» t C H9 *i i » (ia i n i M.»ii;: i '. UC-NRLF B 3 3E7 SEb THE HEIB OF THE AGES THE HEIE OF THE AGES BT JAMES PAYN AUTHOR OF 'BY PBOXX' EXO. A NEW EDITION LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 1887 iAll rightt reterved} LOAN STACK ml NOTE The two poems, entitled ' The Children ' and ' On an Old Harpsi- chord,' ascribed to Matthew Meyrick in this novel, were written by a lad who died many years ago of consumption, before he attained his majority. I never knew him personally — our relation being only that of editor and contributor — ^but judging from his letters, no less than from his verses, I am weU convinced that in him his country lost a genius. The poems in q^uestion were written, I believe, in his nineteenth year. 649 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGH I. The Doctoe's Fiat ....... 1 II. Jeffersoit 8 III. The Interview 15 IV. At Dinner 20 V. Sorcery . . . . . . . . . ^1 VI. Jefferson asks a Favour . , . ... 32 VII. The Start 88 VIII. Coursing . . . . . . . . . 43 IX. Confidence . 60 X. 'The Boy' 66 XI. Compromised 64 XII. The Journey . 73 XIII. At the Look-out 81 XIV. KoGER Leyden 89 XV. On Battle Hill . 97 XVI. Criticism 103 XVII. Literature 109 XVIII. The Horoscope 117 XIX. An Editor .123 XX. Good News 130 XXI. An Unwelcome Visitor 137 XXIL On the Pier 142 XXIII. The Confederates 150 XXIV. TiTANIA 168 XXV. Sent for . . . 164 VI 11 CONTENTS CHAPTER PACK XXVI. Oftside the Window 170 XXVII. A Ttten of the Tide 178 XXVIII. OoifGEATFLATIONS 188 XXIX. A New Departuee 195 XXX. In the Maetlebone Road .... 202 XXXI. A Visitor . . 210 XXXII. In Haeewood Square 218 XXXIII. Editor and Oonteibutor 225 XXXIV. 'The Public Good' ...... 233 XXXV. A Half Confidence . . . . . . 243 XXXVI. 'Opinions in Stories' . . . . . 250 XXXVII. A Chance Meeting 255 XXXVIII. After-dinner Critics 261 XXXIX. Revisited . 268 XL. The Secret . . . . . . .276 XLI. A Deal 282 XLII. CONGEATULiTED 290 XLIII. The Shadow in the Sunshine . ... 294 XLIV. Me. Leyden's Representative .... 300 XLV. * I HAVE done you wrong ' , . . . . 306 XL VI. Raising the Wind 313 XLVII. An Explanation . . . . . . . 320 XLVIII. Telling the News 327 XLIX. At the Duchess's 333 L. Struck Down 340 LI. Disappointed Hope ...... 347 LIL The Heir of the Ages • • • . . 362 THE HEIE OF THE AGES CHAPTER I. THE DOCTOE'S fiat. If there is one attitude above all others that, in an Englishman at least, betokens personal complacency, and the sense of being monarch of all he surveys, it is the standing on his own hearthrug with his legs slightly apart, his back to the fire, and his coat-tails under his arms. Neither sculptor nor painter, so far as I know, has transferred this particular pose to marble or canvas — perhaps from the impossibility of in- cluding within it the whole human form divine — but there is nothing equal to it in the way of characteristic significance. The head is thrown carelessly back, the shoulder-blades rest lightly on the edge of the mantelpiece, and the expression of the face is that of supreme content and undisputed authority. Under these favourable circumstances, Mr. Christopher Melburn, of Burrow Hall, Justice of the Peace for Downshire, is introduced to the reader's notice. He is a tall, handsome, and strikingly aristocratic-looking man of sixty years old or so, but bearing that ' bouquet ' of years as lightly as though it were a single flower. His fine grey eyes have not lost their fire, nor do they stand in need of glasses to read the smallest type in which his magisterial doings are chronicled in the local paper ; if his brow is slightly furrowed, it is not by time so much as by a certain chronic disapproval of the turn things are taking in the world — ' opening of flood-gates, tampering with vested interests and the sacred ark of the Constitution,' B c/9 2 THE HEIR OF THE AGES &c. &c., for he is a Whig of the old school : neither in his frame nor face is there the slightest sign of decadence or of giving way to anything or anybody. When he speaks of one of the many misfortunes which are about to befall his country, he always adds, * I shall not live to see it,' but not with that patriotic and unselfish air with which the observation is gene- rally made ; his tone would rather lead you to miderstand that while Christopher Melburn is alive his country is safe, but that when he shall be gathered to his fathers (an event, how^ever, not to occur just now by any means) the last barrier to sweeping change will have been swept away, and after that the Deluge. In some persons the thoughts of so terrible a catastrophe taking place for certain after their demise would have affected their spirits, but this gentleman's nature was cast in too heroic a mould to be disturbed by considerations of that kind. If it had been possible for an idea of Mr. Melburn 's to have taken so vague a shape, I think that some such formula as * serve them right ' would have expressed his views upon the genera- tion that would succeed him. If he had been elected for the county when he stood for it — instead of his having thrown away twenty thousand pounds he could ill afford in the dirt, and on the dirt, in that vain endeavour — he would have made a figure in Parliament, have attained a place in the Cabinet, and possibly changed the aspect of the whole political horizon from dark to light ; but since the talents which Heaven had given him had been ignored, and his patriotic aspirations unappreciated, then Downshire and the world must take the consequences. They had rejected an opportunity which certainly was not likely, looking at the state of his finances, to occur again. He was a power still, and no small one ; but that more extended sphere of usefulness to which he had looked forward (in company with a baronetcy if not a peerage) had been denied him by his fellow-countrymen, and so much the worse for them. In his own opinion, however, which nothing could shake, Christopher Melburn was as great a man as ever ; and in his own house, and on his own hearthrug, could still regard matters with much complacency. The appearance of things about him was indeed of a nature to inspire this feeling. The apartment in which he stood, his private sanctum — ' study ' he called it, though its array of books was limited — was a handsome one ; and the view from the great bay window — for the other 3 and smaller one only looked out upon the carriage sweep — was very extensive. In the foreground was a garden, bright and fresh with the tints of early spring ; the lawn sloped down to a lake beautiful in itself, and possessing the additional merit of being the only piece of ornamental water on the vast table-land of down on which Burrow Hall was situated ; upon the other side of it lay the park, which, though of somewhat small extent for so pretentious a title, was charmingly dotted with knolls and crags ; then a broad band of trees, which sheltered this favoured residence from bitter north and roaring east ; and, beyond them, the rounded masses of the South Downs stretch- ing to left and right, like some green sea on the day after a storm. Neither the picturesqueness of the landscape nor its extent formed, however, its chief attraction to the person who was at present regarding it with so much approval, but the know- ledge that so far as the eye could reach it was all his own. A good many senses have been added to the original five in these later years ; but there is one which must always have existed in some form as universally as to-day — the influence of which is, I am told, with some men so great as to make up for the absence of any other — namely, the sense of Possession. A few, indeed, have no personal experience of it. When they see a jewel, the glow or the sparkle of it gladdens their eye (perhaps for half a minute), but the consciousness of its being their own, though they would like to have it to sell well enough, would not enhance its charms for them in the slight- est degree ; a rare volume, the ownership of which fills the book-hunter with the most pleasurable emotions, may be theirs or the first pickpocket's, for all they care, when once they have become acquainted with its contents ; while, as for that eagerness for ' laying field to field ' of which the Hebrew prophet speaks with such reprobation, it is to them an inex- plicable egotism, which would carry with it, if successful, a terrible punishment indeed, since ' to be placed alone in the midst of the earth ' is about the last object of their ambition. The majority of mankind, however, it is probable, think with Mr. Melburn, who, if he could have worn the stars for shirt- studs, and attached the moon to his watch-chain, would have set a much higher value on the heavenly bodies than he did at present. There was one blot upon the landscape, indeed, which no other eye perceived but his own — namely, a very b2 4 THE HEIR OF THE AGES heavy mortgage, begun in those electioneenng thnes, and afterwards enlarged on certain pressing occasions ; but just now it did not intrude