MADCAP VIOLET
BY
WILLIAM BLACK
AUTHOR OF
YoLANDE," "Strange Adventures OF A Phaeton," "Sunrise,
"MACLEOD OF Dare," "Shandon Bells," etc., etc.
NEW YORK:
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY,
14 AND 16 Vesey Street.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. " YOU DEVIL ! " I
II. CARPE DIEM 6
III. A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER ,.... I3
IV. FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME 22
V. SUBTERRANEAN FIRES 36
VI. CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH 46
VII. A SUMMER day's RIDE 54
VIII. ENGLAND, FAREWELL ! 71
IX. CCELUM NON ANIMUM 75
X. A MESSAGE HOME 79
XI. HOME 89
XII. WALPURGIS-NIGHT 99
XIII. FIRE AND WATER II 3
XIV. " LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIN " II9
XV. MISTAKEN GUESSES 1 26
XVI. AMONG SOME PICTURES I37
XVII. FROM NORTH TO SOUTH 146
XVIII. CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B r52
XIX. ABRA 170
XX. SETTING OUT I76
XXI. " RAIN, WIND, AND SPEED " 1 83
XXII. THE MAGIC MERGANSER I90
XXIII. A CRISIS 206
XXIV. LOVE WENT A-SAILING 2x6
XXV. FOREBODINGS 223
XXVI. LOCH CORUISK 235
XXVII. UNDER THE BLACK CUCHULLINS 241
XXVIIL CROSS-CURRENTS 244
XXIX. HOMEWARD BOUND 256
XXX. CHALLENGED 267
XXXI. " FAREWELL ! FAREWELL !"...! 274
M45S16
IV.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
XLIV.
XLV.
XLVI.
XLVII.
PAGE.
IN LONDON 280
THE LAURELS AT WOMBLEY FLAT. . 29I
AN ENCOUNTER 300
TIDINGS 306
IN A THEATRE 312
AN EPITAPH 318
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT 324
" SOUL TO SOUL ! " 337
UNINVITED GUESTS 34I
A BRINGER OF EVIL 349
REPENTANCE 356
AT LAST ! 367
JOY AND FEAR : 375
"O GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH SOUTH!". 379
hope's WINGS „ 384
DU SCHMERZENSREICHE ! 390
MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER I.
"you devil!*
There was a great silence in the school-room. A young
girl of sixteen or seventeen, tall and strikingly handsome in
figure, with abundant masses of raven-black hair, dark eyes
under darker eyelashes, and proud and well-cut lips, walked
up to the school-mistress's table. There was scarcely any
thing of malice or mischief visible in the bold carelessness
of her face.
The school-mistress looked up from some accounts she had
been studying.
" Well, Miss North ? " she said, with marked surprise.
" I have a question to ask, if you please, Miss Main," said
the handsome young lady, with great coolness and delibera-
tion (and all the school was now listening intently). " I wish
to ask what sort of society we are' expected to meet when we
go abroad, and whether foreigners are in the habit of using
language which is not usually applied to ladies in this country.
Half an hour ago, when we were having our German conver-
sation with Dr. Siedl, he made use of a very odd phrase, and I
believe it was addressed to me. He said, 'You devil ! ' I
only wish to ask, Miss Main, whether we must be prepared to
hear such phrases in the conversation of foreigners."
The school-mistress's thin, gray, care-worn face grew red
with mortification. Yet, what could she do ? There was
nothing openly rebellious in the demeanor of this incorrigible
girl — nothing, indeed, but a cool impe^j;inence, which was
outwardly most respectful.
" You may return to your seat. Miss North," she said, rising.
" I will inquire into this matter at once."
Miss Main, who was the proprietor as well as the head-
mistress of the school, was greatly perturbed by this incident ;
2 MADCAP VIOLET.
and she was quite nervous and excited when she went into
the rot>m; where die German master still sat, correcting some
exercises; When' he- saw* her enter, he rose at once; he
guesse^L from her. oianner what had happened. The young
man-Hn the siTfJibby ; clonics was even more excited than she
was ; and why ? Because, two years before, he had left his
home in the old-fashioned little fortress of Nesse, in Silesia,
and he had bid good-bye then to a young girl whom he hoped
to made his wife. England was a rich country. A few years
of absence would put money in his pocket ; and he would
return with a good English pronunciation, which would be of
value. So he came to England: but he did not find the
streets paved with gold. It was after long waiting that he got
his first appointment ; and that appointment was the German
mastership at Miss Main's school. At the present moment
he believed he had forfeited this one chance.
He came forward to her ; and she might have seen that
there was something very like tears in his pale-blue eyes.
" Yes, she has told you, and it is quite true," said he, throw-
ing out his hands. " What can I say ? But, if you will for-
gif it, I will apolochise to her — I was mad — I do not know
how I haf said soch a ting to a young lady ; but I will apolo-
chise to her, Meess Main — "
Miss Main had pulled herself together by this time.
" Really, I do not know what to do with her. Dr. Siedl,"
said she, in a sort of despairing way. " I have no doubt she
irritated you beyond endurance ; and although I am afraid
you must apologize to her, I can quite understand how you
were maddened by her. Sometimes I do think she is a devil
— that she has no human soul in her. She thinks of nothing
but mischief from morning till night ; and the worst of it is,
that she leads the whole school into mischief ; for all the girls
appear to be fascinated by her, and will do any thing she asks.
I don't understand it. You know how often I have threatened
her with expulsion : she does not mind. Sometimes I think
I must really get rid of her ; for it is almost impossible to
preserve the discipline of the school while she is in it."
The German master was so overjoyed to find his own
position secured, and his offense practically condoned, that he
grew generous.
" And she is so clafer," said he.
" Clever ? " repeated the school-mistress. " During the
whole of my twenty-five years' experience in schools, I have
never seen a scholar to equal her. There is nothing she can
not do when she takes it into her head to do it. You saw
YOU DEVIL! 3,
how she ran up her marks in French and German last term — •
and ahnost at the end of the term — merely because she had
a spite against Miss Wolf, and was determined she should
not have the two prizes that she expected. And that is
another part of the mischief she does. Whenever she takes
a special liking to a girl she does her exercises for her in the
evening. It costs her no trouble ; and then she has them
ready to go with her in every frolic. I am sure I don't know
what to do with her."
The school-mistress sighed.
" You see," she added, with a frank honesty, " it is naturally
a great thing for a school like mine to have the daughter of
Sir Acton North in it. Every body has heard of him : then
the girls go home and tell their mothers that a daughter of
Lady North is at our school ; then the mothers — you know
what some people are — talk of that to their friends, and
speak of Lady North as if they had known her all their
lives. I do not know Lady North myself, but I am sure she is
a wise woman not to have this girl in the same house with her."
After a few words more, Miss Main went back to the
school-room ; and we must do likewise, to narrate all that
befell in her absence. First of all, it was the invidious duty
of a small, fair-haired, gentle-eyed girl, called Amy Warrener,
to take a slate and write down on it the names of any of her
companions who spoke while Miss Main was out of the room,
failing to do which she was deprived of her marks for the
day. Now, on this occasion, a pretty considerable tumult
arose, and the little girl, looking frightened, and pretty nearly
ready to cry, did not know what to do.
" Yes, you mean, spiteful little thing ! " cried a big, fat,
roseate girl, called Georgina Wolf, " put down all our names,
do ! I've a good mind to box your ears ! "
She menaced the little girl, but only for a brief second.
With a rapid " Have you really ? " another young lady —
the tallest in the school — appeared on the scene ; Miss Wolf
received a ringing slap on the side of her head, which made
her jump back, shrieking. The school was awe-struck.
Never had such a thing occurred before. But presently one
girl laughed, then another; then there was a general titter
over Miss Wolf's alarm and discomfiture ; during which the
tall young lady called out,
" Amy Warrener, put us all down, and me at the head ; for
we are going to have a little amusement. Young ladies, shall
I deliver a lecture to you on Old Calabar and our sewing-class ?
Young ladies, shall we have a little music ? "
4 MADCAP VIOLET.
She had suddenly assumed the prim demeanor of Miss
Main. With great gravity she walked over to the door, locked
it, and put the key in her pocket. Then she went to her own
desk, smuggled something into a light shawl, and proceeded
to the mistress's table, behind which she took her stand.
"Young ladies," she said, pretending to look at them
through an imaginary pair of eyeglasses, " you are aware that
it is the shocking practice of the little boys and girls in many
districts of Africa to go about without clothes ; and you are
aware of the Camberwell Society for helping the missionaries
to take out a few garments to these poor little things. Now,
xny dears, it is a useful thing for a seminary like mine to gain
a reputation for being charitable ; and if we manage among
ourselves to send from month to month parcels of beautifully
sewed garments, every one must get to know how well I
teach you, my dears, to handle your needle. But then, my
dears, you must not all expect to join in this good work. You
all get the credit of being charitable ; but some of you are
not so smart with your needle as others ; and so I think it
better to have the sewing of these garments intrusted to one
or two of you, who ought to feel proud of the distinction.
Do you understand me, my dears ? Now some of you, I
have no doubt, would like to see what sort of young people
wear the beautiful dresses which your pocket-money and your
industry send out to Africa. I have here the little pink frock
which you. Miss Morrison, finished yesterday ; and if you
will grant me a moment's patience — "
She took the pink frock from the table, and for a second or
two stooped down behind the table-cover. When she rose, it
appeared that she had smuggled a large black doll into the
school ; and now the black and curly head of the doll
surmounted the pink cotton garment with its white frills.
There was a yell of laughter. She stuck the doll on the edge
of the table ; she put a writing-desk behind it to support it ;
she hit it on the side of the head when it did not sit straight.
An indescribable tumult followed : all possible consequences
were cast aside.
" Now, my dears, what hymn shall we sing to entertain the
little stranger ? Shall it be ' Away down South in Dixie ? ' "
The school had gone mad. With one accord the girls be-
gan to shout the familiar air to any sort of words, led by the
tall young lady behind the table, who flourished a ruler in
place of a baton. She did not know the words herself ; she
simply led the chorus with any sort of phrases.
YOU DEVIL! 5
" Oh it's Dixie's land that I was born in,
Early on a frosty morning,
In the land ! In the land ! In the land !
In the land ! "
" A little more spirit, my clears ! A little louder, if you
please ! "
" Oh I wish I was in Dixie,
Oho! oho!
In Dixie's land to take my stand,
And live and die in Dixie's land,
Oho! oho! _
Away down South in Dixie ! "
"That's better, ^ow pianissimo — the sadness of thinking
about Dixie — you understand ? "
They sung it softly ; and she pretended to wipe the eyes
of the negro doll in the pink dress.
"Now, fortissimo !^^ she cried, flourishing her baton.
" Going, going, for the last time. Take the word from me,
my dears ! "
" Oh I wish I was in Dixie,
Oho! oho!
In Dixie's land to take my stand,
And live and die in Dixie's land,
Oho! oho!
Away down South in Dixie !"
But the singing of this verse had been accompanied by
certain strange noises.
" Open the door. Miss North, or I will break it open ! "
called the mistress from without, in awful tones.
" My dears, resume your tasks — instantly ! " said Miss
Violet North ; and with that she snatched the doll out of the
pink costume, and hurriedly flung it into her private desk.
Then she walked to the door alone.
The hubbub had instantly subsided. All eyes were bent
upon the books before them ; but all ears were listening for
the dreadful interview between Violet North and the school-
mistress.
The tall young girl, having made quite sure that her com-
panions were quiet and orderly, opened the door. The mis-
tress marched in in a terrible rage — in such a rage that she
could hardly speak.
" Miss North," she cried, " what is the meaning of this
disgraceful uproar ? "
6 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Uproar, Miss Main ? " said she, with innocent wonder.
" The young ladies are very quiet."
" What is the meaning of your having boUed this door ?
How dare you bolt the door ? "
" Yes, I thought there was something the matter with the
lock," she answered, scanning the door critically. " But you
ought not to be vexed at that. And now I will bid you
good-morning."
Thus she saved herself from being expelled. She coolly
walked into an adjacent room, put on her hat, took her small
umbrella, and went out. As it was a pleasant morning, she
thought she would go for a walk.
CHAPTER n.
CARPE DIEM.
This girl was straight as a dart ; and she knew how to suit
her costume to her fine figure, her bright and clear complex-
ion, and her magnificent black hair. She wore a tight-fitting,
tight-sleeved dress of gray homespun, and a gray hat with a
scarlet feather — this bold dash of red being the only bit of
pronounced color about her. There was no self-conscious
trickery of ornament visible on her costume ; indeed, there
was no self-consciousness of any sort about the girl. She
had a thoroughly pagan delight in the present moment. The
past was nothing to her ; she had no fear of the future ; life
was enjoyable enough from hour to hour, and she enjoyed it
accordingly. She never paused to think how handsome she
was, for she was tolerably indiiferent as to what other people
thought of her. She w^as well satisfied with herself, and well
satisfied with the world, especially when there was plenty of
fun going about; her fine health gave her fine spirits; her
bold, careless, self-satisfied nature took no heed of criticism
or reproof, and caused her to laugh at the ordinary troubles
of girl-life ; not even this great fact that she had practically
run away from school was sufficient to upset her superb equa-
nimity.
Incessit regina. There was nothi.ng of the gawky and sham-
bling school-girl in her free, frank step, and her erect and
graceful carriage. When she met either man or woman, she
looked him or her straight in the face ; then probably turned
her eyes away indifferently to regard the flight of a rook, or
CARPE DIEM. 7
the first blush of rose-color on a red hawthorn. For, on
leaving school, Miss North found herself in the higher reach-
es of Camberwell Grove, and in this richly wooded district
the glad new life of the spring was visible in the crisp, un-
curled leaves of the chestnuts, and in the soft green of the
mighty elms, and in the white and purple of the lilacs in the
gardens of the quaint, old-fashioned houses. Never had any
spring come to us so quickly as that one. All England had
lain black and cold under the grip of a hard and tenacious
winter ; even the end of March found us with bitter east
winds; icy roads, and leafless trees. Then all of a sudden
came south winds and warm rains ; and the wet, gray skies
parted at times to give us a brilliant glimpse of blue. The
work of transformation was magical in its swiftness. Far
away in secret places the subtle fire of the earth upsprung in
pale primroses, in sweet violets, and in the glossy and golden
celandine that presaged the coming of buttercups into the
meadows. The almond-trees, even in suburban gardens,
shone out with a sudden glow of pink and purple. The lilac
bushes opened their green leaves to the warm rains. The
chestnuts unclasped their resinous buds. And then, with a
great wild splendor of blue sky and warm sunlight, the boun-
tiful, mild, welcome spring came fully upon us ; and all the
world was filled with the laden blossoms of fruit-trees, and
the blowing of sweet winds, and the singing of thrushes and
blackbirds. To be abroad on such a morning was better
than sitting over an Italian exercise in Miss Main's school-
room.
" What sort of tree is that 1 " Miss Violet North asked of
a little boy. A particular tree in one of the old-fashioned
gardens had struck her fancy.
" Dunnow," said the boy sulkily.
" Then why don't you know, you little donkey you ? " she
said, indifferently, passing on.
She crossed Grove Lane, and went along the summit of
Champion Hill, under the shade of a magnificent row of
chestnuts. Could leaves be greener, could the sweet air be
sweeter, could the fair spring sunshine be more brilliant in
the remotest of English valleys ? Here were country-looking
houses, with sloping gardens, and little fancy farms attached ;
here were bits of woodland, the remains of the primeval for-
est, allowed to grow up into a sort of wilderness ; here were
rooks flying about their nests, and thrushes busy on the
warm green lawns, and blackbirds whirring from one laurel
bush to another. She walked along to the end of this thor-
8 MADCAP VIOLET.
oughfare until she came to a lane which led abruptly down
hill, facing the south. Far below her lay the green meadows
of Uulwich; and beyond the trees, and looking pale and
spectral in the glare of the heat, rose the towers of the Crys-
tal Palace. That was enough. She had nothing particular
to do. Walking was a delight to her on such a morning.
Without any specific resolve, she indolently set out for the
Crystal Palace.
There was indolence in her purpose, but none in her gait.
She walked smartly enough down the steep and semi-private
thoroughfare which is called Green Lane ; she crossed the
pleasant meadows by the narrow pathway; she got out upon
the Dulwich Road, and so continued her way to the Palace.
But she was not to reach the goal of her journey without an
adventure.
She was just passing the gate-way leading up to a large
house, when a negro page, very tall, very black, and wearing
a bottle-green livery with scarlet cuffs and collar, came out
of the garden into the road, followed by a little terrier. The
appearance of this lanky black boy amused her ; and so, as a
friendly mark of recognition, she clrew her umbrella across the
ground in front of the terrier just as he was passing, and
said, " Pfst ! " But this overture was instantly rejected by
the terrier, which turned upon her with voluble rage, yelping,
barking, coming nearer and nearer, and threatening to spring
upon her. For a second she retreated in dismay ; then, as
she saw that the negro boy was more frightened than her-
self, she became wildly angry.
" Why don't you take your dog away ? " she cried ; " you —
you stick of black sealing-wax ? "
In this moment of dire distress help came to her from an
unexpected quarter. A young gentleman quickly crossed the
road, approached the irate terrier from the rear, and gave the
animal a sharp cut with his walking-stick. The rapidity of this
flank movement completely took the terrier by surprise ; with
a yelp, more of alarm and astonishment than of pain, it fled
into the garden, and was seen no more.
Violet North looked up ; and now her face was consciously
red, for she had been ignominiously caught in a fright.
" I am sorry you should have been alanned," said the young
man ; and he had a pleasant voice.
" Yes, the nasty little brute ! " said she ; and then, recol-
lecting that that was not the manner in which a stranger
should be addressed, she said, " I thank you very much for
driving the dog away : it was very kind of you."
CARPE DIEM. 9
" Oh, it was nothing," said he ; " I am ver}' glad I happened
to be by." He Hfted his hat, said " Good-morning ! " and
passed on in front of her.
She looked after him. Had she ever seen so handsome,
so beautiful a young man ? Never !
Just at the present moment several of our English artists
are very fond of painting a peculiar type of feminine beauty
— a woman with a low and broad forehead, large, indolent,
sleepy blue eyes, thin cheeks, short upper lip, full under lip,
somewhat square jaw, and magnificent throat. It is a beauti-
ful head enough — languid, unintellectual, semi-sensuous, but
beautiful. Now this young man was as near as possible a
masculine version of that indolent, beautiful, mystic-eyed
woman, whose face one meets in dusky corners of drawing
rooms, or in the full glare of exhibitions. He was no roseate
youth, flabby-cheeked and curly-locked, such as a school-girl
might try to paint in crude water-colors. His appearance was
striking ; there was something refined, special, characteristic
about his features ; and, moreover, he had not cropped his
hair as our modern youths are wont to do — the short wavy
locks of light brown nearly reached his shirt-collar. For the
rest he was sparely built, perhaps about five feet eight, square-
shouldered, light and active in figure. Was there any harm
in a school girl admitting to herself that he was a very good-
looking young man ?
Walking about the Crystal Palace by one's self is not the
most exciting of amusements. The place was ver^' familiar
to Miss North ; and she had lost interest in the copper-colored
aborigines, and in the wonderful pillar of gold. But she had
one little bit of enjoyment. She caught sight of a small boy
who, when nobody was looking, was trying to " job " one of
the cockatoos with the end of a toy-whip. Well, also when
nobody was looking, she took occasion to get behind this
little boy, and then she gave him a gentle push, which was
just sufficient to let the cockatoo, making a downward dip at
his enemy's head, pull out a goodly tuft of hair. There was
a frightful squeal of alarnt from the boy ; but in a second she
was round in some occult historical chamber, studying with
becoming gravity the lesson taught us by the tombs of kings.
Then she became very hungry, and she thought she would
go and have some luncheon. When she entered the dining-
room she was a little shy — not much ; but she was speedily
attended by a friendly old waiter, who quite put her at her
ease. When he asked her what she would take, she was on
the point of answering, " Cold beef, if you please," as she
xo MADCAP VIOLET.
would have done at school ; but she suddenly bethought her-
self that, being in a restaurant, she might have something
better, and so she asked for the bill of fare, scanned it, and
finally ordered an oyster pate and a couple of lamb cutlets,
with green pease and tomatoes.
" And what will you take to drink, miss ? " said the old
waiter.
" Some water, thank you," she said ; but directly afterward
she added, " Wait a moment ; I think I will take a glass of
sherry, if you please."
So the waiter departed ; and she turned to glance at her
surroundings. The first thing she noticed, much to her sur-
prise and mortification, was that she had inadvertently sat down
at the table at which, on the opposite side and farther along,
the young man was having lunch to whom she had spoken in
the morning. She was annoyed. What must he think of a
young lady who went wandering about the country by herself,
and coolly walked into restaurants to order cutlets and
sherry? It was rather a strange circumstance that Miss
North should be troubled by this conjecture ; for she rarely,
if ever, paid the least attention to what people might think of
her; but on this occasion she began to wish she might have
some opportunity of explaining her conduct.
The opportunity occurred. That friendly old waiter had ap-
parently forgotten the order ; anyhow, the girl sat there patient-
ly, and nothing was brought to her. She wished to attract
the attention of the waiter, and made one or two attempts, but
failed. Seeing the plight she was in, the young gentleman
on the other side of the table made bold to address her, and
said,
'■' I beg your pardon, but I fear they are not attending to
you. Will you allow me speak to one of the waiters 1 "
" I wish you would," she said, blushing a little bit.
The young man walked off and got hold of the manager,
to whom he made his complaint. Then he came back ; and
Miss North was more anxious then ever to justify herself in
his eyes. The notion was becoming quite desperate that he
might go away thinking she knew so little of propriety as to
be in the habit of frequenting restaurants all by herself.
" I am very much obliged to you — again," she said, with
something of an embarrassed smile. " I believed they meant
to punish me for going away from school."
" From school ? " said he, doubtfully ; and he drew his chair
a little nearer.
. " Yes," said she, resolved at any cost to put herself right
CARPE DIEM. u
in his opinion. " I ought to have been at school. I — I
walked away — and one gets hungry, you know. I — I thought
it was better to come in here."
" Oh yes, certainly," said he ; "why not ? "
" I have always been left a good deal to myself," said this
anxious young lady, leading up to her grafid coup. " My
father is always away looking after railways, and I dislike my
step-mother, so that I am never at home. Of course, you
have heard of my father's name — Sir Acton North ? "
Now she was satisfied. He would know she was not some
giddy maid-servant out for a holiday. She uttered the words
clearly, so that there should be no mistake, and perhaps a
trifle proudly ; then she waited for him to withdraw his chair
again, and resume his luncheon. But he did nothing of the
sort.
" Oh yes," said he, with a respectful earnestness, " every
one has heard of Sir Acton North. I am very pleased that
— that I have been of any little service to you. I dare say,
now, you have heard of my father, too — George Miller 1 "
"No, I have not," she said, seriously, as though her ignor-
ance of that distinguished name were a grave blot on her
bringing up.
" Well, you know," said the handsome young man, meekly,
"he is pretty well known as a merchant, but better known as
a Protestant. He takes the chairs at meetings, and gives big
subscriptions, and all that kind of thing. I believe the Pope
can't sleep in his bed o' nights on account of him."
"I — I think I have heard of him," said Miss North, con-
scious that she ought to know something of so important a
person.
At this point she was distinctly of opinion that the conver-
sation should cease. Young ladies are not supposed to talk
to young gentlemen to whom they have not been introduced,
even although they may have heard of each other's parents
as being distinguished people. But George Miller the younger
seemed a pleasant young man, who had a frank smile, and an
obvious lack of stiffness and circumspection in his nature.
They had brought her the oyster pate ; now came the cutlets.
" That was the mistake you made," said he, venturing to
smile. " When you are in a hurry you should not order out-
of-the-way things, or they are sure to keep you waiting."
" I never came into a restaurant by myself before," she
said, with some asperity. Would this foolish young man per-
sist in the notion that she habitually ordered luncheon in such
a fashion ?
12 MADCAP VIOLET.
" What school was it you left, may I ask ? " said he, with a
friendly interest in his eyes.
" Oh ! " she answered, with a return to her ordinary careless
manner, " Miss Main's Seminary, in Camberwell Grove. I
knew she was going to expel me. We had had a little amuse-
ment when she was out of the room — a little too much noise,
in fact and though she has often threatened to expel me, I
saw by her face she meant mischief this time. So I left.
What a pleasant morning it was for a walk ! "
" Yes," said he, looking rather puzzled ; " but — but — what
are you going to do now ? "
" Now ? Oh, I don't know ! There will be plenty of time
for me to settle where I am going when I get back to town.''
" Are you going back to London all by yourself ? "
" I came here by myself : why not ? "
" Well," said he, wdth some real anxiety, " it is rather an
unusual thing for a young lady to be going about like that. I
think you ought to — to go home — "
" My father is in Yorkshire ; I would rather not go to see
my step-mother. We should have rather a warm evening of
it, I imagine," she added, frankly.
"Where, then ? "
" Oh, I know where to go ! " she said, indifferently. *' There
is a little girl at the school I am ver)-- fond of, and she is very
fond of me ; and she and her mother live with her uncle in
Camberwell Grove, not far from the school. They will take
me in, I know ; they are very kind people."
By this time she had finished her luncheon — the young man
had neglected his altogether — and she asked the waiter for
her bill. She certainly had plenty of money in her purse.
She gave the old gentleman, who had systematically not at-
tended to her, a shilling for himself.
"Would you allow me to see you into a carriage," timidly
suggested Mr. George Miller, " if you are going up by rail ? "
" Oh no ! " she said, with a sweet smile ; " I can take care
of myself."
Which was true.
" Then," said he, " Miss North, I am afraid I can not claim
you as an acquaintance — because — because our meeting has
been rather — rather informal, as it were ; but would you allow
me, supposing 1 were introduced to you — "
" Oh, I should like you to know my father well enough,"
said she honestly.
" That was not what I meant exactly," said he. " I meant
that if I got to know your father, that would be a sort of
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER. 13
equivalent — don't you think ? — to a formal introduction to
you."
The girl very nearly burst out laughing.
" I think we are pretty well introduced already," said she,
" by means of a terrier-dog and a stupid waiter. Thank you
very much for your kindness. Good-afternoon."
She was going away with her ordinary erect carriage and
careless bearing, when he suddenly put out his hand to shake
hands with her. She had risen by this time. Well, she could
not be guilty of the discourtesy of a refusal ; and so she al-
lowed him to shake hands with her.
" I hope this is not the last time we shall meet," said he,
with an earnestness which rather surprised her, and which
she did not fail to remember when she got into a quiet corner
of a railway carriage. Did he really wish to see her again }
Was there a chance of their meeting 1 What would properly
conducted people say of her adventures of that morning .?
She did not care much. She got out at Denmark Hill
Station, and placidly walked up to the house of Mr. James
Drummond, which was situated near the top of Camberwell
Grove.
CHAPTER HI.
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER.
This house was rather like a toy-cottage — a long, low, ramb-
ling-place, with a veranda all round, ivy trained up the pil-
lars, French windows, small peaked gables, some few trees
and bushes in front, and a good garden behind. Miss North
did not wait for an answer to her summons. She bethought
herself that she would be sure to find Mr. Drummond, or his
widowed sister, Mrs. Warrener, or his niece. Amy Warrener,
in the garden ; and so she made her way round the house by
a side path. Here, indeed, she found Mr. Drummond. He
was seated in the veranda, in a big reading-chair ; one leg
was crossed over the other ; he was smoking a long clay pipe ;
but instead of improving his mind by reading, he was simply
idling and dreaming — looking out on the bushes and the blos-
som-laden trees, over which a dusky red sky was now begin-
ning to burn.
He jumped up from his seat when he saw her, and rather
unwisely began to laugh. He was a tall, thin, somewhat un-
14 MADCAP VIOLET.
gainly man, with curiously irregular features, the expression
of which seldom remained the same for a couple of seconds
together. Yet there was something attractive about this
strange face— about its keen, vivacious intelligence and its
mobile tendency tjo laugh ; and there was no doubt about the
fine character of the eyes — full, clear, quick to apprehend, and
yet soft and winning. Violet North had a great liking and
regard for this friend of hers ; but sometimes she stood a lit-
tle in awe of him. She could not altogether follow his quick,
playful humor; she was always suspecting sarcasm behind
his drolleries ; it was clear to her that, whatever was being
talked about, he saw far more than she or any body else saw,
for he would suddenly burst into a prodigious roar of merri-
ment over some point or other wholly invisible to her or to
his sister. The man, indeed, had all the childish fun of a
man of genius ; and a man of genius he undoubtedly was,
though he had never done any thing to show to the world,
nor was likely to do any thing. Early in life he had been
cursed by a fatal inheritance of somewhere about 600/. a year.
He was incurably indolent — that is to say, his brain was on
the hop, skip, and jump from morning till night, performing
all manner of intellectual feats for his own private amuse-
ment ; but as for any settled work, or settled habits, he would
have nothing of either. He was a very unworldly person —
careless of the ordinary aims of the life around him ; but he
had elaborated a vast amount of theories to justify his indo-
lence. He belonged to a good family ; he never called on
his rich or distinguished relatives. At college he was cele-
brated as a brilliant and ready debater, and as a capricious,
whimsical, but altogether delightful conversationalist ; he was
fairly studious, and obviously clear-headed ; yet no one ever
left a university with less of glory surrounding him. He had
a large number of friends, and they all loved him ; but they
knew his faults. He had no more notion of time than a bird
or a butterfly ; he was scarcely ever known to catch the train
for which he set out : but, then, with ill-temper on the part of
a companion could withstand the perfectly happy fashion in
which he would proceed to show that a railway-station was an
excellent place for reflection ? Then, he had a bewildering
love of paradox — especially puzzling to a certain ingenuous
young lady who sometimes sat and mutely listened to his
monologues. Then, he was very unfair in argument ; he
would patiently lead his opponent on in the hope that at last
this unprincipled debater was about to be driven into a corner
— when, lo ! there was some sort of twitch about the odd face,
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER. 15
a glimmer of humor in the fine eyes, and with some prepos-
terous joke he was off, like a squirrel up a tree, leaving his
antagonist discomfited below.
He led his sister a hard life of it. The pale, little, fair-
haired woman had a great faith in her brother ; she believed
him to be the best and the cleverest man that ever lived ; and
no one with less good-nature than herself could have listened
patiently to the whimsical extravagances of this incorrigible
talker. For the worst about him was that he made remarks
at random — suggested by the book he was reading, or by
some passing circumstance — and then, when his puzzled in-
terlocutor was trying to comprehend him, he was off to some-
thing else, quite unconscious that he had left the other a con-
tinent or a century behind him. Sometimes, indeed, he made
a wild effort to show that this or that abrupt observation was
apropos to something — which it never was.
" Do you know," he would say to his patient sister, " I
fancy I see something in Fawcett of a sort of political Shel-
ley."
A moment's silence.
"Yes, James," his sister would say, seriously, "but in what
way .'• "
Another moment's silence.
" Oh, about Fawcett ? Well, I was thinking, do you know,
that if the House of Commons were to introduce a bill secur-
ing universal suffrage, the little terrier here would die of de-
spair and disgust. That is the one weak point about dogs —
you can't convey to them any impression of moral grandeur.
It is all fine clothes with them, and gentlemanly appearance ;
the virtues hidden beneath a shabby costume are unknown to
them. Frosty, here, would wag her tail and welcome the big-
gest swindler that ever brought out sham companies ; but she
would be suspicious of the honest workman, and she would
snap at the calves of the most deserving of beggars. Sarah,
you really must cease that habit of yours of indiscriminate
almsgiving — fancy the impostors 3^ou must be encouraging — "
His sister opened her eyes in mild protest. " Why, it was
only yesterday you gave that old Frenchman half a crown — '
"Well," said he, uncomfortably, "well — you see — I thought
that — that even if he was shamming, he looked such an un-
fortunate poor devil — but that is only a single case. There
is a systematic outrage on your part, Sarah, on the common
principles of prudence — "
" You do it far more than I do," she said, with a quiet
16 MADCAP VIOLET.
laugh ; and so she went her way, only she had got no infor-
mation as to how Mr. Fawcett resembled a political Shelley.
Only one word needs to be added at present to this hasty
and imperfect description of a bright and sparkling human
individuality, the thousand facets of which could never be
seen at once and from the same stand-point. There was no
jealously in the man's nature of men who were more success-
ful in the world than himself. He had a sort of profession
— that is to say, he occasionally wrote articles for this or that
learned review. But he was far too capricious and uncer-
tain to be intrusted with any sustained and continuous work,
and, indeed, even, with incidental work, he frequently vexed
the soul of the most indulgent of editors. No one could
guess what view of a particular book or question he might
take at a moment's notice. Of course, if it had not been for
that fatal 600/. a year, he might have been put in harness,
and accomplished some substantial work. Even if he had
had any extravagant taste, something in that way might have
been done ; but the little household lived very economically
(except as regards charity and the continual giving of pres-
ents to friends), its chief and important expense being the
cost of a large, happy holiday in the autumn. There was no
jealousy, as I have said, in Drummond's nature over the suc-
cess of more practical men ; no grudging, no detraction, no
spite. The fire of his life burned too keenly and joyously to
have any smoke about it.
" Mind you," he would say — always to his consentient
audience of one — " it is a serious thing for a man to endeavor
to become famous. He can not tell until he tries — and tries
for years — whether there is any thing in him ; and, then,
look at the awful risk of failure and life-long disappointment.
You see, when once you enter the race for fame or for great
great riches, you can't very well give in. You're bound in
honor not to give in. The presence of rivals all round you —
and, what is stronger still, the envious caviling of the disap-
pointed people, and the lecturing you get from the feebler
Jabberwocks of criticism — all that kind of thing must, I should
fancy, drive a man on in spite of himself. But don't you
think it is wiser for people who are not thrust into the race
by some unusual conciousness of power to avoid it altogether,
and live a quieter and more peaceable life ? "
Sarah did think so ; she was always sure that her brother
was right, even when he flatly contradicted himself, and he
generally did that half a dozen times in the day.
" Well, Miss Violet," he said to the young lady who had
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER. 17
suddenly presented herself before him, " I hear you have
rather distinguished yourself to-day."
" Yes," she said, with an embarrassed laugh, " I believe I
have done it this time."
" And what do you mean to do now ? "
" I don't know."
" And don't care, perhaps ? "
" Not much."
He shrugged his shoulders. But at this moment his sister
came through the small drawing-room into the veranda ; and
there was far more concern visible on her face. Mr. Drum-
mond seemed to have but a speculative interest in this cu-
rious human phenomenon, but his sister had a vivid affection
for the girl who had befriended her daughter at school, and
become her sworn ally and champion. Both of them, it is
true, were cbnsiderably attracted toward Miss North. To
him there was something singularly fascinating in her fine,
unconscious enjoyment of the mere fact of living, in her au-
dacious frankness, and even in the shrewd, clear notions
about things that had got into her school-girl brain. In many
respects this girl was more a woman of the world than her
gentle friend and timed adviser, Mrs. Warrener. As for
Mrs. Warrener, she had almost grown to love this bold, frank,
sincere, plain-spoken campanion of her daughter; but she
derived no amusement, as her brother did, from the girl's
wild ways and love of fun, which occasionally made her
rather anxious. To her it was not always a laughing mat-
ter.
" Oh, Violet," she said, " what have you been about this
time } What can we do for you ? "
" Well, not very much, I am afraid," was the rueful an-
swer.
Apparently, Miss Violet was rather ashamed of her ex-
ploit ; and yet there was a curious, half-concealed, comic ex-
pression about the face of the penitent which did not betoken
any great self-abasement.
" Shall I take you home ? " said James Drummond, " and
get your parents to come over and intercede for you t "
" No," she said, " that would be no use. My father is in
Yorkshire."
" But Lady North— ?"
" I should like to see my step-mother go out of her way the
length of a yard on my account ! She never did like me ;
but she has hated me worse than ever since Euston Square.'*
" Euston Square — ? "
I8 MADCAP VIOLET.
"Yes," continued the girl, "don't you know that I am a
sort of equivalent for Euston Square ? "
" This is becoming serious," said Mr. Drummond. " If
you are about to amuse us with conundrums, we had better
all sit down. Here is a chair for you. Sarah, sit down.
And so you were saying that you were an equivalent, Miss
Violet.?"
" Yes," she observed, coolly folding her hands on her
knees. " It is not a very long story. You know my step-
mother was never a very fashionable person. Her father —
well, her father built rows of cheap villas in the suburbs, on
speculation ; and he lived in Highbury ; and he told you the
price of the wines at dinner — you know the kind of man.
But when she married my father" — there was always a touch
of pride in the way Miss North said " my father " — " she had
a great notion of getting from Highbury to Park Lane, or
Palace Gardens, or Lancaster Gate, or some such place, and
having a big house, and trying to get into society. Well, you
see, that would not suit my father at all. He almost lives on
railways ; he is not once a week in London ; and he knows
Euston Square a good deal better than Belgravia. So he
proposed to my step-mother that if she would consent to
have a house in Euston Square, for his convenience, he
would study her convenience, and comfort, by allowing me
to remain permanently at a boarding-school. Do you see ?
I can tell you I rejoiced when I heard of that bargain ; for
the house that my step-mother and I were in was a good deal
too small for both of us. Yet I don't think she had always
the best of it."
This admission was made so modestly, simply, and uncon-
sciously, that Mr. Drummond burst into a roar of laughter,
while his sister looked a trifle shocked.
" What did you do to her ? " said he.
" Oh, women can always find ways of annoying each other,
when they wish it," she answered, coolly.
" Well," said Mr. Drummond, " we must see what can be
done. Let us have a turn in the garden, and talk over this
pretty situation of affairs."
They descended the few steps. Mrs. Warrener linked the
girl's arm in hers, and took her quietly along the narrow gar-
den path, James Drummond walking beside them on the
lawn. There was a strange contrast between the two women
— the one tall, straight and lithe as a willow-wand, proud-
lipped, frank, happy, and courageous of face, with all the
light of youth and strength shining in her eyes ; the other
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER,
19
tender, small, and wistful, with sometimes an anxious and
apprehensive contraction of the brows. By the side of these
two the philosopher walked — -a long and lanky person, stooping
somewhat, talking a good deal of nonsense to tease his com-
panions, ready to explode at a moment's notice into a great
burst of hearty and genuine laughter, and ready at the same
time to tender any sacrifice, however great, that this girl
could claim of him, or his sister suggest. For the rest, it
was a beautiful evening in this still and secluded suburban
garden. The last flush of rose-red was dying out of the sky
over the great masses of blossom on the fruit-trees. There
was a cooler feeling in the air ; and the sweet odor of the
lilac bushes seemed to become still more prevailing and
sweet.
" Don't look on me as an incumbrance," said Miss North,
frankly. " I only came to you for a bit of advice. I shall
pull through somehow."
" We shall never look upon you as an incumbrance, dear,"
said Mrs.Warrener, in her kindly way. " You know you can
always come and stay with us, if the worst comes to the
worst."
" I think that would be the worst coming to the best,"
said the girl, demurely.
" My notion," said Mr. Drummond, trying to catch at a
butterfly that was obviously getting home in a hurry — " is
.that you ought to give Miss Main a night to cool down her
wrath ; and then in the morning I will go round and in-
tercede for you. I suppose you are prepared to apologize to
her."
" Oh yes," Miss North said, but not with an air of a con-
scious sinner.
" Miss Main, I fancy now," continued the philosopher, " is
the sort of woman who would be easily pacified. So far as
I have seen her, there is little pretense about her, and no
vanity. It is only very vain people, you will find, who are
easily mortified and inplacable in their resentment. The
vain man is continually turning his eyes inward and address-
ing himself thus : * Sir, I most humbly beg your pardon for
having brought discomfiture and ridicule on so august and
important a personage as yourself.' He is always worship-
ing that little idol within him ; and if any body throws a
pellet of mud at it, he will never forgive the insult. A vain
man — "
" But about Miss Main, James ? " said his sister. She
had never any scruple about interrupting him, if any business
20 MADCAP VIOLET.
was on hand ; for she knew that, failing the interruption, he
would go wandering all over the world.
" Oh yes — Miss Main. Well, Miss Main, I say, does not
appear to be a morbidly vain person, likely to be implacable.
I think the best thing you can do is to stay with us to night,
and to-morrow morning I will go round to Miss Main, and
try to pacify her — "
" I hope you won't laugh at her, James,'* his sister sug-
gested.
" My dear woman, I am the most diplomatic person in the
world — as, for example : we are going in presently to dinner.
Dinner without a fire in the grate is an abomination. Now,
if I were to suggest to you to have a log of wood put on — a
regular blazer, for the night is becoming chill — something to
cheer us and attract the eyes, just as you always see the eyes
of infants attracted by flames. And where is Amy 1 " he ad-
ded, suddenly.
" I have no doubt," said Miss North, with humility, " that
Amy is being kept out of the way, so that she sha'n't meet a
wicked person like me."
" Indeed, no," said Mrs. Warrener, though sometimes she
certainly did not consider Miss Violet's conduct a good ex-
ample for her daughter. " Amy is at her lessons ; she is
coming in to dinner to-night."
" Oh, do let me go and help her ! " said the visitor. *'And
I promise to tell her how bad I have been, and how I am
never going to do so any more."
So, for the time, the little party was broken up ; but it met
again in a short time, in a quaint little room that was cheer-
fully lighted, round a bright table, and in view of a big log
that was blazing in the fire-place. The banquet was not a
gorgeous one — the little household had the simplest tastes —
but it was flavored throughout by a friendly kindness, a good
humor, a sly merriment that was altogether delightful. Then,
after the frugal meal was over, they drew their chairs into a
semicircle before the fire — Mr. Drummond being enthroned
in his especial reading-chair, and having his pipe brought
him by his niece. Violet North was pretty familiar with
those quiet, bright, talkative evenings in this -little home;
and though at times she was a little perplexed by the para-
doxes of the chief controversialist, she was not so much of a
school-girl as not to perceive the fine, clear, intellectual fire
that played about his idle talk like summer lightning, while
all unconsciously to herself she was drinking in something of
the charm of the great unworldliness of this little household
A SUBURBAN PHILOSOPHER. 2i
which promised to be of especial benefit to a girl of her na-
ture. She did not always understand him ; but she was al-
ways delighted with him. If the quaint humor of some sug-
gestion was rather too recondite for her, she could at least
recognize the reflection of it in his face, and its curious irreg-
ular lines. Sir Acton North was not aware that his daughter
was attending two schools, and this one the more important
of the two. Here she saw nothing but gentleness and ten-
der helpfulness ; here she heard nothing but generous criti-
cism, and humorous excuses for human faults, and laughter
with no sting in it ; here she was taught nothing but toleration,
and the sinking of self, and the beauty of all good and
true things. Then, she did not know she was being taught
any more than her teachers knew they were teaching her ;
for one of them spoke to her only by way of her own example,
which was that of all sweetness and charity, and the other
was so little of a lecturer that he shocked his own pupil by
his whimsical extravagances and incorrigible laughter. If,
as Miss Main was convinced, this girl had no soul, she could
not have come to a better place to get some sort of substi-
tute.
Next morning James Drummond went round and saw
Miss Main. That patient, hard-working, and hardly tried
little woman confessed frankly that she herself would be
quite willing to have Miss North come back, but she feared
the effect on her other pupils of condoning so great an of-
fense. However, Mr Drummond talked her over ; and an
arrangement having been come to about the public apology
Miss North was to make, he went back home.
Miss North had just come in breathless. She had run
half a mile down hill, to the shops of Camberwell, and half a
mile back, since he had gone out : she would not tell him
why.
Well, she went round to the seminary in due course ; and
in the midst of an awful silence she walked up the middle of
the floor to Miss Main's table.
" Miss Main, I have to beg your pardon for my conduct of
yesterday, and I wish to be allowed to apologize to the whole
school."
" You may go to your seat. Miss North," said the school-
mistress, who was a nervous little woman, and glad to get it
over
Miss North, with great calmness of feature, but with a sug-
gestion of a latent laugh in her fine dark eyes, walked se-
dately and properly to her seat, and opened her desk. With
22 MADCAP VIOLET.
the lid well up, she deposited inside a curions little collection
of oddities she had taken from her pocket — including a num-
ber of little paper pellets, a small tin goblet, and a wooden
monkey at the end of a stick.
The pellets were crackers which she could jerk with her
finger and thumb to any jDart of the room, and which exploded
on falling.
The toy goblet had a bit of string attached, and was inten-
ded for the cat's tail.
The wooden monkey was an effigy, to be suddenly present-
ed to the school whenever Miss Main's back was turned.
These had been the object of Miss Violet's sudden race
down to Camberwell and back ; so it was sufficiently clear
that that young lady's remorse over her evil deeds was not of
a very serious or probably lasting character.
CHAPTER IV.
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME.
A SECRET rumor ran through the school that Violet North
had not only got a sweetheart, but was also engaged in the
composition of a novel. As regards the novel, at least, ru-
mor was right ; and there is now no longer any reason for
suppressing the following pages, which will give an idea of
the scope and style of Miss North's story. The original is
written in a clear, bold hand, and the lines are wide apart — so
wide apart, indeed, that the observant reader can, if he
chooses, easily read between them.
" It was a beautiful morning in May, and the golden sun-
shine was flooding the emerald meadows of I) , an an-
cient and picturesque village about two miles nearer London
than the C P . Little do the inhabitants of that
great city, who lend themselves to the glittering folHes of
fashion — little do they reck of the verdant beauties and the
pure air which are to be had almost within the four-mile ra-
dius. It was on such a morning that our two lovers met, far
away from the haunts of men, and living for each other alone.
In the distance was a highway leading up to that noble insti-
tution, the C P , and carriages rolled along it ; and
at the front of the stately mansions high-born dames vaulted-
upon their prancing barbs and caracoled away toward the
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 23
horizon.* Our lovers paid no heed to such pomps and vani-
ties ; they were removed above earthly things by the sweet
companionship of congenial souls ; they lived in an atmos-
phere of their own, and breathed a delight which the callous
votaries of fashion could neither understand nor share.
" Virginia Northbrook was the name of the one. Some
would have called her rather good-looking ; but it was not of
that we mean to boast. We would rather speak of the lofty
poetry of her soul, and of her desire to be just and honorable,
and to live a noble life. Alas ! how many of us can fulfill
our wishes in that respect ? The snares and temptations of
life beset us on every side and dog our footsteps ; but enough
or this moralizing, gentle reader : we must get on with our
story.
" She was the daughter of a baronet, not a man of high line-
age, but one on whom the eyes of the world were fixed. He
had accelerated the industries of his native land in opening
up stupendous commercial highways, and from all parts of
the globe his advice was sought. Alas ! he was frequently
away from home, and as his second wife was a wretched and
mean-spirited creature, Virginia Northbrook may be consid-
ered to have been really an orphan.
" The other of our two lovers was called Gilbert Mount-Dun-
das. Neither was he of high lineage ; but a grand nobility
of nature was stamped on his forehead. His father had at-
tained to great fame through his labors in the cause of benev-
olence and charity; but it is not necessary to import him
into our story. Gilbert Mount-Dundas was yet young ; but
his mind was fired by great ambitions, and what more neces-
sary to encourage these than the loving counsel and worship
of a woman ? Ah, woman, woman, if you could understand
how we men are indebted to you when you cheer us onward
in the hard struggle of life ! A ministering angel thou, truly,
as the poet writes. If thou couldst perceive the value which
we place on thy assistance, then thou wouldst never be ca-
pricious, coy, and hard to please. Mais revmons a nos mou-
tons.
" It would be a difficult, nay, an invidious, task to describe
the manner in which our two lovers became acquainted with
* This sentence, or the latter half of it, may recall a passage in a fa-
mous novel which was published two or three years ago ; and I hasten
to say that Miss North had really never read that work. The brilliant
and distinguished author of the novel in question has so frequently been
accused of plagiarism which was almost certainly unconscious, that I am
sure he will sympathize with this young aspirant, and acquit her of any
intentional theft.
24 MADCAP VIOLET.
each other. Suffice it to say that, although the world might
look coldly on certain informalities, their own souls informed
them that they had no cause to blush for their mutual ac-
quaintance, an acquaintance which had ripened into knowl-
edge, esteem, and love ! Not for these two, indeed, was the
ordinary commonplace history of a courtship and marriage ;
which, as the gentle reader knows, is an introduction at a
dinner-table, a lot of foolish conversation always under the
eyes of friends, an engagement with every body's knowledge
and consent {including the lawyer's)^ and a marriage to be ad-
vertised in the newspapers ! No, no ! — there is still some ro-
mance in this cold and heartless world ; and, whatever harsh
critics may say, we, for one, have no intention of blaming
Gilbert Mount-Dundas and Virginia Northbrook simply be-
cause, forsooth ! the whole host of their friends did not happen
to be present. And yet — for who knows into whose hands
these pages may not fall ? — we must guard against a miscon-
ception. We are not of those who scorn the ceremonies of
our social life — far from it ; and we would not be understood
as recommending to the youth of both sexes a lofty contempt
for the proper convenances. Tout au contraire. In our opinion,
a young lady can not be too particular as to the acquaint-
ances she makes ; and, in fact, the way some girls will giggle
and look down when young gentlemen pass them in the street
is shocking, and perfectly disgusting. They ought to remem-
ber they are not servant-maids on their Sunday out. A school-
mistress is not doing her duty who does not check such un-
lady-like conduct at once ; and it is all nonsense for her to pre-
tend that she does not see it. I know very well she sees it ;
but she is nervous, and afraid to interfere, lest the girls
should simply deny it, and so place her at a disadvantage. We
will recur to this subject at a future time.
" It was, alas ! but to say farewell that Virginia Northbrook
and Gilbert Mount-Dundas had met. Such was the hard fate
of two who had known the sweet companionship of love for a
period far too short ; but destiny marches along with an un-
pitying stride, and we poor mortals are hurried along in the
current. Tears stood in the maiden's eyes, and she would
fain have fallen on her knees, and besought him to remain ;
but he was of firmer mettle, and endeavored to be cheerful, so
that he might lessen the agony of their farewell.
" ' Oh, my Gilbert ! ' she exclaimed, ' when shall I see you
once more ? Your path is clouded over with dangers ; and,
scan as I may the future, I see no prospect of your return.
Do you know that beautiful song which says,
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 25
" * Shall we walk no more in the wind and the rain,
Till the sea gives up her dead ? '
" He was deeply affected ; but he endeavored to conceal
his grief with a smile.
" ' What ! ' said he, in a humorous manner. ' When we
meet, I hope it won't be in wind and rain. We have had
enough of both this spring.'
" She regarded him with surprise ; for she saw not the worm
that was corroding his heart under this mask of levity. And
here it might be well to remark on the danger that is ever at-
tendant on those who are ashamed of their emotions, and
cloak them in a garb of indifference or mockery. Alas !
what sad mistakes arise from this cause ! The present writer
is free to confess that he is acquainted with a gentleman who
runs a great risk of being misunderstood by a hollow world
through this inveterate habit. We believe that no truer-hearted
gentleman exists than J D , although he is not what
a foolish school-girl would call an Adonis ; but how often he
perplexes his best friends by the frivolous manner in which
he says the very opposite of the thing which he really intends !
It is very annoying not to know when a person is serious. If
you make a mistake, and treat as serious what is meant to be
a joke, you look foolish, which is not gratifying even to the
most stoical-minded ; whereas, on the other hand, you may
treat as a joke something that is really serious, and offend the
feelings of persons whom you love. No, youthful reader, if
I may be bold enough to assume that such will scan these
pages, candor and straightforward speech ought to be your
motto. Magna est Veritas^ said the wise Roman.
" How sadly now shone the sun on the beautiful meadows
of D , and on the lordly spires of the C P , as our
two lovers turned to take a last adieu ! He was going away
into the world, to conquer fame and fortune for both ; she was
about to be left behind, to nurse an aching heart.
" ' Take this sixpence ; I have bored a hole in it,' observed
Virginia.
" He clasped the coin to his breast, and smothered it with
a thousa.nd kisses.
" ' My beloved Virginia ! ' he cried, * I will never part with
it. It will remind me of you in distant lands, under the flam-
ing skies of Africa, in the mighty swamps of America, and on
the arid plains of Asia. Our friendship has been a brief one ;
but, ah ! how sweet ! Once more, farewell, Virginia ! Be
true to your vow ! '
26 MADCAP VIOLET.
"He tore himself away; and the wretched girl was left
alone. We must pursue her further adventures in our next
chapter."
Here, then, for the present, end our quotations from Miss
North's MS. work of fiction ; it is necessary to get back to
the real facts of the case. To begin Mith, the relation be-
tween Violet North and the young gentleman whom she met
on the Dulwich Road were much less intimate, tender, and
romantic than those which existed between the lofty souls of
Virginia Northbrook and Gilbert Mount-Dundas. Miss Main's
young ladies were not allowed to go wandering about the
country unattended by any escort, however brightly the sun
might be shining on the emerald meadows, and on the towers
of the C P . Those of them who were boarders as
well as pupils were marched out in pairs, with Miss Main and
Miss North at their head ; and no one who saw them would
have imagined for a moment that the tall and handsome young
lady was only a school-girl. When they were allowed to go
and see their friends, their friends had to send some one for
them. But to this rule there was one exception, which seemed
innocent and trifling enough. Miss Main knew of the inti-
macy between Violet North and the mother and uncle of little
Amy Warrener ; and she very warmly approved of it, for it
promised to exercise a good influence over this incorrigible
girl. Then Mr. Drummond's house was only about a dozen
doors off ; and when Miss Violet chose to go round and visit
her friends in the afternoon, as she frequently did, was it nec-
essary that they should be at the trouble of sending for her
for such a short distance ? Mr. Drummond himself invariably
accompanied her back to the school, and on those evenings
Miss Main found that she had less trouble with this dreadful
pupil of hers.
So it came aLout that George Miller on one or two occa-
sions had the good fortune to run against Miss North when
she was actually walking out alone. On the first occasion,
she was just going into James Drummond's house, and she
had turned round after knocking at the door. For a second
the young man stopped, embarrassed as to what he should
do ; while she, looking rather amused, graciously and coolly
bowed to him. He took off his hat ; and, at this moment, as
the door was opened, his doubt was resolved, for, with a frank
smile to him, she disappeared.
On the next occasion, he caught her a few yards farther
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 27
down the Grove, and made bold to address her. He said,
rather timidly,
" Won't you recognize our acquaintance, Miss North ? "
" I do," she said, with her color a bit heightened. " I bow
to you when I see you. Isn't that enough ? "
" If you were as anxious as I am to continue our acquaint-
ance — " said he.
" I am not at all anxious," she said, rather proudly, " not
at all anxious to continue it like this, anyway. You must get
to know my friends if you wish to know me."
She was for moving on ; but somehow he seemed to inter-
cept her, and there were a great submission and entreaty in
his downcast face.
"But how can I, Miss North? I have tried. How can I
get an introduction to them?"
" How do I know ? " she said ; and then she bid him " Good-
afternoon," and passed on.
Her heart smote her for a moment. Was it right to treat
a faithful friend so? But, then, she was not herself very sen-
sitive to injury ; she did not suppose she had mortally wounded
him ; and she speedily was rejoicing over the thought that the
most faithful of friends ought to be put to the proof. If he
was worth any thing, he would bear wrong, he would over-
come obstacles, he would do any thing to secure and perfect
this idyllic and Plantonic acquaintanceship. If he was only
an ordinary young man, he had better go away.
Mr. George Miller was only an ordinary young man ; but he
did not go away. He had not been suddenly inspired by any
romantic attachment for the young lady whom he had met in
the Dulwich Road ; but he had been greatly struck by her
good looks ; he was rather anxious to know something more
about her; and then — for he was but twenty-two — there was
even a spice of adventure in the whole affair. She did not
know how patiently and persistently he had strolled all about
the neighborhood in order to catch an occasional glimpse of
her ; and how many afternoons he had paced up and down
beneath those large elms near the head of Camberwell Grove
before he found out the hour when she generally paid her
visit to Mr. Drummond's small household. It was some oc-
cupation for him ; and he had none other at present ; for his
father was then looking out for some business a share in
which he could purchase and present to his son, in order to
induce him to do something. Mr. George Miller was not
averse to that proposal. He had grown tired of idling, riding,
walking, and playing billiards all day, and going out in the
23 ' MADCAP VIOLET. ' ^
evening to dull dinners at the houses of a particular clique of
rich commercial people living about Sydenham Hill. It
would be better, he thought, to go into the City like every
body else, and have a comfortable private room in the office,
with cigars and sherry in it. Then he would have himself
put up at one of the City clubs ; and have a good place for
luncheon and an afternoon game of pool ; and make the
acquaintance of a lot of blithe companions. IJe knew a good
many City men already ; they seemed to have an abundance
of spirits and a good deal of time on their hands — from 1.30
onward till it was time to catch the train and get home to
dinner.
Meanwhile this little adventure with a remarkably pretty
girl piqued his curiosity about her ; and he was aware that,
if he did succeed in making her acquaintance, the friendship
of the daughter of so distinguished a man as Sir Acton North
was worth having. He did not go much farther than that in
his speculations. He did not, as some imaginative youths
would have done, plan out a romantic marriage. He had met,
in an informal and curious way, a singularly handsome girl,
whom he could not fail to admire ; and there were just those
little obstacles in the way of gaining her friendship that made
him all the more desirous to secure it. It does not often oc-
cur to a somewhat matter-of-fact young man of twenty-two,
who has good looks, good health, and ample provision of
money, that he should sit down and anxiously construct the
horoscope of his own future. To-day is a fine day in spring,
and the life-blood of youth runs merrily in the veins : to
morrow is with the gods.
Yet he was vexed and disappointed when he left her on
this second occasion. She was, he thought, just a little too
independent in manner, and blunt of speech. He did not at
all look at their relations from her point of view. If she had
told him that he ought to be her knight- errant, and prove
himself worthy by great sacrifices, he would scarcely have un-
derstood what she meant. Indeed, a consciousness began
to dawn on him that the young lady was a school-girl only in
name ; and that there was a more definite character about
her than is generaly to be discovered in a young miss who is
busy with her Italian verbs. George Miller was in a bad
humor all that evening ; and on going to bed that night he
vowed he would straightway set off for Wales next morning,
and Miss Violet North might go hang, for aught he cared.
In the morning, however, that wild resolution— although,
indeed, there was more prudence in it than he suspected — was
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 29
abandoned ; and he somewhat listlessly went into town, to
see if he could hunt up somebody who knew Sir Acton North
personally. His inquiries had to be conducted very cau-
tiously ; and there was something of interest in the search.
Eventually, too, that day he failed ; and so, as he had to get
back to Sydenham to dress for an early dinner, he thought
he would go out to Denmark Hill station and walk across.
He might get another glance of Violet North, and it was pos-
sible she might be in a better temper.
Well, he was going up Grove Lane when, turning the cor-
ner, he suddenly found himself in presence of Miss North
and another lady. He felt suddenly guilty ; he checked his
first involuntary impulse to take off his hat ; and he endeav-
ored to pass them without any visible recognition.
But that was not Violet North's way.
" Oh, Mr. Miller," she said, aloud, " how do you do t "
He paused in time to prevent Mrs. Warrener observing
his effort to escape ; he took off his hat, and rather nervously
shook hands with her.
" Let me introduce you," said the young lady, boldly, " to
Mrs. Warrener. Mr. Miller — Mrs. Warrener."
He received a very pleasant greeting from the little fair-
haired woman, who liked the look of the young man.
" What a beautiful afternoon it is ! " said he, hastily.
" And how fine those fruit-trees look now ! We deserve
some good weather after such a winter. Do you — do you
live up here, Mrs. Warrener ? "
" Oh yes. You know the cottage with the thatched roof
near the top of the Grove ? " she said. She began to think
that this young man was really handsome.
" Of course — every one about here knows it. What a
charming place ! and the garden you must have behind !
Well, don't let me hinder you ; it is a beautiful evening for
a walk. Good-day, Miss North."
He ventured to shake hands with her ; he bowed to Mrs.
Warrener, and then he turned away — scarcely knowing what
he had said or done.
" A friend of your father's, I suppose t " said Mrs. War-
rener to Miss Violet as they passed on.
" N-no, not exactly," said the girl, looking down.
" Oh, I dare say some friends of yours know him."
" N-no, not exactly that, either."
Then she suddenly lifted her eyes, and said, frankly,
" Mrs. Warrener, I suppose you'll think me a most wicked
creature ; but — but it is better you should know ; and I never
30 MADCAP VIOLET.
saw that young man till the day I left school over that dis-
turbance, you remember — and he knows no one I know —
and I was never introduced to him by any body."
Each sentence had been uttered with increasing despera-
tion.
" Oh, Violet," her friend said, " how could you be so
thoughtless — and w^orse than thoughtless ? You have been
concealing your acquaintance with this young man even from
your best friends. I — I don't know what to say about it."
" You may say about it any thing you please — except that,"
said the girl, indignantly. " I deserve every thing you can
say about me — only don't say I concealed any thing from you.
There was nothing to conceal. I have only spoken a few
words with him ; and the last time I saw him I told him if
he wanted our acquaintance to continue he must get to know
eitherjmy father or some of my friends. There was nothing
to conceal. I should be ashamed to conceal — "
At this point it seemed to occur to her that a self-convicted
prisoner ought not to lecture the judge to whom he is appeal-
ing for a merciful judgment.
" Well, Mrs. Warrener," she said, in a humble tone, " I
hope you won't think I tried to conceal any thing of impor-
tance from you. I thought it would be all cleared up and
made right when he got properly introduced. And just now,
when he did not wish to compromise me, and would have
passed without a word, I thought I would just tell you how
matters stood, and so I stopped him. Was there any con-
cealment in that } "
" But how did you meet him — where did you meet him? "
said Mrs. Warrener, still to much astonished to be either
angry or forgiving.
" I saw him on the road to the Crystal Palace," said Miss
North. '' I was attacked by a ferocious dog — such a ferocious
dog, Mrs. Warrener ! YouVe no idea how he flew at me !
and Mr. Miller came and beat him and drove him away."
" Then you know his name ? "
" Oh yes ! " said Miss North, quite brightly. " I am sure
you must have heard of Mr. George Miller, the great mer-
chant and philanthropist, who builds churches, and gives
large sums of money to charities ? "
" I have heard of him," Mrs. Warrener admitted.
" Then that is his son ! " said Violet, triumphantly.
" But you know, Violet, Mr. George Miller's philanthropy
is no reason why you should have formed the acquaintance-
FLUTTERINGS NEAI^ THE FLAME. -t
ship of his son in this manner. Where did you see him
next?"
" At the Crystal Palace," said Violet, and the burden of
her confessions seemed growing lighter. " I was very hun-
gry. I had to go and get something to eat at the restaurant.
I couldn't do any thing else, could I ? Well, the waiters
weren't attending to me ; and Mr. Miller was there ; and he
helped me to get something to eat. Was there any harm in
.that?"
Mrs. Warrener was not going to answer offhand ; but, as she
felt that she almost stood in the light of a parent toward the
girl, she was determined to know exactly how matters stood.
" Has he written to you, or have you written to him ? "
" Certainly not ! "
" He knows your name, and who you are ? "
" Yes."
So far the affair was all clear and open enough ; and yet
Mrs. Warrener, who was not as nimble a reasoner as her
brother, was puzzled. There was something wrong, but she
did not know what. By this time they had got back to the
house.
"Violet, JList come in for a minute. James will take you
down to the school by-and-by. "
" Oh, Mrs. Warrener," said the girl, with sudden alarm, " I
very much wish you not to say any thing about all this to Mr.
Drummond ! "
" Why not ? "
" I would much rather you said nothing ! "
" Well, I can not promise that, Violet ; but I will not speak
of it to him just yet."
They entered the parlor, which was empty, and Violet sat
down on a chair looking less bold and defiant than usual, while
her friend, puzzled and perturbed, was evidently trying to find
out what she should do.
"What I can't understand is this, Violet," she said, hitting
by accident on the kernel of the whole matter. " What object
was there in his or your wishing to continue an acquaintance
so oddly begun ? That is what I can't understand. Men
often are of assistance in such trifles to ladies whom they don't
know ; but they do not seek to become friends on the strength
of it. Why does he wish to know you, and why should you
tell him to go and get some proper introduction to you ? "
" I did not tell him any thing of the kind," said Miss Vio-
let, respectfully, but very proudly. " I told him that if he
wished to speak to me in the future, he must go get some
32 MADCAP VIOLET.
proper introduction. But you do think I asked him to come
and see me ? Certainly not. What is it to me t "
She was obviously much hurt.
"Then why should you continue this — this — clandestine
acquaintance, Violet ? " Mrs. Warrener asked, timidly.
"There is no such thing as a clandestine acquaintance,"
the girl said, warmly. " But if Mr. Miller wishes to add
another person to the circle of his acquaintance, am I to for-
bid him.? Is there any harm in that ? Don't you sometimes
see people whom you would like to know ? And, then, if he
could not at the time get any one to introduce him to me in
the usual way, his getting to know you was quite as good ;
and now, if you choose to do so, you can take away all the
clandestine look from our acquaintance. You have seen him.
You could ask him to call on you."
Mrs. Warrener seemed to shrink in dismay from this bold
proposal. But, before she could answer, Violet North had
hastily, and with some confusion, corrected herself.
" Of course," she said, quickly, " I don't wish you to ask
him to call on you — not at all. But when 5^ou speak of our
clandestine acquaintance, here is an easy way of making it not
clandestine."
" No, Violet," her friend said, with unusual firmness, " I
can not do that. I could not assume such a responsibility.
Before making such an acquaintance in this extremely singu-
lar way, you ought to ask your mamma."
" Haven't got any," said Miss North, with a toss of her head.
" Or some one qualified to give their sanction."
"I don't know any one so well as I do you," said the girl ;
and then she said, " But do you think I am begging of you to
patronize that young man ? I hope not. Mrs. Warrener, I
think I had better go down now."
At this moment James Drummond made his appearance, an
old brown wide-awake on his head.
" Ah, well. Miss Violet ; no more singing at Dixie's Land,
eh 1 You have never been in Dixie's Land, I suppose. But
were you ever in the Highlands ? Have you ever seen the
mountains and lochs of the West Highlands ? "
" I have heard of them," Miss North said, coldly. She was
very far from being pleased at the moment.
"Now do sit down for a moment till I open out this plan
before you. That is better. Well, I think we shall take no
less than two months' holiday this autumn, August and Sep-
tember, and I have my eye on a small but highly romantic
cottage in the Highlands, connected with which are some lit-
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 33
tie shooting and fishing ; plenty of fishing, indeed, for there
are a great many fish in the sea up there. Now, Miss Violet,
do you think you could persuade your father and Miss Main
to let you come with us part of the time ? It must be very
wretched for you spending your holidays every year at school."
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Drummond," said Miss Violet,
with great dignity. " It is very kind of you ; you are always
kind ; but if my friends are not fit to be introduced into your
house, then neither am I."
He stared in astonishment, and then he looked at his sis-
ter, whose pale and gentle face flushed up. Miss Violet sat
calm and proud ; she had been goaded into this declaration.
" What do you mean ? " said he.
" Oh, James," cried his sister, " I thought Violet did not
wish you to know ; but now I will tell you, and I am sure
you will say I am right. It is no disrespect I have for the
young man. I liked his appearance very much — but — "
" What young man ? "
Then the story had to be told ; and if Miss North had been
in a better temper she would have acknowledged that it was
told with great fairness, gentleness, and consideration. James
Drummond put his hands in his pockets, and stretched out
his long legs.
" Well, Violet," said he, in his quiet and kindly way, " I
can understand how you should feel hurt, if you suppose for
a moment that my sister thinks you wish us to ask that young
man here for your sake. But you are quite wrong if you as-
sume that to be the case. We know your pride and self-
respect too much for that. On the other hand, might not
this Mr. Miller consider it rather strange if we asked him
to come here to meet you ? You see — "
" I don't wish any thing of the kind," she said, hastily.
" Do you think I wish to meet him ? What I wish is this —
that you should not talk of clandestine acquaintanceship
when I offer to introduce him to you, and when you can get to
know him if you please."
He was too good-natured to meet the girl's impatience
with a retort. He only said, in the same gentle fashion,
" Well, I think you have tumbled by accident into a very
awkward position, Violet, if I must speak the truth, and I
would strongly advise you to have nothing further to do with
Mr. Miller, however amiable the young man may be, unless
you should meet him at the house of one of your friends."
" I go to so many friends' houses ! "
3
34 MADCAP VIOLET.
" How can you expect to go ? You are at school : your
whole attention should be taken up with your lessons."
" I thought even school-girls were allowed to have friends.
And you know I am kept at school only to be out of the
way."
She rose once more : the discussion was obviously profit-
less.
" I don't think I need trouble you to come down with me,
Mr. Drummond," said she, with much lofty courtesy of man-
ner.
" I am going with you, whether you consider it a trouble or
not," said he, laughing.
She somewhat distantly bid Mrs. Warrener good-bye ; and
that fair-haired little woman was grieved that the girl should
go away with harsh thoughts of her in her heart. As for Mr.
Drummond, when he got outside, he was determined to chanii
away her disappointment, and began talking lightly and
cheerfully to her, though she paid but little heed.
" Yes," said he, " you always disgust people by giving them
good advice ; but you wouldn't have us give you bad advice,
Violet ? Now, you will be a reasonable young lady ; and by
to-morrow morning you will see that we have acted all round
in a highly decorous and proper fashion ; and if you try to
gain Miss Main's good-conduct prize this session, I will ask
her to put you down a hundred marks on account of certain
circumstances that have come to my knowledge, though I
can't reveal them. That is settled ; is it not now ? So your fa-
ther has come back to London : I see he was in a deputation at
the Home Office yesterday. How tired he must be of railways !
or does he languish when he has to stop in town three days run-
ning ? Do you know, I once heard of a boatman at Brighton —
one of those short and stout men who pass their lives in leaning
over the railings of the Parade — and somebody went and
died and left him a public-house in the Clapham Road. You
would think that was a great advance in life .? I tell you he
became the most miserable of men. He got no rest ; he
moved about uneasily ; and at last, when the place was kill-
ing him, he happened to put up a wooden railing in front of
the public-house just where the horses used to come and
drink at the trough, and quite by accident he found it was a
capital place to put his elbows on and lean over. I declare
to you he hadn't lounged on that railing twenty minutes when
all the old satisfaction with life returned to his face ; and
any day you'll see him lounging there now, looking at the
FLUTTERINGS NEAR THE FLAME. 35
horses drinking. That shows vou what custom does, doesn't
it ? "
Of course, there was no such thing — no such boatman or
public-house in the Clapham road ; but it was a pecuHarity
of this talker that when once he had imagined an anecdote
he himself almost took it to be true. He did not mean to
deceive his listener. If this thing had not happened, how
did he know of it .'' The creations of his fancy took the place
of actual experiences. His sister never could tell whether he
had really seen certain things during his morning's walk, or
only imagined them and stuck them in his memory all the
same.
It was a fine, quiet evening up here among the green foli-
age of the spring. It was a gray twilight, with a scent of the
lilacs in the cool air : and the mighty chestnut-trees, the spiked
blossoms of which looked pale in the fading light, seemed
to be holding these up as spectral lamps to light the coming
dusk. It was still a calm, peaceable evening ; but even the
unobservant Mr. Drummond could remark that his compan-
ion was not at all attuned to this gentle serenity. Her
moody silence was ominous.
" You will come round and see us to-morrow afternoon ? "
said he.
" I am not sure," she said, with her hand on the open
door.
" Now be a sensible girl, Violet, and believe me that we
have given you good advice. Don't forget what I said to you ;
and come up to-morrow evening to show me that we are all
still good friends."
So Mr. Drummond walked away up the hill again, whistling
absently ; one hand in his trousers-pocket ; his hat rather on
the back of his head ; and unusual gravity of thoughtfulness
in his face. Miss Violet, on the other hand, went indoors,
and up to her own room. She was the only boarder in the
place who had a room all to herself ; but on this Sir Acton
North had insisted.
She threw open the window, and sat down : far below her
they had lighted a street-lamp, and there was a curious light
shining on the lower branches of the chestnuts. The sound
of one or two people walking in the distance seemed to in-
crease the stillness of the night ; and one would not have
been surprised to find the first faint glimmer of a star in the
darkening heavens.
Peace enough without, but a fierce fire of wrath within.
*' They have done it now," she was saying to herself.
36 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Yes, they have done it. I gave them the chance, and
wished to be as proper in my conduct as any body could be ;
but now they have driven me to something very different. I
don't want to see him — I dare say I shall hate him when I
see him ; but I will see him — and I will meet him whenever
he likes ; and I will write letters to him till two in the morn-
ing ; and if they won't let me make friends in the ordinary
way, I will make friends for myself in some other way. And
that is what they have done ! "
So the wild winds of folly and anger and unreason blow us
this way and that, that the gods may have their sport of us !
CHAPTER V.
SUBTERRANEAN FIRES.
A SUDDEN change came over the tone and style of Violet
North's novel. It had opened in a gentle and idyllic mood,
dealing with the aspirations of noble souls and the pathos of
lovers' partings ; it was now filled with gloom, revenge, and
detestation of the world. The following brief extract may
suffice to show the artist's second manner, and has other
significance as well :
" When we bid farewell to Virginia Northbrook in a previ-
ous chapter, she had been up to that moment supported by
the companionship of one of the noblest of men ; but now,
when she turned away, with the wild tears glittering in her
eyes, she felt, alas ! what a bitter mockery the world was,
and her young and ardent nature was shocked and wounded
by the cruel selfishness of her fellow-creatures. All around
her was gloom. No longer did the cheerful sun light up the
emerald meadows of D . Nature sympathized with her
stricken heart ; even Ihe birds were silent, and stood respect-
fully aside to see this wretched girl pass. The landscape
wore a sable garb, and the happy insects that flew about
seemed to be crushed with the dread of an impending storm.
" For why sh©uld the truth be concealed "i That cruel
parting which we have described was wholly unnecessary; it
was the result of malice and selfishness of the part of those
who ought to have known better ; they had determined to
separate our two lovers ; and their cunning wiles had suc-
ceeded. Alas ! when will the heartless worldling learn that
SUBTERRANEAN FIRES.
37
there is something nobler and higher than the love of Mam-
mon and the hypocritical gloss which they call, forsooth,
respectability? Why should not two young hearts fulfill
their destiny ? Why should they be torn asunder and cast
bleeding into an abyss of misery, where hope is extinguished,
and the soul left a prey to the most horrible horrors ?
" But the present writer must guard himself against being
misunderstood in describing Virginia Northbrook's desolate
condition. She was alone, and the cold world was against her ;
but did she succumb ? No ! her spirit was of firmer mettle.
It was a singular point in the character of our heroine that
whereas, with kindness she was as docile as a lamb — and
most grateful to those who were kind to her — cruelty drove
her into desperation. When she parted from Gilbert, and
took her way home to C G , her soul was more
dauntless than ever.
" * Do they think they have conquered me ? ' she cried
aloud, while a wild smile broke over her features. 'No; they
will learn that within this outward semblance of a girl there
is the daring of a woman ! '
" Poor misguided creature, she was deceiving herself. She
was no longer a woman — but a fiend ! Despair and cruelty
had driven her to this. Was it not sad to see this innocent
brow plotting deadly schemes of revenge on those who had
parted her from her lover, in deference to the idle prejudices
of an indifferent world ?
" Yes, reader ; you will judge as to whether she was or
was not justified ; and, oh ! I appeal to you to be merciful,
and take into consideration what you were at her age. We
will reserve for another chapter a description of the plot which
Virginia invented, together with the manner in which she car-
ried it out."
At this point of her imaginary life, there occurred a consid-
erable hiatus ; for her real life, became more full of immedi-
ate and pressing interest. Violet North dispossessed Vir-
ginia Northbrook. The details of the plot mentioned above
must be put in, therefore, by another and less romantic hand.
First of all, this proud, willful, impetuous, and mischief-lov-
ing girl suddenly showed herself obedient, attentive to her
school duties, and most clearly respectful and courteous to
the chief mistress. Miss Main was at first puzzled and sus-
picious ; then she was overjoyed.
" Perhaps," she said to the german master, " it is only to
spite Miss Wolf that she means to take the good-conduct
38 MADCAP VIOLET.
prize, as she took the French and German last term ; but if
she makes up her mind to it, she will do it."
Then all the girls understood that Violet North meant to
have the good-conduct prize ; and they, too, knew she must
have it if she seriously meant to gain it.
Two or three days after this abrupt reformation, Miss Main
said to the girl, in a kindly way,
" Miss North, why don't you go up to Mrs. Warrener's
as you used to do .'' Amy has not told me they were from
home."
" No, Miss Main," said the girl, with great respect, " they
are at home. But — but when I go up there, it seems a pity I
should have to trouble Mr. Drummond to come back again
with me. It is such a short distance ; he must think me very
timid or foolish."
" Oh, I am sure," said the school-mistress, " that need not
bother you. The distance is very short indeed. You might
easily run down here by yourself."
' Oh, thank you," said Miss North, very calmly. *' That
is very kind of you, Miss Main ; for one does not like to be
a trouble to one's friends."
There was less of calm respectfulness — there was, on the
contrary, a proud and defiant determination — on her face
when she went up-stairs to her own room. There she sat
down and wrote out three copies of the following mysterious
announcement :
" Violet, — Is G. M. ever about Champion Hill at five p.m. ?
V. ivould like to apologize for rudeness. ^^
She must have contemplated beforehand sending these ad-
vertisements ; for she was already supplied with postage-
stamps for the purpose.
It was on the third day after this that Miss North met Mr.
George Miller; and their place of meeting was the Champion
Hill mentioned above.
"How odd you should have seen the advertisement!"
said she, frankly going forward to him. There was no sort
of embarrassment in her manner.
" What advertisement ? " said he, amazed.
" Oh," she said, quickly altering her tone, " it was nothing
—a mere trifle. I thought I had been rather rude to you ;
and I wished to apologize. So I put a line in the papers.
Now I have apologized to you — "
'' Yes 1 " said he, rather puzzled.
SUBTERRANEAN FIRES.
39
"Well, there's no more to be said — is there ?" she re-
marked.
" Do you mean that you wish to bid me good-bye ? said
he, rather stiffly. He considered that this young lady's man-
ner of treating him was just a trifle too dictatorial.
" Oh, I don't care," she said, indifferently. " What were
you coming about here for, if you did not see the advertise-
ment?"
'^ I thought I might see you."
She smiled demurely. " At the head of the school ? "
" Any way. Even that would be better than nothing," said
he ; for she was very pretty, and he lost his head for the mo-
ment.
"Well," she said, with a burst of good-nature, "since I'm
not at the head of the school, I will walk down with you
to the foot of Green Lane. I suppose you are going home ? "
" Y-yes," said he, doubtfully. " I wanted to tell you some-
thing, if there was an opportunity."
" Pleasant, or not ? If not, don't let us have it, please ; I
have enough of worry."
"You — worry.-"' said he, with a laugh. "You talk as if
you were a woman of thirty. And, indeed, I think all this
farce of keeping you a school-girl ought to be burst up. It is
quite ridiculous. You ought to be at home, or in some one's
house, where you would meet people and be allowed to make
friends — instead of slipping out like this, and probably get-
ting us both into trouble — "
" I know," she said, shortly. " What was it you were going
to tell me ?"
" 1 have found out a man I know in the City who knows
Mr. Drummond," said he, " and he proposes to introduce us
to each other — in an accidental way, you understand. Now,
will that satisfy you ? "
" Satisfy me ? " she said, turning her proud, black eyes on
him with an air of surprise. " Have I been anxious to be
satisfied 1 "
" I did not say you were," said he, testily. " You seem
bent on a quarrel."
" Oh no, I'm not," she answered, with one of those quick
smiles that could disarm even the awful anger of an outraged
school mistress. " But you must always bear in mind, if you
wish to see me at all, that the wish is on your side. As for me
— well, I have no objection."
" You are very proud."
" No ; only frank."
40 MADCAP VIOLET.
"Well, about Mr. Drummond — won't that satisfy every
body? I have been introduced to that lady — what is her
name ? "
" Warrener."
" Then I shall make his acquaintance ; and if he is a friend-
ly sort of man, I will ask him to dine with me ; and very likely
he will do the same by me ; and I am sure to meet you at his
house. Now, is that all right ?"
" No, all wrong," she said, with a charming smile. " They
\Von't have any thing to do with you."
" Did you tell them .'* " said he, with sudden alarm.
" Oh yes," she remarked, speaking very distinctly. " I told
them that I had accidentally made your acquaintance ; that
you seemed to wish to continue it ; and that, if they chose,
they could be friendly and take you under their charge."
" And what did they say ? "
"They refused — too much responsibility."
" Then what do you mean to do ? " said he.
" I ? " she said, with a bright laugh. " I mean to walk down
to the foot of Green Lane with you, and then go back to the
school. Is not that good-nature enough for one day ? "
" And after that — are we to consider our acquaintance at an
end.?"
" As you please," said she.
" Do you meam that you propose to continue this hide-and-
seek way of meeting — this slinking round corners so as to
avoid being caught ? Of course, it is very romantic, but at
the same time — "
" At the same time," said she, with a clear emphasis which
rather startled him, " I mean to say a word to you that you
must not forget. I can not allow you to assume for a moment
that I care a half-penny whether I meet you or whether I don't.
Do you think I wish to play at hide-and-seek .? Now please
don't talk like that again."
"Well said he, rather humbly, " I no sooner propose one
way of putting an end to this state of things than you immedi-
ately say it is of no use, and seem rather glad. Perhaps you
could tell me another ? "
" Oh dear, yes," said she, with great cheerfulness. " Why
should we ever meet again anywhere or anyhow } Would not
that solve the difficulty ? "
" Very well ! " said he, driven to anger by her indifference
and audacious light-heartedness. " It is better so. Good-
bye ! "
He held out his hand.
SUBTERRANEAN- FIRES. 41
" And I am not to go clown to the foot of the lane ? " said
she, with mock-heroic sadness. " Ah, well ! good-bye ! "
" You know perfectly," said he, relenting, *' that I am anx-
ious we should remain friends. And what is the use of your
being so very — so very — independent .'' "
" Then I am to go down to the foot of the lane t " said she,
with charming simplicity.
He burst out laughing.
" Well," said he, " I think you are the most willful creature
I ever met. But you will get cured of all these whims and
airs of yours some day."
" And who will cure me, pray t " said she, with sweet res-
ignation,
" I don't know, but somebody will have to do it."
By this time they were going down the steep lane ; the
young green of the hawthorn hedge on each side of them
shining in the clear spring sunlight ; the low-lying meadows
and trees of Dulwich far below them, and softened over with
a silver-gray mist. In a few minutes more they would part at
the foot of the hill ; but there was no great premonitory sad-
ness on her frank, young, handsome face.
" What is amusing you "i " said he, noticing a sort of demure
laugh under the beautiful dark eyelashes.
" Only the poor invention that men have," she said. " You
are quite cast down because your scheme of being introduced
to Mr. Drummond won't do. Why, a woman could get fifty
schemes ! "
" Then, give me one ? " said he.
" I am only a girl. Besides — how often must I tell you ? —
it is not my place to do so. But I was thinking to-day how
easily I could meet you if I liked — not for a few minutes, but
a long time — "
" Could you ? " said he, eagerly. " Could you — could you
get enough time to come for a long walk> or a drive .? "
" I could get away for a whole day ! " she said, boldly ; but
she added, quickly, *' if I wished it."
" Then, won't you wish it ? " said he. " Look what a splen-
did drive we could have just now — the best time of the year;
and I would try to get some lady I know to come for you."
" Oh no, thank you," she said. " I have had enough of in-
troductions, and relatives and friends, and asking obligations.
If I went out for this whole day it would be to show them how
little they can control me if I take it into my head not to be
controlled. As for going with you, I think I would rather go
42 MADCAP VIOLET.
with any body else ; only there would be no mischief in going
with any body else."
The declaration was frank, but not eomplimentary : the
short time he had known this young lady had been enough
to make him wish she had just a little less plainness of speech.
" Well, will you do it ? " he asked.
*' Yes, I think I will," she answered, with a sudden firmness
of look. She had to recall all her imaginary wrongs to nerve
her for this decision.
"When?"
" Next Tuesday,"
." And where shall I meet you ? "
" Oh, you must drive up to Miss Main's for me, and come
into the hall, and send a message."
He looked so horror-stricken that she nearly laughed ; but
she maintained a business-like air.
" Yes," she said, " is there any thing more simple ?"
" Surely you are joking ! Do you mean to say that Miss
Main would allow you to go out driving with me ? "
" Yes, I do ; what is more, she will probably offer you a
glass of sherry and a biscuit before leaving. If you take the
sherry, it will give you a headache."
" But I don't understand — "
" Of course not," she said, with good-natured indulgence.
" I told you that gentlemen were poor in invention. But you
will see how easily I can arrange all this. I thought of it
just to show people how little they know the determination —
but I needn't speak about that. Well, here we are at the
foot of the hill ; good-bye ! "
She held out her hand carelessly.
" I must walk back with you."
'' No ; a compact's a compact."
" Then I am to bring a carriage for you next Tuesday morn-
ing, and come right up to the door, and ask for Miss North ?
Is that all ? "
" Yes. Come about half-past eleven."
Mr. George Miller walked away in great perplexity. He
had a notion that this wild girl had a great fondness for
practical jokes. Might she not be awaiting him at the win-
dow, along with her school-fellows, to receive him with jeers ?
But, then, he reflected, she was not likely to play any such
too notorious prank just after her narrow escape from expul-
sion. He took it for granted that he was safe from ridicule
— which is always a young man's first thought — and then
came the question as to the other risks he ran. This was no
SUBTERRANEAN FIRES. 43
very safe project — to take a school-girl away for a day's drive,
even though he could plead that she had made at least one
effort to introduce him to her friends, and that he had made
several to be introduced. On the other hand, was he to
show cowardice where a girl was not afraid ? He would have
the finest pair of horses he could hire for that Tuesday morn-
ing !
As for her, she walked lightly and briskly up the hill — her
fine figure giving her a freeness of step not common among
school-girls — and made her way back to Miss Main's estab-
lishment. That patient lady took it for granted that her pu-
pil had been round at Mr. Drummond's house.
Violet North went to her own room, sat down, and wrote
as follows :
" Camberwell Grove, Thursday Evening.
" My dear Papa, — I think it is very hard that your own
daughter should know only by the newspapers of your return
to town. Can not you 6ome over to see me on Saturday ?
And my money is nearly all gone.
" I remain, your loving daughter,
" Violet."
Sir Acton North was an exceedingly busy man, who had
jnot much time for the cultivation of his domestic duties; but
he liked this wild girl, and sometimes considered it rather a
pity she should have no home but a boarding-school. Busy
as he was, he took a run over to Camberwell on the Satur-
day morning, and had, first of all, a few minutes' interview
with Miss Main. Miss Main treated this big, broad-shoul-
dered, white-bearded man, who had kindly gray eyes, and
something of a Yorkshire accent, with very great respect.
Replying to his inquiries about Violet's conduct, she only re-
marked that of late it had been excellent ; she made no men-
tion of the recent disturbance. She was more anxious to
direct Sir Acton's attention to the brilliant greens of the
chestnuts, elms, and lilacs outside ; to show him that a health-
ier site for a school could not have been chosen.
Then Miss Violet came into the room, and the school-mis-
tress retired.
" Well, girl," said her father, after kissing her, " aren't you
ever going to stop growing ? "
" I have had plenty of time to grow since I saw you last,"
she said, with an air which showed her father that she had
not, at least, outgrown her cool frankness.
44
MADCAP VIOLET.
" And what do you want with me ? "
" I suppose a girl must wish to see her father sometimes,"
she remarked, " when she cannot have the pleasure of admir-
ing her step-mother."
" Oh, Vi, Vi," he said, with a laugh which was not calcu-
lated to repel her free frankness, " you are as wicked as
ever."
" Well, I haven't forgotten my fondness for you, papa,"
she said, honestly, going forward and putting her arm round
his neck; "so you must tell me all you've been doing, and
all you're going to do."
" That will be too long a story," said he ; " but I must
tell you this — that before long I must go to Canada, and very
likely I may have to stop nearly a year there."
Now what was it — some unnamable fear, some flash of a
better instinct — which suddenly changed the expression of
the girl's face, and made her cry out,
" Oh, papa, couldn't you take me with you ? "
" For a year ? "
" For twenty years, so that I am with you. I hate Eng-
land so ! "
" Nonsense, nonsense, child ! " he said, good-humoredly,
and releasing his neck from her arm. " Of course, a girl
must have fits of dullness at school ; you'll get over these
when you are a woman. So you want some more pocket-
money ? Is your last quarter's allowance run out already ? "
She would not answer — she was proud and hurt. He would
treat her as a child ; he would not see she was earnest in
that sudden cry to be taken away from England.
" Well, well," said he ; " put this in your pipe and smoke
it, Vi," and he gave her a five-pound note, with no thought
of the imprudence of trusting such a sum of money to the dis-
cretion of an impetuous school-girl.
Somehow a change had come over the manner of the girl
even in this short time. She had met him with that gay, de-
fiant spirit that she commonly displayed towards persons
whom she regarded with a special affection ; then for a sec-
ond or two she seemed to approach him with an unusual
yearning of sentiment. Now she was proud, cold, matter-of-
fact.
" Papa," she said, " will you excuse me for a moment ? I
wish to speak to Miss Main."
She left the room, and went and sought out Miss Main.
The school-mistress received her with a kindly look ; she was
pleased when Sir Acton North visited the school.
SUB TERRANEAJ^ FIRES. 45
" Oh, Miss Main," said Violet, in an off-hand way, " can
you let me have a holiday next Tuesday? "
Now, what could the Lchool-mistress possibly think of such
a request but that it was one of the utmost innocence, which
she was bound to accede to ? Here was a girl visited by her
father, who rarely came to town. What more natural than
that he should propose to take the girl away for a day ?
"Certainly, Miss North," said the school-mistress. "I
suppose your papa will send for you .'* "
" I think it is very likely Mr. George Miller will call for
me," said Miss North, with a business-like air. " Of course
you know Mr. George Miller, Miss Main ? "
" By reputation, undoubtedly. I wish there were more such
as he in London."
" Well, they live not far from here ; so it is very likely he
will be good enough to call for me. May I have the pleasure
of introducing him to you. Miss Main ? "
" I should consider it an honor, Miss Violet," said the sim-
ple-minded school-mistress ; and Miss North knew she was
in high favor when she was called Miss Violet.
" Thank you very much," said Miss Violet ; and she was
going back to her father, when she suddenly turned. " Oh,
Miss Main, my papa has just given me some money ; and I
do think the feather in my hat is getting a little shabby.
Would you allow Elizabeth to go down with me to the shops
on Monday forenoon ? I wish to buy a few things."
" I will go down with you myself," said Miss Main, gra-
ciously.
" Oh, that will be so kind of you ! "
" Well, girl, what do you mean by keeping me here ? "
said her father when she returned. "Do you know I have
to be at King's Cross by two o'clock ? "
" I am very sorry," she said. " Must you go now ? "
" Yes ; good-bye, child. Mind you write to me when you
want more money."
She kissed him, and bid him good-bye.
" I will see you out, papa. Don't ask Miss Main to come :
she is busy. Shall I see you before you go to Canada ? "
" Of course, of course, of course ! Ta-ta ! Mind you be-
have yourself, Vi ; and let me know when your pocket-money
runs out."
After he had gone, his daughter had to return to her classes
and lessons ; and it was not till the evening she found herself
with a little spare time on her hands. She felt unequal at
the moment to continue her novel, for the details of the dark
46 MADCAP VIOLET.
plot that had been invented by Virginia Northbrook wanted
deep consideration. But she had something on her mind ;
and she came to the resolution to put that down on paper,
and subsequently to slip it into the story whenever she got a
chance. Here is the passage in question, written with some
appearance of haste :
" Virginia Northbrook hated deception ; she positively
loathed and abominated it. The present writer has never
in all his life met with a human being who was as anxious as
this girl to have a clear and shining candor illuminating her
soul. And why ? gentle reader ; because she had inherited
a heritage of pride — a fatal legacy, perhaps, but it was hers ;
and her ambition was to be able to look any one in the face
and say what she thought without concealment. Alas ! v.e
now find her compelled to stoop to subterfuges. Happiness
had gone from her mind ; horrid suspicion had built its nest
there ; the cold indifference of the world had stung her into
a passion of revenge. What wrecked she of the mad course
she was pursuing, when, with a shout of demonical laughter,
she called out aloud in her own room, ' Vive la bagatelle ? '
Let us withdraw for a time from this sad scene. The day
may come when we may behold our heroine rescued from the
unjust tyranny of heartless friends, and the honorableness of
her heart's thoughts demonstrated to the light of day. But
in the mean time — alas, poor worm ! "
Violet North was so much affected by the sorrows of her
heroine that she was almost like to cry over them ; although,
oddly enough, her sentimental grief seemed to wander back
to her father's refusal to take her with him to Canada.
CHAPTER VI.
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH.
" Sarah, we must not leave that girl to herself," said James
Drummond to his sister. He had put aside his wide-awake,
and was engaged in brushing a far from shiny hat. *' She is
offended with us ; she has not been here for some days. We
shall incur a great responsibility if we let her go her own way."
"We shall incur a great responsibility if we interfere," said
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH. 47
his sister, and then she rebuked herself for the selfishness of
her speech. " Yes, I must go down to the school and see her.
I am sure I wish she would go into some convent, or some
institution of that kind, where she would be under gentle
moral teaching and proper discipline. She is untamed — a
wild animal almost — with some fine qualities in her ; and yet
I don't know what is to become of her."
" A convent ! " said Drummond, with a loud laugh. " She
would turn the place into a pandemonium in a week. To
think of it now ! " — wouldn't it be delightful t Violet North
in a convent? Fancy the scare of the quiet creatures when
they discovered they had among them a whole legion of
demons — as many as you see in " St. Anthony's Temptation : "'
I should like to have a peep into that convent occasionally if
she were there. Well, you'll go down to her, Sarah. Don't
preach at her : rather tell her not to make a fool of herself.
Of course, she is only hurt and proud; she can not really care
for this young — what's his name ? "
"George Miller."
"And yet don't lecture her about the folly of a young girl
falling in love, or the danger of it, and all that. She won't
believe you — no girl will. You might as well expect to keep
servants away from the sherry decanter by sticking a Poison
label on it. Don't try to frighten her ; for there is nothing
that girl will allow to frighten her."
Mr. Drummond put on his carefully brushed but not bril-
liant hat, and went out into the warm sunlight of this May
morning. From the height on which he stood he could see,
in the far distance, a low-lying mist of brown. That was the
smoke of London City, into which he was about to plunge —
with no good grace.
And yet when his old college-chum Harding, who had for-
saken the paths of learning and taken to tasting teas as a more
profitable pursuit, happened to beg of him to come into the
City and have lunch with him, he rarely refused. Harding
lived in some remote corner of Hornsey; so the two friends
had but seldom an opportunity of seeing each other in the
evening. On this last occasion Harding had been specially
urgent in his invitation — "A friend of mine wants to be
introduced to you," he had added.
Drummond called at the office in Mincing Lane, and his
short, stout, brown-bearded friend put on his hat and came
out.
" Who is the man ? " said Drummond, carelessly, as they
went along.
48 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Who wants to be introduced to you ? Oh, a young fellow
called Miller."
'•'' George Miller ? " said Drummond, suddenly stopping on
the pavement, with a frown of vexation coming over his face.
" Yes. Do you know any thing of him ? " said Harding,
with surprise.
" Yes, I do. Did he tell you why he wished to be introduced
to me ? "
" No, he didn't."
" Well, I'll tell you what, Harding, it's — it's d — d impertinent
of this fellow — "
"My dear boy, what's the matter.? You do know him ?
If you don't want to meet him, there is no reason why you
should. We can have lunch elsewhere. Pie asked me in a
off-hand way if I knew you — asked to be introduced, and so
forth. But there is no compulsion."
" On second thoughts, I will go with you," said Drummond,
with sudden determination.
" I tell you, man, there is no compulsion. Let's go else-
where."
" No, I want to be introduced to him."
" All right : the same as ever — flying round like a weather-
cock, jumping about like quicksilver."
They went intc5 a spacious restaurant, where a large num-
ber of men, mostly with their hats on, were attacking large
platefuls of rather wateiy beef and mutton. Harding was
known to many of them; as he passed he encountered a run-
ning fire of pleasantries, which he returned in kind. This was
an ordeal which Drummond, who had frequently been with his
friend to the place, regarded with a mild wonder. There
was no one more ready for fun, for raillery, for sarcasm even
of a friendly sort; but this sort of ghastly wit, with no light
or life in it, but only a crackling of dry bones, rather puzzled
him. Then he noticed that his friend was a trifle embar-
rassed in replying to it ; apparently Harding had not got
quite acclimatized in the City. There was neither humor,
nor drollery, nor epigram in this sort of banter; but only a
trick of inversion, by which a man expressed his meaning by
saying something directly the opposite — a patter, indeed, not
much more intellectual than the jabbering of inarticulate
apes. It should be added, however, that the young men were
very young men.
" Miller hasn't come yet," said Harding. " What is the
matter between you two ? "
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH. 49
" Nothing : I never saw him. But I know why he wants
to be introduced to me. What sort of a man is he ? "
" Oh, well, he is a nice enough young fellow, who has, unfor-
tunately, got too much money in prospect, and consequently
does nothing. But now, I believe, he is going into business
— his father means to buy him a partnership."
" But — but — what sort of a fellow is he ? " said Drummond,
who had no interest in the young man's commercial pros-
pects.
" Well, he is fairly educated, as things go — much better edu-
cated than the idle sons of rich business men ordinarily are.
He sometimes rather gives himself airs, as to his gentlemanly
appearance and instincts, and so forth, if strangers are too
familiar with him in the billiard-room up-stairs, where they
generally have an afternoon pool going on. He is inclined
to look down on us poor devils who are in commerce ; but
that is natural in the son of a business man. He is free with
his money — that is to say, he would give you a gorgeous ban-
quet if he asked you to dinner ; but it would take a clever
fellow to sharp him out of a sixpence ; and you don't catch him
lending sovereigns to those hangers-on about billiard-rooms,
who are always ready to borrow, and never remember to pay.
I think, on the whole, he is a good sort of a fellow. I rather
like him. You see he is very young : and you can put up
with a good deal in the way of crude opinion, and self-esteem,
and all that, from a young man. ... I suppose other
people had a good deal to stand at our hands when we were
of the same age."
" You don't think he would do any thing mean or dishon-
orable ? "
" I think his own good opinion of himself would guard
against that," said Harding with a laugh. " Self-esteem, and
not any very high notion of morality, keeps many a man from
picking a pocket."
" And he does nothing at all ? He has no particular occu-
pation or hobby ? "
'' No ; I think he is an idle, careless, good-natured sort of
fellow. Not at all a fool, you know — very shrewd and keen.
