"1
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 I
 
 mf, 4 VrrnAr,. 
 
 THE MISTEESS OF BEAE FAEM
 
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY 
 
 NELLIE'S MEMORIES. 
 
 WEE WIFIE. 
 
 BARBARA HEATHCOTE'S TRIAL. 
 
 ROBERT ORD'S ATONEMENT. 
 
 WOOED AND MARRIED. 
 
 HERIOTS CHOICE. 
 
 QUEENIE'S WHIM. 
 
 MARY ST. JOHN. 
 
 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 
 
 FOR LILIAS. 
 
 UNCLE MAX. 
 
 ONLY THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 BASIL LYNDHURST. 
 
 SIR GODFREY'S GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 
 
 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 
 MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM.
 
 *^5. A. ^7rrTor,A<J 
 THE 
 
 MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSA NOUCIIETTE CAREY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'XELLIE's MEMORIES,' 'BARBARA HEATHCOTE's TRIAL,' 
 'NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS," ETC. 
 
 HontJon 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited 
 
 NEW YOUK: THE MACMILLAX COSfPANY 
 1899
 
 First Edition (i vol. Crown Zvo) 1897 
 Reprinted 1897, 1898, 1899
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CUAP. 
 
 1. The Mistress of Brae Farm 
 
 2. Colonel Trevor is surprised . 
 
 3. Lorraine 
 
 4. ' Goon Rest ' . 
 f). Tedo makes a New f riem) 
 G. A Contented Woman . 
 
 7. A Study in Black and White . 
 
 8. Muriel .... 
 
 9. A MoRNiNu Walk 
 
 10. The Turret -Room and Admiral Byxc 
 
 11. The Thin End of the Wedge . 
 
 12. Mother .<vnd Daughter 
 
 13. Between the Lilies 
 
 14. A New Excitement in IIuiULAND.s 
 ir>. The Shadow ok the Sword 
 
 16. Tur, Locum Tenens 
 
 17. Eric's lhtle Brother . 
 
 18. The Redlands Woods , 
 
 19. Colonel Trevor resolves to do it 
 
 20. At Tin; 'Waggon and Horses' 
 
 21. Mothek Hubbard again ! 
 
 22. Miss Bretherfon has her say 
 
 23. An K\ emno at r>UAE House . 
 21. Ar the Oaik or Woodlands . 
 
 PACE 
 
 1 
 7 
 
 IG 
 
 23 
 
 30 
 
 39 
 
 47 
 
 54 
 
 G4 
 
 73 
 
 83 
 
 93 
 
 101 
 
 110 
 
 117 
 
 126 
 
 133 
 
 142 
 
 150 
 
 159 
 
 167 
 
 175 
 
 183 
 
 IPO 
 
 ^/14'Pi2
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 25. Bairx loses ms Mistress 
 
 26. The two Culprits 
 
 27. Sam Brattle speaks his I\Iixd 
 
 28. Ax Angel unawares . 
 
 29. A PAINFUL Enigma 
 
 30. In the Dovecote 
 
 31. ' It is a Sorrowful World ' 
 
 32. He must dree his "Weird too 
 
 33. Ellison's Letter 
 
 34. The Clouds return 
 
 35. ' I have not had my share of Pain ' 
 
 36. Gavin's Decision 
 
 37. Elllson's return Home 
 
 38. ' Have you guessed it ? ' 
 
 39. Sir Percy's Letter 
 
 40. ' How AM I TO r.KAR IT ? ' 
 
 41. ' It is only Bates ' 
 
 42. Madge Wildfire 
 
 43. Post-makk, Nefydd Madoc 
 
 44. 'Did YOU TELL him?' . 
 
 45. ' It is for you to decide ' 
 
 46. Black Nest 
 
 47. Mother Hubbard at Home 
 
 48. An unexpected Invitation 
 
 49. Nora's Holiday House 
 
 50. Revenge is sweet 
 
 51. 'There is always Light' 
 
 52. Royal Arms, Croes-fford 
 
 53. Recvlled 
 
 54. Green Pastures and Still Waters 
 
 PAOE 
 
 198 
 
 204 
 
 213 
 
 222 
 
 229 
 
 237 
 
 244 
 
 252 
 
 259 
 
 266 
 
 273 
 
 281 
 
 290 
 
 297 
 
 305 
 
 313 
 
 321 
 
 328 
 
 336 
 
 344 
 
 352 
 
 359 
 
 366 
 
 374 
 
 382 
 
 389 
 
 397 
 
 405 
 
 413 
 
 421
 
 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 'Tranquillity is a good thing.' — Peuiandkr. 
 ' Jlisfortunes are common to all.' — PnoctLiDES. 
 
 The younf,' mistress of Brae Farm was looking over the little green 
 gate that divided the garden from the big farmyard. 
 
 It was still early in the afternoon, and there was a hush and 
 stillness over the whole place as though a universal siesta prevailed. 
 Presently from the long green meadow the cows would come slowly 
 in single lile to the milking-shed, and later on the cart-horses 
 clattering heavily down the lane on their way to the pond. 
 
 The turkeys and geese and even the cocks and hens were all 
 afield, only the pigeons sat in rows on the red roof of the granary 
 sunning themselves in the sweet May sunshine ; and the sole 
 occupants of the farmyard below were an old grey pony with 
 paniers, dozing peacefully with his feet embedded in the clean 
 yellow straw, and an infant asleep in one of the paniers. 
 
 'Mattie Konsliawe come for some more new-hiid eggs,' observed 
 Ellison to herself, but she spoke aloud, for the fine collie sitting 
 erect beside her uttered a low whine of pleasure at liis mistress's 
 voice. 
 
 'Hush, Bairn, we must not wake the baby !' and the dog was 
 at once silent, as though he understood her, and then he and his 
 mistress resumed their quiet walching. 
 
 Some one once remarked that if he were asked who was the most 
 contented woman he had ever known, he should name Ellison Lee. 
 " Of course,' he went on, ' in this sorry old world of ours tliere is 
 
 1
 
 2 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 no such thing as perfect contentment ; the thing is impossible, an 
 anomaly — altogether absurd ; but if you wish me to name a person 
 who is in thorough harmony with her environment, who has the 
 three greatest blessings ever vouchsafed to hi;manity — good sense, 
 good temper, and a good digestion — that person is my cousin once 
 removed, Ellison Lee.' 
 
 Colonel Ti'evor was not alone in this opinion ; most people 
 admired and envied the young mistress of Brae Farm, and, indeed, 
 if one were to add up her numerous advantages, the list would be 
 a fairly large one. 
 
 Young, for surely seven-and-twenty may be called young, with 
 ea.sy means, good health, and no encumbrances in the shape of 
 idle brothers to be settled in the world, or troublesome young sisters ; 
 with a moderate share of good looks and sufficient cleverness to 
 enable her to hold her own even in these days of multitudinous 
 examinations and high culture ; and, above all, with a natural 
 aptitude for doing the right thing at the right moment, without 
 3elfish reserves or morbid dread of consequences ; surely, with all 
 these qualifications, Ellison Lee might be called a fortunate person. 
 No, whatever were her faults — and most certainly she had her share 
 of them in common with other true daughters of Eve — there was 
 nothing morbid about her. One might wish perhaps that she had 
 more imagination, that she were a little less satisfied with her own 
 decisions ; but these were merely specks and flaws, to be smiled 
 over and forgiven, for few unmarried women in her solitary inde- 
 pendent circumstances could have given less occasion for the enemy 
 to bla.spheme. 
 
 * Yes ; she is a bit proud, and she does not like to be contra- 
 dicted,' Mrs. Drake, the blacksmith's wife, would say to her gossips, 
 ' and when she has made up her mind there is no turning her ; but 
 at the bottom she is sound and sweet as the kernel of a nut, and 
 there is no nonsense about her. I like a woman who has a head 
 on her shoulders, and who can put down her foot when the right 
 time comes. How do you suppose she would manage with that 
 young bailiff, Sam Brattle, and all those men if she was afraid 
 of opening her mouth and putting down her foot ? — and it is a 
 solid foot too ! ' 
 
 The mistress of Brae Farm was an authority in Highlands, 
 altliough that favoured little ])lace, set so snugly in its cup-like 
 hollow amid heather-covered hills and climbing fir-woods, had half 
 a dozen big houses scattered here and there — Brae House to wit, 
 and Redlands, and Price's Folly, not to mention Ferncliffe, where 
 old Mrs. Langton lived ; but, nevertheless, Miss Lee at Brae Farm 
 could hold her own even with her wealthier neighbours.
 
 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 3 
 
 Ellison Lee was certainly no beauty, but her face was a pleasant 
 one. She was a tall, strong young woman, somewhat heavily 
 moulded, but she carried herself well ; she had calm, serious blue 
 eyes, that always looked straight at one, and the smooth coils of 
 light brown hair set off a well-shaped head. People always called 
 her a fine woman, and somehow the term suited her. She had 
 matured early, and never thought or spoke of herself as a girl. 
 
 ' I always envy Ellison her repose of manner,' ^Irs. Trevor would 
 say ; ' she is the most restful person I know ; nothing ever flurries 
 her ; my pet name for her is " Fairy Order," and as I often tell 
 you, Gavin could not do better,' and here a glance of mutual under- 
 standing would pass between the ladies. Highlands, in spite of its 
 l)eing an earthly paiadise, was not free from the gossip and tittle- 
 tattle and small babblement common to a villa;;e. 
 
 Highlands had long ago made up its mind that Colonel Trevor 
 would one day marry Ellison Lee. His wife had been dead more 
 than eight yeara He was forty at least ; very young ladies were 
 not to his taste — he never knew how to say pretty things to them — 
 and the friendship between him and his cousin was a deep and 
 true one. 
 
 When Mrs. Earnshaw of Price's Folly walked up to Brae House 
 Mrs. Trevor would speak quite openly, for, being old schoolfellows, 
 they were great cronies. 'You see, Herraione,' she would say, 
 'now Gavin has retired from active service he ought to marry again 
 and settle down. A man wants more than a mother and sister. 
 Ellison suits him down to the ground, every one can see what he 
 thinks of her.' 
 
 ' Yes, and their lands march together,' returned her companion 
 sympathetically. ' It would be a fine thing for the Cohmel to 
 have the Brae-lands united ; he would leave a grand estate to his 
 children.' 
 
 ' Aren't we counting our chickens before they are hatched ] ' 
 observed Mrs. Trevor, smiling, and then she siglied ; her infant 
 grandson lay with his young mother in an Indian grave. 
 
 While the two ladies sat and gossiped softly over the Colonel's 
 future in the pleasant Brae drawing-room. Colonel Trevor was 
 revolving the same thoughts as he rode up the long meadow, with 
 his face set as usual in the direction of the Brae Farm, where 
 Ellison was waiting for him at the green gate. 
 
 Gavin Trevor was a thin soldierly-looking man ; he had a brown 
 weather-beaten face and a dark nioustache ; but the hair on his 
 temples was already turning grey ; he had keen searching eyes that 
 could soften pleasantly at times, and the slight brusquerie of manner 
 that strangers noticed at first, soon wore olF when people knew him
 
 4 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 better. To a close observer his face bore traces of past troubles. 
 He had married early, and his choice had been a fortunate one, 
 and for two years he considered himself the happiest of men. He 
 loved his profession, he was respected and liked in the regiment, 
 and he and his wife were looked upon as a model couple. 
 
 When she died, and he stood beside the bed and looked at her 
 with the dark downy head of their new-born child nestled close to 
 her cold breast, the springs of happiness seemed to dry up within 
 him, and he went out of that death-chamber a stricken man. 
 
 But he struggled on bravely, and in a year or two people began 
 to say that Major Trevor would marry again, but he only frowned 
 when any such hint reached his ears. 
 
 Death had been rife in the regiment, and he got his promotion 
 early ; but soon afterwards he had an attack of the deadly Indian 
 fever, and though he fought it gallantly, and stuck to his post, there 
 were recurring attacks, and his doctor began to look grave ; sorrow 
 had undermined the fine constitution, and he was no longer fit for 
 his work. 
 
 ' You must go back to England, Colonel, and be sharp about it 
 too, if you do not want to be buried here,' for Doctor Morton could 
 speak the truth brutally when he chose, and he chose to do so now. 
 
 ' Do you mean that I shall never be fit for active service again % ' 
 asked Trevor sharply ; ' speak plainly, man, for heaven's sake.' 
 
 ' I mean that India has played the deuce with you, and it will be 
 years before you are quite to rights again ; take my advice. Colonel, 
 you are young yet, go back to England and settle down quietly for 
 a year or two,' he was going to say ' get a wife,' but a look in his 
 patient's eyes checked him ; ' take life easily and you will make an 
 old man j'et,' and tliough Colonel Trevor pooh-poohed him as an 
 alarmist, he took his advice in the end. 
 
 During his long absence in India, his father had died ; he was 
 now the owner of the Brae, and there, on his return, he found his 
 widowed mother and his sister MurieL When the first few months 
 had passed, and the sweet country air liad already told favourably 
 on him, and he looked less hollow-eyed and emaciated, Mrs. Trevor 
 suggested that the Dower House, as it was called, a comfortable, 
 unpretentious house about a mile away, should be put in order for 
 her and iluriel. 
 
 ' I do not mean that we should go and live there now, and leave 
 you alone in this great house, Gavin,' she continued, somewhat 
 alarmed by the same stony look in his dark eyes that Dr. Morton 
 had noticed. * But the Dower House is in such a dilapidated 
 state — Robinson was saying so when he came over here — it will 
 take months to make it reaUy habitable.'
 
 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 6 
 
 * Yes, mother, I am well aware of that. I meant to speak to 
 Robinson myself, aud have it done up next sprinf; for letting, that 
 is, if you will give me permission to do so. Ellison agreed with 
 me tliat it would be a good iuvestmeut.' 
 
 * But if you let it, Gavin, what is to become of me and Muriel \ 
 The poor girl is not likely to marry — you must see that for yourself ; 
 
 and if you ever Don't frown so, Gavin ! poor dear Helen has 
 
 been dead over five years now, and she would be the fii-at to wish 
 you to be hajjpy.' 
 
 * Mother ! ' returned Gavin, hoarsely, ' you mean it well, of course, 
 I know that, and I am not going to be such a fool as to quarrel 
 with you ; but if you love me, you will never drop this sort of 
 hint again. A man knows best how to manage his own affairs ; 
 we will leave the question of the Dower House for you and Muriel 
 until I seriously make up my mind to marry again ; to the best 
 of my belief that day will never come.' 
 
 And so the Duwer House was done up and decorated from garret 
 to basement, aud re-christened FerucHfle, and in due course of time 
 a tenant for it was found ; and though three years more had elapsed 
 since that conversjition, Mrs. Trevor still remained mistress of Brae 
 House, and still gossiped gently to her crony, Mrs. Earnshaw, of 
 the time when Gavin would at last make up his mind to marry 
 again, and she and Muriel would have to turn out and live in the 
 Dower House. Colonel Trevor was reviewing the last three years 
 as he rode slowly up the Darley Koad ; his reins had dropjied on 
 the mare's neck ; on the whole, the review was a satisfactory one. 
 He had grown stronger, and had almost attained his normal condi- 
 tion of health. Though the old energy and pluck Avere wanting, 
 he no longer fretted for his work, but he still kept up his interest 
 in his old roginjent ; he had grown reconciled to hia quiet, country 
 life ; it suited him, and he found plenty of occupation ; and then 
 it was so near town, he could run up to his club whenever he 
 wished, and be in touch with the last new question of the day ; 
 when he was to be met so often in St James's and Picaidilly, no 
 one could accuse hinj of being buried alive. 
 
 And then he had developed a new talent, or, to speak pro- 
 perly, revived an old taste ; he had t'lken to sketching and paint- 
 ing, and during his visits to towii he had begun to haunt sundry 
 studios, 
 
 ' There is nothing like having a hobby ! ' Mrs. Trevor woidd 
 say briskly to her pale daughter. ' Look at Gavin, how busy he 
 is from morning to night ; this new craze of his for painting is so 
 good for him, that is why Ellison encourages him so, she wanta 
 him to turn the octagon room into a studio, and we could surely
 
 6 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 spare it You miglit take some lessons yourself, Muriel, and then 
 you could go out sketching with him.' 
 
 'You forget, mother, that I have no taste for drawing, and that 
 I could not draw a straight line to save my life.' Muriel spoke in 
 a tone of quiet exasperation ; when would her mother understand 
 that an artist could not be made to order % But Mrs. Trevor only 
 sighed and shrugged her shoulders — was there any possible thing 
 in which Muriel would consent to interest ' herself ' ? 
 
 ' I have jogged on pretty comfortably all these years,' thought 
 Colonel Trevor, passing his hand lightly over the mare's mane. 
 ' Don't go to sleep. Miss Alice, for I can see Ellison at the gate.' 
 It was evident that Miss Alice saw her too, for she pricked up her 
 dainty ears and quickened her pace. 
 
 ' Yes, I have not had a bad time,' thought Gavin, thinking, as 
 he had often done before, how much comfort of mind and hours 
 of pleasant, kindly companionship he owed to Ellison. From the 
 first she had been his trusty comrade and friend ; her tact and 
 strong common-sense had often helped him over the rough places 
 of daily life. 
 
 It w'as rather difficult to avoid friction with his mother. Mrs. 
 Trevor was a warm-hearted, affectionate woman, but she was over- 
 sensitive and excitable, and Muriel ' was a thing of moods and 
 tenses,' as her cousin once observed. Gavin never professed to 
 understand his sister, though he was very kind to her ; but he 
 could talk freely on all subjects to Ellison. 
 
 He waved his hand to her gaily, and then lifted his hat, and • 
 EDison leaned over the gate to pat Miss Alice's glossy brown neck, 
 while Bairn leapt up against the bars with joyous barks of welcome. 
 
 ' She is in splendid condition, Gavin,' observed Ellison, looking 
 at the mare with critical approving eyes. ' Sam Brattle was right 
 when he advised you to buy her ; it is sometimes cheapest to pay a 
 long figure for a thing you want.' 
 
 ' I paid a precious long figure for Miss Alice,' laughed Colonel 
 Trevor ; * but in spite of her skittishness, I would not part with her 
 for double her price ; she is like the rest of her sex, full of tricks, 
 and with plenty of virtues. Well, Ellison, how long are you going 
 to keep that gate shut ? Is not the mistress of Brae Farm at home 
 this afternoon ? ' 
 
 Ellison drew back slowly, but there was a slight blush on her 
 fair sedate face. 
 
 ' I am always at home to my friends, Gavin, and I have so much 
 to tell you ; will you take Miss Alice round to the stable ? you 
 will find some one about — and I will go in and make tea.'
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 COLONEL TREVOR IS SURPRISED 
 
 'Teach me to feel another's woe, 
 To hide the fault I see ; 
 The mercy I to others show, 
 That mercy show to me.' 
 
 POPB. 
 
 As Colonel Trevor led his mare away, Ellison walked c^uiukly back 
 to the house. 
 
 It was an irregular low grey house, without any pretension ; 
 but in summer-time its weather-beaten old walls were smuthered 
 in creepers. Glorious Gloire de Dijon roses peeped in at the bed- 
 room windows ; honeysuckle and starry clematis draped the stone 
 porch, and clusters of blue -grey wisteria festooned the dairy 
 window. 
 
 All round the house lay a delightful old garden, for it was one 
 of Ellison's peculiarities that she would cultivate none but old- 
 fashioned flowers. 
 
 Rows of white and orange lilies and gorgeous hollyhocks lined 
 the border, with deep blue delphiniums and the humbler larkspur ; 
 heart-shaped beds of small villow and purple pansies studded the 
 lawn, and straggling masses o£ London pride and sweet-smolling 
 pinks were everywhere. All the summer long it was a garden of 
 delights. The air would be fragrant with the heavy scent of syringa 
 and the spicy fragrance of the deep rod ciirnationa How the bees 
 and birds loved that garden ; there were nests by the score in the 
 ehrubbery that led to the kitchen garden, and the row of bee-hives 
 undi'r the south wall — where the peaches grew — brought inagoo<lly 
 amount of honey. All round the house and gardens lay a ring of 
 sloping meadows, and fron\ her bedroom window Ellison could 
 catch a glimpse of the chimneys of the Brae House, and beyond 
 that the dark foliage of the Brae Woods.
 
 8 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 From early spring to late autumn the front door always stood 
 open. Througli the porch one jjassed into a small square hall, 
 somewhat dark from its heavy wainscoting. In winter a glorious 
 fire burnt in the big open grate, but in summer it was filled with 
 honesty, or branches of may and rhododendron ; an oak settle, black 
 with age, a grandfather's clock, and a chest big enough to hold the 
 unfortunate bride in the ' The Mistletoe Bough,' gave it an air of 
 comfort. On one side of the hall was the dining-room, on the other 
 Ellison's sitting-room ; two red-baized doors shut oif the staircase 
 and the other offices. 
 
 Ellison's sitting-room — for she always sternly refused to call it 
 her drawing-room — was a long handsome room, extending from the 
 front to the back of the house. One could not look round it 
 without recognising at once that it was the heart and nucleus of 
 the home, that it was the living room of its mistress ; every corner 
 had traces of her taste and various occupations. One wall was 
 lined with bookcases, chiefly filled with standard works of a solid 
 description ; fiction, except in the shape of Dickens and Thackeray 
 and Sir Walter Scott, was not largely represented ; clearly utility, 
 not sentiment or imagination, was the salient characteristic of the 
 young mistress of Brae Farm. 
 
