THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
LINNET'S TEIAL.
$ %Klt
IN TWO VOLUMES.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "TWICE LOST."
VOL. II.
LONDON:
VIRTUE BROTHERS & CO., 1, AMEN CORNER,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON :
PRINTED BY JAMES S. VIRTVE,
CITY KOAD.
IK
PART III.
HOW IT WAS BORNE.
CONTENTS.
PART III. {continued.)
CHAPTER III.
Page
The Caves 1
CHAPTER IV.
Rose's Adventi.ee 10
CHAPTER V.
Lady Philippa is Sorry for Her . . -'37
CHAPTER VI.
Is this the Worst? 50
CHAPTER VII.
Rose's Resolutions 70
CHAPTER VIII.
How they wbbe Kept 83
CHAPTER IX.
The Tableaux 101
vol. n.
VI CONTESTS.
CHAPTER X.
Pa<re
An Evening's Pleasuee 119
CHAPTER XL
Rose's Victory 137
CHAPTER XII.
Habd to Beab 158
CHAPTER XIII.
Vkbe at Hoke 175
CHAPTER XIV.
Lady Phimppa's Victory .... 190
LINNET'S TEIAL.
PART III.
CHAPTER III.
THE CAVES.
The boat had now rounded the last angle of
the cliffs, and they prepared to land on a narrow
spit of sand and gravel which ran far out into
the water. Rose, as soon as her foot was on
the shore, ran up towards the cliffs, eager for
a first view of the caverns, which she had never
yet visited. She had time, however, to hear
Brandon say, as he helped Mrs. Damer to
spring from the unsteady gunwale, " So you
won't say that you think me trustworthy ? "
She would not wait for the answer, but hurried
on, the others following leisurely.
VOL. II. B
linnet's trial.
The floor of the little bay which they now
entered was strewn with great rocks and boul-
ders of limestone, making their advance tedious
though not precisely difficult. More tedious,
of comse to the lady who expected to be
helped and encouraged at every step, than to
the light-footed Rose, who, now climbing, now
springing, now letting herself down by the
hands from some rock higher than usual, now
swinging herself across an unexpected pool
which made it impossible to walk through
some miniature pass between two large boul-
ders, got over the ground with surprising
alacrity. The mere exercise raised her spirits,
and she looked back, laughing, at her two
deliberate followers, who were far more deeply
occupied with each other than with the beauty
of the scene before them.
They now approached the mouth of the
first cave, a huge irregular arch, showing
upon its rugged edges and massy buttresses,
upon the curves and bosses of its gradual roof,
upon the surfaces of the blocks of brown stone,
or the pools of mysterious crystal which con-
stituted its pavement — effects of light and
THE CAVES. 3
shade so multitudinous, so variable, so exqui-
site, ere all were lost in the deep purple
blackness of the interior, that Rose could not
restrain a cry of delight.. She could have
stood for a long- while in contemplation, but
she knew that there was little time to spare if
they wished to see all the caverns before their
water-gates were closed again, shutting up
their lovely secrets till the next spring-tide
should make them bare for a few days to tempt
the adventurous intruder. So she went on
rapidly, creeping along a narrow shelf of rock
which skirted a large winding pool in the first
cave, and stopping as seldom as she could to
admire the miracles of colour which charmed
her eye at every step — the cold, tender crystal-
line grey of the distant rocks as she looked
back upon them — the streaks and jewels of
sudden light before her which the sun dropped
in through unseen apertures, and which were
caught as they fell by angles and projec-
tions of rock — the patches of dark glistening
crimson or golden brown where the moist sur-
faces revealed a thousand unsuspected tints —
the lovely pink sea-lichens and the chestnut
b 2
linnet's trial.
mirrors on the wet sea-ribbons at her feet. If
she had paused to examine that one pool at
her feet, the little world of wonder and beauty
which it contained must have held her fettered
for hours. Advancing through the darkness
which brightened as she approached the second
aperture of the cavern — for it perforated one
huge buttress of the cliffs, branching off in
its course into several minor passages — she
stopped at the central point to admire the
view which opened upon her in two directions.
She could see almost at the same moment, by
the slightest possible movement of the head,
the main issue towards which she was ad-
vancing, and the aperture of one of thoso
supplemental cavelets to which we have just
adverted. Through the two arches — one a
huge gateway rich in lights and shadows like
that which she had already passed, and paved
in the same manner with confused masses of
variously tinted rock, the other a much smaller
aperture like a ruined window — she saw two
vignettes of sea, shore, and sky, perfectly con-
t rusted in colour. One, chill, blue, and delicate,
sparkling with the silver frost of distance, was
THE CAVES. 5
like a peep into another world, so passionless
in its pure beauty that human beings would
rather look at it than live in it ; the other, all
suffused and melted by the broad glow of
approaching sunset, seemed to lie panting in
an atmosphere of fire.
There was a tumult in Rose's breast which
she did not well understand, but it yielded to
the influence of the scene. She sat down to
gaze her fill. But the peculiar beauty — the
magic contrast — vanished as she gazed, for
the streaks of cloud which Mrs. Darner had
noticed were gathering and consolidating, and
the wind which had been moaning afar off
for some time past, as though it were being
roused to some business which it did not like,
now began to do its work in earnest, and drive
the white monsters before it. Rose stood up
shivering and looked back for her companions.
She saw only Brandon, who was coming-
rap idly up with a face expressive of vexation.
" Mrs. Darner has hurt her foot," said he,
when he came within speaking distance. " She
cannot get on at all."
"Is it very bad? " asked Rose, feeling at
G linnet's trial.
her heart a most unchristian indifference to
Mrs. Darner's sufferings.
"It is bad enough to prevent her from
•walking. I must carry her to the boat. She
slipped upon one of these horrible stones, and
I'm afraid it is a regular sprain."
"Can I be of any use, sir?" said a man
whom thev had not before observed, but who
now stepped suddenly forward out of the
shadow of the cliff. Hose immediately recog-
nised him as a bailiff of Sir Joseph de Bragge's
who bore far from a first-rate character in the
neighbourhood.
" I think we shall be very glad of you to
help us in lifting the lady into the boat,"
answered Brandon, " if you can spare time
just to come round that point."
" Yes, yes, sir. I can spare time for that,"
said the man, with a low laugh. " I'm on
the look out, but my game's safe enough for
the next quarter of an hour."
He turned and followed them as he spoke.
Brandon, who had the art of falling into easy
chat with men of all classes, soon drew from
him the cause of his presence there. He had
THE CAVES. /
watched a party of Hawthorn Combe men
within the limits of Sir Joseph's property, and
was now waiting to catch them on their return
with a boat-load of the stolen gravel. Eose
was dismayed. She felt quite sure that young
Martin was one of the offenders. She did not
give a moment's thought to the law or justice
of the matter, but, with the mother's face
before her eyes, only strove to devise some
means for securing the culprit's escape. So
quick and eager was the flow of thought which
came upon her that she stood still without
being aware of it, and Brandon, finding that
he was outstripping her, turned and offered his
arm.
" Thank you," said she. " But I was think-
ing that as you will certainly be much slower
than I am, since you have to carry Mrs. Darner
down to the boat, I should have just time to
run round that point, and take one look at the
second cave before I follow you."
Brandon hesitated. " I scarcely know," said
he ; " I do not like to let you go by yourself.
Besides, the weather looks very threatening ;
and do you know, before this happened, I had
8 linnet's trial.
begun to think that we had started imprudently
late on our little excursion. Please give it
up ! "
He spoke in a coaxing tone, but Eose was
by no means displeased at the opportunity of
refusing him a favour. "Oh!" said she,
lightly, " I was by myself before, and I will
be at the boat as soon as you are. Good-bye ! "
And she ran off without waiting to hear any
further dissuasions.
" If you like to go up the cliff path, miss,"
the bailiff called after her, "you can find a
short cut to Hawthorn Combe, and vou
needn't come back to the caves at all. You
can't miss your way."
" Pray. .Miss Forester, pray do not think of
it!" exclaimed Brandon, in unmistakable
vexation ; " it is not right — it is not fit for
you ! I shall wait by the caves till you come
back. I shaU go with you now."
He v..i- springing after her, but she waved
him buck. " How can you make such a fnss
abont a trifle ! " cried she impetuously. "It
is not half a mile across the cliffs, and I shall
save a great deal of time. I shall certainly go
THE CAVES. 9
that way. And pray do not you keep poor
Mrs. Darner waiting, who is in such pain."
" Lord, sir," said the bailiff, " don't you
trouble about the young lady. She can't
come to no hurt. She'll be at Hawthorn
Combe before you are, and you can pick her
up easy if you are going on in the boat, or join
her there if you mean to land there."
Brandon had no choice but submission, but
all his disposition for chat was gone, and it
was with a very black countenance and in total
silence that he strode over the rocks to the
place where poor little Mrs. Damer sat waiting
for him, really in quite sufficient pain to induce
her to welcome him with genuine delight.
'is
10 LINNET'S TRIAL.
CHAPTER IV.
rose's adventure.
Meantime Rose, pleased at having gained her
point, and somewhat excited by her unwonted
draught of freedom, hurried on as fast as she
could, running, climbing, and springing like
a young deer. The first headland which she
passed opened an unsatisfactory prospect : the
cove to which it conducted her was perfectly
empty, neither man nor boat to be seen. But
it was carpeted with sand, and she thought
she could run across it in a couple of minutes.
Marking, therefore, the line of the cliff path
of which the bailiff had told her, that she
might be sure not to miss it on her return,
she jumped down from the rock on which she
stood, and went on without a moment's hesi-
tation.
rose's adventure. 11
The next point which she approached, after a
run of considerably more than the purposed two
minutes, was washed by the sea at its base.
Looking upward, however, she perceived that
it was accessible for a climber of ordinary
courage, and she accordingly began to mount,
pausing only to recover breath. She scrambled
from one j)rojection to another, and in a very
short time reached a shelf of rock from which
she commanded a full view of the little bay
beyond, and there she triumphantly beheld
just such a group as she expected — two men
busily engaged in loading a boat which they
had beached upon the gravel, and were ap-
parently almost ready to push off again. Rose
felt a momentary emotion of doubt at the
strangeness of her position, but she had no
time to consider. She descended a little way,
and then stood still and called to the men.
There was a short delay before she could make
them hear, and during that interval the two
men were joined by a boy, who, turning his
face towards her, was recognised by her at
once. Apparently he knew her too, for he
drew the attention of his companions to her,
12 linnet's trial.
and then darting away from them was up the
face of the cliff in a moment like a cat. When
he reached the summit she saw him take to
his heels, and go off like an arrow in the direc-
tion of Hawthorn Combe. She looked down
again, and saw the same black -haired young
Hercules who had attracted her attention at
Hawthorn Combe, standing on the sand just
below the elevation on which she was, and
asking her with somewhat surly civility what
she wanted.
Rose felt herself becoming crimson as she
answered him in rather a sheepish manner,
" Sir Joseph de Bragge's bailiff is watching in
the little bay round the corner."
The man's whole face seemed to flash as she
spoke. Muttering a very decided imprecation
against the bailiff, he dashed back to his boat,
but tamed before he had reached it, came
1 lack a few steps, took off his cap, and expressed
his gratitude with a warmth which made Rose
feel uncomfortable and guilty. " Thank you
kindly, miss ; thank you heartily. If ever
you wiin t a good turn done you, I hope I may
do it." Hose did not wait to hear any more,
rose's adventure. 13
but secretly resolving that she would tell
nobody, not even Linnet, what had happened,
she hastened back in search of the cliff-
path.. As she mounted, a few thin and widely-
scattered flakes of snow began to fall, and she
looked up uneasily at the sky, which was
covered with dense clouds. By the time that
she stood panting at the brow of the cliff it
was snowing briskly. An outcry from below
attracted her attention. She looked back,
but it was difficult to see clearly through the
moving and whitened atmosphere. However,
she thought she could perceive the boat with
one man in it, a little way out at sea, and
lying so deeply in the water that she could
not doubt that it still contained its load of
gravel. In the cove, just above the spot
where the boat had stood when she paid it
her adventurous visit, were two men struggling
together with great fury. Their black vehe-
ment figures, with the driving snow-flakes
around them, and the purple crags rising on
either side, might have served a painter as
models for a couple of demons, grotesque yet
terrible. Rose dared not wait to see the issue
14 linnet's trial.
of the contest, but fled away as fast as she
could, a little repenting her Quixotism, and
most heartily wishing herself safe at home.
A few minutes after she was gone, one of the
combatants succeeded in flinging his anta-
gonist from him. The conquered man fell
heavily upon the ground, stunned for the
moment. The other dashed through the
water and joined his comrade in the boat,
which immediately went on its way as fast as
a pair of stalwart rowers could propel it. The
man who had fallen, recovering himself after a
little while, rose, and with a fierce and bitter
countenance ascended the cliff-path and fol-
lowed in the direction of Hawthorn Combe.
We must return to Leonora and Dr. Selden.
"When they were left alone they paced the
sands for some time, talking of the subject
uppermost in the hearts of both — India. Dr.
Gulden's anxiety was increased by the fact
that Charles was for the present separated
from Vere, to an extent which plainly showed
how little real confidence he had in his son,
though he was very far from expressing any
such feeling, or even from consciously ad-
rose's adventure. 15
raitting it in his own mind. It was not sup-
posed that Charles was in a position of any
danger. He was detached upon some duty
which neither Linnet nor his father clearly
comprehended. All they knew was, that he
was with one party in a fort with an unpro-
nounceable name, and Yere was with a much
larger body at a distance of some twenty
miles. Leonora sympathised fully in the
father's regrets that Charles was now beyond
the reach of regular correspondence, but she
tried to take a bright view of the general
question, and to impart it to her companion.
The mere effort was helpful to herself. So
they talked, and took little note of time or
weather, till a woman came out of one of the
fishing-huts, low down upon the beach, and,
shading her eyes with her hand, looked out
wistfully in the direction of the caverns. They
instinctively followed her gaze, and then they
perceived for the first time how rough the sea
was growing, and how threatening the sky.
Presently the woman turned and came slowly
towards them. She was a mere girl, not more
than eighteen, erect and slender, and with a
16 linnet's teial.
pretty, picturesque face. She carried a young
infant in her arms, her shawl being tightly
drawn round herself and the child, after the
graceful fashion of Welsh and Devonshire
mothers, a fashion which defines, yet softens,
the outline, and marks so becomingly the
backward lean of the mother's figure. Leonora
addressed her — it was not Dr. Selden's way to
speak to strangers of any class if he could
help it.
" It seems likely to be rough weather," said
she ; " are you looking out for friends ? "
"Yes, miss; but there's no danger to-
night, thanks be ! They're only just round
the corner there, and I hope they'll be home
before the snow-storm."
Leonora turned to her companion. " It
does really look very threatening," said she ;
" I will just run up the cliff there, and see if
I can discover any signs of them. I wish
they would come back ! "
There was an easy zigzag path cut in the
side of the cliff, just above the village, and
Leonora was soon at the top of it. The first
sight she saw was James Martin, coming along
rose's adventure. 17
at full speed, with a hunted look, as if he
thought some unwelcome follower was behind
him. He had intended to pass her, but, when
he found that he was observed, he thought it
best to stop and face her.
" Have you seen anything of Mr. Brandon
and the ladies, Billy?" asked she; "I am
looking out for them."
The boy was so out of breath that he could
not answer her at first. When he was able to
articulate, he averred that he had not seen
them ; he had left the Hawthorn Combe men
to fetch the gravel, and was going home as
fast as he could, for he was late, and he was
" afeard father would be angry/'
Leonora looked at her watch. " It is not
half-past four yet," said she ; " you have
nearly an hour's daylight. See, it is begin-
ning to snow. What can delay them so long?"
As usual, every person concerned had more
or less miscalculated the time. Leonora
thought they had been away long enough to
see the caves twice over, while the other party,
having left their expedition unfinished, be-
lieved that they should return before they were
VOL. II. c
18 linnet's trial.
expected. But the reason of the matter was,
after all, on Leonora's side, as the fading day-
light clearly proved that they were unwise in
undertaking the exclusion at all, and could
not possibly have accomplished it, unless they
had resolved to remain out after dark. She
now crouched down by a tuft of stunted
bushes, which afforded a sufficient shelter
from the incipient snow-storm, and watched
for the boat. It was fully ten minutes ere she
saw it appear, emerging from behind one of
the projecting headlands, and looking to her
unmarine eyes as if it was making for any-
where rather than for Hawthorn Combe.
She watched it for two or three minutes, and
then ran down to Dr. Selden. By the time
she reached him, it was visible from the sands.
" Here they are ! " cried he, in a tone of
great satisfaction ; " and now we have to
consider what is best to be done. This good
woman will give us shelter, if we think there
is any chance of the weather's improving, so
as to allow us all to walk back to Kirkham.
But if not, perhaps Mr. Brandon and I had
better leave you ladies in her charge, and
hose's adventure. 19
make our way to Mayborough ; thence we can
send some sort of vehicle for you, while we go
on to Kirkkain, and tell them what has hap-
pened. I dare say Mr. Forester is in a fidget."
Leonora was so engrossed with the boat,
that she scarcely understood him. " Look ! "
she cried, " do look ! I am sure there is only
one lady there." He strained his eyes, but
could not make out the figures. However, the
young Hawthorn Combe woman confirmed
Linnet's idea, and assured them positively
that there were only three persons, a gentle-
man, a lady, and the boatman, whom she
familiarly called " Bobby-my-eye ! " Every
man, woman, and child in Hawthorn Combe
had a nickname, generally derived from pre-
cisely that peculiarity, whether in the history
or the appearance of the individual, which he
would have desired to pass unnoticed. " Bobby-
my-eye " squinted portentously.
They stood watching the boat with unspeak-
able anxiety ; and when, at last, Brandon
shouted an inquiry whether Rose was with
them, Linnet had no voice to utter the nega-
tive, and was obliged to leave it to Dr. Selden.
c 2
20 linnet's trial.
Brandon pulled in and jumped ashore, and a
few words sufficed to explain tlieir position.
" She ought to be here," cried he ; " there is
no doubt that she ought to be here by this
time, if she has not missed her way. I must
go and look for her. Do you wait here in the
cottage till I come back/'
"Stop," said Dr. Selden ; "we must con-
sider Mrs. Darner. Let us settle to wait half
an hour, and then "
" I cannot go till I know whether Rose is
safe," interrupted Linnet.
" Listen a moment," said Brandon eagerly.
" The boatman says our best way is to pull on
to Mayborough. Ten minutes will carry you
round that point, and then you are in the bay,
and in smooth water ; it is quite sheltered
from this wind. The nearest landing is just
under the house where Mrs. Fawcett is lodging.
Mrs. Darner can be carried up there in two
minutes. Will it not be better for you all to
wait there ? As soon as I find Eose I will
take a boat here and follow, and then we can
send word on to Kirkham without delay. Is
not this the best plan ? '' He looked appeal-
rose's adventure. 21
ingly from Dr. Selden to Linnet, and the
latter answered, " We might wait here half
an hour first, might we not, for the chance of
your return, and for the chance also of the
storm abating a little? I think I can see
light under the clouds." She pointed, as she
spoke, in a direction so precisely opposite to
that from which the wind was blowing, that
Brandon smiled in the midst of his anxiety,
and told her that her idea of the points of the
compass was " exquisitely feminine." " How-
ever," he added, " I think you may wait half
an hour, and I hope I shall be back long
before then. Only poor Mrs. Darner must be
carried ashore, and put under cover."
" Leave it to me," said Dr. Selden ; " I will
attend to the ladies. And remember, we shall
not wait more than half an hour, for I cannot
be easy till I have them safely housed. Now
you had better lose no time."
Brandon was off even while he spoke, but
Dr. Selden followed him a little way, and
asked, " Do you know the path she took ? Is
it a safe one ? "
The young man turned upon him a face
22 linnet's trial.
which showed, without words, the depth of
his alarm. " What path can be safe for a girl
like her in weather like this ? " answered he,
with a gesture of despair. " I only know she
went up the cliffs. My hope is that she has
taken shelter somewhere ; my fear that she
has missed her footing. Do not wait more
than half an hour."
Pie hurried away. Dr. Selden returned, and
having peremptorily sent Leonora into the hut,
superintended the landing of poor Mrs. Darner,
w T hose situation, tossing in the surf, with a
sprained ankle and no small amount of inward
terror, was certainly not to be envied. Leo-
nora thought she should never forget her look
as she was carried into the fisherman's cabin —
such a small, soft, helpless creature, with such
wide wistful eyes. Their young hostess be-
stirred herself in their service with plenty of
goodwill, but with a nervous consciousness of
her want of power to make them comfortable.
It did not escape her that Mrs. Darner was
afraid to lie down on the bed lest it should
not be clean, nor that Leonora instinctively
gathered up her skirts from contact with the
rose's adventure. 23
earthen floor ; but so far from resenting these
natural precautions she quite sympathised with
them, and was ready to suggest the like her-
self. She laid the baby out of her arms in a
wooden cradle, and, giving it an occasional rock
with her foot as she passed, hastily produced
from the closet a large coarse clean cloth, and
spread it upon the floor in front of the fire,
with a pleasant self-gratulatory smile which
seemed to say, " Now those nice pretty flounces
of yours will be safe from all mischief." She
then carefully wiped and brought forward two
chairs, threw a bundle of sticks upon the fire,
and looking brightly at the ladies, said with
her eyes, "What else can I do for you?"
Leonora answered her with a smile, " Oh, thank
you ! please don't take any more trouble for
us ; we shall be quite comfortable. Only you
must come and sit by this nice warm fire with
us." " Thank you, ma'am, I think I'll just
stand in the door. I'm looking out for my
husband, and it is rough weather." Linnet
busied herself in making Mrs. Darner as com-
fortable as she could, produced a pillow to
support the injured foot, and then, murmuring
24 linnet's trial.
a few anxious words about Bose, went to the
doorway, where Dr. Selden and Mary Black-
more stood watching the white uneasy sky
with dejected looks. As she joined them Mary
uttered an exclamation of satisfaction thai
seemed to rise from some region deeper than
the ordinary heart. "Ah — h! there's the
boat ! " And in another moment the opera-
tion of landing the boat, with all its natural
accompaniments of vehement action and vigo-
rous shouting, was taking place just below the
cottage door.
" You're late, Hugh ! " she cried, as she
encountered the swift athlete who came spring-
ing up the bank, and brought him to a sudden
halt by pointing to the figures of her guests.
He slouched bashfully past them, only just
remembering to pull off his cap, and making-
no attempt to rival the natural good breeding
of his young wife. Linnet addressed him
eagerly : " You come from beyond the caves.
Did you see anything of the young lady who
was with us when we spoke to you and Billy
Martin, just as you were setting off more than
an hour ago ? "
rose's adventure. 25
" Why yes, miss — sure enough — I seed her,"
was the answer.
" We have lost her — we don't know where
she is — we are very much frightened about
her — can you tell us anything ? " pursued
Linnet, chilled by his tone.
He instantly kindled into life. " She went
up the Fern Cliff better than half an hour
since. She should have been here by now.
I'll go look for her."
" We'll make it Avorth your while, my
friend, if you find her," said Dr. Selden.
The fisherman's rough chivalry was not
more above feeling the spur of a promised
reward than that of his betters. Indeed, we
know of no class which honestly condemns the
theory of rewards, except that which has to
bestow them. He was so eager to set out on
his quest that he would not even wait for his
supper. His wife, just as eager to speed him,
brought him a draught of milk in the doorway,
and then stood looking after him as he went
up the hill-path with great strides.
Dr. Selden now came back to his ladies.
" It is useless to wait any longer," said he,
26 linnet's trial.
with the quickness of a man who feels that an
unpleasant step must be taken, and that linger-
ing will only make it more unpleasant still.
"The snow is abating just now, but look at
that huge bank of clouds coming up ! We have,
perhaps, ten minutes tolerably clear — I must
ask you to start at once."
" But there is no boat ready," cried poor
Leonora, catching at any chance of detention.
He gave her a pitying look, but answered
almost roughly, " Yes, yes, it is all right.
Pray come." And she had no course but to
submit.
The little voyage to Mayborough was per-
formed in total silence. Mrs. Darner, subdued
by pain and by the faces of her companions,
only expressed her terror at the very severe
pitching and tossing which they had to go
through ere they rounded the point, and which
might have frightened a brave woman, by
grasping Leonora's wrist tightly in her two
small hands. Dr. Selden was busy steering ;
Leonora never ceased looking at the cliffs.
At last they landed, and Mrs. Fawcett and
Miss Carr were soon exclaiming over them,
rose's adventure. 27
and arranging them with, every comfort that
could be attained on so short a notice. A
messenger was despatched to Kirkham, Mrs.
Damer was put to bed, unlimited supplies
of tea and toast were produced, Miss Carr
attached herself to the invalid in the bedroom,
and Mrs. Fawcett, Leonora, and Dr. Selden
sat still and looked at each other.
Dr. Selden was the first to speak. " What
message did you send to Kirkham?" asked
he.
" I wrote a note," said Leonora; " I merely
said that we had been caught in the storm,
that Mrs. Damer had sprained her ankle seri-
ously, and that we had all taken refuge here
till to-morrow. I did not mention — I did not
think it necessary to alarm them "
" Ah ! " said Dr. Selden, " I am sorry. It
is always best to speak the exact truth from
the first."
That was not Linnet's principle. She thought
it a great gain if she could save five minutes'
anxiety or discomfort to those she loved, and
would go any length, short of telling an
actual falsehood, to do so. Indeed she has
28 linnet's teial.
been accused of so disguising a painful truth
that it would require very sharp eyes to dis-
tinguish it from a falsehood — a fault, doubt-
less, and to be amended, let us hope, but not
a fault worthy of very severe condemnation.
The niirht stole on. At first no idea of
going to bed till Brandon should have arrived
was suggested. They would not even admit
the notion that they might have to sit up for
him. It was taken as a matter of course,
that he, and most probably Rose with him,
would be amongst them very shortly. They
made it as long a business as they could to
get tea and wine and all sorts of comforts
ready, and then sat down and waited, at
first talking cheerfully enough, though with a
certain effort, and then gradually dropping
down into uneasy silence. Presently — it was
past midnight — the invalid called to Leonora
through the open door. They had made her
a bed in the back parlour in order to save
her the discomfort of being carried upstairs.
Linnet went to her.
"Mrs. Forester!"
" I am here. What can I do for you ? "
rose's adventure. 29
" Do you tli ink you could manage to send
for my little boy ?"
Leonora opened her eyes almost as wide as
the great dark orbs that were looking at her
so strangely from the mass of white drapery
and pdlows, all tossed and tumbled by inces-
sant restlessness.
" Send for him now — at this hour — in the
cold — what can you mean?"
" Oh ! I suppose it's impossible, of course ;
only I want to see him very much, and I dare
say he is getting so anxious about me ! "
Leonora soothed her as if she had been a
child, though feeling in her heart that a little
of Rose's reasonable indignation might have
done her good. " Depend upon it he is in
bed and asleep by this time," were the words
with which she closed her exhortation.
" Oh ! ah ! — true — in bed ! I never thought
about his going to bed. Then he is only
dreaming of me. He will tell me all about it
to-morrow. You know I must go home to-
morrow ! "
" If your poor little foot is well enough,
dear Mrs. Darner! You know we must be
30 linnet's trial.
very prudent, because we are so precious ! '
This was Miss Carr.
Mrs. Darner rather ignored her. " Is Mr.
Brandon come back ? " asked she.
" Not yet. We expect them every minute."
" "Why," raising herself on her elbow and
looking fixedly at Leonora's pale face, "you're
not anxious, are you? It's not the sort of
thing to be anxious about. Nobody is ever
really lost in a snow-storm. Besides Rose,
Miss Forester, looks so vigorous. Just the
kind of figure that one can fancy contending
against the elements. You are so poetical,
that you must quite feel what I mean. I do
so wish you would come and sit by me and
repeat j)oetry till I go to sleep. I am so fond
of poetry, and I am so sleepy."
" I dare say Miss Carr will kindly read to
you," said Leonora, making her escape ; " I
want to be quite ready when Rose comes."
.Miss Carr followed her to the door to whisper
"How sweet Mrs. Damer is! So natural!"
and then returned to the bedside.
"There's no use in sitting up any longer,"
said Dr. Selden, and added, as Leonora gazed
rose's adventure. 31
into his face with an expression of blank
dismay, " I mean, it is useless for us all to
sit up. You two ladies had better go away
quietly to bed. It's snowing hard just now,
and you may rely upon it that they have
persuaded Mr. Brandon to stay in the place
where Rose has taken shelter — some one of
the cottages or farm-houses, of course — till
the storm abates a little. Now please go ! I
promise to come and thunder at your door if
any news arrives. Mrs. Fawcett, make her
go ! She is as white as a sheet, and she may
want all her strength to-morrow."
Leonora was naturally submissive, and she
suffered Mrs. Fawcett to lead her upstairs.
They parted with a silent embrace, and Leonora,
having wept and prayed, tried honestly to do
what had been decided for her, undressed and
went to bed, and lay there wakeful and sad.
Her bedroom window looked upon the sea,
and as the snow-clouds gradually cleared away,
there was bright moonlight. Finding sleep
impossible she rose, undrew the blind, and
looked out. A wild scene ! The heaving
foam crests looked almost black as thev
32 linnet's trial.
crossed the silver sweep of moonshine, and the
wind blew in those sudden interrupted gusts
which sound as though a host of spirits were
arousing themselves, each with a cry of anger,
and a separate will for mischief. {She watched
absently a little dark boat struggling in the
water, and when it passed into the shadow of
the cliffs and was hidden, she felt a faint,
hardly-conscious hope, that it had abandoned
the mad effort to go to sea, and that the
people were somewhere on shore, safe and com-
fortable. Presently something moving among
the low furze and brushwood on the upper
edge of the cliff caught her eye. She was
still looking listlessly and hardly noticing what
she saw. She was not fairly roused to atten-
tion till the figure of a man emerged, and
rapidly approached the house, looking up at
the^windows. Then she stooped eagerly out,
and called, with her whole heart in her voice,
" Is that you, Mr. Brandon ? "
No answer, and the person addressed in-
stantly disappeared, so instantly that she
thought he must have darted under the cover
of a low verandah which surrounded the house.
rose's adventure. 33
She felt no doubt that it was Brandon — but
why had not he answered her ? It could only
be because he brought bad news. But this
suspense was intolerable, so she wrapped her-
self in a shawl, and ran down to the sitting-
room, a sudden recollection of Mrs. Darner's
close neighbourhood making her tread softly
and open the door noiselessly, and speak in a
whisper. Dr. Selden was walking up and
down the room ; he was startled for a moment,
but came to her directly. " I think Mr. Bran-
don is here," said Leonora, as quietly as she
could, with only a little breathlessness making-
articulation difficult. " I have seen a man come
up to the house and enter the verandah. I
think he is, perhaps, afraid of waking every-
body." While she spoke Dr. Selden drew her
arm through his and led her to the house door.
They opened it and went out into the verandah,
but saw no one. Leonora pressed her hand upon
her heart. A terrible vision of a young girl
lying stretched out, white, senseless, frozen,
was before her eyes, and she could not shut it
out, and almost feared she should see the real-
ity before her in another moment. Dr. Selden
VOL. II. D
34 linnet's trial.
called " Is any one there ? " Still no answer.
He turned to Leonora with the masculine idea
that she being a woman had mistaken fancy
for fact.
" Are you quite sure you saw anybody ? "
" Quite sure."
" Isn't it possible that you were dreaming
— half asleep, in anxiety and fatigue — not
quite able to distinguish between sleeping and
waking?"
" Quite impossible."
" Yet, you see, there is no one here ! "
The light verandah roof above their heads
was violently shaken while he spoke — they ran
out upon the green, and, looking up, were
just in time to see a man swing himself down
from the open window of Leonora's room, de-
scending by one of the pillars, and away down
the side of the cliff so quickly, that pursuit
was impossible. For a moment they stared at
each other with that strange feeling of abso-
lutely vague surprise which seems, while it
lasts, to annihilate thought, and then by the
same impulse they ran upstairs to Leonora's
bedroom. The window was as she had left it,
rose's adventure. 35
wide open ; the white moonlight flooded the
room. Everything was undisturbed and un-
altered.