upon him. He was not only at ease with himself, as indeed it was his wont to be, but with the world at large, including the Jews. At this moment a step was heard coming down the stairs from the floor above — a very heavy step, which nevertheless moved with as little sound as the weight of him to whom it belonged admitted of; a slow and thoughtful step which somehow conveyed the impression to the hearer of a made-up mind. • Thank goodness, Edith is all right,' observed Mr. Christo- pher Melburn to himself. * When Dalling comes down like that without stopping at the landing the case is clear — there are no complications.' He had had opportunities of hearing Dr. Balling's step when it had lingered ; not once nor twice only, had it been the doctor's task to tell the squire bad news concerning his own flesh and blood. Two daughters and a son had died under his roof of the fell disease, consumption. His son, Jefferson, the sole offspring of his first marriage, was, indeed, strong and healthy enough ; but Mary, his remaining child by the second marriage, was delicate ; and her mother had been an invalid for years. Some new phase in her condition had necessitated the doctor's visit on this occasion. To her daughter it had seemed alarming ; but Mr. Melburn thought, or pretended to think, otherwise. He always discredited everything personally disagreeable to himself as an imputation against Providence, and on this occasion had sent for the doctor less from apprehension than to have his own view corroborated by a medical opinion. The door opened, and in stalked a man of such gigantic stature that if he had died, as some men are said to do, by inches, he might have composed an encyclopaedia, supplement and all, during his last illness. All that is often to be said of such exceptional individuals is that they are very tall men ; but this Anak was remarkable for something besides his thews and sinews. There is a well-known saying in these days that ' there are only two doctors out of London,' a statement which varies with the speaker, and becomes enlarged, let us hope, with his experience ; but if, as doubtless was the case, it w^as made in the times of which we write, the name of Dr. Dalling would certainly have been found in the most exclusive list. So THE doctor's fiat 5 great was bis fame that he was sometimes even summoned to the metropoHs to take part in consultations. In Downshire he was called * The Infallible,' and by his intimates ' The Pope.' Though confident of speech, his manners and move- ments were exceptionally gentle ; it almost seemed, as with Gulliver among the Liliputians, that in associating with his fellow-men he was afraid of his own strength and weight ; and indeed there was some reason for his being careful. Some years ago, striding home one evening along the downs — for whenever he could, he used his own legs instead of his horse's — he was set upon by two tramps or footpads. It was during a thick fog, or they would probably never have com- mitted such an act of imprudence. Probably they only saw a part of him, and very naturally mistook it for the whole. When the doctor loomed upon them in his entirety they would very gladly have dropped their bludgeons and fled ; but matters were too far advanced for remedy : his gigantic arms flew out like the suckers of an octopus, and seized each man by the scruff of his neck ; then he knocked their heads together — jvtst once. In the one case, as he intended, there was a simple fracture, but in the other— perhaps the poor wretch had a softer cranium — the blow was fatal. It was said that Dr. Dalling ever afterwards shrank from attending cases of con- cussion of the brain, which, in a hunting country, must have been inconvenient. His huge countenance, bronzed by w^ind and weather, looked very grave and gentle as he now entered the room. But even if that had not been its normal expression, Mr. Christopher Melburn would have declined to draw from it any evil augury. * Well, doctor, and what's your news ? ' he inquired, with- out shifting his comfortable position. * This east wind has been playing its usual tricks, I suppose, with my unfortunate wife.' ' It has not improved matters, no doubt,' was the dry reply ; * but the weather is but a small factor in a case like hers. I am sorry to say that I think badly of her.' ' So you have said any time during these last ten years,' returned the squire, with an attempt at cheerfulness. * We can hardly expect to see poor Edith very strong again, of course ; but, as she says herself, " creaking doors hang long." You don't mean, surely, to assert of your positive knowledge that there is any danger ? ' 6 THE HEIR OF THE AGES From underneath the doctor's shaggy eyebrows, which would have made a tolerable head of hair for most sexa- genarians, there flashed forth a terrible look of contempt and reproof. ' There is more than danger, Mr. Melburn,' he put in, curtly. • Your wife's malady has, in my opinion, taken a direction that can only have one end.' The squire turned pale, and, gathering himself together, walked straight up to his companion, who was standing by the window. * Good heavens, Calling ! Do you mean that my wife is dying? ' His tone had genuine feeling in it : he was shocked. * There is no immediate danger, if you mean that, Mr. Melburn.' The other uttered a sigh' of relief. ' She may rise from her bed to-morrow — in all probability will do so, for she has the pluck of two women— and may even come down stairs as usual ; but her recovery is utterly hopeless. The only thing that can prolong her life is change of air, of scene, of all the conditions of life to which she is accustomed. As soon as she is strong enough to bear the journey, you must take her to the German baths, which formerly benefited her so much. It is advice, Mr. Melburn,' he continued, observing the other was about to speak, ' which I should not think of offering — since I know from her own lips the inconvenience it will entail upon you — if there were any choice in the matter ; but, in my judgment, there is none.' * Really, Dalling,' said the squire, walking about the room with rapid strides, * your advice is more like a conge d'elire than a medical prescription. One would think that there was some penalty like that of prcBmtinire for any one who should be so audacious as to neglect it.' ' I don't know as to penalty,' observed the doctor, drily ; ' but the simple effect of such neglect will be that " the creaking door" of which you spoke will not hang upon its fragile hinge three months. It is for you to decide whether it is worth while to prolong life under circumstances which may seem to you undesirable. In our profession we have only one view of such matters ; but very possibly it may be an erroneous one.' * It is very inconvenient,' murmured Mr. Melburn, testily, but without taking the least notice of his companion's satire, THE doctor's fiat 7 *just as the spring is coming on, and matters on the estate want particular attention. We're expecting the new gover- ness, too, this very day ; and Jefferson is coming home on purpose to meet Winthrop.' ' The world is full of inconveniences,' returned the doctor, cheerfully ; * and one can no more escape from them than I can keep myself dry in a shower by picking my way througli the drops of rain.' He could afford to joke, for he knew that he had carried his point ; when the squire began to count his slain — to enumerate his grievances — it was a sign that the battle was over. The matter being settled, the doctor had the tact, seldom wanting to gentlemen of his calling, to make no further reference to it. The critical state of Mrs. Melburn's health was not indeed, one would have thought, a subject to be dis- missed so curtly ; but he knew his man, and that he required quite as * peculiar treatment ' as his patient. * And who is the young lady,' he inquired, * whom you have engaged as Miss Mary's governess ? ' * A Miss Dart. She has taken the highest honours a young woman can compass : has a diploma, very much more imposing than was ever given by the College of Physicians ; is highly distinguished in all the ologies, while she is only " favourably mentioned " as regards accomplishments. I suspect she'll be a caution ; which, as among her other duties she will have to ward off trespassers on Winthrop's preserve, it is only right and proper she should be. She will probably have sandy hair and red eyes. Talk of an angel and we hear the flutter of her wings. Here's the carriage, just come back with her from the railway station ; so you can judge for yourself,' The two gentlemen turned to the window ; which, thanks to an artfully contrived blind, enabled the occupant of the stud} to command the porch without exposing himself to view, and thereby to decide whether he should be at home, or not at home, to visitors. For the space of three minutes they stood, with their noses flattened against the blind, in silence, till the front door closed, announcing that the new-comer had come in. Then Mr. Christopher Melburn observed to his companion, * By Jingo ! eh ! ' and Dr. Dalling elevated his eyebrows, and very softly and significantly whistled. When men are alone together their manner of expressing the emo- tions is primitive. 