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P
jyrR. AND MRS. HERRIES
A NOVEL IN ONE VOLUME
BY MAY CROMMELIN
AUTHOR OF "MIDGE "VIOLET VYVIAN   M.F.H.
"QUEENIE "GOBLIN GOLD ETC. ETC.
HonUon 1893
HUTCHINSON AND CO
34 PATERNOSTER ROW
LONDON :
PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED,
CITY ROAD.
To a most kind and old friend,
The Dowager Marchioness of Downshire,
who has taken so warm an interest
in the fortunes of  Mr. and Mrs.
Herries, and whose late Sussex
home forms a background to
the picture of their marriage
—and courtship—
This Story is Affectionately Dedicated.
CONTENTS,
I.
II.
III.
IV
v.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
page
i
17
29
40
51
56
65
77
90
102
hi
120
J 31
146
156
163
170
177
185
197
206
216
223
238
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
CHAPTER I.
The dust lay thick on the road. For a mile and a
half back, the straight, dull highway was patched with
long stretches of broken stones.
On either side the fields were pleasant enough,
but no paths just there crossed the wide stubble.
Stephen Herries looked wistfully across the strag-
gling hedges, white also with dust. Duchess, his dog,
looked too, poked her nose into the dusty grass, then
came back to his side, wagged her tail, and looked up
in his face. Herries stooped down and patted the
setter.
"We must not disturb the partridges, old girl. You
hear somebody shooting—never mind; you will see
somebody else soon who will pet you and make much
of you. Are you tired? Nonsense! I might be, after
trudging six miles, only to see her; but you have not
had malarial fever.
Stephen Herries was so bronzed in complexion that
one hardly noticed that he was really pale. Evidently
B
2
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
he had been living in a hot climate lately, and still
wore  the burnished livery of the sun, as evidently
his service had been a trying one.
He was a spare, slightly made man, which gave him
an air of greater height than he really possessed ; but
he was active, well knit, though hardly strong. His
face was thin—too long and narrow—and his eyes were
those of a dreamer—they were introspective. As they
strayed now across the wide fields, which had lately
been waving with golden grain, he saw but little of
the prospect, for in inward vision he was looking at a
woman's face—small, eager, delicate, with brilliant
eyes, and a fashionable mass of frizzled hair ; dreamily
he beheld, too, the vague vision of a slender frail
figure.
Not a strong man, but a thinker. His brown hair
was thinning on his temples; he wore a slight
drooping moustache, and his air and manner in-
describably proclaimed him a man of the world. He
was in reality a diplomat by profession, a country
gentleman in heart, a dilettante as to tastes, and a
traveller as much by choice as from circumstances.
Herries was tired, dusty, almost ashamed of himself;
for when a man has entered his thirties he seems
somewhat old for the freaks of love which may seem
fitting enough for a boy of one-and-twenty ; and yet
here he was walking six miles from Wykhurst Place
only to see Adelaide Ferrars, only to have her society
"to himself as he mentally expressed it, though in -
all probability he should meet her this evening again.
The sound of wheels approaching along the road '
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
o
struck his ear ; then a smart dog-cart came in sight
drawn by a high-stepping horse. Stephen Herries in-
voluntarily frowned as he recognised it, though his face
smoothed itself again to bland imperturbability before
the driver could have noticed his expression. The
latter was a young, fair-haired man, with what Herries
mentally thought a pudding face, whitish eyelashes,
and a fat person, somewhat over-dressed in very new
and fashionable clothes.
 Halloa ! Herries, cried the new comer, pulling
up so suddenly that the jerk almost unseated his
smart groom, perched behind with correct stolidity.
 Fancy seeing you on foot here so far from
Wykhurst ! Let me give you a lift, do ? Why, you
will be footsore before to-night, and the speaker
laughed in a slightly patronising way.
"Thank you, but I am very fond of walking. A
constitutional does me all the good in the world
when I am at home, replied Herries, patting Duchess
who instantly responded, which was a little trick to
conceal his secret annoyance. "Besides, I want to
visit a farm close by here, and I am going to take
that short cut you see across the stile.
 Not one of your own farms, eh? said the other
man, looking in the direction indicated with an odd
smile of sudden interest.
 No, not mine, replied Herries, a shadow in-
voluntarily crossing his features,  but the good
people there are old friends of my mother's.
 Ah! indeed ? I hope Lady Elizabeth is very
well; shall we see her to-night ?
B 2
4
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Quite well, thank you. No, she does not care
very much about sitting up late.
 Well, good-bye, Herries.
 Good afternoon—Mr. Stuckey. Herries had
uttered the name of his interlocutor rather low, as
if it annoyed him to be addressed thus familiarly,
and that it was a secret relief to use the more formal
appellation of Mr., even though unnoticed by his late
companion. Some lines from Lord Lytton's trans-
lation of Horace flashed through his mind—
 Strut as thou wilt in arrogance and purse-pride,
Fortune can change not the man's native breed ! 
and he smiled to himself.
Presently crossing over a stile, as he had said, he
went through the fields, keeping Duchess well to heel;
for the time was September, and the temptation to a
black and tan Gordon setter to range through the
fields was strong, petted as she was by her ladyship
at home, and too forgetful of the keeper's training.
He said a few words of greeting at the farmhouse,
although this visit, indeed, had been an excuse
invented on the spur of the moment to free himself
from a companionship that was extremely distasteful.
However, he had his reward in a hearty answer of,
 Welcome back from foreign parts, sir ! for Herries
was a favourite, not only with his own tenants, but in
many other farms and cottages of the country round.
The Herries family had been established at Wykhurst
Place since the sixteenth century, and from father to
son the old estate had been transmitted until now,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
5
without a break in the direct line. It was one of
those families of which the country people are proud,
repeating to each other how one Herries had refused
a title because he preferred to remain Herries of
Wykhurst, and how all the others had ever been well
known for their generosity, their uprightness, and all
those qualities which go to make a thorough English
country gentleman.
Leaving the farmhouse, Herries now went on with
quickened steps and a brighter air for about half-a-
mile. Here, near the high road, lay a small cottage
which, without disrespect to its inmates, might have
been termed genteel.
The wily Dane, Radnar Lodbrog's son, as the Saga
says, was granted so much English land as an ox-
hide would span, whereupon, by stretching the latter
and cutting it into the thinnest of strips, he founded
for himself an impregnable burg in King Ella's
dominions.
In the same way Yew-tree Cottage, its garden,
paddock, and outhouses, might easily have been en-
closed by a handkerchief similarly treated.
An approach of a few yards wound in bewildering
curves through a tiny shrubbery. When carriages tried
to approach the modest dwelling it needed the ex-
tremest caution not to crash into a holly bush at one
corner, and to steer round an already damaged Italian
yew at the next.
The cottage itself had been fitted for its present
inmates by throwing the kitchen and parlour of a
bailiff, its late occupant, into one room. This was
6
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
newly wainscoted with old oak ; some of the windows
were "treated  with that coloured paper which imitates
stained glass, and the result gave a quasi-mediseval
air to the little hall.
Stephen, who knew his way here well, came out of
the last meadow by jumping a hedge into the tiny
paddock. He then pushed open a gate where a cow
stood waiting to be milked, and coming into a square
yard, which was really little more than a yard square,
he unlatched with familiar hand a green wooden door
in a wall. Entering here he found himself between
two small cucumber frames, and almost fell over a
lady who was sitting on a large inverted flower-pot.
She started up with a low cry that was almost one of
dismay, although a shy, surprised welcome seemed to
flit across her faded face.
 Mrs. Ferrars! I beg your pardon, exclaimed
Herries, with the practised presence of mind of one
of his calling ;  you must forgive me for assuming
the privilege of an old friend, and coming in by your
back entrance in this almost impertinent fashion. I
took the short cut across the fields.
 Of course, you often used to do so. Please
don't apologise. We are—I mean we shall be—very
glad to see you, jerked out Mrs. Ferrars, in a nervous
way.
She was a little thin woman—one might say a bag
of bones. Her eyes, which had once been brilliant
were now dulled, and had a haunted expression ; and
although not an old woman, her face was puckered
with numerous fine wrinkles.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
7
"We heard you had come home, but we hardly
expected you so soon, she went on hastily.  I was
just sitting here a few minutes, thinking. The last
words were almost muttered under her breath.
Stephen smiled to himself at this apology for
the strange position in which he had found his
hostess.
 What an odd woman she is! he thought to
himself, as he followed her along a tiny path, edged
with box ; and now his heart beat quicker, for from
the other side of a few feet of yew-tree hedge
came a subdued sound of laughter and of voices in
friendly chat.
On the garden side of the cottage a pretty scene
presented itself. A hammock was swung between the
branches of a copper beech and a tulip tree, and in it
reclined the very she whom Stephen Herries had seen
in mental vision for the last two hours. This was
Adelaide Ferrars, who was universally admitted to be
one of the prettiest girls in the county. Somewhat
languid, though lovely, her frail tall figure seemed
almost too slight to credit her with even ordinary
health, yet the fire that gleamed in her large, brilliant
eyes, and the delicate bloom on her cheek indicated
to her lover that she was one of those highly sensitive
women who may live to be old by reason of their
pluck, with whom the sword always seems too keen
for the scabbard, yet who manage to live and look
beautiful under trials and in circumstances where
their coarser fashioned sisters would succumb.
In this way Adelaide Ferrars was universally
8
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
admired for the splendid manner in which she had
borne, lately, fortune's reverses.
On the late Mr. Ferrars' death his property and
estate had all passed to his son, with the exception of a
very slender income left to his wife and daughter. As
everyone agreed, most girls would  feel it dread-
fully  to leave a pleasant country house for a small
cottage, where entertaining guests was an impossi-
bility, and even keeping up appearances a matter
of difficulty. But at all the picnics, balls, and country
race meetings to which she was invited as frequently as
before, Adelaide Ferrars still looked radiant. No one
ever saw a frown on her fair brow, and when pitied, as
she often was by her old friends, she would only
answer with a little laugh,  It is not worth while
making oneself unhappy about what can't be helped.
How well Stephen Herries knew the tiny lawn with
its two flower beds and its four trees. How often he
had come here, as to-day, with eager steps and glad
heart, certain of seeing a light of welcome spring up
in Adelaide's eyes that he flattered himself was
never lit there for any other man.
But to-day a disagreeable shock awaited him on
turning the corner of the yew hedge.
Adelaide was not alone. Close beside her ham-
mock lounged a short, stout young man in an easy
chair, holding up a lady's red parasol with an affecta-
tion of effeminacy to shield himself from the warm
blaze of the low-lying afternoon sun, while he smoked
a large cigar. It was Mr. Nicholas Stuckey.
 That parvenu here, of all houses in the county for
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
9
him to be admitted to! And Mrs. Ferrars used to be
so particular! The brute is so disgustingly familiar too
in his behaviour; and apparently quite at home,
though it is hardly likely he can have visited them
often, were Herries's reflections.
Adelaide started upright on seeing the visitor. A
still deeper carmine tinged the exquisite colouring of
her cheek, which nature had tinted to match the petals
of a wild rose.
He saw a sudden gleam of genuine gladness flash
in her darkly-bright eyes. And was that next an
alarmed surprise which succeeded the first flattering
expression ?
But at the time he did not dwell on this, though it
afterwards came back to his mind.
Stuckey nodded familiarly.
"Ah, how d'ye do again? You see I got here
first.
Meanwhile Adelaide had been showering question-
ing welcomes upon her visitor, which were answered
in Stephen's suavest tones, with just a shade more
interest in his eyes, and an imperceptibly warmer
pressure of the hand than his invariably courtier-like
manner to all women.
Miss Ferrars turned her head quickly towards her
earlier guest.
"What! You knew Mr. Herries was coming here?
Why did you not tell us sooner ? 
 Couldn't. He didn't tell me. Kept it dark.
Ha ! ha !  grinned Stuckey, lazily taking his cigar out
of his mouth and not stirring from the position of
IO
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
vantage he had taken up close to the reclining
beauty's hammock.
Mrs. Ferrars looked with an irresolute, even
troubled, glance towards Stephen, then at a garden
bench near.
 It is not a comfortable seat, she remarked,
apparently to the surrounding air.
Then, as no one answered—for Mrs. Ferrars'
peculiar manner seemed to call upon no one in par-
ticular to do so—Stephen felt it necessary to put her
out of perplexity.
 May I sit here beside you ? There is room for
us both, he said, overlooking the fact that no other
chairs were near.
It soon became evident that Mr. Stuckey was
determined to allow no interference with his monopoly
of Miss Ferrars' society.
Adelaide tried her best to keep the conversation
general, but he interrupted everyone in turn, holding'
the key of the situation, bending close to Adelaide's
hammock, and almost whispering questions in her
ear, to which she was forced to reply.
Occasionally Mrs. Ferrars spoke rather sharply to
the young man, as if calling him to order ; for, with
all her oddities of manner, she was a most punctilious
woman on the score of good breeding.
But the young brewer was almost rude in the
brevity of his replies.  Not going to be inveigled by
the old girl into missing my enjoyment, was in his
mind.  Beast!  was the equally polite comment in
that of Stephen.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
II
The latter, accordingly, found himself holding a
dialogue apart with his delicate, nervous hostess, with
whom he had always been on kindly, though distant,
terms ; for she was one of the most difficult women
alive to know intimately.
Suddenly the presiding goddess herself put an end
to the strained situation.
 Let us go into the hall for tea, mother, she pro-
posed, rising with a suddenness that took Stuckey by
surprise, as with one swift movement, being almost
snake-like in her lithe gracefulness, she stood upon
the lawn.  Now, Mr. Herries, you .must come and
talk to me, please, for a little while, if my mother will
spare you. You and she are always such good friends
that it is almost an impossibility to separate you
two.
The command was given with a partly imperious,
partly playful manner, impossible to withstand.
Mrs. Ferrars, something more at her ease, preceded
them into the cottage. Nicholas Stuckey, feeling that
for the present he had got his conge, however grace-
fully given, followed her with rounded shoulders,
sullenly, yet doggedly, feeling that so far during the
visit he had had the best of it.
Adelaide paused a few minutes outside, gathering
herself some sprays of jessamine from the cottage
wall. Silently and slowly she raised her languorous
large eyes to Stephen's face. As silently, with an
intently rapt attention, he returned the gaze.
Neither spoke for a minute ; speech did not seem
necessary between them.
12
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Then Stephen began hurriedly, for the precious
moments alone with his divinity would be short.
 I shall see you this evening at this dance,
Adelaide, when you can spend the supper dances
with me, will you not ? I walked over here this even-
ing only on purpose to ask you. He smiled, feeling a
happy certainty that this old arrangement between
them would stand good now as ever.
At how many dances had Adelaide and he not met
in the old county since they were boy and girl to-
gether, and how always at each—after whirling in the
crowd,  to show themselves, as Adelaide used laugh-
ingly to say—had they not disappeared for a happy
half-hour into some dimly-lit nook or cool conservatory
to have, as Stephen put it,  a happy time together.
 I am so sorry, dear Stephen, and Adelaide,
lightly placing her hands upon her bosom, looked
deprecatingly up in his face. "If only that man,
Mr. Stuckey, had said you were coming to-day, I
might have guessed, and kept you the dances. But
we never even knew you were in the country. Lady
Elizabeth said you were in London, but how could I
guess that you would run down for such a small event
as this ? 
 I did not come for that; I came to see you and
my mother. The dance was a good excuse for
meeting and having a talk to ourselves. You might
have guessed that I was sure to come. Then
suddenly recalling that her words seemed to imply
refusal, he added,  What do you mean ? Are you
engaged already, then ? 
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
13
"To Mr. Stuckey, she sighed, "of all men in the
world ! And Adelaide raised her eyes skywards
with an expression of light and comic horror.  Pity
me, dear Stephen ; but, as he had driven over first,
what was I to say ? 
A frown, that might almost be called a scowl, had
settled on Stephen's face.
"To Stuckey! A man whom a year ago you used
to laugh at, and say you would not touch with
a long pole ! Why, your mother used to tell
stories of his father keeping an old rag shop, and
of his mother driving round the country in an apple
cart. I never was more amazed in my life than to
find him seated here this afternoon. What is the
reason that you have 
 O, it is mother, answered Adelaide, empha-
sising her reply with a wave of her hand ;  you
cannot think how she changes her mind, nor how
decided she is to have her own way, for such a quiet
person. Now she considers him a really upright
young man, and that it is wrong to visit the sins—
I mean the want of birth—of his forefathers upon him.
In fact, she considers it the duty of people who have
the advantages of family, like ourselves, to hold out a
helping hand, you know, to teach these nouveaux
riches their proper place and the rules of good society
at the same time.
 But surely you do not mean to keep this engage-
ment ? If you pleased, you always used to be able
to get out of any such. And I suppose you will
please.
14
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
There was an angry light in Stephen's eyes ; a tone
of decision vibrated through the gently modulated
accents of his voice.
"Tea is ready, Miss Ferrars, called out Nicholas
Stuckey, putting his head past a little lattice porch,
painted dark oak colour instead of bright green as
usual;  Mrs. Ferrars is waiting for you to pour it
out.
This was not strictly true, for when the two belated
ones unwillingly entered the sitting-room Mrs. Ferrars,
with a slight flush on her thin face, was busying her-
self among the teacups.
Adelaide had just time to whisper to her lover
so soothingly that her breath was like a caress upon
his cheek :
 Do not mind—it will be all right. I will tell you
to-night. Don't be angry with me—you know you
could not be, even if you tried. And you know,
you know—what I wish.
So Stephen came in with a more satisfied look—■
almost a latent smile.
 How charming your sitting-room always is, he
observed, looking around him.
The room was, in fact, only the kitchen and par-
lour of an ordinary cottage thrown into one, the
staircase necessarily rising out of one side. The
walls were newly dark-wainscoted, and the cottage
staircase was painted to imitate black oak.
The whole effect, however, was that of a really old,
perhaps Elizabethan, little dwelling. What with
small tables scattered about, a lounging chair here
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
15
and there, and all the pretty knick-knacks that
women of refined taste gather around themselves, it
had, indeed, been made a charming little snuggery in
the eyes of persons not too critical as to genuine
antiquarianism.
But Adelaide's white brow puckered into a slight
frown.
 It is a sham after all, and I do so hate shams,
she petulantly replied, just above her breath, as if not
wishing to vex her mother's ears.
But Mrs. Ferrars heard her, all the same, and gave
one of her quick, uneasy glances around, which made
one think of some quiet monomaniac, whose brain,
was painfully keen, while haunted by a constant
trouble.
Stuckey heard it, too, and placidly grinned.
 I will drive you home, Herries, he offered, drain-
ing his tea-cup with an air of good fellowship.  O,
come, no excuses. You cannot like to walk twice
along the dusty high-road. Ha ! ha ! ha ! and though
you did not tell me this afternoon where you were
going, I suppose I can guess pretty well, now, that
you are bound for Wykhurst?
Without being rude, Stephen felt that he could not
well say no. Nevertheless as he got into the dog-cart
with his pompous young neighbour, and as Stuckey,
lighting a big cigar and flourishing his whip, drove
off, almost dashing into the box tree and the yew,
which guarded the sinuous curves of the little
approach. Herries felt something approaching hatred
towards his companion.
i6
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
It was certainly an unjustifiable emotion. For
Stuckey had not an idea beyond self-satisfied good
nature, and a vulgar pleasure in showing Herries that
lucre, after all, has its advantages.
How often had he not felt that Stephen Herries, of
Wykhurst, looked down upon him—the self-made
brewer's son ?
He bore no malice—not he. His only revenge was
in showing off to Stephen, now, how well his horse
could step up to its collar, and how smartly his new
dog-cart was built; with stories of the other horses,
both hunters and harness animals, polo ponies and
hacks that stood in his stable; whereas Herries, as
all the world knew, was as poor as he was proud.
To do him justice, Nicholas had not an inkling of
the fine agony to which he was putting his companion.
Not that Stephen cared about these things, but that
as they drove along past farms and woods belonging
to the Wykhurst estate, his neighbour's pompous
bragging woke a dark demon of fear for the future,
which he generally tried to keep chained in his inner-
most mind.  Let sleeping dogs lie, is a good motto,
but Stuckey was waking the dog—was tantalising
and plaguing the beast to impotent fury.
CHAPTER II.
WYKHURST-PLACE was a rare old manor house, being
a perfect specimen of early Elizabethan architecture.
Stephen got down at its tall entrance gates from
his neighbour's dog-cart, and went slowly along the
straight avenue, beyond which lay the home of his
ancestors, behind a courtyard also guarded by narrow
old gates, of beautiful iron scroll work. As he looked
around, his heart swelled with sadness within him.
On either side an undulating park spread to the
boundary woods. Here, noble clumps of trees were
outlined against the evening sky, and further on,
where broken ground rose and fell in gentle rises and
hollows, the bracken was turning golden brown.
Stephen, as he looked round, felt that he loved every
acre of its grassy surface, of which the turf had not
been broken for centuries. But the cattle grazing
here—
"Forty feeding like one,
where fallow deer used to range—belonged to a
neighbouring farmer. The land was let up to the
very door, and all the estate around was mortgaged
to—Nicholas Stuckey !
C
l8
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Heaven only knew how long Stephen might still
be able to call his home his own. Wykhurst was an
absolutely unique old house. Lovers of the pic-
turesque used to declare that its weather hues were
wonderful. Hardly one of its venerable cut stones
was of the same subdued tint as its fellow. Time
had touched its grey walls so lovingly that golden
lichen and rusty coloured stains, winter damps, or
summer's growth of tiny flowering weeds, here and
there, on string-course or parapet, each added a sepa-
rate beauty to the general effect. Stray American
visitors in the neighbourhood had gone crazy over
the beauties of the old house ;  And that fireplace
is three hundred years old !  they repeated to each
other, looking, with almost reverent worship, at the
tall carved stone one in the library, with the Herries
coat of arms in its centre, and fluted scroll work on
either side.
Then, departing, these visitors had told other fel-
low-countrymen of the old-world house, who made
pilgrimages to Wykhurst in their turn ; and one rich
man even asked leave to have its exact measurements
taken by an architect. In the new world a new
Wykhurst Place should be reared, he said, with Lady
Elizabeth's permission, faithfully copied in every
detail, from its low, wide-seated porch, with carved
grotesque heads, to its crocketed gables, mullioned
windows, and pinnacles on the roof.
 It will not be the §ame ; no, not even in three
hundred years/' said a wise old fellow-traveller. "It
may be exact to an inch, but you will never get the
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
19
colouring. Our climate will not give that mediaeval
tone which carries one's mind back through such long
years of history.
Even from a distance Stephen descried a solitary
figure sitting in the porch. He knew it was his
mother, and, although somewhat tired, hastened his
steps, while Duchess ran forward, barking in greet-
in g.
Whenever he left home for long absences, his last
sight of her was standing there looking after him ;
whenever he returned again, there she would be to
welcome him.
 Waiting for me, mother—as usual, he said, as he
came up. That was how her lonely life was passed
as he sometimes told himself with inward regret
waiting—for him.
Lady Elizabeth looked up with a serene smile.
 I have been knitting, dear ; you know I don't
mind being alone.
She was a middle-aged woman, looking almost
elderly, for her hair was snow-white and her features
showed traces of illness. Never a beautiful woman,
for her face was broad, placid, and plain. But there
was a high-bred air in her tone and movements that
was very pleasing, and somehow there was a charm
of patience in her look. She suffered much from her
heart, but living alone, as she did for long periods, she
was able to conceal the worst of her illness from her
beloved son, so as not to cause him useless pangs.
And people who lead solitary lives can bear pain
better than others, so her doctor had once told her.
C 2
20
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
She was glad to think so, her solitary life had that
advantage at least.
The ball this evening was after a wedding at a
neighbour's house.
A large tent had been put up on the lawn with a
temporary floor for dancing, and by the time Stephen
arrived the evening's festivities were already in full
swing.
"You are late, Mr. Herries,"exclaimed various girls in
smiling reproach, as he greeted his old acquaintances.
 Am I late ? I have been so buried alive in
Eastern deserts that you must forgive me for having
perhaps a little forgotten the ways of society at home.
My last ball was at Naples, and I arrived at one
o'clock and was shockingly early, he answered in his
soft, courteous tones. The truth was, he had stayed
at home after dinner to play a game of backgammon
with his mother before she went to bed early as
usual ; but he did not explain that.
His eyes were wandering through the gay, change-
ful crowd of old friends, who had each a smile and
pleasant word for him, in search of one figure.
Presently he saw Adelaide, standing beside—he
could hardly repress the feeling of disgust that again
overcame him—the stout, ill-formed figure of the
young brewer.
How radiant she looked this evening ! Her small
head was certainly remarkably well set upon her
neck ; her slender figure seemed more fragile than
ever, its charm enhanced by her evening dress of
fairy-like gossamer texture. Then her face was so
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
21
vivid in expression, exquisite in colouring ; her large
eyes absolutely brilliant. They glowed with a new
light, too ; or so Stephen fancied, as he dexterously
made his way across the room, and approaching her
asked for a dance with his usual air of calm outward
homage, but a feeling of inward adoration and almost
recklessness.
Many eyes followed them when it came to Herries
turn to try the polished floor, with Adelaide for a
partner. No woman had ever so stirred his
pulses ; absence had only endeared her to his
heart. She had had no rival in the remote
town in Asia Minor, where unkind fortune had
last imprisoned him, but he had not paused to
consider that. He was utterly happy now. He
believed Adelaide was the same, as with his arm
round that slender waist, and her breath so near his
own, they glided through the other couples, with steps
perfectly in unison, for how many, many times had
they two not waltzed together before, and what a
pleasure it was to be together again.
 I wonder how that attachment will end ?  said
more than one dowager in her neighbour's ear.
 How well those two go together !  remarked one
country maiden to her swain.  So romantic, isn't it ?
She is very pretty, don't you think ? Rather too thin,
perhaps, quite brittle to look at, I call her. You know
neither of them has a penny.
 Well, I don't see much romance about Stephen
Herries, replied her downright partner, who, like
many other men, could not understand the glances of
22
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
interest from fair eyes that so frequently followed
Stephen. And yet in the minds of most of the
women in the room there undoubtedly was romance
attached to him. Perhaps it was on account of his
fallen fortunes ;; or it-might have been. his. dreamy
eyes, somewhat melancholy face, cand . singularly
gentle manner (under which one seemed to guess a
latent fire) that gave the impression ; or, again, it might
have been owing to his courteousness as of a courtier,
trained in embassies abroad, and somewhat rare to
meet with in those country haunts, the perfect polish
of a high-bred gentleman, which seems only to be
attained by much grinding in that best of diamond-
cutting workshops—good society.
He and Adelaide were certainly the most remark-
able couple in the room. Both of old county family,
both impoverished, and their attachment for some
years a matter of whispered comment, it was not sur-
prising that many of their friends now watched them
a little inquisitively.
The dance was over, and Stephen led Adelaide
outside the tent.
He was glad to escape from the music and heat
and light in there, and to be out here with his love
under a very different roof—the vast starred tent of
the night sky.
 It is over a year since we danced together, he
said, with an irrepressible rush of feeling in his
whispered tones, as he bent his head a little nearer
hers.  You must dance with me the rest of the even-
ing to make up for it; say, will you not ? What does
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES. 23
it matter ? They all know I come so seldom, and I
only came to-night to meet you.
 But, Stephen, how can I ?  she artlessly asked
looking up in his face;  I had to promise Mr. Stuckey
the supper dances. Don't be angry—I am very sorry.'1
"To Stuckey! and I asked you for them.
Stephen ground his teeth softly under his moustache.
 What can you see ? — that purse-proud parvenu
with his red silk handkerchief and his silver shoe-
buckles ! Well, I have no more to say.
In his heart he was so furiously angry it was
difficult to control his temper.
 But what can I do ? went on Adelaide, help-
lessly pleading ;  my mother is. so annoyed if I am
rude to him. One must give in for peace sake, and be
dutiful. What can a poor girl do ? Our little all is
hers, you know, and I am quite, quite dependent.
Then there is my brother—as master of the hounds
he worries me also to be civil to Mr. Stuckey
who doubled his subscription on being allowed to
call. Indeed I have not my own way ; what can I do ?
 Marry me, and come out wherever I am sent. It
will probably be on a special mission to an Eastern
Turkish province, returned Stephen, low, but eagerly,
with gleaming eyes. "You and I have been parted
long enough, don't you feel that, Adelaide ? Never
mind the climate; never mind our being poor. If
you will only risk it—say you will—you can come
out with me six weeks from now.
Adelaide recoiled. She looked startled ; in reality
she was terrified.
24
MR. AND MRS. BERRIES.
 But, Stephen, the terrible climate, the long
journey! she gasped. "Oh, do not think of it; I know
I should not live there ; it would kill me!
Stephen said no more, but led her down a little
path. This wound through the shrubbery back to the
tent again, the canvas of which blocked further pro-
gress. They were alone together, for the other
couples had all returned as the strains of a fresh
dance struck up within the tent.
Stephen's head was bent, his brain was seething
with thoughts ; then he began to plead his cause, to
urge, to implore the woman he loved not to spoil both
their lives by over-hesitation now. A year ago she
had been willing, while it was he who had feared for
her—with cholera rife in Persia; but now His
earnest protestations had for background of sound the
braying of the band within. They stood so close to
the tent, which had brought their straying steps to a
standstill, that now and again the canvas bulged as
the figures of those within pressed against it. Sounds
of laughter and muffled voices filtered through the
barrier which separated these two from the mirthful
crowd within. They could hear the sliding of the
dancers' feet over the polished floor! And hark
they are singing just now ; it is the chorus to a hunting
song, set as a madly rousing galop. The dancers are
humming the refrain within with all the breath they
have left between bursts of laughter. To Stephen
with his love—his life's happiness as he believed—at
stake, it seemed demoniacal mirth, hideous revelry.
Out here the tragedy of one man's heart; in there
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
25
the comedy of the mirth of many. With a long
breath Herries looked up at the eternal dark-blue
vault overhead, at Orion with his sword, at Cas-
siopeia. Then from his very soul he asked Adelaide :
 Do no higher thoughts inspire you now, thinking
of the eternity that we may spend together, you and
I ? And for the sake of a few years more of luxury,
thicker silken dresses, thinner silken stockings, the
clothing made for you by a worm, the feathers of a
bird, a few shining pebbles more or less to hang
round your neck, or wear in your hair—would you
give me up ? 
 But do you really believe in all that about future
life ? asked Adelaide, -frith calm, awful directness.
 I cannot—I read all the new books, you know, and
gave it up long ago. No, no, Stephen, believe me, we
live only this life ; there is nothing to come. And we
need, alas, comforts ; at least I do. I can't walk a
mile, you know, and you don't know how we miss
our carriage, mother and I. Then, worse luck, I am
not very strong. She shivered as she spoke, and the
action seemed to vibrate through Stephen, for he was
aware of it, although in the darkness he could not
have seen it.
 You have no wrap over your shoulders ; you will
take your death of cold ; I ought not to have brought
you out, he exclaimed, smitten with a lover's quick
fears. For looking at the delicate figure that under
the starlight seemed so slight, so white, it seemed to
him as if every breath of the faint night breeze must
almost blow through her.
26
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
"No, no ; never mind me, she objected, with pretty
petulance, though suppressing a slight cough ;  but
I should fear to clog you in your future life. If I
were ill, what doctor's bills ; and a maid is almost a
vital necessity to any woman except a drudge. Oh,
Stephen,. Stephen ! I only want to live—I mean
absolutely to draw my breath on this earth as long as
possible. Believe me, when we die we turn to mere clay,
that makes flowers, plants, gases, what you will—and
to keep up vitality one needs so much good wine and
change of air, and  Her words broke off abruptly.
With a quick change of thought and manner she went
on low and beseechingly,  Tell me, is it wicked to
think so? Don't blame me—don't think me too
material—too selfish. She clasped her two hands
lightly on his arm, and slight though the touch was
he felt thrilled all through him in every nerve. Her
starlike eyes seemed searching his face.  Oh, believe
me—believe me, my dear, though I loathe the
thoughts of poverty, smoky chimneys, coarse food,
and bad servants, yet for your sake, Stephen, I would
almost face them all. Only my family — we two
cannot live for ourselves alone, you know, or die
perhaps I ought to say. And a faint little laugh,
born rather of tears than merriment, escaped from her.
 There are other people to consider, she went on ;
"we ought to spare them. Think of my mother, who
ought to be supported—of yours.
 Don't think of mine, answered Stephen, hoarsely.
Somehow it seemed sacrilege to bring Lady Eliza-
beth's name into this matter—the mother who would
MR. AND MRS. IIERRIES.
27
always sacrifice herself to duty and to the happiness
of those she loved.
At that moment a voice sounded on the little path
behind them. An indistinct figure was approaching.
"Is that Adelaide? Adelaide, my child, I was
afraid you would catch your death of cold, so I have
come after you with a shawl, said Mrs. Ferrars' voice,
with its usual nervous delivery.  Ah, Mr. Herries,
you won't mind my taking care of this foolish
daughter of mine ? Then in an audible murmur to
Adelaide,  My dear—Mr. Stuckey—looking for you
everywhere. Thought I would tell you—perhaps it
does not signify.
They all three turned and went back together by
the winding path till they reached the front of the
tent again. Then Mrs. Ferrars seemed to fade into a
stream of dowagers being escorted in twos and twos
supperwards.
Stephen, who had been silently gnawing his mous-
tache, saw his last opportunity and seized it.
 One last word, he murmured, standing still and
tightening Adelaide's arm by the pressure of his own
against his side.  Is it to be Stuckey or—me ? You
must choose.
 What, for the supper dances ? returned Ade-
laide, with a simple, sympathetic air.
It puzzled Stephen then and afterwards to deter-
mine whether she was really too weak-souled, too
pliant in mind to understand what hung in the scales,
or whether this innocence was merely assumed to
soften her decision.
28
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Indeed, I wish with all my heart I could give
them to you, but, unfortunately, there has been some
misunderstanding between us all three, and so Mr.
Stuckey 
 I understand, interrupted Stephen, bowing
slightly.  Where would you like me to leave you ?
Ah ! here is your next partner. And as the young
brewer Came up, his usual swaggering air slightly
dashed by uncertainty as to whether or not Herries
had been cutting him out with the county beauty, the
rejected lover withdrew.
Herries waited for a little while, half hidden by
some shrubs near the tent-door. He watched
Adelaide take her partner's arm, and smile in
Stuckey's sullen face, which was on a level with his
own, their height being equal. Her smile was forced,
Stephen saw, and yet how falsely sweet. Her eyes
still retained a beseeching expression in their starlit
depths.
Bah! that served equally well in conciliating
Nicholas, as of late in imploring forgiveness from
the man who had given her his best love for more
than two years.
Stephen turned abruptly on his heel. Ten minutes
later he was driving away from the scene of his
defeat, alone on a midnight road, and alone it seemed
to himself in soul henceforth through life.
29
CHAPTER III.
At half-past six next morning Stephen Herries
rapped .softly at his mother's door, then he went in,
for she was asleep, as he had expected. The blind was
drawn and her silvery hair and pale face outlined faintly
against the pillow seemed spiritualised. He stood
still a moment, a reverent thrill passing through him.
What a haven of peace and rest this room had always
been to him ; how often he had come as a little boy
with all his childish sorrows to whisper them in his
mother's sympathetic ear. Now he was going away
because of those troubles he could no longer tell
her.
Bending down, he gently kissed her awake.
Lady Elizabeth opened her eyes quietly, not
seeming startled.
 My son—my son !  she said, as if she had been
dreaming of him, as was most likely the case.
 Forgive my waking you up, said Stephen, gently,
taking her hand,  but I am going away for two or
three days. I must catch the early train.
"Going away? she answered. No doubt she
understood, for a few moments of silence followed
between them.
3°
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Are you going to stay with Edgar Hay, my dear
boy ?  went on the mother, affectionately, her yearn-
ing eyes searching her son's face in the faint morning
light.  He asked you for some days' partridge
shooting, did he not ? 
 No, mother ; I refused him last week, and now he
will have his party made up. No, I am going to—
(Stephen had not really made up his mind where he
was going; any place would do)  I am going to
Scarborough for a day or two. You can write to me
to the Grand.
"To Scarborough? Very well. I do hope you
will enjoy yourself, my dear boy.
Lady Elizabeth suppressed a faint sigh. She had
not seen her only son for so long, and now he had
been only one day at home. But she would not ask
questions ; she understood what his long walk to Yew
Tree Cottage, yesterday, must have meant, and being
a wise woman she would not probe her son's probable
disappointment while still fresh.
 It is a shame to leave you so soon, said Stephen,
looking away from her, and speaking somewhat under
his breath.  Never mind, mother ; it is only for this
once ; another time I shall not treat you so shabbily.
He kissed her again and turned away.
A few minutes later the mother's listening ears
heard the sound of wheels on the gravel outside. She
did not sleep after that, but lay still, quietly thinking
to herself over her son's chequered fortune in life, his
encumbered property, his existence of frequent exile
in distant and often unhealthy lands, and this new
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
31
trouble at which she now guessed. Adelaide Ferrars
was not good enough for him, she thought to herself,
but indeed what girl would be in this doting mother's
opinion ? Nevertheless, for a long time Stephen had
loved her, that she knew. Whether this love would
affect all his future life she could not guess. Adelaide
was an ambitious girl, and perhaps thought that her
beauty would command a higher price in the marriage
market than the hand of a poor and proud gentleman
whose estates were mortgaged, and whose income
was derived from a precarious source, for, if invalided,
he would be beggared.