But what in the world are you so anxious to know all about
George Miller for 1 "
Drummond did not answer ; he seemed to have encoun-
tered some difficulty in the cutlet that was before him. At
length he said, without raising his eyes from the plate, and
just as if he were naturally continuing the conversation,
" Well, Harding, I was thinking the most miserable people
4
50 MADCAP VIOLET,
in this country are the lads and young men who are devoured
by ambition : there are thousands and thousands of them, all
hungering for the appreciation of the public, all anxious to
have their stupendous abilities recognized at once. They can
not rest until their book is published ; until they have been
allowed to play Hamlet in a London theatre ; until they have
had a chance of convincing a jury, and astonishing a judge.
By Jove ! if they only knew, wouldn't they be thankful for
the obstacles that prevent their making fools of themselves !
When they do rush into print prematurely, or get all their
friends to witness their failure on the stage, what do they do
but lay up in their memory something that will give them
many a cold bath in after-days ! But I wonder which you
should admire the more — the young fellow who is tortured
with ambition, and would make a fool of himself if he were
allowed ; or the young fellow who is much more sensible —
probably from a lack of imagination — and lives a happy and-
free-and-easy life ? That is your friend Miller's case, isn't it ?
Now, don't you think that the young man who — "
There is no saying whither this speculation might not have
led, had not Mr. Drummond been interrupted by the appear-
ance of Mr. Miller himself. Mr. Drummond's quick, brilliant,
observant eyes were instantly directed to the young man's face.
It was a refined and handsome face. There was something
pleasing in the modest blush which accompanied the simple
ceremony of introduction. So far, the first impression was
distinctly favorable ; but Drummond remained silent, grave,
and watchful, while the younger man chatted to Harding, and
explained the reasons for his being late.
Then young Miller turned to Drummond, and rather tim-
idly began to talk to him. As Drummond was never known
to remain in the same mood for five minutes at a time, he was
least of all likely to do so when that mood was one of cautious
and critical severity ; so that almost directly Harding saw
him, in response to some chance and modest remark of the
young man, suddenly brighten up into a laugh, while he re-
torted with a joke. Mr. Miller was, indeed, relating some
stories he had heard as to the tricks of the manufacturers of
spurious wines — a subject on which he seemed to have ac-
quired some knowledge. He went on to make a few remarks
on the constituents of this or that wine — remarks diffidently
made, but obviously based on accurate information. His
talk interested Drummond, who by-the-way, was profoundly
ignorant on the matter. He neither knew nor particularly
cared how a wine was produced, so long as it was pleasant
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH.
SI
and wholesome. If it was pleasant and proved to be whole-
some, he drank it ; if not, he left it alone. He would as soon
have thought of inquiring into the constituents of this or any-
other wine as he would of inquiring into the application of
the money he paid in taxes. He never knew for what pur-
poses he was taxed, or who taxed him ; but he paid the money,
and was glad to be relieved from responsibility. He lacked
the parochial mind altogether ; but he was altogether grateful
to the vestries, or boards of guardians, or whatever other and
occult bodies took upon themselves the task of local govern-
ment.
Now, the great respect markedly paid him by young Mil-
ler rather flattered Mr. Drummond, who began to be inter-
ested in the young man. Moreover, was he not in a position
of advantage ? He knew Miller's secret aim ; Miller did not
know that he knew it ; if there was any thing suspicious or
underhand about the young man, he would have an excellent
opportunity of finding it out. He was, on the whole, glad
that he had resolved to come to the luncheon ; he would not
allow the young man to make use of the acquaintance unless
he considered that advisable ; while he was now in a better
position to aid and counsel Violet North.
After luncheon they went up for a brief period to the smok-
ing-room ; and then Harding had to go back to his office.
"Mr. Drummond," said George Miller, rather shyly, " I be-
lieve you live over Denmark Hill way ? "
" Yes ; Camberwell Grove," said the elder man, amusing
himself by watching the artless tricks of his companion's di-
plomacy.
" I live at Sydenham Hill. I — I was thinking — you know
you were speaking of old books — well, my father has what
is said to be a very good collection — it was left him by a
friend who went to India some years ago. Now, if you have
nothing better to do, would you — would you — come out with
me now and have a look at them ? You might stay and have
a bit of dinner with me too. Unfortunately our people are
all down at the Isle of Wight just now ; but the servants will
get us something. I — I wish you would."
Mr. Drummond could have smiled. The poor young man !
— he was working away at his little plot, unconscious how the
master-mind beside him was looking down on all its innocent
involutions. Pie would humor the youth.
" All right," said he, " I shall be very glad. Only I must
send a telegram to my sister."
So these two oddly consorted people went away down to
52 MADCAP VIOLET.
Sydenham to the big, gorgeous, solemn, and empty house ;
and young Miller was as anxious for his guest's comfort as if he
had been an emperor. And how respectfully, too, he listened
to the elder man's monologues and jerky witticisms, and
chance remarks suggested by the various volumes. Much of
it all w^as quite incomprehensible to him ; but he did not
cease to listen with great attention. Drummond came to the
conclusion that Mr. Miller was a very ignorant young man,
but decidedly intelligent, and laudably anxious to be in-
structed. Never had any prophet so humble a disciple.
He staid to dinner too, and accepted with an amused con-
descension the young man's apologies for a banquet which was
certainly varied and abundant enough. None of the wines
seemed sufficiently good for so distinguished a visitor. The
youthful host bitterly regretted he had not a better cigar to
offer Mr. Drummond — the fact is, the box he produced had
only cost 7/. \os, the hundred. They went out on the terrace
to smoke, and sat down in easy-chairs, among fragrant bushes,
under a clear, starlit sky. If the young man had any prayer
or petition to present, was not this a favorable opportunity t
" I suppose those lights over there," said George Miller,
looking across the black valley to a low hill where there were
some points of yellow fire, " are about where you live ? "
" Yes, I should think so," said Mr. Drummond.
" I — I happen to know a neighbor of yours."
" Oh, indeed," said his wily companion, with an apparent
indifference, though he knew what the young man was after.
" At least not quite a neighbor, but a young lady at a
boarding-school. I — I believe you know something of her —
Miss North is her name — "
" Oh yes, we know her," said Drummond, carelessly.
" Yes, said the other, with greater embarrassnient, " so — so
I have heard."
" You know her father, of course ? " said Mr. Drummond,
lightly — which was certainly not the remark that might have
been expected to follow such a good dinner, such a good cigar,
and so great an amount of attention.
" N-no, not exactly."
" Her friends, then .? "
Young Miller got out of his embarrassment by a bold
plunge.
" The fact is," said he, " Mr. Drummond, I made her ac-
quaintance in a curious way, and I have been anxious to get
somebody who would do all the formal and society business
of introducing us, don't you know ; for she is a very nice girl
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH. 53
indeed, and one likes to know such a sensible, such a frank,
good-natured — "
" Oh, I see," said Drummond, apparently making a great
discovery, " so you got Harding to ask me to go into the
City ; and so 3^ou have asked me to come out here ? "
There was no anger or impatience in his tone ; he seemed
only asking for information. The night concealed the color
that had fired up into the younger man's face.
" I hope you don't think it was impertinent of me," said
he. "1 am delighted to have made your acquaintance in
any case — I hope you will believe that. I thought Miss
North had probably mentioned my name to you."
He made no answer to that ; he said it was a beautiful cool
night, and rose to stretch his legs.
" To tell you the truth," stamniered young Miller, I thought
that — that if you and I became friendly, I might have an op-
portunity, sometime or other, of being introduced to her un-
der your roof."
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Drummond, cooll}'. "And with
what purpose ? "
" Well, one wishes to have a pleasant acquaintance — that
is natural."
" I see," said Drummond, carefully breaking the white ash
off his cigar."
George Miller waited for a second or two ; surely this was
a most unsatisfactory answer.
" You have not yet said — "
" Oh — whether I would ask you to meet Miss North at my
house ? Well, I see no harm in that. You only wish to
make her acquaintance ; there is no harm in that. But — but
I will see about it."
" Oh, thank you."
Not very long after that Mr. Drummond took his leave,
declining at the last moment half a dozen cigars as big as
walking-sticks which George Miller declared to be necessary
to his comfort on the way home. When he reached Camber-
well Grove he said to his sister,
" Did you see Violet North this afternoon ? "
" No," she said ; " the Kennaways came over and stopped
the whole day with me."
" Don't go just yet, then. We must consider. I have met
that young Miller, and a very decent young fellow he is, but
much too young to be allowed to flirt with Violet North.
Now, if they were allowed to see each other occasionally, she
is a shrewd enough girl to find out that he is rather a com-
54 MADCAP VIOLET.
monplace young man ; and I think we ought to let them
meet here."
" Oh, James, how dangerous ! " cried his sister. " Only
think what we may be accused of ! Violet North will have
money."
" That young fellow will have twenty times as much. How-
ever, I am sure the question will never arise. We will talk
about this thing to-morrow."
Now " to-morrow " was Tuesday — that Tuesday on which
Violet North had determined to'put the whole world to defiance.
" Just my luck ! " said young Miller to himself after Mr.
Drummoncl had gone ; confound it ! why was she in such a
hurry 1 He would be willing to have us meet as friends at
his house — that is quite certain — and every thing would go
smoothly enough ; and now comes this pretty adventure of
taking her av.-ay to Hampton, and there's no escape from
that now. And a very nice mess we are likely to get into, if
anybody sees us or finds it out, as somebody is sure to do."
CHAPTER VII.
A SUMMER day's RIDE.
The eventful morning arrived, and at an early hour Violet
North went to the window of her small room, and with rather
an anxious heart, drew up the blind. Behold ! all around
her and beneath her a world of green foliage, lighted up by
the early sunshine ; a million flashing diamonds of light on
the glossy ivy leaves of the old red wall ; black shadows from
the broad laurel bushes falling on the brown earth below ;
the white and purple lilacs, the tremulous yellow blossoms of
the laburnum, the upright, cream-hued minarets of the ches-
nut-trees, all basking in the sun ; and two tall poplars, rust-
ling their leaves in the light wind, leading the eye up to the
wonderful expanse of clear blue above, where there was not
even a white flake of cloud. She was satisfied.
She heard some one passing her door ; she v/ent to it hur-
riedly, and one of the servants turned on the stair and re-
garded her.
" Elizabeth," said she, " here is a shilling for you ; and
you must at once run away down to Camberwell, and go to
Mrs. Cooke's, the milliner, and don't you come away until
A SUMMER DA Y'S RIDE. 55
you've got my hat, clone or undone. Now, do you understand,
Elizabeth ? "
" Lor, miss, they was to send it up at eight o'clock, and it
is only half-past seven yet."
" But I am sure they won't send it. Don't waste time,
Elizabeth, but go and do as I tell you; and don't be argued
out of the shop."
When the two or three boarders came down to breakfast,
they all knew that Violet North was going away for a holiday,
and they were all anxious to see her costume. She was con-
tinually surprising them in that matter, for she had some skill
in dressing herself, and yet many a poor girl who faithfully
copied this glass of fashion, could not understand how these
costumes seemed to suit no one as well as they suited Violet
North. They could not even say that it was the larger
pocket-money of a baronet's daughter which gave her greater
latitude in adorning herself , for her dresses were devoid of
every sort of ornament. They were the simplest of the sim-
ple ; no tawdry flounces or eye-distracting bunches of rib-
bons : their only peculiarity was the studied tightness of their
sleeves. But that which made Miss North's dresses seem to
fit so gracefully was something outside and beyond the dress-
maker's art : the workmanship not of any man or woman
milliner, but of God.
She was in capital spirits. Anxious ? Not a bit. There
was more anxiety in the breast of a young man who, at that
moment, was coming along the Dulwich road in a carriage
drawn by a ])air of fine grays. He almost looked as if he
were going to a wedding.
" Yes, Miss Main," said Violet North, going calmly to the
window, -'here is the carriage; and I see it is young Mr.
Miller who has come for me. I would rather have intro-
duced the father to you ; but as it is, will you come down
and see him ? "
" Oh, yes," said Miss Main, graciously.
The young man stood, hat in hand, in the parlor; and, if
the truth must be told, with his heart for the moment throb-
bing rather quickly. He looked from the school-mistress to
Violet North as they both entered ; the young lady was com-
posed, smiling, and courteous.
"Let me introduce Mr. Miller to you. Miss Main," said
she. "Your father is very well known, by reputation, to
Miss Main, Mr. Miller ; and she almost expected him to come
for me this morning. But I suppose he had some other en-
gagement."
S6 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Y-yes," stammered the young man ; and then he added,
hastily, " Are you ready to go now, Miss North ? "
He was desperately anxious to get out of the house ; he
knew not at what moment he might make a blunder. That
there was some mystification about was evident from Miss
Main's innocent helplessness in the matter.
" Good-morning, Miss Main," said Miss North ; " I dare say
I shall be back about six."
When she stepped out into the sunlight, and saw the two
gray horses before her she could scarcely refrain from smiling
— it was very like a runaway marriage. And so thought the
girls upstairs, who were all at the window ; and who, when
they saw the young lady in gray and dark-brown velvet — ■
with her gray hat now adorned with a bold white feather —
handed into the carriage, could not help admitting that a
handsomer bride had never been taken to church. And was
not he handsome, too — the slender, square-shouldered young
man, with the straight nostrils and finely cut mouth.? They
drove away in the clear sunshine ; and the girls were of
opinion that, if it were not a marriage, it ought to have been.
George Miller heaved a great sigh of relief : he had not
been at all comfortable while in that room.
" How did you manage it ? " said he.
"Oh," said she, with a revengeful triumph in her manner
that he did not quite understand, " the easiest thing in the
world ! That dear good school-mistress thinks we are going
to some flower-show or other, where your father, and my fa-
ther, and every body else's father, are all to be together.
Coachman ! "
The man turned round.
" Would you please go through this lane and up Grove
Hill ? " She did not wish to pass in front of Mr. Drummond's
house.
" And did you tell her all that ? " said he.
" Not 1. She inferred it all for herself. But never mind
that. Isn't it fine to be off for a holiday ? — and what a holi-
day, too ! I never saw this place looking so lovely."
They were driving along the crest of Champion Hill ; and as
there was a bank of black cloud all along the southern sky,
against this dark background the wonderful light greens of
the spring foliage seemed to be interfused with a lambent sun-
shine. Here were young lime-trees, with slender and jet-
black branches ; tall and swaying poplars ; branching and
picturesque elms ;' massive chestnuts and feathery birches ;
and now and again^ looking into a bit of wood, they saw a
A SUMMER DA Y'S RIDE. 57
Strange green twilight produced by the sun beating on the
canopy of foliage above. It was a spring-day in look — the
heavy purple in the south, the clear blue above, with glimpses
through the lofty elms of sailing white clouds blown along by
a western breeze.
" Where are we going ? " said she, though, in point of fact,
she did not care much. It was enough to be out in freedom,
in the cool air and the clear sunshine.
"I thought of Hampton," said he, timidly. "The river is
pretty there, and we must have luncheon."
" Are there not a good many Cockneys there ? " said she>
with an air of lofty criticism. " Don't they call it ' Appy
' Ampton .^ ' "
" You'll scarcely find any body there on a Tuesday," said
he.
" Ah, you thought of that ? "
"Yes."
" Thank you."
She was quite gracious ; but somehow he was never sure
that she was not joking. Was it not with some hidden sar-
casm that this school-girl said " Thank you," with the high
courtesy of an empress .'*
Suddenly she burst out laughing ; and then he knew she
was natural enough.
" If Miss Main should hear of this," she cried, " I do
think she'll have a fit ! It wdll be worth all the money to see
her ! "
"I don't see any thing to laugh at in it," said he, "for, to
tell you the truth, I don't see the necessity of your going on
in this way."
She stared at him for a moment.
"Tell the man to stop," said she, with sudden decision.
" I don't see the necessity, either, of our going on like this.
I have had eipugh of the driving, and I can walk back."
" Now please don't be foolish," said he, in a low voice.
" Why won't you wait until I explain 1 I said it was un-
necessary, for there is no longer any reason why we should
not meet each other just as ordinary people do. Mr. Drum-
mond dined with me last night."
The announcement did not startle her as he had expected.
" I don't care," said she.
" But what is the use of risking trouble ? "
" They goaded me into it," said she.
" Then do you mean to refuse ? "
" Now," said she, " what is the use of arguing on such a
58 MADCAP VIOLET.
morning ? I said I would go with -you for a nice drive, and
here I am ; and now you begin to talk about difficulties and
disagreeable people. Why can't you let well alone ? "
He was elf ectu ally silenced : and that was not the first
time he had found himself unable to cope with the pro-
nounced character of this mere school-girl. Of course, he
did not like it. There was a frown on his handsome face ;
and he sat moody and silent. After a bit, she looked at him,
and there was a mischievous look of amusement in her eyes.
" Have I offended you } " she said.
" No ; but you have been rather rude," said he.
" Well, that is pretty language," said she, with a good-
natured laugh, " to address to a young lady. By-and-by I
shall find you following the example of Dr. Siedl. He called
me a devil, the other day."
" I don't wonder at it," said he ; and this confession so
tickled her, and pleased her, that she got into a fit of laugh-
ing, which eventually conquered his surliness. He could not
help laughing too.
" Do you know what an exasperating person you are ? "
said he.
" Well," she candidly admitted, " one or two people have
hinted as much to me ; but I always considered it jealousy
on their part — jealousy of my superior sweetness. I do as-
sure you I consider myself very amiable. Of course, if jDCople
choose to be disagreeable — "
" That means if people don't give you your own way in
every thing, you will take it."
" Well, there is something in that. However, let us say no
more about it. I forgive you."
She settled herself comfortably in the carriage, the sun-
light just catching the fine color of her face, and the light
breeze stirring ends and tatters of her masses of dark hair.
If she was a runaway school-girl, there was httle fear about
her. She was criticising the appearance of the houses on
Denmark Hill and Heme Hill as they drove past ; she was
calling attention to the pale purple blossoms of the wistaria
hanging in front of the sunlit walls ; or to the light, sunny,
velvety green becoming visible on the upper side of the black
and shelving branches of the cedars. What sort of people
were they who had these houses ? What was their income t
Would Mr. Miller like to live there ?
Then for a time they got away from the houses ; and, be-
hold ! here were beautiful green meadows yellowed over with
kingcups, and hedges white with the May. Past some houses
A SUMMER DA Y'S RIDE. 59
again, and into the long broad avenues of Clapham Park.
Was not this Clapham Common, with its golden gorse and
gigantic birch-trees ? They dip into another hollow, and
rise again ; and by-and-by they get w^ell out into the country—
the perpetual road of sunlit brown, the green fringe of hedge,
the blue sky with its long flakes of white, and the musical,
monotonous patter of the horses' feet.
" So you saw Mr. Drummond last night 1 " said Violet.
" Well what do you think of him ? No— don't tell me ; for
unless you admired him very much — very much indeed — you
and I should quarrel."
" I thought you were rather offended with him just now ? "
said George Miller, with some surprise.
" You can be offended with people you admire and like,
can you not ? "
" Oh, I found him a very pleasant fellow — rather eccentric,
you know — rather too much given to puzzling you about
things — "
" He can not help yoiir not understanding him," said Miss
Violet, innocently.
" As for that, I don't suppose he has all the wisdom in the
world," said George Miller, who was only a young man, and
quick to imagine rivalry. " And you must admit that he isn't
very good-looking."
" I dislike dolls," said Miss Violet ; " I like men to be
men — not dolls."
And now they had come — why, this easy, delightful travel-
ing was like a dream ! — to the high ground overlooking the far
stretches of Wimbledon Common ; and here, indeed, were
two immense parallel plains, that of the fair blue sky above,
and that of the black heath below, dotted here and there with
yellow furze. Far away at the edge of the world there lay a
ring of low-lying wooded country, that somehow seemed to
suggest the mystic neighborhood of the sea.
" What a fine scent the wind brings with it," said Miss
Violet, " when it blows over the gorse ! Why can't they bottle
that, instead of carnation, and peppermint, and such stuffs ?
fancy getting a breath of country air into a London church.
Do you like red hawthorn ? "
"Yes, rather." \
" I don't. It's too jammy. It looks as if it had been
dipped red by a confectioner. I believe in the real white
natural stuff."
" But the one is as natural as the other," said he.
6o MADCAP VIOLET.
" I am not going to argue," she retorted, v;ith great conde-
scension, " tiie weather is too fine."
With their youthful spirits and a joyous day, and a capital
pair of horses, the time was passing pleasantly enough ; but
at this point their enjoyment Vv^as interrupted by a pitiful
accident. They had got past the Robin Hood gate, and were
rolling along the valley. A woman was coming in the oppo-
site direction with her two children — one in her arms, and one
whom she had allowed to lag far behind. Now, there was a
cart laden with timber in the wa}^ and as Miller's coachman
drove to the right of the road to pass it, it unfortunately
happened that the child, a little girl, stumbled at the edge of
the pathway, and almost rolled against the carriage. She was
not run over, but she struck her head against the hind wheel ;
and when Violet North, quick as lightning, opened the carriage
door, jumped down, and caught up the child, blood was flowing
from a slight scalp-wound. The girl, who had caught up the
child long before the mother could reach it, and Vvho did not
know that the wound was not very dangerous, was frantic in
her indignation.
" Yoit a driver ! " she said, with her eyes flashing. " Why
didn't you stop your horses .-* You — you — you're not fit to — •
Oh, my poor child, I think w^e've murdered you ! "
She ran with the child back to the public-house : there —
the mother not seeking to relieve her of her burden — she got
water and washed the wound, and tied it up as well as she
could with linen they brought her. The coachman came in —
he was explaining to the people that it was not his fault at all.
" Hold your peace ! " she said.
Then she turned to the mother.
" Where do you live ? Give me your address — I will come
and see you."
She quickly pulled out her purse. All this time her face
was very pale and determined. George Miller interfered, and
said,
" Here, my good woman, is a sovereign for you."
"She shall have ten sovereigns — she shall have twenty sover-
eigns ! " the girl said, almost with a stamp of her foot, and with
abundant tears rushing into her eyes. " Here, mother, is all
the money I've got — I'm sorry we can do nothing but give you
maney. But I will come and see you — my father will come
and see you. You go to a surgery when you get up to Wands-
worth, and get a good doctor, and I'll pay him — now, don't
you forget; I wijl look after you."
" Thank you kindly, miss," said the poor woman ; and the
A SUMMER DAY'S RIDE. 6i
men standing by, when the girl went out, said to each other,
" There now, that's a real lady, that is ; that's none o' your
fine, stuck-up gentry as is too proud to step down from their
carriages ; that's a real lady, that is."
The carriage was outside, and the coachman again on his
box. She went up to him.
" I beg your pardon," said she, distinctly. " I believe I
was wrong. I don't think you could have helped it."
" Well, miss, I don't think I could," said he. " But there's
no great harm done — no bones broken. " It'll only be a scar."
And so they drove on once more ; but Mr. Miller was not
at all pleased at the way he had been treated in that wayside
public-house.
" How do you propose to get your father to go and see that
woman ? How will you explain your being here ? "
"I don't mind that," she said.
" He could do no good. How much money did you give
her?"
" Three sovereigns and some silver."
" So she has got over four pounds on account of that cut.
I don't think she'd mind having the whole of her family treated
in the same way."
" If you had your head laid open," she retorted, " I won-
der how much your friends would think a proper compensa-
tion."
They drove on for some distance in silence.
" I think," said he, " we are having a fair amount of quar-
reling for a single -day."
" But that," she answered, with a charming smile, " is only
to show what good friends we are. Of course, if we had met
each other at a dinner party, and then at a ball, and then at
a dinner party, we should be excessively polite to each other.
Would you rather like that ? Shall we try — from here to
Hampton.'* Shall I begin? I beg your pardon^ my dear Mr.
Miller, but would you have the goodness to tell me what o^ clock
it is ? "
The abrupt change of manner, and the air with which she
made the inquiry, caused him to burst out laughing ; and this
effectually put both into a good humor, which lasted, with but
few interruptions, throughout the rest of the day.
On through Kingston and over the high-arched bridge —
on by the wall and trees of Bushey Park — past the entrance
to Hampton Court Palace — underneath the shadow of some
mighty trees — and then round to an open green, to the river,
62 MADCAP VIOLET.
and to a big old-fashioned inn, its walls all hanging with the
blossoms of the wistaria.
'' Have you courage to have luncheon in the ordinary coffee-
room ? " said he — as if she lacked courage for any thing !
" Certainly," she said. " I like to see people ; and I am
not afraid of meeting any one I know. Oh, I say, if Miss
Main could only see me now ! "
When they went into the coffee-room they found there
only two old maiden ladies, having bread-and-cheese and
lemonade, a Frenchman and his wife, who was much older
than himself, and an old gentleman who had fallen asleep in
his chair. They were therefore fortunate in being able to
get a table at one of the windows, so that they could turn
from the dull red carpet and white curtains of the room to
the great glowing world outside. Violet was very grave while
luncheon was being ordered. She expressed her preference
for this or that with a serious frankness. She had the air of
a young woman on her bridal-trip, who is above all things
determined to appear indifferent and at her ease, so as to
make the waiter believe that she has been married from time
immemorial.
" Then," said he, when the waiter was gone, " you will take
a little Champagne, won't you ? "
" No, thank you," she said. " I like it, you know, espe-
cially if it is not too sweet ; but I am not allowed to have any
thing more than a glass of sherry."
" XVho can prevent you now ? " he asked.
" My own self-respect," she said, with great suavity. " Do
you think I would take advantage of Miss Main behind her
back .? "
Luncheon was put on the table ; and yet they could not
bear to have the window shut down. Indeed, there was not
much wind blowing in ; for now the ominous black clouds in
the south had cleared away ; a clear blue sky shone over the
still and fair landscape ; the world lay in the peaceful light of
a summer forenoon. Violet was most unmistakably hungry,
but she gave her luncheon only a divided attention. She
was continually turning to the sunlit picture outside, a soft
and dreamy picture without sound. For there w^as the long
blue sweep of the river — a pale steel-blue, here and there
broken by a sharp line of white. Out in mid-stream the wind
caught the surface, and ruffled it in to a darker blue ; in under
the soft green willows — which were glowing in the sunshine —
there were smooth shadows of a cool, dark olive. On the
one side, these willows and meadows ; on the other, the ruddy
A SUMMER DA Y'S RIDE. ^^
road and corner by the Palace wall, with stately elms and
chestnuts ; in the far distance, a softly wooded landscape all
shimmering in the light. Could one catch the sound of that
boat coming round the swee^Ding curve — the sunshine spark-
ling on the wet blades of the oars ? There was a flock of
ducks swimming in a compact body against the gentle cur-
rent. Far overhead a rook — grown small by the height-
was making his way homeward through the blue.
" And who are these ? " she saidy looking down on some
six or eight young men who were crossing the road from the
inn and making for the green banks by the side of the river.
They were carrying bottles and glasses, and most of them
had lighted pipes or cigars.
" I should think they were the German fellows wdio were
making such a noise up-stairs."
" I don't call part-singing noise," she retorted. "I wish
they had gone on. I knew every song they sung."
" I have no doubt you would like to have gone and helped
them," he said, not very graciously.
" I could have done that too," she replied, simply. " My
singing is not said to be lovely by critics — envious critics, you
know — but I am mad about German songs. Now look at
that one who has lain down on his back, with his hat over his
face : why doesn't he start a song ? He isn't smoking, like
the others."
" Perhaps you would like to go and ask him ? " he sug-
gested.
■ " I would, really," she replied, quite innocently. " You
don't know how fond I am of the German choruses. Don't
you know '' Gaudeamiis ? ' "
" If you would prefer to go and make the acquaintance of
those gentlemen — "
" In the same manner I made yours ? " she remarked.
" Do you mean that any one — " He was obviously get-
ting annoyed again, and she interposed.
''There is nothing," she observed, "of gratitude in the
human breast. Here have I run the risk of the most tremen-
dous disgrace — worse than that, I suppose I shall have soli-
tary confinement and bread and water for three months — all
to give you the pleasure of my society for a few hours ; and
the return is that I am thwarthed, crushed, argufied at every
turn — "
" You are likely to be crushed ! " he said, laughing.
" Why, I only wanted them to sing some more songs to
64 MADCAP VIOLET,
please you. I know the songs, every one of them, by heart.
Why should I— Oh ! " ^
She threw down her knife and fork, and clasped her hands
together in delight.
" Don't you know what that is "i "
One of the young fellows, lying stretched at full length on
the grass, had been tapping time with his stick, on an empty
bottle, to an imaginary tune. Th^n he had taken to whistling,
which he suddenly abandoned in order to bawl out, in a strong,
careless, deep bass voice,
" Was kommt dort von der Hoh',
Was kommt dort von der Hoh' ;"
and then the full chorus burst in upon him, not very musically,
for some of the young men tried to keep their pipes in their
mouths,
" Was kommt dort von der lederncn Hoh',
Sa, sa ! ledernen Hoh',
Was kommt dort von der Hoh'! "
" Oh, you nice young men ! " cried Violet North. *' Oh,
you nice young men, don't stop! "
But they did stop ; the foxy chorus had less novelty for
them than for her ; and, in fact, this young fellow had bawled
out a line or two of it out of pure idleness and laziness. Some
talking ensued, with here and there a faintly heard burst of
laughter. Suddenly the deep-voiced young man called-out,
" Es zogen drei Burschen wohl uber den Rhein,
Bei einer Frau Wirthin da kehrten sie ein,"
and there was another scramble for the chorus,
" Bei einer Frau Writhm da kehrten sie ein."
Every one knows that Uhland's story of the three students is
among the most pathetic of ballads ; but what pathos was
there possible to those stalwart young fellows, with their lusty
throats, their tobacco, and beer and wine ? And yet the dis-
tance softened the sound ; the beautiful air had its own mes-
sage of sentiment with it. In the still sunshine, aud by the
side of the cool river, the various voices seemed harmonious
enough.
" Oh ! " said Violet, " if they would only bestir themselves,
and sing properly ! I am sure they belong to some choral so-
A SUMMER DA TS RIDE. 65
ciety. Why don't they sit up, and throw their nasty pipes in-
to the river ! "
Not they : they lay, and laughed, and sung snatches of cho-
rus, idle as the summer day around them. Of course, they
sung of the Lorelei, though there was here no gloomy and
impending rock for the mystic maiden to sit on in the even-
ing light, while the soft tones of her harp lured the mariner
to his fate. They sung B-jodelso-ng, thejode/erha.ymg all the air
to himself ; the others merely chanting a rhythmic and deep
accompaniment, as is the fashion of the Swiss workmen when
they are walking home in the evening. They devoted them-
selves to a couple of drinking-songs, and then they got back
to the region of sentiment with the Tyrolese lover's " Her-
zig's Schatzerl, lass dich herzen." Violet had been getting
more and more impatient. She had finished her luncheon,
or rather had neglected it for the singing, and the sunlight,
and the green foliage without. She had not been a talkative
companion.
" Can't we go out now ? " she said.
" I suppose you want to get nearer to those German fel-
lows .? " said he.
" Yes," she answered. " I can not hear them very well at
such a distance."
"Just as you like, then," said he, with no great warmth of
assent. " Of course, we shall have to come back here."
She went to get her shawl, and then the two of them passed
down the stairs together. Alas ! what was that she heard as
as she got into the hall ? She could only hear the air ; but
she knew the words they were singing,
" Wohlauf, noch getrunken den funkelnden Wein I
Ade nun, ihr Bruder, geschieden muss sein."
Why " Ade ! " just as she was coming out to see and hear
something more of them } Indeed, when she went out to
the front steps, the tall youths had all got to their feet, and a
waiter was bringing back empty glasses and bottles.
" They are going," she said, with some disappointment.
" Yes," said he. " Did you think they were going to per-
form the part of Ethiopian serenaders the whole day .'' '*
" What shall we do now } " she asked. Her musicians
gone, she was indifferent.
" Let us go in and see the gardens, and the fountains, and
the fish. Then there is the maze, you know."
" I have heard of that," she said, with some grandeur,
" That is the place that maid-servants like to lose themselves
06 MADCAP VIOLET.
in when they go out for a holiday. Thank you, we will do
without the maze."
They went round and into the Palace, and, behold ! be-
fore them were the German youths, straying about the courts,
and apparently halving continual trouble wdth their double
eyeglasses. They were in the main stalwart, straight-limbed,
good-looking young fellows, though they wore very light trou-
sers, which were too short for them ; and brilliant neck-ties,
which a milliner's girl would have coveted ; and had had
their heads, to all appearance, shaved on some recent occa-
sion. But Miss North seemed to take but little interest now
in the young men; she scarcely noticed them.
Among the few visitors, however, who were walking in the
gardens behind the Palace, there were two whom she did
particularly notice, and that in a very curious and wistful
fashion. These were an old blind man, with long snow-white
hair, and a small girl, probably his grandchild, who was lead-
ing him about, and chattering to him about all the things she
saw. Violet North and her companion were sitting on a seat
which was in the cool shadow of a black yew-tree ; and from
this darkened place they could well see the blazing gardens
all around them, and the bright figures that walked about in
the sunshine. Wherever the old man and the child went,
thither the eyes of Miss North followed them. How quiet
the place was ! the only sound that of the plashing of the
fountains. The repose of the Old-World garden seemed to
invite to thinking. There was a sleepiness about those dark
yews that flung their black shadows on the burning green-
sward. It was a comfort to the eyes that those yellow and
scarlet flower-beds, that flamed in the sunlight, were remote ;
here, close at hand, there was but the grateful shadow, and
the dark-green under the branches, and the slumberous plash-
ing of the waters.
" Do you see that little girl leading about the old man ?
She is describing to him every thing she sees — the gold-fishes
in the pond, the butterflies, every thing. Do you know what
I should do if I were that girl, and if he were my father ? "
He looked at her ; he had never heard her speak in this
tone before.
" I should tell him lies ! " she said, with sudden bitterness.
" I should go and tell him lies, and deceive him, and take ad-
vantage of his blindness. And he would believe me ; for
how could he suspect that I would be so mean ? "
'' I — I don't understand you," said he.
A SUMuIER DA Y'S RIDE. 67
"Well," she said, with a careless gesture, "we have had
our holiday ; never mind."
And yet her eyes still followed the old man and the child.
" I wonder," she said, absently, " whether, if you break the
confidence people have in you, you can never restore it ? Or
is it all done for, and you can't go back ? "
He looked at her once more : she was quietly crying.
" Violet ! " said he, " what is the matter ? "
" I am beginning to think what I have done, that is all,"
she said, trying to conceal her tears; "and it is never to be
undone now. And all for what ? — a drive and a look at some
flowers ; and now I can never look my father in the face again,
nor the only friends I have in the world, nor Miss Main, nor
any body."
" They — they needn't know," he said, hesitatingly.
"Don't I know myself ? " she said, vehemently. " Can any
thing be worse than that? And I never was so mean as to
deceive any one before — and — oh ! I can't bear to think of
it!"
" You must not think so much of all this," said he sooth-
ingly. " The fact is, you are very proud, and what annoys
you wouldn't disturb any body else. It was scarcely fair,I ad-
mit, to go and deceive those people, or rather let them deceive
themselves ; but, after ah, it was only a bit of fun — "
" Yes," she said, rapidly. " It was that at the time — it was
that all to-day — but, now that we have had our adventure,
comes the price that has to be paid for it. Do you knov/ what
I would give to have those last few days cut out of my life
altogether t That is the worst of it ; you can not forget."
" It isn't so serious as all that," he pleaded.
" Not to you," she answered.
He certainly perceived that what delight was to come of this
adventure had passed away. All the gay and careless audac-
ity had fled from her manner; she seemed to be brooding
over her self humiliation. It was no use arguing with her;
she was much too sharp in her replies for him. He began to
think they might as well drive back to London.
She pulled out her watch.
" Could your man get me up to London by half-past five ? "
"Certainly, if you start now."
" And would you mind leaving me anywhere in the neigh-
borhood of Euston Square.? You can go home then, you
know."
" But how about Miss Main ? " said he, in surprise.
" Never mind her ; I will arrange about that."
68 MADCAP VIOLET.
*' All right," said he ; " we must return to the inn at once."
It was a sultry afternoon as they drove back along the
dusty highways to the great town they had left in the morn-
ing. A light brown haze had come over the sky; and the
sun, that had got a coppery linge, threw a curiously ruddy
light on the highway, where the shadows of the trees were
purple rather than grey. There was no wind now ; the air
seemed to choke one ; the birds were hushed ; everything
promised thunder.
" You mean to go and see your father, I suppose ? " said
he.
" Yes," she said, firmly. " This at least I can do— I can
go and confess to every one whom I have deceived, and ask
their pardon — every one. What will they think of me after-
ward — well, I can not help that. I should have thought of
that before undertaking this piece of folly."
" I don't see why you should bear all the blame, and take
all the punishment," he said. *' I will tell you what I will
do, if you like : what if I go up to your father's with you, and
tell him the whole story ? I will if you like."
" You would ? " she said, with her face brightening.
" Certainly."
" I like you for that," she said, frankly ; " but, of course,
I can not allow it. You had nothing to do with it at all. It
isn't the mere running off for a day that I regret — that was
mere stupidity — but the horrid cheating ; it is that I can't get
over — "
" That is merely because you are so proud."
" It does not matter how or why it is, so long as it is there.
I am what I am ; and I hate myself — I shall continue to
hate myself until I have confessed the whole thing, and left
it with them to forgive me or not, as they please And if
they do, will they ever be able to forget ? No, no : this piece
of fun — of ridiculous nonsense — has done something that is
not to be undone, I know that."
" Come, I say," he remonstrated, " you are really taking
the thing too much to heart. Is there no sort of condoning a
mistake in the world ? Is every thing you do to stick to you
forever ? I think that would be uncommonly hard."
" Tell your man to go as fast as he can : " that was all the
answer she made ; and yet it was said wistfully, so that he
took no offense.
In due course of time they got up into the hot air of
London : the ominous sky was clearing, but the sultry close-
ness still remained. When they reached the neighborhood of
A SUMMER DA Y'S RIDE. 69
Euston Square she asked to be set down ; and then she held
out her hand, and bid him good-by.
" When am I to see you again ? " he asked, rather timidly.
" Perhaps never," she answered ; and then she added, with
a smile, " Don't ask me to make any more appointments at
present. There has been enough mischief out of that."
" I mean to see you soon," said he, with some firmness ;
and then he drove away.
She walked up to the door of her father's house, and rang
the bell. Her heart was beating violently.
" Is Sir Acton at home, George ? "
" Yes, miss," answered the man ; and then she walked in
and through the hall.
She found her father in a room the walls of which were
almost covered with plans and maps, while the table was
littered with all manner of papers. When he looked up it was
clear that his mind was deeply engaged on some project, for he
betrayed no surprise at finding her standing there.
" Well, Violet, well ? " he said, absently. " I well see you at
dinner : go away now, like a good girl."
If he was not surprised to find her there, he was sufficiently
startled by what followed. Before he knew how it all hap-
pened, he found the girl down on her knees beside him, hiding
her head in his lap, and crying wildly and bitterly. What
could it all mean ? He began to recollect that his daughter
had not been expected to dinner.
" My girl, my girl, what is all this about ? " said he.
She told him, with many sobs, the whole story — every
particular of it, and eagerly putting the whole blame on
herself. To tell the truth. Sir Acton was not so wery much
shocked : but, then, the story told by herself would have
sounded differently had it reached him as a rumor at second-
hand.
"That is all, then ? " said he. "You have just come back
from that foolish excursion? Well, well, you did right to
come to me. Just let me see what's to be done : but you did
right to come to me."
Perhaps at the moment some notion flashed across his mind
that he had not quite given the girl that measure of paternal
advice and protection which was her due. Nor, indeed, was
it easy for him to say off-hand what he should do now ; for his
mind was still filled with particulars of a Canadian railway,
and there was scarcely room for the case of this runaway
school-girl.
70 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Bless my soul, now," said he, " I — I don't know what we
had better do — "
*' Oh, papa ! " she cried, with the beautiful dark eyes still
wet with tears, looking up imploringly to his face, " take me
with you to Canada ! I asked you on Saturday ; and if you
had said yes then, I should have been so happy ! I want to
go away from England — I hate England — I don't care how
long you are away, papa, won't vou take me with you to Can-
ada ?"
He put his hand on her head ; was there some look of her
mother in those earnest, entreating eyes ?
" I will do any thing you really wish, Violet," he said, hur-
riedly. " But you don't know what this means. I may be
away longer then I expect at present — perhaps eighteen
months or two years."
" Oh, papa, that is just what I want — to be away for a long,
long time, or altogether — "
" But the traveling, Violet. V/e should have to be con-
tinually traveling immensely long distances, with little time
for amusement and sight-seeing. And we should occasionally
get into places where the hotel accommodation would doubt-
less frighten a Loridon-bred young lady."
" It won't frighten me," she said ; and there was a happy
light shining through her tears ; for had he not used the word
" we ? "
He got up and began to walk qbout tjie room : she stood for
a minute or two irresolute, and then she went to him, and put
her head in his bosom, so that he put his arms round her.
" Papa, I will be such a good companion to you I I will
copy all your letters for you, and I will get up in the morning
and see that the people have your breakfast for you, and I
will take charge of all your clothes and your papers, and every
thmg. And I don't want to go sight-seeing — I would far
rather see railways, and coal-mines, and engine-houses ; and
I don't need any outfit, for I can wear the dresses I have ;
and if there is any great expense, papa, you might give me ten
pounds a year less until you make it up — "
At this he burst out laughing ; but it was rather a gasping
sort of laugh, and there was just a trace of moisture in his eyes
as he patted her head.
" I think we might scrape together the few pounds for your
traveling without starving you," said he.
" Then you will let me go with you ? " she cried, raising her
head, with a great delight shining in her face.
ENGLAND, FAREWELL I 71
He nodded assent. Then she put her arms round his neck
and pulled down his head, and said,
" I have something to whisper to you, papa. It is that I
love you ; and that there is no other papa like you in the
whole world."
"Ah, well," said he, when she had released him, "that be-
ing settled, what do you propose now. Miss Violet .'' "
" Oh," she said, " now I have confessed every thing to you,
and you have been so good to me, I am not so anxious about
other people ; but still I have to go and beg them to forgive
me too — and I will go on my knees to them all, if they wish ;
and then, papa, I must tell Miss Main that I am going to
Canada. When do we go, papa ? "
"Will three weeks hence be too soon for you ?"
"Three days wouldn't."
"Then, between a fortnight and three M'eeks."
She was so overjoyed and grateful that she gladly consented
to stay to dinner — a telegram having been sent to Miss Main
— and she even condescended to be civil to Lady North and
to her rather ugly half-sisters. After dinner she was sent
over to the school in her father's brougham.
She made her peace with Miss Main, though that lady was
sore distressed to hear that she was about to leave the school
and go to Canada. Then she went up to her own room.
She threw open the window. It had now begun to rain ;
and there were sweet, cool winds about. In the dim orange
twilight of a solitary candle, she got out of her trunk the leaves
of her MS. novel, and these she deliberately tore to pieces.
" You sham stuff, that is an end of you ! " she seemed to
say ; " you must pack off, along with plenty of other nonsense.
I have done with that now ; you were good enough as the
amusement of a school-girl. The school-girl casts you aside
when she steps into the life of a woman."
CHAPTER VIII.
ENGLAND, FAREWELL !
" When does she go ? " asked James Drummond of his sis-
ter. He was rather moodily staring out of window.
"To-morrow they go down to Southampton ; and I think
they sail next day. All the school is in a terrible way about
it ; Amy has been having little fits of cr}'ing by herself these
72 MADCAP VIOLET.
two or three days back. She says that the whole of the girls
came and asked Violet for some little keepsake — and of
course she would part with her head if it was asked of her —
and now they mean to present her with some book or other,
with their names written in it. Dear, dear me, what will our
Amy do ! I am glad she had sufficient sense not to accept
Violet's watch — the notion of one girl coolly offering another
a gold watch ! "
" We shall miss her too," Mr. Drummond said ; he was ap-
parently not overjoyed at Violet North's approaching depart-
ure.
He turned impatiently from the window.
" Do you know," said he — with a look of anger which would
have frightened any body but his sister, who knew his ways —
" do you know what mischief is likely to be done the girl
by this two years' trip ? Look at her now — a wild, headstrong,
audacious school-girl just entering the period in which her
character as a woman will be formed. And this moment, in-
stead of letting some soft womanly hand smooth down the
angles of her character — instead of submitting her to all sorts
of gentle influences, which would teach her something of the
grace and sweetness of a woman — they carry her off among
a mob of railway directors, with their harsh, mechanical ways,
and their worship of money, and their loud and bragging self-
importance. Why, the girl will come back to England, if
ever she comes back, worse than ever."
" Do you think her so very bad at present ? " Mrs. War-
rener remonstrated, gently. " I thought you were very fond
of her."
" And I am," he answered. " And there is a great deal
about her that is to me intensely interesting, and even fasci-
nating ; while there is much that can only be tolerated in the
hope that years will eradicate it. It was all very well to be
amused by her rude frankness, her happy thoughtlessness,
and that sort of romantic affectation she sometimes played
with while she was a school-girl » but would you like to see
all these things in the woman \ "
"She must grow wiser as she grows older," his sister said,
fighting a losing battle in defense of her friend.
" No doubt ; but will she grow gentler, sweeter, more wo-
manly ? Her father, I dare say, thinks he is doing her a kind-
ness ; he is doing her a great injury."
" You don't like to part with her, James," his sister said,
with a smile.
" Certainly I don't. I had some notion of asking her father
ENGLAND, FAREWELL! 7^
to let her come and stay with us when she left school, and
she was bound to leave it soon. If we could have got her
with us to the Highlands, and kept her there for a couple of
months, she would have got familiarized with us, and staid
on indefinitely."
Mrs. Warrener was quite as impulsively generous as her
brother ; but she had to do with housekeeping books and
tradesmen's bills ; and she ventured to hint that the addi-
tion of another member to their household would affect their
expenditure to a certain degree. He would not hear of that.
The frugal manner in which they lived surely left them some
margin for acts of friendliness ; and if Violet North were to
come to live with them, she was not the sort of girl to expect or
appreciate expensive living.
" But there is no use talking of it," he said, with a sigh.
"When she comes back, we shall see what sort of woman
she is."
" That is part of your regret," said his shrewd sister. You
were always interested in the girl — watching her, questioning
her, studying her — and now, just as the study was about to
reach its most interesting point, she is seized and carried off.
Perhaps it will not turn out so badly for her, after all : I am
sure 1 hope so, for I can not help loving the girl, though she
has never been a good example to set before our little Amy."
" I think," said Drummond, suddenly, " I should like to go
down to Southampton and see her off. The poorest emigrant
has friends to go and bid him good-bye. I doubt whether she
will have a single creature to shake hands with her the day
after to-morrow."
" Won't Mr. Miller be there ? " his sister suggested.
" No : when he learned that she had promised neither to see
him nor to write to him before leaving, he very fairly said
that he would not try to get her to do either. And it was very
straightforward of that young fellow to go up to her father
and ask his pardon. I think we must get him over to dinner
in a day or two."
"Yes," said his sister, with a smile, "now they have taken
Violet away from you, you can begin and dissect him."
" There is more commonplace material there," said Drum-
mond, indifferently, as he went away to get a railway time-
table.
And now the hour came at which Violet North had to leave
that tall house in Camberwell Grove which had been her
home for many a day ; and there was her father's brougham
at the door, and a cab to take her small store of worldly pos-
74 • MADCAP VIOLET.
sessions. The girls had begged leave to go out into the bit
of front garden to see her off : she came down among them,
and there was a great deal of hand-shaking, and kissing, and
" Good-bye, Violet," going on. It was a trying moment.
For these last two weeks she had been released from all
tasks ; and had already assumed the airs of a woman. She
had been very dignified and gracious with her former come
panions — a little conscious of superiority, and proud of Miss
Main's proffered society and counsel ; and inclined at times
to beg of this or that girl to be a little less unruly, and a little
more mindful of the proper demeanor t)f a young lady. Now
she was only Violet North again. Her attempt at playing
the woman quite broke down ; she was crying bitterly as she
got into the carriage, where she huddled herself away igno-
miniously into a corner, and hid herself from the eyes of her
companions, who were waving their handkerchiefs after her.
But she was not crying when she stood on the white decks
of the great steamer, and watched the last preparations being
made for leaving England. It was a brilliant and beautiful
forenoon, the sun scattering millions of diamonds on the slight
ripples of the water, a fair blue sky overhead. She was proud,
glad, impatient to be off : the new excitement had brought
such a color to her face and such a brightness to her eyes^
that several of the passengers looked at this remarkably hand-
some girl and hoped she was not merely a visitor.
" I must be getting ashore now," said Mr. Drummond to
her ; and then he added, with the old friendly smile, " Are you
sure 3^ou have no other message than those you have given
me ? "
" Do you mean for Mr. Miller? " she asked, looking down ;
and then, as he did not answer, she continued, " Yes, I have.
Tell him I am obliged to him for all the fun and mischief I
had ; but that is all over now. Oh, Mr. Drummond, isn't it
fine to be able to cut off all that, and get away quite free ?
I am so glad to be going ! And when you see me again, I
shall be quite a reformed character."
. "Good-bye, Sir Acton. Good-bye, Violet: don't you for-
get to write to us."
Shyly, like a school-girl, she took his hand ; and yet she
held it for a moment, and her voice rather faltered as she
spoke :
" Good-bye. You have been kind to me. Try not to — to
think badly of me. And — and indeed you have been so kind
to me ! "
Two or three hours afterward, all that Violet North could
C(EL UM NON ANIMUM. 7 5
see of England was a long, low line of blue, with here and
there an indication of white ; and now it seemed to her that
she did not hate her native country at all. That is what
distance does for us ; the harsh and bitter features of this or
that experience are slowly obliterated, and memory begins
to look kindly on the past. England was to her no longer a
place of squalid streets and noisy harbors, of smoke, and
bustle, and din ; but the fair old mother-county, proud and
honorable, the beloved of many poets, the home to which the
carrier-pigeon of the imagination was sure to return with
swift wings from any other point of the earth. She had been
glad to get away from England ; yet already her heart yearn-
ed back to the old, joyous, mischievous life she had led, and
it did not seem wretched at all. The new dignity of wo-
man's estate did not wholly console her ; for now she was
crying just like any school-girl, and, like a school-girl, she
would accept of no comfort in her misery.
. CHAPTER IX.
COELUM NON ANIMUM.
Sir Acton North had early in life arrived at the conclu-
sion that women were, on the whole, inexplicable creatures,
who lived in a region of sentiment into which no man had
ever entered, and who had ail kinds of fancies and feelings
which no man could possibly fathom. But because he could
not understand these strange notions, did he consider them
preposterous ? Not at all. He took them on trust, for the
very reason that he could not guess at their origin. He was
most considerate toward those women with whom he had
dealings : it was enough for him that they did believe so and
so, and did feel this or that ; he had long ago given up all
notion of trying to comprehend their sentiments ; and, in
short, he simply accepted their reports. Take, for example,
the relations between Violet North and her step-mother.
Why, he asked himself, could not these two people live in
the same house together and be decently civil to each other?
The answer was that they were women — they had "sympa-
thies," " antipathies," " secret repugnances," and all the rest
of it, which were no doubt of great importance to themselves,
but were a trifle unintelligible to others. He himself, now,
when a 3^oung man, had shared his room with this or that
76 MADCAP VIOLET,
acqnamfance., whose habits and opinions were Teiy different
from his own ; tmt did thejr quarrel ? No ; they were two
men; they had something else to think of than studjfing
those niceties of manner and eiqnession that seemed to make
women either lore each other or hate each other, as the
chance might be. Had he not had to work in daily associa-
tion with many a man idiose appearance, and diess, and
habit of speech — in fact every tiung about him — betokened
nungled coarseness and meanness; and yet when did either
of them find the other's presence in a room an insupportable
outrage on the feelings? Women were strange creatures;
but they had to be leniently dealt with ; for, after all, these
peculiar fancies of theirs were doubtless of importance to
themsehres.
Sir Acton knrally carried out this theory, e^iecially with
r^;ard to his wile and daughters. At the present moment he
was hampering in a serious manner the performance of his
duties in Canada, merely because a school-girl had besought
him to take her aws^ from England for eig^iteen months or
a oou|de of yearsw He did not understand why Violet sbould
hate England, or be so anxious to leave it He knew she had
committed some schoc^-girl indiscretions; but surely every
sdiool-girl did not get into such a passion of remorse when
found out in a fault ? However, here was his eldest daughter
crying, sobbini^ imploring to be taken with him to Canada ;
and so he took her.
Nor was he surprised that the moment she left England she
should bqgin to be very sorrowful and filled with a longing
r^^ret That was only another instance of the unintelligible
working of the feminine emotionsw Hedieeredheras wellas
hecould; and tried to interest her in the details of the voyage.
Fortunately they had a fine passage ; there were some agree-
able people on board ; and Miss North speedily regained her
ordinary gayety of spirits. When they landed on the shores
of what was to her a new and wonderful country, moreover,
she was full of hi|^ expectation. She proved, as she prom-
ised to be, an excellent traveling-companioa. She was ticpaX
to any amount of fatigue — ^indeed, the girl had a constitution
as tough as his own. She made lig^ of del^rs and incon-
veniences ; she saw every thing that was tolerably pleasant
through rose<»lored spectacles; such things as were beauti-
ful or delig^htful provoked an admiration which pleased her
lather, because it was obviously flavored with gratitude.
Then there was somethiiig on the other side. Th«rwetenoi
ahrs^ inflecting valleys, surveying plains, and stwfying
CCELUM NO.V AXIMUM.
77
maps. There was pauses of social enjoyment ; and Sir Acton
North, in taking about with him his daughter, was not at all
averse to showing some of his old acquaintances what an Eng-
lish girl was like. And among those families were there not
a few young men who secretly admired and longed — who
wondered whether it was not possible to fascinate, delay, and
subsequently capture this beautiful bird of passage ? Doubt-
less ; but their wiles were of no avail. She was too busy,
eager, and happy^too gay and self-reliant of heart — to attend
to imploring glances and sigh.--. If she had, in resolving to be-
come a woman, thrown aside much of the fractious impatience
and rude frankness of her school-girl days, she still retained a
gracious dignity — a certain lofty audacity of pride in herself —
that would not at all permit that she should be trifled with.
Those young gentlemen were not aware that she had just been
released from school, or doubtless they would have been suffi-
ciently surprised by the fashion in which a school-girl could
assume all the self-reliant dignity of a woman, keeping them,
more especially, in their proper place.
But even Sir Acton's placid concurrence in the vagaries of
the feminine nature would have been startled if he had known
the sentiment that was gradually growing up during all this
time in his daughter's heart. It had been symbolized in a
measure by the manner of her leaving England. She v;as
glad to get away from the squalor, the din, the bustle of the
sea-port town from which they sailed ; but by-and-by all those
objectionable things were forgotten, and, looking back, she
only saw her own beautiful England. So now all the harsh
aspects and humiliating circumstances of the old life she had
cried to get away from were forgotten ; and she looked back
to the small circle of friends she had known with a tender
and wistful regret. She grew to think there was no place in
all the world so quiet, and homely, and beautiful as that little
garden behind James Drummond's house in Camberwell
Grove. The people around her did all they could to please
her and amuse her ; but they were only acquaintances ; her
friends were back in that old and yet never-forgotten time
which was becoming so dear to her. She had indeed suc-
ceeded in putting a great chasm between her and that by-
gone time. England was not half so far away from her as
were her school-girl days. But did she cease to care for the
old time, and for the friends she knew then ? Not much.
Both had grown dearer to her, as England had grown dearer
to her ; and many a night, when a great lambent planet was
shining in the northern sky, she looked up, and her heart said
78 MADCAP VIOLET.
to it, "Ah, how happy you must be ; for you are able to look
across the waters and see my England ! "
And as for him who had been her companion in that advent-
ure which was the main cause of her exile ? Well, he under-
went transformation too. First of all, she was considerably
ashamed of the whole affair ; and did not like to think of him.
Then she began to look upon that episode in a sort of half-
humorous way ; she would smile to herself in reflecting on her
own folly, and perhaps wonder what he was now thinking of
it all. But as the days, and the weeks, and the months went
by — as the continual succession of actual lakes, and moun-
tains, and pine-woods made England look more and more
visionary and remote — so that little adventure came to be re-
garded as the only bit of romance that had ever occurred to
her, and she thought of the bright May-day as belonging to a
past spring-time not to be recalled in the life of a woman.
He, too ; had he not been made the victim of her petulant
caprice ? Had he not manfully gone and taken the blame of
that for which he was in no wise reponsible ? And did he
sometimes think of her now t
For a long time she never mentioned him in her letters.
One day, she put a timid little postscript at the end of the
last page — she was writing to Mrs Warrener — and this was
what she asked, in a half-comical way :
" Do you ever see my youthful sweetheart now ? What a
long time it seems since we made fools of ourselves ! I sup-
pose he has quite forgotten me by this time ; and as for me,
I can scarcely remember what he was like, except that he
had wavy light-brown hair, which I thought very lovely and
quite Adonis-looking. Sometimes I dream that I am caught
in some awful piece of mischief, and Miss Main is setting me
three pages of ' Telemaque ' to write out."
It was a casual and apparently a careless question ; but
somehow the answer was looked for. And that came from
Mr. Drummond himself, who described, in his rambling, odd,
jocular fashion, the evening which Mr. George Miller had
spent at his house the very night before. The girl dwelt
long over that pleasant little picture ; until she was more
ready than ever to cry out, " How very happy the stars must
be, because they can see my England ! "
A MESSAGE HOME, 79
CHAPTER X.
A MESSAGE HOME.
England, meanwhile, had not remained stationary merely
because Violet North had left it. The little world in which
she had lived still wagged on in its accustomed way, bringing
all manner of changes, big and little, to the people she had
known.
First of all, Mr. Drummond had finally completed his
scheme for a great work to which he meant to devote the
following winter. He had developed many such schemes
before ; and he had always been looking forward to a winter's
serious work ; but somehow the big project generally dwin-
dled down to the dimensions of a magazine article, and even
that was sometimes too whimsical and perverse for the most
patient of editors. However, this time he was resolved to
get the thing done ; and so he went to a publisher whom he
knew, carrying with him a few slips containing the outlines of
his projected book. The publisher's face grew more and
more puzzled as he looked at the following title and table of
contents :
ON A PROPOSAL TO WHITEWASH THE OUTSIDE OF
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
Sub-head i. — The General Properties and History 0/ Whitewash,
Section I. On Expiatory Punishments.
Section II. Remarks on Modern Estimates of Judas Iscariot, Nero,
Henry VIIL, and Torquemada.
Section III. Whitecross Street.
Section IV. On those retrospective marriage laws which clear the
character of illegitimate children.
Section V. On tombstone inscriptions.
Sub-head 2. — The Interior of Westminster Abbey.
Section I. On Exploded Reputations.
Section II. Three questions propounded : (i) Is it possible for the
disembodied spirit to be present at the funeral of his
own body ? (2) Is it possible for a disembodied spirit
to blush "i (3) Is it probable that, on several occa-
sions, disembodied spirits may have been present in
Westminster Abbey, and blushed to find their own
bodies being buried there ?
86 MADCAP VIOLET.
Section III. On the Dean of Westminster as a collector of curiosi-
ties
Section IV. On the possibility of a Dean of Westminster becoming
possessed of the evil eye, and therefore able to secure
, celebrities for his collection before the proper time.
' Section V. A proposal for a Junior Westminster Abbey : the occu-
pants of the present Abbey to retire by rotation : va-
cancies to be filled up from the Junior.
The publisher got no further than that. His brain was in
a whirl, and he sought safety by getting back to the initial
point of his perplexity.
" God bless my soul ! " he cried, " what do you mean, Drum^
mond 1 To whitewash Westminster Abbey ? Why, the public
wouldn't hear of such a thing. It would be an outrage — a bar-,
barism. I never heard of such a notion ! "
A quick, strange, bewildered look came into Drummond's
eyes ; he looked at the publisher in a puzzled way.
" You don't — see — that it is a joke," said he.
" A joke ! Is all this meant to be a joke ? Do you think the
public would read a joke extending to five hundred pages ? "
" Confound them, they read many a five hundred pages with-
out any joke in them at all," said Drummond.
" My dear fellow ! " said the publisher, with a friendly and
condescending smile, " why, God bless my soul ! who could
be amusing for five hundred pages ? "
"There are many folks amusing all their life-long," retorted
Drummond, though he was rather disappointed. " What they
are after, goodness only knows. Perhaps they have the fun
taken out of them then'^
"Take my advice, Drummond," said his friendly adviser.
" Don't waste your time over this. If it were a real piece of his-
tory, now, you know — something nice and picturesque about the
Abbey itself, and the great heroes there — with a good dash of
patriotism, and religious feeling, and that kind of thing — then
the public would look at it. But a joke ! and a joke about
Westminster Abbey of all places in the world ! "
" I meant no disrespect to the Abbey, I am sure," said Drum-
mond, humbly.
"No, no," said his friend; " don't waste your time on
that."
James Drummond went home crest-fallen to his sister : he
was sure of sympathy and admiration from his unfailing audi-
ence of one.
" They won't have it, Sarah."
"And why ?"
A MESSAGE HOME. 8i
" Because the public wouldn't see it was meant as a joke ; and
then, if they did, they would take it as an insult. By heavens ! '*
he added, savagely, " I wish all the publishers were buried in
the Abbey, and that I had to write an inscription over their
common tomb ! "
" What would you say ? "
He stood uncertain for a moment.
" I think," he said, slowly, " I can not do better than go and
compose that inscription. As a great favor I will show it to any
publisher who makes the application. It is not every one who
can tell before his death what his tombstone is going to say after
that event. Sarah, don't come in to disturb me until I have fin-
ished my eulogium on the departed race of publishers."
So that was all that came at the moment of Mr. Drummond's
great project ; and Mrs. Warrenerwas once more defeated in
her desire to be able to write out to Violet North that her
friend had become famous. For, of course, whatever Mr.
Drummond's own notions on the subject were, his sister was
convinced that he was failing in his duty so long as he did not
achieve a great reputation ; and of his capacity to do that she
had no doubt whatever.
Events had moved in a more marked way with Mr. George
Miller — "Young Miller," as Drummond now familiarly called
him. In the first place, his father had bought for him a com-
fortable partnership which did not make too severe a call upon
his time ; and the young gentleman having thus started in the
world for himself, preferred to leave the paternal roof and
take up his lodging in Half Moon Street, where he had a
couple of sufficiently pleasant rooms. Then he had gained
admittance to a small but very gorgeous club in Piccadilly,
the ^ mere staircase of which would have justified his paying
double the entrance fee demanded. This, about the most
westerly in position of the well-known clubs was about the
most easterly in the character of its members. It used to be
said that the lost tribes of Israel had suddenly turned up in
that imposing building, and that, as a consequence, the stew-
ard had to excise bacon from his daily bill of fare ; but these
rude jokes came with an ill grace from the young gentleman of
the Stock Exchange whose ancestry was much more thorough-
ly missing than the lost tribes had been. Of course, these
two classes did not make up the membership of the club. Far
from it. There waSt just as large a proportion as in other clubs
of gentlemen who could not have earned a penny (except at
pool) to save their lives — if that could fairly be regarded as
an inducement ; gentlemen whose ancestors had condescended
6
82 MADCAP VIOLET.
to do nothing for five centuries, and who were, in consequence,
regarded with great respect. There were lawyers, doctors,
bill-discounters, clergymen — in short, all the ordinary constit-
uents of a non-political club ; and there were one or two au-
thors, who were occasionally asked at the last moment to join
this or that little dinner party, because they were devilish amus-
ing fellows, and good for no end of jokes you know.
Now, Mr. George Miller had become very friendly with
James Drummond ; and on several occasions the latter had
been induced to dine at this club — let us call it the Judaeum,
for distinction's sake — with his newly-made acquaintance.
Mr. Drummond, during these evenings, grew more and more
to wonder at the extraordinary knowledge of the world which
this young man had picked up. It was not a knowledge of
human nature; but a knowledge of the facts and circum-
stances of the life around him — of the petty ambitions of this
man, of how the next made his money, of the fashion in
which the other inpecunious person contrived to make both
ends meet by shifting his lodgings from time to time. Mr.
Drummond perceived that young Miller was an ingenuous
youth ; but how had he picked up this familiarity with the
ways of the world, which, after all, had its value as a species
of education ? Mr. Drummond was well content to sit and
listen to the young man. What he heard did not edify him ;
but it interested him in a way. Moreover, there was no
arrogance of superior knowledge about the young man. On
the contrary, he was still the humble scholar and disciple of
this whimsical master ; and was greatly pleased when Gama-
liel invited him to spend an evening in the solitudes of that
southern mountain, where he metaphorically sat at the feet
of the teacher, and listened with much apparent interest to
monologues, not one-fifth part of which he could in anywise
understand.
They were an oddly assorted couple of friends. But if Mr.
Miller found himself at a marked disadvantage while his
teacher was idly roaming over the fields of philosophy, art,
and letters, culling a flower here and there, and expounding
its hidden virtues, he, on the other hand, was much more at
home than Drummond was in railway-stations, restaurants,
hansom-cabs, and what not. Young Miller " knew his way
about," as the saying is. When he paid his money, he got
his money's worth. He smiled blandly at the pretenses of
begging impostors ; he was not born yesterday. If there
was a crush at a train, Mr. Drummond would give way to
the noisy and blustering person who hustled past him—
A MESSAGE HOME. 83
would stand aside, indeed, in mild wonder over the man's
manners ; but young Miller did not see the fun of being
imposed on in that fashion. His elbows were as sharp as
any man's ; his head as good a battering-ram as another's ;
if it cost him twenty hats, he would not be deprived of his
just rights.
One evening they were dining together in a quiet way at the
Judaeum. While they were talking, the waiter had opened a
bottle of Champagne, and filled their glasses. The moment
Miller tasted the wine, he perceived that it was wholly differ-
ent from that he had ordered, and, summoning the waiter,
he asked him what the wine was. The man remembered
the order, and saw his mistake in a moment — he could only
look in a helpless fashion at the destroyed bottle.
" Take it away and bring what I ordered."
When he had gone, Mr. Miller said,
" Now that will teach that fellow to be a little more care-
ful ; that's eight shillings he has lost by his blunder."
The waiter, not looking very radiant, came back with the
proper wine, and the dinner went on.
" What wages will that man have ? " saia Drummond.
He, too, seemed a little depressed.
" I don't know ; probably a guinea a week, and his board
and clothes."
" He may have a wife to keep, perhaps } "
" Possibly he may."
" Perhaps she may have children and a small household to
support on that guinea a week .'' "
" Very likely."
Drummond remained silent for some little time ; he was
not getting on well with his dinner. At last he fairly flung
down his knife and fork, and pushed away his plate.
" Miller, this dinner sticks in my throat ! "
The younger man looked up amazed.
" What is it > "
" I can't sit eating and drinking here, with that unfortunate
devil robbed of more than a third of his week's earnings.
I can't do it — "
" Is it the waiter ? Why, my dear fellow, I will put that
right in a moment."
He would do any thing to please his friend, of course.
Pie called the waiter and tcjjd him to have the rejected bottle
of wine added to the dinner-bill ; the man went away with
more gratitude in his face than he dared express in words.
" But it is very wrong," said young Miller, gravely. "You
84 MADCAP VIOLET.
see you don't understand these things, Druminond — you
don't Hke to have men treated Hke machines — and yet if you
let fine feehngs come into the management of a chib, you'll
simply have bad, and careless, and even impertinent ser-
vants. There's nothing like letting them suffer the conse-
quences of their own mistakes. Haven't we to do the
same ? And who pities us ? Now, isn't there common
sense in that .'* "
" Oh yes, there's a deal of common sense in that," said
Drummond, in a dry and serious tone which always irritated
his companion, who never could tell whether it did not con-
ceal some trace of sarcasm.
"My dear fellow," continued Miller — he was pleased to
be able to play Gamaliel himself at times — " the moment
you break m on strict discipline, it is all over with ser-
vants in a club. I remember a pretty instance of what fol-
lows from familiarity, and friendly feeling, and that kind
of thing. We had an Oxford parson here — one of the new
school, you know — felt hat, thick walking-stick, long tramps,
a hail-fellow-well-met sort of fellow, you know, and a devil to
smoke pipes — and he used to interest himself in the affairs
of the waiters, and chat with them about their wives and
families. Well, look here. He was in the smoking-room
one evening — "
The face of Mr. Miller had grown properly solemn. He
was really anxious to impress on his friend the true prin-
ciples of governing waiters.
" He was in the smoking-room one evening, and we were
all round the fire, and he wanted a light. A waiter had
brought up some things — I suppose he was one of his pets —
and he asked this waiter to bring him a light. There were
no matches on the table ; and what does this fellow do but
take out a match-box of his own, get hold of a wax-match,
strike it on the heel of his boot — on the heel of his boot — and
hand it over to the parson ! "
" Good heavens ! " exclaimed Mr. Drummond, with an
awe-struck face. "And what happened.? Did the earth
open and swallow up that fearful man ? "
"Oh, you think it is a joke," said young Miller, rather
nettled ; " I don't, anyway. If one of my father's servants
did that to me, I can tell you he wouldn't be three minutes
in the house. And no servant would do it, mind you, if he
hadn't been made careless and cheeky by overfamiliarity.
By-the-way, Lady North is an uncommon good one to look;
after her servants." . . .
A MESSAGE HOME. 85
"Lady North?" said Drummond, with a stare.
"Yes," said Mr. Miller, with complacency. "Oh, I forgot
to tell you, I fancy, how I ran across them at a picnic at
Twickenham ; and the girls are very plain, don't you see,
and nobody was attending to them much ; and so I became
very good friends with them, mother and all."
" Was this another of your deeply laid schemes ? " said
Drummond, with a smile ; thinking of the ingenuous way in
which the young man had made his acquaintance.
" No, it was not, upon my honor," said Miller. " I knew
they were to be there ; and probably I should not have gone
if I had not known ; but the invitation was sent to me with-
out any asking or arrangement on my part, and Lady North
is not a bad sort of a woman. I dined with the family and
one or two friends the other evening. She is rather cut and
dried you know, and she has remarkably sharp gray eyes —
by jove ! I can tell you, the servants won't have much of a
fling in that house. The girls are very plain — very ; the eld-
est, Anatolia, has taken rather a fancy to me, I believe — oh,
you needn't laugh ; it is no great compliment, I assure you."
And so he let the garrulous boy run on, not more amused
by his ingenuous confessions than by the shrewd, keen,
practical estimates of men and things he had by hap hazard
formed. If Mr. Drummond had had the honor of Lady
North's acquaintance, he would probably have taken a couple
of months to form a judgment about her ; and that judgment
would have been founded on all sorts of speculations with
regard to her birth, education, temperament, early life, and
present ambitions. Young Miller, on the other hand, had
seen her but twice or thrice ; he positively knew nothing
about her ; but he hit on a very shrewd guess as to her ways,
and he managed to convey to his friend a pretty clear pic-
ture of the short, fair, dignified, stupid, but well-meaning wo-
man, whose excessive literalness, and consequent suspicion —
for suspicion is the substitute employed by people who lack
imagination and clear perception — had almost driven her
step-daughter crazy.
" And what about Vi — about Miss North ? " said James
Drummond, rather hesitatingly. " When do they expect her
home ? "
" I don't think the lovely Anatolia is anxious for that event,
for the chances of her ever getting married won't be im-
proved ; but she says her eldest sister, as she invariably calls
her, is coming home very soon now. Why, it is nearly two
years since she left ! I wonder what she will be like."
86 MADCAP VIOLET.
" What she will be like ? That is easily answered. What
she will be, that is of more importance," said Drummond, and
for a second or two he sat silent. "She will have grown a
woman since you saw her."
" But you don't suppose any body changes completely in a
couple of years ? " exclaimed Miller.
" Oh no, not completely," said his companion, rather ab-
sently. " What will she be like ? Well, in appearance very
much what she was — a little more brave and self-possessed
in manner, probably, as becomes a woman. And doubtless
she will be handsomer than ever. But as to what sort of a
woman she has become by this time — who can tell ? "
" Oh, I don't suppose there can be much difference," said
young Miller, impatiently.
His friend smiled good-naturedly.
"You boys!" he said. "It is always the one notion you
have got into your head. You hope she has remained the
same, that you may resume that piece of romanticism that
was so cruelly broken off. Isn't that it ? "
"Well t " said the young man, ingenuously and modestly.
" You think the school-girl is coming back to play at sweet-
hearting again t I am afraid you will be disappointed. A
girl grows so terribly — in experience, in character, in aims —
between seventeen and twenty ! Do you know. Miller, that
you will have to introduce yourself to a new Miss North } "
" I don't believe it," said the other. " How can you tell ?
Because she has written clever letters ? But every body is
formal in letters ; and I don't suppose she talks like that."
" I don't suppose she does," said Drummond, apparently
thinking of something very far away from that dinner-table ;
and so the subject dropped for the moment.
As they were walking along Piccadilly that night, Miller
said,
" I hear that Sir Acton North is a very rich man."
" I suppose he is," Drummond answered.
" He has got an uncommonly fine collection of pictures ;
at least so one or two of the people there the other evening
were saying. I'm not up to that sort of thing. By Jove ! if
I had his money, I shouldn't spend it on pictures and live in
Euston Square. How much do you think he will give his
eldest daughter when she marries ? "
Drummond burst out laughing.
" What an extraordinary question ! Do you think life is
long enough to let one speculate on conundrums like that ?
A MESSAGE HOME. 87
What possible interest could I have in making guesses as to
Violet North's fortune ? "
But he suddenly recollected himself. He looked at his
companion with a sort of surprised curiosity in his eyes.
" Oh, I see : you — do you expect to have an interest in that
question ? "
"I say nothing about myself," said the younger man,
rather peevishly. " What harm is there in asking what
money a girl is likely to have 1 Of course, I expect the girl
I shall marry, whoever she may be, to have some money. I
shall have some. There is no great mercenariness about
that, is there ? It appears to me reasonable enough. You
seem to think that any one on this side of thirty must have
his head stuffed full of romance and trash. Well, I don't
make any pretense of that kind. I think it is a fair bargain
— you bring so much money into the affair, and I don't see
why the girl shouldn't also — just as the woman of the poorer
classes bring a chest of drawers and some blankets. It
makes a woman far more independent, too. She can indulge
in expensive tastes, and charity, and all that, without feeling
that she is drawing too hard on her husband. Now what do
you say to that ? "
" Oh, nothing," said Drummond. " It is reasonable."
" Yes, I think it is reasonable," said young Miller, rather
warmly. " And don't you think a reasonable woman would
have the same notions ? A school-girl, of course, is all for
love and love's sake alone, and moonlight, and rope-ladders.
A sensible woman knows the cost of a house in Hyde Park
Square, and is precious glad to have two incomes instead of
one for her family."
" And then, you see, Violet North is coming back a sensi-
ble woman, not a school-girl," remarked Mr. Drummond,
kindly bringing these various statements to a legitimate con-
clusion.
" Oh, I didn't quite mean that," said the younger man.
" not at all. I was only saying that when I married I should
not be at all offended if the girl had a little money of her
own. I don't suppose I am more mercenary than other peo-
ple ; but I see what the effect is of starting a house and
family on the income that was all very well for a bachelor's
rooms."
" Quite right ; quite right."
Now there was nothing that Mr. Miller disliked so much
as being dismissed in this fashion when he was trying to en-
gage his newly formed acquaintance in talk. James Drum-
£8 MADCAP VIOLET..
mond scarcely ever agreed with any body; and when he
briefly said, " All right," or '• Very well ; quite true," it was
a sure sign that he simply would not take the trouble to enter
into the subject. Fortunately, at this moment they had just
got to the corner of Half Moon Street ; so they separated,
and Drummond got into a hansom and made for home.
It was about a fortnight after this evening that young
Miller found himself the guest of Mr. Drummond ; and the
small circle — which now included little Amy Warrener, who
had become almost a young lady — was listening to the dis-
quisitions of a philosopher who shall be nameless. He was
laboring to prove — or, rather, he was dogmatically asserting
— that the happy man was he who could forget the past and
disregarded the future, fixing his attention on the occupation
of the moment, and taking such joys as came in his way with
a light heart. Why think of the long drive home if you are
at the theatre ? Why think of the next day's awakening and
work, if you are spending a pleasant evening .'* The philoso-
pher in question maintained that this banishment of antici-
pation was a habit which could be cultivated ; and that a
wise man would resolve to acquire so invaluable a habit.
"And then," said he, contradicting himself with happy
carelessness, *' what are the joys of the moment to your ex-
pectations of them ? Put them well on ahead ; give yourself
up to imagining them ; and you will reap the value of them
twenty times over before they arrive. We, for example,
mean to go up again to the Highlands this autumn — "
Here a young lady clapped her hands with joy.
" — and at the present moment the Highlands are a
greater delight to me than they will be then. I can defy
those rushing butchers' carts, those inhuman organ-men, the
fear of formal calls, by jumping off into the Highlands, and
becoming a savage — a real out-and-out savage, careless of
wind and rain and sunlight, and determined to slay all the
wild animals I can find in a day's tramping over the heather — "
" Have you much game in that place ? " asked the practi-
cal Mr. Miller.
" Plenty ! " cried Mrs. Warrener, with a cruel frankness.
" But he never hits any thing. I believe we should never
have a bird or a har^ except for old Peter."
" Libels — mere libels," said the philosopher, returning to
his subject. "Now just think of the delight — here in this
howling wilderness of London — of taking out your gun, and
seeing that it is all well oiled and polished ; of trying en
your leggings to take the stiffness out of them ; of hauling out
HOME. 89
your old shooting-coat and finding in it a bill telling you
at v/hat hour the coach starts for the Moor of Rannoch.
Now, this is real delight. I snap my fingers at London. I
become a savage — "
Just at this moment the maid tapped at the door and
brought in a letter. Surely he knew the handwriting ?
" You will excuse me," said he, hurriedly breaking open
the envelope, "when I tell you — yes, I thought so — Violet
North is, by Jove, in London ! "
The Highlands were forgotten in a twinkling.
" Oh, uncle, when is she coming over ? " cried Miss Amy,
with piteous eyes.
" Already back in London ! " cried Mrs. Warrener.
" And where is she living ? " cried young Miller.
Mr. Drummond stood out in the middle of the floor, hold-
ing the folded letter up in the air.
" Ha-ha, my young people, there are secrets here. Who
will bid for them ? A thousand mines of Golconda the first
offer ! No advance on that ? — why — "
" Well, he stopped there — and all the merry-making went
out of his face — for some one at the door said, quietly,
" May I come in ? "
Amy Warrener was the first to answer ; and her answer
was a quick, sharp cry of delight as she sprung to the door.
Then the door was opened ; and a tall young lady walked
into the room, with wonder and gladness and shyness on her
handsome face.
CHAPTER XL
HOME.
For a second or two she was smothered up in the embraces
of the women ; then she turned, with a heightened color in
her face and a glad look in her eyes, but with a wonderful
grace and ease and dignity in her manner, to Mr. Drummond
and his guest. Amy Warrener, herself '' laughin' maist like
to greet," became aware in an instant that, although this was
Violet North come back again, she was not quite her own
Violet of former days. There was some new and inexplicable
quality about her manner — a sort of gracious self-possession
that bespoke the development of w^omanhood.
And yet it was with all a girl's vivacity and eager, impetu-
90 MADCAP VIOLET.
ous curiosity that she began to pour out questions. She
wanted to know all at once what they had been doing, where
her school-girl friends were, how Miss Main was getting on ;
and then she suddenly cried out,
" Oh, you don't know how nice it is to be at home again !
and I could not feel at home in England until I came over
here."
" And don't you notice any changes ? " Drummond asked.
" Oh yes," she said, looking more particularly at him ; " I
scarcely understand it all yet. It is like a dream as yet —
such a change from what I expected."
" Two years make a difference," said he. " We have not
kept stationary any more than you have ; and you ! — why, you
have grown a woman."
" Oh, but it was exactly the reverse of that I meant ! " she
said, anxiously. " You look all so much younger than I ex-
pected — except Amy. Why, I used to look on you, Mr. Drum-
mond, as — as rather — "
" As rather an old fellow ! " he called out, with a shout of
laughter over her embarrassment. " Well, I am old enough,
"Violet, to warn you not to make people such compliments as
these. And so you think we have grown younger ? "
" You especially — oh, so much ! "
"And I also } " young Miller made bold to ask, though he
cast down his eyes.
Now these two had not spoken before. When she came
into the room, she glanced at him with some surprise ; then
from time to time, she let her eyes fall on his face with an
expression of a half-shy, half-humorous curiosity. Now she
mustered up courage to look him straight in the face ; and a
trifle of color mounted into her cheeks as she answered, in a
somewhat low and embarrassed way,
" I am afraid I scarcely can recollect well enough. You
know our — our acquaintance was very short."
So she had not even taken the trouble to remember him !
" I suppose," said he, rather shortly, " you made enough
friends out there to pass the time with."
" I forgot none of my friends in England," she said, gently.
The reproof was just : he had no ri^ht, she plainly intimated,
to put himself on a level with these old friends of hers.
By this time the little party had got better shaken together
— the first eager curiosity being over — and now Miss Violet
began to tell them, something of her wonderful adventures
and experiences. But the strange thing was that the recital
mainly proceeded from the lips of Mr. Drummond. It was by
HOME, 91
the exercise of a curious, swift, subtle sympathy that he seemed
to divine what would be the notions of a girl in this new
country ; and as she went on, mentioning this circumstance
and the other, he took the parable out of her mouth and made
himself the interpreter. No one noticed that he did so. It
seemed to be Violet North herself talking.
" Precisely," he would say, " I quite see how that half-civil-
ized life must have struck you. Don't you see, you were get-
ting then some notion of how the human race began to fight
with nature long before cities were built. You saw them
clearing the woods, making roads, building houses, founding
small communities. You saw the birth of villages, and the
formation of states. You saw the beginnings of civilization,
as it were, and the necessity of mutual helpfulness among
the settlers, and the general rough-and-ready educations of
such a life. Don't you think it must have been a valuable
experience to find out how thoroughly new life can be ? Here
in London, I have no doubt, you got it into your head that
the houses and shops must have existed there forever ; that
the trains to Ludgate Hill and Victoria were a necessary part
of the world ; that all the elaborate institutions and habits of
city life were fixed and unalterable — "
"And then it was so interesting, in these places, to find
out what sorts of food they had ; I got quite learned in crops — "
"Ah, yes, precisely. There you saw food at its fountain-
head, not in blue packets in a grocer's shop. And of course
every man would have a pride in his own fields, and ask you
what you thought of his crops, and you would come to see
something else in a landscape than the mere colors that an
English young lady would see. The cattle — did you begin to
learn something of the points of the cattle ? "
She had to confess her ignorance in that direction.
" Then the wilder and fiercer cattle, Violet : go on and tell
us of buffaloes, and grizzlies, and mustangs — I have loved the
word mustang ever since I was a boy. Gracious me ! how I
long for the life of a savage — for prairies, and war-trails, and
squaws, and moccasins : Violet, did you ever snare a brace of
moccasins when you were meandering about the Rocky Moun-
tains ?"
" If I were you," she said, with a sweet sarcasm, " I would
say 'moccasins,' not * moccasins ! "
" Thus it is she crushes with her newly found knowledge.
But we are willing to learn. Violet, you shall teach us all about
assegais and boomerangs — but those don't belong to America,
do they ? — and we shall admire the noble savage."
92 MADCAP VIOLET.
" You were talking of the delights of a savage life — in the
Highlands — just before Miss North came in to surprise us,"
said Mr. Miller.
" Oh," cried Miss North, suddenly, " why didn't you go to
the Highlands last year.? I thought you had determined to
go every year, after your first experience the year before last."
*'The truth is — " said Mr. Drummond, with some embarrass-
ment.
Young Miller broke in, — proud to be able to convey informa-
tion.
" He won't tell you. Miss North. The fact is, he went and
gave his holiday-money to a clergyman's widow to take her fam-
ily down to the sea-side ; and if you ask my opinion about it,
I think it was much too much of a good thing. I don't see the
fun of—"
" Violet, what did you think of New York ? " said Drummond,
quickly.
The girl laughed : she knew he was not anxious to know
her opinion of New York.
" But you are going this year to the Highlands ? " she said.
*'\Ve hope so."
"I wish I were going with you," the girl said, simply and
naturally.
" Why shouldn't you ? " said Mr. Miller, boldly.
It was a pretty project that he then and there formed,
Miss North would go up to that shooting-box with her friends,
and pleasant indeed would be the parties they would have in
the evening, when the toils of the day were over. And if a cer-
tain young man should happen to be in the neighborhood — by
the merest chance, of course — could so hospitable and gener-
ous and kindly a fellow as Mr. Drummond was refuse to offc r
him a few days' shooting ? Then there would be odd mo-
ments now and again for clambering up hills, in order to sit on
the sunlit rocks and listen to the humming of the bees, or for
quiet and pensive strolls along the valleys in the cool of the
evening with the mountains losing the last fire of the sunset,
and a white mist gathering along the bed of the distant loch.
Mr, Miller looked anxiously for an answer to this proposal.
" Why shouldn't you ? " echoed Mr. Drummond. " We will
make you welcome enough."
" You are very kind, indeed," she said, with a smile ; " but
I am under proper government now. Lady North means to
try to put up with me as well as she can ; and my sisters almost
succeeded this morning in making me believe they liked me.
So I am to stay on there ; and I suppose, in consequence, we
HOME. 93
shall move westward some clay soon. That will be hard on
poor papa ; for he will shift his house all for nothing — "
" Why, Violet ? "
" Oh," said the young lady, with her ordinary cool frank-
ness, " Lady North and I are sure to have a fight — quite sure.
I think her a mean-spirited and tricky little woman ; she thinks
that I have a frightfully bad temper : so it will be just as it was
before."
" There you are quite wrong," said Mr. Drummond, quietly.
" It will not be as it was before, but very different. Do you
know what people will say of you now, if you and Lady North
don't agree ? Why, that you have such a bad temper that you
can not live in your father's house."
" Perhaps that is true enough," she said, with great mod-
esty ; and Amy Warrener saw something in her mischievous
smile of the Violet of other days.
"And then," continued her Mentor, "formerly, when you
had a quarrel, you could live at Miss Main's school. Where
would you go now t Not to school again ? "
" Ah, well," she said, with a bright look, " don't let us talk
of all those unpleasant things now ; for I am so glad to get
back and be among you again, that I am disposed to be hum-
ble and obedient even to my step-mother. And she is really
trying to be very kind to me just now. I am to keep the
brougham to-night till eleven o'clock, if you don't turn me out
before then. And Lady North is coming over to call on you,
Mrs. Warrener ; and she wants you all to come to her next
'At Home' on the 30th. I think you have got a card, Mr.
Miller?"
" Yes," said he, with some embarrassment. " Do you think
your father would object to my going? "
" Oh dear, no," she answered, confidently. " Papa never
keeps up old scores ; and, as well as I can recollect, you —
you — seemed to have pleased him by going to him frankly.
How silly we were ! " she added, quickly, and with a return
of the warm color to her cheeks.
They got away from that subject also, however, and no
other reference was made to it. The girl was altogether de-
lighted to be with her old friends again ; and the changes she
had noticed on her entrance became less prominent now. She
submitted, just as she had done in her school-girl days to be
alternately lectured, teased, and laughed at by Mr. Drum-
mond ; and she did not mind his continually calling her Vio-
let. She made Mrs Warrener promise to bring them all to
Lady North's party. She would have Amy come with her for
94 MADCAP VIOLET.
her first drive in the park, where, as her father had concent-
ed, she should herself drive Lady North's victoria and pair
of ponies.
Mr. Miller got the least share of her attention. These two
rarely spoke to each other, and then never without a little
embarrassment ; but very frequently she had a quiet, curious
look at him, apparently trying to discover something. As for
him, he simply sat and stared at her — watching her every
movement, fascinated by her voice, her smile, the bright, frank
look of those darkly lashed eyes. But a great joy was in store
for him. For some purpose or other, she took from her
pocket a small pencil, but found it was broken.
" Oh, do let me get it mended for you," said he, eagerly.
" I know a man who is capital for that."
" Is is worth it "i " said she, handing it over.
His reply was to take from his pockel a beautiful little pen
and pencil-case, with a knife attached ; and this he begged
her to accept in exchange, as it was better fitted for a lady
than for him.
*' In exchange ? " she said, with a smile that was to him
more than a thousand pencil-cases. "That would be a prof-
itable exchange. This one is gold ; mine is aluminium.
Thank you, but I could not rob you."
" Well, at all events, you can keep it until I return you this
one ? "
" Oh yes," she said, " if you will be so kind."
He put that humble little pencil-case — worth about five
shillings — in his pocket with as much pride as if it had been
made of ivory and diamonds ; and he secretly vowed that she
should never see it again, even if she lived for a thousand
years.
Then, in the old familiar fashion of spending the evening
which Violet knew so well, Mary, the maid-servant, came in
with the frugal supper ; and there was great amusement over
her wonder at seeing Miss North.
" How are you, Mary ? Are you quite well ? " said that
young lady, who was a great friend of all the maid-servants
and folks in humble capacity.
" Oh yes, miss," stammered Mary ; " I mean, ma'am — I am
pretty well, thank you."
" Now, there is but one question more I have to ask," said
Violet, as they all sat round the small white-covered table,
*'and I am almost afraid to ask it. Have they built over
Grove Park yet ? "
" Certainly not," was the answer.
HOME. ■ 95
" And the big cedars are still there, and the tall elms, and
the rook's nests ? "
" Not a thing- altered since you left."
*' Ah, well ! Do you know," she said, " when I used to
think of the happiest time I ever spent in England, and the
most beautiful place I could remember, I always thought of
those Christmas holidays I spent with you, and of our walks
at night in the snov/. Do you remember how we used to go
out quite late at night, with the hard snow crackling beneath
one's feet, the gas-lamps shining on the trees, and then go
away into the park, through the darkness of those cedars
near the gate? Then I used to think of the silence we got
into — by the side of the meadows : one seemed to be up quite
close to the stars, and you could not imagine there was any
body living in those two or three houses. And as for London
— though it lay almost under our feet — you know, you could
see or hear nothing of it — there was nothing all around but
the white snow, and the black trees, and stars. Do you re-
member all that ? "
" But where is it .'' " said young Miller, looking puzzled.
Could she be talking so enthusiastically about some place in
Camberwell ?
" Over the way," she said, promptly. " Plve minutes' walk
off."
" And that is the most beautiful place you can remember ? "
said he. " And you have been to Chamounix t "
" Yes, it is," she said, boldly. " I like Camberwell better
than Chamounix, and therefore it is more beautiful. But I
was speaking of the snow-time, and the stars, and the quiet
of the frosty nights. Perhaps you have never been into
Grove Park t If you walk round that way now — "
" I propose we do," said Mr. Drummond, " as soon as we
finish supper. I am anxious to discover what it is in the
place that makes it the rival of Chamounix.
" Don't you remember } " she said, with great disappoint-
ment visible in her face.
" I remember the wonderful starlit nights and the snow,
certainly," said he.
" Very well," said she, " weren't they Vv'orth remembering?
As to Chamounix — well, as to Chamounix — what can one
remember of Chamounix ? I know what I remember —
crowded fables-dWiote, hot walks in stifling valleys, firing cannon,
and looking through a telescope, and all the ladies trying who
could get up the most striking costumes for dinner. To go
about a place like that with a lot of people you don't like — "
96 MADCAP VIOLET.
Here, for some occult reason, Mr. Drummond burst into a
most impertinent fit of laughing.
"Oh yes," she said, with her color rising, "I am not
ashamed to own it. I liked the people with whom I went
walking about Grove Park. If that has any thing to do with
it, I am very glad of it, for the sake of the park."
" And they were very fond of you too, Violet," said her old
school-fellow. Amy, with unexpected decision. " And you are
quite right. And I would — I would hate Chamounix, if I
were you."
"Why, child, what do you know about Chamounix.^" her
mother said.
" I don't want to know anything about it — I hate it."
So that closed the discussion, which had ended in a unani-
mous decision that Chamounix was a miserable and despicable
place as compared with a certain chosen spot in Camberwell.
Now, if Miss North's love and admiration for Grove Park
were largely based on the romantic conditions in which she
remembered to have seen the place, surely Mr. Miller's im-
pressions were likely to be equally favorable. For when they
went outside into the cold night air there was an appearance
in the sky overhead that told how the moon was visible some-
where ; and they knev/ that when they got round into the
high and open spaces of the park a vast and moonlit land-
scape would be unrolled before their eyes. Miss Violet and
Mrs. Warrener led the way ; naturally the discoverer of this
wonderful place was pioneer. There was scarcely any one
about ; the footfalls of the small jDarty were plainly heard in
the silence of the grove. Then they reached the gloomy
portals of the park — gloomy because of the cedars about
— and then they left the region of bright gas-lamps, and
passed in and through the darkness of the overhanging trees.
The night was indeed a beautiful one, though as yet they"
had not seen the moon. The sky overhead was clear, and
full of pale stars ; in the south a lambent planet was shining.
Plow solemnly stood the great trees, their spreading branches
of a jet black against the far off vault of blue, not a rustle of
their leaves breaking the deep stillness. There was a scent
of hay in the air, one of the meadows adjoining having just
been cut.
When at length they had reached the highest portion of
the park, and got by one or two tall and silent houses, behold !
they came upon a wonderful spectacle. No dramatic surprise
could have been more skillfully arranged ; for they had be-
come accustomed to the clear and serene darkness of the
HOME. 97
night, and the twinkUng of the pale stars, and the motionless
blackness of the lofty trees, and had no further expectation.
But all at once they found before them, as they looked away
over to Sydenham, a great moonlit space ; the air filled with
a strange pale glamour that seemed to lie over the broad
valley ; while the full yellow moon herself hung like a great
globe of fire immediately over a long, low line of hill stretch-
ing across the southern horizon. These heights, lying under
this glory of moonlight, would have seemed dusks, mystic,
and remote, but that here and there glittered bright spots of
yellow fire, telling of houses hidden among trees, and over-
looking the wide plan. It was a wonderful panorama : the
burning stars of gold on the shadowy heights, the full yellow
moon in the violet-gray sky, the pale light over the plain, and
the black trees close at hand, the southward-looking branches
of which were touched here and there by the mild radiance.
Then the extreme silence of the place — as if that were a
pageant all lighted up in an uninhabited world — the cold,
sweet night air — the mystery and sadness of the stars.
" Ah, well," said Drummond, with a sigh, " it does not
matter whether it is Camberwell or Chamounix ; you get
very close to heaven on a night like this."
Young Miller felt that in his heart too, for he was standing
beside Violet North ; and as she was gazing away down into
the south, with absent and wistful eyes, he could watch with
impunity the beautiful outlines of her face, now touched with
a pale and mystic light. He wished to speak to her, and
yet he was afraid to break the strange stillness. She did not
seem to be aware of his presence ; but it was with a secret
thrill of pleasure that from time to time his fingers were
touched by the corner of the light shawl she wore.
" Is this as fine as what you remember ? " he said to her,
at length, in a low voice.
She seemed to try to collect herself. She looked at him
and said " Yes ; " but presently he saw her turn her head
away, and he had just caught a glimpse of the great tears
that stood in her eyes.
" Young Miller," said Mr. Drummond, as they walked back,
" we have beaten down your Chamounix ; we have destroyed
Mont Blanc ; the Glacier des Boissons is no more."
" Quite right," said the young man, humbly ; " I give in."
Now, when Violet got back to the house, she found her fa-
ther's brougham at the door, and she would not enter with
them. But she said to Mr. Miller, who happened to be her
companion at the moment,
98 MADCAP VIOLET.
" I have some little presents for my friends here ; would
you kindly take them in for me ? "
There was, after all, some school-girl shyness about this
young lady ; she had not had the courage to offer them the
presents herself. And how gladly he undertook the commis-
sion ! He was proud to have her confidence in this small
matter.
Then she bid good-bye to them all. She was a little si-
lent as she left; it was like going away once more from
home.
" Then I shall see you on the 30th," said George Miller,
looking at her rather timidly.
" Oh yes, I shall be glad to see you," she said, simply ;
and then she drove away.
He carried the parcels into the house ; they were all neatly
wrapped up and addressed. He undertook the business of
opening them and displaying their contents ; and lo ! there
was on the table a wonderful assortment of gifts, with the
fancy of a girl apparent in them. For she had brought strange
Indian pipes, decorated with silver and colors and silk, for
Mr. Drummond, and a little case containing a couple of re-
volvers with ivory and silver handles ; and there were fans
and a marvelous shawl for Mrs. Warrener ; and there was an
extraordinary necklet of pale coral, with bracelets and what
not, for her daughter. James Drummond, gazing with aston-
ishment at this goodly show, pronounced an oration over
them.
" There was once upon a time," said he, " a company of
poor folk sitting very disconsolate in a room together, and
they had grown rather gloomy, and tired of the dullness and
grayness of life. And all at once there appeared to them a
fairy princess, wdth a beautiful smile on her face ; and she
came among them and talked to them, and all the sadness
went out of their hearts, and she cheered them so that they
began to think that life was quite enjoyable and lovely again.
And when she went away, what did they find ? Why, she
had left behind her, without saying a word about it, all man-
ner of precious and beautiful things, and the poor folk were
almost afraid to touch them, in case they should crumble
away. But they didn't crumble away at all ; for she was a
real, live, human fairy ; and hadn't she promised to come
back, too, and cheer them up a bit now and again .'' Young
Miller, I am sorry she did not expect to see you too."
The young man pulled out the aluminium pencil-case
proudly.
WALPURGIS-NIGHT.
99
" Look at that," said he, " and that belonged to herself y
"Now, James," said Mrs. Warrener, with a kindly smile,
"What about her being hardened by all the railway-peo-
ple ? "
" And oh, how pretty she is ! and she is more beautiful
than ever ! " cried Amy, rather incoherently.
Young Miller was silent for a second or two. " I suppose,"
said he, rather gloomily, " if she stays with her father now,
she will be going about a great deal, and seeing lots of peo-
ple. If she drives in the Park, every one will get to know
who she is. How easy it is for girls to have their heads
turned by the attention they get ! "
" It will take a great deal to turn Violet's head," said Mrs.
Warrener, gently. " There is plenty of shrewdness in it."
