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 ALISON WATCHED, HALF FASCINATED BY HORROR. 
 
 [See/ii^e 142.
 
 AUNT DIANA 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY 
 
 AUTHOR OF •NELLIE'S MEMORIES: 'NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS.' ' ESTHBR CAMERON'S 
 
 STORV: ETC 
 
 PHILADELPHIA ; 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 1889
 
 
 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALISON DROPS HER ROSES. 
 
 fHERE are conflicts in most lives — real hand-to-hand combats, 
 that have to be fought, not with any fleshly weapons, but with 
 . the inner forces of the being — battles wherein the victory is not 
 
 ^ always to the strong, where the young and the weak and the 
 little ones may be found abiding nearest to the standards. 
 
 Such a conflict had come to Alison Merle, breaking up the surface 
 of her smooth outer life, and revealing possible shoals and quicksands, 
 in which many of her brightest hopes might be wrecked, when Duty 
 with its sternest face seemed to beckon to her on one side, and Incli- 
 nation whispered tenderly into her ear on the other, ' You are too 
 young for such a piece of self-sacrifice ; no one in their senses would 
 ask such a thing of you.' 
 
 ' It is hard. I do not know that even if Aunt Di think it right I 
 shall ever have the heart to do it,' murmured Alison, talking to her- 
 self in her agitation, after the manner of older folk. ' I have just 
 rooted myself in this dear place, and the soil suits me. I could not 
 flourish anywhere else ; and,' finished Alison, with a quaint little 
 smile, * sickly plants are worth nothing.' 
 
 To any ordinary spectator the interior of that little room would 
 have presented a picture of perfect serenity and absolute comfort. 
 Even the young creature comfortably seated in a chair by the window, 
 with an open letter and a cluster of deep red roses lying amongst the 
 folds of her white gown, presented no disturbing image, though the 
 cheek had lost its wonted fresh colour, and the dark, dreamy eyes 
 had a look of doubt that was almost pain in them. 
 
 It was a still, drowsy afternoon in June; down in the pleasant 
 
 2226S31
 
 6 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 garden below all the winged creatures in nature were holding high 
 revel ; a butterflies' feast seemed to be held among the roses ; gnats 
 and dragon-flies moved in giddy circles over the lawn ; two or three 
 solemn brown bees had met in conclave over one flower-bed ; while 
 the insects danced airily and boomed through their tiny trumpets, a 
 shrill concert sounded from the trees overhead ; through the thick 
 foliage one could catch the silvery gleam of water ; the splash of an 
 oar sounded in the distance, then another, slow, measured, rhythmic ; 
 surely an afternoon for an idle mood, when one's thoughts might cull 
 sweets like the bees. 
 
 The low bay window at which Alison was sitting was framed in 
 roses, the long sprays tapped softly against the glass ; the greenery 
 had transformed it into an old-fashioned bower, and many a wander- 
 ing bee found its way inside, in curious investigation of the flower- 
 filled vases. 
 
 How Alison had grown to love that room ! She looked round it 
 now with half-regretful, appreciative eyes, that noted every trifle — 
 the white tent bed, the wardrobe that Aunt Di had so tastefully 
 painted with her own hand (a marvellous work of art in Alison's eyes), 
 the hanging book-cases, the little writing-table, the snug couch with 
 its nest of pillows, the simply framed landscapes on the wall, all the 
 work of the same skilful hand ; the tame canary pluming its yellow 
 coat fussily after its bath. Surely an ideal girl's room ! And Alison 
 did so love the beauty and fitness of things — anything that was ugly 
 or disorderly gave her positive pain. 
 
 ' You are a little Sybarite,' Aunt Diana said once, with a chiding 
 laugh. ' A crumpled rose-leaf would disturb your slumbers. What 
 a comfort that I have transplanted you from The Holms ! The 
 atmosphere of Moss-side, old-maidish as it is, suits you much better. 
 A constitution like Roger's can stand it, but hardly you, Ailie.' 
 
 Alison remembered this speech ; it had pained her a little at the 
 time; it was just one of Aunt Diana's shrewd speeches that brought 
 one suddenly face to face with oneself, like one's image reflected in 
 an over-true looking-glass. 
 
 Was that true of her? Was she really as indolent and luxury- 
 loving as Aunt Diana's words seemed to imply ? 
 
 The discomforts of her home life had been very great. Looking 
 back through the glamour of these two happy years, during which 
 she had lived at Moss-side, her life seemed to her almost unbearable, 
 and yet she had shared it with those she dearly loved. Was not
 
 ALISON DROPS HER ROSES. 7 
 
 Roger part of it, and Rudel and her father, not to mention Missie 
 and Poppie ? Was it not an unnatural thing that she should be 
 blooming here, a petted exotic, instead of abiding in the rougher 
 home soil? 
 
 Two years ago — she had been sixteen then, and, oh, how dis- 
 contented and ill and unhappy she had been ! It was not only the 
 loss of her mother, it was her own incapacity for responsibility, her 
 morbid dislike to her surroundings, that had fretted all her fine 
 colour away. Perhaps her health may have been partly the cause, 
 but surely she need not have been so disagreeable, so captious, so 
 miserable, so disposed to look on the dark side of everything, that 
 even Roger, with all his sweet temper, gave her a wide berth, and 
 her father — well, thought Alison, with a shadowed brow, her father 
 had never quite understood her. Change of air would do her good, 
 and then Aunt Diana had come down upon them with the freshness 
 of a moorland breeze. 
 
 * You must give your eldest girl to me, Ainslie,' she had said to 
 Alison's father ; ' she wants care and cherishing more than Miss 
 Leigh has time to give her. She looks overgrown and sickly ; and,' 
 finished Aunt Diana, with a funny little laugh, ' I am a neat sort of 
 person, and I do hate to see a round thing trying to fit itself into a 
 square hole ; it leaves all the corners empty and ready for dust.' 
 And, of course. Aunt Diana had her way. 
 
 Instead of the whirr of machinery — for her father's saw-mills were 
 just behind their house — Alison had now only to listen to the soft 
 flow of the river that ghded below the green lawns and shrubberies 
 of Moss-side ; instead of waking up in the morning to look across 
 the dusty shrubs and trees to the vast wood piles and masses of un- 
 sawn timber, that seemed endlessly between her and the blue sky, 
 Alison's eyes had now the finest prospect : one shaded garden seemed 
 to run into another, and when the willows were thinned or bare in 
 winter-time, what a view of the river and green meadows on the 
 opposite side ! 
 
 The moral surroundings were almost as much changed. Instead 
 of Miss Leigh's dry method of instruction — her laboured and 
 hackneyed phrases, suggestive of the bare bones of wisdom — Aunt 
 Diana had placed within her reach many a pleasant short cut to 
 knowledge, had suggested all sorts of enviable accomplishments; 
 money was not stinted where Alison's talents could be turned to 
 account Lavish by nature, Aunt Diana showed herself liberal in all
 
 8 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 that concerned her niece's welfare. What she could teach herself 
 she taught without regarding time or pains ; when she left it to 
 others, she surrounded Alison with a certain wise oversight that 
 made itself felt ; faults were rebuked smilingly, little errors of judg- 
 ment commented on by a passing word. Aunt Diana could be 
 abrupt, critical, keen as a sea breeze, but her censure never hurt or 
 stung or corroded, as some people's sharp speeches did. Alison 
 always heard her humbly, owned her right, and set herself to do 
 better. 
 
 In this pleasant but bracing atmosphere Alison had thriven and 
 grown. She was still a tall slim girl, somewhat youthful in look, but 
 with plenty of warm life and energy about her ; and though the dark 
 eyes had still their old trick of dreaming, they seemed to dream more 
 happily, and the shadow did not lie so deep in them — not, at least, 
 until the June afternoon, when Alison sat sighing and visibly dis- 
 turbed with her lap full of roses. It was evident at last that she 
 found her thoughts too painful, for after another half-hour's intense 
 brooding she suddenly jumped up from her seat, scattering the 
 flowers where they lay unheeded on the Indian matting, and walked 
 abruptly to the door. 
 
 She had dropped her letters, too ; but she went back and picked 
 them up, not replacing them in their envelopes, and then she went 
 out into the passage. 
 
 A dark oak staircase led into a little square hall, fitted up with 
 book-cases like a library, with a harmonium on one side ; a glass 
 door opened into a conservatory, through which one passed into the 
 garden. 
 
 Alison turned the handle of a door just opposite the staircase, and 
 stood for a moment hesitating on the threshold. 
 
 Wliat a pleasant room that was, half studio and half drawing-room, 
 full of cross lights, and artistically littered with an odd jumble of 
 mediaeval and modern furniture — oak chairs and cabinets, basket- 
 work lounges, tiny tea-tables, fit for Liliputian princesses, and hang- 
 ing cupboards of quaint old china that gave warm colouring to the 
 whole. A wiry brown terrier with bright eyes jumped up with a 
 welcome bark ; a small black kitten, about the size of a moderate 
 piece of coal, followed him gingerly. Alison stooped down to caress 
 them, but her eyes were still fixed on a lady who stood with her 
 back towards her, painting at an easel. 
 
 ' Well, child, what now ? ' The voice was nicely modulated, clear,
 
 ALISON DROPS HER ROSES. 9 
 
 and musical, but the manner slightly abrupt. Alison lifted up Jetty 
 in her arms while Trip rolled over at her feet, in a vain attempt to 
 testify his joy. 'I have come to see you, Aunt Di,' she returned, in 
 an hesitating way. 
 
 * And I suppose you prefer my profile to my front face,' remarked 
 Miss Carrington drily, as she painted a troublesome little piece of 
 foliage. * Alison,' in a more animated manner, ' my special muse is 
 cross-grained to-day ; I cannot woo her with these blues and greens 
 at all ; this tree does not please me ; I wanted an effect of shadowy 
 brightness, such as one sees when the wind plays through the leaves, 
 and the road is flecked with a sort of lattice work of moving lights 
 and shades, but this is far too sombre.' 
 
 Alison came forward at once, and inspected the picture. * It is 
 very pretty, Aunt Di,' she said, forgetting her own worries in a 
 moment. ' It is one of your best. I think I see what you mean, 
 but to me it is all beautiful ; that old man — a pensioner, is he not i* 
 and that poor, tired sheep, that seems to have dropped down by the 
 way, left behind by the flock, is so suggestive of the title " Noontide 
 rest."' 
 
 ' That is what I intended. You are an intelligent child, Ailie ; 
 both the man and the sheep must be old ; it is not for young 
 creatures to rest at noontide ; my old pensioner has already borne 
 the burthen and heat of the day.' 
 
 ' Of course, I see what you mean. Aunt Di.' 
 
 * My parable is not hard to read,' replied Miss Carrington with a 
 smile ; but as Alison studied the picture with increased interest and 
 admiration, a pair of shrewd, kindly eyes were studying the girl's face. 
 
 ' Go and put yourself in that easy chair opposite, and tell me all 
 about it,' she said at last, rousing her by a good-humoured little 
 push. * I must finish this branch if I am to enjoy my night's rest, 
 but I can listen to any amount of lettered woes,' with a suggestive 
 glance at Alison's hand. 
 
 * Oh ! Aunt Di, how do you find out things so ? ' stammered 
 Alison ; then, as though used to obedience, she moved to the chair 
 that was always reserved for Miss Carrington's visitors, whom she 
 was wont to entertain after a fashion of her own. 
 
 People always got on with Miss Carrington, but they found it 
 difficult to describe her ; no one knew her age exactly, and certainly 
 no one would have ventured to put such a question. 
 
 As some one once said of her, ' she was made up of negatives,'
 
 10 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 she was neither young nor old, she was not stout, but still less was 
 she thin ; no one in their senses could call her handsome — the word 
 did not suit her at all, but neither would any one with eyes in their 
 head call her plain. An old Scotch serving man once described her 
 best in her younger days, when he said, * Eh, but Miss Diana is real 
 bonnie,' and ' real bonnie ' she was still. The negatives held good 
 in the matter of dress ; it was an odd thing, but people never could 
 remember exactly what Miss Carrington wore ; she had a style of 
 her own, they said, and it exactly suited her, and though this was 
 somewhat vague, it hit the truth somehow. Miss Carrington had a 
 style of her own, as befitted a middle-aged gentlewoman, one who 
 neither wanted to look young nor dreaded to look old, who could 
 see the first streak of grey in her bright brown hair without making 
 herself unhappy about it. * We are bound to grow old,' as she was 
 given to remark, ' and I do not see that we need want to loiter behind 
 our contemporaries. Every season of the year is good ; spring is 
 the friskiest time, but autumn has warm, mellow tints of its own ; 
 when my hair is quite grey I mean to tell every one I think it the 
 most becoming colour.' 
 
 In her youth people had found fault with Diana Carrington ; ' she 
 was too matter-of-fact, too bracing, too abrupt for their taste,' they 
 said ; ' they liked a more womanly softness, it was more becoming in 
 a girl.' And perhaps they were right. Miss Carrington was a little 
 abrupt, though this trait showed less markedly in her mature age ; 
 but then she was so healthy-minded and vigorous. In society she 
 had certainly seemed a little out of place, much as a piece of moor- 
 land heather would look if it were suddenly transplanted into a hot- 
 house full of delicate exotics. She was not ungraceful — far from it ; 
 but she could never be made to understand the light current coin of 
 society — the unmeaning flow of words that passed for conversation. 
 She liked to talk of things that interested her, or else to be wholly 
 silent. 
 
 •Why are you always so dreadfully in earnest?' one of her 
 partners said to her ; ' when we are on the playground, we need not 
 discuss all these serious matters.' 
 
 * One gets tired of nothing but play,' returned Diana, a little 
 crossly at this, for she was interested in the subject, and wanted to 
 pick the brains of her companion for her own purposes ; ' grown-up 
 children get the worst of it. When we are young we are allowed to 
 choose our own playfellows— little girls, I mean,' which was certainly
 
 ALISON DROPS HER ROSES. II 
 
 rude of Diana, only the gentleman received it with a good-natured 
 laugh, and after that they were good friends to the end of the chapter. 
 
 ' I really am glad I am not a girl any longer,' observed Miss 
 Carrington once, confidentially to a lady who very much disliked 
 growing old, ' one is so much more free, and then one can say more 
 what one likes ; a girl cannot be eccentric, it is bad form ; she must 
 follow the footsteps of the flock, and a very good thing too. I have 
 just come, not to the prettiest, but to the most perfect age, when the 
 tether is removed, and I am at liberty to wander into pastures new 
 at my own sweet will, and no one can say a word ;' but whatever she 
 meant by this queer bit of philosophy, Diana certainly was happier 
 in her middle age than she had been in her sweet youth. 
 
 * Real bonnie,' not only in face bot in heart ; what better could be 
 said of any woman ? 
 
 ' I wonder how long I am to have patience,' observed Miss Car- 
 rington, painting on industriously, as Alison sat with drooping head, 
 looking at her letters without offering to read them. ' I am quite 
 sure those are Rudel's straggling characters ; that boy's handwriting 
 is a disgrace to the family ; it has put him out of my will for ever ; 
 fancy one's nephew being such a sorry scribe.' 
 
 ' Rudel does write badly,' returned Alison, with a faint little smile, 
 'but I like his letters better than Missie's; there is one from Miss 
 Leigh, too ; do you admire her handwriting, Aunt Di ? ' 
 
 ' No, it is too thin and angular,' returned Miss Carrington severely ; 
 * it wants freedom and breadth ; it reminds me too much of Miss 
 Leigh herself.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so glad you say that,' returned Alison delightedly ; ' I 
 thought it was only my own naughtiness, but 1 know I always found 
 her so depressing.' 
 
 ' Miss Leigh is a very excellent person — I quite agree with your 
 father in that ; she has a mine of gold locked up in her if one could 
 only find the way to it ; it is not gold that glitters, perhaps, but it is 
 genuine metal for all that,' 
 
 ' Why, Aunt Di, you are praising her now.' 
 
 ' Of course I am praising her ; I am only finding fault with her 
 handwriting and her manners. Cultivate a pleasing manner, Alison ; 
 you have no idea how valuable a commodity it is ; it is worth half 
 the world's wares ; people will not always take the trouble to dig 
 below the surface, they prefer judging from the outer appearance. 
 Now about poor Miss Leigh, your worthy governess and factotum.'
 
 12 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' Oh, she is not the last, Aunt Di — at least, to me.* 
 
 * Never mind, don't interrupt me. I am in the mood for moralising, 
 and you are certainly not in the mood for reading your letters. If 
 she be not necessary to you, The Holms would rue her absence.' 
 
 * I do not think we are any of us very fond of her,' interposed 
 Alison hurriedly. * I know she fidgets father dreadfully, and Roger, 
 too, though he is so good to her.' 
 
 ' Roger is good to every one but himself,' responded Miss Carring- 
 ton ; ' but even he, with all his good nature, has owned to me that 
 Miss Leigh has a very trying manner. You see, Alison, fussy people 
 make poor companions. Miss Leigh has never leisure for anything 
 but her own worries ; she is too overweighted for cheerful conver- 
 sation; if she could forget Poppie's misdemeanours, and Missie's 
 pertness, and Rudel's roughness, and the servants' failures for about 
 half an hour at a time, I could quite fancy Miss Leigh a pleasing 
 companion ; but now let me hear her letter.' 
 
 I
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT MISS LEIGH SAID. 
 
 't is dreadfully long,' sighed Alison, as she reluctantly obeyed. 
 It was evident that she wished Miss Carrington to read the 
 letters for herself, but Aunt Diana held a different opinion. 
 
 ' My dear Alison,' it began, ' I am afraid that my weekly 
 account will be little more cheering than the last ; indeed, I am 
 arriving slowly at the conviction that, unless some change be made 
 in the household arrangements, I shall be compelled, however re- 
 luctantly, to resign my post.' 
 
 * Humph ! that looks bad,' from Miss Carrington. 
 
 * I have done all I can in representing to your father the mischief 
 that must result from his injudicious treatment of Mabel ; she is 
 becoming so thoroughly spoiled, so entirely her own mistress, that 
 no amount of reasoning has any effect upon her. I do not wish to 
 lay any undue stress on her behaviour to myself ; but her treatment 
 of Mr. Roger, and the bad example that she sets to Poppie, not to 
 mention the constant bickering that is always going on between her 
 and Rudel, are quite destroying the harmony of the household. 
 Your dear father will not understand how much of this mischief may 
 be laid to his over-indulgence of Mabel ; he lets her have her own 
 way in everything, and laughs at her little airs and graces instead of 
 checking them ; latterly she has coaxed him to allow her to take the 
 head of the table, and, what is worse, she has several times contra- 
 dicted me to my face, and set aside the orders that I have given in 
 the house ; the servants have more than once complained of her 
 interference, and, in fact, I have had to bear a great deal of grum- 
 bling from Nanny. You may imagine, my dear Alison, how trying 
 all this is to a person of my sensitive temperament ; ever smce I have 
 lived at The Holms I have tried to merit the trust reposed in me by 
 your dear parents. Your father was good enough once to say that 
 
 he had the utmost confidence in my principles and mode of tuition ; 
 
 13
 
 14 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 he has ceased to express himself now much on any subject. I think 
 business is harassing him, for he looks jaded and careworn, and poor 
 Mr. Roger seems out of spirits. 
 
 ' I ahvays said it was a black day for us when Miss Carrington 
 took you away from The Hohiis. With all due deference to your 
 aunt's benevolence and good feelings — for I have the highest respect 
 for her judgment — I cannot help thinking that a daughter's place is 
 with her widowed father. If you had remained with us, Alison, 
 Mabel would never have usurped your rightful place ; and though 
 I do not recollect you were much of a manager — young people 
 seldom are— still, Mr. Roger seemed happier, and Rudel was not 
 quite so rough. 
 
 * You will say I am writing a complaining letter, but things have 
 come to such a pass that I do not feel myself competent to fill such 
 a harassing post any longer. Of course you will talk the matter 
 over with your aunt, and perhaps you may be able to assist me to 
 some solution of our difficulties. If Miss Carrington knows of some 
 suitable person, perhaps she would kindly mention it to me. Of 
 course it is hard, after eight years of faithful service, to have to seek 
 a new situation, but we all have our feelings, and mine are outraged 
 to such an extent that 1 begin to long for a little peace and quiet. 
 Poppie sends her love ; she would be a tolerably good girl if Mabel 
 would leave her alone. 
 
 * I remain, dear Alison, 
 
 ' Your affectionate friend, 
 
 ' Patience Leigh.* 
 
 * Patience has changed to impatience,' muttered Miss Carrington, 
 grimly. ' Sensitive people never own to being out of temper, but I 
 should have said myself that there was a spice of ill-temper in that 
 letter. Poor Miss Leigh is decidedly ruffled.' 
 
 'She never could manage Missie; I always knew that,' returned 
 Alison sorrowfully. 
 
 * And how old is Mabel, or Missie as you call her ? ' 
 'Sixteen last birthday, Aunt Diana.' 
 
 ' Humph ! there is not a more troublesome age. She is a woman- 
 child, if you know what that is ; a sort of hybrid creature, — some- 
 thing of both and with the faults of both ; they have got their armour, 
 but they " have not proved it." ' 
 
 * Missie thinks herself quite grown-up. Aunt Di.'
 
 WHAT MISS LEIGH SAID. 1 5 
 
 ' So do we ; but how the angels must laugh at us, and the poor, 
 pitiful mistakes we grown-up children make, just as you and I would 
 laugh at Missie !' 
 
 * I am afraid I should be too angry to laugh,' returned Alison. 
 
 ' That would be good ammunition wasted. I would as soon be 
 angry with a monkey for trying to copy its master. Mabel imagines 
 herself grown-up, and having no good model of womanhood before 
 her eyes, except Miss Leigh's sad countenance, has invented a 
 character for herself. Do you think her dresses are like yours, 
 Ailie ? ' 
 
 Alison shook her head doubtfully ; she was evidently too heavy of 
 heart to jest. 
 
 ' It will never do to let Miss Leigh go,' she observed presently. 
 
 * Oh, no, certainly not ; a gold mine is valuable. Even if one has 
 to blunder a little in finding an entrance, one would like to keep it 
 in the family. Suppose you let me hear the contents of Rudel's 
 letter, and after that we can talk if you like.' And again Alison 
 obeyed : — 
 
 ' My dear old Alison, — I always said it was a jolly shame that 
 Aunt Diana kidnapped you. We have never been comfortable 
 since, and we never shall be ; but what's the use of grumbling ? as 
 the cat said to the dog when he had a bare bone to gnaw. It will 
 be the same a hundred years hence. By the bye, how is Trip ? I 
 have got a jolly little animal of my own now, — an otter terrier, — and 
 we call her Otter ; she is the most knowing little creature, and so 
 affectionate, only Missie hates her, because she sets on to her cat. 
 Of course I edge her on to it ; it is such fun to see Joe spitting and 
 sneezing, with his back like a railway-arch, and his tail swelling 
 visibly, and Missie stamping and scolding and longing to box Otter's 
 ears, only she dare not, because I should box hers. It is rare fun, 
 I can tell you. I have got a jackdaw, too, — such a beauty ! and I 
 call him Sulky. He is so tame that he will follow us all over the gar- 
 den, and into the timber yqjd when the men are not working. It is 
 so funny to see him hopping after one, with a sort of jump and skip, 
 with his head on one side, as though he were not taking any notice 
 of us, when all the time he was cocking his little black eye at Otter. 
 
 ' If it were not for Otter and Sulky I could not put up with 
 things much longer, they are so horrid. Miss Leigh is bonier than 
 ever, and she sighs so much that Roger is obliged to shut the door 
 during mealtimes because of the draught.
 
 l6 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' Poor old Roger is down in the mouth, too ; father is always 
 pitching into him for something or other. Last week there was a 
 lot said about a consignment of timber that had gone wrong. Father 
 declared Roger was to blame ; but I don't believe it ; the poor old 
 fellow could scarcely touch his luncheon, he was so worried and put 
 about ; and then Missie would keep on aggravating him when father 
 had gone out of the room : " Mr. Fergusson told father that you had 
 mistaken your vocation, and that you would never make a good 
 business man." Actually the little monkey had the cheek to say 
 that to him ; if I had been Roger I should have boxed her ears.' 
 
 ' Rudel seems rather fond of that mode of chastisement,' observed 
 Miss Carrington ; ' young ladies do not have their ears boxed ; you 
 had better inform blaster Rudel of that fact.' 
 
 ' He used not to be so rough. Aunt Di ; he is such a dear boy ; 
 but you see things are at sixes and sevens just now. Poor Roger ! 
 I wish he had Rudel's spirit.' 
 
 And then she went on : — 
 
 ' Missie takes the head of the table. The coffee is terribly bad, 
 and always cold ; but as father drinks cocoa, we have no redress. 
 Nanny and Sarah look crosser every day. They tell Miss Leigh 
 that two mistresses are upsetting at their time of life ; and no 
 wonder, for they must be a hundred between them. I think father 
 is ill or something, for he is as glum as possible ; but there, no 
 more at present, from your affectionate and deeply worried brother, 
 
 ' Rudel, 
 
 * P.S. — Poppie is crying because Missie has just ordered her to 
 bed, and Miss Leigh promised that she might sit up to see Roger. 
 Poppie vowed she would not move. It ended, as it mostly does, by 
 Missie taking her by the shoulders and turning her into the passage. 
 Miss Leigh went after Poppie, but she did not bring her back. 
 Missie scored there.' 
 
 * Oh, Aunt Di, can't you just see it allH' 
 
 * Well, child, it does not need a telescope ; if only your father 
 would shut up his books and study his children instead. But there, 
 there are other people besides the immortal Mrs. Jelleby who can- 
 not see nearer than Africa.' 
 
 ' Dear Aunt Di, won't you put away your palette and brushes ? ' 
 very coaxingly. 
 
 ' What, before I've finished my tree shadows ? My painting will
 
 17 
 
 B
 
 WHAT MISS LEIGH SAID. I9 
 
 not hinder your talking, and there is nothing the matter with my 
 hearing, I am thankful to say.' 
 
 ' But, Aunt Di, I have something very serious to say. These 
 letters came two or three hours ago, and I have been thinking about 
 them ever since.' 
 
 ' I hope you went on with little Sallie's frock, then ; working with 
 one's fingers helps thinking.' But though Miss Carrington spoke in 
 jest, her eyes watched the girl a little anxiously. 
 
 * Oh, I could not work ; I was far too miserable, Aunt Diana. I 
 do believe Miss Leigh is right in what she says, and that I am shirk- 
 ing my duty.' 
 
 ' Since when ? ' a little dryly. 
 
 * Since I got quite well and strong and happy, about a year ago,' 
 returned Alison, answering most literally. ' I ought to have gone 
 back then, and not have stopped on here quietly, taking the good of 
 everything, and enjoying myself, just as though I had no duties, and 
 no place in life. It is all my fault if Missie is getting the upper 
 hand, and making every one uncomfortable.' 
 
 An uncompromising ' humph ' from Miss Carrington was all 
 Alison's answer to this. The girl's colour varied a little, and she 
 went on more nervously, — 
 
 ' You were quite right to take me away, Aunt Di, whatever Miss 
 Leigh says, and I think I was right to go.' 
 
 ' Well, two rights won't make one wrong,' was the quizzing response; 
 but Alison held on to her point somewhat unsteadily. 
 
 ' I was not well ; I was all jarred and miserable, and not a bit of 
 good to any one.' 
 
 'An overgrown girl, in fact,' annotated Miss Carrington, soffo voce. 
 
 ' I was always crying or cross, and wondering what was the matter 
 with me, and then you came like a good angel, and brought me to 
 
 this dear place, — and ' Here Alison's lip quivered. 'Now I do 
 
 love it, and you too, Aunt Di.' 
 
 Miss Carrington smiled benevolently ; she was not a demonstra- 
 tive woman, but it was evident that this frank expression of affection 
 pleased her ; but her reply was as usual somewhat matter-of-fact. 
 
 ' All young people like sunshine and roses, and you get plenty of 
 them here ; you and your roses, too, were rather smoke-dried at The 
 Holms. I will say this for you, Alison, that these two years have 
 not been wasted.' 
 
 ' How do you mean ? ' somewhat eagerly.
 
 20 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * I flatter myself that we have both grown a little. Now don't 
 laugh, Ailie, because you are a wise child, and can look round the 
 corner quicker than most people. I do hate to stop and explain the 
 meaning of my odd speeches ; it is almost as bad as if I had to 
 write on this picture " This is a tree, a mnn," and so on.' 
 
 ' If you mean that I am improved,' returned Alison modestly, * it 
 makes me very happy to hear itj but I owe it all to you and Mr. 
 Moore.' 
 
 ' We will each receive our dues,' with a funny little smile ; * we will 
 not take for a monent into consideration that our pupil has been 
 willing, and industrious, and teachable. You need not flush, Ailie ; 
 a little praise does no harm, it just oils the wheels and prevents them 
 dragging. You have not reached perfection yet, neither have I, but 
 1 have a comfortable sort of assurance that we are both trying hard 
 to break ourselves of our faults, and — I wish you would let me go on 
 painting now, you very troublesome child.' 
 
 ' Aunt Di, I really do not want to tease you, but I have made up 
 my mind — at least, it has come suddenly into my head — that I ought 
 to put all these pleasant things away, and go home to father and 
 Roger.* 
 
 * Pourquoi, mademoiselle?' Though she spoke lightly, a shadow 
 crossed Miss Carrington's face ; but Alison did not see it. 
 
 ' I am eighteen now ; in some sense I may be said to have finished 
 my education, though I hope to go on learning all my life. I am 
 quite strong, at least as strong as I ever shall be, for I do not think 
 I am quite a giant. Aunt Di, and I am not half so afraid of things.' 
 
 * You have ceased to start at your own shadow. Well, well, I can 
 endorse that; but how about your love of comfort ? I have you there, 
 little Sybarite.' 
 
 Alison pouted. * I can't bear you to call me that. Is it wrong to 
 like pretty things, and to make oneself comfortable ? ' 
 
 'Humph, it belongs to the class of venial sins ; but this trait or 
 failing, or whatever a moralist might choose to call it, will certainly 
 unfit you for The Holms. My training will hardly avail there, Ailie.' 
 
 Alison was silent a moment from sheer pain. Was not Aunt 
 Diana right ? Did not these two peaceful years spent at Moss-side 
 — in its atmosphere of refinement, culture, and congenial society — 
 unfit her still more completely for the noisier and disorderly elements 
 of her own home? Might not she do more harm than good, bring 
 ing her young undisciplined forces to bear on such a state of things ?
 
 WHAT MISS LEIGH SAID. 2h 
 
 Was it really her duty to interfere, and might not Aunt Diana miss 
 her too, badly? Tliis last thought made her voice very i)laintive. 
 * I do wish you would tell me what you think, Aunt Di ; I have not 
 been quite happy in my mind for weeks. If Miss Leigh goes, what 
 will become of Poppie ? And then it is so bad for the boys to have 
 their home so uncomfortable.' 
 
 ' Are you quite sure you would not add to the discomfort, Alison ? ' 
 very gravely. 
 
 ' That is what I want to find out. It will be such a terrible piece of 
 self-sacrifice ; and then if it were to be wasted,' and here Alison's eyes 
 filled with tears. ' I don't believe you know how fond I am of you. 
 Aunt Di, and how necessary you are to my happiness, and the idea 
 of leaving you and going back to them all seems too dreadful.' 
 
 ' Unfortunately I am to be the victim of your self-sacrifice. I 
 think I shall have to write an article on the woes of aunts. I thought 
 you were my child, Alison, and that you were going to remain to 
 cheer my old age, but now it appears that I am to be a solitary ' 
 
 This was too much for Alison. She was already in the nervous 
 overwrought state that comes from too heavy a pressure. At Miss 
 Carrington's reply, half-reproachful and half-tender, her head drooped 
 on her hands, and the tears began to trickle through her fingers. ' I 
 do not believe that I can ever do it ; it is far too hard,' she sobbed. 
 ' I can never go away from you of my own will. Aunt Di.' 
 
 There was no immediate answer to this, but in another moment 
 Miss Carrington had walked to her slowly, and then, standing beside 
 her, her hand stroked the girl's hair with a mute caressing gesture. 
 ' Do not cry about it, Ailie,' she said presently ; but her own voice 
 was not quite so clear as usual. * It is not a thing to be decided in 
 a hurry ; we must look at it all round; impulse is never a sure guide. 
 No one is quite their own mistress even at eighteen, and I am afraid 
 you will have to ask my leave, unless you prefer running away.' 
 
 * Oh, will you let me go, Aunt Di ? ' with a sudden start of joy, as 
 though the knots that her conscience had tied were suddenly cut 
 through in a most unexpected way. 
 
 ' My dear, if it be right I will help you to go,' was the expressive 
 but somewhat curt answer to this ; but as she spoke Miss Carring- 
 ton's hands pressed the girl's head a little heavily. 
 
 * Now,' she continued, with a visible effort, ' we must put all 
 these troublesome things away for the present ; there is the dressing 
 bell, and we have only time to get ready for dinner, and you know it
 
 22 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 is our evening at Fernleigh, and we shall have to be cheerful for Mr. 
 Moore's sake.' 
 
 • Oh, Aunt Di, you know that it is impossible.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, nothing is impossible. We ought to keep our own 
 dust for our own shelves, and not sprinkle other folks with our 
 worries. To-night you must be cheerful, for Mr. Moore's sake, and 
 to-morrow is my Wednesday, and you do not mean to damp my 
 garden-party, I hope. You are young, my dear, or you would learn 
 to pocket your troubles until they may safely see the light. Never 
 mind, I mean to set you a noble example, and there is one of your 
 favourite crimson roses to wear.' And putting the flower into the girl's 
 hand, she kissed her lightly between her eyes, and then busied herself 
 in putting up her palette and brushes for the next day's work. 
 
 I
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 •we'd better bide a wee.* 
 
 N hour and a half later Miss Carrington and her niece were 
 walking quickly down one of the garden paths until they came 
 to a little gate set in the hedge ; unlatching it, they passed 
 into a neighbouring garden, and then turned their faces in the 
 direction of a low white house, with a verandah running all round 
 it, and roses in profusion running over it. As they did so, the notes 
 of a violin, evidently played by a practised hand, reached them. 
 Miss Carrington's face brightened, and, making a gesture to her 
 companion to move softly, she stepped up to a window and looked 
 through it. The room, if it were a drawing-room, was almost as 
 heterogeneously furnished as her own, but it bore the character 
 of a library. Two of the walls were lined with book-cases ; a grand 
 piano and a harmonium occupied some of the space ; there was a 
 round table littered with books, and a superfluity of easy-chairs in 
 every stage of comfort, arranged more with a view to ease than 
 appearance. A nearer inspection would have pointed out certain 
 bachelor arrangements — some costly Turkish pipes ; a pair of pistols, 
 splendidly mounted; some silver cups and tankards, with various in- 
 scriptions on them, all engraved with the name of Greville Moore, 
 and purporting to be certain prizes in the half-mile race, the high 
 jump, throwing the cricket ball, and other feats of prowess, performed 
 by some youthful athlete. 
 
 Although it was summer and all three windows were open, a 
 pleasant little fire burned cheerily, to the evident enjoyment of 
 a noble black collie that lay stretched luxuriously on the bear- 
 skin rug. 
 
 An elderly man, with a long white beard and moustache, in a 
 black velvet coat, sat with his back to the light, playing the violin. 
 His face, seen in repose, was clear cut and handsome, in spite of the 
 deep lines that time and perhaps many cares had traced upon it ; 
 
 23
 
 24 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 but his eyes were cast down, as though in deep meditation, an habitual 
 action, for Mr. Moore had been blind half his life. 
 
 He was playing from memory an exquisite fugue from Bach. The 
 thin, somewhat wrinkled hand handled the bow with a precision, a 
 delicacy, a masterly knowledge, that seemed surprising in his situa- 
 tion. Apparently he was lost himself in enjoyment of the sweet 
 sounds that he had conjured up in his darkness, for a smile played 
 round his lips as the harmony widened and vibrated, and his foot 
 softly moved, as though in unison. The collie turned its head lazily 
 as Miss Carrington seated herself within a few feet of the musician ; 
 probably he would have risen to greet her, but she held up a 
 warning hand. 
 
 Alison, much amused, followed her example. She had Trip in her 
 arms, but the little animal gave her a good deal of trouble ; he was 
 not as perfectly trained as the collie, not having arrived at the age 
 of discretion. He wanted to get down and investigate his old 
 friend Keeper and secure a bit of rug for himself, and uttered a 
 protesting whine when his mistress refused to let him go. In a 
 moment the fugue was ended and the bow lowered. 
 
 * Is that you, Sunny ? Little witch, why have you stolen a march 
 on the blind man ? Of course you have flown through the window.' 
 
 'Aunt Diana set me the example,' returned Alison demurely. 
 ' How do you do, again, Mr. Moore ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, nicely, nicely ; time always passes quickly with me in my 
 own special world. Have you given your aunt her favourite chair? 
 How does the picture progress, Miss Diana? Sunny tells me it is 
 one of your best.' 
 
 ' Would you have me praise my own work ? ' returned Miss Car- 
 rington brightly. * I must leave you to Alison's criticism. I hope 
 to do something good before I die, and if I do not succeed, well, 
 my life will have been happier for the trying. Do you comprehend 
 me, my good friend ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, I can feel out a meaning there,' he replied, a little quaintly, 
 as he stooped to pat Keepers head. 'You and I think alike on 
 most subjects, don't we, Miss Diana? We both hold that work 
 and life have been synonymous terms, since Adam delved and Eve 
 span.' 
 
 * I don't believe in any life without it,' was the concise reply 
 to this. 
 
 ' Well, it takes all sorts of people to make up a world. I have
 
 'we'd better bide a wee.' 
 
 25 
 
 long ago divided society into two classes — people who work, and 
 people who prefer to have their work done by other folk. There 
 are men, and women too, who like to drift anyhow through life, and 
 who grumble if some other oarsman does not put back the duck- 
 weed for them. Why, they would positively run aground, rather 
 than propel themselves ; but my boy is not one of them, I am 
 thankful to say.' 
 
 * Nor Alison either. By the bye, Mr. Moore, how does your pupil 
 progress ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Sunny is a fair scholar,' replied the old man, putting out his 
 hand till it rested on Alison's soft hair. 'Slie does me credit. Miss 
 Diana; she is a good child — a very good child.' 
 
 'Aunt Diana,' interrupted Alison, as though to evade further 
 praise, * we did such a famous morning's work. I had my music 
 lesson — quite a long one — and then I did my Latin, and read 
 Green's History of England for more than an hour.' 
 
 'Then no wonder you felt entitled to a whole afternoon's idleness,' 
 was the somewhat quizzical rei)ly to this. Alison's pained, 'Oh, 
 Aunt Di ! ' held a world of reproach in it. It did not escape Mr. 
 Moore's notice. His other senses were exquisitely acute, and he 
 had trained them to good purpose. 
 
 ' What is all that, Miss Diana ? No one finds fault with Sunny in 
 my presence. By the bye, little sunbeam, there is a cloud some- 
 where ; I can read voices as I can my violin, and there is a loose 
 string. I'll be bound something has gone wrong in your little 
 world ; hasn't it, dear ? ' 
 
 'Alison shall tell you another time, Mr. Moore; we neither of us 
 care about airing our worries to-night. Do you remember what old 
 Mrs. Marsh used to say — " Think of your words before you speak 
 them " ? I have improvised another proverb for Alison's benefit : 
 " Never air your worry before it is twenty-four hours old " ; in other 
 words, go to sleep on it, and when you wake it will probably have 
 shrunk to half its size.' 
 
 ' Ah, ah ! very good ! That is so like you, Miss Diana. Well, if 
 we are to let things alone, suppose Sunny reads Greville's letter to 
 you. The lad is in high spirits ; he is captain now, and he is full 
 of his matches and the splendid team they have got. He declares 
 Queen's will beat half the other colleges.' 
 
 ' Commemoration will be here directly,' observed Miss Carrington, 
 
 'Yes, but he is not coming home for another five weeks, at least
 
 26 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 to stay ; his tutor has written to me this morning, and I have given 
 my consent to Greville's joining his reading party to Keswick ; the 
 lad is a good lad, but he is young and a bit idle; at least, his love 
 of fun carries him away, and I am afraid he has not worked quite 
 hard enough.' 
 
 ' Mr. Greville is not fond oi putting aside his own duckweed,' put 
 in Alison mischievously ; for there vvas nothing she loved better 
 than to tease the old man about his grandson, who was literally the 
 apple of his eye. 
 
 He roused up directly at her irony. 'Come now, that is too bad 
 to say that of the lad when he fights all your battles for you, and 
 never lets any one say a word against you.' 
 
 ' She does not mean it, Mr. Moore,' interposed Miss Carrington 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Now, Aunt Di, please don't interfere. I do mean that Mr. 
 Greville Moore will never kill himself with overwork, unless he dies 
 from too much cricket or lawn tennis.' 
 
 * You naughty child ! ' but there vvas no mistaking the fun in his 
 voice now. ' I shall report all your hard speeches to Greville when 
 I see him ; do you think a fine young man is to slave and toil all his 
 best years away ? A little harmless fun will not hurt him ; he is 
 strengthening his mind and his muscles at the same time.' 
 
 Alison and her aunt exchanged amused glances at this. They 
 both thought highly of the young man, who was indeed a sweet- 
 tempered, honest fellow, with plenty of good in him, though hardly 
 up to Miss Carrington's idea of ' thorough ' ; indeed, he was a 
 favourite with most people ; but it was droll and at the same time 
 almost touching to see Mr. Moore's implicit faith in his grandson, 
 who was verily the old man's Benoni and Benjamin — 'the son of 
 his sorrow ' — as well as the ' son of his right hand.' 
 
 If Mr. Moore had been questioned about his life, he would most 
 surely have answered in Jacob's words that ' few and evil had been 
 his days,' for few men had experienced greater vicissitudes. His 
 earlier manhood had opened with brilliant prospects of happiness — 
 health had been his, and fortune also — his talents had been cultivated 
 and yielded him vast resources of enjoyment, and his domestic life 
 had been truly blessed. His wife was in every respect his helpmeet 
 and support, and the little son that prattled baby nonsense at his 
 knee was scarcely less dear to him. 
 
 Then after a time the black cloud darkened his horizon; bUndness
 
 'we'd better bide a wee.' 27 
 
 in its most hopeless and scathing form fell upon him. Not gradu- 
 ally and with slow approaches, changing from twilight into night, 
 but suddenly as the result of an accident ; and for a time the man 
 sat down utterly dismayed, and something like despair took posses- 
 sion of him. But his wife was yet spared to him, and it was her 
 soft ministering hand, her simple faith and unflinching courage, that 
 roused him from his brooding sadness, and setting him face to face 
 with the inevitable, bade him be of good comfort for the sake of 
 God's dear love and her own. 
 
 • Gerard, we must bear this trouble that our Father has sent. Do 
 not make it too hard for me to say, " His will be done." I will be 
 eyes to you, and hands, you shall never miss what I can give you,' 
 whispered the faithful creature; and to the day of her death she 
 nobly fulfilled her work. 
 
 Black as the day that saw his blindness was the hour when his 
 good angel left him for a brighter world. His son had reached 
 manhood then, and very soon after that dear mother's death he had 
 brought home his young wife, that he and his father might no longer 
 lack the comfort of womanly ministry. 
 
 For a little while — for three short years — there was peace in the 
 little household of Gerard Moore. Then fever came. In one brief 
 month the younger Gerard and his wife lay side by side in the Uttle 
 churchyard at Riverston, leaving their infant son in his grandfather's 
 care. 
 
 Since then the old man and the boy had lived together. To 
 Greville Mr. Moore had transferred the love he had once lavished 
 on his father. Under his grandfather's mild and loving rule, the lad 
 had grown up honest and strong and fearless; not book-loving 
 perhaps, and a little simple in some matters as concerns this world's 
 usages, but on the whole a 'good lad,' as Mr. Moore called him. 
 
 'Aunt Di, I do think Mr. Moore the best man in the world,' 
 observed Alison, as she lingered in the moonlight garden on their 
 way back to Moss-side. 
 
 There was a silvery gleam across the river, and a little boat was 
 rocking in it. Miss Carrington stood still, as though watching the 
 effect. 
 
 'He is a very wonderful man,' she repeated slowly. ' I am 
 prouder of possessing his friendship than I am of my pretty house 
 and garden and that river view, though I am tolerably vain of 
 them all.'
 
 28 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' You vain, Aunt Di ! ' 
 
 'Well, am I not human, and a woman; have not the best of us 
 our pet vanities ? I am not quite so strong-minded as you wish to 
 make me out. I am proud both for you and myself that such a 
 man as Mr. Moore thinks us worthy of his friendship. Take my 
 word for it, Ailie, friendship is a great test.' 
 
 ' How do you mean ? ' asked Alison, fixing her eyes dreamily on 
 the silver ripples that seemed full of phosphorescent life. 
 
 ' Nothing stamps a man or a woman so much as the choice of 
 friends. Many a life is made or marred at the commencement by a 
 wise or unwise selection. Most of us are mere copyists, and we 
 form our own style on the pattern furnished by our friends. I notice 
 this so much with young people ; they cannot create their own 
 atmosphere. Most of us, except a few strong-minded persons, see 
 with other people's eyes. How necessary then that those eyes 
 should be pure and far-sighted.' 
 
 ' I believe you are right. Aunt Di. I always feel better and 
 stronger somehow when I am with you and Mr. Moore, than when 
 I am chattering nonsense with Lettie or Dora Morville ; and yet 
 they are nice girls, and I enjoy talking to them.' 
 
 ' My little girl,' returned Aunt Diana, laying her firm, cool hand 
 on Alison's, ' I do not want to put our old heads on your young 
 shoulders ; it does me good to have you and Letty and Dora all 
 twittering together like young birds in a nest ; we must all have our 
 nonsense talks, even we middle-aged people. What I really want 
 is;' and here she paused with a half sigh, as though some fear moved 
 her ; ' what I really desire is to see you, not shining with any bor- 
 rowed light, but able to stand on your own feet, and look round 
 you so calmly, that you may discern between a worthless rushlight, 
 a will-o'-the-wisp, and the steady shining of the torch of truth. Don't 
 you recollect, Ailie, my favourite verse ? — 
 
 " First take heed to calm and still. 
 All thy passions and thy will ; 
 Great excitements stop or fly, 
 Nor ruffle that serenity 
 Which only keeps the spirit free 
 Life's hid path to search and see.'" 
 
 * The path is very hidden just now,' murmured Alison, in a choked 
 voice. 
 
 ' Then " we must bide a wee," and put by brambles one by one
 
 'we'd better bide a wee.' 29 
 
 until we come to a clear opening. I do not think we shall find it 
 quite by ourselves, Ailie.' 
 
 ' No, indeed. Aunt Di.* 
 
 ' We must just do with our doubts and difficulties as Hezekiah 
 did with his letter ; there is no other way of lighting our candle in 
 the darkness. Now run out of the dews, child, and promise me one 
 thing before you go. Take no troublesome bed-fellow with you ; 
 fold up the worry with your prayers and just leave it. Good-night, 
 my dear.' And without waiting for an answer Miss Carrington 
 moved away briskly down the garden walk ; and as Alison closed 
 her window she could see the tall hooded figure pacing slowly to 
 and fro in the moonlight, a habit of hers when anything had made 
 her restless. Evidently the difficulty in Miss Carrington's mind was 
 still unsolved when, half an hour later, she let herself into the house. 
 
 ' I will ask Mr. Moore's advice,' she said to herself, as she 
 lingered in the dim studio, only lighted by the uncertain rays that 
 penetrated here and there ; ' it is not that I am not capable of the 
 sacrifice, but I believe I am braver for myself than I am for her. 
 I took her away from The Holms because she was not a bit fit for 
 the life, and how do I know that she is strong enough now ? Of 
 course, Mr. Moore will have his litUe joke about "old maids' chil- 
 dren"; of course, it is the old story of the hen and the duckling, 
 the hen never can bear her nursling to wet its feet. After all, it 
 may serve as a valuable discipline ; it will test the girl, and show it 
 she has backbone or not ; and, of course, in some respects it may 
 be wiser to part with her for a time. Greville will be coming back, 
 and ' But here Miss Carrington abruptly paused. 
 
 ' What nonsense ! We need not cross the bridge until we come 
 to it. Come, Trip, old fellow, it is time for us both to retire ;' and, 
 with the terrier beside her. Miss Carrington went quickly up the 
 dark staircase, just listening for a minute at Alison's door, to be sure 
 that she was asleep, and then turned into her own room, leaving 
 Trip to investigate his cushioned basket in search of a concealed 
 biscuit, on which he supped leisurely before turning round three 
 times, and curling himself into a brown ball until morning. If 
 Miss Carrington's night was wakeful and somewhat anxious, she 
 asked and desired no sympathy, neither did she question Alison on 
 her amount of sleep ; such questions were not in her line. 
 
 While Alison made the coffee she read her letters and gleaned 
 items of general interest from the newspaper ; then the conservatory
 
 30 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 was visited, the various pets noticed and their little wants supplied, 
 and afterwards Alison had her painting lesson. 
 
 When this was finished, she left Miss Carrington to her domestic 
 business and her beloved work, and went in search of her old tutor. 
 
 In these pleasant tasks the mornings, and sometimes an hour or 
 two of the afternoon, passed rapidly ; then she and Miss Carrington 
 either gardened, or walked out, or drove in the little basket-carriage. 
 Sometimes Alison would row her in their pretty cushioned boat to 
 a little island that they much affected, and sometimes Mr. Moore 
 would come too. 
 
 So the days rippled on as smoothly and pleasantly as the river ; 
 but Miss Leigh's letter was still unanswered, and in Alison's heart 
 lay a rankling fear, which did not this time take the form of words.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GREVILLE TAKES AN OAR. 
 
 |EOPLE said Miss Carrington's Wednesdays were always fine, 
 that she had better fortune in that respect than other folk ; 
 and certainly the weather favoured her on this occasion, for it 
 was the very perfection of a June afternoon, with plenty of 
 sunshine and freshness to mitigate the heat. The white 
 butterflies that skimmed over the lawn scarcely revelled in it more 
 than Alison did, as she ran lightly over the grass in her white gown, 
 with a breast-knot of her favourite roses, and her shining hair half 
 hidden under her broad-brimmed hat. These Wednesdays were 
 very popular in the neighbourhood. Miss Carrington was a charm- 
 ing hostess, she had just the right knack of entertaining people; 
 she welcomed them heartily, put them at their ease with themselves 
 and other people, then left them to be as free as her own butterflies. 
 The little wicket gate between Moss-side and Fernleigh was always 
 set open on these occasions ; Miss Carrington's lawn was devoted 
 to lawn-tennis ; when they had finished their game the young people 
 were welcome to stroll through Mr. Moore's garden, and make them- 
 selves at home in the cosy nooks and shady seats with which it 
 abounded. 
 
 Very often the exquisite notes of a violin drew them towards the 
 house; two or three times Miss Carrington had discovered more 
 than half her guests clustered in the verandah, listening as though 
 spellbound to the inspired musician. 
 
 As a general rule Mr. Moore seldom mingled with the guests ; his ' 
 habits were those of the recluse, A few of his old friends who were 
 sure of their welcome, and one or two of his younger favourites, 
 would sometimes cross the threshold and keep him company in the 
 cool shaded room, to be charmed by his wise and cheerful talk, and 
 to take away lessons of loving submission and uncomplaining forti- 
 tude. 
 
 31
 
 32 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 To these he would speak of his boy; recounting endless anecdotes 
 of his prowess and courage, and often making mention of his pupil 
 Alison, or as he called her, Sunny, for the young girl had been a 
 veritable sunbeam to her old tutor, making his darkened hours pass 
 more quickly by her ready sympathy and aptitude for learning. 
 
 On this afternoon he was not alone. A young man in a light grey 
 summer suit, with a sunburnt handsome face, was standing by the 
 window looking out at the knots of people already gathering on 
 Miss Carrington's lawn, with a humorous, half-vexed expression in 
 his wide-open blue eyes. 
 
 ' What a lot of people,' he grumbled. * I believe all Riverston is 
 there; there are three boats full, and two sets of lawn-tennis form- 
 ing, and I do not know how many more ; there goes Miss Merle — 
 Miss Alison, I mean. What a bore, grandfather, that I forgot all 
 about Miss Cariington's Wednesday, and I shall have to go up to 
 London to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Why, the more the merrier. Is not that the opinion of young 
 folk like you?' returned Mr. Moore, smiling. 'Now, if I said that 
 I wanted you all to myself for this one day you have spared me, 
 that would only be an old man's selfishness, and I should be 
 ashamed of myself for giving it utterance ! But you are not gener- 
 ally so unsociable, Greville.' 
 
 ' There is a regular crowd,' returned the young fellow, still more 
 pettishly. ' I shall not be able to speak to Miss Carrington, or to 
 Miss Alison, either ; and you forget, grandfather, that I shall be oft 
 to Keswick the day after to-morrow for six weeks at least.' 
 
 ' I am not likely to forget that, my boy. Well, it is a pity if you 
 are not pleased, for tliey are going to keep it up unusually late ; there 
 is to be music on the lawn. Sunny has been telling me all about it. 
 The moonlight is so clear that Aliss Diana has given in to the 
 notion ; and young Hepworth — you remember him — has brought his 
 cornet. If I were you, lad, I would just make the best of it, and 
 join in merrily with the rest.' 
 
 'And leave you sitting here alone, grandfather ? and I thought 
 we should have just one of our old evenings on the river ; and I 
 should row you and Miss Carrington and her niece to the Long 
 Island.' 
 
 ' Nay, lad, I am not likely to be long alone ; the vicar will be in 
 by-and-by for a chat; and most likely Mrs. Hendrick and one or two 
 others. Mi:3S Diana will drop in, just to tell me how things pro-
 
 GREVILLE TAKES AN OAR. 33 
 
 gress, and Sunny too ; she never neglects me. Come, come, it is 
 not like you to sulk, boy ; I want to hear you laugh with the others; 
 it will make me feel young myself. And, Greville,' with a sudden 
 tenderness in his voice, ' we have shaken hands, but until I feel you 
 I shall not believe my boy is really with me.' 
 
 The young man's cloudy face cleared in a moment, he left his 
 plnce at once, and dropped down on one knee beside his grand- 
 father's chair, and a sort of laughing light came in his eyes. 
 
 ' You foolish old grand-dad,' he said ; 'you have not grown a bit 
 wiser.' And then he knelt patiently while the thin wrinkled hand 
 passed softly over the merry face, and felt the broad, stalwart shoul- 
 ders, and then rested lingeringly on his head. 
 
 * God bless you, lad ! you are strong and broad-shouldered like 
 Gerard ; you are every inch as fine a man as your father. Grow 
 like him, ray boy. Though he was my own son, I will always say 
 there are not many like him ; there, there, I must not keep you 
 from the young folks to listen to an old man's maunderings. Tell 
 Sunny that she is to be good to you, as you have not many hours at 
 home. Oh, there's Mrs. Hendricks step on the gravel ; she has 
 stolen a march on the vicar. Now you can leave me with an easy 
 conscience.' 
 
 It was evident Greville needed no further bidding. He rose to 
 his feet at once, and strolled out into the verandah, casting compre- 
 hensive glances over both gardens ; then, satisfying himself that a 
 certain broad-brimmed hat belonged to the person for whom he was 
 in search, he went leisurely through the little gate, and tracked it by 
 sundry winding paths to the river bank. 
 
 A little group of girls was gathered round a boat. They were 
 evidently playing at hide and seek with their would-be escort, to the 
 mischievous glee of a young Etonian of tender age, as befitted 
 jackets and turn-down collars. 
 
 * Come along, girls,' he shouted. * Letty and Dora, why don't 
 you jump in ? and, Miss Alison, you promised to steer. Quick, 
 quick ! ' 
 
 ' Not so fast, Jack ; where's the hurry ? ' called out a fresh voice ; 
 and at the merry tones Alison turned round with a sudden start. 
 
 ' Oh ! Mr. Greville ! ' and her bright face looked brighter still at 
 the unexpected sight of her old friend. * What does this mean ? 
 Mr. Moore never hinted at your coming. I do not believe Aunt 
 Diana knows, either.' 
 
 c
 
 34 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 'I thought I would just run down and have a look at you all 
 before I started for Keswick,' returned the young man with assumed 
 carelessness. ' I forgot all about Miss Carrington's Wednesday 
 Populars ; never mind, I have just arrived in time for the fun. 
 How do you do, Miss Dora ? Miss Lettice, I should hardly have 
 known you, you have so grown. Well, what's the matter, Jack ? ' 
 for the boy was grumbling audibly. 
 
 • Only Fortescue and that other fellow will be down upon us 
 directly, and the girls made me promise to get under way before 
 they came to spoil everything. Letty and Dora want to pick forget- 
 me-nots on the Long Island — there are quantities on the east side, 
 where we had our picnic last year.' 
 
 ' All right, I'm your man. Miss Alison, if you will be good 
 enough to steer, Jack and I will soon row you across.' And suiting 
 his actions to his words, Greville assisted the girls into the boat ; 
 and promptly taking an oar, they were soon glidmg down the river. 
 
 As the little craft moved from the steps, a clear hallo sounded in 
 their ears ; but the mischievous girls only waved their hands gaily 
 in answer, while Jack shouted out, ' You are too late, Fortescue ; 
 you had better have a game at tennis ; ' and then, as Greville's 
 practised oar cut swiftly through the water, the hum of voices died 
 away ; garden after garden receded from their view, little islands 
 were passed clothed with low alder bushes, and masses of floating 
 water-lilies and other aquatic plants, calling for prudent steering 
 on Alison's part. 
 
