THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN FROM AN ISLAND A STORY AND SOME ESSAYS. BY MISS THACKERAY, (^ ^ -.vn ^/ an Island, 2 1 8 FROM AN ISLAND. seeing this tall over-dressed and over-bearing young person going about the world with her two startled attendants and her hunters. Lady Jane had not the smallest sense of humour or feeling for art: at least, this latter faculty had never been cultivated, though she had furnished her boudoir with bran new damask and sprawling gilt legs, and dressed herself in the same style; and had had her picture taken by some travelling artist — a pastille all frame and rose-coloured chalk — which hung up over her chimney, smirking at a rose, to the amusement of some of her visitors. Lady Jane's notion of artists and art was mainly formed upon this trophy, and by what she had seen of the artist who had produced it. Lady Clem used to say that Jane was a born old maid, and would never marry; but everybody was not of that opinion. Lady Jane had been made a great deal of at Scudamore Castle, especially by a certain Captain Sigourney, who had been staying there, a nephew of Lady Scudamore's, — tall, dark, interesting, in want of money, notwith- standing his many accomplishments. Poor Tom Sigour- ney had been for many years a hanger-on at Scudamore. They were extremely tired of him, knew his words, looks, tones by heart. Handsome as he undoubtedly was-, there was something indescribably wearisome about him after the first introduction — a certain gentle drawl and prose that irritated some people. But Lady Jane was immensely taken by him. His deference pleased her. She was not insensible to the respectful flattery with which he listened to every word she spoke. Tom Sigourney said she was a fine spirited girl, and Lady Scudamore seized the happy occasion — urged Tom forward, made much of Lady Jane. "Poor girl! FROM AN ISLAND. I 9 she needs a protector," said Lady Scudamore gravely to her daughters. At which the young ladies burst out laughing. "Can you fancy Tom Sigourney taking care of anybody?" they cried. Lady Mountmore arrived unexpectedly, and the whole little fabric was destroyed. Sigourney, who had not much impudence, was driven off the field by the elder lady's impertinences. Lady Jane was indignant, and declared she should not stay any longer under the same roof as her step-mother. Lady Scudamore did not press her to remain. She had not time to attend to her any longer or to family dissensions; but she did write a few words to Tom, telling him of Lady Jane's movements, and then made it up with Lady Mountmore all the more cordially that she felt she had not been quite loyal to her in sending off this little missive. The little steamer starts for Tarmouth in a crowd and excitement of rolling barrels and oxen driven and plunging sheep in barges. The people come and look over the side of the wooden pier and talk to the cap- tain at his wheel. Afternoon rays stream slant, and the island glistens across the straits, and the rocks stand out in the water; limpid waters beat against the rocks, and toss the buoys and splash against the busy little tug; one or two ' oil-barges make way. Idlers and a child or two in the way of the half-dozen pas- sengers are called upon by name to stand aside on this occasion. There are two country dames returning from market; friend Hexham in an excitement about his van, which is to follow in a barge: and there is a languid dark handsome gentleman talking to a grandly 2* 20 FROM AN ISLAND. dressed lady whose attendants have been piling up wraps and "Times" and dressing-cases and umbrellas. "Let me hold this for you, it will tire you," said the gentleman, tenderly taking "The Times" out of her hand; "are you resting? I thought I would try and meet you, and see if I could save you from fatigue. My aunt Scudamore told me you were coming this way. There, that is where my people live; that white house among the trees." "It is a nice place," said Lady Jane. The rocks were coming nearer, and the island was brightening to life and colour, and the quaint old bricks and terraces of Tarmouth were beginning to show. There was a great ship in the distance sliding out to sea, and a couple of gulls flew overhead. "Before I retired from the service," said Sigourney, "I was quartered at Portsmouth. I knew this coast well; that is Tarmouth opposite, and that is — ah, 'm — a pretty place, and an uncommon pretty girl at the hotel." "How am I to get to these people if they have not sent to meet me, I wonder?" interrupted Lady Jane, rather absently. "Leave that to me," said Captain Sigourney; "I am perfectly at home here, and I will order a fly. They all know me, and if they are not engaged they will always come for me. You go to the inn. I order you a cup of tea, and one for your maid. I see a fast horse put up into a trap, and start you straight off." "Oh, Captain Sigourney, I am very much obliged," said Lady Jane; and so the artless conversation went on. FROM AN ISLAND. 