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«f

THl

A LIFE INTEREST

MRS. ALEXANDER

AUTHOR OF

••THE WOOING O'T," "AT BAY," "BY WOMAN'S WIT,"
"MONA'S CHOICE," ETC.

TORONTO :
THE NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY.

A LIFE INTEREST.

CHAPTER I.

RESUROAJ4.

REGENT'S PARK was looking coldly bright one clear March
afternoon, bright with the first spring sunshine, which is more
glaring than genial, while a keen north-east wind i)layed spitefully
through the trees, crisping the water within the enclosure int<^)
shuddering ripples, and searching out every cranny in the wraps of
the children and nurses who were exercising within its exclusive
bounds.

It made small impression, however, on a tall distinguished-looking
elderly gentleman who was advancing at a good pace along the road
which crosses the Broad Walk near Park Square. He was erect
and vigorous, though white-haired and somewhat worn in face, with
fine features and dark haughty eyes, still fladhing keenly under
thick grizzled brows. A long overcoat of line cloth wrapped him
from neck to heel, and from his glossy hat to his neat boots he looked
the incarnation of pride and prosperity.

As he approached the gate which admits to the Broad Walk, a
man who had been resting on a seat close by, his hands deep in his
trowser pockets, rose lazily and strolled through it. Turning left in
a purposeless manner, he paused as his eye.s fell tni tlie advancing
figure. A greater contrast to himself could not be imagined ; and
it seemed to strike Mm, for a mocking smile curled his lips, while a
gleam of recognition played over his couittenance.

He, too, was above middle height and dark eyed, but his figure
Avas bent and his eyes dull. A napless frock coat, white at the
seams and greasy at the collar, over which bulged a C(jloured hand-
kerchief, was buttoned tightly across his chest. HiaJ)aggy trowsers
hung loosely over down-trodden boots, one of which was burst.
The whole aspect of the man betokened seedy helplessness. More-
over the style of his shabby garments was decidedly un-English,
and he wore a large picturesque felt hat considerably out of shape.

He stepped slowly forward, and stopped exactly in front of the
advancing aristocrat, who came to a sudden halt. A look of angry
surprise changed to a look of disgusted recognition as he gazed at

A LIFE INTEREST.

the face before him. " H.a ! " he exclaimed, ** so you have oome
back to life. I was told you had paid one debt, which even you
could not evade." Tliere wan indescribable scorn in his high-bred
tones.

''I have renewed my bill at an indefinite date, and suppose there
is something still for me to do or I should not be here."

' ' You will certainly have a prolonged lease of life if it depends
on your completing any work ! Now why have you stopped me I I
washed my hajjjG of you years ago."

** You can be at no loss for the answer — I am penniless and indis-
rosed to go into the workhouse. I therefore take this opportunity
of consulting you before coming to a decision."

"Money, eh ? that of course ! But if I begin that game, I see
no end of it now that you have turned up in a worse condition than
ever."

The other bowed. '* Very good ! It is to be the workhouse then.
I will not detain you any longer ; " and he stood aside.

"Look here, you unfortunate devil "began his \voll-dressed

mterlocutor.

"Stop. I stand no bad language from you or any man," inter-
rupted the seedy man, a sudden tire kindlin<^ in his eyes. " More-
over you are or ought to be a gentleman. Now go on."

"Do you think you could keep a promise ? " asked the other with
a look of surprise.

" Upon my soul I don't know. I have kept some promises very
faithfully. It depends on the nature of the promise."

" On certain conditions 1 am disposed to help you. Where can I
find you 'i "

" My movements are erratic. I had better call on you."

" No ; I will not have you at my house. Give rae a rendezvous
somewhere out of the way."

The other unbuttoned his shabby coat, took out a letter, removed
the envelope, and with a stumpy pencil wrote a couple of lines upon
it, remarking, " It is hardly so retined as ' JVIivart's ' or as grand as
' Claridge's,' but it will do."

"Whereabouts is this "'Rising Sun,' Portobello Street?" asked
the elder man, looking at the address with a doubtful expression.

" It is off Edge ware Road, right-hand side ; ].'retty high up ; any
cab driver will take you there. I will wait for you to-morrow from
three to live."

"I suppose this name," looking at the paper, "is known at the
tavern ? "

" Yes, well enough for our purpose."

" Well, I'll not fail; meantime take this." " This " was a plump
yellow sovereign.

"Thanks," coolly pocketing the coin ; " this will keep me going
till w© meet. One word more — your son ? "

A LIFE INTEREST.

rendezvous

" He ia remarkably \irell, and was married the day before yester-
day," was the reply, accompanied by a grim smile,

**Ah!" returned the shabby wayfarer — a long-drawn "ah!"
*' Then till to-morrow." He raised his (juecr hat with a comic air
of fashion, and turning, retraced his steps, walking slowly towards
the Zoological Gardens.

He soon halted, faced round and looked after his distinguished
acquaintance, who had disappeared.

* * What a capital coat the old fellow has ! " he murmured. " How
deucedly unjust and uneven fortune is ! She never thinks of strik-
ing a balance ! indeed, no female ever does. There is that old fellow
warmed within with the primest food and wine the world can ^ive
and thatched without with double-milled superfine cloth, while I
am shivering in threadbare shoddy and unprovided with a mouthful
of fuel to keep up the inner tire. However, luck hasn't quite
deserted me. 1 don't think, low as I have fallen, I could have made
up my mind to thrust myself on old ' Pomp and State ' in his own
particular marble * halls ; ' but meeting him here under the free vault
of heaven, it would have been flying in the face of Providence to
lose my opportunity."

He took out the gold piece he had just received, and gazing at it
with a smile, said half-aloud, " Our Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria,
never did your simple face strike me with such a sense of loveliness
as it does at this moment ! " He resumed his j)rogre88 northward.
'* What can that old buffer want with me ? " he mused. *' Old 1 not
so very much older than myself, only that he never was young, must
have been about fifty when he was short-coated, in spite of having
travelled on a road of i elvet all his life. He looks worn, yet my
picture is like him still, or he is like it. A capital portrait, but
indifferently paid. What can I possibly have to promise him i what
condition can he wish to impose ? Well , 1 am not too particular, I
stand pretty well alone ; 1 don't think I need mind anything he
would pr<tpose. There used to be a decent tavern near the Park in
Camden Town, but ten or eleven years bring many changes. I'll
find borne place to dine in. Dine I the idea is magnificent. I can't say
I have dined ,s"nce I revisited the shores of Albion ; and there are
more sovs. where this came from. Now to make the best of it."

He carefully buttoned up his coat again, and walked with increas-
ing speed through Gloucester Gate. Passing the "York and
Albany " as too grand to welcome a customer in his plight, he found
a less pretentious hostelry in a street beyond, where his discrim-
inating orders were carefully carried out, for this homeless wayfarer
had still a possession le^t, of which neither fate nor his own reck-
lessness had robbed h' j— an effective and attractive manner. ^

He was waited on with attention, lingering long over a substantial
repast and some excellent ale. Having tipped the waitress hand-
somely, according to the standard of the place, he smoked a cigarette

A LIFB INTERE8T.

while reading a weekly paper, aiul finally he sallied forth to make
his way to the scene of his exptcted interview, to secure a room and
make due preparations for so iin{)ortant an occasion. Following the
road which skirts the Park he walked briskly towards St. John's
Wood.

As he passed a row of severely respectable houses with porticoes
and high steps, a well-dressed lady, followed by two children in
fanciful finery, was descending from one of them, evidently intend-
ing to enter a bougham which waited below.

Something in the group attracted our wanderer's attention ; he
passed on as the lady was giving some directions to a neat maid-
servant who held the carriage door open, while her pretty muslin
apron and pink cap ribbons fluttered in the wind ; and neither ho
nor his keen enquiring glance attracted her notice.

After taking a few steps he paused and turned abruptly, meeting
the carriage which was driving oflf.

'l"he lady had bent forward to arrange some wraps round the
children who sat opposite, and her profile showed clearly against the
glass of the closed window.

"By heaven!" muttered the observer, "it's herself; and in
nourishing circumstances. Is this good or ill luck 1 111, ]'m afraid ;
sho could never bring luck to any one." He stood still in deep
thought, and then walked back to the house he had just passed,
asc ended the steps with an air of decision and rang the visitors' bell.
TJie door was quickly opened by the smart maid-servant who had
just attended her mistress to the carriage,

"Does Mr. Smith live here — Mr. Algernon Smith ? " facing about
with an air of assurance.

"No," returned the girl, gazing at him uneasily, "not here."
"Why, what's the number?" — glancing at the door — "Seven?
Ay, seven it is ! Are you quite sure there is no gentleman of the
name of Smith boarding here ? Perhaps the lady of the house
might know. "

" We keep no boarders," exclaimed the servant indignantly as she
partially closed the door. * ' This is Mr. Ackland's house ; and Mrs,
Acland has just gone outdriving with the children."

" I am very sorry to trouble you '* — politely — " but perhaps you
could tell me if there is a Mr. Smith — Mr. Algernon Smith among
the inhabitants of this terrace ? "

" There's no such a name," she returned, shutting the door sharply
in his face.

He smiled and went on his way. But before he had cleared the
wel^kept, highly respectable houses, he stopjied again, and turning
to mok back he laughed aloud, a curious mocking laugh. The sound
of (ended the ear of a stately policeman, who was solemnly marching
on his beat. He cast an indignant and suspicious glance at the
obnoxious stranger, and then followed him steadily till he was lost
to sight in the St. John's Wood Roa<l railway station.

A LIxli INTEUKST.

B door sharply

Some hours later, as evoriiif,' clnsed in, a visitor of a very different
type alighted from a cab at the same door. A slight tall girl,
vvrap|>ed in a dingy waterproof, a knitted shawl that had once been
white tied loosely round her tliroat, and crowned by an unshapely
black straw hat bent over her eyes, sprang out before cabby could
descend, and running lightly up the steps, rang the bell. The door
was speedily opened, and the same neat damsel who had repulsed
the disreputable inquirer of the afternoon, gave a smiling welcome
to the new-comer.

*' Oh ! Miss Marjory ! missis didn't think you would be here till
near eight. And you've missed Master George ? He went away to
meet you near an hour ago. Come in by tlm dining-room fire ; you
must be cold."

"Then George did go to meet me?" cried the girl glancing up
with a rapid fkshing glance. " I thought he would."

" Do come in, miss ; I'll see to your luggage."

**I have but the one box, Susan — it is not heavy ; make the man
carry it up. I have just sixpence left over his fare, and I will give
it to him."

" Very well, miss," taking the money. "Do go indoors, it is
bitter cold. Master and missis are going out to dinner. Missis is
dressed, she'll be downstairs directly." So saying, Susan ran away
to subsidize the driver, while " Miss Marjory " walked slowly into
the dining-room, and paused by a very dull fire, which was rapidly
dying out. She removed her hat, laying it on the table. Hastily
pushing back some stray locks of hair behind hor ear^, she looked
round the familiar chamber.

Her distinctly marked brows met in a frown as she looked — a
frown not indicative of angoDso much as of a mental struggle. How
well she remembered nearly every article of fiirnifiiro in the childish
days, which seemed to her so long ago ; and that mark on the wall
at the end of the room, within which hung a dim brown and olive
green landscape, almost but not altogether hiding the darker space,
there used to be her own fragile-looking mother's picture — a simpering
shepherdess order of portrait it must be confes.sed, but lovely and
adorable to Marjory's girlish fancy. Her heart beat quick and tears
rose to her bright brown eyes, tears more of anger than of grief. " I
wish I could have stayed at school," she murmured. "It wasn't
quite the Garden of Eden, but I'm sure I was a better girl there
than I can be here. I ought not to be such a foal. I will try to be
wise and careful, then my poor father may like me better. I could
love him well ! How horrid it is to hate any one, it puts one so out

of tune, but I can't help it, I " The door opening put an end

to her reflections and arrested the progress of hor more prudent
tendencies. A lady entered, a tall stately lady, her figure moulded
on grand lines, rounded and full, but not stout ; her complexion
beautifully fair ; her hair of the li.^litrst brown, too pale to be

•?'

A LIPR INTER K8T.

golden ; straiKht landsonie features, the jaw a little heavy. The
only fault an ill ' >-.<litioned critic could point out was that the quiet
resolute eyes, eyebrows and lashes wanted colour. Her dress whs
of rich soft black silk and lace, and a small buckle of brilliants,
clasped a band of black velvet round her throat. Marjory stood
very still, giizini; .it this handsome apparition. "You are a little
before your tiiuo, my dear," said Mrs. Acland, advancing with out-
stretched hand and a pleasant smile ; "you cannot have taken the
train I told you ; I um Eorry you had no one to meet you." She
bent forward to kiss her step-daughter as she spoke. Marjory did
not rcfiiRe the salutation, but she turned her cheek to it.

"Well," continued Mrs. Acland, *' I hope you have returned
quite a reformed character, Marjory ! — no more sulks, eh ? or angry
scones, but submission, cheerful submission to proper authority, and
no more attempts to thrust yourself whore you are not wanted ! I
assure you, dear, both your father and I were very sorry to keep you
so lon«jj away from home ; but now you are older and wiser, you will
no doubt recogni/.e the sincere regard for your real interests which
actuates me. I uni always willing to be your friend."

As Marjory Hstciued to the soft measured accents in which Mrs.
Acland habitually spoke, the good resolutioiis of a moment bef(»re
melted away — as ice might before a fierce fire. She paused a
moment, and then said shortly, " Tharik you, I hope I am wiser."

" You will be hungry after your journey ? I have told Cutler to
j)ut your supper in the school-room. There is a fire there. Will
you take otY your cloak first ?"

"Yes ; but I am not hungry. 1 will wait and see my father."

" By all means ; but don't be too effusive — don't bedew his frdsh
shirt front with tears of joy."

Marjory flushed up, but resolutely refrained from words, and
almost immediately the door opened to admit Mr. Acland, a good-
looking, well-dressed, eminently respectable professional man.
'* Ha ! Marjory, glad to see you my dear," he exclaimed. Not too
wann a reception for a daughter after more than a year's absence,
but enough to stir Marjory's heart with an impulse to throw her
arms round his neck and tell him her joy at seeing him again. The
consciitusness that her step-mother's eyes were upon her, however,
chilled her into undemonstrativeness. She took his hand coldly and
scarcely returned his kiss. *' Very pleased to come home. Marge,
eh?"

" I was very happy at school," said Marjory in a low tone ; *' but
of course I am glad to be with you."

"And not with me?" said Mrs. Acland, smiling playfully.
Without waiting for an answer she went on, " There is the carriage,
we must go ; it is quite twenty minutes drive to the Pearsons'."
She wrapped herself up in a light-blue Indian shawl, embroidered
in silvery white silk, " T told cook to give you tea in the school*

A LIFE INTER K8T.

rtx^m," she repeated, " you will be more comfortable there. Good-
night, Marjory ; you can soo tho children boforu t.lioy go to bed."

" You'll tind them considerably grown," said Mr. Aclaiid ; *'they
will be glad to see you. 1 Iiope, niy dear,' a little pt-nipously,
'* that you will be a iiulp and an exauiplu to your little brother and
sister ; " and he stooped to kiss her.

Marjory threw her arms mund his neck us Mrs. Acland left the
room ; *' I am glad to be with ycni. Good-night."

" Take care, my dear, take care," settling hia necktie ; and he, too,
left the room.

Marjory looked after him with moist eyes and a mocking curl on
her lip. "An example, indued- me I " she murmured.

** VVould you like some warm water in your room, miss ? ' asked
the servant, who had returned after attending her master and mistress
to the carriage ; " I'll take it up as 1 go to dress. 1 have my leave
for the evening."

The tone was friendly but familiar, and struck Marjory's quick
ear. " Thank you, yes. It is a treat to have hot water after school.
1 suppose 1 am to have my old room ? "

"No, miss. Mrs. Acland wanted it for a diy-nursery now Master
Herbert and Miss Louie are getting on. You are to have the back
attic beside ours. I'm afraid you'll tind it very cold."

** 1 will go and take off my things at all events. Perhaps by that
time George will have returned ; " and Marjory ran hastily upstairs,
past the drawing-room and Mrs. A eland's elegantly furnislied bed-
room, the comfortable nurseries, and up a last narrow, ladder-like
flight, which led to the most elevated chambers.

8he looked sharply round at tho sloping roof, the uncurtained
window, tho little bedstead with its faded coloured coverlet, the
darned piece of carpet beside it, the old wash-stand, from which the
paint had been scrubbed, and worse than all, the small new, square,
unsteady looking-glass, which imparted a green tinge and slight
onesidedness to the objects it loHected.

Tears tilled her eyes ; at which, though they were unseen, she
blushed. " I am tired and hungry," she said to herself, " but I will
iiot make a fool of myself. And at any rate this wietched little room
is all iiiy own and there is gas. " Oh ! Susan, have you a match ? "

*' Yes," coming in a little breathless ; " and I'll get you a scrap
of candle. You know missis always turns ofl' tlie gas at tho main
herself at half- past ten."

" She always did."

" Tea is ready, miss. Mrs. Cutler — that's the new cook — has put
you up some cold meat ; " and Susan departed.

Marjory, having made her toilet rapidly, went down to the nursery.
On t)pening the door she saw a well-ordered, comfortable room, lit
by the glow of a bright fire, nurse at her needlework beside the
large table and a neat nur<ieiaaid sitting on the floor showing »

1 ■

"^^C

A LIFE IN'rp:REST.

picture-book to a little curly-headed rosy-cheeked boy, while a bright
dark-eyed girl about a year older was making tea for a gorgeous doll
who was sealed in her vwner's little armchair.

There was a pause, every one looked up, and then nurse slowly
rose, exclaiming, "Law, Miss Marjory"

" Don't you remember me, Louie 'i " said Marjory. The child left
her doll and came slowly forward, hanging her head shyly. " Why,
Louie ! don't you remember the games we used to have, and the boy
dolly I dressed for you ? "

liy this lime tlie cliild had drawn near ; then came a laugh, and
two chubby arms were chisped round Marjory's neck as she lifted
her. " Dun't you know me — who am 1 ? "

'* It's Marge," cried the little one, kissing her heartily. '* Shall
you stay now, Marge ? Will you make a dress for my new beautiful
iloll ! "

Marjory did not answer for an instant ; she huG^ged the child to
her heart with a sense oi the warmest orratitude for her sweet
welcoming kissos. Here was something to love her and to be
loved.

'•Good evening, nurse," she exclaimed, mastering her voice.
" How Louie has grown ! she is quite a great girl ; and Horhert,
too, why he hasn't anything of the baljy about him now. ' She
spoke for a few minutes to both children, f(jr the boj' soon clamoured
for notice and asked if she hadn't brought him si.miething, and then
promising to see them early in the morning she went away to the
depths of the basement eager to see her own brother, the only
creature who really belonged to her.

When she opened the school-room door, a slight boy of fifteen or
sixteen, with dark-brown hair, laughing eyes and long thin hands
hanging far out of his sleeves, who was standing before the tire,
sprang forward to meet her, " W^hy, M<trjory, you gave me a start,
1 can tell you, when I couldn't find you at the station ! You ;ire
such a queer little thing, I did'nt know but you might have run
away ! ' and he bestowed a hearty hug and kiss upon his sister.
" You ain't a little thing any more. Marge ; you have stretclied out
wonderfully 1 "

'* I was afraid you might be gone to sea before I came back," she
replied, slipping her arm through his," you are such a lazy corres-
pondent, you bad boy ! I never know what Is t('>iiig on."

" Well 1 it is jolly having you home again anyhow I "

"Home 1" repeated Marjory scornfully. "Do you call Mrs.
A eland's house home ? "

"It's father's house, not hers," returned the boy. Marjory
murmured something ; and he continued. " For that matter Mrs.
A. ain't half bad, anyway she hasn't been to be this time, and she
has been quite friendly about my going to sea."

" And how is the Monster ? "

A LIFE INTEREST.

*' Well, a trifle bigger than ever, and queer, but not a bad fellow.
I never thought he was. You are a bitter little pill, Mariory ! "

" And you are too soft, George. Still I am glad to feel you near
me after these long months."

" Yes, it seems jeara since we were home 1 "

"More than a year," said Marjory. "You remember I was
asked to spend the summer holidays at Marshlands ? Oh ! George,
it was such a delightful time ! Imagine a big farm, cows to milk,
dear rough ponies to ride, and a boat on the Broad ! Oh ! and such
cream and strawberries ! Then at Christmas the little ones were
threatened with chickenpox, and Mrs. Acland cotddn't think of my
running into danger ! " a significant emphasis on the last words.

** So it is two years since 1 saw you. Well, you are going to stay
now, and we'll try and make some fun," cried her brother.

" Try," slie repeated, letting his arm go after pressing it closely
for a minute, and walking to the fire — " try if you like." She stood
gazing at the red coals, while her brother gazed at her, dimly per-
ceiving the change which the last year had wrought.

She was slender to thinness, yet not angular ; her quick slight
gestures had a'Y)eculiar grace, partly the result of perfect proportion ;
her dark, red-brown wavy hair was turned carelessly back from her
forehead, round which it grew thickly in a graceful distinct line ;
her bright, rapidly glancing eyes of doubtful colour ; a scornful
rosy mouth which could smile at times sweetly, and a clear though
somewhat pale brunette complexion, did not suffice to convince all
her schoolfellows that Marjory Acland was a pretty girl ; some
thought her just not plain, while others pronounced her nearly
beautiful. This evening the cold air and the warm fire combined
had given her a brilliant colour, which lit up her eyea and lent fair-
ness to her complexion.

" Come, Marge, if you are not hungry, I am," cried (xeorge.
drawing his chair to the table, on »vhich tea and remains of a cold
sirloin were set out.

"Here is a nice cako for you," said a stout red-faced woman,
entering unceremoniously. "I baked it a' purpose for missee's
home-coming, and glad I am to see her. Leave a bit for Mr.
Cranston." So saying she went swiftly away.

" Cookie is a capital old woman ! 1 can tell you. Monster and I
would often have short commons but for her," cried George.

"One would think both of you were Mrs. Ackland's stepsons."

*' Yes, especially Jjick," returned George.

" Perhaps poor old Monster isn't her son really ! Perhaps he has
been changed when a baby by a wicked nurse, or a malignant witch,
or Mrs. Acland herself, as we read in story-books," cried Marjory,
laughing.

*' Oh ! he is her son right enough," said George. "He looks
like her sometimes. "

<\\

r I

>:^V >%

A LIFE INTEREST.

*' Unhappy Monster !" put in Marjory with a comic look oi^
compasflion.

" Look here, Marjory, I wish you wouldn't call him Monster.
Though he fs always so quite and we used to think dull, I believe
you hurt him with your scornful mocking ways. Really, girls are
ever so much harder and crueller tlian boys ! Dick Cranston isn't
half a bad fellow, and not half such a monster as'he was."

•'Indeed !" said Marjory, opening her eyes. " Has he grown
down then ? "

" No , but he isn't such a bundle of legs and arms as he used to
be ; and he has been no end of a help to me in arithmetic and
Euclid ; he is ready to sit with me and help me every evening after
the day's work at the office."

" Ah ! yes, I can imagine arithmetic and dry stuflf of that kind
just suiting the Mon Dick, I mean."

As she spoke, the object of her remarks came in — a tall, broad-
shouldered young mat^ with a strong quiet face, fair-haired and
blue-eyed. Tliick, soft, downy moustaches, a shade lighter and
more golden than his hair, already covered his upper lip and, added
to his size and gravity, gave him the air of being two' or three and
twenty instead of nineteen. He was dressed in a suit of rough dark
tweed, which had evidently been long worn and was covered with
dust, and held under his arm a large, thin, shabby-looking book.
He stood still for an instant, meeting Marjory's eyes with a frank
smile, and colouring through his fair skin like a girl.

"Good evening, Dick," said Marjory civilly, holding out her
hand without rising.

"How do you do?" he returned, laying down his book and
advancing to take her hand. " When did you arrive?"

"Not quite an hour ago. What has happened to you? Have
you been rolling on the road, or have you been getting yourself
up as the dusty miller ? "

" Oh ! I didn't know I was in such a state. I stopped to watch
the men dressing stones for that new church by Falkland Crescent.
There was a lot of lime and stuflf blowing about. I will go and
brush it off ; " and he left the room quickly.

" You are right, George," said Marjory with a nod and an air of
superiority. " He is bigger, yet less monstrous, but nearly as shy
and awkward as ever. "

'* Just you wait," returned her brother ; "Dick isn'ta bad fellow."

Dick soon returned, and drawing up his chair fell to on the cold
beef.

"I met with a man I haven't seen for years," he said, after a
a silence of some minutes, " that's what kept me later than usual.
He was very good to me when I was a 'itile chap I was always fond
of seeing builders at work, and he u-ed to let me try my hand at
ohipping the stones and laying the bricks."

▲ LIFE nTTEREST.

'• Was he a workman then ? " asked Marjory,
** Yes, a mason ; he is a master mason now. I am going to sea
him on Sunday."

♦* I believe, Dick, you would rather carry a hod than hold a pen,"
cried George.
Dick smiled, but did not reply.

•' Mr. Acland and my mother out ! " he asked after a pause.
George nodded. *' They have gone to a big dinner."
There was another pause, during which Marjory played an im-
aginary tune on the table with her slender but, it must be confessed,
red schoolgirl-like hands, and looked round the room with quick
scornful dO'nces.

"You haven't had many additions to your luxurious furniture
since I left," she said.

The furniture consisted of strong, heavy deal chairs and a stout
table. The floor was uncovered save by a square of oilcloth, from
which all traces of pattern had long disappeared ; a dislocated pair of
tongs and an attenuated poker were lying within a fender too small
for the hearth ; a coui>le of shelves ran along the wall opposite the
fireplace, which were crowded with books, writing materials, car-
penter's tools, and a variety of miscellaneous treasures such as boys
collect ; under the curtuinless window stood a long painted box,
something like a seaman's chest. That was all.

"A little more tea, if you please," said Dick Cranston, handing
in his cup. " I daresay it seems rather miserable to you ? I sup-
pose you had a very smart drawing-room at your school ? " Hi*
v'tico was deep and rich, but still youthful.

" Smart ! oh dear no ; still it was tit for a lady to sit in. This is
really too dreadful. I hope my father will allow me some comfort
now I have come back."

"I suppose you are going to stay at home ? " said Dick, stirring
his tea.

*' I am afmid so."

"Would you rather go back to school?" asked Dick, looking
steadily at her as if trying to make her out.

" Do you think this house can be very delightful to return to ? "
asked Marjory with a quick grimace.
"No, I don't," said Dick heartily.

" Still, school was not paradise," she continued. " At least I
shall read what I like and spend my time as 1 like down here. But
you boys," with ineffable superiority, "must keep your things in
better order now I am to share your barn or dungeon."

V Oh ! you will be in the drawing-room, I suppose," said George.
"Not if I can help it."

*' Don't give yourself airs, Marge," cried her brother ; " I can't
bear you when you are so conceited."

" It is an untidy hole." remark vu Dick, casting a penitent glance
at the confusion of the slielves.

A LIFE INTEREST.

" And when are you to go to sea, George ?" asked Marjory, after
sQme further talk, as she pushed away her plate.

" In about a month."

'' But how has it been managed ? You must pass an examination.
At least, I know Mary Devonport, one of my schoolfellows, has a
brother in the navy, and "

** Ah, but I am not going into the navy. I am going as apprentice
on one of Rennie & Co.'s ships."

"What!" with an indescribable quiver of indignation in her
voice, " on board a trading-ship — you ? Ah ! I understand now why
Mrs. Acland was so good-naturedly ready to forward your wishes.
It will just suit Iter to have you at a distance and degraded to the
position of a common sailor. Our obligations to your mother, Dick,
increase every day," cried Marjory, her gipsy face lighting up with
intense anger.

Young Cranston flushed a deep red, and he moved uneasily in his
chair.

" For shame, Marjory," exclaimed George. '* J don't mind. All
I want is to go to sea. I can tell j hi the mercantile marine is not
to be sneezed at. Besides, I can get out of it into the naval reserve,
and become a R.N. ofljcer. You needn't blaze away like that ; "
and he glanced at Dick.

" You are as weak as water, George," she cried contemptuously.

" I d(m't wonder at your being bitter," said Dick in a low tone ;
and, rising from his seat, he went over by the fireplace. " George
ought to be in the navy ; but I think your father has a right to part
of the blame. Try to be just as well as indignant, Marjory ! God
knows if it could help 1 would turn out to-morrow and labour for my
living with my hands. I'll do it yet ! Sometimes I am stung be-
yond endurance by the contemi)tible position I hold, especially when
you send your words like darts into my soul ! If it were not that I
have a liking for your father, and took the place he offered nie in
his office as the l)est way of lightening the burden to him, I'd not
stay here. Do you think I have any satisfaction in stupefying my-
self over the old-world bosh I have to copy by the yard ? Why , it
is softening my brain. Or that I enjoy the food my mother be-
grudges me ? Now that you have come back I despise myself more
than ever. I feel an intruder more than ever. You have always
shown the contempt you feel for me ; but I don't complain. It is

natural — it is almost justifiable, yet " He stopped short and

turned his face av/ay.

Marjory was thunderstruck. Never before had the despised
" Monster " spo'^en so many consecutive words to her. A rush of
contrition flooded her impulsive heart. She suddenly rememlbered
the curious unfriendliness of Mrs. Acland towards her first-1)orn —
the silent resignation with which he had endured the hard loneliness
of his lot, and she felt ashamed of herself.

A LIFE INTEREST.

rontice

in her
ow why
wishes.

to the
r, Dick,
up with

ly in his

ind. All

le is not

reserve,

} that ; "

puiously.
ow tone ;
" George
Kt to part
-y ! God
)ur for \r\y
stung he-
ally when
lot that I
red me in
n, I'd not
fying my-
Why,it
aother he-
y^self more
ive alwaya
ain. It is
short and

The last year had developed her greatly. She was still hasty,
quick to resent offence or to laugh at what seemed dull and awk-
ward. But the woman's heart within her had woke up, and told
her, that though distasteful and contemptible in her eyes, her
father's step-son might have feelings that could be wounded — a soul
that could suffer.

" Don't talk nonsense ! " she exclaimed, starting up and coming
over to him. " I don't despise you 1 Your being Mrs. A eland's son
is certainly no recommendation ; but 1 don't mean to be ill-natured.
You shouldn't mind me. I can't help feeling wild at times. Still I
do not think you heeded what I said, or — or I don't think — that is I
hope I should not have been so disagreeable. I will be better in the
future. At least, I'll try. Shake hands 1 '

Young Cranston turned to her with a searching look- in his steady
eyes, and took the hand she offered. "I am quite ready to be
friends with you,'' he said, "but I don't expect you will be able to
koop your tongue quiet, and you can't understand ' He stopped.

" I am not so stupid, though ! " said Marjory with a saucy smile
and a pretty bend of her head to one side.

" You are a good deal too sharp," cried George. " I do hope you
will behave yourself pnjperly in future, and as things ire not gener-
ally too j)leasant, let us try to be happy together."

" Very well ; while we are together. But oh I Ge< rge, I cannot
bear to think of your going away as a common sailor ! It is too, too
cruel." She threw her arms around his neck and stro.e t(» suppress
the angry tears that would well up.

" Come, come, Marjory, don't be foolish, I'll be all ight. I'd far
rather be a cabin-boy than be in the othce."

Dreadfully ashamed of having betrayed emotion befc»re the boys,
Marjory struggled back to tolerable coni}tosure as Mrs. Cutler came
in *<» lemove the tea-things. Then, with the laudable intention of
making herself amiable, Marjory asked Dick what book he had
brought home under his arm.

Ho opened it, and drawing a chair between her and (ieorge, dis-
played his new treasure. It was an old volume on architecture,
with illustrations exemplifying the prficesa of building in various
stages, with diagrams and measurements.

Over this work Dick grew animated and even eloquent. The boys
were soon talking cheerfully, but Marjory was silent and preoccu-
pied. Her colour faded and her lips were tremulous, " George
wjis going to sea as an apprentice, going to unknown hardships and
horrors " — this was the sentence which kept repeating itself in her
heart, while fragmentary recollections of newspaper paragraphs
describnig the terrible cruelty of sea-captains came back to torment
her.

It was a relief when cook looked in to say it was time to turn ofl
the gas, and she eould shut herself in her room to cry freely.

A LIFE INTEftESrr.

CHAPTER II.

TWINING THE 8TBAJTDS.

ill

In spite of having been later than usual the provious night Mrs.
Aclana was up betimes the morning after her step-daughter's
return. She was a careful methodical woman, and before her hus-
band had issued from his dressing-room she had descended to the
dining-room in the neatest of morning gowns, and had pointed out
one or two streaks of dust in the remoter corners of the sideboard
to the housemaid who was bringing in the breakfast.

The sound of a door closing below attracted her attention. Step-
ping to the window she saw her eldest son come up from the base-
ment entrance and walk towards the garden gate. Her face dark-
ened and she tapped vehemently on the glass. Dick looked back,
and, in obedience to an imperative gesture, returned to the house,
entering by the front door, which his mother opened for him.

" Where are you going at this early hour ? " she asked him whon
they had reached the dinini/-room ; " you will be at the office before
the doors are open. Tell me what scheme is in your head?" she
spoke sternly.

As Dick met her eyes a faint smile curled his lip, but he replied
with quiet respect, " My scheme was to see an old schoolfellow
who is in a builder's ofhce, and I sometimes call to look over the
plans ho is working at."

" That is like your usual (tbstinacy I You have a bett«r openintr
given you by Mr. A eland than you have any right to expect — a
chance of lightening the burden you have been to me, and instead
of devoting yourself to the profession in which you might win for-
tune, you waste your time hankering after stones and mortar, some
rubbish of an ideal ! "

"I do not waste my time," returned the young man with a sort of
weary indiflference ; "I never shirk the office work : but I have a
right to my time before and after hours ; that does not take anything
from Mr. Acland."

*' It docs ; it fritters away your mental force. Concentration is
the best road to success. I hate to see any trace of what your
unfortunate father used to call * versatility ' in you ; and you are
strangely like as well as unlike him. I trust you will not bring
misery upon me as he did."

Dick made no reply ; but a grim look of displeasure gathered
over his brow, and brought out a decided resemblance to his surviv-

A LIFE INTEREST.

inL' pfircnt. Mrs. AcLand fxnzed at him, hor lif;ht oyps darksnint,'
witli a curious expresaion of dislike and distrust as he silently turned

ht Mt«.
ughter's
her hu8-
a to the
nted out
ideboard

1. Step-
the base-
ace dark-
ted back,
he house,
lini.

him whon
Bee before
tad?" sl^e

he replied
ihoolfellow
over the

[p.r openint?
expect— a

|nd instead
it win for-
>rtar, some

|th a sort of
it 1 have a
iQ anything

lent ration is
what your
lind you are
11 not bring

re gathered
his suryiv-

had half
as it is —

George's frankness I could understand and
she interrupted herself w^ith s'>me impetu-

away.
" If you

guide you ; , , • ,. ,

osity. "At any rate assume the bearing of a gentleman if you
haven't the instincts of one, and don't slink out of the kitchen
entrance like a servant, when your mother is mistress of the

house."

"The servants are considerably more independent than I am,"

he said, in a deep tone that had a touch of feeling. " That is not

lyour fault, I know. Things will be different someday." He left

he room and the house, closing the door and gate behind him caro-

uUy and quietly.

Mrs. Acland stood still for a moment, a look of baflSed anger on

er face.

Her firstborn was no favourite. There was a kind of antagonism
etween them dating far bcick — when, as a big and somewhat lum-
erin* child of three or four, he used to importune his mother for
i.saes'^ and was invariably and coldly repulsed ; for Mrs Acland
as much harassed at that time, and was not the type of woman to
horn the loving kisses of a little child would bring any solace.
Later, she visited the sins of the father upon the son, probably
he only portion of the Decalogue she had ever followed.

As she stood thus in deep thought for some minutes, holding back

he drapery of her skirt from the glowing fire with one white hut by

o means small hand, the other placed lightly on the mantel-piece —

steady repose of her attitude was indicative of strength — the

xpression of her face grew more restful and content. Last night's

inner had been a success. It was at the house of a wealthy solici-

to which, as to the inner circle of her husband's profession, she

lad long wished for an invitation. For Mrs. Acland was not as yet

iiy sure of her foothold in Philistia, nor ^as quite certain that the

flemn and irreproachable society into which Mr. Acland had in-

)duced her had set its seal of adoption upon her smooth wide low

kehead. It was now more than seven years since he had drawn

)on himself the cold looks and dubious head-shakings of his peers

his marriage with the interpsting widow of a vagabond artist,

[iio, having deserted his wife and child, lost his life in a steamboat

Ijcident on one of the great American rivers. Mr. Acland had met

fate at the bedside of an old lady, a wealthy client to whom the

dow acted as companion and nurse. The client died before she

y\ time to execute an intended codicil to her will in favour of her

Lliu'd attendant, and Mr. Acland did his best to console the dis-

jl'oiiited widow. The result was his marriage and the adoption

tlie new
Mve.

(2)

Mrs. Acland's son, a big-boned, awkward shy lad of

A LIFK INTERIST.

This step eeciaed the rnoro i(lii)tic on the \y.\rt of RoIk ri
Acland, because just at the time ho had sustained .scjv^mo l-sses hy
the failure of two couipanies, in which lie had iiiveatcd \n\it of !n>
capital.

S<j far, however, he had no reason to regret his ciioice. He was ;i
quiet hard-working man of the upper middle-chiss, goud-lookinj? and
well-dressed, loving neatness, comfort, peace at-any-priee ; and the
relief of finding his house well-administered, accounts clearly kept,
dinners admirably cooked and served at a smaller cost than paid for
the muddle over which his first wife presided, was an infinite relief,
and created in him unbounded faith in his present ruler's wisdom,
streni^rh and capability.

"Good morning," cried George Acland cheerfully, interrupting
his step-mother's musings. "Anyhow, I am in good time to-day.
Governor's not down yet? "

" You are a good boy into the bargain," she returned pleasantly.
" Your father is ready ; he only waited to see the children. They
want so much to breakfast with us now. Louis is old enough, but
I cannot separate them."

Here Mr. Acland came in, and with a somewhat precise "good |
morning " to his son, took his seat, and breakfast began.

" Where is Marjory ? " he asked presently.

" Overslept herself a little, I daresay," replied his wife, holding,
out his cup of tea. "She was no doubt fatigued by her journey,

and " The entrance of Marjory cut short the excuses. She;

looked better and brighter than the night before, and ])au8ed for|
an instant as she closed the door, looking from her father to Mrs.
i^cland and back again. She had wakened refreshed, and therefore
reasonable. She had recalled some good advice her friend tkc
music teacher had given her, and determined to be wise and endur
ing, self-controlled and conciliating — all, in short, that Nature nearly ||
forbid her to be ; then she said her prayers fervently and descendec
to the combat.

Her first impulse was to hug her father, to kiss George, to ex- .||
press her delight at sitting do\^n to breakfast with them again ; bu;
that would entail a polite embrace to Mrs. Acland, a sacrifice
she could not make, notwithstanding her prayers and resolutions
So with a general "good mornijig" she took her place opposit

vfeorge.

" Good morning, my dear," from papa.

" Have an egg, Marge ? " from George.

"I hope you slept well and are rested, Marjory," from Mnj
Acland in a friendly tone.

" Oh yes, thank you. No; no egg, George.

" Oh ! there are no more I see."

" I seldom take eggs myself, and there is plenty of bread an
butter." said Mrs. Acland in a calm abstract tone.

A LIFE INTERKST.

" Marjory is really looking very well, and much improved," con-
tinued Mrs. Acland.

*' Yes, and grown a good bit. Marjory must be about five feet
live or six, eh ?"

" Oh, have no idea of measurements. I only hope she has grown

in grace, and left all the obstinacy we used to quarrel about at schocd.

llf so, there is no reason why we should not be excellent friends, eh,

|Mnrjory ? 1 have no doubt the training you have had has taught

rt)u patience and common sense, which you sorely needed." Mrs.

icland smiled quite kindly as slie spoke.

"What training?" asked Marjory, looking up c uickly. "Do
^ou mean teaching? That is .pretty severe training certainly."

"I told you the plan would answer," said Mrs. Acland, glancing
ixpressively at her husband, who answered with a nod.
" Where is Dick ?" ho asked presently.

" He went off quite early ; I don't know where. I am afraid he

[oes not pay suflicient attention to his work ; he always has some

rotchet in his head." O

" 1 have really no fault to find with him ; he is steady enough."

" 1 hopa so," said his mother emphatically. There was a pause.

*' It is quite fine and much warmer to-day," said Mrs. Acland."

I think, Marjory, you had better take the little ones out for their

^alk, and let nurse get on with their spring frocks. Silence."

Irs. Acland looked steadily at her step-daughter, who coloured as

le replied : —

"I would much rather help to make the f roc'^ « than <^',o out in

ib cltithes I am obligeil to wear. It is nearly two years since I

|d anything new, and my skirts are like a ballet-dancer's. Don't

me to go out till 1 have a dress and hat and boots fit to be

in."

[^* It wo;ild have been better and wiser, Marjory," said Mrs.

land mildly, " if you had asked me with civility to exr. e your

jrdrobe and supply your wants. I wisli to do justice v .dl, and

take care, while you and your brother have in moderation what

: need, your father's resources are not exhausted, for you must

imagine he is a rich man. It is, as I have often told you, a strain

ceep up the ajipearancea which are due to his position and of

)ortance to us all."

dead silence followed. Marjory's bright face settled into
expresainn of sullen submission. Mr. Acland cleared his
mat with a loud hem, while George looked and felt infinitely
loyed.

iter a few moments of this significant *' hush," Mr. Acland rose»

saying, "I am a little behind time, I shall probably be half-an-

ir or so late th s evening:," left the room, Mrs. Acland following

1 to pay the last wifely attentions before he started.

?he sound of the front door closing was followed by Mrs. Acland'a

A LIFS INTKREST,

reappearance. She walked to the fireplace and rang for the parlour-
maid to remove the breakfast.

*' Carry down all your things to the day-nuraery, and I will look
through them when I have seen cook and given orders for the
day." There was a complete but indescribable change in her tone ;
and without waiting a reply she left the brother and sister to-
gether.

" You are a stupid. Marge," he exclaimed as he rose and con-
fronted her. *' Why will you rub her the wrong Wiay ? You make
her hard and disagreeable. See, she is right enough with me, and
not half bad. I don't think you are quite fair."

" Oh, you foolish, foolish boy ! Slie behaves decently to you be
cause you let her throw dust in your eyes and kiss and cuddle you,
you big baby ! Don't you see she is the sort of woman that would
caress you (»n the very edge of the pit into which she was going to
thrust you ? "

" Pooh ! that is regular story-book style. You were always too
ready to romance. Girls are so carried away by their imaginations.
You shf)uld tr}' and be reasonable."

'* I like to hear you preach, Georgie. Why, you are a mere boy,
and you don't understand the instinct that makes me dread and dis-
like our step-mother. I don't understand it myself. I must!
show her my rags, at any rate. Perhaps they may move heij
compassion."

With a fine sneer on her saucy mouth, Marjory went away up to|
her room, to undergo the mortifying process of carrying down herj
belongs to the nursery, and parading her poverty under the critical|
eyes of nurse, who, though a good sort of womvan, had the innate ai
respect for tine clothes, be they acquired how they may, which dis-
tinguishes foiuale character of a certain type, and induces a more
than half-contemptuous pity for those wretches who are deficient ii
this important possession.

Mrs. Acland, being a woman of clear if not wide vision, kept he;
aims distinctly and steadily in sight. She began from the outset t(
put Marjory in what she considered her " right place."

To their step-mother these elder children were obnoxious becaust.;|
they existed and must be maintained at the expense, as she viewec Jf
it, of her own highly-prized treasures. George had found favour! '
her eyes, as she had soon succeeded in blinding him with smalT^
mercies, and thought it well to show the world that she could attac|
one of her step-children at least. Moreover, he could be providel
for at small cost and away from his father and his home, whiie Maj
joiy c(»uld scarcely be driven from the paternal roof without son|
especially good reason. Indeed, Mrs. Acland had found it war
rather risky leaving her so long at school. At home, then, she niuj
be, but she must be of use there. She must be .so handled as i
represent the thorn in hor just and gentle step-mothers side— it

A LIFE INTliltKST.

hopeless irreconcilable, whom neither kindness nor wisdom could

s lodui'. Thi.H condition of thiuL^s nii^ht lojul to her leaviiv^' homo

l>v lu!r o\v;i dcsiro, and in tho meant inie gave Mrs. Acland a good

deal of power. So Marjory was pr imotod to bo nursery-governess

and extra needle-woman, considerably relieving nurse, and enabling

, the nurse-maid to bestow more time on cook ; wliilo her own chance.s

[of practising were few and far between, and finally ceased alto-

Igether, as Mrs. Acland resolved to keep tlie piano (the piano which

>elonged to Marjory's own mother) locked, as '* such strumming

Iwas not good for so valuable an instrument."

) a mere boy, 1
read and dis- f

slf. X «^,"'^|
ay move nei|^

nt away up to:|
-ing down her|
er the critical^|
lad the innate
ay, which dis
iduces a mort
.re deficient it

ision, kept hei
n the outset U

oxious becaus
■ as she viewe
^oundfavouri:
^im with smag
ihe covi^d altacr
Id be providf
me, while m
without son.
found it wa
. then, she niw
o handU'das'
thers side-t

Though coming round in some measure to her brother's estimate
f Dick, IMarjory was in too bad a temper to be either kind or
urteous to him. She had, in her hasty judgment, set him down as
stupid, silent nonentity, not understanding the depths indicated
y his uncomplaining endurance of her former taunts and occasional
alf-contemptuous noiice. She had been better, certainly, he
ought, since she returned from school, but she was still painfully
tarial)le,
'' What has become of Dick ? " asked Marjory one evening about
fortnight after her return ; " he always disappears after tea.
hy does he go away ? "

" Because he thinks his being here annoys you," cried George
ith some warmth, "so he goes and sits in our room ; and you
ow what a miserable place it is."

*' But that is ncmsense," she returned ; "I haven't been uncivil
,ce I came back, and I don't want to be ill-natured to poor old
k. I wish you would tell liim to come down here."
'*'I have told him till I am tired," said her brother.
"Then I will go and ask him myself," exclaimed Marjory, throw-
down some widths of brown merino she was diligently stitching
ther, and away she ran to the boys' room, which wa.s an excres-
e at the top of the kitchen stair. As to going into Dick's bed-
m. she never hesitated ; he was a sort of infiirior brother, to-
s whom conscience told her she had been unjust. Moreover,
rtJfe was possessed by a spirit of playful tyranny tlia, made her im-
ient of losing a subject or a victim. Dick had no business to
ent himself in that way when he saw, or ought to see, that she

willing, in school parlance, to '* make up " with him.
' Come in," said Dick when she knocked at his door, but he did
rise or look round.

e had removed tho looking-glass from the chest of drawer*
ch served as a dressing-table, and had spread over it a sheet of
ier, on which he was drawing diligently by the yellow light of
composite candle.

I !

Ii !

A LIFE INTEREST.

'* What are you doing ? why do you run away to this cold miBor-
ableroom?" cried Marj(»ry, coming to his side and Icanint,' one
elbow on the corner of the drawers as she looked up in his faio.

Dick gazed at her in astonishment. " Marjory ! " he exclaiiiied,

** Yes ; did you think it was cookie ? There is better light in tlie
schoolroom, why do you stay here ? "

*' Because, oh I because I don't want to be in the way. You and
George would rather be by yourselves naturally enough," ho r«;turued,
as he resumed his drawing.

*' I did not think you were spiteful," said Marjoiy, her smooth
brown fair cheek flushing under the stings of conscience. " I know
I have been nasty, but you need not be implacable."

•' Implacable 1 " rejoined Dick, with a smile, as he looked down
into the bright pleading eyes upraised to his, recognizin*^ suddcMily
that Marjory was something better than pretty. "That is a bi},'
word I I am not implacable or spiteful— why should I be ? It is
quite natural that I should be in your way, that you should dislike
me. I should in jour place.''

•' But I don't dislike you, and George is quite fond of you," cried |j
Marjory, bent on "making up," yet somewhat chocked by his com-
posure. '* Do come and sit with us and show me what you are
doing ? "

Dick looked into her eyes for an instant. "I think you are in
earnest," he said ; "yes, I'll come." He gathered his pencils and,
papers together, Marjory aiding him, and without saying more hej^
followed her to the schoolroom.

"Ah 1 that's right," cried George, looking up from a well-thumbed ^|
novel ; *' come along, old fellow, we three ought to hold together,
we have a common cause. Here spread out your traps near the
gas ! "

"And make haste, it will soon be turned off," added Marjory.

" It is not more than half-past eight," returned Dick ; " I have a
good hour and a half ; " and he again set to work.

Marjory picked up the material she had been sewing and stooc\.,|
for a moment or two gazing over Dick's shoulder at the lines whiol^l
divided his paper into angles and squares and circles, with nea:
minute numerals here and there.

" What is it for, Dick ? " she asked. ^^^

"Oh ! nothing particular. I was helping a friend of mine tl;
other day to copy a plan for a big house some fellow is going t.
build in the country, and I cant help fancying I could make a hc'i
ter disposition of the space, so I kept the dimensions in my heaj
and I am making a plan of my own."

" I suppose you will give it to your friend and he will show it t|
his master and get the credit of it ? " cried Marjory, still gazin
with interest at Dick's work.

▲ LIFR INTEREST.

He laughed, *' There i« small chance of an apprentice'! plan being
looked at. I don't suppose any one will see this."
" Wliat a pity ! it is so nicely and neatly done."
*' Oh 1 my work is clumsy enough. If you could see some of the
fchint,'s at M;ilot and Driver's office — they are beautiful 1 "
** Why don't you try and do pictures ?" asked Marjory.
*' I don't seom to care for them. I like the projections and
Wiailovva, the angles and curves of a great building — they are
Ireal."

IJut how hard it must be to got such work to do," urged Mar-
lory, luturuing to her seat and continuing to run her seams with
liligenco. " Now with some paper and a few water colour.s you can
it in your room and make a pretty picture."
" And sell it perhaps," added George.

"A very bii; perhaps," returned Dick laughing. ** There is a
rood deal wanting be3ide3 paper and colours. I like pictures well
fnough, and 1 think I could sketch a bit, but they are not in my
le. I .sometimes long to get away from the office even to turn
Cone mason."
*• Stone nia3(m ! " exclaimed Marjory, looking up surprised, while
le drew out her needle and a long thread. " You are not in oar-
lest. Dick ! "
" Vos, I am. I daresay you'd laugh if you knew how fond I am
st.mes. It takes a lot of hard work to make anything (>f them,
|ut when you do they last. Look at Westminster Abbey and the
jniple Church, why hundreds of years haven't spoilt their beauty,
bher added to it."

^*' I don't imagine many stone masons think in this way," said
irjory.
Very few, I daresay. I suppose mechanical labourers make up
greater number in every trade or profession, but when thoughts
le into yuur head and you feel as if the things you handle have
life of their own, why then work is — must be a delight 1 "
Ho stopped abruptly and went on with his drawing, while Mar-
looked in6nitely surprised at such expressions from a creature
had always considered dull, heavy and, but for his silent indif-
fence, contemptible.

" Oh 1 I assure you Dick is a dab at architecture," exclaimed

)rge. "He ought to be our fu' .'re Sir Christopher Wren, our

-oh ! I can't remember any other fellow. He can't pass a wall

bhout looking to see how tlie stones or bricks are set, and if the

in<r is well-finished and solid."

daresay you'll laugh," returned Dick — he was in an unusually

lial, communicative mood — "but a fine well-set solid wall with

It edges and even courses gives me a sort of pleasure you couldn't

le'.'stfind."

\* WUx, that goes beyond ' finding sermons in stones,' " said Mar-

A LIFE INTEREST.

»!^

jory, the quick smile peculiar to her sparkling in her eyes and play-
ing on her lips and cheeks like a sudden sunbeam.

" I went to see a friend of mine, a mason, on Sunday," resumed \
Dick after a pause, " and he showed me such a beautiful plan of ai
house in the country he thinks ho will be employed in the building.
I wish I were to "have a hand in it."

"Is he a common workman ? " asked Marjory.
" No; he has got beyond that. When 1 was a little chap and my
mother away abroad, I used to live with an old woman — I believe]
she had been my father's nurse ; I was let to run wild as much as Ij
liked, and I was always hangin;^ about some houses that were being'
built. Old Roper used to notice me at odd times, and give me a
tool to play with now and again. One day his little girl fell into a
biggish brook close by, and I went in after her ; it was deeper thaiij
wo thought, but I managed to keep her up till help came. Herl
father was desperately fond of her, and made a tremendous row|
about what I had done, as if I was no end of a hero. Then I was
more with them than ever — every minute 1 could get away from
school. I learned lots of things from old Roper, and right glad I
was to see hin» again."

*' I can imagine you must find it a dreadful bore having to go t
the oflQce," said Marjory.

"It is " lie .stopped, and added, "There is no use tryini

to say what it is, for it has to be done."

" Bub why did you not make your mother put you into an archi
tect's or a builder's (>fiice ( " asked Marjory.

""^ Make my mother ! " repeated Dick with a harsh laugh. " That
is easier said than done. And you forgi too, that neither my tn(^;'
ther nor myself have any money to pay the fees of apprenticeship-;
I hud no choice."

"Well, if they wouldn't let me go to sea I should run away— be.'
cabin-boy," criod (xcorge with an air of heroic determination.
" Nonsense," .said his sister scornfully.
"Iain afraid neither builder nor architect would take a
less runaway, so I had to bow to what is inevitable."

" Ah ! that is detestable ! " cried Marjory. " I have been fruit
lessly fighting agninst the inevitable ever since I went to schoo!
dying to have singing lessons from Signor Catnpanella instead :
stray hints from good-natured little Miss Mills, the junior mus:
mistress, and begy;ing for leave to attend Mademoiselle Duloguei
French class all in vain. I had to hammer away as best I cou!^
with all the under-yovernesses, while the rich Liverpool and Bij
mingham girls had all the best lessons, which very few of thei
could appreciate. Oh ! there is nothing so hateful as being pool
I wonder if my father cannot really afford to give me the educatii
of a gentlewoman ! I should like to he accomplished ana beautiful
dressed, and presented at Court with a train and feathers. I

penni

gOOi

Js on
|read;
[Comt
rWe„|

luch
:es
mien

fyi

»g ladj

'^Z

; "I

, half-i
shake
ns of ^
'bted tc
dance
uil Bhal
ission.
is last

A LIFB INTEREST.

chap and my
[i__I believe j
318 much as Ij
,t were being ^,
id give me a .
irl fell into a
J deeper thai
) came. Het

Then I was
ret away irm
[ right glad 1

Laving to go t/

no use tryint;

[«ertain I could kick a train like the actress 1 r>aw when Mr. Cross
[took us to the pantomime."

She started up as she spoke, and hastily fastening the stuflf she
lad sewn togetlier with a few pins to her waist, proceeded to sail up
id down the room, turning at each end with a dexterous sweep of
ler improvized train in a <;racef ul stately fashion, very theatrical and
bflfective.
Dick suspended his drawing to gaze at her, and George burst out
wghing.
'*I did not think you were such a conceited peacock," he ex-
limed.

" Conceited ! I do not think I am," resuming her walk and the

icking of her train ; " I wish I could be ; it must be so pleasant

be satisfied with oneself. Am I conceited, Dick ?"

"I am not sure," looking gravely at her. "I believe with a

mendons row little fine dress and company you would be. I fancy you think a

' K)d deal of yourself."

'•I must if I am to live ! Humility does not suit me ; and you
a disagreeable boy to tell me plainly that I think too much
[myself.
" I did not say that. I said you thought a good deal," returned

;k with a quiet smile , "you "

le was interrupted by the entrance of the friendly *' cookie."
^'Now, sit ye down," she exclaimed, " and have a bit of supper.
I saved ye a mite of pastry and have made you a turnover
. There's a trifle of minced mutton inside 'em, as'll do you
Fe good than sweets ; " and she placed a small dish and three
9S on the deal table, clattering down a few forks in a rough-
ready fashion.

|Come now, eat *em up while they are hot."
|We must wait till the performance is over," cried George, who
{much amused by his sister's antics.
Tes ; can't I manage my train well, cookie dear ?" said Marjory,
miencing her march.

ly 1 " exclai)ned that functionary, gazing critically at the
ig lady, the backs of her hands resting on her hips, *' it's just
play-acting. "

You see Cutler recognizes my genius," cried Marjory dramati-

; " I will no longer submit to he undervalued by you miser-

half-flodged, half-civilized boys ! 1 will escape the thraldom

J shake off the yoke to which you bow your necks, and soar into

ms of grandeur where you cannot follow, where I shall not be

^bted to a faithful retainer for scraps of goodies filched from the

idance of the upstairs table, as though I were not entitled to

full share of all in this enslaved mansion. There are limits to

lission."

lis last sentence she brought out with great force, pointing a

into an

archi

laugh. "Tha-
neither my ni&,
apprenticeship

•un away-
[nunation.

-be

Id take a penni

ave been fruit
ent to schoo:
ella instead
e junior mus
iselle Dulogue
18 best I ecu
erpool and B
ry few of t^-"
I as being pooi
e the educatv
ana beautiful
feathers. I

fl\

. ^1

^'«e

A LIFE INTEREST.

scornful finger towards the ceiling. George laughed and applauded,
and the sympathetic cookie exclaimed, "She do speak beautiful,'
when an awful sound hushed their mirth and fell like a ban ujk.h
the group. From the open door came the \oicoof Mrs. Aclaud,
saying as ahe entered, "Pray, Marjory, is that the way to treat tin,'
material I have contrived to purchase for your use — sweeping tlic
dusty floor with it ? What ridiculous nonsense are you about
Pray remember you are no longer a baby. You had better gd
upstairs to nurse, she is ready to fit on your body. You ought to
have finished your skirt by this time."

Marjory, her bright looks changed into frowning gravity, hastily
unpinned her train and folded it up, while Mrs. Aclaud continued,
"George, here is a letter from Messrs. Rennie & Duncan, tellini;
your father that one of the boys they expected to sail in their next 1
outward-bound ship is prevented by illness from joining, they will, 'I
therefore, send you instead. I congratulate you on getting off i
fortnight sooner than you expected. You will sail this day week.'
She stood firm and quiet like an irresistible fate as she handed j
letter to George.

" In a week ? Oh I that is cruelly soon," cried Marjory, with;,
the sound of tears in her voice.

"What are these ?" asked Mrs. Acland, disda nfuUy examiuingi'
the turnovers. " Cutler," she called after the vanishing cook.i
" take these to the larder. Supper is over ; there is no need for i
second edition of it. Go upstairs, Marjory," with sharp command.
"I will follow you. Your dress must be finished to-morrow. Mr
Cross is coming to dinner and you must wear it."

fongtJ

•iempts

^fc'oiice

«^d Mr.

^ree ol

He pii

#nipanyr

Present o|

bended

Ada]

A LIFE INTEREST.

CHAPTER III.

A. QUIRT DINNER.

A DIWNBR-PARTY at Mr. Acland'8 was a rare and important event,
josting the mistress of the house much anxious thought, not as to
le dainty dishes fit to set before a king — these being of small
lifficulty to so accomplished a housekeeper — but as to the company.
Mrs, Acland was slowly though surely advancing towards the
jcial position at which she aimed. The beauty of cleanliness and
cder which pervaded her dwelling, the good looks and careful
ressing of her small children, the evident friendliness of her step-
>n, all scored in her favour ; and if that ill-tempered, unmanage-
|ble girl, Marjory, had been wise enough to understand her own
iterests and willing to keep up a friendly appearance, the ring
ance of fair-seeming would have been complete. But Marjory was
reconcilable.

Her prolonged banishment from her father's house to the cheerful

losphere of a large, well-ordered, middle-class school probably

^ved her bright, impulsive disposition from being hardened and

itorted by the suppression and irritation of her unhomelike home.

LThe guest in whose honour Marjory was to don her best frock

her father's junior partner, Mr. Cross— junior in rank but

ler in years — a stiff, silent, middle-class man. A more unim

Ijrtant, unremarkable man could scarce be found, yet he had been

lulously courted by Mrs. Acland ; nor without success.

"?he cautious bachelor had viewed his partner's marriage with

fong though unexpressed disapprobation, and had long resisted all

jmpts to draw him into friendly intercourse out of office hours.

^tioiice and perseverance, however, generally attain their end,

ipd Mr. Cross was gradually mollified and enticed into a refrigerated

jree of familiarity.

le preferred a tete-d-tete with his partner after dinner to any

JiHipany banquet, as Mrs. Acland very well knew ; but on the

)sent occasion she had invited the clergyman whose church she

bended and his wife, also a rich stock-broker who had managed

Acland's little investments very satisfactorily.

farjory and George received strict injunctions to be dressed and

[the drawing-room after dhiner. A similiar order was issued to

;k, who preferred remaining late at the office to finish some work.

larjory, however, obeyed readily ; she had a pleasant recollec-

of occasional presents and small kindnesses from her father's

■^^^

A LIFE INTEREST.

partner ; and she was intermittently anxious to win her only surviv-
ing parent's notice and approbation, though at times wildly angry
with him for allowii)g a stranger, as she always considered her step-
mother, to turn him against his own first-born.

It was with a certain sense of humiliation that she arrayed herself
in her only presentable dress, not too well made by nurse, and
took her place in tlie drawing-room. If she ventured to speak to
Mr. Cross about George and her bitter disappointment at his being
sent as an apprentice to sea, would it do any good ? was the ques-
tion which occupied her while she sat waiting for the ladies to come
up from dinner.

It was the first time Marjory had seen the drawing room lit up
since she returned. "How nice it all looks!" she said. "Mrs.
Acland certainly has taste ! she is awfully clever ; no teaching, no
book-learning could make one her match 1 I am not, at all events,
and never will be," she sighed ; " I care too much for things, I am
too ready to go into a fury and cry ! " George neither replied nor
heard, he was deep in the morning paper's account of the Oxford
and Cambridge crews.

Marjory relapLed into silence till the rustling of silk warned her
the ladies were cc^ming.

" What you say of home education is very true," said Mrs.
Middleton, the clergyman's wife, as she came in with her hostess
and settled herself in an easy chair — she was a pale quiet woman,
not too well dressed in grey and pink — " but schools are diflferent
from what they used to be, and girls learn ♦■o know themselves
better among companions and competitors than in the seclusion
of homo ! "

" Still, a mother's care I " urged Mrs. Acland, looking round for
George and Marjory.

" Even so. Yet I am not surprised that you should be reluctant
to part with that sweet little girl," resumed Mrs. Middleton, " she
and her brother make a charming picture ; such well-mannered,
prettily behaved children too ! I find it very difficult to train my
numerous flock. The boys going to a day school are at home in tho
evening, and make the others so rough."

" Let me introduce my eldest daughter to you," said Mrs. Acland
with a charming smile. " Marjory, come here, my love."

With deepening colour and a slight frown Marjory drew now as
awkwardly as was possible for her, and looking to the greatest
disadvantage.

"Very happy to know you, my dear. You have only jusr
returned fioni school ? "

" Yes," said Marjory shortly.

" That is anothei' pleasure of school life," pursued Mrs. Middle-
ton, " the joy of returning home for good. I well remember my
owi? emancipation. It is nice, is it not ? "

now
*Ce

hen
d
t, fu
ana
,ck
• violen
large d
felt tliat
to recei\
■tlood ne
"How
Acland I.
1tt)man."
•'Natu
-Marjor
iBclined i

A LIFE INTEREST.

ily Burviv-
dly angry
I her step-
ped herself
nurse, and

speak to
b his being

the ques-
ies to come

•oom lit up
id. "Mrs.
jachinsj, no
all events,
hinga, 1 am
replied nor
the Oxford

warned her

" said Mrs.

her hostess
uiet woman,
are different
w themaelyes

le seclusion

ng round for '

1 he reluctant
lleton, "she
U-mannered.

to train my .
t home in the

IMrs. A eland ■
ve."

drew no li-
the greatest

•'Oh ! very,
" I suppose you

in a dry tone.

brought back a good many prizes ? "

ive

only

Mrs. Middle-
remember naj

" Not one," returned Marjory unflinchingly.
TJiis was a poser. Mrs. Acland gave an expressive look to her
guest, and remarked soothingly, "The race is not always to the
Iswift ; some private lessons will make up for lost time. 1 am not
Ian advocate for the over education of women ; their highest work
lemands more moral and religious than intellectual training."
'* I entirely agreo with you/' cried Mrs. Middleton heartily, while
le thought, as she afterwards told her husband, " What an ill-
tempered disagreeable girl that daughter of Mr. Acland's muit be —
luite spoils herself ! And she really ought to be pretty 1 Mrs.
Lcland has a great deal to put up with, I suspect ; she seems
gentle and patient."

To which the reverened gentleman replied, "A sensible well-
principled woman, I believe ; her table seems admirably served."
Mrs. Acland having successfully trotted out Marjory, called
George, who came smiling and ready to make himself agreeable
any and every one. He answered all observations and returned
step-mother's smiles sympathetically.
Where is your brother, dear ?" asked Mrs. Acland affectionately.
*' Who, Dick ? Oh, he was kept late at the office."
" Please go and see why they do not bring coffee," Khe asked,
mging his necktie with a motherly touch. "He is such a dear
jy ! just like his father," she continued, looking after him.

I did not remark the resemblance."
!*' Well, at least I think so ! My own eldest son is half jealous of
I, yet they are the greatest friends — really brothers 1 " with a
Et laugh.

V' How very nice for you ! quite an unusual case."
'^* Certainly uncommon."
~^hen the gentlemen made their appearance, Mr. Cross, short,
dried- up, with snubby features and small light eyes, came
t, followed by a tall, large fleshy man with a hooked nose, deep
and brown complexion, flashing dark eyes, abundant curly
iick hair and a big loose-lipped smiling mouth. Marjory took
iolent dislike at first sight to him as he stood sipping his coffee, a
■ge diamond on his little finger sparkling obviously, while she
t that he was scrutinizing her with more attention than she cared
receive. Mr. Middleton and his host came in together, and
od near the door continuing a discussion begun below.
'How much Marjory has grown," said Mr. Cross as Mrs.
and herself put the sugar in his cup ; "she
man."

♦ Naturally ; she is seventeen. Marjory, here is Mr. Crofjs.
arjory rose and came towards him with a brignt smile ; she
lil|ilined to welcome him as on her side.

is quite a young

was

'■^*-^^~y» -^

^-^^

— *■

If)

A LIFE INTEREST.

" Well, and how are you?" he asked, embarraased by the necessity
of S])eaking to the young lady, who had almost outgrown his
recognition. " You have come home for good, I suppose V

"1 have come back," returned Marjoiy, with slight, but signi-
ficant emphasis ; " and I suppose I shall not go to scIkjoI again."

*' No ; you are quite a finished young lady."

" Finished 1" cried Marjory, laughing. *'I am afraid I am but
too wntiuished, and will be all the days of my life,"

"That depends on yourself, Marjory," said Mrs. Acland, who
took care to keep near while this little conversation went on.
" Your dear father has given you every advantage. It is for you to
pursue the studies you commenced at school."

Marjory was silent.

'' Anyhow, you can play the piano, I suppose 1" said Mr. Cross
good-nature- ily.

"I have been so late," observed Mr. Acland. joining them — " I
been so late every day since Marjory returned, I haven't heard her
yet. Sing us a song, my dear."

"Oh, my singing is not worth listening to. You know I have
never had any lessons."

"Of course not," said Mrs. Acland quickly. " You are only ndw
old enough to begin. Nothing ruins the voice so soon as straining
it before it has reached maturity."

Marjory murmured that teaching was not straining, but no one
heeded.

"Gj and do your best," said her father; but Marjory, with
fluslnd checks and a heart beating with mortification, steadily
refustd. It was the bitterest grief to her to be thus obliged to
refuse her father's first request, but she dared not exhibit her
definiennes, and she was desperately inclined to cry.

"Dont press her," said Mrs. Acland, smiling in a maddoning
way; "you know what a shy little bird it is;" and she put her
hand on Marjory's arm in a kindly, protecting manner.

Marjory, quite at the end of her self-control, shrunk from her *
touch with such unmistakable aversion that Mr. Acland started l
at her in displeased surprise

" Won't the young lady give us a song? " asked the strange gentle
man. approaching. ;,

" You must excuse her," returned Mrs. Acland ; " this is her firs; -^
appearance on any stage."

"A very eflfective appearance, I am sure," with a florid bowlJ
*' Will you not present me ? "

"Mr. Blake — Marjory," said Mrs. Acland carelessly, and walk&fl
away.

" You know the birds that can sing and won't sing must be ms
to sing," Mr. Blake observed, in a familiar tone that offended
Marjory.

A LIFE INTEREST.

.d Mr. Cross -|

tg them—" 1 4|
I't heard her >|

know I iT'Vve

are only n<'\^ ,^
,n as straining |

,cf, but no one

Marjory, ^^•itll ''I
ition, steadih
lus obliged to
3t exhibit her

. a maddeniiis
,d she put her

^^- I.

runk from riei

Acland startec

strange gentle

' this is her firs.

\i a florid bov

ssly, and walk&

■icr must be wad
,a1; offended ^^

" How do you know I can sing ? " she asked aggressively.

" Yoii ha\e a musical face ; and only a concord of sweet sounds
coiiM come from so pretty a mouth."

Marjory looked straight into his bold black eyes for half a second,
and then turning her back on him, walked away to where Mr. Cross
was speaking to George.

*' And you sail next Tuesday ? " he was saying as she came up.

" Oh ! Mr. Cross," she exclaimed in a carefully lowered voice and
with quivering lips, '* must he go ? "

" I do not see how it is to be prevented."

" But you do not think it is right that he should be sent from hit
home to be a common sailor ? "

"Your father is the best judge," said Mr. Cross guardedly.
" Boys cannot hang on doing nothing at home. George absolutely
refused to come into the office, and prefers the sea. Do not be
uneasy. He will get on all right."

" It is very cruel," murmured Marjory.

" It would have been better, certainly, had he gone in for the
Navy ; but then he is to sail with a lirstrate captain, I am told, and
Vho will be well looked after."

Mr. Cross stopped abruptly, looking compassionately into the
speaking face upraised to his.

" It is so near at hand — so soon after my return, I mean his going
way," said Marjory somewhat incoherently.

Mr. Cross was silent.

He by no means approved Mr. Acland's action respecting his
Idest son, but was too cautious to interfere in any way. Doubt,

hich had nearly died out, respecting the wisdom and kindness of

ra. Acland started to life again, so he tried to turn the conver-

ticjn.

" Do you remember coming to the pantomime with me?" he asked.

*' Yes, indeed I do. It is one of the few pleasant things I have

remember."

" You must not be a pessimist, my dear."

*' A what ? " asked Marjory, puzzled and half offended, deeming

gome tenn of refiroach.
1 " I mean you must not look at the dark side of things."
T ** I have no other side to look at," cried Marjory in)petuously.
< " Come, come," Mr. Cross was beginning, when Mrs. Aciand
iwept across the room with a pack of cards in her hand.

" Mr. Mi'ldleton likes a quiet rubber, will you make a fourth
If ith Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Acland ? "

Mr. Cross was most willing ; and while her step-mother was

ttli!ig the table and finding the counters, Marjory stole away with-

t being perceived even by George, who wasassistini; Mrs. Acland.

I suppose you do not want me any more ? " he asked, " I would

,ther go to bed."

* H

ag^ mufmam n " w w k "

'>r<^

A LIFB INTEREST.

II' 1 'I

** Very well, go. Where is Marjory gone ? without a word to
me." She frowned as George, abstaining from words, nodded hU
good-night and went to seek his sister.

So soon as the whist party had become absorbed in their game,
Mr. Blake, who had been standing on the hearthrug, gazed steadily
at Mrs. Acland, till she turned her head and met his eyes. She
almost immediately walked over to him. "Well?" she said, her
fair face settling in a stony expression.

*'I want to speak to you nbout on or two matters," he returned,
in a low tone, as he drew forward a seat with an air of grave polite-
ness.

"What matters?" she said impatiently, though in a careful
undertone.

" Matters we cannot discuss here ; tell me whore I oan meet you."

" You can have nothing to say that affects me, and I do not see
what claim you have on my time and attention."

" Oh, you don't ? " he returned with a civil smile but a some-
what threatening expression of eye. " I think on reflection you
will be less unkind ; besides, are you sure you have no personal
inten-st in what I have to say ? "

Mrs. Acland lof»ked at him steadily, and seemed to think before
she replied, "" I am almost sure I have none."

"Almost, but not altogether," with a sneer. "Well, makeup
your mind and let me know where I can see you, as it would be
wiser for me not to write here." Mrs. Acland again looked straight
at him but did not answer.

" That's a pretty girl, that step-daughter of youis," he resu led
after a short pause. "No regular beauty, but she has a piir of
eyes and a ' go ' about her that will lead some man a pretty dance
one of these days."

" You think so ? " coldly.

"I do. If I had time for such schemes I wouldn't mind having a
bid for her myself ; later on she will be uncommon taking. Tiiough,
you know, fair beauties are more to my taste." Mrs. Acland was
silent.

"She does not love her amiable step-mother, eh?" continued
Blake, with a grin. " I suspect you have all your work cut out with
that young lady."

Mrs. Acland smiled, not a kindly smile. "She excites herself
a good deal sometimes ; but I do not think she can ever give me any
real trouble. My power is too well assured with her fnther to be in
any way touched by her resistance, and she will probably prefer not
to live in our house."

" Oh, that's the plan, is it? " and Blake laughed.

" Now, Mr. Blake, would you not like to cut in in Mrs. Middle
ton's place ?" said her husband ; "she is not much of a player, and
will be glad, I imagine, to escape. "

A LIFE INTEREST.

fk word to
lodded hU

tieir game,
ed steadily
eyes. She
e said, her

e returned,
rave pohte-

roae to accept the invitation,
" 1 shall hear from you then ? "

saying quickly to Mrs.

n a

careful

: meet you.
I do not see

"l)\it a some-

itlection you

no personal

think before

/ell, make up
s it would be
>oked straight

" he resu ^^^

has a pviv of

pretty dance

lind having a

ang. Though,

Acland was

?» continued
[k cut out with

excites herseli

ler give me any

ifMther tobe in

ably prefer

II Mrs. Middle-
)f a player, and

Blake
Acland,

''I think not," she said aloud and haughtily.

The whist players played, Mrs. Middleton babbled on, and Mrs.
Acland covered up her growing weariness with an air of interested
attention, while the leaden moments dropped slowly away ; but the
end came at last, leavhig Mr. Acland the proud possessor of five
shillings and threepence, the result of his winnings. Mr. Blake out-
stayed the rest, but to no effect. Mrs. Acland kept close to her
husband, until her guest was obliged to bid his hosts good-night.

The dreadful day of parting came too quickly,
George, light-hearted and hopeful, set forth as if to enjoy a holi-
day.

Mrs. Ackland expressed the warmest regret at parting with him,
nd high hopes of the success which must attend so gallant a spirit
his

Marjory folt an indescribable movement of scornful indignation
she SuW the gratified vanity which sparkled in George's eyes as he
atened to her flattering words, and noticed the heartiness of the
arting kiss he bestowed upon his step-mother. It was too bad that
he only creature she loved should be but half-hearted in hia sym-
arhy with her dislike and distrust of Mrs. Acland. How could he
e 80 easily taken in ? She did not consider that it had never been
orth Mrs. Ackland's while to take htr in.

But when George was quite gone, then the fuH sense of her
treme loneliness overwhelmed her. She had no friend left in her
me, if she could apply that term to her father's house. He was
not unkind, only cold and not interested in her ; nor had she ever
e smallest clianco of seeing him alone. Mrs. Ackland never loft
1 to himself. Dick she had ceased to dislike, but she still con-
ered him an inarticulate inferior ; and, except the good-natured,
gged north-country cook, tiie servants were too much Mrs. Ack-
d's creatures to be friendly Yet Marjory did not give lierself up
sorrow ; unhappiness was abhorrent to her. She struggled against
with wild resistance, as a victim might who feels the deadly coils
a venomous serpent tightening round him. She dared not let
herself sit down in despair.

She kept as busy as she could, but the evening tvould draw in and
ilie was driven to take refuge in the schoolroom. Dick would soon
me back now and tell her the last news of her brother. They
re safe from interruption that evening, for Mr. and Mrs. Ackland
re to entertain a carefully-selected party at dinner.
~ho familiar aspect of the sordid room was too much for Marjory,
ere lay George's lesson and exercise books on the shelf ; his dislo-
d desk, a broken penknife, a ball of twine, and a shabby little

' 'ii

-'»<lP>:?i. ^">iwA ' * ' ^

! I) !

▲ LIFE INTEPEST.

purse, the contents of an old jacket pocket turned out last evening by
their step-mother's command when she took possessiuu uf that gar-
ment. How vividly did the untidy debris recall her kindly, careless,
sweet-tempered brother ! She had not been half tender or loving
enough to him. She had been cross and selfish ; she had been every-
thing she ought not to have been. When he came back {if he came
back) she would behave like an angel. The tears would come, resist
how she might, even while she busied herself in putting the place in
some order.

At last she heard the kitchen entrance door open, a step
approached, then Dick walked in.

"Oh! Dick, you have com" at last. Tell me all about him —
everything ! "

She passed her arm through his and drew him towards the win-
dow. It was the first time she had ever touchud him voluntarily,
and the young man felt curiously moved.

*' First of all, here is a note for you. I was to be sure and give it
into your own hands."

Marjory seized it in silence ; it contained something heavy. She
read it hastily, and in another minute exclaimed : —

" Oh ! he is a dear 1 He says, ' Old Cross has turned out a trump.
When he bid me good-bye at the office this morning, he tipped me
five sovs. for pocket money, and the poor governor gave ine three ;
so I send four to you, as I know you never have a shilling. I can't
write more there is such a row going on, and everytliing upside
down ; bu*^^ we'll be ship-shape to-morrow, and I have no doubt I
will get on all right. So keep up your heart and keep down your
temper ! If you could humor Mrs. A. you would have an easier
life. Dick is a real good fellow ; be friends with him. God bless
you I Your loving brother, George.' Look! he has sent four
beautiful gold pieces ! " cried Marjory when she had finished reading,
and there was a suspicious quiver in her voice. " How good and
generous ! When shall I see him again ? Do tell me how you left
him, and everything ! "

" I stayed with him till all visitors were ordered oif the ship. It's
a fine vessel ; things are in confusion, of course. The captain does
not join till to-morrow morning at Gravesend. I think George
will be all right. The chief ofiicer doesn't seem a bad sort of man,
though rough."

"And George?" gazing earnestly into his eyes ; "how did he
part with you ? "

' ' Well, he didn't say much ; I fancy he couldn't. I believe he
felt rather bad just at the last. You know it is hard to say good-bye
for such a long time."

"How do you mean ? He is going to Sydney and back, is he not?"

"He may come back direct, but he has signed for three years,
and will probably be away the most of the time."

]

A LIFE INTEREST.

out a trump,
le tipped me
ve me three ;
ing. I can't l
thing upside
5 no doubt I
down your
ive an easier
God bleaa
as sent four
shed reading,
fow good and
how you left

he ship. It's
captain does
hink George
i sort of man,

"how did 1

I believe he
say good-bye

,ck, ishenotf
three years,

" riifii T hiwti been quite deceived ! " cried Marjory, throwing up
vn^^ ii.iiid with an angry gesture. " I thought I should see him
within a yinr. How did he look ?"

" Just a Httle down, but— "

He stopped, for Marjory, throwing herself into one of the heavy
wooden chairs, put her elbows on the table, bowed her head upon
her hands, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping.

Dick stood quite still, infinitely distressed and embarrassed. He
felt keenly, warmly for her ; ho would have done anything to com-
fort her, and he did not know how. Nay more, he was half afraid
to utter a word of sympathy lest he might ofl'end. At last, watching
the heaving of her shoulders as the quick sobs shook her slight frame,
hi6 spirit kindled, and drawing a seat beside her, he exclaimed,
"Don't cry so much, Marjory, you will make yourself ill ! Look
here, 1 know it's hard lines for you to part with him, but for him-
self he will not be so badly off. He is pretty sure of good treatment,
and he is a sort of fellow that's certain to make friends."

" Oh 1 " sobbed Marjory brokenly, "one reads of such horrible
things - captains taking dislikes and flogging boys to death, and tor-
— orturin^ them ! And then the horrid people he will have to live
with, who get drunk and chew tobacco ! He will be miserable ! "

" No, he will not. Captains of the class he sails with never do
such things, and on board ship men don't get the chance of making
brutes of themselves."

" Perhaps not, but it is all so dreadful. If I were sure George
would not bo unhappy when he sees what a sailor's life really is, 1
could bear it better. Do you think he will be wretched ?"

" No, I do not. He has a real liking for the life. It won't be
|dl ease and pleasure, but he will get enjoyment out of it, I am cer-
"^ in,"

" If I could believe that, I should be less miserable. I am so
lonely, so miserable, Dick ! "

*'l see you are. But I say, Marjory, though I am a silent,
mcouth fellow, not bright and pleasant like George, couldn't you

ke me as a sort of brother in his place ? Not that I would expect
ou to care for me as you do for him, but I might be of use, end "
-smiling a sweet, frank smile — " at any rate you might forgive me
^lor — ft;; existing."

V "Thank you, Dick. lam quite ready to be friends with you,
land ask you to do things ; but J hardly expect you could like me
.after the way I used to treat you."

" You were very unjust, I know ; perhaps it is not your nature to
>e just, but if you will let me, I could be very fond of you. You
re not so lonely as I am. You know I haven't a creature in the
rorld belonging to me ; even my mother wouldn't care if she never
m my face again."

" Ah, yes, we are both lonely and wretched, and I will take you

li ii'

A LIFE INTEREST.

I ..,1

iiiH

II i '

as a sort of brother, Dick, and try to be fond of yon. Of course, you
can never be what George is to nie, but you were very good to him."
Turning to him she put her head utijuinst his shoukler, and indulged
in a flood of quieter and more refreshing tears. Dick did not stir,
yet he was conscious of a stranj^e thrill as the little brown head with
its plentiful wavy hair, all disordered by the impatient movement
of its owner's hands, touched him, and he felt the pulse of her grief
— a thrill of pleasure which startled and puzzled him. Why should
he care for this girl who had wounded him a thousand times, and
made him feel he was an intruder, the son of a detested mother f
He thought with a kiiul of vivid ccmfusion of her first departure for
school. How glad he had been to escape her scornful eyes, and yet
how he had missed her ; how dull the down-stairs school-room
had seemed without her, and now what would he not give to throw
his arms round her and comfort her with a hearty kiss ? But he
would die rather than tell her so. He could not understand him-
self.

At last Marjory dried her tears and said in a tremulous voice,
** There is no use in crying, but 1 could not help it, it is a sort of
relief. When can an answer to this," touching the letter," reach
him ? "

" Not till the ship arrives at Sydney, but you can post it for him
as soon as you like. "

" I will write him a long letter. I shall not feel so miserable to-
morrow."

" I hope not," said Dick ; " and here is tea — a cup will do you
good." The housemaid appeared with the tea-tray as he spoke.

** I am sure I'm sorry you have been kept waiting, but I've not
had a minute before," she said, " and cook is not to be spoke to, or
I would have brought you some tarts."

" It is no matter, Sarah, though I daresa'^ Mr. Dick is hungry."
" I'll see if I can't find something prese?iLiy, miss."
Marjory proceeded to pour out tea in silence, and very few words
passed between the pair for the rest of the evening. Dick had
brought home some work from the office, and Marjory tried to read
a stray volume of some novel George had left behind ; but she often
laid it down and let her thoughts wander away to visions of thi
future, both for herself and her brother. How would it be when he
came back three years hence ? Three years ! what an illimitabl
space of time ! Why, she would be getting mature — nearly old
Would she still be living on, just tolerated, in her father's house
Would George come back fearfully tanned, smelling of tobacco and
talking in strange seamen's phraseology, metamorphosed from a
gentleman into a sailor — a common sailor ? It was an awful picture
that her imagination conjured up, Marjory had dipped into sundry
novels of "fashionable life," which had tired her fancy with picture? .-
of "style," "elegance," and supposed refinement. She longed to

Fi
fai

thi

on(

thr

wai

lai

ro\

eyet

booi
t(

She

long

said,

adop

jj|thcni

rdl

for m

1 1 WOL

^youtc

r •• \

descei

ad
^Bha

▲ LIFB INTBRE8T.

)ur8e, you
1 to him.
[ indulged
i not stir,
head with
movement
f her grief
^hy should
times, and
d mother?
parture for
ea, and yet
ichool-room
je to throw
a] But he
rstand him-

tulous voice,
is a sort of
Btter,'

reach

3st it for him
miserable to-

, will do you /
le spoke. .♦
but I've not

e spoke to, or

is hungry."

ery few words
iig. Dick had
y tried to read ^

but she of toil
visions of the
I it be when he

an illimitable
re— nearly old.
father's housej
of tobacco and
'phosed from »
j,n awful picture

,ped into sundry
^cy with picture?
She longed tc

see her brother blossom into a fine gentleman mioli aa the Lord
Frederics and Sir Reginalds who ahone in the lengthy pages of her
favourite stories ; and how could such a superstructure be reared on
BO mean a basis as apprenticeship on board a merchant vessel 7 But
this was a mere side reflection. The real tangible pain was the loss
of his companionship, to which she had looked forward as the
one homelike bit in her life, and she had enjoyed it for barely
three weeks. Now she was virtually left alone with Dick. That
was not so bad as she should have thought it a month ago, yet,
glancing towards him, she contrasted him in her ow mind with her
brother, and he happening to look up at the same moment, their
eyes met. Dick smiled. ** You don't seem to get on with your
book," he said.

" No, I cannot attend to it. I am very tired. I shall go to bed."
She shut the book and gathering up "^ome scattered properties be
[longing to George, she went towards tne door. Pausing there she
[laid, ' ' Good night, Dick. I am glad you are left. I am going to
■adopt you, and if you have any socks that want mending, I will darn
jthemfor you."

"Oh! I have a splendid supply," be returned, laughing. "I
lardly think you would like to undertake them. Cookie manages
for me as she^can, but I am ever so much obliged to yott, Marjory.
~ would have gone barefoot before I should have thought of asking
l/on to mend socks for me."

*' Well, I shouldn't mind at all," said Marjory with ineffable con-
lescension ; " I am going to be your sister, you know."
*' Good nij,'ht," he returned, " don't cry yourself to sleep."

OB AFTER IV.

PUTTIXa ON THE SCREW.

The first few days after George's departure were terribly blank tc
Marjory. She was left very much to herself, as Mrs. Acland did
ot seem to remember her existence, save when she wanted her help
needlework or with the children. So Marjory had plenty of time
mend Dick's socks and read what books she could find. These,
i|irith a certain degree of scolding bestowed on her adopted brother
jbr untidiness, employed her days and evenings ; but, as Dick's
l&iswers were much smoother than George's used to be, the oddly
.|ii8orted couple settled down into companionship much sooner than
T»icrht have been expected.

(3)

Jdbdk.-i-

l!i;

i'iii

nil,.,.

A LIFE INTEREST.

A few hasty lines had been sent ashore by the young sailor irith
the pilot — brave lines enough, yet pervaded by an unconscious tone
of sadness which revived Marjory's grief and resentment. This
epistle had been inclosed in one to Mr. Acland, and was delivered
as the family sat at breakfast.

" George seems very well satisfied so far," said his father. " I
dare say he will get on all the quicker for not being trammelled by
the regulations of the Navy. "

** No doubt of it," responded his wife.

" What does he say to you, Marjory ? "

Marjory handed her letter to her father, remarking, " He writes
sadly enough, J think."

"I really do not see what you have to fret about," said Mrs.
Acland, looking scornfully at Marjory's tearful eyes. "Is it not a
bit of your usual perversity, my dear ? "

"I suppose it is," w'th defiant indifference.

" You have letters too, my love ? " asked Mr. Acland, not averse
to change the subject.

*' Only one of those endless coal circulars," she returned, tearing
it up as she spoke, *' and one from Miss Clements, who is at Fl(<rence.
She says she made the acquaintance there, last winter, of a Mr. and
Mrs. Cateret, who are some connections of yours."

**Cateret?" repeated Mr. Acland. "No, not of mine. There
was an uncle of Marjory's mother so called, but I have not heard of
him for years."

*' Marjory's mother!" thought her daughter bitterly ; does he
forget she was his wife, or is he afraid to mention it ? "

'* They seem to be people of some importance,'" resumed Mrs.
Acland.

" They are. Cateret haa an estate in the south of England ; but
he had most of his fortune through his mother. He always lives
abroad."

" Miss Clements says they talk of returning to England. I think
we ought to call on them when they are in town."

"Perhaps so."

"Come, Marjory," said Mrs. Aclandsharply^o that young person,
who was evidently in a reverie, " what are you dn^fcminsr about '
Pray rouse yourself. Put on your hat and take the children for
their morning walk ; nurse is very busy just now.''

The afternoon of the same day had clouded over, and a breeze
from the south-west had brought with it heavy showers.

The omnibuses were crowded with damp passengers and wet
umbrellas, while the streets were rapidly converted into spaces of
liquid mud, across which splashed pedestrians struggled under the
noses of the steanang horses.

Sitting with a book on her knee in the school-room window, gazin ;
at the fast-falling rain, and hearing the dreary splash-splash of tiu

A LIFE INTEREST.

sailor irith
Lscious tone
lent. This
3 delivered

'ather. " I
mmelled by

" He writes

," said Mrs.
' Is ifc not a

i, not averse

rned, tearing
s at Florence.
, of a Mr. and

mine. Then'
B not heard of

erly ; does he
resumed Mrs.

England ; but
e always Uvea

rland. I think

„ young person,
^riming about ^
Le children for

•, and a breeze

ers.

ingers and wet ,^
into spaces of f^
;led under the -^

.window, gaziivjM|
ih-splaali of tin f-

big drops from the balcony of the dining-room abt»ve, Marjory fell
into a sort of dream, from which she was startled by the sudden
sharp clo.siiig of the front door, and was languidly interested by
seeing Mrs. Acland sally forth, covered from head to foot by a dark
Hhapeless rain-cloak, and further shrouded by a Bmaii black straw
bonnet and a thick veil. Her skirts had been fastened up high
enough to show her neat, well-made boots, which Marjory ruefully
admired. She walked rapidly with a firm springy step through the
garden, and turned towards the railway station at the end of the
road.

" She certainly has nice faet," thought Marjory, putting out one

of her own and contemplating it. It was encaoed in what cheap

ready-made shopkeepers terra " house slippers," constructed of thick

hard leather, wliich creaked when she moved, and wero square,

coarse, and disfiguring to the last degree. Marjory's pretty short

upper lip curled contemptuously as she looked. Che slipped her

foot out of its unworthy covering. That was more satisfactory.

Her dark grey stocking showed its proportions, the small heel and

high instep. ' ' Mine would look as well if I had nice boots. I wish

I could dress as I like. I wish I could look like a lady. Shall I

never have any pleasure or pretty thingu ? Shall I always be hidden

away and be thankful to keep down here ? The worst of it is, I shall

grow bad and bitter and ill-mannered with this constant sense of

wrong. I will try not to be rough or common. There are so many

years before me, some happiness must be sprinkled amongst them ;

and then I am not ugly ; no, I am sure I am not." She looked

quickly round to see if a little glass which belonged to the pantry

had by chance been left in the room. It had not. ** I am a con-

^ ceited goose ; " and she smiled at herself. " I suppose Mrs. Acland

is going to buy some wonderful bargain. Perhaps to Leadenhall

[Market. Nothing else would take her out in such weather. She is

la strange woman : I believe if she made up her mind to be queen of

jEngland she would manage it somehow. I will not think of her any

[more ; " and Marjory applied herself to her book, an old volume of

iBourienne's " Life of Napoleon," through which she was struggling

rwith a view to keep up her French.

Mrs. Acland kept on her way, however, though she was not bound
ffor Leadenhall Market, nor for any tremendous sacrifice in the way
FOi sales.

Arrived at Moorgate Street, she stepped quickl;; into a cab, and
[was set down at one of the fine new buildings near the Royal
[Exchange, where palatial chamlxM-s seem to guarantee the solvency
lof their occupants. She studied the names of the tenants on the
jblack board usually hung within the door, as if unfamiliar with the
[place, and then ascended to the second floor, where she opened a
idoor at the end o' a jjassnge, on the ground-glass panel of which was
[painted the w.rds, "William Blake, office."

\ m

■dHttlUifaUMia

i!-li

ij;l

A i

iiil

hi ill

111

A LIFE INTEREST.

A couple of clerks were writing at high desks, one of whom rose
and came forward. " Mr. Blake ? " she asked, low and quickly.

" Engaged at present." Mrs. Aoland handed him a note. The
clerk hesitated a moment, and took it into another room.

He returned almost immediately, and bringing a chair said civilly,
" Please sit down for a few minutes."

The 'minutes were but few ; then Mr. Blake, bland, smiling
fresh-coloured, v.ith a flower in his button-hole, came forth exclaim-
ing, " A thousand apologies for making you wait ! " and ushered her
into his private room.

It was luxuriously furnished. A soft fine Turkey carpet covered
the floor ; a massive artistic bronze clock adorned the chimney-piece ;
the solid comfortable chairs were covered with deep-red dull
morocco ; a huge knee-hole table of dark mahogany, with endless
drawers, bureaus, bookcases, all the best and newest contrivances to
facilitate the doing of business and the keeping of its records, had
been lavishly provided ; a bright fire glowed in a tiled grate of the
latest pattern ; and on a little table in one of the windows stood a
silver tray with a couple of liqueur bottles, some glasses, and an
engraved-glass jug full of water.

Blake drew an easy-chair near the table, and placed a glass screen
between his visitor and the fire ; for the weather, though damp, was
not cold.

** I am sorry you have to come out on such a dreadful afternoon,"
he said with an air of solicitude. ^* Will you not take oS your
cloak ; it may be damp ? "

Mrs. Acland untied and removed her veil without speaking,
showing a palo face, eyes bright with some emotion, apparently
neither gentle nor pleasant, and a very firmly closed mouth, which
gave a diflerent expression to her countenance from what it usually
wore,

** You gave very little consideration to what was good or bad for
me wh«n you posted a note, addressed in your oivn hand, at an hour
when you must know it would reach me at the break fast- table. Had
Mr. Acland come down before me, in all probability he would have
opened it, thinking tha you could only write to me on a business
matter." This was uttered in a suppressed voice, but with intense
irritation.

^' But," returned Blake, who had resumed his seat in front of his
big table, leaning bacsk in his chair and gazing at her with an adnJr-
ing, half-smiling look, " I also knew the pluck and inventive power
of my fair correspondent. Acland is not the man to find out such a
woman as you are. Besides, as you chose to be obstinate and give
me no chanct? '^^ ^n interview, I was obliged, though mos*. reluctantly,
to apply pressure. It is absolutely necessary that I should see you
^nd alone," he added iu a changed voice.

"Why?"

I'll

[^BBaaJw****!

A LIFE INTEREST.

)et covered
[iney-piece ;
ep-red dull
ith endless
trivances to
ecords, had
;rate of the
Dws stood a
}ses, and an

i or bad for
id, at an hour
it-table. Had
3 would have
n a business
with intense

a front of his
rithanadn-ir-
,'entive power
nd out such a
late and give
9^ reluctantly,
tiould see you

"Because I want your help, and you know I have a right to ask it."
" Why ? " she repeated, keeping her stern angry eyes fixed on his.
*' Because, my dear Judith, if you had not urged your husband to
take his money cut of my hands and invest it in guaranteed stock
and government s*- urities at a miserable percentage, I should not
be in my presei>t fix, and you would have a better income."
" And be on the brink of ruin, as I suspect you are."
" Exactly. You did me a bad turn then ; I've been crippled ever
since. I expected more faithfulness from you, considering the
happy hours we have spent together, and our old relations. By
Jove ! I am inclined to believe those were the best days of my life."
His bold black eyes had a gleam of regret u5 he spoke,

"Pray do you think you deserve that I should dratroy my hus-
band and children for the chance of making your fortune ? " she
asked b'tte/Jy. ^

*'Your husband 1" with a sneer. "Come now, Ju, you never
were as fond of him as you were of me."

" He is my husband ; our fortunes are identical ; and I am no
mean ally, as you would have found had you fulfilled your promise
to marry me. I should have kept you straight. You would not
have thrown away your chances, and wasted your money on rascally
compjinions, as you have done, if you had had a decent comfortable
jhome and a helpmate such as I could have been."

" Perhaps so— perhaps so," thoughtfully. " And you are deucedly
^handsome still, Ju ! "

She' replied by a gesture of disgust, and asked sharply :
*'Tell me what you want, and let me go."
** Want ? What can I want but money ? "

" There seems no lack of money here 1 " glancing scornfully
)und.

" ]No matter. I shall want money badly in a week or two, [ am
fraid ; and remember, besides the ill-turn you did me with Acland,
)r which you owe me something, I hold your acknowledgement for
le money I lent you, to make an appearance when you went abroad
rith old Mother Redmayne, for which I never had a penny of
itorest."

" Why, that must be eight years ago 1 I never thought you meant
to claim it."
^ " Nor should I, were I not driven."

*' There is nothing in that to disturb me. I shall tell Mr. Acland
.^at you advanced me the money as an old friend of Cranston's, and
,Piat I undorstood you had cancelled my acknowledgement. I shall
'^Aot hesitate to apply to my husband.
* *' Ay ! but that will notdo. Asyouwell know, my need of cash must
concealed to the last moment. My only chance of succebs (and
I succeed I will not trouble \o\i) denenda >n my keeping up
)pearances — lulling suspicion."

' <l

<*^5piJ^..,_

■"'''■ •'

A LIFE INTEREST.

" How have you got into trouble ? I thought you were piling up
gold."

"It's not a sort of aflFair you could understand. I thought I had
a splendid opportunity of making a hit in these silver mine shares —
I mean the new * South American Mines Company ' — and, as 1 was
shortofcash, silver 1 helped myself toabiggish sum 1 had access to, with
the sincerest wish to benefit my clients and myself. These infernal
shares went up steadily, till nearly double what I gave for them.
Like a fool I waited, thinkinoj the upward tendency would continue.
The very next ^day the tide turned : still every one thought they
would recover ; but they have gone down and down. Now one of
my clients, a shrewd Scotchman, will arrive from the Cape in about
a fortnight, and unless there is some miracle in my favour, I must
be out of this before he looks into matters, or an unjust judge
might find me permanent lodgings."

All this was said with cynical indifference.

*' Then you had better go," remarked Mrs. Acland, coldly. *' I
suppose you have not robbed these people without filling your own
pockets ? "

" There I have been culpably weak, I so believed in the tempor-
ary value of * Silver Mines ' operation, that I have put nearly every
penny I could scrape together on it."

*' You are a greater fool than I thought ! " contemptuously. " A
grain of common sense would show you that inconsiderate darine;
dishonesty never pays."

'• There is no use in preaching now," replied Blake sullenly. " I
rausu have cash enough to float me in the New World until I can
turn round ; and I count on you for a hundred."

" You might as well ask me for the Nat onal Debt."

After i,ome further urging on his side and refusal on hers, Bl^ke
rose and, having helped himself to some liqueur, came and stood on
the hearth-rug facing her,

" Look here, Ju," he said, still in the same t6ne, though a savage
look came over his face, *' you must and shall help me. You can do
it if you choose ; you are my safest card and I have the means of
revenge in my hands if you refuse."

Mrs. Acland could not grow v hiter, but she did not quail. She
only rained her eyes to his with so deadly an expression that Blake
said,

" Ay ! my life would not be worth an ^^our's purchase if those fine
eyes could kill ! But you knov/ what I mean ! "

"I do.'' She paused, and her well-gloved hand clenched itself
tight as it lay on the table. *' You mean, you would show those two
letters of mine, which you kept back like a base traitor as you nre,
to my huslmnd ? Well ! are you sure that the pleasure of seeing y .ii
in the dock miuht not outweigh the pain of failure and possible di-
grace ? Possible only ! — remember the power I have over my bus-

j^on hi

«eaertf

A LIFE INTERKST.

re piling up

:k1, as 1 was
jcess to, v'itli
hese infernal
•0 for them,
aid continue,
thought they
Now one of
;!ai)e in about
,vour, I must
unjust judge

, coldly. " I
ing your own

tuously. "A
iderate daring

sullenly. "I
Id until I can

on hers, Blf.ke
16 and stood on

hough a savage
e. You can do
3 the means of

not quail. She
jion that Blake

base if those fine

clenched itself •
i show those two
itor as you nve.
Lire of seeing } "U
ind possible iW^-
ve over my hua-

hand ? Nor do faults before a marriage dissolve it I /Since, I have
l)0'.;n faultless."

"^'ou are a plucky devil," said, Blake, eyeing her curiously,
■ iiud I would rather have you for a friend than an enemy. I vow
to heaven I would not press you if I could help it, but I must have
the money."

Mrs. Acland seemed lost in thought. "It is almost impossible,
for nie to obtain such a sum without raising Mr. Acland's sus-
picions," she said ; ''still, if you will hand me over those letters,
having first let me read and examine them— no more sealed packets,
given with the assurance that they contain all I had ever written, for
me— I will endeavour to get you the money, or the greater part
of it. How long can you give me ? "

"Ten Jiiys at the outside. As to the letters, you shall have them
when you hand over the cash. I never wished to harm you, Judith:
"" only kept those letters as a measure of precaution ; for you are a
augerous customer. Now I am going to bid a long farewell to
niilaud, home and beauty. The letters are of more value to you
han to me. When you bring me the money, you will look on me
or the last time. My career will have closed on this side of the
tlantic."

" That, at least, is an assurance worth paying for."
" Well, Ju, there was a time when I little thought I should ever
ear you say that."
' ' Yps ! i look back with amazement when I remember how 1
loved and believed in you ; when you seemed to me the embodiment
Of all that was elegant and well-bred — you ! " She laughed bitterly,
ftnd Blake shifted his position somewhat uneasily. "Well, my
(iiperience was limited ; I had not many opportunities of 'seeing
Kfe ' in the little back sitting-room of my mother's lodging-house.
You dragged me down low enough ; still I suspect I was a better
man, really, in those days than I am now, with th3 halo of
pectability and faultless living round my matronly head." She
ghed again. "You see, however, I rose above the level at which
u intended to keep me."

" Come, come, be just I I was always ready to give you a lift."
J J " Do you call your successful plot to marry me to a beggarly artiat
li lift ? " she asked, ler voice for once rising to an angry pitch. " Do
30DU call persuading me that he was heir to a vast estate, with but
«^e aged life between him and for»,une — do you call that a lift? "
si " 1 vow to God I believed it myself ! How could I tell that .a sickly
^u I Ulster would recover and grow up to manhood ? "
-i " Ah ! what a life I had with Cranston ! How he bored me I how
n ho grew to mistrust me ! Then you compromised me, and he
sorted his big stupid lumbering boy and myself. Fate was merci-

however "

Ay ! I thought it was a good riddance for yoa, when [ got the

^^*?cc--.

A LIFK INTEREST.

letter from that queer pal of his, Brand, announcing his death in the
wreck iif the Mississippi steamer ? "

" He left a doubtful blessing behind. That boy is a great drag
upon me."

" Does Acland object to him ?"

" No ! but I do. He is always in silent opposition to me. He is
uostly, and he ia provokingly like his father."

" Why do you worry yourself so much about money ? Acland is
well off "

'* His position is improving, but I feel bound to be careful. Mr.
Acland has the life interest of his first wife's fortune, which reverts
to Marjory and George, and 1 am determined to make the income it
yields pay all expenses for some years to come. I am a tolerable
manager I "

"That I am sure I Moreover, I would lay long odds that Miss
Marjory does not benefit much by your expenditure."

*' Marjoiy has been my enemy from the first. George was reason-
able. I can get on with him ; but it is war to the knife between
Marlory ai.d myself — an antagonism of nature ! She has a moat
rebellious spirit, but I will break it."

'* I'd back you for holding your own with any one."

*' I am staying too long," exclaimed Mrs. Acland, starting up.
" I wonder I can talk to you calmly, as I do, after your driving such I
a cruel bargain ! However, the hope that it will be our last transac-
tion buoys me up. Tell some one to call a cab for me ; I ought to
have left before."

Blake looked at her and hesitated. Finally he opened the door
into the office, and spoke to someone without.

" Tell me how I can communicate with you safely?" he asked,
coming back to the fireplace. "I protest 1 would rather not injure
you, but where my own safety is concerned "

" Pray do not apologize. I neither ask nor give quarter," she
interrupted.

" Well, before we part give me my instructions."

She thought a moment. " Send me some circular — the announce-
ment of a sale of women's finery ; put Cranston's initials in the left
corner of first page, and dot with your pen the letters and figures
which will spell the address where I can find you I can then open
such a letter in the face of every one. You have given me a desper
ate task."

Here a clork came in to say a cab was waiting below.

*' Come this way," said Blake, walking to a second door whict
opened directly into the passage. "Of course 1 shall keep dark ir
London until the first heat of pursuit is ever. No place like the bit
city for cover. I wish, Judith, you did not take my very naturs
measures for self-preservation in so unfriendly a spirit," he added

** Let us not waste words," she returned, sternly. "You hav:

iiliiii

i«*

A LIFE IN IE REST.

death in the
, great drag I

• me. He i»
1 Aclaud is

jarefuh Mr.
vhich reverts
the income it
[Xi a tolerable

,d8 that Miss

ge was reason-
knife between
he has a moBt

I, starting up.
ur driving such
mrlasttransac-
[le ; I ought to

aened the door

[yV he asked,
ither not injure

^e quarter," she

^ -the announce-
itials in the left
tiers and figures
I can then oi)ei.
Lven me a despev

plow.

sond door whict
lall keep dark u
place like the bu

my very naturs
pirit," he added
uly. *'You hav^

acted after your kind. My position will not allow me to rewst your
extortion ; but it is the last blackmail you shall ever levy on mo.
Should you reappear on Engli.sh ground and attempt ta molest me,
11 will accept defeat, destruction, rather than hold any terms with
you." She passed him without heeding his eager remonstrance, and
went forth with a steady stately step.

" I almost wish I had stuck to her," murmured Blike, as he went
back to his seal and his task of tearing up dangerous documents.

CHAPTER V.

A FAMILY AFFAIR,

Mr. Acland was by no means either a hard-hearted or an ill-

lisposed man, nor was he oflenaively sellish. He had not vigour

lough, mental or physical, to love or to hate btrongly. His high-

jt ambition was to be eminently respectable ; his highest idea of

ippiness a quiet life, undisturbed by any necessity for difficult

ijlecisions, unruffled by small contradictions, un vexed by household

jlisordor, and, without personal eff'ort of any kind, to Inok upon the

looth surface of his home and surroundings with exulting pride.

■ All this his second wife's firm, able manag(3ment enabled him to

injoy. Moreover, though fairly liberal, he was nervous about ex-

Sinditure, especially since certain investments had proved failures,
ere Mrs. Acland's clear head and financial ability li)ially riveted
chains which bound him to her. The monthly settling of ac-
|lints, on which she insisted, became a positive source of enjoy-
fcnc, leaving behind it a delicious sense of security, of freedom
^m all need of personal supervision or responsibility. No wonder,
sn, that against spells so potent poor Marjory's intermittent and
^directed eflbrts to attract her fathers a})proving notice, to sug-
_ it her willingness to love and serve him, were worse than useless ;
tifiey were an infinite bore.

• Marjory's in-epressible vivacity, her alternate self-assertion and
lipentance, irritated him, and with a little judicious cultivation on
tihe part of Mrs. Acland, established a deep impression in his mind
Gbat she was more than his crumpled rose-leaf ; she was a cruel
iftorn, the one speck of rust on the brij^htness of his lot.
^•Marjory's long banishment at school, her somewhjit trying posi-
M|>n there as pupil-teacher for the last two years, was the outcome
of her father's conviction that she was hopelessly intractable, and
n^lly too mucli for his dc.-ir wife's pence. For his own comfort and
fiippineas his wife was so essential that Mr. Acland was ready, per-

■'' ]l

^ mTT-^ati -fc

I'm

I; II

A LIFE INTEREST.

haps unconsciously, to sacrifice both sons and daui^hters. He was.
however, indolently fond of their two pretty children, who wen-
always so well dressed and a credit to him, pleasant playthings of
whom he never saw too much.

As to George, he was inoffensive ; but Mrs. i\ eland was quite
right in urging that, now they had four children to provide for, the
cost of preparing for so poor a profession as the Navy was too much
to expend on one.

Perhaps of all the young creatures his roof sheltered Dick Cran-
ston was the one he liked best. The boy was so composed and silent,
so steady in his attention to a business for which he had no special
aptitude, that Mr. Acland began to look forward to his being of real
use and saving him trouble in the future.

In appearance Mr. Acland was gentlemanlike and good-looking,
always well dressed, and possessing an air of thoughtful wisdom,
the result of a disinclination to talk much or commit himself on any
subject, which greatly impressed clients.

His business, a steady remunerative though not very large one, he
inherited from his father ; but on losing the money above men-
tioned he took kis head clerk, who had saved up a decent sum, into
partnership ; thus, though senior in years, Mr. Cross was junior in
the firm.

Among her many admirable qualities Mrs. Acland possessed excel-
lent health. It was an extraordinary event when a severe headache
compelled her to remain in bed the morning after this interview,
and poor Mr. Acland appeared disconsolate at the breakfast-table,
feeling keenly his utter dependence on his better half.

" Mrs. Acland can only take a cup of tea with one lump of sugar
and no milk," said he, as he sat down. *' You had better take it up
to your mama, Marjory."

" Sarah can go ; I want to attend to you," she returned quickly.
Mr. Acland looked vexed, though he made no remark ; and having
supplied her stepmother's wants, Marjory proceeded to pour out her
father's tea, to hand him the toast, and do all the small services sin
had often jealou-sly watched Mrs. Acland perform Her eagerness^,
however, made her awkward. She managed 1o let drops of liquid
fat fall on the snowy tablecloth when helping the bacon, and tum-
bled the sugar-tongs with a clang against the fender ; hnally, when
her father handed back his cup with a look of disgust, exclaimint;,
•' You need not have put the whole contents of tho sugar-box in my
tea," and she hastily emptied it into the slop-basin, more went out-
side than in.

" I wish, my dear, you could learn something of your maraina5|
handiness and composure ; you have really made a horrid mess,
observed Mr. Acland with sedate displeasure.

" If I were let to do something for you sometimes," cried Mar.
jory, colouring crimson, " I should not be so nervous."

A MPK I NT EH EST.

He was.

who wen-

lythings of

. was quite
ide for, the
IS too much

Dick Cran-
i and silent,
1 no special
being of real

rood-looking,
•ful wisdom,
imself on any

large one, he
^ above men-
;ent sum, into
was junior in

assessed excel-
svere headache
his interview,
ireakfast-table,

lump of sugar
tter take it up

urned quickly,
k ; and havm;4
to pour out her
all services slu'
Her eagerness
drops of liqui^l
aeon, and turn
finally, when
ust, exclaiming,
BUgar-box in w]
more went out-

your mamma i
a "horrid mess,

les
ous.'

" cried Mat'

' Nervous ! nonsense ! what is there to be nervous about ? You
[are not afraid of me ? "

" Yes," she exclaimed with a sudden impulse such as often im-
)elled Iku- to rashness, " I tim afraid of your not loving me as much
I should like— as I want you to love me ! "
Dick, who sat opposite, gazed at her surjirised.
" You have no right to accuse nie of deficient natural affection,
[arjory. I think 1 have done my duty by you consciLMltiousl3^"
*' Oh ! I want a great deal more thau duty. I want you to love
le, and like to have me with you, as you do Mrs, Acland,"
" This is a very improper way of tjiiking ; I cannot listen to it.
'hen you are more reasonable and dutiful to the admirable mother
rhom I have seen fit to give you as a guide, philosopher, and the
jsi of it, then I shall be only too happy to let you pour out my tea,
•specially if you will not be so I'eckless — I must say reckless." Look-
ing at the clock, " Dear me ! it is almost nine. I must start and I
Bave had next to no breakfast," in an aggrieved tone. He rose and
^^ft the room, Marjory sat still, a dull defeated feeling holding her
J^ck from ofTering to help her father with his coat.
I Silence reigned for a few minutes, till they heard the front door
Ipiut ; then, in an evil hour for himself, Dick, who, for a wonder,
iyed behind his stepfather, said, "It's no use, Marjory; the more
m try, the more you don't succeed ! "

"I see that ! " ohe cried, turning round on him, her eyes flashing
irough the tears his words arrested; "and you are a heartless
feature to tell me so brutally."

[" But 1 did not mean it in unkindness," he exclaimed earnestly,
ling over and standing beside her. "Dont you see I am desper-
>ly sorry for you ? "
^' I do not want you to pity me ; I hate being pitied."
"f* You must not be so unreasonable. Marge ! You know I would
-well, anythiiKj to help you, I can't bear to see you beating
irself to death against your bars ; and it is not all pity. I like
ir pluck ; but I wish you would listen to me and take my
ice.

' I am too impatient, 1 know, but I do not see that you are any
wi»er than 1 am. Oh I Dick, Dick, I am so miserable ! "

*' I do not know that I am any wiser, but I am cooler, and I am
not you. Try not to be so miserable ; it takes the heart out of a
Cteature like you ! "

," How am I to avoid it ?" asked Marjory starting up from the
table and throwin ;• herself into one of the regulation armchairs which
Btood right and left of the fireplace.

' " By not wasting your strength struggling for what you cannot
§|t. It seems rather harsh to say it, but you have lost your father,
and, what is niore, you'll never find him again. My mother will
« t^e care of that. Just make up your mind to let him go, and you
'■■ '•ill take one weauou out of li^r liands,"

»i I

y.;

:>!

^-""^fCc:^-.

■'-* ■

A LIFE INTEREST.

V V

"You are cruel ! Boys have no heart ! " murmured Marjory,
looking at him with surprise.

" Well, you have too much for your own comfort. I know what
it is too feel miserable, I can tell you. I remember, when I was a
little chap, how I used to want to climb on my mother's knee and
put my arms around her neck, and how she used to drive me away
as if I were a noxious beast. I doubt if anything that ever
happens to me in the years to come will wring my heart as that
did."

" Horrid woman ! I am not a bit surprised to hear it ! " cried j|
Marjc^ry sympathetically. "How could you care for her?"

" 1 hardened, of course, in time : she can't move me much now.
ln<leed, I have been rather unlu'ky. I do not think any one ever|
cared a rap about me till (lieorge took to me at school. You know
I was not exactly what is called ' attractive ' when I came into this]
house."

" Don't ! " said Marjory, with a vesture of entreaty.

A soft pleasant smile stole over Dick Cranston's handsome facef
as he continued, "Just follow my exani})le, ISTarge ; don't wast«;
your atfin'tions on your father ; if he does not care for you he doesn't'*
deserve thorn. You need not be undutiful, of couise. And take 11
my advice, try and get out of the house you will never have a happy -J
moment in it. '

" That is true, Dick ; but where can 1 go ? "

"Girls often make their own living,' said Dick thoughtfully;;!
" you are rather young yet, but in another year "

" Just consider how ignorant and untrained I am ? My going tc|
school was a mockery. I have read about a lot of things, but l!
know nothing thoroughly — no music, no drawing, though I coulc
play if I had been taught ! If I ' go out,' it must be as a housemaic
or a shop-girl ; " the tears brimmed over, hanging on the remark
ably long lashes which veiled her bright eyes. " I am a lady, aii^
I want always to bo a lady," she added with a half-suppressed sc^b

" You will always be wliat your own conduct makes you," sale
Dick gravely. This axiom was rather too exalted for Marge, wli
dried her tears in silence " If you would like to learn a littlt
Latin," he suggested, " I think I could teach you in the evenings.

" Litin ? oh ! I never could manage it ; and it is too late," sai
Marjory despairingly.

" Well, I must be off, for I am too late already. Keep up yoi;
heart, Marge."

" J will," stoutly. '• I will go and take one of the Waverly now.
from the drawing-room, and rend all day to get out of njyself.
will in)t do a single tiling for any one."

" Don't," said Dick. The parlour n?aid, thinking it high tin
the breakfast was cleared away, entered at that moment, and the:
conversation was at an end.

)ung

A LIFE INTEKRST.

'I'n' l(u>k-(»tit was dark onou^'li, yol tho (•(infi'liMitial talk with Dick
■ .1 relieved jvtid dieeied her. iShe was nut alone in the house whilo
i'.ck was there. Moreover, the picture hia words had conjured up,
\'. hen he described his chihiish efforts to win a caress from his
mother, diverted her from tiie contemplation of her own wrongs and
Borrows. She was so sorry she had ever deepened the shadows of
his gloomy boyhood by her whimsical, unreasonable dislike and dis-
dain. As to his advice about her father, she would certainly take
it. Why should she care for a parent who was alway.s ready to turn
a'^ainst her? But this doughty resoluticju was often bujken in the
c;isuing months. It was hai'd co give up her own father, whom she
hmged to love, and it took many a rebuff, numy an instance of cow-
ardly compliance with his wife's steady repressiijn of hor obnoxious
stepdaughter, before Marjory was steeled into the indifference she
fan.ned she could attain by one elibrt of will.

The week following was marked by a domestic festival which
VH. Acland always punctiliously ob.served.
Tho birthdays of her twoj'ounger children occurred within a day
>r two of each other, thouL!;h there was over a ye.\i' between them ;
lo both were celebrated together.
Un the present occasion the anniversary chosen falling upon a
aturday, it was decided that the feast should be held at luncheon-
mie, to enable Mr. Cross, who was the little girl's godfatlier,
o be present without interfering with his usual habit of spending
[Saturday afternoon and Sunday out of town — the sole recreation he
owed himself.

As it was the business half-holida}', and for appearance sake, Dick
as bidden to present himself, the household generally put on a gala
pearance.

The proud mother had provided an excellent and tempting repast,
ake of superb dimensi(jns, and a table on which was a goodly
ray of presents. The children, in white frock much trimmed
th lace, with blue sashes, and elaborately curled hair, were duly
nvred and kissed. The boy, who ha,d attained the advanced age
five— a fine little fellow, strikingly like Mrs. Acland— though
illed into a certain amount of company manners, was a violent,
" willed child, a good deal indulged in by his mother. He was
irery solemn, and kept his eyes steadily fixed on the cake. His
•ister, a i,'entle, tractable little creature, canif in hugging a rag doll,
which ]Marj(jry had dressed with care and ingenuity as a present for
^er little i)upil, of whom she was rather fond, in spite of her rela-
"onsliip to the detested stepmother.

*' What have you got there, Louise ?" asked Mrs. Acland, as tho
ung lady, having been assisted hito the chair by tho parlour-maid,
ijected to part with her precious dolly.

