IE THOMAS
LONDON: FREDERICK-WARNE, CO,
Gall & Inglis, Publishers.
THE COMPANION LIBRARY.
TWO SHILLINGS PER VOLUME.
Large foolscap 8vo, Picture Boards.
1. Austin Friars.
23.
Woman Against Woman.
■Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Florence Marryat.
2. Too Mr 2 <*
24.
For Ever and Ever.
^ Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
3. The Rich Husband.
25.
Nelly Brooke.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
4. Maxwell Drewitt.
26.
Veronique.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
5. Far Above Rubies.
27.
Her Lord and Master.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
6. A Life's Assize.
28.
The Prey of the Gods.
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Florei' ie Marryat.
7. The World in the Church.
29.
The Girls of FevershaK.'
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
8. Home, Sweet Home.
30.
Mad Dumaresq.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
9. Phemie Keller.
31.
No Intentions.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
10. Race for Wealth.
32.
Petronel.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Florence Marryat.
11. The Earl's Promise.
33.
Sylvester Sound.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Henry Cockton.
12. Mortomley's Estate.
34.
The Love Match.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Henry Cockton.
13. Frank Sinclair's Wife.
35.
Clytie.
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Joseph Hatton.
14. The Ruling Passion.
36.
The Tallants of Barton.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Joseph Hatton.
15. My First and Last Love.
37.
In the Lap of Fortune.
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Joseph Hatton.
16. City and Suburb.
38.
The Valley of Poppies.
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Joseph Hatton.
17. Above Suspicion.
39.
Christopher Kenrick.
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
Joseph Hatton.
19. George Geith.
40.
Cruel London.
Mrs. J. H. Kiddell.
Joseph Hatton.
20. Gerald Estcourt.
41.
The Queen of Bohemia.
Florence Marryat.
Joseph Hatton.
21. Love's Conflict.
42.
Bitter Sweets.
Florence Marryat.
Joseph Hatton.
22. Too Good for Him.
43.
Not in Society.
Florence Marryat.
Joseph Hatton.
Gall & Inglis; London, 25 Paternoster Sq., & Edinburgh.
Gall & Inglis, Publishers.
THE COMPANION LIBRARY —continued.
TWO SHILLINGS PER VOLUME.
Large foolscap 8vo, Picture Boards.
44. Quite Alone-
67. Mattie, a Stray.
George Augustus Sala.
F. W. Robinson.
45. Checkmate.
70. Walter Goring.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
Annie Thomas.
46. All in the Dark.
71. On Guard.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
annie Thomas.
47. Guy Deverell.
72. Now or Never.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
M. Betham Edwards.
48. Tenants of Malory.
73. The Sylvestres.
J. Sheridan Lefanu.
M. Betham Edwards.
49. Willing to Die.
74. Paul Benedict.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
Dr. Holland.
50. Wylder's Hand.
75. One Year, a Story of Three Homes.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
F. w. P.
51. The Rose and the Key.
76. On the Edge of the Storm.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
By the Author of "Mddle. Mori.
53. Uncle Silas.
77. Denise.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
By the Author of "Mddle. Mori.
54. House by the Churchyard.
78. Lady Betty.
J. Sheridan Leeanu.
C. L. Coleridge.
55. Christie's Faith.
79. Hanbury Mills.
F. "W. Robinson.
C. L. Coleridge.
56. Carry's Confession.
80. Clare Savile.
F. W. Robinson.
Julia Luard.
57. Under the Spell.
81. Nigel Baxtram's Ideal.
F. W. Robinson.
Florence Wileord.
58. House of Elmore.
82. Vivia.
F. W. Robinson.
Florence "Wileord.
59. Milly's Hero.
83. Arum Field, or Life's Reality.
F. W. Robinson.
Mrs. Jerome Mercier.
60. Mr. Stewart's Intentions.
84. The Sutherlands.
F. "W. Robinson.
S. S. Harris.
61. No Man's Friend.
85. Rutledge.
F. "W. Robinson.
S. S. Harris.
62. Wild Flower, or Rights & Wrongs.
86. Christine.
F. W. Robinson.
S. S. Harris.
63. Poor Humanity.
88. The Sun Maid.
F. W. Robinson.
Miss Grant.
64. Owen, a Waif.
89. A Horrid Girl.
F. W. Robinson.
Miss Grant.
65. Woodleigh.
93. The Led-Horse Claim.
F. W. Robinson.
Mart H. Foote.
66. Woman's Ransom.
94. Captain Jack.
F. W. Robinson.
J. A. Maitland.
Gall & Inglis; London, 25 Paternoster Sq., & Edinburgh.
WALTER GORING.
EDINBURGH I
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO,
AND CHANDOS STREET, LONDON
WALTER GORING.
% Storg.
BY
ANNIE THOMAS,
AUTHOR OF "DENIS DONNE,  ON GUARD, "THEO LEIGH, ETC--
 And yet, believe me, good as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still.
LONDON:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO,
BEDFORD STREET, STRAND.
to
SHIRLEY BROOKS, Esq.,
with every sentiment op esteem for him as a friend,
and admiration for his briltjant achievements
as a writer,
f |jis Sfoxu
is
(BY permission) dedicated by
THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE COUSINS, ...... 1
II. MRS WALSH, . 7
III. A PAIR OF ADVISERS, . . . . .13
IV- CHARLIE THINKS THINGS OVER, . . ..19
V. WAS SHE HIS FRIEND ? . . . . .25
VI. FEVERISH ! . . . . . . .37
VII. TEMPORARY OBLIVION, . . . . .43
VIII. DAISY !....... 50
IX. A WAYWARD WARD, . . . . . .63
X. A GOOD INFLUENCE, . . . . . .70
XL GLOVES 1 ....... 76
XII. GETTING IN ORDER AT GORING PLACE, . . .89
XIII. A BEAUTY MAN, . . . . . .96
XIV. A STORM AT GORING PLACE, . . .102
XV. A TURNING POINT IN THE ROAD ! . . . .110
XVI. A PROUD CAPTIVE, . . . . . .117
XVII. SIX O'CLOCK, . . . . . .123
XVIII. THE WEDDING TOUR, . . . . .136
XIX. A CHILLING RECEPTION, . . . . * 142
XX. VERY STRANGE ! . . . . . .149
XXI. THE BRIDE AT HOME, . . . . .160
XXII. MRS FELLOWES, SENIOR, ON PROPRIETY, . . .166
XXIII. MASTER AND PUPIL, . . . . 171
vhi Contents.
t\l}£
CHAP. *'
183
xxiv. a little cloud, . . . . • *
195
xxv. frank ! . . . . • • •
. 201
xxvi. against the grain,
xxvii. a painful meeting, ... * *
. 217
xxviii. hostess and guest, . . • • *
ook
xxix, a walk to the cottage, .
xxx. fresh resolutions, . . • • • ^34
xxxi. the prescotts as guests at the hurst, . • 242
xxxii. two offers, 250
xxxiii. a stren smile, . . . . . .258
xxxiv. daisy wins, ...... 265
xxxv. the last day in the old home, . . . 272
xxxvi. the auction, ...... 279
xxxvh.  she shines me down, . . ' . . 287
xxxviii. love's young dream, ..... 295
xxxix. "woman's at best a contradiction still, . . 303
xl. in doubt, . . . . . .309
xli. by the little brook, . . . . .321
xlii. under green trees, ..... 328
xliii. a moonlight walk, ..... 334
xliv. an empty saddle, ..... 341
xlv. only a woman, ...... 348
xlvi. daisy's appeal, ...... 355
xlvii.  my elaine, ...... 362
xlviii. at bay, . . ... . . 367
xlix. wearing away, . 374
l. very undecided, ... . 379
li. released, ••.... 385
lh. the dead to the living, . . . .391
all?. morning and evening, . ^gg
liv.  noxious vapours, . ±14
WALTER GORING.
CHAPTER I.
the cousins.
They were the children of twin sisters—the lovely hostess
and her handsome guest—and they had been brought up to-
gether as brother and sister, which fact must be accepted in
extenuation of any peculiar interest either may display for
the other in the course of this story.
Moreover, in addition to having been brought up together
on terms of fraternal intimacy, they had, when arrived at
years of discretion, sunk the fraternity for a time, and fallen
in love with one another. Their passion had not prospered;
that is to say, the lady had taken fright at matrimony on no-
thing a year, and had released her cousin-lover with a great
deal of affected magnanimity and real affection.
She had been Horatia Leslie in the days of this exhibition
of feminine devotion, and shortly after it she had married a
Mr Walsh, an elderly gentleman, who was a merchant by
profession and an artist by taste. His perfect cultivation of
the latter quality had induced him to select Horatia Leslie
for his wife, and the selection did him credit.
She was a grand-looking woman—fair and large, but not
tall. A woman with a wealth of golden hair and a pair of
naughty blue eyes, and a manner that absorbed a great deal
of attention, and seemed to expect it. Withal, a woman
with a good head and a sound heart, and a never-flagging
A
2 Walter Goring.
interest in my hero, the boy who had been brought up with
her—the lover whom she had rejected—the man whose good
she most ardently desired—Walter Goring, my hero.
He, Walter Goring, had never reviled her, or bewailed him-
self, in consequence of that rejection. He had seen that she
had done wisely in pausing on the brink, and availing herself
of the best match that offered. Laughingly in his sentimental
boyhood he had been wont to call her  his goddess ; ear-
nestly in manhood he continued to apply the title to her, to
confide in her as his sister, and to make her house his home
as often as it seemed convenient to him.
He had commenced life with being disappointed about
going into the army. Then he had gone into a militia regi-
ment. Then he had gone into debt and difficulties, and, to
pay the former, had taken to writing novels that overflowed
with vitality—well-bred horses, well-bred women, and well-
stored wine—and that were very successful from the com-
mercial point of view. He had varied the amusements by
fighting for Italian liberty, and getting ever so slightly
wounded, and by publishing prettty little square volumes
of poems, plagiarised from the German of Heine and
others.
Though his cousin, Mrs Walsh, had not chosen to marry
him herself, she was far from being indifferent as to his fu-
ture. She knew his best and his worst,—his recklessness
and remorsefulness—and, above all things, she did ardently
desire that he should marry money, not having any of his
own. As a captain in a militia regiment, his expenses far
exceeded his receipts; consequently he was compelled to
write as a task occasionally, and so do himself sparse jus-
tice as a literary man.
And it was as this latter that the grand blonde valued him.
She wanted him to cut that spurious soldiering, and get into
regular harness in the army of literature; and to enable him
to do this, she knew that he must marry a wife with some for-
tune besides her face.
This night of her introduction to the reader she had as-
sembled a goodly number of well-dowered ones for Walter's
sake, down in her well-proportioned rooms in her house at
Roehampton. She gave a ball to celebrate something in con-
nexion with her cousin—either his birthday or his  return 
The Cousins.
3
lTom some place or other, and she had secured an heiress
from Bengal for him for the first waltz.
But after that first waltz Mr Goring—or Captain Goring,
as people who imagined him proud of being a militiaman
called him—had behaved very badly in the eyes of all pru-
dent people. He had danced all the round dances, and re-
tired to sequestered nooks in the big conservatory, between
the same, with a Miss St John, who was notoriously penni-
less, and who seemed to incline very favourably towards
the young man who wrote and danced with equal vigour and
ease.
Twice the pair under consideration—Charlie St John and
her partner—had done the "back steps down between the
flowers to a shady spot at the end where no chaperones did
dwell, and twice Mr Walsh had come upon them, offering to
find them fresh partners and strawberry ices, and twice they
had thanked him with suavity, and then revolved away from
his immediate notice to the strains of an inspiring waltz,
played by a military band. They stepped together well, in
fact, and so defied censure, after the manner of pig-headed
people.
At last Mrs Walsh got very angry with her cousin Walter.
Wallflowers, with the perspicuity of their order, thought that
the extra compression of the hostess's lips, as she at last sent
a peremptory summons to  Mr Goring  (she abominated the
militia, and never called him  Captain ") was due to her an-
noyance at his defalcation from her side; but they were
wrong, after the manner of their kind. She saw that the
heiress from Bengal was huffed with humanity because
Walter Goring preferred Miss St John's style of dancing
and Miss St John's style of talking to her own. And Mrs
Walsh knew that poor Walter could no more afford to offend
heiresses than he could to marry Charlie St John; so at last
Mrs Walsh made a clever move, and sent Mr Prescott—
Charlie St John's brother-in-law—to stop the gyrations of
the pair, and then divide them.
There were always a lot of military men at Mrs Walsh's
parties. Though her husband was an artist, and a clever
one too, she never sought to draw recruits from the ranks of
the army of literature and art; but nearly the whole of the
British army had at various times circulated through her
4
Walter Goring.
saloons. The home of the merchant prince at Roehampton
ranked with the girls they left behind them in the regretful
memories of many scores of men when ordered on foreign
service.
The supper was splendidly done on this special occasion.
Lovely, fair, foolish Mrs Prescott—Charlie's sister—looked
about eagerly for Miss St John, in order to express her admi-
ration of it when it was served; but Charlie had vanished,
therefore Ellen Prescott fell upon her hostess instead.
"Mr Prescott is telegraphing for me to go, and I can't
find my sister, she said, smilingly.
 I saw her waltzing down a lot of plants just now with
Mr Goring, Mrs Walsh replied, coolly; she rarely, if ever,
called him "my cousin or "Walter to a third person;
consequently an amiable majority ignored the relationship,
and affected to be scandalised at Mrs Walsh's great intimacy
with that young man.
"I hardly like' to take her away; but Mr Prescott says
the distance is great, and so it is, you see, Mrs Prescott re-
plied dubiously ; and then being silly, Mrs Prescott hazarded
a feeble smile of partial intelligence at Mrs Walsh, who de-
tested her, and so immediately resented it.
 Mr Goring is a flirt, and won't scruple to retain your
sister as long as she suffers herself to be retained by him,
Mrs Walsh said coldly, and her words were iced by the sight
of the Bengal heiress bowing her gracious adieus. She felt
very angry with her cousin, and very angry with the girl
whose twinkling feet had been going in unison with his all
the night. It was not for this end that she had given this
ball. Ralph and herself had rather sought the heiress, who
was blessed with an ungainly form, an awkward temper, and
Rfty thousand pounds. And when Mrs Walsh went out of
her way to make plans, she did not like to see them fail.
Moreover she knew that her husband would be very much
annoyed. Ralph Walsh was good-nature and brotherly-
kindness itself to Walter Goring; but Ralph Walsh had
no strong sympathy with Walter's semi-military philander-
ing propensities, and none whatsoever with Walter's habit of
asking him to back bills.  If he only worked steadily, he
might make a glorious income and marry whom he pleased,
he would say to his wife. But then, unfortunately, Walter
The Cousins.
5
would not work steadily; lie would only work by fits and
starts; in fact, despite those squarely bound poems of  Love
and Life, be bad been more oppressed with the duns than
the bays heretofore; and the Walshes knew that it was so,
and desired to see him free and unfettered as money alone
enables a man to be.
They rather over-rated the danger he was in on this
occasion. Miss St John was not a beauty; she was only
good-looking and rather clever; neither of which facts were
very patent to a man bent on whirling round double time to
a brilliantly-played waltz tune. Even when they had taken
a turn round the conservatory, to the detriment of the plants
and gold fishes and plaster casts, and had finally rested on a
couch at the end; the conversation had scarcely been of a
sentimental order.
 Mrs Walsh's parties are the best I know, Miss St John
had said.
 Rather too many artillery fellows, I think, he replied.
 I don't think there can be too many, the girl rejoined ;
 civilians do very well for every-day life; but a ball is fairy
land, and they 're out of place in it.
 That's pleasant for me to hear.
 But you are not a civilian, are you ? Mrs "Walsh called
you Captain Goring.
 I hardly like to tell you what I am after your former
speech.
"Well, I fancied that you were two of the things that I'd
most desire to be were I a man.
 And they are ? 
 Soldier and writer.
 You can be the latter as a woman, surely. I'm only in
the militia, and that I mean to cut.
 I should think so, she said, contemptuously ; and then
they got up and took another turn round the room. As they
were pausing to breathe, Mr Prescott came up to them, and
said somewhat abruptly,—
 Your sister wants you, Charlotte, are you ready to go?'
 Of course I am, Robert, she replied, promptly.
"Just one turn more, Walter Goring whispered, putting
his arm round her as he spoke, and the clanging band
brought out the stirring Sturm March Galop in a way that
6
Walter Goring.
utterly disabled her resolution to attend to her brother-
in-law's request.  I wonder if they've any dancing in
heaven ? he said, as they came to a forced conclusion in
consequence of the band stopping.
 Don't be airing your unorthodox sentiments here, please,
Walter, Mrs Walsh exclaimed, coming up to them at the
moment.  I wanted you just now; why didn't you come
to me when I sent for you ? 
 I did go to your high place among the grandees up at
the other end. I went three times running; not so much
running as in rapid succession; but you didn't seem to want
me; you were not looking out for me.
 Conceited boy, she whispered, as she passed along.
"Now I must find my sister, Charlie St John said,
rather dejectedly.
 At any rate sit down and rest yourself a little first, Miss
St John, he said, steering her as he spoke away once more
across the tesselated pavement, and amongst the flowers to
a sort of divan at the end of the conservatory. When they
were seated, she began speaking of the dreariness that in-
variably set in after any pleasure, more especially for women
who had nothing important to distract their attention.
 But it's as easy for women to have their own stand-
point, as it is for men, isn't it ?  he replied.
 For some women, I suppose; for women who can write
or paint, or do anything that has a life in itself.
 I shall see you coming out with a three-volume novel be-
fore long, I'm convinced, he said, laughing.
 As if I could.
 As' if you couldn't.
 I should be so bitterly ashamed of myself if it were said
to be bad.
 Oh, I see, you're ambitious; you want to mark an epoch
in literature with your first work.
"No, I don't; but I feel disgusted that I can't do anything,
save bore myself and others.
 The fact is, you're discontented at not having made
a success before you have tried for it, he replied. And then
they had a long talk on the subject, and forgot that Mrs
Prescott was waiting for her sister.
When at last they remembered this fact, they came out
Mrs Walsh.
7
from amidst the flowers into the full blaze of the hall-room
unconcernedly enough. A heavy cannonade from a full
battery of eyes was brought to hear on them at once, on the
girl indeed a trifle more severely than on the man. But
Charlie St John was fully equal to the position. She did
not attempt to give back shot for shot, glance for glance, as
she slowly threaded her way through the throng to her
sister's side, hut she showed herself to he utterly unmoved
by them. Mrs Prescott greeted her with a reproachful face,
and the querulous question,—
 Oh, Charlie, why did you dance so much with that Cap-
tain Goring?—and why did you go into"that conservatory
when Mr Prescott wanted you?
 I went there to please myself, Ellen; I stayed to talk to
Captain Goring.
As she answered this, her broth er-in-law came up to them
to say their carriage was just called, with an expression on
his face that made Charlie feel that she had offended him
bitterly in something, which she might expect to hear of
later.
CHAPTER II.
MRS WALSH.
As soon as the last carriageful of guests had rolled away
from the door, and before Walter Goring could come back to
the ball-room, after speeding his cousin's latest guests, Mr
Walsh said to his wife,—
"Miss Haflen (Miss Haflen was the appendage to the
fifty thousand pounds)  didn't make the impression desired,
it appeared to me.
 Walter's foolish to the last degree, Mrs Walsh replied
crossly ; then she added laughingly,  I might just as well
have married him myself, mightn't I, Ralph, as far as he's
concerned ? 
 As far as I'm concerned, I prefer things as they are, he
replied.
8
Walter Goring.
 "Well, but be does go on in such a foolish way ; he's a
dear fellow, of course, but I am getting out of patience with
him; he told me this morning that he couldn't work here,
and that he must have chambers in town. If he goes to
town he '11 do nothing, you know.
As she spoke, Walter Goring came back into the room.
 Whom are you backbiting now, my goddess ?  he asked,
carelessly.
"You, naturally; and be careful how you call me that
before people.
 Too late, too late ; you should have broken me into dis-
cretion before, shouldn't she, Ralph ? 
 I wish she'd go to bed now, and let us have a cigar, Mr
Walsh replied.
But Mrs Walsh did not feel at all inclined to go to bed.
 You'll stay up all night if I leave you, Ralph, and then
to-morrow I shall suffer for it, for you will both be too lazy
and tired to go out with me, and I must go to town.
 I must stay at home and work to-morrow, Walter said,
commencing a march up and down the room.
 The desire for ' work,' curiously enough, always seizes
you when I want you, Mrs Walsh said, coldly. Then she
rose, saying,  Good-night, and was about to pass out of the
room, when Walter stopped her.
"You're not annoyed with me in reality? You don't
mean it seriously ?  he asked affectionately.
She had been so much to him all her life that he could not
bear the slightest cloud between them.  Come, he added,
raising her hand to his lips,  I '11 do anything you like, save
make up to Miss Haflen ; she looks to me like a nigger with
a rush of blood to the head. You having been my boyhood's
dream, can't expect me to come down to the Haflen in my
maturity.
 Yery well, she said laughingly. "I'll forgive you for
having slighted my friend, if you, on your part, will promise
not to flirt with Miss St John. You know you neither of you
have a penny, and you couldn't marry her until you are both
well-stricken, which isn't a desirable prospect to start with.
"Let Miss St John alone, if you please, and I'll promise
anything.
 That's right. Good-night.
Mrs Walsh.
9
 Good-night. Pass on my queen —— forgiven, he said,
bowing down almost to the ground before her; while Mr
Walsh made a mental sketch of the scene, and resolved to
paint it in a series he contemplated from  Idylls of the King.
 It would be a shame to wish him to sacrifice himself to
that odious Miss Haflen, Mrs Walsh thought as she wended
her way up-stairs ;  yet what is to become of him if he won't
work more than he has hitherto. That old Mr Goring will
never die ; and even when he does, it may happen that poor
Walter has built his hopes on sand. At any rate, whether
or not, he shall not get entangled with Miss St John. I
can't hear her.
The two men did not stay smoking very long after Horatia
left them; but when Ralph went to bed Walter Goring
sauntered away to the study, and sat down to read. Yery
soon the hook dropped from his hand, and he began to think
instead.
Then passed before his mind visions of the old days, when
he was quite a hoy, before he had even began to think
about a career, when his widowed aunt and his little cousin
Horatia first came to live in his father's house. He remem-
bered how he had immediately put his neck under the yoke of
the imperial little beauty ; how he had worn her chains for
years, always rattling them in a way that redounded to her
honour and glory, when others were by to hear them clink.
He recalled his first hurst of genuine jealousy, which had
arisen from such slight cause as a curate who insisted on
many interviews previous to Miss Leslie's confirmation, and
which had resulted in Walter making an offer which was
accepted by his gracious goddess. His love's young dream
had been very golden while it lasted. No brighter beauty
than his betrothed bride had ever woven a chain for any
man's heart. But it broke at last, this chain, or rather it
melted away. His father, loving the girl as his own daugh-
ter, still could not wish to see her his son's wife. As for the
twin sisters, they wept in each other's arms, till Horatia took
them to task somewhat sharply about it.
"You don't think either Walter or I are going to he
idiotic enough to die over it, do you ? And as for you,
mamma, you needn't he afraid that I shall be an old maid
on your hands.
io
Walter Goring.
She kept her promise, and married Ralph Walsh, as has
been seen ; and Walter buried his dead, and resumed his old
adoring manner to her, with her husband's cordial permis-
sion, and flirted freely with other women. But for all that,
he had not met the woman yet who had the power to banish
the image of his dearest friend—his beautiful  goddess "—
from his heart.
To-night, though he had been seeming to improve the
shining hours very much to his own satisfaction, Walter
Goring was feeling something very near akin to jealousy, yet
it was not that either. Mrs Walsh was far too pure a woman,
far too proud a matron, far too dear and precious a thing
in his eyes for him even to own to himself that another man
than her husband might perchance experience a pang about
her. But sometimes it seemed to him that she was a little
too gracious to other people,  and these cads don't know
where to draw the line, he thought. She gave her smiles
and a good deal of her best manner to a good many men,
 even to beasts in the line, he told himself. Not that she
came off her pedestal, but she suffered adoring legions to
come up to the foot of it, and worship in the light of day.
The moon is unassailable in her beauty, purity, and dazzling
tenderness ; still misguided brooks make mistakes, and think
the shining is done expressly for them, individually. Mrs
Walsh was as the moon, and . Well, there are some
things hard to understand; and Walter Goring lived in
dread of the majority of her acquaintances misunderstanding
them.
Mrs Walsh was as the moon, and  By Jove!  he said,
springing to his feet,  the moonlight is dying in the gray
dawn. What a row the goddess will make to-morrow if she
finds I have been up all the time soliloquising, or, as she will
have it, smoking. She's right about me never working, or
doing any other good in life. Well, perhaps if she had
stuck by me I should have done something better than write
rattling novels. Then he went off to bed at last, with a
growl on his hps at her defalcation, the first he had ever
uttered.
She meanwhile was thinking more sadly than she had ever
thought before of Walter Goring. It is always agreeable to
a woman to imagine that a man has not entirely got over
Mrs Walsh.
it
any tender feeling lie may at one time have had for her.
She may not wish him to be actually regretful about her, but
assuredly if he ever lets her know of the liking, she will take
pleasure in the thought that a little of it lives still.
Now Horatia had been entirely conversant with every
phase of feeling through which Walter Goring had passed
on her account. He had been as boisterous a young bear as
most boys are when that before-mentioned confirmation to-
gether with the curate brought his passion to a crisis. She
had seen him in the smilingly semi-idiotic state of serene
satisfaction in his wooing and probable chances of winning.
She had seen him hopelessly despondent when his papa
began to scowl and say prudent but unreasonably unpleasant
things. Above all, she had seen him sob like a child, or ra-
ther like the loving man he had become suddenly, when she
told him that she herself had put an end to the struggle for
supremacy between love and duty, by accepting Ealph
Walsh. Walter had never reviled her; nevertheless her
marriage with the amiable elderly merchant had been a
bitter draught to swallow. At first Ealph Walsh treated
his wife's cousin and former lover with a good-natured show
of tolerance that was aggravating to the object of it to the
last degree. But after a time, as Walter merged into more
complete manhood, and satisfaction with things as they were,
Mr Walsh began to take a different and more exalted view of
him. It was never actually said between the husband and
wife that they felt themselves to have been instrumental in
unsettling Walter, and making him a trifle more careless as
to his lot in life than it is well for a man to be. But when-
ever Walter was unsettled and careless, each knew what the
other's sentiments were on the subject. Mr Walsh did not
carry his love and regard for the generally bright clever
young fellow to the point of wishing himself dead, in order
that the bright clever young fellow might marry his widow;
but he sincerely wished to see Walter happy with some one
else.  It's a great pity that he thinks Miss Haflen like a
nigger with a rush of blood to the head, Ealph said
dreamily to his wife that night, before he fell asleep.
 £50,000 is no joke. He '11 never get much from his uncle,
I'm afraid.
 Then he '11 be driven to work, the lady replied;  and
12
Walter Goring,
I'd rather see him work well than married to an heiress
when it comes to the point.
 I suppose you '11 take care to keep Miss St John away
from your next ball, my dear ? 
 Of course I shall, Mrs Walsh replied promptly.  Dane-
ing the whole night with one man is bad taste, and I won't
have that displayed in my room; besides, if she flatters
Walter about his books, as she does you about your pic-
tures, he will make the mistake of thinking her peculiarly in-
terested in him. Men are such conceited boobies.
 I don't fancy she flatters me about my painting.
 Oh, you take all that glib nonsense for gospel truth al-
ways. She is a humbug, I tell you, Ralph; and I'm not
prejudiced. I don't dislike her; in fact, she doesn't exist
for me. It's impossible to dislike any one of whom one
never thinks.
After uttering this, Mrs Walsh refused to say any more.
She was an essentially moderate woman usually in the matter
of expressing her opinion; but to-night, for some cause or
other, she felt incapable of expressing herself moderately
about Walter.
In truth, she was rather agitated by a thought that had
occurred to her—a thought which she could neither crush
nor check, do what she would.
According to her wont, she had circulated very freely and
very fast with many of her military guests to waltz and galop
strains, and she feared that Walter, whose hatred of these
men was patent to her, was about to develop jealousy on the
subject. Her cheeks flushed as she thought it.
 He surely can't nurse such a feeling in relation to me,
after all the frank love I've shown him, she said to herself;
and yet would it have been so very unnatural that he should
have done so, after all that had gone before? "If he is
going to make a fool of himself, he must be taught to re-
member that I am a married • woman, she went on. But
how to teach him ? That was the thing 1
A Pair of Advisers.
13
CHAPTER III.
A pair of advisers.
The Walshes' house was down at Roehampton: the Prescotts
lived in one of the dark, solemn Bayswater squares. Charlie,
therefore, had good and reasonable grounds for hoping that
any annoyance her hrother-in-law and sole guardian might
be feeling with her would die out during the drive home.
That something in her manner had annoyed him she felt
very sure, from the sharp, quick step with which he had
come upon her in the Walshes' conservatory, and the cold
tone in which he had cut into her conversation with Walter
Goring with the words—"Your sister wants you directly,
Charlie. She was sure from this that he was displeased
with her; but she was in utter darkness as to the cause. •
Mr Prescott's wrath was perhaps the hardest cross Charlie
St John had to bear, and this not because she feared, but be-
cause she despised it. Eight years before the opening of my
story, her father, a naval officer, after having lived like a
grand seigneur all his life, died insolvent, leaving one son
and two daughters to the guardianship of Mr Prescott the
lawyer, who had been trying to introduce something like
order into Captain St John's affairs for the last few years.
A bachelor of forty, without a female relative whom he could
place at the head of his establishment, Mr Prescott found
himself in a position of extreme delicacy through the unde-
sirable confidence displayed in him by his old friend and
client. Frank, the son, was the lesser evil of the three, for
he was a lieutenant in the navy, away on the West Coast of
Africa, an atom in the cause of the suppression of the slave-
trade; but the girls were oppressive to the last degree.
At last, about six months after Captain St John's death,
Mr Prescott put the case plainly and honestly before the
elder girl, who was then about twenty. He told Ellen St
John that she and her sister were alone in the world, and
penniless—that he was to all appearance .their only friend—
that she especially was ill-fitted to battle with the world, and
therefore that she had better enable him to befriend and pro-
tect little Charlie and herself by marrying him. It was
14
Walter Goring.
a hard, prosaic, galling courtship ; at least it would have ap-
peared so to many women, but Ellen St John was satisfied
with it. He had been very kind to her at a time when other
friends had stood aloof. He offered her peace and plenty,
and both were essential to her well-being. He was "very
old, she told herself, and rather round-hacked, and his
clothes did not sit upon him as did the clothes of the men
who had been about her in the bright old days in her father's
house. However, they had forgotten her, it seemed, since
her father's death, and he, the man with the round back and
the ill-fitting clothes, had remembered her. So she accepted
the fate he offered smilingly and gratefully; and he took her
home to his dull house in the Bayswater square, and sent
Charlie, who was just fourteen, to school for four years.
At the expiration of those four years, Charlie was added
to the establishment as a permanent member. She found
Ellen as fresh, as fair and lovely, as utterly and entirely
unruffled as of old, when all things had been different with
them; and remembering some of the old scenes and one of
the actors in them vividly, she did marvel greatly at Ellen's
blessed calm. She marvelled even more when she discovered
that this calm happiness was no mere cloak, but that Ellen
was in reality as satisfied as she seemed. Mrs Prescott had,
in truth, married her husband for the simple and excellent
reason that he had asked her to do so. But having married
him, she never gave a thought to any one else; she was, in
fact, devoted to him, to the decent ordering of his house and
to her children. He had done a good thing in obeying the
dictates of that generosity which first impelled him to offer
the fatherless, friendless girls a home on the only terms on
which they could accept it. He had done very well, very
wisely; never in his life had he been so cared for, so con-
sidered; in the satisfaction of his heart at the admirable
manner in which virtue had been rewarded in his case, he
frequently told himself that he had done wisely and well.
He spoke thus during the first four years of his married life,
while he had had to do with the elder sister alone.
Then Charlie came home, and his troubles began. She
was vivacious, high-spirited, and not at all disposed to accept
his dicta on all subjects under heaven and on earth unques-
tioningly. She had seen little or nothing of the Prescotts
A Pair of Advisers.
15
during the four years that had elapsed since her father's
death. Her holidays had been spent with some old friends
of her father's who remembered her when they found that
nothing was expected of them. She had seen little or
nothing of them, and Ellen's letters had told her little or
nothing. Mrs Prescott's letters for the first year of her
married life had been mere catalogues of dresses and bonnets.
After that they became mere bulletins of baby's health and
progress. Occasionally the young aunt felt her sister's babies
to be little bores, and wished that Ellen would find some-
thing else to write about. But that was only because she
had never seen them; and maternal pride insisted on detail-
ing the same thrilling experiences about number three as had
been given at great length about number one.
Being generous-natured and grateful-hearted, she went
back to the home her brother-in-law offered her, thoroughly
disposed to fulfil every claim he had upon her affection and
gratitude. He had been very good to her, she knew. What
education she had had been his gift, secured by his care,
paid for with his money. True she had not been a free
agent in the matter, it had all been arranged for her while
she was too much of a child to think about it. But now
she was no longer a child, and she did think about it, and
was very grateful and well inclined towards her guardian
brother-in-law.
Unfortunately the four years which had passed between
the day of her coming home and the date of her introduc-
tion to the reader, had seen these feelings weaken, flag,
wither, and then utterly crumble away. That there was
fault on both sides there can be no manner of doubt. He
had no forbearance, and she gave much provocation; had he
only remembered in another spirit that all the might and
power was on his side, she possibly would have bowed under
it a little more gracefully than she did.
For four years a woman had sat at his fireside without
having, to the best of his knowledge, a wish or a thought in
opposition to wish or thought of his. She had yielded him
an implicit obedience from the first moment of their union.
A soft, sweet, smiling obedience, that strengthened his faith
in his own infallibility. Clearly she never found him exact-
ing or masterful, whatever his decrees. Therefore when
16
Walter Goring.
another woman—one, too, who had no such claim on his
forbearance as his wife possessed—came, and not alone had
but expressed wishes and thoughts that were antagonistic to
his own, Mr Prescott was fairly staggered.
The history of those four years need not be written. The
weariness of them may be well imagined, but the recapitula-
tion of the incidents that deepened the weariness would not
forward the action of the story. Suffice it to say that Mr
Prescott, though not absolutely unkind to her, had so worn
out the slender original stock of patience possessed by his
ward—had so chafed her by exercising authority about
trifles, that now she not only disliked, but heartily despised
him.
When they came into the light of the hall that night, she
gave a hasty glance at Mr Prescott's face, and there was the
expression upon it which was most odious to her. Mr
Prescott's upper lip was of undue length at all times, but
whenever he felt himself called upon to cavil at Charlie, it
elongated itself portentously, it went down and folded itself
severely over the under one in a way that caused him to look
mean and unmerciful to an extraordinary degree. His back
too always looked rounder, his coat hung about him more
loosely, and indeed his whole appearance was more irritating
than imposing on such occasions. Charlie glanced at him,
and saw clearly that there was a lecture in store for her; and
he glanced at her and saw that the lecture would not be
taken well.
Hers was a face that altered with every gust of feeling
that swept over her soul. A dark, impassioned face, as has
been said; a face which could soften to a rare degree when
the chord of tenderness was touched, but that could also
flash and flame in a way that cautioned many a man not to
learn to love it and deem it necessary to the adornment of
his home. A face whose ever-varying expression told plainly
the rapid way in which the spirits of its owner travelled
from the seventh heaven to the nethermost hell. You could
read in that face that she had a marvellous capacity for feel-
ing either pleasure or pain, that she had a great love of so
much of her kind as were congenial to her, and a deep-rooted
detestation of being regulated and controlled in minor
matters. In fact, it was a face that told too much for
A Pair of Advisers.
safety. The few weak weapons with which she had to
fight the battle of life were clearly visible to all beholders.
Pretty Mrs Prescott had just the same soft pink tint on
her round cheek when she came back to her home that night,
as had been on it when she departed six hours previously.
She was one of those women who never take anything out of
themselves by getting in the least degree excited. She took
all the little pleasures that came in her way willingly and
quietly. Nothing ever carried her out of herself, as it were;
and verily she had her reward ; there was no reaction for her.
But with Charlie it was very different. Poor Charlie !
Her nerves were too close to the surface for her place in the
world. A word, a look, a something more intangible than
either, a feeling that there had been an expression or a
thought on another's face, or in another's heart, to which she
and she alone of those present had been sympathetic,—any
one of these things would steep her in a passionate pleasure
that would have been delirium, had her intellect not been
more active at such moments than at any other. But those
periods were so very brief, and the intervals between them so
very long, and she invariably found all things so darkly
dreary, and herself so thoroughly exhausted after one of them !
It was clear, or it would have been clear to any one capable
of reading her face, that she had tasted some such pleasur-
able excitement to-night, and that its influence was upon her
still; reaction had not set in yet. There was a deep clearly-
marked line across her brow—a line that was only visible
when the girl had been strongly wrought upon—and her eyes
gleamed like stars. But her face was very pale, and there
came a slight quiver over her lips as she held out her hand
to her brother-in-law and said,—
 Good-night, Bobert. I can come in and help you when
I have taken off my dress, if you like, Ellen.
Mrs Prescott kissed her sister on the cheek.
 I shall not want you, dear—good-night. Green is wait-
ing up for me.
 I want to speak to you before you go to bed, Charlotte,
Mr Prescott said, and he marched as he spoke into the din-
ing-room, which was dimly lighted by one gas-burner. He
only called her Charlotte when he was very much displeased
with her; she detested her name, and calling her by it was
r>
18 Walter Goring.
the surest means of upsetting her self-possession which lie had
yet discovered.
She had taken a step or two forward, hut she paused on the
mat in the doorway, and drew her cloak more closely around
her.
 I'm tired and cold, Robert; won't to-morrow do as well?
She spoke in a cool quiet tone; and when he looked at
her to say,  Cold in July—nonsense !  there was a smile on
her face.
 Are you coming in, Charlie ?  he asked angrily.
She walked in and sat down by the table, neither facing him
nor turning away from him : as she seated herself he said,—■
 I think you must know how you're situated ? He
paused, and she made no reply.  I say, you must be aware
of your position ? 
 I'm perfectly aware of it, she said, without looking at
him.  Did you call me in here at this hour of the night solely
to remind me of it, Robert ? 
 I called you in to tell you once more what I have told
you frequently before, that I am not pleased with the manner
you choose to adopt when you are in society; there is an
affectation of singularity, and a disregard of conventionality
about it that I do not approve of at all.
Once more he paused, and when he did so, she heaved a
small sigh, so small a one that it might have been only a
breath of relief at his speech having come to a conclusion.
Then she settled her head more comfortably against the high
oak-backed chair, and looked steadily at the further end of
the room.
 Do you hear me, Charlie ? 
 Yes, I hear you, she replied, just letting her eyes light
upon him for an instant, and then hastily averting them,—the
sight of that elongated hp was not to be endured.
 And you say nothing ? 
 What can I say ? 
"You openly disregard my wishes and advice.
 I do neither, excuse me, she replied rather more warmly;
 I answered while there was anything to answer; I spoke
while I had anything to say. You asked me if I knew what
my position was, and I told you I did perfectly,—and so I do.
She started to her feet as she said this, and all trace of
Charlie Thinks Things Over. 19
the composure "which had been offensive to him had vanished,
as she stood with her clenched trembling hand resting on the
table, and her head bent down in a proud abasement that
might have touched any man's heart to tenderness.
 It's no use speaking kindly to you, said her brother-in-
law.
 You've never tried it, Robert.
Before the words were out of her mouth she bitterly re-
pented having been betrayed into using them, for he had
been very kind in act though not in word to her. However,
the words were uttered, and they bore fruit instantaneously.
"I will not trouble you with any more of my remarks ; in
future I shall not presume to interfere with your conduct
whatever it may be, he said coldly; then he added,  good-
night, without offering her his hand, and went away out of
the room.
CHAPTER IV.
charlie thinks things over.
Charlie St John's impulse when her brother-in-law left the
room in the manner recorded at the end of the last chapter,
was to rush after him, and say some word expressive of
penitence for that speech into which she had been goaded—
of penitence, and a desire to be forgiven. But she did not
obey her impulse. By this time she knew her man too
well. The word would have fallen on ears rendered deaf by
wounded self-love, and a determination to make her drink
the cup of remorse, for her brief ingratitude, to the dregs.
He was not a high-minded or generous-spirited man himself,
but he had some faint notions of what those who are feel
when they have been stung into the exhibition of some feel-
ing less noble than themselves. He was resolved upon male-
ing her suffer to the full extent of his power, partly because
she had told him the truth in telling him that he had never
tried speaking kindly to her, and partly because she had done
a thing in the course of the evening of which he exceedingly
20
Walter Goring.
disapproved. She had so deported herself with a man as to
have been remarked ; she, a girl whose only chance in life,
whose only chance of eventually removing the burden of her-
self from off him, lay in marriage. And the man with whom
she had so deported herself was a man whom Mr Prescott
rather disliked than otherwise, and who was spoken off by
his own friends as  a fearful flirt, and utterly unscrupulous.
He told himself, and he told his wife, that Charlie could not
be made to feel her sin too severely.  I shall not say a word
more to her myself, but you had better speak to her to-mor-
row, Ellen. If she gets spoken of with that fellow Goring,
the only prospect I see for her is destroyed.
 But if the]- did come to like each other, and he was to
marry her, Eobert, would you mind then ? 
 Marry ! He's not a man to do anything of that kind,
Mr Prescott replied; and in this he judged Walter Goring
very rightly. As far as that gentleman knew himself, he
was not likely to marry for a good many years to come.
Eternal smiles from a wife might grow to be monotonous, he
had always felt. But there was never-ending variety in the ■
smiles accorded him by the unmarried. There was a chance
of some of the brilliancy vanishing from them, he knew, did
he marry; so, in all honour he determined to retain them
unaltered while he could. Unquestionably, Mr Prescott was
right. Walter Goring was not the man, of all others, whom
an anxious guardian desirous of seeing his ward married,
would wish to see that ward's companion in the soft, seduc-
tive atmosphere of a half-lighted conservatory on a summer
night.
It never occurred to this prosaic middle-aged moral man
—to this irreproachable husband and father—to this astute
lawyer, who had ever been too earnest in his profession to
look soft things at a lady till he looked them at Ellen after
she became Mrs Prescott—it never occurred to him that the
handsome young novelist with the witching tongue could be
for an hour alone with a pretty woman who interested him,
without making love to her. Had Mr Prescott but known
what they had been conversing about, and how they had
been conversing about it during that terrible time in the
conservatory, all his anger would have been assuaged, and
all his fears would have died a sudden death.
Charlie Thinks Things Over. 21
A portion of this conversation has been already reported.
She had avowed that she was discontented, and he, nearly a
stranger, had reproved her for such discontent in a way that,
truth to tell, had not made her like him at all the better for
it. After that they had talked a little about art, and a little
about literature, and she had learned that there were mines
out of which even she, weak as she was, might draw some-
thing, had she but patience and perseverance. The scene,
the soft light, the fragrant atmosphere of the flowers, were
one and all affecting her in their different ways. But he
sought no aid from one of them. He talked to her as he
would have done to a sister, or (better still, when she came
to think about it) a brother; and while Mrs Walsh was
accusing her of playing dexterously for a great stake out in
that dim light, she was only feeling through the whole
of her sensitive being that it was not more dim than that
light which had been shed upon her mind, and that he must
see it and know it to be so, and yet—yet—why did lie stay
there, and talk to her ?
The last words she said to him—that were addressed to
him alone that night—were uttered when she heard Mr
Prescott's voice summoning her to return to her sister's side
and her normal life.
 Here comes what I was wishing for just now—the an-
nouncement that it's time to go.
 Don't you wish it now ?  he asked.
 No, of course I do not. You have been causing me to
feel ignorant and foolish to the last degree, but I thank you
for it,"—she paused, and her head went up, and a frank,
true woman's smile broke over her face as she added,  and
like you for it. Now, good-bye.
She put her hand out, and he took it and shook it heartily
—as he would have shaken a man's—not at all as those who
only saw one side of Walter Goring imagined he would have
shaken the hand of a girl to whose side he had been chained
in the moonlight for half-an-hour.
 Good-bye! You'll do something worth doing yet, if you
try, he said: to which she replied,—
 I will try.
And they were the last words he ever heard in private
from Charlie St John.
22
Walter Goring.
When Charlie St John reached her room that night, she
threw off her clothes and got herself into bed as rapidly as
she could, in order to be able to think. It was absolutely
essential to this young lady to be physically at ease before
she could be mentally active. She could not think coher-
ently, much less clearly, while in a position of bodily discom.'
fort.
She was well aware of this peculiarity ; therefore to-night,
being desirous of bringing all the powers of her mind to bear
upon a certain subject, she made haste to secure the first
condition of success, by lying down and being at rest. She
wanted to think out an idea which had been put into her
head by a speech of Mr Goring's, made in answer to one of
hers:  It is easy for you to recommend me to find content
and satisfaction in action, since I can't find it, like a cater-
pillar in a cabbage, in passively existing. You are a man,
and can help yourself; you can read and write, and travel
 she was running on, when he stopped her to say,—
 And what on earth is there to prevent your reading and
writing, and travelling too ? If you have a good, honest
desire to do these things, you '11 do them sooner or later, take
my word for it. One need not be a man in order to read the
best things that have ever been written, or to write what
may be worth reading. As for travelling! that will
come.
 Yes, I may read lofty things with a limited comprehen
sion, and write out of the barrenness of an uncultivated mind:
Never!
 It rests with yourself to enlarge both, surely ! he had.
said, persuasively ; then he had added, very kindly,  Other
women have done very great things, Miss St John ; name a
novelist of this age who has done better work than the author
of ' Adam Bede,' or—since this seems to be a consideration
with you—the value of whose work has been more fully and
completely acknowledged by the world ? 
 You tell me to touch a star, and I have no wings. I'm
utterly uneducated, as, of course, you perceive.
 Make wings for, by educating, yourself.
 I emit she cried, passionately; "that's just it. I can't;
I haven't the patience and perseverance. Above all, I haven't
the incentive!'
Charlie Thinks Things Over. 23
 What incentive do you lack ? 
 Every inspiring one. Supposing that I did work, and
plod, and learn something ? It would be to this end—that I
might teach it again.
 It's the aim which animates the majority of those men
whom you envy. We all hope to teach it again, whatever it
may be.
 Ah! but I meant that it would only be to deal it out by
the yard—by the long, weary, weak yard—as it has been
dealt out to me. But you don't understand me. It would
be that I might go out as a governess ; and I'd rather be a
cook.
 You 're not fit for either place, he said laughing ;  you
would spoil the best food and the best children. If I were
the father of a family, I should decline you in either capacity.
But other women have made other paths for themselves ; why
should not you, since you 're tired of the one you 're
treading ? 
She looked at him, with her lips parted, and her eyes
flashing.
 Tell me, would there be anything but the wildest, weak-
est folly in my making the attempt ? 
 In what direction ? 
 I don't know yet; in any of the paths you indicate.
 Unquestionably not, if you will work. Don't send a
picture to the Academy before you can paint, or hope to storm
Fame by the first story you get into a magazine ; for, if I'm
not much mistaken, it will be upon one or other of those
paths that you '11 adventure. You have an artist's soul,
though you don't know it yet.
It was this portion of their conversation—this last sentence
of his especially—on which Charlie St John wanted to
ponder. He had indicated the paths plainly enough which a
clever woman, capable of working, and earnestly desirous of
pursuing honourably, might pursue with success. He had
indicated the paths, and he had appeared to accredit her with
the possession of an artist's soul! Had he flattered her in
this ? or had he been mistaken, perchance ? While striving
to solve this question, she fell fast asleep, and forgot for a few
hours the drearinesses of the life that was past, and the aspi-
cations that were to gild the life that was to come.
24
Walter Goring.
At about four in the morning, tlie nursemaid came hastily
into the room, and woke her suddenly, by asking,—
 Will you come and look at Ella, Miss Charlie ? 
Ella was the eldest child—a seven-years' old golden-haired
epitome of all that is most charming and unintelligible in her
sex. She was Charlie's favourite—the only one who was
never unwelcome in Miss St. John's room, and unable to wear
out Miss St John's patience,
 Let me come out on your lap, Aunt Charlie, the child
asked, as soon as Charlie reached her bedside, and little Ella's
face was so flushed, and her eyes so bright and pleading, that
Charlie could not refuse the request she craved.
So a blanket was put over the child, and Charlie seated
herself on a nursery chair with Ella in her lap; and the
night wore away, and the morning light crept slowly into the
room, and still she sat there almost motionless, but with no
weariness in her manner, and no lack of tenderness in her
face. At eight o'clock, when Mr and Mrs Prescott came
into the room to see what was the matter, there was no trace
in the eager eyes that were lifted to greet them of the defiant
contempt which had dared censure in the Walshes' drawing-
room, or the cold reproach which had given force to the
words, "You have never tried it. There was no trace of
either feeling in the eager, sympathetic, mobile face that was
lifted to greet them, or in the whispered words,  She's
asleep now for the first time since four—I'm afraid it's fever,
Ellen. But Mr Prescott was not too apt to forget; there-
fore he only said coldly in reply,  If it is fever, you have been
very foolish to keep her on your lap in this way. It can do
the child no good, and may be the means of your laying
yourself up, and then there will be two to nurse.
When he said that, she rose quickly but gently, very
gently still, and went and put little Ella on the bed. Then
she went away hurriedly to her own room, and when she
reached it, the angry tears poured from her eyes, and
she almost sobbed aloud,— Anything, anything to get away.
Was she his Friend f
25
CHAPTEE V
was she his friend?
When Mrs Walsh came down to breakfast on the morning
after her dinner-party, she found Walter Goring standing at
the open window with the Times in his hand. Evidently
he was- reading vigorously. He gave it a sharp crack now
and again, in the way in which people are apt to crack that
stiff and bulky organ when they are anxious to get at its con-
tents. Moreover, he did not mark his hostess's entrance—a
certain proof that he was very much absorbed. She shut
the cover of the tea-caddy sharply, but still he did not heed
her. She went a little nearer, and glanced over his shoulder,
and saw to her surprise that it was only the advertisement
sheet, after all, which he was intently perusing. Then she
went and rang the bell energetically, and spoke,—
 Have you lost a pug-dog, or is anybody imploring you to
write and all shall be forgiven, that you can't tear yourself
away from the second column this morning, Mr Goring ? 
He had turned the instant she began to speak, and now he
stood with her hand in his, bowing over it deferentially.
"Neither; forgive me for having been an unconscious
monster for a few moments, and then congratulate me ! 
 I do—what on ? I thought by the rapt regard you
were bestowing on the Times, that one of your books had got
what you all sigh for—a line of judiciously-mingled praise and
blame, that would look well in the advertisement I
 It is not that; my uncle is dead ! 
 And you are his heir ? 
 In the order of things, whatever he had to leave comes to
n.e.
She turned away to the table, and busied herself with the
cups, and he followed her, and seated himself close by her
side, with his folded arms before him on the table.
 Is it such a much smaller piece of fortune in your eyes
than the ' line of mingled praise and blame,' to which you
alluded would have been ? 
She looked down upon him, and smiled that same grand
eweet smile with which no husband could have quarrelled, even
26
Walter Goring.
had he seen it bestowed on a hundred men. How it might
have been had Mrs Walsh reserved it entirely for the one
may not be known ; but Mrs Walsh did not reserve it for the
one, though the one thought that she did. She was very
liberal with it.
"You will be so seldom in London, she said. There
was a touch of what a stranger might have been forgiven for
mistaking for complaint in her tone.
 Why so ? I shall be in London quite as often as you
care to see me, he replied, raising his eyes to her face.
 Nonsense; ungrateful nonsense, too, when we are always
so glad to see you; but now you will always want to be
away at that place in those wilds.
 You must come and stay there often, and then it will
cease to be a wild; by Jove! I haven't been there since I
was a boy myself; my recollection of it is that it is a glorious
old place.
She handed him his tea, and said, as she did so,—
 You know that I'm truly delighted at any good fortune
befalling you. You know that, don't you? but I do wish
your uncle had lived a little longer; you'll go away and
bury yourself, and be married before you know what you are
about.
 Oh, no, I won't.
 Oh, yes, you will; some day when you are feeling dull,
when you can't shoot or hunt, and are tired of your own
society, you will fall a prey to one of the dairymaid-faced
daughters of the land, who will be lurking about seeking to
devour you.
"You're a trifle severe upon the daughters of the land,
and a trifle mistaken about them too; the Norfolk women
are some of the prettiest in England; besides, I'm never
tired of my own society.
 Is the place in Norfolk ? 
 Yes.
 Fearful distance from town, she sighed. "We went to
Yarmouth last year, and I nearly went mad on the journey.
 Your sanity stood the test of the even longer journey
we all took together the year before.
Once more she glanced down at him and smiled. She did
not say, "You were with us then; but, somehow, he re-
Was she his Friend?
27
m ember ed that he had been, and felt that she remembered it
too.
 What is the name of your place ? 
 Goring Place. Don't you think it odd that I haven't
heard of my uncle's death in another way ? 
 You mean from his lawyer ? 
 Yes.
 How is he to know where you are ? 
 He knows my Club; he might write there.
 Perhaps he has, she said laughing;  for if you re-
member, you have not been up to town for the last five
days.
He laughed and rose, pushing his cup away as he did so.
 You are only kind to remind me of it, he said, looking
down on her upturned face.  Roehampton must not exer-
cise this fascination over me any longer, though; I must ' be
up and doing'—that is to say, I must go up to town to-day.
"You had better go up in the carriage with Horatia
then, Mr Walsh said, entering at the moment; and
Mrs Walsh replied: "Well, we will arrange it so, shall
we, Mr Goring? and, on his giving his assent, proceeded
to pour into her husband's friendly ear the tale of Walter
Goring's wonderful good fortune.
"Your wife has promised that you and she will be my
earliest guests, the fortunate man said, when the tale had
been told.
 Of course we will, won't we, Ralph ? We will take care
to go to Goring Place before he has a wife to teach him to
be cold and altered to us, the lady said, as she rose and
walked towards the open French window. AVhen she
reached it, she paused, and asked,—
 Will some one get me my gardening gloves ? I must
go and cut off those dead roses.
Some one got her the gardening gloves. Some one carried
them out into the garden for her even.
 I won't keep you from Ralph, she said in a charmingly
ingenuous tone, as she took them from him.
 You may keep me from whom you please.
 I shall never want to keep you from any one with whom
it would be good for you to be.
 Don't you think I know it, my goddess ? 
28 Walter Goring.
 It only vexes me to see you wasting your time in frivol-
ous trifling; what could have induced you to devote yourself
in the way you did to that girl last night ? 
 Oh, I don't knowhere, let me cut that rose for you,
you '11 hurt your fingers.
So he cut the rose for her and made his peace. At least
he was certainly justified in supposing that he had done^ so,
for no more was said to him on the subject of  that girl*
When she was tired of cutting off the dead roses she signified
her intention of going in.
"And what am I to do all the morning ?  he asked.
 What an idle question ! 
 Indeed it is not. Walsh is painting, and you never have
a hook down here that is worth looking at.
 And you don't want to write ? 
 I can't write here.
 Then come and read me what you have been writing
lately, will you ? and through it I will try to trace whose
has been the latest influence over you before you reached
Roehampton.
 Yery well, I '11 do that, he said. Then they went in
together, and he got his MS. and read to her; and as she
recognised herself considerably idealised in it, she found it
interesting and delightful to an extraordinary degree. While
he, in reading it to her, and in listening to her well-modulated
praises of it, forgot all about the girl whose ambition he had
sought to fire in the conservatory the night before.
At two o'clock he went up to town with Mrs Walsh, and
found a letter at the Junior Carlton awaiting him from his
uncle's lawyer. He learnt that it was all as he expected; he
was the old man's heir and the master of Goring Place. He
learnt also that the property was hampered in a way which
he would find fully explained in h sealed letter—a secret
note only to be delivered into his hands by the lawyer.
Moreover, he learnt for the first time that he had a cousin, a
girl of seventeen, to whom he was to be guardian.
When he rejoined Mrs Walsh after reading his letter, she
said anxiously—•
 Something has gone wrong ; what is it, Walter ?
She had never called him Walter before, and it touched
him that she should do so now in this his first trouble.
Was she his Friend? 29
 Nothing wrong ; only it's the very deuce to find myself
at my age the guardian of a girl of seventeen.
 Is that the worst ?
 Can anything he worse ? he replied evasively.
"A daughter of your uncle's, I suppose ? Oh, you '11
soon he quit of your charge. I was afraid that the property
might be hampered, she said interrogatively.
To this he only replied by asking her to advise him as to
what he should do with his charge. "It's certain that
she can't remain at Goring Place, if I am ever to go there.
 Of course she can't, Mrs Walsh answered decisively;
"but you must see what she's like first, and then write and
tell me, and then I '11 advise you. Remain at Goring Place !
I should think not.
"For all I know, she may not choose to budge from
there, he said moodily.
 But if you are her guardian you can make her.
 I think you know me well enough to know that I'm not
the man to turn a girl out of a house that has been hers for
seventeen years, if she wishes to stay in it; hut it's time
enough to talk about these things. Where is he going ?
didn't you say Marshall & Snelgrove's ?
"Yes; Ralph has drawn me a design for the border of a
dress, and I am going to have it in silver on white silk; it
is late in the season for such extravagance; but there will be
a few more parties worth dressing for, and you must have
the ' set' down at Goring Place in the autumn and entertain
the county.
"I wish I had never heard of Goring Place, he said,
almost savagely; hut Mrs Walsh took no notice of his
remarks, for the carriage stopped at the moment at the
door of the shop where the design in silver on white was to
be carried out.
He assisted Mrs Walsh out of the carriage, and saw her
safely into the shop, and then he stepped into the little
silken-lined brougham and sat down to wait for her. He
was a man on whom Nature had smiled at his birth, on
whom women had smiled from his boyhood, and on whom
now Fortune had smiled magnificently, unless report had
largely exaggerated the possessions of the man whose heir he
'had this day heard himself declared to be. Only the night
30
Walter Goring.
before, when he had believed himself to be entirely depen-
dent on his own efforts, he had talked a very bright philo-
sophy, and believed in it. Now that wealth was assured to
him whether his future efforts were successful or not, he
looked during these few minutes in which he dared to look
what he felt—a bitterly disappointed man.
Nature had smiled upon him in so far as she had given
him a face and a manner that prepossessed both men and
women in his favour. She had smiled upon him, but she
had not given him that god-like beauty which she bestows
upon the heroes of most novels. His warmest admirers
could only say of him that he was "a fine good-looking
fellow. Not even enthusiastic girlhood, looking upon him
in the halo cast around him by the success of his very sue-
cessful books, had ever been heard to declare him an Apollo.-
He had a fine brow, broad, open, and grandly intellectual,
and back from it there swept a richly curling mass of bonny
brown locks. His small delicately pointed beard and mous
tache were of a lighter brown, they were almost golden in
fact, and they were so arranged as not to conceal the fine
lines of his mouth and chin. For the rest there was little
beauty in his face, save in his eyes, which were dark, deep-
set, and as expressive as any other man's spoken words.-
they were in perfect unison with his voice, which was soft,
deep, rich, suave and sonorous as a poet's ever is—or should
be. It was a face, in short, that you liked well at first and
better at last—a face that won upon you—a face that no
one on whom it had ever been bent kindly could see averted
with indifference.
The lawyer's letter had informed him that his uncle's
funeral was to take place on Friday the 27th of July, and
this was Wednesday.  I shall leave Shoreditch by the 2.40
train to-morrow. If you receive this in time, I hope you
will be able to be there to go down to Goring Place with me
to pay the last respect that can be shown to your uncle, and
to receive, after the reading of the will, the sealed letter as
soon as possible.
 Without doubt I shall go, he said to himself, and he
said the same to Mrs Walsh when they were driving back to
Roehampton.
 What for ? so soon ?
Was she his Friend ?
31
"In common decency I must attend the funeral of the
man who has left me everything he had to leave.
 Including his daughter ! I fancied that he was buried
already. Of course you must go to the funeral since you
are able to do so ; when will you come back again ? 
 God knows!
 But I want to know also. Really, Mr Goring, I never
saw a man so dejected by good fortune before. Won't you
tell, me what distresses you ?—if Ralph and I are not
amongst your oldest, we 're amongst your warmest friends.
She put her hand on bis arm as she spoke, and bent forward
to give force to her words. His eyes met hers gratefully,
and he lifted the kind gentle hand to his lips, but he did not
call her  his goddess, as he had done on a previous occasion.
 Both Ralph and you are dear good friends to me, I know
that very well.
 Treat me as such—tell me what distresses you; it can't
be that you regret a man for whom you had no special
regard, and whose death places you in your proper and
fitting position ; it can't be that.
"It is not that—I make no such pretence; I'm thrown
out of gear, that is all:
 And how long will you be away ?  she asked with true
feminine pertinacity, going back to the point that was most
immediately interesting to herself.
 Probably not a week—certainly not more.
 How very awkwardly you are placed about this unex-
pected cousin, she said meditatively.
 Awkwardly, rather! to have a girl cropping up in this
way in that quarter is enough to put any fellow out.
 I wonder if her mother is alive, or if it was a secret
marriage, or what the mystery has been, Mrs Walsh said
quickly;  had you any idea that there was any old romance
of the sort in your uncle's life?
"Not the slightest—and I rather fear that it will turn out
to be a very shady sort of romance at best; probably som§
village amour repented of when the child grew up.
 In that case I shall be but a poor coadjutor, for I have
a slight prejudice in favour of gentlepeople. We won't talk
about her any more. I see she will be a bore to you; how I
wish that she had never been born.
32
Walter Goring.
How Walter Goring wished it too; but wishing was of no
avail. He agreed that it would be just as well, perhaps, not
to talk about her any more, until they knew something more
definite concerning her.
 It was the merest speculation on my part, remember,
he said; "the mother may have been wedded wife or injured
maiden—a peeress or a peasant; it's all one to me as far as
the confounded nuisance of the daughter is concerned.
But Mrs Walsh did not think it "'all one in the inner-
most recesses of her heart. Indeed, she rather hoped that
the  village amour  speculation would turn out to be a cor-
rect one.  He thinks too much of blue blood to go and
make a fool of himself in that case, she said to herself.
Mrs Walsh had some vague ideas about finding a nice wife
for Walter Goring at some future time. But she had a
strong feeling against Walter Goring finding a nice wife
for himself. She had got so into the habit of saying,  Oh!
he ought not to marry yet, that she quite believed in the
truth and justice of her statement.
The last evening at Roehampton which Walter Goring
spent before taking upon himself the cares of a man of pro-
perty was a very pleasant one. Mrs Walsh had the art of
making her house Very like a home to him, and it seemed
more home-like than ever this night. In the drawing-room
he had his  own little table and reading-lamp, very near to
hers; quite near enough for her occasionally to re-adjust the
shade for him, and for them to give out little passages from
their respective books for each other's delectation, without
disturbing Ralph, who, overpowered by his arduous pursuit
of art during the day, was accustomed to slumber in space
somewhere at the other end of the room from nine till twelve
o'clock.
There was profound pleasure to the man of letters in this
intellectual interchange. Not but that he had met in the
course of his varied experiences with cleverer women, but he
had rarely met with a woman who seemed to think him so
clever. The incense she offered him was far more delicate
than any unmarried woman's could have been in his estima-
tion. Mrs Walsh had nothing to gain from him save the
simple pleasure of his society. Whereas, after the manner
of men, he believed that a name and ring are a sufficiently
Was she his Friend f
33
glorious recompence in the eyes of most girls to account for
any amount of strivings to please. Without being a vain
man, he was fully conscious of the fact of his being regarded
as a man worth winning. On the whole, it certainly would
not have been the fault of the married women of his acquaint-
ance had he remained in ignorance of it.
It was a very pleasant evening. The French windows
were open that led out into the gardens, and through them
they could see the beds of scarlet geraniums looking black in
the light of the stars. The sky was one sheet of deep intense
blue spangled with gold; not a breath stirred the silent sweet-
11 ess of the atmosphere. They rose up and went out and stood
on the borders of the lawn, and—
 To-morrow night I shall he looking at it alone, Mrs
Walsh said, after a pause.
 Unless you wake Ralph, and bring him out to pick up a
new idea as to the cold light of stars.
She smiled.
 He wouldn't thank me for doing so; he has an inveterate
dislike both to new ideas and to being woke up.
 In that case pray don't do it at my instigation; but just
compare your position to-morrow night with mine. You'll
not be minus one of the things that give you pleasure now,
(single-minded and little vain as he was, it gave him a sensa-
tion of pleasure to see the reproachful look she gave him
when he said this,)  while I shall be down in a house of
•death, encountering all sorts of difficulties, such as contuma-
cious wards.
 She is not likely to be contumacious to you ;—and how
can you say that I shall not be minus a single pleasure that
I have to-night ? Have we treated you so badly that you
are justified in declaring your society to be no pleasure
to us ? 
"You speak like a queen or a publisher, he said.
 I speak like a married woman—but answer my question,
have we ? 
 Have you what ? 
 Treated you so badly ? 
 Better than I deserveso well, that I feel myself
injured when I'm out of reach of the treatment, my god-
dess!
c
34
Walter Goring.
 Perhaps we may as well go in to tea now, Mrs Walsh
said, coolly; and perhaps it was as well that they did.
During the remainder of the evening there was little talk
of anything save Goring Place, and what he would do with
it.  I anticipate finding everything in a state of decay; the
furniture was awfully old and rotten when I was there as a
boy.
 Then you will have to refurnish ;—delightful task.
 Unfortunately I have no mother or sisters to direct my
tastes.
 As if you needed any one to direct your taste : but you
forget, you will have la belle cousin, who will probably want
everything to be pink, and tied up with ribbon.
 You must give me the benefit of your assistance in the
matter. I will give up the reception-rooms to you, to do as
you think proper with. Will you honour me so far ? 
 Indeed, I will not, she replied, laughing, "for your wife,
when you have one, to find fault with everything 'that' Mrs
Walsh selected. I know what women are.
 My wife, if ever I have one, will never allude in such a
way to Mrs Walsh.
 How do you know that ? 
 Simply because I shall never permit her to do so.
 As if you could stop a woman's tongue.
"You seem determined to endow a person who doesn't
exist with a marvellous amount of animus against your-
self.
 There will be nothing marvellous in the animus. Sisters,
and friends who are almost like sisters, are generally hated
with a holy hatred by young wives.
 The projected young wife shall receive the fullest assur-
ance of your not being at all like a sister to me, he said,
laughing.
Soon after this Mr Walsh woke up, and began to take an
interest, which he had been too sleepy to feel or feign earlier
in the evening, in Walter's prospects. "Will it interfere
with your going abroad with us this year? he asked.
 When are you thinking of starting ? 
 About the middle of August.
"Yes, that's rather late; if there's plenty of game I shall
want to be at the Place in September.
Was she his Friend ?
35
 Why must we go abroad at all this year ?  Mrs Walsh
asked.
 Why, indeed, Goring said.  Can't you put up with
English country scenery for one autumn, Ealph ? Come to
Coring Place in the middle of August, and stay till the
middle of next year if you can.
"It's a lovely country, isn't it? Mrs Walsh asked; and
her husband shook his head, and laughed, as he replied,—
"'Lovely' is not the epithet we usually apply to Norfolk,
my dear.
 It has the beauty of superb cultivation, Walter Goring
said; "a trifle flat, but capital colour, and about Goring
Place very well wooded. You wrong Norfolk if you imagine
that you can find nothing worthy of painting in it.
 If you can induce my wife to give up Eome, where she
has been bothering me to take her for the last six months,
I '11 agree to the change gladly.
 And I know the goddess will be gracious—won't she ? 
Walter Goring said humbly, half kneeling before her, and
lifting her hand to his lips.
It was a sight which some husbands would not have liked
to see ; but Mr Walsh was a remarkably sensible man. He
knew—none better—that there was nothing in it—that it
meant no harm. Therefore, he looked at the scene from the
artistic point of view entirely, and admired it exceedingly.
 Just keep as you are for a minute, he said, quickly taking
out his note-book and pencil,  the situation is exactly what
I wanted. When he had made a rapid sketch, he told
them  that would do, and they both got up to look at the
result of their posing.
 What is it, Ealph ?  Walter asked.
 Mary Stuart and Chastelar.
'' But I'm not a bit like Mary Stuart, Ealph.
'' According to the estimate I have formed of her, sli§
would have looked as you did then under the circum-
stances.
 What circumstances ? 
 The circumstances under which Chastelar always knelt
at her feet—after he had 'put her out,' as you women call
it—as a queen, and flattered her as a woman.
 Had I the look of being put out with Mr Goring ?  she
36 Walter Goring.
asked, with a laugh.  I was only thinking whether Miss
St John would have looked as impertinently pleased as she
did last night, if she could have seen him kneeling to me even
in fun.
 Bother Miss St John ! I was in hopes I had heard the
last of her !  Walter Goring said, shrugging his shoulders.
And Mr Walsh told him Horatia was determined that he
shouldn't fall a victim for want of being put on his guard.
 Now, Ralph, I never paid him so poor a compliment as
to fancy he would fall a victim to such a girl; why, her look
of satisfaction last night was enough to provoke a saint.
Mrs Walsh said this with an air of putting it to them impar-
tially. It certainly was not a speech at all calculated to
enhance the charm that might otherwise have been cast
around the absent one. Walter Goring felt immediately that
in truth there had been no fear of his falling a victim to
such a girl.  But for all that, he thought,  I don't see
why she shouldn't have shown satisfaction if she felt it; and
she's too clever a girl to feel satisfaction in any fellow's
attentions.
He was going to leave Roehampton for town early in the
morning ; so early that he could not in reason expect to see
his hostess before he started, therefore he made his adieux
when he was saying  good-night to her.
 Good-bye, and God bless you! she said, heartily.
 Forget that foolish speech I made to-day, and remember
this, that if I can serve you by befriending your uncle's
daughter, I '11 do it, whatever she may be. Will you remem-
ber this ? and believe it ? 
 Yes—thanks. You don't know what a weight you have
lifted from my mind by the words. You are the only
woman in the world who can help me. Good-bye, my
goddess !
"Good-bye, my foolish worshipper! she said, as she
linked her arm within her husband's.  We would both do
more than that for him, wouldn't we, Ralph ? 
What do you say, reader ? Was she his friend ?
Fevei ish /
37
CHAPTER VI.
feverish !
The fever—the first signs of which had shown themselves
on the night of the Walshes' dinner-party—turned out to be
typhus of the worst sort. Poor little Ella was soon a mere
crimson, tossing, moaning mass of pain and insensibility.
The doctor shook his head, and looked graver than Mrs
Prescott had ever seen him look before, and recommended
that the other children should be sent away somewhere; and
straw was laid down outside the house, and the door-knocker
was tied up, and a great air of hush settled over the whole
establishment.
Womanly woman, tender mother, as Mrs Prescott was,
she was not gifted with the nursing power. She sickened at
sickness with an utterly uncontrollable sickening, against
which it was useless to struggle. The sight of the feverish
little cheeks, dearly as she loved them, brought an equally
feverish hue of impatient dread into her own; and the heavy
atmosphere of the darkened room, incapable as she was of
keeping out of it, oppressed and caused her sensations of
nausea. Accordingly, the task of tending upon the little
child who was sick nearly unto death, devolved chiefly upon
Charlie; and righteously Charlie fulfilled every atom of the
task which was assigned to her by fate, and lightened by
love.
Day and night were scarcely distinguishable from one
another in that room; for the doctor belonged to that section
of the old school, one of the articles of whose faith it is that
disease flees before darkness. So thick green blinds were
lowered before the open windows, and heavy curtains drawn
across, and the balmy July air had the greatest difficulty in
getting in at all to the room, which was surcharged with heat
and suffering.
The child's golden locks had been sacrificed as soon as the
fever developed itself, and she looked "like a blushing con-
vict, Charlie thought, as she was bending over the pillow,
and striving to put the aching little head into a more com-
fortable position one night. Suddenly her hands faltered—
38
Walter Goring.
failed in their task—and a great qualm seized her, and
something began to beat at the hack of her eyes. Trem-
blingly she seated herself on a chair by the bedside, and
strove to shake it off. She told herself that it was mere
fatigue—mere giddiness, from bending so much, and for
want of sleep—that she was as well as she had ever been in
her life. She told herself all these things, pressing her
hands against her face the while, as though she would have
pressed the fever flush out of her cheeks, and the beating
pain- from behind her eye-balls. But it was no use. Pre-
sently, her hands fell down feebly into her lap; her head
restlessly sought a resting-place, and found it on the pillow
by the side of little Ella's, and with a moaning sob over the
misery of being ill in Bobert Prescott's house, she passed
into that state of half-slumber, half-delirium which marks
the first stage of a fever.
Ella was tottering about—a transparent, wistful-looking
thing—on very attenuated legs, before Charlie St John came
out of the unconsciousness into which she had lapsed with a
moan that night. When she did so return, she heard, among
other agreeable things, that all her hair had been cut off.
 Master wanted to have your head shaved, Miss, but Mr
Frank wouldn't agree to it. But there! I wasn't to tell
you.
 Mr Frank—is he ?  She stopped, with her heart
beating fiercely. Her brother—the brother whom she
scarcely knew—was home; he would take her out of this
house, which she hated; he would redeem her from this igno-
minious bondage and slavery; she was no longer friendless
and alone. Her heart beat fiercely, but it was with hope and
love and joy. Suddenly it sank again.
 Having made the slip of the tongue, I may as well tell
you all, Miss. I wasn't to speak of Mr Frank having been
home while you was at the worst, because he had to go again.
Charlie threw her arms up over her face, and the tears
streamed from her eyes. She was not a crying woman; but
it was so hard to have this cup of joy dashed from her lips.
Presently she composed herself sufficiently to ask,—
 Gone! where ? Gone for how long ? 
 Only to the coast of Ireland, Miss; at anyrate it's to one
of the Channel Fleet that he's appointed, though I don't
Feverish !
39
rightly know which. You'll see him again soon, Miss, the
girl continued, sympathetically.  Such a handsome young
gentleman he is, and he did take on so about leaving you
when you were so bad.
To which comforting assurance Charlie, while overpowered,
as she was, with joy, and weakness, and surprise, could only
reply by sobbing,  My brother ! my brother !  He was the
one rock on which she had to rely, you see !—this brother,
whom she had not seen for so many years, and who had come
back, and, like a good angel, saved her head from being
shaved while she was insensible!
When her first emotion had subsided a little, curiosity and
vanity resumed their sway. She asked for her sister—and a
looking-glass. It is difficult to decide which was the greatest
shock to her—the tidings that Mrs Prescott, together with
her husband and children, were away at Brighton, or the
first sight of herself with her hair cropped like a boy's,
 What an ugly little wretch I am ! she said, as the nurse
came and took the glass away; and she heaved a sigh that
was not unnatural under the circumstances. Her hair had
been a great glory to her, and she had been seen shorn of it
by the only one in whose eyes she desired to look well just at
present—her brother. It was useless the nurse telling her
that by-and-by, when she got well, she would look as  nicely
as possible with it frizzed in a crop.
 I know that I shall look like a nigger with it—frizzed in
a crop.
In course of time, as she grew stronger, and so able to
listen to them, she heard some of the family arrangements, as
detailed in letters from Ellen, which were to be opened and
read by the nurse—an injunction the nurse religiously obeyed,
and Charlie as irreligiously swore at in her heart. It irrita-
ted her through every fibre of her being to be read aloud to
by any one at any time, and nurse's treatment of Ellen's
sentences was an awful thing to endure. They were long
.letters too, that the affectionate sister wrote to the invalid; for
the evenings at Brighton were dull, and pretty Mrs Prescott
had nothing to do but write them when her husband would
not let her walk on the pier. She told Charlie what each one
did, and said, and ate; and the nurse read it all with a plod-
ding unction that frequently made Charlie long to smother
40
Walter Goring.
her. A client of Robert's—a Mr Fellowes—was staying at
Brighton with them, and he had his horses and trap there,
and constantly took them for long drives. According to Mrs
Prescott's account, driving about Brighton was a proceeding
that bordered on madness. After each drive she described
the horses as  nearly  having done something rash, not to
say terrible. Cliffs and precipices, which they only just
escaped, were scattered with profusion over her letters.  I
don't know Mr Fellowes, and I do know Ellen, so I '11 give
him the benefit of a doubt; any one who didn't know her
might distrust his Jehuship, Charlie thought to herself.
At last Charlie was well enough to read the letters for her-
self—then to answer them. Shortly after, the doctor wrote
such a fair account of her to Brighton, that Mr Prescott came
up to see her, and to graciously announce his intention
of taking her down to join her sister. Charlie  thought she
would rather remain where she was but the doctor declared
change of air to be the only thing needed to complete her
recovery. Accordingly, in September, she was borne off to
Brighton, and introduced to Mr Fellowes.
They were introduced about two hours after her arrival.
He came into the Prescotts' drawing-room in the evening,
to ask if Mrs Prescott would go down and walk on the pier.
Mrs Prescott was not in the room when he entered; but a
young lady, with a quantity of short curling hair, was lying
on a sofa near the window, and little Ella was kneeling by
her side. He was about to withdraw, with an abrupt
apology; when the child ran after him and stopped him.
 Come in, and speak to my Aunt Charlie.
He came up to the sofa then, the child still clinging about
him. They were evidently good friends.
 May I be supposed to know you, Miss St John, on this
young lady's introduction 1
 Certainly, she said, holding out her hand to him.  My
pet, don't be troublesome to Mr Fellowes.
u You know my name, too 1
 Yes ; and your horses have played such an important
part in Ellen's letters that I shall not require an introduction
to them either.
 But I hope you will know them for yourself before we
separate. Your sister is good enough to allow me to drive
Feverish !
41
her out occasionally. You will be equally good, will you
not ? 
Before Charlie could reply, Mrs Prescott came into the
room. "How d'ye do, Mr Fellowes? doesn't she look a
poor wan thing ?
 The sea air will soon set her up.
"Yes; and if you'll transfer the offer you made me of a
riding-horse to her, you don't know how much obliged I shall
be to you.
 Ellen ! Charlie cried, reproachfully and quickly.
"Well, you ought to ride. The doctor says you're to
ride, and Bobert won't let you mount a Brighton hack.
 When she sees what a steady-going old fellow the Major
is, she'll alter her mind, Mrs Prescott, Mr Fellowes said,
rather patronisingly Charlie fancied. She thought  that
great big man thinks I'm afraid; I'd like to show him the
difference.
In time to come—long after she had forgotten this idle
thought of hers—she did show him the difference with a
Vengeance, poor man.
The husband, and wife and their friend went out for a
stroll shortly after this, and Charlie watched them from her
position in the bay window until they were lost in the crowd
on the pier. Even then she could frequently trace their
progress by reason of Mr Fellowes being at least a head
taller than the majority of men.  What brings that big
robust man to Brighton, I wonder? she thought, and
presently she said aloud,—
 Ella, pet, is Mr Fellowes often here ? 
 Yes; and he gives me such lots of fruit. I daresay
he'll give you some now; but he'll give me most, because he
loves me best.
 You'll give me some of yours, that will be the best way,
eh?
The child shook her head and pondered. The fruit question
was a delicate one. In the pride of her heart little Ella had
made a vaunt, and the vaunt was not based on sober fact.
She had spoken of  lots of fruit, whereas in truth it was
never more than she could eat with keen relish. She was
not greedy, and she was very fond of Charlie. But she was
only human. So now she shook her head and pondered.
42
Walter Goring.
 Perhaps he'll love you too and give you some, and then
we shall both have enough, Ella suggested presently ; then
she added eagerly,  Pa wants him to like you, because I
heard.him say so. Look here, Aunt Charlie: he said, 'If
Charlie only ' 
 Hush, you dear little child, Charlie cried, laughing and
stopping the child's mouth with a kiss;  you pet monkey,
you must never repeat things that you hear papa or anybody
else say; we '11 all have fruit enough, and like each other of
course; and now, childie, here comes nurse to take you to
bed.
But though she had checked the child, she had heard
enough to make her feel sore and indignant. For the last
day or two she had been feeling more kindly towards her
brother-in-law; she had been remembering more vividly
that she did in truth owe him a very heavy debt of gratitude.
He had been tender and considerate to her all the way down
from town. He had expressed much pleasure at the prospect
of having her at Brighton with them, and he had heartily
congratulated her on the fever not having destroyed an atom
of such good looks as had been hers previously to her illness.
 Upon my word, I think you look very well indeed
with your hair short in this way, Charlie, he had said to
her ;  though to be sure you look better with it long, in the
old way; but it will soon grow again. This, and one or
other things he had said to her, putting her in better conceit
with her personal appearance than she had ever felt after
speech of his before. Altogether she had been feeling more
kindly towards him, and now all such feeling was destroyed
and broken up by the reflection that she had been had down
to captivate the client who drove his horses nearly over the
cliffs or into some other equally perilous position every day.
As it grew dark, and she could get no further distraction by
watching the gay crowds on the parade and pier, she became
each moment more and more embittered.  Of course he
doesn't care how he gets rid of me, or to whom, she muttered
savagely.  Why should he ? I shouldn't, were I in his
place; only I never asked him to take me and provide for
me. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't wanted to get
Ellen. And why should he ? No man likes to marry a
.vhole family. Oh dear! I wish I had-died at my birth, or
Temporary Oblivion. 43
in the fever!—any fate, any life, any curse must be better
than this life of mine, that I can't escape from, and that
I can't blame any one for its being the unendurable thing
it is I 
CHAPTER VII.
temporary oblivion.
It will be seen that Charlie St John had utterly forgotten
the means of altering her life, or of making for herself an
object in it, which Walter Goring had indicated to her.
Whatever the cause, the fact remains. Whether it was that
the fever had burnt the feelings which had so immediately
preceded it out of her memory, or whether those feelings had
been merely affected for the sake of making talk, cannot be
decided yet. At any rate, they and the conversation which
had grown out of them, and the hopes and ambitions which
had been evolved by that conversation, had all faded away.
Charlie St John, lying there on the sofa in the bay window
looking out over the dark sea which stretched before her, in
September, was as hopeless of better things, as despairing
as to her own chances of ever getting out of the loathe-
some groove in which she was running, as oblivious of
the fact of other women having battled against and sur-
mounted worse difficulties than beset her path, as she had
been in the Walshes' conservatory on that fair July evening.
She had utterly forgotten that a voice which seemed to have
a prophetic tone in it had said to her, "You will do some-
thing yet, if you try, and that she had replied,  I will try.
The very memory of these things had passed from her.
Whether they had died out never to spring up again remains
to be seen.
By-and-by, she lying there wearily—so nearly asleep that
it was not worth while to wake up and pretend to be glad to
see them—heard them come in. They said  Hush! at
first; at least Ellen said, "Hush! Charlie's asleep, and
forthwith fell to talking rather louder than either of the
44
Walter Goring.
others. Then she heard the question of claret-cup raised,
and there was a brief dispute as to the best manner of
making it, which was finally settled by their  agreeing
to leave it to the waiter. After that they discussed the im-
portant question of what they should do the following day.
 Take your sister up and show her the Devil's Dyke, Mr
Fellowes suggested.
"Yes, if she's well enough to ride she can go upon horse-
back, Mr Prescott replied;  Charlie's a capital horse-
woman.
Charlie, half asleep as she was, heard this, and winced and
smarted. Her brother-in-law seemed to be throwing her at
this man's head. She had an almost unconquerable desire
to rise up and say to them,  I hear everything, and I know
everything, and I won't forward your game; do what you
please with me. But reason told her some hard truths,
and saved her from making such a futile exhibition of her-
self.
After a while they roused her, and Mr Prescott came and
busied himself about her sofa cushions and the shawl that
was spread over her. He said one or two kind little things
to her and of her—things of which she couldn't take hold,
but which she felt were intended to put her in the best light
before the guest, and the guest regarded her with eyes that
told her that she stood in a very pleasant light for him
already. Attention from Robert Prescott! Attempts to
enhance her value from Robert Prescott! It was all too ridi-
culous, too mean and small and paltry. She could not play
 such a wretched part in such a wretched farce. Thinking
this, she rose impatiently, saying,  I shall go to bed, Ellen;
but even as she spoke she faltered, tottered, and fell back
jipon the couch. They all crowded round her, as people do
when they believe a person to be faint, effectually precluding
all chance of the poor wretch's speedy recovery, and determi-
nately keeping out every reviving breath of air. However,
Charlie was not faint; she was only weak and exhausted, so
it did not so much matter.
 I '11 carry you up to your room, my dear, Mr Prescott
said; and Charlie, exhausted and angry as she was, burst out
laughing. Mr Prescott's little rounded back, and Mr Pres-
cott's altogether insignificant form, looked so very unlike
Temporary Oblivion.
45
"carrying with anything like safety, much less comfort
to the carried.
 No, thank you, Kobert, I would rather walk; I shall he
all right directly. I suppose it's the sea air that has taken
me off my legs in this way, she said, as soon as she could
check her laughter.
Mr Fellowes had been standing at the head of the sofa
with a bottle of cruelly strong smelling salts in his hand.
He now came round to the side, and before she knew what
he was going to do, he had bent down and lifted her up in
his arms. Feeling rather small and very helpless, there she
remained perfectly quiescent; and when he said,  If you '11
show me .her room, Mrs Prescott, I will carry her to it, she
uttered no word of protest. So he carried her to her room
and deposited her there, and bade her good-night briefly be-
fore she could thank him. When he was gone, Mrs Prescott
commenced eagerly,—
 What do you -think of him, Charlie ? 
 I think he's a big brute, Charlie replied.
 How can you say so, after he has been so kind ? 
 My dear Ellen, I could have walked.
"You didn't seem to manage the walking very well, Mrs
Prescott remarked, with some truth.
 I should have done better next time.
 He looked so handsome as he brought you up the stairs;
it was quite like a scene in a play.
Charlie laughed.  From my point of view he looked like
a curled and oiled Assyrian bull. I never saw anything so
regular and crispy and tight in my life out of the British
Museum as those curls of his are. Where did Eobert and
you pick him up ? 
"He's a gentleman of large property in Norfolk; he's
not to be picked up by any one, I assure you, Charlie,
Ellen replied, rather tartly ;  and oh ! dear Charlie, Y you
should come to like him, it would be such a match for
you.
 Good night, dear, Charlie said, abruptly, turning round
and burying her face out of her sister's sight on the pillow;
and Mrs Prescott, fearing that she had done more harm than
good by her little suggestion, went away out of the room
meekly and dejectedly.
46
Walter Goring.
The record of the days as they passed at Brighton during
that September is scarcely worth telling. Charlie St John
gradually gained strength, and gradually gained something
else too,—a hearty, grateful liking for the honest-hearted
gentleman whom she had dubbed  a big brute  on the night
of her arrival. He was one of those men who are always
gentle and tender to anything that is physically weak. He
pitied Miss St John so much for having been ill. He strove
so very earnestly to think of little jaunts into the country
that might amuse her, and he was so careful to avoid rucks
and other causes of jolting in driving, that she could but be
grateful to him. Nevertheless she laughed at him to her
sister.  He either thinks me utterly decayed, and dreads
seeing me crumble to pieces at the first shock, or the females
of his own house must be perfect grenadiers, she would say
to Ellen; and Ellen would with difficulty obey her husband's
injunction "not to interfere at such moments, and hold her
tongue sorely against her will. But though Charlie laughed
at him, she was always glad to see him ; and he marked her
gladness, and drew favourable deductions from it, not know-
ing that he owed the favour, such as it was, to that danger-
ous love of novelty which was at once her charm and her curse.
However, he was ignorant of this, and in his ignorance he
experienced very blissful feelings. The wealthy country
gentleman had led a very hum-drum life. He had seen
very little of women out of his own rather narrow circle;
he had been very little out of the neighbourhood where his
fathers had been born, and married, and buried. Charlie
came upon him like a revelation. She interested him; he
did not understand her, and, after the manner of his kind, he
liked a thing in exact proportion as it appeared incompre-
hensible to him. He liked to watch her and telegraph his
"wonder to Mrs Prescott, as to "what she would be at
next; and Charlie observed this and ridiculed him to her-
self and to her sister, who was still obedient to her lord's
command, that there should be no interference in the
matter.
"He looks as if he expected me to stand on my head,
Charlie would say, and Ellen would humbly urge in ex-
tenuation of these looks of his,  Perhaps he admires you.
Charlie.
Temporary Oblivion.
47
 No, no ! it's not admiration; it's the hope of seeing
me do something odd; perhaps he thinks I have been
mad, as my hair is cut short. If I thought it was really
that, I'd dance at him, and pretend I was going to bite
him.
But though she said this often to her sister, always freshly
inciting the gentle Ellen's terrors that she would in truth
carry her threat into execution, she never did it, and,
moreover, never intended to do it. The watching was
an odious thing, and a hard one to bear, and it was ren-
dered harder by being watched in turn by the Prescotts.
But she had no wish to put a stop to it in such a way
as should cause Mr Eellowes to cease from the watch for ever.
One evening, when Charlie had been at Brighton about
three weeks, Mr Fellowes came in to ask her if she would go
"for a last ride with him.
 Are you going away ?  Charlie asked, opening her eyes
wide with surprise. The man had become very necessary to
her—he and his good old brown horse the  Major. She
did not like the idea of being left entirely to herself and the
Prescotts again.
He looked down at her very gently, and asked— Are
you sorry that I am going ? 
 Uncommonly!  Charlie replied, in a tone that robbed
both question and answer of anything like sentiment. Mr
Fellowes had fallen into an unpleasant habit of making similar
speeches to the one just recorded aloud before the Prescotts,
and the keen look which they invariably called into being in
Mr Prescott's eyes, goaded Miss St John almost to madness.
 Uncommonly sorry to lose the old horse too, Mr Fellowes;
at all events I will have as much as I can of him to-night,
so I '11 go and put on my habit at once.
When she was gone out of the room, Mrs Prescott asked,
 Must you really go to-morrow ? 
 Yes, I think I had better, he replied.  I'm wanted at
home, and I'm doing no good here.
 You may be wanted at home, but I'm sure you are
wrong about doing no good here ; how poor Charlie will miss
you, Mrs Prescott said with a little sigh. The poor woman,
meek and long-suffering and lymphatic as she was, did suffer
many things about Charlie, of which Charlie had no con-
48
Walter Goring.
ception. The list of Charlie's sins and offences against order
and discretion and conventionality was a long one as made
out by Mr Prescott, and he was constantly unrolling it before
his wife's eyes, and delivering a running commentary upon it.
She had been hoping fervently for the last week that it was
complete, or rather that Charlie was going to obliterate this
scroll of shame by marrying Mr Fellowes. Now it appeared
as if Mr Fellowes was not going to give her the chance.
However it might be about his loving, it was clear, according
to his own statement, that he was going to ride away. No
wonder that she sighed as she thought of how her husband
would growl, and said,  How poor Charlie will miss you.
 Do you mean that ?  he asked eagerly. He was a man
of nine and twenty or thirty, but his face flushed like a boy's,
and his big frame trembled with agitation as he asked it.
 Yes, Mrs Prescott said hesitatingly. She was awfully
afraid of Mr Prescott declaring this speech of hers to come
under the head of that interference which he had prohibited,
and though he was not there to hear her, she knew herself
too well to doubt but that she should repeat every word to
him when he came in. So she said her  Yes so hesitat-
ingly, that Mr Fellowes thought she did not mean it.
 Now look here, Mrs Prescott, he began, and Mrs Pres-
cott could have taken her oath that his round honest blue
eyes were suffused with tears as she spoke.  It's a great
deal to me whether you mean what you say or not. I never
saw a girl on whose truth I'd sooner stake my life, or what's
more, my honour, than on hers; she seems to like me, but I
may be mistaken, and if I am I shall carry the marks of it
longer than most men perhaps ; did you mean all your words
implied, coming as they did from her sister, when you said
' Poor Charlie will miss you ?' 
He spoke very seriously, and Mrs Prescott was too much
agitated to answer him at once; it arose principally from
feeling that she was in for it now, and that it was hopeless
to endeavour to extricate herself. She was in for that inter-
ference against which her husband had cautioned her with
something like a snarl; there was no escape for her.
Happily for her, before she could speak, and so convict
herself still further, Charlie came back robed for her ride.
Mrs Prescott said a little thanksgiving on the spot. Provi-
Temporary Oblivion.
49
dence had befriended her, and made Charlie's habit to button
easily that evening.
They went out together, Miss St John and Mr Fell owes,
and-Mrs Prescott watched them from the window, and saw
him lift her to the saddle the instant her foot touched his
hand.  Oh dear, Ellen thought,  I hope they will be en-
gaged when they come back; there's no reason why she
shouldn't marry him. I don't believe she cares for anybody
else, and he is so tall and nice.
Meanwhile the pair she was thinking about were cantering
along the road to Hove, and Charlie was glancing askance
now and again at her unusually silent cavalier, and feeling
very sure of something being said that would in some way
materially alter their relations to one another before they
cantered home again.
Her woman's wit told her that it would be well to defer
the inevitable something that was to come, until their ride
was nearly over; then perhaps it would be just as well to
hear it. She told herself that she was very glad, and proud
and happy that it should have come to this—that he should
have got to like her so well in such a short time, as to be
now brimming over with impatience to tell her of it. Never-
theless, as she looked at him, when they pulled up to walk
their horses down a hill on the Shoreham road—when she
looked at him and saw clearly how the liking in his eyes
was deepening into love that would not remain long un-
spoken, she felt a qualm at her heart, and a tightening in
her throat. She had never felt so before in any of those
innocent flirtations for which she had been so reviled by
Robert Prescott. All the gaiety fled from her brow and eyes,
all the lightness from the hand that had been playing so
delicately with the curb, all the warmth seemed to' her to die
out of the bright September air as she thought, "Thirds
going to be a very different—a very serious thing : shall I "be
able to stand it ?  She had not much time to reflect on the
question she had asked herself ; when they reached the level
he drew his horse a little nearer to hers, and laying his hand
on the pommel, he commenced at once.
 I asked you last night, when we were on the pier, if you
would let me call you Charlie, and you said ' Yes; ' do you
know all that concession meant to me ? 
D
5°
Walter Goring.
She was nervous enough in reality, hut it was part of her
character to strive to seem most blithe and careless when in
truth she was most wrought upon. So now she said,—
 It meant two shillings. I said, ' Yes, if you '11 give the
German band something, and make them play my pet
waltzes ;' and you gave them two shillings, for I saw you.
 It meant more than that, Charlie.
She laughed.  So it did; it meant that we are such
capital friends, that you might call me anything—anything
that is not Charlotte ; calling me Charlotte is Mr Prescott's
pet punishment for me when my sins and offences have been
too heavy for him to bear.
He moved his hand from the pommel now, and laid it
upon her wrist.
 It meant either that you were making a plaything of me
Charlie, or that I might go on loving you as I do—as I have,
my darling, almost from the first day of my seeing you.
Her lips parted, and she looked from side to side with the
startled gaze of a hunted animal. She was in the toils; and
she could not decide whether she should escape from them
while there was yet time, or not ?
CHAPTER VIII.
daisy !
Walter Goring found his late uncle's lawyer, Mr Clarke,- a
loquacious, big, black-whiskered, effusive-mannered mau, in-
stead of the cut-and-dried epitome of reticence and quiet
keen-sightedness which he had anticipated. The young
litterateur had had little to do with law and lawyers hereto-
fore. True, he had once or twice made threatening mention
of  my solicitor in letters to refractory publishers who
were very naturally trying to make out of him precisely what,
he was trying to make out of them, namely, the most that
might be made. But in the flesh, all the knowledge he had
of the gentlemen of the long robe had been gained at the
Daisy !
51
various wine parties he had attended in the  Temple,
festivities which were given by men who had limited their
exertions at the Bar to eating the dinners.
Mr Clarke was no had travelling companion for a man who
had just come into possession of a property of which he knew
nothing. From the moment they stepped into the carriage
at Shoreditch, till they stepped out of it again at the Goring
Place platform, the lawyer poured out one fluent continuous
stream of valuable information connected with the estate and
affairs of the late Gilbert Goring, Esq. There was only one
subject on which he held his tongue; and that was the sealed
letter, the secret trust confided to his care by the deceased, to
be delivered by him (Mr Clarke) into the hands of the new
master of Goring Place immediately after the reading of the
will of the old one.
Two days before, Walter had been as indifferent about
Fortune as a man tolerably sure of being able to win her for
himself alone can be. He had the certain conviction that he
had it in him to make himself il famous by his pen, and he
had been careless of any extraneous aid. From his boyhood
he had known that, in the order of things, when his uncle
died, he would inherit a large property; but he never suffered
himself to count upon it. He had always remembered three
things—firstly, that the property was not entailed, and could
therefore be left to any one who seemed more deserving of it
in-his uncle's eyes than he himself. Secondly, that Gilbert
Goring might marry and have a son of his own ; and thirdly,
that the country gentleman, who came of a long-lived line,
and who had never taken it out of himself, either mentally or
physically, as Walter felt that he had, might last the longer
of the two. These considerations had kept him from giving
much thought to the Norfolk property, which might or might
not be his in time to come. But, as is often the case, his
philosophy of indifference broke down when most it was
needed. He read the first portion of the lawyer's letter, and
suffered himself to feel that he was a landed proprietor and a
county man.
He read the after portion, and learnt that there was an
after-thought of his uncle's still to be made known to him—
a sealed letter still to be read, containing Gilbert Goring's
latest intentions—containing, perchance, some fell blow to his
52
Walter Goring.
being either of the things which, as he was hut human, his
heart had proudly swelled with the consciousness of being for
a few brief seconds.
He could not go back to the old indifference, but after one
solitary attempt, which Mr. Clarke baffled, Walter sought to
gain no clue as to what the contents of that letter might be.
At the first mention of it which the young master of Goring
Place made, the lawyer lapsed into a taciturnity which con-
trasted curiously with his previously almost jovial manner.
His sallow pale face hardened, and his big black whiskers
stiffened themselves portentously, and he was almost offen-
sively business-like, as he said,—
 Professional matters must take their course, Mr Goring.
I can make every allowance for your impatience, but I cannot
gratify it.
Walter did not like the way Mr Clarke said it, or the way
in which Mr Clarke pressed his lips together after saying it;
moreover, it was offensive to his taste that he should have
been reproved for impatience by a man whom, in his heart,
he denominated  a howling cad  the instant he saw him.
He took no notice of the rebuke, however, but looked out of
the window, and whistled a few bars of a waltz in which he
was rather fond of revolving with Horatia Walsh—his grand
 goddess, who danced as well as she did most other things
that specially called for stateliness and grace.
His whistling was soon interrupted. Mr Clarke had as
little inclination to hold his tongue, apparently, as he had to
be unprofessional. The lawyer only intended to talk about
safe things, but evidently he intended to talk a great deal
about them. He began by extolling the admirable manner in
which the tenants on the Goring Place estate farmed the
land.  Greyling's lease expires at Michaelmas, he con-
tinued, "but if I were in your place, I should renew it for him.
 Who is Greyling ? and what does he hire ? 
"The home farm—about six hundred acres.
 If I settle down at the place, I shall keep the home farm
in my own hands, in order to have something to do, Walter
replied. Mr Clarke's advocacy of Greyling was not made at
a propitious moment.
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
 Have you ever learnt farming ? he asked.
Daisy !
53
 No.
 Then in that case you will find yourself rather behind
the Norfolk men, Mr Goring; all the land is most excellently
let at present, let to men who are steadily increasing the
value of your property. I can conceive nothing more
injudicious than your trying your hand at amateur farming;
of course I only speak as a man of business.