21 At Tarmouth the ingenious captain would not let her ask whose was a carriage she saw standing there, nor take one of the two usual flys in waiting, but he made her turn into the inn until a special fast horse, with whose paces he was well acquainted, could be harnessed. This took a long time; but Lady Jane, excited by the novelty of the adventure, calmly enjoyed her afternoon tea and devotion, and sat on the horse- hair sofa of the little inn, admiring the stuffed carp and cuttle-fish on the walls, and listening with a charmed ear to Tom's reminiscences of the time when he was quartered at Portsmouth. The fast horse did not go much quicker than his predecessors, and Lady Jane arrived at the Lodges about an hour after Hexham, and at the same time as his great photographic van. III. They were all strolling along the cliffs towards the beacon. It stood upon the summit of High Down, a long way off as yet, though it seemed close at hand, so clearly did it stand out in the still atmosphere of the sunset. It stood there stiff and black upon its knoll, an old weather-beaten stick with a creaking coop for a crown, the pivot round which most of this little story turns. For when these holiday people travelled away out of its reach, they also passed out of my ken. We could see the beacon from most of our windows, through all the autumnal clematis and ivy sprays falling and drifting about. The children loved the beacon, and their little lives were one per- 22 FROM AN ISLAND. petual struggle to reach it, in despite of winds, of time of meals, of tutors and lessons. The elders, too, loved it after their fashion. Had they not come and established themselves under the shadow of High Down, where it had stood as long as the oldest in- habitant could remember! Lord Ulleskelf, in his yacht out at sea, was always glad to see the familiar old stubby finger rising up out of the mist. My cousin, St. Julian the R.A., had made a strange rough sketch of it, and of his wife and her eldest daughter sitting beneath it; and a sea, and a cloud horizon, grey, green, mysterious beyond. He had painted a drapery over their heads, and young Emilia's arms round the stem. It was a terrible little picture Emilia the mother thought when she saw it, and she begged her husband to turn its face to the wall in his studio. "Don't you see how limpid the water is, and how the mist is transparent and drifting before the wind?" St. Julian said. "Why do you object, you perverse woman?" The wife didn't answer, but her soft cheeks flushed. Emilia the daughter spoke, a little frightened. "They are like mourners, papa," she whispered. St. Julian shrugged his shoulders at them. "And this is a painter's wife!" he cried; "and a painter's daughter!" But he put the picture away, for he was too tender to pain them, and it lay now forgotten in a closet. This was two years ago, before Emilia was married, or had come home with her little son during her husband's absence. She was carrying the child in her arms as she toiled up the hill in company with the others, a tender bright flush in her face. Her little Bevis thinks it is he who is carrying "Mozzer," FROM AN ISLAND. 2$ as he clutches her tight round the neck with his two little arms. I suppose nobody ever reached the top of a high cliff without some momentary feeling of elation, — so much left behind, so much achieved. There you stand at peace, glowing with exertion, raised far above the din of the world. They were gazing as they came along (for it is only of an island that I am writing) at the great sight of shining waters, of smiling fertile fields and country; and of distant waters again, that separated them from the pale glimmering coast of the mainland. The straits, which lie between the island and Broadshire, are not deserted as is the horizon on the other side (it lies calm, and tossing, and self-suf- ficing); but the straits are crowded and alive with boats and white sails: ships go sliding past, yachts drift, and great brigs slowly travel in tow of the tiny steamer that crosses and recrosses the water with letters and provisions, and comers and goers and guests to Ulles Hall and to the Lodges, where St. Julian and his family live all through the summer- time; and where some of us indeed remain the whole year round. The little procession comes winding up the down, Lord Ulleskelf and the painter walking first, in broad- brimmed hats and coats fashioned in the island, of a somewhat looser and more comfortable cut than Lon- don coats. The tutor is with them. Mr. Hexham, too, is with them; as I can see, a little puzzled by the ways of us islanders. As St. Julian talks his eyes flash, and he puts out one hand to emphasize what he is saying. He is not calm and self-contained as one might imagine so great 24 FROM AN ISLAND. a painter, but a man of strong convictions, alive to every life about him and to every event. His cordial heart and bright artistic nature are quickly touched and moved. He