" It's my new dolly, that Marge gave me ; such a dear dolly ! "
"Very nice indeed!" said Mrs. Acland blandly. "Very good

I'il

„,J '

Hi! i

A LIFE INTKRK8T.

And Herbert ? — is he not equally

of you, Marjory, I am sure,
favoured ? "

" I did not know how to make anything for a boy," she retunied.

Under cover of the bustle of helping the chiklron and directing
the under-nurse, who was assisting to wait, Mrs. Acland whispered
to Mr. Cross, who with a deaf old lady, their next door neighbour,
were the orly additions to the family party : —

"I am 80 glad to welcome any little sign of friendliness on
Marjory's part ! She has been a terrible difficulty. She still detests
my precious Herbert because he is so like me / But I trust time
und patience may win her to better frame of mind.

Mr. Cross bowed assent, and glanced with a sense of bewilderment
at Marjory's bright young face, which was just then smiling at
Louise's efforts to adjust her napkin.

The luncheon ran through the usual course ; the viands were done
jusdce to ; the health of the little hero and heroine of the day was
proposed in very stumbling periods by Mr. Cross and repeated, by
her particular request, to the deaf lady by Dick Cranston, who grew
very red under the eyes of the company ; the children were injudi-
ciously crammed in spite of " mamma's " remonstrances ; and then
they adjourned to the drawing-room. Here Herbert, no doubt
irrited by indigestion, quick got into a quarrel with his sister.
Marjory interfered to separate them, and an outbreak of screams
and fury was imminent when Mrs. Acland swooped down on the
aggressor, and with large indefinite promises lured him to the
nursery.

During her absence the deaf lady cross-examined Marjory as to
the picture and ornaments in the room ; as to her own age, her
school, her acquirements — whether she had or had not passed an
Oxford or Cambridge examination, and many other topics. The
gentlemen stood together in one of the windows, and Mr. Cross
looked furtively at his watch.

"Oh ! by the way," he said suddenly, "Rivers, the accountant,
came in just after you left, and told me there is a report that Blake,
the stockbroker, has disappeared, having made away with a lot of
money. It seems he has forged cheques, bills, and I do not know
what. I trust you are safe out of his hands ? "

"Is it possible?" said Mr. Acland in a somewhat awe-struck
tone. " I thought he was perfectly sound. This must surely be a
false rumour. However, thank God ! it cannot touch me ; I have
had nothing to do with him for the last two years. It is a curious
fact, Cross, that Mrs. Acland always had a great distrust for Blake,
though we kept on terms of civility because he had been a com-
panion and friend of the lat,- Mr. Cranston ; not, I imagine
(between ourselves), that this intiinicy was any great recommenda-
tion to Blake. I fear Mrs. Acland's first experience of married life
was anything but — -"

x-A

'iK^!-s^^»m0fim.,

▲ LlPfi INTEREST.

B were done
Lhe day was
epeated, by
11, who grew
were injudi-
3 ; and then
b, no doubt
1 his sister,
c of screams
down on the '•
him to the ^

/[arjory as to f
.wn age, her
ot passed an
topics. The
id Mr. Cross

e accountant,

rt that Blake,

with a h)t of

do not know

at awe-strtick
ist surely be a
h me ; I bave
It is a curious
ust for Blake,
i been a corn-
et, I imagine
recommenda-
■,f married lif''

He was interrupted by the approach of the smart parlour-maid,
who presuntud a salvor on wliich lay a card.

••'Vincent Brand,'" iiad Mr. Acland, taking it and looking
interrogatively at the servant.

"Gentleman, sir, asked for Mrs. Acland."
" A gentleman '( "
" Yes, sir— I think."

" Show him up, and take the card to your mistress. I fancy I
have heard the name," continued Mr. Acland to his partner ; "a
former acciuaintmice of my wife."

As he spoke " Mr. Brand" was announced. Thereupon entered
a tall, thin, haggard-looking man, with a short grizzled beard, thick
mrtustaolu's, and a pair of smiling, sleepy, dark eyes. His hair was
thin on the temples and greyer than his beard, and his fijfure looked
younger than his face. He was rather peculiarly dressed in loose
trousers, a brown velveteen coat with many pockets, and a soft
brown felt hat, which he carried not ungracefully in his long,
shajiely, pallid, ungloved hand.

' ' I fear my visit is ill-timed," he said, bowing with an easy air ;
** but being in London for a ^ew days, I thought perhaps Mrs.
Acland might possibly like to see an old acquaintance and give me a
few minutes' interview. I presume to have the pleasure of speaking
U> Mr. Acland ? "

His voice was pleasant jvnd well-bred. Mr. Acland bowed ; but
before he could reply Mrs. Acland came in, holding the card which
had been sent to her. Marjory, whose attention had been riveted
n the stranger, looked earnestly at her stepmother, with instino-
ive curiosity to see hovp^ she would receive him, and»was struck by
ihe swift expression of terror and hatred which gleamed in her eyes,
which she instantly closed, while she grasped the top of a high chair
iear her. The next moment she regained her composure by what
arjory felt rath«r than perceived was a supreme effort, and, smiling
rather ghastly «mile, said, with a kind of gasp : —
" This is most unexpected, Mr. Brand."
"It is; perhaps too unexpected," he said in an altered tone.

I* I ought to have remembered the painful associations "

He broke off suddenly, and, looking straight into her eyes,
Tesumed : —

" My excuse is that I shall only be a couple of days in town,

and thought you might possibly care to hear some particulars "

^e paused.

" No," said Mrs. Acland slowly, and gazing at him as if fasci-
,|iated, '* no ; it is useless to open the cruel wounds that are now
v^losing "

'^ Brand bowed. Mrs. Acland moved forward and sank rather than
r|»t down on the sofa, while the deaf lady, who had g(me into the
>|b»ck drawing-room to examine a photograph of her hostess, asked
j|budly and generally : —

ft'

Ir'

'^•y^

•'Tntczr--

A LIH: INTEREST.

' h.

" Pray who is the gt^iitlemun ? Some foreigner, I suppose ?**

Mr, Cross considerately joined hev, and started a question of
ciinent news to occupy her attention.

" Let me introduce you to Mr. Acland," said his wife, who had
not ytfc quite recovered composure.

'* Most happy to make liia acquaintance. I have already intro-
duced myself," returned iJraiid.

" Have you not been in England since " Mrs. A';!and pau.«ed.

" Hince the deploralilo accident which cost we the best of com-
rades and you a husl)and," he put in gravely. "No," drawing a
chair beside her, " this is my tirst p.pj)carance on British soil since I
was spt.red, and a better fellow tlian myself taken. Of courst I
wasanjiousto sey you and poor Cranston's b(jy. I need not say
liow ])le.ised 1 am to see you hap{)ily settled " — a smile and slight
bow to Mrs. Acbmd, who was looking pu:izled and ill at ease — " and
surrounded by a charming family, when 1 reniend)er the past, which
was far less agreealjlo."

" So little agreeable that I would rather not speak of it," said
Mici. Acland haughtily.

"Certainly nut, if such is y.iur wish. Is this little fair -haired
angel your daughter ? " he continued.

" She is," Brand strokeL the child's curls with a kindly touch.

"And that tall youngster?" he resumed, lookinpf earnestly at
Dick.

" Is my eldest son.'"

"Ah!" ?ried Brand, starting up. "Shake hands, young sir,
for your fatl'.er's sake. We wciB old friends, and eaw rough and
smooth togothei. Why, you have grown like — not him so much as
his 'iidhoA-."

"Did you know my grandfather, too?" asked Di-^k, colouring
and smiling vinder his searching eyes.

"Stay ! that is your father's ex])ression, I thwh,^' cried Brand,
not answering Dick's question. "What are j'ou doing — going in
for.Mt?"

"No; Mr. Acland has been so good as to take mo into his
oflice."

" Ah ! that i? better. The legal quill brings more certain supplies
^•f filthy lucre than the artist's pencil, and, believe me, respectability
pays. Put on respectability, my son ! You see," he continued,
laughing, to Mr. Acland, " I have bcon too long a rolling-stone, as
you know, my dear Mrs. Acland ; and I shall go on rolling till I
top'])le over into the great abysf.."

Mr. Acland stared at him, jiuzzled and annoyed.

" Without respectability life is little worth," he said precisely,
''*e3])ecially in England.

" That I well know. Am I not a naturalized Englishman? 1
have long since perceived that your very peccadilloes have a tlavour

deligl
—to]
her,
late y
so dis
Aclan
be a f
to-mo
my m:
card,
with
disj)C)s
Mrs
crosset
shook
left tii
"I
he aaic
"B
alwajs

(4)

tnmmmmmenrt,

MMHl

A LIFE INTEHEST.

0-6

of * Church ar.l State ' about them, lending dignity even to 8cra)-<es.
But I see, my dear sir, that you lia\ e taste as well as the sltie qita
iicni res})ectability. Thai is a very good j»icture — that land.-icape at
the end t)f the room. It looks like L 'a st le."

" It /o- an L ,' returned Mr. Acland wi'.i some pride.

On this text Brand talked for a few n-inulos very pleasantly,
with an aii" of well-bred deference tov,ards the "man of the
house."

All this time Mrs. Acland sat motionless, with an air of forced
composure. Marj«iry watched the scene with keen interest, fueling
attracted by Brand's playful manner, his pleasant voice and easy
grace. There was soaiething underlying the incident of his appear-
ance which suggested a mystei-y to her.

Meanwhile Brand again addressed Dick, " Do you remember your
lather?" _

" Very indistinctly. I think I recollect his taking me on his
knee ; but 1 must have been almost a baby. I did not see much of
him, I fancy. "

'* Not much. You saw quite as mucti of me. Can you remember
me at all ? " looking full at him.

"I cariHot say J do ; yet there is something familiar in your voice.
I seem to have heard it before."

"Ah ! my voice dwells in your memory." He was silent for an
instant; then, looking at Marj(„ry, he asked, "And this young
lady?"

" Is my fitepdaughter," re])lied Mrs. Acland.

" Your stepdliughter ? This complotes the magic circle of your
delightful surroundings. And what a lucky youLg fellow you are"
— to Dick — " to ha"e so charming a sister." He looked kindly at
her, and added with a slight cluuige of toni^, " I have to congratu-
late y<ni on being under the gentle judicious rule of so wise, so good,
80 disinterested a ladj as your stepmother. Iscw," turning to Mr.
Acland, " I have intruded long enough. I am well aware I cannot
be a favoured guest, and T have satit,lied myself on certain j)oint8 ;
to-morrow evening or next day I start for Yienno, if T do not change
my mind ; " and drawing out a pocket-book, from which ho took a
card, he handed it to Mrs. Acland. " If you care to honour me
with any commission, leather work, bric-d-brac, etc., I am at your
disposal ; there is my address."

Mrs. Acland took the card mechanically. Brand bowed, then
crossed to where Dick stood, and saying " For your fiithor's sake,"
shook hands with him cordially. Au'ain bowing to the ccjmpany, he
left tlu; id(jm, followed by Mr. Acland.

" I do not think tlat gentleman a very desirf;l)le ac(|uaietance,"
be aaid on his return from seeing him safe otf the premises.

" By no moans," echoed Mrs. Acland. " He \\."is an a.s;>ociato 1
always dreaded for Mr. CransLou. Pray tell the s^-vanta never <•■>

(4)

.... ^ .

*^'<^'*- **%

-if

:1f'

\ LIFE INTEREST.

admit him." She spoke with an evident effort. " His visit has
upset me ; it has revived most painful memories. I must beg you
to excuse me, Mrs. Merton. I will gp to my room."

She rose and went to the door, but before reaching it wavered
and stretched out her hand as if for support, Dick quickly put his
arm round her ; but with a gesture of repulsion she said harshly,
* • I do uot want you," and steadying herself, slie walked slowly troru
tlie rcom. A dead silence fell on all present ; then the visitors
tiuickly departed.

The young people, left together (for Mr. Acland went, as in duty
bound, to attend to his wife), looked at each other for a few minutes
in silence. Then Dick exclaimed, as if speaking out of his thoughts,
" I cannot tell what I remember about that man, but there is some-
thing familiar to me in his voice and eyes."

" I like him ! " cried Marjory decidedly. '' He gives me the idea
of a good villain."

" A good villain ! what a ram idea ! " returned Dick. " Come,
Marge, it is a beautiful day, and there is no one to worry us. Let
us take a walk to Hampstead."

) !

CHAPTER VI,

DICK MAKES UP HIS MIND.

The unexpected visit of his fatlier's former comrade made a strong
impression on Dick Cranston's mind or imagination. It was like a
light suddenly Hashing througli the misty veil which time had dropped
over tlie past, bringing out the vanished pictures as colours grow
upon the siglit when the lami)8 are lit behind a transparency.

He brooded over the memories thus awakened, and felt almost
angry with tlieir disappointing imperfections. kSi)mething in Brand's
voice and maimer seemed to iiim mixed up with his early childhood
— something important and painful, though he ccmld not recall what
it was. He had an odd restless desire to see and talk to the wan-
derer once more. Dick Cr,.nston was given to long silent tits of
thought ; not reveries or rambling day-dreams, but distinct reflection,
reasoning out subjects step by stej) ; or, if he did look forward,
framing his future on certain possibilities which gave something of
solidity to h's youthful imaginings.

Since Marjory had deigned to adopt him, he had grown much
more conununicalive, and was a ren)ari\ably attentive listener when
MiU'jory was in a -^ood tmijnT ainl talkative ; Imt this was not every
day, or rather every evening.

" n

him ;

"it St
"I

A LIFE INTEREST.

Sometimes her presence was commanded in the dining or the
drawing room, but not often. In the tine spring evenint,'s, too,
ihey had occasionally slipped out to take a walk. This, however,
when made known ^Jto Mrs. Acland, was strictly forbidden, unless
indeed her consent was first ask*^d and granted. This very simple
source of pleasure was therefore almost dried up, as neither son nor
stepdaughter cared to ask for anything they could do without. In
£ihort, there could scarcely have been a more barren or monotonous
existence than that to which these two young creatures were con-
demned ; yet the divine vitality of youth defied the pressure of
outward circumstances, and both in after-years could look back to
hours sptT't together in the freedom of the bare sordid school-room
as ha])py — even very haj)j)y.

" There ! I think tha": looks better," said Marj ry, in one of these
peaceful intervals a few days after Brand's visit. She had been
busy i;utting the room to rights, and had gathered quite a respect-
able supply of flowers from the refuse of a splendid basketful sent
to Mrs. Acland by one of her husband's country clients.

Dick did not reply ; he was studying a thick law-book, bound
forbiddingly in calf. "Did you hear, Dick ? " repeated Marjory
resting her hand and duster on the table.

" Yes ; what is it ? " looking up wearily.

" Have I not made the place look nice?" She pointed to the
bowl of flowers in the middle of the table.

'* You have iiideed," leaning back in his chair and pushing his
book a'v.^y.

*' I wish I couid live always in a pretty sweet room opening into
a conservatory, with pleasure-grounds and a park beyimd," said
Marjory, shaking her duster out of the window and folding it up,
then drawing a chair to the table opposite to her companion.

" And I wish I hadn't anything to do with law," cried Dick ; " I
cannot stand it. I would rather carry a hod."

"What is that ! " asked Marjor)^

"A hind of open box to hold bricks or mortar ; labourers carry
them up to the bricklayers when they are building a house."

" That must be horrid. If you hate law so' much, why do you
not tell my father, and tiy something else ? "

" If I thought it would not cost him money or trouble, I'd tell
him ; but I have been a burden long enough already."

" it strikes me, Dick," said Marjory critically, leaning her elbows
on the table and resting her chin between the pains of iier hands—
"it strikes me that you have not much spirit."

" I daresay I have not," returned Dick, laughing good-huniouredly
Kud showing his strong white teeth. " I always think it is better
to obey honestly till you feel strong 'enough to judge and act for
yomself. (Jc*^di nee is nobler and wiser tlian self-will, and 1 know
that if 1 ever tome to counnaud (*thers I'll take care they obey
implicitly."

.'4 ••

v*.^.<C—

II:; '

i: : i

•i

■4

A LIFE INTEREST.

((

It't a babyish sort of thing, though, to be so ready to obey, at
least for a young man, and you are quite big enough to be considered
a young man."

" Oh, I am, am I ? Thank you." ^

" How old are you, Dick ? "

"I was nineteen in December, I believe."

"You are just two years and a month older than I am. Who
would think it ! "

" Why ? — do I Rccm younger ? "

*' I am sure / feel much older. Then girls are always older than
boys ; in fact, we leave you behind I "

" Yes ! " retu^^ned Dick, quietly, drawing the detested book to
hhn. " Then they stop, and we go on."

" Do you mean to say we are stupid — that you have more brains ?"

"1 do noL know. I have not seen much of girls. I feel some-
how that they are diiferent ; they cannot do the things boys do,
though they may be clever in their own way. Now, there is yourself ;
you dait at ihinga wonderfully, and you are often right, but you
couldn't plod."

" I should think not," contemptuously.

" Ploddiu'/ is very useful, I can tell you ; but quick-tempered
people cannot plod."

" Am I quick-tempered, pray?"

** Well, rather i 1 can always tell, by the way j'ou mend my socks,
the mood you are in. Now last vveek you were cross, and you
sewed v.\) a liule just over the heel into a lump. It rubbed a sore
place before I got to the office. When you are not cross, you do
thein so nicely a!id even, and "

" You are an ungrat(iful, disagreeable boy," cried Marjory,
reddening and sitting up .stifliy, " when I treat you as if you were a
whole instead of a half brother ? — as if you were George himself."

"No, not quite," ])ut in Dick. There was a jjause, Marjory
looking indignantly at her companion ; presently her face softened.
" Did it hurt you very much, Dick ? "

" Oh I 1 could endure it without crying out ! " he said, with a
smile.

" Did: ! you are positively beginning to give yourself airs."

No answer. Dick was a.,. tin trying to read.

" I have been thinking of what you said about my going out as a
goverjiess," resumed Marjory meditatively, and on^e more resting
her chin on her hands. " Your mother would be happy then, when
we were both — (jeorge and I — sent clear away, and she had my
fatlier to h rself."

" I suspect^ slie would ; and then she would get rid of me. But,
Marjory, I never a.d vised you to go out as a governess. I said you
would he better out of the house. T did nor, think how it was to be
managed ; any way, some fellow will marry you one of these days."

A LIFE INTEREST.

*' That's not likely," said Marjory, still reflectively. *' I have no
money."

" Oh ! plenty of girls marry without having money. Then some
people would think you pretty."

" Indeed ! " with pique. " That is as mui-!^ as to say, vou do
not."

I>ick looked at her critically for an instant, and replied very
deliberately, "You are not a beauty, but you lock prery enough
now and then ; at least I have thought so, since you have leeii kind
and nice."

' I don't suppose you know or care whether a girl is pre'ty or
ugly," contemptuously.

" Perhaps not," returned Dick with a smile.

Marjory flashed a scornful glance at him in vain, for he hau fixed
his eyes on the page before him.

Marj(.>ry was silGut for a minute or two, and then burst forth :

"Oh ! don't let us be cross and disagreeable ! It is a lovely
evening ; let us take a long walk. My father and Mrs. Aclaiid have
gone out to dinner, we will say nothing to them ; but if Mrs. A.
aoes hear, I am ready to stand a scolding."

*' So am I," cried Dick, starting up, and shutting his book with a
bang. " Law is too much for me : I think I must tell Mr. Acland
it is no use, and he had better let me go and seek my fortune."

"I should, if I were you," returned Marjory as she left the room
to get her hat.

Dick's desire for change, however, was to be brought about by an
agency far diflerent from what he would have anticipated, and, as
is not unfrequently the case, what seemed a sore trial served to
fulfil his most earnest wish.

Mr. Acland's mind had been troubled for the last fortnight or
three weeks by the pallid looks and depressed air of his incompar-
able wife. Her appetite, too, was indifferent, and Mr. Acland had
urged her more than once to consult an eminent physician, if only
to relieve his mind.

This she gently refused to do. " I have no great faith in
doctors," she said, " and I understand myself. The truth is, 1 have
sustained a shock to my nervous system. The sudden appearance
of that man, Brand, revived all the painful memories of my former
life. He was one of the worst companions my unfortunate husband
had, and was, I imagine, the confidant of his intention to desert
me ; at any rate, they were travelling together in America when
the accident, through which Mr. Cranston lost his life, occurred.
Ah ! how terrible my life has been until I fouiul rest and security
with a true gentleman ; " and she laid her hand caressingly on her
husband's.

" Whose earnest effort will always be to promote your happiness,
my love," returned Mr. Acland, touched and flattered. "I must

!■ -1

( ;

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P*'i*nW!??!0(MS4t^'^ \^a^SKi^sn-ijea^asv--''se;rTT-.

^-""Tiie^-

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II :

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h'iM

A LIFE INTEREST.

iii;^i^

say I was pleased to see you look more like yourself last night at
our friend's little dinner ; and a veiy good dinner it was. We must
ask Mr. and Mrs. Berry here, as soon as you feel equal to the
fatigue of entertaining. Suppose you try a little change. A week
or ten days at Brighton or Ilfiatings might set you up. You could
take nurse and the children, and "

"And leave you alone, to be fidgeted into a nervous fever by
Marjory's awkwardness ! " interrupted Mrs. Acland, smiling ten-
derly upon him. " No, no ! I will not stir without you. Besides,
I do not think we are justified in incurring the cost of such an
expedition, when we shall have to take the whole family to the sea-
side in August."

" Ah ! I am not deterred by that consideration," said Mr. Acland
cheerfully. " I have had a somewhat unexpected windfall. A man
who was bankrupt a couple of years ago, and to whom 1 had done
some service, has paid the debt he owed me this morning. 1 had
never attempted to recover it, as it was not due to the tinn. I shall
therefore place it to my priv.ite account."

" That is very nice ! 1 feel sure, dear, you do many kind acts of
which no one hears," interrupted the lady. "However, the
drawing-room begins to look terribly shabby, and I have set my
h^art on a really good Turkey carpet — if you think you can afford it. "

A ijleasant discussion ensued, and it was arranged that Mrs.
Acland should call for her husband the following day at his office,
and go with him to a well-known emporium to choose a suitable
carpet, which, as Mrs. Acland observed, would wear well to the last.

Mr. Acland looked forward to this appointment with placid
pleasure, equivalent probably to the sense of comfort and security
which incites a petted pussy to purr. Mrs. Acland was always a
credit to him, always sure to choose wisely, to keep the middle
course between parsimony and extravagance. He even thought of
treating her to luncheon at Pim's (the carpet warehouse was in the
City), as she was to be at the office about one o'clock.

His gallant intentions were, however, frustrated by an urgent
request to meet the opposing solicitor in a complicated case for the
purpose of discussing the terms of a compromise. This necessitated
the performance of some business he had intended transacting in
the afternoon, at the time when he hoped to await his wife ; and
his arrangements for the day were completely upset,

Mrs. Acland was a little surprised, then, to find him awaiting her
at Moorgate Street Station, where she alighted.

" I am glad you are a little before your time," he said, noticing
her careful, simple, but handsome outdoor costume and distin-
guished look with satisfaction. " I am greatly annoyed at being
(obliged to break my engagement with you ; " and he briefly
explained, adding, "I shall not be detained for more than half an
hour, and I will, meet you at Dickson's."

A LIFE INTER KST.

" That will do very well," retained Mrs. Acland complaisantly.
" 1 can wait for you there."

" Meantime, you can save me returnin^j; all the way to theoftice,"
continued Mr. Acland, as they ascnded the long stair leading to the
exit, " if you will bring me a papc •, endorsed ' Abstract of Fleming's
title.' It is lying on some documents tied together, in the middle
division of my safe. Here are my keys. This long one opens the
safe : if it is stiff, get Dick to help you ; ho is writing in my room
t<»-day."

"Very well !" said Mrs. Aclf.nd, taking the keys.

" And you had better put tho paper into an enve 3pe. You will
tind some in the right-hand top di*awer of my table. 1 was so put
out by this summons, I quite forgot it — a thing I rarely do."

*'I will be careful," she said. " Good-bye for the present."

•' Take a cab down to Chichester Court," urged her husband.

" I would prefer walking ; it is quicker and safer." She smiled
and left hiin.

Tho olhce of Messrs. Acland and f 'ross was near the Metropolitan
.Station. Though Mrs. Acland rraJy visited it, she knew her way;
and, passing the clerk's or general room, tapped at a door that was
inscribed "Private."

It was immodi?.tely opened by Dick Cranston, who evidently
expected her. " Did you meet Mr. Acland V he asked.

" I did." She seated herself, and drawing a small fan from her
pocket waved it languidly, as if fatigued.

Dick resumed his writing. " Mr. Acland told me to bring him a
paper from the safe. Which safe? — I see two," asked his mother.

" It must bo the small one ; I think he keeps his own papers in
that." Mrs. Acland rose, and attem])ted to unlock it.

" I wish you would turn the key ; it is very stiff."

Dick came to her assistance. "It needs more knack than
strength."

" I should fancy you had more of the last than the first," she
said, with a light touch of scorn, as she opened the heavy door and
looked at the neatly arranged letters and papers almost filling the
receptacle. Dick stood by her for half a seetmd, and then went
back in silence to his seat, which faced in an opposite direction.

"There is the paper! Certainly Mr. Acland is the mo.st
methodical of men," exclaimed his mother, closing and locking
the safe. " I hope, Dick, you will profit by his example." She
walked to the large knee-hole table, and selected an envelope as
directed.

"lam not particularly untidy," said Dick; "I an> far more
orderly than George." His mother did not reply, but presently
came and placed the packet before him. " Address that to Mr.
Acland," she said ; "1 might po.-sibly drop it."

Dick obeyed in silence, and looking up saw his mother leaning

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III

A LIFE INTEREST.

biick in ,1 huge armchair which stood beside the fire-place. He rose
and brouyht her tlio little parcel.

" i\ re yuu not well ? " he asked, struck by her pallid, exhausted
look.

" No ; I am rarely quite well. I have these sudden terrible pal-
pitations." She pressed her hand to her side, while she gazed at
him with a peculiar resentful expression, her light blue eyes darken-
ing and dilating with some strung feeling. '*Ho\v could any
woman's i;erves or liealth stand the strain my life with your father
put on them ?— poverty, uncertiunty, suspicion, desertion ! And
what comfort have you been to me? — always opposing me ; never
hol[)ing mo in any way ! You are," vindicti\ely, "a reproduction
-^.f. } >',r father, with a strain of obstinacy even he had not."

" 1 am," said Dick, standing before her, Ims eyes oii hers with a
stern look of righteous wrath — " 1 am what your want of love has
made me. Have you ever triad to give joy or comfort to the life I
never asked you '.o bcotow ? "

Mother and son gri'.ed at each other for a moment of terrible
silence, vU the antiujonism of their nature.* ilashirg forth undis-
guised ; but her ej-es at last sank under his.

"1 should be better and happier if I wer'^ not under the same
roof with you," said Dick, steaf^ly. "i have long wished to go
out into the world and strive for myself. I do not fear the result ;
I can labour with my hands if need be. Your unconcealed dislike,
which you never expressed so distinctly before, has decided me.
I will speak to ^Ir. Acland to-night ; I will no longer be a burden
■^3 you or him."

" Do as you choose," she returned, coldly ; "you are, no doubt,
like your father, averse to steady ap.plication, and will become as
useless a wanderer as he was."

Dick made no reply, and his mother left the room without a
glance or a sign of relenting.

The young man Hirew himself into the chair she had just quitted,
and burying his head in his hands remained quite still, except for
a movement of his shoulders suggestive of sobs. It was a bitter
moment. He had long kno^n that his mother was indifferent to
him ; but tiiat she absolutely hated him was a cruel revelation, and
she did not hesitate to avow it with a{)alliiHr mimosity. Why, the
most worthless fellows — boys that ])ilfered and lied, and robbed
their benefactc^rs, ay, and ill-treated their mothers — were lovod by
the very parents they injured 1 In gaol, on the gallows, many
a criiiiinal's uiother stuck to him to the last ! What had he done
that he should be thus divested of friends, relatives, even of a
mother's tendern. ss ? He was terribly alone. But this temporary
despair of s loving heart passed by. Ho could bo, he thought,
sufficient to himself, and it wns unmanly to howl over w.iat was
inevitable. He could not be so very disagreeaVle and forbidding

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A LIFE INTF.UEST.

after all, or Marjory A^ould not have got over her stnmg prejudice
against him.

Now tluit Georgo was gone, the only creature he would regret
under his mother's roof was Marjoiy. How imiiatient and stinging
she could be ! But when al;e was kind she seemed to draw the
heart out of you and warm it against her own.

"Many a chap," thought Dick, pulling himself togecher with an
effort — " many a chap has begun lower down a good bit than me,
and got up pretty far ; why shouldn't I ?"

Ho rose and walked over to his desk.

"At any rate," he muttered, "I have done with my mother:
she shall never move me or hurt me again."

And his pen was soon travelling steadily though not rapidly over
the paper, proving that " Richard was himself again."

Meantime Mrs. Acland walked, not rapidly, to meet her hus-
band. She had not come unharmed out of the angry scene with
her son. Her face was set, and her eyes still dark with vindictive
dislike. Air and motion, however, helped to recover herself ; so
Mr. Acland found her calm, smiling, and speaking with just the
right degree of politeness to an attentive shopman.

"There ia your paper, my love," she said, binding it to him,
*' I made Dick address it ; just see that it is right."

" Yes, quite right," said Mr. Acland, looking at it. " You were
not likely to make a mistake."

Then husband and wife threw themselves into the pleasant task
of chcjosing among the harmonious colours and charming designs of
the abundant stores exhibited. Taste and cost pulled in opposite
directions, as usual. But Mr. Acland was in a liberal mood, and
the right article was finally fixed upon in time to allow of his keep-
ing his afternoon appointment punctually.

" T will put you into a cab before we part," he said ; "you will
want your luncheon by the time you get back."

" I shall not refuse a cab this time," replied Mrs, Aclan<\ tu^, . /
his arm and leaning heavily upon it. " The truth is, I have been a
little upset. When I went into your room I found Dick idling and
drawing ridiculous things, so I spoke to him rather sharply about
the bad return he made to you after all your kindness. He replied
most unbecomingly, in fact in a perfectly savage manner, so I left
him."

" I am sorry to her it. I must say, though Dick is slow, I never
find h:ni idle. I shall, however, certainly reprove him,"

'* No, no ; pray do not ! It will only make bad blood between
us. Let us trust to time and kindliness. I hope to bring him
and Marjory, whose estrangement I deplore, to reason and right
thinking by patience and justice."

" You are generally right. But here is a four-wheeler : you like a
fcrur-w heeler best ? "

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A LIFE INTEKEST.

"Yes, thank you 1 "

She was about to step in, when Mr. Acland exclaimed :

"Oh ! by the-bye, j^ive nie my keys,"

Mrs. Acland paused, thrust her hand into her jjocket and with-
drew, while a look of disnijiy came over her face.

'• ?*Iy dear, I am shocked and af^hamed ! 1 must have left them
on your table when I went to find the envelo[)e. Can you forgive
me? I was so vexed and worried by Dick's rudeness, that I never
thought of anything save getting away from him. I had better f*o
back for them at once,"

" No, no, by no means. No one will be let into my room while
I am away, and probably no one will see them until I return."

" Well, pray do return as soon as you can ! It is not well to
leave them about even when Dick is there. Boys are curious ; and
'hen we must remember his poor father's propensities. Oh ! I am
yi> sorry, dear ! "

"Nevermind. Pray got in : it is beginning to rain."

Dick Cranston was unusually silent and [ireoccupied that even-
ing ; ho did not even seem to hear Marjory w'hen she spoke to hiui ;
nor did he demolish a pile of bread and butter, as was his wont at
tea. As soon as he thought dinner was over he went away up-
stairs, and Marjory had time to forget his absence in an absorbing
story which enlivened the pages of the " Family Horald," lent to
her by the friendly cook.

Presently he came back, and stood looking wistfully, thought-
fully, out of the window, with his hands in his coat-pockets.

"Where have you been, Dick?" asked Marjory, roused to
curiosity by his long-continued silence.

" T have been speaking to your father," he said, returning to hi.«»
usual seat, and leaning his elbow on the table, rumpling his hair a?
he rested his head on one hand. " I have been tolling him I wiP
not go on at the office any longer; I want to maintain myself in my
own way, without troubling him or my — mother. "

" And what did he say ? " asked Marjory eagerly.

" Oh ! nothing very distinct ; something about waiting, and not
knowing my own mind — just what my mother has ]>ut into his
head ; but that is all nonsense. I never could leave at a more
suitable time. I have finished a lot of copying, i.nd ^^here's a new
fellow just apprenticed, who will fill my place ; so my loss will be a

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gain.

" Then you really mean to go ? — when ? "

" 1 most certainly mean it. If it were not for respect to Mr.
Acland, T should goto night."

" But, Dick, have you any money ? "

"Yes, a few shillinj^'s. "

" What will be'.M^mr of you if you do not find something to do ? "

*' I shall find something to do ; I am not afiaid ! " A long pause.

A LIFE INTEREST.

du/ing which Marjory struggled hard against an inclination to
cry.

" I shall bo awfully lonely when you are gone ; I shall not have a
friend in the house, except cook,"

" Yes, I am afraid you will be very lonely," returned Dick, look-
ing at her kindly. *'But 1 can't help going, Marga. I feel I would
rather walk away into my grave, than stay in the house with my
mother. She spoke to me this morning as if my existence was an
unpardonable offence. If I see her every day I shall end by hating
her ; and, cruel as she is, I don't want to feel like that."

" I am sure I am not a bit surprised if you do ! " cried Marjory,
with heartiest sympathy. " Why, she makes us all miserable. How
I wish I could go away too ! "

" You cannot, though,"' said Dick thoughtfully ; " you are such a
slight young thing ! How could you tight with the world ? "

"I do a good bit of fighting here, only I am always beaten,*'
replied Marjory, ruefully.

" Still, you are in your proper place under your father's roof —
the place you have a right to. Now I have no rightful place, till I
make one for myself."

"How shall you make it Dick — by carrying a thing like what
you described on your shoulder ? "
•'Yes, if need be."

" Oh ! how I wish George were here 1 " cried Marjory. " It is
too bad to lose you both ! " The big tears welled over and hun^
upon her eyelashes.

"Don't lose heart. Marge ! By-and-by, when George and I get
on, perhaps we might set up together, and you could come and
keep house for us."

" It would be heavenly ! " said Marjory, clasping her hands with
delight at so glorious a prospect. ' ' I would go to market and
manage everything. I love being in the kitchen ! But," her face
changing, ' ' if poor George is to be always at sea, he will not want
a house or a housekeeper."

" Well, anyhow, let us hope for the best," said Dick, rising. " I
am going to look over my belongings ; I will take very little with
me. But I have some books that were my father's ; I'll sell them
to-morrow, and get a few more shillings to keep me going till I find
employment. I wonder if my father really was so bad a fellow as
my mother makes out ! "

" I am sure it was her fault if he was," said Marjory stoutly.
" I don't know. She makes your father a capital wife."
He opened the door slowly, as if expecting Marjory to speak ;
but Marjory was thinking of the delicious possibility of keeping
house for the boys ; so Dick disii[)pcared for the evening.

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A LIFE INTEEEST.

CHAPTER VII.

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THIEVES BREAK TUROITGH AND STEAL.

Mr. Acland had been a good deal disturbed by his stepson's
resolution to quit a certainty for an uncertainty. Ho rather liked
the boy, and had grown accustomed to see him. Moreover he feared
it would not have a good appearance in the eyes of the world this
.sej)aration in the faniily.

The lad, however, was extremely resolute iu a quiet way, and
altogether Mr. Acland scented trouble near at hand. His ever-ready
C(jmforter, however, laughed at his tjiking the matter to lieart.
*' You are too kind and uiiseltish," she said ; " it is not worth fret-
ting about. Insi.et on his taking a fortnight to consider wl)at he is
abcjut, if ho is still of the same mind, let him go ! Trust me, he will
come back. If ho does, we ought to sliip him off to the Colonies.
He is just the sort of dogged plodding boy tiiat would succeed the'-e."
The next day, however, wrought a complete change in the views
and action of tlie speakers."

Mr. Acland was late. It was very warm weather for the begin
ing of M;iy, and Mrs. Acland had ordered a suitable dinner —
delicately fried salmon steaks, cold lamb, with fresh salad and may-
onaise sauce made by her own fair hands.

Her husband, however, arrived, looking pale and jaded ; nor did
he seem disposed to enjoy the good things set before him.
" Is Dick iu tlie house ? " was almost his first question.
" No ; I thought he was kept at the (*fhce."

"He left the ofhce a little after three, having told me he had
copied the letters Mr. Lane gave him to dc^ and as he did not intend
to remain, he h;id better not begin anything else."
" How insolent ! " exclaimed Mrs. Acland.
"No, he d d not spe k insolently."

" Something has happened to disturb you?" said Mrs. Acland,
looking sharjjly at her husV>and.

" Yes ! I will tell you after dinner."

The meal was finished in oniinous silence. As soon as they were
alone Mrs. Acland uttered an interrogative, " Well V

" My safe has been opened and robbed," returned Mr. Acland,
8peakit)g with unwonted animation.

" R<^l)bed ! " echoed his wife, growing palo. '* How — when ? "
" I will tell you all about it. The day before yesterday, as I told
you, a man who had long been in my debt paid me eighty-live pounds
odd, in notes and gold. He stayed a while talking, and when he

I'ii!!

A LIFE INTEREST.

left, as it was too lato for the bank, T put tho money into an
envelope, wrote the ainoi.int on it, Jiiid locked it away in my safe."
(Mrs. Acliind nodded an affirmative.) " Yesterday morning', you
remember, 1 was a good deal luuried and put about ; but thouj^h I
was detained rather long in consultation I returnnd to get the keys
which you had forgotten." (Mrs. Aclnnd's eyes grew larger with a
look of alarm.) " It was again too lato for tlio bank, so I did not
open the safe. On asking if any one had inquired for me, I was told
that no one had called — that only Mi-. Cranston had been in my
room, where he was writing till Mr. Cross had sent for him shortly
bef<»re my return. To day, as 1 told you, Dick left early, and
immediately after I went to get the money and sc^nd it to the bank.
It was clean gone."

Mrs. Acland uttered a low moan and fell back in her chair.
" Robert ! " she said in a voice f 11 of emotion, '' my unhappy boy !
You will not be too severe on hiiii ! "

"Your suspicions i)oint in Miat direction?" said Mr. Acland
nervously, and hastily pouring out a glass of sheny he pushed it
across the table to his wife. " I cannot myself believe he would be
80 dishonest — so short-sighted."

" What ha\ e you done ? "

'' I was afraid to dc; anything. The chief thing to guard against ia
scandal. I sent for Cross and told him of my loss. He seemed to
think it absurd to suspect Dick, of whom he has a high opinion.
We asked cautiously if any one had seen a [)oncil-case lying on my
table or anywhere about yesterday, and both the clerks declared
that from one o'clock, when Dick had conie out and takun a sand-
wich, returning almost immediatiily, he had never left the room,
until a minute or two before 1 entered it. Now you were not there
till after one."

"Ten minutes past," said Mrs. Acland ; "I remember looking at
the clock over the mantelpiece."

" I returned at four forty-five," continued Mr. Aclatul, "found
the keys where you thought you had left theui, and since they have
not been out of my possession."

" It is terribly suggestive," said his wife.

"You see," ho resumed, " I really cannot make a move in the
matter which is not fraught with danger to the boy himself- to the
— the respectability of the office — to our own credit. Looked at
apart from our pers inal belief and regard, the case against Dick is
strong— very strong ! "

Mrs. Acland covered her face with her handkerchief and shook her
head, " You will be merciful ? " she murmured.

" When you opened the safe to get the paper I required, did you
notice if an envelope, endorsed in my writing, 'eighty-five pounds,
thirteen,' lay on i"--'' of the papers in tho middle division ?"

" I did," faltered Mrs. Acland. " I recognized your writing ; and

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A LIFE INTEREST.

Dick, who assisted me to turn the icey, must have seen it too, for he
stood by me for a minute or two, "

"His sudden desire to leave m<i, the indescribable determination

to quit the office at once — all locks suspicious. Still I canxiot believe

—in short, 1 am at my wits' end. And the money is irretrievably

lost. Under the circumstances I cannot make any move about it."

" Robert ! " sobbed Mrs. Acland, " you are too— too good ; I feel
;u if my heart wore broken ! "

" Come, come, you must neither think nor speak like that."

" Let us see the boy and hear what he has to say for himself,"
ci led Mrs. Acland. • She rang liastily.

The servant who answered hor summons reported that "Mr.
Cranston had just come in and was having his tea."

" Tell him to ci/uie here a« soon as ho has done," she said , and
botli husband and wife kept silence — a painful silence, broken only
by an occasional ejaculation expressive of horror and despair on Mrs.
,\ eland's part.

Then the door opened and Dick Cranston walked in quietly, and
stood looking at them both with perfect composure. " You sent for
me I " ho said, after waiting to be addressed.

Mr. Acland looked at his wife, who shook her head, then he
uttered a hjud " hem " and said, " I wished to ask you a few ques-
tions, Dick. You were in my private room almost all yesterday?"

" I was, sir."

'" Who cama in while you wave there ? "

" Only my mother and Mr. Cross."

"What time did you leave ? "

" About half-past four."

' ' Did you see mv keys lying on my table ? "

"No, sir."

" Are you aware that a considerable sum has been taken from my
safe ? "

" No ! Has there really f Then I do not think it could have
bec) done yesterday, for I was in the room the whole time."

•' Then who could have taken it ? " asked Mr. Acland. " For the
money — over eighty-rive pounds — is gone."

" Some one must have a master key ! " cried Dick ; "how else
could the safe have been opened 1 "

" Dick," said Mr. Acland solemnly, " suspicion points to you. For
some hours you were alone, and the key of the safe wa^ within your
reach ! "

" To me ! J'^ is impossible, sir, you can suspect me ! "

" It is inexpdcable," exclaimed Mr. Acland, his expression grow-
ing undecided. " The idea of a master key is altogether impro-
bable. I have had that safe for years, and no attempt was ever
made upon it, though we had one dishonest man in the office."

Here Mrs. Acland suddenly started up, and clasping her hands,

A UFE INTEREST.

litret^hocl tliem out to Dick tragically. "My pooi- nua<_'ui»Ie(l son,"
she exclaimed with a sob, " have courage ; 1 have iiit ere iiilod (or you;
you know the generosity an(\ tenderness of your go(j(l lather — he is
indeed a father to you — be candid, and tell the whole trutli. We
shall not be severe on a first offence."

"I would forgive, if you would do your best to atone, and save
me from accusing some innocent individual falsely."

" Why, mother ! you don't believe I have done this [ I am cer-
tain 1/ou do iw^ ! " cried Dick, turning on her with a stern piercing
look. *' Why have you thought it necessary to intercede for me '(
T need no intercession." Then facing Mr. Acland he said still
steadily, though with much emotion. " What have 1 ever done that
you suspect me of such short-sighted infaniy, such base gratitude <
F have no need for money, I have no del)ts, I have never gambled,
though I have watched others play. I demand that you make the
strictest mquiry, in justice to me ' My (mly cai)ital is my character,
and if you find out the truth I am riure to be cleared."

" But don't you see, Dick, you unfortunate boy," gasped Mrs.
Acland, speaking with difficulty, " that if Mr. Acland makes open
iiKjuiry into the matter, it will be destruction to you ? No one

would believe you innocent, the evidence is too — too " she

faltered, and fell back in the chair from which she 1 ad just risen,
apparently fainting.

"This, too, is your work !" exclaimed Mr. Acl.ind indignantly
as he rang the bell for assistance ; " it is plain what her conviction
is."

Dick did not attempt to approach his mother, and Marjory, who
soon after Dick was sunnnoned had followed with a chivalrous inten-
tion of standing by him if necessary (for she had a vAgue prophetic
fueling that mischief was brewing), stx)od, disregarded by the other.s
in their agitation, terrified, indignant, bewildered, 1 coking on help-
lessly, while Sarah loosened her mistress's lace neckchief and held
smelling salts to her nose.

But Mrs. Acland quickly recovered, and ]}eren)ptorily dismissed
the servant. "I ara utter unhinged," she said brokenly, " I seem
to have lost my head with all this horror. Come and speak to me
early to-morrow, Dick ; you may hear reason from me. And
you, my dear husband, for my sake spare my son, have compassion
on his youth and inexperience ! " she rose and tottered towards the
door.

" I feel as if I vera going mad," exclaimed Dick, stopping short
and gazing at her; "you, my mother — you, Mr. Aclr.nd, who
have been my best friend and who know me thoroughly, to l)elieve
nu! capable of such baaeness ! Good God ! 1 begin to doul>t mv-
self ! "

"Be wise," murmured Mrs. Acland ; "do not persist in useless
obstinacy.'

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A LIFE INTKRKST.

" Obstinacy !" repeated Dick, " 1 have not quite lost my senses,
and I shall al wars maintain my innocence." He began to pace to
and fro. Mr. Aclaiid, witli a condemnatory shako of the head,
supported his wife out of the room. Marjory felt almost afraid of
Dick , he looked so dark and stern ; yet she could not make a move-
ment to go away. " Marjory," he said, aa if suddenly aware of her,
" do you believe I am a dastardly thief ?"

"No," she cried, the spell of silence and immobility breaking at
the sound, " not if every one in the world swore to it. I should
sooner believe she did it herself ! Don't be afraid, Dick, the truth
will come out one day ; but it is utterly unaccountable, there is
some witchcraft in it."

"Thank you, Marjory ; while I have one to believe in me I won't
give up, but here 1 will not stay."

"What will become of you, Dick?" cried Marjory appalled.
"Can you do nothing to [)rove your innocence ? "

" Nothing," he said. " Everything is against me."

He turned and retired to his own room, where Marjory dared not
follow him, to face this terril>le trouble as best he could alone.

Marjory waited miserably enough, hoping for his reappearance
till Sarah came to tnrn oif the gas.

As to Dick, he felt as if the ground, which had hitherto seemed
solid, i,Mving way under his feet. Even his steady sense and natural
self-reliance failed him in solitude and darkness.

Was he going to be the sport of what weak fellows and romance
writers call "fate?" Well, not without a stout tussle was the
deternnnation whicli finally grew up from the weary round of con-
jecture, anticipation and confused plans, through which he wandered
in the sleepless watches of that dreary night.

Early next morning the housemaid tapped at the door : — "Please,
sir, your ma' would like to speak to you in her own room."

It was with ti\e utmost reluctance Dick obeyed. Ho looked for
no sympathy, no kindly cotn])iehension from his mother.

Siie was wra])ped in her dressing-gown, sitting by her writing-
table, on which stood a cup of tea.

" I have not closed my eyes, Dick," she exclaimed as he entered
the door ; " of all my troubles tliis is the worst that has fallen upon

me."

" I am not surprised at your thinking so." He was very com-
posed and cold.

" 1 am driven by irresistible facts to believe as I do, most reluct-
antly ; but, Dick, neither Mr. Ac' .nd n<n' I wit^h to be harsh. I
have succeeded in persuading liim to give you another chance ; he
will bear the loss — a very serious one, and preserve the strictest
silence on the subject, to save your character. Foituu.'itely the
nioni'y was his own and no one kiunv it had b.en placed in the
safe ; no one need be the wiser. If you are sensible, and awarp

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what is due to Mr, Acland and myself, you will stay where you are
and endeavour to li^e down this most painful a;}d too probable
suspicion."

" I will never sleep another night under your roof nor cost Mr.
Acland another shilling," returned Dick very quietly. " Mother,
I do not believe that in your heart you think me guilty," he added
emphatically, while he looked keenly into her face.

" I would rather not ; but how can I di.sbelieve ? who else could
have taken che money 1 who else was alone in Mr. Acland's room
except myaelf ? Perhaps," with a scornful laugh, " you wish to shift
the blame on m« ? "

*' I would not do so even if I could," said Dick coldly.

'* Insolent boy," cried Mrs. Acland with sudden fire, "your tone
is an insult. I believe you think me capable of any crime."

*' 1 did not mean to be insulting."

" Then what do you intend to do ? You can find no employment
without a recommendation. Do not be a fool ; stay where you are.
If you are unjustly suspected, the truth will come out »ome day ;
be guided by me."

"I cannot stay," he returned firmly; "neither you nor Mr.
Acland ought to suspect me. I may be a dull rough fellow, but
1 have always been honest ; I have deserved better from you.
Now I shall bid you good-bye : if we are to meet again you must
seek me."

"Stay — I desire you to stay," cried Mrs. Acland, greatly
agitated.

'Good-bye, mother, you will be happier without me." With a
choking sensation in his throat Dick left the room and shortly after-
wards the house.

When Marjory came downstairs there was no sign of her comrade
and ally ; she did not like to ask for him, though her heart swelled
painfully at the thought that she should not see him again,
and yet, she told herself, he could not have gone without saying
i(ood-bye.

She went into his room — nothing had been touched ; she wan-
dered into tlieii* subterranean study — his pencils and bits of draw-
ings lav scatte^'ed abou**:.

"What's become o' Mr. Dick?" asked the cook. "Ho was
off early without a mouthful between his teeth. Has he fallen out
with his ma ? Well, many a lady might be proud of such a son, a
tall, fine-looking fellow, »nd that quiet and well behaved."

"I know nothing about him, cook ; I am afraid something has
fjone wrong."

Breakfast passed in almost total silence. Mrs. Acland did not
appear, but a message from her summoned her husband to a private
interview before he set out for his office.

Marjory watched the breakfast being reriioved with a sort of dumb

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!uif<or at things going on as usual, so natural to a mind deeply
irritated and disiresaed. Tlion Louise's lt>s.sons and music had to be
attended lo. and she v/as extra troublesome.

It was a Wo. ry morning, the moments '.vere as drops of lead.

Mrs. Acland (mly left her room tv) go out in a cab, which li.ul
been waiting a fev^ minutes. Then nurse did her best to pcrsuadi'
Marjory that it would do her good to t;ike the children for tluii
morning walk. This she utteriy declined ; and feeling unspeiikably
desolate she settled herself in the schoolroom, and tried to work,
chiefly sitting with her elbows on the table and her head on lu r
hands.

Suddenly the door opened and Dick came in.

" Oli ! I sm so glad," she cried, " I thought you had gone quit*'
away ; where have you been ?"

Dick sat down opposite her, a smile, somewhat sad but very soft.
parting his lips. "I should not have gone without l)idding you
good-bye. I have been to see Mr. Cross in his own house, to tell
him the whole story,

" And what does ho say ? " cried Marjory breathless.

"That as a case of circumstantial evidence nothim: can be stronger
against me ; but strong as it is, he does not believe I took the
money. You can't think what a relief this is ; 1 feel as if T had
more faith in myself."

" I am 80 glad" said IVIarjory warmly. " And did you tell him
you would go away ? "

*' Yes ; he advised me not, but, I held to my intention. Then he
oflfered me a tip, but I could not take it."

" But you ought have taken it," cried Marjory ; "I am sure you
have no money of your own ! "

"Enough to begin with," said Dick. "However, he insisted on
my eating a good breakfast ; and I feel much bolder in consequence,"
he added with a laugh. " Now I have come back for a last word with
you ; it will be many a day before I see you again."

"But Wvon't you write to me?" cried Marjory, her lips
cjuivering.

" It would be no use." he returned ; " out roads will lie wide
apart, for I am going to begin at the very bottom of the ladder, and
r may not be a desirable acquaintance."

" Dick ! "

" I don't think you would cut me, but the idea of keeping up any
intercourse with this house is utterly repugnant. I want to break
away and disappear, so I will not write to you, though I shall think
of you often. V'ou have been very kind and good since you came
back from school ; I thank you with all my heart."

"Oh ! Dick, I used to bo a wretch ! Won't you sit down and
have a little talk, they are all out?"

" I can't ; 1 have a long walk before me. I have been in my

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room and takon .'i few clothes — I think I have earned them. Now
I luu.st Any <,'<)ud-bye."

"■ Then if \vc are to part friends, Dick," speaking with an eflfort,
"you must tako this from George and me." "This" was a
folded paper containinj^ three sovereigns, which Marjory had
hoarded up.

" What I rob you of your capital," cried Dick, looking down at
her with moist eyes and a half smile. " No, Marjory, I have not
come down to that yet ! "

" But, Dick, you must, you must," slipping her hand through
his arm and endeavouring to force the gold upon him, "or shall 1
think you do not like me, tliat you are still offended with nie ! 1
shall be miserable enough when you, too, have gone, and my only bit
of comfort will bo knowing that you were not quite j)ennile88, that I
was able to help you a little. Don't refuse me, Dick."

Again he refused ; but she pleaded bo earnestly, her bright eyes
all suffused with tears, that he yielded at last. '• Well, Marjory, I
will repay you if I live, and at least 1 shall always feel I have one
friend in you." He looked round the bare dull room, and took up
some pencils and a drawing or two which lay on the shelf and put
them in his pocket. " I have known some miserable hours in this
room," he said, " and some pleasant ones since you came home, but
I little thought I should be driven to leave it as I am! Give my
love to George, he has always been a good fellow to me ; and now,
Marjory, C d bless you i Won't you give me a parting kiss ?"

" Oh yes, dear Dick," she cried, the tears now welling over and
rolling down her cheeks. She lifted up her face to him as she wouM
have done to George. Dick, moved to a degree that surprised him-
self, hugged her heartily.

"It is hard to part — harder than I thought," he said, half
ashamed of his own emotion. "I could be so fond of you, Marjory,
if I stayed ! but it is all no use, we may never meet again ;
fiiily, believe me, I shall always try to be an honest man, however
liumble my way of life. From this time forth I will trust to myself
alone."

"Good-bye," sobbed Marjory, now quite broken down, "do let
nie hear from you some time or other ; and remember I shall never
- -never — never believe a word against you."

Dick pressed her hand hard and went out through the side
entrance, turning at the gate to wave a last farewell. His counten-
ance was grave but not despondent, and his step aa he walked
ra{)idly down the road vi^as firm and elastic.

'"He will succeed, I am sure he will," thought Marjory, as she
Ininied away to her own room to sob herself back to composure.
tSurc'y a more tra'.,ac break in tho routine of a sombre life could nob
havt; come to deepen monotony into gloom I

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So Dick Cranakon went away out of Marjory's life altogether for
the present, leaving no trace.

For awhile Mr. Acland was uncomfortable, and occasionallv con-
jectured what might, could, would or should have become of his
stepson. But Mrs. Acland was immovably calm. " As soon as he
needs anything he will return, depend upon it," was her invariable
answer. " He has found some means of living, and even if he suf-
fers privation he deserves to suffer for his shameless condr tto you,
who have been a real father to him."

*' Then you believe he did take that money ? "

" I try hard not to believe it ; but it is evident that Dick and my-
self were the only persons who had access to the safe."

"Circumstantial evidence sometimes misleads! And it would
have been more natural for him to have gone off with his plunder
instead of returning here."

" On the contrary his disappearance would have left no doubt as
to who was the thief. His best chance was to face the danger and
throw suspicion on some one else — even on me if he could. "

*' On you ! Oh ! that would be too preposterous ! "

" Well ! I rather think it would ! " with a placid smile; and then
the conversation drifted in another direction.

Gradually forgetfulness fell on all save Marjory. She thought
often of the outcast, pictured him in difficulty and sore need, even
carrying the hod he had described to her, or perhaps falling in with
some benevolent millionaire such as appear at the right moment in
sensational stories, and returning prosperous, powerful and ready to
confound his mother by his superiority and success.

The glowing June and showery July days passed without a break
— passed chiefly in the solitude of the school-room. Even Marjory's
bouyant nature was losing its elasticity under th« pressure of an
ever-present enmity, and she began to give up the struggle to win
something of kindness and recognition from her father. Indeed,
she marvelled at the dexterity with which Mrs. Acland always made
her appear in the worst light, while her subtilty defied Marjory's
untrained efforts to counteract her malignant influence.

Writing long letters to George, who was still in southern latitudes,
where his ship was employed in various voyages between the Col-
onies, California and South America, was her only solace ; and in
her loneliness she began to attach herself to her little half-sister,
Louise, who was her pupil, and, though troublesome, was interest-
ing and affectionate.

The autumnal sea-side visit was a welcome break. Marjory had
a keen and exquisite pleasure in the beauty, the colouring, the
changefulness of the sea, and she used to wander with and without
Louise for miles along the beach, for which freedom of action Mrs.
Acland occasionally scolded.

After Cln-istmas, however, a fresh trial awaited her. Herbert,

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his mother's spocial favourite, was to begin lessons, and Marjory
particularly disliked the child. She well knew that the effort to
make him attend would most certainly embitter her relations with
Mrs. Acland and estrange her still more from her father ; she waa
therefore resolved not to undertake the odious task for nothing.

Having screwed her courage to the sticking point, for she was not
nearly so brave as when she tirst returned from school, f i;9 startled
both Mrs. Acland and her father at breakfast one morning after
they were again settled in Falkland Terrace by saying abruptly,
" If I am to teach, why can I not be a governess in some strange
family ? Let me have some lessons, or attend classes this winter,
and in the spring I can go away and earn my own bread as the
others did." A very injudicious beginning, but Marjory had learned
that speak as she might Mrs. Acland would always twist her words
against her.

"Why, Marjory ! " exclaimed Mr. Acland, looking up from his
paper, " what has put that into your head ? "

'* I hope a sincere desire to I'ghtenyour burdens," said his wife
smiling. " I tliought it would be a mutually helpful arrangement
if Mai'iory saved you the coat of school for our little ones, and yet
ke])t them under the shelter of hi-r father's roof."

" I think I should do better among strangers," returned Marjory
bluntly. " Louise is all very well, but I shall never be able to
manage Herbert ; besides " She paused.

" Besides, you would no doubt prefer seeking adventures far from
the restraints of your father's decorous house," interrupted Mrs.
Acland.

Marjory flashed a look full of wrath upon her, but wisely held
her tongue. ,

" Well, a-really, T never thought a daughter of mine would enter-
tain such an idea," said Mr. Acland pompously ; " do not let me
hear anything more of such a scheme."

" I do not know that I should insist on its complete renunci-
ation," remarked Mrs. Acland thoughtfully. "Some girls cannot
be ha[)py at home, and many young ladies, better off than Marjory
will e\ er be, like the independence of earning their bread. But at
present Marjory is decidedly too young."

"And too ignorant for anything above a nursery governess," put
in the subject of discussion. "If you will only let me attend the
music and history classes at the New Institute in the High Street I
will do all I can for Herbert, and, of course, for Louise too."

This bold attempt succeeded. For some object of her own IMrs.
Acland saw tit to second her stepdaughter's propositi<m, and Mar-
jory had one opportunity in her life of feeling something like friend-
liness towards her stepmother when she was permitted to attend the
clasocs as she proposed.

Tiie winter then passed far more quickly and pleasantly than Mar-

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jory had dared fco hope, in spite of the penance entailed by . lii', in,j
to teach Herbert.

Yet Mra. Acland did not slacken the reins of discipline. Mar-
jory, who was extremely sociable snd ready to make acijuuint i ns,
once brought in a class-fellow who was walking back from tlu- 1. .sti-
tuto with her, to exj^lain some change which had been made in iImj
order of their lessons, and while they were looking through tli ic
books in the dining-room, Mrs, Acland came in. She was free/ii;;, iy
dignified, and the young visitor speedily departed. Whcroujnm
she sternly forbade Marjory ever taking so great a liberty again ;
she was not to bring pr-^miscuo is companions into that sacred room
<>■ into the house : all; ■;/*,8 o! '1 inght couie of it

"Oh! very '1!'' sii'l MarjOiy bravely, though her heart
swelled with rage and Tuortijicatiin. "I thought it was my father's
house and that I might asi{ ; ifiei'^ ""/O "

" Yes, it is your father's house, .i.'-errupted Mrs. Acland with
contemptuous calmness, "but he has put me at the head of it, so I
shall do my duty and what is best for those in it, regardless of your
insolence. You will find it is wiser to be my friend than my
enemy."

" How can I be your friend when yo!i never will understand me
or believe that I try to do right," cried Marjory passionately.

*' Go, leave the room ; do not attempt to answer me," returned
Mrs. Acland ; and Marjory gladly obeyed.

This interdict cut her off from making any girl intimacies. If she
could not ask any one to her father's house, neither would she ac-
cept any invitation, while she was too loyal to her father to com-
plain of his wife to strangers. So she grew silent and reserved and
was natually left to herself.

CHAPTER VIII.

ENTER UNCLE CARTERET.

Time in its ceaseless, pitiless unbroken stream swept through the
frost and snow, the storms and suffering of winter, and once more
spring sunshine and early showers smiled and wept on the fast flow
ing current.

It was a year since Dick had gone out into the unknown, and
nothing whatever had been heard of him.

The recurring season filled Marjory with thoughts of both her
banished brothers. George, she had some hopt^s of seeing soon, as
Mr. Acland had heard from the owners that the ship was to come
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This was cheering news, and Marjory supported herself on it, as
;i sliipwretiked mariner clings to the plank on which he floats amid
the bitter briny waves.

The y ar just jiast had ripened and matured her fiery impetuous
nature, • t it had also in some legree tar-.iished the bright hope-
fulness iich was her spear a^id shield ; she ntill cherished the plan
of goint/ way to teach or work among st'-angera, and escape the
humiliat' )n of being treated like a hireling in her father's house,
but she ad w again broached the subject to Mr. or Mrs. Acland ;
it requ 'dd a good deal of resolution to attack it.

Jno evening after 'Unr i- Marjory went up to the study, as the
back-parlour whs bermed, which opened on a balcony with steps
leading to the garden. Here Mr. Acland liked to smoke a post-
prandial cigar, while his wife, who was remarkably industrious,
worked some elaborate ornamental stitchery. Marjory's errand was
Ui submit a list of books she had been ordered to make to her step-
mother.

Mrs. Acland glanced over it. "That seems all right," she sa:'^
" but there are some in the spare room which I had forgotten I
just scrilibled them down. There, you had better sit down and ,<du
them to the list."

Marjory obeyed, and while she wrote her father took his oigar
from his lips, remarking lazily, "I met Fowler to-day, Fow- >' of
Jamc i, Briggs and Fowler, and he mentioned that Mr. Cartert id
:i,ctually arrived in London. Fowler is his solicitor, you know."

" Oh! indeed. You mean Marjory's uncle or grand-uncle, whom
we heard of last year ? "

"Yes ; It seems the tenant of his place in Daleshire is leaving,
and he has come over to stay there for a few months and let it
agam."

" Indeed ! I suppose this Mr. Carteret is a man of property ? "

" His estate is not very considerable, but he inherited money from
his mother, and his wife bad a large fortune."

" Where is he staying ? "

"At the Grosvenor Hotel."

" Don't you think, dear, you ought to call upon this relative ? "

" He is only a connection," returned Mr. Acland. "And I do
not feel disposed to spend any time on him. He never took much
notice of his niece nor of me. When we were married he sent us a
(lueex-looking mouldy lamp ; I believe it was something Grecian or
Pompeian."

" is that the old green thing with a broken foot in the lumber
room ? "

" I daresay ; I have not seen it for years."

Mrs. Acland mused for some moments in silence.

" I think, dear, if you do not care to call, I ought, if it were only
for Marjory's sake, she ought to know her mother's relatives."

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*' 1 do not think that old Carterot would ever bo of use to any
one."

" Still," ur^jed Mrs. Acland, " I should like to call if you have
no objection."

" Do just as you like, uiy dear ; I do not think they will be long
in town."

Mrs. Acland made no remark, but this possibility of establishing
a link with real genuine members of the " upper ten " fascinated her.

If she could manage to please this rich old aristocrat she might
introduce the thin end of the wedge into society far and away
beyond the north-west coterie by which her ambition had hitherto
been bounded.

She was up betimes next morning, and foraged out the " wonder-
ful lamp " with her own hands, wrapped it in paper and took it
before luncheon time to a " handy man " in the neighbourhood who
did much repairing far her.

"Marjory," she said when the midday meal was nearly over,
" go and put on your best dress and hat, or rather bring the hat to
me and I will put in a few primroses, it is a little too simple. lam
going to see Mr. and Mrs. Carteret and will take you witli me ; try
and be amiable and agreeable. These relations might be of great
use to you."

Marjory muttered something.

" What do you say — you have no nice gloves ? You shall get a
pair as we go along. It is a miserable wet afternoon and we shall be
sure to find them."

If Marjory had not been going to pay this visit in company with
her stepmotlier she would have been full of lively curiosity and
highly pleased ; as it was she felt sure Mrs. Acland would contrive
to make her look awkward or foolish, or both. However, it was a
little change, so she brought her hat and looked on with rather
reluctant admiration at the deftly arranged decoration by which
Mrs. Acland soon improved its appearance.

"I shall have a cab. It is false economy to spoil one's clothes,"
was Mrs. Acland's decision. And she even risked an additional
sixpence in the fare by stopping at Marshall and Snelgrove's to get
Marjory the gloves she needed.

Arrived at the Grosvenor she was rewarded by finding that both
Mr. and Mrs. Carteret were at home.

Marjory was absolutely dazzled by the grandeur of the stair-case,
the wide hall, the numerous waiters, the deference of the elegantly-
mannered porter. She was struck by Mrs. Acland's composed
matter-of-course air ; it seemed as if she had been used to this sort
of thing all her life.

The room to which they were conducted was large and handsomely
furnished, a fire burned pleasantly in the grate, and beside it in an
easy chair sat a small elderly gentleman, with a short, arched, obsti-

▲ LIFE INTER KST.

nate nose and shrivelled yet rosy clieel<s, like a certain kind of apple,
a remarkably abundant head of light-coloured hair, contrasted with
scanty i,'reyi8h whiskers, and 8Uij<^estcd the aid of art. He had
evidently been examining or sorting letters, for a small table in front
of him was covered with i)apers of various kinds, and when Mrs.
Acland's card was presented he looked up and took it with a peevish
expression. " Aclaud — hey ? " he exclaimu'l, examinin-^ it through

his double eyeglass. " Who — what " but hi.s speech was arrested

by the entrance of Mrs. Acland in her handsome visiting dress (jf
black silk, lace and jet and an exceedingly becoming bonnet. She
was followed by Marjt)ry in her very best though unspring-like cos-
tume of dark grey and hat of coarse straw, which her stepmother had
" smartened up " for the occasion.

The little old gentleman rose, pushed away his table and made a
low bow. He was very carefully dre.ssed in rather a ])icturesquo
style, his coat was black velvet, and his shirt collars were turned
uown over a pale blue tie, secured at the throat by a gold ring.

" Mns. Acland," he said with a slightly bewildered air, '* [ fear
that during my absence from ]']ngland I have not kept up my know-
ledge of family history, a " he hesitated and paused.

" I have taken the liberty of calling," said Mrs. Acland in her
gentlest voice, with her most softly composed manner, ''although 1
am not so fortunate as to be related in any way to you, Mr. Carteret ;
but hearing you were in town I thought it right to present your
grand-niece, my husband's eldest daughter, Marjory Acland, to you."

"Ah ! I am sure you are very good — very good indeed ! " looking
hard at our little heroine. " But do you mean to say that exceed-
ingly grown, up young lady is my grcuul-mece ? "

" 1 am told that my husband, Mr. Robert Acland's lirst wife was
your niece, Marjoiy Barton."

"Oh yes, I remember now. It certainly .^eems a long time ago.
1 was young myself then — young, I mean, to have a marriageable
niece ; but her mother, my si.ster, was older — considerably older,

and married far too young 1 Won't you sib down a " he spoke

uneasily and as if not too well pleased.

Mrs. Acland immediately took a chair, and Marjor}^ meeting his
eyes and greatly amused with his quaint figure, smiled one of the
swift sweet smiles which at times lit up her face with passing beauty.
The old gentleman was struck.

" I think your daughter is more a Carteret than a Barton," he
said with a smile, which showed a superb row of teeth. *' I caught
an expression there that reminded me of my mother, who was a cele-
brated beauty."

" I confess that I am rather struck by the likeness between Mar-
jory and yourself," returned Mrs. Acland seriously.

" Indeed ! indeed I that is rather curiouo I for 1 am considered to
have a striking resemblance to my u\<<[ iier. Would you mind stand-

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inu' by me here ? " he ambled with little short quick steps to a long
looking-glass between the windows. " I am rather a well-known
iudge of faces, likenesses- in fact of all the subtler indications of
hereditary ; I want to c(nnpare our faces." He looked with great
T;ravity at the reflections of himself and his youthful giand-niece.

Marjory had rarely looked so sweet. The idea of finding a rela-
tive who would acknowledge and perhaps protect her in this funny,
pretty, and decidedly well-bred old gentleman, softened her with a
sensation of grateful pleasure. She felt ready to take him into her
heart.

" Well, a-really, a — I do perceive a certain resemblance "

" I hope I am like you ! " said Marjory, turning to him with so
genuine an expression of kindly approciation that Mr. Carteret had
rarely been more pleasantly flattered,

"Thank you, my dear, I must say the same to you. Now sit
dowe, sit down. I am a very busy man, my dear madam," to Mrs.
Aciand, " but I will gladly spare you a few minutes until Mrs. Car-
teret ai)peara. Now tell me everything, put me an fait of family
matters " (he was very fond of peppering his talk with scraps of
foreign tongues, which shall be translated), " not that 1 am very
deeply interested in such things ; my sympathies take a wider, a
more cosmopolitan range ; still, as you have taken the trouble to

call " He paused and waved his white 1 eringed hands as if to

say, " Go on."

•'I can give you very little information," returned Mrs. Aciand.
"These matters do not interest me greatly, and the late Mrs. Ac-
land's sisters have held aloof since Mr. Acland's marriage with me."

'*Very foolish! very unreasonable indeed!" ejaculated Mr.
Carteret. " They could not expect that a man of his age, scarcely
come to the prime of life — he is some years younger than 1 am —
would live alone, uncompanioned and unsolaced. Pooh ! how few
understand human nature ! "

"Quite true," said Mrs. Aciand much impressed, as if this view
had never been presented to her before.

" And Aciand is still doing well? He's somoching in the law?
And he had, you know, a very fair fortune with Marjory Barton."

" I know very little of Mr. Acland's affairs previous to his mar-
riage with me. He has had some severe losses " (Mr. Carteret's face
assumed a sudden expression of alarm and disgust ; Mrs. Aciand
hastened to finish her sentence) . "I have therefore found full occu-
pation for my limited powers in endeavouring to secure for my hus-
band and family the largest amount of comfort at the smallest pos-
sible cost. However, for the last three years I am happy to say he
has been recovering himself."

" Glad to hear it, very glad indeed."

" A press of business has prevented Mr. Aciand from doing him-
self the pleasure of calling upon you."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

•' Pray don't mention it ! My com])liments to Mr. Acland ; ho
is by no means to trouble himself : in fact, I have so little in com-
mon with an English man of business that an inteniew would not
l»e productive )f much enjoyment to either."

" Perhaps not," gaid Mrs. Acland with an amiable smile, as if she
were taking her interlocutor into her confidence. " My dear good
husband has certainly noi much perception of the ideal or beautiful.
Why, I found an exquisite anticpio brown lamp, Pompeian or (Ire-
cian, hidden away in a cuj)board, a thing which rejoiced even m
uneducated eyes, which 1 have reinstated in its place of honour
understand it was a gift from yourself."

*• A bronze Pompeian lamp," repeated Mr. Carteret, almost lift-
ing himself oflf his seat so eagerly did he grasp the arms of his chair.
'' My dear madame, I should like to see it ! 1 should very much like
to see it ! Would you mind sending it here for inspection ? "

" It would give Mr. Acland and myself infinite pleasure if you and
Mrs. Carteret would waive ceremony and inspect it in our very mod-
est abode, any day and hour you choose to fix for dinner," begar
Mrs. Acland insinuatingly.

* ' Dinner ! my dear madame ! " almost screamed Mr. Carteret.
" Nothing on earth would induce me to dine out in London. Tli»
atmosphere, the cooking would be my death ! "

Mrs. Acland's colour rose, and Marjory opened her eyes while sht
suppressed an inclination to lau<,fh.

The awkward silence was broken by the entrance of a tall, slight,
elegant-looking woman, very colourless, with near-sighted ligh<-
eyes and a thick gold -coloured fringe of hair. Her costume war'
almost girlish in its delicate colouring, and the lace with which it
was abundantly decorated was of the most costly kind.

'" Ah, here is Mrs. Carteret. My dear, this is Mrs. Ackland and
Miss Acland ; you remember, or perhaps you do not, that my youn^,
relative, Marjory Barton, married a Mr. Acland. This is her dausrh-
ter, and this is the present Mrs. Acland. It is really rather compli-
cated, but I have a knack of starting things."

Mrs. Carteret made a slight gracious bend of acknowledgement,
saying in a very sweet refined tone, " I remember quite well ; " and
drawing a chair near Marjory, picked up a tiny silvery little York-
shire terrier, which waddled after her, and began to stroke i' '>'■.
she spoke.

" Now about this lamp ' resumed Mr. Carteret, addressing Mrs.
Acland with real interest, and they were soon in deep conversation,
while Mrs. Carteret with a soft smile asked Marjory, "Have you
been long in town ? I suppobo it is your first season ? "

" We always live in town," said Marjory, immensely struck by
the elegance of her uncle's wife. Could so grand a lady belong to
her ivx any way ?

" Ah I indeed. All the year round ? "

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" Except when we go to the seaside."

'* Yes ; Is it nc-; rather unpleasant in November 1 "

" No, 1 do not think so."

"Do j-ou hkedogs?"

" Yes, very niucli. What a little darlinj? that is ! "

'It is a lovely creature, and so intelligent. Oh I you may
.stroke her ; she rarely hitos. "

"What is its name : "

" Fairy I Have yon any dogs ? "

"Marjory shook her head " I should like to have one, but Mrs.
Acland would not let one into the h(»use."

" Ah I " said Mrs. Carteret— a v;3ry expressive " ah ! " and there
waB a pause, during which ^.larjory listened tc^ what Mr. Carteret
wassayj'iu to his attentive li.stenei' :

" A very serious niist'uriune, i assure you. After ten years of
sunshine, of intellecLual inter(j<iurse, an atmosphere impregnated
with art, beauty, classical associations, to be torn from all that
ma];es litt, worth living because a wi-etched soa|)-boiler clioosos to
re]in(]uish his tenancy of a place far too good for him, which he
iield at a nominal rent — merely nominal, I assure you I "

"Nevertheless it will be pleasant to see your own old place

1 "

agaui

"Old! There is nothing really old in England ! Just look at
the Colonnas, the Orsini, tiie — the Contarini : We are mere mush-
nsoms compared to them !"

" Very true," said Mrs. Acland, as if beaten out of the field.

" 1 shall only I'ciuain for the suunner, or as long as it remains
unlet, and I intend to occnj\y my time in ari-anging and classifying
a collection of coins and curios I have brought with me. 1 am now
enucavouriug to tind an intelligent young man as amanuensis, but
their demands are exorbitant, preposterous, and they are so self-
sullicient. There is nt^thing so derogatory to nobility of character
and — and high attainmeiits as conceit "

"One would imagine the advantages of such an appointment
might bi a temptation, apart from money payment."

" P]xactly so. Excuse me for the interruption, but I must put a
question to IMrs. Carteret, Pray what answer did Mr. Fowler get
from that young man, oui' last applicant r'

" He cannot, he saj's, take less than lifty pounds f(U* so temporary
an a})p()intment, as it ma}' hinder liis tindnig son\ething more i)er-
manc.nt," returned l\lrs. Carteret, as if bhe were repeating a lesson
she had learned oli' by heart.

" Jxidiculous ! 1 shall give notiiing of the kind. All I want is a
decently mannered man, who writes a clear hand, spells correctly,
and does what he is bid -lif'-y p<junds, indeed ! "

"It seems an enoruums sum," said Mrs. Acland.

" I don't think it is after all," remarked Mrs. Carteret with an
air of reflection ; " one can buy vi-ry little with lifty pounds,"

A LIFE IXFKniCST.

*• My flonr, j'ou know nothinpc a1><>ut it," cried her Imsband.

*' We must say u,ood inorniiig," said Mrs. Acland rising ; " I fear
we have already treB{)as.sed too long. Sliall you make any stay in
London ? "

" About ten days more," returned Mrs. Carteret.

"Might I hope that if you have time you will call and see the
lamp of which wo were speaking, our residence is not very much
out of the way ? "

" I fear I can make no promise, my dear Mrs. Acland. P*Iy
engagements are so numerous. I shall therefore depend on you to
let me see it hero ! Suppose you come and have a cup of tea on
Thursday. No, Thursday I a)n to receive the president of the
Anthropological Society, Let us say Saturday at four-thirty."

" Certainly, 1 shall be most happy."

*' And 1 shall have the pleasure of returning ymr kind visit,'*
said Mrs. Carteret courteously as she shook hands with Mi's Acland.
"We hope to see 1/ou also on Saturday," she added to Marjory,
"and you can improve your acquaintance with my pretty Fairy,
who seems quite friendly."

Marjorj^ went reluctantly away in the wake of her stepmother.
What would she not have given to have remained behind I

" This has been rather a startling visitation," said Mr. Carteret,
settling ):iuiself again to his letters. " If I am to be inundated by
my cousins and nieces and kiudj-ed to the tliird and fourth genera-
tion, I shall return to Italy and leave the Priory to take care of
itself."

"The girl is pretty, certainly attractive!" observed Mrs.
Carteret, resuming her seat when she had rung for tea.

"She is," Mr. Carteret agreed heartily, " and remarkably like
ino — curiously like."

"I cannot say I observed the likeness," said Mrs Carteret,
rolling Fairy's ear round one of 1: er fingers.

•' No, I daresay you do not ! ifou contrive to see about as little
as IS possiVjle for a person not absolutely deprived of eye-sight."

Mrs. Carteret replied by a politely suppressed yawn and an
openly expressed wish for her tea.

"The step-mother seems a sensiV)le, well-bred, observant woman,"
continued Mr. Carteret isliujUing among his papers, having fixed
his double >ye-glas3 tirmly on his nose.

" Her manners are remarkably careful," said his wife.

" I flatter mynelf I am as good a judge of manner as any man in
Europe, and 1 say she is a runiarkabiy well-bred woman "

"Oh I very likely — only I do not care f(<r her. The girl looks
like a gentlewoman, though she is w^-etchedly iil-drossed. Why, a
milliner's apjn'eiitico would not wear such a badly made, second-
rate gown, aiui her hat did not match in the least. Poor child 1 "
this with a sigh of the sincorost pity. " Did you notice ? "

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'* Her lint ? No, 1 trird ii<»t to sec it. T alw.iy?* nvoid Rooiii;:
hats Hiui bonneLs. JIf)".v \v*iiin;n tan oiifluro thv ;>;,^.»iizi;i;j; uglincs-;
uf inodorii fashions is uioro tluui 1 can uiuliM-st^uul I "

Here tlie lea was hroD^ht in and Mrs. Cavtoret, depositing Fairy
in lier basket, protxt-ded to pour it out.

"I don't sup! (ISO you would like to see ine driving in the I'ark
with only a Greek fiUot round my head," slie said in lier gentle
equable voice. " Will you have your cup of tea over there ? " Mr.
Cartertit nodded. Then his wife, walking across the room, opened
a door "iid called, " ^'^irginie,"

" Fore, madamo," replied a high pitched strong voice, and a
smart Frenchwouian answered the summons. ''Virginio," con-
tinued her mistress, " I found some pasmenterie to-day which will
exactly mntch my eau-de-Nil dress ; ' and mistress and maid
pluugeil into a di.-quiaition on dross to the exclusion of all other
considerations.

tik

CHAPTER IX.

orasping thb nettle.

Thts visit was a greater event to Murjory than even going to
8cho<')l had been. Her mother s peo})le, then, were unmistakably
of the '' gentry " ela;<s. She was keen to perceive the nice distinc-
tion between her step- mother's studied manner and guarded speech
and the simple, natural ligh breeding of Mrs, Carteret.

That lady had greatly fascinated her. Her grand-uncle was a
funny liitle man — could the all-accom{)lished dilettante and anti-
quarian have read her thoughts ! but no doubt very kind and
learned. At any rate, handsome r*nd clever as Mrs. Acland was,
tliene rjlaiivos of hers — of the despised Ciriderella'a were of higher
social stjinding.

The young are generally aristocrats. The idea of nobility is con-
founded with its outward symbols ; and not until life's schooling
has: brought forth ripeness of thought, is the insuSiciency of mere
externals recognized.

Seated at a long task of needlework, which w.'is unusually dis-
tasteful, as it was for Mrs. Acland, Marjory's brain worked faster
than her fi igcs.

*S7(C, the niece of such charming people, to be acting a maid's part
to Mr,**. .-'> eland, her enuuty, her oppressor. " 1 should not mind
how uiuch 1 did or wlrnt I did for my own father, or Mrs. Acland
sither, if she were kind and juot. How smooth she wab to Mr.

A LIFE INTEREST.

Cnrteret- t^ncle Cartovot. I wonder if he would let mo call him
' uncle ? ' lie seernod a jU'reat man in his way, but it wn» kind of
iiiiii U.I bo pb-asud beciusc T waa like him ; I don't think 1 au\ ii bit.
Tliut is no lualtfjr. I wish lie would take a fancy to me, only it is
not like-ly, 1 am so ignorant, and 1 miist aeom ccjmmon to theui."
Shu ijoloured with vexation at the idea of her own deficiencies.

"lldw could 1 have any manners or stylo, liviuL,' always in this
hoiiid Kcho'iliodiu, glad to speak to the servants fc^r company and
no companions l)ut rough boys ! Ah ! the poor dear boys, 1 wiah
I could sih; tlieni again. Yet I would rather sit here and menil
Mrs. Acland's old gown thnn walk with the children and nurse.
Nurse nevor treats me as if 1 were a young lady ! I canm^t bear it.
Thtn I am afraid I shall grow hitler and spiteful, when I ti:ink
there is not a soul who cares for me — not even my own father ! Of
couise the br^ys are fond of me, but I suppose I shall never see
much more of tliom. What can have become cf Dick?" her
thoughts ran after him for a while, and then worked round to her
uncle again. "I am sure I could help him to write his cafalogue ;
lie said he only wanted a man who could write a clear hand, spell
corri'ctly and do what he was bid ; I can do all that ! Shall 1 ask
liim straight out if he will take me when I go on Saturday ? Shall
I have the courage to sprak l.'cfore Mrs. Acland ? I am ashamed
of myself, but 1 am afraitl of her; her eyes make nie faltering and
awkward. Still, if I could get the words out anyhow, it miglitgive
me a chance before he goes away, for I suppose I shall never see
him again ; and I irill get away from this hateful liouse, if 1 run
away to be a maid-of-all-work ! "

Here she suddenly throw the dress she had been repairing from
her with some force into a comer, where it lay in a heap.

" I will not do another stitch ! Mrs. Acland is out. I will have
an Iuimi'h j)ractico if slie kills me for it."

And away she ran to the drawing-room, to forgot her woes and
nurse her baseless hopes while she had the op]}oi'tunity.

Mrs. Ai;land also had M)edita\ed very profoundly on the results
of the visit, from which she hoped to have built up a useful intin>acy.

The past had left her no friends, only a slight acijuaintance with
oiw or two insignifican.t elderly women whom slie had n^et while
living with the old lady at whose house she had fttund her husband,
and with these jn^sons she so conducted hera(;lf as to earn their
highest esteem. Now she was bent on g^.tluring a circle— a circle
of the highest respectability — round her. She wfi too acute and
I'jgic.d, however, not to see that Mr. and Mrs. (/'arten t were too
much bii'fls of |';tssMge to be any great u^e, and it might be as well
that Marjoiy sliould not gather a dnngerou.s amount <jf knowledjifo
fi<iii too friHiuent iiitercouise with these new found relations.
Moreover she woul<l be more lebellious and unmanageable than
ever if they pulled her up with pride and then retired to iiiaccesai-

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ble regions on the Continent where they could not bo turned to any
account.

"Tliat old man is a self-absorbed idiot. Were he within reach,
1 could do a great deal with hiiu ; his vanity puts him at one's
mercy," she thought with the direct connnon sense which dis-
tinguished her. ' ' But the wife is ditlerent. She hasn't much
brains either, but she has instincts and a will, and she is one of
those cold, proud 'grand ladies * who have not the faintest notion
what life really is. Nothini; one could ever do would melt here, if
you were not born in the purple, unless indeed, you were distinctly
an inferior, a servant or a hunyer-on, then she might be kind
and friendly enouf^h. I hato this sort of woman I "

Her report to Mr. Acland of the interview therefore was tempered
by many sound remarivs and a graceful acknowledgment of his
better judgment in thinking tho visit would probably be time
tlirown away.

She resolved, however, io keep her a[>pointment for the following
Saturday, though slie groaned in spirit over the trouble tb.nt
unlucliy lamp amt her. Never had lier handy man been so slow in
executing an order. Thrue times had slie to call for it, and when at
last it was completed, it proved to be the clumsiest piece of work
ho had ever put out of his liands.

" I am afraid our interview with Mr. Carteret had not a whole-
some influence on Marjory," she said to her husband in their
confidential after-dinner talk. " It has certainly suggested ideas (if
indepeiidence whicl: may be tioublesonie. Yesterday, as she dislikes
going out with the poor chiMren and would, I knew, only mope
over a novel, I asked her to reline the hem of my dress. When
1 returned about five, J went downstairs to speak to cook, and there
I saw my dress thrown in a heap into the corner of that dusty
school-room, not half done, while she was upstairs strumming
waltzes on the piano ! If it had been a steady practice I should not
have found fault, but it was a sheer waste of time."

'* Very annoying indeed ! Do you think then that Mai-jory
noticed Mr. Carteret's remark about her mother's fortune ? " asked
Mr. Acland a little uneasily.

*' That I cannot possibly tell ; if she did, she will be making some
fresh demands, you may be sure."

" I should not like to seem in any wr^y unjust to Marge," said
her father, " nor give her room to cornplaJa that she had not
received the education, the I'-dvantages to whicl. she is entitled, you
must I'emember."

" fi]i3 getsaW she is entitled to," '•..tempted Mrs. Acland with
quiet t/( ;.'sic-.i ' ' Yuu have the life ir Leresu of Iier mother's property,
and you I'-.v.". tl^- right to use it for the beneiit of the family
generally. }.arjory lias been to an excellent school, and has had
besi 'e:< l.jsiiciia tbroaghout the winter ; what mr-Q CiOi you do? If

A LIFE INTERKST.

she proves one of the restlosa dissat.i»H(.'d creatures who wi'l i^'nor
content herself at homo, why, we must just let her ifo uw.iy ami Hud
her level. Trust nie, she will soon be lIjuI enough to come home."

" There is a great deal in what you sa,y ; still 1 do not like the
idea of her quitting my roof."

" Well, she is not [.;one yet ; let us see what time will bring forth."

The upshot of the.se mingled motives was first n)ado known to
Marjory on the fateful Saturday at lunclieon time, wluni Mrs.
Acland, as they rose from tal)le, observed, " You need not h;ive
put on your be.st frock, Marjory, I am not going to take you with
me to Mrs. Carteret's to-day."

"But I was asked ! " urged Marjory, lier lieart beating very fast.
" Why will you not take me with you i "

" 1 shall (jnly stf.y a few minutes, and I have other places to go
to where I do not want you. In short, I have decided not to tjike
you."

"Very well," said Marjory with such sudden complete acqui-
escence that her stepmother was surprised and sn.spicious.

The unexpected disappointment had fired Marjory into quick
resolution and unusual self-m-v^tery. While her lips uttered the
unconditional surrender expressed in her "Very well," she said to
her heart, " I will see my uncle alone."

She wont straight to her room and changed her best for the
worst frock she possessed, and when she had from her lofty giirret-
window seen her stepmother sally forth, a rather ungainly parcel in
her hand, she descended in a battered hat, and went forth for a
long solitary ramble across Primrose Hill, and through a maze of
new streets in progress of erection : not a lovely nor an in«j)iiiting
excursion, but at least she had freedom and fresh air. She c^uld
think out her daring scheme and strengthen herself in her resolution
to .stake all on a throw.

Mrs. Acland was in good time for dinner, and told her husband
laughingly that she was (]uite sure the famous lamp was a sham, )r
Mr. Carteret had examined it eagerly at first, and then blai y
restored it to her, saying that he now remembered it quite u i,
and begged to reiterate the gift, which he hoped she would con; .er
as much hers as her husband's.

The next day was Sunday, and though Marjoiy had gone t bed
with a bad headache, she appeared earl}', and was quite i i.;, to
fcUuw her father and stepmother in the usual procession cuurch-
wards, which the latter loved to lead.

In the afternoon Mrs. Acland was naised from a slight doze by
hearing the front door shut.

" Who has gone out, Jane?" she asked the servant who came to
let down the blinds, as the sun came rouud at that hour.

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" It's Miss Marjory, 'm."

**Mis3 Mirjory I " in some surprise. "Did she say where she
was g<jin;i ? "

" No, 'm. To church, I think ; she had lier prayer-book in her
hand."

" It is rather odd," ejaculated Mrs. Acland, rising and going to
the window ; but Marjory had vanished.

About the same time Mr. and Mrs. Carteret had linished
luncheon, and were conversing with a couple of guests who had
joined them at that meal — oiia was an Italian, as great an en-
thusiast in art as Mr. Carteret himself ; the other was a tall well
developed lady nearer thirty than twenty, with a high colour,
briglit black eyes and a profusion of dark hair not too fine in
textnro.

The Italian spoke eagerly in his own tongue to Mr. Carteret,
while they examined some coins which the former had brought for
inspection ; nor did Mrs. Carteret and the young lady seem at any
loss for subjects of conversation.

" I am sum Mr, Carteret will like Langford Priory, at least, in
summer. The country is so pretty, not grand in the least, but
thoroughly English. I am quite fond of tJie place, and my mother
stood last, winter there very well — wonderfully well. She was much
the better for the treatment at Aix-les-Bains, and will be delighted
to have you as a neighbour."

" You are very good ! I am afraid neither Mr. Carteret nor
myself can ever settle down to English country life. It is "

" Miss Acland," said a waiter in stentorian tones, and giddy with
horror at finding herself face to face, not only witli her uncle and
aunt, but also with two utter strangers, poor Marjory advanced in-
to the room. Mr. Carteret did not take the slightest notice of her ;
Mr3. Carteret rose and said graciously : —

'•Good morning I We were sorr}' not t: see you yesterday. I
am glad your headache is better ; pray sit down. Miss Waring,
this young lady is a niece of Mr. Carteret,"

There Wiis an awful pause. Marjory wished herself away —
hundreds of miles away.

•'Oh, indeed!" said Miss Waring with a frank pleasant smile.
" I don't know how it is, but I never imagined Mr. Carteret had
any relations except Ralph Ellis."

" We have been out of England almost ever since this young lady
was born," said Mrs. Carteret smiling.

"There is no place like London for n^eeting every one you have
ever known," observed Mias Waring, addressing Marjory pleasantly.

'* I suppose so," she returned, trying to seum composted.

" And I suppose, like every one else, you hnd it a delightful
place ! Well, dear Mrs. Carteret, I must run a^vay as I expect
some people to tea. When do you <^o down to the Priory i "

A LIFE INTEREST.

*• On Tuesday, if tho place can be got ready."

'* On Tuesday," thought poor Marjory. '* It is neck or nothinp;!"

A few more words of leave-takini^, a parting bow to Mr.
Carteret, whom she would not disturb and Miss Waring disap-
peared.

Then Fairy was produced and petted ; next, to Marjory's mingled
joy and terror, the Italuin rose, pocketed his coins, made one or
two energetic speeches, bowed with chivalrous politeness over Mrs.
Carteret's hand, and took his departure. An awful moment
ensued.

" Oh ! you have made us out again, my little niece," said Mr.
Carteret, as if rather surprised to see her, which Marjory took to
mean that she was ratlier audacious.

" 1 hope you are not ani:fry with me for coming ? " she exclaimed.

" Of course not," said Mrs. Carteret.

" Suppose you say at once what you want, Miss Marjory," added
Mr. Carteret 8hari)ly Marjory's tongue for a mom.ent seemed to
cleave to the roof of iier mouth ; tbe tremendous nature of her bold
attempt stood out before her in appalling proportions.

"I will." she returned, growing red and then pale, "though!
feel almost afraid to speak now that I am here lest you should
ihitik I am taking too great a liberty. When I came with my stej)-
iiioDher," she went on quickly as if afraid to stop, " I heard you
f-ay you wanted some one who could write clearl3\ ? loH correctly
and do whjit he was bid. I can ! Will you employ me ? "'

She had regained courage now that she had broken the ice, and
looked to her uncle for his reply with such honest trusting eyes,
such a pretty tremulous smile that the old dilettante fixed hia
glasses on his nose to contemplate her with a sort of pleased
curiosity.

"This is a most extraordinary proposition," he said after a pause.
" la it not ? " addressing his wife.

" My dear Miss Acland," she exclaimed, " you would get dread-
fully bored. 1 am sure you would give up in ten days 1 "

" Indeed, indeed I should not," very earnestly.

" I am afraid, my young lady, you would bo more a trouble than
a help. I fancy your education has been limited, at any rate in the
(iirection of art."

" It is limited in every direction," sadly, " but do, do try me ! 1
am not very stupid, and I would do my best. You know after a week
or two, if i did not please you, you could send me away." The tears
rose to her eyes.

" Do you war.t to leave your home?" asked Mr. Carteret, still
examining her through hisgla.sses.

"Yes, very much !"

•' Stepmnther, eh?"

"Well, yea. It is not like having ones <twn mother," returned

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A LIFE IVTKHEBT.

Marjory, resolved not to betray the secrets of the prison house, for
her father's sake, at: least not yet.

Mr. Carteret chucl:led. " I suppose the usual game goes on
between you that charming women play with each other," he
said, " kisses and carcases before faces, cruel words, quiet stabs
behind backs."

" 1 never kiss Mrs. Acland. I could not be so dishonest I " cried
Marjory indignantly.

" Have you any idea of the duties you are willing to underteke ?"

"Nota very clear one," she faltered. " To copy out things, and —
and make lists, I suppose, and do some accounts. I am pretty well
on in arithmetic " She stopped abruptly.

" You would find it very tiresome doing anything for Mr. Car-
teret," said his wife gently. " He is dreadfully cross and irritable
when he is busy about his collections."

" I should not mind," with an entreating glance at her uncle.
*' He does not look as if he woulcjl be really unkind "

" And pray what do you expect nio to pay for your valuable ser-
vices 'i "

" Pay me, your own niece ? Oh, nothing. I only want to be of
use anfl away from home."

" Ah ! " said Mr, Cartciet, who removed his glasses from his nose
and sat playing with them thoughtfully.

" There would be some inconvenience attending such an arrange-
meUi- ' ifch a relation," he said at length to his wife. "She would
of course have to be at the table with us, and she must be fit to bo
seen, and if we have visitors "

"You might give me my dinner early," cried Mjirjory eagerly.

'• I see no difHcnIty in 'ihat," said Mrs. Cartert- 1 carelessly ; " we
shall not be over-cr Mvded. Pray, can you read aloud, my dear Miss
Acland?

"I read aloud to the children sometimes, and I might try."

" My eyes are rather weak since I had a bad cold last winter, and
I find newspapers trying," aaid Mrs. Carteret.

" Have you your father's consent to the application ? " asked Mr.
Carteret.

*' No, I did not ask him ; if I had waited for anything my courage
would have all gone. I hope you are not vexed with me," urged
Marjory, her heart beating painfully, for the coldness with which
her proposition was received threw her back on herself.

In spite of the connnon sense of which she had a fair share, her
ima.i];i nation had persisted in depicting an effusive acceptance of her
offer by her uncle and his wife and a triumphant return home to
inform Mrs. Aciand that she was to escape her clutches.

"Angry 1 no. I think you are rather an exceptional young lady ;
but I am disposed to consider your suggestion. You must make
your father write his consent, and you must clearly understand that

A LIFB INTEREST.

I only agree to try what you can do from a motive of benevolence,
also that even if satisfied with you your engagouioiit will termiiiato
when we leave Langford Pr; )ry."

" Of course, whatever you choose."

"There are writing materials, please write a sentence or two."
This was indeed putting her to the proof ; Marjory trembled, but
obeyed. " What shall I write ? " she asked, drawinj^ off her glove ;
" I cannot think of anything."

'* Can you not remember a lino or two of some poem ? "

" Oh yes, thank you ;" and she wrote rapidly for a minute. Then
handing the paper to her uncle, wiiited his sentence.

" Hum 1 " said the old gentleman with a cynical smile, and he read
aloud : —

" ' Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not,

Yt^ho would be free, themselves must strike the blow.

*' Very fine ! Stepmother again ! Your hand is not bad. Now you
must leave me to think over the question. I shall send you a note,
and you may rest assured I am not displeased with you— not at all
displeased," this with infinite condescension.

*' Are you not making much ado about nothing 1 " said Mrs. Car
teret in her sweet languid way. " Can you not ask your niece on a
visit, and let her help you if she can, and read to mo ? Then instead
of a salary, which of course she would not hear of, give her some
pretty frocks. I would rather have a young girl at the Priory than
any of those awkward ill-mannered men, who are neither one thing
or the other. You need make no provisos, Miss AcLind will get tired
of the place and of us before long."

" I wish, my dear, you would allow me to arrange my own affairs.
1 may happen to know what I want better than you do," cried Mr.
Carteret.

" I am not sure," she returned calmly.

" I fear I have stayed too long," said Marjory ; "I hope you will
excuse me."

" Oh ! no. We are very happy to see you. Have you a — a cab
waiting ? "

•' I shall get an omnibus at the Circus."

'* My dear, do you mean to say you are going home alone in an
omnibus ? " exclaimed Mrs. Carteret with horror and surprise. " You
are not serious ? "

" I am indeed. I came that way ; there is no danger or difficulty
in an omnibus. I should never get out at all if I waited for some
one to take care of me."

"You must not return unattended," said Mrs. Carteret with
unusual energy, " it would look too strange." She rang the bell as
she spoke and sent for her maid: " Virginie, you must take TMis.i
Acland home in a cab ; after you can go where you like, I shall not
want you again till night. "

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" I am 8o sorry to give you this trouble," Trmrmurccl Marjory.

Uncle Cartorct had moaiitiuio been arringiiig hi^ writing niator-
ials, and settling himself he now looked up to say, " You had better
ascertain the cab faro."

'' Virginio will see to that," replied Mrs. Carteret ; and in a few
minutes Marjory found herself driving north-west, tete-a-tete with
the shrewd-looking Frenchwoman.

That slio was speedily summoned to the presence of her father and
Mrs. Aclrind, on her return, may bo imai^ined. Nor is it given to
the power of ordinary language to describe the amazement and con-
flternation of her hearers when she gave a short but clear account of
lier visit to Mr. and Mrs, Carteret and its results.

" If this girl dares to take such a step, she will develop into a very
flangerous enemy," thought her stepmother, while she said with cold
displeasure, " I do not know what your father will think of such a
proceeding. To me it seems at once indelicate and deceitful."

" i am amazed and a — a — distressed," said Mr. Acland. "I can-
Qot think what idea Mr. Carteret can form of the way in which yuu
have been brought up and — treated, when you offered yourself for
«o menial an employment. I am greatly displeased."

'* I am sorry for that," said Marjory quietly. " But Mr. Carteret
did not seem at all astonished. If he says ho will take me out of
town with him, you will not refuse your consent?"

" I cannot answer without reflection. It is not my wish that you
ahould leave my house."

" Still it is better I should," cried Marjory.

"You had better leave the room and not stand there arguing
vvith your father till he is almost out of his senses 1 Leave us, Mar-
jory, I would advise you 1 "

So Marjory retreated in a fever of excitornont. She was in too
great a state of effervescence to be cast down by her father's and
stepmothers joint rebuke ; not, indeed, that she expected a very
rose-coloured existence with her grand- uncle ; he was by no means
so nice as she thought he was at their first interview ; but to make
a move, to loosen her chains was all she asked for. What would
George say when he heard she was absolutely going to stay with a
member of their own family '{ It would be a great piece of news !

But Monday passed and Tuesday, and no communication came
from Uncle Carteret, at least Marjory heard of none, and she grew
wild with anxiety as the hours rolled by. They, Mr. and Mrs. Car-
teret, were to have left town that day. Had they forgotten her ?
Was she to lose the result of her desperate dari.ig ?

On Wednesday, as they had nearly finished the early dinner, of
which Marjory could hardly taste a nmrsel, .■« carriage stopped at the
gate and a lady alighted who Marjoiy immediately recoi^nized as
%ln', Carteret.

" I hope there is not a very strong odour of dinner," said Mrs.

A LIFE INTEREST.

Acland rising, '* it privcs such vul;:;arity to a house I " Sho wciif
away upsfairs, poor Marjory not daring to follow. But she was
soon suiinnoned, and informed tiiatlier uncle and aunt were bo very
kind to invite lier to stay with them for a month or two, and Mrs.
Achvnd would use her influence to obtain Mr. Acland's consent..
Slie added that the chief difficulty was the state of Marjory's ward-
r>)be, which she did not feel herself justified in placing on a footing
Buitiible to the sociofy she would meet with Mrs. Carteret.

"Oh ! we see ha' dly a creature," returned that lady, "and we
shall bo mere heimits in ihe country. Mr. Carteret hopes his niece
will be of some use to him, and you must allow me to arrange
fur her costumes. Dress is a subject in which I take a great
interest — indeed, I think it is of the last importance. Wo find now
it is ijupossible the house 'can be got ready for us before the end of
next week, so we can get Miss Acland's things for her in that time."

It would take more spice than could be well spared to trace all the
various rills of motive which went to swell the current «)f decision in
favour of Marjory's installation a^ her miclo's amanuensis. Stingi-
ness, flattered vanity, the notion f)f securing a bond-slave to his
ca])rice8, on Mr. Carteret's side. The pleasure and occupation of
dressing a pretty doll after her own fancies, and spending some ot
the abundant pin money secured to her by her marriage settlement,
for Mrs. Carteret was wealthy. VVhy she had ever bestowed her
wealth and herself on so unattractive an individual as her husband
was a lasting puzzle to all who knew them. The desire to get
Marjory out of the house creditably, in a way that she could mention
with good effect, was a very potent motive with Mrs. Acland. She
began to hope that Marjory had neither noticed nor understood the
n)ention of her mother's fortune. And it was not likely the subject
would be again alluded to ; at any rate it was worth while to secure
her absence.

So the affair was settled, and after some days' ecstatic shopping
and " trying on," which made Marjory fancy she had indeed dis-
covered a fairy godmother, amid some lugubrious anticipations of her
beii g returned at the end of a month as useless and unmanageable
from Mr3. Acland, some tears from Louise, and an unusually kind
kiss from her father, as he said, " You will let us know how you get
on. Marge," which inadw her heart .swell, Marjory Acland set forth
to seek her fortune, feeling as if she hf.d burned her ships and that
return was impossible.

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TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.25 1.4

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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CHAPTER X.

MARJOKY IN OFFIOB.

Langford Priory was not a grand place ; it was a comfortable,
unpretending residence, liixviui; been originally little better than a
large farmhouse, to which successive occupants had added as their
re'juiremcntB grew. The name really belonged to some beautiful
ruins which wore sei)arated from the dwelling by the grounds and a
flower-garden. The situation T7as pleasant, sheltered behind by a
wooded height ; the ground sloped gently in front to an excellent
trout stream, and ros'i again in soft swelling downs to a low range of
hills which stretched t<» the west ; while on the other side was a wide
* district of woodland belonging to a neighbouring nobleman.

The estate of Langford was not large. Mr. Carteret's fortune was
principally derived from other sources, and he was not likely to
diminish it. '

Mrs. Carteret was well born as well as wealthy, and generally
\ considered by society a very nice woman. Those who knew her
more intimately were often puzzled to make up their minds whether
sho were a shrewd observer or a fool, a mere automaton or a woman
of taste and character. She hated trouble and delighted in dress —
those were her two most salient points. She spent a great deal of
money on herself ; but now and then she would surprise every one
by an act of unexpected generosity.

That she was by no means wea': in some directions none knew so
well as her husband ; she never quarrelled with him or interfered
with him, but sht> went steadily her own way, and even occasionally
influencod his actions. Each had a thorough contempt for the })ur-
sniis of tlio other ; but they did not display this too openly, and on
the wh«i1e wore not an uiduippy couple. Perhaps the only living
thing Mrs. Carteret loved was her little dog ; and the only opinion
she ever preferred to her own was her maid's.

The morning they left London had been lowering and damply,
breathlessly hot, and after they reached the little country town of
Market Gilston, their nearest station, a heavy thunderstorm came
on as they drove to tho Priory, deluging horses and driver. Uncle
Carteret was dreadfully cross because some drops of rain made their
way through the top of the closed landau ; he prophesied a severe
attack of rheumatism, and on arriving went into a feeble little rage
because no fir« had been lit in his room. In short everythiiig wi-nt
wrong. His spirit wae sorely tried by the evidences of wear and

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A LIFE INTEREST

tear in the furniture, carpets, etc., which he declared to ho whole-
sale destruction, but which in truth were not worse than might have
been expected, considering the house had passed through the hands
of two successive tenants since the owner had seen it. Nevertheless,
Mr. Carteret g'unibled and lamented all dinner-time ; he wished he
could get rid of the confounded place altogether, etc. , etc.

These disagreeables, however, made littJe impression on Marjory,
she was enchanted with everything. The gardens, the frcsii delicious
green of grass and foliage, the ruins, the picturesque irregular house
— all seemed delightful to a girl who had only known the streets of
London and the flats of Norfolk, where she had occasionally spent a
few weeks with a schoolfellow. To her the place seemed spacious
and splendid and the household numerous.

The thunderstorm cleared the air, and the clouds breaking away,
a glorious setting sun turned the slowly receding masses of vapour
in the west into gorgeous aerial mountains and islets of crimson,
violet, orange and palest lilac.

Mrs. Carteret, while her husband fussed and fumed, had taken
Marjory upstairs and shown her the room prepared for her. Then
she took a seat in her own apartment, to watch with keen interest
the unpacking of her boxes and the arrangement of their contents in
drawers and wardrobes. •

Marjory, by her advice, betook herself to a similar employment,
and had made her little room look quite home-like by the time
dinner was announced. After, Mr, Carteret declared he was too
tired to do anything ; and Mrs. Carteret, neither fussed nor fatigued
nor disturbed in any way, took up her tatting and settled Fairy on
the sofa beside her.

" I always used to sit on this sofa when we lived here ten years
ago," she said to Marjory ; " but I had not learned tatting. I used
to net then ; and I had just had Fairy given to me — he was a little
puppy."

*' It is a delightful place," returned Marjory, looking round and
longing to escape out of doors. '* Are you not pleased to come
back ? "

"1 cannot say I am. It is dreadfully dull, and I have been
accustomed to people coming in and talking, so that I shall like it
less than 1 did ; still, it is rather nice in summer."

" May I go out and walk round the j.mrden, if you do not mind
being left alone ? " asked Marjory with some hesitation.

" Oh, yes ! You may go, if you like. I dare say it is dull for
you. You had better put on overshoes, the grass will be quite
wet."

Like a bird escaped from a cage, Marjory flew upstairs to find her
hat, and was soon wandering, with a delicious sense of enjoy meal,
through the garden, across the ciosely-shaven grass of the ploasur't-
grounds, and into the precincts of the ruined priory.

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The entrance had fallen, only the bases of some of the clustered
columns remained ; while a quantity of carved stones, corbels and
crockets, pieces of broken tracery and lengths of do^'tooth decoration
were piled at either side, partially covered with flowering creepers,
cared for without being trained. A gravelled path ltd to where the
altar once stood. Behind, the tracery of the east window was in
wonderful preservation, as were also a few of the windows and part
of the wall at either side of the chancel ; a few liuie-trees and a
short sturdy oak beautified the interior, which was carpeted with
soft mossy grass.

" How lovely ! " said Marjory, seating herself on a rustic bench
placed where the altar once stood, so as to command a, tine view of
the sunset. ** It is just the sort of place one mijiht re;(d about in a
novel ! How sweet the wall-flowers are ! Oh, how charmed Dick
would be here I I should like to know all about it. If Uncle
Carteret wants antiquities, I wish he would hunt up the historj' of
this delightful old priory and let me write it out for him. What a
view 1 It is a sort of place that makcc one feel good, or at least aa
if you wished to bo good, and that is something. Those old monks
mxuit have been nice ! they were certjiinly good to the poor. How
delightful life might be here, and is, I suppose 1 It is cruel to think
how miserable it is in great crowded cities. Oh ! I could be happy
anywhere, almost anywhere, if only I had my own mothyr and if my
father loved me I Still, I suppose it is better to have no mother
than one who dislikes you, as Mrs. Acland dislikes Dick. Poor
Dick I I wonder what has become of him ? Shall I ever see him
again ? I suppose, if I were in a proper frame of mind, I should be
inclined to forgive Mrs Acland — particularly here, for the place was
holy — is holy ! But 1 hate her all the same, and I never cun forgive
her ; what is more, I shall not try I I don't tliink it is all because
she made my home miserable and turned out both my brothers. 1
believe if I had met her in her best clothes at a party I should dislike
and distrust her the moment I looked in her face ! Still I don't
want to harm her, at least not very much." Then the sweetness,
silence and beauty round her began to penetrate Marjory's soul, and
softer pleasanter thoughts stole into her heart, including a waim
sense of gratitude to Uncle and Aunt Carteret for bringing her to so
charming a scene.

" I'll do the very best 1 c^n for them both," she resolved. " 1
wish he was not quite such a funny little man. I am afraid of
laughing at him sometimes. Mrs. Carteret is very nice. I wish I
could learn something of her elegant quiet manner. I know I must
seem uncouth to her. I always feel in such a hurry."

The view all round was picturesque and varied— the open downs
to the west, the gentle dip of the ground to the stream in front, the
rich woods of Lord Beaulieu's domain rising to shelter the valley on
the east. Tiiough so pei^r tb^ house, the remains of the chanoel

A LIFB INTEUEST.

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jeall completely hid the seat Marjory occupied from observation ;
indeed it was only from the eutraiico it could be seen.

But time was slipping away ; the sun had sunk behind the downs,
and Marjory romenibered she ouglit to return. On the hall door-
stcjis slio met Brown, her uncle's valet.

*' Mr. Cai teret has been asking for yon 'm," he said solemnly.
" 1 am so sorry," cried Marjory, hurrying to the drawing-room
with a sudden sense of guilt.

"Where iiavo you been ?" asked Mr. Carteret peevishly. "I
had no idea you were wandering about, at the risk of taking cold
and inaipacitating yourself for the duties you have undert^iken. 1
must warn you tliat a cough is quite intolerable to me ! It puts me
into a fever. I cannot sit in a room with a person who coughs."

" 1 hope I shall not have one then," said Marjory with a sunny
smile. *' It is quite wsirm this evening ; no one could take cold.
And, oh I I am so grateful to you for letting ine come with you to
this lovely pl.ice "

Evcti Mr. Carteret's testiness was not proof against the joyous
freshness of her plonsant youth.

"Glad you are pleased. Now, as it is a little too early to pro to
bed, I want to know if you play cards or any games so as to help me
over an hour."

*' I am afraid I only know ' Be|?i,'ar my noic;hbour ' and ' Nap.' "
" Have you any idea of chess ? "

" Only just an idea ; the boys used to teach me, but they said I
was very 8tui)id."

" Ther^ are chessmen somewhere ; ring for Brown. Brown, get
me the chessboard and men. If you attend to my instructions I
will make a chess-player of you ; for I have been accustomed to hold
my own with the Cheva)ier Palligiardini and Herr Vandervoordt,
tie champion players of Italy nnd Holland."

Hero Brown returned, and Mr. Carteret proceeded to set up the
pieces. Then began a weary le.^son for poor Marjory. The niceties
of moving the king's pawn, of check and checkmate, etc., etc., were
elaborately expounded till the poor child was dazed, bewiMored,
and overdone with fatigue, more of excitement th«n of tra\el.
At last Mr. Carteret, who was greatly pleased with his own lucid
explanation, exclaimed, " Why, Marjory, I do believe you are
fallint; asleep ! "

" Very naturally," said Mrs. Carteret, who had been playing
)atience bv herself. *' It is ten o'clock, and quite time to go to
)ed."

" Ten o'clock 1 I had no idea it was so late. Do you think you
will remember what I have been telling you, Marjoiy ? "

"Yes, Uncle Carteret — the beginnn>g

but I iM\ very tired."

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" Then ring for my chocolate, and you can go to bed. *"

The first few days at L&ngford Priory were broken and unsottled.

A LIFE INTEREST.

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Mr. Carteret was too busy discussing various details connected inth
the estate to givo Marjory any euiplu^/nunit, so she drifted into Mrs.
Carteret's hands. She read aloud portions of the newspapers,
dawdled with her round the garden and sometimes as far as the
dairy, gathered flowers to fill the vases and china bovls in the
drawinw-room, and wrote a few notes at her aunt's dictation. Still
she had abundant time to inspect the contents of a small and com-
fortable library, in which she promised herrelf to spend many a
happy hour. She mounted the library stej)s with almost childish
glee, to examine the topmost shelves, and sat there absorbed in some
quaint tome with curious streaky engravings, where the muscles of
men and horses were shown in the 8trony;c.st relief by the tremend-
ous exertions they appeared to be making.

These days of happy idleness, however, were few and brief. The
cases which contained what Mr. Carteret proudly called "his collec-
tion, " arrived from London within the lirst week of thoir stay, and
he was in a fever to open and arrange them.

" I must arrange a plan of classification at once simple and dis-
tinct, or wo shall never get through the work that is before us."

"The boxes are not large," said Marjory, whose arm he had
taken, to assist his steps from the dining-room.

" Ah ! but if you think of the varied size of the specimens, most
of them delicate and minute, you may form an idea of the number
to be catalogued. On Monday — no, Tuesday — I shall open the
case No. 1, and begin our task. At present I am feeling very
unequal to mental or physical exertion ; that tendency to heart
complaint, which is the result of a highly strung nervous intellect
acting on an extremely delicate organization, obliges me to be very
careful — unceasingly careful."

" Mrs. and Miss Waring are in the drawing-room, sir," inter-
rupted Brown, who deigned to act as butler in the improvised
establishment.

"Oh, indeed! Ah! then we must go and see them. Miss
Waring is a very intelligent young lady, our neighbour here, and
also an acquaintance of ours in the lovely classic land of literature
and art." He turned, and still resting his hand on Marjory's arm,
led her to the drawing room. Here they found a bundle of black
silk and lace, crowned by a grey bonnet, on the sofa beside Mrs.
Carteret, and on a low chair in front of her sat the black-haired,
bright complexioned lady to whom Marjory had been introduced on
the eventful Sabbath on which she had appealed to Mr. Carteret.
Miss Waring greeted her with kindly cordiality and presented her
to her mother. Then Mr. Carteret claimed her attention, and Mar-
jory, much fascinated by her frank manner and pleasant smile, was
content to lieten, thereby gathering some knowledge of the neigh-
bouring society.

The rector was now so old, he was obliged to have two curates.

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HU daughters were n\\ married, and his eldest son's widow kept
house for him. Then the chief doctor at Market Gilston was dead,
but his son had inherited his practice and was making a fortune.
Mr. Sheldon, the bank t^r, waaparilyzed.and'things were not so satis-
factory as they used to !'o in that family — so far Miss Warint;, with
some commentaries from her audiUjrs.

"The chief event, however, has been Lord Bcauliou's return,"
said Miss Wari'ig.

" Oh ! he has come back, has he ? Why, it must be five or six
years since the minor died and he succeeded. Where has ho been
all this time ? "

"Oh, everywhere— sketching and yachting. He is more a
Bohemian than a peer. However, he is now busy restoring and
beautifying the castle, and giving employment to numbers.

" Ha ! 1 suppose ho is getting rid of the minority savings as fast
as he can."

*' At any rate in a better fashion than the old lord disposed of his
money. Except for building, he does not seem to have any extrava-
gant tastes."

" I hope he is doing his work in good taste ! I must go over and
see what he is about."

"Just now he is away, I chink." A little more gossip and the
visitors t(X)k leave.

A few days later and Mr. Carteret found himself at leisure to open
his cases and set to work on his famous collection. This was the
beginning of troubles.

The experts to whom the packing had been confided had either
put wrony; numbers on the boxes or disposed of the contents in a
different order from that dictated by the owner. Two mornings
were consumed in indignation and despair over the discovery of
fresh iniquities as each package was opened, and then Mr. Carteret,
armed with several lists — among which ho constantly lost his way —
endeavoured to ascertain if his treasures were all intact.

The confusion was great, and the irritation indescribable.

t«

don't see how I shall ever regulate such a choas," cried the enraged
virtuoso, throwing himself back in his seat.

" Suppose I take one of these new exercise books," said Marjory
compassionately, "and wrote down everything as we find it, you
can give me a description ? "

"That would not be the slightest use," cried Uncle Carteret,
testily ; "you see my object is to classify as I. go , and now an
awful idea suggests itself — I believe my gold Ale.\ inder was in this
case ; pray turn out that small coffer of olive wood again and shake
the cotton wool. That gold Alexander was the crown of my collec-
tion ; and how can I face Vere Ellis, who is coming here next
week, if I have lost this gift ? Why, there are scarcely any gold
Alexanders in existence, and he laid me under an immense obliga-

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tion by presenting me so great a treasure. It was not with the
other coins. "

*' It is a coin, then t " askod Marjory, still sympathetic, though
beginning to be dreadfully weary and bored.

** It is a coin," repeated her uncle, exasperated beyond endurance.
** Great heavens I and you are supposed to have been educated.
This is the way in which English women are left in outer darkness
respecting the art, the gonius, the — the development of anliijue
civilization, which can aloue be surmised from these precious rem-
nants of the past ! Have you thoroughly examined the contents
of case No. 1 ? "

*^ Yes, uncle ; I am sure I have taken out everything."

" Then pray put them back again ; I do not want the contents of
one to be mixed with the other ; when you have finished we will
open No. 2."

So on, through a lovely summer's day. Mrs. Carteret sent to
know if Mr. Carteret or Miss Acland would come with her to visit
Mrs. Waring, but a hasty message from the former that they were
much too busy cut short Marjory's hopes in that direction. "When
uncle has found them all and we get to the catalogue it will not be
so bad," she said to herself. She was in truth soreL disappointed.
She had looked forward to the unpacking of the antiquilies and
curiosities of which she had heard so much with the keenest interest,
hoping to acquire a fund of information from so learned a mufti as
her uncle, also to feast her eyes on beautiful forms. When, there-
fore, a quantity of dusty, broken bits of stone, rusty iron, small
begrimed imperfect statuettes, corroded bronzes, bits of coarse
mosaic, a few small panels decorated with paintings of d'sl ni.t d
saints, some models of pillars and arches and a casket tilled with
copper and silver coins, she could hardly restrain her lips from the
fatal exclamation. " Is this all ? "

At dinner Mr. Carteret enlarged upon his loss, without attracting
much attention from his wife, who was cutting up some chicken for
her dog. She only observed, '* You ought to have em|)h)yed
Smith to pack for you. He is a far better man than Ludovici."