"It's more than probable that I shall not settle there;
but in the event of my doing so, I shall want some occupa-
tion. How about the society in the neighbourhood ?
Mr Clarke assumed a judicial air : the truth was, that he
knew nothing of the society in the neighbourhood. The late
Gilbert Goring had kept his man of business strictly in his
place as a man of business. There had always been a bed-
room and a horse at Mr Clarke's disposal at Goring Place.
But Mr Goring assumed that his county neighbours were no
more desirous of meeting his lawyer on terms of equality
than he was of meeting theirs. Accordingly he never asked
them, and so it came to pass that Mr Clarke's knowledge of
the neighbourhood was but limited. However, he had no
intention of making this fact too patent to his new client.
So, in answer to the latter's question,  How about society
in the neighbourhood? he looked judicial, and then re-
plied,—
"Oh! very good—good, you know; but dull, excepting
just in the hunting season.
 I have not been there since I was a boy. Whose are .
the places immediately around Goring Place?
This was safe ground. Mr Clarke knew well by whom
each inch of soil for many miles around Goring Place was
owned and occupied; he answered briskly,—
 Lord Harrocoat's estate lies to the north of Goring Place.
Tremendous property, that!—tremendous! some of the
finest farms in the county! I assure you his tenants go to
pay their rent in carriages that would take the shine out of
many a one that we see in the drive in the season : there is
a tradition that one of them used to drive a four-in-hand of
the best bred and matched bays in the county; but Lady
Harrocoat had hysterics about it, so he has an attack of ague
now every audit-day, and sends the rent by his bailiff.
 I have a faint recollection of the gable of a red house
54
Waltet Goring.
that I used to see through the trees when I was standing at
one of the drawing-room windows !
"I suppose that was the south lodge.
 Oh! no; it was beyond the grounds—far beyond, I
should say!
"Ah! to be sure, Fellowes' place, 'The Hurst:' it's a
small estate that belongs to a man of the name of Fellowes,
and it does lie to the south of Goring Place. The lands
meet, and' there was an awful row some years ago between
your uncle and old Fellowes, the father of this man, about a
right of way. There was a sort of private road, that led
from The Hurst to the church at Den eh am, and it cut across
a piece of your land; suddenly your uncle blocked it up and
made no end of ill-feeling about it.
 What did he do it for ?
"Oh! some magisterial quarrel. Old Fellowes and he
were both on the bench, and they disagreed about some
poaching business. I forget what it was, but at any rate
your uncle got worsted in the matter, so he went and set
about annoying Fellowes in return in the only way that
seemed open to him, by blocking-up the lane where it ran
into his land; foolish thing to do.
 Very, Walter replied. Then he went on to ask,  Have
you ever seen my his daughter?
Mr Clarke broke into a laugh:  I have been waiting for
you to ask me that question before; seen her! I have, in-
deed; and I am not likely to forget the interview!
"Why so? Walter Goring asked.
 It was a foolish business, that too, Mr Clarke said,
rapidly, without answering Walter's question; "a very
foolishly mistaken chivalric piece of business as ever I heard
of; I went, at your late uncle's request, before the girl had
got accustomed to her home or her father, and I never heard
a young lady pour out home truths with more vicious em-
phasis in my life.
 What about ? what did she say ?
 Her words rattled out like hailstones; and as I moved
in the dark, being utterly ignorant of what had gone before,
I could not connect them; but she actually cowed her father
with her reproaches about her own birth and her mother, as
I understood her.
Daisy !
55
"When was this? Walter asked, hoping that it was long
ago, and that time had tamed her.
 When she first came to Goring Place, six months since;
she's a peculiar-looking girl—a great deal of suppressed
power in her face, and a wonderful way of appearing to cool
down suddenly after a burst of excitement. I believe it's
only in appearance, and that she's a deceitful little devil.
 Pleasant prospect for me, as I am her guardian.
"Worse for the man who may possibly be her husband,
the lawyer replied, laughing.  Your's is the lesser evil, and
the pleasanter position of the two.
 What is her name ?
"Miss Goring, of course, now.
"Her other name—her Christian name—what's that?
 Daisy, your uncle called her; her name is Marguerite.
"Doesn't sound very appropriate; you say she isn't
pretty ?
"Not at all—not at all! Mr Clarke replied, decisively.
"Yet, as I tell you, there is a look in her face that you
don't forget in a hurry; she makes you think about her,
whether you admire her or not.
 And her manners—her education ?—where and how has
she been brought up ?
"There's a mystery about it; I tried to find out, both
from your uncle, and from her: your uncle just put the
question aside, and she flared up at me in a way that was a
caution to me not to trouble her with too many of my
remarks during the remainder of my visit. What her
education may be I cannot tell, for she has those manners
which leave you in doubt as to whether she knows nothing
and thinks of nothing, or whether she knows a great deal
and thinks more. She has one charm—a voice like a bird.
I'm not judge enough of music to know whether it's culti-
vated or not; but it's fresh and sweet to an extraordinary
degree.
 She '11 be rather an interesting charge, even if she is a
perplexing one, Walter Goring said, in rather more hopeful
tones than he had used about her before.
 I hope you may find her so, his lawyer replied, drily;
and then the talk about Daisy dropped, and they began to
speak about how well the game had been preserved on the
5 6 Walter Goring.
Goring Place estate, and other topics of the like sort which
are naturally dear to the heart of a possessor.
It was past twenty minutes to eight when the train stopped
for the two gentlemen to get out at the Goring Place plat-
form. Round the corner of the station a groom was waiting
with a horse and dog-cart; a groom who looked very sheepish,
and wished from the bottom of his heart that he had dressed
himself more tidily when Mr Clarke said to him— This is
Mr Goring, your new master, John. Then he turned to
Walter, and said half-apologetically—"You must not mind
in what sort of state you find things at Goring Place, Mr
Goring; the fact is, I didn't telegraph your intention of
coming down to the poor confused creatures; we'll soon
have things in better order after the funeral.
 A dinner and a bed is all I shall care to have to-night,
Walter replied.
"You'll have an interview with la belle cousin, will you
not ? 
 Yes, certainly, if she will permit it.
 You are her guardian, remember ; her permission will
be a thing of course.
Walter laughed.  I have never been in command be-
fore; but if I know myself, I am not likely to try it on any
woman, much less on this poor girl.
The Goring Place railway platform was situated close to
one of the entrances into the little park, in the centre of
which the house stood. A rapid drive along an avenue of
elms brought them into the chief approach to the house,
which with its darkened windows fronted them mournfully
in the clear bright light of the July evening.
 You are a fine old place, Walter said, admiringly.
"Yes; a man would do many things rather than forfeit
it, Mr Goring ? 
 Yes, Walter replied, abstractedly.
It was a fine old place. It stood facing the south against
a background of abruptly rising, well-wooded hill. A long,
gray stone mansion, lofty too, though only two stories high.
An old mansion, with a grand Gothic arched entrance porch,
and a row of ecclesiastical-looking windows on either side,
that caused one to feel one's-self in church at the first glimpse,
but to which one got accustomed, and felt grand about alter
Daisy.
57
a while. The Gothic arch was a bit of the original building ;
but the groined ceilings, and the mullioned windows had
been added by the father of the late Gilbert Goring, and
antiquarians averred that they were not in keeping  with
other  bits of the house. However that might be, they
were quite in keeping with beauty.
Down in a hollow at the left of the house a lake shim-
mered beautifully bright through the foliage that intervened;
and two or three swans floated tranquilly upon it, and two
or three little islets, covered with rhododendrons in full
bloom, broke its silver purity with their gorgeous colours.
To the right the view was interrupted by a mass of high
flowering shrubs, by cypresses and the arbutos, and the ever-
green oak, and the Spanish laurel, and the other trees which
are usually employed to shut off all the stables and the
kitchen gardens from the front of a house.
They went through the genuine old arch into the hall,
where a lot of armour and antlers were hanging about, and
the news that the new master had come spread like wildfire.
Before "Walter could get into the dining-room the house-
keeper was at his heels offering him dinner and apologies,
and interesting little details of his uncle's last words and
illness, in a breath. The other servants, with the exception
of the butler, who commenced laying a most elaborate cloth,
kept out in the hall, and peered at Mr Goring through the
key-hole and the crevices by the hinges. Each individual in
the house came forward to look at the new master of it, save
she who was left to his guardianship—his young cousin,
Daisy.
 While I am at dinner you will let Miss Goring know
that I should like to see her in the course of the evening, if
you please, Mrs Mason. Then he feared that this sounded
too authoritative, and he added,  that is, if it is agreeable to
her to see me.
The housekeeper smiled meaningly.
 I will tell her what you say, sir, she replied. Then she
went away out of the room, leaving the two men to the un-
disturbed enjoyment of that repast which had been provided
for Mr Clarke alone.
 Queer feeling it gives a fellow being in the house with a
dead body, Walter said after a little time ;  perhaps it is
58
Walter Goring.
because I have never been brought so close to death before;
but I own to having a sort of weight upon me that isn't re-
gret for my uncle. I should be a hypocrite to affect that, for
I knew nothing of him.
 I wonder what feeling kept Miss Goring secluded when
she heard of your arrival ? Mr Clarke replied.
 What feeling! why decent feeling, of course; I should
not have thought the better of her if she had come tearing
forward to spy at a stranger while her father's corpse was
lying unburied in the house. I am not sure that I have
done right in asking to see her to-night at all.
The lawyer laughed.  My dear sir, he said presently,
 don't go to a meeting with Miss Goring with any of these
notions.
 Why not ? Walter asked, somewhat angrily.
 Why not! because the way in which she may fall short
of them may disgust you with her; we are all too apt to be
indignant when unconscious ones fall short of the ideal we
have formed of them.
 On my soul it's not your fault if the ideal I have formed
of my cousin is the reverse of exalted, Walter replied; to
which Mr Clarke hastily answered,  Banish any impression
I may have given you unwittingly; banish it, and judge her
for yourself.
The dinner had been long cleared away, the dessert had
been placed on the tables, the wine had decreased in the
bottles, and lamp-light had succeeded twilight, and still there
came no word of recognition from Miss Goring. Finally
Walter rang the bell, and re-summoned Mrs Mason. When
she came, he asked her,—
 Does Miss Goring know I'm here?
"Yes, sir.
 Did she send any message to me ?
"No, sir.
 Didn't she say anything ? he urged.
 She said, ' I suppose he '11 do as he likes,' when I told
her what you said.
 Then I shall like to see her at once, he said haughtily,
as he saw Mr Clarke struggling to suppress a smile; per-
haps you '11 be good enough to take me to her, Mrs Mason.
And Mrs Mason said.  Certainly, sir, and led the way
Daisy!
59
across the hall, and up the old winding oak staircase to
the door of a room at the end of a corridor which was
thickly hung with dead and gone Gorings. At this door the
housekeeper paused to knock, and Walter arrested her inten-
tion. A clear, sweet powerful soprano voice was exercising
itself in apparently unrestrained joyousness in the  Shadow
Song from  Dinorah.
 God in Heaven, he muttered,  what can this girl be
made of to be singing in this way, while her father lies un-
buried in the house! And the housekeeper shook her
head, and whispered in reply,—
 The young lady's very hard to judge, sir,—very hard to
judge.
As soon as the song ceased, he knocked a loud determined
knock, and got for answer,  Come in, do !  sharply uttered.
Opening the door, he looked into a small sitting-room, at the
far end of which, at a grand piano, a girl was sitting with her
back to him. In the moment that he had to look at her,
he saw only a slight graceful girlish back and shoulders,
clothed in well-fitting black silk, and a small head, with
yellow hair braided closely about it. The next moment she
had risen, and was advancing towards him, saying with most
wonderful self-possession,—
 Mr Goring, I presume ? won't you be seated ?  then she
looked round at the housekeeper, and added,  and you can
go, Mrs Mason, and shut the door behind you.
The housekeeper turned out of the room, and banged the
door as bidden; and Miss Goring seated herself on a low
chair, leaving her cousin still standing looking down upon
her.
The face upon which he looked down had been rightly de-
scribed by Mr Clarke as one that was  full of suppressed
joower. It was a fair-complexioned, rather freckled face.
The jaw was a trifle squarer than we are accustomed to find
well in a woman ; and though the chin could not have been
called either heavy or prominent, it was very far from re--
treating, or lacking firmness. The mouth was rather wide,
and the full, well-formed lips were intensely sensitive—he
saw them quivering now as he looked at her for all the self-
possession she was displaying. Her brow was wide and low,
and over its delicate surface the blue veins could be distinctly
6o
Walter Goring.
traced. Her eyes were cobalt blue, and her little straight
nose had an upward tendency; and both eyes and nose were
strongly marked with about the most impertinent expression
it had ever been his lot to witness in any woman's face.
Withal it was not a pretty face, but it was a very remark-
able one.
"This won't do, you know! Walter Goring exclaimed,
after a few moments' pause, going nearer to her, and putting
out his hand.
She slid her own into his, and was going to slide it out
again, when he pressed and retained it.
 Are you annoyed with me for wanting to see you to-
night ?  he asked, seriously.
 Not a bit! why to-night more than any other night ? 
she replied, indifferently. She made no further effort to re-
lease her hand, but it lay in his, cold and chilly, like a little
snake.
■ I thought perhaps that it might be unpleasant to you to
see strangers just yet; but I reflected that we mustn't be
strangers, that we're almost like brother and sister, and
therefore I came.
Other women had found this man's smile very sweet, and
he gave her his sweetest smile now, as he stood holding her
hand and looking down upon her. But she remained ab-
solutely unmoved by it.
 Why shouldn't I have liked to see strangers yet ? 
 I hardly know. He was getting discomfited.
 Why didn't you hardly know ?  she asked, laughing.
 I fancied that perhaps it was too soon after your father's
death for you to care to see one whom you didn't know yet.
She wrung her hand out of his suddenly.
 Too soon after Mr Goring's death! don't begin canting
to me. I had a dose of that from Mr Travers, the clergyman,
and then from old Mason. I know that I'm left to you to
feed and clothe, and look after, for Mr Goring told me so;
but, I'm not going to pretend to please you by saying now
that I'm sorry for the death of a man I never loved while he
was alive.
He drew a chair close up in front of hers, and sat down
upon it. He thought that she was treating him to a little
bit of foolish girlish acting; and who can tell whether he
Daisy !
61
was right or not in his judgment ? At any. rate he had
had enough-of it. So he commenced somewhat sternly and
suddenly,—
 Now look here, Daisy, you and I had better understand
one another at once. I don't expect you to try to please me
—yet—nor do I desire you to feign what you don't feel; but
I am your guardian; and for your own credit's sake, child, I
insist upon this, that you make respectful mention of your
father, or that you do not mention him at all.
She looked him straight in the face while he was speaking;
the little fair face, and the simply arranged yellow hair
looked irresistibly young and innocent. The eyes, too, were
not so impertinent as they had been a minute before. Alto-
gether he felt sorry for having spoken so crossly, not that,
but so sternly to this little creature, who was so entirely in
his power.
 Do you hear me, and heed me, Daisy ? he asked, softly;
and then she threw her head back, and laughed her pealing
laugh for a moment or two, and then sang,—
 In all else I will obey,
But in this I must be free.
And he rose up and turned away from her more disgusted
and surprised than he had ever been at a woman's conduct
before.
 For God's sake, -he exclaimed,  remember that he was
your father.
"He forgot the fact for seventeen years, she replied,
quickly.
 How do you know that he forgot it ? 
 How do I know it! the girl repeated mockingly; "how
do I know that my mother—my darling mother—was borne
down by her shame, and her fear, and her anger at it.
 Is your mother alive still ?  he interrupted hastily.
 Do you know anything about her ?  the girl cried.
 Nothing, nothing.
 Then you will not hear anything from me, she said, with
a sudden re-assumption of coolness. "Yes, you shall hear
this much. I've seen my mother nearly mad with remorse,
and I have heard myself twitted, and tarinted, and reviled
with what was quite as much that man's sin as my mother's
—the pretty creature. I hated him for it, and I never for-
62
Walter Gortng.
gave him for it while he was alive, and I don't see that I'm
called upon to do it now he is dead. Mr Travers came and
talked to me about his ' being the author of my being' the
day he died, hoping to make me weep ; but I couldn't do it,
and so I didn't do it; and because I told the truth about it, old
Travers was much shocked; but you'11 be friends with me,
won't you ?  she continued, suddenly going up to him and
placing her hand on his as it rested on the back of the chair
he had formerly occupied.
 Yes, I will; and you in turn will oblige me, perhaps, in
one thing ? 
 What is it ? 
 Keep quiet for a few days. I judged you very hardly
when I came to the door just now, and you offended my
taste by breaking out in the way you did when I was talking
to you.
 You don't like my singing ? 
 Your singing is glorious—only just now it's unseemly.
 Perhaps it won't offend your taste if I tell you that if
you were to die now I shouldn't feel inclined to outrage de-
corum by singing. Won't you sit down and talk to me ? 
"Not to-night; Mr Clarke is down below, and I must go
and talk to him.
 I talked to him once, she said with a laugh.
He remembered Clarke's words, and asked,  What did
you say ? 
 I believe I reminded him that the rest of the servants
held their tongues when their master and mistress were
talking. He was in a fearful rage, and  (her face blanched,
and sparks of fire flashed from her eyes)  reminded me of
what I was. I went and told Mr Goring, and Mr Goring
didn't hound him from the house, or break his neck. What
would you have done ? 
"I hardly know—which, he replied; and as he said it,
the girl exclaimed warmly,—
 I'll keep quiet-for a few days, cousin Walter, and you'll
come and see me again to-morrow, won't you ? 
He promised her that he would do so, and then left her,
thinking as he walked along the corridor and down the
stairs to rejoin Clarke,  This Daisy of mine will keep my
hands employed. I wonder how she will hit it off with Mrs
A Wayward Ward.
63
Walsh; she's rather affected and rather designing, at the
same time she is neither ill-mannered nor ill-minded; what-
ever her experiences of life, they have not been, gained
amongst vulgar or illiterate people. I won't force her con-
lidence, hut I think in time that she will tell me where and
with whom her life has been passed; it will be essential to
her happiness that I should know, in order that I may
guard her from contact with what will pain her ; and essen-
tial to my own, too, for I fancy that I shall get to be as
fond of her as a sister. I hope my goddess won't be high
and mighty, after her ordinary dear imperial manner, with
the poor lovable child.
Then he joined Clarke, and they went out together and
walked about on the lawn, and smoked their cigars. Ever
and anon Walter's eyes fell upon the grand old mass of
building in the foreground, and he experienced pleasurable
sensations of ownership. Through his pen he had won for
himself a name that sounded already. But he had never
had a "local habitation before; and now he had such a fair
one ! Small wonder that his bosom's lord sat lightly on his
throne, despite that uncertainty still existing about the sealed
letter containing old Gilbert Goring's latest desires.
CHAPTER IX.
a WAYWARD WARD.
The funeral was over. Decently and in order—or rather
pompously and ceremoniously, as became his position in the
county—had Gilbert Goring, Esq., of Goring Place, been
laid with his fathers. The neighbouring gentlemen sent their
carriages with the windows closed, and one or two of them
even attended in person. For  Old Goring had been
much respected, as the phrase is ; though one or two, whose
own sins had not found them out yet, did shake their heads
about the daughter who came to their knowledge grown up,
and without an apparent or mentionable mother.
64
Walter Got ing.
But riches, like charity, cover a multitude of sins. It was
only those, after all, who were not asked, who had of late
not dined at Goring Place ; and now it was only those who
had remained ignorant of the day who stayed away from the
funeral, or omitted to pay some mark of respect to the old
man on his road to his long home. In all that county side
there was only one who thought about old Gilbert Goring at
all who did not wish  peace to his soul, and that one was
his daughter.
She attended to her cousin's injunctions, and kept very
quiet through the whole of the day. In common with the
rest of the household, she had been present when the will
was read in the presence of the heir and a few neighbours,
to whom were left trifling legacies, such as rings, racing cups,
&c. She had listened coldly and composedly, and had be-
trayed neither surprise nor annoyance when she found that
the whole property was left to her cousin, "Walter Goring.
But her cheeks flushed a little when it was added that a sum
of three thousand pounds was bequeathed by the testator to
his beloved and only child, Marguerite.
This was Gilbert Goring's last will and testament; this was
his final disposition of his property. But the lawyer explained
that there was still something else which he had to deliver
up to the heir—namely,  a letter containing the expression
of wishes, heartfelt wishes, which his late esteemed friend and
client had not desired to make public, as they would have
been had they been mentioned in a will, and which therefore
he had contented himself with enjoining in the most sacred
manner on. his nephew and heir in a letter, the decrees of
which, though they would not hold good in a court of law,
would, he was convinced, be respected by a man of such
well-known probity and honour as his nephew, Walter
Goring.
Immediately after this, Daisy went back to her room, the
company dispersed, and the owner of the house and his
lawyer were alone together. The latter at once gave into the
hands of 4he former a square, sealed packet, and for at least
a couple of hours Walter Goring was employed in reading a
portion of the story of his uncle's life, and the statement of
his last earnest, heart-felt wishes. What these were may not
be told yet. When Walter Goring brought his reading to a
A Wayward Ward.
65
conclusion he raised his eyes, and found the round, black
orbs of the lawyer fixed upon him.
 You know the contents of this1? be asked.
 Only the latter portion which is drawn up on parchment.
I wrote-that, for your uncle was undecided whether or not to
make its conditions imperative on you by having it signed
by, and signing it in the presence of, witnesses. What he
might have done eventually I cannot tell • but you see, as it
is, he died relying on your honour.
 And his reliance on what no man ever doubted yet shall
be justified. Qne or other of his conditions shall be fulfilled.
 Which do you at present incline towards fulfilling 1
the lawyer asked.
 I don't 'incline towards fulfilling' either, to tell the
truth; but inclination is not to be mentioned in a case like
this. Come, what shall we do, Clarke, to get rid of the
time till half-past seven ? Are there any horses in the
stables besides that fat brown brute that brought us over
yesterday ?
 Only a pair of fatter black brutes that go in the carriage.
 By Jove, I '11 see to mending matters then, very soon.
I'll go up to town next week and get a stud together.
After all, I shall quarter myself here, and get a lot of my
friends about me—the place is too fine to be deserted.
 And how about la belle cousin 1
 Ah ! what am I to do with her 1 She talked to me
beautifully for an hour to-day, but I didn't dare to venture
to suggest that she must go; and where to send her I don't
know. I can't send her to school; and she can't stay here
if I do ?
 It would be pleasant, but not proper, the lawyer laughed.
"I daresay I shall think of something soon, Walter said,
lightly;  meanwhile let us go and have a look at the stable
accommodation. I shall have plenty to do for some months
in getting the place as I shall like to see it.
"The drawing-rooms are rather in a state of decay: have
you looked at them yet V' Mr Clarke asked.
 No \ the only rooms I've seen besides the dining-room
are the study and a sweet sort of little boudoir where my
cousin was sitting. Can't we get in through one of these
windows % they 're open, and they 're low enough.
E
66
Walter Goring.
They walked as lie spoke towards one of the windows to
the left of the entrance door; it was open, and the faded,
heavy silken curtains were drawn back. He put his hand on
the sill and vaulted lightly into the room, calling out—
 Come along, Clarke !  and the next instant he wished that
he had not shouted to Clarke to come along, for there, kneel-
ing before a cabinet, the glass of which was freshly broken,
he saw Daisy.
She started to her feet as he entered, and gave a little cry
of anger—not of fear.
 What do you come in in that way for ?  she asked; and
he replied,—
 What are you doing here ? 
 Looking for something that belongs to me, Mr Goring,
she replied haughtily.
 Excuse me, Daisy dear, but you shouldn't have done it
in this way, he said, good-humouredly. He was intensely
relieved to find that Clarke had not followed him.
 Excuse me, but I should, since I'd no other way ; this
room is yours, and I'd no right in it—and the cabinet is yours,
and I ought not to have broken it—but the picture is mine,
and I will have it!
 What picture, Daisy ? 
 My mother's—my own darling mother's, the girl said,
sullenly.  I wanted to get it away before you saw it; he
showed it to me once, and showed me where he kept it, and
pretended that it was his love for her had made him keep it
—his love for her ! I determined that I'd take it away as
soon as I could; and you '11 let me have it, won't you ?—
won't you ?  she continued, in a voice of passionate entreaty.
 It will be nothing to you, and it's so much to me.
He went over and tried the door; it was fast locked.
"We won't risk cutting our hands by putting them through
this broken glass ; besides, young lady, we should have to de-
stroy that fine fluted silk before we could get at what you
want; let us go and look for the key, about a thousand were
put on the study table labelled this morning.
She put both her hands round his arm.
 How good you are, she said, coaxingly.
 I can't return the compliment, Daisy, he said, kindly;
"instead of making a small scene about getting your pic*
A Wayward Ward.
67
ture, why didn't you come, or send, and ask me for it pro-
perly ? 
Then they found the key, and went hack to the dilapi-
dated drab silk drawing-room.
 You'll know the picture directly, she began, excitedly;
 it's in an oval frame, with my name, Marguerite, traced at
the bottom—and she's something like me, only her hair is
golden, and her face pretty.
Her own face looked pretty enough as she spoke, watching
him with parted lips, and cheeks into which a bright blush
had mounted. When he found the picture he handed it to
her without giving the face so much as a glance ; and when
she had clasped it caressingly to her bosom, she held it out,
saying —
 Won't you look at her—my mother ? 
"You have forgotten, he said, gently, "that only last
night you did't wish me to know anything about her, Daisy;
I won't take advantage of this to force your confidence.
 Thank you, she said, quietly, withdrawing her picture
again and turning to leave the room.
He watched her as she walked along. She moved beauti-
fully—not with a mere natural grace and ease, but with a
certain studied elegance that had evidently been taught her.
Then for the first time he noticed the rare symmetry of her
figure.
 She's built something like the girl I met at Walsh's the
other night, he thought;  and she's not unlike her in other
respects, though the other's so dark.
Thinking this, he went back into the garden to Mr Clarke,
and told that gentleman that the drab drawing-room was in
a state of decay and no mistake, whatever the others might
be.  I've managed to smash the glass of one of the cabinets
already, he said; but he added no word relative to Daisy.
It was arranged that the two gentlemen should return to
town together on the following day, (Saturday,) and that in
the course of the evening Walter should communicate this
arrangement to his ward, and at the same time sound her as
to her own wishes about her future manner of life.  Not
that she's likely to suggest anything feasible, but still I may
as well hear what she has to say about it. He had deter-
mined to obviate any immediate awkwardness by not coming
68
Walter Goring.
back himself to Goring Place until he could induce the
Walshes to come with him.  Then she '11 make it all
straight, he said to himself with a lively remembrance of
his friend's fertility of resource in all social difficulties.
Nevertheless, though he felt thus secure in the thoughts of
Mrs Walsh's future partisanship, his heart rather misgave
him when he found himself in the presence of his ward.
She was seated on a low stool near an open window, in a
cloud of crape, and she had been crying. On the whole she
looked very fragile and gentle and pretty.
 I'm very glad you have come, she said, lifting up her
head and holding out her hand to him cordially. Coming
out as it did from the cloud of crape he could see that it was
a very beautiful hand and arm which was thus extended to
him ; it was not only a hand that an artist would have ad-
mired, but it was an artistic hand—a hand that expressed a
very strong feeling for the beautiful.  I'm very glad you
have come, and I shall be very glad when that man goes
away, for then I shall see more of you, I hope.
 I am going away with him to-morrow, hut when I come
back 
 Going away to-morrow !  she said ;  are you really ?
 Yes, really.
 What for ? 
"To go up and settle some business, and see some people,
and get horses and friends to come down here and cheer us
up a bit.
 I shall be glad enough to see the horses, hut I hope the
friends won't come yet; if they do, I shall see nothing of
you.
"You will see nothing of me till they do come.
 Why not ? 
 Because I shall not return until Mr and Mrs Walsh, very
old friends of mine, can come with me.
"Why not ?  she persisted.
He laughed.  If you will have it, then, because I won't
have it said that my ward is in a bachelor's house when there
are no married ladies there.
"Uncalled-for precautions, she said, sadly; "as far as
I'm concerned, my name can't be called in question,
 It is now my turn to ask, ' Why not, Daisy ? '
A Wayward Ward.
69
 Because I have none, she answered, almost fiercely;
then she added more softly,  it's rather hard, Mr Goring,
that I should feel this, isn't it ? That's my inheritance, to
know it, and to feel it from the bottom of my heart.
She crossed her white arms over on her knees, letting the
cloudy crape float back from off them as she did so, and then
she bent forward till her little head rested on them. The
attitude was a wonderfully willowy, graceful one; the girl
was like a cat, in that, do what she would, she never did any-
thing awkwardly. He watched her admiringly for a few
minutes, and thought and wondered what Mrs Walsh would
think of her. Then he felt uncomfortable; he fancied she
was crying.
 Daisy, Daisy!  he said, imploringly,  believe that all I
do is for your good, and to ensure your happiness. Then he
tried to raise the bowed head from the folded arms, and, when
he had succeeded, she looked at him reproachfully, and the
tears fell down heavily in big drops.
"Daisy, don't cry—I can't stand it. What can I do?
he cried.
 Promise me that you won't send me away to live with
some old harridan of a woman, or have one here to live with
me, she sobbed.
"I promise. Yes—yes ; do not cry, my dear child. Come
and sing me something.
When he said that, Daisy cleared up in a moment, and
bounded to the piano, and the next moment she was singing,
at the full Daisy-power, that wonderfully joyous, silly little
song, which has for refrain the words,—
 And I cannot choose but sing how delightful is the day,
And the little birds that sing how very fair ! 
and Walter hung enraptured over her.
 Artist! amend your craft! with shields nor spears,
Sculpture your Venus Victrix, but—in tears,
-writes Alfred Austin, the brilliant satirist, who has said many
things that we do not like of us, but more that we do.
He could not reprove her any longer for singing  under
the sad circumstances. He was not hypocritical enough to
desire her to check what appeared to be the natural expres-
sion of her feelings. Pier voice was remarkably pure, power-
7 o
Walter Goring
ful, and well cultivated. But its most remarkable quality
was the quality "Walter Goring most admired in it—
joyousness. Never a lark had carolled at heaven's gate
more exultantly, apparently, than did this girl. She was
great in the pathetic passages, and forcible and telling in the
powerful ones • but it was in the joyous ones that she was
unequalled.
As I write of her I think of one whose life path ran par-
allel with mine for a while, whose will was as wayward,
whose heart was as true, whose defiant cobalt blue eyes were
as sweetly impertinent, whose antecedents were little less sad,
though in a widely different way, and whose voice was as
bright a strain of music, as jov-expressing, joy-inspiring a
thing as were those of this Daisy of mine. And I pause for
a moment to write "a blessing on the bright, young, yellow
head  that always played the part of a sunbeam to me, and
feel that I can write no more to-night.
CHAPTER X.
A GOOD INFLUENCE.
A FEW days after this Walter was down at Roehampton, and
Daisy was alone at Goring Place, practising her singing scales
morning, noon, and night, in order to pleasure him with
apparently unpremeditated bursts of melody that should
never be half a note untrue or flat when he returned. The
one dread she had about her vocalisation was, that she might
not  come back  from some high-pitched shivering fit on the
upper notes with apparent ease. So now that he, the man
whom she wanted to please, was away, she strengthened her
voice by all the means of which she had ever heard, and
exercised it until its flexibility became a matter of marvel
even unto herself. The rumour of the wonderful beauty of
it reached the village, and Mrs Travers, who thumped the
harmonium and led the choir, began to wish to get Daisy to
join it. But Daisy declined the honour when it was proffered
A Good Influence.
71
her, in a way that made Mrs Travers remember  the girl's
origin at once.
While Daisy was making the walls of old Goring Place
ring again with bursts of scientifically-managed glee, Walter
was at Roehampton seeking to interest Mrs Walsh about his
ward, and for the first time finding Mrs Walsh utterly un-
sympathetic. He had gone down there to luncheon, and he
had found Mrs Walsh alone ; and then he had made the mis-
take of introducing the subject of his cousin at once, as if it
were of paramount importance to him.
 What would you suggest my doing with her? he asked,
earnestly.
 Send her to school.
 She's past that—in every way.
 From what you told me, I judged her to be a flippant
little cub, and thought a year or two's schooling would do her
an immense deal of good. I can suggest nothing else.
 She's past schooling in every way, and you did promise
to help me about her if I found myself in a difficulty. I'm
in a difficulty now. I mean to live at Goring Place, so she
can't, that's clear. Where had I better send her.
"Send her back to her own people, Mrs Walsh said,
scornfully.
He shook his head impatiently.
"You won't help me, then?
 I can't; I am not prepossessed by what you have told
me about her.
 I have tried to give you my own impressions of her, and
I certainly am prepossessed. I was very much in hopes that
you would have liked her, in which case I should have placed
her with some duenna near you, in order that you might
have seen a good deal of her.
"I have no vocation that way, Mrs Walsh said, coldly.
 From what you have told me about her, I think she must
be a pert, under-bred, flirting girl.
 Flirting! Good heavens ! Poor child, that was far
enough from her thoughts.
 Oh, nonsense! Don't make her into a heroine brimming
over with fine feelings. She tried a few Clapham school-girl
tricks on you, and even she must have been amused to see
how wonderfully they told. Is she pretty ? 
72
Walter Goring.
 Hardly—yes, rather; in figure she's something like that
Miss St John.
"Miss St John has the typhus fever, and is not expected
to recover.
He started as if he had been shot. The girl had interested
him very much, though other things had put her out of his
head. He had not been wrought upon to the falling-in-love
point, but he had been very much interested in her. So now
when Mrs Walsh said "she is not likely to recover, he
started as if he had been shot, and exclaimed—
 You don't say so ! Poor girl!
Now that Miss St John was down nearly unto death, Mrs
Walsh could be very just, if not generous, to her.
 Yes, she is, she replied ;  she caught it nursing one of
her sister's children. Mrs Prescott is only a selfish, lovely
idiot, you know, although all you men make such an absurd
fuss about her, because she smiles at all your platitudes; so,
directly the eldest child was taken ill, she rushed and en-
sconced herself in a far corner of the house with the well
ones, and left the nursing to her sister.
 My idea of Mrs Prescott was that the only mind she had
was the maternal.
 It's only one of the many mistakes you make about
women.
 I made no mistake about her sister. I thought her what
she has proved herself—a brave, kind-hearted girl.
 You had such a good opportunity of judging while she
was in the conservatory with you, of course. Shall we go
for a drive this afternoon 1
 Yes, he agreed to the proposition. So they had her
own pony-carriage out, and went for a long drive; and while
they were out they discussed what style of phaeton and trap
it would be best to send down to Goring Place, and she was
interested as to the colour of his horses, and altogether talked
to him so bewitchingly, that he forgot both Charlie St John
and his cousin Daisy. Moreover, it was decided while they
were out, that she should persuade Ralph to take her down
to Goring Place as soon as Walter could get a few horses and
some other things together that were needed at once.  And
till you go, you '11 stay with us, won't you 1 she asked;  if
you don't, I shall think you've grown too big a man.
A Good Influence.
73
So until he went back with the Walshes as his guests to
Goring Place, he stayed at Roehampton; and though the
time seemed very short to him, Daisy had more than a fort-
night's clear practice of those upper notes with which she
wanted to astonish him on his return. He meanwhile thought
very little of Daisy, only wondered at intervals  how she
would hit it off with Mrs Walsh.
He tried very hard, he made frequent and earnest efforts
to get into the same grooves in which he had run so easily
before he was a man of property.  I shall have cause to
curse Goring Place if it makes me an idle hound, he said
one morning to Mrs Walsh. "I never do anything like
work now; I've forgotten where I left all my young people.
I shall never get.them into position.
Then she urged him to try, begging him to read up bits of
it to her, and to think out some scenes that they had often
talked over together, and to work on at his novel generally,
in fact.
 I shall be sorry that you ever heard of Goring Place, too,
if it makes you lax about literature.
 Do you think more of my fame than my fortune 1 he
asked.
"Yes, she answered, warmly, like a true woman; and he
rose at once to get the long-neglected MS., and as he passed
out of the room, he paused by her side for a moment to say—
 Thanks for that, my goddess.
And she replied, kindly—
 Ralph and I have always hoped such bright things for
you.
She was a woman whose little airs, and graces, and cap-
rices, all shown out of regard for him, were worth enduring,
after all.
It is far from a pleasant thing to read one's own MS. works
aloud, as a rule. The majority of people are utterly incap-
able of following the interest, unless each connecting link is
laid before them ; the majority also are addicted to the asking
of awkward questions about "what you mean to do with so-
and-so 1 and "how such and such an incident is to be
worked  into the general pattern without looking patchy 1
As one is usually quite as much in the dark as one s inter-
rogator as to the ultimate end of the means used, the position
74
Walter Goring.
must be admitted to be an awkward, not to say a humiliating
one.
But surely there can be no man—or woman either—so
cursed by fate, none so utterly desolate, but that at some pe-
riod or other of his literary career he has met with an entirely
appreciative listener—met with one who follows him, and un-
derstands almost before he does himself—on whom no point
is thrown away, no epigram wasted—one whom the pathos
touches to no feigned tenderness, and from whom the hu-
mour wrings no falsely gleeful smiles. A sympathetic audi-
tor, in fact, who, above all things, abstains from the disgust-
ing habit of charging the writer with having made lame
sketches of self or friends in any of the characters. Such a
listener is a crown of glory—a superb joy to the one who is
listened to; and such a listener was Horatia Walsh.
I say that this woman was his friend, and a very good,
true friend to him too, for, distracting as were the eircum-
stances through which he had but just passed, he got into
harness again under her influence, and began to do some very
useful work at her feet. Many of her female friends, could
they have witnessed the scene of this morning—the beautiful
woman sitting there on a low couch in a corner of the shaded
room, and the young attractive man reading page after page
of his own impassioned words to her—many of her female
Mends, had they witnessed this, would have bridled their
blameless heads, and believed hard things of them both. Yet
m reality she was only urging him by the mute influence of
an interest and a trust in him that was felt rather than ex-
pressed, to touch a noble aim. He knew that she believed
in his best. He knew that she had reliance on his belief in
this confidence of hers; and she was his friend, for he desired
to justify her faith in him. In just the same way would she
stand and see the best, and feel the best, in the pictures her
husband was painting. But many people declared that the
interest she took in these latter was but cold and artificial,
and that the interest she took in Walter Goring's works was
the genuine thing. She knew well that this was said, and
she smiled her proud smile about it, knowing that they
wronged her—that was all.
The reading of his story to Mrs Walsh brought up Walter
Goring's own interest in it again to the working point; and
A Good Influence.
75
bo starting fresh, as he did, he made great progress in it dur-
ing the remainder of the time he spent at Roehampton.  I
shall take it down and polish it off in time to get it out by
the end of September, he said.  I shall devote the winter
to the sports and pastimes of my country, and go in for the
collecting new ideas concerning country life; after this is
finished, I don't write another line till the spring.
 And then you '11 break out into a novel all over horses
and men in pink; your hero will ' ride straight' through the
book, and your heroine do marvellous things in the way of
' gentling' refractory colts and teaching setter-dogs to ' down-
charge;' that is always the result of an author going down
into the country to write a novel quietly.
He laughed:  Feminine influence shall intervene, and
strike out whatever may appear too animal in the sense you
mean.
 Whose influence ? Your cousin's ?
"Yours, of course, if you'll honour me by exercising it
still.
 I promise I will, even if you make a heroine of Daisy.
"Or of Miss St John? he asked, laughing.
 No ; in that case I couldn't. I should feel no interest
in a book in which such a very uninteresting character had a
prominent place; it may be bad taste on my part, but to me
Miss Charlie St John is the type of mediocrity in manner,
appearance, and mind; and (Mrs Walsh reserved herheavi-
est shot for the last)  the worst of it is, that she is too old
to improve.
He laughed good-humouredly; on the whole he did not
dislike this display of animus; it was not at all uncompli-
mentary to himself.
 I think you would like her better in a book than out of
it.
"Yes, she replied, coolly; "because I could put her
down when I chose.
This conversation took place the day before they left Roe-
hampton for Goring Place. The following morning they
started, and the stud Walter Goring had got together met
them in charge of three grooms at the Shoreditch station.
There were six horses in all—a couple of carriage-horses, a
couple of hunters, and a splendid pair of roadsters, one of
76 Walter Goring.
which, a chestnut, beautiful as a star, was  warranted to
carry a lady. In the midst of his London business and
literary bliss, Walter Goring had remembered the delight
which had expressed itself in Daisy's face at the mention of the
horses that were coming down, and he promised himself the
pleasure of teaching her to ride, and watching the graceful
lines of her perfect figure, in at once the most trying and the
most becoming position in which it could be seen.
CHAPTER XI.
gloves!
At a first, a cursory glance at the great subject of gloves, one
may imagine it easily to be divided into the two classes of
gloves (kid or otherwise) that fit, and those that don't. But
this is, to say the least of it, a very superficial view to take of
a matter of such colossal interest to that vast section of hu-
manity which consents to render itself partially incapable,
through the agency of, and for the sake of supporting, the
glover and trader in the skins of the pretty little baby goats.
Will any one of the countless thousands who will doubt-
less peruse this be kind enough to recall a vision of .the first
pair of gloves into which he or she was inducted ? They will
shrink from the wraith of those lamb's-wool disfigurements pro-
bably ? Well, I will do it for them even at the risk of wring-
ing some fair soul to anguish. They were .guileless of finger
divisions, those first handcoverings of yours and mine. They
were of thick texture, and undistinguishable outline. The
only art that was attended to in their construction was the
art of keeping baby's hands warm. They were of all colours,
blue and pink predominating. And they were generally tied
round the wrist, to the detriment of our circulation, with a
ribbon of the same colour, but a different shade. What pride
our mothers and aunts and grandmothers, and the rest of the
ministering spirits of our childhood, had in muffling us in
these knitted abominations! How regardless they were of
Gloves!
77
the fact that we immediately gave our hands a vapour hath, a
thing that might have had an extremely injurious effect upon
our immature organisation, by thrusting them a long way
down our throat, and then waving them wildly abroad over
so much of the world as came under them conveniently !
How we made scientific experiments on colour, by extracting
with our lips as much as we could from the confining ribbon !
How surely within ten minutes of their being put upon us
was one lost, and the other mislaid, with so much baby-tact
that it was never found again ! What a refreshing and im-
proving spectacle one of those gloves would be to us now!
How small our hands were, and how innocent! and how
entirely devoted to our own pleasures!—which last consisted
mainly in conveying everything that was nice, and much that
was not, to our mouths !
Our next step in the glove world wras not nice. We went
from warm, soft, ingratiating lamb's-wool, which, if not pretty
was at least pleasant, into Lisle thread, or spun silk. The
former of these useful manufactures was a loathsome one.
We suffered them because we were anxious that the dignity
of gloves should be ours at any cost—any cost of pain to our-
selves, that is. Our parents were not equally magnificent in
giving us the dignity at any cost of money. But these Lisle-
thread gloves were an awful suffering ! They grated harshly
on our skin every time we drew them on, in a way that sent
us  abroad in the meadows to see the young lambs, and in
quest of other genial Sanford and Merton sights, with our
teeth on edge and our tempers ruffled ! But we were then in
obedience to some imbecile imaginary law of gentility, against
which we were taught to think that we should offend if we
stripped them off and gave our hapless paws the fair play
which was not denied to Neptune and Trim and the rest of
our canine playfellows. We are ready now, of course, as
grown-up sensible people, to suffer a little for beauty's sake.
But I think we must all regret the suffering that odious thread
of Lisle imposed upon our youth, and which we bore, not for
beauty's, but mythical gentility's sake.
Spun silk was a milder form of agony—that is to say, it
did not  hurt, it simply stuck to us like a caterpillar, a bad
name, an undesirable acquaintance, and other things of that
sort. When we drew off gloves in those days we always left
78
Walter Goring.
a light hairy trimming on the backs of our hands from the
silk of which the coverings were composed.
The next was an honourable and glorious step in the days
when I was young—we went into our first kids ! It is no-
thing now, when infants of six months, or their mammas for
them, are fastidious about the cut of the thumb, and object
to the triangular gusset because it makes them crease in the
back. But in olden times, the first time we inserted our hands
into kids was a white-stone day—a day to be remembered and
talked about with pride, tempered with awe, amongst our
compeers.
They were not always a brilliant success. Mine, for in-
stance, were a decided failure. I loved them dearly for half-
an-hour, at the end of that time I was prone to confess
to myself that they bored me. I could not take a firm hold
of anything in life by reason of the liberality with which kid
had been expended on the fingers. The buttoning them cost
me a small piece of flesh, for I could not accomplish it for
myself, and the kind friend who assisted in installing me into
these new honours could not achieve it until a small piece of
me had been sacrificed between the button and her determined
nail. Looking back upon them now, I must confess, too, that
their hue was unpleasant. They were of an olive green; they
Would recklessly crease themselves to a degree that brought
me wrath; the price of them was mentioned, too, with
severity, and I was bidden to remember that kid gloves did
not grow upon trees, for which) all things considered, I was
devoutly thankful. Unmixed bliss not being in the wearing
them, I was very glad when they left me, which they did
shortly in a darkly mysterious manner, which brought me
more wrath. I have since had reason to suppose that they
afforded first recreation and then indigestion to a lethargic
pet King Charles spaniel, who was in the habit of trying to
eat everything, from the foundation of the house, at which in
his frequent hours of leisure he would dig furiously, to his
master's boot-laces, and failing, poor dog, in consequence of
having left his teeth behind him in a trap that he endeavoured
to swallow early in life.
Gloves have been treated at length because they were the
first rock on which Daisy split after meeting with Mrs "Walsh.
Walter Goring and his guests had reached Goring Place in
Gloves!
79
time to dress comfortably for a seven o'clock dinner on Satur-
day night. On their arrival, Mrs Walsh had been straightway
conducted to the rooms that had been set apart for her. Mr
Walsh had foundered in the corridor with the Lelys and
Yandycks, and Walter had gone at once to look for his
cousin. He found her, as he expected, in her own sitting-
room. It was the only room which had been refurnished for
the last seventy or eighty years, and it had been made as
bright and pretty as brilliant chintz, and polished wood, and
gold mouldings, and the pale green watered paper could make
it. Poor Gilbert Goring had tried to touch his daughter's
heart through its adornments, and failed.
The girl was a born actress. She knew intuitively the
situation and the scenes in which she showed to the best ad-
vantage. It was more with a desire of throwing a halo of
grace and sweetness and refinement around herself, than
from any love of the flowers, that she had laid a heavy tribute
on the gardens this day, and bedecked her room plentifully
with the fairest blooms she could find. She wanted Walter
to come in, and be struck at once with sweet odours and
sweet sounds. Young as she was, she had a great notion of
getting at men's hearts through their senses. So she grouped
roses about everywhere, in tall vases and flat baskets, and
wore a pale buff queen of flowers in her bosom, and, as the
hour approached for him to come in, she seated herself at the
piano and flooded the air with melody.
He opened the door quietly, and watched her and listened
admiringly to her for a minute or two before she became con-
scious of his presence. He wished that he had brought Mrs
Walsh to see and hear her, and be charmed as he was with
the air of sweet unpremeditation and unconsciousness. He
little knew that Mrs Walsh would have seen through it all,
and despised her for one of the little tricks of the trade with
which she herself was not wholly unacquainted. Women see
through these artless artifices much more clearly than men ;
they are on the track remorselessly in an instant, and rarely
leave it until they have run down the motive and held it up
to scorn.
At last that electric power which passes from the liked to
the liker thrilled her, and she knew, without hearing a sound
of him, without catching a glimpse of him, without giving a
8o
Walter Goring.
sign that she knew it, that he was there and that he was
looking at her. Yery carefully and very brilliantly she
finished her song, and then very leisurely bent down and
selected from the music-rack that song which we all laugh at
and all like from some reason or other, and then treated
Walter to a burst of the melodious conviction—
 He will return, I know him well,
He will not leave me here to die. .
What man could have stood it 1
44 I should rather think he wouldn't leave you 4 here' or
anywhere else to die ! he exclaimed, going up to her quickly;
and she started up, putting one hand out to greet him, and
the other down on the music stool to steady it, making her
figure take a graceful curve as she moved, that was not lost
upon that lover of the beautiful, Mr Walter Goring.
 When did you come in 1 she asked.
44 Two minutes ago.
44 And I meant to have been down to meet you! How
dreadfully provoking ! Has Mrs Walsh come 1
44 Yes, he replied. 44 She's gone to dress, and I must do-
the same, but I thought I would just look you up first.
Then he added, 441 want you to come down with me pre-
sently, and be ready to receive her. You must play hostess,
you know, Daisy.
441 '11 play anything you like, I'm so glad to have you back
again, Mr Goring.
441 don't call you 4 Miss Goring.'
Her brow crimsoned.
44 You don't do it, partly because I'm your ward, and
partly because it's not my name, I suppose. But what should
I call you if I didn't call you 4 Mr Goring ?' 
He didn't like to say, "Call me Walter; there is a sort-
of sentimentalism about such a request from which the
bravest man may shrink without reproach after one-and-
twenty. The Christian name should always rise to the lips
spontaneously ; there is something inharmonious about ask-
ing and being asked to utter it. Nevertheless, he wished her
to call him 44 Walter, in a cousinly sort of way, at the out-
set before Mrs Walsh : so he said—
44 Ob, call me anything, or nothing; not 4Mr Goring'—■
I can't stand that! 
Gloves!
Si
To which, she replied as simply as possible,  Yery well,
Walter.
"It's a quarter to seven now, and we dine at seven—I
must he off and dress : how well you look, Daisy.
She glanced over her shoulder at the effect of the black
dress she wore, then a purely feminine difficulty which had
been much oppressing her came to the surface and would be
spoken about.
 0 Walter, she began rather piteously,  I have been in
such trouble ; the dressmaker at Deneham is a beast.
 Is she, indeed ?  he said, laughing.
"You wouldn't laugh if you had to wear what she had
made. And that Mrs Walsh will have come down with all
her London Paris-modelled things ! 
"'That Mrs Walsh' won't judge you by your dress,
Daisy, he said, gravely;  besides, dear, you couldn't look
better than you do.
 0 couldn't I indeed ?  the girl cried out heartily ;  you
give me a French milliner, and see whether I wouldn't come
out—looking a trifle better. And as to Mrs Walsh ' not
judging me by my dress,' I don't care one bit for her judg-
ment. I only want to look as well as she does.
He was on the point of answering—"you do that, but he
remembered just in time that he did not think so; and that,
moreover, his goddess would not like him to think so.
Therefore he checked the utterance, and said instead, that he
would go and- dress, and return for Daisy in ten minutes.
When he was gone Daisy rushed to her bed-room, and
ascertained through the agency of a cheval and hand-glass
exactly how the skirt of her dress looked. Then she thought
a thanksgiving for that Mrs Walsh had no cheval in her
room,—put her yellow hair into more perfect order, and
then returned to her boudoir, to look as composed as she
•could, and await Walter's coming to lead her down to receive
the guests.
If it be thought that he made rather too much of this
young girl, let it be remembered that she was left in his
power as it were; that she had no other friend in the world;
and that he was a very chivalrous man.
Presently he came, and she went down with him into the
big drab drawing-room—the same room in which he had
F
82
Walter Goring.
found her kneeling before the broken cabinet. The stiff old
furniture—the absence of flowers—the look of disuse alto-
gether which was over the apartment, struck Walter forcibly,
coming as he did from Daisy's room above.
 I told Mrs Marsh to make the place look as well as she
could with the old things; but she doesn't seem to have
effected much; however, it does not much matter, he con-
tinued, "Mrs Walsh understands that she is to see Goring
Place in the rough;—you might have had some flowers here
though, Daisy.
 I'11 get some after dinner, if you will come out and help
me to gather them, she replied.
"We will see about that, he answered. And then the
door opened slowly, and Mrs Walsh came into the room.
He took Daisy's hand, and led her towards Mrs Walsh as
he would have led a child. He forgot entirely the speech
he had made up-stairs, relative to Daisy playing the hostess;
and Daisy, mortified at this forgetfulness of his, and feeling
resentfully that he was thinking more of her youth and help-
lessness than of anything else at this moment, imparted as
unchildlike a rigidity to her bearing as she could, as he said,—
 This is the young lady about whom I have talked to you
so much,—my ward and cousin, Daisy Goring.
Mrs Walsh smiled, and held out her hand to the girl with
a grand graciousness that was beautiful to behold from the
impartial spectator's point of view, and Daisy held out her
hand with an absence of all cordiality in the movement, and
an absence of all graciousness in her face. She was put in
the position of the patronised, and her pride rebelled against
it.
Honestly in her heart of hearts the girl was prepossessed
by the woman. Daisy had chosen to picture Mrs Walsh as a
pretty, lively, domestic-mannered woman, who would be
wanting her (Daisy) to sit and work with her of a morning,
and otherwise interfere aggressively during the term of their
sojourn together at Goring Place. But from this stately
superb beauty no interference of a petty or aggravating nature
could be dreaded. Besides, her taste was gladdened by the
sight of the grace and beauty and calm in which Mrs Walsh
was steeped, so to say. Daisy had a keen appreciation of
that order of loveliness which mav be seen from any side,
Gloves !
83
and which is always lovely ; and of that passive grace which
takes up what the sternest critic can hut feel to be the most
exquisite of attitudes, and retains it for half an hour. Mrs
Walsh was an adept in this patrician art of keeping quiet.
Her stillness was not the stillness of stupidity. During her
longest periods of inaction, she never looked inane. Even
when she sat and looked long-past the person who was
addressing her, as she did occasionally, it was with the far-ofl
look of the sibyl, not with the vacant eye of the non-under-
standing. This composed grace, this grand loveliness, was
precisely the thing that would appeal to a fluctuating, restless
nature such as Daisy's. She hked the contrast to herself.
Mrs Walsh was to her like a mountain, or an oratorio—a
thing to be marvelled at and admired.
But the lady was not prepossessed by the girl. Daisy's
good looks and Daisy's grace were of that order which de-
pend much on the circumstances surrounding and the tern-
per of the possessor. Miss Goring had looked very pretty
up in her own room ten minutes before. She had thrown
herself into the spirit of her songs with a certain dramatic
power that is always attractive. She had been flushed and
excited with gratified vanity; the sound of her own voice had
thrilled her, and the feeling that a man was standing and ad-
miring her very much, had thrilled her still more. Let it not
be supposed for a moment that Daisy had a single warm feeling
towards her cousin Walter. She had not; but she was very
open to admiration, and very eager for it, and not at all un-
willing to flatter any man forward on the path of offering it
to her. These things combined to give a sort of nervous
grace to her face and bearing, when she felt—as she had felt
up-stairs—that such charm as she had was patent to a man.
But here, before Mrs Walsh, she fell flat—not from embar-
rassment, she never was embarrassed—but from a conviction
that even at her best Mrs Walsh would not admire her; and
that even if Mrs Walsh had done so, she would not have
cared for another woman's admiration. In fact, she had no
liking for her own sex—no appreciation of it—no desire to
stand well with it—no sense of the value of its sympathy.
Its companionship offered her no excitement, and excitement
was a thing she craved with an unhealthy craving that made
her yearn for it in any form. All this Mrs Walsh read in
84
Walter Goring.
her at their first meeting: and, consequently, Mrs Walsh
was not prepossessed in Daisy's favour, foreseeing, as she did,
that his ward would give her friend Walter Goring some
trouble before he had done with her. Mrs Walsh little
thought of the trouble he was in about Daisy already—a
trouble he did not like to confide to any one—a trouble he
could not share with any one—a trouble that made him,
even in these early days of his proprietorship, regret that he
had ever heard of Goring Place.
After dinner they went over a portion of the house, and
still Daisy felt at a disadvantage, and so was at one. Walter
consulted Mr and Mrs Walsh about the colours to be em-
ployed on the walls, and the carpets to be put upon the
lioors; and Mrs Walsh came off her pedestal, and conde-
scended to give sound advice on the subject of upholstery;
and Daisy walked in sulky silence by Mr Walsh's side, and
disapproved witfy her eyes and mute lips of every little design
he sketched, either in his note-book or in words, for the
ornamentation or arrangement of anything. But at last
twilight fell, and then her turn came. Walter proposed that
they should all go into "Daisy's sitting-room and have tea
while she sang to them; and Mrs Walsh acceded to the
proposition with one of her grand indifferent smiles; then
Daisy felt her hour of triumph was coming, and rejoiced
that she had had patience to practise as she had been doing
of late.
They went into Daisy's sitting-room, and as soon as they
entered Mrs Walsh read a little more of Miss Goring's char-
acter. Mrs Walsh was a votary of that creed which worships
the happy perfect medium, and which holds that it is very
possible to have too much of a good thing. She objected to
lavish profusion; she was as classical in her taste as in her
person.
But Daisy revelled in luxuriousness. She liked an atmos-
phere to be heavy with fragrance and warm with colour; she
liked the air to throb with sweet, soft sounds; she liked a
subdued, artificial light to be shed over things. For all her
fair, freckled face, her yellow hair, and her blue eyes, there
was a strong touch of the oriental about this girl. The ex-
citement she craved was that of the senses, not of the intel-
lect.
Gloves !
85
She was herself again now as she went to the piano—her
graceful, undulating self. Mrs Walsh lounged on a couch,
and looked at the flowers, at the pictures, at the ceiling—at
anything but Daisy; and Daisy marked and determined that
Mrs Walsh should look at her before long—ay, and marvel
at her too. She asked Mrs Walsh ' what songs she liked,
and Mrs Walsh "didn't care;  and then Daisy turned care-
lessly to Walter, and Walter went up and turned over her
songs irresolutely, and finally left the selection to herself.
She sang ! What she sang is of little consequence; suffice
it to say that she sang song after song, (always pausing indif-
ferently between them, and waiting to be asked to "go on
by one or other of the gentlemen,) until Mrs Walsh lounged
no longer, but sat and listened, as Daisy had vowed to her-
self Mrs Walsh should sit and listen. She sang as though
she had been Queen Titania's darling Puck, endowed with
the voice of Adelina Patti—as though she had felt the full
meaning of every word she uttered, which she did not. Her
bell-like notes rang pseans of triumph; she threw her head
back, and warbled like a nightingale, and had about as much
feeling in the matter as a nightingale may be supposed to
have. The motive which inspired her was the thought that
two men were listening to her enraptured now, and that it
was good practice for enrapturing others in the days to come.
The true artist feeling of striving to excel in it for its own
sake she had not; but she possessed to the full the wonder-
ful dramatic power of seeming to have it.
Perhaps, could she have heard a brief conversation which
took place between Walter and the Walshes, she would have
left off rather sooner than she did. Mr Walsh was struck
with that same expression of restraint—of all not being
given out—which Mr Clarke had described as  suppressed
power. He was much struck with it. She had precisely
the expression, and almost the face and head which he had
been in search of for some time, in order to introduce a few
touches of truth into a picture he was painting from Marmion
of Constance de Beverley. The passage he had selected was
that one in which the girl threatens her murderers with a
variety of unpleasant things when Marmion's late remorse
should wake; but he had not been able to work out his idea
in consequence of failing to convey the mingled expression of
86
Walter Goring.
innocence, determination, and bitter feeling for a heavy wrong
wrought, which he had conceived for Constance. Daisy had
the look he wanted; therefore he watched her with interest,
and while she was singing he whispered to Walter,—
 Wonderfully she throws herself into the spirit of what
she's singing for an amateur.
"Yes, Walter replied; "a little training and she would
feign with the first on the hoards now.
 She shows intense feeling.
"And does not feel a hit, I'm half afraid, Walter an-
swered, rather seriously; "if she did she wouldn't indicate
it in the admirable manner she does. My own belief, you
know, is that great mental power and great musical (execu-
tive) power never do go together: she has the latter unques-
tionably, and I much doubt her having the former.
Mrs Walsh had listened to what passed between the two
men, and now she spoke,—
 I think I know what you mean, and I agree with you,
Mr Goring ; it's very extraordinary, but I'm sure that it is
so—hers is a face that expresses clearly and decidedly much
more than she feels.
 I am afraid of it myself; and yet she's very interesting,
isn't she? Walter replied. Then he rose, and carried a
cup of tea to Daisy, and thanked her for her singing; and
Daisy was very happy, not knowing what he had just been
saying and hearing of her. On the whole it must be admitted
that there was more than a touch of truth in Mrs Walsh's
estimate of the girl, about whom there were few things more
genuine than her artificiality.
The next day was Sunday, and it had been decreed that it
would only be right and proper for Walter Goring, Esq., and
his guests, to go to church in the morning, as it became those
on whom the eyes of Deneham were fixed.
 It's impossible to walk—it's more than a mile. How
shall we go over? Walter had said at breakfast.
"Not in a close carriage, please, Mrs Walsh answered;
 I have quite enough of that in town.
"We'll go in the trap, then—no, we can't all go in the
trap. I will drive you, if you '11 allow me, and Ralph and
Daisy must go in something else. I '11 go and see about it.
Daisy followed him out into the hall, and he saw when she
Gloves !
8 7
caught his arm and leant upon it, and looked up in his face
that there was something wrong.
 What's the matter, Daisy ?  he asked.
 If I can't go in the trap with you, I '11 stay at home,
she replied.
 You. can't go in the trap with me, Daisy, because I have
offered to drive Mrs Walsh, and I can't put you up behind
with John.
"Very well, then I'll stay at home, she replied. He
laughed.
 In such matters, of course, you '11 please yourself, Miss
Goring: but I could have wished you to go.
 Why should I be boxed up in the close carriage with Mr
Walsh more than his wife ? 
 For the simple reason that he can't drive; therefore it
would be no use putting you in the phaeton with him. How-
ever, make up your mind; will you go or not ? If you don't
go, Mr Walsh can go on the back of the trap with us.
 If you wish me to go, Walter, I '11 go.
 I'm glad of it. I want you to be a great deal with Mrs
Walsh for many reasons.
He was not quite sure what these many reasons were him-
self ; therefore it was hard on him when Daisy asked, coax-
ingly —
 Tell me some of them, Walter.
 I should like you to grow as like her as possible, he re-
plied, rather lamely. It must be confessed this was not the
best way to recommend his friend to his ward.
"I'll do my best to grow tall and Juno-like; if I don't
succeed you won't attribute the failure to obstinacy, will you,
Walter? and now I'll go and get ready to sit and be im-
proved by her mere presence in the pew for an hour or two.
Oh, you haven't heard him yet, but old Travers is so prosy! 
Then she went up to dress for church, and Walter went
out to his stables to settle about which horses should be em-
ployed for the service.
Daisy's bed-room commanded the drive and the lawn in
front of the house. Presently, while she was putting on her
bonnet, she saw Mrs Walsh walking up and down with her
host, ready dressed, and waiting for the trap to come round.
There was a flow about Mrs Walsh's long silver-grey silk
88 Walter Goring.
robe which the Deneham dressmaker had failed to give Daisy s;
but this Daisy could have borne. The thing she could not
bear—the thing against which she girded fiercely in her soul
—was the contrast between Mrs Walsh's gloved hands and
her own. Mrs Walsh's looked as if they were chiselled out
of silver-grey marble; the proportions of her own far more
beautiful hands were spoilt, utterly spoilt, by the ill-fitting,
baggy, black ones, which were the best Deneham could supply.
They would not button at the wrist; they would stretch them-
selves to an uncalled-for width over the backs of her hands;
they would leave loose ends to themselves at the tips of her
fingers. Altogether, they contrasted odiously with the gloves
of the woman who was promenading beneath her window;
and so Daisy went to church, and sat through the two hours'
service, vigorously hating Mrs Walsh ; and she no more sue-
ceeded in hiding the hatred than she did the hands from that
lady.
Poor Daisy! It was such a trifle, such an unworthy
crumple in her rose-leaf, that it cannot be hoped that sym-
pathy will be felt for her by the reader. Yet, why not ? Has
not every woman, at some period or other of her career, been
utterly thrown out of gear, and put at a disadvantage by
some such trifle as this ? Moreover, ill-fitting gloves are no
trifle; they impede that free action of the hands, deprived of
which the active-handed ones of this world are reduced to the
first stage of imbecility. She looked at Mrs Walsh's hands,
and saw, as I said before, that they looked as though they were
chiselled out of silver-grey marble. She looked at her own,
and lo and behold! they looked crumpled, lax, and feeble.
Then she, thinking that Walter marked the contrast more
clearly than he did, gave birth to and nursed carefully a dis-
like and distrust of Mrs Walsh, which effectually precluded
her even desiring to seem well and do well in that lady's eyes.
She wants to make Walter think as little as possible of my
looks beside her own, Daisy thought; and the thought kept
her silent, and prevented her raising her glorious voice in the
singing, as Mrs Travers had fondly hoped she would do when
she came in.
Getting in Order at Goring Place.
CHAPTER XII.
getting in order at goring place.
They lived a very busy life at Goring Place for the next three
weeks. For fair friendship's sake Mrs Walsh submitted to the
discomforts of the perfume of paint, and the tapping of ham-
mers. Walter had the ceilings freshly grained, and the walls
newly coloured, and an army of upholsterers came and took
possession, and made that fearful preliminary mess and con-
fusion for which months of after comfort cannot compensate.
Under judicious modern treatment the old entrance hall
came out with a more mediaeval aspect than it had ever laid
a claim to in mediaeval days. Old oak carvings were matched
from the Swiss shop in Regent Street. The periods of each
portion of the building were studied carefully, and furniture
to befit them respectively was procured. More light was let
in upon the Lelys and Vandykes, under Mr Walsh's auspices ;
a croquet ground was laid down on the lawn, under the aus-
pices of his wife. A French window, slightly out of keeping
perhaps with the rest of the house, was broken out at the end of
what had been called a saloon, and it was turned into a billiard--
room. From the drawing-room, the rickety old cabinets,
with straddling unsteady legs, full of cracked, hideous china,
were banished, and modern aid was invoked in the matter of
inlaying and marqueterie. Mrs Walsh came off her pedestal
for the whole of the time, and put her own hand to the wheel.
She superintended the installation of the new things as only
women can—seeing "what should "go where at a glance,
and giving, by a few dexterous touches, a homelike occupied
air to the newly-bedecked rooms at once. She it was who,
walking about from room to room, gave that subtle adjust-
ment to the curtains which professional hands had failed in
giving, and which caused them to look like the draperies they
were intended to be, instead of the mere so many yards of
damask or silk they had appeared before. She it was who
put the couches and easy chairs and tables into position.
She it was who ordained and insisted upon the right tone of
colouring being preserved in each room. She it was who de
go Walter Goring.
creed and enforced the decree, that there should be no over-
crowding even of things of beauty.  When outline was lost
beauty was lost, she argued; so, thanks to^ her taste and
firmness, everything had its outline, and was in due and pro-
per proportion to everything else in Walter Goring s recep-
tion rooms. In short, in less than a month, through the
agency of those two irresistible powers—woman and wealth
—Goring Place was in the most perfect order. But Daisy
had stood aloof, and had pointedly forborne—much to her
cousin's annoyance—to take a share in the discussions or an
interest in the ordering. Mrs Walsh's taste and Daisy's had
clashed at first, and Daisy had withdrawn all interest, or, at
at any rate, withheld all expression of it, with a promptitude
that was almost insolent. Mrs Walsh inclined to the cold
and classical and perfectly pure—her own beauty could stand
such tests ! Daisy, on the other hand, inclined to the warm,
the luxurious, the lavish—the sensuous, in fact. So it came
to pass that there was little intercourse and less sympathy be-
tween the two ladies.
They generally sat together of a morning in Daisy's sitting-
room, principally because that was the only room which was
not liable to raids from painters and grainers, and others of
that ilk. Here they would sit: beautiful Mrs Walsh with
some graceful sort of work in her hands, or some book before
her, always apparently at her grand ease, never desirous of
anything further, so far as Daisy could see, happy and at
peace in her own stateliness ; while Daisy, when she was not
singing would be in one lithe fidget—unable to read, unwill-
ing to work, unhappy in being these things ; wishing, for any
sort of break in the monotony of this companionship with a
woman to whose beauty she had grown accustomed, and
more bored than ever when the break would come in the
shape of Walter coming in to read some portion of his novel
to them. For then, though for the sake of seeming pleasant
in the eyes of the only man present, she would assume a little
air and look of interest, poor Daisy could not follow him
through sheer inability. In truth, it must be acknowledged
that it was not intellectual, but purely animal excitement,
which this poor carelessly-grown Daisy craved. The mis-
fortune was that, blinded by the expression of her face,
thrown off the track as it were by her intense dramatic
Getting in Order at Goring Place. 91
power, Walter Goring accredited her with more sense and
more sensibility than she possessed. But even Walter Gor-
ing felt, despite that well-sustained look of interest on his
cousin Daisy's face, that the honours of these literary morn-
ings were with Mrs Walsh.
However, on some other mornings they were with Daisy,
for the master of Goring Place did not suffer his intention of
teaching his ward to ride, to sleep. For the first time or
two he took her out on a steady-going old pony, that had
belonged to her father ; but Daisy's equestrian powers throve
so well under his management, that he speedily promoted her
to the chestnut. It occurred to him at length that the skill
she displayed was a singular thing indeed, if this was her
first experience of riding, so he asked her one morning,—
 Had you ever been on horseback before I took you out
on the old pony the other day, Daisy ?  and she answered,—
 Never at Goring Place.
 I asked if you had ever been on horseback ? 
 Yes, she replied;  back in the life I want to forget, if
you will let me, I used to ride.
' This was one of the speeches that, taken in conjunction
with that look of suppressed power and restrained feeling in
her face, led him into the error of sometimes believing her to
be a far cleverer girl than she was in reality. He fancied
that it betokened a fixed determination to live down some
black memories ; whereas, in all probability it meant nothing
more than a childish, pettish aversion to being reminded of
what had been less agreeable and flattering to her vanity
than the present. Moreover, she had discovered that this
reticence of hers interested and puzzled him. Therefore she
maintained it.
During these long rides he tried hard to draw her into
conversation, and find out what she had in her, and she
baffled him. She had a knack of saying bright, pert things, of
so wording an allusion to some personal peculiarity, or some
habit of expression in another, that it might almost pass for
wit. In fact, she had the art of so phrasing her little super-
ficial observations, that it was not until afterwards that it
dawned upon the hearer how very superficial they were in
reality. But whenever Walter left off talking about persons
or events, and tried to lead the conversation up a step or
9 2 Walter Goring.
two, Daisy lapsed into silence. True, she listened beautifully,
but she said never a word; and at last he came to wish
heartily, either that she were younger, or he himself older
and more patient, in order that he might, without outraging
propriety, keep this strange girl with him, and educate her
himself.
But this he knew he could not do ; and, as he said to Mrs
Walsh, she  was past being sent to school in every way.
Still he knew very well that in a few years it was ordained
that she should occupy a prominent position in society, and
he felt that the onus was on him, her guardian, of fitting her
to sustain it gracefully. She had been through the usual
wretched hoarding-school routine, but of everything beyond
it she was hopelessly ignorant. Even the lighter literature
of her own country, on which the majority of young girls
feed with voracity, was a sealed book to her. On the whole,
Walter did not so much regret this latter fact; he said some-
thing to himself about her mind being "like a sheet of un-
sullied paper, fitted to receive any impression, and he set
himself seriously to consider the best means of causing it to
take only good ones.
Mrs Walsh was not a particularly useful coadjutor at this
juncture. When he asked her to make him out a list of
books that it would be well to get Daisy to glance at, even if
she couldn't be persuaded to read them thoroughly, Mrs
Walsh could only shake her head and look handsome.
 What a shame of you, a clever man like you, to come to
me to devise an educational code ! If I were you, I should
send her to one of those highly respectable ladies, who are
always advertising their willingness to undertake the educa-
tion of neglected adults, she suggested.
 That won't do at all, he replied;  where in the world
she can have been to have had such first-rate musical instruc-
tion, and to have remained in such profound ignorance of all
other things, I can't imagine.
 With professionals, perhaps ? 
 Perhaps so; certainly the training her voice has had is
excellent; but I doubt her ever having read a line beyond the
songs she sings.
 And I doubt her reading even them with understanding,
for all she sings them so faultlessly, Mrs Walsh replied.
Getting in Order at Goring Place. 93
Shortly after this, one morning when Walter Goring and
his charge were out riding together, he saw, or thought he
saw, a good opportunity of stating some of his intentions.
They had been having a brisk gallop over the turf, through a
bewildering glade, and Walter, being only a man, was feeling
rather more interested in her than usual, for—
 As she fled fast thro' sun and shade
The happy winds about her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
She look'd so lovely as she sway'd
The rein with dainty finger tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.
At least if a man had not, being willing to do so, he might
have been forgiven the willingness; and so Walter may be
forgiven for feeling a little more warmly than was usual with
him about the fair young girl galloping along at his side,
seeming so very fresh and fair, and fond of him. Suddenly
he exclaimed,—
 Daisy, will you give up an hour every morning to reading
with me, while we 're at Goring Place together ? 
"Will Mrs Walsh sit and listen to us? she asked.
 No, I think not. I want to brush up my own reading a
bit, and I want to speak to you about my favourite books;
the best way of managing this is for us to read them together,
isn't it ? 
She looked keenly at him for an instant or two, and then
replied—
 I told you once I would do whatever you liked, Walter.
 Then you '11 do this ? 
She blushed a little.
"Yes, if you think I had better.
 Daisy, dear, don't you care to do it ? 
"Yes, if it pleases you.
 But apart from that ? 
 Not a bit, she replied, quietly.
"But, my dear child, he began, trying very hard to be
paternal,  you wouldn't like to feel yourself behind the con-
versation,—you wouldn't like to feel left out, as it were,
when you're in society? I don't want you to go into
94
Walter Goring.
the world with the notion in your head that women have only
to look pretty and graceful in' order to pass muster.
 Does Mrs Walsh do much more ?  she asked, quietly.
 She does a great deal more; she appreciates mental
worth in others,'' he replied, somewhat conceitedly ;  and in
order to appreciate mental worth, you must have some know-
ledge of the various ways in which it has been made manifest
to the world at divers periods : do you follow me ? 
She nodded her head.
 And in order to gain this knowledge, you must read and
think, Daisy; the art of appreciating them in some degree,
however slight, is the art men most prize in women ; you can-.
not arrive at this without making some effort to understand:
will you make the effort ? 
He touched the right chord there—her vanity.
"Yes, she replied, "I'll try: but look here, Walter.
Don't you think that if other ladies leave me behind when
they 're talking, that I shall leave most of them behind when
I sing ? 
"You won't be able to sing all your life, Daisy, he said,
laughing.
 No; nor to talk about your wearisome books all my life
either; I don't want to be a blue.
 Don't alarm yourself, Daisy, dear ; you 're not likely to
be that. Then he remembered the barely indicated aspira-
tions of the girl he had met some weeks since at a dinner at
Mrs Walsh's, and asked,  Supposing you were very clever in
one thing, Daisy, and could make a name for yourself, or
might hope to do so in time, would you try ? 
 Yes ; on the stage.
 Only on the stage ? 
 Oh, yes; in any other way, if_ I could be famous at once;
but on the stage I would work. Do you know, Walter, I
think it's the only thing worth living for almost, to have
your name called till your ears ring with it; and then to
come forward before the lights, and get all the applause and
praise to your face. I should love my voice, she continued,
with almost a coo, "if Ithought thatitwould ever bring me that.
It was not at all the sort of ambition which, according to
Walter Goring's idea, should have animated the breast <of a
would-be artist. It lacked all the true artist-feeling in fact,
Getting in Order at Goring Place. 95
regarding as it did the gift merely as a means of attaining an
end. Consequently he said, rather coldly—
 It shall never bring you that with my consent, Daisy.
Come, let us canter now, here's a good bit of turf, and we '11 have
a talk about these readings which I propose some other day.
Daisy's outward answer was a smile and a nod ; her inward
one was, "I hope to gracious not. Better the idle, dull
mornings in her own room with Mrs Walsh, than a couple of
hours over some book, on which she felt sure beforehand she
should not be able to concentrate her attention, with a man
who never made the slightest approach to love to her.
But Walter Goring had not the least intention of giving up
his idea; he was only uncertain as to the best manner of
carrying it out. To take a girl of nearly eighteen, and begin
at the very beginning, was not at all according to the dictates
of his taste; and yet, if he did not begin at the very beginning
it would be merely giving her a thin coat of varnish, liable to
crack at any moment. Nothing would have been more con-
genial to his present feelings than to have taught this charge
of his Latin, and made her read  Horace  with him. ' But
this would have been requiring her to run before she could
walk, since she was absolutely unacquainted with even the
names of our English classics.
He went into the library and walked round it, looking at
the backs of the books, in vague expectation of the title of
one suggesting, if not the perusal of itself, at least the perusal
of some other, on which the Daisy's mind might begin to ex-
pand with something like advantage. His object was to get
something that would at the same amuse her and refer her to
something else; something good in itself, but fraught with
allusions to still better things. This being his object, it may
be doubted whether he could have done better than to put into
Miss Daisy's hands Byron's  Bards and Reviewers,"—or
a series of leading articles from the Daily Telegraph.
Walter passed by that portion of the shelf on which
 History  stood in stolid stoutness. Gibbon was too grandi-
ose and Hume too heavy for the purpose.  I wonder how
she would take to Macaulay and Carlyle ?  he thought, and
he sent up to town at once for their works complete. When
the books came, Daisy took charmingly to Macaulay s Lays,
but to Carlyle not at alb
96 Walter Goring.
Day after day the young man, who could have been amus-
ing himself ever so much better, induced the girl for whose
future he was accountable to go into his study, and sit and
read with him, and hear him speak about what they had
been reading. Sometimes he fondly hoped that they really
were making a little headway; that Daisy comprehended
and was interested, not alone in the matter, hut in the man-
ner in which the matter was put forth. He endeavoured to
make her feel the beauty of style as he did, and as Daisy had
a marvellous ear, she did experience a certain sense of
pleasure in reading sentences that rose and fell harmoniously,
and whose rhythm was perfect. He was as rigorous in putting
only such works before her as though he had been training
her to become a writer herself; and sometimes, when all his
efforts fell flat,—when she sighed over Sterne, grew sleepy
over Swift, and allowed herself to appear intensely bored
over Addison and others of that matchless band of essayists
who made the eighteenth century golden—sometimes, when
these things were, he did wish within himself that since Fate
had made him responsible for a young woman's well-being, it
had been for such a one as Charlie St John.  Called to this
work by dulness, Jove, and Fate, he pursued it steadily for
a time., till at last it dawned upon him that Daisy knew no
more of a book when she had finished it than when she began,
and this not from stupidity, but from careless indifference to
everything that did not offer her the physical excitement
which she craved. When this fact did dawn upon him, he
gave up his self-imposed task, and told Mrs Walsh that he
believed a woman's hand would be more efficacious in direct-
ing Daisy's studies; and commissioned his friend to look out
for some place where Daisy could be put under the charge of
some unimpeachable people, who would look after and care-
fully improve her.
CHAPTER XIII.
A beauty man.
Meanwhile other guests had arrived at Goring Place: a
Mrs Levinge and her two daughters, old friends of Walter's,
A Beauty Man.
97
who had been kind to him in Rome long before he was a
man of property and could suspect them of having designs
upon him. Not that he was addicted to this form of conceit
even now that he was a man of property, but then he had
married lady friends without daughters who were. Mrs
Walsh endured the Levinges gracefully, but she did not par-
ticularly like them. The elder of the two daughters, Mary,
had worked laboriously, and with some not utterly unimpor-
tant results, in a sculptor's studio for the last ten years.
She adored her art, and thought that there was nothing of
any worth in comparison with it; constant association with
men, who saw in her the artist more than the woman, had
rendered her a little more free and outspoken, and gentle-
manly altogether, than Mrs Walsh found good. Not that
Mary Levinge was what is called a fastgirl—orwoman rather, for
girlhood was past with her; but she was a frank, independent-
minded, and mannered woman; a little too concentrated on
her art to give time or thought to the cultivation and display
of the more purely feminine characteristics. Yet withal not a
hard woman; only a bold-hearted, earnest, clear-thinking
one, who had found in work a panacea for an early woe—a
quickly dispelled illusion—which had been so deeply felt and
mourned at the time that it had left her incapable of ever so
feeling and mourning again. Love was over for her, in fact,
but life was not; and so she heartily enjoyed the latter and
her art, and the warm friendship of many men, after a bonny
bright fashion that Mrs Walsh declared  was not at all femi-
nine.
The second daughter was endured by the majority of
people for the sake of the gentle mother and the  thorough
elder sister. Truth to tell, Miss Sybil Levinge was held to
be, "a great humbug generally. She, too,  had her line,
and she pursued it eagerly. She was a  woman's rights
woman,"—a correspondent of all the  Social Science jour-
nals,—and a terrible person altogether. She regarded her
sister as a waster of good marble and time; she preached a
crusade against the love of beauty, avowing it to be an en-
feebling, enervating thing; and parted her hair on one side,
and wore a jacket and stand-up collar like a mans, in order-
to avoid all risk of enfeebling and enervating so much of the
world as looked upon her. Some people ;v\erred that the
n
98 Walter Goring.
precaution was an utterly unnecessary one; but^ tbis may
have been dictated by mere spleen. However this may be;
Sybil Levinge was not popular, either with men or women.
To Mrs Walsh she was simply repulsive; while to Daisy she
was a being before whom it was nice, for the sake of effects
of contrast, to be very gentle and feminine, and delicately
graceful in all her movements. As for Walter, he regarded
her as the one drawback to Mary's society,—that was all.
There was a brother of the Levinges somewhere in the back-
ground. A man of whom his own family apparently knew
very little. Walter Goring had seen him once in the old
days in Rome, when he (the brother) had come to his mother's
house; and all the inhabitants thereof had knelt down and
worshipped him. All at least but Mary, who had laughed
good-humouredly at the grand airs he gave himself, and de-
elared him to be  a good fellow enough, but incorrigibly
lazy.  His handsome face—and a commission in the army
which he was promised, and never got, poor boy, has been
his bane, she had said once to Walter; "he always declares
his career was spoilt,—and so won't do anything: as if a
man had any chance of a ' career ' in the army in these pip-
ing times of peace, she had continued, contemptuously.
In the days in which she had said this to him, Walter
Goring had sometimes found it a difficult matter to live like
a gentleman; therefore the question had risen naturally to
his lips,—
 What does he do, then ?—how does he manage ? Rav-
ing against a blight in one's career doesn't feed and clothe a
man in these days.
 I don't know how he manages sometimes, she replied
gravely ;  very hardly—very badly, I'm afraid. He has
about three hundred a year, and with that he contrives to
quiet his creditors. It's very sad to think about, Walter;
for my brother Laurence had the elements of something
widely different to what he is in him.
From the day of this conversation with the light-hearted,
honest, out-spoken woman, who found  enough in life in
chipping out her own fair ideas in marble, to the date of the
Levinges coming to visit him at Goring Place, Walter had
never given a thought to this brother. But when he saw the
mother and her daughters there, he remembered the missing
A Beauty Man.
99
link; and asked Mrs Levinge "where her son was; and if
she thought he would join them.
 He's a,t Baden-Baden now—he's rather out of health,
the mothei^rcplied.
 He will come fast enough if you ask him ; but perhaps
it will be better to leave him at Baden-Baden, in order that
his health may he thoroughly re-established, Mary said,
significantly.
Then Mrs Levinge sighed.
"We have not seen each other for a long time.
And that sigh decided Walter.
 I '11 write and invite him at once, he said; and the
smiles of the old lady, who had been like a mother to him in
Rome, blinded him to the expression of regret on the face of
the daughter.
Those were very pleasant days at Goring Place. Septem-
her was upon them by the time things were tolerably in order;
and September in dear old Norfolk is passing fair. The
master of Goring Place was a man of mark in that county-
side, let him be what he might individually. But Walter had
the elements of popularity, more than that of being well
liked and highly thought of, in his own person and character;
and so he was a man of great mark, indeed; and the county
distinguished him greatly, and sought him much. He brought
a breath of new life amongst them; for he was a man who
had won a name, and created for himself interests in a vastly
different sphere. His house promised to be the resort of
more amusing people than ever the majority of his brother
count}' magnates had witnessed gathered together in the
country before. Moreover he was young, sufficiently hand-
some, wealthy, and in a capital position. No wonder the
county thought kind things of him, for in that land were
many daughters.
When September set in, and with it shooting-parties, the
day life of some of the lady-guests at Goring Place was a
trifle duller than before. Walter was an enthusiastic sports-
man, and the game had been well preserved ; so that he was
about in the stubble and turnip fields of the home-farm and
land adjoining for many hours every day. During these
hours Daisy practised singing assiduously, away-from all the
rest, in her own sitting-room; and Mrs Walsh and Mary
ioo Walter Goring.
Levinge drove about in a little t>ony chaise, and were
dull.
But the evenings made up for the comparative barrenness
of the days. The gardens had always been kept up well;
and now, under the new rule, they seemed to be in fuller per-
fection than before. The croquet-ground was a marvellous
croquet-ground, considering how new it was; and they
always found two or three good players amongst the men who
came home to dine at Goring Place, after shooting with its
owner all day. When darkness fell, and croquet could be
no longer played, it was always agreeable to two or three of
the party at least to wander about in the gardens ; and for
the rest, who preferred the lounges in the drawing-room,
there was Daisy's voice.
It was even more agreeable when Laurence Levinge came.
He had not at all the air of a man addicted to reviling his
fate, or indeed of thinking it anything save a particularly
enviable and agreeable one. He came straight away from
Baden-Baden, immediately on receipt of Walter's letter, in
a most accommodating way; and they were all—save perhaps
his sister Mary—uncommonly glad that he did so, for he in-
fused new life and interest into the gathering.
He was as handsome as a star. Wonderfully handsome,
with wavy golden hair, dark-grey eyes fringed with long
black lashes, and a face that might have been cut in a cameo,
it was so classically correct. A marvellous face, in its tender
grace and perfect beauty: a face that expressed such worlds
of feeling, eyes that spoke such volumes of passion, even when
their owner was but asking for a cup of tea.
He was an idle, but withal an accomplished, young Apollo.
He despised his sisters, and his sisters' work—gracefully
deriding the elder one for not having demolished Miss
Hosmer, and the younger one for not having distinguished
herself as much as Miss Faithful. He had no sympathy with
women who tried to  do anything save look pretty and
dress tastefully, and sing, he said; and Daisy heard him
say it, and Daisy liked him for the speech.
He had a voice, and a guitar,—the former is frequently a
curse to a man, and the latter to his friends. But neither
was considered in the light of other than a boon at Goring
Place. Daisy and he sang together constantly, and the
A Beauty Man.
101
evenings were pleasanter than ever for all parties; for the in-
cidentals improved their minds with the two Levinges, and
Walter's hands not being so full, he had more time at his
disposal and that of his sympathetic-souled goddess. Alto-
gether the evenings were pleasanter even than those which
they had passed before Laurence Levinge left Baden-Baden.
Soon a change was wrought in the morning's programme
Mr Levinge paid great court to the grand beauty, and told
her it was a great mistake, and worthy of awkward-souled
Englishmen, to remove themselves from female influence,
and go after the partridges, as they did for hours alone
daily.
 If you can propose a remedy we will try it, she Replied,
graciously ;  but hear one thing in mind, it must not be at
the cost of giving up your sport. Men in the house all day
are a bore.
 But couldn't you come and reward our feats of prowess
and skill by bringing us our luncheon ? I '11 arrange it.
Mary and you shall drive down to some sylvan glade, near to
the scene of our last shots, before one o'clock each day ; by
that means we shall combine pic-nic and partridge-shooting,
—the sole out-door amusements that are indigenous to the
land of my birth.
 I agree to it, Mr Levinge; and you shall sing to us under
green trees, if you will.
But he had an aversion to making himself ridiculous; so,
feeling that a guitar and a shooting-jacket did not go well
together, he declined pleasuring her in this one particular.
Then she said,—
"You have provided for Miss Levinge and myself; how
about your sister Sybil and Miss Goring ? 
 My sister Sybil is out of place in any fresh or natural
situation; let her sit at home and pour out her desires for
her sex making itself odious at five shillings a column. As
for Miss Daisy, can't she come with you on horseback, if she
mustn't be left behind ? 
"You know she never is left behind, Mrs Walsh replied,
coldly ;  Mr Goring makes his ward of due account.
 Or undue account! Well, it's his whim to do so; there-
fore I suppose we may take it for granted that the Daisy
must not be left out in any of our small schemes. At any
102
Walter Goring.
rate you '11 help me to bear the burden and heat of the days
that are to come in the turnip-fields, won't you ? 
 If Mr Goring finds the plan good I shall see no objection
to it; I have nothing else to do all the mornings, she re-
plied. She meant to make the concession—to grant the
favour he asked of her; but she did not want to make it too
flattering to him. He was agreeable enough, and had a great
air of devotion. But she knew that Walter Goring was
worth a hundred of Laurence Levinge.
For a while,—it was late one afternoon when this conver-
sation took place,—he lounged on a rug at the feet of his
sister Mary and Mrs Walsh. He reclined with his hands
clasped under his head and his face upturned towards them.
It was a wonderful face ! His sister felt the wonderful
beauty of it, and took mental notes concerning it—notes
which she resolved to turn to account when she got back to
the dear old studio in Rome. And Mrs Walsh looked down
into it also, and thought that, even were she free, that was
not the face which she should care to see bowing before her
shrine ! But she sat in a very easy chair, and he misunder-
stood her. When he rose, it was to saunter into the conser-
vatory and get a pale buff rose, which Miss Goring wore at
dinner.
CHAPTER XIY.
A storm at goring place.
All this time there had been no communication worth men-
tioning between the inhabitants of The Hurst and Goring
Place. About a fortnight after Walter had come down with
the Walshes a gentleman had ridden up, and, hearing that
 master was out, had left a stalwart card bearing the name
of "Mr H. Omry Fellowes; and three days after this,
Walter had ridden over to The Hurst and left his card.
But there intercourse had ended.
Mr H. Omry Fellowes's visit proved one thing, and that
was, that the right-of-way question, which had been a vexed
A Storm at Goring Place. 103
one with, the last generation, was not going to stand in the
way of his friendship with the new-comer. Mr Goring was
very glad of this, when he thought of it at all, for all men's
tongues wagged in praise of  Fellowes of the Hurst.  He
was a thoroughly good fellow, everybody said;  it was only
a pity that he didn't marry, and send things along a bit
faster at The Hurst than he could do under the supervision
of his mother and maiden sister, both of whom were sternly
set against innovation of every sort, and were consequently
not reputed lively. At last Walter Goring wrote and asked
his neighbour at The Hurst to give them the pleasure of his
company at a battue they were going to have in a certain
famous cover on the Goring Place estate. For answer he
received a message from Miss Fellowes to the effect that
"her brother was staying at Brighton.
Walter's efforts to educate and improve Daisy had ceased
utterly. For his own part he would have been well content
to take her as she was socially—he found her very charm-
ing; but he felt strongly that something must be done for
her, or his conscience would not acquit him of having, in a
measure, been false to the important trust which his uncle
had reposed in him. In fact, he made up his mind that,
when this party broke up, Daisy must be sent somewhere to
be guarded safe and sure for four years. Then ! God only
knew what would become of her and him.
The guest, Laurence Levinge, was but a very little way be-
hind the host in popular opinion. For all his delicate
beauty, and, at first sight, rather slight and effeminate ap-
pearance, he was a keen sportsman—a splendid shot—a
daring rider—a first-rate cricketer. At first, when the
country gentlemen met him in Walter Goring's drawing-
room; when they saw him lounging about on big rugs like
a lazy boy of the south, and heard him singing impassioned
songs in a language they could not understand to the tink-
ling of a guitar: when they saw and heard these things, at
first they were tempted to despise him. But when they saw
the manner in which he brought his birds down; when they
marked that no number of turnip-fields fatigued him; above
all, when they saw the way in which he handled a refractory
colt, to the purchase of which Walter had committed him-
self, they altered their opinicn of Laurence Levinge. Alto-
104
Walter Goring.
gether, what with his singing and his shooting, and his style
in general, as exhibited both to men and women, Mr Levingo
was in excellent repute in and around Goring Place.
At last one morning, when Walter was in the gun-room,
with his belt on his shoulder and his pointers at his feet,
waiting for Laurence to come and pick up his piece and go
out with him, Mary Levinge came into the room.
 Where's Laurence ?  she asked.
 I don't know ; I'm waiting for him.
"Walter, she began, quietly, "you and I have always
talked to one another as two human beings, unhampered by
the reflection that they are of opposite sexes may talk. I
hardly know why I have hesitated to say to you before that
I'm sorry you asked my brother here, but I have hesitated;
he's an unscrupulous man, I fear, about women.
 What makes you say this to me, now ?  he asked, hur-
riedly.
 This : he sings too often and too sweetly to your ward,
and she paused, and her frank face was flooded with
colour as she went on, "and he would never marry her
under any circumstances; therefore his songs are bad for
her.
 But, Mary, she sees nothing of him save when Mrs
Walsh and you are with her; and as to his songs, he pro-
ceeded, with a little twinge of jealousy,  they 're principally
directed to Mrs Walsh.
Miss Levinge shook her head.
 In reality, I do observe these things so very little, she
said, earnestly ;  but I had a feeling against Laurence coming
here from the first. It seems a bad thing to say, for his
presence always gives my poor mother the purest pleasure.
Young girls are not given to over caution, remember; and
Laurence is not one to be tender to carelessness. My brother
has a very winning exterior, and a very eold heart; don't
test Daisy too hard. Here he comes.
Almost as she spoke, Laurence sauntered into the gun-room.
He smiled with his eyes a little superciliously when he saw
his sister, and asked,—
 What, Mary ! has your stay at Goring Place revived your
old taste for fire-arms ? 
She looked at him steadily, not scornfully at all; but down
A StormatGormgPlace. 105
upon him, as though he were something infinitely weaker
than herself.
 Had I ever the taste ? I'd forgotten it.
 What brought you here, then ? Goring, you don't seem
to have a corner in the house that's sacred from the women —
at least, from those who have emancipated themselves. Mrs
Walsh and your cousin do know when we have had enough
of them.
 Scarcely civil to your sister, Mary said, laughing. Then
she left them, and went in search of Mrs Walsh, whom she
found alone in the drawing-room.
 Has Laurence been here, Mrs Walsh ?  she asked; and
Mrs Walsh replied,—
 No; I think he has been out all the morning with Mr
Goring: and Mary Levinge was strengthened in her convic-
tion.
That night Walter broached the subject to Mrs Walsh.
 Have you observed anything with Daisy and Levinge ?''
 With Daisy and Levinge ? she repeated after him, in
unfeigned surprise.  No.
 Mary was speaking to me about them this morning.
 Rather premature and uncalled-for interference on her
part, I think, Mrs Walsh remarked.  What did she say ? 
 Oh! she only fancied that he was rather attentive to
Daisy. I hardly know what she said, but the drift of her
observations was, that I had been injudicious in bringing them
together.
Mrs Walsh laughed; it did seem very absurd to her that Mr
Levinge should be accused of breathing or meaning soft no-
things to Daisy Goring.
 He never pays her the slightest attention, she said,
decidedly ; and Walter whispered,—
 He makes up for it then by paying plenty of it to you ;
doesn't he now, confess ?  and in his anxiety to get a con-
fession from Mrs Walsh, he forgot Daisy for a time.
The usual arrangement when they want out for long drives
was, that Mrs Walsh was seated in front with Walter, and
Daisy and Laurence Levinge were perched on behind to-
gether. But it was a very luxurious kind of trap—a phaeton
dog-cart in fact—and Laurence was accustomed to lounge in
it with much ease and grace; with rather too much ease
106 Walter Gottng.
Walter thought sometimes, for Mr Levinge made it convenient
to lean over and monopolise a larger share of Mrs Walsh s
attention than belonged to him by right. On these occasions,
however, it was satisfactory to observe that Daisy was very
blithe and self-possessed, quite as much so as when her.
cavalier returned to his allegiance. On the whole, Walter
felt that dear honest Mary had been mistaken.
They made themselves tolerably well acquainted with the
county in this way, driving long distances in the afternoon,
dining, and returning in the cool of the evening. Occasionally
the dinners that they got under these circumstances were
terrible mistakes,—country inns, as might be expected, falling
very far short of the Goring Place cuisine. But the drives
home in the cool evenings more than compensated for this ;
they one and all agreed that  there was no mistake about the
drives.
It was a lazy, beautiful time. The women and the weather
were both so fair, that no wonder Walter declared that after
each return he felt as if he had finished another canto of a
poem. How Mr Walsh and the Levinges felt was not men-
tioned. Equally satisfied, perhaps, for they had, as Laurence
said,  a great pull on the others in the matter of dinners.
It was a happy, lazy, beautiful time ; quite an operatic air
was thrown over it frequently, by Daisy's and Mr Levinge's
voices, as they drove rapidly along at night through some oS
those solitary, unfrequented Norfolk roads. Visitors in
country houses, that stood a little way back from the road,
and were unseen in the darkness, often rubbed their eyes and
fancied they must be dreaming, when bits of Faust came
floating upon their ears, sung in a style that was a staggering
surprise down there. Daisy gloried in the  jewel song ; to
tell the truth, she was much given to singing it before her
glass, and going through all the business in a way that closely
resembled Adelina Patti's. Mr Levinge told her that no
Faust—not even Mephistopheles himself—would have left her,
had she been the Marguerite; and Daisy listened to the
flattery and sang the song over again more joyously than
before.
At last Mary Levinge told Walter that she had heard of a
lady at Brighton, the widow of a clergyman, who would be
glad to take charge of Daisy. The lady was a Mrs Osborne,
A Storm at Goring Place. 107
and she had a daughter about Daisy's age, who would share
Daisy's studies. They were people of assured respectability,
and, Miss Levinge added, "from what I gather from the
friend who writes to me about it, Daisy won't be dull there,
and will be safe.
 It's all very delightful, and you 're a dear good creature,
Mary, Walter replied ;  the only drawback to it is the tell-
ing her that she's to go.
 She knows very well that she can't stay here when Mrs
Walsh and the rest of us leave; therefore, the sooner she
knows when she's to go and where she's to go, the better,
Mary urged.
 No doubt—all the same, the telling her won't be pleasant,
Walter replied, and he was right; the telling her was far from
pleasant.
He deferred the evil day until there was a talk one morning
of the Walshes being compelled to return to town for a short
time ; then he took the plunge. He followed Daisy straight
away from the breakfast-table to her own sitting-room, and
when she looked up at him in surprise at his presence there
at that hour, he commenced at once.
"Daisy, can you be ready to start with Mrs Walsh if she
goes the day after to-morrow, do you think ? I want to take
you to Brighton for a time, and it will be better for us to go
up as far as London with the Walshes.
 Yes. I can be ready ; but you don't mean to leave
me at Brighton by myself, do you ? 
 Certainly not. You '11 be with some very nice people—
the Osbornes—and I shall see you often.
She heaved a great sigh, and sat half round on her chair,
clasping her arms over the back of it, and leaning her face
down upon them.
 Daisy, you 're not crying ? 
There was no answer, but he knew that she was crying;
and a malefactor's sensations are agreeable in comparison
with his, as he felt himself the cause of those tears.
 You must see, dear, that this must be, he said, tenderly
In spite of his clear-sightedness as to her follies and short-
comings, he was getting very fond of this girl. Of what
nature the fondness was he could not determine yet; but he was
conscious that it was an increasing fondness and a genuine one.
io8
Walter Goring-.
 I don't see that it must be at all, she sobbed ;  here at
my age to be sent away from my only home and my only
friend to some old woman, who '11 drive me mad. I thought
wards always lived with their guardians. I thought guardians
were the proper people to look after their wards.