 A writing-table and a business-like looking bureau, bristling 
 with papers, stood at one end. This was where Ellison wrote her 
 letters and kept her weekly accounts. A Japanese screen shut off 
 this part of the room. A couch, a round table, and two or three 
 comfortable-looking cliairs filled up the centre, and the deep front 
 bay-window, with its cushioned seat and small square tea-table, was 
 evidently where Ellison entertained her friends. There were no 
 useless nicknacks to be seen anywhere, only the shelves of fine old 
 china near the fireplace, and one or two good pictures gave it the 
 colouring it needed. It was in this room that Ellison lived her 
 busy useful life — except for meals she never entered her dining- 
 room, unless it was to interview her bailiff, Sam Brattle ; her 
 humbler Aasitors and pensioners were always received in a small 
 room leading out of the kitchen, called the still-room. There stood 
 the great presses and cupboards where Ellison kejjt her groceries 
 and jams and wonderful syrup?, and the small stock of drugs that 
 were always at her neighbours' service. 
 
 The nearest doctor lived at Bramfield, two miles away ; even 
 when his services were urgently needed, it might be hours before 
 he returned from his rounds to receive the message. The villagers 
 in Highlands doctored themselves and their children a great deal 
 with Miss Lee's help. It was through her exertions that the 
 National Health Committee sent down a lecturer to deliver a course
 
 COLONEL TRFA'OR IS SURPRL'<ED 9 
 
 ou 'Fii'st Aid to the Injured and Sick,' iu the Iron room below 
 the vicarage, wliich was called the Institute, that had been built by 
 the late Mr. Trevor as a thauk-ullering for his wife's recovery from 
 a dangerous illness. 
 
 When Ellison's small stock of drugs were exhausted, they could 
 always l)e prucured at Tom Brattle's, or ' Brattle's ' as it was called. 
 Tom was Sam Brattle's elder brother, and drove a thriving trade in 
 Highlands. You might buy anything at Brattle's — from a straw 
 hat and a cambric dress to moist sugar and onions, or a pennyworth 
 of sweets. Books, photographs, music, bacon, and fat pork ; ginger- 
 beer and every kind of children's toys, beads, soap, and ribbons 
 were all in this wholesale depot for the village. 
 
 Although it was May, a small bright fire was burning cheerily 
 iu the sitting-room, and a kettle was singing lustily on its trivet. 
 When Ellison had made the tea out of the old-fashioned tea-caddy 
 that stood ready to hand, she rang for the hot cakes, of which there 
 was always a liberal supjily at Brae Farm, then she took her usual 
 seat and began rinsing tlie cups in a careful methodical way, and 
 every now and then glancing towards the gate. * Gavin was a long 
 time,' she thought ; 'surely Joe Brand must be in the yard'; then 
 a smile came to her lips as she saw the Colonel's tall spare figure 
 approaching the house. 
 
 ' Well, this is ]»leasant,' he said, looking round him contentedly 
 as he threw himself down on the cushioned seat opposite Ellison, 
 ' I never knew any room to beat this for comfort. I often make 
 my mother cross by telling her so. You know you love it yourself, 
 EllisKU. Would you change it for one of ours at the Brae ? No ; 
 I thought 80 ' — as she shook her head ; ' the dniwing-ruoms are too 
 big for comfort, and the library too dark ; the morning-room is eo- 
 80, but the billiard-room is a barrack ; as for my sanctum ' 
 
 •Now, Caviu,' intcrruiitcd his cousin, 'how can you have the 
 baseness to find fault with all those beautiful rooms ? The drawing- 
 rooms are charming ! they beat Redlands, and as for Price's Folly, 
 they could put two of their rooms into one of youi-s. It is simply 
 blarney to be praising up my poor sitting-room at their ex]iense ; let 
 me give you some more milk — that tea is too strong — but you ke)>t 
 me 80 long waiting.' 
 
 ' I suppose people's idea.s ul comfort dillLr, iic ixi;; i.e 
 
 held out his cup, 'but you always seem so snug, I supp iiise 
 
 you live here from morning to night ; now my mother spends her 
 mornings in the octagon room, or in her big dressing-room, and her 
 afternoons and evenings in the inner drawing-room, only sometimes 
 she takes a fancy to use the other one ; in fact, you never know 
 where to find her.'
 
 10 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I see what you mean,' replied Ellison, as slie unrolled a large 
 piece of knitting. This was one of her habits, never to let her 
 fingers be idle while she talked ; countless were the socks and 
 cross-overs and comforters she knitted during stray quarters- of-an- 
 hour. 'Yes, I know I do love my sitting-room, but I have never 
 enjoyed it more than during the last six weeks.' 
 
 ' For shame, Ellison — poor Miss Lockwood ; after all, she was a 
 good-natured, harmless creature.' 
 
 ' Ah, you may call her that if you like. Letitia was not 
 without her good points. She certainly made herself extremely 
 useful, and her needlework was beautiful ; but how was one to 
 endure her endless chatter and trivialities ? You know very well, 
 Gavin, that Cousin Louise often declared it would have driven her 
 wild to be in my place.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, from morning to night — 
 
 " It was Letty's delight 
 To chatter and talk without stopping," etc. etc' 
 
 ' No, but seriously, Gavin, I never knew I had nerves before : 
 but I understand now what you mean when you say you feel 
 quite jumpy. I was prickly all over. If it had only been sensible 
 talk, but it was everlasting chit-chat ; the droning of a wasp, or 
 the buzzing of a blue-bottle against the glass, would have conveyed 
 as much sense to my mind. No, no, Letitia Lockwood is a good 
 creature and an excellent Christian ; but she has the smallest 
 amount of brain-power that I ever knew in any woman. I was 
 obliged to tell her, at last, that we did not suit each other. Poor 
 soul, she had a good cry over what she called my hard-heartedness 
 and want of feeling ; but if you knew how delicious my first 
 solitary evening was to me.' 
 
 ' But, Ellison,' looking at her keenly, ' has not my mother con- 
 vinced you yet that you are too young to live alone ? ' 
 
 ' No one would ever convince me of that,' returned Ellison 
 obstinately, ' but I am willing to give in for the sake of peace ; 
 besides,' her decided tone faltering a little, ' my dear fatlier always 
 \vi8hed me to have a companion ; he told me the night he was taken 
 ill, that at my age it was better not to brave conventionality. 
 Poor old dad ! I daresay he was right.' 
 
 'And you are looking out for some one to replace Misa 
 liockwood % ' 
 
 ' No,' she returned quietly, ' there is no need for me to look 
 out. My cousin, Lorraine Herbert, needs help ; her husband died 
 about a year and a half ago. She is in sadly straitened circum- 
 stances, and I have offered a home to her and her child.'
 
 COLONEL TREVOR IS SURPRISED 11 
 
 Colonel Trevor looked extremely surprised. He was well aware 
 that Ellison never asked advice, and that she seldom mentioned 
 any fresh arian<^ement until she had made up her mind that it wa-s 
 feasible and desirable. She had too much backbone and decision 
 of character to talk over pros and cons in the usual feminine 
 fashion j nevertheless, in his masculine judgment, this was rather 
 a serious step to take ; surely it would have been better to have 
 spoken to his mother first. 
 
 For the moment he felt hurt ; but not wishiog to show this he 
 said quickly- - 
 
 'Lorraine Herbert — have I ever heard the name? She must be 
 a cousin on your mother's side, then ? ' 
 
 ' She is my first cousin, and therefore my nearest relative ; her 
 uauie was Broughton before she married ; surely you have heard me 
 mention Uncle Philip, who was so unfortunate and died abroad ? ' 
 Bit Colonel Trevor shook his head. 
 
 * You forget how many years I have been in India — possibly 
 my mother may have heard the name of Broughton ; but since I 
 have been home, there has been no mention of them.' 
 
 ' It is rather inconceivable, but the fact is, Lorraine and I are 
 perfect strangers to each other. Uncle Philip lived abroad, partly 
 on account of his health and partly because of reduced circumstances 
 — he was always Murad the Unlucky of the family — then Lormine 
 married and settled in Ireland, and until three weeks ago we 
 never met.' 
 
 ' You know nothing of her, and yet you are ofl'ering her a 
 home; is this your usual prudence, Ellison?' Colonel Trevor's 
 voice had a note of anxiety in it. 
 
 ' At least I know that she is Uncle Philip's daughter, and my 
 next of kin, and that she and her child are in danger of starving,' 
 she rei>lied quietly. ' I see you are put out, Gavin, bec;xu?e I have 
 not spoken to you or Cousin Louise, but you know what I have 
 often said to you — unless one is lame one does not need crutches ; 
 and as long as I have reason and judgment I can manage my own 
 business.' 
 
 The words might have sounded brusque, if they had not been 
 accompanied by a bright smile ; but Colonel Trevor was not to be 
 propitiated by a smile ; he was tenacious, perhaps a trille obstinate 
 by nature — his mother always said so — and he was determined to 
 get to the bottom of the matter. To be sure, his opinion had 
 not been asked, but his friendship for Ellison made him anxious 
 to protect her if possible from taking a wrong line of action. 
 
 On her side Ellison was secretly amused, and yet touched by 
 Gavin's evident anxiety, but at the same time she thought he
 
 12 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 might have trusted her judgment. Was she the sort of person to 
 do an impulsive thing ? It was not to please herself that she was 
 oflferiug this home to her widowed cousin ; for in her heart she 
 knew that it was a self-sacrificing action, and one that she had 
 been reluctant to perform. Altruism does not flourish naturally 
 in some soils, and Ellison by no means desired her cousin to live 
 with her ; but, as she said to Colonel Trevor later on, how was she 
 to engage a stranger when poor Lorraine needed a home ? when 
 duty was staring her in the face, how was she to refuse it and yet 
 call herself a Christian ? 
 
 ' I could not have eaten my bread in comfort if I had not done 
 it,' she went on. ' I could not have slept peacefully after seeing 
 her and the child in that miserable garret ; but I did not act 
 impulsively, I came home, and thought over it for a week,' — she 
 might have added truly, ' and prayed over it,' for Ellison was 
 deeply religious, though she was too reserved to express her 
 deeper feeling — ' but it was no good shirking the question, it was a 
 plain duty and I could not turn my back on it.' 
 
 ' What put it in your head to go and see her, Ellison ? ' 
 
 ' She wrote to me. She had wanted to write for months, but 
 she could not find my address. She had never seen me or my 
 home ; but of course she knew that she had a cousin. She found 
 the nddress at last on an old letter father had written to Uncle Philip, 
 and then she wrote at once. I liked the letter, there was no 
 humbug about it ; it was quite simple and direct to the point. 
 Her husband was dead, and she and her little boy were in great 
 distress ; and she was utterly without friends. The address was 
 Beaumont Street, Camden Town.' 
 
 ' And you went to her at once ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — the very next day. I telegraphed that I was coming. 
 You were in town, Gavin, so you knew nothing about it. Am I 
 wearying you, or do you want to hear everything ? ' 
 
 'Everything,' was his terse answer. 'You know all your affairs 
 interest me.' 
 
 ' You are very good to me,' she returned gently. ' Do you know 
 Camden Town ? ' and as he nodded, ' ah, but you are not well 
 acquainted with Beaumont Street. How can people live their lives 
 in such places ? how can they be good and patient and love their 
 children, and not hate the day they were born ? Oh, I am 
 speaking strongly, I know,' as he merely elevated his eyebrows at 
 this ; ' but if you had only seen the street, the black railway-arch 
 at one end, and the unkempt children playing in the road, and the 
 draggled women, and the dingy homes with their dismal areas and 
 windows that looked as though they were never cleaned, you
 
 COLONEL TREVOR /.<^ SfRPRLSED 13 
 
 would not wonder at my disgust. The very sunshine was less 
 brif^ht in Beaumont Street.' 
 
 ' And Mrs. Herbert w;is living in this desirable neighbour- 
 hood?' 
 
 'Yes, she liad been lodging there for five months — such a 
 lodging — a bedroom at the top of the house, with a view of the 
 opposite chimney-pots. And here I found Lorraine and her baby 
 boy, and a miserable little t;ibby kitten that she had rescued from 
 starvation and the cruel mercies of the street. By the bye,' 
 interrupting herself, ' I have promi.sed to give the kitten a home 
 too.' 
 
 ' You ai-e a good woman, Ellison ; I always said so. But go on. 
 Your story is deeply interesting, and you are ttUing it very well. 
 I want you to describe your coU!?in.' 
 
 ' Let me say a word about the room first. Shabby little place 
 as it was, it was so neat — you could tell at once that a lady lived 
 in it — and Lorraine's appearance was as neat, too. She has left 
 off her widow's dress — white collars and cuffs were luxuries that 
 could be dispensed with — but her gown was black of course.' 
 
 ' Is she younger or older than you, Ellison ? ' 
 
 ' Older by three years. Lorraine is thirty, but she does not 
 look her age. She is not exactly good-looking, but her face is 
 pleasing. I should call her interesting. She is tall and rather 
 thin and pale ; but she has nice eyes and lovely hair — that red- 
 brown hair that looks auburn in the sunshine. Her boy is like 
 her. He is rather a delicate little fellow, not pretty, but very 
 engatjing. Of course Lorraine dotes on him. He was only about 
 fifteen months old when his father died.' 
 
 ' I suppose she talked a great deal about her husband ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, she told me everything; in the frankest possible way. 
 She is like her letter — very simjilc and direct She did not 
 wait for me to ask her questions, but told me all I wanted to 
 know. 
 
 'She lias had a hard life, Uavin. \Vhen her father died — he 
 died at Lausanne — she went to Ireland with a family, who had 
 been staying in a pension near them, as governess to the two 
 girls. 
 
 'The O'Briens were kind-hearted people, and she was fairly 
 comfortable with them, and might have remained so ; but in an 
 evil day she made the acquaintance of a young artist — Ralph 
 Herbert — and, after a few months, was induced to marry him. 
 
 ' It was a ra-sh and most imprudent marriage. Lorraine frankly 
 owned this at once. She was not in love with Ralph Herbert ; 
 still at that time she believed in him. She knew that he was
 
 14 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 poor, but be told her tbat he had some orders coining in, and that, 
 as he was utterly free from debt, they could live comfortably in a 
 quiet way. Lorraine had no wish to leave the O'Briens, and she 
 pleaded for a longer engagement ; but Ralph told her that his 
 love for her was impeding his work, that he was too restless to 
 paint, and that, after they were once married, he would settle down 
 and make a name for himself. 
 
 ' ^Vlien I asked her how she could bring herself to marry a man 
 of whose antecedents she was nearly ignorant, and whom she con- 
 fessed she did not really love, she told me that he seemed so lonely 
 and unhappy that she longed to comfort him. " I belonged to no 
 one, and Ralph needed me ; and then he had such a way with 
 him," she finished. 
 
 * Poor Lorraine ! Before many months were over she had 
 reason to rue her imprudence. Ralph Herbert was a man who 
 did not know how to speak the truth ; when he told her he had 
 no debts he had lied to her freely. Before they had been married 
 six months there was an execution in the house, and their furniture 
 was seized. They led a wandering Bohemian life after this, never 
 staying long in any place, and always, as she feared, leaving debts 
 behind them. 
 
 ' Nothing she could say to him seemed of any avail ; he had 
 simply no sense of honour ; she hinted to me in a guarded sort 
 of way that he had other vices. " I know he cared for me 
 to the last," she said mournfully, " but I never really influenced 
 him ; if he had not died we should have gone from bad to 
 worse, for how was I to leave him, the father of my boy." It 
 went to my heart to hear her, Gavin. 
 
 'Just before he died a small windfall came to him in the 
 shape of a couple of hundred pounds; this enabled her to bury 
 him decently and pay a few of the most pressing debts. Her 
 health had suffered from the strain of nursing him, and for 
 some months she was unable to do anything. There were 
 doctor's bills to pay and other expenses, and her money began 
 to dwindle. 
 
 ' It was impossible to resume her teaching, for she could not 
 leave her boy. Soon after Christmas she was obliged to give 
 up her comfortable rooms for the attic I found her in when she 
 wrote to me. Things were at their lowest ebb, and she was 
 keeping herself and the boy by taking in plain work ; a shop in 
 Camden Town employed her, and she was thankful to be enabled 
 in this way to keep a respectable roof over her head.' 
 
 ' Poor soul,' returned Colonel Trevor, ' what a tragic story ; 
 but I fear there are many similar cases. There are no end of
 
 COLONEL TREVOR IS SURPRISED 16 
 
 improvident marriages, even in other ranks of life ; many a 
 respectable young couple, who Lave taken their responsibilities 
 too early, witliout counting the cost, have laid up a heritage of 
 poverty and nii.-^ery for tlieir children. I know many such 
 stories.' 
 
 ' So do I, but the grimncss of the reality never strikes us so 
 forcibly as wht-n we hear it from the person's own lips. When 
 Lorraine told me that she had tasted nothing but bread and 
 weak tea since the previous morning, I could not keep the tears 
 out of my eyes, and yet I am not an imaginative woman. I 
 think I never enjoyed anything more than watching her eat a 
 mutton chop. It really did me good.' 
 
 Colonel Trevoi-'a eyes lingered on Ellison's face with quiet 
 tenderness ; it always rested him to look at her and hear her talk. 
 Her calmness and absence of all excitability or exaggeration 
 pleased and satisfied him, but at this moment he had a glimpse 
 of a deeper underlying goodness. How quietly she was telling 
 her story ; she was making so little of her own sacrifice. It 
 was her duty to shelter her next-of-kin, that was how she had 
 put it, but she had said nothing at all of her own trouble 
 and inconvenience. 
 
 'And when does your cousin come to you?' he asked, after a 
 moment's silence. 
 
 'Next week — Wednesday, I think. I could not fix an earlier 
 date, as I had to re-paint and re-paper the rooms I have set 
 apart for her and the boy. She has begged me to keep my 
 spare room intact for chance guests, for of course I talked things 
 over with her on my second visit, but the room she will have 
 is a very pleasant one, and has the same outlook as mine. Wliy 
 are you looking at me so solemnly, Gavin ? ' 
 
 'I am only thinking what a good woman you are,' he rcturuod 
 quietly, as he put his hand over hers, 'and God bless all such 
 women, I say.' And then he rose as though to take his leave.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LORRAINE 
 
 ' Who ne'er his bread iu sorrow ate, 
 ^Vho ne'er tlie mournful midnight hours, 
 Weeping upon his bed has sate, 
 He knows ye not — ye Heavenly Powers.' 
 
 From Goethe's Wilhelm Meist&r. 
 
 li' was on a fresh lovely afternoon in May, when Lorraine 
 Herbert sat in the railway compartment, with her boy in her 
 lap, looking out dreamily at the flying hedgerows, and counting 
 the milestones as she passed them. 
 
 In another quarter of an hour they would reach Bramfield, 
 where her cousin would be waiting for her on the platform. 
 Lorraine felt as though she were in some dream ; could it be true 
 that those months of misery were over ; that Beaumont Street 
 with its sordid surroundings was already a thing of the past, 
 and that she was entering on another chapter of her strange 
 life history ? 
 
 What a chequered and changeful life hers had been ; those 
 years of girlliood spent in foreign cities, picking up a desultory 
 education — much as the birds pick up their crumbs of sustenance. 
 Now she was learning embroidery and French at a convent, under 
 the tutelage of placid meek-eyed nuns ; or studying German 
 with a stout, placid, little Frau Hofihian, who lived in the flat 
 above them ; or adding up sums, and listening to fragments of 
 Kant's philosophy, from the lips of old Professor Schreiber, who 
 took snufl" and used a huge red handkerchief, and who was 
 exceedingly kind and patient, with ' dem Englishen Miidchen.' 
 It was a desultory and aimless life for a girl to lead ; but it was 
 not without its pleasures. Those summer evenings, for example, 
 when they sat in the park at Brussels, listening to the music of
 
 LORRAINE 17 
 
 the band, while the stars came out above their heads ; or had 
 icea and coffee in the Place, and watched the children dancing 
 under the trees, and she had lunged to dance too. 
 
 Then there were the friends who had been so good to her, 
 the pastor and his wife at Lausanne, and the little French 
 widow, and the Englishman and his tall daughters whom they 
 had met at the pension; but indeed it would have been impossible 
 to enumerate all her friends. Lorraine, who was sociable by 
 nature, had pleasant acquaintances in every town or village that 
 she visited. ' Thou wilt never want for friends, dear child,' an 
 old Quaker lady had once said to her, ' for thy loving nature will 
 draw affection to thee, as the honey in the flower draws the bee.' 
 
 Lorraine always told herself that she had been happier than 
 most girls ; she loved her father dearly, and their free wandering 
 life had suited her. ' When I was a wee child, I always thought 
 I should like to be a gipsy, and live in a caravan,' she would 
 say to her friends; 'but going about with father is just as nice, 
 if we only had a little more money ; but there, it is no use crying 
 for the moon,' she would finish merrily, for she had a light heart, 
 and made the best of everything. To her joyous nature, it was 
 intense pleasure only to be alive and feel the sunshine ; and all 
 tilings, sunshine and rain, hail and snow, winter and summer, 
 and night and day, were to her the good gifts of God, and after a 
 different fashion slie enjoyed them all. 
 
 With her father's death, her bright, unthinking girlhood had 
 come to an end ; but after a time her buoyant nature asserted 
 itself. * I can never be sad long,' she would sometimes say, and, 
 indeed, sadness was at all times foreign to her. It never became 
 habitual, as in some morbid natures. For a time the cruel 
 pressure of circumstances might crush her as a daisy is crushed 
 under foot, but when the footstep has passed on, the daisy raises 
 its liead again, and Lorraine's nature was singularly elastic. 
 