" Nonsense, my dear. Ludovici has a feeling for art, an appre-
ciation for the treasures of antiquity. It was quite gratifying to see
the delight he took in my little collection."

"He would aay anything."

"Pray when did you hear from Ellis? Wlien does he talk of
coming ? " asked Mr. Carteret, not caring to pursue the subject.

" I had a letter from him just before we left town. He was to
arrive on the 27th, and hoped to be with us a few days after. He
has been promoted, and is now first attache.

" I thought he was rather young for sucli proinntion.'"

" Young 1 " repeated Mrs. Carteret. *• He must be two or three
and thirty."

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▲ LIFE INTEREST.

•* Impossible 1 Why, his grandfather and I were at Berlin

No — no," interrupting himself, "it must have been his father — it
was his father. At any rate I shall be ashamed to see him now that
his most kind and valuable gift has disappeared. Why, this is the
27th."

" What have you lost ? "

** Wliy, I have boon talking about it all dinner-time. My Alex-
ander — my gold Alexander ! '

"But it is not lost," said Mrs. Carteret calmly. "Do you
not remember you gave it to me to keep ? It is in my jewel-
case "

" My dear, do you mean to make me out an idiot t I could not
forget such a circumstance."

" 1 assure you it is in my jewel-case." ^

" Im|x>f sible 1 " gasped Mr. Carteret.

" Bn^wn, pray tell Virginie to bring me my jewel-case."

In a few minutes Virginie appeared, bearing a very large leather
case.

Mrs Carteret unlocked and opened it, sought in a few of the
receplacles it contained, and produced a pill-box, in which, on a bed
of cotton wool, lay the missing treasure.

Mr, Carteret took and gazed at it with mixed feelings — joy at its
recovery, annoyance at being proved guilty of so great a lapse of
memory.

" I am sure," he said peevishly, " this horrid place is beginning
to dull niy faculties already. I could not have believed I should
forget this."

" You were so worried about those bases to-day, it is no wonder
you forgot," murmured Marjory, compassionating his mortifi-
cation.

" Exactly so — exactly so. I really lost my head for the time
being."

Virtue sometimes has it reward. The fatigue and excitement
of tlie day disposed Mr. Carteret to sleep after dinner. As this
was an old fogey habit which he very carefully concealed, he
usually retired to his study or morning-room, on the plea
of having some important letters to write, and requested
not to be disturbed until Brown brought him his choco-
late.

When he had executed his manoeuvreB, Marjory took advantage
of his absence and asked her aunt if she might take a walk in the
grounds.

It was very delightful to escape into the fresh perfumed air, away
from the sound of Uncle CartP et's peevish voice, to enjoy the od<jur
of a newly-mown field down ',y the river, to rest a while in the ruins
and gaze over towards the downs, where the sun was beginning to
set. How George would enjoy filing in the scream, aaad Dick^ too.

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though he was less keen about such sports. Oh ! it would really be
too delightful to have the boys thero safe away from Mrs. Acland.
She wondered when any one would write to her. She had already
sent two letters home ; perhaps one from George was lying there for
her. She was sure Mrs. Acland would never forward it.

Then the question su^^gesttd itself, " I wonder what sort of a per-
son this Mr. Yere Ellis is ? He is rather old ; I suppose he is
another learned solemn man like Uncle Carteret. I wish he was
younger, it would be pleasanter. I hope he plays chess ! I get so
dreadfully sleepy. Oh ! if he were nice and would come and walk
with me sometimes, it would be charming. After all, thirty-two or
three is not so very old ! " and she ran over in her own mind the
heroes of many novels who must have been about that age, gradually
forming an ideal in her imagination of a very superior highly edu-
cated gentleman, who would talk over her head, yet condescend to
take some notice of her and some interest in her improvement.
Perhaps he had a wife. Somehow this suggestion took a little from
the interest of the picture. Miss Marjory was by nature a coquette,
though shu was not aware of it.

A week of rain keeping Mr. Carteret in the house, Marjory began
to perceive that to reside with and to be employed by her uncle was
not exactly the he\ of roaes it appeared to her at first. The catalogue
and the bad weather united were too much for his equanimity. Mar>
jory's mistakes, which were not so very numerous considering her
inexperience and the endless alterations of plans on the part of her
dictator, were bitterly rebuked and harped upon till only pride
enabled her to restrain her tears and kept her from flying to her own
room first and out of the house after.

But she re.solved to bear almost anything rather than return
defeated to the taunts and triumphs of her father's wife, who would
be but too glad to point out the hopelessness of a girl who could not
get on with her own mother's relations.

She thought that Mrs. Carteret S3'mpathized with her, though that
lady did not express her feelings, not being disposed to exhaust her-
self in words.

" Have you been crying ? " she asked quietly one evening when,
worn out by a series of small rages while wrestling with his catalogue,
Mr. Carteret had retired to " write letters of importance."

Marjory was startled and vexed by the query, but answered
honestly, *' Yes, Aunt Carteret," blushing and smiling.

' ' If you cry because Mr. Carteret is cross, you are very foolish.
The more he sees you are afraid of him the worse he is."

"I don't think I am afraid of him, I should be ashamed of
being afraid of any one ; but I did hope to please him, and I do not."

" You please him as much as any one ever did. He always
quarrels with his employees ; only as you are a girl and a relative, he
thinks he may say and do wlmt he likes. The next time he is verj

▲ LIFB INTEBl .T.

101

tiresoroe you may tell him — prettily and politely, of course— that
you nre f»<>rry you cannot please him and that you would rather go
home, it is very unpleasant to see people with red eyes."

"P.iitl would rather not go home !" cried Marjory, alarmed at
Ruch u suggestion. "I want to stay here ; I am so much happier
than 1 ever was before, at least since I was a little child, except
when Uncle Carterot is cross."

" Then you are very easily pleased," returned Mrs. Cartel et not
unkindly. " As to Mr. Carteret, you are silly to mind him ; he
woiiM be very sorry to lose you. He is never fond of any one, but
ho IS sometimes pleased with you, and then you cost him nothing."

"Oh, no. Aunt Carteret 1 he gave me beautiful dresses and
qiifintities of things."

" He did not give them all."

" Then you did. dear aunt ! How kind and good of you, when •
w.TR a stranger and no relation to you ! I wish you would love mo a
little, and let me love you ! " Marjory seized and kissed Mrs. Car-
teret's hand, leaving it moist from some irrepressible tears that
would drop.

"You are dreadfully impulsive, Marjory," said Mrs. Carteret
with a ruiile — a rare smile. " Yoa must le.un self-restraint or you
will be at the mercy of every one who chooses to play upon you or
wound you."

" I am not so easily wounded, I assure you ; only people I really
care for can hurt me. I am as hard as — as a stone to Mrs. Acland.

" Ah ^ your stepmother?" said Mrs. Carteret; and thereupon
the th.oil urates opened and Marjory poured out her tale of woe.

Mrs. Carteret rather enjoyed listening to gossip, without exerting
herself to put questions. " I did not like Mrs. Acland much," she
said at lenu'th. " She is handsome, and even distiugtiee looking, but
1 do not think she is a gentlewoman. Who wns she ? "

" She was a Mrs. Cranston, the widow of an artist."

" But who was she originally, before she married ? "

" Oh ! T have no idea ; but I thought she was very ladylike ; I
know she was always finding fault with me for vny vulgarity."

" No, you are not vulgar," said Mrs. Carteret, after disentangling
her tluL' i(l, which had gone into some complication. You are uncon-
ventional, but you are a lady. You might improve yourself if you
liked. Yon speak too suddenly ; then you dart at things instead of
moving gently. No well trained person is ever in a hurry."

" I will try and be quiet. Oh ! I wish I could be like you, aunt !
you always seem to do and say the right thing. But if you only
knew the tremendous hurry I feel in sometimes — often to reach what
I want and to say what I want, you would understand how hard it is
for ine to be slow."

''I do not suppose I cr,;dd understand it," returned Mrs. Carteret
with an unusually indulgent smile. It waa pot> in human nature to

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A LIFE mTEREST.

be indifferent to the warm sincere admiration of so bright a creature.
" But I should like to see you improve ; and take my advice, exer-
cise your self-control by resisting your inclination to be wounded or
frightened by Mr. Carturet. Whether you do well or ill ho will com-
plain all the same ; and then you must suffer for all his miHtakca.
Most men are very weak : your father yields to liis wife, for instance.
I must say it is most unjust to drcps you so badly ; and then to send
your brother to soa in a common ship — it is po«itively cruel I

This was a speech of extraordinary length for Mrs. Carteret.
Marjory thanked hur for her counsel and promised she would do her
beat to follow it.

CHAPTER XL

A NEW ARRIVAL.

Some days after this conversation came an invitation to dinner
from Mrs. Warinf? to Mr. and Mrs. Cartorot and Miss Acland.

Marjory felt quite elated at being asked to dinner, and ardently
hoped Uncle Carteret would consent to j^o.

After luncheon, during which meal he directed his wife to accept
Mrs. Waring's invitation, instead of taking a book or newspaper to
a seat on the verandah as was his usual custom, he observed, " I
think, Marjory, a couple more hours' work will complete the fir-.t
part of our task. Then I shall rest for a day or two before I attack
the other cases."

Back to the library, therefore, was Marjory marched, and set to
work by her inexorable uncle. The prospect of a break in the
routine of her exi.stence was cheering, but the idea oi going out to
dinner was positively exhilarating, if for nothing else but fur the jciy
of wearing the pretty half-dress evening costume her aunt had given
her.

She had just glanced at the clock, and noted that only an hoiir
and iive minutes had elapsed since she had resumed her pen. when
she heard the sound of approaching wheels. It might be Miss War
ing's pony carriage ; if so she regretted being chained to her task.
None of her aunt's other visitors interested her much.

Presently the door opposite opened, and Mrs. Curtei-et, looking »
little more animated than usual, walked in, followed by a gentleman.

He was not tall, or did not seem tall because of his breadth of
shoulders. His hair was short, wavy and dark, if not (|uibe black.
His eyes, too, were very dark and deeply set under thick eye-brows,
and his clean-shaven jaw was strong bu*- net heavy. He was not
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A LIFE INTEUESY.

103

5'et his wholo style and boaritig had an iiidescribablo stamp of dis-
timiion such as Marjory had novor seon before ; ho was well dressed
and nitvcd with traiuiuil assured self-possession.

" Hero is Mr. Ellis," said Mrs. Carteret ; ''he came over from
Aldenham this morning, n«.t direct from London."

" Ah, Ralph ! thou<jh 1 greatly object to surprises of this kind, I
am really glad to sou you," said Mr. Carteret, lising and pulling ofif
his spectacles. " Whon did you reach England ? "

" About throe weeks ago. I have been greatly occupied with
business and I suppose what I ought to call pleasure ever since.
Glad t(» see you looking so well," he added.

' ' Well, my dear boy, I wish I were ; I wish I fdt vrell. This
frail tenement constantly reminds me that an indili'erent physique,
not the flight of years, weighs me down."

" I do not think Mr. Carteret is any worse than he was whon we
met in Paris," observed Mrs. Carteret ; "but I must go and order
luncheon for you."

Mr. Ellis with a leisurely step moved to the door, opened it, and
bowed in a courUy fashion as Mrs. Carteret passed out.

Returning to Mr. Carteret they exchanged a few questions and
jinswera respecting people of whom Marjory knew nothing ; then
Mr. Carteret, turning suddenly to her, said, " We cannot do any
more work to-day ; I will not keep you."

Marjory rose immediately, put her papers and books together, »nd
It^ft the room, passing by Ellis. He did not open the door for her,
however, or appear to know she was present, yet she felt that he had
seen and observed her.

It was with a new and unpleasant sense of mortification that she
sat down in the window of her bedroom to think.

Her uncle had always treated her with scant ceremony, although
not unkind except when irritable, and though Mrs. Carteret's
politeness was unfailing, she did not make much of her husband's
young relative, yet Marjory was quite content, but now that a com-
plete stranger came on the scene, a man too who was probably of
her blood, that she should be treated as a more employee^ sent out of
the room without a. word of introduction, was too bad 1

The new-comer, too, marked his sense of her social inferiority by
not opening the door, as he had done for Mrs. Carteret. It was a
trifle, she even laughed at her own weakness for thinking so much
uf such a trifle, yet she knew with the most complete conviction
that had he thought she was a young lady he would have opened
the door and bowed for her too.

After all, she told herself, it was comtemptible folly to lot her-
self grow morbid about such miserable minutiaj, and she did rally.
Finding a book, and curling herself up on a bench in an out-of-the-
way corner of the grounds, she was soon absorbed in the story.
The little incident, however, left a small trail of soreness, and

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104

A LIFE INTEREST.

)nit her on her mettle to meet any sliijht with good-humoim '
iii(!i(u'rem;e. " It is bettiii- to he here than at liome," was her lin.-.i
lelicction when drcssiii;!; for dinner. " And I. am sure tinch
Cartervjt never intends to he rude. I suppose, as I am really :i
nobody, he cannot help sliowing that lio knows it sometimes ; but
I shall show that quiet insolent Mr. Ellis that I consider myself hih
equal, ifl can ! Three score years and ten, the Bible says, is the
general length of life. Take eighteen from seventy and tifty-two
remain ; well, it will be hard if I do not find some pleasure, son.c
joy, some true love in all those years, especially if I deserve it."

Dressing for dinner was a very simple affair at the Priory
Muslin, instead of cotton or woollen, a few knots of ribbon .nnl
laci , a rose and spray of fern, were the only changes requiretV
Mr. and Mrs. Carteret had lived so long abroad they had got oirt
of the w.iy of making a regular evening toilet, as is the fasliion in
an English country house ; besides, everything was at present
provisional.

Marjory, however, arranged her hair most carefully, and without
adding anything unusual to her ordinary attire, made the most o!
herself, to use an expressive phrase.

Ellis did not appear till the gong sounded for dinner, whon lu'
came just in time to lead Mrs. Carteret to table,

Mr. Carteret passed his arm through Marjory's, saying, " I am
going to leave you some work to do alone to-morrow ; do you thinl<
you can manage it ? "

*' I will try, uncle, if you will explain."

" Then you must be very attentive." Here they reached their
places, and Mrs. Carteret, just before she sat down, said, " I had
forgotten to explain, this young lady, Miss Acland, is Mr. Carteret's
niece, or rather his grand-niece."

"Really such lengthy appellations are unmanageable in conver
sation," otaserved Mr. Carteret. El'is bowed with an air of defer
ence, and shot an observing glance at Marjory, who was infinitely
annoyed to feel herself colour quickly when she had intended to be
collected and dignified.

There was, however, no further demand on her self-possession,
as no one addressed a word to her during the repast.

She was sufficiently amused, nevertheless, listening to the con-
versation. Uncle Carteret was voluble on many subjects, which
were new to his nioce, about some excavations at Rome and the
discoveries made thereby ; about some Etruscan vases and trinkets
dug up in a village near Florence ; and finally about Wagner venvs
the Italian school. She was struck by tlie cool suixn-iority of tlio
new guest, the way he threw in a wo»\l or two here and there t-i
keep his host going and spare himself trouble. Marjory suspected
that he knew a good deal more of most things than her uncle, anil
though he concealed it, that he felt considerably bored.

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A LIPE INTERtlST.

106

To Mrs. Carteret he was pleasantly attentive, and from the
^sentences they occasionally exchanged ]Marjory gathered that Mr.
Ralph Vere Ellis had been for somo years attached to the British
embassy at Vienna, that he had applied for an exchange, and hoped
ro be appointed attache^ at Paris.

When dinner was over the gentlemen acconipanied Mrs. Cartere*;
and Marjory, after the Continental fashion, to the drawing-room.

Then Mr. Carteret faeemed to remember Marjory. He was
standing in the large bay window at the end of the room, and had
just proposed that they should smoke their cigarettes in the garden,
when he interrupted himself to say, "Oh, come here, Marjory ! "
Then taking hold of her arm he led lior to Ellis. "Just look at
this young lady, Ralph," he exclaimed, "and tell me if you see any
likeness to any one ! " Ellis did not turn instantly, and the instant
thus gained gave Marjory time to collect herself. When therefore
the accomplished diplomatist directed his deliberate gaze upon the
bright eyes, the fresh delicate face offered to his inspection, she met
his glance with steady composure, keeping her eyes on his unflinch-
ingly, till he felt he was being scanned as coolly and critically as if
he were an inanimate figure. He was purposely slow in answering
in order to try the remarkable sang-froid of this country girl.

" I am really at a loss," he said at last ; "1 fear I am not quick
to recognize likenesses. There is a charming contadina with brown
eyes in the Lichtenstein gaHery by an unknown painter, that has
some slight resemblan'^.e to Miss — Miss "

"Miss Acland," put in Mr. Carteret as he paused. "Pooh,
nonsense, I mean what likeness do you see to some living person ?"

Ellis glanced at Mrs. Carteret, and then a light seemed to dawn
upon him. " Ah ! yes, of course, 1 am really very dense. The
resemblance is to yourself."

" Exactly. I think it rather striking, and your evidence is a
strong confirmation of my opinion. I wish my niece carried the
resemblance a little further, and had something of my tastes and
method. She has been working under my direction at a catalogue
of my collection, and we do not get on too fast."

"But that is a tremendous task for a young lady," returned
Ellis carelessly.

" Come, let us have our cigarettes," said Mr. Carteret, releasing
Marjory's arm ; and both gentlemen left the room.

" I am glad Mr. Ellis has come. Mr. Carteret is always belter
tempered when he is here ; and then there are several matters to
be arranged which cannot be done without him ; you know Lang-
ford Priory will be his after Mr. Carteret," began Mrs. Carteret
as soon as Marjory brought her work and .sat down beside her.
" He is well bred and well informed. I am afraid he will not stay
long, it is too dull for him." •

" 1 suppose so,'' said Marjory.

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A LIFB INTEREST.

** They say he was rather reckless and extravagant as a very
young man, but ho has been very steady of late years. I know

Lady Mary Netterville told me Lord H , the ambassador at

Vienna, has a hi^h opinion of him ; I daresay he will be an ambas
sador some day himself."

'* Do you really think so?" said Marjory.

" Yes ; they all have to begin by being attaches.*'

After this exertion Mrs. Carteret lapsed into silence, and Mar-
jory's busy brain occupied itself in depicting Mr. Ellis largely
decorated with stars and orders, in silk stockings and the shorts of
court attire, as the members of the Congress of Vienna were repre-
sented in an engraving at home, puzzling his diplonmtic brethren
with an inscrutable smile ; she thought, "I am quite sure it is the
sort of thing he is fit for. Fancy his coming out with me for a
scramble in the woods ! 1 might as well ask Uncle Carteret him-
self. Yet he has a nice voice, so soft as if he could not take the
trouble of speaking fast or loud. I wonder what Mrs. Acland
would say to him or he to her ? " Then her thoughts naturally
went oflFinto another channel ; she felt keenly that her father must
have almost forgotten her existence, as he had never answered any
of her letters.

The addition of a new member to the family party made but
small change. Mr. Ellis bestowed a general "Good morning" on
the party when he appeared in the breakfast room, and only spoke
to Mrs. Carteret, allowing his host to talk uninterruptedly while be
paid strict attention to what was set before him.

Soon after breakfast for the first few days Mr. Carteret drove
away with his guest to the county t<»wn, and Marjory set to her
work, finding she got on much more quickly alone. After luncheon
she persuaded Mrs. Carteret to take a walk, and then she read
the "Court Journal ;" so dinner-time came round, and chess and
bed-time.

Mr. Ellis asked at breakfast, the third day after his arrival, if
Miss Waring was at Dene Court.

"She is residing there ; but she has been away for a few days.
We dine there to-morrow, and you had better come ; she will be
delighted to see you," said Mr. Carteret.

"It is rather a dangerous experiment to go uninvited to a dinner;
ore may make the dreaded thirteenth 1 "

" Ob ! we can obviate that difficulty," cried Mr. Carteret pleas-
antly. " Mrs. Carteret, myself and Marjory were invited ; we will
not take Marjory ; po there remains the original number, and any
hostess will be glad to exchange a girl for a man."

Marjory looked up with a sudden flash of indignant surprise.

"My dear sir, you are brutally frank," said Ellis laughing.
"Why should Miss Acland bo cheated out of the exciting festivity?"

" Fooh 1 there is nothing in a dinner-party to amuse her : she

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A LIFB INtERBSt.

107

would not know what to say, and there would be no one to talk to
lier. If it were a dance she might like to ijo."

"I can write to Miss Waring," put in Mrs. Carteret, '*and tell
her ]\Ir. Ellis is hero ; then we can all e^o ! "

•' No ; nonsense. There is no room in the carria^je for four ; I
object to being crowded. Marjory must stay at homo."

•' And I do not wish to go now," said Marjory stoutly.

" No, of course not ; you can do a little more of the catalo^e
while we are away," said Mr. Carteret.

" Oh no," cried Marjory, too indignant to submit to this. '* As
I am not to go to the dinner you must give me a holiday."

" That is only fair," said Ellis.

*' I don't like to encourage idleness," observed Mr. Carteret.

" Do you really think I am idle ? " asked Marjory, looking very
straiglit at her uncle.

" Well — no — that is, you work very well under pressure."

Marjoi'y made no reply ; the colour mounted to her brow and a
decidedly contemptuous smile curved her lips, but she resolutely
kept her eyes on her plate for a minute or two. When she raised
them she encountered those of Ellis fixed on her with a curious
hulf-smiling expression, as though studying a new specimen of
hum in nature — an expression which had so irritating an eflFect upon
her tliat Marjory was conscious of a very unladylike but strong
desire to throw sumethino: at him, so strong that it warned her to
draw the reins of her self-control tighter. *' It will never do to
show temper with such cool trained people," she thought ; and she
forced herself ':o give Ellis a quick glance and smile, as if they
understood each other, and he was laughing with, not at her.

Sti'', it was a day of trial and mortification. She kept up
gallantly till they were all gone out to dinner ; then she indulered
in a fit of crying, begun in wrath and ending in sadness. Was
ever any creature more alone than herself — motherless, father-
less—for was she not robbed ()f her father ? — friendless — for who
could trust to such refrigerated beings as Mr. and Mrs. Carteret,
or look for sympathy from them ? Her kind schoolfellow, with
whom she had spent some happy days, was married and gone, and
George was at sea. Then Dick — poor dear Dick ! — basely suspected
and driven away. Perhaps he had gone to the Colonies or
America ; perhaps he is dead — dead of hardships and a broken
heart I

Tiiis was the climax of her sorrowful reflections. Eager to escape
from them and from herself, she seized her hat and neckerchief and
set out to visit the poultry yard, having made friends with a comely
matron who presided over it.

The day after Mrs. Waring'a dinner Mr. Carteret found himself
ve'-y unwell after his unwonted exertions; something in the dinner
or the wine had upset him, and he remained in his room all the

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iiuming. Marjory, however, kept at her accustomed task in the
library utitil she had tinished all she could do without further
instructions ; then she m(>unted the steps and took down an old
translation of Froissart which had fascinated her, but which she did
not like to take out of t'- ) library. Armed with one of the
volumes, she sat on the top of the steps and was soon deep in the
curious pictures of past times given by the old chronicler. As the
door was open and the carpet soft she did not hear any one enter,
nor till her attention was attracted by the rustle of paper did she
look up, when to her suprise she saw Ellis writing at her uncle's
table. He smiled as he folded his note, seeing she was aware of his
presence, and said :

" I ought to ask pardon for having stolen in in this way, but I
had begun to write before I perceived you and then I saw you were
Bo absorbed I thought it better not to disturb you." He rose
as he spoke and, coming across the room, leant against the high
steps, looking up at her with the curious half-smiling expression she
disliked so much. "May I ask what you are reading ?"

'* Froissart," she replied, wishing that he would go away and let
her escape.

*' Not an ordinary book for so young a lady to choose."

"It is more interesting than most novels."

**I certainly think so. But have you forgiven me for taking
your place yesterday ? "

" It was not your fault," with calm impartiality.

" It was not, indeed ; and I assure you you lost very little.
The whole affair was insufferably dull ; people living hero cannot
possibly have anything to say. You were desperately indignant at
being left behind, were you not ? " smiling softly.

*'I was," said Marjory steadily. "I had a right to be indig-
nant ; it was unjust to leave me hehind."

*' But that is no reason why you should bo angry with me."

*'I am not angry with you — not the least." She shut her book,
but did not like to stand up and put it away while Ellis stood at the
foot of the steps.

" It must be a fearful bore to be obliged to sit here all day writ-
ing the list of that rubbish."

"It is a little tiresome. And you are not wise to call ^ The
Collection,' rubbish ; suppose I wore to tell Uncle Carteret ?"

"I am not afraid ; I do not think you are treacherous."

" Do not be too sure."

"Yes, I am sure ; I think I underst.and you; you have a tell-
tale face.'

"There is not much to tell," she returned, laughing good-
humouredly. ' ' Now please let me come down ; I have idled here
long enough."

" Not just yet. I have something to say you may like to hear—

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109

first, Miss Waring was very sorry you did not come to dinner and
scolded Mr. Carteret soundly — in fact, I felt as if I were an unwel-
coni) intruder; secondly, Miss Waring intends giving a garden
party, which is to end with a dance, and you are to be especially
invited."

" Really I " cried Marjory, her eyes sparkling and all ideas of
enmity to the speaker and prudence as to her own words scattered
to the winds. " That will be delightful 1 Miss Waring is a dear !
What else did she say ? "

" A good deal, but I cannot remember her words."
" I do hope Uncle Carteret will not prevent me from going."
'*! suppose," said Ellis, moving a little more in front of the
steps, *' if Mr. Carteret is your uncle I am a relative — a cousin more
or less removed. "

'* Perhaps so," returned Marjory, in no way elated. " But these
sort of things are not easy to understHnd."
"Then you will not have me for a kinsman ? "
"Well, it is not much matter. You will be going away ; so shall
I ; and we shall probably never meet again."

'* What a heartless speech ! " (lau<,'hing). " I fear I have uncon-
soicusly done something to prejudice you agaiiist me."

*' I never know whether you are in earnest or not. Though it is
not really of any consequence — at aU events, you have brought me
some pleasant news. Now stand away — I must come down I " this
very decidedly.
Ellis drew back.

"Are you not very immovable?" he said. "You ought to be
gracious to me in this dreary land ; say you will accept me as a
kinsman and try to like me ! "

" Try to like you?" echoed Marjory. " Would trying beany
good ? I always jump into liking or disliking without exactly know-
ing why."

"Then I trust in my case ytm are for once hesitating on tho
brink before you plunge into the fatal abyss of dislike ? "

Marjory laughed merrily, then hesitated. iShe did not want to go
up the steps to put away her book, nor would she venture to take
it with her ; so turning to Ellis she gave it to him, saying, " Will
you be so kind as to put that in its place for me i Uncle does not
like his books taken out of the library." With a smile and little
quick bend of the head she left him looking bfter her with the book
in his hand.

" She is uncommonly pretty and brimful of saucy spirit," he
thought. "It is droll to find myself condoscendod to by a little
school-girl, after being a spoiled child in Vienna drawing-rooms.
It would be rather amusing to instruct her ignorance ; she has
pluck and brains, I suspect, and might turn out a leading woman ;
as it is, she will marry some curate or fatted calf of a farmer and

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be lost to social life. If I hail time I should certainly cultivate her
and tarne her pretty daring. It is a long time since 1 saw anything
so fresh and so amusing."

This encounter enlivened Marjory ; but she was still more
cheered by a visit from Mrs. and Miss Waring, when both expressed
their regret that she had not come to dinner. Then the latter
proposed to walk throu^^h the grounds and to the ruins, where she
had not been for a long time. Marjory gladly ran to get her hat,
and the two elder ladies were left to keep each other company.

They had hardly reached the ruins when Ellis joined them, and
Marjory listened with interest to the talk which ensued, her eyes
fixed admiringly on Miss Waring's face, quite regardless of the
tact with which Ellis tried to draw her into the conversation. The
topics they discussed ware new to her. At lengtli Ellis said some-
thing about going to town on Monday, and Miss Waring exclaimed,
•'I hope you intend to return for my party, Mr. Ellis."

** You may count on me , I am only going for a week or ton
days. I want to see my chief and buy a horse. Mr. Carteret's
stud is extremly limited, and if I stay over the 12th I shall want
a couple of dogs."

** I did not think you would stay so long in England."

*' I find it necessary. At present, you see, I am unattached, and
while frfee I wish to guide Mr. Carteret in the way he slu>uld go.
He wants a good deal of guidance, does he not ? " looking at
Marjory.

"Oh no," she said demurely, **he can guide everyone. I am
sure he takes a great deal of trouble with me ! "

" Which I am sure you are delighted to give," he returned.

•'Then I may expect to see you," said Miss Waring. "I in-
tend to send out my invitations next week."

" I shall be sure t^^ come, among other reasons, to do my duty by
dancing with my cousin. Miss Acland."

*' I did not know you c-'ere related."

"We are, I assure you; though Miss Acland will neither ack-
nowledge me nor assist me in tracing the tangled threads of our
kinship."

"I am surprised," said Miss Waring smiling. "I think you
would be rather nice as a cousin."

Ellis raised his hat.

"I know very little about relations," cried Marjory colouring.
** I never met any but Uncle Carteret — of course, except mj
brothers, and they are part of myself."

" How many have you 'i " asked Miss Waring.

"Two — George and Dick, Dick is only my half-brother." Slit
quite forgot the existence of little Herbert.

" My mother will think I have forgotten her," said Miss Waring,
rising ; a. d they walked slowly to the house.

■■^■.m

A LIFE IKTEIUBIT.

Ill

The few days which intervened before Ellis went to town were
certainly plcasnnter to Marjui-y, thanks to him. Ha looked over
"The Catalogue" and praised it. He assured Uncle Carteret it
was admirably planned, and advised that no further alterations
should be made. He frequently spuke in a frank friendly way to
Marjory, and put Mrs. Carteret in high good humour by compli-
menting her on the taste with which she dressed her protegee.

This sort of recognition on the part of so important a person as
Vere Ellis gave Marjory mure trust in herself ; she began to have a
sense of self-reliance which was new and comforting.

The evening before Ellis was to go up to town she had slipped
a (ray, as she often did, to look at the sunset and breathe the sweet
evening air. She was slowly following the path to the river, wKen
she perceived the perfume of a cigar, and a few steps further came
face to face with Ellis.

" I thought I should find you here," he said, turning with her.
"Tell me what fairing shall I bring you from great Vanity lair?"

*' Oh 1 nothing, thank you ; I really do not want anything."

" Then you stand alone among women 1 Have you no com-
mission to give me ? I have two or three from Miss Waring.
Must I choose for you, Marjory ? "

She turned and looked full at him with suprise and displeasure.

*' What ! may I not call you by your pretty quaint old English
name ? " He laughed quite good-humouredly and threw away his
cigar.

•' No, I would rather you did not," said Marjory quietly. *' I do
not call you by your Cliristian name, and it is not right that you
should bo more familiar than I am."

" Very well, my proud kidswomcn ; but I should be charmed if
you would call me Ralph — my name would sound vei-y sweet spoken
by you."

*'That is nonsense," said Marjory gravely. "I could not call
you by your name — not if I knew you all my life ; it would seem
quite unnatural."

'• Now it seems quite natural to me to call you Marjory; perhaps
because I ihink of you as Marjory," stealing a look at her.

" Well, I do not like it," she returned unmoved.

" Very well, Miss Acland, I shall not offend." They walked on
for a few paces, tiitm Marjory eaid suddenly and softly, '* I dare say
you think me a stupid ill-tempered girl, for I believe I ought to
tiiank you for induciii;4 Uncle Carteret to let me finish that tiresome?
catalitgue without further alterations. I am indeed obliged to you."
She looked at him with sweet shy eyes, very unlike her usuiil quick
distrustful glances.

''Believe nie, 1 am very glad to be of any use to you ; and 1
fancy that ciUulogao was enough to turn your hair grey, Miss
AcUnd."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

" It was indeed." A pause ; then with an effort Marjory spoke :
"You might help me a little more if you liked."

"How?"

" When the catalogue is quite done, I am afraid aiy uncle may
not want me — send me away."

"Great hejiv»jii8 ! Do you wish t<j stay here?"

*' Yes, very much."

*' May I ask where you live when at home ? In a ladies' boarding
school or a nunnery ? "

" I live in my father's house."

" Is it very indiscreet to jisk if you are kept locked up and fed on
bread "nd water V

Marjory laughed frankly and shook her head, then she cast down
her eyes a little sadly and said, " 1 have no niother and my father
is married again." Ellis looked at her very intently while her eyea
were averted ; he felt a sudden interest in the details of her life.
"Thenl am rather sorry for your father's wife," he returned, Ftoop-
ing to disentangle her dress from a broken brarichlet wliich had
caught in it, and .speaking in pleasant playful tone ; "1 tiiink you
might be rather a formidable stt^p-daughter,"

"Why ? How curious ! I don't think I am naturally disagree-
able ; but if — if I am struck on one cheek, I tU; itot feel inclined to
turn the other ! "

'* Of that I am quite certain. So you do not tare to live at home /
Pray teh uie how I can help you to avoid it."

" Suggest something else for me to do."

" With pleasure. 1 would willingly keep you hero if I could.
What shall it be i You must assist me ; though why y»Hi should
imagine Mr. Carteret is ready to return you to the paternal jail 1
cannot understand."

" Well, you see, he never grew fond of me ! "

" No ? Very strange ! Then I do not think Mr. Carteret's heart
is of the clinging order. He is not given to entertaining devoted
attachments."

Marjory laughed. " No, not exactly ; and I am sure he will not
let me stay unless I am of S(mie use. Mrs. Carteret is quite differ-
ent ; she really like me — at least I think she does — or 1 should not
care so njuch for her."

"Ah 1 Do you always return love for love ?"

" Yes, I am sure I do."

" A very charming disposition," said Ellis meditatively.

" Suppose," resumed Marjory, " I were to make a fresh list of
the books ? "

" What ! have you the resolution to face another catalogue?"

" It would not be half so bad as the first one. And I love books;
but as for those dusty broken curiosities "

*' Let us not be blasphemous," said Ellis. "Your suggestion ia

A LIFE INTEREST.

113

excellent. J shall act upon it ; and at any rate, if you want to stay
here, here you shall stay."
" Thank you very much."

"Thank you," returned Ellis gravely; *'I consider your asking
even this trifle a token of amity."
" I think it is," said Marjory. " I think I am too hasty, and I

fancied when you came first " she stopped abruptly.

" Pray finish your sentence ; I am all anxiety to know what
special injustice you have done me."

" I thought you cold and contemptuous ; I never thought you
could be good-natured, and this is being good-natured."

" Cold !" repeated Ellis, laughing a low pc .uliar laugh. "Well,
conscience does not endorse your accusation ; let me hope I may
improve on acquaintance. What, are you going back to the house ?
Let us stroll a little further along the river. The evening is
delicious.

"I should like it very much," she returned, "but I cannot
stay. Mrr» Carteret likes the newspapers read to her about this
time and will expect me ; and my uncle will look for his game of
chess."

" Whi( h he shall have when I am ready," said Ellis smiling,
"You will go then?" he held out his hand; "shall we swear
eternal friendship first ? "

*' Eternal friendship ! that is quite too tremendous," cried Mar-
jory ; " possible friendship if you like — there's my hand on't," she
touched his quickly and was gone.

Ellis lit a fresh cigar and sauntered on, thinking idly. ** Pretty
wood-nymph ! is it ignorance or strength that keeps her so steady
and indiflferent. There's something about her like the flavour of
wild strawberries, their delicate fragrance, their alight piquant
acidity. She is worth waking up. There's plenty of fire and
demess beneath her outer icing. Old Carteret bristles with difficu. js
of another order, but I shall not leave till I have bent him to my
will. What infernally good care ho takes of himself ; he intends to
live these thirty years ! How irrational it is to allow useless
individuals to stand in the way of more capable men. I suppose
the the progress of common sense will some day develop the practice
of Euthanasia."

Mr. Carteret fumed and fussed while waiting for his chess, but
Ellis was too absorbed in his own thoughts and schemes to remem-
ber his host.

Ellis was an ambitious man, strong-willed and capable of working
patiently for an end. He was also capable of self-mastery if self-
interest demanded it ; and though gifted— or troubled — with strong
passions, he rarely let the reins of government slip from his grasp.
He liked his pleasures, as he liked his food and wine, to be of the
very best and most perfect description. Nothing common or unclean

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A LIFE 1NTLP.E6T.

lis" :

Huited his palate. In society, ho was perhaps more estcuMiied thun
universally popular, and although the few wouumi ho sought rotunu-d
liis preference with devotion, he was not generally considered ;i
''lady's man."

He was by no means indifferen* to womon, only they were from
his life things quite apart ; he deliberately considered women as
created by beneficent nature for the convenience and gratification
of the superior animal : this is the unconscious and unavowed
belief of many fairly good fellows, bub with Ellis it was acknow-
ledged and acted on with full unhesitating conviction. Still, some-
thing of character was necessary to complete a woman's charm for
him. He did not like dolls, so in general very young girls were not
to his taste. But character, intellect, beauty, tenderness were
only of value so far as they enhanced his enjoyment ; of a woman's
right to her own individuality he had no idea. In short he took
Milton's view of the subject — '* He for God only, she for God in
him."

At present he was interested and much amused with Marjory.
Her untutored grace, her speaking eyes, her varying expression
charmed him ; her resistance to his advances, her indifi'erence to
his quiet but constant efforts to please and srtothe her, nettled
liim. He had more serious matter for thought, however, and his
schemes for the future pushed lighter and pleasanter topics from his
mind.

While Ellis was away, Marjory was surprised to find how much
she missed him. Indeed his absence was felt by others besides Mar-
jory. Mr. Carteret was querulous and irritating to an intolerable
degree — wanting the restraining influence of his kinsman's presence
and Mrs. Carteret was more silent than usual.

In short, eyery one was pleased when Ralph Ellis notified his in-
tention of retui-ning, and sent as his precursors a horse, a groom
and two dogs .

Mr. Carteret looked not too well pleased at these addition to his
establishment, but to Marjory's amusement he uttered no audible
objection.

She made acquaintance with the dogs on the morning after their
arrival, and took a great fancy to one — a young brown and white
setter, of playful habits and caressing manners ; but the groom
would not permit her to feed or pet him, explaining respectfully
that "that he was a young dawg, and not half edicated yet."

Finally Ellis himself made his appearance, aniving so late that
Marjory had retired before he reached the the Priory.

A LIf'E INTKRESf.

118

CHAPTER XII.

FOUND

The eagerly anticipated party at Dene Court was at hand, and
Marjory's measure of content was amply filled by an invitation from
MisB Waring to stay with her for a day both before and after that
event, which invitation Mr. and Mrs. Carteret permitted her to
accept, as neither cared to risk fatigue or late hours.

The friendly Virginie busied herself in beautifying a very simple
muslin frock, making it fit for so grand an occasion ; and Marjory's
very vivid imagination depicted impossible glories and romantic
situations at the coming festivity.

This preoccupation did not prevent her from feeling very pleased
when the day after his return Ellis presented her with a beautifully
bound copy of Tennyson's " Idylls of the King."

" As you would give no clue to your tastes, I was obliged to follow
my own poor judgment," he said ; "and seeing you are a lover of
buDks " he held out the volume.

" Oh, thank you very much. How good of you to think of me,
T could like nothing better — indeed I never had anything so beauti-
ful before. Is it not beautiful, Aunt Carteret ? " cried Marjory with
blushing cheeks and sparkling eyes (the presentation took place
before their hostess).

"Very nice indeed; very kind of Mr. Ellis," returned Atfnt
Carteret.

" Do you know Tennyson ? " asked Ellis.

' ' Very little. One of the girls at school had his early poems for
a prize and let me have them to read, but she grew afraid I should
spoil the binding from constantly holding it open, so she took it
away. But it was not to be compared to this, and ther^ are pictures
too I " She sat down to examine them on the spot.

Mrs. Carteret smiled indulgently.

" It has evidently been a most fortunate choice," she said.

Ellis sat down on the ottoman partly behind Marjory, and looked
at the illustrations over her shoulder, while Mrs. Carteret, who was
going to pay some formal visits, left the room.

"You must put my name in it," said Marjory, as Ellis returned
from seeing Mrs. Carteret off and resumed his place half behind her.

" I am glad I have succeeded in pleasing you for once," returned
Ellis, leaning over her shoulder to see a pretty sylphlike figure of
Enid.

" There, that has a look of yourself ; a considerably stronger
Ukeness than you have of Uncle Carteret."

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t i

" What, that beautifu' airy creature like m«," cried Marjory.
** How the boys would laugh if they heard you. You newl not say
luch wonderful things to ' make up.' 1 am quite ready to be friends
without that."

*' But it is like vou 1 I say it is," repeated Ellis. " Let me see 1 "
He seized the book as if to get a better view, and with it Marjory's
hand : " Yes I the figure especially."

Marjory laughed merrily: ''I am glad you think so." She
turned her head as she spoke, and found her cheek almost touching
his ; she shrunk back. '* 1 beg your pardon, I nearly knocked you,"
she said. Somehow the close proximity, the warmth of his breath
on her neck, the faint fragrance of tobacco which hung about him
affected her strangely, her heart beat, and an odd feeling of fear,
against which she indignantly revolted, shot through her. Starting
up she exclaimed, ''There is no ink here ; come into the library."
ISowinthe library was Uncle Carteret, to whom an explanation
must be offered. He remarked viciously that a fool and his money
were soon parted, and that Marjory would probably never read the
book, " or if she does will have a very hazy notion of the contents."

"I am not quite so stupid as you think, uncle," began Marjory
indignantly ; then a quick flash of thought suggested the folly of
being angry with so perverse an old egotist — of displaying impatience
before Ellis, who had followed her, and she added in a different
tone, " Even if I were, I suppose talking with you and writing
with you for the last six weeks ought to have brightened me up ! "

" Well, it ought," growled Uncle Carteret.

Ellis seated himself at the writing-table, and as Marjory placed
the book before him he looked up into her eyes and whispered,
♦' Bravo."

" Thank you again very much," said Marjory, taking her book
when he had written her name, adding " From R. V.E.," and carried
it off to her own room.

A colder-hearted girl than Marjory might have been conciliated
by such kindly efforts to please, and she did take Ellis into favour ;
but across this friendly mood flitted a vague helpless fear, a misty
distrust, which a moment's thought dispersed, only to gather up its
vapours again as soon as the dispelling force was withdrawn.

Only one day now intervened between Marjory and her delightful
visit. It was mid- July ; some heavy showers Jiad relieved the air,
and also created fears for the success of Miss Waring's outdoor fete,
which depended on the weather.

Marjoiy, returning from the dairy, whither she had gone with a
message from Mrs. Carteret, made a little detour through the shrub-
beries, to enjoy some quiet castle building and the fresh dampness
of grass and foliage.

As she approached a gate which led into the woods beyond, tlie
howls of a dog as if in pain and fear startled her. She paused and

▲ LlfB INrBRKST.

117

then ran quickly through the gate in the direction of the sound.
Turning round a large tree into the wet grass, she beheld her favour-
ite setter crouching on the ground, held tiriiily by Ellis with one
hand, while with the other he beat the aiiiuml severely with his dog-
whip. Uis expression was coldly composed, not the slightest tinge
of argdr to excuse the severity of the punishment.

** Why do you beat that poor dog ? " she exclaimed.

" Because, returned Ellis deliberately, after adiil^inisiering a few
final laslei and then letting the dog go — '* because he must be
taught obedience ; he must learn to keep at heel when told."

** I am sure you are naturally cruel 1 It was not necessary to hurt
him so much. Gould you not teach him by kindness ? "

*' Not half so effectually as by cruelty ! I am not cruel, but if it is
necessary to bo cruel, why, it's folly to mince matters."

** You looked as if you liked it, cried Marjory contemptuously
and flaming with indignation. Ellis laughed.

" You don't understand, my dear Miss Acland. A dog must bo
licked into shape, any one will tell you the same thing. You will
find Tatters quite ready to make friends with me in a minute or
two. Which way are you going?" and he turned with her towards
the house.

Marjory could not speak ; she feared showing too much indigna-
tion.

'* Confess now you would like to thrash me within an inch of my
life ? " said Ellis smiling.

" Yes ! I should veir, very much," returned Marjory quickly,
with such unmistakable sincerity that Ellis could not restrain a
laugh. He offered her the whip, saying, "I will take whatever
punishment you choose to inflict, provided you give me my revenge
after ! " Their eyes met as he said this, and again a wild sense of
fear, for which she despised herself the next instant, thrilled through
her. Was she growing a senseless coward ?

" You do not accept my offer? " he continued as she did not speak.
" Come, I don't like you to think me a monster 1 I assure you I
am not — I am no worse than other men if not much better. As to
the dog, he is none the worse. Here, Tatters, Tatters 1 " The dog
came timidly and fawned upon him : " ifou see."

" Yes," returned Marjory, who felt disgracefully inclined to cry
from a curious mixture of feeling, "I see and I feel ashamed of so
poor-spirited a creature ! he ought to have bitten you ! Perhaps
you would not have beaten him so hard had you not known he would
have been ready to fawn on you."

" You are a very dangerous young lady ! It would be no trifle to
offend you. It is not easy to mollify you, as I know."

'* I really do believe you are naturally cruel. I felt it the moment
I looked at you, and I would rather walk alone — I would indeed."

*' Why, Marjory ? I mean Miss Acland."

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" Oh ! I daresay I am foolish and prejudiced, perhaps rude, but
I am not angry — not now ; you have made me feel quite miserable.
I do not think either George or Dick would have beaten a dog as
you did, not just in the same way."

" I am very unfortunate ! " cried Ellis, half in earnest. " Now 1
suppose you will not ' make up,' as you call it, for ages, and I am
going away to Beaulieu to-morrow ; we shall not meet again til)
Miss Waring's party. Will you not shake hands ? "

"Nonsense, Mr. Ellis ! What can you care about it? T cannot
shako hands with you ! Good-bye ; do not kill your poor dog before
we meet again." She opened the gate as she spoke and ran swiftly
down the shrubbery towards the house.

Ellis stood looking after her half amused, half vexed. " W'hat a
provoking, sensitive, obstinate girl ! But she is less indifferent than
she was. Yes, dislike is a better beginning than indifference. She
was almost in tears. I wonder why ? "

Marjory was very quiet and undemonstrative for the whole of the
evening and kept close to her aunt, but when not reading aloud to
that lady perused the copy of Tennyson Ellis had given her. EUia
liimself talked a good deal about foreign politics to Mr. Carteret,
wlio had driven over to Market Gilston that day and had coii-
80(iuently to write " letters of importance" in the privacy of his own
study. So Ellis went out to smoke, and Marjory saw no more of
him, except for a few minutes at breakfast next morning, until they
met at Dene Court,

Lord Beaulieu , whose guest Ellis was to be for the next few days,
had, as was said before, succeeded his nephew, a sickly lad, who
died a few years before when only eighteen, and so permitted the
revenues of the estate to accumulate largely.

The present lord had led an easy artistic life as an impecunious
younger brother, chiefly in Italy and the south of France. He was
rathar bored than elated when the death of his predecessor rai?ed
him to rank and riches. Nevertheless he proceeded to enjoy himdelf
as much in his old way as his altered circumstances permitted.

The old castle at Beaulieu had been kept up after a fashion, that isv
it had not been permitted to fall into decay ; but what repairs were
needful had been done with a niggardly hand and with utter disregard
of the fitness of things. Lord Beaulieu therefore decided on com-
plete restoration in harmony with original design. This was begun
and carried out so thoroughly that at the time of which wo write
there were not more than four or five rooms left habitable in the
edifice. Here Lord Beaulieu dwelt contentedly, conferring with
the architect, the clerk of the works, and an artist whom he had
knuwn abroad and whom he had brou<,'ht with him after a short
visit to Paris, from which place he had just returned. To thii

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A LIFE INTEREST.

119

gentleman was confided the interior decorations ; but the architect
and director in chief was Lord Beaulieu himself. Here among
stones, bricks, dust, mortar and workmen Lord Beaulieu was
happy.

Ellis had been known to him in Italy ; and he was very glad to
renew his acquaintance with the accomplished attache whose opinion
in artistic matters he considered sound. The time passed agree-
ably, examining the works, .discussing the plaps, and fishing. The
two men had plenty to talk about, and there was just that difference
in their tastes and knowledge which gave zest to conve:i8ation.

The days, then, before the Denp Court party passed swiftly. But,
alas ! the day itself broke in storm and rain ; nor did the weather
improve as the hours rolled by. ,

In view of the uncertainty of the weather the invitations requested
that, if the weather proved unpropitious for a garden party, the
guests were requested to assemble later for a dance and supper.
Lord Beaulieu, though not much disposed for such festivities, was
too kindly a neighbour not to sho.w himself at Mrs. Waring's house.
He, too, had known her and her daughter abroad when he was a
Bohemian artist not too well off, and Jie had always been an ally of
Miss Waring. ■ / .

The dance was in full swing when Ellis and his host arrived.
Dances in Gilston and its vicinity were few and far between, and
the local belles and beaux eagerly seized: the opportunity offered.

Dene Court was a fine house of the Queen Anne pericjd, with a
largo inner hall, which was used as an impromptu ball-room, ac
s^allery at the back affording a convenient place for the musicians.
It was well lighted, plentifully decorated with flowers and, with the
moving crowd of many-colouted. dancers, made an effective picture,.

Miss Waring received her guests in the drawing-room, where Mrs.
Warini;, who took little or no part in the entertainment, was com-
fortably established on a sofa, where her special friends came to
peak with her.

" I suppose I need not offer to introduce you to partners?" said
Miss Waring after some little conversation with the last arrivals.

" No, thank you ; I am no dancer," said Lord Beaulieu.

" Well I am. It is part of an attache's duty," added Ellis ; " but
as every one seems afoot I shall look on for the present."

" It is quite a country assemblage," said Miss Waring ; " none of
our London-going neighbours have returned yet."

Other guests claiming her; attention, Ellis and Lord Beuulieu
strolled back to the hall, where ^he former soon perceived Marjory,
who was going through the lajicers under the guidance of a very
boyish-looking young man with a fair open face. She was looking
her best. Pleasura and excitement had given her a rich colour,
which heightened the brilliancey ofhereyes ; her abundant ch'.'.stuut
'^rown hair formed a sufficient coiffure ; her simple frock of creamy

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120

A LIFE INTEREST.

rauslin was gracefully draped ; the open corsage, with its modeat
cascade of lace, had for its only ornament a spray of crimson roses,
their dark green leaves lying against her soft white skin.

It was some time before she recognized Ellis, for she was evidently
on the best possible terms with her partner. They laughed and
talked and made endless mistakes in the figures of the dance ; but
Ellis watched, with a degree of pleasure that surprised himself, the
natural grace of her movements. *' I think I may venture to waltz
with her," he thought ; '' she ought to make an admirable dancer."

The lancers over, the performers slowly filed past to the refresh-
ment and other rooms, and presently Marjory and her partner came
up.

'* I think you intended to cut me 1 " said Ellis, smiling as he held
out his hand ; " but I will not submit to such treatment."

" No, indeed I did not 1 " giving hers ; " I saw you just now, and
was looking round for you."

There was such an unusual expression of soft happiness in her
eyes, of kindness in her tone, that Ellis asked himself with a curious
sense of irritation, " Is this cub some boyish lover who has unex-
pectedly turned up ? "

*' I need not ask if you are enjoying this gay and festive scene ? "

"It is perfectly delightful 1 " cried Marjory, with emphasis on
" perfectly." " Do you know, I have danced everything ! "

'* I quite believe it," with a grave bow. " Pray can you spare me
a waltz ? "

" I am not sure," taking her programme from her waistband and
consulting it seriously.

" The next is a polka, and you have promised it to me ! " cried
her partner, looking over the card.

** Yes, I know ; and then there is a waltz. I am engaged to some
one, I cannot make out the name."

" Persons who do not write legibly do not count ; put my name
in his place."

♦• Oh no, I could not do that ! "

** I know who it was, Miss Acland," cried the cub. *' It was that
old grey buffer Miss Waring introduced to you. He is a stranger.
I know all the men about here ; he's not one of them."

" Then the dance after," urged Ellis, taking the programme.

'* I am afraid I do not waltz well enough for you," said Marjory,
smiling upon him.

" Allow me to find that out for myself," said Ellis, putting his
initials against one of the few unappropriated dances.

" If you don't come along, Miss Acland, you'll have no time for
an ice before the polka begins."

'*That would never do," exclaimed Marjory, yielding to the
onward movement of her partner, but turning her head as she went
to throw a bright arch glance at Ellia

A LIVE INTBBE8T.

121

odeit
roses,

lently
d and
; but
If, the
> waltz
,ncer."
efresh-
)Tcame

lie held

ow, and

in her
, curious
A unex-

basis on
II

spare me
and and
I " cried
d to some
my name

It was that
stranger.

ime.
Marjory,

tutting bis

time for

Lg to the
Is she went

"That is a deucedly pretty girl," exclaimed Lord Beaulieu, who
stood behind him. ** Who is she ? a stranger ? I do not know her
face."

'* She is related to old Carteret, his niece or grand-niece, and is
staying at the Priory."

*' She would make an admirable model. What an expressive
face ! I should like to sketch her."

** She is a mere school-girl," said Ellis carelessly, and he went
away to talk with Miss Waring.

At last his turn came, and Ellis smiled to himself when he remem-
bered the last dance at which he had fign^cd, the urbane highly
trained fascinating women of the world whuse cavalier he had been.
Nevertheless he was conscious of a certain keen sense of pleasure in
the prospect of a waltz with sintple untutored Marjory Acland, mere
school-girl though she was.

"This is a quadrille," said he as he offered her his arm ; *' you
cannot want to dance it. You ought to rest, and then give me the
waltz which follows."
*' Very well ; I am a little tired."

*• There is a boudoir or some such place hereabouts, where we can
be quiet," he said ; *^ this place is insufferably hot." He led her to
a small drawing-room opening upon a balcony.

The night had cleared, the clouds rolled away, and a fine moon
was shining over the woods and fields visible from the windows.
** It is better here, is it not ? " asked Ellis.

"Yes, for a little while. It is so cool and dim," said Marjory,
sinking on a sofa and feeling she needed the refreshment of a brief
rest.

" So you have been having such a good time, as the Americana
say, that you extend plenary absolution even to so great a male-
factor as myself 1 "
"Yes ; at present 1 cannot feel vexed with any one."
'• Something especially pleasant has happened to produce so much
Bunshiuc • I read it in your eyes — your smile ? "

"You are right ; something very delightful has happened, though
I am a little uneasy. I had a letter from niv brother this morning.
He is safe in London and wants to come and see me ! "
" Oil, indeed ! Which of your brothers ? "
"George."

" How long has he been away ? "

" A year and three months. He is not to be long in England,
and I do want to see him so much."
" Well, can he not come down to the Priory i "
" I daresay he has money enough for his railway fare, but -but 1
am afraid Uncle Carteret would not like him to come."
"Why should he object?"
" 1 do not know. He would not be pleased, perhaps, if 1 asked

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122

A LiFE INTEREST.

mil L.,

leave for him to come, yet ho will never think of inviting him if it
is not put into his head."

" I see," gravely. " It is a difficult question, and requires diplo-
matic handling. I fancy you require my help ? "

Marjory hesitated, drew off her glove nervously, and then with a
little embarrassed laugh said, ** Yes, I know you could help me, but
I am half ashamed to — to ask you, because I have been — been
rather rude to you, and what is worse, I don't feel particularly sorry
for it."

" That is a great aggravation undoubtedly," returned Ellis gravely.
*' And you have been dreadfully rude you know."

"No, not dreadfully."

" Will you answer me one question candidly ? — I promise not to
be offended by an explanation ; Why do you dislike me ? "

" I don't know," dropped from Marjory's lips before she could
stop the words. " That is, blushing vividly, " I do not dislike you,
I am sure I do not, exactly "

" There, that is quite enough ! I am very thankful you do not
know why you dislike me; There is some hope that a prejudice so
unfounded may melt away in time."

" You see," said Marjory, looking straight at him and recovering
her self-possession, " I do not quite understand you, I don't feel
sure. And, oh ! do not let us talk of disagreeable things on this
delightful evening ; I think you have been quite kind, and I was
beginning to think I should like you, only — that dog."

" But, Marjoiy, that is utter folly,"

*' Very well, perhaps so."

" Then you will not ask my help ? "

" No ; but if you choose to give it I shall be grateful."

" Very good". And we are to be friends ? "

*' Yes, if you care to be friends with me."

" Well, it is a curious fact, but I do care. Come, they are playing
a capital waltz, it was a great favourite in Vienna. Where did you
learn to dance ? " and be led her towards the hall.

' * Some of my school-fellows taught me. They had a French lady
to teach ;:l\em, but I was never allowed to have extra lessons, that
is why I am so ignorant and "

" Look on this picture ! " interrupted Ellis, pausing before along
glass and pointing to her reflection in it. ' ' Do you think profound
knowledge or high accomplishments are very essential to so charming
a personage ? "

Marjory withdrew her arm from his, annoyed at what she con-
.sidered a piece of impertinence. " I want something ut my head
for my own sake," she said. "And you are ever so much nicer
when you are not sarcastic."

*' Sarcastic ! 1 protest you do me the greatest injustice. 1 am
wholly and sincerely in earnest ! Did none of your other partners

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A LIFE INTERKST.

12S

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convey to you their conviction that you are the belle of the evening ?
not even the pretty boy who carried you off for the polka / "

" The pretty boy ! " laughing, partly mollified yet still distrustful.
" He is a naval officer : he is delightful ! I like him so much. No,
he did not talk nonsense."

" It must be trying to exchange him for an idiot like me."

Marjory laughed again very merrily. " He is staying here," she
said ; " he is the rector's youngest son, and he says he will come
and see me, but I told him he must not."

" What audacity ! " exclaimed Ellis. " We shall lose that waltz
if you delay longer."

When this was over a country dance was proposed.

" A country dance ! " exclaimed Ellis. " You would not think of
such a violent performance ; it requires muscles of iron, staying
power of the highest order. No, you had better come back to that
pleasant nook we discovered, and let us discuss our plans about your
brother."

" Very well," said Marjory with some reluctance ; and they re-
turned to the dimly-lighted room which Ellis found so much to his
taste. It was no longer empty, however, as many couples were
sitting and standing about.

" What have you done with your other brother — what is his
name ? " asked Ellis as they paused beside a window through which
the moonlit grounds were visible.

" Dick ? Ah, I do not know what has become of Dick," sadly.
*' He quarrelled with his mother and went away more than a year
ago ; we have never heard of him since."

" Then I am afraid he is the scamp of the family."

"Indeed, indeed, he is not ! He is so quiet and steady, and
everything that is good,"

" What a dangerous character ! Still waters run deep."

" Oh ! of course you laugh at me ; but if you knew Dick ! "

"I should endorse your opinion ? Perhaps. Meantime you had
better sit down and rest, while our convives are prancing." He
pointed to a lounge which stood invitingly near. The sound of a
brisk air summoned the loiterers who had been hanging about, and
Ellis had begun a sentence when to his great disgust the yonnf,' naval
officer came quickly into the room, lo()kin,<x eagerly round aw if in
search of some one. " Ah ! there you are, Miss Acland," lie ex-
claimed ; "I have been looking everywhere for you ; they are just
f^'oiiiL,' to have a jolly country dance — I think you promised it to
me.

*' I do not think I could, for I did not know we were to have a
country dance."

" Well, T am sure my name is down for No. 13. May I see your
card ? Aye, there it is, only they ha\ e changed it to a country-
dance. Come along, our vis-^-vU are waiting."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

" Miss Acland is very tired and intended to rest, I believe," Mid
Ellis blandly.

"I feel rested already, and the music sounds delightful," cried
the faithless Marjory, rising and accepting the arm offered her, with
a pretty deprecating look to Ellis, and went off cheerfully with the
interloper.

' ' Deserted, by Jove 1 " thought the former, with an impatient
frown, which was almost immediately succeeded by a smile. '*I
thought I was beginning to make some way ; and I believe she is
just as well pleased with that insignificant sailor boy as with my
noble and experienced self. She is the first woman I ever met who
seems to have an innate distrust of me. "

It was all over at last. But when Marjory shut the door of
her own room, she did not begin to undress. She lit the candles
which were attached to a large cheval glass and looked at herself
very deliberately ; then a well pleased smile parted her lips and a
tangled succession of thoughts stirred her brain. First came a com-
fortable conviction that she did not look so badly ; next, that she
liad danced everything, and four times with that nice young sailor ;
finally, that Mr. Ellis had danced with her, and only with her !
moreover that he was really, truly, genuinely vexed when her
favourite partner had carried her off. That was a triumph ! If so
cool and indifferent an individual, a man of the world, the great
world, a future arabr.stjador, took the trouble of talking to her
insignificant self, he must think her rather nice, for she could not
credit him with abstract good nature. The remembrance so exhilar-
ated her that she periormed a pas sevl before the mirror and laughed
aloud merrily, while sxe blushed at her own folly. " It would be
such fun if he were to take a fancy to me (of course it would only
be a passing fancy) and to show him that although he is a great man
(comparatively) and I am a mere nobody I do not and will not care
a straw about him ! I must be very nice, though, when I go back,
if he gets an invitation for George. Oh ! how delightful it will be
to see George. Dear George ! I wonder if he will be able to find
out anything about Dick." She stood a moment or two, her face
fjoftened and sobered, then she undressed quickly, blew out the
ccvudles and went to bed.

Next day, however, inexorable fate overtook Marjory in the
shape of Aunt Carteret, who had been despatched to recall her.
Mr. Carteret had decided on making a new alphabetical list of his
books, and he was determined to begin the very next day. So
Marjory could no longer be excused.

Ellis also returned in time for dinner, and before goincf to table
contrived to give Marjory a hint that it would be well to broach the
(question of George's visit at once. This she did with some trepida-

A LIFE INTERT5ST.

125

tion. Her announcement that her brother had come home from
sea did not rouse much attention from Mr. Carteret. But Ellis
took up bhe running.

" Your brother has come home, do you say, Miss Acland ? " he
said audibly. *' I suppose you want to run up to town to see him ? "
" I want to see him very much indeed," faltered Marjory.
"How — what ?" cried Mr. Carteret. *'Go to town. Certainly
not. Why, we begin the catalogue of books to-morrow, and it
would be very bad behaviour on your part, Marj(jry, if you were to
absent yourself now that I have tought you to be a little useful."

*' I do not want to go away, uncle, but I do want to see my
brother."

''Then he had better come down here," suggested Ellis.
This proposition seemed to startle Uncle Carteret ; but as Ellis
appeared to think it a matter of course and Mrs. Carteret made no
objection, he gave a peevish assent.

' ' George need not bo in the way at all, uncle," said Marjory,
eagerly. " He can ramble about the place in the morning and walk
with me when I have done writing, and only for a couple of days,
you know." The ladies were leaving the dining-room as she spoke,
and Ellis shook his head at her. Later, when he found an oppor-
tunity, he lectured Marjory on her imprudence. ** Such a speech
is always unwise. It gives a man like old Carteret an exaggerated
idea of his own benevolence. Take such things as natural and of
course, as if it was or ought to be a pleasure to him to invite any
relative of yours. "

" But it is not," cried Marjory.

" No matter ; you can credit him with proper sentiments. Now
have I not returned good for evil ? Have I not kept my word in
spite of your base desertion of me last right ? "

"You know you did not want to dance the country dance."
"Did you?"

" Yes ; I never was at a party before. "
" You ought to have preferred sitting out with me."
" Why should I ?" asked Marjory, opening her innocent-looking
eyes.

" Oh, because — because 1 wished it."

" That is no reason in my opinion. There, Uncle Carteret is
putting out the chess-men."

" Ah," Ellis advanced to his host, " I fear I must trouble Miss
Acland to take my place, sir," he said. ''I have some important
letters to write, and must send my man over to Market Gilaton
with them. Have you anything for the night mail ? " Marjory
gave him a reproaahful glance. " Lord Beaulieu desired me to say
he wished you would drive over and look at the alterations and
restorations ho is making. He would like the opinion of such a
judge as he knows you to be."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

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"Ah, indeed, I am sure his lordshij) is very welcome to any
advice I can give him. I daresay there is much to amend in the
plans. I am told he employs none but Englishmen. If to-morrow
is fine we will drive over to Beaulieu."

'• To-morrow " was fine. They started, therefore, immediately
after luncheon ; and Marjory found the scenery, the air, the per-
fume of the new-mown grass — everything, in short, delightful. In
her heart she conjectured what the answer to the invitation would
be. It was more thaa probable that Mrs. Acland might be propi-
tious, as she seemed anxious to stand well with the Carterets.
Once or twice when roused from her thoughts, Marjory had caught
Ellis's eyes, as if he had been contemplating her, and she had given
him a friendly grateful glance and smile, remembering the good
service he had done her.

Mr. Carteret discoursed on Gothic versv^ Classic style, and proved
to his own satisfaction that the former was distinctly barbarous.

Arrived at the park gates, the c^ontlcmen alighted, and then Ellis.
as if moved by some sudden thought, asked Mrs. Carteret, who was
going on to pay a visit, " Do you want Miss Acland very much ? If
not, she may like to see Beaulieu."

"Oh yes, she can go if she likes."

*' Thank you. I should greatly like to go."

'* Hey — what ? " said Uncle Carteret. '* You can cany my sketch
book and case of pencils then."

Ellis led them across the park, under the stately oaks and grace-^
ful beech trees, which grew singly or in clumps, through which
they caught glimpses of the deer browsing in groups.

" Give me your arm, Marjory," said Mr. Carteret. " I had no
idea it was so far, Ralph, and it is extremely hot."

'' We will get round to the east end directly and find shade,"
returned Ellis.

" Ah, there is the castle ! " cried Marjory. " How fine it looks,
rising above the trees."

"It will be very fine when finished. They are busy about the
chapel now ; it had quite fallen into decay."

In a few minutes they ascended a smooth green bank, and follow-
ing the edge of what had been the moat, now a sunken shrubbery,
turned an angle and found themselves in a busy scene.

Workmen were sawing stones, chipping stones, laying courses of
stones with ringing trowels. Heaps of mortar lay about, some
being mixed, others ready. Men were climbing ladders, putting up
scaflFolding.

" I do not see Beaulieu about," said Ellis. "I will look for him;
he would not like to miss you."

As he turned to go, he was struck by Marjory's startled expres-
sion and heightened colour.

" What is the matter ? " he asked,.

A LIPB INTEREST.

127

"Look," she exclaimed excitedly, " do you see that man who ia
standing by a heap of mortar there ? "

" Yes, a tall good-looking fellow."

" It is — it is Dick ! " cried Marjory, dropping pencils and sketch-
book recklessly and darting forward to clasp his mortar- splashed,
dust-begrimed hands. " Oh, Dick, have you forgotten me? I am
90 glad 1 I thought I should never see you again."

CB AFTER XIII.

MARJORY TAKES COUNSEL.

i.f:

The young man turned sharply with an astonished glance, which
quickly changed into a look of delighted recognition.

"Why, Marjory, where have you sprung from? How did you
come here ? "

" I am staying near this — but oh, Dick, are you really a workman ?
Do you carry a hod ? "

" I have <^'(jt beyond that ; I am getting on, and I am right glad to
see you have escaped as well as myself."

" Only for a little while, Dick," shaking her head. " Oh, can you
not come away and tell me everything ? I have missed you so dread-
fully, and wondered so often what you were doing."

A smile lit up Dick's face, as he said, " Have you ? '*

During the rapid interchange of these sentences, Mr. Carteret
stood in speechless astonishment, which changed rapidly to indigna-
tion as he perceived his precious sketch-book and pencil-case on the
ground, where Marjory had dropped them on recognizing Dick, the
former lying open and some loose leaves scattered about.

" This is a very extraordinary and romantic rericontre," he said to
Ellis, who stood beside him looking on with quiet critical curiosity.

" Really, Marjory is i;oo utter unconventional. See how all these
fellows are staring!" Then advancing, he exclaimed, "I wish,
Marjory, you could be a little less demonstrative and impetuous ; I
have no doubt the points of my pencils are broken, and all my loose
sketches are tumbling in the dust."

" Well, I could not help it ! " cried Marjory, who was for thu
moment exalted far beyond the fear of consequences. " You see 1
i\as so s<irprised to see Dick, I forgot about everything else. "

" That is very evident. Pray may I ask who ' Dick ' is ? " aske<l
Mr. Carteret in a slightly contemptuous tone which stung Marjory.
"He is my brotlicr, my half-brother. 1 have not seen him or
lieurd of him for ages, and I was so glad."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

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"Naturally," put iu Ellis ; " Miss Acland is, I am sure, a staunch
friend."

Dick turned to him, undisturbed by being thus suddenly brought
into notice " You are right," he said emphatically. "I will not
keep you, Margo, I have too long a story to tell ; I will write to you,
and come and see you, if I may ? Whore shall I address ? "

" Oh I I wish you could come notol" cried Marjory, looking up
to him with moist eyes.

*'Well, I can't, you see."

"Then write soon," said Marjory earnestly; I am staying
with my uncle, Mr. Carteret, at the Priory — Langford Priory."

"I know it. Good-bye, Marjory, it '? jolly to see you again ;"
and Marjory was obliged to return to her uncle.

Ellis meantime had picked up the sketch-book and continued to
carry it, Marjory being too much agitated to notice that cr anything
else.

" Pray how comes it that this young man is in such a — a very
extraordinary position 1 I am afraid he is a ne'er-do-weel," asked
Mr. Carteret.

" He is nothing of the kind ! " cried Marjory indignantly. " He
is as good and steady as he can be. He quarrelled with his mother,
and he hated being in my father's office, so he went away to seek his
fortune."

** He appears to have been eminently successful in his search,"
remarked Ellis quietly.

" He will be successful, that I am quite sure," returned Marjoiy,
with calm assurance. *' But it must be rather dreadful, working as
he does with common men, though Dick would be vexed if he heard
me call any one common."

" Hum, a young radical, I suppose, in addition to his other
qualities," growled Uncle Carteret.

But Marjory did not heed him, she had turned and looked back.
" I think he is taller than ever ! " she exclaimed, as if speaking oit
her thoughts ; then Ellis knew their eyes had met, for she brightentd
all over with a vivid smile and waved her hand. *' I am sorry I
dropped your book, uncle, but 1 do not think there is any harn
done," she said, as if with an eflfort.

"That is not your fault," returned Mr. Carteret testily.

Marjory did not seem to hear him. She was too excited ard
exhilarated by this sudden encounter to heed what was going en
about her. Dick did not look ill, or worn, or unhappy ; on the con-
trary, he was bright, embrowned and cheerful, more cheerful than
she had ever seen him before ; nay, there was something assured anl
dignified in his bearing, that seemed to ennoble his workman's garl.
" He looks like a gentleman, in spite of his clothes," was her most
definite impression ; "now, if George comes down and they sef
each other, if we are together even for a day, how delightful it wil'

A LIFE INTEREST.

129

bo 1 I ought to have a letter from (id )r;4o to-morrow mominj?. I
will not say a word about meotinj; Dick when I write home." While
she BO communed with herself, mixiiifj; pn8t, present, and future in
her ehequored musing, a gentleman joined Mr. Carteret and Ellis, a
short, broad, keen-eyed man, roughly dressed in a tweed suit and a
soft felt hat. Marjory was aroused by her uncle's voice saying
sharply : —

''Marjory, Marjory ! Lord Beaulieu is 8j)eaking to you."

*'0h, yes, T beg your pardon !" she oxcliiimed, colouring and
smiling a sw(!et deprecating smile. "1 did not hear."

'*I was asking if this is your first visit to Beaulieu," said Lord
Beaulieu go( d-naturedly.

" Y»8 ! ] have often wished to come, but had no one to come
with. It is very beautiful, and when finished "

"My occupation will be o'er," put in Lord Beaulieu smiling.
His voice whs refined and pleasing and made his hearers forget th«
plainness of his exterior. " In a week or so I shall be able to show
you the chapel ; at present it is a mass of confusion, you could form
no idea of it." Then turning to Mr. Carteret he continued : "It
has been tedious work, and I have been obliged to take several of
Ihe men away to finish some apartments for my sister, Mrs. May-
nard, who thinks her native air may do her good."

" I trust she is regaining strength and spirits," said Ellis, with aD
air of interest.

" I have not seen her for some time ; but I believe she is rousing
up a little. It was an awful blow to be left a widow afer little more
than a year of marriage. The baby, of course, is a great consola-
tion. My sister married young Maynard, of L^ighton Abbot, who
broke his neck out hunting, last March," continufd Lord Beaulieu,
explaining to Mr. Carteret. "It was a melancholy business — they
were very happy and everything promised well. The son and heir
was about six weeks old when his father was killed."

" Very unfortunate indeed," said Mr. Carteret, in a polite tone.
'' This infant, then, is heir to a largo property ? I remember the
curious circumstances of old Maynard's will, under which the pre-
sent man took the estate."

"The wors.; of it is, poor young Maynard's father cannot bear his
little gramdson out of his sight, and the mother will not leave him ;
HO she is buried alive in that big desolate place in Yorkshire. Her
father-in-law does not like her to go anywhere except here. He
has an idea I shall never marry, and that my small nephew may be
the heir of Beaulieu as well as of Leighton Abbott. Now, Mr. Car-
teret, you must come round to the principal front, and give me
your opinion on one or two slight changes 1 have made in the general
design."

" My poor judgment is quite at your service," said Mr. Carteret
complacently ; and they walked on. Lord Beaulieu pointing out

1 '<•

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130

A LIFE IKTEHKST.

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whutover he considered worthy of noticu, and his companion happy
in being able to detect various faults.

Marjory and Ellis followed in silence.

"May I intrude upon your thoughts?" asked the latter, after
studying her face with impunity, perceiving that she was scarcely
conscious of what was going on around her.

Marjory looked at him with a slight start, as if waking from a
dream. She had not taken in the senss of his words.

" May I speak to you ? " resumed Ellis, laughing. *' Your spirit
was so evidently absent, I hesitated to bring you back from your, I
presume, happy memories."

" No — not at all happy ! " said Marjory, with a quick sigh.

*' Ah ! well, I daresay it was a little trying to find your brother in
workman's garb."

" It was not that altogether, but he has been badly treated. I

have been very unkind to him myself ; and now " she stopped

abruptly.

*' You are repentant, and wish to atone for the wrong you havo
done. I am glad to hear it, for I may hope you will fuel reniorso
later on for your consistent and undeserved bud treutiuent of my-
self."

" I never behaved badly to you ; and I am sure it would be no
great matter if 1 had. You will go away soon and I shall never see
you again."

"Are you quite sure?" asked Ellis, in a low tone ; but Marjory
did not heed him.

" Dick was always good and patient ; and he had not a friend in
the world but George— except my father perhaps," she went on,
*' while you "

" Are not good, and have heaps of friends," put in Ellis as sh*
stopped.

" I daresay you are very good. Indeed ! " turning to him with ;i
sudden burst of gratitude," *'you have been good to me. If yon
had not backed me up about George, Uncle Carteret would not
have invited him here. And if I have the great pleasure of sec'iig
both my brothers together, it will be chiefly owing to you."

Her eyes softened as she looked kindly at him.

" If tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye
At once took a deeper, a heavenlier dye," ■

quoted Ellis, smiling, while his own gaze grew more intenAs.
"When you understand your own powers better, you will know-
that your strength does not lie in the fiery indignation you some-
times display, but in the melting mood which is — shall I say —
irresistible ? "

Marjory did not answer. She felt hurt, without exactly knowint,'
why. His mocking tone jarred upon her present excited iuood, on

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A LIFE INTEREST.

131

hor tender ro^Totiul recollection. Sho looked down, while her
chook tlushcd .idiI hor lips ([uivered.

" You are displeased," said Ellis, watching her. " I have Haid
nothing to deserve your displeasure. Seriously, I want to l>e go<Kl
friends with you, and my assistance is not to be despised. You will
want to see this brother sonietimos, and I will help you, in this oi
any other case."

"Thank you," murmured Marjory; but she did not quite like
his mixing himself in her affairs. 8ho wanted no one to conw
between her and Dick, or t<j show off his fine gentleman airs to the
brother who had for the present laid aside his social position.

Ellis looked at her as if about to speak again, but chocked him
8i'lf. They had now joined Lord Beauliou and Mr. Carteret, who
were standing before the cliief entrant", deep in an argument
respecting the transition from Norman to Early English style, most
of which was Greek to Marjory, but in which Ellis occasionally
( iitered, with evident knowledge of what he was talking about. At
last, Mr. Carteret thought of looking at his watch, and declared it
was time to start on their homeward track.

" I hope you will come again soon," Lf)rd Beaulieu, " when the
interior will bo sufficiently advanced to allow of your forming some
idea of what it will be. 1 was fortunate to fall in with a very clever
and exceedingly Bohemian artist in the Pyrenees last year — I had
mot him in America before — and he has designed some excellent
decorations for the principal rooms. I hope Mrs. Carteret and Miss
Acliind will drive over also, my sister will be very glad to see both
ladies indeed ; she had the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Carteret in
Italy."

" Mrs. Carteret would be charmed," her husband was sure, *' and
Lord Beulieu would be so good as to excuse plain speaking, but in
matter of taste "

"Mrs. Carteret's is unimpeachable," put in Lord Beaulieu, who
accompanied his visitors across the park before taking leave of them.

(?#

^ii

Marjory was too excited to fall asleep as she generally did as soon
as her head was on the pillow, the night after this rencontre. She
lay long awake, thinking over the past, and seeing bright impos-
sible visions of the future.

But to-morrow morning brought disappointment. There was no
h3ttor from George when Mr. Carteret opened the post bag at break-
fast and distributed its contents. Ellis raised his eyebrows with a
questioning sympathetic expression, as he watched Marjory's
expectant look change to one of discomfiture.

" So he is not coming to-day ? " said Ellis, strolling into the
library a few^ minutes after Marjory had settled to her usual work.

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A LIFE INTERB8T.

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She shook her head. "1 suppose Mrs. Acland ia contriving to
delay him."

" Why should she take that trouble ? "

" I do not know ; probably to annoy me."

" You dislike her very much ; one can see that, though you say
little. Don't you thinl: she would be a very stupid woman t« waste
her energies on so small an object ? "

" It seems so. Yet she always tried to keep George away from
me. He is rather good friends with her, which is annoying ; " she
stopped abruptly, feeling it would not do to allow herself too much
licence on this exciting topic, especially to one whom she vaguely
distrusted.

" And you have no tidings of the other either ? " pursued Ellis,
f.ctting himself at a small writing-table in one of the windows, and
eetting forth pens, ink, and paper.

" What? From Dick ? No, 1 did not expect to hear from him
(JO soon ; " a pause.

'* Do you mind my writing my letters here?" was his next ques-
tion. '• If I disturb you I can write elsewhere.'

•' I do nob mind at all, if you do not speak."

** Thank you, in sjiiteof your unsociable proviso."

" I will not speak to you, so we need not disturb each other."

Ellis bent his head in silent acquiescence, and for some time
profound quiet reigned. Ellis had rapidly penned two or three
letters, and Marjory had copied a couple of slips which contained
the names of those volumes claasitied under E and F into the
catalogue she was making.

At length Ellis, who had glanced at her occasionally, noting how
absorbed she was in her work, laid down his pen, and asked,
* May I speak ? "

*' Yes," returned Marjory shortly, without looking up,

*'l i,m a good deal puzzled about this half-brother, of yours.
You ai e the daughter of your father's first wife. Where does this
yovo.if man come in ? for he is a good deal older than you. "

' P/Irs. Acland was a widow, and Dick is her son.''

' • Oh 1 I see. Then in fact he is not your half-brother, he is no
r^'- tion at all."

■ Js he not? I imagine he must be a sorb of brother — at any
raui I consider him one now, though I disliked him so much at first
anc. .'rcr.ted him as an intruder."

** H.')\v long is it since your father married ? "

"Rather more than seven years."

"I sippose Mrs. Acland is handsome? This young fellow is
good-looking."

" I thought him ugly when I saw him first. He was all legs and
armo, and waa so dull and heavy, I was dreadfully unkind to
him."

▲ LIFE INTEREST.

133

"What is his name?"

*' Cranston."

" Cranston," repeated Ellis, " I seem to know the name. What
induced him realhf to leave a comfortable home for so unsuitable an
occupation ? " looking keenly at her.

But for his searching eyes, Marjory might have told the whole
story in her eacjerness for sympathy, and her indignation at the
wrong done to Dick ; but she checked herself, and only said, " His
mother was always quarrelling with him and hated him, and he
detested being in my father's office. He wanted to be an architect ;
so when things became unbearable he went away, and nobody
Hcemed to care, so I never knew where he was till I saw him yester-
day."

" There are a great many steps between a mason and an archi-
tect," said Ellis ; " I suppose he has no money ? "

" I do not think he has a penny. I think his father was an artist
and rather a bad man," returned Marjory, and she resumed her
work, while Ellis thought to himself, "Old Acland haii probably
fallen victim to an adventuress. His sweet little daughter has a bad
look out. It would bo a meritorious act to take her out of the
stepmother's clutches and put her in some pretty pleasant nest, well
sheltered from observation as well as from winter and cold weather,
but sne is a very wild bird."

Here Mr. Carteret came in to inspect Marjory's prof;i'ess, and to
find various minute faults, so the conversation ended.

Ellis finished his letters very soon, and went noiselessly away.

The next day, however, brought Marjory two letters — one from
(jreorge announcing his advent on the following Saturday, only to
stay till Monday, and concluding hastly, ** I can tell you all about
everything when we meet."

The second was from Dick.

" I am longing for a talk with you," he said, " but 1 am afraid it
will be difficult to manage, for I do not like to call at the Priory. I
have reconnoitred the country, and find that midway between the
village and the Priory, on the path through woods and over the hill,
some trees have been felled and aro lying about. If you can walk so
far on Sunday afternoon, I could meet you. I have mu^h to tell,
and som.e good news. Let me know if you can manage this. Ad-
dress me at the Post Office, Langford — I lodge close by. Do not
put ' Esquire * on your letter ! — Yours aflfectionately, Diok Crans-
ton."

"I will go and look at the place to-day if I can," was Marjory's
mental resolve as she read these letters, with a beaming face, which
fully informed Ellis, who sat opposite her at breakfast, who were the
writers and what the contents.

" (jieorge says he can come on Saturday and stay till Monday
afternoon, since you are so very kind ^ to invit/e hi'i'i" ^Q ©x-

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134

A LIFE INTEREST.

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claimed, addressing Mr, and Mrs. Carteret, "and you have made
me very happy, 1 cannot thank you enough."

Mrs. Car.teret smiled good-naturedly, and her husband remarked
that he supposed the catalogue would stand still for two days at
least.

" And afterwards," said Marjory, *'I will work harder than ever
to make up for lost time."

"There will not be muoh time lost," observed EIHp from behind
his newspaper. *' Saturday is always a half holiday, and of course
you do not expect Miss Acland to break the Sabbath, sir."

"To think that I shall see George the day after to-morrow I '
murmured Marjory, as if to herself. " I can hardly believe it ! "

For the rest of the meal she was evidently preoccupied and ans-
wered at random, while her heightened colour and sparkling eyes
showed the joyous excitement of her heart.

The time which intervened before the arrival of George was not
however without uneasy considerations.

The young sailor was to start at cockcrow by a cheap train
arriving at Market Gilston about noon, and Marjory was puzzled as
to how he was to accomplish the five or six miles which lay between
the station and the Priory.

She knew — or guessed — that he would scarcely have spare cash
enough to pay for a private conveyance, and there was no public
one to be had. He might walk, of course, but that would seem
very miserable to the servants and every one. Then she had only
a few shillings herself. Neither Uncle nor Aunt Carteret seemed
to think it necessary to send a carriage for him, at least they said
nothing about it, and siie could not screw up courage to ask. She
dreaded irritating Uncle Carteret, and so risking a cold reception
for her brother, whose brief visit she wished to make as bright and
agreeable as possible.

After cogitating on this difficult question, Marjory reluctantly
decided on availing herself of the offer Ellis had made to help her
in any way he could, and applying to him for assistance.

It was something of an effort to speak to him, but for George's
sake she would venture.

She found the opportunity that evening, when Mrs. Carteret
i»nd Virginie were absorbed in a box from Paris.

The perfume of delicate tobacco guided her to the ruins, where
she found Ellis seated on a broken column.

" ^ixcuse me for interrupting you," began Marjory shyly.
'' Won't you sit down ? " asked Ellis, as if he had expected her.
" I have come to ask your help." resumed Marjory, gathering
some wild roses and plucking theiu to pieces at? she spoke.
"It is yours."

" You know George is coming to-morrow ? "
" Yes ! I rejoiced in your pleasure yesterday, to-day a change

I, fv

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A L1F£ INTEHEST.

136

li.is come o'er the spirit of your dream. You are worrying about
something."

" I am ; but how can you tell? "

" I should be a very 8tj>id fellow, very unfit for a diplomate, if I
•ould not read yowr face.''

" I do not like the idea of your — of any one knowing my thoughts. "

*' I daresay not ; but how can I be useful to you ? "

** You see Gilston in more than five mile3 away, and — and — Uncle
Carteret has not offered to send for George."

" I see ; and you want to go and meet him ? "

" Yes, I should like to do so very much."

" Leave it to me," said Ellis ; *' when is he due ?"

"At 12.20."

" That might suit me very well. I tliink of going to town for u
few days."

" Oh, don't go s " criod Marjory impulsively ; " I should bo so
sorry if you were away while George is jfiere. "

" Indeed ! " looking down into her eyes, " I feel flattered."

'* It is a selfish wish on my part," she returned with a half smile,
and meeting his glance frankly, " but Mr. Carteret would be kinder
to George, if you were heie to keep him in order ! "

Ellis laughed. " I wish I had the influence with which you credit
me."

" Still he is never so cross when you are here," said Marjory.

"He is rather a cantankerous subject" returned Ellis. "You
will be vary glad to get away. "

" Indeed I shall not. I prefer being here to being at home, and
Aunt Carteret is very kind."

" She is a remarkably well-bred woman," returned Ellis gravely.
"Well, MisE Acland, you may consider this matter settled, and bo
ready to start at half-past eleven to-morrow."

" Thank you very much, I am really grateful." She half offered
him her hand and then drew it back with sweet girlish shyness.

" Why baulk your own gracious impulse ? " exclaimed Ellis quickly,
as he caught and kept it for a moment. " Let this be a token of
plenary absolution from the penalties I may unconsciously have in-
curred. Will you accept me as your friend and colleague in future ! "

"Thank you very much," repeated Marjory, uneasy, she knew
not why. " You are really very good, but I — I don't think we are
exactly suited to be friends. Now I must go, Mrs. Carteret may
want me."

" Don't ! " emphatically. " Not yet. Who was with her when
you came out ? "

"Virginie."

" Then she is not ready for you yet by a long way. Tell me more
about this brother of yours, and the young mason. He really looked
too good for such work."

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136

A L?PB INTEREST.

Mariory hesitated. She wished to go, she wished to stay. It
was delightful to talk about the two boys she loved so well, and Ellis
contrived to put so much sympathy into his voice, though he saiii
httle, that Marjory was insensibly drawn into talking more of honu
and its circumstances than she quite approved on reflection.

*' Perhaps if I were to ask Beaulieu to speak to the clerk of the
works he might give young Cranston a lift," said Ellis thoughtfully.
" That would be a great help," cried Marjory, " I will tell Dick ;
he will know how you can help him."

" When are you going to see him ? " sharply,
** On Sunday. 1 shall take George with me to meet him on the
path to the village. I can hardly believe that we three shall be all
together again. I cum so much obliged to you, Mr. Ellis : " she
turned as she spoke and walked quickly towards the house, pausing
at the entrance of the ruins to wave her hand and give him a back -
ward glance.

The day so eagerly anticipated by Marjory rose fair and smilinj,'.
It was the end of July and the weather was indescribably charmin«,'
Breakfast-time came and no word was spoken as yet about sending
for George. Marjory could not eat ; she shot one or two appealing
glances at Ellis, who made no sign. At last, when the meal was
nearly over, he said, addressing Mrs. Carteret, *' As I am going to
drive over to Gilston, Miss Acland might like to come and meet her
brother, perhaps."

'* But Marjory might get on with the catalogue this morning whiU;
waiting for — " began Mr. Carteret.

" I should not advise you to trust her in her present exciter
mood," interrupted Ellis smiling. ''Depend upon it, she would
have to tear up to-morrow what she wrote to-day."

" Very likely, very likely indeed ! " cried Mr. Carteret peevishly.
*' I can work till — till Mr. Ellis is ready to start," put in Marjory.
*' And I will be very careful — I do want very much to go and meei
George. "

"Oh 1 I know what your carefulness is, young lady," returned
Mr. Carteret.

Marjory was tremulous with joy and anticipation when she waa
informed that Mr. Ellis was ready and waiting for her.

She ran downstairs, her gloves not yet buttoned, looking more
than pretty in a fre»h morning frock and a shady hat turned up at
one side, a tea-rose with its dark green leaves faster, ^d under the
brim. Ellis was already seated in the dog-cart and stretohed out hiB
hand to assist her ascent.

As soon as they were clear away, Marjory exclaimed, " It was
such a relief this morning when you spoke of driving over to Gilston
and taking me ; I grew dreadfully nervous till you did speak."

" I think you might have trusted me," looking into her eyes with
an expression that created an indefinite sense of embarrassment,
which she told herself was too stupid.

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A LIFE INTEREST.

137

" Yes, I think I ought," she returned softly, and fell into silence.
The great pleasure of meeting her brother, now it was so near, grew
slmdowy with the fear of seeing him sorely changed by the rough-
ness of his life since they last met, with the anticipation of parting
again so soon Then the keen sense of wrong done to him by sending
him from hoi^ie in bo inferior a position woke up again, and deepened
her gravity.

" Do you not think you have tormented yourself enough ? " Ellis
asked at length.

" How do you mean ! " exclaimed Marjory with startled eyes.

He laughed. "You are very much afraid of my reading your
thoughts ! I can see, however, that your meditations have not been
pleasant."

" Well, no ! I am afraid George will be a good deal changed,
after living among sailors and people like that, and," with a sigh,
" he was so nice."

" Do not trouble about it. A few minutes will answer the con-
jecture. Besides, it takes a great deal to change nature."

There was a pause.

" Do you think we are really related, as you said we were ? " asked
Marjory abruptly.

"Yes, certainly. I am old Carteret's third cousin, or some such
thing, and you are his grand-niece. Of course we are cousins.

" And so is Geor,?e ? "

"No doubt."

A little further talk about Marjory's disappointment at his not
being in the Navy brought them to tne town.

" Suppose I leave you at the station," said Ellis, " and go about
my business, which is only a visit to the saddler's, then you can
have a few minutes with your brother before 1 return to pick you
up.

**0h, thank you ! thank you ! you think of everything. Then
you are not going to London V

" No," smiling, '' not till next week."

Here Ellis turned sharp into the yard of the station and drew up.
Beckoning a porter to hold the horse, he sprang down and assisted
Marjory to alight, accompanying her into the ticket office to inquire,
with the Quiet ineffable air of authority which always impressed
people, if tne 12.20 train from London v/as generally punctual.

" No, sir, that she bain't," was the emphatic reply.

" Then is it worth while waiting now ? " he asked Marjory.

" Oh, yes, I should like him to find me here."

It seemed hours to Marjory while she paced the platform or sought
shelter from the sun in a dingy unswept waiting-room. At length,
quite ten minutes behind time, the ardently-expected train caitie in.

Marjory eagerly scanned the passengers as they alighted, and after
a moment's uncertainty recognized a young raan — taller and thinner

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138

A LIFE INTEREST.

than the George she remembered — dressed in a light- coloured check
suit, with a rough blue coat over his arm and a small bag in his hand.
The next moment her arms were round his neck.

*' Oh, George ! T thought you would never come."

'* Why, Marjory, I didn't know you ! Y( u have grown quite nn
elegant young lady. "

Then a few hurried questions and answers, and Marjory led him
into the station yard. Ellis had not yet returned.

** We must wait a few minutes for the dog-cart. You have no
more luggage ? "

•' Luggage ! no. I had hard work to get a decent coat to come in,
I can tell you. My father is stingier than ever."

' ' No, no ! He is not to blame. But how thin you are, and how
brown, and how you smell of tobacco ! "

" T am sorry. Marge ; but you see I was shut up with three fellows
who were blowing clouds all the way down, so I was obliged to
smoke too."

" You look ever so much older. Have you been miserable, dear ? "
pressing his arm fondly.

"Oil no, by no means, and I have got through the worst of it
now. But if I had known exactly what 1 was going into, I don't
think [ should have been so ready to give up the Royal Navy. "

"Ah ! George, I am sure you have suffered fearfully."

' ' Nonsense, Marge, nothing of the sort ; at any rate I am gofng
to be very jolly here for the next few days. What sort of an old
buffer is the uncle ? I say, is this the trap ? " as Ellis drove up.

" Yes, come along ; we must not be late for luncheon."

•' Well, you have him safe and sound," said Ellis good-humour-
edly. '* Glad to see you ; jump up behind." He stretched out his
hand to Marjory, who was pleased at his unwonted cordiality, and
they set off at a rapid pace.

I'm 14
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CHAPTER XIV.

THEY THREE MEET AGAIN.

That afternoon and evening were ever graven on the tablets of
Marjory's memory as curioisly interwoven with pleasure and annoy-
ance.

To stroll about the beautiful ruins and the picturesque grounds
with George was delightful ; to sit at table with him and Uncle
Carteret v^s a sore trial.

r.eorge, in the first place, brought no dress-clothes— for the best
reason in the world, he had none to bring. Then he did not kr.o\y

A LlPte iNTEKESf.

130

the uses of many of the more luxurious implements of the table. As
tx) the French dishes, knowledge was of small importance, as he ate
indiscriminately of them all. He was in no way vulgar, Marjory
told herself, but he was unconventional, and extremely shy, which,
uf course, encouraged Uncle Carteret to snub him.

Here Ellis did yeoman's service. He turned Uncle Carteret's
stings aside with diplomatic dexterity, and covered George's occas-
sional slips with the segis of tact. Then he assumed an air of deep
interest respecting colonial trade and the condition of the merchant
service, on which topics the young sailor spoke intelligently enough.

But ins hands ! Poor Marjory could not keep her eyes away
from them. They were rough and scarred and brown, and one or
two nails were crushed and injured. He was still good-looking,
even gentleman-like looking ; but between him and Ellis what an
immense gulf was fixed ! The contraso irritated Marjory even while
feeling warmly grateful to Ellis for his loyal help.

It was a relief to rise from table and escape both Uncle and Aunt
Carteret's observing eyes ; for even the latter, though polite and
kind, evidently looked on their young guest as a kind of curiosity
quite apart from her life. Marjory's heart went out to her brother
all the more glowingly for these impalpable slights. He wa»— like
herself — the victim of a destiny brought on them by her father's
wife. If she could make it up to him in any way, she would have
gone and lived with him in a hovel in a wilderness, where no one
should mock at or undervalue him ! her dear, kind light-hearted
brother.

Her feeling for him was tenderer and more compassionate than
for Dick, warmly as she felt for him. He was so strong and
resolute, he would conquer fortune if any man could. But George
was different. Ellis noticed from time to time that her eyes filled,
her colour changed, and then, with a brave eflfbrt, she would
conquer herself and address her uncle, to distract his attention, or
engage Mrs. Carteret on some subject that turned her thoughts
from Ge(jrge's shortcomings.

It was an unfamiliar and a somewhat wearisome world to the am-
bitious attache ; but, so far, Marjory was an interesting study. She
helped him through the dull time which he had devoted to the
difficult and delicate task of persuading his old kinsman to make
certain dispositions of his property which would be to the advan-
tage of his heir presumptive. He brought to his task some admir-
able qualities — patience, tenacity of purpose, an equable temper, a
keen regard for his own interest. So he stayed, amiably to talk
with Mr. Carteret and further his special object, while George and
Marjory — havmg asked and obtained leave to go and look at the
sunset — set forth for a walk together.

With what delight they scampered off to the ruins anxious to get
weii out of sight ; and then they paused and found u seat wliuiy

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140

A LlfB INTKREST.

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they could rest and pour out unchecked the experiences of what
seemed to them the ages which had passed since last they met.
George was more anxious to hear Marjory's history than to enlarge
upon his own. He was ready enough to describe any pleasant
adventures, any bright bits in his generally monotonous existence ;
but he did not care to talk about the trials and troubles of his first
days on board a merchantman — though no doubt the life was
luxurious, compared to that of his predecessors of twenty or thirty
years before.

Then Marjory had the history of Dick's troubles to recount. The
particulars had never reached George. Marjory could not bear to
put on paper the accusation she felt to be so unmerited. George,
therefore, had but an indistinct idea of the occurrence, which Mar-
jory now described, even to the minutest details, and with a graphic
power which astonished George, who was deeply indignant at the
cruel treatment of his chum.

'*I never could make out why he did not write to me," said
George, when Marjory had finished her dramatic narration, " and
now I begin to believe that Mrs. Acland w a bad lot. "

"You begin to see through her at last," cried Marjory. "I
used to think, sometimes, I was too bitter against her — that I was
ftmciful and unjust ; but she gets worse and worse, or I get to
know her better. I believe she hates Dick more than she does you
or me. No ! not worse than she hates me. I feel she cannot bear
the sight of me. I suppose that is the reason I dislike her, really."

** Yes, no doubt. And you know, Marge, you can be horrid
disagreeable."

** Say horridly, George. I daresay I can ; but I fancy I am
better-tempered now. I feel oftener sad than cross, and I am more
sorry for people. I certainly feel that I should like to shake Uncle
Carteret sometimes ; he can be disagreeable ! Still, I am grateful
to him, and I could be quite happy with Aunt Carteret. I am not
sure that she cares a straw about me, but she is always just, and so
even in temper, I envy her. She is generous too. She gives me
quantities of pretty things, and made Uncle Carteret bu/ all the
nice clothes I have, instead of paying me for my services. I was
never fit to be seen before."

*' Well, you are quite fit to be seen now," said George, looking
admiringly at his sister. "You have turned out quite a pretty
girl, Marge ; and you have a deuced nice figure."

** Have I ? Do you really think so ? " cried Marjory delighted.
"I used to be so afraid I should grow up ugly ! If I am just plea-
sant-looking, I shall be content. Beauty is entrancing ! I could
look at a beautiful man or woman for ever ! See, George, my
hands are not so red as they used to be," and she spread them
out.

George nodded, and busied himself filling his pipe.

A LIVE INrSBRST.

"Perhaps, George dear, you think me nice because you have

not seen me for a long time."

*'May be so," said George philosophically, and began to puff.

"What nasty tobacco!" was Marjory's next remark. "Mr.
Ellis has cigarettes that smell deliciously . "

"I daresay he has , and he pays a delicious price for them. I
am glad to get what I can ; besides, I am used to it. The stronger
the better, when you have the watch on a cold stormy night."

"I can imat^ine it," said Marjory tenderly, slipping her arm
through his and hugging it.

" I suppose this Ellis is a regular high and mighty chap ?" asked
George, condescendingly permitting his sister's caress.

'' 1 b(/lieve so. He is, or has been, attache at Vienna ; and Aunt
Carteret says he will be an ambassador one day."

"Not Well, he has good manners, anyhow. He was helping
me out of holes all dinner-time ; and that old buffer Carteret was
always thrusting me into them. Ellis is a good-natured fellow ! "

" I am not so sure," said Marjory slowly, with a profound air.
"I believe he could be cruel if he liked. I hated him him when he
came first. He oppressed me in an odd sort of way. Now I don't
know whether I like him or not, though he has really been very
good to me ; but I think I am a little afraid of him. He gives me
the idea of masked power."

"Oh, that's no'^iSense 1 He might have f alien in love with you,
only he is rather old."

"In love with me I" and Marjory laughed, a light-hearted,
natural, girlish laugh. '* That is too funny an idea. What do you
know about love, you silly boy ? "

" A good deal," said George with much gravity, taking his pipe
from his mouth. " I was awfully in love with a girl on the voyage
out ; she was such a lovely little creature, and I think — I think she
noticed me, for she used to ask me to do things for her, and
smile."

" Do you mean to say you never spoke to her? " asked Marjory.

" Well, she spoke to me once or twice i but you must remember
it would be the height of presumption for an apprentice on board
ship to talk to a lady passenger. "

" I suppose so," said Marjory with a sigh, and she did not speak
again for some minutes.

Then George began to talk confidentially of his hopes and plans.
He was determined to stick to the calling he had adopted, though
the life was very different from what he had expected. "It would
not be a bad thing to command a steamer, and T am getting on
pretty well ; you see one must train in a sailing ship, but all the
nigh-class merchant vessels are steamers now," etc., etc.

The soft darkness of a summer's night began to close round
them before Marjory remembered it was time to return to the

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house. " Uncle Carteret will make a fuss, George ; we had better

go in.

It is to be feared that Marjory did not give that undivided
attention to the rector's aenuon next day which it no doubt deserved.

She was watching the sky through an open window near the
Priory pew, and hoping the fleecy grey clouds were not gathering
for rain. If so, she would not be able to meet Dick as appointed,
that is, if it rained heavily.

The gentlemen of the family were conspicuous by their absence.
Old Mr. Carteret was an avowed freethinker, and disposed to flaunt
his freedom of thought somewhat obtrusively, and Ellis saw no
object to be gained by boring himself on Sunday mornings.

Mrs. Carteret therefore kept up the character of the establish-
ment, and with her, of course, came Marjory and George.

Luncheon seemed pretematurally long that day. Uncle Carteret
would talk and dawdle, while Marjory was dying to meet Dick and
hear his history since they parted.

At last they rose from table, and Marjory murmured something
to Mrs. Carteret, something about a walk and meeting her half-
brother.

"You had better take umbrellas," said Mrs. Carteret, " the sky
looks threatening."

"Yes," cried Mr. Carteret, who overheard, "do not be impru-
dent and take cold. Colds are the beginning of all kinds of dis
orders, and I am exceedingly afraid of infection in my frail health."

" I will take care, uncle," said Marjory, as she made her escape.

It was a soft grey day, the atmosphere a little oppressive, bur
trees, grass, flowers, shrubs, all gave out their fullest fragrance.
The two young people walked somewhat silently along, ascended
the hill behind the Priory and pursued the path which led by the
wood to the village of Langford. Marjory's heart was very full at
the idea of hearing Dick's story and of telling him her own. What
hardships he must have undergone, but at least he looked well and
cheerful. He would not fail to meet them ? Even while the veiled
doubt floated through her mind, a tall figure came round a bend of
the path. George, with a shout that woke the echoes, sprang for-
ward and clasped Dick's hand as the latter paused, his blue eyes
beaming with pleasure, and a joyous smile showing his fine white
teeth under his thick golden moustache. Marjory observed that he
had not lost the look and bearing of a gentleman, that his morning
.i<uit of brown tweed was well cut and became him, that, in short,
he .had deteriorated less than George.

"Oh, Marjory, I thought you would not fail, but I little thought
who would be with you. Why, where did you drop from, old chap I "
While h\e spoke he held Marjory's hand, and stooping, kissed her

A LIFE 1NTERK8T.

143

cheek. Her first impulse was to throw her arms round him, but
sduuthing in his movement checked her.

Well, Dick, you look first-rate ! You seem to have been getting

on.

"Gome back with me to where the trees lie," returned Dick;
" we can sit down and have a regular good talk, we have no end to
tell each other. I was here ever so much too soon, butl knew what
H liMig aflair Sunday dinner is, so I waited patiently. Why, Mar-
jory , you have grown a grand young lady. 1 never was so amazed
!i3 when you flew over to me at Beaulieu."

" And I never wan so delighted, except to see George."

''Come, Marge, you sit between us," said Dick, when they
rt'Hi lied the resting-place he had chosen, and Marge quickly com-
liliiil. First, young Cranston questioned them eagerly respecting
lioiiio and their own adventures before he would speak of himself,
listuning with profoundest interest to all they had to tell.

" And has no suspicion ever arisen as to who was the real thief, as
to who took the money I was charged with stealing," asked Dick at
last with a frown.

" Nob that I ever heard," returned Marjory; *' in fact, it was
iKner mentioned. Have you any idea ? "

" Perhaps I have, but I don't want to talk about it," he said, a
distressed look clouding his face. *'It was a cruel business alto-
L'ciher. I shan't soon forget how I felt when I left you that day.
How long ago is it, Marjory ? "

*' Nearly fifteen months."

" Well, it seems more than fifteen years. You were a trump to
1110, Marge," and he suddenly put his arm round her and hugged her
aj^'.iinst his side. "'She gave me the money you sent her, George,
ni'iirly every penny she had. You don't know wiiat a help it was to
me, Marge," continued Dick, removing his arm ; " I do not know
how I should have gob on without it, and I have saved as best I
could to return it to you. 1 never intended to write to you or try
to see you cill I could return it. Here it is. Marge." He drew out
a shabby purse and extracted some coins folded in paper, which he
jnit in her hand, closing it forcibly on the little packet.

" No, no, Dick ! I don't want it."

' ' Nor do I. Give me something to keep instead, just for a keej)-
sake. No, Marge, there is no use in refusing ; I will not take them
back."

'Now get on^like a good chap and tell us all about everything,"
cried George impatiently.

"Here goes then. You remember just before you sailed for
Australia, George, 1 fell in with a man I had known when I was a
little fellow away in the country — a man called Roper, a mason.
He told me where he lived, and I walked over one f^unday to see
him. He made a good deal of me, because I once waded into a

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144

A LIFE INTEREST.

m.>

stream and pulled out a baby girl he was very fcnul of. "When my
mother," he paused an instant, "when my mother tried to shove
that theft upon me, and I felt I could never live under the same
roof with her again, I went straight away to Ropor. Of course I
only told him that I had quarrelled witn my peopio and couldn't
stand the office ; it would have been ruin to me if the true story had
got out. Well, Roper was very kind. He got me a room close by
them, I won't say much about; it, it was by no means a'dainty cham-
ber ; however the rent was low. Then there was a difficulty about
getting me work. You see masons, bricklayers, handicraftsmen of
that kind, are hampered with rules about apprentices and unions
and lots of things, so Roper could only give me labourer's work at
first. I did not care so long as I could earn my. bread. Soon, how-
ever. Roper — who was a master mason — was employed by a firm of
builders en a large factory they were putting up at Lambeth, and
then I got my chance. Roper was an uneducated man, and I was
able to help him with measurements and accounts ; then there were
some crooked bits of masonry, and 1 made him a copy of the plans
for his own private use. The clerk of the works noticed this, and
often had me into his office to help him, and I learned a good deal
in that way. Unfortunately poor old Roper, though a good, well-
meaning fellow, got a drinking fit every now and then. He spent a
lot of money at these times, and his wife used to be in a dreadful
state of mind. I helped him over some of these turns, and I think
he grew ashamed of my seeing him. We were ' out ' for a short time
last winter, which made things a little hard, but we were better oflf
than a good many others. "

"Was it not trying, having no one of your own class to speak
to ? " asked Marjory, whose eager eyes seemed to drink in Dick's
words.

" It was curious ; but perhaps the worst thing of all was the want
of books. It is no wonder that intelligent artisans devour news-
papers and swallow all they assert. Some of them are shrewd
enough, but for want of training and association their shrewdness
runs wild. If I had not been among these men, I should never
have known how much is learned from living with reasonable edu-
cated people. Book knowledge is only one means of information.
I got on pretty well with the men. They were suspicious of me,
because I was a little different from themselves, but I kept very
quiet, and after a fight or two with one of the worst, and proving T
could hold my own, I did better, and I must say they are all ready
to help one another when in trouble, with real generosity. When 1
could not get work I used to draw and copy plans, and design decora-
tions and keep as busy as I could. In the spring, Roper had a lot
of repairing and putting in new shop fronts to do and some odd work
in gentlemen's houses, and he always wanted me, paying me fairly.
At last, in the end of May, he was sent for by Carson and Humph-

% .s;«,

A LIFE INTER KST.

lia

rie« the builders, and engaged to dn certain parta of the rMtomtiona
down here at Beaulieu. It was quite doli^htiul to get away to the
sweet fresh country. Most of our men have their quarters afc Oil»-
fon— which is nearer — but 1 have found a clean littlo phvco in tho
village down there."

" How long have you been here ? " asked George.

" Nearly two months." Dick then went on to say that the same
clerk of the works who had noticed him previously was employed at
Beaulieu, and again took him to assist in his office, while he found
opportunities for making himself useful to the architect as well.
" Now," he recommenced after a short pause, " for the bit of good
oewB I promised you. About a fortnight ago, I heard the architect
ind clerk of the works in the ottice talking of a new man L<jrd
Bearlieu had brought over from France to decorate the recep-
iion rooms in the modem part of the Castle. Mr, Jervis, the
trchitect, said he believed he was an American, and a clever artist,
»nd the clerk had just begun to say he was a foreigner, when they
both stopped short, for a gentleman in a velveteen jacket, and very
*ell got up altogether, walked in. You may guess how surprised
J was when I saw he was the Mr. Brand who called, as I daresay
fou may remember, on the children's bir' 'iday, just before I came
Away laat year."

" Is it possible ! How extraordinary ! " cried Marjory.

*' He glanced at me, but took no further notice till he finished
talking with the architect ; then he came orer and looked at what
I was drawing. * That's not bad,' he said; 'are you Mr. Revel's
assistant ? '

*' * Sometimes, not regularly,* I answered. He was silent for a
minute, then he said, ' You might assist me too, when Revel can
spare you ; come and see me this evening, I am staying at the White
Horse at Gilston."

** And you went? " asked George.

" I did, though I did not half like it ; I was afraid he might put
my mother on the scent. I found I had nothinsj to fear however.
I can't tell you how kind and pleasant he was. He had recognized
me at once, but did not say so till he heard my story. He questioned
me pretty close, and seemed puzzled. Then we talked, and some-
how I was greatly taken with him. He knows a lot about art, and
he seems to have been a fast friend of my father's. He did not say
much about Mrs. Acland, but I don't fancy he likes her. At last
he said that for my father's sake he would help me. Then he gave
me some designs he had sketched, and told me how to elaborate
them. I was to work them, and take them to him when I con-
sidered them tit for inspection. The upshot was that he left tiie inn
at Gilston, and has taken lodgings in the village near mine, and now
he has spoken to Lord Beaulieu, and I am to be his assistant
regularly. Ho calls it his apprentice, only I liave bargained for two
(10)

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146

A LIFE INTEREST.

i: A\<

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evenings a week to liolp Roper. This was Bottled the very day you
saw me among i'lC woiknien. You seey/U brought me luck. Marge."

" I hope I did. What sort of a man is this Mr. Brand / "

" First, before everything else, he is a s;entlfinian ! It is wonderful
bo hear him talk sometimes ; then again, he is terribly depressed. I
rather fancy he used to take opium, and he is trying to do without
it. Anyway he is a wonderful draughttsmaii. He does noo seem to
like being left alone, and has me in nearly every evenin,^ to draw,
and to talk with him. I believe he met Lord Beaulieu long ago in
America, and then again last spring at some place he has near the
Pyrenees ; but Brand is a thorough Englishman, I am certain. Yes-
Lorday morning, I began to work on the decorations of tht dining-
rcom, with Brand. It will be splendid ! In short, I feel I have my
fot>t on the ladder, and it will go hard if I don't creep up a tolerable
height. Ah ' if I had only been trained early, I should have no
fear, as it is I shall get on slower. "

" Well, you have been in luck," cried George ; '' Then you are a
clever chap, and that counts for a good deal."

" I can only work in a particular line ; I should have been nowhere
as a lawyer."

" It is quite like a novel," said Marjory, gazing dreamily away
over the tields and s.nlling upland that lay spread before them.
" Suppose this Mr. Brand turns out to be a nobleman, or a million-
aire in disguise, and gives you a fortune ? "

Dick laughed (How pleasant his laugh was). "I do not think
Brand has ever been troubled with much money," he t aid, " but he
may help me to make a toloiably good position. I am sure he has a
history, a painful histi/ry."

"1 should like to see him again. I remember his face," exclaimed
Marjory. *' He looks ill and thin, docs he not ? a:>d he has a sweet
voice ? "

Dick nodded. After some discussion and conjectures respecting
the story to which they had listened, Dick asked Marjory if she
Wore likely to remain with her grand-uncle.

She shook her head. * ' I fear not ! I gather from what they say,
that Mr. Ellis is persuading Mr. Carteret to sell the Priory ; and at
any rate, my uncle will not stay later than October. Neither lienor
my aunt have ever said a word about taking me abroad with them.
1 don't think they care enoui^h for any one to put themselves out of
the way, so I am almost sure J .^hall have to go home. How I hate
the idea ! You will write to ine, will you not, Dick ? You will let
me know where you are and what you are doing ; I can always get
your letters without Mrs. Acland seeing them.

" Of course I will write to you, Marge, but you need not hide
my letters ; you have a right to have them, and now I have regular
work I do not fear my mother meddling with me."

Then they rosii and walked to the beginning of the village, where

Dick turned and tV6ht back wif), n ' U7

fHst and the dinner-hour dreJn ^^^'^^ *"d Marjorv Tin.. «

"Don't you --Peocm- .1, ' "^ ^ ^^^ ^

off- It was „,ft„ ™ster, which I did n„f „t/ t ""<' ' was to
andgeneZ'J."' ^°" '''"'^^'» '»■'. Ma ge ft U 1"^"??* ','■«■"
."Not to ™e I " cried George '• n '' """"

' ' 1 will wallc towards the *ri„ ^^ "'"er gives me a ran "

found a book and ]T^.^^'^S direful in its leaden H. 7

London whiph i i f '^''s^nce of Ellis w?m i, ^^^P^*** depression,
Po.po^edtfwi^.ttK^'^ -"^ -H t nrhadlLt

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IS',;;::

4 UFtt INTKHEST.

CHAPTER XV.

A BREATHINO SPACE.

Phe cottage in wliich Brand had taken up hia abode stood at the
entrance of the village and was of a better class than the rest. It
belonged to the bailih'of the Langford estate, who was well pleased
to let a couple of rooms to a liberal tenant, while his neat, active
wife exerted her simple culinary skill to the utmost to tempt the
variable and indifferent appetite of the strange gentleman who spoke
*'80 civil like."

The sun had set but it was still light, on the Sabbath succeeding
the one when Marjor}? had enjoyed the interview with her two
brothers.

Brand had been sitting in the garden reading and smokins;, and
had now retired from the dews of evening to his parlour.

Ho had had a sleepless night and a weary day from neuralgic
pains, and was beginning to feel his own company rather tiresome,
when an ap})roaching step caught his ear. He laid down hia book,
and liiitenwi with an expectant expression. In another minute a
tap uu the door elicited "Come in," from the listener, and Dick
Cra.'iHton entered with a roll of paper under his arm.

" Ah ! tliure you are. I thought you did not mean to oome. I
have had an awful time of it."

'• I am very sorry," with a sympathetio inquiring look. "You
»ee I was working all the morning at that plan you sugsfested for
the addition near the west tower — I have brought it with me-r-and
the'i I went to meet Marjory Acland, my sister, you know."

" Your sister, eh?" languidly. "Let me see what you ha*e
made of the plan. Pull back the curtains and put the table in the
wiii'low."

l'\)r some time they discussed the drawing earnestly, Brand point-
iuLr out errors, while evidently pleased with the work.

'• You've the making of an architect in you," said he, after look-
ing silently at the plan for a moment or two, " but, of course, you
have I great doal to learn. How old do you say you are ? "

" I was twenty my last birthday."

" You were twenty-one ! " said Brand sharply. " I remember
drinking your health the day you were bom."

" Did you know my father so long ago ?" asked Dick.

" I knew him before that, my boy. I knew him in all his troubles,
a good many of whicli were his own fault, but I need not talk of
them to hia son ; and he hud a heart withal."

A LlfE INTEREST.

149

" He must have had some good points, or you would not have
stuck to him as you did," said Dick sadly. ''It seems rather
hard that death should have taken my father, and some intolerable
quality or other in myself, I suppose, disgusted my mother ; at any
rate, I am pretty well alone."

"Never mind, you are all the freor to work your way up. 1
don't think you have much to lament. Just fight for your own
hand in the battle of life. I never could understand the art of get-
tim^ on. My own movements, after reaching a certain point, have
been retrograde. It is curious how some fellows — fellows that
seem to know life well too, and can work fail for want of that
indescribable something which enables them to grasp fortune when
the jade shows symptoms of fickleness ! There's a flaw somewhere
in them — sometimes it's generosity, or a weak reluc ince to press
before another, or an instant's self-distrust — a want of the liard
self-reliar.'^e that insists on having a try anyhow, hit or miss, and
don't care a hang if people sneer about presumption. I wonder
what will become of you, Dick ? I am half afraid you are not hard
enough to succeed."

Dick smiled. "I am not wildly ambitious," he said, "but
somehow I do not fear the future. I think I can work and wait.
I may never rise high, but I think I can \/in independence, and
there is great pleaau'*e in a simple life."

"May you always think so!" ejaculated Brand. "I believe
you are made of stronger stuff than your father. He had plunged
deep into difficulties and succumbed to a lot of temptations by the
time he wa5> twenty-one. Well, I shall do all I can to help you,
but I don't think there is a great deal of time before me. I feel
awfully weak to-day. Tell me, how doei; your mother get on with
her step-children ? "

" With George well enough, but with Marjory — no I she was
always irreconcilable. There seums to be an antagonism between
them. Marjory was awfully bitter against me, too, when I first
went to live with them ? she could not speak a civil word to mo. 1
suppose it was natural for her to object to an intruder, but it made
things hard to bear."

" She must be a cantankerous young lady."

Dick shook his head. *' She is, or was, quick-tempered, but there
is not a truer-hearted girl in England," he said warmly. "Then
she speaks so honestly ! Whatever she says is what sho really
believes at the time. Hard as sho was to mo, I waa sorry when she
went to school, though George and I were better friends when she
went away."

"She has a nice head," said Brand musingly, "and a speaking
face— as well as I remember."

" It was shamefu)," resumed Dick, *' the length of time sho was
left at school and thb way she was kept there, as far as 1 can maka

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150

A LIFE INTEREST.

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out as a pupil teacher. I always felt angry with Mr. Acland for
that, depriving her and George of everything.

'* Ah I " said Brand. " Well, she came round to you ?"
" Yes ; she behaved like a trump to me when I left my step-
father's house. I think she likes me nearly as well as George. If
I could ever make a home for her 1 should be glad, for she will
never stay in her father's house. 1 am sometimes half afraid of the
future for her — she is hasty and impetuous, and might do some-
thing rash."

" Won't old Carteret keep her ? "

a C<

he does not thiixk so.

" Bring me the tobacco-jar, my pipe is empty. Take my advice,
Dick, don't go to ineet her for a couple of Sundays. It has a queer
look, a young lady like Miss Acland rambling through the country
with a workman — for that is all you seem at present — and people are
ready to talk ill-naturedly, especially country people."