That afternoon, Watson, the general factotum,
steward, butler, and gardener, at Wykhurst Place,
came with a troubled look upon his face to consult
his mistress.
 Huntsman is ill, my lady; I thought it best to
send for the vet.
Watson always did what he thought best, and then
was accustomed respectfully to inform his mistress of
the fact. His father and grandfather had been
stewards before him at Wykhurst. As a little boy he
had been trained as page in the house, and later, his
health requiring out-of-door exercise, he had been his
father's helper and right-hand man. In this way it
came about as imperceptibly as the fortunes of the
Herries family waned that Watson's duties and ap-
parent honours came thick upon him. Of a sum-
mer's morning he might be seen driving a mowing
machine through the meadows. In the afternoon, if
visitors called, he would open the door with the calm
32
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
air of a respectable family butler. In the evening the
gardens would require his supervision, and whenever
Lady Elizabeth drove out, he sat upon the box, as
good a coachman as any in the country round.
 You are quite right, Watson, said his mistress
now ;  but what is the matter with the horse ? 
 Mr. Stephen took him, you see, to the train this
morning, and he took Mr. Stephen to the ball last
night, explained Watson, the troubled look pucker-
ing still worse his forehead.
 That was a good deal to do, was it not ? 
 It was, my lady ; but whatever old Huntsman
has been asked to do, that he will try to do,
explained her faithful servant. The same thought
was in both minds. Neither would blame Stephen—
he had been worried ; and perhaps the man knew
why as well as the mistress.
Next morning a maid brought a letter upon a
salver, which did not come by post; a little boy had
carried it across the fields. Lady Elizabeth took it
mechanically, glanced at it with lack-lustre eyes.
It was an ill-addressed letter, and the paper was of
the poorest description, but after her eye had gone
down a few lines Lady Elizabeth gave a little gasp
and sat up straight in surprise. It was dated that day,
and addressed from a little village about a mile off.
 Your ladyship, the epistle began,  will you
excuse these ill-written lines from an old man whose
days are numbered? I was born and bred on your
late husband's estate ; and seventy years ago, when
I was a boy, your husband's father was very kind to
mr. and mrs. herries.
33
me. I wished to leave home, and he gave me money
to start me on my way. Since then luck has
prospered me. I have been engaged in mines all my
life, and may say that, considering my outset, I
have amassed a large fortune. It has always been
the wish ot my heart that I might in some way
repay the kindness your family first showed to me;
and since my only son died some years back this
thought has taken still more hold of my mind. I
have neither chick nor child left me in the world,
but one little grand-daughter. She is now almost
sixteen years of age, and, please God, will have a
fortune of ^80,000. If your son will marry her, I
can die happy in thinking that this money, which I
have earned through years of labour, shall keep the
estate for the Herries family, who were my first
benefactors. With this hope in my heart, I have had
her trained as a lady should be, so far as lay in my
power. She is a good child, though I say so. If Mr.
Herries cannot do this, yet I would ask your lady-
ship, at the request of a dying old man, to watch
over my little girl when I am gone. I have revisited
this country from time to time during past years, and
know all your kindness of heart. I trust that this
wish may not be too great a favour to grant to
"Your faithful servant,
 Abraham Cobb.
 p.S.—We have come thus far to see you, but I am
taken very ill. The doctor does not know how long
I may have to live, but it cannot be more than a
short time now.
D
34
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Lady Elizabeth sat perfectly still for a few minutes,
as if too surprised even to make a comment to her-
self on this letter.  Eighty thousand pounds !  she
then repeated aloud mechanically; double the very
sum, she was thinking, to the amount of which
the property was mortgaged. In her wildest dreams
till now no such possibility of redeeming the estate
had ever crossed her mind. It seemed too strange,
too providential to be true! Nevertheless, dying
men do not joke as a rule; it might be true, it
might be feasible. And, if so—why ! there was no
time to be lost ; hours, even minutes, might be
precious.
 Whatever comes of it, said my lady to herself
with a dignified air,  I shall only be doing my duty
as a woman and a Christian by seeing into this matter
at once myself. She rang the bell.
 Send Watson to me. I want my bonnet and
cloak, were the brief commands.
"Watson, she said, when that functionary ap-
pcared, so agitated in her inner mind that she did
not notice his downcast look—"Watson, I must
drive out immediately. But I forgot. Huntsman is
ill. Is he better—can he go ? 
 Huntsman is dead, my lady ! I sat up with the
old horse all night, but it was of no use. He breathed
his last a quarter of an hour ago. I hardly liked to
tell you.
Watson spoke in short gruff sentences ; the
man's whole bearing being as if a great disaster
had fallen upon himself. His eyes were bloodshot
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
35
and his hair was rumpled. For a minute Lady
Elizabeth was silent. It was a severe blow ; perhaps
no one but herself knew how severe. The old horse
dead! her favourite through many years. And
where was the money to come from to buy another ?
No wonder she was silent under the shock. At last
she opened her lips that had been rigidly pressed
together, and looked at Watson, whose eyes, offering
sympathy like those of a faithful dog, sorrowfully met
hers.
 You must be tired after sitting up. Thank you,
Watson ; no one could have done more. . . Thank
you, she repeated.  But I must go out now, as I
said. It is to visit a dying man. What shall I do ?
Would Farmer Symonds lend me his mare, do you
think ? 
"If you must go, my lady, I must see what can be
done, was all Watson sturdily answered ; and with a
lingering step he left his mistress, knowing that her
heart was more heavy than his own. In half an hour
the pony carriage came to the door. A white farm
mare was in the shafts, an animal with long hair
about its fetlocks and rust-coloured patches on its
sides from the rubbing of the cart chains, that told
plainly its grooming had been of the scantiest. The
little garden boy sat on the box, with an old rug
tucked round his knees and his cap pulled closer
on his head than usual. Watson stood by the
equipage.
 Your ladyship will excuse my not going, he said
in an apologetic undertone,  but I have something to
D 2
36
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
look to in the stables. You would like Huntsman
buried under the old mulberry tree, I suppose ?
Please don't drive that way, my lady ; I should not
wish you to see 
He broke off short. Lady Elizabeth nodded. Her
heart was too full to speak ; she could not bear
the thought of seeing her dead favourite stark and
still, with glazed eyes, and four legs pointing stiffly
in the air. Yet the letter in her pocket kept her
thoughts from dwelling much on this last trial; and
as they slowly trotted along and neared the village,
her mind grew more and ever more excited.
"Is there a sick man here? she asked, as her
pony carriage drew up at the grocer's door, which
was also by way of being the little inn of the place.
"Yes, my lady, there is such a man—an old Mr.
Cobb, the grocer replied, coming out in his shirt
sleeves with respectable alacrity.  He and his
grand-daughter arrived yesterday evening, and he
took bad in the night. Would your ladyship wish
to see him ? The doctor has just gone away, and the
old man is in his bed, in the bedroom off our parlour.
If any doubt had crossed Lady Elizabeth Herries'
mind as to the genuineness of the letter, it instantly
vanished at the sight that met her eyes on entering
the room.
An old man, evidently very ill, was lying in bed,
supported by pillows. He was breathing with diffi-
culty; yet a faint light of welcome struggled into
his face as he feebly turned his head and saw the
visitor.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
37
 A chair, he murmured ;  Mysie, a chair beside
me : this is Lady Elizabeth. Kind !—very kind ! 
 Do not speak just yet, said his visitor, gently
placing her own hand for a second upon the rugged
one that lay on the counterpane. The sick man's
hand was one that showed evidences of hard labour.
She noticed that the muscles on his shrunken arm
stood out like cordage. But it was an honest, even a
grand, face that looked long and earnestly in her own.
Abraham Cobb was a very old man : his white hairs
were scanty, his mouth had somewhat fallen in. But
there shone a goodness in his aged blue eyes, and
there was a serene expression on his broad forehead,
that seemed to tell of a well-spent and laborious life,
of perseverance and energy, that had been brought
to a successful end.
Now, looking round, Lady Elizabeth's eyes fixed
themselves upon a young girl, who stood deferentially
beside her, yet, apparently, more intent upon watch-
ing the old man's face than impressed by her unusual
visitor.
"Your medicine, grandfather. Let me give you
your drops, she whispered urgently, in a shy, child-
like voice, yet with a little air of modest determina-
tion.
 She is right, Mr. Cobb ; pray take your medicine
first, agreed Lady Elizabeth ;  and then shall we
speak a few minutes alone—you and I ? The old
man nodded. He seemed to gain strength from the
medicine Mysie gave him, with a neat-handed quick-
ness that did not escape her visitor's watchful atten-
38
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
tion. Mysie seemed a mere child, a good, quick child,
thought the elder woman, watching her. But there
was little time for further inspection before the slight
young figure flitted from the room.
Half-an-hour later saw Lady Elizabeth driving
home again, but in how different a frame of mind !
She sat upright in her old pony carriage, almost
breathless with inward agitation. A thousand hopes
flickered, like sunlight on moving water, before her
mind. She was so glad, she was so tremulous, that
she hardly knew herself. Visions of the property
redeemed, of Stephen living once more as a Herries
of Wykhurst should, of hospitality, of generosity, of
grandchildren's voices and pattering footfalls sound-
ing through the old rooms, thronged upon the mother
—the imaginary grandmother—so as almost to choke
her at moments. With her eyes looking straight
before her, she yet saw nothing of what was passing
around, the likeness to Stephen, her son, coming out
strongly as she so dreamed. Practical in all other
things, she was an enthusiast for him. Some neigh-
bours, driving by, had stopped on the road, and
spoken to her before she even perceived that they
were approaching. She found herself answering their
questions, as to her new carriage animal, with a vague
carelessness that was unlike herself.
"Poor Huntsman! Yes, it was very sad, and she
had borrowed Farmer Symonds' mare for the day.
Her friends' condolences and pitying looks did not
touch her as they would upon any other occasion.
They did not understand what was in her mind. The
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
39
old horse had done his work and was laid under the
turf; but, if all went well, how many another gallant
horse might not her son see standing in his stalls in
the years to come.
Arrived home, the poor lady could hardly wait to
drink her afternoon tea, so as to maintain an air of
outward composure before the old servants, who eyed
her with furtive glances of sympathy. Then she went
hastily to her desk and began a long, eager out-
pouring to Stephen of all she had seen and heard this
day ; she assured him that, so far as she could judge, the
money was the honest outcome of the old man's toil
for years, and was undoubtedly placed in the South-
Western Bank for his grandchild's future use. Then
her pen ran easily in warm praise of old Cobb. "' Onb
of nature's gentlemen' is too common an expression ;
yet I can think of none other which will suit him
so well, was her description. Lastly, she hinted to
Stephen of her hopes—yet cautiously. Men are so
easily ruffled in such matters ; and, though his mother,
she would not seem to wish to interfere. But at
least she urged him, with all the eloquence of her pen,
to return at once ; for who knew what might come of
it ?
And to her this seemed his distinct duty ; he could
do no less, surely, in return for Abraham Cobb's
strong proofs of undoubted attachment to the Herries
family.
40
CHAPTER IV.
"THISis a strange story,mother, said Stephen, when,
on the evening of the next day, he stood on the
hearthrug of the library, after their mutual greetings
had been exchanged. He had come back, of course,
as at any call from his mother he would have done.
Her letter had greatly surprised him. He thought
the affair strange, most strange, but more than that he
was not prepared to say.
 My boy, my dear Stephen, it may be the guiding
hand of Providence, answered Lady Elizabeth, almost
trembling.
 Or it might turn out disastrous; one never
knows, said Stephen, with a dark smile. He was
even more impulsive than Lady Elizabeth, but he was
a mark Women are strangely rash about marriage
affairs for those they love, where money is concerned.
Stephen, if in love, would be rash enough, but in cool
blood, he, as becomes a man, could naturally set such
a fair value upon himself that he would pause to
deliberate. This news had come to him when his
mind was maddened, filled with wild, whirling
thoughts after the unexpected shock of Adelaide's
faithlessness. At such a moment any other next-
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
41
best woman might have found it a comparatively easy
task to secure the offer his ladylove had rejected.
 Love is folly in this iron age, he had said
bitterly to himself.  Our women, after all, are
merely fair Circassians ; the only difference is that
they sell themselves for the highest price unless their
parents have power to sell them. Therefore at no
moment in his life had he been so willing to contract
a inariage de raison, or to tell himself that money was
the best help to a man's ambition ; and that ambition
after all was the thing best worth striving for in life.
 Then you have thought about it. You—you are
not unwilling after all ? Oh, my dear boy, it would
make me so happy! and a light came into Lady
Elizabeth's worn face that Stephen had not seen
there for many a year, making her look almost
young again. He put his hand affectionately on her
shoulder.
"Not so fast, my dear, dear, old mother. Anyhow,
I must see the girl first. I cannot get myself to
promise anything till I have done that.
 I thought so, said Lady Elizabeth, in an agitated
voice, "so I have given orders that your fly is to wait,
and we will both go together as soon as possible.
 What! this evening ?  exclaimed Stephen, taken
aback.
"Why not, my boy? every hour is precious.
Remember old Mr. Cobb's days are numbered, and
he is deeply anxious to secure his child's happiness.
 And is that done by giving her to a man she has
never seen, and knows nothing of?
42
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Stephen, you are a gentleman ! a Herries ! As if
you could fail to do your duty to the best of your
power!  cried his mother, indignantly.
The son smiled, indulgent to the maternal weakness.
 If I do not take the trust, there will be no lack of
other men willing enough to make her a husband, and
possibly a more suitable one, he murmured, half to
himself. Then, with some more show of animation,
 But what is this girl like, mother ? you have never
told me that yet.
 Like ? She seemed to me a good, thoughtful
child. Let me see  Lady Elizabeth was searching
in her mind for a suitable description, with some diffi-
culty, for, to tell the truth, Mysie had not made any
vivid impression upon her.  Well—she is a nice
little brown mouse as yet, I should say.
When they reached the village inn, Abraham Cobb
was said to be pretty well, and sitting up in the
parlour with his grand-daughter.
 Does he expect us ?  enquired Lady Elizabeth of
the grocer.
No, they had not done so, the man assured her.
"We will announce ourselves, decided my lady,
with a quick glance at Stephen, which implied,  Then
you will see for yourself; there shall be no prepara-
tion. The old man was sitting in a high arm-chair,
with a pillow behind his head. He was looking
quietly out of the window at the strip of garden at
the back of the house. On a stool, beside his knee,
sat Mysie, so engaged in reading out of yesterday's
newspaper, in a fresh, clear voice, that neither of them
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
43
for a moment noticed the opening of the door. She
seemed such a mere child, in a short brown frock, and
with her brown hair drawn back from her face, and
hanging in two long plaits which almost touched the
ground as she sat, that Stephen, looking over, his
mother's shoulder, felt a faint amusement. But on
their entrance there was a sudden change in the old
man's face ; his eyes, alight with eagerness, fixed
themselves on Stephen's features, his mouth working
even before he spoke.
"Mr. Herries! Mr. Herries himself! Ah, sir, this
is a proud day for me to welcome your father's son.
He has his grandfather's eyes—very like him about
the forehead, he murmured, partly to himself, and
partly glancing up at Lady Elizabeth. Meanwhile,
with hard, trembling hand, he clasped Stephen's more
slender fingers, shaking them again and again, as if
he could not bring himself to let his visitor go.
 I hope you are better, Mr. Cobb, was all Lady
Elizabeth could find.to say.
It must be owned it was slightly embarrassing ; but,
with a matter-of-fact air, Mysie had placed two chairs,
for her visitors and was folding up her newspaper in
methodical fashion.
-  What were you reading, may I enquire ? asked
Stephen, with a smile of interested curiosity, and in a
tone which he felt he would have used to a child.
The answer surprised him.
 The American money market, sir, said Mysie,
as composedly as if she had been perusing the Girl's
Oivn Magazine.
44
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
"You can't understand much of that, I should say,
and Stephen's eyes turned towards Mr. Cobb for' con-
firmation.
 But indeed she does, sir, struck in the grand-
father, with some pride. "We have been living in
America for the last five years, for I have been over-
seeing the working of a mine, of which I was part
owner, and Mysie knows a good deal about mines,
she does, and investments too. You see, in America
wits seem to ripen sooner, and I thought that no
knowledge of business comes much amiss. Besides,
she went to schools, and learnt all she could, he
assured them, with an air of exultant conviction that
his child would not be found wanting. The thought
darted through Stephen's mind that it was not a bad
upbringing for an heiress, to understand the proper
disposal of her own money. He felt less as if to
accept old Cobb's proposal might be cheating a child.
Mysie would be business-like, no doubt—most matter-
of-fact, very unemotional. The bargain he could offer
her would probably seem sufficient even to her
maturer mind in years to come. And he liked the
little brown face, that was not sunburnt, but of a
clear, pale complexion, like milk with a dash of coffee
—not pretty, but refined in features, and already in-
dicating calm decision.
 Perhaps you will leave us for a little, my pet,
said old Cobb ; and his eyes as they followed his
grand-daughter to the door showed that she was
his chief treasure on earth. When they were left
alone the old man looked Stephen full in the face,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
45
and raising his withered hand, said with simple
directness :
"You know my mind, sir ; perhaps you do not
know your own yet. But now you have seen my
little grand-daughter, and, although I say so, there is
no more behind her face than what you see written
on it. She has been good and dutiful, God bless her,
to me, and so she will be, I firmly believe, towards
anyone to whom she gives her word. She comes of
an honest stock. But you need not feel troubled as
to any relations. There is not one soul left in this
country side who remembers me, nor who could claim
kinship. I had several sons, but one way or another
they all died ; and when the last one went before me,
ten years ago, when Mysie was only an infant, and
motherless besides, I dedicated her to you, if you
would have her.
The expression of being dedicated amused Stephen.
Was he a god, then, in the eyes of this simple-
minded old man ? And the thought struck him how
lightly virgins have been sacrificed from time im-
memorial for the good of their country or kindred,
but not often out of gratitude, as in old Cobb's case.
 Tell me, does your grandchild know anything of
this proposition from you to us? (It seemed,
somehow, right to include Lady Elizabeth in his
question.)
 No, sir, no; I have bred her to look up to your
family, but that is all. The alliance seemed too
great an honour for me to count upon for a moment.
Besides, a maid has no call to feel herself offered
4 6
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
where she might not be wanted. It would hurt her
modesty.
 I will be her guardian in any case, interposed
Lady Elizabeth.
 I took the liberty of enquiring of my lady, here,
if you were free, sir, and she said that was so—-or
you should not have heard more on the matter from
me.
Stephen winced, and his eyes fell. Hitherto they
had sought those of his mother at each question and
answer.
 If you will allow me, Mr. Cobb, I think I should
like to join your grand-daughter, whom I see out
there in the garden, he said, rising.
Mysie was straying in an aimless way up and down
beside the raspberry bushes. She knew she was not
wanted indoors, and out here there was nothing to
divert her mind, for the garden was bare of fruit at
this time of year, and the few sunflowers and dahlias
were uninteresting.
 I have come to talk to you for a while, my little
lady, if you will allow me, said Stephen.
Mysie looked shyly and gravely up in his face; she
was not surprised, for his tone of courtesy was just
what she would have expected from a chivalrous
knight. And that was how her grandfather had
taught her to think of the heir of the Herries family.
"Yes, if you please, she demurely answered.
Stephen understood; she meant if it were his
pleasure, but that she did not intend to give an
invitation.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
47
Side by side they paced together up and down a
foot-wide grass path, and he felt as if in company of
a modest convent-bred school-girl, who has been
allowed by the Sisters to speak a few minutes with
her friends in the convent cabbage garden.
 Your grandfather seems very ill, I fear. What does
the doctor say, do you know ? 
 He says, almost whispered Mysie, and two big
tears welled up in her brown eyes,  that grandfather
has not very long to live.
"What will you do, my poor child, when he is
called away ? Believe me, I do not wish to pain you,
but it is time you should entertain the thought, if it
has not been in your mind already.
 He wants me to live with Lady Elizabeth. Have
you not heard ? 
Mysie looked up, and though her eyes were small,
even sunken under a slightly over-hanging forehead,
Stephen liked their direct expression, and thought
her brow gave promise of thought and decision. She
went on :
"Yes, grandfather knows that he has been ill a
long time ; he thought of nothing else all the voyage
over from America. He could not die and leave me,
he used to say, until he had asked Lady Elizabeth if
she would take care of me. He said she and you were
so good—so very good.
 She will be very kind to you, of that you may be
quite sure, and you will be fond of her.
 I will try to do my best to please her in everv-
thing, sighed Mysie.
48
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Stephen looked at her sympathetically.
 But you will miss him very much ? 
 Oh, I should be alone !  broke from the young
creature, in a low wail, and he heard a sob, strangled
in her throat.
Turning hastily aside, Mysie bent her head over a
currant bush so that he should not see the working
grief of her features.
But her self-control was not sufficient, and pulling
out her handkerchief she hid her small face.
A genuine pity for her filled Stephen with quick
compunction. Poor young soul; poor child ! Sorrow
was coming to her rapidly enough ; why should he
have hastened it by an hour? He said he did not
know what of consolation. Perhaps not much, but
he spoke tenderly, pityingly, as he would to any
woman—to any helpless being in sorrow—and Mysie
raised her head presently with a new-born air of
resolve to put away the rain clouds, and smiled a
small April smile upon him, with gratitude in her
features.
One last trial Stephen resolved to put to her—now
or never, though he felt almost ashamed.
"Miss Cobb, do you know that you will be a
heiress ? 
"Yes—I know. But grandfather says my money
will only be a heavy care, for I must make a good use
of it, or else he might be sorry to have left it to me.
She added in low confidence, trusting Stephen
instinctively:
 Do you know, I get afraid at times thinking
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
49
about it. I almost wish that I might not have so
much.
It was genuine, he could swear. Her naivete
pleased the man who felt himself jaded and world-
worn.
 She is not worldly, at all events, he reflected,
looking so full and long at her young face that the
poor child wondered and drew into herself, timidly
afraid she had said something amiss.
A sudden impulse overmastered Stephen.
 Little Mysie, would you care to marry me ? 
How he came to say it he never knew. Perhaps it
was an inspiration.
Mysie started violently, and gazed as genuinely
amazed as if a king had asked her to share his throne.
"You !—Mr. Herries—you ! she gasped.
"Your grandfather would be very glad if you
will say yes, so would my mother ; we have all three
spoken of it together, he said, gently smiling, as if this
was a little play they were rehearsing.
 What! and live at Wykhurst Place—all my life ?
And grandfather knows ? 
 He does not know what you will say. Come in
and tell him.
Mysie obediently turned to the house beside her
tall companion, and entering the parlour went
straight to her grandfather and knelt down beside
his chair.
 Grandfather, have you heard ? Mr. Herries has
asked me to marry him ; he says you wish it, and
Lady Elizabeth too. Is it true ? 
E
5°
ME. AND MRS. HERRIES.
No thought of refusal seemed to cross Mysie's
young mind. It was as if they all three wished her
to become mistress of an earthly paradise, with a
King Arthur for consort. She was only afraid in her
great surprise that there must be some extraordinary
mistake, and dreaded the humiliation of finding she
had entertained, even for a few seconds, a wildly im-
possible idea.
 'Tis true, my bird ; and now tell me, what do you
say ?
 Say! why, of course, I must say yes, his young
grand-daughter answered, in dutiful surprise at any
other answer being thought possible.
"Thank God! Now I can die happy ! solemnly
murmured old Abraham, raising his eyes in pious
gratitude.
5i
CHAPTER V.
Three nights later a strange scene was being enacte
in the little parlour of the grocer's house.
Abraham Cobb's bed had been moved into th
room to give him more air, by the doctor's order
and the old man was now lying back upon a pile <
pillows, looking as if life was wellnigh spent. H
breathing was hoarse and difficult, his aged featur<
had an ivory hue, and the kindly, old, blue eyes wei
weary and ready to close.
On the far side of the bed sat the doctor, his glanc
seldom quitting the patient, while some restorative
were close at his hand.
On the other side was gathered a group, consistin
of Stephen Herries and his mother, Mysie, and th
rector of the parish.
Three mould candles were lit, illumining the darl
ness of the room.
To the end of their lives both Stephen and Mysi
had a strange, superstitious feeling when they sa^
three candles lit. The whole scene came back t
them.
 I must have a pair of candles, the rector had saic
 Then we will put away the paraffin lamp—th
e 2
52
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
room will be too close, softly interposed the doctor.
"Another candle for me, please ; three candles, Miss
Cobb.
A prayer-book was in the clergyman's hand and the
wedding service was about to begin.
Herries was tired-looking and hurried ; his boots
were splashed, and he still wore a light overcoat, for he
had been travelling all day. He had only just
returned from London, after getting the special
license necessary for such a hasty ceremony. For
old Cobb had implored as a dying request that he
might see his grand-daughter married with his own
eyes. No one had thought the end so near, but on
returning home Herries was met with the startling
news that the old man was not expected to live
through the night. There was no time to be lost.
He and Lady Elizabeth started at once for the village.
Perhaps both felt that as it was to be done it were
best done quickly. Vaguely Stephen felt almost
thankful he had no time for thought How often
before now had he imagined his wedding—but with
Adelaide for a bride. Now, was this real ? Mysie
looked dazed between grief and sleeplessness, for the
poor young soul had not once closed her eyes the
night before, but had sat up by her grandfather's side.
To her an awful reality, which yet seemed an im-
possibility, overpowered all other thoughts. Her
grandfather was going to leave her !—would soon be
gone where she could nevermore see him or ask his
advice, come and sit by his knee to be petted, or
caress his dear bald head, with its few silvery hairs.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
53
The rector had been let into the secret by Lady
Elizabeth. At her desire he had explained to the
doctor what was about to happen, and asked him to
be a witness.
No one else was to know ; neither mother nor son
wished the wedding to be made a matter of gossip in
the country.
And now the clergyman's fatherly, grave tones
began reading out the marriage service.
He hurried it as much as possible, it must be
owned, for his mind was urging him to finish and
begin the prayers for the dying.
The little bride stepped forward to her grandfather's
bedside, directed in a whisper by her future mother-
in-law. Mysie still wore her brown every-day dress,
and her long hair-plaits fell as usual down her back.
Just before the ceremony was beginning, she
whispered, in childlike apology, to Lady Elizabeth :
 I am sorry there was no time to put my hair up,
or indeed I would have done it; but I could not leave
grandfather.
Stephen heard the simple explanation and could
hardly repress a smile.
Now, as he took Mysie's small, cold hand, a strange
feeling came over him, as if what, he was engaged in
was a mockery.
This mere child ! Only with' an effort, and by
reminding himself that matters had gone too far to
draw back, he brought himself to say the required
words.
Then came the moment when the ring was needed.
54
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Stephen had forgotten it, but his mother quickly
slipped one into his hand.
Her own wedding ring was too large, but she
possessed that of Stephen's grandmother, a fairy-
like beauty in her day, when George the Fourth was
King. It was a small ring, and fitted the slender
brown finger on which Stephen slipped it, with a
greater feeling than ever of being in a dream.
It was over ! The bridegroom rose to his feet ;
but Mysie had only crept closer to the bedside, where
she was now kneeling with her brown head buried in
her grandfather's pillow. Old Cobb's eyes had been
fixed all the time on the bridegroom and bride with
an expression of wondering beatitude ; even his
breath had seemed to come more easily. His features
now smoothed themselves ; a strange light of glad-
ness relit his eyes. If ever a human face bore an
expression of perfect satisfaction, thought the less
interested onlookers, that was his ! Lovingly, feebly
he raised his old shrunken hand and laid it on Mysie's
head in blessing.
 Be a good wife to him ; promise me !
 I will, I will, she whispered.
Those around could hardly have heard that answer
had it not been that the silence was so intense.
 God—bless you.
Mysie guessed the words almost, so low, so faintly
they reached her ears. The others all drew in their
breath standing by, for they watched—what was it ?
a shade, a change, come over the patriarchal face
upon the bed. The doctor silently raised himself and
55
bent a little forward. Lady Elizabeth and Stephen
felt a thrill of agitation. The rector quickly turned
the leaves in his prayer-book, hoping it might not yet
be too late.
But Mysie did not stir or raise her head. Old
Abraham Cobb seemed to sink lower in his bed, his
weary head drooped, and his hand slipped Irom his
grandchild's head upon her shoulder.
There was heard a long, long sigh—nothing more.
The doctor had come round the bed swiftly. He
lifted the limp hand from Mysie's shoulder and
whispered, bending down :
 Now, my dear, you had better get up and come
away.
The last two words startled Mysie ; some un-
spoken communication seemed to dart through her
mind, transmitted by the doctor's near presence.
She looked up affrighted. Next moment she was
on her feet. She looked at her grandfather, not
understanding what had happened, but troubled.
 Is he sleeping again ?  she whispered.
 He is gone, dear, said Lady Elizabeth, simply,
putting her arms about the daughter whom with that
movement she took then and henceforth to her heart.
And the little brown bride stood transfixed as if
turned to stone.
CHAPTER VI.
A WINTER and a summer had gone by at Wykhurst
Place. Spring had come again, and the woods in the
hollow were in leaf, and wild flowers making
variegated patches of beauty here and there over
the park.
There was little change in the old house except
the introduction of a young, shy girl, dressed in deep
mourning. The old servants were very respectful to
Miss Cobb, for by her old name Mysie was known to
them. The neighbours also looked kindly at Lady
Elizabeth's ward, for nothing had transpired as to
Mysie's parentage and circumstances beyond what
Lady Elizabeth was pleased to say. This was
that her young friend was an orphan, whose grand-
father had belonged to that part of the country, and
who, dying, had bequeathed his grand-daughter to
her care.
 So nice for you to have a young companion, dear
Lady Elizabeth, the neighbours said, and thought
little more about Mysie, who, for her part, being shy
and a little haughty with thinking over her secret
position, was as well pleased to be left alone.
Both the elder woman and the young girl grew sin-
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
57
cerely attached to each other during those long
months of close companionship.
Mysie had lived so much with elderly people that
she did not miss companions of her own age. She
loved taking Duchess out for long rambles alone in
the woods in November, when the brown leaves lay
dry and rustling under her feet, and the pheasants
whirred up through the branches; or better still in
spring when all the world was young and it was
primrose time, and the May blossoms were bursting
thick and white on the low standard hawthorns that
dotted all the park. She had a great deal of silent
meditation to do in her own mind ; a secret educa-
tion to accomplish to fit herself, in her own opinion,
to be a good wife for Stephen.
Even Lady Elizabeth, her best friend, counsellor,
and often confidant, did not understand how the
romance of her situation had taken hold of Mysie's
mind.
After her grandfather's funeral—to which Stephen
had gone himself, attending to all arrangements with
a respect that earned the young girl's deepest grati-
tude—Lady Elizabeth had straightway brought Mysie
home to Wykhurst Place. For a year or two, the
elder woman had explained to her, it would be more
fitting that she should keep her marriage a profound
secret.
This was partly on account of Stephen's en-
forced departure on a special mission in the East,
which he had expected, and, indeed, also because of
Mysie's tender years. Her ladyship privately thought
58
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
that her daughter-in-law's education would progress
all the better if, in her own mind, Mysie were led to
consider herself still a schoolgirl who needed accom-
plishments and general development.
So three times a week they two went by train to
the nearest town, where Lady Elizabeth duly sat
while  Miss Cobb received lessons in singing and
painting. The other days of the week they were
both mostly alone, occupied with their different, and
in Mysie's case self-imposed, duties.
Often when Mysie opened her eyes early in the
morning, in the old bedroom over the porch which
so many a daughter of the house of Herries had
occupied through generations, her life seemed to her
more strange than any she read of in the novels from
the library.
Then she would rise in her white nightgown and
pushing open the lattice that jarred on its rusty
hinge, look out on the dewy freshness of the park.
How lovely it all was ! How dear this old grey
house, enriched with associations of the family to
which she had been bred to look up with love and
reverence. And to think that she, she, little Mysie, was
in reality the mistress of it all ; that some day when
Stephen Herries came back all the world would
know that she was his wife, and she would be so
proud of him, of standing by his side through the
years to come.
In the winter evenings, when she and Lady Eliza-
beth came in from their afternoon walk, Mysie loved
to crouch down on the hearthrug in the library;
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
59
then, while the flaming logs of wood threw little
sparks of light upon projecting carving, and broader
dancing reflections upon the dark oak wainscoting of
the room, and the curtains were pulled snug and
close to keep out the draughts that would creep, on
windy nights, through the leaded windows, she loved
to coax Lady Elizabeth into te'lling stories of the
Herries family in old times.
How the great drawing-room, with its splendid
ceiling, crossed with big beams studded with heavy
pendants, and its noble oak chimney-piece, supported
by carved life-size figures—though it was now partly
shrouded in dust-sheets, hiding the fine old furniture,
Jacobean and Sheraton, the Florentine mosaics, and
priceless cabinets—how, recounted Lady Elizabeth, this
fine old room was historical. For Charles the First
had dined there ; and the martyr king was said to have
passed a night in the present state bedroom when
pursued by his enemies. Only the many pictures on
the drawing-room walls were left uncovered to be
studied by Mysie's interested gaze; for did not
she belong to every one of them ? the dead and gone
Herries cavaliers, with brown curls and inlaid
armour, the powdered dames, and later classically
draped ladies of Byronic days. Then in one of the
farmhouses, of which she could see the twisted chim-
neys from the west side-door, had not a priest's hole
been discovered in one of the upper rooms ? There
a priest, in bygone troubled days, was kept hidden by
the last Herries of the old faith (they later joined the
Reformed Church, though remaining tolerant), and
6o
legend told how a dark-robed figure used to glide at
nights up from the farmhouse through the woods to
the western door, where it was silently admitted.
Or, still better, she loved to draw Lady Elizabeth
—no difficult task—into the recital of little incidents
of Stephen's childhood ; the mother would recall all
his sayings and doings in the nursery; next of his
first going to school; how he had ridden to the
hounds on his shaggy pony when seven years old ;
and shot his first snipe at ten, though it must
be owned the bird was sitting—not that Lady Eliza-
beth cared how the feat was done.
Then his boyish promise, his hopes and ambition ;
the terrible embarrassments of the property; the
mortgage to Mr. Stuckey—Mysie knew these all by
heart.
When her guardian had offered Mysie a sitting-
room for her own use, with a slight blush the young
girl had begged leave to occupy Stephen's study
during his absence, giving eager assurances that she
would not disarrange anything. A little pang went
through the mother's heart, for that room was her
household shrine, and she had been used to sit in
there, when feeling the craving most strong upon her
to hear news of her far away son. But she under-
stood what was in Mysie's mind, and smilingly gave
the required permission.
Like all the rest of the house, this study was dark-
ly wainscoted, and the furniture was of oak as black
and shining as the greater part of the woodwork ;
but roses in summer framed the mullioned windows,
MR., AND MRS. HERRIES.
6l
and in winter the setting sun gleamed like a ball of
fire across the park. Mysie was secretly utterly
happy in that room ; it was full of associations of
the husband, who was a mere shadowy figure to herf
for she had in reality seen him only three or four
times, and then for brief periods. But here she
seemed to be breathing in his bygone thoughts;
for the room was hung with his old school photo-
graphs, his fishing tackle, lined with his favourite
books ; and, as she pored over the pages of these, she
was a proud and pleased girl when she lit upon any
pencil notes, as she frequently did in the margin.
Then, when Sunday came the household and farm
labourers, and also some of the nearer neighbours
from farms or the village, were wont to assemble in
the chapel beside the hall.
The service had always been performed here time
out of mind.
A friendly neighbour, a retired clergyman, weekly
held service, as much out of affection to Lady Eliza-
beth as from a feeling that it was necessary; for
indeed there was a village church close by.
Then Mysie, sedately following my lady, when the
little congregation was assembled, would creep into
that corner of the carved open pew where she found
he had been used to sit. She read out of the prayer-
book that had his name stamped in faded gilded
letters, she looked at the stained glass window above
the little altar where he must have so often looked
too; and the carved wooden cherubs perched aloft
here and there made her smile, remembering she
62
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
had heard that, in his babyhood, Stephen had asked
that they might be brought down to play with him.
Lady Elizabeth saw something of all this that was
growing more and more in Mysie's mind, and even
little though she saw, smiled to herself, well satisfied-
 He will have a devoted wife, she said many a
night in her heart. So she never cared a jot when
vague rumours reached her as to Adelaide Ferrars
and the supposed  something  which existed between
that young lady and Mr. Stuckey.
"No doubt he would have proposed to her last
winter, soon after your son, Mr. Stephen, went away,
some of Lady Elizabeth's more gossiping cronies
took care to tell her,  only he broke his collar-bone
out cub-hunting. And then, you know, he went off on
this voyage to Africa, to kill big game. A great blow
for her, for she has been counting on it. Some people
say she is half engaged, and that it will be all
settled this coming winter. Well, we shall see. Is it
all over—forgive our asking—between her and your
son ? 