 The one great mistake of her life was marrying Ralph 
 Herbert ; but she was pliant and sympathetic, and his passion 
 had dominated her. lie had given her no peace, and in a weak 
 moment she had yielded to his urgency. ' Only marry me, and 
 you shall never repent it, my darling,' he had said to her. She 
 had married him, and every hour some fresh humiliation, some 
 soul-degrading necessity, made repentance more poignant and 
 bitter. 
 
 Lorraine, who had a sturdy honesty of her own, who would 
 rather have starved than feasted on delicacies for which she was 
 unable to pay, had to stand by and witness her husband's crooked 
 dealings ; it was a wonder that she escaped from his influence 
 
 2
 
 18 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 uucoutamiiiateJ, but he could never bring her round to his views. 
 ' Owe no man anything, but to love one another,' was her creed : 
 and, even in her worst days, she remained loyal to it. 
 
 ' If we cannot afford it, we must go without it, Ralph,' she had 
 said to him about a week after their marriage ; but he had merely 
 laughed, and ordered the shopman to send the goods home. 
 
 ' Don't be such a little goose, Lorrie darling,' he said as she 
 remonstrated, ' every other fellow does it, and of course I shall 
 pay for it when I have painted that picture ' ; but he never did, 
 and by and by she understood him better, and her young heart 
 grew sick within her. 
 
 Lorraine did not quite lose hope. She expected to be a 
 mother ; but her first confinement was a terrible one ; the child, 
 a girl, died, and it was feared that Lorraine would die too, but 
 her constitution triumphed. She got better, and her husband 
 behaved well to her ; and as he was working hard at a large 
 picture, and it was likely to be a success, she had a few months' 
 peace ; then things began to go wrong again, and by and by her 
 little Theodore was born. 
 
 Lorraine had been perfectly frank with her cousin, but in- 
 stinctive generosity made her say as little as possible about her 
 husband's vices. ' My married life was just a gloomy tunnel,' 
 she said to Ellison later on, ' but one could at times see the 
 sunshine. I never quite lost courage, though I sufl'ered horribly 
 at times. I was sorry for Ralph, but he killed the little love I 
 had for him. I came to the conclusion that he was warped in 
 some way, poor fellow, he did not seem to see things as I saw 
 them, and when he did a mean thing, he was never ashamed of 
 it.' But neither then nor afterwards did she enlarge on this 
 dark jjortion of her life, though she would talk for an hour 
 together of those months in Beaumont Street, and of her hardships 
 and struggles. 
 
 'Weariness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the 
 morning,' thought Lorraine, as her glistening eyes rested on the 
 green meadows, where the lambs were frolicking about their 
 woolly mothers. ' How can I ever be grateful enough to my 
 cousin ? ' 
 
 Ellison's fair serious face and quiet blue eyes had seemed 
 almost angelic to her that day as they sat together by the window 
 overlooking the sooty chimney-pots, with Waif and the boy 
 playing at their feet, but there had been no impulsive offer of 
 help at first. 
 
 'You are my cousin, Lorraine, I have no nearer relative, it 
 was right that you should send for me in your trouble ; we must
 
 LORRAINE 19 
 
 see what is to be done,' and then food had been sent for, and when 
 Lorraine had finished her meal, Ellison had placed a five-pound 
 note in her hand, and had promised to come again in a week's 
 time. 
 
 Lorraine tried not to feel disappointed when Ellison had left 
 her — ' She was a dear woman,' she said to herself, ' a ministering 
 angel ; but she wished she had kissed her at parting.' Lorraine, 
 lonely and unnerved, longed to throw her arms round Ellison's 
 neck. ' She is good, she is true, she will not fail me, but she is 
 undemonstrative,' she thought as she took up her work again, but 
 every day she counted the hours until Ellison came again. 
 
 ' I liave thought things over,' observed Ellison, in her quiet 
 leisurely way, as soon as she had seated herself on her second 
 visit ' I live alone, and the house is roomy. Will you come to 
 me, Lorraine, and bring your boy, and make Brae Farm your home V 
 
 * My home ! For always, do you mean ? A home for me and 
 baby boy ? ' And when Ellison said ' Yes,' Lorraine had utterly 
 broken down, and wept passionately. At that moment Ellison 
 felt that she liad done well. 
 
 ' On Wednesday, the sixteenth, I shall expect you,' were her 
 parting words. ' I will wTite all my directions about the journey ; 
 and, Lorraine, if you want any more money for yourself or the 
 boy, I can spare you some.' But Lorraine shook her head. 
 
 ' You have given me plenty. We will not disgrace you, 
 Ellison. I will set about a new frock for my buy at once.' And 
 then a warm kiss had passed between them, lor, with all Ellison's 
 reserve, it was impossible not to thaw undi r Lorraine's loving 
 expressions of gratitude. ' You are my good angel, Ellison ! ' 
 
 ' I would rather be your good friend, Lorraine ; angels are not 
 in my line at all.' And then slie lifted Theodore in her arms, 
 and, as she kissed the thin, pale little face, she suddenly re- 
 membered a baby brother who liad died. Poor wee Willie ! How 
 she had grieved for him ! ' This little fellow will look all the 
 better for country air,' she said kindly ; ' he is not half heavy 
 enough for his age.' And it was then that Lorraine put in a 
 petition for the kitten, to which Ellison had graciously acceded. 
 
 Lorraine's vivid imagination was Uiking a bird's-eye view of lier 
 past life ; but, as the train slackened speed, she was recalled to the 
 present again, and, ] fitting down her boy, she rose and looked 
 eagerly out of the window. 
 
 Yes, there was Ellison, in her closely-fitting blue serge and little 
 black hat, looking as serene and cheerful as ever, with a splendid 
 brown-and-white collie beside her. She nodded and smiled as she 
 met Lorraine's eyes.
 
 20 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' You are in capital time,' she said, as she lifted out Theodore ; 
 ' I have not been waiting more than five minutes. Will you point 
 out your luggage, Lorraine % ' And then they went together to the 
 luggage van. 
 
 ' There are all mine and Tedo's earthly belongings,' observed 
 Lorraine, in a whispered aside to her coiasin, as the porter dragged 
 out a large shabby trunk and a smaller tin box ; but Ellison took 
 no notice of this speech. 
 
 ' Take them up in the cart, Joe,' she observed to a grey-haired 
 groom in undress livery, who was waiting on the platform. And 
 then Lorraine gave up her ticket and they went out of the station. 
 
 There was a small open waggonette standing before the door, 
 with a strong, handsome brown mare in the shafts. Ellison assisted 
 her cousin and lifted in the boy, then she mounted the driving-seat. 
 
 ' Let the mare go and jump in, Daniel ! ' she said to a small 
 apple-cheeked boy in a grey suit ; and Daniel seated himself bash- 
 fully at the extreme edge of the waggonette. For some time 
 Lorraine watched him anxiously ; she felt so sure that he would 
 fall out. But Daniel was used to balancing himself in perilous 
 positions, and he was perpetually clambering in and out of the 
 waggonette to open and shut gates. 
 
 Ellison drove on rapidly ; but now and then she pointed with 
 her whip to some interesting landmark. ' There is Price's Folly,' 
 she said suddenly, when they had passed through three or four 
 open gates, and had driven through some long park-like meadows. 
 ' The Earnshawes live there ; they are very pleasant people — 
 Admiral Earnshawe and his wife ; they have four sous, but they 
 are all abroad. Do you see the house, Lorraine % ' 
 
 Lorraine answered in the affirmative ; she had good eyes, and 
 could well discern the old-fashioned irregular house lying in the 
 wooded hollow. 
 
 ' You never told me how beautiful it was ! ' exclaimed Lorraine 
 in almost an injured voice. But Ellison only laughed. 
 
 ' I wanted you to find out the beauties for yourself ; and I was 
 never good at description. Steady, Mollie, old girl ! It is not 
 nearly tea-time yet, and we are in no hurry. I hope you are not 
 nervous, Lorraine ; Mollie is a little fresh this afternoon.' But 
 Lorraine returned truly that she loved going fast. 
 
 They had left the meadows now, and were driving down lovely 
 wooded lanes. Now and then they passed a comfortable-looking 
 cottage, or a bit of broken land wooded with Scotch fir, larch, and 
 pine ; then came another gate. 
 
 ' This is Highlands,' observed Ellison ; and Lorraine stood up 
 in the waggonette and silently gazed over her cousin's shoulder.
 
 LORRAINE 21 
 
 Below them lay the village — the cottages with their brown 
 roofs and red tilings nestling among grassy slopes and fir woods — 
 a range of low hills closed the horizon, later on they would be 
 purple with heather. On one side the pine woods seemed to climb 
 the hill rathur steeply, and on their left hand were the church and 
 vicarage and another and less sombre wood. A broken common 
 with cattle feeding upon it lay directly before them and seemed to 
 stretch from one eml (jf the village to the other. 
 
 * Do you like it, Lorraine ; is it not a charming view ? I am so 
 fund of our dear little Highlands. Do you see that gate yonder 
 with two or three cottages beside it % Our nearest way to the farm 
 would be through that gate and down Fernleigli Lane ; but if you 
 are not tired we will drive through the Brae Woods, there they 
 are behind the vicarage, you can see the Lodge and the gate from 
 here.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes, do let us go there ! ' exclaimed Lorraine. ' I have 
 never seen a village like this in England — it looks like an earthly 
 paradise. Oh, how good people ought to be who live here.' 
 
 ' People are much the same everywhere,' returned Ellison prosaic- 
 ally. ' Human nature has its faults in Highlands as well as 
 Camden Town.' Then, as Lorraine shivered slightly as though a 
 cold wind had suddenly passed over her, Daniel opened the gate 
 and Ellison drove slowly up the steep broken path, talking all the 
 time. ' Strangers are always rather surprised when tliey first see 
 Highlands,' she remarked. * One or two have asked me where the 
 village really is, because they can see only a few scattered houses, 
 but in reality there are thirty or forty cottages, and we have at 
 least nine or ton good private houses within two miles of the 
 church, though Brae House and Rodlands carry off the palm ; and 
 there are two or three comfortable farmhouses besides — in fact, 
 Highlands is an e.xceptionally favoured little place.' 
 
 'It must be very hcaltiiy.' 
 
 * Yes, indeed ; nml however hot the summer is we have always 
 a breeze. As nothing is ever perfect in this life, I am bound to 
 tell you that in the late autumn we occasionally get a good deal o( 
 mist, for the place is high and catches the clouds ; but often High- 
 lands is in sunshine when the weald below is in fog. Tliere, I 
 will pull up a moment and you can just look down what I suppose 
 I must call the main street — though street properly there is none. 
 There is Brattle's our Universal Provider, the Whiteloy of High- 
 lands ; that white cottage with the red double-peaked roof belongs 
 to Drake the blacksmith. Mrs. Drake is a great friend of mine, I 
 will tell you about her by and by ; it is a good-sized cottage and 
 they let lodgings. Just below is the Waggon and Horses, our one
 
 22 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 iun, and then comes our cobbler, and a few mere cottages. The 
 door of the Waggon and Horses and those white palings before the 
 forge are the favourite resorts of the rustic youth of Highlands, 
 and on Sunday afternoons you may see them thick as crows lining 
 the i)alings ; they do absolutely nothing as far as I know, neither 
 talk nor smoke ; but they look perfectly happy.' 
 
 'And you have lived in this lovely place all your life, Ellison !' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear ; and one day I hope to be buried in that pretty 
 churchyard. Ah, I see baby boy is asleep, and I must drive on ; 
 but there seems so much to show you ; there is our institute, 
 Lorraine, the iron room standing alone ; now we are going to turn 
 into the Brae Woods. An old servant of my father's lives at the 
 lodge — my cousin Colonel Trevor gave her the place.' 
 
 Lorraine uttered a little cry of irrepressible delight at the sight 
 of the charming woodland road, that wound through the chase, 
 bordered with spruce firs and other coniferous and ornamental trees 
 and shrubs. Clumps of rhododendrons were here and there, then 
 came a group of cedars, every now and then there were snug copses 
 and a view of tangled undergrowth ; the right side was closed in 
 by the same range of hills that bounded the village ; but on the 
 left there were winding walks, sedulously cultivated, leading to a 
 broad expanse of open meadowland. 
 
 ' That is Brae House, through those iron gates we are passing,' 
 observed Ellison. ' I think I told you about my cousins the 
 Trevors of Brae ; all this part of Highlands belongs to my cousin 
 Colonel Trevor. Brae Farm was always the property of one 
 branch of the family, and is now in my possession ; you cannot see 
 it just yet, the trees hide it, but in a moment we shall come to it' 
 
 But Lorraine did not answer her, she leaned back in her seat 
 almost wearily, and pressed her sleeping boy closer to her breast ; 
 in her grateful heart she was saying to herself, 'He had "led me 
 by paths that I have not known." Theo, my precious baby, to think 
 that this is to be our home.'
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 'good rest' 
 
 ' A creature not too Lriglit or good 
 For liuiiiau nature's daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kLsses, tears, and smiles.' 
 
 WOKDSWOKTH. 
 
 •Welcome home, Lorraine,' and Ellison's warm friendly gra.5p 
 seemed to accentuate her words. The kisses and smooth caresses 
 of other women never came readily to her ; she often said herself 
 that she preferred as little demonstration as possible. 'There is so 
 much in a hand-shake,' she would add ; ' there is nothing more 
 characteristic, a warm heart and a cold, loose shake of the hand so 
 seldom go together.' Thei-e was no lack of feeling in Ellison's 
 firm pressure of her cousin's hand, and a great deal of kindness iu 
 her voice, as she said simjdy, ' I will do my best to make you 
 happy, dear ; and I am sure that when we know each other better 
 that we shall be good friends.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' returned Lorraine in a low voice, but her lips 
 trembled and she could say no more ; she instinctively felt that 
 any emotional speech would jar on Ellison. Iler own heart-beats 
 warned her that she was growing agitated, so she walked to the 
 window and looked out for a moment, until she had swallowed the 
 lump in her throat and the dimness had passed from her eyes, then 
 she said quietly, ' What a dear room, Ellison ! ' 
 
 ' So every one says ; but I am glad you like it. Look, that is 
 your corner, Lorraine, and there is where I always sit in the even- 
 ing. I am a regular old maid, and am terribly conservative in my 
 habits. Kow shall we go upstairs, and I will show you your room 
 and Theodore's nursery — his playroom, I mean,' as Lorraine looked 
 at her a little anxiously ; 'a child wants a room where ho can keep
 
 24 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 his toys and make a mess. I thought when he got older we could 
 put him a little bed in there.' 
 
 ' You think of everything,' returned Lorraine gratefully ; and 
 then they passed through one of the red-baized doors, and up a 
 broad, low staircase with quaintly carved balustrades, the landing- 
 place being furnished with another dark oak chest and some fine 
 blue dragon china. The bedrooms opened on a wide airy passage, 
 but what at once arrested Lorraine's attention was an illuminated 
 name over every door. Ellison paused as she noticed her cousin's 
 surprise. 
 
 ' All our rooms have names ; it is an old custom at Brae Farm, 
 and I have grown fond of it. " Good rest," that is your room, 
 Lorraine ; mine has always been " Peace," the spare room " Hospi- 
 tality." The servants have some of the cardinal virtues inscribed 
 over their doors : "Charity," "Prudence," "Content," "Cheerful- 
 ness." I was rather at a loss how to christen the nursery, but I have 
 called it the "Dovecote," because the doves have a habit of sitting 
 on that particular window-sill ; they have taken a fancy to it, and 
 there is no good trying to drive them away. You can alter the 
 name if you like, Lorraine ; remember, my dear,' laying her hand 
 on her cousin's arm impressively, 'you are absolutely mistress of 
 these two rooms — you can change any arrangement that does not 
 suit you without referring to me at all.' 
 
 ' There is no fear of my wanting to change anything,' returned 
 Lorraine impulsively, as she looked round the cheerful room. All 
 the furniture at the Brae Farm was old - fashioned. Lorraine's 
 wardrobe, chest of drawers, and washstand were all of dark Spanish 
 mahogany, and the dressing-table was covered with spotted muslin 
 in the style of twenty years ago ; only the brass bedstead and the 
 cot beside it were recent purchases. But it was a charming room, 
 nevertheless : a wide bay-window overlooked the lawn and the 
 meadows, with a side glimpse of the granary and straw-stacks \ an 
 easy chair and a writing-table stood within the bay. ' Good rest,' 
 how well the name suited it, and again the young widow's heart 
 swelled almost painfully within her. 
 
 Theodore had been sleeping heavily in his mother's arms all this 
 time, but at this moment he woke up and, rubbing his eyes, began 
 clamouring for his tea. 
 
 ' Bread and butter, mammie,' he said fretfully, taking hold of 
 his mother's chin to get her attention. ' Boy vants his tea.' 
 
 ' Yes, Tedo, darling ; but you must see your playroom first. 
 May I take him in, Ellison ?' 
 
 The ' Dovecote ' was flooded with the afternoon sunshine as 
 they entered it, and through the open window the cooing of the
 
 'GOOD REST' 26 
 
 doves was distinctly audible. It was a small room, but Ellison 
 had taken great pains to fit it up for a child's use ; there was a low 
 table and diair, a hi},'li guard, a toy-cupboard with a box of bricks 
 already on tlie shell', and a wooden hor^e, at the Kiyht of which 
 Tedo burst into a perfect shout of delight. 
 
 * See mine horse ! ' he exclaimed, trotting up to it at once, and in 
 a moment he was astride it and almost beside himself with joy ; 
 ' mine beauty horse. P>oy's very own,' he kept saying over and 
 over again. 
 
 ' Tedo, my sweet, yiu must ki.s> Cousin Ellison, and thank her 
 for all these beautiful tilings.' But Tedo shook his head, and 
 only gee-geed louder. He had not opened his baby heart yet to 
 Ellison ; to Tedo the world consisted of his mother and himself 
 and Waif — poor Waif, who was just then mewing piteously in his 
 hamper. 
 
 •No, don't force him,' replied Ellison, who was far too sensible 
 to be woimded by a child's repulse. ' Dorcas will bring you some 
 warm water, Lorraine ; and when you and Tedo are ready you will 
 find tea ready too. We shall have it in the dining-room this 
 evening on account of Tedo. By the bye, I forgot to tell you, 
 Dorcas, that rosy-cheeked little damsel who brought me my letters 
 is the one to wait on you and Tedo ; Ruth is my private attendant. 
 I tell you these little things, LoiTaine, that you may feel yourself 
 at home' ; and then she nodded and with<lrew. 
 
 IIow Lorraine longed for a quiet half-hour just to adjust her 
 confused thoughts and to take stock, as it were, of this new strange 
 feeling of happiness ; but Tedo was tired and hungry, so she made 
 haste to get rid of the du;;t, and then carried him downstairs, and a 
 few minutes later he was sitting in his high chair between his 
 mother and Ellison, eating bread and jam with great gusto. 
 
 ' I hope we shall not put you out of yuur usual habits,' observed 
 Lorraine, as she looked across the liberally spreail tea-table at her 
 cousin. The different sorts of bread, the cakes, and preserves 
 filled her with amazement ; there were new-laid eggs, too, and 
 some slices of delicate pink ham. Never had Lorraine tasted such 
 cream, and such butter, but she was extremely hungry, and did 
 justice to the various delicacies. 
 
 * I thought you woidd like a square meal after your journey,' 
 replied Ellison ; ' but our five o'clock tea is generally in the 
 sitting-room, and is quite a movable feast ; at Brae Farm we have 
 it at all hours. When Tedo gets more used to us,' she went on, 
 'Dorcas shall give him his tea in here. It is not my habit to 
 dine late, Lorraine ; I always make my dinner at luncheon ; but 
 we have supper at eight, and prayers at a quarter to ten. We are
 
 26 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 early risers here, and breakfast is always served at eight. When 
 we are alone, I should think Tedo might have his breakfast and 
 dinner with us.' 
 
 'That is for you to decide, Ellison. I want to meet your 
 wishes in everything.' 
 
 ' But you would like Tedo with us as much as possible,' returned 
 Ellison, smiling kindly at her ; and again the troublesome tears 
 rushed to Lorraine's eyes. 
 
 ' He has never been away from me a single hour since he was 
 born — have you, my bonnie boy ? ' and she kissed his fair curls 
 passionately. Tedo was not a pretty child, except to his mother's 
 eyes ; he was pale and thin, and there was a solenmity about him 
 that was almost unchildlike ; but he had Lorraine's soft brown 
 eyes, and when he smiled or roused into animation he was a most 
 engaging little creature ; but in Beaumont Street he had certainly 
 failed to thrive. 
 
 ' He is very like you, Lorraine ; but his hair is lighter.' 
 
 'So was mine when I was a tiny child,' returned Lorraine 
 eagerly. ' Tedo's hair has begun to darken ; he is not like Ralph, 
 except in the shape of the mouth. Ealph had a good mouth, 
 though his moustache hid it.' 
 
 Tedo was growing decidedly sleepy after his tea, so Lorraine 
 suggested that she should put him to bed and unpack her things, 
 and Ellison assented to this so promptly that Lorraine for one 
 moment felt^ as though her absence would be a relief to her cousin ; 
 but she dismissed this thought as quickly as it came, and was soon 
 hard at work, settling her few belongings in the spacious wardrobe. 
 But here a pleasant surprise awaited her, for she discovered a 
 dressing-gown in two soft shades of grey hanging from one of the 
 pegs, and on the toilet-table were some ivory brushes. Ellison, 
 who knew her cousin's scanty resources, and whose own belongings 
 would not have disgraced any tine lady, had provided a few neces- 
 sary articles for Ellison's use. 
 
