneath the deep cloud-piled sky, a solemn shadow
brooded over the thatched roofs and stone walls of the cottages
over the erev cables of ArrJpn Manor onri fKp ,^«v^ *:i«j -n.----*
age roof. Prom the church-tower there hung in rarely-stirred
folds a flag, half-mast high ; one or two were shown in the
LIGHT AND SHADE.
«S
village ; the throb of the slow-pulsed knell vibrated upon the
quiet air. Raysh Squire was once more exercising his melancholy
function in the chill darkness of the belfry, whither even on the
brightest summer days a wandering sunbeam rarely strayed, and
then only in slender, half-dimmed rods. Raysh yawned ; he had
been pulling his rope for a good hour, and, in spite of his firm
conviction that only such art as he had acquired in a life-long
exercise of his craft could do justice to a funeral knell, and that
such art did not reside in any mortal arm within ten miles of
Arden, he sorely wanted to see and hear all that was going on
outside in the thronged churchyard, and continually asked for in-
formation of the little grandchild he had stationed at the door,
which stood slightly ajar for the purpose.
" Baint 'em come yet ? " he kept repeating, with impatience ;
and the little one always said, " No ; only the live ones is
come."
A low murmur of voices rose from the village and hummed
under the very walls of the church ; tlie landlord of the Golden
Horse moved about with a sort of melancholy exultation irra-
diating his wooden visage, and gave up counting the maze of
vehicles drawn up under the sycamore-trees before his door in
an agreeable despair; while his wife and daughter flew hither
and thither with crimson faces and panting chests, in the vain
attempt to be in five places at once and the still vainer endeavour
to discrimirlate between the numerous orders heaped upon them,
until the landlady became " that harlec ..s she expressed it,
that she relieved her feelings by deaUng a i funding box on the
ear to the astounded and unoffending stable-help, thus completely
scattering what remained of his harried wits ; after that she felt
better, though it cost her a solid, silver shilling.
The whole of Arden village, gentle and simple, every one who
was not too old o*- loo ill, was about the churchyard or along the
road ; extreme youth was no bar to coming out, since it could be
carried in arms, whence it occasionally expressed loud dissatisfac-
tion at the lot of man, not knowing how soon it would be quieted
once and for all in the sileiice whence it came. Everybody wore
a bit of black ribbon or crape, and every face expressed that
quiet enjoyment which the British lower classes experience "only
at a funeral
" Where there's one death in a family there's sure to be three
avore the year's out," one kind-faced matron observed to another
with unction.
•' Zure enough," replied the other in an awed voice, "but taint
every day there's such a sad death as this yere. My master, he
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MS there's trouble for everybody holdinK Olcdesworth lands, and
there am t no goinK a.^en it ...> in..rc thai. Scripture. Bide stilL
Biily, my dear ; don't cc pull .sihicr's hair now."
The national temperament, seen pure and unadulterated only
in the lower classes, deli-hts chiefly in the dismal; it may be
that the countrymen of Shakspeare and Milton have a natural
bias for tragedy; it may be that strong and deep natures can only
be moved by strong and deep things, such as the dark mysteries
of death and sorrow. At all events the light and bright things
that set other Europeans laughing and dancing, too frequently
move our sober folk only to a sort of wondering contempt
Presently a dark procession was seen winding slowly between
the cottage flower-gardens ; the vicar, a solitary and conspicuous
figure in his white surplice, issued from the deep-arched door
and walked slowly down to the lych-gate, to meet the solemn and
silent guest with words of immortal hope; a touching custom,
which seems like the welcome home of a son, never more ll
leave the fatherly roof.
Then the occupants of the carts and carriages emptied and
drawn up before the Golden Horse, arranged themselves in fit
order with those who had followed the hearse over the downs
all the way from distant Gledesworth, and the silent and uncon-
scious centre of all the lugubrious pomp was lifted on to the broad
shoulders of eight stalwart labourers, in white smocks, blue
bunday trousers and broad felt hats, and borne sileKfly after the
welcoming priest into the dim church, which was already half-full
of women in black (for the men were nearly all following), and
where the air was tremulous with the wail of the Funeral March
trom the organ.
There were no breaking hearts and streaming eyes at this burial ;
those who had loved the man lying beneath the violet velvet pall
were gone to their long home, and he who walked as chief
mourner behind him, Paul Annesley, had never known him.
whhS ^^'^^t^'-l'" Paul Annesley's eyes; his face was pale
with feeling and his heart ached within him with pity for the man
he had never seen, who for ten weary years had been a captive,
strange to all the joys of life, dead to all its interests and affections
exchanging no rational word with his fellow-men, and seeing the
face of none who loved him. Yet though it was well that the dark-
ness of death should close upon this terrible affliction, the pity
of It struck keen to the heart of the man who inherited the pos-
sessions wnirh haH Kaoh '-n "'»l..f>U"" *- *u-:_ _ . .. ^
*u * II .u r 1 "T '\ rrtivicicaa lu incir uwr.cr, ana tne lacl
that all the lands they had traversed that morning, the very land
out of which that small field reserved for God and the poorest
. LIGHT AND SHADE. ^
of men was taken, belonged to him, made that darkened and
wlenced life seem the more pitiful to the heir, standing above the
coftin m the flower of his youth.
Paul had been discontented with his lot, and now one higher
than he had ever dreamed of was his. He was in some sort the lord
Of all that foUowmg of tenantry who packed the church aisles and
thronged the churchyard in silent homage to the poor dead
maniac. His sudden good-fortune touched his heart to the core
made it ache with compassion for his unknown kinsman, and
pierced It with a sense of his own defeois. Di. Davis, his former
successful rival, stood not far off; having come uninvited out of
respect to the dead man, or rather to his position. Their relative
positions were indeed changed, and Paul was ashamed of his
former jealousy, Gervase Rickman was there as steward to the
estate; the broad-faced, hearty- voiced farmers who yesterday
rnight employ him or not as they chose, were to-day his tenants •
their manner to him had changed already. He was still actually
the parish doctor ; only two nights ago he rode over the bleak
downs ro help Daniel Pink's wife in her trouble, Daniel Pink
who, though not on the home farm, represented his father, now
too feeble for the service, as a bearer.
There was little air in the dim, massive church, where the
heavy arches rested on low, solid piers of immense girth ; it was
obstructed by old-fashioned square pews ; the light came dimly
through the deep, small-paned windows, many of which, stained
richly, broke the white daylight in various colours over the stone
effigies of former Annesleys, couched there with lance and helm
m perpetr. . prayer. The musty oJour of the unsunned church
was stiHin^ ; the monotonous voice of the clergyman fell sadly
rfr^K f^*'f; ^^''''^. ^y- ^^y''^ S^"'^^'^ ^'•" "^O'e monotonous
church falsetto, complaining of the brevity of man's stay upon
T u? '/."^^^"^ss; these things, and the strangeness of the
thoughts which came upon him as he stood in a position to which
Pn.rtLTi. "'m""^ ""^'f^ ^^' y^^ ^'^ ^y '^•"h, so wrought on
rJ?. n .K \^''''u ''^'"■^^'y '■^'"^'" ^^^'^^ ^"^ ^a« g'ad when the
rite in the church was done, and they came out into the free air
again, and the buzz of low voices died away before them
«n,lu "^f V>f ^ i^" "P°"u *^^ '''^J^' P^" ' »* "ghted the white
sniotks of the bearers, the weathered stonework of the church
the delicate green of the elms where rooks were cawing and
glorified the faces of the crowd. Paul wondered how ZTLl^^
In??!? ""T^l ^°'^ °" ^"^^ ^ ^^ ^°"ld be nothing wUiiou;' her,
and though he now contrasted his position with Edward's tri
umphantly, he would gladly have exchanged with him, or sunk
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r//£^ REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
back into the struggling and unsuccessful parish doctor, tf he
could but win Alice.
People looked with wondering interest at the pale face, so
lamihar to mobt of them utuier such diflfcreni associations, for
the most part with harmless envy of one on whom Fortune had
so suddenly smiled, dtherwise not without a vague pity. There
were whispers jf the mysterious doom which clung to the owner
of Oledesworth, and spec uhuions as to this man's fate. Would
he too go down to the grave, unmourned by a son of his biood,
not knowing who should gather the riches he left behind
him r
Many, nay most of the tenants remember(«d Reginald Annesley
before his great aOliction had sundered him from his fellow-men,
some of them remembered old kindnesses and genial words, all
were touched with an awed pity, which was the deeper because
they did not know that no blind Fate, but youthful excess, de-
veloping a hereditary tendency, was the true cause of his long
affliction. Especially was this the feeling of the simple-hearted
men who bore tlieir master and friend to his tomb. To them
his solitary following of one unknown kinsman was all the more
striking because of the large retinue which surrounded him : they
|«K)ught of the sad life of which this was the close, and their
hearts went out in strong pity ; they listened to Job's lament over
the Mjnow and brevity of man's life, mingled with the terrible cry
that was wrung from Nutker's awestruck heart a thousand years
ago, when the falling of a bridge crushed so many strong lives out
before his eyes, with a deep sense of the pathos of human destiny.
Daniel Pink, the shepherd, looked up and caught the intense
glance of Paul s eyes, and pitied him too, he knew not why.
Daniel Pink did not envy any man ; if he had been offered
any other lot than his own, he would probably have refused \M.
For he had all that man needs, the warm affections of a home that
his own strong arms maintained, and a plain path of daily duty
marked out before him ; he walked upon an earth full of mean-
ing and beauty, and looked up to an infinite heaven of majesty
and wonder. His heart was touched with pity both for the rich
man they were laying in his tomb, his father's master, and for
the young heir who stood living before him.
Only when the last word? of prayer and blessing were said,
t«e last rites done, and they turned away from the vault, the
reality of his changed fortune came home to Paul, and with it a
new sense of human resoonsibilitv. and e.snpriaiiu hSe «,«„
"J earnings for a better life came to him on the brink of that
dark vault; he resolved to be worthy of the gifts suddenly
LIGHT AND SHADE,
97
heaped upon Mm. How mean his past life scorned in the li^ht
ot these new aspirations I
So he thought as he left the churchyard leading on his arm
the whlow of you .g Reginald A riesley, and the mother of the
dead baby, who, like himself, had never seen the elder Rcinald.
One of hjs first duties would be to make her a liberal provision ;
for, owing to unforeseen circumstances and the reversal of
natural order in the untimely deaths of her husband ad child,
scarcely anythmg had fallcM to her share. There was even a
pathos in the fact that this dead man had carefully entailed his
estates, but vainly, since his issue failed and his lands passed
mimediately to an unknown heir at-law.
Mrs. Walter Annesley was in the church, veiled in crape, with a
handkerchief to her eyes, yet by no means consumed with grief,
bhe had mdeed one cause of sorrow in the fact that Paul's
mhentance had falLn to him so early that he had not time to
appreciate the sacrifice she made to pay his debts. She was
thinking of the new lord of Gledesworth, and wishing that Alice
who was sating unseen at the organ, would meditate on the
same theme.
"Let us fly from this d'smal place, Alice," cried Sibyl in
the afternoon ; "of all the humbugs in this humbugging world,
funerals are the greatest and most dismal. I will not have any
fuss made about mo when I am dead, rememli-r that. I am so
glad Paul is turned into a little prince. I never realized it tilt
to-day I suppose he will be too grand to come to the Manor
now r
•'^Do you want to get rid of him, Sibyl ?"
"I ? Oh ! my dear, he does not come to see w^," replied Sibyl
with an air of raillery apparently lost on Alice, who was busy
arranging Hubert's collar so as to leash him. But Sibyl was not
easily extinguished, and when they had gone a little way through
the fields she returned to the charge.
"I am sure that he was not happy, Alice," she said with a
mysterious air j " there was a secret canker at the root of every-
thing, and I believe it was want of money."
\Z^^ y°" are alluding to Daniel Pink," replied Alice with a
ttle smile, he is the most contented fellow I know, and
though his large family does make him poor "
" Alice, how provoking vou are ! Pink indeed ' "
w*.tn.i'l7K''^'^f ?T^°^?f>^ expressirto" Visit Pink's wife and
welcome the ninth baby, Alice explained that it was most natural
to be thinking of him.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
V I i.^ P«oP e c°"^^ ^^'""^ of anybody but the new little kine ."
replied Sibyl ; " I feel quite set up myself. Do look round. Alice,
and realize that all this belongs to Paul Annesley. this very turf
we are walking on and our own dear Arden Manor down there
by the church. I suppose he could turn us out if he chose, we
are a kind of vassals. I almost wish he would, Arden is so very
dull ; don't you ? " •'
" You are growing restless again. Is this philosophic ? » asked
Alice, placing the basket she was carrying to the shepherd's wife
on the ground and resting her arms on a gate halfway up the down.
No ; It s human. Yes, I am restless. I want— oh I want—
everything f " cried Sibyl.
Alice took the bright face in her hands, and kissed it. "You
are a httle fool. Sibbie," she said gently, "a dear little fool.
Write some more verses, it always does you good. I am not sure
that a good whipping would not be the best thing "
"No doubt,'' replied Sibyl, while she lifted her head and gazed
on the solemn fields and hills over which the great cloud-shadows
were slowly sailing in larger and larger masses, thus leaving
rarer intervals of sun-light, as if she were looking in vain for
happiness " Do you think, Alice, it will be always like this ?
Qu.et Arden, Raysh ringing the bells, the garden, the dairy, a
day s shopping in Medi»gton, an occasional visitor. Mrs. Pink's
annual baby the choir-practice, and Horace Merton coming home
trom Oxford and worrying the vicar ? "
Alice looked thoughtfully at Sibyl's pretty wistful face and
wondered "who he was?'.' Surely not young Merton himself,
the vicar s troublesome prodigal, whom she had seen that morning
the only uninterested person during the funeral, at full length in a
hammock under the vicarage trees, studying French literature in
yellowpaper covers, in obedience to his father's request that he
should "read a httle" during his enforced absence from Oxford;
an absence connected with the unauthorized introduction of a
monkey to the apartments of a Don, as poor Mr. Merton under-
stood. This young gentleman haunted the Manor with the
persistence of an ancestral ghost, and was not without his good
points, in spite of the monkey incident ; yet though Sibyl diligently
snubbed him, as she did all her victims as soon as the nature of
their malady became apparent, no one could say when and in
whose person the fated man might appear. *
"Perhaps there will he a rhanorp f,^r nc » ai:^^ --jj . « vr—
Fmk may not go on having babies for ever, and Horace Merton
will not be serit down more than once again. And some day
Raysh will be ringing the bells for your wedding "
LIGHT AND SHADE.
99
"What a trivial notion I Can't you originate something a little
less common-place ? "
"Well ! for mine then. I am sure that is a new idea. Then
you would get rid of me."
" I don't know," replied Sibyl, " I don't think you would go
very far."
" Dear Sibbie, you are more sibylline than usual. I can't see
the point of the innuendo, unless you mean me to elope with
Raysh," said Alice, pursuing her way tranquilly with the basket in
her hand.
" I do think you are stone-blind," continued Sibyl, in a graver
tone. " My dear ion't you know what everybody else knows or
has known for th ist few weeks, that that poor fellow's happiness
hangs upon your breath ? "
Alice grew hot, and made a movement of impatience ; then she
asked Sibyl to speak plainly and leave the subject.
" He is really such a good fellow, and it would make us all so
happy to have you near, and you would make him so happy.
And his mother wishes it, she even asked me to try to bring
it on."
"Oh!" returned Alice, with a sigh of relief, "in strict cynfi-
dence, I suppose. Miss Sib. A pretty conspirator she chose
when she lighted upon you. You sweet goose, if you must
needs amuse yourself with match-making, you could not hit
upon a worse plan than to show your hand."
" But Alice, do be serious "
" Dear child, I am serious, and I wish you to understand once
for all that it is a mistake, and to help me spare him the pain of
a direct refusal. I saw it all months ago, and have done my best
to put a stop to it. I even thought of going away for a time."
"It is in your power to make him so happy," said Sibyl
pathetically. " You might grow to care for him in time, you know."
"Never," she answered. " I could never — in any case — have
cared for a man of that uncontrolled disposition — even sup-
posing "
" Supposing what ? " Sibyl asked with a keen look.
" Oh ! nothing. I mean, even if I loved him, I could never be
happy with such a man. I am like my mother. I saw her
misery, Sibyl, child as I was. There was that in my poor father
which made her feel him her inferior — it is not for me to speak
of his faults. If I once found what I could not respect in a man,
I could not live with him. I have a sort of pride " '
" But, Alice," interrupted Sibyl quickly, " if you cannot respect
Paul Annesley, whom then can you respect ? "
7-a
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
" Oh, I beg his pardon," replied Alice, her breath taken away
by this sudden indignation ; " I spoke widely. Of course I respect
our old and true friend Paul. But a husband— that is different-
it is something stronger and deeper than respect, it is reverence
that a husband compels."
" And what can you not reverence in Dr. Annesley? " asked
Sibyl with such remorseless persistence, that Alice began to
wonder if Paul Annesley could be the name of him who had
troubled her friend's peace of mind.
" He is at the mercy of his own impulses," she said.
" And they are always good," pursued Sibyl vindictively.
" You say a bold thing, when you say that of any human being,
Sibyl. No, I can only give my deepest reverence to the man who
is master of himself. '' Give me the man that is not passion's
slave.' I can value this one as a friend, but— no nearer. No one
knows what is in Paul Annesley ; any turn of fate may bring him
into a totally opposite direction ; he might do anything. I tell
you in the very strictest confidence what I would tell no other
human being, I tremble for him now ; he will never be the same
again, now that his circumstances are so changed, and what he
wiil be, Heaven alone knows. As you say, he has good impulses,
but what are they without a guiding principle and a compelhng
will ? "
"And you alone can give his life a right direction," urged
Sibyl. " Oh, Alice I think what it is to hold this man's fate in
your hands ! "
"And what if I hold another " She stopped short and
coloured. " Dear Sibyl, you are indeed a staunch friend," she
added in a gentler voice. " If he could win you now—a heart is
80 easily caught at the rebound."
" There will be no rebound," replied Sibyl, in so even a voice
that Alice was sure of the Platonic nature of her regard for Paul.
*• The kind of malady you inspire, you dear creature, is incurable.
People soon get over the slight shocks I administer, but you are
fatal." '
Alice smiled tenderly upon Sibyl, but made no rejoinder, and
they walked on noiselessly over the rich turf, deep in thought.
Sibyl's regard for Alice had, as the other well knew, something of
worship; her ardent nature invested her friendships with a
romantic enthusiasm that sometimes made her calmer friend
smile and often called forth a gentle rebuke from her. Perhaps
Alice's affection for the younger and more impetuous girl was as
strong as Sibyl's, though it expressed itself less passionately, and
had a strong dash of maternal compassioa Nothing had ever
reverence
LIGHT AND SHADE. ,oi
come between them since they had first met, two shy stranger
girls of thirteen in the porch of Arden Manor, and instantly lost
their shyness m the fellow-feeling it engendered between them.
The first bar was to come that day. It happened in Daniel
Pinks solitary thatched cottage, which was built in a nest-like
hollow under the down. The f/i'ls entered the low porch, like
the welcome guests they were, ai ; at in the dim smoke-blackened
room, handling and discussing the ninth little Pink by turns,
while the shepherd looked on with a pleased face, with the
deposed baby in his arms and two chubby children a little older
chngmg to his knees.
"Look at the heft of 'n," said the proud father, "entirely
drags ye down, Miss Sibyl, 'e do." v
"I wouldn't carry him a mile for a fortune," Sibyl replied
kissing the little red fist, " not for all the lands of Gledesworth
Shepherd." '
" I 'lows you wouldn't. Miss. Dr. Annesley have took a heavy
weight on the shoulders of 'n. A many have been bowed down
by riches, a many, as I've a yerd zay."
"And many have been crushed by poverty," Alice said.
" Zure enough. 'Taint fur we to zay what's good for us, Miss
Alice. A personable man, but a doesn't come up to the Caoiain
the doctor doesn't."
" The Captain ? " asked Alice, wondering.
" Oh ! he is only a lieutenant. You mean Lieutenant Annes-
ley,^ don't you. Master Pink?" said the ready Sibyl.
" When I zeen he and you walking together. Miss Lingard,"
continued the shepherd gravely, " I zes to mezelf, I zes, 'Marriages
is made m Heaven,' I zes. And Mam Gale, she zays "
"Oh ! Master Pink, you won't forget about the seedlings, will
you ? " cried Alice, starting up. " It is getting so late. We have
stayed too long."
And with hasty farewells Alice left the cottage, forgetting the
basket and leaving Sibyl to follow more leisurely. She walked so
fast that she had reached the gate at the end of the field through
which the cottage was approached before Sibyl had left the garden,
and waited for her there, with flushed cheeks. Sibyl's ready
tongue was unaccountably tied when she joined her ; a strange
pain was gnawing at her heart, and Alice's attempts at common-
place chat did not succeed.
"I can't help thinking that this same Mr. Edward Annesley
might just as well write to us, Alice," she said at last. " That
little note t6 mother the day after he left was the briefest
formality,"
: i
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
"Perhaps," replied Alice, who had now regained her self-pos-
session. '* he thinks the same of us. You can scold him when he
comf's."
I' But will he come ? " asked Sibyl, with such eagerness that
Alice stopped on her way and looked with sudden misgiving into
Sibyl's dark ardent eyes and read all.
" Sibyl," she said, " oh ! Sibyl I " and she tried to draw her
nearer ; but Sibyl pushed her back with a look Alice had never
seen before, and walked on in silence.
In the first bitter flood of jealous agony that surged into her
heart Sibyl felt capable of hating her friend ; then the mortifying
memory of her self-deception made her so hot with self-contempt
that ever other feeling was swallowed up in it, and she longed for
the earth to open and hide her away for ever. It seemed as if she
had better never have been born than make so dreadful a blunder
at the very threshold of life ; she thought she could never endure
to live any more. Then things came back to her memory, little
insignificant details which had passed unobserved at the time, but
which now showed the general meaning of the whole story, just as
the festal lights reveal the general outlines of a building, and she
saw clearly how things stood between Edward and Alice. How
could it have been otherwise ? She felt the charm of Alice too
deeply herself to wonder that she should have been preferred.
It was inevitable that those two should choose each other. But
for her everything had come to a full stop. " Entbehren soUst du,"
was the message the woods and fields and sea had for her that
day ; it was written in the deep cloud-piled sky, and in the solemn
shadows about the hills; the rooks, sailing home in stately chant-
ing procession, reminded her of it, and the blackbirds, fluting
mournfully down in the copses, repeated it ; even the lark, flutter-
ing upwards with the beginning of a song, and dropping back into
silence, had the same meaning in his music.
She paused and allowed Alice to come up with her, and seeing
that she had been crying, kissed her with a sort of passion.
** Do you remember the day you first came to Arden, Alice ? "
she said, " when I found you crying in your room after we were
sent to bed ? "
" And you comforted me, and we agreed always to be friends."
" And now my crossness has made you cry, you poor dear 1
And you are dearer to me than anybody in the whole universe."
"DiDyii
" And there is Gervase out by the ricks wondering why we are
80 late. Let us make haste home."
Then Gervase caught sight of them and came to meet themi
LIGHT AND SHADE.
103
scolding them both with fraternal impartiality for being so late.
He had lately taken to living in rooms at Medington to save time
in gomg and coming from business, and now expected to be
treated as a guest in his frequent visits to Arden.
He looked at Sibyl and saw that something was wrong ; and
Alice looked at the brother and siscer with a sort of remorse In
spite of Gervase's well-acted brotherliness, she was not sure that
she had not driven him from his home, and now she had done
something worse to his sister; all this was a poor requital to the
family in which she had been received, a lonely child. The
question now arose, how should she set these wrongs right ? How
could she stand alone against the iron strength of Fate ?
This helplessness completely crushed her spirits ; she slipped
away to the solitude of l^r own room under the pretext of fatigue,
and sat musing long at the open lattice.
Gervase in the meantime had taken his violin, and, leaning
against the great apple-tree, whence the blossom was now almost
gone, drew his bow across the strings so that they made an almost
human cry, a sound that never failed to bring Sibyl to his side, and
she came out and sat in the seat beneath him, while he played on
in silence strains so mournful and so tender that they drew the
over-charge of feeling from her heart and the refreshing tears to
her eyes, till the " Entbehren sollst du, sollst entbehren," which
the lark and the breezes sang to her in the afternoon, seemed the
sweetest refrain in the world.
While he played, a series of pictures rose before Gervase's
mmd, pictures in which he saw himself baffling by continual thrusts
the fate which to Alice seemed so invincible, until he had bound
Edward to his sister, and Alice to himself.
Alice heard the music from her window, and it drew tears from
her eyes.
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CHAPTER IL
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY,
It is beautiful to be on the line of rail which runs along the Jura ;
the mountain rises sheer on one side and the steep falls suddenly
away on the other, while the traveller is borne with birdlike swift-
ness and directness along the hillside, secure, without effort,
straight to an apparent block which hinders further progress. But
a closer view shows a black spot in the rocky mass, tiny as the
nest of some sea-bird on a cliff ; it grows as the distance lessens,
till it becomes a dark arch, and into that darts the train with
angry thunder and impatient panting, and there is blackness
all round, and thick air, and a vague distress of body and mind
for awhile. Then a pale light gleams and a sweet rush of air
follows, and out like a bird darts the long train, as if suspended
in mid-air by the mountain-side, till another tiny bird-hole appears
and growing, swallows up the darting length of the train, which i&
soon cast forth once more on the open face of the steep cliff.
All this is pleasant in itself, but still more pleasant to one who,
like Edward Annesley, is impatient of the journey's length and
anxious to reach its end.
He bestowed various inward maledictions upon Continental
railways as he journeyed on, and wondered how such a blessing as
steam came to be bestowed upon a people so inappreciative of the
speed to be got out of it. But the swiftest English express would
have been slow in comparison with the winged desires which bore
his heart onwards to the goal of Alice Lingard's presence. The
three months' embargo was now taken off and Paul was not yet
engaged to Alice ; Edward was therefore free to prosecute his own
suit.
The frontier was cleared, the interminable delay of the customs
officers at an end, and the long sweep of the waters of NeufchStel
shone greyly along the low shores in the dim, misty morning.
And is this the glory of Alpine lakeland? this long, grey river
between the low, grey shores? Where are the mountains?
where the pearly gleam of the far-off snow-peaks, shaming the less
ethereal lustre of the white cloud-masses? where the blue
I' ii>>
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR A WA V,
loS
shadows in the mountain-flanks, the distant hint of glacier and
crevasse, the purple folds of the wooded spurs lower down ?
There is nothing but a pall of grey sky brooding heavily over a sheet
of cold, grey water, ruffled slightly by the September breeze ; the
sedges and reeds about the banks rustle mournfully ; a bird's wild
and desolate cry is heard ; no boats glide over the lonely lake ;
the train creeps on, and Edward feels the inward chill of disappoint-
ment that reality too often brings to long brooded hopes.
The train stopped to the accompaniment of cries of *' Granson ; "
he got out and strolled through the narrow street to a broad-
eaved house with a low portal opening on the pavement, and was
soon standing in its cool, flagged hall, clasped in the arms of a gold-
haired girl, and the centre of admiring and sympathetic glances
from other fair-haired girls who were flitting up and down the
uncarpeted staircase and sighing for the day when fathers and
brothers should come to fetch them away to their foreign homes.
"I say, Nell," he remonstrated, after a resigned kiss, "if this
kind of thing could only be done with some attempt at privacy."
"I daresay," sobbed Eleanor, "when I have not spoken
English for months or seen anybody from home for a year. Wait
till you get Heimweh, yoa hard-hearted thing ! "
"Well ! pack up your traps and let us be off to Neufchitel by
the next train," he said, following his sister into the august
presence of the school-mistress, from whom he had much difficulty
in wresting the required permission. Then, after being introduced
to five of Miss Eleanor's very best friends, and dining in a very
feminine and attenuated manner with the whole sisterhood, he
bore her off at last in triumph by the afternoon train.
And then a miracle happened. By this time the streets were
flooded with the warm gold of autumn sunshine, and the lake
waters sparkled with sapphire reflections, and lo ! the heavy pall
of grey had been swept away by unseen hands, and behind it,
spreading away into infinite dim distances, gleaming beneath clear
sky, lay range upon range of white, blue-shadowed Alps, their
pure summits springing high, one above the other, into the very
depths of tl e pale blue ether overhead. There they lay, terrible
in thek snowy grandeur, dreamlike in their marvellous beauty,
tinted with the delicate transparency of some airy unsubstantial
pageant, and yet so real and so imp essive in their massive reality.
Such a repose they had in their naked sublimity, lying reclined
like strong gods at rest, girdling about the lake and lowlands and
holding the earth still in their mighty grasp.
"So Neufchatel is tame?" Eleanor asked, watching her
brother's face of rapt admiration with pleased delight.
m.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
" There is enchantment in it I Are there witches hereabouts,
Nell ? " he replied.
" Only Sibyl Rickman, who passes for something of the kind.
So nothing came of your flirtation, Ned ? "
" Which one ? " he replied tranquilly. " One a week is the
average you girls impute to me."
" Oh ! we heard all about it. Harriet wrote me some long
letters from Aunt Eleanor's this summer. Auntie told her all
about Sibyl "
" I hope Miss Rickman boxed the imp's ears well."
" The Rickmans were pleased, Auntie said, especially Gervase."
"Stuff! I say, Nell, tell me what those peaks are called ? "
" Of course you have heard about Paul and Alice Lingard ? "
" Heard what ? " he asked abruptly, facing about with a defiant
gaze.
" It's not given out yet, I believe," replied Eleanor tranquilly,
not unwilling to tantalize her brother now that she had succeeded
in interesting him, " but of course, as Harriet says (for fifteen, I
must say, Harrie is very observant), nobody with half an eye can
doubt what is going to happen. Paul was like her shadow the
whole time, and when a girl accepts presents i om a man "
" Do you mean to say," Edward asked with slow and distinct
utterance, " that Paul is engaged to Miss Lingard ? "
" Didn't I say it is not given out ? But Auntie already makes
plans for herself, and decides not to live at Gledesworth, with
Alice. Not that they don't get on well, for Alice is like a
daughter to her, Harrie says. Everybody thinks it a great lift
for Miss Alice. I never much admired her myself. I believe
she has an awful temper. You saw her, of course ? "
" Of course. I was there in the spring," he replied absently,
and turned his face away to study the splendid vision of the far-
spreading mountains before him. Stern and awful those couched
giants looked now, lying so still in their snowy beauty j the
pitiless purity of the lonely ice peaks struck chill to his very
soul. Why had he come ? Would it not be better now, after
escorting Eleanor on her way to join her aunt, just to leave
her and go back ? It was too great, an advantage for Paul to be
near Alice all those months; what else could have been ex-
pected ? Naturally he would die out of her memory, however
strong the impression made in those few blissful days at Arden
micht have been= It was hard and bitter but the onl" ♦hin"
was to face it like a man. Yes, he would go in and join the
party as before proposed, and see Alice once more — there was no
fear that he should trouble her peace, appearing thus at the
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.
107
eleventh hour. All the circumstances, which at the time had
seemed so strong in confirming the hope that she returned his
feelings— airy inessential things, as they were, tones, glances, the
turn of a head, the quiver of a lip, the faltering of an even step —
faded into nothingness now; probably she had never even
guessed at his own devotion ; so much the better.
"So th^t is the Jungfrau," he said at last, in response to
Eleanor's long catalogue of summits and ranges. " No ? Oh 1
you mean that ? Yes. Very fine. Yes." There were tears in
his eyes when his sister looked at him, and his face was quite
pale ; which signs she set down to emotion at the first glimpse of
Alpine splendour.
"When was Harrie at Medington ? "' he asked suddenly.
"Just now. She left in time for Auntie to start. She was
awfully sorry to go ; she wanted to see things come to a crisis.
I am to watch progress and describe the denoiitnent"
"Are you? Well! don't begin match-making yet awhile,
for pity's sake. When were jjostage-stamps invented? What
was Nero's leading virtue? Upon what principle were Greek
armies raised ? Who first used hair-pins, and why ? I hope you
know something besides how to chatter French, Miss, since your
education is finished."
It was growing dusk when they reached NeufchStel. The
lights were beginning to twinkle out in the streets and to double
themselves in the clear and waveless lake, and, as they gradually
drew nearer to the hotel whither they were bound, the memories
of the few days Edward had passed with Alice became more
imperative ; he especially felt the power of those moments during
which they had strolled alone together to the little inn upon the
downs, and it seemed to him that what had then passed between
them, unspoken though it was, could never be erased from either
life, whatever spell Paul's passionate wooing might since then
have cast upon her. The first glance in her face, when they
met, would tell him all, he thought, and his pulse quickened,
and a subtle warmth quivered all through him, as he saw to the
piling of his sister's luggage on the omnibus, while the moments
fled which were to bring him face to face with Alice.
"Let us walk on, Nellie," he said at last, -rebelling against the
slowness with which the loading of the omnibus went on, and he
led her along the streets at a pace which took her breath away,
downhill though the path was, and did not stop till they found
themselves in the broad hall of the hotel, enquiring for Mrs.
Annesley's apartments.
When they w> up there were ^wo ladies in the shadowy
iji
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
I
unlighted room ; one was Mrs. Annesley, who rose with her
accustomed stateliness and folded Eleanor in her arms with
a welcoming kiss, and then received Edward more coldly, and
formally thanked him for escorting his sister from school,
intimating that Paul could have done it equally well, f»nd politely
conveying to him the impression, which was but too correct, that
he had much better have remained in England.
" But, my dear aunt," he replied, revolting against this cool
reception, *' I had intended from the very first to be one of the
Swiss party, if you remember. We arranged it all in the spring,
and I only delayed joining you because my leave could not
conveniently begin before."
" We have heard so little of you since the spring, Edward,"
she replied icily, " that it was not unnatural to suppose you had
thought better of your intention."
These words he felt were a prophecy of what Alice must have
been saying in her heart, if indeed she had ever given him a
thought, and he turned to the other lady, from addressing whom
a strong shyness had held him, and who, though she had risen,
yet remained in the deep shadow of a recess by the window ;
looking her for the first time full in the face, he met the dark
sweet gaze of Sibyl, whereupon his own eyes fell and his shyness
with it, and he shook hands with her with a cordial greeting
and unembarrassed smile.
" Do say you are glad to see me, Miss Rickman," he said ;
" my aunt has so cruelly crushed me that I require some comfort
from somebody."
*' I am glad to see you, though surprised, pleasantly surprised,"
she replied with loyal simplicity, and as she spoke Edward sud-
denly and unaccountably began to think of Viola, when she held
that memorable conversation with the Duke, " I am all the
daughters of my father's house, and yet I know not "
What connection could there be between Viola and Sibyl ? yet
ever after hv^ could not think of Viola unless associated with Sibyl.
" And I know somebody else will be pleasantly surprised to
see you," she added, with a gentle smile, and then his heart
began to beat again, and he listened for the beloved name.
" Perhaps you do not know," she added guilelessly, " what a
liking Gervase has for you."
" Gervase ! oh, Gervase ! " he echoed, disenchanted j " So youi
brother is here ? That is all right. He was afraid, I remember,
he would not be able to leave his business."
" Gervase always contrives to get his way somehow, business or
no business," she replied. " But here he is to speak for himself."
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.
109
Gervase came in and received him with the greatest cordiality,
though he too expressed surprise at his appearance. "Your
telegram to Paul gave us all a pleasing shock," he said. "Paul
turned quite pale with pleasure," he added, laughing, and uncon-
sumed by the fiery glance which Mrs. Annesley's blue eyes darted
at him.
"And where is Paul?" asked Edward, whose eyes kept
turning expectantly to the door, and whom some unaccountable
feeling held from enquiring for the one object of his solicitude.
"Ah I where is Annesley, by the way?" echoed Gervase,
turning to the ladies with an indifferent air.
" I think," replied Mrs. Annesley, " that they went on the lake
together, dear children ! It is getting late for them."
" Who are they f " Edward asked, with unaccustomed rough-
ness.
" Do not ask too many questions, you tiresome fellow, never
call attention to these things. I must leave you now," she replied.
" Come, Nellie, child, you will scarcely be ready in time for din-
ner ;" and Mrs. Annesley swept from the room like some majestic
frigate of old days, with her niece in her train as a little gun-
boat ; while Sibyl followed at some distance, with a look towards
Edward which he was too angry to perceive, but which meant, " I
should like to tell you all about it and relieve you from causeless
fears."
"Look here, Rickman," cried Edward, turning round and
facing him with a glance so flaming that Gervase was obliged to
meet it. "Tell me the tl-uth, will you? Is Paul engaged to
Miss Lingard or not ? "
" No — " was the word surprised from him by this unexpected
assault ? "Ah I that is— I mean You heard what your
aunt said, 'These things are better not talked about.' To call
attention to them often spoils them. Things, you see, are just
now in a most delicate stage. There is no doubt whatever
about the issue of it ; but the engagement is not yet announced,
that's all. You've dropped upon us at an awkward moment,
you see, and your aunt is not overcome with rapture at the sight
of you — an outsider makes a certain disturbance— iprecipitates
matters. I fancy they would like to prolong the present
undecided state — to proclaim the engagement would draw atten-
tion to themselves, which, of course, is a frightful bore."
" Then the sooner the engagement is proclaimed the better,"
cried Edward, grimly. " My aunt should be more careful of a
young lady committed to her charge. I should never permit
anything of the kind in the case of my sisters."
h
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THE REPROACH Ob ANNESLEY,
*' Nor should I, Annesley, to be quite frank,'' returned Rick-
nian, becoming suddenly confidential. " I have but one sister, but
I sliouUl be extremely sorry for the man who ventured to pay
nuirkcd attentions to her without coming to the point -very
soiry for him," he added, with a grim pleasantry that ^\a:; lo.^t
upon his hearer. '• But, \o\x sec. Miss Lingard is not you; sistt r
or mine either, and Mrs. Annesley is not under n' r charge,
and Switzerland ranks next to our own beloved •. r' befogged
island as a free country. Have you found your room yet ?
I hear it is next to mine, and has a splendid outlook over the
lake."
Kdward followed him, vexed at his momentary loss of self-
control, and after taking possession of his apartment and finding
there were some moments to be fiUcu yet before the hour of
table d'/ii)ie, strolled out by the waterside with Rickman.
The glorious autumn sunset had silently consumed itself, the
rich colours were all calmed down into a tender primrose glow
in the west, and the pensive twilight was dreaming with ever-
deepening intensity upon the bosom of the clear dark waters.
Lights from the town looked, half-ashamed of their own insig-
nificance, into the pure lake-depths, one or two pale stars gazed
steadfastly into the deep heart of the waters, boats glided silent
and ghost-like over the still surface, voices came softened through
the quieting evening, the noises of the town blended murmur-
ingly, the majestic peace of the mountains brooded over all.
The tumult in Edward's warm young heart quieted beneath
these sweet calm influences, some feeling of the nothingness of
human emotion in the presence of the Infinite came upon him,
and he felt that he could meet Alice and part with her with
becoming calm, even cheerful n, ' ,;, md clasp Paul's hand with
brotherly virmth in congratuhU'i^ him. **De r old Paul!
Heaven bless him!" he said ■ in !> .iself, as ne watched a
boat containing two figures glide noiselessly towards the tiny quay
in the hotel grounds.
An attendant caught the painter and moored the dim bark
to the landing j the oarsman leapt to land, and turning, handed
a second figure, a woman's, out of the boat. Then the two walked
arm-in-arm with slow lingering steps towards the terrace-wall,
over which Edward and Gervase were leaning, and passed along
b. '^r.t.h them. There is a certain manner of walking, a kind of
pensive pausing upon every step as if to linger out the pleasure
of it, with a certain inclination of the taller head to that beneath
it, accompanied by a low and liquid intonation of the voice, which
Edward had always been pleased to consider as proper to lovers,
OVER THl HILLS AND FAR AWAY,
III
and lovers only, and such, he assured himself, these two people
undoubtedly were.
The lingering step bore them just before and lencath the wall
on which he leant, and a shaft of hot and ['icrcing pain shot
through his breast, as in the nearest face he recognized Taul's,
transfigured by feeling, and knew that the figure at his side must
be that of Alice. There was no need for Rickman to draw him
aside with an observation to the effect that they had better not
disturb the titeiitete. He shrank at once into the shadow and
let them pass well out of sight, and then returned silently to the
lighted hotel.
" Well ! I don't think any one can spoil sport after that,
Annesley," Rickman said lightly, with a quick gaze in Edward's
face, which was composed but rather grim. " Now is Sibyl's
time, if she only knew it," he thought j " his i cart is soft with
pain and ready for fresh impressions." And, although people
were already going in to dinner, he found tii e to whisper to
Sibyl to take pity on the new arrival and make I im as welcome
as possible, because the rest of the party were ii dined to leave
him out in the cold, and by his arrangement Edward's chair was
placed next Sibyl's.
The soup was removed by the time Paul entered He did not
shake hands with Edward, his seat being on the 0| posite side of
the table, but merely nodded a welcome to him, hoped he had
not found it too hot in the train, and addressed s >me cousinly
and affectionate words to Eleanor, who stood a liti e in awe of
her exalted kinsman. Mrs. Annesley was in her n^. )st seraphic
mood and said pleasant things to everybody. Sibyl t led to obey
her brother's behest with regard to Edward, who was |uite ready
to respond to her gentle advances. The little part was most
pleasant and friendly. But every time the door op aed, there
was a simultaneous, though almost imperceptible mc v-ement of
Edward's head, and a subsequent look of disappointm jnt on his
face; the food he swallowed might have been ink, for a 1 he knew
or cared ; the course was removed, and still Alice did not appear,
and no one seemed disturbed about it.
But where is Miss Lingard ? " he asked at last.
" Dear Alice is a little upset. She was out rather oo long,
I think," Mrs. Annesley replied, with an air of myste. y ; " she
will be quite restored to-morrow, no doubt."
TiiCn oiuy: expluinsu to nim that Alice nau over-t.!re\i nerseit
in a mountuiii excursion which she had recently made with some
friends who were staying at a village a few miles away, along
the lake shore. Further, that Mrs. Annesley had intended to
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iia
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
drive to meet her, but had been prevented, and that Paul had
gone instead, but in a boat ; that he had lost an oar and thus
been delayed. The end of the history was, Alice was so com-
pletely knocked up that, but for Paul's arm, she could not have
walked from the boat to the hotel.
" I didn't go up the mountains myself for the sunrise," she
added, " because I was not feeling equal to such a tiring walk ;
but Alice is always perfectly well, and people never expect her
to be over-tired. It was a good thing Mr. Annesley was with
her, because he knew exactly how to treat her when she fainted."
"Did he, indeed?" replied Edward. And over a succession
of pipes he pondered much that night upon the sunrise excursion.
It
CHAPTER III.
ON THE BALCONY.
It was not till the next afternoon, when they were at coffee, sitting
under the plane-irees by the water, that Edward met Alice ; and
by that time he had so schooled himself into accepting Paul's
superior claim upon her that he was able to command a perfectly
tranquil and friendly manner towards her.
Paul and Gervase had been closeted together all the morning,
on affairs which seemed to have urgency. Mrs. Annesley had
at times been admitted to the conference, and had otherwise
pursued the extensive and interesting correspondence for which
she was celebrated. Edward and Sibyl had taken the eager
school-girl, who was half-intoxicated by her recent final deliver-
ance from thraldom, to see such lions as Neufchatel afforded.
But all these occupations had now come to an end, and the
whole party were assembled beneath the sun-steeped plane- tops,
with the clear, massive jewel of the deep blue lake before thera,
when Alice issued from the hotel and joined them.
It was a change upon Paul's face at her coming, that arrested
Edward's attention, and caused him to look round and catch
sight of the figure in white moving slowly towards them. She
was pale, but not otherwise altered from when he last saw her,
save that the look which had remained before him ever since he
earted with her in the street at Medington was gone, and gone,
as he feared, for ever.
" I was so sorry to be unable to see you, last night," she said
with a tranquil smile, and a slight pained quiver of the lip, which
he did not understand ; and she took the hand he offered as
coldly as he gave it, while they both thought of the warm pressure
of a few months since.
He replied by some expression of regret for her illness, and
handinDf her his own chair "laced another for himself near it- un-
conscious of the strong interest with which the meeting was being
watched. Paul had closed his mouth fiercely and firmly, while
the breath came strong and quick through his nostrils and his
hands clenched themselves. Gervase gave one of his side-long
8
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A
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1
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1
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I 1! 1
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114
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
glances and placing one hand in his pocket, broke a pencil into
fragments with his fingers. Mrs. Annesley' looked on the pai?
with head erect and a peculiar smile that her son knew, but in
this instance did not notice. Sibyl regarded them with a tender
yearning gaze. It is wonderful to think of the storm and tumult
of varying passions that was stirred in these different hearts by
the simple incident of two people meeting and exchanging com-
monplace observations in renewal of an acquaintance of a few
days forrned a few months since. Eleanor alone considered the
incident too trivial for observation, and continued chatting to her
Zl:::t^t^'''''' """"^ ""'^^' and the delicio'us ices
When the pair sat down, and Alice addressed some remark to
Mrs. Annesley in deprecation of the latter's displeasure at her
vZ^h^l "T"^' the pressure on all those hearts relaxed;
Paul s stormy face calmed, Gervase regretted the destruction o
h s pencil, Mrs. Annesley wore her most engaging smile, but
Sibyl's sweet face had a disappointed look.
"I felt so perfectly rested, I was obliged to get up. Mrs.
Annesley, m spite of the doctor's orders," Alice said.
_ You will repent, Alice, and Annesley will enjoy a savage
triumph over your certain relapse, which you deserve for taking
no^notice of me," said Gervase, handing her some coffee. ^
1 here are two Mr. Annesleys now, and we have not even the
Sfnn' 'f'/i-K'^? •'°' '° ?"^P "'' ^'"^^ P^"l has become so
grand, said Sibyl innocently.
nf rL?-^'^!^- I had, «]y promotion to help you to the distinction
of Captain, Miss Sibyl," replied Edward; "as it is, Paul is the
Annesley— the head of the clan." ' *
che'etfuny^ ^^"^ ^'^'' ^^^ "^"^ ^^ *^' Annesley," Eleanor added
«;nlK-^"'»,'°'7^''^"?.,°''"S^ y°" j"'t yet, Nellie," said PauL
pinching her cheek, while his mother frowned. Edward laughed
L"tl'^ I.- 1"!^"'"^ "^"'^^ ^' '°°" have a live cousin as a landed
estate, which Gervase considered as a polite inversion of fact.
And why did you knock yourself up in this cruel manner.
Miss Lingard ? " Edward asked. manner,
Alice replied that it was very usual for people to overtire them-
selves on mountain excursions,-a small price to pay for the
delight of seeing the sun rise upon the Alps ; that she had been
un.uc y in getting no rest m the little hut in which she had
passed he night, and still more so in being unable to get proper
food. And to crown all," she added, - 1 had to come home in
an uncomfortable boat instead of a luxurious carriage."
ON THE B. iLCONY.
IIS
**And Paul lost an oar, too ? " asked Edward.
*' Yes, but that was my fault," she replied, colouring. " I must
needs go and faint instead of steering, and Mr. Annesley's hands
were over-full."
Paul coloured even more than Alice at the mention of this
incident, and made no observation. Edward was indignant
with him for having taken the weary girl alone in a boat, an
indignation that Paul echoed inwardly, though he half justified
himself by the consideration that it was his last chance and a
desperate one.
" I should have thought a doctor ought to have known better,"
Edward said with some heat.
Alice regretted now that she had not given up the Swiss tour,
as she had wished to do when Paul's intentions were made
manifest to her just before they started. But he had begged
her with such persistence, and had so pledged himself to refrain
from re-opening a question she thought finally settled, and there
were so many other reasons, chiefly concerning Sibyl, whose
wounded heart she had hoped to heal both by the change and
enjoyment thus afforded and by the clear understanding she
would gain of Edward's views, that she had yielded.
And now Edward was there, but he had forgotten all that
occurred at Arden, while Sibyl— sh:: feared that Sibyl remem-
bered too much. Else she had misread the lustre in Sibyl's eyes
and the peculiar exaltation in her face when she bent over her
for a good-night kiss the evening before.
For some time after Edward Annesley's visit to Arden in
April, the postman's well-known step had brought an unacknow-
ledged tremor to the hearts of both girls, whenever he passed
before the window to the kitchen-door, where there was always a
welcoming word and a cup of drink for him. As day after day
went by, and no new and unknown handwriting appeared on the
letters delivered, an increasing sense of disappointment, which
she neither owned nor analysed, took the lustre out of the
sunshine and the beauty from the waxing summer for Alice,
while Sibyl grew impatient and half-indignant, she scarcely knew
why. Once, a few days after his departure, Mrs. Rickman
received a letter from Edward, which she read out for the public
benefit, a formal little epistle thanking her for his brief and
pleasant visit, and containing conventional greetings to the
family. Gradually the postman's step evoked a slighter tremor
in the girls' hearts, and the keenness of the vague daily dis-
content wore off; the impending tour was discussed without
reference to Edward, and Alice felt that whatever power she
)
.{•
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I
i' ;
ii6
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
might have had over his thoughts was now gone. All those
signs and tokens of deeper meaning in his words and looks
were doubtless misconstructions of her own. He had been
charmed only for a moment, and superficially; she had never
touched his heart, and he had now forgotten the passing fancy.
Or he might have been charmed to the extent of perceiving
danger, and for that very reason have decided, like the sensible
man he seemed to be, not to follow up an acquaintance that
might lead him into undesirable paths. While she reasoned
thus, Alice's cheek lost a little of its youthful bloom and her
mariner acquired a certain listlessness ; she blamed herself for
having been so ready to misconstrue the passing interest of a
stranger, and decided that it was highly unbecoming to allow
him any place in her thoughts, hoping that Sibyl had the strength
to make the same decision.
In the meantime Paul's attentions, though delicate and unob-
trusive, had been unremitting ; he had told his mother of his
heart's desire and enlisted her on his side ; thus Mrs. Annesley's
powerful influence had been brought to bear upon Alice, who
always had a certain tenderness for the stately, solitary woman.
With her external coldness and inward passion, whose very
to the younger woman's generous and
weaknesses appealed
calmer nature.
The intelligence that Edward was to join them at Neufchatel,
as his sister's escort, did not reach Alice, who was absent at the
time It came, till the day of her return with Paul from the
mountain excursion, an occasion which he had made for himse.i
and utilized for a formal proposal of marriage. It was then that
the oar had been lost, and that, in a final passionate appeal for
mercy, he had betrayed his consuming jealousy of Edward, and
spoken of the latter's expected arrival. Their solitary situation
m the boat together, the vehemence of the fiery-hearted man and
the passion with which he urged his suit, frightened the tired girl,
and had, as Paul well knew, as much to do with the fainting fit
as the mountain climbing; and now, as Alice sat under the
plane-trees with the cousins, knowing what was in Paul's heart,
and seeing Edward serenely polite and indifferent, she began to
ponder some excuse for leaving the party.
There had been little communication between the cousins
since their altercation in the garden at Medington; Edward
had written to congratulate Paul upon his altered circumstances
when he inherited the Gledesworth estates, and Paul had replied
with cold formality, informing him that in the event of his dying
unmarried, the landed property (which was not entailed) was to
ON THE BALCONY.
"7
pass to him, as it would in case he left no will. Edward tJianked
him for his kindly intention, expressing the hope that circum-
stances would render it of no effect, and nothing more passed
between them.
A letter Edward wrote to Mrs. Annesley was unanswered, a
circumstance that made little impression upon him. Paul had
told his mother of what occurred between himself and Edward in
the garden that spring afternoon, and at the same time had
spoken of his wishes concerning Alice, and Mrs. Annesley,
though obliged to acknowledge that Edward had borne him-
self honourably in a trying position, had taken sides against him
as Paul's rival and enemy, and her former liking for her nephew
had turned to a dislike commensurate with the intensity of her
nature.
But Edward, though he could not help seeing that his arrival
was unwelcome to his aunt, had no suspicion of all this ; he
expected to be petted as usual, not dreaming that Paul would
have spoken of the false position in which they found themselves,
or of the compact they had made respecting it. Neither did he
think that his presence was now unwelcome to Paul, since the
latter had, as he thought, won his point. He was thus uncon-
scious of being a cause of offence to any one and perfectly tranquil
at heart, having subdued the rebellious feelings of disappointed
love, and did his best that afternoon to be pleasant and sociable,
in spite of Paul's grimness and his aunt's chilling majesty.
Gervase, too, was in a genial mood, and Sibyl was unusually
animated, and took up her former bantering tone towards
Edward, who liked it.
In the ev ;ning the young people went for a starlight row on
the lake, intending to linger about for the rising of the moon ;
Paul excused himself on the plea of letter-writing, and Alice on
the ground of her recent fatigue. They were stepping into the
boat, when Edward made a false step in the dark, and he fell full
length into the water between the boat and the quay, and had to
go back to change his clothes, leaving the other three, to Gervase's
chagrin, to go for their row alone.
Thus it happened that when he was fit to be seen again he
strolled out on the gallery, and so encountered Alice, whom
Mrs. Annesley, unsuspiciously nodding over a newspaper in her
sitting-room, supposed to have gone to bed. When they saw
each other the two young hearts began to beat with sympathetic
vehemence, and at first each was inclined to avoid the other and
beat a retreat, an inclination conquered by the better feeling of
each— some pride in Alice, which rebel) ;d against acknowledging
'f
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ii8
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
■ \ I
li'liil
her weakness, a loyal determination on Edward's part to accept
the situation and let no weak emotion conquer him. He there-
fore approached the chair she occupied, and, half-seating himself
on the gallery rail with his back against a pillar, began in an
unembarrassed strain to explain his return from the boat, and to
continue a conversation they had carried on at coffee about
various homely topics connected with Arden, the health of Raysh
Squire, the grey mare, the dairy and so forth.
" I wonder that you remember these trifles, Mr. Annesley,"
Alice said ; " though, indeed, they are the chief interests of
our lives."
" There are things one cannot forget," he replied, safe in his
conviction that there was no more hope or fear with regard to
her heart ; " certainly not such sunny memories as I have of
my little visit to Arden. Not," he added rather inconsequently,
" that I expect Arden people to remember it."
" I think Arden people's memories were not unpleasant," she
replied.
" But you had forgotten about my part in the tour," he urged,
with a slight tincture of reproach. " You were surprised to see
me."
" We thought yoti had forgotten," she answered, " or that you
had changed your mind — that it was but a passing intention —
a 'one of these fine days' affair, as Mr. Rickman says," and
Edward's heart leapt up at this admission that she had thought
and speculated so much upon it.
" You see I had not forgotten," he replied with gentle re-
proach ; " I intended it from the first, and have been building on
it all the summer.''
" Yes," she replied with a neutral accent, and a faint sigh,
which might have been fatigue. Her eyes were turned from him,
she gazed pensively across the wide lake, lying dark beneath the
stars, and upon the dim mountain masses, spectral in the uncer-
tain light, with her cheek resting wearily on her hand. Edward
looked down upon the quiet face, which was lighted up by the
lamp within the room, with kindling eyes and a swift hot stir of
uncomprehended emotion. She did not seem happy, as a newly
affianced bride should ; his heart yearned strongly over her, and
his breath came quick. He could not speak, «or could she ; the
silence deepened about them and folded them round as if in a
close embrace ; ii grew so intense, that each thought the other
must hear sounding thro !gh it the heart-beats which told the too
rapid minutes. For a moment he felt his self-control going in
the stress of that silent communio»;, felt that he must speak out^
ON THE BALCONY.
119
and lay his heart's devotion, vain as it was, at her feet j a quiver
went through hhu, he grasped the balcony rail with a fiercer
grip; he had already unclosed his lips to speak, when Alice,
under the pressure of his unseen but ardent glance, averted her
head, and so shaded it with her hand that he could no longer
see her features ; she thus overset the delicate poise of feeling ;
had she turned to meet his glance, as she dared not, it would all
have been different, the currents of many lives would have been
diverted. He mastered the impulse with an effort j loyalty to
Paul, the chivalry which shrank from giving her needless pain, a
sort of deference to his own manhood, all sprang up in answer to
the turn of her head, and helped him to subdue himself, and
break the sweet and passionate silence with calm and measured
words.
" No wonder that others forget," he said ; " three months is
a long time to keep a commonplace conversation in one's head."
" Yes ; three months is a long time," Alice replied, not
dreaming that she had changed the current of their lives by that
slight movement of the head, and not thinking on what airy and
infinitesimal trifles fates are balanced ; " and so many things have
happened this summer. Your cousin has become since then
another person, or rather personage."
" He has indeed ! Lucky fellow I This will be a fateful sum-
mer in his memory."
"Then we have lost Gervase," continued Alice tranquilly.