 Quite ! Lady Elizabeth would firmly reply,
folding her hands in her lap with a reticent but satis-
fied air that left no room for doubt.
Some of these neighbours had daughters, who on
such visits naturally spent their time with Mysie.
She was very good friends with them all, but they
thought her, somehow, a little reserved.
 Ah ! you are not out yet, they would say, laugh-
ing and teasing her; "you are such a little nun;
wait till you go to your first balls, then perhaps we
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
63
shall see a difference. You are sure to fall in love
with some of your very first partners, is she not ?
These quiet little mice always do.
Mysie's lips would compress ever so slightly, as if
to keep back the words trembling there :  That she
could never fall in love with anyone, because she was
(little though they knew it) a married woman.
But she would only smile next moment, and not
answer much.
Of course she heard all about Adelaide Ferrars too.
 She was not nearly good enough for Mr. Stephen,
these girl friends would indignantly declare.
 Fancy throwing him over for that Stuckey man.
Do you know Mr. Herries well, dear ? Ah ! wait till
you do! Most likely you will fall in love with him
when he comes home. Would not that be funny?
There was another person with whom Mysie was
on intimate terms of friendship. This was old
Nanny, Watson's grandmother. She had been maid
sixty-five years ago to the Mrs. Fterries of that day ;
had married the family butler, and later seen her son
and grandson grow up in the family service. Nanny
had a small pension of her own, bequeathed by her
former mistress, in addition to which Lady Elizabeth
had given her one of the pleasantest south rooms in
the house. Good old Nanny was treated as one of the
family, and many an hour Mysie used to pass listening
to her tales of the former glories of Wykhurst, in
helping the old woman out to sit in a sunny, sheltered
corner of the garden, or playing to her by the hour
old hymn tunes, or singing simple ballads.
64
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
"Ah! she is a treasure, my lady, Nanny would
say, nodding her aged head at Lady Elizabeth. "If
Mr. Stephen could find it in his heart to care for her
now, she would be a rare blessing to the family.
 I agree with you, Nanny, her mistress would say,
for the lonely woman had come to love Mysie as a
daughter. But yet the secret was kept; old age is
garrulous, and Nanny sometimes forgot whether she
had heard a thing yesterday or fifty years ago.
65
CHAPTER VII.
As has been said, a second spring now blossomed
over the land since Mysie had come to Wykhurst.
May was just beginning, and though a light
shrewish wind made waves of shadow over the fresh
spring grass, yet a warm sun caused birds and bees
and flowers to rejoice; made also Mysie's heart sing
within her. She was young,like the rest of the world,
and she unconsciously longed, like all young souls, tc
love and be loved. One brightest day of all the
bright, long ones that had succeeded each other, she
remembered years afterwards. She and Duchess had
gone frisking together through the farm meadows,
where the high, dry banks were so thick with prim-
roses that a golden treasure of stars seemed lavishly
outpoured under every hedge. Then, after an hour or
two, they'both strolled home through the park, where
a great stretch was glorious as the Field of the Cloth
of Gold with cowslips, some tall as that
"On Hirpent hill which groweth ;
and all among the thick-sown flowers rose the purple
spikes of irises.
Mysie plucked and plucked till her hands were
over full, while Duchess looked at her with soft
F
66
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
brown eyes, as who should say:  I would help you
if I could, but this is a foolish amusement.
Then the first martin of the year flew low over the
grass with quick, erratic flight, and away raced
Duchess, open-mouthed, after the bird, thinking that
here was no tabooed game, and eager as a child
chasing a butterfly.
From the dell near the house there came suddenly
a deep, bell-like call. The first cuckoo! Mysie
stood quite still; then solemnly lifted her right foot
and examined the herbage. By rights a maid ought
to find a hair at such a moment on that particular
spot ; which hair ought to be of the precise colour of
her future husband's head, so she went down on her
knees on the grass, looked diligently, brought up
something at last with a troubled eye. A solitary
red hair of a cow—how disgusting! Back came
Duchess, and squatted down on the identical spot,
rolling herself in exuberance of spirits
 Get up, Duchess; up! Come out of my way,
there's a dear.
But Mysie had to push her four-footed favourite
right over, with difficulty, for Duchess did not under-
stand this new game, and would only beg forgiveness
with tail-waggings and out-stretchings, till at last she
was coaxed to get aside, and, in triumph, Mysie held
up between her eyes and the sun one black silky
hair, which fresh scrutiny had unearthed.
"That is right, she exclaimed joyously in her
heart, and away she and Duchess went, gambolling
over the lawns like a pair of children.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
67
Lady Elizabeth was waiting for her in the little
flower garden that lay between the two projecting
wings of the house-front.
It was a stiff, square plot, laid out, as Elizabethan
gardens should be, in rectangular beds, and  curious
knots, with coloured sand and pebbles tracing the
walks. But the flower-beds were so sweet with
hepaticas, auriculas, anemones, tulips, and other
tender spring flowers, that their stiffness had disap-
peared in sweetness.
 Will you come with me to the Hodgekins' cottage,
and carry my basket ? said Lady Elizabeth ;  I
hear the children there have heavy colds.
So Mysie took the basket, and they went together
along the avenue to a cottage by the high road, so
old that its thatched roof was bowed with age, like
an aged grand-parent ; though the lattice casements
were framed in fresh-budding creepers—suggesting
that age can find its consolations in a younger genera-
tion.
The cottage children seemed certainly to have
terrible colds and feverish faces.
That evening Mysie developed a cold, too, and her
face flushed. By morning she was covered with a
rash, and the doctor being sent for, pronounced that
she had a bad attack of measles.
Poor Mysie ! No more races in the park for some
weeks to come. By the following night she was lying
in bed, somewhat delirious in her sleep, for her fever
was high
Lady Elizabeth resolved herself to sit up with her
F 2
68
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
ward for the first watch of the night. At three
o'clock her maid, who was stronger and younger, was
to take over the charge until daylight.
Old Nanny begged leave to stay up with her mis-
tress. She was strange in her habits of sleeping,
never closing her eyes at any time till dawn, when
she would sleep lightly, though it was generally
in the afternoons that the old woman found an hour
or two of real repose.
Her room opened into that occupied by Mysie, for,
like all Tudor houses, Wykhurst had been built
rabbit-warren fashion. But as another door led into
the passage this communicating one was seldom used
though to-night it stood ajar.
Lady Elizabeth and her old maid sat up in the
latter's room, in respective armchairs ; both dozing a
little, and whispering to each other in snatches of talk
between whiles.
They could hear Mysie breathing in the next room,
with little troubled murmurings, that now and again
escaped her in sleep.
It was two o'clock at night.
What was that ?
A small shower of pebbles had rattled suddenly
against the windows in Mysie's room.
Both women sat upright at once, and looked at
each other with a little thrill of wonder, if not of fear.
There was a night-light in there, and Lady Elizabeth,
putting her hand on her heart (for it beat too quickly)
groped her way in the shadows to Mysie's window,
which was in an embayed recess, being over the
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
69
porch. She softly drew the blind aside, and peered
out. Good heavens ! there was a man's shadow cast
on the gravel walk in the moonlight, although his
figure could not be seen. Old Nanny was peering
over her mistress's shoulder. Both women drew back,
and looked at each other, then directed their gaze
towards the bed, where the unconscious sleeper now
turned in her sleep, as if disturbed by the sound.
Again both looked at each other, and Lady Elizabeth
bent her brows, while Nanny raised her eyes ceiling-
wards, wagging her head slowly and stiffly to relieve
her amazement.
There again !
A fresh shower of pebbles and sand from the
path outside made sharp points of sound, but this
time upon old Nanny's window. Both women crept
back into the adjoining room, holding each other by
the arm, and gazed at the window with fascinated
eyes.
 It is not one of the maids—I saw the shadow of
his hat, whispered Lady Elizabeth.  Shall I go
downstairs and waken Watson, do you think?
 He is too hasty, like all young fellows. I will
look out myself, quoth Nanny, valiantly. "There
can't be much harm going when, whoever he is, comes
to my window. Please close the door, my lady, so as
Miss Cobb shan't hear, and I will put my head out, I
will.
Slowly the old woman fumbled with the rusty latch
of her window, then thrust her nightcapped head out
into the cool, spring night.
7C MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Who's there? What do you want? Why do you
venture to knock us up in this way ? Stand out
there, that I may see you, she scolded, but in whis-
pered, agitated tones.
Duchess, who had been sleeping on the hearthrug
but who had roused sharply at the alarm, and was
following her mistress, whimpering, and with pricked
ears, now put her fore paws upon the window-sill
and thrust out her head under Nanny's arm.
A man stepped into the moonlight. He did not
answer directly, but to their astonishment began to
sing, under his breath—
 'Old woman, old woman, will you go a shearing?'
' Speak a little louder, sir, I'm rather deaf of hearing.'
' Old woman, old woman, shall I kiss you very sweetly ?'
' I thank you very kindly, sir ; I hear you now completely.' 
 Master Stephen! exclaimed old Nanny rap-
turously, recognising an old Sussex quatrain she had
often crooned to him, when, as a child, he had sat
upon her knee.
 My boy ! my boy !  murmured Lady Elizabeth,
whose heart seemed suddenly overfilled with a rush
of gladness, that was actually painful.
Duchess gave two low barks out of the window,
expressive of all the delight a dog can feel, while her
tail thumped loudly against the wainscot.
In another minute Lady Elizabeth, enraptured,
was hurrying down the black oak staircase, carrying
a bedroom candle, while Duchess bounded before her,
yet lightly, as if fearing to waken the household.
With her own hands the mother drew the door
MR. AND MRS. MERRIES.
71
bolts, then folded her son in her arms, too excited to
speak beyond ejaculating broken words of surprise
and delight.
 It is very unexpected, isn't it ?  said Stephen, after
kissing her half-a-dozen times.  My darling mother !
Let me shut the door first, and see you out of this
draughty hall, then I will tell you all about it.
He had got an unexpected recall to England, it
seemed, and had meant to telegraph his home-coming,
but found, on arrival in London, that he would
just be able to catch a night train ; so came on, with-
out waiting, in order to spend a week at home.
His mother brought him into his own study, and
then must needs herself forage for her boy in the lower
regions. She sat and devoured him with her eyes-,
while, more to please her than from hunger, he
shared some cold meat with Duchess, then had a
cigarette and a lemon squash, Watson having locked
up all stronger drink.
"Well, how is Mysie? he asked ;  I saw a light
in her room, and thought she was probably sitting up
late over a novel like a naughty girl; so I tried to
attract her attention, being afraid of startling you and
the household by ringing. What is the matter? You
look so happy there can't be much amiss ; still, why are
you up and dressed at this hour—and Nanny too?
On learning that Mysie had measles Stephen felt
really considerably disappointed to hear that he might
hardly be able to see her.
 I have been wondering how the little brown
mouse would look now that she is older.
72
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 She is a dear child—a real daughter to me
Stephen; next to you I call her my greatest
blessing.
 That is good news ; I am truly glad to hear it.
Then, after a few seconds of silence, Stephen added
abruptly, with an altered face, in a voice he strove
hard should sound indifferent,  So Adelaide Ferrars
has taken Stuckey?
"Yes, she has—she has, repeated his mother, in a
tone equally carefully divested of all personal interest.
 The usual bargain—family as an equivalent to
fortune. As Nanny remarked, 'He has the fat, and
she has the blood !' I don't know how it will work,
I'm sure. However, both have got all they seem to
consider necessary in the matter.
"Hallo! who's been in my room? asked Stephen,
presently looking round. His mother thought at
once of the fairy story of the bears, who found traces
of the little princess in their dwelling.
 It was only Mysie, she smiled ;  she is so fond
of this room, and has promised to disturb nothing ;
indeed, I am sure you will find all just as you left it ;
there never was a more tidy, dainty Jittle lady.
And then for another half-hour they two talked
together ; the mother expatiating on Mysie's virtues?
the son listening; then sketching hastily his own
doings and prospects.
Later on both crept together upstairs to see old
Nanny, who had already wakened a housemaid, and
got Stephen's room prepared for  her boy, as she
called him, who rewarded her with a hearty hug.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
73
Mysie grew better soon. She lay looking out of
her western window at the flowers and at the feeding
cattle in the park, and the green tree tops of the dell.
It seemed hard to be lying there ill, when Stephen
had returned. How often she had dreamed of his
coming this spring; had imagined how she would
meet him, what he would say to her. Oh, a thousand
things, airy, vague, but bright; those soap-bubble
thoughts of a young girl concerning her future, almost
unknown lover ; and now she had her wish, and was
disappointed ; yet not altogether so, for Stephen was
very kind.
He was able to get a fortnight's more leave than he
had counted upon ; so, before he left, he used to come
into Nanny's room, where Mysie was moved by day
for a change to the sofa.
Then, while the blinds were drawn almost entirely
down to save the sick girl's eyes, he would read aloud
to her, in a well-trained, musical voice, for two hours
at a time.
 It is so good of him, Mysie would shyly whisper
to his mother. She was too timid to say so, with all
the warmth she felt, to Stephen himself.
He read poetry to her, which she was just at the
age to begin to appreciate ; and it pleased him to find
her such an attentive, understanding listener. But
often she listened without rightly hearing, for her weak
gaze was fixed upon Stephen's head, of which she was
imprinting the outline in the innermost tablets of her
memory. Soon she learnt every trick and turn of his
features and manner. Even his own mother, or old
74
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Nanny, could not have told just where those few
early grey hairs grew over a cut he had received in a
brush with some unfriendly Arabs on an expedition
in wild regions. But she knew, even by the way he
lifted his eyelids, when Stephen was slightly weary of
his occupation ; and with fine tact the child would
pretend she was tired herself, and draw a little sigh,
feigning fatigue.
 I hope to see you up and about before I leave,
Mysie, Herries said, with kindly encouragement.
 O, yes; I must try. I should like to, indeed,
she answered, her pale cheek flushing a little.
So the day before he left she was dressed by her
ladyship's own maid, and came into the next room to
meet Stephen, with a deprecating look in her brown
eyes, and a figure that seemed bending without her
wish, while she herself felt light as air, yet strangely
unsteady.
Against his will a little shock passed over Stephen
as he looked at his bride of a year and a half.
She had grown taller, but her figure was that of a
gawky schoolgirl—not a child—not a woman—yet
his wife.
Her long brown hair had been shaved off during
her illness, and though her head appeared soft and
fluffy while lying on her pillows, in the full light it
gave her a boyish appearance, in odd contrast to the
white, flowing dressing-wrapper in which she was
clothed. In spite of himself, as has been said, it was
a disagreeable impression, and Herries was even
fearful lest Mysie should guess by his eyes or voice
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
75
the disappointment he undoubtedly experienced.
Afterwards, Lady Elizabeth made excuses for her
favourite.
 My dear, I saw you looked somewhat taken
aback, she said ;  but remember you are seeing poor
Mysie at her very worst. Well, she will grow out of
this chrysalis stage.
 That is certain, was all Stephen answered,
attempting a wan smile, both for himself and his
mother.
Next day he went away. Mysie had begged leave
to be helped downstairs to see his departure.
The older servants had gathered in the inner hall.
Stephen took leave of his mother briefly, as it seemed,
before them all; but then he and she had taken a far
longer and loving leave of each other a while back, in
her own especial sitting-room.
He shook hands with Watson and the others;
then coming up to where old Nanny sat in an arm-
chair, covered with wraps because the door stood
open, he laid both hands affectionately on her
shoulders.
"You are like an old angel; you are growing
wings, I declare. He had drawn out her topmost,
flimsy Shetland shawl with his fingers.  What, two,
three, four shawls on your dear old back ! Well, they
are not one too many, if they keep you well till I
come again. Then he stooped and kissed her
wrinkled forehead.
Mysie felt a sudden jealousy. Stephen had never
kissed her yet. Would he do so now, when even old
76
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Nanny—perhaps the thought communicated itself
from her mind to that of Stephen, as he stood close
beside her. He hesitated visibly a moment, asking
himself the same question. Then— Good-bye, Mysie;
Nanny, take care of Miss Cobb, he said with a mean-
ing smile in his eyes ; pressed Mysie's hand gently,
with a prolonged clasp, as if to whisper,  You under-
stand, you are Miss Cobb before all these onlookers,
touched his mother's two cheeks lightly once more,
then he was gone.
 You look very pale, my child, said Lady Eliza-
beth with anxious solicitude, turning to her charge.
 I should like to go upstairs and lie down for a
little, if I may, Mysie answered.
Then when she was alone, warmly covered, with
the room carefully darkened, she put her hands
before her eyes where some blinding tears had
gathered. Her hero was gone. Until now she had
never known what it was to have a real hero. Hith-
erto she had thought of Stephen as a vague person-
age; now she was wholly, utterly in love with him.
After all he was her husband ; he was hers alone.
But was he fond of her; did his thoughts ever for
moments stray towards her, while hers were wholly
occupied with dreaming of him through long hours ?
Ah ! that was the question.
77
CHAPTER VIII.
Two more years glided by, passing quickly because
uneventful.
Mysie had grown taller, indeed ended growing as
to height. To Lady Elizabeth's mind she was grow-
ing every day in sweetness and good looks. The
girl was like an opening rose in her maidenly fresh-
ness, and, so to speak, fragrance of happiness, for she
enjoyed her present life, and looked forward with
even greater pleasure of hope to her life in future.
And it was August weather. In the home farm
there was waving a great sea of ripe wheat, a wide,
sixteen-acre field of golden-brown grain.
Mysie used to wander down with Duchess, and
look at it with admiration. She loved a wheat field ;
she would have liked to spring through it, to wade
through it; that was her feeling, as she looked at the
tall wheat spears standing breast high. However
ruthless it might have been to the crop, that was what
she would have liked to do; but she did not tell
Watson so, for he would have been horrified at such
a mad idea.
What a grand country it was ! Mysie used to think,
looking down from the west door upon the home
farm fields, and the outlying farms beyond. Such
73
MR. AND MRS, HERRIES.
broad roads, with grassy sides, and great elms in the
hedgerows. Here a hill and there a wide hollow, all
golden with stubble or still standing corn, while in
each field there waited a great waggon piled with
sheaves, and with a team of two or three big, mild-
eyed horses.
Then her eyes could wander over such a wide-
spread view, past the demesne woods close at hand,
and further the thick hazel copses in the valleys,
and beyond more rolling meadows and stubble, dark
tree-clumps, and wide bluish distances.
From here eastward the effect of heat haze was
almost such as the sea might give in the distance when
seen from far away on a warm day. There was an
undulating richness, an air of bounteous nature, in
the view hence. For this champaign land was one
of plenty, fit for the worship of Ceres ; lavish of the
fruits of the earth.
But again turning westward Mysie loved almost
better looking up at the rolling grouse moors that
stretched along the horizon. These belonged to
Stephen, but had not been shot over by him for
several years.
 Some day—some day, Duchess, he will come
back, and you and I will go up there with him, all
alone with him, and the birds and the heather, she
whispered, patting her favourite's silky head.
Now at this time of year it was Lady Elizabeth's
custom always to give a large afternoon party.
Once a year she did so after harvest time ; because
this suited Watson best, when his farm steward's work
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
79
was done of driving the whirring mowing machine
and overseeing the great golden ricks built up in the
yard.
 Let us have a really large party this year, Mysie ;
we will ask all the neighbours, Lady Elizabeth had
said in the fulness of her heart.
For the harvest had been good, and the weather
was glorious ; she was happy in her own mind, and
her heart felt warm with pride and affection, as she
looked at the young girl by her side.
Mysie was most helpful. She loved a party too in
her own way ; but always in her heart there nestled
close the secret feeling that none of these friends
exactly knew who she was, and she felt somewhat
posing towards them, which to her frank young
mind was deception.
The day came bright and sunny, as August
weather should be. The garden was at its best
for the time of year. The old house looked a poem
in grey stone and dark oak.
About half-past three in the afternoon the second
post came in. Lady Elizabeth was sitting waiting
for her guests in the dining-room. The western
window had a raised recess, with an old oaken seat
set therein, of which she was very fond. She glanced
out at the garden, where all looked blooming and
green, and then again her eyes fell upon the old
Jacobean dinner table. This table was the pride of
Watson's heart, shining like a dark mirror, and laid
out to-day with borders of snowy damask and the
old family silver, with piles of fruit and glowing
8o
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
masses of flowers. It was called the King's table,
in memory of the second Charles, who had made a
hasty fugitive's passover supper thereat, an event
every Herries recalled with pride. Presently Mysie
came into the room like a flash ; she held something
in her hand, behind her back.
 Mother, guess what I have here ! she exclaimed,
her lips parting with an indescribable smile of joy,
her eyes lighting up.
For the last year or so the girl had been ac-
customed to call Lady Elizabeth by this tender
name, but only when they two were alone together:
It was a little matter, but it made both more happy
than might be imagined.
Mysie was dressed all in white this day, and brown
though her complexion still was, there was a rose
flush on her cheek, a soft bloom and brightness in
her whole young face, exquisite as the .first unfolding
of a China rose, that, in the mother's eyes, made her
beautiful to look at.
For a second, Lady Elizabeth did not answer ; she
was feeling as if for the first time she saw her
daughter-in-law's charms. Mysie had been very
dear to her, but Lady Elizabeth's eyes seemed as> if
opened this afternoon.
 Why, the child is really very pretty, she said in
her heart. Then with an answering smile,  What
have you got there, dear ? It must be something
very pleasant to make you look so happy. Why, it
can't be 
 But it is and Mysie held out in triumph a letter
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
8l
addressed in Stephen's handwriting.  See it has the
London postmark. Quick ! quick ! read it, mother.
Let us see whether he has really come home.
It was indeed from Stephen—come home. He was
in London, having unexpectedly been recalled, to his
great pleasure.
Duties might still keep him up in town for a fort-
night or three weeks, he wrote ; but he hoped then to
come down to Wykhurst, perhaps for a long time,
to see his mother and his dear little Mysie.
 What ! does he say that ?  broke in Mysie, low ;
and a slight flush rose in her face. It was the first
time that in his letters Stephen had used any term
of endearment towards herself.
Mother and daughter looked at each other, for they
two indeed felt mutually as parent and child.
Lady Elizabeth saw the illumining wave of joy
that passed over the young girl's face, and her heart
leaped up within her in answering gladness. She
understood that to Mysie her husband was her first
love. Pray heaven he would remain her only one to
the last day of her life !
 He does indeed, my darling, and you see he is
going to stay a long time. And so, Mysie, who
knows but it may be time to announce our news
to all our neighbours ? 
No more was needed to be said ; a silence fell
between them both. Mysie took up a rose from a
bunch on the table, and toyed with it, her eyes
looking out in the distance. To be known as
Stephen's wife in a few short weeks, to have him
G
82
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
come home, perhaps, for good and all. Oh! it
seemed too much happiness. She turned swiftly,
and, before Lady Elizabeth knew what was in her
mind, Mysie was kneeling beside her, with her head
in her guardian's lap.
The elder woman put her arms about her.
Carriage wheels sounded outside on the gravel; not
one, but several. The neighbours were coming thick
and fast, from near and far.
The hostess and her ward recovered their self-
possession and went out into the garden, where they
awaited their guests.
"We must put on our company masks, my child,
said Lady Elizabeth.
"Well, we have a right to wear smiling masks
to-day, said Mysie, with a ripple of laughter in her
voice.  And, by the way, here is another letter,
mother ; it came with Stephen's, and I had forgotten
it. It looks like a horrid business one, and must wait.
 Give it to me, and I will put it in my pocket,
said her ladyship, calmly. What did she care about
horrid business letters on such a day as this ? Had
not Stephen returned ? Was he not coming home ?
Many were the pleasant congratulations offered to
Lady Elizabeth about her party, for she was a great
favourite with all her neighbours.
 What a success your afternoons always are !  said
some of her friends ;  perfect weather, a perfect place,
and all the people one wants to meet.
 And such a charming young lady to help in your
hospitality !  said an elderly beau, with a reputation
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
83
for perfect taste in his judgments of wine and women.
 Your ward is quite a beauty.
 She is very taking indeed, whispered a lady who
was one of Lady Elizabeth's oldest friends;  we
never seem to have seen before how picturesque she
is—rather brown, but like an etching of one of
Romney's portraits. My dear, what if your son
should admire her ?  For they all knew by now that
Stephen was coming home.
The mother calmly smiled.
 She could not be more dear to me than she is.
The words were said purposely somewhat aloud,
and were overheard by several people ; little whispered
remarks followed.
 What! is Miss Cobb well off, then ? 
 Perhaps so. No one seems to know ; but in any
case, Lady Elizabeth seems to look upon her already
almost as a daughter.
Presently young Mrs. Stuckey sailed up to the
group around her hostess. The Stuckeys had now
been two years married, and lived in a great red-
brick building, somewhat like a lunatic asylum, pain-
fully new, and shining for miles away with the glitter
of hot-houses, and stove-houses, forcing-houses, and
glass-houses of all kinds. Adelaide declared, in clear
accents, that she hated the place.  It is so new, she
lamented, plaintively;  but then what can we do ?
Still, I hope all my old friends will come and see me
in it.
This was an effective way of hinting that the late
Miss Ferrars did not wish to descend in the social
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84
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
scale owing to the weight of her money bags ; and as
she dispensed hospitality on a lavish scale, gave the
grandest dinners and the biggest balls in the neigh-
bourhood, she did not want for plenty of guests.
 I have come with a petition, she said sweetly to
Lady Elizabeth, glancing up with a charming air of
timidity, and yet the slightest suspicion of anticipative
patronage. "We are going to give a ball next month,
and I know you do not go out yourself to such fes-
tivities, so I want to beg, as a favour, that you will
allow Miss Cobb to come and stay with us for it; and
I will promise to chaperon her myself.
A momentary silence fell upon the group around.
Lady Elizabeth, in former days, had been an old
friend of Mrs. Ferrars; she had smiled benignly
upon Stephen's attachment to the penniless county
beauty till Adelaide showed her heartlessness. But
Lady Elizabeth was haughty ; she never forgot, if even
she could forgive, where Stephen had been injured.
And Mysie was not only her ward, but was known to
be now considered almost as her own child.
The elder woman drew herself up, with the slightest
possible air of cold pride.
"You are very kind, but Miss Cobb has not been
out much yet, and never without myself. Next spring
I hope to present her early in the year ; and she her-
self does not care greatly for parties till then. After
that we shall see.
There was a curious smile upon her face, as Ade-
laide noticed, and those around remembered it after-
wards, and said to each other some days later,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
35
 So that was what she meant.
Mrs. Stuckey was snubbed, but would not accept
her defeat so immediately.
 Only it seems so dull for poor Miss Cobb, she
sweetly remonstrated, opening her large, deer-like
eyes with a pitying air, and glancing round at Mysie.
The latter, and it was a wonder on such a day of
days, felt sudden wrath boil up in her heart.
What! she to be patronised by Stephen's false
former love ? She who, though it was yet a secret,
was his lawful wife? Not she !
 Please do not pity me, Mrs. Stuckey, she gaily
said, in such self-possessed accents as a duchess
might have used ;  I am perfectly happy living here
at Wykhurst, with Lady Elizabeth, and when she
thinks it is time for me to go out to balls, why then
and not till then, I shall be glad to go to them.
After which she flitted away, soon feeling as blithe
in her unspoiled freshness of enjoyment as when she
and Duchess romped together other days, and with
this same joyous feeling she played hostess among
the groups of brightly clad maidens and young men
in tennis flannels. She kept everything going ; Lady
Elizabeth could not have had a more efficient right
hand.
The guests were all gone; the sound of wheels
had died away. Twilight now dropped soft and grey
over the landscape ; all was cool, still, and peaceful.
 Well, it has been a thoroughly happy afternoon,
said her ladyship, patting Mysie's hand, as they en-
tered the now deserted library.
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 I hope you are not tired, mother; you must lie
back in your chair, and rest quietly till dinner. After
that we will talk, but I know it is not good for you
now, so please close your eyes.
 I could not sleep, dear, not when I know that
Stephen is coming. If you will give me my knitting,
I think that will soothe my mind more than anything
else.
Mysie pulled a small work table close to Lady
Elizabeth's elbow, shook up an extra cushion, and
put it behind her head, saying gently,  Now, be very
still, and I will come and see you by-and-bye. After
which she glided out of the room, and went singing
upstairs.
Left alone, Lady Elizabeth was composing herself
for a quiet half-hour, when, putting her hand in her
pocket, she felt the letter which had come by that
afternoon's post.
 I suppose, I may as well see what it is, she said
to herself. It was a business-like looking, long
envelope, and she tore it open, carelessly, yet with a
vague hope that it might not be  one of those tire-
some bills. Perhaps it was only a circular, was her
next thought, even while unfolding it.
As her glance travelled down the page a sudden
shock made the poor mother's heart stop beating for
a second. Her eyes distended. Then her mind,
revolting against what her vision saw written as if it
must be an impossibility, she read again and again,
while an ashen-grey pallor crept over her features. A
great agony suddenly caught at her heart; she com-
MR. AND MRS. TJERRIES.
87
pressed her lips, and sank, mercifully, in a fainting
state back in her chair.
Duchess had been lying on the ground at her feet.
The dog whined, put her paws upon the chair, looked
at Lady Elizabeth's face, and then, finding no re-
sponse, dashed out of the room and upstairs.
 Why, Duchess! what can be the matter ? ex-
claimed Mysie, as the dog howled outside her door,
and scratched at the panels with loud, unusual per-
sistence. If Duchess could not speak, she at least
made herself understood, for, looking up in Mysie's
face, she dashed to the staircase, then back again,
caught hold of her mistress's dress, and, whining, tried
to drag her along.
Mysie hurried downstairs with this faithful mes-
senger.
 Mother, dear, what can Duchess want ? she
began, entering the library, when, as she saw the
sunk form in the twilight, the words faded upon her
lips.
That evening, till late in the night, all was con-
fusion, hurry, and sorrow at Wykhurst Place. Stephen
had been telegraphed for by the same messenger
who fetched the doctor. By two at night Herries had
come. It was the same train as that by which he
had arrived on the last occasion. But, alas! what a
different reception he met with.
Watson opened the door for him silently, having
been watching in the hall for half-an-hour ; and the
butler's face told Stephen, without asking, that the
worst was near.
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 How is she ? How is my mother ? was all
Herries' trembling lips could frame.
 She is still alive, sir ; you are just in time.
Mysie met him in the passage, outside his mother's
door.
 Thank God you are come, she whispered
between her stifled sobs.
Stephen was very pale, and he trembled. Neither
of them shook hands. The moment was too supreme
to think of the small, every-day courtesies of life. A
minute later, and both had entered the chamber of
death, where the doctor was sitting at one side of the
bed. Old Nanny cowered, huddled in her many
shawls, with her sweet old face as white as her cap, in
the corner of a sofa, out of the way, but where she
could still see the beloved form which represented her
"young mistress, as Lady Elizabeth still was to
her.
As Stephen and Mysie came up to the bedside, the
dying woman turned her face upon her son, with a
smile struggling through the ashen-grey colour of
pain. Love was strong as death; and her mind
strove hard to recall her departing senses, and to put
away the expression of agony on her features, so as
not to pain her son.
Stephen knelt down by her side, kissing her fore-
head.
The poor woman was enduring too terrible suffering
to do more than look at him, with eyes that conveyed
her last kisses.
Then her glance turned on Mysie, who, with a
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
89
face convulsed with grief, yet striving to be calm,
stood by the bedpost.
The look was an invitation to come nearer, and
next instant Mysie had dropped on her knees, close
to Stephen's side.
 Both together—that is right, my dear ones.
Stephen, my son, remember, money is not worth love.
These were her last words, for then came a hard
struggle when the soul longed to leave the weary
body, and could not yet shake its fetters off.
The mental anguish of the watchers was, without
doubt, greater than the bodily pain of the dying
woman.
At last—it was after half-an-hour, but it seemed
like many hours—there came peace.
Old Nanny rose, and despite her age, with wrinkled
hands reverently composed her mistress's motionless
form.
Stephen himself opened a window looking out on
the park, that lay bathed in moonlight. It seemed
to him, vaguely, as if by this action his mother's
spirit might pass more easily thither where it was
called. Was she floating now over the park, and up
into that still night sky ? Whither was she going ?
Ah! the mystery of that old question which has
never been answered to living man.
90
CHAPTER IX.
Twilight and silence fell upon Wykhurst Place for
the following days. Mysie crept down the polished,
black, oak staircase, shuddering to hear her own foot-
fall, and passed with aimless feeling into the darkened
rooms where all the blinds were drawn down. She
felt as if there was nothing left for her to do, except
to read aloud to console old Nanny in the afternoon
hours, when the old woman woke up from her mid-
day sleep. Stephen she hardly saw for the first two
days ; he was overwhelmed with grief, and the cares
of the funeral arrangements.
Three days afterwards came a relation of the
Herries family; the next day some others followed;
the funeral was to be on the following morning.
It was upon the day before their solemn leave tak-
ing of the dead when at last Mysie and Stephen met
alone. He had come into the library and found
her sitting in the low chair, with her arms round
Duchess's neck and the dog's head upon her lap.
She started up as he came in, as if she feared she was
intruding upon his possible wish for privacy.
Stephen stood still, and looked in the young girl's
face. Mysie was pale, and he saw that tears had not
been long absent from her eyes. His own heart was
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
91
touched by her kindred sorrow. He put his hand
slowly upon her shoulder, and so stood looking at his
girl-wife.
"You were, indeed, a daughter to her; you have
been a comfort to her ever since you came; that
thought is a consolation to me, Mysie. When I was
far away, I could think that she was not alone; when
you were with her, that she could not have missed
me so much.
 She knew you had to do your duty; but still,
I No one could ever replace you, murmured
Mysie gently, still standing in the same position, and
looking into his eyes with a shy, pleading wish that
she, herself, could give him any substitute for that
great love which had passed out of his life.
 If you could only know how happy she was last
Friday! when your letter came we both read it
together in her favourite seat in the dining-room.
And when all the people went away, I put her into
that chair to rest, and pulled her work table beside
her, so ; do you see ? 
Stephen looked round. The empty chair was still
where it had been placed, the work table was close
by its side. He seemed to imagine his mother's form
as it had been seated there in the twilight.
"Tell me exactly; what were her last words?
What happened when you left her ? he asked under
his breath ; and Mysie felt that the hand upon her
shoulder trembled a little.
 She was tired, but so happy, so happy, mur-
mured the girl.  I left her because she wanted to
92
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
think about you, she said, to rest and imagine how
soon you would be home with us again.
Stephen's arm stole round Mysie's neck now. It
was a caress such as she had never received before
from him, her own only love, nay, her lover, as in her
secret heart she imagined he would be in future.
It was her turn to tremble now ; but it was a
warm feeling of happiness that caused her whole
being to vibrate, responsive to his touch.
Stephen made two steps forward slowly, still
holding Mysie in that light embrace, while his eyes
were fixed on the empty chair and the little basket-
table, of which the contents were half hidden by a
silken cover.
"There is her knitting just as she dropped it,
whispered Mysie, low in his ear, and Stephen's head
drew unconsciously nearer hers, till his hair touched
her own ; she felt his breath on her cheek.
She did not stir, being too happy. But as Stephen
did not speak she went on, half frightened by her
own joy, and so taking refuge in shyly whispered
explanations :  And that letter is the last one she
ever opened. It came along with yours by the after-
noon post; but she did not read it till everyone was
gone away, because, as I said to her, it was only a
horrid business one I was sure, so it could wait.
Stephen put his free hand out and took the letter
reverently up. His attention was at once arrested by
the direction on the flap of the envelope, and with
a slight start he withdrew his other hand from Mysie's
shoulder, and unfolded the missive.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
93
A low exclamation escaped him.
When Mysie looked round, startled, she saw that
her husband's face had undergone a painful change.
His eyes were staring at the paper ; his features were
set, and surely far paler than awhile ago.
 What is it ? Oh ! what is it, please ?  she asked,
affrighted, for she saw that the letter was trembling
in Stephen's hand. He set his teeth a moment, then
slowly searched for his handkerchief, and wiped his
forehead, on which a cold dew had broken out.
 You did not see this letter, then ? Did no one see
it ? Did no one know of its contents ? 
"No one but your mother ; she must have opened
it herself, and left it as you see. I had only gone out
of the room five minutes, leaving her there, when she
must have been taken ill; for, as I told you, Duchess
came, dear dog ! and brought me downstairs.
Even now Mysie did not understand that anything
in the letter itself could so have overcome Stephen.
Perhaps, she thought to herself, it was only the
feeling that his mother's last agony had begun here—
at this very spot; that this was the last paper her
hand had touched.
 Would you mind leaving me alone, now ?  said
Stephen, in a hard, cold voice, utterly unlike his late
affectionate manner.  I want to think. I must stay
here by myself.
He heard the door close, as Mysie crept away,
and only then he looked up. Rage, useless rage,
disappointment, hopelessness for the future con-
vulsed his features. He struck his forehead with
94
MR. AND MRS. MERRIES.
his hand, and unconsciously sat down in his mother's
chair.
The letter contained the news that the South-
Western Bank, in which Mysie's fortune had been
placed by her grandfather, had failed.
 It means ruin, utter ruin !  he said, aloud ; then
thought in his heart, And what if Stuckey fore-
closes? Nothing to meet it with; nothing to stave
off the evil hour ; not a penny. Oh ! my God ! it is
hard ; and I who thought the old place was safe ;
that my sacrifice had redeemed the estate ! 