 ' I thought you would not be offended,' she observed, blushing 
 slightly as Lorraine thanked her gratefully. 'Those brushes were 
 lying in my wardrobe unused, but I got the dressing-gown in 
 town. You must let me treat you as though you were my sister. 
 I do not pretend to be rich, but I have more than I need. I want 
 to make you a good allowance for your dress, and you shall repay 
 me if you like by helping me with my sewing, or,' smilingly, 
 ' there is the poultry-yard, you might take that oflf my hands ,• but 
 all this is for future consideration at present. I only want you to 
 be happy and amuse yourself.' 
 
 ' I should not be happy unless you allowed me to help you,'
 
 'GOOD REST' 27 
 
 returned Lorraine gravely ; ' in saying this, you have taken a loatl 
 from me. I was so afraid when I entered the house and saw all 
 those servants that there would be nothing for me to do.' 
 
 ' All those Servants,' laughed Ellison ; ' you could not have 
 counted more than four. That tall stout woman was Sarah Tucker, 
 my factotum and cook. Mi*s. Tucker is a widow, and has lived at 
 ]Jrae Farm ever since she lost her husband, twenty-two years ago ; 
 she is a good-looking woman, and when she is in one of her 
 tantrums she always ilcclarcs she will marry Job Masters, one of 
 our carters, but I never believe her. I would rather jtart with my 
 right hand than Sarah ; she is simply invaluable. I always put 
 her into good humour by telling her I should forbid the banns.' 
 
 ' But there are three others,' observed Lorraine, 
 
 ' Yes. Eunice, the dairymaid, and Dorcas and Ruth. Ruth is 
 a very superior young woman ; she is parlour-maid and ladies'- 
 maid, not that I need much of her help ; did you notice her, Lor- 
 raine ? an interesting-looking girl with fine hazel eyes. Ruth is 
 terribly good-luoking, and I am afraid my baililV, Sam Brattle, 
 thinks so.' 
 
 Ellison went on chatting cheerfully about her household as they 
 sat together in the twilight after supper ; she had noticed the sup- 
 pressed wistful look in Lorraine's eyes, and guessed intuitively that 
 she needed the relief of exp)ression. 'She is longing to pour out 
 her heart to me,' she said to herself. 'Lorraine is terribly emotional, 
 but to-night it is safer to talk on commonplaces ; when she has 
 had a night's sleep she will realise her position more soberly. How 
 strange,' she continued musingly. 
 
 ' She is thirty, a widow, and a mother, and has lived through 
 the whole gamut of a woman's experience, and beside her I am 
 only a big ignorant child — and yet, wliile I take even this change 
 in my domestic routine calmly, Lorraine's brown eyes seemed as 
 though they were looking into a magnificent fairyland. She is on 
 the verge of tears every moment from sheer happiness, but she has 
 the self-control not to shed them. I shall help her best, and 
 myself too, by talking about trifles ; she is far too tired to-night to 
 launch into any painful experiences.' 
 
 Some one has justly said that we can only act truly if we act 
 according to our own nature, but for once Ellison's calm wisdom 
 was at fault. If Lorraine could have put down her head on her 
 cousin's shoulder and told her how she felt she would not have 
 shed those hysterical tears later on in her own room. No two 
 natures were ever more dissimilar. Ellison, in spite of her good- 
 ness, was self-centred, and in an ordinary way could live without 
 sympathy ; her affections were strong and tenacious ; change was
 
 28 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 impossible to her, and she was extremely loyal to those she loved, 
 but the objects of her love were few. 
 
 'A compliment from Ellison is worth a dozen from ordinary 
 people,' her father had once said ; ' if my girl praises a thing she 
 means it. He is a lucky fellow who gets her for a wife ; he may 
 take my word for it that he will never repent his bargain.' 
 
 Lorraine's nature was a very different one. As a mere child 
 she would tell people that she had a big heart, and that she loved 
 everybody. One day, when she was still in short frocks, her gover- 
 ness, Madame Perier — for she and her father were then living in 
 Paris — found her crying over her physical geography. ' Why dost 
 thou weep, mon enfant ? ' asked Madame tenderly ; ' is it that thy 
 task is too difficult ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no, Madame,' sobbed the child, ' but I was thinking of all 
 the millions and millions of people in the world,' and here she 
 quoted the exact statistics ; ' how is one to pray for them all ? ' 
 
 'Ma petite, it is not possible.' Madame was a devout Catholic, 
 but this odd remark puzzled her, for who can fathom a child's 
 mind ? 
 
 ' Oh yes, it is,' returned Lorraine pettishly, ' and in a way one 
 does it in church, you know. Jews, Turks, infidels, all sorts and 
 conditions of men — that includes Chinamen, Indians, and all the 
 poor blacks. Is it not wonderful, Madame, to think what a lot of 
 people we shall have to love in heaven ? it quite tires me to think 
 of it.' 
 
 "When Lorraine grew up, her heart seemed to grow bigger too. 
 Altruism was a passion with her — she was intensely human ; her 
 sympathies grew wider and more discriminating, and her own 
 troubles only taught her to feel for other women whose lives were 
 apparently failures. Those years of intercourse with a worthless 
 and degraded mind had happily not contaminated her. It was as 
 though she had possessed some secret specific that was an antidote 
 to all poisonous suggestions ; the moral leprosy of her husband's 
 nature only filled her with pity. ' Ralph was not good,' she would 
 say to herself, but she was sure that others were more to blame 
 than he ; he had not had his chance, poor fellow, for she had 
 bewildered her woman's brains over the mysterious question of 
 heredity ; but in one sense it comforted her, for she had made up 
 her rnind that Ralph's ancestors weie to blame for his vices. 
 
 If Lorraine, when she grew up and knew the world better, 
 found it impossible to love everybody, her desire to help and 
 comfort her fellow-sufferers had only grown more intense. 
 
 She had never had it in her power to give money, not having 
 sufficient for her own needs ; but she gave largely of her time and
 
 • GOOD REST 29 
 
 Btrcngth ; and would think nothing of sitting up whole nights with 
 a sick child to relieve the worn-out mother. 
 
 In Beuuniont Street she had always begun her day by dressing 
 the ulcerous leg of an old woman who lived in the basement, and 
 whose rheumatic hands could not have performed the task ; and 
 before she left she never rested until Patty Gill, a young woman 
 living in the same house, promised to do the same kindly oflice. 
 
 No one but Ellison would have made that practical suggestion 
 about the sewing and the poultry -yard on the first day of her 
 cousin's arrival, but she had done so out of sheer kindness of heart, 
 and Lorraine had been deejjly grateful. 
 
 The one drawback to her happiness had been the fear that she 
 would merely be the recipient of her cousin's bounty, and that 
 there would be no work for her at Brae Farm, If Ellison would 
 not let her help her as one sister helps another, she would not eat 
 her bread with perfect enjoyment ; but at the mention of the 
 sewing and poultry-yard she had smiled blissfully. 
 
 All would be well with her indeed ! With two or three 
 hundred human beings in whom she could interest herself, there 
 was no fear that she would not find work. Highlands, although 
 it was an earthly paradise, would have its discontented Adams and 
 sorely- tempted Eves — human nature and human needs were the 
 same everywhere. Where man plants his foot the seed of sorrow 
 springs up in his path ; where the woman dwells there is often 
 the trail of the serpent to be seen ; no earthly lot is exempt from 
 care and the need of sympathy. Lorraine, who was essentially a 
 ministering woman, would find her work cut out for her in Uigh- 
 iands, though there was little poverty and no want, and the 
 landlords were generous and wisely tolerant of small offences. 
 
 And so, though her tired nerves needed the relief of tears, 
 Lorraine lay down to sleep by her boy's side, a happy and grateful 
 woman ; and Ellison, lying with wide-open eyes in her pleasant 
 chamber of Peace, felt that quiet contentment that comes from a 
 satisfied conscience, and from the memory of a good deed done in 
 a right spirit. She then full asleep sweetly, and dreamt that she 
 was walking with Gavin in the Brae Woods, and then woke to the 
 sunshine and singing of birds.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 TEDO MAKES A NEW FRIEND 
 
 ' The cattle are grazing, 
 Their heads never raising ; 
 There are forty feeding like one ! ' 
 
 WOBDSWOETH. 
 
 ' But all things else about her drawn 
 From May-time and the cheerful da^vn.' 
 
 WORDSWOKTU. 
 
 Lorraine was awake early the next morning. How was she to 
 sleep when Tedo was sitting half-erect in his cot staring at her 
 reproachfully, and muttering to himself in discontented murmurs ; 
 but he smiled sweetly when she opened her eyes. 
 
 'Boy vants his socks, mammie,' he said, climbing over her 
 bodily. ' Boy hears the coo-coos, and vants to see them ' — in fact, 
 there was no end to Boy's wants. He was so excited that Lorraine 
 could hardly dress him, and the moment he could escape from his 
 mother's hands he trotted into his playroom to the beloved horse, 
 whUe the doves stared at him with their round yellow eyes, and 
 bowed and cooed to each other in their dove dialect until Waif 
 jumped up on the window-seat, and then with a rustle and a flutter 
 of their soft grey wings they fled to the granary roof, where the 
 pigeons were already sitting in rows. 
 
 Lorraine sat down by her open window in a perfect ecstasy at 
 the sweet feast nature had spread for her delectation. In the 
 garden below the white balls of the guelder roses looked like flakes 
 of snow in the early morning sunlight, the laburnum fluttered long 
 golden fingers, and the lilac perfumed the air. Pink and white 
 may trees added their fragrance, and just at the end of the garden 
 a fine horse-chestnut with pink blossoms stood alone like a stately 
 sentineL In the borders below her window she could see the 
 gleaming white narcissus against a background of dark, richly-
 
 TEDO MAKES A NEW FRIEND 81 
 
 coloured wall-llowei-s, while the star-shaped beds of purple and 
 yellow pivnsies on the lawn brought back the recollection that in 
 her childhood the pansy had been her favourite flower, and that she 
 had once told her fiither so. How well she recalled his answer — 
 
 * Of course, Lorrie ; they are your nearest of kin — you are a 
 heart's-ease yourself,' and after that he often called her ' his little 
 human heart's-case.' 
 
 In the dewy meadows the cows were feeding, and over every- 
 thing lay that indescribable freshness and sweetness of a perfect 
 spring morning that is just melting into summer, when nature is 
 at her zenith. Later on the grass would be burnt brown, the 
 hedgerows and trees would lose those wonderful young tints of 
 exquisite green that make a spring landscape so enhancing. The 
 painting of autumn with all its red and russet glories bears the 
 stamp of irrepressible melancholy ; the frosty fingers with which 
 approaching winter touches the oaks and beeches may give new 
 colouring to the scene, but it breathes of decay and death. 
 
 Sj-ring wears the girdle of hope ; nature then speaks only of 
 youth and progress, and of the struggle for life. The earth is 
 teeming with young life ; everywhere the fresh shoots are sprout- 
 ing, the strong sap is flowing freely, the footsteps of the Creator 
 seem as though they were passing visibly over the garden of the 
 earth, and divine lips still pronounce the approving verdict, ' and 
 behold it is very good.' 
 
 Lorraine could have sat there contentedly for hours. The seat 
 she had chosen commanded a view of the gate and the approach to 
 the fai-myard, and by leaning forward a little she could even see the 
 great black sow and her litter of pigs rooting in the clean dry straw. 
 Every moment there were fresh sights to interest her ; now a 
 flock of snow-white geese came out of the farmyard with out- 
 stretched necks and garrulous hissing on their way to the big pond, 
 a score of ducks waddled after them, and presently two cart-horses 
 with a boy astride one of tliem clattered noisily down the lane ; 
 the boy had a spray of may-blossoms in his cap, and was whistling 
 ' Nannie, wilt tliou gang wi' me ' ; a dog was barking at the 
 horse's heel ; all at once the farmyard seemed alive with sounds — 
 cocks crowed, the jiigeons and dovea cooed, the lowing of imprisoned 
 calves and the far-off bleat of lambs seemed to blend with the 
 neighing of a young horse making overtures to liis neighbours, one 
 or two villagers on their way to the dairy passed and rcpas.«ed with 
 their great yellow jugs, chattering busily to each other; Lorraine 
 looked at their fresh plump faces and thought of the worn, pale 
 women in Beaumont Street and sighed. 
 
 The pray-bell roused her at last, and as she carried Tedo down,
 
 32 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 the maids were already filing into the dining-room. Ellison merely 
 nodded to her cousin with a friendly smile, and Lorraine seated 
 herself silently. 
 
 The maids were just opposite to her, and as Ellison read the 
 allotted portion Lorraine's eyes wandered now and then to the 
 striking face of the tall parlour-maid. 
 
 The girl was singularly handsome after a most uncommon type 
 — the pure Greek contour recalled the head of Clytie ; the brown 
 hair lay in natural waves upon the forehead, and the eyes, of a 
 warm hazel, were certainly beautifuL Dorcas's pretty rustic face 
 looked quite ordinary beside Ruth's. The girl was too handsome 
 certainly for her sphere in life. 
 
 When the servants had left the room, Ellison turned to her 
 cousin : ' Well, Lorraine, have you and Tedo slept well ? You 
 have a rested look.' 
 
 'Oh yes, .thank you,' replied Lorraine brightly; 'but I have 
 been up for hours ! Tedo is an early riser. Dorcas brought me 
 some delicious tea and bread and butter and some milk for Boy, 
 and I have been sitting at my window very happily, it was so 
 peaceful and beautiful ; for a time the birds seemed to have it all 
 to themselves, then the farmyard seemed to wake up. I could not 
 help thinking what a contrast it was to Beaumont Street.' 
 
 ' I want you to forget Beaumont Street for a little,' returned 
 Ellison kindly. ' You have seen too much already of the sad side 
 of life. We must show you a brighter side when we have finished 
 breakfast. You must see the kitchen and dairy, and my still-room. 
 You have no idea of the spacious territory that lies behind the red- 
 baized door. We had outgrown the dairy, so father built a new 
 one, and turned the old one into an apple-room. Please do not 
 feed Bairn, Lorraine ; it gets him into bad habits, and I always 
 feed him myself. By the bye, should you like a dog of your own ? 
 Colonel Trevor has some retriever puppies ; ^two of them are very 
 handsome little fellows, and you could have your choice.' 
 
 ' I never had a dog of my own in my life,' returned Lorraine — 
 and her eyes sparkled with delight — ' and I do so love them. Tedo 
 would be charmed with a puppy ; but are you sure that it would 
 not be a trouble to you V 
 
 ' Not in the least — and Daniel can look after it. It must sleep 
 in the stable — and live there too until it is older, and has left off 
 making meals of the legs of chairs ; but you can always take it out 
 with you. By the bye, there is a kid in the stables that will 
 delight Tedo.' 
 
 ' Tedo has been playing with his horse ever since I dressed him,' 
 replied Lorraine ; and so they chatted on happily until they had
 
 TEDO MAKES A NEW FRIEND 33 
 
 finished breakfast, and then Ellison took up her key basket and led 
 the way to the back oifices of Brae Farm. 
 
 Ellison felt a pardonable pride in her kitchen ; it was an 
 immense room with two large windows looking out on the kitchen- 
 garden and rows of bee-hives. There were oak presses against the 
 walls ; the oven looked large enouj,'h to bake brea<l fur the village ; 
 one could see one's own face rellccted in the gleaming brass and 
 pewter ; while the huge fireplace, the freshly -scoured tables and 
 big elbow-chairs, and the window-seat wiih its serge-covered 
 cushions, gave it an air of comfort. 
 
 Lorraine was shown the small inner room where Ruth and 
 Dorcas sjit at their needlework with a pleasant view of the orchard ; 
 and the still-room with its oak cupboards and quaintly carved 
 presses, and l)undle8 of sweetly-smelling herbs dangling from the 
 ceiling. 
 
 When Ellison unlocked the press and showed her store of linen, 
 scented with lavender, and her grocery cupboard and jam cupboard, 
 and her stock of drugs, Lorraine's eyes opened widely and she 
 looked at her cousin with mute reverence. 
 
 The young chatelaine might be forgiven for the egotism that 
 prompted her to point out her little contrivances for her neighboui-s' 
 benefit. 
 
 ' Poor people are so thoughtless,' she said ; * they never have 
 anything ready for an emergency. If an accident happen!^, or any 
 Budden illness, they always send up to Brae Farm for what they 
 want. You see that store of lint and rcjidy-made bandages, and 
 clean soft rags ; there is constant demand for them. I have bound 
 up a broken head already <his morning, and I expect my carter, 
 Job, round soon ; he has hurt his arm. They generally come to 
 me to be doctored — not that I know much about it, but 1 have 
 taught myself to be useful.' 
 
 ' You are a happier woman than I thought, Ellison,' replied 
 Lorraine with gentle gravity. But Ellison only smiled, and opened 
 a deep drawer where she kept a stock of ready-made clothing. 
 
 'When Ruth and Dorcas have nothing else to do they work 
 for the poor of South Lontlon. I generally send olf a parcel once 
 or twice a year. We do not often work for the village, as there is 
 little real poverty auiongst us. Now I mu.st show you the scullery 
 and wash-house just across the yard ; you can see the new buildings 
 — I call them new, though they are fifteen years old. This is the 
 laundry ; we wash everything at home, and Tabby Bates from the 
 village helps us three days a week ; she does most of the ironing. 
 Now we will go into the dairy — mind that step, Lorraine, Ah, 
 Eunice, I see you are hard at work making up the butter.' 
 
 3
 
 34 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Lorraine looked round her in silent admiration. This was 
 indeed an ideal dairy, the snow-white shelves with the great pans 
 of rich yellow cream, the windows looking full upon the green 
 orchard. Eunice, a fresh, comely-looking young woman, in her 
 pink print dress and white bib apron, was kneading the firm yellow 
 butter into smooth tempting rolls. She glanced at Lorraine as 
 they entered, for all the servants were a little curious about the 
 new inmate ; but she did not pause in her work ; she was a reliable 
 and invaluable servant, and Lorraine often called her and Sarah 
 Tucker her right and left hands. Tedo was growing weary and 
 ready for his mid-day nap, so he was deposited on the couch in the 
 sitting-room, and then, while Ellison gave her orders and attended 
 to Job's injured arm, Lorraine wandered about the garden and 
 orchard, and then made an exhaustive survey of the farm-building, 
 talking to every one she encountered, and petting all the animals, 
 until Ellison was ready to explain the poultry-yard to her, and to 
 coach her in her new duties. The morning passed rapidly, and 
 both of them were genuinely surprised when the gong summoned 
 them in for luncheon. 
 
 ' What shall you do with yourself this afternoon?' asked Ellison, 
 as they sat at the table together. ' I meant to have taken you and 
 Tedo for a drive, but Sam Brattle wants me to meet him in the 
 big meadow ; he is full of the new fencing, and after that I have 
 promised to sit with old Mrs. Langton, as her companion is away. 
 I am a very busy person, as you will soon find out for yourself ; 
 evening is generally my only leisure time.' 
 
 ' I mean to be busy too,' returned Lorraine quickly. ' Please 
 do not waste a thought on me, Ellison. Boy and I are always 
 happy together. I shall take him out, I think. I want to cross 
 that long meadow ; there seems a wood beyond.' 
 
 ' Of course, the Brae Woods ! We drove through them yester- 
 day ; it is a pleasant walk, but too far for Tedo. I wish Jock — 
 the kid, I mean — were old enough to draw a little carriage. I 
 think I shall get a donkey for him. I have often thought a strong 
 young donkey would be extremely useful.' 
 
 ' You must do nothing of the kind, Ellison,' returned Lorraine, 
 quite shocked at the notion of such extravagance. ' I am used to 
 carrying Tedo, and he really walks very nicely now ; he will be as 
 happy as a king picking daisies and buttercups ; he has never 
 seen any, and I shall be happier tlian any queen watching him. 
 Come, my king of all the world,' lifting her boy as she spoke, 
 *we are going to pick up gold and silver on Nature's Tom 
 Tiddler's ground.' 
 
 ' She is very graceful,' thought Ellison, as she watched her
 
 TEDO MAKES A NEW ERIEND 35 
 
 cousin from the window, ' she holds her head well, and walks so 
 lightly. She is interesting, too, and I think people will take to 
 her. I know what Gavin will say : that she is such a lady, and 
 he will like her natural frank manner. She is much happier 
 this morning, only every now and then I see the shadow of 
 Beaumont Street in her eyes. Well, she has one Messing — 
 her child. Lota are more equal than people allow, but I would 
 not exchange with her. I have never wanted to change places 
 with any one.' 
 
 Lorraine found that it was no easy matter to cross that long 
 park-like meadow that lay between them and the wood that she 
 was longing to reach. Vainly she tried to carry Tedo ; the little 
 fellow only struggled to get down. ' Boy wants anover f 'ower, 
 maramie ; one yelluw one, one pinky one'; this was his repeated 
 cry, until Lorraine lost all patience at last, and bore him off 
 relentlessly. 
 
 'You shall pick as many flowers as you like, darling, when we 
 reach those trees,' and she would not set him down until they were 
 actually in the Brae Woods. 
 
 How lovely and peaceful they looked in the afternoon light. 
 There was no one in sight, she and Tedo and the birds had it to 
 themselves. They sat down under the cedars to rest themselves, 
 then followed slowly the windings of the woodland walk. Tedo's 
 hands were full of weeds that he was perpetually dropping ; his 
 constant refrain of ' Anover f 'ower, mammie,' sounded like a far-off 
 refrain to her thoughts, and she seemed to hear it in a dream. 
 They had reached the gate and the lodge before Lorraine bethought 
 herself that they had come some distance, and that baby boy 
 would be tired. 
 