 If I were older  he began, but she interrupted him
to say,—
 Oh, stuff and nonsense, Walter. If you were older very
likely I shouldn't care to stay. As it is, if you are to be like
a brother to me, as you once said you would be, there can
be no place so proper for me as Goring Place. If I'm ever
to feel that you 're my brother and best friend and guardian,
you mustn't try to teach me that there can be any harm in
my staying here with you alone.
 That's not the point, you little casuist. There would be
no harm in it, Heaven knows ; but I can't have it questioned
even. Don't think all the pain of parting will be on your
side. I shall miss you, Daisy.
He spoke very tenderly, but she only gnawed abstractedly
at the back of her hand, as it rested upon the chair, and
gazed steadfastly at the floor. He repeated the last part of
his sentence,—
 Don't you think I shall miss you, Daisy ? 
 Oh, yes ! I dare say—I mean yes, dear Walter ; but you
won't hurry me off, just because Mrs Walsh is going. Let
me wait till the party breaks up.
 The Levinges are going soon. No, no, it will be better
for you to travel up with Mrs Walsh.
 I feel as if you were turning me out. I never wanted to
be brought here: it's too hard that I should be turned out.
 Now you talk like a child, he said, gravely.
 Walter, she lifted her head and spoke very rapidly, "if
there are only two or three dull women at this place where
you 're going to put me, I shall go mad.
 Nonsense ! You shall have the chestnut, Daisy. When
you feel the blue devils coming on, try a gallop on the downs.
 But in the house—in the house with dull women, after
having been so happy here. Walter, how can you do it ? 
She began to sob aloud now, raining her tears down in
big clear drops, as a child does. Once more he was op-
pressed with the malefactor's sensations.
A Storm at Goring Place. 109
 Daisy, you distress me cruelly, and I know the whole
time that I'm almost as childish as yourself to be distressed
by such folly.
"It's your Mrs Walsh has made you do this. I know
it; she hates me.
 You know very well that Mrs Walsh has nothing what-
ever to do with it, he said, angrily. He began to feel that as
a guardian he was in a very undignified position ; his ward
was putting him on his defence in a most extraordinary
way.
 Then it's his sister.
•' Whose sister ? 
 It's that Miss Levinge : she hates me too.
 Feeling that they all hate you, I wonder that you care
to stay with them any longer.
Daisy cleared up and laughed.
 I rather like it, for I know the reason why, she said
simply. "Mrs Walsh isn't so anxious to see me safely out
of this house from pure love of me; there, dear cousin Walter
—don't be angry with me—I'm only vexed with her because
I'm afraid you like her better than you do me.
She got up and clasped her hands over his shoulder, and
bent her head down till it rested on his breast: and it would
have been difficult to decide whether it was pure friendship,
or brotherly love, or something else, which made him press
her closely to him for an instant, touch her forehead with his
lips, and then put her away from him hastily as he an-
swered,—
 If I didn't like you so well, my darling, perhaps 1
shouldn't be so anxious to send you away from me.
Whatever the feeling which had actuated the speech and
gesture, certain it is that his heart had throbbed violently
while making them; that he had been unable to suppress,
but every other sign of emotion he had sedulously hidden
from her.
When he left her, he took two or three turns by himself
in the corridor before he rejoined his frends below. He
needed a little time to himself, in order to take a careful sur-
vey of the dangers against which it most behoved him to be
on guard, should another storm arise. For, though Daisy
had not been so tempestuous as he had anticipated she would
no
Waller Goring.
have been, he was conscious that there had been a storm at
Goring Place.
 By Jove, I mustn't get fond of the girl; yet, he mut-
tered to himself,  for her own sake and mine too, I shall be
glad when she's gone, for she has a fascination, though my
goddess can't see it. Mary must have been mistaken about
her brother : the Daisy could never play a double part.
The Daisy meanwhile was crouching on her sofa, sobbing
and crying as if her heart would break. The poor, fair, little
girl's grief was genuine enough, whatever the cause of it.
There seemed to be no light in heaven or earth for her. She
was going away from all the joy of her life to Brighton and
black misery.
 Just a little longer—if Walter would only let me stay a
little longer, it would be all right, she moaned aloud.  It's
that Mrs Walsh, I know. Won't I make her smart going
up.
CHAPTER XV.
A turning- point in the road !
There was no reprieve for Daisy. The Walshes were obliged
to go up to town two days after Walter had mooted the
Brighton plan to his cousin. Th^y were obliged to go up,
but they intended returning shortly; which fact no one
thought worth mentioning to Miss Goring.
Those two last days were very miserable ones. Daisy
adopted an air of injured rectitude and resignation to wrong
that shook Walter's faith in the wisdom of his own design
several times. There was a lack of broad human justice, he
half believed, in his banishing this young girl from what she
had herself piteously declared to be her only home and her
only friend.
The morning came, and the hour for starting arrived.
They had sat longer than usual at the breakfast-table, because
it was not worth while to rise up and seek for something
fresh to do before the carriage came round. So they were
A Turning Point in the Road ! 111
still seated at the wrecks of the morning feast when the
crunching of wheels in front of the house announced that
the hour was come.
Mrs Walsh got up and handed one light travelling cloak
to her husband, and a black Russian leather bag to Walter,
and then proceeded to take leave. She shook hands with
Mrs and the Misses Levinge as the majority of women do
shake hands with the majority of their own sex • and then
she turned and extended her hand to Laurence Levinge as a
boon or a blessing, and he took it and bent over it as a
devotee over a relic, a mother over her child, or any one over
anything that is most loved and valued. If this woman was
a flirt at all, she was a Queen of Flirts, and she never came
off her throne for any man save her husband—and my hero.
It was Daisy's turn next. She looked like a white rabbit
with her pale face and her red eyes, as she went the round
rapidly, just saying  Good-by, and hastily extending a slim
hand to each, which, as soon as it was touched, she even
more hastily withdrew. At least she strove to make this the
whole of her farewells ; but some maternal instinct animated
Mrs Levinge, and she drew the sorrowful, angry, pale face
down, and kissed it with a  God bless you, my child !
While his mother had been doing this, Mr Levinge moved
into the doorway ; so it was in passing out into the hall that
Daisy took her leave of him, and no one saw it. Then he
went out and helped both ladies into the carriage, and spoke
a few words to Walter about using the horses while the latter
was away; but his eyes never met Daisy's once, and Daisy
looked both sad and savage.
When the carriage drove off, Laurence Levinge returned to
the dining-room, and joined his mother and sisters at the
window. Suddenly, as the turn in the drive concealed the
ones who were going from their view, he laid his hand on
Mary's arm and whispered to her alone—
 It's much better that she should go. I don't know what
I might have been let in for if she had stayed.
 Do you mean that ? Are you speaking the truth ?  she
replied.
 Yes, on my honour I am, he answered ; and he was at
the time. Despite his long grey eyes, his idleness, and his
exceeding beauty, it was not the business of his life to look
112
Walter Goring.
auuuu seeking whom he might devour. When he wrought
evil, he wrought it as most men do in real life unpremedi-
tatingly : in fact, "'twas want of thought''—the old story !
The fresh morning air, combined with the utter inability
youth has of being very miserable for long about anything,
told on Daisy before they had been an hour in the train ; and
then she began to put her plan of making Mrs Walsh smart
into execution. They had the carriage to themselves, which
circumstance favoured her considerably. First, she com-
menced a light fire of allusions to what Walter had said to
her  the other day, you know, when you came and sat with
me in the morning. Now Mrs Walsh had not heard of. this
visit to Daisy's special domain which Walter had paid; there-
fore, at the first mention of it, she did prick up her ears.
This Daisy observed, and, fired by her success, she made
some bolder strokes.  Dear Walter, when did you say you'd
come to Brighton ? 
"I don't think I fixed anytime, Walter replied. He
could not remember having said anything about it; but Daisy
seemed to think he had, and to find pleasure in the thought.
 Oh! you did, Walter; Mrs Walsh, isn't it a shame that
those Miss Levinges should have more of him than you and
I ?  She put her beautiful, flexible, intelligent-looking hand
on his arm as she spoke ; and Walter, though he knew Mrs
Walsh would strongly disapprove of it all, could not do other
than take the hand in his, and press it kindly. In answer
to Daisy's remark, Mrs Walsh merely moved her head round
slowly one half inch, in order to look more fully at her
audacious interrogator. Daisy was feeling almost happy by
this time; she put her head back a little, and met Mrs
Walsh's bright cold eyes defiantly with her own impertinent
ones of cobalt blue.
 Shall we keep him between us, Mrs Walsh—keep him
constantly at Roehampton and Brighton ? Let me see, how
much of him shall I graciously give up to you ? 
 You silly child, Walter muttered—and yet, though he
called her  silly, he was not ill pleased.
 No, I'm not, Daisy replied ;  you 're to be everything
to me, you know. Remember our compact.
When she said that, she had the felicity of seeing Mrs
Walsh give Walter a reproachful, almost an indignant, look,
A Turning Point in the Road! 113
Daisy did not know how this might act upon him, so she de-
termined to retire gracefully from the contest while there
could be no doubt as to her being victor. Accordingly she
took her hand away from his, and turned round to look for
a .land-mark in the country they were passing through,
so that when she came back she might know every now
and then exactly how far she was from dear old Goring
Place.
They parted at the Shoreditch Station : the Walshes were
bound for home, Walter and his charge for Brighton.
"You'll stay at Brighton to-night, I suppose? Mrs
Walsh said to him when he was shaking hands with her.
 Probably.
 But you '11 be up to-morrow ? 
 Yes, most assuredly.
 Then come to us, won't you ? 
 I will, and I hope to find that Ralph will be free to go
back to Goring Place at once.
She bent her head forward a little.
 You know how truly I am your friend. Are you in love
with your cousin or not ? 
 No—I don't know, he said, laughing.  Time enough
to think of that.
"There's not time enough; she hasn't a particle of real
feeling; she will love one man as soon as another. In fact,
she '11 never care for any one but herself; but she '11 mahe
you think she cares for you in a very short time. Now do
be careful, sir, and she held up a warning finger to him,
partly in sport, but a great deal more in earnest.
 She's generally right, and she's always the dearest crea-
ture in the world, Walter thought when they had separated,
and he was alone with his cousin ;  but I think she's wrong
about the Daisy.
The Daisy and he had not at all a bad time of it going
down to Brighton. She was very sisterly and very sweet;
she gave way to no expressions of pettishness or wilfulness.
She promised to  make the best of things at the Osbornes'.
She adored him—verbally—for having given her the chest-
nut. She took a most astounding turn, and declared Mrs
Walsh to be  as nice as she was beautiful. She spoke of
her dead father in an altered strain that touched Walter im-
H
ii4
Walter Goring.
mensely. "I've been so much better about him. I've
thought eo much more kindly of him since I knew you,
Walter, she said  I was a little fiend that night you came
to me first. But then I had no one to love, and no one to
love me. I have found some one since, she added, in almost
a whisper. Finally, as they were nearing Brighton, she
startled him by asking suddenly,  And what is to become of
me when I can't stay at these Osbornes' any longer ? It isn't
to be my home for life, I suppose ? Where am I to go next ? 
 I can't tell you yet, Daisy. I must not tell you yet.
Your home for life? No, no !
 For how many years, then ? Oh ! do tell me.
 Perhaps for two or three—perhaps for a little longer.
I can't tell you, dear, don't ask me.
 For two or three years! she cried;  I shall never
stand it. And then she lapsed into tears and declarations
of perfect indifference as to what became of her, if she was to
be left with  odious women for two or three years.
It was in vain that Walter placed before her the possibility
of their not being odious; equally in vain was it to point out
to her the admiration excited by  her own horse, when the
chestnut was taken out at the station. Daisy wept herself into
the semblance of a white rabbit, and refused to be comforted.
Mrs Osborne lived in a detached villa just out of the town
—a pretty house, with clematis, and jasmine, and rose-bushes,
and earwigs climbing all over it. She and her daughter re-
ceived Daisy warmly and kindly; and Daisy eyed them re-
sentfully and somewhat scornfully, as became their respec-
tive positions. The elder lady satisfied Walter thoroughly as
to her entire fitness for the task she had taken upon herself;
and he satisfied her thoroughly as to the manner in which
he would recompense her for her trouble. And while the
elders were arranging matters, the daughter of the house
strove to ingratiate herself with Daisy, and failed ignominiously
in doing so.
When Walter Goring was going away, Daisy made hei
last request.
 You'11 come and see me to-morrow, Walter?
 Yes, for half-an-hour, dear. I must be in town by two
o'clock.
 Oh, Walter! no, don't; if you'll only stay and ride with me
A Turning Point in the Road ! 115
to-morrow evening, I will settle beautifully; but I won't
else!
Sbe felt convinced tbat Mrs Walsh had asked him to go
back, and she did sigh to show Mrs Walsh that she too had
a little influence.
 Daisy, dear, I want to see my publisher to-morrow; I
can't stay till the evening. Go for your ride ; you '11 enjoy it
just as much without me.
She clasped her hands over his shoulders as she had done
the other morning at Goring Place. He did not press her to
his heart this time, because Mrs and Miss Osborne were in
the room—trying not to look at them- -but he felt strongly
inclined to do so.
 It's onlyone day I ask you to give me, Walter; do, do, do.
She bent her head down for one moment, and let it touch
his shoulder as she made her plea. He could have made no
other answer than he did.
 I will, my darling.
Then he said good-bye, and walked away hastily, thinking
to himself as he walked,  The little witch nearly sends my
resolutions to the devil when she seems so fond of me; if she
is really—and remains so—it will be all right in the end! I
have only to see a little more of her to settle my business.
The next morning he spent partly in the villa garden with
Daisy, and partly in Mrs Osborne's drawing-room, where
Daisy sang to him; and in the evening he got the best horse
a livery-stable could supply, and went for a ride with his
cousin. They started about half an hour before Mr Fell owes
and Charlie St John went out for that ride in the middle of
which we left them several chapters back.
It will be remembered that when we parted from them,
Mr Fellowes had just taken the dangerous leap which all
men must take sooner or later, however averse they may be
to it. He had asked a girl to be his wife; and the girl was
on the point of giving her answer. Perhaps, though, excep-
tion will be taken to this statement. The hypercritical may
aver that he had not asked her to be his wife ; that he had,
in fact, only asked her to give him permission to indulge
in the sketchy pleasure of loving her all his life. But
this with him meant everything, and she knew it. To
all intents and purposes he had asked her to marry him.
Walter Goring.
But she paused, being doubtful—not of him or of his mean-
ing, but of herself; and he, thinking that he had not made
himself sufficiently clear, went on.
 Don't you think I should make you happy, Charlie ?
Before Heaven, if you only take me, I '11 try all my life with
all my heart; I may not have shown the love I have for you as
many men would; but no man could love you better, my pet.
His hand was on her wrist still; strong and stalwart as he
was, his touch was tender as a woman's : it must have been
a very good love that so softened him. She felt that it must
be this; she remembered the arid life that was before her if
she refused—the hopeless prospect; she remembered his con-
stant care of her—his kindness. There was the genuine
ring of the metal about his pleading now. All these things
flashed through her mind in a moment, and she said—
 If you think I shall make you happy—I '11 try.
 God bless you, my darling! he whispered, but he did
not seal the compact after the manner of lovers who take the
leap in a drawing-room when no one is near; and she thanked
the kind star of her destiny that he did not do so, for before
his whispered thanks were well uttered they turned into a
lovely little bit of road, and there she saw— What ?
Such a picture—such a scene. She never forgot it. Its
beauty, its painfulness, its mystery, its poetry, were all
stamped in indelible colours on her mind in the first mo-
ment in which she looked upon it. That undefinable sensa-
sation of having seen all this and felt all this before, either
in a dream or in a pre-existent state came over her, as Mr
Fellowes moved his hand from her wrist, and they rode on
and looked upon this scene.
High overhead the trees met in a grand natural arch,
shutting out nearly all view of the sky for a considerable
length of road,—all view of the sky, but not of the sun.
To the west the trees were flooded as it were with light;
each leaf seemed tipped with radiance, and golden fragments
fell down shimmering on the ground with every movement
of the branches overhead. While towards them—from the
other end of this nave of nature, over the rich yellow loamy
road on which the fragments of gold fell shimmering in the
fullest light that the setting sun could throw upon them—
there came another pair of riders: and the one was a fair
A Proud Captive.
ii 7
yellow-haired girl on a splendid chestnut horse, whose every
movement brought out some graceful curve in her figure;
and the man was the same who some weeks before had told
Charlie St John, that even for women there were paths to be
trodden and goals to be gained that were well worth treading
and gaining. And her heart sank down with a dull thud as
she bent her head in acknowledgment of Walter Goring's
bow, and remembered fully and clearly, and for the first
time since her fever, all Walter Goring's suggestions and
advice. There had been another life for her, had she sought it.
There had been a means of escape from the mean monotony
which so sorely weighted her. But she had been oblivious of
them; and now!—now it was too late !
CHAPTER XVI.
A PROUD CAPTIVE.
• "Do you know that man? Who is he? Mr Fellowes asked,
as soon as they were past.
"I just know him; it's Mr Walter Goring, the author
of
 Is it ?  he interrupted eagerly.  Why, he's just come
into a fine property down close to my place. I never saw
him before"—and Mr Fellowes turned round and leant his
hand on his horse's haunch in order the better to have another
look at his unknown neighbour.
 Good-looking fellow? he observed, interrogatively, when
he came round again; and Charlie replied dreamily,—
 Is he ? 
He looked at her anxiously. They were out of the shade
of the trees by this time; and in the light he saw that her
face was very pale, and that a shade had come over her eyes.
"What is it, Charlie? he asked pathetically. "You
don't regret '' he stopped, and gave a gulp. It was very
much to this man that the girl to whom he had told his love
should love him in return.
 No, no ; please don't say that to me again, she said,
quickly turning her face towards him.  I '11 tell you what
118 Walter Goring.
it was, though it's almost too intangible to tell at all, she
went on in a low voice, half to herself.
 Do tell me, Charlie ; you must tell me everything that
troubles you now, my pet.
She looked kindly and gratefully at him. At the same
time she rather doubted her own capability of doing this.
He was not the type of man to whom a woman can carry
every trouble. However, she said now,—
 It is nothing that troubles me ; it only set me thinking.
I'm sure that I have been through that bit of road, and seen
the same people, and heard the same words, and spoken the
same before.
 I hope not, he said seriously. He could not help
thinking that it would be rather awkward for him if she had
done so. An accepted rival, and that rival a duplicate of
himself, might prove disagreeable.
She laughed.  Oh, it must have been in a dream, or in
some other life, she said;  it gives you a very queer feeling
when it comes over you—you don't know what is and what
is not.
 It's the fever has left you weak, he said, encouragingly.
He was very matter-of-fact. Without having precisely what
Mr Sala calls  beef on the brain, he had too much solidity
there for there to be any room for metaphysical speculations.
He meant most kindly towards Charlie by this suggestion of
his. Kindly ?—he meant it most fondly and lovingly ; but
at the moment she would have preferred a silent sympathy,
—anything, anything, rather than this sort of solution of her
dreamy difficulty. However, she said,—
 I suppose it is that I am very weak indeed; so weak
that I really don't think I can stand Robert and Ellen's
speeches to-night; will you mind not saying anything about
it till to-morrow ? 
But, unlike the majority of men, he did mind deferring the
annunciation of the bliss that had befallen him till the
morrow. He did mind it very much indeed. He wanted to
make his full rights apparent at once, in order that he might
claim them without fear and without reproach. So he said
that he thought that it would be more honourable to make
Mr Prescott acquainted with what had passed without any
unnecessary delay. To which Charlie assented with a certain
A Proud Captive.
119
feeling that was not exactly soreness, but that certainly was
not pleasure, that she belonged rather less to herself than she
had done an hour before.
Unquestionably it was not the courtship—possibly it would
not be the marriage—of which the girl had dreamed. We
all do dream about our futures ; and if they fall very far short
of our dreamings, we cannot help coming down to their level
with a pang. Young womanhood, too, often inclines to the
dangerous and dubious, rather than to the man who proposes
an alliance through all time to her after knowing her for
three weeks, and leaves her not a single doubt as to the
honourableness of his intentions. The creature in the clouds
—never too certain of himself—holds her against the man
who comes to the fore, and tells her in language about which
there can be no mistake, that he wants her to be his wife and
the manager of his household, and the legal recipient of all
his ill humours.
During the ride home, Mr Fellowes made minute jokes
against himself; and that feeling of being no longer her own
 goods and chattels  came over Charlie more strongly than
before. She felt herself constrained to smile at what he said,
whether cause for smiling were patent to her or not. She
also felt that he was watching her, as she before now had
watched a kitten or a puppy. Further, she reminded herself
that henceforth all chance of anything different to that which
she now had was over for her. That this man's life and
interests and her own were one and indivisible through all
time from this hour. That in future to sigh for novelty
would be half a crime, and more than half a folly. That she
was  engaged  to fulfil every atom of a woman's self-abne-
gating part. That she had shut herself off from all chance
of change, and so had better—make the best of it.
She came back from her reverie—a reverie in which she
had heard without heeding many of his speeches—just as
they were about to re-enter the town. She felt that he
deserved something different from the inattention of the last
fifteen minutes before he went in and told her brother-in-law
that he desired the great boon of herself.
 Look here, she said, reining her horse a little closer to
his,  as a matter of form, I suppose you will tell Robert
Prescott what you have told me; but I want you to understand
120
Walter Goring.
that all the Robert Prescotts in the world couldn't alter my
decision.
If he could hut have feigned to accept the womanly gracious-
ness of the avowal ? But he could not feign ; the graceful
gift of doing so was not his. He opened his honest blue eyes
at her, and said,—
 Why, my dear Charlie, he wishes you- to marry me. I
know that very well.
Then she took the "Major sharply on the curb, with a
miserable feeling that he (Mr Fellowes, not the "Major")
never would understand her.
Mr Fellowes carried himself bravely even through that
awful ordeal—a first evening in the bosom of the family of
his betrothed. One cannot repress a feeling of reverential
admiration for the wild gallantry which carries any man
along to this point. The preliminary passages are pleasant
enough; all things are made so easy to him by the family
while he is only looking much and saying nothing that can
be taken hold of. But from the moment that he has shown
that he knows how to offer his paw, he is expected to per-
form perpetually, and if one of the long roll of an engaged
man's tricks is got through tamely, he is commented upon in
no very tender spirit by the watchful band of anxious
friends. A woman's part of the business is not fraught with
too much bliss ; but a man's must be maddening.
The Prescotts were very kind—odiously kind. They
averted their eyes whenever he went near her, and (Ellen
especially) could not restrain their looks of disappointment
when he failed to avail himself in any marked manner of the
opportunity thus given. Mrs Prescott told her children to
call him  Uncle Henry from the moment the announce-
ment was made. So that when Charlie came down after
taking off her habit, she found him domesticated in a manner
that was disgusting to her. Moreover, Mr Fellowes looked
too rosy under his happiness, and smiled too much for good
taste. That he should have been hungry at supper-time was
all right enough, and quite in accordance with her own
sentiments. But he made a merit of his appetite, as if it
were something surprising under the circumstances—a sort
of thing worthy of remark. He grew communicative about
a spoilt marriage scheme of his sister's; he made jokes about
A Proud Captive.
121
the proverb he had become for being  very hard to hit down
in his own county. He gave himself little airs of ownership
with respect to Charlie, telling her what she "should do on
the following day, instead of asking her what she  would
do. Finally, he adverted to that fact of having met Walter
Goring out riding, which has been already chronicled. "And
he had a remarkably pretty girl with him, he said, magnani-
mously.  I daresay we shall soon have her for a neighbour
at Goring Place, Charlie !  There is no doubt about it, that
when love makes a man hilarious, he should be shut up for
a time in the dark. The risk he runs of making himself
ridiculous in the light of lamps and love is too great.
As soon as he was gone that night, Charlie said good-
night hurriedly, and rushed up to her room. She wanted to
think about what she had done before the remarks of any
third person had put the deed before her in an evil light.
She wanted to think about what she had done. She sadly
wanted to get some assurance from herself that she had done
well. She hoped that she had; she prayed that she had;
she thought that she had; but she did not know.
From the commercial point of view, she knew that it
would be a very good marriage for her. She knew very
well that man (or woman, for that matter) does not live by
bread alone, in the station of life to which she had been
born. She knew very well that she should be a better, a
brighter, and more contented wife to a man who had the
wherewithal to keep all sordid cares from her than she
should be to one who had to struggle and strive to do it, and
who must even then fail. She had no romantic notions
about love in a cottage, and a platter of potato peelings
being all-sufficient, if partaken of in company with the
husband of her heart. She knew very well that this was a
style of thing which would shortly have sapped the founda-
tions of any love she might ever have felt. But at the same
time that she knew all this, she did wonder whether  The
Hurst and a plentiful supply of the good things of this life
would be all-sufficient for her through the long years that,
in the order of things, were yet to he passed by her in Henry
Fellowes's company. Would these be enough for her if
Henry Fellowes never got nearer to her heart than he had
yet succeeded in doing ?  But he's so good and kind, he
122
Walter Goring.
must, she said to herself; and then she thought,  What a
life Mr Goring's wife will have ? for she fell into the error
of fancying that this man was more in his boolcs than he
was, and his books never palled upon her.
Just then a voice asked from the outside of her door,—
 May I come in for two minutes, Charlie?
"Yes, for just two minutes; and then the door was
thrown open impatiently, and Miss Charlie stood before her
gentle, fair, placid sister, with streaming damp hair, and a
troubled expression of countenance.
 I thought I would just come and speak to you before I
went to bed, Mrs Prescott said, composed'y walking on
into the room without giving so much as a glance at the
troubled face of the girl who had admitted her.
 What have you to say at this hour of the night, Ellen ?
You, who generally crush all my conversational efforts after
ten o'clock—and it's past midnight now.
 Robert and I have been talking about you.
 Naturally, the girl interrupted, pettishly ; "but put off
the recapitulation of what you've said till to-morrow—do,
please. She paused for a moment or two, and then she
went on.  If you only knew how tired I am to-night, and
how my head burns 
 Does it ? La ! her sister said, pityingly.
"Does it? the girl cried, leaning her arms and face
down upon the toilet-table, and upsetting a scent-bottle
as she did so;  does it ? it does; and my heart and soul
are burning too. Now don't say anything, or you '11 make
me worse.
Mrs Prescott gazed for a moment or two at this unruly
member of her household; then she glanced up at the gas;
the latter was flaring extravagantly, so she paused to turn it
down before she said,—
 What have you been doing to make your hair in such a
state ?
"Dipping my head in water, her sister replied, jumping
to her feet as she spoke.  Come, Ellen, time's up; you
said for two minutes.
 But, Charlie, do listen; you know how sincerely Robert
and I have your good at heart; he says you have been a
great flirt, you know, but that now he hopes you will alter,
Six d Clock.
123
and—and—give Mr Fellowes no reason to repent his very
hasty ofier.
Charlie gave an impatient movement of the shoulders.
"Yes. I have been what's called a flirt, I suppose; that
is to say there, don't talk to me to-night—don't, Ellen,
don t.
She put her arms round her sister's neck as she pleaded
thus; she pressed her hot crimson cheek against the fair,
round, cool one which was never defaced by angry passions.
She was very much in earnest in her appeal; but what
chance does impassioned earnestness ever stand against
dogged determination ? Mrs Prescott was one of those
sweetly-amiable women who invariably contrive to have the
last word.
 That is to say—what, Charlie ?
 Why, you and Robert have both applied the term to me,
and you ;re always right; but do drop the past now. What
is the use of making me feel myself a miserable sinner ? Mr
Fellowes is so good and kind—and—all that—to me, that of
course I shall be the same to him.
"I hope so, Charlie, the married sister replied; "but
you '11 have to alter in many things, dear.
 I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks, Charlie said,
laughing wearily.  Come, dear, go now, or Robert will be
sending to know why we couldn't say what we had to say to
each other down in the dining-room; and on this occasion I
echo his sentiments.
CHAPTER XVII.
six o'clock
Women's demands almost invariably grow in proportion to
the concessions made to them. Daisy having succeeded in
keeping her cousin one day longer at Brighton than he had
intended remaining, now felt—or feigned that life would be
dark to her if he did not come up and  sit for an hour or
two in the garden with her the following morning.
124 Walter Goring.
".But, Daisy, you forget my guests at Goring Place. I
must get back to them.
 You 're not going back there, straight ? You 11 stay in
London ? 
 Only to see my publishers.
"You '11 go to Roehampton ; now, won't you ? 
"Well, just to see the Walshes ; yes.
"Now, a few hours can't make any difference, Walter;
think how long it will be before I see you again perhaps, and
do come and sit for an hour or two under that weeping elm
to-morrow morning; it will make me like the place better.
I shall go there and think of you whenever I feel too tired to
stand the Osbornes.
"Well, I suppose I must stay ; but mind, Daisy, I shall
be obliged to leave by the two o'clock train.
"Then come to me at eleven. How can you think so
much about your book now ? You needn't write now—you
don't want the money. I can't imagine how you can care
to bother yourself.
He laughed.  You sordid-minded Daisy ; perhaps you're
right after all; it may be that the game isn't worth the
candle. Well, I '11 come at eleven. Good-night, young lady.
Before he went to her the following morning he strolled
down on to the pier, and stood at the extreme end, looking
out over the sea for a time. There was that dark slatv-blue
tint over it which it frequently has in September, especially
just before a thunderstorm.  Not that we are likely to have
one now, he thought, looking up at the clear cloudless sky.
But though the sky was bright and cloudless, there was a
something oppressively sultry in the air.  Soda-water and
sherry will be pleasant under that weeping elm, he thought.
 I wonder if the old lady will be shocked if I suggest it.
He turned round now, and leaned his back against the
wood-work, and looked round lazily over the numerous
groups of girls who were scattered about on the benches.
They were of all orders of British beauty ; and the majority
of them were immersed in literature, and had their long damp
hair unbound and hanging loosely over their shoulders, in
order that it might derive the fullest benefit from the sea air,
and be seen in all the bravery of its luxuriance by any chance
beholder. But pretty, or at least pleasing-looking, as the
Six o'Clock.
125
most of them undoubtedly were, there was not one so attrae-
tive in his eyes as either of those two girls who had met on
horseback the night before in the shaded road near Portslade.
It is a useful lesson to a novelist to go and stand on the
pier at Brighton during the season. He or she is almost sure
io come away sadder and humbler, if not wiser, for the ex-
periment. In some fair hand or other you are sure to see
one of your own works—perhaps your cherished one—the
one at which you laboured the hardest—the one into which
you put your best—the one in which you flattered yourself
that the various shades of character were delineated delicately
and sharply—the one that, in the exquisite phraseology of re-
viewers, you felt persuaded must be perused with unabated
interest from the first page to the last. Go to Brighton pier,
deluded one, and give your pride a fall. Mark the lassitude
with which the pages are turned ; observe the colossal skip-
ping that goes on ; see and shiver at the supine indifference
with which the first volume is laid down, and the second
never taken up. Constrain yourself to listen to a few of the
verbal ingenuous criticisms that are passed upon your offspring
by a brace of pretty girls. It may do you good to hear that
your  last was dull enough, but this is ever-so-much worse 
—it may do you good eventually; but if it does not give you
creepy sensations at the moment, you are not made of the
ordinary fiction-writer's flesh. You may come out of it puri-
fled and refined; but there is no question about its being
a very fiery furnace of an ordeal.
But the great law of compensation works even under these
humiliating circumstances. You can always analyse your
most inglorious sensations, and get something good, or at
least useful, out Of them. At least, men may do this; wo-
men, unfortunately, are rarely gifted with the analytical mind.
At any rate, Walter Goring redeemed the time this morn-
ing, by thinking out an essay on the subject of the numberless
little rifts which make all music mute in the heart of man
very often. No matter how noble, exalted, heaven-bori:, the
motive of the music may be, there comes a moment when
some fragment of the earth earthy strikes upon the life lute,
and produces discord surely-—perhaps silence.
As he stood there thinking something to the effect of the
foregoing passage, he saw advancing towards him that pair
126
Walter Goring.
whom Daisy and himself had met the night before. Charlie
at the same moment caught sight of him, and her face
brightened visibly, and he, marking the pleasure that she
showed so freely, went forward to meet her.
Even in the few seconds that were employed in gaining
them, Walter Goring had time to see clearly '' how things
were. There was an unmistakable air of being engaged
about the tall, handsome, healthly-looking gentleman who
walked by Miss St John's side, glancing down upon her with
unfeigned pride and pleasure, and unmistakable proprietor-
ship. Charlie had a yachting dress on, and her hands were
in the pockets thereof, and she kept her face set steadily
straight before her. But the man by her side kept on bend-
ing his head, and looking down into her eyes in a way that
left no room for doubt.
Miss St John was one who, if she desired to speak to a
man, never hesitated an instant about doing so. Therefore,
when she saw Walter Goring coming to meet her, she
quickened her pace a little, took her hand out of her pocket,
and held it out to him with a hearty—
 Mr Goring, I am so glad to see you again.
 And I'm delighted to see you—better ; I heard of your
illness from Mrs Walsh.
"Yes ; I've had a fever, but I'm not infectious at all
now. Then she turneda littletowards Mr Fellowes, and added,
"Allow me to introduce you and Mr Fellowes to each other.
 We ought to have known something of each other before,
Mr Fellowes said, cordially holding out his hand, and Walter
Goring took it as cordially, saying,—
 My Norfolk neighbour then, I presume; we have been
unfortunate in finding each other out, Mr Fellowes.
 Yes, very; my sister forwarded me your note about the
battue only yesterday, or I should have replied to it. How
do you find the game on your land this year ? 
Then the two men got talking the usual sporting talk, and
Charlie stood by and listened.
After a while they strolled up and down. The mere fact
of their lands adjoining gave these men much in common at
their first meeting even, more especially as one was desirous
of giving all the local information in his power, and the other
of receiving it.
Six o'Clock.
12;
"You were not much, at Goring Place in your uncle's
lifetime ? 
"Very rarely—never since I was a boy; we were very
good friends, you know, hut he never asked me, so I never
went; did you see much of him ? 
 Why, no; the fact is, there had been some sort of dispute
about a right of way between my father and him, and Mr
Goring couldn't forget it; I daresay you have heard the
story.
 Clarke told me something about it; we must open up
the lane again, for it's a short cut from The Hurst to Goring
Place, Walter said, looking at Charlie.
 Is Goring Place so near The Hurst ?  she asked.
"Yes, Miss St John.
 She '11 see for herself soon how near it is, I hope, Mr
Fellowes put in buoyantly; and then Charlie saw that Mr
Goring looked at her steadily again, and she could not keep
down a blush.
 I'm delighted to hear it, he was beginning, when she
stopped him.
 When are you going to write another novel, Mr Gor-
ing ? 
 I have just finished one—it will soon be out, and I shall
have the honour of presenting it to you.
"You won't have much time for writing now, Mr Fel-
lowes remarked.
 Shall I not ? It seems to me that if I stay at Goring
Place I shall have little to do save write.
 The hounds meet three times a week, close to us ; you '11
join the Hunt of course ? 
 Undoubtedly.
 I often thought it a pity that your uncle didn't keep up
the kennels; you know your grandfather hunted a pack of
foxhounds for years. I wish you'd start them again ! 
 Don't do it, Mr Goring, if it will take up all your time,
Charlie said, shaking her head and half laughing.
 I submit to your decree; I shall not do it, he said,
lifting his hat as he spoke ;  and now I must say good-bye,
I fear. I have an appointment with my cousin, Miss Goring,
to whom I trust I may shortly have the honour of introduc-
ing you, Miss St John.
128
Walter Goring.
"Ah! your uncle left a daughter, didn't he? Mr Fel-
iowes asked.
"Yes, Walter answered; "the lady I was riding with
last night; I am left her guardian, so you see I have plenty
to do without starting a pack of foxhounds.
 I shall like to know her very much, Charlie said, look-
ing away out over the sea, half abstractedly ; "it was like a
poem last night, I thought, and she was the sweetest rhyme
in it.
Walter made no answer; he understood her fully, though
her sentence had not been too coherently worded. Mr Fel-
lowes looked perplexed, then it appeared to strike him that
it was his part to explain away anything that seemed strange
in Charlie.
 Miss St John has got it into her head that we had all
met in that road, in that way before, either in a dream, or—
or before the Deluge, I think she says; I tell her it's the
effects of the fever.
 I think so too, Walter replied, and his answer might
have been an agreement to either proposition. Mr Fellowes
held that it was complete coincidence with his fever theory,
and was satisfied ; but Charlie met his eyes, and was satisfied
too. Then once more they said "good-bye and parted.
 He seems to be a splendid fellow, Mr Fellowes remarked
enthusiastically, as soon as Walter was out of ear-shot.  I'm
very glad that we shall have him for our neighbour.
This identification of her with himself was immediate per-
haps, considering that he had only proposed to her the pre-
vious night. But Charlie did not object to it at all. She
did not notice it, in fact, for she had thrown herself into the
future, and was employed in wondering what ber life would
be like down in that place of which the two men had been
speaking so familiarly, the place of which she was to be the
mistress.
Meanwhile Walter was slowly walking up to keep his ap-
pointment with Daisy. It has been said that he saw  how
it was  at the first glance he gave to Mr Fellowes and Charlie.
And during their interview his first impression had received
confirmation strong.  Evidently she's going to marry him,
he thought;  he seems a capital fellow, but scarcely the
sort of husband for her I should fancy. Then he went on
Six o' Clock.
129
pondering over the consistent inconsistency which nearly
every woman displays. He recalled to his mind her little
brief bufsts of ambitions enthusiasm, that night he had met
her at the Walshes. He remembered those strong though
vague aspirations, those mental hungerings and thirstings
after more satisfying sustenance than had yet fallen to her
share, to which she had given vent. He reminded himself
of the promise she had given, half to him and half to herself,
about fixing upon an aim, and making an object for herself
in life. All these things he remembered, as he walked along,
and he laughed almost bitterly as he thought,  And it has all
ended in this—that she is going to marry the first fellow
who has asked her! Well, she '11 be a good friend for Daisy,
when Daisy comes to Goring Place.
He could not help speculating a good deal about Miss St
John. He found himself marvelling how she would stand
life, day after day, all the year round, at that red house which
he could see from .his drawing-room windows. There was
something to him absolutely incongruous in this girl settling
down in such a way ; he wondered what she would do with
herself. He never thought of the possibility of her employ-
ing herself in household matters. She was an essentially
feminine-looking woman, small and delicately made, and
eminently graceful in gait and figure; but he could not
imagine her subsiding into the purely domestic animal.
u Women are fearfully and wonderfully constituted, and no
mistake, he thought to himself;  to think that a girl like
that should go and voluntarily vow to remain with a good
fellow enough, but one who palpably hasn't an idea in com-
mon with herself, for the whole term of her natural life ; it's
almost monstrous, that because this ghastly, incongruous
sacrifice is made under the name of marriage, girls should
make it without reproach.
He could not restrain his thoughts from running ahead
about her. For a few years she would be a young and very
interesting Mrs Fellowes, despite that "As the husband is,
the wife is  creed in which he had belief. But how about
her as a middle-aged Mrs Fellowes? Would that curious
something which there was about her, and which made her
a more interesting and exciting study than the mass of girls,
.though of little beauty—would this something gradually ebb
130 Walter Goring.
away and leave her a mere sonsy matron, with sharp words
on her tongue for rebellious children, and a keen eye for the
peccadilloes of her maids? Would she in time come to
dress with delight for a dull dinner-party down there, a
dinner-party wanting in even those elements of amusements
and interest which she had found insufficient at the Walshes?
Would she tone down into a tame Lady Bountiful? Would
she come to look upon art and literature with the hazy gaze
those do bestow upon them who know themselves to be a
long way off, and have no desire to come any nearer ? Above
all, would she ever learn to train her looks, and guard them,
and not seem to give them gladly and freely to a man—even
a stranger—who could read them aright? "I am glad The
Hurst is so near to Goring Place, for I shall like to see how
she goes on, he thought, as he turned into the garden where
Daisy, gracefully posed under the elm, sat awaiting him.
Psychologically then, these two girls were almost of equal
interest to him; but he read what Charlie's life had been
through her acts and words, more clearly than he read
Daisy's. Naturally, therefore, Daisy at present commanded
more of his thoughts, and had a larger portion of his specu-
lative interest.
Daisy presented herself this morning under a different
aspect to any in which he had hitherto seen her. In the
first place, she  took him more for granted, in a way that
he could not have defined, but that he felt keenly. On
former occasions, when she had made appeals to his fraternal
affection and complaisance, she had done it in such a way
that he could but remember that he was not her brother,
and feel that she remembered it too. But this morning,
some fine, almost imperceptible, but most telling change had
come over her. She was very nice, very graceful and girlish,
and amiable. But she did not make herself lithe and willowy
at him; she did not appeal to him; she was in fact an
utterly different Daisy from the one who had laid her hand
on his shoulder and her head on his breast but the other
day. She called him Walter, without the slightest attempt
at a plaintive intonation. She volunteered a promise to stay
and make the best of things at Brighton for as long a time,
as he liked. She told him that she was quite alive to the
impossibility of her living at Goring Place until he was.
Six o'Clock.
married. "And I do hope you will marry soon, Walter; it
will be so much better for me in every way when you are
married—if your wife will only like me. On the whole,
despite the amiability of this speech, Walter would rather
that she had not made it.
Then she went on to tell him why she had been so de-
sirous of seeing him this morning. It had been with no
romantic notion of having a few soothing  last moments 
with him—that was clear.
 There are two or three points that you had better settle
with her, she nodded towards the house, indicating thus
that she was alluding to Mrs Osborne,  before you go—foi
of course you won't come to Brighton again for a long time
—there's really nothing to bring you.
 To see you, Daisy; but what are the points?
"Oh! as to seeing me, that's understood. We shall
always be glad to see each other, that's of course. What I
want you to tell her is, that I am not to be expected to ride
out with her daughter; Miss Osborne goes out with a troop
and a riding-master, and I won't do it.
 I should think not; I '11 see about a steady groom being
at your disposal before I leave. I meant to do it, even if
you hadn't spoken : don't think me regardless of your com-
fort, Daisy?
He spoke almost tenderly; it was not exactly pleasant to
him to be put off from his former position in this way. But
she would not respond to the tenderness at all. She only said,
 That's so good of you, Walter; and I'm to go out when
I please ?
 My dear girl, you 're not in a prison.
 I know that very well; but it had better be understood
that I do as I like in this matter. To-day, when I was
coming out here, she began, ' Oh ! Miss Goring, you '11 find
it too hot in the garden, I think.' I told her that was my
look-out, and she didn't seem to like it; now if she doesn't
want me to speak, to her in that way, she had better not
interfere with me.
"Well, Daisy, I will try to meet your views, he said;
and Daisy put her yellow head against the back of the
garden bench and thanked him, and apparently had nothing
further to say.
132 Walter Goring.
Before he left, he told her about meeting Miss St John on
the pier, and of the almost certainty he felt that Miss St
John would be their neighbour eventually.
 Your neighbour, you mean. I should be wretched if
I thought Goring Place was to be my home for ever and
ever.
He was disgusted with himself for suffering himself to be
mortified by the expression of this girl's fickleness and in-
difference. Nevertheless, he was mortified. He sat in
silence, waiting for her to speak; when she did so at last, it
was only to say,—
 "When am I to have the three thousand pounds that my
father left me?
"You may have it when you like. What do you want
with it ?
"I want nothing, but I fancy a dozen things. Let me
have five hundred of it—may I ? or a thousand—may I ?
 My dear child, for what ?
"Why, to spend to be sure, she replied quickly; "to
spend in any way I please, and not to have to give an
account of it; for that I won't do.
'"You shall have it, if you will, he answered. The
thought struck him that she might want it for some of those
people with whom she had been brought up. Perhaps even
for her mother! But he would not question her.
"You shall have it, Daisy, he repeated. Then he stood
up and bid her "good-bye;  and she gave him her hand in
farewell, coolly and collectedly, and was no more like the
Daisy who had warmed him with her touch, and melted him
by her tears the other day, than snow is like fire. He went
away, feeling very sorry for this change in her—this change,
of which he had really no right to complain. He went
away, feeling very sorry, but more puzzled. "What can
have come over the girl, he thought;  she can't be such a
false-hearted little cat as to dislike me after her manner even
yesterday. He thought about her a good deal—till the
train stopped at the Victoria station, in fact. Then he got
out, and hailed a cab, and began to think about what terms
he should ask for his book as he was driven to his publisher's.
His heart was very much set on this work making a con-
spicuous success, for his last had been reviled by more than
Six o'clock.
133
one of the literary journals; and he had smarted and been
very sore—as the stoutest are wont to be when their tender
spots are lashed, however vigorously they may deny the soft
impeachment. He had smarted and been very sore, and had
striven earnestly to amend. Now he wanted to see the fruits
of the castigations and the consideration he had given them
made public. So, now that it had come to the point of
transacting the immediate preliminary business, previous to
publication, his mind was very much engaged upon his book
to the exclusion of all other considerations.
The interview was agreeable, not to say exhilarating. No
matter whether a man be a large landed proprietor, and in
possession of a good yearly income or not, the satisfaction of
knowing that the work of his brain is of sufficiently well-
known and recognised merit to command a good price, is in-
tense.  Mr Goring's last book had not been a success;  of
that his publisher mildly but firmly reminded him. But
this one, which it was proposed should come out at a more
auspicious season—and which, no doubt, was free from the
trifling defects of style which, more than the adverse criti-
cism, had over-ridden the last, might be safely prophesied
to  go. The end of it was that the book was to be an-
nounced immediately, as "ready on the 2d of November,
and the copyright for three years was made over to the firm
for the sum of £800. It is well to reward authors liberally
—at least in fiction.
 Now for Roehampton, he said to himself when he came
out of the publishing office;  how glad they '11 be to find it
all done. I believe if she hadn't urged me on, I should
never have made the requisite effort to finish it, after finding
myself master of Goring Place; as for old Ralph, he '11 be
better pleased than if all his own pictures get well hung next
year.
There was great pleasure to the young man in this assured
feeling which he had of receiving a warm welcome from them
at Roehampton. He had a good many friends, for he was
well liked by most men and women; but there was the bond
of many years' good fellowship (if such an expression may be
permitted, where there is a lady concerned), between the
Walshes and himself. He recalled now, as he drove down
to their house, the frantic zeal which Rabh had displayed
134
Walter Goring.
when his (Walter's) first book had come out, and stormed
fame. He remembered well the chagrin the kind-hearted
fellow had been unable to conceal when the last had been
reviled! While, as for her, few men, he felt persuaded, had
such a friend as he had in  his goddess.
The day was very bright when he leapt out of the cab at
the door of the Roehamptom house. The garden was gorge-
ous with those glories of the autumn, the gladiolus and
dahlia. Rich beds of bloom lay scattered about, breaking
the expanse of deep green turf every here and there; and the
light came down from the setting sun, and relieved the inten-
sity of colour—of those masses of crimson and of scarlet
which would otherwise have made the eyes throb to look
upon them. The dying day was very fair;—bright as a
child's smile—a dialogue by Shirley Brooks—or Walter
Goring's own prospects, as they were known to the world.
There was a great air of hush and quiet over the house
when he turned to it, after surveying this brightness for a
few moments. The hall door stood open, as was usual in
that hospitable mansion in the summer, but all the blinds
were drawn down, and there was no sound of voices and
aughter from the drawing-room, where voices and laughter
were to be heard at most times. "I hope they're not gone
out, he thought; - she's quite capable of getting enraged
with me for not being here before, and going for a drive; the
goddess is only a woman. Then he went into the hall, and
was about to shout out,  Ralph! when a servant came
upon him suddenly from the back regions—a girl, with a
iace all blurred with tears and blanched with fear, and said
to him, before he could ask her  What's the matter ? 
 Oh, sir ! poor master is dead ! 
It was like a blow on the chest to him. His heart bounded
with a sudden spasm of pain, to recover which he had to
gasp for breath—almost as a woman might have done. He
was utterly unnerved by the tidings—by the thought of this
good, valued, old friend, called with such ghastly celerity to
his last account. No homily, however eloquent, from the
lips of the grandest elocutionist comes home to the heart
with the terrible force of the one the heart reads to itself in
the first moment of hearing of that from which we all
pray to be delivered—sudden death.
Six o'Clock.
135
His first question was, "Where is she—your mistress, I
mean ? Let her know I'm here.
 Master's brother's wife is here, sir, she answered; and as
she said this, a lady come out from one of the rooms with an
arranged look of grief on her face, and a good deal of hand-
kerchief in her hand. He introduced himself hurriedly.
 I am Mr Goring, an old friend of , he could not
say  Ralph's, the tears in his throat would not let him
utter it; so he paused, and made an effort to swallow his
emotion.
The lady made some remark to the effect of its being an
awful calamity, and what we all must prepare for and sub-
mit to ; her remarks "were not original. He cut them short
 I have sent to tell Mrs Walsh that I am here, he said.
The British matron bridled without delay.
 It is impossible that my sister-in-law can see you, she
said,  utterly impossible; but of course you are aware of
that
"She will see me, Walter interrupted; "whom should
she see ? Of course, I shall go to her as I should have gone
to Ralph, had she died and left him ; I have lost too valued
a friend not to go at once to the other one who loved him
best.
He passed her as he spoke, and made his way upstairs;
on the landing he was met by the servant whom he had sent
to tell her mistress that he had come, and he stopped to ask
 how and when it happened ?   He died last night about
six o'clock, the girl told him;  he had a terrible shock in
town in the morning; he went up in the carriage, and one of
the horses took fright and ran right into an omnibus-pole,
and was staked in the chest and killed. Master didn't say
much at the time, but it gave him a shock, and the doctors
say it was heart complaint.
 Six o'clock, he thought, as he went on to the room in
which he was told he would find her.  Six o'clock ! just
the hour when I met that girl and her lover under the frees;
it was all brightness and beauty and peace' about me, and she
was in such sorrow, poor thing ! then he opened the door
and found himself in the presence of the widow.
She was leaning back in an easy chair. There were no
tears in her eyes, and there wras no white emblem of woe in
136
Walter Goring.
her hand. She looked calm and composed as usual, hut her
face was very pale. He went up and took her hand, and as
soon as she felt his clasp, her tears and words flowed together.
It was a thoroughly womanly plaint that she made.
 If you had been up in town with him, perhaps it wouldn't
have happened. And he answered,—
 God knows ! but I shall never forgive myself for being
away from you last night.
CHAPTER XVIII.
the wedding tour.
The autumnal tints were fading fast. Warmth and colour
were waning from off the earth. There were storm-clouds in
the sky. Fogs and fires had set in. There were more leaves
dead and rotting on the ground than there were on the trees.
In short, it was dreary, dark November when the threads of
the story are taken up again.
Miss St John was no more; she was merged in Mrs
Fellowes, and she was coming home to The Hurst, her hus-
hand's house, to-night.
They had been married about the middle of October. . Mr
Fellowes was no friend to unnecessary delay, and Charlie not
finding the engagement ideally pleasant, was glad enough to
shorten it. She was impatient, in truth, to see how she and
the life she had promised to live agreed with one another.
Therefore, there had been no hesitation on either side in the
matter, and they were married in October.
There had been little said about any member of his family
coming to his wedding, and not one of them had come.
He had only a mother and a sister, and the one was too
averse to railway travelling, and the other too averse to festi-
vities of any sort to come up to London to a wedding, he
had told them. Their non-appearance was taken quite as a
matter of course by Charlie; she had not regarded it as a
sign of amy special antagonism to herself.
The Wedding Tour.
137
Immediately after their marriage they had gone to Paris,
and had not enjoyed themselves at all. The bridegroom
knew nothing of either the pleasures or pitfalls of that city,
consequently he moved as one in the dark, and Charlie grew
impatient. When they had been to the opera and two or
three of the theatres, he recommended quiet strenuously, not
knowing where the ice was thin on that glittering surface
which stretched before him. But Charlie had not married
Mr Fell owes and come to Paris to be quiet. She could have
gone on being that in the dull Bayswater Square. Therefore
she urged him to  find out, if he didn't know, about places,
and he found out many things, and wished himself hack at
The Hurst. On the whole, it was unfortunate that he should
have taken her at first to a place where he could not move
freely, and as one who was sure of himself. He looked happy
enough always, hut she fancied that there was the expression
on his face of being very much obliged to any one who would
put him right. Altogether the wedding tour was a mistake.
Charlie had dreamt of Paris—had longed for it with the
feverish longing one has for it and the East, after hearing
much about them. When she gained it at last, there was
little for her to do, save to sit down and weep over illusion
the tli dispelled.
He was very kind and gentle to her, very patient and for-
bearing, no matter how her spirits ran down. He was always
heaping presents upon her, and wanting her to eat. His care
of her was prodigious, not to say oppressive. She had the
feeling of being liable to break upon her, whenever she went
out with him. On the whole, she would willingly have
bartered away a considerable portion of this care and atten-
tion in exchange for the man she had married being able to
impart one single idea that she couldn't get out of Bradshaw
relating to the place to which he had brought her. Whether
this was an idle longing or not, it certainly was not gratified.
She was not sorry when he said, as he did when they had
been there three weeks,  After all, Charlie, this place isn't
half as gay as they say. What do you think about going
home ? 
 I think it would be the best thing we can do, she replied,
and she did not add that she thought perhaps other people
set about finding Paris pleasant in another way.
138 Walter Goring.
However, they did not go straight back to The Hurst from
Paris. They branched off to the Isle of Wight, and spent a
fortnight there, during which fortnight they were very happy,
and explored the island thoroughly, Charlie on a rough pony
and Mr Fellowes on foot. Mrs Fellowes had never experienced
such happiness in her life as she felt the whole of this fort-
night. It was very patent to her that she was as the apple
of his eye to this man—that she was precious to him beyond
price. He showed his devotion to, and appreciation of, her
in a way that was clear without being cloying. His wishes
always marched with hers ; whither she went he was only too
happy to follow, not in blind submission, but with a frank
air of finding that which she thought good, the best, most
beautiful, and politic path. A strong feeling of friendship
sprang up between them in addition to the warm passion he
felt for her, and the genuine though weaker love she had for
him. They learnt to know each other well, so she believed;
to know and to have such reliance on each other that  no
future small discrepancies in the conduct of either would have
the power to shake the foundation of that trust which was
being laid between them in these days. This she told her-
self, and grew glad and grateful. Her woman's heart and
pride were both entirely carried by the devotion he displayed.
Literally, he was always at her side; metaphorically, he was
very much at her feet; and she who had never been the re-
cipient of such unswerving, open attentions before, was a
rarely gracious sovereign to this her loving vassal. She
seemed to be re-juvenated and to grow prettier daily—his
tenderness for her youth and admiration for the good looks
she possessed were so evident and inspiring. In short, he
was so proud of his wife that she grew fondly proud of him,
and showed that she was so openly, in a way that frequently
brought a flash of pleasure to his face, and something like
tears in his eyes, as he looked down upon her riding along on
the little pony by his side. The handsome, manly bridegroom
and the graceful intellectual bride were very pleasant to be-
hold altogether. At last they put an end to the joyous period,
and went home to The Hurst, reaching it about six o'clock
one damp, dismal November evening.
Mrs Fellowes was very eager to see her future home as
soon as she found herself fairly on her road to it. Very
The Wedding Tour.
139
eager to see it, and very curious on the subject of it. Hither-
to she had asked but very few questions respecting either it
or his friends and relations; and he, for the same reason as
she had refrained from asking, had refrained from telling
anything—namely, he had not thought of doing so. But
when, at about ten minutes to six on the evening of their re-
turn, he looked out of the railway carriage window into the
drizzle, and said,—
"Charlie, dear, if it wasn't for this mist you'd see The
Hurst down there between those trees; we shall be there
directly,—
She exclaimed— I'm so impatient to see it. I'm long-
ing to be the mistress of your house, Harry ; I will be such
a nice one, and such a nice wife, darling. Oh ! when shall I
see your mother and sister ? I'd 
She was going to say she  had forgotten them, but it oc-
curred to her that it would be perhaps just as well that she
should not go into residence in the palace of truth in this
way, therefore she checked herself on the brink of the speech.
"You will see them to-night. A 'nice wife!' I know
you will be that, my pet. ' Nice !' you '11 be the dearest and
sweetest in the world.
 They live near us, then ? Is their house in the village ? 
She really did not care where their house was, or where
they lived, but she wanted to please her husband by appear-
ing interested about his relatives, although they had abstained
from any ardent expression of interest about her. She was
the triumphant one, the reigning star of his affections, the
pivot on which each one of his thoughts turned; she could
afford to be generous.
 Near us! "Why, they live at The Hurst; didn't you
know that ? he answered; and the train stopping at the
moment, she had no time to say more than—
 Know it: how should I, when you have never told me,
Harry ? 
There was no time to say more about them, or to think
more about them, from that moment until they reached The
Hurst. Then they were brought before her prominently, and
she could not avoid giving them due consideration.
Perhaps they were right. Maybe they had some sort of
reason and justice on their side. It is very hard to say whe-
140
Walter Goring.
ther they were or not; it is always, in fact, hard—nay, more,
impossible, to judge justly of the acts of another, so many
motives sway them of which we are ignorant; they are in-
fluenced by so many reasons of which we never so much as
heard; they have their own thoughts about things; they are
so much more to themselves, and consequently so much more
alive to all that concerns themselves, than they are to us. All
these causes, and a dozen others, combine to render it a hard
matter indeed for any one to judge any one else with perfect
equity and justice.
Therefore it is a difficult matter to say whether or not old
Mrs Fellowes and her daughter were right, in regarding the
wife of their son and brother as an interloper from the first.
That they did so regard her there can be no manner of
doubt; but whether or not they were wholly wrong in doing
so, remains an open question.
Henry Fellowes had brought the infliction of this aggrieved
ill-will upon himself, or rather upon his wife, by his own in-
judicious conduct from his earliest manhood. The yoke of
his mother had never been easy, and the burden of his sister
had never been light; but he had fitted his neck to the one,
and adjusted the latter to his back for a great many years, as
if he had rather liked them than not. Now he was to reap
his reward.
With a quiet persistence that had been almost a beautiful
thing in itself from its unvarying uniformity, Mrs Fellowes
had detected flaws and blemishes in every girl who had come
under her son's notice, from the time of his becoming a mar-
riageable man up to the present moment. The boldest laid
down their arms before her, and said to the ambition which
might have been theirs for a brief period to become mistress
of The Hurst,  Avaunt, foul fiend! The clear-sighted
manner in which she saw whatever was not perfect in them,
and the admirably lucid way in which she pointed out their
imperfections to her son, had become a proverb in their part
of the county. She was charmingly consistent in seeing
nought but guile in any young woman who might possibly
succeed her at The Hurst. She always remembered the
faults of each one with just such a personal attribute or mental
quality as Henry chanced to find pleasing or good. If a girl
seemed kind to him, then his mother shook her head in
The Wedding Tour.
141
eorrow and anger, and quoted a sweet distich, to the effect of
a pear that would drop without shaking the tree. Did young-
ladyhood seem cool and self-possessed, and not at all con-
scious of the claims of Mr Fellowes of The Hurst, then Mrs
Fellowes was sorry to see it, and sorry to say it; but that
prudish manner was the very last she should desire to see in
the wife of a son of hers. In fact, she hedged him in and
about with doubt, distrust, and dread, with such full effect,
that he passed through that garden of beauty and never gave
so much as a thought after he was twenty-two to plucking
one of the blooms for himself. Norfolk is a rare place for
pretty women,—its witches will not even yield the palm to
those of Lancashire; but Mr Henry Fellowes passed un-
scathed through their ranks, because his mother bid him
do so.
Norfolk is a rare place for pretty women. What a fair
sisterhood that was from which I gained my first childish im-
pressions of loveliness and grace. What a pleasant light
that loveliness threw over the tiny sea-side village in which
they, the far-famed beauties of West Norfolk, dwelt. Some
of them have pretty daughters of their own now, and are as
charming perhaps in their brilliant matronhood as they were
in their fresh blooming girlhood. That past prettiness de-
serves to be commemorated, though—it was so marvellously
bright a thing.
Whatever the cause, the result is this: that the purely-
bred Norfolk women combine form and colour in their
greatest perfection, in an almost exceptional manner. The
wome/i of the western counties are fair and luxuriant, but
they are wanting in that symmetry of limb which is a dis-
tinguishing characteristic of their Norfolk sisters, whose
small, well-shaped feet and hands add to their look of race.
Whether or not^iere was a strong Southern dash in their
Scandinavian progenitors, I am not sufficiently well up in
the history of my favourite county to determine; but this
much is certain, that they possess, in addition to the skin of
the North, the subtle charm of shape which belongs of right
to the South. Nevertheless, maternal instincts had guided
Henry Fellowes safe and sure through the ranks of the
daughters of the land for many years, and now all her
precautions were proved idler than a dream, for he had gone
142
Walter Goring.
out and married a stranger without a penny. Charlie little
knew what she was going to face when she passed quickly
under the portals of The Hurst by her husband's side.
There was not the slightest doubt in her heart as she raised
her eyes to his face, and smiled brightly in response to his
hearty—
 God bless you, my darling, and make you happy here !
He led her straight through the hall into a large, sombre,
insufficiently lighted room, which they discovered to be void of
all human furniture immediately on entering it. Charlie made
for the fire at once, and as she stood over it warming her
hands, and looking round her half-curiously, half-doubtfully,
(the room and all in it were so uncompromisingly square,)
Mr Fellowes turned to the servant who had followed them,
and said,—
 Go and let your mistress—my mother—know that Mrs
Fellowes and I are here.
 My mistress and Miss Dinah are in the dining-room,
sir, the man replied; and Henry Fellowes was beginning to
mutter something in an annoyed tone, when Charlie turned
to him with a brighter flash on her face than the fire would
have had the power to fling.
 Shall we go to them, Harry ? Yes, come.
CHAPTER XIX.
a chilling reception.
They went out of the square drawing-roon^across the hall,
and into another room where crimson curtains and a blazing
fire and plenty of glass and gleaming silver on a well-arranged
dining-table, gave them a pleasant sense of warmth and com-
fort. In an arm-chair on one side of the fire-place an old
lady, with a face rendered still paler than was natural to it
by the severe contrast of a dead-black front, and a little half-
square shawl pinned with severe exactitude over her
shoulders, sat rigidly awaiting them. Opposite to her, in the
A Chilling Reception. 143
other arm-chair, was a middle-aged woman, tall and large,
and as square, Charlie thqught, at the first glance, as the
drawing-room from whence they had just come.
The newly-married pair came on into the room, and as
they did so Miss Dinah rose, but the old lady kept her seat.
Almost unconsciously Charlie came to a stand-still; she
could not go on to them ; there was 110 welcome from either
of those women for her.
Henry Fellowes went over and kissed his mother, then
turned and held one hand out to his sister, the other to his
wife.  Well, mother, I have brought you home a new
daughter at last, you see, he said, with a poor attempt at a
laugh ; and she replied,—
 I see you have, Henry ;'' and then rose up for an instant
and held out a straight hand with rigid fingers to Charlie,
and added,—
"I'm afraid you have had a wet journey, Mrs Henry;
your train was a little late; I am afraid the dinner won't be
the better for waiting.
Charlie took the rigid fingers and did not know what to do
with them. It was impossible to get up spurious enthusiasm,
and make the least attempt to press the hand of an old wo-
man who evidently would not have offered it at all if she
could have avoided doing so. Therefore Charlie took it for
an instant, and then let it go, saying, with a brighter light in
her eyes than Henry Fellowes had ever seen there before,—
 Perhaps I had better go and get ready for dinner, Harry,
and not keep it waiting any longer.
 Perhaps you had, dear; here, I '11 come up with you
when Dinah's spoken to you.
He put his hands on his wife's shoulders, and made her
face round immediately in front of his tall, gaunt sister.  1
hope you '11 find everything comfortable in your room, Mrs
Henry, the latter said hurriedly. The laughing face that
was brought under Miss Dinah's notice looked so thoroughly
cognisant of her dislike, and so defiant of it in a way, that
Miss Fellowes lost her self-possession.
When Charlie reached her own room she could not con-
scientiously say that she did find everything comfortable in
it. There was no fire, and no hot water, and no sofa, and no
easy chair. There were abundant signs of wealth in hand
144
Walter Goring.
some carved mahogany bed-posts, and wardrobes, and dressing-
tables, but there was neither comfort, according to the modern
luxurious acceptation of .the word, or beauty. In fact, it was
not at all the sort of room to meet the views of a bride with
aesthetic proclivities.
"Never mind, I'll freeze to-night, she said laughingly,
when her husband looked blank at the empty stove and the
cold water. "You go down, or to your dressing-room, and
I '11 astonish them by being ready so quickly, Harry. Then,
when she had banished him, she knelt down before one of
her trunks and took out some of her toilet paraphernalia and
wondered whether they were going to have the grace to send
any one to assist her in case she needed assistance.
Not that in reality she needed any, but she was the mistress
of the house, and as such it ought to have been at her com-
mand, she felt. However, modern costume has done away
with a great deal of female incapacity; if need were, Charlie
could have dressed for a ball unaided and alone. So now,
when she had brushed out her short bright brown hair, and
put on fresh cuffs and a collar, she was ready ; and as soon as
she was ready, she went to look for her husband.
She had said to him— Go down, or into your dressing-
room, and she now looked for a dressing-room in which to
find him. In her own room were numerous big heavy doors,
but they all led into large commodious dark closets; there
was no egress to any smaller room, and with a most natural
scoff at the awkwardness of old-fashioned arrangements, she
resolved to go down and face them by herself, since she could
not find her husband.
He meanwhile had run down into the dining-room again,
to do what a man should never do with women, temporise.
He had known all along, that marry when or whom he would,
his mother and his sister would be antagonistic to his wife.
But after meeting and falling in love with Charlie St John,
he had put all thoughts of maternal wrath away from him,
until now that it was brought vividly before him, and un-
pleasantly before Charlie.
"When he went back alone, leaving Charlie kneeling before
her black trunk, he began at once eagerly to his mother,—
 Don't you think I have done well, mother ? She '11 make
things as pleasant as possible, if you'll only meet her half-
A Chilling Reception.
145
way; you know she couldn't help the train being late, and
now she's hurrying herself tremendously, in order not to keep
you waiting; but I say, Dinah, things should have been ar-
ranged a little better in our room, I think ! 
 I have had the best room prepared for your wife, Henry,''
Miss Dinah replied, in tones that would have led a stranger to
suppose that The Hurst was hers, and not her brother's.
 And from what you had said, we did not expect a fine
lady, his mother chimed in.
 Mother, she isn't that, he said deprecatingly. He was
such a big boy, and such a big booby, in his honest affection
for the three women to whom he was nearest and dearest.
He wanted all things to be so pleasant, without having the
faintest idea how to make them so. Then he went over to
his mother and leant upon the back of her chair, and asked
very fondly, but almost too humbly,—
 Do seem a little glad to see her when she comes down !
She is the dearest girl—much too good for such a rough as
I am ; don't let her think you didn't want her here.
Mrs Feilowes, senior, commenced working her lips and
blinking her eyes. She loved her son, loved him dearly. But
it was with a narrow-minded, grasping, jealous, suspicious
love, that would have denied him any other all his life.
Whatever wife he had won to himself, his mother would not
have loved her. But a wife without money his mother could
not even seem to like. So now she said, in measured tones
that came out from between lips of iron,—
 What I like or what I don't like is of little consequence,
1 am well aware. I'm an incumbrance and old, and not worth
consulting; I know all that; but still I do own to feeling
hurt that my son should have gone away and married a
stranger, without even giving his mother the opportunity of
cautioning him; of course I know I've no right to speak:
you always would do as you liked; but it would have been
better for us all, perhaps, if you had let me see this young
lady before you brought her here as your wife.
 How could I have let you see her ?  lie asked gently ;
 after telling her how I loved her I couldn t have asked her
to come and show herself to you, and see whether you liked
licr for my wife 01* not. Ug lctn^TiGci cis Tig s&icl tTiis^ tin (J
moved away from his mother's chair in order to lean upon
K
146
Walter Goring.
the mantelpiece. Mrs Fellowes saw that he glanced impa-
tiently towards the door also, as though he was anxious for
the appearance of this bone of contention; altogether he was
more independent about the matter than seemed good to
her. There was a world of reproach for he did not know
what, in the way in which she replied,—
 I know I am getting old, but we are told by Him to
honour our parents; however, I say no more; I only hope 
—here Mrs Fellowes paused and shook her head, and Dinah
kindly put in,—
 Henry might make some allowance for our natural feel-
ings to-night; but he makes none ; none at all.
 Natural feelings !  he asked impatiently, "have you any
for her, Dinah ? do remember that she isn't here on suffer-
ance!
No sooner had he said it than he would have given much
of his worldly wealth to have been able to recall and obliterate
the memory of his words. His mother put herself into a
bolt upright position in her chair, as though she knew that
even comfort was grudged her in that house; and Miss
Dinah bridled and shook her head, and began to weep.
"For mercy's sake, don't cry, old girl, he said affec-
tionately;  what is the matter now ? 
 Oh nothing, nothing; we shall have to learn to bear it,
Mrs Fellowes replied, solemnly shaking her head.
 To bear what, mother ? 
"To bear that we are here on sufferance,"and then mother
and daughter both howled, until the harassed master of the
house spoke more sharply.
 If you don't want my wife to hate her home and her
husband, do make an end of this. If my happiness is any-
thing to you, mother, don't try to wreck it, as you will if
you go oij in this way.". Saying this, he walked away out
of the room, and met Charlie descending the stairs.
 Haven't I been quick ?  she asked, and his eyes bright-
ened and his brow smoothed as she leant her arms over his
shoulders; as he stood a step or two below her.
 Are you--not exactly what you ought to be always ?  he
replied fondly.  Come back with me, pet; dinner isn't on
the table yet.
 Yes, I will, she said, turning and running up before
A Chilling Reception.
147
him.  Nice old house it seems, Harry ; we '11 soon have it
lovely; this lobby with a Persian rug or two, and some
divans covered with that Oriental patterned stuff, will be per-
fection ; may I have it so ? 
"You may do what you like.
"Well, I won't do much till Ellen comes to stay with me;
we work capitally together, for she's more practical than I
am. I know exactly what I want, and she knows how to
set about achieving it. What a shame that there is no
dressing-room to this room, Harry ! 
 Awful, isn't it ? 
 No, but awkward ; we will alter that, won't we ? Do
you know, my boy, I mean to have my house cited for being
both well-ordered and elegant? There's a bell; that's
dinner. Shall I do ?
She got up and stood before her husband for inspection—
the brightest, most beautiful thing in his eyes that had ever
illumined the old Hurst since he had known it.  Do ! 
he answered, taking her in his arms, and kissing her fore-
head.  By Jove, Charlie, I'm so proud of you, my darling,
that I only wonder what I had to live for before I married
you. Then they went down to dinner together, and when
they were half across the hall, he whispered,  Don't mind
the old lady much, she's rather cranky to-night; but when
she knows you  He did not add what might be expected
to occur then, but he left Charlie free to infer that it would
be something more agreeable on the whole than had trans-
pired yet.
The young mistress of The Hurst found, on entering the
dining-room, that the soup was on the table, and that Mrs
I'ellowes, senior, was at the head of the same. There was a
place for Charlie at the side opposite to Miss Dinah. Per-
haps, in reality, it was an unimportant thing, not worthy a
second thought. But Charlie gave a second thought to it as
she took the place assigned to her, and wondered whether her
husband saw that she was as nothing at his table.
However, she would not suffer herself to feel aggrieved or
look depressed, so she strove to accomplish that most thank-
less of tasks, to amuse a couple of women who were not dis-
posed to be amused by her. She talked to the mother and
sister merrily of the days she had spent in the Isle of Wight;
148
Walter Goring.
she laughed and was glad, apparently to such a degree that
waves of triumph at the brightness of this wife whom he had
won, surged up into her husband's throat, and checked both
his appetite and utterance, even though he saw that his
mother was groaning in spirit, and his sister unmoved by the
glee.
Old Mrs Fellowes was thinking all the time that Charlie
was striving to please and render herself agreeable.  The
money he must have spent in gadding about in such a way,
and she without a penny of her own! without a penny !—
and to travel in that dress !
Dinner was over at last, and they went away into the
square drawing-room. "I hope you don't find it at all damp,
Mrs Henry ?  Dinah asked, with something of an injured
look, when Charlie could not repress a shiver.
 Oh, no, thank you, Charlie replied.
"We don't often use this room, Mrs Fellowes conde-
scended to explain.  We generally prefer remaining in the
dining-room; furniture so soon gets spoilt if it is in constant
use.
Charlie said nothing in reply to this speech, but she looked
about her. The furniture was covered with a large-patterned
flaring chintz, on which roses the size of cauliflowers bloomed
in vulgar luxuriance. What was under this she did not
know; but she felt that she could not long suffer that chintz.
Presently her husband came in, and said to her,—
 It's too late to show you the house to-night, Charlie;
but what do you think of this room ? Can you make any-
thing of it, eh ? 
 Oh, yes !  Charlie replied, cheerfully ; and Mrs Fellowes
struck in,  Make anything of it; in what way, Henry ?
 Oh! with new furniture and fittings-up, I suppose,
mother. Now that Charlie is in it, I see how shabby it all
looks.
 I shall consider it the most shameful and foolish extra-
vagance if you do have new furniture, Mrs Fellowes replied
with severity ;  but, there—I'm old, and not worth consult-
ing, I know that.
Poor Charlie I
Very Strange !
149
CHAPTER XIX.
VERY STRANGE!
Young Mrs Fellosves had a very tender conscience. Hard
as it may be for those who never go wrong through impulse
to believe it, the impulsive people get a goodly portion of
their punishment upon earth. Remorse is very apt to set in
with them even before that for which they feel remorseful is
fairly accomplished. Consequently they have not so much
pleasure even as an undivided interest in their current fault
or folly might give them.
Charlie was no exception to this hapless general rule. Her
first evening's experience of The Hurst was a bitter one. It
was made as miserable to her as a brace of captious, jealous,
narrow-minded women, who yet have a certain amount of
right on their side, alone can make it. They meant her to
feel sundry things, and she felt them forthwith as fully as
they could desire. They intended her to remember that she
had gained much, and given nothing in this marriage; that
she had brought no grist to the mill; that they had been
happy before she came, and were not happy now that she
was there; that they had the first right to the allegiance of
their son and brother 1 All these things Mrs Fellowes and
Miss Dinah thought it well that Charlie should feel at once;
and all these things she felt without the smallest hesitation
under their efficient treatment.
Her first night in her new home was as hopeless, sleepless,
miserable a one as she ever remembered to have passed. Her
nerves and her conscience had it all their own way with her.
She raked up all the meaner motives by which she had been
actuated in this marriage, and reviewed them sternly, and
wept in her soul, owning that Nemesis had overtaken her
justly. She knew that she had accepted this man's love
because it had opened to her a means of escape from a weary,
tedious, joyless home. She knew that it was the desiie to
have an establishment and a stand-point of her own which
had led her to say "Yes, when Henry Fellowes offered her
his honest, unselfish love. He had put his whole capital into
the firm, and she had come forward with a false promissory
150 Walter Goring.
note, knowing that it was just a toss-up whether or not it
would be eventually dishonoured. She had thought of the
home she would have—of the position she would fill—of the
taste she would be free to exercise as the idolised wife of a
rich man. Now Nemesis had overtaken her. She was dis-
trusted and disliked by his nearest relatives, and she owned
to herself that had they known the truth concerning her
motives in marrying him, their dislike and distrust would
have been founded on good grounds. She was made to feel
herself a mere cipher in the house where she had meant to
rule a little queen. She was doomed to uncongenial com-
panionship, from which she had not the smallest prospect of
escaping; and she knew that she deserved it all, and acknow-
ledged, that though hard, these things were but just; for she
had come to like her husband now, and so understood the
nature of the sin she had sinned against him in marrying him
merely for the furtherance of her own social aims.
She resolved—sensibly enough—that he should remain in
ignorance of the lax regard she had had for him in those first
days when he had been brimming over with love for her.
The knowledge of it could do him no good—might possibly
do him harm, in that it might render him a prey to suspicions
of her all his life. Praiseworthy as it is to cry mea culpa, it
is perhaps just as well to say it in a still small voice to one's
self alone. To utter it aloud is noble, but rash. He should
remain in ignorance of that early lax regard, and for the
future his happiness and his honour should be all in all to
her. She would concentrate all her energies in furthering
the former and redounding to the latter. She would bear
and forbear for his sake—bow the neck gracefully to his
mother, and suffer his sister with meek smiles. She would
be as nothing in The Hurst—The Hurst!—to be mistress of
which she had married him. So, eventually, Nemesis might
be appeased, and the mercenary motive of her marriage for-
given her.
It was easy to come to these resolutions, and to feel
humble, not to say abject, in the night, when she was worn
out with remorse, sleeplessness, and disappointment. But
Charlie was a high-spirited girl, full of vitality and impatient
of control, stupidity, injustice, and other wearisome things. She
knew herself, though she did make these resolutions, and vow
Very Strange !
151
to adhere to them, that she would be subjected to a thousand
temptations to break or fling them aside; and she could not
go to her husband to strengthen and aid her! For she knew
that a recital of the resolutions might possibly lead to conjee-
tures as to the reason for forming them. High-spirited as
Charlie was, she did shrink from placing the fact before her
husband that when she married him he was little more to
her than a necessary but uncoveted appendage to The Hurst.
The heart of a man is delicate ground to travel over. He
might not find all-sufficient compensation for this fact in the
one that now she had grown to regard and estimate him
properly.
It was easy to come to these resolutions in the night; but
uncommonly hard to hold to them in the daytime. Henry
Fellowes left his wife very much to her own devices the day
after his return home. He farmed his own land, and he had
been away from it for some time, therefore he was naturally
desirous of seeing how things had gone upon it as soon as
possible. Consequently directly after breakfast he went out,
and Charlie was left to herself.
She had asked him before he left,  If he would show her
the house ?  and he had replied,  Oh yes ! or Dinah will,
won't you, Dinah ?  which was not at all the same kind of
thing. However, when her brother was fairly off, Miss
Dinah bore down upon her sister-in-law with a big basket of
keys in her hand, and told Mrs Fellowes, junior, that if she
wanted to see The Hurst she must do so at once.
 Perhaps I could find my way about by myself, Charlie
answered, unwarily, "I don't want to trouble you. To
which Miss Dinah replied, that "they didn't like to have
people running in and out of the rooms, and therefore thej
kept them locked. Hearing this, Charlie subsided into
silence, and followed the gaunt creature, feeling very sorry
for herself.
It was a dreary progress that they made. The majority of
the bedrooms were locked, and when they were opened they
smelt and looked like sepulchres. They had all been fur-
nished solemnly, and their shutters were all closed. In addi-
tion to this lively treatment, they were, one and all, the shrine
for huge funereal urns, in which the corpses of roses and
ether flowers, that had once been sweet and fair, were buried
152
Walter Goring.
with bits of bay salt. Charlie could not help lowering her
voice in these rooms, and feeling more wretched than ever.
Anything more subduing than the spectacle of the bed and
window curtains, all done up in pale holland shrouds, it is
difficult to imagine.
 Are they never used ?  Charlie asked, when they came
out of the fourth deserted room.
 Never; but they are swept every week, Miss Dinah re-
plied. "We are very particular about that; and as I always
keep the doors locked, no one can go in, so the furniture
keeps beautifully. If one isn't very careful, things soon go
to rack and ruin in housekeeping.
Charlie tried to look wise on the subject.
 So my sister found, she said.  Ellen has been married
eight years, and she has furnished her drawing-room twice.
"Rather extravagant, unless her husband got a fortune
with her, I think, Miss Dinah replied, fixing Charlie severely
with her maiden eye.  Well, you have seen all the up-
stairs rooms now, with the exception of my mother's and
mine. I suppose you don't want tp see them ? 
 No, thank you, Charlie replied hurriedly,  I'll go down
into the drawing-room. I'm so much obliged to you for
having shown me the house.
 Won't you find it cold in the drawing-room ? Miss Dinah
asked. She had been on the point of walking away, but she
turned round and looked at Charlie as she asked this.
 Oh, no ! 111 have a good fire made up, thank you.
"We never have a fire in the drawing-room in the morn-
ing, Miss Dinah said, decidedly. "The dining-room is well
warmed and much more comfortable, we think; besides, my
brother Henry is accustomed to find us there when he comes
in at eleven, and he won't like any change made. She
walked off when she had said this, and Charlie stood gazing
after her in a half-bewildered way.  I don't like to ask
him—he will think me so inquisitive, as he has never told
me; but the place must belong as much to them as it does
to my husband. Why on earth did he bring me here to be
nothing ! 
For about an hour Charlie went and sat in her dull, ugly
bed-room.  It might be made so pretty !  she thought, as
she looked at the big bay window, which it had in common
Very Strange !
153
with many another room in The Hurst— it might be made
so pretty ! And then in the summer I should have some
place in which I could sit, without feeling uncomfortable. I
wonder if there's a library! She started up as she thought
this, and ran down-stairs. In the hall she saw a servant on
her knees, sweeping up dust that was not there. "Where's
the library, or study ?—there is one ?  she asked; and the
girl replied,—
 That's the door down at the end of that passage, ma'am;
shall I get the key from Miss Dinah ? 
 Oh, 110 ! Charlie answered. She felt intuitively that
the library would not be worth the key ; besides, she was
chilled and dispirited by her long sojourn up-stairs. So she
walked into the dining-room, and seated herself in a chair
by the fire, and tried not to see Mrs Fellowes' irritating ex-
pression of being hard at work mending stockings.
The old lady had taken no notice of her daughter-in-law on
her entrance. She had gone on darning the stockings with-
out even so much as looking up; but Charlie had seen the
ungracious look deepen on her face, and once more my
heroine's tender conscience smote her keenly.  Supposing
some instinct should have taught her that I married Harry
without caring a bit for him? she thought. "No wonder
she hates me—I hate myself. Then she sat and watched
Mrs Fellowes' grim face till its intense unpleasantness goaded
her into speech.
 Are you not feeling well this morning ? she asked as
gently as she could.
 Quite as well as I ever can expect to feel, thank you,
Mrs Fellowes answered, tartly.  I have not much in this
world to make me feel well, or look well, she added, as
though she rather expected to be rewarded by looking robust
when she was disembodied. The reply not being framed in
such a way as to make a continuance of that subject plea-
sant, Charlie tried another.
 I like the house very much—what I have seen of it.'
 Do you ? 
"Yes, very much. When my husband comes in, I shall
make him take me into the library, and round to the stables
and gardens. I want to know all about my home as soon as
I can. I wish he would make haste in ! 
154
Walter Goring.
"Don't you think it would be better if you employed your-
self with something useful, Mrs Henry, instead of idling
about, as you have been, all the morning ? When your hus-
band comes in, he will be better pleased to see you with some
work in your hands, than to have you wanting to run about
in the damp.
 He won't see me with any work in my hands, Charlie
replied, laughing. "Needles are things I never interfere
with by any chance.
 I'm only glad, Mrs Fellowes rejoined, with snappish
emphasis,  that you have always been so well able to afford
to pay people to do your work for you; in this family we 're
obliged to do many things that we don't quite like.
Charlie rose quickly, and got herself away out of the room.
 I can't stand it another morning! she thought, as she
ran up for her hat and shawl.  I would rather get frost-
bitten than sit in the room with that horrid grim old woman.
How shall I live through it, if my husband means always to
be out of the house? Then she went out, and walked
about in the damp November air, because there was no
corner in her husband's home where she could be at peace.
There was no unkind feeling towards the man she had
married, in her heart; nevertheless, she did think within
herself,  It would have been better for me to have tried the
other path—the path that Walter Goring pointed out. I
shall get blighted here—God help me!
Her sensations were rather curious than agreeable as she
walked along over the land of which her husband was lord—
walked along it for the first time. There was none of the
usual womanly elation of heart at being the wife of a man
who had a stake in the country. On the contrary, there
was considerable depression. The sense of her own insigni-
ficanee came over her strongly as she sauntered slowly over
the soil, and felt,  All this is his!—and I can't have a fire
when I want it!—and am told by an old woman, whom I
never saw till yesterday, that I ought to be ashamed of my-
self because I'm not fond of darning stockings ! I know it
would be better for us all in the end if I only stood up, and
asserted myself; but
 But conscience makes cowards of us all. She could
not stand up and assert herself to the mother of the man
Very Strange !
155
whom she had used as a ladder—a thing by means of which
she had hoped to climb out of obscurity. Perhaps a better
woman than Charlie St John would never have done this;
but, unquestionably, no woman, however good in deed, could
have more bitterly—more humbly—repented herself of the
error. She was far too sensitive to be a successful sinner.
She suffered too surely and too sharply to make the game
worth the candle.
Perhaps no bride has ever felt more aggrieved than did
this girl as she walked about The Hurst grounds the day
after that  coming home, which is usually a bright era in a
woman's life. Had she been left uninterruptedly to herself,
she would have beguiled the period of her husband's absence
by bright thoughts of his coming back—in making herself at
home and manifest in the house, as it were. But she was
not left to herself. She was left to a couple of hard, honest,
narrow-minded women, who were perfectly justified, from
their rigorous point of view, in being unpleasant to her. All
her hopes had been dashed in a sudden and unexpected way,
that was in itself subversive of many of her best intentions.
She could not carry her grievance to her husband, for reasons
that have been given before, and she knew that none other
than her husband could help her in this strait. Altogether,
she felt very miserable, and very much as if she were left to
herself to perish, as she walked along under the trees through
which the wind came moaning on that November morning.
To have come to this pass at her age. She could not help
it; loving wife as she was now, or would have been had she
been let, she had a feeling of having done so poorly with her
life. To have brought her wonderful capacity for both pain
and pleasure into such a commonplace market as this pro-
mised to be ! To have put herself, with her capabilities, into
a position where she would be liable to such very little things
in the way of troubles and annoyances. She pictured herself
growing middle-aged in this companionship which she knew
would grow more and more loathsome to her daily. Middle-
aged under the auspices of the grim woman with the three-
cornered shawl! Old under the eyes of the sister who carried
the keys of every room into which she (Charlie) desired to go,
and who went by the name of Dinah ! To be helpless before
them ; to have nothing beyond them; to have to trim her
156
Walter Goring.
sails to the wind that suited them; to learn to tolerate the
life they liked! She felt that she had wrapped up her talent
in a napkin with a vengeance, as she thought over these
things, and knew them to be partly deserved, for had she
not married solely and wholly for the sake of being free, un-
fettered, well-placed, and well-established ? The future of
nothingness that had loomed before her in Robert Prescott's
house had not been so dark a thing as this; for this was
clearly a judgment on the lightness with which she had
suffered herself to be wooed and won without an atom of love
on her part.
After a time she reached the entrance to a little grass-
grown lane, guarded by a little wicket-gate. She turned
into it, and walked on scarcely heeding where she was going,
till she came to a wall that was built across the road and ipto
the meadows on either side. Suddenly she remembered the
right of way question between old Mr Goring and old Mr
Fellowes, of which her husband had told her, and she knew
that she must be on the border of the Goring Place estate.
The thought brought back very pleasant memories of the
man who now owned it, of the man who had once on a time
—ah ! how long ago it seemed now !—fired her ambition in
that drawing-room at RoehamptOn, and since then had said
a few frank friendly words to her in a soft tone on the pier
at Brighton. Their intercourse had been but a brief thing,
but somehow or other it was very deeply graven on her
mind. It had been but a brief slight thing, but she felt that
it had been one of the sweetest, most graceful experiences of
her life, and so she was grateful to the man who had given it
to her. Is it a fact, that  women's hearts are made for
minstrels' hands alone, and that they do lack half their tone
when played by other fingers ? Certain it is that we, none
of us, think that lad}' ill-endowed to whom nature  gave
sense, good humour, and a poet, and the latter does not
rank as the lesser good.
Thinking of him, and thinking of him kindly, the forlorn
young bride, who was so left to herself, was seized with a
great desire to see a bit of Goring Place. For a few minutes
she seriously thought of trying to scale the wall; but she
gave up that idea quickly, for the wall was slippery with
November damp. Then she leant against the partition that
Very Strange I
*57
had been made in ill-temper, and went into a day-dream,
wherein she saw herself altered and aged, and still a mere
nothing at The Hurst; and that yellow-haired girl whom she
had met in the road near Portslade on the night of her own
engagement—the mistress of Walter Goring's home and
heart.  And there will be no mother and sister to keep her
out of either, she thought with a sore feeling ;  and if there
were, no mother or sister could choke the way to Walter
Goring's heart. - Then she pulled her hat a little lower over
her eyes, and drew her shawl more closely around her, and
set off back through the drift that was worse than rain, in
that there was more want of purpose about it, to regain The
Hurst, and, she hoped, have some luncheon.
Meanwhile Henry Fell owes had come in, well pleased with
the way in which all things had gone during his absence, and
anxious to communicate his good pleasure to his wife.
 Where's Charlie ?  he asked, the instant he opened the
door of the dining-room, where his mother still sat darning
stockings in a way that was enough to make a man hate the
loom in which they were made.
 Mrs Henry is gone out most imprudently, the old lady
replied, looking up at her son over her spectacles.
 Gone out walking ? 
 Yes ; I told her that you would be more pleased to find
her in with some work in her hands when you came back;
but Mrs Henry does not like work, and does, I am sorry to
see, like to have her own way.
 Well, mother, and why not ? I can't have her walking
about in this weather after that illness of hers, though, he
continued, going to the window, and looking for his wife on
the grass plot.  Why do you call her 'Mrs Henry ' always,
mother ? 
 It is difficult to know what to call her, Henry, his
mother replied ;  her head is like a boy's, and she has a boy's
name, by which I cannot bring myself to address her. If
you wish it, and she wishes it, I do not mind calling her
Charlotte, which is what her godfathers and godmothers
meant to be her name, if she ever had any.
Mrs Fellowes had commenced her speech with much calm
deliberation, but she wound it up with a degree of vicious
haste and excitement that was bad for her needle. That im-
i58
Walter Goring.
plement broke—snapt off short—and Mrs Fellowes sought
for its fellow with tears in her eyes, and a trembling through-
out her frame caused by righteous resentment.
 Don't call her Charlotte; she doesn't like it, he said
carelessly, as he walked towards the door. He was exceed-
ingly unobservant of feminine tempers and tremblings and
troubles.  I '11 go and look for her. I have some news
that will please her, I think; and, mother, see that luncheon
is on the table by half-past one, will you ? 
The old lady sighed assent.
 You wish to dine late then, Henry ? 
"Yes; at six or half-past, I don't care. Then he went
into the hall and found an old cap, and went out into the
garden to search for his wife.
When he was gone his mother summoned the cook, and
that functionary agreed with her to her heart's content as to
the shamefulness of altering hours that had been held to be
the only good and proper ones at which to feed in that house
for more years than could be easily counted. "However
we'll dine at half-past six for the future, cook; and when
I'm dead, perhaps Mr Henry will remember that years ago
Doctor Oldfield said, ' My dear lady, I won't answer for your
life if you don't dine punctually at two o'clock constantly.'
Those were his words, cook—not that I should wish Mr
Henry to think of them for a moment; of course I'm no-
thing.
 I 've no patience with such ways, the sympathetic cook
rejoined.
"Ah! Mrs Fellowes resumed, bitterly, "young people
are very different now, very different indeed, to what they
were fifty years ago; then we dined when it suited our
fathers and mothers.
"Well, there, ma'am, don't take on ; Mr Henry will know
better some day.
 I sincerely hope he never may know, cook. I'm only an
old woman hastening to my grave. I don't want my son's
conscience to be burdened with the thought that his folly
made his mother's last days miserable. Yes; haricot beans
and Jerusalem artichokes and celery will be vegetables enough,
I think ; but there, I can hardly think at all to-day.
 Ah, ma'am master would find the difference if he hadn't
Very Strange!
159
you to think for him. The young lady seems, by what they
tell me, to be very nice spoken and likely, but no more head
than nothing for housekeeping, I should say.
In reply to which Mrs Fellowes gave a fierce little  Ah!
and then a lachrymose groan, and then dropped a few tears
in amongst the darning cotton. As she uttered no words,
however, Cook was obliged to feel herself dismissed; but she
had a pretty little tale to carry back to the kitchen.
In about five minutes from the moment of Henry Fellowes
leaving the house he met his wife, and the way in which she
sprang to meet him caused him straightway to forget any
small annoyance his mother might have caused him. In
fact, this loyal-hearted honest gentleman was just as much to
blame as all the rest. Being gifted with a certain thickness
of skin, he did regard things that were dagger-blows and
spear-thrusts to another as mere pin-pricks. He was not
readily annoyed, and he was very quick to forget annoyances.
He could always walk out into the fresh air and forget any
number of feminine frowns. He had been used to his mother
being disagreeable, and his sister unsympathetic, for so many
years, that he regarded their being so as quite in the order of
nature. He did not heed them ; they were powerless to ruffle
him, and he forgot how sorely his sensitive young wife must
suffer through them.
 I am so glad to see you, Harry; I have had such a
wretched morning, she cried ; and had he responded in any
way, the whole story, despite her resolutions, would have
come out then. But he did not respond; he only tucked
her hand into-his arm, and replied,—
"Yes; you shouldn't have come out in the rain, my
darling. I shall be having you laid up. 1 find everything
has gone on capitally on the farm, Charlie. My bailiff is a
brick.
 I wish you had taken me over the farm with you. I
have been down to the end of a lane trying to peer over at
Goring Place.
 By the way, I have some news for you, Charlie. I met
Goring out riding, and he wants me to let a house a very
pretty cottage I have in the village—to a friend of his, a
widow lady, who wishes to come and live here; another
neighbour for you.
160 Walter Goring.
 Mrs Walsh ? Charlie cried, interrogatively.
 Yes; that's the name. Do you know her ? 
 Slightly—yes; it was at her house that I first met
Walter Goring. She's a widow, I know, now; and so she
wants to come and live here ? how very, very strange!
CHAPTER XX.
the bride at home.
The neighbourhood about Deneham was generally spoken
of by its inhabitants as a remarkably lively and sociable one.
It was not too thickly studded with county magnates.
Walter Goring was the sole large landed proprietor—with
the exception of Lord Harrocoats—in the vicinity; and
Lord Harrocoats cannot be said to count, since he was
rarely visible to the eyes of the profane in that part of the
world. Society in those regions was composed chiefly of the
families of men who had "places, and farmed their own
land, but who had no land beyond that which they kept in
their own hands; and of gentlemen-farmers who rented so
many acres that they were of more power, parochially and
locally, than the men of small estates.
Henry Fellowes was one of the latter class. The Hurst
was a mansion, and the land surrounding it was his own.
But he farmed the whole of it himself, having no superfluous
acres to let, and soar by these means into the dignity of a
landed gentleman, with gentlemen-tenants under him. In
fact, he was a yeoman—not a county magnate, and he was
one of many about Deneham.
• There was rather a clannish atmosphere about the neigh-
bourhood. For the last two or three generations, it ap-
peared as if every one within a radius of fifty miles of
Deneham, had had large families with tender feelings
towards each other. They had in truth so married and
intermarried, that it behoved the stranger in the land to be
very careful how he spoke well, or ill, or at all about one to
The Bride at Home.
161
the other. It was a neighbourhood that lunched, and dined,
and took tea incessantly with, and was liable to raids from,
any other portion of itself at any moment, in fact. On the
whole, a very social, charming neighbourhood. A trifle too
much given to conversing about its own affairs with wild
interest for the aforesaid stranger to feel at ease at all times
—but very social and charming, and intimate nevertheless.
It accorded Mrs Fellowes, the bride, a week to get into
place before it came to call upon her. It was very impatient
to see her, but it curbed its impatience, and took it out in
calling frantically about upon itself, and reporting all that
had oozed out respecting her. This was very little, but it
was appetising. It disapproved of the way in which she
had entrapped Mr Fellowes, but would say nothing more
about that, since he had married her; but it  must say, that
it was a pity that she should wear her hair short—so
masculine. It forbore to add, that it was reputed be-
coming, and that a fever had forced her into the reprehended
fashion.
When the week expired, she was  at home in the
square drawing-room, and the ceremony set in with severity.
Old Mrs Fellowes undertook the organisation of it; and
assisted at it in a new three-cornered shawl. She insisted
on her son's staying in for long hours during several dreary
days, to hear people congratulate and sip sherry, and eat
cake at him.
The old lady grew gracious to her daughter-in-law during
those days. Playing a prominent part in it herself, she
tolerated Charlie as an essential portion of the pageant.
She liked to hear her son's wife reminded by old family
friends, that she (Charlie) possessed an inestimable blessing
and privilege in having a mother-in-law and sister who
would doubtless save her all housekeeping trouble and re-
sponsibility. They patronised the young wife in a semi-
playful waj7, as a thing to be gradually ripened and improved,
and rendered fit for Deneham and its environs. Mrs
Fellowes, senior, enjoyed this manner of theirs. She en-
joyed their parting whispers also. Many of them kindly
stated their belief, that "in time she will do very well—oh!
very well indeed; you '11 be here to correct any little folly
you see; at present she does give herself airs; ah ! it is hard,
L
162 Walter Goring.
no doubt, when you think of how your son might heave
married. The last clause of the sentence was generally
called forth by some few brief words from Mrs Fellowes, to
the effect that Charlie "hadn't a penny—and was as helpless
as an infant. The statement that Charlie  gave herself
airs, was simply a fiction, which grew out of the fact that
she did not appear to be impressed with the airs of those
who came to see her.
On one occasion she came to the front, and did battle
valiantly for a woman whom she did not like. Mr Goring
had come in and stayed for ten minutes, and during those
ten minutes he had talked exclusively to Henry Fellowes and
Charlie, and so had aggrieved the rest. As soon as he left,
Mrs Travers said sketchily, that  it could have been wished
that things were different at Goring Place, and Charlie, on
whom the rectoress was beaming for the first time, looked an
eager,  why and how, though she said nothing.
"Ah! Mrs Fellowes struck in, "it's in the blood; I
always said so. She did not say what was in the blood, or
what she had always said. But mystery invariably makes
its mark. Mrs Travers, a tall, thin lady, with a high sharp
nose, only shook her head by way of replying to this, and
assumed that air of sorrow for the sins of one's neighbours,
which is one of the easiest, most agreeable, and effective
forms of Christianity.
"What is in the blood?—talent? Charlie asked.
Old Mrs Fellowes shook her head. In all sincerity she
did believe that talent and genius were only more uncommon
forms of depravity and recklessness. Her chief ideas on the
subject were gleaned from stray readings of the memoirs of
Byron, Beau Brummel, and others, who had distinguished
themselves either in cantos or cravats. Therefore, when
Charlie asked, if "it was talent in the blood? she shook
lier head, and moralised in her heart on the decay of  dread
of evil in the modern day.
 It was a pity, a great pity, Mrs Travers resumed, "that
Mr Goring should have kept open house and plunged into
gaiety immediately after his uncle's death; it does not do for
young people to disregard the world; we called, and I wanted
Mr Travers to speak to him; but there it is, turning to Mrs
Fellowes, senior,  Mr Travers never wilL'* Mrs Travers
The Bride at Home. 163
stopped, shook her head, and looked sorry for Mr Travers
and the world in general.
"What did you want Mr Travers to speak about?
Charlie asked, laughingly. She was not sufficiently im-
pressed with these people and their power—she dared to
look glad when they looked glum.
 It was enough to make one's hair stand on end, to hear
of their goings on, old Mrs Fellowes said, sharply.
 Oh! it was the worst taste, Mrs Travers replied, with a
bland delight in the badness of it that was most refreshing
to witness.  I was willing to countenance the girl, pitying
her, poor thing! and feeling, that grossly as her parents
have sinned, we are not called upon to judge; but—oh, no;
she preferred the laxity of manners at Goring Place, and so
kept away from me.