When Mr. Miller set out to walk over to Sydenham Hill
that evening, the notions that went whirling through his
brain were alternately disquieting and pleasing. Had he not
this treasure of a pencil transferred from her pocket to his }
She had breathed upon it many a time ; she had held it in her
white, small fingers ; perchance she may in an absent
moment have put it up to her lips. It was a fair, still, moon-
light night ; he took out the bit of aluminium as if it had been
a talisman, and kissed it a hundred times. Then had she
not admitted she would be glad to see him on this approach-
ing evening? And already another day was about to begin,
to lessen the long procession of dates. It was true that she
was very beautiful and very proud ; she would have lots of
admirers. Lady North was fond of society ; Violet would
meet all manner of strangers ; they would know that her fa-
ther was a rich man ; and they would be eager to win the af-
fections of a girl who had beauty, money, every thing to be-
stow. The wonderful moonlit landscape was not so lovely now,
since she had driven away. The orange points of fire on
the heights were almost extinguished. The world generally
had grown less fairy-like ; but still he was to meet her in less
than a fortnight's time.
CHAPTER XIL
WALPURGIS-NIGHT.
On the very next afternoon, Lady North and Violet paid
the promised visit to Mrs Warrener. Unluckily, James Drum-
lOO MADCAP VIOLET.
mond was not in the house ; but his sister had enough of his
shrewdness of perception to see how httle hkely it was that
this step-mother and step-daughter should ever agree — the
one a prim, dignified, matter-of-fact Httle woman, who had a
curious watchful and observant look in her cold gray eyes, and
a certain affected stateliness of manner ; the other, a proud,
impetuous girl, who had the bitterest scorn of all pretense,
and an amazing frankness in showing it.
Lady North, so far as her formal manner would allow, was
profuse in her apologies to Mrs. Warrener for the short no-
tice she had given her ; and now it appeared that what Violet
had modestly called an " at home " was in reality a fancy-
dress ball. Mr. Miller had also been modest in the matter ;
and had not told his friends of his having received an invita-
tion.
" It is so short a time," said Violet, " but I am sure you
will come, Mrs. Warrener — and Amy too — "
" Not Amy, at any rate," said the gentle little house-mother,
with a smile. " My only doubt, Lady North, is about my
brother. I am afraid a fancy-dress ball would not quite fall
in with his habits."
" My dear Mrs. Warrener," said Violet, with the air of a
woman of the world, " it does not accord with any body's
habits ; but it is merely a harmless piece of fun, that even
very wise people like. You have no idea how pleased he
will be by the show of beautiful costumes. And I know he
will come if you say that I particularly asked him. We shall
have quite a party by ourselves, you know — Mr. Miller is
coming."
" And what would be his dress .'' " asked Mrs. Warrener.
" I don't know," said Violet ; and then she added, with a sort
of mischievous smile, " Tell him to come as Romeo. Would he
not look well as Romeo ? Now do, Mrs. Warrener, tell him
that I wish him to come as Romeo."
" Very well, Violet," said Mrs. Warrener, with a smile ; but
she shook her head all the time — the school-girl had not wholly
left this young lady.
Now, strange to say, Mr. Drummond accepted the invitation
with eagerness and delight — it happened to strike some fanc3\
In a second he was full of schemes of costume. He would
go as this, he would go as that ; his sister must be Pharaoh's
Daughter, must be Consuelo, must be Lady Jane Gray. In
imagination he tumbled all the centuries together ; and played
hop, skip, and jump through history. In the end he was
forced to confess that he did not know what to do.
WALPURGIS-NIGHT. loi
There came to his aid a practical young- man, • ■
" The simplest thing in the world," said George Miller, with
a superior air. " You come with me to a man in Bow. Street :
he will show you colored plates ; you can have a dress made
for you ; or you can see what he has. I will go with you : he
will charge you ever so much too much if you let him."
" And you — have you got your dress ? " asked Drummond,
with a modest air, of this experienced person.
" It is being made," said he, carelesslv. " I am going as
Charles I."
" I have a message for you as regards that," said Mrs. War-
rener, looking at him in her quiet and humorous way. " Vio-
let was over here yesterday. She bid me tell you you must
go to the ball as Romeo."
All the carelessness went out of the young man's manner
in a second.
" No ! " said he. " Did she, really ? It is not a joke ? "
" I have delivered the message as I got it."
" By Jove ! Then I must telegraph to them to stop the
Charles I. dress — oh, I don't care whether I have to pay for
it or not ! — in any case, I will go as Romeo." And then he
added, quickly, with a flush in his face, " Don't you think the
joke a good one 1 She was making fun, of course ; but what
a joke it will be to surprise her? "
Forthwith it was arranged that these three should make up
a little party to go to Bov/ Street ; and on their way thither it
almost seemed as if Mr. Drummond had gone out of his senses.
Young Miller did not understand this kind of thing. Imag-
inary conversation between discarded costumes about the
character of their successive wearers ! Ghosts getting into
a costumier's repository, and having a fancy-dress ball by
phosphorescent light ! He treated such nonsense with impa-
tience ; he would rather have understood clearly what dress
Mr. Drummond proposed to wear.
Then, even in the presence of the grave and puzzled costu-
mier., also ! Young Miller, as a shrewd and practical person,
perceived that this was a matter of business, and not a subject
for all manner of whimsical absurdities. Where was the fun
of bewildering a costu?7tier, when that worthy person was pa-
tiently turning over the colored plates ?
" Mercutio," said Drummond. " Is that Mercutio ? How
plump and well-favored he is ! I always loved Mercutio — but
I did not know he was so good-looking. They say Shakspeare
killed him because he could not keep up the supply of jokes
that Mercutio needed. They might as well say that God took
102 MADCAP VIOLET,
and plunged the rivers into the sea lest there shouldn't be
enough water left on Und for a long river-course. That's why
tl^ riy^rs always ;i:ake the nearest way ; and that's why poor
old Mercutio was killed."
Now what was the good of talking like that to this puzzled
tradesman and artist ? Young Miller had continually to keep
saying.
" And how much would that be — in blue satin and velvet,
for example ? "
It was indeed very lucky for these two that Mr. Miller had
gone with them ; for, in the end, when they had finally made
their choice, he suggested an arrangement which lessened the
proposed cost by more than one-half. The costumes were to
be made according to sketches whidi Mr. Drummond was to
supply ; but they were to remain the property of the costumkr ;
and only their temporary use to be charged for. Not only
Mr. Drummond, but also his sister, who had more to do with
accounts, was quite impressed by the business-like way in
which Mr. Miller drew up and ratified this contract.
One evening that little garden in Camberwell saw a strange
sight. It was nearly dusk ; under the cherry and apple trees
there was almost darkness. A.nd what was this tall and silent
figure, clad from head to heel in a cloak of sombre red, with
a sword thrusting out the cloak behind, v/ith a peaked black
cap coming down on the forehead, and that surmounted by a
tall red feather that here and there brushed the leaves of the
trees ? What manner of man was this, with ruddy shadows
under the strangely vivid eyes, with cadaverous cheeks, with
pointed beard and curled mustache, and with a fiendish grin
on his lips ? Then a younger man stepped down from the
balcony ; and, behold, the youth was bravely clad in blue and
silver, with a cape of velvet hanging from his shoulders ; and
there was a soft yellow down on his upper lip ; and a look of
gay laughter about his handsome face. He, in turn, was fol-
lowed by a beautiful and gentle creature, who wore her yellow
hair in two long plaits behind, and who appeared in a simple
dress of white, with its tight sleeves and its sachel touched
here and there with blue. Strangely enough, as the three fig-
ures walked here and there through the twilight of the garden,
Mephistopheles, Romeo, and Margaret spoke the same lan-
guage, and laughed with the same light laughter. It was their
dress rehearsal : the solitary spectator being a young lady in
the balcony, who said they looked like ghosts, and hoped she
should not dream of them that night.
The important evening at length arrived ; and Mr. Miller
WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 103
had arranged to dress at James Drummond's house, for he
was quite sure that, without his supervision, Mephistopheles
would be found lacking in fiendish eyebrows and mustache.
James Drummond was not accustomed to these things ; he
was a mere child in the hands of young Miller, who dealt
with this matter in a serious and didactic fashion.
The big house in Euston Square was all lighted up ; Chi-
nese lanterns were hung along the covered way leading down
to the gate ; and on the pavement a large number of people
had assembled to watch the arrivals descend from the car-
riages and walk up the lane of dimly colored light. There
was a murmur of surprise when a tall, gaunt figue in sombre
red stalked by, with a whisper of " The Devil!" Romeo
was a little bewildered ; he was wondering how Violet would
be dressed ; whether she would be kind or proud ; whether
she would dance with many people. He resolved that he
would not stay in the room if she danced with any other than
himself ; and he already hated that unknown stranger.
More brilliant lights ; a sound of distant music ; some ser-
vants, with staring eyes and anxious manner.
Mr. Drummond taps young Romeo on the shoulder. ** You
are in the way."
He stands aside, and two strange creatures go by.
" Thank you," says one of them, courteously. " You have
allowed tv;o centuries to pass."
As yet they are but encountering the outward ripples of
the great whirlpool within. Cleopatra, proud and dusky, with
golden ornaments pendant over her forehead, comes out into
the cooler air of the hall ; she is attended by an executioner,
draped in black, and masked. Whose are these enormous
scarlet feathers sweeping back from the cowl ? Surely they
and the long slashed cloak belong to a high baron of Ger-
many ! There, at the foot of the stairs, Mary Queen of Scots
is chatting pleasantly with a tall youth dressed as chef de cui-
sine; beside them stands the redoutable Jean Sansterre, the
lights gleaming on his suit of chain-mail, his huge shield and
battle-axe. Harlequin whips by; the solemn Master of
Ravenswood appears with Ophelia on his arm ; the mighty-
hearted Barbarossa and the Fille du Regiment, laughing and
talking together, are making for the ball-room.
" * Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? ' "
At the sound of that well-known voice our three strangers
turned instantaneously. What wonderful vision was this .'' —
104 MADCAP VIOLET,
not the Violet N'orth they knew, but Juliet herself descended
in all her beauty from the moonlit balcony — her face a trifle
pale, perhaps, but that may have been the reflected light of
her robes of white satin — her magnificent black hair looking
blacker because of this gleaming dress — her dark eyes full of
fire, and light, and gladness — the proud, sweet mouth partly
opened in the excitement of the moment, and just showing a
glimmer of milk-white teeth. Young Romeo was altogether
overwhelmed, blinded, bewildered. What great condescen-
sion was this — or was she but toying with him : she, the full-
grown woman still fancying that he was but a youth ? There
was more of the girl than of the woman, however, in the de-
light of her face, in the eager fashion in which she insisted
on showing them where Lady North was posted.
" Oh, Violet, how lovely you look in that dress ! " Mrs.
Warrener could not help saying, in an under-tone.
" Can we get up stairs .'' " the girl said. " Lady North is
on the landing. Mr. Drummond, shall we lead the way t "
Surely Romeo and Juliet should have gone together.
Romeo was rather silent when he saw that beautiful creature
in the white satin and pearls pass on with the tall figure in
sombre red.
For a few seconds the crush on the stairs kept them
jammed in and motionless at one point of the ascent.
Violet turned round ; Romeo was just beneath ; and she said
to him, with a tender sweetness,
" * How cam'st thou hither, tell me ! and wherefore ?
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.' "
He could not answer — his face flushed red with embarrass-
ment ; but fortunately another upward movement on the part
of the crowd carried them on again and hid his vexation.
" She has studied her part better than you have," said Mrs.
Warrener, with a quiet smile.
" How could I know ?" said he, almost angrily. " I did
not know she would be Juliet. I suppose these are the
speeches Juliet makes. And one looks such a fool."
" But surely you know the pretty things that Romeo says
to her t " said his companion.
" No, I don't," he said, gloomily. " Poetry was never
much in my way. But — but if you know, Mrs. Warrener —
couldn't you give me a hint or two — "
" I think my brother has taken up your part," said she ; and
WALPUR GIS-NIGHT.
105
then, indeed, they heard that Mephistopheles and Juliet v/ere
addressing each other in very beautiful language. George
Miller leaped to the conclusion that there was a great deal
of exaggerated and tawdry sentiment about Shakspeare ; and
that, in any case, theatrical stuff should be kept for theatres.
On the landing, and in a recess so that her guests could
pass by her into the ball-room, they found Lady North, who
was very dignified and very courteous. Her eldest daughter,
Anatolia, stood by her. What made young Mr. Miller ask
this rather plain young lady, so that his companions could
distinctly overhear, for the next waltz she had free .'* He had
not asked Violet to dance.
They looked in on the wonderful assemblage of picturesque
figures — certain groups of them here and there in motion —
the sound of music all through the place — the brilliant colors
and diverse forms almost bewildering the eye. The fair Ju-
liet, her hand still on the arm of the tall and sombre Mephis-
topheles, showed him a certain little pink card.
" I have not given away one dance yet," said she.
" Do you wish me to ask you to dance ? " he replied.
" Yes."
" It is Romeo who ought to dance wit]i Juliet."
" I wish to dance with you — or, what is the same thing, I
want you to engage me for one or two, that we may keep to-
gether, and see the people."
" Give me your programme, Violet."
He took it and managed, with some difficulty, to put cer-
tain Iiieroglyphics on it.
" Why, you have put J. D. at every one ! " cried Juliet.
" Yes," said he, " that is what I should prefer. But I am
not greedy. Whenever you wish to cheer up the drooping
spirits of your Romeo, I will set you free. What have you
said to him, Violet .'' "
She turned round and regarded the young man with some
wonder. He was certainly not looking well pleased.
" Come," she said, " I will take you all round by another
way to the balcony, and you will see every thing from there.
That will be better than fighting across the room. But per-
haps you wish to dance, Mr. Miller ? "
" No, thank you," said he, gruffly.
She would take no notice of his manner. She said, gently,
" If you will follow us, then„ we can go round to the bal-
cony, and have a nice cool place almost to ourselves. Shall
we go, Mr. Drummond ? "
■" I am no pilot," said he, in a tragic voice.
io6 MADCAP VIOLET.
•* * Yet wert thou as far
As that vast shore vvash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise ! ' "
" '■ 'Tis but thy name that is mine enemy ! ' " she retorted,
with a light laugh, as she again took his arm and led him
away.
" * Thou art thyself, though Mephistopheles,
What's Mephistophles ? It is not hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. Oh, be some other name ! ' "
"We appear to have got behind the scenes of a theatre,"
said young Mr. Miller, with savage contempt, to his com-
panion.
" Don't you think it is very amusing," said Mrs. Warrener,
in her quiet way, " to see the girl play Juliet so well ? How
delightfully gracious her manner is ! "
" 1 think when you are on the stage, you ought to be on the
stage," said he, bluntly ; " and when you're in a private house,
you ought to be in a private house. I don't see the fun of all
that tomfoolery."
"Do you mean the fancy costumes?" Mrs. Warrener
asked, with gentle sarcasm.
" Oh dear, no — I mean that poetry and nonsense."
Certainly the small room through which they were now pass-
ing was, in one respect, like the gloomy corridors " behind
the scenes." It was dark enough, but they could, at all events,
see that in the centre of the room a table was placed which
had a white cloth on it.
" Isn't Lady North kind ? " said Violet. " She has given me
this room for us four, so that as soon as the others go down
to supper we can have ours in here, in quiet and coolness."
" ' By whose direction found'st thou out this place t ' " asked
her companion.
"Please, Mephistopheles- Romeo, to keep to your own
speeches," she observed, with some dignity. *'That one be-
longs to me."
From this small room they went out on the balcony, v/hich
was hung round with pink and white, and lighted *up with
Chinese lanterns ; and, passing along, they came once more
in sight of the brilliant ball-room, at the open windows of
which they now stood. Two or three others had discovered
this quiet retreat — opportune for conversation as well as agree-
able on account of its coolness ; but somehow these dusky
figures loved the darkness rather than the light, and Violet's
WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 107
party, assembled in front of one of the windows, was left pretty
much to itself.
She set to work to exorcise the demon — was it some ridicu-
lous jealousy ? — that had got possession of this young man.
She had not much trouble. Who could have withstood the
bright, frank smile, and the friendly look of her beautiful dark
eyes ? Besides, was he not in Juliet's own balcony — not look-
ing up to her, but actually with her — while there was no
petulant nurse to call her ?
" Don't you mean to dance at all to-night ? " said she.
" No. "
" Not even with me ? "
" Your card is full," said he, shortly.
" That is but a joke," she said. " I asked Mr. Drummond
to make sure I should have plenty of time to spend with my
espejcial friends, and he took the whole night; and I am not
sorry. I fancy, Mr. Drummond, you think that dancing would
not accord with the dignity of Mephistopheles, don't you ? "
*'Nor yet with his age," said he. ''Dancing is for young
Romeos. Young Romeo, why are you lounging idly here ? "
The younger man was looking rather wistfully at Violet. He
was beginning to be sorry for his sulkiness. Would she for-
give him ? Was her kindness real ? Or was she only making
fun?
" Will you dance this waltz with me t " said he, in despera-
tion ; and she assented at once.
They passed into the ball-room.
" I thought you were to dance with Anatolia ? " she said,
with a smile.
" She had to stay by Lady North," he answered. " I — I
am very glad."
*' You ought not to say such things : she is my sister. And
why did you ask her ? "
" I don't know," said he ; and presently they were lost in
the whirling crowd.
James Drummond and his sister had watched them enter
the room. They were a sufficiently handsome couple, these
two young people, as they stood there for a moment together
— the slim, square-shouldered young fellow in blue velvet and
silver, with his fine features all lighted up now by a new grati-
tude and pleasure, and the tall, shapely, proud-featured girl,
whose hair seemed blacker than the raven's wing in contrast
with the gleaming white of her dress. After that they were
visible but from time to time in the whirl of wonderful shapes
io3 MADCAP VIOLET.
and colors that moved to the light, rapid, and harmonious
music.
" That is the beautiful time of life," Drummond said to his
sister, as they watched these two go by. "Youth, health,
bright spirits, the joy of living life instead of merely looking
at it — and yet there is some sadness about the spectacle.
Not to them, of course ; only to the looker-on. They are not
thinking of to-morrow, nor yet of middle age, nor of any doubt
or disquiet. Look at them — don't you wish you could make
this moment eternity for them, and prolong that delight of
rapid motion for ever and ever ? "
" I do not," his sister said, promptly. " I don't know
what you mean, James ; but you are always coupling these
two together, as if they must necessarily marry."
" Why not ? " said he, rather absentl}^
" You know very well : the notion of a proud, high-spirited
girl like Violet marrjdng a young man like that — who has
got no more imagination, or feeling, or mind than a block of
wood ! "
" You are never fair to young Miller, Sarah. He is quite
as intelligent as most young men ; and he is far more will-
ing to improve himself than any I know."
" He sha'n't marry Violet."
" You used to like him well enough."
" Yes ; because I never dreamed that any thing serious
would come of that foolish adventure of theirs. But now I
am sure he means to marry her if she will let him ; and I
think she has a sort of tender, half-romantic interest in him
at which she laughs, but which is likely to make mischief."
" That is how you describe marriage ? " said he.
But at this moment the two young people came back —
flushed, eager, gay in spirits ; Romeo in especial being de-
lighted, and showing his delight by being anxious to share
it. Mrs. Warrener must really go in and dance. The flash-
ing-by of the different characters was wonderful. Had she
seen Henry VIII. go down 1 What was this perfume they
were burning ?
Then he w.as anxious that Violet should give him the next
dance, and the next dance, and the next again. But she
refused. She was not going to desert her friends. When
this present dance was over, she invited Mephistopheles to
walk with her through the room that they might look at the
crowd together; and Romeo and Margaret followed, the
former quite glad and contented now. It is true that he had
more rivals than ever. Violet North was known to but few
WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 109
of her step-mother's guests ; but the appearance of the girl
was too striking to escape unnoticed ; and there were all sorts
of applications to Lady North for an introduction to the
beautiful young lady dressed as Juliet. That young lady was
exceedingly courteous to these successive strangers ; but how
could she promise them a dance, seeing that her card was
full to the very last line ?
So the night went by, in music, laughter, and gladness ;
and they had supper all by themselves in that little room,
the fair Juliet being queen of the feast ; and Lady North sat
with them for a time, and said some pretty things about Mar-
garet's dress ; and Violet's father looked in on them, and
said to young Miller, " Well, sir, been running away with any
more school-girls lately ? '' As for the young lady herself,
the light on her face was something to look at ; it seemed to
one sitting there there that youth had nothing more beautiful
to give than such a night.
" What do you think of it all ? " she said to Mr. Drum-
mond, when they went back into the ball-room, to look on
at a slow and stately minuet that was being danced by a few
experts. " Don't you think it is lovely ? "
" I am trying to think what you think of it," said he. " To
me the chief delight of it is the delight I see in your face.
I have never seen a girl at her first ball before ; it is a good
thing to see."
" Wliy do you speak so sadly ? "
" Do I ? "
" Yes. And when I am not by, I see you looking at the
whole affair as if it were fifty miles away. I wish you would
dance with me, instead of merely standing and lookirig on
Hke that."
" It is for young Romeos to dance : " that was all he v/ould
say — and he said it very kindly to her ; and indeed at this
moment young Romeo did come up and claim the next dance,
so that she went away wdth him.
A little time after, when the loud music ceased, and there
was nothing heard but a newly awakened hum of conversa-
tion and the shuffling of feet, young Romeo said to his part-
ner.
" Shall we go through that little supper-room and,surprise
them in the balcony ? "
" If you like," she said : she was ready for any thing.
They got out and round to that small room ; the candles
were still burning brightly on the table. She was leading
the way, for there was room but for one to pass, when he
no MADCAP VIOLET.
put his hand on her hand to detain her. She looked round
in some surprise.
"Just a second," said he, and she could not understand
why his eyes should look so anxious. *' I want to speak to
you, Violet — I have something to say to you—"
Then she understood him in a moment; and she drew
back afraid. Her first impulse was the school-girl one to
beat a sudden retreat into the balcony : her second, the
woman's one, to implore him to spare them both the unnec-
essary pain of a request and refusal. But she had miscalcu-
lated his intentions.
" Only this," said he, in nervous haste, " will you promise
me not to marry any body for two years to come ? "
It was a strange request ; a declaration of jealousy rather
than of love. The girl was rather pale, and she was certainly
frightened : had she had more self-possession, she would have
laughed.
"I don't quite know what you mean," she said. "I am
not likely to marry any one — I don't think of marrying any
one—"
" All I want is a chance," he said ; and he put both his
hands over that one that he still held, while he looked in her
face. " You will let me hope that some day I may persuade
you to be my wife — "
"I can not promise — I can not promise," she said, almost
wildly.
" I don't ask you," he said. "Violet, now don't be hard."
She looked at him — at the entreaty in his eyes.
" What do you want me to say ? " she asked, in a low voice.
" That you will give me leave to hope that some day you
will marry me."
"It is only a * perhaps ? ' " she said, with her eyes turned
to the floor.
" It is only a ' perhaps' — that is all," he said, eagerlv,
"Very well, then."
In his transport he would fain have kissed her, but he was
afraid; he kissed her hand passionately, and said she was an
angel of kindness.
" And then," said he, " Violet, you know I must ask your
father's permission — "
" Oh no, no ! " she cried instinctively, feeling that that
would pledge her more and more.
" But only as between him and me," the young man said,
with the same impetuous haste. " You have nothing to do
with it. You are not bound by that. But of course he sees
WALPUKGIS-NIGIir. in
already why I have become so intimate with the rest of the
family ; and this would only be putting every thing straight
and above-board — "
"Oh, very well," said she, rather quickly. "There must
be no stupid secret this time. And you will tell my father
that I have not promised to marry you — that it is only — "
" I will tell him every thing. Violet, how kind you are ! "
" Come away," she said, hurridly, and her face was pale.
'' You must dance with Mrs. Warrener."
What had suddenly raised the spirits of this young man to
the verge of madness ? He seemed drunk with delight ; his
face afire with pleasure ; his laughter extravagant ; his speech
rapid and excited. Violet, on the other hand, was pale, con-
cerned, and silent. When George Miller took Mrs. Warrener
away into the room, Violet, left alone with Mr. Drummond,
said little, but that little was said with an unusual earnestness
of kindness. He would have been surprised by it, but that
he knew how anxiously kind she always was to her old friends.
He drew her attention to a strange blue light that began
to be visible even though the ruddy awning of the balcony.
It was time they were getting home.
"And I am so glad that you have been amused. I should
have been miserable if ^ you had taken all this trouble and
been disappointed."
" Do not fear that," said he, with a smile. " To look at
you enjoying yourself would have been enough pleasure for
any one."
It was, indeed, the cold gray of the morning when these
strange figures issued out of the ruddy hall and made their
way home in the new and pale light. Of what were they all
thinking, now that another day had come, and the hurry and
excitement of that Walpurgis-night over and gone forever ?
One young man, in a four-wheeled cab, making for Picca-
dilly, was communing with himself thus :
"How handsome she will look at a dinner-table! In her
case, anyway, a man might fairly be proud of taking his own
wife out for a drive. I wonder what my father will do for
me — surely something handsome ; and then, if her father
gives her any thing at all decent, we shall get on very well.
By Jove, what a precious lucky ^fellow I am ! And she sha'n't
have to fear any neglect or unkindness from me : I see too
much of that going on."
In another vehicle, going in another direction, a tall, thin,
middle-aged man, looking rather sad, worn, and tired, was
talking to his sister. But surely not of the fancy-dress ball ?
112 MADCAP VIOLET.
*'I suppose," he was saying, in his absent and dreamy
way, "that Roland, the brave knight Roland, never existed.
I don't much care about that ; for the man who imagined
such a perfect type of manhood — who, among all the triviali-
ties and commonplace of the life around him — the breakfasts,
dinners, and suppers, the rising in the morning to wash your
face — the wretched details of one hour after another — well,
I think the man who managed in the midst of all that to im-
agine such a splendid figure as Roland was far greater than
the Roland he created. Don't you think so, Sarah ? I don't
care whether King Arthur ever lived ; because a greater than
Arthur lives now, and tells us about him. And yet I think
that Tristram is the bravest knight, and has the most pictur-
esque story, in the ' Morte d'Arthur.' "
And again — but surely this had nothing to do with the
fancy-dress ball ? —
" I wonder if the wise men of Egypt wished to teach the
people a lesson in humility when they made the beetle an ob-
ject of worship ? Or was it a challenge to faith ? Fancy
what an imposture the owl was as a symbol of Minerva — the
biggest fool of a bird you can find. I suppose owls don't
eat grapes ; but no bird but a half-blind owl could have been
such a fool as to peck at Zeuxis's painted grapes."
And again — but what on earth had this to do with tli,e
fancy-dress ball ? —
" What a fine thing it must have been to carry about with
you a sword — the sort of consciousness, I mean, of having
the power of life or death with you. If you were weak, the
sword became part of yourself, and gave you strength. Now
they go to war with engines and machines ! and I suppose
you seldom know you have killed a man. But don't you
think that a great war must leave behind it, in thousands of
human bosoms, a secret consciousness of having committed
murder.? — a suspicion, or a certainty, that a man must not
even mention to his wife ? — the half glimmer of a dying face,
the hoiTid recollection of a vague splash of blood ? "
In the house which these three people had just left, a
young girl sat alone in her own room, her face bent down,
her hands clasped on her knees.
" Have I promised ? have J promised ? " This was what
she was thinking. " How anxious and pitiful he looked !
And that is the time that comes but once to a girl to be kind
or to be cruel to her first lover. I could not be cruel ; and
yet I am not deeply pledged. We may find out it is all a
mistake, after all ; and when we are old, I dare say we shall
FIRE AND WATER. 113
laugh over our youthful romance. When will he speak to my
father ? "
Her thoughts took another turn — fled southward with the
speed of lightning :
"Oh, my good, kind friend!" she would have said, if she
had translated her fancies into speech, " why were you so sad
to-night, and silent, and far-away in your look ? You said
you were pleased — only to please me. Have you no one to
ask you what you are thinking about, when you look like
that ? And don't you know there are some who would give
their life — who would willingly and gladly give their own worth-
less life away — if that would brighten your sad eyes and make
you cheerful and happy ? "
CHAPTER Xni.
FIRE AND WATER.
If George Miller had any hope of winning Violet North
for a wife, he set about the task in the most wrong-headed of
fashions. A little more imagination, and of the perception
that accompanies imagination, would have shown him the
folly of prematurely brandishing in the face of a high-spirited
girl, who dearly loved her liberty, those shackles of matrimony
which ought to have been kept in the background, or altogether
concealed. He would have seen that his best chances hung
on his fostering that sentiment of half-humorous, half-tender
romance with which she was disposed to regard her youthful
lover ; he ought to have let the gentle process of time strength-
en this sentiment ; he oughl^ to have accustomed her to the no-
tion of losing her liberty by slow and insidious degrees. The
matter-of-fact young man missed all that. He wanted to know
exactly how they stood. He could not understand why they
should not be engaged like other people. What harm was
there in a ring ? In a word, he was anxious to take posses-
sion of a beautiful wife ; while she regarded his claims upon
her with surprise and distinct aversion — hence all manner of
lovers' quarrels, which were exciting enough, but rather dan-
gerous.
First of all, he had gone to Sir Acton North, who received
him with much friendliness.
" What ! " said he, when the young man had told his story,
" you run away with a girl, and then you come and ask her
8
114
MADCAP VIOLET.
father for permission to court her. That is putting the horse
behind the cart, isn't it ? "
Mr. Miller was very nervous ; but when his proposed fa-
ther-in-law was good enough to make a joke, he was bound
to laugh at it ; so he grinned a ghastly grin.
" What does she say, eh ? What does she say herself ?
That is the point."
Indeed, the great railway engineer could have no objec-
tion to the young man as a husband for Violet. He was of
a rich and reputable family ; he was young, good-looking, appar-
ently good-tempered ; his business prospects were excellent.
There was another point to be considered. Sir Acton had a
suspicion that the truce between his wife and her step-daugh-
ter was dangerously hollow ; at any moment the girl might
have to go ; and whither could she go ? If she wanted to
marry this young man, why should she not ? Moreover, he
knew he would be paying a compliment to Lady North in
rather encouraging the attentions of this young man ; so that,
while he pleased himself by rendering Violet's future more
secure, he would make his consent a favor granted to his
wife. This is always good policy on the part of a husband.
"Well, sir," young Miller answered, " I have asked nothing
definite. I thought it better to come to you first."
" Quite right, quite right. Well, you must question her-
self, you know ; but be cautious."
Mr. Miller was rather puzzled by the twinkling light that
came into the gray eyes of this big, white-bearded man.
" She wants dealing with," said her father, frankly. " She
won't be mastered. However, she has been very quiet and
good since we came back from Canada — perhaps that will
last."
These cautions were rather ominous ; but, then, a young
man is always convinced that he knows a dozen times as
much about the nature of his sweetheart as her own father or
mother knows, who has only lived with her for a matter of
twenty years or so.
" There is another point," said George Miller, pulling his
courage together, and proceeding to talk with a business-like
air. "Of course I don't know what she will say ; but it may
be better if I tell you how my money matters stand. I hope
shortly to have about nine hundred pounds a year from this
partnership. Then, when I marry, I expect my father will
give me twenty thousand pounds. I don't see how he could
give me less than that, because he gave as much to my sister
when she married, and I am the onlv son."
FIRE AND WATER. 1x5
" When you get it, don't put it in railwa3^s," said Sir Ac-
ton, briefly.
" Oh dear, no," said young Miller (though he would have
liked half an hour's chat on this matter with so competent an
authority). " If I can't get two or three good mortgages —
and I suppose it is difficult to get them nowadays at six per
cent. — I mean to spread the money over half a dozen of the
best foreign stocks ; and that way you can average nearly
six per cent, without very much risk."
" Very good — very good," said Sir Acton ; " but keep it
nearer five. Five is quite enough ; there is never any great
safety over five."
" And then," said the young man, rather hesitatingly, '' I
suppose I shall have about two thousand pounds a year."
" Very good ; quite enough to live on," was Sir Acton's
business-like reply. "Too much, I should say, for young
people. You ought to save on that."
Mr. Miller waited for a second ; he seemed to expect that
Sir Acton would say something more. Was there to be no
-mention — not even the least hint — of the possible dowry on
the other side ?
A servant came to say the carriage was below.
" You will excuse me, I am sure," said Sir Acton, shaking
hands with the young man. "You will go into the drawing-
room, I suppose : the girls are sure to be there."
" Sir Acton," the young man said, stopping him, " I
haven't said how much I am grateful to you for — for — "
" No, no, not at all," said the other, as he hurried away.
" You settle it all with her."
Mr. Miller crossed the passage, and entered the drawing-
room; the music ceased as he did so, and one of Lady
North's daughters left the piano. Altogether there were four
girls in the room ; one of them being Violet, who, knowing
that Mr. Miller was in the house, and guessing the object of
his visit, had taken refuge with her half-sisters, so that he
should not find her alone.
It was a large and sombre apartment ; for Lady North and
her daughters affected high art in the matter of house-decora-
tion. What with the dark painting of the ceiling, the bottle-
green paper and brown panehngs of the walls, the deep un-
relieved red of the carpet ; the black cabinets, and the stained
windows, the spacious and melancholy chamber looked like a
great sepulchral vault. It used to be said — but the statement
was not true — that Lady North's daughters, when they hap-
pened to be at home in the evening, sat in a row in this
Ii6 MADCAP VIOLET,
solemn apartment, all of them silent, all of them dressed in
white, each holding a tall white lily in her hand, and having a
silver star in her hair. At the present moment, at all events,
they were not so engaged. They seemed singularly disturbed,
restless, and embarrassed when Mr. Miller entered— all except
Violet, who, to tell the truth, looked a little impatient and
angry. First of all, the young lady who had been playing said
she wished to find some music somewhere, and left the room.
After a second or two, another came to the conclusion that
Sally would never find the music ; and so she set off to look
for it. The color in Miss Violet's face deepened. Then the
third and remaining sister sprung up, and said,
"Isn't that the postman, Violet? Oh, I must go and see
what he has brought."
This was too much.
" You know it is not the postman ! " she said, hotly. " I
wish, Anatolia, you would stay where you are."
" I shall be back directly," said Anatolia ; and then she went
quickl}^, leaving these two in solemn silence, both embarrassed,
and one inclined to be vexed,, angry, and rebellious.
*' Why should you wish them to stay in the room, Violet ? "
he asked.
" Because I don't like to be made a fool of. They know
quite well why you are here to-day. And they believe — they
believe — I can not tell you what nonsense they believe ! "
" I know," said he. " The girls are sensible. They believe
we are engaged, or about to be. Why shouldn't we be
engaged ? "
" Because I do not choose to be engaged."
" Every body approves of it," said he. " Your father has
no objections ; I am sure Lady North would have none ; and
I can answer for my people that they would be delighted.
And that is another thing, Violet — I should so like to introduce
you to my family."
" You are very kind," she said, " but I don't see why I
should be introduced to them any more than to other families
whom I don't know."
- "Well, that is rather strange," said he, "considering our
relations."
" I was not aware of any relations existing between us."
" Oh, indeed."
"No."
" I think you are in rather a bad temper to-day."
" I don't wish to offend you," she said ; " but it is better to
tell you the plain truth. When you talk about an engagement,
FIRE AND WATER. 117
and about being introduced to your friends, you make me wish
I had never seen you ; you do, indeed. Look at those girls
going away — because they think we have secrets to talk over."
In her impatience, she got up and went to the piano.
" What would you like me to play for you ? " she said, coldly.
He was quite as much inclined to be angry at this moment
as she was ; but he was afraid of the consequences. She was
in a mood that might work mischief if she were provoked.
" Violet," he said, " do be reasonable. You are too proud.
You dislike the notion of people imagining that you — well,
that you care enough for me, or for any man, to think of
marrying him. But every girl has to go through that ; and if
the truth were known, other girls don't laugh at her — they
envy her. I do not wish to force you to do any thing you
don't like ; only I must say I expected a little better treat-
ment when I came here to-day."
" I don't wish to treat you badly, or goodly, or any way,"
she said, with indignant incoheience. "Why can't we be
friends Uke other people ? I wish to be kind to you — I do,
indeed. All the time I was in Canada there was nobody in
England I thought more about than you — at least, there was
next to nobody. And when I saw you over at Mr. Drum-
mond's I thought it would be such a nice thing to be friends
with you. And now you want to drag me into engagements
and interviews — "
" Well, you are a stupid girl," he said, with a sudden burst
of good humor. " Don't you know that you are so pretty that
I am bound to try to secure you for my wife ? You might go
and marry somebody else while that nice friendship was the
only bond between us. Come, Violet — "
He took her hand ; she drew it away.
"What shall I play for you ?" said she.
He suddenly regarded her with a suspicious look.
" Perhaps," said he, with equal coldness, " you have reasons
for not wishing that we should be engaged ? "
" Plenty," she said, frankly.
" Perhaps there is some one else to whom you would rather
be engaged ? "
A mischievous notion got into her head at this moment : she
answered nothing.
" Am I right ? " he said, with an affectation of lofty calmness.
" What if you are ? " she said, looking down.
His calmness v/ent.
" Then I consider," he said, warmly, " that, if that is so, you
have been treating me shamefully — letting me come here on
ii8 MADCAP VIOLET.
a fool's errand ; but I don't believe it — I tell you I don't
believe — "
" You don't believe what ? "
"That you are likely to be engaged to some one else."
" I never said any thing of the kind," she said, with provok-
ing sweetness. " I thought I had been telling you how I ab-
horred the notion of being engaged to any body. If you
choose to imagine a lot of foolish things, I can not help it.
I wished to be very friendly with you. I don't see why you
should get into a temper. You have not told me what you
wish me to play."
" Thank you," he said, " I think I must go now."
She rose, with great gentleness and dignity, and offered him
her hand.
" I am sorry you are going so soon," she said.
He stood looking at her with irresolution, regret, anger, and
disappointment, all visible at once in his face — disappoint-
ment most marked, perhaps.
" Some men," said he, calmly, " would call your conduct by
an ugly name ; they would say it was the conduct of — a flirt."
The word seemed to sting her like a horsewhip.
" I never flirted with any one in all my life," she said, hotly.
" No one would dare to say such a thing to me."
"Why not.-*" he said, forgetting all his calmness, and be-
coming as vehement as herself. '' You allow a man to ask you
to marry him — "
" How could I prevent that ? "
" You allow him to go to your father, and make arrange-
ments, and have every thing understood ; and then you turn
round on him, and say there is nothing understood, and hint
that you would rather be engaged to some body else, and all
that — and that is not the conduct of a flirt ? I wonder what
is!"
" Then," said she, with flashing eyes, " if that is your opin-
ion of me, you had better go."
" Yes, I will go," said he ; and he crossed the room, took up
his hat, bowed to her, and went out.
She sat down, with flaming cheeks, to the piano, and tried
to play. That was not much use. She rose, and, hastily
going to her own room, flung herself on the bed, and burst
into a flood' of passionate and angry tears, vowing to herself a
thousand times that she would never again have any thing to
say to any man of woman born, not if she were to live a thou-
sand years.
LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIN. 119
CHAPTER XIV.
" LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIN."
The cup of her sorrows was not yet full. When she had
quite exhausted her indignation over the perfidy and unrea-
sonableness and bad temper of mankind, and when she had
quite resolved that she would never marry — no, not if a king's
son were to entreat her — she got up, and washed her face, and
arranged her hair, and went to Lady North. In a humble and
submissive tone she asked the little, dignified, gray-eyed wo-
man to let her have the brougham for that evening.
Lady North was surprised and offended. Her daughter
Anatolia had run quickly to tell her that now there was no
longer any doubt about Violet being engaged ; for Mr. Miller
was in the study in confidential talk with Sir Acton ; while
Violet, silent and embarrassed, sat in the drawing-room, and
would answer no questions about the young man. When,
therefore, Violet now presented herself before her step-mother,
that lady naturally concluded she had come to inform her of
the engagement. In place of that, she only asked for the
brougham.
" Violet," said Lady North, coldly, " I do not think that this
excessive secrecy becomes a young girl."
" I don't know what you mean," the girl said, with a sud-
den flash of indignation in her eyes. " What secrecy ? "
" I do not wish to enquire, if you do not wish to confide
in me," said the other, in her slow, precise fashion. " I
should have thought I was the proper person to whom you
ought to have come for advice. I have no doubt you want
the brougham to go over to your friends in Camberwell."
" I am very glad to have friends in Camberwell," said the
girl, proudly. " It is something to have true friends any-
where. But what is the secrecy ? What have I concealed ? "
"You appear not to know," said Lady North, fixing her
cold, keen, gray eyes on the girl, " that I was aware of Mr.
Miller being with your papa ? "
" And what is that to me ? " Violet said, rapidly, and with
hot cheeks. " Why should I come and report to you what
does not concern me ? If you were anxious to know what
my father and Mr. Miller were talking about, why not ask
themselves ? There is something quite as bad as secrecy
and concealment — and that is suspicion — constant suspicion,
120 MADCAP VIOLET,
watching you at every turn, when you have nothing at all to
conceal — "
She suddenly altered her tone ; drawing herself up, and
speaking with a certain proud indifference,
" I suppose you don't wish me to have the brougham ? "
" Your papa won't be home until late this evening. Really,
the responsibility — "
" All right," said the girl, turning toward the door, " a four
wheeled cab will do as well."
" Ah ! Violet," said her step-mother, with a sigh, " no one
seems to have the least control over you."
" No ; because no one ever cared to have," said the girl,
bitterly, as she left the room — " never since I was born."
When she got outside the house, she seemed to breathe a
freer and fresher air. Adventuring out by herself in this
fashion did not seem to concern her much. She had no diffi-
culty in getting a four-wheeled cab ; and she bid the man,
before crossing Waterloo Bridge, stojD for a few minutes in
the Strand.
She went into one shop, and bought a huge flagon of lav-
ender-water, or some such scent : that was for Mrs. Warrener.
She went into another shop, and bought a beautiful little
kerchief : that was for Amy. Then she went into a book-
seller's shop.
" I want you to give me a book on philosophy, if you
please," said the handsome young lady, in her gentlest way.
*' Certainly," said the book-seller ; and then he waited fur-
ther instructions.
" Oh, but I don't know what," she said, observing this.
"You must tell me. It is for a gentleman who has studied
nearly every thing ; and it must be a very good one. What
is the best one you have got ? "
" Really I don't know," said the book-seller, with a smile.
" Here is John Stuart Mill's — "
" Oh, he won't do at all," said Violet promptly ; " he is
alive."
The book-seller began to be interested and amused.
" I beg your pardon," said he respectfully, " but you do
not mean that your friend is wiser than any body alive ? "
" I did not quite say that," she answered, simply. " How-
ever, you must give me something he is not likely to have
read — something very difficult, and first-class, and good."
Now, if this customer had been a fussy old gentleman in
spectacles, or a wrinkled old lady in black satin, the book-
seller would have politely declined the responsibility ; but
LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIN. 121
there was a good deal of persuasive influence in the presence
of this tall and handsome girl, with the big dark eyes and the
sweetly parted lips. He did not even laugh at her. He was
most kind and patient in making suggestions, and in taking
her round the shelves. And at last she pounced upon the
proper book in triumph ; for she remembered to have heard
Mr. Drummond complaining that Mr. Darv/in's last book had
not arrived from the library, and here were the two green vol-
umes of " The Descent of Man " staring her in the face.
" I am sorry to have given you so much trouble," she said,
with one of her sweetest smiles.
" I am sure it is no trouble at all," said the book-seller,
with quite unusual emphasis ; and then, when the glass doors
had shut behind that beautiful vision of youthful grace, he
could not help wondering who was the happy man who had
won the admiration and reverence oE so lovely a creature.
So Violet and her treasures were bundled into the ancient
four-wheeler ; and once more she set out for her journey. By
this time the lurid and sultry evening had died down into a
gloomy and thunderous darkness ; and by the time she had
got near to Camberwell Grove night seemed to have come
on prematurely. The lamps were being lighted as the first
low rumble of thunder was heard ; and presently the people
began to flee from the pavements, where the splashes of the
rain were leaving marks of the breadth of half a crown. The
cabman stopped in order to pull out a water-proof cape.
" Why don't you drive on and get underneath the trees ? "
she called out to him ; for they were now near the foot of the
Grove.
When at length he was forced to pull up under the thick
branches of the tall elms, the rain was coming down in fierce,
straight torrents, hissing out in the middle of the road, and
rushing down the gutter in a brown flood. All the ominous
stillness of the evening had gone ; the wind had risen and
was blowing about the summits of the elms and poplars;
there was an echo of the distant thunder from time to time ;
the dark-green branches swayed and creaked. By slow de-
grees, however, all this noise and tumult ceased ; there was a
pattering of heavy drops in the trees, but less hissing of the
rain in the road, as the cabman resumed his journey, and
proceeded to urge his patient steed up the steep hill.
Now, when Violet stepped out of the cab, up there near
the top of the hill, all the world had grown clear and sweet
after the rain. There was a look of lingering twilight in the
sky ; and one or two- stars were becoming visible ; while the
122 MADCAP VIOLET.
high, black branches of the trees seemed to delight in the
wet, as they stretched up there into the pale serenity of the
heavens. As she walked round into the garden, some quaint
fancy struck her that she was herself like this sultry and
sulky evening that had at last burst into torrents of rain and
then become calm and serene. A great peacefulness stole
in upon her heart as she passed through the small garden-
gate ; it seemed to her that now she was at home, and at
rest. And clear and still as the sky now was, with its pale
stars beginning to twinkle, it was no more clear, and still,
and placid than the light that shone in her eyes when she
went forward to greet her friends.
They had come out directly the shower was over, to
breathe the sweet freshness of the air and the scent of the
flowers. They, of course, were almost in darkness, but the
small cottage was lighted up; and what. could be a more
cheerful picture than the open French windows of the parlor
all aglow with orange light, and showing bright, warm snug-
ness within ? They were compassionating her on having en-
countered the fierce storm. She felt as though she would
gladly have encountered a dozen such storms to reach this
haven of shelter and peace at last.
"Ah! you don't knjDw," she said to Mrs. Warrener, with
her arms, linked in hers — "you don't know what it is to feel
like getting hom« again."
" But I know how glad I am to hear you say that, Violet,"
her friend, said ; " for sometimes I think you are sure in time
to go away and forget all about us."
" Yes — when I am dead," said the girl. " Not before
then."
They went indoors, and when Violet had put her hat aside,
she sat down to the piano, and asked Amy to sing to her.
She suggested the song too, for she began to play " Home,
Sweet Home ; " and then the companion of her school-girl
days sung, in a simple, tender fashion, the old familiar bal-
lad. What was James Drummond doing meanwhile ? He
v/as lying back in his easy-chair, regarding rather wistfully the
figure at the piano, and saying to himself,
" Is it possible, then, that this girl has never had the sen-
sation of being at home and at peace except in* the house of
people who are little more than strangers to her ? "
She came away from the piano, and sat down on a stool
which was lying on the hearth-rug.
" You don't think it a very clever song ! " she said to him,
LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIN. 123
timidly : it was a sort of apology for asking a person of his
superior culture to listen to school-girl sentiment.
"I don't think cleverness has much to do with it," said he.
" Did you ever carefully read the words of a song that
pleased you ? Does anybody ? No no. A chance phrase of
tenderness touches you ; and you give up all the rest — you
are fascinated by some note of farewell, let us say, at the be-
ginning of the lyric, and you forget afterward to look par-
ticularly at the despairing sighs, and the raging main, and
the usual stock-in-trade of the song-writer. That is how 1
look at it, anyway. The song-writer has only to catch you
with a bit of melody, or sentiment, and you don't search for
sense subsequently. But, indeed, I have always had » sus-
picion of rhymed poetry — "
Here she clasped her hands over her knees. She had
started him off. She was happy.
" I have always a sort of suspicion that the man has been
led to overstate, or understate, or invent a new theory altogeth-
er, at the diabolical temptation of a rhyme or a particularly
catching phrase. I can not be sure of it ; but I always suspect
it ; don't you see ? I believe that the suggestion of a happy
rhyme is responsible for many a brilliant flight of fancy and
for many a poetical assertion that is now taken to be full of a
deep philosophy. Oh, by-the-way, about those lyrics ; don't
you notice how many of the Scotch songs consist of nothing
but one or two catching phrases continually repeated ? The
phrase is something, to sing, something a mother could dandle
a baby to ; there is no sense in the repetition, no story to
tell — nothing, in fact ; but the song passes muster as a fine
song, for all that. But talking about songs is like scraping a
rose-leaf to see where the color is. Why did you leave the
piano, Violet ? Won't you sing something now ? "
" Ah ! no," she said. " My songs are all wicked songs :
they are all about drinking and fighting ; for I used to wish I
could be a student at a German university — that was about
the only ambition I ever had — and be able to drink flagons
of beer, and fight with broadswords, and sing the Burschen-
lieder. My songs are mostly Burschenlieder now — they are
too stormy for such a quiet, pleasant evening. I propose
that we go on chatting. Mr. Drummond, do you really think
there was ever such a person as Ossian ? "
But this bid for the higher criticism was too obvious : Mr.
Drummond burst into a fit of laughter.
"Miss Violet,"- said he, "you shall not induce me to talk
your head off. My dear friends, we will postpone our lecture
124
MADCAP VIOLET.
on Ossian until we can look across the blue hills of Morven —
more especially as I hear the humble but useful Mary rattling
the supper things about the place."
At this moment, indeed, Mary came into the room, and
began to lay the cloth.
"You were speaking of the Highlands," said Violet, timidly.
"Yes," said he, " I fear we are discounting all the pleasures
of the expedition by continually dreaming and dreaming of it."
" Oh, I am sure not," she said, rather wistfully. " It will
be most enjoyable for you, I know."
" But do you know this also," said he, " that I am taking it
for granted you are coming with us too ? "
" James," his sister remonstrated, " before you can take
that for granted you must speak to Lady North."
" I should like to go," Violet said ; and thereafter she was
rather silent for a time.
There were but two things on which James Drummond
prided himself — his judgment of landscapes and his method
of making a salad. On the present occasion this latter task,
as well as that of preparing some claret-cup, kept him busily
occupied for several minutes, during which time nothing
further was said about that projected journey northward.
But by-and-by, as they all sat comfortably round the white
little table, he began. It is highly probable that he himself
imagined a general conversation was going on about the sea,
and the hills, and shooting, and sailing, whereas, as a matter
of fact, not a human being spoke but himself, the others being
only too delighted to listen. For, as he rambled on, it seemed
as if there was a sound like the lapping of sea-waves in his
talk — just as there is in the Mermaid's song in " Oberon " —
and his mute audience saw, as he himself seemed to see, a
succession of pictures — the early morning, with the scent of
sweet-brier in the garden, and the gray mists rising from the
far shoulders of Morven — the glad forenoons up on the warm
hills, with the ring of the blue sea all round the land— -the
idling in the big boat with the long lines over the side, as
the red sun went down in the west and all the water became
as fire — the delightful walks at night-time, by the shore, with
the sea plashing, and the cool winds stirring the scents of the
bushes, and the stars overhead. These were pleasant things
to think of and to hear of in the hopeless wilderness of London.
They forgot the gas-lamps, and the crowded hovels, and the.
squalor and din ; for they were looking into an enchanted
land, filled with clear sunshine and the fresh winds from the
sea. And, somehow or other, whether intentionally or not,
LIKE GETTING HOME AGAIiV.
125
Mr. Drummond did take it for granted that Violet North was
to be with them. She would see this, and go there ; she
would have to hear this, and be prepared for that. At last
she cried out,
" Oh, I wish it were all true ! I wish I were going with
you ! "
" And so you are," said he, promptly.
" Lady North is going to Venice," Violet said, with a sigh.
" Let her," he exclaimed, recklessly.
" But I am afraid we must all go — unless she and I hap-
pen to have a fight before then, and then she will be glad to
get rid of me. It is — a great — temptation," she added,
thoughtfully.
" What is ? " he asked, though he guessed her meaning, for
he saw a mischievous smile about the corners of her mouth.
" No," she said, with a sudden decision, " it would not be
fair to get up a quarrel in order to get away. She has tried to
be very civil to me ; and I must try to be civil too. But it is
hard work to be civil to some people."
They had some further talk about this Northern excursion,
however, and it was easy to see how anxious the girl was to
go with them. She seemed to cling to them somehow, as
though they were her only friends. When she was told that
the cab was at the door, she rose from the table with a sigh ;
she was tearing herself away from the one place in the world
where she found peace, homeliness, unworldly friends, and
sweet guidance.
By-and-by that jolting vehicle was rattling along the noisy
streets, past the glare of lighted shops and dingy groups of
human beings. Already it seemed to her that she had left
far behind her all that she knew of gentleness, and quiet, and
tender companionship. That small household with its
knightly feeling, its unworldly ways, its helpfulness, and
charity, and wise counsel — that indeed was home to her ; and
as she thought of it, the refrain of an old German song — not
one of the Burschenlieder — seemed to speak to her, and the
speech was sad enough :
" Far away — in the beautiful meadows — is the house of my
hofue. Many a time I went out from it into the valley — O you
beautiful valley! 1 greet you a thousand times. Farewell^
farewell I ^^
126 MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER XV.
MISTAKEN GUESSES.
On the same evening George Miller hurried along to his
club to dress for a small dinner party to which he had been
invited by one of his fellow-members. He was angry and
indignant. He would no longer be subject to the caprice of
any woman. Of course, it flattered a girl's vanity to sue for
her hand, and meekly submit to any condition she might im-
pose ; but he would have no more of that. It was an unsatis-
factory bargain in which the concession was all on one side.
Did she imagine that he would enter upon the duties of a
long courtship, without the least intimation from her that any
thing would come of it ? Was he to pledge himself, while
she remained absolutely free .-*
His host on this occasion was a Mr. Arthur Headley, a
gentleman who had somehow or other made a large fortune
in Australia, and come home to spend it. He was a singu-
larly handsome man, six feet two in height, muscular, lithe,
with fairly good features, and a magnificent brown beard.
A maid-servant conversant with modern fiction would have
called him a demi-god. It is true, he was rather a fool —
indeed, his brain seemed to have undergone but little modi-
fication in its transmission from the microcephalous ape ; but
then he was a very amiable and good-natured person. There
was but one spice of malice in his nature ; and that declared
itself in his treatment of the secretary of the club. He gen-
erally spent the day in worrying that harmless official. All
his literary faculty was employed in composing essays of
complaint to be laid before the committee. There was ordi-
narily more writing on the back than on the front of his
dinner-bills. When he walked in the park, in deep medita-
tion, the chances were a hundred to one he was trying to
invent some peculiarly cutting phrase to describe the dis-
gracefully shabby appearance of the ash-trays in the smoking-
room, or the shamelessly careless fashion in which the evening
papers were stitched through the middle. Even demi-gods
of six feet two must have an occupation.
They dined in a private room, and the talk was general.
If Mr. Miller wished to forget the fickle race of womankind,
here was an opportunity. The table was brilliantly lighted ;
the service was quick, silent, efficient ; the conversation was
of a simple and ingenuous character. Indeed, under the
MISTAKEN GUESSES. 127
presidency of Mr. Heaclley, the talk chiefly ran upon the in-
ternal arrangements and comparative merits of other clubs,
and was directed to show that no institution was so badly
managed as the Judaeum. One admired the white and gold
of the morning-room at the United Universities' ; another
rather preferred the ecclesiastical gloom of the Junior Univer-
sities' ; another lamented the absence of a good entrance-
hall ; and a fourth, when the steward's tariff was under dis-
cussion, suddenly exclaimed,
" Why, God bless my soul ! do you know they give you
cold beef and a pint of claret at the Reform for one-and-two-
pence — one shilling and twopence for your lunch ? " After
which there was a pause of awe-struck silence.
By-and-by, however, when a little wine had been drunk,
every body wished to talk, except one ; and so the conversa-
tionalists inadvertently split themselves up into small groups.
That one was Mr. Miller. He was rather gloomy. He did
not seem to take much interest in what was going on ; he
listened, in an abstracted fashion, to this or that controversy
about wine, or yachts, or boot-makers, and heeded but little.
Suddenly, however, he heard something that made his
heart jump.
" Who is that tall girl with the white feather," asked a
gentleman on the other side of the table — some one having
been talking of the Park — " who drives t^e pair of grays ? "
'' Oh, don't you know ? " said Mr. Headley, carelessly.
'' She's a daughter of North, the railway-man."
" She's an uncommonly good-looking girl, that's all I know.
She has only come quite lately into the Park."
" Well, for my part," said the host, " I don't see any body
to come near Lady — "
" Headley," broke in young Miller, with intemperate wrath,
" we will drop this, if you please. I happen to know Miss
North."
There was an embarrassed pause ; the announcement of
the price of cold beef at the Reform Club could not have ex-
cited more surprise.
" My dear fellow," said Headley, good-naturedly, " I beg a
thousand pardons ; and I envy you."
So the little incide^nt passed off quietly enough ; but was it
not apparent to every one present that there was some spe-
cial reason for the high color on the young man's face ? Of
course, if they had known that he was acquainted with Miss
North, they would not have spoken of her ; but had they said
any harm of her ? Would he have been as angry over the
128 MADCAP VIOLET.
mention of the name of the Princess of Wales, or Lady Dud-
ley, or Baroness Burdett-Coiitts ? They drew their own con-
ckisions.
And as for him — this chance mention of Violet did not in-
crease his happiness. It was evident, then, that she was at-
tracting attention, as was natural. Whatever imagination he
had was inflamed by a sudden and secret fire of jealousy ;
and a thousand devils appeared in the smoke. He hated even
the innocent person on the other side of the table who had
betrayed interest in Miss North by asking her name. He
hated the idle, lolling crowds in the Park, who stared, and
criticised, and — worst of all — admired.
Well, as soon as dinner was over, and his companions went
up to the smoking-room, he stole off for a few minutes, and
sat down to write a letter to Violet North. It was a very
penitent letter. He confessed that he had been impatient
and unreasonable. If she would forgive him this time, he
would not again ask her for any pledge or assurance. She
should be perfectly free. He would be content if she in the
mean time would give him only her friendship, and would
take his chance of the future. And was she going to the
flower-show at South Kensington on Thursday .?
This letter he sent up to Euston Square by the club com-
missionnaire, so that Violet received it when she returned in
her four-wheeler from visiting her friends in the South. Now
she was in a very gentle frame of mind — she generally was
after seeing them. It was evident the young man was
grieved about their quarrel ; and she was sorry to have given
him pain. She did not sit down to answer the letter there
and then ; but she resolved that the reply should be a kind
and friendly one.
He received her note the following evening ; he had been
early at his rooms to wait for it. It was the first scrap of
her writing that had come into his possession : a thrill went
through his heart even as he looked at his own name out-
side written by her hand. He opened the envelope quickly ;
his eyes seemed to catch the sense of the page before he had
time to read the lines ; he knew at least she was not deeply
offended. He read the letter, and then got up and went to
the window, and stared down into Half Moon Street. He
read it again, and kept staring at the paper, mechanically
noticing the curious fashion (apparently French) in which she
formed her capital /'s. He read it over tw® or three times,
and yet seemed possessed with the notion that he ought to dis-
cover more from these simple words.
MISTAKEN GUESSES. 129
There was, indeed, a studied simplicity about them. She
told him, briefly and plainly, that she hoped they would re-
main good friends ; that the cause of this recent disagree-
ment was well known to both of them, and could be avoided ;
and that she was very glad he had pointed out to her the
necessity of guarding against misconstruction.
He was very soon -to find out what the last phrase meant.
Violet went with Lady North and her daughters to the
flower-show, and there, naturally enough, was Mr. George
Miller, very smartly dressed, a trifle self-conscious, and obvi-
ously anxious to be attentive to the whole party. The bright
summer-day, the rich masses of colors, the sweet and ever-
varying perfumes, and the cheerful music outside — all this
was pleasant enough ; and Violet, who was not sated with
the ordinary sights and occupations of London life, was en-
joying herself thoroughly, and was most friendly in her treat-
ment of him. A rumor that some royal personages had ar-
rived, and were going through one of the tents, caused a gen-
tle rush of the crowd in that direction, and with the crowd
went Lady North and her daughter ; so that inadvertently
Violet and Mr. Miller were left by themselves, if not quite
alone. That did not make any alteration in her manner — she
was deeply interested at the moment in a sensitive-plant — but
it did in his.
" Violet," said he, in a low voice, " I have nothing of yours
that — that I can keep by me. Will you give me a flower .-* "
She turned round with something of coldness in her man-
ner.
" That would be flirtation, would it not .'' " she asked, with
some dignity.
" What is the use of raking up that quarrel ? " he said, in
an injured way. "I thought that was to be forgotten."
" Yes," she answered, in the same measured and clear
fashion, " but not the lesson of it. I think it is better we
should have a distinct understanding about that. I do not
wish to do any thing you can reproach me with afterward ;
for who can tell what may happen ? "
Her meaning was clear enough. She was determined to
give him none of that " encouragement " on which he might
presume to found a claim, or to substantiate a charge of
fickleness and treachery. It came to this then : if he liked to
have their present relations continue, well and good ; but it
was distinctly to be recognized that she was not responsible.
Now this was an intelligible position to be taken up by a
young woman who did not find that she cared about a young
I30 MADCAP VIOLET.
man to that degree which would warrant her in encouraging
his hopes ; but it could not be expected to recommend itself
to the young man.
" I think you are very hard on me," said he, rather
gloomily.
"Oh, don't think so ! " she said, quickly, with an anxious
kindness in her eyes. " I don't mean to be so, at any rate.
But it is not fair to you, nor to myself, that — that — "
" I see how it is," he said bitterly. " You can not forgive
me for that one phrase."
" Indeed I have," she said, earnestly. " Only it opened
my eyes. Perhaps I was wrong in letting you go to papa.
But you know you told me that I was absolutely unpledged
— that it was all a ' perhaps ' — that you were quite content
to wait and see — "
" And so I am ! " he said, with unusual decision of manner,
and his voice was low and rapid. " I don't care what hap-
pens : I am too deeply pledged already ; you can be as free
as you like. Men have done more foolish things for smaller
prizes. I will take my chance. And yet, 1 don't think most
girls are as hard as that — "
" I wall give you a flower, if you wish it," she said.
She looked around, and at length descried a bit of blossom
that had fallen or been cut off.
" Will that do .?" she asked.
He took it from her, threw it on the ground, and kicked it
aside.
" I don't want it from you in that way. I will wait until
you can give me a flower without looking as if I had put you
on the tread-mill."
" Ah, well," she said, with a sigh, " I am sorry we should
quarrel so. Shall we go and see where Lady North has
gone ? "
" Violet ! " he said, " I — I beg your pardon. I don't wish
to quarrel ; but yet it seems hard that you should be so proud
and indifferent — and I get angry, that's a fact — but I am
very sorry. Come, let us be friends again."
"Very well," she said.
" Give me another bit of flower ? "
She began to laugh.
" Isn't this just a little too childish ? You make me think
I am back at Miss Main's again, and quarreling over a bit of
slate-pencil. The flowers don't belong to me."
" It may be childish, and very ridiculous, to you ; but it
MISTAKEN GUESSES. 131
isn't quite so to rae. However, I will wait for that flower.
Perhaps you will give it to me some day.''
" I suppose you mean to tease me until I do ? "
*' If I thought that would get it for me, I would."
" I have heard of girls being teased into an engagement-
giving in through sheer weariness. I think it is rather dan-
gerous. I should fancy the man would take his revenge out
after the marriage ; for of course he would look on her pre-
vious disinclination as mere perversity."
" I wish you would give me the chance," he said, with a
bright look on his face. " You would see what revenge I
should take."
The aspiration was an honest one. Young Miller had a
fair and moderate notion of his own merits. He knew he
could not paint fine pictures of his sweetheart, or write poetry
about her, or do any thing particularly romantic or imagina-
tive ; but he had heard in his time of these dilettante fellows
marrying the objects of their adoration only to neglect them
for flirtations with other women. He, now, was a plain and
practical person ; but he could assure his wife an honest and
attentive husband, who would work hard for her, and see
that she lived in good style. If he only had the chance, as
he said, Violet would see what a husband hewouldmake.
Unfortunately this remark of his only alarmed her. It
seemed as though, whatever she might say to him, the con-
versation always led up to this one point ; and the girl nat-
urally blamed herself for so " encouraging " him. She im-
mediately became rather reserved in manner, and insisted on
going off in search of her friends.
They found them easily enough ; but, in strolling about
the grounds, Mr. Miller had plenty of opportunities of talking
to Violet by herself.
" I suppose you are going to the Royal Academy conversa-
zione ? " said he.
" Would it be making an appoijitment if I said I was ? " she
asked, with gentle malice.
" No, it would not ; for I haven't got a card."
*' Then I am going. Lady North will take Anatolia and
me ; papa doesn't care about it."
*' I should like to go," young Miller said, wistfully. " I sup-
pose Mr Drummond would let me have his card for once ? "
" I hope you won't ask him," said Violet, sharply.
" Why not ? " he said, innocently. " It is no novelty to
him. He knows all those artist-fellows. What is a con-
132 MADCAP VIOLET.
versazione more or less to him ? He does not go to one-fifth
of the places he is asked to."
"You have no right to demand such a favor," she said.
" Besides, the cards are sent to particular people : they are
not to be bandied about like that. And I know that Mr.
Drummond is going."
" Oh, you know he is going ? " *
" Yes. But I know he would give the card to any body
who asked him — if that is allowed : so I hope you won't ask
him."
" You seem very anxious to see him."
"Yes, I am — at least, not anxious ; but, of course, I hope
to see him."
" Oh, well," said Mr. Miller, carelessly, " I can easily get
a card, if I want to go, without asking Mr. Drummond. I
know a two-penny-half-penny sort of a fellow called Lavender,
who is good at every thing but earning a farthing of his own
money, and he will get me a card. I suppose a hundred will
go to look at the princes, and one to look at the pictures."
" Then, I hope you will be that one," said Violet, sweetly.
"You know what I shall go for," he said ; and she turned
away at that : the conversation had again led up to one of
those awkward climaxes, which seemed to pledge her more
and more, however definitely she protested.
So the days went by at this time ; the young man paying
her very nearly as much attention as though an engagement
had existed between ihem ; she secretly fearing, and yet
sheltering herself behind repeated explanations that she was
absolutely free, and unprejudiced by any of his hopes and as-
pirations. Occasionally, of course, she could not help being
kind to him : for she really liked him ; and his patient de-
votion to her moved her pity. Many a time she wished he
would go ; and then she hesitated to inflict on him the pain
of dismissal. It was altogether a dangerous position.
The days going by, too, were gradually bringing the Lon-
don season to an end; and' people were talking of their au-
tumn tours. Violet had not ventured to ask Lady North to
let her accompany Mrs. Warrener to the Highlands ; but she
had spoken about this trip, and hinted that she would rather
be going thither than to Venice. Mrs. Warrener had not
ceased to entreat her to come with them.
One bright forenoon a pair of small grays were being
driven briskly up Camberwell Grove by a young lady, who
seemed pleased enough with her task. It was a fresh clear
day in July ; the yellow road ascending before her was barred
MISTAKEN GUESSES. 133
across by the gray shadows of the chestnuts ; here and there
a Mme-tree sweetened the air, for there had been rain in the
morning. Her only companion was the man behind, who
was doing his best to watch over a number of potted fuchsias,
which gave him the appearance of being an elderly cupid in
a grove of flowers. The phaeton was pulled up at the gate
leading to a certain boarding-school ; and the man, struggling
out from among the fuchsias, jumped down, and went to the
horse's heads.
Now, this was rather a tall and shapely young lady who
went into the boarding-school ; and she wore a tight-sleeved
and tight-fitting dress of chocolate-colored homespun, with a
broad-brimmed hat and bold feather of the Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds period, just then coming into fashion ; and altogether
she presented so fine and commanding an appearance that
the small school-mistress, on coming in, was overcome with
astonishment, and could only say,
" Oh, Miss North ! "
Yet Miss North was not an apparition — at least, appari-
tions do not ordinarily shake one firmly by the hand, and say,
with a bright smile,
" You remember me ? Have I grown .? Oh, Miss Main, it
is very strange to call on you ; for the moment I came into
the hall I fancied I was going to be punished — I suppose you
remember — "
" Oh yes, I remember," said the school-mistress, with a
shrewd smile ; and yet she was still puzzled by the alteration
in this old pupil of hers, and had scarcely the presence of
mind to ask her to sit down.
" But I thought I would bring something to propitiate you,"
this handsome young lady continued, with the greatest self-
possession and cheerfulness, " so that you won't give me
twenty pages of ' Minna von Barnhelm ' to translate. It is
some fuchsias — they are outside : will you please to ask Eliz-
abeth to fetch them in ? "
" Oh, that is so kind of you, Miss North," said the school-
mistress (she had not even yet sated her wonder and curios-
ity over the young lady's dress and appearance and manner) ;
" but I suppose you don't know Elizabeth has left us. She
left to get married more than a year ago."
" I thought she would," said Miss North calmly. " I used
to write her love-letters for her. How much of ' Mina von
Barnhelm ' should I have had to translate if you had found
that out, Miss Main ? "
f34
MADCAP VIOLET.
*' Indeed," said the school-mistress, frankly, " I think you
were the wickedest girl I ever had in my school."
" I am afraid you are right," said Miss North, meekly.
" But what a change there is, to be sure ! That's what I
often said — I often said you would never be brought under
proper control until you were married — "
*' But I am not married yet. Miss Main," said the young
lady, with heightened color.
" It will not be long, then, I dare say," replied the school-
mistress.
" Indeed, it will be a very long time — it will be always
and altogether," said Miss North, promptly.
" You mean never to get married "i "
" Certainly."
After that, Miss Main thought she might as well send for
the fuchsias ; and when the flowers were brought in, she was
greatly pleased by this instance of friendliness on the part of
her old pupil, and she would have had her sit down, and have
some strawberries and cake. But Miss North could not wait
to partake of these earthly joys.
" I am going on at once to Mr. Drummond's," she said.
" Mr. Drummond is not at home," said Miss Main, hoping
to have an opportunity of showing Lady North's daughter to a
later generation of scholars ; " I saw him pass here about an
hour ago."
" I know," said Violet ; " this is the morning he goes co
that society in Jermyn Street. It is Mrs. Warrener I am go-
ing to see."
So, with many a friendly word, and promise to repeat the
visit, she got into the phaeton again and drove on up the hill.
She found Mrs. Warrener alone, as she had expected. She
took off her hat and put it on the table. Then she proposed
they should go out into the garden.
" For I have something of great importance to say to you,"
she said, solemnly.
" Indeed ! " remarked Mrs. Warrener, expecting to hear of
another quarrel with Lady North.
"Oh, it is no laughing matter," Violet said at once. " It
is simply this : Am I or am I not to get engaged to Mr. Mil-
ler ? "
"Violet!" exclaimed Mrs. Warrener, astounded by the
girl's direct habit of speech. " You can not be talking seri-
ously. Why should you ask such a question of me ? "
" Because I have no one else to go to for advice," she an-
swered, simply.
MISTAKEN GUESSES. 135
" But surely that is a matter on which no girl needs advice.
It ought to be determined by your own feelings."
" If that were all, I shoulcl have no difficulty," said the
young lady, not without some pride in her tone. " I don't
wish to marry any body. I would rather be free from all the
— the bother and persecution — "
" Then why should you suffer it .'' "
" Well," said she, looking down, " perhaps you may have
partly brought it on yourself by your own carelessness ; and
you don't wish to — to appear — unkind — "
They had now got out into the garden.
"Violet," Mrs Warrener said, distinctly, "this is the ques-
tion : Do you really care for him ? "
" N-no," the girl stammered.
" Then why not tell him so ? "
" You can not be going about insulting your friends in that
way."
" All your friends are not asking you to marry them."
"Oh, that is a different matter," said Violet, earnestly.
" He does not ask me to marry him — not at all. This that
he is always asking for is only an engagement ; and I am not
to be bound by it in any way — "
" Now, what do you really mean ? " her friend said, seri-
ously. "Or what can he mean by such proposals ? What
sort of an engagement is it that binds him, and leaves you
free ? And what sort of an engagement is it that does not
promise marriage ? "
" Well, that is what he proposes," said Violet, doggedly.
" He knows quite well that I will not promise to marry him ;
for I do not wish to marry any body. And he does not even
talk of that now."
They walked about for a bit, Mrs Warrener saying nothing.
At last she said,
" I think I see how it is. The notion of marriage frightens
you — or you are too proud to like the idea of the submission
and surrender of marriage — and Mr. Miller, being a shrewd
young man, has found that out, so he wants you to enter into a
vague engagement — which will not frighten you, or alarm you
about the loss of your independence ; and you apparently
don't quite know what it means. Take care ! "
" Oh, but you don't knov/, Mrs. Warrener," the girl said,
quite humbly, "you don't know what I think about these
things, if you fancy I am so proud as that, or that I should
like to be always independent. If I were to marry any man,
I should like to feel myself quite helpless beside him — looking
136 MADCAP VIOLET.
to him always for guidance and wisdom — I should be his one
worshiper, and every thing he might do would be right to me.
I should be ashamed of myself to even dream of independ-
ence. But then — but then — " she added, with her eyes still
cast down, " the men you can admire and trust like that are
not often met with : at least, for my part, I have only — "
^' You must have met one, anyway," said Mrs. Warrener,
with a kindly smile.
" Oh no, not necessarily," the girl said, almost with alarm.
" It is a fancy of mine : you know the nonsense that gets into
a school-girl's head."
Mrs. Warrener, with such ability as she possessed, and wath
a wonderful and friendly patience, was trying to understand
this girl and her odd and apparently contradictory sentiments.
The only key to these that the worthy little woman could
find was this : Here was a proud, self-willed girl, who had a
sweetheart whom she regarded with a more tender affection
than she cared to disclose. Like most girls, she chose to be
very reticent on that point ; if questioned, she would answer
with a stammering " N-no." On the other hand, the sweet-
heart is impatient of these mystifications, and wishes her to
promise to marry him. She rebels against this pressure put
upon her; treats him with undeserved coldness, but, all the
same, comes to a friend to see what the world would think of
her entering into some sort of engagement. She wishes
some one to tell her she can enter into this engagement with-
out exposing herself to the suspicion — against which she re-
volts — that her secret affection is stronger than her pride.
Such was Mrs. Warrener's theory. It was ingenious
enough, and it was but a natural deduction from what she had
seen of the conduct of many girls in similar circumstances,
only it was altogether wrong in the case of Violet North, and
it was the parent of a terrible amount of mischief.
"Violet," said she, in her kindly way, "it is no use my
advising you, for a girl never quite tells you what her real
feelings are about a young man. You said you did not care
about Mr. Miller — "
" Perhaps I ought to have said that I hke him very well,"
she said, looking down. " There is no doubt about that. I
like him far better than any of the young men I have met, for
he is less languid, and he does not patronize you, and talk to
you as if you were a baby ; he is earnest and sincere — and
then, when you see how anxious he is to be kind to you — "
"Ah, yes," said Mrs Warrener, with some little show of
triumph, " I thought there was something behind all that reluc-
AMONG SOME PICTURES. 137
tance of yours, Violet. It is the way with all you girls. You
will admit nothing. You don't care for anybody. You posi-
tively hate the notion of being married. But, all the same,
you go and submit to be married, just like your mothers be-
fore you, and there is an end of pretense then."
" I hope you don't think, Mrs. Warrener," said the girl, with
flushed cheeks, " that I have been asking you to advise me to
get married ? "
" No, no, Violet," her friend said, gently. *' You wouldn't
do that. But I think I can see the end of all this hesita-
tion."
" What end, then ?"
" You will marry Mr. Miller."
" I am not married to Mr. Miller yet," she said, almost
coldly ; and then she abruptly changed the subject.
Another part of her mission was to deliver an invitation to
her two friends in the South to dine at Euston Square on the
evening of the Royal Academy soiree. Sir Acton would be up
in Yorkshire ; perhaps Mr. Drummond would kindly assume
the guardianship of the small party of ladies. Mrs. Warrener
could not, of course, answer for her brother, but she was sure
he would do anything to please Violet.
Then the young lady went her way. Why did she drive so
fast ? — her mouth proud and firm, her figure erect.
" I am not married yet" — this was what she was saying to
herself — " they will have to wait a little while before they see
me married ! "
CHAPTER XVI.
AMONG SOME PICTURES.
This almost seemed a small family party that was met
round Lady North's dinner-table ; and it was, in any case, a
sufficiently merry one. Mr. Drummond was in one of his
gravely extravagant moods ; and Lady North, following his
whimsicalities as far as her fancy permitted, was amused, in a
fashion, though she was very often puzzled. For who could
tell whether this bright-eyed man, with his discursive talk, his
impossible stories, his sham advice, was in jest or earnest ?
Violet was delighted ; perhaps the occasional bewilderment
of Lady North did not lessen her enjoyment.
" But did you never hear," said he, when his hostess was
138 MADCAP VIOLET.
complaining seriously about the way in which certain grocer-
ies or other things were adulterated ; " did you never hear,
Lady North, of the man who starved himself rather than be
cheated ? "
" N-no," said she, with wide eyes.
Violet smiled to herself. She knew there was no such
person. There never had been any such person. He was
continually lugging in imaginary men of straw, and making
them toss their impossible arms about.
" Oh yes," he continued, calmly ; " he was a very strict
and just man, and he was so indignant over the way this
tradesman and the next tradesman cheated him, that he cut
off the supplies, one after the other, to revenge himself on
them. First the butcher went, because he was always sending
' in short measure. Then the baker went, because of alum and
other tricks. At last this man was living on nothing but
milk, when it occurred to him to have the milk analyzed.
There was about thirty per cent, added water in it; and that
went to his heart. His last hope was gone. To spite the
milkman, he resolved to cut off the milk too : and so he shut
himself up in a room, and died ; his protest could go no far-
ther than that. You see. Lady North, we must make up our
mind to be cheated a good deal ; and to take it with a good
temper. An equable temper is the greatest gift a man can
possess. I suppose you've heard of the duke who had every
thing he could desire, and who died of anxiety ? "
Violet nearly burst out laughing this time. Of course
there was no such duke.
"Oh yes ; he was so afraid of having his pictures, and rare
engravings, and old jewelry burned, that he set about getting
them all in duplicate ; and he had a duplicate house built
to receive them. But of course it was no use. He could
not get complete sets of the engravings ; and he used to
wander about Italian towns searching for old glass and jew-
elry until he grew to be a haggard and awful skeleton.
Care killed him in the end. If you keep brooding over all
the possibilities of life, you can. not avoid being miserable.
I once knew a man — "
Still another ? Violet began to think of the dozen " supers "
in the theatre, who are marched round and round the scenery,
to represent the ceaseless procession of an army.
" — who used to be quite unhappy whenever he eat a her-
ring; for he used to wonder whether a herring ever had
rheumatism, and then he considered how dreadfully a herring
must suffer in such a case, from the quantity of bones it had.
AA/OjVG some pictures. 139
But of course you can not always command your fancies, and
say that you will be free from anxiety ; and the most helpless
time I know is early in the morning, if one has wakened pre-
maturely, and can not get to sleep again. Then a touch of
hoarseness in the throat conjures up visions of diphtheria ; and
if you cannot recollect some trifling matter, you begin to look
on the lapse of memory as a warning of complete mental
breakdown and insanity. Every thing is bad, then ; all
your affairs are going to the dogs ; you have offended your
dearest friend. But at breakfast-time, don't you wonder how
you could have been so foolish as to vex yourself about noth-
ing .? The increased vitality of the system clears the brain
of forebodings. There are other times, too, in which the
imagination is stronger than the reason. I once knew a very
learned man — "
Another !
" — who decared to me that sea-sickness was in nine cases
out of ten a matter of apprehension ; and that he knew he
could argue himself into a quiescent mood that would defy
the waves. But just as we were going on board the boat, he
looked up and saw a cloud sailing smoothly along ; and I
could see he was thinking Vv^ith a great longing how fme it
would be to lie down in that cloud and be taken quietly
across — "
" Was he ill in crossing ? " demanded the literal little
woman at the head of the table.
Mr. Drummond started. He had conjured up the incident
so far, but he knew nothing further.
" I don't know," he said ; and Lady North wondered how
a reasonable person could tell a story and leave out its chief
■point of interest.
That evening a young man was flitting rather restlessly
about the entrance-hall of Burlington House, watching the
successive carriages come up, and the successive parties of
ladies, with their long trains flowing on the stairs, pass up to
have their names announced above. He kept looking at his
watch ; then at the next carriage that came up ; and was
altogether restless and dissatisfied.
At length, however, a particular carriage came rolling into
the court-yard, and he swiftly went down the broad stone
steps. He himself opened the door. Who was the first to
step out into the light ? A tall young girl, who had appar-
ently had her dress designed by an artist, for it was all of a
radiant lemon-yellow silk, the sleeves alone, near the shoulder,
being slashed with black velvet ; while in her jet-black
140 MADCAP VIOLET.
masses of hair were intertwined leaves and blossoms of the
yellow-white jassamine. She looked surprised.
" Then you have come, after all ? " she said, when he was
assisting her three companions out of the carriage.
" Yes," he said ; adding, " How fortunate I should meet
you here, Lady North ! You have no one with you ? "
" Oh yes," said Lady North. " Mr. Drummond is coming
directly, in a hansom."
" I think we had better go in," said the young man : "he
will find you readily enough when he comes."
" Oh no," remarked the young lady with the pale-yellow
flowers in her hair — and she spoke with some decision —
" we shall wait for him here. I particularly wish Mr. Drum-
mond to take Lady North through the people, because he
knows every one."
Well, the young man had no objection to that ; _or, of
course, he would be left in charge of the others. Then Mr.
Drummond came up, light-hearted, buoyant, and careless;
and indeed it seemed to the younger man that this tall and
good-humored person, when he undertook to escort a party
of ladies to the Royal Academy conversazione, might at least
have taken the trouble to tie his neck-tie a little more accu-
rately.
They passed up the stairs. They caught a glimpse of
many faces and bright lights. Their names were announced ;
Sir Francis, standing near the door, shook hands with Mr.
Drummond as with an old friend ; they made their way along
the narrow lane that had been formed by people curious to
see the new arrivals. Which of this party attracted most
attention ? Mrs. Warrener, who was by the side of Violet,
knew well — whether or not the girl herself was aware — how
all eyes followed her as she passed.
If she was aware of it, she was not much embarrassed.
They had scarcely got well into the miscellaneous crowd
when she suddenly caught her companion's arm.
" Listen ! "
There was a sound of soft and harmonious music, the deep
voices of men, and the playing of instruments; and then
high above that, rising as it were to the vaulted roof, the
clear singing of boys — singing as with the one strong, high,
and sweet voice of a woman.
" Where are they singing ? " Violet asked ; and then she
led her companions to the central hall, where, with all man-
ner of busts and figures looking strangely down on them, the
crowd stood in a circle round the Artillery band, the boys in
AMONG SOME PICTURES. 141
the centre. By this time Violet and her companion had got
separated from Mr. Drummond and Lady North ; Mr. George
Miller was paying compulsory attention to his friend Anato-
lia.
But this division of the party did not last, of course, the
whole evening. Its various members met and parted in new
combinations, as various objects of attraction suggested ;
this one lost in admiration of the music ; the other fascinated
by particular costums ; a third anxious that every body
should see his or her favorite picture. On one of these
occasions Mr. Drummond and Violet together happened to
be looking at a picture based on the tragic death of Helen
of Kirkconnell.
It is now two or three years since this picture was exhib-
ited, and I must not hazard overpraise of its merits ; but, at
all events, it endeavored to give visible form to what (as it
seems to some of us) is the most passionate and pathetic
utterance of human emotion in all modern literature — if this
wild, sharp cry of anguish is to be called literature. More-
over, it dealt only with one episode in the brief tragedy,
where Helen of Kirkconnell — Burd Helen she is called in
some of the versions — is walking with her lover in the
evening, and suddenly throws herself before him to receive
the death-shot fired at him by his rejected rival : it does not
deal with the fiercer portion that follows.
" Oh think na but my heart was sair "
— this is the pathetic introduction to the wild, glad deed of
vengeance —
" When my love fell and spake nae mair ;
I laid her down wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
" I laid her down : my sword did draw,
Stern was our fight by Kirtlcshaw :
/ hewed him dozoii in pieces sma',
For her that died for me."
" It is a sad story," Drummond said, absently, when he had
told it to her.
" I do not think that," she answered, quickly ; and he was
surprised to see that her face was quite pale, and her dark
eyes full of tears. " I think these are the two very happiest
people I ever heard of in the world."
She stopped for a moment : he dared not look, for he
guessed that the proud lips were trembling.
142 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Don't you?" she said, boldly. "A woman who is able
to die for the man she loves, a man who has the delight of
killing the man who slew his sweetheart : I think they have
had every thing that life can give. But — but that was in the
old time ; there is no more of that now ; when people care
for each other now, it is a very gentle affection, and they are
more concerned about having a good income, and being able
to drive in the Park — "
" But people who drive in the Park may love each other,"
he said.
"I don't believe it," she said, and then she abruptly
turned away.
Mr. George Miller came up.
"Violet," he said, in a gentle and tender voice, " do come
over here and look at this picture. I think it is awfully
good."
She crossed the room proudly and silently. Mr. Miller
led her to a very nice and pleasing composition, which had
rather won upon his heart, and which — who knows ? — he may
have thought would have a similar influence on her. It rep-
resented a quiet nook on the Thames, with a long pleasure-
boat moored in at the roots of the trees, and in the boat were
two very pretty young ladies and a good-looking young fellow
— he was not unlike Miller himself — in boating-flannels and a
straw hat. The picture was called "Meditation." There
was a luncheon-basket, half opened, in the stern of the boat.
" Now, that is what I call real life," said Mr. Miller.
"That is the sort of thing you actually see Just look at
that swan ; you would think he was going to open his mouth
for a biscuit."
" That is the sort of picture I hate," she said, with unnec-
essary vehemence ; and he was considerably startled ; " and
I hate the people quite as much who could live such a trivial,
dawdling, purposeless sort of life. I wonder what they are
medifati7ig on ! Very pretty meditations they are likely to have !
On the advisability of eating lobster-salad ? On the sweet
poetry the curate quoted on Sunday.? On the chances of
their winning gloves at Goodwood ? And as for him, a tail-
or's window would be the most suitable place in the world
for him."
He was astounded by this outburst ; he could not under-
stand what it meant.
" You are rather savage to-night," said he, coldly. " I
don't see that the man has done you any harm by painting a
pretty picture."
AA/OA'G SOME PICTURES. 143
" I detest such pictures."
"Well, you needn't look at them, if they offend you."
" I must look at them when I am asked to do so, and when
I am told that they are beautiful."
This was rather a cruel remark ; but Mr Miller unexpect-
edly show^ed good-nature.
"Well, there is no accounting for tastes," said he, pleas-
antly. " I like pictures like that, because I understand them.
They are the sort of thing that one sees in real life. Now, I
have no doubt that the solemn and mysterious business — an
ugly woman with her face painted against a green sky — is
very fine ; but I can't see the beauty of ugliness myself."-
" Where is Lady North, do you know .'' " she said.
" I saw her go into the next room a minute ago," he an-
swered.
Now, if Violet had been put out of temper by being asked
to look at a very harmless and innocent picture, she was re-
stored, not only to her usual serenity, but to a quite abundant
graciousness, by the news she heard when she again encoun-
tered her stepmother.
" Violet," said the little woman, " Mr. Drummond has been
pressing me very hard to let you go with his sister and him-
self to Scotland. Would you like to go ? "
" I should like very much to go."
" Well, I don't see any objection," Lady North said, " ex-
cept that it is rather presuming on their hospitality — "
" Ah, they don't think of such things," said Violet, quickly.
" They are not very rich, you know."
" That is just it," the girl said, rather proudly. " It is be-
cause they are not rich that they are generous and kind to
every one ; they have not a thought about money — "
" Well, well," said Lady North, " they seem, in any case,
to be very kindly disposed toward you; and you must go and
thank them now for the invitation. There is Mr. Drummond
over in the corner."
" I — would — rather go to Mrs. Warrener," said Violet,
with some hesitation. "Where has she gone with Ana-
tolia?"
Lady North was in all simplicity surprised to see the effect
of this concession of hers on Violet's friends. Was it really
possible that they could so much enjoy her society? They
seemed to be quite grateful to her for allowing Violet to go
with them ; whereas she herself had been looking forward with
very considerable anxiety to the necessity of taking that young
lady to Italy. It was well, she thought, m any case, that the
144 MADCAP VIOLET.
girl had taken this fancy for people who did appear to have
some control over her.
Naturally enough, when all the splendor of the evening was
over, and the brilliancy of the rooms exchanged for the rainy
squalor of the streets, Mr Drummond and his sister, who went
home in a cab, had much to say about this visit to the North,
and Violet's going with them. After they got home, too, they
kept chatting on about this subject ; the time running away un-
heeded. James Drummond seemed highly pleased about the
whole arrangement ; and he was already painting all sorts of
imaginative pictures of Violet's experiences of Highland lochs,
moors, sunsets, and wild seas.
" And then," said his sister, " we must ask Mr. Miller up for
a time."
" Oh certainly."
" I see," she said, with a smile, "I must get over my objec-
tion to that young man marrying Violet."
He raised his eyes quickly.
" What do you mean ? "
"Well," she said, with a sort of good-natured shrug, " I be-
lieve it is inevitable now. Either they are engaged, or about
to be engaged."
A quick look of pain — so sharp and rapid that she did not
notice it — passed over his face.
" Has she told yoti so ? " he said, calmly.
" No ; but she came to ask my advice about it the other day;
and she talked just as a girl always talks in these circum-
stances — pretending to care nothing for him — treating his ad-
vances as tiresome — and yet showing you quite clearly that she
would be very much disgusted if he took her at her word."
" And w^hat did you say ? "
" I told her to be governed by her own feelings."
"Yes, of course," he said, absently; and he seemed to be
deeply occupied in balancing a paper-knife on its edge. " I
am glad her people know of Miller's expectations ; that relieves
us from responsibility. It wall be a pretty spectacle — these
two young folks in the holiday-time of their youth enjoying
themselves up there in the Highlands."
"I wish she had chosen somebody else," Mrs. Warrener said,
ruefully. " I suppose he is a good match ; and he is very fond
of her ; but he is so dreadfully like every other young man."
" You must wait and see, Sarah," her brother said, gently.
" Give him time."
" I would give him every thing else in the world — except our
Violet," she said. "However, if young people were quite
AMONG SOME PICTURES. 145
serrsible, they would always be finding out defects in each
other, and they would never get married at all. He is a very
well-intentioned young man : I think if you advised him to
become a Buddhist, he would try. We shall see what influence
Violet will have on him ; perhaps she will conjure up some-
thing in him a little more out of the commonplace."
She bid him good-night now — though it was very near morn-
ing — and left him alone. He sat there, lying back in his easy-
chair, with his ordinarily quick and piercing eyes grown vague
and distant, as if they were trying to make some mystic words
out of the meaningless symbols on the wall-paper. The clock
on the mantel-piece ticked gently, the slow progress of the
hands being unheeded.
He rose, with the air of a man who had been in a dream,
and looked round. His attention was caught by bars of blue
appearing through the yellow shutters of the window ;. the new
day was drawing near outside ; almost mechanically he passed
round into the hall, took his hat, and let himself quietly out.
How still it was in the half-revealed darkness ! Only the top-
most leaves of the tall poplars, far away up there in the blue
gray, seemed to be having a low and rustling talk together ;
down here, amidst the darker foliage of the chestnuts, all
was silence.
He walked on, quietly and aimlessly, past the voiceless
houses and the gardens. Suddenly a sound made his heart
leap : it was only a thrush that had burst asunder the spell of
the night with the first notes of its morning song. And now
there was a more perceptible light in the sky ; and the stars
were gone ; and at last there appeared a strange violet color,
tinted with rose, that shone on the windows of the eastward-
looking houses. The dawn had come — after the rain of the
night — clear, and coldly roseate, and still.
"So the new days come," he was thinking to himself, "and
the years slip by, and God takes away our youth before we
know that we have it. And if all the imaginative longing of
youth — that seeks satisfaction in the melancholy of the twir
light and in the murmur of the sea, and does not find it there,
but must have some human object of sympathy — if that ro-
mantic wistfulness of youth clings around the form of a young
girl, and endows her with all the poetry of early years, can it
ever be repeated again ? Love may come again, and love of
a stronger, and purer, and less selfish kind ; but the wonder
— perhaps not ! and so I imagine that the old mystery of first
love never quite goes even when the love goes, and that in
after-years some sudden view of the sea or a new sweet scent
146 MADCAP VIOLET.
in the air will bring back a throb of one's twentieth year and
all the half-forgotten dreams. But if a man knows all that,
and has missed it, can he have even a glimpse of it in later
life ? There are some of us who have had no youth — only
hours, and days, and years ; the wonder-time of love has
never reached us ; and we have learned physiology instead.
I suppose all that must go. We can see the pretty pictures
that young love makes ; we can smile sadly at its unreasona-
ble caprice, its wild follies, its anger, and tears of repentance.
Happy youth, that knows not its own happiness — that would
impatiently curtail the wonder-time — that is so eager after en-
joyment that rose-leaves are dashed down of roses that will
never bloom again. But, after all, to live is to live ; and it
is only those who are outside and apart, who are but specta-
tors of the youth of others, who know how youth should be
spent, and how grateful it should be for God's chiefest gifts."
He was neither sorrowful nor envious, to all appearance,
as he walked on and communed with himself, listening to the
full chorus of the now awakened birds, and watching the
growing glory of the sunlight come over the green and rain-
washed foliage of the trees. The tall, thin man, who stooped
a little, and who walked briskly along, with one hand in his
trousers-pocket, sometimes whistled absently as he went ;
and he had a quick attention for the flying birds, and the
growing light, and the stirring of the leaves. He was all by
himself in the newly awakened world ; not another human be-
ing was abroad. And when he had tired himself out with his
walk, he returned home with something of gladness in his
worn face ; for it almost seemed as if he had got rid of cer-
tain mournful fancies, and had resigned himself to the actual
and sufficiently happy life of the new day — the new day that
was now shining over the plains where the cattle stood, and
over the orchards and farm-steads, and over the glad blue
seas all breaking in white foam around our English shores.
CHAPTER XVH.
FROM NORTH TO SOUTH.
The pronunciation of the word allegro is not a matter of
very grave moment. A man may make a mistake about it
and nevertheless be a good Christian and a loyal subject.
All the same, it was this trifling affair of a wrong accent
FROM NORTH TO SOUTH. 147
that suddenly and unexpectedly changed the whole course of
Miss Violet North's life.
The girl had an impatience of pretense of all kinds which
she carried to an extreme. While she was at Miss Main's
school not one of the girls dared to wear a bit of sham jew-
elry. -Now, Lady North was not a highly accomplished
w^oman, and, like most persons of imperfect education, she
had the habit of adorning her talk with scraps of languages
with which she was but scantily acquainted. The resent-
ment of Violet North against this species of affectation was
implacable. It was no use telling her that human nature
liad developed more deadly crimes than that. It was no use
urging that the difference between allegro and allegro was
not a matter to keep one awake o' nights.
" Why should she use the word at all 1 Why should she
pretend to know a language that she doesn't know 1 I hate
the meanness of that perpetual shamming ! "
And of course Lady North, again like most imperfectly
educated persons, was deeply incensed when she was correct-
ed ; and out of this small matter — a long ^ or a short e —
sprung up a quarrel which pointed to but one conclusion.
The hollow truce was broken. Stei>mother and step-daugh-
ter could not remain in the same house. Neither wished it,
so it remained for Sir Acton North to say what was to be
done.
Sir Acton was, as usual, quite submissive. He could not
understand why two women should quarrel over an Italian
word ; but, then, he had long ago given up the hope of under-
standing any thing about women. He asked his wife what
she wanted him to do about Violet ; Lady North refused to
intermeddle in that young lady's affairs in any way whatso-
ever. He went to Violet herself, who told him that she did
not care what happened to her so long as she got out of the
house. She also hinted that she was quite able to earn her
own living, at which Sir Acton laughed, and went away not
much enlightened.
In this extremity he bethought himself of that small house-
hold on the south of the river, in which Violet had often taken
refuge, as if it were her natural home ; and it occurred to him
that as Mrs. Warrener and her brother had been good enough
to offer to take Violet with them for their autumn holidays,
they might perhaps be inclined to extend their hospitality
farther, provided that some proper recompense were made
them. Violet, he knew, would be amply satisfied with that
and it v/as an arrangement, moreover, which
I4S MADCAP VIOLET.
could only be but temporary, for, of course, the girl was sure
to marry.
Sir Acton found Mr. Drummond busily engaged in greasing
a pair of enormously thick shooting-boots, while a pair of very
old leather leggings lay beside him on the table of the small
dining-room.
" 1 can't shake hands with you, sir," said he, laying down
his wooden pipe. " You see, we are just preparing for our
plunge into an absolutely savage life ; and you never can
trust any body to grease your boots but yourself. I hope
Miss Violet quite understands the sort of life she will lead
when she comes with us ! "
" It was about her I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Drum-
mond," said Miss Violet's father ; and then he sat down and
told Mr. Drummond the whole story, as well as he could
make it out.
This was a delicate mission on which Sir Acton had come,
and several times he seemed rather embarrassed, but the
quick, direct speech of Mr. Drummond helped him out.
" Do I understand you, then, that Violet is without a home } "
" She has none in prospect — that is to say, of course we
could arrange about her staying with some one — "
" She can always have a home here, and a hearty welcome.
My sister will assure her of that."
" I expected you would say as much ; the girl is indeed for-
tunate in having such friends," said Sir Acton, who was really
touched with the frank, unhesitating way in which the offer
was made ; " and I will confess that I had some notion of this
when I came over to see you. Still, it is an awkward thing
for one man to ask another man to take his daughter off his
hands—"
" Don't speak about that. If Violet will come and live with
us, we shall be glad to have her. Of course, she knows what
she must expect. We are very plain-living folk, and we are
not rich enough to alter our ways in entertaining a guest,
although we should like to do that."
" I don't think she has found your ways unsuited to her,"
her father said, with a smile, " to judge by the readiness with
which she always comes here. No, she has more sense than
that ; there is nothing of the petted child about her. But, en
the other hand, Mr. Drummond," continued Violet's father,
with obvious embarrassment, " you will forgive me if I suggest
that — that the obligation ycu put me under would be too
great if you did not allow me to make you — some recompense ;
a sum might be stated — "
FROM NORTH TO SOUTH. 149
He was in great dread of offending this shy, capricious,
strange man, and he was greatly relieved to find Mr. Drum-
mond, instead of drawing himself up and looking hurt, break-
ing out into a hearty laugh.
" No, no. Sir Acton, we don't take in boarders ; and to think
of our being paid for having Violet North come to live with
us ! But I must tell Sarah about it : excuse me for one second,
Sir Acton."
Off he went, leaving the worthy and practical-minded baro-
net very much puzzled. It was true, he knew, that Mr. Drum-
mond was a gentleman ; but was he not also very poor ? and
had not the offer been made with great delicacy ? and surely
it was most unreasonable that this family should bear the ex-
pense of supporting a rich man's daughter. His sister re-
turned with him. They were both of them apparently greatly
delighted over this probable addition to their household.