believes in his own genius, grasps at life as it passes and translates it into a strange quaint re- velation of his own, and brings others into his way of seeing things almost by magic. But his charm is almost irresistible, and he knows it, and likes to know it. The time that he is best himself is when he is at his painting; his brown eyes are alight in his pale face, his thick grey hair stands on end; he is a middle- aged man, broad, firmly-knit with a curly grey beard, active, mighty in his kingdom. He lets people in to his sacred temple; but he makes them put their shoes off, so to speak, and will allow no word of criticism except from one or two. In a moment his thick brows knit, and the master turns upon the unlucky victim. The old tutor had a special and unlucky knack of exciting St. Julian's ire. He teaches the boys as he taught St. Julian in bygone days, but he cannot forget that he is not always St. Julian's tutor, and constantly stings and irritates him with his caustic disappointed old wits. But St. Julian bears it all with admirable impatience for the sake of old days and of age and misfortune. As they all climb the hill together on this special day, the fathers go walking first, then comes a pretty rout of maidens and children, and Hexham's tall dark head among them. Little Missie goes wandering by the edge of the cliff, with her long gleaming locks hanging in ripples not unlike those of the sea. The two elder girls had come out with some bright-coloured FROM AN ISLAND. 2$ scarves tied round their necks; but finding them op- pressive, they had pulled them off, and given them to the boys to carry. These scarves were now banners streaming in the air as the boys attacked a tumulus, where the peaceful bones of the bygone Danish in- vaders were lying buried. The gay young voices echo across the heather calling to each other. Hester comes last with Mrs. William — Hester with the mysterious sweet eyes and crown of soft hair. It is not very thick, but like a dark yet gleaming cloud about her pretty head. She is quite pale, but her lips are bright carnation red, and when she smiles she blushes. Hester is tall, as are all her sisters. Aileen is walking a little ahead with Mrs. William's children, and driving them away from the edge of the cliff, towards which these little moths seem perpetually buzzing. The sun begins to set in a strange wild glory, and the light to flow along the heights; all these people look to one another like beatified men and women. Ulleskelf and St. Julian cease their discussion at last, and stand looking seawards. "Look at that band of fire on the sea," said Lord Ulleskelf. "What a wonderful evening," said St. Julian. "Hester, are you there?" Hester was there, with sweet, wondering, sunset eyes. Her father put his hand fondly on her shoulder. There was a sympathy between the two which was very touching; they liked to admire together, to praise together. In sorrow or trouble St. Julian looked for his wife, in happiness he instinctively seemed to turn to his favourite daughter. 26 FROM AN ISLAND. Hester's charm did not always strike people at first sight. She was like some of those sweet simple tunes which haunt you after you have heard them, or like some of those flowers of which the faint delicate scent only comes to you when you have waited for an instant. Hexham, for instance, until now had admired Mrs. Beverley infinitely more than he did her sister. He thought Miss St. Julian handsome certainly, but charm- less; whereas the sweet, gentle young mother, whose wistful eyes seemed looking beyond the sunset, and trying in vain to reach the distant world where her husband would presently see it rise, appealed to every manly feeling in his nature. But as the father and daughter turned to each other, something in the girl's face — a dim reflex light from the pure bright soul within — seemed to touch him , to disclose a something, I cannot tell you what. It seemed to Hexham as if the scales had fallen suddenly from his eyes, and as if in that instant Hester was revealed to him. She moved on a little way with two of the children who had joined her. The young man followed her with his eyes, and almost started when some one spoke to him. . . As St. Julian walked on, he began mechanically to turn over possible effects and combinations in his mind. The great colourist understood better than any other, how to lay his colours, luminous, harmonious, shining with the real light of nature, for they were in conformity to her laws; and suddenly he spoke, turn- ing to Hexham, who was a photographer, as I have said, and who indeed was now travelling gipsy fashion, in search of subjects for his camera. . . FROM AN TST.AND. 2"] "In many things," he said, "my art can equal yours, but how helpless Ave both are when we look at such scenes as these. It makes me sometimes mad to think that I am only a man with oil-pots attempting to reproduce such wonders." "Fortunately they will reproduce themselves whe- ther