" Look here," said Dr. Selden, pointing to
some crushed and torn ivy-sprays which lay on
the sill of the window, " these mark where he
came up, but I find no trace of his having
actually entered the room. What have you
got there ? "
Leonora stooped and picked up a piece of
paper wrapped round a stone which had evi-
dently been thrown into the room through the
window. There were words written in pencil
upon it, too pale to be easily decipherable
by the moonlight. They hurried downstairs,
and read, with a relief which may be easily
imagined, the following little note in Rose's
handwriting : —
" I am quite safe. I lost my way, and the
storm came on dreadfully, and I was so fright-
ened ; but I was found, and taken care of. I
am in a comfortable farmhouse, and every
care is taken of me, and I believe I have not
even caught cold. This note is to go to you by
the first possible opportunity, but I am afraid
d 2
36 linnet's trial.
you cannot have it before to-morrow morning,
and I am so very sorry to think how anxious you
all are. I am glad you are at Mayborough, for
now I hope papa will not hear that I was lost
till after you know I am found. I am going
to bed. — Rose."
Good news indeed ! Not till it had been
thoroughly exulted over could they find time
to begin wondering at the strange manner in
which it reached them. This was a perfect
puzzle, and they had to leave it unsolved.
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 37
CHAPTER V.
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER.
The next morning, while they were all assem-
bled at breakfast, Mrs. Darner having insisted
on being carried to a sofa in the sitting-room,
Brandon walked in, and received the tumultu-
ous greeting of the party very philosophically.
" Yes, I had a pretty chase," said he as soon
as they gave him time to answer their ques-
tions. " After I had gone carefully over the
whole of the ground which I thought Rose
must have traversed, and had been more
frightened than I cared to allow to myself by
finding a bit of a torn veil on a furze-bush at
the edge of the cliff, I took a new line, and
began to inquire at all the human habitations
I could find. I thoroughly agitated six or
seven good wives, and might have had a per-
3S linnet's trial.
feet army of searchers at my back in their
husbands if I had pleased. At last I found
her ; she had not more than an hour's start of
me, and had been all that time wandering in
the snow."
There was no little pathos in his voice, and
Mrs. Darner said, " Ah, poor child ! " with a
very pretty expression of sympathy.
" She was tired to death, of course ; but I
really hope there is nothing the matter with
her. I saw her this morning before I came
away, and she looked quite fresh. You got
a note from her, did you not?" tinning to
Leonora.
" Yes ; in the strangest way. Who brought
it?"
" One of those fellows from Hawthorn
Combe. I fancy you saw him, and sent him
to take care of me. He found Miss Forester
before I did, and undertook to carry the news
to you."
They told him how the note had been de-
livered, but he could throw no light at all
on the transaction, and the only new fact
with which he supplied them was that their
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 39
midnight visitor had certainly been Hugh
Blackmore.
" Why he could not come and knock at the
door like a rational being it passes my skill
to determine," said Brandon.
" Oh, they seem such a wild set down
there!'' observed Mrs. Darner. " I should
think they do nothing at all like other
people."
" That is precisely what occurred to me,"
said Miss Can*. " I dare say there was a sort
of romance and adventure in the proceeding
which pleased the poor fellow's fancy. People
who live in contact with nature seem to do
that sort of thing, you know."
"What sort of thing?" asked Leonora,
with a little malice.
Mrs. Fawcett interposed. " They do seem
a wild kind of people," said she ; " but there
must, I think, be some special reason for
this. I dare say we shall find it out in tinu
if we wait patiently."
" If you only knew," said Miss Carr, with
an air of playfulness, " how very unphiloso-
phical my aunt is in her own matters, you
40 linnet's tkial.
would be amused to see her so patient about
other people's concerns ! "
Leonora took the dear lady's hand caress-
ingly in her own. " I would trust her with
my concerns," said she, " let them be what
they might."
" That is because you are so philosophical
yourself, my dear Mrs. Forester. I often say
what an example you are — you take every-
thing so coolly and calmly — nobody would
ever think, to look at you, that you had any
subject of anxiety in the world. Quite different
from Dr. Selden here — he has not exactly
your self-command. I suspect " (with much
archness of manner), " if we could know the
truth, he cares rather more for his son than
you do for your husband. Or perhaps he has
not quite the same amount of confidence; I
dare say it's that ! "
Miss Carr had certainly the art of bring-
ing a conversation to a premature close, for
her playfulness was so wonderfully mal-a-
propos, the things she said in sport were so
perfectly tactless, and had so close a re-
semblance to insults, and her reliance upon
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 41
her own grace and delicacy was so manifest
and so unswerving, that it really was impos-
sible to answer her unless you intended to
quarrel with her. Leonora's cheek flushed,
and even Dr. Selden looked a little out of
countenance as one of his most uncomfort-
able secret misgivings was thus presented to
him in the guise of a joke ; but both were
silent.
By this time Mrs. Darner had appropriated
Brandon again. Leonora, watchful for Rose,
had seen with satisfaction how pre-occupied he
was, and how little he seemed disposed to
renew his attentions. But this unnatural
state of things did not last long, and before
they quitted the breakfast table he was playing
at slavery again as strenuously as the lady
herself could wish. Leonora began to deter-
mine, in her own mind, that he was not worthy
of Rose, and to hope that Rose did not care
seriously for him.
They returned to Kirkham, and were wel-
comed by Rose herself, a little paler than
usual, but showing no other trace of her
adventures. She was full of distress and ex-
42 linnet's trial.
citemcnt about one event of the ni°;ht which
had not yet come to their knowledge.
" Oh, Linnet ! Oh, Dr. Selden ! Such a
terrible thing ! Sir Joseph de Bragge's bailiff
lias been attacked and beaten, and he is likely
to die ! People say he has been stabbed, but I
don't know if that is true. And I arn afraid,
I am afraid there is no doubt it was Huo-h
Blackmore. They had quarrelled before, and
Hugh Blackmore is gone away, nobody knows
where. His poor wife! she was sitting on
the step of her cottage door as I passed,
looking as if her senses were quite gone.
Everybody was afraid to speak to her. I
made her and her baby get into the carriage
with me, and I took them to Esther Martin's
— anything must be better than to be quite
alone. I could hardly get her to speak, but I
said every tiling I could think of to comfort
her. And then I found the poor Martins in
such trouble themselves. That horrid bailiff
— poor man ! I ought not to say so, since he is
likely to die — but he is horrid, and he says,
I believe he swears, that Martin was with the
man who assaulted him. It is all mixed up
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 43
with some business about stealing Sir Joseph's
gravel. One of the ways in which he op-
presses the people is that they steal his gravel !
Oh, Dr. Selclen! why do you laugh? The
magistrates have got Martin now " (she spoke
of the magistrates as if they were birds of
prey), " and I believe they will send him to
prison ! And his mother declares he was at
home, but of course the magistrates don't
believe her, because she is a woman, and his
mother ! "
" No constituted authority seems to find
favour in your eyes just now," observed Dr.
Selden. " But I am really very sorry for the
Martins. I was afraid that young scamp
would get himself into a scrape, after all the
care we have thrown away upon his religious
education ! "
" I think," said Leonora, " I ought to go
directly and tell that I saw the boy on his way
home. It may save him."
" Do you happen to know what o'clock it
was ? "
"Yes; he asked me, and I looked at my
watch. It was when I went up the cliff to
44 linnet's trial.
look out for the boat ; and he was afraid he
should be too late at home, and his father
would be angry."
" I will go with you at once ! " cried Dr.
Selden, with much energy. " It will probably
just settle the point."
They went, without a moment's delay.
Leonora was a little nervous in giving her
evidence. Most women have a chronic horror
of anything resembling a court of justice, as
one of the dark possibilities of life — a place
where truth may be made to look like false-
hood, and innocence overwhelmed with public
shame. She gave it, however, quietly and
straightforwardly ; and it saved the boy. Her
precise recollection of the hour at which she
had seen him hurrying home tallied exactly
with his poor, weeping, confused, contradictory
mother's account of the hour at which he had
arrived there, and, as she averred, gone to
bed. Sir Joseph made an ineffectual attempt
to quash it, by the suggestion that he might
have returned to Hawthorn Combe, and joined
Blackmore again ; but this would not stand.
The bailiff had stated in his affidavit the hour
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 45
at which he was attacked, and there was not
time for the boy to have returned between
these two fixed limits. This accusation having
been proved false, the other statement, that
the boy was concerned in stealing the gravel,
was discredited. The evidence here was im-
perfect; the bailiff had, under examination,
betrayed the fact that the loaded boat was
riding outside the surf when he came down
upon Blackmore, hoping to catch him in the
very deed. There was, therefore, no proof that
the gravel had been fetched from Sir Joseph's
fatal cove; and the boy Martin's dogged
asseveration, that " we might ha' got un any-
wheres," could not be gainsayed. Sir Joseph
had shown rather an unpleasant eagerness to
press the case against the boy ; and when he
now ventured to throw out an ungenial jest to
the effect that " it was a pity not to keep the
young rogue now they caught him, for, if he
was innocent this time, it was only by chance,
and he was guilty a dozen times to this one,"
his brother magistrates looked a little grave at
him, and Lady Philippa conveyed to him by
an expressive movement of the eyebrow her
46 LEsTSTET's TKIAL.
advice to let the matter drop. So he turned it
off handsomely, as a country gentleman's en-
thusiastic affection for his bailiff, and went off
to nurse that honest and upright man, with
tears in his eyes.
Leonora stopped on her way out to answer
smilingly the eager thanks and blessings which
Esther Martin poured out at her feet. Billy
looked sheepish enough, yet blushed with a
kind of pleasure when she laid her pretty hand
on his shoulder, and told him with all possible
tenderness of manner, that she was so glad he
was innocent, and she did hope he would try
to be very steady, and take warning by this
terrible crime which had been committed, and
keep himself away from bad companions. He
said " yes, ma'am, " but in a tone which
rather implied that he had been quite steady
enough already, and with a sturdy mental
nation that Hugh Blackmore wasn't a
bad companion, and the bailiff deserved all he
got. We are afraid that Rose quite agreed with
him as soon as she heard the bailiff was out of
danger. Indeed, she never showed anything
like the amount of pity which might have
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 47
been expected from a kind-hearted girl under
the circumstances, and excused herself by
saying- "that somehow she wasn't able to
realise his injuries, and she couldn't help
thinking he made a great fuss about them."
Lady Philippa passed Leonora, and did not
grace her with a bow. For the moment she had
lost her temper. She seemed excited, and was
speaking loudly to Sir Joseph. " Ah, poor
thing, she has trouble of her own ! I am sure
/ am very sorry for her, because of the dis-
grace." Leonora supposed that she was speak-
ing of Mary Blackmore.
" You see," said she to Dr. Selden as they
walked home, " Hugh's little midnight visit
to me is quite explained. He had undertaken
to carry that note for Rose, and he was afraid
to show himself. How strange that he should
have fulfilled his commission so scrupulously
— a violent, lawless man, fresh from crime ! "
" Strange, but quite natural," replied Dr.
Selden, " I condemn the crime, of course ;
but these tyrannies on a small scale make
brave men lawless and mean men slavish, just
as the larger tyrannies create red republicans,
48 linnet's trial.
or sycophants and courtiers. Hugh Blackmore
lias the making of a better man in him than
the bailiff even now ; but I'm afraid he will
never come to good. I wonder what has
become of him."
And I wonder too ; but chiefly what Hugh
Blackmore thinks about, on the deck of that
ship, tossing in the trough of an uncomfort-
able sea as the sun goes down. The wife's
face is before him, and the baby's : he has
soft places in his heart, that strong, rough,
violent man. Perhaps that poor earthen-
floored cottage, from which we drew up our
delicate skirts so carefully, was some kind of
paradise to him. Not a mere sleeping and
eating place, but at the very least a nest where
the wild bird keeps all that it cares for — a
home, a shelter, a treasury. And there is woe
there now. That he knows. What a change
in that bright face of welcome ! What bitter
trouble ! What white terror ! What a scream
was that as she clung round him, and would
not let him go ! Hark ! he hears it now ! It
is in the wind as it shakes the mast and
wrenches the cordage. That is but natural ;
LADY PHILIPPA IS SORRY FOR HER. 49
but worse, far worse, it comes under the still
moonlight in the gentlest sigh of the moving
water. Then he hears it, and covers his face,
and remembers. That life is marred. Even
if the present anguish pass, and he is able to
return home and live again in the old place,
he will never be as he was : there is no per-
fect recovery in this world. A little mark
of disgrace is on him, there is a story to be
told about him, a thing to be discovered. He
wonders if people know it. He is a shade
harder himself; more likely to commit crime
than he was before ; readier to defy than to
repent. " The rascal deserved all he got ! "
of that he is sure. Why should he be sorry
or ashamed ? Yet if any good fairy could, in
some private sudden moment, give him the
power to cut that piece out of his history — not
merely to erase, but to annihilate it, so that it
really should not have been — would he hesitate?
Would he not break down at once into the
softness of perfect joy ? Alas ! there is no
such fairy !
VOL. II. e
50 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER VI.
IS THIS THE WORST ?
Leonora found a letter from her husband at
home. It was not written in good spirits.
He seemed greatly disappointed at the escape
of the chief whom he was hunting. " The
fellow has slipped through our lingers again,"
he wrote, "just as we thought we had him.
And the worst of it is, he has cost us several
of our best men, among them poor Martin, for
whom I do grieve most sincerely. He was
one of the few whom I could thoroughly trust.
He was with one of the parties lying in wait,
and was shot at the very first encounter. There
were but two paths through the jungle which
our game could take, and I had a party in each
of them. I was at hand to support either. A
signal was to summon me as soon as the
turbans were really coming up. I thought
IS THIS THE WORST? 51
we could not miss him this time. My out-
looking parties were too small to scare him
back, and yet large enough to deceive him
into thinking they were all ; besides, the path
wound so that he could not see them till he
was upon them. If he had fairly run from
either party, which I did not expect, he would
of course take to the other path ; and by the
time he came up with the friends who were
waiting to welcome him there, those on whom
he had turned his back would be at his heels,
and we should have had him between two
fires. He did not run, but there was some
mistake in the signal : they were at blows
before I could get to them ; and when I came
up, the first sight I saw was the body of poor
Martin lying across the path. He was shot
through the heart, and died instantly. There
was a sharp encounter, and we have a handful
of prisoners, but not the man we want. It is
mortifying in the extreme." He passed on to
other topics, but a tone of depression was
apparent in all — a depression which did not
fail to impart itself to the spirits of his faithful
reader. Leonora felt nervous. It was so
e 2
52 linnet's trial.
unusual for Vere to give way. It was so
completely his manner to make the best of all
troubles and disappointments, and to cheer and
encourage those with whom he had to do, that
this great dejection, which he so transparently
strove to hide, seemed to her to indicate some-
thing worse than he had told. She feared that
he was ill, or on the verge of illness. She closed
her eyes and saw his face. It was one of
those sudden strong visions which occasionally
come upon us in a moment when those we
love are away. The presence is so real and
so vivid, that we do more than see — we hear,
we touch, we grasp. But his face did not
appear to her as it had been when they parted :
it was changed, pale, haggard. It was more
than she could bear. Twice she tried to shake
off the impression ; but it returned, and she
took refuge in flight. She went down into the
drawing-room, half wondering whether they
would discern in the trouble of her eyes what
invisible grief they were contemplating.
As she entered the room there was a sudden
silence ; she fancied that they had been talking
earnestly when she approached the door.
IS THIS THE WORST ? 53
Brandon came forward to meet her with a
little hurry of manner. " We have been
praising your heroism," said he ; " you look
as if you had hardly yet recovered from the
effort."
Leonora did not at once catch his meaning-,
and he went on—" I am off to Mayborough
to see poor little Mrs. Darner safe through her
journey ; she comes to the Hall this afternoon.
Have you any commission for Mrs. Fawcett ? "
"None, thank you," she replied, looking
round the room with rather a bewildered ex-
pression. Rose came forward laughing. " Be
sure you say I am quite well," cried she ; " I
dare say they fancy me half dead after my
adventures. Oh, Linnet ! I think it would be
so nice to walk over to Mayborough and sur-
prise them. I wish you would come. I should
like it so much."
Leonora was surprised ; this was almost like
asking Mr. Brandon to escort them, the very
last thing she could have expected from Rose.
There was excitement in her look and manner,
and Leonora was drawn away from her own
special subject of anxiety by the idea that
54 linnet's trial.
Rose might reallv have suffered more than she
was aware, from her exposure and fatigue.
" I think, dear, you had better rest," said she,
" and I don't think I am quite inclined for a
walk to-day. I have had a letter "
Rose flung her arms round her, and held her
tight. "Don't believe a word of it!" cried
she, bursting into tears.
Leonora looked at the others in distress and
perplexity. " She is quite worn out, poor
child," said she. " She must go to bed and
rest. I am sure she is feverish."
Rose was sobbing violently. It was Bran-
don's decided hand which undid the clasp of
hers, and led her away. Leonora was following,
but Emma interposed, and took charge of the
invalid. Her father's indignant " Rose, Rose,
I am ashamed of you. Have you no self-
control?" seemed harsh and misplaced, but
Linnet thought he was probably angry about
her escapades of the previous day, and not
likely to be very indulgent to their conse-
quences. He now inquired about Leonora's
hotter, Mini while six; was hurriedly giving an
account of it, being anxious to get to Rose
IS THIS THE WOEST? 55
and ascertain what was really the matter with
her, Lady Philippa De Bragge was announced.
Her manner was unusual ; it seemed to
Leonora that everybody's manner was unusual
to-day. She shook hands with Leonora with
empressement — said in a significant voice,
" I am so glad to see you looking so well,"
and took her seat near Mr. Forester, to whom
she began immediately to talk in her high
sustained voice about public affairs. She had
nearly all the conversation to herself. Mr.
Forester was taciturn and embarrassed ; they
were talking of India, and Leonora wanted to
hear, but Brandon seemed to be quite deter-
mined to monopolise her. He stood over her
chair, pouring down a perfect torrent of words,
about Rose, about Hugh Blackmore, about
Mrs. Darner, leaving her scarcely time to an-
swer, and making it out of the question that
she should listen to what the others were
saying.
Again the feeling came upon Linnet that
he was strangely unlike himself; was he
uneasy about Rose, and trying to cover it?
Hardly, for he spoke quite freely of her, and
; jC linnet's trial.
showed no wish to learn Leonora's opinion
about her recent emotion ; if he had been
anxious he would have wanted a woman's
assurance that it was merely hysterical.
Leonora could hardly help thinking that he
was trying to prevent her from joining the
others ; she would not be prevented, however,
for she was resolved to tell Lady Philippa at
once of poor Martin's death. She thought it
might soften her towards the family. So she
cut Brandon short, to his evident dismay, by
saying very decidedly, " I want to speak to
Lady Philippa;" and then, moving a little
nearer, interposed, at the first pause in the
conversation with these words —
" I have had a letter from Major Forester
this morning."
Her father-in-law's start checked her for a
moment, but Lady Philippa's answer was not
to be checked by anything.
" You have ? Ah ! of course he would write
to you and give his own version. Doubtless,
quite satisfactory. I hope you will publish it
;it once, just as it is. There is nothing like
crushing this sort of charge the moment it is
IS THIS THE WORST ? 57
made ; the merest slander may do irreparable
mischief if it is allowed to remain uncontra-
dicted for a week."
It flashed into Leonora's mind ; she under-
stood all. Some news had come from India
which they were keeping from her. Rose's
words were, " Do not believe a word of it."
What was coming upon her ? She felt as
though her senses were going, but she was
conscious of a strong determination to hide
all, to betray nothing, to behave as if nothing
had happened. Brandon came to her rescue
and answered Lady Philippa, she knew not
how. She only knew that they continued
to talk, and that there was an occasional re-
ference to her, which she answered mecha-
nically. Her own voice sounded in her ears
like that of some other person, and she won-
dered what she was saying, for she was not
conscious of any exercise of will in producing
the words. Neither did she take any account
of time. She could not have told whether it
was one half-hour or six till Lady Philippa
went. But when she went Leonora was not
relieved ; she was frightened. For an instant
58 linnet's trial.
she felt a wish to escape, and not to hear what
was in store for her. She sat silent, hut it
was hardly for an appreciable space of time.
When she looked up they were watching her
with perturbed and anxious faces.
" What is it ? " asked she. " Pray tell me ! "
An intense desire to know all seemed to come
with the words, and she felt as if she could
not hear to wait one moment more.
Brandon was still the person to act; poor
Mr. Forester was quite confused and helpless.
" It is nothing of real consequence," said he,
" only very disagreeable for the time. It will
all be set right, and I only wish we could have
kept you from the annoyance of hearing any-
thing about it." He could not quite meet
Leonora's eyes, which were fixed on his face,
with an expression impossible to describe —
more than eager — craving, hungry, and yet so
t lustful, that lie could not put their question-
ing aside. He went on rather nervously:
" Something in Forester's conduct has been
misunderstood, and there have been unpleasant
things said about it, that is all."
A great sigh of relief from Leonora. " Oh !
IS THIS THE WORST? 59
thank God, it is only that !" cried she. " But
how do you know? Is it anything that will
vex him very much ?"
" Why, of course that kind of thing is
vexing," said Brandon, sitting down by her,
" but it probably makes a far greater impres-
sion on us here than it would on him. He is
on the spot, and can set it right at once."
"Is it anything in the newspaper?" asked
she, trying to understand.
" Yes; an ill-natured paragraph, that's all.
Probably it will be contradicted to-morrow."
She put out her hand for the paper.
"Why should you distress yourself by read-
ing it?" said he, persuasively. " It can only
give you useless pain, you will think much
more of it than it deserves. Do be a strong-
minded woman for once, and resist curiosity."
" No," said Leonora, quietly, but quite
decidedly, " 1 must read it. I must know
what he has to bear, and how I am to write
to him. You need not be afraid of me ; I
hardly mind it at all. It is a thing which
must be so purely temporary." She took the
newspaper as she spoke, and Brandon and
CO ldwet's trial.
Mr. Forester drew together and whispered,
like men who felt that it was useless to try-
to stave it off any longer. They must make
the best of it, but they felt sure she would
break down, and that nothing they could say
would do away with the effect of the terrible
printed words. This was what Leonora had
to read : —
" We call attention to the letter of our
Indian correspondent in another column, with
its most unsatisfactory intelligence. Once more
our enemy has escaped us, owing, it must be
written, for it is assuredly thought, to the
culpable neglect or stupidity of those whose
business it is to select officers fit for the work
they have in hand, but who invariably pitch
upon some blunderer, of whom the kindest
thing that can be said is, that he is altogether
incompetent. Nothing is a surer test of the
capacity of a chief than the manner in which
he selects his subordinates. If a man cannot
get his work properly done, it is no excuse to
say that he could have done it properly himself.
There are always plenty who could do it, and it
is his business to find them. Look at the facts
IS THIS THE WORST? Gl
of the present case. We have an enemy shut
up within certain known limits which he must
break or die. Around these limits we draw
our cordon ; but as we cannot make a living
wall of men, shoulder to shoulder, we have a
task to perform a little more difficult certainly,
but requiring only a certain amount of readi-
ness, nerve, and common sense, such as may
fairly be expected from any average English
officer. We have to watch a number of
mountain passes, and to take care not only
that all shall be watched, but that troops
shall be within reach of all, so that whichever
path the fugitive chooses, he may find it barred
as he advances. To every position there is a
key, to every history a crisis. W r hen the
whole of this country had been carefully
surveyed, when all circumstances had been
taken into account, the balance of probabilities
showed that one way of escape was more
practicable than all the others. This was a
double path, diverging as it descended, beset
by difficulties and commanding advantages
comprehensible at a glance by the military
reader, but hardly intelligible to others. Here,
62. linnet's tkial.
if anywhere, we should have stationed our best
man ; here we should have made our fullest
preparations. But what is the reality? The
command of this critical position is given to a
M;ijor Forester. We do not inquire and we
do not care by what interest he obtained so
honourable a chance of distinction, we inquire
simply how he does his work. The pickets are
stationed, the troops are in reserve, the hour
draws near, stray shots are heard along the
rocky pass. They are coming, they are on us !
The handful of men watching the right hand
path are breast to breast with the enemy.
Where is Major Forester with his reserve ?
Somewhere — anywhere — nowhere ! Just when
it is too late, just when the game is lost, just
when the rascal who ought to have paid the
penalty of his crimes ere now, is off and in
safety, at the cost of several gallant lives, each
worth a dozen such lives as their commander's,
up comes Major Forester rubbing his eyes
and wondering what it is all about. We do
not envy his feelings. We ask in no spirit of
sarcasm, but in very sad, sober, serious earnest,
how long is this sort of thing to go on? How
IS THIS THE WORST? G3
long is the honour of the country, not to
speak of the lives of some of her bravest
soldiers, to be jeopardised by the helpless
incapacity of the men selected for work, while
hundreds of those really competent are devour-
ing their impatience in compulsory idleness.
We need only refer to the letter from the
camp to show what kind of man this Major
Forester was. For weeks previous to his last
achievement, the brave fellows whom he com-
manded had been grumbling at his dilatori-
ness. Very probably any one of the men
whom he sacrificed would have made a better
leader than himself. The thing is now done
and irrevocable, and we only call attention to
it because it is one of those misfortunes so
clearly and so easily preventible, that it is
hardly possible, even for the most diligent
student of the past, to avoid believing that it
will teach a lesson for the future. And yet
while we write we feel something more than
a presentiment that the history of the Indian
war has yet to record a dozen failures as com-
plete, as disgraceful, as lamentable, and as un-
necessary as this."
64 linnet's trial.
Leonora read with a flushing cheek, but
with far less emotion than they expected.
She hardly felt the sting as yet. It seemed
to her such utter nonsense. She was angry
and disgusted, hut she did not really under-
stand. A very little patience, she thought,
and all would be right ; and while she read
she involuntarily composed the ample apology
and retractation which were so soon to appear.
The unconsciousness and simplicity of her
confidence proved its reality. It was as unlike
as possible to that voluntary, self-asserting,
loud enthusiasm which is always proclaiming
that its idol can do no wrong. If anybody
had told her that she believed that Forester
could do no wrong, she would have recognised
such a belief as an absurdity, and disclaimed
it at once. But let the smallest supposed
fault of liis b.' set before her, and then just
see how it would melt into virtue under her
gaze. In all circumstances, her reasonings
about him would issue in the same verdict:
'•lie is, of course, liable to err, but this error
lie lias not committed ! " And the truth of
such a view seemed to her so unquestionable,
IS THIS THE WORST? 65
that if any other view were proposed to her,
it seemed to be so necessarily transient, that
it was hardly worth while to be annoyed at it.
Gradually, however, a vague, dim anxiety
began to grow in her ; and when once it had
begun, there was, alas ! nothing to check its
progress. First, the evident surprise which
those about her felt at her apathy, caused her
to look at it herself, and wonder whether she
had any right to it. Then Rose's agitation
and distress, disproportioned as they were,
alarmed and oppressed her. Trying to com-
fort Rose, it seemed strange that there was so
little to be said. Stranger still was the wistful
silence with which Rose answered her. She,
poor child, was sustained by no secret idolatry :
she had heard how Mr. Forester and Brandon
discussed those fatal paragraphs before Leonora
came into the room. She was by no means sure
in her heart that Vere had not been wrong.
Her pity for her sister was profound, acute,
desperate. Not for the world would she have
contradicted one of the arguments by which
Leonora sought to satisfy her, but she was
too honest to acquiesce in them. So she only
VOL. II. F
C6 linnet's trial.
looked. And the look was more convincing
than an hour of contradictions would have
been. Leonora turned back to Vere's letter.
Tli ere was no comfort in that. The tone of
dejection and discouragement seemed to come
out more forcibly every time 'she read it. Did
he really distrust himself, had he any doubt
about his own line of action, or did he see
some reason, invisible to her, why the false
impression which was afloat could not be
removed? or was it only that his soldier's
honour was touched for the first time in his
life, and that it felt " a stain like a wound ?"
Leonora could not tell. She must wait for
more light : perhaps the next letter from Vere
would bring it. But, in the meantime, how
was she to write to him? For the first time
she doubted whether she could say all that
Bhe felt. To put into words, to write on
paper, t" address to him the faintest shadow
of a suspicion that there could be any imputa-
lion upon his mi] itary honour, seemed to her
an unpardonable outrage. But how, then, was
it pardonable that it should have come into
her thoughts ?
IS THIS THE "WORST? G7
The pen was in her hand, and she was
unconsciously lost in such musings as these,
when Mr. Forester, who had been watching
her for some time, said suddenly —
" Leonora, are you writing to Vere ? "
"Yes," she replied, "just going to write;
have you any message ? "
He came up to the table at which she was
sitting, and spoke with a mixture of earnest-
ness and embarrassment : " Not exactly a
message. Mr. Brandon and I are both writing ;
but, Leonora, your influence is, as it ought to
be, greater than anybody else's, and we want
you to use it ; we want you to urge Vere to
take the necessary steps, without a moment's
delay, for crushing these slanders. His supine-
ness is perfectly unaccountable. It is a case
in which delay is ruin — absolute ruin. Press
this upon him — entreat him to act — if he is
only prompt and decided, there will be no harm
done. Do you understand me, my dear ? "
Leonora looked at him with troubled eyes,
and slowly flushing cheeks. "Yes, I under-
stand," she said ; " but I don't know — I am
not quite sure — don't you think it is a case in
f2
08 linnet's trial.
which Vere must be able to judge better than
we are ? Don't you think it may vex him to
be pressed about it ? "
" Possibly it may ; but if so, he must be
vexed. He is, for some reason or other,
strangely blind to his own interests just now.
There is not a man in the world who will suffer
more than he will, if this stain rests. I tell
you he won't be able to bear it. And you
don't know, my dear, it is not likely that
you should know, how difficult it is to get rid
of a calumny which has been allowed to stand
and grow even for a short time. It is only by
t uking it at the very outset that it can be
really destroyed."
" No doubt," said Brandon, coming to Mr.
r< .;-'-i<t's side, and speaking in his most
persuasive tones — " no doubt Forester is sub-
stantially right in despising the whole thing.
Be cannol treat it too contemptuously. But,
believe us, Ik; vatst. not be allowed to let it
quite alone. I can just fancy how he feels
about it — he holds it all to be utterly beneath
his notice; but we, who know as well as he
does how utterly beneath his notice such spite-
IS THIS THE WORST? 69
ful nonsense is, must yet take care that it is
not allowed to inflict a little sting which may
some day become a wound. He disdains it
now, but six months hence he may find that
its results are annoying."
" You have written to him? " said Leonora.
u Yes, and to a brother officer of his — Mus-
grave, whom I know very well, and whom I
have asked to talk to him about it ; I assure
you, my dear Mrs. Forester, I think so seri-
ously of the matter, that I will leave no stone
unturned/'
Leonora bent down her head, not wishing it
to be seen that her eyes were filling with tears.
She herself scarcely understood why they came.
She began to write. " I will say something
about it," murrnured she ; " but I don't think
it is a matter in which Vere would like me to
advise him. He must know so well that I
cannot judge."
" Say as much as you can," replied Brandon,
" and be sure you are serving him, even if it
vexes him a little at the time."
Here the matter rested for the present.
70 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER VII.
hose's resolutions.
BRANDON continued to be a daily visitor at
31 r. Forester's, but there was a change of
character in Rose's intercourse with him which
lie either did not or would not perceive. At
any rate he ignored it. When he spoke to her
it was with the same tone of peculiar personal
interest which had begun to be habitual with
him some weeks before. He did not seem to
be aware thai her mode of answering him was
not the same. She was impcrturbably cold,
but she never said anything sharp or saucy to
him now. A prouder girl than Rose never
lived, and her object just now was to convince
both Brandon and herself that she did not
care for him in the least. She was quite de-
cided in her own mind on the subject, though
ROSES RESOLUTIONS. 71
her views were not quite clear. She did not
permit herself to follow out any very definite
train of thought about it. She did not arrive
at any conclusion for which she could have
given sufficient reasons. She rather preferred
to keep the reasons vague, and to employ her-
self with the results. He was occupied with
Mrs. Darner. He was entirely welcome so to
occupy himself. It was natural and justifiable,
and Mrs. Darner was peculiarly congenial to
him. But Rose had often been told that the
vanity of men was great, and that the caution
of young ladies ought to be great also. This
she dimly but strongly felt was a case for such
caution. Before Mrs. Darner came he had
been occupied with Eose — not at all in the
same way, she told herself, but just pour passer
le temps. If she was not very careful it was
just possible that he might fancy that she
missed his attentions. Rose in her own room,
and secure from observation, turned crimson to
her finger-tips at the mere idea. She felt in-
stinctively that she must be on her guard
against anything which might suggest the
notion of pique ; that this would be more fatal
72 linnet's trial.
even than an appearance of depression. She
arranged a manner which should present just
the happy mixture of dignity, indifference,
and friendliness suitable to the situation.