"And since the election, when he came out so strongly as a
political speaker, he has become more and more immersed in
politics, and is beginning quite a fresh career."
" Rickman is a clever fellow," said Edward, glad that the ten-
sion of feeling was relaxed.
" No one suspects the power that is in him ; we shall hear
more, of Gervase some day. When once he is in Parliament, he
will make a stir. He is the kind of man who makes revolutions,
or arrests them at the critical moment."
" How fortunate he is in having a friend who thinks so highly
of him ! " returned Edward, jealously angry at this prophecy.
" Not more highly than he deserves, as you will see if you live
long enough. Few people know him as well as I do. I am
his sister, and yet a stranger. I have all the intimate knowledge
of a sister, and none of the natural bias. Sibyl is too like him to
appraise him properly."
" Miss Rickman strikes me as the greater genius of the two,**
said Edward, "and she is so charming."
" Isn't she ? " replied Alice, flushing up with enthusiasm, and
;.. ■>
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'I
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
, 'i'
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f
meeting his now softened gaze fully, while she launched out
into an affectionate panegyric of her friend. " I am so glad that
you like her," she said at last, " and I am sure that the more you
know her the better you will like her."
The moon had now risen above the silent hill-peaks, it was
shedding its mystic glory over the calm bosom of the waters, and
touching Alice's radiant uplifted face, whence all trace of self-
remembrance had fled, with a more ethereal beauty. The influences
of the hour were potent, the danger signals throbbed in Edward's
breast ; once more he clutched the gallery rail fiercely, and
thought of the loyalty he owed to Paul.
" You are a friend worth having," he said at length, subduing
himself to a cold and even utterance ; "some day, perhaps — "
here the romantic influences threatened to overwhelm him again,
and he paused to recover himself — " you may enter me — if I
prove myself in any way worthy, that is — upon the list of friends
— that is — I hope you may."
Alice quivered slightly, moved by the glowing incoherence of
his words, then she summoned all her pride to resist the rising
tenderness and hope within her, and looked him directly in the
face, where she saw nothing but serene friendliness, and wondered
a little.
" Surely you may if you like," she replied with frank indiffer-
ence ; and Edward, yielding to a stronger impulse, took her hand
and pressed it too warmly, so that Alice coloured, and withdrew
it with gentle firmness , then Edward, who was just going to
make some allusion to the connection about to be formed, as he
supposed, between them, started violently, and stood upright,
gazing at something behind her. Alice turned then, and saw,
quivering with jealousy, and white with anger, the face of Paul.
Neither of the three spoke for a few minutes ; the two on the
balcony gazed as if thunderstruck at Paul's blazing eyes and
defiant features, to which the bluish-white moonlight imparted
an unearthly tint. Long afterwards they remembered that silent
gaze, and heard, in memory, the strains which now in reality
touched their ears, as the notes of Gervase's violin floated uncer-
tainly over the water, melancholy, passionate and pleading.
" I am delighted to find you well enough to be still sitting
up," said Paul at last, in a cold hard voice ; to v;hich Alice replied
that she was now quite recovered from her fatigue, and intended
to ivoif iir» fr\r fVio Kr\Qtinrr nortir'o vAtlirn TPHurorrl fV»iar» oKe»»»iTA/1
that it was extremely pleasant on the gallery, and that he was not
sorry to have missed the row on the lake.
"I suppose not," returned Paul icily; "there are few things
ON THE BALCONY.
121
more charming than to be on a balcony in the moonlight with
congenial society."
" And charming music," added Alice, with a faint tinge of
defiance ; " either Gervase is excelling himself, or the water and
the distance combine to make his playing unusually good to-
night."
" And the listener's mood doubtless," continued Paul, with a
smile that was like the flash of a steel blade.
The wild notes of the violin came nearer and nearer ; Paul's
passionate glance was riveted on Edward's face, which looked
unusually handsome in its almost stern composure under the
moon-rays, the beauty of the face maddened him ; in the hot
jealousy which consumed his heart he hated Edward with a
strong hatred that almost surpassed the passion of his love for
Alice; for one wild moment he was impelled to spring upon
him, and hurl him backwards into the depths below.
Instead of which he returned to the sitting-room, where Mrs.
Annesley, aroused from her evening doze by the three voices at
the window, was now alert and observant, and began to chide
Alice gently for sitting up so late, while her mind was severely
exercised to account for the presence of the other two.
I ■ ,
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CHAPTER IV.
UNSPOKEN THOUGH! 3.
On the day following that memorable evening, Mrs. Annesley's
party had decided to make an excursion into the Jura mountains,
where Gervase assuied Alice she would find some new and
delightful subjects for her sketch-book. He had but a brief time
to spare for holiday-making, and not being very good at real
mountain climbing, made a great point of their going into those
green solitudes while he v/a? still with them, thus leaving them
to take the snow mounts ii s after his departure. Alice, who
was now quite at her ease with him, having assured herself that
he had completely subdued his passing fancy for her, was loth
to disappoint him, else she would have found an excuse for
returning to England and thus saved herself and Paul the em-
barrassment of frequent meetings.
Mrs. Annesley, too, sought a pretext for breaking up the
party, the harmony of which had been so fatally marred by her
nephew's appearance ; she feared that a crisis had been reached
during Paul's row with Alice on the afternoon of Edward's
arrival, but had no certain knowledge to act upon ; she reflected,
however, that Edward could as easily see Alice at home as upon
this excursion, if he were minded to see her, and therefore came to
the conclusion that things had better take their course. Edward
went, partly for the pleasu'-e of being with Alice, and partly
because he was too proud to accept the part of a disappointed
suitor, and wished to cultivate friendly relations with Paul and
his affianced wife. But he wondered that the engagement was
not made public, and decided to put the question point-blank
to Paul, considering that he had a right to know how matters
stood.
Paul, however, held him at arm's length, and there was no
opportunity of coming to an explanation bcibre they started
upon that ill-fated tour. Paul had taken a fancy to have some
old family jewels reset for his mother in Switzerland in remem-
brance of this his first lengthy excursion with her, and was busy
that morning in getting them from the jeweller's. When Mrs.
UNSPOKEN THOUGHTS.
Its
Annesley'3
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od at real
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iring them
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/hen Mrs.
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You forget that
Annesley saw them, she was so dismayed at the idea of travel-
ling about with gems of such value in her possession, that she
begged him to take them back to the jeweller, and let him keep
them until their return to England.
He was a little vexed that she would not wear the brooch and
ear-rings, at least in the evenings, and fought against her "de-
claration that she would imperil neither her maid's life nor her
own by carrying such valuables about ; but at last, in the presence
of the whole party, who had been admiring the ornaments,
consented to take them back, and tossed the morocco case
carelessly into his breast-pocket.
"I believe it is all superstition," he said
Annesley jewels for the Nibelungen Hoard,
the family curse is attached to the land alone."
Then he went out into the town for the purpose, as every
one supposed, of placing the packet in safety at the jeweller's,
When he returned to the hotel he fell in with Gervase, who was
sitting under the plane-trees by the waterside, studying some
papers intently, and making rapid notes upon them.
Paul looked so earnestly upon his thoughtful face, before he
withdrew in the intention of not disturbing him, that Rickman,
who could see things with his eyPi shut, and perceived that Paul
wished to disburden his mind of something, threw his papers aside
in pure charity, saying that he had finished making his notes.
" What a fellow you are," Paul said admiringly ; " even in your
holiday-time you get through half-a-dozen men's work ! "
" I am no drone," replied Gervase, " but I like a little play
too."
*' Look here, Rickman," continued Paul, " you are v^ry keen
at detecting motives. Do you know why Edward Annesley
joined us ? "
"Yes," replied Gervase calmly, "he came to pay his ad-
dresses to Miss Lingard. He made up his mind to do so
at Arden."
" Why then did he not communicate with her all this time ? "
he continued in his impetuous way.
" Did he not communicate with her ? " replied Gervase inno-
cently ; "why should you suppose that ?"
The suggestion was as sparks to tinder in Paul's jealous heart.
Whvj indeed should he suppose that ? He le.^nt .^.t oxxc.e. to the
conclusion that Edward had written. " He was on the balcony
alone with her last night," he added, in such tragic accents as
befitted one making an accusation of mortal sin.
"Was he? I thought that accident singularly opportune,"
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
returned Gervasc, as if struck by a new idea. " On the gallery
in the moonlight— ah I One can see that your cousin means
business."
" Yet they never met till the ^mng. They know so little of
each other," said Paul, looking gloomily at the sparkling water
over which boats were flitting rapidly in the sunshine.
" These things arc soon done. licsides the very fact of their
knowing so little of each other heightens the romance of the
situation," continued Gervase, furtively studying Paul's tortured
face from under his eyelashes, and then looking with an inter-
ested air at a vessel discharging its cargo a little distance off.
" Boy and girl affairs seldom come to anything. The way to
prevent two young people taking a fancy to each other is to
throw them constantly together under the most prosaic circum-
stances, and let them get a thorough knowledge of each other's
weaknesses. No man is a hero to his valet. Do you remember
old Robincon, who used to live "
" Oh, I know that story ! " Paul interrupted impatiently. ♦' You
are a keen observer, Rickman, and when, may I ask, did you
first observe that Edward, as you say, meant business, and what
do you suppose are his chances of success ? "
"I confess that I keep my eyes open in going through the
world, Annesley. And I think your cousin has about as good a
chance of success as anybody ever had. It's rather a pity. She
ought to make a better match. Besides that, I doubt if he
cares for her — I think I know whom he would have chosen but
for golden reasons on the otl)er side. Though, to be sure, these
military men flirt right and left without the smallest regard to
Consequences."
" We thought Sibyl was the attraction "
" So she was," replied Gervase abruptly. And he moved away,
compressing his lips with annoyance, and calling Paul's attention
to a quaintly rigged vessel passing by.
Paul at once fell in with his humour and changed the subject
He saw that Edward's suit was as distasteful to Gervase as to him-
self, though for different reasons. Gervase evidently thought that
Sibyl had been trifled with, and in spite of what had passed between
himself and his cousin in their interview in his garden at Meding-
ton, he began to wonder if the latter had indeed preferred Sibyl
until he discovered the slenderness of her dower. It was im-
probable, but there is no improbability at which jealousy will not
grasp.
Just then, as they were strolling back to the house, they fell in
with Edward, who was going in the same direction with his sister.
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UNSPOKEN THOUGHTS,
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Paul looked on his cousin's handsome face, and heard his liglit-
hoarted laughter at sonic passing jost, and a deadly feeling took
possession of him ; the bright young face drew him with an intense
fascination ; he saw in its gaiety an evidence of triumph, a[n easy
triumph which scarcely stirred a sense of endeavour ; its beauty
maddened him, a hot passion surged uncontrollably within him,
the passion of a bitter hatred.
Just as Alice's mere presence had been wont to thrill him,
Edward's thrilled him now ; he could not be in the same room
with either of them without an intense consciousness of their
existence, without marking the sliglitest movement or most casual
word of each, following every syllable and gesture of the one with
passionate love, and of the other with an e(|ually passionate hate.
All through the luii< heon they took before setting out for the
Jura, he watched them both with burning glances, equally
attracted by both, his imagination lending intense nieaning to the
few casual remarks they exchanged, and supplying words to the
silences which fell upon the unconscious objects of his thoughts,
neither of whom were in tune with the cheerful holiday air assumed
or felt by the rest of the party.
Once Alice looked up and arrested one of Paul's fiery looks. A
shade of vexation crossed her face, and she bit her lips as she
turned her head and addressed some remark to Mrs. Annesley.
In the railway carriage there was a general tendency to consult
books and newspapers, and Mrs. Annesley composed herself in an
attitude of dignified repose. By some chance or mischance, Paul
found himself in the inner corner of the carriage with Eleanor,
while Edward was at the other end by the open door, sitting next
to Alice, and immediately opposite Mrs. Annesley. From behind
his unread newspaper the jealous man continued to vatch the
objects of his different passions, brooding upon the pain which
tore him inwardly until it reached a terrible pitch.
He recalled the day of Edward's arrival at Medington, and
wished that day had never dawned. He remembered his own
expansion of heart and the unusual confidences he had made to
his cousin concerning his domestic misery, his poverty and his
purposed marriage. How changed his life was since that day,
what strange and unexpected good fortune had befallen him ! and
yet what would he not have given to be once more as he was then,
the struggling, unsuccessful parish doctor, harassed with domestic
troubles and money cares, but possessing the one golden hope of
one day winning Alice ! On that day he had heard of the first in
the chain of deaths by which he had become a man of wealth and
standing.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
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Death, he mused, is a thing upon which no one can reckon j
framers of statistics may draw up imposing columns of figures,
they may tell you to a nicety the percentage of deaths at this age
and that, in this condition and that, from this cause and that; and
yet when you leave the abstract of masses and come to the con-
crete of individual cases, all these calculations fail; Death is
restored to his proper shape, as the most capricious as well as
most terrible of tyrants, striking at random, missing where his
shaft is apparently aimed, and sending his dart home in unex-
pected quarters. Had it been otherwise, had it been he instead
of Reginald Annesley who was struck down in the flower of youth,
it had been far better, he would have had rest from this bitter
torment. Or why not Edward ? Edward who, as a soldier, was
equally liable with Reginald to be sent to savage places, and
indulge in savage sports. His heart leapt at the thought of
Edward's death ; he was certain that but for his appearance at
Arden he would have won Alice. He began thinking of the
possibihties which still existed. They had been talking at lun-
cheon of some recent difficult mountain ascents. Edward had
waxed enthusiastic, and spoken about guides and ropes, and cal-
culated what time he should have after the Jura excursion for
attempting some of the yet unsealed summits ; and Mrs. Annesley
had talked in Cassandra strain of the fatalities which marked the
conquest of peak after peak, trying to cool his ardour. If he
would but carry cut his intention, a slight momentary giddiness,
a flaw in a rope, an instant's failure of nerve, the loosening of a
stone, one false step on the part of one of the travellers, not to
mention the thousand chances and changes of weather, or the
many possibilities of losing the way or mistaking the ever-
changing landmarks— what a diff'erence this might make!
Unconscious of these terrible thoughts, Edward sat silent by
Alice, reading his English paper, and taking a melancholy plea-
sure in being at least near her, while she perused her book with
an undercurrent memory of the romantic moments passed on
the balcony the night before.
Presently the newspaper was laid aside ; Edward folded his
arms and gazed downwards in silent thought. His glance rested
on the folds of Alice's dress, which swept his feet. He was
thinking, as Paul surmised, of her, picturing her at Gledesworth,
the head of a great household, moving through the long suites of
stately rooms with a centle orace. courted b" the loral notables
honoured by those beneath her, cheering and blessing the sorrowful
and the poor ; charming all. He saw her at the head of Paul's
table ; he saw them surrounded with guests great and small ; he
UNSPOKEN THOUGHTS.
137
saw them alone with intimate friends — himself, he hoped, amongst
them — by the winter hearth, or beneath the great elms and
mighty oaks of their lovely demesne in the summer sunlight. She
was made for a life full of leisure and dignity, he wondered that
he could ever have dreamed of asking her to share his lowlier lot
— how well she would fill every place her wealth and station would
assign her, whether charming great people in brilliant assemblies
or dispensing kindness in poor cottages ! — everywhere she must be
loved and honoured, especially by him, and would she perhaps
have a kind place in her heart for Paul's cousin and friend?
Would the shadow of his aunt's fiery nature fall across her home ?
Would her children — he saw them clinging about her, large-eyed,
round-faced — would they inherit the only authentic family curse ?
Or would the wholesome sweetness of her nature prevail over the
fiercer strain ? He stirred uneasily ; something slipped from
Alice's pocket to the ground as she took out her handkerchief.
He picked up her purse, and restored it with a laughing comment
on her carelessness, and Paul thought they lingered over the
exchange so that their hands might touch ; but it was not so — the
purse was given and taken too daintily for that.
" Why did we not bring some fruit ? " sighed Sibyl, petulantly.
** I am so thirsty this hot afternoon ! "
" I will get you some at the next halt," Edward replied, and,
despite a warning from Gervase that there was no lime, he sprang
out the moment the train stopped, and made for the buffet, leaving
his friends to speculate on the extreme improbability of his return
before they moved on.
The blue-bloused porters leisurely removed a trunk or two ; the
guard shut the doors with a nonchalant air, and made observations
with the aid of his fingers and shoulders to a friend ; the time
went on ; the engine panted impatiently. It suddenly occurred
to the guard that it was getting late ; he exchanged one last remark
with his friend, laughing, gave the signal to start with a pre-occu-
pied air, and the train steamed slowly out of the little station,
followed by a parting jest from the chef de gare, who lounged,
wide-trousered and majestic, across the platform ; and then only
did Edward return from his foraging expedition, and dash madly
after the moving train with the intention of boarding it.
" Hi I hoik ! " cried the indignant chef de gare, roused to a slight
interest in railway matters by this glaring infraction of rules. But
Edward dashed over the rails, upbCiting a porter, who feebly
attempted to detain him, and, gaining the foot-board, made for his
own carriage, followed by official execrations on the English and
all their mad ways. In the meantime the speed had increased,
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they were approaching a tunnel, the door stuck, and, on opening
with a burst ;it last, detached Edward from his foothold, so that
he fell, clutching at the rail with one hand, and hanging thus for
one dreadful moment, during which Paul endured a life-time of
emotion. His terrible wish was being fulfilled before his eyes ;
he saw the man he hated actually hurled off to destruction, and
turned sick with horror. He was too far off to help him, but he
moved down towards the door in the instinctive attempt to save
him, scarcely knowing what he did, and in the meantime, Gervase,
reaching over Alice, had caught Edward by the collar, and dragged
him in before he had time even to know that Alice's hands were
attempting the same kind office with Gervase's.
"Thank you, Rickman," Edward said, composedly taking his
seat. " I am afraid I stepped on your dress. Miss Lingard.
Nothing but these mulberries to be had. Miss Rickman."
"The next time you commit suicide, Edward," said Mrs.
Annesley, severely, "have the goodness not to do it in my
presence."
" Or mine, you tiresome, good-for-nothing fellow I " sobbed
Eleanor. ** I wish you had been killed — it would have served
you right, that it would ! "
" Sorry to have frightened you, my dear aunt. It was the door
sticking that upset me. But it was not far to fall," he apologized.
" Nell, if you make such an idiot of yourself — I'll, I don't know
what I won't do to you."
Paul was very thankful when he saw his cousin hauled in scath-
less. In those few moments of peril he had some inkling of what
it might be to have a fellow-creature's death upon one's conscience.
Then he looked at Alice, and saw that she was very pale, and
made no contribution to the conversation. At that sight the fierce
tide of hate surged back into his heart, and he wished that Edward
were lying dead in the dark tunnel through which they had glided
immediately on his rescue.
Edward, too, observed Alice's pallor, and leproached himself
for having given her a shock by his fool-hardiness. The thought
came to him like balm, that if he had been killed there and then
she might have shed a kindly tear over him. She had a heart
full of pity, he knew ; he remembered her trouble about the con-
sumptive Reuben Gale, and bethought him to ask her if they had
given his plan of entering the army any further consideration.
" That would never have done," Alice replied. " But I am
quite happy about Reuben now. Your cousin has procured him
a situation with Mrs. Reginald Annesley, who is to winter in
Algeria. Reut>«n will be with her there."
UNSPOKEN THOUGHTS.
129
« Of course," he thought witJiin himself, " Paul does everything
for her now. She wants no other friend. But the day may come —
Well, I am a fool ! but I will at least enjoy these few days with
her ! "
It was very pleasant, in spite of the bitter of Paul's success.
The stations passed too quickly by ; the great white peaks were
left behind, the country became greener and greener, the vine-
yards had vanished, great solemn pine-woods brooded darkly upon
the hill slopes, the farmsteads and villages had steeper roofs and
straighter outlines ; tillage became scarcer, the cowbells tinkled
musically in the distance, the tunnels were fewer, and the country
more thinly populated ; they were in the heart of the Jura, and
the journey was coming to an end with its sweet companionship.
Edward would have liked to travel on thus by Alice's side, silent
himself, but within sound of her voice, between the green moun-
tain-walls, by the rushing streams and shadowy pine-woods, for
ever and ever. Perhaps they might never travel thus side by
side again. Perhaps it would be better so. The enchantment was
too strong ; it ought to be broken. He had his life to live, and
its duties to fulfil. Some day, no doubt, he would find a wife for
himself— and here some vague thought of Sibyl flitted through
his brain— and all the usual home-ties ; but it would not do to go
on dreaming over what was now another's right. One day more,
only one, and then, having heard decidedly from Paul's own lips
what their relations really were, he would congratulate them and
withdra'w from the perilous fascination till time had hardened him
against it
Paul, too, was purposing to withdraw after one day more, one
day in which in despair he would try a last appeal— not to Alice
this time, but to Edward. All that was manly, and all that was in
the best sense gentle in him rose up against his own behaviour, in
remaining with Alice after what had passed in the boat ; but some-
thing stronger than the instincts of a gentleman held him, to his
own shame and inward contempt.
The bitter-sweet journey came to an end at last. The train
slackened and drew up by a little wayside station above a bleak
steep-roofed village. Edward stepped out into the sunshine of
the golden evening and handed Alice down. Mrs. Annesley drew
in her skirts, and waited till the others were out and her maid
had arrived for orders ; and then, the luggage having been claimed,
they wound slowly down through the echoing empty street, io the
vast barrack of a hotel, which seemed to Edward's troubled imagi-
nation to claim previous acquaintance with him, though he could
never have seen it unless in dreams.
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CHAPTER Vj
WHAT THE PINES SANGw
The tall pine-trees stood dreaming in the balmy quiet of the
autumn afternoon ; the ruddy gold sunbeams, brooding upon the
vast green roof, found an entrance here and there, and shot through
many a tiny aperture in long tremulous shafts of powdery light,
which blunted themselves here and there against the solid red
trunks of the pines, kindling them into dull fire with their touch ;
they shattered themselves into scales of paler light elsewhere among
the dark boughs, and descended softly, their colour fined away
into a dim grey memory of former splendour, upon the thick
noiseless carpet of fir-needles, where few things grew but occa-
sional straggling brambles with more leaves than fruit.
The low deep murmur which is never wholly hushed in a pine-
wood, even at the stillest seasons, rose fitfully in soft swells of
plaintive remonstrance or half-chiding caress, and died away into
a silence broken again by some fuller tone of deeper meaning,
hinting vaguely of epic grandeur, the unrevealed glory of which
moaned itself gradually into a yet more mystic stillness, only to
wake again and again, and cast an unspeakably soothing charm
upon the solitary rambler among those grand and gloomy aisles.
Yet the afternoon was so calm that no breath app-^ared to wake
that exquisite wind-music. The lofty pines stood motionless, the
blue-green mass of their meeting tops showing dark and still against
the pale, tranquil heaven, and, when the eye caught them sideways
on the slope, dark and still against the green mountain-side on
which they lay like a mantle. A subtle stimulating fragrance
floated through those shadowy aisles j the distant melody of cow-
bells from the breezy pastures came half-hushed to lose itself
Jn the dim stillness ; the pigeons' half-querulous, half-contented
murmur, the cracking of a twig, the rustle of some shy animal
among the leaves occasionally ruffled the surface of the august
si.ence whicn spreads uks a deep calm lake through such wood-
land solitudes.
Alice passed slowly along beneath the vast vibrating roof, awed
and refreshed by the deep calm, her heart awake to the lightest
IVHAT THE PINES SANG.
131
beating of the mighty pulses of Nature, as hearts are when strongly
touched, wondering what the faint fairy music of the pine-tops
meant, now swayed as if by the far-off passion of some boding sor-
row, now stirred by the mystic beauty of some unutterable joy.
Is there any sympathy between the great heart of Nature, whence
we all draw our being, and the throbbing human lives into which
the vague music of its voices is poured ? Did the pine melody
mourn or exult over her, or rather give out some strong tones of
comfort and healing? Many things those aged trees had seen
while standing there in tempest and sunshine— children frolickirig
beneath them ; merry parties of holiday-makers passing through in
noon-day stillness and moonlit calm ; lovers doubtless, generations
of them, strolling there apart from the village folk below ; trage-
dies, perhaps, dark deeds never divuTged to the eye or ear of man.
Did the echoes and memories of these things start up and entangle
themselves in the intricate mazes which formed the living roof
above her ? As she strolled on, the shadows broke and the trunks
lessened in the growing light, till the last colonnade stood dark
against the blue sky. Was that the rush of water stealing gently
on the ear ? There, beyond where the wood ended, as she knew,
the green river ran down from its mountain bed, deep and swift,
between precipitous cUffs of rock, the river Doubs, dividing Swit-
zerland from France.
The rest of the party bad gone to spend the day at the Saut du
Doubs in the mountain height above, passing along through the
wood and by the cliff-walled river. Alice, still tired from her last
mountain climb, had remained in the village to bear Mrs. Annes-
ley company, and had now left her quiet with her desk and books,
to meet the others on their homeward way. .
She had set out full early, and therefore loitered, not wishing to
walk too f"' It was the last time, she reflected with pleasure, that
she shoula meet Paul. He had, on arriving at Bourget the night
before, announced that he had but one more day to spend in
Switzerland, because affairs required his return home. It pained
her that he had shown so little consideration and good taste as to
remain with them after what had passed in the boat, when she
gave him that distinct and final refusal, and he, in his anger,
charged her with loving his cousin, a charge met by an indignant
silence which confirmed his suspicions. His conduct in thus
taking her by surprise, and almost obliging her to go in the boat
alone with him, had distressed her beyond measure ; she couid
never again feel the old warm friendship for him ; he had fallen
too deeply. She saw that his passion overpowered him, and swept
on beyond his control over everything, bearing him helpless as a
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TNE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
child on its flood. That was his great fault ; it neutralized all his
virtues, and earned her contemptuous pity. She was glad that he
had at least come to his senses to the extent of seeing that he
ought now to leave her ; she was glad that his mother did not
know what had passed, and she lavished unusual tenderness upon
her that day, to make up for the closer affection she could never
give her a right to claim, a tenderness which misled Mrs. Annes-
ley, who did not think that Paul's quiet and matter-of-fact announce-
ment of his intended return to England could result from a
disappointment, but conjectured it to mean rather success, and
to mark a considerate wish to spare Alice the public announce-
ment of their engagement.
Strong in her own perfect self-mastery, Alice, who was young
and had not learnt to bear pitifully with human weakness, felt
little tenderness for Paul's. Self-control, she mused, as she strolled
in the majestic peace of the forest stillness, is one of the most
essential qualities in character ; no virtue is of any avail without
it; the world belongs, as Gervase so frequently observed and
illustrated by his example, to the man who knows how to keep
still when the house is on fire.
Gervase had resigned her like a gentleman, in spite of those
nasterful words of his on Arden down, words which still rang in
the ears of her memory from time to time ; why could not Paul ?
He had much, he might surely do without the love of one poor
girl. Many a woman would be proud to accept him; many a
woman loved these passion-swayed natures, and found a way to
control them ; he might let her go in peace.
A pigeon fluttered out above her head ; she heard its pinions
clatter as it darted away into the peaceful sunlight above the
river; she thought she heard confused voices and a cry, and
listened intently. Was it the gipsy party returning, or was it the
wail of a plover ? She could distinguish nothing but the tinkle of
a cow-bell fitfully wandering, and far off the faint echo of a
peasant's song.
How beautiful the world is, and what a divine peace there is in
Nature ! she mused, feeling, young though she was, a little weary
with the passions of men, and longing with the universal longing
of the human heart for " something afar from the sphere of our
sorrow," yet always hoping to find it there in that very sphere.
A mighty peace fell from the calm heaven through the dim mur-
muring aisles into her heart, and refreshed it, like the manna
which descended unseen in the midnight silence of old, and re-
freshed the hungering wanderers in the desert. She. was in one
of those rare and exalted moods in which our mortality fa Is from
WHAT THE PINES SANG.
133
us like a cast-off robe ; when the present suffices, the past no
longer '/urdens us and the future casts no shadows upon us, but
the soul breathes freely in the quiet. No troublous influence
touched her, nothing jarred the sweet calm ; she did not dream
that the balmy air of that still place was yet vibrating with the
strong conflict of a soul in agony, overmastered by a jealousy and
hatred of which she was the innocent cause. Nature stands so
serenely aloof from the passions of men, that nothing human can
sully her proud purity : she neither smiles nor weeps, nor does she
quiver in hot anger, responsive to the joy, the sorrow, or the
wrath of the frail creatures who fret out their little hour beneath
her broad glance.
The excursion to the source of the river had not been a great
success ; the three men were more or less preoccupied, Sibyl was
unusually grave ; only Eleanor appeared quite at ease.
When they had emptied the provision baskets at the picturesque
cascade which foams down the live rock, the cradle of the frontier
river, Paul left the group to go and buy fruit at a chSlet hard by,
and Edward followed him.
Paul was glad when he saw him coming j he had been wishing
all the morning for the explanation he had at first avoided ; he
faced about at sight of him, but could not meet him pleasantly.
" Well ! " he said abruptly, the memory of all the unintentional
wrong Edward had ever done him rushing over him as he spoke
the school-boy rivalries, the precedence Edward had always taken
Oi" him in the liking of strangers, his invariable better fortune till
the last few months, and above all his sudden intrusion in the
Arden dovecot, and his immediate success where he himself had
sued vainly for years. Even his cousin's sweeter, calmer temper
and his manly self-control were a cause of dislike j the very for-
bearance that Edward had shown in leaving the field clear to him
for three months, embittered his heart againtl him ; he could not
help hating him for being the better man, and so justifying Alice's
preference. He had brooded so long over his jealous disUke that
all the finer elements of his nature were suppressed, the affection
natural to him was quenched, the old habit of brotherhood broken j
what formerly strengthened his friendship now fed his dislike. He
was the true descendant of that man who had lain awake at night
for six mortal weeks, putting a keen edge to the cutting phrases of
one wounding letter. " Well 1 " he said, with a slight defiant
movement of the head.
*' Am I to congratulate you ? " asked Edward.
" No. And you know it," he replied with biting emphasis. " But
for your sudden appearance here I should have won her in time."
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
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Light leapt into Edward's eyes ; his colour deepened ; it seemed
to the embittered fancy of the other that he wore a look of sub-
dued but insolent triumph. " My coming can have made no
difference. If you did not win her in four months you would
not in five," he replied.
" Look here, Paul," Edward added, after some moments of
uncomfortable silence, " you may not believe it, but I am awfully
sorry."
" It is possible that I may not believe it, my good fellow," Paul
said with bitter sarcasm. " Allow me to congratulate you^' he
added.
"Iqurie thoight you were engaged; everybody here believes
it, and upon my ^lonour — I was — not exactly glad — but pleased
that you were the winner, since I had to be out of the running."
" I admire your magnanimity, my dear cousin," thought Paul ;
" nothing would give me greater pleasure than to help you out of
a world for which you are too virtuous."
He did not say this, but when he spoke, the sound of his voice
carried him beyond himself, and the pent-up torrent of jealousy
and rage burst madly forth. Edward was so surprised by this
exhibition, which was a revelation to him, that he listened in silent
disgust, distinguishing and remembering nothing clearly beyond
pome wild hint of killing whoever should marry Alice, at tfhxch. he
smiled forbearingly ; the most irritating thing he could do.
After some vain attempts, as well-meaning as they were fruitless,
to bring Paul to a more rational condition, he gave up.
"I only irritate him in this mood, . whatever I can say," he
reflected, turning to leave him, stung into a contemptuous dislike
for Paul, which was clearly expressed in his face.
" Stop ! " cried Paul, with a sudden change of manner j but
Edward refused to stop.
Paul strode some paces after him and then stopped, execrating
the lack of self-control which had led him to make himself generally
ridiculous. No one is so detestable as the man who has seen us
in an undignified position ; and since it was wounded pride which
most fiercely barbed the arrow of his rejected love, the fury of
Paul's hate and love and jealousy grew till it bid fair to stifle him,
and it was some time before he could sufficiently compose himself
outwardly to go back to the halting place.
Soon after he had joined them, the walking-party began to move
away from the spring, when Eleanor, who had twisted her ankle
just JDefore, found that she could not stand on the injured foot,
and it was decided that she must be carried down to the village,
which was some miles distant. Her brother, therefore, set off at
il
WHAT THE PINES SANG.
«35
IS seen us
once in search of some means of conveying her back to the village,
and he had not long started before Paul followed him, saying
nothing of his reason for leaving the rest of the party.
Sibyl and Gervase never forgot the impression his departing
figure made upon them, as he disappeared gradually down the steep
path, till even his face was finally lost to view. He walked with
bent head and moody face like one impelled by some inward force,
wholly absorbed in troubled thought and dead to all external things.
" Paul is so desperately glum to-day that it is a real relief to
get rid of him for a time," Sibyl observed. " Or is that the pro-
fessional air, the gravity of the leech, Gervase, do you suppose ? "
"If Paul is glum, Edward is grimness incarnate," added
Eleanor, pettishly ; " they do nothing but scowl at each other.
It is no pleasure to be with such a pair. Have they quarrelled ? "
Gervase smoked thoughtfully and silently for some twenty minutes.
Then he told Sibyl that he would walk back to the village and see
if he could help Edward in his search for some means of carrying
his sister. " If all fails, we three can carry Nellie comfortably
in an arm-chair," he said, " I suppose Paul will be back in a
minute ; if not, the chalet is close at hand, Sibyl, remember."
Alice in the meantime had ascended as far as she cared to go,
and was waiting beneath a cluster of firs, where she found a seat
upon some faggots by a tree. She sat wrapped in a dreamy peace,
with a book unread on her knee, listening to the faint undertones
which murmured beneath the afternoon stillness — the hum of a
bee, the fitful music in the pines, the cracking of a dead branch
—until the warmth, stillness and solitude imperceptibly soothed
away her senses and weighed her eyelids down over her charmed
eyes, and thoughts and images blended fantastically in her brain
on the dim borders of dreamland. Then a voice stole upon her
dream, the familiar voice of Gervase, saying she knew not what,
but using incisive and resolute tones; another replied more
■ earnestly still, a voice that stirred the deepest currents of her
being, and she awoke, slowly opening her sleep-hazed eyes until
the tree-trunks in front of her shaped themselves clearly upon her
vision, and the blank spaces between them, were filled and then
vacated by the two passing figures.
" Yes," said the voice of Gervase, before the figures came into
view, " I will keep that part of the business dark, I promise you
that faithfulW ; one is not bound to reveal the whole. It would
only cause needless suffermg."
" Especially to her" returned Edward's voice ; " they will
naturally suppose I was not present— oh! above all she must
never know."
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
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** No ; Alice must never know. You may rely upon me——'
He stopped short, dismayed, for by this time they had come full
into Alice's field of vision, passing outside the fir-trees. She was
facing the opposite direction to that whence they came, and was
screened from their view by the tree-trunk behind her Uiitil they
had almost passed her, when Gervase's ever-watchful eyes caught
the gleam of her light dress upon the needle-strewn ground.
" Wily, Alice," he added, quickly recoveiing his self-possessioa;
" are you alone ? "
Yes
others ?
ill ? "
Edward's
I have been
What is the
waiting,"
matter ?
she replied. "Where are the
Oh I Mr. Annf sley, are you
face was
with unnatural light ; he
grey, his lips quivered, his eyes shone
ked at Alice with a sort of horror, as
if she had been a spectre. Then he and Gervase regarded each
other enquiringly for some moments, saying nothing.
This silence, so full of meaning, prepared Alice for evil tidings,
although she was conscious of no thought while it lasted beyond
a weak childish wonder that Edward should be wearing Paul's
hat, a triviality that sh'; communicated to no one at the time,
though it recurred to her afterwards. She knew the hat by a
piece of edelweiss in ihe band, which alone dif anguished it from
that worn in the morning by the other cousin.
"There is much the matter, Alice," replied Gervase at last, in
grave measured tones. "There has been an acciderl."
Alice began to tremble ; she had risen from her s'jat upon their
approach, and now stayed herself against the trunk of a tree.
" Be calm, dear," said Gervase, laying his hand with soothing
and magnetic effect upon her arm; "you must try to control
yourself for the sake of his mother."
" It is Paul," Alice replied faintly ; " is he much hurt ? "
" He is dead — dead 1 " cried Edward, with an agitation he
could not control,
" Oh 1 no," exclaimed Alioe, " not dead, it is not true. Paul
cannot be dead ; it is not true."
A deep hard sob escaped from Edward.
" It is too true," continued Gervase in quiet, even tones which
calmed her j " he slipped on the cliffs edge, poor fellow, up be-
yond there where the path is narrow. He fell into the river, and
his body was quickly swept away by the current."
His body 1 Alice turned sick and tried to grasp the fact that
the man she had seen that morning all aglow with passion and
life, was lying quici in the rushing waters below, hushed and silent
for ever ; all the storm and stress of his blighted hopes and vain
W/r4T THE PINES SANG
137
*!:
love swallowed up and stilled in the green waters flowing so tran-
quilly by in the sweet sunshine.
" Oh I Paul ! Paul ! " she sobbed in sudden remorseful a-ronv.
"Oh! if I had but known I » ° ^
•' Hush ! " said Gervase, in the tones that had such magnetic
power over her. "It is no use to give way. Some one must
break it to Mrs. Annesley."
Alice scarcely distinguished the sense of his words, though his
voice calmed her. That strange avenger, Death, had so stirred
the depths of pity and regret within her into the semblance of the
remorse which he never fails to call up for the torture of the sur-
vivors, that she could only yearn vainly for the lost opportunity of
saymg one kind word to the man who had loved her so strongly
and truly, though so wildly and selfishly, and remember that her
last words to him had been words of reproach. The friendship of
years awoke within her, and called up a thousand gentle happy
memories of the friend whose life she had unwittingly marred, it
obliterated all the harsher features of his character and accused
her of needless severity to the dead. Why had she refused him ?
She might have grown to him and loved him, if she had tried,
she thougnt in the first overpowering rush of pity and sorrow.
" / will tell Mrs. Annesley," she said at last, choking back the
feelings which surged up within her. " And you, Mr. Annesley,"
she added, turning to Edward, who had been looking on in
speechless anguish, apparently unobserved by her, " you are her
nearest kinsman — you will take her son's place — will you not
come with me ? "
« Heaven forbid !» cried Edward ; " I am the last person she
will wish to see."
Gervase perceived that each took the other's words in a sense
different from that intended by the speaker, and smiled a subtle
smile as he replied, "Annesley is right. I will tell her all myself
later. Go and break what you know gently to her, Alice. I,
in tiie mieantime, must communicate with the authorities. You,
Annesley, must return to your sister and Sibyl, who are left alone
all this time. You and Stratfield "— Pauls servant—" might con-
trive a litter for her between you, in default of anything better."
Later on Alice passed an hour with the bereaved mother, on
whom the shock produced a stupefying effect which merged in
an utter prostration. She was roused from this seeming stupor
some hours afterwards by the announcement that Gervase Rick-
man was ready to give her what details he could of her son's
death. After a long interview with him she was asked if she
would like to sec her nephew, and replied in the affirmative.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
Edward, therefore, entered her presence, calm and composed
outwardly, but quivering with inward emotion. He tried to
speak, but his lips refused utterance when he looked upon the
suddenly aged and worn face before him. Mrs. Annesley was
dry-eyed and apparently calm ; she rose from her seat upon his
entrance, and gazed steadily and sternly with glittering eyes upon
him J then she spoke in the deep and tragic tones she could com-
mand upon occasion :
" Where is my son, Edward Annesley ? " she asked ; " what
have you done with my only son ? "
M
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CHAPTER VI.
THE INHERITANCE.
The memory of that scene weighed like a lasting nightmare upon
Edward Annesley's troubled heart. When he entered his aunt's
presence he expected something painful, but nothing terrible ; he
thought to see a bereaved mother, he found a tigress robbed of
her cubs. All the fierceness in her nature blazed up at the sight
of him, a grim joy possessed her at the opportunity of dem uncing
him as the cause of her loss ; for where other women grieved, this
one raged.
He could only stand silent before the storm, doing mute homage
to her age, her sex, and her bitter sorrow ; pain J by the sight of
a pa . so like that he had witnessed a few hours since in c.-.e
wliosc passions were now for ever stilled, and hoping that her
frenzy would exhaust itself, that she might at least accept some
kind words from him, if nothing more.
That wjiich silently gnawed his heart was enough without spoken
reproach ; her words burnt into him like molten metal, and left life-
long wounds. In everything, she said, he had supplanted her son ;
he had secretly stolen the heart of Alice from Paul whilst openly
trifling with Sibyl, whose life he had marred. And now he had
driven Paul to his death that he might snatch his inheritance.
Let him take that inheritance with the curse attached to it, and a
yet more withering curse on to that, the curse of a childless widow.
She asked him how a strong and ;.ctive man like her son could, (/
a/one, slip and fall beyond recovery. She told him that the
reproach of having survived him would cling to him and blight
his happiness for life.
All this she said in a few cutting words, without agitation, 'with
a deep full voice, standing erect and immovable, with a hard
brilliance in her cold blue eyes, and when she had finished, she
bid him go and come near her no more.
He hesitated, looking silently at her stern tearless face, in
which he saw such bitter anger that he thought the shock must
have made her beside herself. He hoped that what she said was
half-unconscious and would be forgotten when she came to herself.
n !
\^
I40
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
NeverthelcFs the barbed words struck home, and her cold immov-
able calm impressed him with a horror he c«uld not shake off,
and seeing that his presence only irritated her, he withdrew with
some expressions of regret for her condition, and a hope that he
should find her calmer on the morrow.
Mrs. Annesley laughed a hard laugh, and said quietly that she
never had been and never should be calmer than at that moment,
which was perfectly true. But when the door had closed upon
iim, and her gaze fell upon some trifle that Paul had given her,
the calm deserted her, a sense of her bitter bereaval took hold of
her, the memory of a thousand stormy scenes in which she had
wounded her only son rose up accusingly before her, and she
sobbed and moaned, and felt herself to be the most miserable
woman upon earth.
Edward left her, scarce knowing what he did or whither he went.
He and she alone knew how the scar came upon Paul's face ; she
had looked when that occurred as she looked now. He wondered
if he could be the same man who had left the gipsy party at the
river's source a few hours before and had stepped lightly along
the rocky path in the sunshine, singing in the lightness of his
heart.
He met Sibyl in the corridor, and she, seeing the misery in his
face, gave way to one of those guileless impulses she never could
resist, and laid her hand gently on his arm.
" Dear Mr. Annesley," she said, in her clear light voice, " I am
so sorry for <)rou. All this must be so painful."
He said nothing, but kissed the hand she had given him, and
passed on with a full heart. Sibyl alone condoled with him on
that day's work, he reflected, and then the barbed arrow of his
aunt's suggestion about her rankled in his heart.
He went into the sitting-room, where his sister lay on a couch
with Alice sitting by her side.
By this time it was dark night, the lonely village was asleep,
only the hotel lights still burnt, and even they were gradually
dying out ; but the Annesley party did not yet dream of going
to rest, they were waiting and watching for the return of the
searchers with their tragic burden.
Alice sat in the shadow ; she had only seen Edward once
since the meeting under the pine-trees, and she had then observed,
in the brief "Irsr.re she cauo^ht of him, that the edelweiss was
removed from his hat.
The sight of her stirred Edward with a feeling akin to pam—
a mysterious something bid him fly from her ; for Paul's untimely
fate had reared a barrier between tht.ii, insurmountable for the
THE INHERITANCE.
141
time. It seemed an unifair advantage over the dead man, even to
recall his assurance that there was no chance of his winning her,
or to consider the meaning in Alice's voice, when she cried upon
Paul in her sudden remorse in the wood : •* Oh, Paul, Paul ! If
I had but known ! "
She was very calm now, though he could not see her face in
the shadow; but calmness, he knew well, was no index to the
depth of her sorrow; it was her nature in joy and grief to
command herself. Yet he thought she wished to avoid him.
" Have you been to auntie, Ned ? " asked Eleanor, starting
up at his step.
"Yes," he answered heavily, and he sat down and gazed
blankly before him.
"Nellie," said Alic^ "do you think you could go to your
aunt ? "
" She had better not," replied Edward quickly ; " it would be
too painful."
" But Mrs. Annesley must not be left alone," said Alice, with
some reproach in her voice. " I am afraid your interview has
Is
been trying, Mr. Annesley— but how could it be otherwise ?
she no calmer ? "
" I believe," returned Edward slowly, " that she is out of her
mind."
"Poor soul ! Then I will go to her at once," said Alice, rising.
"She is better alone. Miss Lingard," interposed Edward
hastily; "pray don't subject yourself to anything so dreadful.
She is not accountable for what she says now— no one must
believe what she says— her grief must have its way. Her maid
is at hand.— Pray, Miss Lingard."— He even barred the way
when she would have left the room, and held the door shut
behind him, until a pressure from without caused him to open
it and disclose the face of Gervase, who had seen his meeting
with Sibyl a few moments before.
"Alice is right," Gervase said, on hearing the cause of dispute;
" Mrs. Annesley is not fit to be left alone ; it would be cruel.
Nellie is too young, and just now too unwell, and Sibyl— well,
Sibyl could not be what Alice is to her."
Alice therefore went, with every word that Edward had just
uttered so hastily and brokenly sinking permanently into her
memory. Mrs. Annesley roused herself at the sight of her to re-
peat her denunciation of Edward, in tones of sorrowful conviction
this time.
Alice, inwardly trembling, did what she could to soothe the
now terribly agitated woman, and bid her consider before accusing
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
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Edward in the hearing of others, thankful that, as she supposed,
she alone had as yet heard anything.
" Dear Mrs. Annesley," she remonstrated, "you imply that he
had a hand in your son's death when you speak so."
" Alice," replied Mrs. Annesley, quietly and coldly, " do you
know where Edward was at the moment of Paul's fall ? "
" No," she replied simply ; " how should I ? "
" How indeed ? " repeated Mrs. Annesley, setting her lips
hard ; " that is what no one knows or ever will know."
" It is very simple, dear," said Alice, " we will ask him."
" Ask him ! " returned Mrs. Annesley, with terrible scorn —
" ask him yourself, Alice."
Then her mood changed, and she suddenly fell to weeping
staying herself upon Alice.
" Oh, Alice ! Alice ! " she cried, " my poor child loved you — he
loved you ! " and their tears mingled, and the bitterness seemed
to pass away.
Paul's body was never found. They waited and watched in vain
that night. Alice thought that if she could look once more upon
his dead face, and press one repentant kiss upon the cold brow
that could never more thrill with passion, even at the touch of her
lips, she would be happier and perhaps lose the unreasoning re-
morse which troubled her now.
The current was strong at the spot where he fell ; the bursting
of an Alpine thunderstorm about an hour after the accident in-
creased the difficulty of the search which was quickly instituted.
There were good reasons why the body, if discovered by chance,
should be concealed again. Paul wore a valuable watch, and had
a good deal more money in his pocket than prudent people care
to carry about, and, as it was ascertained that he had not given the
diamonds into the jeweller's charge before leaving NeufchStel, and
they were not found among his effects, it was inferred that they,
too, were upon him.
Edward passed some weary weeks in Switzerland, a time of
fruitless search for the missing body, and of apparently endless
formalities with regard to the death, a time which he spent entirely
apart from his aunt, who refused to see him and only communi-
cated with him through Gervase and her other lawyers. Then he
returned to England, the gainer of a great inheritance that he did
not want, burdened with responsibilities and rich with oppor-
tunities tliat he had ncvcr covctcd and would gladly have re-
nounced in exchange for the sunny peace of mind he enjoyed
when travelhng on the rail through the mountains only a few
weeks earlier.
1
THE INHERITANCE.
143
Mrs. Annesley stayed on some little time after his departure
before she went home, a white-haired, broken-hearted woman.
Alice Lingard, the only creature to whom she now showed any
affection, remained with her, surrounding her with tender cares,
and trying to soften the bitter blow which had fallen upon her.
Sibyl and Eleanor had returned to their respective homes imme-
diately after the accident ; the two women were thus alone with
their loss, and the elder entreated the younger to make her home
with her, and remain with her altogether to cheer her desolation.
But Alice, without refusing absolutely to entertain this proposal,
said that it was too early yet to form any definite plans ; they
would wait and consider, and decide nothing till the healing hand
of Time had wrought some comfort in Mrs. Annesle/s stricken
heart.
! I
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CHAPTER VIL
BV THE RIVER.
A SHORT time before they left the village in the Jura, Alice one
day gathered some late autumn flowers and bound them together,
and Gervase Rickman, who had remained with Mrs. Annesley,
journeying backwards and forwards on business connected with
Paul's death, asked her for what purpose she had gathered them.
"I am going for a long walk," she replied, evasively, and she
did not ask him to accompany her ; but he saw her go in the
direction of the path which wound along the river's rocky bank
towards its source, and presently he went the same way with a
view to meeting her as if by accident.
"That old woman will be the death of her if this goes on much
longer," he said to himsslf, glad that he had urged his father and
mother to call her back to Arden.
It was now October ; the hush of the solemn autumn lay upon
the mountain pastures and the fading, dreaming woods, and
although, lower down in the warm valleys and sheltered folds of
the mountains, some grapes still remained glowing in the hot sun-
shine in the vineyards, and the country was alive with the songs
and shouts of the vintagers, and fu 1 of the mellow, intoxicating
odour of crushed grapes, up there on the green Jura slopes the
frosts had been keen and the winds chill. But on this afternoon
all was peace ; the sun shone warmly with a la^t, relenting glow
before the unchaining of the winter tempests, and Alice was glad
to lose herself in the beauty of the quiet season.
She made her way through the wood in which she had rested
shortly before she had heard the heavy tidings of Paul's death a
month since, and, though the way was long, did not pause until
she reached the spot upon the cliffs edge where he slipped and
fell on that unfortunate day. There she rested, looking down
into the green waters, now turbid from the heavy equinoctial
rains, and thought it all over. Then she took the flowers^ and
threw them carefully down the cliff, so that they might clear the
trees and bushes which grew here and there in the unevennesses and
clefts in the rocky wall, and fall into the river, where she watched
BY THE RIVER.
MS
them swerve with the current, and float down the stream, till a
jutting buttress of rock hid them from her gaze. J ust so Paul's
lifeless body must have been borne away. It seemed as if her
heart went with the flowers and sank in the waters for ever with
the body of her ill-starred lover.
Her face was worn with care, there were dark hollows beneath
her eyes ; the shadow of Mrs., Annesley's grief lay heavily upon
hei youth ; it was crushing all the brightness out of her, and be-
sides that, she carried the heavy burden of an unspoken fear
within her, and waged a daily, wasting warfare with a suspicion
that grew stronger from the combat. She had ceased • openly to
rebut Mrs. Annesley's accusations of her nephew, but nevertheless
the continual allusions made by the latter told upon her. She
learnt now of the long rivalry between the cousins, dangerous
half-truths ; she heard of a quarrel at Medington.
Paul had himself betrayed his jealousy of Edward in that un-
fortunate boat scene ; the distant and almost hostile terms on
which the cousins were, had been evident to the whole party.
Alice knew something of Paul'stemper; she knew well what madden-
ing things he could say when his blood was stirred to white heat ;
she could well imagine that Edward's temper, though sweet
enough, would give way before Paul's cutting sarcasms, and
betray him into what was foreign to his nature at calmer times.
But why had he chosen the tortuous course of concealment, wnich
the words she overheard him suy by the river implied ?
She could not forgive him that ; a man capable of that was not
to be trusted, nor was one stained with so dark a thing as homi-
cide worth the thought she was wasting on him. The reproach
was already beginning to work upon Annesley.
V/hen Alice had been sitting thus, brooding .on these disquiet-
ing thoughts a good twenty minutes, during which some of the
autumn peace had stolen into her heart, her mournful reverie
was broken by the appearance of Gervase Rickman.
" This is not a good place for you," he said, with gentle rebuke ;
" I am glad you will soon be far away."
" It is a farewell visit," she replied, looking up, her eyes bright
with rising tears. "Come and sit on this rock, and tell me
exactly what you saw on that day. When I have seeu it all in
imagination clearly before me, I shall brood less upon it, perhaps."
He sat down at her bidding, and looked wistfully at her, wish-
in" she would ask him anything else, meaning to ask her to spare
him the pain of the narration, reflecting that she would think
such shrinking on his part unmanly, longing vainly to be saved
from a temptation beyond his strength.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
i M
"Tell me all," she repeated, seeing that he hesitated ; **it will
do me good."
So he took up his tale, and said that he had followed the two
cousins from the river's source on the day of Paul's death, partly
to see what had become of Paul, who had left them for no ap-
parent purpose, partly to help Edward to find some means of
carrying Nellie down to Bourget ; that, as he approached the spot
on which they were now sitting, where the ground was broken,
and sloped suddenly down to the cliffs edge, he heard a cry, and
running up, saw Paul clinging to the birch-tree beneath them, the
snapped trunk of which showed that it had given way beneath his
weight. He saw the tree bound and rebound, before it finally
snapped, and Paul fell into the water, and was seen no more. It
was his opinion at the time that Paul, who could not swim, had
been killed or disabled by striking on the rocky bed of the stream'.
He called and ran for help, which he found in the shape of some
men at work higi tx up. Edward Annesley 'hen appeared upon
the scene. That was the v nole story.
"Why did Mr. Annesley not appear sooner, when Paul cried for
help ? " asked Alice, quietly.
"That I am unable to explain," Gei/ase returned drily
"perhaps he did not hear."
" Then why did he come at all ? "
" Perhaps he heard, but was too far off to arrive sooner.**
" Gervase," said Alice, turning and looking him full in the face;
"you are not telling the whole truth."
He was obliged to meet her eyes for a moment ; but immediately
averted his gaze and breathed quickly, not knowing what to say.
" You are concealing something," she repeated.
"There are occasions, Alice," he replied, "on which one is
bound in honour to be silent.**
Then she remembered the promise she had overheard, and her
heart grew faint.
" It may be right for you to be silent," she returned, " but only
if you have promised."
" Alice," continued Gervase, earnestly, " unless you wish to ao
Edward Annesley harm, you had bettei not enter too closely into
details."
"I don't believe it," she replied, vehemently; "truth will not
harm him, but concealment may."
" Well ! I car. only repeat what I say : if you wish to injure
him, the means are at hand."
Alice plucked a spray of juniper which grew near, and tore it to
pieces in agitated silence.
BY THE RIVER,
147
"It Ife curious," reflected Gervase, "that reigning princes are
always at war with heirs-apparent. The Annesleys were the best
of friends till this ill-fated inheritance fell to Paul."
" Do you think that set them at variance ? "
" Undoubtedly. But Paul had another cause of strife ; he was
jealous, you know how causelessly, of Edward. Paul never could
understand how meaningless are half-a-dozen sugared words from
a military man, accustomed to two flirtations a week on an average.
He could atill less understand that a man who means nothing can
be jealous from vanity. He was thoroughly loyal, poor fellow ! "
' " He was, indeed," Alice replied, absently. She was thinking,
with a sinking heart, that she must forget Edward, since he had
never cared for her, as Gervase, so good a reader of character,
plainly saWj and with brotherly affection and delicate tact pointed
out to hdr. She was thinking, with still deeper pain, that silence
with regard to that fatal hour upon the banks of the Doubs was the
greatest kindness Edward's friends could show him ; his own words
on that ai ternoon as well as Gervase's present hints were witnesses
to that. How blinded she had been to his true character by the
glamour of her unasked love ! How little she had dreamed that
the very failing she censured so severely in Paul, want of self-
control, was that of the man she preferred before him ; the evil
heritage of the Annesleys showing itself, not, as in the slain man,
in an unbridled surrender of himself to his loves and likings, but
in an inability to master the anger Paul's sarcasm and unwarrant-
able jealousy must have kindled m him. Paul was headlong and
uncurbed in love, and thus lost her ; Edward was evidently head-
long and uncurbed in wrath. She repudiated a yet darker motive
on the part of the heir to so rich a property, a motive urged by
Mrs. Annesiey in moments of confidence ; the worst thing to be
attributed to Edward probably was yielding to a passionate
impulse that circumstances made criminal. She looked at
Gervase, and realized that, slight as her strength was compara-
tively, a vigorous push on her part would send him beyond
recovery over the verge on that broken and mossy ground ; she
pictured two men walking or standing there, and saw that only
blind passion or criminal intention could ignore the fatal issue of
a blow in such a spot. And passion so blind, so reckless of con-
sequence amounted to crime. What an inheritance this man had
gained 1 his heart must indeed be hard if he ever derived any satis-
faction from a thing won at so ternule a cost. Her heart went
out in pity to him, but she hoped that she was incapable of any
warmer feeling for such a man. Yet the pity was so strong that
it blanched her face, and set her lip quivering in spite of herself.