8 THE HEIR OF THE AGES CHAPTEE II. JEFFERSON. ' Will papa consent to your going abroad, do you think, mother ? ' * Yes, darHng, I do. At all events, I have done my best.' * How good you are to me ! ' ' Nonsense ! Did you not hear the doctor say that change was essential to me ? ' • But that was after you reminded him what good the baths had done you before.' ' Well, if you choose to feel that I have conferred an obligation on you, perhaps you will be so good as to help me on to the sofa.' ' But, suppose papa were to come up and find you there, would he not think ' • He will not come up,' put in the sick lady, quietly. Her tone was confident, but there was a little shiver in it full of sad significance. Most husbands, even those with whom any demonstrativeness of affection is not * their way,' upon hearing such tidings as Christopher Melburn had heard that afternoon, w^ould have come to say a word of comfort and sympathy to their sick wife. It was not only that the time had long gone by, however, in his case for the exhibi- tion of domestic sentiment, but, as she well understood, he would abstain from any such proceeding with a purpose- - namely, to mark his disapprobation of the step which he had been compelled at her instigation (as he put it) to consent to. He was by no means convinced of its necessity (he never could be so convinced when anything was disagreeable to him), and even if he had been — but that is a subject, perhaps, into which it is better not to go. Life is a sacred thing to many natures which never take into consideration matters that alone make it worth the living. We may use no daggers, and yet drain from every vein of those about us the only true life-blood — happiness, affection, hope. It is an operation that is going on every day in the most respectable households ; and, to do them justice, without the knowledge — at all events the full knowledge — of the operators. But the patients are very conscious of JEFFERSON 9 it, save where at the last indifference and despair proffer themselves as an£esthetics. It was twenty years ago since Christopher Melburn had led his second bride to the altar. He had been a widower for the same space of time ; but though the bridegroom was middle-aged, a handsomer pair had never been seen in Down- shire since his previous nuptials. The bride, though of good family, had little or no fortune ; but her youth and beauty were j ustly held to have made up for that deficiency : though not a love-match in the usual acceptation of the term, it could not be called a marriage of convenience. There was nothing sordid about it, there was no self-sacrifice ; and, though the squire's son might well have objected to a stepmother of his own age, there was apparently no opposition. The happy pair passed their honeymoon in Wales, mostly in a carriage and four. Under such circumstances, existence takes the tint of rose-colour, and Christopher Melburn was just the man to shine in them. Their return to Burrow Hall was accom- plished in a carriage and pair, and a silver age succeeded the golden one. In due time came the young family and their expenses, which, added to the heavy loss consequent on that futile attempt to save the country, tried the squire's purse- strings and his temper severely. Then Mrs. Melburn fell into ill-health, and lost much of that beauty which was her chief attraction in her husband's eyes : this was not only very hard upon him, but seemed a sort of non-fulfilment of her part of the bargain, and he took little pains to conceal his displeasure. The children, pretty and aristocratic-looking, whom he ad- mitted did her credit, failed and died, to his extreme annoy- ance, and even the one that survived fell somehow short of what he expected of her. Mary was fair as a lily but almost as fragile, she was not the companion that he had pictured to himself she would have been to him in his walks and drives ; moreover, and this he resented more than all, she ranged herself upon her motlier's side, which (so far had matters gone by this time) was equiva- lent to antagonism. It was true that Jefferson — now a Slajor in the Dragoons — had not so ranged himself ; his attitude, as regards his stepmother, had, to all outward appearances, been always strictly neutral ; but the squire was not upon the best of terms with his son. There had been college debts, and other debts, though not of a very serious character, for if the young man's military career had not been brilliant, it had not 10 THE HEIR OF THE AGES been exceptionally expensive. Even these out-goings had ceased ; but the squire had an uneasy suspicion that the Major was not living within his allowance, but had borrowed money in anticipation of his own demise. This idea was wormwood to the squire. The very notion of death was as objectionable to him as it was to Louis XIV. ; but that such an event should be speculated upon as regarded himself was treason. That Jefferson did not marry, and thereby repair the family fortunes, had at one time been another cause at first of disappointment and afterwards of disquietude with the squire. . But that source of worry had long been dry. Fortunately, Mary's fortune was in the way of being assured. Mr. Winthrop, one of the magnates of Downshire, was understood to be her suitor, though he was not as yet her betrothed. His habits were a little dissipated, but doubtless he would have sown his wild oats before he became a married man. Such a connection was in every way desir- able, and would strengthen the squire's position in the county. But even in this matter there was a hitch. Mary did not give the young gentleman the encouragement he had the right to expect, and, when paternal pressure was exercised, escaped from it on plea of ill-health, and sought sanctuary in her mother's sick room. The squire had no grounds for asserting that his wife connived at her daughter's disobedience, but he suspected it, and this filled his cup of bitterness almost to overflowing. For years the rift between them had been gradually widening, and they had long ceased to have bed or board in common ; for though Mrs. Melburn would, on special occasions, take her place at the head of his table, she was generally unequal to the exertion, and took her meals in her own apartments and alone. It was under these circumstances that a companion, under the designation of governess, had become absolutely necessary for Mary Melburn. Such being the state of affairs at Burrow Hall, it may well be wondered that its mistress should, as she herself had ex- pressed it, 'have done her best,' or indeed, made any effort to bring about an excursion to Germany (or anywhere else), tete-a-tete with her lord and master, and indeed it has already been hinted that she had not suggested the idea to the family doctor upon her own account. The truth was, that Fate had dealt with Mrs. Melburn in such a fashion that she no longer lived for herself at all. When I read in the works of certain JEFFERSON 11 philosophers that self-interest is the sole spring of human actions, it seems to me that they are colour-blind ; at all events, they are quite unable to recognise that neutral tint in which so many natures, especially those of women, become steeped, through adverse circumstances, in later life. Indif- ferent to pleasure and inured to woe, they drag their lengthen- ing chain, until the Great Deliverer sets them free ; but of any turn in Fortune's wheel in their favour in this world they well know there is no hope. Though no longer sensitive to the blows of Fate themselves, they are often vulnerable enough in the person of some beloved object, whom it is their one solicitude to shield, with all their scanty power, from harm. In Mrs. Melburn's case this object was her daughter. It would have been a small thing to say that she would have died for her : unloved, save by her alone ; unhappy, with flagging strength and failing breath. Death had small terrors : she was ready to do far more than die — to live for Mary. All her thoughts, and they were many, were concentrated upon this point ; all her intelligence, and it was considerable, was sharpened to this end. And in the meantime, not a duty was neglected. From her sofa she superintended and directed all domestic matters with marvellous skill ; and though the means at her disposal were by no means ample, there was no house better looked after in Downshire — none where guests were made more comfortable, or dinners better served — than that of the master of Burrow Hall. Notwithstanding his frequent reflection that he was very hardly treated as regarded matrimonial matters, there were even some people who were of opinion that, after all, he had not made such a bad bargain. Of the personal appearance of