For some minutes he sat there silent; his hands
hanging nervelessly between his knees; his head
bowed. The blow was awful.
He had not married Mysie for money's sake only,
but because he was a disappointed man at the
moment, and he liked the child for herself, although,
undoubtedly, her money had been the chief factor.
Then his mother had wished it—that inducement
alone would almost have been strong enough.
But now, now this news had killed her, had robbed
him of his one comforter and the counsellor of his
life, of that devotion which had never failed him.
 Mother, mother !  he whispered under his breath,
looking round the darkened room. With a flash the
death-bed scene came back to his memory—her eyes
full of affection, fixed upon them both; her last
words,  Remember money is not worth love.
The funeral was over, and the dark procession of
carriages had slowly returned to Wykhurst. In
the dining-room a little group was gathered round
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
95
the empty table, waiting to hear Lady Elizabeth's
will read. There were assembled the lawyer, the
Herries relations, Mysie, and old Nanny. Stephen
had asked the latter to come in as one of the family,
and himself guided her trembling steps to a chair.
Mysie, of her own accord, sat down beside the old
woman, and put her hand into Nanny's withered one,
as if seeking a guardian. For Stephen, who was
ghastly pale, red-eyed, and with a troubled, at mo-
ments almost vacant, expression, seemed momentarily
to overlook her presence in a manner, although he
had himself placed her as chief mourner at his side in
the church-yard.
The will was short, and the few formalities were
soon over. Then one of the relations hemmed,
cleared his throat, and looked across the table. This
was a kindly old cousin of the deceased, who lived in
one of the southern counties, from which distance he
had never come to Wykhurst during the last few years.
He was a Mr. Stanley Herries, childless, and with
an invalid wife; perhaps the latter circumstance
made his heart feel kindly as he looked at the young
girl in her deep mourning dress.
 I should like to say, Stephen, be began, tapping
the table with his finger tips,  that there is someone
here whose future ought to be considered. I mean
your dear late mother's ward, Miss Cobb.
"Considered? What do you mean? asked Stephen,
looking at him with a vague absent gaze, that only
saw the red mould so lately disturbed in the church
yard.
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Mysie started slightly, and looked up.
 I mean, seeing she is not yet of age, and her
guardian is alas ! no more, that someone else of our
family ought surely to take up the charge ; and that,
speaking for my wife and myself, if Miss Cobb would
like to live with us, and the plan is agreeable to you,
we shall be glad to receive her in our home for the
next year or two.
Stephen roused himself by an evident effort, and
looked up, as if some altogether new ideas were pre-
sented to his weary brain, that did not want to
grapple with them.
 I do not understand you. Of course I am Mysie's
guardian now, he answered.
The girl stole her hand out quickly, and touched
his arm.
"Do not send me away; please, do not! she
whispered audibly to all present.
Mr. Stanley Herries stroked his beard, some of the
others looked down.
 I only meant, Stephen, that a young lady of Miss
Cobb's age ought surely to have some elder lady as
her companion, caretaker, in fact chaperon*. Why,
old Mrs. Watson, our good Nanny, would understand
that.
"Yes, Master Stephen, it is not quite fitting. I
have been thinking of it myself, said the old woman
feebly, looking round at the young man, who, in her
eyes, was still a schoolboy, in spite of his three and
thirty years.
A slight red flush overspread Stephen's face ; sud-
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
97
denly he understood what his old cousin was driving
at. His mind came back from the graveside scene
to the present; that remembrance and the previous
horror of impending ruin, caused by the failure of the
bank, combined to give him the feeling of being op-
pressed by a terrible nightmare. He got up from his
seat, and walking round the table to Mysie's side,
looked at them all.
 I have something to say to you, he began quietly,
while with an expectant sense of some important
revelation the faces of all present were turned towards
him, "and that is, that Mysie here is my wife. We
were married in my mother's presence, by her grand-
father's death-bed three years ago. It was my
mother's wish that our marriage should be kept
secret until I could return to England to claim my
bride. Meanwhile, as I think you all know, she
looked upon Mysie with a mother's affection.
There followed a few moments of stupefied surprise
and silence on the part of the group that sat round
the old King's table.
 I will have it put in the Times, with the date, and
all that, added Stephen, relapsing into his vague
manner.  Our rector, Mr. Wyse, performed the
ceremony; and he and Doctor Hardy were the only
witnesses. They know all about it.
Nanny's quavering voice was the first to break the
silence.
 My dear young master, my dear young mistress ;
this is blessed news indeed ! 
Then the relations chimed in with subdued but
really earnest congratulations. h
98
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Mysie had pleased them all; and though the sor-
row and silence in the house prevented their saying
much, that very presence of death seemed to put
away worldly calculations from their minds, and they
felt, and told Stephen that he was a lucky man, that
they wished him joy with all their hearts.
 What a romance !  they said afterwards to each
other. "It has been kept so dark; Stephen was
always a poetical sort of fellow in his ideas; no doubt
he fell in love with this pretty girl at first sight; and
poor Lady Elizabeth countenanced him, as she
always did.
The next morning the house was emptied of
guests once more. They were not long gone when
Herries came to Nanny's room, where Mysie was
sitting with the old woman.
 Can I speak with you downstairs for a few
minutes ?  he said in a formal voice.
Mysie rose and followed him, feeling shy and con-
strained. She hardly knew what to do with herself,
or where to sit, in those days. All the sitting-rooms
seemed full of Lady Elizabeth's departed presence.
The study, that she had hitherto looked upon as her
own, was Stephen's sanctum, and he was once more
installed therein. Being shy of him, the poor child felt
as if there was nowhere for her to stay, except in her
own bedroom, or with Nanny next door.
 I find, Mysie, that I am obliged to go away im-
mediately on business; I must leave by this next
train, began Herries, as soon as he had shut the
morning-room door.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
99
 Going away so soon ?  came from her lips, with
dismay.
 I must go, it is on important business; for that
reason I have asked you to come and talk it over
with me this morning.
In an instant Mysie was appeased. Was she not
his wife ? He was going to tell her all his business
cares ; even, perhaps, to ask her advice.
Her eyes looked up gladly to the face above her,
and then suddenly dropped.
What could be the matter ? Stephen's manner was
as chilly as his eyes ; his face was stern, and though
not unkindly, Mysie felt it was unsympathising.
 There is some bad news to tell you, my poor
child, he began gently, but coldly ;  it affects you
most, so it is only right you should know it.
After which, in a few brief words, he told her of
the letter that had caused Lady Elizabeth's fatal
heart attack ; the collapse of the bank and the loss of
all her own fortune.
Mysie was stunned for a minute or two ; then she
found her body shaking in an extraordinary manner,
while her knees seemed giving way under her. She
sat down on a chair, trying to hide her weakness
from his gaze.
"Then I am a beggar, I am only the grand-
daughter of your tenant—at least he was your
tenant's son, when he was a boy—and that is all.
There is nothing left, you say? Nothing? she uttered,
choking with an agony of regret, horror-stricken for
his sake.  Oh, it cannot be true ; surely they must
give it back. Who has taken it ? H 2
100
MR. AND MRS. MERRIES.
Mysie hid her face in her hands.
Stephen did not understand her meaning. He
looked down at the cowering silent figure pityingly ;
for his own disappointment was so great that he
supposed hers was owing to the same cause, and he
did not enter into her finer meaning.
The flood of agony that steeped Mysie to the very
lips sprang from the thought that she was an im-
postor, foisted by mere pretence into the situation of
being mistress of Wykhurst, when she had nothing to
give in return—no money, not a farthing, to redeem
the old acres. Oh ! the humiliation was too bitter;
she felt herself a pretender, an adventuress.
Then she heard Stephen speaking softly over her
head ; as, even in his worst moods, he could not but
speak to anyone in sorrow.
 It is a hard trial to lose your money, Mysie ;
although I did not think you would have felt it so
deeply. But remember my mother's last words,
' Money is not worth love.' I trust, I hope, you will
find them true in life.
A gleam of comfort shot athwart the soul of the
young mourner sitting there. She raised her eyes
with a beseeching air to her lord and master's face ;
but Stephen had already turned away to ring the
bell.
 There is not a moment to lose, he muttered in
explanation, half to himself; and Mysie saw that he
was lost in a dream again.
Half-an-hour later, and Stephen had driven off to
the station.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
IOI
A terrible loneliness stole then upon the old house
and enveloped it.
Mysie had come into the hall to see him depart;
afterwards, feeling as homeless as a ghost, she
slipped with noiseless feet into the library, and stood
looking around, alone. She felt terribly alone indeed
She could only feel; she could not think. Her
grandfather dead—then Lady Elizabeth. And here
was she, a mere cipher—a foolish, portionless cipher
in the household. Stephen's wife, forsooth! How
could he care for her ? Why, he must hate her when
he thought of what a trick fortune had played upon
him. And yet two days ago they had stood together
here, on this very spot, and his arm was about her
shoulders
Surely then he loved her a little ?
Mysie stood still, and seemed to feel that pres-
sure about her neck once more; his breath close to
hers.
 If—if only that letter had not come just then ! 
How different all our lives would be but for those
meddling, unexpected  if s, which make all nothing
that has gone before.
The door opened and Watson entered, with a
respectful, even apologetic, air, as his eyes met the
dejected figure of his young mistress.
 If you please, Mrs. Herries, would you like dinner
laid in the little morning room this evening, as you
will be alone ? 
102
CHAPTER X.
A STILL deeper silence had now fallen upon Wyk-
hurst Place. Mysie almost disliked going upstairs,
for her footsteps sounded with eerie loudness in the
empty hall; and the black oak steps, that shone like
dark glass, were uncarpeted, after an old fashion that
she had hitherto admired.
Not a soul to speak to all day except old Nanny
and Watson ; besides, her position was now different.
 If you please, ma'am, what orders are to be given
to the butcher and the gardener? and so forth,
Watson would ask respectfully in the morning.
Some changes had been necessitated by Lady
Elizabeth's death : her own maid had left, and this
had thrown the household machine slightly out of
gear. Mysie felt that she must not say,  Do as you
think best. She was Stephen's acknowledged wife
now, and it behoved her to show that she was mistress;
yet she dreaded doing anything in his absence that
might seem like taking upon herself. An infinity
of tact is needed in such small matters. That
she succeeded was proved to her by old Nannie's
remark :
 Ah, my dear young lady, 1 always told Lady
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
103
Elizabeth that it would be a blessing to the house if
you were mistress here.
Three days of this loneliness and silence followed
Stephen's departure. On the third Mysie said to
herself bravely,  I may be an impostor here, but it is
not my fault; it will do him no good if I keep
brooding over what has happened. The one thing
to do is to make the best of matters.
Resolutely she set herself to carry out this resolve.
Of late she had always kept the household books for
Lady Elizabeth; now she looked through them on
her own account, pondering over all the small
economies she could effect. Her duties would be
manifold now during the day.
 I must keep up my accomplishments to please
Stephen, she said to herself, firstly, with decision.
Then there were all Lady Elizabeth's parish and
household cares to be taken upon her own young
shoulders, as well as those which she herself had
hitherto performed about the house and pleasure-
grounds. Some weeding and general tidying-up
were necessary this morning in the little garden under
the windows. A boy had been lately dismissed who
used to keep this in order, and Watson had consulted
her as to a substitute. Here was an economy ready
to hand.
 I like gardening; I think I shall do it myself,
young Mrs. Herries replied.
So this afternoon (and it was a hot day) Mysie had
begun grubbing up groundsel, snipping dead roses,
—at last digging with flushed face and bent back,
104
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
and, it must be owned, tired muscles. Meanwhile
Duchess lay upon the gravel path with her head
between her paws, thinking, perhaps, how much
easier a life it was to be a petted Gordon setter than
to be a human being who had to work with brains
and body, and to be troubled, besides, with a heart
and soul of which the good dog knew nothing, beyond
seeing the trouble they caused on the faces she tried
to read.
"If you please, ma'am, Mr. Symes! announced
Watson hurriedly, wishing to give his young mistress
time to recover herself before the family lawyer came
out through the western door.
Mysie did not much care, however ; she tossed back
her Zulu hat, and said, with a smiling face :
 I am not fit to shake hands with you, Mr. Symes;
you see, I am a real daughter of Eve, with signs of
the garden about me.
 You are very busy, indeed, replied the visitor.
He was generally called  Mephistopheles  by his
more educated clients in the countryside. His face
was like a piece of parchment; his eyes were cold ;
he was as dry as a mummy to look at altogether.
Nevertheless, Mysie liked this wizened, almost cross,
individual. He had a small, dried-up corner of a
heart somewhere or other, and she happened to have
found the way to it.
 Now, why are you taking all this violent exercise,
may I ask ?  went on the Herries' legal adviser.
And Mysie noticed that he did not smile as usual,
and that his manner was jerky and hurried.  He is
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES. 105
in one of his bad tempers, I suppose. I must try and
get him out of it, was her only conclusion.
 Come along with me down to the seat inside the
yew arbour, she smiled ;  it is cool and pleasant
there, and you can tell me your news. I have none
to give you that is pleasant, you know, for I am afraid
there is no chance of any of my fortune being re-
covered.
"Where is Mr. Herries? Have you heard from
him ?  snapped Symes, not unkindly, but shortly.
 I do not know. He went to see about this bank
business, and probably he will be back himself before
his letter.
As they went Mysie picked her companion a rose,
and, with childlike confidence, began to explain to
him all that she was trying to effect in the house—of
little savings, and changes for the better. They two
were old friends, and he had known Lady Elizabeth's
straits, and before now had entered upon this very
subject with Mysie.
It was cool in the little yew arbour, that was scooped
out of the depth of an old hedge. Mysie took off her
garden hat, and looked with real pleasure at this, her
first visitor. But Mr. Symes wiped his pale forehead,
although he seemed cool enough, and began gnawing
his lip and twisting his handkerchief about in his
hands.
 These plans are very right—very wise of you, Mrs.
Herries, he began (and it was the first time this
appellation had crossed his lips),  but I do not think
j would trouble much about all this now ; I would
106
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
not, indeed. You are hot and tired working by your-
self to-day, I see, and it may be all for no good.
 For no good ! What do you mean ? It is for good
if I can spare my husband's pocket, and keep things
looking as nice as ever about the old house. Why,
Mr. Symes, I am surprised at you ! You have always
given me such credit before whenever I did the least
little thing to help dear Lady Elizabeth.
Symes grew still more uncomfortable ; he pulled
off his hat, and stuck it cn again.  God bless my
soul, he muttered under his breath ; then he scrubbed
his face once more.
 You do not know for whom you may be doing all
this, he burst out.  My dear young lady, how am
I to tell you ? The fact is, you may be working for
other people, and not for yourself.
Mysie straightened herself, and looked at him.
 There is some more bad news in store. You had
better tell me frankly what it is.
Her voice was calm, but she was conscious of
bracing herself to meet some trouble. What she
feared was even worse than the loss of her own for-
tune, though what it could be she could not imagine.
 I have had a notification this morning, answered
Symes, drawing a long breath. "Well, I had better
let the murder out at once. The truth is, Mr. Stuckey
means to foreclose.
"To foreclose ? Do you mean that he wants to
take Wykhurst, the farms, and everything unless
Stephen can pay him ? 
Symes silently nodded.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
107
 But not the domain ? Not the house ? muttered
Mysie, aghast.  Say, not that, surely ? It is impos-
sible. Why, Mr. Symes, everyone in the county
would be indignant.
 I am afraid that is exactly what he does mean to
do. He has only been waiting, in my opinion, for
Lady Elizabeth's death.
 For her death ! My dear mother ! But what has
that had to do with it ?
"Just this, that Stuckey, being a man of no family,
has always had an ambition to get into county society
—he is a far-sighted fellow. It is for that reason that
he advanced the money upon this mortgage ; for that
reason, in my belief, that he has married Adelaide
Ferrars, that was. He has even been known to say,
I am told, that he would do nothing in the matter of
the Wykhurst mortgage during Lady Elizabeth's life-
time, for she was such a favourite in the county that
people might be angry, and not call upon him and his
wife ; but that ' after that event he would have his
rights.
 The wretch !  muttered Mysie.
She was absolutely stunned, and yet, woman-like,
could ask small questions, that seemed to flit, bird-
like, over the desert of her sorrow.
 Does Stephen know ? What can he do ? Is there
nothing to prevent it ? Oh, Mr. Symes, can you not
suggest any way out of this ?  she kept asking ; and
all the while she knew in her heart that there was
nothing to be done—nothing 1  Wykhurst has been
in the Herries family ever since the days of Henry
io8
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
the Seventh. Can none of the family help ? Are
there no friends that would come forward ? 
And still Symes shook his corpse-like head, and
Mysie always answered herself in her own heart:
 There is no way out of it—none!  Had not she and
Lady Elizabeth talked it over many a winter's night
by the fireside ? and did she not know that her fortune
alone had been the beacon light in the darkness of the
family prospects, and that now that was quenched,
and she was penniless.
 I came over to tell Mr. Stephen myself, said
Symes with a choke in his voice, for which Mysie
could almost have kissed him.  Aye, it is an awful
thing for a man to leave the place where he has been
born and brought up ! Well, well, well, I must go
now. And you do not know where he is, you say ?
If he comes home, my dear child, you must break it
to him ; I beg your pardon, one must remember
your new honours now. After all, he is so cleveq
he can always get on at his own profession.
"Yes, pass his life, as he has done so far, in some
horrible climate, in uncivilised regions, and become
old before his time, with fevers and ague !  thought
Mysie to herself, as she watched the departing figure
of the lawyer.
She had no heart left for gardening now. What!
snip roses, forsooth, in order that Adelaide Ferrars
might enjoy the last autumn blooms ; and hoe
groundsel out of the paths where Nicholas Stuckey
would soon be walking up and down with his fatuous
air and his low-bred swagger !  I could almost wish
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
109
the place a wilderness before they come in, she
thought indignantly, setting her teeth, and clenching
her small hands. But they had a right to it, that
was the worst of the matter—a full clear right. If
anyone was to blame it was she herself. Why, why,
had her grandfather insisted on her being married
to Stephen, and beside the dear old man's death-
bed ? If not, Stephen would have been free now.
He could have carved out his own fortune ; he would
most probably have married another heiress, whose
riches might not have taken unto themselves wings
and vanished away.
 It is cruelly hard upon him, and I am only a
clog about his neck. What can I do ? What shall
I say to him ? 
And still the only answer that seemed to rustle in
the tree-tops around, and to be echoed back to her
from the grey house walls, and that the breeze seemed
to bring from the wide lawns of the park, was this,
 You can do nothing, nothing ! 
Duchess came close up and rubbed her soft head
against the listless hand that fell at Mysie's side.
 Come, dear ; come away down into the dell with
me, said her young mistress, in a tone as if such
sorrow as she felt now had never been felt by any
woman in the Herries family before.
So side by side they wandered slowly down by
the fish ponds and along the woodland path descend-
ing into the valley. Here the trees arched high over
head, and a little brook brawled down in the bottom.
And all through the copse came the sound of bird
no
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES,
notes, while a rabbit whisked out here and there from
the bracken, and a pheasant stalked across the path,
or a squirrel or two would dash up the nearest tree
and glance down bright-eyed at these well-known
visitors.
III.
CHAPTER XI.
WYKHURST dell was so lovely that on certain days
it was thrown open for strangers to see ; for it had a
local celebrity. At one spot there were some rocks
that were especially picturesque, where big boulders
like millstones were laid a-top of each other some-
what after the nature of a Devonshire tor. The valley
was deep and narrow, in fact, it formed a wooded gully
at this spot, while high on the cliff edge was a small
wood of Scotch firs mingling with the beeches and
chestnuts of the ravine below. Up among these
firs and boulders there stood a little summer-house
built of rustic wood-work with a kidney-stone floor.
Here the visitors were allowed to sit and rest. There
was no fear of interruption from them to-day, how-
ever ; the place was so still, so lonely, that one might
have imagined oneself a thousand miles away from
any human being. And it was here that Mysie was
seated two hours later with Duchess, still faithful,
still dumbly consoling, at her feet.
Youth is full of hope ; so, dark as were poor
Stephen's prospects, his young wife's mind had
already begun to busy itself with building a castle
in the air as a goal to be attained. An air castle
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES
versus a fine old family seat. It was a poor ex-
change, truly ; but still something. She did not
think of herself, or, rather, when she did, it was with
an utterly unselfish regret that she could do nothing
more. But she had resolved to fight against the
thought that, without her fortune, she had no real
right here.
 It is morbid, I know, and I will not be senti-
mental.
So she stoutly declared within herself. But the
teachings of our childhood are hard to put away
from us ; and Mysie, who felt that she had been,
as her grandfather had expressed it, dedicated
herself and fortune, to the good of the Herries
family, could not but feel a sort of shame that they
were cheated in their bargain.
At last she heard a step coming along the path
below. From here she could neither see nor be seen ;
but Duchess, uplifting her head, sniffed, and then
with a bark of greeting dashed under some laurels
in unusual haste. The next minute Stephen appeared
through the bushes.
 Ah ! Mysie, so I have found you ! he said, with
a gentle tired expression, coming slowly forward.  I
came home about an hour ago, and as you were not
in the house I took my chance of finding you some-
where down here.
Mysie started to her feet, flushing crimson, as she
saw who it was. The truth was, she did not know
how to greet Stephen ; and that troubled her for
the moment even more than how to break her bad
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
113
news. He was her husband ; but after all a stranger.
And a sudden shyness, so intense that it was pain,
overcame her so that she stood rooted to the spot.
The next minute another feeling filled her whole
mind with a sickness of apprehension. It was her
duty to tell Stephen of the notice of foreclosure ; that
Wykhurst Place was passing out of his possession.
Mr. Symes had said she must do it. But this blow to
come from her hand—it was terrible. Mysie felt the
blood ebbing from her cheeks and back to her heart,
choking her so that she breathed with difficulty.
Her face had turned deadly pale, and she shrank
from the two hands that Stephen held out to her.
In that short space of time Herries himself passed
through several phases of feeling. As regarded his
child-wife, he had brought himself during absence to a
right frame of mind, as became a gentleman and a
kindly-hearted man, towards the young partner of his
future existence. Thinking it all over, there was no
one to blame—least of all Mysie herself—as to the
ruin that had overtaken their hopes. Bitter as his
own disappointment was, he could feel for Mysie.
Instead of being a rich woman, henceforth she must
share his slender fortunes, and, perhaps, poor child,
eat her heart out with striving to make both ends
meet, and keep up appearances, as he feared his
mother had done before her, and many another poor
gentlewoman has done and yet will do, so long as
poverty is considered a thing to be ashamed of, and
that may not be changed in our days nor in those of
our children, seeing that Mammon is king.
1
H4
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Yes, Mysie was his wife, although the thought
had not yet become familiar to his mind. His
mother had left her to him as a sacred charge.
Please God, he would try, at least, that the poor girl
should not suffer by his coldness, or any betrayal of
disappointment with his bargain. She must be
feeling lonely, missing his mother only less than he
did, and being without a friend in the world, as he
knew. Therefore his heart had grown kindly and
pitying, in absence, over the partner of his misfortunes.
 I must try and be more to her now, he said to
himself, as a duty, without any warmth of emotion,
but with genuine kind-heartedness. And so, though
Stephen's face looked sad, it wore a gentle smile as
he now came up the last steps of the summer-house.
He held out both hands, as has been said, meaning to
bend down and kiss Mysie's pure young brow ; then
her violent flush, followed by extreme pallor, made
him pause. What was it ? Ah ! the strangeness of
their mutual relations, which, no doubt, had just over-
come this shy young creature. It was not fair to
agitate her now by assuming the privilege of a
husband ; no doubt she felt that he had never even
as yet been her lover. And so, feeling more interested
in her than before, kindly respectful of her youth and
inexperience, the weary-minded man smiled imper-
ceptibly under his moustache, pressed both Mysie's
hands gently, but looked over her head, so that she
should have time to recover herself.
"Well, my child, he began, sitting down upon the
bench close by, and caressing Duchess's head with a
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
115
succession of small pats,  I fear I have no good news
to bring you home ; that is, about the bank. There
has been an utter smash there as far as I can see.
Perhaps, in two or three years, something may be
saved out of the fire, but, at all events for the present,
Mysie, you and I must be content to rub along, dear,
in the old way ; eh, little woman ? I am afraid that
the pinching and saving that will be necessary may
be difficult for you to accomplish at first; still, you
know pretty well how it has been here in my mother's
time.
His voice broke slightly at those last words. Mysie
had shyly seated herself on the bench also, but a
little away from him.
 I know, she whispered in a small voice, her eyes
on the floor, as if she was counting the stones set in
lozenge pattern there ;  I do not mind that. No ! I
should be quite happy even on less, if only 
"If only what? Stephen looked up at her, sur-
prised. It was a slight, girlish creature that
his glance met, a slim, nut-brown maid, dressed
in deep black, which was the least becoming of
colours to her complexion; and yet Mysie's was
a sweet little face, though downcast and unre-
sponsive at present, or so he thought, not under-
standing the tumult of sorrow in her heart. And hers
was a pleasing, virginal figure that his eyes rested
upon with contentment, if no vivid emotion of admira-
tion.  If only what ?  he repeated, gently, in those
soft, caressing tones which were natural to him, but
that made Mysie quiver with a pleasure which was
I 2
n 6
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
almost fear lest soon they should be altered when he
heard her news.  Dear, this has been a disappoint-
ment to me as well as to you, you know that; but,
after all we must bear it together, little woman.
Darby and Joan must just jog along on foot instead of
in their gilded chariot. I am more sorry for you, my
child, than for myself. I have lived, perhaps, the
longest half of my life already, for I am over thirty,
as you know. But I am sorry for you, with your
young life just beginning, to be condemned to a long
prospect of struggle, and perhaps privation, with only
a poverty-stricken and ague-fevered individual like
myself for a companion.
It was too much. Mysie felt that she could bear
it no longer. She put up both slender hands to her
face, and burst into a wild passion of sobs that shook
her from head to foot.
 Oh! you do not know; but I must tell you! 1
must tell you ! was all that escaped from her inco-
herently for the first few minutes, while Stephen
looked at her horrified, dreading some new trouble,
yet unable to guess what could occasion such violent
woe.  Mr Symes has been here this morning; he
said it was my duty to tell you what had happened ;
that Mr. Stuckey 
 What! Stephen sprang to his feet, as a man
does when shot through the heart.  What, Mysie ?
Speak quickly! Stuckey—does he want to fore-
close ? 
 He does ! he will !  came in stifled anguish from
the bowed figure opposite him.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
117
There was a long, long silence in the little house.
Down below in the dell a thrush was singing his
evening song ; a light breeze waved some leaves close
by ; one could hear them rustling. But inside here,
save for heavy breathing, the silence was intense.
Mysie did not dare to look up. She was silent now,
too appalled even to weep. Meanwhile she seemed
to know without seeing that Stephen was standing
still upright, looking in stony silence before him down
at the trees in the dell. Then at last Mysie felt that
she could bear the tension no longer. It was in her
mind to go on her knees at his feet and implore his
forgiveness; for it seemed like a crime of her own
that this great grief had happened to him. She heard
him speak at last. His voice sounded muffled, but
otherwise seemed as quiet and soft as usual.
 Do you mind, if I ask you to leave me alone
for a little while ? 
That was all; his wife rose obediently, and ven-
tured one upward glance; she did not meet his eyes,
but she saw that his face was stony grey, and lined
with pain. What would she not have given, at that
moment, to have felt it her right to comfort him, to
draw near, even as Lady Elizabeth would have done
and to whisper some words that might make him feel
that someone else in the world shared his burden ?
But Herries stood like a statue. He did not see
that appealing glance out of her moist brown eyes; he
did not feel that a heart was beating in unison with
his own, so near. His one longing was to be alone.
So Mysie did as he bade her, and slowly went
118
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
down the steps and up the path of the glen. She
stole along, feeling as if she had no right to exist on
this earth; she was a useless weed, a broken
reed to lean on. She had not gone very far when
Duchess, who had followed her doubtfully, looking
with troubled eyes up into her face, stopped.
 Come, Duchess, said Mysie mechanically.
But Duchess knew better, and deliberately turning
round, went back down the path to the summer-
house.
 Even Duchess does not care for me, was the
girl's thought. Her grandfather dead ; Lady Eliza-
beth next. No, there was not a soul in the wide
world who wanted her, or to whom she was of any
use.
Meanwhile a slight sense of relief stole over
Stephen as he stood alone under the fir trees among
the rocks. The man's grief was something terrible,
and best not pried into by any human eyes. After
some minutes he found himself lying stretched upon
the fallen fir needles that made a dry carpet on the
ground. An awful sense of desolation, of the weari-
ness of life, filled his soul.  What do we live for
on this earth except to try and be happy ?  was his
mute thought; and  how be happy except through
those kindred souls we love ; and the ties to home and
country that are our heart-roots ; and the associations
and memories that form the soil in which they are
nourished.
Hitherto there had been but three things precious
to his heart: first, his love for Adelaide Ferrars;
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
119
that for his dear old mother next; and lastly, his
great attachment to his home, Wykhurst Place, where
generations of his forefathers had been born and bred
lived upright lives, and left praiseworthy memories
behind them. All, all swept out of his life. Forgive
him if he felt, vaguely recoiling from the dim prospect
of toilsome work, poor pay, ill health, and loneliness of
soul, that henceforth life to him was not worth living.
He was tired, tired in body, and brain, and heart. Ah,
God ! if he could but pass away now into nothingness;
lying here on this familiar ground, with the old trees
about him that had known him as a boy ; the old
home behind there, the loved country-side around, of
which he felt himself always an integral portion, how-
ever far away he might be in distant lands. Yet
even were he dead, to know that Nicholas Stuckey
was living and sleeping in the Herries' old home, was
master of Wykhurst, its lands and woods, its farms
and cottages ! No, Stephen felt as if even in his grave
he could not rest; no peace even there, now, for him !
Something whined at his ear, a moist, cold touch
came upon his neck, then a warm tongue licked his
cheek. Duchess had crept close up to her master,
lying there, prone and silent on the ground ; and in
her own foolish loving fashion was striving her best
to recall him to the fact that something grieved for
him, if only his dog. And after all, what better
earthly consolation can we mortals have than to feel
some other living creature on earth grieves for us,
needs us, and longs that we should again take heart
and be up and doing ?
120
CHAPTER XII.
The fiery cross never sped quicker from hand to
hand bearing ill news in olden days than did the
tidings now from mouth to mouth, over all the Her-
ries estate, that Wykhurst was passing from the
ownership of Stephen Herries to that of Mr. Nicholas
Stuckey, the brewer.
When the day's work was done groups of farmers
came sturdily tramping up the elm avenue in the
August twilight. Later on they went slowly and
heavily away under the beams of the harvest moon.
Stephen saw them all; had a kind word and a
parting farewell for each one of them. No expres-
sions of regret passed his lips, only thanks for their
sympathy, while a gentle, almost impassive, courtesy
of manner masked the feeling underneath.
 He takes it hard, said one farmer to the other,
nodding a deliberate head.
 Aye, he is proud, but it cuts to the heart, you
may reckon, replied his neighbour.
 He won't show it, slowly interpolated a third ;
 he is one of the old stock, he is a gentleman, every
inch of him.
When they condoled with Stephen, he had softly
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
121
answered in a confidential manner,  I am too busy
to have time to feel the wrench now.
And when the men had broken into hearty regrets
for themselves at the change of their landlord, he had
encouraged them, spoken even kindly of Stuckey,
bidden them believe that all was for the best.
And yet these regrets, uttered in homely, often
rugged language, were a very torture to poor
Stephen's clinging, affectionate nature. He knew and
personally liked almost each one of these tenants.
Their wives and children, their farm-stock and their
fields, were all familiar to him, almost as much so as
those of Wykhurst Place.
The inherited feudal feeling was strong within him.
It was hard, hard to tear up his heart, as it were, by
the roots. Hitherto on leaving England he felt like
Goldsmith's traveller, that he  dragged at each remove
a lengthening chain ;  now his chain would no longer
be fastened at the other end of the tether, but he
would drag it all the same.
Herries' resolve not to show sorrow much belonged
to his whole nature. Over-sensitive, perhaps, he
shrank from pain, and was therefore all the more
anxious not to inflict it upon others. He had to
bear his own burden now ; why should he, therefore
distress these honest yeomen any the more by allowing
them to see the agony he was enduring ?
Days that are full of trouble and business at least
pass quickly. In the next fortnight the hours seemed
to melt into each other like grief-charged clouds. He
longed to awake as from a bad dream.
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
From early morning till night Herries did not
have a moment to himself during which he might
indulge in his grief. Business interviews, accounts,
difficulties, worries of all sorts kept treading on
each other's heels.
Only the night was free for reflection, and then
troops of demons could rush upon the undefended
citadel of his mind ; care, sorrow, useless repinings,
and all the black crew tortured him like so many
imps through the stillness of those lonely hours.
By day he rose looking more haggard than ever
before, his slight figure a little stooped in the shoulders ;
there came new crow's feet about his dreaming grey-
blue eyes, fresh grey hairs at the side of his head where
was the old sword-cut.
But still each morning Stephen faced the day,
always dignified and courteous, though more and
more gently absent in manner, and withdrawn into
himself, as it were, so that the sympathy of those
around him could not penetrate to warm his chilled
heart.
And Mysie looked, unnoticed, at him with yearning
eyes. She simply dared not go up to him, as she
longed, to lay a timid hand on his coat-sleeve and
whisper words of consolation.
Yet at times her longing to do so was so great that
she would abruptly turn away and slip upstairs
quickly to her room, would grind her little white
teeth in anger and dash her head on her pillow as if
to punish herself for her own stupidity.
 He must think me a dolt—a block ! she cried
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
123
out low to herself.  Why can I not make him feel
that I do feel for him, and that I would give him up my
life if only it could make him happy—if it would
bring back all he has lost?
Then she would call up her girlish pride, and
feeling that Stephen was setting her an example of
doing her duty—however hindered by inner feelings—
she would go forth again, and work hard, unobtru-
sively, but zealously, overlooking household linen,
silver, books, and all the rest that had to be seen to.
 One would think my poor dear master was ten
years older, old Nannie would sigh, when Mysie
every now and then found time to visit her.  My
dear Master Stephen ! Then her quivering voice
taking a little sound of comfort, she would turn to
Mysie: "You must be his comfort, my bird.
 I am only a dull brown bird, returned the girl
with a sudden inward bitterness against her own im-
perfections and, as she believed, want of charm.
 A brown bird, all in mourning too, repeated
old Nannie, scanning her mistress with aged eyes.
"Well, deary, a man likes a bright face even in a
black gown ; a rose in your dress now, and just a
song now and again would cheer Mr. Stephen. Take
an old woman's advice and try to brisk up, my lady—
I mean Miss Mysie. Sunshine is cheap in the
summer, and while you are young it should be
summer-time with you.
At times the poor old woman seemed to get con-
fused in her mind between Lady Elizabeth, who had
been her  young mistress, and this present young
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
mistress, who had been Miss Cobb till so lately, and
who, without the excitement of a recent wedding, had
become Mr. Stephen's wife.
The one point on which Stephen openly expressed
trouble was, that old Nannie would be obliged to leave
the great house. The old woman could no longer
enjoy her pleasant south room ; she must miss the
sheltered walk in the garden, her cushioned corner
in the chapel, and the long hours during which Mysie
used to play to her on the old piano in the large
drawing-room.
But Nannie was resolved to show her pluck like
one of the family.
Stuckey sent over a message that he would be glad
to take Watson on as bailiff, and though at first
the attached retainer of the Herries family stoutly
declared that no money would tempt him to serve
the interloper, as he considered Nicholas, Stephen's
persuasions induced him to accept the post.
 I would not be butler here, even if he asked me,
repeated Watson sturdily,  but bailiff, you see, sir,
is another matter. For there are the trees to
see to that no one but myself understands how to
thin. I love the fields so, Mr. Stephen, that when
they are ploughed it seems to me as if the very smell
of the earth was better here than elsewhere ; and
there are the beasts too, that know me, every one.
So as the West Lodge goes with the post, and that
grannie is too old to be moved far now, until she is
moved to the churchyard, as she says, why I will
take it for her sake as much as for my own and for
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
125
my wife's. It is cruel, Mr. Herries ; it does seem
cruel ! But there! we all have our ups and downSj
and there is no good in fretting.
"No good in fretting ; none at all. You are quite
right, Watson, replied his master.
But where is the comfort in saying that ? As
Stephen stared out of the window seeing at the far
end of the park the top of the church spire which
marked where his mother was laid, he felt in truth
deadly weary of life.
Just habit, more than any hope, kept him still
these days working at the daily treadmill necessary
to existence ; and a dislike to giving in, a fighting
instinct inherited from his ancestors more than any
moral sense of duty, urged him now to brace his
muscles and do battle with ill-fortune, as the first
Herries known to history had fought at Crecy till
struck down on his stumps, and then had fought
still, though he had not helped to  close the wall
up with our English dead.