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
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"Leave me," she said, turning to Gervase with dimmed eyes;
" let me be a few minutes. If you like to wait in the wood, I can
overtake you."
He rose at once and left Iier, with the tact so distinctive of him,
and Alice shaded her face with her hand and watched the turbid
waters flowing past. She knew that there could be no more
happiness for Edward Annesley in this world unless his heart were
quite hard and bad, as few human hearts are ; and she could not
think him very bad, hardly as others might judge the man she had
been upon the verge of loving, She sat gazing on the river till
the hot tears blinded her, seeing her youth and hope borne away
upon the green waters which had engulfed Paul Annesley. She
wondered how people managed to live whose hopes were broken ;
she had heard of maimed lives dragging themselves painfully along
through weary sunless years ; she tried to summon her courage to
meet such a f te, but it seemed too soon yet to piece the broken
fragments of her life together. She wept on till she almost wept
her heart out. Then she grew calm, the mighty peace which
brooded over the sunshiny afternoon, with its careless nwdges
fated to die in an hour, its humming-bees busy in the ivy-blossom,
and its pigeons fluttering out from the great spmbre silent pines,
once more touched her heart, and a still mightier peace than even
that of Nature sank into it. She felt that a life so broken as hers
might be put to some nobler, more unselfish purpose than one in
which the music had never been marred. To blend those broken
chords into some diviner harmony would henceforth give her soul
courage and purpose.
A d Edward? She could only pray for him. Perhaps that
strong feeling so near akin to love had been given her that sacri-
ficial incense might not be wanting on his behalf, though he
should fail to offer it himself, as was just and due.
She rose and rejoined Gervase in the wood below with a serene
face and eyes full of spiritual exaltation. He looked at her for a
moment and saw that she had been crying ; then he averted his
glance and offered her a bunch of late-blooming heather. She
fixed it in the black dress she wore in memory of Paul, scarcely
acknowledging an attention that was so usual with him, and they
went tranquilly down the hill-side through the wood and over
the marshy waste where the cotton-rush grew, in the lengthening'
ruddying sunshine, among the gradually hushing sounds of the
evening, Alice little dreaming of the passion which enveloped the
purple heath-flowers as with burning flame. She clung in spirit to
Gervase, leaning all the more upon his calm brotherly friendship
because of the bitterness which had resulted from the love of
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others. Gervase had loved her, too, but he had known how to
conquer a feeling which gave her pain, and she was grateful to
When, nearly an hour later, they entered the bleak village
street, they saw Edward Annesley leaning over the low stone
garden wall of the house in which he lodged, with his face turned
towards the setting sun. With a pipe in his mouth and his hands
clasped together at the back of his head, which was slightly thrown
back to command a better view of the splendid cloud-pageant in
the west, th^i glory of which was reflected on his face, he looked
the picture of tranquil enjoyment, and the sight of him grated
painfully on Alice's feelings, wound up, as they were, to such a
pitch. His heart must indeed be hard, she thought, her own
recoiling from the pity she had been lavishing upon him.
When he saw them, he put away the pipe and came to meet
them, and the ruddy glow of the sunset faded from his face, which
k)oked pale and careworn.
" I am starting from Neufchatel to-night for England," he said.
"Can I do anything for you, Miss Lingard ? "
" Thank you, nothing," she replied coldly, and he saw that her
eyes had recently been full of tears.
"You won't forget, the parcel for my sister, Annesley, will
you ? " said Gervase.
" Certainly not. I will give it into her own hands," he replied.
"Good-bye, Miss Lingard.'
"Good-bye." She suffered him to take her unresponsive hand
in his firm clasp and passed on, glad to think she should meet
him no more, at least for the present ; and he remained, gazing
after her wistfully, with a vague presentiment that he might nevef
see her again.
Gervase' left Alice at the hotel door and then returned to
Edward, who was no longer gazing at the sunset but upon the
blank high fiont of the hotel, which rose sheer and unbroken
from the street, vaguely suggesting mountain desolation without
its accompanying grandeur.
"I am afraid she is feeling it terribly," he said, when Gervase
came up.
" Poor gill ! what can you expect ? " replied Gervase. " The
only wonder to me is that she bears up so bravely. It does
her no good to be here upon the scene, making pilgrimages to
the fatal spot and throwing flowers into thait dark and dreary
river."
"Of course not," he returned, wondering how Gervase could
speak of those things in that offhand way. He had himself
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THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
seen her leave the village with the garden flowers, and it was
not difficult to guess where she had been. "Do try and get
her away, Rickman. I cannot i nderstand," he added, after a
pause, "why they were not fomally engaged. Inhere is no
doubt no A that she did care for him."
" None whatevc r. But Paul's was a morbid, jealous nature •
he may have taken a mere rebuff for a refusal." '
"True."
" The best of women have little coquettish ways which men
never understand," pursued Gervase, with a reflective air. " A
girl draws back half shyly, half to bring her lover on, and the
s'.upid fellow takes her literally and flies off in a fury and
throws himself into the nearest pond, if he does not take to
drinking."
"Women should be more honest," said Edward, fiercely
"They should not drive men who love them to despair. Yet the
. woman always gets the worst of it in the end."
"It depends on the kind of woman."
"Do you think she has any suspicion of the truth?" he
continued.
" No, I think not. Indeed I am sure not."
"I trust she never will."
"She will canonize Paul and pass the remainder of her days
in worshipping the memory of the man she drove to desperation
in his liftnime. It is a pity."
" She IS young. Time will heal her."
. "You don't know Alice Lingard, Annesley. Her life was
spoilt by that unlucky occurrence on the river. Poor girl !
Sihyl, now, is of a different stamp; yet Ijhey are wonderfully
alike in some respects. I'll see you to the station. Time
is up."
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PART IV,
CHAPTER L
SHEEP-SHEARlNa
The tall elms bordering the lane leading to Ardcn Manor had
just completed their yearly toilet, and spread out I)road masses
of delicate green foliage, as yet unstained by dust and un-
darkened by sun, against the clear blue sky, over which little
clouds floated high up, pearly and ethereal ar fairy cars. Cottage
gardens were balmy with the indescribable freshness of lilac
flowers ; an occasional rose in a sunny corner opened its sweet
blossom with a sort of shy wonder at its own beauty, and was a
treasure for a village lad to give to a sweetheart, because it was
so rare. The may had not yet faded from the thorn hedges,
it bloomed white in the hollows of the downs, flushing pink and
pinker as summer drew on; buttercups made the deep pas-
tures sheets of burnished gold ; the spicy breath of clover filled
the air.
" I hreckon Squire Rickman '11 hae a powerful weight of hay
this year, Dan'l Pink," Raysh Squire prophesied, as he took a
thoughtful survey of the meadow which lay beyond the rickyard,
by the rail fence of which he was standing in the fresh sunshine
one fine afternoon.
The shepherd was too much pre-occupted to give serious heed
to Raysh's prophecies. With out-stretched arms and thoughtful
face he stood making strange, dog-like noises at a few sheep,
which had slipped by mischance from the pen in the midst of
the straw-yard before the barn, when the hurdles had been
opened narrowly so as to let the sheep through one by one into
the barn, the folding doors of which stood wide, and upon the
floor of which knelt bare-armed shearers, each with a heap of
panting wool before him, through which the shears moved with
a quick glitter and snapping, sometimes followed by a piteous
bleat if a maladroit movement drove the keen points into the
tender flesh.
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THE REPROACH OF AMINES LEY,
\m aliii, . £ i. .
Rough, the wolf-like sheep-dog, barked with zealous skill
on the opposite side, and soon managed, with his master's help,
to drive the wanderers back into their narrow fold, where they
stood huddled closely together, heavy-fleeced and snow-white
from their recent washing, vainly protesting by querulous
bleatings against the spoliation their brethren were undergoing.
Perhaps they were anticipating the time when they too would
lie mute and defenceless beneath the shearer's hands, and then
arise, white and attenuated, an 1 trot, the thin spectres of their
former plump, fleecy selves, out at the opposite door into the
green meadow beyond, where the shorn creatures nibbled at the
sweet grass in the sunshine, plaintively bemoaning their un-
accustomed lightness, with their slim bodies sometimes streaked
with blood.
It was an anxious time for Daniel; bleak winds and chill
rains might still come in these early June days; he could not
bear to see the marks upon the creatures' sides, and was inclined
to blame the shearers' clumsiness, while they laid it to the
charge of the sheep, who were apt, after a few minutes' perfect
quiescence, to kick out of a sudden and jerk the operator's hand.
Daniel was always thankful when shearing-time was well at an
end, and the sheep had become accustomed to the loss of their
winter coats. Not so the boys, half-a-dozen of whom were
standing about ; they delighted in the fun and frolic of helping
to catch the stray sheep and haul them along with many a
tumble and tussle, now and then holding a restive creature for
the shearer. Still more they delighted in the washing, which
had taken place down at the valley farm, where there was a
good pond with hatches, and where one of the lads, helping to
push a great fat ram in the water, had fallen plump in with the
struggling beast, to the loud laughter of the rest.
The gardener was busy in the barn, the cow-man stopped and
looked in to see how the shearers were getting on, on his way
from the cow-house with the evening's milk in the pails ; John
Nobbs, the bailiff, stood by the pen with his stout legs apart
and his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and allowed
it was "mis'able warm'/' Mam Gale, from the "Traveller's
Rest," was there to serve out the ale, the four o'clock, in place of
the bailiff's wife, who was laid by; a smart and smiling maid,
another of the shepherd's daughters, attended her; the farm-
yard was full of suiibhiny bustle, and alive with the sound of
human voices, the bleating and lowing of animals, and cackle of
poultry.
Mr. Rickman stood by the bailiff with a pensive air, and
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SHEEPSHEARmG.
153
looked on with a sort of gentle enquiry in his eyes, remarking to
Gervase, wlio had ridden over from Medington that afternoon,
that a master's eye was everything. So Gervase thought, and
his keen glance was everywhere, and every one knew it. The
cow-man lingered no more than was reasonable on his way to the
dairy ; the boys took care to play no tricks, or let sheep through
the fold ; th' car us, bringing their horses to water, dared not
loiter; the -hearers lid not pause in their work while they
chattered w tl that . ch-gossip, Raysh Squire, whose special
object in bt;it, thtre t was not easy to define, unless it were
that he considt d ;t ais duty as parish clerk to keep an eye on
the vicar's hanc.ul of sheep, since those ecclesiastical creatures
were undergoing the same fate .. their lay brethen.
Yet this was scarcely necessary, since not only Joshua Young,
the vicarage gardener and factotum, was lending a hand, but the
vicar himself, his round hat on the back of his head, and his
si)ectacles accurately balanced upon his nose, stood by Mr.
Rickman's side and looked upon the group of shearers with
interest. Whether the scene suggested any analogy with a tithe
dinner to him he did not say.
"A pleasing spectacles Merton," Mr. Rickman observed to
him ; " so primitive and pastoral. Virgil's eyes beheld it, and
even David's. Much as science has done in destroying the
poetry of rural life, we do not yet shear our sheep by
steam."
"Or electricity," added Gervase; "but we shall."
"I am glad the weather is warm for the poor things," said
Mr. Merton, who was eminently practical.
"It is fortunate, or rather providential. God truly tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb," replied Mr. Rickman, under the
impression that he was quoting Scripture, and thiir paying a
fitting compliment to Mr. Merton's cloth.
The pi o verb was new to the shepherd, who took it in with
his outward ears and laid it aside in the dim cells of his memory
for future contemplation. At present he was fully occupied with
an idea which had come to him years ago, and which refreshed
him annually, if the weather was fine, when he stood in Arden
farmyard at shear time, and looked though the two sets of open
barn-doors to the upland meadow beyond — the meadow steeped
in sunshine till the grass was liquid emerald and the sheep
browsing there were made of transparent light. The shaduwcd
barn, into which some few shafts of light shot transversely, irradia-
ting far dark corners, made a black frame for the sunny mead,
thus enhancing its brilliance and lending it an ethereal beauty.
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T//E REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
Paradise, the shepherd thought, must be something like that
green, flower-starred meadow, glowing with living light. Ud
there the Celestial Shepherd's flock rested peacefully, feeding in
the warm radiance, some of them with bleeding sides that would
soon be healed for ever. Down in the yard the sheep were penned
together, hungering, panting, scared, driven they knew not
whither or wherefore, like men in the cruel world. Sooner or
later all must he under the shearer's hands, like men beneath the
stern shears of necessity; those that kicked bled, those that lay
still beneath the sharp blades were unwounded, and more quickly
set at liberty in the sweet pastures above. So the shepherd
mused, looking stolid and vacant, as he stood in his smock frock
with his crook in his hand, pulling his forelock in answer to some
question addressed to him by the vicar.
" Shear-time aint what it was when you and me was young
Mam Gale," said Raysh Squire, graciously accepting a mug of
four o clock from the latter. "I minds when half the countrv-
zide come to a shear feast."
"And bide half the night the volk would, wi' viddles and
singing, she replied. "Many's the song I've a yeard you zing
at shear-time, Master Squire. Massy on us I here comes Squire
Annesley ! " ^
The shearers' eyes were alliifted at the click of the farm-gate
tlirough which Edward Annesley was just riding in search of
Gervase Rickman, whom he had tracked from his office in
Medmgton and finally run to earth at Arden.
Seeing Mr. Rickman, he got off", giving his horse in charge of
a carter, and walked round the pen to the three gentlemen, whose
backs were turned, so that they were not aware of his presence
""?i ^t^^ad nearly joined them, when Gervase came to meet him.
Mr. Rickman received him with his wonted cordiality, but the
Vicar with a distant salutation to the new-comer, said something
about an appointment and hurried away, promising to look in
later.
Edward's face flushed and darkened as he looked after the
retreating figure of the clergyman, and he made some satirical
reference to the unusual amount of business the latter appeared
to have on hand.
"It is too bad of me to invade your leisure, Rickman," he
added ; "for if any mortal man earns his holidays, you do. But
I shall not be in Medington for a day or two and I want five
minutes' conversation with you, if you can spare them.'' How
well your sheep look, Mr. Rickman I Are these the prize South-
downs?" .
>H
SHEEP-SHEARING.
155
'* These ? " echoed Mr. Rickman with a puzzled air. " I rather
think they are ; eh, Gervase ? "
"Those in the meadow," replied Gervase; and he asked
Edward if he remembered when Mr. Rickman could not be
made to understand why the shee; -washing would not do as
well after the shearing, which he thought would be so much more
convenient.
"I remember that sheep-shearing well," Edward replied.
"Paul and I stayed here a couple of nights one Whitsuntide
holidays."
The peculiar, unpleasant sme of the sheep, their querulous
bleating, the click of shears and clack of tongues, brought back
the far-off sunny holidays clearly, with a mixture of pleasure and
pain to his mind. The long ago always has something sad, how-
ever sweet it may be; but subsequent events had given these
memories a sting. The two boys had helped to push the
unwilling sheep into the water. Once they stole some shears and
cut the horses' manes and poor little Sibyl's hair. She used to
trot after them like a little dog, and was always putting them up
to misthief, and involving them in scrapes, innocent in intention.
He could see her great dark eyes, and hear Paul's merry laugh
now. It pained him to recall those golden days, and think
how far they then were from dreaming of the black shadow which
was to rise between them, extinguishing one life, darkening the
other.
" To be sure ; how the time goes and the children spring up,"
Mr. Rickman said, as they went past the monastic-looking barns
and the bailiff's stone-buttressed house to the Manor ; " how the
time goes apd nothing remains," he repeated, going in and leaving
them alone to despatch their business.
Scarcely a year had passed since PauFs death, and little more
than a year since the fated inheritance fell to him so unexpectedly
by the extinction of the elder branch of Annesleys. But Edward
looked years older than when some fifteen months before an'
accident brought him to Arden Manor to tangle the web of so
many lives. Gervase Rickman would not now call him a good-
looking fool if he saw him for the first time. His face then wore
the unwritten expression of early youth, that strange half-tranced
look which has such a charm for older people ; it was stamped to-
day with an indelible record; the features, beautiful then with
young and gentle curves, had become marked and masculine,
though what was lost in grace was gained in strength. The old
ready smile and frank, good-humoured look had given place to a
stern, almost defiant expression. He was now grave and taciturn;
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156
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
the reproach of which Mrs. Annesley had spoken seemed branded
upon him.
\yas that Squire Annesley ? one of the shearers who came from
a dista-ce was asking, and was it true, as folk averred, that he had
sold himself to the devil for Gledesworth lands?
"Some say there's a curse on the Gledesworth lands, and it do
seem hke it," John Nobbs replied ; " there was never a Squire of
Gledesworth without trouble yet."
"Ah ! Mr. Nobbs, there's that on the back of Squire Annesley
would break any one of ourn, let alone the heft of the curse,"
added Mam Gale, with a mysterious air.
"What was it he done?" asked the shearer.
-'Some say he shoved 'tother one over cliff," replied Raysh
Squire. " Whatever he done he drove a bad bargain for hisself.
Gledesworth lands is wide and Gledesworth lands is hrich, but all
Gledesworth lands isn't worth what goes on inzide of he."
" Bad luck they lands brings," said a shearer : "look at Squire
Paul ! "
"A good dacter was spiled in he," observed Mam Gale,
thoughtfully inverting her tin mugs to get rid of heel-taps ; =* he
had as good a eye for the working of volks' inzides as Mr. Nobbs
hev fur the pints of beestes. Poor Ellen, she couldn't go off
comfortable without him. 'Twas he zent our Hreub abroad with
young Mrs. Annesley, and made a man of 'n."
Then the others recalled traits of Paul's excellence. Joshua
Young dilated on the wild wet night-ride he had taken to his
father; Raysh averred that no one else had ever grappled so
successfully with Grandmother Squire's rheumatism; Jim Reed,
one of the shearers, showed the scars on his arm, which had once
been torn in a threshing-machine, and which Paul Annesley had
saved from amputation. To Paul, as to many another artist, fame
came in ftjU flood when d#ath had made him deaf to it.
" A understanden zart of a dacter was Paul Annesley," said
John Nobbs. " You minds when I was down in the fever, Dan!
Pink. There was I with no more power of meself than a dree
weeks babe. This yer hand," he held up a broad brown fist in
the sunshine, "was so thin as a eggshell; you med a looked
drough 'en. My missus, she giv me up. Mr. Merton said 'twas
pretty nigh time to think on my zins. Squire Hrickman, he called
in a town doctor, let alone doctering of me hisself. Thinks I to
mezelf, 'John Nobbs,' I thinks, 'you've a got to goo, and the
quieter you goos the better, they wunt let your widow want while
she keeps her health for dairy work.' There I bid a-bed and
never kaowed night from noon. Dr. Annesley, he came in and
SHEEP-SHEARING.
»S7
felt the pulse of me. Then he looks pretty straight at me, ' John
Nobbs,' he says, «fou've got down mis'able low, but you've a
powerful fine constitution, it's a pity to let a constitution like
yourn goo,' he says, kind of sorrowful. 'There aint a man in
Arden,' he says, ' with a better eye fur cattle than yourn, John
Nobbs.' When he said this yer, I sort of waked up, fur I zimmed
going off quiet like when he come in, and darned if I didn't begin
to cry, I was that weak and low. ' Come now,' he says, ' you aint
easy beat, John Nobbs ; you've abeen through wet harvests and
bad lambing times, and you never give in. Don't you give in to
this yer fever, John Nobbs. Drink off this yer stuff and make up
your mind you wunt be beat, and you'll hae the laugh of we doc-
tors,' he says cheerful and easy. * Make up your mind you wunt
be bciit, John Nobbs,' he says. With that he poured some warm
stuff into me and he heft me up in bed and put some pillows
hround me, and bid me look out of window. Thinks I to
myself, ' You med so well hae another look hround, John Nobbs,
avore you goos,' And there when I looked hround athirt the
archard, where the apple-trees was all hred with bloom and the
sunshine was coming down warm on 'em, and I zeen wuld
Sorrel in close with a foal capering at her zide, and the meadow
bej'ond put up for hay with the wind blowing the grass about, and
smelt the bean-blossom drough the open window, and zeen every-
thing coming on so nice, I zimmed miserable queer. Then I
says to m.ezelf, * John Nobbs,' I zes, ' you look sharp and get up
and mow that there grass, and thank the Lord, who have give you
as good a eye for judgen cattle and as good a hand for a straight
furrow as any man alive,' T zes. And here I be," he added in
conclusion, passing a red handkerchief over his broad face.
"Sure enough, Mr. Nobbs, there you be," echoed Raysh,
thoughtfully surveying the bailiff's substantial body as if trying
to persuade himself that he was indeed no aerial vision likely to
fade from his gaze. " Without he you'd a ben in iytten long with
your vatther up in the narth-east earner by the wall ; aye, you'd
a ben in church lytten, Mr. Nobbs, sure enough."
"They do say 'twas all along of a ooman they two fell out,"
said Joshua Baker.
" Zure enough," replied Mam Gale, "Miss Lingard favoured
the captain first, then comes the doctor and she favoured he, and
then they both come together and she favoured 'em both and then
thev fell out." '
" Ah," said one of the shearers, pausing in the act of turning
over the sheep upon the floor before him, " wherever there's
mischief there's a ooman, I'll wain't."
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«58
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
\
^^ Womankind, ' observed Raysh with mournful acquiescence,
»f,r^"^P*^^°"^ ^^'■*' ^ ^^^'^^^ auspicious zart is the female zart "
Womankind," retorted Mam Gale, who was leaving the bam
with leisurely reluctance, " med hae their vaults, as I wunt deny
iiut massy on us I come to think of men volk; when their vaults
is took away, there ain't nothen left of 'em, nor a scriddick."
"Womankind," continued Raysh, majestically disregarding
this interruption, "was made to bring down the pride of man
Adam he was made fust, and he ^ot that proud and vore-right
drough having nobody to go agen en, there was no bearen of 'n.
1 hen Eve, she was made, and she pretty soon brought 'n down,
ana that was the Fall of Man as you med all bread in the Bible "
You goo on, Raysh," retorted Jim Reed; "you thinks
nobody knows the Bible athout 'tis you."
"Well, I 'lows this young ooman have got summat to answer
tor, said the stranger shearei* ; "she ought to a cleaved to one
and left t other, which is likewise in the Bible, instead of wivveren
about between the two to their destruction."
XT u?'^ * mis'able bad job, and talking won't mend it," said John
JNobbs, turning the conversation, when he saw Sibyl standing on
the granary steps at the other end of the yard, scattering handfuls
ot gram before her Tor the fowls, who came hurriedly flocking from
all parts, cackling and clucking and jostling one another as they
rushed helter-skelter in resjjonse to her call.
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CHAPTER IL
THE QUESTION
Tna business for which Annesley had wished to see Gejvase
Rickman was soon done, and did not involve even going into the
house. While they were still talking anu pacing up and down
beneath the fresh-leaved trees, Hubert the deer-hound came
bounding up in his long sweeping stride and placed his muzzle
confidingly in Edward's hand, looking up at him with a world of
affection in his soTt dark eyes.
*• This creature loves me," he said, patting his head ; " dogs are
whimsical in their likings : some instinct must tell him that I like
him."
" He takes no notice of me, the brute," replied Gervase with
asperity • 'le was jealous of the dog, who favoured him with a
watchful s.::e-long glance. " I had to thrash him once, and he
never forgave it."
" And I never will," was the mute response in Hubert's eye.
" His mistress cannot be far off," Gervase added ; " perhaps
you will come in, Annesley — the ladies are all at home."
" I had intended calling before I heard that you were here,"
he replied with a hesitating air. " Oh, there is your father," he
said, catching sight of Mr. Rickman, who was issuing from the
hall i>orch with his usual bewildered air, as if he had just waked
from a sound sleep, and was w idering where on earth he was.
In a moment Annesley had joined the old gentleman and was
asking him to give him a few minntes in private, to which Mr.
Rickman readily assented, taking iii;n to his study, an ::p J-.ment
which had formerly suggested a necromancer's cave to "^ livard's
boyish imagination, stuffed as it was with all kinds of uncanny
things — fossils, skeletons, minerals, insects, and odd bones, with
unpleasant-looking bottles in \ .,ich reptiles appeared to be
Wiithing and turning.
A chair was with some difficulty cleared from the general
overflow of papers, parchments and books, and placed opposite
Mr. Rickman's own arm-chair, in which he sat, regarding his
guest attentively and trying to remember if he had recently
l\
\\
"■It ""m
1 1%
i6o
THE REPROACH OF ANNESL ffK,
applied to him on any subject connec ted with the house or land
which he held o^ him. Foi Edward Annesley had for some
months pa'^t been in -.ndisputed possession of the Gledesworth
estates, though there, \\,'A at first been some difficulty in getting
probate of Paul's will in ccnsequence of th; body no^ having
been found. Gervase, how* vei, had managed ckvc^rly, so that
the Gledeswortl^iaflfiairs had oeet: 'settled in ;i surprisingly short
time. His evidence as an eye-w ii;iess of the death had satisfied
the Court of Probate, before which Ed»vard Annesley had not
been summoned.
A vague notion that rent must be due was the sole result of
Ml. Rickman's mental interrogation, which continued for some
seconds, while Annesley sat sileni, looking down upon a pile of
dusty volumes heaped pell-mell at his feet.
"I think, Mr. Rickman," he s;^i 1 at last, "that you are Miss
Lingard's guardian."
" I am one of her trustees, I nev-.r was hei guardian ; she will
soon be of age," he replied, surprise^, at the question.
" At all events," continued Annesley, '• you stand in place ot a
father to her."
" She is my adopted child, Annesley," he replied ; " she is the
same to us as our own daughter — we have had her so long. I
question whether the tie of consanguinity is as strong as is
generally supposed. There is no trace of it in the lower animals ;
family feelings in man are the result of imagination, strengthened
by religion, inherited social instincts, and above all of habit
Perhaps I may be permitted to observe "
"And habit has made Miss Lingard your daughter, sir,"
interrupted Edward. " I need not tell you what my circumstances
are, because you know. I came to tell you that I have long
loved your adopted daughter, and desire your permission to pay
my addresses to her."
" You wish," replied Mr. Rickman in extreme mazement,- " to
marry — Alice ? "
" Yes. It seemed right to ask vour permission before asking
hers."
Mr. Rickman very deliberately vedhis glasses, a id, taking
his handkerchief, began to nolis nem with extreme diligence!
X! iving assured himself ot , i - otless brilliance, he replaced
';';^n at his eyes with ace t oare and looked through them
thoughtfully at his guest.
" My permission," he repenred virh a troubled air— « my per-
mission. My dear Mr. Annesley. ■ ;: is a very great surprise to
me— a very great surprise. I hai -iderstood— I had been led to
THE QUESTION.
I6i
suppose— Ah ! perhaps you are not aware that Miss Lingard'»
affections have already been given — your poor cousin."
Edward's face darkened, but his gaze met Mr. Rickman's
steadily.
" Your poor cousin," continued Mr. Rickman, " had been pay-
ing his addresses to her for some time at the date of his death ;
I am told, with only too good success. Certainly the poor child
has never been the same since."
" I know it," he replied, " and on that account do not expect
to win her in a moment."
Mr. Rickriian moved uneasily in his chair and looked out of
the lattice window into the drooping gold splendour of a labur-
num, and watched the languid flight of a bee humming about the
blossom.
" I do not recommend you to prosecute the suit, Mr. Annesley,"
he said after a pause. " Alice is a woman of deep feeling; she
will not forget her dead Idver quickly, if at all. You will only
waste time and hope."
" That is my concern," he returned. " The question is, have I
your permission — have you anything to urge against me ? "
As he said this, he looked so steadily and even sternly at Mr.
Rickman, and his breath came so quickly through his nostrils
above his close-shut lips, that the old gentleman's mild eyes
quailed and fell, and he looked the picture of embarrassed misery,
fidgeting on his chair as if it had been the gridiron of St. Law-
rence, seeking words and finding none.
" Is there any reason why I may not ask Miss Lingard to be
my wife ? " repeated Edward sternly.
"My dear Edward," replied Mr. Rickman, driven to bay,
"you must be aware that there is a — a certain stigma upon your
name — a — a reproach."
" What reproach?" he demanded proudly.
" My dear Annesley, I believe you incapable of the wrong im-
puted to you, pray believe that. If I thought differently, of
course I should not have received you at my house and allowed
my family to enter yours. But you must acknowledge that such
a stigma is a serious drawback."
"I acknowledge it," he replied.
" I think," continued Mr. Rickman, " that the stigma might
be removed by the simple expedient of relating in detail all that
you did on that unfortunate afternoon. There seems to be a
hiatus in your narrative, which no doubt you could easily fill."
" You are mistaken, sir," he replied. " No words of mine
could remove the stigma, such as it is. I could not fill the hiatus.
II
hi!
;j- I
■ i;
;. ■;
M.
I6i
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
All 1 can do is to live it down, as I slull in time. I have a bitter
enemy ; who may repent. The question is, do you forbid me to
ask your adopted child to marry me?" "la me to
"It IS very sad," sighed Mr. Rickman, mournfully playing with
a paper-knife. " Very sad. But I can scarcely venture to forbid
you. I must refer you to Alice herself. I shall not forbid her
but should she seek counsel of me, I should certainly not advise
her to marry a man who is-forgive me for saying what is no
doubt too well known to you— ostracized by his class." But it
was not the public ostracism which weighed most with Mr. Rick-
man ; he thought that Edward owed a full explanation to the
family into which he proposed to marry.
f ^t.p^edes^orth. I have already offered my mother and
sisters the choice of any place they like to live in. We could
let or leave Gledesworth. But the best plan for me is to stay
and live it down. And my mother has agreed to stand by me
and face it out. ./ • '^
"I have protested," said Mr. Rickman, with an air of relief
rX'?'^'"? '\'^^- ^"'y-. ^ ^"^ ^^y "" "^°^e- (Besides," he
L?f5 V r '^T^ IS certain not to accept him, it does not Really
matter whether I object or not.) I do not forbid your suit, but
I warn you that it will not be successful. Under the circum-
ofTaul irneTey'"' ""' """" '° '"''^' '•''" '^''' ^° '^' '"^'^O'^
Edward thanked him and rose to take leave of him. "You
are very good to me, Mr. Rickman," he said, shaking his hand :
and though you do not encourage me, at least believe that I
will do my best to be worthy of her."
'« Don't go yet, they are all at home, I think," said Mr. Rick-
man satisfied that he had fully done his duty in throwing aU h^
facul les into the interests of every-day life for a time, fnd glad
Lrl «f ^"*^"y '"'°. ^}^ "^""'^^ °^ abstractions and theories once
more ; let us go and find them."
Edward and Alice had scarcely met since Paul's death. On
InnJ,^'.7'''!;°"fK°^ ^i calling at Arden Manor, she had seldom
appeared, and although she visited his mother and sisters at
Shh hkh .^ ^^'\^^' ^i«it« .had occurred when he was away
with his battery. Once or twice they Jiad met in the street at
MrtTT ^^t''^ t^''^ u°^'"." P"'^ ''''^^ °f ^e^ks' duration to
Mrs. M alter Anneslpv whr. livpri ^f -♦Ml ■•-. K— -- j
1 . ,-,.'",""■" ■ '•■C-! un 3tiu in iici Creeper-covered
hrt^^^^"'^^ ^'''''' '^°"gh ^" g'^^ter state than of oldj
but they had not stopped to speak to each other, on account of
Mrs. Annesleyspreience. For Mrs. Annesley had refused to
THE QUESTION.
163
ones once
meet any of the Gledssworth Annesleys since her son's death.
She had been much discomposed at the readiness with which
probate of her son's will had been granted by the Court. She
complained to Gervase that Edward ought to have been sum-
moned as a witness of the death. At which (iervase smiled
mysteriously, and observed that it was unnecessary, since the
Court entertained no suspicion that he had evidence to give.
Only those present in court knew what Gervase's deposition
was ; the transaction was too unimportant to be published.
Once Alice, at Gervase's request, had attended a political
meeting at which the county member addressed his constituents,
previous to an election. Paul had then been dead about seven
months, and Edward, over-persuaded by Gervase, had consented
to make one of the party on the platform and deliver a brief
speech if called upon to do so. Except the member and one
or two inferior local politicians, no one there had ;«ppeared aware
of his existence.
When it came to his turn to speak, he stood up and gazed
with dim eyes and a whirling brain upon the unaccustt • . sight
of a sea of expectant human faces beneath him. He was too
nervous to notice that the applause, which in some measure
greeted the rising of every other speaker, and which in Gervase's
case had been tumultuous, was not forthcoming for him, nor did
his unaccustomed ear catch an ominous sibilation whi'.-h grew
into loud hisses. Once he had plunged into a burning house
and rescued some sleeping children, rushing through a sheet of
flame to what seemed certain death, with closed eyes, singeing
hair and sobbing breath. With the same feeling of mortal agony
and the same determined hardening of his heart he now plunged
into the scorching flame of public speech, and ^.l^ p eatly sur-
prised when his preliminary "Ladies and gentlemen" floated
tranquilly through the building without provoking any convulsion
of nature, or even bringing the roof down, and he said without
hesitation or circumlocution that he approved of the programme
just presented to them by their member. Having done this in
about six words, he paused, reflecting that he might as well sit
down, since he had nothing more to say, and wishing the others
would be as expeditious, when the momentary silence was broken
by the following sentence flung out in a high harsh voice from the
back benches, "Who killed Paul Anneslef ?"
Cries of "Order!" and "'J'urn him out !" made a momentary
confusion, and then Edward, roused to defiance, with the sweat
standing on his face, began again, his nerves steadied by the
spirit of battle, and dilated upon some detail of the member's
11—3
164
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
programme, interrupted by hisses, whistles and cries of " Cain ! •
Cam ! until he had to sit down, at the instance of those near
him. in 3p,te of hJ. f^.^^. determination to face the matter out
Lrervase ^ ..vaiuo ii.aintaitied that these cries came from
purely Conservative sources, and were merely an attempt t™
obstruct and break up the Liberal meeting ; but as the Sine
passed off qmetly after the police had forcibly ejected one of
afterwrrds!""'"^ *"''' ''^' '^^ '°°'"'" ^"^^ ^^•^' ^^^^"^^^"g ^t
^h^K^''' "° ' " °^J^.^'?^ S'^^y^- " It was better to face it out. like
the brave man he is." '
"He will never again take an active part in local politics"
soro^'' '■''''• " ^ "'^'^ ' ^'^^ not advised himCegin
1 ^i!"!," ^i'- v^^^^'^' Anne-'^'ey heard o/ the occurrenc. she
laughed and observed that Heaven was just ; but to A lie- he
said nothing, the two having agreed that Edward Annesic^'s
name was not to be mentioned between them
When Mr. Rickman conducted Edward from his study aft .
their private interview, they found Alice and Sibyl in the garden
behind the house, entertaining Hora.e Merton and his sfs'er a
child oi mei.-e who had trolled in from the vicarage. The gre?
ndge of down h 1 a solemn effect against the tranquil bluefky
•nd. hm for thr ,lness of the leaves, the loss of the'apprbloom
u_ »d the difference of the flowers bordering the .road turf walk
the scene was the same as on that April day the year beTo e
wb- Paul and Edward had surprised each other Ee The
\^Xi i^^f""'- ^^'^,"'•"i"fe :^eeds helped the similitude, and
hpL/fnf ^""^''i',' ^'^''^' ^'"-^ *^-'' ^^^^''"g ^hite petals and
hearts of virgin goV :ood as sentinels h.hind Alice, in place of
Z:^^l^''^TTV'''''''}''t i'-^" P--d'theif^'een
lances and f th heads erect I hmd her
Alice ros: jm e bench on wh ch she was sitting and came
S 7:\^r ^'^l" K '" '^"'^ ^^ «^^^^^ '^^^ ' '- lookldin search
of the old unspeakable somethmg h ad formerly seen there but
he found nothing save a settled sorrow n the glance that me
his. His heart misgave him, and he knew that he must wait be-
ore he could wm her j her loss was still too fresh. He sat 'here
like one in a dream, gazing at the voune oeonlfi whn u,^re .. — .
'"i^-i'*' S^ *^!l^^,' ^""^ stroking the head Hubert laid onliis knee
while Mrs. R.ckman chatted tranquilly, and Gervase preluded
upon his viohn at a little distance, where he could see every.
THE QUESTION.
165
of "Cain!"
those near
latter out.
came from
attempt to
he meeting
ted one or
personality
iscussing it
it out, like
il politics,"
im to begin
rrenci she
Alic he
Annesicy's
study aS\.A
the garden
is sister, a
The grey
il blue sky,
iple-blooni
turf walk,
sar before,
lere. The
itude, and
petals and
1 place of
leir green
and came
i in search
there, but
that met
It wait be-
: sat *-here
ire Ki^fsot^
his knee,
preluded
ee every-
body and watch them, thinking many thoughts which his music
helped.
When Alice came to the tea-table Edward placed his chair for
her and stood at her side, leaning against a tree, and began hoping
that she would not fail to be one of the luncheon party at Gledes-
worth at the end of the week.
" If you do not come this time," he said in a low tone, so that
others might not hear, " I shall begin to think you have some
quarrel agai me."
" Oh ! Mr. Annesley," she replied earnestly, " pray do not
think that."
" I have enemies," 1 continued in the same low voice. ' I
hope you are not among them. You promised once that you
would be my friend, if you remember."
"And I am your friend," she replied, raising her eyes and
speaking very clearly though softly and a little tremulously ; " I
could never be otherwise."
" Thank you," he replied, and he almost started when he dis-
covered Gervase close at hand offering him a seat, to take which
obliged him to leave Alice, since her cl)air was on the outside of
the semicircle, and the only vacant chair was at the other end next
Sibyl, who turned at his approach and welcomed him with her usual
cordial smile.
" Do you like being in the army, Mr. Annesley ? " asked little
Kate Merton across the table all of a sudden, in a silence which
followed some peaceful and common-place discussion.
" Naturally, Miss Kate. I entered the service of my own will,"
he replied. " Why do you ask ? "
'Then how will you like having lo leave it?" continued the
child. " Papa says you were recommer;d<: (! vo resign "
"Kate, be quiet," muttered her brotJu.-i, pinching her.
"Well, he did, Horace, you heard him," she went on, "and you
said it was as good as being turned out."
" If ever I go out again with that brat ! " thought Horace,
trying to stop the child's tongue ; but Edward would not have her
quieted.
"You may tell your pa^ a that I have not been recomn ended to
resign," he said. *' You need not scold your sister, Mr. Merton ;
she merel V s'iows rae what a very kind interest people take in my
affairfc," he added sarcastically.
After this the conversation was forced and spasmodic ; Edward
wondered if the fact of his having actually been recommended to
leave the service by a brother officer of subaltern rank, as a means
of escaping a coldness that threatened \q grow into ostracism,
{:• I il
;f
i66
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
;:ould possibly have become kno.n. and so have given risetothis
his^eer^ SiM^o^ke^^^^^^^^^ ^y- ^-t on the turf at
with pity, an J the endereTt" syZ^^^^^ ''V-^^') ^^'^ ^^^nded
Her father, usuallysounobservnnt ' ^- ''1^^''""^' ^'''"' her face,
lined face softened/ "whatT.S;'^';;^^ '^'V""''^' ^"^ ^is own
clever little Sib!" Gervie LwTt Cd his f^"'''^!,^'^'"''''^''^' " "^^
saw nothing but the Brass on JI/m 1 ^^'i^' darkened; Alice
bent in sile'nt meiancSy Then Ed^^ard'?:' ''.^ ^'"^^^^«' -"'
the full stress of yearning con^nassi;nTl p^'"^ ^^ ^"^ ^«"ght
his heart was touched ; for SSv so ^/ '.^"''"'"^^ ^^'^^ *"d
so impotent is rarely s;en in a ^uman f^.. 7 "'"' '° ^"'^' ^"^
faithful animal's loving ^aze For Tn • f ^' S".* sometimes in a
seemed to meet hhand^ surprifrhim '^T^ ^'^^^'' ^^^"*'f"> «°"1
ripple of laughter passed ovS her C anS Z7'''''''' ' ^^^^ ^
on his melancholy. " We are all so d^^nn^ u ^^«^" *° '^"y him
must be thunder in the air," she sa°d < Ai" ^T '?;"'«'^*' ^^ere
went to the Dorcas meet ng at Medinafnn ' ^V'" "' ^^^
the li..te malicious lalesTy^SiLwn^n' ^''''^''' ' '^'« >»
that line." ' ' ^'"^^ ' "" °"e can surpass you in
C.eZt"'"' '^"""' "> f'^' '"'» Sitbie-s hands," commented
baste:rhaiiJ^r:uh1ff""''''r.°f «" -"-"r and
beguile .he heal™! frl EdwaJ ffir'T' '»'«=^™"M
jomed in (he laughter it Movoked • toJrf 7 './fu"' """"Sh he
cussjpns and iUuslrations S cur^l' ^'.f'"',*'' 'l-'mfry dis-
Anghcan communion, which Gerva e enrirhLt ^'^"•?^<i » 'he
occtpTed'S""? aTan'^h!!'"''' "^'^'«»*^ "^ "ad the pre-
t:"ng he would Uke tHorglt '^^"^^' remembering «,Se-
i If
en rise to this
n the turf at
tyes clouded
^m her face,
and his own
himself, " my
ened; Alice
Iward's, were
and caught
eis face and
o mute, and
etimes in a
eautiful soul
ess; then a
to rally him
night, there
us how you
the curate
onder what
I. "There
»," replied
I leave all
)ass you in
ommented
litary and
iies could
hough he
nerry dis-
ed in the
)tes, more
the pre-
ng some-
CHAPTER IIL
AT SUNSET.
Thk Mertons left early, and Gervase Rickman looked at Edward,
thinking he would follow them, which he did not. Mr. Rickman
had long since vanished into the charmed privacy of his study,
and Mrs. Rickman had gone in to avoid the dew, but sat at work
in a window looking out on the garden.
"I must go to the shearers' supper," Gervase said at last.
" Perhaps, Annesley, you would not care to look in as well. You
would find the humours of a shear-feast stale ? "
" Of course he would," Sibyl replied for him. *• But I shall go
and have my health drunk. Nonsense, Gervase, I shall go. You
know I always look in for a minute. Come at once."
She took her brother's arm and bore him off protesting, laugh-
ingly, it is true, yet seriously annoyed with Sibyl for coming with
him, and angry at Annesley's bad taste in remaining with Alice.
The shearers' supper was spread in the kitchen, a long, low, dark
room with black oaken beams, filled now with the odour of hot
food, the sound of knives and forks and human voices, and the
Rembrandt shadows caused by the firelight playing on the mixture
of dusk and steam.
Good ale and good beef had by this time brought the slow
heavy machinery of rustic speech into full play. Raysh Squire
was telling his best story : that of the smugglers hidden in a tomb,
whose morning uprising from their hiding-place made some early
labourers, going to their work, think the Last Day was come. John
Nobbs had 'ast brought forth a new and powerful joke, at the
remembrance of which he still chuckled. He was considering
which of his songs, " In the lowlands low," or " A gentle maiden,
fair and young," he should sing. Sibyl would fain have lingered
at this scene, the unsophisticated humours of which pleased her
lively fancy, but after the singing of
•' Here's a health unto our MeSster, the vounder of the veast,"
Gervase insisted on her going.
She went out slowly, and leaving the house and garden passed
! I
t * I
II
I68
V I
'4
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLBV.
now still forawhile; there she Lh^hT* ""i^": "f »Wch wS
'The':rd'!;= '^nspa^e'^YeltC^ ir "' '"'^^'"'"^
.he'?^iSct e"or/whioiM;rs r'- '^'"" i," ^'- -p-
plaintive hleaing and melow bell Sli, 5 ""'u """"'"S with
miracle of the star-risin^S.ir.i; ^'' ?"'' ''■*'"='«^'' *<= ^miliar
her ardent .•mif„S^c:tlgun"*rsTi '°'"^"'" ^™* '
expression o the broad ^en.rT ' ''^^"^ '° ^"^ «"* and give
conflicting currentfwhtfi. "'^^"'"S °^ ^hose confused Ind
ment, is the liTnitless fi^lH^f • • ' ""jP^'^ed capacity for enjoy-
futur^ offers "b;^to^^^^^^ di^
twilight and mused upon human S and T"''"' 1? J^^ ^"^""^^^
it, trying to picture wLtTht f f ' ""^ ^? °^" '*"le portion of
ardent face and Site depths of th"? ^K ^"."^ ^^^' ^^^^ an
saw her parents bending u„de the hS '" Y' ^"^ ^y^^' ^he
to her for support- she saw VplLf" '''^" of years, and clinging
sometimes threatened to clt \ ^"""^'f^'^^ thoughts wfr.h
sympathy between hersdf and ?h "^\^''^ establishing a subtle
one ^ide'of irffmrgh Ifever uHv'h"'^' °^ '{"J"^^" ^°"^^- ^ut
sequence of joys and sorrows must t '7'''f .'° ^^^' ^ ^^ole
only the spectator of theIeSJ?vl? • !r? ^^'' '^^ ^""^^ be
she reflected she n^Lhtf.^^^"*^'" ^^^^ drama of life. Thus
vision were ' dfs oTte'd b^v the "^t ™'^' ""1 "^^ "^^'^ ^^an ff t;
experience. For some deen t' ,• T ^."^ '^''^^^ ^^ Personal
of life necessary to sTbylP ''""' '"^^^ ^ ^^'' ""^broken view
hefLSffic^^'ji^^ror:^^^^^^^^ £:drfTK' '^r'^ ^'^^ «--
and others too deep or too sad^rbe "utd ' '"''' '"^^^^ *^'^^^
fulfyVoughr HrwS'aTo^ opportunity he had so care-
the thouiht that aSs in her t^ '^' ^^^''^ ^P^^t was stirred by
by the flar that she mLh^LLr 'T°"''^^"^' ^"^ ^^'" ^
throi>"h i* T5 : ™'gnt be too weak to nass friurnnUof^Mv
AT SUNSET.
Jne gloaming,
of which was
irst pale stars
;r arms upon
rowsing with
i the familiar
antic youth ;
gesting aspi-
2 misfortune
ured from a
nd there is
more ? "
It and give
nfused and
human life.
' for enjoy-
ich its dim
le summer
portion of
-r, with an
-yes. She
id clinging
;hts v/h^h
g a subtle
3uls. But
, a whole
could be
fe. Thus,
han if her
personal
ken view
1 the firs,
re; these
1 so care-
tirred by
till more
aphantlj
sentinel
' against
169
the green of the espaliers. Edward was too overcharged with
feehng to speak, and his heart misgave him when he observed how
changed Alice's face was since the day when first he saw it. If
the face had been dear then, it was ten-fold dearer now, though
the first glory of youth was gone and its early lustre dimmed
During the past months Alice had suffered a wearing, wasting pain,
which he was far from divining, and the perpetual conflict, while
marring the beauty of her face, had left its stamp in an ethereal
charm only seen in those who, like Jacob, have wrestled spiritually
and prevailed. The patriarch halted on his thigh after that night's
wrestling. No one may issue alive unscarred from such conflict
and Alice never regained her youthful bloom. Her face was thin'
her eyes were too bright. And though this suffering was, as he
thought, for another, it endeared her to the man who loved her
so truly.
Of late she had fought hard against the conclusion which had
torced itself upon her by the river side. Whenever she saw
Edward she could not accept the verdict her reason forced upon
her. So it came to pass that her thoughts continually buf-
feted her and gave her no rest j she rose in the mornings
burdened by the weight of another's guilt, and struggled mentally
all the day, till at night she lay down with the hope that some
misconception existed, and that a straightforward recital of all
that occurred on that most unhappy afternoon would remove the
stigma from Edward Annesley's name, only to rise and renew the
conflict on the morrow. And to-day when he uttered those few
words at the tea-table, his voice, the silent devotion in his
manner, and the light in his eyes, stirred a new feeling in her
which should have been hope, but was fear. Till now she had
not thought that he loved her; she had accepted Gervase's
theory that his jealousy, unlike Paul's, was the evil fruit of a
passing fancy. His very silence, as they paced the turf-walk in
the balmy evening, told her more eloquently of his love than any
speech ; and the wild flutter of pulses within her told her too
truly that she loved him in return.
After all she was the first to speak; the pent-up resolve to
question him at all hazards breaking forth almost before she was
aware of it.
"Mr. Annesley," she said gently and calmly, in spite of the
thick heart-beats which nearly choked her, " I am glad to be alone
with you for a moment. I wish to a«t vnn o „or,, c^,:^,,„ „,,-„
tion. — bhe stopped, facing him, and looked down on the grass
at their feet, where the closed daisies really looked like pearls
margartta.—*' You will perhaps think it impertinent." '
.i(;
'■' I
I !■
f
I70.
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
— ■- "■ •
be but an honour to me " ^ question you care to ask can
co^Zt^l^ttn t^t^n^r ^^" °"^^ *° ^^ y«"r friend, Se
curiosity «; any ml n^ot^ve^^^^^^ *° ^^'^ ^h'^' not'from
"Dearest Miss LiLard thi. I \ ^ ^^i^^""" °«^" ^ake."
when she paused at ?lo's for fir?h^°°^ ""^ T""" ^^ ^^P^^d,
something to ask and some hin^ tolv hT?'^:,, .*^ *°° ^ave
^^er ha^df LirvtslyloTkeTtUtr'r ''f' ^' ^^^ ^'-,
pressed, and her face full of feflinf anH ' ^''' ^'' "P« ^O'"'
sun threw a glory upon her • Iw.n ^ and purpose. The setting
sky overhead; sLe^Ae"' farmviT ""^'f^'^P ^he pure palf
the voices of Village^hiSen aToLv '°""'^\^^^'' ^°"g«' ^"^
tones upon the still even W air o^J^nJ '^™' ''°'""" ^^ ^^^ened
hly scents, and the vague pfrfimeT^i^ '°'''' ^^^^°^ <^Iover,
a charm of fragrance !bouMhe two lil' ^T^ ^f^^'' ^^eathed
earth seemed Charged wfth the menn L %*° ^^°" ^^e whole
and the air lost its balm ^ ^''"» *^^ '"""S^t was grey,
"Yes," he replied.
remove this-this reproach " ""S"" """ y"" might
„ot.» '^""'"■" ''' «P»^'J' P»le and agitated-" Alice, I can-
pm11wSd"'"p/„;t''thl"'''''''^™'''^ 'h^had heard in the
be known—Above au 1?^ Z?V" "''"' '^"-^11 need never
.<^.she„astheH:,e1othrS,.S':;Te" '"^ '"^^ ""
.a|.sVarh° su^;^L^=h^a:r^;r^^--'"o„sho„H
told all?" she pleaded, preS„/h/;i,i?'l^'''' ?"" »"■ !"=" '*"»
of her hope. ■;. Oh I yo'^Shave fold aU » T'J" " ""^ '"'^^''X
something concealed Is only IStl'l." "'xf IrJ^'i^ ™'!'<'.".«<' °f
AT SUNSET.
from the first
are to ask can
ir friend, _>e
his, not from
i^n sake."
i" he replied,
*I too have
lear first," he
f the daisies,
'er lips com-
The setting
le pure pale
'songs, and
in softened
idow clover,
ge, breathed
1 the whole
of ethereal-
express her
ion— that is
d upon his
t was grey,
still more
you might
ce, I can-
ard in the
eed never
tnew now
ou should
you have
i intensity
n cured of
~i ais own
!n as she
171
a Sad face ^'^^^' ^""^ *^''" ''*' ^"'"^"^ ^^*'" ^""^ ^"""^^^ '" ^^^
"You mean well, dearest Miss Lingard," he said, "but this
discussion is as useless as it is painful. I can bear the burden.
oftthers ? " '"'^ '* '^°''"' ^^^^' ^"' ""^^^ '' *^^ °P^"i°n
" Is my opinion nothing ? " she asked.
"It is everything. Alice, Alice; think as kindly of me as you
can. I love you, Alice, I loved you the first moment I saw you ;
do not mistrust me." ^ *
He had now taken her hands and obliged her to look at him.
which she did through tears. '
I' Tell me the whole truth," she said.
'\^a' "^^j^r',,^^"^^^ ^" "^^' '^"t do not ask me this," he
hour " ^^°^^^ ^ ""^^ "^''^'' *^" ^"^ ^^^ ■''*°'y °^ *hat
"Would it not ease your mind to speak freely to one who—
S '^ ^°"'' ^"^""^ ^ " ^^^ ^ontin^ed, in a way that touched
« No," he answered ; " no. It cannot be. I must ask you to
pury this subject m your memory for ever. Dearest Alice I
know what sorrow fell upon you on that day. I have not spoken
lO you of my feelings since, because I respected your grief. But
what is past IS past, and cannot be changed, and you are young
and without near ties. And 1 have loved you, faithfully and
truly, ever since that day when I first saw you. And I came
here to-day tc ask you— not to be my wife— it is over-soon for
you to think of that, but to begin a new life and think of my
need of you and let me see you from time to time and try to
win you When you know that my whole heart is bound up in
you, Will you not try to take me for your husband ? "
Alice disengaged the hands he had been clasping in the grow-
mg intensity of hk words, and stood a little farther from him.
pausing before she replied, with a strong resolve to put away feel-
ing and listen only to duty.
"Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Annesley?" she
asked at last ; " you come to me with a stain upon you, and you
refuse to move it by an explanation."
"Time will efface that stain," he replied, shrinking slightly
beneath her words, which cut him to the heart. " And though I
am stout enough to face the world's scorn and hft?,r the hu^-^""
myself, 1 should never ask a wife to share it. I would ask her
to leave this place and let me find her a home, where these
rumours have not been heard, I know that this is a dia
i^
173
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
advantage, but if love can atone for anything, my love is strong
enough to atone for this. If you could once learn to love me,
Alice, and you nnight in time, the world's opinion would weigh
lightly with you."
She was dumb with amazement. The man who stood before
her, exalted by honest feeling, his face earnest, and his voice
eloquent with it, could not be guilty of what was imputed to him.
Nor could he be a dissimulator. Her heart went out to him, she
longed for mental blindness, she would have "^iven half her life
not to have overheard his compact with Gervase, or Gervase's
subsequent hints. If she could but wipe that hour from her
memory and trust him, as he expected her to trust him, then she
could give herself to him with perfect unreserve and share the
burden that was pressing so heavily upon him, with no reproach
from her conscience.
"Mr. Aiinesley," she replied coldly at last, "you cannot love
me if you do not trust me. And if you trusted me, you would
confide your secret to me."
" My secret ! " a red flash rushed over his face. " Why do
you attribute a secret X-omei I see that I can never win your
love, since I have not won your trust."
He turned away, his face dark in the chill twilight, and the
misery in it went to Alice's heart. " Let me trust you," she
besought him, " tell me what foundation there is for these dark
surmises. Believe me, Mr. Annesley, I should like to trust you,"
she added with a pathos which moved and yet giaddened him.
Surely there was a little love in that beseeching voice, he thought,
and he seemed to see it in the face upon which he turned to gaze
in the pale twilight.
" Trust me," he said, his voice vibrating witn strong feeling,
" trust me perfectly with a large unquestioning trusL Remember,
once for all, I cannot clear up this mystery. You do not know
what you ask, or you would never ask it. Trust me."
Alice began to tremble again, and she clasped her hands
together with a silent prayer for guidance. It would be so sweet
to say "I .'rust you;" but, knowing what she knew, so wrong;
the thing she was asked to condone was too terrible.
"No," she replied, "I cannot trust one who does not trust
me."
He was silenf and heart struck. Once more he turned aside
and gazed f)lankly away over the balmy garden, where the
flowers poised iheir heads in a dreamy stillness that seemed to
yearn for speech, and a brown mystery of shadow was being
woven about the trees away to the ii-«. beneath which Sibyl was
AT SUNSET.
173
ir from her
m, then she
3 not trust
standing unseen, to the meadows where the sheep were grazing
tranquilly in the mystic gloaming, to the coppice from the green
heart of which a nightingale was singing, to the hill dark against
a sky bright with the after glow and pierced by a few pale faint stars.
" I do trust you, and I love you as I shall never love again,"
he said, after a brief, sharp spasm of pain, "but it is all over
now. Only think as kindly as you can of me, Alice, and
remember me when you want a friend."
He was going, but an overpowering impulse moved her to
recall him.
" Stay," she cried, " do not go like this."
He came back quickly, took her hands, and spoke without
reserve, wild words of passion.
" Hush 1 " she cried ; " do not speak like that," and he was silent.
"Think it over," he said, presently, "I can wait. Say that I
may come again later."
The apparition of Gervase at the end of the turf-\<^alk made them
start asunder, and they went to meet him, the agitation in their
faces hidden by the friendly dusk. Gervase appeared surprised
to see them. " I thought you had gone long ago, Annesley," he
said, apparently untroubled by the thought that his company was
superfluous. " What a charming night ! Somebody said Sibyl was
out here ; have you seen her, AUce ? "
" It is later than I thought," said Edward ; " these long days
deceive one. There is no real night."