When would she come over ? Would he remember to remind
her of her music ? Ought Mrs. Warrener to come and help
her to move her small belongings ? And would he make her
promise before she left not to do all Amy Warrener's lessons
for her, seeing that that young lady had now got out of her
child-period ?
Sir Acton North began to wonder less over his daughter's
liking for this quiet little house and its occupants. There
was a wonderful sense of homeliness about the place, and a
bright, humorous frankness about this tall lounging man and
his gentle sister. But, before Sir Acton left, Mr. Drummond
took him aside, and said to him, with more seriousness,
" There is one point, sir, about which we ought to have a
clear understanding before your daughter comes over to live
with us. I believe that that young fellow Miller is, in a
fashion, paying his addresses to her. That is with your
sanction, I presume ? "
• " Why, yes," said Sir Acton, rather staggered by the di-
rectness of the question, and also by the calm, observant
look of those singularly bright and intelligent eyes. " The
young man saw me — that nonsense was all explained away —
and indeed it was a thoughtless frolic that may be forgotten
now. If the girl likes him, I see no reason why they should
not marry. Do you ? "
" I ? " repeated Drummond, almost v/ith a start. " What
have I to do with it ? It is her father who must give his
consent."
" Do you know any thing against the young man ? "
" Nothing in the world," was the hearty answer.
150 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Well, then, he is a fairly shrewd, practical-headed young
fellow ; he will have quite enough money ; his family is re-
spectable — I really don't see any objection."
" That is very well. Sir Acton. I merely wished to be en-
tirely clear from all responsibility — "
" Mind you, my dear sir," broke in Sir Acton, as if he had
suddenly remembered something, " don't imagine that I am
anxious to get rid of my daughter — by marriage or otherwise
• — merely because she and her step-mother don't agree. No,
no; rather than see her uncomfortable, I'd — I'd — confound
it ! I'd send the whole pack of 'em flying. Violet's a good
girl — she's worth twenty dozen — "
But here Sir Acton thought he had said enough.
" I understand you, then, sir,'^ said Mr. Drummond, quite
calmly, " that you have no objection to Mr. Miller meeting
your daughter while she is under my care ; and if they should
engage to marry each other, good and well .-* "
" I see no objection. But why do you speak of that as if
it were something to be feared ? "
" Pardon me ; I am sure I had no such intention."
" Good-bye, Mr. Drummond," said Sir Acton, at the door ;
*' you have done me a great kindness ; I will try to repay you
some day. Oh, by-the-way, I suppose I may get a saloon-
carriage reserved for you when you go North ? "
" No, thank you," said Mr. Drummond, quietly. " We al-
vv^ays go second-class, and I don't think Miss Violet will ex-
pect us to alter our ordinary habits."
Next day a young lady burst into the room, where Mrs.
Warrener was sitting sewing, and threw herself down on her
knees, and put her hands in her friend's lap.
" And oh ! is it quite true t And am I to live with you al-
ways t " she cried ; and the fine, frank, handsome face and
the dark and eloquent eyes were full of joy and gratitude.
" You are to stay with us at long as you please," said Mrs.
Warrener, much more gravely, as she kissed the girl.
Violet looked up quickly, and scanned her friend's face.
" Are you displeased with me ? "
There was a gentle hand laid on her head.
" Violet, you are no longer a girl. You ought not to give
way to your temper, under whatever provocation. And it
does not look well to see any girl so glad to leave her
home."
" I have not left my home," said the girl, in a low voice,
with her head bent down ; " I have come to the only home
that I ever have had."
FROM NOR TH TO SO UTIL 1 5 r
No woman could resist that speech ; there was an arm
round her neck in a moment, and she was listening to many
a protestation that that home, at least, should never be want-
ing to her as long as she lived.
But the girl freed herself, and looked up again.
" And Mr. Drummond," she said, " what does he think ?
Does he think I have done wrong t "
" Well, he regrets what has happened, of course, although
it has brought you to us. He thought you had resolved to
be a little more patient, and gentle, and obedient — "
The girl rose quickly, turning her head aside ; but all the
same her friend had caught sight of the sudden tears that
had sprung to those long black lashes.
'' Violet ! "
" I can go back."
" You shall not go back, Violet. Listen to reason — "
"Oh ! you don't know — you don't know the life I had to
lead in that house," the girl cried, passionately, with the tears
running down her face ; " and you think that I am proud and
ungrateful : and perhaps you are afraid to take me t But I
am not ungrateful to those I can love and respect — no — you
will not find me that ; and there is nothing I would not suffer
for my real friends, as you may find out some day. But I
have had no friends — you know I have had no friends — but
the friends in this house ; and what would I not do for them ?
Only to be in the house with you, I would be a kitchen drudge
for you — indeed, I would ; I would work my eyes blind for
you ; there is no patience and obedience you would not have.
But I must respect and love the people whom I serve, and
then I am ready to become their slave from morning till
night — "
Mrs. Warrener strove to hush the wild, piteous words.
*' You must not take so much to heart what I said, Violet,"
she remonstrated, gently. " And you won't have to do all
these things in order to please your friends. Only be true to
your own better nature, and you will be a constant delight to
them."
The girl took up her friend's hand and kissed it : then she
left the room. Mrs. Warrener understood the mute promise
of obedience.
153 MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B.
The great white mists of the rain had lifted ; and all the
world behind stood revealed — a strange, new, dream-like
world, colorless, still, its various tints of gray shining with a
suffused and mystic light. The gray sea was like glass ; the
gray islands had but a faint glimmer of green along their
shores ; the gray mountains were pale and distant ; and, in
all this vague and phantom-like picture that had been so sud-
denly disclosed, there was but one sharp and definite object
— a coasting-vessel lying motionless out there on the shining
gray sea, its hull as black as jet ; its brown sails throwing
perfect shadows on the mirror beneath. It was as yet early
morning; no one could say whether that luminous glovv
throughout the gray would turn to clear sunlight, or whether
the slow, soft fingers of the rain-clouds would again pass over
the world-picture, obliterating successively island and moun-
tain and sea.
Early as it was, a young lady had managed to write the fol-
lowing letter, which she was just putting into an envelope :
" Castle Bandbox, in the Wertern Highlands, 12th August.
" My dear Papa, — You have known for many a year that
I am the most dutiful of daughters ; so here is the account I
promised you of our explorations in this wild country. It was
on the evening of the loth of August, in the present year, that
we effected our disembarkation, and were most hospitably re-
ceived by the inhabitants of this coast, two of whom willingly
agreed (after much talk among themselves in a language we
did not understand) to carry our luggage and accoutrements
for us (on wheel-barrows). Throwing out a scout or two, in
the shape of bareheaded children, with very brown faces, bare
legs and feet, and tattered kilts, we struck a trail which event-
ually led us away from the coast into the mountains. By-and
by we ascended, until behind us we could behold the open
waters of the Atlantic, with various long and beautiful islands,
and the lofty mountains of Morven and Mull ; while in our
front, crowning a small knoll that stands in the midst of an
amphitheatre of heather-clad hills, we beheld a small, peaked,
white building, which we made bold to call Castle Bandbox.
By whom, or when, this solitary habitation, in the midst of
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 153
the moors, was built, I do not know. We have already dis-
covered it to be the most delightful of toy-houses, once you
have got accustomed to knocking your head against the slop-
ing roof of your bedroom.
" Scarcely had we arrived when the youngest member of
the party and the writer of this narrative, leaving to our eld-
ers the business of unpacking, started off on an exploration
of the adjoining mountains, the nearest of which is separated
from the garden by a wire fence to keep out rabbits. The
garden, I should have said, goes all round the side of the
knoll : the borders of the various plots are adorned with tree-
fuchsias, rose-bushes, sweet-williams, and marigolds ; but the
plots themselves contain such more useful plants as carrots
turnips, beans, and potatoes — the last in flower. The first
mountain on the other side of the wire fence we named Mount
Glorioso. Its chief peculiarity is its tangle of furze, brambles,
meadow-sweet, and ferns round its lower slopes ; then you
come to a forest of young larches, trees which tear your hair
to pieces, and leave tufts of sticky white all over your clothes.
Passing across the summit of this mountain, the adventurers
reached another peak, which they named Mount Magnificoso :
the chief peculiarity of this eminence is its immensely high
heather — beautiful to look at, but desperately difficult to walk
through. The third and last of this chain of mountains we
ventured to call Mount Extremitoso, the chief peculiarity of
which is an abundance of steep gray rocks, up which you
must scramble to find yourself on a high and windy summit
of close and slippery grass. We got no farther than that.
" But oh, papa, if you could see what we saw then — what
we can see now from the windows of this place — the long
stretches of sea, and the distant mountains that appear to
rise right out of the water, and that change in color every
minute of the day ! I remember, just as we v/ere getting to
the station, Mr. Drummond saying to me, ' You will find a
difference between Euston Square and Morven ; ' but I had
no idea of what a difference. Not that he ever speaks disre-
spectfully of Euston Square ; on the contrary, he says one
ought to grow very wise living there — looking on at the muta-
bility of life — the coming and going of cabs and carriages,
some people with dogs and guns, and others with coffins.
And did you ever notice simple country-people asking the
way to Holborn or London Bridge, and then setting out to
walk there with all their luggage, just as if they were going
round a corner in a village 1 Mr. Drummond says he has
seen them ; but he is a very imaginative man. Oh, by-the-
154 MADCAP VIOLET,
way, did you ever notice, papa, the architecture of St. Pau-
cras Church — the steeple and the stone woman, especially ?
I have found out that is the only way of enraging him — to
talk about St. Pancras Church, and say you rather like it.
'' We have the most delightful evenings — so cheerful and
homely ; and although Mr. Drummond professes to have be-
come a thorough savage, and to have forsworn all book and
writing, and to be interested only in cartridges and setters,
and so forth, in the evening he talks about every thing you
can think of, and it is worth a thousand lectures to hear him,
besides being much more amusing than a lecture. I never
knew a man so bright-spirited ; it is quite delightful to hear
him laugh ; and you would scarcely think there was so much
wisdom in what he says, if you were not accustomed to his
joking way. He is a great favorite here ; already various
gentlemen in the neighborhood (in the neighbornood means
twenty miles of mountains) have offered him shooting; and
one, who is going to China, has placed his yacht at his dis-
posal for the whole of September, if he chooses to have it.
Now I must ^y good-bye ; for Amy and I are going out to
see some of the shooting ; and it is time we started.
"Your affectionate daughter,
" Violet North.
"P.S. — Mr. Drummond is quite delighted with the gun
you sent him ; and yesterday he tried it by getting old Peter
to throw empty bottles into the air. Mr. Drummond did not
hit any of the bottles, however. I could see that it must be
a very difficult thing to do."
" Violet ! Amy ! Come along now, and bring all your water-
proofs, cloaks, wrappers, and umbrellas ! "
A tall, gaunt figure was standing in the door-way, clad in a
rough shooting-jacket, leggings, and thick boots. A much
smaller and older man — a curious, little, weather-beaten man
— was standing outside, holding in leash a very ragged-look-
setter.
It'll no rain the day," the old man said, abruptly.
" But it is raining," responded Mr. Drummond.
The wiry little man cast a glance around at the gray skies
and the still gray sea.
" Na, na," he said, " it'll no rain the day."
" But, confound you, it is raining ! " cried Drummond.
*' What do you call that ? "
He pointed to the rain-drops formed by the drizzle that
had fallen on the well-oiled barrels of his breech-loader.
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 155
"Well, and eff the gun iss to come to harm with that,"
said old Peter, testily, "you will better be for leafing it at
home. It iss the gentlemen now that they will tek sich care
of their guns ass if the guns wass no for shooting at all.
You should hef brought a gun that wass good for this coun-
try."
"" You will have to clean this gun very carefully, I can tell
you, Peter ; and every night, too."
"I will not," said the old man, sturdily. "There iss no
man will know more apout guns as me ; and effery Satur-
day night, that will do ferry well. It wass Mr. Maclean, of
Carn-Sloe, he used to say to the gentlemen at the house,
' Kott, what would w^e do without ta Sunday eifery week ?
our guns would neffer be cleaned at all But the Sunday, it
wass made for other things as the cleaning of guns ;. and the
Saturday night, that will do better for me."
" Then you won't clean my gun every night ? "
" There is no use of it."
" Then I must do it myself, I suppose ? "
" Ferry well."
The two girls now came down-stairs, fully equipped for the
expedition ; and the oddly assorted party now set out.
" Is that dog of yours any better behaved, Peter t "
"He's a grand good dog, a ferry good dog," said the old
Highlandman. " There iss just nothing that will pass the
nose of him. Ay, I will say this, that sometimes he is a some-
thing too eager in the rinnin' in — ay, just a wee thing too
eager."
" Yes," said Mr. Drummond, "he has no fault at all — be-
yond a fancy for eating every bird you shoot."
The old man was nettled ; but there was a humorous twin-
kle in his eyes all the same.
" Ay, sir ; but even then he v/ill not get too fat when he iss
out with you, sir."
" Confound you, Peter, you are more impertinent than ever."
" Na, na, sir ; I will only speak the truth to you, ass you
will speak it to me ; and there is no harm in that."
" I think, Mr. Peter," said a certain tall young lad}^, with
great asperity and dignity — " I think you might speak the
truth a little more respectfully."
The old keeper gave a side-glance as he trudged along.
" Ay, I am no in the use of heffing leddies come out to the
shooting."
" Peter and I understand each other very well, Violet,"
Mr. Drummond said. " You will soon learn not to mind wha
156 MADCAP VIOLET
he says — especially when he reports about the game. I sup-
pose you are quite prepared, Peter, to find the forms of thirty
or forty wholly imaginary hares at a moment's notice ? "
Peter but half understood the sarcasm.
" There iss plenty of game, if there wass any one to shoot
it," said he coolly ; and then he added, with another twinkle
in his eye, " Did you effer hear, mem, of John MacFarlane,
that was sent out by Mr. Maclean, of Carn-Sloe, with the two
English gentlemen ? "
" No, I never did," said Violet.
"Ay, it iss ferry cleffer some of the English gentlemen
are ; and they wass coming to see a piece of shooting that
Carn-Sloe had to let ; and John MacFarlane, he went with
them ; and Carn-Sloe, he had told John to gif a good account
of the ground. And they was asking him, ' John, iss there
any pheasants here ? ' And he will say, ' They're just in
soosands ; ' ^ for he would get Carn-Sloe a good price. And
they wass asking him, * John, iss there any parrtriches here 1 '
And he will say, ' They're just in soosands.' And one of the
English gentleman he wass a cleffer young man ; and, for
the joke of it, he will ask, ' John, is there many gorillas too ?
And John, he will see him winking, and he will say, ' No,
there iss no many gorillas here ; they comes and goes in
twos and threes — just like yoursels.' And it wass a ferry
good answer to the young man."
By this time they had reached the margin of the shooting,
and the tall sportsman was transferring to his pockets some
of the cartridges which Peter carried, when suddenly the
whole world seemed to grow black around them. They had
passed the last signs of cultivation ; and the only possible
shelter from the impending storm was a wall of rough stones
that ran up the valley between two hills. As the first heavy
drops were already plashing down, they had to make a race
for this dike ; Peter following up the retreat with ill-concealed
disgust. Here was the mischief of taking ladies out shoot-
ing — and on the 12 th, too.
The small group successfully crouched under the wall, the
driving wind carrying the fierce torrents of rain well over
them ; while Peter stood out in the open, unconcernedly look-
ing out toward the sea.
" Why, Mull has disappeared altogether ! " cried Violet,
who was also looking that way.
" Oh yes, they sometimes have a drop of rain in Mull,"
said Mr. Drummond, contentedly, doubled up like a trussed
* " Soosands " — thousands.
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 157
fowl. " I asked a Mull man last year, in August, what he
thought of the Mull weather; and he said, quite compla-
cently, ' It uz verra good weather — ay, verra good weather ;
there waz a whole week in June we hadna a single drop
o' rain ; but the weather it uz a little bit broken after the 20th
of August.' But do you see Mull now ? Isn't that wonder-
ful \ And look at Morven ! "
What strange apparition of a world was this — far behind
the rain, and shining in pale yellows and greens ? The inter-
mediate veil of a rainy cloud served to show the distant sun-
lit sea and the hills as something pale, magical, and remote ;
while the island of Lismore, nearer at hand, began to gleam
through a mass of rainbow colors that seemed to lie along the
sea for a space of fifteen or twenty miles. This strange and
spectral world was full of motion, too — its aspect changing
every minute — as the black clouds broke overhead to show
bold dashes of white and blue ; as the distant sunlight drank
up the rain-clouds, and then the great hills came out distant
a'hd clear, and all round the splendid coasts of Morven, Mull,
and Lome the rushing blue seas of the Atlantic shone in the
light.
This warm burst of sunlight roused the crouching party ;
and when they stood up they found the beautiful bright day
showing the colors of the hills around at their very richest —
the clear, shining grays of the rocks, the pink patches of hea-
ther, the yellow-greens of the bracken, and the curious blue-
greens of the furze, with everywhere to each point of light
a sharp black shadow.
" Are ye ready now, sir t " said Peter, impatiently.
" You needn't be in a hurry, Peter ; there's nothing to
shoot, you know."
Now, these words had scarcely been uttered v/hen an ex-
traordinary circumstance occurred. The party were passing
by the side of a small inclosure of young larches planted along
the side of the hill ; and just at this moment a hare ran out
right in front of them.
" Shoot, sir, shoot ! " yelled Peter, seeing that the sports-
man calmly contemplated the hare, without putting up his gun.
The animal had been so startled by coming unexpectedly
on its foes that, for a second, it had remained motionless,
staring with large paralyzed gray eyes at them ; then the next
moment it was off and up the hill like lightning. Peter could
not restrain the rage and disappointment that possessed him ;
he uttered a whole series of ejaculations in Gaelic, and then
flung up his hands in despair.
158 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Did you see her beautiful eyes ? " asked Mr. Drummond
of Violet.
" Yes, only for a moment."
" Who could put up a gun and bang the head off an animal
that was looking at you like that ! " he said, absently.
" Uncle, mamma will laugh at you again," said Miss Amy.
" Peter is sure to tell her."
" Did you see how she ran ? " he asked again, quite uncon-
cernedly. "What a wonderful piece of mechanism ! If you
could think of speed as an abstraction, and put ii in a coat
of brown fur, that would be a hare. Well, come on."
" Will I tek home the dog ? " asked Peter, in bitter sarcasm.
" What on earth do you mean ? "
" I thought you wass maybe going up to the loch with the
leddies. Or would you rather try the shooting ? "
"Try the shooting.? If I tickled you under the fifth rib
with a charge of number-six shot — and it would serve you
right — you wouldn't be so desperately facetious, Peter. Let
loose that precious dog of yours. We'll see if we can get him
something to eat."
They had now reached a series of heathery and rocky knolls
forming a ridge along the side of the mountain ; and here ihe
ragged brown setter was set at liberty, to the no small alarm
of many small birds which he industriously hunted up as he
plunged madly about.
" Have a care. Jack ? " Peter called out, in a muttered whis-
per. " Now, sir, now ! "
Mr. Drummond hurried forward, though with a dark suspi-
cion that Jack was drawing him on to a chaffinch or a thrush.
The suspicion was wrong, however, for just as Jack, yielding
to temptation, suddenly darted his nose into a tuft of heather,
there was a wild whir of wings, and a rapid discharge of two
barrels.
" Down charge, confound you ! " were the last words heard
by Jack, as the gallant animal forthwith darted off in joyous
pursuit of the bird, which had flown off unharmed.
" That's a nice dog of yours, Peter," remarked Mr. Drum-
mond, when his ancient came up.
"The poor beast thinks the bird maun be got somehow,"
retorted Peter, with composure.
" How could you miss him ! " exclaimed Violet.
" Uncle, he got up under your feet ! "
" And he seemed to me to be as big as a peacock."
"You might have hit him with your cap, Mr. Drummond."
The sportsman was not affected by these taunts and jeers.
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 159
"A}', that was just it," he said, seriously. "I fired too
soon."
" Deed, that iss ferry true, sir," interposed Peter. " You
fired eight days too soon."
"What do you mean .? " said the victim of all this sarcasm,
with a stare.
" Did you not see it was a blackcock .'' "
" Good gracious ! "
There was a shout of merciless laughter from the two
young ladies, which drew down upon them the remark that if
they treated so grave a matter as the 12 th of August with
levity and ridicule, they had better go on at once to the fresh-
water loch and gather lilies. And indeed they resolved to
accept this advice ; for struggling through the heather was
somewhat fatiguing work ; and now the sun was shining down
with a scorching heat. So, with Amy as a guide, the two
young ladies set off up the hill toward a small and lonely
mere which was to be the trysting-place for luncheon ; while
Mr. Drummond and his faithful companion went on their way
through the thick heather.
" Ay, we will do ferry much better now," said Peter, with
an air of relief. " There iss no shooting at all when the
leddies will come out — and the talking — and the talking — "
Out of a bunch of sedges growing in one of the hollows
started, with a sudden whir and cr}' of alarm, a strange gray
animal that seemed to fill the air with fire-works and impossi-
ble angles ; there was a loud bang from one of the barrels :
then a confused tumbling of wings as the snipe fell dead on a
bit of rock.
" Did I not tell you, sir," said Peter, indignantly, as he
rescued the bird from the jaws of Jack, " that there would be
no shooting when the leddies wass here with their talking — "
" Confound you, you talk more than a dozen ladies — "
" And you will shoot as well ass any one when you will not
mek a joke of it ; and it iss not every one will shoot a snipe — "
" What a fool the bird must have been to run against the
shot like that," remarked the sportsman, apparently to him-
self ; " if it had only flown straight like another bird, it would
be alive now."
On they went again, with the blazing sun scorching face
and hands, and not a breath of wind coming in from that wide
expanse of blue sea. Jack, moderating his first transports at
finding himself free, was working a little better, and the
garrulous ancient was for once holding his tongue. But there
were no birds. •
i6o MADCAP VIOLET.
" Here, sir, here ! " shouted Peter, in an excited whisper —
" a rabbit ! "
" Where ? "
He pointed to a tuft of bracken just at his foot, in which
the rabbit had taken refuge.
" Be ready, sir."
"Stop a bit," remarked the sportsman, calmly, seeing that
the rabbit was determined to remain there until it was kicked
out, "I can not take advantage of this poor creature's confi-
dence — "
"Will ye no shoot her?" said the exasperated Peter.
"Tam her, I will wring her neck then, and tek her home !"
" Hold hard, you merciless old scoundrel ! I am mapping
out a radius of forty yards — she shall have that chance for
her life — and if she gets beyond that she can do what she
likes — call a hansom, or turn round and have a look at us — "
Peter's impatience was too much for him ; he would not
\vait for his master to finish ; he kicked out the rabbit. The
frightened animal bolted out from the other side of the
brackens, ran tilt against Mr. Drummond's feet, . and then
went straight up the side of the knoll, which w^as here almost
perpendicular. The sportsman looked on in astonishment.
He had not thought it w^orth while to map out the radius in
this direction.
" Shoot her, sir ! shoot her ! " called out Peter, in rage and
despair, as the rabbit disappeared over the edge of the rock
above their heads.
"I don't like firing at rabbits in the air," observed Mr.
Drummond, with much composure. "That rabbit was last
seen in Covent Garden — in the opera of 'Der Freischutz;'
the preservation of my soul is of more importance than a
rabbit-pie. And what would become of you, Peter, if you eat
a witch-rabbit, a demoniacal pie, a slice of hideous enchant-
ment — "
" Kott pless me, sir, are we to hef any shooting the day .? "
exclaimed Peter, observing that the sportsman was quite ab-
sently staring out at the sea while he talked — and while Jack,
by-the-w^ay, had got about a quarter of a mile ahead.
" Not much, not much," was the reply. " Where are the
birds, Peter t "
Indeed there were no birds to be found along these lower
ridges of the hills, but Peter would have every inch of the
ground gone over before going up to the heights. At last,
however, after two hours' fruitless work in the blazing sun-
light, they began.to ascend, and finally founxl themselves on
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. i6i
the crest of a mountain which seemed to place the whole
world at their feet. Even if he had been less fatigued with
the climb, the gallant sportsman would have paused in the
chase to look at the wonderful panorama now spread out
around him.
Which was the more lovely, then — the seaward view, or
the landward ? The far-stretching arms of the still blue
water lay around the soft green islands ; the sunlight shone
on the white tower of a light-house some dozen miles away ;
one or two ships, looking like toys, lay becalmed ; and away
beyond these, over the dazzling brightness of the sea, rose
the majestic shoulders and peaks of the Morven hills, grown
pale and ethereal in their summer hues. Inland, again, the
eye rested on an endless series of mountain ranges — moun-
tain billows they almost seemed to be — decreasing in inten-
sity of color until they appeared as mere clouds at the horizon.
Those nearer at hand were mostly of an olive-green color
where the sunlight caught their slopes, with here and there a
patch of pale purple, telling of a motionless cloud overhead.
Which was the more lovely — the blue summer sea, with its
low long islands, its white ships, and its faintly colored hills,
or this vast and silent world of mountains, close up to the
sky?
" Are ye no goin' on, sir ? "
Mr. Drummond started, for a hiynaji voice sounded strange-
ly in the great stillness.
" All right, Peter."
Again they pushed forward, and it almost seemed as if
their bad luck was following them up here also, when Jack
suddenly ceased his wild plunges over the moor. He had
got into a gentle hollow between a mass of rocks, and ap-
peared convinced that the rusty tufts of heather and the
green masses of bracken concealed something mysterious and
awful.
Suddenly the absolute Silence of the mountain-top was
broken by what was nothing less than a wild and general
scrimmage. From all parts of the heather, one after another,
rose a succession of huge brown masses, that flew this way
and that with a noise like the throbbing of a paddle-steamer
infinitely quickened ; and bang after bang came from the reload-
ed gun. The dog seemed to be rushing everywhere, with Peter
howling oaths in Gaelic at him ; the air was filled with sulphur-
ous smoke ; the hills were echoing the heavy musketry-tire.
Then there was a pause — an awful silence, and a look of
bewilderment on the face of the sportsman. ,Had he shot
i62 MADCAP VIOLET.
any thing ? he seemed to ask, after all this terrible commo-
tion.
'I'here was a loud howl from Jack ; for Peter — assured that
the firing was over, and his life no longer in danger — had
rushed at the dog to admonish him with a whip, at the same
time getting hold of a bird that was doubtless on the point
of being devoured.
" That is a nice dog of yours, Peter."
" He iss a ferra good dog whateffer," contended Peter
sturdily, as he went to pick up two more birds. " Ass I wass
saying afore, there will be nothing will pass the nose of him,
and if he iss a little too eager in the rinnin', we can cure him
of that. And we will not cure him of that unless you will
shoot the birds."
" Are you grumbling still ? Haven't I just shot some
birds ? "
" Three, sir ; ay, sir, you hef shot three. But ass for the
number of them you hef missed, ay, Kott only knows that."
" By heavens, I have a great mind to shoot you, Peter."
" You would miss me, sir," said Peter, imperturbably.
" I don't mean to rob the hangman, anyhow," said his
master. " Now put the birds in your bag, and we will go
down to the loch."
" Already, sir ? " said Peter ; but the remonstrance was of
no avail, the sportsman proceeding to cross the ridge of the
hill until he came in sight of a fresh-water loch, lying in a
small hollow far below him.
It was a picturesque little lake that lay there in the cup of
the mountains. One half of its surface was hidden by water-
lilies, the white stars of the flowers gleaming here and there
among the broad green leaves ; the other half of the lake
showing a perfect mirror of the overhanging hills and sky ;
with this difference, that whereas the brilliant colors of the
sky were faithfully reflected, the spectral mountains that
went away down into those blues and whites were of a uni-
form rich shining brown, as deep in color as a newly cut peat.
That, indeed, was the color of the clear, dark water itself,
come from the mountain rills.
There was a small boat on the lake, lying motionless ; and
there were two figures in the boat, one distinguished by a
white feather that gleamed in the sun. When the sports-
man, high on the mountain-top, sent down his view-halloo, he
was answered by a flutter of two handkerchiefs ; and pres-
ently, as he proceeded to descend the hill, he saw two tiny
oars put out, and the boat begin to creep slowly to the shore.
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 163
" Now, girls, set to work to get luncheon ready," was the
command. " Why, you might have had the hamper opened,
and the cloth spread on the grass, and every thing ready, in-
stead of idling out there in a boat. Is this a fit reception for
a weary hunter returning from the fatigue of the chase ? "
" What spoils has the weary hunter brought back with
him ? " demanded the elder of the two girls ; whereupon she
was admonished not to indulge a vain curiosity, but, instead,-
to put the bottles of beer into the lake to cool. The weary hun-
ter contentedly sat and beheld these and other preparations
being made for his comfort.
It was a sufficiently picturesque and enjoyable little meal,
up here by the side of the solitary lake, amidst the silence
of the hills, in the breathless warmth and brilliancy of a
summer day. The discontented Peter and his erratic com-
panion Jack were both seated at some distance off, on a bank
of green brackens ; and with them was the boy who had
brought the basket all the way from Castle Bandbox. In
front of the mighty hunter lay the four birds that had been
taken forth from the bag for purposes of display. The lunch-
eon itself was distributed in a promiscuous manner over such
bits of rock, tufts of heather, and clumps of bracken as were
most convenient.
And when a soothing pipe followed the frugal meal, and
introduced a new perfume into the v/arm air, the hunter, with
a great look of contentment on his face, began to discourse ;
and his discourse w^as of all things in the earth, and in the
air, and the sea. First of all, if the report of a faithful list-
ener is to be credited, it treated of the dying-out of meta-
phoric speech in literature. It pointed out that the whole of
Shakspeare is written in that now unknown tongue ; it dealt
with the substitution of similes for metaphors ; it traced the
degeneracy of similes into the '* allusions " of newspaper ar-
ticles. And then, harking back upon Shakspeare, it asserted
that the greatest good fortune which could befall a certain
young lady, then present, was that she might never lose her
sense of wonder ; that she should never get into the habit of
taking the facts and phenomena of the world as matters of
course ; that always the mystery of life should be before her
eyes. What happiness it would be, continued this indolent
orator, if one could come fresh to the reading of Shakspeare ;
if one's familiarity in youth with the existence of Juliet, and
Rosalind, and King Lear, and Autolycus, could be absolutely
wiped out; if one were introduced with all the sense of nov-
elty and wonder to the magic world of Puck and Ariel, to the
i64 MADCAP VIOLET.
mysterious horrors of " Macbeth," and the idyllic quiet of Ar-
deii Forest. " By-and-by," remarked the master to his atten-
tive pupil, " you will understand better what I mean when we
take you to the lonely shores of Mull and the solitary coasts
of Skye ; and there you will learn how the ways and doings
of humanity, which are the whole world to a dweller in cities,
are really but a trifling and temporary accident in the history
of that awful v/orld that existed through innumerable ages
without a sign of life in its empty seas and its silent lands."
"You ask me sometimes," he then said, apparently ad-
dressing Violet, but with his eyes fixed idly on the still waters
of the lake, " why I laugh at very serious people who are
desperately in earnest about their affairs. Well, I think it
was those lonely hills in the West Highlands did that for me.
If you only think of it, it seems strange enough, this intense
preoccupation, during the brief moment that one calls life —
this forgetfulness of why and wherefore, and to what end.
The man who has made his eighty thousand is miserable until
he makes his ninety thousand ; and he works away as if he
had a whole series of life-times to fall back upon, instead of
one, and that one the most puzzling of all mysteries. Those
mountains of Skye, in their awful age, and silence, and deso-
lation — I wonder if they take any notice of the race of little
creatures temporarily occupying the surface of the earth —
children who take no heed of yesterday or to-morrow : they
don't know where they came from ; they don't know where
they are going; but the present hour is enough for them, and
they must be desperately in earnest over their pastimes
and occupations ; some strumming on drums and making a
great noise in the world ; others wearing wigs and looking
wise ; others picking up bits of metal, and anxious only to
say, ' My hoard is bigger than yours.' And then, at the end
of the day, sleep comes down on the children — the gentle
mother Death hushes all that strife of drums and tongues,
the quarrelling, and striving, and anxiety — and the mystery
of that strange day and its doings remains unsolved. Per-
haps the new day will bring more light," he added, after a
pause.
" Are ye goin' on, sir ? " said Peter, coming up with evident
impatience in his face.
" Gracious goodness ! this man is as intent on killing birds
as if he hadn't a soul to be saved ! " exclaimed the indolent
sportsman. "Peter, do you know you have a soul to be
saved ? "
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 165
" I ken we hef been here for an hour and more as an hour,"
said Peter, gloomily.
" You see, he won't answer. He is like that countr}aTian
of his who w^ouldn't tell a cross-examining counsel whether he
was a Protestant or a Roman Catholic for fear of committing
himself. All that could be got out of him was, ' I tell you, sir,
I hef no bias.' And yet it is very curious," he continued, just
as if there were no hiatus in his train of thought, "what rich
people could do if only they were less in earnest, and tried to
amuse themselves. I have often thought that if I were a rich
man I should like to stand at Temple Bar with a thousand
sovereigns in a bag, and give one to each person who passed,
irrespective of his appearance. Mind you, you could confer
a great deal of happiness that way ; for even those who were
themselves rich would feel a comfortable sensation in getting
an unexpected sovereign ; they would get a little glow of sat-
isfaction, just as if they had drunk a glass of dry sherry before
sitting down to dinner — "
" Are ye goin' on, sir ? " again asked the impatient Peter.
"Yes, I am goin' on, Peter, but not with the shooting —
not at present. Why, your head is as full of the shooting —
you remind me of the Highland boatman who took out a cele-
brated traveler in his boat for an evening's fishing ; and when
he was asked afterward what he thought of the great man, he
said, with great bitterness, ' Ay, hass he traveled much "i Well,
there iss no appearance of it ; for I wass thinking he would
speak of killing and fighting the lions and teegers ; but it
wass nothing but the feshen and the feshen he will speak of,
and there wass nothing in his head but the feshen and the
feshen, and any one knows about the feshen.' But if we must
go, we must. You girls must put back those things in the
basket and give it to the boy. Amy, when you have reported
yourself at home, go down to John Maclean and tell him we
shall want his boat to-night. Take a brace of birds apiece.
Good-bye 1 "
" Any more orders, please, sir ? " asked Violet, meekly.
" Go away, and don't be impertinent to people older than
yourself," said the sportsman, as he shouldered his gun and
set off.
Now that afternoon, whether it was that he considered
something due to the i2th, or whether it was that he wished
to provide the small household with game sufficient to give
him two or three days idleness, Mr. Drummond v/ent seri-
ously and diligently to work ; and by dint of firing a great many
times, whether the birds rose wild or not, he managed to make
i66 MADCAP VIOLET.
a bag which even satisfied Peter. As they walked home, in-
deed, in the evening, Peter was quite cheerful and loquacious
— in his grim fashion, that is to say, for in his most mirthful
moments he spoke in a discontented, querulous tone, as if he
dared not admit to himself that he had nothing to grumble
about. And on this occasion his unwonted levity took the
form of telling stories about a relative of his, one John Mac-
Farlane, who was keeper to Mr. Maclean of Carn-Sioe ; and
the aim of those stories, so far as could be made out, was to
show that John MacFarlane was a stupid man who said and
did ridiculous things, but that, all the same, John MacFarlane
was more than a match for the English, who were more stupid
still.
" Ay," said Peter, " there wass a ferry cleffer Englishman,
and he will know all about the stones and rocks, and he will
say to John, 'John, you belief in your Bible, and you belief
that all the people that hef lived in the world will rise again
on the last day ; ' and John he will say, * Yes, sir, I belief that.'
And the Englishman, he will say, ' Now, John, I will tell you
something ; and it is this, that if the whole world wass made of
phosphates, there would not be enough of phosphates to make
bones for all those people ; and what do you say to that,
John ? ' And John, he will not wait long for his answer :
' Well sir,' this wass what John will say, ' the Bible will tell us
that them arc dead in the Lord will rise first ; and I am sure
there will be plenty of phosphates for them ; and as for the
wicked people, I do not care if they hef not a leg to stand on.'
And it wass a ferry good answer to gif to the Englishman."
" It was a very good answer, but it is a very wicked story,
Peter."
" There wass another story," continued Peter, with a
twinkle in his eye, but the same' grumbling tone in his voice,
'' ferry wicked ; but many's the time I will hef a laugh at that
story. That wass about two men in a boat, and the night it
wass so black they could not find their way into the harbor
at all, and the wind it wass blojving ferry hard. And the one
he says to the other, * Duncan, you must gif a prayer now,
or we will never get in to the harbor at all' And Duncan, he
says, ' I canna do it ; you maun do it yourself, Donald.'
And Donald, he will say, * Tam you, Duncan, if you do not
gif a prayer, we will be trooned as sure as death, for I can
see nothing but blackness.' And so it wass that Duncan will
stay in the stern of the boat, and he will kneel down, and he
will say, ' O Lord, it iss fifteen years since I hef asked you
for any thing ; but it will be another fifteen years before I will
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 167
ask you for any thing more, if you will tek the boat into the
harbor.' And then, sure enough, at this moment there wass
a great sound of the boat going on the beach, and Donald,
that was up at the bow, he will cry out, ' Stop, Duncan, do
not pray any more ; do not be beholden to any body, bekass
the boat's ashore already.' "
" It seems to me, Peter," said his companion, slowly, " that
there is a great deal of latent villainy about you."
" What, sir ? "
"You are a jiber and a jeerer at solemn things."
" Indeed I am not, sir," said Peter, indignantly. " A story
iss only a story, and you will get a laugh from it ; and the
man who iss afrait of a story iss a foolish man, whether he iss
an Englishman or whether he iss not an Englishman."
" In my country they don't understand joking about such
things, Peter."
" Kott pless me, sir,- in your country I am not sure that
they will understand any thing," said Peter, coolly.
This general proposition Peter proceeded to justify by
quoting instances of extraordinary ignorance on the part of
English people whom he had met — people who did not know
the difference between a sea-trout and a grilse, who called a
loch a lock, and wore kid gloves when they went out shooting.
Mr. Drummond listened with great patience and in silence,
apparently deeply ashamed of his country and country-men.
And now, as they trudged along the solitary road, they got
down into the valleys ; and though there was a wooded hill
on their left that shut off the sea, they saw by the great blaze
of crimson over the dark line of the trees that the sun was
setting in the west ; while in the wide and silent hollow be-
fore them, over the cold greens of the marsh, a pale white
mist was beginning to gather. Suddenly, however, they got
out of this pale and cold valley, and w^ere confronted by all
the bewildering colors of the sunset over the sea. Along
the western skies lay a sultry and dusky redness — a confused
mist of colored light ; and the mountains of Mull and of Mor-
ven, rising into it, were of a beautiful reddish-purple, and
seemingly transparent. Out there the long green islands were
growing dark over the silver-gray of the sea — a silver gray
broken by olive-green splashes as the water lapped round the
rocks ; but farther out still the sea was a smooth plain of
crimson, bewildering to the eye, and causing one long neck
of land to look as black as jet. They were in the land of
gorgeous sunsets ; and the stranger had not as yet become
familiar with such splendid exhibitions of color. It was with
i63 MADCAP VIOLET.
a dumb regret that he had to turn away from the shore again,
and take to the hills, though now the warm red light was
shining across the slopes of heather and bracken. The
small white house on the high knoll gave him a kindly wel-
come. A pair of swallows were flying about the gables. A
tiny terrier wagged her tail as he approached. There was a
scent of meadow-sweet in the evening air.
Three brace of grouse, three hares, a rabbit, a brace of
snipe, a blackcock (shot by misadventure, and carefully hid-
den away at the foot of the game-bag by the unscrupulous
Peter), ^nd a landrail — this was the spoil which the mighty
hunter had brought home, and which he stoutly contended
was all that a man could get off that piece of ground in a
single day. Nevertheless, there was a fierce war of words
during that evening meal at Castle Bandbox ; and proposals
to call in Peter to give testimony as to the number of misses.
The hunter treated these suspicions with scorn.
Greater peace prevailed when the small household came
out again into the cool evening — indeed, they were struck si-
lent by the transformation that had come over the world.
All round the horizon the great mountains were black as
night; over them was the smooth and lambent expanse of
the sky, with the full orb of the moon glowing in its mellow
light ; far away, in the east, over the black range of the hills,
a planet burned clear in the blue. Then the moonlight fell
on the furze and brackens near them, touching them with a
soft gray ; while along the slopes of the mountains behind
them, where there were strips of cultivated land, it lighted
up those small patches of corn almost to a silver whiteness
among the ebony-black shadows of the overhanging rocks.
There was not a cloud in the clear, dark heavens, nor a mur-
mur from the far expanse of the sea.
They went away down to the shore, and got out a small
rowing'boat, and rowed away from the land. It was the two
girls who pulled ; and the sound of the oars was the only
sound to be heard in the stillness of the night ; for even a
certain loquacious philosopher did not choose to break the
mystic silence that reigned over the world. The rocky shores
they had left behind became blacker and blacker ; the points
of orange fire that told of distant cottages became smaller
and smaller; the white moonlight glittered on the wet blades
of the oars. Miill and Morvan were awful in their gloom, where
the great mountains seemed to be alone with the stars.
" What a dreadful thing it would be," Violet said, letting
her oar rest for a minute, " to go up one of those mountains
CASTLE BANDBOX, N. B. 169
at night, all by yourself ; you would imagine every sound was
something horrible — "
" Now, Violet, that is all founded on a common mistake,"
said another voice. " Just think what you would do if you
were a ghost. You wouldn't go away into lonely places,
where you could see nothing, of a cold night, and prowl about
there. Wouldn't you rather take a nice warm forenoon, and
sit invisible on a stile, and see the country-folks drive by to
market in the brisk sunshine ? I do believe that ghosts are
friendly fellows, and wouldn't frighten you for the world.
Often, when I am passing a wood, I wonder whether any of
them are sitting on the fence, having a quiet hobnob among
themselves, and perhaps laughing at the way you walk. Of
course, if ghosts should plague people by appearing at night,
they ought always to plague rich people. The night is the
day of the poor ; then they have every thing redressed and
made right in their dreams. A rich man in actual life can't
enjoy himself half so much as a poor man who dreams he is
rich, or a neglected man who dreams he is famous, or a sickly
man who dreams he is an athlete. But do you know who must
have the happiest dreams in the world } "
Nobody did know.
" A dog. They are full of life and motion, without re-
morse. And were you ever asked a conundrum in a dream,
the answer to which it cost you a desperate effort to make
out ; altho.ugll of course the one side of your brain that made
the conundrum must have known the answer all along.? In
going to sleep, too, haven't you had a clear and delightful
consciousness that your perceptions and fancies were grow-
ing quite the reverse of clear — the confusion meaning the
approach of the sleep you are waiting for t Then there is
another — Gracious goodness ! what's that 1 "
He had been interrupted by a loud splash, apparently pro-
ceeding from a rock some forty or fifty yards off.
" It must have been a seal," said he ; and thereupon he
began to tell his companions an exciting story of an elderly
and near-sighted gentleman who came back to his hotel one
day complaining that he had fired three bullets at a seal, but
missed him each time ; and of a negro who cam.e running in
to declare, in wrath and indignation, that, while bathing, he
had been fired at three times from the shore, and had his ear
cut off. Every body knew that that true legend was about
three minutes old.
By-and-by they set off again for the shore, and when they
had put up Mr. Maclean's boat, they proceeded to walk away
I70 MADCAP VIOLET.
up into the liills, where the moonlight was shining coldly on
the stone walls, the furze bushes, and the scattered patches
of corn. The voices of two young girls broke the silence of
the night, singing an old school-song they had often sung to-
gether. Then they bid farewell to the magic world of moon-
lit sea, and mountains, and sky ; and a peaceful, beautiful,
and memorable day came to a welcome end. If one's life
could all be made up of such !
CHAPTER XIX.
ABRA.
"So the brisk, bright days and weeks went by; and the
ceaseless round of activities in the open air — whether the blue
seas lay shining in the light, or the fierce south-west winds
sent the foam flying high over the rocks — brought glad health
and happiness to this little band of strangers, and plenty of
sun-brown to their faces. Violet had by this time quite
simply and naturally fallen into her position in the household.
She felt so thoroughly at home that she never thought of the
time when she had been only a visitor ; and to her friends it
seemed as though she had always been with them. She
would have been well content — as she frankly told^Mrs. War-
rener one evening — to spend the rest of her life 'with them
up here in this Highland cottage.
A woman can not occupy a place in a household without
having some sort of occupation ; and it was almost insensibly
that Miss Violet, while helping Mrs. Warrener in certain
things, managed to create a new series of duties for herself.
These had for their open and and ostensible object the great-
er care and comfort of that somewhat shy potentate who pre-
sided over this household of women ; and it is probable that
any other man than himself would have been embarrassed
by these attentions. He accepted them, however, as a mat-
ter of course, which greatly pleased the giver of them, who
never f-elt so proud and glad as when he asked her to do
something for him — not in the language in wloich one would
beg a favor from a visitor, but in a much more curt and
familiar way. So it came about that no one thought of in-
terfering with Miss Violet in her self-imposed duties, which
were performed with a scrupulous care and accuracy. When
Mr. Drummond came down of a morning, he never noticed
ABRA. 171
that his sUppers were invariably in the same spot ; that his
table-napkin was never missing ; that the newspaper which
had arrived by post was carefully opened, cut, folded, and
placed beside his plate. His shooting-boots and leggings
were always at hand the moment he wanted them ; his gun —
which seemed to keep marvelously clean, although Peter ab-
solutely declined to polish it every day — awaited him in the
corner ; there were always the proper number of cartridges
in the bag. Nay, she had succeeded so far in becoming his
henchman that, after having assisted him on several occa-
sions in measuring out powder and shot for the cartridges,
she had made bold to make the cartridges herself, out and
out, and never were cartridges more accurately constructed.
She kept a game book : -but she refused to compare the num-
ber of cartridges she made with the number of entries in that
small volume. His pocket-flask was always mysteriously fu-ll ;
she invariably prepared the luncheon-bag ; on the .fine days
she and Amy would walk out to meet him — and he could
recognize the proud and graceful carriage of the girl a mile
off — and on the wet clays she had dry socks and slippers
awaiting him. No matter what he wanted, it seemed to be
always just by ; and he did not know what pleasure he gave
her in falling into the habit of invariably turning to her with
a " Violet, I wish you would do this ; " or " Violet, I wish
you would do that."
Mrs. Warrener was amused ; but ventured to remonstrate.
" Violet, do you know that you are becoming James's
slave ? "
The girl flushed for a second ; but, all the same, she said,
with a smile,
" I don't care, so long as I have so good a master."
As for him, he seemed to take her presence in the house
as a matter of course ; and made fun of her, or lectured her,
or teased her, with an absolute freedom of intimacy and
friendliness. And yet there were one or two subtle distinc-
tions between his treatment of her and his treatment of
her companions which she did not fail to notice. In
walking about the mountain-paths in the evening, he was in
the habit of taking the hand of his companion ; but he never
took Violet's hand. When he was impressing some pro-
found moral truth, in enigmatical language, upon his sister
or his niece, he frequently put his hand on the shoulder of
the patient listener to enforce his precepts ; he never put
his hand on Violet's shoulder. Sometimes, indeed, he seem-
ed to recall to himself that she was a guest in the house, and
172 MADCAP VIOLET.
ought to be treated with a special kindness and respect,
ratlier than with an easy familiarity, and thereupon he would
make some essay in that direction. He did not know how
these efforts, at once perceived by the quick sensitiveness of
the girl, wounded her to the heart ; so that, instead of being
pleased by his gentle courtesy, she was like to have gone
away to her own room, and burst into tears over what
seemed a rupture of the old and friendly relations between
the master and his slave.
But although she was hurt when he endeavored to treat her
with respectful consideration, she, on the other hand, was
fierce enough if any one failed to show sufficient respect for
him. If a boatman, encouraged by the jocular freedom of
Drummond's manner and speech, became in the faintest de-
gree familiar, he received a reminder there and then which he
was not likely to forget. She had completely overawed old
Peter ; who was at first sulky, then betrayed a sort of grumb-
ling admiration of her courage ; and finally said she was a
fine lass, and must have something better than English blood
in her veins. Indeed, she seemed inclined to check overfa-
miliarity on the part of Mr Drummond's own sister and niece.
The master of the house was the master of the house.
One evening he had just got home from the shooting, and
had been stopped at the door by his sister, who had called
attention to the singular light shining across the sea. The
sky was covered over with thick purple masses of thunder-
ous clouds — almost black they were, indeed, except where
one bold slit showed a glimpse of the high sunny green of the
sunset ; while underneath this heavy and ominous sky a great
flood of yellow light came over from the west, causing the
masts of one or two yachts to gleam like silver against the
black clouds.
" Why, here comes Violet up the road ! She has been down
persuading Mr. Morrison to give us a piece of beef for to-
morrow. He won't listen to any body but her. If it wasn't
for her, we should have nothing but mutton from one week's
end to the other."
The girl was coming along the valley at a good pace.
"Do you know," said Mr. Drummond, rather absently,
" that it is a happiness to me — a positive delight — merely to
see that girl walk ? The proud gracefulness of her figure, the
freedom of her step — it gives one a sense of her having per-
fect symmetry of form and splendid health — "
*' I don't know what we shall do without her, now we have
got so well accustomed to her," said his sister, ruefully.
AREA.
^12>
"Ah, yes, of course," he said, with an effort to look brisk
and matter-of-fact ; " of course she will go ; that is but natural
— the young bird flies from its nest as soon as it has wings.
Well, Violet has made our little place brighter since she has
been with us."
His sister stood silent for a moment.
" I declare," she said, " I can not make up my mind about
that young man. Sometimes I like him ; sometimes I hate
him. If we could only look ahead a few years, we should
know better what to do — "
"You forget, Sarah," said her brother, somewhat stiffly,
" that neither you nor I have anything to do with that matter.
Why should you talk as if you were responsible 1 The girl
is old enough to judge for herself."
" If you loved Violet as I do, you would be more anxious,"
said Mrs. Warrener, with a sigh ; for she could not understand
how her brother, ordinarily so solicitous about the welfare of
every one around him, should betray an absolute indifference
as to such an important question as Violet North's marriage.
The conversation was in any case broken up by the girl
herself, who came up through the steep little garden with a
fine flush of color in her face, and with gladness in her dark
eyes. She was glad to have secured the piece of beef ; glad
to have escaped the rain ; glad to have Mr. Drummond's
game-bag to explore. These were sufficient reasons for the
bright look on her face : but, indeed Mrs. Warrener had re-
marked, ever since their arrival in these Highlands, that no
especial cause was needed to bring that happy light into
Violet North's eyes which now always dwelt there.
" Now, Violet," she said putting the girl's hand within her
arm, and taking her off for a little walk round the plateau
(Mr. Drummond having gone into the house), " I have a
secret to tell you. That is, we thought of keeping it a secret
— to give you a surprise ; but perhaps it is fairer I should tell
you, Mr. Miller arrives to-morrow evening."
Violet stopped suddenly, and unconsciously withdrew her
hand from her friend's arm.
" Why should that be a surprise-^or a secret — for me ? "
she asked, coldly.
Mrs. Warrener smiled in her gentle way : the pretence of
indifference on the part of those girls about their lovers was
charming.
" I thought he was a friend of yours, Violet," she said, with
demure sarcasm.
" I hope it is as a friend of your own that you have asked
174 ' MADCAP VIOLET.
him to your house," responded the girl. " I should have said
that we were happy enough without him."
This was a little too much.
" Do you mean to say, Violet, you will not be pleased to see
him ? " her friend asked ; but the question was hardly a serious
one.
" Of course I shall be glad to see him — as I should be to
see any other friend," answered Miss Violet, with the same
proud indifference. " But — but I thought we were comfort-
able enough without visitors — and I hope it is not on my ac-
count that you have asked Mr. Miller to come here."
Her cheeks began to turn red, and it was clear that aifec-
tation of indifference was rapidly going.
" I scarcely think it is fair," she was beginning io say, in
quicker accents, when Mrs. Warrener gently stopped her.
*' Don't be vexed, Violet. Of course, a girl does not like to
have her private feelings known, or even guessed at, Avhere a
gentleman is concerned ; and I must tell you at once that
Mr. Miller would have come to see us whether you had been
here or not. He was asked to come a long time ago. He is
very fond of shooting and yachting ; but as there was no
shooting worth speaking of, James thought he had better wait
till now, and go with us in the Sea-Pyot — "
" Oh, he is going, is he ? " said Violet, quickly.
" Yes ; so I believe. You know there is plenty of room in
that big boat."
Nothing more was said at the moment. Violet made some
excuse, and went in-doors. There she got hold of Amy
Warrener, and asked that young lady to come into her room
for a minute. She shut the door, and sat down.
" It's all over now," she said.
" What is all over now, Violet ? "
Her hands were folded in her lap ; her eyes fixed idly on
them. "All the pleasant time we have been spending up
here : it seems a long time, and yet it has passed quickly.
Good-bye to it ; I shall never forget it — never ! "
" What do you mean, Violet ? "
" A stranger is coming to-morrow, and everything will be
different."
" A stranger ! Do you call Mr. Miller a stranger ? "
" Oh, you knew about it, too ? " said Miss Violet, raising
her eyes quickly. " Why was it all kept secret from me ? "
" Why?" said the younger girl, with some embarrassment.
" I suppose mamma fancied you would not care to have
such things spoken about."
AREA. 175
" What things ? " she demanded, ahnost fiercely.
Her young companion was gentle enough ; but even she
could be goaded.
" You know quite well you are engaged to him, Violet ; and
what is the use of making a mystery about it .'' " she said,
sharply.
" I know quite well I am nothing of the sort ; I know quite
well I shall never be engaged to him — never ! " said the girl,
vehemently. " Engaged to him ? I wish he was dead ! "
" Oh, Violet ! "
" Well, I don't exactly wish that," she said, with some
compunction, " but I really cannot bear to have it supposed
we are engaged, or likely to be ; and what will his coming
here do but make discomfort and misery ? Haven't we been
happy enough by ourselves ? — we don't want any body else.
And then it appears he is to go with us in the Sea-Pyot.
Well, if he goes in the Sea-Pyot^ I know somebody who won't ;
and the initials of her name, as the Irishman said, are Violet
North."
This was uttered with considerable decision. Now, Amy
Warrener, young as she was, had a good deal of her mother's
shrewd and quiet common sense ; and instead of fighting this
determination by any argument or appeal, she only said,
*' It won't look very friendly, Violet, if you alone refuse to
go with us ; and Mr. Miller, as a stranger and visitor, is en-
titled to whatever courtesy we can show him. It isn't his
fault it you don't like him. Then, you didn't always appear
to dislike him so much — I thought it was quite the other way
at one time : and now if you treat him badly, he will think
you are only acting the coquette, and wanting to show your
independence. '
" I don't care what he thinks," she said, with her cheeks
hot, but looking down.
" Others will think the same."
" Who ? " And again she looked up with a quick surprise
and inquiry in her glance.
" All of us."
" You — will — all — think — that — I — am — a — coquette," she
said, slowly.
" Well," said her friend, doubtfully, " you know you en-
couraged him a great deal."
" And to save myself from that reproach," she continued,
quite as slowly and thoughtfully, " to keep your good opin-
ion, I must marry Mr. George Miller 1 "
There was no answer to that question.
176 MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER XX.
SETTING OUT.
Mr. George Miller arrived in due course ; and very hand-
some the young fellow looked, as he stepped ashore from (he
. steamer to shake hands with his friends on the quay. Vio-
let had been persuaded to accompany the others; and she
could not help greeting him with a pleasant smile ; indeed,
there was something in this sudden meeting that recalled
other days. With great prudence, too, he forbore to express
any special pleasure in seeing her again. She was only one
of the little group of friends. He addressed himself almost
exclusively to Mrs. Warrener, as they proceeded to find their
way up to Castle Bandbox.
Nor, on this first evening, were any of Violet's predictions
fulfilled. All the happy old time had not completely gone,
riiey were quite as joyous and homely as ever ; and a certain
discursive orator had as large a share of that talk which could
only bycourtesy be called conversation ; that is, nobody else
had a share. Mr. Miller laughed and enjo3'ed himself with
the rest ; he did not embarrass Violet with the least specialty
of attention ; his whole interest was apparently absorbed in
his chances of getting a shot or two before starting in the
yacht, and in the prospects held out by the Sea-Pyot of a com-
fortable voyage. All was so far well.
It was only by degrees, and that almost imperceptibly, that
his influence in this small household began to tell. He was
a young man of system, of minute observation, of careful,
business-like provision, and could not understand at all the
happy-go-lucky carelessness which marked most of Mr. Drum-
mond's arrangements. With him a nine- o'clock breakfast
meant a nine-o'clock breakfast ; not a breakfast at ten, or
half-past nine, or a quarter-past eight, as chance might dic-
tate. For the first time his friends perceived that the pattern
of the wall-paper was rather ludicrous, and that a defect in the
frame-work of the window produced a draught. They were
ashamed to confess they could not tell him whether the local
whisky was under or over proof ; indeed, none of them knew
exactly what proof meant. There was now no vague loiter-
ing on the hills for the contemplation of landscape, nor need-
less waste of time over luncheon : the ground that had to be
got over was got over in a proper fashion. Moreover, there
was much less missing now. The young man showed him-
SETTING OUT. 177
self an excellent shot, and there was no amount of fatigue or
discomfort which he would indolently shirk if he believed there
was a chance of getting a single bird. Old Peter had enough
of it now : he was pretty nearly walked off his legs by this
new pupil ; while his former pupil ignominiously gave up the
chase, lighted a pipe, stretched himself on the heather, where
he could command a view of Morven, Mull, and Lism.ore, and
told his companions to come back that way for him when they
chose.
Moreover, the incorrigible carelessness of the head of the
house became all the more apparent, for his accoutrements
now lacked much of Violet's superintendence. She had been
accustomed to come down early — before any of the others —
to look after his cartridge-bag, his boots, leggings, and what
not ; but now she never appeared till breakfast was announced,
and then she invariably came down-stairs with Amy. They
generally found Mr. Miller impatiently pacing up and down
in front of the house, and looking at his watch every third
minute.
They had beautiful moonlight nights at this time ; and they
were accustomed to go out for a stroll after dinner, either up
into the black hills, where the wan and mystic light was palely
shining on the furze and rocks, or down to the shore, where
the long, monotonous rush of the waves on the coast alone
disturbed the profound and mysterious silence. Here, too,
there was a great difference. The party was broken some-
how. Violet resolutely and invariably walked with Amy War-
rener, chatting, when they did chat, about school-girl themes ;
Mrs. Warrener generally stayed with them ; Mr. Drummond
and his guest led the way, the latter giving all the latest in-
formation about big-company swindles, stock-exchange trans-
action the cooking at the Judaeum, and so forth.
"Why do you never talk to Mr. Miller, Violet.^" Amy
Warrener asked one night.
" I don't understand politics ; and I don't care about com-
mercial matters," replied the young lady, evasively.
" I don't mean that at all," her friend said. " Why do you
scarcely ever address a word to him, even at dinner ? "
"Good little girls should be seen, and not heard. I speak
when I am spoken to," was the reply.
It was very clear that Violet did not at all care for the
presence of Mr. Miller in Castle Bandbox. She seemed re-
strained and dispirited. A sort of indefinite apprehension
appeared to hang over her, which Mrs. Warrener did not
fail to notice.
178 MADCAP VIOLET.
Now, Mr. Miller, from the moment of his arrival in the
Highlands, had been most considerate to the girl, and, what-
ever he might judge to be her feelings toward him, he had
not sought to intrude himself upon her in the slightest degree.
But, after all, a young man is but a young man ; and he grew
to think that, considering their past and present relations,
she was dealing very harshly with him in so obviously and
systematically avoiding any private conversation with him.
His difficulty was to find an opportunity of speaking with her
alone ; and it almost appeared as if she recognized the fact,
and was determined to outwit him.
At last he caught her. She had inconsiderately ventured
down to breakfast without her ordinary companion, under
the impression that Mrs. Warrener had preceded her. When
she opened the ddor of the room and saw Mr. Miller there
alone, she would have retreated, but it was too late.
" Violet," said he, " I want to speak to you for a second."
She knew what was coming : she advanced into the room,
outwardly calm, but inwardly full of dread. She was vaguely
aware that his face was pale.
" Have I offended you 1 "
" No."
She spoke in so low a voice that he could hardly hear.
" Why do you avoid me so ? Why won't you speak to
me ? "
She did not answer.
" I am sure I have not persecuted you, ever since you
seemed to wish to be left free. Haven't I done every thing
you could wish ? "
" Yes, you have," she answered, with a trifle more em-
phasis.
*' Then why do you treat me as if I were an enemy — as if
you were afraid of me ? "
*' Oh, I hope I don't do that," she said ; but her eyes were
still fixed on the ground.
For a second or two she stood irresolute, and then she
seemed to summon up her courage to speak frankly.
"And if I am afraid of you, in however slight a degree,"
she said, in clear, low tones, " I have myself to blame. I am
deeply to blame — I know that. I — I wish I had never seen
you, nor you me ; that would have been better for both of
us."
"No, no, Violet," he said, kindly, and he came a step
nearer ; " that is what every girl says — natural timidity, you
know : she doesn't know what is before her, and is afraid.
SETTING OUT 179
For my part, I am very glad we have met, whatever comes of
it ; and if you would only give me a chance, I should soon
cure your mind of all that apprehension. But how can I do
that if you always avoid me ? Don't you think it is hardly
fair ? Would you treat any other friend of yours like that ? "
" Oh, if I were only sure," she said, with a sort of despair-
ing earnestness, "that we were friends, and only friends, how
glad I should be to do all you wish ! Believe that of me,
anyway. If you would only let me think that — if you were
satisfied with that — I should be so grateful to you ! Will you t "
She was looking at him now, with her eyes full of entreaty.
He, on the other hand, appeared to be wholly astounded.
" Violet," said he, slowly, " you have hinted this once or
twice before. Do you really mean it t Do you wish me to
abandon all hope of our being any thing to each other ? "
It was precisely what she did wish ; but there was a re-
proach in his tone which she felt keenly ; and for the sake of
old times she could not bring herself to wound him too
cruelly.
"No, not altogether," she said, quickly. "We need not
become strangers ; we might always remain friends. If I
could only persuade you not to think of any thing else ! "
He was deeply mortified, of course ; and yet he could not
quite believe her. Her liking for him had been declared
years ago. There was no obstacle, that he could see, to the
marriage. He had not even a rival.
At this moment steps were heard on the stairs. He seized
her hand for a second, and said, rapidly,
" Don't make this final, Violet. There is some misunder-
standing. You must let me hope." '
She did not answer as she left the room ; but there was
that in-her face that rendered him somewhat uneasy. Was
it true, then, that her aversion from all thought of marriage
with him was something more than mere girlish timidity?
Was it true that she really wished him to abandon all hope of
securing her for his wife .^
He put on his cap and went out into the fresh morning air;
he wished to be alone for a few minutes, for there was some-
thing about all this that he could not well understand. Again
and again, as he walked up and down the bit of gravel, he
tried to account for Violet's change of feeling toward him—
or, at least, for her change of intention ; and he could see no
reasonable explanation. At this moment he heard Mr.
Drummond inside calling " Violet ! Violet ! " A wild fancy
struck him.
i8o MADCAP VIOLET.
Was it true that he had no rival ? Could it be possible
that the girl had let her declared admiration — her worship,
almost — of this man of eight-and-thirty run into a more pas-
sionate feeling ? The mere suspicion sent a flash of fire ting-
ling through his heart; and he found himself rapidly run-
ning over a series of incidents, unnoticed at the time, which
now appeared to give at least plausibility to this random con-
jecture.
In the most commonplace of natures there is always enough
of imagination to fan the fires of jealousy. The relations
existing between Mr. Drummond and his girlish pupil now
assumed a wholly different complexion. In his first flush of
anger and surprise and envy, the young man was ready to
accuse his friend of having inveigled Sir Acton North's
daughter into his house that he might marry an heiress.'
But, after all, Mr. Miller was a sensible and prudent young
fellow. He reasoned with himself. Was it likely that this
gay-hearted, handsome girl, rejoicing in all the boundless
hopes and activities of youth, should give away her life to a
moping, dreaming, middle-aged man, who had just enough
money to keep a moderately decent coat on his back t She
was very fond of him — as his niece was. She had a profound
admiration for him — as his sister had. Mr. Miller reasoned
himself out of his first glow of belief and anger ; but he went
in to breakfast in a somewhat sullen and suspicious mood.
Now, indeed, the smallest trifles were magnified in the
young man's alarmed imagination. He noticed how she
brought the newspaper and placed it beside a certain cup.
He felt sure that she had been out to bring in the fresh bell-
heather, ferns, marigolds, and fuchsias for the table. When
all had sat down to breakfast, he observed that Mr. Drum-
mond addressed most of his chance remarks to her ; and that
she invariably looked up with a bright glance of gratitude
when he did so.
A sufficiently trifling incident occurred. Mr. Drummond,
like most rather shy and sensitive folks, had a nervous dis-
like to being watched by furtive glances, especially at meal-
times. He would infinitely have preferred to go without
mustard, or butter, or any thing of that sort, rather than be
reminded that some one was continually observing his plate.
Now, on this occasion he happened to look up, and finding
his sister's eyes fixed curiously on him, he called out,
" On my solemn word of honor, Sarah, 1 am only going to
eat an ^gg. Is there any thing awful in that ? ''
SETTING OUT. i8i
His sister looked shocked and offended ; whereupon he con-
tinued, in a great good-humor,
" I declare that there is in the world only one human being
wdth whom it is comfortable to have breakfast — who leaves
you alone to struggle with your fish-bones — who never turns
her eyes upon you except when she speaks to you : who is
it ? Do you all give it up ? "
" It is Violet, of course, uncle," said Amy Warrener, with a
laugh. " Violet is always right."
Now surely there was not much in complimenting a girl for
minding her own plate at a breakfast-table ; but, all the same,
the young man looked upon the innocent exclamation of
Violet's school-fellow as only confirming some of his gloom-
iest suspicions. But he would observe still before speaking
or acting.
Meanwhile there was a great bustle convulsing the ordinary
quiet of Castle Bandbox, in the midst of which no one had
time to notice how Violet treated her former lover. Every
one was preparing for the approaching voyage in the Sea-
Pyot ; Mr. Drummond making the wildest suggestions about
potted meats, condensed milk, and baskets of soda-water ;
Mrs. Warrener making more sober calculations about the
necessary stores for a week's cruise ; the girls anxious about
water-proofs and thick shoes ; and Mr. George Miller, with
great care and accuracy of method, getting his fishing-tackle
into order. They knew they were about to play at keeping
house, just like so many children ; and every one pretended
to know a vast deal about those very things, which, in serious
living on land, they had treated with indifference.
The Sea-Fyot, which they cauld now distinguish lying at
her moorings in the bay, was a yawl of some thirty-two tons
register and about fifty tons yacht measurement; but she
was an exceedingly roomy and comfortable vessel, consider-
ing her size. She had a fairly commodious ladies' cabin, a
couple of state-rooms for single gentlemen, and a spacious
saloon — no less than twelve feet six inches in beam. Foi
the rest, she was anything but a quick sailer with light
winds ; but she could stand a thoroughly stiff breeze with
absolute safety, and then she could do her nine or ten knots
an hour. She was worked by four men and a lad, the latter
officiating as cook and steward.
It was universally resolved that, as Miss Violet was the
most experienced voyager of the party, she should go on
board and overhaul the table-linen, locker accommodation,
bedding, permanent stores and the like ; and this commission
l82 MADCAP VIOLET.
was gladly accepted, while stipulating that the others should
accompany her. It was with the eager excitement of a party
of discovery that they entered the gig which had been sent
on shore for them, and were pulled out to the yacht. The
skipper — a handsome, good-humored-looking man of thirty-
five or so, with a sun-tanned face and a light-yellow beard,
who was an old friend and ally of Mr. Drunmiond's — received
them with much ceremonious dignity at the gangway, and,
in showing them over his ship, seemed particularly anxious
to gratify the tall young lady, who was continually asking
him abrupt and business-like questions. She was graciously
pleased to express her approval of the whiteness of the decks,
the spaciousness of the saloon, and the painting of the sky-
lights, but she was of opinion that the small state-room next
the forecastle ought to have been a pantry, and she gently
but firmly remonstrated with Captain Jimmy for not having a
swinging-table in the lower cabin.
" That is true, mem," said the yellow-bearded skipper, with
just a trace of Highland accent, " I hef often said that to
Mr. Sinclair, and it will only cost five pounds the more."
*' Come, Violet, it isn't fair to look a gift horse in the
mouth. You ought to be sufficiently grateful to Mr. Sinclair,"
said Mr. Drummond.
" So I am," she said, doubtfully ; *' but suppose she is lying
well over from the wind, how are we to get any thing to eat
and drink ? "
" Hold on to your glass, and make the plates steady each
other."
" Then suppose we are beating up to windward, every time
she is put about every thing will go flying across to the other
side."
"Well, the other people on the other side can catch them."
" In their lap ? "
" Why not ? "
However, there were no great fears on that score, and the
party returned home, only regretting that a night must inter-
vene before starting. A great joy of expectation, indeed,
prevailed through Castle Bandbox that evening, for the talk
was all of the wonderful places they would see, and of the
wonderful adventures they would meet, and no one had any
suspicion they were taking a Jonah on board.
RAIN, WIND, AND SPEED. 183
CHAPTER XXI.
"rain, wind, and speed."
Fierce and glad was the weather in which the Sea-Pyot
spread out her great white wings and prepared for her north-
ward flight. From over the tumbling Atlantic came varying
gusts and squalls ; the main-boom swung this way and that,
and the loud flapping of the sails drowned the clanking of
the windlass ; rushing by went the huge green waves to the
shore ; and the hurrying clouds, as they came sweeping over
from the sea — causing the islands to disappear, and re-ap-
pear, and disappear again — sent sudden showers across the
vessel's decks, and made the voyagers tighten up still farther
the necks of their water-proofs. Above and below the same
confusion and bustle prevailed : nobody knew whether the
fresh butter had been called for and brought aboard ; excited
questions were asked about the joints hung at the stern ; and
the voice of one tall person was heard declaring, in the most
solemn language, that he would blowup the powder-maga-
zine, destroy the bulkheads, and lash the taffrail to the top-
gallant-mast, if somebody did not help him to stow away the
bottled beer. Then there was a sudden cessation of noise
overhead. Gradually the saloon tilted over, and there was a
muflled sound as of rushing water outside. When the person
who had been stowing away the beer put his head, which was
adorned by a huge sou'-wester, up the companion-way and
looked around, behold ! the Sea-Pyot was running gallantly
out to sea, the tack of her mainsail still hauled up, and Cap-
tain Jimmy, with the rain running down his ruddy face, ob-
served to a young lady who stood beside him that he could
not as yet relinquish to her the tiller.
" This is a nice sort of day to start in ! " observed a young
man, who was gloomily trying to keep the rain from getting
inside the neck of his water-proof.
" What better could you wish for ? " she answered, with a
bright laugh. " How fast is she going, Captain Jimmy ? "
The skipper glanced at the water running by.
" About echt knots, I think ; but we'll get a bit more wind
by-and-by, when we get round Lismore."
" Couldn't you let us have the topsail up ? " she asked,
throwing a critical glance upward.
A shrewd, cautious smile appeared on Captain Jimmy's
face.
l84 MADCAP VIOLET.
*' She'll go ferry well without the topsail in a little while ;
and it iss better not to be too eager. You will get plenty of
sailing when we will be going up the Sound,"
And indeed there was a good deal of sailing when once
they had got round the light-house of Lismore and were
beating up the Sound of Mull. A heavy sea was rolling
down the Sound ; the wind freshened further until it dipped
the bulwarks of the Sea-Pyot in the rushing waves ; and
the voyagers, sitting on deck-stools up to the windward, had
to hold on by such objects as were handy to prevent their
suddenly rolling down the slippery decks. Where were the
mighty mountains of Mull and of Morven that they had
gazed at from afar on many a still summer morning ? The
voyagers were close to them — running up the channel that
divides them, in fact — but all that could be seen were but
dim and vague shadows behind the cold gray curtains of the
mist. Water and sky seemed one ; the gusts of wind were
also gusts of rain ; the sea-swallows that flashed about,
dipping, darting, and uttering shrill cries, seemed but as
ghosts in the aqueous vapor. And yet the voyagers appeared
so little disconcerted by the weather they were encountering
that their mirth grew wilder as the wind blew more fiercely ;
and the seas that came thundering on the bows of the yacht,
and sending showers of spray right over the crouching figures,
were only met by derisive shouts of laughter. Only one 'of
these figures remained silent and sullen. Mr. George Miller
did not seem to enter much into the sport. It was the private
notion of at least one of his companions that the plunging of
the Sea-Pyot among the waves was rendering the young man
uncomfortable ; but such was not the fact. Neither the
motion of the vessel, nor the fierce rain, nor the numbing
position in which he was compelled to sit, was responsible for
the preoccupation of Violet's suitor. He had, indeed, other
things to think about.
Yet surely, on board a yacht, in such weather, there could
be little to increase his suspicions. It is true that both Mr,
Drummond and Violet were obviously enjoying themselves ;
that generally Mr. Drummond addressed to her his profound
impressions of life on board the Sea-Pyot ; and that, indeed,
both of them seemed bent on amusing themselves just as if
they were a couple of children. And then, when Violet went
below to see that the lad Duncan was properly laying the
cloth for luncheon, and to assist him in ferreting out the secrets
of the lockers, no one volunteered to help her but Mr.
Drummond, simply because he had stowed most of the things
RAIN, WIND, AND SPEED. 185
away, and that in a fashion which no one else could under-
stand.
That luncheon was rather a desperate business — as Miss
Violet had predicted on her round of inspection. They were
beating up the Sound, with a short starboard tack and a long
larboard tack ; and as the latter offered more continued quiet,
while the vessel did not heel over quite so much, it was re-
solved that they should drop below as soon as the Sea-Pyot
had her larboard tack aboard. Mr. Miller would remain on
deck — he was not hungry. And very soon he heard, through
the sky-light of the saloon, amazing shouts of despair and
shrieks of laughter, with now and again an ominous jingle of
falling plates and spoons. In fact, the scene below was at
first nothing but a wild scramble ; for no sooner had the plates
been got out from the locker and spread on the table than
they immediately began to slide down to leeward, a stately
procession which was joined by the ham, by a cold pie, and
two decanters. Of course, there was a wild clutching at this
object and that, all being secured except the cruet-stand, which
had outstripped its companions in the race, and flung itself
headlong — mustard, vinegar, and all — into Miss Amy's lap,
who was not prepared for the charge, for she was clinging on
to the bread-plate. When she had wrathfully retired to change
her clothes, and come back again to resume her place, order
had been restored by a skillful arrangement of objects, and
luncheon was allowed to proceed.
Alas ! the time lost could not be recovered ; and just as
they were beginning to consider that life on board a yacht
had its compensations, there was an ominous call above,
" Ready about ! " The yacht seemed to right herself ; the
table resumed its natural level.
" They are putting her about," observed Violet, who had
picked up some slight knowledge of sailing in her travels.
But she failed to recollect that the ingenious arrangement
of objects on the table had been successful with one side of
the table up ; now that side went down, and there was an-
other wild stampede on the part of knives, bottles, dishes and
loaves, in the opposite direction. Nay, that was not the
worst. In the midst of the confused seizure of these things
— with Mrs. Warrener uttering sharp cries of w^arning — an
awful sound was heard in one of the adjoining state-rooms.
Mr. Drummond looked grave.
" You'd better go and see what it is, James," his sister
said, keeping firm hold of the pie until it should be buttressed
up.
1 86 MADCAP VIOLET.
He went, and came back with a serious face.
" My gun-case," he observed, cahnly, " has fallen on the
ewer ; the ewer has been pitched against my bed ; the bed
is swimming with water ; and the ewer is broken."
" Oh, James ! " his sister said, " didn't I tell you to put
that great heavy thing on the floor, or in the bed itself, and
not on a shelf } "
" Do you think," said he, " there would be much chance
of getting the blankets dried on deck ? "
The question was not so foolish as it looked, for when they
went above again, they found that the rain had entirely ceased,
the rain-clouds were withdrawing up the hills, and the great
lonely mountains of Mull and Morven w^ere being slowly re-
vealed. What a desolate coast it looked in this sombre, gray
light ! The dark and leaden sea broke in white along the
gloomy rocks ; gaunt gray precii^ices here and there led up
to a silent wilderness of heather ; and across the bare slopes
of the hills the white mists moved like great troops of ghosts
— armies that met and parted, that met and mingled together
in a silent strife — obeying the mysterious behests of the spir-
its of the winds. And by-and-by a curious and suffused light
began to declare itself behind these moving veils of mist;
higher slopes of the mountains, hitherto unseen, became visi-
ble in a ghostly fashion; the glow of light increased; and
then, as the clouds parted and passed on, the bright warm
sunshine sprung down in their wake, and the mighty hills
shone in resplendent greens and yellows. The decks of the
Sea-Pyoi soon dried up ; water-proofs were thrown aside, and
now the rolling waves had dashes of blue in them where they
caught the color of the opening sky.
" That is the way with this coast," observed Mr Drummond,
who had lighted his pipe, and contentedly stretched out his
legs on the white deck ; "'^ the weather changes every thirty
minutes, and the scenery every thirty seconds. Miller, why
don't you go below and get something to eat .'* "
" Thank you. By-and-by," was the answer.
" Shall I ga down and get some things out for you "i " Vio-
let suggested.
This was a kind offer, for the young lady had been intrusted
with the tiller — under the superintendence of Captain Jimmy,
who stood hard by — and she was amusing herself with vari-
ous small experiments as to how near the wind Sea-Pyoi
would sail.
" Oh no ; don't you trouble," he answered.
" Here, Captain Jimmy, take the rope," she said. " My
RAIiV, Wn\D, AND SPEED. 187
arms can't hold out any longer. Come along, Mr. Miller;
Duncan and I will get you something."
He could not very well refuse so friendly a proposal ; and
so at last he got up, threw off his water-proof, and followed
her down the twisting companion-stairs. A small bell sum-
moned Duncan into the saloon. And now Mr. Miller found
himself the object of those very attentions which, since his
arrival in the Highlands, he had observed Violet pay to Mr.
Drummond. She played the part of handmaiden to perfec-
tion ; and he could not do otherwise than appear grateful to
her. And yet he was dimly conscious that her manner to-
ward him was not that she displayed toward Mr. Drummond.
She was solicitous about his comfort, it is true ; but it was
with a friendly, half-patronizing solicitude such as an old
campaigner, if bent on kindness, might show to an inexperi-
enced young person encountered by chance. It was in a very
different way that she treated Mr. Drummond. With him she
was all meekness and submission ; she was content to remain
a silent listener so long as he pleased to speak ; such little
services as she could render him were all done in an under-
hand, unobtrusive manner as if she would rather not have
them noticed.
" Don't you wait down here, Violet," said he ; " I am sure
you would rather be up on deck,"
" Oh no," she said, carelessly ; " I have constituted myself
chief cook and steward on board, for I don't think Duncan
is up to much, and I must see every body properly fed. As
soon as you have finished, I want the table. I mean to sur-
prise Mr. Drummond with an apricot-jam pudding at dinner ;
you will see his look of wonder when that appears."
" I should have thought so profound a philosopher would
not have cared for such trifles," remarked Mr. Miller.
" It is because he is a philosopher," said Violet, warmly,
" that he cares for both little things and great things."
" Including apricot-jam."
"I don't see any harm in any one liking apricot-jam. I
like it myself — I am most particularly fond of it."
" Well, of course ; you show yourself a most docile pupil
all day long."
She took no notice of the sneer against herself, for she
was bent on clearing her master and teacher from the deadly
charge that had been preferred against him.
"If there is any body in the world that puts little stors by
eating and drinking and such things, it is Mr. Drummond.
He is not one of the men who live only to get good dinners
i88 MADCAP VIOLET,
and a lot of money. He is the most unworldly and unselfish
man I have ever seen or heard of."
There was a little extra color in her face. The young
man, who was busy with the cold pie, did not answer ; per-
haps he was afraid of saying all he thought just at that mo-
ment.
Violet rang the bell.
" Duncan, as soon as Mr. Miller has finished, will you
clear the table, please t And get me the flour and things, and
an empty bottle, if you haven't a roller. When will the men
have their dinner } "
Duncan paused for a minute ; his English was not fluent.
" I think, mem, when we get into Loch Sunart."
" Then I will make a pudding for them too ; and you can
have that first, for we sha'n't want dinner till seven."
" Very well, mem."
" Would you kindly ring the bell when you have finished ? "
she asked, somewhat coldly, of Mr. Miller; and then she
turned and left the saloon, and went on deck.
By this time they had got well past Loch Salen, and right
ahead of them lay the open Alantic, with Tobermory light-
house on their left, and on their right the gaunt precipices of
Ardnamurchan Point running out to the ocean. The sun
was wearing round to the west ; and a warmer light lay over
the vast panorama of mountains, shores, and sea. The wind
had gone down a bit, too ; and Captain Jimmy was looking
forward to the tifne when, having got up to the mouth of Loch
Sunart, he should be able to alter the course of the Sea-Pyot
and let her run in before the wind to her anchorage for the
night.
Mrs. Warrener linked her hand within Violet's arm, and
led her forward a bit, apparently the better to command a
view of the open sea.
"Violet, what have you been doing to Mr. Miller? "
" Nothing," the girl answered.
" There is some thing the matter with him : you see that."
" Yes, I do," she replied ; and then she said, with proud
indifference, " I have done nothing to offend him that I know
of. If he chooses to make himself unpleasant, how can I
help it ? Look at him now — reading a book, and taking no
notice of all this wonderful place. We may look forward to
a delightful trip if he keeps on in that way."
"Violet," said Mrs. Warrener, gently, ^' you ought not to
speak of him like that ; you ought to make excuses for him."
" Why should I, any more than any one else ? I wish to be
RAIN, WIND, AND SPEED. 189
as friendly with him as with any one ; but when I see him mak-
ing this return for your brother's kindness in asking him to go
with us — "
"Oh, James doesn't mind. Probably he doesn't see it."
" I wish I could believe he was sea-sick," said Violet, rather
cruelly. " But it isn't that, for he has been smoking cigars all
day. People say that on board a ship is a dreadful place for
making people quarrel , but we haven't been on board here long
enough, surely. There is one thing, however, certain enough.
A ship is a bad place to bottle up inflammable materials in.
If he imagines himself wronged or hurt in any way, there will
be an explosion — and that before long."
She was right in her conjecture, as events were soon to
prove ; but in the mean time, could any thing be more peace-
ful and peace-suggesting than the scenes through which the
Sea-Pyot was now gently bearing them .? They had turned
aside from the broad waters of the Sound, and were now run-
ning, "before a light breeze, into a long and winding loch that
lay between hills and mountains of singular beauty of form and
color. The solemn evening light, touching the higher peaks,
seemed to add to the silence and loneliness of the shadows
below, where the gray heron stood motionless under the black
rocks, and here and there the dark head of a seal appeared in
the smooth waters of the succeeding bays. It was without a
sound that the Sea-Pyot glided past the successive headlands ;
but her arrival was announced from time to time by the far call
of the curlew, startling the silence of the place, and awakening
answering cries from other seabirds along the coast. At length
they sailed into a solitary little bay, where the water was almost
without a ripple, and here the impressive stillness that reigned
around was suddenly broken by the loud, harsh rattle of the
chain-cable as the anchor plunged. The curlews whistled
their warning-note as they fled along the shore ; the sea-pyots
screamed shrilly as they flew away across the loch, skimming
the water in their flight ; a single heron, uttering a low, harsh
croak, heavily lifted his long wings and disappeared in the
gathering twilight. Then all was peace again ; and the dark-
ness came gently down over the mountains, and over the still
bosom of the lake, until one could scarcely make out the
shore.
If the prosaic details of yachting had been prominent dur-
ing the day, they were no longer so in the mystic silence of the
night as the stars came out over the hills, and the ripple against
the side of the vessel broke in a million sparks of phosphores-
cent fire. Then the moon arose ; and the shore and the hills
190 MADCAP VIOLET.
began to appear again in the glowing light, until another world
stood revealed, cold and silent and still. The red glow of the
cabin sky-light was the only point of intense color in all this
pale picture ; even as in the yacht itself, where peace and si-
lence seemed to prevail, there was but one fierce and hidden
fire — in a man's heart.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MAGIC MERGANSER.
At this point, and in common courtesy to his readers, the
writer of these pages considers himself bound to give fair
warning that the following chapter deals solely and wholly
with the shooting of mergansers, curlews, herons, and such
like fearful wild fowl ; therefore, those who regard such grace-
less idling with aversion, and are anxious to get on with the
story, should at once proceed to chapter twenty-three. There
is no just reason, one might urge, why fiction should speak
only of those days in a man's life in which something supremely
good or supremely bad happened to him — ^jumping over the far
greater number of days in which nothing particular happened to
him — and thereby recording the story of his life in a jerky, stac-
cato, impossible manner. Destiny is not forever marching on
with majestic stride ; even the horrid Furies sometimes put away
their whips. Give a man a gun, place him on a highland loch
on a still day in August, show him a few dark specks swimming
round the distant promontories, and he will forget that there is
even such a thing as to-morrow. To write out the whole story
of his life in this fashion would, of course, be impossible ; for
it would be twenty times as long as the longest Japanese drama
in existence ; while the death-rate among the readers — say
twenty-four in a thousand per annum — would interfere with
the continued attention demanded by the author. But occa-
sionally, in the briefest story, one of these idle and unmemor-
able days ought to come in, just to show that the people are
not always brooding over the plan of their lives. Anyhow —
and this is the long and short of it — three out of five of the
passengers on board the Sea-Pyot are going in pursuit of mer-
gansers, and the gentle reader is entreated to grant them this
one holiday, which will be the last of its kind.
" What else, indeed, could they do .'* There was no wind
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 191
to take them out of the beautiful little bay in which they
were anchored. When Violet came up and saw how still
and clear the water was — small fish, " cuddies," could be
seen at a wonderful depth — she immediately darted down
again and brought up with her one of the bottles out of the
cruet-stand.
" Did you ever see the most beautiful thing in the world ? "
she called out.
When they confessed they had not, she emptied, regardless
of expense, the contents of the mustard-pot into the sea,
close by the side of the vessel, and immediately the great
shining depths beneath them were filled with particles of
glittering gold, the sun gleaming on them as they slowly
sunk, and causing the sea to look as if it were so much
Goldeiieswasser from Dantzig.
" That is a pretty trick. Miss Violet," remarked a tall gen-
tleman standing there. " Perhaps you will kindly fill that
bottle again ? "
" Oh yes, certainly," remarked the young lady, with much
coolness, as she went below.
" Now, Jimmy," continued Mr. Drummond, turning to the
skipper, with whom he had been talking, " you don't really
mean to say that a seal flung stones at you ? Come, now — I
will make every allowance for winter-time — and idleness —
and the necessity of stories ; but you know, Jimmy, that is a
little too much — "
" I declare to you, sir," said the yellow-bearded, brown-
complexioned man, with some Highland vehemence, " it is
as true as you are standing there. Is it stones ? Tam him,
he nearly felled my head off wi' stones as big as your hand,
and bigger. For I was in a boat when I shot at him ; and I
sah he couldna get down to the watter ; and I knew that I
had struck him. And when I got on the shore to run up to
him, tam him, be began to fling the stones at my head ; and
he did not fling them as a man would fling them, but back-
ward, with his head turned away from you ; and you should
hef seen how he will catch the stones up with his fins, or his
hands, or whatever it is. And there was no use waiting, sir,
so I will run up to him as hard as I could, and I will fall on
him then, and catch him round the head, and it was no more
stones he will fling after I had the grip of him. See ! sir, see !
■ — there is one now — going into the weeds."
About sixty yards off, making in for the shore, they could
descry a round brown object, moving from side to side.
Young Miller, who had his gun in his hand, instantly put it
192 MADCAP VIOLET.
up to his shoulder ; Drummond as quickly caught the barrels
and turned them aside.
" By the ashes of my grandfather, there shall not be a shot
fired at a seal while we are in these waters ! What is the
use ? If you wound him, he dives ; if you kill him, he sinks ;
and if yOu got him, what would you do with him ? The skin
is worth nothing. Then he is the most harmless and gentle
creature — "
*' Especially when he throws stones at you."
" Wouldn't you throw stones, or any thing else, at any one
who peppered you with a charge of duck-shot ? "
" Then what are we to shoot when we go out to-day ? "" in-
quired the younger man, with some resentment. " You have
got up a regular list, now, of things that must not be touched.
If they only knew, the birds and beasts might come on board
here as a sort of sanctuary — "
" Well, I will tell you what we must shoot. First of all,
that abominable wretch, the curlew, for he is a screaming
tell-tale, and he is likewise very good to eat. Then I believe
those gentle creatures below are rather anxious to have some
heron's feathers ; you may shoot a heron or two when you
get the chance — only they don't, as a rule, come and perch
on the point of your barrels. But, above all, we must slay
duck — wild duck — the bird that looks inelegant in the air,
but beautiful on the table — him we must seize by fair means
or foul, else we shall have nothing to break the monotony of
mutton for days and days to come, and we may even run
short of mutton, if we come to a place where the postmaster
hasn't been killing lately. Three or four miles from here, up
one of the side lochs, Jimmy says the place swarms with
duck, and there will be some that are flappers yet. I grieve
to think of destroying these young things before they have
grown tired of the world ; but Jimmy says they are exceed-
ingly good to eat. Of course, if these duck had any sense,
they would give up eating grass and fresh water-weeds, and
take to sea-weed, and shrimps, and young jelly-fish, and so
on, until they grew as fishy as a fine, old, rich-flavored solan.
Then people would let them alone."
" But this is salt-water we have here."
" Yes."
" And it is salt-water in the loch we are going up ? "
" Certainly."
" Then what are the wild duck doing here, if they live on
fresh-water weeds ? "
*' I don't know. How can I tell ? I am informed that wild
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 193
duck abound here in great numbers ; I have seen birds re-
sembUng duck swimming in the loch ; I have asked if they
were widgeon — no, they are not widgeon ; that is . all I
know."
'• Perhaps they come down from the mountain streams to
have a swim in the loch."
" Perhaps they do. We will shoot them, and ask them for
an explanation."
It was about ten o'clock that forenoon that the gig was
lowered and two stalwart young fellows got in to hand down
the guns, cartridge-bags, luncheon-baskets, etc. Just as Mr.
George Miller had taken his station at the bow, the men on
the thwarts, and Mr. Drummond at the stern, and as they
were about to bid " Good-bye " to those left on the board the
yacht, it suddenly occurred to Miss Violet that she would like
very much to join this shooting expedition. She pleaded
earnestly. Mr. Miller opened his eyes wide, and said she had
better do nothing of the sort. Mr. Drummond, looking up
from his seat in the stern, said,
"Are you willing to have your ears dinned ? "
" Quite."
" Are you afraid of being shot ? "
" Not if I sit near you : if I were six yards off, I should
be."
This insult was too much.
" Give way, lads, give way ! " he called out.
" No ! Don't ! Wait a minute ! " she called out also ; and
the men stopped.
" Please, Mr. Drummond, let me go with you, and I shall
be most respectful to you the whole time. You want somebody
to bring back the story. You could not, your two selves, begin
to tell all the wonderful things you did. Please let me go ? "
" Come along, then," and he rose and handed her down in-
to the boat, where she took her seat beside him. In another
minute or two the gig was well away from the yacht, making
for a narrow channel in the loch between some small islands
and the main-land.
" Now," said he to his companion, " you must preserve
strict silence."
" Very well," she said, obediently.
Having placed this injunction on her, he forthwith pro-
ceeded to descant most unconcernedly on the quick hearing
and long sight of birds, on the cunning of savages in captur-
ing wild animals, on the instinctive yearning in civilized life
for a brief return to the freedom, physical toil, and excitement
13
194 MADCAP VIOLET.
enjoyed by the savage in his pursuit of game and so forth,
and so forth. She remained absolutely silent ; but there was a
demure smile about her lips. It was not until he was pro-
ceeding to expou^id to her that the radical vice of the English
political character was its contempt for parochial affairs — that
every boy fresh from the university was prepared to reform
the Constitution, but would not stoop to learn any thing of
the local raising and application of taxes, and so forth, that
she ventured to say,
" Do I speak more loudly than you ? How is it you have
no fear of frightening away the birds .'' "
Just at this minute they were startled by a loud whirring of
wings and a shrill whistle ; and a large gray object was seen
to flash along the front of the rocks ahead of them. Bang !
bang ! went two barrels at the bow — the bird flew on and dis-
appeared. But now on all sides, in this seemingly silent and
deserted place, a wild confusion arose. Half a dozen oyster-
catchers flew out from the shore, their red bills and legs shin-
ing in the sun, and made away up the loch ; everywhere there
was a calling of curlews ; a flock of sandpipers rose and
twisted about in the air exactly like snipe ; two or three her-
ons, with slowly flapping wings, and legs hanging down, dis-
appeared over the nearest promontory.
" Why didn't you shoot that curlew ? " Drummond called
out.
The answer showed that the young man at the bow had
been nursing a silent rage all this time.
" I should like to know how we are likely to shoot any thing
so long as you go on talking like that," he said, sharply.
" And I knew how it would be."
" Why," Drummond called out, good-naturedly, " the bird
wasn't thirty yards off when he rose ; you won't get such an-
other chance at a curlew if you wait here twenty years."
" Well, I think we may as well go back to the yacht."
" I don't think you can swim as far, can you ? Never mind,
Miller ; we must keep quiet now. You needn't pull, lads ;
the current will carry us through those channels. Miller,
keep a good lookout."
There was now no more about the instinct of savages or
the taxation of Camberwell ; for the rising tide, producing a
strong current running up the loch, was carrying the cutter
silently through certain twisting channels between the island
and the shore. The shore was at this point both rocky and
wooded — young ash and birch coming down in many places
close to the water ; while round the islands the tide was still
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. v 195
low enough to display a broad fringe of brown sea-weed.
There was therefore every chance of finding plenty of wild
fov/l about.
Silently and stealthily they stole by the successive promon-
tories, sometimes catching a glimpse of a heron heavily flying
away far ahead of them, and again listening to the distant call
of the curlew. Suddenly Miss Violet touched her compan-
ion's arm. A heron had come right overhead ; flying from
the shore, it had discovered its mistake too late to turn right
back, and was now making for the islands. Miss Violet put
her hands to her ears, but she still looked up. The next
second her head was violently shaken by the report of the gun
and a huge confused mass of feathers came tumbling down
into the sea, some five-and-twenty yards oif. When they
rowed back for it against the current and hauled it on board,
they found it to be a very large heron, about three feet and a
half from bill to claw, and in very fair plumage. But they had
scarcely got the heron into the boat when their attention was
called to a flock of birds that had risen from the shores of an
island near, and were twisting this way and that in the air,
the flock showing white one minute and gray the next.
" Surely they're snipe ! " called out Miller ; and one of the
sailors — who seemed to have as much interest as any one in
what was going on — called out in reply,
" Ay, they're snipe, sir ! see, there they're coming round
now."
, The flock made one of their abrupt wheels, and swept by
the bow of the boat some forty yards oif. Mr. Miller fired
both his barrels into the thick of them — anxious to have the
larder of the yacht supplied with such goodly prey — and as
the birds sheered off to the left, Mr. Drummond sent a part-
ing shot after them. Three fell.
" Only three, after all that noise ! " called out a young lady
who had promised silence.
But what was their disgust, on pulling up to the birds and
hauling them in, to find that, in place of the coveted snipe,
they were only poor little sandpipers, whose fatal resemblance
to the snipe in their length of bill and manner of flying had
brought on them this destruction. The disappointment of
the shooters, however, was as nothing to the pity expressed
by their gentle companion, who regarded herself as an acces-
sory to this slaughter of the innocents.
" You can eat sandpipers," remonstrated Mr. Miller.
'' You can eat thrushes and nightingales," was the retort,
*' and who wants to do that ? "
196 ' MADCAP VIOLET.
By this time they had drifted thioogii the narrow channels,
and the men took to their oais again. They were nowin
front of a broad and shallow bay, some four or fire miles in
ciicmnference, tbe smooth waters of which reflected the ten-
der colors of the great mountains l)Tng between the level
shores and the sky. In many places these flat shores showed
long stretches ctf white sand coming down to the water's edge
and there fringed with an abundance (rf weeds that offered
excellent shelter for wild f owL Indeed, they could now de-
ciy, at several points near the land, certain groups ol dark
specks moving slowly in the water ; at last they had come to
the haunt of the wild dm^
They had no dog, no stalking-horse, no flat-bottcxned punt ;
there was nothing for it but to pull straight for the doc^, on
the chanch of getting a shot when they rose and wheekd over-
head. It was also very doubtful whether they could get any-
where near the lanc^ the water in this broad and sandy bay
being so shallow near the shore. Already in the far cr^-stal
deeps they could descry the long tangles of tiie sea-weed;
they seemed to be passing over transparent roof dL a magical
marine palace garlanded by the mysterious inhabitants erf the
sea.
The five birds they were now approadiing showed no agn
either of getting up or betaking themselves to the exposed
sea-weed erf the ro^s, where they could easily have hidden
themselves. They only swam a little more actively about
in the water, obviously r^;arding the strangers, and perhaps
drawing a trifle nearer to the shore. At last Mr. Miller said,
in a lood idii^ier,
^ Shall I fire a shot to put them up ? We shall be aground
directly."
" All-right," was the answer.
Miller, who was crouching down, stealAily put the barrels
of his gun over the bow, put the stock to his shoulder, and,
taking a long and steady aim, fired. The silerure of the bay
resounded to the report! Then Mr. Drummond, jumping up
to take better aim, looked round.
There was no sign whatever of the duck. Miller had seen
the shot strike the water all round them and over them ; but
they had apparently ducked the flash so successfully that not
a feather remained to tell of their having been there. The
two sportsmen stood in the boat, gun in hand, in momentary
expectation of seeing one of those black objects re-a|^jearon
the sur^u:£ of the blue water. They waited in vain.
Just then one of the oarsmen called aloud and pointed to
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 197
three duck flying almost overhead, at a considerable height,
and toward the stern of the boat. It was but a hap-hazard
shot ; but all the same Mr. Drummond put up his gun and
fired.
" I have him this time," he said, as one of the three came
down like the stick of a rocket and splashed into the water.
Mr. Drummond paid no attention to the bird ; he was busy
in putting another cartridge into the empty barrel ; but Violet
called out,
"Where is that duck? I can't see him."
There was no duck visible.
" Confound it ! " said Drummond, " I never saw a duck
like that before."
" I see him, sir — there he is ! " cried the sailor Alec ; and
then the two plunged their oars in the water and made away
for the spot where the bird had come up — some hundred yards
or so from where it had fallen. Directly, however, the duck
dived again ; and was no more seen, though they waited about
the place for five or six minutes.