 The sound of a horse's hoof broke on her ear at this moment 
 A gentleman was riding towards them from the village ; he was 
 unattended by any groom, and as he reached the gate he looked 
 at the closed door of the lodge, and seemed about to dismount ; 
 but Lorraine, who had her boy firmly by the hand, sprang forward, 
 and, unlatching the gate, held it ojien fur the rider. 
 
 The gentleman raised his hat and thanked her courteously ; 
 then he looked at her and the boy keenly as he walked his horse 
 through the gateway. 
 
 Lorraine had no idea that this was the owner of Brae Woods, 
 thougli Colonel Trevor guessed in a moment that the young widow 
 was Ellison's cousin. Lorraine, who was still in a sort of dream, 
 only noticed that the man had a brown, thin face, and that he was 
 ratlier distinguished-looking. 
 
 People always said this of the colonel, in spite of his leannesc
 
 36 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 and brown skiii ; he had a fine soldierly presence, and looked 
 especially well on horseback ; but Lorraine would not have looked 
 at him a second time, only Tedo just then broke suddenly from 
 her grasp. 
 
 ' Me wants to vide too, mammie ! ' he exclaimed, kicking 
 violently as she caught hold of him. ' Boy wants to vide.' 
 
 ' Put him up on my saddle, and I will hold him quite safely,' 
 returned the stranger, much to Lorraine's surprise. ' He looks 
 tired, and it is a good step to the Brae Farm.' 
 
 ' Oh no, I could not think of troubling you ; my boy is not 
 heavy, I can easily carry him ! ' Lorraine was a trifle confused by 
 this friendly overture from a perfect stranger ; with all her frank- 
 ness and lack of conventionality she could be dignified with the 
 other sex. 
 
 Colonel Trevor smiled pleasantly. ' 1 think you had better let 
 me have him, Mrs. Herbert,' and as Lorraine looked still more 
 surprised at hearing her own name, he continued with an amused 
 twinkle of his eyes, ' I see you have not identified me yet ; my 
 name is Trevor — Colonel Trevor. I live at Brae House. I 
 knew that my cousin Ellison was expecting a visitor from 
 London, and so I imagined at once that you were the person in 
 question.' 
 
 ' How strange ; and I never guessed you were Colonel Trevor,' 
 returned Lorraine, in a surprised tone. ' I was very dense and 
 stupid. Are you sure that my boy will not trouble you ? ' and as 
 he shook his head with another smile, she lifted Tedo up, to the 
 boy's irrepressible delight. The flowers were all dropped now, and 
 Tedo was shaking the reins and shouting into the mare's dainty ears, 
 rather to Miss Alice's disgust. Lorraine tried not to feel alarmed 
 as the mare curvetted a little ; but her face was so expressive that 
 Colonel Trevor restrained his mare. Boy's viding, mammie ; look 
 how boy vides ! ' exclaimed Tedo, waving his little hand. Lor- 
 raine could have covered him with kisses; the little, pale, ordinary 
 child, as Colonel Trevor mentally appraised him, was in her eyes 
 the very prince and pearl among children. Lorraine's cheeks 
 flushed, the deep, still light of a mother's love came into her brown 
 eyes as she looked up to him. 
 
 'Yes, I see you, my darling; you are very happy.' Simple 
 words, but how eloquent were the fond low tones. Why did 
 Colonel Trevor suddenly a-sk himself if Helen would have loved 
 her boy in that fashion? It was an odd thought, but it gave him 
 a sudden twinge ; time had mercifully drawn the edges of his 
 wound together, and it had begun to heal, only now and then a 
 chance word reopened the old sore.
 
 TEDO MAKES A NEW FRIEND 37 
 
 ' It is too soon to ask you how you like the place,' he 
 observed, trying to rouse from his abstraction ; ' but I think you 
 will find Brae Farm a very comfortable home. My cousin Ellison 
 is an excellent manager; her household machinery never seems out 
 of gear.' 
 
 ' To me it is a perfect paradise,' returned Lorraine impulsively ; 
 and then she added naively, 'As 1 was walking in this beautiful 
 wood just now I was half afraid that it was a dream, and that I 
 should wake up and find myself in Camden Town again.' 
 
 Colonel Trevor gave her a quick, pitying look. He was a 
 trained observer of men, and his penetration was rarely at fault 
 lie had already formed a favourable opinion of the new inmate of 
 Brae Farm : he liked her frank, unsophisticated manner, ilrs. 
 Herbert was certainly an interesting young woman, though she had 
 no special claims to good looks, but there was an air of refinement 
 about her that he wa-s not slow to notice, as she walked by his 
 side with her light springy tread, looking up at him and her 
 boy. 
 
 ' It was too strong a contrast,' he observed quietly. ' I have 
 only once been in Camden Town, but I have no wish to know 
 more of it; it appeared to me to be delivered into the hands of 
 gutter -merchants and itinerant stall -holders. It was Saturday 
 night, I remember, and the gas was blazing, and the butchers were 
 shouting out " Come, buy, buy, buy," and every other woman was 
 carrying a baby and dragging another besides. It was terribly 
 realistic, not to say squalid.' 
 
 ' And I lived there for nearly five months,' she returned quietly. 
 'All, I know those Saturday nights so well : those poor, tired 
 mothers setting out to buy their Sunday dinners ; how my heart 
 used to ache for them, and still more for the poor babies kept out 
 of their beds until nearly midnight. It seems hard, does it not. 
 Colonel Trevor, that some lives should be so very full of trial and 
 care ? ' 
 
 ' It is one of the difficult problems of life,' he replied quickly ; 
 ' but I doul)t if you or I will ever solve it. I do not wish you 
 to think me a pessimist at this early stage of our acquaintance ; 
 but I have long given up trying to answer these vexed questions. 
 "We must do what we can for other people, " helj) lame dogs 
 over stiles," according to Charles Kingsloy's excellent advice, 
 and remedy all preventable evils \ but even altruism can do no 
 more. ' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' sighed Lorraine, and then quickly : ' We are 
 taking you out of your way. Colonel Trevor ; those gates we have 
 passed lead to Brae House.'
 
 38 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 *To be sure they do ! But I am going to Brae Farm. Do you 
 notice Miss Alice, my mare I mean, is going past thejgates of her 
 own accord ? That is because my cousin gives her sugar. She is 
 always eager to take that turning to the farm.' 
 
 ' You are only going on Tedo's account,' returned Lorraine, 
 smiling ; but though Colonel Trevor would not disclaim this fact, 
 he could truthfully assure her that he and his mare were equally 
 well pleased when an errand led them to Brae Farm.
 
 CIJAPTEK VI 
 
 A CONTENTED WOMAN 
 
 ' Keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life's key.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Her eye, as soft and blue as even, 
 
 When day and night are calmly meeting, 
 
 Beams on my heart like light from Heaven, 
 And purities its beating.' 
 
 Knox. 
 
 As- Lorraine and Colonel Trevor turned the corner by the farm- 
 buildings, they came upon Ellison standing by the horse-block 
 talking to a fair, sturdy-looking young man in a rough grey suit. 
 She looked extrena-ly surprised when she caiiglit sight of the little 
 cavalcade. Tedo called out to her at once. 
 
 ' St-e, boy is viding, Tousin. Boy has the vhip, and vhij^s 
 hard.' 
 
 ' No you don't, young man,' returned the colonel, taking hand 
 and whip into his strong gra.*p, 'unless you wish Miss Alice to 
 jump that gate, Mrs. Herbert, will you take your boy, please, and 
 then I will dismount?' And Tedo, to his evident reluct^ince, was 
 delivered into his mother's tender arms. 
 
 'That must do for to-<lay, Sam,' observed Ellison h;\stily ; 'we 
 will discuss the matter more fully to-morrow. Well, Lormine, 
 what does this mean ? You and Tedo seem good friends with my 
 cousin.' 
 
 'Colonel Trevor has been so kind to Tedo,' replied Lorraine ; 
 ' he saw that he was tired, and he has brought him all the way 
 from the lodge gates. I did not know who waa speaking to me at 
 first until he introduced himself — but he knew my name.' 
 
 ' I recognised you from your cousin's description,' returned
 
 40 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Colonel Trevor. ' Ellison's portraits are always drawn correctly. 
 She has a talent for seizing people's salient points ; there is nothing 
 ambiguous or indefinite in her descriptions — he who runs may 
 read. Ah, what did I tell you, Mrs. Herbert,' as Ellison, passing 
 him with a quiet smile, began feeding Miss Alice with sugar from 
 her apron pocket. Lorraine watched them with delight as the 
 pretty creature received the dainty with her delicate lips, and then 
 pressed her nose against Ellison's shoulder, as though to coax her 
 for more. ' Miss Alice is getting demoralised. I believe she 
 would follow you like a dog, Ellison ; try her when she has 
 finished her sugar. Go towards the stable and call her.' 
 
 ' Very well,' returned his cousin obediently ; and she soon 
 found Colonel Trevor was right. The mare followed her, drooping 
 her graceful neck and whinnying softly, until they both dis- 
 appeared from sight. Then Colonel Trevor went slowly after 
 them, and Lorraine carried her boy into the house. 
 
 He found Ellison tying up the mare herself ; then she gave 
 her a feed of corn. Colonel Trevor watched her with amused 
 eyes. 
 
 ' What a useful woman you are,' he said, as she rejoined him, 
 ' I believe you could saddle Miss Alice as well as feed her.' 
 
 ' To be sure,' she returned composedly. ' I have harnessed 
 !Mollie before now, when I wanted the phaeton in a hurry, and I 
 could not find Joe Brand. I should hate to be helpless. Well, 
 Gavin, what do you think of my cousin ? I know you make up 
 your mind at once about people, so I am not afraid to ask you.' 
 
 ' I have formed a good opinion of her already,' was the reply 
 ' She is natural and lady-like, and she is not ashamed to say 
 what she thinks. In that one trait she resembles you, Ellison \ 
 but, if I do not mistake, in everything else she is your exact 
 opposite.' 
 
 ' Now, Gavin, this is absurd. You have only been a quarter 
 of an hour in Lorraine's company, it is perfectly impossible that 
 you could correctly diagnose her character. Why should you say 
 that she is my opposite?' 
 
 ' My dear Ellison, simply because it is the truth. In a quarter 
 of an hour you may find out a good deal about a person. Besides, 
 Mrs. Herbert is not difficult to read, there is nothing occult or 
 mysterious about her. She is an amiable young woman, who has 
 seen a great deal of the sad side of life, and she ia far too 
 sympathetic by nature ever to try and forget it. She lives in her 
 affections, and it is her nature to be cheerful. She walks and 
 talks like a gentlewoman, voila tout.' 
 
 • Gavin, I often think you are a very clever man. If you had
 
 A CONTENTED WOMAN 41 
 
 asked nie my opinion about Lorraine, I should have taken a week 
 to answer you. I never let myself l>e prepossessed by a jdeasing 
 exterior or manners. I must find out more about people before 
 I can heartily say I like them. Lorraine interests me, and she 
 seems nice ; that is all I can say at present about her.' 
 
 ' That is because you are cixutious by nature. I am cautious 
 too, but I can read quickly. Mrs. Herbert trusted me with her 
 boy, but when Miss Alice pranced a little her lips were white 
 with fear, yet she would not hurt my feelings by saying she was 
 afraid ; I could not help noticing that. In her case you would 
 not have been nervous ; when you trust a person your trust is 
 so absolute that it excludes fear.' 
 
 'Yes; but you forget. I know you, Gavin, and you were a 
 stranger to Lorraine. My trust has grown imperceptibly for years.' 
 
 She looked up in his face as she spoke, with the slow, sweet 
 smile that was habitual to her, and that was so pleasant to his 
 eyes ; and he answered it by taking her hand and putting it 
 gently on his arm. 
 
 It was almost a lover-like caress, but neither of them saw it in 
 that light. To Ellison the idea had not yet dawned that her 
 cousin might wish to marry her. She was so much his confidante 
 that she knew how faithful lie was to the memory of his wife, 
 and though she had never seen Helen, she had heard so much 
 about her from his lips that she always seemed to her like a long- 
 lost friend of her own. In depressed moods Ellison was the only 
 living being to whom Colonel Trevor could bring himself to 
 speak of his wife. He liked her quiet sympathy, the aliscnce of 
 fuss and agitation. "When he mentioned Helen to his mother she 
 always cried, and called him her poor, deiir Gavin, and pitied 
 and fondled him till his nerves got the better of him, and he 
 would tell himself angrily that he was a fool to speak of the past 
 
 Marriage was not to Ellison, as it was to some women, the 
 aim and object in life ; she gloried too much in her freedom to 
 yield her liberty lightly. She had had her chances ; the mistress 
 of Brae Farm was too well dowered not to possess marketable 
 value in men's eyes ; besides which she was attractive, a fine 
 woman, and a kind-hearted one too. Philip Earnshaw had been 
 deeply smitten, and had left England with a sore heart because 
 Ellison had refused him ; but though she had liked him l>est of 
 all her suitors, her pity had been scant for him. 
 
 ' Poor old Phil ! and you are not half sorry for him, ynu 
 hard-hearted woman,' Colonel Trevor had said to her one day 
 rather bluntly, for the proverbial little bird had carried him the 
 news ; but Ellison had coloured angrily and held her head high.
 
 42 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' You have no right to know about it, Gavin. Cousin Louise 
 ought to have known better ; it is no one's business but Mr. 
 Earnshaw's and mine.' 
 
 'And mine. You forget that all that concerns you interests 
 me deeply.' 
 
 ' No, Gavin,' she returned in a softened tone, ' I do not forget ; 
 but don't you see that it is kinder to Mr. Earnshaw that people 
 should not know about this. He had no right to ask me ; it was 
 a great mistake. I never gave him the slightest pretext for 
 doing so ; but he chose to make himself and me exceedingly 
 uncomfortable. Well, he is on his way to India now, so I must 
 forgive him ; but please do not mention his name to me again,' 
 and as Ellison seemed really put out, and very unlike her tranquil 
 self, he dropped the subject. 
 
 It might be well for some women to marry, she sometimes 
 said Avhen friends spoke to her on the subject ; but as regards 
 herself, a single life suited her best. She was not a submissive 
 woman ; it would be difficult for her to yield to another person's 
 judgment unless her own entirely agreed. She preferred solitude 
 and freedom to daily friction and argument. 
 
 Ellison was perfectly in earnest when she said this ; but she 
 had never asked herself how much of her content depended on 
 her close friendship with her cousin ; hitherto it had been warm 
 enough and strong enough to satisfy her affectionate instincts. 
 Gavin depended on her for sympathy, he trusted her and con- 
 fided in her ; his daily visits, their long talks together, were all 
 important factors in her happiness, and as long as things remained 
 on their present footing she was utterly and truly content. 
 
 The idea that Gavin might wish to marry again had not yet 
 troubled her consciousness ; if that day should ever come — and 
 not she, but another woman should be his choice — how would it 
 fare with Ellison then ? 
 
 Happily no such thought disturbed Ellison's serenity ; she had 
 not yet noticed the first faint stirrings of long-dormant feelings 
 in Gavin, and as little did she know that the thought had 
 already occurred to him that perhaps some day he might ask 
 Ellison to be his wife. Some day ! There was no hurry for the 
 present, things were better as they were ; he was not desirous of 
 change, and was certainly in no mood to play the lover. ' A 
 man cannot marry twice,' he had once said, to his mother's dismay ; 
 but latterly he had varied this formula to himself : ' A man 
 cannot love twice in the same way ' ; and yet as he said this, he 
 knew there were many exceptions to this rule. 
 
 Gavin's mute caress had made Ellison very happy ; when his
 
 A CONTENTED WOMAN 43 
 
 liaiul, 60 stroiiK and sinewy, took hers and held it with brotherly 
 freedom on his arm, she knew that he was moved to unusual 
 tenderness, and she was rif^ht. 
 
 ' What can a man want more when he is no longer young and 
 the best of life is over for him ? ' he was saying to himself. 
 'Ever since I came back to England Ellison has been a comfort 
 to nie ; my nee<l of hur increases. Brae Farm and Brae House are 
 too far apart. I should like to have her always near me, to be 
 able to talk to her whenever I am inclined. Shall I tell her 
 sol Will she be ready to listen to me ? I know well .she has 
 no drawing towards matrimony ; but " she is a woman, and 
 therefore to be won," as Shakespeare says, and -if any one has a 
 chance with Ellison it will be myself; and these thoughts made 
 Colonel Trevor so quiet and abstracted during tea, that more than 
 once Ellison's calm blue eyes rested on his face enquiringly. 
 
 Tedo was having his tea under Dorcas's care, so Lorraine was 
 free to enjoy hers. She was tired with her long ramble and the 
 day's pleasure, and was content to rest without talking. 
 
 * We are all very silent,' observed Ellison at last. ' Gavin, do 
 you know I have been expecting Muriel all day ? I thought she 
 would be sure to call on Lorraine.' 
 
 ' She ought to have done so,' he returned in a vexed voice ; 
 'but I suppose she has forgotten all about it. I hope, Mrs. 
 Herbert,' with a friendly glance at her, 'that you will excuse our 
 unneighbourly behaviour ; my sister is not very strong, and some- 
 times is indisposed to make efforts.' 
 
 *A lame excuse, Gavin,' returncil Ellison, smiling; 'but never 
 mind, we will not discuss Muriel. Tell Cousin Louise that I 
 shall bring Lorraine round to see her to-morrow morning, there 
 is no need for her to be ceromonious. In the afternoon I shall 
 have to drive into Dorchester, Mrs. Tucker has a list of wants to 
 be supplied.' 
 
 'Shall I drive you both over in the dog-cart 1' returned Colonel 
 Trevor. ' I am going in myself, so there is no need to take 
 MoUie. Whitefoot wants exercise ; Stanton shall walk in and be 
 ready to take the horse, and when you have done your business 
 you shall meet me at the Green Dragon.' 
 
 Ellison looked pleased at this suggestion. 
 
 ' Will this suit you, Lorraine ? ' she asked courteously. ' We 
 shall go up to Brae House to luncheon, and then Colonel Trevor 
 will drive us over to Dorchester. It is rather a charming idea ; 
 my cousin drives so well, and Whitefoot goes much fiu-ter than 
 Mollie.' 
 
 ' But Tedo,' objected Lorraine. ' I could not leave Tedo all day.'
 
 44 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' Dear me, I forgot all about the child,' returned Ellison, knit- 
 ting her brows. ' Let me think a moment how we can arrange 
 it. Gavin, if ^frs. Herbert sits in front with you she can easily 
 take Tedo. Dorcas can give him his dinner and bring him up 
 to the house before we start. Will not that solve the problem, 
 Lorraine ? ' 
 
 'Yes, thank you; Imt,' hesitating, 'will not Tedo incommode 
 Colonel Trevor ? ' 
 
 'Not unless he gets my whip, the young rascal. All right, 
 Ellison, you and Mrs. Herbert are booked for to-morrow. Now I 
 must go, for I have about fifty letters to write ; good-bye, Mrs. 
 Herbert. Are you coming to see me oif, Ellison ? ' But he need 
 not have asked the question, for she had already risen from her 
 seat. 
 
 Lorraine watched them as they walked slowly down the garden 
 path. ' What good friends they seemed,' she said to herself ; and 
 then she leaned back in the window-seat and indulged in a 
 delicious fit of musing until Ellison returned and took up her 
 work, then she roused herself and began to talk. 
 
 ' I like Colonel Trevor, Ellison,' she said in her frank way ; 
 'he was so kind to Tedo, and so nice altogether. He is not 
 young — over forty, I should say — and how the Indian suns have 
 burnt him. He is so thin and brown, he reminds me of Don 
 Quixote ; but of course one can see he is a very clever man.' 
 
 ' Yes, and he reads a great deal. He always says he had no 
 time for reading in India — that there he was a student of men 
 and not books. But he seems to be far better informed on most 
 subjects than other people ; we have such interesting conversations 
 sometimes, but this afternoon he was quiet, he owned he was 
 thinking of something.' Ellison said this quite innocently ; she 
 had not the faintest idea that she herself was the cause of his 
 unusual aljstraction. 
 
 ' When he is not talking his expression is a little sad,' observed 
 Lorraine. ' It is several years since his wife died, is it not?' 
 
 ' Yes, more than eight years ; but he has never quite got over it. 
 Helen was such a Ijeautiful creature; I have only seen her photo- 
 graph, but it seemed to me that I had never seen a more lovely face, 
 and her disposition was so sweet, too. Other people liave told me 
 that, so no wonder he has been long in getting over his trouble, 
 poor fellow.' 
 
 Lorraine sighed ; it was always a matter of grief to her that she 
 had been unable truly to mourn her husband ; she felt inclined to 
 envy Colonel Trevor the poignancy of his regret. 
 
 * I like him all the better for being so faithful to his wife's
 
 A CONTENTED WOMAN 45 
 
 memory,' she said softly. ' I never like people to forget " Lord, 
 keep their memory greeii." Do you remember that quaint old 
 prayer in the Christmas story ? One is tempted to say that some- 
 times even now.' 
 
 Ellison's smile was her only resjjonse ; she seldom discussed 
 ahstruct questions unless Gavin moot<;d them. She sewed on dili- 
 gently, and Lorraine watched her until another question rose to 
 her lips. 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor has a sister, then — the Muriel you were talking 
 about — is she nice, Ellison ? is she like her brother V 
 
 ' Xo, indeed, you would never take them for brother and sister, 
 she is very much younger than Colonel Trevor. Muriel is my age; 
 there were two other sisters between them, but they died young, 
 and Muriel's health has not been good. She is one of those i>eople 
 who make the most of their little ailments. She is not robust ; but I 
 sometimes fancy she is stronger than she thinks herself, and I know 
 this is her brother's opinion. Muriel is terribly lymphatic, she 
 hates any exertion.' 
 