When Brandon was in a tete-a-tete with Mrs.
Damer, she carefully abstained from looking-
towards them. If, as sometimes happened,
he turned to her, and endeavoured by a ques-
tion or a remark to draw her into the conver-
sation, she answered readily. But her first
speech was always some sort of demand for
explanation — something which should show
plainly that she had not heard or noticed what
went before. If they walked out, she was
forward in contriving such a separation of
parties as should leave the two together, and
allow her to escape from them. If compelled
to join them, she generally contrived to im-
port a fourth into the group — either Leonora
"one of the children" — by whose help
she mighl effectually avoid being in the
unenviable position of a third person. Her
eyes and her complexion she could not control ;
but these she could not see, and she was un-
conscious of the sparkle or the blush which
rose's resolutions. 73
betrayed a certain inward tumult when her
voice and her words were tranquil. Brandon ,
of course, could see them, and perhaps he did.
She was frequently put to the test. Mrs.
Darner's resolution to be intimate was irre-
sistible ; she was perpetually at the house. If
she did not arrive with Brandon, she generally
came before or after him. She brought flowers,
or fruit, or music ; or she had a question to
ask, or a book to borrow ; or she brought her
little boy, and begged a game of play for him ;
or she solicited companions for a walk. Very
early in the time she had laid successful siege
to Mr. Forester, and she cultivated her victory
just enough to secure it, and no more. She
addressed him with such deference that he was
obliged to consider her a sensible, right-minded
woman ; and when she did or said in his pre-
sence things which he would not have con-
sidered sensible or right-minded in anybody
else, he made allowances for them or explained
them away.
Leonora, anxious and out of spirits on her
own account, was yet sufficiently awake to
what was going on to be anxious also for
74 linnet's trial.
Rose. It was impossible either to surprise or
coax her into confidence. Neither by word,
look, or tone, would she admit for a moment
that she had anything to confide. She was
ready to be affronted by the imputation— so
ready that it was impossible to press it on
her. Yet Leonora was certain, as a woman
always is certain in such cases, that she suf-
fered, and longed to comfort and help her.
Leonora was puzzled by Brandon. She had
felt no doubt whatever of the reality of his
attachment; now she doubted it. He had
assuredly no right to feel perfectly secure ; yet
nothing she thought, except security or indif-
ference, could account for his present beha-
viour. His attention to Mrs. Darner was open
and undisguised; he seemed to take a pride in
yielding to her efforts to attract him, and in
displaying himself as her admirer. Leonora
was angry with him, and angry also with Mr.
Forester's inexorable complacency. Having
once admitted the idea of an attachment be-
tween Brandon and I Jose, nothing could shake
it : and he considered any rivalry on Mrs.
Darner's part as much out of the rpiestion as
rose's resolutions. 75
if she had been a chaperon of sixty, instead of
a coquette of six and twenty. He was happily
capable of self-deception on all points con-
nected with his own family; and if the present
crisis should terminate in Brandon's making an
offer to Mrs. Darner, there is little doubt that
he would persuade himself and assure others
that pique and mortification at Rose's refusal
had caused the step. No help, therefore, was
to be expected from Mr. Forester, and Leonora
could only wait, watch, and be anxious.
"Oh! what am I to do? Will nobody
help me ? I have not the least idea what to
do next ! "
Mrs. Darner was the speaker, and the in-
soluble problem was a stroke at croquet of the
simplest description. Her difficulties were
perhaps occasioned by the fact that Brandon
was at that moment whispering to Hose. The
appeal was irresistible, and he was instantly
at the side of the bewildered performer.
" You are not holding your mallet pro-
perly."
" Will you show me, then ?"
He did show her, and he took immense
~6 linnet's trial.
pains about it, and assisted her in forming a
tableau which ought to have been seen and
recorded by Leech.
" How odd it seems," said Emma to Rose,
" that Mrs. Damer, who is so clever about
everything else, should be so slow about
croquet."
" I don't know that she is clever about
everything else," was Rose's answer.
The progress of the game presently brought
Rose nearer than she wished to the tete-d-tete,
and Brandon at once addressed her — a prac-
tice of his, under such circumstances, which
was so galling to her, that it tried her self-
command almost beyond its strength.
" We are talking about billiards," said he,
" a pursuit of mine which Mrs. Damer is so
wicked as to encourage, and which you once
exhorted me to give up."
" Did I ?" asked Rose, indifferently, and as
if ahe had no recollection on the subject at all.
Be gave her a quick, covert look, and pro-
ceeded. "Ah! yon forget now; I never forget
anything. That little sermon of yours made
a deep impression, I can assure you. I can
rose's resolutions. 77
see the room at this moment. I was sitting:
on the table, I believe, and you were on the
sofa "
" There is no sofa in that room," said Rose
sharply ; and then bit her lips, and blushed
scarlet, discovering, the moment after she had
spoken, that her words betrayed that she did
remember all about it.
He did not push his triumph ; he did not
indulge himself in even the slightest smile ;
but his reticence was no comfort to Rose, who,
after a moment of keen humiliation, took a
new resolution, and went on, in a very cold
and haughty manner —
" You recalled the scene to me, and I quite
remember it now. Were you not showing
either Linnet or me — I forget which — how to
pronounce Italian ? "
This, she thought, was a home-thrust. The
Italian lessons had been begun, and gradually
abandoned as Mrs. Darner's claims increased.
Mixed with Rose's womanly mortification and
disappointment was the genuine, straightfor-
ward wrath of a conscientious child, who thinks
it a disgrace to anybody to fail in a promise,
78 linnet's trial.
or give up a task. Brandon scarcely perceived
this, and he was flattered by her reproach.
" Ah, those pleasant Italian lessons ! " began
he ; "I am afraid you have been very idle."
"II" cried Hose, with an accent of such
astonished scorn that it fairly took away his
breath. She was as angry as she would have
been at ten years old if her governess had
used her falsely of neglecting a lesson.
" Do you teach Italian ?" asked Mrs. Darner.
" Oh, how nice ! I hope you will take rne as
a pupil too. I have almost forgotten all I
knew, and I should like so much to revive it.
When shall we begin ? "
" When you please," answered he. " This
young lady is so very indignant at any impu-
tation upon her industry, that I hope I may
■ ■..ncludc ih& is willing to begin. What do
yon say?" he added, turning to Hose, and
speaking in a coaxing voice. " Shall we go
On with our Italian ? "
" No, thank you," said Rose very decidedly,
and, as she hoped and intended, very quietly.
She was particularly aggrieved by being called
" this young lady ;" she thought that Mr.
hose's resolution*. 79
Brandon had not the slightest right to conclude
anything at all about her willingness or unwil-
lingness, and she did not choose to be coaxed.
Brandon was really a little confounded at
the point-blank refusal, and he did not imme-
diately find anything to say.
"Oh, won't you join us?" pleaded Mrs.
Darner. "What a pity! Then Mr. Brandon
and I must read Italian all by ourselves ! "
" I think that is by far the best arrange-
ment," said Rose steadily, and highly ap-
proving of her own behaviour.
"Why?" asked Brandon, audaciously stoop-
ing so that he could look into her face, which
was bent down, and shadowed by her hat.
" Give me a reason, please. Why should it
be the best arrangement ? "
" Because it is what we all three wish."
" You can only answer for the wishes of
one," said he gravely ; " and I can only say
I am sorry for them. Mrs. Darner, the Italian
studies are negatived! "
Rose felt a secret thrill of delight at the
idea that he was giving them up because she
refused to join.
80 linnet's trial.
" Oil," said Mrs. Damer, in her tone of real
nonchalance, so different from poor Rose's
desperate efforts to cool her voice down to the
proper point, " we won't tease Miss Forester.
You know we can always have my little boy
with us, and I shall like him to pick up the
accent."
For once Brandon did not attend to her.
He was looking at the lovely half-smile which
brightened Rose's face for a moment when he
pronounced the lessons to be impracticable,
and at the sudden flush which succeeded it
when Mrs. Darner spoke, and Rose said to her-
self, " So, I was only wanted as a chaperon \"
Ee started forward, and almost laid his hand
upon her arm, as she moved away.
" Are you leaving us ? It is your turn ;
won't you even play croquet with me? Rose!
what have I done to offend you?"
Rose would gladly have fled. She felt,
though she did not exactly understand, that
she had somehow made a great mistake — that
she was being " misinterpreted " (so she called
it, for, even in her own mind, she would not
admit the idea of self-betrayal) at every word.
rose's resolutions. 81
Her heart was beating and swelling, her tears
were almost breaking forth ; the violent effort
by which she checked and controlled herself
was an instinct and an impulse. She could
not have given an account of it, but while
longing for retreat and freedom, she felt that
all was lost if she did not stay and command
herself. For a moment she stood perfectly
still and made no answer. Then, having
driven back and choked the emotion which
made her feel as if she hated and despised
herself, she said quite steadily, though not in
her natural voice, " I beg your pardon — I had
forgotten. But I am quite ready to finish the
game."
She walked back to her place with the air
of a queen ; and feeling that she had conquered,
and eager to pursue her victory, she added on
the way, " And, Mr. Brandon, you have done
nothing at all to offend me — nothing that I
care about in the least, I assure you, except
just now when you made a mistake and called
me by my Christian name."
She gave him no opportunity of answering
her, but quietly finished the game, taking care
vol. n. G
82 linnet's trial.
to keep Emma close to her side for the rest of
the time, and so resolutely ignoring Brandon's
attempts to interest himself in her proceedings,
that he soon abandoned them, and betook
himself to Mrs. Darner. Rose heard them
arrange an hour for reading Italian together,
and was not shaken from her composure.
No one saw the great burst of tears with
which she fell on her knees by her bedside that
night. I believe if anybody had seen it, she
would still have denied it. She walked impa-
tiently about her room, and would not allow to
herself that she had dreamed a dream, and was
awaking from it. She told herself that she
was tired, and not very well, and that she was
vexed at being disappointed in the character
of a friend, that was all. And the tears came
hotter and faster, and she tried to believe that
they were not coming at all, and began bath-
ing her eyes to get rid of the traces of these
onreasonable tears long before they had ceased
to fall, and while she was still assuring herself
that she was not crying.
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 83
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THEY WERE KEPT.
The next morning, Rose, springing np after
an uneasy sleep, harassed by dreams, and pre-
ceded by a long time of feverish, tossing wake-
fulness, ran at once to her looking-glass. She
saw a pale face, which she had never seen
before, with two patches of scarlet colour in
the middle of the cheeks, and two darkened
circles below the eyes. She was horrified, and
thought herself greatly ill-used by her own
appearance. " Is it possible that I should
look like this" thought she, indignantly,
" when I do not really care ? What is it to
me if any man in the world neglects me, and
prefers another woman to me ? Yes, those
are the right words — let me look at them well.
Shame, shame ! if such a thing should give
g2
84 linnet's trial.
me a moment's pain ! Irrecoverable shame if
anybody should suppose that I care about it !
I understand myself now. It is mortified
vanity. I have been flattered and gratified by
these attentions, and I do not like to see them
taken away and given to another. What
littleness! This is indeed a thing to be
ashamed of — a weakness to be crushed as
soon as it is discovered. I have been de-
ceiving myself in the way in which people
so often deceive themselves about their own
faults, and I did not know that I had this
fault. I am very glad that I have found it
out, though I am very sorry that it was there.
Now, of course, there is an end of it. I should
be contemptible indeed if I were to give way to
it for a moment. The nonsense is over now,
and there shall be no more of it."
" Over — and there shall be no more of it —
no more, no more!" The words repeated
themselves in her ears, and took a mournful
cadence, as though they were bidding farewell
to something besides the " nonsense " which
was over. The large bine eyes were filling
again, and Rose had to shake herself up into
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 85
a fresh fit of indignation. " As for Mr. Bran-
don," she thought, putting up her lip proudly,
and making a little disdainful gesture with
her hand towards her own image in the glass,
" I understand him now. He has a great many
good qualities, and I must take care not to be
unjust to him, and I hope he will be very
happy. But I must take greater care still
that he does not think that he may amuse
himself with me as much as he likes, and
whenever he pleases. That may do for Mrs.
Darner, but it will not do for me. The kind
of way in which he behaved to me ought to
have been a sign of real friendship ; but if it
had been it would not have been left off. I
should never have allowed him — for of course
I had it all in my own power— I should never
have allowed him to become so intimate if I
had not fancied that he was really a friend.
This is why the change has grieved me, and
there is nothing to be ashamed of in this.
But now that I see that I was mistaken, I
must take care not to let him suppose that he
may do just as he likes about me ; that I have
only to respond when he chooses to be atten-
86 linnet's trial.
tive, and to submit patiently when he doesn't
choose. I think I have been a great deal too
patient and submissive, and I should not
wonder if he thought so to. I must take care
— I must take care ! There is one horrible
mistake which it is just possible that he might
make about me : he might think that I think —
that J feel — that I care more about him than he
does about me. What should I not deserve if
I could let him think so ! " Rose drew herself
up and threw back her head when she came to
this point, and the angry curl of her lip con-
tradicted the moisture of her eyes, though the
lip was a little tremulous too. " I believe the
chief thing which is making me unhappy,"
continued she, " is that I am afraid I have laid
myself open to this sort of misinterpretation.
But I can easily put an end to it. I will show
my indifference in every word, tone, and look,
lill I force them all to acknowledge it. And
as for Mrs. Darner, she is a mere woman of the
world, a ],d there is no harm in hating a mere
woman of the world. At least, there is no harm
in hating her worldliness — and I do hate it!
However, I will be excessively polite to her."
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 87
And Rose finished her toilette, and ran
down stairs to get half an hour's walk before
breakfast, and blow away the traces of her
restless night. She did not find that a solitary
stroll did her any good, so she took possession
of one of the children's spades, and set herself
to a regular task of juvenile gardening. The
passing of a gentle arm round her waist dis-
turbed her. She looked up. It was only
Leonora, who, after the usual morning kiss
had been given and received, drew her away
with the words " I am so glad to get you
alone, Rose darling ! "
The two girls went into the shrubbery to-
gether, and Rose began instantly, and with a
little hurry of manner — " I have just finished
1 Griseldis.' I like it so much better than the
old story. It is so much more natural that
she should not be able to be happy with him
after all — she would not have been a woman if
she could have lived with him again. I had
been thinking her a little too slavish before,
but I forgave her when I came to that.
Don't you think so, Linnet ? "
The question was not exactly coherent, but
88 linnet's TllIAL.
Leonora contrived to answer it. "I agree
with yon," she said, " but it is such a pitiful
disenchantment. I don't think I could read it
again. She bore all. She was what you call
slavish, just because she had such immense
faith, and the killing her faith seems to me
much worse than killing herself. I would
almost rather have had her die deceived."
" Oh, no, no ! " cried Rose. " Nothing could
be so bad as that. i The Truth shall make you
free.'' I think those are the grandest words in
the Bible, and they apply to everything. That
shall be the text which I choose, to illuminate
and hang up in my bedroom and look at every
day. The Truth, no matter of what kind or in
what shape, no matter whether it is cruel or
beautiful — give yourself up to it, and it will
make you free. I have no doubt, Linnet,"
she added in a dictatorial voice, as if she was
ordering herself to believe what she said, " I
have no doubt that Griseldis recovered. I
have no doubt she did."
How many little secret histories recognise
themselves in one tale told by a true poet, and
find strange comfort and help in such recog-
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 89
nition ! It is the privilege of real genius to
be the voice of a great multitude, without its
noise.
"It is a beautiful text to choose for your-
self," said Leonora, tenderly and hesitatingly,
" if you are strong enough."
" I am strong enough," answered Rose ;
" everybody is strong enough ; only some
people are not brave, and so they don't find
out how strong they are."
" I am glad," said Leonora, in a very low
voice, "because — forgive me — I have been
feeling a little anxious about you "
Rose stopped her instantly. " There is nothing
in the world to be anxious about in me ! But
you have so much anxiety of your own, and
that makes you nervous. If we can only get
pleasant letters from Vere you will see every-
thing in a different light."
If Rose had not been stung she would not
have said this ; there was a kind of retaliation
in it, something like a momentary feeling, " If
you touch my secret trouble I suppose I may
touch yours." Leonora had no thought of
urging her : she would not have gone even so
90 linnet's trial.
far as this with an older woman. But Rose was
still almost a child, and Leonora was haunted
by the notion that it would be better for her to
open her heart to somebody, if she could.
" I am very anxious," said she, gently. She
had offered an opportunity, it was rejected, and
she thought there was no more to be done.
" And I was thinking, Rose, that I should
like very much to go away and be quiet for a
little while, and that, perhaps, you might like
to come with me."
" I have no particular reason for wishing
it," answered Rose, " but I should like it very
much, and I am sure it would be very good
for you, and I am so glad you want to have
me. And, dear Linnet " (clasping her tight
and kissing her with a sob), " I am so sorry
there is anything to make you unhappy.
Please settle it all with papa, and tell him
we have been talking about Vere, and then he
will understand why I have been crying."
With these words she ran away, and did not
reappear till the family were assembled at
breakfast. The bitterest of all the swift
thoughts which hurried through her heart as
ROW THEY WERE KEPT. 91
she left Leonora was perhaps this, " She wants
to take me out of danger. She sees that he
does not care for me." The presence of the
others restored her self-command, hut could
not quite restore her usual looks, and Mr.
Forester, though not very observant, could not
help perceiving that something was the matter.
Every time that he looked inquiringly at Rose,
Rose looked indignantly at Leonora, who ought
(she said inwardly) to have saved her from this
annoyance, by explaining that she had been
crying about Yere. She was so impatiently
afraid that any other idea of the cause of her
tears might suggest itself to her father's mind
that she took the matter into her own hands,
and volunteered a statement directly after
breakfast.
" Papa " (in a whisper), " I saw you were
looking at me. Linnet and I have been
talking about Vere. Poor Linnet ! I wish you
would talk to her. She wants to go away for
a little while, and to take me with her."
"To go away!" Mr. Forester's astonish-
ment was almost an emotion. The ice was
broken for Leonora, who guessed what was
92 linnet's trial.
going on, and came up to take her part in it.
It is almost impossible to describe how difficult
a thing it was to make a suggestion to Mr.
Forester. He did not intend to be a tyrant ;
but the conviction in his mind that every event
in the family life ought not only to be sanc-
tioned by him, but to emanate from him, was
so deep, that it was below and beyond con-
sciousness. There was a certain small sphere,
accurately defined by his own hand, which he
"left to the young people," and within the
limits of which they might disport themselves.
All the rest was his. The mere wonder of his
face and tone, if anything was proposed to
him, was itself a rebuke. It clearly expressed
the feeling, even if the proposition was per-
fectly unobjectionable, that it ought to have
come from him, and not to have been made to
liim. It was like a dead wall : you may, by
an effort, succeed in climbing over it, but you
must cure very much indeed for the walk on
the other side, if you think it worth while to
encounter so unpleasant an obstacle for the
sake of getting to it. The truth was, that
.Mr. Forester disliked novelty ; the fact that a
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 93
thing was new was a disadvantage to it in his
eyes. On the rare occasions on which a new
idea came into his own mind, if the attitude
of his inner self could have been seen at the
first moment, it would have been seen that it
was an antagonistic attitude. A lon^ secret
history of doubts, questionings, and delibera-
tions, preceded every suggestion which he made
to others, so that, by the time he gave it voice,
it was a thing familiar to him, and he was as
thoroughly prepared to overrule objections as
he was, in other cases, to make them. No such
preparation was possible when the new idea was
proposed to him by another, and therefore the
secret history had to exhibit itself; and very
tedious it was. Moreover, he never conceived
that it was necessary for him to give a reason
for his determinations. When he did so, it
was a pure act of grace. This habit of mind
was partly caused by his not always having a
reason for his determinations ; and it naturally
stood in the way of his discovering that the
reason was absent in any particular case. He
was accustomed to say, when a plan was
started, or a change proposed, "No; there is
94: linnet's tkial.
no occasion for it ;" and this, which was suf-
ficient for him, he expected to satisfy others.
But the vigour and brightness of young,
growing minds consist in their productive-
ness ; they are full of projects, notions,
wishes ; their appetite for novelty is insatiable.
To them, the fact that a thought is new is a
strong reason for desiring to make acquaint-
ance with it. Nothing is so depressing or
disheartening to them — nothing so likely to
produce morbid states of mind which hide
themselves under a habit of submission — as
the check which is imposed upon them by a
knowledge that their suggestions will be en-
countered with mild, unsympathetic surprise.
The mere fact that they are in a groove makes
them want to be out of it. One field may
not be better than another — it may even be
worse; but still the child who has never yet
played in it t li inks it a treat to be taken there.
It is the large amount of freedom and variety
which a thoroughly liappy home supplies that
makes the dwellers within its limits never
desire to quit them. Every unnecessary re-
striction helps to make it a prison, rather than
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 95
a home. We all know that prisoners of cold
temperament and feeble intellect may grow, in
time, contented with their captivity, and that
their maimed and dwarfed lives are not painful
to them. But no one desires this conclusion
for them, or believes that it would not have
been better for them to be at liberty; and
prisoners of another sort suffer.
The result of this state of things was, that
when Leonora made her little innocent pro-
position, she made it with a swelling of heart
and a quivering of nerves which might have
been appropriate in the case of a young ensign
proposing a change of general tactics to the
Duke on the morning of a battle ; and it
was negatived instantly, as Mr. Forester had
negatived, either directly or by implication,
thousands of small hopes, the fulfilment of
which would have decorated, and brightened,
and strengthened the lives of his children.
" Quite out of the question, my love," said
he blandly; "and I should be exceedingly
sorry to think that any change was necessary
or desirable for you. Nothing could give me
greater pain than to suppose that your anxiety
96 linnet's trial.
did not meet with all possible alleviations in
this house. If it is not so, Leonora "
"Oh, indeed it is!" she replied, eagerly
filling the pause; "pray do not think me so
ungrateful as not to feel your kindness."
"That is as it should be," said he, with a
pardoning smile ; " and now let me hear no
more of your wishing to go away." He put
the idea aside, as something quite prepos-
terous, and kissed Leonora's cheek with real
affection. So the little episode ended.
Rose's morning reverie had left her as brave
as a lion ; and the day did not pass without
putting her courage to the test. When
Brandon and Mrs. Darner arrived as usual —
and this time they came together — they were
full of a project for tableaux vimnts, to be
presented at the Hall on the following evening,
in honour of little Algernon Darner's birthday.
Leonora's well-known taste and experience in
such matters were in great requisition, and
she waa very willing to help. Hose and her
younger Bisters were wanted as performers,
and Mr. Forester was graciously pleased to
grant his assent, saying emphatically as he
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 97
did so, that " a representation of this kind
had nothing in common with private theatri-
cals, and was wholly unobjectionable when it
was done for the amusement of a child." He
also sanctioned two whole holidays for the pre-
parations, and the household was in ecstasy.
Rose found it much harder work to assume
enjoyment than dignity. She was intensely
provoked with herself, because she was not
able to persuade herself that she really did
enjoy, and she had to respond as well as she
could to the incessant demands of her sisters,
who were certain that this was "exactly the
sort of thing she best liked."
No word except "aggravating" will describe
Mrs. Darner's manner during these two days.
She was so happily unconscious that anybody
except herself could be of the slightest con-
sequence in the exhibition, that her little
outbreaks of occasional politeness were so
many provocations. They were the sort of
recollections which show that complete forget-
fulness has preceded them. She was inces-
santly proposing little alterations in her own
costumes and attitudes, and giving examples
VOL. II. H
98 linnet's tkial.
of them to the rest of the party, with the
most candid appeals for criticism. If any
question about one of the others came under
consideration, she met it with an approval,
instant, cordial, and undiscriminating, which
shelved it at once. " Yes, that would be very
nice indeed ; nothing could be nicer," would
be her comment upon two opposite arrange-
ments, proposed within five minutes of each
other. Brandon was completely engrossed by
her, but it was really difficult to tell whether
his own free will had anything to do with it.
He could hardly have escaped for a moment
without affronting her. Once he did escape,
and addressing Rose, who was sitting apart,
busied in making up a wreath for Emma, he
said to her in a low, anxious, familiar voice —
" You have a headache, I am sure. Pray
don't tire yourself; anybody can make up
those flowers."
She looked at him quietly and haughtily,
and answered, " I am perfectly well, thank
you."
" You do not look so," persisted he.
Her face flushed. Her inclination was to
HOW THEY WERE KEPT. 90
turn her back and say nothing ; but she made
a great effort, conquered herself, and said,
raising her voice and laughing —
t6 1 am so sorry to hear it. Mrs. Damer,
will you please come and take Mr. Brandon
away : he is objecting to my looks, and I
don't like it."
She had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Bran-
don a little out of countenance, and Mrs.
Damer a little annoyed ; and a poor satisfac-
tion it was to her burning, beating heart. But
at any rate, it drove away for the time her
worst fear. When she was alone she stamped
her foot as she said, " He wanted to show that
he thought I was pining for him." She pur-
posely clothed the idea in the most humiliating
form of expression that she could find, as if
she wished to sting herself. But it returned
again and again ; and the worst of it was,
that she could not disguise from herself that
she was looking ill, that her mind was pre-
occupied, and her spirits fitful. This con-
sciousness made her more and more aggres-
sive in her assumption of indifference ; and
when from time to time the thought flashed
h 2
100 linnet's trial.
upon her that she was betraying herself, or,
as she worded it, " that she was being mis-
interpreted," she reined up and tried a new
manner. Leonora tried to help her in vain :
she only did mischief, and she found that
there was nothing for her to do except to
stand by and watch — sympathising, but in-
active. She felt sure that the fever of mind
could not last much longer without becoming
fever of body also, and she dreaded what is
commonly called a "regular break down."
This is always dreaded by bystanders ; but to
the sufferer it is sometimes the best thing that
can happen — the first step towards a healthier
state. The pain is not probably greater than
it was during the previous months, only it
has got itself recognised as a fact, and it
must be dealt with accordingly. But to the
bystanders, of course, especially if they are
full of love and pity, this recognition is the
great trial ; for before it happened the pain
was not a fact for them : it was only a fear.
THE TABLEAUX. 101
CHAPTER IX.
THE TABLEAUX.
There were to be three tableaux from fain-
tales, genuinely chosen for the delight of the
little hero of the evening, and three (so Bran-
don suggested) from the " Bridal of Triermain,"
because, as he said, it was easy to arrange
tableaux from it, with only one man of the
party, and he could be successively King
Arthur and Sir Roland De Vaux without the
slightest inconvenience. Mrs. Darner thought
that she should suffer no inconvenience by
being successively Guendolen andGyneth; but
this did not suit Brandon's views, and indeed,
the monopoly would have seemed too audacious
even for her, with Rose standing by, answering
so exactly to the poet's description of
" A face more frank and wild,
Between the woman and the child."
102 linnet's trial.
No unhappy manager was ever more trou-
bled with the ladies of his corps de theatre
than Brandon, and if he had not been able to
take refuge and counsel with Leonora, I believe
that he would have given the matter up in
despair. Mrs. Darner began by trying experi-
ments upon Gyneth's attitudes, and exempli-
fying her ideas as fast as they occurred to her,
with so much grace and spirit, that she thought
it must be clear to everybody that the character
was better adapted to her than to Rose. Then
she called Rose up, and caressingly tried to
jjose her, and conspicuously failed. Rose
endured for a little while, and then said, with
unconscious sarcasm —
" I think I am too old for Gyneth. I want
Emma to try."
Mrs. Darner winced, and Emma was imme-
diately brought forward by Leonora, who
thought the position trying and unpleasant
for Rose, and had been wishing to rescue
her. Emma was a pretty, frank girl, with
very little natural shyness, and remarkable
pliancy of figure. Her first attempt showed
that she would do her part beautifully. She
THE TABLEAUX. 103
was secretly in raptures at having come to
such distinction, though she did not cease for
a moment offering to give it up to Rose till
the tone of impatient annoyance in which her
sacrifice was rejected cut short her heroics.
Lionel Brandon, returning from an expedition
into the garden to collect branches for de-
corating the stage, found that this change of
personages had been effected in his absence,
and could hardly conceal his annoyance.
" Why have you given up your part?" said
he, in a whisper to Rose. " Has anything
vexed you?"
She moved away, answering him out loud,
" It suits Emma beautifully."
He stood and looked at her in silence, as if
he were debating some point with himself.
Leonora, puzzled and indignant, thought that
he was terribly fickle, and that he ought to
know his own mind. If he really cared, it
was easy for him to show it. Apparently he
did come to an understanding with himself
before long, for he was to be seen vigorously
rehearsing with Mrs. Darner, and the amount
of flirtation which those two accomplished in
104 linnet's trial.
the course of the operation might have main-
tained a garrison town for a fortnight.
" This black-cock's wing is a poor substitute
for ' eagle's plumage,' " said he, " but I fear we
have nothing better to ' deck your hair ' with."
" I wonder how I ought to wear it ! " replied
she, with a little anxious sigh, as if she really
wished to do right if she only knew how.
" You must let me put it in. I do assure
you I understand the thing perfectly. I am
sure your maid knows nothing at all about the
fashions of King Arthur's court, and she will
do some dreadful thing to you — spoil you so
entirely that I shan't be able to make love to
you properly."
"Were you at King Arthur's court then?
Pray show us how they did their hair."
" That is just what I am going to do if you
will only be a little — a little — conformable. I
want a polite word, but really you know you
must just for once let me manage you a very
little bit. I promise not to be harsh."
She made him a profound curtsey, and seated
herself upon a footstool, saying, with mock
humility, " At your majesty's service ! "
THE TABLEAUX. 105
" In the first place, then, they did not wear
all this — what do you call it? — crinoline under
the hair. I don't think it pretty myself, you
know, to have a goitre at the back of one's
head ; may I take it out ? "
"How can you have such horrid ideas!"
said she, helping him to disentangle it. He
gave a momentary glance at Eose, who coloured
with vexation, because he caught her looking
at him.
" Miss Forester is criticising us," said he,
instantly. " That's not fair — at least, it's not
fair to keep the criticisms to herself. Come,
confess ! " he added, turning to Rose. " You
don't quite like what I'm doing, do you? "
" I was not thinking about it/' answered
Rose.
" There's a humiliation ! I don't see how
we are ever to get over it ! And when I really
only wanted a candid opinion, and was pre-
pared to receive it in the best spirit. Well,
we must hope that the public at large will
show a little more human feeling. There — we
can see what your hair is now ! How can you
bear to disguise it ? "
10G linnet's trial.
Mrs. Darner's Lair was most abundant and
beautiful. She had been rapidly undoing the
braids while Brandon took out the frisettes
to which he so strongly objected, and now
she stooped her face upon her knees, gave
her head a quick shake, and then looked up
smiling from the midst of a great fall of bright
waving locks which touched the ground as she
sat What Brandon had to say to her about
it required to be said in a whisper, and it
made her blush and laugh. Rose walked out
of the room.
All that evening she was busy with Emma's
costume, and was extremely careful not to
absent herself from the rehearsals and discus-
sions without some plain self-evident reason.
She had terrible misgivings that she had again
betrayed mortification, and her conduct was
entirely moulded by her desire to efface any im-
pression which she might have made, whether
on Lionel or on Mrs. Darner, that they were
(as she said to herself) " capable of mortifying
her." The watchful Leonora could not tell
whether these efforts succeeded or not, but it
certainly appeared to her that several times in
THE TABLEAUX. 107
the course of the day Lionel was baffled in an
attempt to get a few private words with Rose.