 Now and then they passed other boats, with which they ex- 
 changed greetings ; and once, as they came to a reedy island, a 
 swan came out with ruffled plumage and angry and stretched neck, 
 and would have pursued them, only Jack threatened her with his 
 oar. 
 
 ' I suppose there are some young ones in there,' observed Greville 
 thouglitfuUy ; and then he let them drift a moment as he contem- 
 plated the scene. The broad gleaming river flowing so smoothly 
 between its banks ; the meadow-land dotted with groups of cattle 
 worthy of the brush of Vicat Cole ; the girls' happy faces — faces that 
 had been familiar to him from boyhood, for Dora and Lettice 
 Morville had been old playfellows of his ; their simple summer 
 dresses — all made up the adjuncts of a pleasant picture that he might 
 carry away and remember when he rowed himself across Derwent- 
 water, or looked at the purple hills that encircled him.
 
 GREVILLE TAKES AN OAR, 35 
 
 In a few minutes they had landed, and Jack, who was the hero of 
 the hour, for it was he who had planned this little excursion, was 
 leading them proudly to the little sheltered island, where the ground 
 was blue with the tiny flowers ; and in another moment they were 
 all busily at work. In the intervals of his labour, Greville found 
 time for a sentence or two with Alison ; and by-and-by he induced 
 her to rest for a moment on a mossy log, that had lain there for 
 years. 
 
 * I suppose we must be going back now,' observed Alison re- 
 gretfully, as she watched the others' busy movements. ' Aunt 
 Diana will want me to assist her with the tea. She knew we were 
 coming, for Jack was put in charge of us ; but she told us not to 
 be long, Dora and I have been wanting to come here for days.' 
 
 * It is a bore going back to the other people,' returned Greville 
 lazily ; ' there is a host of things I wanted to consult you about, I 
 have an idea ! I will get Miss Dora to take my oar, and I know Miss 
 Lettice loves steering, and then we can manage to get a little conver- 
 sation.' And as things were arranged after this fashion, Greville was 
 soon engaged in an animated account of his last term's doings. Jack 
 listened eagerly, and his oar often remained idle as Greville proudly 
 recounted a successful score at cricket, or some boating feat achieved 
 by one of their men. Alison listened in sympathetic silence : she 
 was quite used to these confidences. Greville, who had no sisters 
 of his own, and who had grown up solitary under his grandfather's 
 roof, found a great deal of pleasure and comfort in his young 
 neighbour's society. Alison would take him to task sometimes in a 
 good-humoured way, and would speak many a word of girlish 
 wisdom in his ear, which he took with tolerable submission ; she was 
 longing to say some such word now, but as they were not alone she 
 prudently forbore. 
 
 Their return was hailed with delight by the young people who 
 were gathered on the lawn. While Dora put their treasured forget- 
 me-nots in the water, Lettice and Alison hurried into the studio, where 
 they knew Miss Carrington would be busy over the tea-table ; and 
 Greville, after exchanging greetings with his friends, followed them 
 more leisurely. 
 
 ' Well, girls,' observed Miss Carrington brightly, * you see you 
 have your work before you ; all these good folk to serve with tea and 
 strawberries. By the bye, Ailie, a little bird tells me that Greville 
 has put in an appearance. Why, bless the lad, there he is,' as
 
 36 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Greville's amused face suddenly confronted her, and her hands were 
 grasped, and then detained. 
 
 ' Miss Carrington, I mean to have a good look at you. You are 
 a sight for sore eyes, as old Bailey would say. I have not seen any 
 one so worth looking at since I left home.' 
 
 ' Go away, you foolish boy,' was Miss Carrington's response to 
 this. * I am too busy to listen to your blarney ; ' but her grey eyes 
 softened as they rested on the young man's handsome face. She had 
 known him from babyhood. It was she who had closed his dead 
 mother's eyes, in whose loving arms the little fellow had often nestled 
 in those first sad days when the stricken household were too much 
 engaged to care for the lonely child ; when he would follow his 
 dear Cara, as he called her, all over the house, with uncertain, 
 toddling footsteps, to mend some broken toy, or help him out of 
 some tiny difficulty : and he was dear to her now, dearer even than 
 Alison. 
 
 * Go away, I am far too busied to be hindered,' was all her greet- 
 ing to her favourite ; but her pleasant face beamed on him as she 
 spoke, and her hand stroked the grey coat-sleeve with a caressing 
 gesture. 
 
 * I am going to stop and help you,' returned Greville, with gay 
 defiance of her mandate. 'Is that cup of tea for Mrs. Morville? 
 She is sitting so cosily in the honeysuckle arbour with old Miss 
 Effingham, that it seems a pity to disturb them.' 
 
 ' Old Miss Effingham indeed ! ' ejaculated Miss Carrington, ' you 
 disrespectful boy, when you know she is my contemporary.' 
 
 'Miss Carrington, you know you are irrmortal; you will never be 
 old in my eyes,' was the gallant reply. ' I think you grow younger 
 every time I see you.' 
 
 ' Humph, I hope not. I should be sorry to live for ever in this 
 sort of world, unless you young people improve it very much. Now, 
 Greville, you know our rules for these Wednesdays. This is Liberty 
 Hall ; if the ladies hke their meal al fresco, there are plenty of 
 gentlemen servitors to gratify their whims. Now take this tray of 
 tea and strawberries to the honeysuckle arbour, and I will get ready 
 another for your grandfather and Mrs. Hendrick. Jack, what have 
 you done with your sister Dora? We want all hands just now.' 
 
 Miss Carrington certainly knew how to please her young guests. 
 Tea and strawberries had a finer flavour in many a girlish opinion if 
 they were enjoyed in all sorts of odd out-of-the-way places ; pretty
 
 GREVILLE TAKES AN OAR. 37 
 
 Kate Thornborough and Dora took theirs in the boat that lay moored 
 to the steps, and Jack waited on them and kept them company. To 
 be sure, half the tea was spilled in the transit, but the remainder 
 tasted excellently well, and all their neighbours' ducks joined the 
 feast. One young midshipman, Charlie Trevor, performed the sur- 
 prising feat of carrying his tea-cup into the recesses of an aged 
 willow that grevv between the gardens, and then drank it peacefully 
 on a branch that hung over the river ; buns and other dainties being 
 handed to him by the delighted Jack at the end of a cane, some of 
 which fell to Charlie's share and some to the ducks. After tea the 
 tennis nets were taken down, and the notes of a cornet began to 
 make itself heard ; then singing began in earnest, and Miss Carring- 
 ton and her elder guests joined in the part-songs. Greville and 
 Alison had been singing together, and when Alison was tired they 
 strolled down one of the garden paths in his grandfather's garden 
 Just now it was deserted, and they had it to themselves ; this was 
 the opportunity Alison wanted, for she began at once — 
 
 ' Mr. Greville, I do hope you mean to work when you are at 
 Keswick : Aunt Diana said the other day tliat she knew how dis- 
 appointed Mr. Moore would be if you failed to take your degree. 
 And I am afraid ' — hesitating, as though she feared to give him pain 
 — * I am afraid, from what you told us in the boat, that you have not 
 done much this term.' 
 
 Greville bit his lip, and a cloud came over his face. 
 
 * What makes you think so ? ' he asked, rather shortly. 
 
 'Your own words,' she returned, so softly that his man's pride 
 could not take alarm. ' Please do not be offended with me ; we have 
 always spoken the truth to each other ; but all this cricket, tennis, 
 boating, and riding about must have hindered work. Aunt Diana 
 says — may I go on ? ' — a little timidly. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' rather impatiently. 
 
 * Aunt Diana says — and you know how wise she is — that though 
 your grandfather has set his heart on your taking a good degree, he 
 will never tell you so, or let you know if you disappoint him. It is 
 just because he is so kind and generous, and gives you full liberty 
 that, she says, you owe him a grand return — that your work and all 
 you do must be for his sake.' 
 
 ' I see, I see,' returned the young man hastily. He had flushed 
 a little over her words, as though they had gone home to his con- 
 science. ' Yes, grandfather is far too good to me. I do not half
 
 38 AUNT DIANA 
 
 deserve to belong to the dear old man. I'll make a clean breast of 
 it, Miss Alison. I have not worked as I ought, and that is the truth 
 and the whole truth.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Greville, what a pity ! ' fell still more softly from Alison's 
 lips. 
 
 'Yes,' he returned a little gloomily, 'it is a pity; but I will promise 
 you one thing ' — his manner changing into earnestness — ' I will work 
 this summer. I will turn over a new leaf and try and make up for 
 lost time. When I come back in August you shall not have to find 
 fault with me.' 
 
 Alison smiled at him approvingly; she had gained her point; but a 
 moment after a sigh followed the smile. When he came back in 
 
 August, would he find her here ? And if not here But here the 
 
 notes of the cornet broke on their ear again, and Greville and she 
 joined the company once more.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 •let the little one go.' 
 
 'REViLLE paid a brief visit to the studio on the following morning. 
 He found both the ladies busy, as usual ; Miss Carrington was 
 still working at her unfinished picture and giving her niece a 
 lesson at the same time. 
 
 ' I expected to find you both dawdling over a late break- 
 fast,' he grumbled. ' Miss Carrington, you look as fresh as a rose 
 and as brisk as a bee after all your exertions ; I always will say that 
 you are a wonderful woman.' 
 
 'I am afraid Alison will not share in these compliments,' observed 
 Miss Carrington, with a droll expression ; ' I had just been telling 
 her that she looks half asleep. I wonder why young folk always 
 subside after a little excitement.' 
 
 * Everything is tiresome this morning,' complained Alison, who 
 certainly did not quite carry out her sobriquet of ' Sunny,' for she 
 looked tired and out of sorts. 
 
 ' I shall have to wash this out again, Aunt Diana ; I can't think 
 what makes me work so badly this morning.' 
 
 ' I am afraid my pupil is idle,' returned Miss Carrington gravely. 
 ' Now, Greville, don't you mean to sit down and give us a little of 
 your society ? ' 
 
 ' Impossible, Miss Carrington ; the dog-cart will be round directly, 
 and I must go back to grandfather.' 
 
 ' Then you have only come to bid us good-bye. Will you tell Mr. 
 Moore, please, that as Alison is to spend the afternoon at the Mor- 
 villes, I intend to invite myself to tea with him ? ' 
 
 ' All right,' answered Greville, a little laconically. He was won- 
 dering why Alison looked so quiet and wistful this morning ; was she 
 only tired, or had anything happened to disturb her ? 
 
 ' Good-bye, Miss Alison,' he whispered, as he came round to her 
 side ; * I have not forgotten your lecture; I mean to act up to it.' 
 
 39
 
 40 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' Good-bye,' returned Alison, trying for one of her old smiles as 
 she looked up at liim, but she was conscious of failure when she saw 
 his grave look of inquiry. No one, not even Aunt Diana, knew how 
 much of her heaviness was to be traced to the letter that lay in her 
 pocket ; a tiresome effusion from Missie that had spoiled her break- 
 fast somehow. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Greville,' broke in Miss Carrington's clear, decided 
 voice. 'You know of old that I hate leave-takings, and always 
 cut them short, if possible. " Speed the parting guest," that is my 
 motto, so shake hands, and good speed to you, my boy.' 
 
 'Are you going to turn me out of the room, you inhospitable 
 woman ? ' laughed Greville, who would willingly have lingered a 
 little ; but as he knew her ways, and would not have teased her for 
 worlds, so great was his love and reverence for this dear friend, he 
 only raised her hand to his lips — always his parting greeting— and 
 with another look at the pale student beside her took his leave. 
 
 ' That is over,' observed Miss Carrington bluntly, as she mixed a 
 fresh colour on her palette. ' I wish sometimes I had lived before 
 the Tower of Babel, when people come and bid me good-bye ; con- 
 genial folk ought never to be separated, that is my opinion ; but 
 when such good friends as Abraham and Lot could not live near 
 each other, because of the disagreement of their servants, it is not 
 for me to complain.' And after this general outburst of disturbed 
 feeling, which went far deeper than Alison knew, she worked on in 
 silence. 
 
 ' Aunt Diana,' exclaimed Alison presently, looking up with a very 
 pale face; 'if you don't mind particularly, I will just put away my 
 work, for I am only spoiling it, and carry the weekly basket to old 
 Mrs. Guppins ; it is such a lovely morning for a walk.' 
 
 ' Do, dear,' returned Miss Carrington, in her usual kind voice ; 
 for she was pained to see the girl's restlessness and inattention. 
 * When we are out of sorts— and I never knew a human being who 
 was not out of sorts sometimes — nothing does us so much good 
 as to try and make a little sunshine for other people ; it is sure to 
 reflect back on ourselves.' 
 
 Alison's answer was to lay her cheek softly against her aunt's. It 
 was a very unusual caress with her, and spoke volumes. 
 
 ' I never saw you out of sorts yet, Aunt Di. Mr. Greville was 
 right when he called you a wonderful woman.' 
 
 ' My dear, good health and no worries have laid a pretty solid
 
 'LET THE LITTLE ONE GO.' 4I 
 
 foundation for my virtues. Please do not credit me with so much 
 undeserved praise. If I had a weak digestion I dare say I should be 
 as cranky as other people — though,' suddenly recollecting herself, 
 * I would make a good fight for it before I got as cross as Mrs. 
 Guppins.' 
 
 'Aunt Di,' whispered Alison, a little plaintively, *I have had such 
 a teasing letter from Missie, and it is troubling me so.' 
 
 * Have you, dear ? I am very sorry for that.' 
 'Shall I read it to you ? ' 
 
 * No,' was the somewhat quick response ; * Missie will not be a 
 pleasant companion to me this morning ; she will set my wits wool- 
 gathering, like a flock of starlings ; no, we will let the little monkey 
 be. Now run off, Ailie, and let the sunshine and Mrs. Guppins 
 perform their healing work, and take Trip with you. I shall be glad 
 of a morning's real soHtude.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! ' she observed to herself, with a sigh, as the door 
 closed on Alison, * I thought something had gone wrong with her 
 this morning. Well, well, 1 cannot hve her life for her ; Providence 
 does not allow of dual existences. We women have faith for our- 
 selves, why can we not have it for those belonging to us ? It would 
 not be good for Alison if I were to smooth her path and clear it 
 from all the thorns and briars, even if I could. Life means some- 
 thing more than enjoyment to all of us : " Bear ye one another's 
 burdens " never meant that we were to deprive each other of the 
 right and privilege of living our own lives. Mr. Despondency, and 
 Miss Muchafraid, and Mr. Ready to Halt, were all as good pilgrims 
 in their way as Mr. Valiant.' And with this she resolutely shut out 
 all troublesome thoughts, brushing them aside as she would flies on 
 her canvas, and went on painting. 
 
 When Alison returned at luncheon time, looking refreshed and 
 cheered, she found Miss Carrington still at work. 
 
 ' Oh, you little Philistine ! ' she exclaimed, when Alison forcibly 
 deprived her of the brushes ; but she took her seat at the table, 
 nevertheless, only grumbling a little that the morning hours had 
 flown so quickly. 
 
 As soon as Alison had started for Combe Lodge, where her friends 
 the Morvilles lived, Miss Carrington put on her garden hat, and 
 went in search of her old friend. She found him in his favourite 
 seat, a low bench under the willow, looking over the river. A short 
 terrace walk led to the Uttle boat-house, where Greville's boat, the
 
 42 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Fairy, was kept ; a palisade ran along the path, and here the old 
 man would pace securely and contentedly for an hour together, 
 followed by his faithful Keeper, who never left his side for a moment. 
 
 ' I knew that was you, Miss Diana,' he observed, as the dear lady 
 sat down beside him, and looked thoughtfully at the noble river 
 view before her ; ' I should know your step among a hundred, for it 
 never falters or swerves, straight and even, not hasting and not 
 loitering ; just like my Gerard's, only a little more womanly.' 
 
 Miss Carrington turned her face aside for a moment, as though she 
 forgot the old man's blindness. If her past life had ever held its 
 woman's story, if loving hopes had only terminated in a long pain, 
 no one but herself, and one who was dead, ever knew it ; for speech 
 is silver and silence golden in such sacred matters as these. 
 
 ' He has led me by paths that I have not known;' that was Diana 
 Carrington's thought, when she reviewed past troubles, and looked 
 at them in the light of her maturer wisdom. ' Life is full of mystery ; 
 what I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter,' is, 
 and must be, one's sole comfort. 
 
 And so her large sunshiny nature gleaned sweetness and strength 
 out of troubles which many a feebler and narrower nature would deem 
 unendurable ; and so it was that peace and contentment gladdened 
 her middle age, and the future held no terrors to her loving boul; for 
 she welcomed every grey hair and each faint line or wrinkle as mes- 
 sages from the Father ; that soon the heat of the day would be over, 
 and by-and-by she might hope to come home to rest. By-and-by, not 
 too soon, for though rest was good, work was good too ; * and I 
 should like to take just a few gleanings when I go up there,' Diana 
 would say, in her quaint way. 
 
 •My good old friend, I have come to seek your advice tJiis after- 
 noon,' she began, when they had talked a little about their dear boy; 
 and she had gladdened Mr. Moore's ears with honest praises of his 
 Benjamin, just to evoke the slow, tender smile that always greeted his 
 name. 
 
 ' Yes, he is that to me. Gerard's boy is almost as dear as Gerard. 
 Now, let me hear your story, Miss Diana; somehow I guess it is about 
 Sunny.' 
 
 Yes, it was about Sunny, she told him a little sadly, for she knew 
 it would go hard with the old man to part with his pupil and daily 
 sunbeam ; and then, in her own clear and concise manner, she told 
 him about her own and Alison's difficulties ; the state of things at
 
 LET THE LITTLE ONE GO.' 43 
 
 The Holms, Roger's unhappiness, Miss Leigh's incapacity and per- 
 plexed doings, Missie's uppishness, and Rudel's rough complaints. 
 And when she had finished she sat perfectly quiet, with her hands 
 folded in her lap, waiting while her old friend slowly revolved the 
 matter. 
 
 ' Well, Miss Diana,' he said at last, stroking his beard as he spoke, 
 * I am afraid there is no " ram caught in the thicket " for us.' 
 
 She understood his quaint imagery in a moment. 
 
 ' You mean,' she said, turning rather pale over her words, * that 
 there is no avoiding the sacrifice ; that you and I must part with the 
 child.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am afraid we must let the little one go.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Moore ! ' with a sudden catch of her breath, 'but it will 
 be very hard for us all, for you and me, and Alison too.' 
 
 ' Yes, and with Greville also, if I know anything of the boy's mind,' 
 but here she softly checked him with her hand upon his arm. This 
 was the one thing Aunt Diana would not discuss even with her old 
 friend. 
 
 * Well, well ; you are right,' he replied, obeying the hint ; ' there is 
 plenty of time, plenty of time for all that ; but an old man's dreams 
 are pardonable. Now look here, Miss Diana, the little lady has twined 
 herself round my heart-strings ; she is as fresh and sweet to me as 
 my memory of what a May day used to be. If the good Lord has 
 work for her to do, it is not for us to hinder her.' 
 
 ' True ; but we must be careful not to make a mistake. Suppose, 
 my good old friend, that we are putting her into a position for which 
 she is not fitted. I confess I have my doubts ; Ainslie is very pe- 
 culiar and unsatisfactory with regard to his children, and Alison is 
 proud and somewhat sensitive ; she was fretting her heart out like 
 a caged lark when I brought her away from The Holms ; it was an 
 uncongenial soil for a nature like hers.' 
 
 * Perhaps it may seem so to us ; but what if the Gardener has 
 chosen just that soil for our little blossom ? ' 
 
 * If I thought that,' she returned doubtfully. 
 
 * My dear,' he said, in his fatherly way, ' if you had your will you 
 would put your treasure in a glass case, where no adverse winds could 
 get at her. Well, she might be beautiful to look at then, but her 
 utility in this world, and the purpose for which she was created, would 
 be frustrated. What if you have done your training, and now the 
 Master intends to school her Himself? '
 
 44 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Miss Carrington was silent ; she felt a struggle between her will 
 and sense of right. Her reluctance was not for herself, but for Alison. 
 
 ' Let the little one go/ he repeated ; ' it will only be for a time. I 
 have a conviction that she will be back with us in a year or two ; let 
 her go home and try and bring things more into harmony ; when 
 Mabel grows older and wiser she can come back to us, but there 
 seems sore need of her at The Holms.' 
 
 ' Very well,' returned Miss Carrington, with a sigh ; and then she 
 added in a low voice, * I know you are right in your decision ; I have 
 been fighting against it for days for Alison's sake, for I knew it would 
 break her heart to leave us ; but, all the same, I felt I should have 
 to let her go.' And after this she said no more, and they sat for a 
 long time in silence, until the grey-headed footman, who had lived 
 with Mr. Moore ever since his son's birth, came to summon them to 
 tea in the library. 
 
 When Alison returned late that evening, pleased and excited with 
 her afternoon's boating excursion and a gipsy tea on the Long Island, 
 Miss Carrington met her as usual, listened with warm interest to her 
 recital of the day's doings, and entered into her girlish experiences 
 in her usual kind way. If Alison noticed anythmg, it was only to 
 wonder why Aunt Diana looked so tenderly at her ; for the quiet 
 grey eyes generally kept their own counsel. 
 
 But a little later on, as Alison laid her head on the pillow, and 
 watched the shadow of the rose-leaves in the moonlight, too excited 
 and wakeful to think of closing her eyes, there was a light tap at the 
 door, and Aunt Diana's tall figure, in its dark wrapper, came softly to 
 her side. 
 
 ' You are not asleep, Ailie? ' 
 
 ' Of course not, Aunt Di ; I'm not even a bit sleepy. Are you 
 come for one of our dear old chats ? ' starting up on her pillow. 
 
 ' Yes,' very gravely, taking the chair beside the bed. ' How light 
 your room is, Ailie ; no wonder you do not feel inclined to sleep, 
 with all those dancing moonbeams on the floor.' 
 
 ' I should like to dance with them,' returned Alison restlessly ; 
 * how delicious it was last night, and how well that cornet sounded !' 
 
 * Never mind about that,' was the unexpected answer ; ' I have 
 not come for a gossip, you little goose, the daylight will do for that. 
 Do you remember what we were talking about that day when Miss 
 Leigh's letter came, and you were so unhappy ? ' But Alison in- 
 terrupted her with sudden terror. 
 
 I
 
 •let the little one go.' 45 
 
 ' Oh, no, Aunt Di, we will not talk about that to-night.' 
 
 'Why not to-night, Ailie ? ' she returned softly, as the girl's hands 
 closed round her arm. ' Procrastination will do nothing for us here. 
 My dear, I said then that if I made up my mind that it was right I 
 would help you to go.' 
 
 'Yes, yes; but oh, dear Aunt Di, do not say another word, I could 
 not bear it.' 
 
 'Well, I am going to help you,' was the calm reply; and then Miss 
 Carrington gently drew the girl's sorrowful face to her shoulder, and 
 while the moonbeams glimmered round them she talked of the part- 
 ing that lay in store for them. 
 
 It was late before she left Alison's room ; nevertheless, she sat 
 down and wrote a brief note before she retired to rest. 
 
 *My DEAR AiNSLIE, 
 
 * Your daughter Alison has now finished her education. At least, 
 my good friend Mr. Moore and I have brought her to that point 
 where she may be safely trusted to carry on her studies alone. As it 
 is only right that you should reap the advantages of having a grown- 
 up daughter to superintend your household, as, of course, Mabel is 
 still in the schoolroom with Miss Leigh, I feel, and Alison agrees 
 with me, that I can no longer conscientiously deprive you of her 
 services, especially as her health is improved, and she is now better 
 fitted to endure your northern climate. As delays are always useless, 
 I shall fix the twenty-eighth of this month, a fortnight from this time, 
 for Alison's return to you. Please let Roger meet her at the station, 
 as there will be plenty of luggage to see after. I shall put her in the 
 train myself under the guard's care. You know I am generally averse 
 to young ladies travelling alone, but in this case it is unavoidable, 
 unless you would kindly allow Roger to fetch her, or pay us a short 
 visit yourself with that purpose.' 
 
 ' He will do neither,' was her unuttered thought as she wrote this 
 last sentence, and then she ended up by signing herself, — 
 
 ' Yours truly, 
 ' Diana.' 
 
 For ever since her sister had married him she could never summon 
 up resolution to call herself his affectionate sister-in-law, feeling there 
 was nothing sisterly in her intercourse with Ainslie Merle ; toleration, 
 bounding on indifference, was all she had ever vouchsafed to him.
 
 4.6 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 When Mr. Merle received this letter an annoyed flush passed over 
 his handsome face. 
 
 * Humph, vigorous and managing as ever,' he muttered ; 'just like 
 old Diana, not to let the grass grow under her own feet, or other 
 people's. I suppose she has got tired of the girl, and has shunted 
 her off on us, as though two daughters in a house are not enough 
 for any man ; but these old maids are so selfish. Well, she is rich, 
 and one must not offend her, but I wish she had taken a fancy to 
 Alison.' 
 
 These remarks were happily made to himself, but the cloud lifted 
 a little from his brow, and he smiled grimly over a postscript that 
 had been hastily added. 
 
 * Of course, if Alison fails to give you any comfort, or things do not 
 work well after a fair trial, say for a year, I am quite wiUing to have 
 her again, for I am not tired of the child.' 
 
 Mr. Moore smiled and shook his white head, when Miss Carring- 
 ton owned that in a weak moment she had written that postscript. 
 
 ' You have opened a door of escape for him there, you wise 
 woman,' he said, lifting his finger at her. ' If you and I are right in 
 our estimate of Ainslie Merle's character, Sunny will be back with us 
 before the year is out.'
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Alison's welcome home. 
 
 *T seemed to Alison as though the weather sympathized with her 
 sad mood. Grey skies and a perfect deluge of rain blotted out 
 the landscape, as she sat alone in the comfortable first-class com- 
 partment, looking out at the dreary prospect of dripping hedges 
 and flying telegraph wires, realizing every moment, with an 
 aching heart, that a greater distance lay between her and the beloved 
 Moss-side. 
 
 All around her lay the evidence of Aunt Diana's thoughtful care — 
 the new book for which Alison had long wished, the bouquet that 
 loving hands had culled for her, the delicate luncheon in the pretty 
 new basket that had been bought for this especial purpose, the dainty 
 little strap and rug ; while her travelling box was stored with all sorts 
 of surprises — sketches that Alison had often admired, books for which 
 she had vainly longed, ornaments such as girls love, and which had 
 been chosen out of Aunt Diana's own jewel casket, presents for the 
 other nephews and nieces, and a propitiatory offering to Miss Leigh. 
 By-and-by Alison would take pleasure in these things, but just now 
 the poor little heart was too much broken for any such comfort ; she 
 was pining already for the dear face that had looked so strangely 
 pale and grave when she had taken her leave of it ; she wanted to 
 feel those quiet, earnest kisses again. 
 
 'Oh, Aunt Di, Aunt Di! how could you send me away from youl' 
 she sobbed, over and over again, in the first bitterness of her grief; 
 for, contradict as wiseacres will, there is a keenness, an intensity in 
 youthful sorrow, that would astonish older people ; the present grief 
 seems so overpowering that any future consolation appears only a 
 mockery. It is only those who have lived long and experienced 
 suffering in its bare reality that know the healing effects of time. 
 
 Never since her mother's death had Alison shed such bitter tears ; 
 never had her young heart felt that terrible grip of pain which a long 
 
 47
 
 48 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 and uncertain parting from those we love so often entails. It seemed 
 to her, as she sat looking out listlessly at the driving rain-clouds, as 
 though hapi^iness and she had parted for ever, that, away from Moss- 
 side, Aunt Diana, and Mr. Moore, there would be no peace or com- 
 fort for her, nothing but a wearisome round of monotonous duty. 
 
 It was at this point of her sorrowful cogitations that her eyes rested 
 on the little basket beside her. Aunt Diana had charged her most 
 impressively not to let the noontide hour pass without taking some 
 refreshment. 
 
 * You must promise me, Ailie,' she had repeated more than once 
 as they stood together in the station ; ' you have made only a miser- 
 able pretence at breakfast, and you must try and do justice to the 
 luncheon I have provided for you.' 
 
 As Alison remembered this injunction, she dried her eyes and 
 opened her basket a little unwillingly ; feeling, as young people will 
 under such circumstances, that the thought of any material comfort 
 in the shape of food and drink was simply repugnant to her ; but in 
 another moment a quick flash of joy passed over her face, for among 
 the strawberry leaves lay a little slip of folded paper — a hidden mes- 
 sage of comfort for the young exile. 
 
 ' My poor, tired little Ailie,' it said, ' I just know how you are 
 feeling when you open this basket ; how my pet will have been cry- 
 ing her eyes out over that weary word, good-bye ; and how dull and 
 heavy her loving heart will be with this sad parting. Poor child ! 
 if I could only have spared you your share of pain by taking a 
 double portion myself; but, alas ! this is not possible. Now, my 
 dear, if you love me, which I know you do, for we have always been 
 a great deal to each other, and always shall be, you must dry your 
 eyes, eat your luncheon, and begin to look things bravely in the 
 face ; our parting may not be for long ; one of these days, if you have 
 worked well, I shall hope to claim you again ; and wherever you are, 
 either at Moss- side or The Holms, you are always Aunt Diana's 
 child : please remember that ; but then my child must not disappoint 
 me. 
 
 ' We are both making a great sacrifice ; now, I look to you to 
 carry it out nobly ; be brave, put self in the background, remember 
 where daily strength is to be found, and draw your supply daily ; 
 there is no such thing as laying up for the morrow, every day brings 
 its own cares and its own joys, every day must furnish its own 
 prayers, and its own thanksgiving as well.
 
 ALISON'S WELCOME HOME. 40 
 
 * My dear little Ailie, this is a hard, stony bit of road for your feet 
 to traverse, but if you look beyond it you will see the signpost — 
 duty. I do not say, do not think of me, but think of me happily, 
 as your mother's friend, who will be journeying with you every step 
 of the way. We think too much of visible partings, and too little of 
 the real loving communion of hearts ; what if you are nearly two 
 hundred miles away from me, I am beside you still. Now, little 
 pilgrim, good-bye. Always your devoted , ^^^^ Diana.' 
 
 What matter if the tears were set flowing again over these tender 
 words, they were not now so bitter ; and something in Alison's heart 
 seemed to stir into life at this touch of wise sympathy. 
 
 'I must not disappoint Aunt Di,' she thought; 'she and Mr. 
 Moore will look for me to do great things at home ; they would have 
 me brave and humble, and loving to every one, even to Missie. It 
 will be hard, I know it will — a stony bit of road, as she says. Miss 
 Leigh so uncongenial and depressing, and father so cold and diffi- 
 cult to understand ; but, as Aunt Di's favourite verse says : 
 
 " Holy strivings nerve and strengthen, 
 Long endurance wins the crown, 
 When the evening shadows lengthen 
 Thou shalt lay thy burden down."' 
 
 And as Alison softly repeated the lines a watery sunbeam suddenly 
 broke through the clouds like a faint sweet promise of better days. 
 
 It was still early in the afternoon when the train steamed slowly 
 into the Chesterton station. Alison gathered up her numerous 
 articles of travelling gear, and looked out with some eagerness, but 
 Roger's tall figure, and fair, closely-cropped head was nowhere in 
 sight; and, much disappointed and perplexed, she gave a porter 
 instructions about her travelling boxes, quite ignoring the fact that a 
 sturdy, clumsily-built boy, with a Scotch cap set rakishly on his 
 rough stubbly hair, was eyeing her sheepishly, and restraming the 
 alarmed restlessness of a small yellowish dog that he had in his 
 arms. 
 
 ' Will you fetch me a cab, please ? ' faltered Alison, feeling ready 
 to cry again at her loneliness, and wondering at Roger's unkind 
 desertion ; and then all at once she encountered a pair of round blue 
 eyes, very wide open. She started ; yes, there was the wide mouth, 
 the droll, freckled face that she remembered so well ; of course, it 
 
 D
 
 50 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 was Rudel, grown, but not otherwise altered, grinning affably at her, 
 but making no other attempt at approach. 
 
 * Why, Rudel,' she exclaimed reproachfully, * why did you not 
 speak to me or touch me ? I was looking for Roger, and nearly 
 passed you by.' 
 
 * Oh, but I should have halloed all in good time,' he returned with 
 another grin, shaking hands with her, but refraining from any warmer 
 fraternal greeting; and, seeing the lad's agony of embarrassment, 
 Alison, with much tact, left him to himself, and, identifying her 
 trunks, watched their transit to the roof of the cab, putting in her 
 own hand-packages without any offer of help on Rudel's part. 
 
 As soon as she was seated in the cab, he got in after her, and 
 proceeded to put down both windows. ' You would not like me to 
 go outside, I suppose,' he said in a good-humoured, dawdling voice ; 
 ' these cabs are so stuffy they make a fellow feel queer.' 
 
 ' Go outside if you like,' returned Alison, willing to humour him, 
 but rather disturbed at the boy's coolness. 
 
 'Oh, it does not matter,' was the contradictory response; 'we have 
 not far to go, and cabby is so unusually stout there would not be 
 room for Otter. Oh, by the bye, Roger told me to tell you that 
 father told him that somebody else must come to the station, as he 
 could not be spared. Roger was awfully put about, for he said I 
 should be no help, and 1 have not been much, eh ? ' with another 
 grin that threatened to become a laugh. 
 
 ' I wish dear old Roger could have come, but I am glad to see 
 you too,' was Alison's polite reply. ' You are grown, Rudel, are you 
 not?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' indifferently, ' I am heaps fatter. Roger calls me " the 
 fat boy in Pickwick." ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, I should not call you fat.' 
 
 ' I have plenty of muscle,' returned the boy, with sudden anima- 
 tion ; and it was strange to see how the heavy, unattractive look 
 vanished from his face and showed him in a pleasanter light. 'I can 
 fight any one in the school, now, even Booby Richards, who is 
 double my size. Father says I should make a capital navvy ; he 
 declares he shall send me out to the colonies by-and-by. Hurrah 
 for a jolly life, say I, among the squatters. Shouldn't I like to be a 
 wild cattle driver, or have a sheep farm, and live in a little shanty of 
 my own with Otter and half a dozen other dogs! I don't care about 
 people, they are so shoddy sometimes, but dogs are capital comrades.'
 
 ALISON'S WELCOME HOME. $1 
 
 * So that is Otter, the dog you wrote to me about ? * 
 
 * Yes, is she not a canny little beast? Look at her short sturdy 
 legs and her nice sharp little head ; she is a real beauty, aren't you, 
 old girl ? and, Alison, I must take you to see Sulky ; he will make 
 you die of laughing, he will indeed.' 
 
 *A11 in good time,' returned his sister, much amused at this 
 sudden garrulity ; — any mention of his pets always loosened Rudel's 
 tongue ; — ' but, Rudel, you have not told me you are glad to see 
 me.' 
 
 ' Oh, haven't I ? ' shifting his seat uneasily. 
 
 * I thought you would have kissed me after two years of absence.' 
 
 * Oh, I never kiss girls,' reddening visibly. 
 
 'Not your own sisters?' exclaimed Alison, in a grieved voice. 
 * Oh, Rudel; you used not to be so stiff and unkind.' 
 
 ' I ain't one or the other,' rousing up at this reproach. ' I 
 think it is first-rate — your coming, I mean — and you are no end of a 
 brick to do it, and,' with a sudden burst of confidence, ' I shouldn't 
 mind giving you a kiss now and then when you wanted it parti- 
 cularly, if you would promise not to tell Missie ; I would not give 
 her one — no, not if she were to ask me on her bended knees — a 
 stuck-up little minx.' 
 
 ' Oh, Rudel, for shame ! Mabel is as much your sister as I 
 am.' 
 
 * No, she isn't, and never shall be,' growled the lad. ' I tell you 
 what, Alison, you are an out-and-outer, and no mistake, and I will 
 help you fight all your battles, that I will, as sure as my name is 
 Rudel, and that is better than ever so many kisses.' 
 
 ' Dear Rudel, I am sure you mean kindly, though you have such 
 a funny way of showing it ; but I have no wish to fight any one.' 
 
 'Oh, but you will be obliged to fight Missie, whether you wish for 
 it or not,' was the cool rejoinder ; but Alison was spared any further 
 argument on this subject, as they had reached The Holms, and in 
 another moment were driving up the gravelled sweep between rows 
 of dusty evergreens. 
 
 Alison looked out a little curiously and sadly. Everything was 
 unchanged, and yet everything looked older and more dreary than 
 she remembered it ; the square, grey stone house looked grim and 
 uninviting, with no mantle of ivy or creeper to clothe its weather- 
 stained walls ; the front garden, with its dusty shrubs and ill-kept 
 lawn, seemed a wilderness after the fresh greenery of Moss-side and
 
 52 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Fernleigh ; the grass quite brown and burnt up until to-day's rain 
 had soddened it. As the cab stopped, the heavy whirring and 
 straining of machinery were disagreeably audible. Over the low 
 laurels Alison had a glimpse of the large vegetable garden and high 
 black walls with grimy ivy festooning them ; above was a hideous 
 crank for hoisting the timber. A mighty plank quivered in mid air 
 as it was slowly lifted to its place. Alison averted her eyes with a 
 shudder as she passed into the house, and so she failed to perceive 
 another message of peace, a robin singing in the ivy, undisturbed by 
 the grinding iron music overhead ; for many such loving tokens and 
 little lessons are to be seen and learned, if we only open our eyes 
 and read what the Father sends us. 
 
 The Holms was a singularly-built house. A square, stone hall, 
 uncarpeted and chilly-looking, led to the kitchen and other domestic 
 offices, all on a large scale and unusually roomy ; a wide flight of 
 stone steps, differing from the modern staircase by being also un- 
 covered, led to the sitting-rooms, dining-room, drawing-room, school- 
 room, and study, all opening on to a narrow corridor, fitted from 
 end to end with books — books literally lining it from floor to ceiling. 
 
 As Alison wearily ascended the steps, a thin lady-hke woman in a 
 black gown, with a depressed, gentle face, carne to the head of the 
 staircase. 
 
 ' I am so glad to see you, my dear,' she said, kissing her affection- 
 ately. 'Why, I do believe you are grown, Alison; you are taller 
 than I expected to see you, but you are looking pale.' 
 
 'Oh, that is nothing,' returned Alison hastily, 'I am tired with 
 the journey.' For just then she did not wish her looks to be too 
 keenly criticised. * Where are the others, Miss Leigh — father, Mabel, 
 and Poppie ? ' 
 
 A flush passed over the governess's careworn face. 
 
 ' I am so sorry, Alison, that I am the only one to greet your home- 
 coming. Mabel and Poppie are out ; they had an invitation to an 
 afternoon party at the Brownlows; it is little Stacy's birthday. I 
 wanted Mabel to stay at home and let Poppie go without her, but 
 she would not hear ot it,' 
 
 ' Never mind,' returned Alison quietly ; but she was conscious of 
 a hurt, chilled feeling as Miss Leigh brought out this lame excuse. 
 This was her return home after two years' absence, and yet Roger 
 could not be spared to meet her at the station, and Mabel could not 
 give up an afternoon's amusement to welcome her sister. Her
 
 ALISON'S WELCOME HOME. 53 
 
 father was busy as usual ; probably he had forgotten her existence 
 by this time. 
 
 * You are very tired, my dear,' continued Miss Leigh, disturbed at 
 the young girl's sudden gravity and paleness. ' Shall I take you to 
 your room, and send you up a cup of tea ? I dare say you would 
 like to be quiet a little ; there is no regular dinner to-night, as your 
 father may be a little late ; so we have a substantial tea at half-past 
 seven,' 
 
 ' Thank you,' replied Alison gratefully, touched at this unexpected 
 thoughtfulness on Miss Leigh's part. But as she followed her, some- 
 what slowly, Rudel skipped up after her, three steps at a time. 
 
 ' I suppose you do not want to see Sulky now, Alison ? ' 
 
 * No, no,' interrupted Miss Leigh, ' your sister is tired, Rudel ; 
 you had better go down and leave her to rest.' 
 
 ' Oh, I was not talking to you, Mother Leigh,' was the boy's rude 
 retort ; and as Alison turned round to shake her head at him, she 
 discovered him in the act of making one of his favourite faces at the 
 back of the unconscious governess. 
 
 Her shocked ' Rudel ! ' brought his puckered features into order 
 at once ; he put his hands into his pockets and executed a pro- 
 longed whistle. 
 
 ' I say, missus,' he observed, when he had sufficiently relieved 
 his feelings, ' have you told Alison about her room ? ' 
 
 * No, not yet, Rudel,' returned the mucli-enduring Miss Leigh. 
 'Then I shall. I call it a nasty trick of Missie's ; no one but 
 
 a girl would do such a thing ; here she has been and taken your 
 room, Alison, with mother's things in it ; and nothing the missus 
 can say will get her to give it up. Missus is awfully wild about it, 
 ain't you, missus ? ' 
 
 * Oh, Rudel ! do be quiet,' remonstrated Miss Leigh, in the old 
 worried voice Alison knew so well. ' What a tiresome boy you are I 
 and I wanted to tell your sister quietly. Alison, my dear, I am very 
 sorry, but Mabel has appropriated your room, and most improperly 
 refuses to give it up. I spoke to your father about it last night, but 
 he only said it did not signify, that he expected you would not 
 mind, as your visit to us might not be a very lengthened one. I 
 think you had better speak to him yourself 
 
 ' I will see about it,' returned Alison quickly, anxious to stem the 
 governess's nervous flow of words. 'Am I to sleep here to-night?' 
 as Miss Leigh opened the door of a back room.
 
 54 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' I have made it as nice as I can,' returned Miss Leigh apolo- 
 getically, ' but I am afraid you will think it an ugly room ; it wants 
 re-papering, and the carpet is dreadfully old.' 
 
 ' Oh, it will do very well,' observed Alison quietly ; but she 
 looked round her with a sinking heart, nevertheless. It was Mabel's 
 old room, and very shabbily furnished, and looked over the kitchen 
 garden and the saw-mills. A perfect forest of timber in neat piles 
 stretched as far as she could see ; in front were the hideous pulleys 
 and cranes. For one moment a very different prospect seemed to 
 rise before Alison's aching eyes : a little room with soft green walls 
 and covered with Indian matting ; a snowy tent bed in one corner, 
 a dainty couch, with a low table and a vase of crimson and yellow 
 roses on it ; outside a shadowy lawn, and a gleam of water shining 
 between the willows ; but^ with a vast effort, she shut out the bitter 
 sweet recollection. 
 
 She listened with well-assumed patience as Miss Leigh pointed 
 out the various little improvements she had effected. Though 
 Alison did not know it, the easy chair and little round table were 
 taken from Miss Leigh's own room ; the fuchsias and geraniums 
 in the blue vase were Roger's gift ; and even Rudel had contributed 
 the big green fern that stood on the window ledge. 
 
 ' Now, I will send you up your tea,' observed Miss Leigh at last, 
 when the boxes had arrived, and Rudel had assisted to unstrap 
 them ; ' there is no hurr}', my dear ; you will have nearly two hours 
 to yourself to unpack and rest.' 
 
 Alison tried to answer cheerfully, but her head was aching in 
 earnest now ; the tears were very near the surface again, but she 
 battled with them bravely. 
 
 * I will have my tea and then rest a little ; the unpacking can 
 wait for to-morrow,' she thought. * Oh, Aunt Di,' laying her head 
 against the frilled cover of the easy chair, ' are you thinking of your 
 little pilgrim now?' And then she took oUt the dear letter and 
 read it over again.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A DOMESTIC SYMPHONY. 
 
 SK UNT Diana's letter and a cup of excellent tea were both 
 
 4^1 very restorative in their effects, and when Alison had fresh- 
 
 r\. ened her tired face with cold water, and brushed her dis- 
 
 g/i^P bevelled locks, and exchanged her travelling dress for a light, 
 
 cool-looking zephyr cloth costume, she felt less reluctance to 
 
 present herself to the critical eyes of her father and Mabel. 
 
 * I am far too pale, and I am afraid my red eyes will betray me,* 
 she thought, as she anxiously scrutinised herself in the small look- 
 ing-glass, ' but they will not be hard on me, surely, after my long 
 journey ; ' but here her reflections were broken by a hasty knock. 
 
 ' May I come in ? ' questioned a voice that she knew at once was 
 Roger's, and in a moment she had sprung joyfully to the door. 
 
 ' Oh, Roger, you dear old fellow,- 1 am so glad to see you again ! ' 
 she exclaimed, forgetting all her troubles in the sight of his familiar 
 face. Evidently her pleasure was reciprocated; a pair of strong 
 arms almost lifted her off her feet, and bore her across the room 
 towards the window, and, after a hasty kiss or two, Roger put his 
 hand under her chin and gravely inspected her. 
 
 ' I suppose you are glad to see me,' he observed at length, in a 
 dissatisfied voice, 'as you have been crying evidently at the pleasur- 
 able anticipation. So you are sorry to come home, Alison, eh ? 
 and yet' — rather reproachfully — 'you are wanted very badly here.' 
 
 Alison's only answer was to lay her face down on his arm ; this 
 was a little too much for her jaded spirits, a few more tears would 
 come. Roger had found her out, as she knew he would. 
 
 ' Come now, this won't do, Ailie,' he said, with a sort of soothing 
 roughness ; ' we shall pack you back again to Aunt Uiana if you are 
 going to fret. I looked for rather a different greeting after two 
 years' absence.' 
 
 * I can't help it,' she said, trying to dismiss her tears ; ' I am 
 
 ss
 
 56 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 tired, and everything seems strange to-night, and I do miss Aunt 
 Diana.' 
 
 ' Yes, she has spoiled you for us ; you have grown a dainty little 
 lady, Ailie.' 
 
 'Oh, no; I am not spoiled in that way,' she interrupted him 
 breathlessly. 'You cannot quite understand, Roger; but there is 
 such a mixed feeling. I have wanted you all these two years ; you 
 have never been out of my mind a single day. Please do not 
 think me unkind and disagreeable, or that I am not glad to see you 
 because I cried a little. It is only one of my stupid ways.' 
 
 ' Well, well ; I suppose I must forgive you. Anyhow, I am too 
 glad to have you back to scold you properly. What colour are your 
 eyes generally, Alison ? They are as pink as an albino's to-night.' 
 
 ' It is my turn to look at you,' she returned, trying to pluck up 
 a little spirit. ' Why, you have grown a moustache, Roger. How 
 well it suits you ! ' glancing at the rough, sandy appendage to his 
 lip with much sisterly complacency ; but Roger only broke into a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 'Did you ever see such a handsome fellow? Really, Rudel and 
 I are marvellous specimens of manly beauty. He beats me in 
 freckles, though, ha, ha ! ' And Roger quite rocked himself in 
 merriment. 
 
 ' I like the look of you very much,' returned Alison gravely, 
 quite ignoring this satirical outburst. 
 
 Strangers might not consider Roger handsome ; in fact, he was 
 regarded as a clumsy, somewhat heavy-looking young man ; but 
 his good-natured face and open blue eyes always redeemed him 
 from any charge of plainness in his sister's opinion. He was so 
 tall and well grown, too ; and though he did not carry himself as 
 well as Greville Moore, and was somewhat awkward in the use of 
 his limbs, Alison never would find fault with him on this score. 
 He had not had Mr. Greville's advantages. If Roger had gone 
 to Oxford instead of being put at those horrid mills he would have 
 been ix)lished too. ' If mamma had lived he would have learned 
 little things from her. He only laughs at me if I try to teach him 
 things,' thought Alison. 
 
 'Your hnir is a little rough — and, oh! your boots are muddy,' 
 she continued, after eyeing him as 'careful robins eye the delver's 
 toil.' ' You have wanted me to keep you in order.' 
 
 ' I don't seem to match you, somehow,' he observed. * Do you
 
 A DOMESTIC SYMPHONY. 57 
 
 always look as though you were just turned out of a bandbox? I 
 wish you would take Missie and Poppie in hand ; they drive Miss 
 Leigh crazy with their untidiness. Oh, we are a happy family, 
 Ailie — nothing but billing and cooing and that sort of thing going 
 on from morning to night. You might take Rudel and Missie for 
 a couple of love-birds, the sweet young creatures are so fond of 
 each other, and as for Poppie and Missie — look, there is a specimen 
 of the home-music dulcet strains floating up the staircase. There 
 goes Missie.' 
 
 Alison's brow knitted with some perplexity as she listened. 
 ' Flora, will you go into your own room ? I insist on it — you are 
 not fit to be seen in that torn frock,' in a sharp, girlish voice. 
 
 'What does it matter? she won't mind,' in a shrill, childish treble; 
 ' you are so cross, Mabel. Do let me come in with you and see 
 Alison.' 
 
 'No, no; do as I tell you ; you shall come in presently. There ! 
 you have trampled on my dress and torn some of the trimming, 
 you horrid Uttle thing ! I will tell papa if you are so naughty, and 
 then he will not let you come down to tea.' Here an expressive 
 roar on Poppie's part interrupted the discussion. Alison, who 
 could bear no more, moved quickly to the door and opened it. 
 A pretty-looking, fair-haired girl, dressed somewhat untidily and 
 in bad style, with rather a vixenish expression on her flushed face, 
 was standing just outside Alison's room, and behind her a some- 
 what plain litde girl between eight and nine years of age, rather 
 small in stature, and with a droll, freckled face like Rudel's, only 
 it was just now puckered up with crying— a red, inflamed spot on 
 one cheek was evidently the result of a smart blow on her sister's 
 part in payment for the torn trimming. 
 
 ' How do you do, Mabel ?' she said, with a somewhat cold salute 
 of Missie's cheek. ' Please do not prevent Poppie coming to me. 
 I could not help hearing, you spoke so loud, and I do not mind 
 one bit how she looks. Come here, Poppie dear ; ' but the child, 
 evidently shy and upset by the late fracas, held back in an em- 
 barrassed manner, until Missie gave her a rough push. 
 
 'Why don't you go to Alison, you stupid Httle thing?' she said 
 crossly, for she was put out at her sister's sudden appearance on 
 the scene. Missie, in spite of her temper, never liked to look un- 
 dignified, and here she was caught red-handed in the act of boxing 
 Poppie's ears.
 
 58 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ( 
 
 Please do not force her to come to me ; we shall be very good 
 friends directly,' returned Alison, sorry for the poor child's awkward- 
 ness. There was bad management here, or why was Missie allowed 
 to control her after this fashion ? ' Come with me, Poppie dear ; 
 Roger is in my room, and I will show you the pretty new game I 
 have brought for you.' 
 
 The child's face brightened in a moment, and she moved instantly 
 to take Alison's hand ; again Missie interposed. 
 
 ' She must change her frock, Alison ; tea is just ready, and I hear 
 papa's step in the garden. He will be very angry if Poppie looks 
 rough or untidy ; and I cannot allow him to be vexed,' pursing up 
 her lips with a virtuous expression. 
 
 Alison controlled a quick retort with some difificulty. She had 
 fully expected to find Missie a most aggravating little person, or 
 why should Miss Leigh complain of her so bitterly? But the 
 reality was worse than she anticipated. 
 
 ' Never mind,' she said calmly ; but she could not help an ex- 
 pressive look at Roger, who was leaning against the doorway, an 
 amused auditor — ' we must not vex papa, must we, Poppie ? I will 
 help you change your frock, and perhaps after all we may have 
 time to look at the fishponds.' And without another glance at 
 Missie Alison made Poppie cheerfully lead the way, as she did not 
 know her room. 
 
 * Well, I am sure ! ' observed Missie, with a little toss of her head 
 as she marched off to her own — or rather, to Alison's room; but 
 she did not much enjoy the sound of Roger's laugh behind her. 
 ' Alison scored there,' he observed audibly, as he followed her, still 
 chuckling to himself. Alison sighed heavily as she heard him. 
 What a miserable state of things ! she thought ; laughing at Missie 
 would only inflame her naturally bad temper. Was this their notion 
 of family life? Hasty words and recriminations, constant teasing 
 on the boys' part, and mutual aggravations. ' Live peaceably with 
 all men,' was the command. And this was how they obeyed it ; 
 no wonder Alison's gentle nature felt saddened as she followed 
 Poppie to her room, a little one leading out of Miss Leigh's. 
 
 Poppie speedily grew confidential as Alison brushed out her 
 tawny mane, and fastened it into a neat pigtail; when nicely 
 dressed, Poppie was not such a bad-looking child. She had a funny 
 little face, and a turned-up nose ; but though not pretty, there was 
 something piquante in her expression. She had brown eyes, like
 
 A DOMESTIC SYMPHONY. 59 
 
 Alison — only very bright and sparkling— and long, beautiful eye- 
 lashes ; and though she was far too small for her age, there was a 
 fairy-like lightness about her. When Alison had finished dressing 
 her, she kissed her and told her pleasantly that she was sure she 
 was a good girl, for Miss Leigh always said so. ' Mabel does not 
 say so, though,' observed Poppie, with a reflective frown ; ' she says 
 very often that I am a horrid little thing, and a tiresome monkey, 
 and ' 
 
 ' Come and look at the fishponds,' observed Alison, cutting short 
 this siring of compliments on Missie's part ; and as the delighted 
 child stood beside her she made her hold her frock, and poured 
 into it a delicious melee of bonbons, crackers, and games ; after 
 which they sorted and inspected them until the tea bell rang very 
 furiously, making Poppie start and say they must hurry down. 
 
 As Alison came down the "staircase with the child still clinging to 
 her, Mr. Merle suddenly made his appearance from the study. He 
 almost started at the sight of his daughter, and an expression of 
 pain crossed his handsome, careworn face. In the dim light, Alison 
 recalled her mother too plainly to his eyes. How often in their 
 happy life he had stood just there waiting, as she came down to 
 him with one of her children holding her hand, and with such a 
 smile on her face ! 
 
 ' Oh, papa,' she said, hurrying to him, and putting up her fair 
 young face to his. He kissed her kindly, patted it, told her that 
 she had grown into a woman since he had seen her, and questioned 
 her with some interest about her journey. 
 
 The dining room, a large, handsomely furnished room, looked 
 sufficiently cosy as they entered it. Though the daylight was not 
 gone, the lamp had been lighted, and the table fairly groaned with 
 all the good things that were necessary to a heavy Lancashire tea. 
 Missie was in the seat of honour ; she gave a little simpering laugh 
 as Alison entered with her father. ' I suppose this will be your 
 place to-morrow,' she said, rather with the hope of being con- 
 tradicted, Alison thought ; for, as Alison replied simply, ' I suppose 
 so, but I need not disturb you to-night,' a vexed look crossed 
 Missie's face ; but as Rudel was already grinning in hopes of a row, 
 she prudently disappointed him. 
 
 Alison sat by her father, and gave him most of her attention ; it 
 would take time, she felt, to reconcile her to look on at Missie's 
 airs and graces with anything like tolerable equanimity. Alison's
 
 6o AUNT DIANA. 
 
 refined taste grafted on Miss Carrington's opinion could ill tolerate 
 the young girl's appearance. Missie was certainly very pretty ; she 
 had regular features and a good complexion, and her figure promised 
 to be pretty too. But she was singularly overdressed for so young 
 a girl, and not in the best possible taste ; there were rings on her 
 childish hands, bangles on her round bare arms, a fair, untidy- 
 looking fringe hid her nice white forehead, and a mass of ragged- 
 looking plaits over-weighted her small head. In fact, as Roger 
 afterwards observed, she generally looked like a gaudily dressed 
 doll, pretty in a dollish way, if she would not spoil the good looks 
 with which Providence had endowed her by her conceit and silliness. 
 Alison was not looking at her much to-night. Her father's altered 
 looks were making her anxious. How much older he had grown 
 in these two years ! How pale and grey he looked ! His manner 
 was more absent and dreamy than she remembered it. He seemed 
 more self absorbed ; now and then an irritable nervous light came 
 into his eyes at the sound of the boys' voices, and he would speak 
 a sharp word or two ; but Miss Leigh's plaintive remarks, her 
 attempts to lead him into anything like connected conversation, 
 always failed. Poor Miss Leigh was evidently a nonentity in his eyes. 
 
 Missie's 'dear papa' always roused him in a moment. Alison 
 tried hard not to feel a pang of jealousy as she saw his loving glance 
 at his favourite. How Missie had managed it no one knew, but she 
 could turn him round her little finger ; that she could coax him to 
 anything was evident as Alison looked at Missie's sparkling hands. 
 Mr. Merle had not waited for his eldest daughter to come home be- 
 fore he had opened his wife's casket. Alison had her mother's watch 
 and chain, but only one of her diamond rings lay locked up among 
 her treasures. Aunt Diana did not approve of diamonds on girlish 
 hands, and Alison never cared to wear it. 
 
 When they rose from the table Missie's first words were a per- 
 emptory order for Poppie to put away her toys and go to bed. This 
 led to a feeble protest on Miss Leigh's part 
 
 'It is not so very late, -Mabel, and Poppie has not seen her sister 
 for two years. I think she might wait a liitle longer.' 
 
 ' I am not going ; there, now ! ' observed the child defiantly, quite 
 oblivious of her father's presence. 
 
 'Go it, Pops, rU back you,' whispered Rudel, rubbing his 
 hands ; ' she shan't touch you as long as I am here, or her cat shall 
 rue it to-morrow.'
 
 A DOMESTIC SYMPHONY. 6l 
 
 Mabel's eyes flashed. ' You horrid rude boy ! Papa ' But 
 
 here AUson gently interfered. 
 
 ' You will go to bed now, dear, will you not ? ' she whispered in 
 the child's ear, ' and I will come and tuck you up, and wish you 
 good-night.' And thus propitiated Poppie's sullenness vanished, and 
 she trotted off at once. 
 