Mrs. Melburn and her daughter nothing need be said, since we shall presently have the opinion of an independent witness upon that point ; but while the mistress of the house is being transferred from her bed to her sofa we may give a word or two to Miss Elizabeth Dart, if only in explanation of the extraordinary behaviour of the two gentlemen who had reconnoitred her from behind the blind. That she was most unexpectedly good-looking may be taken for granted ; and, indeed, anything more dirferent from the fancy portrait that Mr. Melburn had drawn of her, it would be difficult to imagine. That she was tall and shapely could be seen as she sat in the open carriage ; but when she stepped out of it and threw back her veil, she dis- played a countenance of really quite exceptional beauty. Her 12^ THE HEIR OF THE AGES complexion was dark, almost to olive-colour, but with the blood showing through it in a manner that is seldom seen out of Spain ; her eyes were dark, but soft ; her hair was jet black, but swept so abruptly off her forehead that it was impossible to judge of its abundance. The expression of her face, which, to match with the rest of her appearance, should have been haughty, was, on the contrary, modest almost to timidity ; nevertheless, it was very far from insipid or wanting in self-reliance, and the glance she cast about her on her new surroundings was full of intelligence and observation. * Miss Dart, for Mrs. Melburn,' was her remark to the butler when he opened the door to her, delivered in gentle but very distinct tones ; it was a sentence that she had well considered, and yet of the propriety of which she was not quite certain — she thought it sounded too much like a mes- sage from the Parcel Delivery Company ; but it had, at all events, the desired effect of dissociating her, in the butler's mind, from an ordinary visitor. * If you will wait one minute. Miss, you shall be shown up to my mistress's room,' was his reply. She remained standing in the hall, while the man rang a hand-bell which produced Mrs. Melburn's maid. There was a short colloquy between the two domestics, and then, with a clumsy word or two of explanation, the new arrival was shown into the breakfast -room. She knew that Mrs. Melburn was an invalid, and guessed at the true state of affairs pretty accurately ; still, any delay when we are in a state of anxiety and suspense increases our discomfort. It was wdtli a beating' heart, though her face showed nothing of perturbation, that Ehzabeth Dart found herself alone. She had never been in so fine a house before, nor even sat in a private carriage ; but her mind was of a cast on which mere externals, though they by no means escaped her observation, made little or no im- pression. With many persons who use the phrase ' carriage people,' the former part of the word dominates the latter; but with this young lady humanity came first and its sur- roundings afterwards. She had only one friend in the world, and she was a hundred miles away ; and the question she naturally asked herself was ' What sort of people have I come to dwell amongst ? ' This problem, of which nothing was known to her, absorbed her wholly. Her natural powers of perception, however, took i-i not only the fact that the room was handsomely furnished, and with great taste, but its JEFFERSON 13 appearance in every particular ; she noticed the landscapes on the walls, the statuettes on the brackets, the church tower that showed itself through the trees, and the shrubbery on which the window looked : this was a gift which exercised itself mechanically, and of the possession of which she herself was only half conscious. But her ear was listening for footsteps, and her mind in somewhat shrinking expectation of what sort of person they w^ould bring with them. In a minuter or so the door opened, and, as is usual under such circumstances, gave to her view an individual entirely diffe- rent from the person she had pictured to herself. Instead of the invalid lady she had looked for, appeared a military-looking gentleman of middle age, tall and very strongly built, with a bronzed, handsome face, a pair of long tawny moustaches, and bold eyes. Their boldness, however (which was, after all, only characteristic of his martial pro- fession), vanished from them the instant they rested upon her, and was succeeded by a gentle and respectful glance. * A thousand pardons,' he murmured, as she rose to meet him. * I was not aware that any one was here. I beg you will sit down.' * I regret to hear — that is, I was given to understand — that Mrs. Melburn is less well this afternoon than usual.' ' Yes ; it is, I am sorry to say, one of her bad days. You had a pleasant journey, I hope, from town.' * Thank you; yes.' 'You must have fomid this March wind cold, however, coming over the downs ; they should have sent the closed carriage for you.' ' Indeed, I was quite comfortable, and enjoyed the drive exceedingly. I have never been on downs before.' ' One must be upon them on horseback, however, for their thorough enjoyment.' * That would be a still more novel experience to me,' she said, smiling. * Miss Melburn is a good horsewoman, no doubt ? ' ' Pretty well ; it will probably be the one thing that we poor ignoramuses will be in a position to teach you.' The compliment w^as a little pronounced ; but, coming from her employer (for she had no suspicion that she was addressing any one else), it sounded kind. ' I am afraid I know very few things,' she said quietly ; • hardly enough to teach me how little I do know.' 14 THE HEIR OF THE AGES ' That is beyond me,' returned her companion, gently, smoothing his moustaches. * You must be prepared to find us all exceedingly slow of comprehension. I think it's the Downshire air. By-the-bye, have they offered you no refresh- ment ? ' He moved to the fireplace and touched the bell-handle, without, however, drawing it out. 'Indeed, Mr. Melburn, I do not need it,' she said hurriedly. * I had some tea at the junction.' ' And very bad it was, I'll answer for it. Their tea no more comes from China than their teacups.' * Fortunately I am not much of a connoisseur in tea,' she answered, smiling. * I dare say you despise all creature comforts,' he said, gravely. * That is the way with all you intellectual people.' But, indeed, I am not so intellectual as all that,' she answered, naively ; whereupon they both broke into a little laugh. In the middle of it the door opened and revealed a young lady so slight and tall, and with such a look of amaze- ment on her pretty face, that she might have stood for a note of admiration. That she had brown hair and eyes, with very delicate features, was conveyed to Elizabeth Dart at the first glance, but the pained astonishment in every lineament of the new comer's face was so marked, that nothing else for the moment impressed itself on her. On her late companion, however, it produced no effect whatever ; he even had his laugh out as though no such in- terruption had occurred, and then duly observed, * Better late than never, Miss Mary. Let me introduce you to Miss Dart, whose acquaintance I have had the good fortune to be the first of us to make.' * I am very sorry,' said Miss Melburn (the phrase seemed to be somehow retrospective, instead of referring, as was in- tended, to the words that were to follow), ' but mamma was in the act of getting up when you arrived, which prevented my coming down at once to welcome you.' It was a pretty speech enough, and delivered in the gentlest tone ; but to the sensitive ear which it addressed it wanted genuineness, or rather it seemed as though the genuineness which it should by rights have possessed had been wrung out of it. She held out her hand at the same time, but there was a stiffness in the action, and, what was worse, a stiffness that misbecame it, as though formality was JEFFERSON ^ 15 not habitual to her. * Will you kindly come with me up- stairs ? ' she added. With a bow to her supposed employer, which he acknow- ledged by a cheerful ' Au revoir, Miss Dart,' the governess followed her pupil into the hall. That something was wrong somewhere, she was convinced, and she had a strong sus- picion that she was held to blame for it, but of its nature she was wholly ignorant. To feel that upon the very threshold of one's new life one has made a false step is a most discouraging reflection, and, though Elizabeth Dart had as brave a spirit as ever dwelt in woman, her heart sank low within her. CHAPTEK III. THE INTEEVIEW. Theee is no living-room, to my mind, more pleasant and comfortable than a well-appointed lady's boudoir ; the rarity of man's privilege to enter its sacred precincts may enhance its charms, but its intrinsic attractions are indisputable. There is an air of rest as well as of refinement about it that captivates the sense, and which renders the idea of belonging to the gentler sex something more than tolerable — if only one were allowed to smoke. This prohibition did not, of course, affect Miss