Sometimes Hose's determination to reply to his
introductory whisper in an audible voice and
with a slight accent of surprise, stopped him
short ; sometimes the accidents of the day
seemed to be hostile to him, and it was hardly
possible to tell whether they occurred in the
natural course of things, or were shaped and
summoned by an adroit hand ; oftener he was
simply powerless and helpless against Mrs.
Darner's irresistible compound of exigeance
and fascination. If he was, indeed, seeking
an explanation, the day closed without his
iinding it; and when Leonora looked into
Rose's proud eyes as they parted for the
night, she thought that anger was a marvel-
lously strong support.
The next morning's post brought a letter for
Leonora, so bewildering and astonishing in its
purport, that it effectually drew her thoughts
away from the little drama that was being
acted out before her. Vere had sold his com-
mission, and was coming home. No consulting,
no doubting, no exhorting could delay it.
108 linnet's trial.
The thing was clone, and no wondering, no
conjecturing, could explain it, nor did he offer
any explanation. They had simply to accept
the fact. The letters from home which urged
him so strongly to court inquiry and to take
immediate means for clearing away all asper-
sions upon his conduct, were met and crossed
by this unaccountable act. The happy bound
of Leonora's heart as she thought of seeing
him again was checked by a grasp that seemed
as cold and hard as iron.
Mr. Forester was too much annoyed to be
able to command himself. " Where is Leo-
nora?" said he, coming hastily out of his
study, with an open letter in his hand.
Leonora was there, with her letter also,
wondering to how many of the family she
should have to tell her strange news, and
secretly hoping that her father-in-law had
been communicated with separately. She had
not yet succeeded in putting it into words,
even for Kose.
" Vere has written to you, of course," said
Mr. Forester, as soon as he saw her. "I
want to know what he says."
THE TABLEAUX. 109
" He says very little," answered Leonora,
timidly.
" He says nothing at all to me. I should
like to hear the ' very little,' if you please."
Leonora glanced over her sentences — did
not find anything that she could with satis-
faction read aloud just as it stood — looked up,
and replied, " He says that his regiment is
going into garrison quarters, and no further
active service is required, and that he has
therefore determined to come home at once
and settle in Italy to pursue his studies for —
for his new profession. He has written to
papa, and he thinks that papa and Henry will
join us. And — and — I think that's all."
The deprecating voice paused, and was fol-
lowed by a great deal of inarticulate fretting
and fuming on the part of Mr. Forester.
Leonora did not feel angry, as Rose would
have felt had she been Vere's wife — she was
only distressed and apologetic. It never oc-
curred to her as possible that Mr. Forester
could understand Vere, even in ordinary
matters, and she knew that it would be pre-
posterous to expect him to have faith in what
110 linnet's trial.
lie did not understand. She was herself re-
duced to blind faith, just now, and so she
could make allowances for others.
Brandon came in at that moment, eager and
voluble, with some proposition about the even-
ing's amusement, which died upon his lips
when he saw Mr. Forester. He was making
signs to Leonora to come out into the garden
with him, but he was caught and chained
before he could accomplish his purpose.
" The most unaccountable, the most pre-
posterous thing ! " exclaimed Mr. Forester.
" Vere has sold out ! "
"Sold out?"
" Yes ; without a word, and at this time too !
Irrevocable mischief ! The most hasty, head-
long proceeding ! I think he must be mad ! "
"But what does he say ? " asked Brandon,
in real anxiety.
"Oh, you may sec what he says, it just
amounts to nothing ! A favourable opportu-
nity offered — he thought it best to lose no
more time. Time, indeed ! He has lost some-
thing more valuable than time. He is on his
way home now."
THE TABLEAUX. Ill
" Before our letters reached him ! " said
Brandon, in a voice of such deep concern, that
nothing further was needed to express his
view of the transaction. " And he says no
more ? I would give anything to have been
with him ! Who can have advised him ? "
" Advised ! " cried Mr. Forester ; " no sane
man would have advised such a step. It is
mere suicide ! "
" I am sure — I am sure there is some good
reason," said Leonora ; " only let us wait till
he comes."
" My dear, that is nonsense," replied her
father-in-law, decidedly ; " there can be no
good reason."
" I hear there's an Indian letter," cried
Rose, running into the room. " What news?
Oh ! what is the matter ? " she added, struck
with alarm at the aspect of the group.
Leonora went away into the garden. She
really could not stand by and hear the wonder,
the incredulity, the implied blame, the ex-
pressed vexation all over again. She hoped
that the news would go through the family in
her absence. She did feel a little indignant
1 1 2 linnet's trial.
now as she wandered away into the shrub-
bery.
" Not one of them seems to care about
seeing him again ! " said she to herself. And
she tried to give herself up to the thought of
the meeting and to forget everything else.
The three whom she left discussed the step
which Vere had taken, very sadly and seriously.
There was so much sympathy among them
that at one moment it had nearly brought
about a better understanding between Lionel
and Rose, but Mr. Forester was in the way and
nothing came of it.
" We need not tell anybody yet, I suppose,"
said Rose. " Is there any chance that, if we
keep it secret, it might still be prevented?"
"Prevented!" sighed her father. "It's
done — gazetted by this time ! All the world
may know it !"
" Could we not even keep it back for a day?
They will say things about it at the Hall
to-night, I know, and it will be so hard for
Linnet."
"I'll put a stop to that," said Brandon.
•• Mrs. Darner shall manage Lady Philippa
THE TABLEAUX. 113
she'll do it beautifully, I know. There she
is — shall we go out and explain it to her?"
This was said in a soft confidential tone to
Rose as Mrs. Darner appeared upon the lawn,
wondering at the long absence of her cavalier,
and a little inclined to resent it. Rose did
not reply. She had caught a glimpse of
Linnet's dress between the stems of the trees,
and was wondering whether she might venture
to go to her. She went out upon the lawn,
followed by Lionel, who, not having perceived
her motive, stood still in some dismay, when
she darted away from him and left him
to make his communication to Mrs. Damer
unassisted.
In the course of the day Dr. Selden arrived.
He had received no letter from Charles and
was anxious. When he heard of Vere's irrevo-
cable step, his distress and astonishment were
great. He could scarcely bring himself to
believe it, and he read Mr. Forester's letter
three times over before he could accept the fact
sufficiently to begin trying to find explana-
tions or palliations for it.
" I understand now why Charles did not
VOL. II. I
114 linnet's trial.
write," said he at last. " He did not like to
say what he thought ; he knew well enough
what we should all feel, and as he could not
defend, he let the matter alone."
This was too much for Leonora. It had
seemed to her from the first that the family,
as soon as it had recovered from the shock of
its surprise, was settling down with wonderful
rapidity into a changed and lowered estimate
of Vere. It was as if this estimate had always
existed, beneath and behind the professed
opinions about him, and it seemed to be now
coming up by degrees and showing itself.
Mr. Forester expressed it most strongly, but,
coming from him, the expression gave her
least pain. "Always so visionary," "emi-
nently unpractical," " you never knew where
to have him," such were the parentheses which
repeatedly broke the course of his commen-
taries. The mere sound of the words was
unpleasant, though it was not necessary to
rate their significance high. Brandon, with a
ike of the head and a sorrowful look, ad-
mitted that Forester was "inconsistent." This
was worse, and Leonora remembered it against
THE TABLEAUX. 115
him. But here was Dr. Selden — the faithful,
sympathetic, appreciating friend — taking it for
granted that Charles — Charles, of all people
in the world, a weak, half-grown, insignificant
boy, to whom a touch of Vere's hand, or a
glance from his eye, was an honour — that he
was capable of sitting in judgment upon the
conduct of one so infinitely superior to him-
self, and of withholding in kindness the
adverse sentence which he could not help
mentally passing. The serene philosophy
which resulted from Leonora's perfect confi-
dence was terribly shaken, but not so the
confidence itself. There was a quiver in her
voice as she answered Dr. Selden —
" I doubt whether Charles knows — whether
he woidd be able to understand Vere's motives.
Vere would not, I think, consult him."
" I wish I understood his motives," said
Dr. Selden. "I am as sure as you are that
they are good; but I fear he has made a
terrible mistake. A man so sensitive, such a
thorough soldier, to cut away from himself
with his own hand the means of clearing him-
self ! I cannot understand it. The Inst man
i 2
116 linnet's trial.
in the world to lose either his temper or his
spirits under the pressure of a difficulty."
" My dear friend," said Leonora, with a
swelling heart and a suppliant voice, " the
thing is done "
Dr. Selden took her kindly by the hand.
" Yes, yes," said he, suddenly changing his
manner ; " you are right. There are plenty of
other careers besides a soldier's. A new start
is always a little difficult, and we must all
help Vere. We must meet him cheerfully,
and look steadily forwards. He is very wise
to go to Italy at once. We shall hear of
him yet."
Leonora's heart never sank so low as when
si ie received into it these words of consola-
tion. She felt all that they implied. She
perceived the effort with which they were
uttered. The only mode of meeting the future
was to hi do and forget the past. And this —
in Verc's life! There was something in this
pure noble life which was not to be spoken of,
which it was better not to look upon — a flaw
in a priceless jewel. Oh ! if he would only
come ! Somehow— she could not conjecture
THE TABLEAUX. 117
how — all would be right then. It was for her
to be very patient till then. Of course his
wife must trust him more thoroughly than his
friends, and it would be easy, oh ! so easy, to
forgive them for their little doubts when every-
thing was made clear. But why was there
no word, no hint even, to her? That short
strange note — so unlike his other letters, in its
reserve, in its manner of gliding over the sur-
face of subjects — did it not imply far more
strongly than Dr. Selden's words, that there
was to be in future one subject avoided be-
tween the husband and wife ? And how was
she to bear that ? It was well for her that
this great flow of thought filled her heart and
closed her ears to what was passing around
her, or she could scarcely have helped resenting
Mr. Forester's answer to Dr. Selden —
" Hear of him ? I am afraid the less we
hear the better ! "
Mr. Forester's passionate exclamation that
Vere was gazetted already was a little pre-
mature. There were certain official permis-
sions and ratifications to be obtained first.
But the irrevocable step was taken on Vere's
118 linnet's trial.
part, and no objection bad been made to his
coming home to complete his arrangements.
A sharp attack of illness, which he did not
mention in his letter, rendered his return
desirable on other grounds. Mr. Forester
was never able to arrange the chronology of
the transaction quite satisfactorily; and he
harassed Leonora terribly by his persistent
efforts in that direction. Vere's correspon-
dence with his wife had been necessarily very
irregular. Sometimes a mail was entirely
missed; sometimes two letters of different
dates came by the same mail, or by the two
deliveries of the same mail ; so that Leonora
received them at an interval of a few days.
And Vere was not always as careful as he
ought to have been in dating his letters.
Mr. Forester's intense interest about times
and seasons was rather a comfort to him, since
it drew him away from the contemplation of
facts, but it was oppressive to poor Leonora.
an evening's pleasure. 110
CHAPTER X.
AN EVENING'S PLEASURE.
A more uncomfortable party than the evening
assemblage at the Hall was never gathered
together for the purposes of deliberate pleasure-
making, which is saying much. Those who
were not pre-occupied by private care and
anxiety, were so full of the disturbances gene-
rated by the particular pleasure which they
were manufacturing, that enjoyment was out
of the question for them. Of these last, per-
haps, Mrs. Darner was the least wretched ; for
though the basis of her triumph might not be
quite secure, the fabric of it was resplendently
visible. Brandon placed himself ostentatiously
at her feet, and did his vociferous homage to
her without intermission. The progress of a
conspicuous flirtation is a scene so common,
120 linnet's trial.
that it seems hardly worth while to describe it.
To the actors it must certainly afford a delight
scarcely to be measured ; for they know per-
fectly well that they are laughed at and criti-
cised, yet they persevere and are content.
The gentleman makes a show of his services
as if he really thought that they were a credit
to him ; the lady exults in a homage which, if
it were not offered to herself, she would pro-
bably be the first to jtronounce worthless. One
of the most curious inconsistencies developed in
the course of these affaires defantaisie (for we
are not speaking of even the lowest grade of
affaires de coeur) has always seemed to us to be
the extraordinary amount of mutual toleration
raised by the parties concerned. They regard
or ignore each other's defects with a warmth
of charity which would melt all the gossip of
the neighbourhood into thin air if it could
only be diffused over a larger area. A really
sensible right-minded girl will make the ten-
derest allowances for the inanities of the most
empty-headed coxcomb that ever fluttered
lli rough life without a thought beyond the
amusement of the hour. A man of taste and
an evening's pleasure. 121
discernment will believe in the flimsiest affec-
tations, or apologise for the most unfeminine
freedoms, in his idol of the month ; or, if he
perceives and acknowledges them, they will
make no difference to him. One is some-
times tempted to think that the class which
really enjoys the charitable judgment of society
in general, is precisely the class which least
deserves it. The tediousness, the foibles,
or the faults of a man who has substantial
merits, or who is in any sense doing a work
in the world, meet with no mercy ; but if
there is nothing about you to claim respect
or challenge praise, you may count upon a
lenient sentence from your contemporaries.
Time and thought produce a juster estimate,
but it is the verdict of the moment which is
felt and proclaimed. And it is probably a
sense of disappointment which causes men to
judge hardly in the first instance the defects
of those from whom they have expected better
things. But there is sometimes another feel-
ing at the bottom of such judgments, which
it is worth while to look into. You meet
with a person known to be good and sensible,
122 linnet's trial.
to bo just a little above the average man of
society, and you somehow do not get on with
him. You are a little anno}' , ed, and you
resent it against him. You find him tire-
some, and you therefore pronounce that he
is tiresome. But, says Grdthe. many a fair
hand-writing is illegible in twilight. It would
be a wholesome process, under such circum-
stances, to set to work and examine deliber-
ately what sort of conversation it is which you
do not consider tiresome, what kind of persons
they are whose foibles do not weary or annoy
you. Yoq might possibly discover that the
reason why you and your " superior " friend
did not quite " suit," was not to be found
exclusively in the weakness or the absurdity
which hung about his merits.
There was no softening veil upon Hose's
■ ji!-t now, and her worst enemy could not
have accused her of being too lenient in her
judgments. She saw with the keenest vision,
and pronounced with the most unflinching
firmne . She perceived that Mrs. Darner
and Brandon talked nothing but nonsense ;
that there was literally not a word in their
an evening's pleasure. 12
Q
conversations which it could give either of
them the slightest rational satisfaction to
remember; that the gentleman offered, and
the lady accepted, an amount of freedom and
familiarity which she, Rose, would not have
tolerated for an instant ; and that there was
nothing in the whole business which could
command the sympathy or respect of any
dispassionate spectator. She was not suffi-
ciently alive to the serious nature of the last
news about Vere to be drawn permanently
away from her own private troubles by it.
She had been shocked and grieved, and she
was very sorry for Linnet, but she felt a secret
persuasion that all would be right in the
end. Vere must understand his own affairs
better than anybody else could, and when he
came home he would explain them. The
difference between her manner of receiving
and recovering from this piece of bad news, and
the manner in which she had received and
suffered under the bad news which preceded
it, was a measure of the progress which her
private and personal feelings had made in the
interval. Cut the principal change which
124 linnet's trial.
Vere's letter had produced in lier condition
was, that she was left very much more to her
own devices than she had been. Leonora,
absent and unhappy, relaxed in her vigilant
sympathy. Hose was not aware — indeed,
Leonora was hardly aware herself, having
acted from instinct on a hundred occasions —
how often she had interposed to soften annoy-
ance, or to prevent exposure. Eose went to
the Hall, sore angry, self-confident, and scorn-
ful, and we shall see what came of it.
She came into the temporary green-room
just as the first group was getting itself ready.
Mrs. Darner, as Red llidinghood , looked the
perfection of prettiness, and the judicious ar-
rangement of light, together with her own
fairy proportions and general youthfulness of
appearance, silenced all criticism on the score
of age.
" How do I look?" Mrs Damer was saying
wlicii Rose entered.
Brandon held a mirror before her. "An-
swer the question yourself," said he, "and
pray be honest about it ! "
She pretended to examine herself pretty
an evening's pleasure. 125
critically, and put on a look of timidity.
"Oh! do encourage me a little!" she said.
" You can't think how nervous I am."
" Is it nervousness that produces this effect?
Then I'm sure I won't encourage you. I don't
want to see the slightest change."
She gave a little satisfied laugh, which was
particularly irritating to Rose. " You ought
to be very anxious to see me looking nice,"
said she, " because you know you are expected
to dine upon me ! "
Brandon had recourse to his whisper here,
and Rose, who caught herself trying to listen,
marched away to the other end of the room
with an air of disgust. She came back again,
however, feeling certain that she had seen a
look of intelligence pass between Brandon and
Mrs. Darner — a look which impressed her with
the conviction that they thought they were
annoying her, and that the thought amused
them. Stung by this idea, she compelled
herself to take an active part in the prepara-
tions, and she resisted the strong impulse
which she felt to give up her own share in
the actual representation. She laughed and
126 linnet's trial.
talked, submitted to a little criticism upon her
own costume, and volunteered a remark about
Brandon's with an air of nonchalance that was
scarcely a shade too prominent. Rose's edu-
cation was advancing with rapid strides. Three
months ago she was too shy to speak without
being spoken to at a " party," and there was
no security that she might not have resented
the simplest address as an outrage !
The one tableau in which Rose was to take
a conspicuous place was from an old German
fairy legend. A king's son, who has been
compelled to marry a wicked princess for irre-
fragable reasons of state, recognises the chosen
lady of his heart in a girl whose office it is to
herd the geese, which we are led to suppose
were always attached in great numbers to the
establishments of German monarchs in old
times. The wicked princess is, of course,
repudiated, and the "goose-girl," who had
been reduced to her low position by the inter-
vention of some fairy machinery not necessary
to the tableau, but for which her rival was
undoubtedly accountable, is elevated to the
throne. It was Rose's business to sit by the
an evening's pleasure. 127
roadside in a disconsolate attitude with a crook
in her hand. She was supposed to be mourn-
fully herding geese and thinking of her lover.
Her flock were symbolised by two or three
ingeniously contrived bird-shapes, covered with
white cotton-wool, and placed in attitudes of
extraordinary animation in the foreground,
while a painted scene behind them represented
an interminable perspective of geese. Lionel
was of course the prince, and Mrs. Darner, in
bridal costume, and with a gold crown on her
head, was the wicked princess. She was to
look unconscious and haughty, while her com-
panion was to start with astonishment and
delight, fixing his eyes upon the goose-girl.
Rose did not like the situation at all, and had
obstinately resisted all suggestions that she
ought to look at her lover and recognise him
in the same moment in which he recognised
her. She averred stoutly that the whole artistic
merit of the tableau consisted in the two
opposite kinds of unconsciousness expressed
by the women, contrasted with the prince's
rapturous surprise. She carried her point,
and looked so steadily away from Brandon
128 linnet's trial.
that he was quite annoyed. Mrs. Darner, who
knew that her crown and veil were very be-
coming, was quite content to stand hand-in-
hand with Lionel, and assume a comic air of
exaggerated pride. But she was taken by
surprise by Rose's grace and loveliness. The
shepherdess costume suited the child exactly ;
the attitude was charmingly natural, and the
pensive expression and drooping head gave a
softness to the character of the face in which
it was sometimes a little deficient. Mrs.
Darner felt that it was desirable rather to
hurry over this tableau.
In the front row of the spectators sat Miss
Cut. She was in avery fussy state. She wanted
to make it apparent to everybody that she was
in the confidence of the performers. She volun-
teered explanations of all the tableaux to Lady
Philippa, and explained them all wrong. She
criticised all the attitudes out loud, and drew
attention to the hands that were quivering and
the drapery folds that were rather out of order.
She made playful allusions to all the little
uncomfortable facts with which she was ac-
quainted, and wondered why the sufferers did
an evening's pleasure. 129
not look pleased. She told Lady Philippa
that she thought it extremely magnanimous
in her to be so polite to the Foresters. Many
people, she said, would not have forgiven
that business about the Martins, nor the
part which Mrs. Vere took in screening that
outrageous person, Hugh Blackmore. Lady
Philippa was aghast at her audacity, but con-
descended to reply that she never bore malice.
" Whatever I wish to do," she said superbly,
" I always succeed in doing in the end." And
there is little doubt that she did succeed, both
in punishing her enemies and helping her
friends, though the former occupation was
more to her taste than the latter. The
Foresters little guessed how much of the pain
which they were now enduring, and of that
which they still had to endure, was traceable
to their offences against Lady Philippa. She
was far too rich to be despised. She had a
power in society more immediate, if not
greater, in its effects than any other power.
She received a great deal of attention and
deference, and they were something more than
mere lip-service. Her opinion really had
VOL. II. K
130 linnet's trial.
weight ; her word really was, in some sense,
a law ; lier ways and habits, her defects and
peculiarities, were judged with a tenderness
and respect which no one would have dreamed
of according to them if she had been an old
maid, without a title, living upon two hundred
a year. People were not only afraid to touch
her, but they honestly busied themselves in
making the best of her ; in keeping her sins
out of sight, and making much of her hospi-
talities. And if the reason of this unusual
prevalence of Christian charity were inquired
into — if it were asked why is she popular?
why are her civilities received and returned
with empressement ? why are her evil doings
so well spoken of? — there was really no answer
to be returned to the question but one : " Be-
cause she is so very rich." There was, in
fact, nothing else to be said in her favour ;
but this was quite enough so far as society
was concerned. And for this reason, and no
other, her hard suggestions and quiet dis-
paragements told upon the troubles of the
Foresters. The balance of opinion was in-
cessantly receiving a slight impulse against
an evening's pleasure. 131
thein, and there was little doubt that by the
time Vere came home, the newspaper attack
upon him would be endorsed by the secret
judgment of the whole neighbourhood.
To this subject Miss Carr very soon fluttered
away, pointing out that it was no wonder that
poor Mrs. Vere did not feel quite equal to
taking a part in the amusements of the even-
ing. " The cloud upon her husband, you know,
it evidently oppressed her very much ; " and
here Miss Carr tried to hook Mr. Forester
into the conversation, but Mr. Forester was a
little deaf, and being pounced upon when he
least expected it, with a kind of parenthetic
appeal which seemed to imply that he had
taken a share in what went before, he became
somewhat confused. Miss Carr accordingly
raised her voice, and addressing him in a pro-
tective manner, as though she were keeping
his second childhood at bay by her attentions,
she said, " We were speaking about your
daughter-in-law. She seems very much out
of spirits about this affair of her husband. I
tell her she has not confidence enough. Yes,
Mrs. Vere," turning suddenly upon Leonora,
k 2
132 linnet's tkial.
who just then emerged from the green-room,
and took her place among the spectators as
the curtain drew up for the tableau, u we
are all complaining of you a little. We think
you have not confidence enough in your hus-
band. Why should you mind what the news-
papers say ? You ought to know him rather
better than the newspapers ! Do you think
Lady Philippa would distrust Sir Joseph if
all the newspapers in the world went against
him ? "
" I don't profess quite so much philosophy,"
began Lady Philippa. But here Mr. De
Bragge interposed with real good nature, and
requested silence as the curtain was being
drawn up, and it was their plain duty to look
at the tableau. " I couldn't stand it, you
know — confound me, I couldn't stand it ! " he
observed afterwards to Brandon. " The poor
thing looked so uncommonly down in the
mouth, I thought she was going to faint; and
I saw my mother was going to set her foot
upon her neck, and, confound me, it's no joke
when my mother takes to doing that! I be-
lieve you, it isn't. Why on earth should Miss
an evening's pleasuee. 133
Carr trouble herself to sympathise about other
women's husbands, and hurt their feelings in
that way, and bring my mother down upon
them, I should like to know? It isn't fair
play — it isn't as if she'd got a husband of her
own to be sympathised with about, but she
hasn't, you see, and never will have, so the
other women can't be down upon her with
their sympathy, and that's what I call not
giving them fair play, and I can't stand it,
confound me if I can ! "
Miss Carr was well content to be inter-
rupted, as it gave her the opportunity of a
little private talk with Mr. De Bragge which
looked almost like flirting, and soothed her
very much. She wound up her proceedings
by commenting upon the tableau to him in a
sonorous whisper.
" Good Mr. Forester," said she, with a
warm emphasis on the epithet — " Good Mr.
Forester has not been unwilling to sanction
this little representation, though he is sup-
posed to be rather strait-laced. Fathers
are quite as skilful chaperons as mothers,
sometimes " (with a significant nod and smile).
134 linnet's trial.
" These tableaux are peculiarly well adapted
for bringing doubtful matters to a satisfactory
conclusion, and I think we all know " (with
a glance from Brandon to Rose), " I think we
all know what is on the tapis."
The spectators on the back benches were
surprised by the sudden crimson which over-
spread the face of the goose-girl, after the
tableau had been exhibited for about half a
minute. They supposed that she was tired,
or heated, or frightened. But it was certainly
strange that the prince's face reflected her
blush.
Between this tableau and the series from the
" Bridal of Triermain," there was a pause, and
Miss Carr, bustling into the green-room, in
order that she might practically assert her
intimacy with the performers, put the finishing
stroke to her work. She made a little speech
in a whisper to Brandon. Rose could not hear
what was said, but she could not avoid seeinc:
that Brandon was out of countenance. Miss
Carr was smiling up in his face with the most
unfeigned self-complacency, and evidently be-
lieving devoutly in the elegance and appropri-
an evening's pleasure. 135
ateness of her own badinage. She then moved
towards Mrs. Darner, but Mrs. Darner was not
to be victimised. " Keep that woman off me,
for pity's sake ! " said she to Lionel, in a sup-
pressed voice. Then, finding that her cava-
lier was not quite so prompt as usual, she took
up her own cause and spoke aloud —
" Don't come any nearer, please — not a step
nearer ! I have got all my things arranged
round me for the next tableau, and the least
touch would set them all wrong. Please take
care of your hoop — you don't know what a
dangerous neighbourhood you are getting into."
Miss Carr drew away, somewhat injured, but
elaborately apologetic, as if she were so wholly
unused to being in anybody's way, that she
hardly knew how to behave under the circum-
stances. She backed a few steps with baffled
gracefulness, upset two wreaths and a candle,
and then turned upon Rose, who felt an im-
pulse to escape, but did not know how to follow
it out, and who was moreover hampered by the
delusion that there was a friendship of long
standing between Miss Carr and herself.
" I have been telling Mr. Brandon, my
136 linnet's trial.
love," said the friend, with a caressing tap on
Rose's burning cheek, " that I don't quite
approve of the arrangement of the last tableau.
Very pretty, you know, but not exactly appro-
priate. The two ladies should have changed
places, and I know which ought to have worn
the bridal costume. He disclaims, you know,
of course he disclaims — but I understand;
and the sequel of the story sets it all right.
We ought to have had a second tableau, with
our opening Rose in her right place. Patience,
patience — I have no doubt it will come— and
so I have been telling Mr. Brandon."
Rose was sitting opposite to a mirror in which
unfortunately she could see that Lionel's eyes
were fixed upon her, and that he was watching
the effect of Miss Carr's speech (which he could
not hear) with an expression half indignant,
half amused. It was more than she could bear.
Be merciful to her ! she was scarcely seven-
teen. She had been piqued, mortified, stung,
wounded, and irritated. Her pride, her
modesty, her affections had all been hurt in
turn. And now she thought it was all over,
the worst stroke had fallen, and she was dis-
an evening's pleasure. 137
graced for ever in the eyes of Mr. Brandon,
and of all who had witnessed the proceedings
of the last few days. She jumped np and ran
out of the room, but not before a great blush
and a great sob had revealed to all except
Miss Carr that she ran out to hide her tears.
138 liistsEt's trial.
CHAPTER XL
rose's victory.
Greater outbreaks than poor Rose's have
been ignored and suppressed for the sake of
carrying an evening party safely and smoothly
to its conclusion. It is, perhaps, the sense of
incongruity between the graver troubles of
humanity and its lighter amusements which
enlists all energies on the side of concealment
so soon as the one intrudes upon the other.
We know that the ghastly troop are in waiting
outside, but we think that no straggler of
them has any business to show his face in a
ball-room. " Say nothing about it till to-
morrow," is the instinctive answer of every
man who receives a terrible communication,
or suspects the presence of a serious evil in
the midst of a festivity. He shrinks from
rose's victory. 139
seeing the dark news reflected from all those
bright faces around him ; shrinks from the
multiplication, whether by a score or a hun-
dred, of the shock which he has himself re-
ceived. If it be only a shock of surprise to
them he would rather not see it — those faces
must be got rid of somehow. The gaiety must
go on, just because it is so slight and super-
ficial a thing; if it were an assemblage for
grave business it would seem much easier to
break it up by the announcement of bad
tidings. I have seen a man come to a ball
half an hour after he knew of the suicide of a
near friend and kinsman, and whisper his dread-
ful news quietly to the one or two persons to
whom it was necessary to tell it without delay.
The impulse to look as if nothing had hap-
pened came into their faces, not after, but
with the white horror of their astonishment,
and the evening went on, wi^h no stronger
suspicion on the part of the guests than was
involved in the remark that Mr. So-ancl-so
stayed a very short time and did not seem in
his usual spirits.
In the same way a number of persons will
140 linnet's trtal.
often tacitly, and without previous concert,
combine to suppress the acknowledgment of
some fact secretly known to them all. They
will put a colour upon it which they all know
not to be the true colour; and they will do
this by their manner and by their words to
each other, though each knows perfectly well
that he is not deceiving the other, and that the
part which he is acting is also acted towards
himself. The thing gained is the absence of
discussion. I do not think that anything else
is gained. There is little chance of your for-
getting the size and shape of the unwelcome
object which has been passed from hand to
hand under the table and looked at covertly ;
but at least you have not exhibited it. There
might be a chamber in the Palace of Truth set
apart for the recognition and proclamation of
events for what they are, as soon as they
happen. The structure of society in that
chamber would present some curious archi-
tectural features.
Miss Carr did not perceive that Rose was
crying when she ran out of the room, and all
those who did perceive it united in taking for
rose's victory. 141
granted that it was not the case. She re-
appeared as soon as possible, to form one of
the bevy of damsels whose business it was to
tempt Sir Roland De Vaux from his duty,
enraged with herself, and having one burning
wish in her heart in the presence of which
all other thoughts dwindled and grew pale,
namely, that she might find some opportunity
for proving her indifference. Brandon soon
provided her with such an opportunity. He
followed her into the passage as soon as the
representation was over, while the others were
busy changing their dresses, grasped her hand,
and said to her in a whisper of unmistakeable
earnestness, " Don't let anything vex you.
When can I speak to you ?"
Rose's struggle to release her hand was too
vehement to be resisted, as she answered, in
her regal manner, " I do not understand you,
Mr. Brandon."
" But I want to be understood; there is
nothing in the world I have at heart so much
as that you should understand me. I under-
stand you perfectly, Rose. Won't you let me
explain myself? Won't you let me tell you
142 linnet's trial.
what I feel towards you, if, indeed, you don't
know it already ?"
" If you understand me so well," replied
Rose, in rather too rapid a manner to be as
dignified as she intended to be, "you must
be aware that I neither wish nor care for any
explanation, and that I don't choose to be
called by my Christian name." And she went
away in a moment.
Brandon was left plante la. He was a good
deal surprised, and he looked rather crestfallen
and disconsolate. He was dressed in a com-
plete suit of real armour, over which he wore
a very short cloak of white glazed calico im-
provised for the occasion, and he carried a flat
candlestick in his hand. In this condition he
sat down upon the door-mat for a few minutes
to collect his thoughts and review his position.
He did not very well know what he was doing,
but he knew that he wanted a little time for
quiet consideration before he re-entered society,
so he solemnly placed his candle on the floor
beside him, and sat still, contemplating his
greaves, and sternly disregarding the crackling
of his stiff little mantle.
rose's victory. 143
It was a very brief period of discomfiture
through which he mentally passed. It is not
to be denied that he was habitually a self-
confident man. He did not seriously doubt
for more than a moment that Rose was in
love with him. Indeed, as soon as the doubt
took a definite shape and declared itself, it
perished. When a man has attached himself to
a girl so young, whether in years or character,
that the soft mists of childhood still cling
about her, she stands at a sort of disadvantage
with him, unless his temperament happens to
be peculiarly imaginative and tender, even
after she has fairly emerged and grown up.