 ' Then you are not fond of her ' — in rather a disappointed tone. 
 
 Ellison seemed surprised at this question. 
 
 ' I never asked myself if I were fond of her or not,' she said, with 
 an amused smile, ' I never put questions of that sort to myself. 
 Muriel is nice in her way : but I have no special affection for her. 
 I do not understand her — she always seems to me a discontented, 
 fanciful young person. I often lose ])atience with her, and long to 
 give her a good shaking. Are you shocked at me, Lorraine ? — you 
 look very grave.' 
 
 ' I think it is a i)ity to lose patience with a person because one 
 cannot understand them. Of course I am talking in the dark, as I 
 do not know Miss Trevor ; but from what you say she seems to 
 have a good deal to bear.' 
 
 'What makes you think so?' asked Ellison, rather taken aback 
 at this remark. ' Slie is belter oil" than most girls ; she has a 
 beautiful home, plenty of money, an affectionate mother, and a 
 brother who is as good to her as he knows how to be ; but then he 
 is good to everybody.' 
 
 ' lie does everything, in short, but love her,' returned Lorraine 
 quickly. ' Ah ! ' as Ellison gave her an astonished glance, ' have I 
 made a right guess — is there no real sympathy between them ? ' 
 
 ' Really, Lorraine, I had no idea you would be so quick. I 
 never meant to talk about Muriel at all ; but, as we have said so 
 much, it woidd be better to say a little more, for it would never do 
 for you to think me prejudiced or unkind. Muriel and I do not 
 hit it off, that is true, but then I could say the same of the
 
 46 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Mordaunt girls or Laura Holt. Girls have never been much in my 
 line — they always exercise my patience ; but Muriel is excessively 
 trying to me, and I am not at all surj^rised that her brother fails 
 to understand her. He was so many years in India that she was 
 quite a stranger to him, and they have no sympathies in common. I 
 believe Muriel is clever, but she keeps her knowledge to herself ; 
 but I might talk on for ever about her, though I doubt if you would 
 comprehend matters. You must see Muriel and judge of her your- 
 self. I am sure you will be charmed with Cousin Louise — she's 
 a dear woman, and everybody says so.' And then Ellison laid 
 aside her work, and Lorraine went in search of her boy. The 
 evening passed as pleasantly as the rest of the day. Ellison had 
 letters to write ; but she brought Lorraine two or three books for 
 her choice ; the luxurious chair and reading-lamp were adjuncts to 
 her comfort. When she raised her eyes from her page, they rested 
 on Ellison's placid countenance with satisfaction. Ellison always 
 dressed herself carefully, her soft grey evening silk with its dainty 
 finishes exactly suited her. She never adopted a youthful style, 
 flimsy textures did not suit her. When she wore her black velvet 
 at the Brae dinner-parties, Mrs. Trevor told her son that Ellison 
 was certainly a handsome woman. 
 
 Except in winter the blinds and curtains were never drawn over 
 the great bay window. From her seat Lorraine could see the white 
 moonlight streaking the lawn with silver. How peaceful it all was ! 
 In all her life had she ever known such comfort? Already she 
 loved Ellison. Ah, if Ellison would only love her ! ' She has 
 opened her house to me ; but she must open her heart too,' thought 
 Lorraine, for her nature made imperative demands on her fellow- 
 creatures for affection. Nothing else satisfied her — those she loved 
 niu.st love her in return.
 
 CHAPTER YII 
 
 A BTDDY IN BLACK AND WHITE 
 
 •Lady. Is she young or old ? 
 
 Page. Neither, if right I guess ; but she is fair, 
 For time hath laid his hand so gently on her 
 Aa he, too, had been awed.' 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 The next morning when Lorraine woke she found it impossible to 
 remain quietly in her r(;oni ; so she dressed herself and Tedo, and 
 directly they had finis^hed their early repast she carried him out. 
 
 The dews were still heavy in the meadows, so she turned her 
 steps in the direction of the village, leaving Brae House on her left, 
 and passing some fenced-in fields where she^-p were feeding she 
 entered a steep, narrow lane tluit seemed to wind slowly under the 
 shade of elms and beeches. Tedo was heavT^, and she often had to 
 pause and rest herself ; but she was V)ent on seeing the village in its 
 morning freshness and stillness, and after a somewhat weary climb 
 she had her reward — Highlands was before her. 
 
 Yes, there were the institute and the church with the vicarage 
 behind it, the infant school, and the long stretch of broken common, 
 with its gorse and blackberry bushes, and the blue blackness of the 
 firs closing in the view. 
 
 An old grey horse, a donkey, and some geese were apparently 
 the only living objects to be seen ; the sun shone on the peaked 
 red ami yellow roofs of the cottages, white roads intersected the 
 common. Ah, they were at work in the forge, she could hear the 
 regular clang of the hammer boating out the hissing metal, and a 
 file of cows fresh from the milking-shed p;issed slowly before the 
 open door of Tlie JVaggon and Ilorsis. She had reached the main 
 street of the village, and resting against the palings outside the 
 blacksmith's cottage, she feasted her eyes on the charming prospect, 
 while Tedo played beside her ; then taking his hand they stootl for
 
 48 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 a long time looking in at the open door of tlie forge, where John 
 Drake, a fine, powerful-looking man, was shoeing a cart-horse. He 
 glanced curiously at Lorraine as he wished her a civil good-morning, 
 and Lorraine, true to her sociable instincts, at once commenced a 
 conversation, and she grew so interested and took such a liking to 
 the honest blacksmith that she forgot the time, until the clock on 
 the school-house close by roused her. 
 
 She was late for prayers, and Ellison looked at her with re- 
 proachful eyes when she entered. 
 
 ' Where have you been, Lorraine ? You have been hurrying 
 yourself, I can see that,' for Lorraine was flushed and breathless. 
 
 ' You must forgive me, dear,' she returned, with a penitent kiss. 
 ' I have been down to the village, and Tedo and I were so amused 
 standing at the forge that I forgot all about breakfast.' 
 
 ' You have been carrying Tedo all that way !' exclaimed Ellison 
 in a shocked voice, ' and Fernleigh Lane is so steep, too ! ' and then 
 she mentally resolved to speak to Sam Brattles without delay about 
 the donkey. ' Indeed, you should not use up your strength so early 
 in the day. You are not accustomed to these long walks.' But 
 Lorraine only laughed and defended herself. 
 
 ' You are very sensible, Ellison ; but just put yourself in my 
 place — I am like a prisoner set free and intoxicated with my 
 freedom. It is like living some fairy tale ; wandering about when 
 the rest of the world is asleep or only just waking up, everything 
 has a different look ; one cannot describe the beauty and freshness. 
 Those dark woods, how I long to explore them and those low hills 
 at the Ijack of the village ! ' 
 
 ' All the same you are very tired, Lorraine,' returned Ellison, 
 with practical kindness, as she poured out a cup of delicious coffee 
 for her cousin. ' You must remember,' she continued gently, 
 'that though your health is good, those months of hardship and 
 hard work have tried you a little ; last night you were so tired 
 you could scarcely hold your book. I thought every moment you 
 would fall asleep ' j and Lorraine could not deny this. She knew 
 Ellison was right, and that insufficient food and mental trouble 
 had told upon her constitution ; her spirits were greater than her 
 strength ; it would be months, perhaps, before she would recover 
 from the effects of those unhappy years. Sorrow stamps indelibly, 
 and even on her healthy nature its impress would only grow 
 fainter by degrees. Ellison's kind heart had grasped this fact, and 
 though she had not yet learnt to love her cousin, she was sufficiently 
 interested in her to feel troubled when she saw Lorraine's flushed, 
 tired face and the inky shadows under her eyes. 
 
 Lender the pretext of wanting some dusters hemmed she en-
 
 A STUDY IN lU.ACK AND WHITE 49 
 
 sconced Lorraine comfortably in the bay window after breakfast 
 with her boy beside her, and went about hc-r household duties, 
 holding' countless interviews in the still-room. 
 
 No one entered the sitting-room. Tedo got tired of i)lay 
 presently and fell asleep, and lay curled up like a puppy with his 
 head in his mother's lap. Lon-iine let him lie there, and went on 
 with her conversation with John Drake. She was still at the forge, 
 of course, and the hammer seemed ringing a merry tune against the 
 anvil, 'The Men of Harlech' or 'Charlie is My Darling'; and how 
 droll, she had never known before that cows were shod ; but, of 
 course, that was her Cockney ignorance, she would know things 
 better when she lived in the country. But, dear me, all those 
 cows and no cow-shoes ready ! No wonder John Drake began to 
 look bothered as he made the sparks fly ; it must be distressing to 
 any blacksmith to have a dozen cows to shoe and no shoes, and 
 here Lorraine began to rub her e5'es. 
 
 ' You have had a nice long nap, and Tedo too,' observed 
 Ellison tranquilly, 'and I hope you both feel rested. Never mind 
 the dusters,' as Lorraine began to look ashamed, ' they made an 
 excellent pillow for Tedo, and Dorcas will finish them this after- 
 noon. It is time to get ready for our luncheon at Brae House'; 
 that is why I was obliged to wake you ; but really it went to my 
 heart to do it, you were slfuping so sweetly.' 
 
 ' I suppose I was more tired than I knew,' returned Lorraine 
 apologetically; 'but, oh, to think that I have slept away this 
 lovely morning. Sonny, you must come with mother while she 
 dresses. I will not be long, Ellison.' But though Lorraine spoke 
 with animation she moved languidly, and in her la-art she would 
 have been better pleased to have remained quietly at home. 
 
 Lorraine's modest outfit, providi'd with her cousin's money, con- 
 sisted of two new black dresses — a thin serge and a fine, soft cash- 
 mere. These two gowns and an old lilack serge formed her entire 
 wardrobe. 
 
 She put on the new serge now, and a neat hat that she had 
 trimmed herself ; and as she glanced at herself in the glass she 
 could not help being pleased at her own appearance. Her new gown 
 fitted her so nicely, she thought, and the mere fact of putting on a 
 pair of fresh uniuendeil gloves gave her a pleasurable sensation. 
 
 She was glad, too, when she went downstairs to read approval 
 in Ellison's eyes, and her quiet, ' You look very nice, dear,' made 
 her blush as though she had received a conqiliment. Ellison was, 
 in fact, much struck by the simplicity and propriety of her cousin's 
 appearance. Tlie serge dress fitted so well to the pliable curves of 
 her figure, the white collar and culls relieved the blackness, and 
 
 4
 
 50 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 tliough she was pale — far too pale — the coils of reddish-brown 
 hair, so neatly and deftly arranged under her hat, was certainly a 
 beauty. 
 
 Ellison felt that she would not be ashamed to introduce her 
 coiisin to the critical inspection of the mistress of Brae House. 
 Lorraine was ladylike and refined, and her foreign education had 
 given her an ease and finish of manner that she instinctively felt 
 would make her a social success. 
 
 As tliey walked through the extensive shrubberies of Brae 
 House, Ellison's active benevolence was busy on her cousin's 
 behalf. There was a certain black silk that she had never had 
 made up reposing on the shelf of her wardrobe ; she had no 
 present need for it, it would make Lorraine a handsome dresa 
 when she dined at Brae House, and before they had reached the 
 house she had decided that her cousin should have it that very 
 evening. 
 
 Lorraine, on her side, was looking about her with admiring eyes. 
 Brae House appeared to her a perfect mansion, she had not been 
 prepared for such magnificence ; the extensive and beautifully kept 
 gardens, the spacious conservatory, the handsome entrance-hall and 
 broad staircase excited her secret wonder. 
 
 She had not guessed that Colonel Trevor was quite so rich, that 
 he was a person of such importance, but then fine country-houses 
 were not in her line. 
 
 In reality Brae House was a roomy, well-built modern residence. 
 It had been almost rebuilt by Colonel Trevor's father, and only a 
 small portion of the old house remained. The stables were new, 
 and also the conservatory, and as comfort and not splendour had 
 been the aim, the interior was admirably fitted for the wants of a 
 large family. As the family was at present small, the large 
 dimensions of the living rooms, and the number of unused apart- 
 inents, gave Brae House that barrack-like air of which Colonel 
 Trevor had complained. 
 
 The front door stood open, and Ellison, without knocking or 
 inquiry, conducted her cousin through the wide hall, with its 
 handsome pillars and walls covered with pictures, stags' antlers, 
 and curious weapons, and down a broad lobby. 
 
 ' Mrs. Trevor is always in her morning-room until luncheon,' 
 she explained, ' unless she is at work in the conservatory,' and 
 she was right. In answer to her tap a melodious ' Come in ' bade 
 them enter, and a tall, handsome-looking woman rose quickly from 
 her seat and greeted them warmly. 
 
 'This is very kind,' she said, retaining Lorraine's hand a 
 moment. ' It is so friendly of you, Mrs. Herbert, to overlook our
 
 A STUDY IN BLACK AND WHITE 51 
 
 deficiencies in this way. Muriel or I ought to liave called on you 
 yesterday, we are such close neighbours ; besides, as Ellison's 
 connections, we should have been tlie first to welcome you to 
 Highlmds.' 
 
 ' Never min<1. Cousin Louise,' relumed Ellison ha«-tily, ' Lorraine 
 would not wish you to stand on ceremony with her, she is just 
 as pleased to come and see you Uj-day, so there is no need for 
 excuses.' 
 
 ' My dear, I have simply no excuse to ofi"er,' returned Mrs. 
 Trevor quaintly, 'uidess you call natural indolence and procras- 
 tination excusesi. I was hard at work in the conservatory all the 
 morning, and far too lazy to move off my couch all the afternoon, 
 so I contented myself with remarking to Murii-1 at luncheon that 
 it was clearly her duty to call on Mrs. Herbert. I do not 
 remember that she disputed the fact, only at dinner Gavin 
 lectured us both rather severely on what he termed our want 
 of manners. As I thought ^Muriel deserved the lecture, I held 
 my tongue and let him have his say. Now, Ellison, you are 
 laughing, you always laugh when I try to explain things properly.' 
 
 ' Cousin Louise, you are so absurd. Look at Lorraine, she is 
 laughing too ; don't you see you are making things worse ? We 
 know, of course, that Aluriel ought to have called, and that you 
 were both dreadfully lazy, so you may as well leave off blaming 
 Muriel ami take your own proper share, and then perhaps we will 
 forgive you.' 
 
 Mrs. Trevor shrugged her shoulders, and looked at Lorraine 
 with a pleasant smile. 
 
 ' Dear Ellison is a very decided person, is she not, and so out- 
 spoken. Do you always say what you mean, and do what you 
 ought, Mrs. Herbert ? I am afraid that it is not the Trevor habit 
 "Oh, mother, how I hate oughts" — my daughter paid that to me 
 once when she was a tiny wee child — "oughts are such nasty 
 disagreeable things" ; and, do you know, in my heart I agreed 
 witli her. Children sometimes grasp a truth wonderfully. Ellison 
 will tell you that Muriel and I detest ought.^ still.' 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh, and Lorraine did so heartily, 
 there was something so infinitely droll in Mrs. Trevor's voice. 
 She had a bewitching smile; it was brilliant and sweet at the 
 same time. ' 
 
 Lorraine was charmed with her, as Ellison knew she would be. 
 Every one admired Mrs. Trevor ; though she was over sixty and 
 maile no attempt to conccil her age, there wa-s a vaivct/ and 
 spriglitliness of manner that made pcojde think lur much younger 
 than she really was. More than once she had been taken for
 
 52 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Colonel Trevor's step-mother ; they looked far more like brother 
 and sister, people said, than mother and son ; even the loss of 
 a good husband and two lovely daughters had not sobered Mrs. 
 Trevor, except for a time, while Colonel Trevor fully looked his 
 age. 
 
 EUison always said there was something Irish about her cousin 
 Louise ; her quick changes of mood, her drollery and flow of 
 spirits, her warm heart and little tempers, her hot fits and cold fits, 
 and casual impractical ways were rather after the Irish type ; but 
 she was always afi'ronted if this reached her ears, and declared she 
 was English to the backbone. 
 
 She was an affectionate mother ; but her son often found her 
 trying, and her want of depth puzzled him. She was sensitive and 
 yet she was dense, and neither of her children guessed that her 
 light-hearted manner often concealed deep-seated restlessness. She 
 might laugh and make jokes and seem outwardly happy, but she 
 never forgot her husband and children, or ceased to mourn for 
 them. With all her frankness she was reticent on some matters. 
 If she could have spoken to Gavin and Muriel of their father and 
 sisters, it would have been better for her and them ; Muriel would 
 not have thought her mother shallow, and Colonel Trevor's respect 
 would have deepened, and his masculine sense of fitness have been 
 satisfied. 
 
 It was not surprising that Lorraine was struck with Mrs. Trevor, 
 for she was certainly a beautiful woman — her features were fine, 
 and, considering her age, she retained her complexion wonderfully. 
 There was a strange picturesqueness about her — her grey hair was 
 piled up on her head, and over it she always wore a lace lappet 
 fastened under her chin with a small diamond brooch ; it was 
 singularly becoming to her, and the grey hair had almost the eff'ect 
 of powder in adding lustre to her bright, dark eyes. Envious 
 critics called her style aff"ected, and hinted that Mrs. Trevor was 
 a little too anxious to keep up her reputation as a beauty, and studied 
 her appearance too much ; but she always laughed wlien such hints 
 reached her. 
 
 ' Every woman ought to be as liandsome as nature allows her 
 to be,' she would say. ' If I like to wear a lace lappet over my 
 hair, no one has any right to accuse me of undue vanity. I only 
 wish other people would follow my example-^Mrs. Mountjoy, for 
 example ; she would look less scraggy and skinny if she had a 
 comfortable piece ot lace pinned under her chin. I always think 
 of the Red Queen in " Through the Looking-Glass " when I see 
 her ; how her sharp chin would hurt one.' 
 
 ' Fashion,' she would say another time, ' my dear, I set my
 
 A STUDY IN BLACK AND WHITE 53 
 
 own fashions. Every woman over sixty ought to know how to 
 dress herself Vjecoraingly. When any one asks my advice, which 
 they seldom do, and then they never follow it, I say to them, 
 " Don't tell me your age, I know you do not wii^h to do so j it ia 
 criminal to be old, we all know that ; but if you are over fifty 
 wear black. Don't let a culour come near you except in your 
 bonnet; good materials — silks, satins, velvets — nothing can be too 
 rich, and lace — plenty of white, black, and soft yellowish lace 
 about your neck and throat." Would you believe it, they all turn 
 up their noses and walk off in disdaim " What dingy ideas, my 
 dear Mrs. Trevor; black — perpetual mourning! I am sorry to say 
 our tastes differ" — all in a staccato, you know; and the poor 
 deluded women go off to bedizen themselves in the last fashionable 
 tint, which does not harmonise in the least with their fading 
 complexion. Oh, I lose patience with them, they have no sense, 
 no eye, no taste ! Don't think me conceited, Ellison, for you know 
 I have no paltry vanity of that sort ; but if ever people called me 
 a beautiful young woman, they shall call me a beautiful old one, 
 if I have to wear a mob cap and drawn satin bonnet to keep up 
 the illusion,' for on the subject of dress Mrs. Trevor could be 
 eloquent. Ellison was after her own heart in this matter, and she 
 often told her so, and before ten minutes were over, Ellison's sharp 
 eyes had found out tliat Lorraine's appearance was giving Mrs. Trevor 
 great satisfaction. When Colonel Trevor came into the room just 
 before luncheon, and began to talk to Lorraine, Mrs. Trevor took 
 the opportunity of saying, as she showed Ellison some new fancy 
 work — 
 
 ' I like your Mrs. Herbert, Ellison. She is well-bred and 
 interesting- looking. She will be a nice companion for Muriil. 
 Her manners are charming ; but she looks as though she wants 
 rest and feeding up.' 
 
 ' She has had too long a walk l)efore breakfast. It exhausted her, 
 and she h.as been as^leep most of the morning. I am so glad you 
 are favourably impressed. Cousin Louise, and I hope Muriel will 
 take to her ; by the bye, where is Muriel?' But at that moment 
 the young lady herself entere<l.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MURIEL 
 
 'There is a gi-eat deal of unmapped country within us, which would 
 have to be taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.' — 
 Geouge Eliot. 
 
 In spite of Colonel Trevor's interesting conversation, Lorraine liad 
 more than once looked towards the door as though she were 
 expecting some one, and a moment before Miss Trevor appeared she 
 had said in her frank way, ' I am looking for your sister. I am so 
 anxious to see her.' 
 
 If tliis speech surprised Colonel Trevor, he did not say so. ' My 
 sister is a little erratic in her habits,' he replied quietly ; ' we often 
 do not see her until luncheon. She has a big room in the turret 
 where she exercises her hobbies in private. No, please do not ask 
 me what they are ' — in pretended alarm, as Lorraine looked at him 
 in a questioning manner — ' I never go in for other people's hobbies. 
 I believe my sister is a great reader. I know she gives large orders 
 to our local bookseller. Ah, here she comes ; and this gong 
 remimls me that I am to take you in to luncheon.' But Lorraine 
 did not hear the latter part of this sentence. She was looking 
 curiously at the tall pale girl who was moving so languidly across 
 the room. 
 
 She greeted Lorraine courteously, but with rather a chilling 
 gravity of manner, and the young widow's l^right smile and cordial 
 hand-shake met with slight response. But Lorraine had felt the 
 limp coldness of the girl's hand, and had drawn her own con- 
 clusions, and when Mrs. Trevor said in a reproachful voice, 
 ' Muriel, you have one of your bad sick headaches,' she knew that 
 she had been right. 
 