Dick coloured quickly. " But if they know we are brother and
sister ? " he exclaimed.

" Ah ! but they don't know ; and indeed you are no relations
whatever."

" No ? Not even half-brother and sister ? "

'* No, stupid boy, of course not ! Her father's younger childi^^u
are her half-brother and sister.'

Dick was silent and thoughtful for a minute. "Then you really
think I ought not to take a walk with her every Sunday ?"

" I certainly think you had better not."

"It was something to look forward to all the week," said Dick
regretfully.

"Very likely."

" And she will be disappointed, too."

"No doubt."

" I must write her a line to say I shall not be able Iso meet her."

"Do so," returned Brand, "and as I have not been spending

any money lately I shall hire a trap and we will drive over to D ,

it is not more than seventeen miles, and see the cathedral, it is a
poem in stone."

" Thank you," said Dick soberly. " I wish Marjory couM come
with us."

** I am sure I should have no objection," returned Brand, "but
fate forbids such things to be."

There was silence while he filled his pipe.

"Stay and have some supper with mc," resumed Brand; "I
don't care to be alone, and I don't suppose you have anything
better to do."

"I never have anything half so plesant to do," said Dick
warmly.

" Not even walking with your aister i "

A LIFE INTEREST.

151

** It is a different kind of pleasure, though a great pleasure ; but
it is like getting into another world to talk with you."

"God help you, boy ! " smiling, yet heaving a deep sigh, *'you
had better keep out of my world. Here iz -"ipper, and thank
heaven I feel inclined for it. "

The landlady, with an occasional word of inquiry, or a remark on
the weather and the crops, set forth the table with cold chicken,
home-made bread, and a tongue of her own curing. Brand pro-
duced a bottle of claret from the cupboard, and iuvited his young
friend to fall to.

Presently the lamp was lit and Dick's host brightened up as his
custom was at night. How well he talked I He had read and
seen much ; he had whimsical theories on many subjects, not rigid
convictions, but lir^ht airy fancies, which could be floated hither
and thither as the Japanese preformers waft paper butterflies by
the motion of their fans. Then art was a prolitic topic, on which
Dick was never wearied of hearing him enlarge, and through all
there sounded an undertone of kindliest interest in Dick himself, in
all that he remembered, all he hoped or feared or longed to at-
tempt, which drew the young man to him irresistibly. " You do
not drink wine," he said at last ; " would you like some beer, or
have you adopted the ' Blue Ribbon ? "

' ' No, I have taken no pledge, but as water costs nothing, I stick
to it, and find I want no more."

' ' I daresay you are right ; yec there is a certain, I was going to
say intellectual, loss in not benig able to appreciate a glass of good
wine, but that is rather too strong. I always liked it myself,
though I never drank hard. Nor did your father, and he was
driven sometimes to seek oblivion at any price. His greatest temp-
tation was opium."

"At all events he was cut off from temptation tolerably early,"
said Dick with feeling. " I often fancy I should have been fond of
him, if he had come back. My motlier never encouraged me to
lavish my affection on her. Now, when I hear your voice it brings
a sort of hazy recollection with it — a dim remembrance of climbing
on a man's knee and rubbing my cheek ac(ainst a soft beard."

" Do you remember that ? " murmured Brand in a low tone, set-
ting down the glass he was lifting to his lips. " Ah, yes, I wascon-
8 antly with your father in those days."

Both were silent for a while, then Brand, rousing himself with an
effort, said, " Those rooms will be ready for occupation the end of
the week. I hope the fair widow will approve."
'* She is Lord Beaulieu's sister ? " asked Dick.
"Yes, young Maynard was a great catch, and the Honourable
Miss Saville had no money. Her elder sister is married to the
rector ot a country parish. I beliove Mrs. Maynard is a beauty."

" You seem to know a great deal about people as well as things,"
eaid Dick, looking at him admiringly .

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A LITE INTEREST.

Ah, well, your father used to tell me a great deal about the
upper ten in old days, and since 1 returned from America I have
had occasion to make some inquiries about the Beaulieu family/'

" But you are not American ? "

" Oh, I scarcely know what I am ; cosmopolite before every-
thing. Look here, Dick, I have one or two plans in my head ; for
you, I mean. There is Jervis the architect. I want to get you
mto his office for a while, only I am afraid he will ask a premium,
and I don't care for your going tlirough a regular apprenticeship.
He has a great name, and you could pick up a good deal from him ;
still if he lets you in for nothing, I do not see how you are to live
without pay. I will speak to Lord Beaulieu."

*'Pray do not ask him for any money help," cried Dick, red-
dening.

Brand laughed. " Don't be afraid, I will keep up your dignity ;
but from time immemorial it has been the proud privilege of great
nobles to assist struggling genius. We must not deprive cup
worthy employer of his rights, especially as he is a capital fellow.
His artistic Bohemian life in early days has done him a world of
good."

" He is wonderfully frank and nice to his emploj'es."

'* Yes, it is a comfort to work for a man who knows what work is.
By the way, there was a scraggy Scotchman at the Castle for a few
days last week ; did you see him ? "

" I believe so. He was admiring the library and the big drawing-
room when I passed through."

" He was greatly taken with the decorations. It seems he has
been restoring an old family seat he bought back — he made a heap
of money in China, I hear— and he has asked me to undertake the
decorations. I hesitated, for the place is close to Edinburgh, and
I hate the climate. However, the work will be in doors, and I don't
know exnctly what may turn up for the winter. This man's house
will not be ready for me till October. Then in the spring I am in
hopes Lord Bep.ulieu will renovate that old chateau of his in
Dauphiny ; it would be a delightful job, and if it can be managed
I'll take you with me, Dick."

The young man's eyes sparkled. *' You will ! Why that is some-
thing beyond my highest hopes."

Brand took his pipe from his lips, and said with some emotion,
" I'd do a good deal for your father's son ; besides, I am under
obligations to yourself, but you can't understand this. Now I am
horridly tired, and I want to get a thorough rest and be fresh for a
hard day's work to-inorrow, so good-night. Vou can stay on here
if you like, there are books and light. Witn a nod and a kindly
smile he left the room.

Dick, who rose as he said good-night, drew a chair to the open
window and fell into thought. His luck had certainly turned,

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163

\^at a wonderful piece of good fortune it was to have fallen in
with a man like Brand ; this at least was a legacy from h\n poor
wanderincf, unthrifty, nuich-abiiscd father. What a strung Iriend
ship must have existed between tlem ; such faithfulness cuuM
hardly exist between two worthlesf men. But Brand, whatever hin
past life, and Diek hislinv;ti\ ely felt it had been most irregular, was
not worthless. At any rate sueh unearned kindness as he had
heaped upon him should secure his warmest gratitude, his unstinted
service.

If he was thus willing to associate him (Dick) in h." work, the
lon<' and toilsome way which lay bofore hitu would be wondrously
smoothed and levelled— and what joj in the kind of work destined
to fill his days ! The young man's heart glowed with hope and
delightful anticipation, only he wished Brand had not warned him
against those Sunday rambles with Marjory. It was surprising h«jw
nuich more he enjoyed talking with Marjory than he used. No
doubt she had grown gentler, more wonninly and wiser than she
used to be — that might be expected ; but her bright observant
remarks, her gleams of pathos, of kindly consideration, these were
beyond what her early impetuous sauciness promised. How amus-
ing she could be too ; a pleasanter companion no brother could
have. Brand miglit t:;y what he liked, they would always bo like
brother and sister. It was hard to give up seeing her save at rare
intervals, still there was truth in what Brand said. The apparent
difference between his position and that of Marjory was so great as
to make their being alone together an impropriety, especially as he
must not explain their relationship. Well, not relationship, the
connection between them— and Dick's cheek burned as he thought
of the coarse misconstruction his fellow-workmen would put upon
their acquaintance, should any of them meet him sauntering along
with Marge. Dick's reflections hero becanie confused and disturb-
ing, 80 he turned his thoughts to George, and speculated how soon
his chum would write to him, as hs said he would whenever any-
thing was settled about his going to ?;ea.

Finally Dick extinguished the lamp and went wnndering in the
moonlight along the path towards the Priory, in a pleasant dreamy
state of mind, full of vague bright hopes, of soft kindly fancies,
seeing a deKcieus vista of possible success — distant certainly, but
not beyond his reach.

The arrival of the Honourable Mrs. Maynard with her baby, her
nurse, her maid, and a German courier, created a little stir in Lord
Beaulieu's provisional household ; but to the troop of workmen
without it made no difference.

Lord Beaulieu was glad to direct his sister's attention to the imr
provements he was making.

Perhaps, in her present depressed condition, when few things
possessed any interest whatever for her, the restoration of the family

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A LIFE INTEREST.

Beat was more calculated than anything else Uj divert her thoughts
from their ordinary sorrowful mood.

She seemed to enjoy, in a languid fashion, walking slowly round
the terrace and through the courtyard, leaning on her brother's arm
and listening to his explanations. Nurse and the baby were gener-
ally of the party, as the poor young mother could scarcely bear the
child out of her sight.

He was a tine, fair, chubby infant of neurly four months old —
full to the lips with abounding life, ready to jump out of his nurse's
arms at every fresh object pre.^ented to his wandering eyes — a
perfect miracle of precocious intelligence to his admiring mother.

Thoujrh Mrs. Maynard shrank from society, it amused her faintly
to calk with the architect, or discuss the harmony of colour with
Brand, whom she noticed a good deal.

" That Mr. Brand is reailv quite a gentleman," she said to her
brother, ' ' and what taste he has ! He was speaking to baby yester
day, and baby quite lOok to him. It is ama/ing to see such a mere
infant showing distinct likings and dislikirgs. Yesterday I found
him (I niv^cin Mr. Brand) making a sketch in water colours of the
western tower and a bit of landscape beyond — really exquisitely
done ! so I asked him if he corM take iikenesses, and added that 1
should be glad if he would paint baby. Ho was so frank and honest
about it. He said it was too soon, that a month or two hence the
darling would have more expression, and then he said he woi^d
like to paint him as the infant Hercules."

Lord Beaulieu smiled. " He is a clever fellow, but rather erratic.
i met him some five or six years f.go in South America, when he
helped me in a slight difficulty, and for a week or two I .saw a good
deal of him ; he seemed in a very unsettled state then, and what
we used to term, in my own Bohemian days, 'down on hia luck.'
Then I met him last winter at Fleury St. Jean, the little town near
my quarters in Dauphiny. He had been sketching there all the
autumn, and was delayed by illness, bad cold, and low fever, so 1
looked after him a bit, and found him a pleasant well-informed
fellow ; though he was evidently much better off than when sremet
him in xVmerica, he was glad to find work, SC' I engaged him to do
the decor? tions here, and I think I made a hit. Ah! Brand!"
coming on him as they began to descend some steps leading to the
shriibbrry in the moat. " We have been talking of you. Mrs,
Maynard tells me you have been making some sketches, very good
sketches."

"Very slight things, Lord Beaulieu. As this is the men'")
dinner-hour I came down here to get romc of the noontide effects
on the side of the moat, and that mass of nmsonry that used to sup-
port the drawbridge. You nee there is an oblique light upon it
that brings out the ruggednees of Ihe stones and their peculiar
bints wonderfully."

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155

You are right. What a beautifier light is — set to work, or you
will lose the eflfect."

Brand had already seated himself on a fragment of stone project-
ing from the bank, and setth4 his sketch-book on his knee.

Mrs. Maynard and her brother watched hitn for a few minutes,
when Dick came down the path behind them, and raising his hat
asked leave to pass, as he had a message for Mr. Brand. It was
from the clerk of the works respecting some new staging which was
to be put up in one of the rooms for the purpose of painting the
ceilings. Brand gave a few directions, and giving an eager glance
at the sketch in progress, Dick, with another bow and lifting of his
hat, sped back again.

"Who is that young man?" asked Mrs. Maynard, "I have
noticed him several times. He is very good-looking, and even
aristocratic-looking. It is very strange, but his face always seems
familiar to me. Where could 1 have seen him ? Who is he ? "

" He is a very superior young fellow," returned Lord Bcaulieo.
"Brand, who seems to have adopted him, knew his people."

" Who is he, Mr. Brand ? Not an ordinary workn an, I am sure."

" No ! " said Brand quickly, as he bent over his drawing, " His
father was an artist, and an old comrade of mine ; he died, or
rather was drowned, early, and this boy had such a passion for
architecture that ho ran away from home to be a mere labourer
among masons, so as to get the rudiments of the art he craves for."

" How very curious. Do you think he will succeed ? "

•* Yes, with a little judicious help."

" What is his name ?" asked Mrs. Maynard.

"Cranston,'' returned Brand shortly.

" Cranston," she repeated. " How very odd Cranston is one of
the Maynard names."

"Oh! my old comrade was a South of England man, had in
connection with the north ; in fact, poor fellow, I doubt if he could
claim any relations at all."

•' Ah !" said Mrs. Maynard, and dropped the subject, fancying
that Dick's father might have been illegitimate,

"Come," said Lord Boaulieu. '"I want to get luncheon over
soon, and take you for a drive to the Priory. We have not returned
Mrs. Carteret's visit."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

CHAPTER XVL

A or EAT SURPRISE.

\-m

Ellis prolonged liia visit to town for a week after George's depar-
ture, and Marjory foiind that time hung very heavilj' on her hands.

Although she had never cj^uite overcome her feeling of uneasiness
when in his presence, the kind of distrust to which his cold insolence
had originally given rise — he had amused and interested her — she
was conscious tliat an under-current of mutual understanding had
established itself between them, indeed, she was at times almost
startled by the intuition he displayed as regarded her own unspoken
wishes and the small difticuities into which her imi)etuo8ity some-
times led lier. When she thought of it, she was half angry at the
inllucnce he was gaining over her. She did not like him, not really ;
yet when he came suddenly behind her as she sat reading or working
and she felt his breath upon her cheek, when he spoke softly, she
could not prevent herself from Hushing, or her heart from beating
with a curi«)iis emotion that was half dread.

During his absence, she forgot all this in a great measure ; besides,
her imagination was much occupied by Dick, his plans and hopes.
She had quite made up her mind that he wai going to be a groat
architect, a second Wren. How she wished she nere a boy ! boys
had so many more chances than girls, as she was ; though she felt
she was not ignorant, she dared not hope for an} thing save the
humblest kind of employment, as nn.'sery governess, perhaps, which
after all is only a bigger nanie for children's maid.

In this dull interim, however. Uncle Carteret did not let her idle.
He hurried her to finish the catalogue, and besides gave her letters
in his own crabbed writing to his solicitor to copy, letters from
which, without giving ihem much attention, Marjory gathered that
th<' old gentleman was taking advice as to the sale of his property
and the settlement of a sum of money on his heir-presumptive. A
good deal was mentioned about breaking the entail, and, indeed,
the correspondence bristled with law terms which were Greek to
Uncle Carteret's young secretaiy.

The accomplished old critic was remarkably irritable and hard to
please, and Marjory longed for Ellis, who always appeared to have
a repressive effect on his tractions kinsman. Indeed, she laughed
at her own conceit and folly when she found herself looking earnestly
in the glass the evening Ellis was to return in time for dinner, ar-
ranging flowers in ]\er dress and otherwise taking special care in

A LIFE INTFKEST.

157

" I am a pdoso ! yet I don't choose to look quitn
'an)l)a.ssii(l(»r ' returns from the giand peoydi^ lie

making her toilet.

a dowdy when the

haa been with," she said to heraulf aiiolotjetically. "1 sliould tjiko

just as much trouble for (leorgo and Dick, and they would adnnro

my pretty dress immensely ; I am sure they are worth dozens of

Mr. Ellis ; but what a clever masterful man he is with all his

Bmof)'hne88 !

Ellis did not return alone. There arrived with him a friend of
Mrs. Carteret — a much travelled unmarried lady of a certain ago of
Tood family and indifferent means. She had known Mr. and Mrs.
Carteret for some years, and had written to offer them a visit on her
way from the Isle of Wight to the north. Mrs. Carteret was
charmed to receive her, for she was a complete encyclopedia of in-
formation respecting the inner life of the ** upper ten " at home and
abroad.

It need scarcely be said that Ellis did not travel with her further
than the short distance between the railway station and the Priory.

He only made his appearance as dinner was announced, and had
no time for more than the briefest greeting to Marjory. He spoke
to her occasionally across the tabla, and but for him she would have
partaken of that meal in total silence ; their eyes met more than
once, when Marjory smiled frankly, and Ellis felt that he was wel-
come.

In the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. Carteret and her friend
soon fell into an eager whispered conversation, above the indistinct-
ness of which, exclamations of, " Incomprehensible, my dear ! "
" Extraordinary conduct in a woman of her rank and breedhig 1 "
*' A perfect brute, I really can use no other word 1 " occasionally
rose clear and audible.

Mr. Carteret and Ellis did not join them till late, and the latter
at once walked over to where Marjory was sitting in a corner en-
gaged on an elaborate piece of stitchery which Mrs. Carteret had
given her. " And tell me how things have gone all these long days
I have been away ? " he asked, drawing a chair between her and the
re.^t of the company. His deep-set eyes glowed as he si>oke, and
seemed to fasten upon hers as if he would dive into the recesses of
her soul.

Maijory was most indignant with herself, for her heart throbbed
imcomfortably, and she felt that her cheek flushed and grow pale,
why, she could not tell.

" Things have been just as usual ; Uncle Carteret lias been rather
cross, and I have been making some mistakes."

Ellis did not reply, his eyes wandered slowly from the fresh
speaking face uplifted to answer him to the slight figure and busy
httle hands.

"One day we had a visit from Lord BeauUeu and his sister,"
Marjory went on, feeling his silence oppressive ; " she is beautiful,

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A LIFE INTEREST.

Uiit SO sad. 1 was quite a.sliaiuod of myself ; I could not help gazing
at her, I Hhould like to sue her again."

" How is Dick ? " asked Ellis ahruptly.

"Quito well, and gettirij^ on so weL. I had a nice walk with him
on Sunday, and I shall meet him next Sunday if it is fine."

" And George r'

** 1 have only had one little letter since he left ; " there was a
pause.

**I want to hear all about everything, but I must not stay now ,
Mr. Carteret is bent on whist. That gusliing young person, Mi.ss
Danvers, is a past mistress of whist — see how she is smoothing tin
crust of Carteret's queer temper till he smiles — to-morro^^^' she will
charm both host and hostess, so you will be able to escape for n
ramble with me and tell me your news."

" Very well." said Marjory, not knowing what else to say.

•* I have something to tell you," added Ellis as he rose and went
over to Mr. Carteret, who had beckoned him.

Marjory whispered a request to her aunt that she might go to bed,
which was graciously granted, and she escaped for a (|Miet hour's
reading and thought in her own room.

1 1

<M1 5*1':

When Mr. and Mrs. Carteret started with their guest to drive .i^
far as Beaulieu and show her something of the neighbourhood, Ellis
was nowhere to be seen. Marjory, however, was too much taken
up with a couple of letters she had received that morning to feel in
any way nettled by his apparent neglect ; she was anxious to speak
with him, however, as her heart was full and there was no one else
to whom she could open it.

As soon as the carriage had driven away she took herself and her
letters to her favourite seat among the scattered stones of the ruined
priory, and read them carefully over again. While thus employed
and as she half expected, Ellis joined her. She made room for him
beside her and finished the perusal without speaking.

When she had folded up the letters and put them in their enve-
lopes, Ellis said, " I am going to take a great liberty ; I am going
to scold you." Marjory looked at him with slight surprise. " You
have been spoiling your eyes with tears ; your eyes are meant for
better usage, they are intended for smiles."

"They would be worthless eyes indeed if they could not shed
tears," ihe returned warmly ; " but I am not going to cry any more
now, and I do not think it quite nice or kind of you to notice my
eyes."

" Perhaps it was not," gravely. " Forgive me, and tell me what
has troubled you."

** I think Imust, I have no one else to tell, and I am rather un-
liappy.**

▲ LIFE INTEREST.

139

lere was a

leir fiive-

'♦ Thank you. I shall be most interested."

'* I had a letter from George this rnoniinpf. Ho is to sail in a new
ship of Rennie & Duncan's, next Thursday, They are going to
Madras. He seems quite pleased ; he says they are to have a son of
one of the owners on board, who is to take the vnya<4o for his health,
80 they will not stay away very long, and oh ! Mr. Ellis, ho says he
saw you in London, that you are a jolly good fellow and would tell
uie all about it."

*' There is nothing in all this to call for tears ? "

" Perhaps not ; but it is a little hard to have had such a short
time with him, and then not to see him again beforo he goes ! "

" This is not all the trouble, is it ? "

" No ; I had a note from Dick, and he says he cannot meet moon
Sunday next, bcaiuso he is going somewhere ; and he fear.s he will
be engaged on the Sunday after, too. This is very unkind of him !
No one knows what may hajipcn in a fortnight. T may leave this,
and never see him again ! Ho cannot care."

" Boys of his age are very thoughtless," said Ellis gently, watching
her as he spoke.

" Boys ! " repeated Marjory as if speaking to herself. " He never
was a boy, and he never was thoughtless."

" Then he prefers not to come ; possibly he may have found some
young lady who is not a sister to take his Simday walks with."

Marjory started, and then laughed softly. "Of course it is
possible, but somehow I never thought of Dick or George having a
sweetheart."

" That does not detract from the possibility."

' ' Still he might care a little for me, when I am so fond of him 1
Of course I am fond of both my brothers — I have no one else to
love."

'* You consider it absolutely necessary to love some one ? "

*• Yes, of course. It would be too drtadful not to love some one !
Fancy having no one to think of, no one to look forward to meeting,
no one to trouble about, to have only oneself ! Why, it would be
too desolate ! Even yon must have some one."

**Even you," repeated Ellis with a slow smile. " Am I the most
heartless person of your acquaintance ? "

"I did not mean that," said Marjory gravely. " I do not know
you well enough to judge, but you seem to me able to stand alone."

"Perhaps 1 am ! Perhaps I am selfish, yet for all you know I
may be capable of a vast amount of love ; I sometimes suspect I
am."

" I hope so, for your own sake," mummred Marjory, putting her
letters back in her pocket. " Tell me, how did you happen to see
George ? "

*' Tasked him to dine with mo, and to see ' Patience ' afterwards."

•' That was very kind of you," cried Marjory, turning her eyes

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full of tender gratitude to his ;" he has so little pleasure, poor boy '
I wish I had been with you."

**So do I," earnestly. *' Weli, I think George enjoyed himself,
and ho made himself very agreeable. Do you know, I was half
inclined to call on Mrs. Acland."

*' I v/ish you had ; I should like to know what you would think of
her.'

There was a pause ; Marjory gazed upon the grass at her feet, and
Ellis gazed very intently at JAsiTJory. She had seldom looked more
attractive ; a quiet Avistful expression stilled her face, her ripe red
lips were slightly apart, her dark brown eyelashes swept her cheek,
and her gloveless hands wore clasped upon her knee. What admir-
able colouring, Ellis thop.ght, as he scanned her hair, her softly
rounded chin, the pretty ovul of her delicate face.

"I had something to say to you," he half whispered at last.
Marjory started, her thoughts were evidently far away.

*' Yes, what is it?"

*' Nothing you will like, I fear. Your uncle has made up his mind
to sell Lacigford, and I have found a purchaser. They — Mr. and
Mrs. Carteret — will probably leave the end of this month/'

"All ! and I must go home I I am very sorry." She stopped
abruptly, her mouth quivered, but she had self-control enough to
k^ep back her tjars.

" I suppose you must."

" I shall feci it much wovse tajn it used to be."

**I fear so," said Ellis sympathetiv^ally.

" But I shall not stay at home," excl&imed Marjory with sudden
fire.

*' Where can you go ? " asked Ellis.

" Oh I I cannot tell ; I might teach little children, or read and
write for some old lady. You see 1 am but half educated, and "

*' You are well read and more than usually intelligent," mter
rupted Ellis with an air of conviction.

"Do you really think so?" asked Marjory doubtfully. "Even
so, talking about thiv gs and teaching them are very ditTeront." Ellis
did not rcj'H', and after a pause she resumed, " £ wonder how I
should sot about finding an engagement ?"

" Advertising is the usual mode of making one's wants known,"
said Ellis absently.

" I should really prefer being a lady'smaid or a housemaid to
remaining at home," murmured Marjory as though to herself.

Ellis suddeij'y threw away his cigarette, and drawing a little
nearer to her kept his eyes on hers as he said very quietly, ** Let
me offer an alternative — suppose you marry me ? "

" Marry you 1 " repeated Marjory, quite incredulous and unmoved,
" I thought you were going to give me some serious advice, that
you were rather sorry fiv me, ai>d you are only laughing at my
troubles i "

A LIFE INTERK8T.

161

*' Lau<Thing ! " echoed Ellis, " I never was more intensely in earn-
est ill niy life. Nor can I understand your blindness. You must —
you ought to have seen that more than u month ago I gave up resist-
m<r my love for you, and determined to win happiness if 1 could,
cost what it might ! "

" But 1 cannot believe it," cried Marjory, too much astonished
to be confused. ' ' How did you ever come to think of marrying

___

■* Because — well, because I could not help it," returned Ellis,
smiling and amused at the curious dialogue, though his heart beat
fast and it tasked his habitual soif-contnol severely to keep bjick
the ardent words which sprang to his lips. But he was playing
a deep game, and he resolved not to lose it from any heedless)
impetuosity.

" But you ought to marry some g^^at lady. Aunt Carteret says
you will be an ambassador one day, und I am not tit to be an ambas-
sadress ! '

" 1 love you, Marjory ! " said Ellis in a low voice. His tone struck
to her heart. If he loved hor, that explained every thing.

"It is most extraordinary," murmured Marjory, her colour
changing and an expression of tender solemnity stealing over her
face as the fact that she was loved and sought in marriage penetrated
her understanding.

"This humility is not usual in you!" said Ellis, who had
expected a saucy refusal at first, but could not therefore afford to
lose time.

" It is not humility ; I know that I am not unworthy of being
loved, but I do not want anybody greater than myself, and then Mr.
Carteret would never forgive you ! You know he want« you to many
Miss Waring."

"■ He also wishes me to marry Miss Maynard. Unfortunately 1
cannot oblige him."

" I have an idea that it would be bad for you to quarrel with
Uncle Carteret."

" It would be rather ruinous for me just at present, even were he
to know I asked you to marry me," said Ellis.

" Then do not think of me ; besides, you see it would not be
worth your while to vex him, for you know I do not— that is, I am
not in love with you."

" I know it but too well, my sweet Marjory I That is the reason
I dared to speak so abruptly — so prematurely. You never seemed
to see — I never eould make you understand that I was trying to
win you. I had so few opportunities, and you distrusted me so
strangely ! Now, do hear wo. I am most infernally hampered,
but 1 want you to give me a chance — a chance of gaining your
heart."

•' I l:now it is unkind to say so, but I don't think I could ever lov^,

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you, though you are very nice," said Marjory, hesitating, and dread-
fully distressed at having to give pain.

Ellis smiled, while his dark eyes glowed. " You must and shall,
Marjory ! You have cast some spell upon me. If you love no one
else, you must learn to love me."

" It would be wiser not to ask me to try 1 I do not want to love
any one in that way."

'• What ! do you intend to reject everything but brotherly love ? "

" Yes, I tind trouble and pain enough in my love for George and
Dick. Suppose I were to love i/ow," turning to look at him, then,
finding his eyes embarrassing, averting her own, " and not be able
to see you or perhaps write to you, it would make me more un-
happy."

" But if you consented to be my wife," exclaimed Ellis with more
fire than he had hitherto shown, "do you think I could endure
existence apart from you ? No, I should want you beside me every
hour — every instant of my life ! "

These words and the tone in which they were spoken made a pro-
found impression on Marjory. Had Ellis only shown the sort of
light but Habtering preference for her he had shown at Mrs. Waring'a
party, she might have returned it with some innocent girlish
coquetry, but the ofier of a man's heart and life was a terribly serious
afl'air, and transformed her for the moment into a thoughtfu- con-
sider.ite woman.

' ' But you said it would be ruin to you if Uncle Carteret even
knew you had asked me to marry you, how then "

" It would certainly be ruin," interrupted Ellis. " But I do not
intend him to know anything about it for a year or two."

Marjory looked straight a5 him with a puzzled expression which
changed to grave displeasure as her colour rose.

" You mean to marry secretly ? " she asked.

*' I do. You must hear me, Marjory," said Ellis, catching hei
hand, which he held firmly in both his own, " I want you to under-
stand how I am situated and what I propose ; I want to inform you
fully. I am dependent on old Carteret, and just at present I have
almost, not altogether, succeeded in a most difficult and delicate
negotiation respecting the sale of this property, to which I am heir,
and the settlement of the proceeds on myself. I am not penniless,
but to push my fortunes I need a larger command of money than I
have ; a wealthy marriage would give me all 1 want, but I can only
repeat, I love you ; the idea of any other woman is intolerable to
me" (if he added "at present," it was mentally). "I cannot let
you drift away out of my reach, I cannot leave you to be tyrannized
over by a cruel woman, your bright youth, the period of love and
pleasure, crushed and blotted out with premature misery ! With
me you would be tranquil, beloved, and sure of sympathy. Can
your imagination not present a picture oi what life might bo with a

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l.»\ir for your companion, evon though we were obliged to live in
(iI)>)Ciirity for a year or two, until I had gained a position which would
render nie independent, and I could proudly proclaim our union to
the world ? "

Marjory shook her head and tried to draw away her hand.
"Obscurity would matter very little, but hiding is always shameful,"
she said. "Even if I loved you, I could not think of su^h a
marriage. "

'•If you loved me, Marjory, you would do that and more for the
man you loved ! You have enormous capacity for love, or I have
lost my power of reading character."

" I am sure it is impossible to say what I am capable of. Pray let
me go, Mr. Ellis. Now that you know I do not care for you enou</l.
to marry you, I am sure you will not wish it any longer, and in a
lictle while you will be glad. You must forgive me if I have pained
you ; I never dreamt you cared for me — I am not at all the sort of a
girl you ought to marry."

"1 am the best judge of that," slowly releasing her hand. " Do
not imagine 1 accept this refusal ; I felt sure you would reject me,
but, Marjory, I can wait ! I am no headstrong impressionable boy,
who can be checked by a tirst denial ; I am master of myself, and I
am determined you shall be my wife ! I am determined to rescue
you from the barren existence, the poverty-stricken monotony to
which you seem doomed, and show you what life and lov '^ are !
There, you sweet little witch, I will not torment you more just now.
You will think of ir.a, I know, becausi? your kind heart grieves for
the pain you have given ; let your thoughts picture the difference of a
home with the man who loves you and a home under your step-
mother's rule."

He caught her hand again and kissed it twice before she could
break away and run to the house.

He looked after her swiftly retreating figure and very deliboratoly
lit another cigarette. " Not so bad t)n the whole," he said to him-
self. " There is more dei)th in her than 1 thought, and even more
charm. Now, 'ler heart and imagination will be my allies. Did T
ever think I should risk so much for any woman ? The affuii' brisfles
with ditficulties, but if she yieULs, I can overcome them. The con-
viction that it would ruin me if Carteret knew of my avowal will
keep her silent ; I am safe so far, I think she is loyal and she lialf
fears me."

Marjory, her heart beating fast, took refuge in the safe solitude of
hor own room. It was some minutes before she could niarshall the
confusion of her quick crowding thoughts into anything like order.

Profound astonishment and uneasy dread were her predominant
feelings. The astonishment, however, was tinged with a faint
pleasant sense of gratified vanity. How did it happen that he had
oome to love her when she was so indifferent to him i It was quite

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A LIFE INTEREST.

unnatural ! Why, if everything was fair and smooth and Uncle Car-
teret himself ready to pronounce tlie nuptial benediction, she would
not like to i >arry Mr. Ellis, she could never fancy feeling at home
with or feeliiifj; ][uito sure he meant what he said. How awfully
cross Uncle Carteret would be if he knew 1 She must be very care-
ful to seem qiiiot and composed at dinner, lest he should suspect
anything. *' For Mr. Ellis' sake I must hv very prudent. He
deserves that at least from me," she murmured to herself ; then all
alone as sl'.o was, she blushed at the idea of meeting Ellis face to
face knowing that he loved her, and recalled not without a feeling of
helplessness the absolute certainty of his tone when he spoke of his
detyermination to marry her in spite of herself. Could he really he
kind and good ? His wish to marry her was certainly disinterested,
and no doubt life with him would be easier and pleasanter than at
home. Still something in her heart forbid the banns, apart from
the idea of a searet marriage, which was utterly repulsive and indeed
impossible. How could Mr. Ellis think of such a thing or suppose
she would consent to a step so closely bordering on disgrace ? VVould
any one else ever love her and ask her to bo his wife ? If some kind
good man she could even like tolerably offered her a home, she would
accept it, and do her very best to make him happy and comfortable.
'*Men like comfort so much. If Mrs. Acland made my father
uncomfortable she would not have half so much power over him.
Oh 1 if he only hvA not married again, I might be his housekeeper
and do everything for him. I could love him well if he would let
me ! I wi>ll write to him now this moment ; perhaps he will answer
me this time."

When the letter was finished it was time to dress for dinner ;
then came the awful ordeal of going into the drawing-room and meet-
ing her lover's eyes.

Ellis was extremely prudent however. He kept his eyes in order
and spoke to her at dinner in the most friendly unembarrassed way
imaginable. Afterwards he played whist with much amiability, but
before separating for the night managed to whisper, " You will be
glad to hear that I am going over to Beaulieu to-morrow to dine ami
sleep.

" Then pray look well at Mrs. Maynard, and see hov,- be.uitiful
and charming she is."

"I kuow her, and I am proof."

A LIFE INTEREST.

165

CHAPTER XVn.

. , MUS. ArT.A>'D's VIEWS.

"MAR.TORY," said Mr. Caricrot, " show me tho catalogue ; is it
fin 5 -shod ? "

" Not quite ; I have only one slip to copy, a few Z'a."

" What an extraordinary confused mode of expression ! you me:w, ,
I suppose, you have only a few works to enter the names of whi< h
begin with Z ?"

" Yes, uncle ; I tried to say it shortly."

"Hum ! Brevity is the soul of wit ! But I do not think you
have much wit, Marjory."

" Oh ! I do not suppose I have ; still, I hope you have not found
me too stupid ? " looking up with an appealing glance, for slio felt
depressed and helpless. She had not recnered the shock which
Ellis had given her. His avowal had banished her original, perhaps
somewhat childish self for ever, and startled her into sudden
thoughtful tender womanhood, amazed and half frightened to find
she was the ooject of so serious a passion.

*' Well you were rather trying at lirst, but 1 have succeeded in
teaching you a little, and it will have been a useful experitnce for
you working under my directions ; indeed I felr, it was right to give
you a chance, and I hope you will be the better for it when you go
home."

" When I go home, uncle ? "

" Yes ; I do not think I shall remain hero beyond the end of the
month ; we must go to London to prepare for a long residence
abroad, and then your occupation will be o'er, Marjory."

" I am sorry — oh, so very sorry ! Could I be of no more use to
you when you leave the Priory ? Shall you not have letters to write
and things to copy ? and Aunt Carteret, who is so kind, she likes me
to read to her."

'* Ah W3ll, you see, when I have settled on permanent winter
quarters, I am about to undertake a work of some importance treafe-
int,' of the Renaissance period and the fundamental principles of
clitssic art. To assist me in this, I need the services of a man and a
scliolar ; I don't suppose you think yourself equal to such an under-
taking, in spite of your high estimate of yoursfilf."

" Indeed I do not," cried Marjory, much wounded and dcejily
regretting that she had stooped to ask a favour. " 1 weil kn<uv that
I am quite unequal for such a task, and I shall never say another
word about it. "

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'* I am glad you are so sensible," returned Mr. Carteret drily.
' ' Now give rae the catalogue. I shall mark the volumes I wish to
keep ; when I have done so, you must make a list of them and they
can be packed ready for removal. The rest, with the furniture and
effects, are to be sold by auction in September or October."

" And all your curiosities, uncle ? "

" Oh ! ah, I think of presenting thorn to the museun at D — , the
county town, you know, to be called the ' Carteret Collection,' and
so perpetuate my repubvtion for antiquarian acumen. Let me have
that list also, Marjory ; I have a great deal to do, and not much time
to do it in. Have you heard from home lately ? "

"Not very lately."

" I really must take this opportunity of expressing my serious dis-
approbation of your father's choice of a profession— no, not a pro
fession, a calling for his only son, a gentleman, too, on one side of
the house at least."

" On both sides," said Marjory gently but distinctly.

"Yes, yes, of course. I believe he is positively a common sailor ! '

" He is what is called an apprentice."

" Just so ! Now no gentleman is ever apprenticed to anything,
and considering that your brother is entitled to his share of your
mother's fortune, I insist that it is not correct either in conduct or
principle to take advantage of his right to the life interest for the
beneht of his second family. It is most reprehensible ; while he ip
ready to palm his daughter off on any relative who will relieve him
of her!"

" You do my father injustice," cried Marjory, flushing crimson,
while her heart beat almost audibly. "He hesitated to let me
come ; it was Mrs. Acland who persuaded him, it was Mrs. Acland
who wished to get rid of me ! "

" Why does he yield to an underbred woman of that kind, when
he had the advantage of having a well-born gentlewoman for his
first wife ? Of course, Marjory, you understand I am not finding |
fault with. you. It is quite natural you should wish to come to us:
I even credit you, whether justlj^ or not, it is impossible to say, but
I do credit you with some wish for self-improvement. Now, -.vhen
you return home, Marjory, I think it is your duty to remonstrate I
with your father ; you are indeed at liberty to tell him the substance j
of my remarks."

"It would be much more to the purpose if you told him yourself I
face to face,'' cried Marjory, boiling over. "How could any girl
tell her father such things ? He would be kind enough to us, and
fond enough of us, if Mrs. Acland did not put him against us. Itiij
her fault about George, and about me too ! If 1 had not been raiser-
able at home, do you think I should have 'palmed myself off' on
you? for it was uiy own doing altogether. I did hope I could have I
been of use and that you might have liked me ; as it is, I haw «

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167

•iiiiie to go to, though it is not exactly paradise, so I can leave you
ri-uiorrow ; I have money enough for my journey ! "

" Why, Marjory, I am astonished at such a display of temper ; I
li.ul no idea you were such a spit-fire I You need not be in such a
lull ly to run away, it would be extremely ungrateful to ..lo so, after
1 have had the trouble of training you and you have become of some
use. In short, I wish you to remain until we leave the Priory ; and
if you are offended at any expressions I may have used in my natural
indignation at the way you are treated, I am sorry. As to speaking
to your father, I always have made it a rule through life never to
interfere with what does not concern myself especially, and an excel-
lent rule I have found it."

"1 daresay," murmured Marjory.

'' Now, as you understand that I wish you to remain, I trust,"
loftily, " 1 shall hear no more nonsense about going away."

"Then please, Uncle Carteret, remember I stay because you ask
me.

" Oh ! of course, of course ; I really can waste no more time on
these pvierilities. Give me the catalogue of my antiques ; there are
a few i cannot part with : I will just n)ark them off."

Marjory felt the better for this brush with her uncle, it gave her
contidence in herself and made him a little more civil ; for Mr. Car-
teret belonged to that not inconsiderable class whose maxim is,
" Kick him, he's down," and who are themselves immensely im-
proved by a thrashing.

It was a great relief to her that Ellis prolonged his visit to Beau-
lieu till the afternoon of the third day. It was a trial to her to meet
his eyes, to have to speak to him after his amazing avowal. In his
absence the reality of the whole thing faded ; she began to think it
was a sort of dream, a delusion on his part, that a few days spent
among people of the world to which he was accustomed would dis-
pel. Still she felt curious to see him again. She fancied she should
be able to perceive from his first words, from the tone of his voice,
whether he had come to his right mind or not. Sometimes she
regretted that she could not like Ellis better. Suppose he were a
man she could be happy and at home with, and suppose he were free
to marry her openly, what a splendid means of escape from her try-
ing position with her stepmother? " But no," was her usual con-
clusion to such trains of thought ; " I know I am headstrong and
prejudiced, I dare not marry a man I do not love ? Now I am half
afraid of Mr. Ellis, he always disturbs mo, and that sort of thing
would be uncomfortable every day."

The presence of Miss Danvers set Marjory free from the necessity
of accompanying Mrs. Carteret in her daily drives, and left her a
good deal to herself. The loneliness pressed somewhat heavily on
ner spirit ; the outlook was not cheering, and the chance of being
sble to tell her troubles to Dick seemed very remote. Next Sunday

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168

A LIFE INTKRliST.

Jlifi::

he was positively engaged. ;iud tho Suiiclay after he was nob disfiosed
to nieot her, but ho had some j^ood reason ; she could not doubt
Dick.

Having the house to herself, she ventured to open an old piano,
which had been tuned previous to Mrs. Carteret's single dinner-
party, and to i)lay the accompaniment to one or two of th« songs
slie had learned during the previous winter. From this occupation
she was startled by Ellis, who came behind her and said :
*'Tliis is a revelation. I had no idea you could sing."
Marjory started up in dire confusion. "How you frightened
rao ! " she exclaimed, i d st ' \ fa ing him with rlanned eyes, ht'i

1 iud 'tressed to 'uv h •:
'• I see I have, and
I wanted to hear you. vc'.

H'g your pardon. I kept quiet because
Lrc it is sweet and sympathetic. Pray
sing another ballad — I should likt Hear a little more."

" It would be quite impossible," said Marjory, shutting the
piano. *' With the best will in the world I could not."

A look of displeasure clouded his face for a second. " I am very
unfortunate in exciting your distmst," he said. "I assure you,
judicious training would do wonders with your voice. It is not
strong, but it has some excellent qualities. I am a great lover of
music."

" All the more reason why I should not try your patience."

" I did not ask you to sing supposing your singing would charm
me, but because it would give me infinite pleasure to find in you
possibilities of perfection in futui'e. Your future, you see, occupiea
mo a good deal."

"xou are very good tome," said Marjory softly, with graceful
hesitation, leaning against the piano, her fingers playing nervously
on the dark wood ; '* better than I deserve."

*' If you thiiik so," returned Ellis, " why do you fear me 1 "

" I do not fear you," exclaimed Marjory, suddenly conquering
her embarrassment. " I do not fear any one, at least I hope not ;
why should 1 ? "

"That is a *why' very diflficult to answer. If reason always
ruled, we should have fewer inexplicable sensations, rarer instinc-
tive insight, profound calm and extreme dulness ! You are too
sensitive to be always reasonable. Come, Marjory, you have not
welcomed me back ! Ht)w have things gone on since I left ? "

"Just as usual ; Uncle Carteret has been rather disagreeable;"
she gave him her hand as she spoke. He held it with a gentle and
increasing pressure, looking gravely at her.

" May I tell you why you fear me ? " he asked, and went on with-
out wainting for a reply ; " it is because you know 1 live you — you
know it better than I could describe it, and as yet you do not love

me — as yet, sweet Marjory ! The love may come then " lie

stopped abruptly and drew her to him. She tried to extricate her

A MFE IJfTBBEST.

169

«f the house 'b absoii; It is a dull i^rey ufternoon and
)re8ently." He wont across to the bell and nmg. *' You

hatid ; Ellis immediately released her. "Forgive me/* he went on
in an altered voice, " I did not intend to bore you ; I am not always
reasonable either, you see. I s jj)i)Ose we may have tea thout^h the
inistrer.'
will ra. ,

will be I ' kind as to ' pour out,' and I a\ ! tell you all about my
stay at 'eauliou. Tea in the library,' this to the servant who
answer t" the ' ill, "and lit/lit the ^rc, it is damp."

Mar ly felt it would be f(jlly, affectation, to make any difficulty,
I'.ri bo -n were soon s'lt'^ at the tea-table snugly ensconced beside
the fire. Here Eilis completely laid aside the lover's tone, and
talked charmingl} on many subjects till Marjory grew interested
and at ease. First he scored most successfully, observin<4 as he
hainled his comijanion some buttered toast, " I sa^v your brother
Dick yesterday."

"Indeed!" she c.ied, roused at once to eager attention ; "dio
you speak to him ? "

"No ; you must remember he does not knc)w who I am, biu 1
heard of him. That artist protege of Beaulieu, Brand, seems grf .,:,iy
interestod in your — let us say brother, and thinks highly of his
abilities. There is some talk of getting the architect, Jarv^ a
well-know man, to take him up."
" In ^.eed ! I suppose that would be a great help to Dick ? "
" Very great indeed. That Brand is a curious fellow. He has
a history or I am much niisttiken ; at any rate he knows what he is
about as regards matters of art ; he will make the interior of
Beaulieu a gem as to decoration."

" I suppose Dick will write to me about this chance ? "
"Very probably. I am not sure he knows anything of Brand's
move yet, "

"Oh!" cried Marjory, clasping her hands, "how proud, how
delighted I should be if Dick turned out a great architect ; they
all thought him so dull and unenterprising."
" Except i/mi, I suppose ? "

"Indeed," returned Marjory with remor.se, "I was as bad as
any one else ; I disliked and despised him for a long time, till I
came back from school and saw how badly his mother treated him."
" Ha ! a very sound reason for changing your estimate of his in-
tellectual faculties," said Ellis.

Marjory laughed fankly, " That sounds very silly, but, you see,
when 1 began to like him, I began to think him clever."

Ellis looked at her with an expression of amusement. " I fancy
the young man has ability in some directions. If he is wise, how-
ever, he ought to turn contractor. Architects many earn fame,
conti-actors pile up fortunes ; " then he turned the ccmversation to
building in general, and described some of the various styles ho had
seen in his travels, passing from these to other topics, and drawing

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Marjory into discussions which made her almost forgot be was 1 <
lover, so successfully did he divert her thoughts, and time ili
pleasantly.

Uncle and Aunt Carteret with their guest returned and wer-
well pleased to find tea ready.

This spell of undisputed sway, when Mrs. Acland was free fmin
the presence of her step-children and her firstborn, was a halcyoii
time. Every member of the little household felt the benitiii
influence.

Never had Mr. Acland's little dinners been more perfect or the
weekly bills more delightfully small. His accouiplished wife, as
she sat at needlework or walked with her children in the Park, ;i
model of well-dressed, careful refined motherhood, often reflects"!
with sincere self-admiration on her own excellence. Any otlu
woman, she thought, having made so false a start, and having btti
deceived into so beggarly a first marriage, would have gone down aic
down to the streets and the gin palace, whereas her own resolutii
kept her true to herself, and she had managed to reach land at Lis'
Was it terra Jlrma? Well, yes, at present, and the longer k1
rode at anchor the more firm would grow her hold on the heart, tli
spirit, the whole being of her husband. Hr. could not liv.
without her, she must make herself more and more essontiV
to him ; she rather enjoyed doing so. After all, set her fn
from her own son, who was only a legacy of trouble fmii!
a man she despised, and her husband's children, who were usi
less burdens (indeed Marjory was worse, she was an ever-present
enemy, who, in case of difficulties arising, might be dangerous)
set her free from these, and she would be a bona fide g<iod woman.
quite suited to associate with the salt of the earth, indeed, a good
deal of beyond them in intellgence, ready to fulfil her duties, tn
make the lives of those who depended on her smooth and well
ordered, provided they bent to her authority, and ready also to
sacrifice her own ease in order to carry out the system she considered
best for others — and for herself.

The stars in their courses certainly fought on her side a.s
heavenly bodies ought. It was an immense gain the visit of Mar-
jory to her maternal great-uncle. Perhaps the old man might take
a fancy to her and keep her altogether. This, however, was a pos-
sibility not unmixedly agreeable. Mrs. Acland's dislike of her step-
daughter could hardly be satisfied with mere removal under
advantageous circumstances ; she would be better pleased to see her
incur her father's serious displeasure, to know she was placed in
some trying and humiliating situation, from which she could not
escape without her stepmother's aid. Young and inexperienced as
gh^ was, there was about Marjory an instinctive doubt, and uncon-

A LIFK INTEHEHT.

171

scions distrust of Mrs, A eland's fair-Beetning that roused that lady's
Jeiully iiuiuiosity.

Kiirly in Anuunt Mr. Acland, according to the usual habits of
professional L'entility, took his family to the sea-side, and having
seen tiieiu installed, returned to bivouac in his own house, and
,tod"e the perils of house-cleaning during his exits and entrances,
refreshing himself with a weekly visit to hia wife from Friday to

Monday.

The presence of one or two neighbourly families of severe respect-
ibility and considerable social imp(jrtance made this a ])leasant and
prxtitHble holiday to Mrs. Acland, who was extremely anxious to
turm a "circle" of her own which would be a species of buttress
and an advantage to her children.

Mr. Acland greatly enjoyed his visits to Eastbourne. It was
pleasant to turn his back on business, on querulous clients and hot
.lusty courts, for two whole days and nights ; pleasanter still to find
his liandsome, becomingly dressed wife, with their pretty woll-carod-
for children, awaiting him at the station. Then the walk to their
lodging along the parade, with the fresh salt scent of the sea, the
sense of being welcomed and made much of, the placid satisfaction
.if seeing his wife smilingly saluted by Mesdames Brown, Jones and
Robinson, the better-halves of eminent legal or mercantile men, all
ussisted to soothe and gratify him.

Then came a neat and appetising dinner, a stroll on the beach
with the children, their disappearance with nurse when bedtime
iipproached, and finally a quiet confidential hour with his admired
spouse.

"By the way," said Mr. Acland, breaking the silence which had
succeeded an interchange of gossip touching what had happened
since he had been last there, " 1 had a letter from Marjory — I
brought it with me. She says," drawing out his note-book and
turning over its contents, — "she says the Carterets are going to sell
the Priory and are going abroad. She supposes, therefore she must
return to us."

"Let me see it," asked Mrs. Acland, holding out her hand.
"Ah 1 addressed to the ofiice, I see. No doubt she counts on your
keeping the contents to yourself."

" I do not think bo, nor is there anything in it which needs con-
cealment."

" Very likely ; but you must know how systematically she dis-
trusts and opposes me. I regret to say it, but I cannot help seeing
how painfully jealous she is of your afi'ection for me, how gladly
she would sow dissension between us. I would not for worlds
speak or act unjustly to ymir daughter, but the instinct of self-
preservation forces me to warn you, do not let her come between
UB, inv dear husband."

"There is small danger of that, returned Mr. Acland, smiling

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172

A LIFU INTEREST.

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with H proud consinuusntss of power and sn[K)rio/ity on his wite.
•* N<» ono can intorffrr with you, my love, in my estimation ; bin 1
think you credit ]\ljuj( try with more depth tlmn she possesses. Sin
ia headstrong, trouble.some, foolish, but I should say incapable of
scheming."

" So fused to think," said Mrs. Acland slowly, and proceeded to
read Marjory's letter.

'*Very affectionate ini.\et'd," was her observation when she
finished it — " the most alfectictiiate letter you have ever had from
her, I think. I am suro I am the last person to tind fault with any
amount of affection bestowed un you, my dear, but I cannot help
feeling that it is sti.nige, certainly inconsistent, that so warm a
regard for you does not iiiuke her more amiable to your wife."

" Poor Marjory has rather an unfortunate temper, but I think at
heart she is "

"Not grateful 1 I fear she cannot be considered grateful ; you see
here she says, ' The ct)unlry is very pretty,' et cetera^ and goes on
about it ; then she writes, ' I should have enjoy 3d myjelf very
much only Uncle Carteret is very cross and exacting, I never know
whether 1 please him or not, still I should like well enough to go
abroad with them, but I fear there is no chance of this. How happy
I could be with you, dear father, if I thought you loved me and
would let me do things for you. Believe me, I only wish to pleaat
you, and I hope when I come back, which will be, I fancy, soon,
you will sometimes talk to me and let mo walk with you.' "

*'Now, dear," continued Mrs, Acland, folding up the letter, "do
you not see the drift of all this 'i "

" Well, I — I suppose she sees she has been troublesome and
wishes to make amends."

Mrs. Acland looked down aiid smiled. "It is a most painful
and ungrateful task, my dear hus'iaiid, to find fault with your
daughter, to unmask the slight cro^^kedness of her nature, which
renders her so hard to manage, but 1 feel 1 should be false to you if
1 hid my real in)pres.sions, as 1 read this letter 1 see its bearing so
plainly that I am amazad you do no perceive it too. First, ingrati-
tude to Mr. Carteret, who has loaded her with benefits ; then bitter
disaj)pointnieiit becauav- she has evidently been unable to control
her rebelli(Hi8 unmanageable nature, and so failed to ingratiate her-
self with the old couple ; and finally an effort to make all straight
with you^ as she is obliged to return tc your house. Few girls of
eighteen would show such a profound regard for self-interest as she
does."

" Ha I you think so ? You certainly are a close observer of
human nature ; still I do not suppose "

" You are farseeing yourself," interrupted his wife, *' and it is to
me curious that you do not remark that, anxious as she evidently ii
to put herself right with you, she never mentions me, and sheseodi
tho letter to your office, hoping it might escape my eye,"

A UPtS iKTKRES'f.

173

ancy, soon,

•' Slie might have known we were not at homo.**

"She knew no such thing. Cm ynu wonder, Robert, that 1
dread hor return ? She will estrani^e you from me, I know she
will ; " and with a heavy siyh Mrs. Acland leant her fair head
against her husband's shoulder for a monieiit ; the dusk of evening
had gathered over ihem and there were no |)as.sera-by.

" Of that you need not have the slij^litest fear.'' cried Mr. Acland
with unusual energy ; " I will not sutfur any ciiild of mine to make
your life uncomfortable. If Marjory cannot accommodate herself
to the constitution of ray household, why — why she had better
leave it."

There was a pause. Mra. Acland had found her opportunity for
inserting the thin end of the wedge.

"It would pain me infinitely to see your daughter obliged to
leave your house," she said slowly, "but I greatly fear she will
never be happy herself nor allow us to be haj)py while she is in it.
You must see that she is an irreconcileable. George was always
friendly ; indeed, 1 am almost ashamed to say I prefer him to my
own unfortunate boy. Had Marjory been responsive, all would
have been well, but she is my implacable enemy ; I am sure she
would be glad to leave our house."

Mr. Acland listened without committing himself to any opinion.

He v^as not sufficiently modern to have taken in the nineteenth
century notion of girls going forth alone to do battle in life's war-
fare. He heartily wished that his wife and his daughter would live
peaceably together. If they would not, he knew well which must
suffer defeat and exile ; but for the present he would postpone the
evil day of decision, and he closed the discussion by remarking that
they must wait and see how Marjory went on. If indeed she ex-
pressed a wish to leave home, why, he would think about it.
" Meantime, my dear, will you answer her letter for me ? "

"No, no," returned Mrs. Acland, rising from the bench where
they had been sitting ; " Marjory would certainly imagine that I
had prevented your replying. You must do so yourself to-morrow
moruiug before we drive up to Beachy Head. You ought to write
a letter which will show her thfit yo j are alive to her little peculiari-
ties, and that if she expects a father's affection she must show a
daughter's obedience. C'.uie, dear, it is glowing chilly."

'"k-.l

The answer which Marjory received to the outpouring in which
tier perturbed spirit had found vent on the memorable day when
Ellis had asked her to be his wife, may be imagined.

It had been chiefly dictated by Mrs. Acland, and each word was
irell calculated to sting and wound.

She was reminded of her many shortcomings, rebuked for not
uviug secured the regard of her excellent relatives, whu might

174

A LirK INTEREST.

have become valuable friends, affording some relief to a father
already overburde ivd by the claims of a large family ; reproached
for her neglect of iviv admirable 3*;epmother, whose unceasing efforts
to befriend and conciliate her deserved a better return ; also for the
small trickery of addressing her letter to the office ; and tinally
assured that her best way to win the love her father was only wait-
ing to bestow, was lo conduct herselt' amiabl}- and dutifully to the
excellent wonia i who was the comfort of his life.

The passion of grief, anger and despair wliich this epistle roused
in the fiery loving heart of the recipient may be imagined.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DICK M\KKS A MORXING CALL.

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Mak.;ory, however, was not without some comi)ensation to
balance the pain her fathers letter oecasioncHi her.

Next day brought a Jiote from Dir;k, in which he begged her to
meet him on the following Sunday. He had given up all idea of
the engagement he mentioned, as he liad news to tell her which she
would like to hear, and also he expected to leave Langford.

Marjory lost no time in sending a hasty re[)ly, promising to keep
the tryst, and for the rest of the week was in a state of unrest,
hoping that nothing would occur to prevent her meeting her friend
and brother, and looking forward to the relief of reading her
father's letter to him and of opening her heart on this and other
topics.

It had been hard for her to keep silence even with Mrs, Carteret,
who was by no means inclined to receive confidences of a disturbing
nature ; c.nd Ellis would certainly have heard all about it, had not
his declaration sealed her li])s. To complain of home troubles
would only be to furnish him with arguments for her taking refuge
from them with him, and she was vaguely conscious that his eyes,
his touch, the sound of his voice soft and low at her ear when he
came suddenly behind h.er to whisper some remark, produced
a strange and almost unpleasant effect, her heart beat fast, and a
curious fascination seemed to paralyze her will, she could hardly
nelp staying to listen while he chose to speak.

On his part, Ellis carefully abstained from overt love-making ;
any third person might have listened to his conversai ion and be-
lieved he was only a grave, kind friend. But for all that, Marjory
felt that he watched her, and constantly cared for her, stavinj^ off

A LIFE INTEREST,

176

little unplcftsantnesst^y and smoothing her way with amazing

thoughtfulaess and iiigenuity.

^t;u■j^lry grew more a: ease ; she would like him so much if he
jihvays kept up this tone ; perhaps he might change his mind about
Tvanting to marry her. It was such an extraordinary fancy for a
man like him — a man so much older than herself coo.

There was, however, no reason why she should not speak of Dick
to him, and so she ventured to broach the subject as they sat
virtually tete-a-tete in the drawing-room after dinner, while Mr.
and Mrs. Carteret, the rectcjr and Miss Danvers were enjoying i
quiet rubber. Marjory had been thinking deeply over her needle-
work, picturing all that Dick might possibly have to tell her ; Ellis
was reading 'The Fortnightly." and looking up suddenly cun-rht
lier eyes. "Well ? " he said, drawing his chair a '"ttle nearer.

" Yes," she said smiling, "I wanted to speak to you, I must
speak ; I have had a note from Dick ; he wants to see me on Sun-
day, and he is gointj away ; 1 suppose with the architect you told
ine about. Oh ! 1 do hope nothing will happen to prevent me."

"No, we must manage too well for that," returned Ellis, laying
flown his magazine.

" Miss Danvers is going on Saturday," said Marjory dolefully.

"No matter; if there is any difficulty you had better tell Mrs.
Carteret of your appointment."

" So I intend. I havo no idea of making a secret about meeting
dear old Dick; only he does not care to come here. Suppose the
weather is bad ? "

"Then he must write."

"Then he is going away socm and I may not see him for years.
Of course brothers must go away, one does not expect to see
much of them after they grow up, but I should like to bid him
good-bye."

" Certainly ; we must hope the best, and if the weather changes,
why, 1 will see what is to be done." There was a pause, then Ellis
resumed, "I found the tir.st volume of Buckle's ' History of Civil-
ization ' on the library table just before dinner ; who was reading it
-Mr. Carteret r'

"No, I was ; and wheii 1 hoard the bell I jumped up in a hurry
aiui quite forgot to put it in its place : I had better go and do so at
once If Uncle Carteret tinds it, he will be vexed."

" No, do not trouble yourself ; / put it in its place, and I put a
mark where the book was open. Tell me, does it interest you i "

" Yes, greatly. Why 'i do you think 1 cann(;t understand it? "

"No I If you care to read it, you understand it, I presume ; but
it is rather a tough book for so yoiuig a reader."

" I like tough books sometimes," said Marjory looking down ;
"they seeuA to brace one up like walking across a breezy C(»nnaoi\.
and they comfort me in an odd sort of way more than novels, mu . i.

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176

A LIFE INTEREST.

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much more than religious books, wliich, indeed, I never couid
read."

" Ah I " said Ellis, a long-drawn reflective "ah." ** And do poli-
ties come within the range of your sympathies ? "

" I suppose you are amused at the idea of my wading out of my
depth," said Marjory good-humouredly. She had never answered
Ellis sharply siuco she knew he loved her or fancied he loved her.
'* I do not know about politics, I do not understand them in the
least ; they are always going on, you see. When politics have
grcv'ii cold and turned to history, people can write about them and
explain them, but while they are boiling and bubbling, it must take
a strong intellect to comprehend the mixture. To men who can see
through the puzzle, polities must be intensely interesting ! "

" You are a shrewd philosopher for eighteen, Marjory. You
allow me to call you Marjory, do you not ? "

" Yes, if you like," with a sigh and ablush.

Ellis looked at her for an instant, then, as if for the sake of
speaking, he said lazily, " And so if you ^^ere a man, you would go
in for a political career ? As a woman, what is your ambition ? "

" I have none," with another sigh.

*' I can hardly believe that. A bright keen intellic(ence like yours
is rarely without ambition. What is your scheme ot" life ? All
thinking creatures have schemes of life more or less distinct ; yours
naturally has the deepest interest for me ; " and he looked at her.

" I do not think I have any. I do not care for fine dress or jewels
or a grand house, though I like pretty things ; but I do want to be
happy, and not quite useless. I should like to travel, to — in short.
1 scaicely know what I want, except to be different from what Tarn."
A deeper sigh and a d'^vncast look emphasized the sentence.

"For ditferent circumstances, perhaps, but I cannot echo your
wish to be different from what you are."

Jlarjory made no reply, and Ellis, turning the conversation, talked
lightly and pleasantly till the whist party broke up ; and Marjory's
last waking thoughts were, " How nice he can be I how much he
knows about everything ; I wonder he cares about me I and 1 wonder
I do not care about him ! If he had not this unpleasant notion of a
secret marriage, I think I would marry him ; though it would be
rather awful to be really married to Mr. Ellis, and I am sure he
would get tired of me. "

Sunday dawned cold and dark and dreary, with low-lying clouda

and a steady down-]X)ur of rain ; poor Marjory was fain to confess

that it was imjMJssible to keep a woodland tryst in such weather.

She was very disconsolate and distressed, and even drew down a

:entle reprimand upon her head fjom Aunt Carteret for making

A LIFE IN'TKREST.

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mistakes and leaving out words Avheii reading tJio psalms and lossonB,
B8 going to church was not to be thought of.

After luncheon the party had assembled in the drav. in?-ronTn,
wliere a bright wood tire was c.Hckliii^. and Mips iJanver;- {\\\\<> h-.id
yielded to her friends' entreaties not to leave the?ii till Tnusda} ) wavS
detailing with much exactness the circumst.anceL-j attending the pur-
chase of a remarkable engraved emerald by her dear friend that
delightful old Duca di San Marina, when she suddenly jiaused, and
putting her lorgnette to her eyes, exclaimed, " Why, Mrs. Carteret,
here is some enterprising visitor braving the elements to pay his
respects to you."

" He must be a lunatic ! " exclaimed Mr. Carteret.

** Perhaps it is Mr. Berry," suggested Mrs, Carteret.

'* He certainly would not come over on foot from Gilston," said
Ellis, rising to look out of the window. Marjory offered no sugges-
tion, but flushed up and waited breathlessly for the result. Pra-
aently the door opened and Mr. Cranston was announced.

Marjory darted to meet him with outstretched hands, eager to
save him so far as she could from the ordeal of advancing alone in
face of so many strangers.

" I am 50 delighted you have come ! I never expected you," she
cried. "Dear Mrs. Carteret, this is my brother, Dick Cranston."

Dick, however, did not seem to need either encouragement or
support, ho coloured slightly through his embnnvned skin, but
bowed with great composure and said, " I should not have taken
the liberty of calling but that I leave this neighbourhood to-morrow,
and shall have no other char»ce of seeing Marjory again."

" I am very happy to see you," murmured Mrs. Carteret, rather
bewildered.

" My uncle, Mr. Carteret," resumed Marjory %\ ith a slig'jt gesture
towards that potentate, her heart beating with pleasure and enibai-
rassment. How was she to get Dick away from among these poojde ?
and they could not possibly talk before them. Here Ellis cfui^o
forward, and oflfering his hand, observed, '* We have met before,
Mr. Cranston."

" Yes., I saw you at Beaulieu," returned Dick with his pleasant
frank smile.

Marjory felt she could have hugged Ellio for this friendly move ;
it emboldened her to say, " May I take Dick into the library, Aunt
Carteret ? I want to hear all his news."

"By all means," returned Mrs. Carteret; and Marjorj' with a
quick "Come then," led the way to the scene of her labours*.

" You really are a dear good boy to beard all these lions to see
me. It must have been an effort," she exclaimed, seating heiself
at the writing-table aiid pointing to a large easy chair, which Dick
drew forward.

" No, I did not much mind ; I should not have intruded without
(12)

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178

A LIFE IXTRni'FT.

a good reason ; but I lia<l a good one. 1 could not have gone awav
without seeing you, ■Marge, though I was scarcely sure you would
like me to conio."

" Like you to come I Why, Dick, I was ready to cry my eyi'is
out when I saw the horrid rain, and I knew I could not go and meor

you."

Dick smiled well pleased. " You are fonder of me than you used
to be, Marge."

" And you are very ill-natured to remind me how unkind and
nasty T used to be ; you know I love you nearly as well as I love
po(jr CJcorge, so do not be disagreeable. Now go on and tell nie
everj thinff, every single thing." She leant her elbows on the table
and rested her chin on her hands, fixing her earnest eyes on his
face.

" I sometimes think you are a couple of quite different girls in
one, Marge ; you are sc^metimes so much older and more womanly,
and then again you are just the same sharp, saucy puss you were
in the schoolroc»m at home."

"Ah ! yes, I feel years older and graver, more troubled about
the future, and — and changed in every way ; " Marjory's varying
fa' c grew gravu and dreamy, while a sudden sigh heaved her bosom.
"But never mind me, tell me all about yourself."

After a brief pause, during which Dick sat very still with down-
cast eyes, he began his stoiy of the fortnight which had passed since
they had met. The chief event was a proposal from the architect to
take Iiim as clerk of the works to a building which was being erected
from Mr. Jervis's designs near Hull. The original clerk of tlu;
works had resigned, as he wanted to join a brother in Australia, and
Mr. Jervis at once spoke to Brand on the subject. *' This is a stej)
more in tlio direction of being a contractor than an architect," con-
tinued Dick, "and I should much prefer the latter, but you see I
must live, and apprentices earn no wages, or next to none. I have
very fair pay as clerk of the works, and may get opportunities of
improving my architectural knowledge ; anyway, T will be amon^
stones and mortar, for which I have always had a passion as you
know, and I see my way to independence, that is the great point."

"Yes, indeed, Dick. It seems like yesterday, that wild March
evening when I came back from school ::.nd you walked in all covered
with dust. You had just met your friend thu mason."

"Ay, I think you brought me luck, Marp ; and then when 1
.saw you again I met Brand. That was the best of all, not that I
thiui'- much of luck. The grand th'.i^^ is .o believe in oreself and
to ■..( rk with a will."

" I v. I'/u i coaV work for myseli," said Marjory ruefully ; "you
are sure !o get on, you will be a great rich man one dav, wliile
Oe-.r<,evt'd i —"

•' V\ fcli, we will At'-'k toge^^^bti" anyhow. Nov; tell me your news, '

A LIFE INTERi:aT.

179

" I have nothing good to tell. Uncle Carteret is abou*; to sell
this place or has sold it ; they are going abroad, and I am to bo sent
back to Falkland Terrace, Bow pleasant that will be you may judge
from this letter ; " and she drew the obnoxious epistle from her
pocket.

Dick read it in silence. "It is harsh enough," he said, returning
it ; "' but it is not your father's composition."

" I know that, though it does not mend matters, Dick, if I go
away to be a housemaid. I will not stay at home. I cannot live in
the house with your mother."

" I believe it ; but -what can you do. Marge ? girls cannot battle
with the worla like men. Can you not persuade Mr. and Mrs.
Carteret to keep you ? "

" 1 have asked Mr. Carteret and he refused ; I cannot humble
myself a second time."

" There must be lots of nch childless old people. Marge, who
would be glad to have you to read to them or write for them ; you
have a nice voice and you understand what you are reading about,"
said Dick earnestly, quite absorbed in the consideration of Marjoiy's
future. " I wish I knew you were well employed and happy. Do
you know, I often he awake at night thinking of you and feeling
sorry and ashamed that my mother should have struck in and spoiled
your life. Look here, Marge, this is my address for the next throe
months, you must promise to vvrite to me everything ; and more, if
you are in any trouble send for me. I'll come and help you cout
what it may. You must promise. Marge." He held out his hand
and she put hers into it.

"I do promise, that is, if you are not too far away. But I do
not think I shall get into any trouble at least not so bad as to want
more than a little advice. You will write to me often, will you
not ? "

" I will. You know, as George, your real brother, is so far awa^
I must take his place."

" My real brother ! Are you not my brother too ? "

" Of course we shall always be like brothei- and sister, in our own
minds, but I believe really we are no relations."

" Ah ! " cried Marjory, " that is what INIr. Ellis says."

" Mr, Ellis ! who is he ? the fellow who shook hands with we in
the drawing-room?" Marjory nodded. "Do you tell all your
aflUirs to him f "

" No, not all. But it is a comfort to talk to some one sometimes.
He is really very kind to me ; and, Dick, he is rather a big man in
his way, he knows so much, too, it is astonishing."

''Yes, he looks as if lie were some one," returned Dick slowly,
and then silence fell upon them. Marjory felt uneasy, Dick looked
JO <j;rave, almost stern, and she was conscious of having colour^'d
Hid hesitated when she spoke of Ellis. She would have liked to

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180

A LIFE INTEREST.

tell Dick everything, but that was (juit'.- iiopossible ; she wanted to
break the oppressive silence but no words would como, so she sat,
feeling and looldiig terribly consci(>us.

At last Dick said abruptly, " I do not like his face ; I mean his
expression.'

"Nor did T," returned Marjory, relieved to be able to speak.

" that is at first ; now that I know him better, he seems " she

stopped.

" Quite handsome, I suppose," put in Dick with some sarcasm.
*' No," returned Marjory steadily. " But he is the only creature
here that has been really friendly and sympathetic, and I am
obliged to him."

" That is natural enough," said Dick in an altered tone. " Well,
Marge, you see, that is, you will not think mo a auspicious brute or
a bore if I say it would be better not to have too much of his kind
iioss or sympathy ? You are a nice little thing."

" I am much obliged to you, but I am not so very little," this
with dignity.

" Yes, yes ! I daresay, Marge, I am making a fool of myself, hut
you see there's very little company or anything going on, and he
might find it very })leasant to sympathize with you to a large
amount ; and you — you might miss his sympathy afterwards, and 1
can't bear to thij^.k of your being grieved, Marge, that is why I ven-
tured " he hesitated and broke down.

Marjory, with crimson cheeks and flashing e3'es, made quick reply,
"I understand what you want to say quite well ; you mean to say
that I am an insignificant frivolous girl, who will allow a man of higher
position than myself to make an hour's amusement out of my vanity
and leave me lamenting. But you art mistaken. Mr. Ellis is my
kinsman, he says so himself ; he is a rnan I never covld take a fancy
to, and to do hiiu justice he has not the faintest idea of finding a
j)aasing amusement in flirting with me; he is as grave as — as a
judge when he talks to me, and he treats me with more respect
than you do." Here Marjory's fiery glances were dimmed with
tears ; " T did not think you could talk such nonsense, Dick, such
unkind nonsense."

" You must not be angry with me," cried Dick, by no means con-
vinced, but eager to make friends ; " I am only a clumsy fellow,
and I am too anxious abr.ut you to stop and think whether I
should offend you or not. Don't cry, Marjory, this is the last talk
we shall have together for many a day ; don't (quarrel with me, like
a good girl ; you are the only cre.iture in the world I have to care
about."

"Oh ! I daresay you did not mean half you said," drying her eyes,
" but you have wounded me, and al' for nothing. I shall be leaving
this soon, and then I shall never see Mr. Ellis again ; nor do I care
much, though I am grateful to him and always will be ; but of course

A LIFE INTEHEST.

181

I don't care for him as I do for you. There I do not let us say any
more on the subject ; you can be very nice when you like, so do not
be tiresome."

Dick looked at her wistfully for a minute, his heart too full of one
Hubject to take up another easily.

" When do you stare ? " asked Marjory, generously helping him.

"The day after to-morrow."

*' How can Mr. Prand spare you ? "

*' Well, the decorations we were working at together are all
planned out and nearly finished ; at any rate he would not let me
lose a chance ; but I cannot tell you how much I dislike leaving him,
he has been so wonderfully kind to me ; then I feel simiehow that
he will miss me greatly, and his health is very bad ; I fancy he has
taken a great deal cut of himself."

" He looks ill, or looked ill the evening I saw him. He must have
been handsome once," said Marjory retlectively.

'' He is still at times, and he is a wonderfully pleasant companion,
it is a treat to hear him talk when he is in the mood," said Dick.
'•Then he has such wonderful manners. If you saw him talking to
Lord Beaulieu's sister, he is like a prince talking to a queen ; and
she never passes him anywhere, she always stops to speak with him,
and the baby laughs and holds out its arms to him. I s' uii-d like to
know his history. He has been in good society, as it u- j.i'iel, some
time or other."

" Yet Mrs. Acland spoke as if he had been a bad man," observed
Marjory.

" He is not one now, at any rate ; it does me good in many ways
U) be with him."

"Mrs. Maynard is beautiful and charming," murmured Marjory.

" She is a lovely woman ! It is a pleasure to look at her," cried
Dick enthusiastically. " Wliat a gift beauty is I and her voice is so
sweet ! she often speaks to me. One day she said she was sure I
was not in my natural place among workmen."

" And what did yi>u say ? " asked Marjory, deeply interested.

" Oh, I think I said, I hoped t(> do my work as well as if it were
natural to me."

*' That was as much as to say it was7iot natural to you."

"Then their talk watidered to Oeorge and the chances of his
return within the year. At last it was time to part.

" There is one thing I must impress on you, Marge, never men-
tion that you have seen or heard anything of Brand. He particularly
wishes our friendship to be kept dark."

"And of yourself?"

" What you like. I wrote to old Cross last week and told him
what I am about. 1 gave him to understand he was at liberty to
give the letter to Mr. Acland, so you can say what you like. Now I
must leave you, and I ha«e having to .say good-bye. You'll write to

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182

A LIFE INTEREST.

me, Margo ? Tell nie everything, and you shall hear of my doings
if you care."

" If I care I of course I do. I wish you were not going, dear
Dick, I am awfully lonely ; " her voice broke, and Bhe clasped his
arm, lifting her face to his aa if seeking a brotherly caress.

" God bless you, Marge, good-bye ! " said Dick with much feeling
in his deep rich tones, and, stooping, he kissed lier gently on the
brow. The next moment she was alone.

" You have been spoiling your eyes again," Ellis contrived to say
under cover of an argument between Mr. Carteret, his wife and IMiss
Danvers that evening after dinner. " Had y(»ung Canston anytiniig
tragic to communicate ? "

" No ; but 1 shall not see him for ever so long, and I shall have
no one at home ! "

" And you need not stay at home if you do not like it. Marjoiy.
I restrain myself for teasing you with the reiteration of my ho})esaiKl
wishes, but do not forget 1 am waiting your decision all the same,
and 1 love you with all my heart and soul ! "

• • • • • ■

About a fortnight after this interview, Mr. Cs^rteret gave tlie
order to move ; and Marjory was obliged to announce her rotuni
home for the following week. The house from this time became the
h'dv.'jt of various myrmidons of the house agent, who made inven-
torie: , packed up books and various articles selected for keepins[,
and infested the rooms.

Ellis, who had been more than once in town in the interim, was
to leave for Paris, where he had succeeded in obtaining the appoint-
ment of attache. Marjory observed that Mr. Carteret, who seemed
in excellent spirJn, was remarkably polite and friendly with his
kinsman. She gai-hered, t,oo, that the operation of cutting off the
entail in order to sell the property had been accomplished, and the
proceeds settled on the heir.

Til is was the business v/hich had brought Ellis to Langford Priory
and kept him there so long. It was a delicate affair to manage, and
cost him both time and trouble. He was proud of his success, hut
another interest had come to mingle itself in his life, or rather a
passion had seized him with unaccountable force.

Had it ever been foretold to Ellis that he would lose his head
about an unformed, inexperienced school-girl, he would have laug!i«d
the prophet to scorn. He wondered at himself, for he never bcfite
liad felt inclined to sacrifice any of his projects or ambitions to a
woman ; even now, though ready to run certain risks, he was mure
disposed to grasp all he wanted by a bold yet subtle scheme than tu
renounce an iota of his future plans. He was, as he boasted, master
of himself, but not to the point of renunciation ; rather he held his
own will in check the better to concentrate liis forces and carry out
the design he had deliberately plotted.

A LIFE INTEREST.

183

lUtenra, was

Circumstances were peculiirly favouiMWle, and could he but over-
cuDie Marjory's provoking distrrst, a distrust which addtMl an exiia-
ordiiiaiy attraction to the fresh nitcllijient, sweetness of this young
recluse, he saw his way to some years of delicious conipanionsiiip,
which would leave him free enough, yet not cost her anything
beyond temporary seclusion. What a pity it was that women .shuuld
clamour for equal rights and make tiieiuselves inttilerable burdens.
A wife snb rosa^ with all the charm of illegitiuiate seeresy abnut her,
w(mld be quite fascinating ; while some unceremonious form more
or less binding ought to be quite encmgh to satisfy her scrujdes and
secure her self-respect.

The day before Ellis was to leave the I'riory, Marjory walked
over to Dene Court to bid farewell to the friendly heiress and her
niousc-lik»! little Uiothor. It was a pleasant visit and cheered the
ynung secretary not a little.

Returning, she was not altt^gether surprised to overtake Kllis
loiteiing at a bend in the road where a path struck off through an
angle of the Beaulieu woods and shortened the distance to the
Priory.

" 1 have been on thorns for the last (juarter of an hour lost 1
should niis.s you," he said. " This is my last chance of seeing you
alone for the present, and you need not walk so fast ! "

" Ah I Mr. Ellis," beg;in .Marjory c; gerly, and then stopped short.
" Why do 3'ou check your impulse Ia) speak to me out of the ful-
ness of your heart ? I think I deserve your confidence."

" You know why," returned Marjory, determined to be brave and
candid. " You have been so good as to care for mo, and — and I am
always afraid of misleading you. It is not worth your while to risk
anytliing for mo, and I will not risk anything for you. You are
going to Paris, where you will be busy and see nice people ; in a
little wliile you will wonder you ever troubled about me."

" You think so ? " and Ellis laughed a somewliat harsh laugh. " 1
almost wish 1 could ! No, Marjory, 1 am not going to let yi>u sli[>
from me ; I have not quite matured my plans, but, J shall see y«ju in
London before long, as I shfill have leave of absence for some weeks,
and then 1 shall seek you in your father's house."

" I hope you will not, IMr. Ellis ; Mrs. Acland would be sure to
make mischief of your visit."

" Do you not think me capable of out-manoeuvering Mrs. Acland '.
If 1 come, shall you be glad to see me ? "

"Oh 1 I shall indeed ! A friendly face will be something delight-
ful in that house," cried ]\Iarjory with an irre[irc>5sible hurst of
feeling.

"If you dread your stepmother so much, why are you reluctant,
to exchange her tyranny for my protection i "

" Well, you see," hesitating a little, " I am not hiorricJ. lo uer,
Mr. EUia."

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184

A LIFE INTEREST.

He laughed : " I understand, you cautious little witch. Perhaps
after a wuok or two of home life you nmy take a different view.
Believe ni", I could make existence very pleasant for you. Tell rne,
ia your c' "f (ihjcction the concealment that must shroud the firat
year or two i uur niarriai^e ?"

*'ltis,"a i J Marjory frankly. "But I must be truthful, and,
indeed, 1 d > not love you, Mr. Ellis, though I like you and am grate
ful to you. "

Ellis di.l not reply for a few minutes and then began to speak of
llic iuMiy pleasures a life with him would offer, even during the
time tiiat must elapse before he could make their union public.
Soon — too soon, he thought — they came to the edge of the Prior)-
grounds. Ms'.rjory paused.

" It must be good-bye then," said Ellis ; "to-morrow we shall be
en evidcn.ee." lie took her hand in both his, looking earnestly into
her eyes, "You do not care, eh ? You heartless girl," smiling and
kissing the hand he held, " you do not dream how hard it is to bo
satistiod with tJiis when I long for a parting kiss from that sweet
inouth ! You need not start and struggle to get away ; nothiiig
would tempt me to offend you. Some day, when you are my wife,
you will wonder you ever refused me."

"Mo, Mr. Ellis, I never shall," cried Marjory, blushing and
trembling as she slipped away her hand and fled rapidly to the house.

" iShe is not quite so indifJ'erent as she thinks," murmured V^H^,
following slowly ; " time and determination will win at last."

CHAPTER XIX.

((

BREAKING UP.

»i

Back again in Falkland Terrace ! How strange, yet painfully
familiar it seemed.

The three or four months which had elapsed since she left it were
as so many ages to Marjory ; and measured by the change they had
wrought in her — the sobering, ripening eftect they had produced—
were, in truth, e(iual to years. She was surprised to find how much
she missed Ellis during the short time which intervened between
his departure and her own. She felt keenly that his intervention
had often saved her from the irritating worry of Uncle Carteret,
That distinguished dilettante was, however, so pleased to exchange
his country place for hard cash, that at the last he grew somewhat
gracious, and even bestowed upon Marjory some ancient boob,
" Telemachus," bound in calf, a stray volume or two of " RoUia's

▲ LIFE INTEREST.

185

Ancient History." a copy of " Childo Harold," minus a few pages,
nibbled l)y mice, and " Younuj's Nii^dit Thoughts." He also assured
his grand-niece that he was glad he had been of u.se to her — that no
doubt her residence with him would prove a mental stimulus which
might help her to resist the bonnicois influence of her ordinary
surroundings.

Mrs. Carteret was very kind. She said she shoidd n)is8 Marjory's
pleasant reading aloud, and that she had been an agreeable and
well-bred inmate ; finally she bestowed on her a portantnuKiie with
some bright new sovereigns in its recesses. Poor Marjory was
almost ashamed of herself for the solid comfort she felt in the pos-
session of those bright gold pieces, but she knew she was going back
to penury and prison, and money is always a powerful friend.

Uncle and Aunt Carteret had decided to drive to the county town,
where the mayor and the authorities who managed the museum had
invited the former to partake of luncheon and inspect the room set
;ii);irt for the reception of his splendid gift. Tlience they were to
start for London, and Marjoiy, accompanied by Mrs. Carteret's
maid, was to join the train when it stopped at Market Gilston, with
all the impedimenta of the travellers.

As on the occasion of their arrival, a heavy, unexpected shower
descended as they drove to the station, and as she had thoughtlessly
packed up her rain cloak, her thin dress and light jacket were soon
wet through. No one noticed her condition, as the sympathetic
Virginie went into a second-class carriage, so by the time Marjory,
having parted with her relatives at Paddington, had rumbled in a
slow four-wheeler all the weary way to Falkland Terrace, she was
flushed and shivering, and could hardly keep her teeth from chat-
tering, with a strange feeling of cold, which yet did not prevent her
feeling feverish.

Mr. and Mrs. Acland were just going to dinner when she arrived,
and putting off her hat in the study, she joined them at once.

** We were beginning to wonder what had become of you, Mar-
jory," said Mrs. Acland graciously, after greetings and inquiries
had been exchanged. "But I told your father, that travelling
with such staid people as Mr. ard Mrs. Carteret, ho might be sure
you would be well looked after."

Marjory smiled to her father, and answered pleasantly, while she
said to herself, " Perhaps Mrs. Acland is going to be kinder ; if so,
I will try and stay a little with my father and get him to notice and
to know me, before I go away to seek my fortune "

"I think," remarked Mr. Acland, " I think Marjory has grown
since she was away, and she has quite a colour ! "

*' She is looking very well indeed ! " said his wife.

" I should think I have a colour," cried Marjory laughing, and
putting her hands to her cheeks. " I got a wetting to-day, and
fear I have taken cold, for I am burning and shivering at once."

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33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M580

(716) 872-4503

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186

A LIFE INTEREST.

'* That is a pity, direct y you come home too ! You had better
go to bed early, and have some gruel," said Mrs. Acland. " It
would be very unfortunate if you were laid up, supposing Mr.
Carteret were to consent to take you abroad. 1 intend to tall on
Mrs. Carteret, and see what can be done in the matter."

" You may save yourself the trouble I am sure, / tried in vain.'

" Why?" asked Mrs. Acland facetiously. " How was it that so
charming a girl as you are, failed to fascinate the old gentleman?"

" Fascinating ! Me ? " exclaimed Marjory, perceiving the under-
tone of sarcasm, but determined not to show she did. *' It would
take far greater powers of fascination than I pos.ses8 to fascinate
Uncle Carteret ; besides, he never held out any hoi)e that he would
keep me longer than while he wanted me in the country. He
scarcely seemed pleased with what I did, and I really did my best."

" Come now, Marjory, tell the truth ; did you never lose your
temper and aive saucy answers ?" asked Mrs. Acland, with a smile
which stung her stepdaughter. She retained her composure, how-
ever, though she was trembling with the fever that was gaining
upon her.

" I think I only answered him sharply once, and that was when
he said something disagreeable about my father not caring for me
and my mother being of higher birth ; then I stood up for my own
people, you may be sure ; of course I know nothing of the family
iiistory." Having dealt this blow, Marjory paused abruptly.

Mrs. Acland looked at her, positively startled. Some ren)arkaLle
change had taken place in this provoking girl. Formally she \va.s
merely a passionate, insubordinate child whose efforts at resistance
only tightened her chains, now she had suddenly reappeared,
*' clothed" with a tone of well-bred self-possessi(jn, and "in her
right mind " as to her use of possible facts ; this was a dangerous
antagonist, to be relegated as soon as possible to a distance.

Mr. Acland was, however, a good deal agitated.

" Tliis is a most unwarrantable assertion on the part of Jlr.
Carteret," he said, "and 1 shall call him to account for it ; I am imr
aware that I have failed in any duty to my children. I shcjuld be
inhuman if 1 preferred the younger to the elder, or the elder to liie
younger. Impartiality is my aim, and I think, Marjory, you mu.^r
be aware that I have given you every advantage in'my power, wiih
justice to others — with justice to others."

" I am sure you always intend to be kind," returned Marjory in
a low tone.

Mrs. Acland marked the reservation, but kept silence.

"I shall seek an interview with Mr. Carteret, and demand an
explanation of his words," reiterated Mr. Acland ponpously.

"You will make him very, very angry, but it can't be helped.
Do you know I feel so ill and giddy, I shall ju.st go to bed" She
rose, glad to escape to the silence and darkness of her own room.

A LIFE INTEREST.

187

luwii loiiiu.

"Never had the sordid discomfort of that room seemed so niisoraMe.

At the Priory her chamber was not hixurinua. The furniture
was old-fashioned, the hangings faded, but all was clean, neat and
pleasant to the eye, while the outlook over the Hower garden w.is
delightful. Here, the sloping roof only allowed her to stand
upright in the centre ; an iron bedstead of the commonest descrip-
tion, covered with that abomination, a coloured counterpane, a
painted washstand, the paint worn off in patches, a much darned
square of carpet, and a glass which required a large amount of paper
stuffed between the frame and the supports to prevent its present-
ing the wooden back to those who would fain look at tiioir own
image. The window was innocent of curtains ; indeed there wivs
no means of fastening them to a window in the roof.

It was not so much the actual discomfort as the extreme ugliness
which helped to depress Marjory till she could not restrain her
tears. Was she going to be ill in that horrible room ? Jf ««>, she
must get well the best way she could ; she would have little atten-
tion, and that grudgingly given.

She made no attempt to unpack ; indeed, one unsteady chest of
drawers and a row of hooks on the wall was all the accommodation
offered for bestowing her increased possessions, so Marjory got into
bed as fast as she could, thankful to put out the light and lay her
head on the pillow.

But sleep was far from her eyes. Presently she heanl some one
aacending the garret-stair. Her door was opened and the voice of
" Cookie " exclaimed ;

"Eh ! in bed already ! I've brought you a basin of gruel, Miss
Marjory. Have you any matches ? "

" I got into bed without thinking of them."

" Ah, well, there'll be some in the girl's room. I'll get them ! "
Sounds of groping were heard, and cook returned with a light.

How glad Marjory was to see her broad strong face ; she could
have hugged her. "Oh, thank you, Cookie, dear I It is so good
tif you to come up all this way."

" I wanted to see ycu, miss ; it seems long since
There, sup it up. It's nice and hot and sweet ;
shreds of lemon peel to give it ft flavour."

*'I am sure it is very good ; sit down by me, Cookie
think I can hold the basin steady."

" Eh ! but you are all of a tremble ; stay, I'll put a .shawl round
you, your hands is burning. How did you take cold ?"

Marjory told her.

" Ah ! there is nothing worse than sitting in wet clothes. I
remember my eldest sister's daughter, a bit of a girl just your age,
Bat in wet things, took a bad cold, and just went out like the snutl
of a candle. Can't ye sup the gniel ? T kii-'\\ 1 m;'. if ii .u; .^mot)th
assilk."

you was away.
I put in some

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188

A LIFE INTEREST.

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"Is is an nice as nice can be, but I cannot swallow it. It seems
quite impossible I Stay a little witli me, and I shall get to slewp;
a good night's rest will make me quite right."

" Lie down then and I'll tuck you up ; you'll not be fit to leave
your bed to morrow. Well, I suppose you have had fine times in
the country. It's dreary work coming back here to a garret lik«
this."

'* Yes, it was very pleasant at Langford Priory — quiet enough—
but there were books and flowers and beautiful walks."

" And no grand parties ? " asked cook, dissatisfied. ** I thought
you would have big dinners every other day. Two soups, two
fishes, entrees, roasts, iced pudding, and all that. I thought maybe
you'd bring me back a notion or twc ; for between you and me my
hand is getting ' out ' here,''

" We had no parties of that kind. I was at one dance ; it was
delightful. I should like to go to one every night ; at least I did
think so. At this moment I don't feel to care for anything. 1 am
all over aches and pains, and so— so cold."

*' You want a hot bottle to your feet ; I'll get one for you. It's
a pity you can't take the gruel ; and have you any word of Mr.
Cranston ? "

*' Yes, I have seen him. He is well, and doing well ; he is an
architect, or going to be an architect ; that is a man who builds
beautiful houses, and churches, and things. He was
for a great nobleman."

*' I knew he'd do well ! " cried cook triumphantly,
made of the stufi' that fails : he'll be a great man yet.
has just been an 'owling wilderness since you and the young gentle-
men left. I'm thinking c»f leaving myself."

*'0h. Cookie!" murmured Marjory, who felt the good-natured
woman's talk a little ()ver[:o.vering.

" Yes, I don't feei as how I can stay. It's not a bad place, nor
IS your step-ma a bad mistress. She's orderly and economical, but
she's not stingy by no manner o' means, and she knows how to
treat a good servant ; but somehow I never did take to her, and I
say she hacted shameful to her own boy ! A tine handsome fellow
any mother might be proud of ! She ain't fond of yon^ Miss Mar-
jory, any one can see that with half an eye, a)id she don't make
things pleasant for you ; at any rate I could forgive her better, for

you ain't her own, but Mr. D.ck — such a real gentleman Well,

I'll not stop here keeping you awake. I'll just get you a hot bottle
and a box of matches. " She took up the rejected gruel and do-

Earted, soon returning, somewhat breathless, with the promised hot
ottle, which she put to her patient's feet, re-tucking her up with
great care. " There now, the candle and matches are on ^he chair
beside you, and I'll come and look after you myself to-n\orrow."
Marjory scarce heard what she said ; she fell heavily asleep for s

doing work

" He isn't
The house

A LIFE INTEREST

189

short time and then woko suddenly, palpitating with a vague terror,
of she knew not what.

It was a horrible night : she only fell asleep to dream, and wake
to vivid consciousness of )min and distress. In her dreams she was
;,'enerally Hying wildly from Ellis, who pursued her with the expres-
sion of cold unflinching cruelty she remembered in his face when
she had seen him boat his dog, and he was always on the point of
overtaking her, with the oljject of hurling her down a deep preci-
pice, along the top of whicii she was running.

But morning came at last, .and then the housemaid, who was sent
to inquire what kept Miss Acland, brought so bad an account of her
that Mrs. Acland herself ascended to the upper chamber, where
Marjory tossed and turned, seeking in vain for a position where she
might be at ease.

*' You are very seriously unwell ! " said Mrs. Acland in a tone of
just displeasure. "It was unspeakably imprudent of you to leave
yourself without a wrap in uncertain weather."

"It was not uncertain. It had been fine all the morning, some
heavy clouds cauie up just as we were leaving and then drenched us
before we got to the station."

" There is all the danger of its turning to something infectious,
and then we shall have the expense of sending the children out of
the house, to say nothing of a doctor's bill, for you mnnt see the
doctor," pursued Mrs. Acland.

" You cannot bring the doctor here," murmured Marjory, raising
herself for an instant, to glance round the room.

"No, of course not I It would never do to drag Dr. Weils up
this height, you must come down to the spare room."

"There was an expressive silence, then Marjory said with tn
effort, " 1 don't feel as if I could stand or walk."

"Then you must be wrapped up and carried," returned Mrs.
Acland, with decision. "And 1 shall see about it at once. I know
the bed is aired, for I make Elizabeth sleep there occasionally."

Marjory did not reply, she was wishing her step-mother had dele-
gated the task of keeping the bed aired to her, instead of Elizabeth,
a little slavey, whose labours were divided between the kitchen and
the nursery.

She was quite willing, however, that she should be found by the
family doctor installed in the sficred spare room. She did not wish
that any slur should be cast on her father, and where she seen lying
ill in that miserable garret, it would be to every one's discredit.
"He cannot, of course, go into the details of household manage-
ment. 1 d(m't suppose he knows what room I have. When I am
well and feel up to it, I will try and tiiul an opportiuiity of speaking
to my father when he is alone, and then 1 shall be able really to
judge whether he would be sorry if I left his house or n(it ! If he
does care a little bit about me, it would be a great ctmifort. 1

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190

A LIFE INTRRE8T.

wonder if Mr. Ellis is really as fond of meas he thinks he is ? I am
sure I would marry him, and get away from p.ll this if he did not
want to keep the marriage a secret ; that would be too horrid ; and
I do not see how it could be managed. Will he call, as he said he
would ? How surprised Mrs. Acland will be ; I must say something
about him, in case he does come." So mused Marjory as she lay,
feeling very ill and helpless. She fancied it would be better and
less puzzling if Ellis did not come ; yet she was aware she would be
disappointed if he did not ; giving up, and being given up, are two
very different things.

But she felt drowsy and confused, nor could she follow any line
of thought long or clearlj'. It seemed ages since Mrs. Acland pro-
posed carrying her down-stairs, when nurse and the parlour-maid
suddenly stood beside her bed, with blankets and a shawl.

" Oh, I am sure I can walk, if one of you will hold my arm ; give
mo my slippers. Sarah, please go down-stair? before me, then 1
shall not see how steep they are."

Though she once nearly fell, from giddiness ratiier than weak-
ness, Marjory reached the haven of the spare room safely, and felt
thankful to be in a bed so much more comfortable than her own.

By the time the doctor appeared on the scene, everything w;is in
apple-pie order, and Mt rjory surrounded by all the niceties Ji sick
room should have.

After an interview with his patient, the doctor descended to tin;
dining-room to write his prescription and have a confidential talk
with Mrs, Acland.

" Nothing in the least infectious, my dear madam, nothing, I
assure you. But a severe chill, such as she has had, may lead to
rheumatic fever, to, in short, many maladies ; her nerves, too, seem
irritable. Timely remedies, however, and your good care will, I
trust, prevent serious mischief ; you are not aware that the young
lady has any mental anxiety ? "

" None whatever, so far as I know, but she is somewhat reserved,
I may say sullen ; you doctors are behind the scenes in so many
families, that I do not mind admitting to you, that the position of a
step-mother is not a bed of rosgs, even where young people are well
disposed. I have not Miss Acland's confidence."

" Ah, very likely, very likely ? But a woman of your character
will win it, finally. There, my dear madam, the mixture every
two hours, the febrifuge morning and night, and plenty of lemon-
ade, not too sweet, a few spoonfuls of beef-tea, in the form of jelly,
occasionally ; she will need little nourishment to-day, and I will
look in in the evening, when I hope to find the pulse considerably
lower."

Much impressed by Mrs Acland's words and manner, the doctor
went on his rounds, and when, ainne timo after, a little talk arose
about Marjory having left her father's house. Dr. Weils always de-

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A LIFE INTEREST.

191

olarod that no girl could have had more tonder and mothoiiy care
bestowed upon her th;in Mr. Acland'a eldest daughter.

Youth, and a sound constitution, aided the doctor's skill, and
Marjory soon threw off her feverish symptoms. She was still very
•,veiik, and could not shake off the sense of depression which weighed
her down.

Mrs. Acland's visits were not cheering, although she abstained
from a))solutely unpleasant or stiuLjing speeches. She was sinc«)rely
anxiou.^ for Marjory's complete recovery, that she might commence
the operations necessary for putting lier out of the house.

For what long hours slie used to lie alone, dreaming rather tlian
thinking clearly ; never before had she realized hoAv utterly isolated
she was. Her school friends had been kind, but their letters liad
dropped off; the music teacher was married, and gone to live in a
big seaport town ; Aunt Carteret had called to inquire for her, and
written a tiicely-expresaed farewell note, previous to leaving town,
so they, Marjory felt, had passed out of her life. There were left
George, Dick and — Ellid. Of the dear boys she would probably
never see much, and Ellis must be all or nothing, ir in<l(Md he ever
crossed her path again. What she wanted was a kind woman
friend, older and wiser than herself, all the men in the world could
not supply the place of a tender, large-hearted woman, to whom .she
could tell everything, as she never could to a man. Why had her
own dear mother been taken from her ? Oh ! to lay her head on a
mother's shoulder and feel safe and at rest ! how bitterly she wept
over her own destitution, in the silence and solitude of her sick
room.

"Dr. Wells thinks you may go down-staii-s to-morrow, in the
afternoon, Marjory," said Mrs. Acland as she came in for her anti-
prandial visit. "Once you are regularly up and dressed, you will
soon get on. I think Louise will be glad to begin her lessons again,
she has had a long holiday."

' ' I suppose she was not let to come and see me.

"I thought it safer not, the atmosphere of a sick room is not
very good for a child ; you shall see her to-morrow. There has
been a visitor for you to-day, a Mr. Vere Ellis."

" Oh, indeed ! " returned Marjory, in as indifferent a tone as sbu
could manage, but painfully conscious that she had flushed to her
brow.

" Yes, I was rather puzzled when he was shown up, as you had
never ment.it)ned him."

" I was too ill to think of it. He is a sort of relation, you know."

" I know nothing about it ; he did not say so," fixing her eyes
bearchin^dy on Marjory. " He said he had only jusi come from
Paris, where he had seen Mr. and Mrs. Cartwet, and he thought
you would like to hear of them."

" Oh, yes, of course,"

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192

A LIPK INTEREST.

•' 1 suppose this Mr. Vcre Ellis was a visitor at the Priory.**

*' He was a good deal to-and-fro."

'* It is rather remarkable, a man of his apparent rank and posi-
tion, taking the trouble to call upon you."

*' I do not see that," cried Marjory ; " he is a relation, at least I
believe he is, and we were very good friends while he stjiyed in the
house, r do not see, either, that he is anything so superior to
myself."

" Ah, you have not, evidently, fallen in your own estimation."
Silence. Marjory, though dying to hear what Ellis had said, would
not permit herself to ask a question respecting him.

" I shall tell your father of this visit, Marjory."

*' By all means ; I suppose Mr. Ellis left a card for him."

" I do not think he did ! "

** Mr. Ellis is very remiss then." This in a tone of superiority
which amazed Mrs. Acland.

"I fear Mr. and Mrs. Carteret spoilt you, MHrj(jry ! If they
took a fancy to you, 1 wonder they sent you bfick on your father's
hands."

"Because, I suppo.se, they thought a father is always ready to
welcome a daughter home again," said Marjory, surprised at the
steadiness of her own voice, when she knew she was on the verge of
a flood of tears.

Mrs. Acland did not answer immediately. Marjory was certainly
less easily routed than of yore ; she was cooler and more collected.

"It is not always a matter of feeling ; people with a large family
to provide for are influenced by graver considerations. It would
have cost Mr. Carteret very little money, and d<jne you a great deal
of gi»od, had he taken you abroad with him for a couple of years.
Pray did he make you no present for nearly four months* service."

*' Why you know he and Mrs. Carteret gave me quantities of
things before I was fit to be seen at the Priory."

Mrs. Acland frowned. " I mean at parting, you know what I
mean."

"Oh, yes! he gave me some old books, 'Telemachus' and
* Young's Night Thoughts.' "

'* A valuable gift ! " contemptuously.

Marjory was tempted to let the question rest there ; but she was
too honest.

" Mrs. Carteret gave me five pounds," she added abruptly.

"Oh, indeed I Then you can buy yourself a handsome winter
dress, without drawing on your father's purse." ,

" I intend doing so."

" Well," said Mrs. Acland rising, "it is almost dinner-time, 1
must leave you ; I think you may come down to luncheon to-
morrow ; you can return to bed early, but it is time you made a
beginning. That Mr. Vere Ellis" Mrs. Acland liked to give her

A LIFE lXTEi:r:RT.

103

ncquaintances their full names and titles — " snitl 8oni«thing about
laiiing again, but he has to go out of town, so ho probably will uot
have time."

" Very likely ! If it puts him out at all he will not v.omo. '

It was the second day after Marjory's reappearance at the family
board ; being a fine Saturday afternoon, Mr. Acland had taken his
wife and children for a drive to Hampstead.

Marjory therefore established herself on the sofa in the little
study opening on the garden, and began a letter to Dick, whose
silence made her uneasy, till it occurred to her that he waited to
hear that she was positively settled at home.

Writing was rather a fatigue, but she got on slowly, pausing every
now an then to lie back on the sofa and rest.

She felt chilly too, though she had put on the warmest dress she
possessed, a soft grey woollen stuff that fell into easy folds, and had
further fortified herself by a wisp of creaniy lace, given to her by
Mrs. Carteret, round her throat. She was very pale and her eyes
looked large and brilliant, though rather sad ; she rang, and asked
the servant to set light to the fire which was laid leady for ihe even-
ing : alter watching it a few minutes the girl retired, only to return
with a card, saying : —

*' Will you see the gentleman, miss ? "

" Yes," said Marjory, feeling her heart beat hard and then stop,
as Ellis walked in. The remembrance of his last words came back
vividly to her, and brought the colour in a rush to her pale cheeks.

" And you have been ill — really ill," said Ellis, taking her hand
in both his own and gazing at her gravely, intently.

Marjory could hardly keep from tears, she was strangely agitated .
" I have really been ill," with a faint smile, "and I feel ridicu-
lously weak."

" Sit down again ; you tremble," resumed Ellis, lifting her little
writing-table away and drawing a chair beside her. "Now, the
stars in their courses have fought for me ! I hear every one is out,
and you will be able to tell me your history since we parted. I too,
have a good deal to say. It is heavenly to see you again ! " he
broke off abruptly.

" And it is very good of you to say so," returned Marjory, her lip
quivering, for she was touched by the welcome warmth of his words
and voice, after the indifferent coldness which had chilled her heart
when she most needed sympathy. Why should she reject the love
so freely offered, when no one else seemed to caie about her?

" Now you are here, I am glad I " she went on after a pause.

•'Thank you!" good-humouredly. "That means, you did not

''TMJr; me to come."

'* "^ did — and I did not -you see I want to speak as truly as I can."

•• "fou riways do I finnly believe, but I am not going to disturb

you to-day with my own hopes and wishes. I see you are not ecjuai

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194

A LIFE INTEREST.

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to much worry and, so far, I fear I do worry you. Tell me about
yourself. How came you to be ill, you, the very embodiment of
health 1 " And Marjory told him.

'' What seltish idiots old Carteret and his wife are," ejaculated
Ellis, " not to see you were drenched ! And since you were laid up,
how has the step-mother behaved ? "

*' Oh, I have been so miserable ! " The words burst from her be-
fore she could check them. Ellis looked down steadily for an
instant or two while she went on. ** I do not mean to say that I
had not every thing I wanted, but no one cared for me, except poor
Cookie, and she could not come up to me often. When Mrs. Acland
used to come and sib by me I got quite nervous ; I fancied that if
she could kill me with her eyes and not be found out, I should

never rise again, in this life at least ; of course-

interrupting
when I wan

ht^rself with a poor attempt to laugh — '* that was only
feverish — a mere sickly fancy."

'* I am not so sure," said Ellis in a low distinct tone.

** And my father, do you know, he never once came to see me."

** I can hardly believe it."

*' Oh, I do not know what story sfie told him ! I do think he
would have come, if he had been let alone. If I ever seem him
without her, I shall ask him. I cannot bear to think she has put
me out of his heart, but I fear — I fear she has." Her voice was
choked, and she had a hard struggle to maintain her composure.

Ellis silently took her hand again, holding it with a soft pressure,
but releasing it at her first movement of withdrawal.

" But I never do have a chance of seeing; him ! However, I am
getting quite well, and in another week I shall speak to my father
about getting something to do away from home."

" Ah ? " murmured Ellis interrogatively.

" And what do you think of Mrs. Acland ?" asked Marjory, after
a brief pause.

' * She is a handsome, shrewd, clever woman, and i rather fancy
she has a history. Where did your father pick her up ? "

Marjory told him all she knew.

" Well, my sweet Marjory, it would have been wiser if you had
not declared war upon so potent a pow€r as Mrs. Acland until you
had measured your strength with hers. "

'• At eleven or twelve one has not much forethought ; besides I
could not help it. I was jealous of my father from the first."

There was a silence of a few minutes, then Ellis began very
gently :—

'* I said I would not worry you about myself, but I can/not ^^^p
my word. Grant that you do not love me now, do you not ihiak a
home with me would be preferable to the home you have!

**i have ntine," murmured Marjory.

•* True, and you are shamefully defrauded of your due. I -lUBt

A LIFE INTEREST.

195

i!"

say your father has sacrificed ;, -,u utterly. Why do you hesitate to
be my wife ? "

*' For one reason, because I do not see how it is you can love a
girl who does not love you, and 1 ought not to let you sacrifice so
much for nie."

*' And your other reasons ? "

"You know," said iM.iijory shyly.

" Suppose I could go to your father to-morrow, ask his consent,
and arrange for the wedding at St. George's ? — joy-bells and favours
— would you say yes ? "

" I think," returned Marjory deliberately, " I sliould — 1 should
learn to love you, because you arc gf)od to me, and 1 never dreamed
of caring for any one before. 1 never saw any one 1 (X)uld care for
— only," she paused, "lam h;ilf afraid of you ; and when I think
of that dog, it makes me doubt."

"What dog?"

♦'The dog you beat."

Ellis burst out laughing.

* ' That is too absurd ! Do you think I would beat you ? "

'* N — no, but you might be cruel 1 "

"You are unjust and illogical, Marjory! You say you do not
wish me to make any sacritice for you, yet you are ready to accept
my ruin, which open marriage with you would be. My darlinjjj,
don't you see that if I am j'our husband my career is yours. In my
profession or calling, money is of the last importance ; a poor mar-
ried attache might as well retire from the combat at once. I look
for help in more ways than one from old Carteret. I will not cut
myself otf from that. In a couple of years I hope to have an apj)oint-
ment which may make me more independent, when we can throw
oft' the mask — need I say how gladly ? "

" But if only for so short a time, would it not be wiser to wait ? "

"What? and endure the separation, the knowledge that you
were undergoing all the wretchedness your step-mother will heap
upon you, all the minor miseries of a governess or companion's life.
No, Marjory, not for any amount of bliss at the end. Listen to me.
Having just received my appointment, I have a couple of months'
leave ; make up your mind, and return with me ; trust to my man-
agement. No one shall know your whereabouts really, till it is too
late to interfere, and I will undertake to bring your father to reasoji.
Remember, you have virtually accepted me ! just picture the life
we can lead together." And he went on to describe existence in
Paris, in glowing terms, till Marjory felt her bruin bewildered.
" You are so yoinig," he concluded, "a year or two of seclusion
will only give you a chance of acquiring the knowledge and accom-
plishments which would lit you better to fiH, ;i?id to enjoy, your
position hereafter ; and you are quite indillLrtnt lo the happiness
If >"-*(* ''.au bostcw ? "

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196

A LIFE INTEREST.

!!!

" But a secret rnarriago 1 Could one ever throw oflf the slur?"
asked Marjory.

" There would bo no slur to throw off."

" la it not growing late ? They will be back soon."

** Ah, you want to get rid of mo ? "

" No, but it would bo awkward."

*' Very well ! When shall I see you again ? Hero is my address,
you will write if you want anything. In a few daj's I am going to
Scotland, to shoot. I must sco you again first, 1 jnust not forgot
to tell you Mrs. Carteret says she misses you much ; old Carteret
thinks he has heart disease, so he has, but not of the riglit sort.
They are thinking of settling in Home as a permanent winter resi-
dence. Now, Marjory, 1 must leave you ; think of all I have urged ;
give yourself to me, and turn your back on coldness, and suppres-
sion, and worries, for I love you, my sweet one, more than it has
ever entered into your heart as ytt, to imagine, and I will not live
without you."

He pressed a long tender kiss on her hand, and was gone.

Marjory sat down and buried her face in the sofa cushion and
tried to reflect; for the iiist time she be*.an to think of the
possibility of marrying Ellis, but not in secret — no — unless her father
was ready to throw her off ; thei. she would, indeed be of no import-
ance to anyone, save the lover v.ho importuned hev so persuasively.

pros

1;i

CHAPTER XX.

"nothing venture, NOTHINCi HAVE."

Once up and dressed, Marjory recovered rapidly, and Mrs
Acland soon discovered she was quite equal to the task of teaching
the children. This was more irksome than ever ; Louise, though
still affectionate, and delighted to see her step-sister, had been
much spoiled during her absence, and Herbert was intolerable.
However, from this species of slavery she was determined to free
herself.

Ellis had called again, but Mrs. Acland was at home, and Mar-
jory's was amused to see that he bestowed most of his attention
on her. He managed, however, at parting to press a note into
Marjory's hand, begging her to walk towards Hanover Gate alone,
between two and four on any one of the three fol 'owing v^hvs as he
had something special to tell her. Marjory dt nbted, jiesitsa'Ovl,
and wrote to say she could not ; that it would be usuluaa, »u:d wou,t1
only give both pain.

A LIFE INTEREST.

197

The following afternoon, whif;h was damp and drizzling, a seody-
looking man rau'^ mid inquired if Mrs. Acland was at homo. She
had gone out, however, and would not bo homo till late.

The HO('(ly man d -pMrted, ;ind sumo ten minutes after, Ellis
presented himself and was admitted,

Marjory was half-thittored, half-scared, l»y this hold porsovor-
anco. Ellis did nut stay h>ng. "1 <;() North to-morrow," ho said,
•' but I could not leave without seeing you ; I want to know what
you are doini^ or g<»iM!.' to do."

" I am actiiij^ un|>aid griverness to my little brother and sister at
present, but I intend ])r()))osini; to advertise for an imi^ai^'emont and
to relieve my father of one burden. If 1 see that he is sorry, it will
not alter my intention, but it will comfort me."

" And suppose he jumps at the .scheme ? "

" Well, then I do not care what beccjmes of me."

'* If, then, there is no one else to give you any love, you may
accept mine."

" 1 am half inclined to say I will ; but certainly not, if I see I am
still dear to my father, and I think — I hojie-^l am."

"Then I will wait your decision," said Ellis, after a minute's
thought. " I shall be in t(^wn again in a few weeks, and then you
must decide. M irjory, you have it in your power to mar my life,
or make it ; perhaps you exercise the same power over your own.
Do not thoughtlessly cast mo from you."

Marjory did nc^t speak ; her bosom heaved, the tears stood in
her eyes. '" I do not know Ikmv to decide," .she excluimen, pressing
her hands together. "I have nothing to guide me save my own
instincts, and they are against you, yet — yet, I do not like to think
I shall never see you ag>in."

"Then bind me to you for ever," whispered Ellis. " But I will
not press you, I will ask your final answer when I return ; once I
have your c jusent all will be easy, trust to me. I must leave you,
for I have much to do ; I ne\ er thought it would cost me such a
pang to part, even for a few days, from any human being ; think of
me longing, waiting, hoping for you. Good-bye, Marjory." He
pressed her hand to his heart, and left her, more anxi(ms, more un-
certain than ever, almost wishing she could love as he did, for then
doubt would be gone.

For a few days Marjory watched eagerly for an opportunity of
speaking to her father when he was alone, but in vain ; Mrs.
Achmd never gave her a chance. Marjory watched his manner his
voice, with a keenest observation, striving to find out if he cared
for and noticed her. He was tranquil and undemonstrative, show-
ing '^ordiality only to his younger children. He answered Marjory
civilly, if she spoke to him, but rarely addressed her of his own
aj-coid.

This time of waiting and watcldng was cheered by a letter from

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198

A LIFIi INTEREST.

f^'^^:

Rh: A'

(■roori^e, written from the Cape in the hi;j;host spirits. The young
invalid son of the ijreat shii)()wner had sinyltid him out and quite
made a companion (c' liini. Ho undertook to siiow him some sport
when they got to Madras, as they were to make a short stay there,
and he (Charles Renuie) was so much bettor that he felt up to
shootinf^ a tiger. Even this satisfactory communication did not
rouse Marjory from her increasing gloom and uneasiness ; she felt
she was at a turning-point in her life ; should slie go to the right
hand or the left ?

Ellis's carefully restrained passion, his considerate tenderness,
had ')egun to impress her ; would any one else ever love her so
1) uch {■

At length, finding it useless to attempt a private interview with
her f ther, unless, indeed, with Mrsi. Acland's knowledge and
assistance, she strung herself to the humiliating efibrt of asking
it.

" I liave been thinking about my future," she said abruptly to
her step-mother one wet afternoon as he sat at needle-work with
that lady. " I ^Jiould like to do something to maintain myself ; I
am n(;t lit for much, but I might teach children, or be a companion,
or son)ething. "

" It is a very proper idea, Marjory ; would you like me to speak
to your father about it ? "

" I should like to speak to him n\, ■^elf, and alone, if you will give
mo the opportunity," returned Marjory bluntly.

"Oh, certainly, if you wish," with a bland smile, "though I
cannot see the object of a private interview ; your father will tell
me all that passes between you."

" No doubt ; still I should like to see my father alone."
" Very well, do not worry hiin this evening, after the fatigue of
business ; say your say to-morrow morning."
" There is so little time then."

" Nevertheless, it will be better when your father is fresh."
Marjory could say no more. She felt that she was really in her
8te]>-mother's hands, but she had done her best.

Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over Mrs. Acland rose
ostentatiously, saying, "Marjory wishes to have a few words in
private with you," and left the room.

" Well, make them as few as possible," and Mr. Acland looked
unmistakably nervous as he spoke.

This pressure drove poor Marjory's ideas and intentions into the
blankest confusion ; the little speech she had composed with a view
to testing her father's feelings vanished.

" I — I — wish to do something for myself ; I don't like livijig any
longer at your expense, so will you consent to my putting fta adver-
tisement in the Times'/ "

" An advertisement for what? "

A LIFE INTEREST.

199

-or housemaid,

" For a situation as governess, or companion, or-
or anything." cried Marjory, tiring up.

** Yes, you may ; if you are discontented with your home you had
better leave it, and learn its value when you have roughed it else-
where. But you need not delay me to talk on this subjept ; you
have a more efficient adviser in your mother."

"Mother!" repeated Marjory, bursting into passiouate tears.
*' I have no mother ; I have lost both father and niother."

" I greatly fear, Marjory, your ungovemed temper will destroy
your success and happiness in life. You might have the kindest
and wiest of mothers, and an attached father, but your headstrong
nature rejects both. I cannot allow you to mar the comfort of my
home, the— the repose of my excellent wife. It is better you should
leave us, at any rate, till you can live at peace with her. Consult
Mrs. Acland as to the details of your plan, and be guided by her.]'

" Very well," returned Marjory, with sudden composure, though
her voice was still unsteady and her eyes wet. " I have your con-
sent and will act as best I can. I don't think you can be as indif-
ferent to me as you seem ; I do not deserve it."

' ' Really, Marjory, really — " began Mr. Acland, in a more natural
tune, but Marjory left the room without seeming to hear him.

She was outwardly very quiet for the rest of the day ; she settled
herself to write her advertisement in the deserted schoolroom,
but even the memoi'ies evoked by that melancholy abode did not
call forth anv further fits of weeping, she felt that she wrs really
beginning life, and her spirit rose to the occasion. Already she felt
half emancipated. At luncheon she told Mrs. Acland that she was
going out, to leave her advertisement at a stationer's in the neigh-
bourhood, as her father approved her project. '* I shall go to
tShoolbrod's afterwards," she added ; " their nutumn sa'e is going
on, and I want a dress, and many things."

Mrs. Acland was struck by her tone "Pray, do you expect us
to pay for whatever you choose to order ? "

•* Certainly not ; I have my own money, and do not intend to ask
ny father for anything."

" I am glad to hear it ! You must not expect, however, that an
engagement will fall into your mouth the moment you ask for one.

" I do not, Mrs. Acland."

The next week was feverishly busy and anxious. On Marjory's
return home from her exi)edition to the news agent, she found the
housemaid in the act of transporting her belongings from "the
spare room" to the garret. It was an additional stab, but she
(determined to take no notice, and in this eyrie she passed hours,
diligently working to have her wardrobe in order for a sudden
summons, and thinking as diligently, revolving the perpetual
questions ; Shall I ? Shall I not ? Would Ellis reappear before
she actually left her home, and, if he did, what possiblft plan could

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A LIFE INTEREST.

he devise by which thoir uwvviiage could be kept secret from hev
own people ? Dare she trust him ? Was it worth while dragging
on an unloved, unlovely life, when warmth and colour and tender-
ness were to be had for the taking ?

At last her modest little advertisement appeared ; she thought
she had devised it cunningly, but it looked wofully insignificant
amid the crowd of '* Want Situations," which filled the mighty
columns of The Times.

Mrs. Acland's eagle eye quickly detected it, and she read it aloud
at breakfast with a slightly scornful accent, which thrilled Marjory
with painful indignation. *'Not very striking, Marjory. I am
afraid you will get no replies ; you would have done better to let
me apply to the Governesses' Institution ; I know the superinten-
dent a little."

*' I prefer to try myself first."

"Very foolish indeed," said Mrs. Acland with melancholy em-
phasis ; but did not pursue the subject.