Elizabeth Dart ; and though, as we have said, she was unusually indifferent to external surroundings, the snug- ness and beauty of Mrs. Melburn's sanctum made no slight impression upon her. To confess the truth, she had never seen a boudoir before ; and the reflection it evoked in her was characteristically impersonal and philosophic — ' So this is how the rich Hve ; and how even ill -health is mitigated to them.' She involuntarily contrasted in her mind this bright and cheerful room, with its birds and flowers, and the charm- ing view it commanded from its oriel window, with a certain apartment in the New Eoad, where her Aunt Jane Eighton, the sole relative and friend she had in the world, was wont to pass her dreary days. These thoughts occurred to her in a flash, and left her attention fixed upon the figure to which all the rest were mere accessories — the mistress of the room her- 16 THE HEIR OF THE AGES self. Draped in some loose-fitting but becoming robe, orna- ■ mented with beautiful designs of the needle (her daughter's handiwork), she lay upon a sofa, propped up by pillows ; at once the fairest and most fragile specimen of an English matron eye ever beheld. Her complexion was so exquisite, her countenance so delicate, that she would have looked like a piece of egg-shell china, but for the expression of her countenance, which, though marred by that look of effort which arises from constant pain, and the necessity of over- coming it, was * spirituelle ' in a high degree. * You will excuse my not rising. Miss Dart,' she said with a. gentle smile, and putting out a small transparent hand; * but I can only afford to do so on occasions of ceremony, of which I hope you do not feel this to be one. You have had a long journey, and must be tired. Pray sit down.' Then ensued a conversation of the ordinary sort, between employer and employed ; a few questions, brief and conven- tional, and similarly answered, about Miss Dart's belongings, and others put, with scarcely more of interest, respecting her acquirements. She was given to understand that Miss Mary's education had practically ceased ; and that what, in fact, w^as required for her was not so much a governess as a chaperon and companion. This explanation was given with singular skill and delicacy, and without the least air of patronage ; but somehow the kindness lacked that personal application which, under the circumstances, would have so much enhanced it. It seemed rather to arise from a disposition naturally gracious, but by no means prone to impulse or confidence in a stranger. Elizabeth Dart had a gift of perception and intuitive knowledge which, to a great extent, made up for her want of experience in life; but she felt that Mrs. Melburn was a problem beyond her powers. Mary sat silent, with a grave, preoccupied look, that sat strangely upon her pretty face ; once only an expression of interest passed over her features — when her mother mentioned that in case, as was possible, she herself should be compelled to pass a month or two for her health abroad, it was probable that her daughter and Miss Dart ^vould spend the time at Casterton, a little town on the south coast, with a sister of Mr. Melburn's. * Y^'ou will find it very dull, I fear ; but the place is picturesque.' * It must be very dull to seem dull to me,' said the gover- THE INTERVIEW 17 ness, smiling. * When I have not been at school, I have been pupil-teacher in a school ; and, with the exception of a few weeks in London with my aunt, I have seen nothing of the world at all.' * You do not give me that impression, Miss Dart,' was the unexpected rejoinder. It might, of course, have been made in a complimentary sense, but the tone was serious, and Eliza- beth Dart felt the colour rising in her cheeks. * What I mean to say,' explained Mrs. Melburn, hastily, * was that you have none of that mauvaise honte and awkward- ness of manner which one generally associates with ignorance of that kind.' 'We learnt deportment at Acacia Lodge,' returned the governess, with a forced smile. * Still, it is unusual to find social defects of that sort sup- plied by any assistance from without. Shut up in my sick- room, for example, I know that I become selfish and egotistic in spite of myself— which reminds me that I have kept you sitting here with your bonnet on without offering you any refreshment. We do not dine till seven.' * Thank you, no. Mr. Melburn was so good as to offer me a cup of tea ; but, as I told him, I had some at the junction.' * Mr. Melburn ? Indeed ! ' There was a surprise in Mrs. Melburn's tone which grated on the other's ear. Was it so very extraordinary, then, that the master of Burrow Hall should have condescended so far as to offer refreshment to a governess, she wondered ? * It was not papa,' put in Mary, with that reluctant haste which young persons use when making an unpleasant com- munication : * it was Jefferson.' * Jefferson ! ' Mrs. Melburn's surprise was even greater than before, and this time mingled with decided disapproba- tion. Her face, too, as she looked up sharply at the new comer, showed open displeasure. Miss Dart's position was certainly embarrassing, but the reflection that she was in no way answerable for any mistake that might have occurred prevented her from feeling embarrassment. The colour mounted high into her cheeks, but it was from indignation that, for the second time, blame should be unjustly imputed to her, rather than from confusion. When the light on a card-table is weak it is difficult to discover hearts from diamonds, and, without sufficient data, one cannot pronounce with certainty whether .the cause of a young girl's blush ia c 18 THE HEIR OF THE AGES modesty or shame. There was no doubt, however, in the mind of Elizabeth Dart which of them in her case Mrs. Melburn took it for. The governess remained obstinately, perhaps audaciously, silent. ' The gentleman who received you,' said Mrs. Melburn, in chilling tones, * was not, it appears, my husband, but my step- son. Major Melburn.' Then, in her turn, somewhat haughtily and with an almost imperceptible inclination of the head. Miss Dart replied, * Indeed ! ' Her pride, though not her temper, was fairly roused. Though willing to put her hand, and with unusual vigour, to any work, however humble, and to earn even the bitter bread of dependence without repining, she had great independence of character. She stood, as she thought, in the presence of an insolent woman, who having grudged her a civility, such as any man might pay to any girl, at her husband's hands, was still more wroth to find that it had been paid to her by another. Major Melburn 's manner might, under the circumstances (as she now understood them), have been somewhat familiar, but it had been at least frank and kind. She greatly preferred it to the aftected graciousness and artificial courtesy with which she had been received upstairs. This was unfortunate, as it was with those upstairs and no others that her lot was cast. If there had been time to draw distinctions, she might perhaps have excepted the younger of her two companions from this sweeping conclusion ; but when we are young we resent the misjudgment of our contemporaries even more than that of our elders ; we have a closer claim upon their sympathy, and — to express it in homely terms — it is not their business to preach to us. Mary Melburn, it was true, had by no means preached to her ; but she had shown downstairs a wholly un- called-for displeasure — though distress would have been a better word, had Miss Dart had leisure for picking and choosing of terms ; while in the boudoir, though she had done nothing hostile, she had done nothing to smooth matters. Surely she might have said something to explain away the error into which her companion and friend that was to be had fallen, instead of confining herself to that bare statement of fact, * It was not papa ; it was Jefferson.' There was some more talk, upon other matters, but there was now a stiffness in Mrs. Melburn 's tone, quite different from the formality inseparable from a first acquaintance. It THE INTERVIEW 19 was a great relief to the new comer when the interview was terminated by her employer suggesting that the domestic should show her to her room and see that she had everything she required. What she required was solitude — the opportunity of tliink- ing over her position and reviewing her own conduct. She could not conceal from herself that the impression she had made at Burrow Hall was, somehow or another, an unfortu- nate one. From Mary Melburn's manner, it was clear that she perceived this, and did her best to do away with it — nay, it seemed to Miss Dart that once or twice the young lady was on the point of saying something to soften and perhaps elucidate matters. However, she had not done so : it was plain that she was shy and nervous even in her solicitude for the other'? comfort. * We dine in three-quarters of an hour,' she had said. ' I will come and fetch you.' Then, as