 'Papa dear, you will not go into the study tonight,' observed 
 Mabel in a coaxing tone, as Mr. Merle looked at the door, as though 
 he intended to follow Poppie's example ; ' please come with us into 
 the drawing-room, and I will make you so comfortable.' 
 
 * Very well, Pussie,' was his good-humoured answer, as he got up a 
 little wearily from his chair. 
 
 Alison waited a moment before she followed them. 
 
 ' Are you not coming too ? ' she asked, as Roger threw himself 
 down on an easy chair, and Rudel began to play with Otter on the 
 hearthrug. 
 
 Roger shook his head smilingly. 
 
 ' Rudel has got to do his lessons. Missie never admits him into 
 the drawing-room of an evening. She says it is not the room for boys.' 
 
 ' I would not go if she were to ask me ever so much,' returned 
 Rudel wrathfully. 
 
 'But surely, Roger,' pleaded his sister, 'you will come in with me 
 this evening.? ' 
 
 ' Well, if you wish it very much,' he replied in a bored tone ; ' but 
 you have no idea how stupid it is in there. Father never opens his 
 mouth, and if any one speaks he shuts up his books and goes off to 
 his study, and then Missie flies at us for disturbing him. I generally 
 keep Rudel company, or go out and amuse myself.' 
 
 ' But not to-night, dear,' she returned gently ; and he got up at 
 once, shaking himself like a shaggy dog. 
 
 Rudel looked up rather wistfully. 
 
 ' I have almost a mind to come too,' he muttered ; but as Roger 
 said hastily, ' Better not. Rue ; we don't want any rows to-night, 
 Alison is tired,' he remained kicking his heels in suppressed ill-humour. 
 
 Alison threw a critical glance round the room as she entered it. 
 No changes had been effected since she had last entered it. The 
 furniture had once been costly, but the damask coverings were worn 
 and faded. A few yards of cretonne would have effaced the shab- 
 biness, but neither Miss Leigh nor Missie had thought of such a thing. 
 Missie had worked a few chairbacks, but there all her ideas of re-
 
 62 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 novation had stopped. The furniture was not disposed to the best 
 advantage either — the chairs and tables were awkwardly placed, and 
 seemed to have no sort of relation to each other — no cosy nooks 
 invited people to sociable tete-a-Utes. 
 
 Miss Leigh sat bolt upright by the big round table, with her work- 
 basket and a pile of the boys' socks. Mr. Merle had a little table 
 and a reading lamp to himself; and Missie sat on a stool at his feet 
 with a novel on her lap. Alison guessed at once that this was their 
 ordinary position. 
 
 ' Oh, is that you, Roger ? You don't often honour us with your 
 company of an evening,' observed Missie, with a toss of her pretty 
 head. ' This is a compliment to you, Alison, I suppose ? ' 
 
 'We ought to put our books away to-night,' said Mr. Merle, 
 rousing himself reluctantly, and making Alison feel as if he were 
 treating her like a visitor. * Mabel, my dear, suppose you give us 
 one of your little songs?' 
 
 ' No, indeed, papa,' returned Alison eagerly, * I hope you will go 
 on just the same as though I were not here. Of course, I should 
 like to hear Mabel sing, but not if it disturbs you.' 
 
 ' Oh, I always sing to papa of an evening,' replied Missie, walking 
 to the piano with much dignity. ' Roger, I think you might offer to 
 light those candles for me, but you boys have no idea of waiting 
 upon ladies. You will find them dreadfully rough, Alison.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I am rather fond of waiting upon ladies,' was 
 Roger's nonchalant answer, laying a peculiar stress on the last word 
 that brought an angry flush to Missie's face. * I always wait on you, 
 do I not. Miss Leigh ? ' 
 
 * Yes, indeed, Mr. Roger. I always say you are so kind and 
 thoughtful.' 
 
 Missie struck a chord sharply. * If you will be good enough to 
 leave off talking I will commence my song,' she said crossly, and 
 as Roger made a low bow and retired, she began the prelude of a 
 German song. 
 
 Alison listened with much pleasure. Among her other natural 
 gifts Missie certainly possessed a very good voice, and it had been 
 evidently well trained. Her notes were clear and sweet, and if she 
 could only have got rid of a certain affectation in her style, Alison 
 could have praised her still more warmly. 
 
 As it was, her admiration was so sincere that Missie began to thaw 
 for the first time.
 
 A DOMESTIC SYMPHONY. 6$ 
 
 ' I suppose you sing ? ' she said, a little bluntly. 
 
 * Not much. I certainly cannot compare my voice to yours,' was 
 the modest reply ; * but 1 am fond of instrumental music, and play a 
 good deal.' 
 
 'Then you will be able to play my accompaniments,' returned 
 Mabel, brightening still more. ' Will you take my place, Alison ? 
 Papa will like to hear you, I am sure.' 
 
 ' Not to-night,' returned Alison, feeling as though she were not 
 capable of any further effort. ' I am rather tired ; and if papa would 
 excuse me, I think I should like to go to bed.' 
 
 ' By all means, my love/ observed Mr. Merle, looking up from his 
 book. 'Pussie dear, I hope everything is comfortable for your 
 sister. Never mind singing to me to-night, if there is anything you 
 can do to help Alison.' 
 
 ' I will come with you and see,' returned Missie, a little un- 
 graciously ; and though Alison would rather have dispensed with her 
 company, she thought it better policy to accept this faint offer of 
 help. On the landing, Missie stopped, and said rather awkwardly, ' I 
 hope you don't mind about the change of rooms, Alison ; but as you 
 do not live at home, I thought I could please myself.' 
 
 'I suppose I have come home to live now,' returned her sister 
 wearily ; ' but if you do not want to give it up, Mabel, I will try to 
 be content with my present one ; I only want things to be com- 
 fortable, and to do my best for you all' 
 
 ' Oh, as to that, we have got along very well,' returned Mabel 
 hastily ; ' you need not put yourself out on our account. As papa 
 says, I am grown up now — nearly seventeen — and able to take care 
 of myself and other people too. I hope you are not going in to see 
 Poppie ; I think it is a pity waking up the child, and she is so 
 excitable.' 
 
 ' I shall not wake her ; but I promised to go and see her,' returned 
 Alison with gentle firmness, as she bade Missie good-night. Missie 
 need not have troubled herself about her little sister's wakefulness. 
 Poppie was sitting bolt upright in the darkness, waiting for Alison. 
 
 ' Now for a good cuddle and a talk,' she said, stretching out her 
 arms to Alison ; ' you are a nice old thing to keep your promise.' 
 And as Alison sat down on the little bed she forgot her weariness, as 
 Poppie laid her warm cheek against hers, and called her her dear, 
 nice Ailie.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MISSIE. 
 
 LisoN was too tired to lie awake a moment after her head 
 touched the pillow, and she woke so late the next morning that 
 breakfast was already over, and Miss Leigh sent up a message 
 by Poppie, begging her to lie still and rest herself, as her 
 father and Roger had already gone to the mill, and she would 
 send her up some breakfast. 
 
 ' Aunt Diana would call this a bad beginning,' thought Alison. 
 Nevertheless, as her head still ached, she yielded to the temptation. 
 The sun was shining into her room, making her feel hot and restless, 
 and she begged Poppie to lower the blind, so that the huge crane 
 might not fret her eyes by its hideous unsightliness. If she could 
 only have shut out, too, its incessant whirr and grind ! but that was 
 impossible. As she drank her tea she looked round the shabby room 
 with a strange sinking of heart and spirits. ' I must wake up every 
 morning to this,' she thought, ' unless I make an enemy of Missie 
 from the beginning by forcing her to resign my room. Will it not be 
 better to endure any amount of discomfort than to do that ? I will 
 ask Aunt Diana what I shall do about it. No, no,' recalling herself, ' I 
 must act now on my own responsibility. Aunt Diana will think me 
 a poor, helpless sort of a thing if I always want her as a moral crutch 
 to support me. Wise as she is, she could not decide for me at such 
 a distance ; ' and then the words came into Alison's mind — ' If any 
 of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.' ' I have not said my 
 prayers ; that is why I feel so weak and hopeless about things,' she 
 said to herself; ' thinking only seems to lead me more into the fog. 
 I will not lie another moment fretting over all these troubles.' And 
 with this wise resolution Alison dressed herself quickly, and finished 
 her unpacking, after which she ensconced herself in the deserted 
 dining-room and wrote her first letiter to Moss-side. 
 
 A sweet, brave little letter it was. Miss Carrington's lip trembled 
 
 64
 
 MISSIE. 65 
 
 somewhat as she read it Alison touched very little on her own 
 feelings ; she did not even speak of her changed room, thinking that 
 piece of unwelcome news might be prudently withheld. Somehow, 
 she had a notion that it would vex Aunt Diana. She talked of 
 Roger's warm welcome, and Miss Leigh's kindness, and tried to make 
 Aunt Di interested in Rudel's and Poppie's droll ways. Missie she 
 barely mentioned, except to say how pretty she had grown and how 
 nicely she sang, and then went on to speak of her father's changed 
 looks. A great many loving messages, a few longing expressions for 
 Aunt Di herself, completed the letter. Nevertheless, Miss Carrington 
 looked grave as she folded it up, as though her keen eyes read 
 between the lines. 
 
 ' My poor little home-sick child, I wish I were near enough to 
 comfort you,' she said, with a sigh, as she went on with her work ; 
 and the next morning brought Alison just what she needed, a few 
 more wise, kindly words written straight from Aunt Di's warm heart 
 — strong, cheerful words that carried their own healing with them. 
 ' Don't fear to tell me all that troubles you,' she wrote, removing the 
 embargo from Alison's sealed lips ; ' any confidence you repose in me 
 will be sacred. Tell me anything and everything that concerns your 
 dear little self; it will all interest me. I shall not think you either 
 weak or complaining ; my child has a right to my sympathy, as she 
 surely knows by this time, and a gift not used is a gift abused. 
 Remember that, Ailie. So I hope you mean to draw on me pretty 
 largely.' 
 
 The early luncheon hour brought all the family together, but 
 Alison's sense of orderliness and propriety was shocked by Rudel's 
 rough appearance. He came in straight from school with unbrushed 
 hair and unwashed hands, and sat down at the table, until Missie's 
 loudly uttered injunctions, and at last his father's curt command to 
 make himself presentable before he ate his dinner, obliged him to 
 leave the room grumbling ; and his return a few minutes later led to 
 a most undignified scene of recrimination between him and Missie, 
 carried on below their breaths with the utmost bitterness, with Poppie 
 listening with both her ears, in spite of Miss Leigh's gentle reminders 
 to go on with her dinner. 
 
 But this was not the only source of discomfort to Alison ; her 
 father was evidently in one of his gloomiest humours ; something 
 had evidently gone wrong at the mills, and, as usual, Roger was 
 bearing the brunt of the annoyance. Alison's heart was full of pity 
 
 E
 
 66 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 as she heard the angry words that were launched at his unlucky head j 
 in her own mind, she was secretly marvelling at Roger's patience. 
 How could he so tamely submit to be openly rebuked after this 
 fashion ? He was two-and-twenty, very few young men would have 
 put up with such treatment, but yet he made no attempt to stem the 
 torrent of his father's wrath, only sat with flushed face, looking 
 down at his plate. 
 
 AHson — who was on the verge of tears with suppressed pity, and 
 longing to speak a word in his defence — was moved almost to anger 
 by the unconcern on Missie's face. Evidently she was too used to 
 hear Roger found fault with on every occasion to take any notice of 
 it. She had finished her contest with Rudel, and now sat with her 
 usual self-satisfied look, playing with her rings, and humming a little 
 French air to herself. 
 
 'Papa dear,' she said at last placidly, *do let those stupid saw- 
 mills alone ; you are only exciting yourself and making yourself ill. 
 Come out into the garden with me and Poppie, it is so cool and 
 shady there.' And as Mr. Merle did not at once answer this appeal, 
 she came round to him and touched his arm. 
 
 'Come, papa,' she repeated still more placidly ; 'you have scolded 
 Roger enough, and it only puts you out. Come with me ; I want 
 you.' And actually Mr. Merle suffered himself to be coaxed out of the 
 room ; and in another minute Ahson saw them silting together under 
 the lime trees, with Poppie and Otter playing on the lawn. 
 
 Alison turned round to seek Roger, but he had left the room, and 
 Rudel had followed him ; only Miss Leigh was locking up the 
 cellarette, and jingling her key basket. 
 
 ' What does this mean ? ' faltered Alison. ' Why does papa speak 
 to Roger in this way ? It is not right, is it ? ' 
 
 ' Come with me into the schoolroom,' was Miss Leigh's sensible 
 answer to this ; ' as Sarah will be in directly to clear the luncheon, 
 and we cannot talk before her. I must speak to you, Alison, I must 
 indeed.' And leading the way to the old room Alison remembered so 
 well, she closed the door in her quick, nervous fashion, and begged 
 Alison to take the only easy chair that the room boasted. 'No, in- 
 deed,' returned Alison quickly ; ' Poppie's little stool will do for me. 
 What does it matter where I sit, or whether one is comfortable or 
 not?' she continued impatiently, as Miss Leigh stood hesitating. 
 ' Please rest yourself in that big chair, for you look quite fagged 
 and tired, and I have had a nice rest.'
 
 MISSIE. ^y 
 
 * T think I am nearly always tired,' returned Miss Leigh plaintively. 
 ' Is it not dreadful, Alison — about poor Mr. Roger, I mean ? If it 
 were not for my poor blind mother, whom I pretty nearly support 
 out of my savings, I do not think I could endure this much longer. 
 My dear,' with the tears starting to her gentle eyes, ' when one gets 
 to my age one values peace and kind words above everything, and 
 that is just what one cannot get at The Holms.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that this sort of thing goes on daily?' exclaimed 
 Alison, turning her flushed face to the governess. ' Do you mean,' 
 bringing out her words with difficulty, ' that papa often gives Roger 
 all this to bear?' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, one must not exaggerate. Things are not always 
 going wrong at the mills, of course ; and sometimes we can eat 
 our meals in peace; but your poor dear father— one hardly likes 
 to blame him to his own child — is very often hard on Mr. Roger. It 
 seems to me as though nothing Mr. Roger can do pleases your 
 father, and as if Mabel can do no wrong in his eyes. You can see for 
 yourself, Alison, the influence she has over him.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see ; but I cannot understand it. When I was last at 
 home Missie was only a child, and yet, though she is not seventeen, 
 and ought to be in the schoolroom and under your care, she seems 
 completely mistress.' 
 
 * She is never in the schoolroom now,' returned Miss Leigh, lean- 
 ing back wearily in the arm-chair. ' Sometimes she comes in to inter- 
 fere with Poppie and find fault with some of my arrangements. But 
 she has coaxed your father into giving her French and singing lessons 
 with her friends the Hardvvicks, and for months she has refused to 
 open even a history ; and yet you have no idea how ignorant she is. 
 Nothing but mischief has resulted from her intimacy with Eva 
 Hardwick. I have spoken to your father over and over again about 
 it, but he listens to Mabel's version of her friend's character, and only 
 the other day he told me I must be mistaken, for Eva was a bright, 
 high-spirited girl ; and it was all nonsense what Mr. Roger and I 
 said about her.' 
 
 * Roger dislikes her, then ? ' 
 
 'Oh yes ; he never speaks to her if he can help it She is a fine- 
 looking girl, older than Mabel, but vain and empty-headed, thinking 
 of nothing but balls and flirtations ; and you know how dangerous a 
 friend of that sort is to a girl of Mabel's age. To do Mabel justice, 
 she was not half so vain and fond of dress and finery until she went
 
 68 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 SO much to the Hardwicks. They have completely turned her head. 
 Eva tells her how pretty she is, and lends "her all sorts of foolish 
 novels, which unsettle her more by their false notions of life ; and 
 now nothing is good enough for Mabel, nothing pleases her, and, 
 worst of all, Eva has taken a dislike to Roger because he refuses to 
 pay her any attention and laughs at all their nonsense ; and that sets 
 Mabel against her brother.' 
 
 Alison listened with a distressed face, but she was evidently reading 
 Missie's character under a new light ; she thought of her conversation 
 with Aunt Diana in the moonlighted garden, and the importance 
 Aunt Diana placed on friendship and its influence over people's 
 characters. She had a horror of ' girl butterflies,' as she called them 
 — girls who lived for social excitements, who had no interest beyond 
 passing pleasures. Surely this Eva Hard wick must be a 'girl 
 butterfly.' 
 
 ' Oh, they are pretty enough to look at,' Miss Carrington would 
 say, *if we could only see them in the sunshine; but when a storm 
 comes just look at the poor things, at their draggled wings and 
 miserable plight. One would rather be a working bee then, with a 
 hive full of honey and a nice little wax cell of its own. Girls are 
 never prettier, in my opinion, than when they are hard at work, with 
 plenty of play to follow ; and they are ever so much happier, take 
 my word for it, Ailie ; and I have been a girl myself.' 
 
 * Mabel always had a temper of her own,' went on Miss Leigh, 
 feeling a sort of relief in pouring out her feelings into Alison's ear, 
 * but she was never so aggravating as she is now. You see, my dear, if 
 a girl does not hold her own home as sacred, if she chooses a giddy 
 young companion for her confidante, and retails to her all that passes 
 in her own household, finding fault with her own people, and listen- 
 ing to her friend's estimate of them, she may end as Mabel does, 
 in thinking her brothers rough and unmannerly, and Poppie a 
 disagreeable little girl.' 
 
 * Do you mean Missie is so dishonourable as to repeat to Miss 
 Hardwick all that passes at The Holms?' asked Alison indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 'They do not think it dishonourable,' returned Miss Leigh, with 
 a quiet good sense with which Alison had never credited her. The 
 governess had evidently learned something from her troubles. 'You 
 see, Mabel calls Eva her bosom friend, and refuses to have any 
 secrets from her. If Eva comes this afternoon, all that passed at
 
 69
 
 MISSIE. 71 
 
 the luncheon table between your father and Mr. Roger will be 
 retailed, as a matter of course. Even if Mabel were disposed to 
 be reticent for once, Eva, who is of an inquisitive nature, and who 
 completely dominates her, would soon worm the whole thing from 
 her. She has a grudge against Mr. Roger, and nothing would 
 please her more than to hear of his humiliation. I have reason to 
 know, Alison, that it is by Eva's advice that Mabel intends to 
 keep your room. I have heard her say myself that, of course, as 
 your home is with Miss Carrington, you have resigned your privilege 
 here as the eldest daughter, and that there is no need for Mabel to 
 knock under completely. Those were her very words.' 
 
 Alison looked grave. 'Is Miss Hardwick often here?' she 
 asked at last. 
 
 ' They are together every day, either here or at Broadlands — the 
 Hardwicks' house. But as your father objects to strangers, or, 
 indeed, to visitors of any kind, Eva very rarely spends the evenings 
 here. They were practising in the drawing-room this morning, and 
 afterwards they went out together. There is another sister, Anna, 
 a nice Htde thing, rather pale and delicate-looking, but they both 
 snub her. I suppose that makes Mr. Roger kind to her when she 
 comes, for her sister certainly slights her, and Mr. Roger always 
 stands up for every one but himself.' 
 
 ' But, Miss Leigh, what would Aunt Diana say ? Do you mean 
 Mabel and Miss Hardwick go out alone?' 
 
 A flush passed over the governess's thin face. 
 
 * What can I do, Alison ? Mabel will not listen to me ; in fact, 
 she sets me completely at defiance, and when I carry a complaint to 
 your father I get no redress, of course. I am seriously uneasy at 
 Mabel going about in this independent way. In my opinion young 
 ladies of Mabel's age ought to be with their motliers and sisters. 
 She is far too pretty, and so is Eva, to go about as they do. It would 
 not matter if they were quiet in dress and manner, but they are two 
 gaily dressed, giggling girls. Mrs. Hardwick has not our nice, old- 
 fashioned ideas ; she allows her girls the freedom of boys. Eva is 
 completely beyond her mother's control now. She speaks to her 
 as though they were equals in age, contradicts her flatly, puts her 
 right in the most impertinent way if she thinks her wrong — in fact, 
 reverence to parents, respect to age, is totally at variance with the 
 creed of the emancipated girl.' 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Di,' thought Alison, and more than ever she clave to
 
 72 AUNT DIANA. • 
 
 the memory of those wise, gentle precepts which had bade her 
 pupil watch against the growing evil of the present day, which is to 
 undervalue the lessons of experience, and to induce young people 
 to be their own sign-posts in the road of life. ' Grey hairs are not 
 what they used to be,' she would say with a sigh ; ' old age has gone 
 out of fashion, only the young people lead no\v-a-days. Never go 
 with the herd, Ailie ; believe me, dear child, old customs are the 
 best. " Honour thy father and thy mother" never meant " Laugh at 
 them for being old-fashioned.'" 
 
 ' It seems odd, my saying all this to you, Alison,' observed Miss 
 Leigh, after a pause; 'for you are young yourself; but you were 
 never flighty and easily led, as Mabel is. I believe she has her 
 good points ; she is really very much attached to your father, and 
 will leave Eva sometimes, if he wants her ; and in her own way she 
 is fond of Poppie, though she tyrannises over her. There ! Poppie 
 is crying as usual, that is generally the end when she is long with 
 Mabel. I suppose, by that, your father has gone back to the mill. 
 l had better go to her, Alison, if you will excuse me.' 
 
 Alison had plenty of food for meditation when she Avas left alone ; 
 a very difficult problem was before her to solve. How was she to 
 gain an influence over her faulty young sister.? 
 
 Missie was clever enough fur her own purposes. Half-educated, 
 she had managed to effect her escape from the schoolroom at an 
 age when girls were generally working their hardest. She had not 
 only thrown off all allegiance to her governess, but she was actually 
 assuming the reins of domestic government. Alison had arrived 
 just in time to see the whole household made miserable by the mis- 
 management and ignorance of a gitl of sixteen and a half. The 
 role of mistress was ill-suited to her temper and capacity, and she 
 was daily becoming more exacting in trifles and more domineering. 
 In spite of her filial feelings, Alison could not but feel that her 
 father was most to blame for this state of affairs. Why did he 
 permit a child of Mabel's age to dominate him and his household ? 
 Missie might be winning and sweet to him, and he might love to 
 pet her and be blind to many of her faults ; but no father ought 
 to be so completely hoodwinked. He had doubtless suftered his 
 natural indolence to gain the mastery over him. A recluse and 
 bookworm by nature, unfit for the work that was distasteful to him 
 ■ — for he had always hated the mill — he had grown irritable and 
 exacting in all matters relating to business, and his leisure hours
 
 MISSIE. 73 
 
 were spent in his beloved studies, to the exdusion of all other 
 interests, so that, with the exception of Missie, who adapted herself 
 to his tastes, and never allowed him to be disturbed, he lived as 
 a stranger among his children, letting things take their course, and, 
 like other selfish, self-absorbed people, only seriously put out when 
 his own comfort was impaired. 
 
 Alison had always felt most painfully that her father had never 
 taken the trouble to understand her. Even in the old days she had 
 a poignant feeling that she was not to him what other daughters 
 were to their fathers ; even then the childish, fair-headed Mabel had 
 been his favourite. On her arrival he had greeted her kindly ; but 
 all the time Alison felt there was no real welcome for her — no room 
 in his self-engrossed life for the daughter who was almost a stranger 
 to him, of whose thoughts and opinions he knew nothing. ' Missie 
 has found the key to his heart, but I am left out in the cold,' 
 thought Alison with natural sadness ; ' but, after all, it is not so 
 bad for me as for Roger.' But at this point of her cogitations. Miss 
 Leigh returned with Poppie, who was crying bitterly; and the rest of 
 the afternoon was spent by Alison in comforting her little sister for 
 Mabel's tyranny, by playing with her at the novel game of fish- 
 ponds.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 * I WANTED TO FIND YOU, DEAR.' 
 
 ■r. Merle had suffered great reverses in his life. He had been 
 once an idle man with a tolerable amount of wealth, which, 
 by mismanagement and extravagance, had somehow dwindled 
 away, and had reluctantly donned harness in his early married 
 life by working his own saw-mills, instead of entrusting them 
 to his agent. 
 
 In putting his shoulder to the wheel after this manly fashion, and 
 striving to retrieve his fallen fortunes, Mr. Merle considered that 
 he was playing his part nobly in life — that no one could lay the 
 finger of blame upon him ; and yet in his own heart he knew him- 
 self to be a disappointed and embittered man. His work was 
 simply odious to him. His ambition had been to distinguish him- 
 self in the literary world, and as his talents were of no mean order, 
 and he had the nice discernment and the keen intellect belonging 
 to the practised scholar, nothing but leisure and opportunity were 
 lacking to him. The endeavour to lead the two lives had been 
 fatal to his own peace and to the peace of the household. Late 
 hours, intense thought, and latterly a growing hopelessness of results 
 — for the goal of success seemed as far removed from him as ever — 
 were beginning to tell upon his health. Still in the prime of life, 
 he was becoming haggard and grey before his time. His moods 
 grew captious and irritable; his baffled consciousness told on him; 
 his intercourse with his family became more unsatisfactory; the 
 whole nature of the man seemed warped and out of harmony with 
 his surroundings. 
 
 And yet there was a charm about Ainslie Merle, as his sister-in- 
 law knew well, that, in spite of his selfishness, or rather self-seeking, 
 made women cling to him. His wife had been devoted to him. 
 
 The dinner-hour was the only time when his children ever 
 found him disposed to be sociable. But Rudel and Poppie were 
 
 74
 
 •l WANTED TO FIND YOU, DEAR.' 75 
 
 not admitted to this meal. Rudel's supper was generally placed 
 in the schoolroom, where he learnt his evening lessons, and Poppie 
 would join him. 
 
 Alison, who was disposed to pity the poor children in their 
 solitude, soon found that her condolence was thrown away. 
 
 * It is ever so much nicer here,' observed Rudel, looking up from 
 his book with his hands pushed through his hair. ' You don't 
 know what you are talking about, Ailie. Old Nanny sends us in 
 a rattling good supper, and Pops and I, and Otter too, have a rare 
 good time of it ; don't we. Pops?' and, as the little girl nodded in 
 reply, he went on, ' No, thank you ; no late dinners for me. Ask 
 Roger how he enjoys them. He is going to cut it tonight. He 
 told me so.' 
 
 'Do you mean Roger is not coming in to dinner? ' asked Alison 
 anxiously. 
 
 * I don't suppose he has digested his luncheon yet,' returned the 
 boy, with a shrug of his shoulders ; but, as the dinner bell sounded, 
 Alison was obliged to hurry away. She was not a moment too 
 soon. Missie was already in her place at the head of the table. 
 Alison coloured a little as she seated herself by her father, but took 
 no further notice ; the next day was Sunday ; she would begin the 
 following day by taking possession quietly of her proper place. 
 
 She was astonished to find that Roger's absence was scarcely 
 commented upon. Mr. Merle talked a good deal to his daughters ; 
 he seemed rather surprised at the intelligence with which Alison 
 answered him. ' Your aunt has had you well taught,' he said once, 
 as though he were gratified with her information. 
 
 Alison saw directly that Missie was displeased with the notice 
 he took of her, and seemed bent on drawing his attention to herself, 
 but she was too anxious and unhappy about Roger to mind her 
 sister's jealousy. 
 
 The moment dinner was over, she went in search of Rudel. The 
 boy, with all his roughness and odd ways, manifested a sort of dog- 
 like fidelity for his elder brother, and Alison was sure that he was 
 acquainted with all his movements, but, to her surprise, he was not 
 disposed to be communicative — in fact, he became exceedingly 
 grumpy on being questioned. 
 
 It was no business of hers if Roger liked to go without his dinner; 
 old Nanny would take care of hun ; he did not want to be fussed 
 over by a lot of girls.
 
 ^6 AUNT DIANA 
 
 ' But, Rudel dear,' persisted Alison, with great sweetness, in return 
 for this rebuff, ' Roger always Hkes me with him ; we have been 
 chums— is not that what you call it ?— all our lives. I shall be quite 
 distressed if I cannot find him, for I want a long, quiet talk with 
 him.' 
 
 ' VVant must be your master, then,' returned Rudel, with decided 
 rudeness. * Girls have no sense of honour ; they think a fellow is 
 always ready to peach, but I am not that shabby sort. Roger shall 
 not be bothered if I can help it ; he has enough to bear without 
 that.' And so saying, Rudel planted his elbows on the table, and 
 began conning his Latin in a digged way, as though he were proof 
 against any amount of coaxing. 
 
 Alison stood beside him a moment, but she made no further 
 attempts to que-.tion him. ' Never mind,' she said cheerfully, ' if 
 you will not help me, Rudel, I must find him by myself; I re- 
 member some of his old haunts.' And then, fetching her garden 
 bat, she went quickly through the kitchen garden, and passed 
 through a gate leading to the saw mills. She stopped for an instant 
 on the little bridge that crossed the canal, and looked down at the 
 dark, sluggish water. A barge was coming towards her. An old 
 white horse, with a boy guiding it, was on the towing-path. The 
 old watchman, Timothy, passed her with his rough ' Good evening.' 
 Before her lay the great timber yard, with its silent machinery and 
 masses of unsawn wood, and the long straight aisles with vast wood 
 erections on either side ; arches of white planks placed at uniform 
 distances, looking like vague beginnings of some uncompleted 
 works ; the white piles gleaming in somewhat ghostly fashion in the 
 dim light. 
 
 Alison wandered down them, feeling as though she were losing 
 herself in a forest of dead wood ; the silence and sense of loneliness 
 was beginning to oppress her, in spite of her longing to find Roger, 
 when, all at once, in a quiet nook, she came upon him, sitting on 
 a truck with Nettle, the watchman's dog, a large fox terrier, beside 
 him. He sprang to the ground when he saw Alison, and gave 
 a low whistle of surprise, while Nettle, who was a cross old lady, set 
 up a surly bark. 
 
 ' Why, Ailie ! What in the world could tempt you to a timber 
 promenade? You looked just like a ghost, or some such uncanny 
 creature, in your white gown, gliding between the wood-piles ; no 
 wonder Nettle is scared.'
 
 'I WANTED TO FIND YOU, DEAR.' 'JJ 
 
 * I wanted to find you, dear,' returned Alison, looking at him 
 wistfully; she thought he looked tired and out of spirits. ' Rudel 
 would not tell rae where you were, but I remembered your old liabits ; 
 you see, it is so warm and not very late, and I should like to stop 
 out with you a little.' 
 
 ' Come and sit down,' was his answer to this. ' I can find you 
 a better seat than the truck ; these planks are nice and clean, they 
 will not soil your pretty dress. There, that is comfortable, I hope,' 
 as he put her in a snug corner and stretched himself out beside her. 
 ' Down, Netde ; the ground is good enough for you, old lady, so 
 make room for your betters.' 
 
 ' Nettle is still your companion, I see.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, we are often together ; this is a rare place for a good 
 long sulk, AiHe. When I am down in the mouth I generally come 
 here, and Nettle keeps me company, poor old lass.' 
 
 ' Rudel knew that, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; but Rudel is a sharp lad, and knows the value of 
 closeness : of course he would not tell you. That boy has a talent 
 for holding his tongue ; Nettle is not more trusty. Well, my dear, 
 how often have you wished yourself back at Moss side to-day ? I 
 declare I wished you there myself at luncheon time.' 
 
 ' Oh, Roger ! ' 
 
 ' Of course I know what that means. I just know how you felt 
 about it, Ailie. Is it not hard on a fellow for his own father to be 
 down on him like that?' 
 
 ' It is more than hard,' she returned, laying her hand caressingly on 
 his shoulder, for his face was averted, as though he did not care to 
 meet her eyes ; ' it ought not to be, Roger. Why, why — I don't 
 want to hurt you, dear — but why did you not speak, if only to own 
 your fault ? ' 
 
 He turned in some surprise at this. 'Why? because it was not 
 my fault, Ailie. Didn't you know that all the time he was putting 
 the blame of other people on me? That is what he always does. 
 What is the use of my speaking, when he will not believe a word I 
 say? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Roger ! ' in a still more grieved voice. 
 
 *0h, Roger ! indeed. I do believe, AiHe, I am the most unfortu- 
 nate beggar that ever breathed. Don't you remember how I hated 
 it — the whole place, I mean — when father took me from school 
 and made me learn the business ? I wanted to be a farmer or an
 
 78 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 engineer — anything, in fact, but to lead this plodding sort of life. If 
 I had known then what I had to go through, I would have run away. 
 I would, as sure as my name is Roger.' 
 
 'Please do not talk so.' 
 
 * I do not see what hinders my cutting the whole concern now,* 
 he went on, with a gloomy light in his blue eyes. ' Sometimes I 
 think I cannot stand it a day longer, what with the business worries 
 and the nagging that goes on at home. Alison, I do not know if 
 I am right in telling things to a girl like you, but I believe you can 
 keep a silent tongue as well as Rudel.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' she assured him eagerly ; ' I would not repeat 
 a word, even to Aunt Diana.' 
 
 'Aunt Diana!' in a startled tone — 'no, of course, Alison; it is 
 bad enough to know that everything that passes at home reaches 
 the ear of that girl Eva Hardwick. Honour among thieves, Ailie ; 
 but apparently not among young ladies when they have bosom 
 friends.' 
 
 Alison sighed, but she thought it best to let this statement pass 
 uncontradicted. Evidently Roger's notion of young ladyhood was 
 suffering largely in consequence of Missies injudicious conduct, but 
 he was too much engrossed at the present moment for more than tiiat 
 passing sarcasm. ' You know our manager, Fergusson?' 
 
 ' Yes ; I have an indistinct remembrance of him : a pale-faced 
 man, with reddish hair and spectacles. I don't think I liked him, 
 Roger ; his manners were so subservient.' 
 
 ' I have reasons for pretty nearly hating him,' returned her brother, 
 with unusual vehemence, ' for he is at the bottom of all this mis- 
 chief; and, thanks to him, I am the scapegoat of all my father's 
 wrath.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that he absolutely dares to find fault with you, his 
 master?' asked Alison impetuously. 
 
 ' Not openly, of course ; but he is a complete adept in the art of 
 innuendoes. He has a way of hinting things and implying blame ; 
 and ever since I found out a little scheme of his and frustrated it 
 the fellow has been my enemy.' 
 
 ' But, Roger, if Fergusson is not honest, papa ought to know it. 
 Things should not be allowed to go on in this way.' 
 
 'That is what I say to myself every day,' returned Roger, in a 
 hopeless tone. ' Fergusson is doing our business no end of harm, 
 but I cannot bring my father to see it. The fact is, Ailie,' dropping
 
 I WANTED TO FIND YOU, DEAR.' 79 
 
 his voice cautiously, 'the poor old governor is just a bookworm, 
 and liothing else. He has no head for this sort of thing, and 
 Fergusson, who is clever and shifty in his way, makes a tool of 
 him, and has got influence over him. He believes all that Fer- 
 gusson tells him, though he is only a low-bred, half-educated fellow 
 — a mere servant — and yet he will not credit me with common 
 sense ! Things go wrong, as they did today. Of course, Fer- 
 gusson is to blame, but he got my father's ear, and then it was all 
 up with me. It is my belief the fellow wants to get rid of me 
 altogether. He is always telling my father what a pity it is Mr. 
 Roger is not a better man of business, but that I am young, and 
 may improve, and all that sort of thing, and, you know, it tells in 
 the long run.' 
 
 ' Of course it does ; but this is worse than I expected. How 
 can you go on bearing it day after day?' 
 
 ' Well, I have made up my mind to-night to go on bearing it as well 
 as I can. I have been sittmg here turning the whole thing over in 
 my mind. I think it would be cowardly going off, knowing that I 
 should leave everything in Fergusson's power. I mean to hold on 
 as long as I can, and circumvent him.' 
 
 ' But, Roger, if you should fail — if his dishonesty should triumph? 
 You know wicked men succeed sometimes.' 
 
 'Never mind all that A man must do his duty, whatever 
 happens, and I have made up my mind that my duty is not to 
 desert what may be a sinking ship. I mean to act rightly by my 
 father, however he treats me. Tiie poor old man has an awful lot of 
 worry to bear. He is pinning his faith on an unscrupulous rogue, 
 and he will find out his mistake before long ; and then, I suppose, 
 I shall get ri-hted ; but just now — well, life might be a deal 
 pleasanter,' giving Nettle an inadvertent kick as he delivered him- 
 self of this sentiment. 
 
 ' I wish Aunt Diana did know,' observed Alison quietly. 
 
 ' On your peril ' he began hotly. But she stopped him at 
 
 once. 
 
 'I have given you my word, Roger; there is no need for you to 
 excite yourself. I only wanted her to advise you as I do. Oh, 
 Roger, I never felt so proud of you before.' 
 
 It was too dark to see the surprised flush that swept over the 
 young man's face, but there was no mistaking the grasp of Alison's 
 little hand on his arm.
 
 So AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' I think this is real heroism, Roger. No, don't whistle, it is 
 rude when I am talking to you. You have preached a nice little 
 sermon to me to-night, dear, and I feel all the better for it. It has 
 made me less discontented and unhappy to know how you are bear- 
 ing things. We must help each other, Roger, you and I.' 
 
 'Oh, things won't be half so bad now you are ac home,' he 
 returned, evidently touched by her honest sympathy. ' It is only 
 unbearable when one has not a soul to take notice of one, when 
 every one seems at sixes and sevens in the house. Hark ! is not 
 that Rudel ?' as tlie clumsy imitation of a blackbird's whistle sounded 
 near them. 'All right, old fellow, here we are, and I only hope you 
 have come to tell me supper is ready, for I am half-starved.' 
 
 ' Oh, you've found him,' was Rudel's greeting. ' There is nothing 
 like a girl's cheek, after all. Well, I hope you have cheered him up 
 a bit. Come along, old fellow ; father is shut up in his study, and 
 Missie is with him, finishing her novel ; but, as Mother Leigh is still 
 up, old Nanny thought you had better take your supper in the 
 kitchen ; she has sent the other lassies to bed, and Missie might 
 come prying into the schoolroom. I thought you would not mind, 
 just for once, Roger.' 
 
 ' My good lad, I mind nothing if I can get rid of this feeling of 
 famine. I am as cold as charity, too. Give me your hand, Ailie ; 
 you will not walk safely in the dark without my help. Nettle, go 
 back to your master.' And, speaking cheerily, Roger hurried his 
 companions over the bridge into the dark garden, and in another 
 minute they were all three in the great stone kitchen of The Holms, 
 with its bright fire shining on the brass and pewter that garnished the 
 huge dresser. 
 
 ' Coom, Master Roger ! ' exclaimed old Nanny, as she drew a 
 little black table before the fire, and placed on it a Yorkshire pie 
 and a knuckle of ham, with a breakfast cup of savoury coffee, 'eat 
 and drink like a gude lad, and bring your bonny looks back;' for 
 old Nanny had lived there before Roger was born, and they were 
 children still in her eyes. 
 
 Roger did not need a second invitation. Rudel watched him 
 with delight as he fell upon the viands. Nanny gave Alison some 
 coffee to warm her, for she looked cold and tired, and they soon 
 grew more cheerful as they gathered round the fire, chatting with 
 each other and Nanny. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and in some respects it passed tran-
 
 *I WANTED TO FIND YOU, DEAR.' 8 1 
 
 qiiilly with the family at The Holms. Riidel had put on his best 
 behaviour with his Sunday jacket, and Mabel looked unusually 
 am /able. Nevertheless, a few words exchanged with Roger, as they 
 stood at the gate waiting for Miss Leigh and Foppie to join them 
 on their way to church, increased Alison's secret burden of anxiety. 
 
 ' Is not papa ready?' she had asked Roger. 
 
 He looked at her rather gravely — 'So you were waiting for him? 
 I am sorry to say, Ailie, father seldom comes to church now. He 
 has been growing more irregular during the past year, and now not 
 even Missie can induce him to come.' 
 
 Alison's grieved 'Roger!' was all she ventured to say; but a 
 tight sense of oppression seemed to gather round her heart. 
 
 It was a painful contrast to return to The Holms and find Mr. 
 Merle, in his old velveteen coat and slippers, standing on the thres- 
 hold of his study. Alison had no idea how full of reproach her 
 eyes were as she went up and kissed him. 
 
 ' Dear papa, I wish you had been with us,' she said softly ; * we 
 have had such a beautiful sermon from Mr. Herbert.' 
 
 ' Oh, I have heard plenty of sermons in my life,' he returned 
 brusquely ; ' one may get too much of a good thing.' But though 
 he answered her in this cool, sarcastic fashion, something in the 
 innocent wistfulness of the brown eyes raised to his seemed to stir 
 his slumbering conscience, and, with a muttered excuse of a head- 
 ache and being busy, he turned away and shut himself into his 
 study.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ROGER ENJOYS HIS BREAKFAST. 
 
 'ere beginneth the first chapter of Alison's failures,' whispered 
 Alison, in a funny little voice, as she encountered Roger on her 
 way downstairs on Monday morning, and she laughed merrily 
 as she shook her key basket exultantly in his face. Roger 
 opened his eyes very widely at this, then he stepped back a 
 few paces and looked at her admiringly. 
 
 * However did you get possession of that thing?' he exclaimed. 
 • Do you know, Ailie, my dear, that shabby little brown basket has 
 been a bone of contention between Miss Leigh and Missie for the 
 last month. Miss Leigh clings to it as her sole hope, and refuses to 
 give it up. It has ended by Missie's neatly abstracting it at night. 
 She has done it three or four times. Poor Miss Leigh ! I verily 
 believe this has been the last straw that has broken the camel's back. 
 .She has grown quite pule and thin over it.' 
 
 'Yes, I know. Poi'pie told me all about it. Well,' in an amused 
 tone, * I have only paid Missie in her own coin. Thanks to my good 
 habits, I was dressed before she thought of waking ; so I stole in, got 
 my key basket, and wished Missie good morning at the same time. 
 I am afraid she will come down dreadfully cross.' 
 
 ' As though that were anything new,' returned Roger contemp- 
 tuously, as he took up the paper and retired with it to the window, 
 while Alison busied herself with the coffee pot. She thought he was 
 too much engrossed with his news to pay attention to her movements. 
 She little knew the quiet looks that followed her as she flitted about 
 the room, placing chairs, arranging the breakfast-table, giving little 
 finishing touches. She even brought in a vase of flowers from the 
 other room. 
 
 ' I do not think any meal looks well without flowers,' she said 
 cheerfully. ' If I were ever so poor, I would go without things and
 
 ROGER ENJOYS HIS BREAKFAST. 83 
 
 buy a plant or a basket of ferns to set off my table. Ever since I 
 have been at home I have missed flowers in the dininst-room.' 
 
 Roger's answer was an inexplicable sort of grunt. Flowers were 
 not much in his Hne. He liked to see them 'all a-growing and 
 a-blowing,' as he often said, but he hated to assist at what he termed 
 'a wholesale slaughter of the innocents'; and it was a favourite 
 theory of his that things were best in their places, and that he never 
 could rid himself of the idea that plants had feeling as well as life, 
 and that those feelings could be wounded. He always groaned over 
 a dismembered rose-bush, and would insist that not even a turk's-cap 
 enjoyed decapitation, and that a lily shed white blood when she was 
 gathered from her stalk. But, in spite of this Philistine fancy, a 
 subtle sense of comfort stole into the young man's heart as he watched 
 his sister's brisk movements. Alison's graceful young figure was 
 such a contrast to poor Miss Leigh, with her fussy ways and mourn- 
 ful voice. Miss Leigh always rattled the spoons ; her long black 
 draperies seemed in everybody's way. Latterly she had retired from 
 taking any active part at the breakfast-table. Missie had absolutely 
 routed her from the field. The result had been disastrous as regards 
 their comfort. Miss Leigh's coffee had been good, though she 
 poured it out with such a lugubrious face. She had been punctual, 
 too, as befitted an instructress of youth ; but latterly Missie had 
 rushed down at the last moment sleepy and cross, and, after a quarter 
 of an hotir of bustle and fault-finding, her long-suffering brothers 
 found themselves furnished with weak or gritty coffee, for which 
 Missie was never to blame : there was something the matter with the 
 strainer, the water had not boiled — Nanny, every one was in fault, 
 except lazy Missie, who did so enjoy her morning nap. Roger had 
 a presentiment that the coffee would be good this morning, and that, 
 though he was no gourmand, he would undoubtedly enjoy his break- 
 fast if Alison sat smiling at him behind the urn. He had often 
 puzzled himself why Missie, a fine, healthy girl, looked so heavy-eyed 
 and unamiable in the morning. Roger, who was a bit of a philo- 
 sopher in his way, and who sometimes speculated on the future, as 
 young men will, often vowed to himself that he would never choose 
 his wife from a ballroom. Girls were amiable enough there, and the 
 majority contrived to look pretty. The way to judge of a girl was 
 to see her in the morning sunlight. Roger had a shrewd notion that 
 the girl he could fancy must look bright and fresh and sweet at that 
 hour of the day ; a sluggish and lethargic nature would not suit his ;
 
 84 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 for, in common with many or^iinary young mei, his standard for his 
 future wife was proportionately high ; for there is nothing that men 
 worship more in women than goodness and moral — not mental — 
 excellence. 
 
 He roused himself from these reflections at an unwonted sound on 
 the stairs. 
 
 ' If it were not perfectly incredible, I should say that was Rudel's 
 footstep,' he observed in a doubtful tone. 
 
 * Oh, yes, it is Rudel,' returned Alison brightly. She was deter- 
 mined to be cheerful to-day, whatever happened, and to put herself 
 and her feelings in the background until night, and then perhaps she 
 might indulge herself with a groan or two, if things were pretty bad. 
 * I woke him, and made him promise to get up. Miss Leigh says he 
 has got into sad ways. — Good boy,' as Kudel entered, looking very 
 much pleased at himself, and he bore without making a very wry 
 face his sister's kiss on his forehead. Poppie, who came in a moment 
 afterwords with Miss Leigh, was not quite so reticent. 
 
 ' Wiiat is that for ? ' she asked, with a child's innocency of grammar, 
 but in much surprise, as Alison kissed her warmly, and said — ' Good- 
 morning, Poppie dear.' 
 
 ' Poppie means that we are not accustomed to these little civilities,' 
 put in Roger, as Alison looked perplexed for a moment ; ' nobody 
 says good-morning to anybody else at The Holms, except Miss Leigh 
 and I; we always do, don't we?' shaking hands with her as he 
 spoke. 'Father just gives an inclusive good-morning at the door.' 
 
 ' I am afraid you are very much shocked, Alison,' observed Miss 
 Leigh mournfully. ' Mabel sets Rudel and Poppie such a bad 
 example in this; no one thinks of such a thing except Mr. Roger, 
 and he is always so very thoughtful.' 
 
 ' Oh, we are a bad lot, ain't we, Missie ? ' began Rudel in his 
 rough fashion ; but Alison promptly silenced him by pre])aring to say 
 grace. Perhaps this was also an innovation, for Poppie only stared 
 at her. Alison took no notice of the little girl's or of Rudel's in- 
 voluntary grimace ; she would bring them into better order presently ; 
 she had already heard from Miss Leigh how morning prayers had 
 been discontinued. Things were becoming very lax at The Holms, 
 in spite of the governess's efforts to preserve the old discipline. 
 
 When Mr. Merle came into the room a few minutes later, he seemed 
 quite surprised at the unwonted cheerfulness. He nodded to Alison, 
 and then took up his letters ; but she was not satisfied.
 
 ROGER ENJOYS HIS BREAKFAST. 85 
 
 _ • You have not kissed me, papa,' she said as she carried him round 
 his cup of coffee. 
 
 'Oh, I thought only Pussie cared for kisses,' he said good- 
 humouredly ; ' Poppie never comes to me tor one.' 
 
 Poppie reddened, and bent over her plate in much confusion. 
 Roger, who was next to her, saw the child's eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ' I expect Poppie is afraid of bothering you,' he observed. ' You 
 would like father to kiss you sometimes, as he does Missie,' he said, 
 kindly. 
 
 ' Is that true, my little girl ? ' asked Mr. Merle, who had just caught 
 sight of Poppie's quiveruig lip. The poor child, who was very 
 sensitive, was on the point of bursting into tears ; but Alison happily 
 interposed. 
 
 ' Papa is too busy to think much about such things. You must 
 go round to-morrow and ask him for one, as I did to-day ; he won't 
 refuse either of us,' and she looked laughingly at him from behind 
 her urn. 
 
 The brightness seemed to rouse him efifectually. He had looked 
 pale and weary when he had entered the room, but good-humour is 
 infectious. 
 
 ' You look very nice, my dear,' he said approvingly. ' I like to 
 see you there, Alison.' 
 
 'I like to see her there, too,' observed Roger boldly; 'it is her 
 proj^er place.' Missie, wlio had just opened the door, caught both 
 these remarks ; they did not evidently conduce to her amiability. 
 She gave Alison a withering glance as she passed by her, to greet her 
 father ; and, taking no notice of her or the others, desired Rudel 
 rather crossly to give her more room, and began her breakfast rather 
 sulkily. 
 
 But for once her humours were disregarded. No one troubled them- 
 selves about her ; and the conversation was renewed with scarcely 
 a break. Perhaps both Roger and Alison were doing their best to 
 carry it on, but their sense of effort was lost in the general good. 
 
 When breakfast was over, and Rudel had rushed off to school, 
 and Mr. Merle and Roger had gone over to the mill, Alison asked 
 her sister pleasantly how she proposed to spend the morning. 
 
 Mabel tossed her pretty head at the inquiry. 
 
 'That is my affair,' she answered, very rudely. 'I am not accus- 
 tomed to give an account of myself, to gratify people's curiosity. I 
 may as well tell you, once for all, that I dishke interference.'
 
 86 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Alison felt inclined to laugh — there was something comical in 
 Missie's mode of showing her temper ; but she knew nothing pro- 
 vokes people more than to laugh at them, so she prudently refrained 
 from showing her mirth. ' 1 am just going round the house with 
 Miss Leigh while Poppie prepares her lessons,' she returned, as coolly 
 as though Missie had given her a fair answer. * In another hour I 
 shall be quite at your convenience, if you would like to practise with 
 me.' 
 
 'Thank you,' returned Missie, with freezing politeness. * I have 
 no need to trespass on your valuable time ; Eva will be here soon.' 
 
 * Oh, very well,' returned Alison, still in perfect good-humour ; 
 * then I will get my easel ready in the schoolroom and paint a little, 
 if Miss Leigh will allow me.' 
 
 ' Of course you must paint in the schoolroom,' returned her sister 
 tartly; ' I suppose you do not intend to litter up this room with that 
 great ugly easel ; and Eva and I will be in the drawing-room.' 
 
 ' I dare say when I have finished you will let me join you there,* 
 replied Alison, in a conciliatory tone. As she was bent on making 
 Miss Hardwick's acquaintance for her own purposes, she took no 
 notice of sundry remarks in an undertone that were fully meant to 
 reach her ears, about people never knowing when they were not 
 wanted, and two was company and three none. She knew Missie 
 was only revenging herself for her lost dignity and the two speeches 
 that had been overheard. She must give her time to recover herself. 
 Discretion is often the best part of valour, so she went out of the 
 room as quickly as possible, with the wordy missiles still flying about 
 her, and laughed a little when she got outside — though the tears were 
 in her eyes too. 
 
 ' How absurd ! ' she said to herself ' How small, and stupid, and 
 paltiy it all is ! I do think there is something so mean in little tem- 
 pers. Gnats are mean little insects, but how they sting ; so do midges 
 sometimes. Aunt I)i was right when she once told nie that tongues 
 were too often Uke lancets. They do puncture pretty deeply too.' 
 
 Alison was soon too busy to remember Missie's existence. Miss 
 Leigh, who was desirous of resigning her household duties into 
 Alison's hands, keeping herself in the background and only acting 
 as aide-de-camp, was soon explaining to the bewildered girl all her 
 little pet theories with regard to kitchen and store-room. 
 
 Alison listened patiently, but she became more perplexed every 
 minute.
 
 ROGER ENJOYS HIS BREAKFAST. 8/ 
 
 * I have never been used to housekeeping,' she said at last, in an 
 alarmed voice. * I have been too much engaged with my studies at 
 Moss-side. Aunt Diana taught me a Httle, but not much ; she said 
 I was too young for that sort of thing. I am afraid I shall make 
 dreadful mistakes if you leave all these things to me.' 
 
 'My dear Alison,' returned the governess solemnly, 'I have made 
 up my mind that my proper place is in the schoolroom. As long 
 as you and Mabel were too young, I promised your father to super- 
 intend his household, but the duties are too onerous for me under 
 the present circumstances. It is true you are young, not much over 
 eighteen ; but, my dear, some girls are married at that age - not that 
 I hold with youthful marriages, far from it ; I only say this to en- 
 courage you. You are the eldest daughter, and the rightful mistress 
 of the house. I know your aunt will approve of my resigning every- 
 thing; there is nothing I will not do to help you, you may command 
 me in everything, so that you relieve me from a responsibility that 
 is too much for me.' Miss Leigh's lip trembled as she spoke, and 
 her eyes were so full of beseeching wistfulness that Alison was quite 
 touched. 
 
 ' Oh, don't look so unhappy about it,' she exclaimed, with sudden 
 youthful energy, 'I will do all I can. I am afraid papa will be 
 dreadfully dissatisfied with his new housekeeper, but that cannot 
 be helped, and, of course, I shall improve ; now, cheer up,' kissing 
 the governess's thin cheek; 'you shall sit in your nice schoolroom 
 and teach Poppie, and I shall come in about fifty times in a morning 
 to ask your advice. When I get into a muddle you will have to 
 come to my assistance, and you shall teach me to mend. I am 
 afraid I am not very clever with my needle, and we shall be a model 
 household.' 
 
 'Oh, my dear,' returned Miss Leigh, as she wiped away a quiet 
 tear or two, ' if you only knew how much good you do me ! Things 
 have been dreadful lately. If your poor dear mother only knew the 
 trial that Mabel would be to us all, and your dear father never 
 entering a church, or keeping the Sabbath-day holy — no family 
 prayers, nothing to show we are a Christian household. I sometimes 
 used to fear a judgment would overtake us, for such bickerings and 
 quarrels and unbrotherly love would be more befitting to the heathen.' 
 
 'It is very sad,' replied Alison, with a sigh, as Miss Leigh paused 
 in her somewhat incoherent lament ; ' but it is no use fretting our- 
 selves over past troubles ; what we have to do is to try and make
 
 88 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 things a little better. We must be thankful for small mercies, as 
 Roger was for his cup of hot coffee.' And Alison laughed again as 
 she remembered how Roger proposed saying his grace over again, 
 for his first enjoyable breakfast for two years. 
 
 When Miss Leigh and Poppie went back to the schoolroom, 
 Alison settled herself and her painting apparatus in the farthest 
 window, and tried to forget all her perplexities in hard work ; but 
 while Poppie droned over her lessons Alison's thoughts would stray 
 to a far different scene — to a shady room full of sweet flower scents, 
 with a tall figure standing before an easel. She could see the grand, 
 still face intent on its work ; the firm white hand moving so deftly 
 over the canvas, then a little gleam of fun coming into the grey 
 eyes; 'always dreaming, Ailie ; the night is the time for dreams, 
 little one,' she seemed to hear in the crisp tones she remembered so 
 well. * Oh, Aunt Di, Aunt Di, if I were only painting beside you 
 now ! ' she thought, with a sharp, involuntary pain. 
 
 'Oh, how beautiful! if I could only paint like that.' The words 
 were spoken, with a sigh, just behind her. Alison started ; she had 
 been dreaming indeed ; the mid-day sun was streaming into the 
 room. Poppie had put away her lesson books, and had run off; 
 and Miss Leigh's place was empty ; and standing just behind 
 Alison's chair was a young lady dressed very simply in a grey lineu 
 dress and a broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 At Alison's obvious start, the young lady blushed and seemed 
 confused. 
 
 'Oh,' she stammered, 'I am afraid I startled you. You were so 
 busy that you did not see me come in. I have been watching you 
 ever so lono;.' 
 
 ' I must have been painting in my sleep,' returned Alison, with a 
 frank laugh ; but as she put aside her palette and rose, she cast 
 a scrutinizing glance on the young girl beside her. 
 
 She was a slight, pale girl, evidently a little younger than herself; 
 somewhat plain in feature, but with a pleasing, gentle expression, 
 though a painful hesitation in her speech, almost amounting to a 
 stammer, marred the effect of a singularly sweet voice. Even in 
 that first moment, Alison, who had a true artistic taste in all matters 
 pertaining to dress, wondered at the bad judgment that could select 
 dull, neutral tints for a complexion so colourless; the large hat 
 overshadowed her features, and hid the soft fair hair that was her 
 only beauty.
 
 ROGER ENJOYS HIS BREAKFAST. 89 
 
 'You are Miss Hardwick, I suppose?' observed Alison, with a 
 shrewd guess that this was the young sister of whom Miss Leigh 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Not Miss Hardwick,' corrected the younger girl ; ' I am only 
 Anna. Eva and Mabel sent me in here because they wanted to 
 talk to each other, and they always find me in the way. Will it 
 trouble you if I stop here a little and watch you painting?' 
 
 * Oh, no, not at all. \Vc shall be nice company for each other,' 
 returned Alison, in a friendly voice. 'I have only this little bit of 
 background to finish, and then I shall be free to talk to you.' 
 