All the earlier processes are not only origi-
nated, but directed by him. He seems to create
his own idol ; or, to take a lower illustration,
to make the instrument which he intends to
play upon. "While she is developing into
maturity and independence of character by his
help, he is unconsciously forming habits of
thought and action towards her which he finds
it difficult to change when they are no longer
applicable. If her nature is meek and soft,
she also forms a habit ; and they get on very
144 linnet's trial.
well together, though, they remain upon un-
equal terms, and her capacities are unexplored
and unused till some great stroke of trouble
or anxiety reveals them to him, and perhaps
to herself, for such a woman is very apt to
believe implicitly in a man's estimate of her.
But if she is proud and high-spirited, with a
keen, touchy sense of womanly honour, a time
of mutual misunderstanding arrives, and mis-
chief is pretty sure to come of it.
It was in this way that Lionel now mis-
understood Rose. He felt perfectly sure of
her. He had seen the growth of her feeling
towards him, played with it, fostered it, found
in it a charm and delight beyond anything
that he anticipated ; and he believed that it
was ready to come when he called it, and
declare itself as soon as he gave the word.
So entirely was he possessed with this belief,
that he interpreted all the rebuffs which she
had given him, including the last, by the
simple supposition that she was not sure of
him, and that she was uncomfortable and
irritable in consequence. Why he had been
increasing her insecurity by the exhibition of
rose's victory. 145
his devotion to Mrs. Darner — whether any
deeper feeling than vanity was at the bottom
of his recent conduct — we will not at present
inquire. There are men in the world who are
capable of being in love with two women at
once. Suffice it to say that he made up his
mind now, arose from his door-mat, and went
on his way rejoicing, to meet his fate.
Rose was also possessed by one idea, deep-
seated and overmastering, excluding all other
thoughts for the time. It was that she would
prove to all — more than all, to Brandon —
most of all, to herself — that her heart was
free. So she, too, went on her way to meet
her fate — but not rejoicing.
The temperament which surrenders itself un-
conditionally to a single thought is an unsafe
temperament. You may trace it in small things
as well as great, and it is well for you if you
discern it in yourself in the small, early enough
to be on your guard against it in the great.
For when that one violent wish which enslaves
you has had its way, you shall find that several
other wishes, not only wiser and better, but
also warmer and stronger than it, have been
VOL. II. L
146 LINNET'S TRIAL.
kept down by its mere force, and now that it
is at rest, they come forward and complain.
Perhaps it is too late to satisfy them, and
perhaps they will live and lament long after
their tyrant is dead, buried, and forgotten,
except for the evil he has wrought.
The next day it was rather a surprise to
Mr. Forester that Brandon and Mrs. Darner
did not come to talk over the events of the
evening. Leonora was too deeply engrossed
by her own anxieties to do more than respond
when her father-in-law expressed his surprise,
and forget it as soon as he ceased to speak
of it. Emma was a good deal disappointed.
She was pleasantly conscious that she had
looked well and played her part successfully,
and she wanted to be told that others were
aware of it. Rose said not a word.
The next day, also, the morning passed
without a visit. But at luncheon Mr. Forester
appeared with a note in his hand, and an
expression of doubt and vexation on his face.
"Very sudden!" said he, " very strange!
Mr. Brandon apologises for not being able to
call and take leave. He has been unexpectedly
rose's victory. 147
summoned away, lie says. Leonora, lias he
written to you?"
" Yes," replied Leonora, " but not about
anything particular."
" What do you mean by not writing about
anything particular?" asked Mr. Forester
sharply. " I suppose he says something?''''
It was not often that Mr. Forester snubbed
his daughter-in-law. He had a constant sense
that she was a guest, and that she was to
be pitied ; and when there was nothing to
irritate him, his politeness to her amounted
to gallantry. But his nature was deficient in
geniality and sweetness, and she often wit-
nessed an amount of snubbing inflicted upon
the members of his family which was quite
as disagreeable to her as if she had suffered
under it herself. She made great allowance
for him now, because she sympathised with
the reason of his vexation. And, not looking
towards Rose, but attaining by some sort of
intuition to a perception of her flushed cheeks
and downcast eyes, she did as was her custom,
and sacrificed her own present feeling to the
feeling of others. " He writes only about
l 2
148 linnet's trial.
Vere," said she : " he asks me to let him
know if anything happens."
" What does he expect to happen?" in the
same resentful voice, implying, " Now I am
going to convict you out of your own mouth."
"lam sure I don't know," answered Leo-
nora simply.
" I don't see how anybody can know. It is
mere nonsense to ask what happens, when we
know perfectly well what has happened ; and
it is certainly not a pleasant subject for you.
I think Mr. Brandon might have had a little
more consideration than to ask you anything
at all about it."
" I think," said Leonora, "we do not yet
quite know — we are not yet absolutely certain
that we know what has happened ; and I don't
mind Mr. Brandon's asking me about it,
though it is a painful subject. He asks only
out of friends] lip."
" That is a sort of friendship for which I
have not the slightest value. And when you
say we don't know what has happened, I wish
just to ask you one thing — Has Vere sold his
commission, or has he not ? "
rose's victory. 149
" He lias sold it " began poor Leonora.
" Very well — very well," interrupted Mr.
Forester in an indescribable voice, mixing and
following up bis two " very wells " witb a long
inarticulate sound of sullen triumph, also in-
describable, but something like— ah-hum-ha-
hu-r-r-r-r-r-mh !
"I mean to say," persisted Leonora, with a
kind of timid steadfastness, "that we don't
yet know his reasons, and that I trust him."
She could not keep her voice from faltering
nor her eyes from filling, and Mr. Forester
had too much real kindness of heart to say
anything more, though he stopped short with
a decided sense of ill-usage. She had no
business to be so sensitive with a person who
had so much more "consideration" for her
feelings than Brandon had.
" Mrs. Darner is in the garden, sir," said
the servant, opening the door of the dining-
room. " She said she would walk about till
you finished luncheon."
" No, she isn't in the garden — she's here,"
cried the lady in question, first showing her
face at the window, and then stepping into the
150 fcMNET'S TRIAL.
room in her most ethereal manner — " Pray
forgive me for disturbing you, but I could not
bear to go away without seeing you just to
say good-bye."
" I am very sorry to hear that it is 'good-
bye/ " said Mr. Forester, instantly recovering
his temper and his good breeding, as he took
Mrs. Darner's hand in his.
" Yes; isn't it a pity? I'm so sorry! But
you know one can't stay for ever anywhere ;
and really I am beginning to be anxious about
my little boy's education. He is so forward
in his mind, and yet he knows nothing —
absolutely nothing at all ; and so you see I
think it is quite time to do something in it.
He will soon be grown up " (with a sigh), "and
it would be shocking you know if he were to
grow up just as he is. Besides he might think
I had neglected him, and I should never be
able to bear that."
" You have plenty of time," said Mr.
Forester. " Plow old is he ? "
" Five — but do you know I think that quite
old. When one reflects, there seems such a
little difference between five and five-and-
rose's victory. 151
twenty. I am sure it seems only yesterday to
me that I was five, and I was such a pretty
little girl! I do so wish you had seen me!"
As this wish was unattainable, there seemed
no course open but to express a polite con-
viction that there were cases in which five-
and-twenty was prettier than five. However,
it only produced a shake of the head and an
answer.
" Ah ! you wouldn't say so if you had seen
me. I had such large eyes " (opening them
wide) — "quite monstrous you know! and such
lovely bright curls " (shaking them out over
her fingers), " and such little tiny feet and
hands " (showing them). " I used to be called
1 Fairyfoot. ' I know I went off very much
indeed when I was about ten years old. I was
changing my teeth, and I know I went off
very much indeed. Just fancy — they say I
was for some time without any teeth at all in
the upper row — so horrid ! I'm so glad I can't
remember it ! "
No immediate comment was made upon this
fragment of autobiography, and after a short
pause the lady resumed —
152 LrNTNET's TRIAL.
" I do feel so very much obliged to you, Mr.
Forester, for all your kindness to me, and for
all your advice. Oh ! it has been advice, you
know, and I always looked upon it as such, and
you can't think how I look up to it. I mean
always to guide myself by it in everything.
All the hints on education — I don't forget one
of them — and I'm so grateful for them — and I
mean to carry them all out."
" I am sure," said Mr. Forester, bridling
a good deal with modest self-approval, "it is
I who ought to thank you for listening so
kindly to my preaching. If you had not
listened so kindly, I could not have obtruded
it upon you."
"Oh! I do so want guidance," she replied;
" you can't give me too much guidance, and I
am so fond of it. I mean to bring my little
boy up just like yours — just like Yere (you see
I remember his name) — and I hope he'll turn
out just the same. I never saw Captain
Forester, you know, but I know he's just like
what I mean my little boy to be. How could
he help it, with your system ? Oh ! I'm so
sorry for you about Captain Forester " (with a
rose's victory. 153
sudden recollection and change of tone) ; " it's
so hard upon you that he should begin doing-
all the things you don't want him to do, after
he's quite grown up! "
Neither she nor Mr. Forester appeared to
think that if this was really the case it might
possibly be considered an objection to the
system of education, that it had borne such
fruit. Mr. Forester looked grateful for her
sympathy, which was uttered in the sweetest
voice and with the prettiest glance possible.
And he said, " We won't talk of it," with a
little tender pressure of the hand.
" We must not quite lose sight of you,"
added he, after a moment's pause. " I hope we
shall hear of you sometimes. Rose, I am sure,
will be most happy "
" But I am the worst correspondent in the
world," cried Mrs. Darner, forestalling Rose's
tardy and reluctant civility; "and if I ever
should make up my mind to do such a tremen-
dous thing as to write a letter to your house,
I think — please — if you will let me, it shall
be to yourself."
"That is a compact," said Mr. Forester,
154 linnet's trial.
with a gaiety which was astonishing to his
children, who had yet to learn that many a
steady elderly gentleman can he made to cut
most amazing capers (speaking metaphorically)
by a pretty woman. " I intend to earn the
fulfilment of your promise as soon as possible.
You must give me your address."
His note-book and pencil were instantly in
readiness, and Mrs. Darner after thinking a
moment replied, " Paris first — Hotel Meurice
— but I shall not be more than a week there.
I am going on to the Italian lakes to join
some friends. ' Poste Restante, Lugano,'' will
find me."
" And your little boy ? " said Rose, putting
in her word for the first time.
" Oh, the darling ! " returned Mrs. Darner,
with a slight drawl of imperturbable sweetness,
" I leave him behind. It would be wretched
for him, you know. There is a dear old nurse
— such ;i picture of an old woman — I wish you
knew her ! — who is going to take him in for the
time. She has the prettiest little cottage in
Derbyshire — I wish you could see it. I think
it is so good for children to be sometimes with
rose's victory. 155
an old nurse in that sort of simple way ; it
softens the heart, you know."
So she ran on till she took her leave, after
kissing every lady in the room, and looking as
if she would have liked to kiss Mr. Forester.
" She is a very sweet creature," said he,
with a pleasant smile, after she was gone.
"It is a very odd way of beginning her
little boy's education," observed Rose.
" Eh, what? " said her father.
" I think," said Eose, " she need not have
made such a parade about going away for the
sake of her little boy's education if she means
to leave him behind with an old nurse, and go
pleasuring off to the Italian lakes by herself."
" That is a very uncharitable remark," an-
swered Mr. Forester, with a kind of snap in
his voice which Mrs. Darner never would have
encountered. " I hate to hear one woman
censorious about another. The child is deli-
cate ; and I have no doubt that Derbyshire air,
and that good old nurse's attentions, will be
better for him at his present age than all the
education in the world."
"Very likely; and I did not in the least
156 linnet's trial.
mean to be uncharitable ; only you know,
papa, she said it was for education."
"So it is," answered Mr. Forester, as he left
the room. He never explained that answer.
" Rose dear," said Linnet, stealing to Rose's
side, and still not looking at her, " do you^
know Mr. Brandon is going to the Italian
lakes ? He told me to direct to him at
Locarno, which is very near Lugano."
" I dare say," replied Rose.
" Did you know it ? "
" I ? No ; how should I know anything
about it?"
The accent was indignant, and Leonora said
no more, but she was not satisfied. There was
a tremulousness about Rose's composure which
made her friend uneasy. Her voice was not
steady ; her hand quivered ; her eyes looked
far off, with a cold, wandering expression that
seemed to be losing its way and never, by any
chance, responding with natural sympathy or
interest to what was going on around it.
That expression of a lost way in eyes is not
easily described, but everybody has seen it.
It is a sure sign of painful preoccupation of
rose's victory. 157
mind. Rose went through the business of the
day just as usual, but shunned, or at any rate
escaped, a tete-d-ttte with Linnet. She sat
for two hours in the twilight doing nothing,
with her hands clasped upon her knees. I
believe she had never in her life before spent
ten minutes without employment. And Mr.
Forester did not call her to account for this
unwonted idleness. He was puzzled, anxious,
even frightened about her. He watched her
furtively, seldom spoke to her, and was very
cross to everybody else. And this was how
she spent the first day after she had trium-
phantly accomplished her wish, and proved to
all the world, but especially to Lionel Brandon,
that her heart was wholly untouched.
158 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER XII.
HARD TO BEAR.
"Certainly," observed Lady Philippa, "Mr.
Forester is very unfortunate in his children.
There is the eldest son coming home with a
slur upon him, and his fortune to seek at
thirty. He will hardly like to show his face
in his own country. I hear he means to live
abroad. I should think he will probably
change his name."
" What has he done ? " asked Colonel Wilton.
He had just come in to one of the finest pro-
perties in the county, and was now under-
going the ceremony of a series of welcomes at
the hands of his neighbours. " What has he
done? Anything very bad? Anything in
money ?"
"Not exactly," answered Lady Philippa,
" He ran away in action, that's all."
HARD TO BEAU. 159
"Poor fellow!" said Colonel Wilton, who,
a soldier himself, could only account for
cowardice in another soldier by supposing it
to be some mysterious and unconquerable
disease.
" My dear mother ! " cried Mr. De Bragge,
" he did not do anything of the sort ! "
"Well," said Lady Philippa, with one of
her cold, implacable smiles, " I can't put it
into military language. Do you explain what
he did. It was equivalent to running away."
" It was an unfortunate business — a very
unfortunate business. Nobody knows exactly
what took place, but he wasn't there when he
was wanted. He was just too late. You
must remember all about it, "Wilton. There
was a leader in the * * * * about it — an
uncommon savage leader — cut him all to
pieces a few months ago." And he gave the
names and dates, and Colonel Wilton remem-
bered.
" Sold out, did he? — and without any in-
quiry?" was his comment. "It does look
rather shady, certainly."
" Keeping away is very nearly the same as
1G0 linnet's trial.
running away," said Lady Philippa; " at least,
it comes to the same thing. A man makes
up his mind to lose everything except his
safety, and he must not complain afterwards
if he finds that he has lost everything else."
" I don't think a man does make up his
mind in such cases," observed Colonel Wilton.
" His nerve gives way, and he probably does
know what he is about."
" I differ from you there," called out Talbot
Staines, who kept hounds, and was the king
of sportsmen on that side of the county ;
" when a man takes such precious good care
of himself, I conclude he knows pretty well
what he's about."
" At any rate," said Lady Philippa, " he
knew what he was about when he refused a
court-martial."
" Refused a court-martial ! Nonsense ! He
did nothing of the kind ! " Mr. De Bragge
spoke in that tone of extreme provocation
natural to sons when their mothers are trying
to translate masculine facts, whether of war,
sport, or business, into the tongue of women.
"Well, upon my honour," said Talbot
HARD TO BEAR. 1G1
Staines, " as Lady Philippa said before, it's
very much the same sort of thing. He kept
away from inquiry just as he kept away from
action, and I suppose he had his reasons for
both. I'm uncommonly sorry for his father,
though."
" Oh ! I don't think he minds it at all,"
observed Miss Carr. " He takes everything so
very quietly. And there is that odd old man,
Dr. Selden, who professed to be such a friend
of poor Vere Forester's — I could hardly get
him to take any interest about it at all. I
had quite to explain to him that it was some-
thing serious. And do you know he didn't
know any particulars : he wasn't able to
answer one of my questions ! "
" Perhaps he didn't like talking about it,
if he was a friend," said Colonel Wilton.
" Was not that Mrs. Forester we met at
the Priory"— asked Mrs. Wilton— " with light
hair, and who sang so well ? "
" Yes ; Major Forester's wife."
Mrs. Wilton's face expressed the most
genuine commiseration. " Oh, ho?v I pity her ! "
said she in a low voice.
VOL. II. M
1G2 linnet's trial.
" Yes ; but isn't it odd?" asked Miss Carr.
" She goes out so much more since the news
came. She seemed to like keeping to herself
before, but now you meet her everywhere, and
in such spirits ! It seems so very unnatural,
poor thing ; but I dare say she does it for the
best."
" It's very difficult to say what a woman
had better do under her circumstances," said
Talbot Staines. " A woman hardly knows
what to do ; I'm sure I shouldn't. If she stays
at home, you see, people will say she's ashamed
to come out."
" Well," answered Miss Carr sweetly, "but
I should think it more natural for her to be
ashamed."
" There are other reasons for her going out
so much," said Lady Philippa. " Mr. Forester
must have some one to take with him, and
the second daughter is not out yet."
" But there's Rose, you know," said Miss
Carr.
" I'm very sorry for Rose Forester. You
see " (in an explanatory tone, to Mrs. "Wilton)
k - the poor girl has no mother, and so she has
HARD TO BEAR. 163
contrived to get into a sad scrape at the very
beginning of life. She was engaged to young
Charles Seldcn, who is out in India; and then
she broke off her engagement. The fact is, and
that is what makes me so particularly sorry
about it, there was a friend of ours visiting
here, who would have been an infinitely better
match ; and he flirted with her a little. He
meant nothing by it, but she, poor child,
thought he did. It really was no fault of his,
none in the world ; and as soon as he began to
suspect what was going on, he went away in
the most honourable maimer. But there she
is, you see, scarcely seventeen, and with this
story about her, which everybody knows, or I
wouldn't speak of it. And the worst of it is,
that she has taken it to heart very much,
and gone out of health. Girls do, you know,
sometimes. And her mother was consumptive."
"It's the worst policy in the world," said
Colonel Wilton, "to be off with the old love
before you are on with the new. Of course,
it's quite right aftei*wards ; but before ! when
nobody knows what may happen! I have
always thought that chaperons ought to pe ti-
ll 2
164 linnet's trial.
tion Parliament against the morality of that
song."
"Uncommon pretty girl, Rose Forester!''
chimed in Talbot Staines.
" Oh, is she ?" said Colonel Wilton. " Then
perhaps the other fellow will come back for
her after all."
" I'm afraid not," replied Lady Philippa.
" This last business was so very conspicuous."
" I don't think it was a real engagement to
Charles Selden," said Miss Carr apologetically.
" It was just a boy's admiration. I dare say
he has forgotten all about it by this time. I
don't think it ever came to anything really
serious."
Miss Carr generally demurred to the state-
ment that any woman had received serious and
spontaneous attention from any man. Her
contribution to the opinions of society on such
points generally consisted of two assertions —
first, that "it was all her doing;" and secondly,
that " he did not mean anything by it."
" Well," said Lady Philippa, " I can only
say, if it was not an engagement it ought to
have been ; and Mr. Forester is so particular
HARD TO BEAR. 165
with his daughters that / quite believe it
was."
Poor Mr. Forester ! This was his reward
for being so particular with his daughters.
But he need not reproach himself, nor would
Rose's fury (for with no milder sensation could
she have listened to such a discussion) have
been in place here. All the marriageable
beings in every neighbourhood are paired off
at intervals by their neighbours, whether they
give occasion for the process or not. It is
therefore quite a waste of self-control to be
very careful not to give occasion ; for you gain
nothing by it. If you sternly avoid the sem-
blance of a flirtation with Captain Turquoise,
it will be supposed that you are nourishing
a hopeless attachment to the Reverend Mr.
Churchbroad ; or if you are so happy as to
escape both those imputations, it may be said
that you are certainly " a little too much
Avith" — the husband of your most intimate
friend — " to be quite nice."
" I wish," said Mrs. Wilton afterwards to
her husband, " that you had not joined in
those remarks about that poor girl."
1G6 linnet's trial.
"What remarks?" asked he, puzzled ; for
the conversation had not left the slightest
impression upon him.
" Oh, you must know what I mean. All the
ill-natured things that they were saying about
Miss Forester. I do so hate to hear a girl's
name brought forward in that way. I think
it so wrong ; and I dare say she didn't deserve
it in the least."
" I dare say she didn't," replied the gentle-
man, in a self-justifying voice ; " but, you
know, I couldn't join in any remarks about
her, as I know nothing in the world upon the
subject."
" That is just why I am so sorry. If you
had known anything, I dare say you would
have defended her ; but as you knew nothing,
why should you join against her ? And the
others all talked nonsense, but you said clever
things, which will be remembered."
" What on earth did I say ? "
" Oh, you know quite well. You made a
joke about a song ; and you said the other
fellow might come back for her, which is just
the most horrid sort of thing that can possibly
HARD TO BEAR. 167
be said about a girl, because it sounds as if she
were ready for anybody."
Colonel Wilton disclaimed and apologised.
He promised to make no more jokes about
songs, and he took his wife the next day to
call upon the Foresters ; for the result of the
ill-natured chatter which we have recorded was
that the " new people," being very good sort
of people, felt a prepossession in favour of the
victims, and a desire to make their acquaint-
ance, and form an independent judgment about
them. But the fact which Colonel Wilton
specially remembered about it all was, that his
wife thought his sayings so much cleverer than
everybody else's.
There was one truth in all this gossip, and
it was an increasing truth : Rose was going
out of health. She could not bear to have it
noticed; she resented anxiety, and repulsed
inquiry ; but the fact became more and more
apparent, and her impatience under it only
made it worse. How could it be otherwise?
She had been over-taxing and over-straining
herself in every possible way. Her nerves,
her feelings, her temper, had all been tried to
168 linnet's trial.
the utmost ; and to none of them had she
accorded one instant's indulgence, except on
compulsion. They had borne the tension well,
considering that they were wholly unaccus-
tomed to it ; and now they were giving way.
But the repose of open concession was denied
to her. One fever was only substituted for
another. She had exerted all her forces of
mind and body to prove to Mr. Brandon that
she did not care for him, and to drive a like
conviction into the heart of the world at large.
She believed that she had succeeded. Was
she then at rest ? This inward tumult, always
rising, and always driven back ; this confused
murmur of miserable thoughts, never listened
to, but never ceasing ; this terrible certainty
of regret, when regret was useless ; this utter
loss of heart and hope, of the power to look
around and the wish to look forward; were
these like rest? She had done the deed her-
self; was that any comfort to her? She
would not accept one particle of sympathy ;
did this make licr happier? Was she sure
now that when he asked her to be his wife, he
did it purely out of compassion, because he
HARD TO BEAR. 169
found that others expected it, and because he
thought that she would be disappointed if he
did not? Into what state had she brought
herself, that the only faint whisper of comfort
that ever passed through her mind came from
the hope that he was suffering too ! .Rose was
a good girl. She prayed with all her heart.
But she prayed for only one thing, for strength.
That was still her ruling thought — to conquer,
not to be beaten in the struggle; to get through
without discovery and without pity. "Time,"
she said to herself, " will help me. This
strange trouble, let it be what it may, will not
last. Three months hence I shall be on the
other side of it. It is only to bear up now, to
be strong, to fight a little while longer. If I
were to give up now, how I should despise
myself three months hence ! and there would
be no remedy then. Nobody has any right to
think that I am unhappy unless I say so ; and
nothing can force me to say so. If I were
dying, and they asked me whether I cared for
him, I would say < No ' to the last ! "
So she struggled on, doing in all respects as
usual, making it a conscience to rise at her
170 linnet's trial.
usual hour, and to join in all the pursuits and
pleasures of the family ; suggesting nothing
herself, but refusing nothing that was pro-
posed to her ; and when she came down-
stairs in the morning, with flushed cheeks
and uneasy eyes, she resented as a wrong the
anxious tone in which she was asked whether
she had had a good night. Nobody had any
right to suppose that she was likely to lie
awake. She went busily through her day, not
giving herself any little space of voluntary
respite till the door of her bed-room was shut
upon her at night. Then first she closed with
the foe whom she had been keeping at arm's
length all day, and prevailed — or was over-
come — who could say which ? No eye saw the
grapple, in which perhaps she went down.
At church, where bodily repose was com-
pelled, softness and tenderness were, so to
speak, pressed upon her bruised and angry
spirit so that she could not resist them.
Every note of the calm hymn, every subdued
sound of prayer and submission touched and
melted her. Leonora, who knelt beside her,
was stirred and shaken by her sobs. Perhaps
HARD TO BEAR. 171
at those times she was trying to get possession
of her poor heart, that she might make an
offering of it. Many such unequal and despe-
rate struggles go on unsuspected around us in
those who are very imperfect, very doubtful,
very near the beginning, but still quite honest
in their efforts. Many a wound is laid bare
within those sacred walls, and nowhere else;
and no doubt the dew comes down upon it.
Even she felt it; and if she was not healed
she was helped. Poor child ! the small sepa-
rate discord of her life seemed to lose itself
sometimes for a little while in the universal
harmony. How pathetic seemed to her the
voices of that choir which it was scarcely
possible, by hard week-day drilling, to keep
within moderate limits on either side of the
tune which they intended to sing ! What
force she found in the simplest common-places
of the good preacher's discourse — how his
little appeals went home to her — how she lay
down before the advance of his mild argu-
ments ! The most elementary and familiar
truths came to her with all the unconscious
grandeur of revelations ; the first rules of
172 linnet's trial.
grammar were full of poetry for her. Those
times which filled her father and Leonora with
such terrible pity and anxiety and distress on
her account, because they were her only times
of visible giving way — and so they interpreted
the rest of her life — were to herself truly and
deeply " times of refreshing."
But it was a young life which was giving
way, and it was a very sad spectacle for those
who loved it. Mr. Forester and Leonora had
gone through all the stages of doubt, and in-
quiry, and reserve, of trying to convince them-
selves and each other against the evidence of
their eyesight, and they had now come to the
relief of mutual confidence. The first stroke
of real anxiety levelled Mr. Forester's pomp in
a moment. There was something affecting in
his helplessness and timidity, because they
were so inconsistent with the character of the
man. He was lost — he was at sea — he did
not know where to turn or what to do. He
looked only to Leonora. He never ventured
to assail the barrier which Rose had interposed
between herself and her friends. He was
afraid to do so. He watched her, and waited
HARD TO BEAR. 173
upon her, addressing her always in a voice of
unreal cheerfulness which was the very echo of
her own. He was eager to adopt her tone
and fall into her way while she was present ;
and then, as soon as she was out of the room,
he would turn to Leonora and say anxiously,
" Isn't she a little more like herself to-day ?"
— or, with a look of appeal that was like an
entreaty to be contradicted — " Leonora, she is
so pale ! She is thinner every day ! " Leonora
could do little more than sympathise, for her
own uneasiness was very great. But she sug-
gested that when Yere came home, Rose might
go with them to Italy. And Mr. Forester —
how changed ! — leaped at the suggestion. The
total change was sure to benefit her, and as
she had a little cough, though it was of no
consequence, it was quite as well that she
should winter in a milder climate.
" Depend upon it, dear father," said Leo-
nora, " she will come back to you quite like
herself."
" I am quite sure she will," replied the
father, squeezing her hand.
Leonora had another proposition to make to
174 linnet's trial.
Vere when he came home. It was that he
should try to find out whether Lionel had
really asked Eose to be his wife, and that if
he had asked and had been refused, he should
receive a hint that the refusal had been hasty.
-V dozen times she had been on the point of
sending him such a hint herself, when she
could not bear the sight of Rose's suffering;
but the doubt whether Brandon had not been
trifling after all — whether the offer had ever
been made, always deterred her. In the des-
peration of her anxiety she kept herself still
by a kind of vague notion that " men under-
stand each other in these matters," and "men
can do this sort of thing by one another."
And so she prepared this very delicate com-
mission for Vere, and did not allow herself to
tli ink it probable that he would decline it as
soon as it was proposed to him. We shall see,
however, that he was spared the necessity of
declining it.
Matters were in this state when Vere came
home.
YERE AT HOME. 175
CHAPTER XIII.
YERE AT HOME.
It was, perhaps, fortunate for Vere that there
was a greater and a sharper anxiety than
that which arose out of his own troubles
present in his home when he returned to it.
Nevertheless he had a good deal to bear. It
seemed that he fully expected, and had quietly
made up his mind, to undergo a series of
operations ; and though he might wince, he
did not once shrink. As each in turn began
the unpleasant subject to him, he faced it
manfully. But he told absolutely nothing.
His father was, of course, the first to probe
him. Mr. Forester had weighed the matter
well beforehand, had considered all the jwints
of his son's position and character, and had
determined to win his confidence by assuming
176 likxet's trial.
a patience which lie did not feel, and which he
did not in his heart think that Vere deserved.
This kind of policy is seldom successful. From
childhood upwards we know when a mask is
worn by those who are dealing with us, and
the principal effect which it produces upon
us is, that we are apt to exaggerate what it
conceals, even when the concealment is com-
plete and persistent. Mr. Forester was far too
irritable a man to be capable of any such
concealment; and the result of his careful
predetermination was, that he broke into
anger at his second sentence.
11 It is hard upon you, my dear father," was
Vere's answer to his first temperate inquiry ;
" hard in all ways. I wish I could help giving
you such annoyance. And I know that you
do not like my artist schemes ; but you must
make the best of me as I am, for there is
nothing else to be done with me."
"And why is there nothing else to be done?
N it not your own act, pray? Have you
anybody to blame but yourself? "
"It is my own act, and I have no one but
myself to blame, if blame there is."
VERE AT HOME. 177
" If ! " shouted Mr. Forester. " It is really
intolerable that you should expect to satisfy
me by putting it in that shape."
" I don't expect you to be satisfied," said
Vere, with a sigh.
" No," retorted his father, " you think me
much too unreasonable to be satisfied by any-
thing that you can say. You must excuse
me, Vere ; I can bear anything but this kind
of tone. I cannot have you talking to me in
a soothing, submissive strain, as if you were
an innocent victim, and I a superannuated
lunatic. That is really a little too much."
" I assure you," cried Vere earnestly, " I
had not a thought of the kind — not a thought.
It seems to me quite natural and reasonable
that you should be dissatisfied. I am only very
sorry. What is done cannot be undone."
"But why was it done?" interrupted Mr.
Forester. " I ask why? Tell me that." There
was a pause, and he finished his indignant
speech. " You say nothing. You have abso-
lutely nothing to say."
" I haze nothing to say," answered Vere. " I
don't defend myself. I acted for the best ;
VOL. II. N
178 linnet's trial.
perhaps I was mistaken. Let it be granted
that I was grievously mistaken. It is a past
tiling now; and you may believe that it has
not been, that it cannot be — well — pleasant to
me to talk or think much about it. Perhaps,
having given you so much pain, which I regret
so deeply, which you deserve so little, which
I know that I had no right to inflict, I ought
not to ask for any consideration to my own
feelings. But I do wish to say as little on
this subject as I can ; and there is nothing to
be gained by discussing it. I will gratefully
listen to any advice you may give me about
the future. I should be glad to modify any
of my plans so as to suit your wishes."
" My dear boy, if you are in earnest, you
can satisfy me at once. Write a letter to the
limes, and state, fully and clearly, the real
particulars of this unhappy affair, and get
those of vour brother officers who were on the
spot to sign it with you. Your leaving the
army is nothing, ;il>solutely nothing, compared
to the fact of your leaving it under a slur. Do
this, and I will never think of my disappoint-
ment for another moment."
VERE AT HOME. 179
Vere's colour came and went while his father
spoke, and he was very pale when he replied,
" I can't do that,"
"You can't! Is it really that you can't?
Vcre ! you know what I must conclude."
" It would not have the effect that you
desire, not in the least. I do assure you that
it would only make matters worse."
" There are a dozen ways in which you
might do it, if that particular way is objection-
able," persisted Mr. Forester. " Sir Hugh
Deverell" (naming the member for the county)
" would say a few words for you in the House
directly, if you will furnish him with the
means of doing so. He is an old friend, and
a soldier of reputation. He would be listened
to, and his word would clear you at once. You
shake your head. Well, I have done. I have
nothing more to say. Go your own way."