she turned to leave the room, something in her companion's face appeared to touch her. She came back and held out her hand. ' It must all seem very strange and lonely to you here, but I am sure we shall be good friends.' * Indeed, I hope so,' said Miss Dart, gratefully. She could not say, as she wished to do, ' I am sure we shall,' for her character was obstinately truthful ; but the tears rose to her eyes and supplied what was wanting. A kind word in season, how good it is ! She felt at once that things were not so bad as they had seemed before it was spoken, and that she would be able to ' get on ' with Miss Melburn at least, if not with her mother. Yet what had she done to make the * getting on ' with the elder lady seem so pro- blematical ? She was not unacquainted with the peculiarities of invalids, and could make allowance for them ; but she could find no clue to Mrs. Melburn's annoyance and displeasure. Her best guess at it — and she acknowledged to herself it was but a poor one — was that her mistake in taking Major Mel- burn for his father had wounded her employer's amour-propre. It had perhaps implied that a husband of her own age would have been more becoming than one old enough to be her father ; but this left Miss Melburn's strange behaviour still unaccounted for, since it could not have arisen from the same cause. Though she had not expected to find a life of dependence without a thorn, she had not bargained for a hidden thorn. c2 20 THE HEIR OF THE AGES CHAPTER IV. AT DINNEE. A giel's first ball is a great experience, but it is not such an ordeal as her first dinner-party. In the former case, there is, mixed with her apprehensions, no inconsiderable expectation of enjoyment ; whereas, in the latter, there are only tremors. I remember seeing one little lady — though by no means a child — astonish the strange gentleman who offered his arm to take her downstairs by bursting into tears. The joys of the table are exclusively for the mature. What are even turtle and venison to the maiden of blushing sixteen, or even eigh- teen, who must needs partake of them in unfamiliar company ? Better a dinner of herbs — or, at least, of hashed mutton — where ease of manner is, than eight courses, eaten on our best behaviour. Miss Elizabeth Dart was more than eighteen — she was, indeed, three or four and twenty — but she had never before made one of a dinner-party. The class of society to which she had been accustomed did not affect that form of entertainment : they lunched heavily in the middle of the day, and in the evening took meat teas. Social differences of the superficial kind, it is true, did not much move her ; it was natural to her to dive below them for something of more in- trinsic worth ; nor was she by any means what is commonly known as * shy ' — she had a sense of proportion, a conscious- ness of possessing powers greatly above the average, which forbade that feeling. A large party would not have alarmed her more than a small one ; but of however many it might consist on the present occasion, she would certainly find herself the only stranger among them. If a young girl con- voyed by her mother feels diffident and nervous in such a position, it was surely not to be wondered at that, having attired herself as sprucely as her modest wardrobe permitted, it was with some flutter of anxiety that Elizabeth Dart awaited the return of the young lady who was to be at once both her pupil and her cicerone. Mary Melburn entered her room with a smile, superimposed, however, upon a grave counte- nance. It seemed as certain to the new governess as though she had been a witness to it, that some conversation about her had passed in the interim between mother and daughter which had been of a serious and not quite satisfactory kind. AT DINNER 21 * Mamma is not well enough to dine downstairs to-day,' she said ; * there will be no one but papa and Jefferson and one visitor.' If this speech was, as seemed probable, an excuse for the absence of Mrs. Melburn, Elizabeth Dart was only too happy to accept it, since the presence of the mistress of the house as chaperon would, she felt, have been far from reassuring. As to the visitor, whoever he might be, he was not so formid- able in her apprehensions as the master of the house ; that that gentleman was also her employer was a circumstance, of course, which also placed her at a great disadvantage as regards ordinary young ladies making their d^but. It was once observed to me by a well-known writer, famous for his ' saving common-sense,' that notwithstanding the bother made about governesses in the way of pity, no sooner do they burst into full bloom as successful schoolmistresses, than we have not a civil word for them. The conclusion he drew was that our views in both cases were exaggerated, and that, even when our Becky Sharpes are all they ought to be, they are not to be so greatly commiserated. With all respect for his judgment, I still take leave to think that their position is very sad and pitiful : they are not only dependent in the ordinary sense, as respects their employers, but more or less at the mercy of any one in the house who may chance to take a dislike to them. While, on the other hand, matters become even still more unpleasant if any member of the opposite sex takes it into his head to pay them any marked attention. The mind of Miss Elizabeth Dart, however ,was of neither a morbid nor desponding cast, and though that trip on the threshold of her new home, which she had so unconsciously made, did somewhat depress her, she was resolved, if possible, to recover her lost ground, and at all events to rdake the best of matters. In the drawing-room were three gentlemen, all of whom rose as the two ladies entered the room. Mr. Melburn's manner as he came forward and welcomed the new comer to Burrow Hall impressed her favourably. His handsome face smiled upon her with benignity, and his tone, if somewhat patronising, had also something paternal in it. * My son Jefferson, it seems, you have already seen ? ' The Major nodded good-naturedly ; though he said nothing, his face seemed to wear an encouraging look, for which she could not but be grateful : it looked to her like a friend's face. * Mr. 22 THE HEIR OF THE AGES Wintlirop, like yourself, is from London, and has only joined our circle to-day.' * Sorry I did not come by the earlier train,' observed Mr. Winthrop with an elaborate bow, ' since I might have been of use to Miss Dart.' What use he could possibly have been it was difficult to imagine, as Miss Dart had travelled second-class, and had needed no assistance in drinking her cup of tea ; but the aspiration was, at all events, a polite one. Mr. Winthrop, a tall, ungainly-looking gentleman, with a face like a horse — it had possibly acquired the resemblance from association with that quadruped, for he was very equine in his tastes — was, indeed, the pink of politeness. When he addressed a lady, he invariably bowed, which caused the glass, always stuck in his eye, to fall out of it, and gave one the impression of some- thing mechanical. He wore a constant smile, which perhaps from long usage had become weak, for it now resembled a simper ; and though a young man — not more than thirty at the most — his crop of hay-coloured hair was very scanty, and had deserted the uppermost and less fertile regions of his head altogether. His loose, limited figure looked no doubt to less advantage than it otherwise would have done contrasted with the stalwart frame of the Major, or even with the erect and still shapely form of the master of the house ; but what was in stronger contrast still was the expression of his face, which was timid, and lacked the force of character which distinguished both father and son. It was easy to see, however, that, despite these short- comings, Mr. Winthrop occupied a high place in the estima- tion of both these gentlemen. His utterances, though of a commonplace kind, were listened to with great attention, and his opinions, if not very strong in themselves, had always the advantage of corroboration. Little as she knew of life, the quick-eyed governess soon came to the conclusion that Mr. Winthrop was possessed of something in the way of wealth or position that exacted homage ; but whether Mary Melburn's conduct towards him was dictated by respect, or dislike, she was not so sure. He paid her such attentions as would have been considered marked even in a * squire of dames,' and she received them with a frigid courtesy that might either be the acknowledgment of such patronage or a sign of its rejection. When dinner was announced, and he offered his arm to her, Miss Dart noticed that she laid her hand on it as lightly AT DINNER 23 as though it had been a broken limb, and that not a word escaped from her Hps during their passage into the dining- room. Mr. Melburn himself, who was, of course, her own escort, conversed with grave condescension, and explained to her as they passed the sideboard the presence of an