They would try again. They pulled across the loch — with
curlews and sea-pyots and sandpipers screaming and flying
before them — and again they drew near a group of those dark
objects which were paddling in by the shore. On approach-
ing them, however, these birds did make an effort to rise ;
but they could only whir along the surface of the water for a
short distance, whipping it \vith their wings as they went.
" By Jove ! they are flappers," Drummond called out.
"Pulfaway, my lads; you shall have a brace for your din-
ner."
The young duck could fly no farther ; they were swimming
as rapidly as they could, looking round every minute at the
enemy, who was rapidly gaining on them. At length Miller
called out,
" We must fire now, or they will dive : take the outside
ones first."
Again the silent bay resounded with the loud banging of
the guns ; and one after the other charges of shot struck the
water, churning it into a white foam. The seven birds had
separated, swimming in various directions ; so that the aim
and effect of each shot were clearly visible. By rights four
of the birds should have been killed; for apparently four
charges of lead had struck down on them ; but when the
smoke had cleared away nothing was to be seen but one of
the birds that was half fluttering and half swimming in to the
land. For a second or two they waited to see if any of the
198 MADCAP VIOLET.
Other six would come up again ; they looked in vain : in their
bewilderment they called on the men to pull after this remain-
ing duck, which was at least visible.
Visible ? That had disappeared too.
" Will any body tell me," Mr. Drummond asked, looking
round in amazement, " whether we are in a Highland loch or
in some confounded incantation-scene ? Alec, my lad, do you
really say these birds are wild duck t "
"Ay, sir," said the young sailor, seriously, "it iss sure
enough they are wild duck ; but it iss not easy the shooting
of them, for the wicket teffles they will tife and hould on to
the weeds at the bottom."
" No, no, no ! " Drummond cried, scornfully, " no man will
persuade me that these are wild duck. Your mallard is a re-
spectable and gentlemanly bird, and when you kill him he
dies, and there is an end of it. Gracious powers, look at
that!"
He pointed to the clear and shallow water, and they could
see a sort of wavy track in it some few yards off. Directly
afterward they saw that this was a bird — probably one of
the duck that had dived farther out — swimming under the wa-
ter with singular rapidity, and making for the shore.
" We must have this fellow, anyway," Drummond called
out, " for there is no weed at all there ; " and, just as he spoke,
the bird bobbed up its head and looked around. Drummond
fired ; the shot struck the water exactly at the proper
place ; but the bird had dived before it reached him. The
bow of the boat grated on the sand ; they could pull no far-
ther in. But once again the duck, finding no shelter, ap-
peared on the surface of the water ; and this time a snap-
shot of Mr. Miller's stretched him lifeless.
" The wicket wee teffle, we hef him now ! " remarked Alec,
as he jumped into the water and waded across to the bird.
" Now let us examine this mystical creature," Mr. Drum-
mond said, " and if it proves to be a new phenomenon — a
being hitherto unknown to science — we will give it a name.
I suggest Anas magica — "
" I should think jack-in-the-box vulgaris would do," inter-
posed Violet.
The mysterious wild fowl was here handed into the boat.
Certainly it bore all the outward signs of being a duck. It
had the ruddy-brown and gray-speckled plumage of a duck ; it
had the white banded wings and the tail of a duck ; it had
the heavy, waddling body of a duck ; it had the webbed feet
of a duck. The only apparent point of difference was the
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 199
bill, which, instead of being short and flat, was long, narrow
and pointed, with a row of small, sharp, serrated teeth on
each side.
" Alec ! " Mr. Drummond suddenly exclaimed, " I believe
you have deceived me. This is no cluck at all."
" Ay, sir, it iss a duck," Alec maintained, adding philosoph-
ically, " and it iss ferry good for eating whatelfer."
" Why, man, look at the bill — that bird lives on fish. He
will taste like a gannet or a douker. Why — now when I
think of it — surely it must be — I am certain this must be the
merganser — "
'' The what ? "
" The merganser. I never saw one ; but when I was at
Oxford a man I knew there shot one of them, one very hard
winter, quite close by the town ; and I have a vague recol-
lection of his believing he had shot a brace of wild duck.
Alec, you don't mean to say that you call this animal a duck t "
" It iss a duck, and it iss no others you will get ; and ferry
good they are for the eating," Alec maintained, sturdily.
" Well, well, if you say so, we must try to get some more.
How many cartridges have w^e fired } The merganser takes
a deal of powder and shot : he ought to be good for the eat-
ing."
And so the luckless merganser was pitched beside the
dead heron ; and there was no use remaining in this bay,
where all the birds had been disturbed by the firing (even the
gulls were wheeling high in the air), the men pulled away for
the next ann of this long and winding loch. The world had
grown still again, save for the clanking of the oars. They
saw one or two seals off an island lying out in the lake ;
their black heads motionless on the smooth water. At last
they came in sight of a long promontory partly covered with
wood ; and here it was judged advisable that young Miller
should go on shore, creep round by the wood, and steal out
to the end of this promontory, while Mr. Drummond, in the
boat, would lie in ambush for such birds as might be driven
his way.
The young man went off — picking his way over the big
stones and through the tall weeds that here lined the shore
— and by-and-by they saw him crouching along by the land-
ward hollows until he disappeared on the other side of the
promontory. They awaited the result of his expedition in
absolute silence. Suddenly, however, Violet touched her
companion's arm. A heron — with an indiscretion that rarely
characterizes that most wary of birds — was coming slowly
200 MADCAP VIOLET.
down the loch, and apparently about to pass the boat at not
more than twenty yards' distance. Indeed, he had got to
within thirty yards of the bow — flying close to the water, and
apparently quite heedless — when he sheered off a bit, and
that so little, that he remained within shot for at least ten or
twelve seconds. Mr. Drummond did not put up his gun.
" One is enough," he said, indifferently ; " you will have
plenty of feathers. And that was a young one — both young
and foolish — "
Here they heard the crack of Miller's gun ; and directly
afterward it seemed as if these silent coasts had sprung into
life. There was a calling and shrieking of birds ; another
shot, and still another, followed in quick succession ; three
or four herons appeared over the promontory (looking huge
objects against the clear sky), and rose high into the air as
they made for the mountains — a string of ducks was seen to
shoot across the loch, followed by another shot from the
point — and all about came flying curlews, and gulls, and
oyster-catchers, the last flying most quickly of all, with their
white and black plumage gleaming in the sun. Mr. Drum-
mond had his gun in readiness for the curlews ; but as they
successively came down the loch they caught sight of the
boat and got easily out of reach. All except one ; and that
one had come over the bushes above before he discovered
wdiat was lying underneath. He gave a shrill whistle and
altered his flight; but it was too late; the next second he
was lying motionless on the still water.
At this moment they saw young Miller on the top of the
promontory, waving to them with his cap.
" Pull away, boys," Drummond said, when they had picked
up the curlew. " I suppose he wants to chase some more of
these mergansers."
When they came up to the promontory, they saw several ob-
jects lying on the water, while at the feet of the young man
lay a heron extended on the rocks. They picked up the birds
for him — two sea-pyots and a merganser — and then pulled in
for the shore, where they all landed to have luncheon.
" What's the use of shooting sea-pyots ? " Mr. Drummond
asked. " There were lots of curlew about."
" I shot what I could get to shoot," the young man answered,
testily. " I haven't seen you shoot a curlew yet."
"You might have done," was the careless answer, " if you
had been in the boat. However, I suppose the girls will be
able to do something with the plumage — it is very beautiful."
*' No, thank you, as far as 1 am concerned," Violet said ;
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 201
'•' I only wanted some of those gray feathers of the heron. It
seems a pity to shoot birds for no reason at all."
The young* man sat down to his luncheon in no very enviable
mood. He was convinced that if Mr. Drummond had shot
the oyster-catchers she would have found reason enough.
Fortunately, he was not dependent on the caprices of a girl ;
and as he had come out to enjoy a day's shooting, he was de-
termined to enjoy himself in his own fashion ; and she might
continue to show such preferences as pleased her.
Cold mutton, bread, and bottled ale are very welcome things
when one has been plunging about in the Highland air for four
or five hours ; and then there was a soda-water bottle half
filled with whisky for the sailors, who had their share of the
luncheon in the boat. They were now within sight of the
extremity of this arm of Loch Sunart, which is called Loch
Tyachus, or some such name ; so that whatever remained to
them of shooting was confined within this long shallow bay,
which was even larger than the one they had previously ex-
plored. Moreover, Alec informed them that there were always
large quantities of duck up at the head of the loch, where a
river came down to the salt-water ; and it was a'matter for
speculation whether, in this fresh water, there might not be
some mallard or teal. To get a few ducks of this description
would guard them against the risk of finding the mergansers,
in spite of Alec's vehement assertions, uneatable.
" Do you see those cottages away up there at the head of
the loch ? " said Mr. Drummond, as he lighted a contempla-
tive pipe. " Fancy living in such a place — all by yourself —
confronted day and night by those lonely mountains. One
might get into a sort of apprehensive state — so that each
morning you might get up and be quite surprised that the
whole bubble hadn't burst up — "
" What bubble 1 " asked Violet, innocently.
" Why, the earth. You couldn't know^ much of history here ;
and even then history is but a point. The Romans knew no
more of how they came into the w^orld than we do ; they and
we are but as one in that — and in the point of time too — and
to-morrow the whole business might be cracked up by a col-
lision, and the universe go on without heeding that trifling
and common occurrence. I don't see any road to those cot-
tages. If the people come along this shore, their carts must
have strong axle-trees. And, in passing, a lurch might mix
up two carts just as if they were railway-carriages. I re-
member a friend of mine, an Englishman, who used to drive
his family about the country in a wagonette, and one day he
202 MADCAP VIOLET.
he came to that awfully narrow bit in the Pass of Brander,
and just then he found the coach coming down the other
way. By rights he should have taken the outside, where
there isn't a stone to save you from the brink of the precipice ;
but he swore to himself that no human power would take him
to that side of the road. The coach came on ; the guard blew
his horn ; my friend stuck to the right of the road, close by
the hill. The coach came close up. 'Take your own side of
the road ! ' bellowed the driver. ' Take your own side of the
road ! ' bellowed the guard. * Mes amis,' said my friend, with
a shrug of the shoulders. * Je ne vous comprends pas ! '
* Take to your own side of the road, you unmentionable
foreigner ! ' called out the driver again. My friend only smiled
sweetly, and took off his hat with a most courteous bow.
There was nothing for it. The guard tried to explain by
signs : no use. They had to lead the horses of the coach past
on the outside ; and then, as my friend drove on, he kissed
his hand to them, and said, * Mes bons amis, je vous donne
mille remerciments ; |e baise les mains a vous, messieurs.' "
If Mr. George Miller and Violet had been on more inti-
mate terms they would have looked at each other signifi-
cantly. Both had an awful conviction that no such person as
this mock-Frenchman existed; that no such incident had
ever occurred ; that the whole thing had been suggested by
the imagined difficulty of getting two carts to pass each other
on the stony shores of Loch Tyachus. But they could not
give utterance to these suspicions at the moment, for they
were now summoned down to the gig of the Sea-Pyot by the
intelligence that a large brood of ducks was visible farther
along the shores of the loch.
There was a trifle more vigor in the pulling of the men
after the luncheon and whisky, and the boat swung forward
at a good speed. Once they were suddenly checked by the
appearance of a bird sitting on the water a short distance
ahead; but it turned out that this was only a small glebe,
and so they proceeded. By-and-by they came near to the
cottages ; and they could distinguish one or two women, v/ith
a lot of children, who had come to see what strange intrusion
was this. The birds were now but forty or fifty yards ahead,
well inshore ; and with a caution to avoid firing in the direc-
tion of the cottages, lest the ricochet of a stray shot should
reach the children, Drummond called on his younger friend
to fire on chance. A charge of shot dashed into the water ;
the whole of the birds dived and disappeared but one, that
got up and flew out toward the middle of the lake, making a
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 203
semicircle round the boat. Miller, at the bow, having just
put in another cartridge, fired his first barrel ; and one could
see by the direction of the smoke, wadding, and so forth,
that the shot must have rattled all round the duck. He fired
his second barrel, and again the direction seemed all that
could be desired. Drummond, the bird having now got
farther round, also had his two barrels at the flying target ;
and when the duck was finally seen to get clear away from all
these showers of lead. Miss Violet clapped her hands and
declared that he deserved to escape.
" It was a merganser," observed Mr. Drummond, thought-
fully ; " any other bird would have been killed four times
over. Each of those charges went all round him ; and yet he
never moved a feather — "
The speaker stopped. What was this enormous bird com-
ing flying down at a great rate of speed, with long neck out-
stretched and huge wings .-*
" Look out ! " Miller cried. " A wild goose, by Jove ! "
He had the first shot, and evidently struck the bird, which
altered its line of flight ; but before it had gone much farther, .
a charge of No. 3 from Mr. Drummond's gun had caught the
prodig)^ which now fell head-foremost into the sea-weed.
" Put round the boat, Alec ! " cried Miss Violet, in great
excitement. " Now, that is something ! Pull away. Alec !
quick — quick ! "
" He's dead enough," said Mr. Drummond, for indeed the
large bird was lying among the brown sea-weed with its wings
outstretched.
" It is as big as an albatross ! " said young Miller. " And
he got the full benefit of my first barrel before you brought
him down."
But at this moment the whole complexion of affairs was
changed by a singular incident. They now observed that
one of the women was coming down to the shore, uttering a
series of shrill sounds that appeared to be violent reproaches,
and shaking her clenched hand in the air. Our voyagers
stared at each other. What could be the matter ? As she
came nearer, it appeared she was an old woman, violently
excited, and calling out to them in a language they could not
understand. *
" We can not have hurt any body," said Mr. Drummond ;
" there was no firing anywhere near the direction of the cot-
tages."
"" I think it wass the goose, sir," said Alec, gravely.
" The goose ? "
204 MADCAP VIOLET.
"Ay; I think the goose wass belonging to the old woman."
An awful possibility flashed into their minds. By this time
they had run the boat in among the stones ; and they got out
and went up to the old woman, who, still scolding away in this
unknown tongue, was standing by the body of the dead bird.
When they regarded the luckless animal their fears were con-
firmed. It was, in fact, a respectable old gander.
"Gracious heavens! Alec," cried Drummond, "will you
explain the matter to this furious old woman ? Tell her that
geese in our country don't go flying out to sea and pretend-
ing to be wild birds. Tell her this old gander fell a prey to
his vanity. Tell her — "
But Miss Violet had taken a better way of silencing the
old woman. She had put a couple of sovereigns in her hand
and held them out. The old woman ceased her angry de-
nunciations, and regarded the coin with a suspicious curiosity.
She took them up, looked at them, bit them wdth her teeth ;
then she called aloud for her neighbor, a younger woman,
who was shyly standing at some little distance. The latter
came timidly forward, and, when appealed to, looked at the
sovereigns. The result of the examination was not favora-
ble.
" Na, na ! " the old woman cried ; and she w^as beginning
once more to denounce the wanton cruelty of the strangers,
when Alec, in as forcible Gaelic as her own, broke in upon
her.
What ensued, of course, our travelers could not tell ; they
could only guess from gestures and tones. At length Alec
said, wdth a sort of bashful smile,
" She'll no tek the English money, sir. She thinks that
you intended to kill her gander, sir-^"
" Why don't you tell her that such a fool of a bird richly
deserves its fate?"
" She says if you will pay for it, it must be in good
money — "
" Does she mean in one-pound notes ? "
■ "Yes, sir."
This was awkward. Not one of them had a Scotch note.
Seeing their dilemma, Alec said, with some hesitation,
" I hef one or two notes, sir — "
"All right. Alec. Let's have a couple of them ; and here
are two good English sovereigns."
" Ay,'^ said Alec, with still greater embarrassment, " but
they are sewn up in the waistband of my troosers — "
" All right — cut them out ; you can sew them up afterward."
THE MAGIC MERGANSER. 205
"Ay, sir," said Alec, looking very doubtfully at his master,
" but 1 will hef to tek the troosers off — "
" Oh, I see," said Mr. Drummond, hastily. " Well, off you
go up to the cottage, turn the children out, and get the
money. I am sorry to spoil your clothes for you, but you
shall all have an extra glass of grog to-night — "
" And you shall have a pudding for to-morrow's dinner,
seeing it's Sunday," added Violet.
" And a merganser apiece," suggested Mr. Miller, with a
laugh.
It was not without a great deal of arguing that the old wo-
man would consent to Alec's going up to the cottage, for she
evidently suspected he meant to steal her fowls ; and when
at length she allowed him to go, she went with him as guard,
while she left her neighbor to look after the others, lest they
should run away with the gander and leave Alec as an un-
profitable hostage.
Moreover, when they came back from the cottage they
were still arguing and quarreling.
"What is the matter now, Alec? Haven't 3'ou found the
money ? "
" Ay, I hef the money," said the young sailor, showing the
two notes in his hand, " but the old witch she will want the
money and the goose too.; an' I will say to her she gets far
too much for the goose ; and when the goose is paid for, it
will be no longer belonging to her."
" Never mind. Alec. Give the old woman the money, and
her gander too. They were together in their lives, and in
death they shall not be divided. Get into the boat, young
people. Good-day to you, old lady : beware of keeping vain
and pretentious ganders." •
So they stood out to sea again, resolved to commit no
further farm-yard depredations. And indeed they were fairly
successful in another direction ; for, having by slov/ degrees
worked this way and that across the loch, they had driven
the birds up to the shallow water at its extremity, and here
the sea-fowl would inevitably pass them again rather than go
inland. As for the wild duck, which Alec had prophesied
would be found in large numbers around the estuary of the
small river, they discovered that these were but the ubiqui-
tous merganser ; and as grave doubts existed as to whether
the flesh of the merganser was worth its salt, they were more
intent on getting a few curlews, with perhaps a golden plover
or two, several of which they had observed beyond range.
Certainly, when they got up to the head of the loch, there
2o6 MADCAP VIOLET,
was no lack of birds. In every direction there were cries
and warning whistles — some flocks rising in a body and mak-
ing off round the shore, others separating in confusion and
making straight back down the loch. It was out of the lat-
ter that they made their bag. In the noise and confusion,
even the wary curlew occasionally came right over the gig,
and there was a sufficiently fierce discharge of ammunition.
Product of the day's expedition : two herons, five mergansers,
five curlews, two oyster-catchers, and three sandpipers.
Missing, a gander.
It was a long pull back to the yacht, and Mr. Drummond
and Miller were for taking a turn at the oars. But the young
fellows would not hear of that : perhaps they were cheered up
by the promise of a feast on the morrow.
And so the gig glided down between the silent shores of
Loch Tyachus — and passed the islands where the seals were
still to be seen — and got through the narrow channels back
into the bay of Loch Sunart, where the Sea-Pyot lay at her
anchorage. It had been a long, busy, enjoyable day ; to all
appearance no gloomy surmises, no anxious thoughts had
interfered with the pleasures of holiday-making.
Violet knew nothing of these surmises and anxieties ; and
yet she could not help asking herself how it was that Mr.
Drummond sometimes spoke as he had spoken while they sat
on the rocks after luncheon — as if the world had nothing
further for him — as if life were of but little account. It is
true that these utterances had no taint of envy nor even of
disappointment in them ; perhaps, indeed, they were more the
result of hap-hazard fancies than the expression of personal
feeling ; and yet she did not fail to detect in them an under-
note of sadness. She knew there was no sacrifice she would
not gladly undertake for the happiness of this the best of all
her friends ; but how could she, she asked herself, a mere
girl, affect this man's estimate of life 1 She was his pupil, not
his teacher.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A CRISIS.
But Mr. George Miller had no intention of nursing his
wrath in silence. If his suspicions were correct — and his
suspicions had almost become convictions — he would have
the matter out at once. He was not to be kept dangling
A CRISIS. 2of
after a woman who was secretly in love with somebody else ;
if that were so, better for every one concerned that the truth
should be known and the farce come to an end.
He had not to wait long to bring matters to a crisis. Next
day was Sunday — a beautiful, still, brilliant day, with the sun-
light lying warm on the grays and purples of rock and heather,
on the bare scaurs of the granite mountains, on the light-blue
stretches of water around the islands ; and, of course, church
and chapel were alike unknown in this remote and solitary
place. In the perfect silence they could vaguely hear,
through the open hatchway of the forecastle, the voice of one
of the men reading from a Gaelic Bible to his companions.
Mr. Drummond, lying at full length on. the deck, partly shel-
tered from the sun by the shadow of the gig, was deeply im-
mersed in a book, and paid no attention to any thing that was
going on. He would not even stir when the others proposed
to go on shore : and so Young Miller hauled up the dinghy to
the side of the yacht, put the ladies into it, and himself rowed
them in to the land.
It was a beautiful place to idle through, on this bright, warm
day. A road, skirting the sea, took them through a wilder-
ness of rock and fern, of heather and young birch-trees, of
honeysuckle bushes, and rowan-treeS scarlet with berries ; it
led them past mountain-streams that came tumbling down
narrow glens into clear brown pools ; it took them through
woods of young oak and ash ; it led them away up the side of
a mountain, and there, turning round and looking back, they
beheld a marvelou? net-work of islands — resembling a raised
map — lying in the still blue water, each island having a fringe
of yellow sea-weed round its sl»ores. Apparently, the only
inhabitants of the place were the wild duck swimming off the
nearest point, the invisible curlew that kept whistling and
calling each other, and a solitary heron standing among the
sea-weed, like the gray ghost of a bird among the rich brown.
George Miller did not notice many of these things ; he was
too impatiently waiting for a chance of speaking privately
with Violet : and at first it seemed as though he never would
get that chance, for the girl kept up with Mrs. Warrener and
her daughter, who were in front, and of course he could not
ask her to linger behind. At last, however, the opportunity
occurred. They had to cross a deep glen by means of a
wooden bridge that was perhaps eighty or ninety feet above
the water below ; and here Violet paused for a second or two
to cast some pebbles down into the clear pool between the
rocks and bushes.
2o8 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Violet," said he, rather peremptorily, " I want you to
speak frankly with me for a minute or two. Let them go on.
I think it is time we had some sort of explanation."
She was vexed and annoyed that she should become the
victim of those recurrent interviews whenever she forgot to
avoid being alone with him ; but she said nothing. She
awaited v»'hat he had to say with an air of respectful atten-
tion.
" You know what I mean," said he, speaking rapidly. " I
have as much patience as most men, and I don't wish to
bother you ; but, after all, it is time we come to some sort of
explanation ; or let the whole thing come to an end."
He uttered the last words with some vehemence.
" Or let what come to an end ? "
" The sort of expectation, or understanding, that some day
you will become my wife."
" I am quite willing that that should come to an end."
He had almost expected her to say that ; and he was more
angry than disappointed. And yet he endeavored to sup-
press any sign of mortification — partly from pride, partly from
the consciousness that an exhibition of temper could avail
him but little.
" It is no use, then, my waiting any longer. You have
definitely resolved that our relations should cease "i "
" I — I have wished that they should cease," she said, in a
low voice ; " and I thought you knew that — "
" And your reason ? "
" I am sure I am very grieved to thinly that you may be
hurt, or offended, or disappointed," she continued, not no-
ticing his question. " And when you said you would rather
wait, I thought that was a great pity ; but now, since you
think it better all this should end — "
" I think it better ? " said he, with bitter vehemence. " It
is you who think it better ; and if you will not tell me your
reason, I will tell it to you. You think you have been
blinding me ? No. I have been looking on at the farce."
She turned her large eyes upon him with a gaze of wonder
and inquiry ; but. he did not fail to observe that her face
paled somewhat.
"What do you mean? " she said, slowly.
" Do you think you have blinded me ? Haven't I seen the
pitiable fashion in which you have become the very slave of
that man — echoing his opinions as if he had all the wisdom
m the world — toadying and fawning upon him — "
She drew herself up to her full height.
A CRISIS. 209
" You do not believe what you say," she said, with a proud
smile.
" I do know," he said ; and now he had lost control over
himself, and his wounded vanity made him talk wildly. " I
tell you that all the v/orld can see it — all the world except
himself, perhaps, for he is only a baby. And you know what
I say is true. Look at me in the face — I dare you look at
me in the face — and deny that you love the man."
That was a challenge ; and all the wild, rebellious blood
in the girl leaped to her heart. To cringe before the accuser
— to deny the one highest and holiest feeling that her nature
had ever known — that could not be Violet North's first im-
pulse at such a moment. There was a strange, proud light
on her pale face as she said,
" And if I do not deny it "i I have many things to be
ashamed of : not that. No ; if I were to die just now, I
should think my life had been a happy one, only to have
known such a man as a friend."
He was simply thunderstruck. He had seen much, and
imagined more ; but for this be was not prepared. Then the
audacious courage of the girl astounded him. What could
this glad, proud light on her face mean, but that her whole
being was wrapped up in an earnest, unreasoning devotion ?
He knew then that his case was hopeless, and he had
sufficient vanity to prompt him to put a good face on it.
*' I suppose," said he, with a forced smile, " that, now you
have been so frank, there is no more to be said. I wish you
had been a little franker some time ago — but that does not
matter now. Let us part good friends, Violet."
He held out his hand.
" Are you going away ? " she said, in a low voice.
"Yes," he answered, cheerfully. I couldn' tthink of dis-
turbing your domestic peace. Good-bye. If you don't go on
at once, Mrs Warrener will be coming back to look for you."
She stood irresolute, but she allowed him to shake hands
v/ith her. Then he turned and walked away.
" Mr. Miller ! "
He stopped and looked back. She advanced to him, with
her eyes bent downward, and a sort of tremble about her lips,
" I wish," she said, in so low a voice that he could scarcely
hear her, " to ask your forgiveness for whatever pain I may
have caused you. Believe me, I am very sorry ; I thought
at one time it might have ended differently — "
" All right," said he. " Don't trouble about that. Good-
bye, Violet."
^210 MAD.CAP VIOLET,
He turned once more, and went off down the hill, leaving
the girl to rejoin her friends, with the consciousness at her
•heart that a great event had happened in her life, with what
probable consequences she could not at all foresee. She
knew that it was better for both that this definite explanation
should have been made, and an end put to a hopeless condi-
tion of affairs ; and yet memory went back over the past two or
three years with something of regret, and in her secret heart
She was hoping that her now discarded lover would not think
too harshly of her in the time to come.
" Where is Mr. Miller, Violet 1 " asked Mrs. Warrener,
when Violet had joined the two who had gone on. •
" He has gone back to the yacht."
Her friend regarded her with curious eyes.
" You have been quarreling again," she said.
" No, not at all."
" Well, you will get to the end of these disagreements when
you marry, I suppose," said Mrs. Warrener, with a smile.
" That is always the way. Young people are always quarrel-
ing, because they are jealous, and exacting, and unreasona-
ble ; they get to know each other better when they are mar-
ried."
The girl's cheeks burned red.
" There is no use speaking of that, Mrs. Warrener. Mr.
Miller and I will never be married."
The little fair-haired woman laughed : she was not to be
deceived — she had observed too much of the ways of young
people in love.
" Of course not," she said, in her quiet, shrewd way.
" It is always parting for ever and ever — over the wearing of
some trinket, or the giving an extra dance to a rival. A
solemn farewell for life ; and the next day they meet and
make it up quite easily. What is it all about, Violet .'' "
" If you please, dear Mrs. Warrener, I would rather not
speak of it," the girl said, gently ; and there was an end of
the matter.
But as George Miller went down the hill and along the
shore toward the bay where the yacht lay, his private thoughts
were scarcely so composed and cheerful as his manner of
bidding good-bye to Violet had ostensibly been. It was not
pleasant for a business-like young man to know that he had
been spending two or three years of his life in chasing a
rainbow. Then there would be the confession to his friends
that he had failed, and the spectacle of this girl whom he
had hoped to make his wife publicly declaring that she pre-
A CRISIS. 211
ferred James Drummond — a man of eight-and-tliirty, who
would cage her up in a small cottage on a narrow income,
and expect her to become a sort of upper housemaid. Not
much chance for her now of driving in the Park, which, even
as a girl, she had enjoyed.
What fascination, what enchantment, had so perverted her
mind ? The more he thought of it, the more bitter he be-
came, until he had almost persuaded himself that his rival
had been for years trying to cajole the girl's affections, that
he might marry the daughter of a rich man. If Mr. Miller
had been in his right mind, he would have burst out laughing
at this suggestion ; but he was not in his right mind ; and his
jealous fancy brooded over the idea until he was ready to
believe that the small yacht out there, lying peacefully in the
ba}^, contained one of the most treacherous, specious, and
malicious villians that had ever cursed the world.
He got into the dinghy and rov/ed out to the Sea-Fyot.
Mr. Drummond got up, and took the painter from him, and
helped him on board.
" Where are the others ? " he said.
" Gone on farther than I cared to go."
He sat down again and took to his book ; the younger
man went below.
In a few minutes Mr. Miller came up to the top of the
companion-stairs.
" Can you let me have the knife I lent you last night ? " he
asked.
" It is in my cabin somewhere. If you want it, I'll go
down and get it."
" I would rather have it," was the answer.
So Mr. Drummond followed him down-stairs. What was
his surprise to see that Miller had put on the table of the
saloon a knapsack which he had brought with him, and that
it was partially packed.
" What are you about ? " he said, with a stare.
" I mean to leave you now," the young man said, calmly.
" I owe you fourteen cartridges ; there they are — they are
No. 4 ; but I suppose that won't matter. Can you give me
the penknife ? "
James Drummond only stared the more.
"What do you mean 1 "
*' What I tell you. I am leaving the yacht,"
" But what is the matter ? "
" Nothing."
" Where are you going ? "
212 MADCAP VIOLET.
" I shall walk over to Loch x\line, and get some boat
there."
"Miller what's the matter with you? You can't walk
over to Loch Aline to-day ; you don't know the road : I
doubt whether there is an inn there."
" Nevertheless, I am going," the younger man said, with
a sullen determination.
Most men, in such circumstances, would have told him he
might go a deal farther than Loch Aline, for aught they
cared; but Mr. Drummond had a kindly feehng for the
young man.
" Is it a quarrel with Violet ? "
" I thought you would hit it," said the other, with an evi-
dent sneer. " I see you have expected it. Well, are you
satisfied 1 "
There was altogether something in Miller's face that
James Drummond could not understand. He began to won-
der if Miller had discovered a whisky-still on shore and
drunk himself mad. But he had not to wait for any further
explanation ; because the rising passion of the young man
broke through his forced composure, and he began pouring
forth a torrent of angry accusations. Drummond had in-
veigled away the girl from her people ; he had flattered her
school-girl vanity by making a companion of her ; knowing
that she was practically engaged to one who had her father's
sanction, he had treacherously induced her to break her
word; and so forth, and so forth. Drummond listened to all
this with astonishment, but also with absolute self-control.
" I have a great mind," said he, " to take you up on deck
and drop you overboard — that might cure you of your mad-
ness. Whoever has put all this stuff into your head ? "
" Don't try to deceive me any further ! " Miller said, with
his lips white with angry excitement. " You have done it
well enough already. You knew I was to marry the girl —
you knew her father wished it — and yet you set to work to
draw her away from me."
" Then, why are you here ? " said Drummond. " If that
was my design, why did I ask you to join us here 1 It seems
to me that looks more like bringing you two together."
" You can't blind me ! " the young man cried, with a scorn-
ful laugh. *' You knew the mischief was done. You knew
the girl was ready to cut off her hand for you, if you asked
it. You knew that she gloried in her infatuation — "
''Look here. Miller! " said James Drummond, with a dan-
gerous contraction of the brows, " I believe you are as mad
A CRISIS. 213
as a March hare. You may talk nonsense about me to
your heart's content, but leave Violet out of it. Gracious
Heavens, I wonder to hear you, man ! You pretend to love
the girl ; and you may go mad like this with childish sur-
mises. Why not go frankly to her, and learn for yourself
that this is mere dreaming and folly — "
" Yes, and then ? " exclaimed the younger man. " What
then ? I fmd she draws herself up — boasts erf her love for
you — has not even the shamefacedness to deny it — and then
you pretend you know nothing about it ! Bah ! "
He turned to the knapsack, and continued his packing.
For a second or two James Drummond stood absolutely
silent.
*' Miller, do you know what you said just now ? "
There was no answer.
" Was that a lie ? "
" You know it was no lie. You have stolen the girl from
me. What is the use of having more words about it .-' "
Drummond went up on deck. The beautiful, fair, still
world around him seemed part of a dream ; he could have
prayed for a bolt of God's lightning to break the awful silence
and assure him that he lived. He was in a trance from
which he could not escape ; he was a dreamer that wrestles
with his dream and strives to awake. It was no joy to this
man to hear that a young girl had offered him the treasure of
her first love. An infinite sadness filled his heart and blinded
his eyes ; the wild pulsations within his breast seemed so
many stabs of remorse ; his imagination was stunned by a
gloomy sense of the irrevocable.
He did not stir when George Miller came up on deck.
He regarded him as if he too were part of this wild, strange
dream, as the young man hauled up the dinghy, dropped his
knapsack into it, and got in himself.
"Miller!"
" Well ? "
" There is some frightful mistake about all this. Wait till
they come back."
'• No, thank you ; good-bye. I have put an address on my
gun-case : if you can put it on board a goods-steamer, I shall
be obliged to you."
There was a splash of the dipping oars, and the small
boat drew away tow^ard the shore.
It vv^as not for an hour after that James Drummond saw
any other signs of life along that solitary coast ; then three
figures came down to the rocks, and a shawl was waved.
214 MADCAP VIOLET.
He called up two of the men and sent them ashore with the
gig. That hour of self-communion seemed to have left his
face somewhat worn.
" Where is Mr. Miller ? " said Mrs. Warrener. She
guessed he had gone, when she saw the dinghy on shore.
" He is gone away — to Loch Aline," said Mr. Drummond,
calmly. " I want to speak to Violet by herself about this.
Violet, will you come down to the saloon for a minute ? "
She follo\ved him down the steps and into the saloon ; and
he shut the door. She was trembling a little, why, she
scarcely knew ; nor could she understand the great sadness
of his face as he regarded her.
" Violet," he said, " is it true what he sa3^s ? "
She involuntarily retreated an inch or two, and her fingers
were clenched in on the palms of her. hands.
" He told you, then ? " she said, in a low voice.
" Yes. Let us be frank. It is not true — my child, my
child, you must tell me it is-not true."
He clasped her hands in his, and for a second she was
frightened by the intensity of emotion visible in his face.
But her native courage did not forsake her. Her face was
white enough; but she said, without a quiver in the low
voice,
" And why do you wish me to say that ? "
" Don't you know — don't you know, my poor child ? Have
I kept my secret so well ? Don't you know how I have
loved you, and hidden away all my love for you — so that I
thought you had not even a suspicion of it that would grieve
you — all to see you happy as a young girl should be happy,
with a young husband, and plenty of friends, and a bright,
gay world before her ? And now — have I betrayed my trust
— but, Violet, it can not be true — you have had a quarrel — "
She had been drinking in every word — her pathetic, anxious
face turned up to his, her eyes swimming in tears ; and when
she seemed fully to comprehend the meaning of his words,
he was suddenly interrupted. She uttered a quick, low cry
of joy, and hid her face in his bosom. The assurance she
had longed for was given.
He put his two hands on the rich folds of dark hair, and
put back her head, and looked down into her eyes with a
wonderful tenderness and sadness in his look.
" What is done can not be undone ; I wish, for your sake,
child, it could. I have destroyed your life for you — you, a
young girl, just beginning to know how fresh and beautiful
the world is — "
A CRISIS. ^15
" Did I know it was beautiful until you taught me ? " she
asked, in a low voice. " Have you not shown me what it is
to be gentle and noble and unselfish ? When I have been in
your house I have been happy ? outside of it, never. And I
thank God for giving me such a friend."
"A friend — if it had only remained at that," he said.
"That would have been better for you, Violet."
Her answer was a singular one. She gently released her-
self from his embrace. She took up his hand, and timidly
kissed it.
" You are more than my friend : you are my lord and mas-
ter," the girl said, with a proud humility ; and then she
silently opened the door and went out. That interview was
something for a man to think of during the rest of his life.
Now during the remainder of that day some shade of mel-
ancholy seemed to hang about the spirits of this little party
of travelers, which Mrs. Warrener naturally attributed to the.
fact of Violet having quarreled with her sweetheart. She
would have the map examined to see the number of miles ;
and hoped he would, if he failed to reach the place, have
sufficient sense to claim hospitality from* some farmer. Amy
was inclined to be cross with her friend ; for she could not
understand why a girl who was so amiably disposed toward
those around her should be so cruel to a gentleman who paid
her the compliment of asking her to become his wife. On
the other hand, Violet was more than ordinarily affectionate
toward her former school-companion ; and, not content with
giving her a couple of lace handkerchiefs which had somehow
got among her things, would press on her acceptance the
much more valuable box of elaborately cut ivory which con-
tained them.
" Do you know, Violet," the girl remarked, " what mamma
said about you the other day ? "
" I hope it was something very nice."
" She said it was a good thing for you your ears were fas-
tened to your head."
" Because otherwise I'd lose them ? "
" No ; because otherwise you'd give them away. I don't
know how you manage to keep any thing."
The calm afternoon wore away. They had a quiet dinner
in the saloon in the evening ; after dinner thay sat up on
deck, in the warm night-air, to watch the moonlight rise over
the black hills ; then by-and-by the ladies went below, and
James Drummond was left alone.
Spmehow, as he sat there and bethought him of all that
2i6 MADCAP VIOLET.
had happened during the day, and of the new future that lay
before him, a singular and glad change of feeling set in. He
would accept the great gift that had been given him, not to
rejoice over it as an acquisition, but to cherish it tenderly as
a trust. If it did seem so that this girl had placed her future
in his hands, he would requite her confidence with an un-
ceasing love and devotion. Nay, he grew bolder than that.
He would take it that the highest point in his life, too, had
been reached : long after he had hoped for such a thing, the
bright, beautiful time of existence had arrived — the year had
its spring-time in it — the singing season of the birds was not
yet over — there was sweet roses yet unblown, and a woman's
heart and eyes to grow proud and glad at his approach. At
last — at last ! All the happy centuries the world had rolled
through seemed but to have led up to this one culminating joy.
Now the heart might break — now life might go — since the
best the world contained had been pressed to his bosom !
CHAPTER XXIV.
LOVE WENT A-SAILING.
It was impossible for this girl — young as she was, and
ignorant as she was of many common experiences — it was
simply impossible for her to love where she did not respect
and honor. Her whole nature would have risen in revolt
against an " infatuation." If by some mishap her heart had
got entangled where her head could not approve, she would
have crushed the growing sentiment at any cost. And thus
it was, after a gallant and loyal endeavor to see the best in
George Miller — partly because she retained some trace of her
old school-girl interest in him, partly because she dreaded the
reproach of having encouraged him to no purpose— rshe had
at last, when driven into a corner, refused him point-blank.
Hitherto, indeed, there had not been the remotest chance of
her marrying the young man, though neither he nor she was
aware of the fact. Considering herself as, in a measure,
bound to him, she had done what she could to blind herself
to his real nature ; but it was of no use. Her clear, shrewd
perception was not to be dulled by arguments or reasons ad-
dressed by herself to herself : behind the winning and grace-
ful exterior of the young man she saw only poor aims and
narrow sympathies, the mean ambitions and contracted pre-
LOVE WENT AS A I LING. 217
judices of the hopelessly commonplace. It was with no
sense of doing any thing remarkable or noble that this girl of
twenty threw away her chances of marriage with a young,
rich, and singularly handsome man ; preferring the mere
friendship of one who was much her senior, who was whim-
sical, provoking, erratic, and who was very much given to
making fun of her. There was no choice at all for her.
Young as she was, she was fascinated by the charm of un-
w^orldliness about this man's character, by the thousand
quick glancing beauties of his mental nature, and by the gen-
tle kindliness and thoughtfulness of his outward acts. In
his society she felt that she breathed a freer intellectual at-
mosphere ; life was not all bank-accounts and Bayswater.
She was his humble disciple ; he, her master ; she was con-
tent to sit at his feet and listen.
But who can tell of the proud and glad delight with which
she knew for the first time that this her wistful worship had
met with a far higher reward ; that he whom of all men she
most regarded with love and admiration had hidden her as
the secret treasure of his bosom ; that, instead of the clear,
cold light of an intellectual friendship — beautiful, indeed, but
pale as winter sunshine — there was burning for her a brighter,
and warmer, and more beautiful fire on the very hearth-stone
of his heart .'* The joy of it ! Her whole being seemed
transfused with gratitude ; the world was a beautiful and
friendly world : what had she done to deserve this great hap-
piness ? At first she could scarcely understand it or believe
it at all ; the shock of the surprise was too great ; then, by
slow degrees, she tried to realize her position. But not for
one moment did any thought of communicating this discover}^
or of making any arrangements as to the future, enter into
her mind; and the same might be said of him too. To both
it v/as merely a happy consciousness, an understanding be-
tween themselves which was too sacred for the outward world
to know. Neither wished to proclaim the good fortune that
had befallen them ; the babblers on the house-tops had
enough to interest them. It is very doubtful, indeed, whether
either ever thought of looking forward to their marriage : it
v/as enough for him that in the mean time he had a better
right than ever to extend a tender, protecting care over the
wayward girl ; it was occupation for her to study how she
could best be grateful for this great happiness by placing her
meek service at the feet of her " lord and master."
How rapidly her life seemed to grow and enlarge, minute
by minute 1 She had dawdled over years, with half-developed
2i8 MADCAP VIOLET.
sentiments and school-girl fancies, and the years seemed no
more than hours ; now the hours, full of the experiences of a wo-
man, were as many years. She remembered with a kind of
dismay that she had at one time regarded Mr. Drummond
as an elderly man — as a person to be treated with fear and
respect rather than with an intimate confidence. What were
the actural facts of the case ? She was twenty ; he w^as
thirty-eight. Eighteen years made a great difference — thus
she argued with herself — on paper ; but what difference did
they make between him and her ? She had grown old, had
become a woman, in two or three years ; the same period of
time had made no difference at all to him. He appeared to
discovered the fountain of perpetual youth. Was there any
man she knew, young or old, who had such an irresistible
gayety of spirits, such a fascinating brilliancy of life ? And
then, she said to herself, with a proud smile on her lips, if
his hair were as white as snow, and his step as feeble as now
it w^as quick and eager, and his eyes clouded over with care,
she would none the less be his meek disciple and his faithful
friend, considering herself honored among women if only he
would accept the utmost treasures of her love and devotion.
Such a love as this — and it suffused the whole nature of the
girl, her mind as well as her heart — could not well be affected
by years.
But all this was of the inner life — a secret sacred to them-
selves ; their outer life was much as usual. He was too
fond of mischief, and she was too quick-spirited in resenting
it, to allow any unnecessary seriousness to embarrass their
outward relations. If their regard for each other was both
grave and tender, their manner toward each other was even
a trifle more defiant than of yore; until Mrs. Warrener had
to intervene and rebuke her brother for ^ teasing the girl.
His plea was that people always quarreled on board ship, es-
pecially in a dead calm ; and that as soon as the Sea-Fyot
got out of Loch Sunart, Violet and he would be friends
again.
That happened about four o'clock on the Monday.
" Violet," he called down to the cabin, " come on deck !
A fine breeze has sprung up ; we are getting under way ; and
we can't bowse the bobstay until you appear ! "
When she came on deck, and looked around, there was
certainly enough bustle going forward. Captain Jimmy was
rather anxious to get out of this land-locked little bay ; and
as the breeze had sprung up quite suddenly, the resolve to
get out to sea was quite as sudden. At last something of
LOVE WENT A-SAILING. i\c^
quiet prevailed ; and the plasli of water began to be heard
along the side of the Sea-Pyot.
" Where do we go now ? " she said.
" Away to the north — anywhere — wherever the wind takes
us. If the breeze keeps up, we will make Isle Ornsay to-night,
and to-morrow morning you will find yourself under the moun-
tains of Skye."
Was it the absence of a certain gloomy-tempered young
man, or the new sense of motion and activity in getting away
from the still loch, that seemed to arouse the spirits of all on
board 1 Mrs. Warrener fetched up a bottle of whisky, and
served out a glass all round to the men, to the celebrate their
departure ; her brother — humming to himself, in a doleful
manner,
" Yo, heave, ho !
II etait beau,
Le postilion de Lonjumeau ! " —
generally stood by to let draw the foresail sheet when the ves-
sel was put about ; while Miss Violet and her companion Amy
were listening with great interest to some perfectly preposter-
ous stories which Captain Jimmy, who was at the tiller, was
telling about the beautiful whisky made by tlie illicit stills in
his youth. There was a good deal of brisk animation on
board, indeed ; for they were beating down to the mouth of
the loch, and the constant tacking in this comparatively nar-
row channel required some watching and quick work. The
skipper took it very easy, however. Sure of his knowledge
of the coast, and sure of his men, he did not cease to regale
the two young ladies with tales which were of very doubtful
authenticity; while his ruddy, good-natured face occasionally
broadened into a smile at some profound joke of his own mak-
ing. It was universally admitted that J^och Sunart was a very
beautiful place, but they were not sorry once more to get out
to sea.
Now, by the time they had got clear of Loch Sunart out into
the mouth of the Sound of Mull, a rich golden glow was over the
western sky, and the open Atlantic before them had its blue
waves splashed with yellow fire. They were running along
swiftly with the wind on the port beam ; and the farther ouc
they got to sea, the more wonderful became this v/orld of li^ht
and color. Far away at the horizon lay a long, low island,
that seemed almost transparent in the burning glow ; and then,
as they got well round Ardnamurchan, they beheld in the
paler north the ghostly mountains of another island, resting on
the sea like clouds. Unhappily, however, as the colors in this
220 MADCAP VIOLET,
world of water and sky grew richer and deeper, the wind grad-
ually fell. The sea still rolled in its gold and purple all around
them ; but the great mainsail occasionally gave an ominous
flap ; and as the evening wore on, the question was propounded
whether they might not be rolling out here all night, unable
either to go on or to go back. They did not grumble. Even
the worst that might befall them was far from being misery.
They sat on the deck and watched the gradual change. An
island at the horizon became of a rich dark purple, under a
streak of pale salmon-colored sky ; above that there was a
clear expanse of golden green, fading into cold grays, and ter-
minating in a dark-blue overhead. On the other side of the
vessel, a couple of miles off, lay the main-land — a series of
dark and mountainous precipices stretching down to the point
of Ardnamurchan ; and now, as they waited and watched, a
pale-yellow radiance appeared over these mountains, and the
moon arose into the clear purple vault. The mists on the
western horizon disappeared ; the sun, a glowing orb of crim-
son, was sinking behind the sea. They were eager to see
the actual dip of this mass of fire ; but now a great vessel,
with all her sails set, and looking large because of her intense
blackness, moved slowly across. She, too, seemed to be at
the horizon ; perhaps she got more wind farther out ; at all
events, she moved slowly on through the red glory the sun had
left behind him. Now another light appeared, glimmering
through the sky-light of the saloon, and the faint tinkling of
Duncan's bell summoned them dov^^n below.
When they came up on deck again, with shawls and wrap-
pers, all the magic of a summer night at sea was around them.
It was of no concern to them that the great sheet of canvas
hung loose and limp from gaff to boom : whatever wind there
was was dead aft, and they still managed to creep on a bit ;
for the rest, it would not have much mattered had they been
absolutely stationary. When again in their life-time would
they be likely to be in such a scene ? — the mystery of the sea
and the silence of the night around them ; the yellow moon
filling the cloudless sky and touching here and there the roll-
ing waves ; the far heights of the main-land becoming clearer
under this wan radiance. It was a night of romance, of won-
der and joy, to be forever memorable to at least two of those
figures sitting on the white deck. Here they were, cut off
from all the world— their home a small craft tossing on the
open waters of the Atlantic — their two companions their clos-
est and dearest friends — life had no more to give. The time
went by with talk and laughter, with snatches of song, and
LOVE WENT A-SAILING. 221
with a silence sweeter than either, for it was more in harmony
with the beauty and the mystery of the night. They watched
the stars grow more brilliant as the moon went down toward
the south. Far away over the noiseless sea a gleaming point
of fire burned under the dark precipices — that was Ardnamur-
chan light-house. The moon got farther down, until at last
it reached the horizon, and then a wonderful sight was seen,
as of a ship blazing in the night. Some clouds at the horizon
had got before the setting moon — there was a strange, awful,
confused glory of yellow fire — and then that faded out, and
the world was left with the paler light of millions of stars that
shone down on the black islands and the sea.
What this man thought of, during those periods of silence, in
the wistful sadness of the night, is not to be put down here,
to be read in a railway train, or yawned over after dinner.
But sometimes, indeed, his fancy took a more playful turn,
and pleased itself by adorning the girl sitting beside him with
all sorts of imaginary graces such as were beloved by the old
lyrical writers. They had been humming certain of these
quaint verses ; he, in silence, saw before him the noble and
beautiful dames and maidens whom they celebrated ; he trans-
ferred — merely for amusement's sake, and because he had a
purely intellectual delight in his love for her, which was now
allowed ample liberty of indulgence — he transferred to her
these graces, and excellences, and quaint divergences of char-
acter. She was the gay Campaspe who robbed Cupid of his
bow and arrows ; she was the fair Pamela, matchless in her
dignity; she was Cynthia, the forest's queen, at sight of whom
the glad birds began to sing ; she was Lucasta, Althea, and,
perhaps more than all, that tender Chloe " who wished her-
self young enough for me." Or was she not rather the queenly
maiden of the Epithalamion — "
" Now is my love all ready forth to come ;
Let all the virgins therefore well await ;
And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight :
Set all your things in seemly good arra}',
Fit for so joyful day ;
The joyfulest day that ever sun did see.
Fair sun ! show forth thy favorable ray,
And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be
For fear of burning her sunshiny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fairest Phoebus ! father of the Muse !
If ever I did honor thee aright.
Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,
222 MADCAP VIOLET.
But let this day — let this one day — be mine ;
Let all the rest be thine !
Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring."
And as for her — as she sat there in the clear starlight, with
her arm round Amy's waist, sometimes looking out on the
dark Atlantic, at other times at the ruddy and cheerful glow
of the skylight over the saloon ? Well, she had less acquaint-
ance than he with these literary celebrities ; but if she had
wished to choose out one of the songs, snatches of which they
had been humming or singing, to convey the deepest feeling
of her heart, she knew well which one that would be :
** Bid that heart stay, and it will stay
To honor thy decree ;
Or bid it languish quite away
And 't shall do so for thee :
Bid me to weep, and I will weep
While I have eyes to see ;
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee."
It was of no consequence to her that these words are supposed
to be addressed to an imperious woman by her humble lover ;
it was enough for her that they conveyed a perfect expression
of her absolute self-surrender, of her love, and respect, and
meek humility.
" Bid me despair, and I'll despair,
Under that cypress-tree.
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee !
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me — "
Was not this absolutely true ? She saw things as he saw
them ; she was schooling herself to have scarcely an opinion
of her own. And when she asked herself, during the still-
ness of this magical night, whether in sober fact she could die
to please this man whom she loved, she did not answer (even
in her imagination) with rhetorical phrases, but the proud
swelling of her heart was to herself sufficient response.
The dark sea lapped all around the boat ; the yellow star
of Ardnamurchan light-house was still visible far away in the
south ; and the point of the topmast, as the vessel rolled, wan-
dered among the gleaming jewels of Cassiopeia, now right
overhead. What o'clock was it ? They did not care. They
chatted, hummed snatches of songs, or sat quiet to listen to
FOREBODINGS. 223
one of the sailors, who, on the lookout at the bow, was singing
to himself, " Farewell, farewell to Finnorie ! "
Strangely enough, too, neither of these two found any con-
straint or embarrassment in the continual company which is
thrust upon one on board a yacht. They had no secrets but
the one great secret ; and of that they did not care to speak
even to each other. What could be the good of talking over
this sacred treasure, which the bountiful heavens had so sud-
denly given them ? At this point in their lives they w^ere ab-
solutely content. To exist was happiness ; they troubled them-
selves little about the future ; they did not wish to consult in se-
cret over plans ; they had an abundant faith in each other ; they
were independent of the interference or opinion of friends.
That was, indeed, a beautiful, happy night, long to be remem-
bered.
But in course of time, as there seemed little likelihood of
the Sea-Pyot reaching Isle Ornsay before day-break, they
were forced to go below, with great regret. Somehow Violet
North did not sleep much for the remainder of that night ;
not, indeed, until after she had heard, in the clear light of the
dawn, the loud roar and rattle of the anchor going down. In
the stillness and darkness of the little cabin she lay and
thought of many things, and these not of the saddest ; while
the lapping of the waves without, that she could but faintly
hear, was a sort of lullaby to her. Were these not strange
phrases, too, interfused with that monotonous sound, and com-
ing wandering in among her wistful fancies of all that she was
to do to prove her love and gratitude — such phrases as these :
" Bid me to live " — " Thou art my life, my love, my heart "
— " The very eyes of me."
And then at last, as the first sunbeam of the morning glim-
mered through the sky-light, and as the vessel ceased from
moving, those glad and busy fancies departed one by one,-
and happiness rocked her heart to sleep.
CHAPTER XXV.
FOREBODINGS.
When she v/ent on deck the following morning, the first
shock of the marvelous beauty around her bewildered her for
a moment, and in spite of herself tears rushed to her eyes.
Over there were the splendid waters of the Sound of Sleat
224 MADCAP VIOLET.
rushing in darkened blue before the fresh, strong breeze of
morning; beyond this glowing and dazzling sea stood the
great mystic masses of mountains around Loch Hourn, show-
ing wonderful hues of crimson and purple, and blue, soft and
pale like some ethereal velvet ; close at hand was the neck of
land that inclosed the little bay, running out to the light-house
point, and on the other side of the bay the bright, warm shores of
the island of Skye. The air was sweet with the freshness of
the sea ; the sunlight flashed on the rushing waves : where
could she find in all the world a more splendid panorama of
mountains, sea, and sky?
James Drummond was alone on deck. When he took her
hand, she meekly waited until he kissed her on the forehead :
that was thereafter to be their morning greeting.
"We shall remember these days in the Highlands," he said.
" Each of them is worth many years to me."
She looked up ; and then for the first time he noticed that
her eyelashes were wet.
" I hope we shall not remember them with pain," she said
quickly, struck with something in his tone.
" No ; why should we ? But what has been troubling vou,
Violet ? "
She began to laugh through her tears.
"Shall I tell you?"
" If it is no very terrible secret."
" This has been troubling me — too much happiness. .And
it is to you I owe it all — every thing — my being here, and all
that followed."
The extreme self-abnegation of the girl touched him deeply.
It was not a thing to be idly argued away with commonplace
phrases.
" Come," said he, cheerfully, " put your arm in mine, and
we will go for our morning walk, Violet."
They took a turn or two up and down the deck. It would
have gladdened the heart of the merest stranger to have seen
the brightness of this girl's face.
" And what are you going to write about next ? " she asked,
humbly.
" Oh, I don't know," he answered. " Holiday-making is
our business at present."
" When I was in Canada," she observed^ " I copied a great
many of papa's letters."
" Yes," he said, not catching her drift.
" I can copy manuscript."
"Yes."
FOREBODINGS. 225
He would not see.
" If — " she said, in desperation — " do you think — that I —
that I could be of any use to you when you are writing ? — any
use at all — "
He stopped ; and she cast her eyes down — blushing and
embarrassed. With both hands he gently pushed the beauti-
ful hair back from her forehead, and raised her face a bit,'
and regarded her with a great kindliness, with perhaps a
touch of sadness in his look.
" Violet, you must not speak of being of use to me. You
talk as if I had done you some favor. God knows it is very
different from that : you have altered the whole world for
me."
His hand was a little more firmly pressed ; that had glad-
dened her. But all the same she said,
" I will not speak of it, if you do not wish it. But I know
that what I am trying to do is right."
So far, well. What she now proceeded to do was scarcely
in accordance with these submissive tenets. Amy Warrener
came on deck ; the two young ladies had a private talk to-
gether. Then there was a plunge down into the cabin ; after
which they came on deck again, and appeared much inter-
ested in the fastening of the rope which attached the dinghy
to the yacht. At this moment Mrs. Warrener made her ai>
pearance, and walked up to the two girls.
" What's this you have, Amy ? What is this, Violet ? I
thought so ! "
She dispossessed then of two pretty little packages, each
containing a bathing dress.
" So you were going to slip away ashore ? "
" Indeed we were ; and we are ; and why not ? " said Violet,
boldly, but not at all liking this publicity.
" And you were going away along that wild shore, where
there isn't a living thing to be seen — "
" That was why we wanted to go," observed Mi^s Violet.
" To seek out some place where you don't know the cur-
rents and tides ! I tell you, Violet, you will be drowned some
day, as sure as you are alive now. Haven't you had a lesson
already ? "
'' No."
The fact was that about half a mile from Castle Bandbox,
in a little, quiet, sheltered sandy bay on the coast, there was
a private bathing-machine, the owners of which had offered a
duplicate key to Mr. Drummond for the use of the young
ladies. They availed themselves of the privilege only too
15
226 MADCAP VIOLET.
freely ; for Miss Violet would never be deterred by tlie rough-
ness of the sea, notwithstanding Mrs. Warrener's repeated
assurances that she w^ould be drowned. Amy Warrener was
a good deal more timid ; and it was some story of hers as to
an imaginary danger into which Violet had got that was now
brought forward to enforce her protest.
It was of no use.
"The sea is quite quiet in here," the young lady remon-
strated. " The tide is coming in. We are sure to get a nice
quiet place along there round the point."
" Do you wish to drown yourselves ? "
" Yes. We are quite tired of life," was the calm answer.
" James," his sister called, " come here and stop these fool-
ish girls."
" Mr. Drummond," said Violet, " would you please help
me to get up the dinghy ? We can row ashore ourselves."
He had heard the whole dispute : he remained in mute de-
liberation.
"I have come to the conclusion," he said, slowly, "that
there is a great deal to be considered on both sides of this
question; but if I endeavored to explain its niceties fully,
and hoped in consequence to control the willfulness of a lot
of raging women — will you allow me to proceed ? — I should
resemble a spider that has set its web to catch a fly, and finds
it charged by a bull or buifalo. The broad features of the
case, however — "
" Will you order them down to their breakfast ? "
" Do please haul up the dinghy ! "
" — may be described. There is no just and lawful reason
why these young ladies should not be allowed to go ashore
and bathe."
" Hear, hear ! "
" It is true, if they were drowned, it might be looked on as
suicide; and we might be charged with h<d'mg partidpes critni-
nis. At the same time, and in view of the further circum-
stance that a man, no matter how fast he walks, can not walk
away from the centre of the earth — an illustration which
might come in handy to those who maintain that anthropo-
morphism — like the morphological theory in botany, which
traces the leaf-form — "
What was this going on forward ? The trick was manifest.
He had talked the measure out. Overhearing the dispute in
the first instance, he had quietly asked Captain Jimmy to get
up his men and weigh anchor, the jib being already set ; and
now the young women were civilly asked whether, in the
FOREBODINGS. 227
event of their going ashore, they could swim fast enough to
overtake the Sea-Pyot as she got up farther sail and betook
herself again to the north. There was nothing for it but an
unconditional surrender. Tricked, disappointed, and medita-
ting gloomy schemes of revenge, the two young women went
below to breakfast. Their enemies had not heard the last of
this.'
But when they went on deck again, and found the Sea-Pyot
well out in the bright blue waters, and running free before a
brisk southerly wind, the bracing sea-breeze soon blew away
their discontent ; and all their attention was directed to the
singular beauty of the scenes they were passing. Along the
distant coast of the main-land the mountains were here and
there steeped in a misty blue shadow — just dark enough to
show the gleaming white of a sea-gull or a gannet crossing ;
but on their left the shores of Skye were basking in the warm
sunlight, and they were near enough at hand to see the pink
of the heather, the dark green of the occasional woods, and
the lilac-grey of the rocks by the sea. Very lonely shores
indeed these were : here and there the brown sea-weed or the
sunlit sand showed a long string of curlew, sea-pyots, and
gulls, that rose in dense flocks as the vessel approached, and
flew screaming away to some farther bay. And when at last
they did see some sign of human life in the presence of a few
houses, did not these small hut-like dwellings look only like
part of the debris which had been washed down by the rains
of centuries from the great, shining, silent slopes of the
mountains above them ?
" Look there," said a certain discurstve talker to a select
audience of one person ; " I wonder if those poor people ever
consider how they came to be there. I suppose not : I sup-
pose they consider the great mountains above them were
made to support their sheep, and not very well made either,
for they are very steep and bare. It is not the worker in the
affairs of the world who sees most — it is the idler, the passing
spectators. But I have not been idle this morning — "
" What have you done ? " asked the audience.
" I have but the finishing touches to my epitaph on the race
of publishers."
• " But they are not all going to die ? " she asked.
" Not all at once," he said, " unfortunately. But you could
put this epitaph on the grave-stone of each as he went. And
as I was in among the tombs anyway, I got together a few
other epitaphs for persons I know."
228 MADCAP VIOLET.
*' How very delightful ! What a charming occupation !
Have you got them ? "
" They are all in Latin. No, I have done an English one
for Vernon Harcourt : He resejnhled a VirgiUa7i verse — he was
six feet lo7tg^ and sonorous. Will that do ? Look at those
mountains now — it isn't forty centuries that are gazing down
on you, but forty millions of centuries. And, after all, that is
of no moment — the problem of creation is nothing ; the great
mystery is the existence of any thing. What supports the
tortoise ? Chemistry can resolve the fabric of the world into
elements ; but where did these elementary subjects come
from ? You cannot comprehend any thing without a begin-
ning ; and at the same time you can not imagine — but I think
we are getting into metapheesics, which may be a sort of tel-
luric fever blown across from the Scotch shore. Look at
that cormorant — on the rock — with his wings outspread, as
if he were challenging you to have a rifle-shot at him."
"James ! " his sister called out, as she appeared at the top
of the companion-stairs, clinging with both hands to the
hatchway, " surely the sea is rising ! "
" Not much ; but we have got into the Narrows."
" If she goes on plunging like this, we shall have every
thing down below smashed to bits ; and I shall be ill — which
is Worse."
" We may get into sheltered water when we get round Kyle
Rea point : the tide and the wind are meeting here — that's
what's the matter."
They did indeed get into more sheltered water after they
had rounded the point and stood away for the west, but it
was a treacherous sort of shelter. The wind came down
from the high mountains in sudden gusts and squalls, that
demanded all the care and activity of the skipper and his
men ; one moment the yacht would be lying almost becalmed,
the next moment she would be heeled over almost on her
beam-ends with a heavy gust from the hills. In the moments
of calm, when Mr. Drummond and his companion had less
anxiety about keeping a tight grip of the shrouds, they could
see that by far the most striking picture they had yet met
with lay right in front of them. Nature here seemed self-
composed into a landscape. On the left, the outlines of the
great mountains of Skye descended and ran out to a narrow-
ing point, on which stood the ruins of an old castle ; on the
right another promontory ran out, ending in a light-house ;
between these lay a plain of rough, gray, wind-swept sea;
while the sun, shining behind the shadowed point where the
FOREBODINGS. 229
ruined castle stood, lighted np the great red granite shoulders
of Ben-na-Cailleach and the still more distant peaks — blue,
sharp, and jagged — of the Cuchullins. It was a picture that
altered every minute, as new bays, peaks, and stretches of
sea came into view. When Mrs. Warrener and her daughter
were summoned up to look at it, however, there was a de-
faulter. Miss Amy had considered it more prudent to lie
down.
They had some tight work of it to get into Broadford Bay ;
for, having run along Loch Alsh with the wind on their port
beam, and now bringing her head sharply round to the south,
they had necessarily the wind almost in their teeth, and it
was tearing across the open bay so as to blind them with
showers of foam. Once, indeed, in beating up they got so
near to certain rocks which are marked with iron perch, that
it was only Drummond's confidence in Captain Jimmy's pru-
dence that prevented his calling out to the men to put the
vessel about before the skipper gave the order. It was in
any case a narrow escape ; turbulent as the waves were, they
were near enough to see the brown rocks far down in the
clear, blue water, and dangerously close to the stern of the
boat. However, nothing was said ; and after some arduous
work, they finally reached what was considered the proper
anchorage, and the heavy chain swung out with a roar.
Naturally they were anxious to get on shore — the women
more especially ; for they had not seen a shop for an uncon-
scionable time, and there might probably be a shop or two
in that little cluster of white houses running along the semi-
circular shores of the bay. But the skipper, having got the
sails put to rights, and ordered a couple of the men to lower
the gig, somewhat damped the ardor of the party by saying
that, if they wished to purchase any provisions, they ought
to go to the post-office and ask whether any one in the
neighborhood had killed a sheep lately, and that, if they
wished for loaf-bread, they would have to see whether the
steamer had brought a sufficient supply from Glasgow. How-
ever, yachting people like to land on any excuse ; and so they
merrily set off for the shore — Miss Amy, who had now re-
covered her equanimity, included.
They were glad to set their foot for the first time on the
island of Skye ; they were pleased with the look of the white
houses, the dark-green line of trees, and the great bulk of
Ben-na-Cailleach rising right benind ; they were talking,
laughing, and joking as the men rowed them into a small
quay. Suddenly Mrs. Warrener — in the most innocent
230 MADCAP VIOLET.
fashion possible — indeed, with the best intentions in the
world — said,
" Violet, did Mr. Miller say any thing about letting you
know how he got on that Sunday ? "
The girl was startled by the mere mention of the name.
It seemed to her there was some sort of accusation in it ; she
had been grossly forgetful, unpitying, selfish in the enjoy-
ment of her own happiness.
" N-no," she stammered ; and Mrs. Warrener was surprised
to notice the confusion visible in the girl's face. She ought,
the elder lady considered, to have been pleased. If there
had been a lover's quarrel, what more natural than that the
suggestion of a possibility of patching it up again should give
her pleasure "i
" Because I was thinking he would probably write to Broad-
ford or Portree. He knew we were going to both places,"
said Mrs. Warrener.
Violet North did not seem overjoyed by this intimation.
She sat silent, thoughtful, embarrassed ; she was immensely
relieved when they reached the quay, for then she walked on
ahead with Amy, and her friend, im.agining that something
was wrong, refrained from speaking to her.
The inhabitants of the small village of course came out to
their doors to have a look at the strangers, who gave them
every opportunity, for there was much loitering in front of
the few shop-windows, most of which contained a miscellane-
ous heap of such things as soap, needles. Glengarry caps,
comforters, buttons, biscuits, gunpowder, acidulated drops,
and so forth. The objective point* of their wanderings, how-
ever, was the post-office, which odd little building they dis-
covered imbedded in trees at some little distance from the
town. The lady who presided there was the most courteous
of persons, who not only gave the strangers all the informa-
tion they required, but invited them to look at her garden ;
and, as Miss Violet was surprised to find such a brilliant
show of dahlias in this remote spot, nothing would do but
that she must carry away a selection of them — a gorgeous
bouquet which adorned the saloon of the Sea-Pyot lor days
afterward.
" And now," said Violet to this good lady — for she was too
proud to shrink from the task, " would you see if you have
any letters for us ? "
She went inside and took their cards. There was no letter.
" I have no doubt they got safely back to London," said
Violet, calmly.
FOREBODINGS, 231
" He was going straight back to London then," Mrs. War-
rener asked.
" I suppose so. He did not tell me."
Mrs. Warrener was grieved. She had a great affection for
this girl : and she was sorry to see her being made misera-
ble by a lover's quarrel. Was it not a pity to find two young
people, just at the pleasantest time of their lives, making
each other wretched for no cause in the world ? They could
have nothing real to quarrel about. All the circumstances
were favorable \ all their friends were consistent. Mrs.
Warrener resolved to speak to Violet about this matter ; and
hoped she might be the means of reconciling those tv^^o who
were obviously destined to become husband and wife.
She soon found an opportunity. They went for a walk
along a road leading inland ; and now, as the wind had died
down, and as the afternoon had become clear, and beautiful,
and still, they were in no hurry to get back to the yacht.
" Violet," said the gentle-voiced little woman, linking her
arm within that of the girl, " I am really vexed about all this ;
and I want you to tell rhe if I can not do something. Now,
dear, don't answer in a hurry. I know what a girl is ; and I
expect you to declare that you don't care for him, and that
you would rather never see him again. Every girl says that
when she has a quarrel with her sweetheart; and she re-
mains miserable out of pure willfulness. Now, what is the
use of your both being wretched, when a word of explanation
would clear it all up ? Shall I write to him ? "
What could see answer ? For the first time the peculiar
position in which she stood to this kind friend of hers was
flashed in on her consciousness, and she stood confronted by
the possibility of being charged with deceit. She had never
considered that some one else might have a right to that se-
cret which she been cherishing in her own heart. Was it
necessary, then, that this strange and new experience of hers
should be blazoned abroad to the world, and become the talk
of friends and acquaintances ?
" Oh, Mrs. Warrener," she said, almost piteously. " It is
a mistake — it is all a mistake. There is no quarrel — but in-
deed I can not tell you just yet — not just yet — "
She would ask Mr. Drummond, she thought ; he was her
master in all things : she would rather be charged with con-
cealment than run the risk of doing something he might not
approve.
" You do not wish me to write to him ? " her kind friend
said.
232 MADCAP VIOLET.
" To Mr. Miller ? Oh no ! "
They walked along in silence, and Violet was grieved and
troubled. Now that it was probable her secret would have
to be told, how could she defend herself from the charge of
being cruel to this young man ? It is true she had thought
of him often since his leaving her that Sunday, and thought
of him with a great pity, and some self-reproach which was
but little merited; but she could not conceal from herself
that she had experienced a wonderful sense of freedom since
his departure, and that her heart had grown light in conse-
quence. Yet it seemed to her selfish that she should be
proud and glad in her happiness ; while he — the sweetheart
of her school-girl days, who had patiently waited on in the
hope of getting a favorable answer — was cut adrift, not only
from her, but also from his friends.
" I am not to be snubbed," said the fair-haired little woman,
cheerfully. " You know, Violet, what intermeddlers get, as
a rule ; but I must risk that for your sake. We can not have
you go through all these beautiful places with a rueful face ;
and if you won't let me write to Mr. Miller, then I must go
and ask James — "
" Oh no ! " Violet said, with an eager piteousness in her
eyes.
" Come, come, you foolish girl. I mean to speak to him
this very moment."
She caught her friend by the arm to stay her.
" Indeed you must not ! Do grant me this favor, Mrs.
Warrener — only to wait : it is all a mistake, and there is
something you must be told — "
" More secrets ? "
The girl did not answer.
" Very well, if you wish," Mrs. Warrener said, gently, " I
will wait ; but mind, you must get rid of your trouble, or else
come and ask my help."
In the glow of the evening they turned back from the quiet
moor-land ways and made for the shore. They almost felt
disappointed that the great range of mountains on their left
should shut out the sinking sun : they had grown accustomed
to see the sun set over the western seas.
But when they drew near to Broadford, and overlooked
the great, broad, still bay, a simultaneous cry of admiration
broke from them, for never before, not even in their dreams,
had they seen such a magical display of color. Far over on
the eastern side of the bay, the great mountains, from base
to summit, were one mass of pale, ethereal pink — a world in
FOREBODINGS. 233
rose-color, that towered up into a sky of glowing amber. It
was bewildering to the eyes ; and yet it was exquisitely soft —
as soft as the pink reflections of the hills that shone on the
smooth bosom of the loch. When they turned fron this palely
roseate panorama of mountains to the west, the contrast was
most striking. Here the mountains, close at hand, were all
in shadow ; and before them lay a stretch of moor-land, its
dark, rich, intense olive-greens cut asunder by a silver streak
of river. As they walked along they could see that these
dark v/estern mountains were throwing their shadows right
across the bay, until they began to creep up the rose-colored
slopes of the distant hills. At length only the tops of the
far mountains caught the flame ; and now, close by them, as
it seemed to be, the golden disk of the summer moon came
up behind some trees, and the cold greens of the fields hard
by became still more intense. It was a sight never to be
forgotten.
The men were waiting at the quay ; they pulled out to the
yacht as the cold gray twilight came over the hills, and as the
yellow moon rose in the south.
" You are tired with your walk, Violet," James Drummond
said, regarding her.
" Not at all," she said; "it is pleasant to get a good long
walk after being on board for a day or two."
" You will be better pleased to-morrow, when w^e drive to
Tprran ; you ought to feel like a sailor when he gets into a
hansom-cab."
" When shall we go on to Portree ? "
" Probably the day after to-morrow. Are you anxious to
get on ? "
" Oh no ; not at all."
Mrs. Warrener heard the question and answer, and drew
her own inferences. Portree was the next point at which
they would find a post-office.
AH that evening Violet had no opportunity of speaking a
word with Mr. Drummond alone ; for the night was very
beautiful, and they all came up after dinner and sat on deck.
The water was indeed so still that there were no ripples for
the moonlight to catch. The smooth water around them was
almost blaqlc ; but all along the shore a mist lay thick, and
that had caught the moonlight. The decks and spars, too,
were touched with the ghostly light, contrasting with the
orange glow shed by the lamp at the ship's head.
The party was not quite so gay that night as it sometime
had been ; though Mr. Drummond, all unwitting of any change
234 MADCAP VIOLET.
was in one of his happiest moods. Mrs. Warrener had to
confess to herself that if Violet had of late been occasionally
out of spirits, her brother seemed to have got to the other
extreme. She had never known him remain so long in the
very brightest of humors.
When the women retired for the night, Violet allowed Mrs.
Warrener and Amy to precede her ; then she returned to the
desk for a moment, where Mr. Drummond was gathering up
the shawls and cushions. He turned quickly; she timidly
took his hand.
*' Will you do me this favor "i " she said, in a low voice.
" Will you tell your sister ? "
" Yes — certainly — why not ? " he answered, quite cheerfully.
" I did not know whether you wished it or not ; but of course
she ought to know, and the sooner the better."
" N-not to night," the girl murmured.
" Not if you do not wish it," he said ; and then, more closely
regarding her, he saw that she was extremely agitated.
" What is the matter, Violet .? "
" I am so afraid," she said, and he knew that her hand
was trembling.
"Of what?"
" If we could only have gone on," she said, with a passionate
outburst of feeling ; " if we could only have gone on as we
have been doing these two happy days, what more could have
been wished .? But now — if every body must know — "
"Every body need not know^ — " he was beginning to soj ,
when again she interrupted him.
" Your sister will hate me," she said, passionately.
" She will love you more than ever — you will be her only
sister. But why all this timorousness at once ? Where is the
courageous 'Violet ? Come now, let me go down be'low this
minute, and*have the whole thing settled. One plunge, and
it is all over. Bless my soul, wdiy didn't I speak to her with-
out dragging you into it .? It is the simplest matter in the world."
" No — to-morrow," she said, quickly and earnestly, and then
she kissed the hand that she still held, and went below. He
could not quite understand what all this meant.
As for her, she tried hard, in the silence of the night, to
reason herself out of the forebodings which, in spite of herself,
kept surging in on her mind. Why should she be afraid of
this gentle little woman, who had been so invariably kind to
her } What possible motive could any human being have for
interfering with her happiness "i And then she reproached
herself for thinking only of her own happiness ; and her fancies
LOCH CORUISK, 23S
went away to another who had a far better reason to complain,
and she asked herself again and again, '' Was it my fault ?
Was it my fault ? "
CHAPTER XXVI.
LOCH CORUISK.
He had no fear or embarrassment in breaking this news to
his sister when he found her alone in the saloon next morning.
He had an absolute faith in her unselfishness ; he could not
doubt but that she would be eager to take Violet still more
closely to her heart.
And yet, as he told he'V in the twilight of the cabin, he was
amazed to see her face grow pale. She retreated a step from
him ; pain, apprehension, dismay — all were visible in her face
and in her frightened eyes.
" Oh, James, is it true ? " she said.
The whole story was clear to her ; she saw as the end of it
only the misery of the two people whom, next to her own
daughter, she loved most dearly in the world.
" Well ! " said he, astonished. " What is the matter ? "
" Oh, James, you don't know what all this is ! I can see it.
I have dreaded it. And I don't know which is the more to
be pitied now, for she is proud — she won't draw back — "
" What do you mean, Sarah ? I insist on your speaking
more plainly," said he.
" Can not you see the whole story ? " she said, rapidly and
vehemently, yet with a great pity and tenderness in her eyes.
" That poor girl has a quarrel with her sweetheart ; he is angry
and goes away ; she is proud, offended, her dignity is wounded :
she resolves to have nothing more to do with him. Then, to
revenge herself, she turns to you ; and you, you make her be-
lieve that the friendly affection you have always shown hei
will reconcile her to the loss of her lover. And what will be
the end of it ? Isn't the story told every day ? The girl re-
pents when it is too late — when the discarded lover can not
be brought back ; when she and the man she has married out
of spite find themselves chained to each other for life through
a cruel mistake."
For a moment he was staggered. The story was terribly
life-like — clear, concise, and probable. It was obvious, too,
2Z^ MADCAP VIOLET,
that this gentle little woman was moved by no animus against
the girl ; she was as anxious for Violet's happiness as his
own.
"What you say is very true, Sarah," said he, calmly, "true
in many cases ; not in this one. I have told you the cause of
the quarrel — "
" It is the commonest one in the world," she continued,
quickly. " Young men are always jealous : he was doubtless
thinking she did not pay him enough attention, and then ac-
cused her of paying far more attention to you. That is true
enough. Violet has always shown the greatest respect — and
I will say affection too — for you. Well, you know how high-
spirited the girl is. If he spoke to her like that, would she
bear it.'' She would tell him to go ; she would leave him to
infer what he likes; and then, in a moment of wounded pride,
she turns to you and tries to persuade herself that she loves
you well enough to marry you. What can come of it, James ?
what can come of it? Do you think she has forgotten him ?
Did you not notice how much embarrassed she was yesterday
after I had spoken to her about asking for a letter at the
post-office ? And I am sure you must see how anxious she is
to get to Portree."
It was all terribly consistent and probable — his reason had
to admit that ; but he was too firm a man to be led into jump-
ing at conclusions.
"Very well, then," he said to his sister. "You may be
right. This poor girl may have been driven into an error, as
you say ; and we may both be in a very painful and mistaken
l^osition. If that is so, we must get out of it."
He spoke quite calmly ; there was an expression of emotion
on his face. The agony was in his heart ; for it seemed hard
to admit even the possibility that these two glad days that
had just passed by had been lighted up by a false light of
happiness, and that there were to be no more even of these
deceitful joys.
" But what I will tak-e care of is this — that there shall be
no misunderstanding in the matter. Violet has stated cer-
tain things to me ; I can accept a denial of them only from
herself. If what you say, or guess at, is true, there is nothing
more simple than to get confirmation from the girl herself,
and that I will do at once."
She caught his hand.
" My dear brother, don't speak to me as if I were doing you
an injury. Do you know how it pains me to have to tell you 1
Do you think there is any body in the world would rejoice
LOCH CORUISK, 237
more to see you and our Violet married, if that could be for the
happiness of both of you ? "
" I know that, Sarah," said he. " And I know all this is
kindly meant. But, first, let's see what truth there is in it."
" James, do not go to her," she pleaded. " You don't know
what girls are. You would put her on her honor : she would
hold by her engagement at any cost. She has had no time
to reflect."
*' Do you mean me, then, to harbor all these suspicions
against the girl, and say no word to her .? " he demanded, with
some warmth.
" Yes, I do," the little wonan answered, courageously, ''''for
her sake. You want to see her happy ; I am anxious for the
happiness of both of you. And I tell you that is what she
would do now, James ; she would be ashamed to say she had
made a mistake ; she would consider herself bound in honor
to keep her word to you ; very likely her quarrel with Mr.
Miller still rankles in her mind. What harm can there be in
waiting ? Do not drive her into a corner."
Yes — he admitted that what she said was just. Violet's
happiness was of more concern to him than his own. If it
was true — and of course he did not admit that as yet — that
she had blundered into this engagement in a moment of pique,
she would be allowed time to repent, and ample opportunities
of escape.
The world did not look quite so glad and beautiful to this
man when he went up on deck and glanced around at the sea
and the hills. His face had something of the old, tired ex-
pression it used to have at times in London — a look that Vio-
let, who feared it, had never seen since he had come to the
Highlands. And at this moment, too, Violet and her com-
panion Amy appeared — coming on board from the dinghy, in
which they had sought out a sheltered nook along the shore
for their morning bath. Bright youth and health flushed in
the faces of both the girls as they stepped on deck ; the morn-
ing sunlight that shone on the sea around them was not more
brilliant and beautiful than the life and gladness that sparkled
in their eyes. Suddenly, however, that careless joy fled from
the face of Violet North. She had caught a glimpse of Mr.
Drummond ; their eyes met, a sense of fear came over her.
She longed to go up to him — that was her first impulse — and
say *' Oh, my kind friend, you are troubled, and I am the cause
of your trouble." But she dared not do that; she rather
kept away from him, telling herself that the interview between
238 MADCAP VIOLET,
her best of friends and his sister had occurred, and fearing to
speculate on the result of it.
After breakfast, as had been arranged the previous day,
they went ashore in the gig, walked up to the inn, and found
awaiting them there a wagonette, which was to drive them
across the island. It was a bright and beautiful day. They
got into the vehicle ; and away went the two horses inland —
past the foot of the great slopes of Ben-na-Cailleach, and
through stretches of moorland, until they beheld on their right
the massive shoulder and sharp peaks of Blaven's range of Gran-
ite, with the black points of the Cuchullins beyond. It ought
to have been a pleasant excursion; but it was a somewhat
silent one — Mrs. Warrener doing most of the talking, and
showing herself more affectionate than ever toward Violet.
Mr. Drummond was obviously thinking, and probably of an
insoluble problem. Was it not true, he had to admit, that he
knew nothing of girl-nature .'' Might there not be contradic-
tions, opinions, emotions, and so forth, altogether different
from those of the women he had known with any degree of
intimacy ? " You don't know what a girl is," his sister had
said to him ; and she ought to know.
Once upon a time, when Violet North and George Miller
were conversing together, the latter referred to some little
social solecism that Mr. Drummond had committed, and re-
marked that he was old enough to know better.
" Do you know how old he is t " retorted Violet, sharply.
'' No, I don't."
" Well, then, I will tell you," she said, speaking very dis-
tinctly. "He was born seven-and-thirty years ago. In knowl-
edge of the world and human nature he is fifty ; but in knowl-
edge of the world of Hyde Park he is only twenty."
The epigram was clumsily put, but its meaning was clear.
Of course it provoked a quarrel ; though Heaven only knows
why George Miller should have considered himself insulted
when Hyde Park was treated with contempt.
At last the wagonette brought them in sight of the open
Atlantic — a silver plain shimmering in heat — and they went
down the shingly shore to a huge and heavy boat manned by
four Highlanders, unkempt, ill-clad, stalwart-looking fellows,
v.'ho contentedly set out on a pull of forty miles or so, v/ith the
most unwieldy oars ever seen by mortals. Two of the men
were tall and singularly handsome, their features fine and
delicate in outline, and full of power ; they spoke what little
English they knew with a curiously modulated intonation ;
and they were very fond of singing songs in chorus — a chorus
I
LOCII CORUISK. 239
that consisted of shrill discordant notes m all manner of keys.
The singing was a failure. Mr. Drummond began to question
them as to the meaning of the songs. As usual, they were
ignorant of the acquired faculty of translation. They could
give nothing like the equivalent of the Gaelic words : " Ay, it
wass the young lass, and she went away," summed up their
impression of one song. The next one, that seemed to con-
sist of fifty verses : " Ay, he wass a souldier — and the young
lass would be for waiting for him. Ay, it iss a verra fine song,
that iss ; there iss few of the songs better ass that song ; and
the music of it iss verra fine whatever." And again : " Ay,
that iss a beautiful song, and it wass made by a lady that lived
near Kyle Rea. And that song iss all apout — well, it iss
apout a young lass — ay — and that young lass — she wass
trooned — "
And then they got out and round the long promontory, and
found before them the silent Loch Scavaig — not dark and
awful in its accustomed shadows, but fair and beautiful and
sad. The desolation of this picture, even with the sunlight
shining on the blue sea around them, was extreme ; for far
over this glowing waste of water rose the shadowy bulk of the
Cuchullins, in still and sorrowful majesty. There was not a
voice to be heard — not even the screaming of a sea-bird, as
they rowed into the head of this treacherous loch, now shining
fair and calm in the mid-day sun.
They scrambled on the shore, too, and made their way
over the rough rocks and grass to the small fresh-water Loch
Coruisk — lying still and sombre in the cup of the mighty
hills surrounding it. On the right, these hills were in the
sunshine, sending their riven, bare, jagged peaks into the far
blue of the sky ; on the left they were hidden in shadow, mys-
terious and profound, even in the midst of this summer's day.
The women went away down to the shores of tTie black and
sullen lake ; James Drummond sat by himself on the rocks,
and he seemed to see things as in a dream.
He was alone in this awful solitude — no sight or sound of
human beings near; and as he gazed up at the terrible
peaks, rising sheer from the gloomy water, he grew to think
that they were great dumb creatures, living but immovable,
the giants of eternity, abiding forever in solitary self-com-
munion. " They have eyes," he was thinking, " away up in
those mystic shadows, and they close but once in a thousand
years. When the wild Atlantic frets around the shores, they
frown ; otherwise they are cold and impassible ; they gaze
at each other, without curiosity, without intelligence, only
240 MADCAP VIOLET.
with an awful sadness that increases as the centuries slip by,
bringing no change. They have seen no human beings ; if
some small creatures have crept across the neck of land at
their base, and disappeared again out at sea, they have paid
no heed. Can they speak to each other .'' No. They listen
to the murmur of the Atlantic, but they make no sound in
their everlasting repose. When the clouds are whirled
against them in the night, and the wild lightning crackles
through the dark, and the sea yells around their feet, the
awful frown deepens, and it seems as though they would
arise from their eternal lethargy and command the elements
to be at peace ; but no — they pass that by, too, as the strife
of a moment ; the slow centuries alone affect them, adding
to the trouble of the saddened eyes ; they have no compan-
ionship, not even in the night-time with the mystic and
gleaming stars."
" Anthropomorphism," he said to himself, as he rose and
seemed to try to shake away certain thoughts. '' The pro-
jection of the shadow — the exceeding humility of the human
being in transferring his own sadness to the Cuchullin hills
or the midnight sky ! "
Then it suddenly occurred to him — was he really sad ?
Could it be possible that, amidst all the happiness that had
surrounded him and his companions in these beautiful sol-
itudes, a few chance remarks, suggesting what he must
regard as at least an improbability, should have such an
effect.? He would shake oft" this morbid feeling. There
might be certain girl-natures outside the sphere of his sister's
experience. And if the worst came to the worst, would he
be sad to see Violet — at whatever cost to himself — rescued
from a false position, and made happy as a young girl should
be happy?
He would not be conquered by the prevailing gloom of
this silent and mysterious loch. He made his way down the
rocks to the little sandy bay where his companions were
seated, and entered into a competition with his niece in the
matter of throwing "ducks and drakes." He was quite
merry over their luncheon on the rocks. When he got into
the boat again, he relieved one of the men — who had re-
cently met with an accident — of his oar, and labored away
with that unwieldy instrument for over half an hour. It was
about eight o'clock at night when they got back to Broad-
ford.
The weather is abrupt in its change in these parts. Cap-
tain Jimmy, who had always professed a profound dislike
UNDER THE BLACK CUCHULLINS. 241
to Broadford Bay, as a particularly open roadstead in the
case of a northerly gale blowing, said that the wind had
backed a bit from the south-east to east, and promised to
get still farther to the north. Would they like to go on that
night to Portree ?
" Is there any need — any danger in lying here ? "
" Naw, sir," replied the skipper, " there iss no any great
deed. But the wind iss good to go up."
" You see you will keep those ladies awake all night — "
" You need not consider us, James," his sister said ; and
then she added, " You know Violet would much rather go
on."
He turned round ; Violet was not on deck. He went to
the companion-ladder and called down,
" Violet, are you there ? "
"Yes."
" We want to know whether you would prefer to remain
here for the night, or go on to Portree. The wind is favor-
able."
She came to the door of the saloon, and answered him, in
a lower voice, and with her eyes cast down,
" If it is no inconvenience to any one, I would rather go
on to Portree at once."
He went along to his sister, and said that Violet did wish
to go on to Portree that night.
" I thought she would," Mrs. Warrener ansv/ered, gently.
CHAPTER XXVII.
UNDER THE BLACK CUCHULLINS.
In the deep silence of the night the loud and harsh hauling-
up of the anchor sounded ominously, the breeze was rising;
the moon, observed from time to time by swift and watery
clouds, threw a wan and ghastly light on the sails and the
deck, and struck a golden star on the gleaming brass of the
compass. When they got outside the bay, they found there
was a good sea on ; the waves were rushing along before the
stiff south-easterly wind ; there was a murmur of breakers
coming over from the distant and gloomy rocks of Pabba.
No one thought of going below ; there was a weird excite-
ment in thus hurrying on through the darkness of the night,
v/ith the adjacent coasts grown mystical and strange under
16
342 MADCAP VIOLET,
the frail moonlight. They listened in silence to the plunging
and churning of the waves that went hissing away behind the
boat ; they tried to make out the outlines of the sombre
shores they were passing; they watched a strange mist of
moonlight gathering round the black peaks of the Cuchullins.
The men were obviously on the alert. Once or twice one of
them was seen to go up the rigging to the cross-trees to have
a lookout for some island or perch invisible from the deck.
The skipper did not care to have the tack of the mainsail let
down ; they were certainly making sufficient wa}'. And so
they went swinging on through the night, under the shadows
of the black mountains of Skye — the boom straining and
creaking, the broad sail flat before the wind, the red and
green side-lights rising and dipping as the bow rose and
dipped with the hurrying waves. At this rate they would
soon get on to Portree.
It was not like that wonderful and magical night when they
lay becalmed in the Sound of Sleat, and saw the yellow moon
go down behind the sea like a great ship on fire. Then all
was laughter, music, and joyous idleness, on the placid waters,
under the beautiful stars. Now the black coast of Skye
overawed them ; the moon that was near to the summits of
the Cuchullins was watery and ominous ; they were rushing
along a breeze that threatened to become half a gale, and
there was certainly no room for carelessness or idleness when
they got into the narrows of the sombre Sound of Raasay.
It was not like the time that had been — the time that was
even now beginning to seem remote.
They got into Portree shortly after one in the morning :
they could just make out the cottages of the sleeping town,
and the rocks and trees adjacent, in the pale and uncertain
moonlight. The noise on board did not long disturb the
stillness of the place ; by-and-by the Sea-Fyot was also given
over to sleep.
Mr. Drummond was early up next morning ; he seemed a
trifle preoccupied and restless. His sister was the next to
come on deck.
" What an extraordinary morning it is ! " she exclaimed.
There was a curious watery fog lying about the shore that
made objects look at once large, shadowy, and remote.
He took no heed of the remark.
" Sarah," he said, abruptly, " have you said any thing to
Violet yet ? "
" Not a word," the gentle little woman answered. *' I have
had no opportunity of speaking with her alone. But if I had,
UNDER THE BLACK CUCHULLINS. 243
I doubt whether I ought to say any thing. I do not wish to
influence the poor girl in anyway. So far as I am concerned,
she must be free to follow the suggestions of her own heart."
" But she will think it strange ; she will imagine you disap-
prove : I told her I should tell you. And I must speak to
her, too, about it. But what can I say ? "
He took a step up and down the deck ; he was obviously
endeavoring to repress many and very varying emotions.
" It is very terrible, Sarah — all this uncertainty, this doubt.
In any other case, I would not bear it for a moment. But, as
you say, we must not drive the girl into a corner. We must
leave her free. And perhaps now — if there should be a letter
from Miller — she may decide something — "
He called one of the men to him, and wrote certain words
on a card.
" Alec, lad, I want you to go ashore and see if there are any
letters for us at the post-office. Get back as soon as you can."
Mrs. VVarrener went below to see the breakfast-table laid.
She was almost as anxious about this affair as her brother
could be. In her secret heart she hoped that there would be
a letter from Mr. Miller which would remove all misunderstand-
ings between himself and Violet ; that the girl would then see
how she had blundered, and make such quick reparation as
was possible ; and that, after a natural pang or two, they would
all return to their old relations, and those two, who were very
dear to her, be saved from the consequences of a terrible mis-
take.
Alec came out again ; there were three or four letters, one
of them addressed to " Miss Violet North, on board the yacht
Sea-Fyof, care of the Postmaster, Portree, Island of Skye."
Mr. Drummond knew the handwriting : he calmly placed the
letter out on the table, at the corner where Violet usually sat.
They were all ready for breakfast when Violet appeared.
She went to her accustomed place, took up the letter, glanced
at the outside, and quickly put it in her pocket. When she
sat down, Mrs. Warrener noticed that she was rather pale.
The girl could not conceal her emotion. Her fingers trem-
bled as she took the cup and saucer offered to her. Some
feeble effort of conversation was being made : she did not seem
to overhear.
At last she could restrain her anxiety no longer. She mur-
mured something about being excused ; took out the letter, and
hurriedly glanced over its contents. It was not a long one,
apparently ; for she suddenly rose, and burst into tears as she
left the saloon. A stransfe silence ensued.
244 MADCAP VIOLET.
In a minute or two Mrs. Warrener followed.
" What can be the matter, uncle ? " said Amy Warrener, inno-
cently.
" Some bad news, I fear," said he ; and she was surprised
that he could speak of Violet's receiving bad news in so firm
and unconcerned a voice.
Then his sister came back.
" James, Vv^ill you ask one of the men to row Violet ashore ?
She wants to send off a telegram."
" Certainly," said he ; and he went on deck.
A few minutes afterward he was watching a small boat, con-
taining two figures, that was making for the quay. When, at
last, it had disappeared altogether into that haze of sunlit mist
that lay along the shore, he turned to another of the men and
said,
" I should like to have the gig lowered. Can you and Alec
pull me up to the head of the loch where those wild ducks are ? "
His sister came to him.
"Where are you going, James? You have had no break-
fast."
" Yes,, thank you," he said, gently, and his face looked a
trifle carew^orn and tired — that was all. " I have had enough.
They say there are plenty of wild ducks up here."
" Oh, James — " she was beginning to say ; but tears
swelled up in her eyes, and she could not speak. She sav/
him fetch his gun, get into the gig, and take the tiller-ropes.
She knew that the sorest heart in England thatday was in that
boat.
CHAPTER XXVIIT.
CROSS-CURRENTS.
The mischief now wrought by this tender-hearted little wo-
man, in all innocence, and with the best intentions in the world,
could not have been done half so thoroughly by the most art-
ful and ingenious plotter that ever appeared in a melodrama.
The reason was simple. She had a clear, convincing, unwaver-
ing belief in her own reading of the relations existing between
her brother and Violet, and between Violet and George Miller ;
and while this belief was likely to impress in some measure
the people around her — mental magnetism being a far more
sure thing than animal magnetism — it was a complete safe^
CROSS-CURRENTS. 245
guard against her making any mistake in the role she was un-
consciously playing. She had no secret plot to work, at. Her
intense, unselfish regard for the happiness of those two near
her was too obvious to be questioned.
Then look at the position in which she stood for the effect-
ual carrying-out of this unintentional mischief. Any other
person coming to James Drummond with the same story would
certainly have been met with distrust, and might probably have
been met with ridicule ; but she was Violet's most intimate
friend, the confidante of the girl for 3^ears back. Then she
was a woman, versed in the mysteries of the feminine heart ;
and it was with the most open sincerity that she had assured
him he knew nothing of girl nature. When she appealed to
him, for Violet's sake to give the girl free opportunity to get
out of the terrible position in which a blunder had placed her,
what could he answer ? If her heart were really beginning to
look longingly back toward the young man who had left her
in a fit of anger, surely it was better she should declare the'
truth, and go. But he had too noble a regard for the girl to
challenge her, to drive her into a corner, and claim from her
a denial of these lingering regrets, as a more hasty or a more
selfish man would have done. She should have her free
choice.
Now we come to Violet herself ; and here Mrs. Warrener's
mischievous work was far more easy. She had only induced
her brother to remain aloof — to give Violet time — to watch
and judge for himself; while she had been successful in
bringing back the old, sad look to his eyes. But with Violet
the case was different. The girl was proud, high-spirited,
impetuous ; while love in any case is quick to imagine and
magnify -danger. When Violet came on board again, after
having sent off her telegram, Mrs. Warrener was on deck
av/aiting her. She took the girl's hand in hers and drew her
a bit aside, so that she should not be overheard ; then she
said, in a very gentle and kindly voice,
" You are troubled about something, Violet. Can I help
you ? If you do not wish to tell me what it is, I shall not be
offended with you ; but you know I might be able to help
you ; and you know how anxious we all are to see you cheer-
ful, and well, and happy."
The girl was looking down, her face burning ; she was not
like the bright, audacious Violet of old.
'• I have no right to be cheerful and happy," she said, in a
low voice. " I have acted badly — I have given great pain to
others — "
246 MADCAP VIOLET.
" But all that may be mended," said Mrs. Warrener, eager-
ly ; for was not every word uttered by the girl further confir-
mation of her, Mrs. Warrener's, belief ? '• Indeed, no great
harm has been done, Violet — it will be made all right again,
dear. May I guess that that telegram was sent to Mr. Mil-
ler ? Yes t Then you will be friends again, and your old
relations will be established again — "
" Oh no," the girl said, " that is impossible — that is quite
impossible. But I am so sorr}^ — "
"Violet," said her friend, with a smile, for she saw her way
clear to making every body happy, " I am going to tell you a
secret. My brother spoke to me yesterday about what had
happened between you and him — do you look afraid, Violet,
and afraid of me ? If it were only possible — if I could only
have you for my sister — do you think I would not welcome
you with open arms ? You are one of our family already,
Violet ; if this other relation had been possible, I should
have been more delighted than I can tell you."
" Yes," said the girl, in a bewildered way : she did not
quite understand.
*' But now I am so anxious to see you out of your trouble,
Violet," said the good-natured little woman, with increasing
confidence, " that I must speak frankly to you. You must
not imagine that you are bound to my brother. If it would
secure your happiness, I know he Vv^ould never in this world
say another word about what has happened ; and you must
not imagine, either, that you would be doing him so great an
injury ; for, after all, the affection he has for you is what he
always had for you — even when he was glad to see you were
about to marry Mr. Miller, he would be quite as pleased and
glad too that both he and you were not the victims of a mis-
take. You know, Violet, the kind of affection with which a
man of his years regards a young girl. It is very unselfish.
If he thought you stood in need of some one to aid and
guide you, he would be prepared to marry you, when that was
suggested to him ; and if he thought it better for you to mar-
ry some one with an older claim on you, he would give you
up frankly, and still regard you with the same affection. Do
you see all that, Violet ? "
Was all this terrible thing true ? Was it true that he only
regarded her with that friendly affection of which his sister
spoke ? Then she remembered, with a great shame and
dread, the circumstances that had led to this engagement.