Almost every afternoon Mr. Symes appeared,
carrying a black bag that was hateful to Mysie,
stuffed with papers, while he himself croaked like
a raven with always fresh ill-tidings. She felt as
if that black bag contained the bones of the family
skeleton which he daily pulled out and rattled before
poor Stephen's sick vision.
But all the time the voice of  Mephistopheles 
was softer than it had been ever heard to be before,
and the dried pea of a heart inside his withered
carcase must have felt some sproutings of pity and
kindly human feelings.
126
MR. AND MRS. IIERRIES.
 I never hated a job worse, he used to say to
himself each day on knocking at the dark door with
its carved date of 1590. And he would hold Mysie's
hand in a claw-like grip and give her a searching
glance— Enough to freeze the marrow in one's
bones, as Watson privately declared ; but it was
Mr. Symes's fashion of showing intense fellow-feeling.
For two or three days after the blow had first
fallen Mysie wondered, but did not dare to ask,
what Stephen's plans would be. Mr. Symes had
no such delicacy, however. He and Stephen were
standing in the library, where Mysie hovered near,
being really busy with a catalogue, and uncertain
whether she ought to leave or stay.
 Well, and now as to the future, Mr. Herries ?
began Symes with a forced cheerfulness.  You will
go on with your profession, we may take that for
granted, I presume ? You have made your mark
in it, sir ; you are quite distinguished they tell me.
He was trying to be soothing, and at the same time
secretly striving to rouse Stephen from what the old
lawyer thought apathy, and make him deal with facts.
 You have some plans, have you not ? 
Mysie, listening, pricked up her ears in eager atten-
tion, and stood like a young fawn, all life, vivacity,
timidity, momentarily arrested to stillness.
Stephen turned towards the fireplace with that air
of struggling to conceal great lassitude which was
habitual to him those days. He passed his hand
wearily over his forehead and smiled his also lately
acquired smile of resignation.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
127
 The future we can discuss later, my dear Mr.
Symes. The immediate present is all I can see just
now.
 Well, well; that is a good deal to see to, certainly;
but still, a little forethought, now, may make the
future easier, and there is Mrs. Herries to consider.
Mysie's eyes lit with a little gleam of part anger
against the old man for putting her name forward as
a spur to Stephen's lagging energy :  Why vex him
about me ?  was her quick thought; but there was also
curiosity in those brown orbs to know what Stephen
would say as she bent ever so gently forward.
 Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, came
slowly from Stephen, as he ran his fingers through the
thinning hair on his forehead.  I have thought that
we must, of course, have some sort of a shelter, some
spot where we can leave the few Lares and Penates
we can gather out of the shipwreck, even should fate
decree a long absence from England. Any port in a
storm, and for the present there is only one thing to
do—go to Moor Lodge.
Mysie, unnoticed, breathed a long breath of relief.
Moor Lodge was a mere shooting-box on the
grouse moors, three or four miles away. Mysie had
been used to look up at their bluish outline mistily
melting into the sky with a vague feeling that it was
wide and pleasant and breezy on those uplands.
Several times Lady Elizabeth had borrowed
Farmer Wilcox's old grey mare and had driven
slowly with Mysie on warm summer days up to the
moors.
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
These grouse moors were ill-stocked, and therefore
during Stephen's long absences from home had never
been of sufficient value to warrant their being let
except as pasturage for sheep. The whole extent
formed a wide stretch of upland heather, of rough
ground, corrie and glen belonging to Stephen,
and this had not been included in the mortgage of
the remaining part of the Wykhurst estate.
The barren moors might have no value, but they
had the little lonely lodge upon them—a white spot
amidst their heathery waste. This was all the home
to which Stephen Herries could now bring his wife.
At last the fatal day of departure approached, and
the few inmates of the old Tudor house felt as if their
breath was taken away by the knowledge that their
last hour there was drawing so near.
Still Stephen never gave much outward manifesta-
tion of his feelings; but he looked so wretched that
all shook their heads at each other behind his back,
mutely prophesying that he must break down.
Then Mysie suddenly astonished him and herself.
With a courage that five minutes before speaking she
could not have believed would be hers, she abruptly
asked :
 Do you think it necessary for you to go to Moor
Lodge the day after to-morrow ? Because, if not, it
would be more convenient for me, I think, if you
allowed me to put things to rights first by myself.
 Necessary, my dear child ? But how could you do
without me ? What could you do ? 
Stephen stroked his drooping moustache with a
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
129
languid hand, mild surprise breaking through the
gentle vacancy of his tone.
 I could do everything, and a soft red made a
ripe peach shade upon the cheeks of his nut-brown
maid. "We women, you know, like to scrub and
scour, put in tin-tacks everywhere without being
interfered with—I beg your pardon—overlooked by
men. In fact, if you will excuse my telling you the
plain truth, you might be slightly in the way. I
quite enjoy putting up curtains, nailing down carpets,
went on Mysie, with sparkling eyes, putting a good
face upon her fib,  and if you came, we should only
feel—the servants and I—that your dinner would not
be properly cooked the first night, and that all was at
sixes and sevens. We do not mind things being in
a muddle, in fact, it rather reminds me of a picnic.
 And what would you propose, instead ? 
 You have a friend, Mr. Edgar Hay, have you not ?
I thought whenever you pleased you could go and pay
him a visit, urged Mysie, inwardly hoping her cour-
age might not fail.
 I have. Yes . . . it is not a bad idea, only
it seems so selfish.
Stephen, in reality, felt a great relief at the mere
suggestion of so escaping the worst pangs of all. To
drive straight away from Wykhurst door, take his last
look at the old home, and then slowly climb up among
the hills, would be a prolonged agony that must tax
his powers of self-control to the very utmost. All the
more so that his nerves were shaken since his mother's
death.
K
130
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Still he hesitated ; still Mysie insisted. She gained
her own way in the end.
Stephen accepted her suggestion with real gratitude
and a vague wonder. This was the first time that
Mysie had shown her individuality to him. He could
hardly have been more surprised had Duchess opened
her mouth and spoken—though he had no time to
be surprised ; there was too much to do.
131
CHAPTER XIII.
For three days low rain clouds had hung over the
country, like a grey pall, and occasional showers, in
prophecy of winter, ended the summer, and heralded
in more sober autumn.
On the fourth day out shone the sun again, and the
whole landscape revived. Bird songs began again
here and there in the copses ; the swallows, that had
been sitting on telegraph wires, holding emigration
councils, thought better of it, and went hawking
again for flies over the meadows.
As Herries got out at the small wayside railway
station nearest to Moor Lodge he felt as if, with
reviving nature, a little spring of contentment with
existence, if not of pleasure, was beginning to trickle
again in the dry desert of his inner being.
He was not expected until the next day, only he
had felt himself too bad company for his friend
Edgar Hay, and so had suddenly packed up his
things and come away.  It is not fair to burden
one's friends with one's private troubles, he had
thought; in fact, he was at that acute stage of misery
when a man longs to be out of sight of all human
beings who know him. Even his friend's sympathy
K 2
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
had been like laying a hand, however gentle, on his
wounds. He could not bear to talk of Wykhurst or
of his mother's loss, and he had no interest in in-
different topics. So he was best at home, he resolved,
yet with the thought of what home now meant a
knife seemed to go into his heart.
There was a solitary fly generally to be had at the
little station where he alighted. Alack-a-day ! one of
its ancient wheels had come to grief that morning.
The station-master was in despair.
 What shall we do, Mr. Herries, for you ? Perhaps
you could borrow a dog-cart, he suggested, thinking
of some of the neighbouring farmers.
But not a vehicle was to be seen waiting, except-
ing a spring-cart belonging to a burly countryman
whom Stephen knew well by sight.
 I am going up to the moors myself, and if I
can give a message for you, sir, at the lodge, I will
gladly go out of my way, offered the latter.
He, like most of the country folk around, would
have felt pleased and proud to do Herries a service,
for, seldom though he was at home, all felt him to be
a true friend.
"If you will give me a seat beside you as far as our
way lies together, I shall be extremely obliged, said
Stephen gently ;  but I will not have you go out of
your way at all. When you set me down I can easily
walk up to the Lodge.
So they drove off together, the station-master
shaking his head at the sight. Afterwards the good
yeoman told bis wife that no man could have been
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
133
more pleasant than Mr. Herries was that day. He
asked after all the news, and he seemed to know as
well as if he had never gone a mile out of the parish
everything relating to every farmer, and every
labourer, man, woman, and child in the adjacent
neighbourhood.
When once they had reached the moor land
Stephen set out on foot. He walked up hill for the
next three miles. The violet glory of the heather
had died to a great extent during the late rains, but
still it was pleasant and springy under foot, and here
and there were belated purple patches, while now and
again a lark rose in the sky like a spirit of gladness,
and the bees hummed around. At last Stephen felt
that the peace he had longed for during the last dark
days now actually refreshed him. The loneliness, the
sweet air, the sense of freedom in the unfenced rolling
moorland around, were all consoling and reviving. He
drew a long breath, and, standing still, looked about
him, with his heart lighter than it had been of late.
Yes, he had done well to come back and face his new
life for he,felt as if hehad taken a fresh lease of existence.
(How much rather would he have renewed the old
one !) This seemed a new man, different from the
old Herries of Wykhurst, who stood here. He was
middle-aged, solitary, with no ancestral home to
which, in mind when not in body, he could go back
and be at rest.
Stephen felt like a shipwrecked castaway, who had
lost all he held most dear, but must make the best fight
he could on his desert island against fate. The second
134
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Herries found himself with a young wife who was
almost a stranger, some barren acres of moorland,
and a house not much better than a keeper's lodge.
Well, he must exert himself, as a new duty, not to
be a morose, dull companion for this young creature,
to whom he must also seem a stranger, perhaps an un-
congenial one. After all, his task would be more easy
than hers, for she was but a simple child,  who lightly
drew her breath, and he was a middle-aged worldling,
of whose thoughts, past life, and present complications
of mind she probably knew nothing, and would little
care to enter into.
The unfenced road wound up the moorlands like a
ribbon. One could see any living creature upon it for
two miles up or down ; but he himself was the only
moving speck to be descried. Far up, yonder, Moor
Lodge lay like a white speck, one window reflecting
the sun as a burning glass. A little way below the
house a bridge spanned a mountain brook, deep under-
neath it but now dry, though in winter a torrent plainly
roared over its loose stones ; and here a gate was set
in the single enclosure fencing the Lodge from the
moor.
The road to the house skirted round the hill, which
was short and steep. But Stephen took a narrow
path that climbed up through a patch of broom and
dog roses overlooking the brook. This little wild
shrubbery somehow recalled a different cottage to his
mind, a cottage of gentility. He thought of Adelaide
Ferrars and her hammock.
 What is Mysie doing ?  was his next thought, by
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
135
way of contrast; ' probably running wild with
Duchess for miles over the heather, for his idea of
his wife was that of a somewhat shy hoyden of a good
girl.
The top of the slope gained, his present home con-
fronted him. It was merely a white-washed lodge
with a slated roof; a window on either side its
door, and three overhead. One or two wind-blown
mountain ashes grew near by, their scarlet berries
flaming in the evening sun ; but of garden there was
none, except a vegetable patch at a little distance, for
the peculiarity of the dwelling lay in that it seemed
set down on the moorland by chance.
A little outhouse behind it served for a stable and
cow-house. There was no farmyard or other out-
buildings. A wood pile was stacked near hand on
what might by courtesy be termed a lawn. Two dog
kennels were a few roods away among the heather, and
a fence of hurdles kept a couple of cows and a mountain
pony from straying over the hills. This was the ring
fence of Moorlands demesne.
As Stephen lingeringly approached the Lodge, he
heard a sweet voice singing in a human carol, re-
minding him of the larks he had lately left trilling
above the gorse. It was a voice so full of simple
gladness that, in some curiosity, he went round to
the back of the house to see its owner.
The sight his eyes met surprised our grave diplo-
matist slightly. There was a kitchen table set out-
side the back door, and here, bareheaded, in the
evening twilight, stood Mysie before a baking board.
136
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Her sleeves were rolled up, displaying shapely, deli-
cate arms, and her black dress was pinned high
enough to show, unconsciously, two pretty feet and
ankles. A coarse white apron almost enveloped her
slim black figure, and she was baking with both
hands, turning and rolling the dough busily, while
singing at the top of her clear voice.
As he watched her smiling, she snatched up a
knife with quite a murderous air of determination,,
pared the edges of her cake, and threw the scraps to
some expectant chickens, who fluttered away to fight
over their spoil.
Stephen felt agreeably struck by the pretty picture,
as any man might be, and a sense of surprised
pleasure stole into his mind at the reflection which
immediately followed, that this happy young creature
was his wife.
As he stepped forward he  fluttered the dove-cot,
that is to say, the feeding feathered group. Mysie,
without looking up, exclaimed with a little peremp-
tory air, which tickled him amazingly :
 Have you not milked the cows yet ? How lazy
you are! Now, go and do it at once. You are be-
hindhand with your work, Tommy.
 Very well, ma'am; where shall I find the milk-
pails ? 
Mysie gave a great start, and almost dropped her
big girdle cake on the ground.
"What! You? she exclaimed, her face flushing
sweetly, and her brown eyes looking almost large with
surprise, or so he thought, but was it surprise only ?
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
137
 O, I am so glad, only I am very sorry; that is
I mean 
 Glad and sorry all in one breath ; what is it you
do mean, little woman ? If you are thinking of house-
hold cares, banish them from your mind ; I came here
because I felt I was better at home than away.
Still, I should have stayed if I had thought it would
have disturbed your household economy.
Stephen had come near by this time, and was
holding out his hand with friendly awkwardness.
Mysie, with a funny little air of penitent apology,
glanced down at her fingers, that were covered with
flour and adhering bits of damp dough.
 I cannot shake hands, you see ; and it was only a
thought about your dinner that struck me, she
answered, trying to seem as bold as a robin in order to
mask her shyness.
For a moment or two Stephen felt confused as to
what greeting he ought to give her. A maid's white-
capped head was peeping out of the kitchen window ;
the real Tommy had appeared, smirking, from behind
the wood pile. No, he felt he could not give her a
first kiss before these spectators. The child was too
plainly shy, and he was a little sensitive himself,
guessing that the romance of their marriage was most
likely a kitchen topic of discussion. Neither could
he simply look at his wife in this way, and be set
down as an unfeeling, middle-aged lord and master.
He put his hand upon her shoulder in a caressing
manner in his sudden perplexity, rather wishing that
spectators were out of the way, which was quite a
new thought to him in connection with Mysie.
138
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
The latter, even more keenly alive to the situation
than himself, felt much, it must be owned, as one of
the Patriarch's wives might have done in the olden
days, when an angel unexpectedly appeared, and
laying his hand upon her shoulder, with a blessing,
offered to share the evening meal.
She braced herself to meet the great responsibilities
of her new situation, as became Mrs. Herries, and
went on with all a housekeeper's gravity, but with a
face that kindled again.
 You see, to-morrow you would have had a better
dinner : for I must confide in you that it is difficult
to get beef and mutton up here. The only way is
when a butcher kills about two miles away, and then
sends round to know what joint we will have ; but if
one is not very quick there is often nothing left but
the ox-tail.
 I can do with an ox-tail. I will make an Arab
dish of it for you with rice, only you must eat it with
your fingers, laughed Stephen.
 Do not trouble to-night. You can have a curry
and O, well, something else. Mysie's eyes glanced
towards the chickens she had so lately been stuffing.
 If you do not mind my leaving you for a little while,'
she excusingly added,  I will see to things myself.
Stephen strolled away towards the front of the
house again, feeling himself slightly in the way.
Then with amusement he heard the sounds of a
chase ; and fluttering bird cries behind told his ear,
accustomed by travel, that there was sudden death
in the poultry yard.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
139
The door of his home stood open. On one side of
the narrow entry was a little parlour, on the other a
sitting-room, both which he used to know well with
their primitive furniture. But now all was changed.
He recognised his mother's work-table and revolving
book-stand, his own easy-chair from the study, and
many another object from Wykhurst that gave him a
strange, half-glad, half-pained feeling at meeting these
old friends under new circumstances.
The parlour door stood open (it could not be
dignified by the name of dining-room), and the
glitter of silver against a dark background of some
old oak furniture from Wykhurst made it quite a
pleasant snuggery.
Yet Stephen felt so strange that he could not sit
down, and after a vacant glance around he went up
the narrow stairs in an absent-minded way, mechani-
cally turning the handle of what he found was an
empty bedroom. He was confronted by a pile
of furniture stacked upon bare, but well-scrubbed
boards. Plainly, Mysie had not tried reducing chaos
to order here as yet.
Next he took a look in at the small room over the
entry. There were a dressing-table set out with
dainty brushes and feminine knick-knacks, which
he did not recognise, a snowy small bed, and hang-
ing behind the door a pale-blue dressing gown,
trimmed with a cascade of white lace, the folds of
which touched him with gentle admonition. Stephen
started back, feeling as if prying unwarrantably. He
slipped quite guiltily downstairs, and finding a buxom,
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
red-cheeked maid, humbly inquired  where his
things were put. She briskly showed him upstairs
to the third room, which was larger and by far better
furnished than Mysie's narrow chamber.
Here all his old college pictures hung on the walls ;
his clothes were neatly aranged in the wardrobe.
His wants had been forestalled down even to the
smallest details.
Stephen grew thoughtful studying these signs.
He began dressing for dinner more carefully than
was even usual with him, though always punctilious
on this score. Rejecting his old smoking jacket he
searched out his second-best one, hardly owning the
reason thereof to himself. Lastly, before leaving, he
looked once more earnestly in the glass at his own
visage.  The knight of the sorrowful countenance,
he remarked in self-disparagement;  I must seem
quite old in her eyes.
The little dinner went off admirably that evening.
Mysie was hot and nervous at first after her cooking
exertions, for her new handmaidens were willing, but
raw, and required her supervision.
Stephen's praises, however, and his hearty appetite
soon satisfied her apprehensions ; and, excited out 01
her usual self, she fairly beamed with pleasure.
"Why, what excellent cooking! declared Stephen.
 My dear, I had no idea you hid such a pronounced
gift. And you have made our little Lodge quite
cosy. You must have worked very hard indeed
while I have been away.
He had no idea how hard she had toiled from dewy
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
dawn till twilight eve, nor yet that this labour of love
now seemed sweetly rewarded.
His young helpmeet only looked down consciously,
with a smile and a blush mingled, but evasively
replied :
 It is quite a nice little house. It does seem
so grateful for the pains one takes with it, and tries
to look its very best, you might say. Perhaps I like
it because of the moors, she went on presently,
gathering courage at the sound of her own voice,
for it was quite a new thing to have a tete-a-tete
conversation with her husband.  I really love these
moors, they are so beautiful all the year through.
One day last spring we came up here and the birds
seemed in a paradise of their own ; finches and
stone-chats and larks and ever so many more. How
they sang ! You should just have heard them. The
whole air was as full of songs as a cathedral roof is of
music when the organ plays.
She broke off short, as if ashamed of her own en-
thusiasm.
 But in winter time, put in Stephen, smiling;
 would you not feel shivered up here ? Imagine
snow lying like a winding sheet for miles, and how
for days you might not be able to get down to the
lower country to see any friends. You would soon
hate such a winter.
 No, I hardly think I should. When I was twelve
years old grandfather and I were snowed up in
America, and through some months in the winter I
could do nothing in the evenings but play cribbage
142
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
with him, or work and read aloud. Some of th
miners used to come in sometimes and listen too. 1
was very pleasant we used to think.
 And what sort of literature did your minim
audience like ? 
 Why, the very best, and Mysie's voice took a ton
of championship  We went through most of Shake
speare. And some of them were gentlemen, yoi
understand, though of course they had come to grie
They used to recite poetry. All I know of Englisl
literature I seem to have learnt then. Then by da]
we used to go out in a sleigh, or on snow-shoes, o
else skating ; at least, one young fellow who wa
under grandfather generally took me. He was a nic<
English boy, quite a gentleman, Jere Dodsworth.
More surprises for Stephen. His little wife wa:
more widely educated than he had thought. An<
she, too, had a past with reminiscences that were a
new to him as his would be to her.
Dinner over, both rose ; and Mysie bravely led th<
way to the drawing-room, ringing for coffee, and un
consciously imitating the very gesture and voice ir
which Lady Elizabeth had been used to give he:
orders at Wykhurst.
The little room was pleasant in the twilight, anc
though it lacked garden flowers it was full of the seem
of heather which Mysie had massed here and there ir
old china beau-pots.
As they stood in the September dusk Stepher
felt a sense of well-being steal over him* He hac
dreaded the gruesome idea of poverty up on the hill;
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
143
here, with a strange, daily companion ; and lo! he
found himself amused and pleased, surrounded by
small evidences of refinement and those signs of
feminine thought which are especially pleasant to
men of his nature.
With an unpremeditated air he drew his chair a
trifle closer to Mysie's sofa, and stretched his arm on
the back of the latter. It was not a caress, but it had
enough of the appearance of one to make her feel that
he was more to her than an ordinary companion,
which effect was what he intended.
 By the way, he remarked, presently, with as
careless a smile, though it was unseen in the twilight,
 I am afraid you have lodged me too well at your
own expense. I must teach you to think more of
your own comfort, or else you must allow me to do
so. Why have you not installed yourself in the most
comfortable room upstairs ? It is meant for the lady
of the house.
Mysie felt more embarrassed than he guessed ; but
answered with downright gravity:
"Yes, you mean the largest room. We have not
had time to touch it yet, there really has been so much
more important work to do. Besides, there is a trouble
about that room ; no one can go into it.
 A trouble! how mysterious. What is there—a
ghost ?—mice ?—burglars ? 
"No; bees! It is lucky to have bees come to a
house, they say, but very inconvenient and uncom-
fortable. They come from over the moors straight
in a bee-line to that room; and Watson says they
144
ME. AND MRS. HERRIES.
have found a little hole leading into a hollow behind
the stone above the window. They must have piled
up heaps of honey there. Constantly they get into
the room itself, so we must leave the window open to
let them out again. Watson says he will come over
himself and smoke them out, and that I shall have
jars-full of honey. He is so useful.
 Ah, yes ; Watson is a good man.
A shadow fell upon Herries' mind at the words.
For the last two hours he had forgotten the past, but
the name of that faithful retainer had fired a train of
old associations.
Feeling his gloom coming upon him, he got up
slowly, and said that he would stroll outside and have
a cigarette. He did not ask Mysie to go with him,
wishing to get over his painful half-hour of thought
alone. She was too timid to dream of offering to do
so. But, as she stood in the doorway watching him,
she almost called out in warning :
("Take care; there are thunder-clouds coming up
against the wind.") Then she checked herself. He
must know the signs of the weather up here better
than she.
An hour later Stephen returned drenched to the
skin, for he had wandered too far and been caught in
a heavy shower.
His teeth were chattering and his face looked
almost blue, as Mysie herself anxiously let him in.
 I have had a hot bath prepared for you upstairs,
was the hasty announcement with which she met him,
 and there is some hot whisky and water by the fire ;
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
145
I have had one lit for you. Yes, please drink it. I
have heard Lady Elizabeth say that you are apt to
have ague and fever, and a wetting is sure to bring
it on.
Stephen, who felt the shivering premonition of his
old enemy's attack, was glad enough to follow her
advice. He was too miserable to stay long in his
wet clothes, but as he left the room with a grateful
 Good night, he took her small brown hand, and
with a lover's glance in his eyes gently raised it to
his lips.
It was very pleasant to him to be thus taken care
of, and so he thought once or twice through the
night before his shivering fits departed, and that
thanks to Mysie's care, he fell into a sound sleep.
Downstairs he left a happy heart.
 He likes me a little, I do believe, thought Mysie
to herself. Ah! in time, in time, if only her
devotion could compass it, he should like her better,
he should love her best!
146
CHAPTER XIV.
Next afternoon saw our couple wandering over the
swells of the moors. Stephen was carrying lunch in
a knapsack, and had a gun on his shoulder, but his
game-bag was somewhat empty. They had gone out
early that morning, for Herries said that such fine days
would be few, and therefore they ought to enjoy their
autumn sunshine while they could. Certainly Mysie
did enjoy it, and Duchess too, although the latter
privately thought her master was too engrossed in
chat, and ought to have looked more keenly after his
birds.
Stephen was  so pleasant in his talk, thought his
young companion ; and he took such care of her,
giving her his hand when they came to wet places, and
helping her to spring from tussock to tussock.
And so for hours they two wandered away over
the springy heather clumps, and where the cotton
grass and the bog myrtle grew in patches, or by tiny
watercourses cushions of moss glowed crimson; and
if now and again a rare grouse sprang up, and went
sailing away on steady wing, Mysie felt keenly ex-
cited when Stephen's shot rang out, and the poor bird
presently wavered and fluttered down. She was glad
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
147
he had not missed his shot, and yet she almost wished
the bird alive again.
Now, towards afternoon they found themselves by
chance on the verge of the moor. Below them, in a
steep hollow, lay a farmhouse which Stephen knew
well, with a mountain brook hoarsely singing past it
through an orchard.
They went down among the apple trees for lunch ;
but,  not to spoil the rural aspect of the feast, as
Stephen said, they would not go indoors, in spite of
the hospitable urgings of the farmer's wife.
He brought Mysie out some milk there, while she
spread the feast meanwhile. They sat down on the
grass in the large orchard, where was a delightful
flicker of light and shade over the short old sward,
that, compared with other grass, was as velvet pile to
cheap floorcloth.
An old stone trough in the paddock close by
received a little musical rill of water, that thence
overflowed and wound in a green, thread-like track
among the slender lichened apple stems ; and at this
trough a shaggy cream pony was slaking his thirst.
 How picturesque he is ! exclaimed Mysie, ad-
miringly ;  how I should like to have him to ride
about on.
 Would you ? Then we will see if it cannot be
managed, replied Stephen at once.
 O, I did not mean that; please do not think of
it, she answered.
"But why not? he persisted, smiling, with that same
deep look in his eyes which of <ald Adelaide Ferrars
L 2
148
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
had known, and under which Mysie now thrilled, like
the strings of a musical instrument swept by a passing
breeze.
"It will be a pleasure to me to give you your
wishes whenever I can. You must learn to under-
stand that, little woman.
There was no deep shadow in the orchard, but only
dappled light and shade, while the apples were small
from the dry summer weather, but many. One laden
tree was a picture of  apples of gold, all clusters of
ruddy crimson and pale yellow.
 Does it not remind you of Solomon's song ?
ventured Mysie, gazing up overhead.
 It does, smiled Stephen.  Have you ever heard
that that song is a drama—the story of a peasant
girl, who was one of the king's many wives, but who
had a former lover of her own rank and kindred, and
who still cared for him most, even in the royal palace.
 But she was married, interposed Mysie, opening
her eyes just a little.
"Ah, true. It is only a theory, and theories are
often wrong, gravely answered Stephen.  See how
shallow the brook is ! You can see little trout darting
here and there ; they seem looking for deep spots,
where there is enough water to cover them.
Mysie laughed, and gazed, too, down at the bright,
clear water that was all flickering in the sunlight,
except where a few big trees threw grateful green
shadows.
There was a swishing noise a little higher up the
stream. Two red cows were standing knee-deep under
MR. AND MRS. MERRIES.
149
the bank, whisking their wet tails over their backs
to rid themselves of a swarm of flies by this attempt
at a douche.
Lazily and happily they two sat on there for another
half-hour. Stephen smoked, while Mysie was deeply
interested in watching a rare old and wise four-
pounder of a trout, who now and again made a splash
hard by, under an overhanging bush and hollowed bit
of bank he loved to haunt.
At last they rose, while Duchess barked with joy,
wrongly anticipating more shooting to come.
Before leaving the farmhouse Stephen had a little
parley with the good wife.
"You will have your pony to-morrow, he said, on
rejoining Mysie.  I have told them to send it up to
our stable. They say it is very gentle, both to ride
and drive.
Mysie actually stammered in trying to express her
gratitude. It was not only that he had at once
tried to carry out her thoughtless wish, but that he
laughingly said  our stable, as he had before spoken
of  our house  and our home.
As they went homewards, now making their way
towards the burn, she felt walking on air, although, in
truth, the heather was rank and long here, and that
many a time her foot sank unwarily into little pitfalls.
At last their own bridge and gate lay before them at
the base of a steep descent.
 Take care ! warned Stephen gaily ;  I know this
part well. It is, as Mark Twain says, like ' walking
on a bit of the roof of the world.' A London cousin
150 MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
of mine once came up here with me, and he wished
for an alpenstock to get down again, and then went
backwards so as not to be giddy. Would you like to
try the experiment ? It is really a wonderful sensa-
tion ; you cannot see where you are going.
Like a child, Mysie laughed outright, and took
the hand he proffered more for the pleasure of feeling
that firm clasp and supposing herself taken care
of than for any need of help required by her agile
nimble little person.
 O! it is so funny. Do try yourself, she
pleaded.
And so for part of the way Stephen gratified her,
till both felt more giddy, and by mutual consent
turned round and ran down into the high road.
They were flushed and breathless as they stood
there. Stephen was in his oldest shooting attire ; while
Mysie's brown face was all aglow, her hair ruffled, and
an air of health and exercise, but, it must be owned,
traces of sun and wind upon her complexion, and
stains upon her short, black, woollen skirts. For once,
rejecting Stephen's proffered help, she had unwarily
plumped into a greenly treacherous little quagmire
that had left its marks upon her feet and gaiters ; and
again she had caught her foot in a heather root, and
come plump upon her knees.
An unexpected surprise met them at the end of the
road. A lady on a thoroughbred horse had reined
up by the bridge awaiting them ; while her groom,
on a still handsomer animal, kept at a respectful
distance.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
It was Adelaide, as both saw with an involuntary
feeling of anger—bracing their muscles as if to
bear themselves with dignity under such an unlooked
for visit. She must have been watching them both
coming down the brae in such foolish fashion as she
sat there looking so cool and elegant, so faultlessly
appointed. While Stephen lifted his deer-stalker
cap, Adelaide swiftly slipped out of her saddle to their
surprise. Beckoning to her groom, with a slight im-
perious gesture, she gave him the reins and signed him
to ride away, which the man did withdrawing round
the curve of the road.
Next moment she approached quickly, holding her
skirt in one hand with an easy grace that both the
others noticed, even though feeling taken aback, and
which Mysie rapidly resolved to copy. Silently Mrs.
Stuckey gave the latter a quick grasp of the hand ;
then she turned to Stephen. She stood still before him,
not uttering a word, her hands down-dropped . . .
her beautiful eyes raising their gaze to meet his,
timidly, imploringly . . . stood there, while slowly,
slowly, tears rose up, not suffered to fall, but adding
to the lustre of those lovely orbs, till they flashed like
wet jewels.
Adelaide's face looked so lovely that Mysie herself
felt fascinated, even while the thought arose,  She is
mesmerising Stephen. For the latter stood out-
wardly impassive, yet too thrown off his guard by the
pleading, well-known face so near his own to utter a
syllable.
"Why can't he just say, 'How d'ye do, Mrs
152
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Stuckey?' and have done with it?  was the im-
patient commentary of the third spectator in this
scene.
Then Adelaide stretched out two trembling
hands that touched, thrilling with imploring though
light pressure, Stephen's arm which carried his gun.
 Don't hate me—don't! Indeed, indeed I implored
my husband not to be so heartless, so cruel; only he
would not listen.
Herries' face hardened ; he looked away over the
fair pleader's head.
"Mr. Stuckey was acting within his rights; business
is business, he will doubtless tell you.
Two big bright tears splashed warm on his bare
hand.
 He would not listen to me ; what does he care ?
If you knew all you would pity me, not hate me. I
have ridden up here to-day to beg forgiveness for
what is truly not my fault.
 There is nothing to forgive—Mrs. Stuckey.
Stephen was trying to harden his heart, thawed too
easily by those tears.
 How coldly you say that, she returned reproach-
fully, slowly removing her clasp.  I understand. If
it had been any stranger, anyone but poor me, your
old familiar friend, who was installed in your rightful
home, it would seem easier. I know! and my bitterness
of regret, believe me, is almost greater than yours.
But listen, Stephen, she went on more rapidly:
 Nevertheless, I am almost glad, if you have to leave
Wykhurst, that I, and not another woman, should be
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
153
mistress there. For I promise you that nothing,
nothing, if I can help it, shall be altered ; not a
flower, no, not a rusty nail  (she gave a little hysteri-
cal laugh);  your property is sacred to me.
 Thank you very greatly, he answered with slow
gentleness.
Was Stephen weak ? But he could not help feeling
touched. This woman was his first false love, yet he
knew well enough that in her heart she had never
preferred Nicholas Stuckey to himself. No; fear of
poverty, rather than love of lucre, he believed had
influenced her. She did not care a straw for Nicholas,
he was convinced ; perhaps she was even unhappy in
her gilded cage.
Meanwhile Mysie stood aloof with cold eyes but a
burning heart. Both the others had ignored her
presence in this little drama hitherto, but now
Adelaide turned, while pressing one hand lightly to
her side.
 I feel myself an intruder, dear Mrs. Herries, but
you have always been so pleasant to me, even while
we never guessed your honours, that you cannot be
angry now, can you ? Only I feel a little giddy—the
sun was hot, and it is a long ride up to these moors.
Do not let me detain either of you. Good-bye; I
will just sit here on the bridge a few minutes, if I
may.
As if it was likely they would leave her there, as
she begged ! Mysie felt in a dream when presently
she saw Adelaide installed in their little sitting-room
with quite an air of being at home. She seemed to
154
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
bring a hot-house perfume with her, so to speak, that
made Mysie's honest heather bunches and mountain
ash berries seem common adornments and vulgar.
The guest, in her hostess's secret opinion, recovered
very rapidly. Presently, over a cup of tea, she began
urging Stephen low and sweetly to please her in
something upon which she had set her heart. It
would be an immense favour, nay, a mark of forgive-
ness and friendship, if he would allow her to make an
offer for all his books, furniture, and so forth at Wyk-
hurst Place, instead of having them sold by auction
as he had intended.
"I will treasure them, she murmured. "You see
they would not be parted from the house; scattered
far and wide, to the four quarters of the earth, as
one may say.
And even while Stephen hesitated, feeling that in
truth he would be under some obligation to her, as
she begged permission to take them at his own valua-
tion, she still winningly tried to coax him ; looked
eager, sad, hopeful by turns. Then she prettily
begged Mysie to intercede for her with Stephen.
 He knows best what he wishes, was the dignified
brief answer. In truth it hurt Mysie to hear this
visitor repeat the name, Stephen ; it emphasised only
too strongly their old acquaintanceship ; and she her-
self had only called him so once or twice, and then
with a severe attack of shyness.
Adelaide gained her point and rode away once
more radiant. Stephen stood a minute or two in the
doorway of the Lodge looking after her; but Mysie
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
155
turned into the house and vengefully began pulling
the chairs here and there as if to banish the memory
of where their visitor had sat.
 You have altered the room, surely ; it is less com-
fortable, said Stephen that evening.
 Do you think so ? it only makes a little change,
gaily replied the deceptress, whom he looked upon
as his guileless child-wife.
156
CHAPTER XV.
Brown October had dropped his mantle on the
moors, but it was garnished and brightened with
glorious patches of crimson and gold, where the leaves
of the rowan-trees, that edged a brook, hung feebly
on their branches.
Far out on the moor a solitary woman's figure was
riding a shaggy cream pony. At its heels trotted a
black and tan Gordon setter, with lolling tongue.
All around were grey unbroken sweeps of hill, and
strong lights and shadows from the clouds piled in
the cold sunny sky. Tiny silver streamlets trickled
down here and there in heather braes, breaking the
monotony of the expanse of fore ground ; while away
to the sky-line rose yet more upland, swells after
swells, like ocean waves, and yonder the air was still
keener and more bracing.
There were few points of note in the landscape
round. A large pound, built of rubble stones, meant
for the lean sheep scattered over the hill-sides; and
close by an old granite cross, standing in loneliness,
as if consecrating these upland solitudes. Perhaps
some hermit had reared it in bye-gone days, and
lived near hand in a hole scooped in a bank and
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
157
faced with sods. But the hermit was gone, though
the cross remained ; and the wild grouse were the
only flock here, while the larks were the choristers.
Mysie, for she was the rider, reined up on some
high ground overlooking a larger brook than its
brethren down in a little gully below.
She had drawn her rein mechanically, aware that
she could not scramble down there, and now she
waited motionless, because she was thinking—but not
of the brook.
 I am wretched, were the words voicelessly
breathed by her lips. Even when alone she was too
self-possessed to utter a syllable aloud. Truly
enough she was miserable; and she knew what ailed
her. She was jealous. "Jealousy is a horrible pain
to oneself, was Mysie's next philosophical reflection,
the outcome of several past days and nights of secret
and well-concealed bitterness. "Well, it hurts me,
but I will not allow it to hurt others. I will not pain
Stephen by betraying myself. Yet the brave little
soul knew that Stephen was changed, and that he
was again somewhat under the glamour of Adelaide's
old charm. Jealousy had 'not misled her there.