" The moon will rise soon," returned Gervase ; " you had better
wait for her. I envy you your ride over the downs. When are
you and I to have our moonlight stroll, Alice ? "
" Not to-night," she replied, "I am nired." Aid when they
reached the garden door, she vanished with a brief " good-night "
into the shadowed house, responding by a slight inclination of the
head to Edivard's murmured injunction " Write."
Then he rode away in the dewy silence, and thought it all over
wit'' a heavy heart in v,'hich there glowed scarcely a spark of hope.
Over t'l'. rhostly downs in the faint dusk and in the rising moon-
light he :ode, up and down and across for miles and miles, and
every rood of land over which he rode was his own. He looked
I'ft'f 0,1 his fair inheritance sleeping tranquilly in the magical moon-
light, woodland, farm and field spread over the undulating down
land, and in the plain beneath ; he would have given half his life to
he free of it-, for the price he had paid for it was too heavy. The
face of Pa'il, as he had last been it, dark with passion and bitter
with mockery, floated before him ghostlike, and took the ethereal
sweetness from the moonlight, and dimmed the glory of fhe calm
; (1
ii
f I:
ilt! '
;!':
174
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
infinite night. He saw well that the dead Paul was as serious a
barrier as the living one had been. Even if Alice recovered from
her sorrow, this silence between them must ever keep them apart
since she did not trust him he could never hope to win her love
While he rode away thus in the dim, summer night, the
tranquil household at Arden quieted down, and when the family
had retired for the night, Sibyl knocked at Alice's door and en-
tered her room.
" S^l^- ^°!! anything to say to me to-night ? » she asked
Nothing," replied Alice, who was accustomed to this little
formula, the prelude to some sisterly confidence: "have vou
anything to confess ? " '
"My sins have not been very black to-day," replied Sibyl
kissing her with unwonted tenderness, " but I thought— Alice
have you sent him away ? " & >
Alice silently kissed her.
"All the world is against him," continued Sybil: "you should
stand by his side."
Alice burst into tears and said nothing,
"Is it because you believe these hateful scandals ?" Sibyl
^^^X^^- , " ^"'■^^yyou cannot think there is any truth in them ? "
«.,. I '^'^'",^^^^ ^^''^^' ^^^^^"S her head from Sibyl's shoulder,
"that he ought to clear himself."
" How could he ? "
" He should make a full and clear statement of all that he did
that afternoon."
" Yes. And publish it in the papers, and make the town-crie'-
proclaim it in Medington streets," retorted Sibyl, scornfully, "and
who would believe it ?"
It had not occurred to Alice before that he could not now clear
himself ; that the more he noticed the vague accusations lodged
against him, the more substance they would take ; that nothing
short of a public trial, with its formal charges and formal refuta
tion of them, ending in an acquittal, could efface the stain upon
man is said to be an untrustworthy man, it is im-
I
him. Tf a
possible to disprove the charge ; if he is accused of forgery he
cannot be held guilty until the charge is supported by reUable
evidence. No special accusation could 'le brought against Edward
Annesley, the worst that was urged against him was matter of
surmise at the most. The case stood thus : the cousins had
quarrelled, and it was known that thev had been near parh nth^r
« not together, withm a few minutes of the violent death of one •
It was not known where the survivor was at the moment of the
accident, the fatal termination of which only was witnessed by a
AT SUNSET.
175
third person. The death was of great advantage to the survivor,
the motive for crime was present. The fact that the dead man's
mother refused to meet his heir and her nearest kinsman was
impressive. How all this was known, and how all these surmises
and conjectures had b«en built upon the foundation of facts
known only to a few persons, and occurring in a foreign country,
was a mystery that Edward Annesley and his friends vainly at-
tempted to solve.
*' He must have some deadly enemy," Sibyl had said once,
whereupon Gervase advised her not to repeat that observation.
"If you wish to ruin a person's reputation," he added, "the
best way is to lay some charge against him that admits no dis-
ffroof and get it well talked about."
" True," replied Mr. Rickman, who was present, " a germ of
fact infinitesimal in magnitude, accompanied by a certain bias,
when passed through the minds and mouths of numerous narra-
tors, develops to enormous and unexpected proportions. Each
narrator adds from a defective or careless memory ; hearsays are
reported as witnessed facts ; imagination supplies gaps and en-
hances details, because the innate artistic feeling of mankind
demands a properly proportioned story. A savage performs
some isolated feat of endurance, he develops into a hero; the
deeds of several such heroes, are in the course of time attributed
to one, whose actions gradually become miraculous, until in the
course of ages the brave savage is a god. Such are myths, such
is the legendary dawn of history."
These words Alice remembered now, acknowledging their
justice, and bitterly regretting and censuring the concealment,
which she thought the cause of the whole imbroglio.
Better, far better for Edward, she thought, it would have been,
had he given himself up to the Cantonal authorities as having
been the accidental cause of his cousin's death, if, as she supposed,
that death had occurred in the course of a quarrel or struggle in
which both had forgotten the dangerous nature of the ground on
which they stood. If, as she had often hoped, Edward had
merely witnessed the accident, why did he not report what he
saw ? why was there any concealment ? was he afraid of attaching
suspicion or blame to himself? Was he, in short, a coward ?
" After all," said Sibyl, at the end of their conference in Alice's
chamber that night, " what do these calumnies matter ? They
4. 11.. __:_ u: T»,.4. u_ :ii ^, , i:..-^ *i j_,.~ » \]i7u;„i.
ii,xiuiiJ.lij yam ii::ii. uXii xic vnh sOuH livc liiciii uuvvii. \ri:i-wt£
was but an echo of Edward's words in the garden that night, Alice
reflected, as the door closed upon Sibyl, and left her to the un-
welcome companionship of her own thoughts.
Ml
i
CHAPTER IV.
H
CONFLICT.
Sibyl's reasoning could not quiet the fever in Alice's breast.
The words Edward Annesley had used on the fatal afternoon
when he implored Gervase's silence, rang in her ears and would
ring for ever, and the edelweiss she had seen in his hat was
always bearing witness against him. How could the cousins have
exchanged hats ? and why aid Edward remove the edelweiss as
soon as he perceived it ? The only solution was that he had had
some part in the accident, involving the temporary loss of his own
hat as well as of Paul's, and had taken Paul's by mistake. It was
still possible that Edward's part in the accident was innocent, or,
at least unintentional ; Paul might have been the aggressor ; but
if Edward's part was innocent, why did he conceal it ? Ah !
why ? was the weary burden of the perpetual strife within her.
Few things were more hateful to Alice in the proud purity of
her own transparent truthfulness than anything approaching to
deceit. It was painful to her to have to withhold the most inno-
cent truth. She could not conceive, in the noble simplicity of
her nature, that an honourable man could be ashamed to publish
any incident in his life. She could not respect a man with any
such concealment. Yet she loved him ; she would willingly have
yielded up her life if she could but see the veil lifted, and Edward's
honour and integrity shining clear and unsullied behind it.
There was no rest for her that night ; she knew that a w,>fse
conflict than any she had yet endured must be struggled through
before dawn. She said her usual prayers mechanically, she could
not drive che one subject from her thoughts, and then she sent up
that inarticulate cry for help, which the soul utters in its extremity,
and which is more eloquent, or at least more earnest, than any
syllabled prayer.
The moon had risen and the night was warm and still. Alice
wanted air, the anguish within her bid fair to stifle her= She
extinguished her lights and sat by the open lattice, gazing out
into the vast calm night, wrestling inwardly, half in prayer, half in
thought Sibyl came back on some trivial errand and saw her
CONFLICT.
177
e's breast.
afternoon
ind wouW
s hat was
usins have
lelweins as
le had had
of his own
e. It was
locent, or,
jssor; but
it ? Ah I
lin her.
purity of
laching to
aost inno-
iplicity of
to publish
with any
ingly have
Edward's
it.
t a Wi'fse
J through
she could
le sent up
;xtremity,
than any
11. Alice
»er= She
azing out
;r, half in
sav her
sitting there, pale and statuesque, shrouded from head to foot in
a luminous veil of moon-beams, her head resting on her hand,
her gaze directed to the pale pure sky, which was studded with
celestial watch-fires made faint by the white moonlight. The
girls knew each other's moods, and Sibyl withdrew, aware that it
was useless to say anything. Her heart ached for Alice; she
carried the picture of the still and suffering figure traced upon
the night's faint darkness, and etherealized by the fairy web of
white rays woven about her, into the perplexed wonderland of her
own fantastic dreams.
Over and over again did Alice argue the case for the prosecution
and that for the defence, with varying but always unsatisfactory
verdict. What steeled her heart most against Edward was the fact
of his enjoying Paul's inheritance. If some angry or accidental
violence on his part had caused his cousin's death, surely he might
renounce the fruits of that death, he might make over the property
to his next brother, at least. But no, he enjoyed the land without
apparent remorse, and now he wished to take the lady as well. If
he came to her, penitent and unhappy, she would gladly throw in
her lot with his, loyally sharing the burden and the bitterness, and
helping him retrieve the i)ast.
Even now there were moments when her heart so yearned
over him that she felt that love must be paramount to everything
— she must close her eyes on what she was not supposed to know,
and make the best of what remained of his stained life, trusting
him with the large generous trust he had asked of her, and evok-
ing the better soul in the man who, as she knew, loved her deeply.
As his wife he would perhaps con'^'le in her, and she would help
him make such atonement as was pot<sible, loyally sharing his re-
proach. But then the horror of this secret ru: hed upon her soul,
and she felt that to marry one \o whom she imputed things so
dark, would be to share in his sin : such a union could never be
blessed of Heaven or bring any happiness to either of them. She
thought of children who would inherit a curse, and to whom she
would fear to speak of their father's life. She saw darkness stand-
ing for ever between them, an impassable barrier; she saw the
years passing on and making the confession harder and harder.
She thought of Paul's desolate mother, childless in her lonely old
age, bereft of the one son she had so passionately loved, and in
him of all the joy of her widowed life. It would be treason to
her to link her lot with Edward's. She had been much with
Mrs. Annesley of late. an", the desolate woman had grown very
dear to Alice's filial heart She never repeated her first accusation
of her nephew to Alice, \>\\\. her silence with regard to him w£ts
't
\ \
4
178
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
terribly eloquent. She clung to Alice and to no one else and
besought her not to leave her ; she was the only comfort left her
she told her again and again. '
After all, Edward had enough without her ; he had yout' health
and friends, and the wealth and position that would i-i time
attract more ; f^r no doubt, as he saitl, he would live these slanders
down. He might indeed have such pangs of conscience as would
take the lus re out of the very sunlight. Yet when his face rose
before her in all the reproach of its earnest honest love, as she ' id
seen it in the garden that night, she oould not attribute any \\ .nt(
to him. Then recurred the old monotonous burden, why why
did he conceal anything? Surely it he sought her as his wife, he
owed It to her to kee) back nothing ot his past ; to demand that
large generous trust was an insult. No with that reserve he
could not love her truly and trustfully, I'he world's verdict was
nothmg if she could but strangle the serpent of doubt which
gnawed so incessantly upon her heart.
^ She looked down into the quiet gnrden, where they had walked
m the evening dews, when he told her tue old tale that every
woman loves to hear and yearns to respond to ; she thought of
his coming on that early spring day when she sat among h* r
flowers and looked up and loved him, and felt that he loved her
before there was time to reflect ; she knew that she must love him
for ever and ever, ^and that without him she could know nothing
of the joy and beauty of life. She could not give him up, she was
too weak ; it seemed as if her frail being must be rent asunder in
the struggle.
So she thought, over and over ..gain, praying for guidance,
while the hours went on.
Presently she saw the pencil of rays which streamed from Ger-
vase's chamber window, showing he was busy within, vanish, and
she knew that all the house was asleep and sik at as death. The
tall eight-day clock ticked loudly in its oaken case in the hall, like
a living pulse of family life; it chimed hour after hour in its
friendly familiar voice ; she remembered how she had listened to
It in the silence of the first forlorn night she passed, a friendless
child, beneath the roof which had since sheltered her so warmly.
She thought of all their kindness, and the little she had ever been
able to do for them in return. She remembered Gervase's love,
which he had so generously conquered ; why could she not have
loved him? She had taken Sibyl's lover from her, she had
blighted Paul's iite, she had brouglit she knew not what between
the cousins, probably had been the cause of Paul's death ; why
had she been made the unwilling instrument of so much trouble ?
CONFLICT.
\n
She would at least try to do well. She took counsel of the quiet
night, the deep serene silence sank like balm into her soul ; the
pale pure stars spoke peace to her troubled breast. The shrouding
moonshine slanted and glided gnlually away from her window,
leaving her in the soft shadows
The flowers slept in the gai eneath ; friendly Hubert slept
his watchful dog sleep at her . ; the iiorses were quiet in their
stalls, the rattle of a halter or tne stamp of a hoof was too far off
to be heard even through that throbbing silence ; the cocks and
hens were all still on their perches ; the sheep and cattle grazed
so quietly in the distant meadows, they scarcely seemed to move ;
a wind, which woke and sighed through the balmy foliage of the '
nt w-leaved trees, died away ; the nightingale's song had ceased
suddenly long ago ; only the weird occasional creaking of furniture,
the rustle of some night-creature through the grass, and the
strange rhythmic long-drawn breathing which vibrates through
sohtary nights, like sleep's self made audible, emphasized the deep
silence, while the scent of the dewy earth and drenched grass, the
sweetness of the tall lilies, white in the summer darkness, and all
ihe fragrance of green and growing things filled it with balm.
Stars set, the moon had glided ghost-like away behind the down,
a cock crew, a fresh breeze awoke, a pale greyness stole into the
eastern sky and chilled the stars, and still Alice sat statue-like at
the open lattice, resolute to wrestle once for all to the very death
with the question whic h so tortured her ; resolute also to decide
once for all whether she ought to accept or refuse the only
chance of happiness life offered her, whether it was her duty to
give life-long pain or pleasure to one whose happiness was dearer
to her than life.
Her face grew sharp and pinched in the grey pallor of the early
dawn ; for the inward struggle grew fiercer as the hours went on ;
the sweet deep silence which was so helpful to her would soon be
broken by all the voices of the woods and fields ; the sun would
soon strike upon the earth and dissipate the friendly veil of dark-
ness and lay her trouble bare ; she must decide quickly. Doubt is
the most dreadful torture the soul can endure, especially doubt
of those we love ; there were moments in that night of bitter
conflict when it would have been comparative happiness to Alice
to have her worst fears for Edward confirmed. In that case she
saw herself in imagination at his side, in some vague way helping
and heahng him ; a se-uctivc vision. Had he come to her,
suffering, needing her, t, e must have taken him.
Her mother's face floated before her. Scenes from childhood
came back, casting strong lights and shadows on her father's
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^il
ilo
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
unworthiness and her mother's misery. Her resolve was madi. • «i,-
Ztln '•'' ^^r'^ T "r*^^" ^he convicSon of his Tme^^^^^^
Fnr ?f k"'*'"'"'' • ^'"*^ ^^' '°"'' ^"d »he struggle began once morJ
For If he were indeed guiltless she would be doing him a Sle
injustice m refusing him. She had long ceased to th^nk of th^
consequences to herself, she considered only wha? she owed to
Heaven and the man who had placed his happiness fn her handl
Agam the cock crew; the brooding greyneLTtheappm^^^^^^
dawn grew more intense ; a bird stiJrId \ a sort of g?irgha uf
were lo tTnT/Mr^'"/ ' J'^" '^" '"'^^ '^'^^^'^ °" ^hei'r s^ems^a d
were lost m the blurred shadow; a perceptible shudder nasJn
over the earth, and many stars vanished frSm the sky ^^'''^
Somethmg cold touched the hand Alice laid on the window
nfihVn" ''•'' '^% ^'^ °*' '^^ ''''^y ^hich was lent her that she
might pass m and out of the church to play the or Jan lhl\^^
It up, and throwing a shawl over her head and sBders d ded
softly down the stairs, and, noiselessly sliding back he bofts of
unte^'nln^'r dfm :r' 'T. ^'V^ 4' ^"^' "" ^ '-^ ^^o -P
uriscen into the dim sky, and broke the shadowy stillness with a
^in stra,„ of song; other birds woke, and filled the air Tith^in?
half-forlorn pipings and chirpings ; there was a sort of troub eTn
- he hoped orThrr ' f^l'' '*'■ "°^ ^^^ ^""^^^ ^^ f"» - g
sure tL'TwV^lVt'r^Ivtm:.' ""■"^'"^' '"^ ^^" ^^ ^ --"'
Every object was now distinct in the grey blankness which
differ!! ."' ^r'^^''^ "^^ "^^ ^"^ light-dStinct, and yet quhe
different to what it was in the familiar, comfortable light of day
The house looked ghostly with its blinded windows, it was so s?ni
and lifeless ; every cottage had a deserted, death-like asoec
every chimney was smokeless ; it was hard to believTtl^at an&
human was near, and yet the thought of welEwn faces S
Sh:'"^seTthtu.'hTH^'^^^5^'^^^
ane passed through the garden and meadow by the rick-vard
gathering her skirts about her to avoid the drenchinTdew alon;
behind the qu.et cottages and the inn with its row of sy(Imo?es
benettrtrethlred'^/fP' ''T^'^ '"^'^ silent'SHS
oeneatn the thatched roofs below— the v llage of the dead whose
Z'zt:::r:TT,r'' ■""' r^^ •'» ">« Mst :':
«™,ij ■ ■ ■ , "/ ** """«"' church. For these the sun
A golden warmth stole into tht> Trp,, ,„^*ij u .. ,
r^.tirJe'Thlt*'"^''''^"'^^^''"^^^^^
great change. The square tower, mth its wide buttresses, lost its
CONFLICT. ,8,
hue of solemn grey, and all the hoary walls glowed rosv red • fh^
t^ZT^rXf'^mt'']^' T '^^ ho:.o7and%ln'g
di me zemin the last star faded in the universal blush- fh^
grass of the churchyard, the fields and woods, th^^Ln «t Vid^^
of down, the village with its smokeless chinmeys, were a"lSed in
cnmson radiance ; the heart of nature was deeply stored • the ve v
leaves thrilled m the roselight. and the birds burs into full son7
She entered the silent, shadowy ch. eh ; her light steDss^ni
tr'asr^h th"/ '7°"^^'^ heavy/arches and darkfoof?f; cot
silently on their tombs were pale shadows in hearofTarE ^
Alke sh7hlH''T^ always had a deep impressive cSm 'or
Alice she had often been there before to pray and meditate
h^ho X 'tharfo'r' ce' r"^"^^'""^"^' itsUedl'cia^bt;
ine tnought that for centuries those hoary walls and ma«iv*^
t^Jl \l^ ^T^ «°thing but holy music and wo?d of prayeTand
hopTfbr the°d'.TH '°r °J"^'''. -"^^^ ^^"^^ momentsTordrof
S! ?w , v^^^' ^"? exhortation and comfort for the livine • d
these things lifted up her heart, dissipated the lower el'mSnts of
ife. and heightened the spiritual. Such light as t^ere wSTn the
wS'aroX'aTd'^l" f ^'^"^^' l'^"^^'^ ^'^^ east wTnTw in'
t^ trct%rttTl"^Ser:^^^^^^^^ ^'^^
ni ^7 °'^'"e- Here the heavenly symbols had been dealt to
her and her adopted parents time after time- here the v^Tl It
seemed to thrill with high resolve and ho?y ^spi^ation a^^the
faces of the pictured angels, growing more distinctTt rteSow p1
^Tholf '''/•'"■' T'^'- ^"" of encouragement and consoEi"^
n.P ^"I!'""^.*'''^"^*^''^' the swalbws, made ther sun-Ht
matms audible m the still, echoing aisles, bringing sweeassoda
ions ot peaceful summer Sundays. All the angels and aSes
in the eas window were now distinct, their rich-hued Eem
and aureoles glowed jewel-like in the sunshine, which senHon^
hafts of colour upwards into the chancel-roof and athwart thf
filled'' thrp°r^nt"'T^^l ""^'u ^"'■".'^ ^^'- The usual worshippers
nued the empty church, the priest stood white-robed in the
chancel, and uttered the solemn words, "I charge you both a« ye
i
i
« J
1
I
1
m
i
Hi
1
1
1
lit TJ/E REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
■hall answer at the great and dreadful day of judgment,"— the
Annesleys were there, and the Rickn,ans,with the unseen witnesses
of the spirit world, all listening, whi'.e she and Edward stood mute.
The vision faded, the dead arose and throng -d the air with spirit
life ; Paul Annesley, paie and troubled from his last agony, gazed
upon her and the secrets of all hearts were revealed.
When an hour had passed, she rose and left the church, her
resolution strengthened by a vow, unheard by any human ears
save her own, which tingled at the sound of her voice multiplied
in muffled echoes through the silent church.
The sun had risen upon the earth when she came out into the
fresh purity of the dewy morning ; the faithful Hubert rose from
his recumbent watch across the vestry threshold, and dropped
quietly behind her with a look of unobtrusive sympathy which
went to her heart ; the village was still sleeping in the pure sun-
light, though here and there labourers were faring forth, heavy-
footed, to their work ; the dew lay deep on the herbage, every
blade of grass was so weighted and studded with jewels it seemed
a marvel that it did not break ; the wine-like aii was fjlled with
stimulating flower-scents. Alice passed swiftly on, lifted up in
heart, touched by the beauty and purity of the sunny morning and
comforted by the clear singing of the birds. She paused by Ellen
Gale's grave and removed some faded flowers her own hands had
laid there, and thought of the day when she sat b'* bedside,
and Edward's cheerful song came through the op,^ dee and
stirred her so strangely. Was she wronging him, after all i
Though, once for all, she had decided not to accept his offered
love, aira with that decision peace had come-, she felt that the
terrible doubt would never be solved, but would gnaw her hear;
continually, until the day when the secrets of all hearts shall be
revealed. She remembered his words in the garden the night
before, and realized that nothing would move him from his resolve
to keep his secret, whether guilty or guiltless.
All was silent in Raysh Squire's cottage by the churchyard gate;
no one had as yet stirred in the Golden Horse beneath, where
the sunbeams were entangled in the tops of the sycamores ; but
in the meadow, where the sheep were l)'ing down in expectation
of a fair day, Danie' Pink was abroad tending his flock. The
sight of the shepherd always brought spiritual strength to Alice ;
she knew more of his inward life than any other human being did,
and reverenced the simple swain as she leverenced no other man.
A little surprised to see her abroad so early, he looked up in
answer to her greeting with something of the same feeling for
her that she had for hiim. Alice's face was pale and transparent,
CONFLICT.
183
;ment," — the
;en witnesses
1 stood mute,
ir with spirit
*gony» gazed
church, her
human ears
:e multiplied
out into the
srt rose from
Jid dropped
ipathy which
fie pure sun-
forth, heavy-
rbage, every
:1s it seemed
s filled with
lifted up in
[norning and
sed by Ellen
n hands had
bedside,
tice and
;r all i
t his offered
felt that the
w her hear;
Its shall be
n the night
i his resolve
and her eyes were full of unearthly fire, the shawl she had thrown
about her was w?iite ; il seamed to the shepherd as if some pure
spiritual piCd&n^e were passing before him in the quiet morning.
She reacher*. the garden-door unseen, though the carters were
already busy with the horses, and John Nobbs was standing sturdy
in the yard, with loud voice setting the men on to work, and stole
unperceived through the still sleeping house and was soon in bed
and asleep.
When she woke, it was to feel a kiss on her face, and to see
Sibyl standing dressed by her side with the news that breakfast
was over.
" Gervase sent these with his love," she added, pressing a bunch
of freshly blown tea-roses to her burning cheek ; " he was sorry
to have to go to business without wishing, you ' Good-morning.' "
:hyard gate ;
leath, where
imores; but
expectation
flock. The
th to Alice ;
n being did,
) other man.
oked up in
feeling for
transparent,
IN
4
CHAPTER V.
A VERDICT.
The thick-moted sunbeams of a June mid-day fell broadly
through the windows of Whewell and Rickman's offices, scorning
the flimsy screen of the dingy white blinds, rejoicing the com-
panies of flies buzzing drowsily in complex evolutions through the
thick air, and making those clerks swear whose desks were not in
the shadow ; they poured in a broad stream of light into Gervase
Rickman's private room, where he sat at his writing-table out of
their range, and commanded a view of the busy street beneath.
Sheets of paper covered with figures lay before him ; he had
been at work for an hour and more solving complex arithmetical
problems, deduced from various documents scattered here and
there; the final result of his calculations was eminently satis-
factory, though he looked pale and exhausted as well as re-
lieved, like one just delivered from great peril.
" Of one thing I am quite resolved," he said to himself, lifting
his face from the papers and leaning back in his chair, *• never
again will I speculate with other people's money — at least not in
large sums — it is too risky."
Only two days before he had been appalled by the receipt of a
telegram from a trusty hand in the East to the effect that the
hitherto rapidly rising Chinese Chin-Luns in which he had largely
invested were about to fall heavily, and an expression unintel
ligible to any but himself at the end of the despatch told him
they would soon be worthless. He instantly telegraphed to his
broker to sell the whole of his Chinese stock ; next day he re-
ceived a telegram to say that the sale was effected at a high though
lowered price. Then he breathed freely, satisfied at having
doubled his capital, in spite of all. And now the morning papers
announced a fall in Chin Luns heavy enough to have absorbed
half his invested money ; to-morrow's quotations he knew would
be lower ; he had only been just in time.
The Chin-Luns were not the only perilous p,tocks in which he
had speculated ; they serve as a specimen of the terribly exciting
game Gervase Rickman was playing, a game as dependent on
A VERDICT.
185
chance as any played over green cloth, and yet, like those, subject
to certain laws, and capable of occasionally yielding satisfactory
results to a player of iron nerve, and cool and steady brain. By
constantly and closely watcliing commercial and political affairs ;
by dint of information which he managed to obtain from all sorts
of unsuspected channels and which he never hesitated to act upon ;
by a keen insight into men and affairs which amounted to genius,
together with a great capacity for calculating and combining, and
educing order from chaos, and a courage that nothing; could
daunt, this hard-headed youiig man, resolutely following the noble
maxim of buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest,
had, in spite of many a hair-breadth escape from ruin, doubled
and quadrupled his capital in the brief course of a few years.
Hie face wore a triumphant expression as he sat at his writing-
table and looked at the final result of the complicated network of
investments which he was carrying on, suspected by few, and
fully known to nobody.
A newspaper lay on the table ; his eye caught the leading points
of a criminal trial recorded in the uppermost columns, and he
smiled an indulgent, half-pitying smile, such a smile as a skilful
artist may accord to the failure of a beginner. " What a number
of fools there are in the world," he thought, " unconscious fools,
who blunder themselves into the grip of the law, thinking them-
selves capable ! " He hastily glanced through the case, that of a
lawyer who had speculated with trust-money and lost it, then he
tossed the paper aside, and began pondering the question of re-
investments for the Chin-Lun funds.
It really went to his heart to have to give such low interest to
Alice Lingard after having doubled her money ; but he could not
give more than the interest legal for trust-money, and after all it
would come to the same in the end ; was it not all for her ?
He thought of others whose money had been the golden sec ' for
his rich harvest, widows and orphans among them ; and q. d
certain faint qualms of what still remained of his conscienc.
reflecting that all the strictest justice required of him was 10
return them their capital with fair interest. It is no doubt a fine
thing, he considered, for lawyers to manage the affairs of in-
capables, and take care of their money for them ; but then
lawyers must live. He was a remarkably clever young man, and,
as he frequently thought, it was really a great pity that talents so
brilliant and a courage so magnificent were not employed in the
direction of large national, even European affairs ; a lawycr s oraC"
too narrow a cell for capabilities like his, they could not
was
expand and develop as they ought to.
it
I, I
' * 1
it i »
r!
186
7-//^ REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
" Soon," he reflected, " if I do not break— and I will not~l
shall have enough."
This saying alone proved him to be a remarkable man. How
often does one meet with a human being who knows a limit to his
desire for wealth, especially one who has tasted the fierce rapturo
of gambhng ? But Gervase Rickman was no money worshipper
he desired wealth only as a stepping-stone to power ; nor was he
a slave to the passion of gambling, had he been so, he would never
nave kept the cool brain necessary to a winner.
" I do wonder, Rickman," said his new partner, Mr. Daish
one day, "that with your capacity for public life you are not
more ambitious."
" Do you ? " returned Rickman sweetly. " Well, it is no doubt
a fine thing to be Mayor of Medington, but I think Davis will
make a better Mayor than I should." So Dr. Davis was elected
to the municipal vacancy Mr. Daish wished his partner to fill
and Gervase Rickman saw him march to the parish church in a
black silk gown trimmed with blue velvet behind the Mayor in
scarlet and fur, and thought how funny Mr. Daish's notions of
ambition were, Mr. Daish, who knew what an immense practice
Whewell and Rickman's was, so immense that, in spite of the
addition of one partner to the firm, they were about to give up the
afl"airs of the Gledesworth estate. Yet the financial crisis, or
rather crises, through which Gervase Rickman had just passed
coming as it did so shortly before that day of reckoning Alice
Lingard's twenty-first birthday, shook even his iron nerves, so- that
he rose to leave his office for luncheon at an unusually early
hour, feeling an unwonted lassitude and distaste for work and
strolled quietly along the shady side of the streets till he came
quite suddenly upon a rustic lane with a mill and bridge, under
which a clear deep stream flowed tranquilly, shadowed by the
green gloom of over-arching trees.
Here he rested, leaning on a rail and letting his thoughts wan-
der at will with the quiet flow of the waters, as thoughts will
wander, borne peacefully upon a passing stream. The water
made the sole barrier between the road and an orchard which
sloped from a gentle rise down to the verge, grassy, cool and
fresh, full of the quiet lights which fall at mid-day through summer
trees, and rest upon brown trunks and green grass.
But he could not find the mental repose he sought by the
water-side ; something which had passed between himself and
Alice Lingard a day or two before came and troubled him, satis-
factory as on the whole he considered it.
It was the day after Edward Annesley's visit to the Manor,
A VERDICT.
187
and Geryase had ridden over in the cvf-ning, to look, he said, to
the marking of the shorn sheep, but really to see how Alice, whom
he had missed in the morning, was faring.
Of late Alice had drawn closer to him, completely set at rest
by the perfect way in which he cloaked the true nature of his
feelings towards her, and referring to him in every little doubt
and difficulty as she did to no one else. Much as she loved her
adopted father and mother, she relied little upon them ; her
nature was stronger than theirs, and she unconsciously regarded
herseJf as a stay to them, and did not look to them for support.
Sibyl was her companion and beloved sister, but a sister, however
dear, is not a brother, which Gervase was and proved himself in
a thousand unobtrusive ways.
He told Sibyl that he wanted to be alone with Alice that even-
ing, and Sibyl, accustomed to confer privately with him herself,
thought this perfectly natural ; she therefore soon found an excuse
for leaving them to the quiet stroll Gervase proposed, and he and
Alice walked on tranquilly alone together in the cool hush of the
evening.
" What is it ? " he asked quietly, when their desultory talk had
come to an end, and they were resting half-way up the down
against a gate.
Alice did not answer for a few minutes, but gazed on silently
at the house and church lying beneath them in the last rays of
evening.
"Wouldn't it be a relief to speak ?" he continued, after a little.
" You are pale and worn, you look as if you had had no sleep ;
something is worrying you."
"Yes," she replied, "you read one too well, Gervase; I am
worried, but— no matter. It will pass."
He considered her thoughtfully for a little while, drawing his
inferences. " A girl of your age," he continued, " ought to have
no worries. Perhaps, after all, it is something that two words
would set right."
" No," she replied, " nothing will ever set this right." Slow
tears rose to her eyes, and fell on the rough wood of the gate on
which her arms rested, and the tears went to his heart.
" Come, my dear child," he said, almost roughly, " this won't
do. This is not like you, Alice."
" Oh, Gervase ! " she cried, " you were always a good brother
to mc," and she turned to him and bent her head till her fore-
head touched his shoulder and rested there.
He summoned all his strength to resist the feelings stirred by
that light touch ; to yield now to one impulse would be fatal, the
ill
,88 THE REPROACH OF ANNE S LEY,
impulse to fold the graceful burden stayed thus liglr 'y upon him
to his heart, and though he trembled slightly he did not move a
muscle. It was but a moment that Alice leant against he strong
arm feeline an indescribable accession of moral suppor from the
mlentar/contact, then she lifted her head, and the wild throb-
Sng within him, of which she was so unconscious quieted down,
and Gervase's invincible will resumed its undisputed sway-
She looked up in his face with childlike confidence, and asked
herself why she should bear a crushing burden alone, when she
had so true and strong a friend to share it with her; Gervase
answered her appealing look with a reassuring smile.
"I have no brother of my own." she cont nued, • and neither
father nor mother to consult, and I have had to make a decision
—and— I am not quite sure if I have done right.
She had done it, then ; a weight was lifted off his heart, and
he smiled more paternally than before.
"My de^ child." he returned, "I have no doubt that you
have acted wisely and well, but the wisest of us need a little
friendly counsel at times." » u „jj^j
"And besides the confidence 1 have in you," she added,
" there is no one so fitted by circumstances to advise me upon
this subject."
"No? That is a good thing.
"Gervase." she said, in the low tones of intense feeling, I
was under the trees by the river that afternoon-I had been
asleep. I overheard what vou and Edward Annesley said.
Gervase was startled for i moment froni his self-control ; all
the blood rushed to hishe.^it ^d he gazed half-terrified upon her
wondering what she could h.ve heard, and trying to recall the
Txact circumstances of their meeting, and the words of the
""^''TSlTyour promise," she continued, " and 1 will not ask
you to break it, but I will ask you this. Because of what
occurred tliat day, and for no other reason. I refused to-day to
marry Edward Annesley. Was I right ?"
He did not answer for awhile, all the sunny peaceful fields
whirled before his eyes, his head throbbed. Had he known that
she would put this terribly direct question to him he would never
have risked being alone with her. He looked at her earnes
face, worn by inward suffering and noble with pure and loyal
feeling, and felt that never before had she oeen so dear to nim
asnoS, while she was thus guilelessly confidmg to his ears aer
love for another man. In a dim way he realized the depth and
beauty of that love, such a love as he could never hope to win.
A VERDICT,
l«9
f his heart, and
He knew that he held Ah'ce's happiness in his hands, that the
whole of her future life depended upon the next words he should
say, and his heart was rent asunder with conflicting feelings. It
would be sweet to make her happy, to see her face lighten and
brighten and break into perfect joy at his words : that would be
better than any more selfish satisfaction that might come from
making her his own.
" Oh, Alice ! " he faltered, lifted above himself for a moment
by the purifying passion of his love, oblivious of self, desiring
nothing but the good of the guileless being whose mora! beauty
had so conquered him, " Alice I "
Yet he paused, true to his cautious character, before yielding
to his higher nature and irrevocably changing the course of their
lives, and the pause, as such pauses are, was fatal. All his life,
with its aims, ambitions and strong purposes, flushed before him
in a moment of time— for the Tempter exercises a strong necro-
mancy over those who palter with their better imjjulses, and
crushes a life-time of thought and feeling into a moment— he
thought of the long years during which his hearr had been wasting
m patient love for Alice with a deep self-pity, and he shuddered
to think how black and unbearable the future would be without
her. Then the second strong feeling of his heart, his love for
Sibyl, appealed to him alod;,' with more selfish passions ; all her life,
so closely bound up in his own, came before him from her baby-
hood till now, and that subtle something within us which twists
everything to selfish ends and justifies our evil wishes, persuaded
him that Sibyl's interests, rather than his own, were at stake. He
recalled his sorrow when she lay as hild at the point of death,
and they told him she must die ; hi rt membered how he prayed,
as he had never prayed before or since— prayer was a long disused
habit with him ; — how he nursed her, feeling as if his strong affec-
tion had wrested her from the jaws of death. He thought with
tender pride of h^r beauty and talents, and he thought of her face
the evenmg before, when she looked upon Edward in his trouble ;
Sibyl must be happy at any cost. So he resolved.
Alice interpreted his apparent agitation with a sinking heart,
she scarcely now needed words to confirm her worst fears. " Was
I right ? " she repeated.
There was a singing in his ears, his lips were so dry that he
could scarcely speak ; he paused again, and at last said in a voice
tnat sounded strange and harsh to both of them, " Quite right."
Alice made no reply, but the look in her face was one he never
could forget, and the tones of his own voice rang hauntingly in
the ears of his memory long after, lowly as they were spoken.
190
THE RKPROACIt OF ANSRSLEY,
" Quite right," echoed the harsh voice of the corncrake in the
evening stillness. " Quite right," cawed the long string of rooks,
proceeding solemnly homewards, dark specks against the pure
sky. "Quite right," tingled the bells of the browsing sheep on
the down above. " Quite right," murmured the rhythmic beat (if
his own heart, till the words, simple and few as they were, became
meaningless by repetition, and yet more dreadful. To Alice,
resting on the gate, with bowed head and averted face, they were
the final knell of all that made life dear.
.\ftcr some minutes of painful silence, Alice lifted her head,
and the rose-light of the setting sun struck full upon the marble
calm of her face, enhancing and still further spiritualizing its
already spiritual beauty.
" iJear Gervase," she said, with the indescribable smile which
comes from the depths of suffering, " you will never again refer to
this."
" Never again," he murmured.
" Shall we go just to the crest of the hill ? " she added ; and
they strolled tranquilly on, occasionally talking upon homely
trivial subjects.
As this scene recurred to Gervase in the noonday shadows by
the cool stream, with Alice's sorrow-stricken face seeming to gaze
from the water's green depths, and his own words, "Quite right,'
ringing through the chambers of his memory, he felt that it had
shaken him even more than the anxiety of the last few days,
severe as that had been. Had he not escaped that danger, he
would have had an agreeable birthday present to give Alice in the
shape of a blank cheque representing the whole of her fortune,
toi^ethcr with the appearance of his own name in the gazette ; but
he was too well used to narrow escapes and too sane of mind to
dwell upon a past danger. The thought of the suffering he had
inflicted upon her was another thing ; it haunted him and refused
to set him free ; it came between him and his work \ it spoilt his
splendid nerve and daunted his magnificent audacity.
When the vision of Alice's sorrowful face became too insistent,
he summoned another, that of Sibyl in the garden, gazing upon
Edward's gloom. If he remembered too keenly the light pressure
of Alice's brow on his shoulder when she sought counsel and
comfort of him, he recalled the evening, more than a year ago, of
Reginald Annesley's funeral, and pictured the sweet face of Sibyl
wet With tea. 3, when he asked what ailed her, knowing only too
well, and she replied that his music was too mournful. Dear
little Sibyl ! How was it possible to see her and not love her ?
There was little comfort to be got out of the green coolness bj
A VERDICT,
l«l
gazing upon
the mill-stream that day, and after a brief pause there, he turned,
and retracing his -teps through the lane, emerged into the broad
sunshine and comparative bustle of the High Street, down the
shadiest side of which he passed slowl till he came o Mrs.
Annesley's house, shrouded in its cool green veil of Virginia
creeper, and presenting a refreshing contrast to the baked red
hricks and glaring stucco of the houses on cither side of it.
Here he crossed over into the sunshine, just as the door
opened, and the well-known figure of the Vicar of Mcdington
issued from it and paused at the foot of the steps.
"Are you going in, Mr. Ricknian?" the doctor asked, while
the servant waited, holding the door open. " You will find dear
Mrs. Annesley brave and patient as usual. Such a truly religious
woman ! When one thinks what she has gone through, one can
but wonder and admire."
" Yes," returned Gervase, " she has gone through a good deal,
poor woman ! "
" She forgets her own trouble in the sorrows of others," con-
tmued the doctor. " I did but mention the case of that poor
Jones who was killed by the breaking of a crane on the quay last
week, leaving a widow and seven children— these poor fellows
invariably leave seven children, in obedience, I suppose, to some
occult law— and she immediately gave me a cheque for twenty
pounds, and bid me get up a subscription to make a fund for
them ; so I sujjpose I must," he added, with an ingenuous sigh ;
" but I should not, I confess, have done it without her generous
example. Warm, is it not ? "
"Stay, doctor," replied Gervase, detaining him while he fished
a sovereign from his waistcoat pocket, " let me add my mite. I
am a poor man, though I have not as yet emulated poor Jones in
giving seven hostages to fortune, or it should be more. I hope
you will let the firm add further to your list."
" Charming young man," reflected the doctor, going off with
his booty. " What a pity his politics are so pronounced ! "
" Hang the old fellow ! "' muttered Gervase, going up the steps.
"That was a cunning way of begging. These parsons are up to
every dodge under the sun to get at one's pockets."
He turned as he entered the house, and nodded to a shabby
old countryman, half-farmer, half-labourer, who was slouching by
on the other side of the street, and thought what a narrow escape
that old man had just had trom ending his days in the workhouse,
since his savings would have vanished along with Alice Lingard's
inheritance, had the crisis he had just successfully passed proved
CHAPTER VL
PREDICTIONS.
Mrs. Annesley, more majestic than ever in her heavy crape
draperies in the cool gloom of her solitary room, received her
guest with mournful benignity.
" How good of you to come to a poor lonely old woman ! " she
said. " You know how it cheers me when you drop in to share
my solitary meal."
" A miserable bachelor is only too glad to get "—he was just
going to say " a first-rate luncheon," but happily pulled himself
up in time to substitute "congenial society, above all ladies'
society, with his meals."
" Oh, you have no lack of ladies' society ! " she said, with a
pleased smile. " Wheu were you last at Arden, and how did you
find them all ? "
"Perfectly well, thank you, and the roses coming well into
bloom. They talked of sending you some in a day or two. I
can spare less and, less time for home now."
" So busy ? You were right about a certain document, Gervase.
I have had it drawn up and duly signed and witnessed, and there
it is for your perusal." And she took out a paper that he knew
to be her will.
" Thank you," he replied, smiling. " I need not see it. If it
was drawn up by Pergament, as I advised, it is sure to be in
order."
" You don't care, then, to know what a lonely old woman de-
signs for you after her death ? " she returned, reproachfully.
"I can't endure to think of such a contingency," he said,
earnestly. " Poor as I am, I shall regret the much-needed money
that comes to me from that source."
"Gervase," said Mrs. Annesley, with apparent irrelevance,
« v,'}>ot is this I hear of Edward Anneslev's discredit with his
brother officers ? Is it true that in consequence of certain scan-
dals he will have to leave the service ? " ,
" It is true that he has been advised to do so, but he has not
been officially recommended to resign," replied Gervase.
M I
PREDICTIONS.
«93
Mrs. Annesley looked disappointed, and knitted her stern brows
in silent thought.
"I cannot imagine,* pursued Gervase, "how these rumours
get about." And he looked searchingly from under his downcast
eyelids at the severe face, which broke into a celestial smile before
his furtive gaze.
"No," she returned sweetly, "nor can I. But I believe in a
just Heaven, Gervase ; and I know that retribution, sooner or
later, always overtakes the guilty."
" Ah ! " he murmured, with dubious meaning. He was thinking
of the letter his quick eye had perceived on the writing-table when
he came in. It was a thick letter, addressed to Mrs. Markham.
Mrs. Markham, he knew, was not only a- Id and intimate friend
of Mrs. Annesley's, but she was also the »,.other-in-law of Colonel
Disney, Edward Annesley's commanding officer. That accounted
for a good deal. Gervase Rickman possessed some imagination ;
he readily pictured Mrs. Annesley detailing the circumstances of
her son's death and her own conjectures respecting it in long and
confidential recitals to Mrs. Markham, whose sympathy with her
bereaved friend would no doubt be profound, and concluding every
confidence with the strictest injurfctions to secrecy. He imagined
Mrs. Markham burdened with the weight of so delightfully scan-
dalous a secret, recounting it in a moment of expansion, under
vows of strictest secrecy, and by no means to the diminution of
the scandal, to her daughter, Mrs. Disney. He could see the two
ladies gloating over the narrative ; the shaken heads, the excla-
mations, the up-lifted hands, the repeated injunction, " My dear,
above all, never breathe a syllable to your husband," sequent upon
which injunction he of course saw Mrs. Disney burning for a
moment of conjugal confidence, when she would transfer the
whole of the recital to the bosom of the Colonel, with the same
solemn injunctions to secrecy. Then in his mind's eye he saw
this officer looking askance at Edward, and unconsciously treating
him with less cordiality than usual. One day, perhaps, Colonel
Disney would say to some one, " Wasn't there something rather
queer about Paul Annesley's death ? Does anybody remember
the newspaper reports?" That officer would say to another,
"There was something very fishy about Paul Annesley's death.
It happened abroad, and was kept out of the English papers, you
know— hushed up. It was unlucky for our Annesley that he was
on the spot," he might add.
" It was precious lucky for Annesley that his cousin got himself
pushed over the precipice," perhaps his audience would say on a
subsequent occasion.
IS
;1
I04
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
" And what had Ned Annesley to do with it ? " another hearer
might say ; " it is to be hoped he didn't push him overboard. It
must be awfully tempting to a man's next heir to find himself just
behind him at the edge of a crevasse. An accidental push, and
down the fellow goes, and you get the estate. Shocking accident,
papers say ; young man of immense property; all goes to a distant
cousin."
" It wasn't a crevasse, Smith," another man would object, " it
was on a cliff by some river in France. Perhaps the Annesleys
were larking and one pushed the other over. It was unlucky for
our man that the rich one went overboard. He doesn't look like
a fellow with something on his conscience."
" He does look like a fellow with a guilty secret."
•• And how did they get it hushed up ? "
" Easy enough on the Continent. Bribe the officials."
•* There was an account of it in the Times, if you remember, last
autumn. Struck me at the time as a precious queer story. I
must say that Annesley has never been the same man since. He
wasn't a bad lot before."
" Oh ! it is only because he fe rich."
" My dear fellow, money never spoils a man's temper or makes
him look as if he had baked his grandfather. It's the want of it
makes a fellow swear and cut up rough. It's a bad conscience
with Annesley, that's why he looks so glum."
" It's the family ghost. They say every Annesley who comes
into the property is haunted, and either goes mad or hangs him-
self."
" You've got hold of the wrong end of the story. It isn't a
ghost, it's a curse ; every Annesley who gets Gledesworth comes
to grief. Reginald Annesley of the Hussars was killed elephant-
hunting — or pig-sticking, wasn't it ? his father went mad and died.
Paul Annesley took this unlucky step over the cliff, and goodness
knows what will happen to Ned Annesley ; anyway, he's in for a
bad th.ag."
All this Gervase Rickman imagined, and much more, hitting,
with the instinct of creative genius, rhe core of the literal truth.
He saw files of last autumn's papers consulted and discussed, and
guessed the position his own name would occupy in the general
gossip, when disinterred from the brief narrative. He understood,
further, much that had hitherto been dark to him respecting the
spread of rumour in that part of the world, fitting little bits of in-
formation together, and supplying the gap with clever inductions
till he had a fair chain of evidence. He remembered an observa-
tion of the Vicar's to the effect that Mrs. Annesley was a deeply
PREDICTIONS.
195
ay, he's in for a
wronged woman and knew how to forgive, and this observation
was suggestive.
" I conclude,'- continued Mrs. Annesley, ignorant of what was
passing through the mind of the thoughtful and clever young man
before her, " that Edward Annesley has sent in his pape: .-."
"Not at all," returned Rickman, with a subtle inflection of
triumph in his accent j "he means to live it down, he s-^ys."
"It is the first time, Mr. Rickman," she iO))l.cd, wi. ' m angry
glitter in her eye, " that an Annesley has prcf. rred his con-
venience to his honour. There are people who are l eneath scorn.
Pardon me, I forgot that I v/as speaking of your friend"
"Of my father's friend, and landlord, and my empbyer," he
returned tranquilly.
" And Alice Lingard's lover," she added, with a glance of dis-
dainful anger.
" Her rejected suitor," he corrected, with a curious smile.
" Rejected ? Are you certain ? " she asked eagerly.
"Perfectly. We need fear no more from that quarter. He
was sent off for good and all, three days ago."
" Heaven is just," observed Mrs. Annesley with pious fervour.
" Exactly," replied Gervase absently. He was thinking what a
clever woman Mrs. Annesley was ; it seemed almost a pity she
had not come into the world thirty years later, such a woman
would indeed be a help-mate for him. He was not sure that she
had not been a little too clever for him ; he had not intended the
Annesley scandal to go so far, and his fertile brain was not yet
prepared with a scheme for checking it.
" You probably have not fully considered the risk you run in
being associated with that man," she continued.
" And what if I had ? " he replied ; " a poor man with bread to
earn cannot be so over-nice. Besides, as you know, we give up
the stewardship on quarter-day."
" And still receive him at your house."
" Pardon me. My father still receives him at his house," he
corrected, sighing a little, for he felt that he had a difficult and
delicate part to play, in preserving friendly relations with both
this stern and resolute woman and the man she hated so bitterly.
He thought too with some apprehension of the extreme difficulty
of managing with such dexterity as to separate Edward from
Alice, and at the same time throw him into Sibyl's society \ he
was beginning to fear, besides, that Edward's reputation was almost
too seriously damaged for Sibyl's marriage with him to be a success.
He looked at the rigid lips of the hard woman sitting opposite him,
and suspected that his iron will and subtle brain had been matched,
13—3
^.
In
fill
Hi. I
I! ; !
196
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
if not over-matched, and mentally endorsed the truth of Raysh
Squire's verdict upon Mrs. Annesley, " You can't nohow get up-
zides with she." But it waj important that he should "get up-
sides with" Mrs. Annesley, and he determined to do so, not
knowing the extent to which she was turning him inside out.
Luncheon was announced while his mind was occupied with
these reflections, and the conversation was interrupted — not dis-
'^reeably to this unfortunate and deeply perplexed child of genius
-—for he was fagged and hungry, and always knew how to appre-
ciate an excellent meal, daintily set off with rich and tasteful
appointments ; nor did he fail to appreciate the state Mrs.
Annesley affected since her son's death. This event had given
her an income quite out of j- oportion to the house in the street of
a country town, which she i.hose to occupy, nevertheless, since it
was her own, and since her position, spite of its woful diminution
now that she was no longer the mother of the unmarried Annesley
of Gledesworth, was still good enough to enable her to live on in
Medington without loss of consideration. Gervase had always
felt that he was born for a more brilliant sphere than that he
occupied ; Mrs. Annesley's complicated cookexy, with Frenchified
names, was only a suitable tribute to a man so evidently intended
by nature for a lofty destiny, and he listened to Mrs. Annesley's
long grace with the inward reflection that the meal justified it,
and complacently refreshed his inner man to the accompaniment
of his hostess's elegant small talk, glad to be excused the more
difficult topics the servant's presence had put aside.
He was sorry when they were alone again, and Mrs. Annesley
returned to the charge.
" I could never understand," she said, " how you could bring
yourself to act with or under that man, after what you saw in the
Jura. You have assured me so many times that what you then
actually witnessed is insufticient evidence to base a trial upon."
" Dear Mrs. Aimesley, need I assure you again ? Why revive
a topic that must be so especially painful to you ? "
" My young friend, do you suppose that topic is ever absent
from my mind ? " she returned in a deep voice, with a keen cold
glance.
" I suppose," reflected the unfortunate young man, " that you
are an awful old woman, and that I had better, after all, have
had nothing to do with you." Bur, aloud, he said something about
a mother's bereavement being perpetual, at which Mrs. Annesley
applied her handkerchief daintily to each side of her nose, and
murmured that his sympathy was one of the few solaces left to 9,
rorlorn widow.
PREDICTIONS.
197
"You told him," she added, replacing the handkerchief in her
pocket with a prompt return to her business-like manner, " that
your business had become too large and important to make it
worth your while to conduct his affairs ? "
"Yes, and it was true; we can do very well without the
Gledeswcrth affairs. I had thought of giving it to Daish, but he
has enough to do without. Daish is a very fair man of business ;
wholesomely dense in a way, but understands when directed ; the
very man to be under a master."
" My dear Gervase, you take a new partner, and refuse impor-
tant business, and have branch offices in half-a-dozen towns ; that
all hangs excellently together, and Edward Annesley might believe
you, if he were less of a fool than he is. But what does not fit
is the fact that you are constantly bewailing your poverty."
Gervase explained that poverty is a relative term, and depends
upon the relation of a man's needs to his possessions. " The fact
is," he said in conclusion, *' I want money — a great deal of money.
No one suspects what my aims really are, but your friendship,
dear Mrs. Annesley, has always been so perfect, and you have so
much sympathy with whatever soars above the common, that I feel
moved to confide in you, the more so as your influence is great,
and may materially aid me."
He spoke with a hesitating, almost timid air, like a man who longs
to make a confidence but needs some encouragement to bring him
to the point. Mrs. Annesley's piercing gaze was directed upon
his down-cast intellectual face ; she was wondering to what extent
he was lying, as indeed she usually did while conferring with him.
" My influence," she echoed, with a melancholy accent, " what
influence can a forlorn and childless widow such as I am have ?
Do not mock my affliction, dear Gervase. /am not the mother
of Annesley of Gledesworth," and the handkerchief once more
appeared, and was again daintily pressed to each side of Mrs.
Annesley's finely formed nose.
" Nevertheless," returned Gervase, who knew exactly what she
wanted him to say, " you have far more influence than the lady
who occupies that position. Influence depends more than is com-
monly supposed upon force of character. I don't think you qr.ite
know the extent to which Mrs. Annesley of Medington is looked
up to, and the great sympathy which her sorrows inspire."
She knew that he was fibbing and yet she hked it ; flattery is so
essential to some natures that they are almost indifferent to its
truth or falsehood so long as incense of some kind is offered them.
She therefore replied that, though conscious of her own impotence,
she w^ most willing to further her d^^r friend's vi^)y& as far as she
I it
Hi. ■
198
THE REPROACH OF ANN ES LEY,
could and begged h.m, if ,t would be the slightest solace to him
to confide hisaims to her motherly breast. And Gervase, knowing
n 1 / ?!"'"' for mtngue gave her an influence mo^e poTS
in the furtherance of his purposes than that of rank or wealth and
qShTsroSZTrepliT"" °^^'^^'"^ ^^^^^ *^^- ''
countrTtoTnlong?' ' '° "°' "*^"' ^° '^">^^" ^ ^"^-^ - *
, " Your talents are wasted in such a sphere," she replied • « there
IS no doubt of that. But to what do you mean to rise ?"
thnnlf^K I'°u had always inspired her with admiration, and the
thought that she might bring a brilliant young man in o pubHc
not,ce was most pleasing to her, possessing the instinct of p?"ro^
age 10 such an unusual degree as she did.
'• I intend," he replied, gazing with a pre-occupied air straiftht
before him, « to rule England, if not Europe." ^
The quiet matter-of-fact air with which he uttered this lar^e
admira'tir ""''' ''"""''^' '"^ '^^ '''' ^"^'^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^
«* «r°i" *™ ?!??'" ^^® '■^P''^'^ a^"^ost breathlessly.
Why not ? he returned coolly ; " with a resolute purpose, a
high aim is as easily achieved as a low one " Purpose, a
Mrs. Annesley was too startled to be amused at the idea of a
irorH^M""*'^ -^T' P^'-r^'i^S ^"^ g°^^^" ^i« country, if not the
world at large, in this off-hand manner ; she saw no bathos in his
observations, perhaps in her momentary bewildermemshe had a
vague notion that Gervase might send her straightwTy^o the Towe?
If she incurred his displeasure; she could only ik him wTth
unusual meekness, how he meant to begin. *
SJ'^'i' r"""'* get money, ' he replied; "then I must get a
seat m Parliament. The rest," he added, smiling with a sudden
foHow!' "'''''' '^' "*^''"^°"' ^'^^ °^ ^^ Pietensfons, « wm
Yet though he had too wholesome a sense of humour not to
be amused at his large assertion, he fully meant it. anTMrs An
nfnl? '°?'^;"g«'le"tlyand thoughtfully upon his resolute countl
nance, which was now more than usually alight ;yith intellect ^nd
pondering upon the oratorical gifts he was known to po sess l^oon
his strength of will, his industry, his learning, his genfus for ^S^
and his knowledge of human character, rellized^a? at once that
ir.^naie.. ana u.i:.iiuvvn as he was, he might never rule England
much less Europe, to do which, he would have, as he afterwards
informed her, to transform England to a great extent, he woild
PREDICTIONS.
199
n attorney in a
ute purpose a
probably rise to a creditable position in public life. Ruling
England might be but a vaunt, yet not wholly an idle one j it was
like the marshal's bdton in the knapsack of the republican soldier,
or the woolsack in the future of the young barrister, a symbol
and aim of the ambition without which men never rise above
mediocrity.