Mr. Drummond had almost been challenged to return her
affection. A confession of her love for him had been car-
CROSS-CURRENTS. 247
ried to him ; her good, kind friend had responded ; and now
his own sister was talking of this response as a mistake, from
the effects of which all the persons concerned were to be
rescued.
Violet North had not James Drummond's patient strength
and reticence of character ; she was quick, proud-spirited,
prone to act on the first impulse. Her girlish sense of dignity
was touched : she would not have it said that any man had,
through compassion for her friendless position, been led into ex-
aggerating his regard for her and offering her marriage. On
the other hand, her deep affection for him was quite as power-
ful with her as her quick sense of honor : would she have
the man she loved drawn into an engagement that he might
regret all the years of his life ?
These fancies, fears, and resolves darted through her mind,
as she stood there for a second or two, quite silent.
" He has asked you to tell me all this ? " she said, nerving
herself to speak calmly.
'• Oh no ! " Mrs. Warrener exclaimed, with honest eager-
ness ; " not a word of it — not a single word of it. You know
how kind, how utterley regardless of himself, my brother is.
So long as he imagines that you might consider a marriage
between you and him as likely to promote your happiness, all
the tortures in the world would not get him to say any thing
against it. If you went to him just now, he would declare
that he was rejoiced at the prospect — "
"Would that be fair? would that be honest? "the girl said,
indignantly, and not without some sudden and sad look back
to certain words which she had believed all too fully when she
heard them.
" It is so easy to put in a little exaggeration, when one is
anxious for another person's happiness," Mrs. Warrener said,
with a smile.
" And if I go to him now and speak to him about this mat-
ter, he will continue to deceive me — for my good ? " asked
the girl, somewhat proudly.
"You must not call it deception," said Mrs. Warrener,
gently. "• If I were you, I would look at the motive for it,
and call it kindness."
" Then what am I to do ? " Violet said, standing erect.
" Break off the engagement at once, and get back to London ?
The steamer comes in here to-morrow. My father is in
London at present."
Her friend regarded her curiously. Was she acting ? Or
was she really vexed and disappointed — with the mild disap-
248 MADCAP VIOLET.
pointment of a girl who, having fancied she had two lovers,
finds she has only one ?
" No, no, Violet, you must not do any thing rash," she said,
quietly. " If I have shown you how matters are likely to
come all right in the end, it was not with the wish of advising
you to do any thing at once. You can afford to wait — indeed
I suppose you must wait now, unless you think there is the
least chance of Mr. Miller altering his mind and coming back
to the Highlands ? "
The suggestion was thrown out at random ; and yet Mrs.
Warrener would not have been surprised to hear that he was
coming back.
" I don't know what Mr. Miller's intentions are," said Violet,
with some haughtiitess ; " but if he comes back here, I must
leave."
Mrs. Warrener did not like to smile ; and yet the girl was
so charmingly simple. Clearly, she had not quite forgiven
him just Vet ; she was inclined to stand on her dignity ; her
compunction of the morning, awakened by reading his letter,
was only now disappearing.
" Well, Violet, -let us say no more about this at present.
Come down below and have some breakfast."
"Thank you, I don't care about any just now."
"Well," said Mrs. Warrener, with a laugh, "we are having
a pretty lot of trouble over nothing. But I can not allow
you all to act like spoiled children. Here is James, too, gone
off without taking any breakfast. Now, if you won't have
any, what I propose is this : let us at once put luncheon for
the whole party in the dinghy, and we can all go away up
the loch in search of him. Will that do ? "
Violet considered that Mr. Drummond must have been
eager to get the wild duck when he left without his break-
fast ; but she willingly consented to aid in the provisioning of
the dinghy, and in due course of time that handy little boat
started on a voyage of discovery. It ought to have been a
pleasant excursion. Though a curious sort of Watery vapor
hung round certain portions of the shore, out here the sun
had drunk up the fog, and the blue sea sparkled in the light.
Behind that veil of mist too, they could see something of the
white houses of Portree, and the outjutting rocks covered
with trees and bushes. There was a pleasant scent of sea-
weed in the morning air ; and all around them there was a
delicious, dreamy silence and quiet.
But when, after a good long pull, they got up toward the
head of the loch, things were rapidly changed. A sort of
CROSS-CURRENTS. 249
gray, transparent darkness seemed to fall around them.
They had an impression that the sun was still shining, but
they could not quite tell where he was, and there was no
light on the still water. They could see objects at a con-
siderable distance, but these objects were vague and confused.
A large bird went whirring by, some twenty yards from the
boat. The women were startled by the noise it made.
" It iss a skart, and a big skart too," said one of the two
sailors.
Some half a dozen birds, smaller, apparently, and yet of
considerable size, went whizzing past overhead.
" That was only pyots," said the man ; but, all the same,
he seemed to imagine that Mr. Drummond had missed a
chance.
There were indeed plenty of birds about ; the fact being
that at this mioment Mr. Drummond, having explored a dis-
tant creek of the loch, was now coming over to where the
dinghy was, and these birds he had driven on before him.
Away in the distance they heard the faint crack of a shot ;
by-and-by they descried the gig coming slowly through the
strange, transparent mist. At the same moment they dis-
covered that they were aground.
But what was this approaching them ? — a tall figure that
seemed to take diverse shapes as the luminous fog floated
this way and that. Although they were aground on the sand,
they could see nothing but water as far as their sight could
reach ; and this tall figure was coming to them through the
water. Their eyes were blinded with the humid mist ; they
could not see distinctly ; but at one moment they caught
sight of a pink flash of flame, and afterward there was a loud
report that was echoed by all the hills around. Then the
fog around them seemed to be filled with birds, screaming
and calling, and flying so near to the dinghy that it was
apparent they, too, were bewildered. More pink flashes ;
more loud crashes of noise ; that mystic figure going here
and there with a sound of splashing water wherever he went.
Then, by-and-by, he came nearer ; and they perceived that
he was slowly wading through the sea, and carrying in his
hand a number of birds.
" Oh, James ! " his sister cried, " have you been in the
water all this time ? "
" And not for nothing," he said, holding up five curlew,
which he deposited in the bow of the dinghy. " The birds
are confused by the fog ; I could have shot twenty dozen of
sea-pyots."
250 MADCAP VIOLET.
" You have not even your shooting-boots and gaiters on,"
his anxious sister said.
" I began by taking off my shoes and socks aUogether,"
he answered ; " but these flats of sand are filled with small
flounders, and it is a most horrid sensation to find them
shooting away from beneath your feet. I had to put on my
shoes again. But what has brought you up here ? "
He was talking quite cheerfully. Violet, who dared not
look at him, felt every tone of his voice sink into her heart :
it was the old friendly voice — and it spoke of nothing but
friendship.
The question had been addressed to her, as she happened
to be nearest him ; and she started.
" Oh," she said, with sudden embarrassment, " we brought
you some lunch."
" Why, you are fast aground," he said — and there was
certainly no embarrassment in his speech to her — he seemed
to have recovered all his ordinary equanimity and brightness.
" And so is the gig, back there. If you are going to have
luncheon now, I must wade back to the gig, and tell the men
to come along when the tide floats them."
" Uncle," said a young lady in the boat, looking over at
the beautiful clear water and the fine sand, " would you let
me wade over to the gig ? "
" For shame, child ! " her mother said.
There was another young lady in the boat who, in other
circumstances, would have dearly liked to have gone on a
wading expedition ; but she was thinking of different matters
at the moment.
Eventually it was decided that there was no need to apprise
the occupants of the gig, for the fog was gradually clearing,
and by-and-by they would be able to make signs. The hum-
ble store of provisions was opened. Mr. Drummond, having
wrung his trousers as much as possible, got in at the bow,
and sat there, so as not to damage the ladies' dresses. It
was a sufficiently cheerful meal. An outsider would have
imagined that these people were just as they had been two
days before.
Was it an excited fancy that made her think she could de-
tect a somewhat forced tone in his cheerfulness ? Was he
striving to make it appear to her that he was quite happy
and contented ? Certainly, he was as vivacious, rapid, and
ingenious in his talk as ever — starting away from a letter
which he had received that morning, in which his correspond-
ent spoke of his having accompanied a great man of letters
CROSS-CURRENTS, 251
— remarkable alike for his personal force of character and
for the Northern ruggedness and earnestness of his writings
— to the British Museum to look at the Elgin Marbles. The
fact that this celebrated person could see nothing interesting
or impressive in these remains of Greek art was to this
preacher — sitting on the bow of the dinghy, with his wet
shoes placed on a thwart, and a plate supported on his knees
— a fruitful text. They had a lecture on the fundamental
antagonism between the Northern mind, stern, realistic,
eagerly seeking after moral value and individual portraiture,
and the soft, bland imagination of the South, placing its ideal
types in an atmosphere of perpetual repose. In the intervals
of this meal of cold beef and bread they heard the lecturer
declare his own enthusiastic preference for the North —
how the individual character in a portrait by Rembrandt had
more fascination for him than the blank faces of a hundred
Apollos — how that the highest excellence of art was that
which most keenly touched the highest emotions of the hu-
man being — how that the ballad of " Helen of Kirkconnell "
was worth twenty dozen of " Iliads "—how that the mystery
of the Northern imagination that made the common objects
of the world around us strange and wonderful — But at this
point the lecture was broken off, for a certain young lady
handed her uncle a tumbler of ale over the shoulder of one
of the men. Resuming, the lecturer declared that the grand-
eur of a mountain could not be understood unless there were
mists floating about it ; and that he had always had a pro-
found affection for the sailor of the anecdote-books who, com-
ing on deck in the English Channel, on a voyage homeward
from the Mediterranean, and finding himself surrounded with
driving sleet, and fog, and east winds, remarked, " Ha ! this
is weather as is weather ; none o' your hanged blue skies ! "
Then he spoke of the reverence which men in all ages had
paid to the artist, who was to them the nearest approach to
the Creator : he could not make his creations eternal, but at
least he could give them some little permanence, and rescue
from destruction and forgetfulness the passing glory of a sun-
set, the tender beauty of a moonlight night, or th'e happy
laughter of a girl's face —
" Is this part of your new book, uncle ? " said the young lady.
" No," he continued, calmly. " My new book will be de-
voted to giving lessons in good manners to impertinent young
misses who ought to be at school."
" And when will it be published ? "
" I am glad to see you are anxiously awaiting it. It will be
252 MADCAP VIOLET.
out as soon as I have started the magazine that is to review
it favorably."
" Will you let me write the review ? " Mrs. Warrener asked.
" But this is a great project," he said, seriously, to his sister.
" I can see a large fortune looming in the distance. I calcu-
late that there are at least forty thousand people in this
country continually writing books, tracts, and pamphlets that
are so confoundedly foolish that no review will notice them.
Very well. My Universal Review will set to work to praise
every one of these books and pamphlets ; then I shall have
forty thousand people declaring that the Univ£rsal Review is
the greatest and wisest journal in the world ; and with a cir-
culation of forty thousand at sixpence a number, I have no
need to appeal to the public at large at all. Do you see ? "
" And will you do all the praising yourself } " she meekly
asked.
" Not a line of it. I patent the invention, but I don't drive
the engine. I shall get an amiable young curate ; and I will
put it to him that, as there is a great deal of unnecessary se-
verity and cruel wrong-doing in reviewing, he is called upon to
restore the proper balance of things by introducing a large
measure of charity and benevolence. He will do a generous
work ; and I shall have my forty thousand sixpences. Even
should my success encourage rivals — "
'■^ There iss a skart out there, sir P^ called out Alec, in a low^,
eager voice, for the gig had been by this time paddled up to
the dinghy.
"Where?"
" Out there, sir — sweemen in the watte r," was the quick an-
sw^er ; for the young sailor was far more anxious to get after
the birds than the sportsman of this little party.
Far out among the blue ripples — almost in the middle of
bay — they could descry a black object floating on the sea.
Now Mrs. Warrener had for some time back declared her
intention of having one of those huge black-green skarts
stuffed and put up in the hall of the cottage in Camberwell
Grove, and she had repeatedly besought her brother to shoot
one for her. His efforts had so far been unsuccessful. The
skart is a quick diver, a rapid flier, and, although his body is
big enough as a target, his thick, strong plumage is not easily
pierced by ordinary shot. Besides, Mr. Drummond was gen-
erally too intent on bagging curlew, which were good for the
yacht's larder, to care to startle the neighborhood by fir-
ing random shots at stray cormorants.
On this occasion, they resolved to adopt a little bit of
CROSS-CURRENTS. 253
Strategy. The dinghy was sent round the curve of the shore,
to get to seaward of the bird, so that it was not likely to rise
when the way was blocked ; while Mr. Drummond, getting
into the gig, was pulled away along the other shore. By-and-
by the bird was between the two boats — swimming about,
and occasionally diving, but showing no sign of fear. When,
however, the gig was slowly paddled out toward it, it became
a trifle more alarmed. It vv^as evidently swimming away from
them, and making for the other side of the loch. But there
was the dinghy ; and now it became a question whether the
dark-green bird, with its long neck and ungainly body, would
boldly adventure a flight past either of the boats, or dive.
Mr. Drummond was up in the bow of the gig, his breech-
loader kept out of sight. When they had got to within about
sixty yards of the skart, he stealthily put down his hand, but
almost at the same moment the bird made a plunge forward
and disappeared.
" Now, my lads, pull away ! " he called out. " He'll rise
close to us — "
The bang of the gun interrupted the speech ; he had fired
a snap-shot at the skart, which had come up some forty yards
off on their left. But the shot had merely struck the water ;
for the bird, finding itself close to its pursuers, had immedi-
ately dived again.
They pulled quickly to the spot, and waited about, but the
skart was evidently taking a good swim down below. The
difficulty of getting a shot at him, moreover, was enhanced
by the chances of his rising somewhere in a line with the
dinghy, in which case it would be impossible to fire, although
the smaller boat was a long way off.
" There he is, sir ! "
The big black object was visible for just a moment some
twenty yards astern ; and again a charge of shot went crash-
ing down on the water.
" You will hit him that time, sir," called out the eager
Alec. " Ay, we will hef him this time ; he will no go far now."
But when they next saw this Jack-in-the-box, after the
lapse of a couple of minutes or so, he was a great distance
away, and tlie two boats had to begin the chase anew* Suf-
fice it to say, that, after about three-quarters of an hour's
waiting about, and a great deal of snap-firing, the skart was
at last stretched on the water ; and when he was dragged
dripping into the boat, he was found to be an unusually large
specimen, with especially fine, thick, glossy plumage. The
men declared that they would be " ferra glad to hef the skart
254 MADCAP VIOLET.
to eat, and Alec he wass ferry cleffer at the skinning, and the
skin it could be stuffed ferry well whatever."
" No, thank you," said Mr. Drummond to them. " I know
of old what the cooking of a skart does to a yacht ; you
v/ouldn't get the smell out of the forecastle for a week. You
may have a couple of these curlev/, if you like ; but no skart,
if you please."
It is easily to be understood that there was no objection
to this course — Alec being of opinion that a curfew was " just
as good as a faisant " — and so in great contentment they rowed
back through the beautiful bright afternoon toward the yacht.
Portree looked very picturesque as they approached it. Over
its shadowed rocks and trees stretched a silver-gray sky, mot-
tled with millions of small, faintly yellow clouds — a clear —
bright ethereal sunset ; its w^hite houses, its dark-green firs
and bushes and boats, were distinctly seen in the cold twilight
underneath, while a pale-blue smoke from the chimneys arose
to the glowing sky overhead.
When Violet got on board, she went down to her little
cabin, and took out from her pocket the letter which had so
deeply moved her in the morning. She read it again — this
time with less emotion. So far, indeed, from the letter mak-
ing any appeal to her feelings, it was studiously cold ; it was
this very coldness that had startled and pained her — that
had brought with it an accusation which she could not alto-
gether repel. She felt she deserved to have this former
friend of hers address her as " Dear Miss North." She
had been thoughtless in allowing him to nourish illusions for
so long a time ; she ought not to have listened to his prayers
for delay and further consideration ; she had been selfishly
forgetful of his pain and disappointment in the enjoyment
of her own newly-found happiness. All this suddenly oc-
curred to her on her first reading of this letter ; and she
knew that she could make no reparation.
But on one point her pride was touched. The writer of
this cold, formal, business-like letter went on to say that he
considered he was bound to inform Sir Acton North of what
had occurred in so far as it affected him, Mr. Miller. That
is to say, the young man, having had his suit approved by
Violet's father, would go and inform him that these relations
were now at an end. He wished to know, therefore, whether
Miss North would prefer his confining his statement to that
one point, or whether he was to tell the whole story.
Violet could not brook for a moment what she regarded
as a sort of insinuation. Thus it was she had demanded to
CKOSS-CLII^^RENTS. 255
be put on shore immediatel}^ ; and at the post-office she had
telegraphed as follows : " I am deeply sorry if you are pained.
As regards my father, you may tell him what you please."
And now, as she still held George Miller's letter in her
hand, and looked at it without seeing a word in it, she was
asking herself whether the young man w^ould really tell her
father the w^iole story. That morning she had no reason to
dread such a revelation ; she had, indeed, intended to sit
down and write to her father a good deal more than George
Miller knew ; she had even settled in her own mind how she
would begin the letter — " My dear papa, I am the very proud-
est and happiest woman in the whole world. At last I know
what it is to have one's admiration and love go hand-in-
hand—"
But since that morning something strange had occurred.
She did not quite know what it was ; but it had greatly
changed the world for her. Her mind w^as filled with dim
forebodings, and even with a dull sense of pain, that seemed
to blur and confuse her perceptions of the things around her.
Then, with a sudden and resolute effort of v/iil, she roused
herself. She would go frankly and courageously to Mr.
Drummond, and demand to know the worst. If this gent-
lest and truest of all her friends was pained on her account
— if her presence there caused him the least em.barrassment
in the world — if, to please her, he was acting a part of forced
cheerfulness — she would proudly and gladly set him free. If it
was true that he had nothing to offer her but that constant
and tender affection he had shown her ever since he had
known her as a school-girl and tlie companion of his niece,
she would meekly and gratefully accept that, and let the
dream of her life go with a sigh.
She could not go to him. The red blood tingled in her
cheek as she thought of the manner in which he might meet
her question. Could a girl so far demean herself as to ask
for love ; could she more especially, who knew the great pos-
sibilities of unselfishness in this man's nature, run the risk
of calling on him to sacrifice himself for her happiness — the
happiness of a mere school-girl ? No, she was too proud for
that. She would wait to see whether it was true that they had
blundered into a false position ; if that were so, she would find
some means of freeing them both. What mattered a school-
girl's happiness, she again asked herself .? The sun would rise
all the same over these Skye hills to-morrow, next year, fifty
years hence. Who was to care about her and the disappoint-
ment of her eirlish dreams ?
256 MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER XXIX.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
When, on that beautiful morning at Isle Ornsay, they first
saw the glowing wonders of Skye and the Sound of Sleat,
they were full of a new enthusiasm, and eager to go still
farther on in their explorations. Supposing that they should
get to Portree — this was the subject of general talk and
speculation — why should they not make a bold dash across
the Minch to far Stornoway and the solitudes of the Outer
Hebrides ? With a fair wind, and provided that the Greater
Minch was not rolling mountains high before a north-easterly
gale, they might do the sixty-five miles between Portree and
the Lewis in a da}^ They would adventure it. They would
visit that vast " peat floating in the Atlantic." They would
touch the "ultima Thule " ofBoethius; and was there not
some talk, too, of letters of introduction to a mysterious
island potentate who had abundant salmon-fishing, and whose
daughter had a yacht, the marvel of these distant isles ?
But now, as they lay in Portree, the last anchorage between
Skye and Lewis, they did not seem quite so enthusiastic about
this project. Mrs. Warrener considered that, before attempt-
ing a voyage round the Outer Hebrides, they should get back
to Castle Bandbox and get a sufficient supply of all sorts of
necessaries. Her daughter had been making private and
anxious inquiries of Captain Jimmy, who had frightened her
with the possibility of their being becalmed out in the mid-
dle of the Minch — as he had been the summer before — for
three days and nights, with the heavy Atlantic swell rolling
the Sea-Pyot about in a fashion which a landswoman would
not readily forget. All these and other considerations were
being discussed at breakfast, Violet alone being silent and
distraite. At last, Mr. Drummond, deeming that his guest
had the best right to decide, frankly asked her what she
would rather do.
Now the girl had lain awake nearly the whole night, and
she was nervous, troubled, almost in an hysterical state.
She had been thinking of that beautiful, enthusiastic time at
Isle Ornsay ; and somehow, when he put this question sud-
denly to her, the difference between that time and this so
overcame her that her eyes filled with tears, and she could not
speak. She endeavore'd to escape unperceived ; but his ques-
tion had drawn attention to her. When she quietly left the
HOMEWARD BOUND. 257
saloon, Mrs. Warrener followed ; her daughter remained, con-
vinced that there was something behind all this that she did
not understand.
- Then she saw her uncle rise, and he was obviously very
much agitated. All the generous kindliness of the man's
nature revolted against the wretchedness which this girl was
too clearly suffering ; and could he any longer doubt that
v/hat his sister had told him was true ? The girl was miser-
able ; she should not remain miserable through him.
He went on deck, where the two women were walking up
and down.
" Sarah," he said, with great apparent firmness and calm-
ness, " I want to speak to Violet for a moment."
His sister withdrew, and then he said, in the same tone,
" I can not let this continue, Violet. We have made a
mistake. Let us look on what has happened during these
past few days as never having happened at all, and try to
forget it."
She heard. It was all a mistake, then. That beautiful
past was only a dream.
At this moment — she remembered it long after with a
strange wonder — she looked up to his face with a frank and
kindly smile.
" Yes," she said, lightly, " we have made a mistake. Is
it not fortunate that we have found out so soon — before
there is any harm done .'' Now we can be as we were before :
and it is — it is quite fortunate there is no harm done. Shall
we go down now "i I must apologize to them, and promise to
make no more scenes."
She seemed quite pleased, and she smiled ; but he noticed
that the small white hand v/hich she placed on the top of
the companion-stairs to steady her descent trembled so vio-
lently that he thought she must have fallen. He could not
understand all this ; but the girl had an excitable tempera-
ment : perhaps the events of the last few days had been a
little too much for her nerves.
She was quite mirthful during breakfast. She said she
did not care whether they went on to Stornoway or back to
Castle Bandbox, so long as they lived in this curious little
floating house, with its miscellaneous groceries, and expedi-
ents in cooking, and makeshifts, and mishaps. On the whole,
she thought they had better go back and fit out for the longer
trip. At present, at all events, they could not go on to Stor-
noway at all ; for there was scarcely any wind.
Mrs. Warrener was delighted to see the girl once more
17
258 MADCAP VIOLET.
bright and cheerful : she knew that the desired explanation
had at length been made, and happier days were in store for
all of them. So she, too, gave in her vote for returning ;
not without the secret hope that they might find George
Miller awaiting them at Castle Bandbox.
When they went on deck, accordingly, they found the
great mainsail hanging loose in the sunlight, though there
was scarcely enough wind to make the canvas flap, while
the men were hoisting the gaff-topsail. Far up in the blue,
the small red pennon at the topmast gleamed like a tongue
of flame. The water was almost smooth around them, show-
ing accurate reflections of the motionless white clouds, and
of the dusky mountains over there that were mostly in
shadow. In the south, and behind the olives and browns of
these great shoulders of rock, stood the sharply serrated
line of the Cuchullins, the peaks of a pale transparent blue.
They managed to get out of the harbor, and, once fairly in
the open, they saw how impossible it would have been to
have attempted Stornoway at this time. Away out there, in
the direction of the Minch, the sea was like glass ; here at
hand there was a slight breeze that just kept the boat going,
but that breeze was from the north-east. Miss Amy, for
one, was glad they were not going to risk being becalmed
for a few days on the long Atlantic swell.
When, however, they had crept down to the Sound of
Raasay, the slight breeze that had carried them so far died
off altogether ; and they were motionless in a dead calm.
The sea was a perfect mirror, in which that long panorama of
mountains — faint and mystical in the heat of the sun — was
reflected with a surprising exactness. There was neither a
house nor a ship within sight. They seemed absolutely alone
in a world of glassy water, of silent hills, and motionless
skies.
In ordinary circumstances this would have been a time for
novel-reading, card-playing, sewing, smoking, and so on — the
various amusements and occupations possible on board ship ;
but curiously enough they did not seem to be much in want
of any such means of passing the time. James Drummond
kept pacing up and down the deck — like a caged hyena, said
his sister, who was in the best of spirits — answering the
questions or remarks addressed to him rather absently.
Violet was perfectly .silent, and sat apart, looking out to sea.
Her accustomed companion, seeing the girl looked rather
fatigued and wearied, tried to induce her to join in some sport
or other, but without avail.
HOMEWARD BOUND. 259
At this moment, indeed, the very number of conflicting
emotions pressing in on the girl prevented her realizing to the
utmost her desolation and misery. She had so many things
to think of ; so many recollections to recall ; so many quick,
contrary, puzzling interpretations to consider of all this that
had happened. She was a trifle bewildered, perhaps, so that
the keen edge of her wretchedness was blunted. For one
moment, for example, she would think with some slight sur-
prise of the readiness with which he had thrown up this
engagement ; the next she would accuse herself of selfish-
ness in expecting that he would continue to act a lie for her
sake. Was it not better for both, indeed, that the truth
should be known ? There was no harm done, she had
assured him. In a short time all would be as it had been.
At the same time, she felt very lonely. She had no mother.
There were certain things about which she did not care to
speak even to this kind friend who had tried to be as good as
a mother to her.
" Violet," said the young girl near her, coming up to her
and putting her arm round her neck, " you will blind your
eyes if you look so constantly at the sea. I wish you would
come and persuade Captain Jimmy to make us some of those
rope-quoits you were speaking of — come !"
" No, thank you, dear," she said, rising ; " I am going down
to write a letter."
" And where do you mean to post it .-* " said Amy, with a
laugh. " In a bottle ? "
" I only want to write it : we can post it at the first place
we land."
" Don't be too curious, Amy," said Mrs. Warrener, with a
smile. " To write to one's friends in absence is like having a
talk with them ; and that is pleasant to you without thinking
of how the letter is to be forwarded."
But Mrs. Warrener was wrong in her conjecture as to the
person with whom Violet wished to converse in this silent and
mystic fashion. She had no intention of writing a long love-
letter, full of contrition for past cruelty, and promises of kind-
ness in the future. She took advantage of the dead calm to
write the following few lines to her father :
« Yacht Sea-Pyot, off the Coast of Skye, Sept. — , 187-.
" My dear Papa, — I suppose by this time Mr. Miller has
told you that he has asked me definitely to marry him, and
that I refused. I could not marry him. I waited a long time
to see, because he was so anxious about it, but it was no use ;
26o MADCAP VIOLET.
and I am sorry if I have caused him pain or annoyance.
And so you see, dear papa, as I am not engaged, and have no
prospect of getting married to any body, I am thrown on your
hands again, hke a bad six pence. I had some notion that
you had got rid of me at last ; but I really could not bring my-
self to marry Mr. Miller. Now what I want you to do, dear
papa, is this. I do not think I can stay longer with Mrs.
Warrener when they return to town. They have been more
kind to me than I can tell you — all of them ; I have never
seen any body in my life treated with such constant kindness ;
I can never be sufficiently grateful to them. But I don't
think I can always stay with them ; and do you think, dear
papa, you could board me out somewhere when I get back to
London ? I should be sorry to trouble Lady North ; if we did
agree for a time, my temper would soon break the whole thing
up again. And if you could think of some way, dear papa, in
which I could be useful — I should not like to be living like a
genteel pauper, doing nothing, caring for nothing. I should
like to earn my own living, if you would allow me ; and I have
been thinking of two or three ways. They say my figure is
passable ; I might become one of those living models that the
big milliners have for showing ladies' dresses — ^walking up
and down, you know, before the purchaser. Or I might get
a place in one of those large restaurants, to serve behind the
bar ; but I fear that would tend to give me a low opinion of
my fellow-beings. I could not be a governess ; I should box
the dear creatures' ears when they were impertinent : besides,
that trip to Canada pretty nearly put an end to my music. I
could not take to dress-making ; because I make nearly all my
own dresses, and I would not make another woman's for her,
to encourage her in her idleness. So what is there left ? I
am glad that I am not a father, with a bad sixpence always
turning up ; but I am your affectionate daughter,
" Violet North."
She went on deck.
" Violet," said Mr. Drummond to her, speaking in a very
kindly way, and noticing that her eyes were cast down, "if
you want your letter posted soon, we will go in to Broadford
instead of going on — that is, if we are ever to see Broadford
again."
" Oh no, thank you," she said, with much distinctness.
" The letter is in no hurry. It is quite a question, indeed,
whether it catches papa in town."
" Have you written only to your papa ? " said Mrs. War-
rener, concealing a smile.
HOMEWARD BOUND. 261
" I have written only to papa," the girl said, turning round
with some surprise.
They did get down to Broadford, however, creeping along
before the occasional puffs of wind, which were becoming
more frequent. When they drew near the opening of the
bay, they had then to decide whether they would go in and
anchor for the night, or go on ; the skipper being altogether
in favor of going on, partly because he always expressed a
certain doubt about the safety of Broadford Bay, and partly
because there were indications that this too fine weather
would not last. So on they went, in the wonderful roseate
evening, watching the colors die out on the hills, and the first
yellow glimmer of the Loch Alsh light-house appear in the
gathering gray. What wind there was began to shift about
somewhat ; they had the topsail taken down as they got into
the narrower waters between Balmacarra and Kyle- Akin.
When, after dinner that night, the voyagers came on deck, as
was their wont, they saw that the moon behind the black hills
of Skye had an ominous ring round it. They were clearly
approaching the end of that long spell of fine weather.
But the wind did not rise till next morning about seven or
eight o'clock. All through the night they had been creeping
along through the dangerous Narrows of Skye and into the
opener waters of Glenelg Bay ; and it was well that they had
fair sea-room when this squally south-eastern gale began to
blow. In a very short space of time the aspect of things was
considerably changed. When Mr. Drummond put his head
up the companion, he got some intimation of what was going
on by finding his cap caught by the wind and whirled out to
sea. He returned with the report that it was raining hard ;
a good stiff breeze blowing ; the sea rising.
Smothered in water-proofs, they made their morning ap-
pearance on deck. What a change ! Watery mists half hid-
ing the gloomy mountains of the main-land; the sun only a
confused glow of light behind the w^hirling masses of vapor ;
the sea a stormy and desolate waste of gray-green, with the
long, rushing, roaring lines of the sea-horses coming sweep-
ing along to break on the plunging bows of the vessel. Vio-
let was glad of all this — of the new, keen life and motion that
had burst upon them ; she would go into no shelter ; she
stood with her face glowing red with the beating rain, with
her teeth set against the wind, with her eyes proud and glad
for the first time since she had been at this place before.
No longer did she look at the rain-desolated Isle Ornsay, or
the gloomy mountains of Loch Hourn, with any thing of sen-
262 MADCAP VIOLET.
timental regret. This wild day seemed better fitted to her
now. In her reckless feeling of the moment, she hoped the
gale would increase a hundred-fold ; had she been alone on
board, she would have been glad, perhaps, had the vessel
gone foundering down to the bottom. The past was gone —
with its fair summer skies, its blue seas, its thousand secret
and tender hopes ; now let the wild winds blow as they
pleased !
And they did blow, though not at the bidding of an un-
happy girl. Captain Jimmy had very speedily to reef his
mainsail ; and the hatches were closed, for there was a good
deal of water coming leaping over the Sea-Pyofs bows.
" We shall have a heavy sea on before we get down to
Ardnamurchan," said — or rather shouted — Mr. Drummond
to his skipper.
" Na," said Jimmy, with the rain running down his nose,
" na, na, it will be no a ferry bad sea; but," he added, cau-
tiously, " it will be better if the leddies will put the things in
the cabin safe — that will be better whatever."
Indeed, long before they got to Ardnamurchan they had
need to make things secure, for the gale had raised a heavy
sea, which tossed about the small Sea-Pyot like a cork, and
rattled the glasses and candlesticks below in an alarming
manner. Yet there was much delight in this day's voyage —
through the plunging seas and whirling rains, and past the
bleak and desolate islands lying in the waste of waters.
There was little opportunity for speaking ; there were many
things to claim attention ; Violet, for one, was glad of the ex-
citement and distraction afforded by the storm. As the day
wore on, the violence of the wind increased ; and w^hen at
lengt,h they got down to Ardnamurchan and faced the mouth
of the Sound of Mull, the sea was running high enough to
cause the yacht to groan and creak in all her timbers as she
rose and plunged with the waves. The skipper did not at
all like the look of the sky. There were intervals of a strange
darkness, followed by periods of a no less strange light, when
the sun seemed to be shining through a mass of vapor quite
close at hand. Along the western horizon there was a curi-
ous copper color. No one was particularly sorry when the
Sea-Pyot succeeded in running into Tobermory Bay.
But even here, in this small harbor, the gale pursued them ;
and in the dusk they could hear the heavy waves dashing
against the sea-wall and the quay. Before turning in for
the night, the skipper threw out his second anchor, and an
anchor-watch was ordered. During that wild night, some of
HOMEWARD BOUND, 263
those in the small cabins lay awake and listened to the creak-
ing of the timbers as the yacht plunged and rolled at her
anchorage, and to the long swish of the waves along her
sides ; and even these sounds were scarcely so ominous as
the tramp of men overhead and the calling of the skipper —
he having g:ot his mates up at two in the morning to lower
the topmast and take the gig in from her davits on deck, so
that the wind should have less pressure on the yacht. Had
she dragged her anchors that night, there would have been
no need to tell this story.
In the morning the state of affairs v/as even worse. The
gale had increased in fury. Here, in this small harbor, huge
green waves went rolling by — their summits caught and
whirled away in foam by the wind, to dash on the sea-wall
of the little town and send volumes of spray on to the houses
and shops. All the doors were shut against the storm.
The blue smoke from one or two chimneys was blown this
way and that by squalls of wind ; and now and again the
woods on the hill beside the town were swept by flying rain-
clouds. Out at sea nothing was visible but the white crests
of the breakers ; but here in the bay the crews of the coast-
ers — black and bulky craft that rolled heavily in the waves
— were busy making themselves as secure as they could with
extra cables. It was a sufficiently perilous business for two
men who were in a small boat ; and who, every minute or so,
were completely lost to sight in the trough of a great wave,
vv^hile at other times the water could be seen breaking over
them in drenching showers.
Of course there was no chance of getting out that day ; it
was for a long time doubtful whether they dared venture
ashore, short as the distance was. At length Mr. Drummond
volunteered to go ashore in the gig with a couple of men to
post Violet's letter. But she would not give the letter up.
" I am going, in any case," said he. " You may as well
allow me to post your letter for you."
She stood irresolute, impatient, embarrassed : she had a
great wish to implore him, for her sake, not to venture ; but
how could she do so now ? The men were lowering the gig.
Drummond was buttoning on a big sou'-wester.
" Now, Violet : the letter, if you please."
She suddenly pulled it from her pocket, tore it in a dozen
pieces, and flung it overboard — the wind whirling the pieces
away like feathers.
" Why did you do that .? " said he. " I must go ashore —
there is no risk."
264 MADCAP VIOLET.
He jumped into the boat and took the tiller-ropes ; the men
pushed off from the yacht and struck their oars into the
water ; the next moment the gig was borne away on the crest
of a mighty wave, only to dip the next minute, and half dis-
appear in a cloud of windy spray. They nearly fouled the
chain-cable of one of the colliers — which probably would
have ended their voyage for them ; but having missed that
danger, they encountered no other ; and soon those on board
the yacht saw through the sea-spray the tall figure of Mr.
Drummond walking solitarily along the the high quay.
" Don't you know why he has gone ashore ? " Mrs. War-
rener said to Vio4et, with an amused look.
" No — not at all," the girl said. " I can imagine no reason
at all for running into such danger."
" There is not any danger. Captain Jimmy says, only they
will be drenched through in coming back."
" And why did he go ashore ? "
" To get some new bread for you. He was vexed that you
had to eat biscuit at breakfast this morning. "
" I would rather eat tarred rope," she said, vehemently ;
and then she stopped and turned away : she was schooling
herself to silence.
In due time Mr. Drummond returned on board, drenched,
but successful. He had got new bread, fresh butter, a news-
paper not more than two days old, some fresh milk and eggs,
and a cap to replace the one of which the sea had robbed him
the day before. Likewise there were two or three little
trinkets for the women : he said the impulse to buy every
thing he saw was almost irresistible — he had grown so tired
of always finding the same amount of money in his pockets.
The wild weather continued all day. Occasionally a brief
break appeared in the flying clouds ; and a watery sunshine
streamed down on the white house of Tobermory, and on the
green trees over them and around them ; this flash of bright-
ness being all the more brilliant on account of the black
masses of rain-cloud forming the background to the green
and white little town. But presently this frail vision of sun-
shine would disappear ; and the old picture would be pre-
sented of the huge green waves, of the black hulls of the
coasters rolling heavily, of white foam and wind-swept clouds.
Then rain set in steadily in the afternoon, and they were
forced to go below, to seek refuge in books and cards. Oc-
casionally, there was a little conversation — not much ; and
Violet was glad when it ceased ; for she was beginning to
see that Mr. Drummond wished very much to be considered
HOMEWARD BOUND. 265
gay and cheerful, whereas the quick eyes of the girl perceived
that he was so only by fits and starts, and obviously with
some effort. He had been rummaging among the books left
by his friend in the yatch ; and had lighted upon an old copy
of Herodotus, which he professed to treat as a description of
Europe at the present day written in a form or a parable.
What was this about a marriage-market, and the prettiest
girls fetching the highest prices 1 And how could Cyrus have
known any thing about the Stock Exchange when he said :
" I was never yet afraid of those who in the midst of their city
have a place set apart, in which they collect and cheat
one another by false oaths ? " He was much interested in
learning that the vessels which sailed down the. river to Baby-
lon were circular ; and also that " every vessel has a live ass
on board, and the larger ones more ; " but he considered
that the writer had made a slip here, as we have not yet
adopted the circular form iron-clad. And so forth. Some-
times they understood these occult references ; sometimes
they did not. Had Mr. Miller been present, he would
have turned away disgusted, for he never saw the fun of any
one trying to puzzle you by obscure jokes. A joke was a
joke — something to laugh at — not a conundrum. What, for
example, could Mr. Drummond mean by saying to him one
night at the Judaeum that he supposed the favorite wine at
the Club was old Clo' de Vougeot ?
They were more interested, however, in the next book he
proceeded to skim ; which was a statistical description of the
Hebrides, accompanying the saihng directions issued by the
Admiralty. For suddenly he said,
" Sarah, do you think you could leave London ? "
" For good .? "
"Yes."
" To live wdiere ? "
" Somewhere about this coast."
" Oh," she cried, " think of the winter — the bleakness, the
bitter cold—"
" It is exactly the absence of cold that is the attraction —
that made me think of living here in reading this book. The
temperature of Lewis is the most mild and equable of any
part of the British Isles — as I read. Snow seldom lies in
these western regions. Look at the various shrubs and
plants that grow out-of-doors here that are only to be found
in hot-houses elsewhere. They have camellias in their gar-
dens in Cantyre."
"What should we do all the winter?" said his sister.
266 MADCAP VIOLET.
'•That is the point," said he, rather wistfully. "Would
you care to make the experiment? We might get tired of it
— but not more tired than I am now in London."
" I will go with you wherever you please," she said.
" How about Amy ? "
" She can finish her schooling now at home," her mother
answered.
Some silence ensued. It was with a strange sinking of the
heart that Violet had heard this conversation. They had
never mentioned her ; they seemed to take it for granted that
she would leave them when they returned to London ; and
yet, she asked herself, why ? They could not have known
what she wrote to her father ; and she had given them no hint
of her intentions. Up till now they had invariably consulted
her about their joint plans, and were almost too anxious to
accommodate their arrangements to her wishes. Now she was
left out altogether ; and she knew them too well to suspect
them of any thing but an innocent assumption that it was un-
necessary to ask her.
Amy, who had been absent, came into the saloon at this
moment.
" Come here, child, and tell us — would you like to come and
live always in the Highlands ? "
The girl, in the most natural manner in the world, turned to
Violet.
" What do yoiL say, Violet ? "
Happily, in the dusk the extreme embarrassment of the
girl was not visible.
" Oh, I ? " she said hurriedly. " Your mamma understands,
Amy, that — that you must leave me out — "
" You are not going away from us ? " cried her old school-
companion, in dismay.
" Not if we can prevent you, " Mrs. Warrener said, in her
kindly way ; and as she was passing she laid her hand on the
shoulder of the girl — "not if we can prevent you, Violet.
But there comes a time when the young birds will insist on
flying away from the nest ; and though we elder folk can't be
expected to like it, still it is the old story. Come, who v/ill
adventure for a blow on deck ? We must give the saloon up
to Duncan now."
The force of the gale still prevented their leaving Tobermory
that day ; it was not until the following afternoon that they
were allowed to start. By that time a vague impression had
been formed in Violet's mind that she had made her last trip
in the Sea-Pyot.
CHALLENGED. 267
CHAPTER XXX.
CHALLENGED.
Other impressions, too, she was rapidly forming, of a much
graver character, and Hkely to lead to a decisive action. The
quick eyes of the girl saw through this affectation of cheer-
fulness which James Drummond sought to preserve in her
presence. She came to know, in a vague way, and yet with
absolute certainty, that he was beset by an anxious care.
She had expected that the breaking asunder of those tender
ties which had been too hastily formed would have released
him, at least, from all anxiety and embarrassment, and she
was glad to think that that would be the result, whatever the
cost might be to her ; now she knew, with a great sadness,
that this her best of friends, carried about with him a heavy
heart underneath all that pretense of kindly merriment.
She knew it. She could read it in his eyes when she met
him unexpectedly. And she could not but imagine that the
cause of this secret care was herself.
What could be more simple than her line of reasoning i* — •
if that could be called reasoning v/hich was rather a succes-
sion of leaps of fancies and emotions. He was wretched be-
cause he could not return the affection she had offered him.
To free him from that hasty and mutual pledge was noth-
ing, so long as she remained there to recall it by her presence.
To a person of his imaginative, sensitive, and unselfish tem-
perament she would appear as a standing reproach ; he would
consider himself — however unnecessarily — the cause of her
unhappiness ; and would be miserable himself in consequence.
" And this," she thought to herself, with some bitterness,
'■'■ is what I have brought to him ; this is how I repay him for
all his kindness to me."
And so she became more and more anxious to get back to
Castle Bandbox. Perhaps something would occur then to put
an end to this unhappy state of affairs ; though she knev/ that
her heart-ache over the loss of the one highest dream of her
life was not to be cured by any change of circumstance.
She breathed more freely, then, when at last they v/eighed
anchor, and stood out into the Sound of Mull.
The wind had fallen rapidly, but there was still a heavy
sea on, and the afternoon sunlight sometimes shone stormily
through the floating masses of vapor that clung about the
Mull mountains. By-and-by the wind had so far abated that
268 MADCAP VIOLET.
it was deemed permissible to hoist the topsail ; and so they
beat down the Sound at a very fair rate of speed, hoping to
get home before midnight.
By-and-by they came in sight of a house, only the tops of
the chimneys of which were visible over a line of dark-green
trees. It looked a solitary place, on these lonely shores.
"That is Finnorie," said the skipper. "There is no song
the people will like so well as the ' Farewell to Finnorie ' — not
any song they will like so well as that one."
Violet did not know this pathetic little piece ; but she knew
that she, too, was bidding her farewell to Finnorie, and to
more than Finnorie. They were all standing on deck at this
time. She said,
" It is a sad thing to bid good-bye to a place you have
known."
" It is a sadder thing to bid good-bye to illusions," said Mr.
Drummond, somewhat absently; but he had scarcely uttered
the words when he seemed to check himself. " Though one
ought to be glad about it," he added, quickly ; " the sooner
we get rid of illusions, the better. The operation is not nice,
but the results are wholesome. Finnorie, now. And that is
the manse of Finnorie .? 1 suppose the song will last a cen-
tury yet. Perhaps it was only an accident ; or was it com-
posed with a view to posthumous fame ? There is no man
without that, you may be sure ; though the ordinaiy person's
notion of posthumous fame is to live in the kindly recollection
of sons and daughters, and grand'rchildren, and friends — a
very good thing too, you know — it has a hold on a man's
actions ; it may make him more generous than he would other-
wise be. What, now, is the nearest town or village to this
remote little manse 1 Loch Aline, I suppose."
He stopped there. Loch Aline — that was the place young
Miller was supposed to make for when he left them on that
memorable Sunday. Some strange things had occurred since
then — to strange, perhaps, to be understood just yet.
The dark came on ; in the dusk they could see the livid blue
waves burst into flowers of white foam as they went rushing
past. It was an angry sea, though there was not much wind.
" The sea is very deep here, I suppose," said Violet to the
skipper — she happened to be standing alone with him — he
at the helm.
" Indeed it iss that," said Jimmy.
*• If you went overboard, you would drown soon — perhaps
you might drown before coming up at all ? "
CHALLENGED. • 269
'' It would be a ferry bad thing to try that," said the skip-
per, with a shrewd smile.
She had not the least intention of trying that. It was a
passing fancy — nothing more.
But they ran a greater chance of seeing it tried that night
than was at all pleasant. When they were well out of the
Sound and crossing to the south of Lismore light-house, they
were struck by a sudden squall. In the midst of the dark-
ness — the moon not having risen as yet — there was something
startling in this sudden roar of wind that caught the Sea-Pyot
and threw her over almost on her beam-ends. Instantly the
skipper called out to lower the topsail, and there was a con-
fused scuffle forward. The next moment there was a loud
shriek from Mrs. Warrener, who had rushed up the com-
panion-way to see what all the noise was about, and who
just then caught a glimpse of one of the men being whirled
by her in the dusk and carried right up and over the gig,
where he remained suspended. in mid-air, the flapping and
straining topsail tearing this way and that over his head.
That was Alec. Somehow the sheet had got twisted round
his feet, and the force of the wind on the loose sail had torn
him from his hold, though he clung to the rope like a rat. A
brief, exciting period of tumult ensued. Mr. Drum.mond
sprung to the man's aid, and caught him by the boots ; an-
other of the sailors came running to his assistance ; and to-
gether they hauled him down on deck. But the question was
how to get those great blowing volumes of canvas secured,
for the gale was sweeping them this way and that ; and again
one of the sailors was knocked off his feet, and had to cling to
the bulwarks to prevent his being driven into the driving sea.
This was becoming too serious. Violet was standing by —
frightened, but with all her senses about her.
" Can you hold her for a moment 1 " the skipper called out.
The girl seized the tiller ; and he made a dive at the flut-
tering canvas, while the sailor got his legs again. But what
was she to do ? Right ahead of her the great glow of the
light-house burned in the night ; if she kept the boat away,
she would expose her still further to the fury of the gale, and
make it more difficult for the men to shorten sail ; if she ran
her up to the wind, she might get dangerously near the long,
black promontory of Lismor. Captain Jimmy, however, had
no intention of intrusting the safety of his vessel to alien
hands for any thing but a second. In another moment he
was back at the tiller ; the men had the foresail secured ; and
all the damage done by the sudden squall was that Alec had
270 MADCAP VIOLET.
lost his cap, and that Amy Warrener, having been thrown
down on the floor of the saloon, had been overwhelmed by a
shower of candle-snuffers, shilling novels, and biscuits.
By-and-by, an equable breeze having succeeded this frag-
mentary hurricane, they found themselves lightly and pleas-
antly running for home, while the moon had come up in the
south over the black islands, so that they should easily pick
their way along the hilly road to Castle Bandbox. It ought
to have been a joyful return after all this beautiful cruise ; but
there was a great silence on board, the chief talker being
more than usually absent and thoughtful.
" We shall soon be ashore now," said Mrs. Warrener to
Violet, the two of them being in their little cabin, packing up
various things.
" I suppose so," said the girl.
*' I hope you have enjoyed the trip? "
" Oh yes, thank you," said she — the thoughtless answer to
an ordinary question.
" And you will enjoy a few days on shore before we start
again."
" I do not think I shall be with you next time, Mrs. War-
rener," said Violet.
" What do you mean, Violet ? " said her friend, ceasing her
work and standing up.
Perhaps she would rather not have answered. Every thing
around her seemed so wrong and miserable that talking about
it promised little. But, after all, there was something of the
wildness of despair in the way in which the girl threw out her
hands and began to speak hurriedly and excitedly.
" How can you ask that ? Do you not see what is going
on ? Do you not see that you brother is miserable ; though,
with his constant kindness, he tries to conceal it t And I
know I am the cause of it ; and when I know I am the cause
of wretchedness to my friends — I — I think it is time I was
out of the way."
" Violet," said Mrs. Warrener, taking the girl's hand, " you
are too impulsive — you will do something wild some day.
Now will you listen to reason ? A great part of what you say
is true. James has not been quite himself for a few days
back ; and there is no doubt he is a little anxious about you,
That is natural. He has had the greatest interest in you ever
since he knew you, and he has had a great affection for you ;
and he is not a man to throw those things aside lightly. He
is not at all a man like that. When he has got to like any
one, there is no use arguing with him ; he is very steadfast.
CHALLENGED. 271
Now, can you wonder at his being rather troubled about you ?
You yourself have not been overhappy, Violet, of late,"
" I do not think I have been — I have been — overhappy,"
said the girl, with a strong effort to restrain her tears.
" And can you wonder that he has been perhaps rather too
anxious about you, considering how easily you will get out of
all this unfortunate trouble ! "
"Well," said the girl, vehemently, "he shall not be vexed
and troubled about me. I am not going to requite all his
great kindness to me that way."
" You would best remove his trouble by becoming happy
yourself, Violet," her friend said, with a smile, " and you will
soon be able to do that."
" Soon ? " said the girl thoughtfully. " Shall I soon be able
to remove this trouble from him ? "
" Oh yes."
" I suppose now," said Violet, speaking in a strangely slow
and measured way, " I suppose now, you would say that there
is nothing — nothing in all the world he would not do to make
me happy ? "
" Nothing ! " said James Drummond's sister, honestly, and
with decision. " I believe there is nothing in all the world he
would not do to make you happy."
The girl thought for a moment ; and her face was rather pale.
" And I, who am only — " she managed to say that, and no
more : she drew a long breath, and fell back, her hand uncon-
sciously catching at the edge of the berth. Mrs. Warrener,
with a short, quick cry of terror, caught hold of her before she
fell, and managed to get her on to a chair. After all it was
only a faint — what more common than that ? When she
came to herself, she was very much ashamed, and she won-
dered how she could have been so stupid ; but there was
an unusual look about the eyes which Mrs. Warrener could
not understand.
She professed to treat the whole matter very lightly, how-
ever.
" You are such a wild and headstrong girl, Violet, in those
fancies of yours, that I don't know what is to become of you.
I wish you were safely married, and had some one to look af-
ter you."
" I think I will go up on deck now," she said — her face
still somewhat pale — "it is cooler there."
Her friend accompanied her. They found the Sea-Pyot
now drawing near to her moorings, and they recognized in
the moonlight the familiar outlines of the dark hills behind
272 MADCAP VIOLET.
Castle Bandbox. There, too, was the little bay, the yellow
sand showing a pale semicircle of light in the shadow, where
the two girls used to bathe.
" Wouldn't you like to go down there now, Violet," said
Amy, "and have a bathe in the moonlight ? "
" I should like to catch you at it, either of you ! " said her
mother. " And yet I know you are both bound to be drowned
there, sooner or later."
Out went the rattling anchor-cable with a roar, in the silence
of the night; there was some busy work with the sails; then
the gig took the voyagers into the small landing place. In
the moonlight they walked away up through the quiet mea.-
dows to the cottage on the hill. There was little said.
Years upon years it seemed to Violet North since she had
left that small home up there; for indeed the very moments
seemed years now, as she felt her life pushing forward to some
tragic climax wdth swift, inexorable, irrevocable steps. The
gathering volume of her emotions — love, and pride, and grati-
tude all commingled — was carryirg her onward, whither she
as yet dared not look.
But she wished to look and to know, whatever it might be ;
and when the others had gone into the house, and were busy
in unpacking and so forth, she slipped round by the back,
and got into the road that led away up among the hills. The
cool mountain-air was grateful to her hot forehead ; in the
silence she could think of all this that had happened to her,
and was going to happen ; she was glad to be alone. She
wandered on, not paying much heed to the rocks, and heather,
and young plantations, all faintly visible in the moonlight,
but vaguely conscious of the murmur of a stream in the val-
ley below her, that seemed to make the silence of the night
more intense.
She was iij no blind and passionate bewilderment of grief ;
she was too proudly self-possessed for that ; and yet it seemed
to her that a great sadness dwelt over this beautiful night ;
and perhaps, once or twice, she remembered that she had no
mother to whom she could go at this terrible crisis of her
life. She reasoned with herself veiy calmly. It was her
great misfortune to love this man with her whole heart; he
knew it, and his life was made miserable by the knowledge :
how was all this unhappiness to be cured ? Her going away
would do no good ; she would leave with him that anxious care
about herself, that dumb, unspeakable regret that haunted
him and clouded over the ordinary bright and joyous spirit.
And what was she,that she should cause this wretchedness to
^1
CHALLENGED. 273
the one among all human beings whom she most loved and
honored ? Her sore heart-ache, incurable as it was, she
could have borne ; but not the thought of the pain she was
inflicting on this dearest of all her friends, who sought
so anxiously and yet so vainly to conceal the wound. She
reasoned calmly enough, perhaps ; but her heart was begin-
ning to beat fast ; and all the high, impulsive, proud spirit
of the girl was rising to the firm lips and the pale face. She
stood still now and listened ; there was no one to interrupt
her self-communings. And this was the question she asked
herself — not audibly, but so that her beating heart could
hear:
" In the old time, when you were careless and happy, you
asked yourself whether you could die for the man that you
loved ; and you were very proud to answer Yes. You were
very sure then you could do it. And now, if the same ques-
tion is asked, what will you say 1 Will you meanly retreat
from it ? If nothing will do but getting out of the world alto-
gether — so that the old glad light will come back to his eyes
in time, after he has forgotten all about you — can you show
to yourself what your love is worth by doing that ? "
She was not so calm now. The beautiful dark eyes were
full of a strange agony ; she was breathing quickly ; her face
was paler than the moonlight itself.
That was the question she asked herself ; what was the
answer ? No man, woman, or set of circumstances ever con-
fronted this girl with a challenge, and found her turn aside
from it : that was not possible to her. The answer to the
question was written in the firm lips and the wild, white
face.
After all, what was this sacrifice that was demanded of her 1
The book of life, so far as she could read it in her bewilder-
ment and despair, was to her only a record of disappointment
on disappointment, of regret, and lamentation, and grief.
She had had no kindly-cared-for youth ; and now her woman-
hood, as she was about to enter upon it, and as the fascina-
tion of it glimj-nered before her like a beautiful vision, had
been suddenly shut off in darkness, and she was left with
only the bitter memory of what might have been.
She heard steps behind her, and turned quickly. She
found Mrs. Warrener, with some light shawl thrown round
her head, coming toward her.
"Violet, what do you mean by runing away like this? I
felt sure you had gone up among the hills by yourself."
The reply was a strange one. The girl took her friend's
18
274 MADCAP VIOLET.
head between her hands and kissed her gently, and looked
wistfully and earnestly into her eyes.
" If I have annoyed you at any time," she said, " and if you
think of it afterward, you will believe that I never did mean
it, and that I was very sorry. You will promise me that ; and
if I have done harm to any one in your house, you will ask
them to forgive me, and forget it when they can."
The gentle little woman burst into tears.
" O, Violet, what do you mean ? " she cried, with a strange
apprehension in her breast. "Why are you crying? what
is the matter with you, that you are so pale ? "
" It is nothing," said the girl. " We will go back to the
house."
They walked down the road in the moonlight, both silent ;
for Mrs. Warrener was beset by vague fears, and she was
afraid to question the girl too closely just then. When they
had entered the house, Violet escaped to her own room, for
it was now late. She stood for a moment at the window — look-
ing out on the black hills, and on the trees, and on the small
patches of oats, that the moonlight made of a silvery gray —
and she was holding her hand tightly over her heart.
" Don't break yet " — this is what she would have said, had
her wild, despairing fancies been translated into words —
" don't break just yet, until I have made my friends happy.
Then you can do with me — what you like ! "
CHAPTER XXXI.
" FAREWELL ! FAREWELL ! "
Perhaps she did not quite know how it had all come about ;
how, in the midst of the trivialities of ordinary life and the dis-
tractions of a holiday trip, this tragic doom had overtaken her
with swift, inevitable strides ; but, captive as she was, and not
a little bewildered by the sore aching of the heart, she nerved
herself at this moment to act and think with promptitude
and decision. And, indeed, although there was much of im-
pulsive romanticism in the girl, there was a good deal of plain
common sense too ; and she had a keen sense of honor. When,
in that breathless, wild way, she determined to free those who
were dearest to her — and especially him whom she regarded
with all the generous, self-sacrificing ardor of a girl's first
love — ^from the pain and unrest of which she knew she was
FAREWELL! FAREWELL! 275
the cause, the idea of suicide did not even occur to her. Her
quick pride would have instantly rejected what slje held to be
mean and cowardly. But how otherwise was she to accom-
plish that which she had now set her heart upon ?
One evening, in former and happier days, James Drummond
had amused his small domestic circle with a description of a
strange land. It was a land distant and unnamed, far across
the seas, to which had fled all those people who have myste-
riously disappeared from among us — absconding merchants
who have left their coats and hats ©n the bank of a river ;
young men entangled in a love-affair who have gone up a
Welsh mountain and apparently never come down again;
people supposed to have perished by shipwreck ; married sol-
diers who have taken the opportunity of a great battle to es-
cape from conjugal squabbles; and so forth, and so forth.
In his idle, fanciful, desultory way, Mr. Drummond went on
to describe this mysterious land, this earthly paradise, where
the debtor walked about free from his debts ; where the young
man no longer feared an action for breach of promise ; where
the " missing" soldier found peace at last. It was but a pass-
ing plaything ; probably next day he could not have told that he
had ever mentioned such a subject. But there was one pres-
ent on that evening who put a higher value on Mr. Drum-
mond's fancies and speculations than he did himself. Idle
words sunk deep into her heart : for they were the utterance
of the man she loved.
And now it occurred to Violet North that she could do no
better than go away to this unknown land across the seas ;
and when her friends had got over the temporary pain of be-
lieving her to have been drowned, they would soon forget ;
and he whom she most considered would regain that old bright
cheerfulness of disposition that she remembered in the by-
gone time. What could be more simple ? And yet she did
not sleep much that night.
Early in the morning she arose, and dressed herself noise-
lessly. For a brief instant she had gone to the window, and
she shuddered as she looked out on the gloom of the sleeping
world. For the sea lay like a lake of ink all around the dark-
green shores ; and the mountains of Mull were of a sombre
purple akin to a black ; and the distant sky was dark with
low and threatening swathes of cloud. Overhead, it is true,
the heavy grays of the dawn were mottled here and there with
tinges of crimson ; but it was an angry and ominous conjunc-
tion, and she shivered as she turned away.
She stole quietly into the small chamber where Amy War-
276 MADCAP VIOLET.
rener lay asleep, and she but half awoke her girl-companion
and friend.
" Are you going for a bath, Violet ? " said she, noticing the
bag that the other had in her hand.
" I came to say you had better not come with me this morn-
ing, Amy," said she, in a calm voice. " It is gloomy and cold ;
and I think it will rain."
" Then why do you go ? "
" I must go," was the answer. " I have been out of sorts
lately ; I want something to waken me up. Now go to sleep,
Amy."
For a second time she stood irresolute. She would have
given worlds to have touched her friend's hand, to have kissed
her, and said good-bye, as a token of her farewell to all
the household ; but she did not dare to do that. She closed
the door gently behind her and went down-stairs. In another
minute she was outside.
And now, far more awful than the gloom that lay over land
and sea — over the dark mountains, and the woods, and the
sullen waters that lapped along the desolate shore — was the
silence of this dead world. Not a bird seemed to be stirring
yet. The silence was absolute but for the whispering of the
cold gray leaves of some willow-bushes that the wind of the
morning stirred.
With her heart beating quick, she walked down the slope
and along the valley toward the sea. She had no sense of injury
to sustain her in what she was doing. If she had suffered
any wrong at the hands of those whom she was leaving for-
ever, her pride would have come to the rescue. Wrong ? She
turned at the foot of the valley, and looked back to the small
white cottage on the hill that held all that she cared for upon
earth ; but her eyes could not see much, for she was crying
bitterh^ And all that was in her heart then was a prayer that
the light of Heaven might descend and rest upon that house-
hold ; and that her well-beloved might never know with what
an agony of grief she was now bidding him and his a last good-
bye.
Then she turned again, and made her way toward the sea.
And, as she was but dimly aware — for her mind was full of
desolation — across the gloomy picture of the dawn the steal-
thy fingers of the rain began to creep, coldly and silently re-
moving mountain after mountain, and leaving in their place
a cloud of dismal grey. A chilling wind came blowing in
from the sea ; a cold, stinging drop or two of rajn touched
her face ; the islands out there began to grow misty and re-
J^
FAREWELL! FAREWELL! 277
mote ; and then a slow fine drizzle began to make the ferns
by the roadside droop, and the grass and weeds wetter than
ever. She walked on blindly ; perhaps it was the cold that
made her seem to shiver from time to time.
At length she got down to a part of the coast where a bold
and rocky promontor}^, partly covered by trees, went out into
the sea, sheltering from the violence of the waves a small bay
of fine sand. At the corner, where the sand met the black rocks,
stood a small bathing-machine. There was not a human be-
ing to be descried anywhere at this early hour in the morning.
She went along the seaward edge of the rocks, and sat down,
completely hidden from view by the trees. She took oif her hat,
and put on instead a bonnet to which was attached a thick
veil. Then she sat motionless, thinking.
Of what did she think then — if that could be called think-
ing that was but a wild, bewildered groping in the blackness
of despair ? Of the days long ago, when the wild school-girl
was full of an audacious life and gayety? or of the quiet and
pleasant evenings that she used to spend in that simple, beauti-
ful, unworldly household, where all good and noble things were
reverenced, and the mean and base had no existence ? or of
the dawning of that wonderful hope that for a brief time had
added a strange glow and color to her life ? If she saw these
beautiful pictures, it was as through a darkened glass. Her
mind was overshadowed. She was almost as one that was
dead.
Some mechanical instinct made her think of the tinie.
She looked at her watch. The great steamer, coming down
from the Hebrides, and bound for Glasgow byway of the Mull,
was due in an hour ; and she had nearly three miles to walk
to the pier. She rose.
Her funeral service was simple. She merely placed the
small bag she carried on the rocks, close to the edge, so that
they might imagine she dropped it when she slipped and fell
over, and then she threw her hat into the sea. She watched
it float ; the dark current was running strong ; would they seek
her body far over there by the gloomy shores of Linsmore and
Morven ?
She pulled the thick veil down over her face ; and then she
set out to walk to the quay — in the slow drizzle of the rain.
She had now assumed a more courageous gait ; she was resolved
to bear herself bravely, now that she had to face the world for
herself; in a pathetic, bewildered way, she even tried to look
at the merry side of the whole business, and wondered what
the people in the steamer would say if they knew they had a
278 MADCAP VIOLET.
dead woman on board. To aid this enforcement of courage,
she tried to hum a cheerful air ; but she quite broke down in
that ; for right in the middle of it she happened to catch a
glimpse of that white cottage, far up the valley, in the midst
of the grays and greens of the hills, and the merry song ended
in a choking sensation of the throat. She turned away her
head, and would look no more in that direction.
There was a great deal of bustle about the pier, for the big
steamer from the North was just coming in, and there were
cattle and goods to be landed. In the general confusion she
would easily have escaped recognition, even if any of the peo-
ple about had happened to know her ; but in any case she only-
remained a minute or two on the quay, for as soon as the Clans-
man came in she went on board and got below, where she re-
mained during the whole time the steamer was unloading and
loading again. She was quite alone in the large cabin; few
people coming from the North care to go round the Mull of
Cantyre when they have ^the option of cutting through the Cri-
nan Canal. She sat in a corner of the cabin, in the twilight,
closely veiled ; and it was not until she felt the vessel begin
to throb with the action of the screw that she ventured up on
deck. The Clansman was just putting off from the pier.
Was there not time to undo what she had done ? As the
steamer backed, she saw that she could easily spring on to the
edge of the quay ; and for a second she found herself almost
driven to this leap, the despair of her isolation getting the mas-
tery over her. But she held on firmly to an iron railing beside
her. In another second the Clarisman had got clear away
from the pier, and Vv^as churning her way out to sea.
That dreadful morning seemed to consist of years. Was
it not years since — in the half-forgotten long-ago — that she had
looked up with a vague terror to the mottled gray and crimson
of the sky, and shuddered at the awful silence of the world }
How long ago was it she had sat on the rocks, and pictured to
herself her friends coming down to seek for her, and finding
her bag close to the edge of the precipice, where, as they would
imagine, she had dropped it as she stumbled and fell into the
depths below ? Then the sad, despairing walk along the wet
ways, in the silence of the morning. Now she was surrounded
by the noise of many people talking in a strange tongue ; and
it all seemed a wild dream to her. She was not crying now.
She was thinking, in a dull and confused way, of all manner
of ordinary things — of the indifference of these poor High-
land people to the rain ; of the cattle on board ; of the dis-
comfort of traveling at night by rail from Greenock to Lon-
FAREWELL' FAREWELL! 279
don ; of the two five-pound notes and the two sovereigns she
had in her purse. The people about her were very busy
with their own affairs, or they might have wondered why this
tall girl, wrapped up in her water-proof and veil, stood there
as motionless as a statue, gazing blankly at the coast they
were leaving behind.
But by-and-by she became strangely agitated ; for as the
steamer got farther away from the land, she came in view of
the valley at the head of which stood Castle Bandbox ; and
she ought to have been able to get a glimpse of the white cot-
tage on the hill, but she could not, for it was hidden behind
the gray mists of the rain. And then it seemed to her that
now at last her only friends were lost to her for ever and ever ;
and still her heart strings clung to that wild shore and the
misty valley until she thought they would break. The bitter
agony of parting from all that she cared to know and see
seemed worse to her than death itself ; she would have wel-
comed with a glad joy a real death rather than the living death
which now lay before her in her way through the world.
" Far away — in the beautiful meadows — is the house of my
home. Many a time I went out from it into the valley — O
you beautiful valley ! I greet you a thousands times. Fare-
well, farewell ! "
The echoes came to her from out of the half-forgotten past ;
they spoke of a time when such temporary partings were the
sweetest pleasure compared to the bitterness she was now en-
during. How yearningly the girl's heart clung to that fast-
receding land ! The world around her seemed to know she
was leaving home, friends, and the one beautiful, glad hope
that for a time had brightened her life ; and that she was
leaving them forever. Far over there, the long lines of hills
seemed themselves clouded over with the darkness of grief ;
and the gray mists were weeping, remote and in silence ; and
the very winds of heaven, blowing coldly about her, had but
that one sad refrain — " Farewell, Farewell ! " Then the coast
disappeared altogether behind the mists of the rain ; and she
turned to the restless gray-green sea that was rushing by — the
sea that in a short while her friends would be regarding as
her nameless grave ; and in her heart she prayed to God
that as soon as may be the burden of life might be taken
from hen
2So MADCAP VIOLET.
CHAPTER XXXII.
IN LONDON.
Damp and windy as was Euston Station on this wet and
mild September morning, it was nevertheless a welcome relief
from the close carriage in which she had slept but little dur-
ing the night. She was glad to breathe the fresher air. She
looked around with some surprise — for town sights were as
yet unfamiliar to her — as she walked along toward the gate.
" Cab, miss ? "
She wondered what a dead woman could want with a cab,
and passed on.
But she was not blindly and heedlessly walking alone in
the world of London. All the long night she had pondered
over what she should do, and her high courage stood her in
good stead. So far as might be, she had laid down shrewd,
practical plans. She knew very well, for example, that with
£() los. in her pocket it was impossible for her to set out for
that distant trans-atlantic region, where the mysteriously dead
come to life again : she would have to remain in London, and
support herself, and save money for the long voyage. Before
getting a situation, she would have to get lodgings ; before
looking about for proper lodgings, she would have to go to a
hotel ; before going to a hotel, she would have to provide
herself with some luggage, for the sake of appearances. It
was well that she had all these things to think about just at
this time.
A curious fancy took possession of her that she would like
to have a look at her former home ; and there was little risk
in doing so, for she was deeply veiled ; and besides, it was
the family breakfast hour.
" They don't know yet I am dead," she said to herself, "or
I might appear at the window and give Anatolia a fright."
She was turning the corner of the railings, when she was
nearly knocked down by a tall, white-bearded man who was
pushing by in a great hurry. He just avoided a collision ;
muttered, " I beg your pardon — I beg your pardon," and
hastened on without noticing her.
But she had caught one swift glimpse of this m.an's face,
and that was full of anxious pain.
She looked after him with a secret fear. Had he just got
a telegram, then ? Was he about to start for Scotland by the
day mail .' Or had he just got a letter describing the una-
IN LONDON. 2S1
vailing search along the shore for the body of his daughter,
and was he about to telegraph a reply? The bewilderment
of trouble in her father's face touched her deeply, and she
would fain have rushed after him, and confessed ; but she
hardened herself and remained firm.
" I am sorry for you, poor papa," she was thinking to her-
self, as she stood and looked after the retreating figure,
" and for them, too ; for you will all be pained for a little
while. But in the end it will be better. In a year or two
you will all be happier, and by that time you will have for-
gotten all that was bad about me ; and if you think of me at
all, it will be a kindly sort of thinking."
So she walked on, assuring herself she had done right;
though her mind was still filled by the picture of that man
hurrying by with a wild grief in his face.
In Tottenham Court Road she purchased a large and heavy
portmanteau, which further crippled her finances, but she
reasoned with herself that a light portmanteau would provoke
suspicion at the hotel ; while, when she set sail for the mys-
terious region, a formidable portmanteau such as she had
bought v/ould come in handy. Having thus equipped herself
with luggage, she got a four-wheeled cab, and bid the driver
drive to a certain small and semi-private hotel in Great Port-
land Street. She had been there once with her father to
visit some Canadian friends, and had been struck by the
smiling and roseate face of the landlady.
The buxom dame, with her ruddy cheeks and her black
curls, was standing in the hall when she entered. There was
no great embarrassment about the tall and shapely young
lady, v/ho explained that she wanted a room for two or three
days, until she could provide herself with lodgings ; but for a
moment she quailed, for the landlady regarded her Vvith a
puzzled expression, as if she half remembered the face. How-
ever, as Violet instantaneously recollected, she could not pos-
sibly know her name ; and indeed the landlady dismissed the
effort at recognition, and bid the hall-porter carry thfe young
lady's luggage up to a particular room. The young lady
asked if she might have some tea and dry toast sent up to
her; experiences in Canada perhaps accounting for the busi-
ness-like air which she wore.
When she was quite alone she sat down and began to think.
It was very terrible, this sensation of being in a strange
house, among strange people, all by herself. If she felt like
this already, how would she be able to reach that distant coun-
282 MADCAP VIOLET.
try in which she was to remain hidden for the rest of her Ufe ?
Or was this only the first plunge tliat affected lier so ?
A tap at the: door made her heart jump ; it was only a maid-
servant with a small tray. Before she went again, the girl
said, with a sudden impulse,
" Would you ask the landlady if she would kindly step up
for a moment ? "
The roseate face was a kindly face ; the fat woman had re-
garded this girl with a friendly look of interest. And now
— with a womanly seeking for sympath)^ — she would tell all
of her story that needed to be told ; and she would ask for
advice, which she knew that comfortable-looking dame would
not refuse.
Mrs. Roberts came up-stairs, a little out of breath. She
begged to be excused for taking a chair when she entered the
room ; Violet besought her to remain seated, as she wished to
say something to her. Mrs. Roberts's round black eyes
seemed to grow bigger and blacker with surprise when she
heard how this beautiful young lady, with her refined ways,
and her distinguished carriage, and fashionable traveling-
dress, was suddenly compelled to earn her own living, and
was anxious to obtain any employment by which she could
fairly support herself. Mrs. Roberts, indeed, was a little
puzzled. She could not get over the impression that this
young lady was a very superior person : and that to talk of
her becoming a governess, or a lady's maid, or any thing of
that sort, was, on the face of it, ludicrous. But v\'hen Miss
Violet, presuming on the evident interest which the good
woman showed, asked her if she had any notion what wages
girls in the telegraph-ofhce got, then Mrs. Roberts began to
believe that she was in earnest, and that one of those ca-
tastrophes which too frequently bring down superior persons
to the most absolute poverty had thrown this distinguished-
looking young lady in a measure under her protection. The
curious thing was that she, as a land-lady, and having the
instincts and experiences of a land-lady, never suspected
Miss Violet North of being a professional swindler. AH the
outward circumstances of the case suggested that conclusion,
and it may be said that of the various employments men-
tioned by Miss North there was none for which nature had
so thoroughly fitted her as that of piwfessional swindling; for
she had a face and manner that instantly inspired confidence.
This Mrs. Roberts, for example, looked at the girl's eyes,
and heard her voice ; and she was satisfied. She would
have left her in charge of all the silver in the house.
IN LONDON. 283
Perhaps it may be said that if she had possessed the inter-
nal nature of a professional swindler, she would have lost this
candor, and sweetness, and innocence which externally in-
spired confidence. But ihis is a dangerous theory. I remem-
ber Mr. Drummond giving us a long lecture, one evening after
dinner, when the ladies had left, about a photograph some one
showed him of a notorious woman who was then being talked
of all over England. The puzzle was how this woman had the
simple innocence and sweetness of a girl of sixteen written in
every lineament of her face, and shining in the amiability of
her eyes. He declared it was no puzzle at all. He insisted
that there were human beings so utterly lacking the moral
sense that in the worst deeps of wickedness they preserved the
innocence of ignorance. They were not depraved ; they never
had any thing to deprave. This girl, he declared, as she sat
down before the photographer, knowing that her portrait
would be exhibited in every stationer's window, had no more
sense of shame than a beast of the field. Look at the sparrow,
said he, that does not think it mean or contemptible to filch
from another sparrow a piece of bread lawfully the property of
the latter ; are there not women who have as simple a dis-
regard for the other commandments as the sparrow has for the
eighth ? But this is getting too far afield ; and we must return
to the buxom landlady and her n^^^ protegee.
"Well, Miss "
" Main," said Violet, at a venture.
" Miss Main, if you really do want some^mployment of that
kind, I shall be glad to do what I can to help you ; though it
is not easy nowadays, for all the young girls are too proud to
become housemaids ; they must educate themselves, and give
themselves airs, and assistants, and clerks, and show-women
in shops. My brother-in-law advertised not long ago for a
young lady — By-the-way, I should not wonder if he knew of
some thing that would suit you. He is a photographer in Re-
gent Street. If you like, I will walk down with you to his place
by-and-by, when I have got affairs in order."
" I am sure it is very kind of you," said the girl ; and, in-
deed, this sudden stumbling on a good-natured woman made
the world seem better and brighter. " Whenever you have a
few minutes to spare, I shall be ready. In the mean time I
think I will lie down, for I am rather tired : I have been travel
ing all night."
Mrs. Roberts left with a certain pleased sense of dignity and
consequence. She was aiding, counseling, patronizing one
who was distinctly a superior person ; for if this girl had been
234 MADCAP VIOLET.
of any common kind, would she not have eagerly refused to
cause so much trouble ? Whereas, the young lady accepted
her good offices, with evident gratitude, it is true, but still with
a measure of calmness which showed she had been in habit
of receiving attention. What a fine thing it is to have dark
and tender eyes, a proud, sweet mouth, and the ingenuous
blush and smile of twenty ! If Violet North had been less
bountifully gifted by nature, she might have found it less easy
to interest people in her favor on the very first pay of her
entrance into London.
It was nearly one o'clock before these two left the hotel,
and by this time the streets had been completely dried up by
the bright September sunshine. After the wet morning,
crowds cf mothers and daughters had come out to do their
shopping; Oxford Street and Regent Street were full of
animation. And Mrs Roberts had attired herself somewhat
splendidly ; and was pleased to walk with this distinguished-
looking young lady ; and said to her, with a smile.
" Do you know. Miss Main, people would not imagine from
your dress that you were inquiring for a situation where you
will probably not get more than fourteen shillings a week ? "
" As soon as I get work, I will get a dress to suit it," said
the girl, meekh^
She was glad to get out of the glare of Regent Street :
there was a terrible risk of her running against some of her
father's friends. She followed the stout landlady up the
gloomy little staircase. Presently they stood in a spacious
chamber filled with colored portraits of all sizes ; and here
they found one or two people meekly awaiting their fate,
while some one was being operated on in the surgery above.
They had to wait a considerable time, for Mr. Roberts was
a busy man. When at last he did appear — a tall, grave per-
son, with an untidy dress aud unkempt hair, his hands black
with nitrate of silver — he seemed rather to resent the intru-
sion of his roseate sister-in-law. But he glanced at Violet.
" I have no vacancy," said he, in a quick, raucous voice.
*' I fancy Dowse has — my next-door neighbor — the furniture
people. I think he wants a young woman — a young lady —
to keep the books : you can write a clear hand, oj course ?
Write me a few lines at this table."
Violet was rather flurried by his quick, harsh way of speak-
ing.
" I think I can write very well," said she ; " but — but my
hand trembles just now — "
" Oh," said he, as the next victim was asked to walk up-
IN LONDON. 285
Stairs, "you had better go and call on Mr. Dowse yourself.
Excuse me ; this is my busiest time in the day. Good-morn-
ing : Sally, good-morning."
The blithe landlady was not discomfited.
" We will go in at once and see Mr. Dowse," she said,
with decision.
" I am putting you to a great deal of trouble," said Violet.
"We will talk about that afterward," she replied.
Everybody has heard of — and a good many husbands
know to their cost — the firm of Dowse & Son, the great art-
ists in wall-papering, makers of Gothic furniture, carvers in
wood and stone, and workers in metal. They are the high-
priests of mediaeval forms and colors. They have established
a cultus in South Kensington ; all about Campden Hill their
disciples cry aloud against the gilded fripperies of these mod-
ern days. Even as you go past the gaudy windows in Regent
Street there is one that attracts you by its mysterious severity ;
the eye is arrested. For the regenerators of taste have not
scrupled to employ the extreme methods of their art even \\\
decorating their own business premises ; you must lay aside
recollections of worldly vanity and vulgar comfort even as
you enter that narrow and gloomy corridor which is painted
a livid Egyptian red. You come to a narrow door ; the under
part is of wood, painted a deac> sea-green — the upper part ap-
parently consists of the ends of glass bottles, bars of brass
crossing the semi-transparent panes. You enter, and are
overawed. There is no trifling, no flippancy, in the stern,
unyielding lines, in the massive forms, in the gloomy colors.
The oak dado is studded with hand-painted tiles ; there is an
unpiting stare in the eyes of the falcon, and the leaves of
that bit of apple-blosson will last for ever and ever. There
is something severer than sadness in the cold gray-green of
the wall. Then the broad frieze with its melancholy proces-
sion of figures, and its legend in stiff gold letters below : how
can those men and women look happy when the firmament
above them — that is to say, the roof — is of solid black and
green, with splashes of orange-leaves instead of stars ?
Well, one must be fair to Messrs. Dowse & Son, and their
fellow-workers. They have abolished floral carpets ; they
have banished gilded plaster ; they have inspired a love of
sound workmanship and honest materials. It is true that
their theory of utility being the proper basis of all ornament
is not always carried out ; for they give us windows that are
every thing that is beautiful, only they don't let in light ; and
they give us dining-room sideboards that would shudder if
286 MADCAP VIOLET.
cold meat were put on them instead of blue china ; they give
us mirrors that only reflect distortions, and place them so
that even these can scarcely be seen; they give us quite
lovely and remarkable fire-places, the most insignificant fea-
ture of which is the fire ; and, indeed, when you have your
dining-room finally finished, and you ask some people to dine
with you, you find, in looking round the room, that the furni-
ture is every thing, and the people nothing at all. But high
art is as Schopenhauer in its contempt for the worthless
race of man.
Now, this Mr. Dowse was a stout, middle-sized, pink-faced,
and white-haired man, who had eyes at once shrewd and
genial. In business he was both keen and generous ; his
money came to him easily, and he spent it lightly ; he had
already made a large fortune for himself, and he was not
at all slow to let the artists and artificers whom he employed
share in his prosperity. He was an excellent master ; he
knew goo(>work, and would pay well for it ; he took good care
to be paid very well for it in turn. When, having had some
conversation with this tall young lady (and being quick to see
the artistic value of her graceful figure and dark hair in
these premises, which he tried to make as like a private house
as possible), and when, through some passing shyness, he
turned from her to Mrs. Roberts and quietly asked what sal-
ary the young lady required, and when Mrs. Roberts, boldly
seizing the occasion, said a guinea a week, he assented at
once. If she had said two guineas, he would have assented at
once. He was almost carelessly liberal in such matters ;
partly because he made other people pay for his extrava-
gance. So it was understood that Violet North was to have
a week's trial in this Gothic furniture place ; and she was
given an elaborate illustrated catalogue that she might take
home with her and become acquainted with its technical
terms.
Then aS to lodgings, Mrs. Roberts was good enough to
provide her with these also. Miss North, or rather Miss
Main, explained that it was necessary for her to save as much
as ever she could out of that guinea a week, and that a single
small room would be quite enough for her : she would be at
work all day, and could dispense with a sitting-room at night.
" I wonder when they shut up that place in the evening ? "
she said.
Mrs. Roberts did not know ; but pointed out that that was
not the sort of a place to expect late customers.
IN LONDON. 287
" Oh, but I hope they will keep open very late," said Miss
Main.
"Why?"
" Because I shall have less time to sit by myself after get-
ting home."
"But," said the landlady, with some surprise, "have you
no friends or acquaintances at all 1 Not a single person to
go to see of an evening t "
" Yes," said Miss Main, with a smile, " I will come and see
you sometimes, if you will let me."
" There is no one else .'* "
" Not any one. My friends are in Scotland. I suppose
there is some stationer's shop about here where they lend
you books } "
The room that the girl eventually rented was in a house in
Great Titchfield Street : she said it was absolutely necessary
for her to live near Regent Street. And if Mrs. Roberts had
happened to follow her protegee any morning as she went
down to Mr. Dowse's warehouse, she would have observed
that Miss Main, always deeply veiled, never walked along
Oxford Street and down Regent Street, but invariably went
down through the narrow little streets lying behind Regent
Street, and then got into that thoroughfare close by Mr.
Dowse's place.
The week passed, and Mr. Dowse expressed himself quite
satisfied. He even hoped that Miss Main found her situation
comfortable ; and hinted that if there was any alteration in
hours, or anything of that sort, which she might prefer, she
would have every consideration shown her. Indeed, her
duties were not very severe ; for every article was numbered
and figured and priced in the catalogue, so that she had an
unfailing book of reference. She had a pretty little desk all
to herself, considerably back in the premises ; and she could
see the ladies and gentlemen who came in to consult Mr.
Dowse or his son, and she could hear them talk, herself being
unnoticed in the half twilight. On the other hand, Mr. Dowse
was glad to get an assistant, who, besides being able to write
write clearly and well, never made any mistakes in the spell-
ing of Italian words, and put the proper accents over her
French. Both father and son became very friendly with the
young lady, and insensibly began to draw her into consulta-
tions about the colors of the hangings, and so forth, until on
some points her opinion was invariably asked. Once, indeed,
Mr. Dowse, senior, was fairly surprised by some remark she
made, and he said to her,
288 MADCAP VIOLET.
" I must say, Miss Main, that you seem to know a good
deal about a great many things."
The girl cast her eyes down.
" I — I once lived with some friends," she said, timidl}^,
" who knew every thing, I think ; and I used to hear them
talk."
" You must have listened to good purpose," said he, in a
kindly way.
Well, it was a sufficiently monotonous life that the girl led ;
but she reflected, with great gratitude, that it might have
been much harder t6 bear. When she grew tired of reading
at night in that solitary little room, she used to turn out the
gas, and go and sit at the window. She stared out at the
pavements, and the few passers-by, and the gas-lamps, and
the blazing windows of a distant public-house ; but she did
not see much of these things. A dream used to come before
her eyes ; and in place of the gaunt buildings opposite, she
saw a wonderful and beautiful picture stretching out before
her. It was twilight in the magical Northern land ; a faint
glow of saffron and red dying out over the mountains of Mull ;
a clearer metallic, greenish yellow light all over the north ;
and the sea around the islands shining in silvery-gray. And
away down there in the south, over the black island of
Kerrara, the new moon hung in the violet-hued heavens, its
silver crescent cut in twain by a flake of purple cloud. She
could hear the wash of the waves around the shores.
Then she thought of her friends there, especially of him
who had been more than any friend to her. It might have
been expected that, now she had cut herself off forever from
those old friends and old associations, and become surrounded
by new persons and new circumstances, the latter would dull
the influence of the former over her. No such thing was
possible. That unseen influence governed her ; it inter-
penetrated her very nature. Her love for this man took the
form of an idolatrous reverence for all that he had taught
her, for all that she had heard him say. More than ever
would she have had to confess to herself, as she had con-
fessed in former days, " Thou art my life, my love, my heart ;
the very eyes of me." It was through his eyes that she still
saw the world around her, however indifferent it had become
to her. It used to move her admiration to see how that tall
student of men and manners seemed to be interested in every
thing, and how he was content to go anywhere, certain to be
amused, if not instructed. She could not pretend to this
keen, restless curiosity, for the world had grown very tame to
IN LONDON. 2S9
her ; but her impressions of things were as certainly molded
by his influence oves her as if he had been there to speak to
her. One night she got tired of sitting and staring out at the
empty streets. She relighted the gas, and took out a small
note-book from her pocket. She would try to recollect all
the things that he had said to her — those chance reflections
which he dropped from time to time in the careless flow of
his talk — and this would be the only memento of him she
would be able to take with her when she left England forever.
And so the meek Boswell began to put down these lines :
" Did you ever try to extinguish a piece of wood at night,
and find at the end but one red spark, a beautiful red eye
that came again and again through the black as you struck
at it with the poker, without feeling that you were a murderer,
and the destroyer of a beautiful secret life ?
" The only hope of posthumous fame that an ordinary En-
glishman has, is to live in the meijiory of his children and
other relations. This is a great moral safeguard ; it has the
most beneficial influence during life.
" Every body is vain, but some people have the faculty of
concealing their vanity. On the other hand, ought that to
be considered a vice which is a universal, ingrained, inevitable
constituent of human nature ? What is the good of protest-
ing that the sky ought to be pink ?
"The man who considers himself wholly independent of
other people — as owing nothing to them that he can not pay
— is a dastardly repudiator of millions of debts of obligation,
not one of which has been paid, or could be paid, to the real
creditor. All his life-long, he has been saying to person after
person, ' I am much obliged to you ; ' and if he were any thing
else than a miserable sneak he would make of these perpet-
ual small obligations a general fund to be drawn upon when
occasion offers. The other day a wonan said she would be
much obliged to me if I bought a box of matches of her. I
bought the box of matches. But what is the use of her be-
ing obliged to me when I shall never see her again ? She
ought to pay off the obligation to her husband or to her chil-
dren."
And so she wrote on ; but how cold and formal these
things looked, wanting the quick variation of tone and the
look of the bright, observant eyes ! They were but as dead
leaves shaken off from the living tree ; one could scarcely
believe that these poor withered things had ever shone green
in the sunlight.
19
290 MADCAP VIOLET.
As she turned over page after page, she came to a scrap of
printed matter, apparently cut out of a newspaper. It was a
paragraph describing a " Sad Occurrence in the Highlands ; "
and it told how a young lady, daughter of Sir Acton North,
the well-known engineer, had been on a visit to some friends
in the Highlands, and how, going on a certain morning for
her accustomed bathe in the sea, she must have stumbled,
fallen down the rocks, and been drowned, her hand-bag hav-
ing been found at the kt(\^(^ of the rocks, and her hat having
been picked up by some fishermen a mile or two farther along
the coast.
" And not a word in praise of me," she was thinking to her-
self, as she looked at the well-worn bit of paper. "Just when
you are recently dead, they generally say nice things about
you. Here they don't even mention the sweetness of my
temper, w^hich even my friends — particularly Lady North —
universally acknowledged while I was alive. But perhaps
they will publish a memoir of me some day, under the title of
' The Meek School-girl ; an Example for all Good Young
Children.' "
She pushed the book and the bit of paper away : her eyes
were tired, and perhaps a trifle sad, in spite of all her joking.
She leaned her arms on the table, and put down her head on
them, and looked as if she slept : that was how she let the
spirit escape from its prison-house. London no longer held
her at this moment ; for she was up at Isle Ornsay, in the
clear light of the summer days, and the blue waters around
her, and sweet airs blowing over from the hills. That was
the beautiful, shining land where life had seemed fair and
lovely to her for a brief w^hile ; and in this solitude of London,
"with its hopeless days and lonely evenings, her sick heart
yearned back toward that never-to-be-forgotten time, and she
saw it again before her as a dream. Was not this the Sea-
I'yof, with her white sails shining in the sun ? Over there,
at the point of the land, was the light-house ; presently they
would go scudding by, to raise flocks of screaming sea-birds
off the rocks. Are the guns on deck .? — there may be curlew
in the bay beyond. And see how the green waves rush by,
breaking in masses of foam ; and how the great sails strain
with the wind ; and how the prow of the shapely little vessel
rises and breasts the swell of the waters. Whither away
now ? — still farther into the far Northern solitudes, full of
mystery and tenderness, where the air is sweet, and God him-
self seems near in the awful silence of the mountains and the
majesty of the rolling seas. Enough. She rises, here in
THE LA URELS A T WOMBLE Y FLA T. 291
this poor lodging-house in London, and her eyes are so bUnded
by her tears that as she looks around her she scarce can tell
whether the beautiful, pathetic dream has wholly gone.
CHAPTER XXXIIL
THE LAURELS AT WOMBLEY FLAT.
The Dowse family — ^father, mother, and son — lived near
Eton, the members of the firm getting down each evening in
time for dinner. If nothing but high art was known in their
place in Regent Street, nothing but middle-class comfort, of
a somewhat profuse order, reigned throughout The Laurels,
at Wombley Flat. It was a large, irregular, whitewashed house,
with verandas, plenty of conservatories, French windows
throwing in floods of light into the rooms, lounging easy-chairs
of all sorts of shapes, old-fashioned grates, with hobs to them,
and cigar-ash trays on the drawing-room mantle-piece.
On Friday evening the Dowses were, as usual, dining to-
gether. Mrs. Dowse had been a slim and spry young bur-
lesque actress when Mr. Dowse married her and carried her
off the stage ; she was now a portly and elderly person, with
a comfortable, complexionless face, and silvery gray hair,
who dearly loved her midday lunch and its bottled stout, and
who wore a good deal of jewelry in the evening. Her son
was also fat and pale of face, parting his auburn hair in the
middle, and combing it down on his forehead. He was the
member of the firm who lent solemnity and mystery to its
transactions. It was he who devised schemes of coloring for
the interior of a house ; and there was a certain vague earn-
estness of belief about him which qualified and condoned the
shrewd and somtimes jocular look of his father. Dowse
Fere treated the esoteric talk of Dowse Fits with great re-
spect ; he saw that other people believed in those subtle laws
of tone and harmony ; he was content to leave the whole ar-
rangement of a house in the hands of his son, while he under-
took the not unprofitable business of furnishing it with high-
art furniture.
" Mother," said Mr. Edward Dowse, on this particular even-
ing, *' I had a talk with Roberts, the photographer, to-day
about that young lady we have had with us now for some
time."
*' Miss Main.?"
292 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Yes ; and she seems to be a greater mystery than ever.
His sister-in-law tells him that the girl lives the life of a her-
mit ; goes straight home every evening, and never stirs out ;
spends her time in reading or writing. On the Sunday fore-
noon, when every body else is at church, she goes for a walk
in Regent's Park ; in the afternoon, when every body else is
at home or out walking, she goes to church. That is a lively
sort of life, isn't it ? "
" And what is the mystery, Teddy ? " asked Mrs. Dowse, with
just a trace of Irish accent.
" Why, it appears Mrs. Roberts knew nothing at all about
her before she brought her into our place. Did you know
that, father ? "
Mr. Dowse was at all times disposed to take an easy, after-
dinner view of things ; and more particularly at the present
moment was he unlikely to bother his head about the missing-
portions in the history of Miss Main.
"Well, I didn't," said he. "I imagined she was some
sort of acquaintance. But what does it matter ? The proof
of a puddin', you know. Miss Main answers our purpose
admirably."
" I did not mean that at all," said Dowse junior, with a
flush coming into his pale face ; for did it not appear that he
had been suggesting suspicions ? "I was thinking of some-
thing quite different. Now just look at the life that girl is
leading. It isn't fit for a human creature. And I don't be-
lieve she has a friend in London — "
" Well, well ! " said Mr. Dowse, dreamily ; he was thinking
of having his cigar in the drawing-room, with Mrs. Dowse
singing her favorite old Irish songs to him.
" Well, mother, what do you say to running up to town to-
morrow, and persuading the girl to come down here with you
till the Monday ? It would be an act of common Chris-
tian charity ; and I can assure you she is a most lady-like
girl-"
" I'll do it, I will, Teddy, if ye like," said she, readily, and
she looked at her husband.
Mr. Dowse had frequently a quiet laugh to himself at his
wife and son, who were really simple, good-natured people,
with not much sense of humor in their composition ; but on
this occasion he could not altogether keep silent, even in yield-
ing to them.
" Let us have a clear understanding about it, Teddy," said
he. " I don't mind her coming here — indeed, she deserves a
holiday, for she is the most tremendously conscientious girl
THE LA URELS A T WOMBLE Y FLA T. 293
about her work I ever saw. That's all very fine, you know ;
but is that the whole of it ? I hope you don't mean to in-
troduce her into the firm— Dowse, Son, and Daughter-in-
law?"
" And what's the use of your putting such nonsense into
the boy's head ? " cried Mrs. Dowse ; but she laughed all the
time, for she had seen the handsome young lady many a time,
and if the boy would like to have a pretty wife, why shouldn't
he?
The young man, though he blushed worse than ever, af-
fected to treat this suggestion as too ridiculous.
" Why, I know," said he, " that she is engaged to some
Scotchman or other."
" And how did you find that out, Teddy ? " asked his
mother.
" The simplest thing in the world," said he, though he was
not a little proud of his astuteness. " She is always quoting
the sayings and opinions of some friends of hers in Scotland ;
and you can easily see they are the opinions of a man — a
woman wouldn't believe so much in another woman. She
has no friends in London — he must be a Scotchman — "
" But how do you know she is engaged to him ? "
"Well, can you imagine a beautiful girl like that without a
sweetheart ? Impossible ! "
The object of Dowse junior in asking this favor — ^which
was immediately granted by his indulgent parents — was a
mixed one. Doubtless he did feel some pity for the girl,
and knew that he was doing a friendly action in breaking in
on the monotony of her life. But Edward Dowse had a num-
ber of nebulous ambitions floating about in his mind ; the
study of the mysterious harmonies of colors was only his out-
ward and visible calling. Sometimes he dreamed he would
be a great painter ; at other times a certain vein of poetical
sentiment, which he undoubtedly possessed, enabled him to
compose a sonnet or a lyric of some mild merit. These as-
pirations never amounted to a passion ; he was haunted by
self-criticism : probably he had too wide and intelligent a
knowledge of the methods of other people ever to attack any
definite, original work boldly, and without thought of any
thing but his own purpose. However, the aspirations re-
mained floating about in a mind that had too many half-
formed sympathies. The more he looked at this girl, the
more he was fascinated by the possibility that she might be-
come the shock that would suddenly precipitate the floating
crystals of his fancy. He seemed to gather strength as he
294 MADCAP VIOLET.
regarded her ; there was something dauntless and high-spir-
ited in her bearing, which might inspire a man to write a fiery
poem of patriotism and war. There was a mystery, too, about
her ; she might reveal to him some tragedy — some glimpse
of the pain, and suffering, and fortitude, to be met with among
the commonplaceness of life. He did not wish to fall in love
with her, but he was fascinated by her; and he wondered
whether he might not learn something of the story that was
hidden behind that proud reserve of hers,
Mrs. Dowse had a hard fight of it with Violet, who, with
great gratitude, but also with much firmness, declined to go
down to Berkshire, But Mrs. Dowse had not come up to
London for nothing. Pressed into a corner, the girl weakly
based her defense on the fact that she had no traveling-bag ;
whereupon a traveling-bag was instantly produced by Mr.
Dowse himself, who forthwith sent off his wife and Miss
Violet in a cab to the lodgings of the latter, where she made
a few necessary preparations for her brief journey. Mrs.
Dowse was very kind to her.
Now, if these friendly people had any notion before that
there was some mystery about the girl, they were not likely
to have the impression removed by a closer acquaintance.
She seemed strangely familiar with modes of life not likely to
come within the ken of a shop-assistant. Yet she talked
very little during the railway journey : they could not under-
stand why she should be so sad and silent, when they were
taking her off for a holiday.
It was her first glimpse of the country since she had been
up among the Highland hills and seas ; the first time she had
escaped from the prison of the city. And yet these out-of-
door sights seemed somehow strange and unnatural ; the
outer world had changed since last she saw blue skies and
green fields. True, this midday sky was blue enough when
they got well outside London ; and the sun was shining down
on green meadows ; but the green was raw, wet, and wintr}^
Out by Ealing and Hanwell they came into the region of
orchards; the leafless branches of the short and stumpy trees
were black. But still farther out the trees were not wholly leaf-
les ; the oaks were still of a russet-brown, the elms of a golden
yellow, the pines dark-green; and then they got into the
country proper, where there were long stretches of plowed
land, and here and there a field green with spring wheat just
coming up; and dank meadows, with sheep in them that
would have been badly off without turnips. Moreover, though
it was November, there was a spring-like mildness in the air ;
THE LA URELS A T WOMBLE V FLA T. 295
and the skies were blue enough. Was it only fancy that con-
vinced her the world had changed so much within a couple
of months or so ?
A wagonette and pair of handsome grays met them at
Windsor Station ; Mrs. Dowse got up on the box-seat and
took the reins, Violet sitting next her, the others getting in
behind. Away they drove down the town, and over the
bridge, and out through the old-fashioned streets of Eton.
Violet's spirits rose. Here the air smelled sweet ; and she
was fond of driving.