 ' Oh, it does not matter about talking,' rejoined Anna hastily. 
 * I shall be quite happy if you will only let me sit and look at you. 
 I never like to feel in the way, and it makes me so uncomfortable to 
 be with Eva and Mabel. They are always whispering to each other 
 when I am in the room. I always feel they want to get rid of me.* 
 
 ' That is not a pleasant feeling,' observed Alison, somewhat 
 amused at the childish way in which Anna aired her little woes. 
 She had seated herself in a low chair, and her hat lay in her lap. 
 Alison had a full view of the neatly-coiled hair; it was very beautiful 
 in colour and texture, and might have been arranged with greater 
 advantage, instead of being brushed back so unbecomingly from the 
 face. Evidently vanity was not Anna's besetting sin, or else she 
 had too humble an estimate of herself to take much pains with her 
 appearance. 
 
 Alison painted for a few minutes silently ; she was thinking. 
 Then she laid aside her brush. 
 
 ' If you will excuse me a moment, I want to speak to your sister 
 and Mabel,' she said, rather quickly, ' and then, if you hke, we will 
 go and sit in the garden until luncheon is ready.'
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 'she is a nice, simple little thing/ 
 
 ^'^/fissiE looked up with a frown as her sister entered the room, 
 but Alison took no notice of her. She walked up straight to 
 Miss Hardwick, and held out her hand with one of her 
 pleasant smiles. 
 
 ' I have just made acquaintance with your sister,' she said, 
 with quiet tact ; ' we are going in the garden, as the house feels so 
 close this lovely day. I shall be so glad, and I am sure Mabel will 
 be, too, if you will both stay with us to luncheon.' 
 
 Missie stared at her, as though she could not believe her ears, 
 
 ' I thought you knew better, Alison,' she interrupted pettishly, 
 be fore her friend could speak. ' Dear papa is so nervous and worried 
 about business and Roger's wretched management that he is not 
 able to bear luncheon visitors. Eva understands this ; don't you, 
 dear ? ' 
 
 'Oh, yes, darling,' returned Miss Hardwick, with effusion; 'but 
 perhaps your sister, being a stranger and not quite used to all the 
 ways at The Holms, has made a mistake. That is very natural.' 
 
 * Oh, no,' returned Alison, trying to keep cool, though she was 
 inwardly nettled by both the girls' remarks. ' I am making no mis- 
 take. Papa will not be in to luncheon, or my brother either, as they 
 have business a little way out of town. So I thought, as we should 
 be quite alone, that it would be a good opportunity, Mabel, for you 
 to have your friends.' 
 
 Missie's pink cheeks became crimson with vexation ; it aggravated 
 her to see Alison taking upon herself so quietly the duties of the 
 mistress of the house and dispensing hospitality ; and she was still 
 more injured that her father's movements had not been first notified 
 to herself She took no notice of her sister's remarks, and added 
 no word, as Miss Hardwick accepted the invitation with great
 
 'SHE IS A NICE, SIMPLE LITTLE THING.' 9 1 
 
 alacrity. When Alison left them, after a few more words, she 
 listened reluctantly to Eva's criticisms. 
 
 * I had no idea your sister was such a stylish person,' she said, 
 when the door closed on Alison ; ' she has fine eyes and a good 
 figure, and she knows how to suit her own style in dress. She is 
 not so pretty as you, darling, of course ' — as Missie's sulkiness was 
 obvious, and must be soothed away at any cost — ' but she has some 
 claims to good looks.' 
 
 Alison did not return these moderate compliments ; she was not 
 at all attracted by Miss Hardwick. She was a large, heavy-looking 
 girl, rather handsome, but her face had no play of expression, and 
 her manner was decidedly artificial. 
 
 If she would only have let herself alone, she would have been a 
 good-looking creature, for nature had endowed her with many 
 beauties, but the last thing that ever entered Eva Hardwick's head 
 was to let herself or any one else alone, until she had transmuted 
 herself and them into fashionable dolls. Her figure would have 
 been good, only artifice had reduced her waist until it was too small 
 to match the breadth of the shoulders, and so the lines of beauty 
 were lost ; the pretty, fair hair, that was really as soft and fine as 
 silk, was roughed and tangled, and fringed with infinite pains until it 
 was reduced to the fashionable untidiness of the day. 
 
 * Oh, if I could only dress them both ! I am sure their mother 
 would not recognise them,' thought Alison, as she went back to 
 Anna ; ' the one thinks too much and the other too little of her 
 appearance.' And she thought gratefully of the wisdom that had 
 taught her to see no beauty in anything unnatural, and that bade her 
 be no mere copyist in fashion, but to choose her own style and have 
 courage to abide by it. 
 
 ' Be as modern as you like,' Miss Carrington would say ; * nothing 
 is so hateful as eccentricity in women ; and, my dear, do not be 
 shocked at what I am going to say, but a woman without vanity is a 
 monstrosity in nature. It is your duty to make the best of yourself, 
 remember that ; no one ought to be plainer than they can help, for 
 the sake of other people ; suit your dress to yourself, not yourself to 
 your dress. Do not turn yourself into a peg to hang your neighbour's 
 clothes on. A little woman in a big plaid always seems to me to 
 have soniething wanting in her intellect ; she has no brains ; she is 
 an imbecile. My dear, I hope better things of you. Cultivate the 
 true art of dress. When you choose a gown, give your mind to it ;
 
 92 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Study it as you would the different parts of a picture. Spend little 
 money, less time ; but what you do, do thoroughly. I never could 
 bear patchwork, and some women are dreadfully patched.' 
 
 Alison spent a pleasant hour with her new friend under the lime 
 trees, both before and after luncheon. She soon grew interested in 
 Anna's artless talk. She was evidently very young for her age ; 
 though she was seventeen, she was still childish in manners. Pro- 
 bably she had been repressed and kept in the background by her 
 sister. 
 
 Eva was evidently a great personage in Anna's eyes ; she spoke of 
 her with a sort of admiring awe. Eva was so handsome. Did not 
 Miss Merle think she had a beautiful complexion and lovely hair ? 
 Then she was so clever ; she could talk French as well as a Parisian. 
 Cousin Anthony often said so. Then she played so well, and sang 
 such difficult German and Italian songs. She was sure Miss Merle 
 would enjoy hearing her. And she painted Christmas cards, and 
 worked in crewels so exquisitely ; and she could dance, and play 
 tennis. Cousin Anthony always said what an accomplished creature 
 she was. 
 
 ' I dare say you can do many of these things, too,' suggested Alison 
 kindly, when Anna had run through the gamut of her sister's per- 
 fections. But the girl shook her head, and a cloud passed over her 
 gentle face. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; I am dreadfully stupid. Mamma often says that she 
 does not know how she could have such a daughter. Mamma likes 
 people to be clever and strong, and full of life; she says, sometimes, 
 that I am such a low-spirited, foolish little thing.' 
 
 'Oh, no,' exclaimed Alison involuntarily; 'I am sure she could 
 not mean that.' But, nevertheless, she conceived a strong dislike to 
 Mrs. Hardwick from that moment. She knew her already, by re- 
 putation, to be a gay, pleasure-loving widow ; but she had also 
 understood that she was a good-natured woman. Alison had yet to 
 learn that even good-natured people can sometimes be hard and 
 unsympathetic to their own flesh and blood. 
 
 Anna had retailed her mother's opinion in a most matter-of-fact 
 way ; she was far too used to be depreciated and set on one side to 
 be sensitive over it. Alison's kindness and warm interest had put 
 her at once at her ease. For the first time in her poor little shady 
 life, she experienced the pleasure of true sympathy. 
 
 ' It is so good of you to let me talk to you,' Anna went on.
 
 'SHE IS A NICE, SIMPLE LITTLE THING.' 93 
 
 ' Mamma and Eva say I am sucli a chatterbox, when I begin to ask 
 them questions. I think I am fonder of talking than most people. 
 Anthony says that makes me so troublesome.' 
 
 ' Who is Anthony? ' queried Alison, a little curiously. 
 
 * Oh, he is our cousin ; he is staying with us now. Eva says it is 
 so nice, because we have no brothers, and he can take us about. 
 Eva and he are great friends ; she always calls him Tony. He is 
 such a handsome fellow, with a big black moustache like a cavalry 
 ofificer. He is in the army, you know. I am dreadfully frightened 
 of him, because he laughs at me ; but it is only his way, he means to 
 be good-natured.' 
 
 ' Tell me what you do with your time ? ' asked Alison quickly. 
 She was not particularly interested in this description of Anna's 
 cousin. 
 
 Anna's blue eyes opened rather widely at this ; she was evidently 
 surprised at the question. 
 
 ' My time,' she repeated helplessly, as though it were a new 
 thought that she had anything of her own ; indeed, it was doubtful, 
 if the truth were known, whether the poor child really possessed an 
 hour for her private use. ' I suppose you mean, how do I spend 
 the day ? ' 
 
 Alison nodded. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know,' wrinkling her brow ; 'that is how mamma and 
 Eva please to spend it. They are always wanting me for something. 
 • — Once upon a time,' she continued, twisting her hands a little 
 nervously— she had all sorts of nervous ways — ' I used to make grand 
 resolutions ; that was just after I was confirmed,' dropping her voice 
 a liitle. ' I made up my mind never to waste a minute. I would 
 practise and read something solid, and do a little work for the poor, 
 and keep it up even after I had finished with lessons ; but I found 
 1 had to give it all up.' 
 
 ' But that was a pity, was it not ? ' 
 
 * I suppose so ; but then it could not be helped. I left school 
 nearly a year ago, because the doctor said I was too delicate to 
 learn, and mamnia and Eva thought it did not matter, because I was 
 not clever ; so mamma told me that I had better sliut up my books, 
 as I made such a poor use of them, and do the best I could to help 
 her instead.' 
 
 ' Perhaps that was wise,' returned Alison, hardly knowing what to say. 
 ' Of course, mamma always knows best,' replied Anna, drooping
 
 94 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 her head a little ; ' but I was so fond of my History and English 
 Literature, and I liked sums, and Euclid ; and I was just beginning 
 to get on with Latin. Eva says I ought to have been a boy, for I 
 never can learn anything suitable for a lady. I am stupid at French, 
 and I play badly. And, oh dear ! if only one could make oneselt 
 clever,' with a sigh. 
 
 ' But you have not told me yet what you do with your day,' said 
 Alison, with playful pertinacity. 
 
 ' Oh, I do little things just as they come to hand,' returned Anna, 
 rather dejectedly. ' I get a little time to myself before breakfast, 
 because mamma and Eva are always down late. I read then, or do 
 some Latin ; afterwards, there is always so much for me to do.' 
 
 ' What kind of things ? ' 
 
 * Well, there are the plants to water in the garden, and Eva's birds 
 to feed ; and mamma has always some fine needlework for me to do, 
 or Eva wants a dress mended or some lace washed ; then sometimes 
 there are the china and ornaments in the drawing-room, or the books 
 in the morning-room to dust, or Eva's drawers to turn out, and 
 flowers to arrange for the luncheon table, and little odds and ends of 
 that kind. Then perhaps mamma wants me to do some errands in 
 the town, matching silks for her fancy work ; or Eva has an after- 
 noon's shopping, and then she Ukes me to accompany her. I often 
 get a quiet evening when they are out at some party ; but mamma 
 expects me to do a little of her fancy work then. She and Eva are 
 re-covering the drawing-room chairs, and they leave the plain parts 
 for me. I am fond of needlework, but it is a little dull to sit alone 
 of an evening. I think I should like a nice interesting book some- 
 times, but mamma always thinks I am wasting my time.' 
 
 Alison prudently refrained from all comments, but she inwardly 
 exclaimed, — ' Oh, you poor little ill-used child ! This mother and 
 sister of yours are turning you into a drudge. You have positively 
 no life of your own at all.' 
 
 But what she said was, — 
 
 ' I think, Anna — may I call you Anna ? you look so young, some- 
 how — that you lead a very useful, self-denying life.' And as the 
 girl flushed at the unexpected praise, she continued lightly, 'Now 
 we have talked all this time, and 1 wonder what has become of your 
 sister and Mabel ? ' — for the two had sauntered away, arm-in-arm, the 
 moment luncheon was over. ' As I am housekeeper — you know I 
 have come home to make myself useful — 1 propose that we have
 
 •the plants to water in the garden. 
 
 9S
 
 *SHE IS A NICE, SIMPLE LITTLE THING.' 9/ 
 
 afternoon tea under these trees, and that you and I, with Sarah's 
 help, should prepare a little surprise for them. Will not Poppie be 
 delighted ? ' 
 
 Anna might have been a child from the way she clapped her 
 hands ; she had never enjoyed herself so much in all her life as 
 during the next half-hour, as she and Alison dragged chairs across 
 the lawn, and arranged the little tea-table, with the nice basket of 
 hot cakes that old Nanny had prepared, some fresh strawberries, and 
 a little vase of roses in the centre. 
 
 Even Missie looked pleased when, on returning from their hot 
 walk— for they had gone out without informing any one of their 
 intentions — she caught sight of the snowy cloth under the trees. 
 
 'That is really a good idea,' she observed, in a grudging tone, 
 however; but Eva very nearly made her cross again by saying, 
 
 * How delicious of your sister ! I really would hug her for this. 
 What a pity we never thought of this before, dear ! and then Tony 
 might have joined us.' 
 
 Missie never praised anything heartily in which she had not had a 
 share. 
 
 But even Missie was not proof against the pleasant influence of the 
 hour ; Nanny's cakes were so good, and the strawberries so cool and 
 refreshing after their dusty walk. When Roger returned from his 
 work, an hour earlier than he expected, he stood quite transfixed on 
 the gravel walk ; for certainly such a pleasant little picture had never 
 been seen before in the garden of The Holms. 
 
 Alison, in her crisp summer gown and broad-brimmed hat, might 
 have been taken for a modern Hebe dispensing nectar. Missie, 
 flushed and merry, was sitting on the grass beside her friend, with 
 Otter between them, and Rudel on the other side,^all in good 
 humour ; and poor little pale Anna, for whom he had always felt 
 such pity, v/as offering a saucerful of milk to Missie's beloved cat. 
 Poppie came dancing over the grass to meet him, and caught hold 
 of his hand. 
 
 'You may have my chair by Miss Leigh,' she exclaimed eagerly. 
 
 • Oh, the cakes are so nice, Roger, and there are two left.' 
 
 ' I must make you some fresh tea, you poor tired day labourer,' 
 observed Alison, as Roger threw himself into the wicker chair, and 
 removed his hat. 
 
 ' Oh, let me do it,' exclaimed Anna eagerly. ' I know the way to 
 the kitchen quite well.' 
 
 G
 
 98 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 'Yes, and I will go, too,' added Poppie. 'There are some more 
 strawberries, I know.' 
 
 ' Bring me a big plateful,' called out Roger, as Poppie frisked 
 away ; but he looked after them both rather curiously. His little 
 friend looked different, somehow, he thought. Was it Alison, he 
 wondered, who had put those coquettish-looking roses into the little 
 grey gown ? 
 
 Anna's face looked dimpled and smiling. Her blue eyes quite 
 shone when she came back. She and Alison and Roger had a long 
 talk, while Miss Leigh listened and knitted industriously. Missie 
 and Eva had wandered away again — most likely to avoid Roger. 
 He had addressed Miss Hardwick with studied politeness, but she 
 had tossed her head and hardly answered him. She would make 
 no terms with the enemy who had wounded her vanity so grievously. 
 
 'We will take one more turn, darUng, and then we must really go,' 
 she had said to Missie ; and in a few more minutes they heard her 
 calling for Anna. 
 
 ' Come, Anna, don't dawdle. We must really go now.' 
 
 * Good-bye. I have had such a happy afternoon, thank you so 
 much,' whispered Anna, with a timid kiss that Alison warmly re- 
 turned. * One day you will have me again, will you not ? ' 
 
 ' Come whenever you like, dear. 1 am sure we shall be good 
 friends,' returned Alison, forgetting the necessity of lowering her voice. 
 
 Miss Hardwick laughed affectedly as she heard the speech. 
 
 ' You are a lucky girl to have got a friend so quickly. Is she not, 
 Mr. Roger ? Oh ! 1 forgot ; you are her friend, too,' with a little 
 spice of venom in her tone. 
 
 ' I shall be most happy to be considered Miss Anna's friend ; and 
 I am sure Alison will say the same,' rejoined Roger, in his down- 
 right manner. ' Good-bye, Miss Anna. You see I have not for- 
 gotten you. Here is the groundsel for your birds that I promised you. 
 
 'They are my birds,' observed Eva, her colour rising with annoy- 
 ance at this little mark of kindly consideration to her sister, when all 
 her airs and graces had never succeeded in attracting even an admir- 
 ing look from Roger, and Eva was one of those girls who expected 
 admiration and attention from every one. 
 
 ' Yes ; but Miss Anna feeds your birds,' he returned quietly, 'and 
 I dare say they will be very grateful to her, and love her all the 
 better for this groundsel.' And he handed it to Anna, who was 
 standing beside her sister, looking shy and distressed.
 
 •she is a nice, simple little thing.' 99 
 
 She knew quite well by Eva's voice that she would be well scolded 
 all the way home for her forwardness and want of manners ; and 
 most likely a formal complaint made to her mother about her always 
 trying to attract notice ; for baffled vanity is capable of even this 
 meanness, and when people choose to consider themselves aggrieved 
 they seldom take the trouble to measure their words, or pause to 
 consider whether they are true or not ; and it was not the first time 
 poor Anna had all sorts of strange charges laid to her share when 
 Eva happened to be in a bad humour. 
 
 ' Poor little thing ! I hope you will be her friend, Ailie,' observed 
 Roger, when he had closed the gate after them, and found Alison 
 alone under the lime trees. ' I am afraid she has a hard life of it, 
 with that mother and sister.' 
 
 ' I am afraid so, too,' returned Alison gravely. ' I wish they 
 would let me have her here a little, for I am sure we should get on 
 together. She is a nice, simple little thing.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he returned thoughtfully ; ' but she is more than that. 
 She is clever, too ; though you could not find it out in one afternoon. 
 It is a pity she hesitates so. It is only a nervous habit, I expect, but 
 it spoils her.' 
 
 * She loses it entirely when she gets interested and forgets herself. 
 Yes ; I like her. I wonder what Aunt Di would say about her ? 
 But, Roger, how have you been getting on to-day? No fresh 
 worries, 1 hope ? ' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' No, thank goodness ! and as for past troubles, by your leave, we 
 will not talk about them just now. Do you know, little woman,' 
 putting his arm round her, ' I feel in a more cheerful mood to day. 
 That cup of cofi"ee was very potent, Ailie,' with a flash of his eye ; 
 * it lasted nearly all day.' 
 
 * You absurd boy ! What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am perfectly serious. It seemed to brace me up, and 
 gave me courage. I said to myself once when I had a tough job in 
 hand, " Well, Ailie and I are both hard at work to-day, and by-and- 
 by we will have a rare good talk." And so we will ! After dinner 
 you and I and Rudel are going for a walk. It will be like old times, 
 won't it, Ailie ? ' looking so artectionately in her face that Alison 
 could only smile and assent, and try to enter into Roger's pleasure, 
 though she had meant to devote her evening to writing a long letter 
 to Aunt Diana.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Roger's appendix. 
 
 'iss Carrington received a letter from Alison soon after this, 
 the conclusion of which made her smile; but that was not 
 Alison's fault. Roger had taken possession of the half-finished 
 sheet of note paper, and had filled it after his own fashion, 
 adding a lengthy message from Rudel. Alison protested in 
 vain, the letter must go with Roger's appendix or else a day's post 
 would be lost. 
 
 ' Dear Aunt Diana,' wrote Alison, in her pretty girlish hand, ' I 
 had hoped to have commenced a long letter to you last Monday, 
 and now it is Saturday, and yet not a word written. Last week I 
 behaved better, did I not ? But you cannot scold me, lest I quote 
 your own words against you, " Duty before pleasure." Is not that 
 what you always said, and is not the greatest pleasure in the world, 
 except talking to you, to write to you and tell you everything ? But 
 then you would not have me neglect all my little duties even to 
 enjoy this, would you, dear Aunt Di?' 
 
 (' As though Ailie ever neglected her little duties ! ' observed Miss 
 Carrington, with a tender smile, which it was a pity Alison could not 
 see.) 
 
 * I have been at home three weeks now, and you will want to know 
 if I feel satisfied with the progress I have made. You asked as much 
 in your last letter — and what a dear letter that was ; but indeed. Aunt 
 Di, I feel that it is a question that I hardly know how to answer. 
 " The world goes up and the world goes down," especially at The 
 Holms. The old grievances remain ; Missie still asserts her own 
 sweet will, in absolute disregard of all other wills. This causes 
 floods of tears on Poppie's part, when Miss Leigh and I are 
 not by to take her part ; and a day never passes without a quarrel 
 between Missie and Rudel. I am afraid they are both rather fond of 
 wrangling, for they begin on the smallest pretext. Missie is often
 
 ROGER'S APPENDIX. lOI 
 
 cross with me, but I take very little notice of that ; it is her behaviour 
 to Roger that troubles me most. Sometimes I feel so angry at her 
 innuendoes and sarcastic speeches, that I hardly know how to refrain 
 from speaking, but Roger says our silence punishes her most ; she 
 wants to rouse him into a passion, but he has wisely resolved not to 
 indulge her. " What does it matter ? " he always says, when he sees 
 me unhappy about it ; " hard words break no bones," but all the 
 same I know how often she pains him ; and. Aunt Di — you know I 
 tell you everything, as you said 1 ought — I am afraid she makes 
 papa harder on Roger than he would be if he were left to himself, 
 and this makes me more angry and miserable. I think there is no 
 one in the world so good as Roger, except one or two people who 
 shall be nameless, and I long — oh, how I long !— to make him as 
 happy as he deserves to be for his own sake. I am glad I have come 
 home. Yes, indeed, dear Aunt Di, you were right, as you always 
 were, and my duty is here at present.' 
 
 ('Only three weeks, and she has already learnt her lesson,' said 
 Miss Carrington, with a sigh. ' Poor little Ailie ! yes, I was right 
 to give you up.') 
 
 * But I am turning the dark side to you first. Now for a bit of 
 brightness. 
 
 ' I am really getting on much better with my housekeeping this 
 week; the first week I made dreadful blunders, in spile of Miss 
 Leigh's help. Papa was rather annoyed once or twice, only I begged 
 him to have patience, as I was so new to my duties, and then he 
 said no more. It vexes me when Missie calls his attention to any 
 little oversight on my part, as I do not think he would notice it of 
 his own accord ; but I try to follow Roger's example and bear it as 
 patiently as I can, and I have made less mistakes this week. 
 
 ' I think breakfast time is the pleasantest hour of the day. Missie 
 never comes down until the meal is nearly over, and so 1 get papa 
 and the boys to myself, and we are often very merry. Rudel is 
 always down in time, for I cail him myself, and as I help him to find 
 his school-books he is never in disgrace with his master. Poppie, 
 too, has learned to say her grace and to bid us all good-morning 
 very prettily. She seems less afraid of papa, and talks to him 
 as nicely as possible. My greatest difficulty is to fit in all my duties. 
 Do you remember giving me quite a long lecture once on making a 
 better use of my time ? You called me a sad spendthrift, and de- 
 clared all the quarters of an hour that I wasted would mount up
 
 I02 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 dreadfully at the end of the week ; but I find I must husband even 
 my minutes now if I am to do all I wish. 
 
 ' So much is taken up by housekeeping and necessary needlework, 
 in spite of all Miss Leigh's valuable help, that very little remains for 
 my own pursuits. I am giving Poppie drawing lessons, which pleases 
 her very much, and I help Rudel with his Latin. How glad I am 
 that Mr. Moore got me on so well with it ; it has given me such an 
 influence over Rudel ; he respects me twice as much, I believe ; and 
 he was very backward with his Latin, and that made papa angry. I 
 have another pupil, too, and that is Roger. One evening papa re- 
 mained in his study, and we all gathered round the piano and sang 
 rounds and glees. I discovered then that Roger really had a 
 magnificent voice, only it was perfectly uncultivated, so I am doing 
 my best to train it. I wanted Missie to teach him, because she 
 really sings most beautifully, but she will not take the trouble, so we 
 shut ourselves in the schoolroom and practise scales nearly every 
 evening. 
 
 * I wish our evenings could be more sociable, but I hardly know 
 how to make them so. Papa always brings his books into the 
 drawing-room and that hinders all conversation. Missie has quite 
 left off singing to us ; she always shares papa's lamp and little table, 
 and reads all the evening, too. She and Miss Hardwick are reading 
 French novels, to improve themselves in the language. Miss Leigh 
 has spoken to papa once or twice about it, but she cannot induce 
 him to put a stop to it. One evening he did question Missie, but 
 she was reading Corinne then, and of course he could not dis- 
 approve ; but only the other day Miss Leigh was dreadfully shocked 
 
 to find her over one of 's novels ; they had quite a battle over 
 
 it, but Miss Leigh cried, and declared she would go to papa that 
 instant if Missie did not give it up, so she promised to take it back 
 to Miss Hardwick ; but do you know, Aunt Diana, I am afraid they 
 read it together at Maplewood. 
 
 ' When papa and Missie read, Miss Leigh and I have to work in 
 silence, unless we read, too. Roger brings in his book sometimes, but 
 he finds it very dull, so we go off to the schoolroom to practise, or 
 we fetch Rudel for a walk, and once or twice I have taken my work 
 out to the timber-yard ; it is so cool and quiet there, and Roger 
 talks to me. On Sunday evenings papa always remains in his study, 
 so after church we sing hymns, and Poppie sits up to hear us. 
 Missie was very angry about it at first, but I quietly told her that
 
 ROGER'S APPENDIX. IO3 
 
 Poppie was in Miss Leigh's charge and in mine, and that I would 
 allow no interference ; and that answered, for she has said nothing 
 about it since. 
 
 ' With Missie I have simply no influence ; she refuses to walk or 
 practise with me, and holds herself aloft from our pursuits. She is 
 always with Miss Hardwick ; they go out together, and Missie is over 
 at Maplewood three or four afternoons in the week. When Miss 
 Hardwick comes over here, they show me pretty plainly that my 
 society is not wanted. I have an idea that Missie is mostly to blame 
 for this. Miss Hardwick has always come alone since that first 
 afternoon, and when I beg her to bring her sister Anna she always 
 makes some civil excuse or other ; but I believe the poor little thing 
 is not allowed to come, and I have not yet been asked to Maplewood. 
 There is talk of a garden-party there soon, and of course Roger and 
 I will be invited then, and I shall see Anna. 
 
 * Oh ! what a long letter I am writing, but you see I have so much 
 to say. One thing more. You will be grieved to hear that when I 
 took your advice and spoke to papa about coming with us to church 
 last Sunday, he was very, very angry with me. He said it was no 
 business of a girl of my age to interfere with him, and that I was to 
 attend to my own duties and leave him to his. I should have been 
 quite unhappy about it, only that, in spite of his anger, I could see 
 such a sad look in his eyes, and that made me all the more sorry for 
 
 him. Roger says But here he comes, looking very mischievous, 
 
 as though he meant to hinder me. Oh, Aunt Di ' 
 
 ' Ailie has written at least six sheets, and I mean to have this last 
 page. Nieces are all very well, but I am sure you would like to 
 hear sometimes from your nephews. Here is Rudel dying to send a 
 message to Aunt Diana. Well, sir, what is it ? Never mind, he is a 
 good boy, as boys go, but he is not gifted with a huge amount of 
 brains, and he has not hammered out a very elegant message ; but I 
 am sure you will excuse it and give him credit for warm feeling. 
 *' Tell Aunt Diana that she is no end of a brick." Do please forgive 
 me for a literal transcript of his words. " Yes, she is a brick, and no 
 mistake, for sparing Ailie to us, and Ailie is a regular trump ; things 
 are not half so horrid, and a fellow has some pleasure in his life when 
 he is not being chivied all over the place and riled until he is pretty 
 nearly mad." Hold there, my good lad ; I am sure Aunt Diana will 
 spare you the rest. Seriously, my dear aunt, we are all, from Poppie 
 upwards, as grateful to you as possible for sending back Ailie to us ;
 
 104 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 good girls are not as plentiful as blackberries ' — (* For shame, Master 
 Roger ! ' from Miss Carrington) — ' and we mean to make much of 
 Ailie now we have got her. 
 
 * The Holms is not the most peaceful spot in existence. " Birds 
 in their little nests agree," so Dr. Watts says ; but, my dear aunt, 
 every schoolboy will tell you that is false ; though we will let it pass, 
 and suppose the baby beaks do not peck each other. Still, at The 
 Holms there is a vast amount of pecking. 
 
 * There are " wills and won'ts, I shall and you shan't," in this happy 
 abode, and Ailie does not like it at all. She has dreadfully old- 
 foshioned notions about family life, and thinks brothers and sisters 
 ought never to quarrel ; she is all for kissing and making up, but, bless 
 you, one can't do that sort of thing alone. For instance, if I wished 
 to embrace Missie during one of her tantrums, I should find my 
 arms full of thin air, or the real, substantial Missie might scratch at 
 close quarters. There is nothing your fair-haired vixen will not do. 
 
 * Never mind : poor little Ailie does her best for us all, and some 
 of us are properly grateful. VVe have good times now and then, and 
 get up a laugh and astonish ourselves. One thing, I have enjoyed 
 my breakfast for the last three weeks. No more lukewarm coffee, 
 poured out with an acidulated smile ; we have the real thing in smiles 
 now. There, I think I have inflicted enough on you, so I will 
 subscribe myself 
 
 * Your affectionate and grateful nephew, 
 
 ' Roger.' 
 
 When Miss Carrington read this letter to Mr. Moore, on the old 
 bench by the river, a pleased look came over the old man's face. 
 
 ' I like that lad,' he said, striking his ivory-headed stick into the 
 ground. ' I remember his voice pleased me when he was here some 
 years ago ; a good honest voice it was. Mark my words, Miss 
 Diana, our little sunbeam is fulfilling her mission.' 
 
 ' I think Roger is all the happier for having his sister,' returned 
 Miss Carrington, with a sigh. \ 
 
 ' Oh,' he said, turning his sightless face towards her quickly, ' you 
 are missing the child, and so am I. Sunny is beyond our reach just 
 now ; one cannot help wishing her back sometimes. For my part I 
 had no idea how sorely I should miss my little pupil.' 
 
 * I always knew what her loss would be to me,' returned Miss 
 Carrington, with some emotion ; ' that is the worst of isolating one's 
 affections. I have so few who are absolutely necessary to me ; only
 
 ROGER'S APPENDIX. I05 
 
 you and Greville and Ailie — three out of this worldful of millions ; 
 it seems wrong somehow.' 
 
 * The fewer to love — the fewer to leave,' replied the old man 
 somewhat dreamily ; * but,' rousing himself, * I believe you are right, 
 Miss Diana. We ought to open our hearts wider, and compel the 
 many to come in. There must be something niggardly in our 
 natures if we find it so difficult to care for people. Love begets 
 love, so they say. We lose both principal and interest if we lay up 
 our talents in a napkin.' 
 
 * Do you know,' observed Miss Carrington, a little abruptly, ' that 
 Greville is very angry with me for sending Ailie away?' 
 
 ' Oh, he has written to you, has he ? ' with a half smile, for he had 
 already received a stormy letter from his grandson on the same 
 subject. 
 
 *Yes; he is as indignant as possible about the sacrifice, as he 
 terms it. He calls me shabby for not letting him into the secret ; 
 he declares he shall go round by Chesterton on his way home and 
 have it out with Alison ; but I have put a stop to that.' 
 
 'What ! you deprived him and Sunny of that poor little pleasure? 
 What a hard-hearted woman you are, Miss Diana ! and yet you were 
 young yourself once.' 
 
 ' My dear friend, it would not do at all,' returned Miss Carrington, 
 in her most resolute tone. ' You spoil that boy so dreadfully that 
 you give in to all his whims. You want me to keep you all in 
 order.' 
 
 ' But where would be the harm ? ' persisted Mr. Moore, smiling. 
 'Just a call and a chat; why, it would do Sunny good.' 
 
 ' No, no ; it would only unsettle her. Greville shall go down to 
 The Holms some day, but not just yet. Ailie will get on better if 
 we leave her entirely to herself the first few months. Why, unless 
 things go very wrong, I do not intend to go down myself until next 
 spring. But Greville, oh, no ; I told him on no account to do it.' 
 
 * And you expect him to obey you, I suppose ? ' 
 
 * Oh, yes, he will obey me now. Later on, perhaps — but we shall 
 see. 1 am sure it would be only cruel kindness for Greville to un- 
 settle her. She frets enough after us, I am sure of that, and seeing 
 him will only bring us more vividly before her. Besides, there are 
 other reasons ; but, my good old friend, you do not often distrust 
 my wisdom.' 
 
 * Nor do I now,' he returned slowly. * I was only putting myself
 
 I06 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 in my boy's place, and thinking how he must long for a glimpse of 
 Sunny. Have it your own way, Miss Diana; Greville is almost as 
 much your boy as he is mine, and I know you would not cross him 
 if you could help it' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' she replied, very gently ; ' I think you, and Greville, 
 too, may trust me.' And then the conversation dropped. 
 
 It was an odd thing, but when Greville read Miss Carrington's 
 letter, his face first clouded with disappointment, but after a second 
 perusal it suddenly cleared, 
 
 ' All right, my dear old Cara,' he said to himself ' I understand 
 more than you think, perhaps more than you intended ; well, you 
 shall be obeyed this time, and without much grumbling ; but next 
 year, if I pass this examination, you and grandfather shall see.' And 
 then he took up his straw hat, thrust the letter into his pocket-book, 
 still smiling, and went down to the lake, where his boat was waiting, 
 whistling as merrily as a blackbird all the time. 
 
 ' Ailie,' asked Roger suddenly, as they sat together in the timber- 
 yard one evening, ' what has become of that fellow, Greville Moore ? 
 I never hear anything about him now.' 
 
 ' He has joined a reading party at Keswick this vacation,' returned 
 Alison, throwing a stick into the canal for Otter to find ; ' and after 
 that I believe he and Mr. Moore are going to Cornwall. Aunt 
 Diana said something about it in her last letter.' 
 
 'And Aunt Di is going to the Swiss Tyrol, is she not?' 
 
 * Yes, I believe so,' returned Alison, turning her face away. Roger 
 thought she was only interested in Otter's movements, and he rose 
 lazily to find another stick. 
 
 But Alison's dark eyes were suddenly full of tears. Roger knew 
 nothing of those long winter talks in the twilight, when she and 
 Aunt Diana were having blind man's holiday until the lamp was 
 brought in. How they had planned out that delightful trip that 
 Aunt Diana was now to take alone ; the weeks that were to be spent 
 among the Swiss mountains, when she and Alison were to fill their 
 sketch-books, and Aunt Diana was to find a scene for her new pic- 
 ture. Alison had never been abroad, and the previous year Mr. 
 Moore had been ill, and Miss Carrington had refused to leave him, 
 and they had only gone to Hastings later on with him and Greville. 
 It was a happy time, she remembered, and full of pleasant recollec- 
 tions ; but Greville would have joined them in Switzerland. 
 
 Miss Carrington had said very little about it in her letter ; it was
 
 •all right, my dear old caka,' he said to himself. 
 
 >07
 
 ROGER'S APPENDIX. IO9 
 
 a painful subject to both. She was going quite alone now ; some 
 friends of hers were in the Engadine, and would join her, if she 
 wished it, but she would miss her dear little companion all the 
 same. 
 
 ' Come along, Ailie,' exclaimed Roger, drawing her arm through 
 his. * It feels cold and damp. It is hardly prudent to sit so long. 
 Come into the schoolroom and give me a lesson.' 
 
 Alison rose silently, and in the dim light brushed something from 
 her cheek, but Roger noticed nothing amiss when she asked him in 
 her usual voice what song he would try. ' It would only vex him 
 if he knew how disappointed I am,' she thought, ' so I will not tell 
 him, and perhaps some day, if I am very good. Aunt Diana may 
 still take me to Switzerland.' And with this thought she resolutely 
 set herself to play Roger's accompaniment.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A CONVENIENT THUNDERSTORM. 
 
 OGER, does it not seem strange that Miss Hardwick never 
 
 r-jm brings her sister to The Holms ? ' 
 
 -^1 • Well, no, Ailie. I am too profound a student of human 
 
 t5^\: nature to think anything strange. You women know how to 
 
 tyrannise over one another. Revenge is sweet, even to the 
 
 feminine mind. Poor Miss Anna is expiating the offence of having 
 
 excited our commiseration. The fiat has gone forth — her days at 
 
 The Holms are numbered.' 
 
 * Oh dear, I hope not,' returned Alison, in an anxious voice ; * I 
 took rather a fancy to the poor little thing, and I hoped to have 
 been of some use to her — she seems so utterly devoid of friends.' 
 
 * I perfectly agree with you there. I never see Miss Anna without 
 recalling the old story of Cinderella. I only wish we could impro- 
 vise a pumpkin coach and carry her off. I should like to set her to 
 play, and do nothing else for three months at least' 
 
 Alison laughed at Roger's energetic tone as he struck the hedge- 
 row with his stick. They were walking down a country road. Tlie 
 evening was sultry, and Roger had invited his sister to accompany 
 him in one of their pleasant strolls. There was a moment's silence 
 after Roger's speech, and then he began again — but this time there 
 was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. 
 
 * Ailie, what should you say if I should promise to bring you and 
 Miss Anna together in less than half an hour? ' 
 
 ' I should say you were a magician,' returned Alison carelessly, for 
 she did not believe him in earnest 
 
 * Nevertheless, the thing shall be done,' was his oracular reply; and 
 then he said quickly, * Look at the clouds, Ailie ; we shall have a 
 thunderstorm directly.' Alison gave a startled glance at the sky ; 
 there was no mistaking the gathering blackness overhead. 
 
 * What shall we do ? ' she exclaimed, in a disconcerted voice. * I
 
 'we shall have a thunderstorm directly.' 
 
 Ill
 
 A CONVENIENT THUNDERSTORM. 1 13 
 
 have my new hat on, and this nice clean cambric, and we have no 
 umbrella, and there is not a house in sight.' 
 
 * All right,' was Roger's cheerful response ; 'things are just as they 
 should be. Walk as fast as you can ; in less than ten minutes we 
 shall be at the gate of Maplewood. Could anything be more cleverly 
 arranged? Of course, we must take refuge from the impending 
 storm. You are afraid of lightning, are you not, Ailie ? They will 
 be compelled to house us for an hour at least.' 
 
 ' Oh, Roger, what a good idea ! ' exclaimed Alison, still laughing. 
 
 * Please let us make haste, though, or we shall never reach Maple- 
 wood in time.' And Alison quickened her walk into a run. But the 
 heavy drops pelted on her before she took refuge in the portico. 
 
 Before Roger could lift his hand to the knocker the door was flung 
 open, and Anna stood on the threshold. 
 
 ' I saw you both running down the road,' she exclaimed, eagerly. 
 
 • I knew you would take refuge here from the rain ; there is going 
 to be such a heavy storm, and I was just beginning to feel frightened 
 at the thought of being alone in it, but I don't mind a bit now.' 
 
 * Do you mean that Mrs. Hardwick and your sister are out? ' asked 
 Roger, as he shook Alison's light mantle, which was already wet. 
 
 * Yes, they are dining at the Allans'. There is to be a dance after- 
 wards, so they will be very late. Do you mind my taking you into 
 the morning room ? I have some work that I must finish, or Eva 
 will be disappointed ; but I can talk to you all the same. Oh, it is 
 so nice to see you again,' looking at Alison affectionately. 
 
 ' Is it not nice to see me, too ? ' asked Roger, in a comical tone. 
 ' I don't think you ought to leave me out in the cold. Miss Anna.' 
 
 Anna laughed and blushed at this ; then she said, very prettily, in 
 her childish way, ' Oh, I am glad to see you, too ; but I never thought 
 of telling you so. Will you ring, Mr. Roger ? and then Morton will 
 bring us some tea. Please take that easy chair by the window, Miss 
 Merle— it is Eva's favourite seat, because there is such a pretty view 
 of the garden.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, I am going to help you,' returned Alison, laying her 
 hat aside, and pulling off her long gloves. 'Oh, you poor child, 
 what a task ! ' as she inspected Anna's work. She was trimming an 
 Indian muslin gown with coffee-coloured lace. 
 
 * Yes, is it not pretty ? ' returned Anna, innocently. * Eva means 
 to wear it at our garden-party on Thursday. You and Mr. Roger 
 are both coming, are you not ? ' 
 
 H
 
 114 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * We are not invited,' returned Alison, a little gravely, as she took 
 a thimble from her pocket, and helped herself unasked to a needle 
 and thread. ' I am going on with that flounce,' she continued quietly, 
 *so you have nothing to do but to talk to me and Roger.' 
 
 * Oh, how kind you are ! ' returned Anna, gratefully. ' The thunder 
 always makes my head ache a little, and I have been working all the 
 afternoon, and it was so hot ; indeed,' interrupting herself, ' Eva was 
 writing out your notes of invitation to-day. I think she gave them 
 to Mabel. I am sorry,' flushing a little as she spoke, ' that you should 
 have them so late, but Eva is always so busy.' 
 
 ' So is some one else always busy,' observed Roger, with a pitying 
 glance at the girl's tired face. Both he and Alison thought she looked 
 thinner and paler than when they saw her last ; her blue eyes looked 
 large and heavy, and the veins of the forehead were marked too 
 clearly ; her fair hair was strained from her face and coiled somewhat 
 untidily, and her grey linen dress looked tumbled and far from fresh. 
 Poor little Anna ! she had been too busy all day to think of her ap- 
 pearance; and then, no visitors ever asked for her. Roger, who was 
 a keen observer in his quiet way, could not help comparing the two 
 girls as they sat together — Alison looking so dainty and neat in her 
 pretty summer gown with her lace ruffles, and Anna in her unbecom- 
 ing grey dress, with a tumbled collar, and her little thin hands and 
 bare wrists unrelieved by any whiteness ; and again Roger thought 
 of Cinderella sitting among the ashes ; then he jumped up and 
 wheeled the easy chair towards the table. 
 
 ' I am afraid you will have to house us for a good hour or more,' he 
 observed, 'for the weather means mischief, and in this climate it never 
 rains but it pours, so while Ailie acts the part of a good Brownie, 
 and does your work, you may as well make yourself comfortable. I 
 suppose you will not mind my going into the library for a book, for 
 I am not much of a hand at talk? You may summon me when tea 
 is ready.' And Roger marched off", muttering to himself, * Two is 
 company, three is none ; she shall not be bothered with making 
 company talk for me, poor little girl ! ' 
 
 * How good he is ! ' whispered Anna, almost before the door had 
 closed behind him ; ' he thinks I want to talk to you alone, and so I 
 do. Oh, how quickly you work ! your needle seems to fly. My head 
 was aching so with stooping over the muslin that I could hardly see ; 
 but when I told Eva so, she said I was always full of fancies, and that 
 I was so dreadfully idle. But I don't think I really am idle, do you ?'
 
 A CONVENIENT THUNDERSTORM. IIS 
 
 *No, indeed,' returned Alison, with something of Aunt Diana's 
 abruptness ; 'I am sure you have been working too hard, you look 
 so thin and unsubstantial. Tell me, Anna, why have you never come 
 to see me again, as you promised? ' 
 
 A painful flush overspread the young girl's face. 
 
 *Eva does not want me to come,' she half whispered ; 'at least, I 
 think so ; she always raises difficulties when I ask to accompany her; 
 
 and — and ' her eyes filling with tears — ' she was so angry that 
 
 afternoon when you and Mr. Roger were so kind to me — when he 
 brought me the groundsel, you know ; she said I was so forward that 
 people could not help noticing me, and that she was sure Mr. Roger 
 thought so.' 
 
 ' What a shame ! ' was on Alison's lips, but she prudently refrained 
 from uttering the words aloud ; she only said very kindly, — 
 
 * Never mind, Anna dear — may I call you Anna ? and please re- 
 member I am only a girl myself, and my name is Alison, and not 
 Miss Merle. Never mind, if what your sister says is not true*; people 
 often say things when they are put out which they do not really mean. 
 No one could think you forward ; I am sure Roger would laugh at 
 such an idea if I were to tell him.' 
 
 'You must not do that,' returned Anna, quietly ; 'he would be so 
 angry with Eva; they are not good friends, you know. Oh, how 
 glad I am to tell you this ; it takes quite a load off my mind. I was 
 afraid you would think me so ungrateful after pressing me so kindly 
 to come ; you might have thought I did not care — 1 cried about it 
 so often.' 
 
 'You must never do that again,' replied Alison, quite pained at 
 this ; ' if you do not come to The Holms I shall quite understand 
 where the fault lies ; we will not make things worse by fretting over 
 them. Aunt Diana always says fretting never helps any one, and 
 only undermines our strength. We must try and be patient for a 
 little — things may be better by-and-by.' 
 
 'That is what I often say to myself,' returned Anna, more brightly. 
 ' Do you think it wrong to make up stories about oneself, Miss 
 Merle?' 
 
 ' Miss Merle has no thought on the subject, or on any subject,' 
 returned Alison, gravely. 
 
 ' Do you think it wrong then, Alison ? ' repeated Anna, with a shy 
 laugh. 
 
 'My dear' — very briskly — 'you are asking a very strange question
 
 Il6 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 of a dreamer of dreams like myself. I am afraid I must refer you 
 for an answer to my usual authority — Aunt Diana.' 
 
 'Oh, dear!' returned Anna, with a pleased smile, 'how nice to 
 think that you are not wiser than myself in that ! I mean^ that you 
 make up stories, too.' 
 
 ' Well, you know,' — in rather an amused tone — ' eighteen is not 
 quite the age of Methusaleh, and I possess a few of the sins of girl- 
 hood ; but I must give you the same dose of wisdom that has been 
 administered to my unfortunate self. Aunt Diana used to say to me, 
 " What is the use of dreaming in the daytime? It is drowsy work, 
 and only makes real life look harder by comparison." And she often 
 quoted Kingsley'swords, "Do noble things, not dream them." "Why, 
 it is like building a house with eggshells, to go dreaming through 
 life," she would say; " hard work is belter than such flimsy thoughts. 
 You will never be a heroine, Ailie, my dear, so it is no use fancying 
 yourself one. When I was a child, I once fancied myself Joan of 
 Arc, and tied myself so tightly to the nursery table that I could not 
 undo the knots. I suppose my mother wanted to teach me a lesson, 
 for she would not let any one come to my help for an hour. ' No, 
 my dear,' I remember her saying, ' you courted martyrdom, as poor 
 Joan did, so you must not expect such an easy deliverance. Undo 
 your own knots, and never mind about hurting your fingers. Joan 
 had to expiate those dreams of hers, and you must do the same, 
 Diana.' It actually cured me of my fancies for a long time."' 
 
 Anna laughed merrily at this. 
 
 ' I should like to know your aunt, Alison ; she seems so clever and 
 so good. I do not wonder you are so different from other girls. 
 No one ever told me such things,' — a little sadly. ' Somehow it 
 makes the time pass, and the world seems less tedious if I imagine 
 all sorts of stories about myself — castle-building, is not that what you 
 call it?' 
 
 'Yes, it is very nice,' returned Alison, with a sigh; 'but nice 
 things are not always wholesome — one may be surfeited with sweets. 
 If I were you, Anna, I would have an interesting book beside me, 
 and read a page or two every now and then, when you feel restless ; 
 it will refresh you, and give you food for thought; a book is such a 
 companion, and takes off all dulness. Yes, I am sure that would be 
 better for you than dreaming, unless you compose poetry ; that 
 would do as well.' 
 
 * Oh, I could not do that ; I am not a bit clever,' returned Anna,
 
 A CONVENIENT THUNDERSTORM. II7 
 
 in quite a frightened voice ; ' but I like your idea about the book. 
 I am reading the Water Babies, and I was longing to get to it all 
 the afternoon ; it is just the sort of book for a hot day. Yes, I think 
 you are right about castle-building being a foolish sort of habit ; I 
 will try to break myself of it, and think other people's thoughts in- 
 stead. But here comes tea, and we must summon Mr. Roger.' 
 
 Roger was not sorry to be called. The library was rather a 
 gloomy apartment this wet evening, as it looked on the darkest part 
 of the shrubbery, the evergreens coming far too close to the win- 
 dows. But, as no one sat in the room, this was not considered a 
 grievance. He thought the morning room looked snug and cozy 
 when he went back to it. The muslin dress still reposed on the 
 centre table, but a smaller one was placed in the bay window, round 
 which the three young people were gathered. 
 
 Anna quite forgot her headache and fear of the thunder as she per 
 formed her simple duties of hostess. She looked so pleased wheiv 
 Roger told her that he had never tasted better tea, that he laughingly 
 accused her of never having entertained company before. To his 
 surprise, she answered him, quite seriously — * Oh, no ; I never had a 
 tea-party before. How nice it is ! Eva has her friends sometimes, 
 but I do not seem to know any girls.' 
 
 ' Or young men,' put in Roger, mischievously. He seemed bent 
 on teasing her to-night. 
 
 ' Well, there is Cousin Anthony, you know,' she replied in her 
 usual naive fashion; 'he is a young man, of course; but I don't 
 think he would like to come to my tea-parties. Eva always says that 
 I am such a child that people don't care to talk to me. I am afraid 
 I am not very clever.' 
 
 ' I am glad of that,' returned Roger promptly. ' I detest people 
 who think themselves clever. You are quite clever enough for 
 Alison and me. By the bye. Miss Anna, how do you get on with 
 your Latin ? ' 
 
 * Oh, pretty well,' she answered, with one of her varying blushes, 
 which made her almost pretty. ' I have so little time, and you have 
 not given me a lesson for so long, Mr. Roger.' 
 
 ' Why, you never come to The Holms now,' was his reply to this. 
 ' I believe Ailie has frightened you away. You must not mind her. 
 Miss Anna ; she is a sort of epitome of Aunt Diana's sayings now. 
 As Macaulay has it, "Nothing is more unattractive than an epitome " ; 
 so, of course, Ailie is a sort of Gorgon to you.'
 
 Tl8 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' Oh, no, indeed ! I am so fond of your sister,' returned Anna, in 
 her gentle, impulsive way ; but she made no excuse for herself in 
 return for Roger's implied reproach. 
 
 ' The rain is over now,' observed Alison, in a regretful voice, ' and 
 it is growing so dark, Roger, we ought not to stay any longer.' 
 
 ' Never mind, I shall see you on Thursday,' replied Anna. * I am 
 looking forward to the day so much. I have a new dress, too,' she 
 continued, as Roger left the room to find Alison's mantle ; ' it is not 
 so pretty as Eva's dress — such a beautiful muslin ; mine is only 
 cream-coloured nun's cloth.' 
 
 ' I am sure you will look very nice, and I shall bring you some 
 flowers,' returned Alison, kindly, with a vivid recollection how well 
 Anna had looked with the knot of roses fastened in her grey dress. 
 
 ' Now, good-bye, dear. Promise me that you will not put in 
 another stitch to-night ; perhaps your sister will be able to help you 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 Anna looked surprised at this. * Eva never works,' she said, 
 simply, as though it were an uncontroverted fact; 'she hates the very 
 sight of a needle. When she was quite little, she cried so about it, 
 mamma would not let nurse teach her ; and Cousin Anthony says it 
 would be a waste of time for such an accomplished creature to do 
 what any uneducated needlewoman could do for her.' 
 
 'Yet she wastes your time.' Alison could not help saying this; but 
 Anna only shook her head. 
 
 ' It is not waste of time for me. I am not clever, Hke Eva ; and I 
 am fond of work. One may have too much of it sometimes ; but I 
 like to feel of use to somebody.' 
 
 ' Well, dear, you will have your reward some day, I hope,' returned 
 Alison, gently ; and then they joined Roger in the hall. 
 
 ' Well, Ailie,' he observed, as they walked briskly down the wet 
 road, ' have you had a nice time with your new friend ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, Roger. I am so thankful for the rain. I am getting 
 quite fond of Anna. There is so much goodness under that shy, 
 childish manner.' 
 
 ' I knew you would appreciate her,' he returned, heartily. ' Poor 
 little girl ! One is glad to do anything to help her. There is not 
 much a fellow like me can do, except say a kind word when people 
 snub her, or leave her to sit alone in corners. That is almost all I 
 have done.' 
 
 * But you teach her Latin, Roger.'
 
 A CONVENIENT THUNDERSTORM. II9 
 
 'Nonsense!' was the hasty reply. *A pretty sort of teaching! 
 The poor little thing once confided to me her difficulties, and so 
 whenever an opportunity came I gave her a quarter of an hour's con- 
 struing. She used to come rather often to The Holms once upon a 
 time. Well, I shall leave her in your hands now, Ailie. A girl 
 friend of her own age will be far better for her.' 
 
 ' I am sure you have been good to her, Roger, or she would not 
 be so grateful to you.' But as Roger only said ' Nonsense ! ' rather 
 impatiently, Alison, with her usual tact, changed the subject.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE FETE AT MAPLEWOOD. 
 
 'HAT a lovely afternoon ! Eva is always so fortunate in wea- 
 ther,' observed Mabel, as she and Alison stood at the gate 
 10^ of The Holms, waiting for Roger. ' You look very nice, 
 
 ®^'^ Alison,' she continued condescendingly. * I suppose Aunt 
 Diana employed a good dressmaker ; your dress is not new, 
 but it looks quite fresh.' And Missie, who was in high good- 
 humour, regarded her own gown with infinite content. 
 
 Missie was certainly looking very pretty, in spite of her many frip- 
 peries. Her pink cheeks were pinker than ever, and her bright eyes 
 shone with contentment and pleasure. Nevertheless, many that 
 afternoon turned from her to look at the graceful dark-eyed girl 
 dressed so simply yet so becomingly in soft Madras muslin, with the 
 shady hat with its long ostrich feather, a gift from Aunt Diana. 
 Alison's perfect simplicity always seemed such a contrast to Missie's 
 finery. 
 
 ' Yes, you look very nice,' continued Missie, complacently. 
 * Eva is right, and you have a style of your own. I only hope poor 
 Anna will not make a guy of herself, but she always does ; she is such 
 a plain, dowdy little thing.' 
 
 ' I wonder her sister does not try to improve her taste,' remarked 
 Alison, rather severely. ' Anna is one of those people who have no 
 natural talent in dress. Aunt Diana always says there is an educa- 
 tion even in this ; the eye and the taste must be properly cultivated. 
 I think Miss Hardwick should take her sister in hand.' 
 
 ' I told her so once,' returned Missie, ' but she said Anna had 
 no complexion and no good looks, and that dress would be of little 
 consequence in her case ; she always seems to me rather ashamed of 
 Anna, and I don't wonder at it.' 
 
 Alison was silent. She was resolving in her own mind to appeal 
 to Missie's benevolence on behalf of Anna. In spite of her temper
 
 'you look very nice, ALISON.'
 
 THE FETE AT MAPLEWOOD. 1 23 
 
 and vanity, Missie had many good points ; she was kind-hearted and 
 capable of a great deal of affection. She would try to interest her 
 in the poor child. 
 
 ' Roger does not seem coming ; he was detained so long at the 
 mill. Let us walk on slowly, and he will soon overtake us.' And 
 as Missie consented to this, Alison took this opportunity to relate 
 their visit to Maplewood, and she dwelt long and feelingly on poor 
 Anna's solitary task and her jaded looks. 
 
 To do her justice, Missie appeared extremely shocked. 'That 
 was too bad of Eva,' she said, gravely, ' to go out and amuse herself, 
 and leave all that work for Anna.' 
 
 ' I am afraid it is too often the case,' returned Alison, following 
 up her advantage rather eagerly. ' Anna has no time to amuse her- 
 self, or to carry on her own studies ; she is always slaving for her 
 mother and sister. They are rich, and could easily afford to keep a 
 maid. It is not fair that one sister should be a drudge to another.' 
 
 ' No, indeed ; I must speak to Eva,' replied Missie, in a rather 
 displeased voice. ' I have often told her that she puts too much on 
 Anna.' 
 
 'And, Mabel dear,' continued Alison, coaxingly, 'you have such 
 influence with Miss Hardwick that I wish you would ask her to bring 
 Anna with her sometimes when she comes to The Holms. I have 
 no friends of my own in Chesterton, and I have taken rather a fancy 
 to Anna ; I should like her to come and see me sometimes.' 
 
 Alison could not have been more diplomatic. Missie was sure to 
 respond to such an appeal. In the first place, she liked Alison to 
 ask her a favour ; it confirmed her own sense of importance ; then 
 she had always boasted of her influence with her friend — here was 
 an opportunity of testing it ; thirdly, for even Missie was capable of 
 generosity for its own sake, she was quite willing to do a good turn 
 for Anna, who was a harmless little creature, and was never in her 
 way. 
 
 ' Of course I will talk to Eva,' she said, rather consequentially. 
 * I will tell her that Anna must come to amuse you. I rather won- 
 der at your taste, Alison ; I cannot imagine any one more uninterest- 
 ing than Anna ; but we do not always think alike.' And then, as 
 Roger came up with them, she broke off her sentence to reprimand 
 him sharply for his delay. 
 
 Maplewood owned a garden of very tolerable dimensions, but it 
 was already crowded when the Merles made their appearance. The
 
 124 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 lawn was covered by gaily dressed people; tennis had not yet begun, 
 but the band was playing. As soon as Alison had greeted her 
 hostess she looked round anxiously for Anna. She had no desire to 
 linger beside Mrs. Hardwick ; the handsome, talkative widow had 
 already excited her aversion. As she turned away in search of her 
 friend, Miss Hardwick came up to them in company with a tall, dark 
 man. 
 
 ' Mabel dear,' she said, almost ignoring Alison, * I must introduce 
 Tony to you — my cousin, Captain Harper, Tony, this is my 
 especial friend, and I shall expect you to pay her a great deal of 
 attention, on peril of my displeasure.' 
 