you succeed or not," said the tutor. St. Julian looked at him with his bright eyes. The old man had spoken quite simply , he did not mean to be rude, — and the painter was silent. "My art is 'a game half of skill, half of chance,'" said Hexham. "When both these divinities favour me 1 shall begin to think myself repaid for the time and the money and the chemicals I have wasted." "Have you ever tried to photograph figures in a full blaze of light?" Lord Ulleskelf asked, looking at Aileen, who was standing with some of the children by Hester. They were shading their eyes from a bright stream that was playing like a halo about their In .ids. There was something unconscious and lovely in the little group, with their white draperies and flowing locks. A bunch of illumined berries and trailing creepers hung from little Susan's hair: the light of youth and of life, the sweet wondering eyes, all went to make a more beautiful picture than graces or models could ever attain to. St. Julian looked and smiled with Lord Ulleskelf. Hexham answered, a little distractedly, that he should like to show Lord Ulleskelf the attempt he had once made. "Nature is a very uncertain sort of assistant," he added; "and I, too, might exclaim, 'Oh, that I am but a man, with a bit of yellow paper 28 FROM AN ISLAND. across my window, and a row of bottles on a shelf, trying to evoke life from the film upon my glasses !" : "I think you are all of you talking very profanely," said Lord Ulleskelf, "before all these children, and in such a sight as this. But I shall be very glad to come down and look at your photographs, Mr. Hexham, to- morrow morning," he added, fearing the young man might be hurt by his tone. The firebrand in the still rippled sea turned from flame to silver as the light changed and ebbed. The light on the sea seemed dimmer, but then the land caught fire in turn, and trees and downs and distant roof-tops blazed in this great illumination, and the shadows fell black upon the turf. Here Mrs. William began complaining in a plain- tive tone of voice that she was tired, and I offered to go back with her. Everybody indeed was on the move, but we two took a shorter cut, while the others went home with Lord Ulleskelf, turning down by a turn of the down towards the lane that leads to Ulles Hall. And so, having climbed up with some toil and effort to that beautiful height, we all began to descend once more into the everyday of life, and turn from glowing seas and calm sailing clouds to the thought of cutlets and chickens. The girls had taken back their scarves and were running down hill. Aileen was carrying one of Mrs. William's children, Emilia had her little Bevis in her arms, Hester was holding by her father's arm as they came back rather silent, but satisfied and happy. The sounds from the village be- low began to reach us, and the lights in the cottages and houses to twinkle; the cliffs rose higher and FROM AN ISLAND. 20, higher as we descended our different ways. The old beacon stood out black against the ruddy sky: a moon began to hang in the high faint heaven, and a bright star to pierce through the daylight. Ulles Hall stands on the way from Tarmouth to the Lodges: it is a lovely old house standing among woods in a hollow, and blown by sea-breezes that come through pine-stems and sweet green glades, starred with primroses in spring, and sprinkled with russet leaves in autumn. The Lodges where St. Julian lives are built a mile nearer to the sea. Houses built on the roadside, but inclosed by tall banks and hedges, and with long green gardens running to the down. They have been built piece by piece. It would be difficult to describe them: a gable here, a Avooden gallery thatched, a window twinkling in a bed of ivy, hanging creepers, clematis and loveliest Virginian sprays reddening and drinking in the western light and reflecting it undimmed in their beautiful scarlet veins — scarlet gold melting into green: one of the rooms streams with light like light through stained windows of a church.* * A little child passing by in the road looked up one day at the Lodges, and said , "Oh, what pretty leaf houses I Oh, mother, do let us live there, I think the robins must have made them." "I think that is where we arc going to, Missie," said the mother. She was a poor young widowed cousin of St. Julian's. She came for a time , but they took her in and never let her go again out of the leaf house. She stayed and became a sort of friend, chaperone, governess, and housekeeper of these kind and tender-friends and relations; if she were to attempt to set down here all that she owes to them, to their warm, cordial hearts, and bright , sweet natures, it would make a story apart from the one she has in her mind to write to-day. 30 FROM AN ISLAND. IV. As I reached the door with Mrs. William, I saw a bustle of some sort, a fly, some boxes, a man, a maid, a tall lady of about seven or eight and twenty, dressed in the very height of fashion, with