She knew him to be unscrupulous, and this in her eyes was a
further guarantee of his success. She did not believe with Alice
Lingard, that honour and honesty are the only permanent bases
of political as of personal greatness, and that, though an ambitious
and unscrupulous genius may achieve the highest eminence, such
a one is almost certain to fall.
"Come into the garden," she said when she had recovered
from her surprise, " and tell me all about it." And they went
out and strolled in the shade of the lime-trees for a sunny half-
hour, while Gervase unfolded the details of his immediate plans
and spoke of the probability of the borough of Medington falling
vacant at no distant date, and of the desirability of his finances
being in a condition fc^ him to contest it. Then Mrs. Annesley
promised him definite financial as well as personal aid, and he
knew that neither was to be despised. And although he did not
impart his ambitious plans as yet to any one else, he knew that
the same occult powers which had afHxed a stigma to Edward
Annesley, could associate his name with a predicted success which
might fulfil itself. He was also aware that Mrs. Annesley had
latterly renewed her acquaintance with her aristocratic connec-
tions, some of whom were distinguished both in the world of
society and in that of politics.
He returned to his office in high spirits; he knew that Mrs.
Annesley was far too dangerous as a possible foe, not to be
made a certain friend, and in confiding in her and throwmg him-
self upon her, he had secured her on his side for life ; he would
now be in some sort her own creation, so he had persuaded
her.
The very danger of the crisis through which he had just
passed increased his confidence in that vague something which
he named his destiny. All men are illogical, especially those
who make a point of being logical and following nothing but the
light of reason, and who think to conquer circumstance by their
own unaided will. Gervase, therefore, who regarded religion
as the malady of undeveloped minds, and professed to be able to
mould his own fate and that of others by the sole power of his
purpose, was a firm believer in his lucky destiny, and was con-
stantly tormenting himself with fears lest that capricious divinity
900
I
I
I!
r//E REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
fav°ou?ed"hi^'' "" """' '"' ^^""^^"^^ h""' -^ '^ had hitherto
Having seated himself at his desk that aft*>rnnn« o„^ k •
determined to consult an oracle in which he believed a^ f™«fi
as any gin believes in the saints she caUs upl by ?L w^S
cross. He opened a penknife with a long fin? blade aid Sed
It carefully m his hand with the point directed tr?hS»i,
""IT'l ^™K 'T'^"^ ^°'"S *his, his'^confidSf clerk InocS
fntPn". °°'' •""' ^' ^'^ "°* ^"^^^^' he continued S w°th an
SaDer"°"T?rH"TfK'P°' of colour in the pattern ofthe
??1?^P *"*. ^'^""^ *hen made the preconcerted sienal
denotmg urgency m a series of taps on the door ; stiU no renW
Gervase's hand trembled slightly and his face was pale L she;
InH fnl! ^ ^T^'^^^' '^^ "^^ °" the wall, and instantly got ur
young naan's features relaxed, he took IheTn^fe a;d shut it whh
a tranquil air, saymg inwardly that he was now sure of success
and resuming his seat, he bid the clerk enter in his "sut manne '
es^e'ct^ '''°""' ""^"^ °' '^^ "^^ *" «^^" "« fool STme
i
ii
as it had hitherto
CHAPTER VII.
THE SQUIRE OF GLEDESWORTH.
When Edward Annesley reached home at the end of his
moonlight ride after the discouraging reception of his suit by
Alice, he went to bed and to sleep in the most unromantic
fashion, and rose refreshed next morning to eat a hearty
breakfast
After breakfast, he took a cigar and went round the stables,
and listened to an account of the symptoms of his sister's riding-
horse, and, having attentively examined the creature, prescribed
fbr it ; then he carefully felt the legs of a carriage-horse, and
decided that there was nothing the matter but swelling from
insufficient exercise, and considered other important stable
matters, smoking with apparent enjoyment all the time.
Then he passed an hour in his mother's sitting-room, discuss-
ing matters of business, looking over the accounts of one of his
brothers, who was not yet able to stand on his own foundation,
but making no allusion to what had occurred at Arden the day
before, beyond saying that he had passed the evening at the
Manor.
After this he strolled through the park down to a little cove,
surrounded by tall forest trees, growing right down to the water's
edge, where there was a tiny pier and bathing-stage and a
boat-house, and, stepping into a little boat, sculled out seawards.
Then his face became thoughtful, and he began to reflect on
what had passed in the garden the evening before.
Alice was friendly towards him, and more than kind, as
became her nature ; but she did not love him, and he did not
think he could ever win her love. Paul's untimely fate had
surrounded him with a halo of tenderness ; there was a pathos
in his sudden death which, Edward decided, would make Alice
cling to his memory as to that of a canonized saint
Yet the fact that Alice besought him to tell the secret of his
part in that death, showed that she entertained at least some
thought of accepting his proposals, though the fact that she did
not trust him indicated conclusively t she did not, and pro-
m
303
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
bably never would love him. A love without trust could not
be based upon the reverent perception of moral beauty, which
was the foundation of his own love. And it was not so very
unreasonable that she should wish him to explain the history
of that afternoon ; he saw clearly that whether she would finally
grow to love him or not, she would most certainly never accept
his addresses until the mystery was cleared up. That would
be the first step.
As he sculled swiftly over the calm waters, the blue heaven
above him and the blue sea beneath, Alice's face rose before
him, and the tones of(Tier voice grew upon his ear, and he felt
how deeply he loved her and how impossible it was to be happy
without her. If he could not win her, he would make no
unmanly moan, but the glory of his life would be gone. After
the keenness of the disappointment had worn off, he might even
find some good, loveable woman to whom he would be a good
husband, and who would be a contented wife; but he would
never be really happy, he would have missed the best things in
life ; he even doubted if he could so far conquer his feelings as to
marry. As he thought this, seeing Alice's face in imaginatbn
and recalling the charm of her presence, tears rose to his e>es,
and dimmed the blue vision of sea and sky before him, and it
came into his mind that it would be worth doing anything to win
her. Should he yield to her wishes and tell her all, taking the
risk of what might follow ?
So he pondered for a long time, sculling more and more
rapidly in the stress of this suggestion, oblivious of the hot sun-
shine, until the perspiration streamed from his face, while the
green shore lessened in the distance, and he was near being run
down by a yacht steaming along at high speed.
After all, he had a right to win her ; there was no justice in
frustrating the happiness of his life because Paul Annesley
could have no more earthly enjoyment, and was it not a happier
fate for Alice to love a living man than a dead one ? He called
up a vision of Alice wooed and won, living a tranquil and useful
life by his side. He thought how happy he would make her,
surrounding her with tenderest love, and protecting her from
every trouble ; honour and peace would wait upon her steps in
the happy home he would give her, and a thousand sweet
domestic joys would spring up and blossom in her path. But
all this only if she loved him ; vet whv should she not ? The
picture was so sweet that he dwelt upon it long, so long that
at last it was beginning to confuse his sense of right. He
imagined himself telling her the whole story, and tried to think
THE SQUIRE OF GLEDhSWORTH.
aoj
how she would bear it. He thought he f * '^"^^"/^;^"";*:i!,"^^
more would come between them-anger and scorn She would
'Z.i loved a. las, A. rt;«J|'°t\efhc?Tv.Iou? u h«
s=.o'::fri:er."B;:rrdKf|ut;^w^^^^^^^^^^^^^
f^vVw^ retimed I. must' have been pure imagmat.on.
love "»','""["'"]•„.„ .f Paul's claims she had seemed so
unwonfS bittSnessfmen ever enjoy in th.s perverted and per-
'T^'pleasant. nevertheless, to -member the brief fool's
mMmmm
" It was hke kiUing a soul, she saia, lor a"^ /
'"^fhf ^r'sSmTd'still to vibrate with the tones of her voice ; he
""" l" wS^nevt iTher," he said aloud, though no one heard
but he le^and the sek-birds skimming above them^
i:„kf Krp«.7*» which sorane up and invited him to step nis uny
l;i'Un?roi.fhiss:K^^^ the waters in emulation of
S7gullsT While he sped before t le wind. P^^sumg ihe.c refic.-
tronfhe thought that the bes^ ...mg in most lives might after all
be a happy memory of an untarnished ideal
XM
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
The sun had turned, and >v'as already fat down the western
slope, when the woods and meadows around Gledesworth came
in sig.ht ajirJn, and he sculled into the cove, put the little boat'*
i.ead straii>l.t for the landing-place, and sprang out the moment
the keel ground the shin.L'le. The serene cdlm which follows on
a teiu;;tation resisted filled his heart, though he was too little
given to introspection to know why he was at peace. As he
turn.d to haul the boat up the shore, an idea struck him, and he
saw tnf exact spot where the coast defences should be strength-
ened, the '.veak spot that the enemy would not fail to detect and
take advantage of ; but it seemed so strange that neither he nor
thos who planned the fortifications should have seen it before.
Musing of guns, ships, and forts, he strolled along the suntiy
turf, seeing his chimneys and gables rise above the green domes
of woodland encircling them, seeing the downs stretching away
beyond the park, ^mtil he passed into the golden green shadows
of a beech grove and came out In the full blaze of the afternoon
sunshme upon the open park-land in front of the house, which
stood on a rising ground It ,.as a fine old Jacobean building
in grey stone, built on to an older wing, which extended far
back, and was scarcely seen from this approach, and behind
which was a beautifully timbered Gothic hall, in good preserva-
tion. It was a noble specimen of a stately English home ; the
park was full of magnificent trees, the growth of ages ; all along
by the sea, beneath the down-ridge and beyond it for miles,
spread well-cultivated fields, interspersed with farms and woods :
a goodly inheritance.
Edward Annesley looked at it and wondered if any one could
be a whit the better for possessing it, as he did j the bare-armed
and brown-faced gardener, pushing his mowing-m?.chine with a
pleasant sound over the smooth deep sward, had as, vocd . har-
vest for his eyes. The tops oi the oaks caught tlu- fuU sj,.-,hhie
in their russet and green leafage against the lucid oky, aad moved
as pleasantly in the breeze for the gardener as for his master :
the blue hixze veiled the distance as sweetly and the sunlight lay
as warmly for him on the weathered stone of the broad and
^ ' turesque house-front.
'•-w^' i h.->d been much happier in the old days, when he was
mxt ; • 'jL.altf.., officer of artillery with a moderate income and
few r'; , • utilities, wi*h no pretensions, but with endless possi-
b.'th.;?o etore him iv .he profession he loved, if not exactly with
a field-nurshal's biton in his pocket, before his meeting with
Alice Lingard had created an imperious need in his heart. All
be wanted then was a fair chance in the service, the variety and
THE SQUIRE OF CLEPI -WOKTH.
m
possible travel and peril of a military life, his bookb and instru-
ments, and leisure to use them, with the oonipanionship ui men
of similar tastes. Truly, he reflected, "man wants but little,"
but by Home strange perversity of fate thai little is usually tht-
unattainable ; Sappho's apple reddening out of reach on the
Oil hard's topmost bough. Even Paul, who so well appr-ciated
wealth and the consideration which accompanies it, had found it
worthless without Alice to share his possessions and give the
crowning grace to his beautiful home.
Mrs. Eilward Annesley was sitting at a table beneath a spreiid
ing plane-tree in front of the house, and at some distance from it,
with some needlework in her hand. .She snw her son issue fror'
the beechen grove and come towards h-r in the sunshine. Some
echo of his musings was in her mind at the mon.ont : sho too
was beginning to realize the vanity of the good fortune which
had so unexpectedly befallen them, though perhaps she would
not have done so but for the blighting suspicion!? which j^athered
round her son and de|)rived the vvhole family in seme measure of
the social standing their inheritance shouM have given them.
The great house seemed to her, as to Edward, unhomelike, and
like him, she thought regretfully of the plain, uiiprclen'.ious red-
brick house mantled with ivy, in which her husband had died,
and her latter years had been spent in peace and pleasantness.
The reproach weighed on her, but not as it weighed upon
Annesley himself. As her son drew nearer, her heart went out
to him. It seemed as if Time had rolled backwards in its course,
and not her son but her husband, as she knew him in the fulness
of his strength, was coming to her side again.
" Dear child ! " she murmured within herself, while her kind
eyes clouded, " I never thought him so like his father till of
late."
What was the change that every one noticed in him ? she
wondered, as she watched the well-knit figure, carelessly clad in
a light morning suit, moving with firm even tread over the grass.
Perhaps his step was too measured, and lacked its former light-
ness ; certainly the dark eyes, shadowed by the straw hat, liad
lost their youthful joyousness, and looked out upon the world
sternly, almost defiantly ; and that made him like his father, who
had had many a fall in his rounds with Fortune. There was the
stamp of ineffaceable trouble on his face ; what could it he ?
/~<i,:ij -1.. a~~i.^j — .~4. .1 ..- K~ ^t.-^,.:^.. «.u-»M'>'^ "I* >^"
V^niiQlcii, 5I2C ic;ic'.-icu, :i:us-.. a: — a)-o uc uiiati^itig timjugii an .tiv
stages of childhood to youth, and then from youth to manhood,
and what manhood passes unscathed by trouble and care ?
Annesley of Gledeswortb — she was proud of the title in her fond
If!
t I
ili
I
2o6
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
;,ii 'I
Hirnil ^^'i't^'f "'^ '^ ^^" ' ^^ 'ooJ^ed like a man to sit
m high p aces, and be domed with power and responsibUitv
1..- 1^1°"^' mother?" he asked, taking a seat near her and
losmg half-a-dozen years from his f^ce as he spoke « Has anv
pened, and nobody has driven or ridden out." ^ ^^
abruptly""' ^"'* '^°"^''' °^ '""'"^ Gledesworth," said Edward,
sin^^K^intjoSim^^^ ' -"°P"^^ *^^' ^^ ^-" - ^^e family
vou ?^'''H."Zi^'"''' ^"? ,'"• ^ ^°"'* ^^^e for the place, do
you? He looked up and laughed. "It gives me the creens
and makes me fool enough to believe in the%red^'ion Upon
myjord. I wonder nobody ever thought of sellinrthe Yu'rse
♦«!,"' -r? ^ ^°"J^' fo"" y°"' sake," he replied: « but reallv von
with your dear father till she nearly wore him out, and no sooner
Se:ruT'Not"'tra.tKf^'' "f "' ^""^ '" "ake^S
u J J J ■ , *"^' ^ behove he ever really cared for hpr "
bva^tfufi^'""'""'?' """' ""o^' ■»'" can be made fol"if
oy artful and unscrupulous women "
i, l^nM^^I"'°^^^''",^^ '^P"'^' ^'*h some amusement, "that
IS an old story to rake up. Ahd you must admit that Aunt
of "rfX/' ' "°"* °' '' '" ""^^'"^ ™y Uncle WalterlnsleTd
h„r S^'^ '' comfort in that, Ned," she admitted. « If she would
rn. li ?i°" ^'°"' '• ^' '^ '^^ ^ho slanders you, and no other I
th«/to r",''°"'' ^^*^^ vindictiveness of those MowbW
that would make your hair stand on end " "^oworays
;. u^JZr:^J :.^_\^^'^' " ^y^^ of ^^r trouWe. I firmly believe
rfn^r t"""^" '""1 f '^'"- ^"^ ''^ '-0' responsible for what she
%^f I ^^}^ '° A*^^ ^^'■y f'"^' if you remember."
If she IS mad, her temper has made her so, and she ought to
THE SQUIRE OF CLEDESWORTH,
vyj
be shut up," replied Mrs. Annesley, with curious logic but firm
determination. " My dear," she added, with apparent irrelevance,
" I quite believe in you, but it would make me happier if you
would tell me the whole story of that miserable business."
" My dear mother," he replied, his face hardening as he spoke
until he seemed no longer her son Edward, *' you promised me
not to reopen that question. We have discussed it too much
already."
She looked him in the face, her heart beat, and a dreadful
doubt sickened her. She had known this man from his cradle ;
he had told her all his thoughts and confessed all his errors and
follies from the first stammer of infancy till now; could she
doubt him ? He had never to her knowledge lied since he was
old enough to know the meaning of truth, he had even, in his
cadet days, told her many of his scrapes. She had tried not to
spoil him and turn him into the flabby sinner or saint a widow's
eldest son so often proves ; she thought that she had never
suffered him to rule her, and certainly had not let him play the
tyrant to the younger children ; she had had very little trouble
with him, but she knew that mothers and wives seldom hear the
whole history of sons and husbands.
" It is hard not to know. I am your mother ! " she exclaimed.
" It is hard not to be trusted, and I am your son," he replied
more gently; and then a servant appeared with tea-cups, and
they could not pursue the subject. Harriet Annesley's singing
came faintly from an open window,
•• Ach Gott, mein Lieb ist todt,
1st bei dem lieben Gott,"
and made him think of Alice and Paul.
It broke off abruptly, and Harriet appeared at the top of the
steps, down which she floated with a child-like grace, and joined
her elder sister, Eleanor, who was now a nne young woman, and
the two came to the plane-tree and scolded their brother for
going off all day without telling any one.
Then Eleanor poured out tea, and they were all very merry in
a homely way. Edward thought how pretty and charming they
were, and what a pity it was that the doors of society should be
shut upon them just in the golden promise of their lives ; and
while he was thinking this and affectionately teasing them, he
became aware of a sturdy little figure, with a dogged yet blushing
face, striding with long heavy steps, straight over the turf towards
him.
I(i^
I
llri^
208
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
and dusty boots. ^ ^"" °" ^'^ ^°t face, white smock,
of his fL, Jh ch'i^fiS/'''' "f f'" ^ '""" " firs, sight
gave the messenger a brKh?^hri/ '" °"^ f"™")' stamp. He
J^str.ter-'^''-^-^
.tiU butd LTtit'STerelalrct.rd'."^^^^ ^-« «--'. "« --d
What do you say ?" ^ ""'S^* g^^ a long leave and join you.
^ m^^ea' ol ?^ of &^:S^ - ~^^^^^^^
refS'f"^?;---*-?^.o^
Then he rose and joined his sisters. °^ "'
^neletter was brief and formal ti,o •. ,
Annesley would waste no mo?e dm. .. ''"^^'' ^°P^^ ^^^t Mr.
upon which they couM n^ver c?me C^ ""P'°'^*^'^'^ ^
occurred on the afternoon of the 'fh ^"^ ^g^-^^V^ent. What
Jj;. upon h. b^atin, ^^^\:Ltl-T:iS^^l^^
THE SQUIRE OF GLEDESWORTH.
309
courtship, was unfortunate in its effect upon Edward. It stung
him into a fierce resentment, and made him seize his pen that
evening and indite a haughty missive to the effect that Miss
Lingard need not be in the lea§t afraid of his troubling her with
unwelcome attentions, a letter that wounded her to the heart's
core.
The long golden beams of the evening sun stole through the
closed blinds and fell on his paper as he wrote ; such long beams
were then falling upon Gervase and Alice on the down above
Arden, when the former was uttering the simple words which
echoed so long through the memories of butii, " Quitu ri^ht."
M
•:
Ml
PART V.
CHAPTER t
AN ENGLISH TRIUMPH.
All the eight bells in the church steeple were pealing down
in joyous tumult through the sun-gilt smoke canopy whith wa"
spread above the slate roofs of Medington one mHd Novembe;
afternoon ; the streets of that quiet little town were filled with an
hM.lo to^n-hall the open space in front of which was black with
human beings. It is curious that crowds, no matter of what thev
Ss fnTh7r^:^f '^T' ''" ^]^''^ ' '' '' ^""°"«' ^°°' ^hat human
laces in the mass are always of one tint, a very pale bronze with-
bLsh n/f"'"'' f'^' ""'r^ ' P^^^^I^^y "° one^ever saw a crowd
times occur'" ^ ^'' ''"'^ '""^"^ phenomena must some
hioTJ^ windows surrounding the space before the town-hall were
Wack with humanity, so was the balcony which served as huntbgs
When the eye became accustomed to the mass and began sinS
out its component parts, it detected many points of colour f
arge proportion of the men in the street wore^he fust an? garb o?
the artisan; the few female forms discernible at the windows o
in carnages contributed less lugubrious tints, and on many a loat
S blue an^r" '"^""' *'^^^ ?""^^^^ ^^^ bunchS oTrtbbon;
dark blue and crimson on some, light blue and yellow on others
iere Lrve" 7hZ'\^''' '°^°r ^^""f ^^^'^"^'^ '"^ triumphanUy
aggressive those who wore the dark, sullenly and defiantly so
All vvere demeaning themselves like Bedlamites : a few sad and
anxious policemen jostled about among them were tryTnenorto
observe anything, one of these in his efforts to ^reserv^a'n ind f
ferent and easy demeanour, seemed quite absnrl-d in - Ho-oVnH
searching examination of the pale blue 'sky abofe, ami which
uTut'-'tSe'frcrth'f^'K*'? ?"S'"S ^'"g^ unL";d ifthe
tumult, the fact that a band of musicians bearing the dark
AN ENGLISH TRIUMPH.
%\\
colours were flying precipitately down a side street, pursued by
various missiles, kicks and thumps, with their hats now and then
crushed over their noses, and their instruments vibrating to
unmusicianly strokes, did not pierce through his apparent
abstraction.
It was a scene to kindle wonder in the breast of an observant
Chinaman or Bedouin Arab, if such had chanced to be strolling
through Medington High Street just then. A gentleman on the
balcony was gesticulating and shouting unheard in tne tumult
made by the bells, and the cheering, yelling, groaning and
whistling of the crowd. Yet people appeared to be listening
to this frantic person through the uproar, and punctuated his
discourse by hootings, hissings, cries of hear-hear and clapping of
hands ; also by more personal favours, such as bags of flour,
which for the most part fell short of him and burst with uncal-
culated effect upon unsuspecting citizens below to the loud merri-
ment of citizens not so favoured. He was succeeded by another
orator, and yet another. Now and again somebody, usually some
half-grown boy, would utter a hoarse, half-despairing, half-defiant
shout of " Stuart for ever ! " whereupon the citizens with light
ribbons would fall upon him pell-mell, and hustle and thump him
with most Christian vigour, themselves hustled and thumped in
turn by a posse of dark colours, who would rush to the rescue of
their side. Had the intelligent foreigners asked the reason of
these sudden displays of fraternal feeling, the belligerents would
probably have been puzzled how to answer them.
60 great and overpowering was the joy in the breasts of the
light colours, that one of them would occasionally crush the hat
over the nose of a brother light colour, out of pure gladness of
heart and excess of brotherly love. Shopkeepers had hastily
put up their shuti.ers at the first crash of the bells, and prudent
people, and those who preferred quiet enjoyments to the turbu-
lent delights of laying about them with their fists, had cautiously
transferred the dark colours, if so unfortunate as to wear them,
from their coats to their pockets, a device which little profited
one unlucky citizen, who eff"ected the transfer more quickly than
dexterously, and was betrayed by the ends of the streamers peep-
ing from his coat-tail pockets ; he was finally seen fleeing coatless
down a back street, after having furnished infinite sport to the
Philistine crowd.
The balcony was now cleared, the crowd centred itself closely
about a carriage waiting at the principal door of the town hall,
and removed the astonished horses decked with light blue favours
from the traces ; this was the moment for another carriage, bear-
14—3
N
I'M
1 ,
il^ll
ais
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
ing dark favours and standing at a r^on, ;« • j
a gentleman whose smile waf m^Lr T a ^'^l l*'^^*' *« t^ke up
away. A great deep chee? such I r'^' ^"^ ^'^' ^im swiftly
broad-chested Englishmen ^nTrn '°"u "^ ^' ^^^'"^s only from
the rising thunSf neVuelnf h'''*S ^'*'^'""« '"^^^^^^y "k^
the clashing bells, whfch we^e firL th'^f ' '"^ ^'"^°^* ^"^"^^^
windows became white wi h the Sel nf^'^^^^^^ ^''"*'^' ^^^
the crowd exhibited severer si^. nf ? ^^'" handkerchiefs ;
figure issued hat in S 6-0^*151, n™^"J'^ ^^ ^^en a sligh
carriage, followed by three taS I^d Sf h"^ *°°^ ^^^ ««^* ^^ ^he
triumphant light favours T^ th. ^"^"^.'^ '"^"^ ^" wearing the
puUed and pushed by strona-^i?i^T^^? "°^^^ slowly on,
whom had aSy directyflSnfe ^fu^lw^^^^ ^^*^^"«' ^^^ «f
It from ladies' hands a dti^^n !, ^ , '°" ^''°"^"^*« ^e" in»o
staggered forwards and^hook a devion^"i^-"^T^^^ ^^ beer,
gentlemen in the carria<.r?i;; li i "^^^' '" ^^^ ^^ces of the
and then feU into the aS. nf'^ ?°"*'"^' "Stuart for ever!"
told the policemi he loved hLf ifk^i^'T'^L ^'^^^^ ^^ ^^P* ^nd
of "Rickman for ever '' decUmtS, o^^^^ and amid shouts
and exultant cheers, the cSf ?"n °^ the triumphant majority
band, wedged its warthrgTlhf ^.^^^^^^^^^ hght-fav^ureJ
prmcipal street. ^ ^"^'^^ ^"° "'oved up the
sigl^of^ot^reTnVXerrrn'^^^^^ 'T ^^^^^^^^ ''^ *^«
madness, namely the cent^arfiTe "f n S'^'* °^ *^'^ ^^^^nge
serenely observing evemhini wUh If a *^^^"«^"^t' «^ho sit
fair hair, and a very slight Ses^^Jn of H-^f -'"'"^ '"" «""g his
ful and resolute face, wh chTasTarwith thl%"P°" ^'^/hought-
few weeks, but the hkbitual look SI I ^^^'^ue of the last
was undisturbed by any s"gn ofexlt^^^^^ ?"'P°^^ °° ^^ich
" It is the first sten " h! ♦? excitement or triumph.
strained to coSSs,l''a. 1 u;"!? .'rnl'ir "?' "' """
provmcial attorney of no oarticnlflr Wi ,® ^5*^"^ ^^"^ ^ young
returneda Liberal memberfSi.fi'^f/i^^^'^^ influence to be
the first Liberal memSr wilh „^^' ^"^°^*^ Conservative borough,
long way from uUng EngS and^^^^^^ ™^"' ''' ^^« ^ vfr;
would need some sli|ht "Kion^ l^t\ *^^ ^°'^^' ^^ich latter
But "the rest will foUow. ' S^^^^^^^ ^y England,
anything is possible to k b^rn rnl.r fu^' ^2°^'"^ *h^^ almost
resolute will Mrs. Walter AnnesWirf %^"'^P"^P°^^ ^"d
dow to throw him a bouquet hound Vth?i"^ ■°"' ^'' ^P'" ^^"■
his deferential saluce. felt a th"rJn n? n •!? ^'^l^°^°u^"s» and receive
the paleintellectual fLce so ^Hfi .P"^! ^^^"^ ^^^ l°°ked upon
tumult; and when J^eVo^^l^e "
e contrasted the expression of hii counte-
AN ENGLISH TRIUMPH. ,,3
nance with that of his supporters in the carriage, two of whom
were well-known public men, and all of whom were flushed S
excitement at this unexpected accession to their party, she echoed
Gervase's thought, "the rest will follow." She"^ knew too that
hese men with whom Gervase had been actively working for
o^nllnw f ^''?1 ^^ ''°°? ^""^ *^^ ^°^°"gh, expected a great^dea
to follow from talents such as his. Gervase was in somi sort her
own crea ion ; she had given him substantial aid ; and it was she
^SulSlr/'i^r'^ ^r '° ^^^ ^'""^'^^ ^^C^binet Ministerwho
wou d not fail to see that powers so exceptional as his should be
F.i?f^°°d"'^ ^^'■°"S^ ^"^^^^^ ^if^ had acquired a fresh i*
terest for Mrs. Annesley ; his career would feed the pride which
had been so cruelly crushed by her son's untimely death
At this moment Gervase smiled, for his observant eye caught
a glimpse of Dr. Davis, that worthy alderman and ex-iSyorf that
staid and important medical gentleman and acknowledged le^din"
practitioner, being hustled and bonneted, and laying about S
manful y m defence of his dark favours, which the triumphal
fnd Srnrd'Hmh^^^^^^^^^^ T''^ V^'"" ^"^''^'^ °"' ^^at dis^ee
and learned limb of the law, Mr. Pergament. was ignominiously
bdting down a side street and vanishing into the da.S of a
SVT^^^', '^^ '^'^' °f ^hich opened for him, and Mr
Daish, Rickman s own partner, arm-inarm with Mr. Datefe, the
grocer, was marching along in triumph, colours flying, and uttering
spasmodic cries of " Rickman for ever i Hurrah ! " ^
Gervase wondered if any other influenrje »ve that of stronc
dnnk would have power thus to move these grave sons of civS
tion from their wonted decorum, and mused deeply on the eccet
mothf °^'^' "^''T^ temperament, so ponderously and ?rS.
movably solemn and yet on occasion so Absurdly boyL aS
?St^'.H ;°"l''''"^ ^""-^ ^''' ^^ ^ q^i^t littleVwn fuUof
sad-faced shopkeepers and stolid working-men, going stark mad
because somebody was about to represent som'e o? thU^la very
h^nk L°tT'°"~^" ^''"r '"*• '' ^-""^^^ him exceVeirtJ
think that he was supposed to represent the cumulative nolitical
mind of such a set of simpletons. He thought what humb.fi
representative government was, even if pushX tSfoSfuf
hT^flec'd'Stt"^" ^'^ great thiSgin m^^tKss: ,
ne reflected, IS to have a cry, a catchword, the more dubious in
ue^«.e one naa tui Ricsman and the other for Stuart
Sed UtTll ZTl^^'^tl ^'V? ^"""SS^^S his carriage knew and
«v mi! nfT *han ^hose little maids for the melning of the
cry, most of them had no votes, the most enthusiastic lere the
s
luli
at Bii
ii'i
ml
11
J.
»H '^"E REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
street boys. Some voices, it is true, shouted "the billot" an,i
"ex ens.on of suffrage," but even th«e were catchwo;! for the
most part, caught up from constant iteration in recent sDeech^,
and newspapers So it was and so it will be tSI So
?if ^"'^i^'"'^"'^"" '■'^"* ^he Italian communities of the Sdle
Ages asunder, and one of the factions formed by these crkswa!
Uself cut mto Blacks and Whites in Florence^n the days o
Dante, whose life was soured for a word's sake There were
catchwords m the olden days of ^
" The glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome."
thou'ffhr^h?*"^'"'''''^' in the youngest colonies of to day. and he
•bite vlrncr""""" '^^"'^'^ ^ym>^ra?rbeKL'
Mr. Rickman, half incredulous of his senses wt wWk q;k i .
wmmmrM
Ihat her sotfs possible defeat woSd be tolserio " a thC^tf
termf^dth Ve^ freshlv Z^.^^f^^^ ^'7 "°* °" ^^^^^ f^^^iliar
ca^no„..h„„den(J„eboomiX"Tj^e'it"4u^^^^^^^^
.tt„"'SiJtsi?K:;':„:rbSi! i<^'- .';^ «^ ^^
wind rushed up the valley andoVer the downs' wi'th^5»r™™*""^
and .ha. far^ff sound Jerely .old .he„f ZMfb^t^^SLIS
AN ENGLISH TRIUMPH. ,,5
news and naturally took his way to the Golden HorseN^hirh
besides was the first house in the street, as 2 JropeT^^^^^^^
Si attltions" thl7-.ff "' *'" Golden Horse o'ffer^d affutely
^hnrn,c 5 f v ^^t^rnoon. ^eyond the gross and obvious
charms of potent liquor; even the landlord was absent and ?he
landlady was not in the mood for social intercourse ' ^
rJfl 7?""''^^ ^^^ ^°'^^" "°"«' o" the same side of the hieh-
ro->.d and forming the other corner house to the by-road whfch fed
^ thf hi.h rn J ;• t^^ '"u*" ^ ^°"P'^ °^ f^et beneath the level
fK«i i^^ fl: '^^'''^' perhaps, when new it dominated- like
ma\kfnd"buf i'r-''^' "',° '" ^'? golden prime stand above
mankind, but, as Time rushes on, depositing a thick sediment nf
fr^sh ^ideas, sink gradually iuo th^ groo've ot oldtSned
.nJii" •""^^" condition, though inconvenient in heavy rains
hni. ' k" ^'^'^ ' °P^"^°"' *° the charm of the cSy Huf;
?nT' ^fT' '* ""^•'^"^ °"^' without stirring from the cosv
iftemhinl%hr."" '5' I'""''' ^'^ ^'^^ window^he bwer pi ts
ot everything that passed, thus enabling a person of imaginatinn
vertXdtdle^e^r' P--"^-^ ' -^^ thTngs'S'b ng
overlooked, and here he was wont to spend many a leisure Quarter
JosruaBakef tie' '"'^' 'i""'' '^"''^^^^' ^^^ wasTarS o
f^rZAu f' ^^ ""f ^^ ' gardener, and had more than once con-
ferred the dignity of grandfather upon him.
It looked specially inviting in the mild November day the
pear-tree spread over the blank gabled wall facing the'inn
hough leafless was yet suggestive of mellow fruUage and The
fey^ flowers in the tiny channel between the brickS up road and
the windows, though past bloom were still cheerfulT the /eraniums
fpl sun rams''h^'"t^ ""^ ^'^^^"^ ^^"'^ scaJetCrs
^er:^StTe^hrair^^t^Ky" ''^^ -y^-^-r^^
Which admitted at oncelo'the'^weHi^- ^o^aUTli
pervaded by the vague odour peculiar to coun^r^cot a^es and
mellowed rather than darkened by the smoke of years ^ ^
i i
I'l
ai6
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
1 M
E ' 'WS
^ That s just what I was agwine to ask," returned Raysh.droppinff
into the wooden armchair fronting the window and tapping the
bowl of his pipe on the hearth, on which burnt a fire of wood and
furze, making warm reflections in tne walnut dresser with its
shining plates and cups, and on the tall oak-cased eight- day clock
which ticked with a familiar home-like sound against the smoke-
browned wall. «' Aint Josh home ? "
" No ; Josh likes to see what's going on. You may be bound
he won t start home till he knows who's got in."
Then Raysh informed his daughter that a person from Meo'lne-
ton passing through Arden at midday had declared the sf ito of
the poll to show a majority for Rickman. " 'Twas a Libeval lie "
he commented, not intending any double meaning. "Thev
thmks If only they lies hard enough, 'twill hearten up 'tothers to
vote on the winning side."
" I wish Josh wouldn't bide in Medington," returned Ruth
whose politics were of a purely personal cast. "I can't abide
these lections; they're nothing but drink and broken heads
so fur as I can make out, and family men are better out of
them.
•' It takes a powerful mind to see into politics," observed
Raysh; "politics is beyond women. For why? A ooman's
mind is made to hold indoor things ; 'taint big enough for out-
Ruth reflected on this remark in silence, while she laid her babv
J? KM ^"u"^'^ m"*^ *'?"^^ ^^^ ^'^^'" child in by the fire, where it
Dabbled happily to itself.
"What has politics to do with Mr. Gervase getting in?" she
asked at ength. "Many's the time I've asked Josh what politics
IS, and all he can say is 'it's what the women can't understand.'
1 here must be a power of politics in the world, for there's a many
things I can't understand." ^
"Understanding," continued Raysh, "aint expected of women.
1 hey talks over much aready without understanding, and the
l^rd only knows where their tongues would be if they'd a cot
summat to talk about ! There's mercy in the way a ooman's made
alter all, K.uth. Politics now is a mazing subject; it makes the
men talk pretty nigh so fast as the women. I've a yeared em say
these yer members '11 talk two hours at a stretch in Parlyment •
some on em '11 goo on vur dree or vour hours when they be wound
I!E*- .. • y f.oes nothing but talk, so vur as I can zee— a talky
tiaade is pontics, a talky traade."
"I haven't anything' agen the talk," replied Ruth, "it's the
dnnk and the broken heads I can't abide. There 1 it's gone four
AN ENGLISH TRIU\rPH.
«I7
\ may be bound
One side is as bad
and the bit of dinner done to death aready.
as the other, so fur as I can see."
'' You caint see fur, Ruth; you aint made to, and you med
war-nt whenever a ooman tries to look furder than Providence
meant her to, there's mischief. Taint every man can zee into
pohtics, let alone a female ooman. Politics has two zides. One
zidc s vur keeping what we've a-got, 'tother's for drowing of it all
be 'sure.'^ "" "'^''"^ '"''J'''' '' Po^^'^^-^^i^'able mazing, to
"I'm sure I wish they'd keep their politics up in Parlyment
and not brmg em down this country-side, throwing temptation in
the way of steady family men with their living to get," said Ruth
gomg to the door and once more looking vainly down the road
remed "* husband, whose dinner was spoilt now beyond
,1^1- ^\'^^\}\^ way with the women," continued her father
nHnT'^^i "there aint broom inside of em vur out-door specu-
Ini rtn/"" T^^^- " '^^^^. ^"'' *° '^^'^ ^"tles and clothes,
ana childern and clanmgand sickness. I 'lows there aint broom
enough mside o they vur mazing subjecks like politics. But there
amtnocallvcreetohrun out agen what y6u caint understand,
Kuth. Providence have a-made politics vur men-volks, zo as thev
med hae zummat to talk about and bradein the newspapers wh-n
they ve a done work. Providence have a-made politics vur gentle
volks zo as they med hae zummat to do when they baint a hunting
or a shooting. AJhatever would gentlevolks do if they'd hadn't a
got no politics ? I 'lows they'd pretty nigh fret the skin off their
boans, they'd be that dull and drug. ySu haint no call to hrun
T.Tw k''°!I'^'"'\ -^"i^-" ^^y^h ^'ghed with a pious air, and
shook his head over his daughter's errors, the latter hearing him
with the tolerant reflection that men-folk would have their sav and
It mattered little what they said. ^'
The western sky was all a-fire with crimson, melting into a violet
zenith; delicate opal-tinted cloudlets were breaking apart over the
pale b ue on the south horizon, and still Joshua had not returned.
Ihe little roona was aglow now with firelight, and sent warm gleams
across the road through the diamond lattice and the open door •
further on the Golden Horse's bar-window cast ruddy beams upon
the sycamore boles outside ; a distant glow down the village re-
vealed the forge where the clink, clink, of the blacksmith's hammer
made cheery melody to the burring accompaniment of bellows and
flame ; a faint blue mist lay over the fields, and an eddy of wind
sent the dry aromatic leaves hurrying across the road as if driven
by a sudden panic, Uke those souls which Dante saw driven
I M
H
siS
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
confusedly to the dark waves of Acheron, where the crim fcrrv
mans oar chastised the loiterers; then the eddy turnefi and ti,'
panicstncken rush of the leaves changed to a Ik;ht aerial dai>r •
joyous and graceful, till the dancers dropped in the dust a with
sudden weariness. The hands of the' tall clock in the cot^
pointed to near five when Mrs. Rickman was returning with A ir
L.ngard and Hubert, the latter very magnificent in the Lihc
CO ours, from a walk ; hn.'ering every now and then to talk to
cottager, though her muul was far loo pre-occupied with theo.K
subject of Gervase's election for her discourse to be ve
connected. '
-^^Jt^lT 1;T' ^'m " '^' ^'^'^' Pa"«i"gat Ruth's d<.or.
ve7 Mh?T in "^^'"'/"^^ ! No; we have heard nothin.
yet. Miss I. ngard took me out of the way on purpose We
don tin the least expert my son to be returned, but I "shall b
sorry all the same, and bad news, you know, will keep."
Ihis Mrs Rickman had repeated in various different ways fiftv
imes that afternoon to Alice, who took a more san-^uine v^'w
the (lues^tion though she, too, was nervous. Mrs. Rickman's fin
remark had been, '.' Whatever we do, Alice, we must not cond
wuh lurn. We must look upon the defeat ^s a nmtJr of cours^^
Jiut they had not been seated many minutes by Ruth's hearth
when a heavy step was heard upon the road, and Joshua hinTsdf
unconsnous^ of visitor... stampo.l u'-isiiy down th. . teps and on o
the sanded floor crying, " Hooray 1 Jiickaiun's in I «
CHAPTER II.
BY THE HEAKTH.
JosiTiJA Baker received as -uerdon for his news an unoxnerted
five shillings from Mrs. RLknian and an cxpcct.d "rdinLtYom
Rnh.forhe had not only wasted hours in Mcdington ut had
«"S.^''" " ' ^''"''^'^' °f ^'^'^h h^- ^^"- the'proof i^ rem
RiZa^'r s^^^;!^:^!^^^ '^''' ^'^^^ y°" ^--^ ^•
thou.!h7l°nv;!lT''''n-^'"^ »''°"' them," he explained, "and I
Rn h IL / ^^:Hj'ntMn," an explanation that did not satisfy
Obvious fact that no sensible man can keen still when there is
hce af^;"fh ? '' >''^' 'I' r !';"-u ^"^ ^^^'- confidences ook
place after the visitors had left the cotta-e, which thev verv
^imckly d,d, walkin-r over the dry dead leux^s lyin' thickly n
dancinTleavt' '""^ "^'^ '' '^"^^ ^'^^ ^^^ lUisstJ^h^
a Inr^P°'^ " '' *'P' ^'''''''" '^''^ ^^^«- Rickman, pausin.^ with
fow.rd. t'!!'^'"'"^'''"?''^ *'>" sycamores and looking dubiously
touards Medmgton at the crimson western sky which Ldowed
tr nks of which were traced blackly against the warm colour
Alice laughmgly re-assured her, and they hastened up thelw to
he Manor, just as one or two liquid stars appeared aboJe its
chmineys in the pale green sky. i i ' ^" -luove its
.nH V '^ '"7 f *"g'" Mrs. Rickman continued, "that your uncle
onfy two/' '""^ suchclever children. To be sure we had
"Quality is better than quantity," replied Alice, wondering if
Mrs. Rickman thought that Gervase and Sibyl inherited the
concentrated power of a baker's dozen of children '""''''^"^ ^'^'^
Slid wil'hT '^^! ^-'^^^ '' ''"^'"■^' ^ ^°"'^' A'i^^'" Mrs. Rickman
said with a mysterious air, as they reached the fli-ht of stens
light streamed. Her father says that she is capable of anything
J f i
r
1 ■ '
.4
Sulll ;l
tHM^mm
330
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
after that last article of hers on compulsory education • thoueh I
daresay Gervase gave her all the ideas, if he did nTwrite half of
il t''\''''V '^^"i^ ^^' ^° '^^ him married °o a elltLe
girl to whom I could be a mother " ^
"So should I," returned Alice tranquilly; "but I should be
j^edous of the nice gnl, Aunt Jenny ; thlt is^if you w^^^^^^
No sooner had they entered the hall than all the servants cime
crowding mto it. with John Nobbs. the bailiff, and his ! fe aU
SaZslr ''' ^""f ""^r ^"^ scarcely had t^ con-
gratulations and comments subsided, when a carriage drnvp „n
to the door, and Mr. Rickman and Sibyl, the latte frdiant wi^K
excitement^ sprang out, and the congratula'tions began ovSag^n
tSy drunr^'^' '"' *'' new member's health'was entSas!
_ /Llice stood a little apart, with Hubert lying at her feet as if
studying the scene with interest, and looked on at the anfmated
group with deeply stirred feelings, in which warm affection for her
adopted parents and Sibyl predominated. Her lip treSed and
tears, which she could not explain, dimmed the figures standing
m the blaze of the hearth-fire, dimmed the oak paTe leTw^^^^^^^
S X'r anrthf df "^; ^^^"''^'"J '^"^P overh'ead the gTkte^
ot glasses, and the decanter from which Sibyl was pouring the
sparkling wine with a face infinitely more sparkl n? and the
thought came to her that in the happiness of these DeoDle who
were so dear to her, she too might find a little eladness v;^^h!
reproached herself because she las not glad ef^ughTn Jfd no?
overflow with high spirits like Sibyl, forgetting °hfd1fference7n
thei temperaments, and calling herself%elfish. But howTon^
would this happiness last? she wondered, thinking of GeTvases
Tw^: lau^ch'r ' ^"' ^'^ ^'°^-^ ^^^ — - oilers
She was nearer the door than the others, and the nridcin? of
Hubert's ears called her attention to the ru.nble of aSormchinJ
wheels, unheard by the bacchanalian group bef^^e the hearTh and
so It happened that she went to the doo? and openedTt S'st as
Gervase's carnage drew up, and the first thing he saw was hS
figure in he arched doorway traced upon the glowL iTght from
withm. with the watchful Hubert byV sidrdeck'edtk hS
heLrielredXI^L^'"'.'"* ''" '^'•^^>" ^° ^ ' ^" ^ "^^"^^"^
ne naa cleared the steps, and was standing with both hands clasoed
in Alice's, receiving her cordial greeting, "Dear Gervase 1T;«
gUdI I think we have all lost oi^ senses with pleasure?
By THE HEARTH. ^.
hers, or thaf he did not speak for sornemot^^ '^^ ^""^ '^^^^^^
congratulations showered unon him R^'"*' '^ ^"'^^" ^^^^e
overwrought with tLJensfon of ^i, i^ 7^ ^^'^^ ^"^ ^''^ited,
he was not qulle himseSr ^' ^"'^ ^'^ ^"^^^' «« ^^^de;
selJ-Sl"! deren^dttch^^^^^^^^^ ^i t'^ ^-">'' ^^^ -nt her-
made ready fo?h1milH?H--f '^''^'^•*^.^ ^°^^^ ^^^^h had been
such a stour, ye're nae theS To dee' Why even 'hI^h""? "^''^
descends to notice me " ^ Hubert con-
ticiZ'' AlicTreS-Tut T^""" '^ ^°"^^^^- ^'^^^^' ^ PoH-
was of an ent rely friend V n. r' ""f '"l" ^^^* ^"^^^^^'^ S'^n^e
receive the oS pat on Lh^^^^^^^ for though he went Izp to
.hheofhisey":taTdS?incUyvtsiwf '" usual stateliness^the
aftt dbnlra fout^f^hout iL""^^"^"*' ^^^ ^-"^ P-^y,
v^ere all in the Se draw^nrronm ^ ""'' ""."'"^"^ ^"^^'- ^hey
curtained and sho wed the S^V?^ ""'"^"^ °^ ^'^^^h was un-
with the pale bSnce of ?Hrt ?,^' ^^^' •'"°°"'^-^^ ^"^ throbbing
flashing t?ail of aTeTeof A c" seaTeT'a^S '"'''^*^' !? '^'
through this window the verv SnH^ • ^^^IP''?"^' could see
when Edward AnSevl.S? "^ '" ''i^''^^ '^^ ^^^^ siting
peaceful sta Hght of 1S vou h ff T'^^'l ^"'^'"^ ^^rough thf
soft and dreamy muic of her own • '' '• ^ ^''■- ^^^ ^^^ P^^y^^g
did when sSn7 o express he/frT'"^' 'V^' ^° ^^^^"^"^^y
drawing the inspirftionffie/muse from ^^^^ ''?"'^ '° ^'
towards which her face was turned qS ^'•^"qu^l sjar- worlds
doing nothing but Hsten fo a h!:" Y ^^? '■^^''"^"g in a chair,
kneefto the aLer of H^,h° ^'"^^ ^"^ stroke the cat upon her
eye, ks he lay af his mSss'^ Fee? S °hl"'""^, ^"^^ T^^^ °"«
paws. Mr/Rickman sLnf nn^iM • L^ ^^l ?""^^^^ °" ^^^ fore-
hearth with a n^wspanef t^t^ '" ^? "^"'^ °" °"^ ^^^^ °f the
slumbered peacefuHvin^hL?^ on his knee; Mrs. Rickman
the fntnre ^..jif "7 !?- ^^' S^^.'J O" the other side of the hearth -.
following hi^pa^ents'T^^^^ the world, appeared to be
ili
399
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
13 '
' i
an earnest gaze at the starry sky. Every curve in the graceful
torm traced against the comparative darkness of window and sky.
every change m her thoughtful face, and every note that answered
the touch of her slender skilful fingers, stirred the depths of his
heart with an intensity that was akin to pain. She was not happy,
that was too evident : and yet it was long since that evening on
the down when he uttered those two fateful words, " Quite right •»
summer had faded and bloomed and faded again till the fourth
winter from that summer was upon them. Yet in all that time he
had seen no change in the sadness which then settled upon her,
nor/ound anything to warrant any indulgence of his hopes, and
during that lapse of time Alice had scarcely seen Edward Annesley.
When the Annesleys chanced to be at Gledesworth it happened
that Alice was not at Arden j she was more often away from home
than m former days. Had it gone so hard with her ? Gervase
wondered, did she really care so much for that "good-looking
tool ? or was this sadness only the vague unrest of a woman the
promise of whose youth is unfulfilled ? Sibyl had not that look of
deep inward sorrow.
While he was thus observing her with a yearning gaze, she
turned her head from the window and looked towards the hearth
nieeting his eye, and smiled a smile of perfect confidence and
affection, which transfigured her face and stirred him with a
vague trouble.
He left his place and drew a chair to the piano, on which she
continued to play "I thought I had caught you napping for
once, Gervase," she said. ^
" You will never do that," Sibyl said, looking up from the cat
she was petting and teasing, " he is the proverbial weasel. I mean
to hide m his room some night to see if he ever really sleeps "
" The world » he replied, " belongs to the man who can wake
longest. Before her gate {i.e. Honour's) high God did sweat
hT ^h^ wakeful w*tches ever to abide.' Am I quoting
There arose a dispute about the quotation, the music died
away, and Sibyl was so provokingly confident that the lines oc-
curred m a sonnet, while Alice was as firmly convinced that thev
belonged to the Faerie Queene, that Alice left the room for the
purpose of fetching Spenser from his bookshelf in proof
"People ought never to be in earnest after dinner, esoeciallv
wnen everyoody is tired," said Sibyl, petulantly, upsetting the cat
and taking Alice's place at the piano; "earnestness is Alice's
besetting sin, and I believe it is ruining her digestion."
Sibyl played in her spasmodic fashion snatches from different
BY THE HEARTH.
MS
composers, for she had not Alice's graceful gift of transmuting,
her own fancies mto music as they arose ; her parents slept on!
and Gervase gradually, after a fashion of his own, got himself from
a photograph book, to a picture on the wall, and thence to a piece
of bric-^-brac, until he reached the doorway, through which he
silently disappeared. Thus when Alice, 4iaving verified the
quotation, issued from the bookroom to the hall with her heavy
volume, she found Gervase standing before the hearth, gazing
thoughtfully into the fire, which was getting low.
When she appeared, he kicked a log into place, thus stirring
the decaying embers, and making some fresh wood kindle.
"Come," he said, pointing to a carved oak settle; "it is nice
here, quite gemuthlich, and we can talk at our ease."
Alice wondered that a man who had had such a surfeit of talk
during the last few weeks did not take the opportunity of enjoying
a little silence, but took her place on the settle, laying the great
book on the table, and told him about the Spenserian quotation,
while he knelt on one knee before the hearth and plied the bellows
with the air of a man whose fate depended upon rousing a crack-
hng flame from the logs.
At last he made a noble fire, the brightness of which leapt up
mto the dark beams of the ceiling, danced airily over the black
panels, playing at hide and seek with the lurking shadows in them
and quite overpowering the light of the swinging lamp. Then he
rose, and stood leaning against the carved chimney jamb, looking
down into Alice's face, which was irradiated by the brilliant blaze,
saying nothing.
She spoke of the times when their favourite winter sport was
making the hall fire burn, and of their rivalries and quarrels over
the bellows,
"Sometimes," she said, " I think the pleasantest thing in life is
to remember what one did as a child. But none of us could make
such a fire as you could. It is a pity," she concluded, "a really
hrst-rate career as a stoker has been marred for the sake of "
"An indifferent one in politics," he added. " But no, Alice,
It will not be indifferent, it will and must be brilliant, and I shall
owe It to you if it is."
"To me ? Are you dreaming, Gervase ? "
"No; I am speaking sober truth. No one has nursed my
ambition and cherished and developed My energies as you have,
Alice. You always believed in me ; you have been my inspiration ;
but for you I should have dared little and done less. You would
never dream what you are to me, dearest.''
His voice quivered a little and lost its usual energetic ring ; it
'%
334
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
[I I
touched her heart and made her hesitate to reply. " It is VmA
of you to say that," she faltered at last, « I have Lays hoped to
broth^to me" '" '°"' "''^ *° ^^''' ^°" ^^^^ beerf more than
" I am moxQ than brother," he replied, in his fuller tones; then
he paused a moment. " Alice," he continued, "this has been a
fortunate day for me, morking my first step in public lifeTl have
as you know, a ittle superstition about lucky' days, and I hope
this may prove fortunate in another sense. Public life, power
success all these do not fill a man's life. There are £1;
te hf h° m' 'r "'"^^ '^°"^^' ^^^^ ^^ ^he foundation up'o
which he builds the superstructure of active life. A hapov
domestic centre IS a necessity to one who is to do good work in
the world. Nothing is any good to a man whose heart is hXwed
out by unsatisfied yearnings and vain hopes." "o^iowed
Her face grew graver as she listened to the deepening vibra-
tions m the mellow voice, which was not invariably^meuL but
sometimes harsh; and her heart ached. She knew whaT wa
coming; the old trouble which she thought for ever at res wa
starting afresh into life. He was very dear to her, dearer than
she thought, and the prospect of having' to wound him in a^ ^our
so happy and casting such a cloud over his first triumph was
inexpressibly painful. She could not meet his gaze ; h^av^rTed
fhe suft oT "^ -etched the firelight playing over a'panel and mak ng
the suit of armour m front of it stand out grim and full of hostile
sugges ion. Hubert sat up with his head just above her knee
and frir' shot^P^^'l" ''^ r\"^^^ iog at iS is'fahh 5
and true shot across her mind with no apparent relevance • for
whom did she suspect of falsehood ? c.cvdnce , tor
"Oh, Gervase!" she exclaimed, "I did so trust in vnnr
brotherhood ! I thought you had kept your promise"' ' "'
1 did keep it till now— and at such a cost ! Can you think
TnllT'' ^' i°."^^ ^". P'^'P"*"^' ^^^f^^e ^ith oneself? To
crush the best and dearest feelings ? Oh, Alice ! have I not tried
f /v.r K A ^ T TP""' *'°"^^^' *"^ ye^ was Silent ? Did
I ever by word or look betray what I could not coiK,u.r ? 1
have often said that will can conquer everything, and it is true
s^rli°^w1?%^'' '°.;;^''"^ '"^' '' ^' stronger than even my
strong will And unfess you can give me some hope, Alice
nothing will ever be any good to me." '
"If i had but foreseen this," she replied, « I v.vuld have eonp
hope's!" ""'' "'"'' ""''' ^'^^^^ "'^^ y^^ to ^ncourr/e false
S '■*,
BY THE HEARTH. ' „j
heJ"and"ww hTLT'' ,'^ '.^? "^''^"^^ ^'^ ^^""^^ Produced in
once^dislrrld'her*° " t"? "° ^°P''" ^" "^^^^' '" ^ '^ne that at
P^ay, of seeing her suffer and being'impotenno help her He
spoke of their years of affectionate intercourse of his n^r.n^^^
wishes^nd c^ the sorrow they would feel ifThe^'h^d t'o^art w" h
!«^k ?^?'"te<J that It was impossible during the hev-davS
He believed most of it himself; for when p^Xare in th/hr;
^l^---J-^f-gst.ternen^ of facts to suFt^T fr Twi^Srp^,t*
terv h.Hn °" ^'T'"!. '^-^ "*^'"^^ ^"d the desirable ilap^toCw
very shadowy, and to deliver a round unvarnished tale becoile? «
Herculean labour of the first magnitude. ^^' ^
But she could only tell him. asgentlv as possible, that his hone,
were vain; and then they were interrupted '" " ^^'
en^fJ^^lf^'l^' not sorry for the interruption. He thought
possible for a man who is very much in love to be on receiving a
1 J
♦"-■"T
226
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
i»i .
1;. I
direct refusal. This refusal was very different from the first ; all
the circumstances in Alice's life were now different and more in
his favour. When they went upstairs, he sat very comfortably
before the blaze of the drawing-room fire, feeling that things were
advancing, however slowly. Chance had again set Alice against
the background of the star-lit sky. He looked at her pale and
troubled face, and saw a falling star shoot across the heavens behind
her at the very moment when his heart was uttering the passionate
wish of his life. The star made him almost certain of success j
he asked Sibyl if she had seen it and remembered to wish, and
set Mr. Rickman off upon one of his interminable monologues on
shooting-stars and the various superstitions and fancies connected
with them, thus giving himself leisure to be silent and think in
peace, and Alice space to recover from her perturbation un-
observed.