"Ah ! it's in the blood, Mrs Fellowes said savagely.
"She's a pretty girl, that cousin of his, Henry Fellowes
put in hurriedly, hoping to avert the storm of feminine invec-
tive against feminine evil-doing, which he saw was ready to
break ;  she was riding with Goring that night we met him,
if you remember, Charlie ? 
Did she not remember it ? Ay, and every shade of the
light, and every flicker of the leaves, under which they met!
Some things get burnt into the memory, and, till the end
comes, who can tell whether they are burnt in for a purpose
or not.
 She's a very impertinent, under-bred girl, Mrs Travers
said, severely;  I assure you, the way she tallied to Mr
Travers made his blood run cold—cold.
"Well, well, Henry Fellowes said, persuasively, "we can't
hold young Goring accountable for her, you know ; he's done
the best thing he can do about her, I think, sent her to live
with a clergyman's widow, near Brighton; he couldn't help
her being there when he came.
"But he might have helped having the extraordinary
people he had down there, so indecorously soon after his
uncle's death; it was outrageous, I assure you, Mr Fellowes
—positively outrageous.
 What did they do ?  Charlie asked sharply. She saw
her husband looking at her imploringly, but she had lost all
desire to keep the peace.
164
Walter Goring.
 Oh.! tearing all over the county—they were professionals,
you know—all professionals; there was a man who painted,
I believe, and another man who sang, and their wives and
sisters ; very respectable people in their way, but not the sort
of people we are accustomed to receive.
 No ; I should think not, Charlie replied. With a mind
given, as hers was, to the glorification of intellect and cultiva-
tion, this sort of talk was absolutely painful to her. She
ached as she sat and listened to it; she would far rather have
been subjected for hours to the cruder observations of her
cook. Mrs Travers, however, mistook the feeling which
dictated Charlie's speech, and said in answer to it,—
 Mr Goring may have been obliged to associate with such
people while he was writing for his living—as I really under-
stand he did!—but now that he occupies such a very different
position, he ought not to make so much of his Walshes and
Levinges; he might be friendly with them—but he should be
careful how he brings them here.
 He should indeed, Charlie said, looking steadily at her
guest, "for Mrs Walsh is one of the most fastidious women
in London.
 A set of atheists—if that's what you call talent, and
genius, and fastidiousness, Mrs Fellowes said sharply;
 they never could go to church in the morning, any of them.
Oh ! no, it was too hot; but they could sit out on the lawn
and read their trashy books, and drink their trashy claret
from morning till night. I call it loose—loose, that's what I
call it.
"Well; we will hope the best, Mrs Travers said, energeti-
cally,— so energetically, that all who heard her, immediately
thought the very blackest things that were possible of the
master of Goring Place and his late guests. Then she rose
up, and prepared to take her leave; and Henry Fellowes
made her departure pleasant by saying to her,—
"We are all likely to know more of Mrs Walsh—she is
coming to be my tenant.
 Your tenant! where ? 
 Brook-green Cottage; she has taken it for three years!
 She's a person who will be no acquisition to the village,
Mrs Travers said, severely; and Charlie answered, mali-
ciously,—
The Bride at Home.
165
 Oh! I hope she may be induced not to hold herself en-
tirely aloof from us! 
 Aloof from us!—aloof from us, indeed!  Mrs Travers
retorted; but she would not trust herself to say more just
then; and in the midst of her discomfiture there was this
balm—namely, that the bride would be made to pay a severe
penalty for her audacity as soon as she should be left alone
in the bosom of her husband's family.
Women can make one another miserable in such infini-
tesimally small ways, that a man can rarely be brought to
comprehend how the business is managed. A sentence,
uttered in all suavity, acts frequently like a blister on the ears
feminine on which it falls, while the contemporaneous male
auditor thinks it merely foolish or friendly, as the case may
be. Young Mrs Fellowes had made a foe of the wife of her
spiritual pastor and master by the way she uttered, what
sounded to Henry Fellowes merely a natural, kind speech,
expressive of a desire for future intercourse with Mrs Walsh.
He merely saw in it a further illustration of tjjat insanity
which prompts women to pant to see more of a sight which
rarely gives them pleasure—each other, namely. Mrs Travers
saw in it an insult to herself.  Her manner of vindicating
the goings on at Goring Place was disgusting. Mrs Travers
told her husband, when she got back to him, after her visit to
the bride,  Ho religious principles evidently, and a very, very
lax idea of what is due to the world. I suppose we must ask
them to dinner ? What day shall it be ? 
 Well; we had better give them long notice—say Tuesday
week ; we must ask Goring to meet them.
 Yes, of course; I hope nothing will prevent his coming,
Mrs Travers replied, earnestly. Despite the irreligious ten-
dencies she had discovered in these people, she was very
anxious that they should meet, and be amused under her
roof. In the intervals between her dinner-parties, she was,
as became a Christian, ready enough to consign the denizens
of Goring Place and The Hurst to perdition ; but when she
did invest fabulous sums in venison and melons, she was
desirous, as became a good housewife, that the "best people
in the neighbourhood should refresh themselves at her table.
Walter Goring.
CHAPTER XXII.
mrs fellowes, senior, on propriety.
Walter Goring had only stayed a few minutes when he
came to make the bridal call at The' Hurst. He disliked
being sat upon a chair in the society of old Mrs Fellowes and
her daughter, and expected to talk polite conversation all
round. He had nothing to say to them, and they had nothing
to say to him that he cared to hear, and their atmosphere
was a depressing one to him. Henry Fellowes, too, was un-
like himself at this period. No man can be expected to be at
his best when all his friends are sipping wine and eating
cake, that will assuredly disagree with them, towards his long
life and conjugal happiness. Walter Goring felt himself to
be guilty of a piece of society-sham on his first visit to The
Hurst; therefore he made the call as short as possible, and
promised himself that he would soon come again and see
them under more natural and auspicious circumstances.
Accordingly, about ten days after his first call, he made
another at The Hurst. He rode over about twelve o'clock,
meaning to go in, in the orthodox country neighbour fashion,
and have a talk with Fellowes and his wife, and stay to lun-
cheon with them. He liked both Charlie and her husband;
she interested him still, though she had in a measure disap-
pointed him. He recognised the latent power, and liked it,
though it might never come forward now; still, it was there,
he knew, and he liked and sympathised with it. Above all,
he liked her for that most human of all reasons—because he
saw that she liked him.
His book was out, and he carried a copy of it over with
him in order to present it, according to the promise given on
the Brighton pier to Mrs Fellowes. As he rode along, he
rather looked forward to a pleasant morning's gossip with
her about the novel, and with her husband about the next
 meet, and what was doing on their land, and various other
subjects of mutual interest to them. It was disappointing,
therefore, when he arrived, to be shown into the room where
old Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah were sitting with Charlie.
"I didn't bargain for this, he thought, when the first
Mrs FeHowes, Senior, on Propriety. i 67
silence fell—as it was inevitable it should fall—almost imme-
diately after his entrance. He had really nothing to say to
Charlie that he could not, with the most perfect credit and
propriety, have cried aloud in the market-place. But he
could not say it glibly and comfortably before these two
women. Again, the feeling of being sat upon a chair, and
expected to say right things respecting the weather and the
world in general, came over him. His young hostess, too,
was not at her ease—that was plainly visible to him. A
good deal of her brightness was gone; a good deal of her
quick appreciation of his brightness was gone. He had the
feeling that it was horribly ill-bred to exclude the twro elder
ladies from the conversation, and horribly unpleasant, to say
nothing of its being morally impossible, to include them in it.
He was weighted with the conviction that they would not
follow what he said, unless he added explanatory notes. In
short, he was thoroughly bored and put out by their presence,
by their silence, by their speaking—by everything about
them.
He made one or two futile attempts to be as he had been
before. Handing his volumes to Charlie, he began—
 I have kept my promise, you see. I have brought you
' The Cost of a Cure.' You really have a right to it, for
I was stuck in the middle of the second volume, when I met
you first, for want of a character to enact certain parts—you
suggested one to me.
"Did I, really? Charlie replied, hastily, taking the books
from his hand. As she did so, he saw her glance quickly at
Mrs Fellowes, who was looking at her with that sagacious
look over the spectacles which is sufficient in itself to drive
the one on whom it is brought to bear into gibbering idiotcy.
His allusion recalled to Charlie's mind the way in which she
had girded at her fate on that night; the glance towards
Mrs Fellowes was dictated by another prick of conscience—
it was dislike to facing that fate, she knew, which had led
her on to marry that lady's son. This was the true interpre-
tation of her shy, deprecating glance ; but Mrs Fellowes gave
it another meaning.  So they've been talking some of the
sickly twaddle that's put in books, have they? she thought;
"and after it she had the face to go and cajole my poor in-
fatuated son!
Walter Goring.
 Will you be a true critic, and tell me what you tbink of
it—point out some of its faults to me when you have read
it ?  he asked, presently.
 I will try; but I'm not likely to fix upon any. I tell
you honestly beforehand.
 Why not ?—there are plenty.
 Probably ; but I  She stopped. The sagacious
glance was being levelled at her again.
 The opinion of young ladies about a work that's worth
anything is not of much value, I should imagine, Miss
Dinah said, with severity.  For my own part, I do not
pretend to be a judge. I do not approve of novels ; and I
have found that, if I did my duty, I have never had the time
to waste in reading them.
Walter Goring was leaning forward, tracing the carpet
pattern with the lash of his whip while Miss Dinah spoke.
He just lifted his eyes to Charlie's when the speech was con-
eluded, and smiled in a way that dispersed Charlie's quickly
accumulating wrath.  I have no doubt that you are right,
he replied, gravely, with perfect politeness ; then he went on,
addressing Charlie alone,—
 You have not given me your reason yet, Mrs Fellowes—
why will you not be able to fix upon my faults—the faults of
this book, at least ? 
 Because—I have not been tested, certainly, before—but
I think. I should lose judgment in the case of a person I
liked. He looked rather flattered, and she added, quickly,
 And I shall be sure to over-rate your novel, because you 're
the only novelist I know.
 And if that's the way she talks to them, I hope she may
never know another ! was her mother-in-law's inward com-
ment on Charlie's rash declaration.
 Then aid and improve me by criticising. Poor Walsh
and his wife used to be invaluable to me in that way, as in
many another. Were you not sorry to hear of his death?
he asked, heartily.
"Very sorry. My husband is gone to the village this
morning, to see how the repairs are going on at Brook-green
Cottage.
 Which didn't want repairing, old Mrs Fellowes re-
marked.
Mrs Feliowes, Senior, on Propriety. 169
"Do you know that he died that night I met you out
riding near Brighton ?  Walter asked, ignoring Mrs Feliowes'
opinions as to the repairs of the Brook-green Cottage.
 I didn't know that it was that night; I knew that it
was about that time. What a pretty girl your cousin is, Mr
Goring. When is she coming back to Goring Place ? 
 I want to have a talk to you about her one day, he re-
plied, meditatively.  I don't know when she will be at
Goring Place—when I can get some matrons to honour my
bachelor abode with their presence, I suppose. I shall try
to get Mr Feliowes and you to favour me with a visit soon,
Mrs Feliowes. I want you to see the place.
 I shall like to see it. I haven't she checked her-
self—she was going to add,  I haven't seen anything I like
since I have been down here; hut she changed her sentence,
and said,  I haven't asked you if you dine at the Rectory to-
morrow ? 
 Yes—do you ? 
"Yes, she said. And then he rose up, and said he would
go down and look for Mr Feliowes at the Cottage, and was
gone before he had said half he had to say to Charlie, or had
heard half she had to say to him. Amongst other things
she had much wished to ask him what was going to bring
the beautiful widow down to dull Deneham ? but she never
got a good opening for the question.
 Why in the world does she sit with the tribe ? he
thought to himself as he rode away.  There's an end to
my calling at The Hurst, if I am always to be had in with
those women, who neither talk nor look well. If she doesn't
take care, she will get even as they are; it's telling on her
already; she's a shade less graceful, through constraint, than
when I met her at poor Ralph's.
He found Mr Feliowes down superintending the workmen
at the cottage; in other words, standing about, and being
very much in their way.  My wife is coming down to-
morrow morning, to select papers and to decide on the colour-
ing for the walls, Henry Feliowes explained, when Walter
made some remark to the effect of how well the house would
look when finished.  She has excellent taste, and she is
taking a great interest in having it all as trim as possible for
Mrs Walsh.
170
Walter Goring.
"That's really very kind of her, Walter replied. He
was rather touched by the unobtrusive kindness and fore-
thought so displayed by Mrs Fellowes for his friend. Sh6
was doing all she could to make things pleasant, and she had
refrained from vaunting her exertions before him.  That's
really very kind of her, he repeated.  May I look in here
to-morrow morning, and assist in the selection ? 
On Mr Fellowes saying  Certainly, with effusion, Walter
made another request, "And then couldn't you and Mrs
Fellowes come on and lunch with me ? 
"Yes, thank you; a capital arrangement; it will
strengthen us for old Travers' party in the evening: we '11
come with pleasure. And though nothing more was said,
each man knew that the other was very glad that the im-
promptu nature of the invitation did away with the necessity
for including old Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah in it.
 That audacious puppy has been here, were the first
words Henry Fellowes heard from his mother, when he saw
her alone.
 Which? 
 Why, that young man from Goring Place.
 Oh—ah! so he told me, he replied, carelessly.
 Did you know he was such a very old and intimate friend
of your wife's, Henry ? 
 No—is he ? the happy-hearted gentleman replied,
jovially.
 So it appears; ah-a-a! better he'd stay at home and
employ himself usefully on his own land than come here talk-
ing his nonsense. He sat here this morning till Dinah and
I were quite tired of hearing his folly—not but that he was
much too great a man to talk to us.
"Why, mother, he's one of the best fellows we ever had
down here, Henry Fellowes remonstrated. He was getting
tired—long-suffering as he was—of every man or woman
whom he liked being ruthlessly pulled to pieces, and pro-
nounced wanting in this way. Then he went upstairs, and
found Charlie sitting in her own room, reading.
 My darling pet, why do you come up in the cold ?  he
asked, affectionately—so affectionately that she could not
bear to wound him by telling him that it was because his
mother and sister made the warm room intolerable to her.
Master and Pupil. 1y1
They had picked up the second and third volumes of the
 Cost of a Cure,'' and made little sounds expressive of shock,
with their lips, before the author was well out of the house ;
and they had fervently requested her even if she  would per-
sist in reading such things herself, to keep them under lock
and key, as they held themselves not entirely free from all
responsibility in the matter of the virtue and morality of
their servants. Altogether, they jarred her nerves, so she
fled from them. But she would utter no complaint on the
subject to the husband who was so good to her.
CHAPTER XXIII.
master and pupil.
 I will drive you down to the Cottage in the trap, Charlie,
Mr Fellowes said to his wife the following morning, before
he left the dining-room after breakfast;  twelve o'clock
will be time enough for you, eh ? 
She told him, "Yes, she would be ready to go by
twelve. Even this little break in the daily monotony of life
at The Hurst was hailed rapturously by her. Since their re-
turn home her husband had been so absorbed in various busi-
ness matters that he had never even so much as offered to
take her for a drive. She was his first, his only thought
when he was in the house; but when he was out of doors he
almost forgot her. He fell back into his old habits of riding
vigorously about from one end of his land to the other, and
of actively superintending whatever works might be in pro-
gress. He imagined that he had no time for mere pleasure
drives and walks during the day, and the November evenings
were not calculated to show the country off to advantage.
So he had suffered day after day to go by without ever
thinking of taking her beyond The Hurst garden : that gar-
den, which was not kept up sufficiently well to make it  a
thing of beauty  and a  joy for ever.
Now, when she agreed to go out with him in the trap
at twelve o'clock, he reminded himself of this habit he had of
172
Walter Goring.
always being desperately busy as soon as he got upon bis
farm.  I may be detained a little; but, I tell you what,
Charlie, if I'm not. in by twelve, have Moore drive you down
to the Cottage, and I will either join you there, or meet you
at Goring Place at half-past one.
 Very well, she replied; but she felt disappointed. She
would much rather that her tall, handsome husband had
driven her through Deneham in his dashing trap, than that
his groom should do so. The bloom was off the plum at once
as he made the proviso.
 Are you going to Goring Place ? I heard nothing of
that ?  Mrs Fellowes, senior, asked of Charlie when they were
alone.
"Yes. Mr Goring has asked us there to luncheon this
morning.
"Has he had-the civility to include my daughter in the
invitation ? 
 He didn't send any message by me ; if he has invited her
he has written to her, I suppose, Charlie answered, with a
smile at the improbability of Walter Goring bringing Dinah
upon himself in any such way.
Mrs Fellowes drew her little shawl more primly over
her shoulders, and then drawing the workstand, with the
eternal stockings upon it, nearer to her, she said,—
 If Henry does not join you at the Cottage, of course you
will not think of going up to Goring Place alone ? 
"Why, Mrs Fellowes? You heard my husband tell me
to go. Charlie was desperately indignant at the suggestion,
and desperately afraid that she might be driven to act upon
it, and so be deprived of this hour or two in Walter Goring's
house to which she had looked forward.
 Of course he takes it for granted that his sister will
accompany you, Mrs Fellowes said, coldly;  no one but
you would have thought, for an instant, of going up there
alone—setting the world at defiance; Dinah will go with
you.
Charlie almost groaned. Not only was the bloom brushed
off, but all sweetness was extracted from the plum by this un-
looked-for arrangement. It made her very sick at heart as
she contrasted what this episode in her existence would be
now, with what it might have been.
Master and Pupil.
173
It is not too much, to say that Charlie cordially hated Miss
Dinah when even the half-past twelve hell rang and her
husband did not appear, but in his place there came his
angular sister. She cordially hated Miss Dinah, and she did
hope, heartily, that Miss Dinah would drink of the waters of
bitterness, and be much bored. Her sister-in-law's appear-
ance was an outrage to her in every way. Miss Fellowes was
one of those women who array themselves in garments of
price on state occasions only, and then look rather more
awkward and out of place than they do in their ordinary
habiliments. She was a woman who would have her dresses
made what she called a "nice walking length, short enough
in fact to offer a free view of feet and ankles that were not
pretty. Her skirts and her whole drapery had a square
effect, there was not a curve or a graceful line about her.
Charlie hated her as she clambered up, wrong foot foremost,
to the back of the trap, and felt that the harmony would be
marred by the presence of this duenna whom she was taking.
They found Walter Goring at the Cottage, and there was
comfort to Charlie in the way his face fell when he saw Miss
Dinah. "What did you bring her for, Mrs Fellowes ?  he
asked, dolefully; for Miss Dinah commenced leaping about
among the repairs and repairers at once, in a way that left
her companions unfettered.
 What did I bring her for ?  Charlie answered, hastily.
 Don't pretend to think that I brought her; my husband
couldn't join me here, but he is going to meet us at your
place—that arrangement didn't please them, however; so,
as soon as Harry was gone out, they altered it, and Miss
Fellowes took possession of me. She laughed, as she spoke,
but in a way that showed him she was very nearly crying.
 What an impertinence to your husband, and what a bore
for us all, he said, quietly.  Of course I should be delighted
to receive Miss Fellowes whenever she deigned to honour me
with her presence, but just to-day she is superfluous. I had
so much to say to you that I can't say under her auspices.
 I felt stultified by them yesterday, and so did you,
Charlie replied, quickly.
 Why do you receive your guests in full family conclave
in that way, then ? 
 Oh! I can't help myself; if I gave orders that every one
174
Walter Goring.
who asked for me should be shown into the drawing-room,
Mrs and Miss Fellowes would march in with me, or before
me, and sit and look stiff, and do nothing.
 What a strange girl you are—I beg your pardon, Mrs
Fellowes, really, but it was only the other day that I knew
you as Miss St John, you see! 
 In what way am I strange ? Quick! here she comes.
"Why, you are affecting now to think that you will bear
this mute inglorious slavery for so long as they may please to
make it last. You won't, you know! You can't, in fact, if
you 're ever going to do anything.
 What should I do, now ?—there's nothing 
 I have heard all that before, he interrupted, laughing.
"You're going to tell me that you 'lack incentive' again;
now I will give you one—it will give you an unassailable
position in your home.
"Whenever my husband is out of the house I feel so
powerless, she said, in a low tone. Then she remembered
that this man was nearly a stranger to her, for all that sym-
pathy which existed between them, and once more her con-
science goaded her for having been led on to make so much
of a confidence as she had made to him, and she crimsoned,
and lowered her head a little.
 I understand you so well, Mrs Fellowes, he said, softly.
"I don't think that you are one to be ever bored by your
own society; but you will get very weary and worn-out if
it's compulsory upon you to be constantly in the society of
others. Ensconce yourself in the library at The Hurst, and
have it understood from the first that it is your sanctuary;
then you will be free to read, and think, and write during
those hours of your husband's absence which now hang so
heavily. Forgive me for speaking in this way to you; forget
that I have not known you long—find remember only that
we know each other well.
She looked up at him gratefully. (All this time these
two had been standing in the cottage garden ; they had suf-
fered Miss Dinah's impatience to see the full extent of her
brother's extravagance in the matter of repairing this house
to carry her away from them.) Charlie looked up at her
companion gratefully, and her face seemed brighter and
younger than it had been a few minutes before.
Master and Pupil.
175
"If I do that, will you sometimes come and see me, and
help me ?  she asked.
 I will come as often as you will admit me.
 Because if I haven't some one to urge me on and en-
courage me, I shall break down.
"Well, we will encourage each other to work; is this to
he a compact ? 
He took her hand as he asked it, and she, not answering,
but looking away restlessly into the distance, suffered it to
remain in his clasp. She was thinking that probably her
husband would not care one atom whether she worked or
was idle, failed or succeeded. Her ambition—the ambition
to do something with the power she had—would make no
appeal to him. She knew this, and the knowledge was dis-
piriting. Nevertheless, the old yearning to do and be a
something more than she was, to make for herself a motive
for living, to have an interest beyond those domestic ones,
which were insufficient to fill her nature, ran along her veins
like fire. As she stood there thinking thus, still with her
hand in his, Miss Dinah came out, and bore down upon
them.
"You're a long time taking leave of Mr Goring, Mrs
Henry; you commenced shaking hands with him when I
was at that bedroom window.
"Did I? Charlie replied, with the utmost composure.
"Yes, Mr Goring, this is to be a compact. Then she with-
drew her hand after giving his the promissory clasp, and they
went in to choose the papers.
 Of all the bare-faced flirtations I ever saw, this is the
worst! Miss Dinah said to herself, as she followed them
closely;  their hand-shaking, and their compacts, and their
goings-on altogether: I've no patience with it!
Deneham did not distinguish itself as far as the papers
were concerned. They were flaring, large-patterned, coarse
in colour. Mrs Fellowes found them all wanting, and made
out a list of others to be sent for. She revelled in being
able to exercise her taste, more especially as she was power-
less to do it in her own home.  I want Mrs Walsh to find
that I haven't forgotten some of her likes and dislikes,
Charlie said animatedly to Walter;  let us order one sitting-
room to be hung with white-watered paper, with the tiniest
176
Walter Goring.
of gilt mouldings, and that bit of a room with pale green—
pictures hang so well on it.
 Do you like Mrs Walsh ?  he asked.
 I am not quite sure that I do. I don't think she likes
me, does she ? 
"You will probably get very intimate when she comes
down here, he replied, evasively.
She shook her head. "What brings her here? she
asked, and then she saw that Walter Goring looked rather
embarrassed.
 Oh! couldn't keep up the Eoehampton House, and—
and—liked this neighbourhood when she was staying down
here with me. Very likely she won't stay here long : I fancy
she will travel.
"'What a glorious beauty she is! Charlie cried, irrele-
vantly;  if I were a man, how I should adore her.
"You see men are wiser, he replied.
 I don't know, I can't judge. I have seen so few with
her.
"You have seen me with her, for instance.
 At a party, where your adoration would have been com-
promising, she said, laughing.
 That would have been her look out. I certainly should
have expressed the adoration if I had felt it; it would have
been altogether her affair whether she accepted it or not.
He forgot, as he spoke, that he had been in the habit of
calling her  his goddess; honestly he only thought of her
as a dear old friend. There was a very warm feeling in his
heart for each one of these three women whom Fate had
thrown in his way, and made congenial in some respect to
him. But he was not in love with either of them yet; and
the one who had the most in her, the one who possessed the
subtlest charm for him, though he scarcely knew it yet, was
a wife—the wife of a man who left her to find out that a
new name and a ring on the third finger are not sufficiently
absorbing and interesting things in themselves to keep the
thoughts at home. "Fellowes is a thoroughly good fellow,
Walter Goring thought, as he watched the brilliant, but far
from beautiful, face of Fellowes' wife \  but I wish that girl
hadn't married him ; there's too much fire in that face for a
man who is not its master not to he its slave. How the
Master and Pupil.
177
Daisy and she will hate each other! Apparently they re-
semble one another in one or two things, but in reality it is
in those very things that they most differ, I imagine. Then
she lifted her eyes and found that he was watching her, and
she turned away impatiently, when she saw that Miss Dinah
observed it too.  I don't like to tell him not to stare at
me, she thought,  or he will think that I think a great
deal more than I do about it; but I'm sure that Dinah's
thoughts on the subject are not the kindest that might be
recorded. She was right in this : Dinah's thoughts on the
subject interfered with her b#ance, and nearly caused her to
tumble off the back of the trap as they drove over to Goring
Place, where they found luncheon and Henry Fellowes await-
ing them.
Henry Fellowes' undisguised astonishment, and his admir-
ably disguised pleasure at seeing his sister, did not restore
that lady to equanimity.  I have come unasked, she said
to him in a low tone;  I know that very well, and not
wanted either ; but I could not let your wife come here alone,
Henry.
 All right, all right, Dinah; your coming makes it all the
better: the more the merrier, you know.
"No, Henry; I am aware that I shall not add to the
merriment; merriment and I parted company a long time
ago, as I think you might remember; but your wife is
frivolous and young, and I feel it to be my duty to keep her
right while I can, even if she does regard me as a restraint
and an encumbrance.
Henry Fellowes laughed, and then proceeded to look
penitent for having done so. He, too, had intended being
very happy at Goring Place this day, and his sister's pre-
sence interfered with his scheme. He could bear them at
home, this mother and sister of his, but he really could
hardly bear them away from home. They were as part of
The Hurst to him; it never occurred to him to think that
The Hurst would be a much more agreeable residence with-
out them. He was used to them, and accepted them as
 facts (almost after the manner of a woman) while they
remained in their own sphere. But even he recognised the
existence of something beyond and above them as soon as
•they drifted out of it. Henry Fellowes felt strongly this
M
178 Walter Goring.
morning at Goring Place that his sister was a  restraint and
an encumbrance, and that they would have got on ever so
much better without her. He was sorry to feel this about
his own, for he was a man who had correct notions, and
believed in natural affection to the very verge of belief—but
he did feel it, and he saw that Charlie felt it too. Miss
Dinah had been over-zealous in the good cause of keeping
watch and ward over her brother's wife; she was liable to be
checkmated at any moment from the time he perceived that
his cherished, trusted, loved, young wife felt her to be what
she had called herself,  a restraint and an encumbrance.
He told himself angrily that Dinah had had no right to come
for the avowed purpose of mounting guard over his wife;
the doing so was an offence to him and to Charlie—especially
to him. It was calling in question his capability for looking
after his own honour, it was a slur on his judgment of the
woman whom he had thought fit to entrust with that and
his name; it was casting a doubt on his having inspired the
girl he loved with a guarding warm love for him in return !
It was everything that was most offensive and irritating to
a man, in fact, and Henry Fellowes felt offended and irri-
tated about it. "What if Charlie had known and liked
Walter Goring before she married him? he asked himself,
as he sat at Walter Goring's table that morning; "it had
been but a girlish preference; or if it had been more, it was
now as though it had never been to his honest-hearted
Charlie.
He longed to show them both how trustful and magnani-
mous he was. 'Almost unconsciously to himself the seeds of
doubt were sown in his breast, but he would not let them
grow. Of  doubt, did I say ? Scarcely that. He would
not doubt or fear, or regret, the "something that he still
could not prevent himself from feeling might have been be-
tween them.  I'd trust her with him or any other man
through the world while she seemed to love me, he thought,
with a swelling heart.  The poor pet! perhaps it was want
of money that came between them; but she had got over it
before she took me. He little knew that her heart had
never given one throb for Walter Goring—that she had never
had a feeling to  get over  concerning him—that he was, or
had been, to her only the author of certain pages which had
Master and Pupil.
179
strung her up and given her new ideas—that he was, in fact,
but a little lower than the angels and Dickens and Bulwer to
her. Hero-worship (more especially if the worshipper and
worshipped he not both well-stricken in years) is apt to mis-
lead beholders : spme of its salient points bear a strong re-
semblance to love. There is the same blind belief and wild
anxiety, and tenderness to the shortcomings of the object—
the same pleasure in the mere fact of its presence—the same
jealousy of the grand creature coming off its pedestal for
another—the same humble, foolish, futile, identification of
one's-self with its triumphs and failures, its hopes and despairs,
and aspirations and defeats. Above all, there is the same
sufficiency, for the time it lasts, about it. Nothing else is
sought, nothing else is needed. The true devotee kneels with
his back to the world, and sees and cares for—only the
shrine.
As a rule, the hero-worshipper who would keep the faith
should flee from the possibility of personal intercourse with
the man or woman he has come to love in type. The aesthetic
poet comes before you in the flesh a rubicund, rotund, flabby
man, loose in attire, looser in address, and all his music is
mute in your soul when you see him, and you marvel how
honest nature can be guilty of such gross mistakes—such
fearful misfittings of matter to mind.
Or, in the course of the march of life, you come suddenly
upon one of your favourite novelists, and find that all his wit
and all his good manners and geniality are reserved for his
writings. Or you find her who pours out pathos by the page
—pathos so terribly true that you are plunged into low spirits
for a week after reading it—you find her a brawny, badly-
dressed, badly-bred woman, void of all those tender tricks,
those furtive fascinations, with which she endows her heroines.
The man who has made refinement a religion to you, strikes
at the foundation of that religion by showing how coarse he,
its high priest, can be. The lady whose language almost
leaps, it has such spirit, rush, and freshness about it, is of the
earth, earthy—broadly material, in a way that makes you
wish, with Sydney Smith, that you had the power of  read-
ing the riot-act and dispersing her. Heavy in step, heavy
in style, the memory of her comes upon you as a nightmare
ever after as you read her stories, and you sigh for your hours
180 Walter Goring.
of belief in, and hero-worship for, the unseen. But when the
real comes up to the ideal, then it is all up with the possi-
bility of proving a renegade to a faith at once so soothing
and exciting. A religion more of the soul than the heart,
and more of the head than either, its trammels are not to be
thrown off lightly, and the vacuum that is felt, should the
emptiness of it be proved, may not easily be filled up. Was
I right in saying just now, that some of the salient points of
hero-worship bore so strong a resemblance to love as to be
liable to mislead beholders ?
They went over the house after luncheon, and then into
the study, and despite Miss Dinah's square presence, it was
a very pleasant time. Charlie lounging along through the
corridor on her husband's arm, had felt equal to the nervous
task of telling him that she wanted to have the library at The
Hurst to herself, that she was going to write.
 Yes, dear, he had replied, with prompt acquiescence.
 What do you want to write about ? 
This had been staggering, not to say crushing.  I hardly
know yet, Charlie had replied;  but I really wish to try,
Harry. I have heaps of stories in my head, if I can only
find the language to tell them in. Then they had gone on
to Walter Goring's study, the walls of which were lined with
books. The bindings gave all the tone and colour to the
room, and it was not lacking.
 I believe that even I could write here, Charlie said, in
a discontented tone, going up to his writing-table.  Why,
you can't look to the right or left without having a thousand
ideas put into your head, and having had a classical educa-
tion, it would be a shame if you couldn't express them.
There's a view ! and she pointed to the window.  What a
lot that view ought to do for you, Mr Goring ! You can
plant your hero and heroine in half-a-dozen capital scenes in
that one view.
 You have the same from the other end. Look, there is
The Hurst, he replied".
 It would never look the same to me from The Hurst,
she said, almost angrily.
 Then come here and work, he said, laughing.  Fellowes,
what do you say to coming here and staying until Mrs
Fellowes has exhausted the view. Seriously, though, my
Master and PupiL
181
library is at your service. You will find many books of re-
ference here that may be useful to you.
 Thank you. This was uttered gratefully and gladly.
Then her face fell and her eyes clouded over as she added,
 What is the use of it, though, to me; I don't know enough
about any one thing to refer about it to anything else. She
went over and took a book from the shelf as she spoke, and
seated herself in a low chair by the fire.
 If you are going to talk literature, Dinah and I will go
and look at the gardens, Henry Fellowes said, cheerfully.
The opportunity for showing Dinah what  he thought about
it had come, and he seized upon it with avidity. His sister
was obliged to follow him since no one asked her to stay
where she was; but she followed, reviling his blindness in
her heart. Not that even she doubted the perfect integrity
of her brother's wife and her brother's friend, but it was an-
tagonistic to all her notions that a penniless woman should
come into a family and enjoy herself in any but a severe,
sober way. As soon as Miss Dinah's shadow vanished, the
two whom she had left behind breathed more freely. Then
Charlie, still holding the book in her hand, looked up and
said, half laughing and half sadly,—
 I told my husband of my vague intentions just now, and
he sent me down again by asking me ' what I was going to
write about ?'
 I was on the point of asking you the very same question,
Mrs Fellowes.
 Well, I will tell you what I told him—I have heaps of
stories in my head.
 Then think one out, and write it out, and let me be your
first reviewer. I won't be so kind as you were to me yester-
day. I will not promise not to see any faults in what you
do. You '11 take my. criticism as kindly as it will be offered,
won't you ? 
"Yes, that shall be in the compact too, she replied ; and
then he came over and looked at the book she was holding.
 Ah, read that, he said, handing it back to her;  and
then read it again, and then read its brethren till you know
them all by heart, if you can. I got my little wayward
cousin to wade half through this essay of Addison's. By the
way, she was the last young lady who was in this study.
182
Walter Goring.
 She read with you, I suppose ? 
 I tried to make her read with me.
 How nice for her.
 She thought it quite the reverse of nice, I assure you,
Mrs Fellowes. She has first-rate musical ability, but very
little mental power, I imagine; that is to say, she is bright
and sharp and quick-witted, but she is incapable of continued
or earnest thought. I shall send over a batch of those Spec-
tators and Tatlers for you, and come over and see what is
wanting in The Hurst library. You'll allow me to lend you
books ? 
 Oh, Mr Goring, it will be so good of you. Send me a
lot of poetry.
 I will send you Keats and Shelley, and so gradually lead
you back, or rather forward, to Chaucer and Spenser.
"I don't think I shall care for their 'quaint conceits let
me have that big Byron up there, and 
 Scott's rhymes, I suppose. No, no; all they have said
is well enough, in their verse; but you would be sure to be
struck by the magnitude and prodigious originality of their
ideas, and to fancy they would stand reproducing in prose.
No, no ; don't read such poetry as theirs, Mrs Fellowes. Do
you know anything of Keats, the man ' who was cradled into
poetry by wrong—who learnt in suffering what he taught in
song ?'
He took down a small volume, as he asked it, and com-
menced turning over the leaves, with the touch of one who
knew and loved them well.
 All I know of Keats is Shelley's ' Adonais.'
 And Shelley's ' Adonais' did not make you seek to know
more of Keats? Well, I wonder at that. Before you read
his poems, though, you must know a little about him. Shall
I tell you ? Do I bore you ? 
She looked up at him, and smiled ; and—he knew that he
was not boring her.
Nevertheless, it is possible that his sketch, brief as he
made it, of that psychological wonder—the young surgeon-
poet—might bore the reader. Therefore, it shall only be said
here, that he did tell her of Keats' dismal fife, and desperate
love for the woman who  had the beauty of a leopardess;"—
the woman who  kept him awake one night as a tune of
A Little Cloud.
183
Mozart's might do;"—the woman whose  name was ever on
his lip, hut never on his tongue; "—and for whom, in short,
his life ebbed itself away in mere passionate feeling. He
talked to her till her cheeks flushed with pity for the young
genius who died so soon, and so sadly; and who, humbled by
his hitter conflict with destiny, asked only that the words,
 Here lies one whose name was writ in water, should he
placed over his grave. He read her a few lines—the few last
plaintive lines of  The Pot of Basil, and some portions of
that  Stretched Metre of an Antique Song, which is in-
scribed to his hapless parallel, Chatterton—the god-gifted
boy, who was even more tired of life than Keats himself.
And when he had finished, she heaved a sigh that was neither
one of pleasure nor of pain, but that was rather one of in-
tense satisfaction at hearing things that were so delicately
attuned to her own sympathies, spoken of in a manner that
was the same. ,
 He was a poet, and a lover too. Ah, Mr Goring, I feel
now that it is sheer reckless presumption which made me
think for a while that I could ever hope to do more than
appreciate from below.
CHAPTER XXIY.
A little cloud.
Walter Goring's visitors stayed with him until it was time
to go home and dress for the Travers' dinner-party. The
walk in the gardens which Mr Fellowes had proposed to his
sister had not been a very long one, for Miss Fellowes proved
a morose and dreary companion on the occasion; therefore
her brother suffered himself to stray back into the library
sooner than he otherwise would have done. Then they looked
through some volumes of rare old line engravings; and Wal-
ter inoculated Mrs Fellowes with some crude bibliomanial
notions respecting quaint and curious bindings; and the two
gentlemen effected some new combinations of the lighter
movable furniture, under Charlie's auspices. Altogether, the
184
Walter Goring.
three chief dramatis persona; were very happy, and Miss
Dinah thought it all as imbecile a wasting of time as she had
ever heard of, much less witnessed. At last somebody
found out that it was past five o'clock; and then they
hurried away to the melody of Miss Dinah's declaration, that
they had no time to lose, for the Traverses dined at seven,
and were punctuality itself.
As they were driving home, Charlie mooted that plan
which "Walter Goring had proposed about The Hurst library
to her husband.
 I want it to be held sacred, she said;  no one must
come in without knocking; perfect peace is essential while
one is in the agonies of composition, Mr Goring says.
 May I not come in ? 
*' Oh yes, you Harry ; but no one else. Do take me there
to morrow morning, and instal me.
 Are you speaking of the library ?  Miss Fellowes croaked
from behind.
 Yes, Charlie replied, looking affably over her shoulder
at her sister-in-law. She was much more tolerant to Miss
Dinah's presence than she had been while going to Goring
Place ; for the day had not been spoilt.
 My mother has never liked to have that room used in com-
mon since my poor dear father died; you know that, Henry?
Charlie's head came round swiftly. Her husband stole an
imploring look at her face; he could only see her profile, but
she was biting her under-lip.
 My mother won't mind your using the room, darling! 
he whispered.
But his wife did not respond. She was bitterly offended
at the perpetual placing of small stumbling-blocks in her
path; and bitterly wounded that her husband did not sweep
them away with a strong hand at once—as would become a
man. So she made no response to his conciliatory whispers ;
and looked neither to the right nor left until they drew up
at the door of The Hurst. Then she jumped down from the
trap before he could get round to assist her, and ran up at
once to her own bed-room, declaring to herself that she could
 not bear it any longer. "He sees me snubbed, and treated
as a nobody, she thought, angrily;  his love for me is of
the lowest—the very lowest—kind; he has no pride for me,
A Little Cloud. 185
—no consideration for me,—his mother, and his sister, and
their senseless prejudices and fancies, are more to him than
his wife.
Her feelings rushed like a torrent from one extreme to
the other. Up to the present juncture she had kept down
all doubt of his devotion to her in fact, however tamely he
suffered small disagreeables to assail her in seeming. But
now she forgot all those manifestations of affection of his, by
the thought of which she had heretofore strengthened herself
to bear and forbear; she forgot all these, and declared to
herself that his love was not such a love as a woman may
glory and trust in.
He, meanwhile, was going to work his own way to make
things smooth for them«all. It was not a determined,
masterly way; but it was manly enough after all, and very
kind. He went in and sat down by his mother's chair, and
began giving her little details of the day, till she relaxed a
little from the austerity she had assumed, immediately she
heard of their arrival.  I think your wife might have had
the civility to come in and speak to me after having been
away all these hours ; I did expect that certainly, otherwise
I should have sent these letters that have come for her up to
her bedroom.
 She hasn't much time to dress, you know ? I '11 take
the letters ; where are they ? oh ! here. She will come and
show herself to you in her finery presently, mother, he con-
tinued, bending over the old lady and kissing her. Then he
added,  I want the library well aired and put in order,
mother dear; will you give orders about it to-morrow ? 
 It is always in good order, Henry, she said, gravely.
 Too damp to sit in, isn't it ? 
 What do you want to sit in it for ? 
"Well, mother dear, this for one reason. You have not
been accustomed to have young people with you constantly,
and I think it would be pleasanter if my wife and you were
not always together, perhaps ; the library shall be otir room,
and then when we come either here, or to the drawing-room
in the evening, it will be a change for her, and you will be
glad to see her; it must be so tiresome to women to be to-
gether all day. Will you give orders about it to-morrow,
mother dear ? 
Walter Goring.
 Yes, she replied at once; and she said no word regard-
ing her disinclination to seeing the hallowed spot invaded.
Then he took his wife's correspondence, and walked up tc
her room.
She was sitting down already dressed, and still feeling and
looking wrathful. When he came in, looking smiling and
light-hearted, fuel was cast on the fire of her indignation at
the indifference and injustice that was displayed towards her,
and she turned her head away and gave him no glance of
welcome.
 What! ready, my darling! Now you look charming. I
have promised my mother that you will go down and show
yourself in your finery to her; here are a lot of letters for
you.
She took the letters from his hand, with a cold  Thank
you.
 What is it, Charlie ?  he asked fondly, putting his hand
on the hack of her chair and leaning over her. She moved
her shoulder away from him. His tenderness was repugnant
to her at the moment. She told herself that it never caused
him to stave off any annoyance from her.
"There's nothing the matter. Let me get up, please; I
want to read my letters.
He stood upright, and let her get up and pass him. Then
he followed her, and put his arm round her waist, and sha
wriggled herself free from him.
 Charlie ! you're not angry still about what Dinah said?
 Angry ; no, not a bit.
 I have been talking to my mother, and she's going to
have the library put all right to-morrow morning; and you '11
let me come in and smoke my cigar there in the morning,
won't you, dear.
 Let! as if I had a word to say about anything in this
house. You had better go and dress, Harry, if we are going
to this dinner-party.
He obeyed her, and Avalked rather sadly away to his own
dressing-room, thinking what a pity it was that all women
were so touchy.  I suppose she wanted me to make a row
about it, he thought;  women never will see that it's just
as well to take things quietly.
Presently, before he was quite ready, he heard the bedroom
A Little Cloud. 187
door open, and a rushing as of silk draperies towards his
door. Then there was a knock, and Charlie, looking flushed
and tearful, hurst into the room with an open letter in her
hand.  My brother—Frank, she began, and then she
stopped, panting with anger and sorrow; and when he asked,
eagerly,  What is it, my darling ?  she buried her face in
her hands, and sobbed out,—
 Dismissed the service—for—nothing.
It was useless entreating her not to cry, or attempting to
get a coherent statement from her.
The news was contained in a windy effusion from Ellen, to
whose husband it had been communicated in what Ellen
characterised as "a shamefully thoughtless letter, from
Frank himself. His delinquencies were not of a very black
dye. He had gone on shore in opposition to his captain's
orders, and he had remained on shore, making sketches of
scenery that pleased him much, long enough for the whole of
his boat's crew to get intoxicated, and for one to desert. This
was the head and front of his offending, but it had been
sufficient to procure his dismissal and consequent disgrace.
Mr Prescott was evidently very hard upon him.  His
sketches were intended for a work he has been writing, Ellen
added.  £ Serving off some place or other,' he calls it; and
he had the coolness to say he would come and stay with us
till he can get it published. Robert won't see him. ( Ask
him here, Henry Fellowes interrupted, when Charlie read
that portion of her sister's letter to him :  I want to know
your brother, Charlie, and this will be a good opportunity;
ask him here, of course, dear.") Then Charlie brightened up
and beamed again, and hung about her husband's neck,
reproaching herself in very hard terms for  having been cold
to him just now, according to her nature. But though she
brightened up, and though she went down and displayed her-
self with much amiability to her mother-in-law, her heart was
heavy about this blight that had come upon her brother.
She had been imbued in her ©hildhood with many of the
traditions of the navy ; she had been taught to regard it with
a mixture of awe and affection—as a great institution; the
men of her family had been steeped in salt water, so to say,
for three generations. Altogether, though she brightened up
at the prospect of seeing her brother immediately—of wel-
188
Walter Goring:
coming him to her husband's house, and though she was
affable to old Mrs Fellowes, and sufficiently agreeable at the
Traverses to enlist the rector under her banner at once and
for ever—though all these things were—her heart was filled
with sad retrospective memories.
She had not seen her brother Frank for years—never since
she had been grown up; but she remembered him as such a
gallant-looking boy.
She recalled his first going to sea. It was fifteen or sixteen ■
years ago, and yet how vividly she remembered the scene. It
was a fair July morning, and the sun was shining with a
brilliancy which she had never seen equalled since. There
was flash from a sword, and dazzle from much gold lace; and
a cerulean blue over all things, reflected this last from the
new naval uniform of the boy who was going away that day
to join his ship at Sheerness—going away in the first flush of
his pride at being a cadet in Her Majesty's service—going
away under the escort of his father, a veteran who had drawn
his sword (the same sword whose flashing had been so
glorious a thing in her eyes) in twenty causes, and gained
nought save evanescent glory and lasting wounds in any ot
them.
It came back to her vividly as she sat and ate Mr Travers'
venison—that scene and hour in which pride and pain were
so strangely mingled. The tears and prayers and cautions
of the mother, who was seeing her eldest—the boy of boys—
the flower of the flock, depart that day into the world of
temptations and dangers, never again to be a home-bird—
never again to kneel at her feet and pour out his prayers and
tell his boyish sins and sorrows—never again to be entirely
her own, in fact, from this moment of his first flight from
the home of which he had been the star.
"What a hero the handsome bold-faced boy was that day !
How his little sister worshipped him ; at first from afar, but
gradually, as she grew accustomed to the bright dirk and blue
jacket from the summit of his knee, whither she had climbed
to pat his cheek with admiring love, and touch his dirk with
tremulous pride ! What a hero he was ! Not that he had
done anything yet beyond looking defiant and frank and
fearless; but these qualities were no bad foundation on which
to build up a fair fabric of bright hopes and expectations re
A Little Cloud.
189
specting his future career ! How her father had alternated
between nervous cautions, as to the demeanour it would be-
hove the boy to observe, and exultant prognostications of the
success—the early promotion that assuredly awaited him,
provided only that he did his duty, and never forgot the
respect due to others, and himself! How the servants ran
about deliriously, wiping their eyes with their aprons, and
murmuring to each other,  Don't Master Frank look beau-
tiful—quite the man ?  How the dogs leapt about their old
playfellow, regardless of his newly-donned splendour, chorus-
ing each other's entreaties that he would take them once
more to a certain stack where rats did dwell! How fast the
last hour slipped away! How well she remembered all these
things will be realised by any one who has witnessed the
first start in life of a boy who is held dear !
Her thoughts travelled on. The home scene was over, and
the mother was left to pray away her bitter sense of barren-
ness, if she could—to bear it if she must. But then had
come the triumphal progress through the village! There
were eight or nine old men-of-war's-men, belonging to the
coast-guard station, and these came to wish him God-speed
and good-bye, and to hope, as they gripped his delicate
young hand, that he would be "as fine an officer as his
father. Rough old sailors, some of them, but they had
tears in their eyes as the boy whom they had carried on
their shoulders many a time, and taught to detect a sail
in the offing, and the difference of rig between a schooner
and a barque, went out to face the dangers of that ocean
which they had lauded to him.
Then there had been friends and neighbours standing about
at window and gate to see the last of him. Kisses on the
brow from matrons whose sons had been his schoolfellows—
gentle reminders from pretty little girls, his sisters' 'allies, as
to monkey-skins and elephants' tusks which he had promised
to bring them home. Hearty hand-shakings from the men
who recognised his recently-established claim to manhood
by refraining from patting him on the head. And then it
was all over, and he was driven away to the railway station;
and out of his mind nearly with elation at hearing himself in-
eluded in a porter's obsequious mention of "two naval officers.
What gala-days those were on which his letters used to
Walter Goring.
arrive,! How eagerly they were read—how religiously they
were listened to—how liberally lavished upon all inquiring
friends ! He was the grand topic for at least a week in the
neighbourhood, after the receipt of one of those transparent
effusions which always commenced— My Dear Parents,
and wound up with a gratuitous assurance of his naval in-
structor's complete satisfaction with the progress he was making
in navigation and the art of seamanship. The fact of a letter
having been received from Master Frank had a habit of
spreading like wildfire. The dawning of the days on which
they were due always saw his mother's cheek very pale, and
his father's manner very restless. They knew the trials and
temptations to which young blood is subjected, and they
dreaded the boy "forgetting to write. But for years the
gala-days came very regularly; Charlie remembered the dread
was unfulfilled in the life-time of either parent.
Then again she remembered a date when their section of
the world had reeled, and caressed its own judgment in
having thought very high things of him. Frank's name was
on the  list; he was mated; he had been given the com-
mand of a slaver, and had quelled something small in muti-
nies, and been reported to "the Board as "a highly
deserving yt>ung officer. When the glorious news came
home it made such a heaven there, that surely it was placed
to his account and remembered, though dark days had fallen
on him now!
How they had all delighted in him, and rejoiced in oppor-
tunities of talking about him! He had shown himself to be
the two best things a man can he—gallant and determined;
and, in addition to these, he was so successful! The bright
young fellow was positively adored in the home circle!
Fortune seemed to smile upon him! The glow of pride had
not cooled upon the cheeks of those who loved him, after the
receipt of the first good news, when other and even better
tidings were heard. At the risk of his own he had saved a
brother officer's life by jumping overhoard—he had led on a
boat attack on a slaver—he was mentioned specially in the
captain's report, and he was to have his lieutenancy.
What paeans of pride they sang when that news reached
them! Early success is always so much more glorious a
thing than that which is long waited for and hardly won.
A Little Cloud.
191
He, the young lieutenant of nineteen, was very successful—
was a star, in fact—and he was prized accordingly. He had
been in the first flush of this fame when their father died,
nd since that time they had known little of each other. To
Charlie, especially, he lived only as the bright-faced bold lad,
who had left them in blue-and-gold one July morning; for
die had been down in the fever when he came home to
show himself last. It was very, very hard for her to think
of him as under a cloud now, as these reminiscences flooded
her mind. She felt that she should be shy and abashed
before him if he did accept her husband's invitation and
come to The Hurst, depressed and as one who came on suf-
ferance. There is something horribly crushing to a woman
in the thought that the head of a man who is dear to her
may be down at ever so slight an angle.
There was a deficiency, too, of the power of diversion at
the Travers'. The dinner was quite correct, and so were the
people who were bidden to eat it—correct, but not at all
exhilarating. The majority of the guests were clergymen
and their help-mates—men who were clergymen because
rich livings had been in the gift of their fathers or uncles—
men of family, in fact, who served God in good style, and
who were as mighty lords temporal in their respective neigh-
bourhoods, as they were lords spiritual—men, who, from
being absolute monarchs of all they surveyed in their several
spheres, had a correct estimate of the social status and im-
portance of their fellows, and a slightly erroneous one of the
social status and importance of all such as were not sons of
the Church, or masters of many square acres of the soil—men
of classical attainments, of good breeding, and of profound
propriety; but concentred on themselves in a way that ren-
dered them wearisome to the stranger within their gates, who
had a smaller interest, and consequently faith, in conservatism
than they themselves.
The talk during dinner had all been about  their schools,
and "their poor. It had been of an unexciting nature,
that was not calculated to interfere with the more serious
operation for which they had assembled in fact. But after
dinner, when the ladies had drifted away into the drawing-
room, the men drew their chairs closer together, and a sub-
ject that was of solemn interest to several of them was
192
Walter Goring.
mooted by a gentle-looking, gray-haired old man,—a patri-
arch among the priests of East Anglia.
"1 heard a report to-day from one of my churchwardens,
that Brett's affairs are not in quite such perfect order as we
could desire.
He mentioned one of the most important and oldest of the
local banks; and there was a slight, quickly-subdued sensa-
tion amongst those who heard him. Walter Goring was the
first to speak.
 I am nearly a stranger among you as yet, he said.  I
trust, however, that this news does not concern any of those
here present more than it does myself. I heard the report
to-day from Mr Wilfred, one of the Goring Place tenants.
He is a depositor; safe enough therefore, I presume. Is it
limited liability ?
"No—unlimited, Henry Fellowes said.
And then the pent-up stream of feeling broke forth.
They talked the subject over long and earnestly—even
angrily; for the majority of those present were large share-
holders: and in the moment of the first panic they felt as
though they stood on shifting sands.
 Let us pray to Heaven that it may be only a temporary
tightness, and that the rumour of it won't get whispered
amongst the depositors, Henry Fellowes said at last.  I
hope my wife won't hear a word of it, poor girl, he added to
Walter Goring, as they crossed the hall together.
And when Goring asked him— Why not ? 
He replied— Because if she began questioning me as to
how far I was interested in its tiding over this difficulty, or
breaking completely, I should tell her everything—I couldn't
help myself. And I want her to be happy while she can.
God knows where the demands on us may stop. It's a
company concern, you know. Brett's name was kept on as
a tower of strength; but it has been in the hands of a com-
pany for years.
Henry Fellowes spoke nervously and hurriedly; and,
judging from this what great interests his friend had at
stake, Walter Goring had not the heart to say what he had
heard from Wilfred,—namely, that there would be a tremen-
dous run on Brett's the following day, when any business
conduct on the part of directors or secretary that was not
A Little Cloud.
193
absolutely above suspicion would be exploded. The alarm
had been sounded in truth; and the luckless shareholders
were walking over mined ground. No wonder that the
Travers' social gathering lacked the elements of diversion for
one who knew nought of these fears and doubts.
"If that's a specimen of "a country dinner-party, I shall
never wish to go to another, Harry, Charlie said to her hus-
band, as soon as she was out of the Travers' garden, and
fairly on her way home that night. And he, remembering
only that she might soon drift away out of the sphere of such
things and then regret them, forgave the pettishness—or
rather gave no thought to it, and clasped her warmly to the
heart that was doing a grievous penance of dread, for the love
which had prompted him to bring such a woman to such a pass.
The next day a letter was despatched to Frank, inviting
him to The Hurst: and scarcely had she written it, before
fresh doubt and anxiety assailed Charlie's mind. In a fit of
temporary aberration of intellect, on her own wedding-day,
she had enthusiastically and unwisely bestowed a pressing
invitation on Robert Prescott and his wife to come and stay
with her at The Hurst as soon as they could, and as long as
they could. It was only meet and right, and her bounden
duty, considering all the circumstances by which she and
they were united, that she should do this. But she acknow-
ledged to herself that she had been unwary in so doing, after
a brief sojourn in the Fellowes' tent.  There will not be
open war, she said to herself,  but there will be worse.
Miss Dinah will make Ellen wretched; and Robert will
offend old Mrs Fellowes at every turn; and they will unite
in hating him. She had thought that, after having been
half an hour in their society; but still, with her sex's aver-
sion to taking any decided step, she had refrained from say-
ing aught to the Prescotts that could hinder their coming.
Now that the missive was posted to Frank, she remembered
that Robert and Ellen were likely to come to them in a short
time.  If they fight among themselves, it will be awful,
she thought, dejectedly;  and I know what Ellen is,—she
will be constantly asking me for explanations of things that
don't concern her, and that make me miserable,—and that I
won't have Ellen or any one else speaking to me about, for
all that.
N
194
Walter Goring.
The more she felt oppressed by the shadow of coming dis-
comfort from her own people, the more she felt inclined to
conciliate Mrs Fellowes, senior. She wished that she had
not Efsked for the library at this special juncture. She was
conscious of having made rather a parade about the necessity
of having a room entirely to herself. She had demanded it
for a specially signified purpose, and now that the room was
hers to have and to use as she saw fit, she did begin to enter-
tain grave doubts as to her capability of ever carrying that
purpose out. She walked about till her feet ached, arrang-
ing and re-arranging the room and the writing-table, putting
books, which she had hazy notions she might  want to refer
to, within easy distance of the chair she intended to occupy,
and rather losing sight, to tell the truth, of the end she had
had in view, and towards which she had obtained possession
of this room, peace, and a quantity of paper and pens.
About one o'clock the appearance of her hardly-gained terri-
tory satisfied her, and she sat down to rest from her labours
and to wonder where her husband could be. It was the
first day since he had brought his bride to The Hurst that
he had not come in at twelve.  I wish he would come,
Charlie thought.  I shall not be able to settle to anything
while I know I am liable to his coming in at any moment
and disturbing me. Then she altered the position of several
things once more, and then she made a beginning. That is
to say, she wrote,  Chapter the First. Page 1, on the first
page of a quire of most wonderful cream-laid letter paper,
and then stopped to admire the faultless commencement, and
wonder whether she should make her first effort in three
volumes or one. Having at length decided in favour of the
latter, she went a step further, and inserted the words, "A
Tale, at the top of Chapter the First.  A Tale  appeared
to her a modest designation, at which none could possibly
cavil. On further consideration, she felt, however, that this
might be deemed vague, and be held also to evince a want of
purpose in its composition, which she was certain of being
very far from feeling  when once she was fairly started.
There was a slight difficulty about the starting, though; so
she gave up literary labour for that day, and read a Spectator
paper instead.
Frank/
195
CHAPTER XXV.
frank.
November was drawing to a close. Frank, whom Charlie
only remembered as the bold, bright, gallant-looking boy,
all blue-and-gold, had come down to The Hurst, and
dawned upon his delighted sister a bolder, brighter, more
gallant-looking man. In the intense pleasure young Mrs
Fellowes had in Frank's society—a pleasure that was com-
posed partly of natural affection and partly of the great
liking she had for novelty,—Henry Fellowes's gradually
deepening and ill-concealed anxiety passed unobserved by
his wife. The rumour as to Brett's was but too well founded.
Dull sickening dread reigned at present, but there was
shortly to be a call made upon the shareholders, and to many
of them it would be a call to ruin.
Charlie was in blissful ignorance of the dire evil that was
coming—that had come upon this land in which her tent
had been so recently pitched. In consideration of her being
a stranger amongst them, and a little because she was so
young a wife, no one made mention of Brett's before her.
At the few dinner parties which people still had the heart to
give while they were awaiting the crash, pity for Charlie in-
duced silence, and the all-absorbing topic, though  ever on
men's lips, was never on their tongues. Therefore, as she
never read the local papers, she remained in ignorance of the
colossal local wrong that had but just culminated.
Henry Fellowes blessed his brother-in-law for coming to
them at this time. It seemed to him impossible that he
could have kept the sorrowful secret from Charlie, had
Charlie been unemployed and unamused. As it was, Frank
was a breath of new life to her, in the which she rejoiced ex-
ceedingly : and she loved him all the better for his not being
one whit cast down by what she had deemed to be a misfor-
tune when she first heard of it. He was facing his
difficulties like a light-hearted lion, she thought, or rather
like a man, bearing them blithely, and yet with no bravado.
In truth he was not the kind of man to be cast down by
ig6
Walter Goring.
any such misfortunes as had befallen him. The sum total
of human happiness and honours were not contained in
H.M. Royal Navy for him. He had not done anything of
which he was ashamed, therefore he neither looked nor felt
cast down. Consequently, Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah,
who regarded him in the light of a burglar, a poacher, or
other breaker of the law, declared him to be hardened.
Nevertheless, though they felt him to be this, they went
with the rest of the world in liking and admiring and
believing him to be a superior creature.
Surely there never lived a man more fitted to inspire and
retain that warm, blind regard which makes one shut one's
eyes to all the faults and follies of the object, and see only
its brightness and bravery. He was the type of a Saxon
gentleman—tall, stalwart, blue-eyed, with fair hair, soft and
fine as a woman's; and he had a marvellous wealth of
vitality, and a debonnaire bearing that could yet be won-
drously deferential to women. He was frank too, as his
name, and was altogether such a brother as a sister might
reasonably be very proud of possessing.
He had not been in the house two days before Henry
Fellowes confided the coming crash to him. Frank was the
most agreeable of confidants in such a case as this—want of
money in the future' was a thing he could not and did not
attempt to realise, so long as he had money enough in the
present.  I dare say you will find it all come right in the
end, Fellowes, he said, when Fellowes had finished the
doleful story. "Don't move for a moment, there's a good
fellow. He was engaged in making a caricature likeness of
his brother-in-law, which he presently handed over to that
gentleman in the most honest manner possible.
 You don't quite see the business, Frank, Mr Fellowes
said dolefully.
 Perhaps not—do you ? Frank replied, taking the
sketch back and carefully adding a few finishing touches.
In reality he was far from being indifferent as to the ultimate
comfort and welfare of his sister and her husband; but it
was not in his nature to go into preliminary pain and anxiety
on account of any human being—himself not excepted. His
brightness was contagious in this instance. Mr Fellowes
immediately expressed himself to the effect of feeling that
Frank !
19 7
 though, the first pull on him would be a heavy one, keeping
things close at The Hurst for a year or two would set him
all straight again, and there might he no further calls; at
any rate, it was no use thinking of it yet; would Frank ride
round the farm with him ? 
They rode round the farm together, and came home by the
Brook-Green Cottage. A huge van stood at the door, and
Mr Goring sat on his horse at a short distance, superintend-
ing the removal of furniture from the same into the house.
He rode up to the two men as soon as they appeared, and
when he had been introduced to Frank, he said in rather an
annoyed tone to Mr Fellowes,—
 I have had a note from your new tenant, Mrs Walsh,
this morning, Fellowes; she says that she sent off her furni-
ture yesterday, and ' will I see that some one puts it in place
in the house, as she means to be down to-night.' I sent
over a troop of my servants, but they don't seem to get on;
she can't go into the house to-night, you know, all the
furniture they have come across yet is drawing-room furni-
ture and kettles.
 And they won't make her comfortable to-night, clearly,''
Henry Fellowes replied, with ready sympathy.  I '11 speak
to my wife about it; she shall come and see what can be
done; or perhaps she had better send a note here, asking
Mrs Walsh to stay with us at The Hurst until her own
house is ready. They are old friends, I believe ? 
Walter Goring's mouth twitched as he answered,—
"They know each .other very well, and it would be doing me
a great kindness as well as Mrs Walsh. She has thrown the
whole responsibility upon me, forgetting that I am a bachelor.
I would place Goring Place at her absolute disposal, but she
wouldn't come there.
 Come up and put the case to my sister yourself, Frank
suggested.  I left her copying out some manuscript, and she
will be glad of the interruption.
 Mrs Fellowes has really got so far as to have something
to copy out ? that's well, Walter Goring said, as he turned
his horse's head and rode along by Frank's side.
 Got so far in what ?
"In a charming story, I have no doubt.
Frank laughed.
198
Walter Goring.
 It's a work of mine that Charlie is copying out from tn.8
rough scraps of paper on which I wrote it first. I have
never had the courage to tackle the task myself, but my sister
seems to like it.
"It's a bad plan writing on anything that necessitates
copying out again, Walter Goring said, sagaciously ; "going
over it a second time shows you the weak places so clearly,
that the end of it is generally to be torn up. I read and re-
vise as thoroughly as I can, but to sit down and copy out in
cold blood is beyond me.
Then the fact of the established authorship of the one being
alluded to, and the incipient authorship of the other made
manifest* the two men went on with that talk of the craft
which is pleasant enough to those engaged in it, when sue-
cessful, but rather tedious to the outsider. Frank asked
Goring to recommend him a publisher, and Goring, with
beautiful impartiality, recommended six on the spot, carefully
refraining from all mention of his own from obvious reasons.
Frank's views were rather large, but really looking at him as
he rode along—the cold November sun gleaming on his fair
bright hair, and his handsome haughty pale face uplifted, he
seemed to be justified in entertaining the largest, Walter
Goring thought. "There's a look of power about that
fellow, the master of Goring Place said to himself;  he will
probably do anything he tries to do. The worst of it is he
will try too many things for a time. Even as he thought
it, Frank said,—
 I don't expect my first work to bring me much. I have
illustrated it very fully, and it will cost a good deal to get it
out; therefore I shall agree to publish on that wretched half-
profit plan ; but I have got the plot of a long serial story,
which I shall also illustrate myself, in my head, and I ought
to do a good deal with that—don't you think so ? 
 We have known the experiment fail—
"Simply because he couldn't draw, Frank interrupted.
 My own belief is, that the educated draughtsman has the
power of expressing his ideas in more or less picturesque
language; and that the imaginative, and at the same time
careful and correct writer, could draw if he tried. In
doing both he may never attain to that eminence in one
which he might have attained had he left the other untouched;
Frank!
199
but that the artistic feeling, which is the germ of either fruit,
can he made to bear more than one kind, there can be no
manner of doubt.
 I have an idea that the result will be greater if that
artistic power be concentrated.
 Possibly it may be more paying, but I was not looking
at it from that point of view, Frank replied, standing
stoutly to his theory.  I believe that we hold a certain
amount of intellectual imaginative power in the hollow of
our hands, and that it rests with ourselves in what direction,
or in how many directions, we make it work.
 Well. I don't agree with you at present, Walter Goring
said, as thgy rode up to The Hurst;  but I have no doubt
but that you will practically illustrate your own views in a
short time, and confound me.
Then they went in and found Charlie, very much flushed
as to the face and inked as to the fingers, still hard at work
copying, from leaves of note-books, backs of envelopes, and
other  rough scraps, her brother's MS. work.
She rose up laughing, and pushing her hair back as the
men came in, said,— I am serving my apprenticeship, you
see, Mr Goring. Frank, I have nearly done half of it, I
think.
 You will write original matter with all the greater zest
after this labour, Mrs Fellowes.
 I am afraid not, after Frank's my own sentences seem to
flounder about so loosely after reading his. Now, in the
opening chapters of my story I have been trying to get a
man out of a room gracefully; it seems a little thing to do,
but I couldn't ' speed the parting guest.'
 Cultivate that vein, and you '11 end by being epigram-
matie, Frank laughed.
 Perhaps you liked him too well, Mrs Fellowes. I know
I often cling on to companionship with one of my characters,
partly out of liking for them, and—
 Partly because you are not certain which string it will
be wise to pull next, Frank interrupted. "Take my
advice, Charlie, and whenever you find yourself in a similar
dilemma toss up for it; if your young man makes an unto-
ward appearance by the means, or your young lady seems to
lavish herself rather too freely on your readers, they will still
200
Walter Goring.
comfort themselves under the circumstances by declaring
that you have much surprised them, or that your design haa
marched with their anticipations.
 I'm sure if I were in Charlie's place, I wouldn't bother
myself about anything of the sort, Henry Fellowes struck
in, rather sadly. It did seem to him a matter of very small
importance, indeed, whether or not an ideal creature could
be conceived and carried out of the room. Everything
seemed to him of small importance, poor fellow!—save
broken banks, and blighted homes, and blasted honours.
His remark was natural enough under the circumstances,
but Charlie knew nothing of the circumstances, therefore
she, quite naturally too, resented the remark as being of the
wet-blanket order.
 It would bother me if I thought I shouldn't succeed in
time, Harry; if real hard work would do it, I would work
like a galley slave,—but it's a game in which something else
must be staked besides honest toil.
 Bravo, little woman! Frank said, rising up and kissing
his sister as she stood—her momentary enthusiasm over—
with bent head and downcast eyes, looking very much
ashamed of herself.
"You have the right sort of coin, I think, Mr Goring
added.  But to. cease from shop, I have come to ask you a
favour.
 Which I shall grant, of course, no ! stop though, on
this condition, write my name in the book you gave me the
other day. She handed the first volume of his novel to him,
and he wrote in it—
"Mrs H. Omry Fellowes,
 With the kindest regards of her fellow-labourer,
 The Author.
She took it back and read it—her eyes flashing as she did
so.  Her fellow-labourer. In this way he plainly indicated
his recognition of her as one of them; as one at least who
might be of them—of that great band before whom she bent
the knees of her heart I The phrase strung her up; it
nerved her to bear much in order that she might deserve it.
She never forgot it. In doubt, in disappointment, in the
hours of toil and the hours of triumph, she always saw that
golden legend, and was grateful and hopeful. God bless the
Against the Grain.
201
men who give the aspirants for a canter on Pegasus a hand
up!
"And now for your favour? she asked, putting down
the book; and her eyes and the tone of her voice thanked
him more than any words could have done for that which he
had written.
 Teach me to introduce comfort into chaos. Mrs Walsh
comes to-night, and must recline upon walnut-wood cabinets
and fire-irons, unless you help me.
 I suggest that you ask her here until the cottage is
ready, Charlie dear, her husband remarked,  and "—
 How can I-without your mother's leave ? she answered;
"get that for me, and I will be the medium of invitation
with pleasure.
But though she said this, Walter Goring could not avoid
seeing that there was small pleasure to Mrs Fellowes in the
thought of welcoming Mrs Walsh.
CHAPTER XXVI.
against the grain.
Of course that was an awkward speech which Charlie had
made, relative to old Mrs Fellowes' leave as a necessary pre-
liminary to the invitation. It was an awkward speech, and
no one felt the full awkwardness of it so keenly as Charlie
herself did the instant she had made it. It. was another
example of her nerves being too close to her skin. The
instant she felt aggrieved, in ■ ever so slight a degree, she
showed herself to be aggrieved after her unwise nature.
Her husband's remark had irritated her, in that it appeared
to underrate her current great object. And she had not been
given time to notice the jarred chords before Mrs Walsh was
mentioned to her as one to whom she ought to show careful
consideration and attention. The thing seemed to be ex-
pected of her by her husband and Walter Goring, "who
ought to have known better, she said angrily to herself;
202
Walter Goring.
though why he should have known better she would have
found it hard to decide, had she been called upon to do so.
She was ready and willing to go down and heap coals of fire
on the head of the beautiful widow. But she did not quite
like it, that Walter Goring should seem to think it only in
the order of things that she should put herself out in minor
domestic matters, for a woman whom she had only known
as the magnificent goddess of a bright metropolitan circle.
Young Mrs Fellowes foamed in her inner self with indigna-
tion against the woman who was so  unhlushingly following
him up; and was for the moment most irrationally enraged
against the supine satisfaction of the man so followed.  He
ought to he disgusted with her, she thought;  and her
husband only died the other day. I was in hopes that he
would have fallen in love with that pretty girl I met him
with that night. Poor Charlie! She was only deceiving
herself. She would have found flaws in the motives of even
that pretty girl, it is to be feared.
"I will answer for Mrs Fellowes being delighted, Frank
put in, good temperedly.  I '11 go and ask her, he added,
getting himself out of the room as fast as he could. A ecus-
tomed as he was to the ever-changing deep, troublous domes-
tic waters were odious to him. He was very fond of his
sister Charlie; she amused and interested and touched him
greatly, by her admiring love for himself; hut  she shouldn't
have flung out in that way, because it does no good, he
said to himself, with a man's practical clearsightedness in
such matters, as he made his way over to Mrs Fellowes,
senior's, domain.
Her own son would have been a far less efficient envoy on
this delicate mission. Mrs Fellowes always looked with
lenient eyes upon any request made to her by the brother of
the daughter-in-law whom she disliked. Frank had a won-
derful way with women; young and old, they succumbed to
it and liked it. He had the knack of coming down and
being very gentle to them, not as though they needed his
gentleness by reason of their own weakness, but he showed
that he knew they could claim it from him, as a queen might
claim it from a churl.
Old Mrs Fellowes was knitting away for dear life when he
made his appearance before her this morning. She knew of
Against the Grain.
203
the dark cloud that was hanging over her son and her son's
house, and though she was safe herself,—her own little
annual income being invested in something surer than Brett's
bank,—her heart was very sore. She was of that order of
womankind which grows harder and grimmer under a sorrow.
Frank could not help regarding her as a very unpleasant
piece of granite as he entered, and she glued her lips more
tightly together by way of noticing the fact.
 I have been round the farm with Fellowes, and we have
brought Mr Goring back with us, he commenced, gaily. He
always would take it for granted that people were interested
in what he had been doing, and what he was going to do.
It was very hard to remain indifferent to aught that concerned
him in his presence.
 Mr Goring is no friend of mine, Mrs Fellowes replied,
rigidly. She could not forget, and she could not forgive, the
kay in which he had come down, and dared to enjoy himself
with his own set, before the county had taken him up. "Mr
Goring is no friend of mine. I suppose it's he is keeping
my son away from me now, when I am naturally anxious to
know if he has heard anything fresh about this dreadful
business ? 
Frank shook his head.  I can tell you that he has heard
nothing to-day; it's an awful time for you all, he continued,
kindly.  I hope, however, that things will turn out to be
better than they seem.
"You must perceive, Mr St John, that my son's principal
anxiety—indeed, hard as it is for his mother to say it, his
only anxiety—is about your sister. I really believe, she
continued, with tears of vexation in her eyes, "that if he
had not just brought home a wife, he would bear this terrible
trial much better than he does.
 I have no doubt he would, Frank replied, calmly;  any
fellow would feel the same. Naturally a man would rather
cut his throat than get a girl into such a scrape.
"And your sister is not the one to make the best of priva-
tions. She can't put her hand to a single thing
 Oh ! can't she ?  Frank interrupted. "You don't know
her, my dear madam. I fancy she would behave beautifully
in rough water. By the way, do you know that Fellowes'
new tenant comes down to-night?
204
Walter Goring.
"To Goring Place, I suppose?  Mrs Fellowes asked, with
a severe sneer.
 Not a bit of it; to an empty house, or worse, unless you
can induce Charlie to do what she doesn't seem at all in-
clined to do—invite her here. Let me be the bearer of your
commands to Charlie, that the right thing be done. This
lady must not be made to feel that her comfort is of no ac-
count among you all at the outset.
 My commands! Ah, Mr St John ! My commands
would be the very last your sister would listen to; if she
does not see for herself that this civility is no more than she,
as the wife of the landlord, ought to pay to an incoming
tenant—a widow, too!—my opinion will weigh but little
with her. I suppose the truth is, she continued, severely,
"that she is afraid Mr Goring will not be able to devote so
much of his time and attention and tomfoolery to her now
his old friend is coming ? 
 I don't know about that, Frank replied, carelessly;  but
I shall just go and tell Charlie that you say it is to be done,
and leave her no further excuse for not doing it. Then he
returned to the library, and threw up his cap as he entered,
exclaiming,  The mother-in-law greeting! Mrs Walsh is to
be implored not to repose upon the frying-pans, but to honour
the poor abode of The Hurst with her presence till such time
as the cottage can be made comfortable. And Walter
Goring, as he saw Mrs Fellowes sit down to write her note,
had the uncomfortable feeling of one who fears that a great
fuss has been made about the obtaining of a boon, which the
one to be benefited may, perchance, refuse when it is offered.
 She may resent it as impertinent interference on Mrs Fel-
lowes' part, and blow me up to the sky about it, he thought;
"women are such rum animals, addicted so invariably to
being fierce in the wrong place. However, the deed was
done now; so he only thanked Charlie with great politeness
for her  prompt partizanship with himself, when the letter
was written and sent off to the station to meet Mrs Walsh
whenever it should please that fiery brand to arrive.
 And now, Charlie said, with the air of one who was
midway through a disagreeable task, and required refresh-
ment,  we '11 go into luncheon, if you please. They went
in accordingly, carrying Mr Goring along with them, which
Against the Grain.
205
extravagance caused Mrs Fellowes to refuse butter with her
cheese, and prefer beer to wine.  She must ask all the
neighbourhood to stay with her and to luncheon, arid her
husband on the very brink of ruin, the old lady cried pit-
eously to her daughter that afternooon.  I'm sure it makes
my blood run cold to hear her laughing and going on, and
Henry won't have a word said to her. Oh no! she's too
precious to hear the truth.
 She '11 hear it soon enough, Miss Dinah said, with a cer-
tain air of sublime satisfaction in poetical justice.
 Soon enough! Yes, when he can't keep it from her any
longer. His folly about her is past all bounds, and exceeds
belief. Mrs Travers said to me only yesterday, ' It exceeds
belief, Mrs Fellowes, I assure you—that it does.' 
There was something absolutely beautiful in Mrs Fellowes'
profound reliance on Mrs Travers' assurance that the folly
of the master of The Hurst in this matter  exceeded all be-
lief. The thing had been said, therefore it must be. The
word of her neighbour ranked next in order of indisputable-
ness and infallibility to the Word of God with Mrs Fellowes.
 If I could only see her sit down with her needle, or take
to doing something, no matter how little, about the house, I
should be better satisfied as to what will become of her,
Mrs Fellowes resumed solemnly. She was of that order of
mind which would have advised keeping the bed of the Atlantic
nice and dry by means of a bucket.
 Ah !  Miss Dinah replied sententiously,  it must be a
good needle to mend Brett's business; if it comes to the
worst she will have to do a little more than she bargained for
when she married my poor brother.
 The worst day's work he ever did, his mother struck in
pathetically. A stranger might have been forgiven for
imagining that Charlie had wrought all the evil—they up-
braided her so for having been brought into it.
 I shouldn't at all wonder if she wants to go back to her
own people, if they will have her, Miss Dinah remarked.
"Nor should I, if they '11 have her; but her brother-in-law
has a family, and cannot be expected to maintain other men's
wives. Ah! if Henry had married as I wished him to marry,
there would have been ready money enough to satisfy all de-
mands. There was Miss Hughes worshipped the ground he
206
Walter Goring.
trod upon, and Miss Walker would have jumped at him—
yes, jumped at him.
 You know you never let Henry look at either of them
twice, mother, Miss Dinah said, bluntly.
 Only because I didn't want him to marry without due
consideration; you see what the result of his going off and
relying on his own judgment entirely is? Mrs Fellowes
replied triumphantly.
 She didn't break the bank anyway, Miss Dinah replied,
stolidly. She was a good, hearty hater; she would dislike—
and show her dislike—without the shadow of a cause. But
she would not condescend to the meanness of getting up a
false cause of hatred. When her daughter said that, Mrs
Fellowes declared  that she knew herself to be only an old
woman, who had no business to speak, and that in future
she would never open her lips about anything after the
manner of ill-tempered, illogical old women who find them-
selves conversationally worsted.
Meanwhile Charlie and her brother and Mr Goring had
gone out for a walk, and the subject which the two men had
been discussing in the morning was once more broached.
Charlie said, rather deprecatingly, that she must either be the
exception to Frank's rule, or that she had no artistic feeling.
 I can write—I have ideas to express, and words at com-
mand to express them—but I can't draw a line, she said,
pathetically.
"Don't regret it, Mrs Fellowes; your brother and you will
work all the better for it. Bring all the talent of the family
to bear upon one work; you do the letterpress, and let him
illustrate it.
 A sort of ' Week on the Waters,' or ' Month on the
Mountains,' or ' Days in the Dales' business ?  Frank asked.
 Heaven forbid ! No, we have had enough gentlemanly
guide books for this generation. No; a serial story illustrated
ought to sell well, now that none of the giants are in the
field with one. Is the tale you have commenced sufficiently
elastic for the purpose, Mrs Fellowes ? 
 I am afraid not. It's the story of a childish love which
grows with their growth, and at last ripens into an engagement.
 Of course; but lengthen it by making him jilt her, or
her jilt him—its immaterial which, so long as one does it.
A Painful Meeting.
207
"She couldrit, with her character, Charlie replied sincerely;
"but he does jilt her, and then when Nemesis overtakes him
the story is over.
 Is it indeed ? The majority of jilted young ladies would
hardly thank you for taking that for granted, I'm thinking.
Well, hold Nemesis in with a tight hand for a time; reward
your hero for the evil he has done very gradually; violent
poetical justice rarely does overtake people in real life, you
know.
"Would it not he almost truer to nature to let them go
unpunished, as they do in real life very often ?  she asked.
 It might be good nature, but carried too far it would be
crude art. In real life we don't see the Nemesis that over-
takes our fellow sinners; but in a work of fiction the hell
that a man has made for himself should be painted; if the
sinner goes on smiling and seeming serene through nine hun-
dred pages 
 One naturally imbibes the idea that in the eyes of the
writer it's rather a fine thing to be a sinner, and it won't do
for you to give colour to that idea, young lady ; that is what
Mr Goring means, I think. At any rate I do, Frank said,
taking his sister's hand and drawing it through his arm;
"however, we will start the story the first spare day we have,
&nd I shall revise you thoroughly as you go along.
 I will be a more impartial critic ; let me undertake that
part of the affair, Walter Goring asked. So the three were
united in the work of the future.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A PAINFUL MEETING.
If it were stated that Daisy got on well with the Osbornes,
the statement would not stand investigation. She stayed
with them ; she slept under the same roof with them, and
partook of viands with them, and sat in the same pew on
Sundays with them. But for all this similarity of pursuit
she did not get on well with them.
208
Walter Goring.
She was too old and too perverse for the place. Mrs
Osborne would have been angelically good and kind to her
had she accepted the goodness and kindness in a feeling
spirit; hut this she could not do. Mrs Osborne wanted to
order her outgoings and incomings—or at least to appear to
order them—and even against so much exercise of the autho-
rity which Walter had vested in the lady of the house Daisy
girded.  It isn't that I suspect you of going anywhere, or
seeing any one where you shouldn't go and whom you shouldn't
see, the duenna would urge; to which Daisy would reply,—
 And it is not that I want to go anywhere or see any one
in particular, but I hate to be suspected. My guardian said
I wasn't a prisoner, and I won't be treated as though I were
one.
She was in truth a wayward young lady, an awful charge,
an odious responsibility. Mrs Osborne would have suffered
much to be well and decently rid of her. Miss Daisy was
the heaviest cross a limited income had yet laid upon that
estimable woman.  When Miss Goring had been under my
roof for a whole month, I knew no more about her than 1
did the day she came, the matron lady would say to inquir-
ing friends in after-days, when Daisy Goring was of the past.
Not that Daisy maintained a cold or even an apparently re-
served demeanour with Mrs Osborne. On the contrary, the
young lady, for the first eight weeks of her residence in the
detached villa, was remarkably loquacious and lively. It is
true, however, that her loquacity and liveliness never led her
on to say a word which Mrs Osborne could use as evidence
of her charge's antecedents and family history.
Her education did not progress very rapidly, nor did the
desire to emulate Miss Osborne possess her in the slightest
degree. It was in vain that the fond mother strove to make
maternal vanity serve a good end by perpetually citing
Alice's achievements to Daisy. Daisy would listen to the
well-meant vaunts with careless civility, and graciously ob-
serve, when they were concluded, that  Alice certainly had
a wonderful power of plodding. So far, however, from
being excited to parallel plodding herself, she refused the
singing lessons which Mrs Osborne put in her path, saying,
that the lady whom they used as an instrument  had a bad
method.  A bad method ! when she gives the first lessons
A Painful Meeting.
209
in tlie neighbourhood, Mrs Osborne said in indignant com-
ment;  such a self-sufficient young lady as Miss Goring it
has never been my fate to meet.
Nor was there much sympathy between Daisy and her
companion Alice Osborne. The latter had suffered herself to
be dazzled, and, as it were, put in an inferior position from
the very first. Daisy's gift of seeming had imposed upon the
substantial mind that believed honestly that to do anything
well one must understand it thoroughly. Alice Osborne was
good and sound and true herself; therefore when Daisy
talked bright nonsense, she dazzled the girl, who had yet to
learn that the language of exaggeration covereth a multitude
of ignorances very often.
Having lived a simple, solitary life with her mother from
her infancy, Alice was rather inclined to sentimentalism—
sentimentalism of the safer sort, be it understood, of the
Helen and Hermia order. But when she proposed this alii-
ance to Daisy, Daisy derided, the idea.  How delightful it
will be for us to read and work together in the garden,
Alice said. "Mamma has given me 'Wordsworth' for my
birthday this year, and last year she gave me ' Cowper;'
we'll go through them together.
 Isn't Cowper the man who hopped about his room with
hares ?  Daisy asked.
 Oh, lovely lines he wrote to them.
 I daresay he did; but I don't care to read them, you
see, Daisy replied frankly, and Alice felt herself rebuffed.
Day after day, as Miss Goring's own riding-horse and
groom came round to the villa, did Mrs Osborne persistently
remark,  It's a pity Alice isn't going with you,—so much,
pleasanter for you than going alone; but it's too late to send
for a horse for her to-day; and Daisy as persistently re-
plied,  I assure you I don't at all mind riding alone. It
had been an understood thing before Walter left that com-
panionship in her rides was never to be forced upon Miss
Goring; but Mrs Osborne was determined that her charge
should be given every chance of coming round gracefully into
a proper state of mind on the matter.
Judging from the time she stayed out, Miss Goring must
have ridden long distances; she always brought her horse
home in a lather too; it was certain, therefore, that the time
o
210
Walter Goring.
had not been spent in quiet riding. The trusty groom, when
questioned on this subject, as he was sometimes by the house-
maid while he was waiting for his young mistress at the door,
was frank and disarming to a degree.  Where ? Why, all
over them downs, at a splitting pace. I never saw a young
lady so fond of hard riding in my life.
 And always alone too ?  the housemaid would say sug-
gestively, to which proposition the trusty groom would give
a prompt and intelligent assent.  Yes, always alone; it 'a
my belief she couldn't hold that chestnut in if any one rode
with her. It was evident, on indisputable authority, that
Daisy was justified in preferring to take her eager steed out
by herself.
The £1000 which she had asked her cousin Walter to let
her have, and not to question her about, had been placed to
her account at a Brighton bank. The day after it had been
paid in, she drew out £400 of it, made the notes up into a
square packet, on which she wrote,  With Daisy's love, and
directed them to—
 Mrs Fitzgibbon,
 Clare Cottage,
 Brompton Lane, W.
This packet she registered and posted herself, and that
night she awoke from a dream of a fair, sad-looking woman,
like herself, but much older and prettier, kissing and blessing
her. She awoke from this dream, sobbing and crying,  Mo-
ther, mother! There was no sign, save the post-mark, given
of Daisy's own place of abode on that packet of wealth; con-
sequently, Mrs Fitzgibbon, of Clare Cottage, never acknow-
ledged the receipt of it.
She wrote to, and heard from her guardian regularly about
once a fortnight, and as she did not hold a fluent pen, this
was the most serious occupation of her life. The false starts
she made were a caution to Mrs Osborne not to leave too
many quires of note-paper about, as Daisy had a habit of
commencing "Dear Cousin Walter on eight or nine sheets
before she could determine within herself what to say next.
These sheets Mrs Osborne had more than once taken up, and
written state effusions on the fair portion of them to the
finest of her friends, oblivious of the fact of Miss Daisy's
failure on the other side, Letter-writing was clearly not a
A Painful Meeting.
211
speciality of Miss Goring, or else she imagined that Waller
would be far more critical about her performances than he
was in reality. Utter prostration of spirit was sure to be her
portion when the day came round for her Goring Place letter,
and she would gnash the teeth of her soul at Mrs Osborne,
when that lady kindly reminded her of the fact, as she rarely
failed to do at breakfast. The sole comfort she had under
the infliction was, that Walter wrote her such short letters
that he couldn't possibly expect long ones from her in re-
turn.
One day she was surprised—it almost appeared, indeed, as
if she was horribly startled—by a visit from Mary Levinge.
She was up in her own room when the lady's name was an-
nounced to her, and in her first excitement she condescended
to seek aid from the gentle and systematically-repulsed Alice.
 Tell Miss Osborne I want her, she said to the servant who
had told her of Miss Levinge's arrival. Then she followed
the servant out on to the landing, and corrected herself
meekly:  Ask Miss Osborne if she will be kind enough to
come to me, I mean.
Alice went to her at once, and found her with her yellow
hair hanging loosely over her shoulders; her face was
flushed, and her eyes sparkling, and she altogether looking
very pretty.  Isn 't it unfortunate, she began quickly, as
Alice came into the room,  the first time a visitor comes for
me, I'm not ready to see her. Will you go down—and—
and do the pretty and polite to her, and then let me know
what she wants ? 
Alice was amiable, accommodating and meek, but she was
also conscientious; she was in the middle of an Italian lesson,
and she felt that neither her master's time nor her mother's
money might be wasted. Her future was chalked out for
her. She was being  educated for a governess.
 I can't, dear. I am only half through my lesson, and
Mr Gatti must go in ten minutes; you can always do your
hair in half a minute, you know ! 
 Very well; don't trouble yourself and waste your time in
giving me advice, Daisy replied, sharply. Then as Alice
left the room, Daisy sat down before the glass, and put her
yellow locks up with trembling fingers. The tears rushed
up into her eyes too, and her lips quivered visibly.  What
212
Walter Goring.
a fool I am, she cried angrily, at last, struggling to compose
herself, but she did not succeed very well. Her face was
piteous to behold, from its mingled expression of nervousness
and anxiety, when she finally presented herself before Miss
Levinge.
That lady's back was towards the door when Daisy en-
tered. Miss Levinge was standing before a Parian cast of
Ariadne on her panther, surveying it critically. She turned
round, smiling heartily when she heard the door open, and
greeted Daisy with outstretched hand, and the words,—
 Are you very much astonished to see me ? 
The smile had completely reassured Daisy ; in a moment
she regained her self-possession; the old look of almost im-
pertinent indifference overspread her face, and banished the
anxious expression of an instant before, as she answered,—
 Yes ; rather. I thought you were in Rome.
 No; we were prevented going when we had intended in
October, so now we mean to wait till after Christmas. My
mother and I return alone; and I tell you what, Daisy"—
she rose, and placed her arm on Daisy's arm as she spoke—
 I wish you would go there with us for a time : it would be
a new life for you ; you would like it.
Daisy drew a deep breath.
 Go to Rome with you!—why ? 
 Why; because I think you would be happy with us;
and the change would do you good. Mary Levinge slightly
tightened her clasp on Daisy's arm as she spoke, and Daisy
blushed a little; then she laughed her bird-like laugh and
shook her head.
 I don't know what my guardian would say to this plan ;
and I don't want to be done good to. But you are very kind
—very kind indeed—to have thought of me.
She got up as she spoke, and put her arms suddenly
round Miss Levinge's neck, and her lips on Miss Levinge's
cheek. It was a sudden impulse with her, and when she had
done it she drew back half abashed.
"We often think of you, dear Daisy, Mary Levinge said,
heartily;  are you sure that a change wouldn't be good for
you—are you quite sure that you are well and happy ? 
She asked the question in a peculiarly impressive tone;
and once more Daisy blushed as she replied,—
A Painful Meetmg.
213
"Yes; quite sure.1*
 As to what your guardian would say to the plan I pro-
pose, Mary Levinge went on,  I am quite sure that Walter
Goring would consent to it, and think it a good one. I have
not said anything to him yet, because I wanted to know if
you would like it yourself. I wish you would like it, Daisy ? 
Daisy moved restlessly in her chair.
 I think it so kind of you, she said earnestly— you
don't know how kind I think it of you; it seems ungrateful
to say that I shouldn't like it, hut I don't think I should,
really. What should I do there ? 
 Do ?—do the same and better things there than you do
here, Daisy; for example, get more correct notions as to
beauty and art than you will gain from that rubbish, for
instance, and she nodded her head as she spoke towards
Ariadne.
 They would be no use to me if I got them. How's your
sister ? 
 She is very well, she is going to be married; that is the
reason we stayed in England so long, and that my mother
and I go home alone. She's going to be married to a young
clergyman—just fancy it! You don't inquire for Laurence ? 
 How is he ? I was going to ask, Daisy said hurriedly.
 He's as well as an idle man with little to live upon can
be, Mary Levinge replied slowly;  and he's as happy as a
man whose great aim in life is heiress-hunting deserves to be.
Thank God, child, that he is not your brother, and that you
need not have anything to do with him.
It was not a sisterly speech. Mary Levinge must have
had strong reasons indeed for uttering it. The girl she ad-
dressed thought her hard, cruel, hatefully unjust; but she
was none of these things. She only strove to save.
 Are you going to Goring Place again before you leave
England ?  Daisy asked, abruptly turning the conversation.
 I am afraid that we shall have no time; the fact is, Sybil
is so absorbed in her love's young dream, that she leaves all
the arrangements for her marriage entirely in our hands;
you know that Mrs V/alsh has gone to live in Deneham?
 Gone down to marry Walter, I believe. Daisy laughed;
then she added warmly, "Well, he is a darling fellow, and
he deserves the best and most beautiful wife in the world.
214
Walter Goring.
While she was saying this, Mrs Osborne sailed in, and
asked Miss Goring's guest to stay to luncheon. Mary Le-
vinge remained for an hour or two longer, but though she
put the Roman plan as pleasantly as she could before Daisy
several times, Daisy persisted in utterly negativing it, and
Mary Levinge departed at last, baffled in her good intent.
"I warned Walter, and I have tried to put him on his
guard as well as I could, she thought with a sigh, as she
drove away to the station;  but while I have nothing but
vague suspicions, and my knowledge of Laurence to act upon,
I can do nothing.
During the next few weeks after Miss Levinge's visit, Daisy
was unprecedently acquiescent in all the Osborne arrange-
ments. She took gentle exercise on the pier with the mother
and daughter from twelve till one daily. She wearied her
brains under Mr Gatti's auspices. She herself made honour-
able mention of a certain little black mare named ' Ada'
which was reported to carry a lady admirably, and which
the chestnut had fraternised with to such a degree in the
stable, that Daisy thought Miss Osborne might accompany
her in her rides with safety, not to say pleasure. She made
herself agreeable according to her lights in fact, and seemed
to be trying to forget something and live in the passing hours
alone.
But this sunny period was not destined to last. One chill
clear morning the horses and the Italian master were simul-
taneously announced. Alice could not go out with Daisy, so
Daisy went out alone.
She seemed to be tired of exploring the Sussex downs and
lanes. She rode for a couple of miles or so inland this morn-
ing, and then she came back and cantered slowly up and
down the parade for a time. Cantered up and down in an
obviously purposeless way. There was no pleasure to her in
riding in this place, and she knew none of the people.
Presently she brought the mare up sharply, and seemed to
the observant eyes of the trusty groom to reel in her saddle.
The garish nature-forsaken landscape, and the glaring sea-
view seemed to quiver and rock before her eyes as she drew
rein for an instant in tender hope, and slackened it the next
in terrible humiliation.
At about the distance of five yards from her a little group
A Painful Meeting.
215
were pausing to listen to the strains of a German band.
The group consisted of a sickly, sad, pretty looking woman
in a bath chair, a middle-aged gentleman, and a young girl
of fourteen. The lady, when Daisy caught sight of her first,
was leaning her pretty wasted cheek on her hand, and look-
ing away into vacancy ; the gentleman was bending over the
side of her chair, speaking to her apparently as though he
desired to arouse her interest.
Presently the invalid looked up and-saw the young girl on
the chestnut horse on the outside of the railings. Daisy was
leaning slightly forward, with a wofully piteous, wildly loving
look in her eyes. She had drawn her reins tightly by this
time, and the fine-mouthed horse was settling back on its
haunches in a way that would have done no discredit to the
steed of a circus-queen, and his rider was leaning forward,
looking, with all her heart in her eyes, at the little group I
have described.
Instantly the gentleman looked round, following the direc-
tion that the invalid lady's eyes took, and his glance fell on
the young equestrian. He looked coldly at her, past her,
through her, as it seemed to her, and she heard him say to
the chairman— Go home at once. Then the chair was
pushed on ; the little group was gone, and Daisy was left
alone to quiet the horse whose mouth she had so sorely
worried for nothing.
There was no word spoken by any member of that little
group until they reached their hotel. Then, when the lady
had been sedulously helped up to her own room by her hus-
band, he began,—
"Was this the reason of your anxiety to come to Brighton,
Marguerite ? 
"Don't be so hard when you see how ill I am, she
answered, piteously. She looked such a frail, delicate woman
as she sat there trembling in a chair at the foot of the bed,
against which she seemed striving to steady herself.
 Why try to put yourself in the way of meeting her when
you know my resolution ? Why pain yourself and insult
me ? 
He was not the style of man whose appearance would
command respect for any resolution he might issue. A
flabby loose-looking man, with watery heavy blue eyes, he
216 Walter Goring.
was one whom the superficial observer might imagine could
be moulded easily. But his wife was no superficial observer;
she knew his inflexibility of purpose only too well.
"You took the money she sent, my poor girl! she
said, shivering as she spoke.  I thought after that if I did
chance to meet her alone you would have let me.
She stopped and began to sob, covering her face with her
hands, like the poor broken creature she was.
Her husband gave vent to an impatient exclamation, and
commenced walking up and down the room; suddenly he
paused right in front of her.
 The money was taken for your comfort, Marguerite; be
just to me; remember that never a penny of it have I spent
on myself!
She moved her hand towards him deprecatingly, and her
sob almost swelled into a wail as he went on.
 I forgave the deception you practised on me for fifteen
years in calling your daughter your niece ; when the ghastly
truth came out, I asked you to choose between our poor
little children and myself, and that child of sin and
shame 
 Don't! she gasped, feeblv.
 What ? 
 Don't say any more now. It had been her bane and
weakness through all her life that she would put things off.
She shrank from saying or hearing hard truths, the poor
irresolute unhappy creature. Bespited for an hour, she would
take a full pleasure in life, and almost forget. So now she
pleaded with lip and eye, and imploring gesture of the hand,
that he would say  nothing more just now.
She had been such a pretty woman, this poor mother of
Daisy's. Even now her little delicate-featured face and soft
blue eyes, and pale brown hair, were almost lovely when she
was not frightened, in spite of those years of secret suffering
and remorse, and the last few months of open shame.
She was the first to speak after she had asked him to give
her quarter ; he had ceased from his reproaches with a little
grunt, for he knew well that if he continued them she would
speedily bring her heart complaint to bear upon him, and
then some strange doctor would be called in, and the eternal
caution,  My dear sir, you must take care that Mrs Fitz-
Hostess and Guest.
217
gibbon is not agitated,'' would be poured into bis ears. So
wben be saw tbe preliminary signs, he ceased from bis re-
proacbes with an ill-used grunt. Presently she resumed.
 And as for forgiving, you 're always telling me of it.
 Perhaps we had better not go into tbe subject again, Mar-
guerite/' be said, temperately. She thought she bad gained
a slight vantage, and that it would be well to pursue it.
 And it's scarcely manly of you, considering that I threw
myself upon your mercy, and 
He cut the sentence short by going out and slamming the
door, and when her nerves recovered the shock, she languidly
put off her bonnet and shawl, and knelt down crying wearily,
and praying wildly for Daisy and—for death.
At the same hour Daisy, locked in her own room at Mrs
Osborne's, was packing up a few of'her clothes and trinkets,
labouring away at her task with hands that were too tremu-
lous to do very efficient work. She scarcely saw the thing?
that were before her, her eyes were burning so fiercely with
the hot tears which she would not let fall as she recalled
every line of the face and figure, worn thin by suffering long
and harsh, which she had seen on the parade. And her
heart meanwhile ached horribly with pity for the mother
whom she loved the more for their mutual wrong.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
hostess and guest.
The new tenant of the Brook-Green Cottage had arrived. At
first when she read Mrs Fellowes' note of invitation, which
was awaiting her at the station, she said,  Very civil of her;
but I shall prefer going to my own house at once. But
presently she grew more acquiescent to the scheme, for Mr
Goring—who had been careful to meet her also—backed
Charlie's note very judiciously.