In the afternoon, Marjory, with a sinking heart went to see if
there were any answer for *'M. A." Alas ! there were none ; nor
the next day ; the six and sixpence she had expended in the hope
of finding independence was lost !

The third morning she had hardly hope enough to pay another
visit to the agent. But lo ! a neat-looking letter, with a handsome
seal, awaited her.

Only a sense of propriety restrained her from flying back at full
speed, as she would not open it till safe in the shelter of the old
schoolroom. There, with breathless impationce, yet carefully
avoiding any injury to the imposing seal, she extracted the letter.
It was framed in the usual style of such a reply, and informed M. A.
that the writer wished for a cheerful young person, who could read
aloud pleasantly and give some instructicm to a boy of nine years
old, who was a cripple and in delicate health ; that as tho engage-
ment was an easy one the writer could not offer more than thirty
pounds a year, with travelling expenses, should the family go
abroad, as was their intention. A speedy reply, with references,
was requested ; this communication was signed Jean Morrison, and
bore the address, Craighall, by Strathlogan, L — shire.

" Thirty pounds a year, seven pounds ten a quarter ! " thought
Marjory. " I ought to be able to save money out of that ; I may
grow quite fond of the poor boy ! " and Marjory swiftly ran up a
splendid castle. Then tho thought, " VVhat will Mr. Ellis say if I
am gone before he comes back ? Will he follow me ? It would
be dreadful if he did ; it would seem strange ! I think I must
write and tell him. What will Mrs. Acland say ? I wish s^e would
come in. I will not answer, till I have shown this letter to my
father."

Alter trying to settle to needle- work in vain, Marjory took out

A LIFE INTEREST.

201

a letter sbo had received from Dick, and wrote a long reply, touch-
ing on all r.!)pics save one, the most important. Dick, on his side,
had written \ cry fully ; he seemed to enjoy pouring out all his
hopes <ind plans. He was anxious, he said, about Brand, who was
c'vidinitly unwell. He (Brand) was afraid he should be obliged to
give up the work he had undertaken in the neighbourhood of Edin-
burgh, and get away south, which would be a great loss to him, as
he was well paid and interested in what he was doing.

" I wonder what George and Dick would say, if they knew Mr.
Ellis wanted to marry me. They would hardly believe it. But,
oh ? how vexed they would be if 1 married clandestinely, I should
never bc;ir to look at them unless — unless — " here she broke ofl
the thread of her thoughts, and applied herself to her letter. '

"Marjory has absolutely had an answer to her advertisement,"
said INIrs. Acland, coming into her husband's dressing-room that
evening. " She will show it to you after dinner ; now be advised by
me, dear, do not make a fuss about her, she is disposed to try her
strength with me. It seems a very good chance, this otfer she has
had, let her go ; wo can always recall her, and she is so determined
in her opposition to me since her return, that I think, in justice to
your wife, without any ill-feeling towards your daughter, you are
bound to show a certain amount of displeasure ; she thinks you will
not like to let her got, but there is really no hardship in it ; girls
much better oil' than Marjory like to earn their own pocket-money,
and relieve their parents."

*' Still," said Mr. Acland, " I do not like letting her go, though
she is insubordinate and troublesome. However, what you say is
just, and I will not make a fuss about her. But I depend on you,
my love, to make careful inquiry respecting the people who have
answered Marjory ; the' child must not run any unnecessary risk."

"Trust to me," returned Mrs. Acland confidently. "lamas
anxious about her as you can possibly be, only she must not see it."

Thus f(jre-armed, Mr. Acland read the letter presented to him
unmoved, while Marjory watched him with eager eyes.

" Strathlogan — 'um ! the post town, I suppose. This is not a bad
offer, Marjory ; you cannot expect a high salary, as you are neither
highly educated nor accomplished."

" I am quite aware of that," cried Marjory.

"If, therefore," resumed Mr. Acland, clearing his throat, "you
wish to leave your home, you might as well try this place."

" Do you wish me to stay in my home, father ? " asked Marjory,
and there was a touch of pathos in her voice.

"I wish to leave you perfectly free," he returned calmly ; "do
what seems best in your eyes ; it is better you should feel your own

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203

A LIFE INTEREST.

rzay. Mrs. Acland will, I am sure, give you all the assistance in
her power, and I will i)ay for your journey."

'*Then I will write mj' reply to-night," said Marjory, bearing up
bravely under her father's indifference. " The sooner the matter
is settled, the better."

'* That was well done," remarked Mrs. Acland as Marjory left
the room ; "if she only stays a few months and then returns to us,
it will be a wholesome discipline."

Mr. Acland did not reply.

The correspondence with Mrs. Morrison continued satisfactorily ;
she professed herself contented with the reference offered by Mar-
jory to the clergyman whose church she attended ; finally, she
wished Miss Aclatid could make arrangements to come to Graighall
on the twenty-second of October ; the nearest station was Strath-
logan, where a carriage should await her.

Marjory felt that her fate was fixed. The twenty-second was
only a week off. Ought she to let Ellis know ? He had almost a
right to be warned of her movements ; she could not make up her
mind to write to him ; it would look like asking him to interfere.
She held her hand, therefore, contentin;^ herself with sending a few
lines to Dick, telling him of her approaching departure.

Mrs. Acland had accused her one day, before her father, of
carrying on a correspondence with " that boy Dick," and Marjory
had at once acknowledged it, had given a short account of their
meeting, and of Dick's promising prospects, suppressing only
Brand.

Mr. Acland said he was nleased to hear he was getting on, and
for his own part believed he would succeed. Mrs. Acland added in
a doubtful tone she was sure she hoped so, and no more was said
on the subject. Mr. Acland had no objection evidently to his
daughter holding communication with his stepson.

Now all things were settled. Mrs. Morrison mentioned in her
final letter that they would be going to Edinburgh in a few days,
previous to proceeding abroad. This rejoiced Marjory. " Abroad"
sounded vaguely delightful ; in short, had it not been for the com-
plications with Ellis, she would have felt brave and comparatively
cheerful about this her first plunge into the wild waters of the
world ; but the idea of his possible pursuit disturbed and unhinged
her. It was over a fortnight since she had seen him ; would he
fulfil his threat, his promise to seek her again ?

The third morning before Marjory was to set forth on her first
venture, was bright and crisp. She had gone out to do some last
remnants of shopping for herself, and a few commissions for Mrs.
Acland, who was busy preparing for her husband's departure by a
night train to Wales, whero he had been summoned by an old client,
whose health would not pennit of his coming up to town.

It was rather an unusual event for Mr. Acland to leave home,

imi -iia—*pif»ii

A LIFE INTEREST.

208

■: If.

and Marjory felt anxious and curious to see how he would part
with her. Surely at the last he would show some tenderness for hia
eldest daughter i "I suppose," she thought, " when I M^as a little
tiling, he was as fond of me as he is now of Louise and Herbert. If
a father can change so much , who can one depend on ? "

Mrs. Acland had completed her preparations, and sat down in the
dining-room to read the morning paper until the early dinner was
ready. She was in a placid mood ; things were prospering with
her. Once Mr. Acland was accustomed to the idea of Marjory
earning her own bread, there was little need of her ever crossing
their threshold again, or at least only on very rare occasions.
"Then the girl may marry, she looks pretty, or rather attractive
at times ; that might be troublesome, however, and cause a dis-
agreeable examination into affairs. I wonder what brings that
man Ellis here ? It must be some fancy for Marjory, but he is too
cool and experienced a man of the world to think of marrying
her. Well, I suppose she must learn to take care of herself, as
others have learnt. She has a hundred advantages I never knew ;
had I been brought up as she has been, how differently I should
have acted, and yet the chit doubts me. She has been ten times
more scornful since she returned from the Priory. I must warn
her father not to let her cuddle and cry over him when he goes
to-night."

Here, the front door bell run sharply.

" Is the drawing-room fire alight ? That may be a visitor," said
Mrs. Acland to the servant who was laying the cloth.

" Yes, 'm," she replied, glancing through the window. " It's a
gentleman, 'm," and she hastened to admit him, soon returning to
announce, "Mr. Ellis."

" Oh ! very well, let the children have their dinner without me.
I do not think Miss Acland will be in yet awhile."

Having looked quickly but carefully in the glass, to see that her
dainty morning cap was perfectly straight, her lace cravate duly
arranged, she went up to receive her visitor with a very thoughtful
expression.

" You will, I hope, excuse me for presenting myself at so early
an hour," said Ellis, " but I was anxious to see you and Miss Acland,
as I was commissioned to call."

"I am very glad to see you ; pray sit down. Marjory is out.
Has she told you she is going away from home ? "

" Miss Acland has never honoured me with a letter," returned
Ellis as he took a seat facing Mrs. Acland, "and it is of more
importance that I should speak to you than to her."

" Indeed ! " Mrs. Acland waited for him to go on, thinking that
although not good-looking he had a fine strong face and most distin-
guished manners, superior to those of any man she had ever met
before, except perhaps her first husband's, whose memory waa
always distasteful to her.

iuf

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204

A LIFE INTEREST.

" Though 1 did not hear it from Miss Acltind," resumed Ellis,
'* I know from another source that she is going to some friends of
mine — or I should say ac(juaintances, and I promised to call and tell
you something about them."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Acland again, fixing her eyes on his face
with a keen watchful expression.

" Well," resumed Elli?, "Mrs. Mi)iTi.son is exceedingly respect-
able. She keeps her eldest son's house, she has also a daughter
and a little boy, very much younger than his sister. I do not say
they are of the highest chiss of gentry, but they are of the higher
class of farmers, and I think Miss Acland might be very comfort-
able with them. 1 had their shooting some years ago, and again
this autumn,"

" It is rather remarkable you knowing them," said Mrs. Acland
slowly.

" Yes, it is remarkable," he returned.

" Of course Mr. Acland and myself are most anxious that Mar-
jory's surr(»undings should be all that is refined and respectable."
" I suppose so, as you allow her to leave your house."
" I understand your tone, Mr. Ellis. In justice to myself I
must say that Marjory leaves us by her own di.'^tinct desire. She
could stay at homo if she chose, but I must admit that I should be
more than mortal if I opposed her desire to go. She has destioyed
the peace of our home, ctnd tried to set my husband against me."

"These are grave charges," said Ellis with a smile ; "I am not
surprised at your being glad to get rid of such an inmate."

There was a short i)ause — then Mrs. Acland bent her ej'es on the
ground, and said carelessly, " Probably you find hor interesting."

"I confess I do. She is not a common character, and without
disparagement to either of you, I can imagine you would be happier
apart. "

" Perhaps," i^aid Mrs. Aciand, raising her eyes suddenly to her
visitor's with a peculiar smile, " you think it would be an act of pure
philanthropy to assist in separating us ? "

"Perhnps," returned Ellis, looking steadily at her.
" If I were assured of Marjory's welfare," resumed Mrs. Acland
in a bland tone, "for, believe me, I am her sincere well-wisher, I
confess 1 should not regret anything that would remove her to a
distance, but of course 1 should like to know she was happy."

" Of course, my dear Mrs. Acland ; and suppose this engagement
led to the accomplishment of both these objects? You would not
permit too minute inquiries to interfere with your very natural
desire ? Suppose this engagement led to a prolonged residence
abroad, and the consequent relief of her father from the cost and
trouble of her maintenance, he would not, I i)resume, make any
opposition ? He would leave correspomleuce to you? "

"I should take care of tliat," said Mrs. Acland with a peculiar
gleam in her eyes.

i- »

A LIFE INTEREST.

205

face

"I ask, because some of the party intend sojourning on the Con-
tinent, and taking Miss Acland with them."

" So Mrs. Morrison mentioned. I think such an arrangement
might be very satisfactory, especially if you, a relative, know that
these are thoroughly respectable people — that her protectors or
protector, would be kind and considerate,"

" Of that I am quite sure. Then Miss Acland goes to Mrs. Mor-
rison with full permission to make what arrangement she likes as to
her remaining witli the family during their proposed residence
abroad ? "

"Yes, I think you may consider her perfectly free."
Mrs. Acland's eyes met those of Ellis, and they looked at each
other in expressive silence.

Then Mrs. Acland turned hers away and said with a slight smile,
*' I suppose it is not improbable you may see Marjory occasionally
when abroad ? "

*' Far from improbable," returned Ellis emphatically.
*' That is a great relief to my mind."
' ' When does Miss Acland start for the North ? "
*' The day after to-morrow."
*' And travels alone, I presume ? "

*' She does ; she must learn to take ca.re of herself, as she volun-
tarily abandons her — her home."

** I have no doubt she will find some one able and willing to take
care of her," replied Ellis, rising. " I fan>cy we perfectly under-
stand each other's sincere desire to promote your step-daughter's
happiness. I shall not say good-bye, however ; if you permit, and
Miss Acland is disposed to accept the proposition, I will call to-
morrow, and take her to see the studio of a friend of mine whose
pictures are worth looking at. Is one o'clock too early ? "

" Not at all," exclaimed Mrs. Aclantl readily. "You are very
good to trouble about Marjory ; it will cheer her up to go out with
you, for I expect she will be rather doleful after parting with her
father, he is going away to-night."

"Going out of town? Ah, I hope he will have tine weather.
Good morning, Mrs. Acland."

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Marjory was considerably surprised, a'l.d more agitated than she
cared to admit even to herself, when Mrs. Acland informed her of
Ellis's invitation to visit his friend's studio. He had not given her
up yet ; it was, on the whole, comforting to know there was ojie
person who thought of her ; she at once determined to accompany
him and hear what he had to say.

" Mr. Ellis seems to take an interest in you, Marjory," said Mrs.
Acland. " He knows something of these Morrisons, and suya th@y
are very good sort of people. "

•I

*:iii

906

A LIFE INTBRB8T.

**That is fortunate,' said Marjory ; "I will go and finish my
packinsj, so as to bo free to-morrow, but you will bo sure to call me
down before my father goes. "

'* Yes, of course."

Mr Aclaud came back early, in order to take a hasty dinner before
starting. He found everything in readiness, and his wife awaiting
him in a state of the most amiable solicitude about his comfort,
and regret for the fatigue a night journey would entail.

They had some pleasant confidential talk as she ministered to his
wants at dinner, and she assured him she had made the most careful
inquiries respecting the character of the lady to whom Marjory was
going, and that everything was satisfactory ; but somehow she omit
teu «o mention the visit she had had from Ellis.

At last Marjory's intently-listening ears caught the sound of tlio
nursery bell, and she ran down-stairs rapidly, distancing Louise and
Herbert, who were also descending.

Mr. Acland was standing in the hall in his over-coat, his wife held
his hat and woollen scarf, Sarah had just taken up his portmanteau
and was carrying it through the door ; Marjory's heart was very
full.

'* I shall not see you agt^in, my dear father," she cried, throwing
her arms around his neck and bursting into tears, " not for a long,
long time ! Are you sorry to let me go ? Will you answer if I write
to you 'i Do you care a little — a very little for me ? "

If ''Ir. Acland was touched by this impetuous appeal he, no doubt,
thought it wiser to conceal his feelings.

" You ought not to put such a question," he said testily. " The
best proof of your aflfection will be to control your temper and learn
common sense ; of course I have a proper regard for all my children ;
I am too busy a man to be a correspondent, but I shall always answer
you in any matter of importance ; be wise and cultivate kindly rela-
tions with — with your excellent step-mother, and — I am somewhat
pressed for time !" He pushed her gently away, sayinff, "Good-
bye, Marjory, cultivate self-control ; " then he held out his arms to
the younger ones, "Come, my little darlings," he cried, "come,
kiss father, he will not see your bright faces to-morrow."

Marior}' stood for an instant as if petritied, then catching a sight
of a soiucuhut ])eculia.r smile on Mrs. AcI.ni'^Vs face, she turned and
fled Skway to her room, with a sore and bleed jug heart. %

* - . .^■■^-.

A LIFE IVTBRRIT.

2U7

CHAPTER XXI.

THE DIE IS CAST.

Whrn Ellis reached Falkland Terrace next morning he was received
by Mrs. Acland alone. He cast a quick questioning glance round
the room, which did iiote.soajie her notii.'e.

** Marjory will be here directly," she said with i, soothing smile.
" She has gone to put on her hat, I assure you I feel quite
obliged to you for taking her out this morning ; she is in the doleful
dumps becauise her father was not in sufficient agonies of grief at
parting with her last night ; you would not imagine Marjory a senti-
ment'vlist.''

" I do not pretend to fathom the depths of Miss Acland's charac-
ter," returned Ellis abrup*;ly and conscious of an inclination to snub
the speaker, to whom he felt a decided dislike, *' but at her age the
enii^tions are generally strong, and no doubt she felt it might be a
long time before she would see her father again."

" How long, is probably better known to you than to ine," said
Mrs. Acland with a bold peculiar look.

*' What a she-devil," thought Ellis. " She would send that poor
child to any fate provided she got rid of her," and while he thought
Marjory came in.

She had put on her new dress and hat to do honour to the future
ambassador, and the prevailing colour, deep red toned down with
black, suited her well ; she looked pale, paler than Ellis ever saw her
before, her eyes seemed larger than usual and hud a distressed
expression, but her manner was composed and still : she showed
none of the flitting blushes and shy im})etuosity which i at first
attracted him.

" You are very kind to come for me," she said in a low but dis-
tinct voice as soon as they had greeted each other. " I should like
to see your friend's pictures, I am quite ready."

'* Let us go then. I wish you good mornint;, Mrs. Acland, and
good-bye, as I leave town almost immediately and shall not have the
pleasure of seeing you again."

" I dare say not," said Mrs. Acland with a cordial smile. " I sup-
pose, Marjory, I may expect you when I see you ! Mr. Ellis will
take good care of you."

Marjory made no reply, and followed by Ellis, went silently
down-stairs.

As soon as they went out of doors he hailed a hansom, a»iiu uiay
rolled rapidly away towards his friend's studio in Kensington.

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A LIPS INTKUR8T.

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** You are unhappy 1 " said Ellis.

*' I generally am, but do not speak of it now, or 1 shall not be fit
to be seen when we arrive."

"After you have louked at Vigors' pictures T have a good deal to
say to you, till then we will talk of somethint? else," and ho went on
to describe, lightly and amusingly, liow he became acquainttid with
the painter they were going to see, hoping to divert hib companion's
thoughts till they reached their destination.

Even the unusual circumstance of paying a visit under the escort
of Ellis did not disturb Marjory on this mtnnorable occasion. Her
mind appeared to be pre-occupied, to the exclusion of the pivsent ;
still the studio, with its draperies, its bits of art potteiy, and
armour, curious weapons, and a few pieces of Venetian glacis, sur-
prised and delighted her, though it was simple enough, compared to
the costly sanctums of most successful and establislied artists.

" I have brought a young cousin of mine to see you and your
works," said Ellis ; '* she is very fond of pretty things, and 1 want
to cultivate her taste for art."

" I am much flattered that you should think my poor studio worth
a visit," said the artist with a low bow, as ho laid aside his palette.
" I haven't much to show you atpresetit, having not yet had any of
my pictures back from the provincial exhibitions ; indeed I hope
not to see them again."

He was a short, broad man with wild red hair and huge mous-
taches.

*' What a lovely place 1 " cried Marjory, carried out of lio-self as
she looked round. " It is like getting into another world to come
here."

Then Vigors began to display his pictures, and entf^red into a
discussion of the subject on which he was then working, and the
best mode of treating it ; then they talked of events and people all
strange to Marjory, while she went softly to and fro, gazing her fill,
and now and then asking a few tiuestious.

The artist was evidently interested by her intelli;,fent ignorance,
if such an expression be permitted, and admired her too, iEllis per-
ceived.

"Does Miss Acland live in London ? '' he said at length. " For
if she is within reach, I should be templed to ask a great — an
enormous favour."

" From me ? " returned Marjory.

*' Yes, T would implore a few sittings ; Miss Acland," turning to
Ellis, "has exactly the face, the expro5?ion, the #o?(f p.msamhle, 1
want for a picture I am thinking of. a scene from the Vicar of
Wakefield,' Olivia and the Squire in the Vicarage Garden."

There was an instant's silence, j^llis knit Ins brows. Blarjoiy
flushed up to the roots of her hair, and then grew paler than

!• L

A LTFK INTFRCST.

209

" I Icare London to-morrow," shu said, .uid then bocnnio quite
.silent.

Soon Elli.s declared that they had kept Mr. Vigors long enough
from his work, and in taking leave observed, " If you will .-vllow mo,
I will show Miss Acland that wonderful head of a monk you picked
up at Sienna. It is in the dining-room, 1 think ; do not trouble to
come, I know my way, and we need disturb you no longer."

To this tho artist agreed so readily that a more experienced per-
son than Marjory might have suspected mutual understanding.

"This way," said Ellis, leading her up a narrow dark stair to a
comfortable, mellow-looking room, smelling strongly of tobacco.
The light of the declining sun struck strong and golden on a striking
picture of an emaciated head in a monk's cowl.

"Stand here, you will see better," said Ellis, closing the door.
"Now you have seen it I want all your attention myself ; no one
will interrupt us here. I have thought and schemed for this inter-
view ; it must be final and decisive." He drew forward a large
easy chair in which Marjory obediently «jat down, her eyes fixed on
him with an expression, half fear, half expectancy; she made no
reply.

"I said you seemed unhappy," he continued, taking his place on
a low ottoman beside her. " Will you not tell me if anything fresh
has occurred to distress you ? "

" Nothing very unusual," returned Marjory slowly, "only I have
been foolish enough to take it to heart, or rather it seems to have
stilled ray heart and made it stronger. You know I have found an
engagement in Scotland?"

" So Mrs. Acland told me."

" I start to-morrow morning all alone, and when my father was
going away last night I thought I must hug him, and get him to say
he loved me, and was sorry to let me go. I forget Mrs. Acland
— forget there was any one looking on —and threw my arms round
his neck sobbing like — like a fool ; but it was no use. He turned
from me to caress Louise and Herbert. I do not grudge his love to
them, poor things, but — but he might have a little for me I " Ellis
silently took her hand, which she left in his grasp.

" Take my love instead," he murmured.

" But one's father — one's own father ! It is too terrible to lose
his love because a stranger has come between you. However, I
have given him up, I must learn to be self-suflicing."

"Now, hear me, Marjory," began Ellis, still holding her hand.
" Your father has deliberately thrown you over; there is now no
duty, no home ties to separate us ; can you hesitate in choosing
between a life of mental and emotional starvation as an ill-paid
governess, and a life of warmth, and appreciation, of sympathy, if
for a while of obscurity, with me ? Be brave at this turning point
of both our lives, be my wife."

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210

A T.IFF, INTF.I i:9T.

Mjiijory did not answer iiimit (Hati^ly, t!i«Mu was o far-away V\k\^
in her eyes, then turninj^ to liiui she auid uuickly, distinctly- -

Ellis kissed her band.

*' Well said ! " he exclaimed in a tone of exultation. " My lovt,
my own, you give nie new life." Marjory was Hurjjrised and touched
to see how his usually hard face softened and lit up. " How much
you might have spared yourself had you come to this tk'cision
sooner. Yet thjugh gazing at her with passionate delight, Ellis
did not resist the movement by which she drew away her hand.
"Let me explain my plans to you, though I can scarce think
clearly, in the flood of happiness which has burst upon me."

" Listen to me first," said Marjory, still pale and with a quiver in
her voice that bespoke how much she felt. " I canu^ii break away
suddenly from the engagement I have just made. I tnud go to
Scotland after awhile."

** Yes," interrupted Ellis, an amused smile glittering in his deep-
set dark eyes, "you certainly must go to Scotland, you must fulfil
your engagement. Just hear me and credit me with some ingenuity.
You told me you were going to advertise in the lUmes. 1 went
away to my shooting-quarters and steadily searched the columns
headed * Want Situations,' till I found a little announcement that
such and such an appointment was required by ' M. A.,' replies to
be addressed to a steet I knew was near your house. This I
answered, to tind out if I were right or not."

" You i " ejaculated Marjory.

" I saw," continued Ellis, "in your intention to leave homo my
— may I say our — best chance ? Your reply enabled me to prepare
for my grand coup ; in short, the letters were miney and you en-
gaged yourself to me. Having arranged matters so far, I hurried
to town to make a last desperate effort to throw myself on your
mercy — mercy for yourself as well as for me. If you accepted me
at last, the way was clear, you would come with me to Strathlogan,
where on our arrival we should be united by the simple unceremoni-
ous ceremony, if I may so express myself, which performed in Scot-
land is perfectly binding. Then, as announced in Mrs. Morrison's
letter, we could go to Edinburgh for a few days ; from Edinburgh
you could write to your step-mother that you were going to Paris,
and arrived there you could give an address where letters would
find you. It does not seem to me that you would be troubled with
many. Gradually your father would grow accustomed to hear very
little of you, and so time would pass until the day I so ardently
long for, when we should return together and stand before the
world as man and wife."

" What an extraordinary plan. Did you take all this trouble for
me?"

'^Does it seem strange to you ? It is simple enough to dm.'*

A lilFR INTKREST.

311

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*' Then roally I am not enguj^eU, and theru is no Mrs. Morrison."

'* You are engaged to me ! But there u u Mrs. Morrison ; she ia

ray very excellent landlady. She is unaware that I hiivo U3ed her

name, but she ia quite prepared to receive ayoun<^ lady w^ho is to bo

married to ine under her roof, and is full of syiiipiithy. "

"It is too dreadful, ' said Marjory, as if to herself. " What
would George and Dick say ? "

"That it «8 better for you to accept the warm devotion of a man
who loves you than endure a desolate life with your stepmother.
Remember, too, there is no escape from it, at hast no imnu diate
escape, save with me ! I am your pupil, your lover, your protector
— as to these brothers of yours, they may be the best fellows on
earth, but they will have their own loves, their own ties, and you
will be secondary ; to me you will be ever first."

" I am indeed alone," said Marjory, trembling visibly. "There
seems no hope for me, but with you."

" Why does the idea of marriage with me terrify you, Marjory ?
You fill me with despair when you shrink and tremble. Remem-
ber, my every hope is bound up in you."

" It is the concealment I dread. The immense falsehood of the
whole thing. I am deceiving every one, I seem leaving light and
honesty behind me to hide under the shadow of shame."

" You are not deceiving any one. I may be — I daresay I am.
But all will be forgiven if it needs forgiveness, when we can avow
ourselves. My love, my fortunes are yours. It is as mu jh for your
sake as my own that I wish to ccmceal our marriage. I could not
endure to think of all you would undergo if I left you in the claws
of that harpy ! "

He continued to plead, to reason, to enlarge on the miseries and
wrongs she had endured. But more than all his subtle arguments,
the bitterness of remaining at home after all was settled for hor
escape on the morrow, the conviction that she was virtually 8e])ar-
ated from George and Dick influenced Marjory, and when I'^llis
ceased to speak she sighed deeply, and said, " You do not convi)ico
my reason ; yet I will go with you, I cannot stivy in my fail n's
house ! I do not deserve that you should care so much for me, and
take so much trouble for my sake. But if I marry you I will love
you ! Oh, it is cruel to be indifferent to one who gives you his
heart. How it cut me to the sonl when my father turned from mo,
and you seem to love me more tuan I do him." She smiled with
inexpressible frank sweetness.

"Yes, my own, my love," cried Ellis, an intoxicating sense of
triumph and delight, stealing over him, " I know you will be ten-
der and true I Do not say, if I marry you ! The hour you join me
settles that ' (f,' and makes marriage a positive necessity."

"Is it not growing late ? " asked Marjory, who began to feel the
need of solitude and reflection, a nervous dread of being qaestiojied,
if she delayed too long.

{

'.-.. ''

■ 1

212

A LIFE INTEREST.

fi; '

** I am afraid it is," said Ellis, looking at his watch. ** I have
some affairs to attend to before evening, so I fear I must take you
back."

They exchanged a few sentences respecting their meeting at the
station next morning, Marjory entreating him not to show himself
until he ascertained if Mrs. Acland had thought fit to accompany
her. Jilllis smiled at the idea of her putting any obstacle in the
way, but was wisely silent as to his conjectures.

" Was it not strange," she said, as they stood exchanging last
words, "your friend, Mr. Vigors, thinking of me as a model for
Olivia ? It seemed a bad omen."

'* He is an idiot," sharply. "Do you think I could ever be a
villain like the squire ?"

" x\h, no! I must think you everything that is good now/'
There was a slight melancholy cadence in her voice that touched
him deeply.

" Dearest, try to anticipate nothing but good ; your lot shall be
a fair one, if it is in the power of mortal man to make it so. Say
good-bye to me here."

He caught both her hands and drew her towards him trying to
raise her arms to his neck. Marjory shrunk back with a startled
look which warned Ellis. He instantly released her.

" There !" he exclaimed, "you are free, not even were I your
husband would I insist on a kiss you were not willing to give ; you
will love me yet, when I have had a chance of winning you. Come,
let mo see you safely to your prison house, this will be our last part-
ing, I trust."

111 I

■ I

Ellis returned exultant to his hotel. He had never taken so
miich trouble about anything in his life ; his passions, affections,
taste had never before been so strongly stimulated. The harder
crust of his nature had been effectually pierced, and above all tho
dirticulties of his pursuit, the original fearless dislike, toning down
to indifference of its object, only increased his determination to suc-
ceed. Ellis was both resolute and patient, and generally gained i\i\i
ends at which he aimed. His love for Marjory was sincere enough,
nor altogether unworthy her acceptance, but it would not stand an
hour before the claims of ambition. At present he fully intended
to bo her faithful husband, but he liked to think that the period
during which the marriage was to be concealed was at his option,
that he was master of Marjory's fate, that she might exist (happily
he lioped) for years, to give a secret charm to his life. Even if the
father came to know of the connection, he could be easily persuaded
to keep quiet for the sake of his daughter's interest, but he hoped
matters might be kept dark from him. Perhaps Ellis may by some
almost unconscious cerebration have felt the foreshadow of distant

A LIFE INTEREST.

213

I have

ke you

T at the

himself

jmpany

in tht

ing last
3del for

rer be a

i now.''
touched

shall be
BO. Say

trying to
i, startled

•e I your
Jive ; yon
u. Come,
• last part-

taken so

affections,
'he harder
ove all th'?
ning down
ion to sue -
gained tYie
re enoug li ,
stand an
intended
the period
his option,
8t (happily
Even if the
y persuaded
he hoped
lay by some
^v of distant

poEsibilities, when increased or complete concealment instead of
open avowal of his marriage n'ight be necessary. Well, all that was
very dim and remote, while the j)re8ent was full of succes.s, good in-
tentions and Jieavenly anticipations.

On her side, Marjory entered her father's lunise, probably for tlie
last time, in a state of much agitation, though she managed to sup-
press its outward evidence.

"Where is Mrs. Acland ?" was her first question, with a view to
avoiding that lady's presence.

" She has not come in yet and there is a letter for you, miss."
Marjory seized it with mixed feeling. It was fr -m Dick. When,
before, was a letter from him anything but simply welcome ?

" I have only time for a few words ; Brand wrote to me last week
that he is too ill to go on with his work, so I started as soon as 1
could to do it for him. Mr. Jervis agreed t* my going when I
explained matters. Be sure and write to me here and tell me all
about yourself and how you get on. I shall be here some weeks,

" Your affectionate brother,

"Dick Cranston."

This letter bore the address : 17, Dublin Street, Edinburgh.

The hand which held the letter dropped to her side as she camfe
to the end. " Tell him all about herself ; should she ever be able
to do so again ? If she were true to the man who was to be her hus-
band she must break off from all communication with her dear and
only friends, or throw them off' the scent by a series of falsehoods
and deceit, the mere thought of which made her pale cheeks burn.
Then, though George, kind, light-hearted George, mi^ht be kept
out of the way by his profession, she fpiared that Dick, who was a
free agent and might lead a wandering life, would find her out ;
and if he also found that she had lied to him, how he would despise
her.

Yet how could she escape ? she could not draw back. H(.w could
she tell Mrs. Acland that she would not go to Scotland the next
morning? Above all, how could she disappoint Ellis, who seemed
so alarmingly fond of her ? Why, she could not understand. No,
she must go through with her desperate undertaking iioir, and per-
haps all would turn out for the best. It would be so deli.;litful to
see Paris, and with such a companion, for certainly Mr. Ellis could
be delightful, and so clever, rather too clever slie feared, as she
thought of his unscrupulous and d:i.ring scheme.

After all, no one else ever cared so much about her. Her chums,
George and Dick, though kind and true, would, as he said, find their
own loves and give h^r but slight consideration ; she thrust the
letter into the depths of her pocket, and went to take off her hat
and assume as composed and indifferent an air us she could. How

•

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214

A LIFE INTEREST.

strange that last evening seenieil I Mrs. Acland was wonderfully
quiet and civil ; she asked if the pictures were well worth seeing,
and remarked that Mr. Ellis was adistini;uished-looking man. Then
Marjory begged to be allowed to put Louise to bed ; slie was amazed
to feel parting with the bright, troublesome little creature so keenly ;
should she never, never see her again ?

When she returned to the dinitig-room Mrs. Acland was over her
accounts ; Marjory sat down without speaking and kept quite 3till.

How cruel it was to have no one near to speak a friendly, sym-
pathetic word to her, on the eve of this treniendous change in her
existence ; she felt it almost impossible to restrain the hysterical
tears which were ready to burst forth ; she tried to steady herself to
say good-night and get away to the solitude of her garret. Mrs.
Acland suddenly startled her into self-possession by asking, in a
hard, matter-of-fact tone, "Have you any money, Marjory ?"

" Very little. " Marjory was determined not to say how much
she had saved from her necessarj'^ purchases.

" Well, your father told me to give you a couple of pounds for
your travelling expenses ; ot course, after starting you fairly he
expects you to maintain yourself."

" I hope to be able to do so," said Marjory calmly.

"There are two sovereigns and a half ; you will want cai fares,"
Mrs. Acland rose, and coming over to the table placed the money
beside her. " I have no doubt you will get on very well ; send a
card to announce your safe arrival, and then you can wait and see
what the place is like before you write again. What train do you
go by in the morning ? "

" The 10 a.m. from King's Cross."

' ' Then you must start at 9.30, and as the mornings are sharp now,
I do not think I shall see you oil" ; you can take care of yourself."

" Certainly, there is no need whatever for you to come."

" I fancy not," said Mrs. Acland in a peculiar tone, but Marjory
was too much taken up witli her own painful anxieties to heed, so
with a hasty good-night she went away to try and rest, if nob to
s'eep.

• • • • • •

Xo amount of bathing in Lethean waters could ever wash away
tilt! painful impression that ea^ly morning drive to King's Cross left
oil Marjory's memory ; the fever of nervous anticipation, the cold
tics of terror at the idea of crossing the Rubicon, for once started in
the train with Ellis, there could be no retreat ; she dared not drean.
of drawing back, she was completely committed. If at the last
moment some way of escape had ofJ'ered itself, Marjory felt she
would have seized it. Knowing there was none, she struggled to
hope the best, to be just and truthful to the man who would be her
husband to-morrow. He seemed so fond of her that he deserved
\xer gratitude. If only she had not to steal in such a thieviah way

in a

A LIFi3 fNTEUEST.

215

into bhe bonds of the holy wodlock, she did not think she would
mind marrying Mr. Ellis (he was still "Mr. Ellis " in her thoughts),
but when she was with him he always exercised a curious disturbing
influence over her, half fear, half attraction. Now she must put
away all doubt and fear, and try to look on him as one with herself.

Marjory had a strong and generous instinct of justice to others
and felt that she ought not to vex Ellis by looking or seeming
miserable.

At last the wretched drive was over, and Marjory, with desperate
courage, alighted and paid the driver.

" Your train goes in a quarter of an hour," said a porter, taking
her box, and reading the address.

Marjory was following him to the ticket-office, when Ellis sud-
denly appeared at her elbow. " Thank heaven you are alone ! " he
said, drawing her arm through his arm, " you are awfully cold.
There is a good fire in the ladies' room, and I will come for you
when I have secured a carriage. That's your luggage, is it not ? "

In an instant all trouble, all necessity for thought, wasliftod from her.

Ellis established her by the fire, and with a few tender words left
her feeling somewhat comforted. Shu had not spoken, she had only
returned slightly the pressure of his hand.

After an age of waiting {i.e., about ten minutes), Ellis reappeared,
and led Marjory quickly to a tirst-class carriage, of which he seemed
to have taken possession. It was supplied with foot-warmers ;
plaids, rugs, wraps, books, newspapers, and a travelling bag lay
scattered on the seats. Having i>laced his coni](anion in the seat
furthest from the door nnd covered her carefully with a large plaid,
Ellis descended again, and Marjory heard him talking to a polite
deferential guard, and then to a well-dressed respectable looking
man to whoni he seemed, from the words which caught Marjory's
ear, to be giving varioiis directions. She was struck by the cold
oommand of his tones ; they made her shiver with a sudden unac-
countable dread of future possibilities. The nvxt moment Ellis
sprang into the carriage, the whistle sounded, and they were away
on their journey — a life journey I

"At last, my darling !" cried Ellis, his voice so changed by the
ring of joy and tenderness uofcening it, that Marjory could hardly
believe it was the same she had heard a minute before, "at last I
have you safely extricated from the claws of your step-mother. It
is an awful trial for 3'ou this long joui-ney : you are looking white
and worry already ; give me your haml, no. your left hand." He
proceeded to unfasten and draw otl'iior glove, nnd put on the third
linger a brilliant diamoiKl and ruby ring. '"Even for a few hours
you must wear this as the ' locum teneiis ' of the plain gold one to
which this will be the guard."

"It is splendid!" said Marjovy, with genuine adtniration, "1
never had anything half au beusitiiul befurd." Tlien Ellis, touched

:fi

It,

'■^1

■ i

'A-

■

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216

A LIFS INTEREST.

by the tremulous agitation which she tried to control and conceal,
began to talk, in quiet but jf,yi)us accouts, of his plans, of all that
he longed to show her, of tlic mode <»f lifo which they would lead,
of their future intercourse with George, leading her thoughts from
the oppressive present to a bright future. Marjory lent herself will-
ingly to his efforts ; she longed to throw t)ff the load which oppressed
her ; she was ashamed of her own fears and ingratitude, ashamed to
show the terrible shame she felt at thus leaving her father's house
with a comparative stranger, to live with him in secret, even though
his wife.

So she forced herself to look out of the window and remark upon
the scenery, to ask a few questions about foreign countries, to tell a
few droll instances of her father's subjection to his wife. But the
experienced man of the world who sat beside her saw through, and
thoroughly appreciated her effort to control her own fears and emo-
tions. He kept himself well in hand, determined not to disturb or
alarm her by any attempted c mssses, much as he longed to hold her
in his arms and kiss the auoet mouth which quivered now and then,
even as it smiled.

" I suppose you know son)ething of Scotch marriages?" asked
Ellis, as they Itft Peterborough. He had wanted to come round to
this subject tor some time, as he did not know exactly what sort of
ceremony Marjory expected.

"Not much. They used to be performed by a blacksmith, did
they not ? "

" Not invariably," said Ellis laughing, " nor shall 1 bring one to
foi'gc your fetters, my darling. That was in the Gretna Green days.
A Scotch marriage is as legal and binding if celebrated in a house as
in a church or a registry office ; the chief thing is to have two wit-
nesses, which I have been careful to provide."

" And suppose they both die in a few years ; shall ve be able to
run away from each other ? " asked Marjory, trying to cheer up and
speak lightly.

"I shall certainly not try, and I d<m't fancy you would seek to
burst your bonds, even if I prove a bore. 1 have the fullest faith in
you, more than you can say to me. Eh, Marjory? "

" 1 think I prove my faith in you by being here," she returned,
with a quick sigh.

"I am afraid it proves still more, that you had a most unhappy,
unbearable home. How could any man be indifferent to such a
daughter as you are ? " and Ellis went on with many a tender and
lover-like speech, which helped to soothe and cheer Marjory, at any
rate while he sj)oke.

As evening clewed in, however, her spirits sank, and endless doubts
and terrors arose in the dimness of a dull autumnal gloaming.

After passing Newcastle, she began to feel excessively weary from
the mental strain and bodily fatigue of the last few daya.

A LIF£ INTEREST.

217

snceal,
11 that
i lead,
s from
slf will-
pressed
LUied to
I house
though

k upon
:,o tell a
3ut the
^h, and
id emo-
iturb or
hold her
ad then,

" asked
lound to
■j sort of

lith, did

g one

to
en days,
house as
two wit-
able to
[r up and

seek to
it faith in

[•eturned,

mhappy,
lo such a
Inder and
|y, at any

Us doubts

jary from

Ellis observed that she was growing very still and silent. He had
insisted on hei- taking some wine at York, but she could not eat a
morsel. He was touched and impressed by the courage and spirit
she showed in so trying a position. He ki»ew her heart was sinking
within her, but having promised to be his, she was trying to give as
little troul>l(i as possible.

" She will develop into a very plucky capable woman, but by
that time I shall have established complete control over her ; besides
she is too unselfish to injure me in any way. Yes, 1 think I have
secured a charming and malleable companion."

"You seem very tired, dearest. Will you not rest your head
against my shoulder, and let me support you with my arm ? "

"Oh, I am quite comfortable in this corner, I would rather stay
here."

" Little prude ! In a few hours we shall be man and wife."

"It is not that — it is — that I should rather stay here."

" Very well, you do exactly as you like ; let me put this plaid
round you, it is growing cold."

A long spell of silence, spent by Ellis in agreeable thoughts, in
self-giatulations on his successful scheming, on the safety and
secresy he had insured in planning the routine of his life for the
next year or two. Marjory seemed to sleep ; she had removed her
hat and thrown a soft, white woollen scarf over her head ; her
auburn l)rown curls in some confusion escaped from under it ; she
was very pale, but her lips were red, and the long dark brown
lashes which lay (jn her cheek looked black against its whiteness.
How young and fair she looked in the faint glimmer of the lamp ;
she was infinitely charming, bright, variable, self-asserting with-
out obs; inacy, and best of all, obscure. No one would trouble much
about iier, and he could have his own way pretty well in the
develo]>ment of their future.

" Wiiere are we ? " cried Marjory, waking up with a sudden start
and look of terror. " I have slept hours." She unconsciously
grasjH d her companion's hand.

" Not so long as you imagine ; we shall soon be at our journey's
end, thank God."

" Mr. Ellis," with feverish solemnity, "before it is too late, do,
do think if you are sacrificing your future to a mere whim, sacri-
ficing me too, if your feeling for me is not very deep indeed."

" I never indulge in whims, I have none to indulge," returned
Ellis, very gravely, pressing her hands in both his. " It is too late
to draw back, Marjory, for your own sake you matst marry me now."

" There is no must in it."

"Inexperienced as you are, Marjory, a moment's thought will
show that you have put yourself in my hands ; it would be destruc
tion to leave me now. My darling ! you have had a dream. D
not anticipate evil ; this day three or four months hence, you wi
laugh and wonder you ever hesitated."

:k :.'■'■

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218

A UFB INTEREST.

CHAPTER XXII.

A O U N T E R M A K C H.

It was quite dark when tlioy reached the end of their journey.
A. thick mist further obscured the little station and all around it— a
mist which fell like tlie finest rain, soaking through wraps and steal-
ing under umbrellas. A waggonette, drawn by a big rough-looking
horse, and driven by a lad to whom the same description applied,
awaited the travellers.

*' The resources of my temporary establishment do not supply a
covered trap, I am sorry to say," observed Ellis, aa he assisted
Marjory into the conveyance, and proceeded to cover her up with
cloaks and rugs.

" It does not matter," she returned, and did not speak again till
they arrived at their destination.

It seemed a long way, this silent drive through the soft darkness.
Wearied, and chilled Marjory made no resistance when Ellis man-
aged to put his arm round her and draw her close to liim.

At length the driver stopped, got down and opened a gate ; then
she felt tha'/ they were going over a very rough road. Presently a
sharp tur.i brought them opposite an open door, through which
Marjory .mw a h.tll partially lighted by a lamp, under which stood
a tall, sq lare-sliouklcred, grey-haired woman, shading her eyes
from the lij^'ht, the better to peer into the darkness, while the door
was hold oj.en by a smiling, neat, almost lady-like-looking, red-
haired lassie, about Marjory's own age. How her heart revived at
the sight of the women. With them there was some chance of
safety — of help — if need be.

"We are rather late," said Ellis, "and I fear Miss Acland is
terribly tired, Mrs. Morrison, pray take her to her room, and see
that the fire is good ; then let us have dinner."

" I am sure the young lady is real welcome ; she does look very
white and wearied. Come this way, mem. Jessie you see that the
lugL^'iige is taken up as sune as the cart comes. This is my second
daughter, mem, and she will be glad to help you any way she can,
as we all will, for I am sure Mr. Ellis is just a real gentleman, and
I wish you and him great happiness."

Speaking volubly, Mrs. Morrison led her young guest up a short,
broad oaken stair to a dim lobby, and, throwing (jpen a door,
ushered her into a large bedroom, comfortably but jdainly fur-
nished, and brightened by the glow of a blazing lire. "There,

A LIFE INT K« EST.

219

now," lighting t

10 o;mdlo3 on the dressing-table, "let me help you
oft' with your cloak. Wouldn't you like a glass of wine ? though, for
taking off the child, there's nothing like a drop of whisky ; but,
maybe, you're no used to that."

" Thank you very much. I do nob want anything," returned
Marjory, overwhelmed at being treated as a bride-elect. What —
what — would these people think of her? — coming there alone — such
a long, long way with a lover — to be married, without a friend or
relative to stand by her? " I am so cold and tired," she said in a
broken voice, and then, in spite of herself, she burst into tears.

" Oh, my dear I this will never do. I am sure you ought to be a
happy Indy, for there never was a gentleman so careful to make
everything ready for his sweetheart, and so feared that anything
should happen to disappoint him. He'll just break his heart if he
sees you crying like that. Come away and bathe your face and sit
down, get a warm, and make your hair smooth ; maybe you'll feel
better after," placing an armchair in front of the fire. " There, sit
ye down ; Mr. Ellis is a grand gentleman, and does not like to be
contradicted. He was maist always dinin' and shootin' with the
earl and his great folk, but now they are all away in the Highlands, so
not a soul about here need ken a word of what you are about, for
not one of us will spt^ak till Mr. Ellis lets us."

This speech was infinitely distressing to Marjory ; every word was
a separate stmg. It assisted her, however, to recover herself. She
must not talk to this good-naturod gossip. *' I am very stupid. It
is fatigue, I suppose. I will bathe my face, and make myself tit to
be seen."

" And that you are ! a pleasure to see ! The cart will be here
directly, and then you'll have your things. Now, I'll just leave
you. You ring the bell when you are ready, and Jessie will come
and show you the way."

Thankful to be left alone, Marjory did her best to wash away the
traces of her tears. It would be too unkind to Ellis to appear
beforo him as if overwhelmed with grief on the eve of their union.
But as the awful moment drew near, it was appalling to feel her
reluctcince, her dread increase. Why did she ever leave her father's
house ? Why did she allow herself to be over-persuaded into what
she disapproved ? If she could but be transported back to tho
desolate schoolroom and her stepmother's severities, it would be
heaven compared to her present state of mind. Then she could
honestly ask for sympathy in her troubles and grievances. Now,
whatever sorrow might befall her, it would all be brought on by her
own action.

She was drawn from this painful turmoil of thought by a tap at
the door, which opened to admit Jessie, followed by the rough-
looking lad carrying her box.

*' If you are ready I'll show you the way to the parlour," said

i'^^-

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220

A LIFE INTEREST.

Jessie, who lookoil radiant, as she evidently thought was suited to
the happy occasion. " The dinner is ready."

" In a moment," returned Marjory, putting a few final t^juches
to the toilette ; then she fcjllowed her guide with outward com-
posure but profound mental disturbance. Even while telling her-
self that nothing could deliver her from the imperative necessity of
wedding Ellis, the prophetic power of strong emotion impressed her
with an unreasoning conviction that the struggle must end by suc-
cessful resistance to the destiny she dreaded.

Down stairs again, througlia long cold passage, Jessie led her to
a room panelled in oak, with deep red curtains, comfortable leather
chairs, a faded turkey carpet and a glowing fire.

A lamp on the dinner table and wax candles on the chimney-
piece only partially illumined it.

Ellis, who was standing by the fire, came forward to meet her
eagerly, full of solicitude and inquiries.

Dinner was brouofht in immediately, and the attemlance of a
tidy servant girl, aided .it intervals by Jessie herself, relieved
Marjory from the first awkwardness of a tete-a-tete.

Ellis, always self-possessed and equal to the occasion, covered his
companion's silence by giving her some account of the place, of how
he came to know it and to hire the shooting ; how, also, he had
been laid up with a sprained ankle two years before, and what an
excellent nurse Mrs. Morrison had been.

Mai'jory forced herself to make monosyllabic replies. She felt
that Ellis' keen eyes were looking her through and through, that
he divined her profound uneasiness, and that he would probably
take some decisive step to put an end to it.

As soon as the cloth was removed and they were left to them-
selves, Ellis made Marjory write a poj>t-card announcing her safe
arrival, and promising a letter in a few days when the family had
removed to Edinburgh. He then asked her to draw nearer the fire.
She stood up and approached it.

"Dearest," he said," putting his arm round her and drawing her
gently to him, " it distresses me to see your suppressed agitation.
You are infinitely plucky. I cannot say how I admire the courage
with which you bear up, when another girl — most of girls — would
give way to hysterics. Let us cut short this uncomfortable transi-
tion state ; once you are irrevocably my wife you will be calmer and
more at rest. As I told you, a marriage in Scotland requires only
the declaration of the parties that they take each other as husband
and wife before two witnesses. Let me call up Mrs. Morrison and
her S(»n ; they are quite prepared. I have explained to them the
object of our journey here. I have the wedding ring," he took it
from his pocket, " and in a few minutes we shall be bound to each
other for life."

" What ! now, here, this evemng?" exclaimed Marjory, growing

A LIFB INTEREST.

221

rawincr her

crimson first and then deadly white. ** No, no, no ; that is quite
impossible I "

'* Why ? Marriage was the object of our journey here, and the
sooner it is accomplished the better fi)r you especially."

There was an indescribalile tone of mastery in his voice which
thrilled Marjory with terror, but she struggled to be composed and
firm.

" Such haste is unbecoming," she said ; *' it would seem strange
to the people of the house, though, indeed, it must all seem strange.
Besides, there is no clergyman ; and to be married without a
clergyman is too heathenish. Do not ask me to consent to anything
80 repugnant."

She had drawn away from him as she spoke. A frown knit his
brow for an instant, but he quickly banished in and said in a care-
softened tone :

"My dear love, is it not foolish to stick at a trifle now, when
you have gone so far ? I explained the nature of a Scotch
marriage to you, and the advantages it possessed for persons in
our position ; you seemed to understand, and made no objection to
it."

' * I never understood there was to be no clergyman. I knew we
were not to be married in church ; 1 understood that there were
to be two witnesses, but 1 thought a clergyman would certainly be
here to give us a blessing."

" But, Marjory, there is no minister within live or six miles. Ifc
is impossible to fetch him this evening."

" Of course it is ; but there is really no need for hurry. Besides

** My dearest child," he interrupted, " you do not understand ;
be guided by me. I am acting for the best ; I cannot listen to
your scruples, they are weak and unworthy of you. I am now your
protector, and my will ought to have weight with you. I am ready
to take all responsibility. I must insist on having my own way in
this."

He stretched out his hand to the bell-rope. There was such
resolution and authority in his voice and look that Marjory quailed.
It was only for a second, gathering up her forces by a supreme
eflfort, she laid her tiembling fingers on his arm.

" Stop ! " she cried, " I am qidte determined not to be married
except by a clergyman."

Ellis let his hand drop and his face grew hard ; they stood looking
at each other in silence. '* If we are already so opposed in idea,"
resumed Marjory in an unsteady voice, which grew firmer as she
proceeded, " it would be wiser not to unite ourselves irrevocably.
I have been weak in allowing yon to over-rule my deep repugnance
to a secret marriage, — now that I have gone so far my dread of it,
of all the difficulties it may lead to, increases every moment. I do

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222

A LIFR INTRRB8T.

-bufdi'e it is tdc

beseech you, Mr. Ellis, do not persist — let us stop-
late."

Ellis had gazed at her intently while ahe spoke. " It is too Lite,'
he returned with a harsh laugh. "Do you not see th« ahsiiidity
of your own proposition? Suppose 1 were willini; to Lfive you u\>,
after risking so much to win you, loainj^ sight of [)riiiciplos that lia\ u
hitherto guided me, aft'jr scheming, lying for your sake, how ai r
yoic to extricate yourself ( How account for your return ? — would
you venture on an avowal of your experimental trip with nie ? You
must know enough of life to be aware that such un incident would
not le to your credit — in the eyes of the strait-laced."

Marjory coloured to the roots of her hair — her throat and ears
were dyed with the vivid blush his words evoked — wliile she quivered
aa if a blow had been dealt her. "Better risk anyfhinfj than life-
long regret," she said with the courage of indignation. "1 could
write to my stepmother and say that the place and the people were
not what I like, and return home."

Ellis looked at her with a moment's hesitation, then walked the
length of the room and back ; stopping opposite her he said in a
softer tone, " No, Marjory you could not face such an ordeal as that ;
moreover I cannot part with you. I do not suppose you have the
faintest notion hoAv cruel you are ; I am half inclined to wish I had
never seen you. Why don't you love me? Why do I love you /
I cannot answer either question.
and to yourself — if you leave me

Acland to your father's house, I tell you, you do not know the con-
sequences of your own act. I cannot explain."

" I am deeply, deeply grieved — lam ashamed of myself," cried
Marjory, struggling with the sobs that would rise in her throat.
**If you are really so fond of me I will wait for you as long as you
like — until you think it prudent to marry ; I will never look at any
one else, never, I promise. Wouldn't that do ? " — beseechingly,
yet a little more calmly.

"No ! you strange, incomprehensible, charming girl," cried Ellis.
" It will no< do! Let you leave me now ?— on the very brink of
the happiness I have longed for, and dared so much to win ? What
do you think I am made of ? You force uie to be almost brutal.
Put all these follies out of your mind ; accept the destiny you agreed
to yesterday — and be my wife ; for by heaven or hell, whichever is
the most appropriate oath," he added with a sneer at his own
unusual energy of speech, " I will tiot let you go."

Marjory shrunk as if he had struck her. She did not speak — she
stood quite still — one hand pressed on her heart, her reproachful,
entreating eyes fixed upon his face. Her brain was in a whirl, but
through all the dire confusion of thought and feeling a voice — not
her own — seemed repeating in her inmost heart, " I will not stay ;
I will not stay."

Sweet Marjory, be kind to me
now — if you return as Marjory

A LIFE INTEREST.

223

Agftin Ellis took a turn to and fro, then, pausing beside Marjory,
who stood by the lire, he exclaimed : " I hope this is the last unplea-
santness before we start on our honeymoim. I daresay you think
ine anything but chivalrous. Believe me, I am not a bad fellow.
I will love and cherish ycu as nuicii as the most psalm-singing pro-
fessor of proprieties could, i)i>ssil)ly more ; but there are a few points
on which I will tiot bear o[)positi()n. 1 am willing to yield to your
whim about having a clergyman to marry us ; it involves a foolish
delay, but I wish to please you as far as I can. To-morrow morn-
ing I shall send early to catch the nearost min'ster."

Marjory bent her head in silence ; she res«jlved with instinctive
prudence not to commit herself by further speech ; she wanted to
go away to think in solitude.

She put her hand to her head and murmured that she was
'*;iwfully weary."

" 1 daresay you are, poor child," said Ellis compassionately. " I
will explain matters to Mrs. Morrison and get intonnation respect-
ing the minister. Meantime you had better go and rest. I daresay
you will be glad to be alone. I will send Jessie to you. Good-
night, my love. Do not think unkindly of me. Remember that
you have virtually given yourself to me by you acceptance of my
scheme." He drew her to him and softly kissed her eyes, instantly
releasing her when she strove to free herself. He walked to the
door, paused, looked at her, and went out. " 1 think I have made
her understand," he mused as he went in search of Mrs. Morrison,
''that resistance is useless. It would indeed be a fiasco were she
to escape me noiv. But though she is plucky enough, she dare not
leave me ; besides, she does not like to wound me. I do not think she
will give me much trouble in future."

Marjory threw herself into a largo chair and covered her face
with her hands. She was terribly in the power of this resolute and
unscrupulous man. How unscrupulous the bold ingenious plot by
which he managed to withdraw her from her father's house proved.
Would to God she were back there ! Ellis might be kind, but, oh !
he could be cruel; she was sure he could. "What shall I do ?
What shall I do ?"

"Mr. Ellis said you wanted me." Jesse interrupted her wibh
these words.

" Oh ; yes, thank you ; I want to go to bed, I have a headache."

" Well, it is full half-nine, and how peo})lecan sit up late I cannot
think ; they can't have much to do in the day. I've just been hunt-
hig my little brother away to his bed ; he'd read his book far into
the night if he were let."

"I am sorry to trjuble you, but I don't think I could find my
way."

"Eh I I am proud to help you. And so we are not to have the
wedding to-night? "

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224

A LIFE INTEREST.

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'*0h! no, it is far too late. Tou have a little brother, then."
Marjory went on Quickly to change the subject as she followed her
guide aown the dim passage which was but faintly lighted by the
candle she held.

'* Yea ; the eldest and the youngest are lads, but wee Jammie ia
a cripple, poor fellow ! and sadly spoiled."

"My pupil that was to have been," said Marjory to herself,
thinking of the hopefulness with which she had answered the letters
that lured her into her present trying position. I low was it that
yesterday the prospect of marrying Ellis did not seem by any moans
overwhelming or dreadful, whereas 'now it was appalling — a very
nightmare of terrible anticipations? Finding no solution to this riddlo
she looked fearfully round her large gloomy cliamber, and the
immense necessity for self-control being removed, burst into a
passion of tears and sobs.

Jessie shut the door in hot haste. " Preserve us ! " she exclaimed.
*' He must not hear you take on that way ; and the poor gentleman
that delighted to get you safe away ! Take a drop of water —
you're just fairly done. No one will come here to disturb you.
Well, if you can't stop I'll call my mother," and while Marjory con-
tinued to sob almost hysterically, though she tried hard to stop her-
self, Jessie ran to call her mother, who came as soon as she got rid
of Ellis.

'* And what's it all about, my lamb ?" she asked, coming into the
room, a phial of sal volatile in one hand and a bottle of whisky in
the other.

" It is over fatigue and — and stupid nei-vousness," faltered Mar-
jory, who was beginning to recover herself.

" Ay, ay ! they do say this volatile stuflf is composing, but I would
try a sup of whisky and a little cold water — it's just line for tlie
nerves."

" Thank you very much ; cold water will do — and then it I could
get to sleep."

"Ay! that you will, tired as you are. I suppose you just had
a few words about the minister. You'll excuse me if I am saying
more then I ought ; bub it's bad to begin with contradictions. He's
awful put out — I can see that — and ever since he began to talk of
the young lady he was to bring he has been quite another creature.
He is a proud, masterful man. You'll excuse me talking so free ;
but you are just a bit lassie, and I feel for you ; but you ought na'
to have stood out about a minister — it looked like doubting him,
and there was Willie and me in our best clothes, just waiting to be
called to be your witnesses — for Mr. Ellis had warned us to be
ready — you'd have been tied up safe enough without a minister."
"Well, you see, I did not think so," murmured Marjory, not

quite pleased with this freedom of speeck.

"Anyhow," resumed Mrs, Morrison, placing

her phial on the

A LIFF, INTKJIKST

225

, then."

fved her

by the

,minie is

herself,
e letters
s il that
y moans
—a very
lis riddle
and the
: into ;i

claimed,
mtl email
water —
Lub you.
i<try con-
stop her-
e got rid

; into the
*vhisky in

red Mar-

t I would

for the
it I could

just had

ni saying

Us. He's

to talk of

creature.
'J, so free ;
ought na'

ing him,
mg to be

us to be
nister."

jory, not

itl on the

table and her whisky bottle on the floor. "The boy is to bo
away tirat thing in the morning to fetch Mr. Blair, who is the
minister of Haggiaburn — the nearest manse. Ho'U be hero by ten
o'clock," this with an air of encouragement.

" By ten o'clock," repeated Marjory faintly.

*' Well, well, you are better now, my lammio, so I'll leave you to
got your rest ; would you like a night-light ? "

"Yes. I should, and ho 1 Mrs. Morrison, if I am not asking too
much, would your daughter mind sleeping with mo to-night ? The
room is so large, and I feel so awfully strarge and lonely."

"Ay ! that she shall. I'll send her up in a few minutes. To-
morrow is churning day and she'll have her hands full Shall I un-
strap your box ? "

At last she left the room. It was an infinite comfort to Marjf)ry
to know she would not be alone in the silent watches of the night.
She had rather taken a fancy to Jessi«.'s bright honest face. Dare
she trust her and try to gain her assistance towards the escape she
meditated ? No ; it would be too rash. If the minister was to arrive
at ten, what chance had she ?

When at last her young companion and herself were safely
locked in for the night, Marjory was calmer and able to think more
clearly.

Jessie was still excited and talkative ; such an eveut as a private
marriage did not happen every day in their quiet house.

Neither of the gils were disposed to sleep.

"You're waking?" whispered Jessie, as Marjory lay watching
the dancing shadows made by the fire-light.

"Yes."

"Well, for fear you should be put out and disappointed to-
morrow, I muy tell you it's my belief that Jack will no find the
minister. I know Jean (that's the housekeeper at the manse) told
our Maggie the minister was away to Glasgow for the christ'nin of
his sister's bairn ; but I wouldn't lose heart for that, — there's Mr.
MacGuckin of Caldercleugh, he's like to be at home."

" And hew far is he away ? "

" Nigh ten miles up a hilly road."

" Indeed ! "

* ' Oh ! don't you fear ; our brown mare would go there and back
under the four hours even with a rest."

" What is that ? " asked Marjory with a start, as a shrill, distant
scream broke thes ilence.

"It's only the railway whistle, the wind must have gone round
to the north-east ; the line comes much nearer than the station, it
bends round by the burn at the head of the wood."

" Does the railway go to Edinburgh ? "

"Yes, it is only an hour-and-a-half by the quick tri*ln, Have
you ever been in Edinburgh ? "

(15)

::J

• ■ . <. '

•s«***f ■

326

A LIFE INTSBSST.

"No."

*' Eh — it's a grand town ; but Mr. Ellis will be taking you there
likely to-morrow."

" I suppose the train we came by to-day goes on to Edinburgh ? "

*' Yes ; when we go we always take the seven-fifty, it gives a long
day."

'' That is dreadfully early."

"Ahl well, you see, there is not another till twelve forty-five,
and that is a slow train, so we'd need to sleep in the town. You'll
like to see Edinburgh ? "

" Very much indeed. I have heard it is a beautiful city."

"You may say so. There's the Castle, and Scott's monument,
and Holyrood, ecc, etc." Jessie ran on awhile, but not receiving a
reply, she stopped, thinking her companion was asleep "Poor
lassie," she thought. " She did take on. I wonder what she
found to cry about, when she's going to marry a grand gentleman
like Mr. Ellis, and he so fond of her? I wonder if she is a great
heiress? anyway she has has no jewellery," and Jessie gradually
passed from conjecture into profound slumber.

Her companion, though keeping very still, was instensely awake.
She was considering eagerly, painfully, her chance to escape.

If the clergyman first named by Jessie was at home and obeyed
the summons, Marjory felt that she could not for very shame
refuse to go through the ceremony of marriage. She could not so
cruelly disappoint and insult Ellis as to reject him in the face of the
man he had brought to unite them. No. It would be braver and
more honest to stand to her deeper convictions in the fane of all
difliculties, but she knew she had not courage to do this. Then
whero should she drift ? to be the suppressed wife of a man she did
^oi love, whom she would disappoint, and disappointed, Ellis could
ard would be cruel ! she felt it, — she knew it by the prophetic
insulrxt of a sensitive nature. If she could only get away unseen
v.'he'i Ellis was occupied elsewhere, — it would be cowardly, even
basd, but she would do it. It would be better for both of them in
the end. As to arriving at any decision, that was impossible ; she
i p.d not even the will to decide. So she worked wearUy round and
•ound the same circle of thoughts, diversified by miserable con-
"fictdres as to what was to become of her after — by ment»,l counting
up of the money she had in her purse, just enough to take her
'lome, and by repeating over to herself Dick's address in Edinburgh.
11, oh ! if she could take shelter with him 1 Should she ever
accouiplish it ?

When undressing, Marjory had found the letter she received
yesterday. Was it yesterday or two years ago ? and reading it over
a gleam of hope came to her with the idea of Dick being within
reach ; painful as it would be to make such a confession, she could

to
jusi

■^•l

A LIFE INTEREST.

227

tell him anything. At last, when night was nearly over, she fell
asleep from exhaustion, and slept profoundly, dreamlessly.

It was broad daylight when she woke, and Jessie stood by her
bed with a cup of tea, which Marjory found very ref resiling.
Having replied to the girl's kindly inquiries as to how she felt,
Marjory could not force herself to say more ; the subject on which
she would fain have had information was too tremendously impor-
tant. Her eyes no doubt spoke for her, as Jessie said with a smile,
" Indeed I have no news for you yet ; Jock did not get away till
near nine ; my brother said it was no use disturbing the minister
before his breakfast. He'll be back soon, though, for it's near ten
now. Will you get up to your breakfast, or shall I bring it here ? "

"I have a shocking headache, Jessie," returned Marjory,
resolved, if possible, to avoid seeing Ellis till the last moment ;
" I think I shall keep quite here."

"Ay ! do," said .Jessie sympathetically ; and taking the empty
cup she left th3 room.

While Marjory, whose complaint of headache was fully justified,
was trying to arrange her thoughts and praying earnestly for help
and guidance, Mrs. Morrison came in with a note in her hand.

" I am sorry," she exclaimed, sitting do'.^n by the bedside ;
" but Mr. Baird is away to Glasgow, so you must judt wait for the
minister of Caldercleugh— and he cannot be here before the after-
noon. Mr. Ellis is wearying to know how you r.ve ; there's a note
from him."

Marjory opened and read as follows, while Mrs. Morrison very
deliberately studied her face :

"It is most unfortunate, dearest, that the minister nearest at
hand is absent. I am just starting in search of another at some
distance, thinking that if I do not appear in person he might
decline to undertake a long drive for so small a motive. Possibly
reflection and daylight may have presented a different view of
matters from what you entertained last night ? If so, t-;ll me ; and
we can carry out my original plan. I trust you are calnmr, and
refreshed by a night's rest. Will you not see mo before I start 1 and
must I start at all ? Ever your devoted — R.V.E."

In reply Marjory hastily wrote :

"I cannot come round to your views. I do wish you would agree
to mine. Forgive all the trouble I cause you. I cannot see you
just now."

" You will frive that to Mr. Ellis ? "

" Yes ; and he is lookinjc awful bad. I don't think lie has closed

^■'

III:

Pi
■It I

:iM-

228

A LIFE INTEREST.

an eye all night. And now he is just going off to Caldercleugh to
fetch Mr. MacGuckin ; ho is ready to do anything to please you.
Indeed,, and you may be a proud lady. "

"Ob ! yes ; I dare.say I ought to be,' cried Marjf)ry, dying to get
rid of her hostess, her invention strung to sudden life and activity
by this scarce expected turn of afl'airs.

" And what would you lik^ for your breakfast ? "

" Anything — nothir-?. I have had a cup of tea ; that is enough."

" Indeed, an' it's not ; you must any way have a new-laid egg and
some cream scones."

" I assure you I do not want anything. Please take that note to
Mr. Ellis."

Directly she was alone Marjory rose and began to dress She had
eagerly leaped to the conclusion she dared not attempt to reach the
night before. It would be one o'clock befor(3 Ellis could possibly
return ; by that time she must have eluded Mrs. Morrison and her
daughter ; have reached Strathlogan, and be on the road to Edin-
burgh — to deliverance. It was base, perhaps cruel to Ellis ; but
she could not help it — it was a question of life or death to her.

"Eh! but you are locking another woman," cried Mrs. Morri-
son, who had tapped for admisson, and now entered bearing a tray
on which reposed the good things she had prescribed.

" Well, that poor gentleman is away," she continued, evidently
considering Ellis an ill-treated, long-suffering lover. " But he'll be
riglit glad to find a bright, bonnie bride awaiting him. I'll have a
nice bit of lunch ready as soon as he and the minister come back.
Mr. MacGuckin's a learned man I'm told, and a soond classical
scholar, but he likes a good dinner for a' that ; then you can be
married and a', in time for the evening train to Ediiiburgh ; at least
I believe that's where you're going."

" Yes ; to Edinburgh," repeated Marjory.

"There, now, try and eat a bit, and when you ring Jessie will
come and help to sort ye."

Left alone, Marjory tried to !*teady her nerves ; she finished
dressing, and made up a small parcel of necessaries which she could
easily carry under her rain c oak ; she re-arranged and carefully
locked her box ; she countea her money. Then she rang, and
awaited the appearance of Jessie, who escorted her to the room
where she had dined the day before.

It had evidently been Ellis' sitting-room. Books, pamphlets,
newspapers and writing materials gave an inhabited aspect. A
laige square projecting window looked out over a wide stretch of
undulating country to the right, a plantation of some extent
sheltered the hous«> on the north-east.

It was a clear, dry, gxay day, and Marjory fel': that decision had
given her strength and courage. How to evade the people of the
house puzzled her. How to find her way was another difliuulty.

I^p

A LIFE INT K REST.

229

" What a fine view," she observed, walking over to the window,
"It was so dark and wet l?st night I could not see anything."

" Oh, it's fine and open, and away over the hill there's a grand
moor just full of birJ s."

" Which way has Mr. Ellis gone ? '

" Over the upland before you and across a corner of the moor.
I am glad it's still, for it's a bitter cold drive on a windy day."

*' Is that the road we came by last night ? "

" Oh no ! As soon as you pass the wood and out of the gate you
turn to the left and follow the road alonsj the hollow ; that's the
road you came last night, and maybe you'll go back by to-day if
you take the trali;. to Edinburgh. If I hadn't to attend to the butter
I would take you out for a turn to see the place, but mother is in a
hurry, she wints it finished off before dinner."

*' Oh, do not mind me. I'll shall find a book. Indeed, my head
still aches. As soon as my room is ready I will go and lie down and
get a little sleep."

*' That's right. I'll make Maggie do it at once. Then I'll come
and call you, for you'll likely be waiting to put on another gown."

" Thank you. And where is the dairy ? I should like to see the
dairy later.''

" It's right at the other end of the house, by the kitchen and the
farmyard " (she pointed to the left). " You'll not be frightened if
the house is still, for no one will come to disturb you."

"No. I shall be glad to be quiet."

" There's mother calling me. You ring if you want anything."
She hurried away.

Marjory stood in deep thou'^'ht, marshalling the facts she had
ascertained ; first, the 12.45 Edinburgh train stopped at Strath-
logan ; next, she had learned the way. Lastly, the Tamily would all
be engaged for some houra at the other side of the house — chance
favoured her. She stole noiselessly into the hall to consult the
clock. She would give herself an hour and a half to accomplish the

two miles and a "bit." Once outside the gate, no one would
recognize her. But oh ! that long, lonely walk. She would not
think more of its terrors. Now was the moment for action, if she
missed it she would be lost.

She carefully folded up the sparkling ring, which she had worn
scarce twenty-four hours, in paper and inclosed it with a few words
in an envelope addressed to Ellis :

"I am behaving badly to you, I know," she wrote, "and I most
humbly ask your forgiveness. I cannot marry you. Hereafter you
will be thankful I did not. I will write in a day or two and tell you
where I am. Trust me not to betray you to any one. Again I beg
you to forgive me. I can hardly forgive myself. — Marjory."

■4

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(ill ill
■!!'|l

230

A LIFE INTEREST.

This she left on the chimney-piece when she had dressed and
thrown her rain cloak over the parcel she carried. Then she locked
the door of her room and placed the key under the letter

'* If they come and find the door locked, they will think I am
asleep and not look for me ; though no one has a right to stop me. "

All was profoundly still. The front door was open, as it usually
is in country houses. She ventured forth. Not, a creature was to
be seen. She stole past the corner of the house, and keeping in the
shelter of the wood, followed a road which ran beside it till she
reached the gate, when she turned to the left and walked as swiftly
as her quick- throbbhig heart would allow towards the station and
liberty. Of the gloomy, forbidding aspect of the distant future, she
did not allow herself to think.

CHAPTER XXIII.

STORM STAYED.

Of the three young creatiires over whom Mrs. A eland had exer-
cised so evil an influence, the one least injured by it was her own
son. This was not owing to any good-will on his mother's side.

Her cruel insinuation that he had been guilty of theft had gone
no further than their family circle, save to old Mr. Cross, in whom
Dick had confided. He had escaped from his mother's oppressive
presence, from a profession he disliked to congenial work, and,
after the first year of hard struggle, to sympathetic companionship.

From the time he encountered Brand fortune had smiled upon
him. He was singularly attracted to his father's old comrade, and
felt bound to him by more than gratitude, by the keenest sympathy,
by a subtle harmony of nature which underlay considerable differ-
ence of opinion.

But though they had been in close communication for several
months, and Brand talked frankly on n^ost topics, Dick was com-
pletely ignorant of his previous life. As to his past career, Brand
never uttered a syllable, and seeing that he did not wish to speak on
the subject, Dick avoided it with equal care. They suited each
other admirably, and the elder man revealed , in conversation with
his young companion, some literary and much worldly knowledge,
which he kept to himself in his intercourse with ordinary acquaint-
ances.

When Dick readily obeyed his summons, he was shocked to find
Brand lookinu; extremely ill, suliering from severe neuralgic pains
and terribly depressed in spirits, the results of a bad cold.

nes
out
mu(
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A LIFE INTEREST.

231

*' I feel better already," said Brand next day, after a long talk
aboit the work on which he was engaged and the particular portion
of it in which Dick could assist him. *' I have grown suddenly
unxious to live. Two years ago, if any one told me that 1 would try
to stay upon the stage instead of accepting the very first oppor-
tunity of making my exit, I should have laughed at the idea. But
so it is."

" Then I have no doubt you'll pull yourself together," said Dick.
"I think 'will' has something to do with recovery. It's a good
sign your taking a relish for life again."

" It isn't a relish," said Brand thoughtfully ; " it is an interest.
I fancy I can be of some use to you in the next two years. "

" You have been of the greatest use already," returned Dick, a
good deal touched by the quiet earnestness of his manner. " Where
should I have been if 1 had not fallen in with you ? "

" I think 1 have been a help to you. But you would have got on
without me ; you have some of the qualities which insure success.
I particularly want to do this job of Lord Beaulieu's in France ; it
will be a great thing for you. I shall leave as much as I can to you,
and it will make you known to a good set of people. Then the
climate will suit me. I love the south of France and Italy. That's
the reason I want to finish my present undertaking. This is a cruel
climate, and it's not so pleasant working for Sir Peter TuUoch as
for Lord Beaulieu, who was himself an artist ; so you must push the
men on."

The scene of their labours was a few miles out of Edinburgh, and
Dick went there early each day by train, returning when evening
closed in. The first morning Brand accompanied him and explained
all the details he wished to carry out. After, he was very irregular,
sometimes keeping indoors all day, though certainly better and more
cheerful.

The first four or five days were especially pleasant to Dick Crans-
ton. His work interested him ; he had a pride in carrying out
Brand's plans, while the return to a cosy, cheerful evening, a
thoughtful book and a pipe, or a rambling confidential talk with
Brand about art politics, made the hours fly fast.

Sometimes con^ orsation turned on the Acland family. Brand was
always interested in them. He was concerned to hear that Mar-
jory was going to leave her homo.

" She's not the stuff to make a governess of," he said. "It is
true I only spoke to her once. I saw her again at Beaulieu, when
she did not see me. But from what you tell me, as well as the little
I saw that evening, I should say she's not the stuff to make a gover-
ness of ; she is not mechanical enough. Why, every thought speaks
out in her face. She is the making of a charming woman, or I am
much mistaken. I wish she were happily married. It is possible
may thiow herself away on some worthless fellow ; girls who

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A LIFE INTEREST.

have unhappy homes often do, and she is an attractive crealiue."
Brand sighed.

" Poor Marge I I should be sorry if anything went wrong with
Marge ; she can be so miserable and so joyous. Then she is as true
as steel."

" A rare quality in man or woman. But uhere has not been much
to try her as yet. "

"Small things show the disposition," rejoined Dick.

The day after this conversation Dick returned rather earlier than
usual, feeling somewhat tired and looking forward to his evening
with quiet pleasure. He let himself in with a laL?h-key, and
turned into their sitting-room, expecting to find Biand beside the
fire. To his amazement a lady occupied his armchair. Dick, with
a feeling of bewilderment, mechanically closed the door. At the
sound the lady started up and flew to him with outstretched arms,
which she threw round his neck.

It was Marjory — Marjory herself, deadly pale, her eyes looking
large and strained, her lips quivering. "Oh, Dick! I thought
you would never come. You will help me ; you will not think me a
wretch ? "

"Marjory! Why, what has happened ? Of course I'll do all 1
can for you. What has gone wrong ? " He removed her arms gently
from his neck, but held her hands tightly in his own.

"J have done wrong, Dick. I went away yesterday ivith Mr.
Ellis from my father's house ; to-day I have run away from him to
— to you," and she laughed hysterically.

" Good God, Marjory ! " exclaimed Dick, his own colour chang-
ing. " What have you done ? "

"I have done wrong — very wrong — I tell you," she repeated
feverishly. "It is a long story ; you must listen patiently before
you condemn me."

"You ran away with Ellis?" asked Dick, his face darkening,
and gradually taking in the assertion which appalled him. ' ' Then
was your story about going to be a governess false ? "

" No, no, Dick ; I never told you a lie. I never told any one a
lie. But I have acted one. Do not be angry with me. I have no
friend in the world but you, Dick. Just hear what I have to tell."

"Sit down, Marge ; why, you can scarcely stand. Yes, tell me
everything."

He put her in the armchair again, and drew a chair beside her,
his eyes eagerly fixed on her face as he devoured her words. She
spoke low and quickly, but gave a clear account of her acquaintance
with Ellis, of her amazement at his proposal ; then of her return
home, her illness, her unhappiness, the reappearance of Ellis, and
the subsequent events. When she came to the miserable uncer-
tainty, -he terror and repugnance which grow upon her during the
journey, and reached its highest pitch when she found herself away

A LIFE INTEREST.

233

from every one she had ever known, in the lonely house at Strath-
logan, she grasped Dick's hand in both hers, and bowed her head
upon it ; her voice was broken, but she shed no tears, the tension of
waiting for his verdict was too great.

" tSo I got away and came here," she ended without looking up.

" Elks is a scoundrel ! " cried Dick ; adding with a grim smile,
" How awfully sold he must have been when he came back and
found his bird flown."

' ' I am sorry for that too. Oh ! I have behaved badly all round.
You may not believe it, but Mr. Ellis ivas very fond of me ; if ho
had aoked my father, and married me openly, I might have grown
fond of him : that was why I went away with him. No one else
cared a straw for me, and he did ; he did indeed."

' ' I believe it " — shortly — " but not in the right way. He should
not have taken advantage of your unhappiness to induce you to do
what we would have been ready to shoot another man for even
mentioning to a sister of his own. I should enjoy horsewhipping
the fellow."

" Don't abuse him. I have decided him, and why should I
punish him for my own weakness ? Can you forgive me, Dick ? "

" I have nothing to forgive, Marge. It was awfully foolish of
you to listen such a proposal, but I can understand the tempta-
tion. Thank God, you had resolution enough to come away. It
makes me shiver to think what you have escaped. You must
stay and rest here. "

"And you will not let Mr. Ellis come here? You will not let
him take me away ? "

"Let him? "and Dick pressed her hands with such force that
she could have cried out. "You are safe with me. I mean us, for
I must speak to Brand ; he is very wise. "

"No, you must not," said Marjory firmly, as she withdrew her
hands, looking straight into Dick's eyes as she spoke. " I will
never betray Mr. Ellis to any one, ^except to j'ou, because I miist.
If the story of his wishing to marry me came to Uhcle Carteret's
ears, it would ruin him. Indeed it would do him no good in any
direction, and I will not harm him if I can help it."

" Marjory," indignantly, "I believe you love the brute."

"Love him? I almost wish I did. I should have trusted him
then, and had a little bit of happiness, for a while at any rate,
whatever caiae after. How can you say so, after all I have told
you ? "

" Girls are such strange creatures, they say, I know nothing of
them."

" Well, that does not matter, only I will not have any one told
about him ; promise me, Dick, dear Dick."

"But 1 can't all at once, we must think vrhut is best to do.
Anyway, Marge, I am glad to see you, though you look so white

*v.

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234

A LIFE INTEREST.

and worn, poor little Marge I Have they given you anything to
eat or drink ? "

" 1 want nothing, only to settle with you about going back,
for" — with a shivering sigh and closing her eyes — " 1 have made
up my mind to go back."

*' What I to Falkland Terrace ?"

" Yes. It will be awful, but I will do it."

" And face my mother ? Why, she will never allow such a ' raw '
to heal."

" I deserve some punishment for so — so wild, so dreadful an act
as running away with a comparative stranger. Oh, Dick 1 I am so
overwhelmed with shame when I think of it. 1 will bear every-
thing the best way I can. I intend writing to Mrs. Acland that
the place is unsuitaWe, intolerable, and return the day after 1 write.
You see, they know at home that I was to come into Edinburgh
with Mrs. Morrison, so far that is provided for ; for the rest I shall
say I was uncomfortable, and explain nothing. Oh ! I can hold my
tongue if I choose. Then I will teach Louise, and try and make up
for my haste and imprudence. I shall be more patient because I
know I do not deserve "

'* You are a thousand times too good for them — for any of us,"
interrupted Dick, infinitely touched by her humility. " What
chance had your inexperience against the scheming of a villain like
Ellis ? "

" You must not abuse him. I ought to have had sense enough to
judge, and "— growing crimson — *'my womanly instincts ought to
have kept me from listening to what I knew was wrong. I do not
want to shirk my own responsibility. But do you not see, Dick,
that the least said about such an aflfair the better? Promise me
you will not tell Mr. Brand."

• * Perhaps it would be better not. If you have the courage to
face going back, — why, it is the best thing you can do."

" Oh ! I shall do it " — in a tone of despairing resolution — *' all I
ask is a sacred promise never to tell any one what I have confided
to you. When George returns I may tell him. I cannot have a
secret from him. Do you know the idea of deceiving you both
held me back more than anything. Oh ! it is such a relief to be
with you, to tell you everything," and she laid her head against his
shoulder."

Dick kept very still. *' Thank (xod ! you have escaped," he mur-
mured. " I was always afraid of that fellow."

*' Afraid of whom ? Mr. Ellis ?— why ? "

" 1 don't know. He was always about with you."

" How do you know that ? "

•* Whenever you talked to me or wrote to me, you always men-
tioned being here or there with Ellis."

*• Did I ? Well, I used to dislike him "

A LIFE 1NTERB8T.

23fi

" You don't dislike him noiv ?"

" Xo ; I could not dialike any one that seemed so feud of me ; it
would be ungrateful, Dick.'"

" He does not deserve much gratitude from you."

" No one else seemed to care much about me."

'■ Do George, and I count for nothing ? "

" No, no ; but how little I shall ever see of you." She stopped
abruptly, and there was a moment's silence.

"I must explain your appearance in some way to Brand,"
exclaimed Dick in a troubled voice.

" I have seen him — and explained myself," she returned. "When
I came here, the old lady who opened the door did not seem
inclined to let me in, even when I said I was your sister ; then I
asked for Mr. Brand, and she brought me in here. Mr. Brand was
so astonished. He was very nice and kind. I tried to seem calm ;
I told him about finding the engagement I had undertaken unsuit-
able, and coming to you for help and advice ; he said you would be
in about six, and that both of you would be glad to help me in any
way. Then he offered me tea ; I could not take it, so he went to
settle with the landlady about a room for me, I think, and I sat
counting the moments till you came."

" It has been an awful business for you altogether," said Dick,
nfter a moment's pause, " and 1 wish — I do wish, Marge — you had
not to go baob nome."

"Oh! pj do I. It seems more than I am able to face, but I
must, it is my only way to escape — unless, indeed, Mr. Brand or
any one could find me something to do here ? "

*' That, I fear, is out of the question. How long can you stay,
Marge?"

" Till Monday or Tuesday. It would be too soon to seem to give
up before. This is Thursday."

"Well, you must rest and gather courage — and then try for
mother engagement. I should feel happier if I knew you were out
of the house — your father's house."

"I don't feel as if I should ever have heart or courage again,"
said Marjory.

" Perhaps old Carteret " Dick was beginning, when Brand

opened the door and walked in, saying, " I hope I have left you
long enough to discuss your affairs. Now, I think it is high time
Miss Acland had something to eat — she looks tired out. I have
settled with Mrs. MacKibbin about a room for her as long as she
chooses to honour us forlorn bachelors by staying here." He
Jsmiled in a kindly paternal fashion as he spt)ke.

"Thank you," cried Dick ; " I have heard all my sister had to
tell me, and think she was quite right in leaving the pv^ople she
went to."

" What a shame to drag her all this way north — for nothing,"

■111
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236

:'i ;

A LI PR INTKRKST.

Would you like to soe your room before

said Brand lightij'.
tea ? "

Marjory glr'ully accei)ted tho su;?<^u.stion, and, <accc»my)iinied by the
landlady, left her hosts with a whispered reminder of his promise
to Dick.

'*She has had a start ? " said Brand interrotratively.

'* Yes ; she came in for rather an unpleasant affair, but she has
insisted on my promising to keep tlie thing secret."

"Oh ! very well. Least said soonest mended is often the caae ;
the sooner she is safe at home the better."

*' I wish she hadn't to go there," cried Dick, who was leaning
his elbow on the mantelpiece, and his head on his hand in a
despondent attitude. "It is too bad that a slight, tender little
creature like that, who is all fire and feeling, should be driven into
a corner and obliged to escape from her father's house as if from
prison."

" Ay ! " returned Brand, lighting a cigarette, " life ia desperately
hard on some women. Your sister won't mind my smoking ? "

"No ; she used not t^J object to a pipe, unless she was very cross
with us."

"The worst is," continued Brand, "that it's the best women
who generally, indeed almost always, go to the wall. I've seen the
the hard, selfish ones, the cool hands, whose adamantine natures are
sheathed in the velvety soft-seeming of exterior timidity and
shrinking, clinging, flattering helplessness, ride over the roughest
waves to success and prosperity. This poor young thing is the right
sort. When she came in here to-day I could see she had had a
great shock of some sort. Oh ! I don't want to know what it was.
I could be no help to her ; but she pulled herself together as
pluckily, as if she had a man's spirit in that slender frame of hers.
What a fine pair of eyes she has ! Gad ! if I had a daughter like
that I would never let her out of my sight, and I'd work my soul
out to make her comfortable. 1 am a tolerably keen observer now,
after having been taken in often enough, and I'd be thankful for a
daughter like her," pointing to the door with the cigarette which
he took from his month.

Dick's eyes lit up with pleasure as he listened to this eulogium,
and the sweet grave smile which was peculiar to him parted his lips,
showing his white teeth under the soft golden-brown moustache
which had grown so thickly since he had parted with Marjory on
the miserable day when he went forth to the battle of life. " Yes,
Marge is wonderfully plucky ; I wish we could keep her with us —
she looks awfully cut up."

The entrance of a raw-looking Highland servant girl with wild
black hair, who proceeded with a good deal of clatter to lay the
table, interrupted their conversation, and Dick left the room.

When Marjory joined them, she was looking more cheerful and

i:\

A LIFK INTEREST.

237

composed, a grateful sense of the rest and security soothed hor;sho
was satisfied that she had done wisely -if not for Ellis, certainly
for herself ay ! for him, too. It waa such a blessed relief, too, to
have no barrier of concealment between herself and Dick ; then
she was with kind, frank friends, and free from all the horrible,
painful embarrassment of expressive looks and love-making.

'•'Come, my dear Miss Acland," said Brand, placing a chair for
Her, "you must, if not too lired, pour out tear. It is no end of a
treat to see a young lady pour out tea. A teapot without a woman
to preside over it is only a melancholy reminder of past joys and
privileges. Dick will lose his manners if he goes on always tete-a-
tete with a miserable worn-out old ^nis.uitluope like myself."

*' I'm sure you are no misanthro})e, Mr. Brand," said Marjory,
looking kindly into his dark, sleepy, smiling eyes, " or I shoulu not
feel so much at home with you. I fancy your misanthropy is all for
yourself. Do you take sugar ? "

She assumed the duties of administering tea with a pretty air of
unaffected readiness, surprised at her own composure after the trials
and emotions of the last twenty-four hours.

Brand did most of the talking. He insisted with kindly authority
on his young guest eating some of the grouse which furnished their
evening meal ; he talked of the beauty and historic interest of Edin-
burgh, and promised to show her some of the principal lions on the
following day. Marjory, though she listened well pleased, said very
little, and soon after the table was cleared bid them good-night.
"I feel as if I could sleep day and night," she said ; " I never was
BO tired before. "

*' You must not get up till all hours to-morrow," returned Dick,
who had come out with her into the hall to light her candle.

** I suppose you go away early ? "

*' Yes ; at half-past eight."

*' Then, Dick, I shall not see you before you go ; and I must write
to Mr. Ellis. I must, indeed," this in a very low tone.

" Why ? I do not see the necessity."

" But I promised ; and it would leave him in such cruel perplexity
if he did not know what became of me. Oh ! I must write, Dick.
I will show you what I have written."

'* If you must, you must," said Dick gloomily.

*' You are not to be cross to me, for I ca; not bear it," slipping
her arm through his and pressing against him.

Dick, looking down gravely and kitidly into her eyes, murmured :
"I never am cross to you, Marjory. Good-night. 1 trust you will
rest well, little Marge."

" All the same— he ivas a little cross," thought Marjory, as she
went upstairs to her room ; "or perhaps it is that boys can't bear to
be cuddled."

A delicious sense of security enabled Marjory to enjoy to the full

-if

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238

▲ LIFE INTEREST.

a night of profound sloop, which she sorely needed. Her waken-
ing, therefore, after a moment of puzzled confusion, naturally
brought her renewed courage and clearer thought.

She had made a terrible mistake, fehe had very nearly let herself
be persuaded into doing what she knew to be wrong ; but she need
not allow this painful memory to overshadow her always. She
would try to be wise and good and prudent, and so in some measure
atone for her rash error. Above all, she was anxious to write to
Ellis and acquaint him with her plans. She would like to finish
With him clearly and distinctly.

As soon as she had dressed and breakfasted, finding that both
Brand and Dick had gone out, she settled herself to write her letter.
Many were the attempts she made, the notes she tore up, and she
was but ill-pleased with what she finally wrote :

*' I am staying here with my brother Dick," so ran her brief
epistle ; "On Monday I shall write to my stepmother, and say that
1 cannot remain with Mrs. Morrison, as I am unhapyy and uncom-
fortable. On Tuesday I shall follow my letter before Mrs. A

can answer it. No one, therefore, need ever know that you were
with me, except Dick. I was obliged to tell him, but he has pro-
mised to keep the secret, and you may trust him. Now I want you
to forgive me. I know I do not deserve that you should, but I shall
be miserable if you do not. Had I only had the strength of mind
to say ' No,' and stick to it, neither you nor I should have been in
this uncomfortable position ; so, believe me, 1 am very, very sorry.
Write me a little word, and then we had better never hear of or see
each other again. I am grieved to say good-bye thus, but you will
forgive me and forget me, will you not ? — M.A."

Poor Marjory shed some tears over this disjointed epistle, and
put up an earnest prayer tliat she might never see his face again.

Faithful to her promise, she put the letter unclosed in her pocket,
ready for Dick's inspection, and then she spent some time gazing
out of the window, vaguely watching the scanty traflic and wonder-
ing at the steepness of the street.

She was calmer and braver than the day before, but not yet able
to give her attention to a book. Presently, with a thrill of delight,
she recognized Dick Cranston at the opposite side of the street. He
seemed taller and broader and more important-looking than vvhen
he shared the light and shade of life in Falkland Terrace. Could
she have ever dreamed that the despised " monster " would turn
out 80 handsome a man ? for there was nothing of the boy about him
now.

"Brand let me oflF early," said Dick a few minutes later, coming
quickly into the room. " He thought you would be lonely. We'll
ask Mrs. McKibbon for some luncheon, and then talk a walk into
the old town. It is well worth se'*uig. "

** How good of him ; how good you both are, to a sinner like

A LIFK INT KH EST.

239

me I " cried Marjory, with one of hor old bright smiles. ** 1 do not
doservo it, but then Mr. Bnuid duos not know."

"No ; and never shall thiough nie. I believe you are right,
Mar<{e ; this affair ought to bo kept a secret."

" Will you look at my letter ? " she asked timidly.
" I scarcely like to do so, yet perha{)a I ought."
Marjory handed it to I.im, and ho read it through slowly.
" He is getting off far too easy," he said, returning it to her,
hope he will trouble you no more. To-morrow Brand will come
back early to keep you company, and so you shall not be much
alone. "

Next morning, when her kind hosts left her, Marjory tried to read
some of the books and magazines, a good supply of which lay about,
but found that the restless uneasiness of yesterday had returned to
gnaw her heart. How unwise, how precipitate she had been ! and
what terrible retribution awaited her in her return to her step-
mother's rule. Oh, if Mrs. Acland only knew^ what bitter use she
would make of her knowledge."

No, she could not read, so she set to work to put the room in
order and arrange the books. She was even meditating asking for
a duster, when the Highland lassid suddenly flung the door open
and said, "Here's a gentleman for you, mem." For an instant
Marjory felt blind and dizzy ; then she saw all too clearly that she
was face to face with Ellis.

How white and stern he looked, as he stood silently gazing at
her. Marjory unconsciously clasped her hands and waited for his
words. She could not have spoken to save her life.

'* I am not surprised that you find my presence somewhat painful
and oppressive," Ellis said at last with a bitter laugh. " Few lovers
have ever been so neatly tricked. I congratulate you on your power
of keeping your own counsel, of making your clever plans. Of
course, I had no notion you had cover so near at hand."

" I have no right to quarrel with ar_^ thing you choose to say,"
returned Marjory sadly and humbly ; " but, remember, I begged
you, even at tiie last moment, to give up the marriage — to think
well before you committed yourself irrevocably. Was it not better
to run away, rather than let you marry a woman who did not, could
not love you ? "

" Why could you not love me, Marjory ? "' said Ellis advancing a
few steps.

" I may answer by asking. Why did you love me ? We cannot
help ourselves. I am most unhappy when I think of having given
you pain ; but you will soon see that we are better apart. You will
soon forget me."

" Never ! " cried Ellis in a harsh tone, " never, Marjory. You
have stamped the impression of yourself and your desertion too
cruelly deep upon my soul. I wonder you did not fear rousing the
enmity of the man you cheated so basely,"

'tj

IV**f--i»d'W?;?V- '*-.V^JCKi-i'K"r

■:'.'>,

■i%ri|iBv%

240

A LIFE INTEREST.

**Not BO basely Mr. Ellis," jjleaded Marjory,
tended I waa in love with you."

never pre-

((

You promised to be my wife. Can you deny it ? " Marjory
dropped her head in silence. *' However,'" resnmad Ellis, *' I did
not come here to waste time in useless reproaches. From first to
last, Marjory, you are the one weakness cf my life. You have cost
me what you can never repay. Now I want you -'^ tell m() clearly
and truly what your intentions are."

" I have told you already. I cannot venture to return before
Tuesu«,y or Wednesday next ; but I shall go home."

■' Where I do not imagine you will have a very good ♦^^ime,"
repaed Ellis. *' What would Mrs. Acland say if she had an inkling
of tl\e truth ? For what matter, what would any one say ? "

"She need never know," cried Marjory, stung to self-assertion b;^
his jeering tone, " unless you tell her , and from what you have said
I imagine you would be as little disponed to betray the secret aa
myself."

"I am not inclined to batray either you or myself," said Ellis.
*'But whatever happens, and wherever you go, Marjory, the exis-
tence of that sec"^t is a tie between us you can never break. In
travelling with me, in r-^niaining under the same roof with me, you
have put yourself in my power. I may never use the power ; but 1
will not promise to refrain. How will your future lover Oi husband
like to know that you escaped from your home, undor *alse pre-
tences, with a man whom you did not marry ? "

"No, tl\ank God ! " exckiuied Marjory, full rouseo. "Better
face any fate than be tied to a man who can threaten as you do."

Ellis did not reply immediately ; he walked to the door and
returned.

" My natural indignation hurried me into too forcible expres-
sions," he said. "You must, however, acknowledge you deserve
little consideration at my hands. Yet I never forget that I am a
man of honour, that is your best safeguard. Still, I should like to
pay the debt I owe you. I feel a curious mingling of pasfeion with
a longing for revenge, a tolerably devilish mixture, I admit."

" I am more and more convinced that I did well in leaving you,"
returned Marjory, who had completely recovered composure. " I
regret, I always sliall regret, that I was weak enough to be per-
suaded againrjt my better judgment ; and I shall never cease to
i'-epent having caused you pain Even now, if I can atone to you in
any way, except marrying you secretly, I will."

" You will ? " repeated Ellis, and stood a moment or two in pro-
found thought. "I accept your offer. You said you were willing
to be engaged to me, to wait until circumstances permitted me to
marry openly. This is the atonement I will accept. It will be a
long waitiii'^, I warn you ; there will be considerable periods v^f
8epi*iatiou j but in spite of your strange conduct, Marjory, I can

never pre-

tu-Ti before

16 door and

A LIFE INTEREST.

241

trust you. i think you will keep your word. Will you promise to
be iny wife when I can claim you ? "

" Is this your revenge i " asked Marjory, looking steadily at him,
the vivid colour hir appearance had Ctdled up :ading away.

" Nay ; it is the constancy of my allectior. Don't you see I can
not bear \.he idea of losing you ; i*nd woul J rather cling to a distant
hope than gl"^ up all hope."

" Having treated you very badly, I suppose my conscience makes
a coward of me, and I feel less ready to give you my promise than
I was the other day."

" This is the only atonement I will accept, and I think I have a
right to ask it."

'' No doubt you have," cried Marjory, rallying her forces. ' ' But,
Mr. Ellis, be generous ; forgive me, blot out all this unhappy affair.
I am no St wife for a diplomat, a future ambassador. You, too, as
time goes by, will find an indefinite engagement a mill-stone round
your neck. Now you are angry, and with justice. You will be
happier if you throw this anger off and let us part friends."

She made a step towards him with a frank, winning smile and
outstretched hand. Ellis grasped it hard.

" You do not Know me, Marjory. You shall not trick me out of
my rights. You accepted me for your husband. You committed
yourself by trusting yourself to me. Had the minister I first sent
for, been at hand, you could not have escaped. You took a base
advantage of my effort to meet your wishes to frustrate mine. Now
I (>nly ask the performance of your own proposition, to wait till I
ca:i marry you openly. Surely such unwaverinc; constancy deserves
some acknowledgment."

" Let go my hai^d, Mr. Ellis ; you hurt me," said Marjory faintly.
" If I thought you really loved me, that you had not some idea of
revengf; in what you ask "

" Love you," he cried, walking restlessly to and fro, "I never
loved you more passionately ; never felt more eager to call you
mine. Sweetest Marjory, you are a rare woman, or promise to bo
one with your tenderness and resolution. You iiave wrung my
heart ; w ill you not heal it ? "

" If, indeed, I can atone to you," she said falteringly, *' why, I
ought to give you my promise — a promise, perhaps, you will never
claim."

" Do iiot lay that flattering unction to your soul. I will hold you
fast. Come, repay me for all you have inflicted — bitterness you are
incapable of measuring, profoundest uK^rtiti cation, cruel desertion.
Atone as you offered by saying, ' Ralph, I provnise to be your wife
when you claim me.' "

"And you will quito forgive me if 1 do 'i " cried Marjory, over-
whelmed with shame and penitence.

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342

A LIFE INTP:REST.

" Ye3, quite," with a. peculiar smile. In a low and broken voice
she re [seated the words.

There was a moment's silence. Then Ellis, who had thrown him-
self into a chair, exclaimed : —

•' It was a dreadful breach of trust to tell that brother of yours,
as you call him, you were going to marry me."

*'I could not help it. 1 wanted his advice. I wanted son^e one
to Bpeak to ; and he is both kind and safe, quite safe."

'* I daresay he will hold his tongue for your sake," significantly.
•^ What did he say?"

" Oh, he scoldea me and abused you."

" Ah ! very likely. Of course, so admirable a young man would
not be guilty of such folly."

'* Who ? Dick ? Oh, never."

" Well, perhaps he has not been tempted. He is a mere boy."

** He seems a man in sense and judgment to ine."

'* Ellis looked at her with a cynical smile. " I suppose you will
complete your confidence by telling him of vour solemn promise to
me?"

" Of course I shall." Another pause.

'* Let me put this ring on your finger once more," said Ellis rising
and coming; over to her.

"1^0, please do not. 1 could not account for it, and I will not
lie if I can help it."

"Keep it then," holding it out to her.

"No, pray keep it for me. I would rather not hav it."

" You will write to me, dearest?" There was so.^iething gone
from his voice since they had journeyed north together ; she could
not define what.

" And how — where can I write to you ? "

" Oh, I do not know. I must think and tell you. You must not
write often. I will be guided by you in all small matters, sweetest
Marjory. I shall be in London to-morrow. You will write to my
club."

" Yes." She said it faintly.

" Than I must leave you, my shy bright-eyed bird. I wish I had
the power to carry you with me. Good-bye ; come, give me a kiss.
I deserve one, and I will have it." He caught her in his arms, to
her infinite terror, when the sound of the door handle turning
made him release her quickly, before Dick Cranston was fairly in
the room.

The two men stood for an instant eyeing each other in no friendly
spirit. Marjory sank into Brand's favourite armchair.

" Mr. Ellis," said Dick coldly, *' I cannot say I am glad to see
you."

*' Very likely not," returned Ellis readily ; " yet I should have
imagined that a young fellow like yourself would have sympathized

it-

A. LIFE INTEREST.

243

in voice
wn him-
E yours,
Dr"9 one
ificantly.

m would

3 boy."

you will
roxnise to

]\\\a rising
I will nofc

ling gone
she could

must not
sweetest
te to my

j^rish I had
me a kiss.
s arms, to
e turning
fairly in

friendly

;lad to see

.ould have
mpathized

with, and even smiled at the imprudence of a senior. Are you so
thoroughly a brother in spirit to Miss Acland that you cannnot per-
ceive how impossible it was for a man who loved her to resist
securing at once his own happiness and her deliverance from a
miserable home ? "

" If you had really loved her you would not have persuaded her
to take such a step," said Dick gravely.

** Counsels of perfection which are beyond me," returned Ellis
with an irrepressible sneer. "You cannot deny that she has amply
punished me for any indiscretion I have committed. However, she
has forgiven me and 1 have forgiven her. I hope hereafter to win
her esteem, and do not despair of even yours," and he smiled cyni-
cally. '^ So once more good-bye." He kissed her hand in a courtly,
respectful fashion, and with a defiant bow toDir^ , he left the room.

Marjory sat down suddenly by the cable, on which she resred her
elbows, burying her face in her hands.

" What a cool, insolent rascal ! " cried Dick, looking angrily after
him. "I was afraid he might force himself upon you. Never
mind, Marge ; he is gone now, and I hope you are clear of him."

Marjory was crying quietly, though bitterly, as if her heart would
break.

"Don't give in now, Marge, after showing such pluck."

*' Oh ! I can't help it, Dick. I shall never be clear of Mr. Ellis.
I have— he has made me, promise to marry him by-and-by, when
he can marry openly. "

*' What ! " cried Dick in so stern and angry a tone that Marjory
ceased crying ar.d lifted her head to look at him ; " you have been
so miserably weak as to let that sneering devil bamboozle you ? I
am amazed ! I am disappointed. It is unworthy of you." He
strode across to the fireplace, and, Jeaning against the mantelpiece,
turned his back upon her,

** If you had heard all he said, Dick, you would understand that
I could hardly refuse. You know how I tricked hi'.n ; and before
I promised that if he would not insist on marrying me then, I would
wait for him as long as he liked. Now he says the only way to
atone for my base treachery is to promise to marry him, and I felt
so guilty before him that I would have promised anything."

"I would almost rather follow you to your grave than see you the
wife of that mon," said Dick with strong emotion. *' There was
more hatred than love in his eyes as he looked at you. You shall
not i.iarry him, Marge I "

■ ; 11

244

A LIFE INTEREST.

CHAPTER XXIV.

DIPLOMACY.

Mrs. Acland was sitting serene in the dining-room beside a
bright fire, having interviewed cook, examined the larder and looked
ke,enly at the condition of passages and scullery. She was justly
proud of the prudence and success with which she had manoeuvred
her objectionaMe stepdaughter out of the house.

'' And she shall not come back in a hurry," thought Mrs. Acland ;
" why should she be kept under a glass case, when her superior in
looks and ability had to rough it with doubtful characters, and
struggle up into respectability, in spite of such obstacles as few
women have had to encounter — a commonplace school girl pretend-
ing to hold her own Avith me, and trying to rival me with her father. '
She read over the " Money Market" article, in the morning paper,
and finding little else of interest, resumed the current of hei
thoughts. "I wonder what that man Ellis was plotting? Did
Marjory understand him ? Those honest-looking girls are very deep
sometimes. He is in love with her or I am much mistaken. A
man of his stamp would not take the trouble to come all the way
here unless for personal gratification. I suppose as he is a sort ( f
relation his intentions are honourable ; are any man's intentions
honourable towards any woman who is not able to take care of her-
self ? At all events, I need know nothing and suspect nothing. If
she is entangled, with him, why, we shall probably never see her
again. I should be quite justified in refusing to receive her into
the house with my own daughter should she ^et into a scrape
which is highly probable ; then good-bye to Miss Marjory."

Here her reflections were interrupted by the parlour-maid, whu
presented a letter.

"The promised letter from Edinburgh," said Mrs. Acland to
herself, recognizing the writing and examining the post-mark ;
" this is quicker than I expected." She opened it and read : —

" Dear Mrs. Acland,

" I am sorry to tell you that I have been much disappointed in
the place and people at Strathulogie. They are quite respectable,
but rough and common. I have, therefore, given up the engage-
ment, and have arranged to start for home to-morrow morning,
arriving about seven in the evening. You may be quite sure that I
bIuiI lose no time in looking out for some other employment.

" I am yours very truly,

" Maujoky Acland,"

A LIFE INTEREST,

245

beside a
ad looked
ras justly
anoeuvred

I. Acland ;
iperior in
iters, and
es as few
i pretend-
er fat her. '
iiiL^ paper,
mt of her
ing? Did
3 very deep
staken. A
all the way
is a sort ot
intentions
;are of her-
othing. If
rev see her
re her into
a scrap

|ry-"

-maid, who

Acland to
post-mark ;
L'ead : —

appointed in
respectable,
the engage-
)W morning,
e sure that 1
nient.

Acland."

Mrs. Aclaud's face fell as she threw the letter from her, her fair
brows kuit themselves and her handsome mouth grew hard. " r>ack
again so soon ! there is some mystery in this. If Ellis knew these
people how is it that they are too uncouth for Marjory ? Has she
quarrelled with him ? was the whole affair a plant ? 1 wish I had
told Mr. Acland of Ellis calling here and saying he knew these
Morrisons, then there might be an opportunity of implicating Mar-
jory ; as it is, I had better say nothing. It was stupid of me sup-
pressing that visit. How hard it is to know whicl is best, speaking
out 'T keeping quiet ; who could have dreamed that she would have
come back within a week ? She has quarrelled with Ellis and got
the better of him or she would not be so ready to return. I wonder
if he travelled north with her ? I wish I had gone to see her off.
Had I seen him T could make a row ; as it is, I had better keep
quiet, and start he^ oil' as soon as I can. I believe she will stick to
us like a burr." Mrs. Acland thrust the letter impatiently into her
pocket and went upstairs to tell nurse and to order the garret to be
prepared for the "tm-welcome guest."

Mr. Acland was much disturbed by the news of Marjory's most
unexpected return.

" Something very unusual must have occurred to induce her to
leave at once. I trust there has been no infringement of — a —the
properties ? What do you think, my dear ? "

"Oh ! as to that I don't think you need distress yourself. I
fancy it is only Marjory's whims and conceit thac have made her
throw up the engagement. Probably with her usual want of self-
control she showed airs and temper, and these quiet country folk
will be glad to get rid of her. Marjory's temper will always destroy
her chances of success. However, / am willing to do my best for
her."

"You are always kind and considerate. I am sure I wish
Marjory would live peaceably at home. I cannot think where she
got her temper. Her poor mother wan placid to a degree, and 1
am not at all passionate."

"By no means ; your temper, though determined, is calm."

** Exactly so," returned Mr. x^cland much gratified. "No one
knows me as well as you do, my love. Well, if Marjory is still
determined to leave what might be a happy home , we will not stop
her.'

"Perhaps it would be wiser not," said Mrs. Acland, as if giving
up her opiiiion to his.

As may be imagined, Marjory's reception was of the coldest.
Her train was late, and dinner wh»'n she arrived was over.

"I must say your journey north has not improved your appear-
ance," was Mr. Acland's remark after her first icy, " How do you
do ?" In truth Marjory looked ghastly pale and weary, with dark
shadows under her eyes.

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246

A LIFE INTEREST.

I I

" Well, Marjory, you lind there are worse places than home,"
said her father. " Why did you leave so suddenly ? — was there
any serious objection to your employers ? "

"Very serious to my mind — they were simply rough farmers.
I could not have lived with them ; but I am too tired to talk about
anything to-night. 1 will take a cup of tea and go to bed. I am
very very sorry to come back to trouble you. However., I hope to
find something else scon."

" Had you not better take a glass of wine, Marjory ? you seem
over-fatigued," asiied her father, touched by her aspect.

" Thank you ; I will, as you ask me," she returned with a slight
tremble in her voice. She felt sorely in need of something to
sustain her ; and having swallowed it, bid Mrs. Acland and her
father good-night.

What a home-coming ! with all that pressed upon her mind and
memory. What a contrast to the tender care, the thoughtful
consideration lavished upon her by Brand and Dick.

If she could only have stayed with them, to be their housekeeper,
to mend their clothes and look after them generally, life would
have been too lovely ; but delighted as both seemed to have her
for a gr.est, neither seemed to think it possible she could remain.
How grieved Brand appeared to part with her, and Dick seemed
almost as sorry ; though he did not quite forgive her for letting
Ellis extract the promise she had given. How earnestly he
entreated her to write and tell him everything ; his last words were
whispered : — "Marge, get clear of Ellis — unless you love him, which
I trust in God you do not. "

" Love him ! No ! " but she felt remorseful towards him, and a
little afraid of him, but for the present she would put him out of
her mind. There was enough to worry about just now, and Ellis
was fading into a distant danger. He would hot trouble her for a
long time ; and she sank lo sleep with the memory of Dick's kind
earnest eyes and slightly-knit brow as he huskily bid her farewell,
for her last wakini. thought.

The sudden apparition of Marjory, her strange story, the extra-
ordinary mixture of courage and weakness she had shown ; her
hard fate in having to return to her father's house, made a deep
impression on Dick Cranston. He was imaginative in a strong,
slow fashion— small matters did not move his creative powers to
conjure up mind pictures, but once touched or stirred to indigna-
tion, the impression took deep hold and haunted him.

Though simple and unpretending in nature, he had a high ideal
of life and conduct, none the less stringent, because he was (juite
unconscious of cherishing a loftier standard than the ordinary
young man of every-day life. He was in some ways old for his

was
and
soft
spea
One
stru
begj
wen
scho
Ho)

BColc

A LIFE INTEREST.

Ii47

years
little.

steady and earnest, yet full of enthusiasm, of which he spoke
He was almost startled at the fiery turmoil into which
Marjory's tears, her extraordinary escape, and above all her semi-
recapture, had thrown him. He shruld have enjoyed hurling Ellis
down stairs, and reflected with grim satisfaction that he could have
done Fo ; Ellis was a vimin, of tliat he felt convinced, and he half
feared Marjory liked the scoundrel.

The evening after her departure Div^k came in late. He had been
intensely diligent in his work, and looked tired and out of spirits
when he sat down with Brand to their evening meal, of which they
partook almost in silence.

When the table was cleared, iJ^and settled himself in his chair
for a quiet smoke, while Dick got pencil and paper and began
drawing lines and curves.

" What are you about ? " askad Brand, after watching him for a
few minutes.

"Trying to put some ideas that came to me to-day into shape."

*' You have worked enough. Can't you let your brain rest ?

" Perhaps I had better," said Dick, turu'ng his chair round ; '*ifc
does not feel too clear."

" I feel in the down-belows too," returned Brand. " I tell you
what, we both m^«B that sister of yours. Ah ! if I had a daughter
like her, I should not be here now. But after all, would anything
have kept me from making a fool of myself ? "

" Poor Marge ! I wonder how she is getting on. I wish we
could have kept her with us."

"Ay ! but we couldn't, you see, neither of us being any relation
to her."

" No ? " said Dick doubtfully, and there was a pause. *' She has
had a hard life of it," he resumed presently. " She was dead
against me at first, and my mother, too ; I can't describe her
scorn."

" Ha ! I suppose she is not firr,t favourite with Mrs. Acland ?"

" My mother was positively cruel to her. Well, Marjory, who
always gave herself airs of superiority over George and me, was
worse when she came from school. She was furious because I
was in her father's office and her brother sent apprentice to sea ;
and I do not wonder at it. How she used to flare up ! " He laughed
softly. " She seemed just transparent with her big eyes and
speaking face, as if one could see the dancing flames in her heart.
One day I broke out and told her how she hurt me. She seemed
struck, as if a new light had come to hei, and she rjoflened ; she
begged my pardon, so sweetly, so frankly ! and from that time we
were friends, such friends when George went away, and we had the
schoolroom to ourselves. That was the happiest time I ever had.
How we used to talk, and how she used to mend my things and
Bcold me ! It all came to a sudden end, though. If you care to

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:^^ms^ss^i^!^^^;^m^m^smn..

248

A LIFE INTEREST

II *l:

hear, I will tell you all about it ; it is a great secret," and he gave
Brand for the first time the history of the theft from Mr. Acland's
safe, < f the way in which his raother threw suspicion upon him, by
her entreaties that he would confess. Brand was so dt-oply inter-
ested that he let his pipe go <mt and forgot to relight it.

" But she did not really believe you guilty ? "

" I do not think she could. 1 ;uu suvg Mr. Acland did not, nor
did Mr. Cross, his partner, to whom I went and told the whole
story. I don't think any one else ever heard of the aflfair, as it was
Mr. Acland's money that was taken. 1 resolved to go away and
work independently for my own living, however humbly. Then it
v,as that Marjory stood to me like a trump. She had a little money
1j8j: brother had sent her, and she insisted on giving nearly all of it
to me. How sha cried when we parted , her griet cut into my
soul. Then caniC the great surprise of our meeting at Beaulieu.
She was delighted to ^jee rae just as I stood — a workman in working
clothes, thoiitfli f^lie was with a couple of swells ; but she was always
a trump. Then you know the rest."

' ' I susppct the go"erne.'iB engagement was a bad business ; she is
well out of it."

" A very bad business," said Dick with a 3ii;h. " I wish I could
tell you all about it, but I am hjund by my prouiise."

" Of course, of course."

They were silent for a few ninutes. Then Brand suddenly
asked : —

" When did this jracas about the money take place ?"

"Mor. than a yeai' and a half ago, shortly after you called at
Falkland Terrace, and my mother was so cut up at seeing you."

" Ay, and shortly after that infernal scoundiel Blake, the stock-
broker, levanted ; that was queer. Mr. Acland had dealings with
him?"

" Not lor some time. I think my mother distrusted him, and
she rules Mr. Acland in everything,"

" Well, she might distrust him," said Brand sternly, with a quick,
angry flash from his usually smiling eyes. " He was, and no doubt
is, an unmitigated rascal."

" Then you knew him ? "

"Yes, few knew him so well. He wai? the worst eremy your
father ever had ; ay, or your mother either."

"Is that possible ? Why, he used to dine at Falkland Terrace.
He dined there a couple of weeks before he disappeared."

"You surprise me. Yet, why should anything surprise me?
Do not let us speak of the villain any more ; he has gone under, .1
suppose, and I hope he will never turn up again, unless to be
hung."

Brand rose and relieved bis wrath by a few turns to and fro.
Dick looked at him in some surprise. He v ,:s usually so lazily

A LIFE INTEUEST.

249

quiet, 8o rarely mo veil in any w;iy that the present bunt was
unprecedented. But it diil not last. Rotuining to his seat,
Brand relit his pipe and muttereil, nupvo to himself than his
com])anion, ''There is no use in looking back, and hopeless to try
and repair mistakes. Keep staady, my boy. Put your heart in
your work, and be deaf and blind to whatever would load yo i
from it."

" I think I am tolerably fond of it," and have found as yet little
to distract me."

" Yes, you are steady enough. If I had stuck to my art as you
stick to yours I should have been — Bah ! There is no use in
talking."

"■ You are twice as clever as I am, and you work hard enough
now."

" \es, when it is too late. There, let us say no more."

" You are very good to listen to niy bit of a story with so much
interest."

" Interest ! " repeated Brand, stretching out his hand impul-
sively and grasping Dick's hand, '^I tell you I look on you as a
son, though I fear I am not exactly the sort of father men wish to
adopt."

" I will be very thankful if you choose to adopt me," returned
Dick, with the soft smile that sometimes gave beauty to his grave
face.

"Then I do take you for my son from this hour," said Brand
with a certain solemnity, and sliaded his eyes with his hand for a
few moments. "I have had a letter from Lord Beaulieu," were
iiis next words, in a different tone ; "he is getting imjiatient that
we should got away to Fleury. How soon do you think we can
tinish our present piece of work ? "

" In three or four weeks."

'' Scarcely. Say five, that will take us into December. But wr
will push on as fast as we can. I long to be oif. Fleury is a nice
place, a splendid climate, and it will take six or seven months'
work to carry out all Lord Beaulieu's plans. Living is cheap and
the ])ay good. Let us save up and take a run over to Florence when
we are free. I gather strength under the skies of the sunny south ;
bring over that portfolio, I have some sketches and plans ; I will
'j;ive you an idea of what we — Lord Beaulieu and myse'f — thought
of doing," and the pair of friends plunged into a professional dis-
cussion.

Mrs Aeland had only reserved her cross-examining powers until
she had Marjory to herself, as her curiosity was excited to an irri-
tating degree. Yet she did not like to put the leading questions
her conjecture suggested before her husband, who though not too
observant, might possibly suspect their drift.

Now the morning after Marjory's arrival, Mr. Aeland had ap-

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250

A LIFE INTEREST.

pointed to meat his wife in town on some domestic business, and
Marjory had escaped for a long walk with the children. Mrs.
Acland was therefore obliged to defer putting her stepdaughter on
the rack till next day, She invited Marjory in a friendly manner
to come and help her with some needlework for the children, add-
ing, *' I know you did all your own before you started on that un-
fortunate expedition of yours."