Vere looked down in painful embarrassment.
He felt so thoroughly that his father had a
right to expect an answer, that there was
nothing unreasonable in Mr. Forester's dis-
pleasure, nor excessive in his distress, that it
seemed to him that he should only give further
n2
180 linnet's trial.
provocation by asking for forgiveness. He was
therefore silent. Never did a man look less
pugnacious or more inexorable.
" I see," said Mr. Forester, as he left the
room, " that I have not a particle of influence.
Selden must talk to you."
But Vere made shorter work with Selden.
He told him at once that he did not wish to
discuss the subject. Vere had not now to
encounter the terrible intimacy of near rela-
tionship which refuses to be silenced. Beyond
a certain point Dr. Selden's delicacy did not
allow him to press his friend. But before that
point was reached there was quite pressure
enough to be painful, when the unyielding
nature of the substance upon which it was
exerted is taken into consideration. Dr. Selden
was armed with the ascendency of age, and
the certainty of being in the right ; and his
affection for Vere would not allow him to lay
aside his weapons till he had made himself
sure that be was only prolonging a useless
contest. And his defeat was by no means
.submission; it was so far from being submis-
sion, that it was very near to a quarrel.
VERE AT HOME. 181
" My dear Forester, you must listen to me,
indeed you must ! " said lie vehemently. " It
is not like you to be so headstrong-. You are
doing yourself a mischief which you will
repent all your life. You are not a man to
bear philosophically — will you forgive me if I
put before you in plain words what you will
have to bear, what you have already brought
upon yourself? "
" Spare it to me ! " answered Vere, in a tone
of entreaty, not of anger. " Do you suppose
I have not considered these things ? I know
exactly what I have to bear, and I have made
up my mind to it."
" But when it is unnecessary ? " urged Dr.
Selden. "Just reflect what it is! Will you
not let yourself be helped ? "
" There is only one way in which my friends
can help me," said Vere, " and I shall be so
grateful if they will take that way ! It is by
turning their backs, as I do, upon what has
happened, and giving me a little encourage-
ment in my new life. I am going to Italy,
and I am going to work hard. As far as my
career is concerned, I wish to talk and think of
182 linnet's trial.
nothing else. Will you try to reconcile my
father to this idea ? "
" I must reconcile myself to it first," said
Dr. Selden.
"What!" cried Vere, with forced gaiety;
"you a traitor to Art? I thought that those
bloodless struggles and tearless triumphs were
all in your line. Have you not told me a
hundred times that I had mistaken my voca-
tion, and that you longed to see me really at
work ? I am not going to do this thing by
halves ; I am going to stake all upon it, I
assure you."
Dr. Selden looked at him mournfully.
" What have you left to stake ? " asked he,
with no sarcasm, but a great deal of sorrow.
The words went deep, but Vere did not
flinch. "I have myself," said he quietly;
" and I think that's something." After a
pause, he added, with a fresh effort and another
smile, " I'm not going to talk blank verse
about it, but 1 really am very much in earnest;
and in a day or two I know you will help me.
I have asked you a little too soon, that's all.
I count upon you in the end."
YERE AT HOME. 183
" Of course you may count upon me,"
answered his friend slowly and reluctantly;
" and if "
" Stop there!" cried Vere, holding up his
hand. "That's all I want. And remember
now, if you please, as a favour, this matter is
closed between us. I am not a boy, and I
have my eyes open. I tell you, upon my
honour, nothing but extreme pain to me can
come of any further discussion. Have I not
a right to stop it ?"
" You have the right, undoubtedly," an-
swered Dr. Selden coldly. Vere looked at
him with great and evident emotion, opened
his mouth to speak, but was silent. " It's of
no use just now," said he to himself. " This
has to be got over. In two or three days he
will be like himself again."
Leonora remained. She asked no questions,
except with her eyes. She was waiting for
him to open his heart to her when he had
done with the others. He began by talking to
her, with a kind of determined brightness and
hopefulness, about their future life in Italy.
She responded to all that he said, but the
184 linnet's trial.
question in her eyes was not silenced. At last
she drew close to his side.
" Am I to know no more than the rest? "
asked she.
" Not a word more," said he, pressing her
to him. Her look of pain went to his heart.
" Yes, you are to know this," he added, " that
I am looking to you for comfort, healing,
happiness. You are to he my rest and my
refuge. When I come to you the cloud is to
pass away. You are to help me to forget
anything that troubles me. Life is a little
hard upon me just now, my Linnet, and I
don't quite know how I should bear it if I had
not you."
"You ask me to trust you?" began she
eagerly.
" No," he answered, in a low, proud voice,
" I don't ask that."
" You need not," she said. " I trust you
with my whole heart and soul."
" You have something to bear, for — with —
me," said he, with a heavy sigh ; " I would not
have brought it upon you if I could have helped
it. But do not let them take you away from
VERB AT HOME. 185
me. Do not let them persuade you that you
are to oppose me for my own good, that it is
your place now to use your influence. You
know all that they have been saying to you.
Mark, I don't blame them. It was not only
natural, it was right. It could not be helped.
And if they have moved you, and if you think
that you have a duty to perform towards me
now, whether I like it or not, I don't blame
you, my darling. But let us get it over, if
it is to be. I want you for myself, and I
cannot have you till this is over."
The indescribable depression and tenderness
of his manner overcame her, and she could
not keep back her tears.
" Ah!" said he, with a smile, "I see that
I have you already. And now let us talk
about Rome."
From that time no persuasion, no anxiety,
could induce Leonora to touch the forbidden
subject. She refused to speak of it to her
husband. She begged the family not to speak
of it to herself. She tried to put it out of
sis:ht. Vere and she talked together of the
art-studies at Rome, which they had so often
186 linnet's trial.
anticipated, and with such eager delight. The
wish of their lives was about to be gratified ;
and, like the wishes of naughty children in
story-books, the gratification was so contrived
that everything pleasurable was abstracted
from it. Do we not all remember the little
girl who imprudently asked that she might
never do any more needlework, and who had
to rue that natural and transient aspiration
in sackcloth — ragged sackcloth, too ! — and
ashes for years? We cannot help doubting
whether any real little girl would appreciate
the moral misery of her condition under such
circumstances, whether she would not be
content with her sackcloth, if only she were
never to be compelled to mend it. If so, she
would be no type of Leonora, who felt keenly
and at every moment that her fulfilled wish
hud lost all its sweetness. Others might
believe that the weight on Vere's spirits,
which he bore so quietly and with such a
good Bemblance of indifference, was a light
one. SIw felt every ounce of it, and knew
exactly how much of his life-strength he was
spending in the effort to carry it. Others
VBRE AT HOME. 187
might believe that lie was really looking for-
ward with sanguine impatience to his new
career. She saw and measured the struggle
of feeling which lay under every expression
of hope, and every assumption of interest.
But he, the sufferer, had prescribed the mode
in which he was to be helped, and in that
way only she resolutely helped him. If ever
the strong will of a man could succeed in
finally shutting and double-locking one door
in life and opening another, it must surely
succeed now. For the will was strong, and
it never wavered, and the face of the man
was steadfastly set towards the Future.
She longed to get him away. On one point
only he showed a kind of weakness — he shrank
from visitors. We have said that he did not
avoid his father's questions and reproaches,
that he even bore with Dr. Selden's up to a
certain point. It appeared that he had fore-
seen and prepared for the conversations which
must be encountered in his home ; and he
went steadily past them, as steps in his course
from which it was useless to turn aside. He
would, perhaps, have suffered less if he had
188 linnet's trial.
been more resentful. But he appreciated to
the uttermost all that his friends were feeling
and thinking. It was not that he tried to
view himself from their stand-point: he simply
could not help doing so. He, the culprit, was
evidently making the fullest allowance for his
judges. And the contrast between their irri-
tation and his deprecating calmness gave him
an apparent superiority, which was somewhat
aggravating to them. But he either was not
able, or had not cared, to make a similar
preparation against chance encounters w r ith
acquaintances ; and the manner in which he
fled from them, or suffered under them, was
the most painful thing in the whole matter
to his wife. The first time he left the drawing-
room when a rin^ at the door-bell announced
an arrival — the first time that she saw him
shimmer and blush and lose his self-possession,
when an unexpected morning caller caught
him in the garden — these were moments of
keen anguish never to be forgotten. She
went through a secret martyrdom before she
could admit the idea that he was ashamed,
sufficiently to enable her to help in screening
VERE AT HOME. 189
and shielding him. And once or twice when
she was alone she grew indignant : she asked
herself, " Are we to bear this ?" She resolved
that she would begin the subject to him. again,
and jjress, urge, supplicate him to take his
father's advice and clear himself. But always
when he came into the room and looked at
her with those trusting eyes, in which he
unclosed such an unfathomable depth of grief
and weariness with such absolute confidence
that it would be filled by her consolations,
her resolution gave way, his perfect ascendency
was resumed, and she was content simply to
follow where he led. She therefore tried only
to accelerate their departure, and, m fact,
there was little to delay it, except the invin-
cible family habit of making immeasurable
prefaces and postscripts to every tiny page of
actions. And change was so evidently desir-
able for Rose, that even Mr. Forester found
himself capable of being hurried.
190 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER XIV.
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY.
" You have had some talk with Vere — what
do you make of him ? " said Mr. Forester,
taking Dr. Selden by the arm a fortnight
after Vere's return.
" I am sorry to say I can make nothing of
him."
" His indifference is the most wonderful
thing I ever met with in my life. We used
to consider him sensitive — touchy. He is as
much transformed," continued Mr. Forester,
si riking his foot upon the ground, "as if
they had taken another man, and sent him
hack to me instead of my son."
Dr. Selden looked at him with grave sym-
pathy. " Whether he is indifferent or not,"
said he, "he is clearly impracticable. I never
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 101
saw a man so fixed. You got Sir Hugh
Deverell to write to him ? "
" Yes ; the kindest, most considerate, most
thoroughly friendly letter. He put the case
to him strongly on paper, just as I had done
by word of mouth. He offered to do any-
thing — to speak for him, to endorse his state-
ments — in fact, no man could say more. And
Vere answered by return of post that he had
very fully and deliberately considered the
matter, and had definitely made up his mind
not to take, sanction, or encourage — those
were his words, l not to take, sanction, or en-
courage' — any step in it whatever. I doubt
whether he even said 'thank you.' But he
said plainly enough that it was his own
business, and nobody else had anything to do
with it. Deverell sent me the letters — evi-
dently thought he had been cavalierly treated
— washed his hands of the whole affair, and
seemed to suppose that it was a case in
which the less said the better ; which, in fact,
every one must suppose. If Vere would only
see it in that light ! "
" I think the best, the only thing to be
192 lixnet's trial.
done now, is to get him away as soon as
possible," said Dr. Selden. " People will
forget all about it before he comes back."
" They will forget all about it while he is
away," returned Mr. Forester, "and remember
it again as soon as he comes back. Did you
ever in your life know a man on whom a slur
once rested, who was able quite to get rid of
it? Whenever his name is mentioned some-
body tells the story, and somebody else ex-
plains it, and some third person explains the
explanation, but the end of it is, the story
sticks to the man."
Dr. Selden would have contradicted this if
he could, but he could not. After a pause
Mr. Forester began again —
" The most preposterous, the most unac-
countable, the most fatal step, that selling
out ! He must have been possessed. I some-
times think — he is such a crotchety fellow —
that those Peace notions have got hold of
him, that he has taken up some confounded
trash about the unlawfulness of war, and that
he is afraid of talking to me about it. But
he would not be afraid of talking to you. Has
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 193
lie ever said anything of the kind ? " Mr.
Forester had such comprehensive notions of
Dr. Selden's heterodoxy, that by turning to
him for sympathy and information, he showed
more clearly than he could have shown in any
other manner how deeply he was disturbed
and shaken. All divergencies from generally
received opinion were, by Mr. Forester, classed
together and attributed en masse to the person
in whom any one of them had been detected.
Believing Dr. Selden to be a sceptic, Mr.
Forester would not have been surprised at
his exhibiting a dash of Puseyism, and was
quite certain that he was also a revolutionary
radical, a homoeopath, an upholder of the
rights of women, an advocate of the slave-
trade, a total abstainer, and a disciple of
Mr. Bright.
Dr. Selden shook his head with a half-
smile.
" Not a word ! " said he. " And I should
think him the last man living to be tempted
by any such a will-o'-the-wisp."
" I should have thought him the last man
VOL. II. o
194 linnet's trial.
living to — to — to." The father fairly broke
down, and could not finish his sentence.
Lady Philippa was right when she said that
he was really to be pitied about his children.
His proud aifection was terribly galled and
humbled.
Vere was grieved and anxious about Rose,
but he knew her too little to make an assault
upon her confidence. He thought that Leonora
might ask her the cpiestion point-blank whether
Lionel Brandon had made her an offer or not ;
and he said so.
"I could not do it," said Leonora ;" it
would hurt her so terribly to have to say ' no.' '
" Then you think he did not ? "
" I am almost afraid that he did not. He
behaved very ill. It was not flirting, Vere.
You know Rose could not flirt; she is far
too simple and downright, and she has too
much real modesty. Any man must have
seen — Mr. Brandon, who is used to society,
could not help seeing — that if she admitted
his attentions, it was because she cared for
them. And they were such very decided
attentions ! "
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 195
" I don't know that his being used to society-
would help him to understand a girl like Rose.
I think it is more likely that he looked
upon her as a child, and was in the dark to
the last."
" I assure you," said Leonora, decidedly,
" that it is quite impossible. And so you
would say yourself if you had been here."
"Well," answered Vere, "you are a far
better judge in such matters than I am, and
even if I had been here, I should have deferred
to you. Poor little Rose ! We must pet her,
and make much of her, and she will soon
forget all about it when she is in a new
place."
" You think her a child, too ! " said Linnet,
with a little indignation. " You have not the
least idea what she really is, and what she has
really suffered. Her health is giving way, and
I am very unhappy about her."
" I see that she is very unwell — that there is
real cause for anxiety about her health. But
you don't mean to tell me seriously that her
disappointment about Brandon has anything
to do with her illness. Surely it is much more
02
196 linnet's trial.
likely that she has taken his defection so much
to heart, because she was beginning to go out
of health at the time."
Leonora opened her eyes. " It seems im-
possible to make you understand ! " said she.
It is very often impossible to make a man
understand that it is a serious matter to fall
in love, in any case save his own, which
he somehow looks upon as exceptional. " I
suppose it is because you were not here/'
said Leonora ; " for really the way in which
you talk is so unlike the way in which I think,
that it is almost as if you belonged to another
world."
" That is a strong way of putting it. But,
taking your view — and I assure you I don't
dispute it — there is nothing to be done, is
there?"
" No," answered Leonora, slowly, " unless
you could Bound Mr. Brandon."
"Sound Brandon!" repeated he, hardly
believing her to be in earnest.
" I only meant that you might possibly be
able to find out what he really meant and felt.
It is so easy for men to do that sort of thing
lady philippa's yictoky. 197
by one another, you know. Because, what I
thought was, that if Kose refused him in a
hurry, and if he is unhappy too, it seems such
a pity that he should not know that if he were
to come back it would most probably be dif-
ferent. It seems as if they were both being
sacrificed to a mistake."
"A mistake which nobody but themselves
can set right, I am afraid," answered Vere.
" I could not possibly begin the subject to
Brandon. It would be open to all sorts of
misinterpretations. Even if I were with him,
I don't see how I could lead up to it in a
conversation. But I own I think you might
manage to get the truth out of Rose."
We have said that Leonora's projects — vague
and doubtful as they were — suffered a check
before they came into any definite shape. The
check — it was checkmate — was administered
by Lady Philippa in the course of a morning
visit.
" I have not had the pleasure of seeing Major
Forester since he came home." This was the
lady's first arrow launched at Leonora.
" He is out this morning," she replied.
198 linnet's trial.
"Ah!" (with an intonation which implied
that she quite understood his being out) " I
regret not seeing him the more, because I
wanted to ask him how the poor Martins bore
the news of their son's death. I do not lose
my interest in my old dependants because they
behave badly to me."
" It is a heavy trial,'' said Leonora. " They
were quite broken down at first."
" It must be a consolation to them that he
died in the performance of his duty."
The sentiment was not novel, and Leonora
did not think it necessary to acknowledge it
further than by a grave little bow.
Lady Philippa resumed : — " The sons who
are safe at home are sometimes greater afflic-
tions than those who are in danger abroad.
And I am afraid this is the case with the poor
Martins. That boy of theirs has been getting
into trouble again."
" Indeed!" cried Leonora, who had by this
time a burning spot on each cheek. " I am so
sorry. What is it ? "
" Caught poaching," said Lady Philippa,
briefly.
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 199
"Oh!" interposed Dr. Selden, leaving his
book in the window and coming- to Leonora's
help, " I am glad to tell you that the case
broke down. Mr. Heathcote dismissed it
without even hearing it to a conclusion, and
with a sharp reprimand to the gamekeeper."
Lady Philippa was taken by surprise, and
could not conceal her annoyance for the
moment.
" The man has no rio-ht to bring- a charge
which he can't sustain," said she ; " but I have
not the slightest doubt that Martin was really
guilty in this instance, as he was before when
he contrived to get off. Oh, I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Forester ; I forgot that you were his
friend on that occasion. I wonder who be-
friended him. now."
" I hope that he was not guilty/' said
Leonora.
" You have a great deal of sympathy for
offenders who contrive to escape condemna-
tion," observed Lady Philippa. "It is most
amiable in you. By-the-bye," she added,
smiling, " some of your companions on that
memorable excursion when Miss Forester was
200 linnet's trial.
so nearly lost in the snow have very pleasant
reasons for remembering it. I suppose you
have heard from Mr. Brandon ? "
Leonora started. " No ! " said she. " Have
you — is he "
" I have heard from Mrs. Darner, which is
very nearly the same thing. I see that I have
to tell you the news. They are engaged to be
married.-"
Leonora was dumb.
" Is not that rather unexpected?" asked
Dr. Selden.
" Oh, no. I saw how it was long before they
left Kirkham. She writes very happily, poor
little thing. Her first marriage was a sad
mistake in every way; but I think she has
chosen well now. I suppose you know her
story?"
Leonora was glad to ask for the story to
cover her astonishment and agitation ; and
Lady Philippa went on — " You must have
heard of that strange will under which Mr.
Brandon came into his property — the cousin
whom lie was to marry, and who would have
nothing to say to him. That cousin was little
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 201
Mrs. Damer. Mr. Brandon knew her from
the first, when they met here, but he was
determined not to let her guess who he was.
I fancy he rather piqued himself upon winning
her after she had rejected him without knowing
him. He passed himself off for another cousin.
It is quite as well that they are going to be
married, for rather an awkward question might
have arisen. I believe she might claim the
property if he refused to marry her now ; for
there is nothing in the will that can make her
first marriage a disqualification now that the
husband is dead."
"No woman could do such a thing! " cried
Leonora.
" Oh, I don't know that ! And my friend
Lionel is certainly the least little bit in the
world of a flirt ; so it is quite as well that
there is a good reason for fixing him. You
know that Mr. Brandon was rather given to
flirting. I hope you will excuse my saying
that I am really anxious to hear that this news
does not affect Miss Forester. I am afraid he
did make himself a little too agreeable to her
— and she is so young ! "
202 linnet's trial.
" I think," said Leonora quickly, " Rose
took the matter into her own hands. I be-
lieve that she is responsible for Mr. Brandon's
sudden departure. But he has consoled him-
self very easily."
" You mean that she refused him? ''
" I have no right to say so. But I think it
highly probable that she did."
" Ah, I thought it was a conjecture ! But it
is far the most judicious tone to take. In
fact, I ought not to have broached the subject
to you at all, and I really beg your pardon."
She was gathering herself up for departure
while she spoke, and she planted her last stab
while she was shaking hands — " I am so glad
you have given me something to say in answer
to that foolish Miss Carr, who is going about
everywhere pitying her 'poor Rose,' and giving
a reason for Mr. Brandon's behaviour to her,
which is so very offensive to you that I really
think you ought to know it. She says that
he would have proposed if he had not enter-
tained such a very strong opinion about Major
Forester's leaving the army. Now really, you
know, that sort of thing ought to be stopped,
LADY PHILIPPA'S VICTORY. 203
or there is no knowing what mischief it ma} r
do. Good morning."
Leonora was trembling with nervous irrita-
tion, and it was long before she could calm
herself. This was the end of it all. She
understood Brandon's behaviour now. He saw
that he could win Mrs. Darner if he pleased,
and the temptation to his vanity had been irre-
sistible. She remembered their first meeting,
and Hose's indignation at his assuming a false
name. She remembered a hundred occasions
on which his demeanour had puzzled her. She
had the key now. His heart, such as it was —
and she was inclined to think that it was a
very poor specimen of a heart — had been given
to Rose ; but his power over the woman who
had formerly rejected him had been so pleasant
a thing to him, that he could not help using it
whenever an opportunity occurred; and when
he was sore and indignant at Rose's refusal,
the kind of entanglement into which he had
allowed himself to be drawn had become a
diversion and a refuge. He was just the kind
of man, she thought, to marry out of pique.
He had never been worthy of Rose.
204 linnet's trial.
Rose received the tidings very quietly. She
took everything quietly now. It was one of
the great changes in her, and it was a change
which made Leonora particularly anxious. She
would have given much for one of the old
bursts of girlish petulance. Rose seemed now
no longer to fear that her confidence would be
forced ; she was not perpetually on the defen-
sive against possible questions or constructions.
The languor of failing health was making her
gentle rather than irritable ; and she was
awakening out of her self-absorption, and
showing herself sympathetic with the cares of
others, and grateful for their sympathy with
her. There was an accent of self-reproach in
her expressions of affection, as if she were
taking herself to task for past insensibility.
Trouble was at last doing that work upon her
which it is the special mission of trouble to do
— the work of discipline.
There was more truth in Yere's somewhat
roughly expressed anticipations than his wife
would admit at the time. " Poor little Rose "
was pretty sure to recover, though she was not
very likely to " forget all about it." This was
LADY PHILIFPA'S VICTORY. 205
a brave little boat, and she was comins" through
the storm gallantly, though she had been
nearly upon the rocks, and though she would
certainly want some rest and repair before she
could try the waters again. The torn sails
were trophies from the contest, not signs of
decay. It is a feeble nature, either physically
or morally, which succumbs permanently to
the first blow. That slight taint of inherited
delicacy which was making her family so
anxious had something to answer for in her
present deep dejection ; but the remedy was at
hand, and it was more than sufficient for the
disease. She was going to lift up her head
again before long, and to carry it as erectly,
though not as proudly, as heretofore. She
had learned much while she lay prostrate.
Many a dead hope enriches the soil from
which living flowers spring afterwards.
PART IV.
HOW IT ENDED.
CONTENTS.
PART IV.
CHAPTER I.
Pago
Beginning Again 209
CHAPTER II
In the Sculptuiie-Room 227
CHAPTER HI.
Coming on 240
CHAPTER IV.
At Last 252
CHAPTER V.
After All 270
PART IV.
HOW IT ENDED.
CHAPTER I.
BEGINNING AGAIN.
There is little to tell of Vere and Leonora's
life at Rome. He worked hard, with the
peculiarly quiet persistent force which be-
longed to his character, and he worked suc-
cessfully. It must be remembered that he
was not a mere amateur, in the ordinary sense
of the word, when he thus turned his sword
into a chisel. He was a man of genius. One
small mistake seems to us to lurk in most of
those systems of art-teaching and criticism
which have lately formed a considerable part
of our literature, and which are very pleasant
to read. It seems to be forgotten that the
system of that rare creature, a man of real
VOL. II. p
210 linnet's trial.
genius, is generally his own, and that the mode
and measure of his progress cannot be pre-
scribed to him. He uses the systems of others as
helps, but not as guides ; and he goes so rapidly
over many of the steps that he seems to over-
leap them. Seems only — for the fact is, that
his tread is so swift that when he climbs he
looks as though he soared. In reality he has
touched with his passing foot each one of
those stages at which others pause in breath-
less fatigue, and the ascent seems as laborious
to him as to them, because if he goes faster he
also goes much farther. One teacher tells
you that you must work for ten years with the
pencil point only, before you presume to take
the brush in your hand — and lo ! a boy of
twenty comes and scares him with splendid
colour ! This glorious student will do his
pencil-work afterwards, as he finds that he
needs it ; taking up dropped stitches wherever
he sees them ; going back to the very elements
now and then with a child's humility and
patience if he suspects that the foundation of
his fair palace is anywhere defective ; but he
has tried his strength first where he felt him-
BEGINNING AGAIN. 211
suit' strongest, and you could no more keep
him from painting than you can keep him
from seeing. Grant that his work is immature,
and that there are faults in it which a decade
of dry drawing might prohably have removed.
You shall find quite as many faults, and a
good many more defects, in the work of meaner
men who have toiled systematically for twenty
years.
Let us look at our English party in Rome,
and discover what the three past years have
done for them. The time of projected study
has extended itself thus far, and there seems
no present prospect of a close to it. Neither
Vere nor Leonora wish to return to England,
nnd no escort perfectly satisfactory to Mr.
Forester's feelings has been found for Rose
since she recovered her health. Her advance
was not rapid at first, and her father would
not allow himself to think of recalling her till
he was satisfied that the cure was complete.
Vere comes out of his studio as the soft
spring evening closes, and the three prepare
for a moonlight walk in some lovely Roman
garden. They have lived very much to them-
p 2
212 linnet's trial.
selves during these three years. There was a
silent compact among them to avoid introduc-
tions and decline invitations ; and, except
among artists, they have few acquaintances.
Vere has by no means fallen into the careless
freedom and gaiety of artist social life — he is
cold, shy, reserved. Men admire, but do not
like him ; gradually it is whispered in English
circles that there is some story against him ;
that the reasons why he left the army will
not exactly bear investigation; and that he,
very naturally they say, shrinks from society.
And society shrinks from him ; not very deci-
dedly, perhaps, merely a bow instead of a
shake of the hand, but he knows it. He sees
every small reticence of manner, he feels
every slight chill in tone, he counts all the
minute precautions and delicate gradations
(perhaps he fancies some of them) by which
intercourse with him is regulated. Not one
escapes him — not even the good-natured in-
tentions of that rich civilian who ordered a
bust of him the other day, and who so care-
fully abstained from speaking to him about
India. Strange to say, all this — so clearly
BEGINNING AGAIN. 213
seen, so keenly felt — has not embittered him.
But it lias depressed him very much. There
is in him neither surprise, nor complaint, nor
resistance, nor retaliation. All has been fore-
seen and expected — all is very quietly endured.
The same " thus it must be ' : which might
be read in his aspect when he first came home,
may be read there still. But the writing has
not been there so long for nothing. As the
lamplight Mis on his face, you can see that
it is a good deal paler and thinner than it
used to be, that all the lines are deepened,
that new lines are forming, expressive hiero-
glyphics of inward pain. You scarcely detect
this, except during times of absolute repose,
when he thinks that no one is looking at him,
when he is off his guard. For, during his
work he is happily absorbed, and he thinks
only of that which grows under his hands;
and when he is with his family he is so bright
and so gentle, that Eose thinks that he has
altogether recovered. Leonora knows better.
But she knows that he has never forgotten,
no, not for five minutes, that he has the
charge of her happiness; and who can know
214 linnet's trial.
so well as she what care lie has taken of it ?
He has never told her one word more of
the history of his misfortune. And she has
never asked for it. There is no cloud, not
the dimness of a breath, upon her faith in
him. But she thinks very sorrowfully now
how imperfect, how ill-constructed, seems that
fragment of life which a man possesses before
he dies ; how seldom that part of his history
explains or justifies itself. And she thinks this
sad and strange, and she wishes — oh, with what
passionate longing ! — that the wand were in
her hands for just one moment, that she could
touch just once this cluster of dumb and con-
fused events, and say to them, " Speak the
truth ! " When she first left England she
had no such thoughts as these. She was
dreaming then of sudden vindications and
irresistible triumphs, and wondering why the
wheels of their chariot tarried.
She watches Vere very closely. She knows
when the inward fever frets him so deeply
that he must needs go into solitude for a little
while to get rid of it. And at such times she
never disturbs him. His penetration is some-
BEGDSTNING AGAIN. 215
times at fault here ; lie does not guess that
lie is found out. Fully as lie appreciates her
sympathy, he thinks that she has never yet
divined the depths of his secret trouble ; and
when he absents himself, and she accepts the
pretext, he does not dream that she knows
the reason. And she would not have it other-
wise, for she knows well that his greatest
comfort lies in this belief, that his effort to
keep the shadow of his care from falling
upon her life has been successful. She sub-
mits to his sentence, which she does not
understand, that this one trouble she must
not share, and she shares it all the more for
her submission. Some day, when he looks
back, he shall see the fact through a long-
vista of circumstantial evidence. Remem-
bering how she never failed to forestall both
his fears and his wishes, how no chance touch
of pain ever came to him from her tender
hand, he will perceive that she must needs
have known the exact place of the wound
which she covered so carefully.
All this is sadder in narrative than it was
in experience. There were great spaces of
210 linnet's trial.
light among the clouds, and the clouds them-
selves liad luminous edges as well as silver
linings. We might start, perhaps, if we
knew how often the goodly edifice of a life is
built over some hidden well of bitterness;
how many a cheerful family party is engaged
in keeping something out of sight, in order
that it may be cheerful. Morbid minds think
so exclusively of the sad half of this truth,
that they come sometimes to look upon all
the joy of life as unnatural and heartless —
a dance in a churchyard. But the bright half
is true also. Many hours of real happiness
are given to the troubled spirit which is brave,
patient, and unselfish in its trouble. When
Vere turned from his work to his wife, there
was a little effort in his cheery tone, and there
was conscious intention in the smile with
which she answered him. But do not suppose
that they were not able to remember after-
wards many a peaceful and pleasant time
which began with those small victories over
self. Sometimes as they talked and wandered,
so sure of each other, so careless of the world,
they forgot what had happened for a little
BEGINNING AGAIN. 217
while. That forgetfulness was delicious, but
it cannot be denied that afterwards it was
hard to remember again.
And Rose? — what have the three years done
for her ? They have made a woman of her. —
They have left her wonderfully childish. — She
is so much altered that you would not know
her again. — She is just what she always was.
All these judgments are true. She must speak
for herself, for it is extremely difficult to
describe the change and the unchangeableness
in her character. One difference, however,
since we saw her last, no one could fail to
discover at a glance. There is no appearance
of fragility about her now. She looks quite
strong enough to do a woman's work well,
whether active or passive work be required of
her — and in either case you may be sure that
she needs her strength. Softness and con-
sideration seem to have come with the vigour ;
there is an air of harmony about her in which
she used to be deficient. I dare say she is a
little snappish still on occasion, but it is play
now where it used to be angry earnest ; in
three years more, if she improves at the same
218 linnet's trial.
rate, she will probably have achieved the
crowning victory over the sensitiveness of
vanity which it is not given to many to enjoy
— she will be able to appreciate a jest when it
is directed against herself.
Both the women thought that something
had vexed Vere more than usual this evening.
He walked silently between them, and they
exchanged anxious looks behind his back.
They were thoroughly in tune with each other,
and whatever note the one struck the other
was sure to answer. They made a tacit com-
pact now to give him full repose ; not to
demand anything of him, but to wait his
pleasure. And lest he should be constrained
by their silence, they began to talk together.
" You said you would show me Dr. Selden's
letter," said Rose.
"Yes," answered Leonora; "poor Charles
had arrived — so shattered— so changed. I fear
he has only come home to die. They are at
Brighton together, and papa and Henry are
with them. I am very glad that Dr. (Selden
will accept their companionship."
Be it known that Mr. Osborne and Henry
BEGINNING AGAIN. 219
had only spent a year with our friends in Italy.
Affairs of importance had summoned Mr.
Osborne to England, and Henry, who had
entirely recovered his health, accompanied
him.
" Is Charles suffering so much from his
Avound?" asked Rose, " or is he ill besides?"
" It seems to be a complete break up. I
suppose the climate disagreed with him, for I
find that he was not at all strong before he was
wounded. But that horrible rifle-ball is in his
side, and cannot be reached, and even if he
lives he will be always an invalid."