 I wouldn't say a word in favour of your going there or
anywhere else where you didn't care to go, he said ;  but
just now there's a cloud over The Hurst. Then he told
her what the cloud was, and described the state of the
218
Walter Goring.
cottage; and she looked and felt very sorry. Like a true
woman, however, she would not even give Charlie full credit
for all the misery that might possibly come upon her. The
same feeling which prompted Cleopatra to ask of Antony,
 Can Fulvia die ?  made Mrs Walsh say,—
 Her brother-in-law—that odious man with the mile of
upper lip—is a clever lawyer enough. Probably he looked
after her settlements. Then she took Walter's arm, and
walked away to the carriage, which he had waiting for her.
 It all goes, I fear—he had settled so many shares upon
her, he answered, as he handed her in. Then he took off
his hat, and she found that he was not going to accompany
her. She leant forward hastily, as he closed the door,—
 Walter ! you are coming with me ? 
 To-night—after your journey! (it was about eight
o'clock). "You will be too tired to care for more than the
family circle. By the way, collect your impressions of old Mrs
Fellowes and Miss Dinah, and give them to me to-morrow.
"A resident mother and sister-in-law too! Poor girl!
how very uncomfortable she must have been as Miss St John
it makes one think ! Well, if you won't come, Mr Goring,
tell him to take me to this place, wherever it may be. Then
she drew back her face encircled with the widow's bonnet-cap,
and Walter gave the word for her to be driven to The Hurst.
The whole family, with the exception of Frank, were
drawn up in the drawing-room to receive her. Frank had
declined to make one of them on the occasion.  I would
rather first dawn upon her dazzled vision at the breakfast-
table in my fresh bloom, he said, in reply to his sister's re-
quest that he  would be there and make himself agreeable.
The fact is, Frank had no very clear notions respecting Mrs
Walsh. He knew that this meeting would be the first that
had taken place between Mrs Walsh and Charlie since the
death of the former's husband. It occurred to him, as being
within the bounds of possibility, that Mrs Walsh might cry,
or, at least, look bereft. Therefore he determined on keep
ing out of the way until the earlier emotion had subsided.
Moreover, he was engaged upon a very pleasant and con-
genial task, and he had just got into the fling of it, as it
were. This was none other than a poem in heroic measure,
enlivened by comic drawings, illustrative of the respective
Hostess and Guest.
219
careers of Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah. He had just
arrived at that part of it where Mrs Fellowes first discovered
herself to he the mother of a marriageable son. The stern
rectitude expressed in her little shawl, and the maternal
solicitude in her face, as the daughters of the land approached
him immediately after the discovery,  deserved careful study,
and an evening's uninterrupted work, he declared. Accord-
ingly, he had retired to the library, where he sat happily,
smoking and drawing, and occasionally singing short scraps
of song, or whistling favourite melodies, leaving Charlie to
face her guest alone.
For Charlie was terribly alone when left with the Fel-
loweses—every one of them—in these days. Her husband,
oppressed with anxiety for her principally, was more gloomy
and depressed when with her alone than he was with any one
else. He lived in constant dread of her questioning him as
to the cause of this change, and yet he could not, for the life
of him, be as he had been of yore. Truth to tell, Charlie
gave very little thought to the matter. She felt that there
was a change in her husband, hut she had no desire to
analyse the cause of it, and no particular sorrow in its con-
tinuance. That feeling of having made a terrible bungle of
the threads of her life was still her paramount one ; and she
lacked the heart—and the motive—to strive to unravel those
threads just yet.
Eegularly at intervals of about ten minutes from the mo-
ment the clock struck seven this evening, poor Charlie had
to listen to ejaculations of surprise from either Mrs Fellowes
or Miss Dinah as to the non-appearance of the guest. It
was useless reminding them that there would not be another
down-train till eight. They chose to believe that Mrs
Walsh had arrived at some earlier hour, and was walking
about in the wet, or sitting on the railway platform, for the
sake of keeping them expectant.
"Ah! it's always the way, the old lady observed: "you
go and interfere in what doesn't concern you, and this is the
return you get I
 It does show one the folly of running after strangers !
Miss Dinah said, decisively.
"Especially strangers who have shown beforehand that
they don't at all regard the usages of society.
220
Walter Goring,
"I call it using the house as if it were an hotel. It's like
saying, ' I shall come in when I like, and I don't care whether
you sit up for me, or not.'
 Such impertinence! 'tis exactly like it! I shouldn't
wonder when she does come, if she brings her Mr Goring
with her, and the two sit up and carouse ! 
Charlie had merely marked her observance of this conver-
sation by moving from a chair to a sofa, lying down upon
the latter restlessly for a minute, and then getting up again,
and resuming her chair. But when Mrs Fellowes culminated
in the last remark, Charlie laughed. She checked herself al-
most immediately, saying, as they both looked angrily at her,—
 I really beg your pardon, Mrs Fellowes. But there was
something so funny in the notion that I couldn't help 
She stopped, and laughed again, as she thought how Frank
would enjoy it when she told him.
 Funny!  Mrs Fellowes ejaculated, in holy horror—
 Something so funny in a widow, whose poor dear husband
is hardly cold in his grave, putting a whole household out in
this way, and making herself town-talk with a young man !
 She hasn't done it yet, remember, mother!  Miss Dinah
put in;  and Mrs Henry only meant that your idea was
funny—not that Mrs Walsh's doing it would be so.
 I wish to Heaven she had not been asked, if there is
going to be all this fuss about it, Henry Fellowes exclaimed,
suddenly. Those about him had imagined that he had been
giving no heed to the conversation—that he had not' been
listening; but he had, and loathing it all as men do loathe
the puerile in presence of a painful reality.
Charlie went over, and knelt down, leaning on the arm of
her husband's chair, when he brought himself into the con-
versation in this way. She bent her head towards him—
it was not nearly so much like a boy's as when he had married
her, and said,—
 I wish it, too, dear; but let us make the best of things,
Harry.
He put one hand down upon her wavy curls, and with the
other turned her face up towards him. He looked at her
long and earnestly, and it seemed to him that there was so
much in her face to which he had no clue. Her bright fit-
ful glances, the ever-varying expression of her mouth, the
Hostess and Guest.
221
ehade on her forehead, which deepened or decreased each mo-
ment —all these were so many sealed hooks to him ; and half
unconsciously he recognised them to be so. An undefined
jealous dread of some one reading them and understanding
them while he still stayed in the dark, seized him, and he re-
leased his hold of her with an abruptness that almost seemed
to tell her to stand off.
"What is it, Harry? she asked, anxiously, clasping her
arms over his knees, and leaning upon him with an air of
reliance that was the offspring of the mute appeal against his
dawning doubt; and he replied:—
 I don't know ; get up ; don't be foolish, Charlie; get up;
I hear wheels.
She sprang to her feet on the instant, and she vowed, while
doing so, that never in that way would she be foolish again.
Mrs Walsh was announced almost immediately. She came
in stately and collected as usual, but with an uncomfortable
feeling in her inner self, composed of the half suspicion she
had that Charlie did not like her, and the half certainty that
she did not like Charlie. The knowledge that evil days were
coming upon young Mrs Fellowes was the salvation of that
meeting between the two ladies. Had it not been for that,
and the womanly pity it engendered in her heart, Mrs Walsh
would have been uncommonly disagreeable in her frigid beauty.
As it was, she almost thawed to Charlie, and so caused that
impressionable being to feel very much ashamed of herself
for that she had not been better inclined towards her guest.
Mrs Walsh spared Charlie all trouble in the matter of in-
troduction. After shaking hands with her young hostess,
who was striving hard to say something civil, and failing by
reason of some old memories surging up, Mrs Walsh held out
her hand to Mr Fellowes with the words,—
"We will dispense with any formal introduction, will we
not ? And there was a cordial tone about these words,
and such a gracious smile accompanied them, that Henry
Fellowes thought:  Call that woman stupid or cold ! she's
the most charming creature I ever met. There was a name-
less something in her manner that made him feel that she
had heard—and that she believed all manner of good things
—of him ; and his was such a thorough honest, kindly
nature, that it gloried and rejoiced exceedingly in being
222
Walter Gorhig.
thought well of by every one—not from vanity this, be it
understood, but because it was bis nature to like and think
well of every one, and he craved some small return in kind.
 Mrs and Miss Fellowes I know by sight already, Mrs
"Walsh continued, shaking hands with them in rapid succes-
sion almost as she named them.  I used to see you at Dene-
ham Church when I was staying at Goring Place.
"Yes, I believe you were there once, Miss Dinah said,
looking steadily at the guest
"And that was when I saw you, Mrs Walsh replied
affably. Then she turned to Charlie and said,—
 How more than good of you to take me in, Mrs Fellowes.
Mr Goring tells me that there is not a decent hotel in the
place ; what should I have done to-night had it not been for
your consideration ? for they have been shamefully lazy at
the cottage—there's nothing in order.'
 So she has seen him already, Charlie thought.  He
never said a word about going to meet her to-night.
Old Mrs Fellowes replied aloud to Mrs Walsh's remark.
 There are two most respectable inns in Deneham—hotels I
believe are not often found in small country places, but the
Red Lion is kept by an old servant of my own, who's so
honest that you might leave untold gold about and he'd
never touch it, and so clean that you might eat off his floors.
 Being neither a Croesus nor a pig, Mrs Walsh was about
to say; but she checked herself, and Charlie asked her if she
 wouldn't like to go to her own room ?  When they were
gone away together, Mrs Fellowes, senior, commenced,—
 I wonder whether she wears widows' caps with decent
close borders, or only one of those fly-away things with a
point on the forehead ? 
 I wonder whether she wears one at all, in the house,
Miss Dinah replied.  I have my doubts ; did you see that
she had a seal-skin jacket on, mother ? 
Mrs Fellowes smiled and elevated her eyebrows.  I saw,
she said;  that's what men who go and marry fine ladies
may expect.
 Why, she was all in black, mother, Henry Fellowes in-
terposed;  uncommonly fine woman she is, to be sure.
 Oh ! uncommonly fine, and she knows it, Mrs Fellowes
replied with solemn emphasis, as though there were some-
Hostess and Guest.
223
thing dark and dangerous in such knowledge,— pretty man-
ners, too!
 Her manners are much, like Mrs Henry's, I think,
Dinah said; and there was a wealth of sisterly kindness in
the saying, considering what had gone before.
"Very like indeed, Mrs Fellowes replied. "What is
the day of the month,—the 20th, isn't it ? 
"Yes, the 20th of December, Henry Fellowes said cheer-
fully; on the whole he was glad that the tone of the conver-
sation was about to he changed as he thought.
"Yes—20th of December, Mrs Fellowes resumed; "and
take my word for it, that before the 20th of May she will
have married that young man at G oring Place; she '11 never
be content with a poor dear husband in his grave, not she;
she hasn't the look nor the manners to be it.
Meanwhile Charlie had accompanied her visitor to the
state, ihat is, the most sepulchral, chamber, and while they
were waiting for Mrs Walsh's maid to make her appearance,
the two ladies interchanged a few detective civilities.
"It's rather a dismal old house this, isn't it? Charlie
began.  I think you will find it rather a dismal neighbour-
hood too, unless you have some very intimate friends near
here.
Mrs Walsh removed her bonnet, and raised a pair of
candles aloft, in order to see her hair the better before she
answered.
 It's the want of gas makes it seem dark to us. Intimate
friends ? No—only Mr Goring. Do you see much of him ?
"Yes—no—that is, not half so much as I could wish,
Charlie replied;  if there was a lady at Goring Place—if he
only does marry his pretty cousin, we should be something
like neighbours I think.
 For your sake then, I can only hope that that remark-
ably auspicious event may come off, Mrs Walsh replied,
calmly completing her survey of her hair, and not disfigur-
ing it according as old Mrs Fellowes had hoped. Then she
turned and looked at Charlie, thinking,  It is evident that
she knows nothing of this banking business, poor thing, or
she could not speak about what may occur in that way.
As she stood looking down at Charlie, the latter suddenly
glanced up and met her eyes.
224
Walter Goring.
"What were you thinking just then, Mrs Walsh? she
asked abruptly.
 Of you.
"And I of you, or at least of that evening when we met
last.
 That evening when you first met Mr Goring, do you
mean? Mrs Walsh interrupted.
"Yes, Charlie answered; and then she thought to her-
self,  Mrs Walsh, will imagine that fact is rather too strongly
impressed upon me unless I tell her my reasons for thinking
about it, so she added:  I always recall that evening
pleasantly, because an idea was put into my head then which
I hope to turn to good account in the future. I have always
wished to write, and Mr Goring says it won't be very idiotic
of me to try.
 That's immensely encouraging on Mr Goring's part,
Mrs Walsh replied, laughing. "Well, I can only say that
I have been thrown in the way of hearing a good deal about
literary life, and therefore I tell you as a friend, that a
woman had better avoid it. If you succeed, you have a
dangerous pre-eminence; if you fail, so many are mortified
for you and through you,—mortified as one never can be
about a man.
Charlie winced by way of reply, and Mrs Walsh, went on :
 I see you don't quite like and don't quite believe what I
am saying; in direct contradiction to Mr Goring's advice,
too, how can I hope that mine will be taken ? But I know
that I am right in saying to a woman, Eschew that path if
you would not drink of the waters of bitterness ; and when
once you have smarted under the lash of public criticism you
will know that I am right. Walter Goring is no friend to
you in urging you on to this, and I shall tell him so. Mrs
Walsh spoke quite warmly for Mrs Walsh. She had no in-
tention of suffering Mrs Fellowes to come nearer to Walter
Goring through that strange sympathy which fellow-craftship
engenders, than she herself stood.
Charlie laughed.  I'm ashamed to say that I'm wafted
about with every wind of doctrine.—a proof that my heart is
not in anything I undertake, I suppose; you have quite
crushed the dawning ambition ; now, will you come down
.and have some supper?
A Walk to the Cottage.
225
That night, before she went to bed, Mrs Fellowes, with
the stealthy step of a thief, made her way into the library
and tore her first story into very minute scraps. She did it
with many a sigh and many a pang, for indeed she had
thought the very best things that could have been thought
of that, her earliest literary labour. But she supported and
strengthened herself by the thought,  She shall never have
the satisfaction of laughing at me with him, and of saying,
' I told you so.'
She felt very much as if she had been cutting the throats
of some near relatives or dear friends as she crept up to bed.
When she reached her room, this giving up of her aim
seemed to her like the abnegation of the only interest in life
which could enable her to support through long years the
eternal presence of Mrs Fellowes, the little shawl, and Miss
Dinah. By the time she was ready to lay her head on the
pillow, she had determined that in future she would not
make much ado about nothing, but that she would write and
publish under a feigned name, and win much money and
more fame, and—here her ideas became confused by the ap-
proach of slumber.
CHAPTER XXIX.
a walk to the cottage.
Walter Goring was over at the Hurst the following morn-
ing before the Felloweses had finished breakfast. Mrs Walsh
had not made her appearance yet, and for once Charlie's
opinion coincided with the opinions of her mother-in-law
and Miss Dinah—that is to say, she felt glad that Mr Goring
should be disappointed, and considered his haste to see his
beautiful widow friend almost indecent, and decidedly absurd.
 I came over early, he explained, looking almost foolish as
he offered the explanation,  because I thought that perhaps
Mrs Walsh and you would walk or drive out, or something
of the sort, this morning, and I was afraid I should miss you.
"I don't know what Mrs Walsh will want to do yet,
Charlie replied;  if she's going to the cottage, I think I
p
Walter Goring.
shall leave her in your charge, Mr Goring; I'm not very
fond of standing about in damp unfurnished houses.
"You didn't seem to mind it the first time you went to
the cottage, Miss Dinah remarked, considerately.
"It was a hard frost that day, Henry Fellowes said,
rather touchily;  of course she didn't mind the damp when
there was no damp to mind, Dinah.
"Charlie embodies the idea of progress, to my mind,
Frank put in, partly for the sake of soothing Miss Dinah,
who was palpably ruffled by her brother's rebuke, and partly
for the sake of doing away with the personal nature of the
conversation by introducing an abstract proposition,—"she
is always ready to let go an old liking, or old belief, or an
old opinion for a new and a better one; are you not, Char-
lie ? 
 Am I really ? I didn't know I was so enlightened ; but,
as brothers are not generally addicted to flattering their sis-
ters fulsomely, I will think you mean it, Frank.
"Well, old Mrs Fellowes interposed, "in my young days
we should not have thought it a compliment to be told that
we were always ready to let go our old likings and old be-
liefs.
 Probably you all started with better ones, Frank replied.
 I'm sure you did, for instance.
 I only know that things are done, and defended now that
we should have shuddered at when I was young; but then
I'm old, and had better hold my tongue. Mrs Travers was
saying only yesterday, ' Call this a high state of civilisation,
talk of this as an enlightened and advanced age; it would be
well, I'm sure, for one's morals if we could go back a few
centuries.
"I would skip the Commonwealth, and pull up in the
second Charles's time, if I had the management of the retro-
grade movement, Frank said;  and then I would be a
courtier, and partake of those pure delights which Mrs Travers
so much regrets.
 I think I would go farther back, and be one of the
Queen's Maries, before Darnley made things disagreeable,
Charlie added,
 One of the Queen's Maries ! Surely, under the delight-
fill circumstances of freedom of choice which we are imagin-
A Walk to the Cottage. 227
ing, you would be the Queen herself, Mrs Fellowes ? Walter
Goring said, rising from his chair as he spoke, and seating
himself on a low ottoman that was near to Charlie.
 Of course she would, with the absolute command over
the music and melodies of both Rizzio and Chastelard,
Frank was saying, when the door opened, and Mrs Walsh
came in, and marked the scene, and remembered clearly a
day when Walter Goring had so bowed over her hand as to
suggest a scene from Scottish history—the sweetest and most
sentimental portion of it—to her husband, when she had
been sketched for Mary Stuart, and Walter Goring for Chas-
telard.
"I am glad you have come down, Mrs Walsh, Mr Fel-
lowes said, when they had all greeted her;  they are talking
the greatest nonsense.
Mrs Walsh looked at them indifferently.  They must
return to sense then, now that I have come, for I want some
very practical information. Which is the last train that I
can return to town by to-day ? 
"Return to town! they all exclaimed. "Yes, she said,
coolly;  I have only come down to store my household goods
and settle my two old servants in the cottage. I must have
some place for them, poor things; but for my own part, I
shall not settle anywhere for a year or two.
 Isn't this rather a sudden resolution ?  Walter Goring
asked; and for the life of him he could not help infusing a
shade of reproach into his tone. He wanted Mrs Walsh to
believe that this announcement of a change in what he had
thought to be her fixed intention was a disappointing thing
to him—as disappointing as those Dead-Sea fruits which
tempt the eye and turn to ashes on the lips.
"No, she replied, quietly; "why should you think it so?
I always avoid explaining my intentions far ahead—it makes
so much talk, and gives so much trouble.
She spoke with a great air of veracity; in a cool sort of
matter-of-course way that deceived every one of them—save
Charlie. But Charlie read the riddle aright, and knew as
well as Mrs Walsh did that the resolution to go away at once
was born in that moment of opening the door and coming
upon the scene which has been described. Charlie had
marked a momentary shade of trouble on the proud, beauti-
223
Walter Goring;
ful face of her guest, and she thought,  She's fearful of get-
ting fond of him too soon—or she's annoyed with herself to
find that she's fond of him already; one doesn't get touchy
about one's mere friends.
About an hour after breakfast the party of four set off to
walk to the cottage, Charlie having suddenly and obligingly
waived all objection to damp and unfurnished houses. In
fact, Mrs Fellowes was feeling almost warmly disposed
towards Mrs Walsh by this time ; she thought it very good
taste on the part of the widow to beat a timely retreat.
Until they were clear of the Hurst-grounds, the whole
party kept together, but a small pool of water, and some
such trifle as a cart-wheel ruck, at which the ladies paused,
divided them when they reached the road.  This lane is
like a morass for some little distance, Walter Goring said,
turning to Mrs Walsh;  take my hand, and then you can
walk along that strip of footpath by the hedge without slip-
ping. Then she took his hand as he desired, and thus they
were separated from the brother and sister. Frank marked
his appreciation of Mr Goring's manner of turning the posi-
tion to account by a laugh, and the words  that was neatly
done.
 What was neatly done ?  Charlie asked, rather crossly.
There was no beauty in the manoeuvre in her eyes ; she was
left to struggle along the strip of footpath and get her boots
splashed without the slightest assistance, therefore the ad-
mirable nature of the precautions that were taken towards
another woman's easy progress did not impress her favourably.
 Why, that last movement of Goring's, Frank replied,
slackening his pace.  What a magnificent woman she is,
he continued, in a low tone;  an abbreviated, revised, and
improved Cleopatra.
 Good gracious, Frank! what are your ideas of Cleopatra?
She is as cold as ice; she wouldn't let anything alter the ex-
pression of her face for the world when she has once arranged
it for the day.
 I suppose you 're rather put out because she is not going
to remain and lighten our darkness ? 
 I really care very little about it, Frank.
 Well, I don't think that Goring emulates your indiffer-
ence—he's very hard hit.
A Walk to the Cottage.
229
 I don't believe it; I tbink she likes him immensely, and
that flatter': him. But I don't believe she is at all the sort of
woman he would fall in love with; she's so statuesque, and
he's so sympathetic.
"Your theory is faultless—nevertheless his practice gives
the lie to it, Frank said, laughing.  Come, Charlie, cheer
up ; your little yellow-haired friend stands no chance what-
ever against this one.
 Friend! she's no friend of mine, Frank ; I only saw hei
that once out riding. I have told you about it, haven't I ? 
"Fifteen times exactly, Frank replied.
"Well, perhaps I have, for she made a great impression
upon me, Charlie replied, flushing ;  at any rate she is not
years and years older than Mr Goring.
 But Mrs Walsh is one of those whom 'age cannot wither
or custom tame,' I should think.
"Age doesn't wither any one in these days, you know,
Frank, Charlie said ; and she tried to say it sarcastically.
 Go it, gentle woman ; you would like me to look out for
cracks in Mrs Walsh's veneering.
 I never said she painted now, because I know she
doesn't; but I do say, that if an old woman does not look
withered, that she must varnish herself. Now, Frank, don't
laugh at me ; if I am a little spiteful about Mrs Walsh, it's
because she disheartened me last night;  and Charlie really
believed herself that this was the sole reason.
 How did she dishearten you ?  her brother asked; and
then Charlie told him about her destroyed hopes and MS.,
and he listened, and was sympathetic, and cheered her on to
fresh attempts, until her fainting spirits rose and she felt
ready to spoil any number of reams of paper without delay.
In the meantime, the pair in advance had not been conver-
sing so freely and easily by any means. Walter Goring was
not at all certain how he stood with the widow. More than
this, he was not at all certain how he desired to stand with
her. He had been accustomed for so many years to re-
gard her as something set apart and utterly unattainable;
and now, by a violent throe of nature, her position was altered,
and he did not know how to reconcile himself to it, even in
his own heart, much less to adapt himself to it outwardly.
For years there had existed between these two people a cor-
230 Walter Goiing.
diality and regard so open, warm, and (on his part) demon-
strative, that any cessation from it must of necessity be very
painful. But, on the other hand, a continuance of it might
be prejudicial to her, and to him also. The union had been
shared in and sanctioned by her husband; it had all been fair
and above-board; in the blameless sense of the phrase, she
had been more than kind to him, though less than kin. He
was bound to her by a hundred associations—bound to her
especially by that not-to-be-broken chain of feeling, that she
liked him better, perhaps, than she did any one else. But he
was far from feeling sure that he was in love with her, and
equally far from imagining her to be in love with him. His
sensations about her were of precisely the same nature as they
had been when Ralph Walsh was alive. Whether hers had
developed into anything more tender may not be known yet.
 What makes you rush away to-day ? he began, as
soon as the party divided in the manner indicated above;
 it was like a blow in the chest to me when you said you
were going.
 I shall come back again some time or other, I suppose,
she answered,  but at present I feel too restless to make a
settled home anywhere; you didn't imagine that I was going
to put myself down at Deneham at once, did you ? 
 I did, indeed—and now I'm plunged in cold water;
don't expect me to applaud your resolve after having in-
dulged myself with such different anticipations for some time.
He spoke almost complainingly. It did seem to him
rather heartless of her to go away before he had come to any
determination respecting what his feelings were or might be
about her.
 It is better that I should go, she said, in a low tone.
 Of course it is, if it seems good to you. Almost in-
voluntarily he was taking an aggrieved tone.
 It is far better that I should go, she repeated, resolutely;
 so many things that seemed firmly fixed have been thrown
into new forms by Ralph's death, that I had better not at-
tempt to settle down and take up my old life again until I
have had time to think about things as they are, and. to get
accustomed to them.
 What single thing is thrown into new form ? he
asked.
A Walk to the Cottage.
231
 Oh, several things ! 
 Name one, he persisted.
 Well, my relations with people, she said, hesitatingly.
 It's your own fault if you suffer them to be altered, he
replied, putting his hands in his pocket, and looking straight
away at the landscape in front of them.
 It is inevitable that they should be altered.
 Why, he looked down at her now as she walked along
by his side.  Why, if you  the sight of her deep
mourning checked him in whatever he had been going to say,
and he added after a moment's pause,  Perhaps you are
right; you always are right— -my goddess. He had never
called her that since her husband's death, and the tone in
which he said it now made her tremble for a moment. Then
the old phrase seemed to put her more on her old terms with
him, for she looked at him very kindly, and said,—
 Will you promise not to make a shadow of mistake
about something I am going to say to you ? 
 Could I ever be so blind or besotted as to make mistakes
about you ? 
 I don't know. I hope not, I hearfily hope not; I think
our friendship is founded on a rock ; but this is a point on
which you might resent interference from your nearest and
dearest relatives even; I want to speak to you about that
daughter of your uncle's, and Mrs Fellowes.
 My cousin Daisy, and Mrs Fellowes ! What of them ?
"Don't call her your cousin, Walter. I cannot bear to
think of her as nearly connected with you in any way. I
have heard a rumour of your being sufficiently attracted by
her to think of making her your wife; this cannot be true.
 Certainly not, he replied, laughing ;  but for all that,
you must not underrate the Daisy; she will be a person of
consequence.
 How?
 I can only tell you a portion of the case, and you must
respect my confidence religiously ; she will be the mistress of
Goring Place in her own right, if a certain condition, which
I shall not confide to you, remains unfulfilled when she is
twenty-one.
 And that condition,"—Mrs Walsh had grown very pale,
and she seemed to have a slight difficulty in speaking, her
232
Walter Goring.
voice was so very faint and low,— and that condition is—
that you marry her.
 I have told you all I can tell you, he replied, gently;
and she thought she had never seen him look so handsome,
so manly, so capable of hearing the utmost reverses, as he
did now, when speaking of his probable resignation of the
great estate into which he had so recently come.  And
what about Mrs Fellowes ?  he asked;  you had something
to say to me about her too.
 It is this. She is surrounded by Argus eyes, and she is
vo.ry frank and unguarded ; you see I do her all justice. Do
not let that appear in your manner to her which may pos-
sibly mislead people and get her lightly spoken of.
 Am I likely to behave like such a scoundrel ?  he asked,
coldly.
 Walter, I begged you not to misunderstand me.
 Nor will I—forgive me, he said, imploringly. He was
farther than ever from knowing which of these three women
he regarded the most warmly, but unquestionably Mrs Walsh's
watchful interest was far from unpleasant to him just now.
"Your manner is softer, more devotional and flattering
than she has ever been accustomed to. It is entirely for her
sake that I speak ; I am not afraid for you.
 That's very good of you, he said, half laughing.
 But those semi-facetious, semi-sentimental conversations
—imagining yourselves to be all sorts of odious bygone
people, and things of that sort—are imprudent and foolish.
She was also a dreadful flirt, too, as Miss St John ; there is no
particular credit in fanning the smouldering embers of a sort
of romance which she has brought to bear on many men be-
fore she knew you.
 Believe-me, I have no desire to do anything of the sort,
or to read any passages from the back numbers of her life, he
said, indifferently; but he thought  how hardly women
handle each other, to be sure—when there is nothing to be
gained by it either.
Mrs Walsh was inexorable in her resolve to go back to
town.this same day; therefore when they had looked at the
cottage, and the new mistress had settled with some village
dame of decent repute to remain in charge of it until the two
old servants of whom she had made mention should arrive.
A Walk to the Cottage.
233
—when these things had been done it was time to go back
to the Hurst and prepare for the start. They formed an un-
broken company all the way home, so there was no further
confidential converse between Walter and Mrs Walsh. But
when he was putting her into the carriage that was to take her
away to the station, he bent forward under pretence of adjust-
ing some of her wraps and travelling-bags, and as he did so he
touched her hand with his lips. She did not withdraw it;
on the contrary, it seemed to him that his pressure was re-
turned. He looked up at her suddenly, and his eyes glowed
with an admiration which he could not subdue as he whis-
pered,  I shall see you soon—good-bye for a short time
though.
She did not speak, but she held her hand out to him and
smiled her own smile—the smile that said so much more
than her lips ever did—upon him. Then he drew back, and
the carriage drove off, and she looking through the window saw
him standing bare-headed watching her.  I am quite right
to leave, she said to herself,  for several reasons—he might
come to a conclusion too soon if I stayed, or he might never
come to one at all if he saw much of me. Then she took
herself to task for suffering such thoughts to grow so soon
after her husband's death : and then forgave herself on the
plea that she  had known Walter's value so long and
thoroughly.
He meanwhile had gone back in to the library to smoke a
cigar with Frank. Charlie had received a pressing invita-
tion from her brother to retire to that haunt with them, and
save them from so beclouding their faculties at that early
hour, but she had excused herself—why, she scarcely knew.
Young Mrs Fellowes was in truth feeling put out in a
vague, unsatisfactory sort of way. Her day was broken
in upon and destroyed through the untoward departure of
her guest; but perhaps she might have been resigned to that,
had an incident of that departure not been recounted to her
by Miss Dinah.  I was up at the staircase window, that
ruthless virgin said to her composedly, "when Mr Goring
handed Mrs Walsh into the carriage; I'm sure—heartless
as it may seem—I hope he is engaged to her, for the way he
kissed her hand—and she never 6aying a word against it—
was unblushing, if he isn't.
234
Walter Goring.
 I really can't pretend to care whether Mr Goring kissed
her hand or not, Charlie replied.
 No, my dear. You needn't ' pretend,' old Mrs Fellowes
struck in with the level look over the spectacles. "Well, all
I say is, give me old times and old manners ; in my young
day a modest woman behaved herself as such.
 Please remember that I didn't stand sponsor for Mrs
Walsh, Charlie cried. She was sorry, and sick, and tired
of it all; a sudden and unaccountable accession of weariness
had set in; everybody's future looked so much brighter than
her own.
CHAPTER XXX.
fresh resolutions.
When Walter Goring went into the library after seeing Mrs
Walsh off, he found Frank St John leaning on his sister's
writing-table making a hasty sketch. "Look here! he ex-
claimed, "how's that?  and Walter looked and saw a rough
but bold and perfect likeness of Mrs Walsh.
 It's very good,—it's admirable, in fact.
Frank sat down and gave it a few more touches.
 I '11 make something of it, if I can only come across an-
other face that I want; I got an idea from an attitude and
expression of Mrs Walsh's this morning, that if I can only
carry it out will be— he stopped, and did not say what it
would be, but began to whistle softly in a well-pleased
manner as he sketched in another figure. Mr Goring leant
over his chair watching his work.
"You don't mean that you will give us another version of
the bowl-and-dagger business if you can only find a face fair
enough for Rosamond's, do you ? Poor Ralph took her for
his model of Eleanor only two years ago.
Nothing so hackneyed—no; how about this study
though ? I wish she had stayed another day; I would have
made another of her.
 I tell you I think it admirable, Walter Goring replied.
"But how do you propose turning it to .account? he
Fresh Resolutions.
235
added, lounging over to a couch, and from thence lazily
watching Frank through the smoke of his cigar.
 I '11 paint that scene from Elaine where Guinevere plays
the imperial vixen about the diamonds; don't you remember?
Goring nodded:
 '—hers, not mine—
Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself,
Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will—
She shall not have them.
Do you mean those lines ? 
"Yes; and I'll paint Mrs Walsh in the act of pitching
the diamonds into the river as Elaine floats past dead. I'm
in earnest about this; I can make something of a picture of
it: she's inspired me.''
"I'm delighted to hear it; she's inspired a good many
men, Walter Goring said; then he added, laughing, "you
wouldn't make a bad Lancelot yourself, St John, if you did
yourself justice.
 I won't rely upon myself; I '11 be off to town to-morrow,
and look out for a Lancelot and an Elaine in the ranks of the
regular models. By Jove ! I'm very glad I am out of the
service. I shall take up painting as a profession, and work
at it. He went on drawing vigorously the whole time he
was speaking.
 But you can't get the whole thing in effectively in one
picture, Walter Goring urged;  divide your canvas, and
have one view of the barge with the dead body of the ' Lily
Maid' upon it, and another of the balcony with the queen
and the knight ?
 Not a bit of it. See, and Frank rose up and went over
to show his companion the sketch he had made.  I shall
have a strong light falling across Guinevere's face down on
to the upturned one of the girl; Lancelot is a minor con-
sideration in this scene—he plays rather a pitiful part; all
the passion and interest is with the women.
There was a vigour, a grace, and a suggestiveness about
this first rough, hurried study which fully justified Frank's
expectations of "making something fine of it. Walter
Goring felt that there was this, and he said cordially, as he
handed the paper back to the artist,—
 If you really mean work, and are going back to town, I
236
Walter Goring.
shall he glad to introduce you to a number of men who will
be happy to help you if they can.''
 Mean work ? I mean it, and no mistake, Frank re-
plied,  and I shall be much obliged to you for the introduc-
tions.
"You will not easily get a face fair enough and strong
enough for Elaine; your sister, Mrs Fell owes, has the ex-
pression of mingled softness and strength which we suppose
to have been the characteristics of the girl who died of love,
but
 She hasn't the fair beauty, Frank interrupted;  no, to
match the Guinevere will he my difficulty.
"And I doubt your matching her among the regular
models ; it's a certain condition of being a regular model
that a something which Elaine must possess should have
vanished.
 If I fail in finding an Elaine, my whole picture will go
to smash, Frank said, rather dejectedly.
 My dear fellow ! couldn't you, in that case, turn that
study you have made of Mrs Walsh to account in some other
way ? Anna Boleyn dashing the portrait of Henry to pieces
when she finds Jane Seymour looking at it, or Cassandra
asking of the heavens where Troy's hope, Hector, is? or
something of that sort.
"No, Frank said, holding his sketch away from him, in
order to judge of the effect afresh:  if I can't carry this out
for years for want of that special face, I will not destroy the
idea by distorting it; if Charlie had the colouring, she would
do; hut she has only the expression, and I want a touch of
truth in each detail.
 Shall you get to work on this before you bring out your
book? Walter Goring asked.
"Yes; I'll leave Charlie to put that in order, and I'll
send the proofs to her ; she likes doing anything for me, and
it will be good practice for her. I shall not suffer anything
to interfere with this if I can only find  Again he
paused, and began whistling thoughtfully, and Walter Goring
suggested,—
 An Elaine and a Lancelot ? 
 Yes, he replied ;  by Jove! if I can do that, I '11 make
my name with this picture; it paints itself as I think about it.''
Fresh Resolutions.
237
"Don't be off before Christmas, at any rate, Walter Go-
ring urged.
 Christmas won't be a remarkably hilarious season in this
house, I'm afraid, Frank replied, shaking his head; "poor
Fellowes's affairs are in an awful mess—of that there's no
doubthe even spoke to me to-day about letting The Hurst
and the land, and getting 'something to do' himself, poor
fellow. I wish he would have the pluck to tell my sister; but
he won't, and I have no right to interfere.
 That marriage was a bitter bad business, Walter Goring
exclaimed, starting up as he spoke, and commencing to walk
up and down the room.
"As it has turned out, Frank replied, quietly, going over
to the fireplace and lighting his cigar.
 In any event, there is something incongruous in it, ac-
cording to my idea.
 I don't agree with you, Frank said;  at any rate, now
that he's under a cloud isn't exactly the time I should select
for finding out all that is not most auspicious in the affair.
Fellowes is worth a hundred of the white-livered hound who
married my other sister. I only wish I could get him to be-
lieve that he feels the business more acutely than Charlie
will; he fears that she's going to be ' alienated,' and all sorts
of extraordinary things ; she's much too good a girl.
 In fact, good fellow as he is, his wife is beyond him—be-
yond him! she's as far above him as the stars in heaven,
Walter Goring said; and for this panegyric on his pet sister
Frank had no words of reproof. Cordially as he liked, and
heartily as he sympathised with his brother-in-law, he yet
felt that there was much truth in Walter Goring's estimate
of the relative altitudes of husband and wife.
In the meantime Charlie was being tested. After Mrs
Walsh's departure, she had, as has been seen, been seized
upon by Miss Dinah, and compelled to listen to tfhe tale of
how tenderly Mr Goring had taken leave of the widow.
Then old Mrs Fellowes had delivered a short homily on the
subject, and Charlie had resented the idea of being inte-
rested in, or responsible for, Mrs Walsh's divergence from
the path of propriety. Then she had sought for her husband,
and entreated him to take her out for a ride.
 It will be dark soon, he said.
238 Walter Got ing.
 Never mind; let lis go out till it is dark; I'm unsettled
to-day, and I should like a canter on old Major.
So old Major was had round, and she went out with her
husband on horseback for the first time since their mar-
riage.
Now it may he remembered that at Brighton she had been
contented with the old brown horse, and beautifully resigned
to riding him, since nothing better was to be had. But now
circumstances were much altered. Then she had been Miss
St John: now she was, as she thought, the wife of a rich
man, who could give her a better horse if he chose. She
found many faults with old Major before she had been on his
back ten minutes.
 How he pokes his head forward, she began.
' Just hold him up a hit; take him more on the curb, so.
 Then he flags, if he doesn't stop outright, Harry.
"Frank took it out of him yesterday, Mr Fellowes ex-
plained.
 Frank rode him round the farm, didn't he ?
"Yes, and put him at everything he could?
 High-couraged horse to be tried with that. Well, Harry,
is he going to sleep under me or not ? 
 Touch him up ; you used to find he took you along all
right at Brighton.
 That is to say, as he never did anything but carry me,
he managed to get up a canter in the downs. He is sweet-
tempered, though; I never knew a horse take the whip so
kindly; look here. She illustrated her remark by cutting
the Major over the near shoulder, an attention which he
acknowledged by whisking his tail, and breaking into a calm
canter.
 He's going very well now,' Mr Fellowes remarked.
"It's just a pace I hate, Charlie replied, frowning a little;
 he's so dull.
 He's been a first-rate horse in his time.
 His time must be long past, that's all I can say, Harry.
I do wish you would get me a young horse, dear—one that I
could ride with pleasure; will you ? 
He almost gulped as he answered,—
 I cannot at present, my darling. He felt that it was a
sore task to refuse her this—the first favour she had asked of
Fresh Resolutions.
239
him since their marriage, more especially as a new riding-
horse had been amongst the many things he had promised
her in the days of their engagement.
She pulled up and put her hand to her side.  This old
beast bores forward so, that I seem to be going over his head
every minute, Harry; I must make up my mind, I suppose,
to give my habit up to the moths, for if I can't have any-
thing better, I will never ride the Major again.
She, too, remembered that this was the first favour she
had asked at her husband's hands. The first—and he re-
fused it. Her words stung him terribly. He thought that
he would give her a hint—just a little hint—that he was well
off then when he married her. But we all know how diffi-
cult it is to pause on the warning brink of either a painful
or pleasant communication.
 My darling, I would give you anything in the world, if
I only had it to give. I didn't mean to tell you yet, Charlie;
I hoped—that is, I thought—well, the long and the short of
it is, that I'm a ruined man through—through
 No fault of your own, I'm sure, she cried, drawing her
horse nearer to his npw, as he had done the day he asked
her to be his wife ;  ruined, my dear husband, and you have
kept it all from me—you wouldn't even let me share your
sorrow, while I have been selfish as usual—bothering about
my own pleasures.
She bent over and laid her hand on his, and he felt his
burden lightened at once. He had so dreaded the effects of this
communication upon her. He had so writhed under the fear
that when it was made she might drift away even further
from him. In fact, he had so misunderstood her, that the
relief he felt at this moment was indescribable.
 God bless you, Charlie—God bless you, my pet, he said,
hoarsely, as he pressed her hand into his. There was a
wealth of promise in her touch, it seemed to assure him of
her capability of standing so much, and never finding it hard;
she looked such a bright, brave woman as she leant towards
him, and seemed to pledge herself anew to partizanship with
him in everything.  I am so much happier than I have
been for weeks, he added presently, as he regained com-
mand over his voice.
 I'm in such a rage with myself for having been so blind
240
Walter Goring.
for weeks, she cried.  What was the use of me when I
didn't find out your trouble ? But you are not going to be
beaten down by it ? no ; are you, Harry ? 
 My trouble is more for you than myself, he said, with a
sob in his voice and a knot in his throat— to have brought
you into it—to have brought you from a good home.
 Where I was simply wretched, she interrupted;  but
don't you think I feel that I am the bitterest drop in your
cup, whatever it may be; don't you think that I don't know
that you would never have let trouble or care or annoy-
ance of any sort come near me if you could have helped it ?
I do know it. Show me that you believe I know it, by let-
ting me see that you will be happier in having me with you
whatever is coming, than you would have been alone.
She spoke very earnestly, but without strain, or tears, or
other token of suppressed feeling. With all her faults she
was not a lachrymose woman; when she sought to cheer a
man she neither sighed nor sobbed at him; she spoke out
cheerily and heartily, as if she knew that she was speaking
of a very solemn thing, but not at all as if she thought it the
saddest thing that could have befallen her. Her husband
nearly worshipped her as he rode along by her side. Her
bright sympathy, her loving sincerity, were incomprehensible
things to him, coming as they did immediately after the dis-
play of pettish dissatisfaction with the Major.
 You don't know all the misery it may entail upon us yet,
my darling, he said, seriously. Then he told her the whole
story as they rode on and the day darkened. But there was
more light on his face and in his soul than there had been
for many a day, when he had poured the whole story out
and made his wife his confidante.
 I can feel for your sorrow at leaving The Hurst, if we
are obliged to leave it, dear, she said, when he had finished;
and even as she spoke her heart gave a little glad bound at
the idea of being by this means entirely free from the atmos-
phere of his mother and sister;  but still, think how much
pleasanter it will be for you to go away with me than if you
had been obliged to go alone.
 Charlie—my pet—I hardly know whether I'm justified
in feeling the happiness I do in having married you and got
you into this scrape.
Fresh Resolutions.
241
 I should rather think that you were justified, she re-
plied, laughing; then she added more seriously,  Come,
Harry, I know it's a great blow—a had blow—don't think
me stupid and incapable of appreciating the full extent of
your misfortune, dear; but I can't pretend to feel crushed by
it. Surely between us we can'keep the wolf from the door,
and the striving to do so will give us plenty to do and think
about. Now let us have a good sharp gallop to settle our
emotions and give us an appetite for dinner. Does Frank
know of all this ? 
"Yes, Charlie.
 And he has never hinted a word of it to me ; well, you
all thought me a more cowardly woman than I am, that is all
I can say. Life's quite as bright to me as it was an hour
ago, and I flatter myself that it is a little brighter to you, sir.
Poor boy! it must be awful for a man to fear that his wife
will break down and be a burdensome nuisance just as he
needs her to be the helpmate he took her for.
About half an hour after this they reached The Hurst, and
young Mrs Fellowes, on being lifted from her horse by her
once more beaming husband, ran into the house and into the
library to look for her brother.  Look here, Charlie, he
commenced, as soon as he saw her,  I have made a study for
a picture I'm going to astonish the world with in May, and
he showed his sketch and told her its subject.  I'm off to
town to-morrow to work at it while my interest is young and
vigorous, he continued, laughing;  besides, I want to find
an Elaine.
"Stay over Christmas-day.
 Temptress, avaunt! no, I will sit upon the yellow sands
and eat lotos no longer; men must work.
"I won't tempt you to idleness, trust me; but I wanted
your help for a few days; women must work too. Harry
has told me all about this abominable banking business. I
want to sketch out a novel and give it to you to strengthen
weak places in the framework; will you help me ? 
 My dearest Charlie, with all my heart, but I fancy you
would do this whole thing better by yourself; there's some-
thing patchy, according to my ideas, about the sort of thing
you suggest.
The fact was. well inclined as Frank was to help his sister,
Q
242
Walter Goring.
he was very anxious to get to work at once on his own pic-
ture. Nevertheless, weak as the mainspring of it might
have been, the advice in itself was good.
"Well, I shall try without you then, Frank.
"Yes, do; and if you need help get Goring to help you.
He •'s a clever fellow; he says there is more spirit in that com-
position of mine than in anything he has come across for a
long time.
 He must he a clever fellow, indeed, she replied, laughing,
and holding up her face to kiss her brother at the same time.
"I'm delighted now that Mrs Walsh, with her 'imperial
moulded form and beauty such as never woman wore,' did
come down—the sight of her has set you going. Now I
must get ready for dinner, or my esteemed mother-in-law
will either rate me directly, or reproach me by not eating
anything herself.
Then she went up-stairs, and told her husband about
Frank's picture, forcing Henry Fell owes to feel that there
were many things in life still in which his wife took a bright
interest, and expected him to take one also. This evidence
of  her pluck, as he called it, appealed to him more strongly
than any amount of tearful tenderness could have done. He
felt that she would be as trusty a comrade as any man could
have been in fighting the battle of life, and he no longer re-
gretted the words he had spoken under the trees through
which the sunbeams fell—on the night when they had met
Walter and Daisy Goring.
CHAPTER XXXI.
the prescotts as guests at the hurst.
Frank St John carried his design of going away the follow-
ing day into execution. His sister was very sorry to lose him
—to miss his bright companionship, and that sense of having
some one near her who was sure to be set in the same key as
herself, which she had had while he remained. Nevertheless
she was not sorry to be entirely free from all temptation to
Tht Prescotts as Guests at the Hurst. 243
idleness ; she wanted to work—and she no longer lacked the
incentive.
Almost immediately after Frank's departure, the Prescotts
announced themselves as likely to come to The Hurst on or
before New Year's Day. "We will give them the best wel-
come we can, but I had hoped to have had them down here
in very different style, Henry Fellowes said rather moodily,
as he sat twisting the letter his wife had handed him to read
—apprising them of the visit.
 Will their coming make any material difference to you in
any way ?  she asked.
"No, of course not; Prescott has had nothing to do with
this business.
 Then, my dear Harry, don't let the thought of them
afflict you in any way ; I know you would like to have made
an honourable fuss about any of my people, but I know
Robert Prescott so well, and he is not exactly the man I
could have wished you to waste your substance upon even if
it were yours to waste; as it is, we '11 give him of our best,
dear; and if he isn't pleased, he can go away, you know.
 What will he think when he finds I am obliged to get
out of this after having just brought you into it ? 
She moved her head impatiently.  Think ! who cares
tvhat he thinks! I can tell you, though, she continued,
laughing, "he'll think it a fair opportunity for smoothing
himself down on account of his superior prudence, and he '11
look out sharply to see if he can make anything by the matter.
 And you will have to hear from him that you have done
a foolish thing, Charlie, her husband said, tenderly.
 That I have had to hear so many times—oh, so many
times, she replied; "I never believed him, and I shall believe
him less than ever now, if you 're satisfied with me.
 Satisfied with you ! there was a world of loving confi-
dence in the way he echoed her words. Her face flushed, for
in her own heart she held herself to be scarcely worthy of such
absolute belief.
 At any rate, she continued hurriedly,  I am more than
satisfied with my lot, Harry; this isn't a bit of feeble romance,
remember : whatever comes I am better off than I was before
you knew me—for now I am everything to some one, before
I was nothing.
244
Walter Goring.
 Charlie, you don't know even yet what you are to me—
how much more precious you grow each moment. He went
over and bent his head down upon her shoulders and whis-
pered,  I shall bless my ruin, since it has brought me the
full knowledge that my wife loves me.
A tide of recollections, of doubts, of fears, or the dread of
loneliness, swept over her. But she checked all outward dis-
play of it, and answered him without a trace of trembling in
her tone.
 I don't think that I shall be easily put down, Harry,
whatsoever comes. I am rather like a cork; then she laughed
and added, "I haven't been tried yet, but I believe I am what
you call ' game,' like Frank. Look at Frank, doesn't he
bear his misfortunes nobly ? she added, enthusiastically,
quite forgetting that the gentleman thus honourably men-
tioned did not regard what had lately befallen him in the
light of a misfortune at all.
But though she discussed their anticipated advent thus
brightly and carelessly with her husband, the Prescotts hung
over her like a cloud. It made her head ache to think of how
Robert Prescott's lip would lengthen when he had screwed
some of the details out of poor dejected Henry Fellowes.
 He '11 drop six-and-eightpenny sentiments as if they were
pearls ; and then I shall be insolent, she thought.  Oh,
dear ! deliver me from much of Robert Prescott; and Ellen
—don't I know exactly the sort of limp lunatic I shall feel
after Ellen has let fall a dozen of her Robert Prescottisms
upon me?
I think that we must all be acquainted with some woman
whose mission on earth it is to be her husband's wife—only
this and nothing more. From a purely intellectual, or purely
social point of view, the continuance of the species is not to
be desired; but from the purely moral point of view this
type of woman is unassailable. Her husband's people are her
people, and his God is her God—whether she adores the man
himself from the bottom of her soul is an open question.
Indeed, the women who go into blind abject allegiance in
this way, seldom have any souls from the bottom of which
they can adore. They are capable of carrying their packs—
and of seeming to adjust them gracefully—and what more
can men who require so much care for ?
The Prescotts as Guests at the Hurst. 245
Mrs Prescott was one of these women. She had the char-
acteristic of her order strongly marked; her husband was
her sole book of reference, and she quoted him hugely. This
she did, not in the manner of one who seeks to strengthen
the estimate of her own propounded opinions and ideas by
adducing corroborative sentiments from an outsider in any
disputed case; but she pushed her husband's axioms on all
subjects to the front, and then took up a stolid position be-
hind them as it were. Not enlarging upon them in any
way—she was too unimaginative to alter them, but just re-
iterating them until the soundest of them became abomina-
tions in the ears of her hearers.
The rumour of the mesh of miserable difficulties in which
Mr Fellowes was entangled had reached Mr Prescott, though
it had not been officially communicated to him by the un-
lucky gentleman. The prosperous lawyer had been on the
look-out for a country house with good grounds for some
time, and it occurred to him now that it would be a profit-
able investment of his time to go down and see The Hurst.
Should the need for the sale of it be as great as he believed,
why, he asked himself, should he not purchase the place,
and perchance drive a good bargain, as well as a stranger ?
So the Prescott's announced themselves for New Year's Day,
as has been said, and all the inhabitants of The Hurst were
excited by the announcement, according to their respective
degrees.
The whole family came, as Mrs Prescott was a fond mother
after that pattern which always desires to have her children
within hail should a sudden wish to see one of them arise.
She never took any trouble about them; in fact, she never
took any trouble about anything save the fit of her dresses,
and this not because she was a specially vain or a specially
well-dressed woman, but because she had been imbued with
the notion that  they ought to fit at school. But though
she never took any trouble about her children, she made a
point of telling people,  I like to have them with me every-
where—a mother should, I think, don't you ?  And the
speech was spotless, and won Mrs Prescott a seat in a high
place in the matron-imagined maternal paradise.
Mr Fellowes had received them very cordially. It was the
nature of the man to be hospitable, and happy to see every
Walter Goring.
one who came to his house. Moreover, he thought high
things of the Prescotts, partly because Robert Prescott was
what he called  a hard-headed man, and partly because he
was the husband of Charlie's sister.  Why, I owe you to
liim, don't I ?  the good-natured grateful fellow said to
Charlie, snatching a moment from his exuberant welcome of
his guests to tell her so. To which Charlie replied,  Of
course it's a tremendous debt, dear; but don't pay it by
letting Robert Prescott badger you about your own business
—he '11 try it on, I feel convinced. The old antagonistic
spirit, exorcised apparently by her intense sympathy with
her husband, rose up at sight of the man who had the galling
art of saying the most truthful things in such a way that she
could hut cavil at them. Besides, he had greeted her with
the words,  Really, Charlotte, you look surprisingly well.
What wonder that she was very much on her defence against
any possible interference with herself or her husband.
The morning after their arrival, Mr Fellowes and Mi
Prescott went out for a ride round the farm. The round-
backed lawyer was not a very finished equestrian. While
he was in the saddle he felt a lesser man than Fellowes.
The uncertainty of life was very much before him as he rode
along on an old hunter,  who, his host assured him,
"would make nothing of popping over that hurdle or that
hedge, pointing out those objects as he spoke to Mr Prescott,
who felt dubious as to what the result would be should the
horse  pop over, as it was upon the cards he might do,
without consulting his rider's wishes. Unwillingly, he took
a military seat, and his teeth chattered, not so much with
fear as with the jolting, whenever they got out of a walk.
He knew, too, that his hat had settled farther back upon his
head than was becoming, and that there was a goodly portion
of both his legs visible to the eyes of the vulgar, who made
ribald jokes to one another on the subject as he passed along.
Nor could he remedy these defects, uncomfortably conscious
as he was of them. For the old hunter had a habit of pull-
ing, and Mr Prescott had a dark foreboding. Did he relax
his fervent hold with both hands on the reins for a single
instant, he felt he would be borne with velocity over the very
hedgy and ditchy landscape, to the downfall of his dignity
and the detriment of his person.  He doesn't seem to be
The Prescotts as Guests at the Hurst. 247
carrying you well—you don't ride easy, do you ?  Henry
Fellowes asked at last, becoming suddenly conscious of Mr
Prescott's face being of a purple hue from over-exertion.
 He has nearly twitched my arms out of their sockets,
that unhappy gentleman answered.
 Ah ! give him his head a bit,'' the other one said, cheer-
fully ; and Mr Prescott thought,  give a brute like this his
head, indeed!—not if I can help it.
"You'll get used to his way after a time or two, the
master of the horse went on.
"Never! Mr Prescott thought, emphatically; and just
then they rode through a gate into a wide expanse of meadow,
and the old hunter gave a small bound expressive of satis-
faction at finding himself on spring elastic turf. One of Mr
Prescott's feet came out of the stirrup, and the lawyer had to
scramble wildly about in his steed's mane before he could
steady himself and get his foot in again.  I never saw such
an extraordinary horse in my life, he said, touchily.  What
did he do, then ?  "I really fancy—I may be mistaken,
but I can't help thinking, Fellowes, that he has got the
meagrims, don't you call it ? 
Fellowes laughed.  You needn't be afraid of that at this
time of year: look here, if you have no objection, we will
just go over to Goring Place. I want to ask Goring to come
and dine with us.
 Thank Heaven !  Mr Prescott thought, as he gave a
blindly eager assent. He thought that Goring Place must
be nearer to them now than The Hurst, and that he would
thus sooner gain a temporary relief.
 Then we '11 just cut across here, and over the ditch at the
bottom : that takes us on to Goring's land—it's a short cut,
Henry Fellowes said, pointing down the meadow as he spoke;
and, suiting the action to the word, he went off at a sharp
canter, before his companion could utter a word of remon-
strance. It never occurred to him that Mr Prescott was in
difficulty, far less that he was in mortal terror. It was ap-
parent enough that he was not handling the horse well, but
that was between his conscience and the old brown hunter;
and Mr Fellowes knew the old brown hunter too well to dread
his taking a mean advantage.
Mr Prescott had 110 time to utter a word of remonstrance,
248
Walter Goring.
for the instant the brown horse saw his fellow start, he started
too, at a steady stride that took away Mr Prescott's breath, and
brought him, he felt, with hideous speed along to that yawn-
ing ditch at the bottom which Mr Fellowes had indicated so
ruthlessly. His legs flapped feebly against the saddle—he
was bitterly bumped—he would have given a year's income
to feel sure that if he threw himself off he wouldn't hurt him-
self. But the old horse saved him the trouble of coming to
a decision on this point, by taking the ditch like a bird, and
dropping Mr Prescott in the middle of it.
 Why, what did he do ?  Henry Fellowes asked, when he
had dragged Mr Prescott out of the ditch, and assisted that
gentleman in removing a little of the black mud and green
slime from his hair and whiskers.
 Do !  the other replied, with a snarl,  why, he ' did'
something with his back and legs at the same moment that
gave me a most fearful twist; he's the most diabolical horse
I was ever on in my life.
"What's to be done?—you can't walk home in this
state.
 I '11 not trust myself upon that brown brute again. I'm
the father of a family, and shouldn't be justified in doing
it; married men have no right to jeopardise their lives or for-
tunes. Now that he was safe on the ground again, he could
no longer resist administering a veiled rebuke to the man by
whose side he had felt so helpless a thing for the last hour.
"Well, what's to be done? Henry Fellowes repeated.
 I'd change horses, but this bay mare, though she's gentle
as a lamb, might lark off with you; come, get on ; try the
old horse again.
"No, Mr Prescott replied. "I might take cold, you see-,
I '11 walk home, if you '11 point out the way; but you '11 excuse
my leading the horse—I don't like his eye.
"'Very well, Henry Fellowes said, laughing; "all right,
old fellow. Go out through that gate on the left, and then
keep along the lane; you '11 soon see The Hurst. I '11 just
go on to Goring and ask him to dinner.
 He '11 go over and laugh at the mischief his brute of a
horse has done, with that young idiot who is always foisting
his immoral twaddle on the public, Mr Prescott thought, as
he walked away with faltering, uncertain steps. He was not
The Fresco Us as Guests at the Hurst. 249
broken, but lie was most sorely bruised, and all the tendons
of his legs were strained in consequence of his having tried
to keep his feet down in stirrups which he had insisted on
having left much too long for him. Moreover, he was not
quite certain as to his nearest path to The Hurst, and he was
quite, certain that Charlie would laugh when she saw him.
"She'll be sending an account of it to that puppy, her bro-
ther, and he will be making a caricature of it, he thought,
angrily, as he walked along, dripping.
The sisters meanwhile had been getting on pleasantly
enough. They had not met since Charlie's wedding-day,
and Ellen had much to ask relative to the way in which
divers dresses had worn.  There's that velvet, she had
said;  have you ever had it on ? 
"No, Charlie replied; "the dinner-parties I have been to
us yet haven't been up to that mark. I've been out in sim-
plicity and silks. I reserve that velvet to come down upon
them with a crusher just as they think my wedding outfit is
exhausted.
 Robert says you won't want that velvet now.
 How wonderfully good of Robert.
"And I would take it off your hands, Charlie.
 How wonderfully good of you, dear; but, on the whole,
I prefer keeping it on my hands.
 Robert says that, under these sad circumstances, people
would talk if you dressed too richly; he said he was sure you
wouldn't wish to do it, and I said, ' Oh, no !'
"How nicely Ella's hair grows; there is quite a ruddy
tinge in it now—it's ever so much richer in colour than it
was before, Charlie said, carelessly.
"Yes, it is—but about that dress, dear Charlie? I can't
bear to think of your being burdened with it; do you know,
too, that Robert is quite willing to take The Hurst off your
hands ? 
 What ?  Charlie asked, sharply.
"Well, he says that as he has long wanted a country-
house, he may as well take this as any other, if
 He can get it, Charlie interrupted, hastily;  let us
leave business topics to the men, at any rate, Ellen.
 Yes, of course. What do you think of doing when you
leave The Hurst?
250
Walter Goring.
 I haven't given my mind to the subject yet.
 But Robert says that you ought to think—that it's quite
time for you to think; you 're much worse off than if you
had never married, Charlie. Ellen grew quite impressive as
she said this— supposing you should have a family ? 
 I won't trouble you as to their maintenance, at any rate,
Charlie said, quickly ;  but let us speak of pleasanter pos-
sibilities, please. You know what a good draughtsman Frank
is—he is going to do something with his talent that will make
us all very proud of him. Then she told Ellen about the
picture for which an Elaine was wanted, and Ellen asked
 if he couldn't make an Elaine out of his own head as he was
so clever ?  and thought rather poorly of him when she heard
that he distrusted his own power of doing so.
CHAPTER XXXII.
two offers.
When Henry Fellowes reached home that day after inviting
Mr Goring to come over and dine with him, he had the im-
portant, eager look on his face of one who is the bearer of ex-
citing intelligence.  Goring's coming, Charlie, he said,
hurriedly entering the room where he learnt that his wife
would be found,  but he's quite thrown out of gear by a
letter he has had.
 About what ?  Charlie asked; then, before he could an-
swer, she went on laughingly,  and so is Robert Prescott
thrown out of gear. He came home about half an hour ago
looking a more wretched object than usual; he says you
would go steeple-chasing over land he didn't know ! that's a
story, of course ; but what did you do, Harry ? 
 Tried to take him across the little ditch on to Goring's
land, that's all, Henry Fellowes replied contemptuously.
 I never saw such a fellow in my life : he came out of the
saddle for nothing, and then he nearly cried.
 Poor discomfited, found-out humbug. I knew all along
that he didn't know a horse's head from its tail: but you should
Two Offers. 251
have heard him talk, Harry, to understand the bliss I feel in
knowing he has had an ignominious tumble. What about
Mr Goring, though ? 
 Why, he has had a letter from the governess or duenna,
or whatever she is, at Brighton; his cousin has cut.
 What has she cut ?  Charlie asked, wonderingly.
 Her home—her school—whatever it was ; she's gone off;
the old lady she was with thought she was gone to Goring
Place, but Goring's heard nothing of her, and he's in an
awful way.
 I suppose he is very fond of her, Charlie said, gravely.
 Whether he is fond of her or not, he's responsible for
her in a measure. I never saw a man so cut up as he is about
it. He has telegraphed to Clarke, his lawyer, and sent him
off to Brighton to get a clue if possible to her whereabouts.
 How can she cause him such trouble ? what a little
brute she must be, Charlie exclaimed, vehemently.  I
hope he won't put himself out any more about her.
 My dear Charlie, don't say that to him.
 Oh, he is coming here, then, to-night ?
 Yes,.he's coming, Henry Fellowes replied ; and his wife
immediately said to herself, "then Mr Walter Goring can't
be so very much distressed about this missing young lady.
Women are always so quick to discover, so prompt to feel,
the slights that are offered to, and the indifference that is felt
for their fellow-women.
The Hurst could scarcely be described as a hall of harmony
at this period. The little Prescotts had the art of scattering
and diffusing themselves too freely to suit the views of the
regular residents. The gift of omnipresence which these
children possessed was prodigious, but not pleasant.  Baby
fingers—waxen touches  were to be traced upon everything.
The bump of veneration was undeveloped in every one of
them as yet, so they lavished their little marks of interest as
liberally upon the sacred deposits of patchwork, knitting, and
darning in old Mrs Fellowes's basket as they did upon aught
else. They insulted Miss Dinah by questioning her curiously
as to why she had no  babies, like mamma, and no husband,
like Aunt Charlie ? From being inquisitive they grew
reflective on these points, and  s'posed, in the most public
manner possible,  that she hadn't been able to get one.
252
Walter Goring.
The baby Prescott—aged eleven months—made The Hurst
hideous with his howls at intervals of five minutes. There
was a harmless but unrefreshing perfume of tepid pap per-
vading everything, the voices of the children resounded in
every direction, the pretty London nursemaid leaving them
much to their own devices while she improved the shining
hours with a couple of impressionable grooms and one heart-
less deceiver in the guise of a footman. In a fit of emotion
on her wedding-day, Charlie had to soothe their feelings at
parting with her—promised them that they should always do
as they liked in her house, and come to see her often ; so now
that they had come to see her they showed the tenacity of
their memories, and were ruthless in their rule. They were
what the offspring of youth and age together frequently are
—weird children. They sorely discomposed old Mrs Fellowes,
causing her to hate them for being there, and their parents
for bringing them, and Charlie for bringing the parents.
Altogether, things were out of joint at The Hurst, "Walter
Goring could not help feeling when he walked into the draw-
ing-room two minutes before dinner that day.
The effects of the fall were still visible in Mr Prescott's
temper, though not on his person.  I'm sorry you couldn't
manage to get across to my place to-day,'' Mr Goring said,
when he was shaking hands with the man in whose honour
he had been invited to dinner; and Mr Prescott deemed that
the remark had a double meaning, and glared at the maker
of it vengefully.
But there had been no double meaning in Walter Goring's
remark, nor was he conscious of the glaring consequent upon
it. He was sorely distraught about his cousin, his ward, the
wilful Daisy, in fact; and though there was not actual dark-
ness in his soul on her account, there was anything but sun-
shine and a desire to make small jokes. He felt sure that
she had gone off to some of her mother's people, and he was
far from feeling sure that her mother's people's influence
over her would be for good. That he would be able to trace
her eventually he did not doubt, but this habit of hers of
giving recognised authorities the slip would be a sorry one to
combat should she grow dear, or rather continue dear to him.
 How does Frank get on ?  Walter Goring asked his
young hostess when they were seated at the table, and he
Two Offers.
253
could speak to her without all the rest overhearing him.
Frank was one of those men who are quickly called by their
Christian names—by men they like.
 He has made lots of studies, and sent them down for us
to see and to show you ; and he has found an Elaine and a
Lancelot, she answered; ''don't speak of him before Mr
Prescott, please, because Mr Prescott is unsympathetic on
the subject of Frank, and I can't stand the way he talks of
my brother.
 I will not; your husband has told you about my cousin?
 Yes, she replied, and then she paused and crumbled her
bread. She felt embarrassed and uncertain as to what answer
it would be at once kind and politic to make. If she ex-
pressed more horror than sorrow at the enormity of the lost
young lady's conduct, Mr Goring might deem her more just
than merciful. If, on the other hand, she expressed more
sorrow than horror, he might think her more merciful than
just. In her heart she did think very hard things of Daisy's
defection, and could not bring herself to look upon calls of
family affection which might have been made, as extenuating
circumstances. But she fancied, and fancied rightly, that
Walter Goring was judging the offender leniently already,
before even he knew the facts of the case. The conversation
was changed then, and not resumed until late in the evening,
when Walter Goring got a quiet corner in the drawing-room
with Charlie.
 It seems, he then said,  that she went five days ago—
fancy that! and the stupid old woman she was with has only
let me hear of it to-day.
 How's that ?  Charlie asked.
 Oh, she was huffed, I suppose; she says she was k much
hurt at the manner of Miss Goring's departure, and is more
hurt at my not having communicated with her since;' the
fact is, Miss Daisy told Mrs Osborne that she was coming to
Goring Place, and the old lady thinks that I have been show-
ing want of respect for her all these days in not having noti-
fied my ward's arrival and my consequent displeasure with
her.
 Then she told Mrs Osborne a story ? 
"A gray lie, evidently; she has a deep-rooted, passionate
love for her mother, and I imagine that she has gone off to
254
Walter Goring.
that mother, whoever and wherever she may be. Forgive me
for boring you about it, but I can think of nothing else. I
ought not to have come to-night, but I could not resist the
pleasure of seeking your sympathy.
. Charlie flushed a little. There was absolutely nothing in
his words—nothing to which any one might not have given
utterance; but he had a way of saying things a little more
impressively than other people.
 I am so sorry, she said— so sorry for you. Of course
I'm sorry that she should be Again she stopped.
She was going to say she was sorry that Daisy should be so
 wickedly indiscreet, but on the whole it occurred to her
that she might as well leave the sentence unfinished.
"You don't know her; if you did, you would be very
much interested in her, I'm persuaded; she resembles you in
many things.
 I should scarcely think that, Charlie replied, decidedly.
 Nevertheless, she does, I assure you; not in person or in
mind, but in a certain sort of acquired impatience, and love
of novelty.
 Am I to understand that you mean I have an acquired
love of novelty as well as acquired impatience ?  The tone
in which she asked him this showed that she was vexed.
 Yes—are you angry with me ?—I did mean it; I have
it myself, in a lesser degree than you, now; at one time I
had it to a much stronger one.
 And you think it a bad thing ? 
 Not at all—if it be kept within bounds.
"Well, mine has been kept within bounds pretty well all
my life, so far as my never being able to indulge it goes; and
whatever you may think, Mr Goring, I should never have let
it develop in the way your cousin has done—though you say
that is what she resembles me in.
"No—you are much less rash than Daisy; you would
never throw everything to the winds for the sake of gratify-
ing any strong passion; you would conquer it or change it.
 Don't analyse me any more, Mr Goring. I like to think
well of myself.
 Know yourself, then, he replied, in a low tone; and
when he saw that Charlie forgave him for likening her to
Daisy, then he went on,  But how about Frank and his
Two Offers.
255
' Elaine' j did he find one at that studio I recommended him
to try ? 
 No—he only goes there for costumes; he came upon an
'Elaine' hy accident in the street, I believe. Oh no, it wasn't
in the street, though, for he says he was rewarded for encour-
aging native talent by seeing a face that will do for ' Elaine '
as he was coming out of the English Opera the night before
last. Oh—and another windfall—he has found a publisher,
and his book is to come out as soon as it can be printed.
 That is well. What does he get for it ? 
 Half profits.
 That is not well; he may chronicle the fact, if he ever
sees a penny, as the most remarkable occurrence and curious
fact of the age.
 He's very sanguine about seeing a good deal more than a
penny, Charlie said, laughing.
"So was I once, Walter Goring replied. "I was young
at the time, and the publisher who ushered my first book into
the world assured me that fabulous sums would be the re-
suit of publishing on that system. I kept a hopeful silence
for a year, and then, when I suggested that a modest instal-
ment would be encouraging, he overwhelmed me with shame
and remorse by making frightful calculations on the spot, by
which he proved that he was out of pocket some £300 by
the transaction.
At this juncture, Mr Prescott, who had been reading the
Times all the evening, came over and joined them.
 Can that brother of yours keep accounts ?  he asked ;
and his manner of mentioning Frank was so offensive that
Charlie kept her head set steadily towards Mr Goring, and ig-
nored the question. But Mr Prescott was not to be silenced.
 I say, Mrs Fellowes, he repeated,  can that brother of
yours write a decent hand, and has he a tolerable head for
figures ? 
 He says 'no' himself. I think his figures are full of life,
but he thinks himself that he hasn't a sufficient knowledge of
anatomy, so he has gone to South Kensington to study it,
Charlie replied, wilfully misunderstanding her brother-in-law.
 I wasn't asking about his daubing, Mr Prescott said,
letting his upper lip down portentously.  I meant, is he fit
for a clerk's place ? because I see a house I know in the city
256 Walter Goring.
is advertising for a clerk, and I wouldn't mind backing his
application. _ ..
 Do you mean that I am to write and tell him this,
Robert ? 
 Yes, he replied.
 Then why couldn't you have said so, she retorted,  in-
stead of standing off from the subject as if it were a disgrace-
ful one ? 
"You don't consider him a particularly creditable one, I
hope ? 
She rose up impatiently.  Pray don't speak to me about
my brother at all, Robert. Then she struggled with herself,
and tried to be discreet, and to think that at any rate Mr
Prescott meant well.  Your offer is very kind. I will write
and tell Frank of it.
 There is one condition you '11 please to make, Mr Pres-
cott began; and when Charlie asked,  What is that ?  Walter
Goring walked away from them, foreseeing a storm.
 Why, that he gives up his scribbling and daubing; he
has dragged his name through the mire enough already.
I '11 not countenance any more of it, by trying to put him in
a respectable position, unless he promises to give up wasting
his time and spoiling canvas and paper.
 You may make that condition yourself. I won't.
 How do you expect he is to live ?- Now when I am will-
ing to give him a helping hand, you throw cold water on my
intentions.
 I do nothing of the kind. I simply refuse to throw cold
water on his intentions.
 If he lets any absurdity of the sort stand 'in the way of
this, I '11 never do anything more for him. I promise you
that. I'm willing to do this and give him a chance, and you
may tell him so ; I will back him up, and my recommendation
will be taken—but I won't see him.
 I assure you he has not the faintest desire to see you,
the injudicious partisan said, indignantly.
 I should think not, if he has any shame left.
 He hasn't a bit—what has he to be ashamed of indeed ?
I '11 have nothing to do with your offer or conditions; make
them to him yourself, if you are not afraid.
Then she got away from him and took refuge by Ellen's
Tivo Offers.
25 7
side. Mrs Prescott was lying down on a sofa just opposite
to a wood fire, feeling very idle, and happy, and sleepy, in
blest unconsciousness of the wrath that was simmering in old
Mrs Fellowes's heart at this fresh evidence of the supine in-
dulgence of young women of the modern day. Charlie bent
over her pretty sister, smoothing the fair silky hair; as she
did so, she whispered,—
 Did you hear me quarrelling with your husband, Ellen ? 
 I never listen when you disagree, you know, Ellen re-
plied, promptly.  I'm always so afraid that one of you
should ask me to say something; so when you begin, I don't
listen. How funny that Mr Goring should be down here,
isn't it ? everybody says he is sure to marry Mrs Walsh.
But I hope he won't; if we do take this place I had rather
not have her for a neighbour.
Charlie left off caressing the fair locks, and moved away
from her sister. It pained her to see how entirely indifferent
Ellen was as to what would become of her (Charlie), should the
Prescotts  take this place. But on Ellen holding out her
hand and smiling sweetly, Charlie reflected,  She never means
to be ill-natured—she is not like Robert;  so she returned to
her place by Mrs Preseott's side, and that lady continued,—
 I should like to go for a very long drive, and take all
the children, to-morrow, Charlie; it can be done, I sup-
pose ? 
 Oh yes !  Charlie replied.
"May I ask how? old Mrs Fellowes struck in.
 Well—really I don't know, Charlie said with a laugh ;
"but it seems to me that there are plenty of horses and
plenty of men to drive them.
"Do you all, six or seven of you, mean to cram into one
phaeton, for instance ? the old lady continued.
"Allow me to drive you and your sister, Mrs Fellowes—
do allow me, Walter Goring said, and as Ellen smiled assent
to the proposition, Charlie agreed to it right willingly.
"When I live here I shall have a pony-chaise and pretty
pair of ponies, Ellen remarked amiably. And once more
Charlie felt devoid of all natural affection for her sister.
Before the party separated that night, Mr Goring so
managed as to get a few more quiet moments with Mr3
Fellowes.
£
258
Walter Gcring.
 I want you to give me Frank's address, lie said. She
wrote it hastily and handed it to him.
 I am going to make a bid for his picture, he continued;
and Charlie smiled upon him gloriously by way of reply,
but at the same time said,—
 No, don't do that; Frank would rather not be patronisea.
A fair field and no favour is all he asks.
 But I'm delighted with the study he made for it—that
figure of Guinevere was exquisite.
When he said that, Charlie remembered that the figure he
considered "exquisite was the figure of Mrs Walsh; and
then she smiled no more. In fact, she felt that the evening
had been a great failure, as she gave him her hand and said
good-night to him.
CHAPTER XXXIIL
a syeen smile.
It soon came to be an understood thing that Walter Goring
should drive Charlie and Mr and Mrs Prescott out every fine
day. He had plenty of time at his disposal, and Henry
Fellowes was too much absorbed in business matters and
miserable speculations as to the future to have time or incli-
nation for anything that did not appear to him to be a work
of necessity. There had been another heavy call made upon
him, and now the worst was known. It was no longer a
question of letting The Hurst and retrenching. He knew
that he must sell the old place, and the knowledge made his
heart very heavy.
 Do keep square with Prescott, if you can, Charlie, he
said to his wife two or three days after Mr Goring had dined
there.
 Square with him, why I 'm sweet to him, she said.
"Yes, I know; but the fact is, I don't want anything to
put him off his plan of buying the house and grounds.
Goring has made me a capital offer for the land, but he
doesn't want the house, you see. It was such a munificent
offer that I closed with it at once.
A Syren Smile.
259
Charlie looked up with sparkling eyes and a crimson face.
 I don't understand, Harry—why should Mr Goring
seem to come forward as a benefactor in this way ? I don't
quite like it. I would rather have heard that the land was
sold to anybody else, or at a moderate price to him.
 I'm not in a position to split straws ;—but I was say-
ing, it's not such an easy matter to get rid of a house and
pleasure-grounds when there is no farm to go with it down
here, so I should be sorry if Prescott gets put off his bar-
gain.
 I won't put him off. Meek is no word for what I have
been to him for the last two or three days; indeed, the only
thing in which I have ventured to run counter to his miser-
able little will, was in not making myself the medium of his
impertinence to Frank; that I wouldn't do.
 Look at his motive, not at his manner. He meant
kindly by Frank, after all, and Frank has had the sense to
see that he did. He wrote to Frank himself—curtly enough,
I allow—but Frank has answered him straightforwardly
and civilly.
 Does he accept his offer ? 
 No ; but he gives such excellent reasons for refusing it that
Prescott can't be annoyed at the refusal. He says he has
had an offer of £400 for his picture, before it's painted, too;
it's fabulous, are you not surprised ? 
Charlie turned her head away, and made no reply. She
did not like to say, (since Frank had kept his own counsel,)
that she knew by whom that offer had been made, therefore
she said nothing; but she thought,  I wish Walter Goring
would not make himself our guardian angel in this way;
there is no need for the halo about him to be deepened.
When she did speak, it was to say,  Dear Frank ! well, I'm
glad that he has contrived to satisfy Mr Prescott, and then
she went away to prepare for the drive.
Ellen, being the senior .matron, was always given the place
of honour on these occasions by Mr Goring's side, and Charlie
and Mr Prescott had to make the best of each other on the
back seat. He was a wearisome companion to his sister-in-
law at any time, but during these drives he was simply odious
to her ; and she did at times find that it was very hard to obey
her husband's injunction and  keep square with Prescott.
26o
Walter Goring.
There are several kinds of people whom it is unpleasant to
drive about—to act as coachman to, or even to sit by them
while a third person drives. But there are two orders whom
it is more than unpleasant, it is almost unbearable, to have
with you.
The type of the one order is the man, or woman, who ac-
credits either the horse or you with all manner of malice pre-
pense. If the horse be the object of his distrust, he concen-
trates all his powers of observation on the noble animal, and
is deaf to all you say, and blind to all you pass. He inter-
rupts and worries you perpetually, to ask  if there's not
something uncertain in that creature's eye ?  or  if he doesn't
mean mischief when he drops his ear in that way? and
would you oblige him by being particularly careful how you
pass things, as he sees that horse is bent on a collision. If,
on the other hand, he distrusts the driver, he becomes a
nuisance of a deeper dye. He wants to  ease the horse  at
every dip and rise by getting out and walking. He thinks
you a cruel monster if you  don't stop him and let him
breathe, poor fellow, every twenty yards. He would like no,
thing so much as to have you up under Mr Martin's Act it
you don't get down and wipe away a pertinacious fly from
the tip of the horse's ear with your pocket-handkerchief.
He deems you guilty of wickedly overtasking a willing but
helpless servant if you drive more than four miles an hour;
and finally, and worst of all, he is always sure that your
m'atchless-actioned trotter is  going lame. Now all these
things are very hard to endure; but there is a certain cowar-
dice in the first series of offences which calls for contemptuous
pity, and a certain kindly tender-heartedness in the second
which enlists the sympathy even of the aggrieved. But for the
man who, knowing nothing of them, expects and demands
impossible feats of endurance and speed from the horses, there
is and should be no toleration.
Mr Prescott was one of these men. He was as unreason-
ing as an infant on the subject. Accustomed as he was to
be wafted about behind those wonderful screws which adorn
the Hansoms of the metropolis, he held it to be quite in the
order of things that a similar pace should be maintained for,
say twenty or thirty miles without stopping, when a friend
took him for a drive in the country. He knew nothing of
A Syren Smile.
261
horsea ; they were mere locomotive machines to him, and he
held it to be but a puerile policy which ever sought to spare
them.  Your cattle don't travel very fast, he would say to
Walter Goring, when they were going along at about twelve
miles an hour; and if Mr Goring, goaded by the repetition
of the remarks, increased the pace, Mr Prescott would re-
settle himself complacently, and observe to Charlie,  That 'a
a little better, if he only keeps it up ; but he won't.
 No, of course he won't, Charlie would retort.  Why
should he run their legs off ? Where do you want to go, that
you are so anxious to get over the ground ? Because I dare-
say, there's a train to it, and we could drop you at a station.
 I don't want to go anywhere ; but when a man makes
me come out with him, I don't want to crawl along no faster
than if I walked.
 Ah! it's only when you 're on horseback that you like
crawling, she would reply; and then Mr Prescott would
Jook about him discontentedly in silence, until he fancied he
saw another fair opportunity for saying,—
"Your cattle don't travel very fast.
Or if he was not engaged in finding fault with the pace,
or employed in looking discontentedly over the prospect, he
improved the opportunity by catechising Charlie as to what
her husband's plans were when he left The Hurst.  He
will have very little to live upon, I can tell you that, he
would say, encouragingly. "And I don't know what he's
fit for, but a farmer; it's been a very bad business for you.
 For him, not for me, she replied.  I'm thoroughly
contented, and shall be thoroughly happy if I only find that
my husband thinks as little of it as I do. Don't pity me,
Robert.
She certainly never looked an object of pity on these
occasions. The long-sustained excitement of mingled doubt,
suspense, and hope, had imparted a certain brilliancy to her
manner and face that had generally been wanting in the old
"dark days of nothingness  at Bayswater. The knowledge
that a great deal depended upon her—that if she seemed
faint in spirit and down-hearted her husband would be more
unhappy than he was already—deepened and improved her
nature. It made her more careful, more thoughtful and
self-reliant. Not in a depressed, saddened way, but in a
262
Walter Goring.
rich, full, generous one, that made itself manifest in a moie
glowing physique. She certainly was no object of pity, pos-
Bessing, as she did, the determination to make the best of
things, and the bright belief that things would never he at
all worse than she could bear without breaking down. In
his heart of hearts Mr Prescott did think that Charlie should
have carried herself a little more humbly in these days—that
she should have borne these trials which had come upon her
unrepiningly, as became a Christian; hut humbly, neverthe-
less. He did not wish to he unjust or harsh in his judgment
of her; but  when people haven't a penny to bless them-
selves with, he would say to Ellen,  they shouldn't hold
their heads so high and look so uncommonly well pleased, as
Charlie does; it's all nonsense her pretending not to feel this
downfall at all: she ought to feel it. Mr Prescott was a
great advocate for a fitting demeanour being observed on all
occasions. In his estimation there was no piety in the heart
of a man who did not look perniciously sour in a pew. He
liked outward and visible signs of things, and Charlie
Fellowes would not soothe him by any signal of distress.
Meanwhile Walter Goring was making a good many.
More than ten days had passed, and still there was nothing
heard of Daisy. After all her elaborate packing up, she had
gone away, taking nothing with her, save the £600 which
had been deposited at the hank; hut, feeling convinced that
she was gone to her mother, Walter Goring did not like to
put a detective on her track—a piece of self-denial on his
part which saves me an immense deal of trouble in following
the devious paths which a detective is popularly supposed to
take. But for all this prudent self-denial, Walter Goring
was very anxious and unhappy about Daisy, and his signals
of distress were clearly visible to Charlie's naked eye.
At last his patience was rewarded. The girl herself came
upon him suddenly one evening when he was sitting, as was
his wont now, in the room which had been sacred to her—■
sitting there thinking of her sadly, and reproaching himself
with having been false to his charge. She came upon him
suddenly like a ghost, so haggard, pale, and sad-looking,
that he had not the heart to be severe to her, when she came
almost crouching before him, entreating him to forgive her.
"I will go back quietly, and never wairt to leave Mrs
A Syren Smile.
263
Osborne again, she said, when he had somewhat passionately
interrogated her as to where she had been.  I did long so
to see my mother; hut, Walter, dortt ask me about her; only
I shall never want to see her again.
"You have been to see your mother, then ?
 I have seen my mother—yes.
"Foolish girl! Why not have told me you were going?
Would I have prevented it, do you think ? I would have
raised no harrier.
"But some one else would. Don't ask me anything—
don't drive me wild by speaking about it! Let me forget all
this—do—do—do / She has a husband, you know; and—
and 
She threw herself down on the sofa, crying out aloud, and
wailing as a child does in some passionate grief. Then he
saw that though her face was worn and wan, that she had
gained a fuller, rounder beauty of form since their last meet-
ing. She was more womanly altogether—as graceful as ever
—but with a more luxurious grace than the lithe one of old.
She had altered the disposition of her hair, too : instead of
being bound tightly round her head, as formerly, she wore
it now unbound, pushed behind her ears, and hanging down
her back, a rippling sheet of living gold. The fresh arrange-
ment was a new-born beauty to him. He could not feel
angry with her, as she was lying stretched before him, weep-
ing in her passionate prettiness.
He went over to The Hurst at once, and claimed Charlie's
good offices, and Charlie acceded to his proposal, that she
should receive Daisy and keep her until such time as Mrs
Osborne could be communicated with, and her good pleasure
about taking Daisy back be learnt. It was also agreed that
no one save Henry Fellowes, who knew it already, should be
told that the young lady had been a defaulter from the path
of duty.  Her romantic love for her mother led her into the
scrape, but she shrinks from the subject in such a way that I
fancy that love has received some awful shock, Walter
Goring said to Mrs Fellowes, when he was on the point of
returning to Goring Place to fetch his ward.
 Tell me ? How am I to account for her here ? 
 That I leave to you,' he replied, promptly, in the manner
men have of appearing to deem a woman capable of coininc*
264
Walter Goring.
any story on the spot.  You are sure to account for her in
the best way possible under the circumstances. Besides, you
are not accountable to any one—are you ? 
No, of course she was not; and he was very anxious to
throw the onus of his ward upon her—that was very evident.
Well, she liked him so much, that she was capable of endur-
ing even misapprehension for his sake. So she prepared her-
self to defend stoutly, if need be, the appearance of the yellow-
haired girl upon the scene, and to suffer a little for friendship's
sake at the call of Walter Goring.
Young Mrs Fellowes had schooled herself well by the time
Daisy appeared. She took the elder woman's place—the
married woman's place—at once, before that young lady,
assuming that it was a thing of course that Daisy should be
very much more to her guardian than anybody else. The
girl with the sweet voice and the winning jvays (ah ! how
much sweeter they all appeared to Walter than they had been
of old!) was not one from whom such a woman as Charlie
could stand aloof. Mrs Fellowes took to her young guest
kindly. Daisy's silvery voice, and feline grace, and look of
sad, thrilling experience, fascinated Charlie into a feeling that
was stronger than liking at the outset of their intercourse.
Mrs Fellowes had no faith in Daisy's possession of any one of
the more subtle and exalted qualities, which Daisy, by an in-
llection of voice, or a gleam of the eye, or a quiver of the lip,
would seem to express almost against her own will. But
such is the wonderful influence that well-managed dramatic
power has over acutely sensitive people, that though Charlie
did not believe in these things, she was carried away, and, as
it were, partially intoxicated by them.
And Daisy acted her part well. She was the impassioned
penitent—the wrong-doer through right feeling—to perfec-
tion. Every line of her flexible form, every varying expres-
sion on her mobile face, appealed to all sorts of feelings in
those who looked upon her, that caused them to be lenient
in their judgment of her. How far the fair beauty of her
forehead, and the cobalt-blue of her eyes, and the living gold
of the unbound waves of hair, acted upon Walter Goring and
biassed his judgment, I cannot tell. However that might be,
something about her had inclined the young guardian so
favourably towards his fair ward, that when he left her that
Daisy Wins. 265
night at The Hurst, and went home to Goring Place, with
the melody of the last song she had sung them ringing in his
ears, he no longer thought the terms on which Goring Place
was to remain his at the expiration of the four years after his
uncle's death, hard, or derogatory. In fact, there was a
fifty-syren power in Daisy's smile now, partly because, when
she was not smiling, the cobalt-blue eyes were so very sad.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
daisy wins.
Daisy Goring remained for a month at The Hurst, as
Charlie's guest, while Mrs Osborne went through the stages
of tremulous anxiety, virtuous indignation, and unforgiving
rectitude. Finally, Mrs Osborne was appeased; she con-
sented to becoming interested and responsible afresh for
Daisy, and then Walter Goring found out that he was
very sorry that Daisy should be going away from his im-
mediate vicinity.
During that month of her stay at The Hurst, Daisy had
entwined herself about his heart marvellously. She had
been the motive of his paying almost daily visits to The
Hurst, and she had been one of the principal causes of his
finding those visits very agreeable—only one of the principal
causes, be it understood. The society of young Mrs Fellowes
had an interest for him, too. But he reminded himself that
she was "out of the betting; and so,-being a good fellow,
and no would-be Don Juan, he did not care to analyse the
interest he had in her, but strove to make himself believe
that Daisy had the strongest spell.
Indeed, it would have been a strange thing had he stood
the test of Daisy's daily presence, and Daisy's desperate de-
termination to please and win him. She seemed to have
given up childish things—to have merged suddenly into one
of the gentlest, softest, and most tractable of women. The
defiant manner and the impertinent expression were utterly
gone, and in place of them there had come a tender twilight
266
Walter Goring.
that was specially touching when contrasted with her old
sunny, spasmodic habits.
She made no secret of her desire to please Walter. To
win his approbation she was ready to do anything now, even
to make those educational efforts which had oppressed her
so heavily of yore.  I'd hurst my brain to satisfy him,
she would say to Charlie; and Charlie, though the saying it
caused her a painfal sensation in the throat, would tell the
truth and reply, "No need for that; he is satisfied enough
with you already.
Once—a day or two after she came hack—Mr Goring strove
to assume his rightful authority over his ward. He told her
that there must be an end of this affectation of mystery, that
he insisted on knowing who, and what, and where her mo-
ther was ? She lapsed into stubborn silence then—a silence
so dark, dogged, and determined, that none of his entreaties
could move her from it. Defiance he could have mastered,
open refusals to tell him anything he would have routed—
but with a woman who could hold her tongue he felt power-
less. Finally, he had to declare his own defeat by telling
her that he would not press her further, but that "if she
loved him, she would prove her love some day by giving him
her confidence. That appeal touched her—not to confidence,
but to such tears and caresses that she made him forget that
he had any cause of displeasure with her. She sat down on
a low stool by his side, and leant her head on his shoulder,
and slipped her thin hand into his, and made the love he
had seemed to question manifest to him in a thousand ways.
It was almost as if the soul of Vivien had come back and
entered into this girl, Charlie thought, when on Walter's de-
parture Daisy went to her, and recounted the scene with such
accuracy that Charlie wondered what was real about her
(Daisy), and whether she was acting now or then. In short,
irresistibly impelled as Mrs Fellowes was to watch the evolu-
tions of this girl, and to take an interest in her progress—■
fascinated as she was by Daisy's voice, and grace, and match-
less gift of seeming, she distrusted Miss Goring's perfect in-
tegrity in many respects, and specially did she doubt the sin-
cerity of Miss Goring's love for her cousin.
For Daisy was redolent of that air of small trickery and
intrigue which disgusts another woman who is capable of de-
Daisy Wins. 267
tecting it more than a larger, bolder sin would do. She em-
ployed the artifices of artlessness too freely for one so clear-
sighted as Charlie not to find her out. It disgusted and
offended Mrs Fellowes to see Daisy adopt a sort of pleadingly
caressing, half-childish manner towards Walter—to see her
hanging on his arm and pressing her cheek against his hand,
and even twisting his brown curls round her white, taper
fingers. It disgusted and offended her even*more to see that
he rather liked all this than otherwise, and that half-childish
as the manner was, it was rapidly winning him to think
Daisy the one woman in the world. Yet for all the chagrin
and annoyance she felt daily almost, Mrs Fellowes was very
sorry when Daisy left her, and this partly because the girl
had exercised over her the Lamia fascination, and partly be-
cause Charlie would rather have watched the growth of the
danger than know it flourishing away from her.
At an early stage of their intercourse, Daisy had taken
the very surest means of averting anything like antagonism
to or interference in her plans from Charlie. Miss Goring
had a mind fully capable of grasping all the contingencies of
such a case as this. She knew herself too well to believe
that she could successfully deceive Mrs Fellowes ; therefore
she resolved upon confiding in, and so appealing to, Mrs
Fellowes' honour.  I am very fond of Walter, she said to
Charlie, the morning after her arrival.  I didn't feel in-
clined to let myself fade out of his recollection by staying at
Brighton; he would have come to think of me as a little
girl
 Was it that which made you cause him all this anxiety?
Charlie asked, holding her head a little more stiffly erect than
she had held it before.
"Yes, Daisy replied, coolly. "Different people take
different paths to the same place very often ; I wanted to
make him think a great deal about me, and I have succeeded.
I want him to fall in love with me now, and I '11 succeed in
that if he is not interfered with.
 I don't think you need fear any interference, said Charlie.
"No, I don't think I need now, for Mrs Walsh is away,
and you are—married. She dealt the last word out like a
shot, and she had the satisfaction of seeing Charlie wince.
Charlie felt conscious herself that she had not heard it en-
268
Walter Goring.
tirely unmoved, and that through her inopportune twitch oi
nervousness she had put herself in Daisy's power.
 There is no occasion for you to take that fact into your
calculations, she said, and Daisy replied,—
 Nevertheless I, do, for Walter thinks very highly of you.
I believe you might set him against any one. Mrs Walsh
tried and failed; but I made her smart for it. Then she
laughed, and recounted what took place during that journey
to town which has been already described, and Charlie
listened and found the recital to the full as interesting as
Daisy desired she should think it.  It was very unfair of
her—very wicked, as she had a husband alive then : don't
you think it was ?  Daisy wound up with.
 Do you mean that it was wicked to come to Goring
Place, and unfair of Walter—Mr Goring, to like her ?
 No; but unfair and wicked to try and come between
us, Daisy answered.  And do you ever call him Walter to
his face ? You said his name so naturally.
No ; of course I don't.
 I'm very glad of that. I never shall be—because you
are always sure to behave beautifully—but I could be jealous
of you.
 You'll please to remember that I am married, Charlie
replied, gravely. The conversation had taken a turn that
was peculiarly disagreeable to her. She seemed to herself to
have suddenly come down to a very low level of girlish folly;
therefore she threw herself upon her stronghold—her dignity
as wife, and regained her position.
Or nearly regained it. She felt that, after all, it was but
a drawn game—that she. had not checkmated her daring
young assailant, when Miss Daisy replied,—
"Yes, I know; but isn't it funny that we should both
have seemed to think it necessary to recall that fact when we
were talking of Walter ? 
From that moment, never by word, or look, or gesture, did
Charlie hint to Walter Goring that his cousin was not all
that a man could desire the girl he is thinking of falling in
love with to be. Indeed, she eschewed private conversation
with him on the subject of Daisy, dwelling solely, when he
forced her to say anything about the girl, on the witchery of
her ways, the fascination of her fair face, and the thrilling
Daisy Wins.
269
joyousness of a voice that grew clearer and more bird-like
daily.
Indeed, gradually Charlie eschewed private conversation
with him altogether on any subject. It came about quite
naturally, this change in her custom and desire """he time
was approaching for them to leave Tb t, Henry
Fellowes began to be subject to severe despondency.
Mr Prescott had bought the house am unds, and was
very anxious to get possession of them. And Ellen longed
to have the house clear, in order that she might refurnish—
a fact she considerately impressed upon Charlie in every
letter. The cottage which Mrs Walsh had hired went with
the land Walter Goring had bought, so she suffered no incon-
venience through change of landlords.
At last Henry Fellowes applied for and got the situation
of steward to so much of Lord Harrogate's land as was kept
in the family about Deneham. There was no house for him,
though, on the estate. Accordingly it was proposed and
carried, greatly to poor Charlie's horror and disappointment,
that the whole family should migrate to a small house in the
village, unite their incomes, and live together.
But only to .her brother did she express a word of what
she felt. Before her husband she exhibited neither distrust
nor down-heartedness but to Frank she wrote:—
 While there was a prospect of a separate establishment I
almost rejoiced in the convulsion which has thrown us out of
The Hurst. I would willingly have gone to Australia, as
Robert Prescott proposed we should do; but this going into
a small square house in that miserable High Street, Dene-
ham, with Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah, is rather hard. The
walls are so thin, that I shall hear their voices from morning
till night. However, other people have stood worse things.
Forgive me this one howl, dear Frank, and tell me if the ac-
companying story is worth reading ? If it is, revise and get
it off for me—not under my married name, though. If it
failed, all the females of the house of Fellowes would revile
me into my grave. You know that Mr Goring's cousin has
been staying rather more than a month with me. She goes
back to Brighton to-morrow; but not for long, I fancy.
She's attractive, and he's attracted. How about the picture?
27 o
Walter Goring.
I hope you haven't made Lancelot look anything but rather
ashamed of himself. It was what old Mrs Fellowes would
call ' most unblushing,' to have that talk with Guinevere and
then to go off and let Arthur fling one arm about his neck
and call him—,
' Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have
Most love and most affiance.'
 The auction is fixed for this day three weeks, and we
have to give a fine luncheon—that's the custom here. Fancy,
people coming to eat at our downfall!—Believe me, dear Frank,
Your affectionate sister, Charlie Fellowes.
The day after writing this letter, Daisy left her, and, as
was said before, when it came to the point, Charlie was very
sorry to part with the girl. She was touched by the way in
which Daisy hung about her, with the tears in her bright blue
eyes. "You have been so good to me, Mrs Fellowes; you
have done more than any one else in the world to make me
happy, she said.
 Except Mr Goring, Charlie replied.
"Always excepting Walter—poor Walter! Daisy said,
putting her hands up to her forehead and leaning her elbows
on the table. After a few moments' pause, she went on: "I
may as well tell you to-day as write it to you to-morrow—as
I surely should, Mrs Fellowes—Walter asked me to marry
him, last night. I have won the game I came down to play.
She looked up, and smiled faintly as she spoke.
"You have won much too honourable a man to speak of
it so lightly, Charlie replied. Then she remembered all the
circumstances under which she had accepted Henry Fellowes'
offer. True, she had never done a single thing with design
to win or attract him; but she had taken him in such utter
indifference, that she felt not from her lips could Daisy be
reproved in justice.
 Poor Walter, poor Walter !  Daisy went on, putting her
head down between her slender hands again.  Shall I tell
you all he said, and how he said it ? 
 No, no, Charlie replied, hastily;  pray don't. How
can you ? 
 How can I ?—Oh, capitally, I am sure. I couldn't help
thinking he looked so handsome, and he spoke so beautifully
Daisy Wins. 271
tliat it was like an opera scene, though, the words were Eng-
lisn. Do you know, I could hardly help singing my an-
swers, she continued, laughing. "Wouldn't he have been
surprised ? He didn't go on his knees.
 I should think not, Charlie replied, pettishly.  Come,
Daisy, do take your coffee. You will have to start without
breakfast if you don't; for Harry is going to drive you to the
station, and he never lets any one he late for a train.
"All right, Daisy rejoined.  I have seen him very near
to kneeling before Mrs Walsh, I assure you.
"Mrs Walsh never knelt to him. There's no occasion for
the adoration to be on both sides, Charlie said.
"And you mean that I have half knelt and seemed to
wholly adore? Daisy rejoined, looking up quickly. "Poor
Walter! he does think I love him so much; it's that that
brought him down, I know; hut I '11 go on just the same all
my life, Mrs Fellowes. It wasn't real at starting, I allow;
but it's a thing to grow, isn't it ? she looked keenly at
Charlie as she spoke.
 Daisy, you don't mean that it has all been sham ?
Charlie asked, almost piteously. She liked Walter Goring so
much. It seemed to her such an awful thing that this girl
should go to him as his wife, seeming to love him so despe-
rately, and not loving him at all.
Daisy wheeled round on her chair, and bent her face over
the back of it, turning the long waving mass of bright yel-
low hair towards Charlie.
 I know you'd never be mean enough to try and break
off the engagement, however much you like him. I dare
trust you.
 You may trust me ; but this is—oh ! Daisy, it's horrible !