" I see you don't use bearing-reins," said she, lightly, to
her companion. " I remember one of my father's horses that
never would go with the bearing-rein. It was no use. There
was merely a jibbing-match when they tried to fasten up his
head ; and yet you never saw an animal that held his head
better — without any bearing-rein at all. It used to look odd,
though, to have a bearing-rein on one horse, and not on the
other."
She had no thought of what she was saying ; but Mrs.
Dowse had. So this young lady's father had his carriage and
pair of horses !
When they had reached The Laurels, and when Violet had
been shown up-stairs to her room, Mrs. Dowse did not fail to
repeat to her husband and son that bit of conversation. But
Dowse senior repudiated his wife's inference.
" Nonsense, Florry ! Her father may be a coachman, who
has given his daughter a good education. The poorer classes
in Scotland are very well educated."
" But she is not Scotch."
" No ; no more she is. Oh, well, if her father was a duke,
it doesn't matter. Suppose we call her Lady Violet ? "
" I should not be surprised," said Dowse junior, with a
mysterious air, " to learn that her name was not Main at
all."
" What's that ? " said his father, sharply. " Do you mean
to say we have got one of the swell mob into the house — who
is to open the doors to her confederates in the middle of the
night — that we may be all murdered and robbed ? This is a
pretty pass you have brought us to by your benevolent pity."
Mr. Edward Dowse did not like being made fun of: he
opened one of the French windows, and went out on the
lawn.
Now, when Violet came down, Mrs. Dowse proposed that
they should go round the garden and have a look at the place
generally ; and here, also, their guest betrayed an amount of
296 MADCAP VIOLET.
knowledge which was scarcely to be expected. She knew all
the finest flowers in the conservatories ; she knew how these
ought to be kept when cut ; had they heard of the new Java
plant that a particular florist was selling at twenty pounds a
piece ? They discovered, however, that she was clearly not a
country-bred girl. She knew nothing about pigeons, or about
the various breeds of fowls, or even about vineries ; and she
was quite helpless in the kitchen garden. Nevertheless, she
was very much interested ; and they spent the afternoon
right pleasantly, until the gathering twilight and the chilly
air bid them go in and dress for dinner.
The more that Edward Dowse saw of this girl, the more was
his curiosity stimulated. He sat opposite her at dinner, and
could see the effect of every thing that was said on the ex-
pression of her face. She had been a trifle embarrassed at
first : that had worn off ; now she was talking quite brightly
and cheerfully — it was some time since she had been roused
into vivacity by social intercourse. And all these speeches
of hers were, in a measure, a revelation of herself ; he began
to fashion imaginary histories of her.
His fanciful study of her, however, was interrupted by a
singular little incident. He was talking of certain artists
whom he knew; and ha^Dpened to mention, quite accidentally,
the Judaeum Club. She instantly looked up, and said, quickly,
" Do you — know that club .'' "
" I am a member of it," he answered.
The girl was silent for some time after that ; but he never
forgot the quick look of anxiety — almost of fright — that passed
over her face as she asked the question. That she knew some
one in that club he considered obvious ; and also that that
some one had had something to do with her previous history.
Here, indeed, was something for him to think about.
If Violet had been seized with a sudden fear on learning
that this young man belonged to the club of which George
Miller was a member, she did not let the knowledge disturb
her enjoyment of that evening. They had really a very pleas-
ant evening ; though it sometimes recalled other evenings that
v/ere now best hidden away in the past. There was a blaz-
ing fire in the white-and-gold drawing-room ; and a good deal
of cigar-smoke too. Mrs. Dowse, in a worn and feeble voice,
the defects of which were almost condoned by her cleverness
of expression, sung all sorts of old and familiar Irish songs,
and sung them very nicely indeed. Then she would have her
son sing also ; and Violet had a suspicion that these pretty
little chansonnettes that he sung, with their tears, and roses.
THE LA URELS A T WOMBLE Y FLA T. 297
and nights profound, were of his own composition. She did
no care much for that kind of thing ; she had been educated
in a robuster air. When Mr. Dowse hinted that perhaps Miss
Violet also sung, she went to the piano at once, and there
was mischief in her face.
Now, the young lady had the poorest opinion of her own
singing, and in ordinary circumstances would have flatly de-
clined to make what she considered an exhibition of herself ;
but a certain rebellious feeling had got the better of her, and
she was determined to give a counterblast to all those melan-
choly utterances of an affected French sentiment. She was
fresh from the North ; hothouse airs sickened her. There was
a malicious humor in her face as she sung, at random, and
with some briskness, the good, old, wholesome ballad of
Willie's visit to Melville Castle, which, as it may not be known
much in the South, one may be pardoned for quoting here :
" O Willie's gane to Melville Castle,
Boots and spurs and a',"
— it begins ; and there was a sort of gallant and martial air
about the singer that convinced one of the listeners that if
she had been born a man she would most assuredly have be-
come a soldier —
" To bid the leddies a' farewell,
Before he gaed awa'.
" The first he met was Lady Bet,
Who led him through the ha',
And with a sad and sorry heart
She let the tears doon fa'.
" Near the fire stood Lady Grace,
Said ne'er a word ava ;
She thought that she was sure o' him
Before he gaed awa'.
" The next he saw was Lady Kate :
Guid troth, he needna craw,
Maybe the lad will fancy me,
And disappoint ye a'."
By this time Violet could scarcely sing for laughing; and Mr.
Edward Dowse had a sore suspicion that she was making fun
of those transcendental longings of his, in rose-gardens, with
bruised hearts, and the ashes of dead love gray in the moon-
light. Mr. Dowse, too, woke up : he was not at home in
French metrical composition ; but here was something dis-
tinctly intelligible. She continued :
298 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Then down the stair skipt Lady Jean,
The flower among them a' ;
Oh, lasses, trust in Providence,
And ye'll get husbands a'.
" As on his steed he gallop'd off.
They a' came to the door ;
He gayly raised his feather'd plume ;
They set up sic a roar !
" Their sighs, their cries, brought Willie back,
He kissed them ane and a',
Oh, lassies, bide till I come hame,
And then I'll wed ye a' ! "
She was not ashamed of the graceless song, as she rose from
the piano with a malicious look still in her eyes ; and Mrs.
Dowse was vastly delighted with it. But as for the person
whom it was meant to convert to the notion that, after all,
there was a little humor in human nature, and that a man
could not spend his life in beating his forehead in the dust
before a mysterious, scornful, and probably rather foolish
woman, he was just a trifle offended at first, and would even
have ventured on some disparagement of Scotland and Scotch
literature generally, had he not been promptly warned oif
that dangerous ground. These dissensions were brought to
an end by a servant bringing in the candles and putting them
conspicuously in the middle of the table. That was a cus-
tom against which Mr. Dowse protested in vain : his wife
would have it that it was better to light your candle in the
drawing-room than in the cold hall.
Mr. Edward Dowse went up to his own room, which seemed
to be partially fitted up as a study. There was a big fire
burning in the grate ; a comfortable easy-chair before it ; a
table, with a box of cigars, a bottle of claret, and writing ma-
terials on it. He lighted a cigar, and sat down before the
fire.
He was a much more impressionable and imaginative young
man than Mr. George Miller ; and there was something in
the nature of this girl — even in her courageous manner —
that affected him keenly, because he was so absolutely des-
titute of the same qualities himself. She had put some fire
and nerve into his somewhat nebulous brain : at this moment,
as he poured Out a glass of claret, he wished the glass could
have been a bowl — a beaker he could have quaffed to Lady
Jean as she came down the stair. Soldiers' songs began to
stir in his memory ; he drank a glass or two of claret ; some
ringing phrase caught his fancy — surely he, too, could write
'^THE LA URELS A T WOMBLE Y FLA T. 299
something that would rouse the heart like the call of a
trumpet. He began to pace up and down the room nervously
— coining phrases, rhymes, and so forth ; and then he hur-
riedly sat down to the big white sheet of paper. What would
she say to this t
" Stand up, my lads ! — I give to-day,
The heroes bold of Tanqueray !
Be they in heaven, or down in hell,
Or living still, I can not tell :
What matters it ? Up, and give a drain
To heroes living and heroes slain !
And deepest of all to those, I say,
Who fought like fiends at Tanqueray ! '*
He was positively trembling with nervous excitement : he
threw his cigar into the fire, drank some more claret, and con^
tinned the rapid, scrawling, nervous handwriting;
" God's truth, it was the dead o' night •
We stole like wild cats up the height ;
And Highland Billy he cursed and swore
He never had seen such rocks before.
* Kee Vee ? ' says a fellow. I dealt him a blow
That sent his soul to the devil below ;
And then, with a yell, and a laugh, and a cheer,
Made the wakening Frenchies shiver with fear,
We sprung at the guns ! — Boys, that was the way
We began the divarsion at Tanqueray ! "
This, now, was the sort of ballad to put before the girl, whom
he likened to Brunhilde, the warrior-queen — the fierce maiden
repellent of love — unapproachable, unconquerable !
" Asleep ? Not they ! All the black of the night
Began to sputter with jets of light —
And higher and higher —
And nigher and nigher
Came the crackle and roar of the musketry fire 1
' Curse them, I'm done ! ' — I heard him fall —
That was the last of poor Pat from Youghal."
And that was the last, too, of the glorious legend of Tanque-
ray, wherever Tanqueray may be ! There was no staying
power in the young man. He had got so far, when he began
to fear he had heard something like it before ; and this uneasy
consciousness caused him to throw down the pen and take up
the paper. He -would look it over ; and so he lighted another
cigar.
It did not read so well now. It was shockingly out of
keeping with those mystic sonnets of passion which he hoped
300 MADCAP VIOLET.
to publish some day ; and what would ladies say to so much
bad language ? What would Brunhilde herself say ?
Brunhilde would have said nothing at all ; but it is prob-
able she would have, as usual, fallen back, in her thoughts,
on a remark of her master's : " Force of phrase is only the
bit of clay that a butcher's boy flings at a brick wall in pass-
ing ; force of feeling is the strong, inevitable, gentle wind
that carries a ship across the sea." It was not her judgment,
but the judgment of James Drummond, that would have
spoken. He was still — she knew he would be to the end
— the " very eyes " of her.
As for this hysteric effort of a weak man to assume the
language of a coarse and strong man, it became more and
more distasteful to the author of it, who tore up the paper,
threw his second cigar into the fire, and got to bed ; so that
the world was deprived forever of the ballad of the fierce
fight at Tanqueray.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AN ENCOUNTER.
Violet came down next morning to the clean, bright break-
fast-room. The French windows showed her the sunlight
shining on the green lawn outside and on the yellow leaves
left on the chestnuts. There was a brisk fire burning in the
grate. All this bright, warm comfort, and the strange quiet
of the Sunday morning, even the spotless purity of the table-
linen, seemed so different from London.
She feared all this. She wished she had not made the
acquaintance of these friendly people. She would rather
have been without this glimpse of kindly home-life before
she left England forever. The world had grown very dark
for her ; and as her chief wish now was to be out of it, she
did not care to make new friends or cultivate new associa-
tions she might have to leave with some regret. That lonely
room in London was more to her liking.
Mrs. Dowse came bustling into the breakfast-room, smiling,
radiant, apologizing to Violet for being late, and almost
apologizing for having dressed herself somewhat smartl}^
She said she had given up the notion of surviving her
husband and marrying again ; so that she could not afford
to forfeit Richard's affections by sinking into slatternly
AA^ ENCOUNTER. 301
habits. Richard liked to see her smartly dressed in the
morning ; and there was nobody else to dress for. If she
were lost, Richard would advertise that she was not of the
slightest use to any one but the owner. And so the good-
natured woman chattered on in a friendly way; and Violet
really began to like her, despite her somewhat heavy golden
chains and brooches.
At breakfast, Violet seemed rather disinclined to go to
church ; but when Edward Dowse — who looked rather pale
and unhealthy in the morning — suggested that they should
have the wagonette and drive away to a certain remote and
picturesque little parish church which he named, she eagerly
assented to that. In due time they started.
" Why do you wear a veil in the country, Miss Main?"
said Mrs. Dowse, with a smile.
" I suppose it is habit," the girl said.
It, was indeed an ancient and picturesque little church they
reached at length ; the outside largely overgrown with iv}',
the inside quaint, dusky, and smelling of damp. They were
country people who sat in the benches-^mostly old, wrinkled,
and bowed. The parson was a rubicund, benevolent-look-
ing man ; presently his voice sounded in a monotonous and
melancholy manner through the hushed little building.
She heard little of the service ; her heart was sore. It
seemed to her that this small out-of-the-way church was a bit
of that " old " England that was very dear to her, and that
she was about to leave forever. Leaving London was noth-
ing. But where in that far land to which she was going
would she find the old-fashioned parish church, and the sim-
lole peasants, and the easy-going paternal pastor t It was all
part of a picture that had been familiar to her from her child-
hood — the ivy on the walls, the dull, diamonded panes inside,
the marble tablets, the oaken pews, and the fresh-washed
faces of the girls who stood up in the choir to sing. Some-
times, in London, she went to a very grand church, which had
fine architecture without and elaborate decorations within ;
and she was much impressed by the music, and she listened
attentively to the sermon. She had never thought twice
about leaving that. Here, in this Berkshire church, she paid
but little notice to the different parts of the service, and the
monotonous voice of the parson rambled on through his dis-
course unheeded; but she knew that she would remember
this little building and its people and services when she w^as
far away, and would know that she had left behind her apart
of herself that no other country in the world could give her.
302 MADCAP VIOLET.
More and more she began to regret that she had ever be^n
tempted away, even for a day, from the lifeless life she was
leading in London.
There was another reason, too, why she wished to be safely
back in her hiding-place. She could never say that by acci-
dent she might not stmnble on some one who knew herself
or her father, so long as she was moving about among stran-
gers and strange places. In London she was secure. She
had even a sense of freedom there. She had got accustomed
to that plan of life which she had devised as best likely to
prevent detection ; and it was no longer an embarrassment.
In the twilight that prevailed over her desk she was safe.
In the back streets leading up to Oxford Street she was safe.
Once the plunge across that thoroughfare taken — and she had
a thick veil to conceal her face — she was close to her lodg-
ings, and she was again safe.
But here, driving about, traveling by rail, and so on, who
could tell ? Moreover, she had been greatly disturbed on
learning that P^dward Dowse was a member of the Judaeum.
She knew that in such an association of perhaps fifteen hun-
dred persons, it did not at all follow that one picked out at
randcm should know a certain other one ; but there was the
risk ; and if Edward Dowse did happen to have the acquaint-
ance of George Miller, all that she had done might suddenly be
rendered useless. While she remained in London, her con-
versation with the Dowses, father and son, had been almost
exclusively about business affairs. Edward Dowse would
never have thought of telling her that he was a member of
the Judaeum. On the other hand, he had not even the right
to take a friendly interest in her affairs. They were practi-
cally strangers, and apart. Now the case was somewhat diff-
erent ; and as the girl knew perfectly well that the Dowses
must suspect her of having belonged to a condition in life
superior to that which she was now in, she began more and
more to dread the consequences of this kindly interference
in her welfare. . y
Then she noticed, with some dismay, that Edward Dowse
would persistently talk to her about the Judaeum Club. At
luncheon, for example, he sat opposite her — she facing the win-
dow, he in shadow ; and she knew that his eyes were fixed on
her as he proceeded to speak of this man and that man, pro-
fessing to give humorous little sketches of them. They were
not as keen, shrewd, and accurate sketches as George Miller
could have given of some of bis fellows; they were loose,
imaginative, and rather weak ^ but she noticed that he al-
■ti^^gl^.
AN ENCOUNTER. 303
ways mentioned each man by name. The fancy leaped Into
her head that this young man had noticed her embarrassment
on the preceding evening, when he announced that he was a
member of the Judaeum Club ; and that now he was trying to
find out — by the same key — which of the members she knew.
Her supposition was correct.
The mystery about this girl fascinated the young man.
Perhaps it was more a literary than a personal interest he
had in her — he imagined possibilities of romance in connec-
tion with her which might perchance feed his poetic flame ;
but, at all events, he was determined to find out, if he could,
who and what she really was. The method of discovery he
employed was not highly ingenious, but he persevered with
it ; while the mere suspicion on her part that he was talking
about clubs for this purpose produced a great embarrassment
in the girl's manner, which rendered it certain that if he did
mention the right name by accident, she would assuredly be-
tray herself.
"After all," he was saying, "there is a democratic equality
and independence about an ordinary big club that you don't
get in the smaller clubs that are founded by distinguished peo-
ple for particular purposes. In these small clubs the big men
tyrannize over you ; and they do that when they are dead, too.
You go into the place as a guest ; your friend tells you that
the club was founded by So-and-so ; you look round the room
at the nobodies who are there, and wonder at the cheek of
the man who sits in the chair at the head of the table. These
ghosts of the big men overshadow the place. But in an ordi-
nary large club, like a hotel, Mr. Ferdinand Stettin, the wool-
broker, is quite as good as the Hon. Arthur Hunt, who is Lord
Exington's youngest son, and Dalrymple the stock-broker pays
for his lives at pool just like Captain Duke,who has got the
V.C."
Stettin — Hunt — Dalrymple — Duke : it was rather clever to
get four names, apparently at hap-hazard, into one sentence.
But they were useless.
" Do you play pool ? " said she, making a desperate effort
to get him away from talking of his club acquaintances. (
" A little — not much," said he, modestly : the fact being!
that he had played it once, and had lost his three lives in about
five minutes.
" A friend of mine," she continued — still hurriedly — to get
him away from the club, "used to say that that was the only
thing worth saving money for."
"To play pool?"
304 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Oh no," she said, quickly, for she was a trifle confused.
"He used to say that if life were like a game at pool, and you
could at the end of it * star ' and come to life again, by paying
money, then it would be worth while saving up money. He
could not understand any one hoarding money for any other
purpose. That is the phrase, is it not, *to star.?' "
" I believe so," said the accomplished pool-player.
He was not thinking of pool at all, but of this unknown and
mysterious friend of hers. So he played in the billiard-room
at the Judaeum. That was a further clue ; and here, indeed,
young Mr. Dowse was getting " warm," as children say at blind-
man's-buff, although, as a matter of fact, she had not been
talking of George Miller at all.
In the end he was baffled — at least, so far as that day was
concerned. He did know George Miller — as club-men know
each other — but by some strange accident he never happened
to mention the name. Moreover, he could not go on all day
talking about clubs, especially as the girl made valiant efforts
to drag the conversation elsewhere. At night, in communion
with himself over a cigar, he had to confess that he had failed ;
and that he knew no more about Miss Main now than when
she had started with them the day before, except, perhaps, that
it was more manifest than ever that she had not been born and
brought up in the condition of life which she now, voluntarily
or involuntarily, occupied.
Violet was glad to return to London. Mrs. Dowse had been
good enough to say, as the girl left on the Monday morning,
that she hoped her next visit would be a longer one ; and the
young lady had returned her grateful thanks, without making
any promise.
She returned to her book-keeping duties, to her veiled and
hurried flights across the greater thoroughfares, to the silent
and monotonous evenings in that small room, herself alone
with her books, and her memoranda, and her dreams. She
was growing impatient now ; pinch as she might, her savings
increased but slowly. Including the money she had at the
outset, she was now possessed of something like thirteen
pounds ; but what was that ? She could not set out on her
voyage to the land in which the dead come to life again with
only thirteen pounds in her pocket ; she could not even get to
New York, which she had come to consider as the first point
to be gained.
One evening Mrs. Roberts called on her : there was a roguish
look on the roseate face ; the good woman was determined to
be facetiously angry.
AN ENCO UNTER. 305
" Miss Main," said she, " I am come to talk seriously to you.
I have been speaking with your landlady ; she says you eat
nothing."
" I am sure I eat as much as any one : do I look as if I were
starving ? " said the girl, cheerfully.
" You are not looking well at all. You may not know it, but
you are not. Now — you will excuse me — but I said I would
look after you, whether you liked it or not ; and now if you are
trying to save a little money, seeing that you are all alone like,
what I say is this : don't save it out of your eating and drinking,
but ask Mr. Dowse to raise your salary : that is what I say."
The girl never thought of denying that she was trying hard
to save money.
" I could not do that, Mrs. Roberts. I am sure I am very
well paid."
" Oh, nonsense ! The Dowses are very rich; they ought to
give you thirty shillings a week now ; and they would do it in a
moment, if you asked them."
" I could not ask them."
" Then I will."
Violet was irresolute. On the one hand, she was exceeding-
ly anxious to get away from England ; on the other, she had a
humiliating consciousness that if the Dowses gave her this in-
crease of salary, it would be out of a friendly compassion.
" Then there is another thing," continued the impulsive Mrs.
Roberts, smoothing the black hair over her shining face. " My
brother-in-law spoke to me about it yesterday. He wishes to in-
troduce some new process that he has bought from an Amer-
ican, and he wants to get one or two good subjects — to make
good pictures, you know. Now — would you mind sitting
to him some forenoon — Mr. Dowse could spare you for an
hour or two — and — and you might as well have a five-pound
note as not, if I may venture to tell you a secret — "
The girl's face flushed, but she was not angry.
" No, thank you, Mrs. Roberts. I could not do that."
" He says you would make a capital subject — perhaps with
a bit of fancy costume — "
" I really could not do that," the girl said, quickly. " It
is very kind of you, however. Let us talk about something
else, Mrs. Roberts. Do you know any body in New York ? "
" In New York ? " said the landlady, with a sharp glance.
" Do you think of going to New York ? "
The question was so direct that Violet answered it unawares.
" Yes — by-and-by."
" No, I don't," said Mrs. Roberts, rather anxiously. " And
3o6 MADCAP VIOLET.
if you will allow me to say so, I think it is rather dangerous
for a young lady to be going about like that — quite alone — "
" Yes ; but what if there is no one to go with her ? " said the
girl, without any bitterness at all.
"You know, Miss Main," said the landlady, earnestly, "you
would soon make friends enough, if you cared to ; but if you
go from one town to another, how can you ? "
" Does your brother-in-law know any body in New York ? "
" I will'ask him, if you like ; but I hope you won't think of
going."
Instead, however, of asking Mr. Roberts about his Amer-
ican friends, she went down to Mr. Dowse and told him that
Miss Main had some notion of going to New York ; and that
if he wished to retain her services he ought at once to raise her
salary. Mr. Dowse had not the least objection ; although,
he said, before Miss Main had formed any such intentions
she might have made complaint to himself. Mrs. Roberts re-
plied that Miss Main had made no complaint to any one ;
and from that moment Miss Main received a very handsome
salary, all things considered, for thirty shillings a week.
Now, indeed, her small hoard of savings began to increase
more appreciably; and she looked forward with some sad
hope to the time when she should be released from the fear
which more or less haunted her while she remained in this
country. So far, all her plans had been successful.
So far, only. One evening, as she was hurrying home, she
found herself stopped by a man who would not get out of her
way. With some indignation she looked up ; and then she
could scarcely repress a cry of alarm. Standing before her
— a trifle pale, perhaps, but not much agitated — she found
George Miller, who merely said " Violet 1 " and put out his
hand.
CHAPTER XXXV.
TIDINGS.
He did not at all betray the fear that might have been expect-
ed in the case of a man who, believing that a certain woman
has been dead for some months, suddenly finds her standing
before him in the streets. The terror too plainly was all on her
side. Even by the light of the gas-lamps, and even through
that thick veil, he saw the frightened stare of her eyes ; and
TIDINGS.
1P1
when she spoke, it was with a hurried and harsh voice not
like that of the Violet of old.
" Is this an accident ?" she demanded, abruptly.
" N-no," he stammered. " It was an accident, certainly,
that I heard from young Dowse about you ; that is to say — "
" Does he know who I am ? " she again demanded, with the
same abruptness. Her hands were clenched, and her face
deadly pale.
" No, he does not."
" Nor any one ? "
" No one but myself. I waited to make sure. Violet, why
have you done all this t "
She paid no heed to him. For a second or two she remained
silent ; then she said, vehemently,
" No one knows but yourself. You must give me your word
of honor — you must swear to me — that not another human
being shall ever know ! "
He almost retreated a step, bewildered.
" Violet," said he, in a protesting way, " I don't understand
you. You — you don't know how sorry we have all been — and
— and you expect me not to go with such good news — to your
father, and others : it would be madness ; you have no right to
inflict such pain upon them merely because of a mad freak ; I
don't understand it — "
" No, and you never would understand it," she said, bitterly,
" if I explained it to you a hundred times over. It is a mad
freak ! You think I was pleasing myself, and grieving others
unnecessarily t Well, that is no matter. What any one thinks
of me is no matter now."
She uttered these last words in an absent way. Even he
was struck by the tone of tragic despair in them ; he could not
understand this strange thing.
" Come, Violet," said he, " you have made a great mistake ;
but nobody will think any thing about it — we shall all be so
glad to get you back again. You and I were not great friends
when we last saw each other ; but now — well, you must let me
share in the happiness you will cause to every one. No one
will ask you any questions you don't wish to answer. You will
have every thing your own way. You won't be asked to do
any thing you don't like."
He was talking almost at random, for he was very much ex-
cited ; and behind all this garrulous speech his brain was busy
working with all sorts of other speculations. Was it possible
she run away because she had found herself miserable up in
the North ? Was it the prospect of her marriage with James
3oS MADCAP VIOLET,
Drummond that was the cause of her misery ? And now-
seeing how definitely she had testified to her repugnance — ^was
it not possible that she might be induced to revert to her earlier
friend, who now stood beside her, and who had mourned her
loss with much sincerity of feeling ?
" You don't know — you don't know," she said, sadly, in an-
swer to all these solicitations of his. " You talk to me as if I
were a spoiled child, who had run away from home. My own
way ? Was there any thing in which I did not have my own
way while I lived with those good friends } It was not that at
all. I was the cause of great unhappiness ; and — and I loved
them ; and — and I knew it was better for them and every one
to think that I was dead — "
" I am sure you are mistaken," said he, earnestly, yet he saw
how little effect his words had. They seemed to go by the set-
tled sorrow of that pale face. "The greatest unhappiness
they could have known was your death,"
" That will all pass away," she said. " I considered that.
They will be grieved for a time — for I think they liked me, in
spit V of — in spite of every thing ; but afterward it will be all
right. Now," she added, with renewed decision, " you must
give me that promise."
Bewildered as he was, he had still sufficient strength left
him to resist that demand, and he did so boldly. But she
was fully as firm. At length he asked to be allowed some
time to consider. Would she give him till the following even-
ing, when he could meet her again .?
" No," said she, "you must promise now, absolutely. And
we must not meet again."
" You have no right to make such a demand," said he,
warmly. " Do you mean to say that I ought to let your father
remain in ignorance that you are alive ? "
" You had no right to discover my secret," she answered.
" Wait a minute — let me think," he said, resolved not to
stumble into some irretrievable blunder.
They were now walking up and down Great Marlborough
Street — slowly pacing the almost deserted pavement. It was
only when they passed a gas-lamp that he could catch a
glimpse through the veil of that pale face and the dark eyes
he used to know. Well, as they walked so, in silence. Miller
struggled hard to keep all his wits about him in this serious
crisis. He knew the decision of which this girl was capable ;
if he did not at least pretend to accede, there was no saying
what further rashness on her part might not result. His first
point was to gain time. Supposing he did promise, he might
TIDINGS. 309
talk her over afterward. Moreover, by yielding so far, he
might induce her to reconsider that resolve of hers that they
should not meet again. He was an acute young man, after
all ; and he saw what an advantageous position it would be
for him to become her only friend. He would make a show
of furthering even her wildest projects, for the present.
He had never been madly in love with this girl ; but, so far
as his nature allowed him, he had cherished a high regard for
her ; he had warmly admired her good looks and fine figure ;
he had even been fascinated, in a way, by her high courage
and frankness ; and his imagination had at one time painted
pleasant pictures of her seated at the head of his dinner-tabfe.
Now once more that fancy flitted before his mental vision.
She was alone ; she was friendless ; she was living in poor
lodgings (he had tracked her home twice, and made all sorts
of inquiries about her, before actually confronting her) ; she
was a woman, and surely subject to persuasion.
" Violet," said he, and he stopped for a moment, " I give
you my word of honor not to let a human being know — until
you give me leave. Will that do ? "
She took his hand and pressed it warmly. She was grate-
ful to him.
"And now," she said, somewhat sadly, "before we part —
and you must never seek to see me again — will you tell me
something about — about my friends ? It will be the last that
I shall hear of them, I suppose."
" Violet," said he, with more impulse than was common
with him, " I can not bear to see you so miserable — you have
not deserved it."
" I am not miserable," she said. " I should be more mis-
erable if I were causing pain to those whom I love. And as
for what I have deserved — well, who can tell that ? I don't
see any one who gets just what he deserves. I know those
who ought to have every thing in the world, because they lead
such noble and beautiful lives — "
He knew well to whom she was referring.
" — and I know others — well, you may call them unlucky,
perhaps, but they are not so distressed about their misery as
they might be — if only they know — "
A sort of stifled sob arrested his attention. He had not
seen that, underneath her veil, tears had been stealthily run-
ning down her cheeks.
" Violet," said he, " I am very sorry. And I don't under-
stand why you should be unhappy. Nobody would have
thought you were born one of the unlucky ones."
310 MADCAP VIOLET,
" I am not unhappy," she asserted, making an eilfart to re-
gain her composure. " Tell me how my father is. Is he in
London .? Have you been to Euston Square lately ? "
He told her all he knew of the North family ; and, in-
deed, he was pretty^ well acquainted with them, for he called
upon Lady North and her daughters regularly. Then he
paused.
" And Mr. Drummond — how is he 1 " she asked, calmly, as
they walked along.
" He has been very ill."
She stopped suddenly, as if some pain had throbbed
through her heart.
" Is he ill now? Is he better? "
" Well," said he, telling an untruth that he had deliber-
ately prepared, " I haven't exactly heard lately. It was rheu-
matic fever, I believe ; he has been walking a great deal at
night, and he got wet once or twice — "
" But — but you say he is better ? " she said, and there was
an urgent entreaty in her voice.
" I can't exactly tell you," he answered. " I have not
been over there since they returned from Scotland; I only
hear of them through Lady North. But, if you like, I will
make inquiries."
" Yes, yes ! " she said, eagerly.
" And I can come and tell you."
" When — to-morrow ? Can you ask to-morrow ? "
He had gained his point. She was to see him again.
" Yes, I can make inquiries to-morrow, and let you know
in the evening. Where shall I see you ? Can I call at your
lodgings — or is there any friend's house — "
" No," she answered, quickly. " We must meet here, I sup-
pose."
" At the same hour ? "
" Yes."
" And now shall I walk up with you to Titchfield Street ? "
She stared at him.
" How do you know I live there ? " she asked, sharply.
" Well," said he, with an air of apology, " I had to make
sure before I spoke to you : I was anxious not to make any
mistake — "
*' Good-bye, then," said she, and she held out her hand.
" You know you have given me your word of honor that no
human being shall know what you have found out."
■ And so they parted ; but she, instead of going straight to
her lodgings in Great Titchfield Street, walked with surpris-
TIDINGS. 311
ing swiftness to Mrs. Roberts's hotel. She found that buxom
dame disengaged, and begged a few minutes' talk of her.
When they were in a room together, she quickly asked her
companion to tell her all she knew about rheumatic fever.
Was it dangerous ? Did it last long t Was it painful ? What
brought it on .? And so forth.
Most middle-aged women are extremely proud of their
knowledge of diseases, and like to talk about them. Mrs.
Roberts, wondering not a little at the extreme anxiety the
girl showed, delivered a rambling sort of lecture on rheumatic
fever, its causes, symptoms, and results.
" But — but you don't mean to say," said the girl, piteously,
*' that it always leaves behind it the seeds of lung-disease or
heart-disease ? "
" Oh no, not always."
" One might recover from it, and become quite strong
again ? " she said eagerly.
" Oh yes, certainly."
" Especially if one were a man with a sound constitution,
who had always been in the habit of walking much in the
open air — very much indeed. I should think, now, it was
quite possible for a man to recover completely, and be quite
as well as ever ? "
" I believe so," said the landlady, with increasing wonder.
The girl sat silent for a moment or two.
" Is it so very, very painful, Mrs. Roberts ? " she said, sud-
denly, with her hands clasped on her knees before her.
" What can you do ? Is there any thing you can do .? Can
you buy any thing for one who has that fever — and take him
any thing — "
Some wild notion that she would like to buy all the world,
if only that would mitigate the sufferings of her friend, crossed
the brain of this millionaire, this Croesus, who had fifteen
pounds sterling in her trunk.
" No," said Mrs. Roberts, looking at her, " not unless he
was a poor man ; and then you could see that he had a good
doctor, and money for the little delicacies an invalid needs."
*' He is not that," she said, absently.
A short time thereafter she took her leave, thanking Mrs.
Roberts for her kindness. She walked across to Great Titch-
field Street, and entered the house. As she was going up-
stairs she met her landlady's son, a small boy of ten or so,
and she said to him,
" Tommy, I want you to do something for me. Come into
my room, will you ? "
312 MADCAP VIOLET.
She lighted the gas, got out a sheet of paper, pen, and ink,
and placed these on the table.
" Now, Tommy," said she, " I want you to write something
for me, like a good boy, and you shall have tea with me after-
ward."
Tommy did not quite understand, but he obediently sat
down at the table, and took the pen in hand.
*' Write straight across the page, ' These flowers.' "
" These flowers," the boy wrote.
" ' Are sent to Mr. Drummond.' "
" Are sent to Mr Drummond," he wrote in his big, sprawling
hand.
" ' From one.' "
" From one."
" ' Who received.' "
" Who received."
" ' Great kindness from him.' " •
" Great kindness from him,"
She was sitting on the sofa behind him as she dictated the
words ; he with his head bent over the paper. As she did not
continue, he remained waiting for a second or two ; and then,
as she was still silent, he turned round. He saw then that
she had fallen back on the couch, and was lying there as one
dead, her face of a ghastly pallor, her arms extended by her
side. The small boy was terribly frightened, and he ran out
of the room, and down the stairs, until he found his mother.
" She's dead ! " he said.
*' Who is dead ? " the woman cried, with a slight scream.
" The lady. She is lying dead on the sofa."
It was not true, however, that the girl was dead. No such
good fortune had befallen her.
CHAPTER XXXVI,
IN A THEATRE.
Miller had heard quite recently about Mr. Drummond, but
he thought he might as well go up and call upon the Norths,
just on the chance of their having received later news. So he
went to Euston Square on the afternoon of the day following
his interview with Violet, and there he was received by Anatolia.
" Mamma has just left," she said, " to go and see how Mr.
Drummond is. I fear he is very ill."
IN A THEATRE.
zn
" I must go and call on him too," said the young man, with
some compunction. " We were not very good friends when we
parted in the Highlands ; but one must not mind that at such
a time."
" That was a terrible thing, that visit to the Highlands," said
Anatolia, with a sigh, for the girl, unlovely as she was of face,
had a tender heart. " Poor Violet ! We never knew how
fond we were of her until she was taken away from us. I sup-
pose it is always so. Papa has never been the same man since ;
I doubt whether he will ever get over it. He was fonder of her
than of any of us. And Mr. Drummond, too. Do you know
what his sister told us ? — that no one, since Violet was drowned,
has ever seen him laugh."
Miller knew that his face was flushed with embarrassment ;
he got away from that dangerous topic.
" It is true, I suppose, that he brought this fever on by walk-
ing about at night ? "
" So his sister says. She says he always grew restless in the
evening, just about the hour when they used to gather round
the fire : that was when Violet was living with them, and when
they used to begin to talk and chat. And he could not remain
quiet ; he would suddenly get up, and put on his boots, and go
out — no matter whether it was raining or not — and they never
knew at what hour he would return in the morning. Some-
times they found his clothes in the morning soaked through."
" Well, that was enough to kill any body," Miller said, he
being a sensible young man, " and he ought to have known,
that. It was madness to go on like that — I can not understand
it. People are really very foolish about such things. You
will find women — delicate women — going without any thing to
eat from ten in the morning till half-past seven at night, simply
because they won't take the trouble to order luncheon. Now,
Mr. Drummond must have known that he was inviting an
attack of illness of some sort."
" It was very strange how passionately fond of these people
poor Violet was. They seemed to make up the whole of the
world to her. And it was so sad to think that she came by her
death through their kindness. You know, that is what troubles
papa so much, I believe — the thought that he should have
allowed her to go away with them by herself ; but mamma says
to him that, of course, it was a pure accident, such as might
have happened to any one, in any circumstances. I believe
Mrs. Warrener was always against that bathing."
" Still, it was not the bathing, you know," he said ; and then,,
after a few general inquiries, he left.
314 MADCAP VIOLET.
He met Violet in Great Marlborough Street, and he could
see that she was very anxious and excited.
" How is he ? " she said, eagerly.
" He is no worse, anyhow," said the young man. " But
look here, Violet. I have been thinking, since I saw you
last night, that we can not walk up and down here — I can not
talk to you properly ; and, besides, some one might see you.
Now, I went this afternoon and got a box at the Princess's
— it is just over the way ; will you go in there for half an
hour ? "
The proposal had something ghastly in it, from which she
instinctively recoiled. To go to a theatre .? — she who was
wedded to sorrow, and the companion of sorrow.
" I could not do that," she said, almost shuddering.
" But look here, Violet ; no one can see you : we shall be
able to talk freely; and you need not pay the least attention
to the stage."
" They will see me as we go in," she said.
" Not a bit of it. Your veil is so thick that no one would
recognize you, unless he is as familiar with your way of walk-
ing as I am. We have only to run up a few steps of a stair,
and then we are in the box, shut off from every one, and you
can sit comfortably while I tell you all the news."
She hesitated ; but, after all, it seemed the lesser of the
two evils. She did not at all like this business of meeting a
young man by appointment, and walking up and down a
pavement with him under the flashing glare of the gas-lamps.
She might be safer in the theatre. Besides, the excitement
of the previous evening had left her feverish and weak ; at
the present moment she felt almost too tired to stand. And
so, with some strange fancies and recollections running
through her head, she suffered herself to be conducted into
this theatre, led up the stairs, and into the box.
The performances had not begun, and there were few peo-
ple present; but the orchestra were pounding away at a noisy
waltz, as if they would drive some animation into the deserted
house. How the great violins groaned, and the little one
squealed, and the brazen instruments trumpeted out their stac-
cato notes ! To her there was a horrible dissonance in this
music ; it was a dance of death — the laughter of skulls.
And in the midst of this ghastly noise she heard all that
George Miller had to tell her, or, rather, all he considered it
prudent to tell her. He did not consider himself bound to
tell Violet of what Mrs. Warrener had told Anatolia North ;
Violet had not sent him on that quest ; it was none of his
IN A THEATRE. 315
business. She listened witii an air of mute misery ; her first
eager anxiety had been sadly allayed.
The curtain was drawn up ; a young man with white trous-
ers and his hat on the side of his head appeared in a drawing-
room, and began to flirt with a pert-maid servant, who was
laying the breakfast-table. Perhaps it is only in theatircal
drawing-rooms that young gentlemen wear their hats, and
that people take their meals ; but no matter. The dialogue
was excessively funny. The gods roared at it. There was
a joke about giving a bun to a cat, which was side-splitting.
" But you have not seen him to-day ? " said Violet. She
was sitting behind the curtain of the box, her head bent
down, her hands tightly folded.
" No, I have not," he answered. " I have not been over there
since they came back from the Highlands. But I will go
over to-morrow, and in the evening I could tell you."
He was more and more rendering himself necessary to her ;
when he made this proposal, she scarcely remembered that it
would involve another appointment.
" It is so miserable not to be able to go and see him for
one's self : I would give my life just to shake hands with him
once — only once," she said, with a gesture of despair. " Per-
haps it would have been better if I had gone away without
hearing of his being ill. I can do nothing. And now I can-
not go away until I know he is better ; I should be haunted
with fears from morning till night."
"But where are you going, Violet?" said he, in amaze-
ment. There was something about the tone of her voice that
struck him.
" I am going away," she said, simply; " away from England,
and from every one that I ever knew, so that I shall remain
to them as if I were really dead. When I die, they will never
hear of it. When I leave England, you too must think of me
as one that is dead."
At this moment there was a crash on the stage that startled
him. The young man in the light trousers, to escape from
the broom of the maid-servant, has jumped out of the win-
dow, and apparently fallen through a conservatory. There
was a great smashing of glass ; and the people in the gallery
again screamed with laughter. The fun was too rich.
" Oh, that is folly," he said ; but he thought it prudent not
to argue with her just at that moment. He would rather en-
deavor to entangle her into relations with himself ; and just
then a happy notion occurred to him.
"Look here, Violet. It is only half-past seven. If you
3i6 MADCAP VIOLET.
are so anxious to know how he is, what do you say to driving
over there with me, and I will go in and ask ? I could get
you a hired carriage in about twenty minutes — that would be
so much more comfortable than a cab. You will have to go
home first, in any case — to have your tea or dinner, or what-
ever you have. Then I could call for you."
It was a strong temptation ; she was so eager to have au-
thentic news of her friend in his trouble. And then there
was some sort of fascination in the idea of being near him —
of seeing once more the familiar small house — of looking,
even from the outside, at rooms which she had learned to
love. Yes, she would go.
"But you must not call for me," she said. "At eight
o'clock I will be at the corner of Oxford Street and Great
Portland Street : will that do ? "
" Certainl)^"
They left the box. It is to be hoped that the artists on
the stage were not insulted : these two who were going away
had no intention of expressing their disapproval of that mirth-
provoking performance.
Punctually at eight she appeared at the appointed place ;
and she had not to wait more than a minute or so.
" I have been thinking," she said, when she got inside,
" that I must not go near the house. Will you tell the man
to drive up Denmark Hill, and put me out at Champion Hill }
I will wait for you there."
" I will do whatever you like, Violet," said he. " But I
really don't know, mind you, whether I am right in becoming
a party to all this secrecy. I never heard of such a thing in
my life. I can't understand it."
She did not answer that there were many things which even
Mr. Miller, with all his shrewdness and his knowledge of club
life, could not understand. She answered, simply,
" You have given me your promise. I hope you are not
considering whether you would be justified in breaking that ? "
" Oh no, not at all," said he, quickly. " Of course, you
have my promise. That's quite right. But really, you know,
Violet—"
" Would you rather not drive me over to Champion Hill ? "
she said. " If it is any trouble to you — if you think you ought
not to go — pray stop the man at once. I can walk back to
my lodgings."
" Violet," said he, and there was a friendly smile on his face,
"you are just the same as ever. Do you remember one drive
we took together, long ago ? Do you remember proposing to
IN A THEATRE. 317
Stop the man before we had been ten minutes on the way?
You were always proud and quick. Now, you know I will do
any thing to serve you. It was in your own interest I re-
monstrated with you. -Why should you go away.? Why
shouldn't you tell your friends 1 They would be delighted to
forgive you for all the grief they have suffered in the gladness
of seeing you again."
The gentleness and friendliness of his speech touched her;
but she only said, in a sad and resigned way,
"You do not know all that drove me to take that step; it
is no use speaking of that now. Yes, I remember that drive —
it seems a long time ago ; but I always think of the day as a
white one, the air was so clear and full of light. What chil-
dren we were — quarreling about nothing, and enjoying the
mischief of running away ! My father was very good to you,
in overlooking that escapade. I think he was amused at the
audacity with which you went and told him all about it. You
did not see him to-day? "
"No."
" Poor papa ! "
She remained silent for some time ; and by-and-by they got
down to Westminster Bridge. It was'the first time she had
seen the river since her visit to Scotland. Now a faint moon
light showed the Houses of Parliament, and the Embankment,
and the broad stream in hues of blue and gray ; and there
were far lines of gas-lamps burning like threaded jewels of
gold ; and there were rich, soft shadows lying along the houses
and wharves of the Surrey side.
" I have seen the river so often like that ; it is a beautiful
sight," she said, absently. She was thinking that, in the
distant country to whiclj she was going, she would be able to
conjure up this picture of blue-gray mist and golden stars.
When they drove, too, out by Kennington church, and so
onward to Denmark Hill, she seemed to be renewing acquaint-
ance with scenes once familiar to her, and doing so only to
bid them good-bye. Perhaps she was looking at them for
the last time : or could she not come over once more — just
on the eve of her departure — to leave those flowers, and the
rudely written message, at the threshold of the house of her
friend and her beloved one, as a mute token of farewell ?
Under the great trees, up here on the brow of the hill, there
was abundant shadow, and she got out from the carriage.
" Sha'n't you be afraid to remain here all by yourself ? "
said he.
" Not at all."
3i8 MADCAP VIOLET.
" I may be some time — "
" Yes," said she, quickly. " I hope you will be able to see
him, and tell me how he looks, and what he speaks about.
I will wait any time — I will wait an hour, if that is necessary ;
and indeed I am greatly obliged to you."
He left her, and she continued pacing up and down, under
the trees, in the chill night. Then she walked along to the
top of Green Lane ; and, behold ! before her stretched the
broad valley, filled with the gray mist of the moonlight, and
silent as death. The old refrain came back to her, to deepen
the sore pain at her heart : " Far away — in the beautiful
meadows — is the house of my home. Many a time I went
out from it into the valley. O you beautiful valley — I greet
you a thousand times. Farewell — farewell ! "
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AN EPITAPH.
Mrs. Warrener came into the room looking pale and
tired. She was dressed in deep mourning — that was for
Violet. And when she saw this young man standing before
her, she was for a moment or two deeply moved. It was in
very different circumstances — which his presence now in-
stantly recalled to her — that they had last met.
He made no apology to her for not having visited them be-
fore ; he felt that any personal matter of his own was too
trivial to need mention. He said how sorry he was to have
heard that her brother was ill ; and how was he now ?
" Sit down, Mr. Miller," said the small, pale, anxious-eyed
woman. " He is just about the same this evening. He is
very low indeed ; but the doctor says he must have had a
fine constitution, and he is making a good fight. You see, he
brought himself down so by these walkings-out at night ; and
we could not prevent him — "
" Of course, there is no actual danger ? " said the young
man.
*' I think not now," was the answer. " I think he is well
on the turn ; but his mind wanders a good deal yet. Well,
well ! some sad changes have taken place since we last saw
you, Mr. Miller."
The little woman sighed ; it was not alone of her brother
she was thinking.
AA' EPITAPH. 319
"Yes," said he, rather uncomfortably. He hoped she
would not speak about Violet.
" It is only quite recently," she continued, " that I have
discovered — well, perhaps there is no use talking about it
now. What might have been, if our poor Violet had lived —
there is not much use in talking about that now. But it
made me very unhappy at the time, to see you and her at
cross-purposes. I could see that she was greatly troubled by
it. She is at rest now."
" Well, I must not take you away from the sick-room, Mrs.
Warrener, if you are attending upon your brother," said Mr.
Miller.
" I am not at present," she said — som.ehow she seemed to
be glad of the young man's presence ; he was a link between
her and happy times. "The nurse has gone in. Lady
North was over here to-day. They have given up all hope
of finding poor Violet's body. If she were alive, I know
where the poor girl would be at this moment. And how my
brother talks about her in his rambling fancies — he sees her
everywhere, he connects her with every thing. Yes, I made
a great mistake about that ; I had no idea his love for the
girl was any thing beyond a friendly affection ; but even if
she had lived, what then 1 The only thing I am sorry for
now is that you and she had not mad-e up your misunder-
standing before the end."
When she said she knew where Violet would be at that mo-
ment, supposing the girl were alive, a sort of superstitious
fear overcame him. He could almost imagine her listening
outside the window to hear the news of her friend. If some
one had knocked at the door just then, he would have jumped
up and said, " There is Violet ! "
" I suppose I could not see him for a minute or so," he said,
for he was determined to execute his commission thoroughly.
" Oh dear, yes," she said, at once. " But I am afraid he
will not recognize you. The delirium has been rather bad
this evening, though he is not nearly so weak as he was. Will
you please leave your hat here ? — a black hat always sets him
off into fancies about undertakers."
He followed her into the sick-room ; and, as they entered,
the nurse left. There was no need for the young man to walk
so noiselessly ; the long, outstretched figure on the bed took
no apparent notice of his presence. But young Miller went
over to the bed, and took up one of the thin, bony hands,
and said,
" I am glad to hear you are getting better, Mr. Drummond."
320 MADCAP VIOLET.
There was no languid indifference and apathy about this pa-
tient. The cheeks were a trifle hollow, but they were flushed
as if with some excitement : and there was a brilliant light in
the large, restless, scrutinizing eyes ; and, as George Miller
spoke, an amused smile came to the thin and pale lips.
" You are young Miller, I do believe t " said Mr. Drum-
mond, looking curiously at his visitor.
" Yes. I am glad to hear you have got over the worst now,"
said the young man, saying what every one is supposed to say
to an invalid. " You must pull yourself together now, and
fight the illness right out of the house."
" I had a strange dream about you, young Miller," said the
sick man, not heeding the counsel, " a very strange dream
about you to-day, and about your cigars. Do you remember
that big cigar that stretched across the valley from Sydenham
Hill all the way to Grove Park ; and you couldn't have held
it up except for the moonlight helping you — that was when
Violet and the rest of us were walking on the ice, and you
said that Chamounix was nothing to it. Do you know that
stamping out the fire in the end of that cigar was murder —
the poor, piteous, small red eye that you have to hunt for,
and it comes through the black again, and you kill it and
stamp on it: that is murder. These dreams trouble one so!
and after you have crept and crept all round the headland —
creeping flat through the brackens — and you signal Jimmy to
bring the boat along — then all the curlew get up, and a great
heron rises, with its long legs hanging down in the air; then
just, as you have him covered with the gun, and you are trying
to pull the trigger, and the trigger won't go off, then down
goes the heron into the water, and dives like a merganser,
and you never see him again. The water becomes quite
blank then ; and you may walk day after day along the rocks,
and you will see nothing at all there ; you will only hear the
plashftg of the waves, and they know, but they will not give
up the secret. It is a terrible thing, the silence of the shores,
just after day-break, if you are alone, and looking and looking,
and finding nothing but the continual noise of the waves."
His eyes had wandered away by this time ; but he again di-
rected his attention to his visitor, and seemed to make some
effort to arouse himself.
"Young Miller, why don't you sit down? Sarah, have we
no wine in the house ? "
" Thank you, I would rather not have any," said the young
man. " You must try and get rid of those dreams, Mr. Drum-
mond. Don't pay any attention to them. You know Christ-
AjV epitaph. 321
mas is coming on now; and you must get well and strong, to
have a merry Christmas party."
" Is he coming along ? " he said, absently. " The tall white
man in the winding-sheet. That is a ghastly sort of figure to
come as a guest to a party ; and there is snow about him, and
he walks through the night — through the night, and then the
stars are as silent as the waves are, and they will not give up
the secret to you : you may cry to them, and stretch out your
hands to them — it is no use at all — "
His sister came over to him, and placed her cool hand
gently on his forehead.
" James," she said, " You must not talk any more now.
You must be still."
He turned to his visitor, whom he did not seem to recog-
nize now.
" I beg your pardon, sir, if I have been talking too much.
It is an old failing of mine — I hope you will forgive me.
There was one once who used to like to listen to me — at
least I thought so — she is gone away now : perhaps I am too
talkative to strangers."
He remained silent for a short time, but only for a short
time ; for the restless fancy that drove him from topic to top-
ic, from one speculation to another, in his moments of health
and sanity, was rendered all the more morbidly active by this
disease.
" Sarah," said he, quickly, " I want you to read me that
epitaph — I think there is something wrong in it — I am sure
there is. I am sorry to give you the trouble ; but I must fin-
ish it to-night, you know."
To humor him, she took down a card that he had nailed up
over the mantel-piece. It was an epitaph on the whole race
of publishers. She read it slowly ; and from time to time he
corrected her accentuation of the Latin.
" I knew it," he said, dreamily, " it is all wrong. That was
not what I meant at all. Now, Sarah, take a pen and some
paper, and I will tell you what to write down."
" No, no, James," his sister remonstrated ; " another time
will do very well. You must be still now."
" It will only take a minute," he pleaded. " I have it all
ready ; I have dreamed it. I knew the other was all wrong."
" Leave it over till to-morrow," said young Miller, gently ;
but the sick man paid no attention to him.
So Mrs. Warrener got the sheet of paper, and sat down at
the small table.
" What shall I write, then, James ? "
21
322 MADCAP VIOLET.
" It is the epitaph ; but not in Latin ; for it ought to be
known and read by every one. Write now — are you ready,
Sarah ? "
" Yes, dear."
" The sea that bore her away from us was not half as clear
as her clear and beautiful soul."
He paused till the words were down ; and then he went on,
his look still directed toward her.
" ' And the dark softness of her eyes was large, and mild,
and generous, like the darkness of the night when it hushes
the poor tired children of the world to sleep. Now she has
gone, to some of us it seems as if the very light of our life
had gone too — ' Sarah, why do you cry t The bitterness of
it is past now ; at least, if it is not, it must be hidden ; and
we must put a brave face on it ; the world shall have no part
in the secret, even if it should lie like a fire in your bosom,
and burn, and burn, and drive you out into the cold night-air.
I think it was last night I was out .... and there was a
voice I could hear somewhere in the dark — but it was far
and far away. . . . Do you know what it said ? — ' Oh,
Willie's gane to Melville Castle, boot and spurs and a' ' —
but it was far away, and there was no laughing in the song.
But they had a great deal of laughter in these songs ; and in
the old time lovers were gay and joyous, and even when he
was parting from his sweetheart, what did the jovial fellow
say.?
" Gae bring to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonny lassie ! '
That was the gallant way of saying good-bye ; but it is all
changed now — the poor trembling girl stands in a railway-
station, and the whistle of the engine as the train leaves seems
to rend her heart in two ; and the young man, he stands on
the deck of the steamer, and as the engines begin to throb he
can see nothing of his sweetheart on shore for the tears rush-
ing into his eyes. The world is very full of all this misery.
I don't know how the old people in the old times wrote those
merry songs. But there is an end to it — there is an end ; and
the cruel pain in the heart will leave ; and the sound of the
waves will no longer haunt one — there will be peace and
sleep."
He turned his head away, and lay still; George Miller
seized the opportunity of slipping out of the room, and Mrs.
Warrener followed him, the nurse returning to her duties.
AN EPITAPH. 323
" It is very sad," said Miller, casting about for some phrase
of consolation ; " but he does not appear to be suffering much
pain."
*' Not now ; at one time it was dreadful. Did you notice
how these fancies about poor Violet run through all he says ? "
" Yes, it is very strange — and very sad. Well, I hope,
Mrs. Warrener, to hear better news when I call next."
He bid her good-bye, and went out into the chill December
air. The moonlight was clearer up here than it had been
over the Thames valley : in a few minutes after leaving Mr.
Drummond's house he descried Violet slowly pacing along
the empty thoroughfare. When he reached her, her anxiety
had so tortured her that she was unable to ask him the sim-
plest question. She only stared at his face, as if she would
read there what news he had to bring.
" He is very ill, no doubt," said he, " but not in danger —
not actually in danger, you know, Violet. He wanders a lit-
tle, you know, as a feverish person will, when he speaks to
you ; but he suffers not much pain now, and I hope he has
got through all the worst of it."
" Do you mean," said she, slowly, " that he is delirious ? "
" Well, yes—"
*' And there is nothing one can do — nothing ! " she said,
almost wildly. " Do you know what it is to have sympathy
with one who is ill ? — it is this, that if you could save him a
single pang, you would gash your wrist through with a knife;
and — and I would do that ! Oh, it is terrible — terrible !
Here we are standing here — in a beautiful night — every thing
quiet and pleasant, and both of us well and strong ; and there
he is lying with that deadly thing trying to poison him, and
we are quite helpless ! I flung away my friends, my home,
every thing I cared for, to save him anxiety and care ; now
his very life is in danger, and I can do nothing at all ! "
She was speaking in a strangely excited way; but he did
not fail to take note of these involuntary confessions. Per-
haps his own hopes were rather dashed for the time ; but he
would wait and see.
" It is not quite so bad as that, Violet," said he. " I don't
suppose his life is actually in danger now ; and — and he does
not suffer much pain ; and altogether you must hope for the
best."
She seemed scarcely to listen to him. She stepped into
the carriage, and took her seat in silence, and in silence she
was driven across the great world of London. His attempts
to interest her in various alien matters met with but little
324 MADCAP VIOLET.
success : there was a great care at her heart ; and the shadow
of it clouded her brow and troubled her anxious eyes.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT.
Mr. George Miller had been plunged into -all this busi-
ness with much suddenness, and had had but little time to
reflect. When, however, he came to regard his position with
care and deliberation, the longer he looked at it, the less he
liked it. At first he had considered it to be one of great ad-
vantage. He alone knew of this girl's whereabouts — of the
very fact of her existence, even ; what more natural than that
she, homeless, friendless, and penniless, should cling to this
one friend, who, in due course of time, would be proud to
lead the truant back as his wife ? He soon came to see that
these speculations were useless. To her he was merely a
messenger, a go-between. She was exceedingly grateful to
him ; but it was only because he brought her tidings of James
Drummond. All her interest, her very life, seemed to be
wrapped up in this man.
Now, George Miller, being a cool-headed, shrewd, sensible
sort of a fellow, when he saw that matters stood thus, began
to look with some anxiety, and even annoyance, on the awk-
ward responsibility he had incurred. It was all very well for
him to promise not to reveal Violet's secret; for then he
only wanted to gain time, that so he might talk her over.
But she would not even allow him to argue the matter with
her. So it came to this, that he was to be made an accom-
plice in an act of cruel folly the like of which he had never
heard before. That he " could not understand," was to him
a sufficient condemnation of Violet's resolve. He did not
see the use of all this mystery. She herself was obviously
unhappy in going away. Why could she not, like a reasona-
ble person, get into a four-wheeled cab, drive up to Euston
Square, declare herself to her father, and have a comfortable
luncheon, instead of sitting all day in a cold shop .'* But no ;
she would not even hear him speak of it. She had given him,
on their first and second meetings, some vague hints as to
the causes of her conduct ; beyond that, nothing. And while
he was inclined to become impatient over what he consid-
ered to be her folly, there were times at which he did not
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 325
even try to protest, for he was overawed by the tragic despair
of her face.
If George Miller had no love of myster}^, Mr. Edward Dowse
had plenty ; and despite Miller's reiterated assertions that the
Miss Main in that Regent Street place was not the Miss Main
whom he had met in by-gone years, young Dowse still clung to
the fancy that Miller must know something about the girl.
" Well, she knows somebody in this club," said young Dowse,
doggedly.
George Miller was vexed and angry to have Violet spoken
of at a club, even under the name of Miss Main ; but he dared
not show his vexation.
" How do you know that ? " said he, lightly.
" From the way she looked whenever the club was men-
tioned. Oh, I am sure of it ; and I shall find out, sooner or
later."
" Write a poem about it. Dowse ; write a poem about it,"
said George Miller.
This was sarcasm. Miller had a fine contempt for a man
who could sit down in the day-time and bother his brains with
piecing rhymes together. Indeed, he did not at all care for
the society of Mr. Edward Dowse. He did not like to be seen
in the club with a man who wore a Byronic collar, and combed
his ridiculously profuse hair down over his face.
Perhaps there was a spice of mischief in the proposal which
Edward Dowse placed before his mother, to the effect that
she should ask Miss Main, and that he should ask Mr. George
Miller, to come down to the Laurels on the same day, with-
out previous intimation of the meeting.
" No, no, Teddy," his mother said, good-naturedly. " That
is all your romantic notions. You would find them strangers
to each other, and Mr. Miller might not like to meet at din-
ner a young lady whom he might afterv/ard see at the desk in
Regent Street. Not that that is against her, so far as I am
concerned, I am sure. I like the girl ; she is most lady-
like—"
" Oh, you know quite well, mother, she was not brought up
to that kind of thing."
" But I'll tell you what I'll do, Teddy, if you like," con-
tinued his mother. " I will ask her to spend Christmas-day
here. The poor girl must be dull in her lodgings."
Well, Teddy approved of that. He had not the slightest
notion in the world of falling in love with Miss Main ; but
her presence in this remote little country-house would be an
agreeable break to its monotony. Who could tell, too, but
326 MADCAP VIOLET.
that some element of the unexpected might be introduced into
their Christmas festivities by this mysterious guest ? On
Christmas-night thoughts and fancies go far away ; perhaps,
in a sudden moment of confidence, she might be induced to
tell them her story. That would tend to redeem the common-
placeness of the evening : a Christmas dinner consisting only
of roast turkey, Champagne, and plum-pudding was a poor
affair.
But Mr. Dowse, senior, who was commissioned to carry the
invitation to Violet, added, or rather prefixed, something on
his own account.
" Miss Main," said he, with a sort of facetious heartiness,
" do you know you have been looking very unwell lately ?
Do you know that ? Well, we can't have an invalid on our
hands ; people coming into the place would say that the con-
templation of good designs in furniture had a bad effect on
the spirits. Come, what do you say to taking a holiday or two,
and running down to stay with Mrs. Dowse ? You will get
a hearty welcome. Come, is it to be a bargain ? "
The girl looked up from her desk : she had been reading a
newspaper, having nothing else to do at the moment.
" I am sure it is very kind of you, Mr. Dowse, and of Mrs.
Dowse too ; but I assure you I don't feel at all unwell at
present."
" But I assure you I know you are not all right ; you look
troubled, fatigued. Come, think better of it."
"I could not leave London at present, sir," she said. "I
— I have a dear friend who is unwell — "
" I am sorry to hear that," said he. He was surprised.
He had understood that she had not a single friend in Lon-
don. But, taking it for granted that it was some lady friend,
he added, " Well, at any time you may think of visiting her,
you ought to do so during the day. These cold and misty
nights are dangerous."
" Thank you very much," said she : she was glad to have
no further demand for explanation.
" And here is another thing. Mrs. Dowse would be very
glad if you would spend Christmas-day with us — "
" It is really too good of you — of you both, sir," said the
girl, who was very much touched by this spontaneous kindness
on the part of people who were practically strangers to her.
" I think, however, I must ask you to excuse me."
He regarded her for a moment with some doubt.
" You have some friends, then, with whom you will spend
Christmas ? "
PREPARA TIONS FOR FLIGHT. 327
" N-no, not exactly," she stammered.
" You don't mean to say you prefer to spend Christmas-even-
ing all by yourself in your lodgings ? " said Mr. Dowse, with
some amazement.
" Perhaps— I — I don't prefer it," she said, with such ob-
vious embarrassment that he resolved not to press the invita-
tion ; " but — if you will tell Mrs. Dowse how much I thank her.
I am afraid I can not accept her kindness this time."
So there was no more said on that subject in Regent Street.
The whole position of the girl, however, was a fruitful topic of
speculation, led by Mr. Dowse, junior, in the Berkshire draw-
ing-room of an evening. It was observed, among other things,
that she never availed herself of that permission to go and see
her sick friend in the day-time.
A few days passed, and a brighter look came to Miss Main's
face. She began to regain her old cheerful equanimity ; she
was as vivacious as ever in discussing those combinations of
color and form about which father and son occasionally con-
sulted her. They guessed that her sick friend was getting bet-
ter. And they were right. That fierce fever had been at
last overthrown in its wrestle with a fine constitution. As
George Miller carried, from time to time, this news to Violet
North, he, too, could notice the glowing light of her face, and
the proud gladness of her eyes.
" He will go away from London when the mild spring
weather comes in, will he not ? " she said. " Away to the
South, perhaps 1 Or is there any air so soft and sweet as
that in the Western Highlands ? Perhaps he will go away in
the Sea-Fyot again — to Loch Salen and Ornsay, and Kyle
Rhea."
" And you ? " said he, " where shall you be then ? "
Her eyes grew distant, but not sad.
" No one will know that ; and no one will care. And you
must go and become great friends with Mr. Drummond again.-
When I think of you, I shall think of you always as a holiday
party; and either you are out on the hills shooting with old
Peter, or else you are away in the yacht, sailing round the
islands, and getting into quiet bays in the evening. Mind
you, I shall always think of you as having bright and beauti-
ful weather, and of your being very merry."
" And what shall we think of you } "
" Nothing at all," she said, quite cheerfully. " You can not
always be mourning for dead people."
" I suppose you have not considered," he said, with some
bitterness, " what my position will be. I shall see your rela-
328 MADCAP VIOLET.
tions and friends still saddened by thinking of your death, and
know that I could with a word relieve them from this grief,
and be unable to do so. I shall see them wearing black, and
become a party to a hoax — "
" All that will pass by," she said ; " it can not last long ; and
poor Anatolia will be glad to get out of black, because it does
not suit her complexion. Poor Anatolia! I suppose she
speaks quite kindly of me now ? "
" She does indeed."
".And Lady North too ? "
" Certainly."
"There, now," she said, with a sad smile, "don't you see
what good I have done already ? When I was with them —
when I was alive — I was the cause of all sorts of quarreling
and ill-temper ; now they have forgotten all that : I have no
doubt they would put some flowers on my grave, if only they
knew where to find it."
He could find nothing at all jocular in the affair ; but his
anxiety and embarrassment at this moment arose from selfish
motives, rather than from any generous desire to restore Vio-
let toher friends. As each day passed, he saw the time of her
intended flight coming nearer ; and grew more and more to
dread the responsibility that had been thrust on him. He did
not like having his hands cumbered with a mystery. For the
rest of his life he would have to become a practiced hypocrite
in all his relations with some dozen persons whom he would
be constantly meeting. All this annoyed him ; and he knew
that in a short time his last chance of protest would disappear.
In fact, on this very evening things reached a climax. Just
before they parted^ Violet paused for a moment, and said to
him, with some earnestness,
" You must let me thank you most warmly for all this kind-
ness you have shown me. I shall never forget it."
" Well, mind you," sard he, " I have expressed no approval
of your conduct. I think you are very wrong. I did what
you asked me ; but — but I am not responsible — "
" I understand,'" she said, quickly. " The responsibility is
mine. Well, I am going to ask you for another favor. Will
you lend me a hundred pounds ? "
"A hundred pounds ! " he said ; but it was not the amount
of the demand that caused his astonishment.
" Yes," she said, calmly. " I will return it to you when I can ;
but if you lend it to me, it may be some time before I can
repay you. It will be a great favor. I have been saving up
money from my earnings to take me out of England, so that
PREPARA TIONS FOR FLIGHT. 329
I should escape the risk of further discovery ; but it is a slow
process. If you lend me this money, I could start at once.
I am anxious to go, now that I know Mr. Drummond is
better."
The young man remained silent. His first impulse was to
say, " You shall have a thousand ! " for he could not brook
the idea of her considering him mean. Had he been better
acquainted with the girl's nature, he would have known that
such an idea could never have occurred to her. However, a
moment's reflection checked this impulse ; for he saw how the
loan of this money would involve him more deeply than ever
in a responsibility which he was anxious to repudiate altogether.
" You must give me time to think about that," said he ; and
then he added, hastily, " Of course, you know, Violet, it isn't
the money. You might have that, or any thing else of mine,
and welcome ; but — but — "
" It is merely a question of time," she said, calmly. " I am
leaving England, and I shall never return to it. If you lend
me this money, I shall go a little sooner, that is all. If you
don't, I must wait."
" Yes," said he, with considerable embarrassment. " But
then, you see, I am helping to render it impossible for your
friends to reclaim you. There is always the chance — "
" How can there be any chance, if you do not tell them 1
And I have trusted to your honor as regards that."
"There is always the chance, though," he said, stubbornly.
" Look at the chance that threw me in your way. Don't you
see, Violet, that the Dowses know quite well you were not
brought up to be a clerk ? They know you belong to some
good family — that there is a secret about it. And, of course,
they will go on talking until they run against somebody who
knows you — just as young Dowse did in my case."
" That is the greater reason why I should get away at once."
" But it is the very reason why I should not help you ; be-
cause I believe you are acting wrongly ; and I don't like to
have any part in it."
" Then I must wait," she said, in rather disappointed tones.
" Perhaps Mr. Dowse would lend it to me ; he is a very gener-
ous man."
" Give me till to-morrow, Violet," said Miller. " Or let me
see. It is the night after to-morrow I have to tell you about
Mr. Drummond ? " - .
"Yes," she said ; " I hope that will be the last time I shall
have to trouble you."
" I will tell you about the money then."
330 MADCAP VIOLET.
They parted ; and he went home to his rooms in Half Moon
Street with some serious trouble on his mind. It was quite
clear that, now Mr. Drummond was getting better, she would,
if she were given this money, leave England at once. His
aiding her in this project was an exceedingly grave matter.
On the other hand, his personal pride was touched. Could
he at any time have believed that Violet North would con-
descend to ask him for a sum of money, and that he would
refuse her ? Did she think he was afraid of not having it back
again ? She had spoken of Mr. Dowse as a generous man :
was there not some contrast lurking in her thoughts ?
Then he began to argue out the matter on a different line.
If he lent her the money, he was not responsible for the
application of it. The gunsmith who sells a man a revolver
with which a murder is subsequently committed is no accessory
in the crime. He had protested with all his might against
this project of hers. After all, and in any case, he was not
going to have it said of himself, by himself, that an old friend
of his had demanded the loan of a paltry hundred pounds,
and been refused.
On the evening on which he was to see Violet — for the last
time, according to her expressed wish — he went over to James
Drummond's house, and made the usual inquiries. The an-
swer was in every way favorable. Though the patient was
still exceedingly weak, still he was slowly getting on toward
recovery ; and would he care to go in and see his sick friend
for a few minutes ?
" Well, young Miller," said Mr. Drummond, " have you
come to play the Good Samaritan again ? Young men of your
age ought to be at the theatre, and balls, and that kind or
thing, instead of visiting siek-rooms. Or are you fond of
tragedy ? only there would scarcely have been any thing tragic
in the death of such a frail and helpless victim as myself.
Look at my hands. I believe the executioner took pity on
me even after he had my head on the block — gave me a sort
of parting kick, as it were, as a poor devil that wasn't worth
wasting his strength on. Sit down, and tell me what is going
on. I am not allowed to read yet, and my sister and Amy —
well, you know how women begin to read the newspapers to
you — I believe they would begin with the advertisements,
and then go on to the police news."
The large, fine eyes were as keen and bright as ever, but
there was nothing in them of that restless fire which Miller
had seen on his first visit. And the quick intelligence of this
strange invalid was as much on the alert as ever ; though there
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 331
was a tired and pale look on his face, and his emaciated hands
lay helpless on the white coverlet.
Young Miller told him something of what was going forward
in the outside world, and he showed great interest in it. But
what struck his visitor as most peculiar in this random conversa-
tion was the fashion in which Mr. Drummond managed to
introduce, on more than one occasion, and especially when
his sister was in the room, references to the delirium from
which he had suffered, and the necessity of persons guarding
themselves against the presumption that any thing said during
delirium must have some basis of fact behind it.
" Can't you imagine frightful mischief arising," he said,
" from some foolish wife believing that certain things uttered
by her husband when he was in a delirious state must be partly
true, or founded in truth — that he had committed some crime,
or example "i Don't you think that it is some small mistake
of this sort that often leads up to some dreadful tragedy, a]>
parently without explanation ? Now, take the case of a hus-
band who is annoyed by the pertinacious curiosity of his wife,
who is continually prying into his correspondence about the
most commonplace affairs. To punish her he forges one or
two letters, clear evidence of an intrigue, and places them in
his desk. What does she do ? Why, go out and drown herself ;
and there you have a tragedy arising out of a mere joke. It
is only the whipper-snapper in criticism who is always crying
out for a grand and tremendous motive, take my Vv^ord for it.
The greatest tragedies of life arise out of the most trivial things.
You know the most appalling tragedy in the world — the
destruction of the great host of the Nibelungen, who marched
away from the Rhineland to be the guests of King Etzel and
his revengeful wife — what did that arise out of.-* — only a
taunt flung at one angry woman by another, which was im-
mediately disavowed, too, by the first woman's husband. You
don't know that I once wrote a tragedy t "
'' No."
" I did. It has mingled with the elementary forces of nature
by this time, for I burned it. And another objection was
about the ' unities.' Gracious goodness ! do you find any of
the great masters, when they look abroad on the beautiful and
diverse world, limiting themselves to such material as is neces-
sary to some small and mechanical plot ? I think it is the odd
characters — the people who have no business there — that I
love the most ; for unless the author loved them too, he would
not go out of his way to drag them in. What on earth has
Autolycus to do with the plot of * A Winter's Tale ? ' — and yet
332 MADCAP VIOLET.
I don't know any body I have such a sneaking fondness for
as Autolycus. I wish he lived in the parish of Camberwell.
He should dine with me every day, and the spoons would be
at his disposal. Then look at the First Grave-digger in
* Hamlet : ' how could we do without the Grave-digger ? "
" Not very well," said Miller, with a modest smile ; " we
must have him, sooner or later."
" Young Miller," observed the recumbent invalid, "when
you are bent on making jokes, please to remember that I have
just missed making the acquaintance of the grave-digger by
a hair-breadth, and that I may have suddenly to turn round
and shake hands with him, thanking him beforehand for allot-
ting me so much of his valuable space, as the people say who
write to the newspapers. Then there is the melancholy Jacques
— I have always had a great regard for my namesake ; but I
don't see that^ he affects the action of the story very much.
The ' unities—' "
" But how did they criticise your tragedy, if it was never
published ? "
" Why, don't you know that there are critics who buffet
your book before it is published, and critics who jump on it
afterward ? My beautiful tragedy suffered so much from the
first that I determined that it should not reach the second.
I liberated it. Now I can imagine portions of it floating as
down on a butterfly's wing ; and other portions appearing in
the petal of a primrose ; and others forming part of the pink
flush in a young girl's cheek. My tragedy will never die. If
I had published it now, what would have been the result ?
I should know that, although I bought in every copy I could
lay my hands on, the people at the British Museum would
tenaciously cling to that evidence of my stupidity. I will
admit that my hero was an ass — and a sonorous, self-con-
ceited ass, too. Let's see — what was his name ? "
But here Mrs. Warren er broke in upon this random talk by
entering the room with some medicine in her hand. He took
the glass from her, and swallowed the stuff.
" Another compliment to my doctor," he said : " I take it
only to please him — I am certain it has not the least effect
upon me. But if a man carries you across a river, and then
tells you he was able to do it because he had a tobacco-stop-
per in his pocket, you are bound to respect the tobacco-stop-
per."
" You seem to be getting on very well," said young Miller,
cheerfully.
" My great ambition," said the invalid, "is to get a white
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 333
collar on — a regularly starched, stiff, stuck-up collar, as hard
as iron, and as white as snow. I have got so tired of these
half-tinted, wretched, soft, cotton things I have been swathed
in — "
" Well, James," said his sister, " I hope when you get bet-
ter you don't mean to be more particular about your collars
and shirts than before, for indeed there was never any pleas-
ing you. You don't care what sort of coat you wear, nor
what sort of hat, but your linen and your boots, there is no
pleasing you with them."
" And I am looking forward, too, to the first draught of
bitter ale I am allowed. Do you remember that sensation —
the first draught at luncheon on the first day of the shooting,
after all the heat and toil } No, you were not up with us on
the 1 2th."
He grew silent after that, and thoughtful. Young Miller,
with some words of hope and encouragement, took his leave,
and made his way across London to the neighborhood of
Regent Street.
It was the last time he was to see Violet, and he carried in
his pocket the sum of money which was to free her from the
necessity of remaining longer in London. Nay, he carried
double that sum, for, he said to himself, if there was mischief
to be done by the one hundred pounds, no greater could be
done by two hundred ; and he would show her that it was
not the value of the money that had made him pause. And yet,
as he v/alked up and down Great Marlborough Street (she
had refused to go again into the theatre) in expectation of
her, he was not a little anxious and agitated. The chances
of any one now interfering to relieve him from the responsi-
bility he had incurred were small indeed. She would start
at once ; how could any body trace her after she left New
York ? When he gave her that promise, he was convinced
he could talk her out of a determination which he considered
to be the height of folly ; he had failed in that, and now he
saw no prospect of her releasing him at all.
The question now was. Ought this promise to be kept }
Young Miller was not much of a casuist ; but he had some
shrewd common sense. He knew there were occasions on
which people might legitimately do something not quite
" straight." There were innocent forms of deception. He
thought this was too bad. It wasn't quite fair to him or to
any body. She ought not to expect that the temporary
promise was to last forever. As he walked up and down, he
334 MADCAP VIOLET.
pretty nearly worked himself into the conviction that, at all
risks, he ought to go and tell the girl's father.
Now, if he had had some male confidant of his own stamp,
with whom he could have debated this question, there can be
little doubt that he would have gone and told the girl's father.
His friend would have said to him :
" Oh, look here, Miller, you can not let the girl go like that.
If your conscience is tender about your promise, you must
do evil, that good may come. Lots of people do that. You
tell lies to sick people to make them hope. This is all non-
sense : go away and tell the girl's father at once."
Nay, if the promise had been given to a man, under similar
circumstances, it is probable that Miller, without any counsel,
would so have acted. But it was different with a girl, and
that girl Violet North. He could imagine the look of con-
tempt with which she would hear that he had broken his
word. He was afraid of her scorn. In the midst of these
deliberations, Violet appeared.
" He is still going on favorably ? " she said, gently. He
had been so occupied in thinking of her anger that he was
surprised by the sad sweetness of her voice.
" Oh, first-rate ! " said he. " Talking away as fast as ever
— it is no use urging him to be quiet. And I suppose there
is no great harm in talking ; it is the thinking that is the mat-
ter ; for his brain still has some symptoms of feverishness left,
and goes on at such a pace that he can't get sleep. That is
weakness, you know — feverishness ; a man can't sleep well
unless he has exercise. But in other respects he is going on
wonderfully well."
Then there was an awkward pause.
" Violet," said he, with some embarrassment, " I have
brought you the money. Since you have asked it, here it is ;
and if you are really going, one hundred pounds is not
enough. I have brought you two hundred pounds."
" I am very grateful to you," she said, as she took the en-
velope containing the notes. "I will send it to you back
again by degrees ; and I know you won't hurry me."
At this moment a sudden thought flashed into his mind
that had never occurred to him before. If she posted these
installments from time to time, would not he thus be able to
get some approximate notion of her whereabouts in America.^
That was something, but not much, considering the vow un-
der which she would leave him.
" Now, Violet," said he, " you are free to go ; and I sup-
PREPARA TIONS FOR FLIGHT. 335
pose this will be the last chance I shall have of begging you
to consider what you are doing."
" I have considered," she said, sadly.
" To tell you the truth," said he, rather excitedly, " I have
been considering too ; and really, if it comes to that, I don't
know that I am right in — in — "
" Do you mean," she said, calmly, " that you have been
considering whether you will break your word of honor ? "
" Well," he said, with some compunction, " I — I — under-
stood it was to be temporary."
" I had no such understanding," she replied, " nor did you
say any thing about that."
" It is very hard — " he was beginning to say, when she in-
terrupted him.
" Pray, let us part friends," she said, with a sudden appeal
in her voice. " You have been very kind to me — be kind
now !
" And you won't even let me know where you are to be
found in America, suppose any thing were to turn up ? "
" No, she said. " I am to be as one dead to you, and to
all here. In a year or two it will not matter; you will have
forgotten. And before that, too, I must think of you all as
happy and enjoying yourselves, as I told you before — shoot-
ing wild duck, going to the Royal Academy, dining with
Lady North. In every thing that may happen to you, I shall
always think of you as I hope and pray you may always be —
pleased, and happy, and contented. Now, good-bye. I am
more grateful to you than I can tell you. You have been
kind to me — "
She was gone ; he was left standing there, bewildered.
Somehow, though there was not much sentiment in his na-
ture, he felt sick at heart. It was hard to lose this beautiful
friend, who had for a time been mixed up with his boyish
dreams. He pictured her going out alone to the unknown
world of America, not one human being there to meet her
and take her by the hand. He thought of her lonely life in
that far country, of the years adding to her loneliness — for
he had a sort of feeling that she would never marry — until
the final night came, and she would pass Away without one of
her own people or her old friends near her at that awful mo-
ment. His dinner at the Judaeum that night nearly choked
him. His acquaintances there were convinced that he had
been heavily hit by the sudden fall in Costa Ricas.
Next morning Violet sought an opportunity of speaking
with Mr. Dowse in private.
536 MADCAP VIOLET.
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Dowse, but would it be convenient
for you to let me leave at the end of the month ? "
" To leave altogether ? "
*' Yes, sir," she said, humbly.
Mr. Dowse was surprised, and perhaps a trifle offended.
He knew he had dealt generously by this girl ; and here she
was wanting to leave at little more than a week's notice.
" I hope you have not found the situation disagreeable. Miss
Main ? " said he, somewhat stiffly.
*' Oh no," she said, " on the contrary, you have been most
indulgent to me."
'' Is it a question of salary ? "
" No — certainly not," she said. " I — "
" Perhaps you have another situation in view ? "
" I have not," she said, earnestly. " I wish to leave
England — that is all. I must go. If it would be convenient
for ycu, Mr. Dowse, I would willingly forfeit a month's
salary — "
The moment she had uttered the words she felt sorr}^
" I don't think. Miss Main," said he, " that there has been
much monetary dispute between us. I am sorry you feel it
necessary to leave England; but, if it is so, well, I need
scarcely say that we shall not attempt to bind you by any
engagement. Perhaps it would be impertinent if I asked you
what your plans are ? "
" I have none at all," she said, simply. " I am going to
America."
He looked at her curiously ; he began to believe there
might be something in the nonsense his son had been talk-
ing about this mysterious stranger.
" Well, well. Miss Main," said he, cheerfully, " you are ad-
venturous ; but you have courage. And so you have resolved
to leave us ? Well, you know, you must come down and bid
Mrs. Doivse good-bye."
This worthy person, having a suspicion that the girl was
committing a mistake, was of opinion that nobody could talk
her over like Mrs. Dowse.
" What do you say, now } Won't you change your mind
about Christmas ? "
" Thank you, sir, I can not do that. But I shall be very
glad to go down and bid Mrs. Dowse good-bye. Would next
Saturday be convenient ? "
" The day after Christmas ? "
"Yes."
" Certainly it would. You won't mind coming down to
SOUL TO SOUL ! 337
Windsor Station by 5^ourself ; as we shall all be clown in the
country from the Friday to the Monday. We will meet you
at the station — that is, if we are not drowned in the floods be-
fore then. We are living in the middle of a lake at pres-
ent."
And so it was settled that Violet should go down on the
Saturday to bid good-bye to her friends at The Laurels. In
the mean time she made all her preparations for her depart-
ure. She booked her place on board one of the trans-
atlantic steamers ; and got her luggage ready. On the night
before Christmas-day she went to Covent Garden and bought
some flowers — not a bouquet of wax-like blooms, but a basket
of primroses, and violets, and snowdrops ; a vision of spring-
time in the dead of winter. Then she went home ; and took
out a rudely written piece of paper ; and there were tears
running down her face like rain as she read the words :
" These flowers are sent to Mr. Drummond from one who re-
ceived great kindness from him."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
" SOUL TO SOUL ! "
All that Christmas-day, until the afternoon, she spent in
her lodgings, sometimes reading, sometimes adding a bit
to her packing, sometimes staring out of window into the
misty street, where the shops were shut, and the people
who passed wore their Sunday clothes. She thought the cold,
dismal day would never end.
Her landlady, pitying her forlorn condition, came up and
made bold to ask her whether she would not have something
extra for her dinner, seeing it was Christmas-day. Miss
Main replied that she would be out in the afternoon, and
would return to supper, as usual, in the evening. Then Mrs.
Roberts called, and frankly invited the girl to go over and
have dinner with herself and a small party of guests. Miss
Main thanked her friend warmly ; but said she had an en-
gagement.
In the afternoon, as it was drawing toward dusk, she put
on her shawl and bonnet and a thick veil, and went out.
The gaslamps were being lighted in the misty twilight. Not-
withstanding the heavy rains that had recently fallen, the at-
338 MADCAP VIOLET.
mosphere was cold and raw ; occasionally the yellow light
from the lamps sparkled on the frosty pavements ; she vaguely
knew the roads would be slippery outside the town, whither
she was going.
It seemed strange to her to look at the people who v>'ere
passing — silent, content, occupied only in thinking of the
present moment, of the cold, or the hour, or the condition of
the crossing. They were few in number ; the streets were
more deserted than on a Sunday ; over the closed shops she
saw the windows lighted up : there, doubtless, were pleasant
gathering of friends, doubtless having a chat and a laugh to-
gether before the festivities of the evening began. She
walked on — scarcely knowing what to think of all the world
around her — until she got an omnibus bound for Victoria
Station ; and that she entered, finding herself the only pas-
senger.
It was otherwise at the station; for here and there were a
good many people, mostly young men in evening-dress, who
were obviously going out to parties in the suburbs. They
were in groups, laughing and jesting. She sat in a corner of
the dimly lighted waiting-room until it was time for the train
to start.
There were two or three friends, bound for the same house,
in the carriage with her. They were joking merrily. They
were young Germans, and a trifle boisterous ; but she for-
gave the boys their high spirits — was it not Christmas-time ?
As she drew near Denmark-hill Station her heart began to
beat more rapidly. She recognized the voice of the porter
calling out as the train stopped ; she hurried by him — scarcely
looking at the wreaths of evergreens hung all around — for she
was afraid he might remember her. It was the first Christ-
mas she has omitted to pay a half-crown toll for these pleasant
decorations.
Up here the air was keener and clearer ; a star or two were
faintly visible in the gray overhead ; the pavements sparkled
with the frost ; a great silence lay over the black trees in the
gardens. And through these trees and bushes she caught
glimpses of glowing windows ; here and there a blind lifted
or a curtain pushed aside showed her brilliant rooms, and
green decorations, and figures — doubtless those of children
— dancing ; and she heard the sound of merry music. One
large gate stood open ; she went in a step or two, and stood
by the laurel bushes. Was not this " Sir Roger de Coverley ? "
There were screams of laughter, and children's voices ;
through the white curtains she could see that picture of joy-
SOUL TO SOUL! 339
ousness within. When she turned away, there were tears
running down her face. It was her last look at an English
Christmas.
At length she got into the Grove ; and it was with slow
steps, and with a great fear in her heart, that she drew near
the house she had been wont to approach with gladness and
confidence. She looked all round ; there was not a human
being visible in the thoroughfare. She ventured to go up as
far as the house, on the other side of the road, and stood for
a second or two looking at it. What she saw was plain
enough — the peaked roofs, the diamond-paned windows, the
curious little veranda, and the lamp swinging over the door
under the porch : what she experienced then of the wild
anguish of farewell no human being will ever know.
She pictured to herself the group within, in the small
dining-room — the sick man, lying on his couch, pretending
to be brave and strong so as to help along the simple festiv-
ities, perhaps raising a glass into his lean hand and calling
on them to drink a glass to their absent friends. She would
not be included even in that. *But surely they would think
of her on this night of all nights in the year, and they would
think not unkindly of her, for the sake of old times —
She could not bear this desperate sobbing ; it was like to
break her heart. And yet it was hard to tear herself away.
There was but a short distance now between her and all that
she loved upon earth ; soon the great Atlantic would be be-
tween them.
" Good-bye — good-bye ! " her heart said to them, in its
yearning love and agony. " If you knew I was so near, you
would come to me — you would ask me to go in — I should not
be a stranger. Perhaps there is an angel watching over that
house, to bring peace to it, and gladness. He knows why I
go away. Oh, my dearest friends, good-bye— good-bye for
the last time ! " •
She walked awa}^, her head bent down, her breast heaving
with its sobs. She went by those brilliantly lighted windows,
whence the sound of music issued, like some mute ghost of
misery.
She did not walk far, however; for she had not accom-
plished the chief part of her mission. After a time, when she
had quieted herself somewhat, she began to look around for
some one who would become her messenger ; but it was some
time before she saw a single human being, the thoroughfares
were so deserted. At last, however, she heard a small boy
approach, whistling. She asked him if he would take the
340 MADCAP VIOLET.
basket she held in her hand, with a note, and leave them at
a certain door. He looked curiously at her. She said she
would give him a shilling, and he at once consented. So she
walked back with him to the Grove, intrusted him with the
flowers and the folded piece of paper, and then hurried away
in the gloom.
James Drummond was lying on the sofa in the drawing-
room, propped up by the cushion, and Amy was at the piano,
playing to him. His sister entered the room, carrying some-
thing, and said,
" What a strange thing ! Here is a basket of flowers for
you, James — and this bit of paper, which was handed in with
them."
Her face was quite bright. She thought it was a kindly
action. She handed him the note, which he opened.
The next moment she was startled by a quick cry. She
turned at once, and to her horror saw her brother apparently
making a fierce attempt to rise from the couch, while his face
was wild and white.
"What is it, James?-'*
" Sarah, Sarah ! " he cried, holding out the paper with a
shaking hand, " she is alive ! I tell you that Violet is alive !
I know — I know — only herself would think of this ! It is a
message from soul to soul ! Violet — "
He sunk back, speechless and exhausted.
" Yes, James," said his sister, soothingly. She was dread-
fully alarmed by this wild scene ; and she jumped to the con-
clusion that he had lapsed again into delirium. " Perhaps
they are from Violet — you must be still now."
" Woman, woman ! " he cried, with still another frantic
effort to rise, " don't stand there ! Send after her ! Send
after the messenger ! Who brought them \ "
" A boy," replied Mrs. Warrener, thoroughly bewildered,
for her brother did not appear to be delirious, though he
spoke these incoherent words,
" Send after him — quick, quick ! Ask him where he got
the flow^ers — and the message."
She ran at once out into the night. If this were madness,
it would soothe him to know she had obeyed him. Or was
there some wild possibility — some subtle sense — in his over-
excited brain ?
Well, she had not far to go ; for there was the boy, under
the gas-lamp, examining the shilling and biting it with his
teeth, to prove that his gopdluCk was not a delusion.
UNINVITED GUESTS. 341
" Boy," she said, hurriedly, " you brought the flowers to
our door?"
" Yes, ma'am," he said suddenly plunging the shilling into
his pocket.
" Who gave you them ? Where did you get them ? "
" The lady gave me them — I met her round the corner."
" What was she Hke ? A young lady ? "
" Yes."
"And tall?"
" Yes, and she wore a thick veil ; and I think she was crv-
ing."
Mrs. Warrener began to tremble in every limb.
" Which way did she go ? "
" That way."
He pointed away down the dusky thoroughfare, which was
now silent and empty. Mrs. Warrener went back to the
house. Her steps were not very firm ; and her face, as she
entered the room, was as white as that of her brother, who
stared at her with eager, excited eyes.
" Oh, James — is it possible ? The boy — the boy says it was
a young lady who gave him the flowers — a tall young lady —
she was veiled — and he thought she was crying."
The sick man sunk back on the cushion.
" Violet is alive and in London, Sarah," he said, faintly.
"You must find her — Alive ! — Our Violet here a few min-
utes ago — " And then he murmured to himself, as he turned
his head away from the glare of the light, " Oh, Madcap,
Madcap, what have you done ! "
CHAPTER XL.
UNINVITED GUESTS.
There are moments of agonized thinking that shorten
one's life by years. Mrs. Warrener would have appealed to
to her brother to come to her aid to put in order the wild
suggestions that his words had conjured up, to resolve the
terrible doubts which now flashed in upon her ; but he lay
there silent and exhausted, that scene of excitement having
obviously been too much for the feeble energies of an invalid.
She was left to face the situation alone.
" Mamma, is it possible — do you think it possible, Violet
342 MADCAP VIOLET.
can be alive ? " said her daughter, whose face was as pale as
her own.
" Child, child ! how can I tell ? " the mother replied, in a
bewildered way.
There were the flowers on the table, and the rudely written
message ; but it was the interpretation given to them that
was the strange and terrible thing, like some dream-warning
come true, or the vision seen by a dying man. There could
be no doubt that some tall young lady had left the flowers ;
was it really true, then, that Violet had been all this time
living in London, thinking about them as they about her, per-
haps coming occasionally, in her love of madcap ways, to
have a peep at them, herself unseen ? "
Then her face grew hot, and shame and indignation were
at her heart.
If, after all, the girl had run away from the Highlands,
why ? Was it to please herself with her school-girlish roman-
ticism ? She could not quite believe that of Violet. But she
angrily conjectured that if it really turned out the girl was
alive and well, it would be discovered she had run away to
rejoin her former sweetheart ; and that all this long grief
and regret had been visited upon her friends simply because
she had not the courage to declare her intention in the High-
lands. And the anger in Mrs. Warrener's gentle bosom was
not directed against Violet — whose wayward ways were known
— but against George Miller, who had seen their sufferings,
and still held his peace ; who had come ever there and hypo-
critically talked of the lost Violet ; who, having three or four
years before pretty nearly compromised the girl's reputation,
had now most thoroughly succeeded in doing so, and that for
life.
" James," she said, warmly, "if Violet is alive, she must have
run away to go to Mr. Miller. What else could prompt her
to do such a mad, thing ?"
" That is no matter," the sick man said, gently ; " it is
enough that she is alive. Go to her, Sarah. Tell her we
are glad to know she is alive ; and see whether she is well
and happy. That is all right. Don't blame her for what
has been done."
"But where am I to find her? Oh, James, all this is a
sort of wild dream ! I don't know what has come over us
to-night — on Christmas-night — that we are thinking such
harsh things about our poor Violet."
Her heart went up in a prayer for forgiveness. The mem-
ory of that wayward girl had become a pure and beautiful
UNINVITED GUESTS. 343
memory. Surely, if her gentle spirit, on this Christmas
evening, were looking down on the household that she used
to love, she would regard with a gentle pity and forbearance
this black nightmare that had come over them.
"Mamma," said Amy Warrener, with tears runing down
her face, " if there is any chance at all, we must try to find
her. Oh, to think of getting our Violet back ! Let us go to
Mr. Miller, if you think he will know — if there is any chance
at all, mamma — "
Mrs. Warrener looked at those flowers once more, and she
thought of the mysterious visitor.
" Shall we go and ask Mr. Miller ? " she said to her
brother.
" Yes, yes ! " he said, eagerly ; " that before every thing.
You will find him at his father's house to-night, at Sydenham
Hill ; Amy knows the place. Perhaps — no, he could not
have been so cruel — but he is a young man ; he has plenty of
money and time ; he, will help you to seek for her. And
when you find her, ask no questions of her, Sarah. Let the
girl have her own secrets. What she did she was compelled
to do, be sure of that. And do not ask her to come here un-
less she offers to do that. See that she is well, and tell her
that we are glad to hear news of her — that is all."
" How sure your uncle is that she is alive 1 " said Mrs.
Warrener to her daughter, as they hurriedly went away to
dress themselves for the plunge into the cold air. " I hope
it is not all some strange dream of his, such as he had when
he was delirious ; you remember the night he fancied Violet
was sitting in the easy-chair, and that she was his wife, and
going over the housekeeping accounts. Any one would have
believed it was true ; he was so anxious she should not hurt
her eyes with the accounts, and the way he begged her for-
giveness for being unable to give her more money — "
" But this is quite different, mamma. There is no deliri-
um in it at all ; and oh, I hope it is true ! "
When the maid-servant was ordered to put back the dinner
' — the Christmas dinner — to nine o'clock, she thought her
mistress had gone out of her v/its. She went down and
complained to her colleague in the kitchen that the house
had been all at sixes and sevens since the master and missis
came back from Scotland ; that there never was a laugh in the
place now, ever since Miss Violet was drowned ; and that al-
together she felt so miserable and wretched that she meant
to give warning. Meanwhile Mrs. Warrener and her daugh-
ter, considering the scarcity of trains on such a day, had re
344 MADCAP VIOLET.
solved to walk over to Sydenham Hill ; and so, with such
speed as the slippery roads permitted, they went along to
Green Lane, descended into those Dulwich meadows in which
Violet had laid the scene of her school-girl novel ; crossed the
meadows by narrow paths, which were dark enough on this
dusky night and at length got into the broad highway that was
lighted by gas-lamps. The two figures in black, both veiled,
were about the only persons visible on this Christmas evening.
As Violet had done, but with less oppression of heart, they
glanced in at the brilliantly lighted windows they passed
from time to time, and heard the merry sounds of music and
dancing.
But of all the houses they saw on that dark night none was
so brilliant as that at which they finally paused, up here on
the brow of the hill. It was a blaze of light in all directions,
including a spacious conservatory, the luminous pink and
white blinds of which were visible from the gate. The glass-
covered portico leading up to the door was lighted by many-
colored lamps ; it was cleaf that high festivities were going on
within.
Now. at the moment when these two visitors presented
themselves dinner was over, but the ladies had not left the
dining-room, and the butler was still there busy with the wine ;
while the only person who happened to be in the hall when
the bell was rung was the sister of one of the servants, a young
girl who had been engaged as an auxiliary for the evening.
She opened the door.
" Is Mr. Miller at home — I mean young Mr. Miller ? "
said Mrs. Warrener.
" Yes, ma'am," said the girl, rather timidly. She thought
it was an unusual time for a visit.
" Will you please take my card to him, and say I should
like to see him for a moment ? I will not detain him."
The girl took the card. But she could not leave one who
was so obviously a lady at the door ; much less could she ask
her to take a seat in the hall. On her own responsibility,
therefore, she asked the two visitors if they would step into
the drawing-room, while she took the card to Mr. Miller.
Mrs. Warrener and her daughter entered.
Those two black figures looked strange in this great room,
which was all a blaze of satin, white, and gold. In anticipa-
tion of the ladies coming in from the dining-room, the candles
had been lighted up round the walls, and there was a huge
fire throwing pink colors on the gleaming white tiles of the
hearth. Then the decorations : the long festoons of ivy
UNINVITED GUESTS. 345
leaves, the devices in holly and mistletoe, the beautiful flowers
placed around the spacious apartment — all this was a sight to
see, if the two strangers had been thinking of such things.
Mr. George Miller had earned some little reputation as an
orator down Sydenham way, where the people are much given
to dinner-parties and other local festivities at which healths
are proposed. How this Scotch custom got transferred to
Sydenham is at present a mystery. Among certain classes of
Scotch people it is almost impossible for half a dozen persons
to dine together without some one at the end of dinner rising
up and making a speech about some one else, who, in his
turn, feels bound to propose some other guest's health.
Whether any colony of a people, who, however taciturn in
general, are prone to gabbling after dinner, ever settled in the
neighborhood of Sydenham, I leave to antiquarians to discuss;
but it is the fact that the young men of Sydenham are, above
all others, trained from their youth to propose, and respond
to, at a moment's notice, such toasts as " The Ladies," " Ab-
sent Friends," and the like, and that they acquire this envia-
ble gift by practice in comparatively small social circles."*
However, on this occasion George Miller had some excuse
for being on his feet. He was proposing the health of his
niece. Miss Maud Leicester, who had just been brought in in
a high chair with a bar across. Miss Maud paid not the least
heed to all the beautiful things that were being said about
her, but \vas making ferocious attacks on an orange which she
found much difficulty in holding. She looked up, however,
when every body called out her name and drank a glass of
wine to her, and just at the moment the small maid-servant
entered the room, and placed Mrs. Warrener's card before
the young master.