array of silver cups upon it, which he saw had attracted her attention. ' You must not think they are meant for drinking pur- poses,' he said, smiling, *and still less that they are exhibited from ostentation ; but when Mr. Winthrop is here we like to remind him that other families besides his own have distin- guished themselves in the field.' * Miss Dart will conclude that we have won these things in battle, sir,' said the Major, who was walking behind them, * unless you are a httle more explicit. They are only coursing cups.' The explanation was not altogether superfluous, for she had never seen such trophies of the chase, and was amazed at their size and splendour. She had heard of ' going to the dogs ' as a term for poverty, but it seemed to her that these animals might be a source of wealth ; her ignorance of how such things were come by was similar to that of a child who, looking into a jeweller's shop, concludes that a goldsmith must needs be a Crcesus. ' They must be very valuable,' she murmured. ' They cost a deal of money, at all events,' said the Squire, drily. Then added, in a tone that was meant to be heard, ' It is only men like our friend Mr. Winthrop who can afford to be successful in the coursing-field.' In this speech, as it seemed to the governess, her host gave the keynote of the conversation. There were not many subjects besides his personal ailments, and his family tree, on which Mr. Winthrop could talk with comfort to himself, but coursing happened to be one of them. The subject was a much more generally acceptable one than it seemed likely to be, for, while it was a familiar topic to Mr. Melburn and his son, its very novelty had an attraction for Miss Dart, who was never better pleased than when acquiring information which at the same time gave her an insight into social life. As for Mary Melburn, she seemed to welcome it because it afforded her an excuse for silence while listening to the out- pourings of her neighbour's enthusiasm. The ladies were but very rarely appealed to ; but, in answer to some question 24 THE HEIR OF THE AGES put to her by the Major about greyhounds, Miss Dart was obliged to confess that her sole acquaintance with them was derived from books. * Of course,' she said, ' I delight in Sir Walter's Maida ; but that, I believe, was a deerhound.' ' What Sir Walter was that ? ' inquired Mr. Winthrop. * I know a Sir Walter Ross, who courses down in Berkshire.' ' I was speaking of Sir Walter Scott,' she replied, not a little abashed at having been the unwilling cause of the dis- covery of such ignorance. * I always thought it strange he didn't call the dog Salamanca,' observed the Squire gravely. * In England, we always call greyhounds — so far as the first letter goes, at least— after our own names. It would have been quite natural for me to own a Maida — I dare say you have not got a single dog, Winthrop, whose name does not begin with a"W."' 'There's Wilkie, and Wentworth, and Wildrake, who won the cup from your Marrowbones at Ashdown, last year.' * You needn't tell me that,' said the Squire, ruefully. ' You see there are some things that we can teach you, even in Downshire, Miss Dart,' said the Major in a low voice. His tone was sarcastic ; but, as she well understood, the sarcasm did not apply to herself. Perhaps she would rather it had done so, since it seemed to take for granted a certain con- tempt for her company, or, at all events, for one member of it, which it distressed her to have imputed. On the other hand, it was not displeasing to her to find some one who could enter into her feelings, and, above all, who had taken the trouble to let her know that he had done so. She felt lonely and out of her element ; and sympathy of any kind, imder such circumstances, is very grateful. In addition to the strangeness of all things about her, there seemed to be a mystery of some kind brooding over matters at Burrow Hall, though it only betrayed itself in silence. It was odd, for example, to say the least of it, that not a word was dropped concerning the hostess of the house ; no expression of regret for her absence or its cause ; no hint even of her existence. The governess's reading was extensive, and had comprised many works of fiction, and she had gathered from it that the domestic affections were not so much cultivated among the higher ranks as in that in which she had been accustomed to AT DINNER 25 move, but that Mr. Winthrop should not have asked Mary Melburn a question about her mother's health when they first met in the drawing-room seemed strange indeed. Little by little she came to understand that Burrow Hall was one of those unhappy houses denounced in the Scriptures, — * a house divided against itself,' but for what reason it was so, or even into what camps it was divided, she did not learn till long afterwards. In the meantime, having very literally started their hare, it seemed that the topic of coursing, among Mr. Melburn 'a guests, was never to be exhausted. It was better than a talk about bullocks, because there was necessarily more movement, though it did not move on ; but to poor Miss Dart, who had never seen a hare, except in a poulterer's shop, it would have been insufferably tedious, save for a way she had, under similar circumstances, of dis- engaging herself from the train of talk about her like a slip- carriage. This operation did not take the common form of dreaming, a dangerous custom which is apt to put him who practises it in an embarrassing position ; she only exchanged the concrete for the abstract, and while permitting her thoughts to range over a wider surface, still kept them sufficiently fixed upon what was going on about her. Often and often had she excited Aunt Jane's astonishment by her comments on the feelings and motives of their common friends after an evening passed in their company, where she had borne her full share in the conversation, and to all appearance had been as much absorbed in it as they were. ' What a strange girl you are, Lizzie,' she would say, half in admiration, half in alarm, at she knew not what ; ' you seem to turn everybody inside out. I can't help thinking you would make your fortune if you took to the trade of character-telling, like that romancer over the way.' The romancer was a chiromancer on the other side of the street, who professed, by spreading your fingers out (and probably putting his own to his nose as soon as your back was turned), to define your moral and intellectual qualities, and to suggest the profession most suitable to their exercise. This was not high praise, but perhaps (for praise when we are young goes far, and is almost as satisfactory as pudding) it had encouraged Miss Dart to continue her speculations. It was a habit at all events that had become confirmed by this time, and was destined to bear fruit, which was no more 26 THE HEIR OF THE AGES dreamt of at present than * the music*in the eggs of the night- ingale.' ' Did these people talk ? ' she was wondering now, ' for tlie sake of talking, and because they had nothing better to talk about, or with a motive ? ' She knew that with persons of a low intellectual type, the mere use of the faculty of expression is gratifying to them. What else can explain the repetition of a remark in different words that we so often hear ? But she had a higher opinion of her host's intelligence than this, and a higher one still of the Major's. The whole conversa- tion, she concluded, was framed to suit Mr. Winthrop : but was it to please him generally, or with a more direct object ? This riddle, which may appear uninteresting to persons who investigate double acrostics with enthusiasm, soon got to have a strong attraction for her. * By-the-bye,' observed Mr. Melburn, during a short pause, ' we must remember that to-morrow is our last day this season. I am glad to see the glass is rising.' * It would make precious little difference to me,' said Mr. Winthrop, * if it was stuck at ** much rain " — indeed, for Wilhelmina's sake I should prefer a wet day, for her best chance is when the ground is heavy.' * I was thinking of the ladies,* remarked Mr. Melbum, drily, ' not of the dogs.' * To be sure," put in Mr. Winthrop, bowing towards his fair neighbour, and dropping his eyeglass on his dessert plate, where it fell on a slice of pear, * that is a sunshine we cannot dispense with. You will honour us with your presence. Miss Melburn, of course ? ' * Thank you, no. Clappers Down is scarcely a spot for the carriage, the hills are too precipitous.' * Then why not ride ? ' observed her father, with a frown on his high forehead, and a sharpness in his tone which fairly startled the governess : it was Uke the development of a new note in some familiar instrument. * I cannot ride alone, and run the chance of being the only lady at the meeting,' observed Mary, quietly, ' as happened once before. I remember your objecting to it, yourself, papa.' Mr. Melburn bit his lip ; there is no argument so unwel- come, because so unanswerable, as