 Muriel slightly shrugged her shoulders. ' That is nothing 
 new, mother,' she returned rather ungraciously ; ' but Gavin looks
 
 MURIEL 55 
 
 impatient ; the gong stopped quite three minutes ago,' and at this 
 hint Colonel Trevor again oHered Lorraine his arm. 
 
 Lorraine tried not to feel di.sa]>pointed. She had come to Brae 
 House warmly prejudiced in Muriel Trevoi-'s favour, and disposed 
 to take her part. It was evident that Ellison misunderstood her, 
 but it was impossible not to feel a little rejielled by the cold 
 indifference of her manner ; a heatlache was no excuse for such 
 utter want of graciousness. There was also a hardly-concealed 
 touch of sarcasm in that remark about the gong ; clearly it was a 
 hit at her brother's punctuality. As she sat exactly opposite to 
 Lorraine during luncheon, the latter had an opportunity of study- 
 ing her closely ; the headache was evidently severe, for she ate 
 nothing, and only drank some mineral water. 
 
 Lorraine never fuund it so dillicult to take stock of anybody ; 
 when luncheon was over she had not made up her mind whether 
 Muriel Trevor was good-looking or absolutely plain. She would 
 have said decidedly plain, only the features were certainly good, 
 the mouth especially; her hair was unbecomingly arranged, strained 
 ofl' the forehead, and coiled heavily behind the head ; but it was 
 of a beautiful chestnut tint, a rich ripe brown, and was evidently 
 abundant ; a sallow com])lexion, want of animation, and lack of 
 expression were her chief defects. Very likely she sull'ered from 
 the peevishness of chronic ill-health, or perhaps her temper was 
 not naturally amiable. There was a repressed irritability of 
 manner, a concealed antagonism that found vent in quiet little 
 stinging speeches. Lorraine noticed this whenever Colonel Trevor 
 8i)oke to her ; she could find no fault with his manner, it was 
 perfectly jileasant, but for some rea.son it seemed to jar on Muriel. 
 After a time she made no effort to join in the conversation, but 
 sat plaiting her table-napkin with restless fingers until Mi-s. Trevor 
 gave the signal to rise from the table. Colonel Trevor went off to 
 the stables to give some order, and his mother took Ellison to the 
 conservatory to show her some new arrangement of ferns, and 
 Lorraine found herself left alone with Miss Trevor. They were in 
 the big drawinL,'-room, which was very pleasant in this ilay after- 
 noon, witli the scent of joncjuils and wall-flowei's ; both rooms 
 opened into the conservatory where Mrs. Trevor and Ellison were 
 pacing up and down in the sunlight. 
 
 Miss Trevor looked at them a moment, then she said abruptly, 
 and as though she were repeating a lesson, 'Should you care to see 
 the conservatory, Mrs. Herbert, we can go there if you like.' Lor- 
 raine would have liked nothing better, for she was p;vssionately 
 fond of tlowers ; but her unselfishness would not allow her to enjoy 
 anything at another person's expense.
 
 56 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I think it would be far better for iis to stay here,' she returned 
 gently. ' I shall have plenty of opportunities, I hope, of admiring 
 those beautiful flowers ; but the glare and heat would certainly 
 make your head worse. I can see you are in severe pain, and you 
 ate nothing at luncheon.' 
 
 A faint flush crossed Miss Trevor's face. 
 
 ' You are very kind,' she said a little less coldly, ' and if you are 
 sure you do not mind, perhaps it would be better to avoid the glare 
 of all that glass. I am not fond of tropical heat, though my 
 mother loves it, and spends a good deal of her time there. The 
 conservatory is her hobby.' 
 
 ' Ah, we all have our hobbies,' returned Lorraine quickly ; and 
 then she checked herself and laughed as though she were amused ; 
 ' but if any one were to ask ine what mine was I should be at a 
 loss to answer. I think my first hobby is to try and understand 
 human nature as well as I can. I do like diving into the recesses 
 of other people's feelings, and finding out their motives and wishes ; 
 one has such grand finds sometimes. Don't you think the study of 
 human nature dreadfully interesting ? ' 
 
 Lorraine had no idea that she was going to say this, but her 
 thoughts often came tumbling out in this impromptu fashion when 
 she least intended it ; but Miss Trevor looked as astonished aa 
 though some one had let off a rocket suddenly in her face. This 
 was not the sort of drawing-room talk to which she had been 
 accustomed ; her mother's flow of words, though they always 
 charmed people, were to Muriel like the babbling of some bright 
 little rivulet that came from some bubbling spring underground 
 and led nowhere. 
 
 ' Only a flotilla of paper boats could have sailed down that 
 sparkling little rivulet of trickling water,' thought Muriel con- 
 temptuously ; but her eyes grew large and puzzled when she heard 
 Mrs. Herbert's remark. 
 
 ' Do I find the study of human nature dreadfully interesting ? ' 
 she repeated slowly, as though she were revolving some insoluble 
 problem. 'It is a study I have never attempted. I draw my 
 idea of human nature principally from books ; it is safer, I think,' 
 as though debating with herself. ' We have the wisdom of all the 
 ages to guide us ; that is surely better than relying on our own 
 observation.' 
 
 ' I expect you are fur cleverer than i,' returned Lorraine with a 
 shake of her head. ' You are a great reader ; your brother told 
 me so before luncheon, and I know so few books.' 
 
 ' My brother knows nothing at all about my tastes,' returned 
 Muriel, her manner freezing again, and the slight illumination in
 
 MURIEL 67 
 
 her eyes fading utterly. 'I suppose he did not give you a list of 
 my studies ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear no,' replied Lorraine frankly, ' he seemed quite hazy 
 on the subject I think his sole remark was that books were your 
 hobby. I hope you do not consider me impertinent, Miss Trevor, 
 but I should 80 like to know your especial study. There, you see, I 
 am astride my hobliy as usual. I never see any one without wanting 
 to know their chief interest in life. Don't you see,' naively, 'every 
 one is a piece of unmapped country. Now, that is not my own idea,' 
 as Muriel looked impressed at this, ' I read it somewhere ; wait a 
 moment, I shall remember the passiige directly ; it was Sir J. Stevens 
 said it — " Every man has in himself a continent of undiscovered 
 character. Happy is he who acts Columbus to his own souL" ' 
 
 'That is beautiful,' returned Muriel in a low voice. She had a 
 deep, musical voice, with wonderful chords in it. People who did 
 not like Miss Trevor always said she had a studied and rather 
 affected manner. 
 
 It was Lorraine's turn to be electrified. She discovered that 
 when Miss Trevor smiled she looked a dill'erent creature ; no one 
 could call her plain then ; it was a pity that she smiled so seldom. 
 
 ' I made a note of that passage,' she went on, ' for it struck me 
 directly — well, that is just what I feel about people. I want to 
 find out all their physical geography, their mountains, rivers, 
 plains ; their tastes, pursuits, interests ; their little shoals and 
 quicksands ; it is frightfully, it is awfully interesting, one is always 
 exploring, and yet there are vast regions still to explore.' 
 
 ' It sounds grand, but I do not understand it,' returned Muriel 
 with greater animation than she had shown yet. ' I have never 
 tried to read people in that way ; people mostly bore me ; they are 
 so shallow, they say the suae things, and they si»y them over and 
 over again ; it is hot, or it is cold, they have troubles with their 
 servants, or with their children's health ; or it is politics and 
 shooting so many head of game ; ah, how they weary one ! When 
 I listen to my mother's friends all talking round her tea-table, I 
 say — yes, that is just as the sheep jump through that big gap in the 
 field ; you know what I mean. How often I have watched them, 
 the foolish things ; one jumps, and then all the others follow ; 
 there is a rush and scurry, but what is the good of it, the grass was 
 as good in the field they left.' 
 
 A bright humorous smile crossed Lorraine's face ; after all she 
 had been right — the girl was interesting ; she could talk if she 
 liked. If only they had not been interrupted just then ; Miss 
 Trevor was thawing ; her odd unconventional speech had made an 
 impression aud created an opening; in common parlance, they
 
 58 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 were getting on as fast as a house on fire. But unfortunately the 
 other ladies joined them, and Ellison informed her that the dog-cart 
 was coming up the front drive, and that Dorcas and Tedo were 
 walking up the shrubbery. 
 
 This turned Lorraine's thoughts into another channel directly : 
 she had not seen her boy for two whole hours. She started up 
 from her chair impulsively to meet him, when her attention was 
 arrested by the marked displeasure of Miss Trevor's voice. 
 
 ' My dear Muriel,' her mother had said, ' I am so rejoiced that 
 your poor head is better. I was really afraid that we should be 
 obliged to send for Dr. Howell. I was going to speak to Gavin 
 about it, but when we heard you talking so cheerfully to Mrs. 
 Herbert I felt quite easy. " Muriel is better, it is not one of her 
 worst sort of headaches," I said to Ellison, " for when the pain is 
 severe she is never able to speak or to hold up her head." ' 
 
 ' One is obliged to make efforts sometimes, mother,' returned 
 Muriel in a tone that made Lorraine pause for an instant ; ' my 
 head is no better, but you forget that you left me to entertain Mrs. 
 Herbert, and that I could not well remain silent.' 
 
 She was certainly taking ample revenge for her mother's want 
 of tact. Quite a youthful flush crossed Mrs. Trevor's face. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear child ! ' she exclaimed in an alarmed voice, ' do 
 you mean that I have been remiss, and that I have been neglecting 
 Mrs. Herbert ? How could I be so thoughtless ! The fact is ' — turn- 
 ing to Lorraine — ' I was so anxious to show Ellison my new fernery, 
 and to fill her with envy, that I forgot my duties as hostess ; and 
 then I had to ask her advice about our under-housemaid — dear 
 Ellison has so much common - sense — and the girl is not quite 
 satisfactory, and ' but Lorraine interrupted her. 
 
 ' I hope you are not intending to make excuses to me,' she said 
 good-humouredly. ' I think it was I who was thoughtless in 
 allowing Miss Trevor to talk to me ; I can see plainly that I have 
 done her no good. May I go out and fetch my boy] I do so 
 want to show him to you,' but she hardly waited for Mrs. Trevor's 
 ready permission. 
 
 * She is charming,' whispered Mrs. Trevor impressively, but 
 both she and Ellison exchanged a glance of mutual surprise when 
 they saw Muriel follow her. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor squeezed Ellison's arm significantly. 'I told you 
 80,' she said, when the door had closed on her daughter, ' Muriel 
 has taken a fancy to her ; I never heard her talk to a stranger 
 before. When Amy or Constance Mordaunt conies she is almost 
 rude to them ; little Laura Holt is quite shy of her ; she never 
 troubles herself to entertain them in the least. Her brother is
 
 MURIEL 59 
 
 always telling her so, it vexes him dreadfully to see her so in- 
 dillcreut to our I'riends ; but you heard her ju.st now.' 
 
 ' They were talking very busily, certainly/ returned Ellison. 
 * I think Lorraine has a happy knack of drawing people out ; but 
 Muriel looks very ill. I su.<pect she has been keejnng late hours ; 
 it is really very foolish of her to neglect her health in this way.' 
 
 *It is no use speaking to her,' returned Mrs. Trevor sadly, 'you 
 ought to know Muriel by this time. Gavin makes the same 
 mistake, he tells her outright when he thinks she is unwise, but 
 it does no good, and he will find it out for himself one day. He 
 was lecturing her at breakfast-time, that is why she is put out 
 with him. He saw the turret -room lighted up long after 
 midnight, Muriel was so angry, I am afraid she spoke to Gavin 
 very improperly, for, as I told her afterwards, it is Gavin's house, 
 not our.s, and that he is master here ; but I could make no 
 impression on her. !She would insist that he was not her master, 
 and that he had no right to spy upon her little ways, and then 
 she began on the old troublesome subject. Why could we not go 
 to the Dower House ? Gavin did not really need us ; that we 
 were preventing him from marrying again. That ia Muriel's 
 strong point, she will insist that Gavin wants his house to himself, 
 but I do not intend to believe her, it is all nonsense and temper 
 on Muriel's part.' 
 
 'I am inclined to agree with you,' replied Ellison, who had 
 often been over this ground before ; ' poor Cousin Louise, it is 
 very hard for you. I wish Muriel would behave better to Gavin. 
 He may be a little masterful and decided — men often are — but a 
 sister ought to understand and make light of his little defects. 
 Now we must really go, or Gavin will be late f(jr dinner.' 
 
 When they went into the hall they found Tedo and Colonel 
 Trevor playing at hide-and-seek among the pillars, and Lorraine 
 watching them with delighted eyes. Muriel had disappeared. 
 Tedo was ca})tured with dilliculty, and lifted on to his mother's 
 lap, and Ellison established herself on the back seat of the dog- 
 cart. Colonel Trevor took the reins, and they started off, Mrs. 
 Trevor kissing her hand fmm the porch. 
 
 As they drove out of the gate Lorraine looked up. Yes, that 
 must be the turret-room ; she could see a tall figure standing in 
 the window, Muriel was evidently watching them. Lorraine 
 waved her hand, but she could not be certain that there Wiis 
 any response, then she settled herself to the enjoyment of her 
 drive. 
 
 The road to Dorchester was singularly beautiful. For nearly 
 two miles the road skirted the Redlands woods ; the dark firs, the
 
 GO THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 broken ground — witli gorse and furze — the glimpses of meadow- 
 lands opened up new vistas of interest every minute. Dorchester 
 evidently lay in a hollow, for at times there was quite a deep 
 descent. Now and then the road narrowed, the branches of 
 the trees met overhead, and the sunshine filtered pleasantly 
 through the green leaves. They drove at a good pace, but 
 Lorraine felt no uneasiness. Colonel Trevor was evidently a 
 practised Jehu, and he and Whitefoot understood each other. 
 
 They had just accomplished an awkward little bit of road 
 safely when he turned to Lorraine with a smile. 
 
 ' You have good nerves, Mrs. Herbert. I should never have 
 dared to drive at that pace if my sister had been with me. Last 
 time we went into Dorchester I was obliged to let her get out 
 and walk.' 
 
 ' I am always sorry for nervous people,' replied Lorraine simply, 
 'their imaginations conjure up frightful mishaps without any 
 adequate foundation for their fears. When I was a little girl 
 some one gave me the PilgrirrCs Progress, for my Sunday afternoon 
 reading. I used to be so sorry for Miss Much-afraid — even in 
 Bunyan's time there were such things as diseased nerves.' 
 
 'I daresay,' he returned in an amused voice ; 'but I have 
 wholly forgotten the person you mention. There was a Mr. 
 Feeble-mind, I recollect.' 
 
 'Yes, and a Mr. Despondency. Ah, Bunyan was a grand 
 student of human nature ; even as a child I used to revel in his 
 descriptions.' 
 
 ' I used to read the Pilgrim's Progress too, when I was a small 
 boy,' observed Colonel Trevor complacently, ' but I always liked 
 that fight with Apollyon best. Tliere was such a grand picture 
 of the fiend — all claws and scales — that, boy -like, I gloated 
 over it. I think I will look it up again for the sake of the good 
 old times. Ah, and they were good, Mrs. Herbert ; " the thoughts 
 of youth are long, long thoughts," as Longfellow says; but the 
 thoughts were awfully jolly, I am sure of that.' 
 
 ' Gavin, I think that we had better have tea at Masterman's,' 
 interrupted Ellison at this moment. ' I shall order it while you 
 put up Whitefoot, and then we can do our shopping afterwards.' 
 
 ' All right,' was the good-humoured answer. ' My business will 
 be done in half an hour, but I can go and have a crack with some 
 one at the club while you ladies do your purchases.' 
 
 It was a delightful afternoon to Lorraine. Both her com- 
 panions were amused at her artless expressions of pleasure as they 
 sat at the little round table at Masterman's, enjoying their tea and 
 Bcones. Of her own account she began telling them about her
 
 MURIEL 61 
 
 life at Brussels, and then of some weeks that she had once spent in 
 the Bavarian Tyrul. 
 
 ' In those days life nscd to be a perpetual picnic and feast,' 
 she wont on. ' Wlien I was very tired and low in Beaumont 
 Street I used to shut my eyes and try to imagine that I was a girl 
 again. It was a miserable make-believe, but I think it refreshed 
 me. I used to try so hard sometimes that I have almost smelt 
 the roses on old Marie's stall, ami could see her brown, wizened 
 old face and dangling earrings quite plainly. Oh those roses, and 
 the great crimson peache.'', how lovely they all were ; but,' with a 
 queer little shrug of her shoulders, ' I doubt if my dream of the 
 fruit-market inqjroved the flavour of weak tea and dry bread,' 
 
 Colonel Trevor gave her a quick, interested look, but said 
 nothing. Ellison shook her head. 
 
 ' Beaumont Street is an interdicted subject. You may talk as 
 much as you like about Switzerland or the Tyrol ; I love foreign 
 descriptions ; Colonel Trevor is always furnishing me with Indian 
 sketches — his Anglo-Indian reminiscences are wonderfully amusing. 
 Now, really we must begin our shopping, and keep the rest of 
 our chat for the return journey'; and as this was only sensible 
 advice no one offered any objection, and Colonel Trevor took 
 himself off. 
 
 Lorraine found plenty of amusement in watching Ellison make 
 her purchases. She was an admirable business woman, she knew 
 exactly what she wanted, and never tried to make bargains. Miss 
 Lee was evidently well known in Dorchester ; whatever shop she 
 entered the master always left his customer to speak to her, and, 
 if possible, to serve her. She was very pleasant in her manners. 
 Lorraine might think her at times a little condescending, a trifle 
 too decided for her years, but no one is quite perfect ; and by tlie 
 end of the afternoon she admired Ellison more than ever. 
 
 Tedo was tired out long before Ellison had finished her business, 
 so she advised her cousin to sit down at Masterman's until the 
 dogcart was ready. He was fast asleep when they fetched liim, 
 and fretted a little at being disturbed ; but he soon quieted down 
 in his mother's arms. The return journey was slower. Ellison 
 insisted on walking up the stct'i) hill, and joined Colonel Trevor 
 as he led Whitefoot. Lorraine would willingly have joined them, 
 but she could not leave her boy, so she sat contentedly looking 
 up the shady road, while the soft evening air played on her face. 
 
 A sudden sense of well-being, of full satisfaction made her 
 heart swell almost painfully — could she be happier than she felt 
 this evening? Her boy was well ; his future and hers was 
 assured. Ellison was not one to do anything by halves. The old
 
 62 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 bad life was past and over ; lier poor Ealph was at rest. It waa 
 dreadful to tliink that she could not truly mourn for him ; that 
 was the worst of all ; but surely it was her duty to be happy 
 now. ' I need not doubt that God has work for me to do here,' 
 she went on ; 'if one only waits, one's work will surely come. 
 If only Ellison will love me,' and then she smiled and sighed, and 
 wished she could hear what they were saying ; but their voices 
 were low, and she could distinguish nothing. 
 
 The talk would have interested her. Colonel Trevor was 
 speaking to Ellison about his sister. He was relating their 
 disagreement at the breakfast-table, and giving her his version. 
 He really wanted Ellison's advice and sympathy, and as usual she 
 was very ready to give it. 
 
 ' I am quite losing heart about Muriel,' he finished. ' I find 
 it impossible to get on with her ; she resents what she calls my 
 interference ; but, really, in my jjosition and at my age, surely 
 it cannot be wrong to offer a sister advice ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' returned Ellison decidedly ; ' you are master 
 of Brae House, Gavin, and have every right to make your own 
 rules ; Cousin Louise is always saying so. She takes your part 
 and blames Muriel for answering you as she does.' 
 
 'It was very bad this morning,' he returned gravely. 'You 
 know how I hate scenes ; and if one cannot have one's breakfast 
 in peace, I shall just go back to my old Indian custom and have 
 my cup of tea in my room ; bickering at breakfast spoils one's 
 digestion for the day.' 
 
 ' Muriel is ill ; any one can see that. She has been sitting up 
 over her studies and injuring her nerves. She was not in a con- 
 dition to take advice this morning, and so her temper got the 
 better of her.' 
 
 ' I cannot help all that,' he returned impatiently. ' It was my 
 duty to say what I did — that it was folly to sit over her books at 
 midnight, and that I begged for all our sakes that she would keep 
 better hours. Perhaps I put my foot down a little more than 
 usual ; but her manner riled me — you women can be provoking if 
 you choose — she had no right to answer me as she did ; but when my 
 mother told her so in tlie kindest way, she got up and left the room.' 
 
 ' Poor Gavin ! Yes, I understand it all. Muriel's temper is 
 very, very faulty. She ought to be so good to you. No, you 
 have nothing for which to blame yourself; every man has the 
 right to be master in his own house.' 
 
 'I am glad you tliink so' — looking at her tenderly. 'What a 
 comfort it is to talk to you. I have been rather in a bad temper 
 myself to-day.'
 
 MURIEL 63 
 
 'You, Gaviti ; what nonsense! There, I ha<l better jump up 
 now aa we are nearly at the top of tlie liill. Yuu must drive as 
 quickly as you can, or you will be too late.' 
 
 Colonel Trevor seemed in capital sjiirits during the remainder 
 of the drive. As they drew up at the gate of Brae Farm, Bairn 
 came out to welcome them. As Ellison caressed him she suddenly 
 remembered the retriever puppies. 
 
 'Mrs. Herbert would like one of Juno's puppies,' she said. 
 ' Can you spare her one, Gavin 1 ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' he returned promptly. ' "Wliich shall I send her — 
 Tweedledum or Tweedledee ? they are both fine little fellows.' 
 