Mr. Miller was alarmed, and looked it. He begged to be
excused for a moment or two, and left the room. When he
found Mrs. Warrener and her daughter awaiting him, he
hurriedly asked if any thing were the matter with Mr. Drum-
mond.
" No," said Mrs. Warrener, making a desperate effort to re-
main calm, " my brother is getting on very well. It is about
another matter. Mr. Miller, do you know whether Violet
North is alive ? "
The suddenness of the question startled him ; he had not
* I am informed that commercial travelers are greatly addicted to the
making of speeches after dinner. This may arise from their having so
frequently to dine together in country inns, with no other form of intel-
lectual exercise to fall back upon.
346 MADCAP VIOLET.
been prepared for it. He only stared at her in confusion and
bewilderment ; he had not an answer ready.
" Oh, Mr. Miller," cried Amy Warrener, with a pathetic en-
treaty in her voice, " I can see you know where she is — she is
alive ! You will tell us where Violet is ? "
"Really — " said he, and then he stopped in vexatious em-
barrassment ; for, short of a downright lie, there was scarcely
a word he could say that would not commit him, while si-
lence would be nearly as fatal to the promise he had given
Violet. " Really — this is most extraordinary — Violet North
alive — And you come to me ! "
"Yes, we come to you," said Mrs. Warrener, bitterly.
" Can you deny that she is alive ? Can you deny that you
have kept this knowledge to yourself ? — for what purposes I
can not tell — and have looked on at our misery, and the mis-
ery of her relatives, without a touch of pity ? Oh, I • am
ashamed to think of it ! "
Well, George Miller began to grow angry. It became clear
that, however Violet's friends had come to know of her exist-
ence, the whole pack of them would be down upon him — he,
poor innocent, having nothing more to do with the matter than
the man in the moon. It was too bad. Here he was about
to be accused of all sorts of things, with his mouth shut by
that promise so that he could not say a word in his defense.
" I don't understand you, Mrs. Warrener," said he ; " what
makes you think that Violet is alive ? "
" Can you deny that you know she is alive .'* " said Mrs.
Warrener, warmly.
" Oh," said he, with an uneasy laugh, " this is madness —
pure madness. If I had known she was alive, why should I
have concealed it? What could I gain by concealing it.'*
Why, the thing is so absurd ! But, tell me, what has suggested
all this to you t Why do you think she is alive .'' "
Mrs. Warrener did not answer his questions ; she believed
them to be mere empty phrases. It was clear to her, from
his refusal to deny his knowledge of Violet's existence, that
all this wild story was true ; and that her brother's sudden
and strange interpretation of the message was something more
than the morbid fancy of a sick man.
" And so you will not tell us where Violet is ?" she said,
firmly.
At this moment the door was opened by a servant, who did
not know there was any body in the drawing-room, and the
ladies from the dining-room trooped in. Certainly they looked
sufficiently astonished to find Mr. Miller, obviously in great
UNINVITED GUESTS. 347
embarrassment, standing in earnest conversation with those
two persons dressed in deep mourning ; and, indeed, the two
black figures formed a singular contrast to the blaze of costume
worn by Mrs. Miller and her friends.
" Mother," said the young man, hastily, to a tall and stately
woman, fair and good-looking, who wore heavy bracelets ; " let
me introduce you to Mrs. Warrener and her daughter : you
have heard me speak of them."
Mrs. Miller bowed coldly : she thought it was an inopportune
moment for a visit.
" And I will tell you why my daughter and myself are here
at such an hour," said Mrs. Warrener, with courage, and she
spoke rapidly and with great emotion. " Some months ago a
young friend of ours — she was our greatest friend — was sup-
posed to be drowned, when she was on a visit with us to the
Highlands. She was not drowned. She ran away — why, I do
not know ; and we have mourned for her as if she were dead,
for she was very dear to us. And now your son here, who
knows where she is, who has allowed her relatives to grieve
for her all this time, he will not say a single word to restore
the girl to her friends. Are you surprised" that — that I
should intrude on you, when that is what I have come to ask
him ? "
Her voice trembled with indignation, and she made no effort
to conceal her story from these strangers, who looked en in
amazement.
" George, what is this ? " said the tall, fair woman, remaining
quite calm. " Is it about Miss North ? "
His face was red with vexation, and there was an angry
frown on his brows. He would have liked to have got hold
of Violet at that moment to say, " Look here ; this is a pretty
thing you have let me in for ! " But as it was, he had to an-
swer something. It was an ugly indictment.
"I suppose it is about Miss North," said he, sulkily; "she
caused me enough trouble when she was alive, and it seems I
have not done with it yet. Perhaps Mrs. Warrener will tell
you what reasons she has for believing all this extraordinary
story ; I can't make them out."
" If I were a man," said the pale, little woman, with increas-
ing indignation, "I should be ashamed to make such pre-
tenses. If you have had no pity on the girl's family or on her
friends all this time, at least do something to repair the wrong
by speaking now. Mr. Miller, where is Violet \ "
She suddenly altered her tone to one of piteous entreaty.
"I don't know where she is," he answered, angrily; "I don't
343 MADCAP VIOLET.
care where she is — I don't want to know any thing about
her — I wish to goodness she was at the bottom of the sea ! "
"George," his mother said, severely, "this is strange lan-
guage. Remember you are speaking to a lady. And you cer-
tainly seem to suggest that Miss North is not at the bottom of
the sea, as her friends supposed she was. Do you know where
she is ? "
" I don't know anytning about it."
"Ask him, Mrs. Miller," said Mrs. Warrener, suddenly
bursting into tears, " ask him if he can deny that our Violet
is alive. Ask him if he has not seen her — if he does not
know that she is alive ? "
" George, answer at once ! "
" What is the use of answering such questions ? Doesn't
everybody know the girl is dead ? "
His mother regarded him narrowly, and said, slowly,
" You must answer me, then. Do you believe the girl to
be dead ? "
" It is none of my business," said he, impatiently ; " if her
friends think she is alive, let them find her. I have nothing
to do with her. I tell you I don't know where she is."
" Oh, shame on you ! " said Mrs. Warrener ; " I did not
believe a human being could be so cruel, so indifferent, so
heartless. But I will appeal to the girl's father ; it is he who
must take the matter into his hands. Mrs. Miller, I beg your
pardon, and your friends' pardon, for this intrusion. I am
sorry to have caused you trouble. Come, Amy."
The little woman was crying. She merely bowed as she
turned away, but Mrs. Miller took her hand and pressed it
warmly, and accompanied her into the hall.
" All this is very strange, Mrs. Warrener," said she, in kind-
ly accents, " and the conduct of my son, if he really knows
about this girl being alive, is most inexcusable. Believe me,
I will see what can be done to get the matter properly ex-
plained. Don't think the worst of him just yet ; there may
be some reason we don't know."
Many strange and conflicting emotions passed through Mrs.
Warrener's heart as she and her daughter went home through
the dusky night, and she scarcely knew whether to be glad or
sad when she informed her brother of the result of her mission.
" Amy," she said, " you saw his face. Can you doubt that
he knows ? "
" Not in the least, mamma," was the prompt answer.
" And then, James, his absolute refusal to deny that he had
seen her since we were in the Highlands. His mother pressed
A BRINGER OF EVIL. 349
him to answer ; it was no use. It is as clear to me as noon-
day that he knows where Violet is."
"That is not much matter," said the invalid, absently;
" the great fact is that Violet still remains to us. We may
see her yet, coming in by the door there, with the bashful,
amused look she used to have. We will ask her no questions
at all ; she has a right to her own secrets."
" That is all very well, James," said his sister, with some
touch of indignation in her voice ; " but I can not help think-
ing of all we have suffered, and you especially, all on account
of this foolish trick. What was the cause of your illness ?
I know very well. And her poor father, too. When I think
of that young man. Miller, and of his having known this all
along, and his hypocrisy in coming here — oh, I don't know
what to think ; I don't know which of the two is the w^orse."
" Sarah, you must say no word against Violet. You know
nothing against her; you know nothing of the circumstances.
It is enough that she is alive."
The small maid-servant brought in the Christmas dinner ;
it was not a gorgeous feast. The invalid had his plate placed
on a chair by the side of his couch. When the banquet was
over, he turned to his niece.
" Amy," said he, " fill up these three glasses. Sarah, we
are going to drink health and happiness to our Violet — long
life and health and happiness, and many more Christmas
evenings, pleasanter than I suspect this one has been to her.
I never thought we should be able to do that. Wherever
she is, whatever may have been her reasons for leaving us,
whether we ever see her again or not, no matter. Here is to
her long life and happiness, and God bless her ! "
Mrs. Warrener looked at the lean and trembling hand that
held up the glass, and there was a doubtful " Amen ! " in hex
heart.
CHAPTER XLI.
A BRINGER OF EVIL.
George Miller was to have spent the two days following
Christmas with this family party which had been gathered to-
gether at Sydenham Hill ; but after the visit of Mrs. Warrener
and her daughter he saw fit to change his intention. For
the rest of that evening even his own mother held aloof from
350 MADCAP VIOLET.
him : again and again he vowed to himself that it was really
too bad, but that this was what always came of one's getting
one's self mixed up with the romantic sentimentalities of a
woman.
Next morning he left the house, and went straight up to the
lodgings which he understood that Violet North occupied.
The more he thought of his wrongs, the more angry he be-
came, until, when he knocked at the door, he was simply in
a towering rage. He would have an end of all this mystery.
He would have nothing more to do with this concealment.
It was all very well for her to go off scot-free, leaving him
under the imputation — against which he could bring no testi-
mony whatever — of having inveigled the girl away from her
friends^and aided her in a shameful piece of deceit. No, he
would have no more of this.
The landlady herself came to the door : as it happened,
she was in a rage too, for she had just been quarreling with
one of her domestics.
" Does Miss North — I mean Miss Main — live here ? "
asked the young man.
'' No she don't."
He was staggered. He looked at the number over the
door ; he had made no mistake.
" She did live here," continued the landlady, regarding his
bewilderment with a morose satisfaction. " She's goin' away
o' Monday."
" On Monday ! " said he. " And where is she now } "
" I don't know. Gone away for a 'oliday, I believe."
" But surely she will be back here before she goes to — New
York ? "
" I suppose she will," said the woman, with a gloomy in-
difference, " 'cause her things are still in her room. She'll be
back o' Monday."
" You don't know what hour she will call for her luggage t "
" No."
'* Thank you. Good-morning."
She shut the door ; and he was left standing there, in
about as pleasant a predicament, according to his notions, as
had ever entrapped a human being. Doubtless she had her
passage taken. She would come up at some unexpected
hour on Monday, whisk off her luggage in a four-wheeled
cab, and be on her way to Liverpool, or Holyhead, or South-
hampton, before any one was any the wiser. Nay, if he were
to stand in Great Titchfield Street from early morning until
she appeared, how could he prevent her going 1 He could
A B RINGER OF EVIL. 35!
not appeal to the police. It is true, he could scold her, and
show her the rough usage he was experiencing all through
her folly ; but he could not compel her to release him from
the promise she had exacted ; while he looked forward to
the pleasing prospect of a somewhat warm interview with Sir
Acton North.
He walked away from Great Titchfield Street somewhat
gloomily. Besides his sense of personal injury, he had an
uncomfortable feeling that a cleverer person than himself —
one like Mr. Drummond, for example, who was familiar with
hair-splitting — could have hit upon some fair and good rea-
son for pitching over this promise which would save his con-
science. He himself, in his own way, tried to find out some
such salve. What was a promise ? Not any thing in itself ;
but only of use and value as long as it secured its object.
Very well, then. What did Violet want ? To get away from
England to some place where no one would ever hear of her
again, where she should be as one dead. Very well, again.
She should have her wish. She should leave on Monday for
New York. Her wishes would be respected. But after she
was gone, and all she wanted secured, why should he con-
tinue to be the victim of a blunder t Why should not he
confess the truth to Sir Acton North and Mr. Drummond,
and clear himself "i That could not affect Violet in any way.
He would not tell them whither she had gone — only that she
had left England without leaving behind her any information
as to her future plans. Moreover, this would not be telling
them that she was alive ; for they seemed to know that al-
ready. And as they knew that, he had not the slightest
doubt in the world that some blunder of hers had conveyed
the information to them ; and was he to bear the brunt of
any more of her caprices ?
Meanwhile Violet North, with a lighter heart than she had
known for many a day, was seated in a railway-carriage and
being swiftly carried down to Windsor. The forenoon w^as
singularly bright and clear ; the sunshine shone on the mead-
ows that had been washed green by the recent heavy rains,
on the brown plowed fields, where the flocks of rooks and
starlings were busy, and on the dark lines of copse that were
here and there almost black against the pale blue-and-white
sky. It seemed to her that now at last she was escaping
from the prison that had hemmed her in since her return
from Scotland. All her preparations for her flight into the
freedom of the Far West had been made. The iDitter agony
of parting was over. Soon she would stand on the deck of a
•352 MADCAP VIOLET.
noble vessel, and, looking back to the receding land of her
birth, would know that her great sacrifice was now accom-
plished, and that she was leaving that dearest of all her
friends with the prospect daily coming nearer him of a return
to his old glad ways, and health, and cheerful spirits.
She already^elt herself enfranchised. There was now an
end to the weary days over the desk, to the lonely evenings
in the small room, to the constant fear of discovery, and to
the temptation to wander over to the south side of the river,
with all the sore bitterness of heart that these visits occa-
sioned. She had made her last pilgrimage in that direction
the night before ; and it had been a terrible one. All her
life through she would never forget that night — the still,
dark, Christmas-night ; her ghost-like stealing up to the cot-
tage in which her friends sat together ; her unspoken, unheard,
but agonizing farewell. No more of that. The brighter
days were coming. Had she not said that in the future she
would always think of those former companions of hers as
cheerful and happy — wandering in the sweet air of Highlands
— gay with the sports of hill-side and loch — enjoying the pres-
ent, and forgetful of all the old bitterness of the past .'*
So she interested herself in the various out-of-door sights
of this bright forenoon — the young wheat, the leafless or-
chards, the heavy wagons laboring along the muddy roads, and
fields showing here and there patches of water, the result of
the recent rains. She began to look out for signs of the
great floods of which she had heard; and about Drayton
those patches of water in the fields became more marked.
Then she caught a glimpse, before getting to Slough, of the
great, spectral bulk of Windsor's walls and turrets rising,
pale and ethereal, into the blue and white overhead. On
again ; and now she caught sight of lines of white behind the
distant trees, and hedges seemed to be growing in a lake.
But what were these scattered objects to the richly colored
and brilliant picture that lay before her as the train ran in
towards Windsor ? The great castle, with its lofty towers,
was a mass of shadow, and so was the picturesque group of
houses underneath it by the river ; hut here, close at hand,
the brilliant sun shone on the red houses and the silvery-gray
turrets of Eton, while all around was a vast sheet of smooth
v/ater reflecting'the blues and whites of the sky. This im-
mense lake was broken only by lines of pollard willows, and
by some groups of trees in the distance that seemed to have
still about them some touch of autumn yellow. Boys were
paddling boats up the Eton lanes ; still farther a-field a great
A B RINGER OF EVIL. 353
punt was going the round of some workmen's cottages, which
were completely surrounded by the water.
Both Mr. Dowse and his son were awaiting her at the
station ; they had driven over in a dog-cart. When Violet
got up beside Mr. Dowse, senior, who was driving, he prom-
ised her a rare sight. Edward Dowse got up behind, and
away they went.
They paused for a moment on Eton Bridge to look at the
mighty volume of yellow-green water which, coming from the
great lake that stretched all across the Brocas meadows,
hurled itself against the massive stone piers, and then, rush-
ing through between, spread itself out far and wide again,
indicating only here and there, by a summer-house, or some
such isolated object, the gardens and orchards it had sub-
merged. They drove along the winding thoroughfare, catch-
ing here and there a glimpse of a boat at the end of a street.
As they passed out into the country, they found the Playing-
fields a sheet of olive-green water, the large elms only being
visible. From Fifteen-arch Bridge the view was picturesque
enough — the isolated lines of trees lighted up by the sun ;
the great plain of water with its dashes of blue ; here and
there a red-brick house surrounded by evergreens ; and right
in front of them a group of people waiting to be ferried across
a part of the road which the floods had submerged.
" How shall we get across ? " she asked.
They were standing still on the middle of the bridge, to
have a look at the scene in front of them.
" Oh, all right," said Mr. Dowse, carelessly. " The water
is not very deep."
Perhaps he was a little too careless ; for on starting to go
down the slope to this hollow where the water lay, the horse
he was driving stumbled badly, and, on recovering, got an
admonishing cut from his master. Whether this trifling
accident had fluttered his nerves, or whether some sudden
gleam of the water at his feet startled him, can only be
guessed ; but, at all events, the animal all at once became
unmanageably restive. He reared and plunged, splashing
the water about him, and causing the women who were
standing by — waiting for the punt — to scream with alarm.
" Hold tight ! " Mr. Dowse called out to Violet.
The warning was just given in time ; for the next instant
the horse made a sudden plunge to one side of the road,
which nearly threw the dog-cart bodily into the deeper water
by the side of the highway; and then it dashed madly
forward. The driver had no sort of control over it; but
23
354 MADCAP VIOLET.
fortunately the road in front was pretty straight. And so
away they went at a furious pace, to the no small consterna-
tion of one or two people who were coming along the road ;
and so intent were Mr. Dowse and Violet in watching the
excited animal that was now placing their lives in jeopardy
that they had not the slightest notion that they alone were
the occupants of the vehicle. When the horse swerved in the
hollow, young Dowse had been pitched clean off the back-
seat of the dog-cart, falling heavily on the wooden palings
by the side of the road.
The way was clear before them ; and in time the runaway
horse showed symptoms of moderating his speed. He was
finally stopped by a wagoner, who, happening to look back,
and seeing what had occurred, had the presence of mind to
draw his huge wagon right across the road, completely block-
ing all passage. There was no collision. The man got hold
of the head of the animal, which now stood trembling and
excited ; and then it was that Mr. Dowse discovered that his
son was missing.
" Good heavens ! " he said, " where is Ted 1 "
They looked back ; there were one or two people running
toward them. When these came up, the news was brief, but
terrible enough. The young gentleman had been pitched
right on his head. He was lying insensible. They had sent
in to Eton for a surgeon.
" Go back to him," said Violet, instantly, to her com-
panion ; " I will wait here with the dog-cart."
Mr. Dowse seemed stupefied. He did not think what he
was doing in leaving this girl in charge of a frightened horse,
even although the great wagon still blocked the way.
" Yes, yes," he said, " stay here for a minute — I must see
— ^what has happened."
He set out to run. He met one or two country people ; he
asked them no questions. Then he came in sight of a group
of persons standing by the roadside, not far from the spot
where the horse had bolted.
The young man was in the middle of that gfoup, his head
supported on a friendly knee. He was apparently lifeless ;
not even a groan escaped him. There was no outward sign
of injury, except a slight trace of blood about the lips.
" Stand back ! " the father said, sternly, to the small and
eager crowd. " Stand back, and give him air ! You have
sent for a surgeon ? "
" Yes, sir."
*' Ted ! Teddy ! " the elder man cried, with some vague
A B RINGER OF EVIL. 355
hope of arousing his son to consciousness. " Are you badly-
hurt, lad ? "
There was no answer. He looked despairingly around.
" Is there a drop of brandy to be had — or whiskey ? "
There was no answer to that, either. Fortunately, at this
moment a brougham came along the road, the only occupant
of which was an old lady who, although unknown personally
to the Dowses, was a neighbor of theirs, and knew them by
sight. When she discovered what had occurred, she instantly
placed her carriage at Mr. Dowse's disposal. The apparently
lifeless body was lifted in ; the father followed ; and the
coachman was bid to drive gently on to The Laurels.
They came up to the point at which Violet had been left.
She was now down in the road.
" What has happened ? " she said, with a pale face, to Mr.
Dowse ; but the sight she saw inside the carriage was enough.
" Will you get some of the people to bring the dog-cart
along ? " said Mr. Dowse. It was not an occasion for cere-
mony.
They drove on again with that mournful burden ; and she,
having given the wagoner half a crown to leave his wagon for
a few minutes and take the horse and dog-cart on to Mr.
Dowse's house, walked slowly after. There were gloomy
forebodings in her mind. That slowly driven carriage away
along there seemed to be like a hearse. Why was it that,
wherever she went, death, or the semblance of death, dogged
her footsteps, and was forever plucking the sunshine out of
the sky ? Her coming seemed to be the signal for the coming
of all misfortunes ; birds of evil omen followed after her ; she
was as one doomed, association with whom was fatal.
Trembling and full of fear, she walked up to the house.
She dreaded to hear the wail of a mother over her only son ;
she imagined the reproach with which that mother would raise
her eyes from her son's pallid face and fix them on this
stranger, who seemed the herald and the occasion of all evil
things.
The poor mother had no such thoughts in her head : even
if this were a time for affixing responsibility, she certainly
would not have considered Violet to be the cause of this la-
mentable accident. But, all the same, the girl was oppressed
by some strange feeling that it was dangerous for any one to
be linked, in however slight a degree, with one whom evil
fortune had marked out for its own ; and so it was that she
did not dare to go into that room where, as she knew, the
young man lay, watched by his agonized parents. All the
356 MADCAP VIOLET,
doors were open. She walked into the drawing-room, and
sat down alone. Then she heard the doctor's carriage drive
up to the front of the house.
CHAPTER XLII.
REPENTANCE.
On the morning after Christmas, Mrs. Warrener carried
her great news up to Lady North ; and that circumspect,
prim little woman was a good deal more agitated than usual,
and her cold, observant gray eyes were full of wonder.
" It is a strange story, Mrs. Warrener," she said, quickly.
" Do you believe it yourself ? Can you believe it ? You
know the fancies that get into the heads of persons who are
ill ; and you know your brother has been delirious."
"Yes, I know that," said Mrs. Warrener, "and my first im-
pression last night was that he was wandering again ; but no
— not at all ; and then, as I have told you, Mr. Miller con-
firms my belief. I am sure he knows all about her. I want
Sir Acton to go him ; his authority will get at the truth."
" My husband is in Belgium, Mrs. Warrener. Do you
think, do you really think, I shall be justified in telegraphing
to him to come home ? "
" Most decidedly," said Violet's friend, without a moment's
hesitation.
" You are so sure all this is true ? "
" I am."
" He will think I have gone mad if I tell him why he is to
come home."
"Then don't tell him. Merely say that he is urgently
wanted."
" And in the mean while — "
" In the mean while, we ought to put an advertisement in
the papers which may catch Violet's eye. And perhaps you
might go to Mr. Miller and beg him to tell you -where Violet
is. He may be kinder to you than he was to me."
" But— but — " said Lady North, still a little bewildered,
" what could be his object in concealing the fact ? Is it pos-
sible he has been looking at us all this time wearing mourn-
ing for a girl whom he knew to be alive ? "
" That part of it I can't make out at all," said Mrs. War-
REPENTANCE. 357
rener, rather wistfulty. " But I am sure that Violet is in
London."
The advertisement appeared in several of the newspapers
on the Monday morning ; probably few cared to pause and
speculate over the story that lay behind such an ordinary no-
tice as this : " Violet N- , — We all know that y 021 are alive
and in London. Pray return. We will do every thing you
can desire to secure your happiiiess.^^ But George Miller knew
the story ; and as soon as he saw this advertisement, he
promptly said to himself,
" Very well. They all know, without my telling them. I
have not broken any promise ; it is no fault of mine that they
know. But, now they do know, am I to be made the victim
of a pretense at concealment which is no concealment at
all ? "
That reasoning entirely satisfied him. Violet had had her
wish, in so far as she was leaving the country without his
having spoken a single word about her being alive to any
person ; and, so soon as she had really left, and disappeared
without leaving any trace behind her, he considered he would
be justified in clearing away the suspicions under which he
had been most unjustly placed. By which route would she
leave England ? In any case, she would be clear off on
Wednesday night. On Wednesday, therefore, he would show
his friends how harshly they had dealt with him ; and by that
time Violet would be safe from pursuit, for neither he nor
they would know when, or by which line, she had gone to
America.
The cup of his troubles and mortification, however, was
not yet full. On the Monday evening, just as he was going
along to his club, Lady North and Anatolia drove up to his
rooms in Half Moon Street, and stopped him on the pave-
ment.
" You will excuse our calling on you at such a time, Mr.
Miller ; but we thought we should most likely catch you
now," said Lady North.
He inwardly made use of language which, had they heard
it, would have frightened his two visitors out of their wits.
It was too bad, he thought. Here he was to undergo a rep-
etition of the scene already enacted at Sydenham Hill ; and
as it was women, and always women, who came to put him
under a raking fire of indignant reproaches, what answer
could he make ? He was not much of a heroic person ; but
he would twenty times rather have encountered the menaces
of Violet's father.
3SS MADCAP VIOLET,
" Will you walk up-stairs ? " said he, with great courtesy, as
he opened the door with his latch-key.
He lighted the candles on the table.
" Can I offer you some tea. Lady North ? A couple of
minutes — "
" No, thank you," said Lady North. She was a little
frightened ; and she concealed her fright under a demeanor
of cold and proud reserve. She also seemed to add some
inches to her stature as she continued, " Of course, you know
why we have come."
" Well, yes, I suppose so," said he, sulkily. " Mrs. War-
rener has been to you with that absurd story,"
" Is it absurd } " Lady North said, " Mr. Miller, you surely
can not mean to trifle with us in such a matter. Is it true .? "
" I dont see why you should come to me at all," said he,
becoming a little more vehement. " I have -had enough of it.
Mrs. Warrener comes over to our house, on a Christmas
evening, when we have a family party gathered together, and
straightway begins to accuse me, before all these people, of
all manner of things ; and of course, as she is a woman, I
can't give her the answer I would give to a man. I think it
is rather hard. And now, I suppos'e, you too, Lady North,
mean to do the same thing. Well, I can't help it."
He affected an air of resignation. But Lady North was
much cooler than Mrs. Warrener had been ; and she was not
to be put off by this specious show of injur}'.
"You know very well, Mr. Miller," said she, calmly, " that
a single word of yours would relieve you at once from those
very serious charges. I can not blame Mrs. Warrener. I
must say I consider your conduct as very strange. It ap-
pears you can not deny your being aware that Violet is
alive—"
" One minute, Lady North," said he, interrupting her, and
speaking with some decision. " There is no use in our
quarreling ; and I can see you are going to say the same
things that Mrs. Warrener said. That won't do any good.
But I will tell you what I will do ; if you like to wait till
Wednesday evening — the day after to-morrow — I will tell you
all I know about this affair. And I won't tell you before
then."
"Really, Mr. Miller," said his visitor, "this is the most ex-
traordinary conduct on your part — "
" Yes, I dare say it is," said he, his temper rising again.
" But don't you think that before you find me guilty of cruelty,
and caprice, and all the rest of it, you might wait to hear what
REPENTANCE. 359
I have to say ? And if you would ask Mrs. Warrener to be
present on Wednesday evening, I should be obliged to you.
I wish to say a word or two to her — "
" You will allow me to say I think Mrs. Warrener has acted
most properly," observed Lady North, coldly.
" Yes, precisely," said he, with some bitterness. " That is
because you are as ignorant of all the circumstances of the
case as she is."
" I hope Sir Acton will be home by Wednesday evening,"
said Lady North, not a little anxious to turn the whole of this
serious matter over to her husband.
" I hope so too," said Mr. Miller, promptly. " If I am to
appear before a family gathering, and be impeached, and be
put on my defense, I prefer that a man should be my judge."
" I am sure no one wishes to impeach you," said Lady
North, rather regretfully, " if you would only tell us where
Violet is."
He remained silent. He was not to be caught by his inno-
cent invitation.
" Then we shall see you on Wednesday evening," she said,
rising to go. " Will you come to dinner ? "
" No, thank you," said he, for he still had the feeling that
he had been badly treated. " A man going to be hanged does
not have breakfast with the hangman. I am to be tried and
convicted, you know."
" I am sorry if we have judged your conduct harshly," said
Lady North, gently. " But you must -admit we had some
cause."
He would admit nothing of the kind. After his two visitors
had left, he walked along to his club, and as he walked his
mind was full of thoughts of vengeance, directed more partic-
ularly against Mrs. Warrener, whom he regarded as in most
part responsible for all his trouble. Violet, of course, was
the first cause. What business had she to thrust these con-
ditions upon him ; and then to go by some act of folly or other
and let them know she was alone and in London t Then
those other women, complaining, accusing, worrying him, as
if he was a thief who had some silver spoons secreted about
his person ! He would have it out with them on the Wednes-
day evening. He would not suffer all this annoyance for noth-
ing. And especially would he have a retort ready for Mrs.
Warrener.
He had dinner by himself; and as he brooded over all the
circumstances of this strange business, his mind, by some
curious process, began to construct the form of that retort.
360 MADCAP VIOLET.
He was innocent : what if he threw back on his chief accuser
the charge of being the origin of all this mischief? Mrs.
Warrener had plainly intimated that he was the cause of Vio-
let's having suddenly left the Highlands, and, in consequence,
of her having inflicted so great an amount of pain upon her
friends : what if he boldly retorted, at hap-hazard, that she her-
self, Mrs. Warrener, was the cause ! Violet would not be
there to contradict him, even if it chanced that what he said
was inaccurate. But the more he thought of it, the more he
considered it probable that Mrs. Warrener was the cause.
He had seen in these later interviews with Violet every symp-
tom of the girl's being devoted heart and soul to this man who
had unwittingly become his rival. Of Mr. Drummond's great
love and affection for Violet, the constant harping on the
memory of her that ran through his delirious imaginings could
leave no manner of doubt, if doubt had at any time been pos-
sible. What, then, could have caused the girl to take so des-
perate a step as that of pretending she had been drowned, in
order to escape forever from her friends ? Mr. Miller was,
in his own estimation, not by any means a fool. He knew
what mothers and sisters could become, when their son or their
brother proposed to introduce a new member into the family.
He knew the jealousy of women ; he could imagine something
of their malign ingenuity. And who could possibly be against
this marriage between Mr. Drummond and Violet, unless it
was Mrs. Warrener herself; and whose interests but hers
could suffer ?
" And so," argued this young man with himself, in great
bitterness of heart, " having by some means or other made
the girl miserable, having driven her from all her friends, and
made an outcast and a wanderer of her, and having securely
locked up the door, so that no one should come in to share
with her Drummond's small income, she turns round on me,
and makes me out to be the cause of all this mischief and
misery, and brings accusations against me before my whole
family, so that my own mother won't speak to me ! By Jove,
this must be set straight ! "
When he went up to Euston Square on that Wednesday even-
ing, he had the air of a man who was not to be trifled with.
Moreover, he had conned over a few little bits of rhetoric,
with which to rebut the astounding charges that had been
brought against him. The trial of Warren Hastings was
nothing to this.
Sir Acton North was there, grave and silent : he would say
nothing against the young man until he had been heard.
REPENTANCE. 361
Mrs. Warrener was there too, with a great anxiety in her pale
and gentle face. Lady North was the third figure in the as-
sembled court, none of her daughters being present.
" Although I am not represented by counsel," the young
man was beginning to say with bitter sarcasm, when he was
sternly interrupted by Sir Acton North.
*' This is not a subject for joking, Mr. Miller," said he.
" Tell me at once — is my daughter alive ? "
" Yes," was the simple answer. Mrs. Warrener clasped
her hands : there was not one there who loved Violet better
than she did.
" Where is she 1 "
" I don't know."
An ominous frown came over Sir Acton North's forehead.
" Come, sir. You may have trifled with those ladies ; you
shall not trifle with me."
" I do not know where she is," George Miller continued,
with a grand air of indifference ; " but I will tell you where I
believe her to be : I believe she is now on her way to Amer-
ica. And if you will listen, I will tell you all I know about
her. You may believe the story or not ; I can not help it if
you don't. But at least I shall try to show to these ladies
that their imagination got the better of them when they ac-
cused me of being a monster of deceit and cruelty, and per-
haps they will acknowledge that they were a trifle precipitate.
I knew nothing at all about — about Miss North — being alive,
till a little over a month ago. There's a decorator-fellow in
Regent Street, who got into my club on the strength of his
being an artist — I believe he was an artist at the time — and he
began talking to me one night about a mysterious sort of a
girl who was in his father's place. He believed she knew
some one in the Judosum. I asked her name : he said it was
Miss Main ; and the coincidence struck me, for I remembered
that school-mistress. I asked more about her ; some things
seemed very odd ; I thought I would go and see her. Well,
I watched her coming out of the shop one evening, and I
made sure it was Violet, though she was closely veiled. I
watched her once or twice ; then I spoke to her. It was
Violet — I mean. Miss North. Very well. I was a little taken
aback, of course, for I could not understand it ; but she said
she wanted every body to believe she was dead. She was
going away from England, she said ; and she insisted on my
promising not to tell a human being that I had seen her — "
Here the young man colored somewhat.
"You may think I am breaking that promise ; but, you see,
362 MADCAP VIOLET.
I made it in (he expectation that I could reason her out of
all this ; and then, in any case, what she wanted was to get
safely away; and then, when you all seemed to know
quite well, what was the use of my refusing to speak any
longer ? "
These somewhat incoherent reasons had not been prepared
beforehand ; there was no precision of language about them.
Moreover, the young man said nothing of the further reason
that he was determined to have no more personal annoyance
over a matter which did not concern him.
" Well, I gave her my word of honor not to tell you. Per-
haps that was wrong ; but I was a little bit flustered, and I
v/anted to gain time. Then she said she had pretended to be
drowned because she thought she was making her friends
miserable, and after a time they would forget her. She was
very anxious to leave England, I could see ; but when she
asked for news of all of you, and when I told her that Mr.
Drummond was ill, then she would not go until she had news
of his getting better. I had to go to her every few days with
my report ; she was very anxious. I don't know whether
you believe all that I am telling you ; I can not help it if you
don't ; but I am telling yo.u all I know ; and I think it is vety
hard tkat I should have been dragged into the matter at all,
and then get nothing but angry suspicions for my pains."
" Well ? " said Sir Acton. He was pacing up and down
one end of the room, his hands behind his back. There was
scarcelv any trace of agitation on the deeply lined face.
" Well, that is all."
" But what made her leave the Highlands in such a way ? "
cried Lady North. " Why did she go and do such a thing ? "
" You may well ask why ! " said Mr. Miller, with some
warmth. " You, I suppose, were quick to follow Mrs. Warren-
er in charging the whole thing upon me. I was the cause of it.
I had induced the girl to come to London ; I had concealed the
fact of her being here ; I had inflicted all this misery on her
friends. Perhaps I might suggest another version. I have
heard how even very amiable women can treat a girl who thinks
of marrying their brother or their son. I know that Violet was
too proud to bring dissension into any famil}^ — to go anywhere
as an intruder. Yes, I will tell you my version of it. I will
confess that I wanted tO" marry Violet too. I found I had no
chance whatever ; she cared more for Mr. Drummond than for
every body else in the world ; what he thought of her perhaps
Mrs. Warrener can tell you. I believe they might have been
married now, but for interference. When I first saw her, about
REPENTANCE. 363
a month ago, and when she talked of the misery she Tiadbeen
causing her friends, I fancied she had dreaded entering into
this marriage, and had run away from it at all costs ; but I dis-
covered afterward that she thought of nothing else in the world
than Mr. Drummond. Very well, then : what was the cause
of her misery ? Who was the cause of it ? And who has been
the cause of all this suffering ? "
Lady North seized the young man by the arm.
" For pity's sake — ! " she said.
He turned from Sir Acton, to whom he had been appealing ;
and there he saw Mrs. Warrener, her head buried in her hands,
crying most bitterly. It was a cruel revenge to take for a few
indignant words. But the pale little woman pulled herself to-
gather ; and she spoke through her sobs.
" God forgive me if I have done wrong," she said, " through
any mistake. But you do not know me, if you think my home
was not as open to Violet as — as my heart was. I loved her
always. I should have loved her ten times more if she had
married my brother. Mr. Miller, if I have suspected you
wrongly, I beg your pardon."
" Well," said he, with some compunction, "you ^/^ suspect
me wrongly ; for you see how I was dragged into this affair
through no wish of my own. And I am sorry if I have hurt
your feelings, Mrs. Warrener. You know better than any one
else what the relations between you and Violet were. That
is no business of mine."
This interruption had but little interest for Sir Acton North :
he impatiently waited until these explanations had been made ;
and then he urged the young man to continue, and tell them
what further steps Violet had taken.
" She sailed for America on Monday last," he said, simply.
" But for what part ? "
" I dont know."
" You don't mean to say," said Sir Acton, stopping in that
hurried pacing to and fro — " you don't mean to say that she
has left this country altogether, without leaving the least trace
behind her ? "
" That was her intention."
" Oh, it is monstrous ! it is inconceivable ! What madness
has possessed the girl ! And you — you might have told us a
week ago — "
" You forget," said the younger man, " that I had given her
my word of honor not to tell you. It was not for me to inter-
fere. I did my best to stop her ; but when I saw she was
364 MADCAP VIOLET.
determined to go to America — well, a girl knows her own
business best."
" What is the name of those people in Regent Street ? " de-
manded Sir Acton, abruptly.
" Dowse & Son."
" Do you know where they live ? "
" In the country somewhere. They don't live in London,
though young Dowse gives himself a holiday up here occasion-
ally. If you want to make inquiries of them, you must wait
till to-morrow."
All this time Mrs. Warrener had been sitting silent, her head
bent down, the expression of her face betraying no conscious-
ness of what was going on around her. Indeed, her thoughts
were elsewhere — away back in the past, which she was now
trying to read by a new and terrible light. If George Miller
had resolved to have his revenge, he had now succeeded ; a
horrible fear darkened this poor woman's heart, and she scarce-
ly dared to confess to herself all the possibilities to which his
random accusation pointed. That accusation, it is true, was
in one sense wrong — even preposterous. That she should
have interfered between Violet and her brother through jeal-
ousy, or from a wish to protect his small income, w^as a notion
that might occur to a business-like young man like Mr. Miller;
not to her. But if the rest of it were true ? If she had in re-
ality poisoned these two minds by her innocent misrepresen-
tations — what then } Had she ruined the lives of the two
people whom she held, next to her own daughter, most dear
in the world .''
She rose, pale and disti'aite, to bid them good-bye. She
was sure Sir Acton would find Violet. He would let her
know, as his inquiries proceeded. Mr. Miller would forgive
her if she had unintentionally wronged him.
When she reached home, she did not stay to take off her
bonnet and things ; she went straight to her brother's room.
But she paused at the door, physically unable to go farther.
Strange tremblings passed through her frame ; she caught at
the handle of the door to steady herself ; a giddiness came
over her eyes. She tried to form some notion of what she
would say to him, and she could not. The one great yearn-
ing of her soul was to crave his forgiveness for the irrepara-
ble wrong she had done.
She managed to open the door : he was lying on the couch,
apparently asleep. She gently shut the door behind her,
and stole over to the couch and knelt down. She looked at
REPENTANCE. 365
the pale, emaciated hand that lay helpless there ; that was
her doing.
He had been half awake. He turned round and regarded
her with some surprise. She could not speak.
*' What is the matter, Sarah t " said he.
She only took the thin, white hand, and kissed it passion-
ately, and burst into tears. Then he tried to raise himself a
bit, and a strange, solemn look came into the wasted face.
" It was all a dream, then," he said, with resignation. " We
shall never see her again."
" Oh, James, James ! " his sister cried, with passionate
grief ; " it will break my heart to tell you ! Violet is alive —
it was indeed she who brought you the flowers. She has
never ceased to love you — and — and perhaps you will see her
again ; but — how can I look on her face ! And you — how
can you ever forgive me — if — if all this is true ? — and it looks
so terribly true ! "
His eyes were troubled and bewildered by her wild speech ;
but he sunk back on the couch with a sigh of relief.
" Violet is alive, then," he said. That was enough.
" But listen, James," she continued, in a quick, eager v/ay,
sometimes interrupted by a sob ; " and then you will forgive
me if you can. I made a terrible mistake ; I must have
misled you both ; I thought she cared all along for Mr. Mil-
ler, and that they had only a lovers' quarrel ; and now I am
sure I was altogether and terribly wrong, for here she has
been in London all this time, and Mr. Miller himself con-
fesses that she has loved you all through with her whole heart,
and has never cared for him at all. And now I see it so
clearly — I begged you not to speak to her, to give her a
chance, for I knew she was proud and would keep to her
word at all hazards ; and she would so readily misconstrue
your silence, and your looking pained and anxious."
" Sarah," said her brother, raising himself on the couch,
and regarding her, " all this is very wild talking. You accuse
yourself needlessly. You appear to think that all the rela-
tions between Violet and me were managed by you ; and that
through some mistake you managed wrongly. It was not so.
In such a matter I could not have trusted the opinion or re-
port of any one, although, of course, you were Violet's inti-
mate friend, and you knew more about the ways and natural
wishes of a girl than I did. Don't blame yourself needlessly.
V/hen that compact between her and me was broken — it was
only the awakening from a dream, the vanishing of a rain-
bow ; we did it of our own free-will, and after all the expla-
^66 MADCAP VIOLET.
nation that was necessary. I saw her looking miserable,
and I could not bear that. You spoke of a lover's quarrel ;
of her agitation over that letter from young Miller — well,
what could be more likely ? "
" But I was wrong — I am sure I was terribly wrong," his
sister cried.
" What matter .? " he continued, calmly. *' I did not go by
your judgment only ; I went to herself. I asked her if she was
harassed or troubled by our engagement, and that she should
be free if she wished. And then I remember the bright and
grateful look with which she confessed it was all a mistake —
she held out her hand to me — it was the first time for days I
had seen her look happy. That was enough."
" And yet," said Mrs. Warrener, sadly and thoughtfully,
and almost as if she were speaking to herself, " and yet if
that gladness were caused by something else ? — if she be-
lieved, or had been taught to believe, that you had only a
friendly affection for her ? — if she thought she was relieving
you from an obligation that was becoming daily more pain-
ful — "
She rose, as if she would throw off the burden of this think-
ing ; her face looked haggard and tired.
" Oh, Violet ! " she said, " why did you go away — without
a word ? "
" Where has she gone ? " Mr. Dnimmond asked. You
would have thought he was speaking of Amy, who had gone
to spend the evening with a neighbor of theirs.
"To America. She fancies no one knows she is alive —
no one but Mr. Miller, who discovered her accidentally about
a month ago — and she made him promise to keep her secret.
Imagine the poor girl going away out to that strange country
all by herself, wdthout a friend in the world, and all because
she fancied she was somehow making you miserable, and
that nothing v/ould cure that but your believing she was dead.
There is a great deal that is strange and unintelligible in all
this ; but to my dying day I will believe that I have had more
to do with it than I can dare to think of. If only I could
see Violet — for five minutes — if I could ask her one simple
question — but I know the answer already. That girl has
loved you as few girls have ever loved a man ; that I am sure
of, now when it is too late. And if I were to see her, Avhat
could I do now but go down on my knees before her and
beg for her forgiveness ? She would give it to me, I know.
There never was any thing she could deny her friends. But
now if she is lost to us forever — if we are to go on from year
AT LAST! 2^7
to year thinking of her as a stranger and a wanderer in some
distant part of the world— I think that will be worse even
than when we thought she was dead."
"I will find her," said Mr. Driiramond, absently.
She looked at the wasted frame and the helpless arms, and
her eyes grew moist again.
" 1 will find her when I get well," he continued, speaking
slowly and at intervals. " I have never had any.thing to do
in my life ; this will be something. I shall have done a good
work when I recover Violet, and take her back to her friends
and her home. It is a strange thing to think I shall see her
again. Many a time, in w^alking in the streets or along a
road, I have seen in the distance the fi.gure of a tall girl ; and
I have wondered what I should say and do if this were really
Violet coming along, brought back to us out of the grave.
I thought of that many a time. And now I shall go on my
pilgrimage with the certainty of really seeing her some day —
of taking her hand and hearing her speak — not as a mere
ghostly picture in a dream, but in the real, bright, madcap
Violet of old, who troubled us sorely, and whom we loved.
And we shall scold her, too, for these wild pranks ; and
shall we not be proud of her when we bring her back — like a
king's daughter — in clothing of wrought gold — with gladness
and rejoicing .? But there will be no wedding in any king's
palace or elsewhere for her — enough of mischief came out of
thinking of that in the old time. We shall bring her back
only to the fireside, and to the old, quiet ways, and to our
hearts. It is nothing to cry about, Sarah ; it is a thing to
get well and strong for. We want courage, hope, and strength.
But my hands don't look very strong, do they ? "
He held them out, and smiled. She could not see them
for her tears.
CHAPTER XLIII.
AT LAST !
It is a pale, clear morning down here in Berkshire. A
faint blue mist hangs about the black and distant woods ;
but closer at hand, in the garden of The Laurels, the sun-
shine is bright enough on the wintry-looking evergreens, on
the ruddy berries left on the hawthorn-trees, and on the
gleaming scarlet bunches on the hollies. There is something
odd about the appearance of the front of the house : is it
368 MADCAP VIOLET,
that the blinds of all the windows are drawn down ? There
is no sign of life about the place ; and an intense stillness
broods over both house and garden.
But by-and-by the figure is seen of a young girl who
comes slowly along one of the paths. She is wandering idly
about these empty grounds, by herself. And apparently her
thoughts are none of the brightest, for there is a sad look in
her eyes, and her cheeks have not the healthful brilliancy of
a young girl's complexion. And what is she saying to her-
self ?
"They ought not to ask me to stay : I shall become a curse
to them, as to every one with whom I have been associated.
I have never meant any harm to any one in all my life ; but
misfortune goes hand-in-hand with me, and misery is the only
gift I have to offer to my friends. It is better I should be
away among strangers. That poor young man — the few sec-
onds in which he was sensible — why did he beg me to stay
with his mother? I can not comfort her : I shall only bring
further ill to her and to her house."
A servant comes out, and says a word to her ; she turns
and goes in-doors. She ascends the stairs noiselessly; and
as she goes by one room in the corridor she seems to listen ;
but what is the use of listening when only the awful silence
of death is within ? She passes onward to a farther room, and
here she finds a middle-aged woman, with silvery white hair,
sitting mournfully and helplessly, before the fire.
" My child, have you considered 1 Come here," the woman
says in a trembling voice.
The girl goes over to her, and puts her hand in the out-
stretched hand.
" Yes, I have thought about it," is the reply, uttered in a
low voice. " You have been very kind to me — I would do
any thing for you — but I can not stay in England."
" You will not take pity on the empty house ? " says the
mother, beginning to cry gently. " It was his last wish. You
would be a daughter to us."
" I can not — I can not," says the girl, almost wildly. " You
don't know how — how I bring misfortune to my friends. I
want to be away — away from England — among strangers. I
shall do no more mischief then to those I love. And as for
you, Mrs. Dowse, you know I can not ever be to you what you
have lost ; and I should only remind you constantly of your
great trouble."
"Am I likely to forget that ever ? " she says.
" But in the mean time I will stay with you for a week or
AT LAST I 369
two. Then you must leave this house, and go away for a time :
Mr. Dowse has already spoken to me about that. Will you
come out into the garden now 1 The fresh air will do you
good."
She only shakes her head. She has some writings in her
lap, over which she has been poring, and crying. These are
some of poor Teddie's poetical flights ; and his mother finds
in them the expression of the most tender and beautiful spirit
that ever breathed upon the earth.
She went noiselessly down the stair again, intending to go
out into the garden; but as she passed along the hall she
found the open door-way suddenly darkened by the tall figure
of a man. She looked up with a vague alarm ; then she ut-
tered a slight cry, and would have retreated. But the next
moment the old instinct prevailed : she went quickly forward,
her face upturned, and she found his arms close round her.
" Violet, my girl ! " said this tall man, struggling to retain
his composure, though his voice was shaken. "You have
come back to us, after all ! What has been the meaning of
all this?"
Her heart was beating so wildly that she could not answer.
There was a strange joy overflooding her soul. All the gloomy
fancies — the desperate desire to forsake her friends and be-
come a wanderer — seemed to have disappeared the moment
she met her father's eyes and found his arms inclosing her.
The world had come back to her, when she had been persuad-
ing herself she was scarcely of it. There was not a thought
now of her being a misery-bringer.
" Come," said he, "let me see you. Let me see what you
are like, after all this terrible business."
He disengaged her from him, and held her at a short dis-
tance : the light, entering under the narrow veranda, fell full
upon her face, and showed how sadly worn and pale it was.
" You have not been happy, Violet. Why did you go away ?
Why did you want to leave us .'' "
Then he suddenly recollected himself. He had independent-
ly arrived at the same decision as Mr. Drummond. If this way-
ward girl were ever brought back to them, they should ask
her no questions. She should return on her own terms : it
was enough that they were to get her back at all.
" No, Violet," said he, " I won't ask you any questions."
"Let us go outside," she said, in a low voice. "Do you
know he is dead ? "
" Yes. The foreman at the works told me this morning."
They passed out into the garden : she had, as of old, taken
24
370 MADCAP VIOLET,
his arm, but her hand trembled much, and she was not so firm
and upright in her walk as usual.
" Papa, do they all know ? " she asked, her face bent on
the ground.
" Yes, certainly, Violet ; how could you — but no, no ! What
you did was doubtless quite right. You had your reasons.
You were quite right."
He stammered, and looked embarrassed. He was so glad
to see his daughter again that he would forgive every thing,
and ask no questions, as he had promised. Nevertheless, the
inexplicable character of her conduct haunted him, and con-
tinually provoked him into " whys " and " hows."
" They all know } Mrs. Warrener, too .-* " she said.
" Yes, certainly."
" And I have, made them suffer, and you a great deal ; and
now it has all come to nothing," she said, sadly. " There is
no use in my going away now."
" In your going away ! " he cried, in dismay. " Of course
you are not going away, Violet. Now we have caught you, we
sha'n't let you slip from us again. You are going back with
us, Violet. And what a chance it was ! We were told you
had left on Monday."
" I was to have done so," she answered, simply, " but Mr.
Dowse persuaded me to stay. His wife was in such a terrible
way when Mr. Edward died, we thought she wouldn't get
over it."
Sir Acton began to feel a great pity for these people, whom
he had never seen. He was not a very sympathetic man, and,
in any case, he would have had little in common with Mr.
Edward Dowse ; but he could see very plainly that, but for
the death of that young man, he, Sir Acton, would almost
certainly have never seen his daughter again in this world ;
and now his gratitude took the form of compassion for the
survivors.
" Yes, I am very sorry for these poor people," said he, " very
sorry. You must do what you can for them, Violet. But, in
the first place, you know you must come at once and pay us a
short visit — even if you run back here afterward — just to show
the girls you are alive, and then they will feel safe in putting
off their mourning."
*'0h no, no, papa!" she cried, shrinking back so that
she even withdrew her hand from his arm ; " I can never go
back like that. I have done too much harm. I should be
ashamed to meet any one I used to know ! "
" They will forget all that ! " said he, vehemently ; " they
AT LAST!
Z1^
will be delighted to see you, Violet. But what did you mean
by running away in that fashion, without telling us first what
was the matter, eh? Why didn't you come to me? Well,
never mind that ; I sha'n't ask any questions. But — but if
you have any explanations or questions — "
He had never departed from this old conviction that wo-
men had a secret code of feelings, and sentiments, and opin-
ions among themselves, which no man could hope to under-
stand. He knew there was a mystery about this affair which
it was no use his trying to solve.
" Violet," said he, with some embarrassment, " when the
foreman told this morning you were still down here, I — I
thought you might perhaps like to see one of your old friends.
I telegraphed to Mrs. Warrener — "
The girl began to look alarmed.
" — In fact, she came down with me. Would you like to
see her? "
" No," the girl was beginning to say, when he interrupted
her.
" In fact, Violet, she is here. She is down in the road.
She is most anxious to see you ; for it appears she had some-
thing to do with your going away, and she wishes to make
explanations to you ; she seems very sorry."
" Very well," said the girl, nerving herself, " I will see her.
Shall we walk down to the gate, papa ? "
But this did not suit his purpose at all. He wanted to leave
the two women together. Of course they had their secrets,
their sentiments, their occult reasons ; how could he aid in
this esoteric interview ? So he bid Violet wait in the garden,
where there were paths among the laurels and other evergreens
fitted for quiet talking, while he went down to the road to
fetch the anxious and trembling-hearted little woman, who
was walking to and fro there.
When Mrs. Warrener came up into this garden, she came
alone, and for a time she did not see Violet. But suddenly
the girl appeared, and went forward to her, calmly, and sadly,
with her eyes cast down. Was this the bright and daring
Violet of old ? A throb of pain went through the heart of
her visitor.
" Violet," said Mrs. Warrener, timidly,, and she was trem-
bling not a little, " I am not surprised that you did not wish
to see me. I have done you a great injury."
But this strange reserve between these two could not con-
tinue. Were they both eager for forgiveness, that they stood
apart, each waiting for the other's approach to the old kind-
372 MADCAP VIOLET.
ness ? The next minute Mrs. Warrener had caught the girl
in her arms, and had hidden her face in her bosom, while
she was sobbing out there, in passionate accents, the long
story of her terrible mistake and all its consequences, with
her present professions of penitence, and prayers for forgive-
ness. Much of all this startled Violet, and even frightened her.
Was it true, then, that when they first heard of her being in
London, they imagined she had run away to rejoin George
Miller? No; she knew one at least who had not believed
that of her.
" And when 3^ou see him, Violet," her friend was saying, in
rather a wild way, " when you come to see him, and see what
a wreck has been made, will you be able to forgive me then ?
That is all my doing, too. He was a changed man from the
moment we believed you were drowned ; he thought of noth-
ing else but that : it was those long midnight walks in the
rain and cold that brought on the fever."
" He has suffered all that for me ! " the girl murmured, al-
most to herself. She had no thought of what she, also, had
borne.
" But now — but now,Violet," said her friend, looking up to
her face with tender and beseeching eyes, " it will be all dif-
ferent now, and there will be no more danger of these terrible
misunderstandings. I will tell him why you looked glad
when you broke off the engagement ; I will tell him why you
went away from us ; he will understand how well one woman
has loved him, if another has nearly wrecked his life. Oh,
Violet, I could have believed any thing of your unselfishness
but this. Well, a man ought to be content with life who has
been shown such devotion."
" If you don't mind, Mrs. Warrener," said the girl, calmly,
" I think perhaps I had better make these explanations my-
self. I will write to him."
The other remained silent, the tears running down her face.
She felt the rebuke, although Violet had meant no rebuke.
All that the girl had intended to convey was that henceforth
it might be better if she spoke direct to this man, and alone,
about such matters as concerned their two selves.
" Then you will write to him soon ? " said Mrs. Warrener,
jDiteously, " and you will come and see us soon, Violet ! I am so
anxious to have all this misery undone and atoned for, as far
as that is possible now : you will come and help us to make
it up to him. As for yourself, I can only hope you will for-
give me in time. And, if it is not too late, Violet, I shall see
AT LAST! zn
you both get back to your old selves, and we may go to the
Highlands again this year."
The girl shuddered.
" No, no," she said, " that would be too terrible ! "
*' Then, to the South ? " said her friend, with some desper-
ate effort at cheerfulness. " Perhaps the South would be
better for him. And then, as soon as he is quite well, you
shall have no more of my intrusion. Mr. Miller said some-
thing the other day about sisters and mothers, and their jeal-
ousy. I have enjoyed my brother's society for a great many
years ; it is time I gave up my place to another."
" But not to me, then," said the girl, quickly, and yet with
something of sadness in her tone. " It is no use our talking
of any thing like that. When your brother gets well, and
goes away, it is you who must go with him."
" But you are coming to see him, Violet ? " the pale little
woman cried, in dismay. " You are coming to live with us
again ? You will give us the chance of trying to atone for
what is past ? "
"Yes, I will come and see him," said Violet, calmly, " in a
day or two. Then I must return here. Afterward — well,
that has to be settled yet."
Mrs. Warrener could not understand why Violet spoke
thus. Was it not a simple matter, to restore the old state of
things so soon as Mr. Drummond got well ? The girl spoke
as if she were about to fulfill some doom of perpetual banish-
ment from all she had ever known and loved.
So it was arranged before Sir Acton and Mrs. Warrener
left, and after a brief word with Mr. Dowse, who was in-doors,
that Violet should go up to her father's house on the follow-
ing Saturday, and go over to visit her friends in the South in
the evening. In the mean time, she promised Mrs. Warrener
she would write a letter to Mr. Drummond.
It was a long letter, of which no word shall be spoken
here. To the invalid, lying there on his couch, haunted by
dreams of the past and all that might have been, it was a sa-
cred revelation which no eye but his ever read. It was the
story, told in tender phrases enough, but loyally honest and
outspoken as the soul of her who penned it, of the simple,
sincere, and enduring love that filled a woman's heart ; of a
love that was likely to remain there until the pulses of the
heart itself were stilled by the gentle hand of death.
And then that night. She was to be over at eight o'clock ;
but he had a secret fancy she might come before the time ;
and as he sat up on the couch, his back propped by a cushion.
374 MADCAP VIOLET.
he pretended to be talking cheerfully to his sister and niece ;
but he was in reality listening for the sound of wheels outside.
Many a time he had listened in like manner, even when he
knew that his fancies were all in vain ; and many a time,
though he mourned for her as dead, he had imagined the door
to open, and he had seen a vision of the fair young girl enter-
ing with her shy smile, her tender eyes, her gracious pres-
ence. Was it now a real flesh-and-blood Violet that was com-
ing ? no phantom from the shadowy halls of Death, but Vio-
let herself, the frank, generous, courageous girl who had won
the hearts of all the sailors on board the Sea-Pyot ?
" I wish," said he, seriously, to his sister, " I wish there
were none of that confounded green in this dressing-gown.
She always hated green in any costume."
" She won't think about your costume, I imagine," his sis-
ter said. " Perhaps you would like a white tie, since a young
lady is coming to sup with you ? "
" A white tie } No," he said, absently (he was really count-
ing the minutes as they passed, and listening intently), " I do
not know what impressions are produced by a white tie ; but
they are real and mysterious. If you meet a waiter in the
street, you can not tell who he is ; but his face haunts you.
You know there is something wanting to complete the por-
trait — you could identify him if that were present. A butler
out of livery in the street is a very strange-looking person — •
the dignity of his manner is irreconcilable with a billycock
hat."
He looked again at his watch, hanging upon the wall. It
was a trifle past the half-hour.
" How long is it since Violet was over here ? " he asked.
"About six months now," said Mrs. Warrener.
" A great deal has happened in that half-year. It seems
longer than half a year — there is so much distance in it, the
sense of distance you get from death. Violet has been quite
close by all this time ; and yet she seems to be coming back
to us from a far country — farther away than any on the other
side of the sea — and one could almost imagine she will look
strange and unfamiliar — "
He stopped, for they could hear outside the sound of wheels
approaching. Presently that sound ceased. Amy Warrener
jumped up and flew out of the room ; her mother followed her.
James Drummond was left alone.
And now he looked at the door ; for he knew who would
open it next. He was weak and ill ; perhaps that was why
the wasted frame trembled so. Then the door was gently
JOY AND FEAR. 375
opened ; and Violet, tall, pale, her eyes streaming with tears,
appeared. For an instant she stood motionless, trying to col-
lect herself before approaching the invalid ; but the first
glimpse she got of the shattered wreck lying before her caused
her to utter a quick, sharp cry of agony, and she threw her-
self on her knees beside him, and wound her arms round him
for the first time, as she cried, in the bitterness of her heart,
" My darling, my darling ! it is not too late ? "
" No, not too late," he answered, solemnly ; " whether it be
in this world, or in the greater world that lies ahead. Violet,
give me your hand."
She raised herself for a moment, and their eyes were fixed
on each other — his clear, and calm, and earnest ; hers troubled,
and dark, and full of an agonized tenderness. He held out
his right hand to her, and she placed her right hand in his ;
and there was no need of any further words between these
two, then or thereafter, during the time that was left to them
to be together.
CHAPTER XLIV
JOY AND FEAR
Was this man mad, that he, an invalid, propped up in his
chair, and scarcely able to move a wine-glass out of his way,
should play pranks with the whole created order of things,
tossing about solar systems as if they were no more than jug-
gler's balls, and making universal systems of philosophy jump
through hoops as if he were a lion-tamer in a den ? These
poor women did not know where to catch him. Violet used
to say that he was like a prism, taking the ordinary daylight
of life and slitting it up into a thousand gay and glancing colors.
That was all very well as a spectacular exhibition ; but how
when he was apparently instructing them in some serious mat-
ter ? Was it fair so these tender creatures who had so lov-
ingly nursed him, that he should assume the airs of a teacher,
and gravely lead out his. trusting disciples into the desert
places of the earth, when his only object was to get them into
a bog and then suddenly reveal himself as a will-o'-the-wisp,
laughing at them with a fiendish joy ?
What, for example, was all this nonsense about the land
question — about the impossibility of settling it in England so
long as the superstitious regard for land existed in the English
376 MADCAP VIOLET,
•
mind ? They were quite ready to believe him. They dep-
recated that superstition most sincerely. They could not
understand why a moneyed Englishman's first impulse was to
go and buy land ; they could give no reason for the delusion
existing in the bosom of every Englishman that he, if no
one else, could make money out of the occupation of a farm
that had ruined a dozen men in succession. All this was
very well ; but what were they to make of his suddenly turn-
ing round and defending that suj^erstition as the most beauti-
ful sentiment in human nature "i It was, according to him, the
sublimest manifestation of filial love — the instinct of affec-
tion for the great mother of us all. And then the flowers
became our small sisters and brothers ; and the dumb look
of appeal in a horse's eye, and the singing of the thrush at
the break of day, these were but portions of the inarticulate
language now no longer known to us. What was any human
being to make of this rambling nonsense 1
It all came of the dress-coat, and of his childish vanity in
his white wristbands. It was the first occasion on which he
had ceremoniously (pressed for dinner ; and Violet had come
over.; and he was as proud of his high and stiff collar and
of his white necktie as if they had been the ribbon and star
of a royal order. And then they were all going off the next
morning — Miss North included — to a strange little place on
the southern side of the Isle of Wight; and he had gone
" clean daft '' with the delight of expectation. There was
nothing sacred from his mischievous fancy. He would have
made fun of a bishop. In fact he did ; for, happening to talk
of inarticulate language, he described having seen, " the
other day," in Buckingham Palace Road, a bishop who was
looking at some china in a shop-window ; and he went on to
declare how a young person driving a perambulator, and too
earnestly occupied with a sentry on the other side of the
road, incontinently drove that perambulator right on to the
carefully swathed toes of the bishop ; and then he devoted
himself to analyzing the awful language which he saw on the
afflicted man's face.
" But, uncle," said Amy Warrener, with the delightful fresh-
ness of fifteen, " how could you see any body in Buckingham
Palace Road the other day, when you haven't been out of the
house for months ? "
" How ? " said he, not a whit abashed. " How could I see
him ? I don't know, but I tell you I did see him. With my
eyes, of course."
He lost his temper, however, after all.
JOY AND FEAR. 2>77
" To-morrow," he was saying, " I bid good-bye to my doc-
tor. I bear him no malice : may he long be spared from
having to meet in the next world the people he sent there
before him ! But look here, Violet — to-morrow evening we
shall be free ! — and we shall celebrate our freedom, and our
first glimpse of a sea-shore, in Scotch whisky — in hot Scotch
whisky — in Scotch whisky with the boilingest of boiling water,
just caught at the proper point of cooling. You don't know
that point ; I will teach you : it is perfection. Don't you
know that we have just caught the cooling point of the earth
— ^just that point in its transition from being a molten mass
to its becoming a chilled and played-out stone that admits of
our living — "
" But, uncle," said Amy, " I thought the earth used to be
far colder than it is now. Remember the glacial period,"
added this profound student of physics.
This was too much.
" Dear, dear me ! " he exclaimed. " Am I to be brought
up at every second by a pert school-girl when I am expounding
the mysteries of life ? What have your twopenny-halfpenny
science-primers to do with the grand secret of toddy ? I tell
you we must catch it at the cooling point ; and then, Violet
— ^for you are a respectful and attentive student — if the
evening is fine, and the air warm, and the windows open and
looking out to the south — do you think the doctor could
object to that one first, faint trial of a cigarette, just to make
us think we are up again in the August nights — off Isle
Ornsay — with Alec up at the bow singing that hideous and
melancholy song of his, and the Sea-Pyot slowly creeping
along by the black islands ? "
She did not answer at all ; but for a brief moment her lip
trembled. Amidst all this merriment she had sat with a
troubled face, and with a sore and heavy heart. She had
seen in it but a pathetic bravado. He would drink Scotch
whisky — he would once more light a cigarette — merely to
assure her that he was getting thoroughly well again ; his
laughter, his jokes, his wild sallies were all meant, and she
knew it, to give her strength of heart and cheerfulness. She
sat and listened, with her eyes cast down. When she heard
him talk lightly and playfully of all that he meant to do,
her heart throbbed, and she dared not lift her eyes to his
face, lest they should suddenly reveal to him that awful con-
flict within of wild and piteous and agonizing doubt.
Then that reference to their wanderings in the Northern
seas — he did not know how she trembled as he spoke. She
378 MADCAP VIOLET.
could never even think of that strange time she had spent up
there, and of the terrible things that had come of it, without
a shudder. If she could have cut it out of her life and
memory altogether, that would have been well ; but how
could she forget the agony of that awful farewell — the sense
of utter loneliness with which she saw the shores recede —
the conviction then borne in upon her, and never wholly
eradicated from her mind, that some mysterious doom had
overtaken her, from which there was no escape. The influ-
ence of that time, and of the time that succeeded it, still
dwelt upon her, and overshadowed her with its gloom. She
had almost lost the instinct of hope. She never doubted,
when they carried young Dowse into that silent room, but
that he would die ; was it not her province to bring misery
to all who were associated with her ? And she had got so
reconciled to this notion that she did not argue the matter
with herself ; she had, for example, no sense of bitterness in
contrasting this apparent " destiny " of hers with the most
deeply rooted feeling in her heart — namely, a perfectly honest
readiness to give up her own life if only that could secure
the happiness of those she loved. She did not even feel
injured because this was impossible. Things were so ; and
she accepted them.
But sometimes, in the darkness of her room, in the silence
of the night-time, when her heart seemed to be literally
breaking with its conflict of anxious love and returning
despair, some wild notion of propitiation — doubtless derived
from ancient legends — would flash across her mind; and she
would cry in her agony, " If one must be taken, let it be me !
The world cares for him : what am I ? " If she could only
go out into the open place of the city ; and bare her bosom
to the knife of the priest ; and call on the people to see how
she had saved the life of her beloved — surely that would be
to die happy. What she had done, now that she came to
look back over it, seemed but too poor an expression of her
great love and admiration. What mattered it that a girl
should give up her friends and her home t Her life — -her
very life — that was what she desired, when these wild fancies
possessed her, to surrender freely, if only she could know
that she was rescuing him from the awful portals that her
despairing dread saw open before him, and was giving him back
— as she bid him a last farewell — to health, and joy, and the
comfort of many friends.
With other wrestlings in spirit, far more eager and real
than these mere fancies derived from myths, it is not within
O GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH SOUTH. 379
the province of the present writer to deal ; they are not for
the house-tops or the market-places. But it may be said that
in all directions the gloomy influences of that past time pur-
sued her ; wherever she went she was haunted by a morbid
fear that all her resolute will could not shake off. Where,
for example, could she go for sweeter consolation, for more
cheering solace, than to the simple and re-assuring services of
the church i* — but before she entered, eager to hear words of
hope and strengthening, there was the grave-yard to pass
through, with the misery of generations recorded on its
melancholy stones.
CHAPTER XLV.
" O GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH SOUTH ! "
But if this girl, partly through her great and yearning love,
and partly through the overshadowing of her past sufferings,
was haunted by a mysterious dread, that was not the pre-
vailing feeling within this small household which was now
pulling itself together for a flight to the South. Even she
caught something of the brisk and cheerful spirit awakened
by all the bustle of departure ; and when her father, who had
come to London Bridge Station to see the whole of them off,
noticed the business-like fashion in which she ordered every
body about, so that the invalid should have his smallest com-
forts attended to, he could not help saying, with a laugh,
" Well, Violet, this is better than starting for America all
by yourself, isn't it ? But I don't think you would have been
much put out by that, either."
A smart young man came up, and was for entering the car-
riage.
" I beg your pardon," said she, respectfully but firmly.
" This carriage is reserved."
The young man looked at both windows.
" I don't see that it is," he retorted, coolly.
He took hold of the handle of the door, when she immedi-
ately rose and stood before him, an awful politeness and de-
corum on her face, but the fire of Brunehild, the warrior^
maiden, in her eyes.
" You will please call the guard before coming in here.
This carriage is reserved."
380 MADCAP VIOLET.
At this moment her father came forward, not a Uttle in-
cUned to laugh.
" I beg your pardon, sir, but the carriage is really reserved.
There was a w^ritten paper put up ; it has fallen down, I sup-
pose. There it is."
So the smart young man went away ; but was it fair, after
this notable victory, that they should all begin to make fun of
her fierce majestic bearing, and that the very person for
whose sake she had confronted the enemy should begin to
make ridiculous rhymes about her, such as these :
" Then out spoke Violet Northimus,
Of Euston Square was she — .
* Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And guard the door with thee ! ' "
Violet Northimus did not reply. She wore the modesty of a
victor. She was ready at any moment to meet six hundred
Such as he ; and she was not to be put out, after the discom-
fiture of her enemy, by a joke.
Then they slowly rolled and grated out of the station ; and
by-and-by the swinging pace increased, and they w^ere out in
the clearer light and the fresher air, with a windy April sky
showing flashes of blue from time to time. They went down
through a succession of thoroughly English-looking land-
scapes — quiet valleys, with red-tiled cottages in them, bare
heights green with the young corn, long stretches of brown
and almost leafless woods, with the rough banks outside all
starred with the pale, clear primrose. "There was one in that
carriage who had had no lack of flowers that spring — flowers
brought by many a kindly hand to brighten the look of the
sick-room ; but surely it was something more wonderful to
see the flowers themselves, growing here in this actual and
outside world, which had been to him, for many a weary week,
but a dimly imagined dream-land. There were primroses
under the hedges ; primroses along the high banks ; prim-
roses shining pale and clear within the leafless woods, among
the russet leaves of the previous autumn. And then the life
and motion of the sky : the south-westerly winds : the black
and lowering clouds suddenly followed by a wild and dazzling
gleam of sunlight ; the grays and purples flying on, and leav-
ing behind them a welcome expanse of shining April blue.
The day was certainly squally enough, and might turn to
showers ; but the gusts of wind that blew through the car-
riage w^ere singularly sweet and mild ; and again and again,
Mr. Drummond, who had been raised by all this new life and
O GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH SOUTH. 381
light into the very highest spirits, declared with much solem-
nity that he could already detect the smell of the salt sea-air.
They had their quarrels, of course. It pleased a certain
young lady to treat the South coast of England with much
supercilious contempt : you would have imagined, from her
talk, that there was something criminal in one's living even
within twenty miles of the bleak downs, the shabby precipices,
and the muddy sea, which, according to her, were the only
recognizable features of our southern shores. She woiild not
admit, indeed, that there was any sea at ail there ; there was
only churned chalk. Was it fair to say, even under the ex-
asperation of continual goading, that the Isle of Wight was
only a trumpery toy-shop ; that its " scenery " was fitly
adorned with bazaars for the sale of sham jewelry ; that its
amusements were on a par with those of Rosherville Gardens ;
that its rocks were made of mud and its sea of powdered
lime ?
"By heavens,'' exclaimed her antagonist, " I will stand
this no longer ! I will call upon Neptune to raise such a
storm in the Solent as shall convince you that there is quite
enough sea surrounding that pearl of islands, that paradise,
that world's wonder we are going to visit — "
"Yes, I have no doubt," said she, with sweet sarcasm,
" that if you stirred the Solent with a tea-spoon, you would
frighten the yachtsmen there out of their wits — "
" Oh, Violet," cried another young lady, " you know you
were dreadfully frightened that night in Tobermory Bay,
when the equinoctial gales caught us, and the men were
tramping overhead all night long."
" I should be more frightened down here," was the retort,
" because, if we were driven ashore, I should be choked first
and drowned afterward. Fancy going out of the world with
a taste of chalk in your mouth ! "
Well, at this moment the fierce discussion was stopped by
the arrival of the train at Portsmouth ; but here a very singu-
lar incident occurred. Violet was the first to step out on to
the platform.
" You have a tramway-car that goes down to the pier, have
you not ? " she asked of the guard.
" Ain't going to day, miss," was the answer. " Boats can't
come in to Southsea ; the sea is very high. You'll have to
go to Portsea, miss — "
Now what was this man's amazement on seeing this young
lady suddenly burst out laughing, as she turned and looked
into the carriage.
382 MADCAP VIOLET.
" Did you hear that ? " she cried. " The Solent is raging !
They can't come near Southsea ! Don't you think, Mrs. War-
rener, that it will be very dangerous to go to Portsea ? "
" I'll tell you what it is," said Mrs. Warrener, with a mali-
cious smile, ." if a certain young lady I know were to be ill in
crossing, she would be a good d^eal more civil to her native
country when she reached the other side."
But in good truth, when they got down to Portsea there
was a pretty stiff breeze blowing ; and the walk out on the
long pier was not a little trying to an invalid who had but lately
recovered the use of his limbs. The small steamer, too, was
tossing about considerably at her moorings ; and Violet pre-
tended to be greatly alarmed because she did not see half a
dozen life-boats on board. Then the word was given, the
cables thrown off, and presently the tiny steamer was running
out to the windy and gray-green sea, the waves of which
not unfrequently sent a shower of spray across her decks.
The small party of voyagers crouched behind the funnel, and
were well out of the water's way.
" Look there now 1 " cried Mr. Drummond, suddenly point-
ing to a large bird that was flying by, high up in the air,
about a quarter of a mile off, " do you see that ? Do you
know what that is ? That is a wild goose, a gray lag, that has
been driven in by bad weather : now can you say we have no
waves, and winds, and sea in the South ? "
Miss Violet was not daunted.
" Perhaps it is a goose," she said, coolly. " I never saw
but one flying — you remember you shot it. What farm-yard
has this one left ? "
" Oh, for shame, Violet," Mrs. Warrener called out, " to
rake up old stories ! "
She was punished for it. The insulted sportsman was cast-
ing about for the cruelest retort he could think of, when, as it
happened, Miss Violet bethought her of looking round the
corner of the boiler to see whether they were getting near
Ryde ; and at the same moment it also happened that a heavy
wave, striking the bows of the steamer, sent a heap of water
whirling down between the paddle-box and the funnel, which
caught the young lady on the face with a crack like a whip.
As to the shout of laughter which then greeted her, that small
party of folks had heard nothing like it for many a day.
There was salt-water dripping from her hair, salt-water in her
eyes, salt-water running down her tingling and laughing
cheeks ; and she richly deserved to be asked, as she was im-
mediately asked, whether the Solent was compounded of
O GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETII SOUTH. 383
water and marl, or water and chalk, and which brand she
preferred ?
Was it the balmy southern air that tempered the vehe-
mence of these wanderers as they made their way across the
island, and, getting into a carriage at Ventnor, proceeded to
drive along the Undercliff ? There was a great quiet prevail-
ing along these southern shores. They drove by underneath
the tall and crumbling precipices, with wood-pigeons suddenly
shooting out from the clefts, and jackdaws wheeling about far
up in the blue. They passed by sheltered woods, bestarred
with anemones and primroses, and showing here and there
the purple of the, as yet, half opened hyacinth ; they passed by
lush meadows, all ablaze with the golden yellow of the celan-
dine and the purple of the ground ivy ; they passed by the
broken, picturesque banks where the tender blue of the speed-
well was visible from time to time, with the white glimmer of
the starwort. And then all this time they had on their left a
gleaming and wind-driven sea, full of motion, and light, and
color, and showing the hurrying shadows of the flying clouds.
At last, far away, secluded and quiet, they came to a quaint
little inn, placed high over the sea, and surrounded by shelter-
ing woods and hedges. The sun lay warm on the smooth,
green lawn in front, where the daisies grew. There were dark
shadows — almost black shadows — along the encircling hedge
and under the cedars : but these only showed the more brilliant-
ly the silver lighting of the restless, whirling, wind-swept sea
beyond. It was a picturesque little house, with its long veran-
da half smothered in ivy and rose-bushes now in bud ; with its
tangled garden about, green with young hawthorn and sweet-
ened by the perfume of the Hlacs ; with its patches of uncut
grass, where the yellow cowslips drooped. There was an air
of dreamy repose about the place ; even that whirling and
silvery-gray sea produced no sound ; here the winds were stilled,
and the black shadows of the trees on that smooth, green
lawn only moved with the imperceptible moving of the sun.
Violet went up-stairs and into her room alone ; she threw
open the small casements, and stood there, looking out with a
somewhat vague and distant look. There was no mischief
now in those dark and tender eyes ; there was rather an
anxious and wistful questioning. And her heart seemed to go
out from her to implore these gentle winds, and the soft colors
of the sea, and the dreamy stillness of the woods, that now
they should, if ever that was possible to them, bring all their
sweet and curative influences to bear on him who had come
among them. Now, if ever! Surely the favorable skies would
384 MADCAP VI0LE7\
heed, and the secret healing of the woods would hear, and the
bountiful life-giving sea-winds would bestir to her prayer ! —
surely it was not too late !
CHAPTER XLVI.
hope's wings.
The long journey had taxed his returning strength to the
utmost, and for the remainder of that day he looked worn and
fatigued ; but on the next morning he was in the best of spirits,
and nothing would do but that they should at once set out on
their explorations.
" Why not rest here ? " said Violet.
They were sitting in the shade of their morning room, the
French windows wide open, the pillars and roof of the veranda
outside framing in a picture of glowing sunlight and green vege-
tation, with glimpses of the silvery, white sea beyond.
" Why not rest here ? " she said. " What is the use of driv-
ing about to see bare downs, and little holes in the mud that
they call chasms, and water-falls that are turned on from the
kitchen of the hotel above } That is what they consider
scenery in the Isle of Wight ; and then, before you can see it,
you must buy a glass brooch or a china doll."
The fact is, he did not himself particularly care about these
excursions, but he was afraid of the place becoming tiresome
and monotonous to one whom he would insist on regarding as
a visitor. She, on the other hand, affected a profound con-
tempt for the sufficiently pleasant places about the Isle of
Wight for the very purpose of inducing him to rest in the still
seclusion of this retreat they had chosen. But here was the car-
riage at the door.
" Violet," said Amy Warrener, as they were leisurely driv-
ing along the quiet ways, under the crumbling gray cliffs, where
the jackdaws were flying, " where shall we go for a climb ?
Don't you think we might come upon another Mount Glori-
oso ? "
" No," said the girl, rather absently ; " I don't think we
shall see another Mount Glorioso soon again."
" Not this autumn ? " cried Mr. Drummond, cheerfully ;
" not this summer ? — for why should we wait for the autumn ?
Violet, I have the most serious projects with regard to the
whole of us. It is high time that I set about recognizing
HOPE'S WINGS. 385
the ends of existence ; that is to say, before I die I must have
a house in Bayswater and two thousand a year. All nice
novels end that way. Now, in order that we shall all reach
this earthly paradise, what is to done ? I have two projects.
A publisher — the first wise man of his race — I will write an
epitaph for him quite different from my universal epitaph
— this shrewd and crafty person, determined to rescue at least
one mute, inglorious Milton from neglect, has written to me,
There ! He has read my article on " The Astronomical The-
ory with Regard to the Early Religions ; " he has perceived
the profound wisdom, the research, the illuminating genius of
that work — by-the-way, I don't think I ever fully explained to
you my notions on that subject ? "
" Oh no, please don't ! " said Violet, meekly. " What does
the publisher say ? "
" Do you see the mean, practical, commercial spirit of these
women ? " he said, apparently addressing himself ; " it is only
the money they think of. They don't want to be instructed ! "
"I know the article well enough," said Violet, blushing
hotly; "I read it — I — I 'saw it advertised, and bought the
review, when I hadn't much money to spend on such things."
" Did you, Violet ? " said he, forgetting for a moment his
nonsense. Then he continued : " The publisher thinks that
with some padding of a general and attractive nature, the
subject might be made into a book. Why, therefore, should
not our fortune be made at once, and the gates of Bayswater
throWn open to the Peri 1 I do believe I could make an
interesting book. I will throw in a lot of Irish anecdotes.
I wonder if I could have it illustrated with pictures of ' Charles
the First in Prison,' the ' Dying Infant,' * The Sailor's Adieu,'
and some such popular things ! "
"I think," said Violet, humbly, "we might go on to the
other project."
"Ah," said he, thoughtfully, " that requires time and silence
first. I must have the inspiration of the mountains before I
can resolve it. Do you know what it is ? "
" Not yet."
" It is the utilizing of a great natural force. That is what
all science is trying to do now ; and here is one of the
mightiest forces in nature of which nothing is made, unless
it be that a few barges get floated up and down our rivers.
Do you see .'' The great mass of tidal force, absolutely ir-
resistible in its strength, punctual as the clock itself, always,
to be calculated on, why should this great natural engine re-
main unused ? "
<;86 MADCAP VIOLET.
" But then, uncle," said a certain young lady, " if you made
the tide drive machinery at one time of the day, you would
have to turn the house round to let it drive it again as it was
going back."
" Child, child ! " said the inventor, peevishly, " why do you
tack on these petty details to my grand conception ? It is the
idea I want to sell ; other people can use it. Now, will the
Government grant me a patent ? "
" Certainly," said Violet.
" What royalty on all work executed by utilizing the tidal
currents } "
" A million per cent."
" How much will that bring in ? "
" Three millions a minute."
** Ah," said he, sinking back with a sigh, " we have then
reached the goal at last. Bayswater, we approach you. Shall
the brougham be bottle-green or coffee-colored ? "
" A brougham ! " cried Violet ; " no — a barge of white and
gold, with crimson-satin sails, and oars of bronze, towed by a
company of snow-white swans — "
" Or -mergansers — "
" And floating through the canals of claiet which we shall
set flowing in the streets. Then the Lord-mayor and the
Corporation will come to meet you, and you will get the free-
dom of the City presented in a gold snuff-box. As for Buck-
ingham palace — well, a baronetcy would be a nice thing."
" A baronetcy ! Three millions a year and only a baronet !
By the monuments of Westminster Abbey, I will become a
duke and an archbishop rolled into one, and have the right
of sending fifteen people a day to be beheaded at the Tower ! "
" Oh, not that, uncle ! "
" And why not ? "
" Because there wouldn't be any publishers at the end of
the year."
" And here we are at Black Gang Chine ! "
Violet would not go down. She positively refused to go
down. She called the place Black Gang Sham, and hoped
they were pouring enough water down the kitchen-pipe of the
hotel to make a foaming cataract. But she begged Mrs.
Warrener and Amy, who had not seen the place, to go down,
while she remained in the carriage with Mr. Drummond. So
these two disappeared into the bazaar.
" You are not really going to Scotland, are you ? " she
said, simply, her head cast down.
" I have been thinking of it," he answered ; " why not ? "
HOPE'S WINGS. 3S7
"The air here is very sweet and soft," she said, in a hesi-
tating way; "of course, I know the climate on the west coast
of Scotland is very mild, and you would get the mountain air
as well as the sea air ; but don't you think the storms, the
gales that blow in the spring — "
" Oh," said he, cheerfully, " I shall never be pulled together
till I get up to the North — I know that. I may have to re-
main here till I get stronger, but by-and-by I hope we shall
all go up to Scotland together, and that long before the
shooting begins.
" I — I am afraid," she said, " that I shall not be of the
party."
" You ? Not you ? " he cried ; " you are not going to leave
us, Violet, just after we have found you ? "
He took her hand, but she still averted her eyes.
" I half promised," she said, " to spend some time with Mr.
and Mrs. Dowse. They are very lonely. They think they
have a claim on me, and they have been very kind."
"You are not going to Mr. and Mrs. Dowse, Violet," said
he, promptly. " I pity the poor people, but we have a prior
claim on you, and we mean to insist on it. What ! just after
all this grief of separation, you would go away from us again ?
No, no ! I tell you, Violet, we shall never find you your real
self until you have been braced up by the sea-breezes. I
mean the real sea-breezes. You want a scamper among the
heather, I can see that ; for I have been watching you of late,
and you are not up to the right mark. The sooner we all go
the better. Do you understand that ? "
He had been talking lightly and cheerfully, not caring who
overheard. She, on the other hand, was anxious and embar-
rassed, not daring to utter what was on her mind. At last
she said,
"Will you get down for a minute or two, and walk along
the road ? It is very sheltered here, and the sun is warm."
He did so, and she took his arm, and they walked away
apart in the sunlight and silence. When they had gone some
distance, she stopped and said, in a low and earnest voice,
" Don't you know why I can not go to the Highlands with
you 1 It would kill me. How could I go back to all those
places ? "
" I understand that well enough, Violet," said he, gently ;
" but don't you think you ought to go for the very purpose of
conquering that feeling ? There is nothing in that part of
the country to inspire you with dread. You would see it all
again in its accustomed light." . . . ,
38S MADCAP VIOLET.
She shook her head.
" Very well, then," said he, for he was determined not to let
these gloomy impressions of the girl overcome him ; " if not
there, somewhere else. We are not tied to Castle Bandbox.
There is plenty of space about the West Highlands, or about
the Central Highlands, for the matter of that. Shall we try
to get some lodging in an inn or farm-house about the Moor
of Rannoch 1 Or will you try the islands — Jura, or Islay, or
Mull ? "
She did not answer ; she seemed to be in a dream.
" Shall I tell you, Violet, he continued, gravely and gently,
" why I want you to come with us } I am anxious that you
and I should be together as long — as long as that is possible.
One never knows what may happen, and lately — well, we
need not speak of it, but I don't wish us to be parted, Violet."
She burst into a violent fit of crying and sobbing. She
had been struggling bravely to repress this gathering emo-
tion ; but his direct reference to the very thought that was
overshadowing her mind was too much for her. And along
with this wild grief came as keen remorse, for was this the
conduct required of an attendant upon an invalid ?
" You must forgive me," she sobbed. " I don't know
what it is : I have been very nervous of late — and — and — "
" There is nothing to cry about, Violet," said he, gently ;
" what is to be, is to be. You have not lost your old cour-
age ? Only let us be together while we can."
" Oh, my love, my love ! " she suddenly cried, taking his
hand in both of hers, and looking up to him with her piteous,
tear-dimmed eyes, "we will always be together! What is
it that you say.? What is it that you mean? Not that you
are going away without me ? I have courage for any thing
but that. It does not matter what comes, only that I must
go with you — we two together ! "
" Hush, hush, Violet ! '* said he, soothingly, for he saw
that the girl was really beside herself with grief and appre-
hension. *' Come, this is not like the brave Violet of old.
I thought there was nothing in all the world you were afraid
to face. Look up, now."
She released his hand, and a strange expression came over
her face. That wild outburst had been an involuntary con-
fession ; now a great fear and shame filled her heart that she
should have been betrayed into it, and in a despairing, pa-
thetic fashion she tried to explain away her words.
" We shall be together, shall we not ? " she said, with an
afEected cheerfulness, though she was still crying gently.
HOPE'S WINGS. 389
" It does not matter what part of the Highlands you go to —
I will go with you. I must write and explain to Mrs. Dowse.
It would be a pity that we should separate so soon, after that
long time, would it not 1 And then the brisk air of the hills,
and of the yachting, will be better for you than the hot sum-
mer here, won't it ? And I am sure you will get very well
there ; that is just the place for you to get strong ; and when
the time for the shooting comes, we shall all go out, as we used
to do, to see you missing every bird that gets up."
She tried to smile, but did not succeed very well.
" And really it does not matter to me so very much what
part we go to, for, as you say, one ought to conquer these
feelings ; and if you prefer Castle Bandbox, I will go there,
too — that is, I shall be very proud to go if I am not in the
way. And you know I am the only one who can make car-
tridges for you."
" I don't think I shall trouble the cartridges very much,"
said he, glad to think she was becoming more cheerful.
" Indeed," she continued, " I don't know what would have
become of your gun if I had not looked after it, for you only
half cleaned it, and old Peter would not touch it, and the
way the sea air rusted the barrels was quite remarkable.
Will you have No. 3 or No. 4 shot this year for the sea-birds ? "
" Well," he answered, gravely, " you see we shall have no
yacht this year, and probably no chances of wild duck at all ;
and it would scarcely be worth while to make cartridges
merely to fire away at these harmless and useless sea-pyots
and things of that sort."
"Oh, but my papa could easily get us a yacht," she said,
promptly ; " he would be delighted — I know he would be de-
lighted. And I have been told you can get a small yacht for
about forty pounds a month, crew and everything included,
and what is that ? Indeed, I think it is quite necessary you
should have a yacht."
" Forty pounds," said he ; " I think we could manage that.
But then we should deduct something from the wages of the
crew on the strength of our taking our own cook with us.
Do you remember that cook ? She had a wonderful trick of
making apricot-jam puddings : how the dickens she managed
to get so much jam crammed in I never could make out.
She was just about as good at that as at making cartridges.
Did you ever hear of that cook ? "
By this time they had walked gently back to the carriage,
and now Mrs. Warrener and her daughter made their appear-
ance. The elder woman noticed something strange about
550 MADCAP VIOLET.
Violet's expression, but she did not speak of it, for surely the
girl was happy enough ? She was, indeed, quite merry.
She told Mrs. Warrener she was ready to go with them to the
Highlands whenever they chose. She proposed that this
time they should go up the Caledonian Canal, and go down by
Loch Maree, and then go out and visit the western isles.
She said the sooner they went, the better ; they would get all
the beautiful summer of the North ; it was only the autumn
tourists who complained of the rain of the Highlands.
" But we had little rain last autumn," said Mrs. Warrener.
"Oh, very little indeed," said Violet, quite brightly; "we
had charming weather all through. I never enjoyed myself
anywhere so much. I think the sooner your brother gets up
to the Highlands, the better ; it will do him a world of good."
CHAPTER XLVH.
DU SCHMERZENSREICHE !
So the long, silent, sunlit days passed, and it seemed to
the three patient watchers that the object of their care was
slowly recovering health and strength. But if they were all
willing and eager to wait on him, it was Violet who was his
constant companion and friend, his devoted attendant, his
humble scholar. Sometimes when Mrs. Warrener's heart
grew sore within her to think of the wrong that had been
wrought in the past, the tender little woman tried to solace
herself somewhat by regarding these two as they now sat to-
gether — he the whimsical, affectionate, playful, and kindly
master, she the meek pupil and disciple, forgetting all the
proud dignity of her maidenhood, her fire, and audacity, and
independence, in the humility and self-surrender of her love.
Surely, she thought, this time was making up for much of the
past. And if all went well now, what had they to look for-
ward to but a still closer companionship in which the proud
and loyal and fearless girl would become the tender and obe-
dient wife.-* There was no jealousy in the nature of this
woman. She would have laughed with joy if she could have
heard their marriage-bells.
And Violet, too, when the sun lay warm on the daisies and
cowslips, when the sweet winds blew the scent of the lilacs
about, and when her master and teacher grew strong enough
to walk with her along the quiet woodland ways, how could
DU SCHMERZENSREICIIEl
391
she fail to pick up some measure of cheerfulness and hope ?
It almost seemed as if she had dropped into a new world ;
and it was a beautiful world, full of tenderness, and laughter,
and sunshine. Henceforth there was to be no more George
Miller to bother her ; he had gone clean out of existence, as
far as she was concerned ; there was no more skirmishing
with Lady North ; even the poor Dowses, with their piteous
loneliness and solemn house, were almost forgotten. Here
was her whole world. And when she noticed the increasing
distances that he walked, and the brighter look of his face,
and the growing courage and carelessness of his habits, then,
indeed, the world became a beautiful world to her, and she
was almost inclined to fall in love with those whirling and
gleaming southern seas.
It was in the black night-time, when all the household but
herself were asleep, that she paid the penalty of these tran-
sient joys. Haunted by the one terrible fear, she could gain
no rest ; it was in vain that she tried to reason with herself ;
her imagination was like some hideous fiend continually whis-
pering to her ear. Then she had no friend with whom to
share these terrible doubts ; she dared not mention them to
any human soul. Why should she disturb the gentle confi-
dence of his sister and her daughter ? She could not make
them miserable merely to lift from her own mind a portion
of its anxiety. She could only lie awake, night after night,
and rack her brain with a thousand gloomy forebodings.
She recalled certain phrases he had used in moments of
pathetic confidence. She recalled the quick look of pain with
which he sometimes paused in the middle of his speech, the
almost involuntary raising the hand to the region of the heart,
the passing pallor of the face. Had they seen none of those
things ? Had they no wild, despairing thoughts about them ?
Was it possible they could go peacefully to sleep with this
dread thing hanging over them, with a chance of awaking to
a day of bitter anguish and wild, heart-broken farewell ? This
cruel anxiety, kept all to herself was killing the girl. She
grew restless and feverish ; sometimes she sat up half the
night at the window listening to the moaning of the dark sea
outside : she became languid during the day, pale, and dis-
traite. But it was not to last long.
One evening these two were together in the small parlor, he
lying down, she sitting near him with a book in her hand.
The French windows were open ; they could hear Mrs. War-
rener and her daughter talking in the garden. And, strangely
enough, the sick man's thoughts were once more turned to
392 MADCAP VIOLET.
the far Highlands, and to their life among the hills, and the
pleasant merry-making on board the Sea-Pyot.
" The air of this place does not agree with you at all, Vio-
let," he was saying. '' You are not looking nearly so well as
you did when we came down. You are the only one who has
not benefited by the change. Now that won't do ; we can
not have a succession of invalids — a Greek frieze of patients,
all carrying phials of medicine. We must get off to the
Highlands at once. What do you say — a fortnight hence ? "
She knelt down beside him and took his hand, and said, in
a low voice,
''Do not be angry with me — it is very unreasonable, I know
— but I have a strange dread of the Highlands. I have
dreamed so often lately of being up there — and of being swept
away on a dark sea — in the middle of the night."
She shuddered. He put his hand gently on her head.
"There is no wonder you should dream of that," he said,
with a smile. " That is only part of the story which you made
us all believe. But we have got a brighter finish for it now.
You have not been overwhelmed in that dark flood yet — "
He paused.
" Violet ! — my love ! " he suddenly cried.
He let go her hand, and made a wild grasp at his left breast ;
his face grew white with pain. What made her instinctively
throw her arms round him, with terror in her eyes ?
" Violet — what is this ? — kiss me ! "
It was but one second after that that a piercing shriek rang
through the place. The girl had sprung up like a deer shot
through the heart ; her eyes dilated, her face wild and pale.
Mrs. Warrener came running in; but paused, and almost
retreated in fear from the awful spectacle before her ; for the
girl still held the dead man's hand, and she was laughing mer-
rily. The dark sea that she had dreaded had overtaken her
at last.
But one more scene — months afterward. It is the breakfast-
room in Lady North's house in Euston Square, and Anatolia
is sitting there alone. The door opens, and a tall young girl,
dressed in a white morning costume, comes silently in : there
is a strange and piteous look of trouble in her dark eyes.
Anatolia goes over to her, and takes her hand very tenderly,
and leads her to the easy-chair she had herself just quitted.
" There is not any letter yet ? " she asks, having looked all
round the table v,dth a sad and v/earied air.
"No, denr. not vet," savs Anatolia, who, unlcvclv thoudi
DU SCHMERZENSREICHE ! 393
she may be, has a sympathetic heart ; and her lip trembles as
she speaks. " You must be patient, Violet."
" It is another morning gone, and there is no letter, and I
can not understand it," says the girl, apparently to herself;
and then she begins to cry silently, while her half-sister goes
to her, and puts her arm round her neek, and tries to soothe
her.
Lady North comes into the room. Some changes have hap-
pened within these few months ; it is " Mother " and " My
child " now between the enemies of yore. And as she bids
Violet good-morning, and gently kisses her, the girl renews
her complaint.
" Mother, why do they keep back his letter ? I know he
must have written to me long ago ; and I can not go to him
until I get the letter ! and he will wonder why I am not com-
ing. Morning after morning I listen for the postman — I can
hear him in the street — from house to house — and they all get
their letters, but I don't get this one, that is worth all the world
to me. And I never neglected any thing that he said — and I
was always very obedient to him — and he will wonder now
that I don't go to him, and perhaps he will think that I am
among my other friends now, and have forgotten — No, he
will not think that. I have not forgotten."
" My child, you must not vex yourself," says Lady North,
with all the tenderness of which she is capable ; and Anatolia
is bitterly crying all the while. " It will be all right. And
you must not look sad to-day ; for you know Mrs. Warrener
and your friend Amy are coming to see you."
She does not seem to pay much heed.
" Shall we go for the flowers to-day ? " she asks, with her
dark, wet eyes raised for the first time.
" My darling, this is not the day we go for the flowers ; that
is to-morrow."
" And what is the use of it ? " she says, letting her head
sink sadly again. " Every time I go over to Nunhead I listen
— all by myself — and I know he is not there at all. The
flowers look pretty, because his name is over them ; but he is
not there at all — he is far away — and he was to send me a
message — and every day I wait for it — and they keep the
letter back. Mother, are all my dresses ready ? "
"Yes, Violet."
" You are quite sure ? ''
" They are all ready, Violet ; don't trouble about that."
" It is the white satin one he will like the best ; and he will
be pleased that I am not in black, like the others. Mother,
394 MADCAP VIOLET.
Mrs. Warrener and Amy surely can not mean to come to the
wedding in black ? "
" Surely not, Violet ! But come, dear, to your breakfast."
She took her place quite calmly and humbly ; but her mind
was still wandering towards that picture.
" I hope they will strew the church-yard with flowers as we
pass through it — not for me, but for him, for he will be pleased
with that ; and there is more than all that is in the Prayer-
book that I will promise to be to him, when we two are kneel-
ing together. You are quite sure, mother, that every thing
is ready .'' "
" Every thing, my darling."
" And you think the message from him will come soon
now ? "
" I think it will come soon now, Violet," was the answer,
given with trembling lips.
And now to you — you whose names are written in these
blurred pages, some portion of whose lives I have tried to
trace with a wandering and uncertain pen — I stretch out a
hand of farewell. Yet not quite of farewell, perhaps ; for,
amidst all the shapes and phantoms of this world of mys-
tery, where the shadows we meet can tell us neither whence
they came nor whither they go, surely you have for me a no
less substantial existence that may have its chances in the
time to come. To me you are more real than most I know
what wonder, then if I were to meet you on the threshold of
the great unknown you all shining with a new light on your
face ? Trembling, I stretch out my hands to you, for your
silence is awful, and there is sadness in your eyes ; but the
day may come when you will speak, and I shall hear — and
understand.
THE END.
E. B. Sheldon & Co., Composition and Elkctrotyping,
393 State St., New Haven, Conn,
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