'* Very well," returned Marjory, who was too hufnble in her own
estimation to resist anything just now.

Mrs. Acland commenced operations by detailing some domestic
grievances, in order to get up a confidential tone ; Sarah, the par-
lour-maid was beginning to give herself airs, she had made quite a
fuss because her mistress had insisted on having the drawing-room
cleaned that morning instead of on Friday, which was the usual
day ; if this sort of nonsense was repeated Sarah's doom was fixed.
Marjory listened with a careless degree of surprise, as Mrs. Acland
had never hitherto had, or confessed to having, household difficul-
ties. She replied that it was stupid of Sarah, who seemed a sensible,
clever servant.

Mrs. Acland had just uttered the words, *' There is no accounting

for " when the delinquent in question flung open the door,

announcing in a vicious tone, " Mr. Ellis," and ushered the refined
diplomat into the little study, where the table was strewn with
small garments under repair, with " torn off"" pieces, with paper
patterns, and crowned by the big grubby nursery work-basket.

Mrs. Acland grew white with anger as — to speak dramatically
— she felt the sting of Sarah's revenge. As to Marjory she
shivered as the awful thought suggested itself, '* Has he come to
declare himself, and marry me openly ? " She could not command
her voice as she stood up, put her hand into hk and received his
greeting in silence. " This is an unexpected pleasure," said Mrs.
Acland, recovering herself gallantly and oflfering him a chair. " I
thought you were in Paris by this time," while she looked keenly
at Marjory.

Ellis was cool and imperturbable as ever ; he did not attempt to
exchange a glance with his trembling fiancee, but drawing the seat
offered him beside her, said : "I was detained by family business,
and got a few days' additional leave. I must apologize for intrud-
ing at so early an hour, but I heard last night of Miss A eland's
return, and have come to ask particulars. 1 am awfully distressed
that things did not turn out satisfactorily. Pray tell me your objec-
tions. If you have any serious complaints I must see that apologies
and reparation are made."

His tone was so easy and natural that Mrs. Acland was profoundly
puzzled, while Marjory was amazed at his audacity.

*' Perhaps I had not much to complain of," she said, gathering
her forces. " Perhaps I expected too much ; but the family seemed

A LIFE INTEREST.

'^1

S8, and
Mrs.
ter on
nanner
a, add-
tiat un-

ler own

omestic
he par-
quite a
jg-room
e usual
IS fixed.
Acland
difl&cul-
lensible,

jounting
le door,
3 refined
wn with
:h paper
ket.

latically

jory she

[come to

mmand

lived his

id Mrs.

kir. "I

keenly

tempt to
the seat
business,
intrud-
L eland's
Istresaed
|ir objec-
)ologies

[found ly

Lthering
seemed

R<> rough and — and untrained. I did not like the idea of g''in<^
jibroad with them. I — in short, I felt I must come away home."

"In short, you found haggis and porridge, material and social,
with nothing more digestible. Well, I warned you they were not
gentry — the Morrisons I mean — but they are honest respectable
people, I ought to have remembered that a young lady requires
more niceties than sportsmen accustomed to rough it."

" The fact is," put in Mrs. Acland, "Marjory was in too great a
hurry to run away from a comfortable home to try her luck among
strangers. I hope you have learnt a lesson, my dear."

"I have indeed."

"I cannot say how deeply I regret having been instrumental in
sending Miss Acland on so fruitless an errand. I beg you and Mr.
Acland will forgive me. I dare not hope to make my peace with
your daughter ? "

"It was my own fault for being so precipitate," murmured
Marjory.

" Can I in any way atone ? " said Ellis earnestly, turning to her.
Mrs. Acland took the opportunity of his eyes being fixed on
Marjory to sweep away some of the pile which encumbered the
table, and Ellis took advantage of her action to slip a small thick
note he had held in his left hand into Marjory's while he continued
speaking, " for although I must travel to Paris to-night, I can write
to Mrs. Morrison. I am sure some compensation "

"I could not possibly claim any," said Marjory quickly; "I
broke the engagement I undertook ; I put every one to inconveni-
ence, and I cannot complain." She had hastily concealed the note
in her pocket before Mrs. Acland had resumed her seat.

"I assure you I do not know when I was so profoundly morti-
fied," resumed Ellis in a tone expressive of just the right degree of
concern. " I wish I could do the state, that is, Miss Acland some
service which would obliterate my maladresse. If you think of
leaving home," turning to her again, " why do you not join the
Carterets ? I am sure you were of infinite use to them."

" But Uncle Carteret would not have me," cried Marjory ; a faint
irrepressible smile at Ellis's audacity parting her lips.

"Well, I shall see my worthy kinsmen in Paris (they do not
move on to Rome till the second week in November). Have you
any objection to my negotiating your residence with them for a year
or two T' — he looked earnestly, tenderly into her eyes — "You
know old Carteret is inclined to hear words of wisdom from my
lips."

"No, no," said Marjory, "I would rather not be forced upon
him."

"I have already outstaid my time," said Ellis rising, "and I
have a great deal to accomplish before I start. " W^ill you," addres-
sing Mis. Acland, " will you allow me to Iciive my address in Pai'ia

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A LIFK INTEREST.

with you ? jiiid if, under your j^'ood counsel, Miss Acliuiil chaiigcs
lier mind, ])i'rliai).s yi)U will let, me know ; l)ut pray lot it be Hoon,
for I do not hope to do much witii Mr. Carteret, except by word of
mouth." He bowed over Mrs. Acland'a outstretched hand, and
contrived to hold Marjory's a moment, while he sent a look of
entreaty inttj her eyes, his back carefully turned to the lady of the
house — and was gone.

A short silence ensued. Marjory, feeling that Mrs. Acland's
keen glance was upon her, forced herself to resume her needlework
calmly ; she could not attempt to leave the room in order to read
her letter lest she might arouse suspicion.

"Mr. Ellis seems to take a great interest in you," said Mrs.
Acland at last. She did not venture to push her queries very far
— conscience made a coM'^ard of her. She know that she had tacitly
handed her young stepdaughter over to this man, and it would not
do to show how much she surmised. Moreover, she was really
puzzled ; she began to doubt that he had accompanied Marjory to
Scotland ; if he had, she would not have left him, and if they had
quarrelled he would not have called and asked for particulars
respecting her return in that easy natural way. She would cer-
tainly write to that Mrs. Morrison ; she thought she could remem-
ber the address.

These ideas flashed through her brain while Marjory was saying :

" Yes, he is very good."

*' I suppose you were great friends at that place in the country,
the Priory."

*'Not particularly; he was a help certainly when Mr. Carteret
was particularly fidgety, and so far useful."

" Oh ! I daresay he amused himself with you in that stupid hole."

"Perhaps so," said Marjory indiflferently, anxious to end the
conversation anyhow ; probably it was the most baffling answer she
could have given her stepmother, who calculated on her showing
pique or embarrassment or emotion of some kind.

" Mr. Ellis does not give one the idea of a philanthropist."

" No, certainly not ; yet some people seemed to like him. Lord
Beaulieu was always asking him to the Castle, and coming over to
the Priory."

" Who 'I " asked Mrs. Acland, caught by the sounding title.

" Lord Beaulieu," repeated Marjory, noticing the effect of her
words. " He was one of our neighbours ; he was making great
improvements and restorations at the Castle. It was there I saw
Dick at work, dressed just like a workman," she added, gathering
up spirit to carry the war into the enemy's country, and enjoying
the raid.

"If he was, it is his own fault," said Mrs. Acland surprised and
angered ;' "he had every chance of doing well here."

"He could hardly stay when he was accused of being a thief,
could he ? " said Marjory in a quiet confidential tone.

A LIFE INTEREST.

263

changoH

be HDon,
r word of
and, and
i look of
iy of the

Acland's
sedlework
ar to read

said Mrs.
!8 very far
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was really
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they had
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Iprised and

ig a thief,

*' No one accused him," cried Mrs. Acland, gazing at the
speaker.

Here a summons to inspect the putting up of fresh muslin cur-
tains obliged Mrs. Acland to quit the field.

Marjory breathed freer when she was alone, but she made no
attempt to look at her letter till she was finally released from her
stepmother's presence at dintier time, when she was at her own
request excused appearing.

It was not without emotion that she glanced first hastily and
then more deliberately through the closely-written pages ; they
were prevaded by a tone of subdued warmth, and spoke of the tie
which existed between them. Ho implored lier for frequent tidings
of herself, and begged her to take counsel with him how she could
best escape the gloom and discomfort of her home.

Marjory read it twice with care, then tore it in small pieces, and
striking a match consumed the fragments.

" Why do I distrust him so much ? " mused Marjory. '* It would
be a solution of many difficulties if I could love him and believe
in him. But he is too clover, too like an irresistible fate ; only I
will resist as long as I can," — even while she resolved so bravely,
she smiled with a certain sense of enjoyment as she thought of
Mrs. Acland's mystification. Ellis was more than a match for her
astute stepmother.

CHAPTER XXV.

"news of georgk."

When Marjory had replied to Ellis — entreating \\\\\\ on no account
to write to her, as his letters would infallibly fall into Mrs. Acland's
hands and do them both serious mischief — there seemed no more to
be done.

Everything went on as before the important episode of her visit
to Langdale Priory ; so like was each day to those of the })ast that ,
Marjory thought at times it was some vivid dream which had broken
for a moment the monotonous sleep of her existence, and vanished
when the dull dawn of reality summoned her to wait and to endure.

Mrs. Acland troubled her very little ; she was in fact plotting in
her own mind some more pi-jmanent plan for getting her step-
daughter out of the house. When obliged to hold any intercourse
with her, Mrs. Acland showed a cold, hard aversion, which was even
more depressing than active hostility, especially to a vivid nature
like Marjory's. For the present she (Marjory) was beaten to the
ground, unequal to exertion, and above all, unhinged because she
was ashamed of iierself.

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264

A LIFE INIEREST.

'%,

She could not rouse up to make any attempt at obtainint^ emplov
ment ; she feared to advertise, ar>d she shrunk from askiiij,' for tlif
introduction to the Governesses' Institution which Mrs. Acland said
she could procure. A couple of letters from Dick were the oniy
gleams of comfort in this dreary interval. He spoke of beintjf in
London early in December on his way to the South of France, and
svjprised her by saying he would call at Falkland Terrace, adding,
'* I shoul 1 not like to leave without bidding you good-bye."

"Time went heavily enough. Marjory — who had quite given uj)
all attempt to ingratiate herself with her father — kept away from
him and Mrs. Aciand, as much as she could, asserting that she pre-
ferred early dinner and tea with the children to the more cere-
monious evening meal in the dining-room.

It was little more than a fortnight after Ellis had called when
Marjory was summoned to lier father's presence. She obeyed witli
some reluctance, as ^he had just settled herself to read "Guy Man-
nering " for the third or fourth time, new books not being easily
obtainable under Mrs. Acland's rule, and hoping to forget herself
for awhile.

Mr. and Mrs. Aciand were sitting cosily by the fire : her father
in his easy-chair, an evening paper across his knee ; herstepmothei'
busy with a piece of fancy stitchery her little worktable beside her.
Neither spoke as Marjory came in.

"You sent for me," she said pausing near Mr. Aciand.

"Yes ; I rarely see you, Marjory. I suppose you fmd your own
company best of all. However, I h;.ve a letter which concerns you,
which will, or ought to, give you much satisfaction. He took it
from the mantelpiece, where it lay in readiness, and opened it
deliberately. " You had better sit down," said Mrs. Aciand. " We
shall have some matters to discuss."

Marjory obeyed.

" This letter is from Mrs. Carteret," resumed Mr. Aclard. "and
contains a very kind invitation." He put on his glasses and pro-
ceeded to read aloud : —

' Dear Sir, — If agreeable to you, I should be pleased to receive
your daughter, Marjory, for a few months, or longer, to act as my
companion and amanensis ; also to do any writing he may require,
for Mr. Carteret. Marjory knows the routine of our lives, which is
extremely quiet, but she seemed happy while with us, r^nd she reads
very nicely. Pray give her my love. As soon as 1 know when she
will start, I w'll send a cheque for her travelling expenses.

" I should like her to come early next week. She will not need
any preparation, for coming to Paris she will not, of course, think
of buying anything in Londcn. Our movements are uncertain, but
we shall be in Paris for about three weeks.
" With compliments to Mrs. Aci nd,

' i am, yours faithfully,

" PoROTHKA Carteret."

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A LIFE INTEREST.

365

»cT emplov-
lit for tin-
Lcland ft.ii<l
J the only
if bein;^ in
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certain, but

Silence ensued when Mr. Acland ceased reading. Marjory had
acquired the habit of thinking before speaking in Mrs. Acland's pre-
sence. Mtreover she saw the work of Ellis in this invitation, and
hesitated to accept it.

" Well 1 " exclaimed Mrs. Acland sharply, " you ought to consider
yourself singularly fortunate, Marjory, to have such a chance offered
you. This is Thursday ; I suppose you can start on Monday ? "

" Do you wish me to go ? " asked Marjory, flushing up and look-
ing at her father.

*' Can you hesitate yourself ? " he returned in a tone of surprise.

"Yes; a little." She felt that by accepting she would be put-
ting herself in the hands of Ellis, "You see," nhe went on with
evident embarrassment, " when I asked Mr. Carteret to let me stay
he refused, and now "

"I must say, Marjory," intorrvpted Mrs. Acland, " your perver-
sity passes belief. You hate bc;nig at home — you will not even dine
at table — you seek employment for yourself, and throw it up the
moment you get it — now you have an offer any girl would jump at,
and you hesitate ; there must be something under all this we do not
understand."

" It wunaccountabl'd," said Mr, Acland, " I c.ainot give way to
your whims. I insist, Marjory, on your accepting this kind invita-
tion -~ accepting it gratefully ! — it is in every way advantageous."

Marjory did not answer for an instant, wliile she thought rapidly
that her refusal would be indeed unaccountabk', su3i)icious, useless.
Then if the Carterets went away to Rome, she should escape Ellis,
that is if she ever could escape him — and it would be very nice to be
with Mrs. Carteret.

" I accept," she exclaimed suddenly, just as Mrs, Acland opened
her lips to make some further s'Jnging remark, ' but I cannot go
till Wednesday," and turning ';o Mrs. Acland, " I shall do my best
to stay away. "

" An exceedingly gracious, well-bred speech," observed her step-
mother.

' 1 did not mean to be rude," said Marjory, and then she stopped,
appearing to be lost in thought,

" You are an extraordinary girl I " exclaimed Mr. Acland. " I
beg you will write a proper letter to Mrs, Carteret."

" I will, I will write at once," rising,

"You had better let us see your letter," said Mrs. Acland.

" Do you want to see it, father ? "

" No — yes- that is, I do not care."

" If you are returned to our hand, now, Marjory," cried Mrs.
Acland, " we will know whose fault it is."

So in less than a quarter of an hour Marjory's fate was fixed, and
in spite of her dread of Ellis, her spirits began to rise.

At any rate, she would be out of sight and hearing of M rs. Acland.

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256

A LIFE INTEREST.

As to Ellis it would surely be a lon<^ time before he would be pre-
pared to fulfil tlie condition on which she had promised to mari-y
him, and probably he would be tired of his fancy by that time. It
would be silly, she thought, with the buoyancy of youth , to spoil the
present by worrying about an uncertain future or fretting over an
irrevocable past. She had done very, very wrong ; she was heartily
sorry and ashamed of herself. But in the future she would try
earnestly to be wise and good, conscientious and diligent, and
things would come right in the end.

Marjory's preparations were soon made. They consisted in pack-
ing up everything that she possessed, in the earnest hope that she
might never return to stay under her father's roof again.

Mrs. Carteret was as good as her word. The reply to Mr. Acland's
letter contained a handsome cheque, which, after paying her travel-
ling expenses, left Marjory a tolerable supply of pocket-money.
" What a delightful thing money is," she wrote to Dick when
describing the sudden change in her fortunes, '' I wish I could make
some , but that seems impossible for women, unless indeed they have
' genius.' I hope I may be in Paris when you pass through, if there
is any chance of seeing you, though for other reasons I should be
glad to go on soon to Rome."

To this she received a reply the day before she started. " I am
glad you are going to escape from home even for awhile, bat much
as I should like to see you I would be glad to know you were going
on to Rome at once. Whatever happens, try to get free from Ellis ;
1 cannot well express the dread I have of the fellow. You'll be
miserable if you let yourself be persuaded to marry him."

"lam sure 1 hope I never shall," murmured Marjory as she
watched the missive burning. " But I do not see how I am to break
my promise if he chooses to hold me to it."

• • • • • • •

It was a cold, dull November day, with occasional showers of
sleet, when Marjory reached Paris after her long, dreary, lonely
journey via Dieppe. It was strange and depressing to be for the
tirst time plunged into the babel of a strange tongue, for French
rapidly spoken by natives is indeed an unknown tongue to most
English schoolgirls, even when supposed to be proficient in that
elegant language.

It was reviving to see Virginie's familiar face when she arrived
at the Gare St. Lazare. She could not refrain from embracing the
friendly lady'smaid, thereby completely winniajg her. " Ah ! made-
moiselle is pleased to come to Paris, 1 believe. I tms content to
receive the orders of madame to meet you. Monsieur and madame
avi'ait you with impatience. Come, we must await the baggage in
the Douane. Madenioiaelle must be nearly dead with fatigue," etc.,
etc.

"Oh, no, Virginie ; 1 am (|uite alive now, and so glad to come."

A LIFE INTEREST.

257

to come.

The drive to Mr. Carteret's apartments, in one of the Btreets lead-
ing from the Champs Elysdes to the Rue St. Honord, was in6nitely
interesting. Everything was new and unlike anything Marjory had
ever seen before. In spite of the untoward weather, which Virginie
loudly lamented, she was full of admiration. "If — if only there had
been a fine sun, then indeed mademoiselle would be struck with
wonder and delight."

Arrived at her destination, Marjory was amused by the extreme
politeness of Virginie and that most un-English oflScial the concierge
to each other, the perpetually recurring " monsieur " and " made-
moiselle " which prefaced their sentences. It was all very delight-
ful she thought.

The Carterets were comfortably settled on the second etage^ and
the door was opened by Deacon, Mr. Carteret's grave and incom-
parable valet — Ellis generally called him x\rch-Deacon — opened the
door and vouchsafed Marjory a serious smile. Mrs. Carteret was
ensconced beside the fire in a large low chair, with her tatting and
Fairy, as if some potent enchanter had picked her and her belong-
ings up in the Priory and set her down just as she was in the Rue
deC .

*' \V'ell, Marjory, I'm glad you were able to come," she said kindly
and placidly. *' You a^e not looking very well ; rather tired, I sup-
pose ? A sea voyage is most disagreeable."

"I am so glad to come, dear Mrs. Carteret," cried Marjory
efiusively. " It was very good of you to send for me."

'* I am pleased to see you. Now you must have some breakfast.
Virginie will show you youi room. Mr. Carteret is out ; he has
gone to the Biblioth^ue Nationale, though he has a cold : most im-
prudent. As soon as the carriage comes back 1 am going to a
bazaar. It is a great bore, but I must go. You will be rested by
the time I come back, and be able to read probably."

So Marjory was inducted into her new life. It was surprising how
soon she began to feel at home, how quickly she settled herself into
her tiny bedroom.

Uncle Cart -iret was fairly gracious and made one or two tart jokea
respecting Marjory's expectations of being useful in compiling the
great work on which he was now engaged. " You belong to madame
now," he said.

"I shall only be too glad to do anything I can for you too,
uncle," she returned readily.

The routine of life in Paris difiered widely from that of the Priory.
Mr. Carteret had much to divert him, and was less oppressive in
consequence. He often desired Marjory to copy letters and papera,
but the fact that his wife had invited and generally undertaken his
niece at her own charge softened his feelings towards tliat young
person considerably.

Mrs, Carteret found much interesting occupation in providing

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258

A LIFE INTEREST.

suitable costumes for her jjrofegree. Money was never an obstacle
to her. If she were not consistently generous it was simply because
she neve?' troubled herself to think. When a necessity was brought
before hor .^e responded, but she never sought an occasion for
liberality. .In the case of Marjory her taste was gratified by tht;
success of her efforts to make her young companion what she called
"presentable."

It was the third evening after Marjory's ariival ; she had not as
yet seen Ellis, and had heard very little of him. Curiously enough,
she felt slightly offended by his non-appoarance, though half-
frightened at the idea of encountering him. Disentangling herself
was one thing ; bting " let go " was another.

Uncle Carteret had insisted on his niece being his partner in a
game ot whist, wherein M. Staroffski, a highly accomplished linguist
and universal genius of doubtful nationality, who came two or three
times a week to assist Mr. Carteret in his great work, made the
fourth. Poor Marjory was suffering acutely from the fearful res-
ponsibility laid upon her by her cruel uncle, and the frequent ques-
tion, "May I ask what you did that for ? " when dire fate compelled
her to play first, a question she never ccntld answer, completed her
confusion. The sudden announcement of "Lord Bealieu and Mr.
Ellis " put the final touch to her troubles. She felt that she flushed
and grew pale as Ellis spoke to her with easy cordiality.

" I was nearly at the end of my patience,'' cried Mr. Carteret,
when greetings were exchanged. " My niece here has been making
confusion worse confounded ; it will be an act of benevolence to all
concerned. Lord Beaulieu, if you will take her place.

"Oh, pray do!" exclaimed Marjory, with such imploring
earnestness that they all laughed, and Lord Bealieu at once com-
plied.

Marjory stood for an instant or two beside her aunt, not knowing
exactly what to do or where to go, fearing she might seem either to
seek or avoid Ellis.

" You must not distract the players," said he at length. " Won't
you sit down here," placing a chair near the fire, "and tell me
when you came." Marjory felt obliged to obey; she caught up
Fairy and began stroking his beautiful silky ears to hide the uneasi-
ness which oppressed her.

" So Marjory, I have you within reach again," resumed Ellis,
placing himself between her and the whic^ party.

" I suppose," she returned, with a pretty ombarrassed air and
downcast eyes, "I have you to thank for Aunt Carteret's invitation."

" Do you thank me for it ? "

"Yes," thoughtfully. "It is much nicer to be here thar at
home, and I shall be delighted to see Italy."

" I don't fancy you will see Italy as soon as you expect."

" Why ?" looking up quickly.

A LIFE INTEREST.

269

* • Because I do not intend you to go so far away. Ah I that does
not please you. How inconvenient it must be to have such an ex-
pressive face. I shall never forget your look of horror and amaze-
ment when I walked into Mrs. Acland's room that day. If she had
not been so overwhelmed by my intrusion she would have suspected
something under the cards "

" It was too audacious ! " exclaimed Marjory, lowering her voice.
Then, at the thought of his extraordinary coolnesn, a bright, amused
smile sparkled in her eyes and parted her lips.

" You are looking pale, as though you had been distressed, but
sweeter than ever. I will win you yet, Marjory," whispered Ellis.
" I wonder I do not hate you, you wilful little witch. I will hold
you to your promise."

" Do not speak in so disagreeable a tone, Mr. Ellis. When you
are ready to claim my promise, you will fid me loyal ; in the mean-
time we can be good friends. If you knew how unhappy I have
been you would not worry."

*' I worry you, do I ? Well, I shall try and .nake you like Paris,
though you do not deserve that I should do so. "

"I know that," penitently.

" You must help me to see you alone sometimes."

" Oh no, let us have no more secrets or manoeuvring ; I cannot
bear it."

*' Tl. ^ii I must manage alone."

** You are a great deal too clever, Mr. Ellis. I feel as !* you
could always do as you like."

"You have taught me that I cannot."

•' Do let us just be friends for the present, and do not trouble
about — about " She paused.

" Do not tease you with love-making ?" said Ellis, translating her
thoughts with a hard laugh. " I believe you are half afraid of me."

" Why should I be ? " said Marjory indignantly. "I should be
ashamed to fear any one."

Ellis did not reply ; he rose, and after a short search found a
book of photograph views of Paris, and began to talk pleasantly and
well of the various places she ought to see.

Then Lord Beaulieu called him to cut in, and spent a few
moments in conversing with Marjory. He remembered her connec-
tion with his young Palladio, as he called Dick, and said he was
then on his way to his place in Dauphind, where he expected Brand
and Dick soon, and after setting them to work he would return to
stay with his sister and her father-in-law in Yorkshire. It gave
Marjory the keenest pleasure to hear the kindly, good-humoured
peer speak in flattering terms of Dick, her friend and brother.
What confidence she felt in him ; how vividly his advice, " Try and
get clear of Ellis," came back to her. She felt almost nervous
from the impression that Ellis was tightening his grasp upon her,

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260

A LIFE INTEREST.

Upon all of them. The expected journey to Rome began to fade
from her expectations, and the reality of being a puppet in the
hands of an unscrupulous man impressed itself upon her imagina-
tion.

• • • ■ • • • •

A few weeks slipped quietly and rai)iilly away. Mrs. Carteret
nad a strong objection to sight-seeing, but she permitted the accom-
plished Virginie to escort her niece to some of the principa. places
of interest in the famous capital. Virginie enjoyed the task of
acting as cicerone, and insisted on her companion speaking French.
The oddly-assorted pair got on remarkably well and Marjory often
looked back to their expeditions with amusement and pleasure.

During this time she saw very little of Ellis. He called upon
Mr. Carteret regularly, but did noc appear to make any attempt at
private conversation with Marjory. Indeed he seemed to mask his
batteries with peculiar care, so much so that Marjory began to
question the sincerity of his assertion that he dare not betray his
intention towards herself to Mr. Carteret. "He has such influence
with my uncle," she thought, " that he might persuade him to con-
sent, but there is no knowing what he really wants and wishes."

Meantime Mr. Carteret was so fascinated by M. StaroflFski, who
could not leave Paris, that his desire to push on to Rome grew
fainter every day.

"I suppose Marjory has not been to any of the theatres yet?"
said Ellis one Sunday when he had coiMe in to breakfast. He
called her Marjory lunv even to Mr. and Mrs. Carteret.

" Not yet," replied her aunt ; ' I have not thought about it. I
must ask the de Lacey Browns or INIiss Valentine to take her when
they are going. I could not bear the heat and discomfort myself."

" Oh, no ! of course not," cried Marjory, blushing at the idea of
giving trouble.

" If you will allow me, I shall be happy to take her to see a very
pretty fairy extravaganza that is going on at the Porte St.
Martin. It will amuse her more than the Comddie Francaise in the
present condition of her French. Eh ! Miss Marjory ? "

" How very good of you," she exclaimed with sparkling, grateful
eyes.

"Pray, when did you turn philanthropist or philanderer?"
asked Mr. Carteret looking up from the Figaro, which he was ab-
sorbing with his morning's allowance of Burgundy.

" My natural amiability and consideration for others has always
been the same," returned Ellis vvith groat conipcjsure.

" Can Madame PetroskofF spare you?" continued Mr. Carteret
with an unpleasant laugh.

" Certainly ! she has a great respect for family duty. Then
Wednesday next is an ofF-night. It is a Russian saint's day or
eve, and she is obliged to cro to a night service," said EUiy carelessly.

A LIFE INTEREST.

261

'* You really should not talk in such an unguarded manner," ob-
served Mrs. Carteret with disapprobation. " If you can take Mar-
jory to the theatre without inconvenience, Ralph, I see no objection.
You really are third cousins, once removed, and you are very
obliging to think of it. Marjory will be charmed."

"I shall bo very glad to go indeed, if it does n n interfere with
Mr. Ellis — or — or bore him," said Marjory with a demure, mis-
chievous smile.

" I will endure the boredom for the sake of the relations — I
mean the relationship between us," returned Ellis laughing good-
humouredly, but with emphasis which Marjory understood. "It
is to be Wednesday then ? I must call early for you. These long
fairy pieces begin at some hideous hour ; besides if it it a tine dry
night you might like to walk part of the way up the Boulevards. I
fancy you have never seen them lit up. You had better have an
early dinner ; so shall I. "

"Thank you! I should like walking up fclie Boulevards im-
mensely."

"Mr. Staroflfeki is in the study, sir," announced Deacon.

Mr. Carteret arose quickly and shufHod out of the room.

" And about her dress ? what shall Marjory wear, Ralph ? " asked
Mrs. Carteret.

'* Oh ! a toilette de promenade, of course. Then on Wednesday
I will be here at six-thirty, unless you hear from me to the con-
trary. I shall not be able to see you before, Mrs. Carteret, as I
shall be a good deal engaged for the next two or three days."

Going to the theatre was a joy rarely but deeply enjoyed by
Marjory, and she looked forward with keenest pleasure to the
treat promised her. That Ellis was to be her companion did not
exactly enhance it, yet it was not absolutely a drawback. He
could be a very agreeable companion, especially when he refrained,
as he had lately, from making love to her. Moreover the sense
of being flattered by his admiration a little counteracted her
distrust of him. If only he had not the terrible power which her
flight with him had put into his hands she might have liked him
better.

Still Marjory had undoubtedly a de^/ree of satisfaction in putting
on her pretty winter bonnet, adorncvd with sable tails and a brown
cloth dolman which suited her slight figure, tying a pale pink
handkerchief coquettishly round her throat, and fitting on a new
pair of tan gloves. Virginie protested that " everything went well,"
as she handed her her little velvet and fur muff, and Marjory found
herself ready in excellent time.

Ellis did not keep her waiting. He too seemed in a festive mood.
.\fter exchanging a few words with Mrs. Carteret he turned to
Marjory, and with an expressive look which told her she had not
dressed herself in vain, proposed they should set out.

^'k

mam

Ui :.

262

A L1F2 iKTKItEST.

It was a fine, crisp, frosty evonint; — cris]>, but not t<H. cold fur
enjoyment — a bright moon was silvering tlie fountains in thu
Champs Elysdes and casting shadows of leafless trees on the dry
clean footway.

"How beautiful everything looks," cried Marjory, "and how
much nicer it is to walk than to drive."

" And what a relief it is to have a word with you out of earshot
of those respectable mummies, Uncle and Aunt Carteret ! Take
my arm, Marjory ; we shall soon be in a more crowded thorough-
fare. 1 almost wish you had put on a thicker veil."

" Why ? are you ashamed to be se^n \nth me."

"I Ul not rise to that ba , yo';: so^ histicat'd littlo coquette !
But i have & scheme " ly iK-.y! nmd do not want people to recog-
nize you. "

" A scheme ? What scheine ? "

" I will not tell you, and you must noc ■ :^y no, Marjory," pressing
her arm to his side. " I do not want to waste this precious evening
in a crowd of strangers where we cannot speak a word in safety !
I want you to dine with me at a cafe I often go to. We will have
a private room — a long tete-a-tete! I i;ave a thousand things to
say to you— suggestions to make — hints to give you. Fancy the
long fast I have had from anything like a confidential intercourse.
I looked in at that rubbish they are acting at the Porte St. Martin
last night, and can tell you enough to supply a description for Mrs.
Carteret's benefit. Come, dearest ; we are almost man and wife,
you know ! It will be a taste of heaven after all the long constraint
which you have never tried to lighten. "

His words struck terror to Marjory's heart, and shivered her
anticipations of a happy evening. He was as determined as ever.

"No, Mr. Ellis, I cannot, it would be wrong in every way. I
never will lend myself to any deception again, it I can possibly help
it. Aunt Carter.cit, too, deserves better treatment from me, and 1
would not like it at all. "

" But I have a right to be heard. I insist on your giving me the
opportunity," said Ellis imperatively. " Come Marjory, I will
take no refusal, I have much to say to you."

" Then say it as we walk along," returned Marjory, whose heart
was beating fast. "I do not know what it can be ; there is nothing
to plan or to talk about now ; there is nothing to do but to wait —
until "

She stopped in some confusion.

" Until we can marry openly," added JJUis impatiently. "Yes,
there is much more ; besides 1 want to clear myself from the absurd
insinuations of old Carteret about that Russian woman."

" I assure you I do not want to hear anything about her."

" But I wish to explain. In short, I am resolved you shall spend
this evening with me ; T can so rarely see you or have a word with

d fur

the

e dry

i how

irBhot

Take

•ough-

uotte !
recog-

ressing
veiling
lafety !
11 have
ings to
icy the
course.
Martin
or Mrs.
(1 wife,
istraint

■ed her

ever.

ay. I

)ly help

and I

me the
I will

3e heart
lothing
wait —

" Yes,
absurd

11 spend
Ird with

A LIFE INTEREST.

2G3

you, I must puf some pressure to gain my point." Ho caught and
held tightly the hand that lay on his arm, looking eagerly round for
a fiacre.

" Put I am quite as resolved vot to go with you," cried Marjory,
now oroughly frightened.

So ithing hard in the expression of her companion's face, aome-
th'ng 'a his eyes, made her feel strongli inclined to run away.

" * 1, there is a fiacre " cried Eliis, drawing her towards it.
"Co.' e, M<i?jory, you would no^ iiiake a scene."

" les, I would." she cried firmly, " and if you do not let me go,
I will." She look d v^etiantly into his (ic ice dark eyes. " This is
more like revenge than affection, Mr. Ellis ; nothing shall tempt me
to go with you this time."

Ellis suddenly let go her hand, and stood an instant still and
silent.

"Marjory, there is something under this resistance I do *"
understand ; love for another must steel you against me. But I v, ,rn
you, that I hold your future in my hand ; it depends ou yo. self
whether I make or mar it, you cannot defy me."

" I do not want to defy you, but I will not let myself fea > JU, '
retorted Marjory bravely. " How can I love you v/hen you iisi i'b
and distress me ? "

"And why do you risk turning me from a lover to an e. - - T'
asked Ellis, recoveriii;,' himself. " I see you would willing free
yourself from me altogether ; but you never can."

" I will be true to my promise — if you do not give me cause to
break it. I shall go back to Aunt Carteret at once,"

"No — no — that would never do, we must go and see this infernal
play," said Ellis, with something like his usual voice. "That is if
you will so far trust yourself with such a villain."
'' Of course I will ; now you understand me."
" Understand you ? that I never sliall, your obstinacy is incom-
prehensible ; *' he sicklied to a passing veliicle and directed the driver
to the Port St. Martin.

But the pleasure of the evening was over. Not all the gorgeous
beauty of scenery or costumes could make Marjory oblivious of the
short, but sharp and decisive conflict which she had just won, what
she felt would be a costly victory, while Ellis made no attempt to
conceal his annoyance. He was profoundly silent, and when he left
her at the door of her uncle's apartment, he pressed her hand
almost painfully, saying in a low voice, "I shall not soon forget my
oblijjations to you for cheating me out of my dinner and a good deal
more. "

Nor did Marjory recover her spirits for many days, during which
she rarely saw Ellis, as he was particularly " ta'en up wi' affairs o'
the state."

December was half over, and Marjory was beginning to feel

JIV

' t

•I

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264

A LIFE INTEREST.

anxious for tidingB of

her brother. He was an indifferent corre-
spondent at all times, and as his ship was making a regular trading
voyage, partly for business, but cluofly to benefit the favourite
son of the shipowner, Marjory never knew where a letter would
find him ; he was, therefore, deprived of the reminders he needed.
Dick kept her acquainted with his movements, or rather his intended
movements, as the work on which he was engaged took longer than
he or Brand expected, and Marjory began to look for his promised
visit.

One dull afternoon, more like a day in London than in Paris,
Marjory had gone into the Rue St. Honor^ to do some commissions
for Mrs. Carteret. On her return she found the carriage at the
door ; she hastened upstairs, for she was to accompany her aunt to a
solemn afternoon tea at Mrs. de Lacey Brown's, and feared she
might have kept her waiting.

The sound of a familiar voice struck her ear as she entered tho
room, and behold — on the heartrug in earnest speech with Mrs.
Carteret— stood Dick Cranston.

"And here she is," said the former, as if she (Marjory) had been
the subject of conversation.

**0h! Dick! I thought you would never come," Marjory
exclaimed, as he sprang forward and grasped her hand.

'*I only arrived this morning," he said, noting that her lips
quivered, and that if her eyes sparkled with pleasvre they were
dewy with starting tears , she had so much to tell him that she did
not, could not, write ; he would counsel her, and give her courage ;
she had longed so ardently to tell him everything that now he was
come she was strangely moved.

" You are looking well, Marge 1 better than when I saw you
last."

" No wonder, I am so much happier."

"Well, I will leave you to talk with your brother, Marjory,"
said Mrs. Carteret, who was in her outdoor dress. " You will
have a good deal to say to each other, I dare say. No one will dis-
turb you, for Mr. Carteret will not be in till late. Good morning,
Mr. Cranston," and with a parting kiss to Fairy she left the room.

Dick looked after her, then at Marjory, and evidently hesitated
as to what he should say.

" Do sit down ! " she exclaimed. " My heart is so full. I have
so much to say to you that I do not know where to begin ; and you,
Dick," scanning his face anxiously, *' you have something unplea-
sant to tell me. Is it about your mother ; "

*' No, Iilarge ! " and he sat down by her on the sofa ; " it is about
George. He has met with an accident,"

*' Have you to tell me that he is— dead," she whispered, while
she grew pale with fear.

*• No, no. Marge ; I trust he has many years before him. His

A LIFE INTEREST.

265

iU'in has been broken, and so badJy they liavii beoii obliged to
amputate it."

" But ho will live ? My poor dear George ! 1 have been
wondering he did not write. Tell me all ; there is something
more ? "

'*Ye8, he has proved himself a fine, plucky fellow. It seems
that one of the crew was an uncanny sailor, who used to talk to
himself and cut capers, and young Rennie, the invalid lad, used
to laugh at him, and gave h'un dire oflence. One day as they lay
becalmed on the voyage from Madias to Ragoon, having some
Government stores on board ; this unlucky beggar suddenly went
raving mad and rushed on Rennie with an iron bar. The only
one near was Gev)rge, who threw himself between them and re-
ceived the blow intended for Rennie, on his arm. Then a struggle
took place, in which George received other injuries before the
ma iman could be taken off him."

Marjory clasped her hands, uttering a low exclamation of horror.

'* Unfortunately in the fight the broken bone got through the
skin, so they were obliged to amputate the arm as soon as they
reached Rangoon, and George, poor fellow, had a bad touch of
fever. However, he was decidedly better when the captain wrote,
and he and young Rennie are to start for home as soon as George is
fit to be moved."

** Aiid how have you heard this ; does my father know ? "

"Yes ; Mr. Rennie, one of the partners in Rennie, Duncan and
Co., Rennie's father, came to the office and gave Mr. Aeland the
captain's letter. Mr. Cross had it when I called on him yesterday,
so I saw it too. Mr. Cross said that Mr. Rennie could hardly
speak when he tried to express his gratitude to George for saving
his boy."

"Ah, Dick I I am afraid George is worse tlian you say," cried
Marjory, her lips quivering, but too shocked and alarmed for tears.

" No, Marge, I tell you exactly what I was told, and I believe
you will see him soon, for Mr. Rennie has telegraphed directions
that both the lads are to be sent home by steamer as soon as
possible.''

" And I shall be away when he comes ' I will not stay here.
George may want care and nursing ; he maj^ want me ! "

' ' Do nothing in a hurry. Marge. You will not easily find such
a comfortable home as this."

When Marjory had recovered something like composure they
discussed this question, and she finally yielded to Dick's advice to
stay where she was till George was actually in England.

" I suppose my father or Mrs. Aeland will take the trouble of
informing me of this terrible business."

" Of course. You see they only knew the day before yesterday."

** 1 am so glad you were able to come. Everything would have

. ?

•V -.1.

'{ ]

266

A LIFE INTEREST.

seemed infinitely worse if I had read it in a letter ; and yoa really
do think George will recover ? "

'* I do really." There was a pause.

" Is my father very much distressod ? " asked Marjory.

"No doubt ho is, but Mr. Cross said nothing about it. I think
my mother will take caro of George vhen he comes back ; you see
she rather liked him, and it would lo^ k well."

' ' Yes, she may for a time. Bub if she comes to think him a
burden — and she soon will, for I suppose George cannot go to sea
again— then he will know what /have sufllercd."

" That's likely enough. I wish I had not been obliged to bring
you such bad news. Now toll me about yourself. How is it you
have not gone on to Rome ? though I am glad you have not, or I
should not have had this glimpse of you."

" We have not gone on to Rome," said Marjory, raising her
eyebrows with a pretty, impatient expression, " chiefly, I believe,
because Mr. Ellis chooses we should remain."

'* Oh, and how — how do you and he get on?" and Dick looked
searchingly, almost sternly, into her eyes.

*' Very badly ; that is, we have had another quarrel — and oh,
Dick, you may despise me if you like, but I must confess I am
awfully afraid of him."

" Why? " asked Dick frowning.

'* Why, because I have a kind of feeling that he dislikes me,
even when he — he talks all sorts of nonsense. I am sure he would
like to revenge himself in some way. How I wish I had never
seen him, or rather how I wish I had been true to my own sense
of right and never gone away with him. If you knew how awfully
ashamed I am when I think of it ! and I know you are ashamed
of me, too." She coloured crimson, cheeks and ears, even the
delicate morsel of throat seen above the lace which edged her
collar, as she covered her face in her hands and tried to keep
down the quick sobs which rose in her throat.

"No, Marge, dear, I am not," said Dick tenderly, " I do not
blame you. My mother — aye, and your own fnvher are at the
bottom of that mischief. But I cannot deny it has been an awful

misfortune. I wish " his mouth grew hard and set as he spoke,

" I wish we could have the old duelling days back for a spell. I
would pick a quarrel with Ellis and shoot him as unhesitatingly as
I would a mad dog, before he should interfere with you, Marge ! "

" Why, Dick, you look as if you meant it," she cried, gazing at
him surprised.

*' I do ! " Then smiling and trying to speak in a different tone :
'* It would be justifiable homicide. I am not a bad shot, I assure
you 1 " But Marjory was silent, struck by the extraordinary change
which had come over the once despised, detested monster. She
felt in some vague yet convincing way that Ellis could never manage

A LIFE INTKHRST.

267

really

I think
you see

him a
) to sea

M bring
J it you
lot, or 1

sing her
believe,

k looked

-and oh,
iBB I am

ikes me,
he would
ad never
ivn sense
\r awtuUy

ashamed
even the
dged her

to keep

I do not

•e at the

an awful

|he spoke,

spell. I

singly as

jMarge ! "

jgazing at

mt tone :

I assure

Iry change

ter. She

iv manage

or blind Dick with his sophistry and sinuosities ; she half uncon-
siiniisly put fuit her hand and laid it on hia, where Dick let it rest
without trying to hold it. " Promise mo," ho resumed, " that you
will never consent to anything he proposes, or grant anything he
iisks, without consulting me. I know little or nothing of his world,
but I do know what is good for you. Marge. What I fear most of
all is your growinc,' to love him ! It will be all over with your
Imjtpiness if you do."

" There is no chance of that — loss than there ever was. No,
Dick ! do not look at the clock ; you need not go yet."

*' In a few minutes 1 fear I must, I am to meet Brand and go
with him to do some commissions for Lord Beaulieu, who expects
us to-morrow."

*' To-morrow," cried Marjory, her eyes lilling, " then 1 shall not
see you again."

'"Not for some time," he returned, pressing her hand, "and
then I hope you will be free of that fellow."

"Well, I hope so ; he will surely be tired of me by that time I
and tell me how things are going with you and Mr. Brand."

"Very well. He is cheering up since we left Edinburgh. We
are to have rooms in a wing of the old Chateau at Fleury St.
Jean and very decent pay. I expect to enjoy the work ; in siiort,
it is the best bit of luck that ever fell in a fellow's way. Now I
must be going. And when do you think George may be home ?"
Some minutes passed in discussing probabilities respecting the
brother they both loved so heartily.

" But I must not stay," cried Dick iit length. " God bless you,
Marge ; " he raised and kissed her hand.

" Oh, don't do that, Dick 1 it is like Mr. Ellis."

"Does he only kiss your hand?" asked Dick sharply, his eyes
questioning hers,

" Only my hand," returned Marjory steadily, though a vivid
blush rose in her cheek and faded as she exclaimed while the tears
brimmed over, " I wish — I wish I could always live with you and
George ! "

" And I wish, I could spend every hour of my life with you ! "
said Dick passionately, adding in an altered tone, " that is till you
found some one you could love better than either of us ! "

" I do not think I ever shall. I have been so wretched since Mr.
Ellis asked me to marr} lim, that I feel as if 1 should never care
for any companion but ui , brother."

"Ah ! Marge, you will leave us yet. Dear sister, good-bye,'*
He drew her to him gently ,ind kissed her cheek, then hastily left
the room. Marjory threw herself into a chair and wept without
restraint. Her tears, however, were not bitter ; though the grief
and anxiety of the hour stole the consoling reflection, "I did not
think Dick cared so much for me ! What a good kind fellow heiat"

^^H

. i '!■

n^^\

[i. 1

■h i

■\

tl!''f I

268

A LII1-: INTKREST.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A FRKSH START.

A NEW year, the third in this veracious history, had opened on
two troubled spirita wil h whom, out of the many thousands which
ache and palpitate, our story is concerned.

Away \a the quiet decorous routine of Uncle Carteret's house-
hold Marjory watched and waited for news from her brother, or of
his arrival — waited with a sore and anxious heart.

At hom^ in Falkland Terrace Mrs. Acland pondered moodily on
the ill-fortur.e which sent back George a sickly cripple, to be an
unavoidable burden on her hands.

To turn a young man so circumstanced out of his father's house
was not to be thought of. Ho could not be sent back to sea, and he
\ra8 fit for little ashore. Still, he was more bearable than Marjory,
less likely to do mischief, or to interiere with his father.

To Mr. Acland she talked soothingly, with many expressions of
sympathy and regret for the poor dear boy's sufferings.

Mr. Acland himself was a good deal disturbed and distressed.
He was grieved for his son, and touched by the account of his
sufferings, but he was also much concerned that he should be thrown
on his hands. Mr. Rennie — whose son George had saved — wrote
in the warmest terms of bis gratitude, and expressed his intention
of calling on Mr. Acland when he came up to meet the two young
men. Mrs. Rennie had added a glowing ungramatical postcript.

Mr. Rennie was the head of the firm, and resided in the neigh-
bourhood of that busy, well-known seaport, Dockborough. Here
he had started in lite, and risen to be head of the business he had
enlarged and extended. The London house was but a branch
establishment, which he visited occasionally, while he personally
directed the chief office.

A telegram from the expectant father announced the arrival of
George and his friend at Southatnpton rather sooner than Mrs.
Acland expected, and the next day Mr. Rennie himself escorted
the invalid to his home.

When Mrs. Acland beheld her ste[)son, pale, bent, his empty
sleeve fastened up under the short remnant of the arm l-.e had lost,
and leaning the other on that of a tall, big bony man, with profuse
aandy hair and beard, she instinctively assumed the motherly
tenderness calculated to impress the wealthy shipowner.

" My poor, dear boy !" she almost whispered as shi' embraced

A LIFE IXTERRST

269

eued on
la which

's house-
ler, or of

)odily on
to be an

r's house
ja, and he
Marjory,

essions of

listressed,
mt of his
be thrown
3d — wrote
intention
wo young
)stcript.
he neigh-
rh. Beve
ess he had
a branch
personally

arrival of
than Mrs.
If escorted

Ihis empty

had lost,

rh profuse

motherly

embraced

him. ''We liavo been looking and longing for you. We must
nurse you up now, we have yuu safe at home. Yo',. are not looking
so ill as I expected," and, turning a little aside, she pressed her
handkerchief to her eyes. " How good of you, Mr. Rennie — I
presume it is Mr. Rennie — to bring our dear boy back yourself."
With her sweetest smile, *' If Mr. Acland were here he would
thank you better than I can."

" I doot that," returned Rennie abruptly, in a voice from which
a sojourn of forty years in the land of the Saxon had not banished
the strong Scotch intonation. " Anyway, I'd do more for the lad
that saved my son. He looks a bit shake ;n but they tell me lie is
just twice the man he was when he went on board at Galle. We'll
have him down at Craigneish — that's my place beside Dockborough.
The sea breezes will set him up."

They had gone into the dining-room while he spoke, and George
dropped into a chair. " I'm awfully tired," he said rather queru-
lously. " Where's Marge ? "

" She is away in Paris, dear, with your Uncle Carteret, and enjoy-
ing herself."

" Oh ! I am sorry. I did hope to find Marge here. Did you tell
her I was coming ? " asked George, as if going to burst into tears.

" Of course I told her, but I fancy she had a lot of engagements.
Now, dear, you must have a glass of wine— you look faint — and you
will allow me to offer you a glass also, Mr. Rennie ? "

"Aw ! yes — I'll just drink my friend George's health and complete
recovery, which I have no doubt will be speedy with your good
care," returned Rennie, who had the tendency of his countrymen
to credit a handsome woman with many virtues.

"Allow me to serve you myself; we live in a very homely,
modest way," said Mrs. Acland, hastening, with grateful alacrity,
to produce glasses, biscuits and a decanter of sherry from the side-
board.

And it's the right way, too," said Rennie approvingly ; "a hand-
some woman never looks so handsome to my eyes as when she's
bustling about her house and making her guests hai)py. Now, my
lad, I'll bid you farewell for the i)resent. Forbes and I are going
down to Dockborough to-night. His mother is just wearying to set
eyes on h'm, and no wonder ; she v, as very near never seeing hiui
again. Good evening, Mrs. Acland. I'll be back again in a week,
and giv« you a call. I suppose I'll find Mr. Acland any time at his
office ? "

" Certainly, or he would keep any appointment you might wish to
make."

" Naw — naw. I'll not? break u{) his time — time's money you
know ; very pleased to have made your acquaintance,"' and Mr.
Rennie strode oil' to his cab.

" Well, dear George, let me help you off with your coat and

< i\

[■

JL \

*t>«iis;jsaiM«»s.tt!iu»lf .

270

A LIFE INTEREST.

t i

in t .

muffler," said Mrs. Acland kindly, while she mentally marked the
retreating visitor as a man to be carefully cultivated.

" Thank you. I am rather helpLss still, but not half as bad as I
was," and George rose with a brave effort to be couijjosed — to resist
the sense of depression resulting from fatigue and disappointment.
*' The worst of it is," he continued, sinking again into his chair;
'* I am so confoundedly weak ; I can hardly keep from blubbering
like 8 baby every now and then. 1 wish ]>Iarge had been here — she
has Lo much ' go ' in her. She would have cheered me up. When
is she coming ? "

" I cannot say, George. It would not be well to take her away
from people who may be of use to her, and from the luxuries and
amusements she might not care to leave. I rm afraid you must bo
satisfied with me, Georgie," standing by him and stroking his rough
and somewhat neglected hair,

" Oh ! you are very nice and kind ; but — but I do think Marjory
would like to come to me — if she knew I wanted her."

*' Well, time will show, only you know with so many to provide
for it is a serious matter to withdraw her from "

" Oh ! don't fancy I intend to be a burden," interrupted George,
flushing hotly ; "as soon as I am a bit stronger, I fancy Rennie will
take me into his office. Forbes said as much ; and, you see, it's the
left arm that's gone. I can write still."

" My dear boy ! do you imaging such sordid ideas enter into your
father's head or mine ? "

" I'm sure I can't tell. I know they come often enough to me."

" Well, pray get rid of them. Here is your father."

Mr. Acland was rea^'y aflected on meeting his son. He actually
hastened into the room without stooping to take off his overcoat.
George had. never opposed or irritated him. Moreover, he had
found favour in the eyes of his all-powerful wife. Finally, with all
his professional precision, he had true English sympathy with per-
sonal prowess, and was proud of the pluck and resolution shown by
his boy.

George was cheered and gratified by the emotion his father dis-
played. His faith in Mrs. Acland had been a good deal frayed by
Marjory's observations and his later experiences, but about his father
he had no doubt.

Dinner, therefore, passed harmoniously. Mr. Acland produced
a bottle of champagne to drink his son's health, and directed Mrs.
Acland to have hiin overhauled by some high-class doctor, in order
to ascertain die course of treatment most likely to restore hi.s
strength and general health — a suggestion whicli, for no particular
reason, was never carried out.

Mrs. Acland soon perceived the usual result of suffering in her
stepson. He was slightly peevish and impatient, a remarkable
change in so sweet a temper, and when the childjon, who were ai

A LIFE INTEREST.

271

irked the

s bad as I
—to resist
ointment.
liis chair ;
jlubbering
here— she
p. When

her away
x.urics and
•u must bo
r his rough

ik Marjory

to provide

ted George,
Rennie will
see, it's the

er into vour

gh to me.

He actually
is overcoat,
or, he had
ly. with all
y with per-
n shown by

father dis-
il frayed by
ut his father

id produced
rected Mrs.
or, in order
restore 1m «
o particular

;ring in her

remarkable

rho were ut

first afraid of him, began to take liberties, they were a source of
annoyance and irritation. Of this Mrs. Aclaud took a note, and
entered it to his debit. Nevertheless, the first week at home saw
the disabled young sailor stronger and calmer.

The day after his arrival, finding that Mrs. Acland could not spare
time to write, he made his first efi'ort to use a pen since the loss of
his arm. It was a trying afiair. He was always going to place his
left elbow on the table, having a curious sensation that elbow and
hand were still there. Then it was so hard to keep his paper steady.
He was obliged to find a weight to lay on it. This showed him the
difficulties which might inteifere with his success as a clerk. In
spite of all, however, he managed a short letter to his sister, which
he strove to make cheerful, but into whicli a tone of depression
would creep, and then ho waited impatiently for a re ly ; but a week
passed, and Marjory made no sign.

Mr. Rennie, however, was true to his promise, and made his
appearance after luncheon, about the date he had fixed. He
looked red and radiant. His light grey eyes had a pleasant twinlde,
his large strong mouth a kindly look of benevolent satisfaction, very
diflferent from its expression when closing a bargain or dictating the
terms of a contract.

He was very cordially received, and ushered into the study, where
George was lying on the sofa, a cheerful fire brightening the half
light of a chill January afternoon, and suflacient evidence of needle-
work on the table to suggest industry, not disorder.

"Well, my laddie," he exclaimed, as soon as they had exchanged
salutations and resumed their seats — (Mrs. Acland on the sofa beside
her stepson) — *' I've had a ' crack ' with your father this morning,
and he has quite come round to my views. I've been proposing that
as you must give up the sea, you enter mj' office as a clerk. I'll
give you a decent salary to begin with, as I consider I am bound to,
and you shall creep up if you are so minded. There's a careful old
body, Mrs. Acland," turning to her, " that has charge of our offices,
and lives in the rooms above. Your boy shall have free quarters
there for a year or two, till I can honestly raise his salary, so he
shall be properly looked after. Mrs. Stokes — that's our caretaker- -
will ma::.: and manage for him bettor than any mere landlady, to
say notliiiig of Mrs. Rennie herself, who is just longing to cosset
him and see that he wants nothing."

" Oh ! thank you," cried George, his wan cheek colouring with
pleasure. "The only thing I fear is being a helpless log — a burden

on mj' father " his voice broke, and he stopped abruptly.

" You are infinitely good," murmured Mrs. Acland, taking
George's iiand and stroking it.

"Hoot toot!" cried Mr. Rennie, " tlicre's nothing to make a
bubble about. What I want is to set the laddie on his feet. He'll
make the going himself as he gathers strength. His captain gives

■ ] f
-' i. * .

■■! ■'

■ r'i

'• ■ •'1
^1

272

A LIFE INTEHEST.

III

I* ■• 5-

i'l

him a first rato charactiu-, and when 1 saw my boy's mother thank-
ing Odd for giving him back to hor, while tears of joy ran down her
cheeks. I promised myself that the lad who saved him should never
want a fri(nul." The kindly cannj' Scot finished abruptly and blew
his nose like a trumpet.

" I am sure," iMgin Mrs. Acland blandly, '* my husband and my-
self feel warmly your great kinclm-ss and generosity. After all,
George only did his <luty, and "

" And if ho had not thrown himself between a powerful maniac
and his victim, I should be mourning m\ s<»n, while yours w(uld
still be following the career he had cliosi'n," interrupted Mr. Rennie.
His last words, however, escaped Mrs. Atdand ; her attention was
attracted by the sound of feet in the hall and the bump as of a
heavy box being set down.

The next instant the door open impetuously and Marjory appeared
— Marj<^ry, very ]mle, m ith disordered hair escaping from under her
hat, and eyes that looked unusually large. She paused an instant,
looked eagerly round, and then darting to George, threw her arms
round him. " My dear, dear brother," she cried. " Thank God !
You are safe, and — and better ; better than I hoped you would
be."

Mr. Rennie observed that the colour came with a rush to her
cheek, and then left her paler than before.

" Oh ! INIarge. this is jolly," exclaimed George, returning to her
embrace, whore his voice faltered and his lips twitched. " Where
— how have you come i "

"Yes, Marjory; hovv in the world have you managed to get
away ? " asked Mrs. Acland in a voice from which she strove in vain
to banish all acrimony.

" Have yon not had my letter? I wrote three days ago, as soon
as I had explained everything to Mrs. Carteret, and she agreed to
let me come and see George before we went on to Italy. Oh I
George, 1 knew no rest after 1 had j-our little note — dear, dear
George." Her voice broke, but she strugg^d bravely for com-
posure, and even managed to smile upon him in a way that Mr.
Rennie thought inlinitel^' pathetic. She was evidently overcome by
the terrible change in his ajipearance, yet resolute to conceal her
impression. "They are all and all tu o^.ch other," thought the
shrewd shipowner, *' and she is just the age o' my own girlie."

" This is your own sister, I suppose ? " he as led.

"She is."

" 'Ji ! missie, I suppose you're th^iiJng it is hard your brother
shculc. ^^0 B^ mauled and mangled f»r the sake of a stranger."

"No, 110,'' cri' " Marjory, smiling through the tears that icould
come. " i vQuld not have had him do ditlerently. Thank God, he
war iihlr • aa->e }'>^r son for you and for his mother, his oii'u
motiier, ' '^er voic-.' quivered as she spoke, with an emphasis she

A LIFK INTEREST.

273

(V thank -
3own her
lid never
md blew

1 and iny-
After all,

ul maniac
ira w< uld
'. Rennie.
ntion was
ip as of a

1 appeared
under her
n instant,
her anna
ank God I
jrou would

jsh to her

ling to her
" Where

ged to get
ove in vain

go, as soon
agreed to
aly. Oh :
dear, dear
for coni-
that Mr.
ercome by
[onceal her
liought the
irlie."

|ur brother

rer."

that wonJd
Ink Ood, he
Ir, his otrn

iphasis she

could not help ; " but it is — it is a little distressing at tirat, and 1
have had a tiresome journey. '

" You are a bravo lassie," said Mr. Rennie admiringly, '* and
your brother shall not be the worse, as far as his career goes, for
his i^luck and generosity. 1 have settled with your father to-day,"
and he proceeded to recapitulate his plans for George's benefit.
Whlio he spoke Mra. Acland slipped noiselessly from the room to
give the directions Marjory's unexpected return necessitated.

** This is good news," she exclaimed, clasping her hands. *' What
I dreaded more than anything else was his having to hang on in idle-
ness at homo. He will soon be able to begin. Do you suffer any
pain now, Georgy 1 " nestling close to him, and gently, fearfully
touching the stump of his arm.

" Oh no ; at least very little. Isn't it lucky the fellow didn't break
my leg ? But T say, Marge, can you stay all the time I am here ?
It is so miserable without you."

" Yes, I can ; I wish — oh, how I wish I could always live with you
and take care of you ! You will want me for some time to come,
George."

"Well, can't you come and stay with your brother for a bit?"
suggested Mr. Rtsnnie, who was greatly touched and interested by
both brother and sister. "If you don't mind roughing it in the
bachelor's den he is going to have at our diggings, it might be better
for both of you ; not that I suppose you would stay long there, my
lassie, it's too high up, and too much out of the world."

" Ah, no ; it would be heavenly," said Marjory, her voice unstoady
and full of feeling ; " George and I have no one in the world but
each other, and to be of some use, after wondering all my lift why
I was sent hero to be merely an encumbrance^ would be like getting
into a better world."

" If that's your way of thinking ! " said Mr. Rennie, rubbing his
hands, "you are the right sort. Let us talk to your father ird
mother about it. I don't see why it could not be managed."

" You do not know all the difficulties," returned Marjoiy, c
ing vividly, and undoing her cloak with trembling fingers
dare not trouble my father, and I could not be a burden to
George. "

" Oh, that's it, is it? " said Mr. Kennie meditatively. Wh.
parsed Mrs. Acland returned.

"I am afraid, Marjory," she said, "your room will not be
comfortable. Had you given me notice "

" But I wrote — I did indeed," interrupted Marjory, " but I did
not post the letter myself, so I fear it was forgotten ; French ser-
vants tire so careless. As to my room, never mind about that. How
are the children ? "

Before Mrs. Acland oould reply Mr. Remiie broke in :

" It seems, Mrs. Acland, that this young lady thinks her brother
(18)

ur-

" I

poor

very

h ■ ;

I' '

W- '

It <i

111^

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« .

k 1

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1 » » i'

;

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274

A L'A'E IX'I'EUEST.

would bo better of her coiiipaiiy for a year ov so, and I am much iii
the same opinion myself. What do you say ? "

Mrs. Acland took a rapid mental glance at the proposition. So
long as Marjory was out of the house it mattered little where she
was, and the seeming would be quite as fair whether she were with
her uncle or her brother, but residence with the latter implied
demands on the paternal purse.

" I am sure it is a very kind thought," she said, smiling sweetly ;
*' but I could not answer oflf-hand. Mr. Acland, of course, is the
person to consult, and apart from all other considerations it might
not be well to withdraw Marjory from an aged and wealthy relative
who is much attached to her."

*' Attached to me ! " echoed Marjory in such a tone of amazement
that Mr. Rennie smiled.

" And they are going so far away — to Italy," she added with dole-
ful emphasis.

** Well, well, missie, if you are ready to give up a fortune and a
journey to Italy for your brother's sake your wishes deserve to be
considered. 1 shall be a few days longer in town, so I'll have a talk
with Mr. Acland and see what is to be done. Meantime you'll be
glad to see the back of me as I am but a stranger."

" No, no 1 certainly not," cried Marjory, "you seem''areal friend."

" This is a very impetuous child," said Mrs. Acland smiling and
laying her hand caressingly on Marjory's shoulder, "you must
excuse her want of manner."

'* Want of manner," repeated Mr. Rennie rising, *'I hnpe she
may never learn anything different. Now good-day to you. There's
my card, but of course you'll always find me in Fencliurch Street.
Aa soon as you are able, one of our shipping clerks shall give you
some hints in bookkeeping (of which, it seems, you know some-
thing) and also respecting our particular business. Good morning,
Mrs. Acland. Your boy is looking better already. Let him have
hia sister to look after him, and I have a shrewd notion you will
save her keep in doctors' bills." He shook hands heartily with each,
adding a friendly slap on George's shoulder, and left them.

"Isn't he a trump?" cried George. "I feel ever so much
stronger since he came. Who could fancy he is the man all the
fellows about the office talk of as if he were a ' fee fa fum ' ogre
who'd eat you up about the smallest matter. Forbes is just like
him, only more of an Englishman."

'* Well, Marjory," said Mrs. Acland, who had followed Mr.
Rennie into the hall, " 1 wonder what your father will say to you
for rushing off in this ridiculously inconsiderate way ! — casting from
you the chances which your position with the Carterets offered,
without a thought for the heavy burdens your poor father has to
bear. Pray how did you get the money to travel, I should like to
know ? I trust you did not borrow and expect us to repay it. "

y\l

A LIFE INTEREST.

270

1 much of

ition. Su
where she
were with
;r implied

y sweetly ;
rse, is the
8 it might
hy relative

amazement
I with dole-
bun e and a
serve to be
have a talk
e you'll be

real friend."
smiling and
^'- you must

I hnpe she
ou. There's
rch Street.
,11 give you

now some-

d morning,

it him have

On you will

y with each,

er so much

lan all the
f um ' ogre

is just like

l)llowed Mr.

say to you
Icastins; from
Tets offered,
ither has to

^\x\d like to

)ay it."

" Indeed I did not," indignantly. " I simply gave George's poor
little letter to Mrs. Carteret, who has been so very, very good to me
of late. She cried too — I never thought she could shed a tear —
then she said I could go home if I wished it, and gave me the money.
I don't think she ever knew before how people can love each other.
If I did not believe there was a chance of living v/ith George I
would rather live with her than any one else."

" I warn you there is little or no chance of your setting up with
(ileorge. It would be too unprincipled to aak your father to sup-
port you when you can have a luxurious home for the taking, and
you cannot expect George to share half a loaf with you."

"Yes, but I would, though," he exclaimed. " Marge and I
could do on very little. It would be better to live on one meal a
day and be together than have half the continent of Europe be-
tween us."

" You are the most idiotic young people I ever met,'* said Mrs.
Acland contemptuously, as she rang for the gas to be lit. " You
had better go and take your things off, Marjory. From being like
a ghost you have made your face as red as fire with your tears and
nonsense. I hate sentimentality."

The days following the reunion of brother and siste . though Mrs.
Acland did her best to render them irksome, were j v/elled with
many a pleasant moment. Fire in the schoolroom was strictly for-
bidden, thus George and his sister were compelled to be pretty con-
stantly in the society of their stepmother. But there were few
days wlien she did not go out, and the two young creatures made
profound calculations as to how much they could live on, wildly
under-estimating the cost of keeping body and soul together.

Then when the weather was fine and the air still, tliey made ex-
cursions to look at the shops — Marjory full of care for her precious
invalid and guarding him from rude contact with wonderful adroit-
ness. Sometimes they indulged in a cup of tea or a shilling drive
in a hansom, which reckless outlay was defrayed by Marjory, as
poor George's purse was quite empty. Then there were one or two
interesting letters from Dick, and even Mrs. Carteret wrote a few
kindly lines. These were comforting circumstances, yet they
hardly atoned to Marjory for the cold disapprobation which her
father steadily evinced towards her, and which made her feel more
than ever an uH-favoured guest.

At length came a glorious afternoon when George returned from
an interview with Mr. Rennie, v.ho had gfone and come in the
interim, and announced that he was to begin at a hundred a year,
which after two years — if he proved worth it — should be increased
according to his usefulness. '• Why, Marge, we can live like fight-
ing cocks on two pounds a week," was his concluding sentence.

vj:. .,

ii''-.

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ni'

'\'l

. yJitunummmmMnt,

'^(i

14*

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276

A LIFB INTEREST.

'* Yes, of course," cried Marjory with sparkling eyes. '* It ui
splendid 1 for from what you tell me you are not to pay any renK
Mr. Rennie must moan us to live together." Neither of the young
financiers reflected there were fifty-two weeks in a year. Nor did
they reckon on Mrs. Acland's covert resistance to their scheme.
Still they held steadily to it ; and Mr. Acland, who was much in-
fluenced by the opinion of a stronger and more prosperous man than
himself, was ashamed to refuse his consent to what seemed so natural
and suitable an arrangement. Marjory represented that she could
do with an allowance for her dress, that it would cost George very
little more to keep her than to keep himself, that there was much
in the way of mending and making which he would have to pay fop
if she were not there to do it for him, and much more.

At last perseverance was rewarded and Marjory wrung a reluc-
tant consent from father and stepmother. Then came the only
painful bit of the whole business — writing to Mrs. Carteret, who
replied very kindly though her expressions were curt and dry. She
desired that Marjory should write to her from time to time as she
would always feel an interest in her.

Mrs, Acland was excessively annoyed at the turn chings had
taken. She felt herself virtually defeated, and added another
count to the heavy list of Marjory's evil deeds, which she promised
to pay in full.

Il v; as arranged that George should pay a short visit to his friend,
Forbes Rennie, take his place in the office, and have things in readi-
ness for his sister when she came to join him.

All through this period of close friendly intercourse Marjory
constantly debated within herself, " Shall I or shall I not bell
George I went av* y with Mr. Ellis ?" and the answer was always
"No."

She saw that, although gradually gaining strength, her brother
had still much of the nervous irritability to which weakness is
liable, and she feared the efiect of such a confession ; besides, it
would be a breach of faith toward Ellis. No : she might as well
save herself the shame of such a disclosure.

It was a day or two before George was to leave town. He was
busy at his writing in the dining-room, trying to get accustomed to
the awkwardness of being one-handed ; Marjory was pretending to
to read but furtively watching his progress. Mrs. Acland, as was
usual in the afternoon, had gone out.

Marjory's thouglits had been oscillating between castle-building
as regarded her life v.'ith George, and conjectures as to what Ellis
could, would or might do when he found she had quitted Mrs. Car-
teret, when she was almost startled into a scream by the servant
suddenly opening the door, and before she could well utter the
w<irrls, "A gentleman for you, miss," Ellis walked in.

" You (lid not expect to see me, eh?" he said with a pleasant

A LIFE INTEREST.

277

I young
h)Y clicL
tcheme.
uch in-
an than

natural
le could
rge very
as much

pay for

a reluc-
the only
ret, who
Iry. She
le as she

hings had

another

promised

his friend,
la in readi-

3 Marjory
I not iell
ras always

)r brother
eakness is
besides, it
t as well

He was

istomed to

^tending to

id, as was

le-building
I what Ellis
Mrs. Car-
ihe servant
utter the

a pleasant

emile. ** T was obliged to come over on a matter of business. I
promised Mrs. Carteret to see you and report on your brother."
afarjory murmured something about being glad, which her looks
belied, and let him hold her hand for a minute while he scanned
her face.

*'I am glad to find^you so far recovered," he said kindly, passing
on to George and shaking hands with him. " I hear you have been
doing 'doughty deeds,' and trust you will ultimately be none the
worse."

" An arm is a sad loss," said Marjory. *' But I am thankful he
was able to save his friend's life." She was very proud of her
brother's prowess.

" Of course ; it is a physical loss he will never recover ; but I am
told he has made a friend of a powerful and wealthy man, who will
no doubt hclvi him on.

" He is very kind and makes too much of what I have done. It
amuses me to hear them all talking of my pluck and resolution,"
continued George with a boyish laugh. " I can tell you I was in a
desperate funk. I would have given anything to run away, but
when I saw the madman creeping over to attack Forbes, who did
not see him, something that seemed not myself forced me to run be-
tween them. Then I thought it was all over with me."

*' It would be well if fear oftener aped courage aa successfully,"
said Ellis. '* Now I am going to treat you unceremoniously. My
mission to your sister is a secret ; so I must ask you to leave us "

'* Oh 1 very well ; I don't mind," returned George, rising with
alacrity ; *' only remember Marge has promised to stay with me."

•' I am not likely to forget." Gravely — " No, Marjory," as soon
as they were alone, " My debt to you is increasing daily and the ac-
cumulation of unpaid interest will be enormous. You will be bank-
rupt, my sweet bride-elect. How do you intend to clear yourself?"

*' I suppose I must become insolvent," returned Marjory, deter-
mined to keep a brave front to the foe, though shivering at his
cold, mocking tone. She had George to fight for now as well as
herself, and he should be neither disturbed nor deserted if she could
help it.

" I do not think you are likely to be insolvent — at least your in-
ventive resources seem tolerably large. Still it was imprudent and
unwise of you to quit Paris without consulting or informing me. I
might make matters difficult for you."

" Pray understand that I do not hold myself accountable to you,
Mr. Ellis " she cried, half frightened at the violent beating of her
own heart, yet resolving to bring him to reason if she could.
" After all, I do not see how you could make things difhcult to me
without betraying more than you would like Uncle Carteret to
know. What do you want me to do? Is it not right and natural
that I should stay with my own brother ? "

■\

mmgfm

S'' ) J: 1

•^^P

„ >•

I ''it iji

lijf |i ;

278

A LIFE INTEREST.

** And is it not natural that 1 should wish to keep my promised
wife within my reach — where I can see her and endeavour to win
her obdurate heart ? "

" I cannot help thinking— or rather, feeling — that you don't love
me a bit, said Marjory, nerving herself to a supreme effort and
raising her clear, honest eyes to his. *' I do not believe you would
trouble about me if it were not to revenge yourself. There is some-
thing gone from your voice, and the very touch of your hand, which
used to make me think you loved me. For that 1 thank you," she
went on, with a sweet humility that almost moved her hearer,
"and now, though I behaved so badly, why don't you try to put
away evil, unkind thoughts and forgive me heartily ? You would
be ever so much happier if you did. I know I should be better
and happier if I could forgive Mrs. Acland ; I am, when I can
forget her. A strain of hatred through one's heart makes havoc of
all harmony. Do forgive me ! " With a sudden impulse she
stretched out her hand to him.

Eilis made no movement to take it. He leant his elbow on the
table near which he sat and covered his face with his hand.

"I will forgive you," he said after a moment's pause, " but only
on my own terms. Our ideas respecting life and moral harmony do
not agree. You have affronted, mortified, baffled me as no other

man or woman ever has, and you shall pay me in full or " He

came across to where she sat and took her hand. Marjory started
up, struck by the change in his expression. " Put your arms round
my neck, lay your cheek against mine, and say, ' Dear Ralph, I will
let myself love you ; I will be your wife when you claim me.' If
you do, I will forgive you. I will be weak enough — or forgiving
enough — to lose my head about you again, for you are still the
strongest passion of my life."

"But I cannot — I cannot," cried Marjory, turning very white
and trying to draw away her hand. " I do not love you and I dare
not marry you. I retract my promise. I never, never can be your
wife."

" Then be careful how you indulge your emotions," said Ellis,
still grasping her hand firmly. "If you will not have me for a
lover you shall have no other. What man would care for a wife
who left her father's house with another man, and left him next day
imwed ? "

" When J many," cried Marjory, roused to indignation which
carried her beyond fear, "it will be time enough to fulfil your
chivalrous threat ! I will never see or speak to you again if I can
help it."

"Ay ! t/you can," returned Ellis in a low, harsh tone. Then, in
spite of her struggles, he caught her in his arms and kissed her
brow, her cheek, her lips. " There," he said, " is the first and last
lover's kiss you will ever have from me. In future, remember I am

ill: \\

Ml
If;

A LIFE INTEREST.

279

jromised
to will

nn't love
fort and
lU would
} is some-
id, which
ou," she
r hearer,
y to put
3U would
)e better
en I can
havoc of
)ulBe she

m on

the

' but only
rmony do

no other
— " He
ry started
rms round
Iph, I will
I me.' If

forgiving
} still the

ory white
md I dare
m be your

laid Ellis,
me for a
or a wife
a next day

ion which
lulfil your
nif I can

Then, in
tissed her
st and last
mber 1 am

a creditor, who will h.ivo his pound of flesh. 1 accept your renun-
ciation."

The next moment Marjory was alone — shocked, stunned, un-
speakably indignant, yet defiant. She was in too great a state of
effervescence to feel foar or shed tears, but often, in after times,
when alone and depressed, the recollectic^n of his words, his cruel
look at parting, came back to her and she shrunk from tlie picture
presented by memory.

" I say, Marge, is he gone ? What a pleasant voice he has, and
what was it all about ?" asked George, coming in almost directly.

" You don't suppose I will tell you the secrets confided to me,"
returned Marjory, endeavouring to speak gaily, and thankful she
had so unobservant an interrogator.

" I fancied that rich aunt of yours might have sent you a hand-
some present as you are going to set up housokoe{)ing."

" Oh ! George, how can you be so greedy ? Think how generous
she has been already. "

" Well, I know ; but I suppose twenty or thirty pounds are not
of much matter to her."

"Oh, such a sum matters to any one. I have loft my best
■cissora in my room ; I must fetch them," and she escaped him.

CHAPTER XXVIL

*'uan'<;kiious around."

•*15, Uiver Street,

*' Dockborough,
"Dear Dtck, —

*' It must be nearly a month since I last wrote you, but do not
fancy I have been either idle or negligent. On the contrary, I
have been so busy I have not known which way to turn. Then I
wanted to get a little used to my new life in order to describe it.

*'To begin at the beginning. George had just got into these
rooms when I joined him. Mrs. Rennie, at whoso house, as you
know, he had been staying, quite loaded him with kiiulness;
besides the ordinary necessary furniture she put many pretty things
in our new home, beautiful hothouse flowers and a basket of fruit
and vegetables. They (Mr. and Mrs. Rennie) live about four
miles out of the town, in a pretty country house, called Craigneish,
after some place in Scotland. jMrs. Rennie is rather a fat, fair
woman, who must have been very pretty. She is most good natured
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and puts her 'h's* in wrong places. Then she wears gorgeous
gowns that would make Aunt Carteret's hair stand on end ; but it is
a shame to write all thia of any one who has been so good. In short,
she is a sort of rose without a thorn, and I always feel inclined to
hug her, so docs George.

• * The rooms Mr. Rennie has given us are in the fourth storey of
a great new house he built some years ago for his offices. They
are rather low, but very pleasant ; the furniture is simple, but
fresh and pretty, and Mrs. Kennie put in a sofa for Qeorge to rest
on when he is tired, which, I am sorry to say, he often is. By-and-
by, when we get over the cost of settling here, I shall hire a piano.
The houses opposite are small and low, and we can see over them to
the river. I am never tired of looking at it. It is such a grand,
broad highway for all the nations of the earth. And the crowds of
shipping that go to and fro would astonish you. I did not think
there was so much in the world. It makes one feel as if in touch
with the ends of the earth to see the great steamers coming in and
going out to America, India, China and Australia.

'^Besides our nice rooms, I have the use of a dear little kitchen
which I share with Mrs. Slokes : she is the caretaker, a Scotch
woman, who had been nurse in Mr. Rennie's family, and married
some employe of the firm, who died and left her unprovided for so
Mr. Rennie put her here : she speaks so funnily I do not always
understand her. I think she could be disagreeable, but fortunately
she was very fond of Forbes Rennie, and so is very friendly with
George and me for his sake. A woman comes in every day to help
in cleaning, and I pay her for doing our rooms too. I am learning
fast to be a keen housekeeper. At any rate, I see how much
thought it takes to get full value for a shilling. I go to market,
and am beginning to be able to do a little cooking with Mrs.
Stokes' help.

** As George is ir the house he is able to take his dinner with me
at one o'clock, and it is delight getting everything ready and nice
for him.

** Then, after tea, he lies down, and I read to him, or he reads to
himself while I work, and there is nothing to disturb us ; no one to
dread, but sweetest freedom and a heavenly sense of safety, only for
ono horrid memory, but I will not name it. Yon know, and I
often forget that. I never was so happy before. I am sure I am
useful to George ! He is far from strong and at times is a little
fidfjety. He was very nervous about his work as clerk at first, but
I can see that as he gathers strength he is calmer and more self-
reliant ; still he is not so bright as he used to be. It would never
do for him to be alone.

'* There, you see how my old dream of * keeping hoiTse for the
boys' has been realis'.ed — but not quite. We want you so much,
Dick. Fancy how nice it w«uld be Ut have both my brothers to

A LIFE INTEBB8T.

281

rgeouB

ut it is

short,

ned to

yrej of
They
le, but
to rest
3y-and-
i piano,
bhem to
i grand,
owds of
>t think
n touch
; in and

kitchen
% Scotch

married
3d for BO
,t alwavB
rtunateiy
idly with
r to help

learning
ow much
market,

ith Mrs.

with me
and nice

reads to
no one to
, only for
, and I
ure I am
is a little
first, but
lore self-
ild never

Le for the
I so much,
lothora to

cater for. But you are better off as you are, aud seem to be in
society into the bargain.

" What grand neighbours yours must be. How do you feel when
you hand a countess in to dinner ? Pray write and tell me all about
yourself. When shall we see you again ? I hope Mr. Brand keeps
well ; give him my very kind regards. I like him so much.
*' Good-bye, dear Dick,

'* Always your affectionate

'* Marjory.
"P. 8. — Perhaps you had better write to George next time ; he
likes to get a letter. I forgot to mention that Mr. Ronnie has a
daughter, a very pretty girl, like her mother ; she wears such
charming frocks ! she is inclind to be great friends with me. There
is an elder son, too, in the army. Mr. Rennie came up the day
before yesterday to see how we were getting on. Is it not kind of
him ? 1 am so thankful to be here.

*'M. D."

This epistle was eagerly read and re-read by its recipieut, who had
begun to feel depressed by Marjory's silence. Indeed, his thoughts
dwelt much upon her in his unemployed moments.

Her grief at poor George's untoward accident ; her dread of
Ellis ; her readiness to give up all the advantages of residing with
Mrs. Carteret in order to be her brother's companion and helper in
comparative poverty and complete selcusion, were so many rivets to
fasten his imagination — his heart — to the ever present picture of the
bright if somewhat wayward girl who had been his tormentor.

To know that she was happy with George seemed to remove the
only obstacle to his own hearty enjoyment of his life.

The winter had been a busy time — for Brand was unusually well
and energetic — in the genial southern climate. Chateau Fleury
stood in a bend on the hills, sheltered from the cold south-east
winds which occasionally swept down from the neighbouring Alps.
It was a quaint old house, neither large nor exteriorly picturesque.
But an archway led into the courtyard (three sides enclosed by the
dwelling and the fourth by some dilapidated stables), which in
summer was a delight to the artistic eye of the owner. The walls
were of a warm grey tone, as if they had absorbed the glow of
southern sunshine, and draped at two of the an^jles with ivy. There
was a parterre crowded with rose trees and ordinary sweet garden
flowers, in the midst of which was a fountain, and at the top of a
small mound in the centre was a hoary sundial. The windows
which looked upon this pleasaunce were of all shapes and sizes, save
on one side, where a small chapel was lighted by a row of mullioned
windows.

The chief alteration to be effected was to pull down the stables
and replace them by arches to support additional rooms, and thus

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282

A LIFE INTEREST.

l!'

to permit a beautiful view of the countiy and the mountains beyond
to be visible from the courtyard. This, with necessary rej)air8 and
interior decorations, was the w(»rk in hand. Lord Beaulieu him-
self designed the arches and superincumbent edifice, and found
young Cranston sufficiently intelligent and instructed to carry out
the details. Brand spoke French fluently if not grammatically ;
and Dick, unhampered by knowledge of or regard for rules, rapidly
picked up the language from the men he employed. In this he was
assisted by a neighbour.

A couple of miles from the chMcau, in a somewhat superior
farmhouse, lived a certain Baron de L'Epinard, an old manufacturer
of Grenoble, who, having lost some money by the fluctuations of
commerce, retired from business in a fright, and amused himself by
what he termed amateur farming, but which was really market
gardening. In spite of his assertions that he was a ruined man the
inhabitants of the district asserted that he was still rich, and by the
severest economy added yearly to his store. M. de L'Epinard had
not brought his title nor as snmedit at his own pleasure. He came
of an old Provencal family, which had been reduced by its own
extravagance and political changes to beggary.

When, therefore, its last scion worked his way up again, he
revived the ancient honours of his race by the simple process of
printing '* Baron de Bellecour" on his cards and signing himself
without his Christian name.

His retirement was soothed by the companionship of a widowed
daughter, Madame la Comtesse d'Albeville — a fascinating young
woman of eight or nine-and-twenty, who, on the strength of a pair
of big, black eyes and a quantity of blue-black hair, posed as a beauty.
She was touchingly devoted to her aged father, on whom her neigh-
bours said she was entirely dependent, M. Le Comte having
departed this life some three years before, *' leaving not a wrack "
behind.

These were the only neighbours above the rank of peasants of
which Chateau Fleury could boast ; and when it was found that
"Milord" spoke French " well, but remarkably well," he was the
object of much civility from the baron and his daughter.

Meeting him about with Trand, apparently on familiar terms,
the hospitality of Bellecour was also offered to Lord Beaulieu's
employe^ who, in his turn, mentioned that young Cranston was his
adopted son : so it came about during the long dark winter's
evenings our two friends were occasionally the guests of M. Le
Baron. The devoted daughter, with winning grace, ventured to
correct Dick's French, and further suggested that he should study
the splendid literature of the country under her guidance. Dick
very gratefully accepted, so on Sundays and Thursdays he walked
over to Bellecour and spent a pleasant and profitable hour or two
with Madame d'Albeville, who, as the days lengthened, occasionally

Engll
heartr
I jusj

said
frien(
I quit
tell,
Brs

A LIFE INTBKEST.

283

beyond
lira and
ju him-
l found
irry out
.tieally ;
rapidly
J he was

superior
ifacturer
ktions of
mself by
r market
man the
id by the
nard had
He came
r its own

again, he
process ot
ig himself

\ widowed
ing young
\ of a pair

a beauty,
her neigh-
having

a wrack "

easants of
ound that
he was the

iar terras,
Beaulieu[s
on was his
: winter's
of M. Le
entured to
^ould study
nee. Dick
he walked
our or two
)Cca8ionally

met him half way, just for a little exercise, and they walked
back.

The day he received Marjory's letter was a veiy busy one with
Dick. He found that some of his directions had not been carried
out, which necessitated undoing what had been done, and he felt
obliged to watch the setting of every stone. Finally, when the
workmen departed, he sent a polite note excusing himself to tlie
countess.

He wanted to sit down quietly and answered Marjory's letter.
He felt that he could cover pages. How she would enjoy Fleury
and the beautiful scenery around, the pio'uresque aspect of the
country and the people.

'* You are not going over to Bellecour this evening ? " said Brand,
as they set by the fire after dinner. He had lit his cigarette, and
laid the book he was going to read beside him, but in the meantime
was scribbling figures in his memorandum book.

" No ; I want to answer Marjory's letter," and Dick set forth his
blotting book.

*' Hum ! — I hope you sezit an excuse to madame 1 "

" Of course."

'* She will not be pleased."

"Oh I she won't mind."

**She is wonderfully kind."

*' Yes," returned Dick shtjrtly, as he dipped his pen in the ink.

*' How do you get on with your studies, my boy ? "

** Pretty well. I make a mess of it sometimes, but I am getting
on. Madame d'Albeville reads beautifully, and is altogether very
nice, you know ; but she wastes time a good deal crying about her
husband, who must have been, from what she says, rather a brute."

" I am afraid you are rather unsympathetic," said Brand drily.

** No, I am not ; but it's uncommonly awkward when a woman
whom you scarcely know begins to talk of her desolation and you
see her great eyes shining through the tears that drop down after a
bit on the book. "

*' I suppose it is," said Brand in a peculiar tone. *' I suppose you
are not handy at offering cv)mfort ? "

"Me ? No ; I never know what to say, even if she understood
English, and certainly not in French. Why, she seemed so broken-
hearted last Sunday that I felt obliged to say or do something ; so
I just thought I would press her hand."

*' Had that very strong measure the desired effect ? "

*' I don't know. She was not angry, anyhow. She smiled and
said something about the consolations of tender and sympathetic
friendship, and begged me to confide the history of my life to her.
I quite understood tliat much, and I mana<,'ed to say I had none to
tell, but hoped for a busy, full life in the future."

Brand laughed quietly to himself : " And after this touching

Of '<

i^iJI

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284

A LIFE INTEREST.

passage you fail to attend for your next lesson ; she will think you
ungallant."

Dick laughed. ** I don't want her to think me rude ; but you see
I want to answer Marjory's letter — which, of course, I prefer doing."

" The letter you had to-day ? That's quick work."

"They will not think it too quick." Brand did not reply. He
went on scribbling figures, and I)ick was soon deep in his letter.
By-and-by Brand leaned back in his chair and seemed cogitating
some question. Then his eyes turned on his companion, whom ho
watched for some minutes, a soft, sad, and kindly expression steal-
ing into his eyes.

** Why, you are inflicting a volume on Miss Marjory."

" It is to George ; but it is all the same."

"Oh ! indeed. Well, look here. I have been making; a little
calculation. Do you know, we have been living here at a remark-
ably cheap rate. Old Josephine is a capital cook, and, like most
good cooks, is a good manager. We have about six weeks or two
months longer in this nice old place. These French workmen are
very slow, or, rather, very intermittent. Now, when all is finished,
I propose we take a trip into Italy and have a peep at Florence and
Genoa. You have made some savings, I suppose, and you could not
spend them better. What's deficient I'll make up, for I am not
quite dependent on what I earn."

"You are too good to me," cried Dick, enchanted with the idea.
" I often wonder why it is you have taken to me so much, a man so
inferior to you in knowledge and — and ability. "

" Not in ability, I suspect," returned Brand in a low, unsteady
voice. " Perhaps some day I will tell you all I know. Meantime
you like my project ? "

" Like it ! Why it is beyond my highest hopes."

" We must make the most of our time and study the great build-
ings. I wish we could manage Venice, but I am afraid. I knew
Italy years ago and I think I can contrive to do our little tour
cheaply. But we have plenty of time to lay our plans. Now I will
let you finish your letter. It won't break your heart to leave your
charming instructress. "

" To leave Madame d'Albeville ? No ! certainly not. Why should
I?" ^

So it came about that it was some time before Dick and his faith-
ful friends in Dockborough met again.

Lives unmarl^ed by events roll swiftly. The first five or six
months of Marjory's existence at Dockborough were peacefully
monotonous yet never dull. It required a good deal of thoughtful
management to keep within the limits of her scanty means, but she
accomplished it.

A LIFE INTEREST.

285

hink you

lit you see
jr doing."

>ply. He
lis letter,
cogitating
whom ho
lion steal-

tig; a little
a remark-
like most
jks or two
rkmen are
is finished,
orence and
u could not
- I am not

h the idea.
Ii, a man so

unsteady
Meantime

rreat build-
I knew
little tour
Now I will
leave your

Why should

d his faith-

five or six

peacefully

thoughtful

Lns, but she

Mrs. Rennie was always helpful, and used to come panting and
smiling, after her ascent of the long stair, to bring the produce of
her dairy and henhouse to her young proteges^ to inspect her neatly-
kept sitting-room and praise her good management. Then there
were teadrinkings, when Mary Rennie came in for shopping pur-
poses, and partook ot that refreshment with Marjory, who had never
since she was at school known the pleasure of having a young girl
friend. How fast their tongues went on these occasions ! how their
merry laughter rang through the rooms and even out into the
passage, reaching the ears of Mrs. Stokes, who smiled in a sort of
pitiful sympathy ; and yet there were times when Marjory grew
grave and sad when, after Mary Rennie left, she washed up the tea
things and put them in their place.

If dear, honest, kindly Mrs. Rennie knew^ would she allow her
young carefully-guarded daughter to associate with a girl to whom
such a story as hers was attached ? For as time went on Marjory
saw how almost impossible it would be to explain the peculiar cir-
cumstances which urged her to go with Ellis, how difficult to clear
herself of suspicion. Over and over again she resolved that nothing
should tempt her to marry ; never could she confess her rash weak-
ness to any man, nor would she deceive any one she loved. Hftving
failed to confide the tale of her terrible mistake to George when they
tirst met she never could bring herself to approach the subject.

There were, hovf ever, plenty of happy days when sho quite forgot
the existence of her enemy, as she considered Ellis, and enjoyed the
companionship of her yount,' friend heartily. So thoughtless and
inconsequent a creature as Mary Rennie she had never met ; a
sound, warm heart preserved her from utter folly. She had been
indulged in every fancy, yet not utterly spoiled because of the divine
gift of sympathy. The number and variety of her dresses, her hats,
her trinkets were a source of amazement and admiration to Mar-
jory, while the wonderful manner in which Marjory turned, twisted
and preserved her garments was equally a source of astonishment to
the rich man's daughter ; she would have liked to have bought
pretty things for her friend, but though she rarely thought, her
instinctive feeling was true and there was an independence about
Marjory that forbade the offering of such gifts.

" What delightful brown bread and butter you have ? " cried Miss
Rennie one warm day towards the end of summer, as the two girls
sat at tea in Marjory's room. " It never is so nice at home."

** That is because you are never so tired and hungry there.
Everything seems excellent to me at Craigneish."

" I am dreadfully tired, certainly. They were so slow serving me
at Macdougal's. It is a horrid shop, but my father insists on our
going there because he is Scotch."

" If I had known you were going to shop I should have asked
leave to come with you, for I have had a present from Aunt Oar-
toret and am actually going to buy a new dress."

.^<>^"i

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< '

286

A LIFE INTF.KE8T.

'* Oh, that U nice. I will come in to-morrow and help you to
choose it. Where does your aunt live ? "

*' Chiefly in Italy. She was in Switzerland when she wrote."

•* What a pretty name Carteret is. Are they swell people ? "

*• I hardly know. Mr. Carteret {he is my great-uncle) had an old
place — such a pretty old place — called Langford Priory, but he sold
it."

** What a shame ! If I had an old place nothing would induce me
to"sell it. I should like to have come of an old, old family, with family
relics, old armour and swords, and things hanging on my ancestral
walls, and hiding places, and "

" A family ghost or two," added Marjory as INIiss Rennie paused
in her enumeration.

" Yes, and a ghost if necessary ; now everything about us is so
commonplace and new."

'* You hav3 one possession that is most un common, it is such a
man for a father as yours."

" Oh, yes ; he is an old dear. I wouldn't change him for all the
armour and ghosts in England ; and mother, too, is a dear, (july
she worries about my untidiness and idleness, though I believe she
is right." There was a short pause. "I believe I am going on a
visit to my aunt," resumed Miss Rennie, "and I do not fancy it
much."
. ** To Scotland?"

** Yes ; she does not live in the Highlands or any nice place. They
have a farm somewhere near Edinburgh."

* * I daresay you will enjoy yourself."

**I wanted to go abroad. I have only been in Paris, but A lick
(her eldest brother) is coming with me. I believe my cousin has
very good shooting, so he wants to come too."

" When do you expect him ? "

** Next week. He will stay awhile with us. I am sure I don't
know how he will like staying with my aunt, for she and my cousins
are regular farmers, make the butter and go to market ; while
Alick is rather a fine gentleman, quite diflferent from any of the men
you see here. Your brother speaks more like him than any one
else. Your brother is so nice. Why does he never come up when
I am here ? "

'* He would like to come, I am sure, but he is always busy then."

" He is looking better, poor fellow. I wonder you can bear to see
Forbes when you think he cost your brother his arm. "

'* My dear Miss Rennie, I am only glad that George was able to
save him."

" Do call me Mary — do, do. I want to call you Marjory. Where
is your other brother ? "

" Dick ? Oh, he has not written at all regularly of late, but when
last I heard he was still at Fleury, in the south of France."

nai

you

L an old
he sold

iuce me
h family
ncestral

» paused

us IB BO

3 such a

or all the
ear, only
)lieve she
oiiig on a
,t fancy it

ace.

They

but A lick
cousin haB

ire I don't
tny cousins
ket ; while
of the men
m any one
e up "when

)usy then,
bear to see

A LIFB INTEREST.

287

•• He is an architect, isn't he ? "

" He is trying to be one. He has had a delightful trip to Flor-
ence and Pisa ; now he has gone back to do some more work at the
chftteau."

" Won't he come and see you ? "

'* I hope so ; but I do not know when. He must go where he
gets anything to do."

" I should like to go to the south of France," said Miss Rennie
meditatively.

*' It must be lovely — the scenery there I mean. I must show you
two sketches of the place where Dick is at work."

She rose and brought over two water-colour drawings, carefully
wrapped in silver paper. One was a charming sketch of the court-
yard at Gli^teau Fleury, the other a fine view of woods and mountan.
'• How beautiful — how exquisitely done 1 Did your brother paint
them ? "

" Ah, no ; these are the work of a real artist who is decorating
the interior of the castle. He is the greatest, the best friend Dick
has. He kindly drew them for me. They are great treasures."
*' I am sure they are."

** The carriage is ready, and the maistcr's waiting for you/' said
the caretaker, putting in her head.

*' In arainuto, nurse ! I wish I could sketch. I learned drawing
for years, and I wish you could see the things I produce. How
proud mother would be if 1 could bring her back some pictures from
Scotland ! I believe the country round Aunt Morrison's place is
rather pretty. "

" Wher6 does she live?" asked Marjory, her ear caught by the
name.

*' Near a place called Strathlogie. Do come and dine on Sundny
when George is free. I will look in to-morrow. Good-bye."

■ Qr

■I li

h,1 I

;as able to
lory. Where

be, but when
ice."

.^iimm^

288

▲ LIFE INTBHE8T.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

REUNION.

'r, i

Marjory was indeed pale ! Her heart for a second seemed tu
stand still, and then beat wildly — as the horror and danger of her
position displayed themselves before her. What more likely than
that Mrs, Morrison should laturn with her niece, then what a dis-
closure awaited Mrs. Rennie — and for herself, what shame ! A
cold shiver shot through her at the idea ! She would never stay to
be discovered ! — better a thousand times tell all to Mrs. Rennie
and go !

This was a consequence of her folly she never anticipated. Ought
she to warn Ellis ? — ought she to permit such a blow to fall unex-
pectly on George? — was she to be a trouble and a disgrace to the
brother she loved so well?— would the whole story get round ^o
Mrs. Acland ? If it did, how she would revel in the power it be-
stowed to trample and to torture ! Why it would bo almost better
to marry Ellis and escape it all ! But, no ! — a deep and true instinct
whispered that would be a life-long misery.

She sat long where Mrs. Rennie had left her — her elbows on the
table, her face buried in her hands. Gradually, the terrible pain-
ful confusion of her mind cleared a little ; with the pluck natural
to her, she strove to think not only what was the best, but, above
all, what was the ^-ight thing to do. Courage and calmness came to
her as she thought. For every one's sake she must keep her secret
as long as possible. She could ascertain from Mary Rennie if her
aunt was coming to return her visit, and before they met she would
tell her story to Mrs. Rennie ; she would meet the danger half-way,
it was all she could do. Then, if Mrs. Morrison would not leave
her home, her daughter might, and she would be equally ready to
tell the scandalous story. The only creature with whom she could
take councel was Dick, and with him, only face to face. If she
wrote on the repulsive subject, Dick would reply, and there was
always the danger of the letter falling into George's hands, who
would unhesitatingly read it. Besides, she scarcely knew where
to address him, as he spoke of leaving Fleury St. tfean about the
present time.

Indeed, his letters had been few and scanty of late, there was a
change of tone in them too, an indescribable constraint since he and
Brand had parted after their expedition to Florence. Marjory had
noticed it before ; now, as she re-read his last two epistles (which

A lAVi: 1NTK1!I',8T.

289

ined to

of her
ly than
t a dis-
ne ! A

stay to
Rennie

Ought
11 unex-
Q to the
ound •^o
er it be-
ist better
> mstinct

s on the
)le pain-

natural
it, above

came to
er secret
:iie if her
le would
lalf-way,
not leave

ready to
she could
If she
;here was
nds, who
^w where

bbout the

ere was a
ce he and
rjory had
es (which

she took out in hope of oxtiaotiny 8(ino consolation from their con-
tents), it appeared more marked than at first. Was Dick forgetting
her, or growing ituHtferent to her joys and sorrows ?

Until this thought occurred to her, she did not know how much
she depended on hissynij'athy and counsel. The tears which her
alarm, her anticipation of shame had frozen nt their fount, melted
and flowed freely at the idea of seperation or estrangement from
Dick. How her heart ached for the sight of him, to hear the sound
of his voice. He would durely counsel her for the best, and feel for
her as no one else would. He alone knew the real truth of her
secret trouble.

She roused herself, bathed her eyes, put away the tea things, and
then wrote a few lines to Dick, begging him to let her know what
chance there was of her seeing him soon — because she had much to
tell him, which she must write if he did not come. This letter she
sent to ChiUeau Fleury — she did not know Brand's address or she
would have written to him for informolion respecting Dick's move-
ments, she only knew that they i^arted in consequence of Brand
having business in London, while Dick returned to Fleury by Lord
Beaulieu's wish.

When she had posted this letter she felt calmer and braver, and
though Grecrge thought her rather quite and perhaps tired, as it
was very warm, he saw nothing unusual in her manner.

The next day was wet, so the pr jject of shopping fell through,
and the girls did not meet until the following Sunday, when
George and his sister dined, as they often did on the Sabbath, at
Craigneish.

After the midday meal Majofry found herself alone with her
friend in a shady nook, each armed with a favourite volume. It was
too hot to read attentively, and they talked lazily for a while.

"Have you any young cousins in Scotland?" asked Marjory,
after a pause.

"The eldest daughter is about my age, but she is going abroad
with her little brother who is very delicate ; she will feel strange
there, as she is a regular country girl !"

" Then I daresay you will bring your aunt back with you ?"

" My aunt ! Nothing on earth would induce her to leave home,
we have tried and tried in vain to coax her here, for we like her,
though she is funny !"

Marjory silently returned thanks for this postponement of the evil
day, but she felt it must come ; secrets always come out. Then she
taxed her memory as to whether Mrs. Morrison had heard her
name ; she rather thought not. When her luggage was forwarded
to her in Edinburgh it was addressed to "Mr. R. Cranston ;" she
hoped, she believed, her name had not been mentioned — she had
purposely abstained from putting it on her box at starting. The
pame of Acland would then bring no assoeiatioiis to Mrs Morrison's

(19)

i-l

■i-.j

i m

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i f1

1 51-'

290

A LIFE INTEREST.

mind when she heard the story of her nephew's rescue. Above aU,
Marjory would have time to win Mrs. Rennie's esteem and regard
before the shameful truth came out — if any esteem and regard
would stand such a disclosure.

Still the hopefulness of youth suggested -everything as possible in
the distant future, and Marjory felt more like herself than she had
been since she had learned the relationship between Mr. Rennie
and Mrs. Morrison.

Forbes Rennie was a frequent visitor, as was natural, to his
friends George and Marjory. To the former he was warmly at-
tached, and the latter he treated as a sister ; but it was a brotherli-
ness with a dash of salt — just the drawing recognition of a woman's
charm — for Marjory gave herself great airs of seniority. But she
was heartly fond of the boy ; something of the gentle sadness which
comes from ill-health still hung about him, though the sea voyage
remedy had been marvellously e£Gicacious, and he seemed in a fair
way to complete restoration. He too was in his father's office. Mr.
Rennie considered his eldest son entirely unbuited to business, and
wisely gav^> him his choice of a profession. Ho was older by several
years than his sister, two children who came between them having
died in infancy.

Mr. Rennie was very leinent to his youngest boy, letting him oflf
before the ordinary time of closing, and granting him a holiday
whenever "Mother asked for it."

"Are you busy writing again?" he exclaimed, coming into
Marjory's sitting-room one fine glowing afternoon at the beginning
of August. "Why you must be secretary to something! Is it
the society for providing straw bonnets for the Hottentots, they
were bothering the governor for a subscription to some such thing
the other day V

"No I vfiahlhad a secretaryship," said Marjory, raising and
putting her papers together hastily. " Is George with you ?"

" No 1 He is quill driving as hard as he can go, but I have
brought my brother to see you. He arrived yesterday. He has
stopped outside to speak to old Mammy Stokes— she was his nurse
you know. I thought you wouldn't mind if I brought him. Miss
Acland ?"

'*I shall be very happy to see him," returned Marjory, regretting
that her hair waa probably ruffled, and that she had on her very
simplest morning dress of blue checked print ; but pretty golden
brown hair is not the worse for being in slight disorder, and a neatly
fitting print frock with a white apron sometimes sets off a figure as
well as silks or satins,

Marjory was, however, shy and nervous about meeting strangers,
Mary Rennie's startling communication of a few weeks before had

Th
offi
ha

to s
tion
Th

{(

A LIFE IVTKUKST.

call,
egard
egard

ble in
le had
lennie

to hia
ily at-
)therli-
oman's
But she

I which
voyage

II a fair
0. Mr.
9SB, and
1 several
1 having

J him off
holiday

into

eginning

! IB it

jte, thtiy

ich thing

fling and

it I have
He has
is nurse
im, Miss

regretting
her very

[ty golden
a neatly
figure as

strangers,
fefore had

2'Jl
She wished

given her a shock from v/hich she liml not recovered,
this straiK^er had not conu".

"And how lon:^ does your brolhor stay V aho a.skfd.

"Oh for some time ; he lias asked a brotlicr officer, a clnnn of
his, down here, so ho cannot go north nntil hois^ono." Iloro
Forbes went hastily out and shouted, ".Jack, I say .lack, don't bo
all day," returning almost inuuiMliately, followed by a tall, red-
haired, good-humoured looking young mnn, very like Mr. Rennie,
remarkably well set up and soMioily in air.

" This is George's sister," .said Forbes, by way of an introduction,
waving his hand towards Marjory.

Captain Rennie bowed and smiled, saying pleasantly, "I am
afraid my brother is an iuditleront master of the ceremonies, Miss
Aoland."

'* In this elevated pusition we are above all ceremonies, and gene-
rally dispense with them," returned Marjory. "At any rate your
sister does, when she kindly comes to tea with me.

"I have just had the pleasure of shaking hands with your bro-
ther," resumed Rennie. " 1 am sure we are all deei)ly in his debt
for saving this youngster at his own expense. My mother was
always rapped up in Forbes."

" 1 tliink she is in you all.''

" I believe so. And how do you stand Dockborough, Miss
Acland ? It is rather a beastly hole."

"Oh! I think it a most inlfcsf in:^ plaee. 1 am quite happy
h'.Te. I am never tired looking at the liver." Slie pointed to
the open window.

" Yes," rising to look ; "there is really a tine view here. I do
not think I ever was in those rooms befote. Don't you find them
awfully high up, especially when ])eoi>lc come to call ?"

" No one ever does except Miss Ronnie, and sometimes your
piother ; that is always a gala day wIkmi she c(mies."

" By .Jove, you must be buried ;ilive I You must be deucedly
fond of your brother to leave London and roost here for his sake."

"That depends on the sort of life I had in London. V^on .see
my brother — my brothers and mysvlf, have nothing but each
other."

"Oh, come Miss Acland, T can't believe that ; I suspect you might
have a good deal more for the taking." He lauglnid a light lK:arted
bo3dsh laugh, in which without knowirg why, Marjory joined.
Then .they talked in a friendly way for a few minutes, the young
officer describing the nusiance of bc^m : ([uartered in Lelaiid, as ho
had been — the nusianue it was to be • ^ ;ied to quell disturbances ;
to stand to be pelted with stonssuid mud by the patriotic pof/ula-
tion, while a nervous magistrate hesitated to read the iiiot Act,.
Then he reminded Forbes, who had scarcely spoken, tiiat the
" mater " would be expecting them, and bowed himselt out.

■ !•.■

f I

^'immm'»

292

A LIFE INTEREST.

" 1 say, Forbes," he exclaimed when they were in the street, " I
had no idea that young Acland's sister would be such stunning good
style. She is deucedly pretty into the bargain. What sweet bright
eyes she has. I suppose you often find it convenient to pay her a
visit ? Eh, Master Forbes ? "

** Well, you see, I like to show some attention to George's sister.

and-

** I daresay you do, a good deal of attention," interrupted his

brother; "so should I if 1 were staying here, and if— but never
mind 1 How 3omes it that her people let her hide herself away
here, and waiu on her brother as if she were the daughter of a petty
shopkeeper ? Who are these Aclands ? "

*' The father is a lawyer. I fancy they are gentry, but they have
a stepmother, and somehow, though Marjory, 1 mean Miss Acland,
never mentions her, I do not think she cares to be at home. Then
they are awfully fond of each other — I mean George and Marjory."
*' Marjory ? I suppose it is Marjory when you are tete-a-tete, and
Miss Acland before faces, hey ! you young scamp. "

"Jack, how can you talk such rubbish," cried Forbes, colouring
with vexation. " I dare not call her Marjory, only hearing George
and Mary always say it, it slips out."

*' You rfare not," repeated Captain Kennie, laughing with keen
enjoyment of the boy's confusion. " That's ztx awful severe sign,
my poor chap."

" Look here. Jack, don't go on like that before my mother and

Mary, it miglit "

" Trust me," interrui-ted the other again, " I'll not spoil sport,
besides," more seriously, "it might make things disagreeable for
that nice little girl — not so little either. I can tell you, Forbes, my
boy, I would t^ y and cut you out if I had not my own aflfairs to at-
tend to, BO make your mind easy."

Jack Rennie was a good specimen of the average young officer,
mfh very intellectual or refined, but honest, brave, good-natured,
-ki'-'h a tolerably high estimate of himself, and had no doubt what-
ever that he would be acceptable to any woman under the sun, which
Vi'j;'* not to be wondered at considering he had a most kindly feeling
towards them all. To his sister he was the finest gentleman in the
world , and Le was in her world. To hia mother he was her darling
boy, that was enough.

Mary Rennie was naturally much taken up with her newly arrived
brother, so time went slowly for Marjory. It was nearly three
weeks since she had written to Dick Cranston, and he had not yet
broken silence. She felt unusually depressed. If he were inditier-
ent to her sorrows and anxieties life would indeed be a desolate
wilderness.

Mary was therefore unusually welcome one afternoon when she
suddenly made her appearance.

>i}l

A LIFE INTEREST.

293

et, " 1

g good

bright

j^ her a

sister,

ted his

it never

If away

a petty

ley have
Acland,
,. Then
[arjory."
•tetey and

colouring
g George

?ith keen
vere sign,

other and

-loil sport,
seable for
'orbes, my
'airs to at-

ng officer,
natured,
)ubt what-
sun, which
ly feeling
nan in the
ler darling

vly arrived
arly three
lad not yet
re inditi'er-
a desolate

1 when she

''I suppose you thought I was never coming again," she cried,
embracing Marjory effusively ; " but I have had a hundred-and-one
things to do — and we haye been busy preparing for Jack's friend,
Mr. Mowbray Delamere. "

'M don't fancy you have done much," said Marjory laughing.
** Will you have some tea ? "

** No, thank you, it is late, and I had some before I came out.
You think I am too idle to be of any use, Marjory ; but I am very
active sometimes.

*' I dare say ; at all events you are of use to me:— it cheers me to
see you, for I have felt rather melancholy of late."

" Oh ! you dear. I am so sorry. Go put on your hat and come
back with me to dinner. Leave word for your brother to come and
fetch you ; the walk will do him good and you shall drive back "

" Thank you a thousand times, but "

** I will take no excuse — I know they will be delighted to see you.
Jack says you are the right sort, and he is accustomed to very nice
people. Do come. You need not change your frock — I like that
soft grey and the pink ' pussy-cat ' tie round your neck ; you had
that dress from a first-rate milliner, I am sure."

"Yes, I believe so — Aunt Carteret gave it to me. It was my
best dress last summer.

*' That is amazing — how is it you manage to keep your clothes ? "

*' Because I know how difficult it is to replace them I "

** Do get your hat and come."

"Don't you expect Captain Rennie's friend to-day ? "

" No ; is it not provoking ? — Jack had a telegram this morning.
He cannot get leave until tlie 21st. He is so nice and amusing, but
rather grand. We saw him when we were up in town last year —
the regiment was at ShornclifF then, and was going to give a ball.
I would have given anything, my eyes ! — to go to it, but father had
some horrid business in Manchester, and mother would not go with-
out him — I cried half the evening. Mr. Delamere told me after-
wards he wished he had been near to wipe away my tears ! What
do you think of that ? Isn't Mowbray Delamere a beautiful name <
I am afraid he will find us humdrum and homely "

" Did you hear a knock ? I thought some one knocked," inter-
rupted Marjory.

''No— I "

The knock was repeated this tims unmistakably. "Come in,"
cried Marjory.

The door opened slowly, and Dick Cranston answered the invita^
tion. Marjory started up and stood still for half a second, then
with joyous eyes and trembling in surprise and excitement, she flew
to meet him, and throwing up her arms as nearly to his neck as she
could reach, cried, " Oh ! Dick — 1 tliough you would never
come."

' >.

I. I

I ;

, ■ ■>,

Hi, ' ^

::^mmamm^^'T'

■-■T -^aWTfTSSfW^s

294

A LIFK INTErtKST.

I I

" 1 came as soon as I could after getLiiig ywijr ]ol.tor," he replicnl,
gently returning her embrace ; " I only had it a week ago."

" This is my brother, Dick Cranston 1— Miss Rennie, Dick, of
whom I have often spoken in my letters." Dick bowed —Marjory
was struck with the superiority of his bt)w.

" I am sure I am very glad you have come," said Miss Rennie,
with a pretty blush raid smile and upward glance. " For Marjory
has been in the dolefuls and fretting about you I am sure. Now,
Marjory, I cannot expect you to come to dinner, so I shall just run
away ; but I'll come soon again. Good afternoon, IMr. Cranston ;
you must pay Craigneish a visit." Marjory followed her to the top
of the stair. " My dear ! icliat a handsome man ! " cried Mary.
"Why did you not tell me how handsome he is, IVTowbray Delamere
is not to be compared to him. He is like a sea-king, or a knight of
the round table — or, there — I must not keej) y(<u -good bye, I am
su glad he has come."

" At last, Marge ! " said Dick, when she returned to him, as he
took her hand and looked wistfully, inquiringly into her face, " I
have come to hear what the trouble is ! "

" Oh ! thank Heaven it is not pressing now. I am dying to hear
what good fortune has brought you back, Dick. My troubles will
keep till to-morrow ; tell me all about y<»urself."

" I will, Marge ! How heavenly it is to be here with j'ou, and
what a nice pretty room ! But you are not looking as bright as I
hoped to find you."

"I feel all right now," said Marjorj', but her lips quivered and
her eyes grew moist. Dick sat down oil the sofa, put his arm round
her, pressing her to him for a moment, theii with a slight sigh he
let her go and began his story. " Your letter must have reached
Fleury just before 1 left, and as Lord Beaulieu was away, no one
thought of forwarding it. It is not a week since it reached me. 1
hurried to London, because Brand thought 1 had a chance of some
work from Je! vis — you remember, the architect at Beaulieu ? When
I saw him he gave me a rough sketch of some almshouses to enlarge
and finish. You may imagine how glad I w^is to find thoy were to
be built by a benevolent millionaire at the other side of the river,
there — " he pointed to the window. " It will not be a long job, but
I can see you and George nearly every day, for I am t(. be clerk of
the works and architect in one. Of course, the building will be
simple enough, still, all this experience helps me on."

" And you will be near us for some months ? " cried Marjory, her
voice full of thanksgiving. "It seems too good n<;ws to be true.
How will Mr. Brand do w ithout you ? "

" He does not seem inclined to do without me," returned Dick
smiling. "He talks of coming down here and finding some place
that will do for a studio. Ho is so much better, he say?? he'll tiy
painting again. The sunsiiine and life altogether in the south seems

A LIFE INTEREST.

295

)li<.'«l,

ck, of

Lennie,
[arpry

15 ow,
ust run
mston ;
the top

Mary.
elatnere
nicrht c>f

^e,

I am

n, as

ace,

he
''1

g to hear
ibles will

you, and
■ight as I

'ered and
,rm round
it sigh he
e reached
no one
jd me. i
le of some
iU? When
;o enlarge
iiy were to
the river,
ig job, but
»e clerk of
2 will be

irjory, her
lo be true.

l-ned Dick

lome place

hc'n try

l>uth seems

to have stirred his artistic soul. He made a number of capital
studies, and he is going to paint some pictures from them. I hope
he'll be able to find what he wants, for I feel quite lonely without
him. It will do him good, too, to have a talk with you, Marge ; he
is awfully down at times. I have known him sit for hours and not
open his lips, looking all the time as if he saw ghosts rising out of
the past. Then again he cheers up, and is the brightest companion
in the world. I never thought I should like any one so well."

" I liked him so much too that dreadful time I stayed with you.
Oh, Dick 1 how I wish I could blot it out ! "

*' Try not to think of it, it is all gone by," he replied, looking
kindly at her,

" I wish it were, but it is not ! "

" Then the trouble you wanted to tell me is about that unfor-
tunate business ? Now, I have told my story, let me have youra.
Marge. "

" Not now. George will be here directly. You will find him a
good deal changed, though he is much better, thank God ! and I
have a great deal to say ; besides, T might cry. I won't if 1 can
help it, but 1 am a greater fool then I used to be ; more easily
frightened."

" That will not do. Marge ; both George and I always admired
your pluck in the old days."

" Oh, Dick ! that was before I had anything to hide."
** It is an infernal shame that secrecy should have been forced on
you ! " he burst out. " You, the frankest, truest girl in the world."
*' Well, it was my own fault ! Had I been true to my convic-
tions, 7 should have nothing to fear now. I am afraid you will
despise me, but I have never had the courage, the heart, to tell
George ! "

" Despise you ! " he repeated in a peculiar tone, and then paused.
" I rather think it is as well you did not ; the fewer who share your
— I mean, our secret, Marjory, the better ; and George would only
fret. Moreover, he might let-it out some day, unintentionally."

'' I am so thankful you do not think I ought to tell him, it is
quite a relief to my mind. Did you see my father when you were
in London ? "

" No ! I don't feel it is exactly honest to go and see him. If
we meet, I should speak to him the same as ever ; but he oiight to
have stood by me when my mother accused me so cruelly, so
basely ! I did see old Cross, though. He has always been a trump
to me. Be thinks and observes a good deal for such a dry metho-
dical chap. He is greatly interested in you and George. Does your
father ever write to you ? "

" Scarcely ever. Sometimes to George ; but I am no favourite.
Oh, hsre is George ! "

The start, the pause of delighted surprise and recognition, then

^^\

J.isH 1

hi! 'I '

I! 1<

11;

;!!

If li

296

A LIFE IXTRRKST.

the hearty prolonged hand-shaking, the exclamations and questions
which ensued can be readily pictured. The simple homely tea and
supper, set forth by Marjory's own hfnids, assisted intermittedly by
her brothers ; the eager talk, the full free out-pouring of experi-
ences since last they had met ; behold ! it was all very good.

1 do not know why the record of eating is considered somewhat
beneath the dignity of a story ; eating plays a very important part
in life, and the pleasure of a meal in company with those you love
is a delight by no means to be despised.

Our trio enjoyed theirs immensely, and when it was over, set
forth together to reconnoitre some of the better streets near the
river, where Dick hoped to find rooms for partner and self, as
George termed him and Brand.

The joy of this re-union revived Marjory's drooping spirits and
waning courage. Dick's presence brought stren'^th and safety
with it. Nevertheless, several days passed before Marjory found
an opportunity of confiding her doubts and fears to him.

He was onlj"^ able to join his brother and sister at tea time, when
George was always present. Then, the first Saturday half-holiday
after his arrival was devoted to Brand, and to settle his belongings
in the quarters they had chosen, within easy reach of one of the
steam ferries, which landed Dick each morning within a short walk
of his work.

The next day. Brand was brought to call upon "Miss Acl.ind,"
who received him with a warm welcon-e that delighted the kindly
Bohemian.

He was looking sunburnt and well. Marjory observed that his
step was firmer and more eLastic ; his head more erect.

He thoroughly enjoyed himself with his three young friends, and
insisted on their crossing with him to tho o])posite side of the river,
where he hired a carriage with reckless generosity, and they enjoyed
a drive into the country, finishing with tea at a rustic inn.

A LIFE INTEREST.

297

s3tions
.^a atul
dly by
jxperi-

lewhat
nt part
(U love

er, set
»ar the
self, as

its and
I safety
J found

e, when
-holiday
lonsjings
) of the
)rfc walk

Aicland,"
p kindly

that his

nds, and

lie river,

enjc^ed

CHAPTER XXEL

"a CONrESSION."

Dick Cea.nston had not been many days established at Dock-
borough, when Miss Rennie found it convenient to make another
late visit to her friend Marjory.