 ' I am too happy to perform such a pleasing duty, I am sure,' 
 lisped Anthony ; but his bold black eyes passed over Missie's sim- 
 pering pretty little face to Alison's. 
 
 * Is this another special friend of yours, Eva ? ' he observed, twisting 
 his moustache and looking full at her as he spoke. Miss Hardwick 
 made the introduction somewhat reluctantly ; Alison bowed a little 
 haughtily ; she was not prepossessed with Captain Harper's appear- 
 ance, and she determined to have as little as possible to do with 
 him ; he seemed about to speak to her, but she turned suddenly to 
 Miss Hardwick. 
 
 ' I do not see your sister,' she said, in a low voice. 
 
 * Oh, I dare say not,' she answered, carelessly. ' I never knew 
 Anna ever ready for anything ; she is not half dressed, I suppose. 
 Now, Tony,' turning her shoulders on Alison, * you must take Mabel 
 for your partner in the first set, and Edgar Dawson and Miss Free- 
 land will play against you.' 
 
 ' We had better take our places, then,' drawled Captain Harper ; 
 and, left to herself, Alison turned to Roger and asked him to walk 
 with her to the house. 
 
 'I am going in search of Anna,' she whispered as she left him, 
 and she asked one of the servants who was just entering the tea- 
 room to take her to Anna's bedroom. The maid looked surprised, 
 but she put down her tray at once, and preceded Alison upstairs. 
 
 'That is Miss Anna's room,' she said, pointing to the door; 'she 
 is dressing, I believe. A hamper of flowers came, and she has only 
 just finished arranging them.' 
 
 ' I dare say I shall be able to help her,' returned Alison, knocking 
 at the door. 
 
 A weary voice said, ' Come in.'
 
 THE FETE AT MAPLEWOOD. 12$ 
 
 ' My dear child,' exclaimed Alison, in a surprised voice, as she 
 entered, ' why, you have not begun to dress,' for Anna was standing 
 at the window in her grey linen gown, evidently watching the gay 
 scene, but the tears were rolling down her cheeks. 
 
 * Oh, I cannot dress now,' she sobbed, as Alison kissed her, ' it is 
 so late, and I am so tired ; Eva said the flowers must be done, and I 
 have only just finished them. I saw Mr. Roger and you and Mabel 
 come in, and I did so long to come out, but now I am just tired out, 
 and I can't stop crying.' 
 
 ' Oh, you will cheer up directly, and I am going to stop and help 
 you,' returned Alison, brightly. ' Bathe your eyes with some eau de 
 Cologne and water ; I will be back in a moment.' And running 
 downstairs, Alison made her way into the tea-room, and after a few 
 words with the good-natured maid she had already accosted, she was 
 soon provided with a cup of coffee and some delicious-looking cake. 
 
 ' Now you are to leave off crying and take these good things I 
 have brought you,' coaxed Alison, 'and then I will help you to dress. 
 You are tired and worried ; but the coffee will refresh you.' But 
 Anna's answer was a fresh burst of tears as she threw her arms round 
 her neck. 
 
 ' Oh, how kind you are to me ! I do love you so ; no one ever 
 took such trouble for me before.' 
 
 'Then you must thank me by enjoying the coffee,' laughed Alison ; 
 but a sympathising drop hung on her own lashes. Nevertheless, she 
 talked on cheerfully until Anna had dried her eyes and drunk her 
 coffee, and then she coaxed her to let her brush her hair and arrange 
 it. Anna sat quite patient and docile under Alison's hands ; she did 
 not even look at herself till the pretty cream-coloured dress was 
 fastened, and the flowers arranged, and then Alison led her to the 
 glass. 
 
 ' Why, I look quite different ; what have you done to me ? ' ob- 
 served Anna, in a bewildered tone. ' I am not like myself at all.' 
 
 This was the opportunity for Alison to deliver her little lecture. 
 
 * You have never taken enough pains with your appearance,' she 
 said, seriously. ' You have such pretty hair, but you dress it in such 
 an unbecoming way ; very few faces can bear to have the hair so 
 tightly strained from the forehead. Look how naturally and prettily 
 it waves, now I have given it a little liberty. Your forehead is too 
 high and prominent to be uncovered ; but these little curly rings are 
 far better than your sister's fringe, and you will soon learn to plait
 
 126 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 your hair more smoothly. Grey does not suit you at all. You must 
 never choose a dress of that colour, and when you wear cream or 
 white always have a knot of ribbon or a flower to give you a little 
 tone of colour.' 
 
 Anna opened her blue eyes rather widely at this harangue. 
 
 'You are talking quite seriously, as though you thought I had 
 neglected some duty,' she said, in a perplexed voice. ' Of course it 
 would be very nice to look like this always ; but the less one thinks 
 about dress the better.' 
 
 ' I do not agree with you, Anna,' returned Alison, with much 
 decision ; ' every one ought to make the best of themselves. There 
 is a great deal in the Bible about dress. See how minutely every 
 detail of Aaron's robes was settled.' 
 
 'Oh, but he was the high priest, and of course his dress was 
 symbolical.' 
 
 ' Well, dress with us ought to be symbolical too. Oh, I am not 
 repeating my own words. Every girl's dress, Aunt Di says, ought to 
 be symbolical of beauty, neatness, and purity. Why, Anna, the 
 Bible is full of descripiions of women's dress. Think how beautifully 
 Esther dressed herself when she wanted to ask a favour of the king ; 
 think of the white robes of tlie saints ! It seems to me that only 
 undue vanity is rebuked, and that dress is not of itself sinful.' 
 
 ' I never thought of it in this way before,' replied Anna, scrutinis- 
 ing herself thoughtfully. * Perhaps I ought to have taken more 
 pains with my hair, and chosen my dresses more carefully. I 
 thought,' hesitating over her words, ' that no one cared how I 
 looked, and so it did not matter ; but perhaps I have been only 
 indolent.' 
 
 ' Never mind ; you will take more pains with yourself now, to 
 please me,' returned Alison, perfectly satisfied with the result of her 
 lecture. ' Now, as I am longing for a game of tennis, suppose we go 
 down ? ' And Anna cheerfully assented. 
 
 They were met in the hall by Roger and Captain Harper ; the 
 gentlemen were evidently in search of them. 
 
 'I thought you had lost yourself, Ailie,' observed Roger; and 
 as he turned to her companion a low whistle of astonishment broke 
 from his lips, and was at once promptly suppressed. 
 
 ' I did not know you. Miss Anna,' was all he ventured to say ; but 
 both Alison and Anna coloured with pleasure under the approving 
 look he bestowed on them.
 
 THE FETE AT MAPLEWOOD. 12/ 
 
 * Miss Merle, I hope, now I have taken all this trouble to find you, 
 that you will not refuse to be my partner in this set,' asked Captain 
 Harper, so eagerly that he had almost forgotten his usual drawl. 
 
 Alison assented rather coldly ; but her reluctance vanished when 
 she found Roger and Anna meant to oppose them. She almost 
 forgot her dislike to her partner during the long, well-contested 
 game, which soon drew a crowd of spectators round them; her skill 
 and animation delighted Captain Harper. Missie was watching 
 them rather curiously. 
 
 ' I did not know Alison was such a good player,' she said at last, 
 when Eva joined her. ' Captain Harper did not exert himself quite 
 so much when he played with me ! ' with a displeased toss of her 
 head. 
 
 ' He knows we are watching him, darling, and that puts him on 
 his mettle,' returned her friend, soothingly ; and she proceeded to 
 whisper into Missie's ear some of those artful flatteries which some 
 girls love to impart to each other. Miss Hardwick was certainly 
 a most undesirable friend for a girl of Missie's disposition. Her 
 foolish little head was soon turned by Eva's smooth, plausible 
 speeches, and the smiles came to her face again. 
 
 'Really, Eva,' she said presently, adjusting her eyeglasses coquet- 
 tishly — for just then it was rather fashionable to be short-sighted, and 
 Missie, who had eyes like a hawk for strength and clearness, must 
 needs dangle her [)ince-nez, with other misguided young ladies — 
 'really, my dear, I never saw Anna look so well.' 
 
 Miss Hardwick turned her long neck superciliously, and regarded 
 her sister with surprise. 
 
 ' That must be Alison's doing,' she said with evident displeasure. 
 'Anna never did her own hair, I am sure of that.' But her hand- 
 some face clouded still more when Missie proceeded to take her to 
 task. 
 
 * You ought to look after her a little more, Eva,' said Missie, who 
 was certainly not deficient in courage. ' You have so much taste 
 yourself, you ought to help her to choose her dresses. I should be 
 ashamed if my sister looked as dowdy as Anna generally does.' 
 
 Miss Hardwick bit her lips to keep back an angry retort ; but she 
 was really fond of Missie, as the little monkey knew, for she went on 
 quite coolly with her list of grievances. 
 
 Dear Eva was wrong to give Anna so much work. Both she and 
 Alison thought Anna looked very ill. 'And, darling,' continued
 
 128 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Missie, in a smooth, cajoling voice, 'Anna must come to The Hohns 
 sometimes. Alison has taken a fancy to her, and it will keep her 
 out of our way if she has Anna sometimes, and I like to have you 
 
 to myself, and — and ' But the rest of Missie's speech was only 
 
 whispered into Eva's ear, only it was evidently more potent than the 
 rest, for her moody countenance relaxed, and she nodded. 
 
 * Very well ; she can come if she likes,' she said, somewhat un- 
 graciously ; but Missie, who had gained her end, cared nothing for 
 Eva's sulkiness. 
 
 The rest of the afternoon passed like a happy dream to Anna. 
 She played another game with Roger, who seemed bent on having 
 her for a partner; and afterwards, when Alison had succeeded in 
 shaking off Captain Harper by infusing into her manner a fine 
 degree of girlish hauteur and coolness not easily to be mistaken, the 
 three sat together, passing kindly remarks on the rest of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 But the crowning happiness of the afternoon to Anna was when 
 Missie addressed her in the condescending manner of one who 
 confers a benefit. 
 
 ' You have not been to see us lately,' she said, quite graciously. 
 * I have told Eva that she must bring you sometimes to talk to 
 Alison.' And after this Anna's cup of joy seemed overflowing. 
 
 Alison enjoyed her party moderately. The sunshine, and the 
 music, and the gay scene quickened her young pulses ; but once 
 when she was left to herself another scene rose before her eyes. 
 
 A group of light-hearted girls gathered round a boat, going to pick 
 forget-me-nots on the Long Island. The feathery splash of the oars 
 seemed in her ears ; Greville's gay laugh seemed to penetrate through 
 the strains of the music ; there were golden lights on the water, swans 
 ruffling their plumage angrily ; purple shadows ; the flickering of tall 
 reeds in the sedgy banks. 
 
 ' Ailie, the band is going to play " God save the Queen." What 
 were you dreaming about, little woman ? Come with me and say 
 good-bye to Mrs. Hardwick ; she is holding her court under the 
 acacia.' And Roger took her by the arm and led her away.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ROGER RESOLVES TO WATCH. 
 
 ^HANK you, Mabel dear, for what you have said to Anna,' 
 whispered AHson gratefully, as they left the grounds of Maple- 
 wood. 
 
 Missie looked gratified. 
 ' Oh, of course, I gave Eva a piece of my mind. She is always 
 so reasonable and sweet-tempered that I never have any difficulty. 
 Anna may come to The Holms as often as she likes.' Then, with 
 a perceptible effort to seem at her ease, she continued hurriedly : 
 ' Eva is going to bring her cousin to afternoon tea to-morrow. I 
 hope it will be fine, and then we can set the table under the lime 
 trees ; our drawing-room is such an ugly room.' 
 
 ' Do you mean Captain Harper is coming ? ' returned Alison, with 
 a strong accent of disgust in her voice. * Oh, Mabel ! how could 
 you ask him ? I am sure papa will not be pleased. I do not like 
 him at all ; his manners are so artificial and disagreeable.' 
 
 Missie looked sulky in a moment. 
 
 ' It is a pity you did not slop at Riverston,' she returned, in an 
 injured voice, 'for none of our Chesterton folk, with the exception 
 of that stupid little Anna, seem good enough for you. I think 
 Captain Harper charming, and I am sure papa will be pleased with 
 him, unless you set him against the poor fellow.' And here Missie 
 looked decidedly cross. Her temper was rising under this unex- 
 pected opposition. 
 
 ' You may be sure that I shall say nothing to papa,' replied Alison, 
 with so much dignity that Missie was silenced ; but she sulked so 
 perceptibly all the evening that her father noticed it, and asked more 
 than once what was the matter with Missie ; but tale-tellmg was 
 beneath Alison, and she said nothing. 
 
 But she was terribly annoyed, all the same, and took Roger into 
 
 129 I
 
 130 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 her confidence, exacting from him a promise that he would be pre- 
 sent at all risks. 
 
 ' Perhaps I am wrong,' she remarked candidly ; * I am always so 
 ready with my likes and dislikes. But I cannot bear Captain 
 Harper, and it is odious to me to pour out his tea for him.' 
 
 Alison's anxiety was soon set at rest. The party from Maplewood, 
 including Anna, had not long been gathered under the lime trees 
 before Mr. Merle made his appearance, greatly to her delight and 
 Missie's discomfiture. Alison never found out if Roger had be- 
 trayed her trust and given his father warning of the expected guest. 
 But there was no mistaking the coolness of his manner to Captain 
 Harper. That unlucky individual was clearly not at his ease, and 
 certainly no inducement was held out to him to repeat his visit. 
 
 As soon as the unwelcome visitor had departed Mr. Merle ex- 
 pressed himself as much displeased to find Captain Harper there ; 
 indeed, his severity quite overwhelmed Missie, and she retired in 
 floods of tears. 
 
 ' Papa is never angry with me,' she sobbed ; ' this must be your 
 fault, Alison. You have come home to stir up strife and turn papa 
 against me.' 
 
 'Don't be absurd, Mabel,' returned Alison, a little crossly; 'you 
 have brought it all on yourself. Papa seems angry with me too, 
 and yet you know I am not at all in fault. If you do wrong you 
 must bear to be scolded. Papa says he is quite shocked at our 
 forwardness. You see, he blames me, too He says no one but 
 himself or Roger ought to invite gentlemen to the house, and Miss 
 Leigh says the same. He told me after you left the room that lie 
 would take care that Captain Harper should not repeat his visit, 
 as he was not the sort of man whose acquaintance he could approve 
 for his daughters.' 
 
 Missie dissolved into fresh tears on hearing this. ' I am sure 
 it is not papa's real opinion,' she persisted in saying. Roger had 
 put him up to it to spite her and Eva. What would Eva say if she 
 were forbidden to bring her cousin to The Holms ? She wished 
 Alison would go back to Aunt Diana, and not stop here to make her 
 so wretched. She did not see the use of having a sister who hated 
 and thwarted her. 
 
 * Oh, you silly child ! ' exclaimed Alison, kissing the wet, ill- 
 tempered little face that still looked so pretty. ' Wliat a storm in 
 a teacup ! I don't hate you a bit. I am very fond of you, though
 
 ROGER RESOLVES TO WATCH. I3I 
 
 you will quarrel with me about every trifle; but it takes two to 
 quarrel properly, and I do not mean to take up the cudgels to please 
 you ! ' And here she gave her a playful shake, that so astonished 
 Missie that she speedily grew more amiable, for her tempers had 
 never been so set aside before. 
 
 Alison consoled herself for her sister's variable moods by trying 
 to make Anna happy. That little person came frequently to The 
 Holms now, and she began to consider how these visits might be 
 turned to account. * For it will never do to waste so many after- 
 noons iia talking about just what comes into one's head,' she de- 
 cided. 
 
 So she proposed to give Anna painting lessons twice a week. 
 She could teach Poppie at the same time, and go on with her own 
 work. And as Anna gleefully acceded to this, the schoolroom was 
 transferred into a studio, much to Miss Leigh's delight. She thought 
 it was the prettiest sight possible to see Alison in her picturesque 
 hoUand blouse, standing behind Poppie's chair or putting in a back- 
 ground for Anna, pupils and teacher all laughing and talking to- 
 gether. 
 
 Anna was growing a different creature under Alison's healthy 
 influence. She was one of those sensitive human plants that need 
 sunshine before they can grow. The depressing atmosphere in 
 which she lived had made her meagre and colourless. Her mother 
 and sister had no sympathy with her want of vitality ; her very meek- 
 ness had predisposed her for slavery. If she could have asserted 
 herself, Mrs. Hardwick would have recognised her rights ; but the 
 pale shadowy resistance that was all Anna could bring in her 
 defence only angered her mother. Mrs. Hardwick's fond partiality 
 for her handsome daughter disposed her to see with Eva's eyes ; 
 and the result was a course of maternal snubbing. 
 
 But Anna was not so oppressed now. Eva had been much 
 offended by Missie's interference. She ceased to demand her sister's 
 services, but she also ignored her personality. Anna might do as 
 she liked and go where she liked ; Eva had simply no interest in 
 her. Anna was somewhat confused at this sudden freedom ; she 
 was like a prisoner restored unexpectedly to the outer world. But 
 for Alison, she would have been at a loss to occupy herself; but 
 her friend gave her many useful hints. 
 
 Mrs. Hardwick began to take some notice of her younger daughter. 
 Two or three people at the garden-party had spoken of Anna. One
 
 132 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 of them had called her a nice amiable girl, and had prophesied that 
 she would be a comfort to her mother when Eva was married. The 
 idea struck Mrs. Hardwick. Of course, Eva — her handsome high- 
 spirited Eva — would marry, and then there would be only Anna for 
 companionship. Mrs. Hardwick began to think that it would be as 
 well to bring Anna on a little. She commenced by a serious review 
 of her younger daughter's wardrobe. Many of Anne's gowns were 
 confiscated, as being tasteless and old-fashioned. Poor Anna was 
 conveyed on shopping expeditions that filled her with gratitude and 
 amazement. 
 
 ' Mamma is always buying things for me now,' she said, with a 
 deprecating blush, as Alison joked her about her extravagance. ' I 
 don't know what makes her so kind to me. She often takes me for 
 a drive, and talks to me about what we are to do when Eva is 
 married ; and she was so pleased the other day because Miss Owen, 
 the dressmaker, told her I had a good figure. Poor mamma ! I 
 wish I were not such a plain little creature, for she can never be so 
 fond of me as she is of Eva. One day I may be some comfort to 
 her.' 
 
 Alison was much pleased at this account ; and she needed cheer- 
 ing just now. Roger had been looking very worried and careworn 
 for some days, and Alison was afraid, from her father's grave face 
 and silence with his son, that things had gone wrong again at the 
 mill, and that, as usual, the blame had been laid on Roger. She 
 was waiting for an opportunity to speak to him, for his engagements 
 had taken him out several nights, when one evening she met him as 
 she was returning from the town. 
 
 He was walking along rather moodily, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ground, and did not see Alison until she called him by name ; and 
 then he looked up and his face brightened in a moment. 
 
 * Where have you been, Ailie ? ' he asked, smiling at her ; and 
 Roger's smile was very pleasant. ' The house felt as dull as a vault 
 without you, so I came out for a solitary prowl.' 
 
 ' Very well, you shall have your prowl ; only it will not be solitary 
 any longer, for I am not tired in the least, and mean to come too.' 
 
 ' Really and truly not tired, Ailie ?' 
 
 ' Not a bit,' returned Alison stoutly, for she was a good pedes- 
 trian ; but even if she had been, she felt she could have walked on 
 gladly till she was ready to drop with fatigue, when she saw that 
 pleased look on Roger's face.
 
 ROGER RESOLVES TO WATCH. 1 33 
 
 •Very well, then,' he said, leading the way towards a quiet shady 
 road, * I am just in the right mood for a talk, and you are the right 
 sort of company.' 
 
 ' I am so glad I satisfy you, Roger,' she said, looking at him 
 affectionately. * I wish all brothers were like you, and cared as 
 much for their sisters.' 
 
 ' So they would if all sisters were your sort,' was his flattering 
 answer, only Roger meant what he said. ' Ailie, of course I know 
 you will go back to Aunt Diana one day, but you must promise me 
 not to leave us just yet.' 
 
 ' Oh, Roger, of course not. How could I go while you wanted 
 me?' 
 
 'My dear, in that case you would never leave us at all. No, no, 
 I am not quite so selfish as that. One day you shall go, Ailie, but 
 not just yet, not till things are more settled, and we are all happier. 
 Do you know, dear, I wonder sometimes how I held on those two 
 years without you ; your absence made me miss mother more.' And 
 Roger's lip trembled a little. Alison pressed his arm without speak- 
 ing ; there was no need for other words between them, they were so 
 sure of each other's sympathy. 
 
 When she broke the silence it was to speak on a different subject. 
 
 ' Roger, I wish you would tell me what has been troubling you 
 for the last few days.' 
 
 He shook his head and began to whistle. 
 
 ' Something has gone very wrong,' slie went on quite steadily ; 
 ' you have been terribly grave all the week, and yesterday you were 
 loo worried to eat properly. I hope you mean to take me into 
 confidence, dear ; perhaps I could find some way of helping you.' 
 
 * I wish you could, Ailie,' he returned sadly ; ' I wish I could see 
 a way out of our terrible difficulties. Promise me you will be as 
 secret as a statue, and I will tell you a little of what has happened.' 
 
 ' Oh, you may trust me,' she replied, lifting her honest brown eyes 
 to his face. 
 
 ' I believe I may, and it will be a relief to speak. Ailie, Fergusson 
 is going too far; I am convinced in my own mind that he has been 
 tampering with the accounts ; we shall come to a crash directly.' 
 
 * What do you mean ? ' turning a little pale. Roger spoke so 
 vehemently. 
 
 ' It would take too long to tell you all, but something very un- 
 pleasant has happened this week. You know my father went to
 
 134 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Lancaster the other day. Well, a cheque in payment for a consign- 
 nient of timber was unexpectedly paid in during his absence. Of 
 course I endorsed the cheque, wrote out a receipt, enclosed it in an 
 envelope, and put it in the usual rack for postage. I then made an 
 entry in the ledger, and was just going to lock up the ledger and the 
 cheque in the safe, as it was nearly time for closing, when the sudden 
 cessation of the machinery told me some accident had happened, 
 and of course I ran out of tiie office, and so did Fergusson.' 
 
 ' Oh, I know ! when poor Mitchell was hurt,' returned Alison, 
 with a shudder. * I remember seeing both you and Mr. Fergusson 
 standing bareheaded among the men in the yard ; you were sending 
 Timothy for a doctor.' 
 
 'Yes, I was detained for nearly half an hour. Fergusson must 
 have gone back to the office — at least, I missed him after the first 
 few minutes. When they had taken Mitchell off to the hospital, I 
 went back to lock up things for the night. Fergusson was just 
 coming out of the office, and handed me the keys. Everything was 
 locked up, he said, and the messenger had fetched the letters. I 
 had put the cheque into my father's private drawer, and had locked 
 the drawer, but the ledger had been left open on the table, with my 
 entry written on the top of a blank page. I had noticed the page 
 was a little loose, as though the corresponding one had been cut 
 out some time previously ; but I was in a hurry, and I thought it 
 did not matter. When Fergusson told me everything was locked 
 up for the night, and handed me the office keys, of course there was 
 nothing for me but to take them. Ailie, what do you suppose were 
 my feelings when we opened the private drawer the next morning 
 and there was no cheque there? Neither was my entry in the 
 ledger ; the loose page was gone, and, to add to my perplexity, the 
 tirm who had paid in the cheque wrote to complain that there had 
 been no acknowledgment or receipt : and yet I had written both 
 myself, and placed the stamped envelope among the other letters for 
 postage.' 
 
 ' Roger,' exclaimed Alison passionately, ' this must be Fergusson's 
 doings ; he must have tampered with your letter and cut out the 
 entry in the ledger, and of course the cheque is in his possession.' 
 
 ' \Vait a moment, Ailie,' returned Roger, looking very stern and 
 pale. ' The cheque was cashed the next morning by a clerk of ours 
 who was turned away for dishonesty ; but the bank did not know 
 that, and thought him still in our employ, so the money is lost to
 
 ROGER RESOLVES TO WATCH. 1 35 
 
 US. My father is dreadfully angry and puzzled about the whole 
 affair, but he does not suspect Fergusson. He flew in a perfect rage 
 when I hinted about his gambling debts. He blames me for care- 
 lessness ; he says I ought not to have left the office without locking 
 up both the ledger and the cheque in the iron safe. Fergusson has 
 told my father that he saw Ibbotson (that is the name of the clerk 
 we dismissed) hanging about the yard, talking to the men. He de- 
 clares that while we were in the yard Ibbotson must have got into 
 the office, turned over the letters, and abstracted my receipt ; he 
 must have read the entry in the open ledger, and he knew all the 
 keys, and would easily find the cheque. He has gulled my father 
 completely ; he has a.ctua\fy made him believe that, in ten minutes, 
 or a quarter of an hour at the most, Ibbotson could cut out the page 
 in the ledger, track the cheque to the private drawer, hunt out my 
 receipt, and make his escape — and all this without any preconceived 
 plan. Why, the whole thing is monstrous and utterly improbable. 
 I am positive that the only thing Ibbotson has done is to cash the 
 cheque.' 
 
 ' Roger, oh, how dreadful it all is ! Of course, there can be no 
 doubt in your own mind wlio did it all ? ' 
 
 ' There is not a shadow of doubt in my own mind, Ailie ; but how 
 am I to bring my father to believe it ? Ibbotson has left the place, 
 or he was actually going to set the detectives on him. Fergusson 
 has completely hoodwinked him. Circumstantial evidence is strong 
 against Fergusson, to my thinking. Judge for yourself, Ailie. He 
 was with me in the office when I opened the cheque ; he saw me 
 make the entry in the ledger, as well as write the receipt ; he also 
 must have seen me thrust the cheque hastily into the private drawer 
 before I ran out into the yard. No doubt he returned to the office 
 as soon as my attention was engrossed with poor Mitchell. A few 
 minutes was all that was needed to accomplish the job, Ailie. I have 
 found out to-day that he is terribly involved, and that his creditors 
 are threatening him. I told you things are coming to a crash. I am 
 afraid we shall lose more than the sum we received from Simmonds 
 Brothers.' 
 
 ' Oh, Roger, how blind father is ! What are you to do to open 
 his eyes ? ' 
 
 ' I am going to watch Fergusson,' returned Roger, with a frown 
 of anxiety. 'Ailie, I never meant to have told you this. I have 
 been about the town gleaning facts to-day, but I mean to keep them
 
 136 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 to myself for the next four-and-twenty hours. Fergusson has arrived 
 at some sort of crisis in his affairs, I am afraid he will do something 
 desperate. A sum of money has come into our hands to-day after 
 banking hours, in notes and gold. I wanted my father to bring it 
 up to the house, but he scouted the idea as ridiculous, as though any 
 thief could open an iron safe; but, Ailie, I am not comfortable in 
 my mind. Supposing Fergusson has a duplicate key ? My father 
 is so hopelessly duped that it is no use saying any more to him. I 
 have made up my mind to watch the office to-night.' 
 
 * But not alone, dear ? ' 
 
 * Yes, of course. Timothy will be there, if I need help ; but I 
 don't mean to take him into confidence. There is a barge that 
 passes at ten to-night. The bargee is an acquaintance of mine. 
 I told him to look out for me by the bridge. I will get him to land 
 me at the lower end of the yard. Timothy will be in his shed by 
 that time, thinking about his supper. I don't want him to see me, 
 or he will enlighten Fergusson. There is a handy wood-pile just 
 outside the office where I can lie snug.' 
 
 'Roger !' exclaimed Alison, in a quick, determined voice, 'you 
 shall not go alone ; I sliall watch with you.' And as he was about 
 to interrupt her she went on quietly, ' You know Missie and Miss 
 Leigh will be out until half-past ten. Papa is always in his study. 
 They will think I am in bed. I can lock my door and put the key 
 in my pocket, and you have the latch-key. I will be no trouble to 
 you. I will be as quiet as a mouse, and not hinder you. I could 
 not rest — I could not sleep, knowing you were with that bad man. 
 I will be useful as a witness. You must take me, Roger.' 
 
 ' Are you sure that you mean it — that it will not hurt you ? ' he 
 asked slowly. 
 
 'What should hurt me on a summer's night? And the barge will 
 be such fun.' 
 
 ' Very well, you shall come if you like. You are a plucky girl, 
 Ailie.' 
 
 And Alison was so pleased with the permission that she gave his 
 arm a little squeeze of gratitude.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CAUGHT IN THE ACT. 
 
 IT was still early in the evening when the young conspirators 
 returned to the house, and the next two hours passed very 
 slowly to Alison. 
 V Her nerves were in that fine tension that precedes an expected 
 crisis. She was restless and excited, and any sort of employment 
 seemed impossible. Rudel's Latin was tiresome, and presented 
 itself in the light of an irksome duty. Poppie's fun and caresses — 
 for the child was as frolicsome as a kitten, especially at wrong times 
 — jarred on her longing for quiet. It was a relief when the little girl 
 went off unwillingly to bed, and especially when Rudel shut up his 
 books on the pretext of sleepiness, and went upstairs, slouching 
 heavily, after the fashion of school-boys. 
 
 It was then past nine, and Mr. Merle was shut safely in his study. 
 Alison went quickly into her room and made her little preparation. 
 A brown hat she had discarded as being too shabby would just suit 
 her nocturnal purpose ; her dress was dark, and a warm jacket was 
 all she needed ; and, carefully turning down her gas and locking her 
 door, she crept quietly downstairs, to find Roger waiting for her in 
 the dark entry. 
 
 He nodded and held out his hand to her without speaking, until 
 they were outside the gate and were walking rapidly down the road 
 that would lead them to the bridge. 
 
 ' I have brought this plaid,' he observed presently, showing it to 
 her. ' I was so afraid you would find it cold if we should have to 
 watch many hours. I don't think I ought to have brought you, Ailie; 
 but you would come, you know.' 
 
 ' I could not have stopped at home,' was Alison's quick answer. 
 'Is this the bridge where we are to wait, Roger? How black the 
 canal looks ! Are you glad it is such a dark night — no moon, and 
 hardly a star to be seen ? ' 
 
 »37
 
 138 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' I am afraid we are going to have rain,' he relumed, in a vexed 
 voice. ' I do not mind the moon being absent ; the darkness is in 
 our favour. But what am I to do with you, Ailie, if we have a wet 
 night? You will catch your death of cold.' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' replied Alison stoutly. But, nevertheless, she felt an 
 inward twinge of discomfort. Neither of them had thought of the 
 weather. How weird and eerie everything looked in the obscure 
 light, the dark towing-path and the sluggish canal, the tall factories, 
 and beyond them the dim wood-piles and sheds stretching away into 
 the distance. Now and then the sudden splash of a water rat broke 
 on their ear, then the heavy tramp of some belated passenger passing 
 over the bridge ; the very barge that came floating towards them out 
 of the darkness seemed to hold dark grisly shapes upon it. She 
 almost shuddered when the men's faint ' hulloa ' answered Roger's 
 signal. Fragments of old mythological tales seemed to rise to her 
 memory. She thought of Charon rowing his boat full of souls across 
 the sable Styx, as she took her place in the barge. 
 
 In a few minutes Roger was helping her to scramble on shore. 
 They were now at the extreme end of the timber-yard, and had some 
 way to walk. 
 
 'We must not speak above our breath,' whispered Roger cauti- 
 ously in her ear. 'I hope Timothy is safe in his shed eating his supper ; 
 but if he and Nettle were to meet us it would be rather awkward 
 to account for our presence at this time of night ; in fact, my little 
 game would be frustrated. I am more afraid of Nettle than of Tim- 
 othy. Give me your hand, Ailie ; there are awkward bits of wood 
 every now and then, and you may stumble.' 
 
 And Alison soon verified his prediction, for only Roger's strong 
 band saved her from falling again and again. 
 
 Long before they had reached their destination the heavy 
 patter of raindrops warned them to make haste ; but in the un- 
 certain light, and with so rough a path — for Roger had chosen a 
 narrow by-path instead of the main road — their speed was greatly 
 retarded. 
 
 ' Here we are at last,' whispered Roger ; ' follow me closely, Ailie.' 
 And as she obeyed, holding his coat to give her courage, it really 
 seemed to her as though she were entering a dark cavern. A pitchy 
 blackness was round them ; Roger's groping only led them still 
 farther into the darkness. Alison experienced a sense of suffocation 
 until a ray of murky light showed her where she was — at the farther
 
 CAUGHT IN THE ACT. 1 39 
 
 entrance of one of the wood-piles, with the office windows within a 
 few yards of them. 
 
 Alison breathed more freely when she recognised her position. 
 The interlaced planks formed an arched chamber, where they could 
 move with comfort and be sheltered from the rain — unless it were 
 continuous and heavy, and then it would find its way through the 
 wide gaps ; but for a little while they would be safe. Roger spread 
 the plaid near the entrance, and bade his sister make herself as 
 comfortable as circumstances permitted, while he went a little way 
 to reconnoitre. 
 
 Alison longed for him to stay where he was ; it was wonderful how 
 soon her feminine timidity asserted itself directly she was left alone. 
 In spite of all her reasoning, she found the darkness behind her 
 appalling. \Yhen she was swallowed up in it, her thoughts would 
 run upon gloomy subjects, such as dungeons with mere eyelets in the 
 wall for windows, or the narrow labyrinthine galleries of mines 
 plunged deep in the recesses of the earth ; her mind took exploring 
 flights into all sorts of dreary places before he came back to her, 
 with his face wet with raindrops, and took his allotted share of 
 the rug. 
 
 Alison slid a very cold little hand into his, and would not be de- 
 terred by his wet coat-sleeve from imperceptibly lessening the distance 
 between them, until she found his shoulder a support, and then she 
 declared in a cheerful voice, without much feigning, that she was 
 quite comfortable, and would not mind how long she stopped there. 
 
 ' I hope I have not brought you on a wild-goose chase,' returned 
 Roger, a little ruefully. 'Timothy is eating his supper; it looks 
 like cold tripe and onions, but one cannot be sure of anything in 
 this world, so I may be wrong, and Nettle is gnawing a bone with 
 much gusto. We shall have to be careful when he goes his rounds, 
 for the least movement will attract Nettle. Hush ! What is that ? ' 
 as a slight sound was plainly audible. ' Don't move, I implore you, 
 Ailie !' And Roger cautiously raised himself on his hands and knees 
 and crept a few paces nearer to the entrance, but in a moment he 
 returned, and bade Alison in a whisper move farther into the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 ' It is Fergusson ; I heard his voice,' he whispered ; ' Nettle barked, 
 and he spoke to her. Come a little farther ; Timothy has his lantern, 
 and he might turn it on us ; and now not a word if you can help 
 it. Are you frightened, dear ? '
 
 140 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ' No,' returned Alison, a little unsteadily, but at that moment she 
 was certainly wishing herself and Roger safely at home. He seemed 
 to comprehend her feelings, for he patted her cheek, and called her 
 his good, brave little Ailie, which restored her good opinion of herself, 
 and gave her fresh courage. Roger's caution was not in vain : a sudden 
 flare of light penetrated the entrance of the wood-pile ; they could 
 see Nettle trotting on in front, and behind her the two men ; but at 
 the moment the lantern was lowered, and Timothy's face was turned 
 to his companion. 
 
 ' A wet night, master,' he said, in a grumbling voice ; ' there's no 
 fear of sparks or fireworks to-night from the Cremona Gardens. Nettle 
 and me will just go on our beat, and then we'll go back to the shed 
 again.' 
 
 ' All right, Timothy,' returned the manager briskly.. * I must just 
 hunt for the paper I told you about. Possibly I may be a quarter of 
 an hour in the office ; but I will call out to you when I am ready for 
 you to let me out of the yard.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay, I will let you out, sure enough. Master Fergusson ; if 
 so be as you strike upon the little window in the shed. Now, Nettle, 
 lass, we'll be going.' And the old man moved on slowly, 
 
 'Don't move, Ailie; I'll be back in a moment,' whispered Roger 
 in her ear. 
 
 And Alison remained where she was, feeling the dampness all 
 round her, an unpleasant moisture beginning to trickle down her 
 neck. The rain was pouring in torrents outside ; its very violence 
 promised short duration. Presently Roger crept back to her. 
 
 * It is just as I said,' he began hurriedly. ' He is unlocking the 
 safe; he has a duplicate key — I was sure of it. There is not a mo- 
 ment to lose. I dare not trust Timothy. I must go for my father. 
 Ailie, may I leave you here ? You are perfectly safe — no one would 
 harm you. But one of us must watch Fergusson ; which shall it 
 be?' 
 
 ' You must go, Roger,' she exclaimed, pushing him from her, but 
 speaking with chattering teeth. ' You will go more quickly, and will 
 know how to avoid Timothy.' 
 
 Alison did not add that her limbs were trembling so with sudden 
 fright and excitement that she doubted their efficiency in carrying her 
 so far. Her private opinion was that, after all, she was not fit for 
 such an emergency, and she could help Roger best by quiescent 
 watching.
 
 CAUGHT IN THE ACT. I4I 
 
 * Yes, go ; no one can hurt me,' she repeated, panting a little over 
 her words. But the darkness, though abhorrent to her feminine 
 nerves, was useful in hiding her paleness and trembling lips from 
 Roger. 
 
 ' Very well ; keep up your courage, Ailie, and do not lose sight 
 of the villain,' he returned, creeping gently past her. ' I will bring 
 father back in no time. Wait where you are until Timothy has 
 passed again,' 
 
 Alison's reply was inaudible, but her mute assent testified 
 obedience. That moment she was literally beyond speech ; the 
 horrid darkness seemed to swallow her up again ; a nervous oppres- 
 sion made her heart beat with distressing quickness. It was quite 
 a relief when Timothy passed again ; the familiar figure in the heavy 
 watchman's coat gave her a comforting sense of human support, and 
 took away the appalling sense of isolation with only criminal deal- 
 ings near at hand. 
 
 'What a coward I am,' she thought, *as though a watchful 
 Providence were not near me ! ' And Alison whispered to herself 
 the comforting collect, 'Lighten our darkness,' feeling as though 
 the mere utterance of the familiar petition, used nightly from her 
 childhood, brought a sense of safety to her. ' And now I must 
 only think of Roger and papa,' she said to herself, as she groped 
 her way towards the entrance. Timothy had retreated to his shed 
 with Nettle, and there was no danger of being surprised. There 
 was another wood-pile overshadowing the office roof. No doubt 
 Roger had stood there when he had peeped into the window. 
 Perhaps she might safely do the same. Roger had told her to 
 watch, and here she could see nothing. 
 
 She stole cautiously across the open path, and in another moment 
 she was standing outside the office window. There were two win- 
 dows, for this one was necessarily darkened by the wood-pile, but 
 over the other the blind had been lowered to shut out prying 
 glances. Alison supposed, as Roger had, that he had locked him- 
 self in to carry on his unhallowed work. The dark background of 
 piled-up planks quite overshadowed the white girlish face peering 
 in at the uncurtained window. 
 
 She was frightened at her own daring, but she remembered that 
 she was Roger's witness ; it was necessary for her own eyes to testify 
 of Fergusson's dishonest doings. Now there could be no mistake ; 
 the open safe was conclusive, and so were the notes and gold that
 
 142 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 he was stowing away in that great black bag. Alison watched, half 
 fascinated by horror. He had nearly finished ; yes, he was locking 
 his bag and closing the safe, the candle stood guttering beside him 
 on a chair, not on the table ; he almost pushed against it as he went 
 to the door and set it open. Yes, he had locked himself in, for she 
 could see him take the key out and fix it carefully in the outer lock, 
 and then he went back into the room. Oh, what had become of 
 Roger? In another moment he could have escaped with his booty. 
 The main entrance to the timber-yard was in the opposite direction 
 to the private door opening into the garden of I'he Holms. Even 
 if Roger and her father were coming in this moment, Fergusson 
 would have no difficulty in eluding them. It was true the door was 
 locked and Timothy had the key, but he could easily swim across 
 the canal and reach the towing-path unseen. 
 
 Alison's agony was rising to a pitch that almost justified rashness. 
 She was becoming desperate in spite of her terror. A sudden 
 thought came to her, thnlHng her with horror — could she do it? 
 yes, for Roger's sake she would try. Another second she was 
 gliding round the little building and passed the curtained window 
 with a gleam of light shining through the crevice. As she passed 
 it there was sudden darkness ; he had extinguished the candle. In 
 anotiier instant Alison had shut tlie door, almost knocking Fer- 
 gusson back, if she had known it, and had turned the key in the 
 lock. Alison had felt a quick hysteric sob rise in her throat as she 
 heard the key turning under her hand. Had she really done it? 
 Had some unseen presence beside her given her the needful 
 strength? Was the dishonest servant a prisoner, and she his Ciiptor? 
 But Alison had no time to do more tlian ask herself tliese questions, 
 for Timothy came out of his shed, and was hobbling towards her, 
 and the next moment the key was in Alison's pocket, and she was 
 standing at bay. 
 
 ' What does this mean, miss? How came you here ? ' exclaimed . 
 the old man suspiciously, while Nettle jumped up and licked her '• 
 hand. ' 
 
 ' I have locked Mr. Fergusson in ; he is stealing papa's money 
 out of the safe,' returned Alison, turning her white face to Timothy, 
 and the sob rising in her throat again. ' I will not give up the key 
 until papa comes.' 
 
 A fierce kick at the door behind her drove her from it a few 
 paces.
 
 CAUGHT IN THE ACT. I43 
 
 • Let me out, Timothy ! ' thundered Fergusson. ' The girl is mad ; 
 she must be out of her mind to say such things. Mr. Merle desired 
 me to look over some papers for him; they are most important, 
 and there must be no delay.' 
 
 'You hear what he says, miss,' returned Timothy, rather 
 roughly ; ' we must not keep the master's manager locked up. I 
 warrant you it is all right ; they keep them papers in the safe. Give 
 me the key and I will open the door for the gentleman.' 
 
 ' Not until papa comes,' was Alison's reply ; and, in spite of 
 Timothy's surly remonstrances and Fergusson's imprecations, she 
 remained firm. Timothy was driven to his wits' end what to do 
 with the daft lass, as he called her, when sudden footsteps were 
 heard, and Alison darted forward to meet them. 
 
 ' Papa, I saw him at the safe ; he was putting the gold and notes 
 into his bag, I saw him do it ! ' she cried excitedly. ' He blew 
 out the candle, and then I locked him in. Here is the key.' 
 
 ' Timothy, go at once to the police-station ! ' exclaimed Mr. 
 Merle, in a voice they had never heard before ; it was so hoarse with 
 indignation. ' Roger, take your sister into the house. There is a 
 fire in my study ; 1 will wait here.' 
 
 ' No, no ; I can go alone,' returned Alison. ' Roger must not 
 leave you, papa.' 
 
 But he repeated in the same curt way, ' Take your sister away, 
 Roger, and be back as soon as you can.' And Roger, who under- 
 stood his father, hurried her across the yard and the garden, and 
 did not leave her until she was in the warm, brightly lit study. 
 
 'Take off your wet jacket, Ailie,' he charged her, as he left her; 
 but there was no time to say more. 
 
 Alison obeyed him. She took off her dripping hat also ; and 
 then she sat down on the rug and laid her head against her father's 
 chair, and a flood of tears relieved her over-wrought nerves. Roger 
 found her still in the same position when he came in half an hour 
 later; but the tears were flowing more quietly. In his boyish 
 exuberance, he lifted her up as though she were a child. 
 
 ' Here she is, father, crying her pretty eyes out! And no wonder, 
 when she is so cold and tired. Ailie, do you know you are a perfect 
 heroine ! You have done a plucky thing, and no mistake ! ' 
 
 'Come and kiss me, Alison, my dear !' said Mr. Merle. 'You 
 are a brave girl, and have saved your poor father's credit. Roger 
 and you have done nobly to-night. I have let myself be duped by
 
 144 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 a dishonest rogue. Give me your hand, boy; it does not become 
 a man to ask his own son to forgive him, but I think we shall 
 understand each other better from this day.' 
 
 Roger's eyes ghstened as he wrung his father's hand. 
 
 ' I knew it would come all right some day,' he said, with an 
 honest blush, as Mr, Merle looked at him, half sadly, half proudly ; 
 'it was only Fergusson who made mischief between us.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I ought not to have believed him,' returned Mr. Merle, 
 in a contrite voice. ' I was too hasty, Roger ; and, after all, you 
 are the better man of business. I have always been too much of a 
 bookworm. Well, well, you have broad shoulders, and we must 
 make them serviceable. Now, Alison, my dear, you had better bid 
 us both good-night, for your cheeks are much too pale. Go to 
 sleep and forget everything except that you have been a good child. 
 Roger and I must have some talk together.' And, kissing her with 
 a greater degree of affection than he had ever manifested for her, 
 he dismissed her to seek the repose she so much needed.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 'you may leave MABEL TO ME.' 
 
 fHERE is a certain narrowness in human nature. One may not 
 object, for example, to be considered in the light of a heroine j 
 there may be even inward promptings that corroborate the 
 ^^ general opinion, whispering that we are only receiving our due. 
 But it is quite another thing to have to regard one's sister in 
 that luminous character. 
 
 Missie's feelings were decidedly mixed when Roger, in his father's 
 temporary absence, related at the breakfast-table the whole story of 
 the previous night Poppie's eyes grew very wide, and Miss Leigh 
 cried a little ; but Rudels excitement was a sight to behold. 
 
 * Well, if that is not the cheekiest thing,' he exclaimed, with school- 
 boy eloquence, drumming with his elbows on the table for once 
 unrebuked by the governess. ' What a lark ! I wish I had been 
 there. So the old cadger is caught, is he ? Well, this is a queer 
 start. Ailie has lots of go in her for a girl ; I'll back her against 
 a dozen for pluck, and all that sort of thing.' And, quite overpowered 
 with the magniticence of his eulogy, Rudel subsided into a series of 
 chuckles. 
 
 Alison was a little surprised by the attention she received. Her 
 pale cheeks and heavy eyes secured a good deal of petting. Mr. 
 Merle questioned her anxiously whether she had caught cold ; Miss 
 Leigh fairly overflowed with tender inquiries ; Roger waited on her 
 zealously, and Rudel sat staring at her, to the obvious neglect of his 
 breakfast, until Alison asked him mildly what he was looking at, and 
 then he blushed in some confusion. Nobody seemed to notice 
 Missie's perverse silence. Even Mr. Merle was too much occupied 
 with Alison to give his usual attention to his favourite. Missie 
 shrugged her shoulders a little over the whole affair. She thought 
 Roger was dosing them ad nauscatn. Alison had done very little 
 after all, but they were all making such a fuss over it. She was 
 
 I4S K
 
 146 ;^ AUNT DIANA. 
 
 doubly vexed when Miss Hardwick came in, full of enthusiasm for 
 that dear clever Alison. She had met Roger, and he had stopped 
 and given her and Anna a full account — a great condescension on 
 his pait, but circumstances clearly justified a truce; his old enemy 
 had no power to provoke him on this morning. Missie had to listen 
 to more eulogiums, though Alison modestly disclaimed all praise. 
 Miss Hardwick quite frightened her when she assured her the whole 
 thing would be soon all over the town. 
 
 ' You will be a nine days' wonder, my dear,' she said, graciously. 
 ' People will stare at you when you walk through the streets. Fancy 
 locking the wretch in ! My dear Alison, how did you know he had 
 not got a pistol ? It was quite horrible and romantic. I must run 
 home and tell mamma and Anthony all about it.' 
 
 All this was rather a trial to Alison. Perhaps the greatest pleasure 
 the day afforded was when Roger showed her a letter he had written 
 to Aunt Diana. 
 
 * Oh, you foolish boy,' she said, colouring with gratification as she 
 read the glowing sentences, written straight from Roger's warm heart. 
 But the tears were very near the surface too. There was a little 
 space left, and she wrote hurriedly across it, when Roger had left the 
 room a moment : ' Don't believe all P.oger says, dear Aunt Di. I 
 never felt more frightened in my life ; heroines are not made of such 
 cowardly stuff. They do not act in a panic ; they all make a great 
 deal too much of it.' 
 
 Miss Carrington smiled over this last sentence. She had read 
 Roger's letter with grave and over-mastering interest. 
 
 'Poor little Ailie!' she said to herself. 'She has a girl's notion of 
 what constitutes a heroine. I dare say many a heroine has been 
 horribly afraid before now. It seems to me that being frightened 
 and yet doing the right thing makes a heroine.' 
 
 Alison would have been quite happy during the next few days 
 except for the depressing effect of Missie's ill-humour. Missie was 
 plainly suffering from a bad attack of jealousy. Alison seemed the 
 centre of every one's attention just then. Her father referred to her 
 judgment and asked her opinion ; Roger thought of no one else, and 
 even Rudel began to develop a canine sort of fidelity, which chiefly 
 consisted in following Alison about the house with his hands in his 
 pockets, and hindering her by injudicious questions, relating princi- 
 pally to the state of the larder and what pudding had been selected 
 for luncheon.
 
 'YOU MAY LEAVE MABEL TO ME.' I47 
 
 All this was too much for Missie's selfish nature to endure, and 
 she withdrew to seek consolation in Eva's flatteries. Her visits to 
 Maplevvood were now of daily occurrence. Alison once ventured to 
 remonstrate. 
 
 ' 1 do not think papa would be quite pleased, Mabel, if he knew 
 you were so much in Captain Harper's company,' she said, very 
 gently. 
 
 ' Captain Harper, indeed ! ' returned Missie, haughtily. * You 
 need not trouble yourself, Alison. My visits are not to him.' 
 
 ' No, dear, of course not,' replied AUson, in a pleading tone — she 
 was very anxious not to irritate her. ' But, all the same, you are 
 going every day to Maplewood, and that throws you necessarily into 
 his company. Miss Hardwick cannot well banish her cousin from 
 the room ; and, Mabel, I do feel ' — hesitating a little, for fear she 
 was speaking too strongly — ' that it is not quite honourable to papa. 
 He trusts us to carry out his expressed wishes, and in this you are 
 setting them aside.' 
 
 Missie's fair face became suffused with crimson. Evidently Alison's 
 honest speech went straight to her conscience ; but in some moods 
 nothing is more vexing than to be put in the wrong. 
 
 ' I wish you would mind your own business, Alison,' she said, 
 angrily. * You have no right to lecture me because you are the 
 eldest. Eva says I am quite justified in asserting myself. I hope I 
 know my duty without your always pointing it out to me, and you 
 may leave papa to me. We have always understood each other per- 
 fectly, and there is never anything wrong between us unless you 
 choose to go and tell tales.' 
 
 * Mabel, how can you be so disagreeable ? ' began Alison, hotly. 
 But she cooled down on remembering Aunt Diana's advice — 'Never 
 get warm over an argument, Ailie. When you begin to feel angry it 
 is time to hold your tongue.' And Alison held hers. 
 
 She would have been a little comforted if she had known how ill 
 at ease Missie really was. Her high complexion and cross speech 
 only proved that the arrow had gone home. She knew in her secret 
 heart that she was behaving dishonourably. Her father trusted her, 
 and she was betraying his trust. The very next day she had planned 
 to join Eva and her cousin in a pleasure excursion, though she knew 
 it was an act of tacit disobedience ; but self-will only gains strength 
 by indulgence. Missie's imperious temper made her persist all the 
 more because Alison had gently remonstrated with her.
 
 148 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Alison's vague uneasiness that led to her speaking was changed 
 into positive alarm when Roger came into her room that night. He 
 was in evening dress, having just returned from an early party. 
 Alison was waiting up for him. She had put off her dress, changing 
 it for a dainty pink dressing-gown. Her little black Bible lay in her 
 lap. She looked up brightly at him as he entered. 
 
 ' Ailie,' he said, sitting down by her, * I am so bothered about 
 something I have heard to-night. Did you know ' — looking at her 
 gravely — ' that Mabel was going down to Durbans with Miss Hard- 
 wick and Captain Harper to-morrow ? ' 
 
 * Why, no ! ' she said, starting a little. ' What place did you say, 
 dear ? ' 
 
 ' Durbans. It is about twenty miles from here. There are woods 
 there where people go for picnics. I meant to have taken you and 
 Mabel one day, only we should have gone by train. Miss Anna was 
 at the Merediths', and she told me all about it quite innocently. It 
 seems that Captain Harper has sent for his dog-cart, and he means 
 to drive them over. They are to have dinner and tea at the Castle 
 Inn ; so they mean to be away the whole day.' 
 
 . * Oh, Roger ! what shall we do ? ' exclaimed Alison. * If papa 
 were only here, I would go to him at once. Mabel has no right to 
 deceive him in this way, and I should certainly get him to put a slop 
 to it at once ; but now he will not be home until to-morrow.' 
 
 ' He may possibly come by an earlier train ; he told me so as we 
 walked to the station. It will all depend how long business will de- 
 tain him. Of course we should tell him, Ailie ; the thing is beyond 
 a joke. Fancy that fellow having the audacity to propose such a 
 thing ! I saw him driving the other day, and I did not like the look 
 of the horse, it seemed such a hard-mouthed brute. Supposing he 
 brings them to grief. I wish I knew what I could do about it, Ailie ; 
 but father's absence obliges me to be in the office. I must be in the 
 yard early, too. I shall not even be able to speak to Missie.' 
 
 ' I will tell her what you say, and then, of course, she will be 
 obliged to give it up,' returned Alison, not relishing her task at all, 
 but counting, nevertheless, on an easy victory. Missie had put her- 
 self so completely in the wrong that no choice but submission 
 was left to her. Roger, who knew Missie perfectly, was not so 
 sanguine. 
 
 ' Tell her that if she goes I shall certainly inform father, and then 
 he will put a stop to her visits to Maplewood ; and tell her, too, that
 
 *YOU MAY LEAVE MABEL TO ME.' 149 
 
 I am perfectly disgusted at her conduct. Miss Leigh is no good, or 
 she is the person to speak. I am afraid you must do it, Aihe.' 
 
 ' Very well,' she sighed. But she lay awake a long time revolving 
 what words she would use. She was determined to be severe and 
 speak her mind very freely ; there should be no beating about the 
 bush in this instance. Missie should know what she and Roger 
 thought of such deceitful conduct. Missie considered herself safe. 
 Her father rarely questioned his children about their doings during 
 the day. He took it for granted that they had been usefully and 
 well employed. As for Captain Harper, he had forgotten his exis- 
 tence ; he had forbidden his visits to The Holms, and it never struck 
 him that Missie might be meeting him at Maplewood, and no one 
 had yet opened his eyes. 
 
 Alison awoke with a strange oppression upon her— a sense of 
 difficulty, that made the daylight seem less bright. She became 
 nervously conscious that she might fail. What it her severity were 
 of no avail', and Missie should persist in going? She was a little 
 later than usual in going down. Roger had already had his break- 
 fast and had gone to the mill, and the meal was half over before 
 she suggested that Poppie should knock at Mabel's door. 
 
 * Oh, I forgot,' returned Poppie, in a stricken voice, laying down 
 her slice of bread and jam; 'Missie came into my room before I was 
 dressed, and told me to tell you she would not want any breakfast — 
 she was going to have it at Maplewood. She looked so smart, 
 Alison, in her new blue dress. It was rather funny of her to put it 
 on for breakfast.' 
 
 * Miss Leigh, will you come into the schoolroom a moment, if you 
 have finished?' said Alison, quietly ; but the governess noticed that 
 she looked rather pale, and rose at once, but she was even more 
 shocked than Alison when she heard the whole story. 
 
 * My dear, your papa will never forgive us if we do not prevent it,' 
 she said, very solemnly. ' You none of you know how particular he 
 is ; and this will seem dreadful to him. You must go to Maplewood 
 yourself, Alison, and speak to Mrs. Hardwick. She is the only one 
 who can do anything. Anna can go in Mabel's place, but you must 
 insist on bringing Mabel home. I will not answer for the conse- 
 quences if this affair comes to your father's ears,' continued the 
 governess, moved to tears at this fresh instance*of Missie's self-will. 
 
 Alison thought this such good advice that she put on her hat at 
 once and walked over to Maplewood. It was not a pleasant errand,
 
 150 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 she felt, and she hardly knew what she would say to Mrs. Hardwick. 
 She only knew she would refuse to return without Missie, even if 
 she had to brave the obnoxious Captain Harper himself. But her 
 face fell when she entered the morning-room and found Mrs. Hardwick 
 and Anna alone ; the others had just driven from the door. 
 
 'You have only just missed them, Alison,' observed Anna, looking 
 anxiously into her face. She thought she had never seen her friend 
 look so grave and perturbed. 
 
 ' It was very wrong. Mabel ought not to have gone without papa's 
 permission,' burst indignantly from Alison's lips. ' Papa is so par- 
 ticular, he never likes us to go out without Miss Leigh or Roger, and 
 Roger is very much annoyed with Mabel.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, what nonsense ! ' observed Mrs. Hardwick, tran- 
 quilly. ' I always say Mr. Roger is such an old-fashioned young 
 man. Anthony is just like my own son ; he is as steady as steady. 
 I always let my girls go about with him.' 
 
 * Yes, but Mabel is different, Mrs. Hardwick,' returned Alison, 
 with dignity. 'Captain Harper is a stranger to us, and papa will not 
 think it right. Mabel is so young.' 
 
 'So she is, my dear, quite a baby; so what does it matter?' re- 
 turned Mrs. Hardwick, comfortably. ' They wanted Anna to go, 
 but I could not spare her. What 1 are you going already, and you 
 have not rested from your walk, and you are looking quite heated, 
 too? Young people ought to take more care of their complexion. 
 But then you never freckle, as Eva does. Well, good-bye, my dear ; 
 don't trouble your head about the girls, Anthony will take care of 
 them.' 
 