" Poor Charles ! " murmured Eose, with
tearful eyes.
Vere cleared his throat once or twice and
said with a little emotion, " Charles did his
duty thoroughly — he positively distinguished
himself — a great comfort to his father, that!"
" Oh ! of course," said Linnet, hastily. " Did
you hear from him, too ? "
" I had a note — nothing of consequence.
But, children, I did have a letter of some
consequence, and one of which I have been
thinking ever since. My father is not very
220 linnet's trial.
well — he seems low, and out of sorts ; and he
wants us all to go back to England together ;
and I think we ought. There — what do you
say ? "
" You take away my breath ! " cried Leonora.
" Not very well ! " repeated Rose. " They
have not written to me. What is it ? I
ho])e "
" Nothing to alarm us," said Vere. " But
he seems to feel himself ageing, and there is
business to be settled, and he is evidently
down-hearted, and thinks it is due to him that
I should go ; and if I, then you two of course ;
and if at all, at once. This is what I have
been turning in my mind all day."
" He talks as if we had no wills of our
own," observed Leonora.
u You haven't," answered Rose. " But I
have enough and to spare, only on this occasion
it happily coincides with his. Oh, Linnet !
you don't know how homesick I have been
getting ! Oh, Vere ! — to see Kirkham again!"
She stood still, and there were tears in her
voice. Yet the scene before them w r as so
exquisite, under the dawn of a glorious Italian
BEGINNING AGAIN. 221
moon, that it seemed strange that any one
beholding it should long " to see Kirkham."
The name, Kirkham, included a group of fami-
liar faces for Rose, but I believe that she
longed very heartily to see the ugly unin-
teresting little village also. And if any one had
named, at that moment, the difference between
the height of Kirkham hill and yonder purple
mountain which shows such a stately front
against the deep transparent sky, though she
would have admitted the fact, I am sure that
she would have thought the mention of it
unkind.
"At any rate one of my wishes will be
gratified," said Leonora. "I shall go in dis-
guise to the Royal Academy and hear what
London says to your statue."
Vere had sent his last work home for exhibi-
tion. It was entitled " The Watcher," and it
represented a young girl sitting beside the
couch of a sleeping old man, and, by her coun-
tenance and gesture, evidently warning some
new-comer not to disturb him. The contrast
between the youthful face and attitude, full of
tender animation, and the worn, but placid,
222 linnet's trial.
repose of the recumbent figure, was very beau-
tiful. It was a sight to dwell upon for daily
pleasure. Vere never chose painful subjects
for his art — scarcely ever such as had any keen
or stirring excitement in them. It was his
world of refreshment and repose. Knowing
that the stronger side of his nature was not
quite happy, he was afraid to let it work there
lest it should introduce disturbance.
" I hope you won't un-wish your wish as
soon as it is gratified," said he, smiling at his
wife. " Nobody knows what you may hear."
" I know," answered she.
" And I," echoed Rose.
" Yes, you dispassionate critics, you were
created for the comfort of artists — all the sort
of you. But whether it is good for a man's
conscience to have you always at his elbow, I
doubt."
" It is not fair to say that to me," said
Leonora. " Have I not very often found fault
with you? You know that I am outrageously
honest, and you sometimes accuse me of being
too fastidious."
" Faults enough you have found," he replied ;
BEGINNING AGAIN. 223
" but you always speak of them as removable
blemishes "
" Because that is just what they are."
" You always have faith in the work in spite
of its faults "
" Because that is what it deserves."
" Well, if you are right, Linnet, it is the only
sort of criticism which helps an artist. I grant
you that. We must be very strong-, indeed, if
we can profit by a criticism which has no sym-
pathy. In fact, we must be strong enough to
despise it while we use it. But if you are
wrong, you know it is a terrible mistake."
a But you know that I am not wrong," she
replied.
" I think so," he said. " If I did not think
so, of course I should give it all up at once."
"Give it up!" exclaimed Rose, "I don't
like to hear you put such a thought into words
for a moment. Nothing surprises me like
giving up. I never understand the possibility
of it."
" Not if you were to discover that you had
made a mistake?"
" But people don't make mistakes that are
224 linnet's trial.
all mistake," persisted she. " There is always
something right in them that you may keep
fast hold of when the wrong part is breaking
up. It seems such waste to throw away either
a thought, or a hope, or a work, altogether."
" It is waste," he answered ; " but I am
afraid there is a good deal of such waste in
the world. If it is done on a large scale, it is
simply a vie manquee; and there are such
things even as that, Eose !"
"No," said she firmly; "there is no such
thing. You can always begin again."
" You are right," answered he, his face re-
flecting for a moment the glow of hers. But
as he turned away he sighed, and perhaps he
thought that " beginning again " was hard
work when you are forbidden to use so much
as a fragment of the old foundation.
" Did you notice Rose's strong asseverations
that nothing in life could be wholly abandoned
or forgotten? " said he afterwards to his wife.
" I wonder, now, whether her mind dwells at
all upon that affair with Brandon."
" I am sure it does not," answered Leonora
rather indignantly. She had never forgiven
BEGINNING AGAIN. 225
Brandon, and she could not bear that he
should not be forgotten.
"lam not so sure."
" But really, Vere, that is inconsistent. At
the time you would not believe that the wound
was deep enough to affect her seriously ; and
now you think she has not got over it yet."
" My dear Linnet ! you thought she was
going into a consumption about it ; and now you
believe that she has no recollection of it at all."
"No recollection but an angry one. She
must feel that he deliberately trifled with her ;
and if we suppose that she was deceived at the
time, that can only strengthen her resolution
now."
" "When women are strengthening their re-
solutions — " began Vere.
" Now, don't say it ! you know it is not
true ! " interrupted Leonora.
" I will say whatever you like me to say.
I will say that a woman always strengthens
her strongest points, and that when she
strengthens them it is a sign that she knows
there is not the slightest chance of then-
giving way."
VOL. II. Q
22G linnet's trial.
" I shall be very sorry if we meet liim in
England," said Leonora ; " especially since we
do not know that he is married."
" Why should you be sorry to meet him, if
you are sure that Rose is safe ? "
" Oh, because it would be disagreeable.
Besides, one never can be quite sure. I would
much rather have poor Charles Selden recover,
and come forward again."
" Charles Selden has been ten times in love
since Rose refused him," said Vere. " And
you know, you deceitful woman, that the plain
English of all you are saying now is that you
want Rose for Henry."
" Yes, I know it is," she replied. " I own
myself greatly disappointed about that. And
I think — do you know, Vere ? I really do
think — that it was just beginning, or would
have begun, when jmpa was obliged to go to
England. I wish we knew that Mr. Brandon
was married."
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 227
CHAPTER II.
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM.
Two ladies, very quietly dressed, and wearing
thick veils, took up their position in the sculp-
ture den of the Royal Academy at an early
hour on a certain morning in May. For some
time their tete-a-tete was unwitnessed, except
by the eyeless marbles ; for the public only
goes to look at the sculpture if it has a spare
quarter of an hour after it has done with the
canvases. And in this the public does wisely ;
for sculpture, to be appreciated, requires space ;
and the space which the art-rulers of England
have allotted to the product of a year's genius
and labour is such as might barely suffice for
the due exhibition of a single group. The
public goes to see, and not to guess, and natu-
rally enough concludes that it would not be
Q 2
228 linnet's trial.
left to guess if there were anything worth
seeing.
Presently a few stragglers began to drop in,
and by degrees the general circulation had
penetrated even to this remote corner, and
quickened it with a certain amount of life and
talk. The ladies listened anxiously, and heard
— what they heard.
"Oh, mamma, this is pretty — come and
look!"
Mamma {consulting her catalogue). " ' The
Watcher — by Vere Forester.' What a sweet,
expressive, anxious face ! I wonder if it is for
a monument. The old man is not dead, I
think."
Child. " Grandpapa looks just so when he
is asleep."
Eldest son {unfortunately suj^osed to be
clever). " Great want of force. You should
see Storey's statues."
Papa. " I shouldn't like an exhibition of
force when I wanted to go to sleep."
This was a party from the country, and they
were doing their sight-seeing thoroughly, and
iinishing it just when Londoners begin. The
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 229
next comers were a triad of } r oung men, who
lounged into the sculpture room for a few
minutes before they went up stairs.
The first said — " Where's the thing which
they say is so good?"
"Who say?"
" Oh, call the swells. H and G and
M , and the whole lot of them."
" What's its name ? "
No. 3 {who is habitually comic). " Smith."
No. 1. " Nonsense. It's something about a
sick-bed. Where is it? Just give me the
catalogue, will vou ?"
No. 3 {reading from the catalogue). " ' Study
of a Marseilles Quilt, from life.' Is that it?"
No. 2. "I say — look here ! What's num-
ber 815?"
No. 1. "'The Watcher — Vere Forester.'
Why, that's it!"
No. 2. "The best thing here."
No. 3. " The best thing anywhere."
No. 1. " Isn't it awfully jolly, now?"
[Exeunt.
By this time our two ladies, each keeping
fast hold on the other's hand, and relieving
230 linnet's tkial.
her feelings by an occasional pressure, had
come close up to the marble group, that they
might not lose a word of the criticisms which
it occasioned. As they approached on one side,
two connoisseurs came up on the other, in
animated conversation.
" I am heartily glad," said one", " that one
element of the pre-Raffaellitism which is rege-
nerating our pictures has not yet penetrated
so far as our sculpture — I mean the love of
ugliness."
" I don't admit the existence of any such
element. They are simply true men, who paint
everything."
"A great man paints everything because it's
there; but he says, by his mode of painting,
you are to look more and more loviDgly at
some things than at others, and these points
which he selects are, or should be, more beau-
tiful and expressive than the rest. Your pre-
Itaffaellites say that they will make you look at
all things with equal intensity, and sometimes
they say you shall look most at that which is
least beautiful."
" Till you have found the beauty in it. After
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 231
that wholesome labour you will be more capable
of enjoying the bolder beauty which displays
itself without any reserve."
" Pooh ! you might just as well say that a
man is not capable of falling in love satisfac-
torily till he has had one disagreeable wife.
Now this" — pausing before the group — " is as
realistic as any man could wish. I have seen
twenty girls every whit as graceful. Why not
choose your model among them instead of
picking out one of the awkward multitude ?"
" Oh, I admit that this is a work of genius;
and I call it intensely pre-Raffaellite."
A short interval of silent contemplation.
Then they begin again.
" Every one talks about the two hands on
the couch. They are perfect, certainly. There
never was a finer contrast. The soft young-
clasp upon those old worn fingers."
"It's not a clasp— that's the beauty of it.
You see that as his hold relaxed in sleep, she
has gradually loosened hers, lest he should feel
the pressure, but she does not venture to drop
it lest she should waken him."
" And she says ' hush ! ' with every particle
232 linnets trial.
of her. She is l hush ' from head to foot ; but
she does not stick out her lips and make her-
self hideous in order to say it."
" She would have done just exactly that, if she
were savins; hush with all her force in reality."
" She would have done it for just one instant;
but the artist (for which I am very much
obliged to him) has chosen just the instant
before or the instant afterwards — equally ex-
pressive and less grotesque. "
" Isn't that uplifted arm a little out, though ?
Yes ; I am sure it is ! " The tone was trium-
phant.
" Ah ! a blemish certainly. Just stand here,
and you lose it. It's all right from this point."
" No, it isn't. Now that I know where the
fault lies, I can see it everywhere. The ama-
teur crops out, you see, cover him as you will."
And they moved on.
" We ought not to mind their finding fault
with a little trifle like that," whispered Leo-
nora. " You have heard the tone in whicli
they discussed the group." But she did mind
it very much.
" I couldn't bear that second one," answered
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 233
Rose, in the same tone. " I am sure lie has
tried to be an artist and failed. Don't you
think we have heard enough now, Linnet?"
A difference in Rose's manner — undefinable,
but somehow plainly perceptible — made Leo-
nora turn and look at her ; but she could discern
nothing through the veil.
"Oh, let us stay a little longer, if you are
not tired," said she ; and when she turned
back to look at the group, Lionel Brandon
and an unknown gentleman were standing
before it.
" Here it is ! " said Brandon. " Give it
time. Don't speak till you have made up
your mind."
The person addressed stood a long while
in mute, satisfactory contemplation, Brandon
watching him with an eager interest which
caused Leonora's wrath to melt away gradually,
minute by minute. At last the stranger spoke
with a half-sigh —
" Yes; I must have it. I must see it by
itself, not in this mob."
" Did I say too much ? "
Another long, deep, examining look, and
234 linnet's trial.
the answer came — " Not half enough. I can
look at nothing else after it. Tell me the
address, and I'll try to find him at once."
Brandon read Vere's address from the list,
and then said, with a little hesitation, " I
know him — that is to say, I knew him some
time ago. I think I'll go with you."
This speech brought Linnet and Rose to a
halt. They had just begun to creep away, and
were intending to go home ; but now they
thought that they should be safer where they
were. The two gentlemen moved also, but
only in search of another point of view ; and
it so happened that Brandon found himself
face to face with Leonora, and in such close
proximity that he could not help recognising
her. With the first moment of surprise, he
held out his hand, and she took it — both
blushing deeply.
" I did not expect to see you," said he,
uttering his little platitude in a voice of most
disproportionate emotion.
" I did not know you were here," replied
Leonora, in the same spirit.
Then Lionel, recovering himself in a moment,
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 235
and resuming all his old ease of manner, intro-
duced his friend, and paid his cordial compli-
ments to Vere's great work, and asked whether
they might venture to invade the artist's studio,
and hoped that Leonora was going to make a
long stay in London.
" "We only came last night," said Leonora.
" Mr. Forester, my husband's father "
" I know," interrupted Brandon, with a
slight smile, which seemed to imply that he at
least did not intend to ignore his past intimacy.
" I was sorry to hear that he had been ill."
" He is in London for medical advice, and
we have joined him. He is not so ill as we
expected to find him, thank you."
" I hope I may come and see you," said
Lionel, with a little increase of empressement
in his manner.
At this speech Rose pressed Leonora's foot
strongly ; and, as Leonora did not know
whether the pressure meant " Say yes," or
" Say no," she was very much embarrassed,
and her reply melted away into a gentle,
inarticulate murmur, which was, of course,
accepted as assent.
236 linnet's trial.
All this time no mark of recognition had
passed between Brandon and Rose. Two shy
persons will sometimes confront each other for
an incredibly long time as members of a con-
versing group ; and when the inevitable bow
comes at last, they will preface it with a small
start of false surprise, as if they had only just
become conscious of each other's presence.
Why it is easier to get through this little piece
of acting than to shake hands courageously at
once, like reasonable beings, who know that
they must undergo the operation sooner or
later, and that it is useless to defer it, they
must themselves determine. But we suppose
that during the preliminary interval, which is
assuredly one of no slight secret discomfort,
they are accustoming themselves to the idea of
what must follow. There was a good deal more
than mere shyness to account for the present
delay; and Rose was tormented by doubts
whether she was known, and whether she
ought or ought not to reveal herself. A slight
irresolute movement of her hand, while she
was suffering under this inward uncertainty,
was at once perceived, fixed, and answered.
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 237
The hesitating fingers were cordially grasped,
and Brandon rather disconcerted her by saying
at the same time, in a slightly reproachful
voice —
" I was afraid you did not mean to say
' How do you do ? ' to me ! "
After this he took possession of them.
Leonora, who believed herself to be deeply and
permanently offended, and who had patiently
cherished her wrath for three years, now found
that she was practically on the most friendly
terms with him, and was quite annoyed with
herself for feeling so glad to see him again.
What could she do ? His ways were so very
pleasant and affectionate ! If she could only
guess what Hose wished, what Eose was think-
ing ! She would not hesitate to dismiss him,
as coldly as possible, in a moment, if she
could think that Eose wished her to do so.
But Eose gave no sign. There was nothing to
censure in her behaviour. Externally she was
perfectly quiet and dignified. Unusual silence
— a little tremor of manner — these were the
only signs of emotion. Brandon gave no sign of
emotion at all, unless it were of a fervent desire
33S linnet's trial.
to be comfortable himself, and to make both
the ladies so. He caught eagerly at every small
speech on which Rose ventured, and seemed
to double its force and meaning by his mode of
responding to it. Leonora was surprised that
he was not more out of countenance. She was
not sure that she quite liked it. He had no
kind of hesitation about looking them in the
face; indeed, his bright, kindly, urgent eyes
looked so persistently into Leonora's, that she
was not always able to meet them; and his
efforts to see as much as he could of Rose
under her veil were perfectly without disguise.
He walked home with them, and took his leave
at the door, having ascertained that Vere was
not at home. The future possessor of " The
Watcher " — a rich lover of art, Damerell by
name — was of the party ; and with him
Brandon went off to seek Vere at his studio,
and confer upon the terms of the purchase.
Brandon's last words were addressed to Rose,
in an accent of entreaty —
" May I call upon Mr. Forester to-morrow?"
" Papa will be glad to see you," was her
hurried answer.
IN THE SCULPTURE-ROOM. 239
" She had a chance of escape there," thought
Linnet, " She might have said that papa was
not well enough to receive visits. I think this
shows that she wishes to renew the acquaint-
ance." As they went up stairs, Linnet whis-
pered, " Rose, this does not vex you, does it?"
Rose, answered more placidly than she would
have done three years ago, but still with a
slight snap in her voice, " Oh, no. There is
no reason in the world why we should cut an
old acquaintance."
" He seems so very glad to see us," sug-
gested Linnet.
"And has borne not to see us for three
years so very quietly," returned Rose.
" We do not know " began Linnet.
" Why should we want to know ? " asked
Rose. " I'm sure /don't. Do, please, let us
treat it all just as if nothing had haj^pened."
The last words were uttered in a great hurry, as
the speaker ran off to her room.
240 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER III.
COMING ON.
Lionel Brandon was more embarrassed in
meeting Vere than lie had shown himself to
be during his encounter with the ladies. This
was as much on Vere's account as on his own.
They had not met since Vere returned from
India; and Brandon, who had been in the
habit of looking upon his friend with respect,
as well as with real affection, felt keenly the
difference in his position, and had an imagi-
nary picture of Vere's state of mind very
oppressively present to his thoughts. There
was nothing in Vere's behaviour to justify
such a picture. What he had felt or was
feeling was known only to himself; he had,
according to his custom, looked carefully be-
forehand at what he must do if he should
COMING ON. 241
come back to England, and now that he had
come back, he was doing it very quietly. He
had seen that the kind of seclusion which he
had been enjoying for three years would be no
longer practicable ; that the attempt to pro-
long it, under any sort of modification, would
be productive of great discomfort to his family,
and could bring very little relief to himself.
A rule with a great number of compulsory
exceptions is rather a fetter than a help. He
determined to give up the rule ; and having
so determined, he did not wait for the course
of events, but went to meet it. He was not
conscious himself that this line of action was
the most politic which he could possibly have
adopted. He was not aware how difficult it
was for the most careless or the most hostile
observer to converse with him for half an
hour, and to go away believing that he had
done anything of which he had reason to be
ashamed.
Nevertheless there was great constraint in
the interview between the two friends, and
each rejoiced in the presence of a third person,
and the necessity for discussing art rather
VOL. II. R
242 linnet's trial.
than fact. "While Lionel was feeling pain on
Vere's behalf and uneasiness on his own,
Vere was secretly thinking that he should get
into disgrace with Leonora if he allowed him-
self to be too cordial. He was very much
surprised when a casual remark showed that
an interview with Leonora had already taken
place. He felt extremely curious as to its
nature, and began to fish for a little further
information.
" Have you seen my father ? " asked he.
" No — but I hope to call upon him to-
morrow.
" I am afraid," said Vere, hesitating, " that
he will hardly be well enough to see you. He
is quite an invalid now. But I," he added in
a warmer tone, " am always to be found here
if you like to look in upon me during working
hours."
Brandon did not immediately answer. He
was studying a little group of Beatrice and
Benedick, in which the original of the lady
was not to be mistaken for a moment. He
studied it with a smile expressive of intense
satisfaction, and then turning to the artist,
COMING ON. 243
said, " How good that is ! How I should like
to buy it ! I suppose, Forester, you know that
I am not able to indulge my taste for luxuries
now. A footstool and a coffee-pot are my only
relics of a bygone civilisation, and even they
are degenerating into a fossil state, and are
chiefly valuable as evidence of what has been
and is, alas ! no longer."
" Why what has happened?" cried Forester
in surprise. " I have heard nothing."
" Haven't you? Well, I own I should have
expected the news to reach as far as Rome.
I'll tell you the story some day."
" Tell it now," said Vere, detaining him
after Mr. Damerell had taken leave ; " can't
you spare me half-an-hour ? Sit down and
give an account of yourself. You have made
me too curious to be content to wait."
Brandon allowed himself to be detained, but
he did not sit down. On the contrary, he
walked up to a table and began to examine a
portfolio of designs, with a strange confusion
of manner.
" It's a long story," said he, " and an odd
r 2
244 linnet's trial.
one. Ah — that's a nice sketch ! Do you mean
to work from it ? "
"I mean to work from all my sketches when
I make them," answered Vere, " but I don't
always carry out my intentions. Don't waste
your time over that portfolio. There's nothing
in it worth the trouble of looking at."
Lionel continued to turn over the drawings
in spite of this exhortation. " Here's a por-
trait/' exclaimed he ; " Ellen, I see, and very
like her. Pretty creature ! It reminds me of
such a pleasant time. Do be good-natured and
let me steal it — you'll never miss it." He
stooped over the drawing as he spoke and
began to roll it up, but Vere drew it very
decidedly out of his hand.
"No, no," said he, "you shall steal nothing.
You shall have whatever you like to ask for
openly."
He replaced the portrait among the other
sketches, and as he did so, discovered that it
represented Rose, not Ellen. He looked at
Brandon with an expression which said quite
as plainly as words, " What are you about?"
Brandon laughed slightly. He stooped
COMING ON. 245
down again over the table so as to conceal
his face. " Have you any other memorials of
Kirkham ? " asked he. " Have you got a por-
trait of my particular friend, Mrs. Darner?"
"May I come in?" inquired Rose's well-
known voice, as at this inopportune moment
she opened the door of the studio and stood
still on the threshold, looking lovely in her
first dismay. Her father had sent her with a
message, over which she lingered till she felt
certain that Forester's visitors must have long
taken their departure ; and now she opened the
door to see the face of Brandon and hear the
name of Mrs. Darner.
"Come in," cried Vere, welcoming her with
a little malice. He was sure that she had long
ago recovered from that which he persisted in
estimating as a slight graze on the surface
of her heart, and he had no fear that this
chance encounter would give her pain. If it
caused her any sort of confusion he was there
to cover it. So he told her to enter with
empressement, and assured her that she was
just in time to hear a history. She paused,
and turned a little pale.
246 linnet's trial.
" I came from papa," said she. " There is
a worse account of poor Charles, I am sorry
to say. Henry Osborne is to arrive in London
this evening, and papa wants you to go to the
station to meet him before you come home to
dinner."
She gave her message very gravely, and ac-
knowledged Brandon's presence by the merest
soupqon of a bow. He fastened his eyes upon
her face. He had been longing and trying
to see what these three years had done to it
during the whole time that he was in company
with her before, but her veil had impeded his
observations. She had put it aside now, and
he was taking full advantage of his oppor-
tunity, and saying to himself at every moment,
" What a beautiful woman she is ! "
" Bad news! " said Vere sorrowfully. " I
will just see you home, and then go round to
the station at once."
Lionel produced his watch. " You have
barely time," said he. " Pray let me take
Miss Forester home," in a tone of the humblest
entreaty, evidently addressed to Rose.
" It was only the length of a street, and
COMING ON. 247
she had come by herself," and she said so with
the very air and intonation of Gretchen's
" Kann ungeleitet nach Hanse gehn."
Brandon stood still, ready and imploring ;
and Vere, occupied with what he had just
heard and in a hurry to go, so decidedly took
for granted that the offered escort was ac-
cepted that there was nothing else to be done.
He found a moment, however, to whisper a
word of brotherly counsel in Rose's ear as
they left the room. " Don't be too distant,"
said he; " you will be misinterpreted." And
Rose took the caution in good part, and ac-
cepted it with a smile.
"I am very sorry for poor Selden," said
Brandon, as they walked away together. " Is
it a bad case ? "
"I am afraid it is quite hopeless. We
are so grieved for his father. We want Vere
to go to him ; but he seems to have some
unconquerable objection. It is not like Vere
to shrink from pain to himself if he could
give comfort to a friend, and we can't under-
stand it."
A little agitation of manner, and a good
248 linnet's trial.
deal more communicativeness than the speaker
intended, occasioned doubtless by that agita-
tion ! A hundred more steps will take us to
the house door, and it is absolutely necessary
to keep talking during those hundred steps.
"It is so unlike him that there must be
some good reason for it. Dr. Selden is a
peculiar man, and Forester knows him well.
I am very glad to see Forester himself so
little altered."
" Oh ! but he has suffered a great deal,"
answered Rose with emotion. But the marks
of suffering are not always to be read by those
who run, and nothing is commoner than the
kindly exclamation, " How well you are look-
ing ! " when if you were to answer honestly, you
could only say, " Then my face tells no tales ! "
" Are you not longing to see Kirkham
again?" asked Brandon rather inconsequently.
" Dear little Kirkham ! you will find scarcely
any alteration in it. Are you going down to
the wedding ? "
" What wedding ? We have not heard ; we
have hardly had time yet to ask papa any
questions."
COMING ON. 249
" Such a o-rand event ! It ought to have
been announced in round text at the head of
Mr. Forester's letter. Mr. De Bragge is to
be married."
" Indeed !" said Rose. Only fifteen steps
more. And she looked hard at the knocker
of the door as she approached it. " Who is
the lady ? "
" Mrs. Darner."
There was a good deal of consciousness in
his voice, but her irrepressible start threw him
off his guard. She actually stood still for a
moment to recover herself, just as they were
beginning to cross the street, and he put her
out of the way of a coming carriage with a
quick gentle grasp and a half laugh.
" Take care," said he. " That little woman
has done mischief enough already. Don't let
her be the cause of your getting run over."
She did not recover her voice till they were
at the door, when she held out her hand and
said " good-bye," in as steady and common-
place a manner as she could. He detained her
hand for a moment, disconcerting her policy
as he used so often to do in old times by
250 linnet's trial.
unexpectedly facing and acknowledging it.
"You will let me come as a friend? " said
lie entreatingly ; "you won't remember old
offences? I want to have you make friends
with me."
Rose never knew what she answered — in-
deed, she did not know whether she answered
anything at all — but she somehow satisfied
him, for he thanked her very warmly as he
took his departure. Her heart was beating
so fast that she was obliged to sit down and
rest for awhile before she could go up stairs.
There was no pleasure for her in this renewal
of intercourse, this proposed beginning of
friendship. It stirred, and troubled, and wrung
her. She was at peace before — she wanted
no change — why could he not let her rest?
Well, it would only last a little while. They
would soon be at Kirkham again. Perhaps
she could go there at once ; she was sure the
children were longing for her. At any rate,
she need not encourage this distasteful in-
timacy, this unreal, unwelcome friendship ;
she might keep aloof and be quiet, and think
only of Vere and Leonora as she did at Rome.
COMING ON. 251
She was happy then, and well and strong.
Was she to be shaken out of her victory by
a look and a touch ? Oh, if she could only be
sure that she should never see his face again !
Mr. Forester met her in the lobby as she
was going to dress, and stopping her for a
moment, said to her very earnestly, " Rose,
my love, I find that Mr. Brandon wishes to
visit here again. Just say if it is disagreeable
to you that lie should do so, and I will under-
take to stop it without a word of explanation.
Have no scruples — just say if you wish the
thing stopped, and I give you my word that
there shall be nothing to annoy you."
He paused for her answer. " Oh no, papa,"
she cried, in a great terror lest he should do
as he proposed. " I assure you I have not a
feeling of the kind. Pray do not ! "
" Very well, my dear. That is enough."
It mas enough to show Rose, if she had
been willing to see it, that great as was her
desire never to see Brandon's face again, it
was exceeded by her fear that, after all, he
might possibly not call to-morrow.
.52 linnet's tetal.
CHAPTER IV.
AT LAST.
The account which Henry Osborne brought
from Brighton was very sad. The invalid,
who for some time past had been sinking so
slowly, that those about him were able to
persuade themselves that he remained on the
same level, had now entered upon a more rapid
descent. There was no possibility of self-
deception now, either for father or friends ; and
the compassionate doctor, who had left them
to their hopes while the end was still far off,
now thought it kindest to leave them to their
fears. The time had arrived when the largest
service, which the most devoted love can
render, amounts to no more than smoothing
the pillow and pressing the hand. A bitter
time for the watcher who has not been ac-
AT LAST. 253
customed to look into the heart of life. But
if he bewail his impotence, let him fancy for
a moment that it is himself who lies feeble
and gasping upon that bed of pain — let him
imagine (and if he has ever experienced sick-
ness or sorrow in his own person, it will be
easy for him to imagine) the sweetness and
the sunshine which would fall upon him there,
from the mere aspect of a beloved face, the
refreshment and the comfort which he would
draw out of every little kindness or look of
pity, and he will be consoled.
Henry spoke with feeling of the scene which
he had just quitted. His own recent escape
from severe illness made him sympathetic.
Hose, who was in a somewhat similar position,
was very much moved, and she could not help
asking Vere whether he meant to go down to
his friend.
Vere looked up from a little note of Dr.
Selden's, which he seemed to be reading over
and over again during the conversation.
" I think not," said he. "If I am wanted
there will be no scruple about sending for me."
" I'm sure Dr. Selden wants you," cried
2.54 linnet's tkial.
Henry, who was as of old a headlong talker.
" He has said so several times, but I can't
make Charles out about it; he always turns
the subject off, and tells his father not to write
for you just at present. It's almost as if he
thought there was some " Here Henry
stopped short, as inconsiderate people do when
they find that they are making a blunder.
Tli is is very much as if you should inadver-
tently lead your friend over the edge of a pre-
cipice, and, as soon as you find that he is
Killing, let go his hand. Everybody in the
room thought that Charles Selden and Vere
shrank from meeting on account of the cir-
cumstances under which Vere had left the
army, and Vere's silence and his rising colour
confirmed the idea.
" It's very sad to see Dr. Selden," began
Henry again, " he seems so completely to feel
that he is losing all he cares for in the world;
and, do you know, it seems a strange thing
to say, but I was glad to come away, for I
think it was hard for him to see my father and
me together. I've so lately been ill, and any-
body would have thought I was quite as far
AT LAST. 255
gone as Charles, and here I am all right again,
and my father so glad about it — you know the
contrast is hard."
He spoke as if he were almost inclined to
apologise for his own recovery. Leonora
thought that the whole subject was painful to
Vere, and she therefore tried to change it.
" Has Dr. Selden quite given up the
Grange ? " asked she.
" Yes ; I think so. He was talking about
having some woman from the Grange down
to Brighton, because they say she's a capital
nurse ; but Charles had some fancy against it.
Dr. Selden was in a fuss about this woman,
I don't exactly know why."
" It is about the Martins," said Vere, with
an effort. " He has written to me on the
subject. He does not mean to give them up,
but he says he shall never return to the
Grange. I find, Rose, that your pet, the
boy whom you helped to steal Sir Joseph's
gravel "
" What a shame ! " cried Rose. " It was
Linnet who helped him to prove an alibi."
" Respectable feminine occupations for you
256 linnet's trial.
both, upon my word ! " observed Henry. " I
should not have supposed that you either of
you knew what an alibi was."
" That is so like a man ! " said Rose.
" I'm glad to hear it," retorted Henry. " I
should be very much ashamed to be like any-
thing else."
" But what is it about young Martin ? "
asked Leonora. " We have not heard yet."
"Why, he has kept the promise of his
youth," said Yere. "It was impossible to
steady him, and he has gone to sea with Hugh
Blackmore."
"Ah," said Mr. Forester, " Blackmore has
been doing pretty well, I fancy — better than
he deserved. He wrote for his wife to join
him some time ago, and she went off at once.
She would not say where he was. But the
boy Martin went with her, and I should say
it was a good riddance."
" You have told us very little Kirkham
news, sir," said Linnet. " How is the mighty
house of De Bragge ? "
" The mighty house of De Bragge is pre-
paring for wedding festivities," replied Mr.