Don't do him the bitter wrong of marrying him if you don't
love. You don't know what it is ; you don't know what it is.
 Do you ?  Daisy asked, suddenly facing round; and
Charlie sprang up, exclaiming,—
 You turn off from the subject—don't speak about it any
more. Then she added, more gently,  Forgive me : I had
no right to offer you advice, and you may trust me,
Daisy. In her self-abasement, Charlie looked upon herself
as a fellow-sinner, though she had never fooled a man by a
feigned love.
272
Walter Goring.
CHAPTER XXXV.
the last day in the old home.
Such of my readers as have had personal experience of the
difficulties and disagreeables attendant on removing, with a
large family and a limited income, from a large house into a
small one—and such alone—will read this chapter with inter-
est; for it chronicles veraciously, and at some length, the
Hegira of the Fellowes from The Hurst.
It had been decided that, enough of the furniture should be
kept to furnish the small square Deneham house of which
Charlie had made irreverent mention in her letter to Frank.
The work of selection, in itself, was therefore an arduous one;
and it was made more arduous than it need have been through
the eternal diversity of opinion which prevailed on the subject
of each article between Miss Dinah and her mother.
These ladies had, with an amiable willingness to be ready
in time—a willingness that was praiseworthy in itself when
isolated, but that could not be isolated, and therefore became
a detestable nuisance—commenced packing up about a month
before there was the slightest occasion for it.  If we never
make a beginning, we shall never get the few poor things we
are suffered to retain, together, Mrs Fellowes would say,
vigorously unsettling the standing order of several things in
constant use, and judiciously mislaying them. Miss Dinah
perfectly agreed with her mother's proposition, but not with
her mother's manner of carrying it cut. Mrs Fellowes' earlier
measures were weak, but inoffensive; Miss Dinah was of a
more martial mind. She desired to resort to extreme mea-
sures at once—to have all the carpets up and all the bedsteads
down, in order that they  might see what they had, and
know what they wanted, she said.
 Don't you think, Charlie once mildly ventured to sug-
gest,  that it will be as well to leave the things as they are
till the men come to pack them ? It will all be done at once
then, and you won't be worn out beforehand.
 My dear, you know nothing at all about it, her mother-
io-law would reply; and Miss Dinah would add,  No, in-
deed! I am not going to have the men touch that beautiful
The Last Day in the Old Home. 273
glass and china that we have never so much as used for the
last twenty years : I shall pack that myself.
"Wouldn't it be as well to sell it, as it's never used?
Charlie hinted.
"No, it wouldn't, Miss Dinah replied; and after that
Charlie contented herself with watching proceedings. "You
can make copy out of it all by and by, Frank replied to
her, when she wrote and told him some of these minor miseries.
At the time, Charlie had very little chance of making
copy out of anything; for the library was never safe from
raids from some one or other, who would come to look for
some missing or wanted article that was supposed to be
buried in one of the cavernous closets of the room. More-
over, she had to answer business letters for her husband, and
to act as his secretary generally; for the poor fellow's troubles
had made him less clear-headed than of old. She did not
know to what to attribute it; but at times he seemed to be
in a haze, and to be weak of purpose both in manner and
words. She did not know to what to attribute it, but the
sight of it sent many a sharp pang through her heart.
When it came to the wind-up, Charlie was useless.  I
never could keep an account in my life, she exclaimed,
piteously, to Walter Goring one day; "and my husband
tells me that he relies almost entirely upon my aid in making
everything clear—wrhat has been sold, and what spent, and
what's due. I can write any number of letters, but the very
sight of the bills and account-books drives me mad.
 Don't go mad ; ask your husband if he will let me help
him.
 Oh, Mr Goring, why should you be so very kind ? Why
should you waste your time in such a very dreary way ?
No, no ; we must do the best we can.
 Of course you must—but you will let me do the little I
can? I would do anything in the world to serve you, Mrs
Fellowes, he continued, warmly ; "as I can only do it in
these trifles, you must suffer me to try. It's such a short
time, he continued, in a lower voice,  since I presumed to
give you advice about the management of your life, and now
I see you teaching any man a lesson who likes to take it—
bearing up and behaving as few men do indeed. I hardly
know which is my strongest feeling—admiration for the
274
Walter Goring.
change in you—the development, rather—or regret for the
cause of it.
"Don't pity me, and don't praise me, she replied; "you
know we women stand either very badly; but you shall help
toy husband, if you will.
He did help her husband. No clerk bound down by duty
and the hope of promotion could have worked more unremit-
tingly at the loosely-kept chaotic accounts that accumulated
with rapidity just before the wind-up of Henry Fellowes'
affairs. It was a wearisome, thankless office, this labour of
friendship for Charlie, which he had undertaken; but he felt
himself to be well rewarded by her gratitude, and the in-
creased knowledge he gained of her gratitude being a thing
worth having. He had resumed his old place with her,
almost the place of the sympathetic confidential friend he had
seemed to be before Daisy came. To him she even confided
the undefined dread which she had sometimes on account of
her husband.  I wish we were out of this, she said, im-
petuously, one day;  I wish my husband could get at once
into his new occupation. Doesn't he sometimes strike you
as seeming stupid now ? 
Walter Goring coloured a little as he replied,—
 He thinks about this miserable business too much; he
gets a fit of depression whenever he thinks about you.
 But he shouldn't—men should not break down about a
mere money matter.
 My dear Mrs Fellowes, I have seen the noblest minds
break down under the want of a five-pound note.
 That's pitiful, she replied.
 It may be so, but we cannot argue about it; it's a great
fact, whether it be a pitiful one or not.
On one other occasion, before they accomplished the move
from The Hurst, Mr Goring, on his way over to see them one
afternoon, met Charlie walking along in the side path that
led to the blocked-up lane into Goring Place. There were
dark marks under her eyes, and her cheeks looked drawn
and pale.  If it were any other woman than you, I should
say you had been crying, he said, as he got off his horse and
joined her.
 Turn back with me, the other way. I can't go home
yet, she replied, hastily.  Crying—yes, I have been crying
The Last Day in the Old Home. 275
till I have got such an attack of neuralgia in my head, that
I wish I had never been born. All the pleasure I'm ever
likely to have in life can't compensate me for the maddening
pain I'm enduring, and have endured for hours.
 I'm very sorry. It was all he could say, therefore it
was all he did say; but he walked along by her side, and it
was pleasant to her to feel that there was one human being
near to her who did not insist upon saying right things at
the wrong time. She was suffering terribly, poor girl; suf-
fering from one of those agonising mutinies in the head,
when all the nerves rise up in array against each other—
when thought, and sound, and light, one and all affect the suf-
ferer to an equal degree, and set all the head machinery
scrunching one part against the other—when a specially
lively demon seems to seat himself upon the bundle of nerves
on the left temple, and hammers away with both feet upon
some very sensitive strings that run from that place to just
behind the eyes—when the brain seems to be pressing for-
ward, and there is a great feeling of pulpiness at the back of
the head—when meaningless words repeat themselves unceas-
ingly, and lines of poetry, that have no special application to
anything on earth, insist on being pronounced with emphasis
—when, in fact, it is just touch and go between temporary
insanity and permanent madness, and one can feel nothing
but pain. As he glanced down at her, he saw that the slight
 Cain's mark, as she herself called the light line on her
forehead, had deepened into a plainly perceptible division,
and he was shaken by his pity for her agony, and his own
incapability of relieving it.
 Mrs Fellowes, he said at last,  do come home; take
my arm, and come home.
 Don't make me talk, she replied ;  speaking makes my
head grate against itself. He had never heard other than
bright, nervous accents from her lips before; the change to
this low tone of suffering despondency was exquisitely pain-
ful to him. He felt, too, that he could do nothing; he knew
that she did not ask him not to speak in order to urge him
to do so. Suddenly she turned round and spoke again,—
 I had better get home as fast as I can, Mr Goring. I
have tried to walk it off, but it won't go. Then she put her
hand on his arm, and he lead her back to The Hurst; and
2j6
Walter Goring.
when Mrs Fellowes and Miss Dinah saw them approach, they
agreed that it did not look well in Henry's wife—very far
from well, they were sorry to say.  Evidently went out to
meet him, Miss Dinah said, walking away from the window
in virtuous haste,  and has been crying, I should say.
 Can it be about his engagement ?—perhaps they have
been talking about that ?  Mrs Fellowes rejoined.
 I shouldn't wonder ; there, do you hear the way she has
rushed up-stairs ? what would poor Henry think, I wonder?
 Poor Henry was incapable of thinking about anything
just then. It was early in the afternoon, but he was sound
asleep on the sofa in the library.  It has been a bitter bad
business. God help her, poor dear girl, Walter Goring
thought as he went into the room, and stood looking at the
recumbent figure for a moment. Then he turned and went
out, without waking Henry Fellowes, and rode back to Gor-
ing Place.
They had not been, as Miss Dinah supposed, talking about
his engagement. It was a subject that they very seldom did
talk about, much as they saw of each other again in these
days. Indeed, it was a subject that Charlie cared very little
to talk about. It was not the most pleasant topic in the
world. Very few women do care to discuss the love of a
man they have liked, or could have liked, for another woman.
In the abstract it is easy enough to contemplate his future
devotion to  other lips and other hearts, but not in the
concrete; not when it is concentrated upon one individual.
And in this particular instance, Charlie had not the poor
comfort of despising the lover of another woman. When a
man swears eternal allegiance, and backs the vow with all
the eloquence of eye and tone, to a woman one week, and she
hears the next that he is offering duplicate vows to somebody
else, a very brief contempt for what is so lightly lost and won
is all she is apt to feel; and contempt is the best refrigerator
when one is left lamenting. But Walter Goring never had
offered vows, mute or spoken, to Charlie, and Charlie had never,
had the remote possibility before her that he ever could come
to do so. Nevertheless it was hard for her to feel as she did,
that he, the friend she valued most in the world next to
her brother, was bowing before an unworthy shrine.
For, married woman as she was, her husband had ceased
The Last Day in the Old Ho7ne. 277
to be the friend she had hoped in their honeymoon days he
would be while their bond lasted. Nemesis was hard upon
her indeed—deservedly hard, she told herself. Every single
thing which she had hoped to gain in this marriage, which
she had made without love, had failed her. The competency,
the comfortable home, the position in the county as the wife
of a landed proprietor—all these were gone; and now the
friendship for Henry Fellowes, which, in all honesty, she had
resolved upon keeping so pure and undefiled, that it should
only be a little less than the love she could not give, was go-
ing too. An atmosphere which she did not care to analyse,
but through which she could not pass, was growing thicker
between them each day, and she stood alone, both as woman
and wife, to such a degree, that she feared the extent of her
solitude becoming known to the only two who might have
solaced her in it—her brother and Mr Goring.
Perhaps there is nothing more disagreeable than the last
day in an old home. In Martineau's charming picture,
though the pain and misery of a fine old family household
breaking-up is placed vividly before us, the artist has avoided
painting the pettinesses which always add stings to the big
grief. On that canvas the stately side of sorrow is shown
to us in the grand old matron lady, and the heart-sore, refined
wife; and there is redeeming grace and light-heartedness
about the debonair handsome young spendthrift who has
brought them to this pass, and who sits with his gallant
little son at his knee, uplifting a glass of sparkling wine on
high, and toasting his parting glory. A poetic, if a painful
part of the day has been selected. But in real life, the last
day in the old home is all pain and no poetry generally.
At any rate, the poetry of it was not apparent to Charlie
as she roamed about through the dismantled rooms the
day they left The Hurst. In her heart she was very
sorry for all the Fellowes; she knew that this break-up must
cut them to the core. But she could scarcely express her
sorrow for them without seeming to include herself in the
list of unfortunates, and this she specially wished to avoid.
The small recompense she could make to the man she had
married, for having married him solely because he was a
great gentleman of fortune and position, she would make.
It was not much, she thought, but she would make it as per-
278
Walter Goring.
feet as it might be ; never from her, by word or deed, should
he or any one else learn that she gave so much as one regret-
ful thought to the vanished geniality, fortune, and place.
It was the least she could do, hut she would do that
thoroughly.
At last all the things they were to take were separated
from all the things they were to leave. Waggons full of the
former were despatched under fitting escort to the house in
Deneham which they were to occupy henceforth, and the
rest of the things were arranged in lots by the auctioneer's
men. Then Henry Fellowes and his mother walked together
for the last time through the house that was no longer theirs ;
and Charlie could not go with them, being in a state of
excited pity, and fearing that they would misunderstand her,
and fancy her pity was for herself.
If the early part of that day was worrying, the latter part
was simply woeful. The tears of his mother and sister, com-
bined with many glasses of sherry which he took with the
good intention of  keeping himself up, made Henry Fel-
lowes as lachrymose as a woman might have been. Servants
—even servants who had been in the employ of the family
for a few months only, and who had been utter strangers to
them before—deemed it incumbent upon them to bedew the
melancholy occasion, and speak in the falsetto of sorrowful
sympathy. The incoming people—the Prescotts—were per-
petually alluded to disparagingly, and dark doubts were ex-
pressed as to what they would do with divers rooms, and
how they would presume to alter standing arrangements
Already the Prescotts were looked upon as personal foes of
a peculiarly black hue by Mrs Fellowes and all those who
desired to stand well with her. Charlie felt that she herself
was regarded with an increase of distrust by reason of her
relationship to them. Only Miss Dinah insisted upon speak-
ing of them as anything save deceitfully dangerous traitors.
"The place had to be sold;—and it's just as well that
they should buy it as any one else, she said.  I don't
see that their having stayed here before makes a bit of dif-
ference.
 I only know, that never, as long as I live, will I put my
foot inside the gates again after I leave it to-day, the poor
old lady would reply, weeping sadly.
The A uction.
279
Some faint feeling of satisfaction shot through her mind as
she said it; she fancied that the Prescotts would feel this as
a fit and dire punishment. The not putting her foot inside
The Hurst gates would he so very much to her, that she
could hut imagine that it would also be very much to them.
 And I shall not take it well if Henry's wife flaunts about
here with her sister as if nothing had happened.
 You can't expect her to cut her sister, mother ?
 Ah !—we 're told we can't serve God and mammon,
Mrs Fellowes replied, irascibly.
Then she went on her way again, making a few more faint
preparations for getting away, and telling herself, sadly, that
there "would be more wall-fruit than ever probably this
year—the trees had been so well pruned last—but that never
a bit of it would she touch, though they might beg and im-
plore her to do it.
It was all very small and trifling, no doubt, these weak
womanish outbursts of contemplated revenge. But the sad-
ness of it outbalanced the smallness and trifling.
At last they got away, drove over to Heneham in the
carriage behind the horses that were to be sold at the auc-
tion. Every horse was to go save the old brown hunter
which had dropped Mr Prescott in the ditch. Even the old
Major wa3 to be sold, as Henry Fellowes had learnt from
Lord Harrogate's outgoing steward that one horse would do
all his work. They reached the new house about six o'clock,
and found all the wrong things put into the wrong rooms.
And their new life commenced.
CHAPTER XXXYL
the auction.
The morning of the auction dawned clear, bright, and fine.
The sun shone upon the demolishment of all of the old at The
Hurst.
 If I were you I wouldn't go over, Harry, his wife said
to him, as he was restlessly stalking up and down in their
28O
Walter Goring.
own room waiting for his horse to take him over to The
ITurst.  Take me out for a drive instead, she continued.
 Nonsense; I shall go. I don't want people to think
I've any shame in the sacrifice, he replied moodily. "I'll
go over and show myself amongst them—one of them for the
last time; after to-day I drop the Esq., and I'm only Lord
Harrogate's steward.
She liked and sympathised with the spirit that dictated
the move, but the move itself did not commend itself to her
taste. That he should so deport himself did chance throw
him in the way of any of his own order, was well and good
—was only manly, and what should he, in fact. But to her
mind it savoured of bravado to go and put himself in their
midst at the auction. However, she did not attempt to dis
suade him further. "What a man determined on doing he
should do, she thought; she had no inclination to develop
any latent infirmity of purpose by using her womanly wiles
on the man she had married.
This first day in the new establishment bade fair to be as
unpleasant as any she had yet passed during the term of her
sojourn on earth. The curtains were not fitted to any of the
windows yet, and the blinds were all painfully new and glar-
ingly white. The sun was rather bright this morning, con-
sequently there was not a square inch of shade in any one
of the small front rooms—and to these she was restricted,
Chaos and Miss Dinah reigning in those with a northern as-
pect.
It is never very hopeful work getting things that were not
designed for a place adjusted in a place that was never in-
tended for them. The little rooms looked oppressed by the
weighty old-fashioned furniture. When the dining-table and
sideboard were finally settled, there was great difficulty in
inserting the smallest person between the former and the
walls all round.
 One will have to sit in the grate, and the other on the
window-sill, and the rest will be cruelly compressed, Charlie
thought, as she noted the effect; and then she spent an hour
or two in giving frantic little pushes and tugs at the table in
order to make the most of the bit. of room that was round it.
"When the contents of the huge waggon that's still un-
packed are brought in, the house will hurst, she thought at
The A uction.
281
last, as she steered her perilous way through the little hah.
"We've brought so many things to make us comfortable,
that there will be no room for any of us.
After a time, it not being in the nature of things that
twenty-two can labour long under inactive depression, she
picked out the smallest bits of furniture she could find, and
tried to make a shrine for herself in the drawing-room, which
was to be her special domain. It had been ordained by old
Mrs Fellowes that as Henry would be away at the auction all
day, they should content themselves with a loose sort of
luncheon, and no dinner; that they should, in fact, as Charlie
phrased it to herself, commence their new life like pigs. But
she acceded to the proposition partly because she felt it
would be useless to combat it,—she was determined to make
every concession that might help to keep the atmosphere of
the new household serene. Accordingly they partook of
their viands in a sketchy way early in the day, and dispersed
and resumed their several efforts at adding to the confusion
immediately after doing so.
Charlie laughed to herself as she stood late in the afternoon
surveying the effect of what she had been doing. After a
tolerably hard day's toil, she had succeeded in making the
place look just comfortable, nothing more ; and she remem-
bered the plans she had made for combining English comfort
with oriental splendour in the lobby at The Hurst, when she
came there a bride.  All that's over for ever,—and serve
me right too, for I did think so much of that sort of thing,
she said to herself, cheerily enough; and then she laughed
again, and thought  what lots of faults Ellen will find with
all I have been able to achieve here, never thinking that I'd
gladly do more if I could; what a world of trouble such a
nature as Ellen's must save its possessor, to be sure. Then,
naving done all she could, she turned away to go and dress
herself, in order to look as fresh and pretty as it was possible
ror her to look when her husband came home ; for the day,
though not very disagreeable, had been very dusty.
Meanwhile, the first day's auction at The Hurst was draw-
ing to a close. It had been well attended, for Henry Fellowes'
teams of cart-horses were celebrated, and he had been careful
to have all the latest improvements in implements on his
land. Moreover, in addition to its being well known that all
282
Walter Goring.
the things to be sold were good, there was much sympathy
felt for the sellers. Men who had not the remotest intention
of expending a penny, were heartily willing to go and drink
a glass of sherry to Henry Fellowes' future fortune ; and he
being there, took a glass with them as a matter of course,
until after a time he came to regard his future fortune alter-
nately as the brightest and blackest of things. Then they
would turn away from him, and gather into knots and discuss
the future owner, Robert Prescott, Esq.  The king is dead;
long live the king. It was only the old, old story; Henry
Fellowes had no right to be cut by it. But he was cut—to
the soul.
Walter Goring was there, bidding for things, of the use of
which he had not the remotest conception, and lavishing his
money for the good of the Fellowes in a way that made him
a marvel to some people.  That young fellow who has come
in for Goring Place seems to be f oing ahead, they remarked,
when his nods became chronic;  he's going to try experi-
mental farming and novel-writing together. Then they
cited the example of the author of  Mr Midshipman Easy,
who honoured Norfolk by residing in it for the last few years
of his life, as an instance of how  that sort of thing  might
be expected to succeed.
Three or four times in the course of the day did Walter
Goring seek Henry Fellowes and urge him to go home. But
Mr Fellowes would not go home; at first he merely refused to
do so energetically, but after a time he refused in the excited
declamatory style.  Why should he go home ?  he asked ;
"it would all be the same a hundred years hence, with other
irrelevant riders, which caused observers to shake their heads
benignly as he passed, and prophesy unpleasant things regard-
ing him as soon as he was out of hearing. At last the late
owner of The Hurst took to demonstrating that a man was a
man for all that, meaning apparently all that he had lost, and
all that he might lose ; and everybody agreed with him, and
advised him  to go home.
At last, as the afternoon was closing in, Walter Goring
induced Mr Fellowes to have his horse round and make a
start for home; and then even the old hunter seemed ashamed
of the three or four futile efforts which his master made to
hoist himself into the saddle after he had got his foot in the
The Auction.
283
stirrup. Several of his old friends shook their heads and
said it "was an awful thing—his heart was broken, poor
fellow!—and he might be expected to go altogether wrong
now, as he rode away—the truth must be told—in a maudlin
state of intoxication.
Walter Goring rode with him, not for the sake of the man
who could seek oblivion from anything, however bad, in such
a source, but for the sake of the high-hearted girl at home.
Mr Goring was beginning to understand the best of Charlie
Fellowes, but he knew well that she was not cast in the
patient Griselda mould, and he did not know how sh^ would
stand this last drop in her cup of soriowful experiences.
"If she breaks out, everything will be gone, he said to
himself as he rode slowly along by the side of her husband,
who was sitting crumpled up over the fore part of the saddle,
misdirecting the horse with heavy hands. Walter Goring
dreaded seeing her, but he dreaded even more her facing this
sight which he was escorting to her alone.
When they reached the house, the young, refined, fasti-
dious man of letters, whose worst sacrifices to Bacchus had
been made in bubbling, brilliant wines, which only made him
sparkle more, got off and helped the man who seemed ab-
solutely weighted with dark, glowing liquid, from his horse.
Then they got into the hall, or passage, of the little house, and
it was so small that Henry Fellowes seemed to be oozing out of
it into every room. Walter Goring opened a door quickly,
and got the master of the house into the room that was to be
held sacred to him and his wife—got him into this room by a
lucky chance, and then looked up and saw Charlie rising from
her desk by the window, and coming forward to meet them.
He saw, as Henry Fellowes sank on the sofa and Charlie
came forward, even in those few minutes, Walter Goring
saw that the soul of the woman was in revolt. He would
have given a goodly portion of the worldly goods of which
he was possessed to have been able to couch some phrase
which should have the effect of soothing her at first. Of
soothing her and of lessening the shock of disgust which she
was experiencing. But he could say nothing—he could
utter no word—he could only feel that it would have been
wiser on the whole had he suffered Henry Fellowes to stumble
into the house alone.
284
Walter Goring.
It must be borne in mind, in partial extenuation of the
following scene, that Charlie Fellowes bad never been for one
half-minute what is called "in love with her husband.
She had never experienced for him any of that romantic
feeling which—whether it be founded on fact or fiction —
whether it be based on the real or solely on the ideal—still
enables a woman to endure and forgive even to seventy times
seven. Such a feeling had never obtained, for the briefest
period, in her heart with regard to the man she had married.
She had never done more than like -him very much. She
had believed him to be faithful, and generous, and manly;
she had known him to be very truly and fondly attached to
herself—and this belief and knowledge wrought in her the
determination to do more than her mere decorous duty to
this man; she could not accord him the unreasoning, blind
devotion of love, but he should have from her the devotion
of a friendship that only was not love—friendship such as
the saints in heaven might envy. Her heart could not be
his; that was their mutual misfortune—to the full as great
a trial and misfortune tc the unloving wife as to the unloved
husband. Her heart could not be his. But her sympathy,
her counsel, her hearty co-operation and-interest in all that
concerned him, her unswerving comradeship through the
campaign of life, her earnest endeavours to brighten his home
and make their union as happy as possible—all these she had
sworn to herself to render him so long as they both should live.
But now he had brutalised himself, and no saving memory
of old romance rose up to temper the loathing that she had
for her lot, as she looked upon him lying there a helpless log
before her, trying to articulate a request that she would
 come and kiss him. Kiss him! the convulsive shudder
with which she recoiled from him and the idea was an answer
that made its way to Mr Fellowes' brain even through the
fumes of the wine.
 It has been a fearfully trying and exciting day, "Walter
Goring whispered;  quite enough to upset any man—let
him keep quiet for a time. I '11 say good-bye to you.
He moved towards the door, and, as he opened it, waves
of disgust, of dread, of sickening aversion to being left alone
in this way, surged up and overwhelmed her judgment. She
sprang after him, and exclaimed,—
The A ucHon.
285
 Don't go, Mr Goring!  and the passionate piteousness
of her tone made him wish more than ever that he h^d not
come in. She was too pretty to play the part of outraged
wife with impunity, especially to a select audience of one im-
pressionable man.
They went across the hall into the dining-room. Mrs
Fellowes and Miss Dinah were still up-stairs unpacking, and
■the room looked cold, and chill, and cheerless as they entered
it. "You think too much of this, Mrs Fellowes, Walter
Goring said, trying to speak in a light, careless tone, as Mrs
Fellowes, interlacing her fingers with angry vehemence, and
giving vent to a series of frightened, dry sobs, commenced
walking up and down. There was no affectation about her
agitation; she was horribly frightened in the first flush of
the realisation of the undefined dread which had haunted her
for some time; and even worse than the fear she felt was the
blinding sense of shame. She sickened at the thought of
being left alone with the man who had soaked all semblance
of manhood out of himself.
 What am I to do ? Everything is gone. I can't hear
it—I won't hear it, she said, wringing her little hands to-
gether fiercely.
"Do calm yourself; this will pass. You will forget it, or
if you remember it at all, you ought to remember at the
same time how the poor fellow has suffered to-day.
 Forget it! and what if it comes again and again!
She sat down, and put her arms and her head down upon
the table, and he saw the big blinding drops of rage and
shame pouring from her eyes. He went over and stood by
her, and bitterly regretted that he could not, that he dared
not, soothe her.
"Dear Mrs Fellowes, he said, "be tolerant to your husband
during this phase; it will pass directly and be forgotten;
you will, won't you? You will let me still think of you as
all that is bravest and truest and best in woman ; and if I
can ever serve either of you, you '11 remember that only
Frank has a stronger fraternal interest in you than I have.
 Yes, I will. She hesitated for an instant, and then
went on,  Now, I '11 go back to my husband: his mother—
hia poor mother and sister mustn't know anything of this;
and if I don't see you again, for a long time, good-bye, Mr
286
Walter Goring.
Goring. She paused and held out her hand, and as he
took jt the versatility of her nature asserted itself, and she
laughed, and added,  If it were Daisy taking leave of you
after that, she would sing,—
' Be happy, my brother, wherever you are,
Good speed to your courser, good luck to your how.
But will you not ?—will you not think of me still
As you thought of me once long ago, long ago ?'
 Long ago and always. My opinion of you is not likely
to alter, he replied, heartily. Then he went away, and she
returned to the room where she had left her husband in her
burst of irrepressible disgust ten minutes before She was
quite ready to take up the burden of life again, after giving
one fleeting thought to what might have been.
She sat by the fire, thinking, struggling, and resolving,
until a servant came and knocked at the door to tell her tea
was ready. When she went in, she told Mrs Fellowes that
 Henry was asleep ; quite tired out, poor fellow.  I
think he might have come and let me know how things
went, and I think you might have let me know he was in
before, the old lady said, angrily. Then Miss Dinah said
she would take a cup of tea in to her brother, and Charlie
exclaimed, starting up,  No, no ; I '11 do it. She could
not bear that they should learn what additional cause for
grief they had in seeing the effect their misfortunes were
having on a son and brother so believed in and trusted.
 I '11 spare them while I can, she thought. Accordingly
she begged them not to disturb him at all by going in that
night, and they obeyed her request, indignantly assuring each
other that it was as they had said all along—Char he was
trying to separate them from Henry. She knew that such
was their thought from the extra stiffness of their demeanour
towards her, and she accepted it as part of her punishment
for her many sins.
The following day Walter Goring left Goring Place for
Brighton. He stayed a day or two in town, in order to see
Mrs Walsh, whom he had not seen since his engagement.
She was staying for a week or two with some friends at
Kensington, making preparations for a lengthened trip
abroad. He wanted to get her to go with him also to Frank's
studio, to see the picture wherein that warm admirer of her
 She Shines me Down 287
beauty had immortalised her as Guinevere; therefore when
he called he was glad to find that she was at home and alone.
But the interview they had was too long to come in at the
end of a chapter.
CHAPTEE XXXVII
 she shines me down.
Until Walter Goring found himself awaiting Mrs Walsh's
appearance in the drawing-room of the house in which she
was staying, he had had no idea of the extreme dubiousness
he felt as to her approbation of his choice. He knew that
she did not like, and he knew that she would not like his
marrying, Daisy. But the thing which caused him the most,
present anxiety was the doubt he had whether she would
let that dislike appear, or whether she would accept Daisy as
inevitable, and for his sake make the best of her.
For his sake ! and why on earth should she do it  for his
sake ?  He could not help asking himself this as he stood
there waiting. Why should she smile upon and accept
Daisy's attainment of the position for his sake—now ? It
was no use affecting to forego all the former facts. His
heart had played fast and loose with him as far as these wo-
men were concerned, and by this means he had seemed to
play fast and loose with Mrs Walsh. It had only been in
seeming; in reality he had never loved her less or more than
while her husband lived, and the feeling had been differently
named. But she was not a woman to forgive the smallest
slight—the tiniest trifling—though it were only in  seeming,
he told himself. Of all the women he had ever met, she was
the one most certain to  scorn, and let him go  utterly, did
she fancy that he had given ever so small a tug at his chain.
When she knew him gone as lover, she would never keep
him on as friend, especially after that last hand-kissing busi-
ness down at The Hurst.
All this he told himself as he stood there waiting for her,
and all this he was perfectly justified in believing, judging
her from the side of her character which he had studied most
288
Walter Goring.
assiduously. That side was the one in which love and pride
were blended together deftly as are the gorgeous hues in an
Indian shawl—he scarcely knew where one ended and the
other began. But she would teach him now—she would show
him that she knew where to draw the line; she would teach
him that since he had developed this fatal faculty of loving
whatever he looked on, he had made a poor and paltry mistake
in ever looking at her.
Again : would the girl for whom he would lose that unde-
finable essence which had made his existence sweet for so
many years, repay him for the loss? Walter Goring had
never  gone in for killing. In a light, easy, give-and-take
way he had played the game that is carried on everywhere
under so many different names—suffering his heart to seem
every woman's toy for an hour or so, but never going far below
the surface. Mrs Walsh had said of him in a moment- of
anger, that "he was a dreadful flirt; but this was an ex-
aggerated charge. She was the only woman to whom he had
ever exhibited any depth of devotion or earnestness of feeling.
To every other one he had shown clearly that they were but
the Cynthias of the minute, and if after that showingjbminine
vanity led them into error, the error could not in justice be
charged to the account of Walter Goring.
But between Mrs Walsh and himself the bond had been
widely different—always, be it understood, with the full
knowledge and hearty concurrence of her husband. He had
made her the repositary of his hopes—of his temporary de-
feats—of the numerous minor matters which go so far in
making the happiness or misery of every man's life. She
was the first woman he had ever known well—the first wo-
man, that is, a full knowledge of whom was improving to a
young man, for he never had a sister, and his mother had
died when he was a boy. Through her influence he had gra-
dually withdrawn himself from the set of clever, idle, dissolute
men with whom he associated on his first entrance into Lon-
don life—artists who never painted—authors who never wrote
—men all of them with expensive tastes and limited exche-
quers, and very few good women friends. His intimacy with the
Walshes had been very good for him; he could not go into
her presence fresh from an atmospere of rattling recklessness,
he had felt immediately. So he had withdrawn from the
 She Shines me Down. 289
haunts and the habits which he could not discuss with her,
while still too young for either to have tainted him.
Her influence had been very good for him, and he had
loved her very much for the exercise she had always made of
it, and for its beneficial effect upon himself. She had been
to him that which he had been wont to call her,  his god-
dess, the purest saving power of his life. He had loved her
very dearly, but within bounds which he had never antici-
pated seeing broken. When they did break, he had gone on
thinking of her and loving her in the old way, for man is a
creature of habit. Any change in her would be hard to bear,
and would Daisy have the power to make him indifferent to,
even if not forgetful of, the subtle charm which had been
over him so long ?
He knew, or thought he knew, Daisy thoroughly by this
time. He was well aware that he would have no calm of
love with her. As a wife she would probably give him even
a more lively time of it than she had given him as a ward.
Her love for him was very warm now, he thought; but he
Knew that it was a flame that would require a good deal of
fanning to keep it as bright as at present. He foresaw that
she would be jealous and exacting—that she would want to
cut him off from Mrs Walsh and Mrs Fellowes, even if they
did not cut themselves off from him. He knew that Daisy
was one whom it would be stark madness to rely upon to any
great extent; her love of acting little parts and her wild de-
sire for admiration would require a very light, firm, watchful
hand and eye to keep them in check. All this he knew
about her, yet, at the same time, she had so fascinated him
that he did not regret it very much. There were drawbacks
to perfect felicity in their union, doubtless; but these were
more than counterbalanced by her passionate love for him,
and the expediency of a marriage with her.
Meanwhile, as he thus ruminated, Mrs Walsh was prepar-
ing herself to meet him—and the preparation was not easily
made. For many years, from the time indeed when she, a
mere girl—but such a steady-minded, self-reliant one—had
been London's beauty and Ralph Walsh's bride—she had
been accustomed to feel herself to be first friend and coun-
eellor to Walter Goring. He had brought his young man
troubles, his maturer cares, and at last his success and for
T
290 Walter Goring.
tune to her—and to her husband—to discuss, till at length
she had come to love him as a brother while Ralph lived. At
any rate, if the love she had for him lacked any of the fra-
ternal element, she never acknowledged that it did, even to
herself, and when first she made her appearance in these
pages, she would, as was then averred, have been quite cap-
able of seeing Walter Goring take upon himself the trammels
of holy matrimony, and of being grandly gracious to a bride
of his of whom she approved. That she might have been
rather difficult to please in the matter of his choice is extremely
probable; but to the idea of his marriage in the abstract she
would have been sweetly acquiescent.
Since that time things were altered. Ralph Walsh was
dead. In the face of reason, nature, and facts, some people
will persist in deeming it monstrous that a widow should
wed again. With the right or the wrong of their doing so
the mere narrator of the story of the life of one has nothing
whatever to do. I can only say, that having loved Walter
Goring for long years, within the strictest bounds while hei
husband lived—having become interested in all that concerned
his welfare, keenly alive to all that was good in him, thoroughly
convinced of the perfect integrity of his regard for herself, and
perhaps a little vain of the influence she had had over him so
long—having done and been all this for years, she slackened
the boundary line when her husband died, and suffered her
heart to tell her that all would deepen into something more
exquisite still—an' only he willed it so.
When she replied to his letter announcing his engagement,
she did so in such brief, and at the same time such uncon-
strained terms, that they told him nothing, save that, as ever,
she wished him well.
 Dear Walter, (she wrote),  In this first moment of
hearing it, together with the confusion I am in about taking
all I may want, and nothing superfluous, abroad with me, I
can scarcely say_ whether I am surprised or not. Of one thing
I am sure, and that is, that you will believe that my hopes for
your happiness are as hearty as my regard for you is warm.—
Yours always truly, Horatia Walsh.
Yes, he was very sure of it; but the assurance scarcely
comforted him while he sat awaiting her this day.
 She Shines me Down.
291
At last the door opened, and she came in—a Juno in deep
mourning. A very hurricane was raging in her heart, and it
acquired a wilder force the instant she read in his eyes that
he was rather more than agitated. But she kept her proud
beautiful face composed, and there was no sign of trembling
in the hand which she held out to greet him.
 I am so glad that I have found you at home, he began
at once.
 Even if I had been out 1 should have written to your
address and asked you to come again, she replied cordially ;
 it will be so long, probably, before we see each other, and
so much will have happened before then, (she tried to smile
as she said this, but found that, on the whole, it would be
safer to fight her battle without any waving of flags,) "that I
would not have let this opportunity pass on any account.
 Nor I, he answered.  You hold to the plan you hinted
at; you are going on the Continent ? 
"Yes; immediately almost. I shall not be here to see
you married, "Walter; when is it to be ? 
Having come to the end of her sentence, she essayed an-
other smile here, and this time she succeeded in making it
play over her face with tolerable naturalness.  To see you
married "—to somebody else; they are not pleasant words for
a woman to utter to a man she loves ; they seem to gnaw.
 In May, he replied.  Come back and see the last of me.
He lifted his eyes to her face as he spoke, and the tone
was the old well-known, well-loved, pleading one that had
been for her ears alone for so long—that would fall on the
ears of another woman with a higher claim to it henceforth.
He was not a flirt; but he really had a great deal to answer
for.
 That will be impossible, she said, and then she paused,
for she was afraid that at another word her voice might falter,
and she did not want to falter before him.
 Will you come with me to-day to St John's studio ? he
asked.  I want you to see a picture he is painting for me.
Then he told her about Frank having taken her as Guinevere,
and what the subject was.
 And where is his studio ? 
 Only in Sloane Street. Let us walk up to it through the
Park.
292
Walter Goring.
For a few moments she thought that the trial would be too
long sustained to he gone through to the end as well as she
had gone through it up to the present juncture. Then she
remembered that after this day she might never see him again,
for if these feelings lived she could never see him as Daisy's
husband.
"Yes, I will go; I shall like to see it, she said.  How
many years is it that we have gone the round of the studios
together before the Academy opens, Walter ?
 I forget. I only hope that we shall go the round of the
studios for a good many years to come.
She did not echo his wish. The prospect of going round
in the train of his wife was not one of delicious bliss.
They walked up through the Park and came out into Sloane
Street, where they soon found Frank's number. But here
disappointment awaited them. Mr St John was not at home.
Could they see his painting-room, Walter Goring asked. The
landlady was exceedingly willing that they should do so, hut
their approbation of this affability of hers was marred by
their immediate discovery of the fact of Mr St John having
locked the door and taken the key away with him. Accord-
ingly they were compelled to return unsatisfied, and de-
frauded of those subjects of conversation which they had both
legitimately anticipated being supplied with for the walk
home.
It had all been very well going up. They had commenced
when they started talking about Frank, and his happy faculty
of being able to do everything, and bright-hearted reliance on
everything he did succeeding.  He is very clever, with a
dash of something that almost amounts to genius, Walter
Goring said of Frank.  If he lives, and doesn't wear himself
out, the world will hear a good deal of Frank St John.
 Yet he doesn't seem to be very much in earnest; he
seems to take all things very lightly, at least I thought so.
 That external lightness conceals a prodigious amount of
g°-
"It's the same, then, with his sister Mrs Fellowes, Mrs
Walsh remarked.
 Yes, exactly the same; she's a queen, he continued en-
thusiastically.  There's a fate—there's a crew for such a
girl to be thrown away upon. Then he told Mrs Walsh
 She Shines me Down.
293
about the auction, and its effect on Henry Fellowes, and the
scene he had witnessed after it. Mrs Walsh could not be
sympathetic; she had not witnessed the scene, and so could
not realise it.
 What nonsense her talking in that way; ' she would not
bear it,' and 'she could not bear it.' Why, she'll have to
bear it.
 And she will bear it well, I fancy, he rejoined.  She
spoke almost recklessly, but she will never act recklessly.
"You thought her like your cousin at one time; do you
think them alike now ? 
He shook his head.  I have left off drawing parallels
between them. Mrs Fellowes is one in a thousand, and I
know very well that Daisy has numerous duplicates.
This was the sole mention that had been made of Daisy
during the walk up ; but on their return Mrs Walsh spoke
of her again.
 Tell me, Walter, she began, abruptly,  does Miss Gor-
ing know the terms of that sealed letter, or secret trust, or
whatever you call the illegal nonsense ? 
 No ; she knows nothing about it.
 I was in hopes that she did.
 Why ?  he asked.
 Oh, because then I should have been better satisfied that
she is going to marry you for pure love of you; the fact is,
Walter, I'm as jealous as a mother for you.
"I don't think you would doubt Daisy's love for me, if
you saw her with me, he replied. He had no intention of
being cruel, but the picture those words conjured up, caused
the ground to quaver under her feet; that sentence went to
her heart like a sharp knife—and made her tongue curl itself
in parched speechless pain—and caused a dull thudding in
her throat that interfered with her breathing. But she
walked along as erect and stately as ever in her grand Juno-
like heauty, making no sign of the agony, of the bitter nau-
seating agony that was gnawing at her the while.
There was such horrible pain in that walk home. She
could not bear to speak of her life to come, for he, the man
by her side—the man who had made the poetry of her exist-
ence—would not share it with her. So silence came upon
them; and silence under the circumstances Was very danger-
294
Walter Goring.
ous. "Walter Goring could not help thinking what a miser-
able man Swift must have been whenever he thought of Stella
and Vanessa, since he, all blameless as he but could hold
himself, was so miserable now.
 You must come in with me, Walter, she said to him,
when they were nearing the house.  I have something to
give you.
He went in, and once more she left him waiting for her
while she went up-stairs to take off her walking-dress, and to
get a little jewel-case. She arrayed herself very carefully be-
fore she went down; she meant it to be her last interview
with Walter Goring, and so as a priestess would robe herself
for an important sacrifice, she robed herself for this.
The grandeur of her beauty struck him vividly as she came
into the room again. She was a woman with one of those
long slender throats, who can turn their heads over their
shoulders without distorting their frames or faces in the least.
So now, as she turned to shut the door, she curved her head
round like a swan, and said to him,—
"I cannot be at your wedding, Walter; but I have some-
thing to send to your bride. Then she seated herself by a
little table and opened the case, and he stood close over her,
looking at the gift she disclosed.
It was a broad band of diamonds and emeralds for the
arm, and as she held it up to him, he said something in de-
precation of the value of the present; but she checked him
hurriedly.
 Pray don't say anything of that sort. I shall never go
out of mourning; therefore I shall not wear coloured stones.
Take it, Walter, and think as little of the gift as of the one
who gave.
The reproach dropped from her lips almost without her
knowledge, and in uttering it she threw away her strongest
weapon, the reserve she had hitherto maintained.  Take it,
Walter, she continued,  give it to her; tell her she shines
me down.
She rose up as she spoke, and held out both her hands to
him. As he grasped them and muttered something about
her having been so pure a guiding star to him, that none
could ever outshine her, she said, "God bless you, Walter—
for the last time, and went away, leaving him with the dia-
Love's Young Dream. 295
monds in his hand and her words ringing in his ears.  For
the last time, she had said; had it really come to thi3 ?—was
he to realise so painfully that there was truth in that axiom,
 A man that's married is a man that's marred? Even as
he thought this, she turned hack and gave him her hand and
said  Good-bye ! once more. It was so hard, so very hard
to part; she could only do it by degrees after all.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
love's young dream.
Walter Goring knew that Daisy was wayward and wilful;
but at the same time—despite those little tricks of hers—he
did believe her to be the truest, purest, tenderest child, in
whom a man ever trusted. He recalled all her endearing
ways—the shimmer of her dear blue eyes—the pouting of
the red wet mouth, that was always so ready to kiss him.
He recalled all these, as the train whirled him down to
Brighton the following day, and altogether thought himself
round into a very tender frame of mind about Daisy. More-
over, he was additionally tender to her, in consequence of a
vague and indistinct feeling he had, of having been more
wrought upon by other women lately than Daisy would
altogether have approved of, could she have known it. He
thought that the dear loving child who had given him the
first fruits of her heart deserved this at least in return,
namely, that no lingering old romance should ever disturb
him again.
Nor should it do so. There was pain, undoubtedly—
pleasurable pain, perhaps, but still pain in the lately-gained
knowledge that Mrs Walsh loved him. It was utterly im-
possible that any man should have been indifferent to the
love of such a woman. It was such gloriously gratifying
love, too—it was so utterly unselfish, as strong and generous
at what she had declared to be  the last, as when it might
have been repaid. For all his good intentions as to maintain-
296
Walter Goring,;
ing perfect fidelity of thought even to Daisy, his mind would
dwell a good deal on the last words and the possible future
of her who had been his goddess.
Not that he would have exchanged Daisy for her now.
Before his engagement, had he been certain of that of which
he was now certain about Mrs Walsh, Daisy would have lost
the game which she came down to play. But he, not being
certain of it, had gone on suffering the probability to remain
in the haze it had been only discreet to suffer it to remain in
for so many years. Warm friendship had been all that he
dared to suppose she felt for him in the past; so he had con-
tinued to take the warm friendship for granted till it was too
late.
Not too late for his happiness: that would be well assured
he hoped, and nearly felt convinced, in a marriage with Daisy
—the true-hearted, if occasionally wrong-headed. Not too
late for his happiness, but too late for  hers, he half
thought, and then checked himself for being a conceited cox-
comb ; and told himself that Mrs Walsh would in all proba-
bility love and marry one of the many men who worshipped
her from afar.
An awful twinge of unadulterated jealousy shot through
his heart as the probability struck him :  I hope not; it
would drive me mad to see her married to any fellow who
didn't appreciate her ; it's quite enough to see that poor girl
down at Deneham—to have another woman I admire and
esteem in such a position would be too much.
The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately
wicked; or rather, the simultaneous birth of a dozen
emotions, each one good in itself, and their consequent
clashing, frequently makes it appear so. On the whole,
Walter Goring was not sorry when the train stopped at
Brighton, and he was forced into action. It might have been
an interesting study to analyse his own conduct and feelings,
and the mainsprings of both; but assuredly it would have
been a painful and humiliating one.
He meant this visit to be an unexpected treat to Daisy,
and he was quite sensible enough to feel that it was worth
while to try and appear at his very best, before the girl who
was now bound to him. So he sent round to the stables
where Daisy's horse was kept, and had the chestnut saddled;
Love's Young Dream. 297
and when he was dressed he rode out to Mrs Osborne's villa,
looking, as Daisy observed from an up-stairs window, a
splendid specimen of a modern cavalier. The small trouble
he had taken was not thrown away. With a woman's
quickness of perception on these, and indeed most points,
Daisy marked in a glance the daintiness of all the accessories
of his costume : the trim cut and careful arrangement of his
brown hair and golden-brown beard,—the perfection of each
detail that goes to the making-up of a well-bred man's
morning-dress. She marked it all, and felt proud that he
was her lover, and hoped that several people would see him,
and know that she was a much more important person than
his ward—that she was going to be his wife. Then she heard
from the servant that Mrs and Miss Osborne were both out,
and she reflected that since none were by to see him, it
would have been just as well for him to have come later.
"I wonder how long he'll stay ? she thought, as she slowly
dressed herself ;  if he will go out for a walk it will be all
very well; but to sit in all the rest of the day will be dread-
fully dull and tiring.
Her eyes looked heavy, and her cheeks were very pale and
thin. She saw that they were so when she was ready to go
down at last, (with what different feelings had Horatia Walsh
prepared to see him the day before,) and she tried to brighten
up, and attempted to rub a little colour into her face by press-
ing her hands almost roughly over it. But it was of no avail,
so she went down at last with a slow, heavy step and a heavier
heart.
There was not the faintest excitement to her in the pros-
pect of seeing him whom she had lured on to love her so ten-
derly. She liked him very much, and she tried to get up a
faint pleasure at this devotion of his, by saying to herself as
she went along, "Dear Walter, how good of him to come to
me; but she could not help adding,  I wonder what he
wants, and how long he will stay ? 
She made a great effort, as she neared the door, to throw
off that appearance of weariness which could but strike him
harshly, she knew, contrasting it, as he surely would, with
her old manner before he was won.  If they had only been
in to have made a fuss, it would have been all right, she
thought, discontentedly; "but what's the good of his being
298
Walter Goring.
here, when there is no one to see how fond he is of me. I
hope he '11 go on the pier; he's such good style that every
one will look, and it will soon get about that he's my pro-
perty. Then she opened the door, and as he came towards
her holding out his arms, she sprang into them and hid her
face on his waistcoat, which at once satisfied him that she
was delighted to meet him, and saved her the trouble of look-
ing so.
Presently he put his hand under her chin and raised her
face. "My darling Daisy, how pale you have grown—it
was time for me to come and look after you.
The shimmer he had longed to see and thought of so lov-
ingly came over the cobalt-blue eyes; in an instant she threw
herself into her proper part.
 Think how long it is since I have seen you, Walter—and
you all the time taken up with those Fellowes's.
He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth till her face
flooded with crimson, and she jerked her head back sharply.
"You take away my breath, Walter, she said, petulantly.
 Are you going to stay here to dinner ? 
"Yes, if Mrs Osborne will give me a dinner, he replied,
laughing. Then Daisy seated herself on a couch, spreading
her dress over as wide an extent of it on either side as she
could, and Walter lounged over the arm of it, and took up a
tress of her straw-coloured hair and kissed it.
"You, Daisy, he said presently, reproachfully, "are you
not going to give me one kiss when I have come so far to
get it ? 
She turned to him, exclaiming, "Dear Walter! with
effusion, and holding out the pouting mouth; but she took
it away again in a hurry, thinking,  Oh, dear! if this is
to go on for hours, what a bother it will be.
 Shall I sing to you, Walter, dear ? she asked.
 No, speak to me, my pet. If any one had been by to
see him then as he came before her and clasped her round the
waist, Daisy would have been delighted. As it was, though
she began putting his hair further off his forehead with her
old bewitching touch, she was thinking,  I wish he wasn't
so spoony—it tires me out.
 I have nothing to speak about, Walter. I am so despe-
rately dull here.
Love's Young Dream. 299
 Then I have something to speak about. I want you to
promise me something, Daisy, darling.
A frightened look came into her eyes.
 Oh, it's not about that, is it, Walter ? 
"What?
 What I won't tell.
 No, dearest. I want you to promise me that you will be
my wife in May: it's sooner than we thought of at first, but
it will be better for many reasons. Will you have me in
May, Daisy ? 
For a few moments her bosom heaved convulsively, and her
mouth quivered. Then she recovered herself and laughed.
"Yes, on the first of May, Walter, if you like.
"The dear unconventional Daisy, he thought, fondly;
"most girls would have humbugged about it.
 And now let me sing to you, she said, hastily, when he
had thanked her with another kiss, and she had undulated
away from under it.
 My darling, you can sing to me when other people are
here, he pleaded.
She checked a resigned sigh which she had been about to
heave, and looked as if she thought his suggestion a delight-
ful amendment on her own. Then he took out the diamond
and emerald bracelet; and Daisy put it on, and gave way to
ecstasies of admiration. When she had done, he framed a
neat little message from Mrs Walsh for her; but he omitted
that statement Mrs Walsh had made relative to Daisy  shin-
ing her down.
 They 're lovely, Daisy said, and she meant all she said
about them. "Oh, Walter, they make one feel bright and
sparkling, don't they ? I'd like some for my neck and some
for my head.
 You shall have them, dear; they shall be one of my pre-
sents to you on our wedding-day: the other is to be a picture,
in which Mrs Walsh figures.
 Yes. I heard of that when I was with Mrs Fellowes.
Has her brother found a—whoever it was he wanted to find,
yet ? 
"A model for 'Elaine.' Yes; I haven't seen it, though
we went to his studio yesterday on purpose. St John was
out, unfortunately.
3°°
Walter Goring.
St John's being out was indeed unfortunate—far more un-
fortunate than poor Walter Goring had any idea of.
 Whom do you mean by ' we' ?  Daisy asked, quickly,
with the carping jealousy that springs from vanity, not love.
 I walked up with Mrs Walsh.
 Walter, I believe you are very fond of Mrs Walsh ? 
 I know I am, he answered.
 And I believe she's in love with you, she continued.
 Then you believe what is not true.
 Do you mean to say that she is not, Walter ? 
 I mean to say that any man who thought it, would be a
blind fool not to test the truth of his thought; and I am not
that, Daisy.
A queer expression—half sorrowful, half satiric—shot from
her eyes as he spoke. She seemed to be pondering over his
words for a few moments ; then she replied,—
 So, if you had thought that she was in love with you, you
would have proposed to her instead of to me; isn't that what
you mean ? 
"Yes, he answered, resolutely, "I would; for in that
case I should have been in love with her. As it was, you
see, none of these conditions were fulfilled. You won me in-
stead, and will never have reason to be jealous of anything I
have felt, or might have felt, or may feel for another
woman.
 No; I will never be jealous, Walter. I hope you won't
either ? 
 I won't promise that, he said, laughing.
She heaved a short full sigh.
"You will never have cause. I shall not be a married
flirt, like your friends Mrs Walsh and Mrs Fellowes. I be-
lieve Mrs Fellowes likes you much better than she does her
husband, which isn't to be wondered at.
"You believe most extraordinary things, he said, more
gravely than he had yet spoken.  I'm afraid you have
studied human nature in a bad school, dear.
She shook her head vehemently.
 I have indeed, she said, bitterly.  Oh, Walter, do for-
give me! I ought not to forget what my parents were when
I am talking in this way.
 Daisy, dearest, your over-sensitiveness makes you unna-
Love's Young Dream.
301
tural. Don't speak—don't think of your parents in such a
way. Remember one is dead, and the other is
"Worse, she interrupted hastily. "Well, if you won't
let me sing to you, Walter, come out for a walk on the pier?
 I hate the pier. I '11 go for a walk anywhere else with
you.
 On the parade ? 
 That's as bad as the pier. Let us go along this road, it
looks quiet and pretty enough.
 It's so dull, she said pettishly. She wanted to take
him out and show him, in order that those acquaintances
whom she had made through the Osbornes might see him,
and say what a fine young man Miss Goring was engaged to.
There would have been a little pleasurable excitement in such
a walk; but there would be none in going along a dull road,
where no one would mark and inquire about him, and find
out that, in addition to being a fine young man, he was the
owner of a^fine property, a celebrated novelist, and her own
very devoted slave.
 I would just as soon stay in, dear, she said softly.
 And I would much rather stay in, he replied. And
again Daisy began to feel terribly bored.
Perhaps if she could have known of that recent scene, and
the sensations which beset the female actor in it—the spirit
of emulation, the feeling of pride, which is said to be en-
gendered in the feminine breast when the fact of winning a
man who has been wanted by other women is made patent,
would have come to the aid of the fatigued Daisy, and caused
her to feel the time less tedious. As it was, she could hardly
help yawning. She was bored; and he was so all-potent
with such much better women. It was a misshapen order of
things unquestionably.
 I tell you what, Daisy, he said, after a time;  I shall
take you to Rome to see the Levinges.
She shrugged her shoulders.  Did I ever tell you about
Mary Levinge coming here ? she asked, with what she
would not suffer to be a blush.
 Coming here ? 
 Yes. She wanted me to go and stay with them in
Rome.
 Mary Levinge must have had some reason for such an
302
Walter Goring.
extraordinary proceeding, he said, meditatively. Then he
asked abruptly,  What was it, Daisy ? 
 I don't know. Caprice, 1 suppose. They liked me;
and was there anything so very extraordinary in that ? 
 My pet, every one likes you, (with a magnificent disre-
gard of truth;) "hut every one does not invite you to stay
with them in this way. What brought it about, Daisy ? 
"I'm sure I don't know. Go and make your Mary
Levinge account for her own caprice. Don't come to me for
an explanation, she said, hotly, tossing the straw-coloured
head. "You think all she does is proper, and all she says
is right; she has unsexed herself.
 Daisy, that's not your own sentiment; that is one ol
her graceless brother's.
 Oh! don't make me give up my authority for every word
I use, Walter. If you begin that, I shall be afraid to speak
before you. Then she laughed, and put her arms round his
neck, and added,—
 You 're so accustomed to plagiarise yourself, you mean
boy, that you can't help suspecting me of doing the same.
Do try to believe that I think Miss Levinge rather coarse all
out of my own head.
 Mary Levinge never does anything without a motive,
he replied, seriously.
 What a disagreeable toad she must be to be always plan-
ning. Well, I will find a motive for this, and flatter your
vanity. She wanted to get me out of your way; they are
all in love with you, Walter, and you think more highly of
every one of them (the deceitful wretches) than you do of
me.
"You remarkably unjust and illogical Daisy, he said,
laughing;  you foolish jealous pet,"—it was quite pleasant
to him to imagine that she was jealous—he rather cultivated
the idea.  Do you think that Mary Levinge and 1 nurse a
hopeless passion for each other ? 
 I don't suppose you would ever have a hopeless passion
for such a great big-handed woman, Daisy replied.  What
she may do for you I can't say.
 There being no accounting for taste, hers may be as bad
as your own, you think ?  he replied, laughing. On which
she got up and said,—
 Woman's at Best a Contradiction Still!' 303
 Now I will sit down and sing, Walter; you get so dread'
fully silly.
She sang to him without cessation, until Mrs Osborne and
Alice came in. She sang to him, and at him, and amused
herself very well, and he looked upon all the vocal efforts as
so many pure and simple-minded attempts to please him still
further. He was very much in love with her youth and
delicacy. The way in which she shrank from his passion
whenever it became demonstrative allured him; she was
 Warning the touch while winning the sense, and charming
most when she most repelled, in a very pleasing way, con-
sidering she was to be his wife. After all, as he told him-
self that night when he rode back into Brighton, his was
the happiest choice—the freshest selection. Those other
women, for all their subtle charms, had loved others, even if
they had unloved again ! But Daisy ! Daisy was the driven
snow ; the softest, richest bloom rested still undisturbed upon
the peach he was going to pick. She was all his own ! there
was no old romance to dispute possession of her heart with
him. Heaven shone in her dear blue eyes for him, and—he
never dreamt that he was in a fool's paradise.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
 woman 's at best a contradiction still.
Late into the night following that unfortunate day of the
auction at The Hurst, young Mrs Fellowes sat on a little stool
by the fire, with her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her
hands, thinking. There was no external interruption to her
quiet. Her husband was lying on the sofa in a deep, heavy,
motionless slumber, and his mother and sister had gone to
bed at nine, rather tired, and more than rather huffed.
So she sat there thinking—with no fear of his speaking to
her, or of their coming in. Her past life spread itself out
like a panorama before her, and she went over it inch by inch,
as it were, courageously, though the travelling was not plea-
«ant.
304
Walter Goring.
First, she recalled the old joyous reign of misrule in her
father's house; the happy careless time when all her most
strongly marked and worst qualities had been encouraged and
applauded with admiring laughs, and with an affected censure
that was a still more flattering form of admiration. Her
frank defiant nature—her restless spirit—her intense passion
for all that was new—her habit of impatience—her disregard
of every form of authority—her blithe contempt, too openly
expressed, for all that seemed contemptible to her keen young
mind! All these qualities had been fostered by injudicious
training, until they had dominated her entirely, and had
caused her to domineer over others. Then her father had
died, and she had learnt a portion of the bitter lesson the
world is always so beautifully ready to teach those whose cir-
cumstances are altered.
She had learnt a portion of this lesson, but she had learnt
it very insufficiently. It remained for Robert Prescott to im-
press it more fully upon her mind. If he taught her nothing
else, he taught her to feel the helplessness and the humiliation
of her position—and to hate it. So she escaped from it at
the first opportunity; because she was too impatient to en-
dure it. and too proud to stoop to try to amend it. She had
told herself that the situation was unendurable, therefore she
never attempted to endure. For the sake of attaining ease
and freedom, position and wealth; above all, for the sake of
attaining greater bodily and mental independence, she had
married without love, without the faintest feeling that could
even have misled herself into the idea that she did love.
Never for an instant had she deceived herself. She had told
herself that she should surely come to regard her husband
warmly, and to esteem him well; she had vowed to be the
truest friend, the most cordial sympathiser, the most earnest
and devoted adherent to the cause of the man she had mar-
ried. But she knew that she should never love him, so she
never lied about it, even to herself.
Now she was shaken to her soul as she thought this, but
still she did think it—he had dashed those determinations of
hers with doubt. Already he had made it very hard foi
her to keep to the plain path—unlighted by love—of duty.
Already he had made it very hard; what if he should go on
and make it impossible ?
"Woman's at Best a Contradiction Still. 305
She dropped her arms on her lap, and raised her head as
her thoughts reached this point, and looked at him and—
loathed him. At any sacrifice, which could have been made
wholly and solely by herself—which could never have touched
or pained another—she would have taken her freedom, and
got away somewhere—anywhere; away out of the possibility
of ever seeing him again as he was. If she could have con-
centrated all the pain and anxiety on herself—if the very few
who loved her would never have felt a pang—she thought
that she would not have cared into what outer darkness- she
might flee, so long as she escaped from this house of bondage.
But she knew that she could not so concentrate the pain and
anxiety, and she could not shake the faith those had in her,
who, by believing her to be so good, had made her better.
 No, it must be borne, she thought, placing her face down
into her hands again. But how ?
She went over with soft steps to look at her husband, who
had slept on through this storm that was raging in his wife—-
slept on, not in blest, but in brutal unconsciousness.
She began to sicken at the thought of his awakening—he
would be so fearfully ashamed and penitent, and how could
she respond? "I really hope he will not say a word, she
thought.  I hope he will never look me in the face again.
What a life mine is! I have to turn away from something
on every side. Why couldn't he have left me something to
hold on by ? Now I have nothing. Where shall I drift ? 
Once more she sat down, and, with a little groan, went on
"thinking out  the subject after the manner of women. It
Was hard, very, very hard. But she sat up erect under the
sudden conviction—she was not the sole, or indeed the most
important consideration in this business. What if she felt
his—her husband's—degradation ? would he not feel it him-
self ten times more ? Then she felt that even if she could
not he happy herself, she might try to make others so; and
she rose up again, and with even softer steps than before,
went over and rearranged the disordered pillow under her
husband's heavy head. So  she took up the burden of life
again, saying only, it might have been. After all, hers was
a sound, sweet nature. She had a thousand impulses in those
hours of trial, but the only ones on which she acted were
crood She came out of this sharpest ordeal to which she
G  TT
306
Walter Goring.
had yet been subjected intact, even if not purified and refined.
But that feeling, that the burden must be taken up again
after a dream of  what might have been, is almost madden-
ing—let it come to whom it will.
Very few things come up to the expectation formed of
them. The thing has been said ten thousand times in ten
thousand different ways. Anticipation is invariably fairer or
fouler than reality. We all know that this must be. We
accept this hideous fact when we grow old; but when we are
young the constant recurrence of the truth is simply over-
whelming.
Charlie—poor, imaginative, faulty Charlie—made a dozen
little mental sketches of what would be said and what would
be looked when her husband came back to his place in the
scale of humanity again. She grew more gentle and more
humble, and so more tolerant to his faults, and less tolerant
to her own every minute. Her heart throbbed as she re-
solved to stem down the torrent of his self-reproaches, and
be that best of friends to him—a friend who could wisely ig-
nore, and cheer instead of depressing. She felt capable of
putting herself and her own feelings out of court altogether,
as she renewed her vow of making the best of things, and
reminded herself afresh that it behoved her to brighten, to
the best of her ability, the lot of the man who had fallen
upon evil days, but who had sought her when the sun was
on him.
Her nerves were strung up now to a terrible tension.
Women of her order always go off at a hard gallop when
their burden has been readjusted. What with her penitence
and her pity, she was quite ready to put herself in the posi-
tion of the offender instead of the offended when Henry Fel-
lowes woke. For many hours she had been dwelling with
keen pain upon the possible results of his conduct—upon the
effect it might have upon her practice, and the effect it must
have upon her character. She had been investing the occa-
sion with very great importance. I will not say with undue
importance, because that which shocks and disgusts a wo-
man neai ly out of all sense of propriety, cannot be too seri-
ously regarded. She had looked upon it as a turning-point
in her destiny; it was a never-to-be-forgotten episode. She
shook all over when she saw him rousing himself; she longed
 Woman's at Best a Contradiction Still. 307
to throw herself before him, and entreat him to believe that
she would forget as entirely as she had already forgiven.
But just as she was about to put her design in execution he
got up, and stopped her, by saying,—
 I think I have been asleep, Charlie; do let us get to bed
at once.
Then she shrank back cold and chilled, as, I suppose, it is
the just fate of those foolish ones to he who are born with
the weak habit of dying of roses in aromatic pain.
Her legs trembled under her as she walked up the creak-
ing stabs before him. She had suffered the first moment of
his recovery to pass without speaking to him, and now she
could not bring herself to utter a word. She had fancied
that he had looked at her angrily, and she had fancied
rightly; it had not been all such utter oblivion with him as
she had imagined. He had seen and felt two or three things
dimly through the mists which obscured his brain, and he
was aggrieved.
"Why wouldn't you come and kiss me when I asked you
to do it, Charlie ?  he said to her as soon as they reached
their own room; "it was hard just at the time when every-
thing is gone from me to see my wife turn away from me and
go off with another man.
He put his hands on her shoulder as he spoke, and made
her face him, and she stood with her head thrown back as
far from him as she could.
 I couldn't do it, she replied,  if you don't know the
reason I can't tell it to you.
 It stabbed me to the heart to see you rush after Goring
in that way, he went on, complainingly; and when he said
that she shook herself free from his detaining hands.
 I should have rushed after a dog that was leaving me
alone with you then, she exclaimed in a quick low tone.
 And he consoled you, I suppose—consoled you for
having a husband, who is such a poor creature that he feels
it when all his old friends give him the cold shoulder, his
voice broke with a sob ; but he recovered, and went on imme-
diately,  by heaven, Goring shall not play that game here.
The last part of the sentence was injudicious; she had
softened when he spoke of old friends giving him the cold
shoulder; but the allusion to Walter Goring stung her.
3o8
Walter Goring.
 Leave Lis name out of the question 
 But I won't leave his name out of the question; I '11
have no man coming here supplanting me with my wife, and
showing her what a much finer fellow he would be under the
circumstances. I '11 have no sneaking hound 
 Will you stop ?  she asked.
"Yes; when I have finished. It was a mean thing—a
mean thing of any fellow to do. You both thought me
senseless, I suppose, because I was sleepy.
 Why will you force me to remember what you were ?
she asked, contemptuously.
 I daresay Goring took care to impress what I was upon
you.
"You are mad.
She walked towards the door as she spoke. As she
opened it he went after her, and laid his hand on her arm.
 Charlie, where are you going ? 
"Down-stairs; let me go—let me go! I'm afraid to stay
here to-night.
 Afraid of me 7 
 No, of myself. She was speaking the truth; she waa
terribly afraid that she might say or do something which
could never he unsaid or undone. The barrier between them
was quite high enough already.
 What do you want ?—tell me what you want.
 I want nothing but to be let go, and as she said
it, she twitched her arm away from under his hand.
 I '11 have no nonsense of the kind;  he put his arm round
her, and drew her back almost roughly into the room, locking
the door as he did so.  The mischief has gone farther than
I thought; fallen as you fancy me, madam, I '11 show you that
I am strong enough to put a stop to the puling romance of
that fellow. Her strength was weakness when he said
that, all her good resolutions failed, and she was nearly
shaken to pieces by the storm of fury that swept across her
soul.
 If you degrade me by acting as you say you will, I '11
leave you.
 Desert me in my difficulties, he almost whined.
"Oh ! if you only knew'what I would have done for you,
and how cheerfully I would have shared whatever troubles
In Doubt.
309
you have, she exclaimed, as the tide of fury ebbed again;
 but how can I hope to make you understand that when
you misunderstand the best friend you have.
 Meaning Walter Goring ? he asked.
 Yes; meaning Walter Goring, she replied, and her voice
thrilled as she named him.
 Well; I want no more of his friendship, Henry Fellowes
said sullenly. His head was aching violently by this time,
and he was uncomfortably conscious of several things.
Amongst others that the ache served him right—that he had
not been absolutely victorious in this first matrimonial tussle
—and that he had to get up early the following morning to
ride round another man's land. After all there was much to
be urged in extenuation of what he had said, and what he
had done ; and so Charlie came to feel when he left off talk-
ing to her, and she was free to reason and reproach herself
again.
The following day she heard that the Prescotts would be
down almost immediately, and that Walter Goring had gone
to Brighton; and she told herself that  it was better far
that he should go than stay, and hoped that she might not
see him again until after his marriage.
CHAPTER XL.
in doubt.
The dulness and monotony of both feeling and action which
set in in the Fellowes's household after that first unfortunate
quarrel between Charlie and her husband, was broken after a
few weeks by an active annoyance. The Prescotts came
down, and notified their arrival very shortly to Charlie in a
message requesting her to go up and see her sister the follow-
ing morning.
They were sitting at dinner when the message was de-
livered, and it told on each member of the party at once.
The words "John has come down from The Hurst to say,
3io
Walter Goring.
&c. were hardly out of the servant's mouth before Henry
Fellowes lost his appetite, and laid down his knife and fork.
John had been one of his own grooms. The Hurst had been
the home of the Felloweses for generations. Charlie saw and
sympathised with his emotion, but it was no use increasing it
by noticing it just then. So she said,—
 Give my love to Mrs Prescott, and say I '11 be up with
her in the morning.
 I think, considering all things, that Mrs Prescott might
have had the good feeling to call on us first, old Mrs Fel-
lowes exclaimed, as soon as they were alone.
 Ellen never does consider all things, Charlie replied,
good-humouredly. She was still in Mrs Fellowes's black
books for having kept Henry to herself on the night of the
auction. The exacting mother little knew how willingly her
son would have been released then and for ever by that young
jealously-watched detaining power.
 More shame for her, then, the old lady replied, tartly;
on which Miss Dinah remarked, —
 Just so ; but it's not Mrs Henry's fault.
Charlie felt grateful to Miss Dinah. It was not active
partisanship or even zealous partisanship; but young Mrs
Fellowes did not, therefore, think the less of it. Indeed, on
the whole, she rather preferred that which resembled the
violet—that which was just felt in the atmosphere, and not
too plainly seen. Active and zealous partisans take high
rank in the army of friends from whom we pray to be de-
livered.
"Perhaps you will walk over with me, she suggested.
 I can hardly fancy Ellen in a half-empty house arranging
things.
 Oh, your sister has come to every comfort, every com-
fort, Mrs Fellowes said, seriously, as if there were something
impious and to be regretted in the fact.  I am sure I only
hope that it may last. I don't wish them ill. Furniture
sent down from London days before the family arrive, and
men sent down to arrange it! I hope it may last.
Charlie did not echo the expression of this hope, partly
because she dared not do it, and partly because it did seem
to her a matter of very small moment whether Mr Prescott's
new goods and chattels  lasted  or not. She was conscious,
In Doubt.
too, of a faint feeling of pleasure in the prospect of having
her sister near her for a time. Ellen, though not a too con-
genial, would be a safe and tender-hearted companion, and
she clung now to what was safe and kind. There had been
danger in the sympathetic interest which had been the off-
spring of tco congenial a mind; and there was utter bank-
ruptcy at home. Every bill she had drawn of late had been
dishonoured. These things conspired to make her glad even
of the prospect of Ellen's society, and desirous of keeping the
peace, and so enjoying that society without verbal molestation.
That conjugal scene of the unfortunate auction day had
been repeated several times with variations. Mr Fellowes,
who in the days of his prosperity had seemed to be as strong-
headed as he was soft-hearted, was becoming surely, and,
alas! not very slowly, a sorrow and spirit-sodden man.
Charlie thought that it was the pecuniary ruin which had
befallen him which preyed upon him, and this roused her
contempt. But she wronged him there. Had she known
the truth, her anger and contempt would have deepened.
He had taken in a vague jealousy of his friend and distrust
of his wife, and under the influence of these feelings he went
a very good way to give himself cause for both, had the
nature he was blindly striving to alter been worse than it was.
After that one outburst of feeling when he had made the
miserable mistake of charging Walter Goring and herself
with playing a double part—a dubious game—Charlie had
accepted the situation, and bravely, if not cheerfully, made
the best of it.  It would have been better for us both if
you had not spoken as you did last night, Henry, she said
to him the following morning ;  but since you have said so
much, I must say a little more. You said you would not
have Mr Goring come here again. Even if you hadn't said
it, I should.
 Why so ?  he asked.
 Why, because I should get fond of him, probably, she
replied, recklessly.  Stop, don't say a word; he'd despise
me as much for it as you would, and I have a greater respect
for his opinion than for that of any other human being.
How should it be otherwise ?—ask yourself.
She was no hypocrite, therefore she told all that there was
to tell about herself. But on the other hand, she was no
312
Walter Goring.
traitor, therefore she said no word relative to Walter Goring's
share in the matter.
Having made a clean breast of it, she seemed even to
Henry Fellowes's jealous observation to forget her avowal and
the subject of it altogether. As she had been a cipher at the
Hurst, so she was a cipher in the new household; hut the
small part that was assigned to her she accepted and played
out bravely and contentedly. He could find no fault with
her. Her round of duties was not large, certainly, hut she
never left one of them unfulfilled. She bore with the petty
details of domestic life which his mother and sister insisted
upon wearying her with, patiently. She devoted her ener-
gies to serving him, in every way in which it came within the
scope of her power to serve him, assiduously as ever. She
cleared up what he confused frequently. She never suffered
him to forget an appointment of which she had once heard.
With the spasmodic energy that was one of her most promi-
nent characteristics, she got up hard dry details connected with
the management of land and property of a similar nature to
that of which her husband was now steward, and arranged
facts and successful experiments and promising schemes, in
such a way as enabled him to grasp and act upon them often.
Her mind and her memory were invaluable to him, and were
always ready at his call, and yet—what was it ? He felt
that, had they been in different hemispheres, they could not
have been more widely asunder than they were ; and she felt
the same, only far more keenly and remorsefully. She never
reproached him, though cause was not wanting. She never
recoiled from him outwardly. She carried herself so con-
tentedly, that her  pluck  became the theme of a hymn of
praise which was constantly being chanted in her husband's
ears. But he would willingly have bartered away all these for
one love-glance from the quiet eyes whose language was a
mystery to him—for one fond touch from the little hand that
was as unwearied in his service as it was unwilling to meet
his. But these would never be his now—never, never! He
strove to drown his knowledge of the fact, and the drowning
it made the fact itself more fatally certain.
However, externally all things were fair, that is to say,
they were as fair as things ever are in a household where the
means are small, and the members not united by any very
In Doubt.
313
strong bond of love. On second thoughts I am far from
feeling that the latter condition makes the slightest difference,
so I will amend the phrase. Things were as faiy as a person
who had nothing to gain and little to lose, and who was yert
resolved to hold on by that which was, could make them.
Before Charlie went up to The Hurst to see her sister
according to promise, she received a note from Frank:—
 My dear Charlie, (he wrote):  Your book is an-
nounced, in two volumes. I have been through the proofs
for you. I think it will do very well, but don't be down-
hearted even if it should not. A letter from Goring puts to
flight my intention of trying to get 'Elaine' into the Academy.
He wants to have it to give to his cousin the day they're
married, which is to be in May, he tells me. I saw Prescott
yesterday in a shooting-coat and a wideawake ; the sight was
pleasant. He was just off to The Hurst, he told me. I '11
send you any notices that may appear of your book, and be
down soon to see how you are ^11 getting on.—Your affec-
tionate brother, Frank.
This letter gave her plenty to think about as she walked
ap to The Hurst. It afforded her pleasant—yes, of course it
was pleasant, though confusing just at first—matter of re-
flection. Her book out, and Walter Goring to be married
in May ! Delightful brace of facts.
 I wish we had gone to Australia, she sighed, as she went
into the house, and was immediately fallen upon by all the
young Prescotts. Then she walked into what had been the
drab dull drawing-room, and found it strangely metamor-
phosed. But Ellen was sitting there, and the sight of her,
cool, and calm, and pinkily pretty as ever, did much towards
reconciling incongruities.
 I'm glad you have come so early, dear, Mrs Prescott
said, as she met her sister.  I wouldn't decide on the cur-
tains for the bedrooms till you came; you have such taste.
 My taste is at your service. Don't say by-and-by,
though, when Robert makes long lips about the bills, that
you would have had the cheaper things if it hadn't been for
me. I remember the ire and scorn I brought upon myself
by exercising my taste when you were remodelling your
Bayswater drawing-room. How pretty all this is, she
Walter Goring.
continued, looking round the room.  The difference be-
tween this room now and the first time I saw it!
 Yes, it is pretty,—I must drive you home after luncheon
and see your house,—I daresay it is pretty too, though
small, Ellen replied, with the pretentious feeble magnanimity
of her order.
Charlie laughed.  I think I will leave you to form an
unbiassed judgment, Ellen ; come and show me all the rooms,
will you ? 
Mrs Prescott was auspicious, so they went together from
room to room, Charlie taking as hearty an interest in, and
expressing as unfeigned an admiration for, the improvements
and alterations as though this place had never been her own.
At last it occurred to Mrs Prescott to say,—
 I hope you don't mind it, Charlie ? 
 Mind what ? Why, I'm delighted.
v I mean, I hope you don't feel my being here, in what
was your home once.
 Indeed, no, Ellen, she said, sincerely : she had so much
more to weigh her heart down and cloud her happiness, than
the loss of what had never been dear to her.
 I was afraid you might;—oh, dear, what an unfortunate
thing that marriage has been for you, Charlie. What a
lottery marriage is, isn't it ? 
 I seem to have heard the remark before, Charlie replied,
trying to laugh carelessly, hut catching her breath, and nearly
choking in the attempt.  At any rate, Ellen, we've drawn,
there is nothing more to be said.
 No, nothing; and, as Kobert says, if it has been bad for
you, it has been good for us. We wanted a house in the
country, and this suits us charmingly;—it's an ill wind that
blows nobody any good.
 Exactly so; let those words be the last requiem sung
over the grave of my dead fortunes, dear. What a joyous
time this is for the children, there's no one to look after them;
how well Ella looks; she '11 be as pretty as her mother. So
she ran on until she had succeeded in luring Mrs Prescott's
though's entirely away from the too suggestive subject of her
own marriage and its consequences.
At luncheon, Mr Prescott appeared, looking very country-
gentlemanly in his shooting-coat. It was the first garment
In Doubt.
315
of the sort into which he had ever inducted himself, and he
was very conscious of it. He could not help giving Charlie
a dubious deprecatory glance when he met her; her eyes
danced and the corners of her mouth went up.  I shouldn't
wonder if that brother of hers has sent her a stupid caricature
of me in this costume already, he thought.  I saw him
laugh. Both these young people are much too fond of laugh-
ing for their position in life.
He told his sister-in-law that he should get her husband
to look out for a riding-horse for him.  A nice nag, steady,
with a good spirit, one that will take me along over any
thing, he said, jauntily, forgetting the ditch and the brown
hunter.
 I'm sure he will do it with pleasure; and I hope that
you'll keep a riding-horse for Ellen, and then when she
doesn't want it she '11 lend it to me; won't you, dear ? 
Mr and Mrs Prescott both looked pleased. Charlie was
so thoroughly at her ease, so entirely resigned to the inferior
position, so enchantingly willing to accept the goods they
and the gods gave her. Mr Prescott loved to patronise
people when he could do it inexpensively. Charlie's manner
developed this love of patronage now.
 Of course she will lend it to you, he said, pompously;
 in fact, any little pleasures that we can put in your way we
shall put in your way.
"You're very good, she replied. She was not heeding
either the matter or the manner of his speech; she was
thinking of that event which was to come off in May, and
hoping that they would be happier than she herself was.
"We shall entertain a good deal, Mr Prescott went on in
an expansive manner "We shall entertain a good deal—
and I may say in a good way—and we shall always expect to
see you.
 And in that way you will get asked out by other people
who will meet you here, Ellen struck in, in the lavishly ex-
planatory manner.
 Get what ?  Charlie interrupted.
 Asked out—invited to parties, you know.
Charlie began to laugh, then she checked herself, reflecting
that it was hopeless trying to make them understand why the
prospect they were seeking to open to her seemed absurd.
3i 6
Walter Goring.
They were meaning well, and she was much more alive to,
and grateful for, anything that was kindly meant, than she
had been when we knew her first. They would think her
envious and soured, perhaps, if she explained to them that
under all the circumstances there was more pleasure to her in
absolute solitude than in any number of little evening parties.
They would think her soured, whereas it was only her perfect
appreciation of the expediency and propriety, nay more, of
the absolute necessity, of the give-and-take system of society
which dictated the feeling. So she checked her laugh, and
asked-Robert Prescott another small favour on the spot, in
order that he might not think her ungrateful for his more
lofty and glorious designs in her behalf.
 Give me a lot of flowers to take home with me to-day,
Robert, will you ? 
 Of course, Ellen replied.  How dull you must be often,
Charlie.
 Not often; I manage to get a good deal of time quite to
myself, Charlie replied, unguardedly.
Robert Prescott looked up at her sharply.
 A good deal of time quite to themselves is what most
young wives would consider very dull work, he said, more
gently than he had ever spoken to her in his life before. The
touch of truth in her tone had gone home to him. He felt
at once that all was not well even as outsiders supposed in
this marriage which she had made; and his conscience, though
it did not pinch him severely by any means, told him why
she had made it. She blushed as he spoke, and when he
paused and looked at her for an answer, she said,—
"■ I never was romantic, you know, Robert; my own is the
only society of which I should never tire, I believe. Then
for the sake of appearances she attempted an equivocation,
and added,  And as my husband is compelled to be away
from me a great deal, I nurse the feeling as much as possible
in order to keep contented.
In about a month after this, Frank fulfilled his promise of
sending her all the notices that had appeared of her first
venture on the literary ocean. The book itself had come
down before, and had been carefully read by each member of
both families; but remarks upon it in each case, save Robert
Prescott's, had been reserved. Mr Prescott, Charlie heard
In Doubt.
317
through Ellen, disapproved of her having published under her
maiden name.
 It seems to me that that concerns Frank more than it
does Robert, and Frank advised it, Charlie argued.  Never
mind about that. What does Robert think of the book ? 
"Well, he thinks it has some merit—some, you know.
This, though it could not come under the head of rash
encouragement, was more than Charlie had expected. She
was so nervously alive to the blemishes in it herself, that the
merit had no opportunity of making itself apparent to her.
The first review that came down was of the laudatory
order. It dealt in gorgeous prognostications of future sue-
cess, and full-bodied epithets expressive of admiration. She
thought it meant fame and fortune as she read it—fame and
fortune, and a rapid rush up Parnassus. She learnt every
word of that first review by heart, and adored the writer of
it as such a discriminating demi-god deserved to be adored.
Then her husband read it, and was pleased also; and then it
was perused by old Mrs Fellowes, who forthwith fell into
sympathetic ecstasies, and expressed herself as coinciding en-
tirely with the reviewer's sentiments.  And in your next,
my dear, I hope you won't be ashamed to appear under your
real name, she said, affably. To which Miss Dinah replied,
 Perhaps it will be just as well that she shouldn't, mother—
you wouldn't like it if the next were a failure. In a cooler
moment, Charlie would have felt all the reasonableness of
Miss Dinah's remark; but what young author ever was rea-
sonable over a first favourable notice? Failure! after all
those brilliant qualities which the intelligent reviewer had
discovered in her ? The idea was too preposterously absurd.
The following day a much more important paper—one of
the literary journals—came down, and with it a line from
Frank.
"You're well slated in the ; but never mind, it's so
splendidly done, you'll enjoy it, he wrote; and thus pre-
pared, Charlie opened the paper, and prepared to, enjoy it.
No doubt it was very enjoyable, if she could only have
gone to the perusal in a proper frame of mind. The sentences
scintillated before her eyes. The article abounded in clever
epigrams and brilliantly-turned sentences. Nevertheless she
was very far from enjoying the reading. Unfortunately, too,
318 Walter Goring.
she had opened the paper before the whole family, and she
knew that they were watching her, and felt that she could
not keep on reading and holding her peace about it for ever.
The splendour of the way in which it was written was less
visible to her than the fact that she was denounced as
 coarse  in it. If it could have been kept to herself alto-
gether, she could have accepted it as a wholesome lesson, for
she acknowledged that it only told the truth, though it told
it somewhat severely. But she could not keep it to herself •
she was only a woman, and she knew that it would be made
to adorn morals and point endless tales for some time to
come. Even Frank, instead of being indignant at it, thought
it  splendidly done.
She gave it up reluctantly at length, and tried to go on
eating her breakfast, as if she were a callous and time har-
dened author, to whom these things were but as the buzzing
of summer insects. But the bread went into dangerous
crumbs, and the tea seemed to scald her, when Mrs Fellowes,
who had insisted on reading it aloud, began to shake her
head, and otherwise deplore.
But if the review itself was hard to bear, the commentaries
on it were worse.
 ' Coarse!' Ah, that's what I thought, to tell the truth,
Mrs Fellowes began. Though if she had told the truth, she
would have confessed that the idea had never entered into
her mind until she saw it there in print.
 I was afraid you had touched on one or two points that
you had better have let alone, Charlie, her husband said,
rather severely.  If you remember, I said so.
"Never to me, Henry.
 Oh ! didn't I; well, I thought so, then. Then he ran
his eye over it again when his mother put it down; and when
he had finished, he said, in the tone of one who has just made
a fresh and before unthought-of unpleasant discovery,  Be-
sides, there is scarcely any plot, and no moral whatever.
 They are not ' besides' all the sins the review mentions,
Henry; they are included in it, in the very words you use.
He did not look in the least ashamed of himself. Self-
elected private critics are the most hardened plagiarists. He
simply said,  Oh, are they ? that proves me right, then.
Then Dinah picked it up, and read it slowly, syllable by
In Doubt.
319
syllable, and Charlie steadied herself in expectation of a shock
from that quarter—but it did not come. All Dinah said
was,  It seems to me that if you 're all going to be wafted
about by every wind of doctrine in this way, that your novel-
writing will be more pain than pleasure or profit to you, Mrs
Henry. There's a great deal of truth in this; but I suppose
you knew that before, though neither Henry nor my mother
did?
"I've thought it all along, Dinah, the old lady replied, with
dignity—"all along; it's exactly what I've thought—exactly.
"You fancy now that you have thought so, mother, that's
all, Dinah replied, decidedly.; and Charlie felt more grateful
to her sister-in-law than ever.
She could not help wondering what "Walter Goring would
think of it. It would have cut her to the heart to think that
he could believe her to be several things that that review im-
plied. She hated her novel lying there in its violet binding,
as she thought of this possibility. She hated her  Gerty
Grey, and wished with all her heart that she could crush the
fatal longing that possessed her to go on writing. But she
had another nearly ready, and she could not bring herself to
destroy it, or to leave it unfinished.
In the course of that morning, Mr Prescott and Ellen came
up; and just as their carriage stopped at the door, Henry
Fellowes came home; so they all went into Charlie's drawing-
room together, and the review was brought forth for them to
look at.
When Mr Prescott had got about half through it, he
looked up at the luckless authoress, and said,—
 Well, I thought at least you would have had a good word
here. Your friend, Mr Walter Goring, does nearly all the
notices of novels for this paper.
 I wish mine had fallen into his hands—he wouldn't have
been so hard on it, she said, with a quickly flushing face.
 But I think—indeed, I'm almost sure—that this is his,
Mr Prescott replied, resuming his reading.  Oh, yes; there !s
no doubt of it. There's a sort of tolerant taking-both-sides-
of-the-question style about it that is essentially Goring's.
"H'ml that's what you've got from your friend, Mr
Fellowes remarked, with as near an approach t j sarcasm as
he was capable of.
320
Walter Goring.
 Oh, it's Goring's undoubtedly, Mr Prescott pursued,
with quiet satisfaction.  Know his phrases very well.
 I don't believe for one instant that it is Mr Goring's,
Charlie said, attempting to speak calmly, and falling far short
of her attempt.
"You don't think that he would see a fault in you, I sup-
pose ? her husband suggested.
"Yes, I do. Do you imagine that I think him such an
idiot ? Of course he would see and censure a dozen faults—
but in a different way. I should be sorry, indeed, to think
that any man who knew me wrote that.
"Especially Mr Goring? Mr Fellowes asked.
 Especially Mr Goring, Charlie replied, with the hardi-
hood of desperation. Then as the remote possibility of this
stab being dealt to her by Walter Goring struck her, she
added,  He couldn't hurt me so.
 I'm sorry to shatter your faith in him, Mr Prescott
said, with a little laugh ( they were not his corns that were
trodden on, and our latest lost great humourist told the
truth about the consoling power of this fact, as he did about
every other on which he touched,)— I'm sorry to shatter
your faith in him; but there's conclusive evidence in this
review, to me, that it's written by Goring. We called to
take you for a drive—will you come, Charlie ? 
 No, I don't think I will to-day, she said.  I had made
up my mind to ask my husband to let me walk round the
farm this afternoon with him; will you, Henry ? 
He agreed to her proposal; and so the Prescotts went
away, and the Felloweses went for a long, dull, tiring walk
together. But she courted bodily fatigue this day; any
amount of it was better than the thought that would intrude
while she was inactive. The thought that Walter Goring
thought so meanly of her as to try to cure her by cruelty !
 It can't be his, she told herself a thousand times ; and
speedily after that telling came the miserable doubt,  Why
did he do it ? Walter Goring, for his own sake, ought to
think better things of me than are implied in that.
So it went on rankling—that one review. No matter what
the others said, for good or ill; that one which might be im-
pregnated with his ideas about her was all in all—the thing
worth living for, and living down.
By the Little Brook.
321
CHAPTER XLI.
by the little brook.
May was approaching rapidly, as May or any other month
has a habit of approaching when something that is not re-
garded with rapturous impatience is to occur in it. All
things were going on much as usual with the different char-
acters of this little drama. Walter Goring was dividing his
time pretty equally between Paris and Brighton. Fate kept
him away from London, therefore he never chanced to see
Frank St John's picture, which was progressing steadily, and,
the young artist hoped and believed, favourably ; and some-
thing else, perhaps it was feeling, and kept him hitherto
from the vicinity of Deneham.
As for Charlie, she was, so to say, steeped in the last sec-
tion of her new novel and some disquieting speculations.
The dream of fame and fortune was gone, but the desire of
liaving some interest independent of her home life still
flourished. Indeed, it became more desirable every day al-
most that she should possess some such safeguard. Her
legal lord had lost the hold he had had over her atone time;
she stood by herself now, and the worst of it was that she
knew that she stood by herself. As she had never had love,
so now she had neither respect nor sympathy for him; nothing
but pity, more than slightly dashed with contempt. In fact,
she stood on shifting sands, and knew well that there was
none who could help her to maintain her footing save herself..
And she was desperately afraid of failing herself. She
was not one of those women who from custom and conceit
believe themselves to be founded on a rock. She recognised
fully and gratefully that great truth, which so many women
persist in ignoring, that her daily prayer had been answered,
namely, and that she never had been  led into temptation.
It is easy and pleasing to sit in the seat of the scornful over
those who have not been  delivered from evil, in time to
recover breath and save themselves, until one's own strength
has been tried and found weakness.
Her strongest safeguard was this—that she knew many of
her own worst points. She was not one of those who, be-
x
322
Walter Goring-.
cause they never have done wrong, think it impossible that
they ever should do wrong. She always remembered that
better ones than herself had gone down in the contest to
which she had never been called. Better equipped and
better endowed ones had gone down—women who had far
more to lose and many more weapons of defence, and who
must have had originally as strong a desire as she had now
to stand. The reflection inevitably induced speculation on
those subjects which it is perhaps just as well that a woman
should not speculate on too freely, predestination and free-
will. If the former be implicitly believed in, the inutility of
any effort to avert or control becomes the leading idea, and
an active-minded woman is in danger of drifting into any
madness that presents itself. While, on the other hand,
illimitable faith in the freedom of the will does away with
the cherished feminine notion of spontaneous passion, and
insists upon reason ruling without a moment's cessation.
Theoretically, Charlie gave in her adhesion to this form of
faith ; it was a creed that appealed to all that was strongest
in her nature. She had a great sense of expediency, a keen
sense of humour, and a profound appreciation of that power
which is the portion of those alone whose heads govern their
hearts. The rule of reason ranked high above the law of
love in her estimation, whenever she thought about it. But
for all that, she knew very well that there had been little
reason and less expediency in the way in which she had
suffered the warmest regard she was capable of feeling to go
out and settle upon Walter Goring.
It is perhaps because we are not taught to think coherently
on any topic that it is not habitual to discuss in family
council or society, that directly a woman takes to thinking
about anything she is almost sure to build up some frail and
faulty fabric of philosophy about it. There are so many
things that come before our eyes, and the mysterious men-
tion of which falls upon our ears daily almost, that we are
forbidden to  speak about, and advised not to  think
about. Naturally we do think about them, but cloudily,
and from the reprehending side alone. Under these circum-
stances, it is inevitable that either a merciless or a maudlin
judgment is formed; we are either too pitiless or too pitiful.
If we accept unhesitatingly the dicta of those who have dis-
By the Little Brook.
323
creetly thrown the halo of mystery, the charm of something
to he found out, over the subject on which they recommend
silence to he held, and thought to be banished, we are
hardened against the offender, without having the faintest
notion in what way we may be lured to the offence ourselves.
While, if we do not accept this view of the case, we blindly
go over to exactly the opposite side, and sympathise stupidly
with the result, equally without any knowledge of the cause.
Checked thought, repressed doubt, murdered misgivings,
surely these have been the rule too long. To deny what is,
and to believe what is not—to avow that that is impossible
which is proved a possibility daily—to hope that foundations
which are rotten will be good enough not to crumble in our
time—to turn the eyes away from some sight which jars, and
then feign a faith in its not being because we cannot see it—
to dread nothing so much as certain things being found to
be lies because our grandmothers who held them true ran
safely in their grooves—to fence ourselves in with modest
fictions, and then feel virtuously sure that all who declare
them not to be facts are upsetting the order of things,—all
these things have been done too long and too fervently for
there to be social safety for the first generation that emanci-
pates itself, far less for the solitary ones who see light through
the darkness, and seek to stray to it through new paths.
Of course, when it is said that Charlie had arrived at the
stage of doubting, it will immediately be understood that
even so far she had not gone on her own unaided instinct.
Women are essentially the undoubting section of humanity.
Gifted as they are with marvellous powers of discernment,
they rarely bring these powers to bear 011 anything more im-
portant than the paintings, powderings, and flirtations of
their unmarried, or the peccadilloes of their married, rivals.
When anything larger is set before them in a new light, it is
invariably so set by a man. It has never been a woman
who has first suspected corruption in either a creed or a
cabinet. If they have a doubt, they crush it. They like to
believe in a lot of things, the more the better. Calls on their
credulity in things of vital importance to humanity are never
made in vain. They like to have large bundles of things
that have been said and held to be trustworthy for genera-
tions, put before them and around them prominently, in
324 Walter Goring
order that they may have something to lean upon. Whether
they keep all the commandments or not, they would willingly
see the number doubled, and this not out of careless indif-
ference, but out of a genuine regard for safeguards that have
stood the wear and tear of time. Whatever their practice,
they are unfeignedly shocked at the idea of defying any law
which has lasted a long time. Whether they crack the cords
which constrain them or not, they will avow that any one
who says openly that those cords can be cracked is an atheist.
The foregoing reflections, all loose, crude, and contradic-
tory as they are, were the ones that filled young Mrs Fel-
lowes's mind, and considerably disturbed young Mrs Fellowes's
peace at this time. They came and went, they were dwelt
upon and banished flickeringly and disjointedly, therefore to
have thrown them into the form of a soliloquy would have
been to have made them assume a position which they had
not attained as yet. When women sit down and strive to
think out and reason upon any subject for five or six pages,
they do it on paper. At present Charlie had only arrived
at the stage when one point at a time would come up and
prick and rankle, and then be forgotten as another would
rise. She felt that something was wrong either with her
fate; or with her will—perchance with both; and she did
not see how it was possible to make the two agree. She
knew that there had been a wild mistake somewhere, but
whether Providence or the want of sublunary powder had
been to blame she could not decide. She was sure of no-
thing, in fact, save that she meant to do well.
One pretty, half tearful, half smiling April morning she
had been over to The Hurst, and was hurrying back through
the grounds, the nearest way to Deneham, between one and
two o'clock. She had promised her husband to be home by
three, in order to draw out a little plan or map from his
rough sketch of a proposed alteration on Lord Harrogate's
property. Henry Fellowes thought he saw the way to re-
claim a large piece of marsh land from the encroachment of
the tide, and he was anxious to put his plan before the owner
of the soil as soon as might be.
The way Charlie had chosen led her across the fields that
had been her husband's. They were Walter Goring's now,
and were let to the same Mr Grey ling who tenanted the home
By the Little Brook.
325
farm belonging to Goring Place. The partition-wall which
had been put up in ill-feeling, had been demolished as soon
as Henry Fellowes and Walter Goring knew one another—
even before The Hurst land passed into the possession of the
latter gentleman. So there was no obstruction now in the
jhort cut to Deneham.
It was a very pretty day. There is a sort of girlish
"when-the-brook-and-river-meet beauty and simplicity
about a young spring day that almost compensates for the
want of that richness and intensity which are the portion of
the maturer summer and more gorgeous autumn. All things
look delicate and slender. The insects that make their way
about amongst the tender pale-green blades of grass are not
full-bodied and bloated in the face as they are later in the
year. Someway or other, too, the sun is more suggestive of
all manner of purity and refinement than when his beams
grow stronger and hotter. More suggestive ! In the latter
stage, indeed, they are not suggestive of purity ^nd refine-
ment at all. If one is not physically tired, the hot, fierce
kisses of an August sun on the lip and brow make the blood
leap. If one is tired, he always serves one as he did immor-
tal "Mrs Brown on the occasion of her memorable journey
to the  Victoria Theatre. It is useless thinking with the
German sage,  I '11 turn me round. When one feels the
setting sun at all, it is always in the  small of the back, and
forthwith a hopeless feeling of vulgarity and a wild desire to
sneeze sets in. His brazen rays, in fact, make one feel wicked,
or weak and dusty. But in the spring they are almost more
silvery than golden, and they touch all things with such a
tender light that the eyes that look upon them are softened
in spite of themselves.
In the hedges and on the trees on every side, the birds
that were come from the south were announcing their arrival
to each other by their several call-notes. The blackbird and
the swallow, the white-throat and the turtle-dove, were each
singing a different strain with a widely different motive. But
what wonderful harmony there was in the medley ! Sincerely
feeling the sweetness of it, Charlie tried to go further, and
cheat herself into the belief that she thought it better far
than any of "the operas that Verdi wrote. She wished to
feel as unsophisticated and fresh as the weather and the scene.
326 Walter Goring.
On her left, a very little way out of her direct path, a little
rivulet trickled merrily along, and its hanks were fringed
with the graceful alder, the weeping willow, and the tremu-
lous aspen, in a way that was very fair to see—so fair, that
she turned and walked up to it, and then stood, half hidden
by the drooping boughs of the trees, whose young green
leaves threw out the scarlet feather of her hat in strong
relief.
There were little hollows or holes in the brook, and in them
the water lost its crystal clearness, and seemed almost black.
Tall bulrushes grew in sturdy clumps, making her think of the
 Great God Pan, and the rare treatment he received in the
verse of Mrs Browning. Feathery plants on the banks were
putting forth their young fragile leaves cautiously, to look at
themselves in the water below. The bright black eyes of a
nervous toad, who dreaded some disturbing influence from
the young lady, were fixed upon Charlie from a hole in the
opposite bank. A cart-mare and her large-kneed daughter
stood out—the one a chestnut, touched to gold by the sun's
rays, the other a bronzed black—on the emerald green of the
meadow over the way. A fair harbinger of the coming sum-
mer, in the shape of a speckled wood-butterfly, waltzed about
in the air to the music of its own thoughts, which perhaps
were to the effect that it  would never languish for wealth
or for power, or sigh to see slaves at its feet, as Haynes
Bayly avowed he would never do, could he but compass his
wishes and be a butterfly born in a bower. All these things
Charlie saw and felt, as she stood there, to be as fair a pic-
ture of the boyhood of the year as she might ever hope to
look upon again. "What was wanting ? What caused the
weary sigh to float from between her lips, and then made
those lips close themselves in sad resolution ? What was
wanting ?  The touch of a vanished hand, and the sound
of a voice that was still ? 