a very tall hat and feather, whom I guessed at once to be Lady Jane. Mrs. William, who has not the good manners of the rest of the family, shrunk back a little, saying,— "I really cannot face her: it's that Lady Jane;" but at that moment Lady Jane, who was talking in a loud querulous tone, suddenly ceased, and turned round. "Here is Mrs. St. Julian," said the fly-man; "she always give somethin' for the driver;" and my dear mistress came out into the garden to receive her guest. "I am so glad you have come," I heard her say quietly; "we had given you up — are you tired? Come in. Let the servant see to your luggage." She put out her white gentle hand, and I was amused to see Lady Jane's undisguised look of surprise: she had ex- pected to meet with some bustling, good-humoured housekeeper. Bevis had always praised his mother- in-law to her, but Lady Jane had a way of not always listening to what people said, as she rambled on in her own fashion: and now, having fully made up her mind as to the sort of person Mrs. St. Julian would be, Lady Jane felt slightly aggrieved at her utter dissimi- larity to her preconceptions. She followed her into the house, with her high hat stuck upon the top of her tall head, walking in a slightly defiant manner. FROM AN IST.AND. 3 I "I thought Emilia would have been here to receive me," said Lady Jane, not over pleased. "I sent her out," the mother said. "I thought you would let me be your hostess for an hour. Will you come up into my room?" Mrs. St. Julian led the way into the drawing-room, where Lady Jane sank down into a chair, crossing her topboots and shaking out her skirts. "I am afraid there was a mistake about meeting you," said the hostess; "the carriage went, but only brought back Mr. Hexham and a message that you were not there." "I fortunately met a friend on board," said Lady Jane, hurriedly. "He got me a fly; thank you, it did not signify." Lady Jane was not anxious to enter into par- ticulars, and when Mrs. St. Julian went on to ask how it was she had had to wait so long, the young lady abruptly said something about afternoon tea, asked to see her room and to speak to her maid. "Will you come back to me when you have given your orders?" said Mrs. St. Julian. "My cousin, Mrs. Campbell, will show you the way." Lady Jane, with a haughty nod to poor Mrs. Camp- bell, followed with her high head up the quaint wooden stairs along the gallery, with its odd windows and slits, and china, and ornaments. "This is your room; I hope you will find it com- fortable," said the housekeeper, opening a door, through which came a flood of light. "Is that for my maid?" asked Lady Jane, pointing to a large and very comfortably furnished room just opposite to her own door. 2,2 FROM AN ISLAND. "That room is Mr. Hexham's," said Mrs. Campbell; "your maid's room leads out of your dressing-room." The arrangement seemed obvious, but Lady Jane was not quite in a temper to be pleased. "Is it comfortable, Pritchard? Shall you be able to work there? I must speak about it if you are not comfortable." Pritchard was a person who did not like to commit herself. Not that she wished to complain, but she should prefer her ladyship to judge; it was not for her to say. She looked so mysterious that Lady Jane ran up the little winding stair that led to the turret, and found a little white curtained chamber, with a pleasant, bright look-out over land and sea. "Why, this is a delightful room, Pritchard," said Lady Jane. "I should like it myself; it is most com- fortable." "Yes, my lady, I thought it was highly comfort- able," said Pritchard; "but it was not for me to ven- ture to say so." Lady Jane was a little afraid of Mrs. St. Julian's questionings. To tell the truth, she felt that she had been somewhat imprudent; and though she was a person of mature age and independence, yet she was not willing to resign entirely all pretensions to youth- ful dependence, and she was determined if possible not to mention Sigourney's name to her entertainers. Having frizzed up her curling red locks, with Mrs. Pritchard's assistance, shaken out her short skirts, added a few more bracelets, tied on a coroneted locket, and girded in her tight silver waistband, she prepared to return to her hostess and her tea. She felt exces- sively ill-used by Emilia's absence, but, as I have said, FROM AN ISLAND. $$ dared not complain for fear of more questions as to the cause of her delay. All along the passage were more odds and ends, paintings, pictures, sketches framed, a cabinet or two full of china. Lady Jane was too much used to the ways of the world to mistake the real merit of this heterogeneous collection; but she supposed that the artists made the things up, or perhaps sold them again to advantage, and that there was some meaning which would be presently explained for it all. What most impressed Lady Jane with a feeling of respect for the inhabitants of the house was a huge Scotch sheep-dog, who came slowly down the gallery to meet