The hour for afternoon tea was past, and Dick had just come in,
intending to spend the evening with his chums.

" Well, Marjory dear !" kissing her aflfectionately, "you see I
have kept away a long time, as I knew you would be too much
taken up with your brother to want me."

" Brother or no brother, I am always delighted to see you."

*' Ah I I know better 1 Now ycm. are here, she does not want me.
Does she, Mr. Cranston ? " with a pretty interrogative bend of the
head and coquettish glance.

*' I don't suppose for a moment that I could supply your place,"
replied Dick, with an easy manner and ready responsive tone that
astonished Marjory. "I am sure your society must have done
much towards making my sister so fond of Dookborough."

** I don't think you will like it," replied Miss Kennie, " after the
life you have been accustomed to abroad."

**1 wonder what sort of a life you imagine I lead," said Dick
laughing.

" Oh ! a very gay one, I daresay, very different from this hum-
drum place. Then French ladies are so lively and charming, and
different from us."

" Very different indeed 1 their brilliant dark eyes and glossy black
hair are very striking ; but somehow I began to weary for," glancing
at her, ** the golden auburn locks and soft blue eyes of my country-
women."

" Ah ! that is all very fine, but I suspect you have left your heart
behind you, Mr. Cranston ! "

" No, I assure you, I always keep it by me ready for present
use 1 "

' ' Dear me 1 what an inconstant man your brother must be,
Marjory."

*' I am sure he is constant in friendship," she returned, mora
earnestly than the occasion needed.

' ' In friendship 1 perhaps so ; but I must not forget. Mother
sent me to ask if you would come and help us on Saturday. We
are to have all the school children from St. Margaret's schools to

298

A LIFE TNTKREST.

i.}'

tea and games. We always give them a feast, poor things ; and 1
hope George and Mr. Cranston will come later."

" I shall go, of course, and with pleasure. When shall I come ?"
said Marjory.

** Oh, you must come to luncheon."

*' You must remember, Saturday is a busy morning with me —
this pi^'gie has to go to market."

"Oh, never mind. Jack will be in town with the pony carriage
and will call for you. It will be an awfully tiresome day. You
will come, will you not, Mr. Cranston ? "

" You are very good to ask me, Miss Rennie, but I fear I cannot
have the pleasure of joining you, I have an engagement on that day."

"Then you must really give it up," she exclaimed, and there-
upon plunged into a very prompt flirtation a propos of his refusal
and her own insistence, in which Dick took part with spirit. Mar-
jory was quite amazed how long they continued to talk nonsense ;
at last, the young lady with many tender expressions and a hug to
Marjory, saw fit to depart. Dick followed her down stairs. They
must have continued their conversation at the door, for it was some
minutes before Marjory heard the carriage drive away.

" Your little friend is an arrant flirt," said Dick laughing, as he
threw himself on the sofa when he returned, "and rather pretty,
with her red hair and fair skin."

" You took my breath away, both of you," returned Marjory. "I
had no idea Mary would chatter in that way to a stranger,"

"There is no harm in her," said Dick carelessly. " It's just the
skittishness of a filly."

" It is all very well for you to talk of her red hair when she was
gone ; you called it golden auburn to her face."

" Oh, I was talking of my countrywomen generally," and though
his mouth was grave, his blue eyes smiled.

"Nonsense, Dick, you coolly looked to see what colour her hair
was before you spoke."

The culprit made no reply, he seemed lost in thought. Marjory
moved to and fro, folding up her work and arranging the room.

" I wish," resumed Dick, " she had not asked us to this school
feast. It cheats me out of another half holiday. There seems a
fate against our having that confidential talk you want. I am
most anxious to know what troubles you. Suppose you come a-.^ay
with me on Sunday after dinner to that park they talk of up the
river."

" Yes, to Salisbury Park," put in Marjory.

"There is a tram, I think, that goes by the gate," he continued.
" George is going olT somewhere with young Rennie, and shall we
ask Brand to coiie in, in the evening ? "

" Oh yes, do I I shall enjoy a stroll in the park with you, for I
am longing to tell you everything."

A LIFH INTFKKST.

299

■<iH

; and 1
come?"

bh me—

carriage
jr. You

I cannot
labday."
d there-
s refusal
b. Mar-
Dnsense ;
I hug to
3. They
^^as some

ig, as he
>r pretty,

jory. ''I

just the

I she was

d though

her hair

Marjory

room,
lis school

seems a
1 am
)me a'.vay
)f up the

ontiiiued.
shall we

jTOU, for I

Witli a aij^li, Marjory sat down b.'sidu hlui, aid leant her head
against Ms sliDiilder with si.storly familiarity, but Dick soon drgw
jjjeiitly away, rose and went to kM)k out of the window. Maijory
looked a little sur]>rised, but accounted ior his unsympathetic move-
ment by retlectinu; that boys were ;iv(n'so to be petted, only (jeorge
was ready enouL,di to let her cuddle him — then he had been ill and
weak, (ieorge comiufj in just tiien, and doclarini^ himself raven-
ously hungry, slie thouj^ht no more of Dick's peculiarities, and ho
refused to stay, on the i)lea that ho had promised l>rand to return
to dinner.

Sunday was all that could be wished in the way of weather,
bright, pleasantly warm, witli something of invigorating crispness
in the air. Though much fatigued by her exertions the previous
day in aid of her friend, Marjory i)repared with some care and
great pleasure for her expedition with Dick. She was a little
anxious to ask if anything had happened to worry him, for she
fancied she had observed a subtle change in him. He had always
been grave, but now he vvas often absent and abru[)t ; there was a
slight s':ernness in his expression as if in conflict with something,
and he was certainly colder, less gently sympathetic to herself.
Nevertheless he was her best and dearest friend, and she would try
to look well -dressed to walk out with him.

George had started early with his friend, who was to drive him
in the dogcart to a pret ty village some miles distance, where after
service (Mrs. Ronnie liked her boys to go to church) they were to
lunch with the vicar and take a long ramble through the fields and
woods.

iMarjorywas quite ready to start when Dick came for her, and
while she drew on her gloves he looked at her from head to foot,
with an expression which induced Marjory to say with a saucy
smile, " Do I look nice, Dick ? Fit to be seen with ? "

" You know you do," he returned grimly, adding with one of his
kindly smiles which gave such sweetness to his grave face, '* You
know 1 am always proud to be seen with my smart little sister ; not
so little either — stand here before me — your head is nearly up to my
chin."

" Not nearly ! I am afraid I have none of the dig.uty of height.
Come, it is almost three o'clock."

Salisbury Park was a favourite resort of the Dockborough " upper
ten." For the humbler classes it lacked teagardens and small
tiiverns, being a couple of miles from the nearest quarters inhabited
l)y them. It was a comparative st^litude, therefore, when Marjory
and Dick descended fronr the crowded tram-car and walked leisurely
through the gates into the pleasant shade of the trees and on over
the soft fragrant grass, to a seat conmianding a view down the slope
below them to the wide river, its opposite banks clothed with woods
and dott(;d wit1i prt-fty wliilo villas. A boat here and there spread
its canvas wings to catch what breeze there was.

-■ I

w/tii

300

A LIFE INTEREST.

"This M a relief," said Dick. "1 niUHt own, though I have no
pretensions to aristocratic exclusiveness, I hate to be crammed up
with a heap of Sunday passengers. That fat old publican sat upon
you, didn't he ? "

"Yes, rather."

"This is a nicer place than I expected," he resumed. "I wish
I could spirit you away to Fleury, Marge, it is a delicious spot."

" "You were sorry to leave it ? "

**I was very glad to leave it; beautiful as it is, I could not live
there. It would be merely vegetating, but you would enjoy a
summer there. ^ wish, Marge, you had a little more beauty and
colour in your life 1 Do you know, I used .to feel indignant with
myself in the long summer evenings for having all that loveliness
about me, when you were broiling in a seaport town. You
don't know how I used to long for you when I rambled about
alone."

" Did you ? " said Majory. ** Yes, I should have enjoyed those
rambles oh, so much ! But, Dick, dear, I have been very hap])y
and very comfortable, in fact, happier than I ever was, before, until
about three weeks ago." And she proceed to give him an ac-
count of the connection between Mrs. Morrison and the Rennies,
and the shock the discovery had given her. " In truth I shall
never feel safe ag^'n," she ended with a sigh.

** It is very curiwus," said Dick, who had listened with profound
interest, "and exceedingly embarrassing. Your best plan, no
doubt, would be to tell your story to Mrs. Rennie before any one
else had a chance of doing so, but certainly not until absolutely
necessary. It was an awful piece of ill luck your falling in with
Ellis."

"But is it not extraordinary his taking a fancy to me?" ob-
served Marjory, meditatively ; *'a clever man of the world who
had seen so much."

Dick looked at her with a slight smile. "Perhaps it was," he
said slowly. "There is no accounting for such things, however;
anyhow it was a misfortune for you. The cruellest part of all is
that the fear of such a story (which sounds much worse than it
really is) becoming known will destroy the sense of security — the
self-reliance without which life is scarce worth having. Try,
Majory, to put this fear out of your thoughts ; all the thinking
on earth will not help you. No one who knows you will ever
believe that you were not more sinned against than sinning.
Unless this Morrison woman finds you here, you are safe enough. "

" But nothing can lift the consciousness of what I have done
from my own heart! " said Marjory, sadly.

"Marge," cried Dick, with intense feeling, and grasping her
hand tightly, " I would forfeit years of my life if I could blot out
that miserable episode from yours. Keep up your courage, my

have no
nmed up
sat upon

* ' I wish
s spot."

L not live
1 enjoy a
3auty and
nanb with
loveliness
wn. You
led about

)yed those
ery hapi^y
fore, until
lim an ac-
e Kennies,
th I shall

1 profound
, plan, no
re any one
absolutely
ing in with

me?" ob-
world who

it was," he
however ;
t of all is
•se than it
curity — the
nng. Try,
le thinking
will ever
m sinning,
e enough."
have done

asping her
Id blot out
ourage, my

A LIFE INTEREST.

301

darling. It is too bad that your life should be blighted by the mis-
conduct of others. Always remember that I will do all I can to
lielp you, because you are as dear to me as if you were my own-

sister, and because I mutt atone as far as I can for the trouble my
mother has brought upon you."

** Oh, Dick, I fear nothing when you are with me," she exclaimed
with quivering lips and unsteady accents. She had never seen him
so moved before, and she thought no music had ever sounded so
sweet as the rich, deep tones of his voice. She was conscious of a
double impulse — one to throw her arms around hia neck, another
imperatively forbidding such an action, which reduced her to l&ying
her other hand almost timidly over his.

" I wish I could be with you always, then," he said dreamily,
while his grasp gradually relaxed ; and after a pause he resumed,
' * These Morrisons may never come here after all, at least during
your stay."

" But, Dick, where else can I go ? It is quite impossible I can
live at home. I hope always to be with George."

' * I should almost prefer your being with Mrs. Carteret. You
would be better oflf."

'* Away from George and yourself. That would not make me
happy 1 Then I should have to see Mr. Ellis, and I dread him.
Oh, I do dread him ! "

"Tell me. Marge," said Dick, with sudden animation, *' how is
it that you did not take a fancy to that fellow ? He has, I suppose,
what are called charming manners, and is certainly distinguished
looking."

" I sometimes wonder I did not 1 " said Marjory, with frank sim-
plicity. " He talked delightfully, and really seemed very fond of
me ; but I was indignant with him at first, and never quite got
over it. Still, Dick, if he had been ready to ask my father's con
sent and marry openly I should have married him, and perhaps
grown fond of him by this time."

*' Very likely," said Dick, contemptuously. *' Women seem able
to get fond of anything."

"Do not be unreasonable," returned Marjory. " If Mr. Ellis
had been my husband and taken me before the world, I should
have been grateful to him, and gratitude counts for a great deal."

"Gratitude," growled Dick. "You do not owe him much
gratitude now." He rose ; and Marjory asking, "Why are you
cross ? " (to which question she got no answer) followed his
example. They walked on slowly for some time in silence,
then Dick said in a slightly embarrassed tone, " There is one
matter I want to speak to you about, Marge, though you may be
offended."

"What is it Dick?" asked Marjory, changing colour, and
visibly disturbed that his eyes grew soft and compassionate.

|i^' hi

V\^ ■

.302

A LIFK INTEUEST.

"' Yinw nerves uie nut wliat they wltc," he said ; *' or pcrlmps."
with a change of expression, ** constitnce makes a coward ot
you?"

"No, it does not."

"Well," ho rcsutned with an ifTort, ** I wish you would not let
that Capttvin Hennie hanj; about you as he did yesterday. You are
a bit of a coquette. I suppose; you cannot helj) it ; for I suspect
you do not care a rap ff)r hitn, but it would niake all sorts of un-
pleasantness, and I do not think ho is worth that."

*' Captain Rennie han^j about nie ! " repeated Marjory in the
blankest auiazcnient. " Why, Dick, you are cra/y to think of sucli
nonsense. He was obliged to help nio at tea and in the games.
He could not help it. He is good natured, as the whole family are,
but he is only just not bored with me."

" I am sure you think bo, Marge, or you would not say it ; but
I could have i>itehod him into that fish-pond near the swings with
pleasure ! Ho would not let any one have a chance of speaking to
you."

* * And I am sure yon did not care to speak to me. You were
far too much taken up with his sister to think of your own," re-
turned Marjory tartly.

" I was not taken up with any one ; I was bored to death," said
Dick gloomily.

Marjory had coloured up, and her eyes sparkled as of yore ; but
suddenly a change passed over her, tears dimmed her quick glances,
and, slipping her arm through her companion's, she said gently,
" Don't quarrel with me, Dick, and spoil the first happy hour 1
have had for three long weeks. As to C;q»tain Rennie, 1 shall not
see him again [irobably before ho goes away. If you only saw
him a little oftener you would acknowledge that h? is just civil to
me for his sister's sake, no more."

" Quarrel with you, Marge ! God knows, I don't want that !
Perhaps I was wrong. I think my temper is not as good as it used
to be."

*' Nonsense, Dick I But I fancy you are not as happy as you
were! There is something — I do not know what — of sadness
about you. If you have any trouble, dear, will you not tell me?"
" I have none I care — I mean I have none to tell you. Marge,"
and he pressed her hand close to his side. " On the contrary, I am
getting on far better than I could have hoped. If T could see you
clear of Ellis I should have nothing left to wish for." But he sighed
as he said it. " Come, I think we had better turn our faces home-
wards. Brand will be waiting for us."

They quickened their pace, and soon fell into pleasant discourse.
Marjory was surprised to perceive how old Dick seemed to have
become since they had last met, or rather how mature. He ap-
peared to have thought and observed much, and his descriptions of

A LIFE 1NTKUB8T.

a03

Hi]

>erliHi).s,
owarcl ot

I not let

You arc

I suspect

ts of un-

•y in the
ik of sucli
tie games,
iniily are,

? it ; but
ings with
eaking to

You were
own," re-

ath," said

7ore ; but
ik glances,
Id gently.
>y hour 1
shall not
only saw
3t civil to

ant that !
as it used

iy as you
)f sadness
tell me?"
Marge,"
•ary, I am
1 see you
he sighed
ces home-
discourse,
to have
He ap-
iptiuns of

what ho had aeon were vivid and graphic. Then, his earnestness
was infinitely delightful to Marjory's warm, sincere nature. How
different from the cynicism which tinged tv^i-ything Mr. Ellia said
— even his love-making.

When they reached home it was already dusk, aud Marjory
quickly lit the lamp, expecting every moment that lirand would
make his appearance. She removed her hat and hastily arranged
her hair. Returning to the sitting-room, she found Dick still
alone, standing by the open window gazing at the river, across
which the light of a tine harvest moon made a br( )ak streak of
rippled silver, apparently in deep thought. " Mr. Brand is late,"
said Majory, placing a bowl of flowers on the tea table, which was
already, laid.

*' Yes, but he will be here presently ; he likes to come."

'* And I like to have him." Dick drew a chair to the table, and
picking up a folded newspaper which had fallen on the floor, said,
'* Brand '!ent you this, but I forgot to give it to you before we went
out There is a review of some new books he thought you would
like to see."

** Thank you. I will read it while I am waiting for George.
Dick," she resumed, sitting down on the sofa facing him, the lamp
light falling on her pretty bright brown hair, her speaking eyes and
face, where air and motion had brought a soft rich colour. " Dick,
I do not think I ever told you what Mr. Ellis threatend the last
time I saw him."

** No ; you told me you saw him, that was all."

" He warned me never to love any man, for he would tell who-
ever I was going to marry that I had gone away with him." She
blushed crimson, thinking of the exact words Ellis had used.

" He is ah unmanly scoundrel," exclaimed Dick, angrily ; *'and
no man worthy of you would heed him."

*' I shall never put any man to the test, Dick? so you may be
sure I will never ' flirt ' with any one. I renounce such ideas. It
would be too humiliating to make a confession, and I never could
deceive any man.

*' Ah ! Marge, stay till you fall in love. You do not knov how
hard, how bitter it is to give up any one that you love passionately.
It would break your tender little heart, Marge."

"But, Dick," in much surprise, "how do you know, yort never
were in love ? " ending in an acute tone of inquiry.

Dick did not answer immediately. The colour came slowly to his
sunburnt cheek, and a dreamy look to his grave blue eyes.

" Yes ! Marge," he replied in a low voice. " I have been in love
— I am in love, as I trust you never will be."

" Really and truly. Dick ? Does it make you unhappy ? Does
she not love you ? Oh ! Dick, if she knew wliat a dear, kind, true-
hearted fellow you are, she would lovb you."

* n

304

A LIFE INTEREST.

'^t,

" Well, Marge, I cannot tell you more than this, that she ia so
twined around my heart that, although I would give— oh ! I don't
know what — to feel differently towards her ; though I have striven
against myself with all my force, I grow more passionately fond of
her every day."

He leant his arm on the table and shaded his face with his hand.
Marjory was silent and even awestruck at this outburst. An odd
sense of pain oppressed her.

** Why will you not confide in me as I do in you ? " she asked
tremulously.

*' It is quite different," murmured Dick.

*' I wish I could help you. I wish I could make everything happy
and smooth for you," said Marjory, tenderly coming over and laying
her hand on his shoulder. He made no reply. '* Just tell me one
thing. Is she very pretty 1 "

•'To me. Yes."

** And is she fair or dark ? "

•* Oh I dark. Big black eyes and shining black hair."

" Then she is a Frenchwoman ! " exclaimed Marjory, in a some-
what disappointed tone.

** I will not answer another question," said Dick resolutely. " 1
never intended to say so much. I slipped info it somehow. Never
remind me of it again. There is nothing but pain in thinking of a
woman one cannot marry. "

" I will not, then," said Marjory humbly, wliile she thought : Can
he have fallen in love with a married woman ? It would be too
dreadful 1 *' But if I may not speak any more, I want you to remem-
ber that I feel for you as you do for me, dear brother. " And she
kissed him lightly on the brow.

Dick pressed her hand hard, but did not reply for a moment.
*' Thank you, Marge," he said at last. " We will never speak of
this again."

Marjory, who was greatly disturbed by this confession, now busied
herself about the table, and presently said : *' Do you think Mr.
Brand will come ? "

" begin to think not," returned Dick, looking up from the
paper he was affecting to read. " I hope he has not had one of his
sudden attacks. He suffers terribly from neuialii;ia at times."

*' Then I will make tea. If he comes at all he will be here by the
time it is ready." As she spoke the sound of steps and whistling
approached, and George came in, looking as if he had had a happy

day.

" Isn't Mr. Brand come yet ?" he asked. *' Oh, let us have tea.
We had rather a dusty drive back, and I am dying for a cup. We
have had a delightful day. The vicar is a jolly old fellow, and
told us some capital stories. What have you two been doing with
yourselves ? "

'-! ii

A LlFF. iNTr.t;rsT.

3o:)

no is BO
I don't

) striven
fond of

lis hand.
An odd

he asked

ig happy
nd laying
1 me one

I a BOtne-

tely. "I

jr. Never

iking of a

ight : Can
uld be too
to remera-
And Bhe

moment,
apeak of

low busied
Ithink Mr.

from the
lone of his
les."
lere by the
whistling
a happy

have tea.
1 cup. We
sllow, and
loing with

An intorch.ui^'e of advonturt;* fulktwcd, ntid Dick seemed to grow
more liiiiiself while chatting willi lii.'i chum.

Miirjory whh t,'Uul to listen. Indeed (Jeorge, when in spirits, ax
sho was rejoiced to see was the cuoc, did nut ask anything more than
a good listener. Not being able to fix her attention on what was
being s;iid, she took up the paper to find tlie notice of which Brand
Bpoke. Her eye, however, was caught by the column said to be so
attractive to women — Births, deaths, marriages. Suddenly she
uttered an exclamation, "Oh ! Dick, lam so sorry. That dear,
pretty baby is dead. What a blow to the poor mother ; " and she
read : " ' On the 2l)th inat. at Eastbourne, of dii)htheria, Edward
Reginald Cranston Maynard, only sun of the late Reginald Maynard,
and grandson of Edward Cranston Maynard, of Leighton Abbot,
aged eighteen months.' "

" It will kill the old man ! " cried Dick. *' I am sorry for this.
Lord Beaulieu will feel it too ! Hu was hoping his sister would go
and stay with him at Fleury, and bring ths boy later on. Such a
fine, healthy little chap. Brand will be quite cut up."

CHAPTER XXX.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

The day following this memorable Sunday, Mrs. Acland hi-d a
busy afternoon, shopping and preparing for the annual exodus of
the family of the sea side. She returned somewhat fatigued and
ordered a cup of tea and some thin bread and butter to be brought
to her in the dining-room. While sipping this refreshment, she
reflected witii some satisfaction the course matters had taken
since the same period last year. Three times had that unmanage-
able Marjory come back on her hands and thrc-'j times she had got
rid of her — certainly the stars in their courses fought on her (Mrs.
Acland's) side. It was right and natural that Marjory should reside
with her brother and take care of him — it accounted for her absence
in the most satisfactory manner. True, Mr. Acland had to send
the tiresome girl a small sum (quarterly, but after all, they were
cheaply rid of both stepson and daughter. Then neither had asked
for any addition to their scanty allowance. Mrs. Acland made
tolerably sure that, for the future, she held her husband and his be-
longings in the hollow of her hand. She was succeeding in society,
too ; several heads of distinguished fuiiiiiies in the neighbourhood
had called upon her, and she meditated giving some select dinners
(20)

'\\

f. b

¥.uU

i:4^

irf

306

A LIFE INTEREST.

1 ..

■

1:1

1 ^

»)n her return to town. "Yes," she thoiiglit, "I have not done
badly, considering all the "

" If you please, 'm," said the housemaid, entering with a salver
on which lay a letter, *' will you see the gentleman ? "

Mrs. Acland took the letter, opened, glanced at it and grew some-
what white, then catching a surprised look in her servant's eyes, she
said haughtily : —

* 'Another of these endless petitions , why did you let the man
in?"

" He called before, 'm, and made particular inquiries when you
would be in. I thought he was a gentleman."

"Well, as you have let him in, I must see him," returned her
mistress, crushing up the letter in her hand, and as the girl left the
room she carefully dropped it into a glowing cavity in the fire. The
next moment Brand stood before her.

" 1 thought," she sa.d harshly, *' you promised never to seek me
again."

* ' I did " he paused, even by the half light of a rapidly closing

day she saw that he was deadly pale, " and I intended to keep my
word. Circumstances have changed, and I am compelled to take
counsel with you. For your own sake see me as soon as possible.
I leave time and place to you. I dare not write lest I betray you.
Believe me, I do not wish to injure you."

They both remained standing ; both spoke low and hurriedly.

" I am going out of town the day after to-morrow and I do not
sefo how I can manage it. " She had dropped her harsh resentful
tone, as if struck by the urgency of his.

" You can manage anything if you choose ; promise to do it and
I will wait your time, but the sooner the better for yourself."

•* Where are vou staving ? "

" At the Eustoi; Hotel."

" Change to Charing Cross and 1 will try to manage an interview,
but on no account write to me or call again."

*'I will do as you desire, but our consultation cannot be got over
in a few minutes."

"Very well, now go. I will ring for the servant to let you out ;
stay till she comes." She rang, and as the door opened said, calmly
and loftily, " It is quite impossible to subscribe to everything, and
Mr. Acland does much in the parish ; it is therefore useless to apply
to him. I wish you good-day. The door, Jane," and Brand was
ushered out.

As Jane observed to cook on her return to the kitchen teatable,
" Missus makes short work of such gentry."

When she was alone Mrs. Acland leant her arm on the mantel-
piece and pressed her hand against her brow. " What can it be ?"
she murmured. "What can it be? Not money? He was, md
probably is, a weak fool, but he would never press uie for money au

A LIPR INTEREST.

307

^ot done
a salver
3W some-

eyes,

she

the man

v^hen you

irned her
trl left the
fire. The

3 seek me

ily closing
keep my
[ed to take
18 possible.
)etray you.

irriedly.
d I do not

ih resentful

do it and

:8elf."

n interview,
be got over

let you out ;

1 said, calmly
fything, and
[less to apply
*■ Brand was

len teatable,

I the "i»ntel-
can it be'?
He was, md
for money »»

that — that villain Bliike did ; .nor would he injure me, I really
believe he would not. But there is something wrong, some danger
to us both ! Why am 1 tormented when I am leading so irreproach-
able a life ? I make husband and children li!ipj)y and comfortable.
I have turned many a dangerous corner, why should this be worse
than anything in the past ? Yet I feel it is, my hi^art turns cold. "
She went to the cellarette, took out brandy and a wine glass, then she
paused, looking at them with a curious expression, half fierce, half
frightened. " No ! " she said aloud, " No ! If I begin that it is
all over with me ! " and she replaced them.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour. " I must
not idle here," she thought, and rang for the parlour maid. *' I for
got to tell you that Mr. Crtiss may dine here, so put another place
at table," and she went away to her own room.

An hour later she sat in the snug study, well and carefully dressed,
with a calm face and air of repose, her pretty children at either side
looking at a book of pictures which she held open on her knee. It
was a pretty homelike group to greet Mr. Cross's eyes when he
entered soon after. But those small quiet optics of his had been
considerably opened of late, and Mrs. Acland's "groupings" had
less effect than formerly. His dry immovable manner gave no clue
to his condition of mind, but from the day when Dick, burning with
indignation, piercedjby the sting of finding in his mother his bitterest
foe, told his wrongs and sorrows to the cautious bachelor, Mrs.
Acland for ever forfeited her place in the estimation of her hus-
band's partner.

He was greeted as warmly as ever, the children were presented,
the best cjiair drawn forward for him, the choicest morsels heaped
on his plate.

Conversation was scanty and intermittent till the servants left the
room and Mr. Cross had been helped to number one of the two
glasses of port he always enjoyed, but never exceeded after dinner.
Mrs. Acland had mentioned, as a sop to Cerberus, that she received
very satisfactory accounts from George and Marjory ; the former
was greatly improved in health, which he certainly would not have
been had he not had his sister's care, and that both were the con-
stant and favoured guests of those excellent i)eGple the Rennies.

" That's well," returned Mr. Cross ; " perhaps it's better for Mar-
jory to be there than here."

" I think," said Mr. Acland seriously, "it is Marjory's duty to
be with her brother.'"

" I suppose you never hear anytliing of Dick ? "

" Never," replied Mrs. Acland sadly. "That poor boy has been
T, terrible trial to me. Because in my distraction and distress — when
appearances were so much .I'^jfainst him- knowing the tendencies he
vhighth^kva inherited, I implored him // he were guilty to confess, he
assumed that I accused him, and spoke most improperly to Mr.

M MNtirmrt ■ '^f^■lVff^■TliraB^Mpiijtfl^^rf

308

A LIFE INTEREST.

Ill

Acland, most ungratefully, then he left the house-
her hantUverchief to her eyes.

she pressed

r |-

I ' I. .

((

A very unfortunato business," returned Mr. Cross. " He gener-
ally looks in (;n uie when he happens to be in London ; he knows I
never .suspected him. lie has been rather lucky — his education has
told. Jervis, the well-known architect, noticed him when he was
helping the clerk of the works at Lord Beaulieu's, and so he has got
on. He was over in France doing some alterations for Lord Beau-
lieu, and paid me a visit a littlo time ago when he was on his way
to another job in the north."

" I am sure I am very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Acland. "I wish
he had a little more sense of duty to mo — of gratitude to the gener-
ous man who adopted him " she again put her handkerchief to

her eyes.

Mr. Cross coughed, he had a short, dry cough occasionally, and
si}>])e(l his wine, then he changed the conversation,

'*I have been trying to persuade your husband to bestow next
Saturday afternoon and Sunday on me, instead of going to you at

Folkestone. There's a pretty little property to be sold near ,

which I have some thoughts of buying ; I should like Acland's
opinion of it."

" I am sure he would be most happy to be of any use to you, Mr.
Cross, and for my own })art, though 1 rather grudge a Sunday out
of the few we shall have by the sea, I will be generous and give him
up to you, especially as you are going to take him into the country,"
said Mrs. Acland blandly, with a gracious deliberate smile.

" Thank you. Then, Acland, we might leave the office early, and
catch the one o'clock train at Waterloo. It is only an hour to Thirl-
mere and you are completely in the country, with as pretty a trout
stream running through it as you could wish to see."

" Very well, I am at your disposal. And perhaps there is not
much doing just now, I could spend the week after next with Mrs.
Acland at the sea- aide."

"I see no reason why you should not," was the compliant
reply.

" Thank you, Mr. Cross, you are evidently ready to make pay-
ment in full," and with a dignified bend of the head she retired to
the comfortable study, to think hard how she should best take
iulvantage of this fresh instance that foitune had not deserted her.
Mr. Acland's ab.sence would give her the opportunity she needed ;
now to plan a patent necessity for coming up to town on Saturday.

I'o Marjory the day marked by these events at Falkland Terrace
\\ ,i< .ilso troubled. She inid had a .sleepless night. Dick's confes-
si II i',f the evenini:; Mif >re had produced an extj'ac-rdinary an<l
tpainiul effect upon her. She could scarcely under.stand it herself.

A LIFE INTEKK3T.

309

-' !' 1

she pressed

' He gener-
le knows I
ucation has
len he was
3 he has got
Lord Beau-
on his way

d. "I wish
) the gener-
kerchief to

onally, and

jestow next
g to yoa at

1 near ,

ke Aclaud's

to you, Mr.
Sunday out
md give him
he country,"
die.

36 early, and
our to Thirl-
retty a trout

there is not
:t with Mrs.

e compliant

make pay-

le retired to

lid best take

leserted her.

|she needed ;

)n Saturday.

land Terrace

lick's coufes-
l-rdinary and
id it herself.

She knew it was but natural, as Ellis had pcHnted out, that both
her brothers should, like other young men, fall in ]r>ve, many, and
cease to consider her of th(^ .same importance to thein ;;.s she now
was, but did not anticipate the change would be so bitter. To think
that Dick — who was so particularly sympathetic, who seemed to
understand her a great deal better than George — Dick, who
appeared t j like her the better because he had forgiven her so much,
should be devoted heart and soul to another woman, was more than
she could bear. In future if he showed her kindness and con-
sideration it would be from pity and a sense of duty, nob for the
real preference for her company, the pleasure in her presence he
used to have. How cruel the loss, no words could ' ever express !
All his tenderness, all the indescribable gentleness of his strength,
the quiet watchful affection which made itself more felt than seen,
would be drawn away to that brilliant French woman (she must be
French), with big black eyes ; of course, being totally different
from himself, would be an additional attraction. But why did she
make him unhappy ? Marjory could never forgive her for that,
never 1 Perhaps it was not her fault. Dick seemed unhappy ; yes,
he was quite unhappy ; perhaps cruel parents intervened ? It was
not likely, thought Marjory, as the tears she could not restrain
flowed freely under the safe shadow of the silent niglit, it was not
likely any girl would be scornful to a man like Dick, and his imago
rose before her, so handsome, so unconscious of his own good looks,
so distinct with the quiet dignity of strength — strength even more
of character than physical power — how could she rcf'ii.se him ? And
with this question flashed another, which seemed to rend her soul
as with a torturing rack of shame and agony. Had Dick asked her,
would any power on earth have kept her from saying yes ? Then
the terrible truth broke on her, as in a blaze of light, that she loved
this man, whom she considered her brother, who treated her as a
sister, with all the warmth a husband could desire.

It was a fearful shock. How she shrank from herself, how she
pr.iyed that Dick might never discover the disgraceful truth, how
sternly she resolved to stamp out her guilty affection and do;itroy it I
Was she not unfortunate ? Oh ! it would have been lietter to have
married Ellis and escaped the pain, the horror of this discovery.
Yet, no ! she was too loyal to be false to her own hidden love ; no
man should ever call her wife, as her beloved, the lord of her heart,
was forbidden to her.

Morning found her pale and exhausted, but she staited up resolved
to lose no time in beginning to fight the good fi'^ht which lay before
her, with the conviction that no change could ever come to her
present condition of heart and mind which the young man enter-
tain. She determined to give her future life to her brothers — yes,
she would compel herself to look on Dick only as a brother, and
time, reflection, work would restore her to her senses. Thank

•
\

■m

f!.'

Ifi

.'T—

310

A LIFE INTEREST.

heaven, it would be quite evening before Dick could come, and per-
haps he would not even then.

" Why, Marge, have you seen a ghu.st ? " asked George at their
early breakfast, "you look like (tne. "

" I have lain awake thinking."

" Thinking ? What about ? "

"Oh ! I have plenty of things to think of. How I can save two-
and-sixpence in this week's housekeeping ; of when my father will
write next ; and oh ! of that poor Mrs. Maynard and the dear little
baby."

" Well, I wish you would not, you trouble too much about other
people. Look here. Marge, here is a note from Miss Rennie, I
forgot to give it to you last night. They are going to see the
D'Oyley Carte Company to-morrow night and have a place for you.
I shall ask Dick to come with me to the gallery."

"How good Mrs. Rennie is," said Marjory languidly, when she
had read the note.

" Don't you care to go ? " asked George, opening his eyes.

" Yes, of course I do. Mary is coming in to-day, and I am to go
shopping with her."

" She lives in the shops, I think ; but what a pretty girl she is.
If I wasn't a poor maimed, penniless chap, I'd go in for Mary
Rennie."

" Oh ! George, you are worth a dozen, of her. Why must every
one fall in love ? 1 am sure it must be more a worry than a pleasure.
Make up your mind to be an old bachelor, and you and I will take
care of each other all our days. "

" What has gone wrong with you. Marge," cried George laugh-
ing, " you are the last girl to preach so dreary a doctrine. You will
be leaving me some day, and then I will have to shift for myself ;
anyhow, you look after me now, so I wish you would see to the coat
I wore yesterday, it caught on something as I got down from the
dogcart, and the lining is torn. It is my best go-to-meeting gar-
ment and must last an indefinite time. Please mend it before next
' Sawbath,' as our worthy principal calls it."

"Very well, George. I wonder what became of Mr. Brand, last
night?"

"If Dick does not come in by eight o'clock, I will go down to
their place and ask,"

" Yes, do," returned Ma?-ij;e, who was brushing his hat. "There
now, go dear, it is nearly li;ilf-[)ast eight."

Having got rid of her brother, Marjory proceeded to busy her-
self severely, so much so, that by noon there was nothing left to do,
and she was reduced to overhaul George's shirts, which were in
excellent order.

It was quite a relief when Mary Rennie came, and they went
away together to get that new dress \vhich Marjory had never yet

A LIFE INTEREST.

311

tnd per-
a,t their

ive two-
her will
sar little

ut other

ennie, I

see the

for you.

irhen she

38.

am to go

el she is.
for Mary

ust every
pleasure,
will take

;e laugh-

You will

myself ;

the coat

J from the

pting gar-

ifore next

rand, last

down to

"There

)usy her-

[eft to do,

were in

hey went
liever yet

liad time to buy. Then they had a great deal to say about the
expected pleasure of seeing "Patience ; " altogether, Marjory got
through the day successfully, and in the evening there was her
dress for the theatre to be got ready.

George went after eight to see what had happened to Brand
and Dick, and returned just as his sister was thinking of going to
bed.

" It was no wonder he could not come to us last night. When
Dick went back last night, he found a line to Fay that Brand found
he was obliged to go up to London for a few days, and not to expect
him till he saw him. It was a very sudden move. But though
they are such chums, Dick knows nothing of his life or friends ; I
fancy it has put Dick out, tho'igh. He seemed in the blues, so I
stopped on and we had a talk over old times, when you used to call
him the monster ; he walked back with me to the door, but I could
not persuade him to come in. He said he had a headache, "

** Had he ? " and Marjory mused a moment. " He was fretting,
no doubt, about that black-eyed girl, and it would give him no
comfort to come in and say good-night to the sister who loved him
■o well."

" I shall go to bed, George. I do not want to look like a ghost
at the theatre to-morrow."

"No, no, that would never do."

Notwithstanding her distress of mind and contempt for hetself,
Marjory took due pains to look well on the occasion of accompany-
ing Mrs. Rennie and party to the Theatre Royal, Dockborough.

One of the two pretty half-dress evening frocks chosen for her by
Aunt Cartjeret was put in order, its lace cascades pulled out, its knots
of ribbon pressed and refreshed, and a pair of Paris gloves carefully
rubbed with bread till quite as good as new. The state of feverish
resistance to her own thoughts in which the day had passed had
given colour to her cheek and sparkling restlessness to her eyes ; and
when she came forth from her chamber, George, who was having a
pipe in company with Dick, exclaimed, " By Jove ! Marge, you are
a swell ; something better than the brown stuflF you pricked your
fingers over in Falkland Terrace, eh, Dick ? " Neither had seen
her in evening dress before.

" These personal remarks are very embarrassing," she said laugh-
ing. " Good-evening, Dick ; any more news of Mr. Brand ? "

" No, he will probably write to-day. It must have been a sudden
thought ; he said nothing about it at breakfast on Sunday. George
is quite right, Marge, you are no end of a swell," and Dick's eyes
dwelt on her with a grave, thoughtful expression, as if he were
pained, not pleased.

" Are you both goinw ? " asked Marjory, fetching the lamp shade
and putting it on. " How can you bear such a glare ? "

: i

Yes, we will start as soon as you

are cjone.

312

A LIFE INTEREST.

f 'r;'!

Here a tap at the door elicited "Come in," from George, and
Captain Rennie, in evening dress, his crush hat under his arm, a
brilliant blossom in his button-hole, walked in, holding in his hand
a lovely little bouquet of carnations, heliotrope and delicate fern.

"Good evening," he said generally. " My mother is waiting for
you, Miss Acland ; rather early, isn't it? but you know she is
ferociously punctual. Permit mo. " With a bow he presented the
flowers to Marjory, who accepted them with a gracious : —

*' Thank you very much ; tliey are quite beautiful," and proceeded
to fasten them in the opening of her corsage, where they looked
charming, at least so her admiring brothers thought.

Then with a nod and smiling good-bye she went swiftly away,
followed by Rennie, after he had exchanged a word or two with
George.

Mrs. Rennie was quite pleased with Marjory's appearance, and
told her so with her usual good-nature.

*' Ain't she smart, Mary ?" she said as soon as they were com-
fortably seated, and she had thrown off a gorgeously- embroidered
Indian wrap, settled her bracelets, and felt that her brooch was in
its right place. "Where did you get that pretty dress? Not in
Dockbonjugh, I'll be bound."

"No, Mrs. Rennie, Aunt Carteret gave it to me last year."

" Law, dear, how vvell you have kept it 1 You are just the wife
for a poor man. You look well in a trifle."

'•That is fortunate ! I am not likely to find a rich husband,"
said Marjory laughing.

" Oh, there is no knowing. Now we mustn't talk, the curtain is
going up. My goodness ! w.'iat short waists all those young ladies
have."

For awhile Marjory forgot Inr sorrows and her self-contempt in
the charming music and quaint arolleries of "Patience." Indeed she
threw herself so completely into the amusement of the hour, that
she grew excited and talkative between the acts, and Captain Ren-
nie, who sat beside her, leant forward to laugh at her remarks and
compliment her on her wit.

When all was over, however, she felt marvellouslj^ exhausted and
glad to be at home. George returned a little later, highly pleased
with his evening's entertainment. Dick had gone straight back to
his own diggings, he said, after seeing his chum clear of the
crowd,

" Though I don't want to be taken care of as he seems to think I
do. I am very nearly as strong as ever I was," continued George.
" I told him so, but he did not seem to hear me. I do not know
what's come to Dick, he seems in a sort of dream, and he is a bit
sulky into the Imrgain. He scarcely laughed at that funny fellow,
the poet. To be sure he saw the play in London. What is the
matter with him ? "

A LIFE INTEREST.

313

le, and
arm, a
is hand
fei-n.
ting for
■ she is
ited the

'oceeded
looked

y away,
iwo with

ice, and

ere com-

»roidered

1 was in

Not in

ir."

, the wife

usband,"

curtain is
ng ladies

empt in
deed she
our, that
ain Ren-
larks and

asted and
pleased
back to
of the

o think I
George.

lot know
is a bit

y fellow,

at is the

" I am stire I do nol know, George ; I suppose every one has
their own private worries."

" But he used to tell you everything. I am sure he ought to be
satisfied, he is getting on very well."

" 1 am so tired, George, I must go to bed. Good-night."

The following day Forbes Rennie had got permission to leave the
office early in order to inspect a fine new steamer which was being
built and was nearly completed in a famous yard at the other side
of the river ; a son of the builder was to accompany him, and of
course he carried oflf George with him.

"Marjory, therefore, took her tea alone, and left to herself felt
very miserable. She had just risen to seek distraction in some
numbers of Temple Bar lent her by Miss Rennie, when Dick Crans-
ton walked in.

What a painful reversal of the former state of things it was, to
feel the necessity of masking her feelings, of preserving her ordinary
tone, instead of the frankly expressed pleasure at his coming, the
cordial out-spoken confidence in a dear brother.

"I am glad you have come in, Dick." she said cheerfully,
'* George is out."

" Yes, he told me he was going. No — no, thank you," seeing
her about to pour out a cup of tea, " 1 have had some," and he sat
down by the window, looking out in an absent way, a certain con-
straint in his manner increasing Marjory's discomfort.

" Have you heard from Mr. Brand ? " she asked, as she put away
the tea things.

"I had a letter this morning. He seems to have one of his bad
turns of neuralgia, and he wants me to run up on Saturday and
spend Sunday, at least till late in the afternoon. He oflfers to frank
me, with his usual generosity ; of course I should go in any case, as
he wishes it."

" Yes, of course ; I am sorry he sufters so much ; has he had
advice?"

" I do not know. He is too ready to take chloroform. He used
to take opium ; that helped to shatter his nerves, I fancy. Then I
am inclined to believe that any shock or trouble brings on an attack ;
perhaps the business he went away about was unpleasant."

"Very likely, there seems no end of trouble," said Marjory,
placing the lamp and her workbasket on tiie table, gladly thread-
ing her needle for an occupation, and much concerned by the
gloominess of Dick's countenance.

" You did not seem to think there was much trouble in the world
last night," said Dick, coming over to sit opposite to her, and
smiling rather grimly.

" No, I was very much amused. How clever and pretty it all
was. Did you enjoy it, Diok ?"

"No, I did not."

: '1

: Is

(•|' ill

■'I

' ',

11'

314

A LIFE INTEREST.

*' Does it tire you to see anything the second time ? '*

" 1 will tell you what I did not enjoy, Marjory — watching; you
smiling and talking and fascinating that booby young Kennie ; why
you hardly stopped to attend to the play."

"Dick ! " in a tone of surprise. " What possesses you to say —
to think such nonsense ? "

'* No matter what possesses me, it may be an evil spirit, liufe it
enables me to see pretty clearly."

"No, Dick, it distorts your vision," she returned gravely and
steadily, her resolution returning with a sense of indignaticm.

** You are a coquette by nature, Marge ; I suppose you cannot
help it. Why the very way you took those flowers from the fellow
was enough to lead a man on."

" But the flowers were not from him ; they were from Mary, she
gathered them and tied them up. I was amused with the play, so
was Captain Rennie, and we laughed together."

"You know," resumed Dick in a low Luiio full of feeling, "that
I believe every word you say, as I do scarcely anything else, and I
hope you are unconscious of your own maddening ways, but if you
do not take caie you will get into some other scrape besides making
those that love you miserable."

" You must have lost your senses, Dick, or you would not be so
unkind, so ungenerous, as to remind me — " her lip quivered and
she broke ofl'; mastering herself, she exclaimed in an unsteady
voice, "There, I will not quarrel with you ; I suppose your own
unhappiness makes you unjust, but you need not be cruel to the
sister who is so fond of you," she ended, with an assumption of her
old natural tone, of which she was justly proud.

"I believe I am a brute," he returned, shading his face with his
hand, " and I may be wrong. But if you knew all I have to light
against " he stopped.

"You know I always feel with you and for you, but, indeed, you
have no right to accuse me of being a frivolous coquette. Heaven
knows I have had enough to make me steady. Still, if you imagine
because I made one great mistake I am never to speak to any man,
or have a little pleasant chaff, you are very much mistaken."

" Yes, you like to feel your own power ; I am not so far wrong."

" I do nothing of the kind. I have no power, and though I love
you, you shall not tyrannize over me ; you are not such a good
example yoursell: ! You say you are deeply attached to some one
scmewhere and yet you can flirt with Mary Rennie as if you liked
no one better."

"Liked no one better? Why, Marge, I scarcely know what she
is like."

' ' Then it was not for want of opportunities of seeing her ; you
hardly left her all Saturday afternoon. You see how we are liable
to be misimdurstood, only I did not attack you for being flighty and
inconstant ! Now 1 have no one to be inconstant to."

A LIFE INTERKST.

315

ling you
why

Lie

to say —

t, liut it

vely and
m.

a cannot
he fellow

llary, she
I play, so

ig, "that
ise, and I
)ut if you
es making

not be so
vered and
unsteady
your own
lel to the
ion of her

with his
e to tight

ideed, you
Heaven
)u imagine

any man,

n."

ir wrong."

gh I love
ch a good

some one

you liked

what she

her ; you

are liable

flighty and

*' But I n)ii eoiist.anh. If I were less constant ) should be lesH
unhappy," said Dick, looking down at a paper knife lie had taken
up and was turning over and over.

" Why are you so unkind and harsh, Dick ? " her eyes were fast
filling ; "you never used to misunderstand me and I want to have
a little happiness while you are here.'

" I cannot make you happy, Marge ; you want some one gayer
and grander than I am."

'* You do not deserve that I .should an.swer such a stupid speech ;
you know I would rather have you with me than any one else
except George. You ought to beg my pr.nlon."

There was a short silence. Marjory bent her flushed cheeks and
cast down the eyes from which she kept tlie tears by a strong effort.
Presently Dick rose and brought his chair over beside her. " I do
beg your pardon," he said softly, with a sad echo in liis voice that
touched her heart ; " I believe 1 have been out "f my mind ; forgive
me, Marge," he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"I have told you not to do that, Dick," she said, drawing it
away, while she was almost frightened at the beating of her own
heart, " It reminds me of Mr. Ellis."

" Then give me a sisterly kiss, Marge, to show you are all right,"
and he bent his head till it was close to hers.

" Oh ! nonsense," cried Marjory laughing pleasantly. " We are
not babies to kiss and make up every time we (juarrel ; let us shake
hanf J like good comrades ;" she held hers out and was surprised to
find his unsteady.

" I beg your pardon. Marge, for asking. I will never ofiend
again."

" I am not offended, Dick, I only want you to be just and to l.'e
my dear true friend as you always have been hitherto."

" And will be always. Marge, always," he replied, rising to g»)
and gaze from the window.

" As to poor Captain Rennie, he and his sister are going to Scot-
land next week, and Mrs. Rennie goes with them, for the gentleman
they expected is not coming, so I shall have no one to exercise my
mischievous tendencies on. \ou must never accuse me of co(|uetry
again, Dick. Come and sit down and tell me some more about your
life in France. Wlw will you not speak to me of the one you love
best? It would be a relief to you."

*'I cannot, Marge, I dare not, and I am a sorry companion to-
night, so I will leave you."

" Can I not be of any comfort to you ?" she asked tenderly.

"Yes, if you will promise not to trifle or got into any entangle-
ment till — till you are quite clear of Ellis."

" You may trust me ! I will take care."

"Good-night, then ; " he waved his hand and was gone.

; ^1

'ti

i/i-!*

;|.;'i

.'^^st^lfH^^a- IftjIlffMMMffl

516

A LIFE INTKUEST.

CHAPTER XXXL

BfES, ACLAND MAKES UP HER MIND.

^ , I

I-

I !

Bband had established himself at Charing Cross, as direcfpd by
Mrs. Acland, and waited patiently for her pronused i< i ;i-

tion.

It was a trying time for him. He could not employ lii.; ., nor
could any amusement divert him from the excitement of lis own
thoughts. He never went far from the hotel lest he might miss a
note or a telegram, and sat alone for hours, anticipating the crisis
he knew was coming, or recalling the past, its fatal mistakes, its
errors, its shortcomings. There were hours when the mental and
physical pain was almost more than he could bear. But a new and
powerful motive lent him force ; he working for one dearer to him
than himself.

At last the anxiously expected note arrived. It contained but
four words, written in roughly printed characters, " To-morrow
evening after dusk." The date was the day before, and the line was
unsigned.

When Brand had forced him? If to swallow some dinner he paused
in the entrance hall and said to the porter, " Should a lady inquire
presently for Mr. Brand say I am in my room, No. 119, and ask
her to walk up."

" Yes, sir."

" You will remember my name, ' Brand, 119,' " he repeated, and
slowly ascended to the second floor. Here he had secured a com-
fortable bedroom. As soon as he reached it he put a match to the
fire, which was laid already, and lit the gas. Then he threw him-
self into an armchair, and sat very still, in deep thought. "If
this cursed pain would keep off," he muttered, " I should be fitter
for the work before me. I have a keen devil to deal with, and I
dare not touch chloroform till the interview is over." He shivered
find glanced at the door near him, which led into the adjoining room.
" The window must be open in there, I feel such a draught." He
moved his chair to the other side of the fireplace, drawing the cur-
tains and placing a small table by it before sitting down with his
back to the window. "It is quite dark, and past six. 1 wish she
would come," he said half aloud, and took up a phial which stood on
the table, as well as a round leather case such as are fitted to bottles
for chloroform, and writing materials. *'No," — looking at the
bottle — *' I must not." He put it down and almost immediately

A LIFE INTEREST.

517

rectf>d by

!. >, ., uor
: h.s own
ht inisB a
the crisis
jtakes, its
ental and
a. new and
rer to him

ained but
Co-morrow
16 line was

he paused
dy inquire
>. and ask

eated, and
I a com-
tch to the
irew him-
ffht. "If
be fitter
ith, and I
shivered
ning room,
aht." He
g the cur-
with his
1 wish she
h stood on
1 to bottles
ng at the
mediately

there was a low tap at the door. ** Come in." Brand's voice
sounded hoarsely, and an unwonted look of stern repugnance re-
placed his usual expression of kindly indifference as he stood up to
receive his visitor, a tall lady in black with a thick black veil, who
closed the door most carefully, then took a few ateps into the room,
and very deliberately removed her veil. They both stood looking
at each other silently for a moment or two, then Mrs. Acland, who,
though pale, looked as composed and still as if her face was of
marble, said in a low clear tone :

" I hope you have a sufficient reason for putting me to the trouble
and danger of meeting you. It so chanced that my — that Mr.
Acland went to the country to-day. I came to town on the plea of
completing some arrangements omitted in the hurry of our depar-
ture. He is therefore aware I am in town and that I am to return
to Folkestone from this station. Now, what do you want with

" I have ample reason to give for troubling you to come here,"
returned Brand. " But it will take some time to explain ; you had
better sit down,"

With a keen comprehensive glance at the table and all that stood
upon it, Mrs. Aclaiid took the seat pointed out, and loosened her
fur-triramed mantle at the throat, then sat quite silent, waiting for
Brand to speak.

' ' In the first place," he began, " I saw the death of old Cranston
Maynard's baby grandson in a paper I took up last Sunday. "

" Well ? "

" Have you so forgotten your former hopes and disappointments
as not to ^ee that, the child being removed, I am heir to his lands
and wealth ? "

" Ah ! " she ejaculated. The colour rose to her cheeks in a vivid
flush, she compressed her lips, but still kept silence.

*' And after me they will be my son's and your son's — your son
whom you have striven to crush — whom you have slandered."

" You admit then that he is your son."

" I told you before that I did, and I begged your forgiveness for
the wrong I had done you. Then I removed myself out of your
way, thinking that ine best atonement I could make, for had I made
myself known I should only have dragged you and Dick from com-
petence and respectability to comparative beggary and Bohemian-
ism. I little though you would have returned my self-effacement
by shifting the blame and the shame of your theft to the shoulders
of my boy. For you took that money, and I imagine I know the
reason you wanted it."

•' Your -pagination was always fertile," returned Mrs. Acland,
who had again turned very white, but met Brand's angry glance
with deadly resolute eyes. " Pray, how has — our son " (a cynical
stress on our son) *' conveyed this information to you ?"

If.

'I-;-

rftill

■■M

318

A LIFB INTKREST.

" Because he has gradually told ma his whole histoiy duiii:^,' « iir
daily coinpanionship for more than a year."

*' Where?" she asked incredulously, but there was a nervouK
catch in her throat and a more perceptible efl'ort in hor coiii])o.suro.

** At the various works in which we were associated. You know.
I suppose, that your son became a mason." She bunt her head.
'*Now, listen to me ; I will be as short as poa.sible. When, after
the hirleous discovery that Blake had introduced me to his cast-off
mistress, and that you both succeeded in entrapping me, I believed,
in my shame and despair — and not unnaturally — that your relations
with that scoundrel had never been broken oft', that the boy was his ;
had I not felt, from sundry suspicious circumstances, convinced of
this, I should never have deserted you. I loved you, Judith, when
we were married, and after, till your contempt for me, when you
found there was no chance of my inheriting my luicle's property,
opened my eyes to the evil of yonv nature. I kimw 1 was cateless
and extravagant and trying ; but, had you loved me, had you even
shown a sense of duty, you might have saved me."

" I did not think I should have had to listen to sentimental
reminiscences," she said with a sncor.

" When I found who and what J had mairied," he continued, not
heeding the interruption, " I grew utterly reckless ; and my Ameri-
can friend Brand easily persuaded me to go with him to New
Orleans. There I soon expended all I had, and sank in to depths of
penury. Previous to that, I was going with my companion in search
of some employment up the Mississippi when tiie wreck took place
in which he was drowned. It was by accident that I was reported
drowned and he among the saved. But I seized the chance of get-
ting rid of a name I had disgraced. After ])utieting for seven or
eight years I fancied I'd like to come back, were it only to die in old
England. When I reached London I had but a few shillings, r. ^'^
the day after, I had strolled in Begent's Park, and was debating
whether the best way to spend my last sous would not be to buy
enough opium to soothe me out of my worries unco and for all." A
curious light came into his listener's eyes, as he paused with some-
thing of his natural careless smile. "It was then," he resumed,
that I met Cranston Maynard, suddenly, face to face, and told him
the condition I was in. He threw me a sovereign. I met him by
appointment after, and then, at his request, I undertook never again
to reappear as Philip Cranston in consideration of an annuity of two
hundred a year for life. I did not trouble myself about Dick's
rights, as I did not believe him to be my son."

" Pray, what induced you to change your opinion ? "

" It is curious. You remember the visit I paid you? Well. T
declare to Heaven I did not intend to betray you or injure you by
going— T would not, were it but for the sake of these u:if..j tnri.iri.>
little children — unfortunate in having y(ju fur a mother."

A LIFE INTEREST.

319

uiir.^j < iir

I norvouK
impo.sui't'.
on know.
Ker lifjid.
len, after
lis cast-oti

beliovcd,
' relations
y was his ;
ivinced of
lith, when
wlien you

property,
18 cavelesH

you even

3ntiniental

;inued, not
my Ameri-
[11 to New
o depths of
n in search
took place
8 reported
lice of get-
r seven or
o die in old
lllings, f. -'^
,8 debjiting
he to buy
lor all." A
ith some-
resumed,
told him
et him by
lever again
luity of two
lout Dick's

I? Well, t
ue you by

ifi.i tmi;iU'

'* You are increasing your claims on my consideration every
moment," she said bitterly.

"Be silent," ho returned sternly; "You shall know in a few
minutes how far you are dependent on mine. I thought that at the
hour I called Acland wouUl be safe in the city, and I was greatly
taken aback to tind himself intruding on a happy donie.stic festival.
It was then that 1 saw Dick for the tirst time since he was a little
chap of seven or eight ; and I was not struck with any likeness to
myself, but to the Crnnstons generally. They are phy.nically a fine
race — I am somewhat different, smaller and darker— with your com-
plexion, he is strikingly like my father. His voice, his expression,
all spoke in favour of the l)elief that he is my own — my own son.
Moreover, the likeness to ancestors is more convincing than even to
the immediate parent. Believing this, and your explanation of cer-
tain circumstances in our last interview, I am goii.^- to forfeit May-
nard's annuity and claim my rights. I fancy the loss of his grand-
son will have broken him down, and I want to get him to acknow-
ledge me before his death complicates the affair."

*' Perhaps he has a better life than yours," said Mrs. Acland un-
easily, glancing at the bottles on the table. "Suppose he refuses
to acknowledge you, how will you prove your identity ? Shall you
call me to witness on your side ?"

" I know you would do your best to damn my cause," he returned
calmly^ * but Cranston Maynard is a gentleman and a man of
honour. He will never deny what he knows to be true, even though
he dislikes me — why, I cannot think, unless — " with a sudden flash
of suspicion — " unless you made some mischief with him. Then he
will see that Dick — my boy — is worthy to bear the old name and
rule in his stead. I shall go down to Leighton Abbot on Monday
or Tuesday, but I thought I would warn you first, that you might
take measures accordingly."

" Take measures ! " she repeated, rising to her feet vith a wild
fierce look in her light gray eyes. "What measures can I take ';
If you carry out this scheme you destroy me, and you expect me to
identify you ! Ah, if old Maynard would but take counsel with me, I
should soon settle the question of your identity."

"You see, Maynard is governed by different principles from
yours." Mrs. Acland did not seem to hear him ; she stood, her
hands clapped and dropped before her, an expression of despair and
fury distorting her face.

"Proving your story means destruction to me. Mr. Acland would
repudiate me ! my children will be taken from me, I shall be
trampled in the dust of humiliation. Dick will revenge himself ; I
should fall below the hope of ever rising. I will never live to bear
such a fate ; you do not know me, Philip — I will die ! "

" 1 do not want to be uni-eoessarilj' cruel," returned Brand,
touched by her self-abandunnieut. " If you du not oppose me 1

■;

'.^1

\ i'«

lli

■■■- KM ^^tiiHtA^i/i^tJf-Jit^S^^tilBim':.-

h'l

320

A LIFE INTEREST.

ili

?!.''

k --r

will shield you as far as I can. 1 deserted you — you honestly ])o-
lieved me dead when you married Acland. I do not know much
about law, but I am pretty sure you could get a divorce from me,
and he would marry you ; in six months all would be forgotten — of
the past I would never speak ; I want to shield Dick's mother."

"But you forget," she said in a fierce whisper, " that Mr. Acland
will know that I recognised you three years ago. Had I not feared
your slanders, your tale of my infidelity, I should have faced the
recognition then ; Mr. Acland is the most sensitive of men, the
scandal and exposure would kill him. Philip ! " changing her tone ;
*' you are suffering, your strength is broken ; you have a sufficiency.
Dick is on the high road to a respectable position such as he is fitted
for. Why take up this cruel story of our misfortunes ? Let your-
self rest for the present, and I swear to you that when this Mr.
Maynard dies I v/iU assert Dick's claim, if 3'cu are not here to do it
yourself." She stretched out her clasped hands to him in passion-
ate entreaty.

"Uiiderstani me," said Brand sternly; "that it is waste of
breath urging such a request. I will not be vindictive, but you are
. f lio more value to me than the lightest thiatle down, compared to
tne son we have so deeply injured. 1 am determined to secure him
the chance of bv'^ing heir to Leighton Abbot before I die ; and your
happiness or unhappiness, your reputation, your life, will not weigh
with me for one moment as compared to this. But your case is not
s(> desperate. I shall never tell Dick that I am convinced you took
that uioney from your husband's safe, to assist Blake, the villian, to
eficape."

"I deny it," she cried in much agitation.

Brand smiui. "Be that as it may, tell the villain not to cross
rm."

** He is far away if he be still alive."

*' He is in London," returned Brand severely. *' I saw him yes-
terdry, disguised, skulking along the Embankment."
Mxs Acland ^;ajiped as if for breath and sank into a chair.
" Now ycv- '^ «ow my intentions," resumed Brand, with a slight
softening in his ,ono. " I must beg you to leave me ; I am suffer-
ing horribly ai i must get some relief ; as soon as I see Maynard
and arrange wit :: him 1 must meet you again and plan how best to
break the matto'/* vo Mr. Acland. Let me know how I can see you
in the course of the week ; address to me here."

" I will,'" she said, regaining composure by a wonderful effort of
self oontn;!. "I deserve little at your hands, but, Philip, do not
be "innscessarily cruel."

" I will not — by heaven, I will not. Ah I " A moan was wrung
from him by a thrill of extreme pain. He seized the phial and
looked round for a me>V:,ure ghiss which generally stood beside it.
" Where can that glass be :' " he cried.

A LIFE INTEREST.

321

inestly 1)0-
now much

from me,
gotten — of
other."
VIr. Acland
not feared

faced the

men, the
g her tone ;
sufficiency,
he is fitted

Let your-
n this Mr.
)re to do it
in passion -

3 waste of
3ut you are
Dmpared to
secure him
; and your
11 not weigh
r case is not
d you took
e villian, to

lot to cross

,w him yes-
Lair.

[ith a slight

am suffer-

|e Maynard

low best to

fan see you

il eflFort of
llip, do not

|was wrung
phial and
beside it.

'• Let me drop it for you, Philip," she said softly ; "my hand is
very steady."

He smiled in the midst of his anguish. *' You ars infinittly
good ; I prefer measuring such stufif myself. " He rang the bell a«
he spoke.

" Then I will leave you," she said in a sad voice, while a wave of
colour passed over her face, "and 1 will write without fail. Do
not attempt to liddress me till you hear." She went noiselessly
away, a hell fire of impotent rage burning in her heart. A few
steps from the door she met the chambermaid hurrying to answer
Brand's bell.

" The poor gentleman cannot find his measure glass," she said
blandly,

"Oh, dear ; I left it in my place at the end of the passage ; I'll
fetch it in a minute."

"Pray first, tell me which way to turn to the staircase ; I am
afraid of losing my train."

" Straight on, first passaga on the left," and she hastened in the
opposite direction. Mrs. Acland paused ; she was at the door of
the room next Brand's, she had noticed it as she came up ; the door
was then open and the chambermaids were coming out with dust-
pans and brooms, it was probably unoccupied. Some half-coiiscious
cerebration prompted her to turn the handle, the door was locked,
but the key was in it ; the next instant she had unlocked it, W'th-
drawn the key, entered — and lelocked it ; all this with indnite
noiseless rapidity. Once safe within the chamber she sank upon
the nearest chair and looked round.

The window had been forgotten and was open, admitting the cold
air, the roar of the street, and some of the glare from the gas lamps
below.

After a moment of strange numbness, which she resolutely
resi. *-ed, the sound of voices in the next room roused her attention ;
she listened, eagerly attentive.

" So sorry, sir, I forgot to bring back your glass," said the voice
of the chambermaid.

" Never mind ; just pour in a teaspoonfulout of the small bottle,
the other is chloroform - -now some water ; thank you. Lower the
gas — I will try and get some sleep."

"Hope you'll be better soon, sir." The sound of the closing
door was followed by complete stillness.

Collecting her thoughts, Mrs. Acland perceived that the distinct-
ness with which she heard the above sentences was accounted for
by a thin line of light which showed that the door between the
rooms was slightly ajar. She sat rigidly quiet, while her thoughts
began to clear themselves from the mists of furious disappointment,
the agony of anticipated discovery and d'sgrace. Occasional deep
sigii-i. almost '11 oiU)8, rciiehcd her ear— thou came prufouudailen.ee

(81

.,'!

SJ2

A LIFE INTEREST.

which might have shaken nerves of less strength than those of the
resolute but defeated woman who sat there in the semi-darkless as
if turned to stone.

Was she, after all, to go down before the lance of her despised
husband, whose devotion to her in the first year or two of her
married life had only excited a sense o2 contemptuous weariness.
Not without a supreme eftbrt ! JT.ow she hated him all thp more
for his insolent pretence of pity and consideration for her ! If he
were avowedly cruel, revengeful, implacable, she could respect him
and understand him. To ask or give quarter was repugnant to her.
Was she then to give up the struggle, to sue herself dethroned,
pushed from her place in her husband's heart and estimation , put
out of her house to make room for that wretched girl Marjory, whom
she had never been quite able to vanquish, and who would become
naturally its mistress ? And Dick, if wealthy and powerful, would
he not trample her under his feet in return for evil she had done
him ? No ; she would not live to face all this, was her passionate
determination when these thoughts had circled with the rapidity of
lightning through her brain. He had refused to let her administer the
calmant he needed. Did he think her capable cf murder ? Why
not justify his suspicions ? If he took an overdose of chloroform or
chloral, how would it affect her ?

Not a soul save Mr. Maynard knew that Brand and Philip Cran-
ston were one and the same. He had been so long away, he was so
changed, that if any of his old comrades were about, which was not
likely, they would never recognize him — and Mr. Maynard would
of course ue silent ; she was not sure that he knew his impecunious
cousin had a son.

If Philip was safe in his grave, she could hold on the even tenor
of her way till old Maynard was gathered to his fathers. In the
meantime she could effect a reconciliation with Dick, and, when the
present possessor of Leighton Abbot was no more, appear as the
champion of her son's rights, ay ! and win them, too. Her mar-
riage lines, the registry of her boy's baptism, all were in order ; his
claim would be indisputable, for Cranstc >. never appeared to have
told his suspicions to any one, and she would pose as the mother of
a great landed proprietor, the representative of an old squire-
archiai family, so evil would become her good. Could she hesitate
to secure such advantages ? was she w(3ak enough to hold her hand
when forti'.re gave such a chance ? The door was safe. If any one
attempted to enter it would be supposed that the key had been
taken by some of the attendants, a search would ensue during which
she might escape. She felt all her steadiness of purpose, all her
natural courage, como back to her , she rose, took off her cloak — it
might hamp(;r her movements — and put up her veil ; then she
softly, slowly, opt'iied tho door wider.

Though the gas had been lowered the fire burned brightly, and

A LTFR IVTBRRST.

323

ose of tho
irki'esa as

jr despised

two of her

weaiinesa.

L thp more

.er 1 If >e
cespect him
nanttoher.
dethroned,
mation.put
fiory, whom
3uld become
erful, would
he had done
31 pabsionate
e rapidity of
iminister the
irder? Why
shlcrof orm or

Philip Cran-

vay, he was so

^vhich was not

aynard would

s impecunious

,ie even tenor
hers. In the
and, when the
lappear as the
',o. Her mar-
. in order ; his
.eared to have
the mother of
n old squire-
^d she hesitate
hold her hand
e If any one
key had been
e during which
irpose, all her
■f her cloak — it
[eil ; iheu she

brightly, a-nd

everytliiiiLj in tho room was visible. Brand was profoundly asleep;
he had evidently leaned ovoi f > place the <y]ap,H on tho table beside
him, and had remained in thai, position, his shoulder supported by
the cun'ed back of his chair, his elbow on the arm ; his hand had
been under his head but had partially slipped away, so that his face
was bent over tho table ; bis Hps apart, he breathed deeply, quietly,
as if relieved from pain.

Mrs. Acland crept noiselessly to the door which led to the pass-
age and locked that also ; then she drew near, taking care not to
interpose herself between the light and the sleeper.

Yesf, he was much changed, she thought. As she calmly stood
and watched him the flickering fire light showed tho furrows, the
sunken eyes, the lires and curves which made the kindly handsome
face pathetic. But it did not touch the woman who gazed upon
him, who had lured him with t'Mider wiles and lain in his arms ; she
listened to his breathing, and noted his position with deadly con-
tent ; then she looked eagerly round to see if there were any letters
or paper she could examine, and if necessary appropriate ; but
nothing of that description lay ftbout, save one, at which she glanced.
It was signed ' Bep.ulieu ' and described the death of his baby
nephew, finally asking the address of that clever young fellew,
Cranston ,• this she threw away — she was losing time.

Again she glided to the table and took up the chloroform ; the
top was screwed dowti tight, it required a little force to open, then
the odour made itself perceptible at once ; she turned her head lest
it might affect herself, and put on the top loosely ; removing the
smaller bottle she replaced it by the chloroform. The bottle which
contained it was broad and short ; its position did not satisfy her •
she looked round and noticed a large bible, such as the Christian
Knowledge Society distribute, lying on a chest of drawers ; she
swiftly seized it, placed it bene? ■ h the bent head of the sleeper, and
on it put the chloroform, so that with each brec'th he should inhale
the potent vapour ; she withdrew the stopper and laid it on the car-
pet just at Brand's foot, as though it had fallen from his hand as he
became overpowered. Tl^en she paused, glanced round once more,
and retreated to the floor by which she had entered ; there she
turned, cast a linal loook at the inanimate figure and whispered, *' I
am not beaten yet."

Passing into the next room she felt for the key, there was none,
but there waa a bolt which she shot, then she put on her cloak,
pulled down her thick veil, and still strung to the highest pitch of
nervous tension, listened at tho door which led into the passage.
There was the sound of voices speaking together, of several jicrsons
walking to and fro ; a far, loud, authoritative voice was ordering tho
lugu'.iire to be taken up to No. 132.

With infiixite caution she opened the door abf)utan inch. A group
of per'";ona — i*n old gentleman and two young ladies attended by a

■ill

ji'

■'';i

324

A LIFB INTEREST.

W,,I^.

waiter, and followed by Boots with wraps and umbrellas — were just
passing towards the staircase at the further end of the passage ;
directly their backs were towards her she slipped out, turned and
withdrew the key, and walked steadily in the opposite direction
downstairs and into the hall Here she stopped and looking ac the
clock said unconsciously aloud : *' Just a minute or two sooner and
I should have caught my train, now I have an hour and a half to
wait."

She passed out into the crowded station, dexterously dropping the
key on a mat that no sound might attract attention.

But she began to feel faint and dizzy ; amazed at her own success,
yet strangely breathless, she hesitated, turned into the refreshment
room and ordered some tea. While doing so she was suddenly
accosted by Mr. Middleton, the clergyman of the church which Mr.
Acland's family attended. She was ashamed of the wild terroi
which paralysed her for an instant. The next she rallied, and smU-
ing sweetly said, *'Ah! Mr. Middleton; this is indeed fortunate.
I came up this afternoon to see Mr. Acland off for Hampshire, and
loitered too long at home, so have just lost my train."

** Much my own case," returned the reverend gentleman. ** Going
to have some tea ? I shall join you if you will allow me, I am going
nearly all the way to Folkestone — Mrs. Middleton and the children
are at Sandgate — and I shall be very happy to be your escort."

** Much obliged to you. I did not at all calculate on being so
late, and am very fortunate to have met you."

** And you are at Folkestone this season. Don't you find it some-
what bleak and exposed ? " and so on and so on, about east wind and
climate, fine sands and good bathing, which topics Mrs. Acland
calmly discussed, firmly belioving that her victim upstairs would
never cross her path again.

CHAPTER XXXIL

THE CLOUDS DISPERSE.

It was a new and painful sensation for Marjory to be glad that
Dick was away. Nevertheless it was a relief not to be on guard all
Saturday and Sunday.

Only seven short days ago she had had that delightful walk with
him, and listened to the disastrous confession which had opened her
eyes to her own folly and weakness. To feel as she did towards a
man who looked upon her as a sister only was uiimaidenly and un-
natural. Had they been unconnected, and he had shown her atten-

A LIFE INTEREST.

326

.'■fiV

ere just
)as8age ;
ned and
lirection
ig at the
)ner and
a half to

pping

the

n succesB,
Ereshment

suddenly
which Mr.
vild terroi
, and smil-

fortunate,
pahire, and

n. "Going
I am going
;he children
jscort.'
on being bo

ind it some-
tst wind and
irs. Acland
stairB would

be glad that
on guard all

[ul walk with

Id opened her

lid towards a

lenly and un-

m her atten-

tions which were misleading, there might be some excuse for her.
As it was flhe blushed for herself.

She had a brave spirit, however, and a reasonable soul. So that
Sabbath morning shf* rose with a settled purpose of uprooting the
culpable feeling of which she was guilty, and replacing it by simple
sisterly regard. *' I do not believe it is impossible to master one's
emotions and tendencies," thought Marjory, *' if one is honest and
convinced it is the right thing to do. 1 will only think of Dick as
my friend and brother — or, better still, nor think of him at all,"
and forthwith she tried to turn her thoughts on Ellis and the curious
episode with which he was connected, the result being that she now
saw the hidden influence which steeled her against the accomplished
diplomat. In her heart she always weighed him against Diok, and
found him always wanting. The effect of her cogitations was that
she met George at breakfast with an air of alert cheerfulness which
delighted that young gentleman.

" You are a jolly girl, Marge I " he exclaimed, as she tied a large
print apron over her dress and proceeded to wash up the breakfast
things. **■ You keep a fellow alive. I should have been a confirmed
invalid if I had been left alone here. Old Mother Stokes is not
half bad ; but she is generally doleful."

"Thank you, George. It is something to know one is appre-
ciated. Come, let us be ready in good time, Mrs. Rennie is to send
the pony carriage for us that we may go to church with them. They
will not be at home for four or five Sundays after this."
All day she kept up the same brave fror t.

*' Why, Marjory 1 " exclaimed Mary Rennie, " one would think
you were glad we are going away."

'* Hoot-toot," said her father. They were all gathered on the
shady side of the tennis ground after their early Sunday dinner.
"Hoot-toot, there's nothing to fret her in a month's absence. It
does a man's heart good to have such a bonny blithe lassie beside
him," and he smiled kindly on his young protegee. Mr. Rennio
when pleased and at ease was more intensely Scotch than at any
other time. " But, for all that, you haven't such roses in your
cheeks as you had a while ago."

"They have faded in the summer heata," returned Marjory.
*' But what are you going to do while Mrs. Rennie and Mary are
away ? "

" Do ? Eh ? I have plenty to do. I have to go to London, and
Manchester, and Hull. I am thinking of having another place of
business in the north. Perhaps in two or three years Forbes might
be fit to manage it, and take George to help him. Your brother is
doing very well. Miss Marjory. He was not too quick at first, but
he understands what he is about now, and, what is best, he puts
his heart into his work. If he jjoes on as he has begun he will be a
useful lad in a while, and shall liave an increase of salary, but it was

•-.I--;

* 'i
■ > ^1

ir'i

-lii

i;l "

320

A LIFE INTEHEST.

a good thought of yours to come and stay with liiin. You have just
kept his heart up."

'* It is pleasant to hear you say so, Mr. Rennie."

" Why don't you take a holiday yourself V C!o and sec y^ur father
and mother for a bit, eh 'i "

" And leave George ? Oh no, I would much rather stay here."

" Eh ? and why, my lassie ? "

*• Now, papa, don't you go cross-exannning Marjory ; it ain't
civil. Of course she would not leave her brother this first summer.
It is nice and airy up in your rooms, I will tell the gardener to send
you fruit and flowers twice a weiik, and when papa is away you'll
let Forbes have tea with you ; it is lonesome for him at home," said
Mrs. Rennie.

" Oh, of course. We are always delighted to see him. You will
come in to us whenever you like while Mr. Rennie is away." This
to Forbes, who strolled up from the stables with George as she
spoke.

" Ay, that I will ; it is always so bright and jolly up in your
rooms. And, Marjory, how is the writing going on ?" (young peo-
ple soon grow unceremonious, and it had been '"Marjory" and
" Forbes " for some time).

" It is not going at all ; it is constantly coming back," returned
Marjory laughing and blushing. " What do you know of my lucu-
bi'ations ? I suspect George has been a traitor."

" I did let out the cat ; I forgot about it being a secret."

" May I be in the secret too 'i " said Mrs. Rennie.

" Yes, dear Mrs. Rennie, if you care to know," replied Marjory,
laying her hand caressingly on hers. " You see, V have a good deal
of spare time, and I have wanted for a long time to make some
money, so, as I used to amuse the little ones at school with my
stories, I thought I could try to write one, and send it to Little
Folks, but it was rejected. Nor would Onr Darlings have it either.
I am still trying, however, and hope to get it in somewhere."

" What ! Have you written a whole tale by yourself," cried Mrs.
Rennie, surprised and delighted. " What a clever girl you are,
Marjory ! "

*' That depends on the sort of tale I have written."

" I am pretty sure it is not nonsense," observed Mr. Rennie
lighting a fresh cigar, " and I hope you will have luck, Miasee."

Then Marjory was carried off to be catechised by Mary.

*' 1 hope we shall hear something of Mr. Brand from Dick to-
morrow," said Marjory to her brother as they walked home together
in the fresh crisp autumnal evening, by the light of the rising
moon.

'* Oh ! He will be sure to turn up ; there is nothing to make you
uneasy."

'• No, of course not ; buo Dick ivas uneasy about Mr. Brand for

A LIFE INTEREST.

327

some reason or other, and I seem to feel a sort of reflected discom-
fort. I am really very fond of Mr. l^riuul."

"Reflected discomfort," repeated (George. "Why, Marge, we
will have you writing volumes of poetry presently if you indulge in
such tall talk to me."

" I am sure there is nothing very poetical in my phraseology,"
said Majory, laughing ; but she continued to talk of the anxious
look Dick's face had worn when he spoke of the depressed tone that
pervaded Brand's letters.

Monday passed b.. iftly, every hour being fully employed till even-
ing, when brother and sister waited in vain for Dick, and much of
their talk was of him and conjectures as to the cause of his non-
appearance.

George declared his intention of going to his lodgings as soon as
he could get away from business next day, and Marjory, while ap-
proving of her brotlier's resolution, pictured the missing Dick
writing far into the night, pouring out all his troubles, his hopes, to
that black-eyed girl in France, for in France she instinctively
thought he must have met her. Could it have been the countess of
whom he spoke incidently ? He had said one day she was a widow.
No ; Marjory pictured her as quite too old. '* There is no use in
thinking about it," she said rebukingly to herself ; "in due time I
shall know everything. "

The next day was damp, with occasional drizzling rain, and Mar-
jory, mindful of the rheumatic pains Cxeorge felt now and then, made
a brijiht little fire about an hour before the usual time of his return.
She had disposed some chrysanthemums about the room and
fastened a couple at her throat. She was full of the idea she kept
repeating to herself that her mission in life was to help and com-
fort George, at any rate till he was older and stronger.

She had lit her lamp, and was standing by the Hre reading the
volume of Tennyson which had been given her by Ellis, and which
she had opened at random, when a tap at the door, followed imme-
diately by the entrance of Dick, stnrtled her.

"01k Dick ! " throwing down her book. " I am so glad to see
you ; we were beginning to feel quite anxious about you and Mr.
Brand. Why did you not come up last nifj;ht ? "

" I could not manage it," he said, taking her hand, she fancied
more coldly than formerly. " I was tired and had one or two things
to do for Brand, who is very unwell. lie gave me a scare on
Saturday."

"How?

" You know I went up by ihe 2.30 train, and got to his hotel
about eight. The porter said he was in his room, so up I went.
When I caine to the door it \ras locked, and I could not make Brai <1
hear ; as I stood knocking and feeling rather uneasy, one of the
chambermaids came by ; slie stopped and said, * T think the gt"'ntlc-

li^

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^•'i!iv'Vi;*:*'i-v^'.-*Wig^to<:^<«lfjif.-.»i.^^

■'t'i ir

:]28

A LIFE INTEREST.

man must be asleep, sir ; he took some sleeping stuff ;*l)out a quar-
ter of an hour ago, for ho made me measure it out for him, but 1
can let you in through the next room." I followed her to the door,
but that was locked too ; the girl declared she had left the key in it,
and called another chambermaid, who remembered having left it
also, then they brought a head- woman with a lot of keys, and found
one that fitted. I rushed in by a door that led into Brand's room,
and found him quite insensible. He had evidently locked himself
in, and, no doubt driven hy suffering, had opened his bottle of
chloroform, dropping the stopper by hia feet, where we found it.
I thought it was all over with him ; his heart still beat, however.
Fortunately there was a medical man staying in the hotel, and we
soon had him up. The doctor had all the doors and windows
opened, and fanned him, and forced a little brandy into his mouth ;
he was going to try electricity when Brand half opened his eyes
BO at last we brought him round. He was very bad for a bit and I
sat up all night with him. I can tell you that I was thankful when
daylight came and I found him quite clear and sensible. I never
was in such a fright before ; the doctor said that a few moments
more and he would have been gone ; we were only just in time."

" I don't wonder at your being trightened," cried Marjory. '* He
must have been very near death."

" He was. Do you know, Marge, I never knew how fond I had
grown of him until I looked at him lying still and lifeless ; till the
doctor came I thought he was gone. You see, he is the best friend
I have, I ever had, the only one — except you. Marge."

He held out his hand with a sudden impulse of tenderness, she
put hers in it, looking up to him with kindly loving eyes, " and
George, Dick."

" Yes, of course, but he can never be to me what you are ; though
he is a good fellow. I can tell you every — at least I used to tell
you everything."

" And why not now V she cried, charmed to feel quite sisterly
for the moment. " You know you might tell me every tiling. I do
not think your black-eyed sweetheart in France would mind,"
smiling.

" In France ? " echoed Dick, surprised. ** I have no sweetheart
in France."

" I fancied she was in France."

" No, no. I don't want to talk about her."

Marjory kept silence, surprised at his impatient tone.

" When I saw Brand ope , his eyes L was glad," continued Dick,
releasing her hand. " But it was some time before he spoke dia-
tiinctly. I never left him all night, nor next day. It is curious he
cannot remember locking his door, nor did he intend to open the
ehl(r.'oform. In fact he is quite confused about everything, but
thank God, he is living and on the road to recovery. We got a

«Ji#^;'» .• *

)out a quar
him, but 1
to the door,
le key in it,
ving left it
> , and found
and's room,
ked himself
is bottle of
'e found it.
t, however.
>tel, and we
id windows
his mouth ;
ed his eyes
• a bit and I
,nkful when
le. I never
iw moments
in time."
rjory. "He

fond I had
S3 ; till the
i best friend

iemess, she

eyes,

{{

and

are ; though
ased to tell

uite sisterly
thing. I do
3uld mind,"

sweetheart

A LIFE INT£KKST.

329

nurse to watch him, and I did not leave till eight on Sunday night,
so by the time I wrote a letter or two after work yesterday I was
ready for bed. "

" I should think you were, indeed. Now sit down and have
som« tea, George will be here soon. He intended going to see what
had become of you."

Dick sat down, and resting his elbows on the table leant his head
upon his hands, while Marjory put the kettle which had been hum-
ming gently beside the fire — on it — *' Mr. Brand is all right now.
Is he not? Tou must cheer up, dear Dick," she said presently,
sitting down by him and laying her hand on his shoulder, for she
was moved by the dejection of his attitude.

*' Oh, yes, than God, he will do I believe, but somehow I cannot
help worrying my heart about — about what cannot be helped ; you
are very good to me. Marge." He put his arm round her and
pressed her to him, so close that she felt his heart beat. *' You
never thought at one time that you would be such friends with the
monster, eh. Marge '/ You ought to be good to me, you know you
have given me many a stab."

' ' Don't I " whispered Marjory, who felt terribly inclined to cry,
and longing to break away ^rom him, yet not liking to resist his
brotherly embrace. "It is you who are good and kind to forgive
me, and be friends with me. I wish you would tell me what
troubles you. I would do a great deal for you, Dick."

" Not what I want though," he said as if to himself as he released
her.

*'But I would ; I would do anything in the world for you or
George."

** Well, I am not going to ask you," he returned with rather a
grim smile. " By-the-way, there is something troubling Brand, I
fancy. He is in such a furious hurry to get well and about again, I
can't help thinking that he is planning something for me. He asks
me a lot of questions, especially as to what I remembered of both
my father and mother. I think he wandered a little. I know he
has put curious thoughts into my head."
*' What thoughts, Dick?"

*'I do not think it would be honourable — " Dick was beginning
when George made his appearance, and the whole story had to be
told over again.

The three friends had an animated discussion of the circumstances,
and agreed that really Brand should never be left alone since he
was subject to such attacks ; he evidently did not know what he
was doing when he leaned over to inhale that dreadful chloroform,
etc., etc. The rest of the evening was spent in friendly kindly talk
of plans and hopes and memories. George had had a letter from
his father with a kind message from Mrs. Acland, who had gone to
the sea-side with the children, but the usual "love to Marjory"
was the onlv mention of that younir person.

}

i"i : ii,

-I-

^..M,:

«''f ■

■'i I,';

330

A LIFE INTFHKST.

Altogether it was more like old times, and Dick was more like his
old self. He announced his inteiiiion <»f i^oing up to look after
Brand on Saturday, but until then he would come every evening
"and thankful to have smh a ])lace to come to ; you always made*
things nice and pretty. Marge ; good-niglit ! "

Leighton Abbot v.as never a very cheerful residence, though rich
in natural licauty ; away in the woods and dells, by the clear brown
stream dialing against its resisting rocks, in the open breezy pas-
tures, the face of nature laughed cheerfully to the sun, V)ut round
the stately house with its formal gardens hung an atmosphere of
silence and depression. The spirit of the inhabitant influences his
material dwelling i)lace, and die iron had entered deei)ly into the
soul of the present jjossessor.

This fine old place was not the original home of the Cranstons. It
had come into the hands of Edward Cranston by the be((uest of his
illegitimate brother, John Ma\nard, a man of great ability and force
of character, who devoted his whole existence to amassing a large
fortune of which he had little enjoyment.

At the outset of his career he had received some friendly assist-
ance from Edward, who was but a few years younger than himself,
and fairly well off. This circumstance impressed itse'f deei)ly on
his tenacious mind, though he held little or no intercourse with
his brother.

His will, after a few legacies, constituted Edward Cranston resid-
uary legatee, provided he t(K)k the name of the testator's beloved
mother, thus as it were making him her debtor. The will further
provided that should Edward leave no son the property was to go to
the eldest Cranston living at the death of Edward, be the degree of
relationship what it might so long as the Cranston inheriting was a
direct descendent of John Cranston, the testator's father.

It was no small trial to the legatee to have the name of his father's
mistress thus imposed upon him. The ])ill, however, was well gilt,
and Edward Cranston took possession of his fortune, and, though a
proud cold man, administered it well. He had married late in life,
and at the death of John Maynard had an only child, a boy in ex-
tremely delicate health, whose birth had cost his mother's life — this
son he idolised, and when, after infinite care, after all the aid that
modern skill and scier.ce could bestow, he strengthened into fairly
vigorous manhood and married a charming liigh born woman, Crans-
ton felt that fortune had no further favour to grant.

Cruel as had been the blow dealt him in the loss of this son, the
death of his grandcliild was even a movo bitter stroke. With the
infant went all hopes of seeing a descendant to carry on his name
and occupy his place. He had grown attadied to the splendid home

with which he had identified himself.

Pride was the strongest

e like his

ok after

evening

ys made'

)Ugh rich
ar brown
eezy pas-
Lit round
iphere of
2nce8 his
into the

stons. It
sat of his
and force
y a large

ly assist-
. himself,
leei)ly on
urse with

on resid-

beloved

further

to go to

egree of

ing was a

is father's
well gilt,
though a

e in life,
oy in ex-
life — this

aid that
ito fairly
,11, Crans-

son, the
With the
his name
did home
strongest

A LIFE INTKI.'KST.

331

(jHssion of his nature, ami l.iy at the root of his dislike to his nej^hew
Philip, wlidse de;,'rading choice f)f an artistic life was to his mind
unpardonable. Then his oliscure marriage, his poverty, his Bohe-
mianism, all made up a caini of otl'cnce whi<,h was not to be sur-
mounted. Yet Cranston iMaynard was not uiiL,a>nerous ; that is he
was always ready (o pay for what he wanted, and in giving an
annuity to his otlending nephew he considtTod that ho had bought
him oft'cheiij)]}', and remf)V'od an ugly spot fro'u the family scutciieon.
In all human probability there wimld be no chance of his ever suc-
ceeding to the i)roperty, but if there were, it was better he should
be out of tlu- way.

Now all his hopes, his plans, his pride lay buried in tin* grave of
'lis little grand.snn, and the old man s heart would have been dead to
all human feeling but for the intense anger he felt against his poor
young daughter-in-law. He was too proud and haughty a man to
admit the rector's orthodox consolations, llo absolutely refused to
see him, and day after day he sat silent, brooding, morose, in the
study which adjoined his liedroom. His valet, who had been with
him for some years, and was somewhat attached to the generous,
masterful old man, grow alarmed at his mute stern g\i';f, his sleep-
lessness and t(jtal loss of a])petite. In vain the cook sent up her
most cunningly contrived dishes to tempt him — in vain the butler
ransacked the cellar for tlio clioi'ost wines ; the lord of the mansion
turned with loathing from all alike.

The hesitating but fiarn'.'at entreaty of the housekeeper that he
would see the local doctor was met by a giini refusal. It was then
a relief to the household generally when ''ya[)tain Hugh Cranston,
the master's nephew, arrived. He was Mr. Maynard's heir ]n'e-
sunjptive, artd on friendly though not intimate terms with his uncle.
He was a highly scientidc naval officer, had been emi)loyed on
various " search " expeditiims, had dredged u)) monsters from the
briny deep, had writien a treatise on an uncomfortable rudimentary
creature, consisting of digestive organs and eyes, which had excited
much interest among naturalists, and contributed endless papers to
the Transnctions of various learned societies ; occupations Mr.
Cranston Maynard was given to " pooh. pooh," but which he did not
consider derogatory to a gentleman.

It was nearly twonty-four liours before the bereaved old m ui could
be persuaded to see his future successor, although he had come on
his own invitation, and when he consented to receive him he scarcely
spoke at first.

Captain Cranston was tall, like most of his race, but round
shouldered, with a broad brow, thick grizzled whiskers, and mild
thoughtful blue eyes.

The meeting was extremely awkward, Maynarod glared at his
nephew as if he begrudged him his length of days, and Captain
Cranston, as is not unusual with some of the kindest Englishmen,

'i;

t. I

> !l

■±- .

SH'^I

Jrl

■ ^rf

332

A LIFE INTBRK8T.

■;fSl

I »

j'l

was at a luss huw to express his heartfelt sympathy with his desolate
kinsman.

*' I scarcely know why I sent for you," said Mr, Maynard at last.
" Those busy-bodies, Lambert and Green, suggested it. I luppose
ijou were ready enough to come and look at the property. I suppose
you consider it already as your own ? "

* * You wrong me, uncle. I never gave your fortune a thought. I
uame because 1 believed you had some need of me, and because I
most deeply and sincerely regret the terrible loss you have suflFered."

" I forbid you to speak of it, sir. I do not want your pity. Per-
haps it is as well you should know something of the estate you will
inherit." »

** It is not so sure I shall inherit it ; life is very uncertain, return-
ing to town I may be smashed up ; you are just as likely to outlive
me as 1 am to outlive you. Indeed, I am not the sort of man to be
owner of a large estate. I am an old bachelor, I have enough for all
1 want, property would only bring me trouble. I wish that poor
fellow Philip had not been drowned ; he would probably have been
a better and certainly a more picturesque "

'* I do not wish to hear his name mentioned," again interrupted
IMaynard in a tone of disgust. " It is the one drop of bitterness I
have been spared to know that worthless Bohemian is — is out of the
way."

' ' I suppose you had some reason for disliking him ; I must say I
found him companionable and pleasant enough. He was perhaps
weak and too easy going ; I lost sight of him after his marriage,
however."

" He was a worthless vagabond," exclaimed Mr. Maynard with
some vehemence. "Reckless — reckless to a degree, and when he
could not face his creditors he ran away, deserted his wife and child ;
I was obliged to give her a hundred pounds to start with in some
business, or to go abroad. She promised she would never trouble
me again, and, by George, she never did ! "

** Then you do not know what became of the child. Was it a
boy ? "

** Yes."

'* Something ought to be done for him. I suppose he is younger
than Bernard Cranston's boys ? "

** I know nothing about him."

Having exhausted this topic, which Mr. Maynard was evidently
not at all disposed to pursue. Captain Cranston unfortunately asked
how and where poor young Mrs. Maynard was ; this called forth a
flood of bitterness. " Thanks to her preposterous ridiculous fancies
I am robbed of my last hope," exclaimed the eld man. " The air
of Leighton Abbot was too trying for her ; a change to the sea
would do the boy good ; as if we did not thrive well enough here.
So she dragged the child away to that cockneyfield seaside hole,

• «.< • «r^ «W

A LIFE INTEREST.

333

B desulute

rd at last.
I luppose
I suppose

tiought. I
because I
suffered."
ity. Pei-
I you will

•
n, return -
to outlive
man to be
uf^h for all
that poor
have been

iterrupted

itterness I

out of the

Qust say I

18 perhaps

marriage,

nard with
when he
and child ;
in some
er trouble

Waa it a

LS younger

evidently
ktely asked
ed forth a
ous fancies
'The air
to the sea
3Ugh here,
uide holo,

Eastbourne, because her sister was staying there ; got into an ill-
drained house, and was the death of my grandson. She is in Lon-
don, I believe, but I neither know nor care ; she writes me long
and no doubt canting lettors — but I don't road them ; I won't read
them."

" You are too hard on hor, sir, and she has boon hit hard enough
already I imagine by the loss of her baby."

*' Ber baby ! What's her loss to mine 1 The boy was not the
sole representative of her family ; she is young, she will marry again
before the year is out. She has a brother and sisters, and I — I have
nothing. Do not name her to me again "

Hugh Cranston was infinitely shocked at this outbreak. ** Cer-
tainly not if such is your wish," he said, and, as science does not
develop tact, he added, " but I must say that I don't see why you
should blame the poor young mother."

" Don't you ? " grimly. " Then we are not likely to agree. Now
I am tired. You had better go and walk round your property. I
am no companion for any one. I wish I could go to sleep and never
wake. "

"Shall I not see you at dinner, uncle ? " said Hugh Cranston, to
whom the valet had confided his fears that his mas< or was starving
himself to death.

*' No ; I have done with life and it's ways. Leave the old dog to
die in his own kennel ; I don't want to be troubled with any one or
anything. But as in you I shall have at least an honourable gentle-
man for a successor, I authorise you to come and go as you choose ;
make yourself acquainted with the property and the tenants, all
will soon be yours. If I do not care to speak much with you do not
consider that any mark of ill-will. Now go. I shall try to sleep."

Captain Cranston retreated, not unwillingly.

As the day was dry and clear he spent the afternoon in roaming
about the park, inspecting the fauna and flora with much more
interest than he did the marketable productions of the soil.

And thus three days passed, on each of thorn Captain Cranston
paid a visit to his uncle, who endured his presence for a few moments
and then peremptorily dismissed him. The rest of his time passed
peaceably in preparing notes on some rare fungi peculiar to the
district, and in long rambles by flood and field. The servants
treated him as their future master ; the head groom inquired each
morning if there were " any orders," and was quite disgusted to find
that the future lord of Leighton Abbot preferred his *>wn pair of
feet to four of any other animal.

Still he began to wish for his bachelor quarters in Half Moon
Street, his rubber at the Athenaeum, and his preparation for the
coming sessions of the Entomological Society.

Mr. Maynard however would not listen to his suggestion that ha
should return to town.

'1
r

■ i

1 -

KiJ

334

A LIFE TXTFREST.

"Can't you amuse yourself here? Are th(;re no h;;raes in the
stables, no birds in the covers, no hounds ? You can surely find
Bouiething to do." Captain Cranston explained that he really wan
so unorthodox as :iotto care for killing anything, unless indeod he
wanted a specimen, thereliy lowering himself a good deui in his
uncle's estimation.

The weather had changed the next afternoon, and being caught in
an open held by a, severe shower of rain and liail, Cai:itain Cranston
returned to the house earlier than usual, having been drenched to
the skin.

"There is a strange gentlemar) with Mr. Maynard, ssir," said the
butler, who appearei to have been on the watch for him.

" Indeed ! Did lis not give his na.nie? "

" No sir. He sent in a note, and Mr. Maynard saw him directly.
Nicholls says they have been talking loud, and w^ould you mind
going in

5«

" I haruiy like to intrude."

"You might go in proniscuous-like ; Nicholls is afraid

Mr.

Maynard will be upset, sir."

" Very well ; I will change my coat and boots first."

In a few minutes Hugh Craiwjton quietly opened the door of his
uncle's sitting-room, and saw the old man grasping the arms of his
chair, a 1 ok of fierce an;.5er on his pale, gaunt face, whde the fire-
light gleamed upon the form of his visitor, a m?'; little over middle
height, well, though rather unconventionally dressed, thin and
worn looking, buv still handsome, who stood on the opposite side
of the fireplace, bis eyes fixed resolutel}^ but not unkindly, at the
agitated countenf,nce before him.

Hugh Cranston paused a moment in growing sui'prise, his honest
blue eyes bri.djtoning, then, making a istrctoh forward with out-
stretched linnd, (\\claimcd, "Philip Cranstan ! why — how — where
have Ann come from I "

'' Hu'^li I " cried the stranger, grasping the ofi'cied hand, and the
two men stood still gazing at each other.

..■n|,

jm^>^

a!i^ i£M.'iAl^Viiiitk<w>^sM '..^;' >«i£4v

A LIFE INTKilEST.

335

•aes in the
surely find
reiilly wan
intleod he
ieui in his

g caught in
II Cranston
Tenched to

:," said the

m directly.
1 vou mind

afraid Mr.

door of his
irms of his
Jfc the fire-
[)ver middle
, thin and
)posite side
dly, at the

his honest
with out-
ow — vdiere

id J and the

CILT'TER XXXTIT.

KKCOGNITIOX.

Cranston Maynard fell back in his chair u-ith a deep sigh, as if
he had received a sudden blow.

" I am afraid your uncxpecied appearanco has been a little too
much for my uncle," said Ciijitaiii Cranston.

" I fear it has," returned the other, ;ts both turned to look at the
old man ; " I should not have intruded upon him," he continued,
'' had not duty to my s(-ii couipolknl me."

"False; false as ever," said Blaynard hoarsely; you ])romised
when I offered to give you the annuity I have since paid that you
would disappear, ai;d now you come to — to — rob a better man than
yourself."

" Your deep sorrow citnimands my endurance of almost any insult.
Will you xiot hear my explanation V'

" Then you knew he had not been drunned," cried Captain Cran-
aton, much amazed.

" 1 did ; but he had voluntarily renounced hif: rights. I did
v/ell to cut off such a withered l,>rancli from the family tree.''

"Ask him to hear me," said Philip (who has been hitherto known
as Brand) appealingly to Captain Jranston ; " I do not deserve the
prejudice he has against me."

" Come, sir, at least hear what he has to say."

Mr. Maynard bent his head in token of willin^mef-s to listen.
Philip Cranston, turning so as to face his uncle, and with a slight
unsteadiness of voice, began :

" When I met you in London I was at the lowest ebb, and cared
little what became of mc. I was broken by in-health, and would
have done almost anything to get some physical comfort, food to
eat, a comfortable shelter, clothes to wear ; I assure you it is
extremely hard to kee]) up to the mark in the teeth of Herce bodily
need. When you offci'ed me enough to keep body and soul
together o:i condition of burying Philip Cransbjn, forever I thought
I had the best of tlie bargiun. I did not expect to be hjng a recipi-
ent of your bounty, I did not then know 1 had a son ; even if I
did, there seemed but small chance of either of us inheriting after
you. 1 therefore did not belreve I wr<jnged any one in accepting
relief from you. Soon afti;r T found my l>oy was living under the
roof of the man his mother had married, believing me to be dead.
There he was well treated, safe, respecta ole, and given a career, as

U
4

i^t

336

A LIFE INTK ".ST.

'¥\

he liad been taken into his supposed stepfather's office. What ha4
I to offer hiai in exchange ? Why should I bring more trouble on
hia mother whom I had already injured? The truest kindness to
both was to remain in the grave of oblivion to which I had already
been consigned."

Here Captain Cranston murmured something about legal obliga-
tion, but his uiticle said hoarsely, " Go on„"

** I thereforti avoided my boy," resumed Philip, "and left Eng-
lanti, wandering about in a purposeless way. But rest, food, certainly
recruited me. I began to live onco more. The old love of my art
came back to me. I began to sketch ; I began to like work once
more. Then, while in the south of France, I fell in with Lord
Beaulieu, whom I had known slightly in America. He liked some
views I had taken on his property there, consulted me about the
decorations of an old chd,teau he has about to repair, and finally
aHked me to undertake those at his place in England. I went, and
there I found my boy, who had, for reasons I will not trouble you
with now, left his mother and turned mason, hoping to become an
architect. 1 have never quite parted with him since. I feel with
you, sir," he continued huskily, "because my love for that boy
teaches me what a bereavement you have sustained."

The old man raised himself with a look of indignation. "Nay ;
hear me out," cried Philip ; " more than that, 1 can honestly say
that if the grave could give you back your dead I would rejoice. It
is net so much the wealth and position I grasp at for my son — I
believe firmly it is in him to make both — but I will not rob him of
his possible rights. I could not rest in the hereafter and think that
he might reproach me for having kept back knowledge which might
be all important to him. I wish, sir, I could persuade you to see
him — not to acknowledge him as an heir — that he is not. I may be
carried off at any moment ; mine is not a good life, then Hugh
would succeed you ; but my boy is a Cranston every inch — he is the
soul of truth and honour ; to know that I have such a son has made
a different man of me. He is in the first flush of manhood, with the
keenest sense of enjoyment, but he is master of himself as his father
never was, as strong men only are. I wish you would see and
acknowledge him."

"See him ! see the young plebeian who has thriven when my
son, a thoroughbred, was cut off in the opening of a fair life full of
promise. Never, never ! and from this hour 1 withdraw the allow-
ance I have hitherto made you ; you have broken the conditions
on which it was granted," almost screamed the old man.

" I have," said Philip, bending his head. " So I cannot com-
plain. At least, you both acknowledge my identity. I shall now
reassume my name. As I said before, it is highly probable I may
go before you, then Hugh will be head of the house, and a very good
one he will make, but I'll not sacrifice my boy's chance nor will

-nm^^-'

A LIFE INTRUKST.

337

rouble on
ndness to
d already

[&[ obliga-

l^fc Eng-
, certainly
A my art
v^ork once
vith Lord
ked some
about the
ind finally
went, and
ouble you
)ecome an
'. feel with

that boy

. "Nay;
neatly say
rejoice. It
my son — I
ob him of
think that
lich might
you to see

I may be
hen Hugh

-ho is the
n has made
d, with the
i his father
d see and

when my
life full of
the allow-
conditions

mnot corn-
shall now
able I may
I very gtiod
;e nor will

you," turning to Captuin Cranston — ' i3fuse to treat him as a
kinsman ? "

*' Certainly not," replied Hugh promptly.

*' I suppose you have nothing more to communicate," said May-
nary harshly.

" Nothing," said Philip. " I shill therefore leave you, for "

" Never to return," interrupted, his uncle. " For you shnll never
be admitted inside my doors afijain ; and, hark ye, I'll live, I'll out-
live — you I The hctpe of keeping so unworthy a representative from
ruling in my place will give nio force to outlive you. Go ! Let mo
never see your face again."

" I have never deservtO your dislike," said Philip quietly, " and
your denunciations do not aflect me. I still hope that time may
heal your wounds ; Leiievo me, I will never intrude again."

He bowed slightly and loft the room.

" I can't let him go without a word," said Captain Cranston. " 1
will send your man ; you ought to have something after such a
shake."

So saying he hurried after his cousin, whom he found at the
entrance and looking about him with some interest.

" You must not mind him, poor old fellow ; he is awfully broken,"
said Captain Cranston, joining him. "Come and havd a glass of
wine with me ; you look no gr >at things yourself. I want to hoar
liow you cDiue to be alive, and lots of things. How have you
managed to get so deep into my uncle's bkck books ? As far as I
can make out, you have been reckless and imprudent, but nothing
mure. "

" I do not understand it myself; his anger does not move me
much. I am sorry lor him, but I will not eat or drink in his house.
If you will walk back with me to the gates I will i:ell you my tale
ill exteiiso. I shall get a conveyance at the ' Phjugh * and catch
the night train at Helmstone. This is a fine place ; I never had a
chance of seeing it before. Come along, Hugh, I want to win your
friendship for my son , it v.'ould be of great value to him."

The two men walkn;d away down the avenue, which they soon
left for the green sward, strolling under the grand old treees which
were rapidly losing their leaves, towards the village which clustered
near the park gates.

When Mr. Maynard's man came to his master he found him
standing erect, looking through the window. " Bring nie srune
champagne," he said, turning sharply on his valet, " and sometliing
to eat — game, eold meat, anything. Send one of the men at once
for Doctor Bro^vn ; if he can come to-night I shall be glad, if not,
early to-morrow, and let Parkinson know 1 will dine with Captain
Cranston this evening. I'll defeat that blackguard Bohemian
and his schemes yet," he motttred to himself, as Nicholls hurried
away amazed to execute his orders. He pac«d slowly to and fro.
(22)

r;.'

^r 1.1

f.-i

i-i': 13

'la ^

'■; : H

••I

3a8

LIFK fNTEREST.

*' Ah ! my limbs are Btili and weak, but I have an object to live for
now. aiK.1 ril live— I'll live ! "

Mrs. AclancVs pallor and usual restlessness attracted the notice
and consternation of that important functionary nurse, who com-
municated her impression to the parlour-maid (who also accompanied
the family out of town) that " Missus was not like herself, and was
in her (nurse's) opinion, sickening for a fever which would make a
pretty " h(jw-do-do " in seaside lodgings." Mrs. Acland was
rather liked by her servants : si a ruled with a firm and equable
hand, she did not worry about trifles, neither was she penurious.

After church on the day which succeeded her visit to town she
complained of a headache, and asked nurse to go with the children
for their afternoon walk, not feeling equal to accom-pany them, as
was her usual habit of a Sunday.

Then she establisod herself on a hard horsehair covered sofa with
a book which she could not read. She was acting over and over
again every hour of the day before. She was calculating her chances
— of detection she had little fear — not a soul could ever know she
had re-entered Philip's room. Then, as to his identity, that was not
so sure. Did he pass as Brand, or as Cranston at the hotel ? Brand
was the name by which she had asked for and found him, and Lord
Beaulieu's letter was addresssed to " Mr. Brand, Water Street,
Dockborough."

There was nothing in all that to give any clue to the murderer.
It was not a pleasant term, but she unhesitatingly applied it. She
had had a narrow escape. Had n\\e escaped ? or had he, by any
chance, escaped ?

How she longed next day for the morning papers ! There woulu
certainly be a paragraph in some of them about "Death from the
use of chloroform at the Charing Cross Hotel."

The day dragged through, and at night, being worn out by the
incessant action of her brain, she slept deeply. But Monday's
papers contained no information, nor the next day's, though ehe
searched the columns eagerly and sent for every newspaper to be
had at Folkestone. So the week slipped by, and on Saturday Mr,
Acland arrived to enjoy his week's holiday witli his charming wife.

Tiiat week was the most trying she had ever known. She could
gain no tidings of Brand (as he must still be called). She dared not
make the smallest inquiry. Insignific.int — unknown, as he was —
there would surely be some notice of such a death in so public a
hotel. Another pcissible danger which occasi(mally flashed across
the immediate peril of Brand's survival was the idea suggested by
him that Blake was in London, if he had not been mistaken. She
well knew tlmt meant further extortion -greater complicatioag. But

I I

'f. 's^^;Mi^mmti»ta!

A LIFE INTEREST.

339

live for

e notice
ho com-
mpanied

and was
d make a
and was
[ equable
irious.
town she

children
' them, as

sofa with

and over
er chances

know she
at was not
b1? Brand
, and Lord
:er Street,

murderer.
5d it. She
^e, by any

lere woulC
h from the

out by the
Monday's
though Ehe
;aper to be
turday Mr.
^ming wife.
She could
,e dai-ed not
IE he was —
so public a
ished across
uggested by
baken. She
satioaa. liut

would he dare to return to London ? No ; not when a warrant was
out against him, and with such a record as his."

Haunted by such thoughts, even her power of self-mastery could
not enable her to present her usual aspect of serene cheerf ulnebo ^o
her husband. He was much troubled by the change in her appear-
ance, by her dejection and variable moods, and requested her to
consult the famous Sir James Pcttigrew. To this, with apparent
reluctance, she assented, and promised to go up to town one day in
the ensuing week ; this was an opportunity not to be lost. Once
in town she could as ertain something.

As to the visit to Sir James Pettigrew, she could easily manage
t/iat, and furnish herself with a valuable prescription, carefully
copied from an old one, redated and signed with the great doctor's
initials It was a mere precaution, for Mr. Acland rarely questioned
his wife's proceedings. She could thus secure a day and night in
town, for, of course, she must go to town the day before her visit to
the famous physician, in order to be in time for his early consulting
hour. After much reflection she determined to call at the bureau
of the hotel and inquire boldly if Mr. Brand were still in town. It
required immense resolution, bui: she would not permit herself to
falter ; she was safe, she repeated to herself — absolutely safe. Yet
it was no ordinary proof of her nerve power to walk calmly into the
hall and put the question to the busy clerk :
" Is Mr. Brand still here ? "

" Mr. Brand ? No : he is gone out of town for a few days."
" Has he left any address ? "
" Yes ; here it is."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Acland, rapidly copying it on the
envelope of a letter, and walking away with trembling limbs.

Her desperate cowp had failed and her position was as alarming as
ever. Had the tide turned and her luck left her ? She thought
hard as she threaded her way down the crowded Strand, intending
to take a cup of tea at the first pastry-cook's she came to, and write
a few lines to Brand, appointing a meeting. As she went slowly
along her eye was struck by the figure of a man who passed her and
walked on a few paces in front. There was something familiar to
her in the broad shoulders, the short neck, the carriage of the head
she quivered with terror and repugnance. The man was dressed- in
a frock coat, much be-frogged, and a curl or two of reddish hair ap-
peared from under a large soft felt hat pulled over hia eyes. The
clothes seemed foreign, but the gait was English ; presently he
stopped to look into a shop window ; Mrs. Acland saw his face.
What with the shadow of his hat, a quantity of dark red beard and
moustache, and a pair of blue spect-acles, there was very little to be
seen of the features, yet Mrs. Acland did not doubt that, it washer
former lover, her cruellest foe— lilake. She passed liini steadily,
(juickly resolving not to make any sign of recognition. Without

!«■.. .1

< •■!'

!;i: '

i ■

340

A LIFE INTEREST.

turning sho knew, she felt, he was following her. In profound agi-
tation she rapidly debated in her mind, whether she should hold to
her intention of takin*.^ i\ cup of tea or dodge the enemy
by taking refuge in an o nnibus. Blake, slie thought with
some satisfaction, had now }io evidence against her, and with
her husband her word would far outweigh that of the felon she still
feared. No ; she would not hy from him. Her position was still
worth fighting for ; she would with a steady hand pluck safety from
the nettle danger. Her whole future, her chance of keeping her
children with her (and her all of human feeling existed for them
only) depened on her management of this selfish scoundrel. She
would face the foe was her decision, as with courage, which in a
better cause would have been splendid, she strove to steady her
pulses, and turned into the first cake-shop she came to ; walked
through it to the dingy portion at the back, where little tables were
laid out, and asked for some tea and bread and butter. As she had
anticipated, before the refreshment she had asked for was brought,
the figure she expected appeared. The man with the blue spectacles
paused, then approached, bowed low, and said, almost in a whisper,
*'May I sit at your table?" Mrs. Acland bent her head in
assent.

He drew a chair forward. When the waitress brought Mrs.
Acland's cup, she asked, " What can I bring you sir?" He said,
ill a rough feigned voice, pointing to the cup and plate, " Tea —
bread."

Then, leaning towards his companion, he whispered, '* I must
have an opportunity of speaking with you. 1 have risked much to
see you, not daring to write."

" I do not want to hold any communication with you," she
returned, setting her face to an agreeable conventional smile, so that
any chance observer might fancy it was a friendly conversation.
"You pledged yourself not to trouble me after you had driven me
to a desperate expedient to supply you with money."

"Bad luck nas left me no choii-e ; besides, I have some good
news for you, Judith ; good news of a matter in which you will need
my help. '

" You can never bring me any good. I suppose, then, you want

money ? "

*' I do ; but a mere trifle this time. We cannot talk here. You
had better hear what I have to say. Can't you hear me now ? I
have come partly on your business at a risk to myself."

" Where can we be safe ? " she asked. " If you will tell me how
I can be rid of you I will listen."

*' I'll show the way," he said eagerly, " I don't want to force my-
self on you, but I'll have my share of the plunder. As soon as you
have swallowed your tea I will go out and get a cab ; turn left when
you come out of here and you'll see me ; we'll drive up and down the

.J**.*^'

i ..u>^« Aui^Hh'.,Ji^~,^.\ak' ii <mm»i

A LIFE INTEREST.

341

und agi-
l hold to
I enemy
ht with
nd with
she still
^vas still
ety from
jping hor
for them
[•el. She
lich in a
eady her
; walked
bles were
.8 she had
I brought,
spectacles
t whisper,
head in

ight Mrs.

He said,

>, "Tea—

"I must
d much to

you,

she

e, 80 that
iversation.
driven me

some good
will need

you want

lere. You
e now ? I

ell me how

force my-
loon as you

left when
d down the

Eml)ankei.ient, where it is quiet, and I can leave you at one of the
Metropuiitan stations when we have had our talk."

Mrs. Acland shuddered, but bent her head in silen^ assent.

" It was a bit of luck stumbling on you to-day. Do you know
what brought me this way ? I saw in one of the evening papers that
a man called Brand had nearly killed hiuiself with chloroform in the
Charing Cross Hotel ; and I wanted to find him, for he might be
useful if he is Cranston's old chum. He has gone, but I have got his
his address."

"Do not talk to me any more till we are nlone," said Mrs.
Acland faintly. He nodded and soon after rose, made her a low
formal bow, paid for his tea, and went out. She sUi,nmoned the at-
tendant and paid for hera while she thought : " He does not dream
who Brand is, while Philip know* him. Thank Heaven, I never
told that villain of his visit to me, his recognition of Dick."

She left the shop, and stepping into the cab with Blake, the
driver, who had received his instructions, at once drove off to the
Embankment, where in the comparatively quiet Blake began ;

"First, for my bit of good news. Old Cranson Maynard'a
grandson died about three weeks ago, and your boy Dick is the
next heir."

''Yes ;I know."

" But do you know that the property is worth ten or twelve
thousand a year 1 and I tell you Dick is the next heir. There are,
1 believe, some queer conditions about the will. I would have
had a look at it, only I have strong reasons for not obtruding
myself on Government officials, but you can ask for it straight
enough. "

" i suppose so."

" What's come to you, Judith ? I thought even / would be wel-
come with such tidings."

" I am inclined to throw up the gamo, confess everything to Mr.
Acland, and retire to a penitentiary, if I am to be persecuted
by you."

*' You would never be such a cursed fool,' cried Blake fiercely,
•'now when the best chance we have ever had has turned up.
Mrs. Acland laughed faintly. Keeping her cold light eyes fixed
on fiis she said, ' I am certainly a fool to trust myself here with you ;
there is murder in your eyes."

"Nonsense, Ju, Jam no fool, and will certainly not kill my
goose with the golden eggs."

"True," she returned with the same indifference which had
roused his ire.

"Now listen tome Ju. Something has gone wrong with you —
1 see that — never mind ; there is scarce anything that money
won't set right. Do you know where Dick is? Yes ; well, you go
and see the will — old Maynard's I mean, the fellow that made

■'«!<■.

'I:

342

A LIFE IN'lKREST.

■^* M

■ ^1?

the money and bought Leighton Abbot ; then send for Dick,
make it up with him. I never approviMl of you turning liim out,"

•'Oh 1 you did not approve " — bitterly — *' peihaps you also dis-
approved of the only means I could contrive to get the money
you needed."

** Well, I did rather ; of course it could not be helped ; but don't
let us waste time on bosh. Explain to Dick the good fortune
before him, promise to devote yourself to his cause, make him
understand that he and you are under deep obligations to me.
With that will behind him he can raise a lot of noney and lift
me out of my difficulties, and make you independent of old
Acland."

*' Thank you ! ". ear not dependent on Mr, Acland. He is
dependent on me. So my son's T^rst ure of his hopes TiL be
discount them for the benefit of his father's worst enemy ? "

"I an\\ think what's to come to you, Judith. You are so

<j.,„ « ^an<-ankerous. Of course the nior.ey will not come out

of your ^ > ,...fc ."

"Tell me/' she asked slo'-'ly, " hoA/ is it you have veutuied
:.ere?"

" Because I have been cleaned out in Valparaiso. It Ie too
long a "rory to tell you h(nv I got to Havre, and ao on to London,
as a negro melodist ; anyhow, I saw the child's death in the paper,
and determined to put you up to your work as regard.'. Dick. Don't
be cro-^s, old girl. I don't want to do you any iiarm, but I am
bound lo take care of myeelf."

**A duty you "3 certain, to ^ulfil. Now you have told me
your eriand, tell the driver to stop at the Temple Strtion."

"Not sj fast," said Blake, with a heavy frown. "You are not
going to send me empty away. I have tried a lot of things, but
somehow nothing turned up trumps. I have spent a lot of money
waiting for you. I went to your house, and heard you were at
Folkstone — all of you, the governor included — so I did not like to
go down while he was there, nor to write either. Now I have
barely a sou left ; I am afraid I should have beei driven to write
a playfvd imitation of my friend Robert Acland's signature on
a slip of paper t^ secure to- morrow's food had I not fallen in with
;'ou, my darling," and his bola black eyes, from which he nad
removed the blue spectacles, dwelt on her with a mockish -ievilish
glance.

Mrs. Acland shuddered — nor did she reply at once ; in this
dilemma she thought of the man she had nearly succeeded in
murdering. He would protect her from Blake. He would never
suspect her of having put that bottle of chloroform under his
drooping head. Yes ; the husband she had despis^r^d, defied, tortured,
would he forbearing and merciful, even though ho suspected that
she had done her best to destroy his son's character. She must

ji0m^

A LIFE INTER KST.

343

temporise with this brute ; she must gain time, and throw herself
on Philip's mercy.

"As to money," she said in an altered tone, "I have but five
pounds and a little silver about me. I wili give you the five
pounds, and as I am specially engaged to-morrow with Mr. Acland
you must wait to see me till the day after ; it will cost me some
trouble to stay in town, but I will do it for your sake, and we
must see what we can contrive for our mutual benefit out of this
new turn of Fortune's wheel. Where can I meet you i

" Now you are talking like the woman of sense I always
thought you were. Hand out the aovs. It is not a note, I
hope.