The bright-minded gentleman who finds time to write
capital verses, amongst his other multifarious avocations, has
painted vividly somewhere, but in what I cannot recall, the
stinging pain of awakening to the knowledge that the poetry
of life is over. I hope Mr Edmund Yates will forgive me if
I make a mistake in them, for I quote the following lines
from memory:—
By the Little Brook.
32;
 Yet 1 have known—ay, I have known,
If e'er 'twere given to mortal here,
The pleasure of the lowered tone,
The whisper in the trellised ear,
The furtive touch of tiny feet,
The heart's wild effervescing beat,
The maddened pulse's play.
Those hearts are now all still and cold,
Those feet are 'neath the churchyard mould,
And I have had my day ! 
This is sad enough; but how about one who has never
had the joys, and who yet feels that it is all over ? The
sharpest pangs of a memory that recalls bygone blisses can-
not equal the dull, dark, hopeless pain that weighs upon the
one who has nothing sweeter to look back upon than the
knowledge that there would have been a possibility of highest
happiness had not something else intervened. It is bitterly
hard to feel that the poetry of life is over; but it is harder
still to feel that all chance of such poetry ever lightening the
road is past before one has ever read one line of it. On the
whole, most people would rather  have their day, however
it may be about the after-part. Memory must be a better
companion than nothing.  'Tis better to have loved and
lost, than never to have loved at all.
She stood there a long time. Small wonder that she did
so. The purling stream, the banks and trees robed in new
verdure, and the smiling sun, were pleasanter companions
than awaited her in that Den eh am house. The hum of the
recently-born insects soothed her into temporary forgetful-
ness of the plan she had promised to draw out fairly.
All at once another sound smote upon her ear, drowning
the babble of the brook and the hum of the insects. The
toad turned, and vanished, feeling that it was no use keeping
her maternal eye on the invader any longer. The cart-mare
whisked her tail, and tried to prance, but fell short of her
worthy endeavour by reason of being out of practice. The
sun shone out more brightly still as Charlie looked up, and
the picture was completed. There, on the other side of the
rivulet, rode Walter Goring, smiling, and raising his hat from
his head,and his horse to the leap across the water, as he caught
sight of her. She reconciled the antagonistic beliefs at once.
She was predestined to meet him, and of her own free will
she went forward to the meeting gladly.
323
Walter Goring.
CHAPTER XL II.
under green trees.
The sunlight glowed upon liis broad clear brow, as be reined
up at Charlie's side and bent down with his head still un-
covered to speak to her, and she forgot that she had vowed
to be very steady and cold and composed whenever she
chanced to meet him. Her heart beat, and her eyes sparkled,
and the colour deepened on her cheek as she put her hand
out to greet him in a way that showed him all too plainly
how glad she was that the greeting could be given.
Do we not all remember how prudent and exemplary was
the conduct of  The Lady of Shalott for any number of
years ? Vaguely she had listened to the tale of a curse being
liable to fall upon her if she stayed her weaving. So she
kept on steadily at her weary work—seeing the troops of
damsels glad, the plump abbots, the curly-haired shepherd
lads, the crimson-robed pages, occasionally even gallant
knights,  go riding by to Camelot, without turning away
from her mirror to glance after them in the flesh. But
when Lancelot rode along, she, oblivious of the fact that
queenly fetters fast enchained that peerless cavalier, braved
the curse, and left the loom, and looked after the  bearded
meteor. Of course she was very foolish; we who are not
placed upon a little islet in a river, with a loom and a mirror,
and nothing more to interest ourselves with, can estimate
her temptation and folly with admirable exactitude.  'Tis
wiser being sane than mad;  but a Lancelot flashing across
one's solitude is a fearful trial of sanity.
The man who broke in upon Charlie Fellowes's day-dream
was devoid of those gorgeous accessories which strengthened
Lancelot's charms in the golden word-picture Tennyson has
painted. He. had no shield with a red-cross knight for ever
kneeling to a lady in it—no gemmy bridle—no thickly-
jewelled saddle-leather—no helmet and helmet-feather to
burn "like one burning flame together. But though he
had none of these, he was all-sufficiently bewildering. The
young, good-looking gentleman sittinghis handsome, thorough-
Under Green Trees. 329
bred horse with the ease and grace of a centaur, or rather of
an accomplished equestrian, I will say—preferring to draw
similes from things I have seen—was as disturbing an in-
fluence to the modern-minded victim of solitude, as Lance-
lot in all his glory was to the type of, and warning to, her
sex—the lady who looked indiscreetly, loved unwisely, and
then had nothing for it but to die.
For no solitude could be more complete or more painful
than was the heart and mind solitude of this wife, whose
husband's eyes were too frequently glazed with wine for her
ever to look in them and find companionship. To her sorrow
she knew that she had never loved her husband; to her
terror and remorse she feared that she did love this other
man: to herself, however, she had vowed, that never, by
look or word or sign, would she suffer that love to manifest
itself. But when she saw him—saw him so near, when she
had thought him so far off—when she heard his voice, and
her heart's chords thrilled to it—when she met his eyes and
the old truth struck her afresh, that question and answer
passed between them without speech—when she marked that
gladness sparkled over his brow and lips and eyes at thus
meeting with her, she forgot all sorrow, terror, and remorse,
and through every fibre of her frame was conscious of nothing
but joy. _ •
Why did she love him so well on so little? it may be
asked. I do not know. The spell was wrought, but how, it
is hard to say. She loved him best in the world, because he
was the best she knew—the one than whom nothing ever
could be better, brighter, and kinder. She loved him be-
cause on her darkest hours he had the power of shedding
light. In her hardest moods his smile could soften her—in
the midst of her unhappiness the mere sight of him made her
happy.
 I didn't know you were home, she said, quickly, hoping
that the explanation would satisfactorily account for a certain
flushing of the cheeks, of which she was conscious. It was
no bad tribute to him, that she felt that she would rather
that any other person in the world than himself should
fathom her feeling. Then she went on,  How is Daisy ?
"Very well, when I saw her last. Which way are you
walking ?
330 Walter Goring.
 Oh! any way, she replied, forgetting all about the
 plan  she had promised to be home at three, to draw out.
 I have been over to see my sister. Then they talked a
little weather, and he told her how he had been a couple of
fields off when he caught sight of her red feather through the
trees.
 Have you seen Frank? she asked, almost abruptly.
"No. I've not been in town at all. I went over to Paris,
with a man I know, meaning to stay a week; instead of
which I stayed many.
 So Frank told me. He told me also that the picture
will be wanted in May. Her lips trembled a little as she
spoke, hut she covered the trembling with a smile.
He laughed and coloured a little.  Does Daisy ever write
to you? he asked.
 Never, she replied. She was longing for an opportu-
nity of saying something magnanimous, not to say enthusb
astic, about Daisy. It seemed to her that she was a debtor
to Daisy, in that she dared to find solace in the smile of
Daisy's future lord. But she did not see a good opening for
the magnanimity; if Walter Goring was a genuine lover, her
warmest praises of the one he loved would fall flatly on his
ears.
If he were a genuine lover! The thought that he was
such to Daisy made her eyes shoot fire, and her heart dance,
and herself hate herself for giving these signs of jealousy
without right. "Daisy write to her! No. Why should
Daisy write to her ? she wanted no letters from Daisy! She
wanted nothing save—what? Well, nothing that she could
ever have. It is horrible that such trivialities should so
deepen and act upon all that makes life worth having—hor-
rible, but true; but the smallest inflection of the tone in
which he said the lightest word this day, deepened the love
Bhe had for him; and his silence was more dangerous still,
because in it she had time to think.
"I hoped that she had written to you, he went on;
 those people she is living with are wide apart from her in
reality; she isn't happy, Mrs Fellowes, and she has no woman
friend there. I hoped that she had found one in you.
It was not the tone of blind lover-like belief. It was the
tone of a man who had a weighty sense of responsibility; ha
Under Green Trees.
331
spoke affectionately, but as a brother might have spoken of
a sister. Charlie could only reply,—
 Oh, you must be mistaken! It did seem to her so
wildly incredible, that perfect happiness should not be the
pprtion of the one in April who was going to marry "Walter
Goring in May.
He shook his head. His love for Daisy was no big over-
whelming passion, such as he knew himself to be capable of
feeling, did he dare; but it was warm, honest, and active,
nevertheless. He had not come to the conclusion that she
was not happy without pain; but before he left Brighton for
Paris, Daisy had often been bored, and had frequently jerked
her head away impatiently, not to say ill-temperedly, when
he was kissing her. He had offered her her freedom once,
and she had rejected his offer with a disquietude that led him
to suppose that it was but the girlish doubt of how far it
would "be proper to go that made her repel him. But
though he was willing to suppose this, he could not cheat
himself into the belief that she was quite happy.
"I wish she could have stayed with you, he went on;
and then poor Charlie saw the opening for the expression of
that magnanimity which she was longing to display towards
the betrothed of the man she loved. She forgot that her
husband's home was not entirely her own; she forgot the
hours of anguish it would assuredly cost her; she forgot
everything save that it seemed to be within the scope of
her ability to serve Walter Goring; or if not to serve, at
least to please him: and even if she had  remembered,
why she would have counted years of pain to herself as
nothing, to the giving him one moment's pleasure. So she
said,—
 I wonder if Daisy would come to me till you marry her,
Mr Goring ? Ask her—ask her, will you ? 
"Do you really mean it ?  he asked, eagerly.
"Mean it? yes, thoroughly, honestly. She did "mean
it thoroughly and honestly as she spoke. She would have
done anything to please him that she could do, and at the
same time act fairly to the man she had married. Had she
been Charlie St John still, she would have counted her own
happiest hereafter well lost in making Walter Goring happy
here, could his happiness not have been effected at a lighter
332 Walter Goring.
zost. As it was, she felt it well worth while to risk paining
herself for the sake of pleasuring him.
"You can't think how glad I shall be to see her with you,
Mi3 Fellowes; there's something  He stopped, and
Charlie asked, quietly,—
"What is it? Tell me.
 I don't know ; you saw how it all came on with Daisy
and me. I don't think I'm a conceited fellow, but I did
think when I asked her to be my wife that her love for me
was very strong. She did seem to care for me, didn't she ? 
Charlie nodded assent. Daisy had "seemed to care for
him. Charlie could assent to that proposition; hut she
knew very well that Daisy had not cared for him. Mon-
strously improbable as the idea appeared to her on the face of
it, she could but fear that Daisy preferred some one to Walter
Goring. But she remembered that Daisy had declared that
if Mrs Fellowes suffered a hint of the sort to escape, that it
would be because she desired to see the engagement broken
off; and the remembrance fettered her tongue. Of all things
she could not have that said, and she knew that Daisy would
be very prompt to say it, and  what would he think of me
then ?  she thought. Presently Mr Goring resumed,—
"Now I sometimes hardly know what to think about it.
Heaven knows I would sacrifice anything and release her if
she wished. But she won't hear of that, and yet she doesn't
He was going to say,  care to have me much with her;
but the confession was a humiliating one, therefore he did
not make it.
 Perhaps she is so fond of you that she can't help being
shy, Charlie suggested. She knew that she herself would
have paid this man every tribute of open worship, had she
been permitted to do so. She would have gloried in her love,
and seen no shame in making the most open proclamation of
it. But it might be that an equally sincere affection would
affect another woman differently, and so cause her to act
differently. She tried to think the best of Daisy.
They had walked the length of the meadow through which
the little brook ran by this time, and they had walked it very
slowly. In order to get out at the Deneham end they were
obliged to retrace their steps along the bank, and the water
looked so cool and limpid that it fascinated them into stand-
Under Green Trees. 333
ing still several times as it murmured a running accompaniment
to their conversation. Presently, after once more asserting
that he was delighted that Daisy would be with Mrs Fel-
lowes for a time,  your influence is good for everybody, he
added, warmly, Walter Goring took a little, thin, sage-green
book out of his pocket.
 I have brought you something you '11 like, I'm sure, Mrs
Fellowes. Heine's poems.
 Ah! I don't read German, she replied, in a provoked
tone.
 But these are translations—the best I have seen. Of
course, they lose immensely in their English dress; but
you '11 delight in them.
Then she took the book from him, and sat down on the
bank to look at it. After a minute or two he placed him-
self at her feet, and asked her to let him find the "pine-tree
standing lonely  and thinking of the palm tree ! And when
she had read and rejoiced in that most exquisitely suggestive
and at the same time simple poem, he found another and
another, and the afternoon wore on.
Charlie Fellowes took to the perusal of the poems very
kindly. The little streamlet babbled on, the afternoon wore
itself away, Walter Goring's horse stood at ease on each leg
in succession and found ease on neither, and still the pair
under consideration sat on the green bank under the quiver-
ing aspens and graceful willows, reading and talking, and
finding it all passing sweet. At last, fell recollection assailed
Charlie, and she sprang to her feet, exclaiming,—
 I promised my husband to be home by three ! What
shall I do ? It must be hours after the time.
"It's nearly half-past five, Walter Goring said, looking
at his watch.  Allow me to walk home with you and ex-
plain to him that literature and I are to blame for your for-
getfulness.
But this proposal she strongly negatived, for she felt un-
certain as to what case her husband might be in by the time
she reached home. So they said good-bye and separated;
and she walked away to Deneham with a miserable feeling
oppressing her, that it had all been very pleasant and very
wrong, and all her fault, and that Walter Goring would marry
Daisy and be no happier, she feared, than she herself was.
334
Walter Goring.
CHAPTER XLIII.
A MOONLIGHT WALK.
No sooner was Charlie free from the influence of Walter
Goring's presence, than she remembered all the things which
she had forgotten while she was with him. She recollected
that she had intended being composed, not to say chilling, in
her demeanour towards him ; and she recollected the review.
Then memory became a poignant nuisance as she thought of
what construction he might possibly put upon her refusal to
allow him to walk home with her.  He will think that I
want to keep it from my husband, and throw an atmosphere
of secrecy over it, she thought; "and I shall go down in his
estimation. I can't tell him that I dared not bring him back
with me, because Henry might make me feel ashamed of
being his wife.
It was past six o'clock when she reached home; the dinner
Was on the table, but  Master was not in, she heard from
the servant, and she was conscious of a slight feeling of relief
as she listened to the statement; but the feeling of relief was
of the most transient nature. The moment she came into
the room, and seated herself at the table with old Mrs Fellowes
and Miss Dinah, she felt that the former regarded her as very
culpable, and the latter as very thoughtless.  It's a pity
your sister tries to wean you from your duty, Mrs Henry,
the old lady began, severely.
 Why, what has Ellen done? Charlie asked, wonderingly.
 Oh, only induced you to break your promise to your
husband: it's nothing, of course. Mrs Prescott supplies you
with amusement and gaiety, and so I tell Henry he must ex-
pect to be neglected.
 Then it was very unfair of you to tell him anything of the
sort, Mrs Fellowes, Charlie replied, decidedly. She was
very angry; the only thing that restrained her from disclaim-
ing against the injustice that was dealt to her more determin-
ably, was the unwillingness she had to drag Walter Goring's
name into the discussion. She could not repel the charge as
to the evil effect of the fatal fascinations of The Hurst,
without stating where and with whom she had been. She
A Moonlight Walk. 335
fully intended to tell her husband, but she did shrink from
saying anything about it to his mother and sister. Petty
injustice from one of her own sex is even harder for a woman
to bear than petty injustice from a man.  This is the first
time Henry has had cause of complaint against me. I am
very sorry that I forgot my promise to be home at three, but
I did forget it.
"Well, I should be ashamed to say it, Mrs Fellowes,
senior, replied.
 I should he more ashamed to say I had not forgotten it,
when I had.
 I can't see that it's anything to boast of, Mrs Henry.
 I am not boasting of it, Charlie replied, warmly. The
reaction after the excitement of seeing Walter Goring had
set in, and Charlie was very weary.  I am not boasting—
I am only telling the truth, and I am very sorry that it
should be the truth; hut, believe me, it is not Ellen's fault
that I am late.
 Whose fault is it, then ? 
 My own, entirely my own ; no one asked me to stay, no
one wished me to stay; I forgot it.
 Have you been for a drive with Mrs Prescott ? Miss
Dinah asked.
Charlie coloured a little as she replied,  No. She began
to wish that she had explained at first to these merciless
inquisitors that she had not been detained at The Hurst.
Now there would be a certain awkwardness in making the
announcement of where she had been.
 Did you stay there alone, then ?  Miss Dinah went on.
 I saw Mrs Prescott's carriage go through the town, and I
said to Henry, when he was waiting for you, that no doubt
you had gone out with your sister.
"I think, as your sister went out and left you, that you
might have come back to Henry, when you knew he wanted
you, Mrs Fellowes put in, severely.
Charlie began to feel as one who is baited, and her spirit
rose. As they went on censuring her for nothing, the en or
of which she really had been guilty looked less and less m
shall explain my shortcomings to my husband, she
said, coldly.
336 Walter Goring.
 When he comes in, Mrs Fellowes pursued, remorselessly;
 hut he went out quite annoyed. During all the years he
lived with Dinah and me alone I never knew hirp stay away
needlessly at dinner-time; such a thing never happened—
never ! while he lived with Dinah and me alone.
 I wish he lived with Dinah and you alone now, Charlie
replied; on which his mother plunged the culprit into a state
of penitential despondency by shaking her head, and begin-
ning to cry, and lamenting that she should have lived to see
such a day ; and the dinner was brought to a conclusion in
thickest gloom.
 The path of duty may be the way to glory, hut it's a
hard road to travel, Charlie thought, about ten o'clock that
night, as she put the finishing stroke to the plan she had
mapped out. For three hours she had worked assiduously
at it, and the report which was to accompany it, and which
she had put into form from the rough notes which she had
found scattered over her writing-table. She had worked at
it assiduously, but she had felt no interest in her labour.
The embankment of Lord Harrogate's marsh-land was a
matter of no moment whatever to her ; whether the German
Ocean or the best engineering talent gained ultimate possession
of the soil or not, she did not care. She performed her part
of this task because it was her duty to perform it, that was
all.
The fire had burnt itself out when she finished; for the
last hour and a half she had worked unremittingly, being
anxious to have her tale of bricks completed by the time her
husband came home. Bright and sunny as the day had been,
the evening was chilly; and now as she put the pen down,
and pushed the paper away, the chill struck her and made
her shiver. Of all external influences cold dulness is perhaps
the most depressing. She was alone—she was in dread of
the state in which her husband might come home after his
prolonged absence in anger—she had been so happy a few
short hours before. She was only a woman; so, thinking of
these things, she drooped her head upon her hands, and made
her moan over the mistake of her life.
The weary woman in the moated grange was agreeably
situated in comparison with this one, the sharpest pangs of
whose solitude consisted in the knowledge that it might, be
A Moonlight Walk. - 337
broken in upon at any moment. Mariana at any rate had
herself to herself, while she was longing for the advent of him
who came not. But Charlie Fellowes, however aweary she
might be feeling, was constantly liable to a couple of litigious
women, and a liege lord, who was too often in a state that
would have made her prefer the society of some of the beasts
that perish.
She had not succeeded in utterly concealing this change
which had come over him from his mother and sister., De-
spite her best endeavours, they had seen it and sorrowed over
it, and old Mrs Fellowes had snarled at her about it.  De-
pend upon it, she had said, considerately, "if a man has
never been addicted to that before marriage, it's the wife's fault
if he takes to it after. And Charlie had stood even that—
the charge of having conduced to his gross excesses—patiently.
Meanwhile Walter Goring was sitting alone too; but his
solitude was so widely different from hers. His was so easy
and refined—so well booked and well lighted, so fraught with
everything that could contribute to the pleasure of both mind
and body—so redolent of that charm which perfect taste and
wealth combined does throw over the spot on which their
forces have been united under good generalship. A charming
solitude his; but one which, nevertheless, he would have been
very glad to have had broken by Daisy or another. A charm-
ing solitude, with the firelight falling flickering on the pale
walls, and deepening in the folds of the pomegranate-coloured
velvet hangings. A charming solitude to sit and smoke a
fragrant cigar in, wondering the while whether Daisy would
ever play at objecting to his doing so when she came to he
its presiding goddess. A solitude that was peopled by so
many objects that were dear to his taste—by a Bembrandt.
portrait of a monk, whose face was all power, and whose
forehead seemed to be tumbling out of the picture—by a
Velasquez a proud-faced woman in brown velvet, covered
with tracery—by a fine copy of the Cenci herself, with that
maddening mouth of hers, and that fair fatal beauty of the
brow—by a pure-lipped  child  of Sir Joshua's, saying its
prayers—by one of Vandyke's cavaliers, (taken from his place
in the corridor, because he was the beauty-man of the Goring
family,) whose eyes showed plainly that he had been  very
bold to take whatever he wanted—by a marble copy of the
Y
J38 Walter Goring.
Clytie, with her passion-charged bust and purity-charged
mouth, with her downcast brow and upheaving bosom—by a
fair erotic group—and by a Leda, preparing to render up a
passionate kiss. A charming solitude, one in the midst of
which a woman infallibly takes up a better attitude, and thinks
moregrace fully; and Walter Goring knew this truth, and
thought of what Charlie would have been in it.
Perhaps even she, sitting alone in her own little sordid
ugly room, did not feel the full force of the bitter bungle she
had made of her life, as this man felt it for her. By the
light of her liking for him he read her character plainly
enough. He saw how she turned to what was fair, and re-
coiled from what was foul. He marked how exquisitely alive
she was to externals, and at the same time he recognised the
northern chill in her southern blood. Had she been all a
daughter of the sun, she would have thrown everything but
love overboard. As it was, there was a dash of snow in her
composition, which made her graver perhaps, but decidedly
less happy. He had said of her once., that she would talk
recklessly but never act recklessly; and after the interview of
this afternoon, he saw no reason to change his opinion
Since he had known her at all, he warmly regretted that he
had not known more of her before she suffered herself to drift
into a marriage with another man.  In that case, Daisy
and Goring Place would both have gone, he told himself;
but at the same time he felt that  Daisy was a darling, and
he should be very happy with her. Daisy was a darling! and
as  Charlie, as he called her to himself now, was married,
and neither polygamy nor polyandry were the law of the
land, or according to his tastes, the best thing was to think
of Daisy alone.
It would have been the best thing to do unquestionably.
The worst of it was that he could not do it. The thought
of the other one would intervene, and he could not delude
himself into the belief about her, that it was  merely the old
regard, a thing he was wont to tell himself about Mrs
Walsh. The thought of her as she seemed to him, a sweet,
wasted, loving, clever woman, would intervene; and loyal as
he was to Daisy, he could but regret that he could be so little
to the other one, whom he felt could, under kinder stars, have
been so much to him.
A Moonlight Walk.
339
By and by, as he could not shake off these thoughts and
the uncomfortable feeling they engendered, he got up and
walked away through the hall out into the garden, picking
up a Glengarry cap as he went. The sky was deep blue, un-
clouded, star-spangled, and above the silvery moon was sail-
ing, touching a thousand points in the earth below, and
bringing them into sweeter beauty. It was a shame to go to
bed on such a night—no day could show him anything fairer.
So he thought that he would go round by some plantations
where the shadows were lying darkly, their boundary lines deli-
cately tipped with silver. Round by these plantations, and past
a pretty ivy-covered lodge, where a gamekeeper lived, and so
home by another path. He determined not to take any of
his dogs. He knew their propensities to go off hunting at
wrong times, well-bred as they were; and he did not care to
be obliged to distract himself from the scene by having to
whistle up depredating pointers and defiant setters.
As he walked along he could not help hoping that Daisy
would come to care for these things as he did; or even if she
could not care for them to the same extent, that she would
invest a little .more interest in them than she did in the fall
of her drapery and the fit of her Balmoral boots. At present
he could but feel that, on the rare occasions of their taking
walks together, Daisy's sole thought had been how she could
most expeditiously and becomingly get over the ground; and
again, he wished that Daisy were a little mpre like Mrs Fel-
lowes; and then he fell to wondering why young Mrs Fellowes
had not suffered him to go home with her that day. He
scouted the idea that would intrude, that it had been because
her husband might feel a certain jealous annoyance. "It
can't be that, he thought;  he surely can't bother her in
that way. Yet what could it be? Charlie had been so
much in earnest in her rejection of his escort.
The gamekeeper's cottage stood close to a gate that was
very rarely used, which opened out from the Goring Place
grounds into the Deneham road. Walter Goring thought
that he would just go past it, and see the moonbeams amo-
rously trembling on the ivy, and try whether he could not
get over or through the gate, and out into the road along
which he intended to walk to the principal entrance, which
was some quarter of a mile higher up. As he neared the
34°
Walter Goring.
lodge, two figures loomed above the little garden hedge, and
remembering that Dagorn, the gamekeeper, had a very pretty
daughter, he thought—"Halloo! some rustic Juan sporting
with Amaryllis in the shade; old Dagorn should keep a
sharper look-out on his daughter; and he began to whistle
loudly, and to step more firmly, in order to give signal of his
approach. As he did so, the figures separated; one went
fluttering towards the ivy-covered porch, and the other came
out and went hastily towards the gate, where a horse was
standing with his rein fastened through the bars. Involun-
tarily Walter Goring checked his steps, and sought to turn
before he could be seen. In the man who fled like a thief
in the night at the approach of another man—in the mid-
night whisperer of dangerous words to pretty Alice Dagorn—
Walter Goring had recognised the husband of the woman he
admired and was interested in above every other in the world
—save Daisy, of course. His heart beat thickly with indig-
nation and several other feelings, as he saw Henry Fellowes
mount and ride rapidly away. It was the worst thing he
had learnt in connexion with her yet; the worst, the most
dangerous knowledge.  The dirty hound, he thought,
"wasn't it enough that he should get drunk? Then he
thought of Charlie's frank, fearless eyes, and of the honest,
defiant nature which was being taught and trained down by
duty and necessity to live a lie.  If I were her brother, I'd
take her from him, he thought, passionately. But even in
that moment of passion he swore never to try to do it, since
he was not her brother.
He walked on, though there was no more beauty in the
moonbeams for him. His heart was oppressed with a weight
of doubtful sorrow, that he could not throw off. He thought
of Charlie as he had seen her some hours before, in the pure
light of the spring-tide day, by that limpid water; and as he
thought of her thus, and of her sweet womanly warmth, his
anger rose hotly against the man who had gone home to hei
from a flirtation with the gamekeeper's pretty daughter.
An Empty Saddle.
341
CHAPTER XLIY.
AN EMPTY SADDLE.
 Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is—Love forgive us !—cinders, ashes, dust.
If this be true—and who can doubt it ?—what is hate in a
hut ? or indifference, strongly dashed with disgust and dread,
in a square, incommodious little modern house, in a mortally
dull couhtry town ? The cinders, ashes, and dust, which are
the portion of love in a hut, must be succulent and daintily
flavoured morsels compared with the mental and moral diet
on which the luckless one whose situation was sketched
secondly must feed.
For about an hour after the completion of the work which
she ought, the miserable sinner, to have been home at three
to do, young Mrs Fellowes sat cowering over the table, with
her face buried in her hands, making her moan. She was
horribly unhappy; her soul was very dark. The best she
could do, were she true to herself, without a moment's waver-
ing, would not brighten the dreary swamp of her life—it
would only enable her to cross it safely. It doesn't do to
sit and think, she exclaimed, at the expiration of an hour.
 It ;s only those who are well fenced in in pleasant places
who may indulge in the luxury of turning things over in
their minds. Then she got up and unbarred the heavy
shutters, hurting her fingers with the iron bar as she did it,
and thus distracting herself a little, and peered out into the
street, trying to think that she was anxious for her hus-
band's return. After flattening her nose against the glass
for a few minutes, and seeing nothing but her own eyes, by
reason of the moon being hidden by the chimney-pot of an
opposite house, she went back to her writing-table and got
out a chapter of the nearly completed novel—the one of
which she was hopeful, the one that was to efface  Gerty
Grey  from the memory of man. As she got into the suing
of her story she forgot her dulness and despair, and felt that
though her grand venture was a failure, that she might get
342
Walter Goring.
up a sub-interest in life sufficiently strong to carry her
through it cheerfully.
Her pen was not a gray goose-quill, but it was a clearly-
running steel slave to her thoughts this night, and her
thoughts ran quickly and brightly, as one's thoughts are
wont to run at such an hour. For a few pages she progressed
very promisingly. Her people had been rather stiff for a
chapter or two, by reason of certain doubts which had as-
sailed the mind of their creator, as to what it would be well
to make them do next. Everything that occurred to her as
desirable somebody else had used of late, and she had began
to fear that she had exhausted her slender stock of original
ideas. But to-night she had no doubt; the puppets fell into
positions that were most awkward for themselves, and conse-
quently most pleasing to the reader—of their own unaided
will, as it seemed. The first sentence she penned was happy,
both as regarded its reason and rhythm, she thought; at any
rate, it led her on, which is the most one asks of an opening
sentence.
At last the puppets grew stiff again. The curtain drew up
on a love scene, or what she wanted to make a love scene;
but she dared not fall back upon her own personal experi-
ences, and she found that without this she could not make
them talk with a touch of truth, or move other than in a
wooden way. Imagination could not supply the void that
was made by a determined obliteration of the most she knew
about it. Every one who writes fiction must have experi-
enced the difficulty at the shy stage of the outset of their re-
spective careers.
The moment of hesitation relaxed her energies. She began
to trace little profiles—idealised Walter Goring's on the
blotting-paper—a dangerous propensity, which it is just as
well to nip in the bud—and as she did it she thought how
 well his love scenes were always done, and what a lot of
practice he must have had to make them so perfect. She
was but a tyro in the art as yet; she did not know that,
given certain conditions, and the chances are very much in
favour of every one acting alike under similar circumstances :
and so the life-like reality of the desperate love he made on
paper made her fancy that Walter Goring had flattered and
flirted with many besides those of whom she knew.
An Empty Saddle.
343
Then his poems again—those despairing wails, howls al-
most—by which she had known him first.
He was a very sweet singer, but, as is the case with the
majority of young aspirants for the bays, the melancholiness
of most things was much before him in his verse. She ran
through the list of those whom he had reviled in old heroic
measure, and forgiven with a broken heart in lines that ran
trippingly off the reader's tongue. She recalled the ladies of
high degree, who, in his first volume of  Poems of Life and
Love, had always been doing dark and dismal things, in
gorgeous array and high places, with composed countenances
and corroding care at the core of their hearts. Occasionally
even he had made hazy allusions to royalty—his boyish pride
had been flattered, he averred, through two and a half verses,
by some one who had in the last eight lines resumed her
crown and sceptre. There was great consolation to Charlie
in recalling and dwelling on these wild effusions of his earlier
muse. She found herself feeling more than half convinced
that the love he painted so vividly in prose was equally ideal.
Presently the clock of the town-hall boomed out the hour
one, and a sudden qualm at the continued absence of her
husband brought her back from the regions of romance to
the real life around her. She put away her chapter with the
barely begun love scene in it, and stole softly to the hall door,
which she opened quietly. Then gazing anxiously up and
down the street, she found herself saying, almost against her
will,  Pray God he may come home safe !
The utterance of the prayer brought the possibility of some
accident having happened to him home to her with hideous
force. Supposing;—but no, she would not suffer herself to
suppose anything. She drove back thought, but she could
neither quiet the vague dread nor stop the chattering of her
teeth, as she stood there, looking up and down, in pitiable
ignorance of the side from whence her husband or evil tid-
ings might come upon her.
All at once the sound of a horse's hoofs, striking on the
hard surface of the street, smote upon her ears. She listened
more attentively, and recognised the sharp quick walk of the
old brown hunter. Listening still, she heard the horse come
on steadily till he came just abreast of a road that led away
from Deneham to The Hurst, and then the sound decreased,
344
Walter Goring.
and with a thrill of alarm she became conscious that he had
taken the turning to his old home.
For one minute she stood irresolutely at the door, then she
closed it gently behind her and ran off rapidly in the wake ol
the retreating horse. She knew the step of the old brown
hunter so well. Those who are accustomed to horses learn
to distinguish their steps as infallibly as they do those of
their fellow-creatures. She knew the step so well, and she
did so dread that it might bear its master to The Hurst, and
proclaim the open shame of the habits her husband had
formed to some groom or stable-boy, who might be roused
by the sound of the hoofs and come out to know the cause of
their being there. The fear gave her wings. She had fled
through the street and into the solitary road that led away to
The Hurst, before she remembered that there was anything
out of the common in her doing it.
Her pace soon brought her close upon the track of the
horse, and she was just thinking,  Henry will be furious with
me, I'm afraid, when, with a cry of horror, she came near
enough to see that the saddle was empty. It was useless now
to follow the horse ; she let him go on where he listed, and
turned back to seek despairingly for help and her husband.
All thought of keeping anything from anybody was over
now. She gathered up her dress and ran back to the house
faster even than she had run away from it. One frantic
struggle with the door-handle ended in her failing to open it,
and then she rang the bell furiously, rousing all the household
from their dreams of peace.
Naturally, the first impulse of women when they are rung
up in the night is to congregate together and ask each other
if they  heard the bell. That fact ascertained beyond doubt,
they light a candle, or rather strike matches, with hands that
are unsteady through nervousness, and then essay to apply
the light to the wick of the candle, under the auspices of eyes
that are half blind with sleep. The result is rarely a success
for the first five minutes, but eventually a blaze is achieved.
Then they fall to wondering whether they had better go down
to the door and tackle the invader there, or merely challenge
him from an up-stairs window.
This programme was religiously attended to by Mrs and
Miss Feliowes, and the cook and housemaid, on the present
An Empty Saddle.
345
occasion. Charlie nearly went mad with impatience as she
watched the flitting about from room to room. At last a
blind was cautiously lifted and a window sash raised, and
Miss Dinah's voice asked,—
 Who's that ? 
"It's I—Charlie, Charlie replied. "Do dress and
 How very improper of you to be out there at this hour of
the night, and 
 Henry's had an accident—thrown from his horse along
the road to Goring Place, Charlie interrupted;  follow me
as quickly as you can, Dinah, and make the servants dress.
 Wait a minute, Dinah cried. Then she ran down
nimbly, and let her sister-in-law in. Now that she was
called upon to act, Charlie took her place as the ruling spirit
with a decision and promptitude that almost paralysed Miss
Dinah.
 We must keep it quiet if we can ; hut if he's hurt, (at
this poor Charlie's voice broke a little,) "a doctor must he
sent for at once—so bring Ann with you, Dinah, and be
quick. With that she turned, and went off again on the
hardest mission that had been hers in life yet.
She did not run now. She knew that in any case all hex
strength and all her composure would be needed, and these,
she could not retain if she ran herself out of breath. But
she walked at a pace that soon brought her well on the Gor-
ing Place road, and then she began to look eagerly at every
place where the bank of the hedge on either side curved and
the shade was lying dark as a human body might—to look
eagerly, and to listen attentively ; but for a while she heard
nothing save the croaking of some frogs who were going a-
wooing, and the chirp of the grasshoppers in the turf under
her feet.
Suddenly she heard a man's step—the next instant she
faced' the man himself, and with a cry that burst from her
heart, telling him all her loneliness and all her helplessness,
she recognised Walter Goring. His first fear was that she
had been outraged beyond her powers of endurance, and had
left her husband's home. It was almost a relief to him when
she stammered out,—
 Have you seen my husband ?—he has been thrown from
his horse.
34^
Walter Goring.
 "Not along this road, Mrs Fellowes. I have been saunter-
mg up and down for the last hour.
 But it must be this road—beyond where you've been
walking, perhaps!  Then she told him quickly of the evi-
dence the horse had given, and he could not tell her that he
had seen her husband start for home within the range of his
(Walter's) saunterings.
 He must have turned down some bye-lane into the
town, Walter suggested.
"No, no ! the horse came straight along the high-road—I
had listened to his step ever so long; do let us look along
here first.
He turned with her and offered her his arm, for she was
shivering with the cold night air, and her legs were tottering
under her. Then they walked along, looking and listening,
and dreading that the worst that could happen had happened
to Henry Fellowes ; and Charlie girded fiercely against Dinah
for not following faster.
At last they gained the entrance into the Goring Place
grounds, where Dagorn's lodge stood, and Walter Goring
knew that the man they were looking for had not ridden in
the other direction. "We may as well turn back now.
I '11 take you home, and then find him by myself—do believe
that it will be all right, Mrs Fellowes.
But she could not believe that it would be all right. She
was picturing the worst possibilities at one moment, and the
next going through a thrilling scene of reconciliation with
her husband, who might be just enough hurt to be grateful
for her anxiety about him. The worst of it is, however
fertile imagination may be in conjuring up miseries, one or
two disagreeables of a very poignant order are sure to crop
up when the end comes, and take us by surprise.
Very many years ago when I was a small child, and long
before Free-trade was in the ascendant, I was startled out of
my baby-dreams once in the dead of night by confusion and
uproar and the words:  Papa is fighting the smugglers !
Now smugglers were a very familiar abstract idea to me.
Papa was popularly supposed to be always looking out for
them and  boarding them, together with the band of Coast-
guard men under his command; but he did these things
way from home—out in Blakeney Harbour, or the Pit.
An Empty Saddle.
347
The charm of mystery was over smugglers to me. It was
delightful intelligence to me that  Papa was fighting them
in the watch-house yard.
Even at this distance of time I can recall the sensations
with which I wriggled out of my crib, and ambled away un-
noticed in the confusion that reigned to a western window
that commanded the scene of carnage which I hoped to wit-
ness. As I ran along I heard an order given for  lots of
hot water.  That was for washing the wounds, I thought.
I pictured my papa surrounded by smugglers, cutting and
slashing, and killing them with that sword of his which I
liked so well, and which I should have liked so much better
if he would but have assured me that he had ever  killed a
man with it; but he never would assure me of this. This
blood-thirstiness of mine had been engendered by desultory
dips into  The Chronicles of Froissart,"—a book which few
children know, and fewer still care about,—to the perusal of
which I had been driven, first by dulness and the want of
something else to read, and afterwards by a certain sanguin-
ary taste, which developed as I grew in the knowledge that
honour and glory, and medals and pensions, and "honourable
mentions, were the portions of those who had run the great-
est risks, and destroyed the greatest number of their foreign
fellow-creatures in the cause of that  Service  in which the
men of my family were steeped. At any rate, whatever the
cause, I had the taste, and on this occasion I ambled off ex-
citedly and delightedly to see my papa fighting the French
smugglers.
It never occurred to me that he might be killed in the
skirmish. I was too much accustomed to run my fingers
along a deep sabre scar on his head, and to hear of sundry
bullets which gave him great pain sometimes, and which were
poured into him during a cutting-out expedition from the
"Ganymede, off the coast of Spain in 1813. I was too much
accustomed to hear casual mention made of these wounds for
a single spasm of childish fear to assail my heart on account
of my papa. So I ran briskly off to that western window,
and looked through it, hoping to see his sword flashing and
lots of blood flowing. Instead of these things I saw a number
of French sailors handcuffed and huddled together, while my
father was deciding whether he should billet them in the
348
Walter Goring.
stable or in his own house for the night. There was no
fighting, no danger. The hot water was not wanted to wask
the wounded, but to make coffee for the poor fellows, who
were the tamest and merriest of smugglers—they were not
even angry with their captors! I was bitterly disappointed.
I pattered back moodily to my crib, and was presently found
crying, and consolation was then offered me under the mis-
taken impression that I had been affectionately fearful that
"my papa was in danger. At the time I was not honest
enough to state the true cause of my grief, having the grace
to be a little ashamed of it even then. <
So Charlie Fellowes, wandering along miserably in the
moonlight, leaning on Walter Goring's arm and looking fox
her husband, was conscious of feeling that she had not pre-
pared herself "for the worst, when she came, as she presently
did, upon Henry Fellowes.
CHAPTER XLY.
only a woman.
They had turned back, Charlie hanging on Mr Goring's arm,
and suggesting at intervals of about four moments the dreariest
and most doleful of probabilities connected with the subject
of the disappearance of her husband, and Walter Goring con-
soling her as best he could—as only he could; and wishing
with fullest fervour that he could console her better.
In his own heart he had no very over-weaning sense of
horror at the probability of Henry Fellowes having broken
his neck. The man had let himself down so of late, and had
this night put such a finishing stroke to his conduct, that
Walter Goring, though no Sir Galahad, had conceived a con-
temptuous aversion for Mr Fellowes—an aversion that would
have rendered it a matter of indifference whether he lived or
died had it not been for Mr Fellowes' wife. As it was, the
thought of her banished the indifference, and made him feel.
Only a Woman.
349
even as she trembled with emotion on his arm, that it would
be well for her if her worst anxiety were presently well
grounded. He felt so keenly the bitterness of her fate ; and
at the same time he felt more keenly still that any attempt
on his part to sweeten it temporarily would only embitter it
still more in the future. But, though he felt this, he could
not biit be conscious of the subtle, unintentional flattery of
her reliant touch on his arm and comfort in his presence—
and, feeling this, it was hard for a man not to respond.
They had retraced their steps nearly into Deneham High-
street, when they heard footsteps and loud voices advancing
towards them, and presently, before they could realise the
possibility, though they had recognised his voice, Henry
Fellowes and his sister met them, and Mr Fellowes was as
evidently as sound of limb as he was in a furious passion.
Charlie took in both facts by the light of the moon, and her
heart began to harden. Her anxiety about this man had
been an agony for the last hour, and now he met her with
anger in his face. What though he was her husband ? She
was a human being—one, too, of a higher order of intelligence
than himself. He could have been no more than angry with
a dog who had acted against his wishes in ignorance and with
good intentions.
 Henry, I have been terribly frightened about you, she
began at once, without moving her hand from Mr Goring's
arm.  How did you lose your horse and get home ? 
 Alarmed have you been! he replied, giving her a full
stare in the face and a sneering laugh.  Convenient alarm,
madam; the next time you feel it you '11 be good enough to
remain in your own house instead of coming out to meet Mr
Goring.
 Henry ! his sister remonstrated, ranging herself up to
Charlie's side as she spoke. By nature Miss Dinah was a
distrustful woman, but she could not distrust the motives
which had actuated her brother's wife on this occasion.
 Come home, my dear, she went on to Charlie;  don't
mind him to-night.
But Charlie had recovered the breath which her husband's
speech had taken away, and she could not take her sister-in-
law's advice.
 Not mind him ! she cried, passionately.  No,—he has
35°
Walter Goring.
said the worst thing he can to me now,—I shall never mind
anything else.
"You can hardly need my assurance of my meeting with
Mrs Fellowes being Walter Goring was beginning; hut
he checked himself. He could not bring himself to offer an
explanation to Henry Fellowes,—the doing so would be an
insult to her.
 I don't need your assurance about anything, Mr Fel-
lowes replied, roughly. "I only know that it's a thing I'll
not stand: here I come home worn out and exhausted, and
I find my house in an uproar, and my wife roaming about
the roads.
"It shall never happen again, Charlie said, coolly.
 Good-night, Mr Goring.
 I didn't mean anything offensive to you, Goring; but I
was very much annoyed—very much annoyed, indeed,
Henry Fellowes said, holding out his hand to Walter Gor-
ing.
For Charlie's sake, Walter Goring took the hand thus ex-
tended, but its touch was loathsome to him—it was brought
to bear so coarsely and so heavily on her. Then they
parted—Walter Goring going back to his own place, and
the Felloweses walking on to the house, where the wildest
speculations were rife amongst the maids as to what would
be the end of this.
The two maintained a strict silence until they were in
the house and the door was barred. Then Miss Dinah
spoke.
"Your horse is gone on to The Hurst, Henry.
 How do you know ? 
 Because your wife saw him go when she first went out
frightened about you.
 Then why didn't she bring him back ?  he said, rudely,
once more giving Charlie a hard, determined stare. His
mad unfounded jealousy had culminated this night; he re-
joiced in being able to show the woman who turned to
Walter Goring because he was refined, gentle, and con-
siderate, how entirely she was in his (Henry Fellowes')
power. He rejoiced in mortifying the woman he had once
loved so well—the woman he still loved after a fashion. He
knew that he had lost all mastery over her heart and soul;
Only a Woman.
351
and so, like a brute, he determined on exercising the mastery
that was still left to him. He would make her feel that she
was his property—he would  break her in, he told him-
self. So he said now— Then why didn't she bring him
back ? 
And Charlie shivered to her soul as she listened. He
could speak of her in this way—as he would speak of a
groom or a stable-boy. She had grown so common in his
eyes, that he not only forgot that she was his wife, but ap-
peared to forget that she was a woman. She shivered as
she listened, and thought that under such treatment she
must surely deteriorate. The best of her must be bruised
away by such coarse handling; and, as she thought this,
she hated him. And she lifted her head and looked her
hate of his physical power—but still held her peace.
Miss Dinah left them almost immediately; and for the
first time she betrayed that sort of feminine affection for
Charlie which is shown in a kiss. She was very sorry
now for her brother's wife; she pitied her profoundly; and
she was terribly afraid of Charlie being driven into open re-
bellion by his manner, and so of a scandal coming upon the
name of Fellowes. So she kissed Charlie's burning brow;
and, as she did so, she prayed Charlie to be patient.
As soon as her sister-in-law left them, Henry Fellowes
altered his manner a little. He had taken enough wine not
to be intoxicated, but not to be one thing long; and his ver-
satility was about as odious as anything that can be ima-
gined. Having humbled her, as he hoped, before Walter
Goring—the man whom she preferred to himself—and his
sister, he now wanted to make friends, in order that the sub-
ject might be dropped till such time as he chose to resume it
and humble her again. If any surprise be felt that a man
so hearty, good-humoured, and good-natured as he was when
he first came into this story, should have developed into such
a coarse, mean-spirited, half-tyrant, half-profligate, let it be
borne in mind that the heartiness was the result of full
health and prosperity, that the good-humour came from
good fortune, and the good-nature from an animal indiffer-
ence to every form of annoyance that did not affect himself;
and that none of these things were ever shown to be other
than they were. When he lost the position he had been ac-
352
Walter Goring.
customed to fill, the pleasures which money enabled him to
purchase, and the consideration which position and money
alone command, he had nothing to fall hack upon. His big
handsome frame contained a very small mind and no soul
worth mentioning. While it came easy to him, he had been
generous; while there had been no special call for it, he had
shown a sort of graciousness and manly consideration for his
wife that was partly the result of his thinking her so pretty
and graceful, and partly the result of that deep-rooted dislike
he had to discussing unpleasant subjects till he was com-
pelled to do so. In fact, while he had been a prosperous
animal he had been a very amiable and agreeable one. But
when the prosperity vanished, nothing but the animal was
left.
The alteration in his manner as soon as his sister left them,
did not strike Charlie as being either graceful or desirable.
She had seated herself on her own low writing-chair, and he
came and leant over the back of it and kissed her, saying,—
 We have both been rather foolish to-night, Charlie. Let
us forgive and forget.
 I can't make the smallest pretence of doing either; and
I have done nothing for you to forgive, or that I want you
to forget, she replied, quietly. She could not forget that
Walter Goring had heard her taunted with—she hardly knew
what. She could not forgive it. She had been lowered, she
told herself, in the eyes of the man with whom she most
desired to stand well. She could not forgive it.
 You must think that it was enough to annoy any fellow,
Charlie, he went on ; and really, though he had brought the
annoyance on himself, and fully deserved it, he was quite
right as to its being  enough. It must have been altogether
about as annoying a reception as could greet any gentleman
on his return to his home, when his horse has previously
arrived with its saddle empty.
"What was enough to annoy you—your horse throwing
you ? or my being anxious about you ? They are the chief
points of the case.
 My horse didn't throw me, he replied, irascibly. And
as to your being ' anxious,' you might have been that without
going out to meet Goring.
 What is it you think of me 1 she exclaimed, getting up;
Only a Woman.
353
she could not bear bis leaning over ber. It nearly drove ber
wild to remember tbat he bad the right to do it.  Say it
out—what is it you think of me ? 
He followed ber, and put an arm round ber waist—drawing
ber up against himself. He was a little cowed by ber manner.
As be pressed ber to bis heart, a choking sigh burst from ber
lips; but she remained passive. She would not cast herself
free from his embraces; but bow she abhorred them! In-
stinct told her truths.
 "What do I think of you ?—Don't take it so seriously,
darling. I only think what's good of you.
 Then you told a falsehood just now, when you said I
went out to meet Goring; and what you have made him
think of me.
Her words rang out so fiercely, that he started and let her
go; and she' sat down again, running the fingers of both
hands through her short waving hair. The thought that
Walter Goring would know now that her husband was jealous
of her about him, nearly maddened her. This was the real
sting. She did not know that Walter Goring had read the
secret without any aid from Mr Fellowes; read it, and
regretted it, and felt it to be too sweet a one for him to dwell
upon with safety.
 You might have a little feeling for me in the matter, I
think, he said, moodily.
 Feeling for you ;—ah ! it can't be all on one side. What
feeling do you show for me ? How you leave me! How
you come to me ! Do I ever ask where you go, or reproach
you for what cuts me to the soul ? No—stop, (as she saw
him about to interrupt her,)  I don't want to make a merit
of it—I know it's my duty to bear it all. But haven't I
borne it ? Have I failed in my duty ? 
 Never, he answered, abjectly.
 And there's very small merit in that either, she con-
tinued recklessly.  I have never been tempted to stray
from it. If I had been—just ask yourself—are you going the
way to make the path pleasant ? I never professed any
romantic love for you—God forgive me, I never had it to pro-
fess—and I don't tell falsehoods : but I could have felt so
differently for you—if only you had let me.
The last words came out with a sob; she could but pity
z
354
Walter Goring.
herself, knowing how her heart must have been wrung before
she could thus bring herself to pain a fellow-creature by
uttering such words.
 Charlie ! is it too late ? 
He was thoroughly sobered as he asked it. How he hated
himself for having of late found bliss in revelry and forgetful-
ness in wine, and balm generally in flirtation with barmaids.
Still there "was comfort in the thought that his wife didn't
know the worst. If she would only forgive, and smile upon
him again, he would amend the error of his ways. But a
woman cannot forgive to seventy times seven unless she loves
the sinner.
"Yes,—it is too late, she said, sadly. "The kindest
thing you could do now would be to let me go away from
you. Will you do it ? 
 Never ! he replied, grasping her round the waist, and
never heeding the sickened look that spread over her face.
 If I can't have your love, I'll have you. Then he kissed
her passionately, almost biting her in his frenzy; and her
heart died within her as she took in the truth, that there
was no escape.
The next morning, at breakfast, Henry Fellowes offered a
full explanation of the cause of the old brown hunter and
himself not coming home together. Need it be said that he
lied freely. He had been to a distant market-town, he told
them, to meet a man about  that embankment, not the
engineer,  but another fellow, (here he grew sketchy,)
 who proposed something that promised well. Coming
home at a slinging trot, the brown hunter had stumbled, and
he had gone over its head. On recovering the fall—for he
had been stunned—and getting up, he found the horse had
walked on, and so he had come home a short cut across the
fields. Even as he offered the explanation, he could see that
Charlie was perfectly indifferent about it, and  By Jove!  he
thought,  it is too late.
Then she offered her explanation. Not a word had been
said the night before about her having broken her promise to
be home by three, but now she referred to it.
"You will find the plan drawn out, Henry, she said.
 I didn't get home till six, but it is all ready for you.
 Thank you, he replied.
Daisys Appeal.
355
 The reason I was not home at three was, that in coming
through the fields I met Mr Goring, and he had a book for
me; Ave stayed together reading it, and I forgot my appoint-
ment till half-past five.
She spoke quite coolly and collectedly, and Henry FelloAves,
though his brow flushed, felt that he had made too much ado
about nothing previously for there to be safety in hinting at
displeasure now. So he only said,  Oh! timidly, and then
Charlie proceeded.
 He told me that he is to be married in May, and he
wanted me to see Daisy before her marriage; so I asked her
to come here and stay with me till the wedding. Now J
shall write, and tell him that I can't receive her !
"No, don't, Henry Fellowes protested, faintly.
 Her coming would put us out dreadfully, Mrs Fellowes,
senior, said crossly.
 Besides, Charlie went on, with a burst of her sex's irra-
tionality,  Mr Goring can't wish Daisy to see much of me,
after hearing what an opinion you have of me, Henry; after
that I should think he will feel that the less his wife sees of
me the better; so I '11 give the initiative by telling him that
I can't have her.
So, despite her husband's entreaties, she wrote to "Walter,
and told him this, and he read her reason for doing it. He
knew her so well, so very well, that he could but care for her
warmly.
CHAPTER XLYI.
daisy's appeal.
It had been Mr Goring's wish, from the date of his deter-
mination to marry his cousin, if she would marry him, that
the wedding should take place at Deneham. It seemed onlj
just and well that Daisy should go forth from Goring Place
as a bride, as any other Miss Goring of that special branch of
the family had gone forth. Therefore it had been an under-
.stood thing, and a thing that caused much commotion in the
356 Walter Goring.
detached villa outside Brighton—that Mrs and Miss Osborne
should accompany the bride-elect to what had been her
father's, and was her future husband's home, the day before
the wedding; and the wedding was fixed for the 10th of
May. Mrs Fellowes' invitation to Daisy would have made,
if accepted, but this difference in the original programme;
namely, that the whole party would have come sooner by
about ten days or a fortnight, and Daisy would have gone to
the Fellowes', while the Osbornes would have taken up their
abode at Goring Place. Now, however, since Charlie backed
out of her offer, the first plan was to stand unaltered; and
Daisy would be without that good female influence which
Walter Goring had hoped to see Charlie exert over her, at
that turning-point in her career when a woman is popularly
supposed to be peculiarly open to impressions for good or ill.
There were to be no other guests at the marriage ceremony
and breakfast, save the people who have appeared in this
story—the Prescotts and the Felloweses, the Traverses, and
Frank St John, who was to come down with his picture on
the night of the 9th, made up the list of those invited.
Happily for himself, some undefined feeling intervened and
prevented Walter Goring from making a greater parade than
was possible about his projected plan.
Daisy had asserted that there was an absolute necessity for
her to break the journey from Brighton to Goring Place, by
staying in London for part of a day and one night, in order
that she might get innumerable "things, which at the last she
had remembered were forgotten. Whatever was pointed out
forcibly, Mrs Osborne was prone to see invariably. Accord-
ingly, she now, as usual, took Miss Goring's view of the case,
and agreed to go up to town on the 8th, and remain there
the night, instead of passing right through on the 9th.
From the moment that Mrs Osborne saw the beauty of,
and acceded to, Daisy's proposition,. Daisy was delightfully
agreeable. She had been rather thoughtful, rather downcast,
rather sullen, to tell the truth, of late; but when this last
harmless whim of hers was pronounced worthy to be acted
upon, she recovered her vigour and animation marvellously,
and forthwith proceeded to make herself delightfully agree-
able to Mrs Osborne and Alice. In fact, she overpowered
the latter with presents of things that Walter had given her,
Daisy's Appeal.
357
and that were not strictly according to her taste.  lie gave
me this for my engagement ring, she said, handing Alice a
little hoop of turquoise,  but the beastly things turn green
if they get wet—you '11 remember to take it off when you
wash your hands, Alice. I always forget, so you may have it.
 But what will Mr Goring think ?  Alice had suggested;
and then Daisy had shrugged her shoulders and replied, that
"if Mr Goring didn't like it, he could—well, give her
another. Then she stopped further protestation on Alice's
part by steeping that humble-minded young person in a
vapour-bath of gratitude, by telling her that she should
 come and stay at Goring Place, by and by, as often as she
could.
They reached London on the morning of the 8th by an
eleven o'clock train ; and when they had put down their
trunks at the hotel to which Walter had directed them,
Daisy urged that they should start on their shopping ex •
pedition at once, walking. She was the guiding star, the
ruling spirit of that walk; and she betrayed an intimate
acquaintance with localities, and with the several specialities
of different shops, that caused Mrs Osborne to look upon her
with awe, and follow her blindly.
It could not be that Daisy had any design in tiring out hel
respectable duenna; yet it was a terrible dance which she led
her on that morning. Up and down Regent Street, along Pic-
cadilly to Sloane Street; back again to some matchless silk-
mercers on Ludgate Hill, and always walking. More than
once, Mrs Osborne faintly proposed a cab. The May sun
was a strong one that year, and the pavement was hot, and
Mrs Osborne was a woman of weight. But whenever she
proposed a c^b, Daisy looked alarmed, and said, "Not a
four-wheeled one, surely; all the people with small-pox and
fever go to the hospitals in them, you know. It was useless
for Mrs Osborne to say,  Those epidemics are not in town
now, my dear. Daisy looked unconvinced, and gave pretty
shudders, which Mrs Osborne blindly accepted as being illus-
trative of fear, and entreated that they might take a "han-
som, which entreaty was not complied with by reason of
there being a difficulty about all three of them getting into
it. The end of it was that when they returned to their hotel
in St James's Street, at half-past two, Mrs Osborne was worn
35$ Walter Goring.
out by the combination of unaccustomed excitement and
fatigue. The din had made her head ache, and there  was
nothing for that, she said,  but to go and lie down quietly,
and get to sleep.
Daisy waited until Mrs Osborne had taken off her boots
and her dress, and placed herself upon the bed. Daisy even
waited until slumber had begun to press Mrs Osborne's eye-
lids down heavily. Then she crept into her room, and spoke
in a drowsy kind of tone, in order not too thoroughly to dis-
turb and rouse her sleepy protectress.  There are some
things that I have forgotten even now, Daisy said, standing
in the solitary ray of light which Mrs Osborne had still suf-
fered to have free access into her room—standing in it, and
looking such a pale-faced, yellow-haired embodiment of truth
and purity, that a keener and more sceptical person than
Mrs Osborne might have been deceived into believing that all
things about Daisy were as they seemed.  There are some
things that I have forgotten even now—little presents for
Mrs Fellowes, who has been so hind to me, you know.
Walter will be quite vexed. Daisy looked pensive, and Mrs
Osborne gave an inward groan, and moved her tired feet
wearily, but resignedly, in a manner that indicated to the
acute Daisy that the owner of the feet was about to flounder
off the bed. Seeing this, the considerate young lady went on
abruptly,—
 It would be cruel to drag you out again, Mrs Osborne;
let Alice go with me.
"Mr Goring won't like it, Mrs Osborne faintly protested;
but Daisy saw that her protectress was amenable to the
amendment.
"He won't mind it a bit when he knows the motive—to
get something that will show his friend, Mrs Fellowes, that I
remembered her at the last. Do let Alice go with me, and
you rest yourself, Mrs Osborne.
 But you won't be long now, will you, Miss Goring ?
Mrs Osborne said, suffering the charm of possible repose to
come over her senses again.  I hardly like it. It's not
what ought to be—you two girls running about by your-
selves; but (and she looked down upon them piteously)
 my ancles are so swollen.
"We shall not be long, of course not. You'll see Alice
Daisy's Appeal\
359
back in less than an hour, and you know it's Alice you are
most anxious about, Daisy replied, laughing. Then she
gently went out of the room, and Mrs Osborne blinked and
winked, and tried to keep awake long enough to make up her
mind that she ought not to let those two girls go out alone,
and failed in doing so.
Daisy went back into the room where Alice was, and told
her of the assent that had been given by Mrs Osborne.
 Your mother is too tired to come out, Alice, so you're to
come as watch-dog, please; I am only going to a shop in
Piccadilly. "We'll go in a cab, and you can wait in it at
the door if you like. I shall not be more than a minute
getting what I want.
 I thought you were afraid to go in a cab this morning.
 So I was, this morning. I have got over my ' ground-
less alarm'—that was what your mother called it. I am not
at all obstinate; I'm always ready to be convinced.
When they reached the door of the shop in Piccadilly,
Daisy said again, "You needn't come in with me, Alice.
Wait here, and I'll soon be out again; and Alice obeyed
her, partly out of delicacy and partly because she was tired.
It occurred to Miss Osborne that the liberal bride-elect was
going to get some offering of friendship for the lady with
whom she had been living of late, as well as for Mrs Fellowes,
 and so, naturally, she would rather that I didn't see it till
she gives it to mamma, Alice thought, looking affectionately
after the peaceful, smiling Daisy, as she went into the shop.
Miss Goring paused at the first counter and asked for
something. Before they could show it to her, she rose from
the chair and said she would "just go on and look at those
shawls, pointing to some which were hanging in the dim
distance beyond an arch in another room. She would go
and look at them and then come back for the embroidered
handkerchiefs she had first asked for. As she walked along
towards the shawls her heart thumped heavily. She was
horribly afraid of one of the men following her—one of the
men who had seen her leave the cab waiting and come in.
But they did not do so. They knew that the next depart-
ment was competent, and that their aid was not required to
bring the young lady and a shawl together.
When she passed under the arch she looked back. There
360 Walter Goring.
was no one looking, no one following. One of the attendant
spirits salaamed, and went through the rest of the formula
observed when a customer enters ; hut Daisy passed on, say-
ing simply that she had been served. She passed on and out
at another door into another street, and then she called a
cab and got in, giving a direction hastily and an order to
drive fast.
She never thought once as she was jolted and rattled
through the streets, of the girl she had left awaiting her.
But she thought a good deal of one who thought to make
her his wife so soon. "Poor Walter! it's only kindness to
him though, if I succeed ; and if I fail—oh ! if I fail.
She could not even think of what would happen then. A
white horror crept all over her at the bare possibility, and an
awful sensation of sickness came into the palms of her hands
and caused her jaws to quiver and open helplessly. A damp-
ness broke out on her brow, and for a few moments she saw
and heard nothing. In fact, she nearly fainted under the
influence of the thought of failing in the something on which
she was bent. But by the time she reached her destination,
the sickly pallor had fled, her heart was bounding high, and
ber cheek was blushing brightly with hope.
Her destination was a house in a dull dreary street, in the
west-central district, the door of which was opened to her by
a shabby maid-servant, with a swollen face. In answer to
her inquiry for some person, the servant said, "Yes, he's at
home, adding, in a mutter that did not reach Daisy's ears,
"It ain't often he dare stir out. Then she opened the dool
of a back drawing-room, and Daisy walked in, stood for a
few moments trying to call to a man who sat writing at the
extreme end of the room, failed in doing so coherently, and
as he looked round and rose, rushed forward to him ar:d
threw her arms round the neck of Laurence Levinge.
His first words nearly crushed her to the ground.
"Daisy, Daisy, why have you come? Why won't you
let us keep-what little honour is left us.
She fell down on her knees before him, sobbing and kiss-
ing his hands passionately.
 You promised to marry me once. I shall die if you don't.
I cant go on—I can't marry Walter. Oh, Laurence, let me
stay with you! I love you so ! I love you so I
Daisys Appeal.
361
"You'll drive me mad, Daisy. Remorse for her, and
regard for her, and regret for so many mad things, were
tearing at the man's heart. He was not all a villain—no
one is ; but her love for him made him feel himself to he the
greatest the sun ever shone upon. Presently he lifted her
up and seated her on the chair from which he had risen, and
still she clung to him as to the only thing that was dear to
her on earth, and prayed him to let her stay with him, for
she loved him so. To every argument he used, she only
answered that  I love you so. I can't live away—I can't
die away from you.
It was a maddening interview for hk i. In vain he painted
his worse than poverty, his tremendous debts, his inability
to go out even now in the light of day. In vain he told her
that he was a gambler out of luck, and prayed her fervently
not to try and induce him to add the sin of dragging her
down with him to the many he had committed. He was
paying a bitter penalty now for having tried in sport to make
this girl love him. She was doing it in terrible earnest, and
he loved her too.
Laurence Levinge had fallen upon very evil days indeed
It was his own fault truly that he had done so. He had
gambled and cheated and been found out; he had swindled
some of his best friends, and been cut by them. He had
deceived a girl who believed him to be good and true, as he
looked—who loved him so well that she would have given
her life, her hopes of all happiness, to have served him, and
who asked, who cared, for nothing in return save that she
might stay with him, and this (it was his hardest punishment)
he could not grant. For a few months, if her money lasted,
—the few poor hundreds, which he knew he should risk at
the tables, if he could touch them,—they might live. After
that, she might starve perchance; and, selfish as he was, he
could not do it, ardently as she prayed him "not to fear for
her, but to let her stay, for she loved him so. It was hard,
it was pitiful, bad as he was, to crush her plea and beseech her
to marry and be happy with Walter Goring, and finally to force
her back into the cab, and turn away resolutely from her loving
lips, and the eyes that were nearly blind with tears shed for
this parting with him. He had been very false, very cruel. He
had taken the hottest heart that ever throbbed in a woman's
362
Walter Goring.
breast, and trifled with it. The end—the miserable end—•
justified her in thinking these things. Yet as he turned away,
after telling the man to drive her back to her hotel, his
wonderful beauty, and the love in his sad-looking eyes made
her swear that she would marry no other man, though she
should not have the courage to tell Walter Goring so until
the very last.  None but Laurence—my Laurence, she
sobbed, fondly.
CHAPTEE XLVII.
 my elaine.
The 9th of May was the fairest day the year had seen yet.
So fair, that one looked involuntarily for the hawthorn
blossom on the hawthorn hedges, forgetting that what is
customarily called  May  rarely blooms till June—so fair
that women thought of muslins and men of cooled beverages,
and everybody of economical plans, that would enable them
to "get away somewhere to be cooler in the autumn. Up
in London, exquisite complete suits of the calibre of cobwebs
dawned upon the vision in divers shop windows. Ubiquitous
Gatti broke out all over town at once in feverish-looking ices
and irrepressible bottles of ginger-beer—a liquid which neither
cheers nor inebriates, nor does anything, save painfully dis-
tend. And down at Deneham and all about Goring Place,
people were saying that if it were only  equally fine to-mor-
row, it might be hailed as a remarkably auspicious omen
about a remarkably hazardous match.
Daisy and the Osbornes arrived about five in the afternoon,
and Walter Goring met them at the station, after the fashion
of princes and other young men of mark when their brides-
elect come dreadful distances to marry them. Not that
Daisy had come a  dreadful distance ,*  but she avowed that
she had done so when Walter remarked how pale and tired
she looked.  It's enough to make any one look pale and
tired, Walter—the dreadful distance, and such a beast of a
train, she said, looking away from him ; and since no other
"My Elaine
363
was offered, he was obliged to be content with that explana-
tion.
Daisy had made all things smooth and straight with the
Osbornes. When she returned to them the day before, after
that visit to Laurence Levinge, she found them, as she an-
ticipated, rapidly driving each other mad by a series of broken-
hearted, not to say idiotic, suggestions. Alice had waited in
the cab at the shop-door as Daisy had ordered her to do,
until her modesty and anxiety combined to make her believe
that she was the cynosure of all eyes. Then she had made
her way into the gorgeous emporium which seemed to have
swallowed up Daisy; and when she did this, melancholy
quickly claimed her for his own. In answer to the most
lucid description she could offer of Daisy to the four men who
simultaneously pushed chairs out, and asked what they could
do for her, the sole answer she got was that  they would in-
quire. Naturally, their inquiries ended in nothing. So
finally, poor Alice went home in the cab and a state of blank
misery.
For about an hour, Mrs Osborne and her daughter made
helpless remarks to each other. Alice's circumstantial evi-
dence was flawless up to a certain point.  She got out of
the cab and walked into the shop as quietly as possible, the
girl said, for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time her
mother made reply, "Walked in quietly and didn't seem
flurried, you say, Alice ?   No, Alice said, decidedly ;
but after this her evidence grew weak, dealing principally
with the thoughts that had beset herself while she waited.
At the end of an hour, and just when they had plunged
themselves into an abyss of confusion, respecting what it
would be well to do—just as Mrs Osborne had shaken her
head reproachfully at the ancles, whose inopportune swell-
ing had been the indirect cause of the mischief, and Alice had
began to entertain dark suspicions as to the suave shopmen
having made away with Daisy for the sake of the jewellery
she wore, and buried her lacerated corpse under the counter
—just at this juncture, Miss Goring came back.
She did not absolutely assert it, but she implied that she
had been to her mother once more, for the last time. She
was gentle, sweet, subdued to a degree, and Mrs Osborne was
too glad to have her back safely to question her very closely.
3^4
Walter Goring.
She apologised to Alice for leaving her in such a way.  But
I couldn't have taken you with me, dear, and so I had no
choice, you see, she said.  I knew, too, that when you
got tired of waiting, you would come home.
 I was tired of waiting a long time before I came back,
Miss Goring, Alice said, reproachfully.
 Oh! were you ? Daisy made answer, frankly.  Wellv
that was your own fault, you know. I should have come
away the instant I felt bored.
 I hope you understand that it is my duty to conceal
nothing from Mr Goring, Mrs Osborne said, faintly. She
more than half expected that Daisy would reply that she
 didn't understand anything of the sort, and insist on her
(Mrs Osborne) observing silence. To her surprise, however,
Daisy only said,  I shall tell Mr Goring everything, I pro-
mise you, to-morrow night: only don't you do it, leave it all
to me.
She was thoroughly in earnest. She believed that she
should tell Walter Goring "everything"—that she could
not marry him included—the first minute she could speak to
him alone. But when that minute came, her courage failed
her.  I will wait till later in the evening, she thought, aa
her heart began to beat thickly in her throat at the bare idea
of saying the hard words.
Young Mrs Fellowes had promised to come up to see
Daisy on this last evening before the wedding. She had
promised to do so because Walter Goring had asked her,
and because she might never again have an opportunity of
pleasing him in even so small a thing. It was hard work
to keep the promise at all—to come up and see him another
woman's lover for the first time—very hard work; but as
she kept it at all, she kept the promise bravely.
Daisy ( Can it be hypocrisy ?  was Charlie's first thought)
seemed strangely glad to see her—so glad, that Walter Gor-
ing could but contrast the greeting she gave Mrs Fellowes
with the greeting she had given himself. Both these women
were so helpless—so apparently God and man forsaken—that
though each felt the other to be her rival—though neither
knew the full pitiful meed of helplessness and misery of the
other—they did, through some fine feminine instinct, incline
towards and pity each other. Moreover, some subtle sense
"My Elaine 365
told Daisy that, let what would come, Mrs Fellowes would
be staunch to any professions she made in prosperity; and
Daisy did not feel at all sure of what might come, even now,
when all seemed made safe for the ring and altar to-morrow.
The poor little fair girl, with the dulcet voice and the
yellow hair, and the eyes that hut such a short time since
had been so young and untroubled in their blue impertinence,
was tossed about tumultuously by the very vague notions of
right and wrong which had been sown by a shaky, vacilla-
ting, maternal hand in her mind. She was only sure of
one thing, poor child; and that one thing was that she
loved Laurence Levinge—loved him in a way that robbed
the future of all terror to her.  If I dared tell Walter the
truth, she thought within her quailing heart;  but
she dared not. She only bemoaned the truth, and wondered
whether she could live long under the black shadow which
it cast over her. Love was no summer romance, no blithe
pastime, no pretty toy to her. It was the very essence of
her being, and Laurence Levinge had absorbed it all.
By the seven o'clock train Frank St John arrived, bringing
with him the picture wherein he had striven to immortalise
Mrs Walsh's beauty. His sister and Mr Goring both went
out into the hall to meet him when they heard him come in,
and he pointed to a large canvas-covered case, and told them
they were not to see the  Elaine  until he had hung it to
his own satisfaction, in a good light.  Which room shall
it be in, Goring? he asked; and Walter Goring suggested
a little room that opened out of the large drawing-room,
which Mrs Walsh's taste had hung with pomegranate-coloured
velvet curtains. "The very thing, Frank said, anxiously
superintending the moving of that into which he had thrown
his whole heart and working power. "When it's up I'll
call you. Then he went on into the room Walter Goring
had indicated, and the master of the house and Mrs Fellowes
returned to Daisy.
She was at her best that night. The cobalt-blue eyes
seemed to have been brightened and deepened by the tears
she had shed the day before, and the cloud of yellow hair
which fell in soft, full, undulating waves, from off her
face down over her shoulders, had never looked more golden.
The tears had done something else, too—made her face of one
366
Walter Goring.
unvarying pearly hue. Still, charming as was this increased
softness and delicacy both of colouring and expression,
Walter Goring hoped to see her look happier—more like a
creature of flesh and blood again, when she became his wife.
Charlie was nervously anxious for the moment to come
when her brother should call them to look at his picture.
 I wish you had seen it before, she said to Walter Goring.
u Supposing you shouldn't like it ? I wish Frank hadn't
sold it till it was finished, and you had seen it.
 In any event I should have bid for it. I was determined
to he the possessor of Frank's first picture,'' Walter Goring
replied.
 Supposing it should be a daub, Charlie urged.  Not
that I fear that; but I shall fancy whatever you say about it
that you were determined to say it beforehand. I wish you
had seen it before. If it falls short of what we all hope, I
shall go mad.
Charlie got up and moved restlessly about the room, and
Daisy presently joined her.  I care much more about seeing
your brother than I do about seeing his picture. Walter has
told me what a charming fellow he is, often.
 I never used the adjective, Daisy ; he's the best fellow
in the world. There, he's calling us, Walter Goring said.
Then he came between the two girls, and as Charlie walked
along before them he put his arm round Daisy, saying,
 Come and see my present, my pet.
Frank St John stood with his back to them as they
walked through the drawing-room, which was dark by com-
parison with the brilliantly-lighted little cabinet in which
the picture was hung, against a pomegranate-coloured cur-
tain.
For a few moments, as they still advanced, they saw
nothing save that the picture was a bright one. It had been
begun with a view to its being seen in the Academy, and it
was painted up to Academy pitch. Moreover, it was an
absolute condition of the attempt at reproducing so bright a
scene, that there should be almost a dazzling brightness in
the picture. He had seized the moment when Guinevere,
with full white arm still upraised, has flung the diamonds
down into the water, from whence other diamonds are
flashing to meet them. Then while to watch them—
At Bay. 367
 Sir Lancelot leant, in half disgust
At love, life, all things, on the window-ledge,
Close underneath his eyes, and right across
Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge
Whereon the lily maid of Astolat
Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night.
Still with his arm about the golden-haired girl who was to
be his wife to-morrow, "Walter Goring went on to show her
the picture, and introduce her to his friend, the painter of it.
The rare likeness that had been maintained to Mrs Walsh,
his absent goddess, caught his eye first. Then before he
could look further, Frank, looking very artistic in a black
velvet suit, turned round, and as he did so his eyes fell on
Daisy, who, shrinking, trembling, yet with her gaze firmly
fixed on the "Lancelot leaning in half-disgust upon the
window-ledge, and in whom she recognised Laurence
Levinge, heard Charlie cry out—
 Why, it's Daisy !  at the same moment that Frank St
John exclaimed—
 Good Heavens ! my Elaine! 
CHAPTER XLVIII.
at bay.
Had a brace of bishops united their forces in former days in
hallowing the bond that had existed between Daisy's father
and mother, Daisy herself could not have exhibited more un-
mistakable signs of race than she did on this occasion. The
daughter of a hundred earls, whose mothers had all been
countesses, could not have faced the position more gallantly
than she did now. The gentle breeding which was hers by
right of her sire, told her that no amount of weeping, wail-
ing, and gnashing of teeth would remedy the evil and alter
the past, while it would very materially complicate the mixed
and unenviable feelings of her unwilling detectors. There-
fore she neither wept, nor wailed, nor gnashed her teeth;
368
Walter Goring.
she simply stood aloof from them all on the instant, seeking
no support, praying for no partisanship, acting (the part of
one who could dare the consequences of all she had done to
perfection, as Daisy always would act even at such a crisis.
For the rest
Frank St John had met with one or two little checks in
life, as may have been surmised. The navy had been his
career, the one to which, from his childhood, he had looked
forward, and it had been blasted, and an old schoolfellow, a
hoy, who had got the cadetship from the Eoyal Naval School,
the year before he himself had been so fortunate, had made
things very unpleasant to him from the height of another
 step, even before the blasting of that career. He had
loved and unloved in a good many ports ; had  been thrown
over once when he had really been very far gone for a
brother officer. But each and all of the pangs he had suf-
fered on these and other occasions, were light in comparison
to that which assailed him now, when through him this
slight, fair, innocent-eyed girl was brought to bay. Nice as
was his own sense of honour—grieved as he would have been
to see Walter Goring's perilled—it brought the first glow of
shame that ever had been there to his cheek, to feel that his
had been the hand to point out where the stain was. For
he remembered the circumstances under which he had seen
his pale-faced  Elaine "at the Opera—he remembered having
described her to Walter as a  half-world"—and he knew
with horrible certainty that the stain was there.
As for Charlie she was one of those people to whom a
thing is never one whit the blocker for being found out.
Doubtless this is an unsafe order of mind, nevertheless she
had it; the crime was not in the detection to her. She had
never believed that Daisy cared for Walter Goring; indeed
Daisy had almost confessed as much to her, but had, at the
same time, so appealed to her pride and honour, that she was
fettered and powerless to protect him from the evil of the
marriage. Now all danger of that evil was over—thus much
was patent to them all at once. But she did not think
worse of Daisy for it than she had thought before; nor did
she intend to stand aloof from Daisy, as Daisy proudly gave
her the option of doing. Her greatest regret in the business
was, that her brother should have been instrumental in
A t Bay.
3^9
bringing the exposure about; for Walter Goring, she felt
that there would be balm in Gilead still.
But though she was right in feeling this, Walter Goring
had got a very bad blow. He had been left the guardian of
this girl's honour, and now, before he had been in charge a
year, he feared he was given terribly sure proof, in fact, that
her honour was gone. He remembered vividly how Frank
had spoken of his chance model and of her handsome cavalier,
who would do for a Sir Lancelot. He remembered now how
Daisy had been missing, lost, at the time of St John's having
lighted upon an  Elaine ;  and remembering these things,
and looking at Daisy, the living duplicate of the pictured
lily-maid of Astolat, he could but feel her lost to him, and
himself a defaulter in the matter of his loveless trust.
Have you never heard some high-toned vocalist fail by the
portion of a note, and in the next instant triumphantly assert
her claim to  touching  something impossible more clearly
than any of her contemporaries ? Have you ever seen a
spent thorough-bred drop, and pick itself up again before the
eye has conveyed the fact of the fall to the brain of the
majority ? Have you ever marked the manner in which a
man will buckle-to afresh when he has succumbed for awhile
to the  examination fever, and the day of his destiny is
near ? There is courage in all these reactionary bursts; but
there was more courage in the way in which Daisy held her
fair little face aloft, and looked at them steadily from out of
the cobalt blue eyes, when, after bending for one instant
beneath the fact, she knew herself found out. It is useless
to deny it. Those who howl and go down under punish-
ment, no matter how well-merited, never command our
sympathies to the same extent as one who stands the conse-
quences, no matter of what, without flinching.
As Daisy stood it now. She was not cast externally in
the heroic mould. No one would have taken her for a type
of a gallant woman. She had not the lofty composed brow
and the bony aquiline nose, with which, aided by illustra-
tions in the annuals of a past era, we associate feminine
composure and determination. Her nose never looked more
resolutely turn-up than it did on this occasion; her forehead
seemed to narrow itself between the line of her hair and her
brows; her lips didn't close themselves steadfastly, or express
3/0 Walter Got ing.
scorn, or anything of the sort. They had paled for an in
stant, those hps, but they looked red and resolute enough by
the time any one could look at them—red and resolute, and
ready to say anything. The gentle blood told; she was
brought to bay, but she was quite ready to fight it out.
The silence that fell after those exclamations of Frank's
and Charlie's lasted only for a few moments; then Daisy
broke it—broke it with her silvery tones—tones that never
faltered, though she was so cruelly abased before another wo-
man.
"Walter, you can't be too much disgusted with me; but
I should have told you "—for half a second she paused, and
bent her head the least bit: the telling was bitterly hard;
but she recovered herself quickly, and went on— what you
see there, pointing to the picture.
Walter Goring moved towards her; she had plunged them
all into a horrible position; but, her eyes were so very blue,
her wantonness, her wilfulness, were all so very babyish, he
could but pity and desire to protect her still. But she edged
away from his brotherly loving-kindness.
 No, Walter ! I have been a deceitful little wretch; but
it's no use saying that here before other people, is it?
Then she looked at Frank St John and fathomed some of
the feelings that were tugging at his heart. Suddenly she
went up to him, and held out her hand:  I believe you
would rather have cut off your hand than it should have
painted my fault; don't think I don't know it, and so does
Walter; but it is better, much better, that it has. Then
she eyed Charlie distrustfully, and Charlie saw that she was
so eyed, and did not quite know what to do. Perhaps she
did the best thing that was to be done, in going up to Daisy,
and saying as she did,—
"I'll stay here with Frank while you go and tell your
cousin everything you have to tell him, Daisy. I '11 stay be-
cause you may want me; and at that Daisy was a little
melted. Female arrogance she was prepared to meet and
repel, but not female affection.
So Daisy and her cousin—each felt that he could never be
more than a cousin to her now—had a long interview, in
which Daisy to'd him, as Charlie had advised her to do, "every-
thing, with certain reservations. For instance, she would
A t Bay.
371
not tell him where Laurence Levinge was then, nor would
she confess that Laurence Levinge had sought her to the full
as much as she had him. According to her statement it
had all been her own fault, her own weakness. She offered
to hear the whole brunt of the blame; she scorned the notion
of any being bestowed upon Laurence. According to her,
she had been the wooer and he the wooed, and Walter was
fain to accept her version of her story through the dread he
had of raking up worse things than had been already
brought to light. That she had seen Laurence Levinge
that time when she ran away from Brighton was evident, in
a very ghastly way; hut he would not seek to find out when
or on what terms. The only thing of which he was quite
certain, indeed, in this first hour of darkness, was, that it be-
hoved him to see her married to Levinge, and to enable Le-
vinge to marry her.
Shall it be told how the truth crept through the house like
a snake ? A part of the truth—that is, the part of it which
told to the eagerly listening many that there was to be no
marriage to-morrow. Shall it be told how late into the night
young Mrs Fellowes stayed with Daisy, not questioning her,
but just giving her that wonderful, subtle, reassuring sense
of womanly comradeship without which we cannot do, let us
strive as we will ? Shall it be told how Frank St John and
Walter Goring stayed up together, not because they cared
for the endless cigars they smoked, but because each felt such
generous sympathy for the other—such pity for the fair, frail
little creature who was the cause of that sympathy springing
up, that there could be no thought of sleep for either of
them ? Perhaps it will be as well not to attempt to more
fully portray these things. They were done! And in
common with the rest of that night's work, they had
better be lightly sketched, and got away from as soon as
possible.
It was not pleasant to make the fact of the wedding being
deferred patent to the parson and the parish the next day.
Mr Travers bore it like a Christian; but, as his wife ob-
served, he had not got a new French white silk for the cere-
mony.  It's a dispensation, she said, in the course of a
call she made on Mrs Prescott on the afternoon of the day
that was to have seen Daisy married.  It's a dispensation,
372
Walter Goring.
the sins of the fathers visited upon the children, as we are
told. Mrs Travers was a very good woman, with a great
capacity for kissing the rod; but—her milliner's bill was
limited.
Mrs Prescott bore the disappointment much better. She
had not invested in a new dress for the occasion, and the sins
of Daisy's father had not been the staple tabla-talk in her
house for years. Still she had a little pebble to fling,—and
she flung it like a woman.
 Until I were quite sure of the cause of the rupture, I
should be very careful not to mix myself up with the young
person, if I were my sister Charlie, Ellen said, with a little
brighter blaze in her cheeks than was ordinarily there. It
was so nice to call the girl who had so nearly taken a higher
place than herself in the Deneham neighbourhood,  a young
person. There was nothing strong or uncharitable in the
designation—nothing harsh or unfeminine. It was just a
nice disparaging form of notice that fitted the subject, Ellen
thought; not because she knew anything adverse to Daisy's
morals, but because she went on the broad principle of its
being well to think the very worst of her fellow-women when-
ever their chariot wheels ran roughly.
But Charlie was quite the reverse of prudent in the matter.
It seemed to her to be so very possible that there should have
been extenuating circumstances, though Daisy did not seem
inclined to explain them. Moreover, it seemed very possible
to disapprove of a sin without striving to crush a sinner.
Daisy still held to the course she had adopted at first, namely
the course of giving Mrs Fellowes the option of standing
aloof from her altogether, if she (Charlie) chose to do so.
But Charlie ignored the mute offer.  It's very hard for
your brother, that his picture—such a beauty, too—should
be what Walter will be ashamed to see hung in any room in
the house ! I'm very sorry for that, Daisy said, when Mrs
Fellowes was leaving her that night; and Charlie replied,
"You see if Mr Goring does not have that picture hung, and
well hung too, and like it for containing the portraits of three
friends, if only you '11 let him, Daisy !  But Daisy shook
her head at this, and seemed very dubious.
The following day—the day on which he was to have been,
married—Walter Goring went up to see his lawyer, having
At Bay.
373
first induced Daisy to give him Laurence Levinge's address.
Before nightfall that gentleman stood in the utterly unex-
pected and much  too good for him (to plagiarise the title
of a very capital novel) position of being pledged to become
the husband of Daisy, on whom her cousin had tightly tied
up £2000 a-year. This sum he had settled on Daisy at a
considerable sacrifice ; but he felt bound to make any that he
could make without being absolutely Quixotic about it. So
"he arranged to sell such property as did not belong to the old
original Goring Place estate, including The Hurst land. The
fruits of this proceeding, together with the large funded pro-
perty left him by his uncle, enabled him to secure to his
uncle's hapless daughter a sum that gave Laurence Levinge
no further excuse for not keeping the promise, the non-fulfil-
ment of which had nearly destroyed Daisy. Nor did he want
an excuse; her devotion, blind, childishly passionate, danger-
ously passionate as it was, had touched him. He accepted all
the conditions which Mr Clarke—who was far keener in the
matter than Walter would have been—imposed. Perhaps
the hardest one was, that he was to give up what had been
the sole thing that made life worth having to him for many
years—gambling in every form, either on the turf or at the
tables. This was the hardest condition, but he agreed to it,
partly because he really loved Daisy, and had no desire to
impoverish her, and partly because one clause in the settle-
ments set forth that, should he not accede to and keep this
condition, half the money was to revert at Daisy's death to
her cousin, Walter Goring, or his heirs.
"Did he offer any explanation of the heartlessness that
made him compromise her so ?  Walter asked, choosing the
mildest expression he could find to fit Mr Levinge's con-
duct.
 Not a word, Mr Clarke replied.  He only said, when
the business was settled, ' I hope Mr Goring does not think
me a greater blackguard than I am ?' and I said, ' Certainly
not.' He looked at me rather queerly when I said that; but
he was not in a position to quarrel with any man's words.
By the way, he said he should write to his mother and sister,
and get them over at once.
 I shall write to Miss Levinge, too, or she won't believe
him, Walter* Goring said.  The sooner they come, and it's
374 Walter Goring.
all over, tlie better. My poor little cousin! thank God, I
was never harsh to her.
He was more thankful still for that he had never been
harsh to her lightest caprice in a short time. Poor Daisy's
dream of joy was a very short one.
CHAPTER XLIX.
weaking away.
Until the arrival of Mrs Levinge and Mary it had been
ordained that Daisy and Laurence should not meet. Then
Daisy was to go to his mother, and be married from under
her protection and temporary roof. Until this arrangement
could be carried out, she was to remain at Goring Placq
where Mrs Osborne and Alice still stayed with her.
The girl was rapturously happy now. So intoxicated by
her happiness, in fact, that she never gave a thought to the
murky paths by which she had come to it. For the first time
since "Walter had known her, he saw the little fair face with
a brilliant spot of crimson on either cheek brightening the
shining eyes till their gleaming would have been painful, had
one not felt that it was only with happiness they gleamed.
"For weeks and weeks she has not eaten enough to keep a
bird in good condition; so I fancy she's a little feverish now,
Mrs Osborne told him. Somehow or other, they were all
very gentle to Daisy; gentler than people usually are to one
who has done wrong, and dares to be rapturously happy im-
mediately after it.
On that night, when they had first looked upon the
semblance of Daisy shining like a star in blackest night in
the picture, Charlie and her brother had been left alone, as
has been said. No sooner were they alone, than Frank began
reviling his task; the end did not justify the means at all to
him.  It's a foul start to have made, Charlie, he said, de-
cidedly, when Charlie strove to comfort him, by declaring her
belief that Daisy would have told—would not have suffered
Wearing A way.
37 5
the marriage to take place, even if the picture had not saved
her the trouble.  I'm very glad that Goring has escaped;
hut when I saw that little creature tremble, and then get her-
self together for the worst, I felt like a mean hound. It is
no use my reminding myself that I had worked in the dark.
I feel like a mean hound still. I shall never be able to touch
a brush again in that place in Sloane Street; the face of my
poor ' Elaine' would haunt me in every corner. I '11 be off
somewhere—to South America or California.
 Oh, Frank !  Charlie gasped ; she could not help a little
thrill of despondency passing over her. She was terribly
'alone now; but with Frank in South America or California,
the sense of loneliness would be deepened. So she felt for a
few moments, in the which she gasped out,  Oh, Frank !
 Don't be afraid that ' 1 shall take some savage woman to
rear my dusky brood,'  he laughed.
"No, I'm not afraid of that; indeed, it would be very good
for you to travel, and I'm not afraid of anything, Frank.
Do go, and paint some Californian forest scenery.
' And get out of the way of thinking so much about what
isn't vital after all, he went on, meditatively.  Shake off
the trammels of civilisation, and try to banish the crushing
notion that it's all up with a girl who isn't chaperoned pro-
perly. Don't look shocked, Charlie ; I '11 take up the notion
again when I return to England, home, and beauty. But
dropping it for a while will be the only way to enable me to
spend my first ill-gotten gains comfortably.
"And look here, Frank, she said, eagerly; "persuade
Walter Goring to go with you.
He pulled his light moustache reflectively.
 Why ?  he asked.
 Oh, only because he must want a diversion even more
than you do, she replied, colouring slightly. "And we
(the three of us) must give up that idea we had of working
at something together; but you and he might write and
illustrate an artist's tour through that glorious scenery with
effect.
 Sage counsellor! I shall put it to him ; the plan pleases
me much, Frank replied. Then Mrs Fellowes was called to
Daisy, and the subject had dropped.
But it had been resumed at. a later date between Frank
376 Walter Goring.
and Walter Goring, and satisfactorily settled that, when
Daisy was married, the two young men should start and
travel, and work together for a year. They were to go some-
where, and do something; but where they were to go, and
what they were to do precisely, was not definitely fixed.
Meanwhile there was little peace or pleasure beneath the
Fellowes' roof. Charlie had once more repented herself of
that burst of feeling in which she had asked her husband to
suffer her to leave him. She had repented and humbled
herself, claiming the fault to be hers, and intreating him to
believe that she had spoken in haste, and that it was not too
late for her to be the best helpmate a man can have—a wife
capable of being his friend. But he had injured her, so
naturally he could but be distrustful of her. Earnestly as
she laboured to please him, untiring as she was in his service,
he felt jealous even of her having so small an interest as her
writing gave her independent of him. It annoyed him, half
unconsciously, that she could get away in the spirit into
realms whither he could not follow her. And when her
second novel came out, as it did about this time, and she was
paid a price that made a very important addition to the
family exchequer for it, he took up the narrow-minded
notion that she was always remembering the fact, and want-
ing to spend the money on herself.
Moreover, there were other stings in that novel for him.
He tried to trace the characters back into real life, and to
find out whether they had any of them ever stood in similar
relations to her that they did to one another; whether they
had ever whispered the soft nothings into her ear, or listened
to the sweet words from her lips, which were scattered so
freely over her pages. He did not understand that she
simply painted, as well as she could, things which she had
seen, heard, and read about, superficially, probably enough,
but still up to a certain point clear-sightedly. He did not
understand that she painted these things backwards, as it
were, arguing from effect to cause, instead of following the
commoner (and better) practice of analogism. Some of the
experiences had such a genuine ring about them that, forget-
ting the happy feminine faculty of arriving at a probability
through an inductive process which can hardly be explained
—forgetting this, Mr Fellowes chose to believe that the ex-
Wearing A way.
377
periences were autobiographical, and so grew more jealous
than ever. Consequently there was little peace or pleasure
beneath the Fellowes' roof, but Charlie made no sign by
which an outsider should guess so much. She was striving
honestly to teach herself to "suffer and be strong, and the
lesson, hard as it was, was nearly learnt now.
As the day approached for the Levingcs to arrive and
claim her, Daisy grew nearly wild with impatience. She had
ceased to observe any sort of reticence now with regard to
Laurence to Mrs Fellowes. The love which had been gnaw-
ing at and fretting her like a prisoned bird for so long a time
was let loose now, and it revelled in the liberty. She would
talk of him, of his beauty, his tenderness, of the tone of his
voice, and the light of the eyes that had gone into her soul,
till she panted with agitation, and the loving words would
not fall coherently from her lips. She counted the hours—
the minutes almost—that were bringing her nearer to him
by their flight. And then, when she would cease from sheer
exhaustion, and they would pray her to be calmer, she would
quote Cleopatra's request for Mandrogora,  the only bit of
Shakespeare for which she cared, she said, and pity them
for never having known what she felt in the love of Laurence
Levinge.  What do you think Mrs Osborne says to me ? 
she asked Charlie; "'that when she was going to be married
to Mr Osborne she should have blushed to talk about it so
much as I do.' Who cares what she'd have done ? I dare-
say I should have blushed too if I had been going to marry
old Osborne, in his table-cloth cravat and broad-brimmed
hat; as if she could know anything at all about it with an
old Osborne. I can neither eat nor sleep for joy, and I'll tell
the truth about it.
This was said two days before the one on which she was to
go up to town, and Charlie looked at her with a vague sense
of pity, despite that brilliantly portrayed happiness. The
not eating or sleeping of which Daisy spoke so lightly was
beginning to alarm them all. She looked too transparent
when she was flushed crimson in the face; the rounded lines
of her figure were gone.
That night she sat and sang to them in the little room her
father had had furnished for her. Good and self-forgetting
as Walter was, he had some feeling which prevented him
378
Walter Goring.
liking to be with her in the beautiful little room which he had
had fitted up as a boudoir for her, when he thought she was
to be his bride. So they sat this night in the old place where
she had so often sang to them when the Walshes were staying
at Goring Place.
There were only two or three candles burning, and the
room was lofty, consequently the light was dim. For a time
she sang brilliant opera airs alone, but at last she stopped,
saying she would sing something  sweet and tender, like the
lightand then she sang more sweetly than he had ever
heard her sing before—with more pathos, more feeling— I'm
wearing away to the land of the leal.''
They all—Walter, Mrs Osborne, Frank St John, and Alice
—drew nearer to her as she sang, and they were all most
strangely thrilled. She did not seem to heed them, but sang
it through—nearly through. She was striking the last chord,
her glorious voice was floating away on the last note, filling
the air with a strain than which no sweeter can be heard in
heaven, when her head went down, the song changed to a
cry, and a stream of blood chased the music through her lips.
At the height of her fullest happiness she had sung her own
death-strain. They knew at once that she had broken a
blood-vessel, and they knew all too soon that she was "wear-
ing away to the land of the leal with fearful speed.
She died before her lover, summoned though he was at
once, could reacb her—before she had time to feel much regret
at the thoughts of dying at all. Up to almost the last she
could not realise it, urging that  she was too young and
too happy to die. But suddenly the truth came home to
her, and then her sole thought was of Laurence.
 Poor Laurence ! Let him have all the money, Walter.
You're so good, you will, I know ; and be his friend, because
I've died for love of him, you know. Be his friend, will
you?
So she wore away, pleading for the man  for love of
whom she had died.
Very Undecided.
379
CHAPTER L.
YEKY undecided.
Poor Daisy's last words, "You'll let Laurence have the
money, and you'll, be bis friend because I loved him so,
were strongly in Mr Goring's mind when he met Laurence
Levinge immediately on the latter's entrance into the house.
There was no need to tell Levinge that Daisy was dead—he
had heard that already. There was no need to reproach him
for aught concerning her ; clearly he was reproaching himself
bitterly enough. Moreover, no one else felt inclined to do
anything, save to try and comfort the man who had been so
richly loved by Daisy.
He went alone into the room where she was lying, with
the life still upon her yellow hair, but death within her eyes
—into the room where there was solemn quiet, and a sad, soft
light; and, stranger than all, a Daisy who was for the first
time cold even to him. Mrs Osborne had prepared some
platitudes wherewith to console the bereaved man. She was
ready to tell him that he  must hope to meet Miss Goring
above, after the manner of material-minded people, who will
persist in offering spiritual comfort to others in defiance of
their own practice. As Laurence Levinge bent over the
waxen cold form of the girl who had loved him so hotly, he
was too far from feeling that love is the soul's alone, for Mrs
Osborne's contemplated consolations to stand any chance of
having a soothing effect upon him.
He stayed in the room a long time, not mouthing out a
long-winded monologue on the vanity of human hopes—
scarcely thinking, indeed; only feeling, that Daisy was dead.
He was too completely stunned by this even to muse upon
the matchless organisation of the divine system of rewards
and punishments. It was to occur to him afterwards, that
Daisy, who had been more sinned against than sinning from
the hour of her birth, was cut off in the flower of her youth
at the very moment that the cup of joy was about to be
offered to her, while he—lived; and, by her will, was well
endowed with the goods of this world. These things were to
Walter Goring.
occur to him afterwards, hut as he stood looking at her hs
only felt that the sweet child who was to have been his bride
was dead, and that he was the cause of her death.
His face was as white as the corpse when he came at last
out of the room. His impulse was to get away out of the
house unseen ; words of any sort from any one would be tor
much for him, he felt. But he checked the impulse for hel
dear sake, and so Mrs Osborne had an opportunity of offer
ing her crumbs of comfort.
It had been Walter Goring's intention to put the picture,
wherein the story was all too plainly told, away out of sight
while Laurence Levinge was there.  It's no use cutting
the poor -fellow to pieces with remorse; my darling Daisy
would rebuke me from her grave if I did it, he had said
to Mrs Fellowes; but she took a different view of the matter.
 He knows about it—she wrote and told him, I know.
Don't seem to hide it from him. It will be kinder to let it
hang than if you let him suppose you shrink from his seeing
it.
So, on Charlie's advice, the  Lily of Astolat, Daisy's
parallel, was still hanging when Laurence Levinge came
down, and he soon found it out; and, rather to the surprise
of those who knew where, and when, and how Frank had
Been his poor  Elaine, commenced talking about it.
 My poor little darling, he said, mournfully, to Walter
Goring,  I was trying to be generous to her that night I
took her to the Opera, little knowing I was breaking her heart.
From the time she had rushed up to me—half frantic, be-
cause she had seen her mother, and her mother's husband
wouldn't let them speak to each other—from that time, till
she left and came down here, she was under the protection
of my landlady, a good woman, who thought she was my
sister. That night I was trying to make her understand the
truth—that it was for her well-being that I wouldn't marry
her, and drag her down with me.
"Levinge, Walter Goring began, earnestly—then he
checked himself— no, no, I '11 ask you nothing, he added.
"You may ask what you will, the other replied, eagerly;
 but before you ask anything, I '11 tell you that heartless as
my false prudence and cowardly fear of poverty with a wife
made me, I have not the sin on my soul of hav'ng wronged
Very Undecided.
381
her. I loved Her too well, he added, hastily.  She was as
pure as her prototype, and he pointed to the picture as he
spoke.
Directly after Daisy's funeral, Laurence Levinge went
away. A great restlessness was upon him; he could find no
rest for the sole of his foot, as it seemed. He met his mother
and sister. Ah ! how futile their journey was proved: and
there was something in his face that made them spare all
semblance of reproach; though they had come charged with
it.  Come back with us, and lead a new life, Laurence, his
sister said to him. "You will never forget her—at least,
you never ought to forget the poor loving child—but you '11
think about her less miserably if you're with us. Come
back to Rome.