her, and then passed on with a snuff and a wag of his tail. The door of the mistress's room, as it was called, was open; and as Lady Jane followed her conductress in, she found a second five-o'clock tea and a table spread with rolls and country butter and home-made cake. A stream of western light was flowing through the room and out into the gallery beyond, where the old majolica plates flashed in the glitter of its sparkle. The mistress herself was standing with her back turned, looking out through the window across the sea, and trying to compose herself before she asked a question she had very near at heart. Lady Jane remained waiting, feeling for once a little shy, and not knowing exactly what to do next, for Mrs. Campbell, who was not without a certain amount of feminine malice, stood meekly until Lady Jane should take the lead. The young lady was not accustomed to deal with inferiors who did not exactly behave as such, and though inwardly indignant, she did not quite know how to resent the indifference with From an Island. 3 34 FROM AN ISLAND. which she considered she was treated. She tossed her head, and at last said, not in the most conciliatory- voice, "I suppose I may take some tea, Mrs. St. Julian?" The sight of the sweet pale face turning round at her question softened her tone. Mrs. St. Julian came slowly forward, and began to push a chair with her white feeble hands, evidently so unfit for such work that Jane, who was kind-hearted, sprang forward, lockets, top boots, and all, to prevent her. "You had much better sit down yourself," said she, good- naturedly. "I thought you looked ill just now, though I had never seen you in my life before. Let me pour out the tea." Mrs. St. Julian softened, too, in the other's unex- pected heartiness and kindness. "I had something to say to you. I think it upset me a little. I heard — I feared" — she said, nervously hesitating. "Lady Jane, did you hear from your brother — from Bevis — by the last mail? . . . Emmy does not know the mail is in. ... I have been a little anxious for her," and Mrs. St. Julian changed colour. "Certainly I heard," said Lady Jane; "or at least my father did. Bevis wanted some money raised. Why were you so anxious, Mrs. St. Julian?" asked Lady Jane, with a slightly amused look in her face. It was really too absurd to have these people making scenes and alarms when she was perfectly at her ease. "I am thankful you have heard," said Mrs. St. Julian, with a sudden flush and brightness in her wan face, which made Lady Jane open her eyes in wonder. "Do you care so much?" said she, a little puzzled. "I am glad that I do not belong to an anxious family. I am very like Bevis, they say; and I know there is FROM AN ISLAND. 35 nothing that he dislikes so much as a fuss about no- thing." "I know it," said Mrs. St. Julian. "He is very good and kind to bear with my foolish alarms, and I wonder, — could you, — would you too, — forgive me for my foolishness, Lady Jane, if I were to ask you a great favour? Do you think I might see that letter to your father? I cannot tell you what a relief it would be to me. I told you Emilia does not know that the mail is in; and if — if she might learn it by seeing in his own handwriting that Bevis was Avell, I think it would make all the difference to her, poor child." There was something in the elder lady's gentle persistence which struck the young one as odd, and yet touching; and although she was much inclined to refuse, from a usual habit of contradiction, she did not know how to do so when it came to the point. "I'll write to my father," said Lady Jane, with a little laugh. "I have no doubt he will let you see the letter since you wish it so much." "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Julian, "and for the good news you have given me; and I will now confess to you," she added, smiling, "that I sent Emmy out on purpose that I might have this little talk. Are you rested? Will you come into the garden with me for a little?" Lady Jane was touched by the sweet maternal man- ner of the elder woman, and followed quite meekly and kindly. As the two ladies were pacing the garden- walk they were joined by the housekeeper and by' Mrs. William, with her little dribble of small talk. Many of the windows of the Lodges were alight. The light from without still painted the creepers, the 3' 36 FROM AN ISLAND. lights from within were coming and going, and the gleams were falling upon the ivy-leaves here and there. One-half of the place was in shadow, and the western side in daylight still. There was a sweet rush of scent from the sweet-briars and clematis. It seemed to hang in the still evening air. Underneath the hedges, bright- coloured flowers seemed suddenly starting out of the twilight, while above, in the lingering daylight, the red berries sparkled and caught the stray limpid rays. There was a sound of sea-waves washing the not distant beach; a fisherman or two, and soldiers from the little fort, were