Alice sat long by her fire that night, instead of going to bed ;
she was too much stirred to sleep, and was a prey to a ceaseless
whirl of thoughts over which predominated the foreboding that she
would ultimately marry Gervase in spite of herself. She thought
of the years she had spent under that roof, of the deep ineradi-
cable feelings which were twined about the familiar trees, gables
and garden plots of Arden. The very figures in the carved oak
were old and dear friends ; no place could ever wear the same
homelike face for her. She had always admired Gervase's talents,
done homage to the energy of his character, and felt the charm
of his society. But in the last year or two he had gradually come
to fill a larger space in her life. A vague unspoken something had
arisen between herself and Sibyl since the day when each read
the other's secret, the complete confidence of their early friend-
ship was broken by the reticence that discovery created on each
side ; though their affection was not diminished. At the same
time the bitter sorrow through which Alice had passed created a
stronger need for the healing of affectionate intimacy, and she
unconsciously threw herself more and more on Gervase's friend-
ship.
When a inan tells a woman of his struggles and difficulties, it is
not only a sign that he has a very deep regard for her, but it is
the surest way of winning her heart. This Gervase knew. He
believed that Othello would have sighed in vain, but for the
happy instinct which made him relate the perilous adventures
which so stirred Desdemona's faiicy and touched her heart ; in
which case she might have escaped suffocation and lived to a
green old age; while but for similar narratives on the part of
^neas, Dido of Carthage would never have mounted the famous
LEY,
from the first ; all
Ferent and more in
t very comfortably
ig that things were
n set Alice against
d at her pale and
the heavens behind
ring the passionate
ertain of success ;
bered to wish, and
ble monologues on
I fancies connected
lilent and think in
r perturbation un-
I of going to bed ;
)rey to a ceaseless
foreboding that she
•self. She thought
f the deep ineradi-
miliar trees, gables
in the carved oak
ver wear the same
I Gervase's talents,
and felt the charm
lad gradually come
ken something had
y when each read
their early friend-
ry created on each
ed. At the same
i passed created a
intimacy, and she
n Gervase's friend-
BY THE HEARTH.
92y
pyre. Therefore he fell into the habit of confiding his ambitions,
auns and struggles to Alice— with a certain reserve, of course ;
for It is not to be suppc ,ed that Desdemona was in a position to
compile a complete biography of Othello, while Dido was very far
from knowmg the whole history of ^neas ; it is even possible
that both these warriors, like Gothe, may have mingled a little
Dichtung with the Wahrheit out of their lives, it is certain that
Gervase was far too clever not to do so. Thus Gervase had
gradually become dearer to Alice ; he made her life sufferable in
the heavy sorrow which had desolated it.
The pale resolute face, alive with intellect and energy, and
spiritualized by the worthiest passion he had known ; the slight
but strong figure, imposing though small, haunted her, and his
voice, mellowed and deepened by feeling, rang in her ears. Most
great men have been small, she remembered, and only men with
voices of a certain i)ower can directly influence democratic com-
munities. Ought she to mar the splendid career before him for
the sake of her own feelings ? What had she to live for but the
(Velfare of that family ?
Then there came' a sudden warmth about her heart and she
seemed to see the face of Edward Annesley, aglow with the
" sweet and sudden passion of youth," as she had first seen it with
a kind of passionate surprise, when she looked up from her sprin"-
flowers and felt the spring-time of life stirred within her. "
She could never forget that ; even the crime which set their
lives asunder could not quench the love which was kindled in the
days of innocencei It would be a sin to marry one man when
she felt this for another.
ind difficulties, it is
•d for her, but it is
ervase knew. He
vain, but for the
erilous adventures
hod her heart; in
on and lived to a
'es on the part of
ounted the famous
I? -2
CHAPTER III.
<i
SIBYL.
labours of the few weeks D^ef. if. r? '"• '"'^^^ipense for the
not see Alice agah^trZt,^^^^^^^^^^^
presence of others "^' ^'''^^P* occasionally in the
gr^t ^^f ^f^^S:r\,::^S:'^-^til February, he had a
and flashy rhetoric being n great reoue'^^^ "'''''"''' ^'' ^"'"'
elections and club-meetings whifhLt^ ^* °"^ ^'^ ^^o bye-
the ex-Minister anrplrtfchlf n ^' '''!:'f ^' ''^^ instance of
had ; troduced him Sihn ■ I J^^"" ^''- ^^'^er Annesley
of so keen and delTc'ale antn^tn '"^/^ "l"^" ^" ^^e possible use
in Gervase Rickman '"^^'^"'"^"t ^^ ^hathe had lighted upon
pf pu^s^XTLt oXn;is^!i?Lin ^'^^^^^^^^^ '^"-' ^-^
him, full of personal confidencerL^ kS7-^'';^J^"^!f'^'^^^°^^
affectionate. He knew better fh.n?.^ ^"> ^"^ "°t too
marriage, and only occLionaUv Itln /^^^^^^^ '^f ^"««''°" «f
future, and feelings Sm^h ^^^^P"* ^^^'^^ lay in the
made the important st^p of DTevniinT'^''" ^'^''^''^- ^e had
of marrying him, 1 e wL°y lefltiaf Z^'l '° '"'^1'^"''^ ^^^ '^ea
within her mind. Impulsive iLm/.f^ c^^ '"^"*'y
laughed at as a chil7for di^'Jnl ? -"^ ^'^^^ ^^^ 0^*^" been
they were growing -buS "el se'^eSs'h'rr ^'1^ *° ^^^ ^°-
disturbed beneath the dark mnnW fn f ili fu"^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ 'eft un-
and at the same time £d enrovln J '^^'' inevitable destiny,
weeding than Siby™ ^^^^ "'°'"' systematic watering and
Mrs. Rickman now spoke to Alice nf »,«..„• u
course were moulded on her son's .nH S ^ .7''^^'' ^^^^^ of
drew his mind for a brief sDaceTn^fhf !" H'" ^'^kman with-
facts and the formuSg^of alf so^t o^^^^^^^^^
happy she would make tL ev n nf of h L wH^
his only son. Alice assured themlh/. she t'uM ' -"^^M '"'"^
no one else, and would not leave them uniessih;y d;;vetS
SIBYL
sa9
on the advent of a more suitable daughter-in-law. Even Mrs
Walter Annesley arrayed herself on Gervase's side, and went so
tar as to hmt to Alice that moral suttee could scarcely be ex-
I)ecfed even of a young woman who might have married her son.
especially when there was a chance of sharing and stimulating I
career so brilliant as that of Gervase promised to be. A sort of
paralysis of the will crept upon Alice under all this : she felt the
iron power of a destiny which seemed to be closing her in on every
side, and all she could do was to pray for strength to do what
would work for the happiness of otheis.
Then something occurred which powerfully stimulated her
halting purpose.
The Annesleys did not return to Gledesworth after the winter
abroad which Edward had proposed as a temporary change.
Their experience of living at Coventry in a country-house was too
py when contrasted with the vivid glow of Continental travel
I r u'J,^^*^°"""'°"^^"°^)' the girls acquired the habits of
English Bedouins, and were seized by the strange fascination of
a wealthy nomadic existence in those sunny countries which not
only teem with historic association, but are the homes of art
Therefore they only returned to England for an occasional visit
to London.
But Edward Annesley made it a duty to visit Gledesworth from
time to time and see personally into the affairs of the property
though he was not recognized by the landed gentry, or either
asked or permitted to perform any of those genial public duties
which belong to that class. The cloud upon his name grew darker
with time, but he continued to maintain that time would finally
dissipate it. His manner changed totally during this period ; he
became reserved, cold, taciturn and gloomy. All this did not
tend to soften his painful position among his brother-oflficers, who
did not recognize his existence more than they were obliged by
their unwritten code of etiquette. His next brother, Wilfrid, also
a mil cary man, a Royal Engineer, implored him to leave the ser-
vice 1 or his own sake, but in vain. He replied that thearmy was
his chosen profession, and that he intended to stick to his colours
and serve his country while he could ; he was not to be driven
away by the clatter of a few venomous tongues, whose venom he
would justify by yielding. Then he invented a gun, and was
not without hope that it would one day be adopted by the
authorities. At this time he looked as grim and aggressive as his
own gun.
Yet there was one in whose presence his face brightened and
fiis tongue was unloosed, and that one was Sibyl Rickman. She
'ii
230
THE REPROACH OF AHNESLEY.
\ -.'hi
; iiii'
ET u "^ n^J^i^;;^^f>'^ in their foreign haunts, and
his brief visi s t Q^, es.^ ,' ul'^^^' ''''^ '^^'^«- , W'>en he paid
whether by chance oV^^u^t^^^ fSMha't%'?'r^' '""^
homeandAli,:cJ)suitattIc'soVi uJ On ^ n ^'^'y^ '""^^ at
told him that iic (OLikl nV hnv • P^^^ ^''-'''vase suddenly
any longer, and that i Ac ^ h' ^^^'^^^.''^ ''^"^e^'io"^ trifled with
at oncx. Elv-.rd w-^s hi \ '^ T '"'^'"^'ons he must be oiT
affections I rbeen touched ^ '\ supposition that Sibyl's
pointed out to hiri dm the v i '"' ' '""' '' ''"' ^"^"^^^
that Paul Anneslev wi nof fh i "'""'''" ""^^ "" ^is side, and
smitten with Sil Jn^^'is l^^l'^ftT^M '"'^^^T '^^"^ ^« b^"
been taken in hif..eU;and'so :/n o .^'.'d /h'^'sVbvf ' Ger '^'
had always sunnosed hv smVl tu.^ i ■■ 7 y'' Gervase
Sibyl as a blind'befor; Pn. ?de rEd3.''T^'^''^^^'>' "^^^
tions had been deliberate it L' ^^ '^ ' subsequent atten-
tolerated then" '''"''''^'^' ^'^^ ^e would nev-r for a moment have
proceeded to tl no io'n that "r^L S'' -riously of hir^. he
make life liveable once mor T/"'^ ^' ^'T.-''' ^ers would
discretion, had let^ him trrL..^. ''"' ^'t'^ ^'' accustomed
the moment he h^^d dclitcJc^^Tin if "^r''"'".^ observations
thought of her the rette^he 1 ked 1, "^1' u''' ""^ ^^" "^'^^^ ^e
by the light of memory nnr ^u''"""^ ^^^ "'"''^ ^^ pondered,
of the relktolTeS the?n7h: m^'"'^ fo her prol!able vie^
to -nm. It was bu fus" o Wil H . ' ^'^'"^'^i' ^'^ '^^^ ^PP^^r
butltany decided exrectaConl'cSy ^'^^^ '""^ '^"^^ ^^^
ba^'LS'z i^:^^:ij^- i;s^^T ^^ ?f -^' ^^ ^^ -^^
wedded bliss (for whlhtL- ^^d incredulous eye upon
of I wlfe*^" ""'" '^""^^ "ope he once more set forth in search
courses they ^^^'^i^ .o^^^uj^!^^:::^::^^ S.*'
sin YL.
331
forth in search
of all beholders ; for Sibyl looked so hnppy and so pretty while
skatin-, that it was enou,L;h to make an old man and even an old
woman young tc Inok at her.
Alice and Sil)yl were busy decoratinj,' the church that winter
afternoon when Kdwird Annesley arrived at Arden. He soon
made Ims way to the church and looked into the hoary interior
where tiie gloom was intensified by the dim ray of a candle or two'
and where the air was aromatic with fir and bay, and saw the two
girls, with some more young people, intent on hammering up
wreaths. He soon jwined them and held hammers and handed
wiuaths about . till Sibyl left them to go to the belfry, where the
desjjotic Raysh had compelled them to keej) their material, in
search of fresh wreaths. Presently he followed her, unobserved
except by Raysh. Alice, at whose bidding Sibyl had gone,
growmg tired of waiting, after a time went to remonstrate at
havmg to wor'r smgle-handed. But Raysh, seeing her approach
waved her back from the belfry-door, which stood ajar, with a
mysterious air.
•• 1 'lows there baint hroom for me and you in there," he said :
"coorten," he added, confidentially.
Then the situation became clear to her ; she could see the two
figures in the light beyond the crack of the door, talking
earnestly and apparently oblivious of everything around them.
The evergreens were piled up inconveniently round them in
obedience to the dictum of Raysh ; «' I caint hae my church
messed up by this yer nonsense," he had grumbled, lamenting
the days when he alone adorned the church, and made it look
"cheerfuller and more Christmas-like " by sticking a large bough
of holly in every pew, till it looked like Birnam wood marching
up for devotion instead of retribution.
She had seen Edward and Sibyl skating together the day
btiore, when she drove to the ice to fetch Sibyl home, and had
heard people's comments on them with an incredulous ear, but
now she was fully enlightened.
She quickly silenced Raysh, and then turned back beneath the
dun, cold arches with a singing in her ears, and a fierce, hot
surge of passion which surely could not be that dark and
dismal thing, jealousy, in her heart, and applied herself" with
fierce diligence to nailing up the red-berried holly, takin<^ a
perverse pleasure in pricking her hands till they bled, and
dnvmg in the nails with an energy that made Raysh use strong
laiigiiagc when he took thera out again. Never had such strange
and bitter feelings possessed her before, she did not know herseJf,
surely her guardian angel would not have known her that day.
^
'3>
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
■ n
flickering spots of light oppre^^^^^^^^^^ ^"^
fusion which throbbed wiffi!, 5 .^"^ ^^^^^ *» the con-
seemed to depend on the in/""^ "'"u'" f'^^^ ^^'' Her life
^vorked : did she but n-L^"^''?^ ^'^^ ^^ich she moved and
undone. And L it t^nr^^K"/"!'^"' '° '^•"'^' ^^e would be
scorn in the heart wichtvedtert" A^'f^"^^ ^"^^ anger and
once actually lov^d thirshaflow mi ^""l '' ^'"^ *^^^ ^''^^
jneasure of his faults b/p^ot^TtrS; atht^cJ^o';;^l^^^
herVn^Tn^ll^'Inf Li^^^^^^^^^ T^- -d torn
feelings came. After all she m„S ''• "u" l'^^ '"°'"^ '•^tional
thing for both ? S byl bel eved ^k' might this not be the best
;-.^he4 hiind. ^^...^i^i\:^:^^i^
aloL'Ke^belfr;^«w7^^^^^^ -^«" they were
you are more dea^o r^e every lav -^^^^ *ong ti^e, and
care for me " hereKa^o ^ ^' . ^ thmk— I hope— you
was noJ forthcoming ' Cirvou'S'''^"^ ' ''^'^^ ^^"^^ '^-^"^^"y
straightforwardTashlon ^°" ^'^^ "^^ "^ ^^ ^^ded, in his
e^:!, ;:^ v::°?l ^sJ^LcilSy^^i^rS^ -"^ -^en he
when he spoke, her heart gav^lS 'Z ^Tf ' ^"*
up mto her face, and the belfry sSr^edfn^' • ^^ ^^^""^ ^"^^^^^
the great bells above her head SnrT.h- 'P'" ?"°""^ ^"^ ^^ake
choked her; she Lerco'd kll nf^^^^
wistful inqury intfhTs face whtl, '"'^'^'" ^"^ '^^^^^^ ^«h
with warm feeling Then she lootrH '''""'!, f^ ^^^^^^nt
vain for her answfr thinWnf h J« r^T"' ^"^ ^^ ^^^^ed in
was ever seen and went o" to h?^ ^^ '^'^ ''"''•"' ^'''' '^"'
she immediatdy answered "no^' downright question, to which
pJn^nCl^ir'?5.\r.l^.h5.'*^^^" -back by this plumo and
for me.""" " "' ""' '^''^"^ut once—tiiat you seemed to care
SIBYL,
*ll
Sibyl smiled, and he seemed to sec Viola again,
hit ;verything you threi Zn.T""^ ' f '"."^ ^^^ "^"^^ '-^'^^y^
in 4"o?t:;?drer;n:e"^"'^^ '^^ ^ ^"^ ^^- yTu tlfeve
facelfthtp'emrsI^artM ^l^^./^^^ ^^'e^t little thing on the
k strikes meThaTwe should -r"' ^'°n ^^^" '"^ ^ Somehow
don't ove me"she aSi ,. '""" -ndignation, "You
reproach. '""" " seriousness touched with
"Indeed I do."
^s^tns^t^^ r- 1' rt-r"*^ tn, ,^r --
"No°Sibv'',h?\''«''"- •"'^"' She is worth it-
shall nevf'il^lV'Sin 'aTf did fo°r'- " " 1""' '™ "«« I
One can't live backwards ni k ""/' "'""■ ^"i P^" '^ P^'-
always beersuch friend;- ?., „ t '° «" ""■ ■^'"' "'"< ' ^''■^
cha"mb«1, fel^'-l'dsln'tilh'" '""'' f'™ ""^ <'"'='"'"8
frosty sunset, and now thiy 's ow?v oacedX h"'??"" «'T "•' "-^
the graves, intil thev r^ISi^Tl^ ?^ '''"<' foo'path among
-.M °„:7i??.' .'"■'^some, clumsy, stupid things these w-n „. , »
s^:-- wh^yri^e-CMtLdTou^'r t? m:;:yt?:r^°?
You say we are good friends, let 'us ^/rfriendrrn.'"^ t^d
Kl.
234
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
1 1 -i
friend is better than a bad husband, which you would certainly
"There is nothing in "ihe world so irritating as a woman,"
returned Edward, trying hard not to kiss her, and restrained by
innate awe of the womanhood in which this guileless spirit was
enshnned. "Just think of the comfortable quarrels we might
have. As mere friends, the sphere is limited ; conventionalities
must be observed."
" Is this a theme for jesting ? " asked Sibyl, severely. " Oh, I
should hate you if I thought you had ceased to love that dear
sweet creature ! For pity's sake be rational."
" But you began the jesting," he remonstrated, aghast at
this charge.
"Well ! and I began leaving it off. Good night. Alice is
pricking her sweet fingers with no one to help her."
"Stop, Sibyl, just one word."
Sibyl stopped with an air of resignation. " I am busy, and it's
cold," she said plaintively.
" Of course I shall always love her," he said earnestly, " as
one loves what is too high and too far-off to reach. But, dearest
Sibyl "
" Then don't tease me any more. Who cares to hear other
people made love to ? "
" But, Sibyl »
" It should always be done first-hand, and never talked about,"
she added rebukingly.
" But, Sibyl "
"My name is Rickman. I shall never change it. I am
married to my pen "
"But I wish you could marry me, too."
" You would unwish it in a week. Now listen," said Sibyl,
stopping on the crisp grass with sudden gravity. " I like you—
far too well to marry you. You fancy you care enough for me
to make a passable husband, but it is only friendship. In a
week's time you will see that I am right. Be true to yourself,
then you will be true to others."
The warm glow of the sunset had burnt away to a pale
memory, a mist was floating ghost-like from the level meads
beneath them, the Christmas moon had just risen and was filling
the earth with a tender dreamy radiance. Sibyl's face in the
pale blended lights had a new and unexpected beauty ; her rich
tints were subdued and the lustre of her dark eyes intensified.
What was the secret charm which so irresistibly drew him
to her? It was very different from the deep inevitable and
SIBYL.
ajS
im busy, and it's
s to hear other
r talked about,"
aiige it. I am
nextmguishable feelfags which bound him to Alice. Something
told him that Sibyl knew him better than he knew himself, he?
deep hciuid eyes seemed to be gazing into the depths of his soul
and discovering recesses closed even to him. What was tho
secret o her power? Was it genius? His brain wL?ull of
lyric snatches from the little volume of poems which had us
appeared m Sibyl's name, and they had seemld to Ws no
exigent judgment to have the ring of true song, they had furthe
suggested revelations of Sibyl's own heart. Her earnest elance
spoke a thousand unspeakable things, it revealed the guileless
soul of a gentle Viola, yet with all its tenderness it See y
concealed the swift lightnings of a spirit full of mirth. While
riahr R. °7k'P¥' ^^^" *° "^^^^ ^"^ he saw that she was
S^La. '^^^h^^his feeling for her, though in that moment
she had acquired a dearness that she never had before was not
one to justify marriage or forbode a happy union. He s^w tSo
hat deeply as he had pressed his love for Alice down inTo the
lowest hod in his heart, he could not stifle it; above aS the
&?.?H '" V^.'^"" "!1^ resentment, her refusal and want of
faith had caused him, and above all more tender and gracious
nnTv"g;^' ^'^ 'Y ''""^"^ ^^"^^ °f °"^"««S with her, which is
Plllt Tf ^f/^^^ot end. He knew now that the dream
lifewf^h ,^,?^,^^""^ ^"to existence was vain, and that the double
en. A r ' T^^ ^""^ J°y' ^"'^ perturbations was not for him
since Alice was beyond reach. '
fl,r ^^^l ^i^^''" ^^ '^''^' ^^^^' ^ P^"^^' " I think you are one of
the sweetest creatures God ever made ! I will be true to you, a
least And I think we shall be friends all our lives long "
Then fhlf i""^ 'il!''";'P"!^ ^^y^' ^^*h a httle tender smile.
Ihen they clasped hands and parted.
She went slowly back through the chill silver of the aerial
moonbeams, her breath visible in the frosty air, and the frozen
grass rebounding stiffly from beneath her light steps, and me"
Alice and the Mertons coming out of the dark church, the deep
blackness of which was still emphasized by a few dim lights
Ihe clear evening sky into which pale stars were slowly stealing
the grey church with Its steep red roof and massive tower, the
village with Its red lighted windows, the bare trees all sleeping in
the moonshine, the faces looking unearthly in the bluish light, the
associations of Christmas Eve which threw a hallowed glory over
^i^r'-r^u''F^^T\'T-r- -"- ^"" "^ unspeakable charm to
ijibyl. The hour she had just passed was the flower of all her
hfe and she was content; her heart was like a sleeping babe.
perfect in Us deep sweet repose. ^ '
m
»3«
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
into the homely jSts as uual I i°"'' 'v''"J ^.'^^^ ^'^ "^^ ^"te?
pass away with Vhe m/stk I'ries of ?h. ^^'f '!f '^*, ^^^ ^P'"^
body remained. Tiiev 1 sten^ Tn t h! , ""'''^'^^ '""^ °"ly her
the hall-fire till midni/ht but S hvi ^^'^'u^'^S' ""^ ^'"^^ ^^"nd
her twilight raX.''''i,i^e^i&e^' rh^;"^^ '"^ T ^^
pressure, and was Sad to 1^.'"!.?^ ''"^ermg y. she returned the
CHAPTER IV.
SPIRITS.
found himself insteadTn the dim ."i;"?'' ^"^ T^^' ^"^ ^'^^
S-f: '^^-- "-- prSer^^d^^^^^^^ Ti l-Z
on^h/ch^n^prnrg^^^^ to call .^
affwTon'^hfarr'th'Shof'p' f?" ","* °" ^^-^^^ ---
become well ac nimed ff .r hi fl"^'^•""^L^y' ""''^ ^h^'" he had
meet at tie SveSs Rest He hnH°^"'^'°? ^° ^'"^ ^^ ^^e
England, and was sta iWd nf o i '''^- '^''^"^'y returned to
hours of Gkdeswor h wheni t ^l'^^ ^""""'T '«^"' ^^^'^i" two
return bef J^ n ght ' At one time FH ^'"h ''l'' ^^^ '"^^'"^'"^ ^°
welcome fn>„dsa,^drLt^H^^ ''^'■':''>' '.<""=>«bered how to
that woulS dlcoSd 1«' Major wuh a grim coldness
•stosay.-wLoTe'JrAdoTuS'^'"''"*"'^"'^"""^''
us^l composure, r^^^'^Zin'^L^' l:^lZ^ t" .1^
When he heard that he was passing the night at the village inn,
1»
238
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
m
asked him as a matter of form a form T. f Annesley, who only
to use, so much of a recluse had he become ^^ ''™°'' ^°^^°"^"
at soS Tnce'ai'he'hS' tu"^>'' "---bers meeting you
me Glad if you3SS whe°n inTwn^/^^'" Aidershot'Jith
The blood rushed darkfv /n' p?"' t ^/ ^^'"^"^ ^o."
been long in Enlnd he ^^^^^^ .^"^^- ^^^^vray had not
had heard nothing of th^St, on' 'iT P'-obable' that he
Yet La V Mcllvraj was in thTCv nf\ '"• '^ '^'^^^ "P°" ^im.
again into the grim ness which M.Ti ^'f""^ ^t- He relapsed
a moment diss^aTed! and bLn ^^^^^^^^^
indebted for this unexpected vf^^^ Pr/^'J^'l-^^ ^^^* ^^ ^^«
that there were a greafmanv Ir, in ^f^^'^ ^f «"^^* observed
remembered that Sd haTmade a " ^' ^°'"^^- ^"^ Edward
to the same purpose and he h^AlL TJ"^^^^'""^ observation
early in life as to thbk" t too (AvL?f ^'«^°^^^ed the fact so
During dinner Ma^r Mci%S!'°7d^°' .'r!!'!f L'
scandal since his return that hTwas sic^of It "^^^^^^^^ ™"^^
hot agam and looked fiercely across thffoM ■^'^"^^'^ *"^"ed
other's eyes. But thaV nIL . ^ ^^"^'^ ^° ^^ to meet the
dinner, an'd spoLVcolon 1 Dis^y' a°nd '0^""^ -f ^°^^"^ ^'^
whom he had been pieetiW recentlv anH f .^''"1"'^ "«^^^^^
promotions which had^occurfeJ aSg th^^^^ '^' '^^"^^^ ^"^
. "Never believe a word I heS " hi .^'^ a -.
mconsequence, "especially whenTknow it to h ,''"5 ^PP^^^"^
Annesley asked him point blank if he hi hk ^a^^'
respecting him. ^ " ^® ^^^ ^^^rd an> rumours
Diln^y^an'oufwc^^^^^^ "Widiculous bosh.
shaTwTo^c^S^tn'of^Satn^^^ 'T^'^ ^^'^^ - ^
points. Yet he had such sol d stuff ZV^ ''^'^'"^ S°°^
turned from belief in a friend ^'"^ ^' '^^"^^^ ^o be
" WeTptryoirrnoT^f^^^^^^ f:^'^^'" ^^^ Highlander continued.
hea?d^tr;;T;^^thtct?i:SS^^ -^ ^ave
une^e^d' l^^t/S^tS^^^S^Str J^^^^
SPIRITS.
239
touched him to such an extent, that he let something escane of
the bitterness which weighed upon him. ""'^'"'"^ ^^cape of
"Soon hve it down. Nothing hice pluck" McIIvrav mm
sTh^^n^reninfofrr^^^"^"^-^^^^^^^^^^^
enjoyed for yearl '"'^ companionship as Annesley had no^
Whether it was the influence of the genial season or r^f thnt
fats" hrS'ofTT."''^' '^y^^^' tL":S °n7timi-
iffpr Jh r ?^ ^°.'''' .^'■"°"'' '« uncertain, bftt something
effected a transformation in ]VIajor Mcllvray that Christmas Eve
The enthusiastic Celt emerged from beneath the thin veneer of
7n .V "^1"^ °^.^ ^"""'" "^"^« '"^y be called the langufd sieU
In those days the masher was not; the beau, the dandv the
blood, the buck, and the exquisite had long s nee pas-d into
shadowy memories; but the swell, the heavy swell diffused a
Slder Kr "^7 1""' "^^ °^ ^^^^^"^^"y' and entrancedlh:
beholder bjj. the graceful sweep of his whiskers, the calculated
orwfvtKt^'if '''rr °'-^^^ -^relL, the^SS
or nis vocabulary, the immovable gravity of his demeanour and
ne aione among the sons of men attempted to practise the
itS?bSv''r'f ^^ ''' ^^r'°"^ sage'of CheCon the
orced from h m to 'J.'T' 'f " -'"^ '""'^ ^P^^^^ ^' "^^^^^"y
lorcea irom him to an elegant minimum, and diminishine the
Major Mcllvray was one of this brotherhood the linpal
tS^H '"' °^ ^^^^^'^'' u^"^ Ag^g' ^ swell of S first water
Though apparently incapable of the rough and virile consonint r
this evening the whiskey, or some more ethereal spirit brouXt
put a fine manly Highland burr in his speech wihTfike manly
interest m thmgs in general, together with that fndescXb e
KTtlrtaT' H°" "'^' '^ ^"^'P^^^^'^ from^t meTof the
If ^" Vi "• ?'^ ^y^^ heoLme dreamy, they seemed to gaze
at far-off things ; the breath of the moor and the S seemed to
sigh through, his strongly aspirated speech; he spoke oreere
i?d nf';H''^';"""''^ ^ri'' ^"^ P°°l«' of wraiths and apparitfons
and of the strange gift of second-sight. But this point was onlv
his hos^ wfe^^n sj^^^^^ d^s^tr: -i^
han good fellowship demanded, was neUthekss sympathetk to
these weud themes to an extent that stUl furthe?Smulated
fil
iLiij
4 ''\
m
340
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
s^l;^^^^^^^^^^^ been beguUed into seeing
bagpipes, floating by theTndows in .hf-.P^'^'^^ upon shadowy
of weak nerves would have hSrated nV'""* f'^ht, and people
chamber for the lonely echo n I 'a^""^ ^^'^^ solitary firelit
house, in which only two^r h ° e^^^^^^^ ^' ^he great'empty
An Annesley in the Von armour 0?'^--^'° """^ ^^^' °^'^"Pied.
down upon the two men bv the fi?. ,^°'""??«^ealth days looked
with a sardonic grin whirh^r.; .,. u ^'°'? ^'^ ^^^me on the wall
flicker of the ifa^tngte-ff bu^ ?'l" ^'"-g'nation orThe
ceptible to Mcllvray, who a fed\h. V''/''"'' T' ^''^^^^V Per-
and entered with zell intoThe 3torv^f ^.°rf^' ^""^ ^'"^^^^
?nd was amazed at the nr^^nf a ^ , .^'^^ Gledesworth curse
«. "I don't suppose f;'o,Vfrf^' Proposition of sen ng
"but I should hketo g^ rid of i/l ^ "'""^ ^^^ letter added
Major Mcllvrav eazeH ?. ^^ ^"^ P"^^." °^'''
some more whiire^y;TheCroS^ "P°" J^J'" and took
darkly, while his hLd app/reX Z ^""«'^y/eemed to frown
great sword. «*Pparently mo^ .-d toward- the hilt of his
secIndsShl":;:^^^^^ arot'wtr ''' ^" «"-- ^or a fe.
«And°^^ secret. ' °"' ^^"^ '°»gs, yet fears, to disburder
wraith^yoHaw'thaTlVwrr^^^^^^^ '^^' [^^-^ your brother's
he asked. °^^ '^^^'^' 'be mist lifted from the hiJl ? »
;^ood; it ^,, ^,ow evS ^nJ'T^ ^' "^^^'^^^ i" a j^n^
broken ground just below ^heD.nJ'X T' '^"'"S «" some
evening meal off bread anS chees^and t ^'T'"' "^^'^'"S their
from a chalet near. All were facint 1^? ,^^'*" '^^"^ Procured
- 1. " T^re an lookine-, wfif^n a„„--,- ,
ovmcming which made the hair of"^. fl""'^^'-'>' became aware of
He was 5e.„. ..e o.he. "^d;tanS.^,V„„, ..«
fate what had
SPIRITS. ,^,
Wue eyes and scarred face of Paul Annesley? '"'' '"'""8'
the broken mL^ and sat o "S^nX^^ '°° disappeared behind
sinking rapidly down the decfe^ofThf >>h ^'^^^^""^^
him, from which the snn hTn 7 ^ ^ i^^ ''"^^ '^^'"^ beneath
declivity Edward dashed but thiT"^^ disappeared. Down the
i^i t^ T^^^^^^ in:;:sr t^o^ itl
hrSin;1n^tis'rn: le^pl^^^^^^^^^ S^^d^'^ ^^^'^'^
and he was determined to k^wth? cause o thir? "^ "°^
cheatmg of the senses. The wood climbed a slone f'^^P^^f^y
east; it was nearly night there in the S ^ t ^ ^^?"^ *^^
The phantom mo'nk'l' nTwSrf to'be set Ed'^^^^^^^^^
b^X^wtrn °dirtha?rh ^"^^"'^ ^"^ ^^^ df^ant :|Sl,f 'ht
and told him hfhad been dream Warr.,r^°. .^•^' ^^"^ ^""^^^^
|.. that m^ent hilStt ^^ Si^- ^^ S -
"Why should my cousin's spirit appear to me?" he asked
i6
3 t j
243
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
Major Mcllvray at the close of his narrative. "In all your
some kin5''' """' ^ ^"'^°'' '" *^' apparition-a warning of
decision' "°* ^*"^ Annesley's spirit," returned Mcllvray with
"Then what was it?" asked Annesley, whose nerves were
wa s^nrTsTd'/tX''' memories he had ^'ust evoked "and wh"
se" :rS'4or McLaT' "" "'' '' " "'^"* ^ «'°^*-
'r'^i^i^T^,^ ^^""y ^^'^^g^ th^t he should co.ne as a monk "
replied Mcllvray. who, in spite of his scepticism, was Sched
wL, h\ °'y' ''"y '*'""S"- «^ ^^« "°t a Catholic even^why
would he appear as a monk? No, Annesley, it was not a spirit
that passmg figure It was a living monk that was passinS
hi eyes were dark blue and some mark was on his face, fnd"n
«^at moment he was very like Paul Annesley. I have met a
man who was very like me. .le was in the Hussarl iT was
sometimes unpleasant, such mistakes were made. Or. I'wilUel
cousin^^^nH '"^ K^A '^'"S^"^' ^^^"^^"^ °^ ^^^^ P°°^ fellow you
cousin, and a bird was flying past making a shadow, and vou
turned quickly; the sunshine was dazzling tnd your img"natbn
painted the face of Paul Annesley on the air. You hfd been
seeing these white Carthusians in France, and you were thUikin?
all m one figure of your cousin in a monk's garb. Yes • that is
\ILLIT •'''" '.'• t'^'t- ""'^ ^" ^^^ °' convictfon as he
an £ . uJ^^'^-^f' ^^'""^ '" ^''' e'^citement had been suffered to
go out, " that IS how It ould all happen."
h Ji'^.f''-P'*"^^'°^ •*'?'^-^ ^°^^^^^ ^as inconsistent in a man who
believed m sea nd-sight and apparitions, and it did not convince
the more practical and literal mind of Annesley
" It was the face of Paul Annesley," he repeated. « His was
shon?Zr ^TU ' -1 \ '' ''"y^"^ possibility that another flS
should be marked with that peculiar scar. I am as certain that
th. n^^ Tl-^'f '° ^r '^^^ "'ght ^« I a™ ^e^tain that I am
the owner of this house."
Mcllvray smiled and looked thoughtfully into the fire for a
momen before he spoke. "That is, indeed, being certain "he
on'AT^' "il^'" ^'T"^." "° '"°^^- «"^ i^ i« s^fange tSt no
one believes like an unbeliever. For you said to-nightT that you
did not believe m apparitions." ^ ^
fc.-l^' •? *^» T^"-^^® °^ Glcdcsworth," Edward replied with a
LEY,
^e. "In all your
on — a warning of
ed Mcllvray with
hose nerves were
evoked, and who
so ardent a ghost-
3me as a monk,"
:ism, was excited
itholic even, why
was not a spirit,
was passing, and
\ his face, and in
I have met a
Hussars; it was
;. Or, I will tell
poor fellow, your
hadow, and you
your imagination
You had been
'u were thinking,
) you embodied
b. Yes ; that is
:onviction as he
been suffered to
It in a man who
lid not convince
ted. « His was
lat another face
as certain that
jrtain that I am
) the fire for a
ng certain," he
strange that no
night, that you
replied with a
is so consistent
SPIRITS.
m
\Ven ! I will tell you one thing," continued Mcllvray. « Iff
were m your place I would never speak of this thi«g again."
"I never shall. ' he replied, frozen bacc to his usual reserve by
this unexpected incredulity. The last of the final cigars wis by
this time smoked. The night was wearing on into Christmas
raormng and they went to bed. v.iiri«mas
I
;:ii;
il
16—2
CHAP'JER V.
THE VACANT CHAIR,
Edward Anne ley's in en ions tow'- /''k^'"^" ^^^ ^^«" ^^'^ of
Sibyl had been obl^rto confers t±^' fu^'^^l'"' ^"^ ^^at
not entertain his proposals was suffil .."^ ' ^^^^ '^^ ^^"^'^
ledge of the whole £s o y. M s S'^' f"'"'" ^'^^^'« ^now-
parent and sympathetic ah her innn ^!u ' 1*^"''^ ^^^ ^^ans-
hopes and fears were shared wi^Z"' '^"«^.!' ^"^ g^'^^l^^s
upon whom she depended mos^nnvH !u°"' ^''■' ^"'^ ^^^^^>
of her confidences.^ Untn Mrs rE '\' ?°f^ "'"P^^ ^^are
over" with some syrnDatLtir lJ«f u ^^^ ^^^^^^ thing?,
any firm mental grasp of facts '' '^' ^"' ""^'^^^ *« g^^
"shJ wrSu^s't^uck w'ilh hT r""'' ?"^--*^d *o Alice,
noticed it, and we aVthoughT hJs v "ts we'Jef 'r'' v^^"^ °"^
was thunderstruck when he a ked L v 'i^'; ^°" ""^1^'
thought, my dear, and so has Gervase tC' '"''^ ^i^^ ^^^^^^
or pique occasioned that proposa es^' ^^-^n '""^^ ^""^ J^*^°"«y
given him the slightest enc^ouTgetent^ S,.f ^°" ^^^ "^^^^
agamst the match; it is true but qnL • ^ ^'^ "'^"y things
was, and she really is very blue nnnr^i '' f^'^^ ^^^^^ ^« ^he
sadly fear that she wiU be an 'o?^^ ^^'' " a ^'' ^^'^er and I
thinking that she careTfor him"' ^'^ "^"^ ^ ^^""^^ help
us^oJtcuSiJrrii'no'tfaTT^"^^ "Let
all," she added, incoiseque^W ^f'tTJ T' ''^' ^^''' '^'^^
Gervase's anVer was too di^. especially if not talked about."
Sibyl had delibfratj thrown :^^^^^ ^^^? ^ ^^^^^^ that
he had so carefully plotted and a Jr. n^ chance of happiness that
firmly convinced that no other ZT^^ ^°' ^^'' ^e was still
her, and this convktion^a^4n?rm?^^ ■ ^°"'^ ^' P""''^^' to
people knOweacE othtrt^s^tt tew h^s^!
THE VACANT CHAIR,
the slightest emotion raised rcorresnnnHl^'l^ ^^'^ "P°" ^^ich
outline. He was angry with sXl for ?K^ '^'"«^ °^ ^°'°"^ ^"d
his purpose, but. of course he w Sr n^' ""^^^P^^^.^^ly crossing
and attributed the failure o^hi^ ^^0^0^?,^:!^^"^^^^
coZo:^;,?reXht' ^°^': ^^-^ !-t .now how to make love
vaguely to Alice, wht quicklv m^H. "^ '^u ^^"* ^^ dexterity
fluttering interest c^^eeini V^'"'"^ ""^ Parliament, and the
of which^M,. Rickmanl^"?ea''dTeS^ ^ ^.^^^'^^' '"
life. Politics now ran hi^h ntAr^^l^ °^ ^'"^ ^"* ^^m^ in his
unanimity of party fSf il'", ^^"°'' ^''^ough a singular
mthout the spi?e of t^oe^ X'r^'^' "° .'"'^al was tiken
and Bright. When A ice wem^for." 7''' ^'T"'"' ^^^^^^one
Mrs Walter Annesley, and accomn.n 7 ^'"^' *° ''^y ^""
London, the same polS enZS^ °" ^- '^""'^ ^^^^* ^^
same individual, prevS a her m . ""' "ntreing about the
night went to the Lad'es' gLctv «nH ' '"^ ''^^ '^° '^^'^^ one
spectacle of Gervase in the ac7nf 1 ""• '^ eye-witnesses to the
subsequently narrated the de'a Is of th?^ ^'? '"''"'''y- ^"^e
hero's parents; told how LZttv this moving scene to the
of the comfo;table benches and H^^ "" °"«
sometimes making notes and sol ^"'"^ '°. ^ '^"g ^^bate,
cameinto his eyesfand how when. H^^' ^^^"'"^ till the tear
went on his own side and dTdhkH /''?!! °^'"""^' ^^ ^^'^n^nly
how the more Gervase was diifi J if 'lu^ ^ '"^"- A"'^ «ome-
the more warmly di^ AHce feel 1.^ h^°1^ ^^"^ «'^ P^'^Pl^,
enthusiastic Sibyl waxed unnntL'Sv' ,^""' ^"^ ^^e more
especially her b'rother's, ufe dearer^t^V^T^ "^^'^^ ^^'^
became to her. ^'^^'^ °°*^ brother and sister
illness. "^ * 'P'"' P'"'=ed away, after a brief sharp
■hafrJ^k^rsS f„rerpS„:t ""r '^""'^^ -'"-
take for granted, of the beauL „f .^ll^'^";!""!" ""-ich people
uniii iuey pass away, leaving a hlant "fL/'^'^.u- " "°' conscious
always had good health, anS her sudden inL"fS;"« ?^ ^"- ^he
every one as an unaccustomed even^SuL^^^V'^^'^P'^'^^
house, until one night when theTo^ S^? htTon^l!;:
H«
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
come immediately it he wished to see her iliv.. Tn k,, i- *
in front of the fire, pale and silent as the others
h^, <:^H ??J^" '""'""^ '°° ^^^^d by his trouble, Sibil too ex-
hS.^' ^"^ ^''''*'' ?° f"" of thought to listen to her so she
Gervase, was Ihe least affected bv her los^ HU !, u- rf Z^'''
ShaTts f' ?'■»-' f-''^ '° 8-e'" thu'ti "ergteTo'd/rt'o
rTsTi L:?!!: v? S • °"'' and events of his boyhood had been
THR VACANT CHAIR. ^y
Tliis thrilled through the hearts of the others with pain, not un-
mixed w.th a comforting warmth. The old man, who^g^ was
beyond tears, stirred, sighed, and shook his head ; SibyY prrny
up and threw her ..mis round her brother ; Alice feU a stroZr
movement of the heart towards Gervase in h.s sudden ab3 1
merft to his grief than she had ever felt before; she felt, too thi'
that moment made her his. '
He quickly mastered himsnf and t. ^covered his usual self-
control Sibyl did the same, .rd Alia, feared to give him th
rive wav "?■: tlf' ''f ''" *•■" '^^^'^^^' '-' he Should agaii
give way. So they sat on in siu -^ y- i« before ; yet not auite n*i
before for each felt a fresh b. J m that spasm of common
anguish, and presently Gervase left the room in lenre, and T
turned no more that night. The next morning he bid the three
good-bye and though he said nothing, and sotghl no private in
teryiew he knew by the look in Alice's face that his head's des re
was obtained at last, and went away comforted
cu^uZ devoted herself to Sibyl and Mr. Rickman, who was too
crushed for a long time to take any interest in his scient fie
pursuits and only went into his study to sit idly brood ingfn his
effS until atTsf V'^" '^^^'^^' P*^"'^' ^"^ strLge Ss to no
for him ' contrived to purchase a very rare old coin
This roused him, his eyes kindled ^t the sight of the treasure
which he eagerly took and careful]/ examined, and Alee was
amply rewarded for the pains she had taken to hunt ouf and buy
the com by hearing him start off in his old familiar fashion on a
?ru^ck 1?^''^ IT'' °" '^' ^°^"' ^"^ '^' d^y^ •" ^hich u was
struck. The next hing was to get some one to dispute its genu-
ineness, and this with some diploma<:y Alice and Sibyl contffved
be ween them ; a hot discussion raged, letters were written In
antiquarian journals and finally a long pamphlet was begun
siltZt^"' '^' ^'- ^'/!^^"^" ^^S^" ^° ^^"^ °^his losl a sure
t?.? i. h , J°''f ?'"7 °^ " ^'"^^ P^^* ' ^"'^ o"^ day he told Alice
hat he should not hve long, but that his one hope was to see his
son happily married and his grandchild born before he d^ed
should"be ^r^hfM^'"'''"^ ''"?*' '^"'■""^^ ^^^ ^""^" t° say he
Should be at the Manor next day, and Alice fully realized that
she must now definitely and irrevocably bind hers-if
life and'fh?^ ^7 ^T ?^' H^ ^"^P^^ P^"^^^^^ the mystery of
lite, and the ends anH aipic r.f K-innn ^.-i-t-—-.- i j ^,
„„ ^. , ;"" ~; ■ ■"^iman e-UstcnCc, pondered thein
as the young never do and never can, save under the discipline of
heavy sorrow and distracting doubt. Ever since the fatefulday
of Paul Annesley's death she had ceased to take everything for
248
TUB REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
eagerTouTh on "fide "'%''J f f, Ph^^tesms which surround
cahed to bidarrr7wS?farelell /nd'L'''PP'"'f .''■= ''^<' ''«"
expeCaUon of ioyXch mS ^^00.™=? "hetTl,e» S
to consider in those cjiipnf- on/i ^„ i j .1 . ' *^ o^tn tree
b„. one prowe^rotr^'ha^o't o^n^ ^If;'' '"'' ""' '''» "-
settled bvThel«,^.'f„f''" "■■'"' ™"'"<^'> «"'«« continuaUy
at?hemM4'tpaul''i'^lr^°"''"'''^°'''''='>"<='';*elooked
ihat church whkh endeSt the'^^f"''' ^"r"^'' her vigil i„
her adopted mXrf fresh i^tU^T '^*™ ' *' ™"^d
and conjured back tL vK Jf Ed .^S *'7I-"k' ,'" *' ''="')'
ChrU.n,L homes, when Edtd°hSd1! yft^t^'^fif^''^
satisfied air Ut?,?;fatinf He SeVAli^^ ',''^/"- "'"" "
companding Gervase/who ft^od nfa?he° o^h s' i^S^ '"^''° ''^
refS Sn^ru;? heKsi^-^ Ifr T '"" °° 'V «"=
;^i^fcSr ^^ G-srhaT:;;S/::ti-,^ ,-^^^i
pu ros"f„e?e Z^ll'T^^'t- ""■»?" "ff-rs, he reflected ffi^s
Sern^d-fhSsite^-^^
=rg1„Te tr oTrsJle„-<; .^xJoTfo^^.?--^"-^
CHAPIER VI.
BENEDICTION.
so»e"1ufe\'?hi"eroTdS"t\'" *f =""'"'". »= expressed
you stay on in all this turmoil "he said ?"^?,:, V ''°'"'" 'h^'
"wSr" "-^ "-"- flniS'sibJlY'""'^"" '^'''^°'"
plied, no. kno^in" that he"hTdr.T.T''rf t'^'" ^'M »
rtich all the counlry side had fulTdil i"*/ ""^ engagement
«eks; for the aDnroaohin» m,7- ''^?. """""S 'h' 'a^t fen
secretin .he face oTS'^itpSr """" "" '°"«« ^ "'P'
aflot tr/rrs^ifoTd^"'--'™-*^''--
veniences within. ^ °"' °^ *^°°" ^^ avoid the incon-
pairing ^r'or«eS:;rn\n^To„l'Tf ZT""' T" '"'
observations upon marriage custo^?^"^ ^"°*^^''' '"^^^ some
and said that he thougKivSn l^^^f !.™"' ^"^ P^^^^s.
specialweddingceremonies nnr? 5'!^'^^ *^"^'"g *» diminish
disturbance inv1,Sra'^^^^^^^^^^ tijea t„,,,^^^^^ ^^^^^.
somebody .as going^^bTmSd^eLTaLd^^^^^
house, Sib;i and I wfll be c^^^^^^^^ '^' "^^i" ^odyof the
Edward looked Alice fSlliXfr.! >k """'* ^'"^ yonder."
new-born peace .o /h^ ^41^?^^^ ^'*^-^^ her
'-. .heres.„er^lS- -Zt^^^--;---^^^^^^^^^
Ifl
r !i
250
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
was quite new to him ooservmg that the mtelhgence
ros^rd i;fh'i:1elv? ""^' "^^ ^^^^^°^^ -- 8lad when he
that clever young^fwy^^^arn? hTg'oLd^Kr and
viciously at the hnocent cow-oarslpv 2n f hi k , *^^ ^ and struck
whip, and l.e uttered ?t SIny^?[merandi.\ .' ""^'^ ^''"•^^'^S-
nantly than before, on his wav from Thl m ''™' T"^ '"^'S"
Horse, where his horse was wJitin? But^HK*? '^^ ?°'^^"
«nc?n."LTbTeTrrTm^^^^^^^^^^^^ -de hi.
that Alice would neverTecoveTfrompS^^^^^^^^ Tw^ "^^'""^'^"^
chat hers was not a natnr<» fo fnr^fJ *u i • ^' °^ ^'^ assurances
to Paul's memory ?o thx"„k of SSr''- ^\' " T^' * ^^"^ «^ ^"^"1'
3dy was glad when he
BENEDICTION.
" Poor fellow ! he has £h ^ ? be happy ,f he doesn't."
"Th .""• '° ^'^ "s pleasure." '^ ' "'"' ''^ <""«« "ery-
induS in r^'o^iX; Sf't^I'TP"^'! ,"- -'". "he never
Nell,' with a sort of oarTvrpH ll -^ °'"^''>" J''^ »''>«« you like
8? to Rouen, I have":Xice"Sor;>" T^" ">™!we liS
eight times in a minute with™, ll- "'u?^'', "^"S^ one's mind
could box his ears some.rmes 'HowT>J"",i°f "^^ ""P^^- I
•'S;S -<'.<'»^"8Vo"°:mVer^V,'<' ""'.o bemarHed
l.ergS?ess*t^™.^iV™re' '^7 %''"•'" ^-<> Harriet in
•0 S. Peter's Ji Easfe? C Td wouM h" "' ""^'"^^ i"^""
"-e had not given in." ''' *™'^ ^^^ gone without us if
of hSVs?ainKfr^.Sh£''''''^'l Eleanor, blushing in spite
of monks. He nev^r saw o^f 7 • """'f "'™^<* on thi suS
Rome without turning toTooTtthr*' T>f T''""- "' "^ ""^ S
for the sake of studyiis h L h^l^.^ T*"! functions he went to
on one occasion." ^ * ''"*'' ""onks i He was quite rude
•■y'™ mi^rLvetuTbid'hrm'''^'"'^''- ^""'"^-'o the room ■
sometimes." ""'^^ '"'" ""^ severely. A worm wiuT^„'
"ell ! he was rude ITp i ff •
, " Oh," nothing Helad "made" "'""^ i" '"''=<' E-^-^d.
'••^e^:^-'htb7;i-"^--^^^^^^^
•o go_to church ? '■ ■ ™'' ^ Preoccupied air, •' would you like
Is iheJ^'lSy s^rice?"""'""' "' f^ y«'"d-y ? Why no. f
n I
^ ^
urn
252 T//£ REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
is ill and a stranger is taking his place. The choir she tAW m«
country wifhinnfr ^^'°/ ^^is rismg ground was a broad level
country with long lines of poplars marking the high road and-,
SP'« err -" r^ - zi£S
The l7i' '"""^ land-even the church-bell Sni
nZ^f ,^ ^l ''""."^'y *^'°"g^ ^h»ch the blue river flowed so
peacefully, stretched away and away into infinite distance tni iN
va^e blueness melted into the deep a^ure of he c toudle'^s k
like %tT^ fascination of the broad unvaried levels rt'iethin.
like the stronger charm of the wide sea, and the sii. 7 of hf
plains awes the listene^ though in a differenrn ann.; .s the
unceasing music of the waves does; both condrr to'reve fe
fn th7Sm"?^i£ncf'H- y^''' ^" ^°"^ q-k^piseTaway
r.r„o2!^ • J ?"^"^^' ^^^*=^ was scarcely interrupted bv the
organ-music and chanting of vespers rising, hushed bv distance
from the church, and manv fhou-h*- ^a-c~" ^ V S^r^^^.^'
mind as he sat alone in the'leafrshade*' irA^rS/''''^'-^!^
Paul he could have born it, foT^he lotd L'^Tut'jheTdTo
this marnage with Gervase was insupportable ; h'er face as he had
BENEDICTION.
ihltTaVap^VSr^Tl^L^^^,^^^^^^^ it was not
There was some nwsterv which h^ ^he accepted "that fellow?"
Everything was S^Jo^f he LugS!' "^^^^ ^^^^ '^ ^^^h-'
broughT;iht^hl "^^^.^Tl^^r- ^% ^^
Paul's fate was wont to sS him with^Tf "'"' '^^ ^^^^^^^ °^
outward reproach was more nai^fj \n ^^'" ^^:?ro2.ch. The
hearted nature than any onJsu?ner^PH h ??f ' ^^ ^'■^"^' ^P^""
recurred witiun. the feeC nf T • ' ^"^ ^'^^^ ^^'^^^ continually
bound to him by so manv^fi^l '"/ '^"''^ '^^ ^^^^^ of one
to it ; he wa^no' one to Uste' sTrl 'th"""" ^' ''^ "^^ ^'^'^
altered, but there were TiSes S^h"" ""^"^ "°"'^ "°t be
shadowed by some mahtn ^fl.! ^-^^ '^""'^ °f being over-
oppressed hU and^Im'ost made"h1m'h'';^ which nothinglvailed
curse. At such times^e sawTh. fl }t^^ '" ^^^ Gledesworth
alight with anger. X?:hrprtorced t T^bf " ^°'' '^'^
him, and only with stont Qfr,v;«T fj T. f '^o"ble curse upon
nightmare. Kday was su? f T ^% ^^"^^ °«" ^^is waking
memories and dtsjond „ or.a ^^ K 0^;?'^'/'/^'"^"'
return, if he could but see P.nl i , "J-^ *^^ ^^^^ ^^uld
thought with a desperate yearn^n/^t^^^^^ '"°^^' he
scorned himself. yearnmg, for the futility of which he
s.g^,s i::^ sr :„r S - -^^
shadows within, where the soft n,T"" '•'"""" f" ""> "o
ihrough theincereJaden air H,?T "■"?''= ""'' ""<> ''''Med
up hisstalion nea tie emJLe U Tl^ "?"'''?,f'' '"• ""« '""k
touch, and listenedTn ?h? J^fi 7 a "•""^."'^ P'"" "="0' '» the
Hostik." Wherhera°sedLS'''j''T"« »' ">^ "S^'-'aris
people blinded by the fie-ceXr/.!?' ,T'' ^ '«''E ■"> '= »
made out the for'™s'^„?^lfL"rntrltr;,„?'4l^^^^^^
Some straT sunbeams hte^,^^^^^ fresh vhite dresses
shart aetos^ nave roh^^o^ t'hV; -^raitat t^^^"^,
lf'1
m
' i;
aS4
mm.
H
Tf/£ R.:P ROACH OF ANNESLEY.
to whom creeds were little n?/' ^^ if'^ess than shoy kntw,
were thereltTa'b^r dl'r^;: 'f"^ -ch, people .ho
^^ lio sought in the quiet and consecra ed r t^ ? f T^T ' ^^
sorrow and guidanci in dire p^S Thn' r "l/^'^^'f ?
v:l]ag.^. ..d the French we^S'^K^ IJ.^^;.^ ?^'^ English
from the Kno-.sh .../n rv "„ '" '"^ ^'°°"'' ^e would differ
pa;.hi....is:,,;iSsSd^ ^^^ -^
Ect^rioS r^;:"^ ^^ ^i!^ ^ heali "^harm upon
vague aspirS:5nrifS^:'bfS^,i^°"^^<^??"e -to his m£d,
was, he acknowledged fhnf \kL 5 " ^^o^es-Trnt though he
unknown t njue ml^^^ ''"^'"^ ^^ '^^y^^^ in an
nothing. Scame the filr? ^^ •'^'■'' ^"^ '^^^ better than
nmuntfng a ladde?S.dtkfn. t^^^^^^ mcense floated, the priest.
the peopi in the act o tned^ction'^'tl,'^'^'^ ^'"'^'' ""'"'^
arrived and all bowed down ' ^ '°^''"" "^^"^^"^ ^^^
"The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chants resound between "
with dark ha^ aS sca^^d . a fLL"Ju """k""" "} "''> "°'^"<^<'
trembling hands. The chantta| o? theThoi *„n<' " ' Z ""h
strange, p.erced as it «s by the silver sound of - fS .S"*
^^.ilp See ii-.ad laL ti'Se;^- -t:^
SLEY.
like and how unlike
'Ce and how unlike
eel much and had
5 than ihry kntw,
much, people yho
pi'hJic opinion, or
ce b.-:;Im U,: h'ni'ii
us far thv; English
difred outwardly
And the priest?
n ; he would differ
sly than the rural
other.
aling charm upon
e 'to his mind,
►tesnnt though he
; of iiymns in an
id be better than
loated, the priest,
1 his hands, faced
mn moment had
BENEDICTION.