AT LAST. 2- J 7
Forester. " You have heard, of course, that
the son and heir is going to be married to
pretty, pleasant Mrs. Darner ? "
Rose was so very anxious to learn the truth
on this subject, and so very much afraid that
delicacy towards her would make the others
drop it, that she struck boldly into the con-
versation, and said at once, " Do tell us about
it, papa ; for we all thought she was engaged
to Mr. Brandon/'
u I don't know the history of that engage-
ment," he replied ; " but it seems to have
been broken as soon as it was made, if it was
ever made at all. I fancy there was some
question of a manage de convenanee, because
Brandon and Mrs. Darner were claimants upon
the same property. However this may have
been, the upshot has been favourable to Mrs.
Darner ; for I understand that her claim is so
indisputably the best, that it has not been
worth Mr. Brandon's while to contest it, and
he has resigned the estates to her."
Leonora and Rose sat in silent amazement.
" That accounts for what he was saying to
me about his poverty," said Vere.
VOL. II. s
25S linnet's trial.
It may be observed that a public family
conversation upon any subject of general
interest is frequently succeeded by a series
of short tete-d-tetes in which the persons who
took part in the larger discussion set each
other right or wrong, as the case may be, with
regard to the various topics brought forward,
and the line which each speaker adopted in
treating of them. In these confidential inter-
views you tell your special ally what you would
have said if certain considerations, not always
quite self-evident, had not prevented you;
and you also explain to him what all the
others meant, more or less than they said.
Their confidences to their special allies would
sometimes present a curious commentary upon
your explanations ; and a record of conversa-
tions would be exceedingly interesting if we
were permitted to add to that which men
actually said all that they might have said if
they liked, that they would have said if they
dared, and that they ought to have said if
they could.
The first supplementary tete-a-tete which
AT LAST. 259
followed the conversation just recorded took
place between Leonora and Vere.
" What is it," asked Vere, " that has made
you — I must not sav so reasonable — but so
lenient about Mr. Brandon's offences on a
sudden ? I thought it was as much as my life
was worth to be civil to him ; and lo ! I find
that you have been cordial."
Leonora had not very much to say for her-
self; so she tried turning the tables. "I
never could understand," said she, " why you
were so much inclined to take his part, Vere."
"Well," returned he, "I did think you
were a little hard upon him, I own."
" Hard ! " cried Leonora. " But, Vere, I
should have expected you to feel quite as much
on Rose's account as I could feel myself."
"So I did. I felt quite as much, I only
didn't feel quite as angry. It was all a mist
to me, and I never succeeded in clearly under-
standing either what he had done, or what
Rose had felt ; and, you know, without under-
standing, 1 could not be expected to get my
righteous indignation up to the proper point."
" I don't understand it now," said Leonora,
s2
2G0 linnet's trial.
" but I am very much inclined to think that,
after all, Rose likes him."
" I thought the doubt was whether he liked
Rose seriously."
" Pray don't put it in that way. It sounds
as if you thought that he could take her or
leave her, just as he pleased, and I cannot bear
the idea."
" Humph ! " said Vere, " I must think the
matter over quietly by myself, but I am
rather inclined to imagine myself ill-used. I
have not been looking upon Brandon as a
great criminal during these three years, but I
think that his behaviour was quite doubtful
enough to prevent us from receiving him with
open arms as soon as he shows his face. And
I think that we ought to take a little care of
Rose's dignity now."
Leonora laughed. " Rose is so very well
able to take care of her own dignity," said
she.
" Not if she betrays herself by losing her
temper ; or if you betray what you think
about her by being too affectionate to Mr.
Brandon, my dear Linnet."
AT LAST. 261
" "Well, I will take the greatest care. I
think you are quite right. But, you know,
it is so very hard to be angry with an old
friend, when you are face to face with him,
and he seems really glad to see you."
" Oh ! I understand you perfectly. There
is no mist about you in the matter. You can
keep a man at a distance very well as long as
he is content to remain there ; and as soon as
he begins to approach, you hold out your
hand to him. You are thrown away upon
me, Linnet. I really ought to make some
use of the depths of your placability."
" Don't," said she. "I should find it very
hard to forgive you.''''
Shortly after this, Rose stole up to Leonora
and made a little hurried confidence to her.
" I have often wanted to tell you," said she in
a whisper, " only you know I hate talking
about it, but still I think I ought to tell you,
that Mr. Brandon did propose to me before
we went to Rome."
" I was sure of it ! " exclaimed Leonora
triumphantly.
" I never should have told anybody," con-
2 02 linnet's trial.
tinued Rose, in the same slightly incoherent
style ; " in fact, I should not be telling you
now, because I think it is very mean and
wrong to tell of such things, but I thought I
ought, because I fancy you all blame him very
much for having been so — so — and you know
this proves that he wasn't, or, at least, that
he didn't intend to be ; and — oh, Leonora ! "
(rather reproachfully) "why don't you say any-
thing when I am sure you know what I mean."
Leonora had recourse to the true woman's
way of getting out of such difficulties as this.
She took Rose in her arms, kissed her, as-
sured her that she understood perfectly, that
it was not necessary to say another word about
it, that Rose was quite right to be silent
before, and quite right to speak now that
Mr. Brandon stood acquitted of any serious
fault, and that it was probable that they should
all be very comfortable now.
Was not Leonora a wise woman to abstain
from saying that she thought Rose's refusal
had been hasty, and that she was sure Mr.
Brandon was still very much in love ?
If she had any doubts upon this latter point,
AT LAST. 2G3
Brandon himself was eager to remove them.
He wanted nothing so much as a private con-
ference with Leonora, and before long he suc-
ceeded in obtaining it. She intended to be
what she called " a little cool to him ; " but
she found him so certain of the warmth of
her friendship, that she really could not help
herself. He wanted to set himself right in
her opinion. He wanted to bespeak her as
an advocate. He told her that he had never
cared for any one but Rose, that he had been
disgusted and disappointed at her refusal, had
tried to reconcile himself to it and to forget
her, had failed signally, had fallen in love
again with her at first sight in the sculpture-
room, and had made up his mind to win her,
though he might have to fight his way through
fifty refusals, if only he could be assured that
the ground was not pre-occupied.
" Are you quite sure," asked Leonora, with
judicial severity, " that you — forgive me for
the question? — know your own mind? Rose
is far too good to be "
" Far too good for me under any circum-
stances," interrupted he. " Nobody knows
264 len^et's trial.
that better than I do. But I do assure you
that I was a little misjudged by you all in
that business about Mrs. Darner. I never
for a moment thought her to compare to
Rose."
" But why then — " began Leonora again.
Her companion was very eager, and scarcely
allowed her to finish a single sentence. " I
know what you mean," he cried, " and I con-
fess myself to blame ; but if I had had the
slightest suspicion that I was supposed to be
serious, I would have stopped long before.
The fact was — I know I am safe with you
— my cousin's early determination to have
nothing to say to me affronted me a good
deal, and it was rather a triumph to show her
that I wasn't quite so bad as she thought me.
And then, you know, it was so very difficult
to get away from her ! "
" I should like to ask if you were ever
really "
" Engaged to her ? No, not precisely.
Rose's letter made me mad, and I was very
nearly committing myself just then. But,
thank Heaven, I got out of it."
AT LAST. 2G5
" With the loss of your fortune," said Leo-
nora smiling. " That certainly may be accepted
as a proof of sincerity."
Brandon blushed like a girl, and never suc-
ceeded in telling the exact truth upon this
point to anybody but his wife. The exact truth
was, that after he had, as he said, "nearly
committed" himself, and after Mrs. Darner
had quite committed herself, he saw no way
out of the scrape in which his own folly had
entangled him, except by making an honest
confession to the lady, of his love for Eose.
Mrs. Darner did not intend to lose him, and
she intimated to him very delicately in reply
that she was, on her part, quite ready still to
comply with the terms of the will under which
he inherited his property. She spoke of his
passion for Rose as a temporary faithlessness
to herself which she was prepared to forgive.
And Brandon, a good deal ashamed both of
himself and of her, had the manliness at last
to stand firm and to act straightforwardly. He
expressed his regrets in a very complimentary
letter, took all the blame upon himself, gave
up the property to her, and wished her good-
266 linnet's trial.
bye. She accepted her riches meekly and
reluctantly, with a good many sighs and pro-
testations. It was not for herself, but she
had no business to give up her rights, since
they really were her rights. She had to con-
sider her child. For his sake she did this
o;entle violence to her feelings. To her inti-
mates she always spoke as if she had been
really engaged to Mr. Brandon, but admitted
that she had released him at his own request.
" But you know," she added, " I could not
deny, under the circumstances, that I had a
right to the property — could I?" And her
intimates always replied that she could not.
It was generally thought that Brandon had
used her very ill, but that he redeemed his
character by his last act of disinterestedness.
He himself invariably confessed that he suffered
no more than he deserved, which was true.
And he always spoke tenderly, if not very
respectfully, of Mrs. Damer, and would not
allow her to be harshly criticised. " Poor
little woman," lie used to say ; "she was
three years making up her mind to marry De
Bragge ! I do hope she's happy." The De
AT LAST. 2G7
Bragges stood by her throughout, and told
everybody that she had behaved beautifully.
Vere was of opinion that Brandon did not
"come very well out of the business alto-
gether. It was to be hoped that he had got
a lesson ; but he was afraid that there was a
little want of stability." To which Leonora
answered that she was sure it had done him
a great deal of good, and that he was so
thoroughly in love with Rose that she had no
fears. " And then, you know, he gave up the
money," she concluded, " I always think so
much of that." The money thus given up
had certainly purchased a step for Brandon in
the estimation of all his friends ; there could
be no doubt that it was the best finish to his
follies that he could possibly have devised ;
and he was so pleasant that nobody ever
thought hardly of him in his presence.
Leonora was very sensible of the force of
that argument which resided in his mere
pleasantness. He surrounded her with the
most affectionate attentions ; he looked at her
as if he doated upon her, and cared for nothing
in the world so much as for her regard and good
268 linnet's trial.
opinion; lie pleaded his cause earnestly, volubly,
eloquently ; he confessed everything with which
she charged him before she had uttered three
words of her accusation, and then sorrow-
fully and humbly explained it away, so that
by the time that he had finished his explana-
tory confession he appeared to her in the light
of a suffering angel ; he begged, and prayed,
and protested, and appealed, and avowed, and
reproached, and coaxed, till there was no
escaping from him except by agreeing to
everything that he suggested, and promising
everything that he asked. And so he and
Leonora settled together an elaborate plan for
blockading Rose. It was to be a very gradual
approach. Leonora was to prepare the way
by a series of conversations, in which she was
to open Rose's eyes and clear her mind of all
erroneous impressions. When she thought that
the moment for a direct assault had arrived
she was to announce it to Brandon, and he
was immediately to make the direct assault and
to triumph. But there was to be no hurry.
He knew that he began at a disadvantage, and
that he might lose all by precipitation. Again
AT LAST. 2G9
and again the scheme of operations was drawn
out and discussed, till Leonora began to be a
little tired of it and to wish that he would let
her alone.
And the end of it all was that Leonora came
back into the drawing-room in the dusk of the
evening, about half-an-hour after the close of
this important conversation, and found Bran-
don and Rose hand-in-hand. Rose instantly
rushed away without a word, but Brandon
came up to Leonora, and, to her infinite sur-
prise and confusion (and to his own, for he
did not in the least intend to do it) kissed
her ; told her that he was happy at last, and
overwhelmed her with thanks and praises as
if it was all her doing. No doubt his expla-
nations had been satisfactory to Rose, and it
appeared that they had produced a salutary
impression upon her character, for from that
day forward she always spoke charitably of
Mrs. Darner.
270 linnet's trial.
CHAPTER V.
AFTER ALL.
A nicely arranged breakfast-table, with a pile
of letters and newspapers upon it, is not exactly
a subject for a picture, or a scene for a drama ;
yet to those who are fond of suggestiveness in
Art it might be either. There are the neat,
pleasant, comfortable-looking arrangements for
the domestic life of the day, and there also
among them, dumb and powerless-looking, lie
the hidden words which may shake the house-
hold to its very heart, fixing upon it for many
a long day to come the scar of a deep grief or
the crown of a sudden joy. It is characteristic
of the age in which we live that the outward
aspect should be prosaic and unpicturesque,
though all the romance and passion of the
middle ages may be beating beneath it. The
AFTER ALL. 271
Post Office — which circulates, by means of its
accurate machinery and commonplace carriers,
not too particular in the pronunciation of
their h's, invitations to a ball, pages of lively
gossip, messages of love or hate, promises of
life and sentences of death, all enclosed in
the same square decorous envelopes, absolutely
undistinguishable from each other by any out-
ward sign — is no bad emblem of this mono-
tonous, polished, frivolous, chilly, powerful,
passionate, glorious nineteenth century of ours.
The letters and newspapers which lay on
Mr. Forester's breakfast-table on the 17th of
June, 18 — , looked as nearly as possible like
those which had lain there on the 16th,
and Leonora, who came down- stairs first on
that morning, turned them over with languid
ringers, ascertained that there was no Brighton
post-mark among them, and then strolled to
the window to caress some sickly London
flowers which she was trying to coax into
beauty. From the window she could see Vere
coming back from his studio, and, seeing that
he looked a little out of spirits, she could get
a pleasant word and a loving smile ready to
272 linnet's trial.
cheer him. He and Rose came in together,
having met in the hall, and the radiant bloom
upon Rose's cheeks showed that he had said
some word to her in meeting, which she was
not very well able to answer except by her looks.
Henry seldom appeared till the rest of the party
had finished breakfast. He said that he knew
he was " terrifically lazy," and, having thus
nobly stigmatised himself, he made no effort
to improve. So, on this particular morning,
he was as usual absent from the little family
assemblage when it was completed by the
arrival of Mr. Forester, moving rather more
feebly than of old, but telling his children
that he had slept better, and that he was con-
fident of the success of his new medicine. He
opened his letters, chatted a little about their
contents, which involved no topic of special
interest, and then settled himself quietly to
his cup of cocoa and his newspaper.
But not quietly for long. He made an
exclamation wdiich was almost an outcry,
followed by " God bless me ! Vere ! " in a
voice of great hurry and agitation. And then,
white, breathless, and unable for the moment
AFTER ALL. 273
to articulate, he looked at his son over the
newspaper, which shook in his hand, while the
others gathered about his chair in anxiety and
fear, and felt certain that he had been struck
by sudden illness. His finger was upon a
paragraph headed with the name of " Major
Forester " in large type. " Have you seen—
did you know — this ? " asked he tremulously.
Silently and eagerly they read with him words
that brought tears to their eyes and filled
their hearts with astonishment and joy. The
paragraph thus headed was a letter from
Dr. Selden, and it began with the following
sentence : —
" Sir, — I have to perform an act of tardy
justice, through your instrumentality. It
would be folly to deny that the act is painful
to me ; but the pain is greatly softened by the
reflection that my son, at whose request I
write to you, and who is now dying of wounds
received while he was bravely leading his troop
in a charge which won him a medal and a
cross, has thus cleansed his own name before
he clears the name of the friend who has
VOL. II. t
274 linnet's trial.
suffered for his fault. I am sure that he will
be forgiven ; and having said this, I have only
to tell his story as briefly as possible."
Vere read no farther, but sat down, and
covered his face with his hands, while the
others finished the letter. It contained a full
explanation of the circumstances which had
caused Vere to leave the army. It appeared
that Charles Selden, owing to the illness of
his immediate superiors in rank, had the com-
mand of the party which failed to intercept
Tantia Topee (if that was the name of the
Indian hero in question) on the day which
proved so unfortunate for Vere. Charles was,
as we have seen, no soldier by nature. In
fact, he was a lad of very weak, excitable
nerves, and most imperfect temper. Vere,
suspecting his deficiencies, but not fully aware
of them, had attached Martin to the party, a
man on whose judgment and firmness he could
fully rely, and by whom he thought that the
inexperienced commander would be virtually
guided and controlled. But the event proved
his mistake. Martin, who knew that he was
AFTER ALL. 275
the better man of the two, and that he pos-
sessed his leader's confidence, was testy and
exigeant. Charles was headstrong and blunder-
ing. Instead of co-operation, there was dispute
between them from the moment in which Vere's
eye was withdrawn ; and when the crisis arrived,
the result was miserable. Charles, utterly un-
nerved, mistook his own position and that of the
enemy, and forgot, misunderstood, or ignored
the orders which he had received. He main-
tained that his party was wrongly stationed ;
that a side-path, which had for good and
sufficient reasons been guarded at a point a
mile farther up, had been totally overlooked ;
and he asserted his determination to change
his ground, so as to command that path also.
Martin remonstrated and implored in vain,
and at last, when they were actually in full
retreat, laid his hand on the bridle of his
officer's horse, and endeavoured to check and
turn the animal by force, exclaiming at the
same time, " For heaven's sake look, sir !
Here they are ! "
There they were indeed ; and if the party
stationed to intercept them had been in its
t 2
276 linnet's trial.
place, the day would have been won. Charles
never turned his head. Angry and incredulous,
he struck Martin's hand from the rein of his
horse, and spurred on. A kind of scuffie
ensued, in the course of which, as we know, a
pistol went off — it is believed that it was
Martin's own ; the poor fellow was shot
through the heart, and never breathed once
after he fell. Vere came up at the sound of
what he supposed to be the preconcerted
signal, to find his men in utter confusion, the
enemy safe out of their grasp, and Charles
sobbing like a child over Martin's body.
At this j^oint in the narrative Mr. Forester
stopped, and asked Vere almost indignantly —
" But why was not this explained before?
AVhy have you suffered it to go on? "
" What could I do, my dear father?" an-
swered Vere, lifting his head. " I knew that
Charles was ruined for life if I spoke. I had
taken charge of him for his father's sake, and
promised to do the best I could for him. I
had no choice."
" No choice ? " cried Rose. " Oh, Vere !
It was noble and generous; but I don't think
AFTER ALL. 277
it was right You were sacrificing us as well
as yourself."
" Yes," said Vere apologetically, " I see
that now, but I did not see it at the time.
The fact — the truth — is, that I made one great
mistake ; I fancied that my back was strong
enough for the burthen, and it wasn't."
" Not strong enough ? " asked Leonora, who,
holding fast her husband's hand, had as yet
spoken no word. " Why, you never once failed
for a moment."
" What I mean is this," answered Vere,
colouring deeply — " I thought — I fancied —
that my character was so well known, my
name so firmly fixed, that I might screen
Charles without such utter sacrifice of myself.
I had no idea that the shame would fasten
upon me so instantly and so deeply. When I
said to Charles, in that first hard moment, ' I
will take the blame,' I honestly confess that I
thought — it was folly in me, but I did think —
that no man would suspect me of cowardice.-"
" And you have borne it all these years ! "
murmured Leonora, winding her arms about
him, and hiding her face on his heart.
278 linnet's tkial.
" I had nothing to do but to bear it," said
he, half smiling. " I don't think I'm much
of a hero. When I found that I was coldly
looked upon and hardly censured, I did not
stay to face it. I ran away then. Perhaps, if
I had staved, I might have lived it down."
" I can't understand how Charles Selden
could be so — " mean, Rose was going to say,
but her brother's quick gesture and look of
pain stopped her.
" Ah, spare him now, poor fellow ! " cried
he. " He has done well at the last. He was
only weak, and quite unfit for his position. If
he had spoken sooner, it would have killed his
father : I believe it will kill him now. And,
you know, I sold out — in fact that was one of
my motives for selling out. Charles felt very
warmly. He was as sorry as a man could be.
More than once he was going to confess it all ;
but I always checked him with ' "Where is the
use, when I am going to leave the army, and
you remain in it ? ' "
" Leonora," said Mr. Forester, who had
been silently studying Dr. Selden's letter
during this conversation, "you seem less sur-
AFTER ALL. 279
prised than anybody. Had Vere told you the
truth ? "
Leonora looked up, but did not loose her
clasp upon her husband. " No," she said ;
" he never told me a word ; but I always
knew he was not to blame. We are none
of us worthy to look at him, and here he is,
almost begging our pardon for being — for
being so much better than all the rest of the
world ! "
The last words came with a sob, and the
sound was infectious, for Rose began to cry
also, and Mr. Forester wiped his eyes. Vere
took the newspaper, and began looking it
over in an embarrassed manner. He told his
wife afterwards that he could stand anything
except being admired. He saw, and noted
with secret satisfaction, how complete his justi-
fication was. A short leading article, written
in a warm and generous spirit, drew attention
to Dr. Selden's letter, referred briefly to the
circumstances under which the former attack
had been made, and paid high tribute to Vere's
character and conduct throughout. Vere read
aloud the sentence which referred specially to
280 linnet's trial.
poor Charles. " No man will allow himself
to think for a moment otherwise than kindly
and respectfully of the young soldier who has
so nobly repaired his fault, and whose life
has more than purchased back his honour.
Over this grave " Vere faltered a little.
" "Why," cried he, interrupting himself, " this
is written as if all was over!" He turned
hastily to the register, and there found the
record which he feared to find —
" At Brighton, on the 13th, of wounds
received while leading his troop into action,
Charles Selden, aged 22, Lieutenant in her
Majesty's regiment, only surviving child
of Francis Selden, Esq., M.D."
" On the 13th ! " exclaimed Vere. < ; The
letter has been kept back ! I shall go down
to Brighton directly."
To Brighton accordingly he went. Leonora
accompanied him. On their way they dis-
cussed the event of the morning more freely
and more calmly than they had been able to
do directly after it happened, and while they
were still in the midst of the family. Leonora
heard something of what Vere had felt — some-
AFTER ALL. 281
thing, but not a great deal even now. She
had to fill in the details of the picture herself,
and she was well able to do so out of her
remenil trance of three years. Something, too,
she heard of the comfort which he had drawn
during that hard time out of her inexhaustible
trust, tenderness, and sympathy.
" I wonder that you never told me," said
she, with the faintest possible tint of reproach
in her voice.
" I was often sorely tempted," he answered ;
" but I had considered it very carefully, and
made up my mind. It would have been very
much harder for you to bear, Linnet, if you
had known not merely that a word would
remove the load, but if you had known also
what that word was. And I did not think
you would be hard upon me, even without
knowing the truth. There, at least, I was not
disappointed."
She smiled. " Was it harder to vou at
first or at last ?" asked she.
" It was hard enough all through the time.
But I think the worst moment was when I
began to see clearly what I was doing. When
282 linnet's trial.
friend after friend urged me to clear myself,
talked to me, reasoned with me, began so
warmly and cordially, then, as the conversa-
tion went on, showed doubt, irritation, suspi-
cion ; then, perhaps, met me a day or two
afterwards with an indescribable difference in
look, tone, and manner, which I perceived and
understood in an instant. One example did
not convince me, nor two, nor three. I con-
tinued obstinately to set them down as excep-
tions. But at last I could not shut my eyes
to the fact that there was not a man of them
all who fairly believed in me for myself. How-
ever strong I had thought my good name,
circumstances were stronger."
"Not a man of them all?" said she, in-
credulously repeating his words.
" Not one, Leonora. But I was a fool to
expect it. Their confidence in me was built
up of certain facts concerning me, and when
the facts changed, the confidence slipped down.
It's only a wife who trusts you in spite of
facts."
" It's only a woman," cried she, " who is
sure of the fact which she does not see.
AFTER ALL. 283
Remember, I was right and they were wrong.
You are not going to tell me that I ought to
have doubted you."
" No," said he in a low voice ; " I am not
going to tell you that."
" I cannot imagine how you bore it."
" The alternative was worse. Whenever I
felt — and I did sometimes feel at the beginning
— that the sacrifice was beyond my strength,
and that I must needs speak out and clear
myself, I had but to think of what was in-
volved in my ' speaking out,' in order to
abandon the idea. How was I to stand for-
ward and deliberately crush that poor boy in
order to save myself? How coidd I have
faced his father ? Poor Selden ! " added Vere,
with a hasty touch of strong emotion, " how
sorry I am for him ! "
" I find it as difficult to understand Charles
Selden as Rose did," said Leonora. " Was
he really — one does not like to say it now —
but, Vere," dropping her voice, "was he really
— a coward ? "
" No, no, no ! " cried Vere. " He was utterly
unfit to be a soldier, poor fellow ; he had not a
284 linnet's trial.
particle of physical nerve, and he had at that
time less self-control than any man I ever
knew in my life. But think how well he has
done since ! I can't express to you how much
I respect him. I assure you, remembering
him as I do, the self-conquest seems to me
little less than miraculous."
" That was a terrible time when you first
came home," said Leonora, shutting her eyes
as she went on with her reminiscences.
" Terrible for you, too," answered he. " How
well you bore it! But I began to blame
myself then. I began to think that I had no
right, as Rose says, to sacrifice you all as well
as myself. Only then it was too late to
change. It would have been the lowest depth
of meanness if I had consented to justify my-
self at Charles's expense then, after I had
left the army. Just imagine the news going-
out to him ! You must feel that I could only
act as I did."
" I feel that you were right, from first to
last," was her reply.
Vere looked at her tenderly, but half laughed
as he answered, " I wonder whether you would
AFTEK ALL. 285
feel just the same if I had done exactly the
reverse ! "
They had left the train, and were walking
towards the house now occupied by Dr. Selden.
" I am not tired," said Leonora. " Why
do you walk so slowly ? "
He answered the question by standing still.
" 1 hardly know what to do," said he in a
troubled voice. "lam afraid to go into the
house. I doubt if I was right to come. It
was an impulse, but perhaps I should have
done better to resist it."
" Oh ! " cried Leonora, " after the first
shock of meeting, he will surely be comforted
by your sympathy. He is so fond of you.
Let me go in first, and tell him that you are
here/'
Vere consented at once. This was just one
of the cases in which a woman has more
courage than a man. He knocked at the
door, and then drew Leonora aside, lest by
any chance they should be seen and recognised
from the window. The door was opened to
them by Esther Martin, who burst into tears
as soon as she saw them. It is a strange fact,
286 linnet's trial.
directly in the teeth of common theories, that
those to whom life has been hard, are gene-
rally less able to command their emotions as
life advances, than those to whom it has been
soft. Leonora took the woman's hand, said a
few kind and soothing words, and then asked
where Dr. Selden was, and whether she might
go to him at once.
" The Doctor, ma'am ? " replied Esther, be-
ginning to recover herself. "Oh, that's the
worst of it ! He's gone."
" Gone ! " exclaimed Vere. " When ?
Where?"
" That's what nobody knows, sir. Went in
the morning, before anybody was up. Mr.
Osborne knows no more than we do. Poor
gentleman ! it's my belief he's not long for
this world ; he seemed to be taking leave of
everything for days past — and so quiet too, as
if he hadn't heart enough in him to give way.
He's not been like a living man since the day
before Master Charles died; then it was that
lie changed. He and his son had a long talk
together all alone ; and it's then I suppose he
quite made up his mind there was no hope.
AFTER ALL. 287
I believe there's a letter for you, sir, but Mr.
Osborne will tell you. The last thing the
doctor did, sir, was to secure thirty pounds a
year to me and my man for life ; but, God
knows, we'd give it up if we could get him
back again ! "
Mr. Osborne came into the passage as she
finished speaking, and welcomed his visitors
very warmly. He seemed a good deal de-
pressed, and much shaken by the trying scenes
through whicli he had passed. He was thankful
for the sight of new faces, and it was a relief
to him to tell all that he could. All, however,
was but little. He brought them into the
sitting-room, j)ressed refreshments upon them,
wanted them to rest and be comfortable, with
a touch of his naturally light, cheery, hos-
pitable manner, breaking strangely through
the gloom that was upon him, and seeming-
much more suitable to him than the gloom
through which it broke. It was hardly pos-
sible for a man to be less adapted than he was
to the circumstances which had been lately
forced upon him. His intense dislike to the
sight of pain had really caused him to suffer
288 linnet's trial.
in health, and it had also played the part of a
braver and deeper sympathy while he was in
the presence of the pain endured, and while
he felt that he could not escape from it. In
fact, however, it was so very little that the
deepest sympathy could have done for Dr.
Selden, that he scarcely missed it, and the
company of a good-natured acquaintance gave
him as much, or as little, comfort as he could
have derived from the companionship of the
dearest friend he had upon earth.
" It has been a miserable business," said
Mr. Osborne. " I scarcely understand it now.
Till I read poor Selden's letter in the paper, I
was altogether in the dark. Charles must
have told him all the day before he died — so I
guess now. They were a long time alone to-
gel her, and at last I ventured to go in to them.
The physician said Charles was to be kept as
quiet as possible ; and I heard so much talking
that I was sure it was wrong. When I went
in, I could not make them out in the least.
Selden was standing in the window, far away
from the bed, with his hands over his face.
He gave a great start when I opened the door,
AFTEK ALL. 289
went up to the bed-side, stooped over poor
Charles and kissed him, and then actually ran
out of the room, without saying a word.
Charles was flushed and feverish, and seemed
as if he wanted to speak to me, but I would
not let him. He just said, ' Ah, my poor
father! I was always a plague to him.' I
gave him a sedative, and made him keep quiet.
I did not see Selden again that day ; he was in
his room, writing. He sat up all night with
Charles ; and just as the day broke the poor
boy died."
" And the father?" asked Vere, in breathless
interest. Leonora was by this time too tearful
to speak.
" You will think it strange, but I have
never seen him since. He went away and
shut himself up immediately. Whether he
ate or drank at all that day, I don't know ; but
when Martin knocked at his door, he only
thanked her, and asked her to go away. The
next morning he was gone. He left a letter
for you, and a number of bank notes in an
envelope directed to me, with just a sentence
written — oh, here it is ! "
VOL. II. u
290 linnet's trial.
Mr. Osborne handed the papers to Vere,
who looked first at the few words hurriedly
written on the flap of the open envelope.
They were these — " Please see to the funeral,
and do not write to London, or send to the
newspapers. Thank you for great kindness. —
F. Seidell."
" It was a painful business," said poor Mr.
Osborne, as Vere looked up inquiringly. "The
whole of it has been excessively painful to me,
and I confess I thought it rather hard that I
should be left to go through with it by myself.
But I could do nothing else. I could not go
against his request. The funeral took place
this morning. There was no reason for delay ;
and I wanted to get everything over, and come
up to London as soon as possible. Selden,
you see, sent the notice of poor Charles's death
to the papers with his own letter ; and I con-
clude his object was that you should not see
the one before the other. But why he ab-
sented himself, and why he wished to prevent
you from showing a last kindness to Charles's
memory, I cannot conceive. It was very
strange. It was hardly decent."
AFTER ALL. 291
" It hurts me much," said Vere sadly, as he
opened his letter. It was very short, and not
much more satisfactory than Mr. Osborne's
one sentence.
" My dear Vere,
" You will know all when you read
this, and you will have forgiven me and my
poor boy long ago. I know you will come
down. I do not wish you to hear till all is
over. You would be ready enough to honour
the dead and console the living ; but the first
is unfit, and the second impossible. Good-bye.
I love you and your wife dearly ; I wish you
all happiness, and I beg your pardon. I ask
you not to seek me or write to me — let me get
rid of my troubles in my own way. The
pertinacious hostility of life has brought me
down at last, and I can't face any of my
friends. " Your affectionate
"Francis Seldex."
There was nothing to give to this sufferer
except pity and silence. Alas ! what more can
you give to the man in whose eyes sorrow has
292 linnet's tkial.
the face of an enemy? The long' battle, the
sure defeat, the wounds, the weariness, the
death, are indeed terrible to such a man. Let
us hope that love, human or Divine, or both,
sought and found him at last.
Save for this one blot, the happiness of Vere
and Leonora was now perfect. And it must
not be supposed that it came too late, or when
they were in any degree reconciled to the grief
to which they had so bravely submitted. The
pain which Vere suffered, the shame which he
felt, but did not deserve, were as keen to him
the moment before they were taken away as
they had been at the moment when they were
first inflicted, perhaps keener; and having said
what they were to him, we need say nothing
of what they were to Leonora. And their
hunger after honour and joy was keen also,
and though they had fasted so patiently, they
welcomed the feast with eager thankfulness.
Rose was very happy too, and Brandon
improved very much, without ceasing to be
pleasant, which was a great credit to him.
END OF VOL. II.
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