strolling along the road, and peer- ing in as they passed the bright little homes. The doors were wide open, and now and then a figure passed, a servant, Mrs. Campbell, who was always coming and going; William, the eldest son, leaving the house; he had been at work all day. The walking-party came up so silently that they were there in the garden almost before the others had heard them: a beloved crowd, exclaiming, dispersing again. It was a pretty sight to see the meetings: little Susan running straight to her father, William St. Julian. He adored his little round-eyed daughter, and imme- diately carried her off in his arms. Little Missie, too, got hold of her mother's hand, while Lady Jane was admiring Bevis, and being greeted by the rest of the party, and introduced to those whom she did not al- ready know. "We had quite given you up, dear Jane," said Emilia, wistfully gazing and trying to see some look of big Bevis in his sister's face. "How I wish I had stayed; but you had mamma." prom \\ island: 37 "We gave you up," said Hester, "when Mr. Hexham came without you . . ." "I now find I had the honour of travelling with Lady Jane," said Hexham, looking amused, and making a little bow. Lady Jane turned her back upon Mr. Hexham. She had taken a great dislike to him on board the boat; she had noticed him looking at her once or twice, and at Captain Sigourney. She found it a very good plan and always turned her back upon people she did not like. It checked any familiarity. It was much better to do so at once, and let them see what their proper place was. If people of a certain position in the world did not keep others in their proper places, there was no knowing what familiarity might not ensue. And then she ran back to little Bevis again, and lifted him up, struggling. Bevis would gladly have turned his back if he could. "Lady Jane Beverley has something military about her," said Hexham to Mrs. Campbell. As he spoke a great loud bell began to ring, and with a gentle chorus of exclamations, the ladies began to disperse to dress for dinner. "You know your way, Mr. Hexham," said Mrs. Campbell, pointing. "Go through that side-door, and straight up and along the gallery." Mrs. St. Julian had put her ami into her hus- band's, and walked a little way with him towards the house. "Henry," she said, "thank heaven, all is well. Lord Mountmore heard from his son by this mail. Lady Jane has promised to show me the letter: she had heard nothing of that dreadful report." 38 FROM AN ISLAND. "It was not likely," St. Julian said; "Ulleskelf only saw the paper by chance. I am glad you were so dis- creet, my dear." "I should like to make a picture of them," said Hexham to the housekeeper, looking back once more before he hurried into the house. The two were standing at the threshold of their home, Mrs. Julian leaning upon her husband's arm: the strong keen-faced man with his bright gallant bearing, and the wife with her soft and feminine looks fixed upon him as she bent anxiously to catch his glance. She was as tall as he was: for St. Julian was a middle-sized man, and Mrs. St. Julian was tall for a woman. Meanwhile Hexham, who was not familiar with the ways of the house, and who took time at his toilet, ran upstairs, hastily passed his own door, went along a passage, up a staircase, down a staircase. . . He found himself in the dusky garden again, where the lights were almost put out by this time, though all the flowers were glimmering, and scenting, and awake still. There was a red streak in the sky; all the people had vanished, but turning round he saw — he blinked his eyes at the sight — a white figure standing, visionary, mystical, in the very centre of a bed of tall lilies, in a soft gloom of evening light. Was it a vision? For the first time in his life Hexham felt a little strangely; and as if he could believe in the super-nature which he sometimes had scoffed at, the young man made one step forward and stopped again. "It is I, Mr. Hexham," said a shy clear voice. "I came to find some flowers for Emilia." It was Hester's voice. Surely some kindly providence sets true lovers' way in plea- FROM AN ISLAND. 39 sant places; and all they do and say has a grace of its own which they impart to all inanimate things. The evening, the sweet stillness, the trembling garden hedges, the fields beyond, the sweet girlish tinkle of Hester's voice, made Hexham feel for the first time in his life as if he was standing in a living shrine, and as if he ought to fall down on his knees and worship. "Can I help you?" he. said. "Miss Hester, may I have a flower for my button-hole?" "There are nothing but big lilies," said the voice. 