 He cannot help himself; I do not blame him, was
her woman-like reflection,  but why cannot she leave
him alone ? Has she not her own husband ? She is
doing her best to revive his old feelings, to steal his
heart from me, if I ever had it for a moment
For day after day lately Stephen had been sum-
moned down to Wykhurst, where he held consulta-
tion with Adelaide over what was left of his property,
i58
mr. and mrs. herries.
or if he did not appear every second day she would
ride up with some trivial question to put, or a groom
would arrive with a gilt-edged note summoning him
to help her out of some perplexities. Nicholas
Stuckey himself was not yet at Wykhurst; he was
detained shooting in Scotland.
"If you are determined to go to Wykhurst you
had better leave me to manage it, Adelaide had said
coldly to her husband.
 Quite so ; deuced unpopular thing, eh ? All right,
I'll keep out of the way till the matter has blown
over, replied her spouse with a bluntness of speech
that displeased his fastidious partner.
He had only expressed what was in her own mind,
but it was part of her breeding to keep up appear-
ances even with one's nearest of kin.
"What a thing to say! she had replied, slightly
raising her graceful head like a bird.
So it had come about that Stephen and his old
love met continually during the past three weeks ;
and naturally Mysie had small share in their consul-
tations, having no opinion to offer upon the price of
Elzevirs, or of Aldine editions, chap-books, black-
letter pamphlets, mosaics, or Jacobean furniture.
At nights, when Stephen came home, he seemed
absent-minded and weary. After a lighter meal than
had satisfied his first hearty appetite, hie would sit for
half-an-hour with Mysie trying to be kind and agree-
able. Ah, yes, but now she felt it was an effort to
him to be attentive. Then excusing himself on the
pE of work, he would pass into the dining-room,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
159
which was also his study, and there smoke, and pore
over catalogues and book-lists ; Mysie often suspected
he only remained there sunk in a brown study till
the small hours.
And so she was lonely. Carriages from the whole
country round used to creep slowly in those days up
the long hill-side, and all the old friends came to pay
their respects to young Mrs. Herries. But she would
not receive them alone. And so, her keen sight
descrying a toiling black speck two miles away down
in the valley, she would slip to the stable, take out
Pippin, saddle and bridle him herself and ride away,
as to-day.
An impatient whine from Duchess recalled the
latter's mistress to a sense of the present.
 Well, I cannot ride straight down a bluff, she
thought, so chose a descent that was less steep. But
Pippin did not like fording the brook which brawled
over loose and slippery stones.  You are quite right,
dear, we won't try, agreed Mysie, patting his shaggy
neck ;  but it is nice down here in the hollow, so we
will just rest a while.
She slipped off the pony and sat down on a
boulder by the water's edge, holding the reins slackly,
and allowing the animal to graze.
She had named him Pippin in memory of the
orchard where she and Stephen had found him.
What a pleasant day that was, and how gladly she
had anticipated that Stephen would walk with her,
as he had promised, when she took long rides like
to-day. This October she had looked forward to
i6o
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
with such delight; it should have been a sort of
honeymoon to them both. How blissful those brief
delightful hours had been before Adelaide Stuckey
rode up to the Lodge. And now Mysie felt all was
changed; she had Stephen at home; she was his
acknowledged wife ; she had her pony ; but all was
dead sea fruit.
 How will it end ? how will it end ?  thought the
poor child to herself, as she stared at the brook with
troubled eyes. The water was babbling with so
many voices as one listened, and there were tiny
cascades rushing down on either side of out-crop-
ping rocks, which waterfalls had each different treble
sounds of their own, and one full rush of water some
two yards up stream had quite a deep bass.
She tried to listen to them instead of to her own
thought's, and yet the latter would come back and
back with painful persistence.
 What will come of it all ? Will it go on so
between us all this winter? He does not care for
me ; we draw further apart every day. Shall I ever
get him to love me? If not, how shall I bear it ?  and
she feared deep in her mind that so long as Adelaide
Stuckey down there in the rich lowland, in Stephen's
ancestral home, called him to come to her, so long
would he go ; while Mysie up here on the bare hills
stayed alone. Oh, she knew, she knew that if. she
were to complain, Stephen's kindness, his sense of
justice, would all be enlisted on her side ; he would
stay with her.  But I do not want an unwilling yoke-
fellow, thought the proud little heart ;  he must
give himself freely, or what is the gift to me ? 
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
161
She blamed no one, being large-minded and loyal.
Adelaide had cared for him, and did, no doubt, wish
to do him a kindness in the matter of this sale.
And Stephen had loved Adelaide, and, in a manner,
cared for her still.  It is no more than that, I know,
Mysie emphasised to herself. And she was right;
but it was enough.
After a long silence the words broke slowly from
her lips.
 It will not do ; Stephen is so gentle-minded, so
good, that he may come to be fond of me in future
years, but not if we stay on here. She would pluck
up courage this very evening and ask him whether he
meditated going abroad again. He must go some
day, she knew, as he could not abandon his profes-
sion ; but he had come home for a year's leave. "If
he will come away soon, I will ask him to take me
with him, was her conclusion.
Pippin strained at his bridle, having cropped
sufficient grass, and feeling thirsty.
"He may not want to go away now she thought;
 and if so this winter will be very dreary.
Poor Mysie! Her life had been so happy hitherto,
but now she felt steeped in bitterness to the very lips.
No one's fault, only ill fate—that was all.
Again Pippin strenuously notified that he wished
for a drink. Mysie rose and led him down into the
brook. A high bank rose beside them where the
water had worn its way deeply through ages. Pippin
gurgled with pleasure, while Mysie's idle gaze glanced
down at the pebbles at her feet and noticed the rich
M
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
red colour of the lower strata of the bank. Something
there attracted her attention, and with a start and a
smothered exclamation she stooped down and picked
up a stone that lay just above the water's edge. It
was merely a reddish lump that upon closer inspec-
tion looked like a conglomeration of small kidneys
welded together, but had it been a diamond its finder
could hardly have examined it more closely. She
bent down and wetted it in the water, rubbed it
eagerly between her hands. It had turned a bright,
blood red.
 Can it be ?  she exclaimed aloud, surprising her-
self, and gazing round at the surrounding moors as if
for an answer. Her eyes had brightened and her
breath came short.
163
CHAPTER XVI.
If Mysie indulged in solitary and displeasing medi-
tations in those days, so did Stephen. In truth, he
would come home at night weary and dispirited, with
a lassitude that increased as the little white Lodge on
the moors came in sight. But the true secret of his
inner trouble (had Mysie only known it) lay not so
much in seeing Adelaide as in visiting Wykhurst.
The old place drew him so strongly to look at it again
and yet again, but the pain outweighed the pleasure.
Often he would gladly have refused to go down there,
but his chivalrous feelings would not allow him to seem
unkind when Adelaide begged his help, nor to appear
to harbour too deep a grudge against his successors.
Yet he was vexed to find himself not only bodily
tired, but with so heavy-laden a spirit when he re-
turned at nightfall to Moor Lodge.  It is not fair on
Mysie, he would keep repeating to himself up the
long moorland road, and at dinner-time he would try
hard to rouse ; during fitful flashes he even felt he was
doing his best. Then a memory of the king's table
in the old Wykhurst dining-room, or some other
association would flit across his mind, and an absent,
dark mood would fall over him, like a mist on the
m 2
164
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
moors, blotting out the immediate scene, till he would
w^ke to find that Mysie had either silently left him
alone, or was occupied diligently with a book.
She felt desirous not to seem watching him, that
was all. Sometimes she even stole to the piano and
played softly, as David played to Saul when the king's
dark hour was upon him.
But he did not understand this. The child was
tired of him, and no wonder. Yet she was a dear
little soul, and a notable housekeeper. She seemed
to put her whole heart in her dinners—little he knew
it was for his sake. But, like him who loved Ellen
Adair, this man, who was no lover, mistook her—
thought her cold and proud, and though he did not
 flee over the seas, he felt they were drawing apart
by slight degrees.
Could any dislike of Adelaide Stuckey and the
latter's frequent visits cause this ? Hardly, for Mysie
was evenly and coolly civil in answer to the latter's
warm, even affectionate, attempts at friendship. In
fact, to be critical—and Stephen could not help com-
paring the two women in his mind—Mysie, considering
her youth, gave herself almost too self-possessed airs.
Yet he took his young wife's part against Adelaide
when one day the latter insinuatingly remarked :
 I do trust your wife does not mind my coming.
Is she vexed with me ? She so often goes out of the
room. You do not mind my asking, do you ? 
"Why should she be vexed? You misjudge her,
she is only seeing after her handmaidens; and Mysie
has the soul of an Arab for hospitality.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Quite so. She is rather a child of the desert, with
her charming olive complexion, and her shy, almost
hostile, air till one knows her pretty well, smiled
Adelaide, her words soft as butter, yet inflicting tiny
stabs.  Her grandfather was one of Nature's gentle-
men, was he not ? and she is a dear child. I only
wish she would treat me as one of yourselves—I mean,
not as company—for I am really fond of her. You
must be very happy.
To which Stephen had only replied with a courteous
slight bow, which might mean anything or nothing.
But Herries was not unaware of the glamour steal-
ing over him in the presence of his old love. He was
not in love with Adelaide, thank God, he could assure
himself of that; but there was a charm, a sense of
well-being, in her society which indescribably influ-
enced him. It was a pleasure to admire her beauty,
while her talk had more Attic salt than that of most
women. The old passion had died, for he had seen
the clay feet of his idol ; but though no longer his
ideal, since she did not think the world well lost for
his sake—for this dreamer, Herries, had some vanity
sprinkled with his romance (forgive him : we all have
our faults)—still, she was a fair woman in his eyes,
and habit was very strong. Besides, he now pitied
her weakness of character loftily ; all anger had died
out of him.
 Still, I had better go away, he said to himself.
On the same evening Mysie returned from her
moorland ride. She did not talk much, but there was
a new light in her face; she was gloating in secret
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
over the treasure hidden yonder in her desk. That
alone prevented her frofn asking Stephen about what
was so near her heart—that he should take her away
from Moor Lodge.
 How well you look this evening ; rides agree with
you, said Stephen, with his usual first attempts at
being properly attentive.  If only I were not so busy
I should like to ride with you on Dunce.
Dunce was his own cob, ill-groomed now by
Tommy; and it vexed their master slightly when
he rode down to Wykhurst to contrast Stuckey's
thoroughbred hacks and their glossy coats with his
own animal, that was getting a fringe at its fetlocks
and growing long whiskers.
 I had a letter this morning : it is rather important
to me, he went on.
In cave-dwellers' days how much fewer chances
had to be reckoned with in life. Only imagine it—•
no letters!
"Is it bad news or good? asked Mysie, in soft,
attentive tones.
"That depends how it turns out. I must go to
London for some days, perhaps a fortnight, on
Government business ; it may take me there often.
 Ah !
 It seems a shame to leave you alone here, apolo-
gised Stephen, looking penitent, rather troubled, as
he furtively eyed her; "but what can I do? You see
I am really needed ; no one else can do this work but
myself, and it may advance me.
 In that case I do not mind being left alone,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
167
answered his young companion after a pause for a
moment or so.
 Not mind ?  he echoed, puzzled by her curt tone.
 No. I love the moors, I like Moor Lodge, and as
you cannot take me with you to London 
Her eyes looked appealing and she broke off short.
 Poor child ! he sighed ;  you would be alone in
lodgings all day, for you are too young to ramble
about the streets by yourself as you do here over the
moors.
 I see, was all her answer.  And how long will
this business last, do you think ? 
 I must be away, off and on, for some months, but
I shall run down here to see you whenever I can; or
would you like to pay a visit to the Stanley Herries' ?
It really seems cruel, my poor little girl, to keep you
here in solitary confinement.
"No, no, no! replied Mysie quickly; "I have a
great deal to do, so much to see after; please do not
think of such a thing, and unconsciously she glanced
at her desk.
Stephen was surprised at her energy and tone, he
could not guess at her red treasure in there, but with
a feeling of relief he acquiesced.
On the evening before he started Stephen came
into their sitting-room with a brighter air than usual;
perhaps he was glad, having made a bad beginning
in his effort to gain his wife's heart, that the chance
had come of breaking off and starting anew at a
future time.
 See here, I have brought you some white heather,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
it must be the last bit in bloom on the moors, I
believe. There, you must fasten it in your dress, it is a
lucky omen, you know, Adelaide.
Mysie started, as if her flesh had been touched
with a red hot poker.
 Do you mean this for Mrs. Stuckey ?  she re-
torted, drawing herself up, and secretly quivering in
every nerve.
Stephen flushed all over his face, which was a rare
thing with him, at the unlucky slip.
 No, no; forgive me. I was merely absent-minded
and being with Adelaide this morning must have
brought the name into my mind. You know we
have called each other by our Christian names since
we were children. Of course, I picked it for you. I
had really no thought of her.
This was quite true. Yet all that evening Mysie
hardly recovered herself, and they were upon strained
terms. Stephen did his best, it must be owned, to
atone for the error. He stayed far later than usual
in the sitting-room, and asked her to give him some
music, which Mysie did, staccato fashion, with nervous,
unsympathetic fingers. Then they played cribbage
neither feeling interested. When they rose from the
game Stephen chanced to brush down a letter ready
for post from Mysie's writing-table. It was addressed
to J. Dodsworth, Esq.
He picked it up and glanced at it with a slightly
disagreeable feeling that Mysie had a masculine
correspondent of whom he knew nothing.
 It is rude to look at letters, is it not ? But that
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
169
name caught my eye. You were telling me of Mr.
Dodsworth, were you not lately, your boy friend in
America ? 
"Yes, retorted Mysie, rather defiantly he fancied.
 Jer£ is in Cumberland now. He has a high post at
some mines there ; he is very successful.
 Indeed ! Success is the great standard of work
in the world's eyes. You have seen Mr. Jerry then
since you were in America? (He mistook the
name of the unknown.)
 No, but we have written to each other ; I do not
change in my likes or dislikes.
Her face looked curiously soft, while so steady in
glance and expression of feature that Stephen was
disconcerted. He would not find fault; still, he
hardly liked his wife, Mrs. Herries, of Wyk No,
no, he did not mean that! But, putting his pride
apart, was it quite the right thing for a young girl,
and married too, to write to a Jerry in a lower social
position ?
Herries bit his lip, feeling that this night, after mis-
calling his wife Adelaide, he had small right to speak.
Well, well, he was coming back in three weeks or
so, then he would try to become friends with this
cold, prudent, and steady little housewife who loved
ruling in her kitchen, and the sole wildness in whose
nature found an outlet in solitary rambles on the
moors.
170
CHAPTER XVIL
Stephen had proposed to return in a fortnight or
three weeks' time, but Government otherwise dis-
posed. On reaching London he found that a short
secret journey was required of him connected with
England's obligations as a Mohammedan power
among nations. Instead of Moor Lodge, he found
himself unexpectedly at the Golden Horn in Novem-
ber. Meanwhile, the demure brown nun he left in
charge of home kept safe so much of the secret of
his mission as he had been able to hint at by letter.
Mysie was proud of being so far his only confidant,
as he wrote her. Yet verily the stars in their courses
seemed bent upon parting her and her husband.
Other girls had not such a strange marriage, with
years of separation ; why, now, she hardly felt her-
self so much Stephen's wife as a shy stranger, who
was only saved by her housekeeping powers from
being an encumbrance.
Mysie had another visitor in those short wintry
days. Jer6 Dodsworth, her former boy friend,
appeared, and for a week took up his quarters in the
grocer's house. He slept in the very room in which
old Abraham Cobb had died ; but every day he
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
171
used to walk up to the moors, where Mysie met him
by the old stone cross. Then they rambled together
for miles over the black dead wolds. Jere was a big,
broad-shouldered, young fellow, with commonplace
features, and light blue eyes that searched keenly
around. His brown hair was ill-cut and his clothes
were rough ; but Mysie found him a pleasant
companion, to judge by their merry chat, which
seldom ceased except when both showed intense
interest in the features of the landscape ; and how-
ever long their walks each day, she came in with an
ever brighter and happier expression.
December had shiveringly taken its place in the
procession of months. In London a new play was
being looked forward to with unusual interest ; and
on the first night of its appearance Adelaide Stuckey
occupied a box with, wonderful to say, Stephen
Herries by her side. He had just returned to
London two days before, when a pressing invitation
from Adelaide reached him at his hotel. Frost had
stopped the hunting, so she and Nicholas had run up
to town for ten days ; but the latter hated tragedy.
"You will not meet him, only my mother and
another old friend, wrote Adelaide. So Stephen
came ; he had no other engagemement.
And now, between the first and second acts, a
beautiful woman's eyes were looking into his, and
his old love's voice was whispering earnestly with
suppressed excitement.
 I am so glad you came to-night. There are so
few friends one dare tell things to in this world
172
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
you understand ; and since yesterday I am terribly
upset.
 Really? I am sorry to hear it. What is the
matter ? 
 Oh, we had such an awful scene yesterday—I
mean, I had with my husband. . . . No, do not
look as if you thought it strange I should tell you !
Think how alone I am in the world. There are only
Tom and mother—and you ; and they are of so little
use. But only think, Stephen !  her hand quickly
touched his with emphatic pressure,  he has not
come back since ! 
"Who? Your husband not come back since?
Since when ? 
Herries understood from Adelaide's large, frightened
eyes and pale face that something serious was the
matter. Much as he disliked being drawn into a
conjugal quarrel, his curiosity was sharp on the
subject of Adelaide's relations with his former
detested rival. Besides, what man is not flattered
by an appeal from a beautiful woman in distress ?
 Since last night. He was not at the hotel when
I came home. I have not seen or heard from him
all to-day ; and I have felt ashamed to tell mother
or anybody. She would be sure to say it was my
fault ; but now I am getting frightened.
 You had a quarrel yesterday then ? 
"Yes ; and a terrible one ! He is so extravagant
himself, yet such a miser to me. I spoke out at last.
He was angry about some wretched dressmaker's
bills, when he—O, as I tell him—spends thousands
more, and Heaven only knows where it goes.
MR. AND MRS. MERRIES.
173
 Ah. Is this a first difference between you that
you trouble yourself so about it ? 
"The first? No; nor the hundredth. Why, you
little know, or you would not speak so carelessly.
Ever since my unfortunate marriage we have had
continual ' differences,' as you call them. His temper
is so difficult, so stubborn, and he seems to delight
in thwarting me at every turn. In society he can
appear quite devoted to me, but in private he is a
tyrant. When I tell you that I had to ask poor
mother to come with us now, only to keep up appear-
ances !—I made her leave Yew Tree Cottage just for
this week, so as to have peace in town. Nicholas
rather likes her, though she hates him. He gives
way whenever she gives her opinion that he ought to
do so. She very seldom does.
The memory of a different tale, when Stuckey's
courtship was in its infancy, impertinently recurred
to her confidant's mind.
 Then marriage is not always a state of living
happy ever after ?  answered Stephen in his silkiest
voice, but with the slightest suspicion of a sneer.
 No, indeed. I have paid for my whistle ; serve
me right, came low and slowly in answer. Adelaide
turned her graceful head and put up her fan.
Stephen could just see that she bit her lip hard.
Then with a sigh that stole into his heart,  Well, I
may be justly punished, but if only you are happy I
should not so much mind.
She ventured to look at him sideways with humble,
appealing eyes. Stephen frowned ever so slightly.
174
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
No light of glad certainty broke on his features,
Adelaide fancied that a subdued, almost penitent
expression softened his face a minute after.
 I ought to be happy, he answered, in a quiet,
evasive tone.  I married a brave, good girl. She has
accepted the lonely existence which circumstances
have so far inflicted upon her, as the wife of a poor
man, in the most willing spirit.
Adelaide's face hardened ; her eyes grew almost
black with some inner feeling.
"Yes, it is lonely at Moor Lodge, and I have ridden
up there often since you left, with really a wish to
brighten your little wife's solitude, she agreed in a
light tone.  But I am afraid that Mysie does not
take to me ; she is very high-spirited and indepen-
dent ; and I began to fancy that she resented my
visits lately, just a little, as if she thought I was
prying after her. You know she has a little haughty
manner. Hoity-toity was the term Adelaide
privately used.
 Prying ! How could she imagine that ? There is
not much to pry into at Moor Lodge.
 Well, just this. You do not mind my telling you ? 
And Adelaide took such a pleasant tone of laughing
confidence that surely Stephen ought not to mind.
 As to loneliness up there !—she is very young, and do
not you think it would be as well not to have a strange
visitor in your absence? A little warning might do
no harm ; so little sets country people gossiping.
A slight quick frown came on Stephen's brow.
Mysie was Caesar's wife in his eyes.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
175
 What stranger do you mean ? Who is the man ? 
"You are right, it is a man, though I did not say
so, smiled Adelaide, provokingly.  He is a young
fellow, a Mr. Dobson or Dodson, I believe, and he is
now paying his second visit to the neighbourhood.
He came the first time soon after you left.
In a flash Stephen remembered the letter lying
on Mysie's desk, but he would not show annoyance,
though he felt it.
 Of course, young Dodsworth is quite an old friend
of my wife's: has known her since she was a child.
By-the-way, have you seen Mysie lately ? How is she
looking ? 
 I was driving there the other day, but I met her
with her old friend, as you call him, three or four
miles away from the Lodge, rambling together, as
usual. O, she was in high spirits, chatting away to
him. I never saw her looking better ; she had such
a pretty colour. Then, after a pause, as no answer
came from Stephen, who was staring into the stalls
with an impassive countenance, Adelaide touched his
arm once more. As he looked round a little smile
quivered about her lips, and her eyes gazed deep into
his with an unforgettable depth of glance that gave
him a strange tremor.. "Please, please, do not tell her
I said anything about it. Poor child, she would only
hate me. Indeed, it has cut me to the heart that I
have so failed to become friends with her for your
sake ; and I really think her quite charming, only she
is—what shall I say ?—just a little high and mighty
towards me.
176
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 She does not mean it; after all she is a mere
child, Herries answered, with an unsteady voice,
still unable to detach his eyes from those glowing
orbs.
An interruption came from Mrs. Ferrars, who had
been talking to an old gentleman beside herself.
"When do you go home, Stephen? Your little
wife will be glad to have you back. It is lonely up
on the moors. I asked her down to my cottage,
and she promised to come if you did not return this
week.
 I—I am going home to-morrow, Mrs. Ferrars.
Adelaide felt a sudden pang of self-anger, like the
fowler who sees a bird escape his snare. An hour ago
he had told her he meant to stay longer in town.
177
CHAPTER XVIII.
The very next evening, as he had said, saw Stephen
crawling uphill homewards in the old station fly.
It was almost dark when he reached the Lodge, but
Mysie was not indoors. She had gone for a walk
with Mr. Dodsworth, said the rosy-cheeked Phyllis
whom the master startled by his unexpected arrival.
Herries waited in the sitting-room with an impatience
that surprised himself. It was such an extraordinary
thing for Mysie to have developed a taste for male
companionship. He hardly knew how to look upon
her conduct.
 After all she is a mere child ; she has not seen
him for the last five years, and has some romantic
idea, no doubt, about keeping up old friendships.
He is a boor, of course, so she thought I would
be offended by the sight of the fellow. It is incon-
venient that she is so constant to old comrades ; still,
on the whole, I like it in her. I would not drop the
most humble friend myself, was the turn his cogita-
tions took.
How prettily she had made the most of her
surroundings. There was a late bramble trail
stuck carelessly in a glass vase near him, but with
N
178
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
such charming effect that Stephen found himself
admiring it. Somehow, everything else in the room
gave the same impression; each chair was placed
to the best advantage. Mysie's half-finished em-
broidery, her large silken work-bag that lay as if just
abandoned, were finished touches to the interior—all
was unstudied carelessness, yet artistic, pleasing.
It grew dark outside now. A maid lit the lamp ;
but as still Mysie came not, Herries at last crossed
into the parlour meaning to search for any letters upon
his own writing table. He was groping for some
matches when all at once the outer door opened and
gay young voices and quick feet filled the little entry
with cheerful sound.
 Whew ! How cold it was outside ! Shut the door
quickly, Jere, and come into the sitting-room, he
heard Mysie exclaim.
With quite a keen feeling Stephen dropped his
matches and followed. Jere had left the sitting-room
door open, his manners being somewhat faulty ; but
there was a curtain dropped across it, which Mysie had
found necessary to keep out the moorland blasts.
And, as Stephen approached this, his wife's fresh
young voice rang as clearly in his ears as though he
had been inside the room.
 Ah, Jere, I cannot tell you how happy your visit
has made me. I feel in the seventh heaven; as if I
should never again regret being left alone and with
little to do here. Just see what has come of it!
All my future seems to be full of hope and sunshine
now,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
179
 Do not thank me for nothing, replied her com-
panion, in a strong but monotonous voice;  you
might know by now that anything you ask me, great
or small, is only a real pleasure to do, and in the future
when you want me—as I hope and trust you will—I
shall be ready. Still, we must not be too sanguine ;
there is many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, you know.
Stephen gave a great start, but remained still while
they spoke. Then, with an effort, recalling himself,
he went back into the darkness of the parlour. He
would not play eavesdropper, but his ears were
tingling, a fire was lit in his heart. What, his wife in
the seventh heaven ! her future full of sunshine now !
and this old friend, this young snob, forsooth, would
be ready for her in the future !
"You shall find a slip, my good sir, 'twixt cup and
lip, ground out Herries between his teeth. With a
movement of anger he pushed a silver salver on the
sideboard that fell with a jarring sound. Duchess, who
had come in with the others, bustled at once from the
sitting-room with an angry bark, which she quickly
changed to leaps and frantic sounds of delight.
 Hulloa, Duchess! Eh, good girl ? Are you
there, Mysie ? Here I am, come home to surprise
you, called out Stephen, to herald his appearance,
and next instant appeared in the sitting-room.
The surprise of the two whom he confronted was
excessive.
 Stephen! I am so glad, so glad !  burst from
Mysie's lips with such a joyous cry that he was fairly
astonished. Her eyes were beaming, her face radiant
N 2
i8o
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
and glowing. The little actress did it well, he
acknowledged to himself, but the trained man of the
world was not so easily taken in.
 Woman can with pleasure feign ;
Men dissemble still with pain.
Stephen certainly dissembled, for he greeted Mr.
Dodsworth with the most coolly, well-trained
urbanity, and asked him, as it was near dinner-time,
would he not stay for that meal. But the young man
hesitated. He was fresh and untrained to such
polished manners. Mysie, standing behind her
husband, telegraphed a  No, however, with such a
vigorous shake of her little head that Jer£, looking at
her, refused in evident haste. Mysie wanted her
husband all to herself.
Jere rose to go, vaguely uncomfortable under
Stephen's polite assurances of regret. The good
young fellow did not quite understand. He thought
Mysie's husband a tremendous  swell, that was all—
no doubt too fine for his simple self.
 I am awfully glad to have seen you, anyway, he
burst out.
"You are very kind to say so, replied the suave
voice of the elder man, and somehow the tone made
poor Jere still more uncomfortable, though admiring.
"Yes, I am glad, though you may not think so,
he asseverated once more. "And, if ever you should
want my address, Mrs. Herries can tell you where I
am to be found.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
181
"Wants to fight me, rushed to Stephen's mind, as
he bowed with utterly freezing hauteur.
Jer6, awkwardly good-humoured, wrung his hand,
to Stephen's great surprise ; hastily said good-bye to
Mysie in a good comrade fashion, and disappeared
into outer darkness.
 I appear in the unwelcome light of having
banished your friend, I am afraid, began Stephen,
icily, as he returned from accompanying their visitor
to the door.
Mysie was standing, looking shy, almost frightened,
yet with flushed cheeks and dewy, appealing eyes
that made her look quite pretty. She was better than
pretty—she had that indefinable charm which will
make even plain women pleasant. Its influence
wrought upon Stephen and made him all the more
secretly wroth at her low taste. The veiled sneer
as he spoke, meanwhile, stung Mysie to quick, hurt
retort.
 That is unkind. You do not like him, I can see ;
but then you do not know how good Jer£ has been
to me.
 That may or may not give him a claim upon my
liking. Might I suggest, however, that it never seems
to me quite in good taste for young married women
to call their gentlemen friends by the latter's Christian
names, although it may be fashionable.
Stephen's gaze was looking down his nose, his
manner still more Arctic. But Mysie's face was a red-
brown picture of indignant vexation ; summer light-
nings flashed from her eyes.
182
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 I did call him Mr. Dodsworth when I explained
to you who he was. But, if you wish it—if you
think 
 I accept your correction. You were going to
say ? 
"That, if you wish it, I will never call him Jer6
again as long as I live, though he has been like a
brother to me. A brother ! Stephen grimly recalled
the loving words he had heard used. Brother, for-
sooth !  Do not think I wish to argue, went on
poor Mysie, her nerves quivering like a jarred instru-
ment under the blow of Stephen's reproof,  but as
Mrs. Stuckey always calls you Stephen, I did not see
the harm of using a Christian name.
It was really said in honest self-defence, but
Stephen took the apology in dudgeon.
 The cases are somewhat different, it seems to me.
We, Mrs. Stuckey and myself, are of the same social
standing, and known as old neighbours.
"But Je—he was of much higher position than we
were—grandfather and I—and of very good family,
rejoined Mysie, eagerly. '
"For heaven's sake do not let us have a discussion,'
ended Stephen, desperately annoyed. "Remember
that now you belong to my family, my friends should
be yours. Your old life is swept away.
 Then if your friends do not like me, and I have
given up my own, I shall be lonely, certainly,
answered Mysie low, with a resigned gentleness that
smote Stephen with remorse even in his anger.
'' Excuse me, I will go and see that your room is
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
133
made ready for you, she went on, struggling for self-
possession, and so left him.
Stephen frowned, and looked after her, not stirring
for ten minutes from where he stood.  I am to blame,
of course, he was repeating to himself.  She is so
young, and I have left her too much alone ; and yet
my mother thought her so submissive, so pliant, and I
find her high-spirited and independent. Adelaide
was right. He was bitter against himself, for, though
striving to be just towards Mysie, he knew that he
had signally failed. What was the matter with him ?
He, who knew himself gentle to other women, felt as
if he could not forgive this young creature for pre-
ferring another man, natural though he owned it to
be, and though it was his own fault.
Upstairs in her own room Mysie lay huddled on
her bed in a limp heap, sobbing, but very softly lest
he should hear and scorn her.
 He has come back, and this is what comes of it.
Just when I was so glad to have brought him good
luck after all; just when I thought he might begin to
care for me and we should be so happy. . . . O,
what a mockery life is ! 
That evening strained relations existed between Mr.
and Mrs. Herries. Conversation consisted of questions
on her part that had been turned over frequently in
her mind before hand, like over-kneaded dough. He
made hatefully correct replies, sounding like guide-
book extracts. Mysie felt as if Stephen was deliver-
ing a lecture upon the state of the Balkan provinces.
The maid thought so too, as she listened in awed
184
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
admiration to the even flow of his voice holding a
half-hour's discourse during dinner.
 Lor', it would make me yawn if I had to hear that
all the evening.
Stephen felt that he had succeeded in talking
against time, yet was hardly satisfied with himself.
i65
CHAPTER XIX.
Three days later Mysie moved about the Lodge
miserable-eyed, while Stephen sat frowning over busi-
ness papers at that window of the parlour where a
writing-table formed his study. Both were thinking
of each other, yet they hardly spoke when they met.
Mysie indignantly asked her conscience why
Stephen should treat her like a stranger, with such
icy civility, while his manner was weighted with
reproof. And twice she had inadvertently caught a
look of cold anger on his face that sickened her soul.
Meanwhile Stephen furtively watched the slight figure
which had taken an unconscious droop since his return,
the small, resolute face that seemed resolved to
bear her burden resignedly. She looked pathetic.
If all had only gone well in his absence how gladly
would Stephen have taken her in his arms and kissed
her. Pah ! She did not care for him,  She is griev-
ing for that young oaf, followed in bitter reflection ;
and he tried to harden his heart. Nevertheless, it
was softening in spite of himself, and a small, still
voice was Mysie's advocate more often than she
guessed. "All my own fault. Yes! but how to
repair the mischief if she does love this fellow ? He
MR. AND MRS- HERRIES.
is young, that is everything, while I must seem quite
an elderly, grave person. He has all the advantages.
Just then one of the Wykhurst grooms drove up in
a dog-cart, his horse reeking with sweat. He brought
a note from Adelaide, marked  Immediate. Stephen
tore it open with not much surprise, being accustomed
to urgent summonses on slight grounds from this
quarter. It ran as follows :—
 Dear Stephen—For old friendship's sake come
and help me. I am nearly distracted. Nicholas has
disappeared. I fear he is dead. No living soul has
seen him since he left his club—you know when! I
came home, thinking he might return here. We have
telegraphed everywhere. He had a considerable sum
upon him, so may have been robbed, perhaps mur-
dered ! What must I do ? Come at once, I implore
of you. I am nearly off my head.
Stephen hastily went in search of Mysie.
 I must go to Wykhurst at once. Mrs. Stuckey is
in some trouble about her husband. You can read
her note (she should not accuse him of being under-
handed as regarded Adelaide).  It may be serious,
so if I can be of any help as a neighbour there is no
knowing when I shall return. Do not wait up for me.
Good-bye.
Wlien the dog-cart rapidly wheeled away, fast be-
coming a lessening speck on the wintry moorland
road, Mysie turned from the window. She caught up
Adelaide's note with angry curiosity, but, once read,
she hastily dropped the dainty missive, as if her
fingers loathed its touch. Every line betrayed famili-
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
I8;
arity. "Nicholas disappeared . . . you know when.
So, on his return from Constantinople, Stephen must
have waited in London some days. He had met
Adelaide—probably by pre-arrangement. Mysie was
not suspicious by nature, but she was a jealous woman.
Then in her passion she snatched up the note again,
and thrust it fiercely with the poker into the hottest
part of the fire.
 I do not believe a word of it; it is all a pretext to
get him down there, she declared to herself.
It was no pretence, however, and Adelaide had
written truly that she was half distracted. Although
the presence of Nicholas jarred upon her at every
turn, although they two often led a cat-and-dog time
of it, still, his disappearance was undoubted, and she
felt bewildered and distraught with doubts.
Mr. Tom Ferrars, her brother, and old Mr. Symes
were with her in the morning-room when Stephen
entered. But the council were divided among them-
selves. Ferrars, an easy-going individual, was of
opinion that his brother-in-law should be treated like
Bo-peep's missing sheep—leave him alone, etc. And
he gave a wink at Herries behind Adelaide's back,
seeming to argue that he had little doubt Stuckey
was enjoying himself all the while, though probably
in some reprehensible fashion.
"Tom is lazy and selfish, whispered Adelaide
scornfully to the last arrival;  he won't bestir himself
because he is master of the hounds and there is a
meet to-morrow.
Old Symes looked very queer and extremely per-
plexed.
188
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 In all my experience  he repeated, but got
no further.
"Yes, yes, we know, interrupted Adelaide.  You
know of no precedents for such a case, you said so
before ; that does not help me.
The upshot of the whole matter, as Stephen pre-
sently learned, was that Nicholas Stuckey's disap-
pearance was really extraordinary, unaccountable in
every way. He had last been seen in his club
apparently in good spirits. Then he walked out,
promising to come back to dine, and since that
moment all trace of him was lost. The last cheque
he had drawn was for some thirty or forty pounds,
and the money must still have been on his
person, as it could not otherwise be accounted for.
 He may have been drugged, robbed of his clothes,
and is perhaps lying in some hospital at the present
moment, went on Adelaide excitedly.
 What, in the nineteenth century ?  chorused two
of her councillors.
Stephen alone was on her side; thinking it was
just possible that Stuckey might have been run over
in the street, and that he had perhaps no address
upon him, though this too seemed unlikely. How-
ever, as Tom Ferrars would not take any active steps,
being jovially given to declare that nearly everything
in life would come right if people would only not make
a fuss—Herries offered to go himself up to town, and
Adelaide eagerly accepted. Strange errand! to find
his former rival, the man whom he even now most
detested. But Adelaide had appealed to Stephen's
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
189
chivalry of feeling. That night in the theatre he
hardly believed in all her woes, although granting
that probably she believed in them herself. She was
naturally of a dramatic turn, and rather enjoyed play-
ing the part of a suffering wife, he had supposed.
But this was a real trouble—and she looked upon
him as her friend.
Three weeks had now passed by, and there was
still no news of the missing man. Paragraphs
appeared in the papers, headed  Mysterious disap-
pearance. Mr. Symes, as the family solicitor, had
communicated with Scotland Yard, and issued a
description of his client's personal appearance.
 Missing, a gentleman, aged 28, height 5ft. 7in.,
inclined to stoutness, very fair hair, ruddy com-
plexion. Believed to have worn some valuable
rings.
Then followed a minute description of the missing
man's clothes, and how he was last seen at the door
of his club in Piccadilly.
 As no reasons are known to exist for this gentle-
man purposely keeping out of sight, the worst fears
are entertained.
Tom Ferrars, apparently ashamed of his sluggish-
ness, now actively bestirred himself during these
latter days, but it was Stephen who was more like a
brother to her, as Adelaide again and again gratefully
assured him in a broken voice. It was he who
listened patiently to the reiterated accounts of her
last quarrel with "poor Nicholas, as the latter was
now termed, about those dressmaker's bills, which
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Stephen could not but say amounted to an exorbitant
sum. He consoled her during the first days for her
self-blame, which always turned to self-assurances
that she had not really been to blame. Adelaide, how-
ever, never pretended attachment to her husband. She
did not touch even now upon that side of the ques-
tion. In truth, Stephen fancied she would have hailed
her freedom, if only it had not come in so bewildering
and shocking a manner.