«e was quite sure, soberly certain tj,«c^ *
now blessing the people with the hoTv <;P tremulous hands
then laid with murderous ZDoseunonh''"'"^.^^'^ *^^ «an>e
the startled, pained, inJen? gaze into hJ, ^u°'^ 'y^^' ^'^^
glowed upon him then whh blind fury H. S? T.T'^ ""^^^
was alive again, standing before hi J^ "^ ^^^o had been dead
phantom gazed ;ith suih hum.n n ™ \"° Phantom, for never
suffering man. ^""'''" "'"'"' ^"^ * living, breathing,
H'l
the face of the
the cloister, yet
larkable face, in
:d the unnatural
of life, crowned
; from the gazer's
lurid light; the
u in dreams ; all
deep- blue eyes,
e < - s in the
un( int and
)f - r>ell. the
■^'et hing came
tsrui! again, and
?r^art, Edward
of benediction,
io*: ;;• hungry
.' I
i
• t
i
ii
' 1
i'^k
'k
II
PART VJ,
CHAPTER L
ON THE BRINK.
The tyrant Time, who wastes and destroys so relentlessly in his
flight, whose swift onrush no power may stay, when once past be-
comes the slave of thought and imagination. The chronicler bids
him advance and retire at will ; he waves his magic rod and it
is no more the hour of Benediction in the little French village.
Five years roll back, and Paul Annesley, having left his friends
at the river's source, is speeding down the hilly path like one
chased by demons.
He was in such a tempest of confused passion on that day
that he scarcely knew what he was doing ; as men are drunk with
excess of wine, so was he drunk with the excess iato which
unchecked passions always run more or less. He had never
tried to bridle himself ; he could not do so now ; the evil in him
had grown to such mastering might. As men drunk with wine
can give no clear account of their actions when sobered, so it was
with him. He never knew afterwards precisely why he left the
party of friends at the spring, or what had been his exact purpose
in following the downward path in such hot haste ; he could only
recall, as one recalls the incidents in a dreadful dream, a chaos
of fierce despair within him, lighted as by a flash of fire by the
cheery sound of a man's voice singing in the careless gaiety of a
heart at ease —
"There we lay, all the day.
In the Bay of Biscay O."
The blithe singing kindled a dreadful impulse in his heart and
stimulated his mind to unnatural activity. It made him remem-
ber the nature of the ground lower down. Something whispered
to him not to overtake the singer, but to dash with silent swiftness
into the wood and wait hidden beneath the trees, where the slope
ON THE BRINK.
%%f
of the ground, steeply descending to the path on the broken
brink of the rocky scarp, gave an advantage in a sudden attack.
A grim voice told him that no one would know, the path was so
slippery >vith moss and so broken at the verge. They had marked
the spot in their upward course in the morning, and said how
easily an accident might occur — a false step, a fit of abstraction,
then a dash on the rocks below, and thence into the deep green*
river. There could be no afterwards, as was said of the prisoners
in the Bastille.
He had not long to wait beneath the sighing pines ; the object
of his fierce passion drew nearer, tracked by his snatch of careless
song, and suspecting nothing. The light-hearted singing stung
the silent listener to keener purpose. The song ceased suddenly,
when Paul sprang tiger-like from the bank upon his prey, and
with the impetus given by the spring added to the strong pushing
of his arms, tried to hurl him into the depths below.
But Edward, though caught unawares, was taller than his
cousin and stronger, his bodily powers were better trained, and
he grappled at once with his unexpected adversary, whom he had
not time to recognise, though his breath was hot upon his face ;
but his words revealed him— words which Paul forgot as soon as
uttered, but Edward never.
The struggle was no light one. The strength of unbridled fury
was pitted against the instinct of self-preservation ; it seemed as
if the terrible embrace could never end but in the death of both
cousins. At last in the dreadful whirl Edward succeeded in
flinging his cousin from him, in what direction he could not tell,
and in the rebound he fell himself backwards, striking his head
against the rocky ground and losing consciousness.
Paul went over the brink, grasping with wild instinct at the air,
and blindly catching the birchen bough which hung over the
river, projecting far from the rocky wall.
The shock of his rapid descent and the immediate peril which
he faced, checked the fierce current of his fury and restored him
to the self-consciousness which passion of any kind abnegates ; and
then ensued a moment, the keenest and most terrible that can
come to mortal man — the moment in which the veil of passion
and prejudice is lifted from the eyes of the soul, and all things
stand naked and riear as in the searching gaze of the Judge of all
men.
The bough, quivering beneath his weight, bounded and re-
bounded like some fearful balance between heaven and earth, nay,
between heaven and a yawning hungry hell ; every bound threw
him wildly in the air, loosened the grasp of his clinging hands, and
17
mi
2SB
THE
liOACH OF ANNESLEY.
ilireatened to hurl hiin into the depths below: but one more
bound Uiid he must go ; the fate which he had prepared for
another had overtaken himself. He knew by the agony with
which his strong young life shrank fr'-ni its sudden and violent
extinction, how dreadful wa- . c u^in.v; uq harl meditated against
rfhat other young Ufe kindred to his own.
At supreme moments like those, Eternity asserts itself, the
shadow. Time, practically ceases, and the thoughts and experi-
u'.ces of a lifetime crowd into one brief moment by the clock. All
Paul Annesley's life rose before him during one rebound of the
slij^'ht spring which held him suspended above certain death. A
flash of wild remorse lighted the deepest recesses of his soul ;
only to unlive the recent past he would have given all that went
before had that been possible. A few minutes before, life had
seemed so bitter that death was a coveted boon; but now, in the
near view of death's grim face, life had an unspeakable sweetness ;
his vigorous vitality revolted aga- ist dissolution, his soul shuddered
at a hereafter vague with retribution, and he, who did - ot pray
. before, sent up a wild cry to Heaven for help. Then it was that
his agonized gaze caught the face of Gervase Rickman looking
down upon him, and he heard his voice entreating him to hold on
a little longer.
But no entreaty could stay the slipping of the boughs through
his burning hands ; help n;nst come at once it he was to be s.r/ed.
Orie more vibration of ihe over-strained spring on which he was
poised, sent him upwards, anf' the downward rebound was so
strong that tl bough cracked vith a shock that jerked his now
tremulous han*. .. from their stmmed cHngmgj he felt the slidir^
of the last twigs through his bleeding palms, a wild whirl and the
shock of water sm't^-^g his body as he met it lengthwise, then the
end, darkness, aad w ith it calm.
The silent darkness could not have lasted long, for when life
returned to him, he found himself d; fiing face upwards upon the
surface towards the French shore , the current had cai ned him
past the little promontory neat' the spot where he fell j stifl",
bruised and da^ ^d thoug' - ^ , he struck oi instinctively,
though he could not swim, d k t himself up til he sa ■ some
over-hanging sallow 'brancht;,, grasping at which, he lUed himself
out of the rapid current on to a shelving shore, wliich made a
little ledge at the foot of the precipitous cliffs.
He drew himself up under the sallow bushes and sought in his
pockets for brandy, which he carried for the benefit of the excur-
sion party. His handkerchief fell out as he did this, and, a
thought striking him, he threw it into the stream, which carried
ON THE BRINK.
»59
1, which carried
it farther down, where it was afterward"^ found, together with a
guide-book inscribed with his name.
The brandy revived him, and he presently found that he was
uninjured, though bruised and strained ; falling, as he did, into
the centre of the stream, he had escaped rocks. He remembered
now that Edward had fallen in the opposite direction to himself,
and was no doubt safe, and then he took the decision from which
he never afterwards swerved. He had appeared to die before the
eyes of Gervase Rickman, he was virtually dead, and it was best
so; there was no occasion for him to come to life again.
After resting a while under o bushes, which effectually con-
cealed him from the searchers, he found that the Uttle ledge upon
which he landed led up to a biuken cleft in the cliff, scarcely large
enough to be called a gorge, but sufficiently marked to form a rude
ascent, up which he climbed. Having reached the summit, he
struck across the mountainous country at right angles to the
river. In those remote places, nothing human was to be seen,
save one or two peasants at work or guarding flocks, and these he
carefully avoided, like the fugitive he was. So he stole cautiously
'ong until the thunderstorm broke and the deluge of rain which
descended made his soaked clothes appear natural and the loss of
hif^ iat nothing unusual.
iivc furv of the Alpine storm was as nothing to him after the
spiritual aclysm through which he had passed; he walked on
bare-heau beneath the awful splendour of the jagged lightnings
and the rushes of rain : now the heavens opened above him and let
down sheets of blue and purple flame, discovering vast mountain
prospects and the distant plains of France in their lurid glare ;
now the deafening crack and roar of the thunder, which rolled
round him and crashed among the hills till they seeme to rock
and split in the agonizing shock, reached his ears ; then the flood
of rain on the ground blazed like molten metal beneath his feet,
and chains and forks of fire flashed before him ; then carne a
crash, which made the solid earth shake beneath him and the
mountains shudder above. He scarcely heeded the majesty and
terror of ihe spectacle, but walked on in a dazed despair, with no
aim but the vague one of escaping from the past and cutting him-
self off froni the memory of living men. In the apathy of ex-
haustion whicn succeeds overstrained feeUngb ae scarcely heeded
the tongue of fire which with a hissing sound split a tree a little
in advance of him. The tree green a moment before, was black
and charred when he passed beneath it. But afterwards, it
seemed little short of a miracle that he had not been struck, as he
must have been had he passed it a few minutes earlier. When the
17—3
ate
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
reached a little lonely farm, and there took
storm abated he
shelter.
As a storm-driven tourist, his appearance excited no surprise,
and havmg had his clothes dried and cleansed to some extent
afte^r's^'^er * '"''''^ ''^^ *'""'" *^^ ^'''"'^' ^""^ '^' ^°'^^''^ ^«''^''^
rJI'^rK^'f"''°"n^''''^"'''^''»"'-' ^^onsieur." said the farmer, in
heart. ' P'°"' ^"'"''^"^ *°"'''''^ '^'^ *'°"b'ed
Does God accompany murderers? he asked himself, as he
dragged his weary limbs aimlessly onwards, followed by the demons
of remorse and despair.
The farmer had taken him for a Frenchman, his accent was so
«Zr/",^^^'u "^'°'" 'u ''^"^y- ^^ ^"^""Kht it would be well if
others did the same, because as a Frenchman he could more
easily conceal himself. ^
Night was falling by this time, and large lustrous stars were
nSlTn C::^*^- ^T '^' '•/''■ '■'y- '^^h^y ^^^'^^d to his shaken
spirit to be adftising him. His way lay across a hilly region, and
m his mental preoccupation the farmer's clear directions for the
bourgade at which he meant to pass the night became confused,
and he took the wrong path, keeping westward nevertheless, by
the aid of stars and a pocket compass on his watch-chain.
While trudging wearily and doggedly on, as if fleeing from an
nvisible spirit of justice, he remembered with a sort of rapture
that he had not killed his cousin after all, and his heart rose to
Heaven m silent unutterable thanksgiving. It was possible to
live now that his hands, though not his soul, were clean of the
awful stain of murder; in the other case neither life nor death
would have been endurable; there would have been no way to
fly, as he had realized when poised on that awful balance,
infinite wrath and infinite despair." Doubtless a merciful
Power ruled the destinies of men, and to him, Paul Anneslev
had shown a mercy beyond the ordinary working of natural laws
had miraculously rescued both soul and body from the pit of
Deep and solemn thoughts moved dove-like upon the troubled
waters of his soul and wrought peace and order in those chaotic
aepths. The stars shone in increasing multitudes above him • it
was long past midnight, his limbs dragged more heavily, neither
town nor village was withm sight. The air was chill, the ground
soaked ; he could not lie dnwn in tho nr»or, t».-^ — ..i.. \.?c 4
a rude shed within a wood, a shelter for ch oal-burners or wood-
cutters. Beneath the rough roof it was fairly dry and partly
EY.
and there took
ited no surprise,
to some extent,
;t forward again
id the farmer, in
lied his troubled
i himself, as he
;d by the demons
lis accent was so
vould be well if
he could more
Irous stars were
led to his shaken
hilly region, and
ections for the
jcame confused,
nevertheless, by
:h-chain.
fleeing from an
sort of rapture
is heart rose to
was possible to
re clean of the
life nor death
l)een no way to
awful balance,
ess a merciful
Paul Annesley,
Df natural laws,
om the pit of
)n the troubled
I those chaotic
above him ; it
leavily, neither
ill, the ground
.,^4.1.. U_ C 1
::iii.iy lie lUUIIU
rners or wood-
ry and partly
ON THE BRINK,
a6t
littered with bracken. Here he lay down and slept a dreamless
sleep till the crimson morning looked in and touched his eyes.
Then he waked, and wondered at the beauty of the long
crimson shafts that shivered upon the tree-trunks, the mystic
peace which rested on the unstirred leaves, the fresh radiance of
the dew, the glory and the purity of the hour when the new-born
day sprmgs forth in its eternal youth. He enjoyed the splendour
only for a moment ; the sight of the rough boards of his unwonted
sleeping-chamber called him back to the bitterness of life.
To wake to a new sorrow is bitter, but to wake to a new sin,
worse. They were doubtless sleeping, he thought, and when they
woke would think of him as one dead, and as such would draw a
pitying veil over his frailties. He could now think of Alice as
Edward's wife without pain ; his wild passion was swept away in
the torrent of spiritual anguish. Ever since the day on the lake
with Alice, he had felt, though not acknowledged, something more
bitter than the fact that she loved Edward— the fact that she
must always despise him, that pity must henceforth be the softest
feeling he could expect from her ; her presence had become
agony to him, though he clung to it with a strange persistence.
He did not like to think of the mother he was leaving childless,
but deep down in his inmost heart the memory of the home she
had made so miserable spoke strongly against the chance of
going back to live with her, and helped to persuade him, together
with his disgust of life, that it was but a just atonement to Edward
to seem to die that his cousin might have his inheritance.
The morning air was sharp, and called him unrested from his
temporary shelter. He walked on till he reached a cottage, and
asked his way to a village, where he found food and rested till
afternoon.
He was very stiff and weary, though scarcely conscious of
bodily sensations in his inward distress ; he walked on, neverthe-
less, choosing by-ways and unfrequented districts, avoiding rail-
ways and high-roads, thinking thus to escape the chance of recog-
nition.
No distinct plan had yet formed itself in his mind ; he had only
a vague desire to flee away and be at rest, a dim hope that con-
tinual bodily movement would quiet his inward fever. He walked
on, therefore, in spite of increasing fatigue and pains, till night,
rested in a village inn, and rose unrefreshed next morning to con-
tinue his way.
It was Sunday morning; the September sun was shining
warmly on the ripening grapes in the vineyards on the sunny slopes
of that hilly region in the Vosges ; the sedate tinkle of church
a6i
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
v-
bejs was heard in the stillness ; now a troop of pretty maidens and
prematurely aged matrons were going to somrvS chnrrS
now a pleasure-party, in an odd cluLy vehTde haTcLt S
?Z1VV?^^'"« "'°"S *'^^ d"^ty cauLway to a neLhS,urkL
farm or hamlet; every creature, human or otherwise seemed i^f
and mnocent, only he was out of tune, an anoS; i^ atf hi
♦u ^^,/^^c^ed a pretty hamlet among the vineyards in a fnlH nf
him'and' see^ tr.h "\'^^' ^ ^eavy^anguorrasXlnfovef
mm, and, seeing the church door open as if to invite him, he went
^th t?e .h^H ' T "?' ^"""''f"'' b"^ it soothed hii^'togeTheJ
^naSfo I'^fu^-^'^^"^"^'^^ he scarcely noticed that he choiJ
sang hrough their noses, nor did the rest of the congreeatiol
future reprobation of all those who differed from her HrFrJJh
fan? """ T^^^'^".^ a Protestant, and French PrwestS
Jk L .f °f '" "'«'°"' especially to the young Paul olH
thought that there might after all ha4 been some^excuse fo/st
SlSr:rhif ^ " "" ""^--'^ °' *ose days rSlS' tfe
F?e^ct''.Sh2'"cMdre^.°" "T ^''•''^ '" ^^^^^ -simple
:/,!,.?• f^'^. children," something in his way of savine it anrf
?rnHf!'\^''u"''"°""i"^^^ him that here^was oJe who had
trpriertrwod?^ ^'^ ^ ^'"^P^^ kindly ?i?e such a^
R,f<- t Tu ^i^ ^ ^^^^* ^"^ '■estful thing, he thought
But when the office was ended, and he found himself aeain in
the open air, sitting on the low wall of a vineyard a^tone^Zn^
from the church, idly watching the brightSd li/ards d^i^^^^
over the stones in the sun, something th^e gentle od tries? Sd
ON THE BRINK.
263
to sacrifice himself as unreservedly as he had once striven to please
himself.
While he was thus musing, the curi approached him, a tall,
bent, white-haired figure in black cassock and broad hat, and
stopped on his leisurely way to the presbytery, not unwilling to
have a little chat with a' stranger, a pleasure seldom enjoyed ia
that remote hamlet. He had seen the troubled, pas'^ion-worn
face among the well-known faces of his little flock, and something
in the strained wide gaze had touched him. Here, he thought,
was a man acquainted with sorrow, that strange birthright of
humLnity.
Paul, replying to his salutation, raised his eyes from the lizards
and looked into a venerable and kindly face, lined with years and
caie, but peaceful and sweet, and felt a growing confidence in
him.
Monsieur was tired, the priest surmised, after a few words had
been exchanged ; the day was hot ; would he come into the pres-
bytery and rest awhile in the cool ?
Monsieur was glad to do so, and soon found himself strolling
slowly by the side of his new acquaintance through the narrow
lane between the vineyards towards the presbytery, a white house
with green Venetian shutters, and shaded in front by a great
walnut-treOb
• i
CHAPTER IL
BURIED ALIVE.
The interior of the presbytery was very cool and clean and bare:
*:"',^^IS'^^, ^oj'"k into a wooden elbow-chair by the window
on the sill of which was coiled the one spoiled and pampered
■Ir^ u *?^ establishment, a great white Angora cat, equally
Idolized by the cure and his housekeeper, Mile. Francoise, who
dinne^i-^^ ^^""^ about the bare brick floor laying the cloth for
She was extremely glad to see Monsieur, she said in her high
shrill voice it was pleasant for M. le Curd to see a new face some-
Ir^'u^, '^ ^""^ ^ ™°'' fortunate thing that he was not dining at
the chatt . to-day, and still more fortunate that she had kiUed a
fowl ; that was doubtless the inspiration of some saint
Monsieur Paul was duly grateful for her hospitable intentions,
and acknowledged the skilful cooking of the omelette added t2
the festal Sunday dinner expressly for him ; yet he so troubled his
host by the injustice he did to the good fere set before him, that
he was obhged to apologize for his want of appetite, saying that
he was unwell. Nevertheless, good manners, with the aid of a
potent home-made cordial which Father Andrd administered to
hmri enabled him to rouse himself to an interesting conversation
m the course of which Paul discovered that, besides speaking a
purer French than most rustic clergy, his host had evidently seen
something of the world, and was both well-read and well-bred.
His bright dark eyes looked into the world with a pensive cheerful-
ness, his features were finely cut, and the long white hair flowing
beneath his skull-cap finished a pleasing and venerable aspect^
FnaSi r ^ ^''•'■''' ^* that time an unusual ornament on an
t^nghsh face, his crisp curly hair, his dark-blue eyes and his fluent
Parisian French were all compatible with his host's supposiiion
hat he was a Frenchman ; though his conversation occasionally
suggested points of view distinctly foreign. The fact of his being
on a walking tour further pointed to a foreign extraction or
cuUCuiluij.
After dinner, they adjourned to the garden, where Frangoise
BURIED ALIVE.
265
Andr^ .aid, meaning hi, parishioners, >oorchM?entLe1
troubles are great. Next wepk wp \^^x,^ I a a- ^""<^'^^"> '"eir
?i^:=r-:^HSSSr^
;^: Ttitt: i"er'^ ■»-"'^'- ' ^>'"" "■^' >h° deL'Sdl
movS^v" tWs " ?n 'h- " '"«= ?"'"^'" I"""' -^om-ented, a little
Sngs '^ ' '" '"'"' "°'''' ""J' °f di^Po^i-g "f domes™
had^'rhluTaTLe; teS Frl„"r' Pf '"• .•'^"'■."""ing ,ha. he
seen this done, he became delirious, '^^ """"8
"The good God has indeed sent us a guest Franmi^^" ..,',1
And he is in trouble." ""^ ^'' ^"^"'"^ ^'' yesterday.
"But his hands, Monsieur le Curd" returned Frann«;»-
pomtmg them out "And what terribleLnguage s he lSlr>
"lie huirht K Y^- "°V^\^" '8"°'^"^ of English,
wha^ PaS'hrd" w? "^'^ Dind up the hands. Then' he'di'd
"Saa..-
266
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
found nothing but a pocket-book full of gold and notes, a well-
filled purse and some jewels of price, which he put aside in a safe
place.
In his lucid intervals Paul knew how severe his illness was, yet
he did not think he should die, much as he now wished for death.
For since he had twice been miraculously preserved, there was no
doubt some purpose to be fulfilled in his life. Perhaps only the
purpose of expiation. God's mark was upon him as upon Cain,
so that none could slay him ; he was doomed to live.
But as he grew better, he began to form schemes for turning the
life of which he was so weary to some useful purpose, and when
the doctor told him one morning that all danger was past and time
and good nursing alone could now help him, he, knowing well
what illness hke his leaves in its track, faced the probability of
becoming a cripple, a condition which, throwing him eventually
upon charity for support, might lead to the discovery he feared.
As soon as he could hold a pen he v/rote to Captain Mcllvray,
one of those Highland officers whose expensive amusements had
so nearly ruined him in the days of his poverty, and pledging him
to secrecy, explained that civilized life had become insupportable
to him, and that, wishing to break completely from all past con-
nections, he had taken advantage of an accident to disappear.
Mcllvray had lost money to him on the eve of his Swiss journey,
and not having means of payment at hand, had given him his
acceptance at a few monihs' date. Paul therefore desired him to
forward this sum, with a hundred pounds more ; and, as Mcllvray's
bill would be found among his effects and presented for payment,
he gave him papers for the whole amount dated before his sup-
posed death, so that Mcllvray could claim payment of the balance
due to him from the executors.
Captain Mcllvray, being just then under orders to go to India,
had little time to spend on other people's affairs, and he did not
feel called upon to prevent Paul Annesley's virtual suicide. The
money therefore safely reached the hands of- Father Andrd,
together with a letter to Paul, in which Mcllvray ventured upon
a brief remonstrance with him. Thus, with Mrs. Annesley's
diamonds and a valuable ring intended for Alice, Paul was in
possession of over a thousand pounds, sufficient to keep him from
want.
He spent many weeks of acute pain and heavy sickness in the
little clean bare guest-chauiber of the presbytery, seeing nothing
but the sky through the white-curtained window, the crucifix in
black and ivory on the white wall, the wood-fire crackling on the
hearth, and four figures which changed and melted into one
BURIED ALIVE.
a67
e, Paul was in
ceep him from
cap and sabots, and a kind of phantom Francofse with a df/feren?
rister^idT" "?"■•?• T!-" P"''"' '» beSfne her tiar^ied
Jmonrnotvii''';^;^:;^.!^^^^^
country was Ml of the cheety sounds of the vintage 'He^ol^
industry of which only French women are capable was out
languor thought he would Hke'Jo' Se thirpeaS lifft^
tnl?' ^ ^/V'^"'^'"^^°""^ *™^ t° ^ead to his patien and talk
to him and by some mysterious process, aided by one or two
broken hints trom the evidently suffering man, discovered Luch
of what was passing in his mind. Paul, sundered by the stSnS
mental experiences of sickness, in which weeks have the effect of
years, from his past life and all its affections and fr^Un^ hi
again into a different world, clung to hTs gentle ho'tw^^^^^
dependent reverent affection of a%hild; the pries° on h L nart
loved the younger man, as only those cut off from natura Hes
can ove stranger?, ar,; the iwo looked at each other often fn
silent moments, wcn.kri.. .: the bond which was ting for^eS
between them and .v ihe experiences which had brou^hf eaT to
ther^h^l'hTi'"'^'"^ ''!^' ''T ?^ -^-1 sphere of
eicner. i nijs the cu. < conversation, wh ch was more interestina
and less tinng to his patient than reading, graduaUy became of f
more personal r. -ture and full of anecdotes. ^ °^ *
..-A "''^^'' Monsieur, that you were not bred a priest ?" Paul
said one day, after one of ches. narrations. ^
it IS true," he replied, looking q,iickly up and then down
268
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
again ; " would you like to know why I left the world, or wouldit
be tiresome to listen ? " ,
Paul replied that it would interest him above all things.
"Because," observed M. Andr6, taking a pinch of stuff and
seating himself on a stone near the patient's chair, which was
placed in a sunny sheltered nook in the garden, " I have some-
times permitted myself the liberty of thinking that a sorrow like
mine may have befallen you. Pardon me if I arn mistaken."
His name, he continued, wasArmand de Fontigny, a name of
historic fame, 33 Paul knew. His education was not austere ;
though a Catholic, he looked upon religion merely as a thing it
was among the family traditions to respect. His youth was 33
gay as rank, wealth, good looks and good health could make it, in
the gayest city of the world ; but, though devoted to pleasure, he
was not vicious ; he only wished to be thought so.
He became assiduous in his attentions to the wife of a friend.
He did not love her, he did not think that she loved him, but the
vanity of each was gratified by the idea of a conquest over the
other.
The husband was unsuspicious, until one day when some
report reached his ears. That night De Fontigny met the lady
at a masked ball. It was carnival time ; the now suspicious hus-
band was there also, and followed them about masked, until he
had no doubt of their identity. Then he shot the lady dead.
This shot, as he learnt during the official enquiry upon the
death, was intended for her supposed lover.
She fell at De Foniigny's feet, his face and clothing were
splashed with her blood. A second shot followed — the man had
turned his weapon upon himself. De Fontigny stood among the
masqueraders in the brilliance of the ball-room, his ears ringing with
the gay dance music and the sound of the two shots, motionless
with horror, while the dancing broke up in wild tumult and the
blood of his two victims stained the parquet.
Father Andr^ paused, trembled, and with an apology left his
guest. He did not conclude his narrative till next day, when he
spoke of his misery anc remorse, his disgust with follies which
had resulted in such tragedy, his flight to the cloister, and its
calm round of prayer aftid toil, which, though it at first soothed
him, did not suffice him. He longed for activity and usefulness,
and after having been sent out on one or two occasions to take
the place of some sic! parish priest, v/as appointed to this little
parish of R^my, where, as Paul saw, his life was a course of labour,
prayer and service to his parishicners, of whom uc was truly the
father.
BURIED ALIVE,
269
"And have you found happiness ? " his listener asked, at the
close of the narrative.
"Not happiness, my dear son ; that is not of this world, but
healing and peace."
Paul looked up with moist eyes at the-lined and pensive face
before him, and his decision was taken.
He told his kind friend his whole history from beginning to
end, and added his determination to enter the religious life.
Father Andr^ listened with sympathy, and advised him to
pause and consider well before he entered a life for which he
might have no vocation. He reminded him that as yet he was
not even a Catholic.
But Paul's resolution was taken with the fiery intensity of his
nature. The constant sight of the crucifix during his days and
nights of agony had consoled and strengthened him, as that
august sight always does; it had further wrought with the morbid
tendency inseparable from combined physical and mental misery
to produce vn him the strange religion which Carlyle professed
but like the windbag he was, did not practise, and named the
Worship of Sorrow.
Like Father Andrd, Paul felt that joy was impossible to one
whose past was so criminal, nothing was left for him but pain ; he
now rushed into the extreme of self-mortification. He remained
some months at the presbytery, until he was quite recovered,
sharing as far as a layman could, the occupations of his host
Ukmg the peaceful life, for which he felt himself unworthy and
instructed and curbed by his spiritual father, who at last resigned
him to the community with whom his noviciate was to be passed
not without regret and deep heart-searchings. '
The fire which had burnt so fiercely on the altar of human
love, now blazed with stronger fervour at a loftier shrine, and for
a year or two Brother Sebastian passed through a strange and
exciting phase of spiritual experience ; his austerities produced
their natural result ^—visions and ecstasies— all the strange tumult
of over-wrought religious feeling, brightened and ennobled by
the golden thread of pure and undefiled religion which ran
through it all, and which runs through so many strange and
mysterious human vagaries. So entirely had he broken with his
tormer hfe, that it seemed sometimes to the fervid Friar Sebastian
as If Paul Annesley were the phantom of some half-forgotten
dream, and the people he had known and loved, fancies as insub-
=ia«iuii. i^ven ine uioiiidi he had so truly loved, in spite of the
rnisery she had made in his home, faded away. A Madonna in
the convent-chapel with a look of Alice attracted him strongly
I*
S70
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
lind sometimes set him dreaming of those far-off phantoms, and
then he saw Alice married happily to Edward and forgetful of
the trouble he had cast upon her youth, and his heart ached
for the mother who mourned him as dead. But not for long ;
such thoughts were driven away, if not by gentler means, by
knotted cords.
Brother Sebastian had only once travelled far from the
Dominican Convent in which he had taken refuge from the storm
of life, before he was sent to serve the church in which Edward
Annesley saw him during the temporary disability of the cure, and
on that first occasion the brief encounter by the Lake of Geneva
occurred.
Edward looked upon that first meeting as the illusion of a mind
overstrained by the perpetual thought of a man whose death he
had caused. That brief vision was made more ghost-like and un-
real by the fact that Sebastian had put oh his friar's black cloak
and hood, and was wearing only the white tunic and scapular when
he passed Edward ; when he saw him, by immediately putting on
the black mantle and hood, he became inconspicuous, and thus
vanished more effectually than he could have done, had his dress
remained white.
Not until Edward Annesley saw the living Paul standing at the
altar before him with that wide gaze of mingled pain and dismay,
did he realize what his supposed death had cost him. For reason
with himself as he would, the thought that Paul had actually met
his death at his hands was an abiding grief. Though he did ftbt
grow morbid over this acute memory, it made him very sensitive,
and lent the keenest sting to those calumnies which made him
practically a social outcast. There were moments of dejection in
which he did indeed attribute to himself part of the guilt which
had apparently resulted in the death of the would-be slayer ;
brief moments reasoned away painfully enough by the reflection
that when he flung Paul from him, he did not know in which
direction either of them would fall ; that he was not sure whether
Paul had flung him or he had hurled Paul, since when he re-
covered consciousness, he could remember nothing but Paul's
sudden attack and furious words, followed by a wild whirl, in
which he had tried to wrest himself from the hands which were
pushing him over the brink, and had at last fallen senseless.
Gervase Rickman alone knew all. He had seen the attack from
s higher and distant pomt in the path, rrhcre the bend of the
river bank projected beyond the trees which obscured the spot
lower down, and had arrived in time to see both cousins fall.
15 K.
iff phantoms, and
and forgetful of
his heart ached
tut not for long ;
jentler means, by
;d far from the
ge from the storm
in which Edward
ty of the cure, and
; Lake of Geneva
illusion of a mind
1 whose death he
ghost-like and un-
friar's black cloak
md scapular when
diately putting on
picuous, and thus
one, had his dress
ul standing at the
pain and dismay,
him. For reason
i had actually met
hough he did itot
lim very sensitive,
which made him
its of dejection in
of the guilt which
would-be slayer ;
by the reflection
3t know in which
; not sure whether
lince when he re-
athing but Paul's
r a wild whirl, in
hands which were
: fallen senseless,
n the attack from
the bend uf the
»bscured the spot
a cousins fall.
BURIED ALIVE, j^,
If Edward's lips had not been sealed by loyalty to the sunnosed
dead man. .t would have been a heaven of relief to him t? have
published the story on the house-tops, and thus disburden him-
self of a secret U was pain and grief to keep. ''"""^^^n him
r.^ th»s heavy burden fell from his heart on that Sunday after-
Eint tv^\ °^ '^' 1°^^ P^"^' h^'^'^g ^he SacrSt and
blessing the kneeling people ; such a deep divine relief came to
him after the first shock had passed that he could sirce'nhink
what to do next. His sisters, who had not known theircous n so
int mately, and who were but children at the time of his Toss d 5
not recognize him : only in coming out one said to the oAer
Jf whom did the priest remind you? He is very like somS
„,o^K^" J^.^t'"'"^?^'" J°'"^^ *hem and walked only part of the
way back telling them that he had seen a friend whom he wished
When'h! '".^ '^""f^ Pf '^^P^ ^^ ^^^y ^°^ ^^ hour or two
alrllSv left'k hn*^- '" '5' '^k"'"."^' ^^ ^°""^ ^^at the priest had
already left it, having disrobed with amazing rapidity The
"nders'tandTJ^ '""^^ ^ surprisingly stupid rustic f^he could no?
whkh Paul h.7h ' g°?^ fl"^"^ ^''^^^"^^h, learnt it! the school a
wnich Paul had been with him, and his own patois was so strong
that It was difficult for Edward to understand hTm. A lenTtk
however, it came out that the strange priest was st^pninVat the
presbytery which was situated in I spot to reach wSchsu^h
complicated directions were necessar^ that Edward bid ?fS
donfafar''^^^ '^" "^"^'^ P^^--"y B"^ th?s codd'^ot be
tar?s dit?es'a?The c"h^! T" ^""^ " ^°'' ^^""^^^"^ P^^^^' '"^^^^^^
can s duties at the church were so urgent. At last i me one was
found to act as guide, and the presbytery was event idTy reached
The convalescent «./-^ received the stranger with greaturban-
and talked so much that it was difficult to let a word in edee^^^^^^^^
and still more difficult to convey any ideas to Se "^-f.^under'
hSd "f ha^' V'?."°1^ ^'. ^^^'^^^ his ears. Fin^f Edward
heard that Brother Sebastian (the name slipped out at an
unguarded moment) had finished his duties at V Wres and waS
conr^rh""' \r^ ^h^''^^^' ^"^^ *^"*^ that Paul was trybgTo
conceal himself was now obvious. ^ **
Edward returned to the inn, told his mother privately what had
occurred, and of his intention of finding the fugitiVrfriar i^
Xt^krFrrnc^' "^ ""' ''''^' ^^^-P-^^ by^i^slrv^n;:
It would be tedious to follow in detail the .:hase which ensued
373
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
! 1»
Itii
Hi^ rt? H J "°'" ""•'" h'gh '-oad apnroarhed that secluded
district, and a few enquiries showed that the uiar had not gone
by the river. It was therefore best to follow him on foot thrS
PaXA/^ woods which Edward did when the directio . in whkh
tr^^ninI^ "''^/''^*'u^^''"^'^"'^'"^^- . Annesley's professional
training here stood h.m in good .tead ; with a fair map and a
of hTs"mnnT!f-'^ °^ topographica. details, together with the aid
of his man W llmms, whom he sent on a parallel route to his own
and bid enquire diligently a! ng the road, he traced the friL to i
convent m the town of Volny. He then applied to the su edor
of the commumty for information, which w£.3 politely refused in
such a m mner as to leave no doubt on his mind that Paul was in
iu r°T- ^^'^ he watched with such assiduity that bu.h he and
^hi- T'T-'"'''^.'^® suspicions of the authorities, and vere
obliged to desist after a few days.
Nevertheless they still hung about the lown, freqv ^nting
Thnn Jh v", ""-^^'T ^""1"'"^' ^^°"^ preaching friars to no effect
1 hough Volny is a large town, it is as well to save trouble to the
earned r^ -w . by recommending him not to look on the ma . for
them ^ ''• '^'■" ^'^ Bourget, because perhaps he will not' find
Edward -.a^ beginning to think the chase hopeless, since the
S-r^.;"'^ '1f"*''y ^" '^^ f"g'*'^^ ^^'^ the^am'e Tnd the
scar, for the garb was a concealment rather than an aid One
-acTinlMc f °"^^ °"t of the town when ^ dusk was falling,
.acking his brains for devices to reach one who had cut himself
off from every possible means of communication with the outer
world, and rejecting every scheme that presented itst f in turn
Inrn^J"^ "^T ^^ \^'^l ^^^""'^ ''''^ winc-casks and partially over-
Zl u"" ^^^ '°^^' ^"^ "f *h^ d^^y^e" had been hurt by a
nf nu !f^ "?°" ^'"^L ^^^ °'her was tearing his hair and reproach-
).ng all the saints in heaven for not coming to his aid. A few
peasants, attracted by his cries, were extricating the horses and
righting the dray Edward took off his coat and helped them
While he was thus occupied he did not see what was happening
to he injured man, who had been laid aside upon some sacks
But when he had done all he could, and was standing in his shirt-
;'i!fyfl7!F'^^ ^V''''^ ^""^ '°°''^"g i" the now moonlit dusk at
.he righted dray, he saw a figure bending over the injured man,
imd bandaging his head. It was that of a Dominican friar.
His heart gave a strong throb, he stepped into the shadow of
the way-side trees and watched the friar's ministrations in
suence. ~
Presently a light carrw/e came up, the patient 'as lifted into
.EY.
sd that secluded
iar had not gone
1 on foot through
iirectio . in which
iley's professional
fair map and a
ther with the aid
route to his jwn,
ced the fria to a
rt to the sui'erior
)litely refused in
that Paul was in
that bu;h he and
rities, and vere
wn, freqventing
riars to no effect.
.'e trouble to the
: on tiie nia^> for
he will not find
peless, since the
: name and the
n an aid. One
usk was falling,
had cut himself
I with the outer
i Use f in turn,
d partially over-
been hurt by a
ir and reproach-
lis aid. A few
the horses and
helped them.
: was happening
on some sacks,
ing in his shirt-
noonlit dusk at
e injured man,
can friar,
the shadow of
inistrations in
'as lifted into
BURIED ALIVE.
»73
It and driven slowly away, the frinr gave his benediction to the
departmg procession of dray, carriole, and friendly peasants, and
turning, went swiftly on his way in the opposite direction, without
observing that motionless figure in the shadow.
In a few minutes Edward's quick footsteps were close upon him
and reached his ear ; but he did not turn. I d was side bv
side with him when he spoke. ^
" Paul," he said—" Paul Annesley."
H V^f ^'^^^ l"'"'.^. '''*'' ^ suppressed cry. He recognised
^.dward s face in the white moonlight, and looked swiftly in every
Sh'fnM.; '"'"'T^^'Vl "'"^Pf' •""'• '^^'"S "0"e, stood still,
with folded nands, head bent and downcast eyes.
w!l^ ^f^ "u^l?'^'^^''^' '^y'"S ^ vigorous hand on each of
his shoul^ crs What a chase you have given me ! Paul, you
did a wrong thing and a cruel thing. All these years we thought
difference'" ^'"°'" ^"^^ "^""'"^ ^^'''^ ^"^^^ *" ^"^^
The gaunt frarne quivered beneath Edward's strong touch : the
haggard face, which seemed terribly altered in that cold white
ligf , became agitated— the calm mask worn for years was suddenly
re, . away from the reality beneath ; and the gazer's heart was
pierced lo the core by this changed aspect, through which his old
familiar friend was still so visible.
He coiild i,ot realize that Brother Sebastian was the living
reality and Paul Annesley the faded d; eam. The monkish garb
seemed to him but a piece of masquerade which must be put off,
and with It perhaps, the lines of suffering in the wan face
rhe friar s deep blue eyes gazed spell-bound and full of unspeak-
able feelings into the familiar and once so hated face, on which
as well as on h,s own, the record of troubled yeais was now
dflf,"' Y ^^,^°"'d ""er no word, though his lips moved
slightly ; he could scarcely think-the si^ht of Edward's honest
face, graver and manlier, if so much sadder than in his young
days, snrred him so deeply. ^ ®
"I thought you dead all this time," Edward continued. " You
hand '^"""^ '* '' *° *'''"'' ^°'"' ^^'^ ^^'^""^ ^"^^ ^y y°"' °«^"
The cloistered life faded like a dream from Sebastian's mind,
those phantom figures from the past, which he had so long ban-
ished, grew real and lived again at the sound of these wholesome
words j his unnatural restraint gave wav it last, natural human
tears sprang to his eyes, but he could >t speak-his cousin's
reproach was so keen and yet so different to what he had ex-
pected.
l8
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
1.0
I.I
Li 12.8
1^ 12.0
lU
m
IL25 i 1.4
mt
JA
1.6
iinotograpiiic
Sciences
Corporation
33 VJEST MAIN STREKT
WEBSTER, N.Y. MS 80
(716) •73-4503
^. 'tS "^^^
4^
..V
^A
^
^
CHAPTER in
THB WEDDING-DRESS.
The time was drawing near to Alice Lingard's wedding-day;
every little detail of her future life was arranged ; Rickman's
letters, in spite of the busy life he was leading, and the important
political events in which he was concerned, were growing more
frequent, more tender, and more difficult to answer.
One autumn evening a box arrived at the Manor. Alice's
heart sank when she saw it, for it contained her wedding-dress.
Sibyl was slightly pained to see how little Alice seemed inter-
ested in the dress ; she had some difficulty in persuading her to
try it on, but at last succeeded after much coaxing on her part,
and much persuasion from the dressmaker busy at work in the
house.
"If only Gervase were here!" exclaimed Sibyl, when the
weighty business was achieved and Alice stood before a cheval-
glass, tall and statue-like in the long satin folds, her liair crowned
by the white wreath, and the veil floating mist-like about her in
the pale twilight. " Wait, and I will fetch papa. Don't stir one
inch for your life."
"You are cold, miss," said the dressmaker, for Alice was
•hivering ; " we must hope for a sunny morning for the wedding.
To be sure, it is chilly to night."
" Very chilly," replied Alice, listening to the fitful moan of
the wind and the patter of rain on the glass. " How pleased
Sibyl is I " she was thinking. For Sibyl had not been pleased,
but rather shocked, when the engagement first took place, and
only the spectacle of her brother's happiness had reconciled her
to it by degrees.
It took some minutes to find Mr. Rickman, minutes during
which Alice stood motionless before the spectral reflection of
her tall white self, forbearing to move, partly because of the pins,
which marked some alterations, partly in obedience to Sibyl.
When Mr. Rickman finally arrived, the dusk had grown so
deep that he asked for candks, the delay in lighting which kept
Alice still longer in her constri-inod position, so that at last, when
THE WEDDtNG-DRESS.
m
rd*8 wedding-day;
nged ; Rickman's
and the important
ere growing more
Bwer.
i Manor. Alice's
r wedding-dress,
lice seemed inter-
persuading her to
ixing on her part,
sy at work in the
Sibylf when the
I before a cheval-
her f jair crowned
like about her in
L Don't stir one
!r, for Alice was
; for the wedding.
le fitful moan of
"How pleased
lot been pleased,
t took place, and
id reconciled her
, minutes during
tral reflection of
cause of the pins,
jnce to Sibyl.
>k had grown so
;hting which kept
that at l&st, when
she was properly illuminated, and the old gentleman was scrutin-
izing her through his glass.'s, with murmurs of profound satisfac-
tion, shesiul.leiily fell fainting full-length on the carpet, rumpling
the satin folds, and crushing wreath and veil indiscriminately to-
gether. ^
"Standing long in one position often produces that effect,"
Mr. Rickman observed afterwards; "to move but one limb re-
laxes the tension of every muscle."
" It's the most dreadful luck," whispered the dressmaker to
the maids, who had assembled to look on, "and the veil all
crushed, and the dress spotted with the water they threw over
her face I "
The next day Sibyl and her father drove into Medington to
make some of the innumerable purchases connected with the
wedding, but Alice excused herself from accompanying them.
"It IS odd," Sibyl said, when starting, "that so much mer-
chandise see;ns necessary to unite two loving hearts. When I
marry I shall run away ; then there can be no fuss, and money
will be saved."
"Zure enough," Raysh Squire said, when he saw her drive
through the village, smiling all over her bright face, "anybody
med think she was a gwine to be married, instead of t'other. I
never zeen such a maid ! "
Alice set off for a walk when the carriage had started ; she
passed through the fields above the churchyard, and saw Raysh
at work, putting the final touch to three little fresh-turfed graves.
" Prettier made graves than they you ne-^er zeen. Miss Alice,"
he observed with pride. " A power o' thought goes into the
digging o' they little uns, and shepherd he would hae 'em all pi-t
in separate, say what you would. I hreckon he made no count
o' the laiibour he giv me."
The little graves went to Alice's heart ; she knew what a bitter
blank they made in her friend's home, populous as that little
home still was, and she went on her way, wondering at the mys-
tery and sadness of life, and the silent heroism that bears so
many burdens.
Hubert bounded on before or trotted at her side, unvexed by
mysteries, and keenly conscious of the pleasure of a ramble over
the downs. Some children were picking blackberries along the
field-hedges, their faces happy and stained with purple juice :
-••■./ K-jx,- iTvic linrcXcu uy muiui pruuiums.
It was a chill gusty autumn day, with wan sun-gleams and
flying scuds; storm-driven gulls flashed their bright plumage
against the black curtain of rain- cloud ; belated swallows skimmed
i8— a
976
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
the ground, fluttering against the wind ; Nature was not in one of
her sweetest moods, yet bhe was fascinating rather than sad.
" If only one had not to live," thought Alice, ' if one might
mingle with Nature and be still."
After some apparently aimless wandering, she caught sight of
what she was seeking, the figure of Daniel Pink, moving heavily
agamst the wind, which shook his beard and lifted the cape of
the old military great-coat he wore over his smock-frock. He
was driving some sheep into a wattled fold, and she waited till
he had finished and finally secured his flock by binding a hurdle
to its staple. Then he went under the lee of a hedge, and,
taking off" his coat, set to work to point some ash-spars with his
biU-hook. Alice then approached him with her usual friendly
greeting, and the lines on his rugged face softened. He folded
his coat and placed it on the bank as a seat for her.
"Tis fine and loo here," he said, "and you med set down and
hrest."
So Alice sat down and watched the white chips fly, with
Hubert crouched at her feet, while Rough, the shepherd's dog,
now partly superannuated and assisted by a young and inex-
perienced dog, whose vagaries were a source of much trouble to
him, looked at the deer-hound with a mistrustful glance.
"Raysh has just finished turfing the little graves, shej, "
she said ; " they look very peaceful."
He made no reply, but looked away towards the churchyard,
which he could not see, and went on chopping.
" You said once," continued Alice, " that you gave up fretting
for them all at once— that you could bear anything now."
" Ay," he replied, stopping in his work to look enquiringly at
her.
" There is so much trouble in the world," Alice continued,
" sometimes it seems so difficult to bear." The tears sprang to
her eyes, and her words died away in a sigh.
The shepherd sat down silently on a pile of ash poles, and
thought for a few seconds.
"Ay," he replied at last. "When they dree was took, I
couldn't zim to bear it noho./. The pretty ways of 'em, and the
little maid that knowing I The biggest wasn't only dree year
old. They knowd avore I'd a turned the earner in the lane,
they two, and they'd hrun to meet me when I come home.
• Vather, vather I ' they'd cry out, and dance that orettv : and the
littlest, he'd get his mother or his sister to hold en up. Vust time
I comp home and they dree lying still and cold indoors, I pretty
nigh went dead. After that I couldn't abide to come home no
3 the churchyard,
' ash poles, and
THE WEDOLWG-DRESS. ^n
Ta\ *k ^"Tfu ^^^T- ^"^ "'S'^'' lambing-time. a month after
Ida buried thein, I was out alone atop of the down. Then I
ook on thinking, thinking of they dree and their pretty ways I
cou d never see no more, and how they was took off avore we
could look hround and all, and I took on that dreadful I zhnmld
tho ,r/r"^? '"''^'' ^"'^ ^ *^""'^"'* ^'"^ ^° hold up nowTys
L, «T. ^""^ ^ «^as never one for drink, and always done my
SD^ed tW Ta^^^'' l°"l ^^°"^' ^"'^ ^heir children S
spared , there, it did zim that hard ! Then, when I was like tn
nve asunder with that went on inside of me I "es To meself
♦Stand up, Dan'I Pink, and be a man! You've a had many
mercies, and what be you to cry out agen One above wheJ
comfortina and I got up and done zommat for the ship."
Daniel Pink did not say all this straight off, but with many
breaks and pauses, and much apparent casting ibout for words
symbols which are hard to come at when one is not accusromed
he Si'eH^n^Jh?'^ 'LT '•^r °"''* ""^ about at will; sometimes
he stopped in the middle of a sente->ce with a catch in his breath
th?: nT'^J'^'^"^ "^.^"^^ ^°^ ^y"^P^^hy, sometimes away over
trZf^- 'f ^^^?P^- ?"t at this point his manner altered; he
«nH 1 -A ^'■°"' ^^Y- ^"^ '"^'"^^ t° f°r«et her presence
Jn^ i^ tK7" '"^'""^y ^"^ 'P^''^ '" ^ ^^^Per key, more fluently
and with less country accent. ^
•wi-h' °I! *''^ 'l?'u°' ^''^ ^"* *^^'"^'" '^e said, pointing to a
wheeled and movable house; "I was af-ard to goo in and lay
down and leave the yowes, and I fell athinking o' they dree
again, and the littlest that pretty ! Then it came over me agen
as though I should nve a-under, and I shet my teeth and bended
niy head down and groaned, and held my arms tight over my
chest to keep it from bursting. 'Twas the full o' the moon, and
the grass white with hrime I seen all as plain as daylight, the
ship feeding, and the new-dropped Iambs moving about, and the
stars above, when I looked up. Then out of the shade cast by
me hill 1 seen a man coming tow'rds me."
The shepherd paused; his face changed, a solemn rapt ex-
pression came over it-he wus evidently forgetful of all around
him. Alice held her breath and left watching his face as she had
been doing, covering her own with her hand and bending a little
forwards, her arm stayed upon her knee. " A man." Hp mn-
tinued, "tall, vurry tall and fine-made, and dressed like St. John
m Arden church window, with long curled hair and light shininjr
round his h'iad. I came over that still and hushed, like when
the wind falls at zunzet, and the sea's like glass and the barley
•yi
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
:
stands without a shak6. I couldn't so much as stand up, I was
that holden. I looked and looked, as thougl, I could ncv^r leave
off looking. The ship took no notice, and /u passed through
them, slow and solemn, with never a sound. I seen the red
marks on the hands and feet; but when he was quite nigh. I
could only look at the faace. "J'was the look in the eyes that
went through me. I caint say what that look was like, it made
mc that happy and quiet. The figure passed that close, the blue
dress, the colour of the sky, nigh touched me. I couldn't turn
when he passed beyond ; I was holden. But 'twas no drame—
the ship was moving about and feeding and the lambs bleating
as plain as day. When I could turn, there was the moon shining
bright as day, and the frost on the grass and the stars above, and
nothing more. Then I zimmed that happy and light and peace-
-^ u ^^'-''"^ ^^^ nothing I couldn't bear after that 1"
The shepherd ceased speaking, but continued his rapt gaze
straight ahead, thinking thoughts that Alice dared not interrupt
by words. *^
At last he rose, took up his bill hook and went on pointing his
"And nothing seems hard to bear now, shepherd? » she asked
presently.
"No, miss, nothing zims hard now. I med hae a power o'
trouble yet, piase God I lives long enough, but I 'lows I shaint
never fret no more," he replied.
The wind had sobbed itself to rest now, and the sunset was
blazing through great bars of rending cloud in marvellous splen-
dour. Alices feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground as she
sped homewards, deeply touched and lifted up in heart, thinking
thoughts that no words could express.
Daniel Pink could not even read, he had scarcely half a
language with which to clothe his simple thoughts ; the mighty
Fast was to him a blank, the garnered treasure of the thoughts of
i^es and the beautiful songs of great poets, the glory of Art, and
the refinements and adornments of human life, were all denied
to him. Yet Alice's heart bowed in reverence before him, he
had that which great prophets and mighty kings had desired in
vain. Could she not emulate his simple resignation ? she won-
dered. She had now reached the churchyard, and leant on the
low wall to look at the three little graves.
DaUy she had prayed to be a loving wife to Gervase Rickman.
ana aaiiy rne tnouglil of the marriage, now the most obvious of
duties, had grown more terrible, until the simple incident of
trying on the wedding-dress had overpowered her. If she could
THE WEDDING-DRESS. 379
»min.7 ^K.^"'*'"^/"* °f her heart and her heart with him, she would
willingly have done it. But since the unfortunate day in the
It was too late to hesitate— she was as much bound as if
actual y married; and her heart was incapabirof trSry es
pecmlly to ( ervase and to the old man who hunj,' upon he/m'th
ZKTn''^ f P'"^"""- "^^ "^^"y this man. ^hom she liked
but could not love, was plainly her duty, to swerve from it wS
dZhtt'^^l """■""«' T. '" her eyes a 'sacrament, love wouS
doubtless be given with it. Peace had come to Daniel Pink
^^ould It be denied her in due time ? She would wait patienti;
and shrink from no duty, however hard. panently
Alice little thought that at that very hour a friar in t»,«
narrow solitude of his cell, was driving h'er froli his' mind"^th
literal scou gingof the flesh, as if an image so vholesome and so
suggestive of good.^ could in any wise harm. Trufy peace and
through the darkening fields wit'h perfec peace in her heart
confident that however her soul might now shVink, she would have
Imllfrr Sibyl's sweet face on reaching home, she returned he?
Sest^n"thr''^°"'/T''^'''^-^^P^°^^h. listined with due in-
terest to the account she gave of the afternoon's business an
commended her purchases with sufficient animation. Yet she 7
glad that Sibyl eft her for a few hours' study ; and when she wa.
^^r^^t^^^^^ were i^
rose tree L^^^^^^ was audible and every'little movement in the
rose-tree trained by the window asserted itself. Through all this
stillness, she presently heard a carriage drive up and thf doo -bell
ring, and started into a listening attitude. "Gerv^e ! » she
dT?or:'nirh":" w^ ^'^^ '^ '^^ ^^^ '^^ '"'^^^ -" ^o- -y
It was not Gervase; for he did not open the door and walk in
but waited while a servant came from some remote att"c. whence
Alice heard her descend in the silence and pass from corridor to
28o
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
corridor, her footsteps echoing in Alice's strained ears, and finally
open the door just as the visitor had raised his hand to ring again.
Why should Alice's heart beat so fast ? She could not hear
more than a faint murmur of a man's voice when the door opened ;
she did not know what she expected. But when the maid tripped
in and said, " Captain Annesley wishes to see Miss Lingard," she
thought that she had known who was there from the first, and, with
a presentiment that some crisis was approaching, bade the maid
show him up.
She heard his step on every stair, and was glad of the growing
dusk to hide her face ; the day when he first carne six years ago
and saw her in that very room in the spring sunshine returned to
her nriind with all its overwhelming associations. She could not
remain still, but rose from her seat ; it seemed as if she would
have herself in better control standing than sitting.
So he came in and found her standing on the rug with the fire-
light upon her, and something in her face not easy to describe,
though she received him calmly, saying that she was surprised to
see him, having supposed him to be on the Continent.
" I wished to see you alone," he said, with an air that impressed
her and inspired her with dim foreboding. •• I have something to
tell you that will surprise you."
" No bad news, I hope ? " she asked, faintly.
" You once asked me to tell you all that I knew of my cousin's
disappearance," he continued. " I could not do so then. I can
now. I believed that you loved him, Alice, and that is how I inter-
preted your reason for refusing me. What happened on that after-
noon, you said, made it impossible for you ever to marry."
"But I am going to be married," she urged in a faint
voice.
" You are engaged to be married," he corrected, "and perhaps
you do not care to know what happened on that afternoon. But
you must know. It is Paul's wish. He is still living. He sends
you a message, and a letter."
" Paul ? Paul ? not dead ? Oh, no ! " she cried, passing her
hand before her eyes as if to clear away the mist rising before
them. ^* What does this mean?"
" He is not dead. I have found him," continued Edward ; " he
has told me all — all that passed between you."
Alice trembled and looked at him appealingly. Why did he
come thus to trouble her peace, and why did he speak in that
li«IU Tl/e^v I X*. owill%-Vi =1.3 It XIC TVJ13 II2CIC lU jUUg^ tlCX*
" Stay," she replied, " I know more than you think. I heard you
talking. I was under the trees when you passed. You made
THE WEDDING-DRESS.