But he refused, averring that he could not settle down
just yet. He would  wander about for a few months—or a
year, and then rejoin them, he promised. Then he left
England, and as he will appear no more in these pages, it
may as well be stated that he never kept that promise. He
 wandered about for a time, trying to train down memory
by day, by walking long distances in all sorts of weather;
and at night he could not bear to sleep for the dread he had
of dreaming. It was for love of him that Daisy died; but
Daisy's friends had no feeling but one of sorrow when, in
little more than a year after she had sung her own death-
strain, they heard from Mary Levinge, who had heard it
from a hotel-keeper, that her brother had fallen a victim to a
low fever which had come on after a long-sustained and sue-
cessful struggle to save an unfortunate woman from drown-
ing in the Sorge, near Yaucluse. So for the best action of
his life, he was rewarded by being taken from the world of
which he was so weary. At his death the money which
Daisy had implored that he might be suffered to have, came
back to Mr Goring; and so, at last, all things were precisely
as if his uncle's daughter—his dearly loved, wilful ward—
had never existed.
Meanwhile Frank St John and Walter Goring were re-
deeming their time manfully. They took an  artist's tour,
that was really worthy of the name, writing and illustrating
it as they went. The scene of their operations were the
plains, forests, and mining districts of California, and they
382
Walter Goring.
took up the life of hunters, living in a log hut, riding un-
broken little Mexican mustangs, depending on their guns
for everything they ate, "save flour and sardines. Frank
wrote to Charlie. So they stayed about in the Californian
solitudes for a year and a half, during which time Goring
Place was delivered over to a housekeeper, and swathed in
brown holland. At the expiration of that time Frank was
obliged to quit his companion and come home for two rea-
sons, one of which shall be given at greater length in another
chapter. The other, and secondary reason, may be stated
briefly : their mutual work,  The Artist's Tour, was ready,
and Frank was to come home and see it through the press.
The literary part of it was entirely Goring's work; and at
first it had been decided that he should be the one to come
home and see it brought out. But circumstances occurred
to alter this decision. He felt that he was better away from
England for a time, and Frank felt that he was most sorely
needed there. So they parted, and Charlie, who knew that
they were to do so, and which of them was to remain, had
direful dreams of "Walter Goring being devoured by bears
and other monsters of the wilds.
The chief cheerers of his solitude even while Frank was
with him—the only extraneous cheering influence that came
to him after Frank left—were the long letters that he re-
ceived, at long intervals, from his old friend, Mrs Walsh.
She knew nothing of the discovery of Daisy's perfidy to
him, and the consequent disannulling of his marriage with
Daisy. She only knew that Daisy had died, and so she
wrote to him as a sister might do to a widowed brother, and
said more generous things of the buried Daisy than she had
ever brought her tongue to utter of the living one.
Mrs Walsh had lived abroad for some months ; at first in
quaint old Nuremberg, and afterwards in brilliant Vienna,
and both places had been equally barren to her. She was
not a woman to adapt herself easily to a new life—she was
essentially one who required to be sought, and who never
could bring herself to seek; and as it was the characteristic
of her beauty to look colder and prouder than she was, few
cared or dared to - seek her. Consequently, the quiet dull
city and the gay capital were equally barren to her—in both
she was alone. Not all the memories she could scrape to-
Very Undecided.
383
gether, inthe one of the cobbler-bard and Albrecht Diirer—
not all the beauty of those blue Franconian mountains which
loom above the town, or the  fountains wrought with richest
splendour standing in the common mart"—could keep her
mind away from dwelling constantly on the past. Of old,
she had heard Walter Goring and her husband talk of these
things—of the grand mediaeval aspect of the place; of the
venerable old iron-hound linden planted in the court-yard of
the castle by Cunigunde; and hearing them speak of these
things, and of the Old World atmosphere in which they
were steeped, she had desired to see them. Now, she was
seeing them daily—living in their midst—and it was all
emptiness. So at last she gave up the cultivation of the
mediaeval mind in Nuremberg, and went to Vienna, and
found it all emptiness there too. Finally, she obeyed her
instinct, and went back to her cottage in Deneham about the
same time that Frank St John, away in the wilds of Califor-
nia, felt that there was a strong reason for his return to
England.  I will go back, and stay in that cottage until
Walter comes home, in order that I may see him, and assure
myself that it is all over, she thought.  I believe it to be
—he is a dear brother to me now ; but I will see him, and
test myself, and at the end of my three years' lease I '11 leave
the place, and try my old London life again.  Try my
old London life again! Father a hopeless phrase for a
completely-cured woman.
Her old London life ! As if she could ever taste the
flavour of it again ! She could have the old society very
probably, the old style of dinners- and drives, of  drams
and operas, the old round of shopping and calling, and
general fatigue in the social mart. All these she could have;
but that would be missing which had given them all the re-
quisite zest. No; the old life would soon he proved a mis-
take, she knew it. What she needed was a new life—a new
interest.  I'm only thirty-three, she said to herself on the
morning after her return to her Deneham cottage, while
looking at the reflection of her face in the glass.  Time
has flown by on the wings of a dove for me, hut he has not
marked his flight by the feet of the crow yet. In the course
of nature, my life is not half spent even yet; the best of it
shall not be barren because Walter Goring is
3 §4
Walter Goring.
What? She did not know how to phrase it. "Blind
had been on the tip of her tongue; but was he blind, after
all ? Did he not see her fairest of the fair, and feel indif-
ferent to the fact ? Then she recalled the expression of his
eyes when he had lifted them to her face after bending over
her hand and kissing it, and calling her his goddess! What
a pity it is that a woman cannot forget the tender thrill of
lips that have thrilled many another hand maybe. The
loving deference of the action may mean so little; but it is
stamped indelibly on the recipient's memory. It may mean
nothing; but to a woman it always means so much !
She was haunted by him as he had been, and  that was
why, so she told herself,  she so longed to see him again aa
he was. If he only came, and was friendly—not frigidly
friendly, but friendly after the manner of a man who likes
you very much, and knows you like him, and yet feels and
shows that he feels that you can get on very well without
him—if he would only come and be this, it would all be well.
 I've idealised him in his absence, because I have been dull,
she told herself;  if he comes and shows me that he likes
me very much, and thinks me an excellent woman, and—
nothing more, my folly will kill itself.
All these contradictory soliloquies betokened a very waver*
ing frame of mind. Of course they did ; they betrayed the
truth. She loved the man ; naturally she veered about per-
petually, and said many things that would not agree with the
rest about him. But during every phase she wrote to him
as a sister might have done, feeling that her love was half
the offspring of habit, and that circumstances might arise
again which would render it expedient for her to crush it.
 My folly will kill itself if  he adopts precisely the line
of conduct best calculated to conduce to the suicide. That
was what she said, or rather that was what she meant. The
danger was, that he might come and make the expediency
of her folly killing itself patent to her in some other way
than that which has been sketched above. How, if he mar-
ried some one else ? Oh ! it was far better, she thought, to
put herself where she should  see him at once when he came
home again—see him, and show him that he was free to do
even that. Then she took herself to task for the wording
of that phrase even.  Free to do that! Was he not
Released.
3«5
 free ?  Had he not always been, and shown that he knew
that he was free ? But it is so very hard to think by line
and rule when the heart is much in the subject thought
about.
The romance was over, and it would be idle or worse to
recall it. Well! she was not striving to recall it; she was
only going to act on the good old medical suggestion of
"taking a hair of the dog that had bitten her. The
romance was over—and there had never been any romance—
and she wasn't wanting to recall it—and yet why shouldn't
she wish to recall all that there had been ? Absence dis-
illusions most women, but the disillusioning is the fruit of
certain conditions. They have no time to think of the absent
one, if they have some one else present. She had been op-
pressed with too much idle time for the last eighteen months,
and she had seen no man capable of displacing Walter Gor-
ing from his pedestal. Faithfulness in the case of the un-
bound very often is but a shallow euphemism for lack of op-
portunity.
CHAPTER LI.
released.
When her brother Frank and Walter Goring went away
together, the dead calm that succeeded the lately tempestuous
moral atmosphere was a hard thing to live through gracefully.
Charlie could not help marvelling sometimes whether she had
indeed been born for no other end than this, that she might
make things as pleasant as possible to a man who made things
uncommonly unpleasant to her. One half of her time was
spent now in being ashamed for him, and the other half in
being afraid for him. Whenever he was away from her she
feared a repetition of that stumbling performance when he
had gone over the old brown hunter's head; and when he
was with her he brought the blushes to her face with such
fell frequency that wifely feeling was pretty well burnt out.
386
Walter Goring.
People who  knew  them still, who recognised the exis-
tence of the Felloweses, though they were of The Hurst no
longer, in a gracious and merciful manner that was infinitely
more disgusting than any amount of obliviousness would have
been—these people said, "How well he bore his reverses,
and what "a comfort it must be to her that her husband
didn't give way to low spirits, thus making it patent that
the air he adopted abroad was one of offensive jollity. They
little knew his black moodiness at home. The moodiness
that made almost a tangible cloud in the house, and that
knew no shadow of a change save into maudlin self-pity.
It was very hard for her to live under it; to feel that her
youth was passing away under it. Very, very hard to feel
that she had none other than herself to thank for it. The
memory of the manner in which she had accepted this man's
offer of marriage, back {how far back it seemed) in the pretty
road near Portslade, was always with her. The recollection
of the honest feeling against accepting it which she had
crushed and put away from her, because, oh, fool! she had
yearned for any change—would not be banished. It was
very hard, but the punishment was less than the offence, so
she would go on readjusting her burden and trying to walk
with her head up under it.
There was such an absence of every element of diversion in
her life. The dull little country town in which she lived, the
dreary women with whom she dwelt, were very stagnating in
their influence. She had no friends, no society, no amuse-
ment save books and—old memories. She was as badly
placed as a woman with a quick imagination can be placed;
it was surely some slight merit in her, that under it all she
kept a bright face, and struggled to think that her lot was
quite as good as she deserved or—desired.
She wrote constantly now—when her husband was not
rabid in his claims on her attention—and she had succeeded
(or her publishers had succeeded for her) in making a little
bit of a name. But it was the pursuit of literature under
difficulties. Now that Frank, and that other one who knew
what she meant always without her needing to give wordy
explanations,—now that they were away, the saving interest,
the helping sympathy, the encouraging word, which we ail
need, were each and all lacking. Her husband had a vague
Released. 387
kind of notion, to which he would give utterance sometimea
in a vague kind of way, that it was her romance-writing
which had weaned her from him, and inclined her to another
—as he could not but see that she did incline. But she
might have replied to this charge in L. E. L.'s tinkling
words:—
 It was not my loved lute, she said,
 My gentle lute, that wrought the wrong;
It was not song that taught me love;
But it was love that taught me song.
But he, as people are very apt to do, made confusion betweei?
cause and effect.
At last she was deprived of even the poor diversion ol
making pleasant and miserable the lives of imaginary people.
Henry Fellowes fell ill from cold and other causes, and then
the hardest, saddest, duties of a wife were laid upon her, and
everything gave way before the great necessity of nursing him
through a long wearying sickness.
For six months the days rolled along with no shadow of a
change, at least with none greater than his being a little better
one day and much worse the next. A terrible time, for he
was more exacting than ever; he would take nothing save
from her hand, and he would not suffer her to be five minutes
out of his presence. He did not like her to read—the very
thought of her writing threw him into such a state of irritable
agitation the first week of his being confined to his bed, that
she locked up her desk, and promised him that until he was
quite well she would not open it again. From that time she
sat through the days in that darkened room, never moving
save to serve him, with no other object than to soothe and
ease one of the most fractious patients it ever fell to a woman's
lot to tend.
She never seemed to weary over her task; he grew more
satisfied with her every day—more satisfied, that is to say,
that she was loving him at last,—in which, poor fellow, he
was mistaken. She was not loving him; she was only feel-
ing more and more sorry for him because she could not love
him, now that he was so ill and helpless and dependent on
her. The knowledge that she could not do it made her
tender, with a tenderness that was as watchful, patient, and
long-suffering as love itself could have been; it gave her the
388
Walter Goring.
indomitable courage to endure, which love alone is popularly
supposed to give. It sustained her as the days rolled into
weeks, and the weeks into months, and the once strong hale
man became more and more attenuated, more and more help-
less, more and more hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked, and,
alas ! more and more fractiously exacting. That tenderness
and the feeling—half pity, half remorse—from which it
sprang, enabled her to keep up, in a way that made her
mother-in-law marvel at her, and acknowledge to the doctor
that "Henry might have done worse. It carried her
through darksome, hopeless days, when he was so very
ill that it was only through the hold he kept of her hand
—the little hand whose light fine touch was the only one he
could bear—that she knew he was asleep, not dead. It car-
ried her through sleepless nights of bending over his pillow,
when he could not bear her to be even so far away from him
as the little sofa at the other end of the room. It carried
her, in fact, bravely through as sad and fatiguing a half year
as can well be imagined. And at the end of the six months
it deepened, and the feelings from whence it sprang deepened
too, when her task was brought to a conclusion by her hus-
band's death.
This was the reason which Frank St John had for coming
home—his sister was alone in the world in reality; and per-
haps this was the reason Walter Goring had for remaining
away.
For some three or four months after Henry Fell owes' death,
Charlie remained with his mother and sister. Strangely
enough, they seemed to cling to her now; they had a
jealousy of her leaving them. It was not even pleasant
to them to hear that Frank was coming home to take his
sister to live with him. So Charlie, as a still further faint
sort of expiation for the never-forgotten wrong she had done
her husband in marrying him without love, promised to stay
with them as long as they willed it, gave up the happy pros-
pect of a home in London with Frank—of Frank's bright
companionship and aid, and promised to remain in the at-
mosphere that she could not alter her nature sufficiently to
find congenial. It was about this time, just as she had pro-
mised to stay with them, that Mrs "Walsh came back to
Deneham, and then, among other pleasing and diverting
Released.
389
topics of conversation that kindly callers indulged in, was
the probability—which they discussed freely—of Mr Goring
coming home, and marrying his beautiful tenant.
There was very little intercourse between the two widows.
They went occasionally and sat the orthodox ten minutes in
each other's houses; but Mrs Walsh's was the well-endowed
and refined country life, and, to tell the truth, Charlie did
not like to contrast it with her own. Mrs Walsh lived in a
cottage, but it was a cottage that stood on a sloping lawn,
in the centre of which beds of the fairest flowers, geometri-
cally arranged, made a gorgeous mosaic. It was a cottage
the pretty low walls of whose rooms were hung with deli-
cately-tinted, satin-surfaced papers, against the pale green
and grey of which gilt frames and good bronzes stood out
magnificently. It was a cottage where the simple latticed
windows were hung with rose-coloured or crimson silk cur-
tains, which threw good marble copies of the best antique
sculptures into fair relief. It was a cottage that was always
pervaded with the perfume of fresh flowers—that was al-
ways as trim and perfectly appointed and delicately ordered
as money alone permits a house to be. Small wonder that
Charlie, whose taste was much towards similar things, should
eschew contrasting it with her dwelling-place.
The great London beauty was living an idyll. She would
not respond to the advances the county people made to her,
simply because she knew that it was upon the cards that at
the expiration of her lease she might see cause to remove her-
self from the neighbourhood, and it was useless to get in with
a lot of people for so short a time. But though she did not
visit, and though Walter Goring was away, she was not at
all dull.  I hold it true, whate'er befall, that one never
can be dull if left to one's-self with beautiful inanimate
things about one, plenty of books to read, and nice horses
to ride and drive. Mrs Walsh was surrounded by these con-
Jitions of successful solitude. Her eye was always pleased
when she was in her house; the things were her own, and
were dear to her by association. Things of beauty that do
not belong to one are not half so satisfactory. And when
she was out of the house, she was fain to confess that the
Norfolk roads may not easily be surpassed for riding and
driving purposes.
390 Walter Goring.
There was a certain pleasure too—besides the mere fact of
driving her handsome chestnut cobs—in going over the
ground once more which she had gone over with Walter
Goring on the occasion of her first visit to Goring Place.
How merrily the days had spun by then, to be sure, when
they had bowled over the ground in Walter's trap, she up in
front with him, and that poor dead Daisy behind with Mr
Levinge ! As she went along the roads sometimes, she felt
that, surely, though two of the dramatis personal were gone
beyond the bourne from whence there is no return, that the
two who were left would see the old places together again.
Here at Walsingham Abbey they had all four of them knelt
laughingly at the "Wishing Well, and drank and wished in
that bright unclouded August weather when she saw the
place first. It was August again now—three years after—as
she stood by the well alone, having left her cobs and man
down in the village. Had any of their wishes come true 1
None ! None ! The Daisy had not wished for crossed lova
and early death, assuredly, when she had bent down with her
yellow hair floating behind her, and drank of the crystal
water. Was it worth going on and evoking other memories
by visiting some of the other shrines to which they had mada
pilgrimages ? No, certainly not.
It rarely is worth while to harrow up one's own feelings
by recalling old memories. These latter are pretty in poetry,
and fascinating in fiction, but they are generally intolerable
in real life. There almost invariably appears to be a touch
less of pleasantless (to say the least of it) in the present than
the past. Three years is a long time in a woman's life. It
is impossible for her to avoid contrasting her looks then and
now when she glances back through the vista. She was
paler, or more pinky, better rounded, or more sylph-like, in
the bemoaned by-gone she remembers. The intervening years
have witnessed the dissolution of some friendships and some
hopes that made life a little brighter while they lasted. On
the whole, resuscitations are always obnoxious and to be
avoided. Nevertheless, in her case, alive as she was to the
propriety of forgetting, the dead days would not quite bury
their dead. Her memory was unfortunately green.
When she was well out on the road once more passing
along between the close, regularly clipped hedges, what in-
The Dead to the L iving.
391
numerable old associations leapt out upon her from either
side ! There, at the sharp turn, where one of the drives
from a pretty manor-house gleaming white among the trees
ran down into a point and joined the road, the trap had
swerved, and Daisy had been nearly off. She remembered
now how she had not condescended to look round and ascer-
tain the amount of damage done, though Daisy had given a
well-modulated scream. The road was unaltered—there was
precisely the same tint upon the trees now as then, the same
degree of warmth in the air, the same sounds from the harvest-
men in the fields ; but she herself was three years older than
she had been then, and Daisy was dead !
Somehow or other, a feeling of depression came over her.
"You nice county that has been brushed and combed into
almost beauty, you won't be my abiding-place ! she thought,
half shaking her head at the landscape as she passed along it.
 ' Few views worth painting about here !' poor Ealph said
once. How is it that so many of them have painted them-
selves on my heart, I wonder? I suppose it would be the
same with any place I knew with Walter Goring; he has the
art of making things pleasant. Absurd of me, at my age, to
be undergoing the ' Wherever thou art would seem Erin to
me' sensations ! Then she whipped her cobs, and tried to
forget him; and went on remembering vividly that he had
been wont to call her  his goddess, and that young Mrs
Fellowes was free as well as herself.
CHAPTER LII.
the dead to the living.
Frank St John did not receive the announcement of his
sister's determination, to stay with the family of her late hus-
band so long as they needed her, at all well. He had given up
a life that suited him, pursuits that pleased him, and the com-
panionship of a man whom he liked very much, in order to
392 Walter Goring.
come back to make a home for Charlie. And now Charlie
made all this null and void out of some absurd scruples.
 I '11 wait and see the book out, and then I will go back to
Goring, he said, but by the time the book was out, and he
quite ready for the start back to California, things arranged
themselves according to his first wishes. A gentleman who,
twenty years before, had been suspected of entertaining
tender feelings towards Miss Dinah—having tested himself
and her by this sensible unhasting gauge of waiting nearly a
quarter of a century to see whether anybody else intervened
—suddenly took heart of grace, and declared himself. Accord-
ingly Miss Dinah took him in holy matrimony, and her
mother to live with her. So Charlie was quite free to go
away at last, and live the life Frank had projected for her.
It must be acknowledged that Mrs Walsh was very glad
to witness Charlie's exodus from Deneham. Not that Mrs
Walsh had jealous forebodings, but she did not want things
to remain undecided for a week after Walter Goring came
back, and Walter Goring might come back any day, and
Charlie might have the effect of rendering him uncertain.
So she witnessed Charlie's exodus with pleasure, and hoped
heartily that Charlie would like her new London life too well
ever to come back to Deneham.
Both the brother and sister were thriving in their respec-
tive walks of art. Frank drew for wood engraving a good
deal, and Charlie, considerably elongated, was useful to him
as a model very often for those wonderful young ladies who
adorn the pages of our illustrated magazines, young ladies
who are all six feet high, and richly gifted with eyes that
are bigger than their mouths—and Charlie sold her stories at
fluctuating prices truly, but still sold them. The first thing
they did, therefore, was to take a pretty little house in a
western suburb, in what, in blind reliance on the agent's
veracity, they believed to be a quiet neighbourhood. A
semi-detached house in a road some little distance from the
highway. A road in which willows wept, and ladies stood
out on their little drawing-room balconies on summer even-
ings—and crickets chirped in a confiding way as darkness
fell in a most anti-metropolitan manner. A road rendered
'respectable by a church all to itself at one end—and rendered
something else (shall it be called interesting?) by divers
The Dead to the Living. 393
parrots in divers windows, shaded by the pinkest of curtains
—by little dogs of snowy hue—by two or three retiring little
broughams which were great at waiting—by miniature mail-
phaetons and pairs that went out with a dash and came
home with a limp. A little road in which the residents were
almost exclusively of the gentler sex, and the visitors almost
as exclusively of the other, through nature's great law of
compensation.
 A sweet little road, close to the park, and quite near
enough to Piccadilly, and yet so quiet—just the very place
to work in, Charlie said to her brother, in a burst of satis-
faction with her new abode on the night of their taking pos-
session. She modified that statement about its being the
very place for working in afterwards. From nine o'clock in
the morning till ten at night sons of harmony ground their
weary length along the quiet road. Italian boys with
monkeys found it a pleasant place wherein to spend the
noontide hour. On Monday it was the favoured resort of a
distressed father and five dilapidated children, who sang
their agonies in jerks. On Tuesday a corresponding inother
imparted an additional and purely maternal interest to a
similar performance. On Wednesday an ingenious but un-
pleasant man made miserable melody by rubbing his wretched
wet fingers round the rims of glasses arranged on a board.
On Thursday the whole of the above-mentioned had a grand
field day, and out-howled one another. On Friday a band
of German boys eased their tender hearts by playing "Father-
land; and on Saturday the agonies of the week culminated
in the Indian with his tom-tom. The quiet little road was
catholic in its musical tastes, undoubtedly, but the general
liberality of sentiment on the subject was not of an order to
appeal to a working resident whose nerves were on the sur-
face, and who was conscious of a brain.
However, they had taken the house, and it behoved them
to make the best of it. "Nice customs curtsey to great
kings, but mere insignificant subjects are compelled very
often to curtsey to nasty customs. In time Charlie got into
a habit of enduring the Indian with his tom-tom—which is
more like the toothache than anything else in this world;
she even grew calm enough about him to contemplate the
possibility of making copy out of him at some future time.
394
Walter Goring.
So time rolled on for about a year—then a break occurred.
There had been some trifling business relating to the affairs
of her late husband still unsettled when Charlie had left
Deneham. Some house property in one of the adjacent
parishes had fallen to the late Henry Omry Fellowes (as a
lapsed legacy,) or rather to the late Henry Omry Fellowes'
widow and sole legatee. The houses were old, incommo-
dious, and consequently ill-let, but the site on which they
stood was good. A practical builder, with an eye for the
picturesque, saw that it was so, and made specious advances
towards purchasing them of Mrs Fellowes, who, lacking the
business mind, suffered these advances to drift away into
nothing for a period of many months.
At last, on the occasion of receiving the small quarterly
rents, it occurred to her to tell Frank that some man had
wanted to buy on lease the land on which these unremunera-
tive tenements stood for building purposes, and it was de-
cided that whenever Frank should chance to find himself
with a couple of days at his disposal that he should go
down and see about making the best bargain he could for
his sister.
"You'll have to stay a night or two down there, Frank,
she suggested, when the spare days came in due course, and
when he replied, "Yes, she added,  Then make Deneham
your head-quarters, and just give a look at
"Mrs Walsh? Yes, certainly, he interrupted.
 I wasn't going to say Mrs Walsh, but Goring Place, she
laughed ; "but if you should see your Guinevere, say some-
thing very civil from me.
It was late summer weather when Frank went on his busi-
ness mission to Deneham, and it was settled that on his
return Charlie and he should start for a tour they had long
contemplated through the western counties. They had not
organised a perfect plan of operations yet, but they had almost
decided on avoiding railway-riddled tracks, and travelling in
search of the picturesque on stout ponies,—their luggage to
be sent on to certain salient points hereafter to be fixed upon,
and they themselves to be quite free to vagabondise for a
month, unfettered by all time-table considerations.
This prospect had a great charm' for both the brother and
sister. They had had a long spell of uninterrupted hard
The Dead to the Living.
395
work, and they both felt that it would be good for them in
their respective arts to lie fallow for a time—to get away out
of the atmosphere of publishing and picture-dealing, of re-
views and reviewers—to breathe an air unsullied by the
sordid interest attaching to these things—to get out of the
orbit of the daily papers, and the sound of the roar of the
young lions thereof—to flee paint, pens, and paper, and not
to give their address to any one.
"Be ready to start on Friday, Charlie. We'll go right
away down to Dawlish at once, and cruise about from there
for a few days, Frank said to his sister, when he was leav-
ing for Deneham on the Tuesday morning. So, during the
two or three days of his absence, Charlie looked forward to
preparing travelling-dresses that should stand any weather
and much wear for a month—dresses in which she could
mount a pony without looking ridiculous, and which would
still be suitable for walking on the earth in.
Meanwhile Frank had gone down and settled the building
business, and had made a duty call on Mrs Foster, late Miss
Dinah Fellowes, and a pleasure call on Mrs Walsh, who
gave him that sort of welcome a woman does accord the
friend of the man she is most interested in, when that man is
absent, and the friend has seen him long since she herself has.
"I was up in town for a few days in June, Mr St. John,
she said to him,  and I saw your picture in the Academy.
"Which one? he asked, "'A Turning Point' or 'A
Falling Star ?' —the second is a sequel to the first.
 I only saw the ' Turning Point,' and I liked the feeling
with which you indicated a terrible story; there was great
tenderness in it, and great truth.
Frank felt his face flushing with pleasure; his fair critic's
husband had been a great painter, and had taught her to
discriminate—must have taught her to discriminate. He
felt very much flattered.
"Did you ever chance to see my Guinevere? he asked,
presently.
She shook her head.
 Never; long ago before you had nearly finished it, Wal-
ter Goring and I walked up to your studio—in Sloane Street
you were then—to look at it, but you were out, and the door
was locked.
396 Walter Goring.
"You know it is at Goring Place? he said, interroga-
tively.
 I did not know it. Had I known it, I should have gone
to see it long long ago; for I did hear, Mr St John, that you
paid me the compliment of introducing a very flattering por-
trait of me in it.
"Will you come and see it now, Mrs Walsh?  he asked,
eagerly;  do let me show it to you. It was my first work,
and now after three years' incessant study and labour, I
should like to learn from your remarks on it whether I have
made any headway in my art or not.
She grew rather pale at the idea of going to Goring Place
with another than the master of it. There was a touch
more pain than pleasure in the prospect of doing so. Such
trifles chill and sting a woman when the course of a love that
she fancies true does not run smooth. Still she desired to
please and encourage the man who, though he was her rival's
brother, was her lover's friend.
"Then we'll drive over at once. I have never been inside
the gates since Walter left. There are few things more un-
pleasant to me than going alone to a deserted place where I
have once been very happy, if not gay.
 If it will give you pain 
 It will not, to go with you, she interrupted, smiling.
 I spoke of going alone. Then she rang the bell and
ordered her pony-carriage, and shortly after scandalised and
excited the worst feelings of Deneham by driving the hand-
some stranger through its streets. ' -
It is a very dubious and a very ghastly pleasure, after all,
going to the deserted home of one who is dear to you. There
is a sense of blankness and desolation about the unused
rooms that induces melancholy reflection in the most viva-
cious and least reflective. Half the furniture is shrouded in
chilling linen and the other half in dust. Black-beetles and
other monsters which in inhabited days were only to be
found in the  vasty deep  of the cellars, advance upon you
from unsuspected corners, and  rise up on their hind legs,
gnashing their teeth upon you, and obliging you to skip, in
order to avoid crushing them, in a way that causes you to
feel a forlorn and foolish wanderer in insect and old memory-
haunted wilds. All things that have not taken the damp
The Dead to the Living.
39 7
have taken the dry-rot, and the rest are rusty and broken.
The piano is out of tune, and so are you. There is too
much reverberation and too much echo, and too much con-
trast between what has been and what is, altogether for sad-
ness not to obtain a temporary dominion.
When Mrs Walsh pulled up her ponies at the lodge-gates,
the first sign of the marked difference they were soon to see
more fully, smote upon both Frank and herself. Instead of
the speedy, orderly opening of other days, when a smart
young woman (the under-gardener's wife) had always held
herself in readiness to swing open the gates at the first sound
of the approach of her master or his guests; instead of this
prompt portress, a little child pattered out of the lodge—
gazed at them with an expression of pleased amaze in its
wild blue eyes—advanced gallantly upon the gate, and then,
instead of opening it, strove to insert its broad, chubby feet
between the bars, for the purpose of clambering up and more
fully examining the invaders.
"Open the gate, my little fellow! Frank shouted; but
instead of opening the gate the child made a shrill appeal to
its  mammy to come out; and then a strange woman
came through the doorway and demanded, rather insolently,
whether they had a pass for the park, as she couldn't let
them in without it. "Mr Goring don't wish it showed,
she continued, turning about as if to go into the lodge again.
Then Frank parleyed with her in a high key, much to his
own indignation, and finally they were admitted, half on suf-
ferance, as it seemed.
 Seeing my Guinevere won't repay you for all this bother
and annoyance, Mrs Walsh, Frank said, in a vexed tone, as
they drove through the gateway at last; and Mrs Walsh gave
her chestnuts a fierce little cut which betrayed that slie had
felt being made to wait.
"I think it will more than repay me; considering my
vanity will find balm in the sight of myself idealised.
 I had no occasion to idealise. I wanted ' beauty such
as never woman wore,' and I found it.
A blush so slight that it might only have been the effect
of the sun, covered her face as he spoke. Then she flicked
her ponies jxgciin, tut not fiercely &t this time; ctiid
said,—
398 Walter Goring.
"But you had only seen me once, Mr St John, had
you ? 
 I had only seen you once; hut I never forgot a line of
your face. I knew the pencilling by heart, from the moment
I first saw you, so well, that at any time during these three
years I could have painted your portrait from memory, and
made it a vivid likeness.
She looked him frankly in the face, and said,—
 I am very much flattered.
 You! flattered by anything I can say?
 I am very, very much flattered by your 
 Admiration, he interrupted.  I can't express to you
how strong it is. I never thought that 1 should have dared
to try to express it. No one knows the depth. , of it, save
Walter : he called you my inspiration.
The blush burnt more brightly on her face, as Frank
poured the sentence out rapidly. "Walter knew it and
didn't disapprove of it, she thought;  on the contrary, he
rather fostered it by giving it a fine name. I dreamt of be-
ing Walter's inspiration once. What a glorious face this
Frank St John has—as fair, frank and proud as Apollo's.
They had come, by the time her thoughts reached this
point, to the gravel-sweep in front of the house. The gardens
showed the absence of their owner. The bedding-out plants
had not been bedded-out; the croquet-ground no longer
looked like green velvet; and a raggedly grown untrimmed
Westeria in splendid bloom drooped down, entirely conceal-
ing the windows of the drawing-room, where poor Daisy had
broken the cabinet and claimed the picture, and where after-
wards Mrs Walsh had been introduced by Walter to his
wilful, wayward, charming ward.
They had to go through this room, when after a little
more delay they were admitted into the house, in order to
gain that small room where the picture had been hung. As
they approached it Frank felt the old sensations of sorrow
and remorse that his should have been the hand to discover
Daisy's falseness to Walter and love for Levinge, which had
oppressed him that night when the poor little girl had stood
braving them all at bay.
"You know the story, don't you? he asked in a low
voice, when they came at last before the picture, and Mrs
The Dead to the Living.
399
Walsh, started and exclaimed at sight of the "Lancelot and
Elaine,"—
 Mr Levinge and Daisy ! No, I don't know it. Walter
wrote me word that his marriage with his cousin was broken
off, and that she was engaged to Levinge. But he offered no
explanation, and I asked for none.
 They are both dead now. The truth can't hurt them,
Frank said, mournfully. So then, standing before the pic-
ture, he told the story, and Mrs Walsh found herself far
more affected than she once deemed she could have been at
aught concerning Daisy.
 Has it ever been found out who her mother was, and why
Daisy made a mystery about her ? she asked, wiping her
eyes as she went and sat down before the Guinevere.
 Making the mystery was one of her weaknesses. Yes,
we found that her mother had been a concert-singer—not a
famous one by any means—when old Goring knew her. He
wronged her, as you know, he continued, hurriedly,  and
then forgot all about her, as it seems. Two or three years
afterwards a man, a clergyman, fell in love with and married
her, on condition she quitted the boards entirely, and she
consented to marry him on condition of being allowed to
retain Daisy, whom she passed off as her niece, the child of
a dead sister. After fifteen or sixteen years' marriage, the
scruples of her sex assailed her. She gave herself up ; she
betrayed her former lover, and she forfeited her child to her
husband's wrath. You see, Mrs Walsh, she was weak as
water.
 And Walter would have married the daughter of that
woman !  Mrs Walsh exclaimed;  a woman who could sin
and repent for the sake of gaining a mediocre establishment,
and who ended by sacrificing the man for whom she had
sacrificed herself! It's a pitiful story.
 It would have been but for Daisy, Frank said, stoutly ;
 there was nothing pitiful in Daisy's share in it: she would
never have married Goring, even if that daub had not made
the truth manifest when it did. Poor little creature ! I
shall never forget her standing there fronting us all, trying
not to quail at the sight of Walter's sorrow, for fear we
should think she was ashamed of her love for Levinge.
"Was Walter so very sorrowful about it?
400
Walter Goring.
 He was. What man wouldn't have been ? Frank
cried, heartily.
 Yours was the worst position. You were so blameless
and so miserably placed; you to play the part of domestic
detective, however undesignedly ! 
 It was undesignedly—Heaven knows! You know that,
don't you ? 
 Do I not ? Indeed I do so well. What a lot of pain
there is in life, she continued, sadly.
 But each pang has its compensating pleasure.
 I don't think so: instance yourself, Mr St John. What
compensation can you ever find for the pang of having been
the cause of that disclosure ? We can't be too thankful for
Walter's sake that it was made when it was; it enabled him
to try to make that poor girl happy. But what can com-
pensate you for the pain of being the cause ? 
 Your sympathy—that compensates me.
 Such a poor trifle ! does it ? 
She looked so bravely up at him as she spoke, and she
was so very beautiful.  By Jove! I wish I hadn't come,
he thought;  I was very well before ;—ass that I was not to
know how it would be if I came down and saw more of her.
 Shall we go away now ?  she asked, presently, in a low
voice, and he assented to her proposition, though he hated
going away. He seemed to have a nearer interest in her
standing there before that semblance of herself which he had
painted.
The thing he liked next best to her exceeding beauty in
this woman was, that she was not piously anxious to draw
morals and adorn tales from Daisy's story. The little blonde
who had looked upon that picture of his, and known herself
a found-out fallen star, had sinned doubtless; but had she
not suffered—suffered unto death ? He would have loathed
any untempted woman who had sat in judgment upon her—
he would have deemed any woman weak who had for effect
seemed to seek to find commonplace excuses for the girl who
had been consumed by her ill-placed passion. But Mrs
Walsh did not seek to extepuate, nor did she set down
aught in malice. She just accepted the facts of Daisy's case,
and found them sad ; but she did not strive to improve them
for the edification of the living.
The Dead to the Livmg.
401
He liked this quality in her—ah! and how many others ?
 A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,
It's loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
So he sang who touched the beautiful mythology of Greece,
and did not  dim its brightness, and so he believed pro-
bably when he wrote the opening lines of his  Endymion.
But Frank St John knew better, or thought he knew better.
The beauty of this woman now looking up into his face
would cease to be a joy to him, did it pass—not into "nothing-
ness, but into the possession of Walter Goring.  I shall
never be able to stand it, he thought;  I shall leave dear
little Charlie to fight her way by herself, and cut my native
land. Fancy the fellow who could come home and have
her—staying away in California! There was the law of
compensation at work even here. Walter evidently had not
the joyful power of fully appreciating the glory that had
befallen him in having gained this woman's tenderest
smiles.
 Shall we walk round the house ?  she asked at last, and
then they made their way to the room wherein Daisy used to
sing with Laurence Levinge. The room was the same; not
a tint of its delicate green was faded; no blur had come
over the surface of the gold on moulding and picture-frame.
The same spider-legged little tables stood about to upset the
unwary; the same untarnished mirrors hashed back your
face when you looked into them; the same myrtle which
she had planted bloomed and budded in the jardiniere ; the
same low couch on which Mrs Walsh had sat, with Walter
at her side, on the night of her first arrival at Goring Place,
stretched its luxurious expanse ; the same winking Cupid on
the ormolu clock on the mantle-board levelled his golden
arrows at the hour and half-hour; but the piano was silent,
and Daisy was dead.
The room was ghastly in its unaltered state. Whether it
had been through mere carelessness, or through some half-
unconscious sentiment on the part of the housekeeper, they
could not tell. They could only feel that it was all painfully
as of old.
There on the centre table—open still, and turned down on
2 c
402 Walter Goring.
tlie face of its pages—was that volume of Macaulay s lays
which Daisy had been reading when Walter took her away
to Brighton first, when his own educational code had failed.
It was such a little thing to touch them. Probably the
book had been taken up scores of times since Daisy put it
down; taken up and dusted, and carefully readjusted by
some housemaid's hand. But for all this probability it
seemed to be so very sacred to the fair dead girl who had
opened it at that page. It was such a very little thing to
touch them, but somehow or other they were touched by it,
or something else which I cannot define.
Briefly, but very kindly, as they were afterwards walking
through the picture gallery which Ralph Walsh had rear-
ranged, did Mrs Walsh allude to her husband.  There was
no method observed, and every picture was hung in the worst
light when we came down here to stay; now the true artist's
hand is traced in the placing of each one. Don't you see
it ?''
 They 're hung as well as they could be hung on such
walls; these deeply-embrasured windows are not the ones to
show off pictures to advantage.''
 Well, no, they 're not; but my husband did all that could
be done. It was the last exercise of his great talent—the
better adornment of Walter Goring's house.
She smiled almost tenderly as she spoke, and Frank waxed
uncomfortable. Allusions, fond allusions to Walter, friend
though Walter was of Frank's, were not too pleasant things
to which to listen. But this linking together of the "loved
lost and the loved living  was specially distasteful.
 It all falls to Walter's share, Frank said, after a brief
space.
 All what ? 
 Friendship, fortune, success, love—everything that makes
life worth having, in fact.
 Has he availed himself of it all ? Does he seem as if he
cared for the friendship ? He knows our hearts are wrung
with anxiety for hiip, yet he stays away in those horrid wilds
from choice.
She spoke in a sudden gust of affectionate indignation; she
could not resist betraying the chagrin she felt at this perver-
sity of my hero's. Frank could not sympathise with her.
Morning and Evening.
403
'I must acknowledge that my heart isn't much wrung
with anxiety about Walter. It's not half so savage as you 're
pleased to suppose : he has his rifles and dogs, and two or
three Mexican servants with him.
 Oh, I don't doubt his capability of taking care of him-
self, she replied, with her sex's inconsistency.  Shall we
go away now ? It's rather depressing, walking about these
deserted halls.
As'they were driving home, Mrs Walsh asked,  Have you
seen your sister ? 
 I saw her the day I left, of course, he answered. To
him, there was but one sister in the world—Charlie.
"Ah! I meant your other sister, Mrs Prescott.
 No ; are they at the Hurst ? 
 Oh, yes ; and you must go and see them, she replied,
wheeling her cobs round rather too sharply into the re-opened
private lane that led from Goring Place to the Hurst. The
sudden swerve excited the chestnuts ; they made a sharp bolt
forward before the hind-wheels of the phaeton could turn;
the bricked corner of the hedge came crashing against them;
the cobs started off at full speed, and in an instant or two the
phaeton went over the near side, and Mrs Walsh and Frank
were both shot out.
CHAPTER LIII.
morning and evening.
Thank the Lord, it's the left arm, Frank thought, when
he had picked himself up and discovered that the limb of
which he spoke stood off from the elbow at an acute and
unnatural angle. He had seen immediately that Mrs Walsh
was unhurt, or he would not have thought an adjuration
about himself at all.
The cobs had kicked themselves free of the pole ; and they
now stood panting, with their traces hanging loosely about
them, and the buttoned boy, who always accompanied Mrs
Walsh, at their heads. The youth stood very much agape
404
Walter Goring.
when his ordinarily composed mistress reproached herself and
her chestnuts and her page as the cause of the accident to Mr
St John, all in one breath.  My awkwardness ! They are
full of vice from want of work ! Why didn't you take Robin
Hood up a hole or two before we started, John ? she con-
tinued, angrily alluding to the pony that had been in on the
near side, and who had, to tell the truth, evinced a marked
inclination to shirk his work and play at going breadth-ways
several times.  Mr St John, what can I—what can I do ? 
Frank's arm was swelling rapidly. It was a promising
dislocation at the elbow; the small hone was broken imme-
diately below it, and the wrist was sprained. Altogether the
accident was a remarkably complete one.
 I tell you what I '11 do. Trust me to pull your arm in—
I can !
He saw that her face flushed as she spoke. He would
have distrusted the pulling-in powers of a woman who had
gone pale while proposing it.  Trust you ! I'd trust you to
do that or anything else, he replied ;  hut you haven't the
strength: Then he tried a feeble smile, and added,  When
men get out of joint, they don't go in again in a hurry.
 Let me try—do let me try ! she cried.  Have you a
knife ? 
He had a knife, very much at her service. Accordingly,
she ripped his coat-sleeve from the wrist to the shoulder-
seam; cut open his shirt-sleeve very daintily, and then without
the shadow of a tremble prepared to pull in the swollen limb
which she had been the cause of dislocating.
All round the region of the elbow-joint the flesh had puffed
up terribly. She shuddered inwardly when she saw it, hut
she would not suffer the shudder to make itself visible.  Put
your arm round my waist to steady yourself. I '11 be like a
rock, Mr St John,', she said, when she laid her long, snowy-
white fingers on the battered wrist; and, tender as her touch
was, it seared his tortured flesh like hot iron. The next
moment there was a creaking and a horrible jerk, and—the
joint was rightly adjusted again. No one who has not had
his elbow dislocated can quite appreciate the profound inten-
sity of that love of the beautiful which enabled Frank to
think only of the grace and charm with which Mrs Walsh
performed this little bit of surgery while she was doing it.
Morning and Evening.
405
When she had made a temporary sling out of the silk
scarf she wore, there was nothing else to be done save to
get home and send for a doctor as soon as possible. Mrs
Walsh wanted to send her boy into Deneham for a carriage,
but Frank declared himself able to walk.
 I must drop a line to Charlie, he said,  or she '11 be wild
on Friday if I don't put in an appearance ; and I don't think
I '11 risk a railway journey on the Great Eastern yet.
 I should think not. I will write to Mrs Fellowes, and
beg her to come down, Mr St John. You must stay at my
house till you have got quite over the effect of my careless-
ness.
Frank St John tried very hard to refuse this invitation with
manly firmness and decision. He k'new well that it would
only be the worse for him eventually if he did put himself in
the way of seeing her constantly. But she routed every
excuse he made, and finally he gave way and consented to go
and be happy for a time under her roof, and to be in diurnal
receipt of her tender sympathy.
"She does it for Walter's sake, he thought; "I'm
Walter's friend. No doubt she'd nurse a dog of his just as
tenderly. Well, it's my luck—it's this child's destiny.
' No woman's eyes shall smile on me, no woman's heart be
mine,' I suppose. I hope Ellen won't come over and bother
me to go to The Hurst, though there '11 be more pain than
pleasure very likely in staying with Mrs Walsh, especially
when the edge of her admiration for him is whetted by the
sight of Charlie. But I '11 be a Christian martyr, and bear
my share of pain.
The doctor came, and found his task made comparatively
easy through the prompt measures Mrs Walsh had taken. /
He advised that Frank should go to bed at once, and sent
him a sleeping draught. Frank took neither the advice nor
the liquid composure; he sat in the drawing-room till eleven
o'clock, and was made much of by Mrs Walsh in a way that
was far more soothing to his feelings. In order to retain this
state of things he would not have had the smallest objection to
dislocating each one of his limbs in succession ; he blessed
those swerving ponies and that obtrusive corner, and thought
kind things of the boy who had neglected to take Bobin
Hood's traces up a hole or two. Finally he went to bed at
40 6
Walter Goring.
eleven very much in love, and very conscious of his folly in
being so. The consequence was that he passed a feverish
night, and in the morning was found by his attendant to
have vague notions about the majority of things. This grew,
until by the time Charlie arrived (which she did late on the
day following the accident) he was delirious, and Mrs "Walsh
unfeignedly frightened.
Women almost invariably meet each other graciously in
times of sickness. The hostess and her guest had been rivals
—undiscovered rivals; nevertheless now that they had this
common interest they seemed to banish all memory of that
rivalship, and to incline towards one another as sisters might
have done, or rather as sisters are supposed to do by those of
limitless faith, but do not too frequently.
Frank's was a very brief access of delirium, that is to say,
he only stayed  out of his head as the domestics of Mrs
Walsh's establishment termed it, for a day and a night. But
the time, all brief as it was, had been quite long enough for
him to commit himself to the statement of sundry sentiments
which were quite new to his sister Charlie. They were new
in verbal form also to Mrs Walsh (who heard some of them
very undesignedly in the course of sundry missions of mercy
and assistance which she paid the sick-room,) but that they
were utterly unsuspected by that matron, after those passages
before the pictures, is more than can be stated in truth.
Charlie had brought down all the letters which had arrived
for Frank since his departure, and among them was one from
Walter Goring.  It has the San Francisco postmark upon
it. He has evidently left the wilds and has come down to
San Francisco; perhaps is on his way home, Charlie said,
as Mrs Walsh and herself stood investigating the envelope of
the letter late at night.
 How very glad your brother will be to see him home
again, Mrs Walsh remarked in reply.
"Yes, and how his return will improve your neighbour-
hood.
 I don't suppose he will be here much—just in the hunt-
ing and shooting season. But there'll be too many claims on
him in town for him to reside here altogether.
"Well, you know him much better than I do, Charlie
said, with a spasm of pain at the truth of her own words.
Morning and Evening.
407
"You're far better able to judge of what he will do than I
am.
 I have known him years—how many years longer—but
do I know him better, Mrs Fellowes?
 I think you do, Charlie replied, frankly.
 I think I do not, Mrs Walsh said, with equal frankness.
 I thought I knew him well,—knew him as well as I loved
him, until he wanted to marry Daisy; that staggered my own
faith in my knowledge of his character : she was unsuited to
him in every way.
 Do you think that the consideration of suitableness enters
into people's calculations when circumstances bring about
their marriage ?  Charlie asked.
Mrs Walsh remembered Charlie's marriage and her own,
and declined to give a decided opinion.
 Because I don't, the embyro philosopher went on.
 What men think about chiefly, I can't say; pleasing them-
selves, I suppose. But the majority of young women think
about everything save those contrasting or sympathetic points
in a man's character which are essential to happiness in a
close union. My own idea now is that if I couldn't take
extreme pleasure in a man's society and companionship under
any circumstances, that sense and decency demand that I
should utterly put down the possibility of marrying him.
This may seem a very mild statement of feeling till you think
about it, Mrs Walsh; but when you do think about it, say,
how many girls are actuated by it after all ? Girls take as
their husbands men with whom they would ridicule the idea
of forming intimate friendships. I know it.
 But, on the other hand, how many intimate friendships
we form with men whom we wouldn't marry on any con-
sideration ? 
"Yes—and that's redeeming, I allow; but my proposition
has a great deal too much truth about it, you '11 find, when
you come to consider. ISfow I must go to Frank.
' •' Let me sit up with you. What sorrow and trouble I
have been the means of causing you !
 Yes, you have, Charlie thought,  but not in the precise
way in which you mean it. Then she thanked Mrs Walsh
for her offer of sharing the vigil, and refused it, and went
away with Walter's letter in her hand to Frank's bedside.
408 Walter Goring.
The next morning Frank was better; well enough to break
the seal, and read his letter, and tell them coherently that
Walter announced his return. "We are to expect him by
the next mail—not the next, the one after, unless he's de-
layed, Frank said in the reverse of enthusiastic tones to his
sister; then Charlie passed the news along to Mrs Walsh,
and the two women, out of the intensity of their nervousness,
grew almost affectionate to one another while discussing it.
Ellen came over as Frank had dreaded, and was anxious
in a sisterly way about him.  I should like to see him, if
he's not bruised in the face, Charlie, she said, after greeting
the young widow.
 He's not bruised in the face, I assure you; but if you
have any doubts about your own nerves, don't go in: he's
suffering too much to be disturbed by other people's emotions.
 I don't so much mind what he suffers, if it doesn't
show, Ellen replied, candidly.
"How consistent you are, Ellen; always the same, dear.
I would venture to stake my life on what your expressed
feelings would be whenever you heard of anybody being hurt
or injured.
Ellen bridled her fair pretty little head with pleasure.
"Yes, she replied, "I always was dreadfully tender-hearted.
I can't bear the sight of blood, or anything nasty. I daresay
you don't mind it so much. You always were a little coarser
in your tastes. But really it is fortunate for Frank that you
don't mind, isn't it ? 
"Perhaps it is. Well, come in, Ellen. But mind I'll
turn you out the instant you air your delicacy of feeling. I
won't have Frank agitated.
Mrs Prescott was very far from being cold-hearted or ill-
natured. These are black qualities, and none of hers were
 put in  in anything but the most undecided neutral tints.
She was weak, that was all; therefore, at the sight of Frank
apparently helpless in bed, she showered down a soft spray
of tears, and said  he was unfortunate, always unfortunate!
dreadfully.
"Oh! this isn't so bad, he said, carelessly. "How's
Prescott ? 
"Very well—in health, Ellen replied, as if her husband
were very ill in something else.
Morning and Evening. 409
 Is he at The Hurst now ? 
"Yes, he's there; you don't want anything of him, do
you, Frank?
 I ? No, certainly not.
 Ah, I'm so glad. I told him I didn't think you would,
hut he was afraid your arm, you know, might prevent your
doing anything for a long time, and it put him out—upset
him.
 He's very good to be so considerate on Frank's account,
Charlie put in, rather haughtily.
"Yes, he is very good; I often think how lucky I was to
be settled and well provided for so young, while everything
has gone wrong with you and Frank; it makes me quite
wretched, quite low, when I think about you both often,
Ellen continued, with that delightful vivacity people do oc-
casionally display when discussing the sorrows of others.
 There's Frank, now, no further on in life, and with
not such good prospects as when he first went into the
navy; and you have to write for your living, Charlie; it
does seem hard.
 I think we've talked long enough to Frank now, Charlie
interrupted.
 No, Frank said, laughing.  Ellen's sympathy is so un-
commonly sweet that I d like to have more of it.
"We think you might have found time to call at The
Hurst, Frank, Mrs Prescott resumed, suddenly adopting an
injured tone. "You could go and see Mrs Foster, and drive
about with Mrs Walsh, but your own sister you couldn't
give an hour to. Don't you think Mrs Walsh is falling
off?
 Not a bit, Charlie replied. She heartily wished that she
could think Mrs Walsh less beautiful than of yore, but it was
not possible to do so.
 I suppose she's not likely to marry again—unless she
marries Mr Goring, after all? Ellen went on, meditat-
ively.
 After all what ?  Charlie questioned, sharply. The sup-
position was not a pleasant one for either Frank or herself,
she felt.
 Why, after all you know; there's one thing certain, she
can't marry unless the man has money.
4io
Walter Goring.
"Why not? Charlie was the speaker. Frank had
turned his face rather more to the wall.
 Oh, because her husband made that a proviso. Mr
Prescott saw the will when he was in town last; if she
marries again she loses her income.
 How unfair !—how abominably unjust!  Charlie cried,
indignantly.
 Mr. Prescott and I don't think so; his will is the
same.
 I think I should like to have a sleep now, if you won't
mind leaving me, Frank muttered, drowsily. Whereupon
his sisters left him—to sleep ?
Ho! not to sleep,—to think. Ellen was right. She had
spoken a bitter truth in her feeble inconsiderate way when
she said he was unlucky, and no further on in life than when
he had gone into the navy a mere boy. Hope fled from his
breast as he recalled the past and pictured the future. He
was stung to the soul, and all energy was crushed out of him.
Unconsciously he had nurtured the hope that when
Walter came home Charlie would reap her reward, and win
him, and that then Mrs Walsh might in time incline to
another love. Frank had determined to give Walter fair
play. He would take no mean advantage of his friend's
absence, he had told himself, but would just bide his time,
and if, when Walter came back, Charlie lost and his Guine-
vere won, he (Frank) would accept his defeats like a man.
If, on the other hand, Walter Goring gave unmistakable
evidence of its being only friendship pure and simple which
he had felt all along for his goddess, Frank would put his
fate to the touch, and seek her for his  wife  who had been
his  inspiration.
But now these resolves were broken up, sent to the winds
like chaff before the fell blast of Ellen's tidings. For him-
self he did not want the money; it would have been pleasant
to have it together with her of course, but it should have
been under her sole control. Nevertheless, though he did not
want the money, he felt that he could not ask her to forfeit
it by marrying him. Here, again, the gods favoured Goring;
he could make it up to her, what she lost would be as nothing
to what she would gain in becoming the mistress of Goring
Place. Luck was against him in every way.
Morning and Evening.
411
Lying there in a good deal of pain from his broken arm,
and a good deal more pain from his broken hopes, his future
looked a dreary dark blank before him.  The many fail,
in all things—especially in all branches of art.  It was
more than probable that he was among the ' many' destined
to do so—it would only be like his luck. Truly he had done
tolerably well, had made good progress heretofore, but it
wouldn't last, nothing did last with him. It was more than
likely such creative power as he had would fail him. Natur-
ally the public would get tired of his style. There were so
many better men than himself in the field that he could only
come in with the ruck. As it was, during the period of his
temporary popularity (he was convinced that it was only
temporary) he would have to waste his time and the little
talent he had in doing things that died with the day, and
would never make him a decent name. Whoever looked
twice at the pictorial part of a magazine ? Or, indeed, for
that matter, whoever looked twice at any part of a magazine?
He wished from the bottom of his heart that he had never
written those essays in which he. had sought to prove the
brilliantly original theory of what is good in itself being
acknowledged in time. He had written them when he was
in high spirits, when he was happy, when the day was
sufficient to him, before he had seen so much of Mrs Walsh,
in fact; and now they seemed like unto the brayings of an
idiotically contented and absurdly hopeful ass. There was
poor Charlie, too ! Wasn't her life one unceasing struggle
to seem happy and light-hearted, when he knew very well
that she wasn't so in reality ? The whole thing was a big
sham, and not worth keeping up any longer!  So things
looked to him in the morning. But in the evening they
brightened. John, the neglectful, who had omitted to take
Robin Hood up a hole or two, proved a capital valet.
Through his aid Frank inducted himself into his clothes, and
when he was dressed Mrs Walsh sent up a deputation in the
person of Charlie to ask him to come down into the drawing-
room.
He went down, and his hostess met him at the door, and
drove the will and its consequences out of his head by taking
his sound hand in both her own and welcoming him warmly.
She was out of her weeds, but she still wore black as a rule;
412
Walter Goring.
this night, however,  she regarded as a festival, she said,
and she had dressed for it accordingly. She was radiant in
her beauty, and her joy at seeing him down again, and her
white, soft, semi-transparent robe, girded in round the waist
with a silver cord. As Frank looked at her and listened to
her, he forgot his dark doubts of the morning, and felt that
he was safe to do ever so much in the world, and to succeed
brilliantly.
It was very pleasant to play the invalid under such
auspices. Mrs Walsh carried him his cup of tea as he sat in
one corner of the couch that was generally sacred to herself;
and she held the saucer for him while he took the tea in slow
sips, feasting his eyes the while on her beauty, over the brim
of the cup. She also readjusted his sling for him. Finally,
she made a proposition which nearly sent Frank off into
delirium again.
The night was very lovely; daylight had not quite died
out of the sky yet, and as they sat near to the open window,
the beauty of the evening and the fact of Charlie having had
no out-dor. r exercise that day struck Mrs Walsh, who accord-
ingly asked,—
"Now wouldn't you like to go out for a drive, Mrs Fel-
lowes ? it would do you good.
Frank's face fell; he thought he was to be deserted; but
it brightened presently, when Mrs Walsh added,—
"John should drive you round to The Hurst and to see
Mrs Foster, if you liked. I will stay with Mr St John, and
try not to let him feel dull while you 're away.
Charlie hesitated, but Frank decided.
 I think you ought to go and see the late Miss Dinah,
really, Charlie; and the air will do you good, dear.
So Charlie went, and Frank and Mrs Walsh were left
alone together.
For five or six minutes after the little excitement of watch-
ing Charlie drive off, there settled a calm and a silence down
upon them. Mrs Walsh began to wish she had not proposed
the drive ; Frank began to wish he had not seconded it. To
what end, he asked himself, was a tete-a-tete vouchsafed to
him when he could not in honour profit by it. Even if
there had been no Walter Goring in the case, he could not
ask a woman to give up liberty and plenty for penury and
Morning and Evening.
4*3
himself. The bare idea was preposterous; he could not be
so mean—he could not be such a fool—he could not presume
to reward her gracious condescension by such a niece of pre-
sumptuous madness.
His meditations were interrupted by her saying,—
"Don't be offended with me, Mr St John, when I tell you
that I'm perfectly surprised to see what a charming woman
your sister has grown, or become rather.
 Do you think she has ?  he replied.
He really could not take any intense interest in Charlie's
development at the moment.
"Yes, very. I didn't like her at one time—I don't know
why, but I did not—and she responded freely, I fancy; but
we understand each other better now, and are very good
friends. She is sure to marry again. You mustn't hope to
keep her with you.
 I hope she will marry again ; but I have heard her say
that she never will.
 That means nothing, Mrs Walsh said, quietly.
 In the majority of cases unquestionably it means no-
thing; but Charlie had a remarkably unpleasant experience,
remember. She married a wealthy, jovial, manly, frank
fellow, and in a few months he turned out a bankrupt,
drunken and ill-humoured. I never said a word against
my sister's husband to any one while he lived. I should
never say what I thought of him to her now, but I assure
you, it was the best news I had ever heard in my life when I
heard he was dead. She must have had an awful time of it;
not that' she howled or complained—she stood to her guns
gallantly—but I know she had an awful time of it.
"Yes; Walter Goring told me of one scene which he
witnessed the night of the auction at The Hurst, the first
time her husband stood a sot before her.
"She has never told me of it, Frank said.
 Mr Goring told me that the struggle between her refine-
ment and her sense of duty was an agonising thing to wit-
ness; he was very much impressed by it. I should have
thought that she was more likely to be swayed by feeling
than anything else; but she didn't allow herself to be so in
that instance, Walter said.
 Her feelings always sway her in the right direction,
414
Walter Goring.
Frank said, fondly;  still though I know that, I hope
when I leave her that it will be under a husband's protec-
tion.
 Leave her! Where are you going ? 
 That I hardly know myself, Mrs Walsh. I only know
that I must get away somewhere—because I dare not stay.
He spoke in an earnest, impassioned tone, fixing his eyes
full on her face as he spoke. She was sitting on a low chair
by the side of the little couch he occupied. As he said this
she put her hand up and rested her brow upon it, covering
her eyes by this means.
 Going away ? you too ! she said, softly;  though I
have known so little of you, I can't help feeling very sorry
that you should think of going away. I detest these dis-
solutions, she continued, suddenly rising and walking away
to the window.
 Dissolutions !  he repeated, echoing her last word.
 Yes, dissolutions; here just as Walter Goring is coming
home, you, the only man who has been much to him during
these later years, talk of going away. Walter had a reason
for going and trying to turn himself into a barbarian—a rea-
eon I appreciated; hut now that he is coming back sound
and quite recovered from all that sorrow and mortification—
coming back as he thinks to a hand of friends who will wel-
come him, and be about him as of old—why should you want
to be off ? 
She faced round as she asked it—fronted him fully in all
that  beauty such as never woman wore.
CHAPTER LIY.
 noxious vapouks.
She fronted him in all her beauty, reproaching him for
thinking of going away, and her doing so nearly sent all his
magnanimous determinations to be noble and miserable to
"Noxious Vapours 
415
the winds. Then he reminded himself that it was on Gor-
ing's account that she objected to the scheme—on Goring's
account entirely.  She's not one of those women who like
to see men wear their hearts upon their sleeves abjectly, he
thought;  she's not one to want to add any fellow to her
train of worshippers—she's had too many of them—that
isn't why she wants me to stay; she thinks about me so
little that she doesn't even see that I love her.
He was uncommonly blind, quite as blind as he gave her
credit for being. She did see how things had gone with the
handsome young artist. He had mad3 his state of mind
quite clear to her, and she was not ill disposed towards it.
His passionate admiration for her, and the chivalrous feelings
which kept him back from fully avowing the same were pa-
tent and pleasant to her. But she could not make any
further move in an encouraging direction. She had ap-
pealed against his determination to go away, and he had
reiterated that determination. There was an end to that, of
course.
It was rather hard work to go back to mere common
places immediately after the excitement into which they had
both been betrayed ; but she had perfect tact, and managed
it. She rang for lights, and every one knows how infallibly
the strongest thread of conversational interest is snapped by
the entrance of a servant, who disorganises the room, and
abolishes the light of heaven for the evening. By the time
the lamp was on the table and the blinds were down Mrs
Walsh and Frank were quite themselves again, toned down
to perfect safety for any number of hours' solitary confine-
ment together.
By-and-by Charlie came back from her drive, not at all
exhilarated by it, as those who had advised it had hoped
she would have been. Indeed it may be questioned whether
one ever is exhilarated by a visit, after a lengthened absence,
to old scenes and old acquaintances. When, after a period
of separation, one goes back to, or meets, old friends the
case is tvidely different; but friends are not plentifully
scattered over any one's path. The majority of people with
whom one meets are of that calibre that one doesn't much
care whether one ever meets them again or not. Therefore,
when they do turn up, either premeditately or unexpectedly,
416
Walter Goring.
one is apt to feel them to be uncommonly depressing and
burdensome.
On the most shallow pretext they will refer to old times.
They will go and dig in the mouldy past, and resuscitate the
most unpleasant memories. They will remind one of some-
thing, not so intolerable in itself perhaps, but that brings to
mind something else that is more than intolerable. They
will remark upon one's tenderest points—on the crow's-feet
of the maiden lady, who knows her last chance is going, if
not gone—on the gray hair that plentifully besprinkle the
raven locks of a past young Apollo—on the immutability of
one's prospects, which are no better and no worse than when
they met one last. They will enlarge upon the preposterous
prognostications that had been formed in the by-gone time
for one, and sigh over the falsification of the same. They
will remind one that as one was then, and is now, so one
will in all probability ever be in this world. They ruthlessly
(and undesignedly, which makes matters worse) brush away
the little bloom that is left, and knock down the few remain-
ing illusions. One can but ask,  What is the motive  of
all the striving, and struggling, and sorrow, and suspense
which, passed through, leaves one in precisely the same posi-
tion as before ? Many who read this passage on a gloomy
afternoon in November will ask themselves the same ques-
tion. Here I think is the answer.
Because the ordeal brings out the highest qualities, deve-
lops the noblest faculties. Patience, endurance, pluck, none
of these can have fair play while there is no opportunity for
their displayal. The circumstances which call forth these
qualities are not pleasant—if they were, the qualities wouldn't
be called forth; still they are as good and strengthening as a
dose of quinine or a dip in the sea when the chill of October
is on it. They brace. Life is fully worth all we suffer in it,
as we must all acknowledge, when we remember that on going
into partnership in the great firm of Humanity, we put no-
thing in. All that comes to us of joy or grief, of pain or
pleasure, is clear gain. We paid no premium. The majority
of howls against the all-pervading sorrow and sin of this fair
world are born of the cup that inebriates without cheering,
far more frequently than from sober conviction. There is
unfortunately too much of those sad alliterative twins, but
"Noxious Vapours.
417
inveighing against them in neatly turned sentences, or in
mellifluous verse, does little good.
There is a very bright side to life as well as the dark one
which has been so well worked by poets and romancists.
There is a great deal of literal, of moral, and of mental sun-
shine, abroad in this world, which art too often "renders
gloomily. Of course it "is not always May. What a bore
May would be if it were! But if we look for the light, we
can generally find it even in suicidal November—or dreary,
dark December. I have a perfect faith in change and alter-
natives. If one place is wearisome, go somewhere else. If
one thing does not answer expectation, try another. Every
one may not be able to avail themselves of the former piece
of advice, but the latter is at the command of all, from the
highest to the humblest. Work is an unfailing panacea for
every evil. Work induces hope, and assists digestion. It is
those who are drunk with idleness, not those who cannot
pause to dally, who find the world so dark, and life so
drear.
The story is so nearly told, that I have allowed myself this
digression without compunction. Moreover, the matter of it
is not utterly irrelevant to the declared subject. Mrs Fel-
lowes came back from her visit to old scenes and old familiar
faces considerably depressed, it was stated, as may be remem-
bered a few pages back. This depression was a natural con-
sequence of certain conditions to which the most prosperous
mortal may be subjected. In the first place, the heat of the
day and the confinement to the house had physically weak-
ened her. In the second place, she had been compelled to
sit for an hour in the society of a stupid well-meaning man,
(Mr Foster,) and a couple of women equally stupid, and per-
haps not equally well-meaning, who had no interest in com-
mon with her present all-engrossing pursuit, and no know-
ledge whatever of the place where she dwelt, or the people
with whom she mixed. This in itself would have been of no
consequence; but it became important when she was com-
mitted to sit amongst and converse with them for a time.
It is impossible for mediocre women to talk other than fool-
ishly or far too curiously on any social topics of which they
are utterly ignorant. Mrs Fellowes, senior, and Mrs Foster
were eminently mediocre—the word seemed to have been
418 Walter Goring.
made for them. They asked irritating little questions
about things that could not possibly concern them, and
they reverted to the old days with suppressed lamenta-
tions, and to the future in subdued tones that betokened
much doubt. Altogether, Charlie was conscious of her chin
having lengthened itself a little when she left them. They
had stolen over her like a fog—they, and the recollections of
the past.
Nor were matters brightened a bit when she reached The
Hurst—her old home—the sight of which made her think
rather kindly of the man who had lost it, and gone to dis-
traction for grief at that loss. Mr and Mrs Prescott were
sitting in the library, Ellen sitting at the still open window
with a little stand close to her on which stood a candle and
a plate of peaches. Ellen looked like a peach herself.
There was a bloom—a downy tender softness on her cheek
still. Not a line on her sweet, pretty face.  Time tries all
but Ellen, Charlie thought, as she looked at her sister.
Her brother-in-law was far less pleasant to behold. Mr
Prescott was sitting with a magazine in his hand, holding it
up behind a candle, the light of which was cast fully on his
face. Charlie saw at a glance that the magazine was one
of those for which Frank drew. Presently she discovered
that Mr Prescott was criticising one of Frank's draw-
ings.
Mr Prescott's canons of taste were by no means uncom-
mon. He liked what it was safe to like; what had received
the commendation of centuries, or at any rate of the preced-
ing generation. He would go and stand close up againsrt
Raphael's cartoons till each limb of each figure seemed a
monstrous deformity, and find them surpassingly beautiful.
He would view a Turner from that special point from which
it was nothing but a smudge, and declare it  glorious. But
he could see no good in the work of any young man without
a name.
He had no faith in aspirants.  Fulfilments, not pro-
mises, were the things, he was wont to say. The young
men who were upsetting tradition, and painting things as
they were, received no encouragement from that liberal patron
of art, Robert Prescott, Esq. He would have his walls
covered, but it should be with something that was  by, or at
"Noxious Vapours419
any rate  after, somebody of old, who eoifld never cast a sus-
picion on Mr Prescott's taste by failing prominently to sue-
ceed contemporaneously with himself. Need it be said that
he took a particularly hopeless view of his brother-in-law's
future. On the advent of every fresh magazine—or new
number, rather—bearing those now well-known initials,  P.
S. J. in the corner of the principal illustration, Mr Pres-
cott would inquire of his wife  what the good of it all was ? 
adding with a snarl that  that brother of hers wouldn't gain
either fame or fortune by drawing croquet mallets and neat
ancles. Ellen agreed with him, of course, and sighed for
half-a-second over Frank and his perversity.
When Charlie came in the evening, Mr Prescott put the
magazine down on the table before him, and gave it a fierce
little pat.
 It will be a long time before that brother of yours is
able to do even this sort of rubbish again ?  he asked, ad-
dressing Charlie.
Charlie by way of reply took off her hat, and held her
curly hair out to its extreme length, to let them see how
long it had grown again.
"I say that he won't be able to do any of this rubbish
again for a long time, Mr Prescott repeated.
 Do you think not ?  Charlie replied, unconcernedly.
Mr Prescott felt his gorge rising. If Frank had only de-
clared himself to be in an evil case, Mr Prescott felt that he
could have forgiven much. He didn't know what he had to
forgive exactly, but  much  sounded magnanimous and was
marginal, and he was ready to forgive it. But while Frank
—and Charlie for him—bore himself bravely, Mr Prescott
could neither forgive nor wish him well.
 I can tell him that when he finds his daubing a failure
he needn't look to me to repeat that offer I made him before
of a berth in the city, Mr Prescott said, testily.
 I don't think he '11 want it, Robert; and I'm certain he '11
never apply to you for it, Charlie replied.
 How's he to do without it, if his ' artistic talent' (Hr
Prescott tried a sneer and couldn't lift his lip) "fails him? I'm
speaking seriously, of a thing thatmay very possibly occur.
 Pray Heaven it won't, any more than all the share-s you
hold in everything may come to smash. However, Frank
420
Walter Goring.
and I have east in our lots together; while one of us can
work, the other won't want.
"Maudlin nonsense, Mr Prescott snorted contemptu-
ously ;  sounds very well just now before you have ' wanted;'
but I'd have you think, Charlie—I'd have you think.
 What about ?  she asked.
 What about ? why about what is to become of you both;
how you 're to live and be clothed and lodged; fine talking
and fraternal affection won't satisfy your tradesmen, I'm
thinking.
 Ah, don't try to dishearten me, Robert, she cried.
 I'm not. I'm only putting things before you in a plain
light; you 're not a girl any longer, unfortunately.
 Rather ' fortunately,' since I am compelled to shift for
myself, she interrupted' with a rising colour.
 Well, that's a matter of taste on your part; I said 'un-
fortunately' because there is no longer a chance of youi
marrying comfortably, and being provided for in a way that
will ease your friends of all anxiety on your account.''
She remembered the time at Brighton—the hints that she
had even before then received about establishing herself.
She could not quote the horrible experience of her married
life to these people, so she only said,—
 Putting that out of the question altogether, have you
any other unpleasant fact to put before me ? 
 No; I was only going to say that that maudlin nonsense
you were talking about Frank and you having cast in youi
lots together being all humbug, it would be well for you to
think seriously of what you '11 do in the event of his marry-
ing. Why doesn't he propose to Mrs Walsh?
If Mr Prescott had asked why Frank did not propose to
the Queen of Sheba, Mrs Fellowes could not have been more
astonished. She regarded Mrs Walsh as apportioned indis-
putably to Walter Goring—if Walter Goring chose to take
her.
 I really don't know. In the height of our ' maudlin
nonsense' we never question each other on such topics; be-
sides, Frank would never ask a woman to sacrifice for him—■
she would lose her property if she married.
 How do you know ? You 're very much mistaken.
 Ellen said so this morning.
"Noxious Vapours
421
 I'm sure I thought you said so, Robert, Ellen put in
deprecatingly.
"I said I should make it a condition of my widow's
marrying again, and that Walsh was a fool for not having
done so. Of course you made a mistake; you never do
comprehend if a fact and a suggestion are set before you at
the same time.
"Well, it's no consequence, Ellen said, blandly;  take a
peach. Mrs Walsh is sure to marry Mr Goring, so what does
it matter whether she loses her picture or not. I remember
once.I thought that he'd have proposed to you, Charlie.
 Really—when ?  Charlie asked; then a pang of annoy-
ance caused her to add,  considering that I was engaged the
second time I saw him and married the last, your reasons for
thinking so must be very sound.
 Ah, but it was the first time you saw him—how many
years ago it seems. Gracious! how you 're aged, and altered,
and 
"Dear Ellen, how exactly the same you are, Charlie
replied, rising and putting on her hat.  I must go back
now; Frank won't care to be late, and he '11 want to see me
before he goes to bed. We're off to town to-morrow, you
know; so I shall not see you again.
So with a general embrace, the pleasant evening at The
Hurst came to an end, and Charlie went back to Mrs
Walsh's, and when she arrived there was found to be not at
all exhilarated by her drive and visits.
There was no opportunity of repeating a word of this con-
versation to Frank that night. Indeed, she felt no desire to
do so. It had been very unimportant in reality, so far as
she knew. All it was worth, in fact, was the further insight
it had afforded her into a character of which she had known
quite enough before. She determined to keep it till she was
quite cool, and then recount it to Frank and make him
laugh. As a study from real life, it might not be utterly
valueless to them both.
The next morning Frank's arm was pronounced fit to
travel, and Mrs Walsh lost her guests, and Deneham its
choicest gossip. Frank and his sister went back to the
semi-detached house in the secluded road, and Mrs Walsh
found Deneham duller than ever.
422
Walter Goring.
The talk about the old familiar topics had touched some
long silent strings, and caused her to long to be free of that
old world again; to be once more within ear-shot of the
jargon with which she had sometimes declared herself to be
bored while Ralph lived. These are interests that can never
be' dropped entirely when once one has had a large share in
them, and the wives of men who are eminent or earnest in
any branch of art have a far larger share in their more
aesthetic interests than outsiders imagine. The wife hears
the best passages when they first drip from the pen ; she sees
the favourable review, and points it out to him before any
one else thinks of looking for it; she is his guiding star in
all matters of costume, and indeed in all that is good and at
the same time feminine in his book, or most correct in
modern costume in his pictures. After the never-ceasing
excitement of such a life, it is almost impossible for a woman
to settle down contentedly to a career of middle-class nothing-
ness. Mrs Walsh tasted blood in conversing with Frank
St John. She hungered and thirsted for more when he was
withdrawn, and there was no one left with whom she could
go on conversing in a similar manner.
 I was never meant to live an idle, albeit godly, life down
in the country, she said to herself, laughing and shaking her
head, after thinking long and earnestly about these and
sundry other things the night of her guests' departure.  I
wonder if it's to be my fate to be seized with restlessness
now, and like the Paradise bird, never to find a resting-place?
I can't go on living here—of that I'm sure. I should die of
myself in a few months. What a horrible vacuum agreeable
people leave, to be sure—in that Mr St John would see the
law of compensation at work again. He ought to do some-
thing brilliant with that power of his.  He's one of the
men who would be disheartened by prudent recommendations
to plod, but who might be incited to do something splendid
by one who understood him. The painting and the poetry
of that ' Guinevere' are equally good; if he had only learnt
drawing before he did it, it would have been superb ; as it is,
in the cant phrase, it's full of promise, and shows that he
will take a foremost place amongst modern painters. How
proud "—
She checked her reflections by rising up abruptly as she
"Noxious Vapours.
423
recalled the fixed determination she had read in his eyes not
to speak the love that lived in them. He had adored her too
openly the first day—the day they drove to Goring Place—
for his after scruples, whatever they might he founded upon,
to he justifiable. "Pythias won't interfere with the bird
notoriously winged by Damon, she thought scornfully.  I
daresay Walter is conceited enough to believe that no amount
of his indifference is capable of curing me, and possibly has
breathed this belief into his friend's ears ; if it wasn't that,
what could have come over the man ? 
What will the "only love theorists think of all this?
That it is untrue to nature ? or that I viciously choose to de-
pict a bad type of woman ? Either supposition is equally
incorrect, as any one will find who can contrive to extract
the truth from the best women whom it is his happiness to
know. If Walter Goring had come home before this meet-
ing with Frank, Mrs Walsh would never have wavered; but
Walter Goring had not done so, and Mrs Walsh was con-
scious of wavering considerably. Frank had stood a far
better chance with the beautiful widow than he had imagined
even in the maddest moments of his delirium.
It must be acknowledged that the long-contemplated tour
through the western counties proved a mistake. They began
to feel dull at Dawlish before they had been there two days.
Then they moved to a village at some little distance inland,
and hired the ponies according to programme, and regularly
for the first three days of going out upon them, got wet
through. Charlie had repeated that conversation which has
been already detailed, which she had had with Eobert Pres-
cott; and from the moment of her doing so Frank grew more
restless and gloomy than she had ever seen him before. He
thought now, that had he only known this before he left
Deneham, he would not have left Deneham in doubt; but
after having behaved in the  idiotically undecided way I did
when she said she was sorry I thought of going away, can't
go back or write : it would look like an after-thought, and
she wouldn't stand that; the game's gone. Goring, as usual,
will have the luck.
By way of improving his own spirits and rendering himself
agreeable to Charlie, Frank took to discussing the possibility
that was so odious to them both very freely about this junc-
424
Walter Goring.
ture.  Probably we shall not see Goring when he first
arrives ; naturally he will go straight away to Deneham, he
would say: and Charlie, though she did not think it at all
natural that Goring should so conduct himself, was compelled
to agree, because she had not the'spirit to differ.
Dull as they found it—mistake though their riding tour
was—they stayed away from London till the beginning of
November, partly because Charlie dreaded the interval that
must elapse between their going home and Walter Goring's
return. But at the beginning of November they were com-
pelled to go back in order to answer certain professional calls
that were made upon them.
Once since leaving Deneham Charlie had written a sort of
note of recognition for services rendered and kindnesses re-
ceived to Mrs Walsh, and Mrs Walsh had replied to it civilly
and briefly, and then the correspondence had ended. But
they heard from Ellen that the widow was still down at her
cottage, but that she had—such was the report—determined
to give it up after the next quarter.
 Sharp measures, Frank growled.  Of course she won't
want the cottage when she has Goring Place. But she's
shaking off her old shell betimes.
The time was drawing very near for Walter's return. The
housekeeper at Goring Place reorganised her staff, and the
gardeners made frantic efforts to get the grounds into such
order before the master's return as should induce that gentle-
man to believe that they had never been neglected. Mrs
Walsh robbed her own conservatory of the best flowers for the
adornment of the room that had been Daisy's, in order that
Walter might feel that neither he nor the dead Daisy were for-
gotten when he came home. The steward wanted to have
something like a triumphal arch erected, and something like
a procession of the tenantry and villagers formed to welcome
back the Squire. But this Mrs Walsh—to whom the steward
confided his desires—negatived strongly.  I am sure Mr
Goring would hate it, she said;  consider, it will be his
first visit to the old place since his cousin's death, and he was
very fond. I know Mr Goring so well that I may venture
to say that he will be far better pleased to be received as
quietly as possible. The steward assented to her amendment
quietly enough while in her presence, but he went away and
"Noxious Vapours
425
grumbled at her interference.  She's a proud one, she is,
he said to the select many to whom he had confided his
triumphal-arch hopes ;  when she's married to the master
we shall have to mind what we 're about, or my lady will have
us out in no time.
Up in'town amongst those with whom we have to do, there
was equal excitement. The long-looked-for had come.
Frank found the announcement of Walter's being in London
awaiting him in "a note at his club one evening, and Frank
rushed home with the tidings.
 Goring is home !  he exclaimed.
 Oh, is he ?  Charlie replied.  I am sure you 're very
glad.
 And are you not very glad, Charlie dear ? 
Frank asked it very seriously. The sudden light which
had flashed all over his sister's face when he told her that
Goring was home, proved to him plainly that Goring waa
very much to Charlie; so much, indeed, that Goring's mar-
riage with Mrs Walsh would be as bitter a misery to Charlie
as it would be to himself. Could that silly little Ellen have
been speaking the truth, when she said that they were always
unlucky ?  I've had my share of ill-luck, surely, he
thought dejectedly ;  but this will be the worst of all; and
I might have won her that night, if I hadn't been an ass and
believed Ellen's gossip.
When Frank asked,  And are you not glad, Charlie
dear ?  Charlie replied:  I hardly know; it's two years and
a half since I saw him—he may have forgotten me now !
Frank laughed.  Have it your own way ; I suppose it
gives women pleasure to nurse such imaginative unpleasant-
nesses, or they wouldn't do it. Why on earth should he have
forgotten you ? Or how on earth could he, when he always
mentions you in his letters to "me, and I always mention you
in my letters to him ? 
 You never told me either fact, Frank, she said in a
slightly injured tone; but the news though late was very
welcome.
From that hour till the hour of seeing Walter Goring,
young Mrs Fellowes lived in a mental maze, and was conscious
of it, and only quite alive to the fact of its being just as well
not to make it patent to her brother that she was doing so.
426
Walter Gorhig.
She was very impatient and very anxious. She was well
aware that they had been very sympathetic to one another.
She knew that Walter had taken a great deal of pleasure in
her society, even when he was engaged to the younger,
prettier, more exciting Daisy—even when that wonderfully
beautiful Mrs Walsh was attainable. But she also knew very
well that a man may take a great deal of pleasure in the so-
ciety of a woman who likes, admires, and appreciates him,
without any feeling stronger than friendship reigning in his
breast the while. She knew that he may be sympathetic,
and that the very openness with which he makes manifest
that he is so, is no proof of his being nothing more. She
was very impatient to see him; but very doubtful whether
that sight would bring more to her than confirmation strong
that she had sighed for that moon who smiled on so many
brooks, and that the stars were unpropitious.
The best panacea for impatience—for every form of mental
ill, indeed—is work. It is utterly impossible to be down-
hearted when you are striving to be as coherent, amusing, 01
engrossing as it is in you to be on paper. If Mariana in the
South had only been fortunate enough to get upon the staff
of some of the magazines of the day, she would have ceased
to be so very weary. She could not have cared so much
about his coming while she was making copy; and respite
from wretched reflection is a great good gained. Charlie
believed in this all-potent panacea, and worked a good many
hours that day. Laboured through some pages of Chaucer,
at Frank's instigation at first, and then read him for love of
those subtle, delicate, quaint conceits—those turns of expres-
sion which cannot but enrich the vocabulary of the most
careless reader: read the "Faery Queen with a gleam of
understanding, thanks to Frank; and so managed to pass
the time away that necessarily intervened between that note
of return being sounded, and Walter's coming to them, with-
out falling a victim to that sick prostration of soul which is
the common lot of the woman who fondly loves the man who
is coming to her—and to her rival.
She had been out a good deal since her return to town.
The visiting had come about 'gradually. Frank had a good
many friends, and was a very good-looking man. The
natural result of this combination was, that he was invited
"Noxious Vapours. 427
out a great deal; and as he would not go without his sister,
she doffed her deep widow's weeds and went out with him.
Moreover, she was sought on her own account, as being not
alone a pretty, fascinating woman, hut as the author of a
book that had succeeded, and that augured well for her
future success. And she revelled in these recognitions of
what she' had done, and of what she was expected to do, and
went forward, as was her wont, gladly, to meet any hand
held out to her in honest, unpatronising kindness. She
went once more, in fact, into the society of which she had had
glimpses in the Walshes' house long ago, but, as was natural,
on a very different footing.
Altogether it had been a happy time. The friendship
that exists between a brother and sister is as fine and thorough
a one as can be formed between any brace of human beings.
It is untainted by the jealousies and misgivings which assail
the subtler union between husband and wife. It is stronger
than any possible bond between sisters, and warmer than the
friendship of man. And the best of it is, that if it was
cemented in childhood, however it may be in seeming, nothing
can destroy it in fact. In boyhood's scrapes and manhood's
troubles a sister is sure to be a sympathetic confidante,
though she may be sorry enough for the matter confided;
while for the girl, a brother is the best, the only ally.
Frank and Charlie were friends after this pattern. She
was proud of him—proud of his handsome face, and his
debonaire bearing; proud of his popularity with women, of
his invariable success with them, at the same time that his
frank manliness made him well reputed amongst men. She
was proud of his talent too ; of the ease with which he was
winning his spurs in two fields of art. In short, she was
proud of him altogether, and especially proud of his pride in
her.
She got more fun out of society when he was with her.
Those hours that one spends on London staircases, or gasping
in the doorway with a ghastly smile ready prepared to let off
at your hostess and impress her with the fact of your being
there and liking it when she is good enough to glance at you,
those hours are all their length occasionally, when you have
no sympathetic child, of misfortune near to give back smile
for smile. But when her brother was with her, Charlie was
428
Walter Goring.
sure to get all that could he got out of the gathering. They
were both very quick to see, as became artists ; their corres-
pondence was perfect, and their memories were 'good. On
the whole they owed a good deal to society.
It happened on the day after Walter Goring came home
that they were going to an at-home at a house familiarly
known as the  Menagerie. Walter Goring had called on
them the night of his arrival, but they were out and missed
him. However, he left a note stating that he had met the
husband of the lady who was  at home on the following
night, at his club, and that he had pledged himself to go to
the Menagerie, where he hoped to meet them.
When night came, Charlie, who had succeeded in keeping
apparently quiet during the day, gave up the attempt, and
got away to her own room  to dress, she said.  What do
you want to be hours dressing for ?  her brother asked—he
was finishing a drawing on wood—and thought it  would
be quite soon enough if they got to Mrs Drayton's at eleven.
A-s a rule, Charlie thought so too; but Walter Goring
might go and come away again before that; she could not
stand it.
 Oh, Frank, let me go at ten—do! Mrs Drayton says
we 're always late, and I don't want her to think me affected
about it.
 Who cares what she thinks ? No; wait for me, Charlie
dear.
 Not till eleven, Frank; I can't.
 Why can't you ?  he asked, wonderingly, looking up at
her as she stood playing with the door-handle.
 I have nothing to do but dress, and when I'm dressed I
think it odious to sit at home ever so long with bare shoulders
and flowers in my hair.
"You needn't bare your shoulders or put flowers in your
hair. I think you look nicer when you do neither, Frank
replied; after the manner of men, he had some weak theory
about simplicity and beauty unadorned.
 Let us compromise then, she said, laughing;  I '11
meet.you half-way—half-past ten—will you go then? 
"Yes, I'll go then, he said; and then Charlie got away
without further inquiries as to the cause for hurrying being
made of her.
"Noxious Vapours. 429
At iialf-past ten they reached Mrs Drayton's, and had the
satisfaction of finding themselves amongst the earliest.
 This is very lively and pleasant, Frank whispered to his
sister as he followed her up to the reception-room;  there's
a thin sound flowing through the doorway that warns me
that those of my fellow-creatures already assembled are con-
scious of feeling hideously conspicuous. This is your doing,
Charlie; you wanted to come in with the lamps.
 Never mind, Charlie pleaded;  we can go the sooner.
There was the half-guilty look on the faces of those already
there when Charlie and Frank came in, of being very clearly
outlived, and also of feeling very "glad that some others had
come to share the sensation. The centre of the room was a
barren waste, and the sides were but delicately fringed. A
noble-minded girl was taking off her gloves towards the piano,
and the hostess was wildly introducing people who did not
want to be introduced.  So glad you 're come, she ex-
claimed, holding out her hand to Frank.  Mr Goring, the
author of that delightful book on California, has promised to
come in; and you 've been there, haven't you ? You can
talk over your different experiences. Frank tried hard to
look as if he saw the humour of this happy speech being
made to the artist of the book eulogised, when Charlie laughed
about it afterwards, but he did not quite succeed some way
or other.
Time dragged on; the rooms filled and overflowed on to
the staircase, but still the author of that delightful work on
California did not make his appearance.  He has gone
down to the place to see Mrs Walsh, she thought, some-
times; and when she could banish that worst dread another
assailed her.  When he comes I shall be lost in the crowd,
and he won't see me; or I shall be fastened upon by some
bore, and he will be too polite to drive him away.
At last the floor seemed to surge up to the ceiling and the
ceiling to come down to the floor, and the faces around her
grew indistinct, and their voices sounded far away, and her
heart thumped audibly, as Walter Goring came in and saw
her and made straight for her at once, with the old look in
his eyes as he bent down to speak to her, with the old warmth
in the hand which she put hers into so gladly, with the old
tone in the voice that said,—
430
Walter Goring.
 Tlie sight of you makes me realise that I'm at home
again ; nothing else could have done it. Where's Frank ? 
 Here, somewhere in the room, she replied, and she
trembled a little as she spoke. Two or three people stand-
ing near to them scented a flirtation immediately with the
acuteness that marks the by-standing mind. They did not
know that it was long past that stage with one of them at
least, if not with both.
He took her hand and placed it on his arm.  Let us get
out of this ; it's much cooler and clearer outside on the stair-
case; besides, some one is going to play, and I agree with
Keats, ' Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are
sweeter.'
They made their way out into a comparatively quiet spot,
and then she, finding that she could not stand steady any
longer, sat down on the top stair, and a few who were near
to them, moved farther off judiciously.
 You look as you did the first time I saw you at Mrs
Walsh's, he said, bending down;  have you forgotten
it?
 No. I thought you would have gone down to Mrs
Walsh's at once.
 I shall go soon. I shall be glad to see her, and she'll
be glad to see me; but there's no hurry about it. Long ago
it might have been different, but somehow it wasn't different;
now I perfectly understand. You remember the ' Knight of
Toggenburg ? '
"Yes; what of it?
 He sat down in the damp and died when she told him,
* Knight, a sister's quiet love gives my heart to thee.' I'm
not going to die under the knowledge that my dearest old
friend can give me no more, Charlie.
The words, the words she had longed to hear for so long a
time, were on his lips almost, but at the moment Mrs Dray-
ton came up with a little red-faced man, who looked like one
smile.
 My dear Mrs Fellowes, the hostess began,  do let me
introduce Mr Moore to you; then, in a whisper,  a re-
markably clever young man—the author of an admirable
work on ' Noxious Vapours.' I knew you'd like to know
him.
"Noxious Vapours.
431
Wliat banes people are who won't let their guests find
bliss according to their lights, especially when those lights
lead them into sequestered nooks on staircases.
The talented author of  Noxious Vapours was a tremen-
dous bore to poor Charlie; but so Anacreon or Sidney
Smith would have been at the moment. Mrs Drayton had
carried Mr Goring back with her, however; so Charlie had
nothing for it but to endure the man of science and his
smiles.  He looked as if he had been buttered, she said
afterwards to her brother;  'Noxious Vapours' is without
exception the most odious specimen of learndom I've seen
yet.
It happened, unfortunately, that "Noxious Vapours
thought kinder things of the young novelist than she did of
him. He was one of those hapless men who never know
when a woman is bored; and who, clever though they are,
never know how to avoid boring her. So he held her in the
leash of his conversation till there was a move made to go
down and have champagne cup and ices. Then Walter Goring
went back to her, and somehow or other Mr Moore, the
talented author of  Noxious Vapours, saw through his own
dazzling smiles that he was not wanted. And when Charlie
left the Menagerie that night she was as happy as even an
animal with a lot to eat and nothing on its mind can be.
She was marvellously happy for a human being—with a
happiness that stood every chance of lasting, for she felt that
she was forgiven that first false marriage vow; her sharp,
weary duty-time had been accepted as partial expiation.
She had lived down the consequences of her first mistake,
and was to be rewarded for a certain struggle, to endure the
consequences of that mistake—a struggle which she had
made unceasingly, though she had been sometimes worsted—
a struggle during which she had humbled herself very much,
and suffered very much, and thought and repented very much
—a struggle during the continuance of which she had learnt
that the means do not justify the end, and that though
 there is a Providence that shapes our ends, rough-hew them
as we will, that we must not hew them carelessly and rely
on luck making all things straight for us. She was rewarded
for that struggle after long years by being asked to marry a
man who loved her, and whom she loved. As she came
432
Walter Goring.
down to her carriage that night, leaning on the arm of an-
other than her brother for the first time for many months,
she felt that the clouds had cleared away from her life, and
that the stars which were shining above did not make the
sky half so bright as did the love Walter Goring was throw-
ing over it make her future.
So the end came in a crowd, after all. No, not the end,
the beginning. We romance writers err wofully in this, that
we drop the lives of our young people generally just when
they are richest in promise. The  end had not come to
Walter and Charlie when they pledged themselves to each
other, any more than it had to Mrs Walsh when she heard
of that pledging.  I loved your husband very much from
the hour he came to me with his first disappointment in
literature, she said to Charlie some time afterwards,  and
I love him still very dearly: but Frank would have put him
out of my head, even if you had not put me out of Walter's.
That picture of Frank's had a mission, undoubtedly I
THE END.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
GALL & INGLIS' SELECT LIBRARY,
Price 5s. each.
La. Crown 8vo cloth, gilt, illustrated.
Ronald Morton; or, Fire Ships, Kingston.
Cruise of the Frolic, . . Kingston.
Milicent Courtenay, . . Kingston.
History of British Navy, . Kingston.
Tales of the Borders, . . Wilson.
Great Names in History, . Adams.
Price 3s. 6d. each.
Crown 8vo cloth, gilt, illustrated.
Ernest Bracebridge, . . Kingston.
Boy's Own Book of Boats, . Kingston.
Ranger and Crusader Ships, Kingston.
Robinson Crusoe, . De Foe.
Swiss Family Robinson, . Kampe.
Sandford and Merton, . . Day.
Gulliver's Travels,. . . Swift.
Arabian Nights Entertainments.
Don Quixote Cervantes.
Heroism of Boyhood, . . Martin.
Stories of English History, . S. C. Hall.
Book of Trades, . . . Wylde.
Voyage of Constance, . . Gillies.
Life among the Indians, . Catlin.
Last Ramble among Indians, Catlin.
Clever Girls, .... Johnson.
Clever Boys Johnson.
Round the Minster Green, . A. R. Hope
Pilgrim's Progress. Notes by Inglis. 1
Wonders and Beauties of Creation.
Price 3s. each.
Sm. Crown 8vo cloth, gilt, illustrated.
An Eden in England, . . A. L. 0. E.
Gems of Womanhood, . . Mossman.
Noble Dames, .... Edgar.
Boy Crusaders, . . ' . Edgar.
Boy Princes Edgar.
A Boy's Adventures, . . Stewart.
Men at the Helm, . . . Adams.
3s. Series—continued.
Dick Onslow among Indians, Kingston.
Our Untitled Nobility, . . Tillotson.
The Printer Boy, . . . Thayer.
Terrapin Island, . . Mrs. Cupples.
The Sea and Famous Sailors, Goodrich.
Boyhood of Martin Luther, Mayhew.
Life of Sir Isaac Newton, . Brewster.
Heroes of Maritime Discovery, Adams.
Tales of Borders. Vol.L, . Wilson.
Tales of Borders. Vol. II., . Wilson.
Men who were Earnest.
Noble Traits of Kingly Men.
Price 2s. 6d. each.
Sm. Croicn 8vo cloth, gilt, illustrated.
A. L. O. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. 0. E.
A. L. O. E.
Hope.
Bouchier.
Johnson.
Kingston.
Caldwell.
Martin.
Martin.
Martin.
Barreau.
The White Bear's Den, .
Life in the Eagle's Nest,
The Lake of the Woods,
Christian Love and Loyalty,
Ned Franks, .
Sheer Off, .
A Braid of Cords, .
The Silver Keys, .
Seven Perils Passed,
Tales of Chivalry Re-told, .
How the Battle was Won, .
Brave Women,
Tales of the Sea, .
Art of Doing our Best, .
Chimney Corner Stories,
Adventures of a Sailor Boy,
Holiday Keepsake,.
Tales of Filial Love,
Martyrs & Heroes, Covenant, Gilfillan.
Traditions of Covenanters,. Simpson.
Old Favourite Tales, . . Howitt.
Birds of Song Adams.
The Elements of Success, for Young Men.
Life and its Purposes, for Young Ladies.
Favourite Fairy Tales.
Modern Christian Biography.
DEAN RAMSAY'S MEMOIR AND REMINISCENCES OF
Scottish Life and Character. Red Line Edition. 26th Edition, Crown 8vo, cloth, 0 6 0
Ditto. Reminiscences. Cheap Edition. Paper boards, 2s.; cloth, . . .026
SKETCHES OF HIGHLAND CHARACTER, with Seven
Full-Page Engravings by W. Ralston. Sm. 4to, . . . . .010
Ditto. Cheap Edition (without Engravings), Paper Cover, . . . .006
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS, Family Edition,
in one volume, with Eight Full-page original Steel Engravings. Demy 8vo, 928 pp.,
handsomely bound in cloth, gilt edges, . . . . . .076
THE CONSTELLATIONS AND HOW TO FIND THEM,
during each month of any year. A Popular and Simple Guide to a Knowledge
of the Starry Heavens, containing 13 Maps, showing the Position of the
Constellations in the Sky, with a Description of each Map. By William Peck.
Demy 4to, enamelled boards, . '. . . . . .026
Gall & Inglis; London', 25 Paternoster Sq., & Edinburgh.
Manuscript, Archives,
and Rare book Library
EMORY UNIVERSITY
iuuuu o (iuwiuui tiumpieie roeucai works.
COLERIDGE'S Poetical Works.
TUPPER'S (Martin F.) Select Miscellaneous Poems.
SACRED Gleanings from the Poets: Extracts in Chrono-
logical Order, from Two Hundred and Fifty of the Sacred
Poets of all Countries, with Short Notices of the Authors.
HEMANS' Poetical Works.
GEMS from Great Authors (Prose), selected by John Tillotson.
London
Edinburgh,
.p^AIi^^NEWS'
fV8 =>.. „ beat describe it by saying,
*h ~es pra: tical direcLi"us for
m-kini. tC:> uousewife,
tct},
<r',fS BOOK.
One 4 rEi . says:
"Gof-a advice and counsel,and valuable
receipts aad other instructir^k, occupy
the pages. Mistress an. servant may
alike *urn it to practical account.
DY MANUALS.
•Ye
(Sj^uunend
' vok I
treats of some
hundreds of
things ^»^nect-
ed with th'
ho.'t,p!i<..d, to oil j ^
COM PILED AND EDITED BY
MRS. VAJjENTINE.
y junr- wot.
* en
A GATHERING O#
i Useful Information in Household Matters,
' '
Taste, Duties, Study, eto., eto.
WITH PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATION^.
FREDERICK WARNE 2, CO.,
BEDFORD STREET, STRAND.
 Amongst
the innumerable
subjects about '
which much ex-
cellent advice
and information
is given we find
useful receipts,,
receipts for mak-
ing home pretty, j
economy, hints i
on looking nice,
needles and
thread, lacework,
knitting, crochet,
tatting, netting,
accidents with
their remedies,
laundress, max-
ims for tho sick-
room, domestic
service, dress,
oooking, pet
birds, and gar-
dening."—Cowt
Journal.
.
THESIS
Y3UNC WOMAN'S BOOK.
: The work is quite a mine of advice
m'
and instruction, on every possible sub
iect the study of which tends to make
; j oung 'woman what she should be
i:» he own family—the sunshine of
houib "—Edinburgh Courant.
THE
YOUNG WOMAN'S BOOK.
"All that young woman require to
kn^tv to make the home aad ita but-
rouudings beautiful and comfortable ia
here treated of."—Norfolk New*.
 A good book for any young woman.
—Plymouth Mercury.