 Alison felt as though any reply were impossible. Mrs. Hardwick 
 was one of those feather-headed women whose brains seem to need 
 ballast. She received impressions vaguely. Anna, who was more 
 sensitive, was keenly alive to the change that passed over Alison's 
 face as she left the room, and she followed her into the hall. 
 
 ' Oh, Alison,' she began timidly, ' I can see how vexed you are 
 about this, and it is very wrong of Mabel to treat you all so ; but 
 you must not be angry with mamma ; she does not see things very 
 quickly, and Eva told her it was all right.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I do feel angry with every one,' replied Alison, and a 
 big tear rolled down her face. ' I know trouble will come of this. 
 Papa is not easily roused, but I know what he will feel. I cannot 
 share Mabel's deceit ; I must and will tell him.'
 
 'YOU MAY LEAVE MABEL TO ME.' 151 
 
 * You must do what you think right, and Mr. Roger will help you,' 
 returned Anna, in her soft, sympathising voice. ' Perhaps Mr. 
 Merle will forgive Mabel, he is so very fond of her. I am sure I 
 hope he will ; I cannot bear to see you so worried.' 
 
 Alison shook her head sadly ; she could not comfort herself with 
 any such hope ; her father's anger, she knew, would be in proportion 
 to his love. Missie's disobedience and deceit would touch him very 
 closely. 
 
 Slie gave quite a frightened start when, on her return to The 
 Holms, Roger met her at the gate with the news that Mr. Merle had 
 returned. 
 
 'I have not seen him yet, Ailie; I have only just come across from 
 the mill,' he continued. ' Would you like me to tell him, dear, or 
 do you think you can do it better? ' 
 
 ' We will go together,' returned Alison, uneasily. ' I am so afraid 
 that he will put himself out, and then you will know what to say.' 
 And Roger acquiesced. 
 
 They found Mr. Merle in his study, looking somewhat fagged and 
 weary, but he held out his hand with a smile, as though he were 
 pleased to see them after his brief absence. 
 
 ' Where is Pussie?' he asked; 'she is generally the first to welcome 
 me.' And he looked round as though he were disappointed. 
 
 ' Dear papa,' returned Alison, bravely, ' I am afraid you will be 
 vexed about something. We have none of us seen Mabel this morn- 
 ing ; she breakfasted at Maplewood. Roger met Anna at the 
 Merediths' last night, and she told him that Mabel had promised to 
 join Eva and her cousin in an excursion to Durbans. I went over 
 to speak to Mrs. Hardwick and bring Mabel back, but they had 
 already started.' 
 
 ' What ! ' thundered Mr. Merle, and the blackness of his brow was 
 dreadful to Alison, 'do you dare to tell me that Mabel has gone over 
 to Durbans in that man's company, when I forbade any intercourse 
 with him ? ' 
 
 ' Captain Harper is driving them in his dog-cart,' rejoined Roger, 
 coming to his sister's relief. ' It seems a very silly affair, and I told 
 Alison so last night, and begged her to stop it ; it is no fault of hers 
 or of mine, father. Missie slipped out of the house while they were 
 at breakfast, and though Alison started off to Maplewood as soon as 
 she could, she was just too late.' 
 
 ' No, it is not your fault,' returned Mr. Merle, gloomily. ' Mabel
 
 152 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 must bear the brunt of her own disobedience. Miss Hardwick shall 
 never enter this house again.' 
 
 ' Would you Hke ine to take an early afternoon train to Durbans?' 
 interrupted Roger, who had already conceived this plan, ' and then 
 I could join them ; there is a vacant seat in the dog-cart.' 
 
 Alison looked eagerly at her father ; she thought this an excellent 
 idea on Roger's part. Miss Hardwick and Captain Harper must be 
 made aware of Mr. Merle's displeasure ; and though Roger's presence 
 would be a severe punishment to Missie's pride, placing her in the 
 light of a naughty runaway child, she richly deserved the humiliation; 
 but unhappily, as it afterwards turned out, Mr. Merle did not share 
 his son's moderate opinion. 
 
 ' Look out a train in the time-table,' he said, suddenly ; * I will go 
 myself, Roger. Mabel shall not return in the dog-cart; I shall bring 
 her back by train. I know how to deal with a disobedient child, 
 and there is no good in your mixing up yourself in this unpleasant 
 affair ; you may leave Mabel to me.' And Mr. Merle looked so 
 stern and resolute that neither Alison nor Roger dared to dissuade 
 him, though Roger looked anxious and uneasy as he went in search 
 of the railway guide.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 * don't be frightened, ailte.* 
 
 •TT LisoN passed an anxious and solitary afternoon, and as she 
 4y^ sat alone at her needle-work, she could not divest her mind 
 /rJL of all sorts of gloomy anticipations. She knew her father to be 
 e/oiP a man of strong passions ; she dreaded the effects of his dis- 
 pleasure on Mabel. His severity would be tempered with 
 justice ; but still the weight of his anger would be crushing. Alison's 
 tender heart was full of compunction and pity for poor Missie. She 
 was deprived of the solace of Roger's company, for he had gone back 
 to the yard before Mr. Merle had left the house, and later on he 
 had some business in the town. It would have been a relief to talk 
 to Miss Leigh, but the worry had brought on one of the governess's 
 rervous headaches, and she was lying down in her room. Rudel 
 was spending the afternoon at a schoolfellow's house, and Poppie's 
 society was about as comforting as a kitten's, so Alison sent her 
 out with one of the maids, and tried to interest herself in her work. 
 It was a lovely afternoon ; the soft September sunshine lay on the 
 lawn, and on the beds of scarlet geraniums and dark red verbenas. 
 All the doors and windows were open, a faint sweet smell of clematis 
 stole into the room, mingled with the scent of late-blooming roses. 
 In spite of her heavy thoughts, the coolness and silence, and the 
 busy twittering of the sparrows in the ivy, brought a sense of 
 refreshment to Alison. A verse she had read that morning came 
 into her mind — 
 
 i 
 Let us gather up the sunbeams 
 
 Lying all around our path ; 
 Let us keep the wheat and roses, 
 
 Casting out the thorns and chaff; 
 Let us find our sweetest comforts 
 . In the blessings of to-day, 
 • With a patient hand removing 
 All the briars from the way.' 
 
 »S3
 
 154 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * The briars are in poor Mabel's way,' she thought ; * but perhaps 
 I may help her to put them aside. Tiiere is always something for 
 one to do or bear, as Aunt Di once said ; the daily sacrifice is still 
 for us, if not, perhaps, a whole burnt sacrifice, yet there is still the 
 need of a peace-ofifering, so many little offices to do for others ; 
 even pulling up a briar or two out of their way may do something 
 to lighten their daily journey.' Ahson was cheering herself up 
 bravely, and when the tea-things were brought in she carried Miss 
 Leigh a cup, and sat down by her bedside and talked to her a 
 little. 
 
 'What a comfort you are to us all, Alison, my dear!' said the 
 governess, gratefully, as the girl turned her pillow, and bathed her 
 throbbing head, and lowered the blind, that the evening sunshine 
 should not obtrude too strongly. * No one has ever waited on me 
 so nicely ; really, my head is rather better, and I think I shall be 
 able to sleep a little until your father and Mabel come in.' 
 
 ' They cannot be long now,' returned Alison ; ' but you must not 
 trouble yourself about anything more to-night. I will come in again 
 by-and-by, and see if you have rested.' And then she softly closed 
 the door. It was impossible to go back to her needlework, so she 
 took her book and seated herself under the lime trees within view 
 of the gate. Poppie had come home from her walk, and was 
 playing about the lawn with Otter and Sulky. The jackdaw's solemn 
 gait, as he walked down the garden path, amused Alison, and she 
 laid down her book to watch him. Now and then Poppie claimed 
 her attention, or Otter flew to her side to hide his ball in her 
 gown. She soon grew so interested in their play that the time 
 passed unheeded, and she woke up with a start to the conviction that 
 it was nearly eight, and the early autumn twilight was creeping over 
 the garden. 
 
 So late, and they had not arrived ; and what could have become 
 of Roger? She called to Poppie hurriedly to put Sulky in the yard, 
 and run into the house, as it was bed-time, and her supper was 
 waiting in the schoolroom ; and the little girl had hardly left her 
 before the latch of the gate was raised, and in another moment 
 Roger came rapidly towards her. 
 
 He looked heated, as though he had been walking fast ; but it 
 was a white heat, and it struck Alison suddenly that he was ill, or 
 that he had heard something. 
 
 ' Don't be frightened, Ailie,' he said, in a quick, nervous voice,
 
 •don't be frightened, ailie.' 155 
 
 that certainly did not reassure her, neither did the touch of his 
 cold damp hand. ' I have come first to prepare you ; be as brave 
 as you can, for your help is wanted.' 
 
 'Something dreadful has happened ! Oh, Roger, be quick !' 
 
 'I have no time to tell you much,' he returned, still more 
 hurriedly. * They came back by train — oh, why did he not send 
 me? — there was an accident, I was down at the station and saw 
 them come in. They are both hurt ; at least, I am afraid Missie 
 is, only she will not say so, but father is the worst.' 
 
 * Oh, Roger ! ' and Alison's figure swayed for a moment on his 
 arm until he made her sit down, for the sudden shock had turned 
 her lips white. She could not say more at that moment. 
 
 ' We do not know yet,' he half whispered ; ' there are two doctors 
 with him, and they are bringing him home. He had a blow, and 
 was insensible, but they cannot tell yet ; there is no wound. There, 
 I hear them coming, Ailie; pull yourself together; we must not 
 think of anything but him.' 
 
 ' No, no,* and she gave a quick gulp, and the colour came 
 back to her lips. The sparrows were twittering sleepily in the ivy. 
 * And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your 
 Father,' seemed to come into her mind, like the sudden flash of 
 a sunbeam out of a passing cloud. He was in the Divine hands ; 
 she must remember that. As Roger went down to open the gates 
 she compelled herself to return to the house. 
 
 'Sarah, there has been an accident,' she heard herself say, only 
 her voice did not seem to belong to her. ' bend Eliza to the 
 schoolroom, to keep Miss Poppie out of the way, and you and 
 Nanny be in readiness for what is wanted. Hot water, I suppose 
 they will want that, and I don't know what besides.' And here 
 her voice suddenly failed, for wheels were evidently coming up 
 the gravelled sweep. The next few minutes were simply horrible 
 to Ahson. The two doctors and Roger, and some man from the 
 railway, were all helping in removing her father's inanimate figure 
 from the vehicle. Alison recognised the family practitioner. Dr. 
 Greenwood, but the other was a stranger. There was nothing to 
 do ; her father's room was in readiness, and Roger was there to 
 show them the way. She could only lean against the wall as they 
 passed with a fleeting consciousness that her father's eyes were still 
 closed, and that there was something terrible in the inert heavy 
 droop of the limbs. ' Very gently,' she heard Dr. Greenwood say.
 
 156 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 _' Yes, I know the room ; that is the door, Cameron.' And then 
 it closed after them, and she felt some one grip her arm. 
 
 * Help me upstairs, Alison,' said Missie, hoarsely. She had crept 
 out of the fly unaided, and now stood by Alison's side in the dark 
 hall. Alison had almost forgotten her in that moment's agony; 
 but then Roger had said surely she was not much hurt, yet there 
 she was clinging to her sister with a white stony face. 
 
 ' Lean on me, dear ! ' exclaimed Alison, passing her arm tenderly 
 round her ; but to her alarm Missie uttered a sharp cry of pain. 
 
 ■ 'No, don't touch me, not that side ; I will hold your arm. I 
 want to be in my own room if I can only get there.' And leaning 
 heavily on Alison's shoulder, she toiled slowly up the staircase, her 
 fiiintness and difficulty evidently increasing at every step, but her 
 strong will supporting her until they reached the threshold, and then 
 she suddenly tottered, and if Alison had not caught her in her 
 arms, she would have fallen. Alison dared not call loudly for 
 assistance, for they were close to her father's room ; but she was 
 young and strong, and she just managed to drag Missie to a 
 chair, and summon one of the frightened servants, when Missie 
 revived. Alison mixed a little sal volatile and water and gave 
 it to her. Missie tasted it, and put it down, shuddering. 
 
 ' It was the pain ; you touched it, and I am so bruised all over,' 
 she said, with a sort of sob. ' I did not want them to know ; they 
 had to look after papa ; but I am afraid my arm is broken.' 
 
 * Oh, Mabel, my poor dear ! ' And Alison knelt down by her. 
 She had not noticed how helplessly the left arm hung down, and now 
 Missie would not let her touch it. 
 
 *It is all bruised and cut,' she said, her forehead contracting 
 heavily with pain. ' The doctor must see it presently, when he has 
 finished in the other room ; not now. Oh, Alison, where are you 
 going? You shall not disturb them. What does it matter? If 
 only ' But here her fast whitening lips refused to utter her fear. 
 
 ' Let me go, darling,' returned Alison, anxiously ; ' I will not dis- 
 turb them, you may quite trust me.' And without waiting for Mabel's 
 answer she slipped away. 
 
 As she entered the dressing-room, the stranger, a dark, grave- 
 looking young man, came out of her father's room. He listened to 
 Alison's account, and promised to attend to her sister as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 ' We must finish the examination,' he said, dismissing her, ' but I
 
 'don't be frightened, AILIE.' 157 
 
 will come as soon as I can. I thought there was something wrong, 
 but she deceived us by hiding her arm under her mantle. She was 
 bruised, that was all, she told us. Keep her quiet, and I will be 
 with you directly.' 
 
 Missie was leaning back in her chair, with her eyes closed, but as 
 Alison entered she opened them full on her sister, and the blank 
 miserable look in them convinced Alison that she was dreading the 
 worst. 
 
 * Do not look so, Mabel darling,' she said, kissing her softly. 
 * Indeed we do not know ; they have told me nothing. Dear papa 
 is in God's hands ; we must leave him there, and hope for the best.' 
 
 A low groan broke from Mabel's lips. 
 
 ' Oh, it is easy for you ; even if the worst comes, you can bear it ; 
 you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. If he dies, I 
 shall have killed him. How am I to go on living, and know that ? * 
 And here she burst out into hoarse sobs. 
 
 ' Mabel, my poor dear, oh ! how am I to comfort you ? ' exclaimed 
 Alison, unable to restrain her own tears at the sight of her sister's 
 anguish. 
 
 ' You cannot comfort me,' returned the unhappy girl. * What is 
 the pain of my broken arm and my bruises compared to what I shall 
 feel if he dies, and I am not able even to tell him that I am sorry for 
 my deceit and disobedience? and I would not say so, because he 
 was angry. Oh, papa, papa, and I loved you so ! ' And the poor 
 child hid her face on Alison's shoulder. It seemed a relief to her to 
 pour out her feelings. He had been so angry, and she would not 
 own herself in the wrong, and then the horrible accident had 
 happened, and she thought at first her father was killed. ' When 
 they said he was alive, and they must bring him home, and see what 
 could be done, I thought I would not add to the trouble, and so I 
 managed to hide my broken arm.' But here she broke off, as Mr. 
 Cameron entered the room. 
 
 ' Papa ? ' she said, faintly, as he came up to her. 
 
 ' His consciousness is returning ; we shall know more to-morrow. 
 It is not the head, as we feared,' he said, evasively ; 'but now I must 
 look at your arm, please. Your friend Dr. Greenwood will be here 
 directly, and we will soon put it right.' But, in spite of his cheerful 
 words, ' Poor child !' came pityingly from his lips as the blackened 
 shoulder was revealed to his view. Missie must have suffered ex- 
 quisite pain during the drive home. The arm was broken, and the
 
 158 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 shoulder dislocated, and the bruised condition of the limb filled 
 Alison with horror. 
 
 It was a painful ordeal for Alison, but she bore it as bravely as she 
 could. Roger had remained with his father ; Miss Leigh was not in 
 a condition to render any assistance ; the sudden confusion had 
 brought on accession of pain, and she could only lay her throbbing 
 head back on the pillow, and lie there in utter helplessness. There 
 was no one but herself to wait upon the doctors and receive their 
 directions : the very exigency of the case made her helpful. Her 
 one thought was that she must not hinder their work ; there was 
 little for her to do. At the first touch of her wounded arm Mabel 
 had fainted again. Alison could not have borne to witness the poor 
 child's sufferings. Perhaps Dr. Greenwood knew this, for he con- 
 trived some errand that detained her for a few minutes out of the 
 room. When she returned the worst seemed over, but the faintness 
 continued, and it was only slowly and by degrees that Alison, with 
 Sarah's help, could assist her to undress and lie down, after which a 
 sedative was to be administered, as the pain of the bruises and the 
 misery of her mind would effectually hinder sleep. 
 
 As soon as she could leave her in Sarah's charge, Alison stole 
 into her father's dressing-room. Dr. Greenwood came to her at 
 once. 
 
 ' My dear,' he said, taking her hand, for he had known her from 
 an infant, 'this is a sad business, but, thank God ! things are not so 
 bad as they seemed at first. Your father must have received a blow ; 
 he was stunned, but consciousness has returned, and he has spoken. 
 What we fear now is something different. He seems unable to 
 move ; but this may be due to the shock and temporary exhaustion. 
 There are symptoms that make us hopeful that the full extent of 
 mischief may not be realizied. We shall know more in a few days ; 
 but he will require the greatest care To-morrow I shall send in a 
 nurse from the infirmary. Do you think you and your brother can 
 manage to-night ? ' 
 
 • Oh, yes,' returned Alison, with a painful catch of her breath ; it 
 seemed to her as though she were passing through some hideous 
 nightmare ; the very horror seemed to numb her sensibilities. She 
 understood that night how people could live through terrible scenes ; 
 the very intensity of pain deadened the anguish. 
 
 Dr. Greenwood thouglit her a very brave girl. She listened quietly 
 to his directions, but he took her hand once, and felt her pulse, and
 
 'don't be frightened, ailie.' 159 
 
 then he kindly bade her take some food and wine before she went 
 into her father's room, and as Roger came out that moment he 
 repeated the charge to him. 
 
 ' Come, Aihe,' said Roger, taking her arm. ' Dr. Greenwood will 
 stay with father until we come back.' And he led her away. 
 
 Alison noticed with some surprise that there was a sort of meal 
 laid in the dining-room ; she had forgotten the early supper had been 
 placed there a couple of hours ago in preparation for her father. 
 Roger carved some chicken and brouglit it to her. 
 
 ' You must try and eat, Ailie, and I will do the same,' he said, 
 with some attempt at cheerfulness. * We have a long night before 
 us, and we must husband our strength.' 
 
 Alison felt the force of this argument; nevertheless the food 
 remained on her plate. 
 
 ' Roger, how bad you look ! ' she said, suddenly ; * but I do not 
 wonder at it. Oh ! what a dreadful evening we have had ; and I 
 cannot imagine how it happened.' 
 
 ' Dr. Cameron was there, and he told me,' returned Roger, shading 
 his face from the light, as though it hurt him. * It was not a collision ; 
 something must have given way — the coupling chain, they think — and 
 they were going down a steep incline at express speed. Dr. Cameron 
 says some of the carriages went over the embankment, and were 
 completely wrecked ; one or two were turned entirely over. He was 
 in the same compartment with father and Mabel. They felt a jolting 
 sensation, and the next moment they were thrown from their seats, 
 the carriage side was completely smashed, and they were all flung in 
 a heap. Dr. Cameron was on the top, and was happily unhurt, with 
 the exception of a few bruises ; father was underneath him ; Mabel 
 struggled up somehow unaided, and came to father, and no one 
 knew she was much hurt.* 
 
 * Oh, Roger, how terrible ! ' 
 
 * Yes, it does not do to talk of it, and hardly to think of it Now, 
 Ailie, if you have finished we will go upstairs. By the bye, where is 
 Miss Leigh ?' 
 
 * Oh, I ought to have gone to her,' exclaimed Alison. * How 
 dreadful for her to lie there, and not Idc able to help us ! She has 
 been suffering from one of her sick headaches, and, of course, all 
 this will make it worse. Wait for me a moment, dear, I will just 
 speak to her.* 
 
 * Is that you, Alison ? ' asked the governess, feebly, as the girl came
 
 l6o AUNT DIANA. 
 
 to her bedside. * I know all about it, dear, Eliza has told me. Poor 
 children, poor children ! and I cannot help you.' 
 
 ' Roger is good and thoughtful ; we shall manage nicely to-night, 
 and Sarah will watch Mabel. You must not trouble, dear Miss 
 Leigh ; to-morrow you will be better, and then we shall be sure of 
 your help.' 
 
 ' You must not stay now. Thank you for coming, my dear ; but 
 you must go to your father.' And Alison was thankful to be dis- 
 missed. 
 
 In another moment she was leaning over her father. He unclosed 
 his eyes as he heard her light footstep, and a faint smile came to his 
 lips. 
 
 ' How is your sister ? ' he whispered. 
 
 * Dear papa,' she returned, tenderly, * how happy Mabel will be to 
 know you asked after her ! She is lying quite quietly, the sedative is 
 luUing her, but she is not asleep.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! ' was all his reply, and then he closed his eyes again ; 
 but as Alison withdrew into the shadow of the curtain tears of thank- 
 fulness came to her eyes; there was no bitterness in her father's 
 heart against poor Mabel. * As a father pitieth his children,' the 
 words came to her mind, ah ! 'so might their Heavenly Father have 
 pity on them.'
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 *1 WOULD NOT SAY I WAS SORRY.' 
 
 HE dreary night-watching was a new experience in Alison's life, 
 
 for she had been too young at the time of her mother's last 
 
 illness to share in the long and tedious nursing ; the silence 
 
 and inaction made the hours drag heavily. Roger, fatigued 
 
 with his day's work, was sleeping heavily with his head against 
 
 the wall. Alison pitied his weary position, and fetched a pillow from 
 
 the other room and put it gently behind his head. * You may sleep', 
 
 she whispered, as he rubbed his eyes and looked at her, half ashamed 
 
 of his drowsiness ; ' there is no need for two of us to watch. I will 
 
 wake you if I see any need.' And then she went back to her seat. 
 
 Once or twice she went across the passage to look at Missie. She 
 was glad to find her sleeping. Sarah was at her post, sitting bolt 
 upright and nodding. Now and then her father spoke a few words; 
 once he asked what the doctors had said. 
 
 Alison was thankful that they had not informed him of their fears. 
 
 ' They do not seem to know, papa,' she returned gently ; ' they 
 think you have had a great shock, and you are suffering from ner- 
 vous exhaustion. They will tell better by-and-by.' 
 
 'There seems something wrong with my limbs,' he muttered 
 uneasily ; ' you are sure you do not know what they think ? ' 
 
 'Quite sure, dear papa,' she replied, so earnestly that he could 
 not disbelieve her ; * but I hope and trust,' her lips quivering a 
 little, 'that you may soon be better.' 
 
 He moved his head restlessly on the pillow, as though her emotion 
 disturbed him. 
 
 'I have not been a good father to you, Alison,' he returned, a 
 little bitterly. ' I do not think my children need regret me.' 
 
 ' Oh, papa, papa, please do not speak so ! ' she implored, and the 
 tears came now ; 'your children love you, and would do anything to 
 help yovu' 
 
 l6x j^
 
 l62 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * You are a good girl, Alison ; your mother always said so, and if 
 
 I am spared ' He sighed heavily, and turned his face away ; and 
 
 Alison, remembering the doctor's injunction, dared not say any more, 
 lest it should increase his agitation ; she only took his hand and 
 softly laid her cheek against it, as though she would show by this 
 action a child's love and devotion. Her touch seemed to quiet him, 
 and by-and-by he dozed a little. 
 
 Morning came at last, and Roger roused himself with difficulty. 
 
 'I shall take my bath, and dress, and have some coffee, and then 
 I must go to the mill,' he whispered. 'You must stop at your post, 
 I suppose, until the nurse comes.' And Alison nodded as she 
 moved to the window and put aside the heavy curtains. How cool 
 and fresh the garden looked ! The dew glittered on the turf ; a 
 family of blackbirds were breakfasting on the lawn, and a little brown 
 wren was twittering in the ivy. It was all so still and calm ; in 
 another hour the crane would be working, and there would be the 
 whirr of machinery, but at present the birds had it all their own 
 way. 
 
 Alison felt weak and jaded ; the strain was beginning to tell even 
 on her vigorous vitality. She was glad the night's inaction was over, 
 but she felt too weary for the day's work. But Roger had not for- 
 gotten her ; he came back presently with a refreshed look on his 
 face, and told her that breakfast was all ready in the dressing-room. 
 
 *A strong cup of coffee ha? made me a different man,' he said 
 cheerfully ; ' you must try my recipe, Ailie.' And Alison found the 
 benefit of his prescription. 
 
 Her hands were soon full of business. Dr. Greenwood came 
 early, bringing the new nurse with him, and Alison had to make ar- 
 rangements for the stranger's comfort. She seemed a pleasant, cap- 
 able woman, with a neat figure, and a bright face that prepossessed 
 Alison in her favour. She took possession at once of her patient, 
 after a feeble protest on his part that he objected to nurses, but after 
 the first few minutes he ceased to grumble. Dr. Greenwood soon 
 convinced him that Roger was too busy, and Alison too young for 
 such a responsibility ; besides, the chief care of her sister must 
 devolve on her. 
 
 Missie's sleep had not refreshed her as they hoped ; the pain of 
 her bruises was making her feverish. She could not turn in her bed 
 without suffering, and her anxiety for her father added to her dis- 
 comfort. Alison tried to console her, and Miss Leigh, who was
 
 *I WOULD NOT SAY I WAS SORRY.' 1 63 
 
 sufficiently recovered to sit in her room, spoke reassuring words to 
 her; but it was evident that Missie could take no comfort ; only 
 when Alison was alone with her, miserable self-accusing words came 
 to her lips. 
 
 ' Indeed, dearest, there is no need for you to speak so,' Alison 
 said to her once, with a strong yearning to console her. ' Dear papa 
 asked after you the first moment he saw me. You should have 
 heard how tenderly he said " Poor child !'" 
 
 ' That is because my arm is broken, and he knows I am suffering 
 such pain. If any one hated me they would pity me now,' returned 
 Missie, in a stifled voice. 
 
 ' No, no ; you must not take it in that way,' exclaimed Alison, 
 quite shocked, as she smoothed Missie's fair hair. She looked so 
 pale and pretty, and the blue eyes had such a pathetic look in them. 
 Alison had parted the soft fringe, and the short curly ends lay quite 
 smooth and showed the broad white forehead. A different Mabel 
 lay there, with the poor wounded arm folded on her breast, and all 
 the little vanities laid aside. As Alison stood looking at her, Missie 
 raised her uninjured arm with a sudden movement toward Alison, 
 and in another moment the sisters were clasping each other close. 
 
 * Oh, my poor dear, my poor dear ! ' whispered Alison, in the soft- 
 est, most pitying voice. Missie kissed her hastily, and then seemed 
 as though she would push her away, only Alison held her still. 
 
 ' No, I don't deserve it ; please don't be so good to me. I have 
 been altogether horrid ever since you came home.' 
 
 ' Never mind all that now, dear.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I must mind it,' turning restlessly away and then utter- 
 ing a low groan. ' Oh, this pain, Alison ! Shall I ever be able to 
 move again without it ? I did not want you to come home ; I 
 thought you would be in my way, and that made me cross. I was 
 jealous of you, and I did not want the others to care for you. Roger 
 , was never fond of me as he was of you, and I wanted him to be fond 
 of me. And oh ! how horrid and small it all seems now ! ' finished 
 poor Missie, reading her past conduct under a new light. In the 
 dark hours when one's strength is low, conscience sometimes flings a 
 vivid torch into the recesses of one's being, bringing hidden faults 
 to light. 
 
 ' Dear Mabel, we will forget all that now,' returned Alison 
 gently ; ' we will try and love each other more.' 
 
 *0h, it is easy for you to love people,' retorted Missie, almost
 
 l64 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 pettishly ; ' every one is so fond of you, and you are never cross and 
 disagreeable as I am. Roger makes you his companion, and Rudel 
 is less rough when you are in the room, and now papa will love you 
 best.' 
 
 ' Hush, dear ; what nonsense ! ' 
 
 ' It is not nonsense,' she returned, in a despairing tone. ' I have 
 forfeited his love. He will never forgive me now. He told me that 
 he hated deceit ; that he should never be able to think the same of 
 me. He said I should never see Eva again if he could help it. Oh, 
 he was so angry, so unlike himself! I suppose my obstinacy vexed 
 him, for I would not say I was sorry. He took hold of my arm and 
 almost shook me to make me speak, but I think I was like that man 
 who had a dumb spirit.' 
 
 Dr. Greenwood had given Alison strict injunctions that she was to 
 keep her sister as quiet as possible, but it seemed impossible to check 
 the storm of excited talk. Mabel's only relief was to accuse herself, 
 and put all her conduct in its blackest light. A weight of intoler- 
 able misery lay on her mind ; she felt her own pains were richly 
 deserved, but the thought that she had risked her father's life by her 
 disobedience was more than she could bear. Every hour she ques- 
 tioned Alison about his state. Would he recover? Was he in any 
 danger ? What did the doctor fear ? Alison at last called Roger to 
 her aid. 
 
 ' What shall we do ? ' she exclaimed, half crying. * Missie will 
 not get any sleep to-night ; she is working herself into a fever, and 
 Dr. Greenwood does not wish us to give her an opiate. It breaks 
 my heart to hear her going on about papa. I thmk if she could 
 only see him she would be more contented.' 
 
 ' Shall I go to her ? ' he asked, hesitating a little, for Missie had 
 expressed no wish to see him. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, perhaps that will be best,' she said, brightening a little. 
 * I am so tired and harassed that I probably do not say the right 
 thing.' 
 
 * I will come presently ; but, Ailie, I am so sorry you are so tired. 
 Miss Hardwick is downstairs, and she says she must see you ; she 
 seems very much upset. Do you think you could speak to her for 
 a moment?' 
 
 Alison made a gesture of repugnance. It was plain that she did 
 not wish to see Miss Hardwick, but Roger was bent on carrying 
 his point.
 
 'I WOULD NOT SAY I WAS SORRY.' 165 
 
 ' I have to go to my father now,' he said quietly, ' but in about a 
 quarter of an hour I shall be ready to see Missie. I will wait for 
 you here. Miss Hardwick will not detain you many minutes ; go, 
 dear Ailie.* And Alison reluctantly obeyed him. 
 
 Eva was pacing up and down the long drawing-room, and came up 
 to Alison quickly, holding out both her hands. 
 
 ' Oh, Alison,' she said, and the tears were running down her face 
 unchecked, * I know you do not want to see me, but I begged so 
 hard of Mr. Roger to send you. Of course, you hate the sight of 
 me. You think I am the cause of this ; but, indeed, indeed, I never 
 knew Mr. Merle would be so angry ! ' 
 
 ' You tempted Mabel to deceive and disobey her father,' returned 
 Alison severely, for her heart was hard against the girl. ' You knew 
 that he disapproved of Captain Harper, and then you encouraged 
 and planned this scheme. How could any father fail to be angry 
 when his commands are so entirely set aside ? ' 
 
 ' You must not speak against Anthony, AHson,' returned Eva, in a 
 subdued voice. * I am engaged to him ; he is only my half-cousin. 
 Mabel knew this, and she thought it would not matter coming with 
 us. Mamma would have told you, only I did not wish it to be made 
 public. All this has quite spoiled my happiness. Poor, dear Mabel ! 
 if I could only see her, and help you to nurse her. But Mr. Roger 
 says it is quite impossible.' And she wiped away some fresh tears. 
 
 There was so much feeling in Eva's words and manner that 
 Alison's coldness relaxed a little. 
 
 *You must not see her,' she said gravely; 'I believe papa has 
 forbidden that for the present, but I can give her your love, and tell 
 her that you asked after her.' 
 
 'Tell her I shall come every evening to inquire ; tell her, too, that 
 I shall not have a moment's peace, thinking that 1 am partly to 
 blame for this. It was wrong of us, Alison; I see that now. I 
 deserve to have something to bear as well as she, poor darling ! 
 You and Mr. Roger must not be too hard on me, for, indeed, I am 
 as unhappy as possible ; Anna will tell you so.' 
 
 * I will try to forgive you,' returned Alison, with a warm kiss, that 
 evidently surprised and gratified her. 'It does not make things 
 better to be hard and bitter against people. We need not add to 
 our own unhappiness in that way. Now I must go, please. Give 
 my dear love to Anna ; I know she will be fretting about us.' And 
 with a quick nod Alison ran upstairs.
 
 1 66 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 •Well?' observed Roger interrogatively, as she came to his side. 
 
 ' I am glad you told me to go down,' was her reply; ' there is good 
 in every one, and Eva certainly appeared to advantage this evening. 
 She is really fond of Missie, and she cried so about it all. She is 
 not a bad-hearted girl.' 
 
 ' No ; and all this will do her a great deal of good. " Evil is 
 wrought by want of thought, as well as want of heart," Ailie. Now 
 let us go to poor Missie.' 
 
 Missie flushed up very much when she saw Roger, but the next 
 moment her face grew wan and pale. 
 
 ' Well,' he said cheerfully, taking her hot little hand, ' this is a sad 
 affair ; but at least we may be thankful it is not worse. I almost 
 think father looks a little better to-night ; Mrs. Meyrick thought so, 
 too. There was certainly a slight concussion of the brain last night, 
 but this evening he seems more like himself.' 
 
 'Oh, Roger!' and Missie's eyes were filling in a moment, 'do you 
 really think so?' But the last word became a sob. 
 
 * Yes, dear, and Nurse Meyrick said the same ; he spoke more 
 clear and articulately. Now,' kissing her forehead, 'you will be 
 easy about him, and will try to sleep ? ' 
 
 • There is no sleep in my eyes,' she returned, with a little of her 
 old excitement. ' Oh, Roger, you don't know what it is to be bruised 
 and battered all over, and not to be able to turn without pain. If 
 it were not for that I would go to him.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you will be able to go to-morrow,' he returned, humour- 
 ing her, for her flushed face and excited look made him anxious. 
 'You will try to lie patiently until the morning, Mabel dear, will you 
 not? Alison is so worn out, she must sleep to-night, and, indeed, 
 we are all over-tired and harassed.' 
 
 ' Yes, and I am the cause,' she returned restlessly. ' Oh, Roger, 
 I will not ask you to forgive me ; Alison has, but then she is different. 
 But you, of course, you can never care for me again 1 ' 
 
 ' Indeed, you are wrong, my dear Uttle sister,' he said soothingly ; 
 * I do care for you very much, all the more that you are so unhappy. 
 When you get well again, you shall see how proud I shall be of my 
 two sisters, and what nice times we shall have.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' she returned, bursting into tears, ' I never expect any one 
 to be fond of me again. I have made your life miserable, Roger ; 
 I have tormented you just for love of teasing. If I were not so 
 wicked I should like to die, and then perhaps you would be sorry
 
 'I WOULD NOT SAY I WAS SORRY.' 167 
 
 for me. If anything happens to papa, I could not live. Oh, if I 
 could only see him, and ask him to forgive me ! ' 
 
 'My dear, he has forgiven you over and over again,' returned 
 Roger, in rather a husky voice, for he found all this very trying ; 
 ' that is the best of it. One need never be afraid of losing a father's 
 love ; it is not to be lost, Mabel ; the thing is against nature. If I 
 sinned against father ever so, I know he must forgive me, just 
 because I am his son.' 
 
 ' " I will arise and go to my father," ' murmured Alison, half to 
 herself, but Missie heard it. 
 
 'Yes, read that to me; I have been repeating fragments of the 
 verses all day; that is, if you are not too tired, Alison,' with renewed 
 thoughtfulness. 
 
 * Roger will read it,' returned Alison, feeling the task would be 
 good for her brother, and distrusting her own voice; and though 
 Roger looked a little shy over it, he did not refuse. 
 
 Missie lay with closed eyes and listened, and the harassed expres- 
 sion passed from her face. 
 
 ' Thank you ; that was beautiful,' she said, when he had finished. 
 ' How nicely you read, Roger ! Now I will try to be good and not 
 wake Alison. Perhaps, when the light is shaded, I may drop oif to 
 sleep.' 
 
 Alison was in sore need of rest by this time ; her head ached as 
 well as her limbs ; but she had one more duty to perform before she 
 laid down in the little bed that had been prepared for her in Missie's 
 room, and that was to bid her father good-night. 
 
 He welcomed her with a smile. ' I feel easier to-night,' he said, 
 and his voice was stronger. ' My good nurse has made me very com- 
 fortable, and I dare say we shall both be able to sleep a little. How 
 is Pussie ? ' the old name escaping from him unawares. 
 
 ' I do not think she is any worse,' she replied cautiously ; * but she 
 still suffers a great deal, and she is making herself so unhappy 
 about you.' 
 
 ' Tell her not to do that,' he replied, with a little effort ; ' she need 
 not take the blame of the accident on herself; she has enough to 
 bear without that.' 
 
 * May I give her your love, papa? ' 
 
 'Oh, yes,' he said, as though surprised by the question, for he 
 knew nothing of the child's misery. ' Tell her I hope she will have 
 a good night.' And then, as he seemed weary, she left him.
 
 l68 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Missie received the message in silence, and, as the light was dim, 
 Alison could not see her face. She fancied that just as she was 
 dropping off to sleep there was a sound as though some one was 
 crying ; but her senses were too drowsy to take in the fact that it 
 might be Missie sobbing in the darkness. Her last recollected 
 thought was about Aunt Diana. Roger had promised to write a few 
 lines from the office, and she had wondered if he had done it. 
 
 * How shocked Aunt Di will be,' she thought, * and how sorry for 
 us all ! ' The half-finished sentence was completed in her dream, for 
 she dreamt that Greville was rowing them both among the water- 
 lilies, and Aunt Di was gathering roses and throwing them into 
 her lap. 
 
 ' Do not cry, child, it will all come right in time,* Alison heard 
 her say ; ' there is a silver lining behind every cloud, you may be 
 sure of that.' And then she woke with a start Something, she 
 did not know what, had disturbed her; she sat up and looked round 
 in bewilderment. The moon was shining full into the room, and 
 Missie's bed was empty.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 missie's repentance. 
 
 'uRSE Meyrick had a strange dream that night. 
 
 She was sleeping on a couch in the dressing-room. It had 
 been placed so near the door of communication that she had 
 a full view of her patient. He had just sunk into a tranquil 
 doze, and she had followed his example, when a faint sound, 
 like an opening door, roused her, and a moment after she caught a 
 glimpse of a white-robed figure with long, fair hair gliding between 
 her and the bed. 
 
 For a brief instant she thought she was only dreaming, and that 
 the white shadowy form -must be an angel ; but as she collected her 
 drowsy faculties, she was sure she heard a sobbing sigh that certainly 
 proceeded from a human being. And the next moment she sprang 
 from the couch. 
 
 A young girl in a loose white dressing-gown was standing by Mr. 
 Merle's bed. Nurse Meyrick's quick eyes discerned that one arm 
 was bandaged and in splints. It must be the young lady, she 
 thought, who had been injured in the accident ; perhaps she was 
 light-headed. The next minute she touched her softly. 
 
 ' Come, my dear, come,' she said coaxingly ; ' you ought not to 
 
 be out of your bed at this time of night ; let me help you back, 
 
 there's a dear young lady,' for Missie's wide feverish eyes alarmed her. 
 
 * No, no,' returned Missie, recoiling from the nurse's gentle touch. 
 
 * I could not stay in bed, I could not sleep until I had seen papa. 
 Let me stay and look at him ; I will be good and not wake him.' 
 But the nurse shook her head at this. 
 
 ' You must not stay,' she whispered, not daring to raise her voice ; 
 
 * your feet are bare, and you look as bad as possible. Come, my 
 dear, let me carry you back to your room ; it will scare your father 
 to see you standing there.' 
 
 ' No, no,' returned Missie, shrinking still more ; * I must stay with 
 
 169
 
 I/O AUNT DIANA. 
 
 papa. Why does he look so pale, and lie so still ? Is he dead ? No 
 one told me he was dead. Papa!' she cried out, for she was be- 
 wildered by the dim light and her own feverish fancies. ' Speak to 
 me only one word, just to tell me you are alive.' 
 
 ' Oh, hush ! ' exclaimed the nurse ; but she was too late. Mr. 
 Merle woke up ; but in his weak condition his daughter's presence 
 did not seem to startle him. 
 
 * My dear,' he said feebly ; * they ought not to have allowed this. 
 You will make yourself ill leaving your warm bed.' 
 
 * But I could not sleep,' she sobbed ; ' I could not rest. I thought 
 they were hiding things from me. If you had died, and I had never 
 told you I was sorry, I should have died too. Oh, papa, it must 
 have killed me !' 
 
 He smiled faintly, and gathered the hot little hand in his. 
 
 * You were sorry all the time, my pet, were you not ? ' 
 
 * Yes, and I am sorry now,' creeping still closer. ' I could not ask 
 God to forgive me until you had forgiven me. Oh, papa ! why do 
 you look so kindly at me, when you know it is all through my wicked- 
 ness that you are lying here ? Of course, no one can love me any 
 more.' " 
 
 ' Not love you, Pussie ! Come, come, my child, fathers are not 
 like that. I forgive you freely ; everything is right between us. But, 
 my poor darling, you are ill and suffering, and if you care to please 
 me, let nurse carry you back to bed.' 
 
 ' Will you let me kiss you first ? ' 
 
 His only answer was to stretch out his arms to her ; but he won- 
 dered to see how slowly she came to him. How could he guess each 
 movement was agony to the poor child ? How she had ever man- 
 aged to crawl from her bed and across the passage, only she herself 
 knew. 
 
 * I have only one arm to put round your neck,' she whispered, as 
 her long hair fell over his face. ' Dear, dear papa, if I could only 
 bear it all ! ' And as he felt her tears upon his cheek, he under- 
 stood how her young heart was wrung with remorse and sorrow, and 
 holding her a moment tried to comfort her, and besought God to 
 bless his pet. 
 
 AHson was just sitting up in affright, looking round the empty 
 room, when Nurse Meyrick appeared, carrying Missie in her arms. 
 
 ' Oh, Mabel, where have you been ? You have frightened me 
 so!'
 
 missie's repentance. 171 
 
 'Go to sleep, Alison,' returned Missie, in a happy voice. *I have 
 only been to see papa, and he has forgiven me, and now I can 
 rest.' 
 
 ' She will be quiet now,' whispered the nurse. ' I have covered 
 her up warm, and she will rest until morning.' And she was right. 
 Though Missie lay awake, feverish and full of pain, she gave no more 
 trouble, and poor Alison was allowed to sleep undisturbed until 
 morning. 
 
 For the next few days Missie was very ill. Her agitation of mind 
 brought on a slight feverish attack, and when this had yielded to the 
 doctor's remedies her weakness was excessive. Her nerves had 
 been jarred and unstrung by the accident ; and the least noise, the 
 slamming of a door, or even a louder voice than usual, made her 
 change colour and burst into tears. It was impossible for her in her 
 shattered state always to repress irritability. Again and again the old 
 sharp tones and words recalled Missie's faulty temper. But there was 
 this improvement — she struggled bravely against her besetting sin, 
 and would ask pardon quite humbly of Alison. ' I have been so 
 cross to-day,' she would say, with tears in her eyes ; ' I wish you 
 would not be so sweet and patient with me.' 
 
 ' I will promise to scold when you are well enough,' Alison would 
 say, in her most cheerful manner, for she knew Missie must not be 
 encouraged to be morbid. * Just now, darling, I can only remember 
 you are ill, and that your poor arm is giving you trouble. I know I 
 should be cross if I had as much to bear.' But in spite of Alison's 
 assumed cheerfulness, she was growing pale and thin. Her close con- 
 finement in Missie's room tried her ; no one but Alison suited the sick 
 girl's fancy — no one else seemed to understand her little ways. Miss 
 Leigh's gentle mournfulness irritated her ; she had never cared much 
 for Anna, and she had lost all desire for Eva's companionship, and 
 though her father had generously withdrawn his prohibition, Eva 
 had only once been admitted to her room. The interview had been 
 a little embarrassing. Eva had cried and begged Missie to forgive 
 her, and Missie had been kind and magnanimous in her answer ; but 
 after the first few agitating minutes their talk had drifted into silence; 
 Missie was languid and out of spirits, and Eva did not possess the art 
 of soothing — the bond of sympathy between them seemed broken. 
 Both of them had yet to learn that similarity of tastes and the bois- 
 terous spirits of youth do not lay the foundation of a lasting friend- 
 ship ; while Alison and Anna seemed to cement their intimacy more
 
 172 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 every day, as the good qualities of each became more apparent, there 
 were symptoms that Missie and Eva would drift still farther apart. 
 
 Missie had plenty of good sense, and she no longer stifled it ; her 
 conscience told her that she would never have sinned so grievously 
 against her father if Eva had not undermined her principles by her 
 flattery and playful words of advice to be independent and assert 
 
 herself. 
 
 A veil had fallen from her eyes ; she no longer saw Eva's conduct 
 in the same light, and as she grew better, and Eva sought opportun- 
 ities to be with her, the disillusion became more complete. Missie 
 found herself wondering over her own infatuation. Had Eva always 
 been so loud in her manners, so unfilial in her behaviour to her 
 mother, so unkind to Anna ? Missie grew first critical and then re- 
 proachful. Strange to say, Eva accepted her rebukes quite meekly 
 — evidently her affection for Missie was sincere in its way, for she 
 took some pains to please her, and even tried to break herself of her 
 faults. But for her unlucky engagement with Captain Harper, there 
 was every probability that Missie might have influenced her for 
 good ; but her approaching marriage soon drove all salutary reflec- 
 tion away. 
 
 As Missie's violent infatuation for her friend cooled, she turned 
 more and more to Alison for sympathy ; and here at least she did 
 not find herself disappointed — Alison returned her affection warmly. 
 
 Missie was a little exacting as an invalid, for she was still sep- 
 arated from her father, and, alas ! there was still cause to be anxious 
 for him. 
 
 Dr. Greenwood never told Alison what he had feared ; but after 
 a few days, when he and another doctor had consulted together over 
 the case, he informed her and Roger that there was certainly some 
 degree of mischief in connection with the spine : it would be many 
 months— perhaps a year or two— before he could rise from his 
 couch. 
 
 ' We certainly hope for his complete recovery in the future,' he 
 continued reassuringly, as Alison turned pale and Roger looked 
 unhappy. ' Another inch and he would never have moved his limbs 
 again; but now things are not so bad. Mr. Merle will have his 
 books, and they will go far to console him in his forced inaction.' 
 
 Dr. Greenwood was right in his conjecture ; Mr. Merle took the 
 tidings very quietly. 
 
 ' I told you your broad shoulders were made for something,' he
 
 missie's repentance. 173 
 
 said, looking at his son with a smile. He and Alison had come to 
 bid him good-night. 
 
 The nurse had not yet been dismissed, though it was already ar- 
 ranged that Roger should soon take her place in his father's dressing- 
 room. 
 
 * I shall have to leave tlie mill in your hands. Greenwood gives 
 me no hopes of being fit for business for the next year or two.' 
 
 * I will do everything I can, father,' returned Roger sorrowfully ; 
 
 * but I feel awfully cut up about it all' 
 
 * There is no need for that, my boy,' returned Mr. Merle. ' I 
 should not wonder if you do better at business than I, Roger. 
 Perhaps this will be less a trial to me than you suppose. I do not 
 deny, of course, that it is a trial ; but still, with my books and 
 children I shall try to be content.' 
 
 ' We shall do everything in our power to ease your mind,' returned 
 Roger gravely. But he said no more, and shortly afterwards left 
 the room, leaving his father and Alison together. 
 
 ' Roger feels this dreadfully,' she said, anxious that her father 
 should not misunderstand his son's lack of words. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear, I know he does,' returned Mr, Merle, with a sigh. 
 
 * I am fortunate to have such a son. To tliink,' he added, with 
 emotion, ' that I could ever have been so blind as to believe that 
 villain's innuendoes against him — and now the whole business is in 
 his hands.' 
 
 * You can trust him fully, papa.' 
 
 ' Yes, better than I can trust myself, Alison ; that boy is true as 
 steel, and will not fail me. I wish I had found it out before. I 
 remember your Aunt Diana once saying to me that " If I studied 
 my children as well as I did my books, I should be rewarded for my 
 pains." By the bye, Alison, what does your aunt say to all this 
 unlucky accident ? ' 
 
 ' We have not heard from her,' returned Alison, in a low voice. 
 
 * Roger wrote the very next day after the accident, and I wrote the 
 next day ; but we have had no reply.' 
 
 ' That is very unlike Diana,' observed Mr. Merle, in a surprised tone. 
 
 * Roger says that she cannot have received our letters, papa ; you 
 see, she is in Switzerland, and perhaps she has deviated from the 
 proposed route — that is just her way ; if she takes a fancy to a place 
 she will stay there for a day or two, and then she does not get her 
 letters for days. If we do not hear from her soon, Roger thinks I
 
 174 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 had better write to Mr, Moore. It does seem so strange' — her eyes 
 filling with tears — ' that Aunt Di should not know how unhappy we 
 have been,' 
 
 ' I believe you are fretting after her, Alison — you are quite thin 
 and fragile-looking,' 
 
 But Alison denied this with a great deal of unnecessary energy. 
 She was only a little tired ; but now Mabel was getting better she 
 would be able to have a walk sometimes. 
 
 * But you must not talk any more, papa,' she finished ; * you are 
 looking rather exhausted. Nurse Meyrick will be here directly ; 
 may I read to you a little until she comes ? ' 
 
 Mr, Merle shook his head sadly, 
 
 * My dear, I should like it of all things ; but you know Dr, Green- 
 wood has forbidden any kind of study for the next few weeks, and I 
 never cared much for works of fiction, except Sir Walter Scott.' 
 
 * I meant a chapter or two out of the Bible before you went to 
 sleep,' returned Alison, blushing with timidity. 
 
 A sudden shadow passed over Mr, Merle's face. 
 
 ' I did not understand you, my dear,' he said, with a little effort. 
 * Well, child, do as you like — that sort of reading cannot hurt one.' 
 
 Alison felt the permission was accorded rather ungraciously, but 
 still she dared not refuse to avail herself of it. She brought the 
 Bible — Aunt Diana's gift — and sat down quietly by her father's side. 
 
 The voice trembled a little as she read ; but she did not know 
 how sweet it sounded in her father's ear. Once when she looked 
 up she found his eyes fixed on her face, and stopped involuntarily. 
 
 ' Shall I leave off, papa ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, that will do for to-night ; you may read to me to-morrow. 
 You are so hke your mother, Alison ; she was fond of her Bible, too. 
 You are a good girl, and take after her.' 
 
 ' Poor dear mamma ! How hard it must be for you, papa, to lie 
 there missing her ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' he said, averting his face ; ' it is a life-long loss. I think I 
 never knew any one so good — not even Diana could compare with 
 her. Do you know you reminded me so much of her that day when 
 you wanted me to go to church. Child, your reproachful eyes quite 
 
 haunted me ! Ah, well ! if ever I get well ' He paused with a 
 
 sigh. 
 
 ' You will come with us then, papa,' she said softly. 
 
 ' I hope so, Alison ; but I fear it will be a long time before I have
 
 missie's repentance. 175 
 
 the chance. When a man has looked death in the face, as I have, 
 who might have been hurried into eternity without a moment's pre- 
 paration, he thinks a httle more seriously about things. I hope I 
 am grateful for being spared — I think I am. You shall come and 
 read to me every night if you like, my dear ; it is a grand book, the 
 Bible.' 
 
 Alison's heart was too full to answer him ; but as Nurse Meyrick 
 came into the room at that moment she leaned over him and kissed 
 his forehead. 
 
 ' Good-night, dear papa ; I hope you will sleep well.' 
 
 * Good-night,' he answered cheerfully, ' and give my love to 
 Missie.' 
 
 Alison felt strangely happy as she left her father's room ; it seemed 
 to her as though tliey were coming closer to each other. There had 
 been a look in her father's eyes and a caressing tone in his voice 
 that told her that she was becoming very dear to him. She said to 
 herself in her young gladness that Providence had accepted her 
 sacrifice — her father's heart was no longer closed to her, and Mabel 
 was beginning to love her. ' Give, and it shall be given to you,' was 
 abundantly realized in her case — so true it is that love begets love, 
 that the Divine seed of charity sown broadcast, even over barren 
 hearts, will still yield some thirtyfold, some sixtyfold, some a hun- 
 dredfold. 
 
 Alison's tranquil rest that night was only a preparation for a most 
 trying day. Missie had left her bed for the couch that afternoon. 
 When Alison had placed her comfortably she had gone downstairs 
 for a few minutes to speak to Anna, leaving Miss Leigh in charge. 
 Anna detained her longer than usual — she had so much to say on 
 the subject of Eva's approaching marriage ; and while Alison was 
 still talking and listening Miss Leigh hurried downstairs with a very 
 pale face. 
 
 ' I wish you would come,' she said, in much agitation ; * Mabel is 
 so very hysterical I can do nothing with her. Perhaps I have been 
 incautious, but she questioned me so closely as to what the physi- 
 cians said about her father that I could not avoid telling her.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear, what a pity ! I meant to have told her myself when 
 she was better,' observed Alison somewhat reproachfully. 
 
 Miss Leigh's tact was often at fault, and she had chosen an un- 
 lucky moment for breaking the news to Missie — just when she was 
 weary with the fatigue of dressing.
 
 176 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Alison found her in a sad state — sobbing bitterly, with her head 
 hidden in the pillows — and for a long time she refused to allow 
 Alison to raise her into a more comfortable position. To her relief, 
 Roger entered the room and asked immediately, in his downright 
 manner, what was the matter, and why Missie was making herself 
 ill 
 
 This brought on a fresh burst. 
 
 * Oh, Roger ! what shall I do ? Poor papa ! * 
 
 * It is poor Mabel, I think,' observed Roger kindly ; and he 
 raised the sobbing little figure in his arms and brought the wet face 
 into view. * I declare, child, you are a perfect Niobe. Ailie, what 
 are we to do with her ? ' 
 
 ' He will not get up for months — perhaps for years — and it is all 
 my fault ! ' cried Missie passionately, 
 
 ' Perhaps so, my dear ; but do you suppose all these showers of 
 tears will do father any good ? ' 
 
 * I must cry — I ought to cry when I am so unhappy,' returned 
 Missie impatiently, and trying to free herself. 
 
 'No, my dear, no,' was Roger's quiet answer; 'you have given us 
 all so much trouble that you ought to spare us any noisy repentance; 
 the best thing you can do for us all is to get as well and happy a» 
 you can, and help to nurse father.'
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 'issiE was SO surprised at this view of the case that she left off 
 crying and stared at Roger. He told Alison afterwards that 
 those half drowned blue eyes made him feel quite bad — but 
 
 then Roger was such a soft-hearted fellow. 
 * You do not understand,' she said at last, very slowly. 
 
 * My dear little sister,' he said, taking her hand, ' I do understand, 
 and so does Alison, and we are both agreed on this point. Repent- 
 ance is apt to be troublesome if it be carried beyond due bounds — 
 and, in fact, it can degenerate into selfishness-^and you are really 
 very selfish about this.' 
 
 'Oh, Roger!' exclaimed Alison, a little shocked at this plain 
 speaking. But Roger knew what he was about ; he was determined, 
 as he said quaintly, ' to seal up the fountain of Missie's tears.' 
 
 * Is he not unkind?' returned poor Missie piteously. ' He calls 
 me selfish, just because I am so sorry about papa.' 
 
 * We are all sorry, Mabel,' returned her brother seriously, ' though 
 we do not go about the house wetting the floors with our tears, like 
 mediaeval saints. I declare it makes one quite damp to come near 
 you — it is really bad for your health, my dear.' 
 
 * Now you are laughing at me,' she replied pettishly. 
 
 * True ; and that is the unkindest cut of all, is it not ? But I am 
 not laughing when I talk about your selfishness ; you see you are just 
 going against the wise old proverb, "Never cry over spilt milk." The 
 mischief is done, my dear ; but every one in the house has forgiven 
 you for being the cause of it ; and now you must forgive yourself.' 
 
 ' Oh, I cannot,' she sighed. ' I shall be miserable until papa is well' 
 
 ' There speaks selfishness,' he returned quickly. ' My dear Mabel, 
 
 why think about yourself at all ? why not think how tired Alison 
 
 looks, and how you may spare her ? I am sure a cheerful word from 
 
 you would do her no end of good.' 
 
 Missie seemed struck by his words. She looked at her sister 
 
 «77 M
 
 178 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 rather scrutinisingly. Certainly Alison did look pale, and there were 
 dark rings round her eyes. Roger saw his advantage, and went on. 
 
 * You have no idea how people in a house act and re-act on each 
 other — a depressing person is like a perpetual fog. I think I shall 
 coin that speech as a proverb. You know I am a bit of a philo- 
 sopher — Roger the sage — that sounds well.' 
 
 Missie's lips curved into a smile ; a little dimple came into view. 
 
 ' Come, that's about the real article — a little more, and we shall 
 have a rainbow effect,' observed Roger in a delighted tone. ' Now 
 we have the whole thing in working order. You have done wrong 
 and been sorry for it — good ! ' — with an impressive pause ; ' now you 
 are going to do better, and not think about yourself at all, but 
 how you are to make us all happier. Good again ! Thirdly and 
 lastly, you are to turn over a new leaf and cultivate cheerfulness and 
 that sort of thing.' 
 
 ' I will try,' sighed Missie, raising her face to be kissed, ' but it 
 will be dreadfully hard.' 
 
 ' Most things are hard,' was the philosophical reply ; * but we shall 
 never do much good in the world by sitting in the dust and casting 
 ashes on ourselves — that sort of thing doesn't seem to belong to the 
 present dispensation.' 
 