Her anxiety had been frantic at first, from pure
excitement. Then she rapidly decided that Nicholas
was certainly dead. The body of a murdered man,
utterly unrecognisable, was found during those days
in the Thames. She was firmly convinced that was
her husband.
 I am no hypocrite, Stephen, but still, you are the
only person to whom I would say this openly, she
confided to him, her large dark eyes looking blankly
at the sky, "only you know I have peculiar ideas
about death, so it is not such a great shock to me as
it might be to most women, if Nicholas' earth flame
is really blown out. People pretend to grieve when
the candle has guttered down into the socket. Well,
if the especial candle was useful to humanity, perhaps
it is a pity, and if their affections are involved it is a
loss to them. But with us two marriage was a mere
bargain—family versus fortune; it was not such a bad
bargain for him, for I believe he really was fond of
me, only try as I would it was slavery to me. Why
should I regret him ? He was not necessary to any-
one's happiness, and while he lived he had a good
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
191
time and all the good things of this earth. We must
all be snuffed out sooner or later, and I should be
more sorry for him and myself had we been doomed
to drag out a miserable old age together.
Stephen was not shocked. He knew her utter
disbelief in a future life. The whole incident was so
strange that it only seemed natural also when Ade-
laide added :
 I wonder if he took his own life ? People may do
as they please about that, I think ; and so the
Romans held unless, indeed, the deceased persons
could have been of use to their country or family.
And of what use was poor Nicholas?
Again her mind took another turn, and she insisted
on pouring into Stephen's unwilling ears vague hints
of her own trials—how Nicholas had been a tyrant to
her ; at times he drank, and then she was frightened.
He denied himself nothing, but had railed at her ex-
travagance. Part of it was true, undoubtedly, and
Stephen could not but feel very pitying. Adelaide
was no longer his ideal woman, but she was beautiful,
in trouble, and deep down in his heart he believed she
had always cared for him best. She was the one being
left on earth who did so now.
******
 Mysie, I think it would only be neighbourly if you
were to go down to Wykhurst and see Mrs. Stuckey,
he said one day, when he had returned after his three
weeks' useless quest.  I know she would be grateful
if you would show her some sympathy.
The expression of his wish was enough. As it
192
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
happened, he rode to Wykhurst himself that morning,
and later in the day Mysie trotted Pippin down over
the moors, hoping in her heart that Stephen and she
might ride home together at dusk.
A strange butler opened the door and informed her
that Mrs. Stuckey was out in the grounds, he believed
with Mr. Herries.
 Then I will wait till they come in, Mrs. Herries
calmly replied, and was shown indoors. The man
conducted her to the inner hall, which was apparently
used as a sitting-room by the present inhabitants.
Mysie had never sat there in olden days, and although
a bright wood fire burned in the hearth, she criticised
the arrangement as uncomfortable. Behind her rose
the beautiful black oak staircase with its heavy carved
pendants and end posts. Three doors led to the
drawing-room, morning-room, and boudoir. One door
led to the servants' passage and another to the library.
Imagine any couple choosing such a passage room to
sit in every day! For quite half an hour Mysie
waited there growing impatient. Then she heard the
outer door open and the voices of Stephen and Ade-
laide entering the library. Wykhurst had been built,
as was usual in olden days, almost without passages.
The outer hall opened straight into the library, and
this again into the inner hall. To do away with this
inconvenience a carved oak screen had been erected
right across the end of the library with curtains in its
doorway, and pierced arches along its upper portion
holding tall cloisonne vases. The space thus left
made a passage connecting both halls, through which
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
193
servants might pass without disturbing the occupants
of the room, although privacy was hardly gained,
as conversation was distinctly audible beyond the
screen.
As minutes passed over and no one came near her,
Mysie hesitated what to do. Plainly Stephen and
Adelaide were waiting in the library unaware of her
proximity. Presently she plucked up her courage and
approached the dark baize door that swung noise-
lessly to her touch. In the library Mrs. Stuckey
and Herries were standing before the ancestral stone
fireplace, where a red log smouldered upon brass
dogs above a mound of white ashes. Adelaide had
thrown off her furs and was holding out her slender
hands to the warmth.
 I sometimes think that coloured tiles would look
well lining this hearth, she observed, presently.
 What do you say to it.
 I should say, do as seems good in your own
eyes. You are sole mistress of Wykhurst.
 Sole mistress here! How strange it seems,
breathed Adelaide, in a soft whisper, as if struck by
his words, and that she had not fully realised the
position before.  But I could never think of altering
anything against your wishes. If I could only
give you Wykhurst back again ! Would they allow
me in time to come — the lawyers and trustees
and so forth ? Would you accept it from me ? 
She uttered the words on g. sudden impulse.
Whether she meant them, perhaps she hardly knew
herself. It was a freak ; part of the new role into
O
194
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
which she imagined herself. As impulsively
answer came from the lips of her companion :
 Ah, if I were free ! 
Perhaps Stephen hardly knew what he was say
either. His dreamy, romantic nature was fired by
thought, and the associations of Wykhurst were stn
upon him. Neither heard the baize door behind
screen softly closing. Five minutes later the bu
appeared, solemnly presiding over the two stalv
footmen who were carrying in the tea equipage,
announced Mrs. Herries' visit that afternoon, add
that she had gone out by the west door and moun
her pony in the yard, saying it was growing too d
to wait longer for Mrs. Stuckey's return.
*****
 You look very pale to-night, said Stephen w
concern to his wife some hours later.  Was y
ride too much for you this afternoon ? 
 Yes—no. It does not matter about me, escaj
from Mysie's white, compressed lips.
 Are you not well ? Something seems wrc
with you.
 It is all wrong ; but I am no worse than usi
thank you, burst out the poor jealous child.
She knew that she was showing want of s
control, but—but she could not help herself
 Mysie, said Stephen gravely,  is anything
matter with you that I can alter ? It is time for
to have some mutual explanation. Things with
are not quite as they should be between husband f
wife.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
195
 I am miserable. That is all. How can you
alter it without undoing the past ?  broke from her
like a wail.
"Past? You can only mean our marriage. Is
that it ? Poor child, I am afraid indeed that it has
been a sad mistake.
She had not meant that; but sat dumbfounded.
And after a terrible pause Stephen went on sternly,
yet striving to speak kindly :
 A separation is all that it is in my power to offer
you ; but if you wish it—remember, only in that
case—I will consent to one. Is that your wish ? 
 Yes, Mysie whispered. Then she sat horror-
stricken. She believed she had done right,  It is
for your sake, she was crying in her heart. For his
sake she would have agreed to anything. It would
release him from her company. It seemed to
promise relief from hourly torture to herself. She
hardly knew what a separation meant. Only it hurt
her too dreadfully to see him so changed, and,
Heaven help her ! it might be better never to see
him more. He might be happier so. For herself—
what did it matter ?
When alone, Stephen rested his head on his hands
and fairly groaned.
 Mother, mother ! he was thinking to himself,
 you left her as a charge to me ; how have I kept
it ? Has it been all my fault ?—I hardly know—but
this poor girl's happiness is blighted, and the only
kindness I can do her is to free her from the sight of
my lugubrious face. Poor mother ! at least you are
O 2
196
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
spared the sorrow of knowing this. What can I do
to shelter this poor girl from temptation ? Without
me she is so friendless, so utterly lonely. I must
atone as far as possible. . . . Ah, if only the past
could be undone !
197
CHAPTER XX.
A week later Stephen was jogging on Dunce up the
leafless avenue of elms to Wykhurst door. He had
been to consult Mr. Symes about making provision
for his wife, and felt somewhat soothed within
himself by the knowledge that he was behaving more
than generously in the matter of what small fortune
remained to him. Now his daily ride to Wykhurst
was accounted for to himself by some news. A
passenger was reported as having embarked for
Lisbon from Plymouth about the time of Stuckey's
disappearance. He seemed to have borne some
resemblance to the missing man. When he told
this to Adelaide she scouted the idea with feverish
nervousness, and a flushed face.
 How could it be Nicholas? she reiterated.  Why,
the police report said this passenger had a brown
beard and brown hair. A disguise ? Nonsense!
Why should people imagine that poor Nicholas
would wish to disguise himself? No, no, no ! I tell
you he is dead, she ended, turning her face away
from Stephen.  I shall go up to London myself
in a day or two and see about things. Do not
disturb me, dear Stephen, by these suggestions
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
You are almost as bad as mother, who keeps on
persisting that poor Nicholas is alive. She wanted
to come here and stay with me, but I could not
bear it, went on Adelaide, speaking disjointedly
and with apparent effort.  Don't you know what
it is when a person worries you by always arguing
on the opposite side? Mother will so take Nicholas's
part. It drives me wild to hear her.
 How is that ? asked Stephen, with renewed
curiosity, for the subject had a tantalising fascination
for him. He never could get at the truth of it.  I
thought she used to dislike him, you said ? 
 O, she drove me into marrying him for his
money, and then, of course, she disliked him. But
she was bound to try and make the best of things,
gloomily returned Adelaide.
The words seemed unwillingly forced from her
lips. Then dismissing the subject with one of her
airy, quick gestures :
 There, do not let us talk any more about it. Just
stay with me a little, Stephen, until after five o'clock
tea. These evenings are so dreary alone. When it
grows dark you cannot think how frightened I am
sometimes by myself. Yes. I must leave Wykhurst.
It is too lonely just now.
 Well, I will stay half-an-hour if you wish it ; but
it was beginning to snow a little when I came in,
answered Stephen doubtfully.
The prospect of a lonely ride in a snow shower
made him shiver in anticipation. But it seemed
selfish to leave Adelaide at this moment ; besides,
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
199
he felt lonely himself, and shrank from the thought of
Mysie's pale face and cold, sad eyes, like those of a
mermaiden, that awaited him up at Moor Lodge.
The room was warm. The old-fashioned looped
curtains had been dropped. The air was sweet and
heavy with hothouse flowers, and the glamour of
Adelaide's presence was upon him. When tea came
in Adelaide presided at the little snowy table, shining
with old silver, that all bore the Herries crest. For
this was part of what Stephen had sold at her
entreaty. As the logs burned bright and the sparks
danced gaily up the big fireplace while the glow and
flicker of the flame was reflected in the wainscoting
around and they two were seated alone together, the
scene was strangely suggestive. Stephen's pulses were
stirred. His dreamer's mind imagined this old home
as still his own, while she, Adelaide, his first love, was
mistress here. How often in bygone years he had
pictured just this scene. And now it almost seemed
reality. Would God it were ! No, no—he would
not even think that. It was a dream. But yet he
might rest happy in it for some brief blissful
moments, while all life seemed a dream, for the
matter of that, and human beings only passing
shadows on the wall.
Perhaps Adelaide, too, was under the opium in-
fluence of that thought,  It might have been. She
was strangely fitful to-night, but, perhaps, never more
charming. At moments she talked brilliantly ; then
she would fall into utter silence, rousing herself slowly
to turn her lustrous eyes—that seemed dark with
200
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
strange, far-away thoughts at which he could not guess
—to meet Stephen's gaze, brooding upon her features
All Stephen's old unrest of the days of their love-
making had left him now. There was no jealous
pain in the pleasure with which he regarded her. In
olden days he had thought that her soul was in
almost perfect communion with his own. And when
often his queen had not met him in spirit, so to speak,
but had withdrawn herself wrapped in a cloak of re-
serve and mystery, he was miserable, blaming him-
self, but worshipping her all the more. Now he
looked upon her rather as a soulless companion, but
one who cared for him with all the power of a
shallow nature. He loved her no longer, but he
believed she loved him, and she could still keep him
at her side by the subtle influence of her witchery.
He felt thrilled in her presence to a languorous
happiness. It was the state of a lotus eater. So
Heine may have felt on realising that the  dainty
white cat, as he designated his mistress, had such
a "small, cold heart.
Six o'clock struck vibratingly from the tall grand-
father's clock in the far corner. Stephen roused him-
self as if from sleep.
 I must go, he said, lingeringly, moving to the
window and drawing aside the curtain.
Then he gave an exclamation of dismay, for snow
had been falling ever since his arrival. It was coming
down so heavily outside now that one could hardly
see a yard through the darkness. It was piled already
a foot high on the window ledges.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
201
Adelaide came swiftly behind him. She put her
long thin hand on his arm, and her breath warmly
fanned his cheek.
"You cannot go, you cannot go! she uttered,
staring out into the night affrighted. And then,
fixing her mesmeric gaze upon his eyes : "You would
be lost on the moors. It is madness. Stay here to-
night, Stephen, I implore of you.
She pressed her fingers more closely on his arm ;
her gaze held him fast.
 For my sake!  she murmured.
Then she dropped the curtain quickly, as if the
outside view might tempt him with thoughts of a light
gleaming through a window away up yonder on
the high wolds. She drew him again into the
radiance of the fire glow, while he submitted unre-
sistingly.
 It is impossible ; you know it is, he murmured,
with a dull feeling of surprise at himself, as he
leaned his heated forehead against the stone carving.
 No, no ; it is not impossible. For my sake ; I am
thinking of you and your health, which is more dear
to me than my own. No, no, you shall not go.
There, sit down, and she pushed him into a deep arm-
chair, into which Stephen, as in a dream, heavily sank.
Adelaide rang the bell.
 Mr. Herries will stay here to-night. The snow is
too deep for him to venture up on to the moors, she
said, imperiously, to the butler.
 It is very deep, indeed, ma'am, that functionary
permitted himself to reply.
202
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
Stephen hesitated still, but only for a moment.
Then, seeming bewitched by Adelaide's influence, by
the associations of his old home, and feeling strangely
heavy and languid, his eyes dully tried to answer
the gleam in hers, and he replied with a low, hoarsely
whispered—
"Yes, I will stay.
Presently, once or twice after that, he put his hand
to his throat, which was very sore.
 I must have caught cold, he murmured ;  only
a cold.
 Ah, answered Adelaide, tenderly,  how well it is
that I am here to take care of you.
Stephen put his hand slowly up to his forehead,
and appeared to give consent in silence.
Dinner was over. Coffee had been brought into
the morning-room, but though Stephen had drunk a
good deal of wine, it did not seem to have had the
effect of rousing his senses, for he was still more con-
scious of drowsiness, at times of giddiness.
Adelaide, fired by the success of her own mad
whim—for she had wished to put her influence upon
him to the test—was piqued by his apathy. She
played off all her wiles upon him, for a drugged slave
or an unwilling captive in her toils was no part of the
programme. She tried to move him with dreamy,
sensuous music, such as used to please his soul of old.
Then she came back to the fireplace where he was
stretched in a corner of the sofa, sat down beside him,
and looked in his face. Stephen's bronzed features
were unusually flushed to-night. His breath came in
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
203
quick feverish gasps. Her beauty intoxicated his
brain, and he answered that close gaze which stirred his
sluggish pulses, by drawing nearer. His eyes were
gleaming now ; then he bent and kissed her bare
arm with lips that seemed to burn its cool, white
flesh. He tried to speak, but his voice only produced
a hoarse, uncertain croak.
 Stephen ! what is the matter ? Adelaide cried
out, withdrawing in alarm from him.
 Nothing, nothing, he answered, still gazing back
in her face, and trying to keep his hold on her arm ;
 I have a bad cold, that is all. Don't—don't look so
frightened, Adelaide. You cannot be afraid of me.
 There is scarlet fever down in the village, and
you have been there to-day; yes, and yesterday. I
know it ; you have the fever !  shrieked Adelaide,
starting to her feet in horror, and freeing herself with
a hasty movement. She stood gazing at him with
wide, fascinated eyes, as he still half lay upon the
sofa, as if unable to raise himself.  You face is all a
red rash ! Your .throat is sore ! O ! how mad I was
not to think of it before dinner. Don't come near
me! as the poor wretch struggled to stand up,
looking at her appealingly.  Keep away! keep
back for Heaven's sake. You will give it to me. O,
my God ! what shall I do, what shall I do / and she
pulled desperately at the bell.
Stephen, with a strong effort, had risen to his feet
now, though feeling unsteady. He looked at the
woman standing away from him in a shrinking
attitude.
204
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 If you will—will—order my dog-cart out, I—can
go away, he gasped with great difficulty.
As the butler appeared Adelaide rushed into
frightened explanations to the servant, while Stephen
hoarsely tried to repeat what he had just said. Then
his head swam ; consciousness partly left him, and he
subsided heavily on the sofa again.
"You cannot let him go to-night, ma'am, it would
kill him. He is not fit to drive himself, and none of
the grooms would be able to find their way. Besides, it
would be nothing short of murder, firmly declared the
butler, who had a heart after all within his big carcase.
 Order out my carriage, then, cried Adelaide,
wildly, as after repeated exclamations of fright upon
her part, the man still stoutly declared that she must
not think of sending Mr. Herries out to his death.
 Your own carriage could never take him up on the
moors to-night, ma'am ; the road is only a track by day,
and the snow will have hidden it. None of the men
in the stables would go for me. You must order
them yourself.
Adelaide had left the room by now, and was stand-
ing in the inner hall with her hands clenched, a
picture of fright.
 Scarlet fever !  she repeated, under her breath ;
 of all things what I most dread. Then I will leave.
Order my brougham round in an hour. Tell my
maid to come and pack my clothes. There is just
time to catch the last train to London.
In spite of the man's respectful remonstrances, Mrs.
Stuckey kept her word.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
205
"Are you master here, I should like to know? she
flung bitterly at him, as she passed like a whirlwind
up the stairs.
Two minutes later she was herself packing
vigorously. It was strange, as her maid silently
remarked, that Mrs. Stuckey took all her jewels away
with her, even those that were kept in the iron safe.
CHAPTER XXL
All night long the snow fell softly, slowly, in white
never-ending flakes out of the black sky.
When by next day the old earth had once more
turned in its eternal spinning so as to present the
portion of the earth of which this tale treats to the
cold rays of the sun, the eyes that looked out o
window that morning beheld a transformation scene
Nature's face, which in winter time usually appears sc
dark and gloomy, was now dazzling white ; deep
snow lay spread over the wide valley and the
meadows around Wykhurst, and up on the moors
rising in swells, ridge behind ridge, ever higher, till
the last one seemed to lose itself in the sunlight that
was reflected blindingly from its powdery surface.
The snow was delicately sifted over the great elms ol
the avenue and the oak coppices, even down into the
sheltered woods of the winding dale.
Up at Moor Lodge winter's mantle lay spread for
miles around, with never a track of human footstep to
mar its purity; only a long, slurring trail of a hare
and the pretty pit-a-pat tracks of grouse to be seen
crossing it here and there.
Several times that morning Mysie came anxiously
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
207
out and gazed down where experience told her the
road should be; though she saw no sign of it, nor
could her straining eyes discern any speck in the
distance that could be imagined into Stephen on his
cob. She was not greatly alarmed ; for no doubt he
had gone to London on Adelaide's behalf, or he
might have stayed the night, as several times before,
with Mr. Ferrars. Yet at last she walked round to
the woodshed, and with a resolved face asked
Tommy if he would venture to ride Pippin down to
Wykhurst and ask after his master. She would not
go herself, for if Stephen came back during the day,
she wanted to receive him and have everything com-
fortable.
So Tommy, nothing loth, proudly departed. He
lost his way all the same after half an hour. Where-
upon he dropped his reins, and, leaving the matter to
Pippin's sagacity, that sage animal carried him to its
late owner's stable on the Moor Edge Farm.
Meanwhile down at Wykhurst Stephen was in a
high fever when morning came, and slightly delirious.
All the servants agreed that his wife ought to know,
but neither butler nor housekeeper would take the
responsibility of giving the necessary orders. Every-
body's business is proverbially nobody's business.
Firstly, master and mistress being away, the coachman
grumbled at the idea of risking his horses in unknown
drifts, for the groom reported the road to Moor
Lodge as a mere track at the best of times, while to-
day any man might easily stray from it and be buried
up to his neck in some drift or gully without possi-
2o8
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
bility of help. However, being kind-hearted enough,
they did their best in nursing Herries through the
night, and sent for the doctor in the morning. The
latter, the very same country practitioner who had
attended Abraham Cobb and been at Lady Eliza-
beth's death-bed, pronounced the patient dangerously
ill, and hastily wrote a note to Mrs. Herries.
 Someone must take this at once, he had desired.
Whereupon he had to make the best of his way to
see after other pressing cases, for scarlet fever was
rife in the village.
The doctor's letter was presently brought down to
the West Lodge by a groom. The Wykhurst servants
all agreed that this fell to Mr. Watson's department;
for they were in Mr. Stuckey's service, while the
steward had served the Herries family for most of his
lifetime.
Poor Watson was lying in bed, too ill with lumbago
to stir himself. He groaned and raged when the news
was brought to him of Stephen's illness, and, as his
wife said,  made himself worse without doing any
good. The groom departed, leaving the letter, and
went off to enjoy himself at the village public-house.
For what between Stuckey being missing, and their
mistress's flight, the Wykhurst household was becom-
ing rapidly disorganised.
Watson's family consisted only of himself and his
somewhat invalid wife, their little boy, and old Nannie.
 Don't you fret yourself, my son ; I will see to this
matter, piped the old granny's quavering voice, as
she rose to her feet with difficulty.  Miss Mysie—
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
209
Miss Cobb, I mean—bless my poor old wits, young
Mrs. Herries, I ought to say, has got to know that
Mr. Stephen is ill, and so she shall know.
She sent her little great-grandson out to the road
to watch for the butcher's cart passing by. When it
was stopped, out hobbled Nannie bravely, with a
wadded hood on her old head, and her bent form
huddled in a mountain of shawls. The butcher, who
was young and good-natured, and who was also a warm
adherent of the old family, willingly agreed to try and
drive her up tc Moor Lodge, for if any man knew the
way up there that man was himself, he declared ;
furthermore after supplying young Mrs. Herries with
the primest joints (whenever she could be induced to
take them), and not caring whether he was paid till
next quarter or the one after, he was not the man to
refuse bringing the news to a young wife that her
husband was ill and wanted her.
 But I cannot bring you back, there is the trouble,
he ended,  for I'm bound to go on, as it's market
day.
 Never mind. I will stay the night at Moor Lodge,
and my young lady can ride down by herself, re-
turned Nannie.
So they started.
What a cold, slow drive it was. In spite of the
butcher's care, a chill seemed to creep into the very
veins of the poor old woman. She could hardly feel
her limbs, but the resolve to let Mysie know just
seemed to keep some warmth in her heart.
They had started before noon, and it was half-
P
2IO
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
past two when they slowly and noiselessly arrived
through the snow at the bridge. Mysie had not looked
out of doors, as it happened, since Tommy and Pippin
started, for the cow was ill, and she and the maids
were busy making warm bran mashes, and doing their
puzzled utmost in the absence of any man. A deep
drift of snow had gathered just inside the gate, where
the hill rose suddenly, on which the cottage stood.
Tommy had been busy all the morning shovelling a
footpath here, against his master's return. But the
track was too narrow to allow the cart to pass.
"You must walk, Mrs. Watson, I am afraid, said
the butcher, reluctantly.
 Aye, aye, why that I will. It is only a few steps,
bravely replied Nannie, looking up at the white bank
overhead that hid the lodge. The butcher would have
gone with her if he could ; but his pony was young
and skittish, seeming disposed to kick; besides he
was late for market.
So he helped Nannie down, put her stick in her
hand, and watched her slowly beginning to climb up
the footpath before he drove away.
The track was slippery, and many a step the old
woman slipped back, until, inch by inch, like the
famous snail's progress up the wall, she found herself
breathless on the top of the brae, where the broom
waved yellow in summertime. Here was a seat,
somewhat sheltered by bushes, and thereon the old
woman sat down to breathe herself for a minute or two
before creeping the few toilful yards that still lay
between herself and the Lodge. Well done, Nannie!
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
211
She had bravely struggled so far, but now, for some
brief moments, rest was sweet.
How bitter cold it was, to be sure. Except just for
her own feeble breath there seemed no warmth in her.
Not that she was suffering ; O, no ! for a drowsiness,
that was almost delicious, stole over her. Sleepily,
sleepily she nodded her old head, that fell upon her
breast, while keeping herself upright by leaning on
her stick. Her eyes closed, and old Nannie was away
in a pleasant dreamland when she was young, and the
moors were fresh in springtime, and the larks singing
madly over the gorse.
An hour later Mysie once more came out, having
done her best for the cow. Once again she looked
down the white waste, where, from the sign of a knoll
here, and a rock there, and, further away, a low hill,
she knew the road lay. At the sight of wheel-tracks
on the bridge she stood still, astonished as Robinson
Crusoe at Friday's footprint on the sand.
Could Stephen have driven up in the Wykhurst
dog-cart and then been dropped? for the return wheel-
marks were plain to see. She hastened down the
footpath that was the short cut to the gate, when a
figure sitting still on the seat among the snow-tipped
black broom bushes aroused her attention. The old
woman's figure sat motionless and huddled. Surely
she knew that uppermost fleecy shawl ? What {
Nannie !—Nannie !—
"Nannie! she cried out, and next moment was
bending down to look in the old woman's face with
surprise, and some nameless fear knocking at her heart.
P 2
212
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
A smile was frozen on the old woman's sweet
features. Her eyes were closed. Not a breath
seemed to come from her old mouth that was more
sunken than usual between her chin and nose. In
vain Mysie held Nannie's wrist and chafed it, calling
her anxiously ; then dived her hand under those many
shawls to try and feel the heart beating. But Nannie
was not there. The faithful spirit had only faltered
after it had done the last service in its power to the
family she had served so long.
Mysie reverently drew a letter from the rigid hand
that still held it; read its contents. Then, after kissing
Nannie's marble brow twice, with trembling lips, she
turned and hastily went back to the Lodge. Like
David of old, she felt than we can do so little for our
dead. The living only it is still in our power to help.
Her nature was not one to feel a shock at once, but
rather her spirit rose to fight against adverse fortune
that had dealt the blow.
Twenty minutes later, having given directions to
the frightened maids, she'had wrapped herself in a
cloak, pulled woollen stockings over her boots, and
taking Stephen's old alpenstock, was struggling down
the hillside alone. Duchess ran after her for a few
yards ; then whining, looked back, for she had five
puppies lying snug in the stable yonder.
 Go back, dear. Go back to your children, said
her mistress, consolingly, understanding the faithful
animal's feelings. For did not she grieve to leave old
Nannie's corpse up behind her in the cottage with
dnly the two maids who were strangers to the old
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
213
woman ? But Stephen was ill—very ill the doctor said
—and needed her.
The snow was deep and lightly frozen on the top ;
sometimes it would bear Mysie for a few steps, and
again she sank up to her ankles in the treacherous
surface. On the best of days it was a two hours' walk
down from the moors; and hasten as she might to-
day, it would need probably two more.
Over the white expanse there was only that one mov-
ing small figure to be seen. On and on she went. But
if she should grow weary, if her limbs failed her, there
was not a living soul within miles to help. The wheel-
tracks of the butcher's cart guided her at first. Thank
dear old Nannie for that, who, even before death, had
done her young mistress such a service. But presently
something white began to drop softly upon her cloak.
Surely it was not again going to snow ! Large flakes
were falling gently down from the indigo canopy of
sky overhead. Like feathers, at first they fell downily
lightly, and then in still larger flakes. At last the
storm grew blinding. Mysie shook the snow from her
cloak now and again, with the fancy that every grain
of weight might impede her steps. Alas ! the wheel-
tracks were rapidly becoming blurred before her eyes.
Fainter and fainter they grew as the snow fell fast and
ever faster, till at last there was no trace of them
visible in the unbroken whiteness that lay outspread
before her. What should she do if she lost her way ?
And it was growing dark.
With keen, anxious eyes Mysie gazed around
trying to remember each bush, every rock, that she
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MR. AND MRS. 1IERRIES.
might have noticed in summertime along the road-
side, so as to guide her way. For two miles she kept
right; but then over an unbroken expanse of white
she took a wrong course, following a long line of
bushes that led, straggling fashion, into a hollow.
Herein after half an hour of following its descent,
four, square, low walls, almost hidden by a deep
drift, brought an exclamation of woful surprise to her
lips. It was the sheep pound. She was a mile out of
her way. "No matter. At least I can guide myself
now. It is something to know where one is, so
Mysie tried to reassure herself. For a moment the
brave little heart, that had never faltered so far,
turned sick. Then she grasped the alpenstock and
struggled on as stoutly as ever. Darker and darker
the sky was growing. Still, the faint light that was
reflected from the snow would surely guide her steps
for the next hour or two. On and on she toiled,
while her head grew drowsy and her limbs heavy.
 I must not stop. I must not allow myself to go
to sleep. I must see Stephen once more—I must
see him! she kept repeating to encourage herself
over and over again.
When it was pitch dark over the Wykhurst valley,
and lights were gleaming through the village windows,
and that even the snow on the ground showed white
only when a ray of light crept from some uncurtained
casement, a small figure passed slowly, wearily down
the street. At last Mysie had got so far. At last she
neared the tall iron gates of the West Lodge which
stood open, because Watson was ill. At last, more and
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
215
more slowly, her lagging feet seeming hardly to belong
to her body, the weary traveller dragged herself up
to the door of the house she had once thought would
be her life-long home. Twice the bell faintly rang.
Mysie's arm was so weary she could hardly pull it
strongly enough, and it was stiff with age. A third
time one of the footmen came unwillingly to the door;
for who would ring on such a night as this except
some belated tramp ? All the servants' own friends
would come round by the yard entrance.
He opened the door a little way, when a small figure
slipped past him into the hall. He could hardly
believe his eyes, as he afterwards recounted in the
servants' hall, when, before he could utter a word of
remonstrance, thinking he saw a ghost, the visitor
made straight for the inner hall, saying, over her
shoulder as it were :
 I am going to my husband. I am Mrs. Herries.'
2iO
CHAPTER XXII.
STEPHEN had been carried by chance into Lady
Elizabeth's former bedroom, and here for a fortnight
Mysie assiduously nursed him. He was very ill, and
most of the time delirious, yet he recognised the
room ; and his sick eyes rested with a vague satis-
faction upon the well-known tapestry lining the
walls, the carved four-poster bed in which he lay,
the old furniture with faded coverings that he had
known ever since he was a child. Something of a
sick child's feeling when laid in its own crib, a sense
of well-being, stole over him, and helped materially
to his recovery.
 What a comfort that he was taken ill here, whis-
pered the doctor to Mysie reassuringly.  It is a bad
case ; but with these large rooms opening out of each
other we need not be alarmed. Now, if this had
happened up at Moor Lodge, it would have been
twice as difficult for you to nurse him.
As it was, Mysie's task was no light one. For the
evening after she arrived strange news had filtered,
in the shape of rumour, into the servants' hall down-
stairs, where an animated debate, ending in a
carousal, was held till the small hours, sounds of
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
217
which reached even to the west gallery, where the
invalid lay. Next morning old Mr. Symes tramped
through the melting snow with hay bands bound round
his legs and feet, giving him a falsely bucolic appear-
ance. His orders confirmed the rumour. Before that
evening fell, all the servants inside the house had packed
their boxes and vanished with the haste of a crew
leaving a sinking ship. Only the stablemen remained
for a few days till the horses should be sent up to
Tattersall's to be sold.
A sudden silence thereupon fell on the old house.
The days following Lady Elizabeth's death had not
been more utterly quiet; and to complete the resem-
blance, Watson and his wife, for the time being,
reinstalled themselves below stairs, the latter helping
Mysie in the watches of nursing.
What did it all mean ? Mysie knew, for Mr. Symes
had whispered it to her outside Stephen's room in the
corridor. But the news seemed to pass through her
brain, hardly leaving an impression. What did she
care ? She was listening the while with one ear, lest
her patient should wake, and calculating how soon he
ought to take his medicine, and whether his beef tea
would be ready in half an hour.
Stephen's life was in some danger in those days,
and Mysie's mind and body were strained to the
utmost to save him if possible. At the end of the
fortnight she did not know which day of the week it
was ; night had merged into day and day into night ;
while all the time she lived in a twilight world,
bounded by the walls of the sick-room or of its dress-
218
MR. AND MRS. IIERRIES.
ing-room, in which she lay down herself for two hours
at a time, and only then under compulsion. The
snow had melted, but she only heeded that because
the air was warmer for the sick man. As for other
things, why, Government might have been out, or
Europe plunged in war, for all she knew or would
have cared.
Sometimes in his ramblings Stephen seemed to
fancy that it was his mother who attended on him so
lovingly and gently, while in the twilight of the room
he could only distinguish a gently moving female
figure. Once, at his worst, after a night of tossing in
fever, he felt the touch of lips on his hot forehead,
and it was as if a soft and dewy rose had been laid
there, such a sense of freshness and fragrance crept
soothingly over him. And after that he slept calmly
as an infant.
Another time, between waking and sleeping, while
distorted images troubled his brain, it seemed to him
that someone was praying softly by his bedside ; and
again he was calmed by the impression more than
the knowledge of being wept over lovingly, in a
gentle way, like a spring shower of tender ministrations
and caressing touches. At last there came a day
when, weak and wasted, but with the crisis past, he
woke to a sense of who and where he was, and found
his friend the doctor looking in his face.
 Why, that is right! said the latter; "you are like
yourself this morning ; we shall soon pull you round
now—thanks to your wife, let me tell you.
 Why, how is that ?  asked Stephen, too feeble to
MR. AND MRS. IIERRIES.
219
be very curious, yet grateful in his helplessness as a
little child.
When the doctor explained it to him, and that he
understood Adelaide's flight, his own illness here,
and Mysie's devotion, a lump came in his throat.
"You must move me as soon as I am able to bear
it, doctor, was all the answer, however.  We are
intruders here upon Mrs. Stuckey. She will want to
come back. Unless, indeed, she is afraid of the in-
fection I may leave behind me.
 No, no ; do not trouble your head about that, my
dear fellow, answered the doctor with an evasive air}
 she will not be coming back for ever so long ; be-
sides, the servants have all been withdrawn, to keep
down expenses, owing to her husband's disappearance.
Why, don't you know, there is no one in the house
except the two Watsons and your wife. I never saw
such devotion in my life ; though I have seen many
women like angels in cases of illness. She has
pulled you through this. Let me tell you, only for her
it was touch and go.
Left alone, Stephen remained for some hours while
this thought brooded in his brain, not obtrusively, but
rather as with the shadowy wings of a dove. He lay
still, as if watched over by the consciousness that it
was his young wife who had tended him, and he
dreamily remembered at times he had thought her
his mother's spirit.
Not till afternoon did Mysie come to him. Her
task having been toilfully accomplished, she sent Mrs
Watson to wait on him all that morning. Why, no
220
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
one could have told but one well versed in a woman's
mind. When the afternoon light was waning, Stephen
roused out of a gentle doze to see the slender figure
of his wife bending over him. Mysie drew back as
he opened his eyes, knowing her for the first time
these many days, while a grateful light illumined his
thin features.
Stephen put out a wasted, detaining hand.
 Mysie! 
That was all he said at first. Then her fingers
slowly crept to his, as in response to his evident wish.
He raised her hand to his lips and imprinted a long
grateful kiss.
 I know, he whispered,  I owe my recovery to
you.
Still, he kept looking at her, and being weak, tears
rose up into the lately strong man's eyes. He put
her hand down gently, and turned away his face to
the wall. Then there sounded a flutter, to his ears
like the passing rustle of an angel's garments. Mysie
had left him, and he was once more alone.
For two days after that he hardly saw her.
 She was just fagged out, and is sleeping the most
of her time, so Mrs. Watson cheerfully told him.
Watson himself took part in the nursing at night
for the next two or three days. Whereupon Stephen,
understanding that Mysie was in absolute need of
rest, took his medicine patiently from the old servant's
hands, although, how rough they seemed, if honest,
after Mysie's dainty attendance. When Mysie again
came into her husband's room she found Mr. Symes
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
221
standing by his bedside, while Stephen looked flushed
and excited.
 Have you heard the news, Mysie? Mr. Symes
has just told me. Does Watson know, I wonder ? 
came from his lips in eager, disjointed sentences.
 Why, he tells me that Stuckey is not dead after all ;
that he is stone broke, that is all. While we were
all hunting for him night and day he had comfortably
taken his passage on board a steamer, and was on
his way to the Argentine Republic. . . . He
has taken all he could lay his hands upon, it
seems, and made his escape early, lest he should
be stopped. . . . And, ha! ha! his wife, Mrs.
Stuckey—Adelaide—knew all about it lately while
she sent me on a wild goose chase here and there after
her missing husband. What a fool she must have
thought me!
Mysie did not speak, but turned towards old Symes
with an expression of mild reproach in her eyes, which
somehow managed to touch his toughened old heart.
 I—I—I thought it might amuse Mr. Herries to
hear the gossip of the place, began the old muddler.
 By the way, Mr. Herries, Mrs. Stuckey only knew
he was really alive before your last visit. Yes, yes,
she was not playing the hypocrite all the time, though
I fancy she must have guessed what was going on
when the bills came pouring in. He gambled fright-
fully—Stock Exchange, cards, betting ; why, even
when she married him, he must have been a ruined
man ! 