Edward; "he
G.m« promise „„, ,„,e„ „ha. had occurred, especially „„,t
almo?"fie7c"ly"°T.7tiL"Hf '^ '"'" "■" '» """-"" h» asked
that poo, feSw. iZi:^^;:^'' ""^ ' "■°'"'"" y" K-v'd
colder ■■Buui*rit!::d\t7oTer™^"=r-" '""-=<• A^
unfonunate affair. I mu,rceSf; toL".^ '"'"' '"" """»' '"at
yoo. Pellp^when" ^ou Ke"r™d i ""' "^.'/T ''-'•» '«'" "
is unnecessary." '^ ' """■ " J""" """ "link that ray story
no^'roortfo'^rS^I,!': 'ralSfZ ^h""' ""'' "■°"«- " -
once familiar hand by he firS^.h, »nH ^ ''"l,'^^"'P'i''n in the
"It is terrible," she faltered "10-1' i"'','rf ""'''' ""^ >'iol<-ntly.
so long thought dead " ' ^ * '"'*' f""" <"■« y" ''are
iesl;j: t'heS, '"linVV^ati'orZ'''''?^" "t ^P'^^ -—
placed it near the trfmwSSL?,.j' writ.ng-iable, he lighted it,
other side of tirr^^'^LS^j^^^^''^,:™^?. ""d withdre'w '" '"'
mg nisht,-,he wind„; in S he td firsTseTn'ELt '"' «""■"■
and the down beyond irsankfm^H?'''' '"""/''• The garden
while she read i theTeeslaosed, "„,„ fiTJ/'l'' ^"P" shadow
wan star, peeped here and .hi?. ,i u'"' ""'' ""^es ; a stray,
and thei"^, watery moon Jose iii^tfanl^'T '^ J>''''6 *"ds
with changing glory ' """sfeed the black shapes
Ml^^t:re"';ro„ts\l\Knt^r ''"^ ''■""'h ^
her chair at the table <:nmi ?« t % r^°^' ^''^^ motionless in
bright flame leapt up VdTa't"^^ '" ^^^ ^^'e. "
and over the two silent Cressi^ -^^^^^^^ '°°'"'
. Hervoicechaiiged andd^»™„,7».^t " h' h-, ^ ,r ,
(Sh^l^a-S'ttVS^'^lTSMi^et^^^
™ord.Buttherewas":„t-"th'In';Se1;fScl'''.1,:rfi
a8a
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
something he had never pictured upon those gentle features, a
mingling of horror and indignation.
*• Oh, Alice ! " he cried, advancing towards her, " Alice I "
" Hush ! " she replied, waving him back. " Do you know what
this means ? He was to have been my husband in a few days.
He was my dearest friend."
He stopped, thunderstruck, not immediately perceiving that
she was speaking of Gervase, but smitten through with the keen
anguish in her voice.
"What have I done?" he asked. "Oh, Alice I you did not
love him" he added, thinking that his coming had only plunged
her into deeper, perhaps irreparable sorrow.
" You should have spoken that day in the garden," she con
tinued, in a low, half-suppressed tone, " I had a right to know
then. You should have spoken."
" How could I speak ?" he returned in surprise. " He was dead.
What passed was our secret. Paul (^as spoken now— but even
" he stopped, he could not say that he had come that night
only to save her from the misery of marrying a man so false as
Gervase Rickman.
Alice had risen in her trouble and stood in the full blaze of the
firelight. " This is the only home I have ever known ! " she said,
looking round the familiar room, and wringing her hands together
in her desperate pain. "And though I did not love him, I
trusted him. Oh I how I trusted that false man," she added.
She had not heard the door-bell ring, swift steps passing through
the hall and up the echoing stair, and now, as she faced the door,
she was startled to s°e it open and disclose the smiling and
confident face of Gervase Rickman.
lose gentle features, a
CHAPTER IV.
FACE TO FACE.
piayea a great part, but ambition a greater.
»ho."J""M "^ ^''? ^^ ''^^ «^°" 'he desire of his heart a desire
S^HTrl^'^'^u^r^: «'"°^" '° «"^h "Eighty proportions but for
j;«ed.„, assuming grande" rhX^m^'p^r^^^^
His marriage was indeed a most virtuous act. Alice WMnM^
CuTv'SicJ'.,^,"' """' "'"^ "••"' '"''=" '"= freshnes™ om h^
record' Ye, hVlrifl'"" TT'^ *"' '^""^^^^th an indeliMe
record. Vet he well knew that beauty had never been her m-.,,
|trrrc^rint^^irbri°/g r-i^^^^^^^^^
f'l
384
THE REPROACH OF ANSESLEY.
way of being gratified. Scarcely a year had passed since he was
relumed for Medington, yet he had cfrcctcd much, especially
during the recent battle over the Conservative Reform Bill. In
and out of the House he had done yeoman's service, recognized
as such by the leaders of the Oppositior.. He had been ubicjuitous ;
attending and speaking at meetings here and meetings there,
adding fuel to the fire of political agitation, whi< h at that time
blazed fiercely enough, and he had been particul.irly useful at a
bye-election in which his party won a seat. Mrs. Walter Annesley
had renewed many of her former aristocratic acquaintances in
late years, and had given him excellent introductions, of which
he had made the best use. He was well adapted for climbing the
social ladder ; he had good manners, tact and observation, fluent
speech and ready wit, and was absolutely impervious to the im-
pertinence of social superiors, when it suited his purpose, otherwise
a person whom it was on the whole wise to respect. He was a
brilliant speaker, his voice daily improved, and no amount of
labour exhausted him.
Thus, with a long vista of political success opening brightly
before him, and the prospect of domestic happiness filling the
ne ir distance, Gervase drove up to the door of his father's house
that autumn evening, and, knowing the family habits by heart,
went lightly up the stairs to the drawing-room, where he chought
to find Alice alone.
When he opened the door and saw her standing with that
strange look and despairing gesture in the mingled lights of the
fire and the solitary taper, though something in her aspect gave
him a shock, he supposed her to be alone ; it was only when she
spoke that he made out the dark figure of Edward Annesley con-
fronting her in the dimmer light of the further part of the room.
"Gervase," Alice said, gazing full upon him without any
salutation or preliminary whatever, " when I told you on the down
that day that I had refused Edward Annesley solely because of
what you witnessed on the banks of the Doubs six years ago, why
did you tell me that I was quite right i "
These two syllables, which had so often echoed painfully
through his conscience, were uttered with so keen an incisiveness
that they cut into him like knives. Even his ready resource and
iron nerve failed hiri for the moment, and he stood speechless,
looking involuntarily from her to Annesley, as if for a solution of
the enigma. The latter returned his gaze with a stern unbendinc'
contempt that failed to sting him in the anaesthesia which para-
doxically results from such excessive pain as Alice's look gave
him.
FACE TO FACE.
385
thr.!^r«*"r''""''""*-''^ Alice, with a passionate scorn which told all
linle upset '' • ""^ '^'^ ^''^*^ ' y°" '^^"^ »o be a
tinniS ' u°l!? *^ '"•'" "^"^ increasing contempt. " Why." she con-
ster and hi^^" '""^' T ^'^^^ ^^^^^^ Annesley loved Zr
sister and had never more than a passing fancy for me ? "
My dear child, do consider times and places a JitHe if t f^i,i
you that, it was doubtless because I belic'ved i w's not a! ?n^
in taking that view of the situation "" '''""'■
thaU Kdts^Ju^in?''"'^' ^°" •^^'^"^^^' ^^-^^ ^""-'^^y
Wd smiIp°^fr"^'" ^^^' T"'°"' ^'^^^'■'" he replied with a
loroed smile. Captam Annesley," he added, " perhaps vou will
do me the favour of going into another room. mS 1 in rd iL
you perceive, is not in a condition to receive visitors " " '
anot^e" time' to finM^^ '''^'''^' '''^'"« ^'^ ^^'^ " ^ ^i" *^hoose
Wesenc^-'^LHHl? ''.'"^ '"'^'"V"^ ^"'^ ^'^-^ I^i"gard. My
emSssin/" '^ ""'^ """^^"^'^ ^^'■^^^'"' " '""^^ be excessivel]!
ton« °'vou w?li"n;!t"r"''^.C '"'^ ^"'^"' '■" 'he same incisive
mfn V .^ u ""^ ''-'^^*^ 'bis room. While you are here that
man false as he is, dares not deny the truth of what Tsay '^'
vanth ou? of" h"ii1-r;^ P"'' '1^ "" ''^'^ ^^^^'"^«« ^^'^-^ed to
r?J^in. °-. u ''^^. ^"^ ^''^'■' I' ^3s difficult to vanquish this
beltn '£'"^' ^"' '^^ '^"^ 'he gift of knowing when he was
beaten. He recognized the hard fact that nothiL not even his
rkLlffirhisfl; '°"'' "°" "'" ^"^^ ^-^ Hrhea'rd
i.c? ^ ■ hetter aspirations in her words.
wishe^^;^ fK^^'"K^""^'l^y'''''^'^'^^"'^''y' ''si"<^eMissLingard
S'c Perharfs ir'"^^""''^' "'^ ""' usually conducted in
rpnrno' 1, ^^'baps, Alice, I may be permitted to ask why these
person ?*' "' '"^^'"'y ^""'^'^ ^' '"^ ^" 'he presence of 'a third
r.," ?^."'^ ?h»* person has suffered the most from fhP wpK nf
sheTplied'"'' '"'"^"' ^°" ^"'" '^^^^ ^"""'"« ^" 'h««'e yelrs;^'
" Dot^t'^vo.? .K-\''T^ "! complain to you," returned Gervase.
Don t you think, Annesley, it would have been more manly, to
I '*
286
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
withU'^'Sn/^^"'^ ^°r """"^ "othing," he replied. "I came here
with the intention of replying to a question Miss Lingard asked
me some years ago, but luive not found it necessary to do so. I
["oTnowT^ *""" ^ ''""■ ^''^'"^ explained all she wished
Ai.vJ°" "^T '" ?^ t^onfidence of both cousins," continued
Alice, "and you abused the confidence of both. You were in
my confidence, and you abused that."
i! A^?L-°u'"^ you and purposing to make you my wife."
Which you will never do," she replied, drawing a ring from
her finger, and giving it to him. ^ »g irom
rn^^^i'A\'^^\^''f^ Gervase's request to him to leave the
rSnable «nH '"f"^ ^f^'"" '^^ ^^^""^ '^^' ^^e request was
«hnfM u ""-^^''"^ ^° P'"°^^'=' Alice, whose wish that he
hould stay showed a certain fear of being alone with a man so
was toT'' uX^r?'\'^^' '?^°"'y ^^'^'"'"g <^°"^^^ f°^ him
W Ll^ • f I r^I^'^ly '''''''''^^ 'he door, when Sibyl, who had
just been informed of her brother's arrival, opened it and came in
Captam Annesleyl" she exclaimed, expecting to see
"Dear Sibyl," replied Alice, suddenly calming to more than
her wonted gentleness, "we have just had a severe shock
Paul Annesley is not dead."
von ?n nnf f "' " '^tl^ ^^''"'^^- • " ^^y, I saw him die. Alice,
you do not know what you are saying "
" It is quite true," added Edward ; « he was swept out of sight
and washed ashore alive. I have seen him. He will probably
be m England before long. He has become a Roman CathoIiZ
and entered a religious order, and a great deal has to be done
to do"^ "^^ "" permission to visit his mother, as he wishes
Sibyl listened with eager interest, as if her life depended on
Edward s words, and then on a sudden she burst into tears. " Oh !
?.r 'h'k' 'f'^^^J 7^^ ''""'^ ^^'^^ ^o""^ o^t now and your
would coL." ^''''- ' ^^^'y' ^"'^ '^'■' *his hour
"You always believed in me, Sibyl," Edward replied with
a slight quiver m his voice, while taking the hand «n^ fr-^nHu
offered; "1 think I never had a truer friend. I only ""care
really for what my friends think of me."
Sibyl only smiled her gentle smile in reply, though she did not
FACE TO FACE.
usins," continued
)th. You were in
him die. Alice,
287
igh she did not
die. X^i^^s•;„-i^, ^^z >?^"' ^-^^"^ ■'^-"■'
"kI TJl'M,^' '"■'>" Edward replied.
.he S:„d hXd fnju" d"^."'""'"'-' •■ '° "-^^= >"'"™»' to
have U difficvirr„'^J^v!^g"Vfs"SL7err^-'No oIJ' "J"
knew him would believe anvthmrrc^^ ^° °"^ ^ho
men in the worid to urn X^ndeedT^^^^^^ l'"^' l' ^"
bugging you, Annesley, foTthe sake of ^ttTnlT^ '' •^"'"■
Besdes," he added '• nn r«i;^- ^'^''^ °* gettmg the property,
without'a pension."' '^'^'°"' °'^"^ ^^^'^ '^^^^^ive a man
diam'^n^s^'we'^L^'arNrfrhC,^'""'-^^^^^^^ "^^e
Altogether he had abo.^^^K "^T '" ^'' possession.
anllfh^'g" H"at' E£d*courLve^'1r^ ^"'" "-' ^'-
Alice's strange behavio™ to Wmself Thl "' ^^'^'"'■■'^d f<"
letter was shown h m aL hf :. P'^ «"P«'scniit.on of the
imitation of PaTA„X."ha'„d„1C ^ ' " ™ * «°°''
.asr|,g«^?x;uiTSraX%:rr«- -
ni.hl.'-rfVaTrnrte^fe;^^^
.itMe:rs°°''f.Vr."'.'t" ;^: !??=<> ,7 -* .•-« e^es clouded
how I came.0 misiJdge yoi^uf LfLow."' "'"' ''" '™ ^"-
home day," he replied with
shall tell me. When you feel
. increasing gentleness, "you
mclmed."
Ill
iW
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
"Alice," Sibyl asked when he was gone, "what led you to
misjudge him ? There is some mystery behind this."
Alice took Sibyl's bright face in her hands ^nd kissed it with
a tenderness that almost surprised her.
" Never ask, Sibyl." she replied ; « let me as well as others have
the benefit of your loyal trust. You are the best friend /ever
had or ever shall have."
A it^ minutes later Alice was in the hall, pacing restlessly to
and fro, and trying to collect the fragments of her shattered
world, when Gervase issued from his father's study, closing the
door behind him, and approaching her.
"I shall return to town at once," he said, thus relieving her
from a great embarrassment; "I have told my father that I
tound a telegram awaiting me here."
"It is plain that we ^annot be under the same roof again."
she rephed. ° *
" You will never forgive me," he added gloomily. « Jacob was
never forgiven for stealing his blessing, though he got the bless-
'"m"^^,!^^ ^ ^^^' ^°" ^^^^^ '"e w^y I deceived you, Alice," he
added, his voice deepening and touching her in spite of the
oathing with which his perfidy inspired her. " It was because I
loved you with such a love as men seldom feel. I cannot tell
when It began— years before either of the Annesleys thought
of you ; It never faltered— never. You never had and you never
will have a more constant and devoted lover "
" Oh, hush Gervase ! «» she sobbed, " do you think I am made
of stone? Were you not my only brother and best friend?
Are you not your mother's son ? Can you not think what a
bitter thing it is to have to think Ul of you, to know of your
cruel falseness ? " \
"No," he interrupted quickly, "I cannot; you are stone in
comparison with me. You can never even picture such a
passion as mine to yourself, cold, hard, immaculate woman that
you are !
" Gervase ! "
"Listen, Alice," he said, collecting himself and curbing the
fierce passion in his voice. "You have three lovers, and,
woman-like, will probably choose the worst. Of these three
one attempted murder for the love of you; one lied for your
sake though not for your sake alone, for Sibyl's happiness was
at stake; and one"— here he smiled a sarcastic smile— "he
who saw and loved you the latest did not fhink
so much as to
sake. Which
clear himself from a dreadful imputation for your
of these three, think you, loved you the best ? "
FACE TO FACE.
289
same roof again,"
proudryarwSmhSor '"^""^ """=•" -l"-" Alice,
•' f wm' .el h^ foS/.t,"?' '" '"'^' "^^P'^^ ■"-■■
Gervase," she replioS ^ ' '^" "°"^ '" >"»" discredit.
'toi"' "' ''?'^"^^" rd™!c°L' f "" ""' ""^"^o ">
" Good-bye, Alice "h,=^V"i.''^ ''^" '" '"^^ him olT.
he_hadpaJd'wi,h1;isfa,SfaidsiLr"'' ""'" """""' ""-
ShrStr" *.' '^P"^" '" « f^in' far-off voice
dark night ; while GemsriooLdLT?"'?'^ "P '" "-^ dense
•landing in the fan-shaoed I »h, =, ^ °'.""' ^^^f"' figure
«« the bend of thfroad steM , f "T"« '""" "'^ °Pe" hall,
with a heavy des^ir P' " ^""^ ^""' ="d his heart ached
^ Ambition, wealth, success power-all was now nothing , i.hou,
19
CHAPTER V.
RESTORATION.
thftonsu e ann'?'" '^T'^ °^ *^?"gh*' ^^^"ded as it were with
na?,,rni K f 1 P' °° '^^5 ^^ opium-trance to be wholesome and
which surrounded that knr 3'i,? the once familiar faces
though, were e^nt^Ve'S^^l^^Kj;-'- -»""' »"
TT.n.,!! ciicctea nis brief escape to the world m-- ...nv.;:
In this dear little self- complacent island of ours, where to see a
ch a disembodied
lality, would revisit
some idea of the
tiesley, when, after
permit any irregu-
England, clad once
personality which
, he left the world,
thinking other
berty, not only of
led as it were with
ther stamped hira
having voluntarily
y inflicted on the
s poor, mortified,
lanized Sebastian,
er known — albeit
e wholesome and
hat fiery-hearted,
ce familiar faces
liliar habits and
amed to personal
n of ordinary life,
of heretics ; but
lis cousin, whom
pidity that soon
ily convinced of
he had unirften-
luty was equally
uperior was the
the machinery
3, where to see a
RESTORATION.
us have a hazy notion that nrin/fnf ^ ""'"^f ^ ^^^^- Some of
latest scientific dogma UvepTInt^S^nt''"^'^^ ^"^ ^he
. pophecy of Victor Hugowler who . f'}^^^ ^"^ ^^at the
Notre Dame and said, '°Cectiemce^»l^f ,?,?", ^^' ^'''^ '^
the fact that this grand build nlfl^' l ^"'^"^^' '" ^pite of
that cannot die, stll stand ar^\'^%'"Pf'"/^^^ ^^^b^' °f ^ faith
revolutions have rushed past tnhinnH°'* ^°'"^^''' ''^^"gh "^^ny
mo^ks a'nTnfn Trelusf ^^^^ f^ exist ,^unoffending
nuisances, as the frantic sSJh- "l^ "°^ such ' insufferable
hideous ^ith proUrba^gs^r^^^^^^^^^ Zt.'^' ^ ' "'^^'
in fact content to nWue nniV?t, , ' monks and nuns are
bours in peace Thu^lV V^J'^'^^''^^ ^"^ ^^ave their neigh-
ordinary Seal a^fire with sttn?°" '^' ^^^ ^ gentleman t
his hat, and were toW^hat thl w^s f v'".^Vl"" ^^P '^^"eath
seemed to them like a flirv Zl ^ veritable friar, the thing
bid to recognizTin this S m'^ ' "'°'' especially when they we?e
of Paul ALeslS/thar^^ma rSri!.'^' ''""'''j ^°^"^ ^"^ ^'ee
black-bearded fac^ the read' snelf^ young doctor with the
manners they onc^ knew Lc? I'i ^""^ ^'"'^ '^°"gh statelv
until they spoke to him Even then l^ """'" '"''"^'^ ^° do"bt
the voice of a man so bng reckon^ ^^' ^V^''"" ^^^"g *« hear
sole visible link with'h!rff rm^rTe^,^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^' ^^ ^^ose
face; a man who had so closelv fniinFJ Ju ° ^^ ^ ^^^'^ «" the
^ Kempis as to have lSv^sf?^r!5 the counsel of Thomas
.stamp out flames, J£iefl;o,uveTilL°i;- ^'' '^'f'^^^ ^' ^e
.ng Httle more than a l^ ^f ^^S'^^l^S:^' "^'' ^^^^■
^n^n::Zyrn:^-^^^^^^^ to do;
and at Chatham, where hTscoulwf'T."' ^"j ^''° ^» ^'^"don
visited him. the two appeared constanHv f''?f^ ""^ ^^^^^ he
scandal, which had embhtereAT^ ^ ^ together, so that the old
life for so many years w^^-M'^° ^""^'^ '''^^'°" '" Edward's
with for ever ^fwas' nnllf'^'ll ^V ^"^'^ ^"^ done away
been killed much less Murdered 1."^'"^ ^""^^^^^ ^^^ "°^ even'
would not be on terms of su'h in. 1^"^ ^-^"^ "^^^^ '^'' he
tried to compass hi., de^th Th- " ^^ •'^- ^ ^ ""^^ ^^o had
cloister gave a motive howeveTSa'^ ?oVhl'7^'^ ^'"^^^^^ ^" ^
disposed people to believe thaYhTd'es^^-a^,^^^^
19— a
BMHuuMiaKb^
293
THE REPROACH OF ANNEST.EY.
was voluntary and prbbably suicidal in intention. There were
many theories on the subject, but the most generally accepted was
that a sudden bound from poverty to wealth had developed the
hereditary tendency to insanity, a tendency further aggravated
by the fatal woman known to be the cause of all human disaster.
The woman's name varied, but on the whole was unkn* . '.. It had
been said from the first that Rickman knew more than he cared
to say upon the matter, there had even been a doubt as to whether
he had not borne false witness in the court of probate when giving
the evidence of Paul's disappearance and supposed death, neces-
sary to obtain probate of his will. Although there was still a
mystery concerning both Edward's whereabouts at the moment
of his cousin's disappearance and his obstinate silence upon the
subject, the mystery was no longer interpreted to his discredit.
Edward Annesley did not accomplish his pious intention o\
breaking the news of her son's restoration to Mrs. Annesley,
since that inflexibly vindictive woman resolutely continued to
shut the door in his face. The task was therefore transferred to
Alice Lingard, who fulfilled it with the tenderness and tact to be
expected of her.
When the fact that her son lived finally burst upon Mrs. Annes-
ley, she seemed stunned and sat silent for a long time.
" If he lives," she said at last ; " why is he not here ? *
" It is a long story," Alice replied, half-frightened at the ab-
sence of joy, or any other emotion on the mother's part. " He
was — unhappy "
" Why was my son unhappy ? " asked Mrs. Annesley, fixing a
cold and terrible regard upon Alice.
" His letter will tell you," replied Alice, trembling inwardly.
" Give me that letter."
** It is in Edward Annesley's possession *
" A forgery of his — I curse the day that young man entered
this house," she cried, going white with anger.
Alice tried to soothe her. ** A great change has come over
Paul," she said presently. " He is now very religious."
" That is indeed a change," his mother replied with involuntary
sarcasm. " But why did he not return to me after his accident ?
Surely he could not have been imprisoned, kidnapped in a civi-
lized country like France ? "
"No," replied Alice, "he wished — he — entered a religious
house."
" What do you mean, AUce Lingard ? " she exclaimed in horror
and agitation, "you cannot, dare not say that my son is a monk."
** Dear Mrs. Annesley, do not think of that ; remember only,
Y.
There were
^accepted was
developed the
ler aggravated
uinan disaster.
kn<; ;. It had
than he cared
t as to whether
ite when giving
i death, neces-
ere was still a
at the moment
lence upon the
his discredit.
IS intention of
Mrs. Annesley,
f continued to
2 transferred to
I and tact to be
on Mrs. Annes-
:ime.
here ? *
!ned at the ab-
r's part. " He
nesley, fixing a
ng inwardly.
g man entered
das come over
;ious."
^ith involuntary
r his accident ?
pped in a civi*
ed a religious
laimed in horror
son is a monk."
emember only,
RESTORATION.
893
that your son was dead and is alive again — that you will soon
look upon his face "
" Never," she cried, " never will I look upon the face of an
apostate, an idolator, a shaven, craven fanatic. Better, ten thou-
sand times better, he were in his grave — better anything than
this. He is no son of mihe — a Papist, a monk ! "
"Your only son, your only child," Alice said reproachfully.
The woman was human after all, and burst into a passion of
weeping painful to see, but less painful than the cold anger which
went before and made Alice shudder to her heart's core.
Suddenly she stopped and turned upon Alice. " I see it all
now. You did not love my son," she cried, " and that made him
hate his life."
** No," she replied, " I never pretended to love him, save as a
friend. I grieved for him when he was lost. I tried to supply
his place to you."
"You drove him to despair, you robbed me of my only child,"
she cried ; " the curse of a childless widow is upon you, Alice
Lingard."
* Do not say such things ; you will be sorry hereafter. The
shock has overpowered you, you do not know what you are say-
ing." Alice did not know how to comfort her, when she remem-
bered that Paul was, after all, dead to the outside world.
Mrs. Annesley was silent, smiling a bitter smile, and Alice
rose and left her for awhile, hoping that she would calm down.
She herself needed the relief of solitude after this emotional
strain, and going out into the garden, she sat beneath the yellow-
ing linden- trees and gave way to tears.
She accused herself of having driven Paul Annesley to despair,
she did not reflect that his own unbridled nature had done the
mischief. She had spoilt three men's lives, and been the cause
of guilt and misery unspeakable, though through no fault of her
own. She could not love more than one — at least at a time ;
and she certainly could not marry more than one. She had
loyally striven to suppress her own inclinations and make the
most worthy of the three happy, and she had made them all
miserable. She who could not bear to give pain, even when most
necessary and salutary, seemed fated to mar instead of blessing
the lives of the men who loved her. That these three man
should set their hearts upon her was hard, and surely no fault of
hers. It was not a^^ if she was so very beautiful, she reflected ;
Sibyl was infinitely prettier and more pleasing ; Sibyl charmed
wherever she went with her grace and sparkle ; but Sibyl did not
kindle these deep and terrible passions in men's hearts
«9« THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY,
Though she had certainly tried to bring herself to \Wf^n f« — ^u
of them in turn, until each in turn had F^eTunworth^^^^^ T^a
woman's regard, she had never tried to auraci either rLdyThe^
Sh ''^7"''!.^"'' T^* *° *^^"«^ herself and excuse others she
o? the T.^V^V' ^'' '^^'^'' '^' "^"^"^ -^» that she hadlne
ot the graceful and unconscious coquetry which was on*, nf ^Sf
distmguishing charms; in her smal?est aSs as weK tho^g'h
?W T i'-^j'^P^'e^t/nd straightforward to a fault. ?t was frue
InrM ^ M '"''^"^^ ^^' ^^^'' t^ Edward too quickly, atTeast he
world would say too quickly; for Alice knew in her inmost heait
that women have less power than men to withho d theTr affec
tions, and not more, as a brutal conventionality assumes hat the
warbuTshetad""'" '" *^'^ ^"^^'" andTpontaneou
Sf frnm mJ? -^ T*"' *"^? *° ^P*'^^'^ ^im, had rather held
aloof from him m her proud self-reverence. Why then had all
this fallen upon her, why was she the evil fate in the three lives
which were each in a way so dear to her ? '^^^
When Alice had reached this point in her meditations the
tZ WH?""!^''^^'^ ^°'-^^ ^^*"^"^d to her mi^d " I seemel
that hardl" She saw the shepherd's weather-beaten face ,v
ruggedness subdued by a sublime trust ; she thought of his hard
life and many sorrows; she saw him watciiinc his sheen .'nth^
wS^heTJ^K^^ '^^•^^^ ^u^'^*^^' -d "hi I^^m mbr'ance of
sL ro^ . J"^ ^!' "^"i"*^"* ^^' "^^"« "^"™"" in her heart
She rose and returned to Mrs. Annesley, bearing in mind the
desolation and disappointments of a life that was too nelr the down
ward verge to have much earthly hope, and prepared to sufTerTn
gratitude and upbraiding in silence. Prepared to suffer in-
Mrs. Annesley finally consented to receive her nrnrfmnl in ^««
doled with her on the unfortunate turn Paul's relgious feeSj
of tl^e rA'"1,™^?' 'T' observations on the zeS^prosS
Of the Romish Church, and of the esteem in wh.Vk ^^ r i?
perverts were held at th^ Vatican, using the namel^
firnH^ ^"^ ^^^™f ' '° P°'"t his moral and ado n hfs T^
Instantly on reading this, Mrs. Annesley beheld a vision • she^w
herself the mother of a cardinal, and relented. ' "*"
literaSre and hS' H ''Ju ''^'''' ^"^ "^^''^^ "^ controversial
es^Si and .a^^'^^'^ ^^. arguments which he heard chiefly S^
respectful and aggravating silence, passed some time beneath hS
Sa'nn f°°^' ^^ ^"'^^^ '^' ^^^^^ ^y sleeping on the floor and
using no Imen, but otherwise conducting himself like an average
Christian, save that he was always ^oin^ to -b-n-l on •-— -t ^?^
At ins instance, Edward was also'received by Kern Tu^t I'ut'
EY.
F to listen to each
iworthy of a good
her; ready as her
xcuse others, she
hat she had none
vas one of Sibyl's
well as thoughts
ult. It was true
lickly, at least the
her inmost heart
hold their affec-
ssumes ; that the
and spontaneous
had rather held
Vhy then had all
n the three lives
neditations, the
nd, " It seemed
beaten face, its
ght of his hard
is sheep in the
^membrance of
in her heart.
ing in mind the
) near the down-
red to suffer in-
)rodigal in con-
In this he con-
ligious feelings
3US proselytism
which English
s of Wiseman,
idorn his tale,
ision : she saw
^ controversial
eard chiefly in
e beneath his
i the floor and
ce an average
on week- days,
rn aunt. But
RESTORATION.
•95
she did not forgive him ; the true history of his part in her son's
virtual death made her hate him more bitterly than ever.
When Paul finally left England, his mother felt his loss even
more severely than when she had supposed him dead ; and, being
no longer sustained by the prospect of vengeance, she gradually
declined in health and died in the course of a few years.
Sebastian found most sympathy and comprehension in Edward.
Thoiigh the latter did not doubt that Paul had done wrong in
running away from the trouble he had brought upon himself, and
wrong in renouncing the duties and responsibilities of his life, he
saw that he could not turn back. Much as he disliked anything
approaching to asceticism, he was inclined to think that a nature
so fiery and so destitute of self-control needed the iron discipline
of monastic rule, as a confirmed drunkard needs the restraint of
an asylum, and the habit of total abstinence. Moderation seemed
impossible to such a man. But these 'enient views of monasticism
were spasmodic and were held generally after conversations in
which the friar had spoken with burning and eloquent enthusiasm
of the joys of self-renunciation, of his hopes and aspirations, of
the prospects held out to him of more active employment, in
which his medical knowledge and other talents would be devoted
to the service of men ; and explained to him that friars differed
from monks in combining the active with the contemplative life,
a fact which was hard to drive into his obtuse Protestant under-
standing.
At those times it was impossible even for a practical hard-headed
Englishman not to see that Friar Sebastian was a nobler being
than Paul Annesley j though in cooler moments he thought with
pity and regret of his lost friend, Paul, and was inclined to wish
him back again, faults and all.
After an interview which Paul had with Alice in the Manor
garden one day, he gave up strivf g to banish her from his
thoughts, and suffered her to remain there till the last hour of
his life. He was surprised and glad to find himself quite calm in
her presence, and recognized that the terrible yearning which once
so distracted him was quite dead, and succeeded by a pure and
tender regard, so free from selfishness and so content with ab-
sence, that even one vowed to give up all human ties need fear
nothing from it. He gave her a little crucifix, which she wore ever
after, and his face at the end of that interview had a more
humanly happy look than it had worn for years. When he re-
turned to his community he was so changed by this painful but
wholesome contact with the world that the br.^'hren scarely knew
him. From that time all austerities not im; d by the rule o«'
396
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLBV.
being ever knew ''*"""' ""' """^ >><= had taken, no human
.'"™resr^:!;.th'e''nS^^^^ ^^"^^ —
tsMsmm
and tenTr h°irt "?? ±1 LT"* "Ti "O"^"' "'«> ' ™™
P^^rees.whi4r;i:rX^'nrin"dtfeL^Sri'S^^^^
teet— feet still young though so wearipH hw fL »*! . ^
had trodden. ^ weaned by the stony mazes they
Sibyl and Mr. Kickman had taken the breaking of her eneaee-
RESTORATION. ^^^
ment with Gervase more gently than she could have honed • Sihvl
had even said that she always rerard.-cl fh^ ^ "^'^e nopea , Sibyl
fieured wifh rTn;? J ^ ■.'■ ^''^^^ ^'^^^ ^as doubly trans-
and he went into the meadow instead of an;n„ t^ fk 1^ '
he hfnS'p 7 scarcely met since the stormy evening when
i u ^^i ^^"^ ^ message, and thus he had not heard the Tfnr^
she had then prom sed to tell him t^ l^ a u ^ ^^^'^
me why you wtre so srornfni t" •-,. i5-„ fj P?"^^" . f I'ls' tell
39t
THE REPROACH OF A '^NESLEY,
w
Alice looker distresHcd and turned her tace towards the sunset
behind the black hills, till her features were transfused and
ethereahzed by the lucid glow.
•'I wronged you," she replied, "and owe you some amends.
Otherwise I would not speak of it."
He did not like this distressed look. " Why," he asked, " should
you hesjtate to expose one of the greatest scoundrels that ever
breathed? Alice, you don't mean to say that you ever cartd for
that- "; he was obliged to stop for want of a sufficiently powerful
epithet. "I know that he schemed and worried you into an
engagement."
"I cared for h m very much, and I promised his mother on her
death-bed, but I never loved him," she replied.
•• Well, poor fellow I after all it must have been a great temp-
tation. My dearest Alice, you are quite sure that you never loved
nini ? he added with a relapse to anxiety.
Alice smiled, and Edward's heart again admitted extenuating
circumstances in Gervase's case. She then gave him a brief but
complete narrative of the manner in wh'cl Gervase had blinded
her, had twisted circumstances and misrepresented events until
she had been obliged, in spite of an underlying inner conviction
to the contrary, to accept Edward's imputed guilt as truth. And
whenever Edward's indignation rose to boiling-point, a look in
Alice's face was sufficient to make him regard the delinquent with
charity. But when, at his earnest request, she told him of the
steps by which she had gradually been led into the engagement,
Gervase once more became a villain of the deepest dye.
"Buf ?fter all," he commented at the close of the recital, "he
had a more thorough and lasting feeling for you than could be
expected of such a scoundrel. And Paul cared only too mur h
for you. It was more like infatuation with them ; not thai
either of them ever loved you as I do and did from the v r
first. It is strange that a woman should have such power, ae
reflected after a pause ; " it is not as if you were so unusuallv
beautiful" '
*' Really , " Alice commented with an amused smile.
" Because, he added, surveying her with unmoved eravitv.
"you are not. * "
Yet the Au'- ^"o;^ h';.> to-night was not the worn and sor-
rowful woma? .It '..Tf ilion he broight the tidings that Paul was
alive. The b^^u =y f routh, with something that youth, with all
Its graces, cannot hav j, had returned to the face upturned to him
With a serious sweetness full of latent laughter. She was touched
m turn by the change which had recently come over his face~
RESTORATION.
«99
the sunset
sfused and
ic amends.
;d, "should
Is that ever
;r cart d for
ly powerful
ou into an
ther on her
jreat temp-
lever loved
ixtenuating
I brief but
ad blinded
/ents until
conviction
uth. And
a look in
quent with
tim of the
igagement,
jcital, "he
1 could be
too much
; not thh(
n the V r
)ower, iitf
unusually
d gravity,
and sor*
: Paul was
h, with all
ed to him
IS touched
m face—
the grim defiant look of late years was gone, the old genial ex-
pression replaced it. Not Ulysses under the touch of Athene
was more brightened than Edward now the burden had fallen from
him. riiis <;hanged look, with many subsequent hints from him,
helped hei to guess what he had suffered in silence, and made her
feel that no devotion on her part would be too great to atone for
what had gone by.
'• No," he continued gravely, " it is not beauty alone. If you
do but turn your head, one's heart must follow, and when you
apeak, it goes to the very centre of one's heart"
" And yet you wanted to marry Sibyl ? "
" Dear Sibyl ! That rascal might have let his sister alone.
He persuaded me that her happiness was in danger, and that she,
as well as others, had mistaken the nature ot ray friendship, and I
was fool enough to believe him. Sibyl is one of the sweetest
creatures I ever knew, Alice."
" It appears, after all, that you would have preferred Sibyl,"
Alice srid, smiling.
" Dear Sibyl," he repeated gravely. " But," he added, turning
to Alice again with a bright smile, " she won't have me. She told
me that I was in love with you. She advised me to wait. She
said you were worth waiting for. She ought to know."
Alice turned her face away and was silent.
" I think no one will ever know what she is worth," she said
at last.
" We shall never have a better friend," he added ; and Alice
echoed his words in her heart.
The sun sank ; all the glory of its setting melted into a warm
violet tinge, filling the western sky, and making the dark hillside
show darker than ever against the light ; every sound was hushed
save 'he tinkle of a distant sheep-bell; cottage windows glowed
warmly in the village, showing where firesides were cheerful and
suppers spread ; white rime-crystals were beginning to sparkle on
the cold grass, the stars had the keen brilliance ofe frost ; wise
people were indoors ; yet these twc lingered beneath the pines,
unconscious of cold, until even Hubert's long-suffering came to an
end, and his displeased ^ hines recalled them from beatified
cloudland to the solid earth.
Love begins in the warm morning of life, but does not end
with it; though the music of birds is hushed, though evening
chills come and hair is whitened by the frost of years, it is still
warm and bright in the hearts of true lovers ; there the sun always
shines and the birds continually sing.
CHAPTER VI.
CONCLUSION.
"Shart of putten' of 'em underground, you caint never be
zure on em, Raysh Squire observed concerning the re-appear-
ance of Paul Annesley, against whom he had secretly borne a
grudge ever smce the irregular and unceremonious manner in
which he left the world. « Once you've a got vour veet of solid
earth atop of 'em, you med warnt they'll bide quiet. Buryen of
mankind is a ongrateful traade, but I hreckon there aint a surer
traade nowhere. Ay, a dead zure traade is buryen," he added
not intending the grim pun.
These cheerful observations were part of Raysh Squire's con-
tributions to the hilarity of the wedding party assembled in the
great kitchen at Arden Manor to celebrate the marriage of Reuben
txale— who, after several winters spent in Algeria in the service of
young Mrs. Reginald Annesley, had outgrown his consumptive
tendency— with one of Daniel Pink's daughters, a housemaid at
the Manor.
"Right you be, Raysh," replied Mam Gale, "'taint often work
of yourn has to be ondone. They med be ever so naisy avore
they bides still enough when you've adone with 'em." *
"Pretty nigh so sure as marryen, your work is, Raysh," John
Nobbs struck in with a view to divert conversation to Uvelier
channels.
" Ay, marryen agen," continued Raysh, irritated by the assump-
tion that marrying was not his work, "tain't nigh so zure as
buryen ; we've a-marned many a man twice over in Arden church
I here s wold Jackson, you minds he. Master Nobbs ? Vive times
we married en in Arden church, vive times over, to vive vine
women buried alongside of en out in lytten. Dree on 'em was
widows."
" I don't hold with so much marrying," observed the bride-
groom, to whom these remarks were distasteful. " Once in a
lifetime IS quite enough for any man," he added with a profound
sigh ana a serious air.
♦♦ What ! tired of it aready, Hreub ? " inquired his grandmother ;
CONCLUSION.
301
t never be
: re-appear-
:ly borne a
manner in
;et of solid
Buryen of
lint a surer
he added,
luire's con-
led in the
of Reuben
: service of
•nsumptive
isemaid at
jften work
lisy avore,
^sh," John
to livelier
e assump-
D zure as
jn church,
i^'ive times
vive vine
1 'em was
he bride-
>nce in a
profound
^
and there was much laughter and rough joking at Reuben's
expense.
" Marryen," observed Raysh, when people had exhausted their
mirth and were again amenable to eloquence, " is like vrostes
and east winds, powerful onpleasant it es, but you caint do with-
out it in the long hrun."
" Come, Raysh," interrupted an old bachelor and noted mis-
ogynist of at least thirty, " speak for yourself."
" Yes, speak for yourself," echoed Reuben.
"You caint do without it," continued Raysh, scornfully ignor-
ing these interruptions, " if you wants to make zure of a ooman.
A wivveren sect they be. Shart of gwine to church with 'em
and changing of their name, you caint be sure on 'em. Chop
hround at the last minute they will. Look at Mrs. Annesley,
Miss Lingard that was. John Cave had a-turned a coat hready
for me to marry her to Mr. Gervase, and I'd a-bought a bran-new
neck-cloth, and everything hready, and the church scoured from
top to bottom. That was vour year ago come next Middlemass.
Darned if I ever zeen Mr. Merten look onluckier than a did that
day. ' Wedden,' he ses, ' there aint a-gwine to be no wedden,
Raysh.' That was the first I yeard of it. Zimmed as though he'd
a-knocked all the wind out of me when a zaid that. The ways of
the women volk is that wivveren the best on 'em. A ondeniable
sect is womankind, a ondeniable sect."
Here John Nobbs, who was at the head of the table, working
steadily away at a mighty sirloin, observed that both parties had
done better in the matrimonial lottery than if that wedding had
taken place. * Misself," he said, " I never giv my consent to
that match. 'They'll never goo in double harness,' I ses to
misself, many a time when I zeen 'em together."
" Ah, Master Nobbs, I don't go with you," said Jacob Gale.
" Mr. Gervase have a looked too high. Tis agen nature for a man
to look up to his wife. I^dy Sharlett comes of one of the highest
vamilies in the land, and I warnt she'll make en mind that."
" Mis'able proud is Lady Sharlett," said the gardener. " She
was out in gairden a good hour one day, and she took no more
:ount of me than if I'd a ben a malleyshag."*
Here the discussion of Lady Charlotte's peculiarities was cut
short by the entrance of Mr. Rickman and Sibyl, accompanied
Dy Edward Annesley and Alice, the latter carrying the two-year-
jld heir of Gledesworth, whose birthday was being celebrated by
k visit to Arden iTxanor, and a grc"it urinrcmg oi nsalins ensueu.
dmother ;
* Caterpillar.
303
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
accompanied by speech-making, in which Raysh Squire outdid
himself, and the bridegroom endured a purgatory of stammers
blushes, and breakdowns. ' *
" I cannot imagine," Sibyl remarked, when the ceremony was
over and the family had left the kitchen for the garden, where
they disposed themselves on varioi. seats beneath the apple-trees,
now in bloom, "why men, however sensible they may be, always
look so foolish when being married."
"Don't you think they have cause, Sibyl?" Edward asked:
"that a secret consciousness of their own folly "
"Folly, indeed ! " laughed Sibyl. "Now the brides would do
well to look silly or else sad. Yet they never do. The shyest
girl in the humblest class always wears a subdued air of triumph
at her marriage. Human beings certainly are the oddest crea-
tures."
Here Mr. Rickman expressed a wish, after a long dissertation
concerning the gradual evolution of marriage rites from primitive
times till now, with some remarks upon such customs as the bride
presenting the bridegroom with a whip and the throwing of rice,
to see this triumphant look upon Sibyl's face before long.
^ I' My dear papa, don't you think I look triumphant enough as
It IS ? " she replied. " I exult in freedom ; let others hug their
chains. Besides, I have you to tyrannize over, so what do I want
with a husband to plague ? "
She looked radiant enough, if not triumphant, as she stood
beneath the crimson apple-blossoms, with the dappled sun-lights
dancing over her, tossing the laughing boy above her curly head,
her dark eyes sparkling and the rich tints glowing in her cheeks.
" Marriage," she would sometimes say, in answer to such observa-
tions as this of Mr. Rickman's, " is not one of my foibles. I like
my brother-men and cannot bring myself to make any of them
miserable. And i like Miss Sibyl Rickman and her peace of mind,
and I like to write what I think, which I could not do if married.
Besides, what in the world would people do if there were no old
maids ? "
Edward and Alice knew that they would have been the poorer
for her marriage, though they often wished it. Both were certain
that she had conquered the early feeling which at one time threat-
ened to make shipwreck of her happiness, and this certitude made
their constant intercourse with Sibyl very happy.
Alice had wished not to live at Gledesworth. She did not care
for the state and circumstance of the great house, and was op-
pressed by its traditions. She would rather have left the property
with Paul, to be absorbed by his community, or passed it on to
uire outdid
f stammers,
remony was
rden, where
apple-trees,
^ be, always
ard asked;
s would do
The shyest
of triumph
ddest crea-
lissertation
n primitive
\% the bride
ing of rice,
mg.
enough as
1 hug their
t do I want
she stood
I sun-lights
:urly head,
ler cheeks.
:h observa-
es. I like
ly of them
:e of mind,
if married,
ere no old
the poorer
2re certain
ime threat-
tude made
d not care
d was op-
I property
d it on to
CONCLUSION.
303
the next brother, but Edward soon convinced her that such
schemes were impracticable, that responsibilities cannot be evaded,
and finally that it was their duty to live, as much as his military life
permitted, at Gledesworth, which had now become a charming
home, the resort of a wide circle of friends and kinsfolk.
What with the provision for Paul's mother, and the slice taken
out for the Dominicans, the Gledesworth estate was so diminished
that they were not overburdened with riches, and had to use some
economy to meet the charges entailed by the possession of land.
As for the hereditary curse, Annesley laughed that to scorn, and
had many a merry battle of words with Sibyl upon the subject.
The distich,* he argued, proved, if anything, its own falsity, since
Reginald Annesley's affliction ought to have broken the spell,
which nevertheless continued to work upon two successive heirs
after him. But Sibyl maintained that Paul has broken the spell
in the Dominican convent. Very likely Reginald had been im-
mured in a brick building, she would affirm with profound gravity.
" Your godson, Sibyl," Edward said, taking the boy from her
arms, " will die when it pleases God, not before. And if he does
not live to inherit Gledesworth, it will not be because a widow
cursed his ancestors centuries ago. It may be from his own fault
or folly, indeed, though he is too like his mother to have many
faults. Poor Reuben's children, I grant you, may inherit a curse."
And so he thought, will Gervase's, but theirs will be the curse of
a crooked nature.
Gervase Rickman was then actually walking along the grey-
green ridge of down which rose behind the Manor against the
pale April sky. Business had called him unexpectedly to
Medington, which he still represented, and, leaving his carriage
in the high road, with instructions to wait at the Traveller's
Rest, he descended the slope and walked over the springy turf,
looking down upon Arden and its familiar fields and trees, and
upon the very garden where Alice and Sibyl were making
cowslip-balls for the baby Annesley. The changeable April day
clouded over as he walked and gazed ; the blush of vivid green
died from the trees and copses ; the plain darkened and the
shadows in the hill-sides deepened. The song birds were silent j
the melancholy wail of a plover drew his attention to a single
bird, fluttering as if wounded before him, and trying in its simple,
pathetic cunning to draw his attention away from the nest which
that very cry betrayed.
• " Whanne ye lord ys mewed in stonen cell*,
Gledesworthe thaune bhalle brake hys spella.*
304
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
^^^J'ft t'^'' March day when he waited on that down out-
side the Traveller's Rest, for Alice, he had thought much of
to ftis own ends. Ihen he was an obscure country lawyer
nursing an ur.suspected ambition in the depths of his heart'
Now his name was m every one's mouth ; he had climbed more
Lfnir^ f P '°''''^' '^^ ^^'^^' ^'^ '"t^^ded to scale. The
minister whose patronage had so early been his was now in
office He had approved himself to his party as a usefu7and
almost indispensable instrument, particularly by the services he
Liberals to'!'" the last general election which restore? the
Liberals to power. His financial skill was beginning to be
recognized, his name had weight in financial society, which K
affected. Everythmg he touched turned to gold By his
marriage with Lady Charlotte he was connected with half the
peerage and was son-in-law to a minister. Lady Charlotte it i^
shemlh^r 'k'^^^^""^^'^^^^^ ^^^"' "°^ so beautiful as
she might have been nor was she well-dowered. She was known
to have a tongue and suspected of having a temper ; but she was
a woman who knew the world both of politics and of society and
was the most useful wife a man in his position could possibly
a .^ ^^u ^"'^"^?' Sreat as it was, was being more rap^y
But to-day he no longer believed in the omnipotence of wiU
and energy. He looked down upon the roofs of Arden and
thought of the severe check his will had received there he
thought, too, of the unexpectedly favourable conjunction of affairs
for him m other respects, and acknowledged another power
which he called destiny. What would the first Napoleon have
centurJ'? '""f ^ ' V?''^"^ England at this end of the nineteenth
century? If he had missed the Crimea and the Mutiny he
frthnr"-'"'°i.^'^'l^^^-ry ««^^^^' ^^d he befn i7t'ime
^n:^:'no^:'j:r''' '^^^^ '^^" ^^^^^-^ - --"-^
Beyond the unseen sea behind the hills rising before Rickman's
luSn'' wTTi """"'r'^ ^y " h°^*^^^ ^^'"y ^"d torn by revc>
lution. Why had not destiny placed him there, where the hour
was come, but not the man to rule it? An eLger fancy could
fhT'?nt''';*^'->'-°^'^"'^^\^°f^^^ ^^^ fitfull/ raging Vyond
lif^Z'^ !.fg;i.!f ' °!^^-^?^ r^' waters he actuary hLd
ucm I ^ngiiaii guii5, jircu only m peaceful practice not at
masses of living men. There, in the world's beLt'ful ^leaure
city, an agony beyond all the agonies of war was slo«Jy wSg
CONCLUSION.
down out-
t much of
d mandcmd
ry lawyer,
his heart,
ibed more
:ale. The
IS now in
iseful and
ervices he
stored the
ing to be
which he
By his
1 half the
lotte, it is
autiful as
^as known
It she was
:iety, and
possibly
e rapidly
he world,
:e of will
den and
here; he,
of affairs
T power,
Jon have
neteenth
itiny, he
in time
excellent
ickman's
by revo-
he hour
:y could
beyond
y heard
:, not at
pleasure
wearing
305
itself out through these pleasant spring months, an agony then
hidden within the walls of Paris beleaguered by her own children,
and never fully to be known. Gervase Rickman gave a passing
thought to that tragedy and foresaw the flames and indiscriminate
slaughter in which it was before long to terminate, when the
Seine literally ran with French blood shed by French hands, the
tragedy of an unbridled mob fitfully swayed by one or two fanatics
in possession of a great city, and he wondered at the weakness
of those who ought to have ruled.
Though he still believed more in men than in institutions, and
scorned weakness above everything, he did not believe as he had
done that day by the Traveller's Rest ; his ambition had now
risen from the vague of golden vis^^ns into the clearness of
reality, and he could see how low was the highest summit within
his reach. Yet it was the sole object of his life, he cared for
nothing else. The human side of his character was paralyzed on
the day when he lost Alice. It was not only that all his better
instincts and nobler aspirations died the moment his life was cut
off from all tender feelings and sundered from the purer influences
of hers, but in losing her he had to a certain extent lost Sibyl,
and drifted away from those earlier and stronger ties which begin
with life itself. Sibyl, the second good genius of his life, was
never again on the old terms with him. Whenever they met
there was an invisible, impassable barrier between them ; perhaps
she knew all and despised him, as, he knew, Alice despised
him.
All »^is life long, through wealth and power and gratified
ambition, he was to bear about the heavy pain of having lost
not Alice only, hut her respect, of having won not her love but
her bit«:er scorn. He looked down upon the Manor, where sh,e
was so frequent a guest that he never went there himself without
a previous intimation, lest they should meet, as it was tacitly
understood they could not, and he yearned for the old days to
live again, that he might act differently. Since he was fated not
to win her heart, which he saw clearly now was beyond human
volitios, he might still have been able to look in her face and
see the old tender friendly look in her eyes; and yet had he
remained true to his better s he could never have succeeded
as he was to succeed when li.cd from scruples and rid of the
importunities of conscience. He would have lost the world aqd
saved his sou! alive. -
For some moments the old yearning returned with such force
at the sight of the pleasant paths in which they had wandered
together, that he thought he would have been content to remain
20
3o6
THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY.
all his life in that quiet spot, an obscure country lawyer, yi'uY
Alice by his side, with his bid father to care for and Sibyl to tak<
pride in. Not that he did not now take great pride in Sibyl and
her increasing literary reputation, but it would have been different
if the dark shadow had not come between them. But Lady
Charlotte, who had been his wife four months, did not like Arden.
Mr. Rickman bored her, she was afraid of Sibyl and looked down
upon them all ; he knew that she would put them farther and
farther asunder and himself farther and ever farther from his
nobler nature.
He leant upon the gate by which he was standing with Alice
on that summer evening, when he uttered those two fatal words,
"quite right," and reviewed all that episode in his life, the
inclination first springing from a sordid thought of Alice's fort^ine,
then fostered by the charm of her daily society, and strengthened
by the strong purpose with which he pursued every aim, until it
became a ruling passion, the frustration of which tore away one-
half of his character. He had played skilfully and daringly, and
he had lost through no folly, for who could dream that a man
would rise from the dead to frustrate him ? Will, skill, and fate
were to him the sole rulers of things human. He did not recog-
nize that nothing can ^tand which is not built upon the eternal
foundations of truth and justice.
Nevertheless, as he continued to gaze on the old paternal
fields in whioh he had passed his boyhood and youth, a vague
regret for what he might have been, had he been only true to him-
self, rose and mingled with the piercing sense of loss and moral
humiliation, which never wholly left him, and he turned from
Arden and walked on. Now his face was towards Gledesworth,
which lay unseen behind the down, and he gave one jealous
passionate thought to the life Alice was living there with
Edward Annesley, who was now no more shunned or shadowed
by the reproach of an unproved accusation, and yet another
thought to the strange death in life of Paul Annesley.
And just then the coast guns boomed over the peaceful
waters again, recalling his thoughts to the tragedy beyond the
sea'. The group in the garden below heard the same low thunder,
and Sibyl made some jesting allusion to the Annesley gun, which
had just been triumphantly tested at Shoeburyness ; and Edward
thought of the deadly earnest with which French cannon were
beinf fired on the other side of that sunnv sea^
They did not know that, just then, under the walls of Paris,
while some men wounded after a repulse were being placed in
an ambulance, a shot from the fort behind them struck a friai
lawyer, with
sibyl to take
in Sibyl and
een different
But Lady
t like Arden.
looked down
farther and
er from his
g with Alice
fatal words,
liis life, the
ce's fortjine,
itrengthened
aim, until it
■e away one-
laringly, and
that a man
cill, and fate
d not recog-
the eternal
old paternal
nth, a vague
true to him-
s and moral
turned from
rledesworth,
one jealous
there with
jr shadowed
yet another
le peaceful
beyond the
ow thunder,
' gun, which
ind Edward
annon were
Us of Paris,
ig placed in
ruck a friai
CONCLUSION.
Vfl
who was in the act of lifting the last man, and killed him on the
spot.
The wounded man groaned when his living support gave way,
but other hands raised him, and the ambulance moved away from
the dangerous spot, leaving the dead man behind in their haste.
He was one of those Dominicans, who, from the first outbreak of
the war, had been in the field with the French armies. In dis-
engaging the slain friar from the man he was lifting, they had
turned him so that he lay face upwards, his arms outstretched as
ir the restful slumber of youth, his white dress stained crimson
over the breast, his eyes closed to the spring sunshine, his scarred
face wearing the sweet and peaceful smile often seen in the soldier
killed in battle.
Thus Paul Annesley's troubled soul passed heroically to its
rest.
Though they could not know what was happening beyond the
sea, a vague sadness in keeping with the sudden overclouding of
the spring day filled the hearts of those to whom the slain man
had been dear, a sadness which passed like the cloud itself.
Even Gervase Rickman felt the passing gloom, and shaking off
the gentler memories of his life, and walking quickly over the
sunny turf where the scattered sheep were feeding, he reached
the sign-post beneath which he was standing when Edward
Annesley came singing by years ago. There his carriage was
waitmg by the Traveller's Rest, and he sprang into it and was
quickly whirled out of sight.
The little group at Arden Manor were tranquilly sitting
beneath the apple-trees. Mr. Rickman, forgetful of coins and
antiquities, was patiently weaving daisy-chains for little Paul,
who called him grandfather, and whom he loved more than the
little Rickmans who came after him ; Alice was relating the
family news— the expected visit of her mother-in-law and
Harriet to Gledesworth, the probability that Major Mcllvray
and Eleanor would follow them ; Wilfrid's chances of promotion
and his intention to marry ; the appointment of Jack, the youngest
Annesley, to a ship, and the recent visit they had paid to Mrs,
Walter Annesley, who was growing weaker day by day; the
probability of Edward's retiring from active service.
The shadows lengthened and the Annesleys went back to
their pleasant home. Sibyl returned to the wedding party, led
the dancing and listened to the singing, and saw the bride and
bridegroom start for their new home at the falling of the dusk.
When she was sitting by the hearth with her father that night
she mused on the different ways in which human lives are ordered.
3o8
THE REPROACH OF ANN ES LEY.
As days of brilliant sunshine and blue skies are rare in England,
so are lives of full and unclouded happiness in this world ; but
there are many sweet neutral-tinted days full of peace, in which
plants grow and birds sing, and the clouds break away into soft
glory at sunset. Sibyl's life was like one of these serene days j
it was happy and by no means unfruitful
THE END.
9Z£K
ire rare in England,
in this world ; but
of peace, in which
ireak away into soft
these serene days j
]
r