"Good
place out

taking out her purse and handing him the gold pieces.
Well about meeting. I am not sure ; some quiet
West would be safest. There is a decent restaurant
in Wilmington Street, near to Westboume Grove. Here ; I will
write the name and number for yen. I will engage a private
room. Mind you bring some more money with you, or I'll be
kept in pledge ; bring Dick's address and some writing materials in
your bag. What hour shall we fix ?"

*' Let me see — that will be Fritlay," returned Mrs. Acland, as if
considering deeply. " I am afraid it would not be safe to promise
earlier than two o'clock."

" Two o'clock will do prime," returned Blake cheerfully.
'Tj will go hard if we don't manage a good haul, and Dick will
not be a penny the worse. I have an idea myself, but I would
like to compare it with yours, for you have a capital head, Ju —
always had."

He scribbled a line on a leaf of his notebook, which he tore out
and gave to her.

" You flatter me," she said with a peculiar smile, and put away
the leaf in her purse. I do not pretend to sentiment, but for
my own sake I should be glad to know you were provided for life."

"I daresay you would, no matter how," returned Blake with
a chuckle. "Well, we will see what we can do;" he adjust-
ed lua spectacles again. "I should be undone were I to forget
my g()g,i,'lc3," ^ . _

" Now, iK^ there is no more to be said, I must leave you."

" Y<3u are in a monstrous hurry, Ju, but I suppose you can't well
stay longer. la old Acland up in town ?"

"He ^5."

" Doing the usual treadmill, I suppose ; off at nine ?"

"Yes I shall meet him in town to-morrow afternoon — which
is one of the reasons I cannot meet you," said Mrs. Acland
with an air of simple sincerity, as if she had not invented the
appointment foi the occasion. "Pray make the driver stop, or
drive back to Cliai-ing Cross."

}!. I.

344

A LIFE INTEnEST.

" Very good. See about some more cash. Judith. I am not
wcorbitant. I'll make twenty pounds do uulil we can borroAv some-
thing for Dick on tt post obit."

Blake talked on in a careless ramblint' "yav that sU uck Mrs.
Acland as unlike liis former manner. Slie kept silent ; she was
almost exhausted by the fearful strain to which her nerves had been
subjected.

But she was not to rest yet.

Ab soon as she was free from Blake she hastened to the
lady's waiting-rooni and there penned a few hasty lines to Philiji
Cranston.

" I will call on you at the address I have just found at Charing
Cross Hotel to-moirow about one ; let nothing prevent your being
at home to see me." This safely posted she at last sought the
shelter of her own house, stupefied by the painful excitement
through which she had passed, and half surprised at the sense
of terror and reluctance with which she contemplated her expected
interview with Philip Cranston.

'• It would indeed be a strange freak of fortume," she murmured
to herself, "if he was saved from me to befriend me, What if I
send him to keep the tryst with Blake ?"

CHAPTER XXXTV.

EXIT ELLIS.

Meanwhile, in the complete unconsciousness of the schemes and
passions which were twining their dark threads into the wrap and
woof of her simple life, Marjory held on her ordinary quiet course,
striving resolutely against her own feelings, with more or less
success — restless, watchful, uneasy when Dick Cranston was present,
and longing terribly for him in spite of herself when he was away.
There was an extraordinary charm to her swift mercurial nature,
her keen impatient perce])tion, in his steady gentle strenght, his
clear intelligence, his calmness and decision. Both his character
and his apperance were in advance of his years ; besides these qua-
lities the undeniable advantages of form and face made him pleasant
to the eye. He could not be ungraceful or undignified if he tried ;
then he had always been so kind, so true to Marjory, so utterly
forgiving, that the thought of all she had inflicted on him in the
past sometimes made her heart swell with the longins: to repay him
in some — in any — way ; but she never dreamed till that day when
he told her he was in love of how she loved him. Well, at all events,

A LIFE INTEREST.

346

[ am not

)W pome-

uck Mrs.
she was
had been

I to the
to Philip

,t Charing
our being
ought the
xcitement
the sense
r expected

murmured
What if I

-hemes and

wrap and
net course,
t)re or less
ras present,

was away,
'ial nature,
trenght, his
is character

these qua-
lim pleasant
lif he tried ;
80 utterly

him in the
repay him

t day when
It all events.

she was strong enough to hide it. It would kill her should he ever
discover the true nature of her affection. But that he never
should.

Moreover, Dick was greatly changed by his attachment to that
dark-eyed French girl. He was no lon^jcer so even-tempered, so
satisfied with the present, so quietly certain of the future. He was
depressed, and a little inclined to take otlence at what Marjory said
or did. He was uneasy too about Brand, who had prolonged his
absence now over a fortnight, but Marjory felt certain this was not
the only source of anxiety to him.

A curious sense of expectancy kept her on the stretch ; why, she
could not tell. There was no visible reason why things should not
go on for months as they were, still her vague but vivid impression
was, "Something is going to happen."

This presentiment was, she thought, amply fulfilled by a letter
from Mrs. Carteret - an event of rare occurrence — and Marjory was
much gratified by the mark of remembrance. The concluding para-
graph, however, soon put all the rest out of her mind ; " I find Mr.
Ellis is going to spend a few days at Sir Wilfrid Trumpington's
place, somewhere near Dockborough. He has promised to take you
a little present from me, and to give it into your own hand." Ellis
was coming there to worry and frighten her, but he should not suc-
ceed in doing either. She could defy him now ai^d Dick would
back her up. She wished much to tell Dick about the expected and
dreaded visit, but he had quite given up his friendly habit of coming
in half-an-hour or more before George returned from the office,
and somehow or other Marjory did not like to write and ask him to
see her alone. It was not likely that Ellis would come just yet, and
some opportunity wpuld offer, when she would give Diclc Mrs. Car-
teret's letter and discuss it with him.

She was alone when it reached her, and a curious reluctance to
broach the subject kept her silent respecting it when both George
and Dick joined her at tea ; the next day she would tell them, then
Dick — unless indeed he was too much absorbed in his French flame
to care about his once beloved sister — would find some way to talk
the matter over in a tete-a-tete.

The day went over at once rapidly and slowly.
. It was amazing what a shifting, cloudy, yet impassable barrier her
self -consciousness had accumulated between her and her dear friend
and confidant. She longed yet feared to mention Mrs. Carteret's
letter. The midday delivery brought her another, which, had it
not been for the first, would have gladdened her heart. The editress
of Crumbs for our Chickens was pleased with her story, which she
would print at once, and pay the munificent sum of three pounds for
it. "If 'M. A.' was disposed to submit any other productions of
her pen to the editorial eye, they would be favourably considered."
This was almost beyond Marjory's wildest hopes, and she could Ixave

ill.

346

A LIFE ITfTRRKST.

I i

i' *

11' n,

■ u

( 1

cried with vexation to tliitik how the pleasure of the little success
.vas tarnished by the trouble that was coming on her.

' ' Well, I will tell George and Dick everything this evening, at all
events," she thought ; but she had lost her chance, the momentary
hesitation had been unfortunate.

It was .ipproaching the time of George's usual return from the
office that evening, and, having made herself and all things ready
for him and that other brother she loved so well, Marjory took out
her aunt's letter and read it over once more. It was dated nearly a
week back and the post-mark was London. While conjecturing
what this might mean the door was opened in an emphatic manner
by tho melancholy Mrg. Stokes, who said, *' There's one seeking you,
miss." Before Marjory could reply, Ellis 8tf)od before her.

'• I do not suppose you are very glad to see me," he said with his
peculiar fine smile.

"No, of course not," exclaimed Marjory, on the impulse of the
moment ; speaking, as she too often did, first and thinking after.
" That is, I am not exactly sorry — it would be too ungracious to say
so; still, y( u known, you do not deserve that I should be glad.
How strange it is to see you here ! " She gazed at him, half smiling
as she compared his distinguished figure, hie fashionable attire, and
the homely room in wh.ch he stood.

•' Do not apologise," he said ; " there is war between us, but even
in the bitterest warfare there are occasional truces. Imagine that I
am the bearer of a white flag ; " he held out his hand. Marjory
put hers into it with evident reluctance. *' Have I your permission
to sit down ? " he asked, as he released it.
♦' Oh, certainly."

** Then, before we quarrel afresh — as is most probable — let me
present my credentials." He took from his breast-pocket a small
oblong parcel, and laid it before her. ' ' Mrs. Carteret charged me
with this," he continued, " when I parted with her at Interlacken.
Are you not anxious to open it ? "

" It can wait," said Mar joy more collectedly as she recovered from
the surprise of his suilden appearance. She looked at him expeo-
tfintly, as if waiting for him to speak, which he was in no hurry to
do. He looked at her with keen scrutiny, and gradually a smile
stole over his face. " This is not exactly a palace of delight," he
said at length, " nor do you look as brightily youthful as you did,
though I am not sure the tingue of pensiveness does not make
you more womanly and attractive. Even now, if you were to bestow
a few caresses on me and pay, ' I love you,' I might lose my head
again for a short time. There is some change, some new development
in you, my sweet Marjory, which I don't quite understand."

" Pray do not take the trouble to try. lam very happy here — I
am of some use to my brother ; we have peace and freedom."
" And you are content to live over the shop?" he interrupted.

mj
wl

pit

ab(|

wel

anj
ladl
to

.am;>*'

A LIFE INTERI£ST.

347

ittle success

ening, at all
) momentary

rn from the
things ready
pry took out
ited nearly a
conjecturmg
hatto manner
seeking you,
her.
said with his

ipulse of the
linking after,
racious to say
lould be glad.
I, half smiling
3le attire, and

n us, but even
magine that I
,nd. Marjory
lur permission

bable— let me
ocket a small
et charged me
t Interlacken.

ecovered from
at him expeo-
in no hurry to
dually a smile
E delight," he
:w\ as you did,
)es not make
were to bestow
lose my head
development

stand."

happy here — I
eedom."
e interrupted.

" Don't you think lifu inij^lit have been brighter, might have otfered
H little more variety, had you not broken faith with me i An apart-
iiioiit in Paris, theatres, galleries, the companionship of my com-
punions, the "

"The necessity of masking my existence from my own friends,

tho doubtful position " interrupted Marjory in her turn. '* No,

Mr, Ellis ; 1 infinitely prefor the honest obscurity of my present
one ; and you — you like to torment and annoy me, but you know
you would not wish to marry meit/no." Ellis's face darkened as he
said slowly " No, Marjory, 1 would not marry you if I could."

*' Then " she began with animation, when Oeorge walked into

the room in his office coat and with rather untidy hair. He stopped
•liort oil the threshold, greatly surprised : " Mr. Ellia ! I had no
idea vou were in England."

" Only for & very short time," returned Ellis, rising and shaking
hands with him very cordially. ** I am glad to see you have so far
recovered the eflfects of your conflict with the madman — you are
really a very plucky young fellow."

" Glad you think so ; I fancy any man would have done the same,"
said Georgo, drawing a chair forward. " At any rate it has pushed
me on, for I have a very comfortable berth and the hope of a belter
when I am fit for it. It is jolly living here, with Marge to keep
house for me."

" That I quite believe," replied Ellis with air of conviction.
* ' And you feel no ill effects from the mauling you got ? "

" Not much now. The stump aches in bad weather and my head
was queer for awhile, but it is nearly all right now," etc. , etc.

Ellis conversed for a few minutes with every appearance of inter-
est, then he said blandly : " I shall not stand on ceremony with a
kinsman. I am here on a secret mission from Mrs. Carteret, to your
sister ; I was just opening the subject when you came in ; perhaps
you will be so good as to leave us for a few minutes."

" Oh, certainly," cried George. " It's a tine night ; I'll go and
take a turn. Perhaps I'll meet Dick and stop him ; he is almost
sure to come up to-night." So saying George departed.

" You had just received my ungallant avowal that I would not
marry you if I could with apparent satisfaction," resumed Ellis
where they had left off.

"Yes," looking straight at him with frank clear eyes. "I am
pleased to hear you speak honestly and sensibly. If you do not care
about me any more, which is quite natural, you can forgive me, and
we need not cross each other again."

" Ah ! you think you can get off so easily," said Ellis with an
unpleasant smile. " I should have thought so philosophic a young
lady as you are would be aware that tli^ e is a curious counterpart
to love, as ardent, as tenrcious, as ingenius. They run in parallel
lines, these passions, but now and then comes a cataclysm, when

!'■-

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'i'-i.' A

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348

A LIFK INIERES';

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'I' i ■

V :

the exiating order of things smu'sties up, and tl ese lines clash to-
gether — this othor potent passion is hatred."

" But," cried Marjory, shivering a little ; "you do not hate me.
A mere insignificant girl, who is heartily sorry for the trouble and
annoyance she caused you — you cannot hate me ! "

" You forget," s*iid Ellis sternly, " that you inflicted on me the
bitterest mortific«,'Lion and disappointment, the most utter defeat,
that man could suffer, and, my dear, delicate, disdainful Marjory,
I am determined to have as much revenge as circumstances will per-
mit ; yet I will not stoop to double-dealing. I warn you again, that
though I do not wish to marry you myself, nether do I intend you
to marry any one else, or if you do it will Le a desperate risk. No
man would like to wed a woman with your history."

" I know that," she returned with a bright smile that surprised
him. " But I am content never to marry ; on that point I have
quite made up my mind."

" Have you ? " said Ellis, gazing very intently at her with knit
brows. ■ iou are not the woman to go through life without loving
— loving passionr^tely, I count on that. It strikes me the secret of
the indefinable change I notice in you is that you already love — your
readiness to renounce maniage suggests that between your love and
you some barrier intervens. Ila ! I have guessed right," he added,
as Marjoxy coloured crimson and the quick beating of lier heart
might almost be heard.

'■ A barrier will always exist between me and any oue I may love,"
she said, pride lending her composure. " How could 1 deceWe any
one I loved ? Do you think I would leave it to you to tell the tale
of my folly, or do you think I could face the shame of confessing it ? "

" I cannot conjecture what you would do," said Ellis moodily.

" If you only came to see me to reiterate M'hat you have told me many
times before, I think you might have spared yourself trouble and me
pain. Vou have released me from my promise and I am not the
least afraid of your chreats ; there can be no use in your remaining,
and still less in our e er meeting aga-i. If you can help it, don't
hate me ; if you cannot, why, it is woi-se for yourself than for
me."

" I do not think I do hate you, Marjory, after all," said Ellis in a
softer tone. " You exercised an extraordinary influence, some spell,
upon me, and I don't think it is quite exhausted yet. You are the
only woman I ever met who is transparently true, and when I am
with you I am honest from coitagion. How I should have liked
always to live under the influence of that contagion is another
matter. However, I owe you a large debt, and hatred or no hatred,
my sense of justice to myself will compel me to pa,y it whenever I
can. I ruspect the first instalment is being lodge'.^ now, or 1 am
much mistaken. Good-bye, Marjory ; J ^^m going up to town to-
night and shall not "

',» !

'^^^K'

A LIPB INTEREST.

S49

lines clash to-

) not hate me.
16 trouble and

ited on me the
it utter defeat,
nful Marjory,
ances will per-
fon again, that

I intend you
srate risk. No

that surprised
t point 1 have

t her with knit

1 without loving
ne the secret of
3ady love— your
n your love and
ght," he added,
ing of her heart

oi^elmaylove,"
^ I deceWe any
to tell the tale
confessing it ? "
^llis moodily,
ve told me many
f trouble and me
d I am not the
your remaining,
I help it, don't
urself than for

, said Ellis in a
jnce, some spell,
You are the
land when I am
lould have liked
Igion is another
red or no hatred,
it whenever I
['^ now, or 1 am
up to town to-

He was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Dick followed by
George.

" Have we come in too soon 1 " asked the latter. "It seemed a
long time and Dick there is raging for his tea." Dick bestowed a
stiff bow and a very stem look on Ellis. Not speaking a word to
Marjory he planted himself beside the fireplace.

'* Oh no — by no means," replied Ellis graciously ; *' we had dis-
cussed our secrets and wero talking on mere commonplace subjects."
He rose. " Then you will write fully to Mrs. Carteret yourself," he
said, offering hia hand to Marjory ; " and so 1 must reluctantly wish
you gocd-evening. Glad to have found you so well," shaking hands
v/ith George. "Ah ! my friend, the young mason, still dabling in
dtones and mortar 1 "

"Still doing honest work, I hope," returned Dick 3^^^ply.

" Indeed, not a common style of art," and with a general bow and
a warning look to Marjory, which she alone perceived, he retreated.

Dick looked after him, the most angry expression Marjory had
ever seen on his face, and then turned his eyes on her with no dimi-
nution of displeasure, to her great surprise.

"ToMivert attention from herself she exclaimed : "Let us see
what Aunt Carteret has sent me," and proceeded to open the parcel
Ellis had left -yith her.

Unfolding n. any papers she came to a neat morocco case, on open-
ing which a bracelet, brooch, and earrings of classic heads carved in
lava appeared. Marjory exclaimed and admired them more warmly
because Dick was ominously silent. What could be the matter with
him?

"Are they not pretty, Dick ? " she persisted, holding out the case
to him.

" Yes, they do credit to Mr. Ellis's taste," he said >^arelessly.

" But tLey are Aunt Carteret's choice. Do you suppose Mr. Ellis
would make me a present ? "

" I do not know, I am sure," contemptuously.

" Come, Marge, let us have tea," cried George, and no more was
said. The trio, however, were out of tune ; Georf;e rattled away as
usual, but a curious embarrassment hung round Marjory and Dick,
though the latter made an effort to throw off his ill-humour.

" I wonder what a high and mii^hty chap like Ellis thought of find-
ing his relations in a sky parlour over ifHcos," said George when his
hunger was somewhat appeased. "He says he is a relation, doesn't
he Marge ? "

'• I suppose he is, and I am sure it is not much matter what he
thinks ; he is going away to London to-night, and probably we shall
never see him ag.iin.''

" I don't believe that," said Dick empliatically, though in a low
tone.

" You don't seem to like our illustrious cousin," exclaimed George.

350

A LIFE INTEREST.

It '

I >i

\titi''

" No, I do not," very decidedly.

"Well, I do. I know when I went down to stay at l^angforcl
Priory I'd have gone to smash with old Carteret and his wife if Ellis
hadn't backed me up. It was wonderful the way he used to finish
what I wanted to aay, pick me up when 1 stumbled, and that was
pretty often, for I was altogether in strange sounding down there."

*' Yea," said Marjory thoughtfully. " It would have been quite
awful at Langford if Mr. Ellis had not been one of the party."

No one spoke for a few moments after this, until Dick suddenly
changed the subject by observing : —

* ' I have not heard from Brand for two or three days. I don't
know what he can be about ; he ought to be doing his work here."

" When is he coming? " asked Marjory.

"I do no know exactly. There are some letters for him, and I
am not quite sure where to send them. I wish he would coma
back."

Soon after Dick rose to leave them, the cloud which hung over
him all the evening not yet dispersed.

*' Will you come with young Rennie and me over to Hollishead to-
morrow ? We are going to look at a horse his governor wants to
buy. It will be a pleasant outing if the weather is fine."

"No, thank you," returned Dick promptly. "Brand may be
back and I should not like to be out of the way." He paused and
looked very steadily at Marjory. "Are you going out too ! "

" Who ? — me ? No, of course not. The boys don't want me."

" I shall be free to-morrow about three, as it is Saturday. I have
a letter or two to write and then I will come on to you, if you will
have me," said Dick turning to Marjory.

" Very well," but somehow the idea of his coming did not give
her unmixed pleasure ; she felt in an indistinct way that she was to
be called to account and she braced herself to do battle.

" I do not know what has come to Dick," cried George when they
were alone. ' ' He has turned quite crusty. I walked nearly as far
as his lodgings before I met him and he seemed all right, but when
we came near here I thought it was too soon to come in, and told
him that Ellis had come with a message to you from Mrs. Carteret.
He grew as black as night, and said he did not suppose you wanted
us tr keep away, and that Ellis waa a double dealing schemer. What
did he mean. Marge ? "

* Oh, George ; how can I tell ? I think Dick mi?st have some-
thing on his mind ; he has not been a bit like Iiimseli lately."

She sighed and fell into a fit of deep thought while George talked
of his intended excursion next day, repeated some witticisms of
Forbes Rennio, and finally demanded her folleat attention to the
question of a new «v«rooat for the winter.

li! I ' t

■V.^JJ

A LIFE INTEREST.

S51

skt Ijangford
wife if Ellis
,ed to finish
nd that was
[own there."
J been quite
party."
ick suddenly

lys. I don't
work here."

: him, and I
would coma

3h hung over

Hollishead to-
rnor wants to

e."

Jrand may be

[e paused and

t too ! "

t want me."

urday. I have

)U, if you will

r did not give
bat she was to

le.

)rge when they
id nearly as far
ight, but when
le in, and told
Mrs. Carteret,
ise you wanted
chemer. What

rst have some-

i lately."

George talked
e witticisms of
ttentiou to the

Away in London, Brand waited with impatient patience- if such
an expression may be nsed — for Mrs. Acland's appearance. Return-
ing from Leighton Abbot he removed from the hotel to obscur*
lodgings, both for safer communication and for cheapnec?.

A wonde '?ul change had come over the Bohemian.

The companionship of his son seemed to have transformed his
nature. The simple directness of Dick's character, his broad kindly
spirit, his deep sense of justice, awoke both respect and affection in
the father's impressionable heart, and roused in him the desire to
attract and deserve his regard. He was deeply penitent for having
deserted his boy, for haviug believed liis mother unfaithful on insuffi-
cient evidence. He had been so irritated, so outraged by her con-
tempt, by her reckless display of rage and regret at having married
him when she found her hopes of his being heir to a fine estate fade
away, that he was ready to accept any doubt as proof against her.
Now he was more embittered against her than ever for her cold-
blooded cruelty to his son ; he would far more readily have forgiven
her attempt on his own life had he known of it. Of this, however,
he was in total ignorance. He was much puzzled as to how the
bottle of chloroform came to be so near him, as by no effort of
memory could he recall anj attempt on his own part to draw it to
hi.n or to open it. A vague kind of unacknowledged idea that his
wife must have some hand in it, but how ? He had asked the cham-
ber-maid if she had seen the lady who was with him, and she had
replied, "Yes, the lady was going to the stairs." That seemed to
settle the question. Well, he had escaped at all events, and now he
was quite as determined to live as old Maynard himself.

" I wonder," he murmured to himself as he sat tete-a-tete with his
pipe, "which of us will win in this waiting race. He is more than
twenty years my senior, but then he has an untried constitu i >n,
while I tampered with my vitality and am but the wreck of what 1
was. He is animated by hatred— and — I am buoyed up by love.
Which has the greatest staying power ?

" How shall I break it to Dick ! I dread — and long to do so. He
is fond of me in a way ; how will ae like to know I am the father he
has been taught to look upon as a dastardly deserter ? Well, he
shall know all he has to thank his mother for. Yet for his sake 1
am disposed to spare her. It will be an awful crash for that unfor-
tunate Acland. What can he do ? I wonde" did she tell Blake that
I have come to life again ? I fancy he has been her counsellor and
confidant all through. She might have been a different woman per-
haps but for liim. Still her heart must have been stony by nature
or she never would have treated her son — sucl) a son — so cruelly,"

He looked at his watch— one o'clock. Was that woman coming ?
It was an hour after her own appointment. If she came and they
could arrange sonic place of action, «• me system of coinmunication,
h© would return to OoekltoKumh. He pined tube once more with

352

A LIFE INTEREST.

his son — to open his heaxts to him ; tc drop in and have a quiet chat
with Marjory, of whom he hrd grown quite fond, to sketch her
pretty brown head, or excite Gd^^^e's boyish laughter by descrip-
tions of life among the negroes of the Southern States, cr the keen
Yankees of the North.

Yet another hour, and Brand's patience was exhausted, still he
did not like to go out. He took his pencil and the sketch-book,
without whi^h he rarely moved. He was now really industrious,
"'orking hard to maintain himself and save his annuity, to leave a
little ready money to Dick. Now that would be taken from him.
Almost unconsciously his hand drew the outline of his son's head ;
the occupation brought tranquillity. Brand had no business out of
doors— the day was damp and dull — so he drew on ; then an idea
for a picture crept over his brain, and h« sketched that. At length
the shadows of the now early-closing day gathered over him. He
was surprised to find it was so late, and sat on in the dusk building
castles in the air about Dick's future.

"A telegram for you, sir," said the little servant of the house,
rousing him to a sense of the troublesome present. He opened it
and read, *' Cannot come. To-morrow at twelve, without fail."

CHAPTER XXXV.

A BATTLE WITH FATE.

I ■

When Mrs. Acland so readily promised to meet Blake, her rapid
brain darted upon a plan by which she hoped to play off one enemy
against another. Philip Cranston was evidently disposed to spare
her for her son's sake. She would throw herself on his mercy, and
interpose him between herself and her persecutor. She would tell
him her difficulties, and get him to meet Blake in her stead. Then
they would fight it out ; whatever was the upshot she would be in
no worse case than she was at present, and should Philip succeed in
buying or bullying Blake, he would be easier to deal with than the
coarser foe.

With this view she made the appointment with Brand (as he must
still be called), and almost enjoyed the picture her fancy drew of
Blake's dismay when the apparition of his former friend, whom he
had so basely deceived confronted him.

Still she could not shake off the chilly sense of dread and reluct-
ance to encounter her former husband ; she felt as if he must, in
mt>eting her eyes, divine that she almost succeeded in murdering
him.

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A LIFE INTEREST.

35n

t quiet chat
sketch her
by descrip-
r the keen

Ded, still he
iketch-book,
industrious,
r, to leave a
jn from him.
son's head ;
isiness out of
then an idea
t. At length
er him. He
iusk building

of the house,
He opened it
tiout fail."

lake, her rapid

I off one enemy

posed to spare

his mercy, and
She would tell
Ir stead. Then
L would be in

hilip succeed in
with than the

land (as he must
\ fancy drew of
Hend, whom he

Lead and reluct-
J if he must, in
l\ in murdering

If indeed he could be induced now to aid her in dealing with
Blake, he had been preserved to shield her. But after ? how was
she to get rid of him ? How retain her pusition of lofty respecta-
bility ?

Let her defeat the more immediate enemy, however, and then
circumstances would guide her in dealing with the other. The
existence of her son wars one strong point in hei" favour.

So musing she partly recovered herself, but when her husband
returned to a sort of picnic dinner in their dismantled house,
he was much distrosaed by her extreme pallor and exhausted
air.

'* Very glad I persuaded you to see the doctor, my dear. What
hour are you to go to him ? "

" At twelve. I fihall go on to do a little shopping in Regent
Street, get my prescription made up, and then take a cup of tea at
the station, so as to be back at six or seven o'clock."

" I wish I could go down with you, but I have one or two partic-
ular appointments to-m:>rrow."

" Oh, do not trouble about me, I am not half so ill as you imagine.
I will write you a few lines after I see thf' doctor."

"You had better not get up to breakfast; I want mine earlier
than usual."

"Very well, dear."

Mrs. Acland breathed more freely when she heard the front door
close behind her husband. Fortune still favoured her ; she would
start a little earlier than she had intended in order to have more
time with Brand.

She gave directions to the servants who remained in the house
with her usual clearness, and was in the act of placing pencil and
paper in her little hand-bag when the front door bell sounded loudly.
Mrs. Acland started, with a sudden prophetic dread. Then the
servant came in with a note. Mis. Acland tore it open. It con-
tained but one line, " I must see you." No signature, nor was any
needed, neither dared she refuse.

"Tell the man to come in," she said, and shut her mouth close,
determined to fight to the last.

The next moment Blake crossed the threshold, his hat in his hand,
his hair a disordered tangle, lough and coarse from the attempts he
had made to bleach it a lighter colour, his blue spectacles awry, his
face pale and pasty.

" What brings you here ? " asked Mrs. Acland in a low fierce
whisper.

" The old thing, Ju, the old thing. I swear I am almost ashamed
of myself. But last night I happened to turn into a place- -oh, no
matter where ; they were |)laying euchre, and I took a hand, just
to while away an hour. I was in such wonderful luck, I thought it
would be a sin to stop ; then the tide turned. 1 thought to regain

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354

A LIFE INTEREST.

what 1 had lost, so 1 went on, till 1 hadn't a blessed rap left. I
thought I'd catch you before you went to meet the governor. Just
give nie a sovereign to keep me going till to-morrow ; then you know
you were to give me more cabh."

" I will not give ynu a s )U, you ruffian ! not if you were to ruin
mo by your treacliery the next moment," she returned in the same
suppressed tone of bitter hatred and indignation. " It is impossible
to buy safety from such as you 1 I give up the struggle, but I will
destroy you I 1 will inform the police that you have returned to
your old haunts, and you may tell your tale a ^linst me in the dock.
Ijet me pass," she added, advancing towards him with flashing eyes,
and a look of desperation on her set face.

*' Not to hand me over to the police if I know k," he exclaimed,
letting his hat fall and grasping her upper arm painfully hard.
*' How dare you defy me ? You know 1 can "

Mrs. Acland uttered a low cry, for as she stood facing the door,
she saw it open abruptly, and Mr. Acland with an air of amazement
entered exclaiming, "What is the matter? Let go the lady this
moment! What does he want ?"

*' The game's up, by " said Blake, grinding his teeth.

His voice struck Mr. Acland who had placed himself between
him and his wife, and now looking keenly at the intruder, said, in
tones of almosc awe-struck surprise," Good God 1 Why, is it Blake !
What — what do you want here ? "

" Money 1 " replied Mrs. Acland, who for a moment lost her self-
command, so infuriated was she by the frustration of her plans.
'* The coward thrust himself upon me in your absence, hoping to
extract money from me by a pitiable talc, and when he found I was
not to be imposed upon, he was about to use violence."

*' I was about to extract money from her," retorted Blake, taking
off his spectacles and glaring at the woman who stood to her ground
so resolutely. "Money I am entitled to because I have kept her
secrets and shielded her reputation. And if you are wise, you will
make up for what she has failed to give me."

Mr. Acland gazed first at one and then the other in bewildered
astonishment as if he but half understood what was going on.

" Money — secrets ! " he stammered, feeling that the solid ground
would crumble away next, that the end of all things was at hand.
" What — what does he mean ? "

Mrs. Acland was silent, nerving herself for a final effort to keep
her hold upon her husband. Blake, exasperated by l,er scorn and
defiance, cast all restraint to the winds. " 1 me;in that I know your
wife's history better than any one else I That 1 found a husband
for her when 1 began to fear she would be a drag on my own career ;
that she got sick of him, and nearly drove him out of his mind ; that
I held letters of iie-s v/hicli \vuulil niove vvhat T assuvt ; and <;hat
when I cune to a smash she !;ini.jlil cheui fiuui lUvi with tlie cash she

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A LIFE INTEREST,

355

rap left. I
/ernor. Just
len you know

were to ruin
I in the same
i is impossible
le, but I will
e returned to
le in the dock.
, flashing eyes,

he exclaimed,
•ainfuUy hard.

icing the door,
: of amazement
) the lady this

is teeth,
timself between
truder, said, in
^ly, IS it Blake!

ent lost her self-
of her plans,
nee, hoping to
he found I was

.8."

jd Blake, taknig

)d to her ground

I have kept her

re wise, you will

ler in bewildered

1 going on.

Ithe solid ground

Vws was at hand.

Lai effort to keep
Ly ler scorn and
[hat 1 know your
jund a husband
J my own career ;
[)f his mind ; that
Lfti.'vt •. and l;hat

stole from ymir safe, and laid the blame on her own son ! I can
swear to this, and if you give me up to the police, there is not a
crooked corner in her queer life 1 will not turn out to the light of
day. The world shall know what sort of a mother ymir children
have ! It is for you to judge whether it's worth while to make me
hold my tongue."

While he spoke Mrs. Acland watched her husband's face, and
saw that the accusation was too monstrous to be accepted by him ;
she saw, as by an electric flash, the value of her word against that
of a detected cheat, and when the alarmed incredulous husband
turned his eyes upon her she met tViom with a proud superior
smile.

'* Do you believe this probable tale ? " she asked. " No, I see
you do not. Yet I must insist ou your hearing my version of it be-
fore this liar's face."

" Let him begone first ! " cried Mr. Acland. " I shall claim the
protection of the police : let him escape if he can."

" As you will. My revelations will make fine food for the society
papers."

'* Hear me ! I insist on your hearing me," reiterated Mrs. Ac-
land, moistening her paiched lips with her tongue, and still keeping
a steady front, though she trembled with fear and anger.

" This man was the constant companion of my unfortunate hus-
band. 1 tried to keep him out of our house, seeing he was an evil
influence. He clung to the acquaintance, because he believed he
would make money of it when my husband inherited the property
which then seemed likely to come to him. He hated me because I
tried to win my husba,nd from bad and reckless ways. He sowed
dissension between us, then, when I was alone, he appeared anxious
to atone for the past. Finally, being in sore straits, needuig money
to enable me to accept the position of companion, I took a small
loan from him. It was the only chance I had of securing the means
of existence for my boy ; this he declared I might pay back how
and when I could. My one error has been in keeping this hidden
from you, my best, my most generous friend ! Out of the allow-
ance you give me for my personal expenses I saved enough to pay
him by degrees, and the last instalment which cleared me of debt
to him happened to be paid just before he disappeared. There is
my story. I am ready to stand to it, in court or out of court."

There was a quiet l(X)k of deadly determination in her eyes as she
fixed them on Blake, who was himself staggered by the air of truth
she put on.

" Why, why did you conceal this from me? " cried Mr. Acland,
frreatly shaken — horrible visions of a magistrate's court, of evil
reports, of slanderous paragraphs, rising before him.

" Because I shrank from distressing you, but chiefly because I
feared, knowing your fine nature, that the idea of my h;i '.in-; received

';:iv

•

,:■(,

356

A LIFE TNTKRFST.

Ml ',^» 'I

llll!

m^f.:'}" ' ■ NH jj

help from him.*' — slie pf'intcd scornfully to Blalce, who wasstuniiK',
by the readiness aud plaMsihility of hor tlefence — " might have
helped him to jL^'ain a hold on you, too ! You know how anxious 1
was to t^et you out of his hands. Should I have ventured to act as
I did between you had that man held me in his power ? "

'* No, certainly not. Now you, you villain. Leave this house !
And remember I will inform the authorities of thi^ iuipudent attemjjt
to extort money."

*' She has the invention, the pluck of a hundred devils ! Still 1
will tell my tale if T am caught ; and romembc • ii <3nou^h mud be

'{.Q

B , T speak

■how, it is more for
i'' disappear, and 1
sht j» ve me yester

thrown, some v ' stick," exclaimed
truth, and you vviil find it out . :•. daj
your comfort and respectability tha*" i !>.l;
haven't a rap. I gambled away five pou:
day."

"Gave you yesterday," interrupted Mrs. Acland with infinite
scorn. " There is no limit to this man's lies ! Where and how did I
give you five pounds ? " then turning to her husband, " you know 1
had not five pounds about me ? I had to ask you for money for the
doctor's fee this morning."

"That proves a good deal," sneered Blake.

*' Begone ! " cried Acland, angry, alarmed, bewildered, yet still
believing in his wife. " Never let me see you again." His hand
moved furtively towards his pockets. Mrs. Acland with a sudden
gesture of dignified resolve seized it.

" No, Robert," she said, " you shall not give him a penny — my
reputation demands that you should not. I can bear the brunt of
his accusations. Who would believe his word against mine ! Lot
him go and do his worst. Yet I am nnt inhunian ! Should he
escape detection, and return to confess the infamous falsehood ofj
what he dares to assert, to hnmblo himself before the woman he has
tried to ruin, I would not hold your hand. I would give him the]
chance of repentance and reform."

" There is small chance of either," said Mr. Acland. "Coma
leave the house, or I will seek help you would not like."

Blake looked straight into Mrs. Acland's eyes. " Your match,']
he muttered, "was never created, but," with a deep curse, " yoiij
have not done with mc yet."

An awful sense of deadness seized Mrs. Acland as he disappeared!
She could afford to breathe, but what an abyss of danger stilff
yaw lied under her feet. She had contrived to throw a plank acrosj
it — would it bear her safely to the other side ? Still, she had gaiuH
time. All depended on her oAvn courage.

Strange compound of contradictions as are most natures, in thU
desperate pass, though hardened to the f)itch of being ready
dare any crime rather than bo beaten by the traitor who tried
Racrifice her, the thought of her children nearlj broke her doAM

me,'

.mm-

'^i'ivfM*kMimkA

A LIFE IXTEUEST.

357

lo wasstuniK I
-" might havi
liow anxious 1
tuiccl to act as

ve 'this house '.
pudent attem])t

levils ! Still 1
3nough mud be |

1, T speak

, it is more for
sappear, and 1

ve me yester

id with infinite
■e and how did 1
rl, " you know 1
)r money for the

Idci-ed, yet still
ain." His hand
d with a suddeD

m a penny— my

ear the brunt of
inst mine ! Lot
an ! Shcnild he
ous falsehood of
\e woman he has
id give him the

Come

and
ke."

•' Your match,
(^,p curse, " you

ho disappeared.

of danger stil

)\v a plank acres

, she had gaine

natures, in thi!

beincf ready t«

tor who tried t<

)roke her do^vn

They were at once the evidence and support of her highly-prized
resiJectability ; her feeling for the boy Herbert was the nearest
approach to real alfection she had ever known. She had become so
accustomed to tlie quiet ord / routine of an easy assured life that
the idea of its being torn froi her was insupp n table.

She sank cjchaas*-ed into a ihair, whil'^ these thoughts crow :ed
upon her.

" He is an awful ruffian," «,id Mr. Acland, too muc!. upset by
the fear of scand;i] ;uid gossip) to think oven -f his precious wife.
" It is perf<'cfl/ iri;,htful to think c' the Unsciuef such a fellow can
do," and ho began t(» walk up and down ; "as he said, some mud
is sure to stick."

" There is no danger in him, except to those he can frighten :
rest assured he will be here on his knees to-morrow. T do not fear
him, — what I do f*ar is your just dis' leasure for bringing such
annoyance on you by my foolish attempt to spare you the humilia-
tion of knowing tliat I was indebtcid to that wretch. Can you for-
give me, Robert."

" Yes, yes, of course ; but what .stops ought I to take to silence
him ? You were too procipilate in stopping me when I was going
to secure his .silt.-nce. Imagine the terrible ciroct his scandalous
charges would have, if mad-i public. Our laws ought to provide
some safeguard against the machinations of such a scoundrel."

" The only chance of preservation from them is to defy them."

" But did you know tlie fellow, before you married Cranston ? "

" Yes, for a short time previously," she returned with unflinching
readiness.

"It is well," resumed Mr. Acland, pausing in his troubled walk,
"that 1 returned in tinfe to protect you. On reaching the office J
found that a man I expected on very particular business was obliged
to leave town, so as Cross was there, I returned at once, intending
to go with you to the doctor's. 1 am appalled by this dreadful
attack ! Tlie truth or falsehood of such a story is of little conse-
quence to the scandal-mongers; all fJiey want is a nine days' wonder,
the stigma of which will stick to you — to us — however innocent you
may be,' and he resumed his walk.

" It is enough for you to know I am innocent, in order to uphold
me," she returned, struck by his indifference to the shock she had
sustained, compared with his somewhat cowardly fears for his loss
of character througl) the imputation cast on hers.

" Why did you not tell the whole truth about that scoundrel, and
his loan to you ?"

■'It was a fatal mistake, I own; but, Robert, I am bitterly
punished in seeing you turn against me in my hour of need."

" I do not," cried Mr. Acland imjjatiently. His hitherto infallible
wife had lost her prestige in admitting her errcu', and his tone had
-hanged. "I am of course ready ti) stand by you, but I wish you

.".58

A LIFE I\TKI;K.ST.

f.l

II:

l»^[

Iflli

li;id not disiiiisKeJ the fellow so siuirply. It wnuM bo wiser to make
tei'iiia with him. Tlui whole alliiir is frightfully horrible."

" 1 shouhl have been false to you, to my self-respect, had I per
juitted hill) to parley with yon. Oiice give him hush-money, and
you bind yourself to pay a steadily increasing black-mail ; the fact
of paying anything would ruin your case and my reputation. You
cannot believe me, Robert, or you would never dream of giving
blake ' hush-money ' ? " she sank into a chair, and burst into tears
— real tears, thankful to have an excuse for this relief. She felt
her brain turning.

"Yes, I do believe you, my dear, and I am afraid you will be
made seriously ill," he exclaimed, softened by her distress and
reassured by her courage. " I suppose it is too late to see Dr.
Nesbett. But you must stay in town and see him to-morrow.
Telegraph to nurse that you will not return this evening ; you had
better lie down, and have some wine or tea, or something."

Mrs. Acland assented. How was she to get rid of her present
husband? How was she to conmmnicate with her former spouse 'i
The toils were closing round her, her courage was failing ; suppos-
ing she succeeded in her bold defiance of Blake, nothing could
avert the disclosures of Biand. He would help her to silence
Blake's, but as regards his own, she had no power to silence
him. Still, come what might, were he as helpless in her hand
to-morrow, she would not attempt his life. She was safe from
detection, even he could not have no idea whose hand had brought
him so near death, and she began to see he might be more useful to
her alive than dead. Her own pluck had won her a moment's
breathing time, but Blake would return.

The memory of her first husband's generosity, his unselfish
tenderness, the chivalry of his nature, came back to her, — all that
she used to despise, — and something within her, which yet was not
herself, seemed to say the strongest, the most adamantine cannot
get through life altogether without the sympathy, the disinterested
help of their fellows ; were all like her the world would be a scene
of moral carnage, v/ere the ultimate conqueror would be left to
perish in his isolation. Had the husband towards whom she had
been so cruelly hard been by her now, what amount of slander
would have made him shrink from her ! How he would have
laughed the fear of gossip to scorn, if he believed her. If she could
but sleep and get a moment's respite from thought, anything to rest
her overstrained nerves.

Presently Mr. Acland came into the room softly. Ho said that
as he could do her no good he would go back to the office and clear
oflf some letters, so as to be able, perhaps, to go out of town with
her to-morrow.

"Do, dear," said Mrs. Acland. " If I feel equal to it I will go
out for a turn later, the air may do me good. Don't fret yourself,

"'" '••ihililMft

A LIFE INTKRKST.

:»59

w isu'V to make
bio."

'ct, had I per
h-inoney, and
nail ; the fact
utation. You
•cam C)f giving
urst into tears
jlief. She felt

id you will be
r distress and
ito to see Dr.
im to-morrow,
ning ; you had
bhing."

of her present
ormer spouse 'i
uling ; suppos-
nothing could
her to silen-je
iver to silence
ss in her hand
was safe from
nd had brought

more useful to
ler a moment's

his unselfish
her, — all that
ch yet was not
nantine cannot
le disinterested
uld be a scene
ould be left to
whom she had
)unt of slander
would have
1 f she could
mythingtorest

Ho said that
office and clear
of town with

to it I will go
t fret yourself,

1 feel sure that ilroadful man will not trouble you again. Shall you
consult with Mr. Cross?"

" With Mr. Cross ? No ; certainly not. Do you suppose 1
should mention such a disgraceful matter to him V Shull I tele-
graph to nurse ? "

"No, thank you, I want to write a line to her."

Some hours later, as day closed in, Mrs. Acland rose, dressed
with care, ate a biscuit and took more than one j^lass of dry sherry,
an unusual excess for her, as siie was nearly a total abstainer. Then
she bent her steps, which she was alarmed to feel were somewhat
unsteady, to the post-office, whence she despatched two telegrams.

When Brand had read the telegram, he put away his drawing and
took up a volume of French memoirs, into which he dipped from
time to time. The light j^race, the keen semi-cynical ol)servation
of its pages amused him, and diverted his thoughts withijut costing
his brain much effort. From this he 'vas disturbed by the announce-
ment of " A gentleman for you, sir," while the speaker, an ordinary
lodging-house slavey, handed him a card, " Captain Hugh Cran-
ston, R.N. , Junior United Service Club."

"Show him in by all means Glad to see you. How did

you find me out? "

" By inquiring at Charing Cross, where you said you were stay-
ing. I am not very satisfied with the state of things, and I thought
I should like to have a talk with you," said Cajjtain Cranston, draw-
ing a chair beside the table which held Brand's book and hunp. " 1
suppose you have no objection ? "

" No, I am glad to see you. We were good friends enough in the
old times— how long ago — some twenty-five years ? "

" Yes, quite that. But you look as if it were longer, Philip."

" I daresay I do. I have led a very difierent life to yours. But
there is not much to be gained by looking back. Tell me, how did
you leave that poor old fellow, our uncle ? "

"In a curious feverish excited state, determined to live and yet
acting as if he wanted to kill himself. I wish he was not so pre-
judiced against you."

" So do I, and I fancy it is half envy because I, with all my evil-
doing and short comings, have a living thriving aon, and his has
been wrenched from him."

" He was always a man of strong unreasonable prejuflices, and
physical weakness seems to have increased them. First, I want to
tell you that he has had his solicitor down to Leighton Abbot, and
made a will bequeathing me all he can. His savings have been
very considerable. This alone, should you outlive him, will make me
richer than I ever expected or indeed cared to be. Now 1 want to
know what you are going to do about your boy. If he is to inherit

't'fl

i:'.r

360

A LIFE iS'TKIlKSt.

iiii

this fine property, ho oui,'ht to bt; prepared for it in some way. I
should like to see him. VVhut are your pl.uis and views i "

*' I have none," returned r.rand slowly ; '" and I do not feel dis-
posed to make any. Dick is well educated — a great deal better than
the generality of heirs. He has full eiii{)loyment in a life he enjoys ;
I hesitate to disturb him. He has more than usual firmness of
character, but we have both seen so many men, men full of promise,
ruined by the shifting lights of delusive expectations, that I would
rather spare iiim that trial. I may die before Maynard ; you may
marry. He had better stick to his trade."

" I do not thir.k there is a more confirmed bachelor in Europe
than I am," said Captain Cranston, smiling. '* I should feel ashamed
were I to hold back a helping hand from my young kinsman or your-
self, and I fancy — though you have certainly made mistakes — that
you have had hard lines generally. I do not want to be intrusive,
but don't you think that you oujiht to tell your son who you are V
He ought not to be kept in the dark any longer."

" 1 know that. My difficulty is the mother. I want to spare her
as much as I can- though 1 do nnf know that she particularly
deserves consideration at luy hands. Still, I Avronged her, undoubt-
edly. I have been meditating how I shall break the painful news to
that unlucky A eland. Ho jnay wish her to divorce me in order to
marry her hhnself, to which proceeding I shall of course oflFer no
opposition. It is a most unfortunate affair for their children, and 1
now regret I did not avow my existence three years ago. She im-
plored me to keep it dark, and I then thought it was the best thing
I could do for all parties ; who could foresee the turn affairs would
take?"

" Who indeed ! No doubt all deviation from the straight and
open road is fatal, but I believe you acted to the best of your judg-
ment ; now I am convinced your only course is to make a clean
breast of it to both Acland and your son. It is a curious complica-
tion."

" You are right, yet I half dread opening the matter to Dick.
He is fond of me now. If I see him shrink from me I could not
bear it. I never thought I could love any creature as I love that
lad."

" I think you are more sinned against than sinning. How old is
he ? "

" Three-and-twenty. His mother docked him of a year, but he is
twenty-three, all told. I have been reflecting that I might tell him
my story in a le. er and then talk matters over with him."

" Perhaps it might be the best plan, but lose no time either in
writing or opening the matter to Acland. You owe him what repar-
ation you can make."

"I know that. The day after to-morrow I will make some
decisive move."

e way.

•t feol (Ub-
oetter than
he enjoys ;
irmnesa of
3f promise,
it 1 would
; you may

in Europe
el ashamed
lan or your-
bakes— that
) intrusive,
o you are 'I

to spare her
particularly
jr, undoubt-
nf ul news to
in order to
rse offer no
dren, and I
0. She im-
e best thing
flfairs would

traight and

your judg-

ake a clean

as complica-

ber to Dick.

|I could not

I love that

How old is

lar, but he is

Ight tell him

18 either in
[what repar-

make some

A LIFR INTEKUST.

361

*' 1 suppose Miiynard will fultil his threat to stop your annuity.'

" 1 Imvo 111* doubt he will. In fact, having broken the conditions,'
I could not with decency accept it. The worst of it is, (mo cannot
8tir in any direction, where law is concerned, without putting your
hand in your {utcket."

" No doubt. Well, Philip, this is such a curious case^so desper-
ately hard on your unoftendintj son — that I am willing to assist you."

" And for his sake 1 am willing to accept your assistance. I had
better consult some sound lawyer before communicating with
Acland. Unlucky devil ! 1 wonclor if he will stick to her."

" Hard to say.'''

" As soon as I have had advice I will let you know."

After a little more desultory talk Captain Cranston rose to say
good-bye.

*' You have done me a real service by your visit," said Brand,
shaking hjinds with him warmly. " You were always a good fellow,
but I never expected you to stand to me like this. Whether 1 live
or die you will be a friend to Dick. You two will be sure to be
friends."

When he had striven to eat some dinner and settled himself to his
solitary evening, he took pen and paper, determined to pour out his
confession to his son. He wrote and tore up what he had written
over and over again, till midnight found him still struggling with his
painful task.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A TUSCOVERY.

Marjory had various errands out of doors tlie day following the
visit of Ellis, and by the time the short autumnal day had begun to
close she was somewhat tired and glad to sit down. There was a
^ tinge of uneasiness in her anticipated interview with Dick. Yet, on
the whole, pleasure dominated. He Wi. generally so reasonable
that she felt no doubt a little confidential conversation would make
them friends again, as they used to be. He had not been himself of
late, but never so decidedly cross as he was yesterday. Ellis always
had an irritating effecu upon him. So thought Marjory as she
arranged her hair and tied a knot of crimson ribbon round her
throat to brighten her gray gown.

Then she made up the hre, drew the sofa beside it, and regulated
the lamp. These preparations made, she stood in deep thought, one
little foot on the fender, the firelight dancing on her nut-brown hair

■•■'I

I 'M

362

▲ LIFK IN'I'KliEST.

I i

unci shilling in her wide open speculative eyes, as they gazed far
away into the dim future.

Though she expected him, Marjory was obli^'cd to collect her
thoughts with some sli^jht effort when Dick came m.

" It is a sharp dull evenintj," was his hrst, not very original
remark, " When do you think (icorgc will return ? "

" Not for some time yet." There was a pause. Marjory sat down
by the table, drew her workbasket, to her, and began to darn a pair
of George's socks very steadily. Dick watched her for a moment or
two in silence as he stood on the hearthrug.

" What lots of socks you must have darned, Marjory," he said at
length. *' I remember your first bit of friendliness to me was offer-
ing to darn mine ! What ages ago it seems."

" Yes ; and with your usual plain speaking you told me I did not
do them well." She gave him an arcli upward glance.

" Sometimes you did not," he returned, laughing, and showing
the fine white teeth under his thick golden-brown njoustaches. "I
don't think you are as touchy as you used to be, Marge." Then his
face grew grave and he did no' s})eak again.

It was some time since he had called her by the old familiar
diminutive of her name, and it thrilled her with a sad pleasure, yet
it was difficult to break the silence. W^hat had she better say? She
knew they were both thinking of a subject they half feared to begin ;
finally, with a sudden impulse, Marjory dashed into it, "Well,
Dick, if 1 hixd grown better tempered 1 think you have grown
worse ; you have been rather cross lately, and last night you looked
at me as if you could send me to a penitentiary ; I did not deserve
it." Eer colour rose and her lips trembled as she spoke.

" Perhaps not," he returned gloomily, and he threw himself on
the sofa opposite to her, leaning his elbow on the top and resting
his head on his hand ; " it set me mad to think of you sending
Gev)rge off, in order to give that fellow Ellis a chance of talking with
you alone."

•' But I did not send George away — Mr. Ellis did. You know,
having kept the secret from George, I could not contradict him —
Mr. Ellis, I mean — when ho said ho had a private message from
Aunt Carteret ; you don't suppose / wanted to talk to him ? "

"I don't knov what to think, Marjory. I hate that follow — I
fear his influence over you ; he has such a smooth tongue and wily
wa>s, I am Jilways in dread of his wimiing you yet ! "

•' You little know me, Dick. Why, my most earnest prayer is
that I may never see his face again ! When I had Aunt Carteret's
letter telling me that she was sending me a present by Ralph
Ellis "

' ' Then you knew he was coming ! " cried Dick, the colour leav-
ing his face, his blue eyes darkening witli anger as he sprang up
and paced to and fro, and you never told me — never consulted with

razed far

illect her

original

sat down
irn a pair
loment or

he said at
was offer-

I did not

I showing

ihes. " I

Then his

d familiar
asMre, yet
: say ? She
i to begin ;
. "Well,
ive grown
ou looked
t deserve

limself on

;d resting

|u sending

[Iking with

^ou know,
lict him —
Isace from

follow — I
and wily

prayer is

I Carteret's
by Ralph

llour leav-

[sprang up

ilted with

A LIFE INTEREST.

363

me how to avoid him I This 'loes not agree with what you say about
wishing never to see him again."

" Yet I tell you simple truth when I say so," cried Marjory.
" I scarcely ever have a word alone with you ; I cannot spealc lief.-re
(leorge, and I had an odd stupid hesitation about mentioning that
letter."

'' But you could have sent me a line — a word would have brought
me to you. I cannot tell you the pang it gives me to think of your
being alone with that double-dealing villain, who was so nearly
your husband. Why did you not send for me, Marjory ? "

" I don't know exactly — but," her voice grew unsteady, *'novv
that you are, naturally enough, taken up with the girl you love, you
do not of course care to be troubled so much, at least with rour
Bister."

*' My sister ?" repeated Dick, laughing harshly, and he resumed
his position on the sofa. " You have no right to say that."

" I assure you I am glad I did see Mr. Ellis alone, for it gave
him an opportunity of saying that he would not marry me if he
could."

" He said that ! " cried Dick in great surprise.
" Yes, he did indeed, and I believe him. I know he dislikes mo
now though he can't help worrying ; all he wants is to punish me
by preventing me from marrying any one else, and that is no
punishment — for you know, Dick, I could never even wish to marry
3,ny one."

Dick did not answer immediately. " Not now perhaps, Marge,
but there are a good many years of youth before you, and — and
some one maj makt you think differently. But at any rate that
fellow has given you bar^k the promise he extracted from you."

" I do not think he could release me more completely than by
telling me he would not marry me if he could.'*
" It's amazinjTj," murmured Dick.

"I cannot think it is. I am sure if I were Mr. Ellis I should
hate the sight of Marjory Acland ! "

There was a short pause, then Marjory said softly • * ' Now do you
understand me, Dick ? and can you spare me a little brotherly
affection from your black-eyed darling ? "

"No," he returned abruptly, his eyes growing dreamy and
gloomy. " I cannot spare a heart-throb -a thought of love from
the girl who has entered into my soul and dwells there. Let me
tell you how I love her ; she is always before me, when I work,
when I sleep — oh, it is best when 1 sleep, for then she comes and
bends over me and kisses my brow, and for a minute or two of
Heaven. I feel she loves me. Then I think how the hope of having
her with me always would give me power and genius ; of thedt^light
of keeping all troubles and griefs from her, of even bearing with her
when she is vexed, and winning her to reason — for the girl I love ia

■ m

<" I

■il

■ll'

364

A LIFE INTKKEST.

I» <

V. ■ '

no angel, but a bright \i\id creature not yet come to the full powor

old with

of her fine nature ; and I even aream ot growiu^

resting with her after we have borne the burden and heat of the day

together."

There was a wondeiful music in the low deep tones of his voice
that wrung Marjory's hc;irt with grief to think what a treasure had
been laid at the feet of another ; she could not speak.

" Do you think mo a sentimental fool, Marge ?" he asked with a
quiet smile.

" Indeed — indeed I do not," she exclaimed, with difficulty hold-
ing back her tears. " I only hope and pray that you may be happy
with the woman you love so well."

" I do not think I shall, Marge."

" Why ? Do tell mo more about her, Dick. Does she love
you 'i "

"Ah, no, I must not think of it. Now, Marge, I will not tease
you about Ellis any longer ; lot us bo fast friends— you feel for mo
so kindly that I am ashamed of being ill-tempered and jealous ;
besides, I ought to govern myself better — do you forgive me.
Marge?"

" Oh yes, Dick. I am never happy when I am out with you."

"Then shake hands upon it ;" he rose and took her hand, drawing
her from her chair till she stood beside him. "'There was a time,"
ho went on huskily, " when we made friends with a kiss ; why do
you shrink from me now, Marge ?"

"But I do not," she said, feeling strangely moved and even
frightened, yet resolved to accept his kiss as from a brother ; he
bent down, he nearly touched her lips, then he suddenly drew back
and almost pushed her from him, stepping back: "It is no use,"
he exclaimed brokenly ; " I dare not kiss you. It would not be
honest, I cannot keep back the words even though I distress and
shock you. You are no sister of mine. Marge. I want more than
a sister's love from you ; I do not surpo&o I ever loved you as men
love their sisters ; I never remember the day whan you had not the
power — first to wound, and then to charm me. I never had any one
to love but you, and no one else ever can be to me whnt you are —
perhaps you have perceived this, and turn from it as strange and
unnatural, conside;iug the relations between us. I always felt you
were dear to me, but hoic dear 1 never knew till that day you threw
yourself into my arms, and told me you had escaped from Ellis ;
since that it has been almost as much pain as pleasure to be with
you. I sometimes fancy that you have divined my feeling, for you
are changed — certainly changed. Now I cannot bear tha pain of
being with you, yet divided from you ; 1 will nnt offend you more ;
1 will keep away. I invented the dark-eyed girl that I mi'^ht relieve
my heart by confessing the love I had for ijon ! Marge, dear Marge !
there is no wrong in what I feel, <mly you have been accustomed to

-'-*»K.<.«..i-.^;. ^-ilpi'mtlUni

A LIFE INTERKST.

36ft

even
• ; he

use,
not be
SR and
e than
IS men
lot the
ny one
{ire —
;e and
It you
threw
Ellis ;
le with
'or you
ain of
more ;
relieve
[arge !
Imed to

look oil me as a brother, a somewhat unooiith brother, that no doubt
you will again consider me a nu>iister. Tell rue that you will forgive
me this outbreak ; I will never olfend again."

Marjory had stood quite still with wide-()i)en alarmed eyes which
slowly drooped, her hands clasped and pressed against her bosom,
giddy with the intoxicating delight his words excited ; when he
paused, her h.iuds unclasi)ed tliemselves to hide her face ; she
could not speak. Dick Cranst'n misinterpreted her gestui*e, her
silence.

"I am afraid it is all over with me in your estimation, Marge.
I will leave you. Pei'haps some day when you fall in love yourself,
you will be able better to understand and pardon me ;" he walked
to the door ; he put liis hand on the lock.

Then she cried out to him : " Do not go, Dick ; stay — stay with
me.

" It is only pain to us both, Marge ; I know your kind heart, and
I rage against myself for having burst the bonds which ought to
have held me. Good-bye."

" No, Dick, i will not let you go ;" she flew to him and clasped
her arms round one of his, pressing her cheek against it and
murmuring, '' I wish you to stay with nie always, Dick, always."

" But, Marge, if you knew the struggle — the "

" Then don't struggle ! Oh, Dick, don't you understand me ;"
her left arm stole across his chest to his shoulder ; she leant against
him till he could feel the throbbing of her heart.

"Why, Marge! Go. d God— is it poKsible you could — you do
love me ! I dare not hope it, Marge ;" then, as she still clung to
him, he drew ber back near the lamp, holding her from him to gaze
into her face. 'Speak !" he said hoarsely, "I cannot bear this
doubt another moment."

" Dear, dear, Dick 1 " the loving tenderness of her voice told him
more eloquently than the most abundant .-speech how dear he was;
a great light of pride and joy came to his eyes ; he lift his head elated
for an instant, then pressing her close to his heart, bent down to
seek the soft quivering lips so frankly given to his passionate
kisses.

" But I cannot believe it," he cried. " Marge, my darling, how
did you come to love so uncouth a follow as 1 am."

" I don't know," slie nuirmurcd, "but I somehow grew fond of you,
and that I believe was the reason I could not bring myself to marry
Mr. Ellis, but I did nf)t know it till— till you told me that frightful
story about your black-eyed young lady, sir ;" she tried to assume
a playful tone, though her voice trembled, as she strove to withdraw
from his embrace.

" Not yet," he pleaded, holding her fast yet gently ; " I am only
able to believe the reality of my joy while I have you in my arms !
Can life be the same thing it was ten minutes ago ? 1 f«el as if the

in;

BBt<IIMIimi**IIIWIWi

566

A LIFE INTEREST.

world was under my feet ; and you believed my transparent inven-
tion ? It was a blessed thought, if it taught you something more
than sisterly affection. Yet 1 am ashamed of the sort of infidelity
that made me profess even an imaginary devotion to black eyes — I
only care for these brown ones that danced before me for many a
long hour of absence. Marge, you can defy Ellis now. You may
tell him that between us he can never make mischief. Are you
sure you love me, that, it is not a feeling of pity melts your heart.
It is such a tender, true heart."

" I do not pity you at all," said Marjory with as good an imita-
tion of sauciness as she could manage, considering that she was so
agitated and shaken she could hardly stand. " You are a wicked,
deceitful monster— a worse monster than ever — but still a very dear
monster," she ended with a sob that would not be suppressed.

*' Now you must let me go, Dick, indeed you must."

"Then give mo another kiss, my darling! When your sweet
mouth is against mine I know you love me."

The bewildering delight this discovery of each other's hidden
treasure bestowed was too exciting to permit of much distinct or
continuous conversation. Yet time flew so fast that both were
amazed when George appeared, followed, to their annoyance by
Forbes Rennie.

"Give us some tea, Marge, will you ? We have had a long drive
since dinner."

"Sorry to give you the trouble, Miss Acland."

Of course Marjory was quite ready to bo troubled ; so tea was
prepared with some confusion a;ul many mistakes, which seemed
rather unaccountable to George, wlio had a high opinion his sister's
handiness and capability. Dick was very helpful, and had his witp
considerably more about him than Marjory expected. He talked
and laughed, and attracted the attention of the new arrivals to him
eelf, till George exclaimed, " Why, Dick, you are quite another man
to-night. Have you come into a fortune ? "

" Not exactly," with a happy laugh, " but I have made a splendid

find."

' ' How ? Where ? Toll's all about it. "

" If I were you George I'd cry ' Halves ' as Scotch boys do. F.h,
Mr. Cranston."

■•' No one shall share my treasure-trove," returned Dick.

"Well, but What is it?"

"Oh ! I will tell you by and by."

Possibly the reply sugg- st id to Forbes Ilennie the wi.domo."
leaving them alone to discuss ")'■,• na^t/^vs.

When he was gone, and George i 'I returned from seeing him off
the premises, he indulged in tho brint bnt lending question, " What's

up { „ . , ,

"Wo three jnust have nu S"^r« '%' 'hIu l)i'.^.f, layn.;,^ hii^ hand on

A LIFE INTKREST.

30'

mven-
more
idelity
yes — I
lany a
u may
:e you
heart.

iraita-
was 80
iricked,
ry dear

: Bweet

hidden
tinct or
h were
Liice by

ig drive

tea was
seemed
sister's
lis witP

talked
to him

er mail

iplendid

?M..

,dom yn

him off

What'p

lian

d on

Large

5 promised Uy

George's shoulder. " Prepare for a shock — M
marry me.''

" Good Lord ! but it— it's not lawful," cried George in dismay.

*' Yes, it is ; Marge and myself are in no way relatod, c oven
connected, there is no blood tic between us " — a few more exclama-
tions and explanations, then Gecn'go sat dinvn stunned. " \Vl\at a
fury the governor and your mother will be in," he said.

''Idun't think so," remarked Marjory, coining l)ehind his chair
and resting her arm round his neck. "They do not much care what
becomes of us. We must fight for our own hand. My father always
liked Dick."

" Why, you haven't a rap between you."

" I have no fear of the future," returned Dick, " but it will be an
awful long time before I can make a home (it for Marjory,"

" Perhaps that is all the better," said Marjory smiling, "you
know we are both ' ower young to marry yet."

" I do not see that, but at any rate 1 have something to live for
and work for now," cried Dick.

" Well, the ways of woman are past finding out — to think of your
ever consenting to marry the monsier," said George solemnly.

" And on the first time of asking too," said Marjory with a bright
blush and saucy look.

" What on earth will Brand say ? "

" Ah, Brand ! I had forgcjtten him, more shame for me ; he will
be enchanted — he adores Maige. Marge, we must .'ilwayri loo!: after
Brand."

" So the upshot will be I shall have to live alone,"

"Not for a long time, dear old Geordit ! "

" I'll tell you what it is, I'll marry some one riiyself,"

" Who ? " cried Marjory and Dick together.

" Mary Rennie ! " The newly cnga'^ed |)air laughed heartily, and
soon afttr, at Marjory's command, Dick withdrew.

The letter which had cost Brand so much pain and difficulty to
write he took care to post so that it miglit reach his son when he
returned from his daily work, that he uii'j,ht have the evening and
night to think over it, and compose hin)self before he went forth
again to hi., allotted task.

Dick, who was all impatience to join ]\I;u-jory and George as had
been arranged, was almost vexed to lind so thick a letter awaiting
him. It would take half-an-hour to read it. he thought ; then with
quick self-condemnation he thought how ungrateful it was to be-
grudge half-an-hour to his friend and benefactor.

The first words riveted liis attention ; with eager eyes he read it
throuL;h. The liisLory was clcai \y and dispassii^nately told, but little
was said of the deceit praol !;•('(! l)y the w liter's unsoru}>ul<>uH wife,

IH » M Mfl m i '» - tt Wrft^. U. .'^'WHtUP*-* ■

I'. 1\

36<;

A LIFE INTEREST.

!i:f

nor was .any mention made of tlie inheritance which might fall to
him. Brand dwelt much on the strouij temptation to hjave his wife
and son undisturbed in the certain and respectable position in which
he found them. " I know," he added, " that this was not strictly
honourable, but I was ill ; I believed I had only a short time before
me. Your mother's entreaties, and a certain promise I had given,
of which more hereafter, all combined to convince me that the best
and wisest course was to keep out of sight. Then came our acci-
dental meeting ; I do not suppose that it is possible for you, in the
first flush of youth and manhood, to imagine the quiet happiness I
found in the companionship of my son — to find that son a sympa-
thetic friend. How bitterly I lamented the wrong I had done you,
how profound the pride I felt in a character, a nature superior to
my own ; yet, my dear boy, I should have kept out of sight had I
not found it necessary for your interests to prove Philip Cranston
was still alive. I will not now go into this matter ; I long, yet
dread to meet you. Can you forgive your father ? If so, I will
come to you at once. Much remains to be told, and we must con-
sult together how best to shield your unhappy mother from the
effect my appearance will have on her fortunes. For Mr. Acland 1
have sincere compassion ; he seems to have been a kind friend to you,
and the break-up of his home, the unmasking of the wife in whom
he appears to have had the most absolute trust, will be terrible in-
deed. In her marriage with him your mother was blameless ; she
fully believed me dead, but her extraordinary enmity, and I believe
treachery, to you I can never forgive. Write to me, when you
have thought over this letter."

Dick's first clear idea when he had finished this strange outpour-
ing was pleasure in finding his father. He remembered with warm
satisfaction the remarkable attraction Brand had had for him from
the first — hia next, that this newly-found father had been basely
blind. Then what did Brand — no, his father — mean by speaking of
his mother's treachery to himself ; was it the insinuation that he
took the money from Mr. Acland's safe ! He was always suspicious
cf her, in spite of his mental resistance ; still, there was a very evil
quarter of an hour before them all ! How would it affect Marjory ?
What a painful story to tell her, even though she need not hear all
the details. She would always bo true, that he could no doubt, but
her father might strongly object to her marriage with the son of the
woman, who had brought so much misery and shame upon him.
Still, neither that nor anything else should prevent their living to-
gether. Marge, dear, sweet, saucy Marge, loved him, and this
inspiring consciousness would enable him to remove mountains.

Why should cool deliberate experience sneer at the divine folly of
youth ? What can life give of after-triumph to compare with the
boundless realm of joy and faith which a first ardorit hnp])v love
bestows? It iuay be but a brief [jos^cssion, yet while it lasts it is

't Ht:

jtti

A LIFE INTEREST.

SG'J

light fall to
bve his wife
on in which
not strictly
time before
; had given,
tiat the best
le our acci-

you, in the
happiness I
on a sympa-
id done you,
) superior to

sight had I
iip Cranston
; I long, yet

If so, I will
ve must con-
her from the
Mr. Acland 1
iriend to you,
vife in whom
)e terrible in-
ameless ; she

and I believe
le, when you

mge outpour-
sd with warm
for him from
. been basely
ly speaking of
,tion that he
■ys suspicious
[as a very evil
feet Marjory ?
d not hear all
[no doubt, but
)he son of the
le upon him.
eiv living to-
[lim, and this
ountains.
ivine folly of
ire with the
it hnpi)y love
it lasts it is

real ; and in hearts of the higher order even to the end, *' the sceiir
of the rosea " haiiLTf* round its moniory, lending the charm of fullf r
compassion to whatsoever things are pure and iuvely and notjlo ; for
love informs as much as knowledge.

How glad he was to think that Marjory always liked Brand ; they
would get on well together, and she wo'ild help him to make the
rest of his life peaceful and happy. To Dick's kindly nature the
idea of having a parent he could regard i^ith sympathy and affection
was delightful : it removed the sense of isolation which used, not
exactly to depress him — nothing had ever shaken his quiet self-
reliance — but to make him grave, reserved, and waiy. But what
was to be done with Mrs. A.cland ? ha rarely named her " Mother "
in his thoughts — that w.is a problem beyond him. He must wait
till he consulted with his father to answer the question.

He looked at his watch ; it was too late to post for London that
evening. He would go and see Marge, tell her and George of the
wonderful disclosure he had received, and write a long letter to his
friend and father before he slept.

Having made a rapid but careful toilet as a lover, he issued forth,
and a few steps from his own door ran against George.

" Why, what has brought you here ? " he cried with vague un-
easiness.

" I have a note for you from Marge. Mrs. Acland has met with
a bad accident, and my father has desired Marge to come home im-
mediately, for everything is at sixes :ind sevens. I have just seen
her oflf by the 5.50 express for London."

CHAPTER XXXVH.

THE CLOUDS BREAK.

That letter to his son cost Philip Cranston infinite pain. The
whole night long he pondered what ettect his confession would have
on Dick's truthful straightforward mind. Hitherto the yourtg man's
evident liking for him and confidot^^e in him had been inexpressingly
cheering ; now he dreaded falling in his estimation.

The tii'st glance at his fine expressive face would tell how lie had
taken this revelation— even the expected answer might convey it,
for Cranston thought he should be able to read l^etween the lines.

Yet he was glad it was done, that his son knew the truth. No
matter how urgent, how implorin;]; the mother who had treated him
BO cruelly might be, she could not undo what had been dune.

Cranston felt weak, unnerved, \meqnal to the impending inter-
(24)

11:

370

A L?FK I NT KH EST.

;■ i

view with his wifo, and waited her coming with impatience, eagtr
t'j have it over.

Then he might he free to go back to his boy, if his reply
was all he hoped for. If not, well — he could think of no alter-
native.

But the weary hours of that terrible morning rolled on, and again
Mrs. Acland failed tokeej) her appointment.

This greatly puzzled Oranst(;n. It was of the last importamoe
to her to confer with him, and it would be something very unusual
for her to be foiled in her purpose twice. He was at a loss what
to do. He did not like to make inquiries at her house, lest he
might meet Acland. He dared not write. Perplexed and uneasy,
he resolved to wait till nightfall, and if she did not appear, to
seek his cousin Captain Cranston at the Minerva Club — as he
no longer need avoid the haunts of men he used to know — and take
counsel with the scieutitic sailor.

Captain Cransbm was not at his club, however ; he had had
a telegram that afternoon which had obliged him to go out of
town, and he left no address. Pliillip meditated on this infor-
mation as he walked slowly back to his remote lodj^iugs.

Had the ' <'"Mnons been to the vindictive old man who clung
so i ' ;>aeir Utjiy < / his rank aiid riches, and was he ill or dying?
"Was Dick to find a father and a fortune at one stroke ?

*' It is ill covetin-Tj deu I men's ahoes, when I am rejoicing over
a living son," thoui,'ht Cranston, resolutely turning from a pleasant
fancy-sketch of Dick installed as master of Leighton Abbot, and
doing credit to his name and race. "There is nothing for it
but patience. I daresay Hugh will write to me ; I cannot hear
from Dick at the earliest befoi-e Tue^ilay evening, and that is more
than sixty hours ; I must get through ohem ac best I can."

It was a trying interval. Mrs. Acland .made no sign, and
Cranston scarcely liked to leave the house lest he might miss
some communication from. her. On Tuesday morning came a few
lines from Captain Hugh. Mr. Maynard had insisted on driving
without an overcoat in an open carriage, had walked a considerable
distance to inspect the progress of some farm buildings he had
begun for a new tenent ; a sudden storm had come on, and before
he could reach shelter the old man was drenched ; next day he
had a severe feverish cold, which soon became bronchitis, and
he was then in a very precarious condition having been weakened
previously by his excessive grief for the loss of his grandson.

"I think," continued the writer, "it would be well if you
made yourself known to Messrs. Thorpe and Son, Lincoln's Inn.
my uncle's solicitors, I enclose a lino of introduction. They ought
to know your existence, and might be useful to you in many
ways. My own o}>inion is that the poor old man cannot ]>ull
through, though the doctors think it is possible he may recover.

i;'

nee, eager

f his reply
)f no alter-

, and again

mportamoe
sry unusual
a I0B8 what
ase, lest he
ind uneasy,
J appear, to
nub— as he
,v— and take

he had had
, go out of
I this infor-

1 who clung
.11 or dying?

ejoicing over
)m a pleasant
1 Abbot, and
>thing for it
cannot hear
that is more
|an."

^o sign, and
might miss
,g came a few
S on driving
[ considerable
[dings he had
, and before
I next day he
[mchitis, and
>en weakened
[idson.
well if you
.incoln's Inn.
They ought
lyou in many
cannot ]'ull
may recover.

^^^"^'Tm^mmm

A LIFE INTEREST.

371

Atwell, the great chest doctor, came down this afternoon, and ap-
proves what the other men have done."

" No, said Philip Cranston as he slowly put the letter back in
its envelope. " I will not trouble the lawyers while the poor
fellow lives ; it will not make any difTorence, especially as Hugh
is ready to acknowledge me. I will stick to the house till I get
Dick's answer."

*'The day drags on thout,'h storms keep out the sun," and this
long spoil of weary waitin;.^ came to an end. Cranston had lit the
gas, and opened a book with a desperate intention of attending to
it, when a letter was handed to him. At sight of the address
his cheek grew pale, and his long slender hands trembled ; he hesi-
tated to open it and paused before he hastily tore off the envelope,
and with a beatin<_' heart read the contents eagerly, thirstily ; then
he sank into a chair rnumuring. " Thank God ! thank God 1 " and
in silence and solitude of his quiet room he covered up his face and
wept. He had a son then — a son who loved him already, who was
reidy to condone his offence and compassionate the sorrows which
he had partly brought upon himself. How he longed to press the
boy he had learned to love so much to his heart. English
though he was — to show him to his friendly cousin Hugh — to boast
of him to the whole world !

But the conclusion of the letter demanded his attention. '* I have
just heard that my mother has met with a serious accident, and
Mr. Acland has just sent for Marjory ; pray ascertain what it is,
and come down as soon as possible I long to see you and con-
sult with you ? we have a difficult and trying task before us."

*'This complicates matters," was Cranston's reflection, when
he was able to divert his thoughts from Dick. " It would have
been better for herself had she been saved from death what is
before her." *

Late as it was, Cranston sallied forth, and hailing a cab, was
soon set down at the door where he had recognii^i'd his wife in the
beginning of this true history.

He rang the bell, and waited anxiously before it was answered.

" Is Mr. Acland at home ? "

'* No ; master's away at the hospital."

*'Then could I see Miss Acland ?"

'* I am sure I do not know ; she is in sad trouble."

**Pray give her my card."

"1 don't think she will see you," said the girl. " Step inside."

In another moment she came back, and in a changed tone said,
" Please walk into the dinning-room, sir. Miss Acland will be
down directly." The room was oppressive ; a solitary gaslight made
its darkness visible ; the fire burned low.

Cranston stood by the table, thinking of the terrble confusion
he was about to bring upon tbeiunocent family — of the shameful story

372

A MKK iNlTfiliESl.

he was compelled to tell. Marjory at least need not know
the whole of it. But she was besido him, with a sad grave face.

'• Oh, Mr. Brand, 1 am so j^iad you have come ! Have you heard
of the dreadful accident to Mrs. Acland ?"

"Dick has written to mo to in(iuirc particulars, so I venture to
intrude upon you."

*' I do not know much myself ; my father is in such distress that
he could scarcely speak to me. It seems that on Friday afternoon
Mrs. Acland had gone out to send a telegram to nurse, who is still
with the children at Folkestone. I suppose she went to shop after,
for crossing one of the streets lending out of Edgcware Road a cart
coming round the corner kn(*ckcd her down ; she was taken up
much bruised and insensible, so they carried her to the hospital.
The doctors are afraid the si)ino has been injured, and that she may
be paralized in the lower limbs. She cannot be moved yet, and my
poor father )« "ove *'» the hospital, though he is not allowed to see
her, she was so dreadfully agitated the first time he went. They
say she will be quite helpless ; think what a fate forsuch an active
masterful woman ?

*'It is appalling ! " exclaimed Cranston, deeply shocked. How
cruel it would be to attack a prostrate helpless creature whose
sufferings demanded forbearance.

'* You used to know her, and Dick's father — was he really as bad
as Mrs. Acland makes out?"

"I was rather partial to him," returned Cranston gravely,
" so I may not be a fair judge ; but he did not seem a bad fellow
to me."

" I am sure he was not, or Dick would not be as nice as he is,"
said Marjory thoughtfully. " I hope you are going back to liiui
soon, Mr. Brand. You will be a comfort — he is so fond of you ?"

" Is he ?" said Cranston with a happy smile.

" Yes, indeed he is, and you will let George come to you in the
evening too, I hope, as I shall not be able to leave my father for a
long time, I fear. He was so dependent on Mrs. Acland. I do
not know what will become of him. When she can come homo I
am sure she will wish me away ; she never could bear me, and now
she has been so suddenly struck down I feel ashamed of dis-
liking her so much."

"I do not think you have reason to be ashamed of yourself. It;
is, however, probable I may remain in town some time longer — i
perhaps Dick may join me. Meanwhile, should Mrs. Acland wich'
to see me, I will leave my address with you." i

"Do you think she miLjht wish to see yon? " asked Marjory, withj
such evident surprise that Cranston felt she had heard Mrs. Acland i
express an unfaxttuiable opinion of him. i

"She m;<v tind it nrcrss-ary to confer with me r<\'<p'>rting sotne
matters ; iiut I liave ;:,ro.s[>assed too hmu on you.'

-M

A LIPR IVTKRKST.

373

not know
e face.
you lieanl

venture to

itress that,
aftonioon
vlu) is still
}hop after,
load a cart
s taken up
e hospital.
j,t she may
et, and my
kved to see
int. They
h an active

ked. How
ture whose

eally as bad

m gravely,
I bad fellow

;e as he is,"
back to hitn
id of you ?"

[) you in the
Ifather for a

land. I do
jome home I
[le, and now

led of dis-

lourself. It,
]iie longer— 1
Vcland wich
J

larjory, withj
\lrs. Acland!

■ctinu 3i»me

" I wish you could stay — or that 1 could ask you to stay," said
Marjory, blushing and hesitating. " It is awfully lonely — the chil-
dien are away — and it is better to keep tlioni away. My poor fatlier
does not seem to know wliat to do. I think it is a comfort to him
to find nio here when he comes in. 1 will write to Dick to-night
and tell him you have been here."

"Do so. (Judd-night, my dear young I;i'ly." He stooped and
kissed her hand in a tender, fatherly fashion that touched her ; the
tears sprang to her eyes. " (ntod-bye, I am so glad to have seen
you." He left the house, and walked on in the deepest perplexity.

What was to be done ? It might bs better to break his painful
tidings to Acland while it was impossible for the unfortunate woman
to interfere, and arrange some plan for her future when she was able
to bo moved. On one point he was resolved ; she should confess
the truth respecting the money he was convinced she had taken.
Should he attempt to see her in the hospital, or lay his statement
hofore Mr. Acland ? He could come to no decision.

Meanwhile, the wretched woman who occupied his thoughts had,
as her mind recovered its powers, gone down into a hell of antici-
pated shame and exposure. She knew she was powerless to move
—absolutely at the mercy of her foes. She knew the weakness of
the man she had ruled and dominated — that he was only a broken
reed and if he listened to Cranston and believed him as he must,
his horror of scandal, of being a nine days' wonder, the subject of
newspaper paragraphs, would turn him too against her. Her only
hope of Tuercy was from the husband she had desj)ised and driven
away. She felt that life was over for her, and she would fain have
ended it, but lacked the physical power that would have given cour-
age enough to do the deed. Her mental condition did not escape
the notice of the doctors, who told Mr. Acland that his wife's re-
covery, so far as she could recover, was retarded by her evident
uneasiness, and exhorted him, to ascertain, and, if possible, to
remove the cause.

The cause was clear enough to Mr. Acland. All could be ac-
counted for by the dreadful threats of Blake.

His own fears prompted him to buy the rascal's .silence — to do
anything to avoid the horror of publicity. But how to trace him
was the question. He had left no address, and any attempt to dis-
cover his whereabc/txt might only lead to his apprehension. Still,
Mr. Acland hoped that his necessities would com])el him to aj)ply
once more either to Mrs. Acland or to himself. Nor was he mis-
taken. The fifth day after the accident, ho was almost rejoiced to

receive a short note signed B , the writing of which was well

known to him. It stated that the writer, being penniless, had de-
termined to give himself up to the police and reveal everything, if
within the next week he was not furnished with funds to fly the
country.

, ii
lit I I

1»

!;1
..J

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

|;U|28

|50 ''"^"

IIM
III—

1.8

U IIIIII.6

c>^

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSHO

(716) 872-4503

374

A LIFE INTEREST.

" 1 will not endanger myself by going to you," he contiuued,
" but I will keep indoors for the next three or four days, and you
must come here. Ask for Mr. Eisenberg. If you have any sense
we will soon settle matters."

This effusion bore the address : '* Schmitt's Coffee House, Crown
Street, Prince's Road, Kennington."

Mr. Acland did not hesitate an instant in deciding to keep the
appointment. He hurried away to the hospital, where his wife had
been placed in a private room and surrounded with all that skill
and care could do to allevia*:e her sufferings. He would show her
the note, and assure her he would buy off" the needy scoundrel
whose venom they both dreaded. Mrs. Acland had now recovered
from the stunning effect of the shock she had received. Her
bruises were less painful, and she did not suffer any acute pain ;
she even began to hope that the terrible numbness which made her
lower limbs inert might not prove incurable. She had been at first
exceedingly averse to see her husband, his presence exercised a
peculiarly disturbing efTect upon her, but now she asked constantly
for him, and he was always ready to sit by her and listen to her
moans and complaints.

Having then begged the nurse to leave them for a few minutes,
he read Blake's note aloud in a hushed tone, and proceeded to assure
his eager listener that he was determined to arrange matters so as
to free her from all apprehension in future.

'* I trust you may be able to do so, but it would be wiser to defy
him. I leave all to you ; I only wish I were not to be a burden to
any one," she returned feebly.

"Do not talk like that, my dear, the doctor says you are doing
wonderfully well ; we must hope the best."

" Ah ! we must — see — " moving her hands on the coverlet, *' my
hands are quite right. I think I v-ould use a pencil — give me yours
and that note," she began to scribble on the back of it, *' Yea, I
can write, that is oomething. I wish you would leave mo both the
note and pencil. 1 have a few ideas I should like to note down as
to what you should say to Blake," and they came so slowly.
" But 1 am afraid you may let the note be seen."
" Trust me," she returned, smiling grimly.

** Let rao take the address," said Mr. Acland, much perplexed.
He did not dream of refusing his wife, yet he dreaded the note
being seen, and he was impatient to get tiie interview with Blake
over. " I should like to have seen him to-day, if possible."

*' Better not. He will be more ready to come to terms if you
keep him waiting."

" Well, perhaps so ; I am afraid I am staying too long."
" It does not seem long," she said softly, '* I wish, dear, you
would give me a little money ; the daynurse has been peculiarly

good to me-

-T should like to make her a present.

■»^m

A LIFB INTBREir.

376

tiuued,
nd you
ly sense ^

, Crown

:eep the
wife had
hat skill
how her
coundrel
•ecovered
i. Her
ite pain ;
made her
en at first
zeroised a
constantly
en to her

' minutes,
>d to assure
tters so as

ser to defy
burden to

are doing

lerlet, " my

re me yours

"Yea, I

10 both the

,te down as

perplexed.

}d the note

with Blake

ile."

terms if you

I, dear, you
In peculiarly

•' Certainly." He gave her a sovereign and some silver.

" Thank you ; I suppose I must let you go ; be sure and call to-
night or to-aiorrow for iny ' ideas.' "

As soon as he was gone, and nurse installed with her needle- work
beside the tire, Mrs. Acland asked very quietly, ** Have you any
envelopes, nurse ? "

♦'Yes, ma'am."

•♦ Will you fetch me one ? " *.

*♦ Law, ma'am, you do not want to write a letter ? "

"Oh no," smilmg, "only to enclose one Mr. Acland baa for-
gotten."

'♦ Very well," and nurse left the room.

She returned in a few minutes, and handed an envelope to her .
patient. *' There," said Mrs. Acland, smiling sweetly as she slipped
Blake's note into it, " see how well I can write," and she addressed
it to Mr. Cranston, Camden Town lodgings. "Now," she added,
" get a stamp and post this at once, if you would ensure me a quiet
day. Here, take this to pay for the postage and for — discretion."

" Dear me, ma'am," said nurse hesitatingly and eyeing the
sovereign, *' I hope as how I am not doing any wrong."

♦♦ That is my affair— go, take it instantly ; it is on my husband's
business." Her tone of command iu) posed on her attendant, who
left the room. When she returned, the patient appeared to be in a
profound slumber.

The few words Marjory had spoken to him dwelt in Philip Cran-
ston's mind, and seemed to run throu<,'h the tangle of his perplexed
thoughts like a pleasant strain of music. What a sweet sympathetic
voice the gipsy had — what bright steadfast eyes ! How fond she
was of Dick— and he — did he himself know h»jw he loved her ? To
Cranston's experience, the condition of his son's heart had long been
perceptible — but how would the matter end ? He was not sure of
Marjory, and when the true state of affairs became known to Acland,
he might very naturally refuse any further communication with a
man who had been fatal to him. Well, the solution of this and
many other difficulties could not be anticipated.

He wrote to Dick thanking him for his prompt and affectionate
reply, and advised him to give up his present employment, or ask
for leave of absence, as his presence in town might be necessary.

rjory,

and

He gave him the particulars of his interview with
described the nature of the accident to Mrs. Acland.

Then he resigned himself to wait, nor was it long before the cur-
t9in drew up on the last act of the drama.

The following morning brought him no tidings of the wretched
woman he knew was burning to sec him, and he was debating

376

A LIFE TNTBREST.

whether he should attempt, with Marjory's help, to see her, when a
telegram was luid before him.

" My uncle died rather suddenly this morning about 5-30. Have
written to Thorpe that you will call to-morrow before noon."

The paper fell from Cranston's hand, and for a few niinutes he
strove in vain to realise the immense change in his fortune ; gradu-
ally, as his eyes cleared, he felt that one difficulty — want of money
— was removed. For this he was thankful, otherwise no sense of
exultation swelled his heart for a moment. He hated poverty, its
ugliness, its privations, he loved the power of (jivitig — but as to rank
and riches, with their accompanying parade, their irksome necessity
for being constantly in gala costume, he hated them also,

*'I wish the poor old fellow had not dislikea me so much ; I
fancy he thought me even blacker than I was painted ! Well , Dick
must play the part of the noble squire, and pay the penalties of
wealth and position, while he gives me a corner of the big house to
paint and smoke in. If this had come a few years sooner, hew
Judith would have queened it as Mrs. Cranston Maynard of Leigh-
ton Abbot. Ah ! few women ever had so stony a heart, so iron a
will as she has. I wonder if she will recover ? if determination
could compel and conquer nature she would rise up from her bed to
make the most out of our present crisis." While he reflected,
Cranston prepared to set forth and keep the appointment Hugh
had made for him.

The detiiils of the meeting with the family solicitor would lengthen
this chaj>ter too much. Philip Cranston found that his cousin had
prepared the legal mind of Mr. Thorpe for his claims. The highly
respectable solicitor himself had had some dealings with the nephew
of his old client years ago, and though he was so changed, recog-
nized him, the more readily because Captain Cranston had no doubt
of his identity.

" It is fortunate," said the sedate punctilious lawyer, ** that your
cousin's recognition of your claims preclude any necessity for litiga-
tion. These cases of disputed identity are most tedious, costly, and
uncertain. Captain Cranston is a man of most honourable princi-
ples, and I am sure you will be glad to know that your late uncle
has bequeathed him the whole of his very large savings. Our ex-
cellent client lived very quietly of late, and you will find the estate
perfectly free from debt or encumbrance of any kind. Indeed his
administration of the estate has been admirable — most admirable ; "
he sighed as he repeated this note of admiration.

*' Ah ! " returned Cranston with a smile, " I see you fear for its
management in my hands. My dear sir, I have a son who is the
moat prudent of youths. I shall leave everything to him and to
yoi<, my dear sir."

" We shall be happy to do our best for you as we have done for
our late respected client," returned Mr. Thorpe complacently ;

-#t1:^

-/^:'!,^mimi

A LIFE INTEREST.

377

when a

, Have

luteB he
; gradu-
i money
sense of
erty, its
8 to rank
necessity

much ; I
rell.Dick
nalties of
T house to
iiier, how

of Leigh-

BO iron a

>rmination

her bed to

reflected,
lent Hugh

Id lengthen
[cousin had
:he highly
he nephew
/ed, recog-
[d no doubt

f* that your
y for litiga-

costly, and
ible princi-

late uncle
Our ex-

the estate
[indeed his

Imirable ; '

I fear for its
Iwho is the
lim and to

re done for
iplacently ;

'' meantime, it might suit yuu to have a small sum lodged to your
credit at some bank, for current expenses till the formalities con-
nected with your succession are arranged."

" I should be much obliged," —some further talk and then Philip
Cranston drove to the hospital and inquired for Mrs. Acland. She
was not so well, having had a bad night, and was unable to see Mr.
Acland that morning. There was no more to be done in that direc-
tion, so he went away back to his little lodging more oppressed than
elated by his sudden accession of wealth and responsibility.

On entering his sitting-room he beheld a letter lying on the table
— a letter addressed to him in pencil. He tore it open and found
Blake's note ; on the back was written, *' Prevent their meeting,
for God's sake ! Get him out of the country — I am helpless.

"J. A."

Blake in London ! Blake within reach ! All Philip Cranston's
easy unambitious supineness vanished at the idea. This was the
one man in existence towards whom he was actively implacable. To
punish the treacherous scoundrel who had deceived him from first
to lasti — whom the woman he had once tenderly loved preferred to
himself, and from whose cowardly persecution she was suffering —
would be the keenest pleasure. It was not too late to begin the
attack. He would at once seek the tiger in his lair. No need to
spare cab hire noiv. He only paused to write a hasty line to Dick,
directing him to come up directly — his presence was much needed.
Then he drove off to the address given by his intended victim.

When, after a restless night, Mr. Acland paid his usual morning
visit to the hospital, he was dismayed to receive so bad an account
of his wife, and finding that he could do little or nothing at his
office he returned in the afternoon, hoping to be admitted.

Mrs. Acland however was in a profound sleep, from which she
was on no account to be awakened ; so he turned away with a heavj'
heart, and after walking a little way in uneasy thought, determined
to disobey his liege lady for once, to go to Blake and so bargain
with him that he might have the good news that all had been made
safe when next he was able to speak with his wife alone. The very
idea of action gave him courage — he would not wait for her ideas.
In a matter of bargaining he was surely to act on his own judge-
ment.

It was a long and dreary way to the obscure alley where Blake
had run to earth — a tavern of the humblest description where a
little coffee and a good deal of beer was dispensed. A huge piece
of boiled beef and a basin full of flabby lettuce were set forth
alluringly in a window thick with dust of ages — such was the Caf^
Schraitt. A stout man in a grimy white apron, who was conver-

378

▲ lilfK INTERU6T.

•'I

you

sin^ afi^bly with a group of customers, answered Mr. Acland'a
inquiries. *' Eisenberg, ay — this way," opening a door into a dark
passage, ** turn to your right and go upstairs first floor front. He
said he was expecting a gent." Id was an evil-smelling passage;
the sand with which it was strewn grated under Mr. Acland's neat
well-cleaned boots. The darkness was sufficiently visible to pre-
vent his tumbling upstairs, and the first fioor being a little lighter
he made out a door at which he knocked, and was desired to
**Come in."

The room he entered was dull, dirty, disorcered. There was a
square of carpet from which all trace of pattern had disap[>eared, r
fire fast dying out, before the fireplace a hearth strewn with ashes
and torn scraps of paper, a table covered with dark American cloth
much marked by the bottoms of tumblers, some writing paper, a
penny bottle of ink, a much corroded pen, the blue spectacles and
a stumpy pipe lay on it. The atmosphere was redolent cf brandy
and stale tobacco. Mr. Ac'and felt it was degradation to breathe
it. Blake was sitting at the table in his shirt sleeves, his rough
unnatural-looking hair, his grubby coloured shirt, his much-befrogged
coat hung over a chair, his dogged unkempt aspect all seemed in
keeping with his abode.

*' Ha ! Acland ! " he said, rising with much composure,
expected you yesterday — better late than never. Glad to see
had the sense to answer my summons.''

His affrontry abashed Mr. Acland. He felt as if he should never
be able to purify himself from even such a momentary contact with
such an unsuccessful rascal.

" Sit down," continued Blake, as he noticed the hesitation of
his visitor, " the chairs ain't first rate, but they'll do." Mr. Acland
reluctantly took one of the three worn, horse-hair covered seats which
were available.

** I do know that I am sensible in coming here against my wife's
wish and advice, but "

"Ay ! she is a. plucky one — never met her match ; she always
was since I knew her, and that's— let me see — well on for thirty
years — Lord, what a figure she had 1 "

*' I do not care to hear your reminiscences," returned Acland
with an unspeakable sense of loathing which showed in his face.
"Nor do 1 believe your unwarrantable assertions against Mrs.
Acland. Her reluctance to make terms with you is sufficient proof
of their falsehood. But since your audacious intrusion into my
house, circumstances have changed." He paused.

** Oh, I see ! you are not the least afraid of any disclosures I may
make. You only came to assist me out of pure benevolence 1 " said
Blake with a contemptuous laugh.

"1 do nothing of the kind," returned Acland sharply, "Mrs.
Acland has met with a very serious accident, and is still lying in

sej

-,iim^

'-^msm

A LIFE INTEREST.

379

Aclaud'*
o a dark
mt. He
passage ;
nd'a neat
e to pre-
,le lighter
lesired to

jre was a
jpeared, R
vith ashe*
ican cloth
y paper, a
jtacles and
; cl brandy

to breathe
, his rough
i-befroggod

seemed in

posure,
to see you

hould never
joatactwith

lesitation of
Mr. Acland
I seats which

Lst my wife's

; she always
,n for thirty

rned Acland

in his face.

against Mrs.

Ifticient pro<^

jion into my

llosures I may
lolence 1 " said

arply, ': Mrs.
still lying in

the hospital where she was tirat taken. 1 dread the H^'itation of
your threats. I want to be able to assure her that slie ia safe from
your reappearance."

" She is not going to die ? " cried Blake eagerly, with emotion of
some kind.

'* God forbid — she may be unable to move for some time, but " —
his voice broke — " do not name her again," he exclaimed fiercely,
for so quiet and respectable a man. " Tell me what you want, and
I will do what I can ; but do not suppose I will sacrifice much for
you."

*' Then we will cut it short. I want twenty pounds down now to
clear out of this, and three hundred pounds in a week to keep out of
sight."

*' That 1 will certainly not give you. I will give you ten pounds
to get away to Havre or anywhere else, and I will give you two
hundred and forty pounds, spread over three years, paid quarterly,
at any address you like, to be forfeited if you come to England or
molest me."

"Pooh ! a beggarly eighty pounds a year. What good would
that do me ? "

'* Nothing can do a gambler of your sort any good."

They chaifered for some time. At last it was agreed that Acland
should give him the ten pounds down, a hundred when he gave
an address at Havre, and another when he landed at Buenos
Ayres.

Blake at once pocketed ten sovereigns with which Acland had
provided himself, and they were trying to devise some form of
agreement which might bind each to the other, when the door was
suddenly dashed open and Cranston walked quickly into the room,
pausing opposite IBlake. He was looking better and younger than
when he introduced himself to Mr. Acland as Brand. Blake's face
grew a dirty white, his eyes dilated with terror and amazement ; he
started up, and drew back as if with the instinct of flight. "My
God ! " he stammered, " Philip Cranston, alive ! How is this ? "

"Yes, Philip Cranston, alive enough for the purpose of punish-
ing you. Dog ! I am in time to prevent your imjtosing on another
victim ; from me you can hope nothing. You can injure me no
more."

To this rapid exchange of question and answer Mr. Acland
listened, almost too stupefied to understand fully, except that a
stunning conviction that Brand was the real husband of his adored
wife, .md that she had known he was alive for some years. It was
no matter what happened now, all was over.

"That will do !" cried Blake, struggling to regai . courage and
self-possession. " What is the use of d sturbing every one when
rou can do them no good — you have no money ; what the devil has
brought you here."

:\^0

A LIFE INTEREST.

(t f|\

- . I ^
■ I ,

fl'!

Tu take posiiessiun of the Maynard estates ; my uncle is dead,
and I have succeeded him."

" The game is up," said Blake, sitting down with a sullen air of
defeat. " With a bank against you there's no use showing fight ;
and — and Judith, does she know ? "

" She does ; it was from her I had your address."

** And she never let me know that you were alive, devil that she
is!"

" I am at a loss how to address you, Mr. Acland, you suffer most
from the concealment I have practised," said Cranston, turning to
him. *' Whatever course you and your legal advisers think best
for you I shall agree to. Let me beg of you to make no terms with
this scoundrel. Nothing he can say can do you much harm ; leave
him to his fate— it will no doubt be what he deserves."

'* But, Cranston, I "

"Silence," said Philip sternly. '* There is no use in appealing
to me. If I trust myself longer in your presence I shall not be able
to preserve my self-control ; your rascality puts you beyond the
pale of com])assion. I warn you that I shall give notice to the police
f)f your whereabouts."

"But," said Mr. Acland, who had risen and stood trembling in
every limb, '* ray first duty is to shield my wife — " he stopped and
exclaimed with a groan, " but she is not my wife ; what will become
of her, what is to become of my unfortunate children," and he sank
upon a chair.

" Ay," said Blake with devilish spite, "the son she persecuted
and threw the blame of her own theft upon will hold up his head
MOW ; there ia no stain of illegitimacy on him."

Acland, driven almost mad by his taunt, with a cry of, " Liar, I
do not believe you ! " attempted to throw himself on the speaker,
but Cranston interposed.

"It is not for men of our age to commit personal violence," he
said, " let us leave him to the law ; come, there is no more to be
said."

" I do not know what to do or where to turn," said Mr. Acland
helplessly. *' Are you really my — my — Mrs. Acland's first husband ?
Will you take her away ? "

' ' Most certainly not ; she is the last creature in the world I
should like to associate with, but I wish to do what is right and just
by her for my son's sake. We are both too eld to begin life again ;
let us be guided by the interests of the young creatures who depend
upon us — my son and your daughter have little to thank his mother
for."

He opened the door while he spoke, and Mr. Acland went slowly
and mechanically out of the room. Cranston turned one backward
glance as he followed on the defeated vagabond who stood as if
turned to stone, his head dropped, his figure shrunk together ; then

7'1t1Mlllflt

A LIFB INTEREST.

381

U IB

dead,

illen air of
ring fight ;

rW that she

Butfer most

turning to

think best
I terms with
aarm ; leave

n appealing

1 not be able

beyond the

I to the police

trembling in

stopped and

,t will become

' and he sank

,e persecuted
up his head

of, " Liar, I
the speaker,

violence," he
more to be

J, Mr. Acland
^rst husband 1

, the world 1

[right and just

\m life again ;

s who depend

ak his mother

u. went slowly
fne backward
lo stood as if
)gether ; then

he hurried after the miserable man whose home had been destroyed
by his reappearance, and who seemed hardly nble to take care of
himself.

Cranston, as soon as they were in a thoroughfare, hailed a cab,
into which Acland entered as if moving in a dream.

♦' Where shall I tell him to drive to i "

*' I — I don't know ; I have no home. I will go to see Mr. Cross,
No. 15 George Street."

He rolled away out of Philip's sight, and they never spoke again.

*' It's a curious eddy of the stream that sent me to help my
successor. Well, he was a good f rieuvl to my son, though per contra^
an indifferent father to his own daughter. If it cost her life, I will
make that woman confess the truth about that money. I wonder
did she conJ live to put that bottle of chloroform under my nose?
No, it is not possible, she had left the hotel. Ah ! the complications
of reality leave fiction far behind. I don't think we shall be troubled
with Blake again ; and to-morrow — to-morrow, I may see my son."

So Cranston communed with himself as he walked norchwards,
till, overtaken by a hansom, and suppressing a wish to pay Marjory
a visit, he uiade the best of his way home.

CHAPTER XXXVin.

THE END.

It was a dismal period to Marjory. She soon began to feel there
was a vague unpleasant veil of mystery wrapping itself round her
father and Mrs. Acland. She M'as thankful when, after Uie first
week, the children were recalled from the seaside, and an increase
of household cares kept her busy. Dick's letters were brief and in-
termittent ; there seemed something behind them too, which she
could not quite make out, and the atmosphere felt as if surcharged
with gathering troubles.

The day Mr. Acland had had the interview just described, he did
not return at his usual time, and when the children had gone to bed,
Marjory sat down in the dining-room to wait for him with a chilly
feeling of coming evil. Probably her father had been detained at
the hospital ; why should she feel so uneasy ? Yesterday he had
seemed in better spirits, and talked more tlum usual. She was low
and weary with the loneliness of her life. When should she see
Dick again ?

" Messenger waiting for an answer, Miss," said the parlour-maid,
breaking in upon her musings, and presenting a note. It was from

382

A LIFE INTRHEST.

Mr. Cross : ** Your father was taken with a sudden giddiness talk-
ing with mo, and I have persuaded him to stay the night. There io
nothing to alarm you in this seizure ; it is the result of distress of
mind. Pray send what is necessary by bearer. It is probable your
father may pass a few days with me ; the change, slight as it is, Mill
do him good, and he is nearer the hospital in my house. I will, if
possible, see you to-morrow evening."

Marjory at once put up all she thought her father might need, and
wrote a few dutiful lines to accompany the jjacket ; then she sat
down again and gave herself up to very grave tlioughts — something
was wrong, unusually wrong, when Mr. Acland absented himself
from his home. She had never known him to do such a thing before,
unless indeed be were out of town on business. The matter was
beyond her comprehension, she must hope the best ; so she put out
the lights and went softly upstairs to nurse.

This important functionary was more friendly than of yore. She
was the only one of the former servants who remained, and she was
not a little otFended at not being allowed to see her mistress, per-
fectly perceiving that had Mrs. Acland chosen to receive a visit from
her, no one, at least not Mr. Acland, would have resisted her will.
*' My father must be very unwell, nurse, to stay away from home,"
*' And no wonder, Miss Marjory — I suppose Mrs. Acland is taken
worse I It is my belief she will never leave that dreadful place
alive, and then there will be a heavy burden on your shoulders."

*' I do not think Mrs. Acland is in any danger, she was much
better this morning."
Nurse shook her head.

'* That might be the light'ning before death. Miss ; anyhow, I am
sure you'll do your duty by them poor children, though I must say
you had rather hard lines yourself."

" No use looking back now. I think I shall go to bed ; good-
night."

The next day passed heavily, Mr. Cross sent a brief telegram
stating that Mr. Acland was better. Nurse visited the hospital, and
brought a very bad account of Mrs. Acland ; she had been almost
raving to see her husband.

The second day of her father's absence was cold and bleak, but
Marjory forced herself to go out with the children after breakfast ;
she felt the need of fresh air, the constant strain of expectancy
made her nervous. Nurse was thus set free to inquire for her
mistress.

'* There is a gentleman waiting to see you in the dining-room,"
said the servant who admitted them.

" Run up to Mary, and get your things off," said Marjory to her
young charges, while she thought, " It may be Mr. Brand : they had
better not see him." Herbert was disposed to resist, but the parlour-
maid, a young person of much decision, swept them both upstairs.

^r^^^'if'tihltelT

A LIFE INTER KST.

888

diness talU-
). TUeio is
f distress of
obuble your
as it is, y< ill
,. I will, if

\t need, and
hen she sat
—something
lied himself
hing before,
I matter was
• she put out

I yore. She
and she was
nistress, per-
j a visit from
jted her will,
from home,"
land is taken
readful place
boulders."
he was much

myhow, I am
;h I must say

bed ; good-

,rief telegram

hospital, and

been almost

|nd bleak, but
;er breakfast ;
of expectancy
quire for her

dining-room,"

[arjory to her
and : they had
it the parlour-
both upstairt*.

Marjory opened the dining-room door, and had scarcely recoj^nised
the visitor before she was in Dick Cranston's arms. The first few
delightful moments of confused exclamations and kisses over, Dick
turned her to the light.

" Why Marge, you have grown pale and thin, you look all eyes,
sweet eyes, yet I do not like to see tliem so big."

**I have been so miserable, Dick ; I feel as if everything was
breaking away from us. Oh, what a relief to feel you so near me !"
and pressing close against him, ^^a^jory allowed herself to cry
quitely. Dick held her tenderly, but did not at first try to stop her
tears.

'* It is a trying time for us all, and I have a great deal to tell you ;
a great deal this is painful, also some good. First of all I went
round this morning with my fallier to inquire for Mr. Acland ; he is

better, more composed, and is even goin^c to "

" Your father, Dick, what are you talking about?" said Marjory,
drying her tears, and looking at him with an amused smile,

"Sit down." He drew a chair beside the sofa wliere she had
placed herself. ** There is much to explain, but I have found a
father in Brand, who is really Philip Cranston, who disappeared
long ago. "

" Mr. Brand really your father," cried Marjory, without stopping
oo think, " you will be glad, will you not? I know you always had
a strong feeling about your father."

'* Yes, Marge, I am heartily glad on my own account, but it's
awfully bad for the rest."

*' Yes, of course, I see; why, Dick, it is perfectly awful, what will
become of my father? He must know it — this is what keeps him
from home. Oh, Dick, what shall we do ? " She clasped his hand
in both her own, which trembled.

'* Love each other, and stick to each other through thick and thin."
replied Dick, promptly changing his chair for the sofa, and putting
his arm round her. *' You must listen to the long story I have to
tf'U." Whereupon he commenced, and gave her rapidly and clearly
the details which it has taken so many pages to recount.

** When I joined my father yesterday evening," he concluded,
**I was quite unmanned by his joy and agitation on meeting me.
He has had a hard lot, and my mother has had a still harder heart.
I can never forgive her harshness, though he did her injustice I
can hardly explain to you. Marge."

•' Tell me one thing, did she — did Mrs. Acland take that money
she accused you of taking ? "

*' It is not absolutely certain, but my father believes she did.
One more page of this curious historj', Marge. Do ycu remember
that pretty widow at Beaulieu, Mrs. Mnynard ? Well, her husband
was my father's first cousin ; now as he is dead and the poor little
baby my father has succeeded to the eslute, "Id Mr. Crausion

-^ /!

384

A LIFE INTEREST.

• •f.y

died a few days ago ; so 1 have found a father an a fortune
together."

"A fortune, Dick," faltered Marjory—" what fortune ? "
" The estate of Leigh ton Abbot and eight or ten thousand a year,
as far as I can make out."

" But, Dick, this — this is appalling ; " she grew pale and moved a
little way from him.

*• Why ? " he asked, tightening his hold on her. '* It is too much
a great deal more than one wants, but it is butter than too little
It will give my father the power to smooth nome difficulties. Il
will enable us, dearest, t marry years before we could othorwist
have done. But I mus Inot let myself sink into a mere man ol
wealth : you do not sup])ose I would ever let anything save youi
own will come between us."

*' Still, Dick, it is an awful state of things. Think of the terrible
position of your mother as regards my father and yours. There
never was anything like it. I do not believe we ought to marry."

** On that head I have no doubt at all," said Dick with an air of
conviction.

•* I do not know what to say or to think," said Marjory trying to
loosen Dick's hold of her. " My poor father, I must think of him ;
and these poor children— what will become of them ? Oh, Dick, it
was very wrong of Mr. Brand to keep himself out of sight so
long."

" Yes — secrets and hiding never come to good, I fancy ; but
there was some excuse for him. Then he never intended to show
up again. You must not be hard on my father, Marge."

'* Oh no, Dick, I like him too much ; but I am too bewildered to
judge anything fairly, and I am frightened — unhappy — not knowing
what to do. "

*' Will you trust me, Marge ! Let things arrange themselves, as
they will do, and then, if all this unfortunate complication does not

turn you away from me Why do you look so sad and tremble so.

Marge ? " interrupting himself.

" Because I cannot help feeling the great change in your circum-
stances, and all this confusion will put a barrier between us. Mr.

I mean your father, will want you to marry some great lady,

as I suppose you might."
Dick laughed pleasantly.

" My father thinks nearly as much of you as I do^ Marge, and we
will both do our best to make all things square. Listen, my darl-
ing, we have but an hour to talk to each other just now, for I have
to meet my father at Lincoln's Inn ; tell me about yourself and let
us leave these troubles for the present ; we cannot change them by
worrying ourselves. Toll me again that you love me and will let
nothing and no one come between us."

lol

A LIFE IN'TERKST.

385

t fortune

•I

id a year,

I moved a

:oo much
too little
ilties. II
otherwis*
e man ol
save youi

lie terrible
rs. There
marry."
an air of

^ trying to
nk of him ;
ih, Dick, it
nf sight so

ancy ; but
ed to show

ilderod to
ot knowing

mselves, as

on does not

.remble so,

)ur circum-
n US. Mr.
great lady.

brge, and we
n, my darl-
^ for I have
self and let
-ge them by
and will let

:•'•

While these two yonnc; hcjii ts comforted each other with nssur-
a/iccs of true and Kt'Htlf.ist love an inLurview of a very diff.ienk
des;cii|tl:Ion was passin:; bctwoon Cranston and his sonjly-atiic^Aen
wife. Ho had ascuitivined that Achvnd had not been to see her binco
they liad met, and kn<»win</ ilie statu of soppcnso in which she must
be, htt ajiplied, through Mr. Cross, for a lino of introduction to the
doctor. This Aclnnd sunt at once. A short and jifxrtial explana-
tion satisfied tlio dooior, and Cranston was left alouo with the
sufForer.

He stood by her for a moment in silonce, while her eyes were
fixed with dread and eagerness on his. Her fine fair hair was care-
fully arranged, but her cheeks were hollow, her lips bloodless, only
the eyes looked alivo, and they glowed with an intensity that
deepened their colour and made the rest of her face more ghastly,
her thin white hands' ay helplessly on tlio coverlet. The picture of
what she was fivo-and-twenty years ngo, when ho had pa<!sionately
loved the won)an he believed her to bo, came back vividly to his
memory. And all the misery of his awakening from the dream in
which for a while he had been hapi)y, even hate for her, had left
him. He could c»nly feel compassion, not untingud by contempt,
for the wreck before him.

The silence was first broken by her exclaiming in a hoarse forceful
whisper :

" Blake ? "

" Ho has fled," returned Cranston. *' He will never trouble you
again. "

" And— my husband ? "

" He knows all, and is struck down with grief and despair."

'* What about old Maynard ? "

''He is dead."

" Dead ! " she uttered, the word with a cry of agony. " Dead I"
she repeated, striking her hands together. "Then you are a
woidthy man of largo estate, of uiportance, and I am a maimo.l and
ruined beggar — 1 have lived in vain. Why do you let me live to be
a burden and a curse ? "

" Hush, Judith, you may find a use in life yet."

" Ah ! had I been able to fulfil my wishes you shpuld have died;
then Dick would have had all and he would not have deserted hia
mother."

" Had I died Dick would not have inherited a sou. The property
would liave gone to the oldest Cranston living at the death of my
uncle — that would have been my cousin Hugh."
■ To this Mrs. Acland did not reply ; she tossed her head from side
to side and muttered almost incoherently :

^ Dick is the conqueror ; had I succeeded all would have been
lost 1 cruel 1 unfair ! — not worse than others, only too heavily
weighted. Then she closed her eyoa, looking; like <ilQftth> Philip

(36)

386

A LIF1S INTEREST.

Cranston thought she was dead, and was tning to overcoiuc n
strange reluctance to touch hor hands when Ihty ch»sed witli a srd-
den convulsive movement and she opened lur eyes ; lixing them
gloomily on his she asked in a sharp, weak, discordant voice :
" What is to become of me — am I to go to the workhouse ? "
"My son's mother shall want no necessary or comfort," said
Cranston gently ; then, as she made no answer, but continued to
stare at him, he continued :

*' If you and Acland wish for a divorce and remarriage I will do
all I can to help you, on one condition."

**Divoi e — remarriage," she repeated with a horrid laugh, "for a
helpless log like me ! It is not worth the trouble. I will die Mrs.
Cranston Mavnard ! But what is your condition ? "

"Confess that you took that money — do justice to your sou."
** No ! you can give me nothing in exchange."
" I can leave you a burden on the man whoso home you have
destroyed."

'* Is that my fault ? It is yours ! Ah ! I was a good wife to him
— I am blameless as regards him, and yet hehna desuited me ! "

" No : the unhappy man is struck down powerless by the great-
ness of his misfortunes."

" He is a coward," she returned coldly. " He would sacrifice me
to his respectability. "

" You have no right to say so."

" If I loved any one I would suffer torture for him ! " she cried,
" Did you ever love any one ! " asked Cranston.
" Yes," fiercely, "a base hound who threw me off to battle with
degradation as best I could. " .

There was a pause.

"You had better see Acland and agree upon some plan of action,
but romem^ er mine is contingent on your confession," Paid Crans^on.
Sho thought in silence, her fingers clasping and unclasping them-
celves.

It is possible I may recover, thounjh not likely," she exclaimed.
^ If I do will you give me the allowance I might have had had we
separated by mutual consent — I living on the Continent — you
spr»?ading no evil reports about me ?"
"I will," replied Philip.

" I believe you ; you were always foolishly scrupulous about your
word. Write down the confession and I will sign it."

" No — you must speak it face to face, and Acland must write to
Dick to say his suspicions have been cleared away."

" Then you will see that I am provided for, and that I may l^re
Herbert in his holiday time."
" I promise you faithfully."

" It is a cruel defeat. It is the torture of the danuied to lie here
helpless in the hands of my eoemies. '

-imn

A LIFE INTEREST.

387

>ve^c^■>^l"■ n
with iv svsl-
ixing then:
.)ice :

ouse « ^

nfovt," saia
ontinued to

I will do

augh, '*fora
^ill die Mrs.

Dur Bon."
me you have

,d wife to him

ted me ! "

by the great-

ild sacrifice me

she cried,
to battle with

plan of action,
^Fuid CraiiBton.
clasping them-

she exclaimed,
re had had we
Jontinent— you

loua about your
" must write to
hat I may Uve

Lined to lie )texe

•* No enemies save of your own making,' were the words that rose
to his lips, but he could not taunt a creature so prostrate, so bank-
rupt «>f all that makes life worth living,

" Would you like your stepdaughter to call ?"

''No — no — no — a thousand times no — I want neither her nrr
Dick ! I want no canting superior creatures to pity me in my low
estate. I do not wan^ to see you either unless it is necessary.
After all, you do not oppress me as the others, do. Remember, it
is what religious idiots call the judgment of heaven, not the strength
or cleverness of others, that has beaten me down — go — I do not
want you."

The experienced reader can want but little more detail. He, or
more probably ^hc, will anticipate that the comfortable well-
app(jintod house in Falkland Terrace has been broken up, and the
doubly-widowed Ailand and his children removed to a suburban
villa }i few miles out of town, where tlusir name was as little known
as if tliey had come from the other side of the Atlantic. The once
admirable Mrs. Acland was .su))j)osed to have none to some health
resort, and the family vanished from the ken of society in the north-
west district. That INiarjory presided over the unhomelike home
until the children went to school- that Uncle and Aunt Carterefc
finding it necessary to vi.sit London the following year, celebrated
the modest weddinc,' of their favourite niece in the house they had
hired — that Lord lieaulieu was Dick's best man — that his young
widowed sister i)ut on gray and graced the occasion — that Philip
Cranston was the kindest and most cheery of inmates — and if ever
a father and fathei-in-law was s])oiled, lie was the man — even the
fair widow, Mrs. Maynard, clung to him, r.'mombering how her
precious baby used to stretch out his little hands and laugh with
delight whenever the wandering artist approached him — that all
things fell into natural and satisfactor}' order.

Away in a pretty south coast town, celebrated for the balm j' soft-
ness of its sea-breeze, vegetates a heli)1e-s invalid whose .-ittendants
have from time to time to bo changed, so wearing is her bitter
vicious irritability. She has all the comforts and convenience that
can be found. She has books and work — for her lower limbs only
are paralyzed — but nothing soothes or softens her. Twice a year
a handsome boy spends part of his holidays with her, and is loaded
with presents and luxuries, but nothing makes him tender or patient
with his suffeiing mother.

Every two or three months a lady and gentleman come to stay at
the chief hotel there, and the lady goes daily to see the querulous
invalid. The gentleman never crosses the threshold, ho waits for
his companion on the beach or on the esplanade. When he sees
her coming his face brightens and they sti'oll too and fro talkiiig
gently and gravely.

Mr. A eland b;)8 bef;ome the most silent of mot. ; he has grown

388

A LIFE INTEREST.

miserably too, bo bent is he on leaving h fortune to his children — a
fortune that may in some measure ubliterate the bar-sinister on their
scutcheon. He seems to havn no life left save in business and a
faint relish for The Times. He is coldly deferential to his married
daughter and still endeavours tenaciously to cover all expenses by
the moderate inoome derived from his *' Life Interest."

>>. .•

CBfi Bin>.

) his children— a
•flinister on their
n business and a
il to his married
• all expenses by
•esU"