 Do you hear this, Mysie ? How long have you
222
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
known it ?  persisted Stephen, with that peevishness
which is a sure sign of recovery.
 Yes, I knew ; but we thought it best not to tell
you until you were better, answered Mysie.
From that day, until he was well enough to be
driven back to the moor, Stephen's mind, that was
still weak from illness, seemed unable to recover the
shock of this news. The countryside knew it far
and wide. Letters from creditors were pouring in.
Wykhurst must be sold to satisfy their demands, of
whom Stephen was one, as he had not yet been paid
for the books which still lined the library, and the
pictures that hung on the walls. To whom would
the old place pass away ?
 Let me go home, doctor, as soon as you can, he
pleaded before Mysie, one day with a restless longing
of regret that went to her very heart.  I do not feel as
if I could recover here now in peace. Who knows who
will come after me here ? The place may be half re-
built and the trees cut down by the next owner. If
you do not think me too much of a burden, Mysie "—
and he smiled up at his wife, who was looking out of
the window— I think I should get well on the moors
more quickly.
 How can you call yourself a burden ?  came in
gentle, low tones, but it seemed to him coldly.  None
of us can escape being ill some time or other, and it is
our duty to do the best we can for each other.
In her heart she was regretting that lost chance
when Stephen, recovering out of his illness, had kissed
her hand. Then they two might have drawn together.
Now the time was past 1
223
CHAPTER XXIII.
HISTORY repeats itself in families as well as nations.
Stephen had been secretly looking forward to a
tete-a-tete drive with his wife on their return to Moor
Lodge. She would not be able to slip away from his
side then as she had done during the last few days,
when, in striving to retain her companionship, he had
felt as if grasping at a flickering sunbeam.
He even arranged what to say, and how to say it;
imagined how they would draw closer and Instead
of which little sentimental journey Mysie announced,
with the matter-of-fact air of a Martha, that she
must ride up early in the morning to have the cottage
warmed for his home-coming ; also that Dr. Watson
had kindly offered to drive up Stephen in his
own brougham. As the invalid was not strong
enough yet to be permitted a will of his own where
his comforts were concerned, Stephen, in secret
dudgeon, was obliged to accept a prosaic, hard-
featured companion, who, as they crept slowly up the
rising moors, discoursed all the long way upon the
Board of Guardians.
Once more Stephen and Mysie found themselves
alone together in the little Lodge. But it was no
224
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
longer like that first happy time which had been almost
a honeymoon. Those two Indian summer days lay
long months behind them, and now, though the snow
was melted and the winter gone, a keen, fresh wind
blew over the wolds, from which the invalid shrank.
When Stephen came downstairs languidly about mid-
day, it was only to lie on the sofa beside a clear fire,
with his books and papers all arranged neatly to hand.
But though Mysie brought him tonics and beef-tea,
and watched over his least wants with unobtrusive
but constant attention, still, during the greater part
of the day he was alone. What was she about?
Was it distaste for his society? or simply that her
housewifely soul preferred making puddings and feed-
ing the chickens.
 Won't you sit with me a little this morning? he
asked on the third day, after he had twice found him-
self alone during the morning hours.
 Certainly, said Mysie, though with a slight ner-
vousness, which he noticed.  Shall I read you the
paper ? It will save your weak eyes.
She had read and played to him all the hours of the
preceding afternoon and evening, and Stephen felt
somewhat selfish in accepting her offer. He had
hoped for a pleasant little chat instead. But Mrs.
Stephen's young visage had assumed a chillingly vir-
tuous expression, which signified,  I do this because
it is my duty to you as a sick person and a husband
Don't thank me.
Ten minutes later the door opened cautiously, and a
rosy face belonging to the untrained cook became visi-
ble.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
225
"If you please, ma'am, might I speak to you a
moment ?  was whispered in a tone breathing entreaty
and injured reproach.
Stephen caught these few words of a colloquy out«
side the door:
 I just opened the oven door to look in, and 
 How could you do such a thing ! Did I not tell
you to wait for ten minutes ? Now your master's
lunch will be spoiled.
 Indeed, it is not my fault, ma'am. I never did
know anything beyond just roast and boiled.
After a few minutes of absence, Mysie returned to
her task, and waded through a debate on the Irish
land question. Then the housemaid presented herself
for audience with the usual apologetic murmur of—
"If you please, ma'am, might I speak a minute ?
Stephen, straining his ears—for the least trifles
interest us when recovering from an illness—gathered
that an old woman had brought fowls to sell, and that
Tommy was naughty, and had said he would only obey
Mrs. Hervies herself, so would she please speak to him.
Then what orders were there about the respective
food of the chickens and puppies. Was Tommy
to ride down to the village for Mr. Herries' medicine ?
and, if so, who was to bring fresh vegetables from the
farm ?
 I will do that myself. I can ride Dunce over.
Tell Tommy to take Pippin ; he does not kick.
"And if Tommy is gone, please, ma'am, who is to
milk the cow ? She is so difficult to manage, that she
upset all the pail the day before yesterday, and you
O
226
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
know that was how there was no cream for Mr.
Herries, and you were so put out. And I've got the
washing to do to-day, and Rose has scalded her
hand 
 Hush ! I will milk the cow myself. I can gallop
back over the moors.
Re-entering the room, with hypocritical calm,
Stephen's wife merely observed :
 Where were we? O, Lord Salisbury had begun
to speak, and she took up the thread of the Parlia-
mentary discussion.
In the afternoon the deceptress said, with a simple
air—
 Do you mind my leaving you for half an hour? I
thought of riding Dunce over to the Moor Edge
Farm. A canter would freshen us both up.
 Pray do. Do not hurry back. It will do you
good, said Stephen as gravely as if he did not know
that the cow was to be milked afterwards.
Plainly he was not to be taken into confidence in
these small household matters. But his respect and
admiratio n for this young helpmeet of his increased
all the more, and he did not again ask Mysie to sit
with him during working hours. That evening
Herries watched her out of half-closed eyes as she
read to him till her voice grew weary, when he asked
her to stop. When the reading ceased, Mysie sat still
and gazed in the fire. Stephen pretended sleepiness,
and lay back in his easy-chair, but he still furtively
kept himself aware that the slight figure so near him
remained lost in thought, with eyes that seemed dream-
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
227
ing of the far away. Was she thinking of that young
Dodsworth ? At that moment Stephen actually
wished himself ill again and lying once more in the
great, carved, oaken bed, while his young nurse flitted
around him in the twilight, with gentle ministrations.
How delicately soft, how comforting had been the
touch of her dear little hands ! Yet, with what unex-
pected vigour those girlish arms had now and again
raised and supported him in his weakness !
At last Stephen broke the silence.
 You have a great deal of work to do here, I am
afraid, Mysie ; you have been busy nearly all day. I
have been thinking that you ought to have another
maid to help you.
 O, no, indeed ; I can manage very well, she
answered, with a troubled start and a slight puckering
of her smooth brow. "You see, I quite got into the
habit of looking after these small household duties
while you were away.
"Habit is not happiness. Should you not enjoy
yourself better if you were more free from these
trifling hourly worries ? 
 I do not know—what is happiness exactly ? it
is hard to define, replied Mysie, with a small, per-.
plexed smile, yet a yearning look in her eyes.  I
fancy that only children are really happy, because
they have nothing to think about. When we grow
older and begin to think the world seems such a
puzzle that it is wisest, perhaps, just to work as hard
as one can at whatever is plainly one's own duty, and
to give up wondering whether Providence really
Q 2
228
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
arranges our earthly affairs, or only allows us to try
and do the best we can with them ourselves. Work
keeps me from thinking, so I like it.
 Thinking of that fellow Dodsworth, commented
Stephen to himself, with a sigh. He rose with a
sudden weariness that was more mental than
physical.
 It is growing late for me, so will you allow
your patient to retire for the night ? was his
pleasantly uttered request as he forced a smile.
Then, covering with his hand her small one that
rested on the table :
 I cannot tell you how grateful I am—how deeply
"I feel all my kind little nurse's care of me.
Mysie did not look up, but she drooped her head.
Stephen stood hesitating; then he slowly turned
and quitted the room.
 She was thinking of him, and I only interrupted
her, was his bitter reflection.  Well, if liking goes
by favour, a pretty sight her middle-aged husband
must be in her eyes, and the poor man looked in the
glass at his reflection. A cropped head—for his
hair had been cut during the fever—and a face from
which the skin was peeling. "Truly a disgusting
object!  was his mental verdict.
Downstairs Mysie had sunk on the hearthrug and
then buried her head in the chair Stephen had just
vacated.
 He is grateful! she whispered angrily under her
breath, grinding her small, white teeth.  But I will
not thank him for his gratitude ; I want his love or
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
229
nothing. Why, even the cow was grateful when I
gave her bran mashes while she was ill. Any animal
can feel that much for one.
Thus Mysie withdrew into her shell of reserve and
coldness more and more, and the distance between
them widened, as Stephen grew daily stronger.
Then came a day when a west wind blew and mild
sunshine lay spread over the moors dappled by cloud
shadows.
Stephen sought the presence of his sick-nurse, and
standing in a humble attitude, with a courteously
deferential gesture of beseeching, requested leave to
take a walk.
"Very well, then ; but only for half an hour, and in
the most sheltered spots, replied Mysie, with her
usual sweet gravity.
Would she never smile, never laugh in his face
again ?
Stephen had hoped to rouse a flicker of mirth by his
petition of mock humility. It flashed back to his
mind how merrily she had laughed that evening when
she came in out of the winter cold with Jerry Dods-
worth, as he miscalled his rival's Christian name.
Jealousy, long simmering in Herries' proud heart, was
approaching boiling point these days. Over and
over again he recalled every word of the detested
interview to which he had played eavesdropper. A
hundred times a day he would ask himself in his
heart:  How was it she wrote for him just as I went
away ? She cannot have cared then. Why, she was
a mere child when she last saw him. If she had
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
cared she would not have married me ; she is too
upright and resolute in character to have done so,
even young though she was at that time.
In the midst of which thoughts Mysie brought his
fur-lined coat, and herself helped him on with it;
gave him his stick, and finally recommended him
to go down into the hollow by the bridge.
 I will come out presently with Duchess and the
puppies, if you do not mind my exercising them, she
added.
It was only an excuse to be in Stephen's company,
and yet not seem to force herself upon him. The
poor girl was growing almost morbid in her great shy-
ness. She positively believed herself chained to an
unhappy companion, and feared to gall him at every
turn by unwary pressure of the fetters.
As Stephen stood by the bridge, feeling as un-
steady as a child that has lately begun to walk, he
heard a creaking sound behind him, and turning,
beheld a strange sight appearing round the turn of
the road. Mrs. Ferrars, looking thinner than ever,
with her dress hitched high above her ankles, was
stalking towards him, apparently dragging a donkey
and its carriage after her by the reins. The carriage
was empty, and the donkey was lagging its best. Poor
woman ! she looked dead beat, as well she might.
 Ah, Stephen, there you are ! and here I am ! 
announced his old friend, abruptly as usual.  I have
come up to see you, as you see. It has been hard
work.
 But why do you not get inside the carriage ?
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
23I
You seem to be pulling the donkey yourself by the
head, said Stephen, laughing.
 Yes, it would hardly come on at all. I thought I
was too heavy for it uphill. Never mind, it will take
me all the quicker going home. I wanted to see
you, and Mrs. Ferrars, so saying, pressed Stephen's
hand, while two bright red spots appeared in her
weary lean face. "There is something I wanted to
ask you privately.
 Anything I can do? began Stephen, politely,
yet in a tone of some reserve, glancing up towards
the cottage.  Will you come up to the Lodge ? 
 In a few minutes. I came to see you to-day
more than Mysie. Not but what I am very fond
of her. She is a treasure, Stephen ! I love that
girl.
 Have you come to tell me that ?  smiled
Stephen more gently, thawing in his manner, while
he felt a kind of pleasant pain.
 Perhaps—partly so, said Mrs. Ferrars, strangely
as usual. "You are tired ; so am I. Let us sit down
in the carriage. . . . The donkey won't mind.
And accordingly into the carriage both stepped,
while the donkey stubbornly put out his legs and
dropped his head, as who should say,  If you think
I am going to stir, you are very much mistaken.
 I came to tell you this went on Mrs. Ferrars in
an excited undertone,  that I have heard from
Adelaide. She is going out to join her husband in
South America. You do not wish to be mixed
up any more in the matter. O yes ! I know. You
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MR. AND MRS, MERRIES.
were more than kind, more than friendly to her
during that business ; and now you feel most likely
as if you had been fooled all along. It was so in
part. ... Tom was not quite so selfish as you
and Adelaide thought him. He guessed—so did I.
We did not know! You thought I was a cold-
hearted mother for not coming over more to
Wykhurst during those days. But that was why.
I suspected what Nicholas Stuckey's
disappearance meant. And we both want now,
Tom and I, to apologise—to thank you from our
hearts.
Stephen was gratified. He had indeed felt very
sore at having been made a laughing-stock ; all his
exertions so much labour lost.
 I would do as much again for you, my mother's
old friend, he answered in his gentlest tones.
But have you come all this long way only to
apologise to me ? You might have known that
that was not necessary.
 I wished to ask your help as well, and Mrs.
Ferrars raised her eyes to him that reminded him
of Adelaide's own, they were still so large and
luminous—haunting eyes, full of the disappoint-
ment of life.  It is the sign of trusting a friend,
is it not ? when, after they have done more than
anyone else for you, one still asks them to do a
further kindness. Can you advise me about these ? 
She opened a small black bag that she carried in
her hand, and showed Stephen some worn morocco
cases, containing a diamond pendant in old fashioned
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
233
setting, and two or three heavy gold bracelets, which
he remembered seeing her wear in former days.
 Adelaide wants money. She has written to me
that she has not even enough to pay her passage
out to him. ... I dare not tell Tom ; he would
only be angry with me ; but I have sold what little
silver I had. . . . Then I thought perhaps you
would tell me how to dispose of these in London,
and what they might be worth. You are a judge of
such things, I know.
 Are they so badly off as all that ? muttered
Stephen aghast.
Mrs. Ferrars gave a deep sigh.
 People say he has taken out enough with him to
last them as a little income for their lives. I don't
know. Then what has become of her own diamonds
which she took away from Wykhurst, and her other
jewellery ?—heaps of priceless lace, too, which she
persuaded him to buy for her, for he certainly was
generous to his wife (lavish, I should say), except
just towards the end. . . . The poor broken-
down woman lowered her voice involuntarily to a
whisper.  Has she paid her debts with them ?
I wonder ! ! Well, well ! all I
know is my daughter needs this money. I have
no other means of procuring it. Can you help
me ? 
Stephen readily gave her some useful advice, with
which Mrs. Ferrars seemed satisfied. Then he could
not refrain from adding :
 So you were mistaken after all in your sor.-in-
234
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
law's character, after being so anxious for that
marriage.
 I—anxious for Adelaide to marry that boor ?
Stephen Herries, how can you say so of all men,
when I hoped and did my best that she should keep
her engagement to you? and Mrs. Ferrars turned
upon him in excitement, angry lights flaring up in
her eyes.  Why, when Nicholas first came to my
cottage on Adelaide's invitation, I disliked him so
much that I used to slip outside, even without a hat,
not to be obliged to see him. Once, when it rained,
I was shut up for an hour in the fowl-house where
the fleas nearly ate me alive, rather than endure his
company. But there was no use in talking ; my
daughter took the bit between her teeth when she
came out ; for appearances' sake I pretended a
mother's authority, but she ruled me. The world did
not guess it—better so.
 You amaze me !  said Stephen, half to himself.
 All turns out best for those that act rightly, or so
I believe. Young people say it is blind chance,
went on his old friend, rapidly.  I believe my poor
girl was as fond of you as, with her nature, it was
possible to be ; but she loved herself best. Now you
have a wife who looks upon you as a King Arthur,
and herself hardly worthy, dear child, to dust your
throne. She used to hang upon my words every
week when she rode down to see me while you were
away, and I used purposely to sing your praises.
But she is a little shy, is she not, and almost in awe
of you, I fancy ? 
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
235
 I am so much older. A sickly smile came over
Stephen's face, and he stared down into the brawling
stream that in these spring days was swirling lustily
under the bridge. King Arthur! Yes! But his
queen, while honouring her lord's great name, loved
Lancelot!
And now the meek animal in the shafts uplifted
tail and voice in a prolonged hee-haw. On the hill-
brow was outlined Mysie's slender form, followed by
the two ponies snuffing after her for bread. Mean-
while Duchess was ranging through the heather clumps
with a business air, impeded by the awkward gambols
of her offspring, who kept worrying their mother.
Mysie's arrival stirred the three on the bridge ; and
both donkey and mistress were persuaded to come up
to the Lodge and be refreshed and rested. All at
once, on sight of Mrs. Ferrars, Mysie's manner had
become animated and affectionate. Stephen's eyes lit
up as he watched her. For the first time during many
weeks he felt like his true old self again. The
presence of a third person put him at his ease, and he
found himself laughing heartily at the victorious way
in which Mysie drove the donkey stablewards at a
snail's pace, while jeering at himself and its mistress,
whose previous attempts to make it mount the hill
had signally failed. He forgot, during their guest's
stay, that he and Mysie had ever been estranged ; it
was as if Jere Dodsworth had never come between
them—as if Adelaide had never ridden up on the
moors. In the solitude of their existence the presence
of this one visitor excited them both out of their late
236
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
coldness and reserve. Even the man of the world
felt as stirred by the incident as a monk might be on
receiving a rarely permitted visitor.
Mrs. Ferrars never ate lunch, it appeared, so as
theirs was just over Mysie herself saw to the brewing
of some excellent coffee, for the maids never made it
strong enough of their own accord, she declared.
 What are your plans, Stephen ?  brusquely asked
Mrs. Ferrars.  I suppose you will go abroad soon
and take Mysie with you to see the world ? 
Both those addressed felt painfully awkward, and
Stephen answered vaguely :
 We have not settled anything definitely as yet.
Do not be in such haste to exile your friends.
 How bright those crocus beds look before the
windows! You have made quite a pretty little
garden, Mysie, went on their visitor, changing rapidly
to another subject, as was her wont.  It must have
been hard work, for there was only heather up to the
door last year.
"Yes, Mr. Dodsworth helped me to dig those beds
and the borders, Mysie made sedate reply.
She was as calm, thought Stephen, with a sudden
tingling of his blood, as if it were an everyday
occurrence that a young man should come up on the
moors during her husband's absence to dig her a
garden in November.
 Ah, Mr. Dodsworth. ... I liked him when
you brought him to see me. . . . Has he sue-
ceeded in what he came about—getting business in
these parts ? 
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
237
 I do not know yet, replied Mysie, evasively.  I
have not heard.
 She has not heard, repeated Stephen to him-
self, with returning satisfaction, and smoothed his
angry bristles.
As she rose to go, Mrs. Ferrars looked at the two
faces watching her on either side with flattering
interest.
 How happy and bright you both look—quite a
model couple ; it does me good to see your beaming
faces.
Mysie instantly appeared as conscious as if in the
honeymoon stage. Stephen found something amiss
with the donkey's harness. Thereupon Mrs. Ferrars
stepped into her basket carriage, and hey, presto!
off started her steed at a sharp trop downhill, regard-
less of all its victimised mistress's tuggings.
 Rattle her bones over the stones !  was evidently
the beast's unrelenting intention till it got back to its
stall.
238
CHAPTER XXIV.
The sunlight still lay on the moors, and a happy
smile still lingered on Stephen's face, as he looked
down the winding track after the vanishing carriage,
which had dwindled to a speck.
 It is growing cool out of doors. Please do not
stay. I mean, if you like to come in, there is a good
fire in the sitting-room, said a fresh voice, grown all
at once grave, with a touch of shy solicitude in its
ring, behind him.
 Very well, little lady. I must obey your wishes ;
and with quite cheerful alacrity Stephen turned in-
doors, only to see his wife's girlish figure flitting up
the stairs.
There was a clear fire in the sitting-room ; his easy-
chair was drawn up to its glow, the morning local
paper (which arrived towards evening, after being left
by the carrier under a stone on the Moorland road a
mile away, and fetched thence by Tommy) was laid
ready to his hand.
The view out of the window, over the moorland
rises and dips was soul-filling in its width of sky,
soothing in its solitariness.
Yes—very solitary.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
239
Stephen stood in a waiting attitude on the small
hearthrug, then sat down, after five minutes, assuming
a careless air, while apparently vastly interested in
studying some advertisements of public-houses to let.
In ten minutes he sprang up and stared out with un-
seeing eyes, pulling at his drooping moustache.
Though his vision was unnoting of the sights around
him, his ears must have been alert and on the watch.
For they caught a humming sound overhead, which
sometimes stopped, then went on humming faster and
faster, engrossing his attention. After a quarter of
an hour the dreaming man suddenly turned to the
door, too restless to wait longer alone, yet aimless of
purpose.
 She is not coming. I wonder where she is ?
What is she doing ? 
The whirring sound increased. Upstairs, outside
the door of the larger bedroom which Mysie now
occupied, Stephen stood hesitating, then, on some
irresistible impulse, lightly knocked.
 Come in !  Mysie's voice called through the din,
and entering, his ears were filled with the sound of a
sewing-machine going at full speed, over which his
wife was bending, with her back turned to him.
With a swift glance of almost shame-faced curiosity,
Stephen took in the room and its belongings.
 Is that you, Hannah ?—Rose ?  demanded Mysie,
only slackening speed to adjust some part of the
machine. As no answer came she looked round
The furious whirring stopped ; a man's shirt dropped
from her hand. Alive to every little detail, yet feel-
240
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
ing distinctly uncomfortable, Stephen noticed that
she had been repairing the frayed edges of its cuffs,
while he recognised some more of his oldest shirts in
a neat pile on the ground.
 Do you want me ? What can I do for you ? 
stammered Mysie, covered with a confusion, on seeing
her visitor, that amounted to distress.
 What had happened ?  was her aghast thought.
 How had she been neglectful of her duties, or his
comforts, to call for such an alarming invasion ? 
 Do not let me disturb you, said Stephen,
assuming, to the best of his ability, a light and
easy air. "It was only that—that I—well,
that it is near tea-time ; and I wanted to ask if you
were coming soon downstairs to give me my tea.
Somehow we poor men never can make a good cup
for ourselves.
 It is only a few minutes past four; tea is generally
ready at five—but if you like, if you will go down-
stairs and order it, please, I will follow you
immediately.
 There is no hurry. Stephen was gaining courage
and having, to his own astonishment, stormed the
position in unpremeditated recklessness, he felt that
he must not be in haste to retreat, if he wished to
retain its advantages of greater intimacy.
The girlish figure before him was ineffectually
trying to shield her late occupation from his view by
the interposition of her slight body; her alarmed
shyness, but submissive willingness to obey his wishes,
gave him confidence.
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
241
 I was also partly attracted here by wonder as to
what the noise could be overhead. Forgive my
inquisitiveness ; it sounded like the buzzing of all
last year's bees. Are you still plagued with them in
this room ? 
 Not now, the bees would hardly be stirring so
early in spring, would they? But Watson smoked
them out for me in any case. We got five basins full
of honey, but still, I am afraid I have destroyed my
luck by killing them.
Mysie's voice was low, and her sentences faltering
now.
 Nonsense ! your luck is all to come yet in life.
Stephen gaily chid her, although feeling as if slid-
ing on thin ice which might give way any moment;
while he guessed dimly at a depth of black waters
beneath into which he might be plunged. If that
catastrophe happened it would be the worst he had
yet suffered in all his life.
"Well, if it is so early still, do not let me hinder
your work, especially as it is for my benefit, I
see. How kind of you that is!—how good! Let
me help you. I can turn the handle. Is this how
it goes ? 
 Wait, wait! you will break the thread ! Mysie
sprang to rescue her interrupted work. Stephen
promptly and politely pushed up her chair, and drew
another close for himself. With inquisitive deter-
mination to master the first principles of the sewing
machine, he persisted in turning the handle.  Too
fast! No, no ; too slow ; now, exclaimed Mysie by
R
242
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
turns, herself keeping the work straight with tremb-
ling hands and a desperately anxious face.
"If you hold the handle with me, just to teach me
the right swing, I could manage it better, pleaded
her pupil.
Next moment his hand gently covered hers as it
grasped the handle, and both turned it—together.
Slower and slower it revolved; quite laboriously.
The two hands seemed growing enervated, even ex-
hausted ; they moved presently with such languor, as if
their object was to prolong the space of double toil to
the utmost, extraordinary as it might seem, rather
than finish off the task. Herries' eyes were fixed on
the fair curve of his wife'-s neck ; how prettily her
hair grew in tiny tendrils low down there ; her pink
ear was so small and transparent just where the light
caught it. Mysie's hand was softly quivering under
his own ; a delicious tremor stole through the fibres
of his arm thrilling from hers.
Ping! , '
 The thread has broken. I must take both hands
and set it right murmured Mysie.
 Surely I cannot be quite repugnant to her; she
does not repulse me, shot through Stephen's brain?
where hope, that had begun in a feeble spark smould-
ering for some months back, now burst into flame.
"Is it not too cold for you up here without a fire?
If you like to go downstairs, I will come as soon as
you want me, weakly suggested Mysie, turning her
head.
Her breath fanned Stephen's cheek like a fresh
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
243
spring breeze, stirring his blood with tremors of joy
yet fear.
 If it is warm enough for you, it should surely be
more than pleasant enough for me. How cosy you
have made this room, as indeed you do every room
and everybody about you. It is so full of familiar
associations that I feel quite at home in it.
Stephen glanced more boldly around him now, with
quite an air of joint-ownership. Here stood Nannie's
high stuffed chair ; there lay his mother's well-worn
Bible by the bedside ; many trifles were scattered
about which he had forgotten, but that recalled
Wykhurst to him with a recognition that was bitter-
sweet. And yonder on a little table, by all that was
wonderful! a collection of portraits of himself, from
the miniature taken in his babyhood to the latest
photograph. Why, they must have been gathered
together from odd corners of Wykhurst. What
signification had all this ? By Heaven, he must try
to know, now or never.
 You heard what Mrs. Ferrars said about my going
abroad ?  he began on the impulse, bending forward
close to his wife, while his voice shook a little.
Mysie started sharply; her heart beat hard ; her
breath fluttered.
 Yes, I heard.
That was all; but the hand with which she tried to
thread her needle trembled, and she was pushing her
thread wide of the eyelet.
"You told me that you were not happy in our
marriage, even that you would prefer if we were sepa-
rated. Was not that your wish ? 
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MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
 Yes.
 I thought—forgive me if I had no right to suppose
so—that perhaps you had grown to change a little in
your opinion of me—in your feelings, I should say.
"Never! I have never changed in what I think
of you ; it is impossible !  uttered Mysie with a sup-
pressed fervour of determination.
 Then she does not care for me after all! thought
the man, with a disappointment which wi-s of exceed-
ing bitterness.
He sighed.
 Poor child, you are indeed to be pitied. I have
only been a source of trouble to you. It would have
been wiser of your grandfather to have given you to
some younger man, who has not lived half his life
already, such as your friend young Dodsworth
perhaps ; only you see, the deed is done.
 Yes, grandfather was always fond of Je— of Mr.
Dodsworth. If you had not married me, i suppose
he would have liked him next best to do so, returned
Mysie, in an even, matter-of-fact voice.
For some minutes Herries sat silent with his head
turned aside. Still looking away he went on gently
in a muffled tone :
 At least, what wishes of yours are still possible
for me to gratify it will be a sacred duty in my eyes
to meet—even a happiness, believe that. Your future
interests, too, must be considered. My life may not
be a long one, as it seems my fate to be generally sent
to unhealthy climates. But, in any case, I have been
intending to give you this Lodge and its moors for
MR. AND MRS. IiERRIES.
245
your own ; it is not much of a home, but as you seem
fond of the place 
 This house—Moor Lodge—and the moorlands !
No ! no ! never ! Why, it is all you have left in the
world.
 But yes, yes ; that is all the more reason my wife
should possess it. If I die, I shall not need much
ground ; and if I keep alive my pay from Government
and a pension in old age will be quite sufficient.
Why, Mysie, what is the matter?  For his wife had
flung away her work, and, with her head bent low,
forgetful of the sewing-machine, was sobbing silently
into her clasped hands, as he guessed by the con-
vulsive heaving of her shoulders.  What have I said
to vex you—darling? and, as once before, Stephen's
arm stole round Mysie's shoulders and about her
neck, but this time stayed. His heart was sore for
himself, but full of pity and tenderness towards her.
 Poor little bird; my pet! Mysie, speak, what have
I said ? 
Mysie's sobs lessened in violence, though the tears
still gushed through her fingers.
 I—I cannot bear it! I refuse tb take Moor
Lodge! It is cruel of you to talk like that about
dying. If I were dead instead, it would be better for
us both. What is the use of living'when you do not
care for me ? You will only be glad to be rid of
me! 
"Great Heavens! is this possible? murmured
Stephen, in a whisper, with the awe of an immense
joy dawning in his bewildered mind. His trembling
246
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
fingers touched Mysie's hair, which had got entangled
in part of the sewing-machine during her abandon-
ment of woe ; then, unchecked, he drew her quivering
face to look at his own, of which the muscles like-
wise were twitching oddly. Two pairs of wet eyes
gazed into each other's depths ; two trembling voices
met in joyful exclamation.
 Mysie ! you do care for me ? My own love ! 
 Always. O, Stephen, I cared froif, the first
with all my heart; it seemed broken when I
thought 
 When you thought wrong, he answered, "as I
did of you. Stephen took her slight arms and
twined them about his own neck softly. Then,
seeing that they stayed there of their own accord, he
drew her slender body into his own arms, and for the
first time in their lives the lips of husband and wife
met in a long kiss. "You will come abroad with me,
darling ; we will not be parted any more ? I am only
a poor man, and we may be but strangers and
sojourners in many lands, perhaps find our lives cast
in rough places ; but remember my mother's last
words : ' Money is not worth love.' 
 What life you lead is good enough and more for
me; where you go I will go, please God, if you will
take me. Mysie's face as she answered was
irradiated with a great joy, on which Stephen gazed
with ecstatic bliss and humble wonder that this
supreme blessing should be granted to his world-
weary, unworthy self.  But listen, Stephen ; perhaps
you will not want to go abroad after all. I have a
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
247
secret, a great secret to tell you, went on Mysie,
with shining eyes and panting breath in her excite-
ment.  What should you say if you became rich
again—if I had refused this Lodge because the moors
are a mine of wealth—-an iron mine ?
"An iron mine ! Are you dreaming, dear child?
"It is no dream; it is hard, solid fact — down
there under the heather, and stretching in rich, red
veins across the moors. See here! and Mysie,
between laughing and crying, escaped to the mantel-
shelf, where she seized some shapeless reddish lumps
and proudly thrust them into his hands, patting them
the while.  Pure hematite ; the most valuable iron
ore ! I first found it myself on the moor, and I knew
it the moment my eyes fell on it. Grandfather once
worked a mine of it. But, to be quite sure, I wrote
to Jer— to Mr. Dodsworth, and he came and said I
was right. Then, as he could not stay long enough
the first time, he came again, and we prospected to-
gether over the moors ; and it is a grand mine, he
believes. O, Stephen, I was so excited and so happy.
Whereupon Mysie, being fairly overcome, was
more than grateful for the friendly shelter of Stephen's
shoulder in which to hide her tear-washed face.
 Can it be true ?  returned Stephen, gently drawing
a deep breath himself.  I am excited and happy too,
but your first piece of wonderful news has dwarfed
this one. Come, I did not know that my thrifty
little wife had her heart so set on being rich. Mysie,
are you covetous ? 
"It is for your sake ; yours—yours—yours !  she
248
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
whispered. "You cannot think how ashamed I was
to be penniless and feel like a burden upon you, when
poor old grandfather and I had been so pleased to
think I should be the prop to the fortunes of your
family.
 And so you are, and shall be, my chief stay and
comforter, cried Stephen from his heart, and caught
her to it.
When presently Mysie was set free, and t/eing near
the glass happened to catch sight of her own reflec-
tion, she exclaimed with real horror:
 What a guy ! 
For, though her face was brimming over with
smiles, her eyes were red, and her hair, where
Stephen's unskilful hands had freed it from the
screws and projections of the sewing-machine, was
straying in sweet neglect, or uprising in rank
rebellion. They were both laughing hysterically when
there came a tap at the door, and the rosy face of a
maid appeared.
 If you please, ma'am, tea is ready.
Then, in sheer astonishment at the unaccustomed
sight of her master's hand resting affectionately on
her mistress's shoulder,1 she hastily and discreetly with-
drew, tongued-tied.
The afternoon post was an occasional luxury at
Moor Lodge, indulged^in whenever Tommy could be
spared to exercise Dunce or Pippin to the village
two miles away, whence he also returned laden with
household necessaries.
This evening one letter lay upon the tea-table
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
249
addressed to Mrs. Herries. With an eager cry of
recognition Mysie tore it open, devoured the first page
with eager gaze, then cried out:
 Good luck! good luck ! Read it with me, please.
She held it before Stephen's eyes.
The letter was from Jere Dodsworth and dated
from London. It began by wishing herself and her
husband £>1 good luck with the Moorlands iron ore
mine, and'begging to enclose a formal offer from a
syndicate which employed him as engineer, and which
was established for the working of iron ore mines.
The enclosure formally stated that having heard from
 their Mr. Dodsworth  that a discovery of valuable
iron ore had been made on Mr. Herries' lands, they
begged to lay before him the following proposal:
namely, that he should allow them to issue pros-
pectuses to the public, reserving his rights of owner to
£20,000, while they were prepared to offer him a hand-
some royalty of so much per ton.
When Stephen had recovered from this almost
overwhelming surprise, he stood up straight on the
hearthrug and solemnly announced :
 Mysie, your friend is one in a thousand ! I give
you full permission henceforth and for always to call
him Jeremiah or Gerald, or whatever else his name
may be.
 But it is Jere. Look at his signature, she merrily
retorted.  Jeremiah, indeed !
 What! is he the son of Sir Jer£ Dodsworth, the
great civil engineer ? Bless my heart, I never thought
of it. I took him to be plain J;erry, laughed Stephen
s
250
MR. AND MRS. HERRIES.
in which mirth his wife joined him, for now she felt
that they two were one, and she might show that she
shared his feelings in small things as in great, in
joy as in sorrow.
"Well, dear, ended Stephen, taking both Mysie's
small hands in his own,  the bees brought you good
luck after all, you see, and I look upon my wife as the
chief good luck of my life. .
 And you can buy Wykhurst back agjain ? en-
treated Mysie, with hope shining in her eyes, yet as
if fearing that his man's experience might say nay.
 Please God, we will, said Stephen, in solemn
rejoicing.
******
And so, in a year from that time, it, indeed, came
to pass.
THE END.
Works Published by HUTCHINSON & CO.
LIBRARY EDITION of POPULAR NOVELS—continued.
BY J. SHERIDAN LEFANU.
Checkmate.
All in the Dark.
Guy Deverell.
The Rose and the Key.
Tenants of Mallory.
Willing to Die.
Wylder's Hand.
BY F. W. ROBINSON.
Christie's Faith.
Carry's Confession.
Under the Spell.
The House of Elmore.
Milly's Hero.
Mr. Stewart's Intentions.
No Man's Friend.
Wild Flowers.
Poor Humanity.
Owen, a Waif.
Woodleigh.
A Woman's Ransom.
Mattie, a Stray.
Slaves of the Ring.
One and Twenty.
BY G. A. SAL A.
Quite Alone.
BY HELEN MA THEES.
Sam's Sweetheart.
BY
7ROMMELIN.
Mr. and Mrs. Herries.
BY SIDNEY S. HARRIS.
The Sutherlands.
Rutledge.
Christine.
BY MRS. J. K. SLENDER.
A Waking.
BY ANNIE THOMAS.
On Guard.
Walter Goring.
BY M. BETH AM EDWARDS.
Love and Mirage.
BY 1ZA DUFF US HARDY.
The Girl he did not
Marry,
BY JOHN COLEMAN.
The
White Ladye
Rosemount.
of
BY COLONEL WALMSLEY.
Branksome Dene.
BY SIR JULIUS VOGEL,
K.C.M.G.
A.D. 2000; or, Woman's
Destiny.
BY JEANNIE LOCKETT.
Judith Grant.
London: 34> PATERNOSTER ROW.
Messrs. HUTCHINSON & Co.'s
LIBRARY EDITION OP POPULAR NOVELS
BY ix_l±iORS OF THE DAY.
The
ing an
of its
printe(
sum oi
Aug
Too
The
Ma:
Far
A L
The!
i
Hon
Phe
The!
The
Mor
Frai
The1
My i
Manuscript, Archives,
and Rare dooIc Library
EMORY UNIVERSITY
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Above Suspicion.
Joy after Sorrow.
BY FLORENCE MARRYAT.
Miss Harrington's Hus-
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Mount Eden.
:t promis-
el docked
nd, nicely
he modest
YAT—
>man
ter.
)ds.
•ham.
w.
off.
ar,
The Tallants of Barton.
In the Lap of Fortune.
The Valley of Poppie?.
Not in Society.
Christopher Kenrick.
Cruel London.
The Queen of Bohemia.
Bitter Sweets.
Monkey Brand.
(Wont Wash Cu
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