 * No ; it is " Let the dead bury their dead " now,' observed Alison 
 in a moved voice. ' Now, Roger, you may leave Missie to me ; she 
 is tired out, and I am going to read her to sleep.' 
 
 ' But I am not sleepy,' replied Missie, reluctant to let Roger go ; 
 but it showed her new submission to Alison that she made no further 
 protest — only as Alison read, Missie lay quiet, with a softened look 
 in her eyes. Yes, she would try and bear it ; they should not be 
 any longer troubled. 
 
 ' Thank you, dear,' she said presently, as she noticed how Alison's 
 voice flagged ; ' the book is very pretty ; but I want you to leave off 
 now and take a turn in the garden. Do please, Alison, it is such a 
 lovely evening, and it will do you so much good. Poppie can come 
 to me ; she is a good girl and does not tire me.' 
 
 ' Are you sure, Mabel dear, that you can spare me ? ' asked Alison 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Quite sure,' was Missie's answer ; and then Alison consented to 
 leave her. She was conscious that her strength was failing her a 
 little ; the close confinement and anxiety for the last fortnight were 
 trying to her constitution ; broken rest at night often followed the
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 1 79 
 
 long day's work. She was pining, too, for a word from her dearest 
 friend. She had written two days ago to Mr, Moore, questioning 
 him about Miss Carrington's movements, but had received no answer 
 from the confidential servant who acted as the bUnd man's amanu- 
 ensis, and, in spite of her efforts to be cheerful, she was feeling dull 
 and deserted. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, as Missie said — one of those rare Sep- 
 tember evenings that come when summer and autumn seem blend- 
 ing into each other. Alison stood for a moment in the hall, debating 
 whether she was too tired to seek Roger in the timber-yard, or 
 whether she should indulge in solitary musing under the lime-trees. 
 A free half-hour was a delicious boon, and she must employ it to the 
 best advantage. She decided after a moment that she was too dull 
 for even Roger's company to cheer her — for she was in one of those 
 moods that the masculine mind finds so difficult to understand — and 
 she was just taking down her garden hat from the peg, when a figure 
 came between her and the evening light, a familiar voice spoke her 
 name, and the next moment Alison was in Aunt Diana's arms. 
 
 Miss Carrington's kisses were very grave and tender. They spoke 
 volumes ; but she seemed to have no words at the moment. But 
 Alison's, ' Oh, Aunt Di ! ' was more than eloquent — the quiver of her 
 voice meant ecstasy. But the next moment Miss Carrington put her at 
 arm's-length, and, still holding her, scrutinised her face almost pitifully. 
 
 ' Ailie, my poor, dear child, what have they done to you ? Oh 
 dear, what thin cheeks, what heavy eyes ! ' And suddenly closing 
 her face between her hands, she kissed her again and again ; and 
 Miss Carrington was not a demonstrative woman — her caresses 
 meant something out of the common. They brought Alison's soft 
 colour back, and the happy tears came into her eyes. 
 
 * Never mind about that,' she returned unsteadily ; ' I shall be 
 quite well and rested now I have seen your dear face again. Oh, 
 Aunt Di, how I have wanted you ! ' — her voice sinking still lower. 
 
 'Yes, I know,' replied Miss Carrington, almost abruptly — all the 
 more because her feelings were not so well under control as usual. 
 
 * Ailie, what must you have thought of my silence ? Come, let us sit 
 down somewhere where I can talk to you without interruption. I don't 
 want to see anyother face but yours for the present — not even Roger's.' 
 
 ' I think my room will be best,' returned Alison, hesitating a little. 
 
 • Miss Leigh is in the drawing-room and Rudel in the dining-room, 
 and Roger generally sits in the study when he comes in of an even-
 
 l8o AUNT DIANA. 
 
 ing. Wait a moment, Aunt Di, please ; I must ask Sarah to make 
 some tea for you — supper will not be ready for an hour. Oh,' smil- 
 ing archly, ' 1 know your taste — Aunt Di cannot go without her tea.' 
 Miss Carrington offered no remonstrance ; perhaps she was in need 
 of refreshment. She waited to see the cabman deposit her luggage 
 in the hall, and then she followed Alison upstairs. 
 
 * My dear,' she observed, looking round her as she entered, * this 
 is not your old room ; I thought this was Missie's ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but Missie had mine, and I did not like to turn her out — it 
 would only have caused unpleasantness. Please do not look so 
 grieved. Aunt Di ; I have got used to it, and do not mind the crane 
 so much as I did at first — at least, it does not make my head ache.' 
 
 'And you never told me. I could not have borne to have thought 
 of you in this room, Ailie. Well, you have spared me many a heart- 
 ache. I should have wanted my child back in her little nest, and 
 have been unhappy because I could not get her.' And Miss Carring- 
 ton positively shuddered as she looked at the grim lines of the crane, 
 and round the dark, heavily-furnished room. 
 
 ' I am glad I did not tell you,' returned Alison gently, as she un- 
 fastened Miss Carrington's mantle and waited on her. Perhaps 
 Aunt Diana loved to feel the soft little hands busy about her, for she 
 offered no resistance as Alison smoothed her hair, and brought her a 
 footstool, of which she took possession herself. 
 
 ' That is right,' observed Miss Carrington, stroking the brown head 
 that laid itself in child fashion on her lap. Alison was so very tired 
 there was ni^tx abandon in her attitude, and yet she was so happy too. 
 
 * Now we will have one of our cosy talks — don't look at the door, 
 Ailie — I am in no hurry for my tea. My dear, I am longing to tell 
 you how it is your letters have miscarried ; I read them all for the 
 first time last night.' 
 
 ' Aunt Di, do you mean that you have flown to us — only telegraph 
 wires could have done it,' laughing incredulously. 
 
 ' You may be sure that I should have flown to you if I had the 
 power,' returned Miss Carrington seriously. ' Ailie, I was not in 
 Switzerland, as you thought. I was recalled suddenly, a fortnight 
 ago, by Mr. Moore's sudden illness. Greville telegraphed for me, 
 and I came home at once.' 
 
 * Mr. Moore ill ! ' exclaimed Alison, with a fast paling face. 
 
 * Yes, very ill ; but, thank God, my dear old friend is better now. 
 It has been an anxious time for us, darling. Greville is cast down
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. l8l 
 
 and unhappy — you need not look at me so reproachfully. I would 
 not write to you — it would have given you useless pain, and I was so 
 engrossed with nursing that letters were impossible luxuries. Little did 
 I think in my night watching that Ailie was anxious and unhappy too.' 
 
 * Aunt Di, that is why you look tired.' 
 
 * Tired ! Nonsense, child. It is a blessed thing to wear out one- 
 self for one's friends. I love that sort of fatigue. I could not have 
 left my patient until he was out of danger ; but now I can safely trust 
 him in Greville's charge. He is a capital nurse, in spite of his 
 boyishness, and he has Burton to help him. By the bye, Mr. Moore 
 sent his love to Sunny. Stay, I must try and remember his message ; 
 he bade his little sunbeam remember her mission, and not to be 
 afraid of cloudy days.' 
 
 * Did Mr. Greville send me a message, too? ' asked Alison, a little 
 timidly. Miss Carrington hesitated. 
 
 ' Well, I think he sent his love, too — in fact, he sent a great many 
 messages ; but I told him I could not be a carrier of nonsense, and 
 should only deliver one — " That he had kept his promise, and had 
 been working famously." ' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so glad,' returned Alison, brightening at this. * Aunt 
 Di — it was not good of you to keep Mr. Moore's illness from me ; I 
 should have liked to have shared your anxiety. Dear old man, I am 
 so thankful he is spared ! ' 
 
 ' His character seemed lovelier than ever in his hours of suffering,' 
 observed Miss Carrington thoughtfully ; ' he was so patient, so 
 grateful to us all for our care of him. I understood then what being 
 like a little child meant — it seemed as though it were we who were 
 blind, not he — he seemed so steeped in the light of heaven.' 
 
 ' Do you think he wanted to die ? ' asked Alison, in an awe-struck 
 voice. ' How strange it seems that he should be so willing to go ! ' 
 
 * Why not ? ' replied her aunt. * Death has no terrors for him. 
 Why should he fear the summons from the Master whom he loved 
 and tried to serve here, and who died on the cross for his redemption ? 
 And yet he was resigned to stay, for Greville's sake. 
 
 ' " The lad wants me a litde longer," he said once. " Well, I 
 suppose I can spare my boy a year or two out of eternity ; I mean 
 to have no will of my own about it. When the Master calls, I shall 
 be ready ; but perhaps— for who knows His graciousness ? — He may 
 be thinking of my boy too."' 
 
 ' How I should love to see him again !' exclaimed Alison, with a sigh.
 
 l82 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * So you will by-and-by, I hope. He missed you dreadfully, Alison.' 
 
 * And you, Aunt Di ? ' 
 
 ' I am not going to tell you about that.' Then, as Alison's eyes 
 looked pleading, she continued earnestly : * Child, I believe we are 
 a sort of necessity to each other — at least, I find my life will not 
 shape itself properly without you. I am always thinking how Ailie 
 will like this or that. Your absence quite took away the pleasure of my 
 trip. You naughty child, you look delighted ; but there comes my tea 
 — please make me a cup, and then tell me all about your poor father.' 
 
 Alison was soon narrating the story of the last fortnight. Miss 
 Carrington had received hers and Roger's letters late the previous 
 night, and Mr. Moore's had put her in possession of the latest news ; 
 still there was much that she wished to hear. She listened attentively, 
 and without interruption, as the girl poured out the history of her 
 hopes and fears. Her grave, interested face, and now and then a 
 tightened grasp of Alison's hand, spoke in mute sympathy, but 
 otherwise she said little. 
 
 ' It has been a dreadful time,' finished Alison. ' Roger and I were 
 so afraid about papa, and then Missie was so unhappy and ill. That 
 is Roger's whistle, Aunt Di — he is wondering what has become of 
 me. Shall I call him in? ' And Miss Carrington nodded. 
 
 Roger's look of intense surprise amused them excessively, but he 
 welcomed his aunt with evident satisfaction. 
 
 ' Now Ailie will be all right again,' he observed, with a smile at 
 her ; ' she has been Aunt Diana sick for months. You are not 
 going to take her away from us just at present, are you ? ' 
 
 'No, not just now,' returned Miss Carrington quietly. 'I am 
 going to stop until you are tired of me, and then Ailie and I must 
 say good-bye to each other for a little longer. What should you say 
 to bringing her for a few weeks in the spring, if your father gets better ? 
 You look in want of a change, Roger; they are working you too 
 hard, my boy.' 
 
 'You must not tempt me. Aunt Diana,' he returned, rather 
 gravely ; ' there will be no holiday for me next year. The whole 
 concern rests on my shoulders at present, and our manager is a 
 defaulter. Alison shall go with you, and welcome.' 
 
 ' Well, well, we must see about it ; winter comes before spring. 
 There is plenty of time, and I don't mean to give up my plan of 
 having you and Ailie together. Now I must see your father ; will 
 you take me to him ? ' And Roger consented with alacrity.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 1 83 
 
 In the passage she stopped and laid her hand upon his arm. 
 
 ' Thank you for taking care of Aihe ; I know how good you have 
 been to her.' 
 
 ' It is she who has been good to us,' he returned, with a sudden 
 flush. 'Aunt Diana, you do not know the blessing she has been to 
 us ; we have to thank you for that. Alison would never have been 
 the girl she is if you had not taken so much pains with her.' 
 
 * Don't make me vain, Roger.' 
 
 * Missie and I have proposed buying her a little red morocco book 
 and presenting it to her,' continued Roger, with dry humour ; ' the 
 title will be "Aunt Diana's Sayings," for Ailie brings out a fresh one 
 every day. Missie says she is inventive, and coins them herself; but 
 I have an idea that they are genuine.' 
 
 Miss Carrington shook her head at him, and only bade him lead 
 the way to his father's room. Alison had already prepared him for 
 his sister-in-law's visit, and he held out his hand with a pleased smile. 
 
 * This is kind, Diana. I said the silence was not like you ; my 
 poor girl here has been fretting herself about it ; but of course you 
 never got the letters.' 
 
 * No, indeed ; Alison will tell you all about it presently. It is too 
 late for me to prolong my visit now. Invalids should be quiet at 
 this hour. You see I understand all about it, Ainslie ; but I am 
 grieved to the heart to see you like this.' 
 
 ' You must not make yourself unhappy about it ; it is only a case 
 of patience, and I have good, attentive children. I wish their 
 mother could see them ; she was always so proud of them.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ! Poor Florence, you must miss her, Ainslie.' And 
 Miss Carrington's lip quivered slightly, for her sister had been the 
 object of her dearest affection ; she had never felt so drawn to 
 Florence's husband as she did now ; her grey eyes rested upon him 
 pityingly. , . , 
 
 ' Children, you must take care of your aunt ; she must be tired 
 with her journey. To-morrow you must come and sit with me, 
 Diana.' Miss Carrington felt herself gently dismissed, but she did 
 not misunderstand him. 
 
 ' God will comfort you, Ainslie,' she whispered ; ' and Alison has 
 Florence's sweet ways and looks. She must learn to take her mother's 
 place ; that is partly why I love her so.' And pressing his hand 
 kindly, she followed the others from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AUNT DIANA AT THE HOLMS. 
 
 'issiE received the news of Aunt Diana's arrival with an 
 exclamation of dismay, and a hot flush came to her face. 
 ' Oh, AUson, it will be dreadful to see her ! I always was 
 afraid of her, you know ; she is one of those painfully good 
 people who make one feel small and horrid. Please don't 
 let her come in to-night.' And Missie sat bolt upright in a panic. 
 
 Now, Miss Carrington had quick ears, and she caught the most 
 of this speech, and laughed to herself softly ; for it is those who 
 try hard to be good who are the most conscious of evil within, and 
 Miss Carrington was one who had often cried with St. Paul, * The 
 good that I would I do not' Her heart felt very soft towards the 
 wilful little girl who had brought such misery on herself and others, 
 even before she entered the room, but her first sight of Missie gave 
 her a feeling of surprise. She said afterwards she ceased to wonder 
 at Ainslie's infatuation for the child, for she was certainly a bewitch- 
 ing little creature. 
 
 The pink ribbons in Missie's dainty dressing gown were not 
 pinker than her cheeks, her blue eyes shone with uneasy light, and 
 the soft, fair hair lay in delicate rings al)ove the pretty, childish 
 face ; her frightened, appealing look would have touched a colder 
 heart than Miss Carrington's, and it was with real affection that she 
 bent over her. But Missie's tender conscience made her shrink 
 from her aunt's kisses. I 
 
 * Please don't be so kind to me, Aunt Diana — every one is, and it I 
 is not right.' 
 
 Aunt Diana laughed. 
 
 ' My dear little girl,' she said, in a droll voice, ' we none of us 
 want to see our poor little butterfly broken on the wheel ; we are 
 far too sorry for you. Of course, you have been a naughty child ; 
 
 you have been setting your small world on fire, and have got your 
 
 184
 
 AUNT DIANA AT THE HOLMS. 1 85 
 
 pretty wings singed. Well, now you have learnt wisdom through 
 painful experience, and we must all help you to get the lesson 
 perfect.' 
 
 ' I don't think any one was ever so wicked as I, Aunt Diana,' 
 sighed Missie. 
 
 ' Well, my dear,' returned her aunt briskly, * it is not my concern 
 to go about weighing my neighbour's trespasses in a balance ; I 
 don't fancy human scales would be nicely adjusted ; but I am quite 
 sure of one thing — that I was a very naughty child myself — the red- 
 cheeked apples I stole give me moral indigestion still.' 
 
 It was impossible to look grave over this ; Alison's merry laugh 
 was infectious. Miss Carrington stayed a few more minutes, 
 questioning Missie about her arm, and talking kindly to her, until 
 the poor child was quite happy and at her ease. 
 
 ' I don't know what it is,' she said that night, when Alison gave 
 her the good-night kiss ; ' you all seem trying to make roe believe 
 that I have not been naughty at all, and that there is nothing to 
 forgive.' 
 
 ' I thought forgiveness meant that,' returned Alison simply ; 
 * you know how the Bible speaks of sins blotted out — that means 
 the page is white again — one can write freshly across the 
 blank.' 
 
 There never was a merrier supper-table than the one at The Holms 
 that night ; late as it was, Poppie sat up for it, and no one rebuked 
 her for her chatter. Rudel kept up the character of a bashful school- 
 boy ; but even he relaxed his wide-eyed gravity when Otter was 
 admired and kind inquiries made after Sulky. Aunt Diana knew 
 the way to a boy's heart, though she had never had a boy of her 
 own ; but there are some unmarried women whose large natures can 
 embrace a whole world of little ones, and such an one was Aunt 
 Diana. 
 
 But as she talked and laughed with the others, her keen grey eyes 
 followed Alison's every movement. It seemed to Miss Carrington 
 that her darling was changed somehow — some of the brightness that 
 had always lighted her young face had faded a little ; she was 
 graver and more in earnest — like a young knight who had finished 
 his vigil in the church, where he had dreamed stiange visions, and 
 was now buckling on his armour that he might prove it. 
 
 ' Ailie has laid aside her leading-strings, and has learned to walk 
 alone,' she said to herself; ' though she loves me as much as ever,
 
 1 86 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 she needs me less. I ought to be glad to know this, for I cannot 
 expect to live for ever.' 
 
 The next few weeks passed happily for Alison ; she had her 
 dearest friend with her, and what could she ask for more? 
 
 Aunt Diana had settled down quite comfortably in her niche, 
 as though she were one of the family. Without making herself un- 
 duly prominent, or in any way trenching on the young housekeeper's 
 privilege, she yet contrived, with quiet tact, to lighten Alison's 
 burthen and procure her the rest she so much needed. 
 
 Alison resumed her walks with Roger, while Aunt Diana amused 
 Missie or read to Mr. Merle. During the day Alison was too much 
 engaged to enjoy much of Aunt Diana's company, but Miss Car- 
 rington insisted that she should resume her painting lessons as soon 
 as Missie was able to be with her father ; and she also contrived that 
 she and Alison should have one of their old refreshing talks as 
 often as possible. Nothing rested Alison so much as intercourse 
 with Miss Carrington's strong, vigorous mind. 
 
 Aunt Diana quickly found her way into Missie's wayward little 
 heart, and she soon turned her influence to good account. One 
 afternoon, when Alison had been spending some hours at Maple- 
 wood, she found on her return that Missie had gone back into 
 her old room. All Alison's pictures and books had been moved ; 
 Aunt Diana's loving hands had evidently been employed in her 
 service — no one else would have arranged the bowl of dark chry- 
 santhemums on the little round table, and the pretty fresh cretonne 
 on the couch and easy chair spoke of the same taste. 
 
 Alison's voice quite trembled as she thanked Missie. 
 
 'You ought not to have done it, Mabel dear; it is very good 
 of you, but I would rather have waited until you were really 
 well.' 
 
 ' I always meant to do it,' returned Missie solemnly. * I thought 
 about it every night, and then I made up my mind to speak to 
 Aunt Diana, and she said she would help me. Have you seen the 
 beautiful illumination she has painted for you ? ' 
 
 Yes, Alison had seen it. 
 
 ' Be not weary in well-doing,' — that was the text that Miss Car- 
 rington had chosen — 'for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.' 
 Well, was not Alison reaping a rich harvest? Would she ever 
 repent that she had come back to her own people for loving service 
 and ministry, when she had won Missie's affection, and found her
 
 AUNT DIANA AT THE HOLMS. 18/ 
 
 way to her father's heart ? That he loved and trusted her, that she 
 was growing daily dearer to him, Alison, with all her humility, could 
 not doubt ; but Missie was still his petted darhng — the very suffer- 
 ing she had caused him brought them nearer together. 
 
 It was a lovely sight, Miss Carrington thought, to see Missie 
 sitting for hours patiently beside her father's couch, reading or 
 talking to him. But for her aunt's vigilant care her health would 
 have been permanently injured by her devotion to him ; before 
 she left she made Missie faithfully promise to take her daily walk 
 and to resume her singing. 
 
 ' You must leave something for Ailie to do,' she said, with a 
 smile; ' I cannot sanction monopoly. We must watch against selfish- 
 ness, dear child, even in our best actions ; we must not be over- 
 exacting in our affection — love sometimes compels one to efface 
 oneself for love's sake.' 
 
 Anna was a constant visitor to The Holms during Miss Carring- 
 ton's stay ; they had taken a great fancy to each other. Anna 
 told Alison privately that she thought Miss Carrington was the 
 most beautiful woman she had ever seen. 
 
 ' I don't know about her features,' Alison had answered ; * I don't 
 think people consider her handsome, but it is a dear face, and that 
 is all I care about.' 
 
 * I am never tired of looking at her,' returned Anna, with girlish 
 enthusiasm ; ' one sees the thoughts coming before she speaks ; 
 her eyes talk to one, even when she is silent. There is something 
 harmonious, too, in her voice, and even in her walk ; she never 
 jars on one ; I am sure there are no discords in her nature.' 
 
 Alison repeated this speech ; she thought it so prettily worded, 
 and so true. But Miss Carrington shook her head over it, and 
 let it pass ; she knew much better how the chords of her being 
 had once been jangled roughly out of tune. * No discords in her 
 nature ! ' when every note had been dumb and tuneless until the 
 Divine Hand had brought the jarred chords into harmony. 
 
 * When God's will is our will, then we shall know peace,' she said 
 to herself ; ' I have learnt that now.' But she spoke very kindly of 
 Anna, and praised Alison's discernment in the choice of a friend. 
 
 She is a simple, lovable little soul,' she said once ; *it is quite a 
 treat in this decided age to meet with a girl who distrusts her own 
 judgment, and believes other people's experiences before her own.' 
 ' Anna is really very clever. Aunt Di.'
 
 l88 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * I am sure of that, my dear ; and she shows her cleverness by 
 not advertising her best wares. In talking to her one is not 
 dropping buckets into empty wells — there is good sense and a 
 clear knowledge of facts at the bottom. Living in an uncongenial 
 atmosphere has made her shy and awkward ; she is like a poor 
 little plant brought too suddenly into the light ; in another year or 
 so she will be less pallid and depressed ; she will have learnt to 
 believe in herself a little.' 
 
 ' I am afraid you think her plain,' observed Alison anxiously ; 
 for her artistic taste made her lay rather an undue importance on 
 beauty ; ' but really when she talks and brightens up, she is quite 
 pretty.' 
 
 * She has a lovely look sometimes. You are wrong, Ailie ; I do 
 not think her plain. Missie's apple-blossom face makes her a little 
 colourless ; but there is a delicate white rose bloom about her that 
 is not without beauty ; I like her face, my dear.' 
 
 ' Do you know, Aunt Di ' — hesitating a little, as though she 
 feared how her words might be received, for Miss Carrington had 
 a horror of gossip — ' I am half afraid there is a new trouble in store 
 for poor Anna,' 
 
 ' You mean Eva's marriage. I think that will be a good thing 
 for her : there is no real sympathy between the sisters.' 
 
 ' No; I meant something quite difterent. I have been at Maple- 
 wood a great deal this week, and Dr. Forbes is always there. I am 
 afraid, from what I see, that Anna will soon have a step-father ; and, 
 Aunt Di,' — in a voice of strong disgust — ' Dr. Forbes is such an ugly, 
 disagreeable man, I must say I do wonder at Mrs. Hardwick.' 
 
 'Do you, Ailie? Well, wonder sits well on young people. I 
 hate to see them taking everything as a matter of course. Your 
 wonder will not hurt you, my dear.' 
 
 * But if it should be true. Aunt Di ? ' — very solemnly. 
 
 ' " There are no fools like old fools," Ailie ; and there is certainly 
 no accounting for tastes. Now, in my opinion, one husband is 
 enough for any woman ; but I do not pretend to regulate the world. 
 Don't trouble your little head about it. I have a notion that, step- 
 father or no stepfather, Anna will have her share of God's sunshine.' 
 And Miss Carrington smiled a queer little smile that mystified 
 Alison ; but she said no more. 
 
 There were some things of which Miss Carrington never spoke to 
 young people. She often said ; 'A girl's mind ought to be as clear
 
 AUNT DIANA AT THE HOLMS. 189 
 
 as crystal and hold no secrets — a crystal reflects everything. I wish 
 older people would remember that.' And nothing displeased her 
 more than the careless talk of some mothers. ' They don't seem to 
 care what they put into a girl's mind,' she would say indignantly, 
 ' and then they wonder that it is choked up with rubbish.' 
 
 Miss Carrington took a great deal of notice of Roger, and sought 
 every opportunity to be with him ; she had a great respect for his 
 character, which, she said, was a most uncommon one. 
 
 * Roger differs from the young men of this generation,' she said 
 once to Alison ; ' he cares little for other people's opinion, unless 
 he knows them to be in the right — mere criticism does not influence 
 him in the least.' 
 
 She took a great interest in his work, and made herself ac- 
 quainted with the details of the business. Roger wondered a little 
 at the quiet pertinacity with which she questioned him ; she even 
 followed him to the mill, and sat in the timber-yard, watching the 
 men at work. 
 
 After a few conversations with Roger, she spoke very seriously to 
 her brolher-in-law ; she told him Roger was very young for such a 
 responsibility. ' He is a good lad, and would wear himself out in 
 your service, Ainslie, and that without a word of complaint ; but he 
 looks too old and careworn for his age ; you must remember he is 
 only two-and-twenty yet — he must have his play-lime, like other lads.' 
 
 'But how am I to help him, Diana?' asked Mr. Merle fretfully. 
 • It is not my fault that I am lying here like a log. The boy must 
 work, or what would become of us all ? ' 
 
 * My dear Ainslie, you misunderstand me,' she replied gently. 
 ' Of course Roger must work ; but surely he needs help for so 
 large a business. Have you put no one in your last manager's 
 place ? ' 
 
 ' No, not yet,' he returned, evidently struck by her practical good 
 sense. ' Roger never proposed it, and I was too indolent to think 
 about it ; but there is Murdoch, a Scotchman — he has been with us 
 a long time, and he is an honest fellow. I dare say he would be glad 
 of a rise in his salary : he has a large young family. I will ask 
 Roger what he thinks of putting Murdoch in the manager's place; I 
 think he would watch over our interests.' 
 
 ' I wish you would do so,' she returned earnestly ; * Roger is 
 rather too hard-worked for his age. He tells me he has no time for 
 cricket or tennis, or for skating in winter. I — I have set my heart,
 
 igO AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Ainslie, on his bringing Alison for a long visit to Moss-side in the 
 spring. You will be better by that time, and if you have a manager 
 Roger virill be able to enjoy a holiday ; he tells me he has not left 
 Chesterton for two years.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I have been very remiss and neglected his interests/ 
 returned Mr. Merle, rather sadly. * You shall have your wish, 
 Diana ; I will manage to spare Roger for a month.' 
 
 ' Come, now, that is generous of you,' she replied brightly ; ' I 
 shall owe you a good turn for that. Supposing I promise to come 
 and spend my Christmas and New Year with you ; shall you care to 
 have me ? ' 
 
 ' Try me,' was his only reply. But he said it with one of his rare 
 smiles, and Miss Carrington felt she would be welcome. 
 
 The prospect of having Aunt Diana for Christmas, and still more 
 the promise of a long visit to Moss-side in the spring, went far to 
 reconcile Alison to the parting when the day came for Miss Carring- 
 ton to leave them ; but when the last hour arrived Alison's heart 
 failed her a little. 
 
 ' You must not look so pale over it, Ailie,' Miss Carrington said to 
 her anxiously ; ' you know if I had the power I would wiUingly take 
 you back with me.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I could not come,' returned Alison slowly. * Missie is 
 still far from well, and I could not leave papa lying there. There 
 can be no question now about my duty ; it is a comfort to know 
 that.' 
 
 * Yes, dearest, your place must be here a little longer ; they could 
 not spare you to me yet. Do you know I sometimes doubt whether 
 the old days will ever come back.' 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Di ! Do you mean I shall never be able to live with 
 you again ? ' asked Alison, in an alarmed voice. 
 
 Miss Carrington looked at her in a strangely moved way. 
 
 ' I do not think you will live at The Holms always ; Missie will 
 replace you by-and-by. I am quite sure we shall be together, even 
 if it be not in the old way. Don't look so perplexed, AiUe darling ; 
 in this life, with its manifold changes and chances, things are seldom 
 quite the same.' 
 
 ' You and I will never be different — I am convinced of that,' ex- 
 claimed Ahson, not in the least understanding the drift of Aunt 
 Diana's strange speech. ' Oh, Aunt Di, how delicious the spring 
 will be ! To think that we shall be rowing on the river again to
 
 AUNT DIANA AT THE HOLMS. I91 
 
 Long Island, to hunt for forget-me-nots, and that we shall hear the 
 cuckoo in Aspy Woods, and I shall be sitting in the studio watching 
 you painting, and Roger will be with us.' 
 
 * That's right ; look forward, Ailie darling ; it is your birthright. 
 The young must always look on to a happy future. Now say good- 
 bye to me, for I hear the carriage coming round. Christmas will 
 soon be here, and, God willing, we shall meet again.' And pressing 
 her tenderly in her arms, Aunt Diana bade God bless her, and 
 turned away.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AMONG THE ROSES AGAIN. 
 
 'homme propose et Dieu dispose,' is an old but true axiom. 
 Miss Carrington, indeed, spent her Christmas and the open- 
 ing days of the new year at The Holms, to the mutual 
 enjoyment of herself and Alison ; but it was not until the 
 end of June that Alison and Roger paid their promised visit 
 to Moss-side — not until the sweet fresh days of spring had passed 
 into the glory of summer. Miss Carrington had written again and 
 again, pleading the compact she had made with Mr. Merle; but 
 neither of the young people had found themselves free. 
 
 ' When we come it must be with a quiet conscience, and not with 
 a burden of unfulfilled duties, dear Aunt Di,' wrote Alison at last. 
 ' Missie can do without me, but Roger cannot leave at present — 
 there is such a pressure of business at the mill; and if you do not 
 mind, I would rather wait for him.' 
 
 Miss Carrington's reply was curt, and to the point : * Wait for 
 Roger, by all means. I am not young enough to fear deferring an 
 unexpected pleasure, or old enough to dread that " by-and-by " 
 may mean never. There is danger in hurrying on things too much ; 
 we need not crowd our lives. I will have neither of you until you 
 can put your cares in your pockets, and take the full meaning of 
 these sweet, sunshiny days.' 
 
 Aunt Diana's unselfishness and patience were rewarded when at 
 last the desired letter from Alison arrived. Its bright sentences 
 sounded to her like a ripple of soft laughter from youthful lips. ' We 
 are coming, coming, coming !' Could any repetition be sweeter than 
 that ? 
 
 It was one of the loveliest evenings in June when Alison and 
 Roger arrived at the Riverston station, and stood for a moment 
 looking round them in a pleased uncertainty whether any familiar 
 face would greet them. Miss Carrington had hinted that she pre-
 
 AMONG THE ROSES AGAIN. I93 
 
 ferred receiving her guests in her own porch— she hated the bustle 
 and noise of a railway station. But still Alison's dark eyes would 
 scan the platform and the sunny station room, half in delightful 
 recognition and half in girlish curiosity. 
 
 ' Ailie, who is that handsome fellow just getting down from a dog- 
 cart ? ' asked Roger. * What a neat little turn-out ! I like a chest- 
 nut mare. Holloa ! do you know him ? ' as Alison smiled and 
 bowed. 
 
 * It is Greville Moore,' she said hurriedly, and a bright look of 
 pleasure crossed her face at the sight of her old friend, which was 
 certainly reflected in the young man's countenance as he came 
 forward and greeted them. 
 
 ' You are punctual to a minute,' he said joyously, ' rather before 
 your time, for I have only just driven up. Miss Carrington told 
 me I might bring the dogcart, and your luggage might go up 
 by the omnibus. How are you, Miss Alison ? You do not seem 
 at all fagged by your long journey. I expected to find a pair of 
 dusty, jaded travellers.' 
 
 'Alison is as fresh as a lark,' returned Roger; 'she has been 
 chirping like a whole nest-full all the way up. It is a good many 
 years since we met, Moore. I should hardly have identified you the 
 first minute, but for my sister's recognition.' 
 
 ' I believe I should not have known you,' replied Greville, with 
 a quick, scrutinising glance. ' You don't look first-rate, does he, 
 Miss Alison ? He has an overworked appearance. We must give 
 him plenty of tennis and boating, and make him look younger.' 
 
 ' All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' laughed Roger. 
 * Two or three weeks of idleness and fresh air will make a different 
 fellow of me. I mean to forget that there are such things as saw- 
 mills in existence.' 
 
 ' Come, that is sensible,' returned Greville heartily. * Miss Alison, 
 will you take the front seat ? Merle, the groom is going to look 
 after the luggage, so you need not trouble your head about it.' And, 
 springing lightly to his place, he touched the mare, and in a moment 
 they were driving rapidly down the shady road. 
 
 ' Oh, there is the river ! ' exclaimed Alison, in a tone of ecstasy. 
 ' Look, Roger, you can just catch a gleam tliroiigh the trees — oh ! 
 the dear place, how I do love it ! ' her voice rising into a perfect 
 crescendo, of which the top note was complete satisfaction. 
 
 ' It is just a year since you have seen it,' observed Greville. * Miss 
 
 N
 
 194 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 Alison, what made you steal a march on me in that fashion ? I was 
 quite hurt that you never gave me a hint of your intention of going 
 home.' 
 
 He spoke in a low tone that Roger could not hear. 
 
 The quick, sensitive colour rushed into Alison's face — there 
 was such implied reproach in Greville's voice. Had he really been 
 hurt? 
 
 ' Oh, you must not feel like that about it,' she returned, with a 
 sweet, candid look. ' We had talked of the possibility, Aunt Diana 
 and I, but nothing had been settled. I had put it out of my mind. 
 I was so naughty, I could not bear the idea of going home and 
 doing my duty. I should never have gone at all if Aunt Diana had 
 not helped me.' 
 
 * You did not think how I should feel when I came back and 
 found you gone,* retorted Greville, in a boyish, injured voice, that 
 reached Roger and made him smile, only Alison grew a little grave. 
 
 ' I left a message with your grandfather,' she said quietly. ' What 
 could I do? Aunt Diana said it was my duty to go, and that it was 
 no good putting one's hand to the plough and looking backwards. 
 What is the use of loitering over a difficult task when it has to be 
 done ? ' 
 
 ' That is true, but ' 
 
 'Please don't talk of last summer,' she interrupted him; *it 
 makes me sad only to think about it.' And he could see there 
 were tears in her eyes as she spoke. ' I made myself so miserable 
 over it ; I could not bear leaving Aunt Diana, and I missed every 
 one so.' 
 
 Alison broke off abruptly, though everything had turned out for 
 the best. Though she would not have had it otherwise, still the 
 memory of that struggle and the victory that had cost her so much 
 gave her a pained feeling. It is only in heaven, under the clearer 
 light of a fuller and purer life, that the victor will dare to recall 
 without pain the fierce battle with the scorching fires of trial through 
 which he has passed. 
 
 ' Miss Alison, please do not look sad over it,' said Greville 
 earnestly. ' What a clumsy fellow I am ! I have silenced the nest- 
 full of twittering young larks ' — referring to Roger's speech. ' Come, 
 I know you will forgive me, and look chirpy again, when I tell you 
 I have passed muster and come off with flying colours.' 
 
 * Oh, I am so glad ! ' exclaimed Alison, her smiles returning
 
 AMONG THE ROSES AGAIN. I95 
 
 again. 'Then you must have worked hard. How pleased Mr. 
 Moore must be ! ' 
 
 *To hear grandfather talk,' returned Greville calmly, 'you would 
 think I was the Admirable Crichton at least. The dear old man makes 
 no end of fuss, bless him ! I tell him it is all your doing ; you gave 
 me such a terrible lecture that Wednesday.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' replied Alison, blushing ; ' it was your own good sense.' 
 
 * I shall go in for " Greats " next year, so I shall have to grind 
 pretty hard. I am to have a coach down here this summer. Cheyne, 
 of Balliol, is at The Grays with his people, and he is a rare fellow 
 for that. I have to work all ray mornings,' he continued, rather 
 dolorously, ' but I shall have my afternoons and evenings free. Miss 
 Alison, you are not listening to me.' 
 
 * Oh, yes, I am ! ' she cried joyously, * but I cannot bear any 
 more just now, though I am very glad to hear it all. Roger, do 
 look ! there is Moss-side — you know you have forgotten it — and 
 there is Aunt Di in the porch.' 
 
 * Ailie, you have eyes like a hawk. I see nothing but greenery 
 and sunshine.' 
 
 Nevertheless, Roger did perceive, a moment afterwards, a tall 
 figure in myrtle-green standing under a trellis of roses. 
 
 Miss Carrington had evidently heard the wheels of the dog-cart, 
 and had come out to look. When they stopped she had the little 
 gate open, and was helping Alison to alight. 
 
 * How are you, my dear child ? ' she said, as Alison put her arms 
 round her ; * actually not tired, Ailie ! And you, Roger ? Welcome 
 to Moss-side, my boy ! ' 
 
 ' Aren't you going to welcome me, too, Miss Carrington ? ' asked 
 Greville, half jokingly, but he looked a little wistfully at the group. 
 
 * No, not to-night,' she returned decidedly. ' I must have my 
 belongings to myself for this one evening; you may come in to 
 breakfast, if you like.' And, knowing of old that Miss Carrington's 
 decisions allowed of no appeal, Greville lifted his hat and wished 
 them good-evening, and turned his mare's head in the direction of 
 the Fernleigh stables, not without a backward glance at the slim 
 dark-eyed girl looking affectionately in Miss Carrington's face. 
 
 * Now, Aihe, go to your old room and get rid of the dust, while 
 I show Roger upstairs,' observed Aunt Diana, in a brisk voice. 
 'You will find me in the studio when you are ready.' 
 
 Her old room ! Alison gave a happy little sigh as she trod on
 
 tg6 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 the threshold. What a green little bower it looked, and oh, the 
 roses ! — roses in the quaint old china bowls that Aunt Diana so 
 much affected ; roses in the slender Venetian glasses on the mantle- 
 piece and toilet-table; roses clambering into the window and pressing 
 their pink faces against the swinging lattice ; and on the window-sill, 
 dropped by some thoughtful hand, a glorious Gloire de Dijon, with 
 a background of maidenhair fern, such as Alison loved to wear in 
 her white gown. She stood for a moment looking out thoughtfully. 
 The long shady lawns of Moss-side and Fernleigh lay beneath her, 
 and through the fresh foliage of the willows and acacias was the 
 silvery gleam of the lovely river. Something in the Sabbath-like 
 stillness, in the beauty of the scene, in the peaceful satisfaction of 
 her heart, moved Alison to kneel down among the roses, and breathe 
 a brief thanksgiving for the duties she had been strengthened to 
 perform, for the fatherly goodness that brought her back to the 
 home of her adoption, and for the human love that was but a dim 
 reflection of the Divine. 
 
 She did not hurry to go down, though her luggage had not yet 
 arrived, and there was no possibility of changing her travelling-dress. 
 But when she had brushed her brown hair, and put on her breast- 
 knot of roses, she looked trim as ever; and her bright smiling face, 
 as she opened the studio door, brought the name ' Sunny ' to Miss 
 Carrington's mind, for she looked as all young faces should look — 
 the very essence of a sunbeam. 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Di, the dear lovely room ! And, oh, that is the new 
 picture ! ' springing to the easel to gaze delightedly on golden corn- 
 fields, with scarlet poppies struggling among the wheat, like gaudy 
 promises never to ripen into fruit, and under the hedge a little brown 
 baby sleeping with its dimpled hand full of weeds and a sheep-dog 
 watching its slumbers. 
 
 ' Do you like the picture, Ailie ? It is sold already. Lady Frank- 
 lin fell in love with it, but I want it to hang in next year's Academy. 
 The baby is painted from hfe; the original belongs to Barby, an 
 old servant.' 
 
 ' Aunt Di, it is perfectly beautiful ! Roger, come here and tell 
 me if you do not think so.' 
 
 * Nonsense, Ailie ; Roger is far too hungry for art criticism at 
 present. Come away, you foohsh child, and let me give you some- 
 thing more satisfying than painted canvas. The chickens came from 
 Barby's farm, with the strawberries and this jug of delicious cream.'
 
 AMONG THE ROSES AGAIN. I97 
 
 Alison looked round rather bewildered, for none of these tempting 
 viands were in sight ; but Miss Carrington, who knew her love for 
 meals al fresco, had had the supper table laid in the wide verandah, 
 and not only chickens and strawberries, but other delicacies were 
 provided for the hungry travellers. 
 
 'This is better than your tea-table under the limes at home, Ailie,' 
 exclaimed Roger, as he carved for the ladies. ' No wonder she was 
 spoiled, Aunt Diana, and did not take kindly to the sooty ivy and 
 the music of the crane.' 
 
 ' Roger, I shall impose a forfeit if either you or Ailie mention the 
 mill,' observed Miss Carrington, as she handed him a cup of coffee 
 enriched with Barby's yellow cream. * I want you two young things 
 to forget everything but how you are to amuse yourselves. Ailie, 
 shall we have our breakfast-table here, as we did last year, while 
 the blackbirds and thrushes take theirs? Roger looks as if he 
 wanted to live in the open air. Do you know you have got thin, 
 dear boy ? ' 
 
 * Never mind that, Aunt Diana ; there is no fear of rusting, that is 
 one blessing — work never hurt man or woman yet.' 
 
 *No,' she said thoughtfully, 'but "moderation in all things" was 
 an apostle's maxim ; but you are right in principle, Roger. Now for 
 the home news. What is really your father's condition? Letters 
 are so unsatisfactory, and they never say half enough.' 
 
 * Dr. Greenwood is delighted with the progress he has made, Aunt 
 Diana; he gets across the room quite nicely on crutches, though 
 he is not to do more at present. Of course the long confinement 
 has made him look pale and delicate, but his spirits are first-rate. 
 Dr. Greenwood told me the other day that in another year or so 
 he might hope to be as well as ever. He says he is an excellent 
 patient.' 
 
 * And how does the book go on ? ' 
 
 'Very well, I believe; he manages to write without difficulty with 
 the help of a sloping board.' 
 
 ' That was Roger's clever contrivance,' interrupted Alison. 
 
 ' Aunt Diana does not want to know that ; you have broken the 
 thread of my discourse. Father does seem happier lying there with 
 all his books round him than he did at the mill.' 
 
 'And we think,' broke in Alison again, with a merry defiant look 
 at her brother, ' that papa's place is in his study, and Roger ought 
 to be master at the mill.'
 
 198 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 * And a very good idea too,' observed Miss Carrington, looking 
 at her nephew with decided approbation. 'How does Murdoch 
 fulfil his duties?' 
 
 * Admirably ; he is a very steady fellow.' 
 
 * Then Ailie's plan will answer,' she returned in her practical way. 
 • There is no reason, Roger, why you should not carry on the busi- 
 ness, and leave your father free for his literary pursuits. He was 
 never fitted for a business man ; he is too dreamy and unpractical. 
 Believe me, he will be far happier and less irritable if circumstances 
 allow him to follow his own particular bent.' 
 
 *I am quite sure of it. Aunt Diana,' returned Roger quietly; 
 •and now I have worked alone all these months, I feel more 
 competent to carry on the business single-handed. It has been 
 a hard pull — Fergusson had done so much mischief; but things 
 are righting themselves now, and with Murdoch's help we shall get 
 on capitally.' 
 
 'That is well,' replied Miss Carrington heartily; 'and now, how 
 does Missie go on ? ' 
 
 This time Alison answered. 
 
 'Her arm is quite right, but she still looks rather thin and delicate. 
 Mrs. Hardwick— Mrs. Forbes, I mean — wants to take her to Tor- 
 quay, in October, for two months ; she says she will be such a nice 
 companion for Anna. Papa insists that she is to go.' 
 
 'And how does my little friend Anna get on with her stepfather?' 
 
 * He is very kind to her, Aunt Di. Roger is rather pleased with 
 him on the whole.' 
 
 * Dr. Forbes is one of those men whose bark is worse than their 
 bite,' observed Roger ; ' he rather prides himself on being a bear ; 
 but I think Miss Anna has proved there is a soft spot in his heart.' 
 
 * I am glad to hear this. Then the poor little girl is happy on 
 the whole ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think Anna is to be pitied. Aunt Di,' returned Alison, in 
 rather a peculiar tone; 'she looks extremely happy.' And something 
 in Alison's manner made Miss Carrington change the subject ; it 
 certainly did not appear to interest Roger, for he seemed absorbed 
 in his strawberries all at once, and his criticism on Dr. Forbes was 
 given in rather a constrained voice. 
 
 ' Miss Leigh tells me that Missie is wonderfully improved since 
 her illness,' observed Aunt Diana, after a pause, which no one 
 seemed anxious to break.
 
 AMONG THE ROSES AGAIN. I99 
 
 * Indeed she is/ returned Alison, with quick enthusiasm. * I have 
 never seen any one so changed ; she is so much quieter in dress 
 and manners, and so much more tolerant of Rudel. Poppie likes 
 to be with her now, and Miss Leigh cannot say enough in her 
 praise. It is easy to see how she tries to break herself of her 
 faults, and it is so much harder for her than for us, as she has not 
 naturally a good temper.' 
 
 'Neither had I, Ailie. Many a girl has a sore fight to go through 
 as well as Missie; it is so easy to contract bad habits, and so 
 difficult to subdue them. I believe nothing but the grace of the 
 Lord Jesus and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit can enable 
 any one to overcome a really bad temper.' 
 
 And so saying, Miss Carrington rose from the table, and proposed 
 that Roger should go down to the river while she and Alison 
 disposed of the unpacking.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 * HE WILL HAVE SUNNY TO COMFORT HIM.' 
 
 ^HERE was a merry breakfast in the verandah next morning, and 
 Alison, in her white dress, with some dewy roses as a breast- 
 knot, looked the picture of happiness as she poured out the 
 coffee. 
 
 Directly it was over, Greville took her and Roger to see his 
 grandfather. 
 
 Mr. Moore was eagerly expecting them ; even before Alison's foot 
 had passed over the threshold his sightless eyes were turned to the 
 window, and his ' Welcome, Sunny,' reached her ears. 
 
 In another moment Alison was occupying her old footstool at his 
 feet, and his fine wrinkled hand, a little more trembling than of old, 
 was placed on her hair, with a half-audible blessing. 
 
 * Dear Mr. Moore, I am so glad to see you again ' 
 
 * Have you missed us, little one ? Not half as much as we have 
 missed Sunny.' And as she pressed her lips to his hand in mute 
 contradiction of this, he said, half sadly, ' Child, I never thought to 
 have heard your sweet voice again, but the good God would have it 
 otherwise ; before the message reached me, it was recalled, the gates 
 were almost closed in my face.' 
 
 ' Thank God for that ! ' she whispered ; * but they never told me 
 that you were ill until you were well again.' 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Carrington is a wise woman ; she thinks it wrong to 
 burthen young spirits with sorrows that do not belong to them. My 
 boy there nearly broke his heart about the old man ; can you believe 
 it, Sunny ? ' 
 
 ' You are like his own father,' she returned softly. * He is outside 
 on the verandah with Roger. Are you well enough to speak to Roger ? ' 
 
 * Ay, ready and willing ; he has grown a fine lad, I hear.' And 
 as Alison beckoned to them, the two young men came in through 
 the window, and Roger sat down by the old man's side. 
 
 It was pleasant to Alison to see 'her brother's quiet, respectful
 
 ALISON WAS SITTING AT HER WINDOW. 
 
 301
 
 * HE WILL HAVE SUNNY TO COMFORT HIM.' 203 
 
 manners, so full of reverence for that wise and dignified old age, and 
 the evident gratification with which Mr. Moore listened to him. She 
 might almost have believed herself forgotten, but that every now and 
 then the thin hand passed lightly over her hair with a caressing 
 touch, which told how he loved to feel Sunny near him again. 
 Greville kept a little aloof from them, but not a movement escaped 
 his notice. Once Alison glanced in his direction, and met a grave, 
 touched look in his eyes, as though something moved him. 
 
 Miss Carrington presently came in to see after her charge, for such 
 she evidently considered the old man, and dispersed the little group. 
 Mr. Moore must have his noon-day rest, and then he would be well 
 enough to play to them in the evening, but he had talked to them 
 sufficiently for the present. 
 
 The rest of the morning was spent in tennis, and in the afternoon 
 Miss Carrington joined them, and Greville and Roger rowed them 
 to Long Island, that Alison might revisit her old haunts ; and the 
 evening was spent at Fernleigh. 
 
 This was Greville's only idle morning ; for the future he adhered 
 steadily to his determination to work until luncheon, and as Alison 
 resumed her old habits of painting under Aunt Diana's supervision, 
 or playing to Mr. Moore, or reading to him, Roger found himself 
 left to his own devices. 
 
 He took Miss Carrington's advice, and lived in the open air, either 
 lying on the lawn with a book, or paddling himself lazily in a canoe, 
 till his face was brown and ruddy with health, and he grew as light- 
 hearted as a boy. 
 
 In the afternoons and evenings the three young people were 
 always together. Tennis and boating, or drives in Greville's dog- 
 cart, filled up the afternoon. When Mr. Moore was pretty well, the 
 evenings were always spent in his room; sometimes he played on his 
 violin while Alison accompanied him, or one of the young men read 
 aloud while the ladies worked. 
 
 The old man always retired early, and then sometimes Greville 
 would tempt them to a moonlight row or stroll, or if Miss Carring- 
 ton refused this for herself and Alison, Roger and he would pace the 
 garden in animated conversation. 
 
 The young men had become great friends. Greville, who was a 
 few months older than Roger, always acted as though he were 
 younger. Roger was full of quaint drollery, and loved fun in his 
 own way, but Greville's spirits were liable to carry him away ; he had
 
 204 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 plenty of character, but Roger's grave solidity and greater thought- 
 fulness were uncommon at his age ; nevertheless Greville's gaiety 
 and natural exuberance covered a depth of feeling that would have 
 astonished people. * A man is a man for a' that,' he would have 
 said, if any one had accused him of too much love of play ; that he 
 played well in his youth was no argument against his working well 
 by-and-by. ' Young growing things must stretch themselves,' Miss 
 Carrington used to say in loving extenuation of her favourite. 
 
 When a good woman thinks well of a man, there cannot be much 
 amiss with him. Miss Carrington always said Greville was a fine 
 creature, and she had a tolerably shrewd judgment of her own. 
 
 Aunt Diana had resolved that Roger and Alison should have as 
 much play as possible, so she not only revived her Wednesdays, but 
 she gave a boating- party and a large picnic. Roger was a great 
 favourite with the ladies, old and young, though he could not com- 
 pare in good looks to Greville, but his honest face and courteous 
 manners — the manners bred of a perfectly kind heart — won golden 
 opinions; but Miss Carrington, who had reasons of her own for 
 watching him, could not fail to notice that though he was pleasant to 
 all the young ladies, he did not single out one as an object for any 
 special attention, while on the contrary Greville was always beside 
 Alison. 
 
 She drew her own conclusions, but made no remark. She always 
 said, ' It was like brushing the golden dust off a butterfly's wing to 
 speak of such things to young people before the time.' But her 
 heart was very full sometimes when she looked at Alison. ' I will 
 not speak to her ; when the time comes, she will seek me of her own 
 accord,' she thought ; ' there are some things I cannot teach her, 
 that every woman must learn for herself.' 
 
 That time came sooner than she expected. 
 
 One evening she was sitting alone in the studio, writing a letter to 
 her brother-in-law, when she caught a glimpse of Alison's white gown 
 flashing between the shrubs, and in another moment the girl came 
 swiftly through the conservatory, and stood beside her. 
 
 'Aunt Di, I want to speak to you.' 
 
 ' One moment, Ailie ; I have just finished my letter to your father. 
 Have you any message for him ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — no — oh ! I cannot think of one just now,' she said, in such 
 a trembling voice that Miss Carrington looked up quickly ; and what 
 she saw in Alison's face made her drop her pen.
 
 *HE WILL HAVE SUNNY TO COMFORT HIM.' 20$ 
 
 * Come and sit here, darling, and tell me all about it ; ' and as 
 Alison hid her burning face, drawing down Aunt Diana's hands, as 
 though they would shield her effectually, she continued, tenderly, 
 • Don't be shy over it, Ailie. Of course I know what it is : Greville 
 has been speaking to you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Aunt Di.' 
 
 * Well, I will scold him presently for not speaking to me first.' 
 But there was no anger in Aunt Diana's eyes. 'I dare say his grand- 
 father encouraged him ; he is so set upon this. Well, Ailie, and 
 what did our boy say to you ? ' 
 
 * Oh, Aunt Di, don't ask me,' returned Alison desperately, ' he 
 thinks too highly of me. I am not as good as that ; I don't deserve 
 it all' 
 
 * We must allow for a little exaggeration under the circumstances,' 
 returned Miss Carrington, smiling, and managing to free her hands, 
 and so get a glimpse of the hidden happy face. 
 
 'But, Aunt Di,' almost whispering, 'are we not too young? 
 Greville will have to be at Oxford another year, and — and ' 
 
 'Too young to marry just yet, Ailie ; but I think, under Greville's 
 peculiar circumstances — his grandfather's great age and precarious 
 health, and his loneliness, having no parents or brothers and sisters 
 belonging to him — that an engagement might be allowed. It will 
 make him happier, and give him heart for his work. In general, 
 Ailie, I do not approve of long engagements for young people, they 
 are so unsettling ; but you know Greville's circumstances as well as 
 I do. He is his grandfather's heir ; in two years he might well marry.' 
 
 * Then you approve ? ' raising her eyes at last to her aunt's face. 
 
 * Don't you know Greville is my own boy ? he is even dearer to me 
 than you ; you must not be sorry to hear that. One day I will tell a 
 sad little story about myself, how a girl's self-will and temper lost her 
 the noblest lover a woman could have.' 
 
 * I guess who it was; I always knew,' murmured Alison. 
 
 ' Greville is dear to me for his father's sake,' returned Miss Car- 
 rington, almost solemnly. ' No more of this just now, Ailie. If you 
 love me, dear child, you little know how happy it makes me to know 
 my two darlings are to be united.' 
 
 * Really and truly happy, Aunt Di ? ' 
 
 * Yes, surely, dearest ; and this has been the wish of Mr. Moore's 
 heart. Ah, here comes Greville ; he looks almost as shy over it as 
 you do, Ailie.'
 
 206 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 But, shy or not, there was no mistaking the expression of proud 
 happiness on the young man's face. A look passed between him and 
 Miss Carrington, and then she held out her hand, 
 
 * Well, Greville, have you come to be scolded ? ' she asked 
 playfully. 
 
 ' Yes ; but you would not have the heart to do it,' was his reply. 
 ' Cara,' with a pause on the old name, ' how could I help it ? ' And 
 his glance at Alison was sufficiently eloquent. 
 
 ' Well, Greville, I think you are worthy even of her.' And now 
 something like the glimmer of unshed tears softened the keen grey 
 eyes. ' God bless you, my boy ! you have fulfilled the great wish of 
 my heart.' 
 
 There was a little more talk after this, and then Greville said, 
 ' Alison, I think we ought to go to my grandfather ; this will make 
 him very happy.' And then Alison obediently rose. 
 
 There was a touching scene with the old man. ' Now I can sing 
 my Nunc Dimittis,' he said, raising his sightless eyes towards heaven, 
 and a beautiful smile played round his lips. ' When the messenger 
 comes, my boy will not be left desolate, he will have Sunny to com- 
 fort him.' And again his hands were placed on her bright hair to invoke 
 a blessing. 
 
 Roger's turn came next. He had been out all day on a fishing 
 excursion, and on his return Greville had waylaid him, and told him 
 the news. Alison, who was sitting at her window, trying to compose 
 her fluttered spirits, saw them coming up the garden walk together, 
 and a few minutes afterwards there was a hasty step at her door, and 
 Roger burst into her room. 
 
 She knew how glad he was by the way he took her in his arms and 
 kissed her, even before he had uttered a word. 
 
 But it came at last. 
 
 ' Ailie, I never was so pleased in my life. Of course I knew it was 
 coming. He is a fine fellow ; you are giving me just the sort of 
 brother I wanted, and I am greatly obliged to you.' 
 
 * He told you, then ? ' a little bashfully. 
 
 ' Yes ; he had been waiting ever so long by the river bank. It is 
 my belief that, like King Midas, he had been whispering his secret 
 to the rushes. I wish you could have heard what he said about 
 you. He has thoroughly convinced me that he fully appreciates Ailie.' 
 
 * I am so glad you will be friends,' returned Alison simply, quite 
 ignoring the latter part of Roger's speech ; in her modest opinion of
 
 *HE WILL HAVE SUNNY TO COMFORT HIM.' 20/ 
 
 herself, she never ceased wondering at Greville's lover-like speeches ; 
 it was dear and kind of him to say such things, she thought, but 
 she did not deserve them. 
 
 She said as much to him one day, when their engagement was but 
 a week old, but he turned decidedly wilful. 
 
 'I shall think of you just as I like,' he said quietly; 'and I know 
 I shall never alter my opinions. I don't care what your faults are ; 
 you are perfect in my eyes, just because you are Alison.' And after 
 this she gave up the point. 
 
 But on the evening before she left Moss-side, she and Aunt Diana 
 had one of their long talks. Greville had just left them grumbling, 
 in spite of an invitation to breakfast the next morning, and though 
 he knew that he was expected at The Holms in six weeks' time, to 
 make acquaintance with Alison's home, and to introduce himself to 
 Mr. Merle. But Miss Carrington paid no attention to his boyish 
 discontent ; this hour belonged to her, she said, in her decided man- 
 ner ; Greville might talk to Roger, but she wanted Ailie to herself. 
 