40 FROM AN ISLAND. PART II. V. In writing this little episode I have tried to put to- gether one thing and another — to describe some scenes that I saw myself, and some that Avere described to me. My window looks out upon the garden, and is just over the great bed of lilies. I shut it down, and began to dress for dinner, with a dim feeling al- ready of what the future might have in store, and a half-conscious consciousness of what was passing in the minds of the people all about. For some days past Mrs. St. Julian's anxious face had seemed to follow me about the room. Emilia, Hexham, Hester, even Lady Jane, each seemed to strike a note, in my present excited and receptive state of mind. It is one for which there is no name, but which few people have not experienced. I dressed quickly, the dark corners of my room seemed looming at me, and it was with an odd anxious conviction of disturbance at hand that I hurried down along the gallery to the drawing-room, where we assembled be- fore dinner. On my way I met Emilia on the stairs, in her white dinner dress, with a soft white knitted shawl drawn closely round her. She slid her little chill hand through my arm, and asked me why I FROM AN ISLAND. 4 I looked so pale. Dear soft little woman, she seemed of us all the most tender and disarming. Even sor- row and desolation, I thought, should be vanquished by her sweetness. And perhaps I was right when I thought so. We were not the last. Hester followed us. She was dressed in a floating gauze dress, and she had one great white lily in her dark hair. "It is a great deal too big, Hester," cried Mrs. William; but I thought I had never seen her more charming. "How much better mamma is looking," Hester said that evening at dinner, and as she spoke she glanced at her mother sitting at the head of the long table in the tall carved chair. When the party was large, and the sons of the house at home, we dined in an old disused studio of St. Julian's: a great wooden room, unpapered and raftered, with a tressel-table of the painter's designing, and half-finished frescos and sketches hanging upon the walls. There was a high wooden chimney and an old-fashioned glass reflecting the scene, the table, the people, the crimson drugget, of which a square covered the boards. In everything St. Julian touched there was a broad quaint stamp of his own, and his room had been inhabited and altered by him. Two rough hanging lamps from the rafter lit up the long white table, and the cups of red berries and green leaves with which I had attempted to dress it. There was something almost patriarchal in this little assembly: the father at the end of the table, the sons and daugh- ters all round. William and his wife by Mrs. St. Julian, and pretty Hester sitting by her father. Lady Jane was established at her other hand. St. Julian 42 FROM AN ISLAND. had taken her in. He had asked her a few questions at first, specially about the letter she had received from Bevis, but carefully, so that Emilia should not overhear them. "He seemed to be enjoying himself," said Lady Jane. "He was talking of going on a shooting-party a little way up the river if he could get through his work in time." She did not notice St. Julian's grave look as she spoke, and went on in her usual fashion. I remember she was giving him one person's views on art and an- other's, and her own, and describing the pastille she had had done. St. Julian looked graver and graver, and more impatient as she went on. Patience was not his strong point. "How long does it take you to paint a picture, Mr. St. Julian?" Lady Jane asked. "I wish I could paint, and I'm sure I wish Beverley could, for he can- not manage upon his allowance at all. How nice it must be to take up a brush and — paint cheques, in fact, as you do. Clem can sketch wonderfully quickly; she took off Lord Scudamore capitally. Of course she would not choose to sketch for money, but artists have said they would gladly offer large sums for her paint- ings. Do your daughters help you?" enquired poor Lady Jane, affably feeling that she was suiting her conversation to her company. "Do you ever do cari- catures?" "We will talk about painting, Lady Jane, when you have been here some days longer," said St. Julian. "You had better ask the girls any questions you may wish to have answered, and get them, if possible, to give you some idea of the world we live in." FROM AN ISLAND, 43 To poor Lady Jane's utter amazement, St. Julian then began talking to Hexham across the table, and signed to his wife to move immediately after dinner was over. We all went back walking across the garden to the drawing-room, for the night was fine, and the little covered way was for bad weather. Some of us sat in the verandah. It was a bright starry evening. A great bright planet was rising from behind the sweeping down. The lights from the wooden room were shining too. Lady Jane presently seemed to get tired of listening to poor Mrs. William's nursery retrospections — Mary Amies, and Sarahs, and tea and sugar, and what Mrs. Mickleman had said when she parted from her nursery-maid; and what Mrs. William herself meant to say to the girl when she got home on Monday; not that Mrs. William was dis- posed to rely entirely upon Mrs. Mickleman, who was certainly given to exaggerate,