that which is taken out of our own mouths and used against ourselves. * But why should not Miss Dart ride ? ' he inquired, pee\ishly. AT DINNER 27 The question should by rights, of course, have been ad- dressed to Miss Dart herself; we do not generally use the third person in conversation when the first is sitting next to us ; but when the Squire was crossed, his manners, like those of many other people, were wont to lose their polish. His tone, indeed, was distinctly irritable ; if his words had been paraphrased, they would, it seemed to the shrinking ears of the governess, have run thus — * Why won't she ride? What's she here for but to be chaperon whether on horse or foot ? ' It was plain by the blush on her cheek that Miss Melburn understood what was passing in her new friend's mind. ' Papa forgets. Miss Dart,' she observed apologetically, ' that folk who do not live on the downs as we do are not all born centaurs.' * I have never ridden a horse in my life,' said the governess, quietly. Mr. Winthrop looked at her with amazement, and for once without dropping his eye-glass. ' Then what do you ride ? ' he inquired, with simplicity. * A zebra,' exclaimed the Major, gravely. * Unfortunately, however, her steed will not come in time for to-morrow.' * Jefferson is joking, Winthrop,' explained Mr. Melburn, for that gentleman's jaw had dropped in something like con- sternation. * Come, let us have our tobacco.' At this unmistakable hint the two young ladies rose at once — the Major holding wide the door for them— and repaired to the drawing-room. CHAPTEE V. SOECEEY. It is doubtful whether either of the two young ladies ex- perienced much sense of relief from their escape from the dining-room. It would have been impossible for them, con- sidering their mutual relations, to discuss the company they had just quitted ; but, in any case, the governess would have felt the topic to have been a dangerous one, for during the whole meal Mary Melburn had struck her as being hardly less ill at ease, or less in accord with those about her, than herself. 28 THE HEIR OF THE AGES A.t the same time, silence upon a topic so obvious was embar- rassing. The consciousness of having annoyed the master of the house by her inexperience as a horsewoman also weighed upon her mind ; she felt that she had made as unfavourable an impression upon him as his wife. After two such false starts, it seemed almost impossible that her career at Burrow Hall should run smoothly. With her young companion herself she was better pleased than her behaviour at first had led her to expect. Miss Melburn's manner to her at dinner had been considerate, and even kind ; but even with her she felt by no means sure of her footing : while the young lady, on her part, showed none of that frankness and confidence which might have been looked for at her years. Her manner, it is true, was gentle and courteous ; but there was a coldness, or at least a caution, about it that could not be mistaken. This was the more painful to Elizabeth Dart, since from the diagnosis she had, as usual, formed of the other's character, such reticence seemed to be foreign to it. Miss Melburn treated the new comer rather as a visitor than one who was to be a resident with her under the same roof; and, though solicitous enough for her comfort and amusement, made but little effort to make her feel at home. She drew her attention to the books upon the table, to the pictures on the walls, and, finally, to that last refuge of the drawing-room destitute, the family photograph album. To Miss Dart this was a welcome object. For the faces of our friends, as being in some sort * the company we keep,' afford an index to our own characters ; and where all is dark (and it was so with her as regarded all her surroundings), even the light of a farthing candle is acceptable. The first picture represented the Squire himself in uniform, with his hand upon his sword, and with such an ultra-military expression of countenance as might have fitted some com- mander giving orders for the sacking of a city. • I did not know that your father had been in the Army,' observed the governess. • Nor has he,' returned Mary, with a smile ; ' that is the dress of the Deputy-Lieutenant of the county.' There is no class of people who feel their ignorance so much as those who have really been well educated ; and at that moment poor Miss Dart would willingly have sunk through the floor and taken her chance of what lay beneath SORCERY 29 it. She nervously continued her examination of the volume, wherein the Squire still figured in various characters— dis- pensing justice as Chairman of the Quarter Sessions ; on horseback, with the initials * M.F.H.' under him, a mystery into which Miss Dart did not venture to inquire ; as an orator addressing some popular assembly. Over this she lingered a little (as well she might), until Mary murmured, 'That was when papa stood for Downshire. He didn't get m, you know ; ' which was another blow. Then there came a portrait of the Major in his war-paint ; and a handsome chief he looked. * That is Jefferson, of course,' said Mary, drily. It seemed to Miss Dart that there was some reproof in the speech — which somehow brought the colour to her cheeks — because the page was not turned over on the instant. * What a very lovely creature ! ' she exclaimed, as she came upon the next portrait. It represented a young girl attired in a ball dress, and selecting a flower from a bouquet with grave significance. With all its youth and beauty, the face was not a happy one ; the eyes had trouble in them, and the mouth had doubt and even dread about it. ' This is from a picture, not from life,' observed Miss Dart. * It is,' was the quiet rejoinder ; * but they tell me it was very like.' * I have never seen a face so beautiful in real life.' * And yet you have seen that very face ; it is the portrait of my mother when she was eighteen.' The eyes of the speaker were suffused with tears, and her voice trembled with emotion. *I see the likeness now,' said the governess, gently; *I am afraid your mother must have suffered much.' It was clear, indeed, that years alone could never have brought so marked a change. * She has been a great sufferer all her life,' returned Miss Melburn, gravely. * Poor soul, poor soul ! ' were the words that rose to Miss Dart's lips, but they did not pass them. It struck her that a governess should not venture to be so sympathetic to her superiors; and yet she could hardly say, 'Poor lady, poor lady ! ' To be silent must needs seem to be unfeeling ; but in the meantime the moments were fleeting by; and with every 30 THE HEIR OF THE AGES moment speech, as is usual under such circumstances, became more difficult to her. * I am very sorry,' at last she murmured ; an expression BO conventional that she felt it must appear to be dictated by indifference, or perhaps even by antagonism. * That is my Aunt Meyrick,' observed Miss Mary, turning the next page with her own hand, ' with whom we are probably to stay at Casterton.' This lady, to judge by her portrait, would be at least ten years the Squire's junior ; there was some resemblance between them in feature, but none in expression. The widow was less handsome, but more pleasing; the mouth had none of the Squire's decision about it, and the eyes were gentle to timidity. * It is a very pleasant face,' was Miss Dart's involuntary remark. * Aunt Meyrick is a dear ! ' exclaimed Miss Melburn, enthusiastically; 'and this is "a dear," too, in his way, though it is a very different way.' The picture showed a dwarfish and almost deformed man, with a face full of wrinkles, redeemed by eyes of keen in- telligence. His apparel was homely in the extreme. He had a disc in his hand, such as electro-biologists place in the hands of their victims before proceeding to experiment upon them. 'Now, what would you say this gentleman was — for a gentleman he is, though of humble birth ? ' inquired Mary, with a smile. * Well, I should say,' said Miss Dart, after a moment's consideration, * that he was an enthusiast ; and although an antiquarian, very fond of at least one person who has not age to recommend her — yourself.' * You must be a magician, Miss Dart ! ' exclaimed the other, in astonishment ; * you have described Mr. Leyden to a nicety. If it is not contrary to the rules of the Black Art, would you mind telling me by what means you read his character so correctly ? ' * Nothing is more simple,' returned the governess, smiling ; * his eyes betray his enthusiasm, the antique coin in his hand suggested the nature of his pursuit, and the tone in which you spoke of him assured me of your great regard for him, which in such a case must needs be reciprocated.' *We are very simple, superstitious folk on the downs SORCERY 31 here,' said Miss Melburn, smiling in her turn ; * and if this gift of yours should be generally known, you will run some risk of being burnt as a sorcerer.' * Still my art has its limits, and I confess this youn