 So, while the two young men paced up and down by the river, 
 Alison and Miss Carrington sat in the dim studio, looking out into 
 the moonlight. There was so much that they had to say to each 
 other on this last night 
 
 'You do not think me too hard-hearted to insist on a two years' 
 engagement, Ailie ? ' Miss Carrington said presently. ' Mr. Moore 
 has begged me over and over again to reconsider my decision ; but, 
 indeed, I think Greville is too young for such a responsibility. In 
 two years he will be five and-twenty.' 
 
 ' I would not have it otherwise. Aunt Di,' returned Alison quietly. 
 * In two years' time, papa will be well and strong — at least, Dr. Green- 
 wood tells us so — and Missie will be older; I can be spared then, 
 and can leave home far more happily.' 
 
 ' Is Greville content with this ? ' 
 
 ' I have talked to him, and made him see that we are both right. 
 Of course, we shall both feel the separation a little hard ; but now I 
 have promised to spend at least two months next summer at Moss- 
 side, and he is to pay flying visits to The Holms, I think we ought 
 to be content ; and then there are the letters — letters are such a 
 pleasure.' 
 
 ' And in two years, Alison Merle is to be Alison Moore.' 
 
 ' I hope so, Aunt Di.' 
 
 * DarUng! that day will be a happy one for me. I love you both
 
 208 AUNT DIANA. 
 
 SO much, and then I shall have you near me. Think of Fernleigh 
 being Ailie's home ! ' 
 
 * A beautiful home ! ' she returned. 
 
 * Roger will miss you the most, dear.' 
 
 ' I hope not by that time, Aunt Di. Perhaps I ought not to speak 
 of it ; he has never given me the right to do so ; but I think — I hope 
 — Anna may be able to comfort him for my absence.' 
 
 ' What makes you think so, dear ? ' she asked very quietly ; and yet 
 the same thought had occurred to her. 
 
 ' It is Roger's manner ; it has changed so much of late. Once he 
 used to be as friendly as possible with Anna, but now he never men- 
 tions her name if he can help it ; but when any one talks of her I 
 can see the way he listens, and the look that comes into his eyes ; 
 he is always so pleased when I tell him she is coming to The Holms, 
 and he is so nice with her, speaking so gently to her, and anticipating 
 all her wishes ; you could not doubt what it meant if you saw them 
 together. And she is just as sweet to him as one could wish — very 
 shy, but so simple and childlike.' 
 
 * She is a dear little thing, and I dare say she has improved.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, even Missie owns she is almost pretty sometimes ; 
 not that that matters, when she always looks so sweet and good. Oh, 
 Aunt Di, I have grown to love her so ! ' 
 
 ' Roger is a wise man,' observed Miss Carrington thoughtfully ; 
 * if he chooses Anna for his wife, he will find her certainly "above 
 rubies." There is the law of kindness in her lips ; I never knew 
 any one so perfectly gentle.' 
 
 ' Missie is actually growing fond of her ; they will be nice com- 
 panions for each other when 1 leave home. Oh, Aunt Di, how 
 beautifully everything has turned out ! Papa is better, and Missie is 
 growing more amiable every day ; Rudel is not so rough, and Poppie 
 is the dearest little soul, and Miss Leigh is so much more cheerful ! ' 
 
 * God has accepted our sacrifice, Ailie,' returned Aunt Diana 
 solemnly ; ' a blessing has come down on your efforts in a way we 
 never expected.' 
 
 * " Give, and it shall be given to you again," is the Divine law of 
 love.' 
 
 ' Darling ! I never loved you so much as when I sent you from me 
 to do your duty.*
 
 A LIST OK BOOKB 
 
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 Rosa N- Carey's Novels. 
 
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 • <•> ■ 
 
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 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 American Novels, No. 2. 
 
 Brueton'S Bkvow. 
 
 By John Habberton, author of " Helen's Babies," 
 
 TV^iss De:i=mrge, 
 
 By Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of " That Lass o' Lowries.' 
 
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 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
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 THE DESERTER and FROM THE RANKS. 
 
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 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 Picked Up in the Streets. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF H. SCHOBERT. 
 Xranslated by Mrs. A. r,. ^WISXBR. 
 
 12ino. Extra Cloth. 91.S5. 
 
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 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 THE OLD MftM'SELLE'S SECRET. 
 
 BY E. MARLITT 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 12mo. Extra Cloth. $1.50. 
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 and cold Frau Hellwig, the scenes are swift and absorbing in their 
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 the very good reason that it is a capital story." — Chicago Evening 
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 " A more charming story, and one which, having once commenced, 
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 GOLD BLSIE. 
 
 BY E. MARLITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 X2mo. Extra Cloth. 9x.5o« 
 
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 of the German speech have departed. They are thoroughly English, 
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 Wister, whose translations have all the life and vigor of original 
 productions. " — Philadelphia American. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 tes«ipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 GOUNTESS GISEU. 
 
 BY E. MARLITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 zamo. £xtra Clotb. Si«5o. 
 
 " One of the very best of its class, and is a genuine representation 
 of court, burgher, and rural life in Germany. The translation is 
 ^irited and faithful." — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " There is more dramatic power in this than in any of the stories 
 by the same author that we have read." — New Orleans Times- 
 Democrat. 
 
 "The author of 'The Old Mam'selle's Secret' and of 'Gold 
 Elsie' will never lack for admirers among the novel-reading public 
 in this country so long as the translation of her writings is in the 
 hands of Mrs. Wister. The present volume is the latest from Miss 
 Marlitt's ever-busy pen, and is marked by the same power, dramatic 
 unity, and naturalness which are so characteristic of her writings."— 
 Chicago Evening Journal, 
 
 " E. Marlitt, the author of • Gold Elsie,' « The Second Wife,' etc., 
 has again given the reading public a treat in this novel, translated 
 from the German by Mrs. A. L. Wister. There is a restfulness in 
 these works that can be found in no others of the present day, while 
 the vim of romance running through them sustains the interest from 
 beginning to end." — Harrisburg Patriot. 
 
 " ' Countess Gisela' would be recognized even without the name oa 
 the title-page as by the author of ' The Old Mam'selle's Secret.' 
 Mrs. Wister has given Marlitt an extended popular reputation in 
 this country, and a new translation from this ready writer is alwjys 
 sure of plenty of readers." — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, ma. 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 Jhe Jjittle j\Joorland Princess. 
 
 BY E. MARLITT. 
 
 Translated, by NIrs. A. L-. Wister. 
 
 i2ino. Kxtra Clotli. 91.50. 
 
 " A charming story." — New York Observer. 
 
 " The plot is admirably contrived." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " The story is delightful for its simplicity and for the exquisite man- 
 aer in which its characters are drawn." — Boston Evening Traveller. 
 " The heroine is most charmingly sketched." — Philadelphia Even- 
 ing Telegraph. 
 
 " There is the mild radiance and pleasant warmth of a day in June 
 pervading the whole romance, and it is a great luxury to give one's 
 self up to its balmy influence." — Chicago Evening yournal. 
 
 " To insure eager readers for this book it is only necessaiy 
 to announce it as written by the author of ' The Old Mam'selle's 
 Secret,' and translated from the German by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 But we believe that the general opinion following perusal will be 
 that ♦ The Little Moorland Princess' transcends not only in interest 
 but in picturesqueness and dramatic power the work which has so 
 largely contributed to the fame of bofch author and translator. We 
 have in this book both the drama and the scenery ; and the merit 
 of strong characterization is even surpassed by that of vivid word- 
 painting. One seldom meets in print a prettier picture than that con- 
 tained in the first half-dozen pages of this book, but it has many 
 companion pieces throughout the volume. The plot of the story is 
 intricate, but skilfully developed, and the style of the writer is not 
 only bright and vivacious, but thoroughly artistic. The sentiment is 
 also true and worthy, and the work, in its entirety, altogether charm- 
 ing and delightful." — Washington Chronicle. 
 
 " A story full of what an American story cannot be full of, and 
 charmingly told. German mystery is unlike our mystery, so this 
 Etory is unlike our English and American stories." — Toledo Blade. 
 
 " It is a bright, fresh, vivacious story, told in the most animated 
 and entertaining manner, worthy in sentiment and skilful in every 
 point of artistic finish." — Albany Journal. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 THE SECOND WIFE. 
 
 A EOHAKCE. BY E. If ARLITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 i2mo. Extra Clotli. $1.50. 
 
 " A German story of intense interest, by one of the best-known 
 writers of romance of that country." — Washington Chronicle. 
 
 " We rarely encounter a novel that we can read with so much 
 pleasure and can commend so unreservedly as this volume. It de- 
 serves to rank with the best works of modern continental novelists, 
 even with that of Tourg6nieff himself, whose books it somewhat 
 resembles in tone and spirit. It is a striking psychological essay, a 
 masterly study of character, and at the same time a vivid and fasci- 
 nating picture of life. The incidents of the story are intensely, though 
 not sensationally, dramatic, and the reader's interest increases from 
 the arrival of the bride to the simple but sufficient and satisfactory 
 denouement." — Literary World. 
 
 " The book is intensely interesting, in some places quite 'thrilling.' 
 It is by far the best of Mrs. Wister's translations." — New York 
 World. 
 
 " It is much better than any of its predecessors. It is a romance 
 of high life in Germany, full of interesting incidents, and told in a 
 most picturesque style." — St. Louis Globe- Democrat. 
 
 " A genuine love-tale, and has all the freshness and depth of feel- 
 ing one may look for in such scenes depicted by such a hand. There 
 is passion and feeling in every page of it, and the people are very 
 real in their actions and manners. One only regrets in parting with 
 this delighful book that, like all good things, it seems too short."— 
 Boston Evening Transcript. 
 
 " ' The Second Wife' is decidedly a clever novel." — Chicago Review, 
 
 " In ' The Second Wife' we have a German tale of tragic power. 
 Some of the scenes are described with marvellous vigor, and the 
 situation is, at times, appalling." — John Bull. 
 
 " A charming love-story — more, it is a work of rare excellence in 
 plot, tone, and language." — Pittsburgh Commercial. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIFPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 AT THE GOUNGILLOR'S, ' 
 
 Or, A Nameless History. 
 
 BY E. MARLITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 i2tuo. Extra Cloth. 41^1.50. 
 
 " Pure in tone, elegant in style, and overflowing with the tender 
 and openly expressed sentiment which characterizes human romance 
 in Germany." — Worcester Spy. 
 
 " Mrs. A. L. Wister is the most industrious, as well as the most 
 judicious and successful, of translators in the department of light 
 literature. She adds to the list of her gifts to readers 'At the 
 Councillor's,' a romance from the German of E. Marlitt, whose 
 writings are a mine that this translator has worked most success- 
 fully." — New York Evening Post. 
 
 " Marlitt's novels are always welcome, because they are always 
 good." — Philadelphia Chronicle-Herald. 
 
 " E. Marlitt has become a very popular author in America since 
 Mrs. Wister began to translate her works, and the latest of her trans- 
 lations will be eagerly read. It is in her peculiar style, so that 
 nobody could fail to recognize it as from the same pen as ' The Old 
 Mam'selle's Secret.' "—Boston Post. 
 
 " Marlitt has produced some of the best novels that have found 
 their way into English type, among them 'The Old Mam'selle's 
 Secret,' which has probably been as extensively read as any. Othei 
 books from the same fruitful pen are ' Gold Elsie,' ' The Second 
 Wife,' and ' Countess Gisela.' Marlitt's novels are a valuable addi- 
 tion to any private library." — Rochester Union. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 In iKe ScIiiIIin<^5courL 
 
 A EOMANCE. BY E. MAELITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister, 
 
 izmo. Extra Clotb. Si*50. 
 
 "This book is the best of its author's works in respect to strength, 
 vividness, and interest." — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 " It is one of the best of E. Marlitt's romances, translated by Mrs. 
 A. L. Wister, who has an established reputation for excellence of 
 judgment in choosing works for translation and for grace and skill 
 in translating them." — A^ew York Evening Post. 
 
 " None of its predecessors have surpassed it in elaborateness, in 
 artistic structure, and in dramatic interest. Indeed justice cannot be 
 done to its excellence in these qualities except by a much longer 
 review than our limits allow. It presents some wholly novel pictures 
 of social life among high-bom and rich German families." — Phila- 
 delphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " The story is powerfully told, with close attention to accessories 
 and careful elaboration of character. Its coloring is harmonious and 
 truthful, its spirit and purpose are pure and elevated, and its total 
 impression is marked by both unity and strength." — Literary World. 
 
 " The novel is one of exceptional interest." — St. Louis Republican. 
 
 " This is one of Marlitt's best stories." — Cincinnati Commercial 
 Gazette. 
 
 " This story of German life is admirably rendered by Mrs. Wister, 
 and the story itself is strong, interesting, and worth being told in 
 more than one tongue." — New York Observer. 
 
 " A pure, graceful, and piquant composition, transfused with all the 
 energy and force which we imagine the original to possess. Besides 
 the intrinsic interest of the characters, and the situations in which 
 they are placed, this story, as well as all the others which Mrs. Wister 
 has interpreted to the English mind, is a thoroughly pure and honest 
 piece of fiction." — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. 
 
 A ROKAKCE. BY E. MARLITT. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 i2tno. Extra Clotli. $1.25. 
 
 *'One of the freshest and piirest of these charming romances of 
 rural life in Germany. It is a charming, breezy romance. One 
 of the best of the Marlitt novels." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " A delightful work, in its author's best vein, and is attractive in 
 plot and remarkably strong in characterization." — Boston Saturday 
 Evening Gazette. 
 
 " It is a charming love-story." — Chicago Evening youmal. 
 
 " A piece of fiction so faithful to life as to seem no fiction; a summer 
 love-idyl, invested with the nameless charm and quaintness of old- 
 world existence; a plot of the simplest and most transparent charactei, 
 yet with mysteries and surprises so skilfully handled, and a technique 
 so fresh and rich, that the book cannot be laid down until it is finished 
 at a single sitting, — these are the light and airy qualities that consti- 
 tute what may be called a novel of refreshment, and ' The Bailiff's 
 Maid' possesses them in an eminent degree." — The American. 
 
 "Another fine translation. The type of heroine is charmingly 
 original, splendidly strong and pure." — New Orleans Democrat. 
 
 " Long ago Mrs. Wister laid a natural embargo on the novels of 
 Mai litt, and she continues her translations from this and other safe 
 and respectable writers of novels with commendable regularity. 
 Translations, like originals, are lady-like, good, and not without 
 instruction. Readers of • The Old Mam'selle's Secret' and • Gold 
 Elsie' will not be deceived in the new romance. It is especially 
 to be recommended for wholesome, light reading for young people." 
 —New York Times. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 A PENNILESS GIRL. 
 
 A NOVKL. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF W. HEIMBERG. 
 By MRS. A. L.. WISTER, 
 
 Translator of " Quicksands," " Banned and Blessed," etc. 
 i2mo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 
 
 " It has a clever and ingenious plot, and possesses marked 
 interest. The characters are lifelike, and the incidents in which 
 they figure are both probable and natural. Mrs. Wister is one of 
 the best translators from the German in this country, and the 
 felicitous manner in which she has done her work in the present 
 volume adds to the charm of the truly agreeable novel." — Phila- 
 delphia Evening Call. 
 
 " Mrs. Wister's translations are always valuable additions to 
 our literature. She selects such works as are pure and simple in 
 plot, attractive in style, and, above all, agreeable and instructive. 
 The character of Elsie, the penniless and unwelcome girl, wins 
 the reader's sympathy and love, and the denouement, which is 
 satisfactory, proves that virtue and true love always are rewarded. 
 The story is one that a parent need not hesitate to introduce into 
 the family circle." — Norristoivn Herald, 
 
 " This is one of the delightfully fresh, quaint, and simple tales 
 which Mrs. Wister so often selects to give us in English, and it is 
 one of those novels whose moral, though slight, is good, and 
 whose pages contain only wholesome and charming sentiments^ 
 and characters that we are glad to know." — Boston Courier. 
 
 \* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on 
 receipt of price. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 rHIt,AI>EI.I»IMA.
 
 PUBLTCATJONS OF y. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 VieLETTA. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 After the German of Ursula Zdge von MantenSel. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
 
 I2MO. Cloth. $1.25. 
 
 "•Violetta/ as adapted by Mrs. Wister, is a clever novel. The characten 
 are clear-cut, natural, and strong. The situations are full of interest, the dialogue 
 IS bright and vigorous. The heroine is a particularly happy conception, worked 
 out with much slcill. There is decided power in the book, and a delicacy of manip- 
 ulation so rare as to be very agreeable. Mrs. Wister has so skilfully adapted th« 
 story that it could not read more smoothly if it had been written in English." — 
 AVto York Tribune. 
 
 " To see the name of Mrs. A. L. Wister on the title-page as the translator of 
 a German story has become a sufficient guarantee that the book is of high merit 
 and fascinating interest. This is eminently true of her latest translation, 'Vio- 
 letta ;' while the character-drawing throughout is very strong and artistic, the 
 charming little heroine is presented with exquisite beauty. The plot of the story 
 is worked out in a manner to hold the closest interest, and the local coloring as 
 well as the character-drawing is beautifully artistic, while the sentiments of the 
 story can but meet the approval of the most exacting." — Boston Hotnt yournal. 
 
 " In brief, tTiis novel is thoroughly charming and should receive a wide and 
 growing circle of readers." — Si. Louis Republican. 
 
 " This is a charming story, and, although romantic in tone, preserves the natti- 
 ral to an eminent degree. It is a story of German high life, and, of course, can- 
 not be prosaic. In giving this book to the public, Mrs. Wister has made an ex> 
 oellent selection from German light literature. It Is a book that everybody can 
 read with pleasure and profit." — Chtirleston News and Courier. 
 
 "It has become to be understood in this country that any book of Germaa 
 author which Mrs. Wister condescends to translate for American readers is weB 
 worthy their attention. This book emphasizes their opinion. It is a charming 
 ttory, and the lady is to be thanked for so carefully catering to the taste of hsi 
 elientage. Of course, the pnnt and binding is everything to be desired ' — Pitt* 
 tmrg' CkronicU-Telegrapk. 
 
 S* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postags 
 prepaid, oo receipt of the price, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Pnblisliers, 
 
 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia.
 
 SAINT MICHAEL 
 
 Mrs. JVister's Jfetc Translation. 
 
 A Romance. From the German of E. Werner, author of " Banned and 
 
 Blessed," etc. 
 
 BY NIRS. A. L. WISXER, 
 
 TRANSLATOR OP 
 
 "The Second Wife," " The Old Mam'selle's Secret," " Violetta," etc 
 12mo. Extfa Cloth. $1.25. 
 
 The novels of E. Werner are always readable and in the highest de- 
 gree entertaining. Mrs. Wister's refined and pure taste never leads her 
 amiss in making her selections, and the novel before us is more interest- 
 ing than any of its predecessors. She is one of the best translators from 
 the German in this country, and the felicitous manner in which the 
 work has been done in the present volume adds to the charm of a truly 
 agreeable novel. 
 
 " Of the many charming translations from the German by Mrs. Wister, 
 none can surpass in interest that of ' St. Michael,' the characters being 
 strong and naturally drawn. The work abounds in striking situations, 
 and does not contain a page which the reader is disposed to skip." — BaMi- 
 more News. 
 
 " The romantic tales of E. Werner, which Mrs. Wister, through indus- 
 trious translation, has made well known to American readers, are appre- 
 ciated by many who like pure romance to sweeten the realities of life. 
 ' St. Michael,' the last in the series, abounds in many poetical and dra- 
 matic situations, is full of military fire and energy, having many spirited 
 scenes, and maintaining the interest of the reader." — Boston Journal. 
 
 " It is full of life, many of the incidents are exciting, and the characters 
 In themselves becoming interesting as the romance progresses." — PitU' 
 burg Clironicle- Telegraph. 
 
 " The novel before us is more interesting than any of its predecessors. 
 The manner in which the work has been done adds to the charm of a 
 truly agreeable novel."— Harrisburg Telegraph. 
 
 " A thoroughly enjoyable story, and one which will never be left un- 
 finished when once begun."— Sostore Courier. 
 
 " The story is a brisk one, at times almost melodramatic ; with two 
 romances of unusual inteTest."— Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of the 
 price by the Publishers, 
 
 J. B. I-IF=»F»INCOTT C07VIP75NV, 
 
 715 and 717 Market St., Fhiladelpliia.
 
 REDUCED IN PRICE TO $1.25-!-^ 
 
 THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER; 
 
 OS, 
 
 lf^I\griKG HIS SPURS. 
 
 l2mo. Extra Cloth. 91.25. 
 
 *• The skefcches of life ia a cavalry command on the frontier ace eicceedo^y 
 ▼hrid and interesting ; and the element of adventure is furnished in the graphic 
 and spirited acoo nuts of affairs with the ho-tile Apaches. Captain King is to be 
 thanked for an eiitertaioing contribution to the slender stock of American mili- 
 tary novels — a contributioffi so good that we hope that he v?ill give us another." 
 ■ — N. V. TriiuKe. 
 
 " The fertility of this field of garrison aad rescrvatioa life has already at' 
 fa-dCted the attention of several writers. We took up the wark of Captain King 
 with the impression thatit might belike some of these, an ephemeral production; 
 we found it instead a charraing work, worthy of achieving a permanent place ia 
 literature. We cordially congratulate Captain King <tii his accootplished suc- 
 cess, for such unquestionably it is." — Army and N/tvy JoicrHitl, N. V. 
 
 " There have been few American, novels published of late years «o tborot^hly 
 readable as ' The Colonel's Daughter,' which, if it be Captain King'-s first essay 
 in fiction, is assuredly a. most encouraging production." — Literary World. 
 
 " The volume i« a remarkable work of fiction, and will be found entertaining 
 and well worthy a careful readJEg." — CA'cago TrUixne. 
 
 " Not for many a season has there appeared before tfoe paSJikc a novel so 
 thorongfely captivating as ' The ColoaeS's iJaughter ' Its fresh flavor caanot f.iii 
 to please the veriest ep.xuvi, while its chansiing style would disarni the most 
 fastidious critic. With that delicacy of touch peculiar to his workmanship, he 
 draws now upon pathos, now upon humor, but never str 'ins either (juality to it* 
 utmost capacity, which distinctly proves that Captain King is a writer of signal 
 ability, whose norelof 'The Calonel's Daugtstec' we hope is bet the prelude, 
 to many others." — MihoaK-kee Sentinel. 
 
 " X departure into a new fiel<3 in novel writir^ oc^ght always to be wel- 
 coraed. * The Coloael's Daughter' is, strictly speaking, the first American mil- 
 itary novel. Itis a good one, and Captaie King ought to follow up thecomplete 
 success he has made with other .stories of army life on tke American frontier. 
 The style of the author is unaffected, poare in toae, affid eievatiog in moral 
 effect." — IVitcoKiiK Staie JhtcrKo/. 
 
 Captain King has in this novel pre{iared for us a cfear and interesTtitig storjr 
 of army iijcidemts in the West. He is ast/ttit in the art which made Sir Walter 
 Scott a companian for old and young — the art which brings to the niind of the 
 reader that sentient power which places us directly into coranuinton with the 
 imaginary characters filling their parts in a book. The military incidents ane 
 interwoiren int i the inspiring love episode that to tJte pages of this work add aa- 
 ioiation." — Times- DeiuBcrat, New Orleans. 
 
 '" The Ccionel's Daughter ; or. Wincing His Spiirs,' a story of military life 
 at an Aricona post, written by Captain Charles King, U.S.A., aod published by 
 J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, may rightfully daim to be a good novel. 
 Its characters are strong aod clear-cut : its plot original and well siistained, and 
 tile pictures of tRilitary life on the trontier, of Apache character, and of the 
 p-liysical features of Arizona Territory are realistic and fascinating." — Situ* 
 Franciscj Bulletin. 
 
 "The outcome -)f the n«vel is just what every reader would wish. It is a 
 splendid story, full of life and enjoyment, and will doubtless prove a great 
 &irorite." — /maa^ate Register, Des Moines. 
 
 Far Sale by ail Booksellers. 
 
 Published by J B LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. Philadelphia, Pa
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 "A BRILLIANT PICTURE OF GARRISON LIFE." 
 
 MARION'S FAITH. 
 
 By Captain CHARLES KING, U.S.A., 
 
 Author of " The Colonel's Daughter," 
 " Kitty's Conquest," etc 
 
 £2iBO. Extra cloth - - - - - - $1.25 
 
 " Captain King has done what the many adnairers of his charming 
 first story, ' The Colonel's Da tighter,' hoped he woTiild do, — hehas written 
 another novel of American army life. The present is m some sort a 
 continuation of the lorixier, many of the characters of the first story re- 
 appearing in the pages of this volume. The scenes of the story are laid 
 in the frontier country of the West, and fights with the Cheyenne Indians 
 afford sufficiently stirring incidents. The same bright, sparkling s-tyle 
 and easy manner which rendered ' The Colonel's Daughter' and ' Kilty's 
 Conquest' so popular and so delightful, characteriie the present volume. 
 Jt is replete with spirited, interesting, humorous, and pathetic pictures of 
 soldier life on the frontier, and will be received with a warm welcome, 
 no* only by the iarge circle of readers of the author's previous works, 
 but by a'l who delight in an excellent story charmingly told." — Chicago 
 Evening jfoumal. 
 
 " The author ©f this novel is a gallant soldier, now on the retired list 
 by reason of wo«nds received in the line of duty. The fevor with which 
 his books have been received proves that he can write as well as fight. 
 'Marion's Faith' is a very pleasing sto-ry, with a strong i?avor of love and 
 shoulder-straps, and military hfe, and cannot bat charm the reader." — , 
 National Tribune, WaikiMgton, D. C. 
 
 " Captain Xing has cnught the true spirit of the American novel, for 
 iie has endowed his work fu ly and freely with the dash, vigor, breeziness, 
 bravery, tendernebs, and truth which are recognized throughout the 
 World as our national characteristics. Moreover, he is letting in a flood 
 of light upon the hidden details oiarmy life in our frontier garrisons and 
 amid the hills of the Indian country. He is giving the public a bit of 
 insight into the career of a United States solaier, ajvd abundantly de- 
 monstrating that the Custers and Mileses and Crooks of to day are not 
 mere hired men, but soldiers as patriofic, tmselifch, and daring as any 
 of those who went down with the guns in the great civil strife. Captaii*, 
 King's narrative work is singularly fascinating." — 'Sf. Lewis Republican. 
 
 " As descriptions of life at an army post, and of the vicissitudes, trials, 
 and heroisms of army life on the plains, in what are called ' times of 
 peace," the two novels of Captain King are worthy of a high and per- 
 manent place in American literature. 1 hey will hereafter take rank with 
 Cooper's novels as distinctively American works of fi.ctioa." — Army and 
 Navy RegistiT, WetsMxgtan, D, C
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.^ 
 
 KITTY'S CONQUEST. 
 
 By CAPX. CHARI^ES KING, U.S.A., 
 
 Author of "The Colonel's Daughter," " Marlon's Faith," eta 
 16mo. Extra Cloth. $1.00. 
 
 ** A highly entertaining love story, the scene of which is Uid In tfte Soutfe 
 l«ven years after the war." — New i'ork Herald. 
 
 " Capt. King has given us another delightful story of American life. Th« 
 reputation of the author will by no means suffer through his second venture. 
 We can heartily commend the story to all lovers of the American novel."— 
 U'ashitigion Capital. 
 
 " Will take rank with its gifted author's vivid romance, ' The Colonel's 
 Daughter,' and should become as popular. Capt. King writes fluently and 
 lelicitously, and in the novel under review there is not a tiresome page. Every- 
 thing is graphic, telling, and interesting. The plot is of particular excellence." 
 — Philadelphia Evening Call. 
 
 " ' Kitty's Conquest,' a charming little story of love and adventure, by 
 Charles King, U.S.A. The plot is laid in the South during the reconstruction 
 period following the late war. The book is written in a most attractive style, 
 and abounds in bright passages. The characters are drawn in a very pleasing 
 manner, and the plot is handled very successfully throughout. It is altogether 
 a pleasing addition to the library of modern fiction." — Boston Post. 
 
 " A bright, original, captivating story. The scene is laid in the South soma 
 twelve years ago. It is full of life from the word ' go !' and maintains its inter- 
 est uninterruptedly to the end. The varying fortunes through which the heiw 
 pursues his ' military love-making' are graphically depicted, and a spice of dan- 
 gerous adventure makes the story all the more readable." — New York School 
 yournal. 
 
 "A bright and vivaciously-told story, whose incidents, largely founded upo> 
 fact, occurred some twelve years ago. The scene, opening in Alabama, is soon 
 transferred to New Orleans, where the interest mainly centres, revolving round 
 the troublous days when Kellogg and Mc£nery were de facto and de jure 
 claimants of supreme power in Louisiana, when the air was filled with notes of 
 warlike preparation and the tread of armed men. Though the heroes are, fot 
 the most part. United States officers, there is yet nothing but kindly courtesj 
 knd generous good-will in the tone of the story, and its delineations of Souther* 
 character and life, of Southern scenes, and the circumstances and ccnditions o| 
 the time. The author is Charles King, himself a United States soldier, whos« 
 itory of ' The Colonel's Daughter' has been well received." — New Orleam 
 Twut-DttHocrat. 
 
 *«* For sale by all Bocksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid. •■ 
 :ipt of the price, by 
 
 J B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Pnbliskers, 
 
 718 and 717 Market Street, FhiladelphiA.
 
 TAKEN 
 
 BY 
 
 SIEGE 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 Handsomely lasuBd 
 in 12nio Form, 
 
 ■WITH 
 
 Clear, Large Type, 
 Fine Paper, 
 
 AND 
 
 Attractive Binding. 
 
 Extra ClotL $1.25. 
 
 "This is a charming lov^e-story, interesting alike to all, and sustains a 
 high interest to the close. It is a book that the reader will not willingly 
 lay aside until the pleasing sequel is reached." — Ohio State Journal. 
 
 " A graphic and very interesting anonymous story of a young journal- 
 ist's experiences in New York. Who the hero may be is enveloped in 
 mystery, but that the heroine is Miss Clara Louise Kellogg there is little 
 doubt. The other characters will be readily recognized as conspicuous 
 in New York society. The story reveals the inside workings of some of 
 the metropolitan newspapers, and shows how, by pluck, brains, and luck, 
 a new man may sometimes rise rapidly to the highest rank in journal- 
 ism, distancing the veterans. The author has unusual ability as a writer 
 of fiction." — Albany Jowrnal. 
 
 "A sketch of New York life, characterized by a certain dash and fresh- 
 ness. It possesses vigor and lightness. The author has produced an 
 entertaining story." — Boston Journal. 
 
 " The book is pure and wholesome ; the story entertaining, good, 
 healthy, and readable." — Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 " The story deals with the living forces and events of to-day, and is one 
 of the most vital and strong and keenly interesting of late novels." — 
 Boston Evening Traveller. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of the 
 price by the Publisners, 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 
 
 716 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES. 
 
 By Miss Fanny Courtenay Baylor. 
 
 ftmtaining " The Perfect Treasure" and " On This Side,"' the whole forming a complete stoij 
 
 12mo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 
 
 "No such faithful, candid, kindly, brilliant, and incisive presentation of 
 English and American types has before been achieved. The wit of th« 
 »tory is considerable. It is written brilliantly, yet not flimsily. It is the 
 best international novel that either side has hitherto produced. It is written 
 by an American woman who really knows both countries, and who has shown 
 that she possesses powers which ought to put her in the front rank of fiction." 
 — New York Tribune. 
 
 " For a number of months past the readers of Lippincotf s Magazine hava 
 been delighted by the instalments of one of the most charming stories that has 
 yet been written by an American girl, and the wonder was that the story did 
 not excite a wider interest. 'On Both Sides' has now been published in book 
 form, and proves to be a positive surprise to the literary world. There is 
 neither an Englishman nor an American writer on this side or that who might 
 not be proud to have written this international novel. It will be one of the 
 most popular books of the season, — one that will be read, criticised, and 
 talked about in all the circles of intelligent society."— iV.?a; Orleans Picayune. 
 
 " Miss Baylor's clever story has had such high marks of appreciation during 
 its appearance as a serial in Lippincotf s Magazine, that its publication in 
 book form is most gratifying. There is one test of the unfailing spirit and 
 good humor of the novel. Hosts of magazine readers have been awaiting its 
 publication, as a whole, in order to mail it to English friends. Both nationali- 
 ties, in fact, are so delicately and humorously satirized, that it is a truly 
 'international' piece of fun. The good points, the true distinction of good 
 breeding in manners and customs pertaining to each of the two peoples, and 
 the thorough good understanding of the genuine people in the story, are the 
 most satisfactory of its conclusions; but it is a sh.irp stylus that sets down the 
 pretensions of the vulgar on either side. It looks as though Dais^ Miller 
 were avenged at last— and yet no oflFence either given or received.' —Phila- 
 delphia Ledger. 
 
 "In Miss Baylor's work we have a novel entertaining from beginning to 
 end, with brightness that never falls flat, that always suggests something be- 
 yond the mere amusement, that will be most enjoyed by tho=e ->i most cultiva- 
 tion, that is clever, keen, and intellectual enough to be reiognized as genuine 
 ■wit, and yet good-natured and amiable enough to be accepted as the most de- 
 lightful humor. It is not fun, but intelligent wit ; it is not mere comicality, 
 but charming humor; it is not a collection of bright sayings of clever people, 
 but a reproduction of ways of thought and types of manner infinitely enter- 
 taining to the reader, while not in the least funny to the actor, or intended by 
 him to appear funny. It is inimitably good as a rendering of the peculiarities 
 of British and of American nature and training, while it is so perfectly fre« 
 from anything like ridicule, that the victims would be the first to smile."— 
 The Critic. 
 
 *** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, o« 
 receipt of the price by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 No8. 715 AND 717 Market Street, Philadii. wia.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 Behind the Blue Ridge. 
 
 A HOMELY NARRATIVE. 
 
 By FRANCES COURTENAY BAYLOR, 
 
 Author of " On Both Sides," etc. 
 
 i2nio. Kxtra clotb. 41^1.25. 
 
 "A capital novel, strong, vivid, well written, and full of humor of 
 ft very gratifying kind." — Literary World. 
 
 " It is lightened through and through by humor as subtle and spon- 
 taneous as any that ever brightened the dark pages of life history, 
 and is warmed by that keen sympathy and love for human nature 
 which transfigures and ennobles everything it tduches." — Chicago 
 Tribune. 
 
 "Intensely dramatic in construction, rich in color, picturesque in 
 description, and artistic in its setting. No more delightful picture of 
 the every-day life of the Virginia mountaineers could well be imag- 
 ined." — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 " The incisive and poetical presentation of the theme is still a 
 characteristic of her novels, and the portrayal of character is as clear 
 cut as in her earlier productions. The scenery of the mountain re- 
 gion in Virginia is sketched with loving hand, and the inhabitants, 
 with their quaint dialect, form an interesting study." — Boston Journal. 
 
 "A bare outline can give no idea of the humor and tenderness 
 which mark the story. The characters are most happily hit off, and 
 the dialogue is true to the life. The book wili rank with the best 
 work done in this field." — New York American Bookseller. 
 
 " Miss Baylor has undoubtedly scored a success. To those who 
 are familiar with her witty sketches this novel will be a delightful 
 surprise, for she has shown as much skill in dealing with the rustic 
 types as she has been wont to expend upon the portraiture of the leis- 
 ure classes. Her Virginia mountaineers are as real as Craddock's 
 Tennessee mountaineers, and the story of their lives is full of humor 
 and pathos. Each character is a genuine human being." — New 
 Orleafts Times-Democrat. 
 
 "This is a graphic, dramatic, and pathetic 'homely narrative,* as 
 it calls itself, of Virginia life before, during, and after the war. It 
 is racy of the soil, and abounds in strong touches of local character 
 as well as picturesque and eloquent description. It is one of the best 
 of the fast multiplying novels of Southern life, and gives abundant 
 material for the study of Southern human nature." — Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on 
 receipt of price by the Publishers.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY^ 
 
 _By Mary Agnes Tincker, author of " The Jewel in the 
 
 Lotus," etc. 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 
 
 " It is a story so delicately wrought, so artistically perfect, that one reads ft 
 with a delight that deepens into fervor and enthusiasnu It is a story of Italian 
 life, — of love, of intrigue, of despair, of aspiration. It is full of dramatic 
 situations, and of subtle, pervasive power." — BosioK Evening Traveller, 
 
 '" Aurora,' by Mary Agnes Tincker, is a novel of extraordinary power and 
 Interest, in which the author of ' Signor Monaldini's Niece' has even surpassed 
 the high mark made in that remarkable story. Its plot is original ; its varieties 
 of character are portrayed with consummate skill; the different scenes — in 
 Granada, in Sassoviso, at Ischia, and in Venice — are like pictures in vivid- 
 ness; indeed, the entire presentation is that of imagination to imagination." 
 ^—Hartford Courant. 
 
 " The whole book is very entertaining, and there are one or two English 
 characters in whom the reader will be interested." — London Academy. 
 
 " Miss Tincker's stories of Italian life invariably possess points of high 
 charm, are eloquent in description, and are pervaded by a poetic ardor, which 
 she puts into striking relief by offering in contrast vivid and realistic pictures 
 of commonplace existence. In 'Aurora' there are scandals, falsehoods, in- 
 trigues, all the machinations of powerful and unscrupulous workers in evil, 
 which finally meet their punishment and their remedy in the catastrophe of 
 the earthquake at Casamicciola. This culmination of the story is admirably 
 given, and is full of powerful and artistic effects." — Philadelphui American. 
 
 " Everything which Miss Tincker writes bears the stamp of a refined mind, 
 a poetic temperament, and unmistakable genius. The story glows with 
 Southern warmth and sparkles with good things, and is very complete in 
 every way." — London Wkitehall Review. 
 
 "Possesses all the charms which characterized her excellent novel, 'The 
 Jewel in the Lotus.' In some respects it is a better written story than the 
 work just named, and it falls below it in nothing. There is a genuine feeling 
 for nature and poetry throughout the book, and its freshness and delicacy arc 
 very pleasant." — New York Tribune. 
 
 *#* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, oa 
 receipt of the price by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 No8. 715 and 717 Uarket Street, Fhiladelphi*.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 THE JEWEL IN THE LOTOS 
 
 By MARY AGNES TINCKER, 
 
 AoUiar of "iuiron," "Sigoor Uanaidini's Hieca," etc 
 
 With Five Handsome Illustrations by Thomas and 
 Helen C. Hovenden. 
 
 X2ino. Extra clotb. 4|r.25. 
 
 " There is not a dnll page in it. Every one in this novel, from Glcnlyon lo 
 the servants in the kitchen, has his separate and rounded individuality. It is fuU 
 of beautiful pictures, and has certain passages we should be glad to quote, bnt we 
 must be content to leave these to the reader lo discover." — Tke Literary World. 
 
 " A very pleasant novel to read, and one that once begun will be finished by 
 the reader. It is peculiarly fresh and breezy and out of doors." — St. Louit 
 Republicafi. 
 
 " There are charming descriptions of Italian scenery in this novel, excellent 
 drawings of titled and peasant folk, some good character sketches of English 
 people, and satire that is delicate and true. But the most interesting part is the 
 Catholicism." — New York Times. 
 
 " Never was a book written that contained more charming descriptive pas- 
 sages. Here and there through the book they appear like pictures illuminating 
 the story and happily transporting the writer to the Italian country." — New 
 Orleans Picayune. 
 
 " The story is an intensely interesting one, the plot is strong, the characters 
 natural, and the style clear, graceful, and attractive. It Is a work which will be 
 read with profit as well as pleasure in every home." — Baltimore Evening Nevit. 
 
 "It is a strong novel, full of human nature and passion, with a spice of the 
 romantic in the way of the disputed birth of the heroine and a band of mounted 
 Sandits." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 "A novel of more than usual interest." — Springfield Eefublican. 
 
 "An Italian tale of the highest order of literary merit. The pictures of life in 
 the land of bright skies and dark deeds are powerfully drawn, as with a masculine 
 hand, while the emotions are played upon with a touch delicately feminine. The 
 language is as fluent as the discernment is keen, and the reader is carried along by 
 an easy progress through the details of a rather sad plot as smoothly as the glide 
 of a gondola on a Venetian canal, constantly enjoying sensations as grateful as the 
 balmy air that soothes the feelings in the land of history and of romance. It is a 
 valuable addition to the literature of the ia.y."— Pittsburgh Commercial-Caxelt*,
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 Qne of tBe j^uanes. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE KI\0 UAMILTO.lf. 
 
 12mo. Extra Cloth. $1.25. 
 CHEiiLl* EDITION. Faper Coverti. 25 Ct». 
 
 •' Bonny Duane, the centre of interest, is a delightful young lady, 
 but seems more Philadelphian than of New York in her beliefs and 
 customs. The other characters, the gossips and the military men, 
 are well considered, and the hero is as perfect as one would like both 
 in beauty and in disposition. But the merit of the book lies not in 
 characters which are rather conventional, but in the scenes and the 
 swift movement of a striking plot. The author knows how to tell a 
 story." — Boston yournal. 
 
 "This clever story of an artillery post is based upon a dramatic 
 incident of military life. A keen eye for the humorous side, and an 
 adequate appreciation of dramatic effects, make it decidedly agree- 
 able reading." — Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 " An interesting novel of life in the garrison and navy-yard circles 
 of Pensacola, and ends as all good novels should." — New York Home 
 yournal. 
 
 "This is a tale of Florida life, full of adventure and thrilling with 
 interest. It is written in Mrs. Hamilton's best style, and deals with 
 the social customs of military life, varied by the adventures incident 
 to the camp. There are interwoven with the thread of the story 
 many bits of description of the scenery of the country where the plot 
 is laid." — Baltimore Herald. 
 
 " It is one of the best of recent novels, is well told, and holds the 
 reader's interest to the end." — German town Telegraph. 
 
 "A well-written and interesting novel, with a plot somewhat out 
 of the usual course. The story is a pleasant one, and will repay 
 those who select it for reading at the sea-side or mountain this 
 summer." — Toledo Blade. 
 
 " It is an intensely interesting book, as when did a story of army 
 life, cither in time of peace or war, fail to be ? It is a book than which 
 few are more entertaining." — Boston Globe. 
 
 " Eminently readable and entertaining." — Charlestta News and 
 Courier. 
 
 •,*For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, oa 
 receipt of the price by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 Nos. 715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia.
 
 MRS. H. LOYETT CAMERON'S NOVELS. 
 
 i6mo. Half cloth, 50 cents. Paper cover, 25 cents. 
 
 A LIFE'S MISTAKE. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron is a vivacious, entertaining, and pure writer. The 
 plot and movement of her stories are interesting, and they are all de- 
 servedly popular. 
 
 WORTH WINNING. 
 
 "A story that is well calculated to hold the reader's interest from 
 beginning to end. The style is good." — Savannah News. 
 
 "A very interesting story of English life, the characters being well 
 sketched and the plot skilfully developed." — Washington {D.C.) Public 
 Opinion. 
 
 VERA NEVILL; 
 
 Or, Poor Wisdom's Chance. 
 
 " There is unusual force in this novel. The character of the heroine 
 is drawn with great power, while the incidents fit into each other with 
 rare skill, leadmg up to the denouement with an artistic fitness not often 
 seen." — Peterson s Magazine. 
 
 " Is intensely dramatic. The style throughout is bright and read- 
 able." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 PURE GOLD. 
 
 " It is well written, and the book throughout is thoroughly interest- 
 ing." — Boston Globe. 
 
 " It is an interesting story." — Baltimore American. 
 
 "A good old English story of the present day, and can be read with 
 profit." — St. Louts Republican. 
 
 IN A GRASS COUNTRY. 
 
 A Story of Love and Sport. 
 
 " Is so fresh and fascinating that one cannot easily Be tempted to lay 
 the book aside without having read it from cover to cover." — Boston 
 Advertiser. 
 
 " Is an uncommonly good story of love and sport. It is, first of all, 
 entertaining. There is not a dull line in the whole story, nor a para- 
 graph to be skipped. The book is full of merriment." — New York Critic. 
 
 *** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage pre- 
 paid, on receipt of the price by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 7x5 and 7x7 Market St., Philadelphia.
 
 ■ PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 Popular Novels 
 
 By the Misses Warner. 
 
 THE WIDE, WIUE WORLD. i2mo. 694 pages. 
 Fine cloth. $1.50. 
 
 QUEECHY. i2mo. Two Illustrations. 806 pages. Fine 
 cloth. $1.50. 
 
 THE HIL.L.S OF THE SHATE.HUC. lamo. 516 
 pages. Fine cloth. J?i.50. 
 
 MY BROTHER'S KEEPER. i2mo. 3S5 pages. Fine 
 cloth. $\.^o. 
 
 DOL.L.4RS AXD CEHTS. i2mo. 515 pages. Fine 
 cloth. ^1.50. 
 
 DAISY. i2mo. 815 pages. Fine cloth. ^1.50. 
 
 SAY AIVD SEALi. i2mo. 1013 pages. Fine cloth. $1.^0. 
 
 K^Convpleie aetti of the above seven volumes, bound in uni- 
 form style, put up in neat boxes, I^ice, SlO.JiO, 
 
 The sale of thousands of the above volumes^attests their popularity. They 
 are stories of unusual interest, remarkably elevated'and natural in tone and 
 sentiment, full of refined and healthy thought, and exhibiting an intimate and 
 accurate knowledge of human nature. 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 By Elizabeth Wetherell. With Etchings by Frederick 
 
 DiELMAN. Complete in one volume. Small 8vo. Printed 
 
 on laid paper. Cloth, extra. $2.50. 
 
 But few stories have had such a sale as this work. It will be always read 
 by succeeding generations, and ever find a welco.-ne in American homes. The 
 additional attraction of Dielman's etchings will create a new demand for the 
 book. 
 
 *** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, on 
 receipt of the price, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 713 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 BOOKS FOR THE YOUNC, 
 
 ANIMALS, THEIR HOMES i^^ THEIR HABITS. 
 
 A Book for Young People. By Uncle Warren. "With 24 full- 
 page Illustrations. Small folio. Cloth, full gilt, and gilt 
 edges. ;j!2.oo. Boards. ^1.2$. 
 
 This volume, like Uncle Warren's about Birds, is especially written for the 
 young, and has a fund of information which will be highly enjoyed by them. 
 
 BIRDS, THEIR HOMES AND THEIR HAUNTS. 
 
 A Book for Young People. By Uncle Warren. With 24 full- 
 page Illustrations. Small folio. Cloth, full gilt, and gilt 
 edges. ^2.00. Boards. $1.25. 
 This work, carefully prepared for the young, contains an account of up- 
 ward of a hundred of the most popular birds. It is crowded with instruction 
 and entertainment, and well adapted to the taste of the children of the present 
 generation. 
 
 RBD BSAUTY. 
 
 A Story of the Pawnee Trail. By William O. Stoddard. 
 
 With Frontispiece. l2mo. Extra cloth. $1.2.^^. 
 
 A thrilling tale of pioneer life in the far West, written in Mr. Stoddard's 
 happiest vein. It is full of adventure and stirring incidents, and graphically 
 depicting the dane;ers surrounding first settlers in that region. 
 
 CHARLEY LUCKEN AT SCHOOL AND COLLEGE 
 
 By the Rev. H. C. Adams, M.A., author of "For James or 
 George," " School-Boy Honor," etc. With Illustrations by 
 J. FlNNEMORE. l2mo. Extra cloth. J 1. 50. 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN. 
 
 By George Macdonald. With Thirty Illustrations. i2m». 
 
 Extra cloth. ;S!l.25. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND CURDIE. 
 
 A New Juvenile. Companion volume to " The Princess and the 
 Goblin." With numerous full-page Illustrations. i2mo. Extra 
 cloth. ^1.25. 
 
 RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations, ismo. Exira cloth. $1.25. 
 
 AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 With 76 Illustrations, ismo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 
 THE FOUR VOLUMES IN A BOX, $5.00.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 NEW BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 THE BOY WANDERER; 
 
 Or. No Relations, From the French of Hector Malot. 
 With Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth, gilt. ^2.00. 
 
 This entertaining story gained Mr. Malot the Monthyon Prize of Virtue. 
 It was translated a number of years ago, and appeared under the second title, 
 which failed to give a clear idea of the book. The work is not only suitable 
 fot general reading, but is specially adapted to the taste of young people, and 
 its attractiveness in this respect is much increased by the introduction of nun- 
 erous engravings from the original French edition. 
 
 " An extremely fascinating story, written with unflagging force, and is full 
 of genuine pathos as of graceful and delicate descriptions. . . . This novel 
 fully deserves the honor that has been done it." — Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 ARMINIUS VAMBERY; 
 
 His Life and Adventures. Written by Himself. With Por- 
 trait and many Illustrations, One vol. Large l2mo. Cloth, 
 gilt. ^1.50. 
 
 This work contains a personal narrative of travel and adventures in Asia and 
 Europe, and is a book that will be read by all lovers of travel and adventures. 
 
 " A most fascinating work, full of interesting and curious experiences." — 
 Contemporary Review. 
 
 " Has all the fascination of a lively romance." — Daify Telegraph. 
 
 OUR YOUNG FOLKS' ENOTCLOPi;- 
 DIA OF TRAVEL. 
 
 A Book of Travel and Adventure. Consisting of " OuR Young 
 Folks Abroad" and "Our Young Folks in Africa" 
 combined in one volume. The Adventures of a Party of 
 young Americans in Europe, Algeria, and in South Central 
 Africa. By James D. McCabe. Illustrated vkfith over 500 
 Engravings. Imperial 8vo. Extra cloth. $2.50. 
 
 " This book is accurate, readable, and vivacious, and at once amusing and 
 Instructive. The illustrations are numerous and reliable, and add much to th« 
 value of the work." — Boston Courier. 
 
 " By a popular writer, who tells an interesting story of an Interesting land. 
 Such a book as young folks will understand and older folks enjoy." — Wheeling 
 Intelligencer. 
 
 BOYS' STORIES. 
 
 By AscooT R. Hope. With Illustrations. i2mo. Cloth. 
 ^51.50.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 "A VERT HANDSOME AND A VERT VALUABLE WORK." 
 
 Our Young Folks' Plutarch. 
 
 Especially Adapted for Boys and Girls. 
 
 Being all of Plutarch Told in a Simple, Easy, and 
 Pleasant Style. 
 
 By ROSAXIE KAUFMAN. 
 
 -WITH ILLTJSTRATIONS .A^ND Ml^PS. 
 
 Square Sto. Estra Cloth. $2.50. 
 
 " This is one of the most tasteful and substantially handsome 
 books for young readers that has come under our eyes for a long 
 time. The publishers have given these admirable stories the ad- 
 vantages of the best book-making, and they certainly deserve all 
 that art can do to make them attractive to children. We unhesi- 
 tatingly commend this volume as one of the very best which the 
 season will offer to book -buyers." — New York Christian Union. 
 
 " The book is well written, and can hold the attention of the 
 •Id as well as young through its pages." — Galley's Lady's Book, 
 
 " Young readers will find these old biographies far more inter- 
 esting and instructive than the vast majority of juvenile tales." — 
 Pittsburg Presbyterian Banner. 
 
 " Rosalie Kaufman has done good service in the popular cause 
 of juvenile literature. Plutarch is an author whose fascination 
 first shows itself upon the young, and then holds an abiding 
 place of honor even to extreme old age. What a treat lies before 
 the eager boy or thoughtful girl to whom Plutarch will introduce, 
 for the first time, the splendid personages of whom he writes." — 
 The American. 
 
 *^* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage 
 prepaid, on receipt of the price, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PubUshers, 
 
 i 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia,
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 AN INSTRUCTIVE BOOK FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 OUR YOUNG FOLKS' JOSEPHDS. 
 
 The ADtiqaities of the Jews, and the Jewish Wars of Flavias Josephss. 
 Edited by WILLIAM SHEPARD. 
 
 With Eight IlkstrationB. Large Ootavo, Extra cloth, gilt. $2.50, 
 
 " One would have thought that there was little or nothing in the history of 
 'The Jewish Wars,' as related by Josephus, that could be made readable for 
 young people. Yet Mr. Shepard has succeeded in making it so, and to a very 
 marked degree. In his ' Young Folks' Josephus' he has admirably simplified 
 the story of his people which that ancient Jewish historian gave to the Romans 
 some eighteen centuries ago, omitting such parts as have no special interest, 
 and giving to the narrative a charm and picturesqueness well fitted to arrest and 
 to hold the attention of young readers." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 "Mr Shepard, in simplifying Josephus, has met a want of the times. 
 These old masterpieces of literature which it used to be thought only mature 
 minds could comprehend, rewritten into simpler language for young readers 
 cannot fail of bringing about grand results. The ' Young Folks' Josephus' is 
 written in language that any scholar in the fourth reader class can readily un- 
 derstand and enjoy." — Chautauguan , MeadznlU, Pa. 
 
 "Adapting the text from the Etory of the Old Testament as written by 
 Josephus, Mr. William Shepard presents an interesting volume for the use of 
 young people. The illustrations, reductions from Dore, add much to the ap- 
 pearance of the book." — NeTv York Titnes. 
 
 "A sample of the commendable work which is being done in providing 
 valuable literature for the young is shown in ' Our Young Folks' Josephus,' a 
 simplified version of the Jewish historian, written by William Shepard. 'Ihe 
 book comprises a brief life of Josephus, a chronological table of the leading 
 events in Jewish history from 2078 B.C. to 70 A.D., and the substance of the 
 two works of Josephus, ' The Antiquity of the Jews' and * The Jewish Wars.* 
 Mr. Shepard has reproduced the narrative of the Jewish writer in a captivat- 
 ing form. His style is a model of perspicuity and compression, and will be 
 apt to enchain the reader by its charm alone. A number of illustrations after; 
 Dor^ are scattered through the text." — Chicago Dial. 
 
 "A specially valuable book for boys is ' Our Young Folks' Josephus,* be- 
 ing an adaptation of the 'Antiquities of the Jews' and ' The Jewish Wars' of 
 Flavins Josephus, by William Shepard. Mr. Shepard has simplified the story 
 of the Jews as told by Josephus, so that the youngest child can easily compre- 
 hend the facts. The present of a book of this character to a boy or girl is a 
 very sensible act. The work is not of an ephemeral nature. While the lan- 
 guage is simplified, it contains the meat and substance of 'Josephus,' and will 
 remain a standard work." — Waskingion Post. 
 
 *♦* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage, 
 prepaid, on receipt of price, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 715 and 717 Market St., PliUadelphia*
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 ■ Ill'- ' ■ ■— - ■- • <* 
 
 Our Young Folks' Roman Empire. 
 
 By William Shepard. Uniform with "Young Folks' Plutarch" 
 and "Josephus." 8vo. With Sixteen Illustrations and Maps. 
 Extra cloth, gilt. ^2.50. 
 
 " The author, in his brief preface, explains that the features of his book 
 which adapt it to juvenile perusal are that it is written in homely English, 
 that it dwells very lightly upon those darker features of social life in the Roman 
 Empire which make a more detailed picture of that period unfit for young 
 people, and that it avoids controverted questions, especially in matters of sec- 
 tarian concern. The work fairly justifies all these claims, and oflFers a clear 
 and well-arranged narrative, which older readers, who have no time for Gib- 
 bon, may peruse with instruction and interest. There are some tolerably 
 good illustrations and a satisfactory map." — Ne-vu York Critic. 
 
 " The author, confining himself to admitted facts of history, tells the story 
 and characteristics of the succeeding reigns in manner to bring out qualities of 
 men and events and make his young reader interested in and appreciate them, 
 the while begetting in him a love of the study of history. No work of the 
 kind could be more desirable, and it will secure the favor of all who examine 
 it carefully. It contains 478 pages, with a reproduction of the statue of Julius 
 Caesar, fifteen full-page illustrations, and a map. It is printed on fine paper, 
 and bound in strong covers, having holiday attractiveness." — Boston Globe. 
 
 " William Shepard has done a good work for old folks as well as young. 
 The book evinces a good deal of painstaking reading of the standard works on 
 Roman history, and an unusual tact in stating simply and clearly matters that 
 have often been mystified by mere rhetorical embellishments." — Philadelphia 
 Times. 
 
 " The author of this splendid volume has fully accomplished his purpose 
 in preparing a history of the Roman empire adapted to juvenile perusal. That 
 such a task is no light one can be readily understood when it is remembered 
 that only the few and specially gifted succeed. Thus, from his discussion of 
 the causes which led to the formation of the empire up to those which brought 
 its fall, he has collated a succinct history of events, brmging into prominence 
 only those pleasing dramatic pictures in which the youthful mind would most 
 naturally find attraction and entertainment. The illustrations are spirited." 
 — St. Louis Republican. 
 
 " We are surprised sometimes to notice the wonderful voluntary interest 
 manifested in the study of ancient history. This book answers our queries in 
 that regard. The story of the Roman empire, from its mythical beginning 
 through all the centuries of struggle for greatness to the fall and consequent 
 breaking up <if its accumulated strength, is most charmingly told. There is no 
 reason why our young people should devote their time to the reading of worth- 
 less publications, when the very best, containing the facts of history, the deeds 
 of great and mighty men, the destinies of nations, are written in such fasci- 
 nating style, bringing them, so to speak, in contact with the people ot centuries 
 ago. Every teacher of history should make this work a companion, because 
 a careful siudy ofit will enable him to present the facts of history in a manner 
 to please and properly inform the youthful mind." — Chaulauguan, Cin., O. 
 
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