 'Oh, we will leave that to you ; but he must be handsome and 
 amiable ; but I don't think I much admire your choice of names ! 
 The puppy will be re-christened, I can assure you of that.' 
 
 ' Then Mrs. Herbert shall not have one at all,' was the un- 
 expected reply. ' Mrs. Herbert, surely you would not have the 
 bad taste to re-christen a puppy that I sent you ? ' 
 
 ' Not if you particularly wished me to retain the name,' she 
 returned, rather perplexed by his plaintive tone. 
 
 ' No, I thought not. You are far too kind-hearted to hurt any 
 one's feelings. I will bring down Tweedledum for you to see ; he 
 is a real beanty, and will beat Bairn into fits when he grows up ; 
 but he must be well looked after, his pedigree is most respectable, 
 and he has not had distemper yet' 
 
 ' Lorraine, how could you be so absurd ! ' observed her cousin, 
 as they walked together to the house. ' Colonel Trevor was only 
 in fun. Fancy binding yourself to keep that ridiculous name. 
 You ought to call him Chief or Keeper, or some suitable name ; 
 but Tweedledum 1 ' 
 
 * It is very long, certainly. I shall have to shorten it some- 
 how ; but how very kind of Colonel Trevor to spare me one of his 
 pu]>pii's.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; he wants to get rid of it. I knew that when 1 
 suggested it ; but Juno's puppies are worth having, and one more 
 dog about the Farm will not matter,' and having put things in 
 this matter-of-fact light, Ellison went briskly into the house to 
 prepare for the evening meal, leaving Lorraine to follow at her 
 leisure.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A MORNING WALK 
 
 ' Sow an action, reap a habit ; 
 Sow a habit, reap a character ; 
 Sow a character, reap a destiny ; 
 Not as little as we dare, but as much as we can.' 
 
 Bishop Westcott. 
 
 That evening as they sat at their work in the bay-window, enjoy- 
 ing the fine sunset, Lorraine began to question her cousin" about 
 the inhabitants of the vicarage. 
 
 ' You have not mentioned them, Ellison,' she went on. ' You 
 have told me so much about the Earnshaws at Price's Folly, and 
 old Mrs. Langton at Ferncliffe, and her companion Miss Holt, and 
 that Redlands is deserted because Sir John Chessington and Lady 
 Chessington have gone to India for a year, but you have not spoken 
 of the vicarage people.' But as she said this Ellison looked very 
 grave and put down her work. 
 
 ' No, but I was going to tell you, only there is so much to say 
 about everything. There is sad trouble at the vicarage ; our poor 
 old vicar, Mr. YoUand, has had a .stroke of paralysis, and his doctor 
 has ordered him complete rest and change for a year. They left 
 Highlands about three weeks ago ; they are at Hastings at present, 
 but they are going shortly to Taunton, where their only son has a 
 living.' 
 
 ' That is why the vicarage had such an uninhabited look then. 
 I could only see one thin line of smoke from a solitary chimney, 
 and most of the blinds were down.' 
 
 'Yes, it is to be put thoroughly into repair. There is some- 
 thing defective about the warming apparatus, and one or two of 
 the ceilings are down ; they expect to have workmen in for three 
 or four months, Mrs. Yolland told me so herself. She owned it
 
 // M0RA7NG WALK 65 
 
 waa a sad pity, as they could not house the locum, tencns; and if he 
 should be a married man with a family it might be very difficult 
 for him to find lodgings near. There is only Mrs. Drake's — I 
 believe she lets three bedrooms with the sitting - room — for they 
 would hardly go to" the M\i(j<jon and Horses. Tom Brattle is un- 
 married and does not trouble himself with lodgers ; besides, his 
 brother Sam, my baililf, lives with him ; and the other cottages 
 afford very limited accommodation.' 
 
 ' Is the locum teiiens married, then V asked Lorraine, who was as 
 much interested in the politics of Highlands as though she had 
 lived there all her life. 
 
 ' That is what I cannot tell you ; for at present he is a myth. 
 One of the curates from Bramfield come over from Saturday to 
 Monday and put up at the Waggon and Horses; but the church- 
 wardens, !Mr. Earnshaw and Mr. Tarrant, are in treaty with some 
 clergyman, I believe, for the entire twelvemonth. It is very pro- 
 voking altogether, for Sir John is so good-natured that he would 
 willingly have offered Redlands, but now he has made other 
 arrangements ; some of his friends and connections are coming 
 down for the shooting, but until September the house will be 
 under repair.' 
 
 Lorraine looked a little taken aback at this news. ' Oh dear, 
 what a pity,' she said naively. ' How dreadfully you must miss 
 your friends, Ellison.' 
 
 ' Yes,' returned Ellison tranquilly. ' Lady Chessington was a 
 very intimate friend ; I liked her best of all my neighbours ; she 
 was a little melancholy at times ; you see they lost their youngest 
 son about two years ago. He was such a nice boy ; he died at 
 Rugby from the effects of a blow at football, and she has never 
 quite recovered it, or Sir John either. Their oldest eon is with 
 his regiment in Burmah, and they have gone out to see him. 
 
 ' What an excellent plan ; nothing could be belter. Wli\ ;iic 
 you smiling, Ellison, in that amused wayl' 
 
 * I think you do amuse me a little,' returned her cousin quietly. 
 ' You have only been here two days, and yet you seem as interested 
 in all the people as though you had lived here for years. I do 
 not think I have ever talked so much about my neighbours as I 
 have these two days ; but I can see your curiosity is not a bit 
 satisfied.' 
 
 ' It grows witli what it feeds upon, you see. Poor Lady 
 Chessington ; of course you must love her.' 
 
 ' I do not say that ; love is a rather strong word for a mere 
 acquaintance, but we are on pleasant terms of intimacy. She used 
 to come here verj' often, and I dined at Redlands every few weeks 
 
 6
 
 66 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 — Sir John never liked dining alone, he is very sociable. Yes, 1 
 should miss them a good deal if I were not so busy, but I think 1 
 miss the Yollands more. He is one's clergyman, you see, and he 
 always preached such sensible sermons, they seemed to do one 
 good ; and then one is so sorry for poor Mrs. Yolland.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, it must be a great trouble to her.' 
 
 * It has nearly killed her ; it is she who has always been the 
 invalid. She had a weak chest, and never went out in the winter ; 
 but she led such a busy life. She used to have working meetings 
 for the South of London — one for us gentry, and one for the 
 respectable mothers — Mrs. Drake and any of the cottagers. She 
 gave them tea, and read to them an amusing book, and they very 
 much enjoyed it I half promised that I would carry it on next 
 winter. I thought Miss Spencer, the infant-school mistress, would 
 help me ; but I shall have you now.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, and I shall be delighted to lielp you. I do love 
 mothers' meetings. I like nursing the babies and talking to the 
 women, and I can cut out too. I have had regular lessons ' ; and 
 then Ellison, in a rapid concise way, began to detail her plan. As 
 usual, she had not spoken of it until it was fully sketched out in 
 her own mind. I really think, Lorraine,' she went on gravely, 
 ' that with your assistance I could have the other working-party 
 too. I daresay Mrs. Earnshaw would have it willingly, but it 
 is 80 far to walk to Price's Folly, the afternoons are so short 
 in November. Erae Farm is more central, and I know Mrs. 
 Yolland would like me to take it. What do you say % Laura 
 Holt would come, and the Mordaunts, and Muriel, and Mrs. 
 Tarrant, and Mrs. Earnshaw — we should be eight or nine ; one of 
 us would read to prevent gossip. I daresay Muriel or Miss Spencer 
 would be reader.' 
 
 Lorraine cordially assented to this. She thought it an excellent 
 idea for her cousin to gather her neighbours round her for charitable 
 work, and commended the scheme warmly. Ellison looked pleased ; 
 and as it was already a fait accompli in her mind, she made a 
 mental resolve to send to Piyce Jones for patterns of long-cloth 
 and flannel. 
 
 The evening pa.ssed almost too quickly, and even Ellison looked 
 8urpri.sed when Ruth entered to set the chairs for prayers ; but as 
 punctuality was absolute at Brae Farm, she put down her work at 
 once. When she had dismissed her household, and gone round 
 the place with Mrs. Tucker and Bairn, she was at liberty to dawdle 
 and go.ssip as much as she liked ; and as Lorraine declared she was 
 not tired, and that she never felt more wide-awake and averse to 
 go to bed, they spent another half-hour looking out on the moon-
 
 A MORNING IVALK 67 
 
 light, and talking in that desultory, pleasant fashion that most 
 women love. 
 
 The next morning Lorraine had a surprise. She was in her 
 room getting Tcdo ready for a walk when she heard the gate click, 
 and the next moment Muriel Trevor's tall figure passed up the 
 gravel walk. 
 
 Early visitors were very undesirable in Ellison's opinion, and 
 no one but Muriel would have invaded the privacy of the mistress 
 of Brae Farm at an hour when .she would be making up her 
 accounts, or interviewing her bailiff ; but Muriel's visit was to Mi-s. 
 Herbert, as she bluntly informed her, and Ellison tried not to smile 
 as she sent a message to summon her cousin. 
 
 Muriel looked a little disappointed when Lorraine entered in 
 her hat and jacket. ' Oh, are you going out ? ' she said abruptly. 
 ' I thought it would be much too early ; but, of course, I would 
 not think of detaining you this lovely morning.' 
 
 'It is a lovely morning,' agreed Lorraine cheerfully, 'and Tedo 
 is wild to get out and pick buttercups and daisies. I was only 
 going into the Brae Woods. Why should you not join us 1 Ellison 
 is busy' — looking at her formidable pile of account-books — 
 ' and will be glad to have the room to herself. If you are not 
 tired' — with a glance at Muriel's pale face — 'I think the air 
 would do you good.' 
 
 'So do I; thank you for proposing it' ; and Muriel's manner 
 was quite animated. ' But before we start, Ellison, I mu.st give 
 you mother's message. She wants you and Mr.s. Herbert to come to 
 dinner to-morrow. There will only be Admiral and Mrs. Earn- 
 shaw and Captain Faucit — he is coming down for a couple of 
 nights ; but mother is very anxious for you both to come.' 
 
 ' We shall be delighted,' began Ellison, and then she saw an 
 expression of embarrassment on Lorraine's face. She coloured and 
 looked at her cousin. 
 
 'I hope you will go, Ellison,' she said meaningly; 'but I am 
 afraid that I must ask you to excuse me ' ; and then she added 
 bravely, 'I have not provided myself witli dinner- drei>se8, you 
 know.' 
 
 'My dear Mrs. Herbort, what tloes that matter?' and Muriel 
 seemed quite amu.>ied. ' Mother ajid I are very unconventional. 
 We do not mind in the least what people wear ; do wo, Ellison ? 
 Neither of us could accept such an excuse for a moment.' 
 
 ' I know what my cousin means,' returned Ellison with her 
 usual tact. ' 1 gave her no time to replenish her wardrobe ; but, 
 Lorraine, I really think for this once Mrs. Trevor will excuse my 
 little deficiency. Am I right, ^luriel ? Would not your mother
 
 68 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 be pleased to see !Mr8. Herbert, even if she makes her appearance 
 in a plain black gown ? ' 
 
 ' I can answer for mother,' replied IMuriel so pleasantly tbat 
 Ellison regarded her with secret astonishment. ' She will be 
 delighted to see Mrs. Herbert, even in a gown of sackcloth and 
 garland of ashes ' ; and at this they both laughed. And so it was 
 settled ; Lorraine was too sociable by nature to need much persuasion. 
 Vanity had lain dormant for many years, and her unhappy married 
 life had made her rather careless of her appearance than otherwise. 
 Until the previous day, when she had tried on her new serge gown, 
 she had never regarded herself with such satisfaction ; and she 
 was quite disposed to think that she would be presentable in her 
 cashmere. They were ready now to start for their walk ; but as 
 they left the house together Lorraine detected herself studying 
 Miss Trevor's appearance rather critically. She had evidently no 
 taste for dress ; everything was well-made and fitted admirably, 
 there was no fault in the cut or style ; but the cold, quakerish 
 grey, unadorned and without the faintest relief, only made her 
 complexion more decidedly sallow. A darker tint, a touch- of 
 bright colour, was needed to give warmth and tone. It was a pity, 
 Lorraine thought, that Miss Trevor should not have inherited her 
 mother's taste ; she probably refused to be guided on such matters, 
 and preferred her own faulty standard — and in this she was perfectly 
 correct. Many and deep were the groans of Mrs. Trevor over dear 
 Muriel's deplorable want of taste, and her preference for dull 
 neutral tints. ' She is colour-blind, I believe,' she once said to 
 Ellison in a tone of half-comic disgust, ' or .she has imposed some 
 penance on herself. Last year it was a dirty sage green, the mo.st 
 odious tint to blend with a sallow complexion, and she varied it 
 with a yellowish red — a perfectly indescribable shade, something 
 like rhubarb and magnesia with a dash of senna in it. I went on 
 my knees metaphorically to beg her to burn that gown ; I even 
 offered to refund the nine guineas that she had paid for it ; but she 
 only stared at me, and said T did not understand aesthetic dress — 
 aesthetic rubbish I call it.' 
 
 Tedo demanded 'butter- ties and day -days' l)efore they had 
 reached the gate, Ijut Lorraine was inexorable. 
 
 ' No, Tedo, you must let mother carry you across the big field, 
 and then you shall have as many buttercups as you like'; and it 
 was pretty to see how the little fellow yielded ; evidently he was 
 not spoilt. Wlien Lorraine took him up in her arms, he put his 
 arms round her neck and pressed his cheek against hers. Tedo 
 had inherited his mother's loving disposition, and was quite as 
 demonstrative in his way.
 
 A MORNING WALK fJ9 
 
 'How strong you are !' exclaimed Muriel enviously. 'I could 
 not cany that child for a dozen yards without fatigue.' 
 
 ' I daresay not,' returned Lorraine, smiling. ' Yes, I used to 
 be very strong, but things have taken the strength out of me a 
 little. I never felt so tired as I do now. Good health is indeed a 
 blessing, Miss Trevor. I have never been thankful enough for it ; 
 one does not count up one's blessings often enough, I say that to 
 myself sometimes. But I am afraid,' in a sympathetic voice, 'it 
 is not a blessing that you enjoy, you seem to me very far from 
 strong.' 
 
 'You are right,' in a low, dejected tone; 'but very few people 
 do me so much justice. I am supposed to be fanciful and to have 
 fads. What makes you so liberal-minded, Mrs. Herbert ? ' 
 
 Lorraine laughed. 
 
 'Any child could see you were suffering severely yesterday ; you 
 looked only fit to be in bed. To-day you are better, but you are 
 still very weak and languid.' 
 
 This was such unusual treatment ; there was such a delicious 
 inlle.Kion of real sympatliy and kindness in Lorraine's tone, such 
 evident understanding, that Muriel's starved sensibilities made 
 instant and grateful response. No one had dealt with her ^visely ; 
 her peculiar temperament needed careful management. Her 
 mother's excessive tenderness was provoking, and only incrc-a-sed 
 her irritability ; her brother was far too brusque and bracing ; 
 Ellison too condescending, her good sense and robust health were 
 almost wounding ; snaflle and curb and spur, they were not for 
 her thin-skinned and morbid nature. ' The heart knoweth its 
 own bitterness,' said the wise man ; and through the ages no words 
 have been truer ; but no one guessed how bitter the rind of life 
 was to Afuriel Trevor. 
 
 ' I do not know that there is much amiss with my health,' she 
 said presently, as they walked slowly across the Brae meadow. 
 ' Anif mic ; that is what they all say — a want of strength and vitality ; 
 it does not sound much, does it, Mrs. Herbert ? There is no interest- 
 ing or mysterious disease, you see ; it is only " the little rift within 
 the lute," but it is wonderful ' — she paused here, and there was a 
 deep melancholy in her voice — ' it is strange how it deadens the 
 life music' 
 
 Never had Muriel Trevor maile such a speech, even in her own 
 home. It was Lorraine's caressing voice that had drawn it forth. 
 Sympathy is a lever strong enough to move a world ; but how 
 often it is mis;ipplied, or rusted for want of use. 
 
 Lorraine made no answer, but her soft brown eyes rested on 
 Muriel's face ; they were quite eloquent enough.
 
 70 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 * It is not that 1 feel so ill, but tliat I never know what it is to 
 feel quite well,' she went on. ' Do you know how a creaking door 
 jars on one's nerves ? Well, I am always creaking and feel jarred ; 
 the world has scant pity for nerves. One day people load you with 
 sympathy, — you are ill, you must have every attention ; but the 
 next day they have grown a little weary, — it is want of elFort then, 
 a grievous giving way to morbid feelings.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean, it is all too painfully 
 true. Poor Miss Trevor, I am so sorry for you. Yes, my son, you 
 shall walk now, you have been very good ; shall we sit down on 
 this tree-trunk to rest while ho gathers us some bouquets ? Be off 
 with you, Tedo ; yellow buttercups for mother, and pink and white 
 daisies for the lady.' And Tedo went off chuckling with delight, to 
 behead countless flowers, and carry off trophies of hot, mangled 
 blossoms lovingly scrunched in his little hands. 
 
 It was evident that some sort of struggle was going on in 
 Muriel's mind ; she looked at her companion and seemed about to 
 speak, and then hesitated, but finally she burst out in a curious 
 shamefaced way : 
 
 ' It is not honest to be silent ; you are very very kind, but I 
 do not deserve this pity ; you would not give it if you knew how 
 little care I take of myself ; perhaps if I were wiser, and did not 
 do many foolisli things, I might have better health.' 
 
 'What things do you mean?' asked Lorraine gently; 'please 
 tell me. Confession is good for the soul, you know.' 
 
 ' It is very strange,' returned Muriel in an odd, musing tone. 
 ' I have never owned to a living creature before that I have been 
 in the wrong. I have known you about four-and-twenty hours, 
 and I am talking as confidentially as though we were old friends : 
 there is something mesmeric and uncanny in tliis sudden influence ; 
 humbling as it is to confess it, I should rather like to answer your 
 question.' 
 
 'Real sympathy is always mesmeric,' replied Lorraine, 'but its 
 influence depends entirely on its reality and depth. In spite c: 
 the fact that we are almost strangers, you are quite aware tliat I am 
 sincerely interested ; the whole thing — the kernel — the meaning 
 lies in the nutshell, "Give, and it shall be given to you.'" 
 
 Muriel was silent ; she was conscious of an entirely new 
 sensation ; to hear a text quoted out of church on a week-day was 
 a novelty to her experience ; she was not quite sure that she liked 
 it, and yet how true it was. 
 
 ' I see what you mean,' she returned after a minute. ' Well, I 
 will tell you one of my bad habits. I am fond of burning the 
 midnight oil ; I get interested in my studies, and I hate going to
 
 A MORNING IVALK 71 
 
 bed early. What is the guod of lyiiiL,' awake, feeding on one's own 
 dismal fancies ? I love to feel that every one in the house ia 
 asleep, and that I am up in my turret-room under the stars. It 
 is difficult to explain what I mean, but at no other hour do I ever 
 have such a sense of freedom and j-tillness and peace ; my brain 
 is more alive, I feel less languid and on edge. My brother has 
 taken upon himself to lecture me pretty severely for what he terms 
 my suicidal folly ; and as I dispute any one's right to control my 
 movements, things are just a little strained at present There, I 
 have been perfectly frank for once in my life. Are you dreadfully 
 shocked, Mrs. Herbert?' 
 
 ' I am dreadfully sorry,' returned Lorraine (piit-tly, ' for I must 
 be honest in my turn, and confess that I am rather inclined to take 
 your brother's side. You are laying up trouble for yourself, Miss 
 Trevor. Tell me one thing, — does not nature take her revenge in 
 the mornings'?' 
 
 'Ah, you have me there! The early morning hours are 
 purgatorial.' 
 
 ' I thought so. You do not need lectures, your conscience must 
 tell you the truth ; you will not enjoy your stolen sweets long, 
 they will become bitter — at least, 1 hope so ; you are not one to 
 rejient by halves, I am sure of that. If you would not think me 
 hard for saying so, I feel disposed to transfer a little of my pity to 
 your mother and brother ; but specially your mother.' 
 
 Lorraine spoke in a light jesting tone, for she was a little afraid 
 of saying too much. Rut it was evident she had grazed on a sore 
 point. Muriel coloured up. 
 
 ' You think I give them plenty to bear.' 
 
 'No, indeed ; how could you imagine that I should hint such a 
 thing — I, a perfect stranger ? But I know how mothers fed. I 
 could not lielj) Ijeing exceedingly touched by Mi-s. Trevor's anxiety 
 yestcrtlay, she was so evidently concerned, she knew in a moment 
 that you were suffering ; it made no difference to her that it might 
 have been caused by your own fault, she only wanted to find a 
 remedy.' 
 
 ' Poor dear mother ' — in a repentant tone. And then Tedo made 
 a diversion ; he had scratched his thumb against some prickly 
 shrub and his .self-pity was excessive. He shed torrents of tears 
 over 'mine bluggy humb,' and nothing but bandaging it with a 
 handkerchief soothed his tenor. ' Boy won't pick no more nasty 
 fo'ers,' he siiid rather drowsily, for he was getting tired. 
 
 ' When our pleasures tire us, they are pleasures no longer, 
 observed Lorraine quaintly. ' Tedo's beloved flowers have all got 
 thorns now. Wliat ungrateful creatures we are. I think I must
 
 72 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 go back now, for Tedo is decidedly weary. I hope you do not 
 mind.' And Muriel reluctantly turned lier steps homewards. 
 
 ' I shall see you to-morrow evening,' she said, as they parted at 
 the Lodge gates. ' Perhaps, after dinner, I might show you my den, 
 while Gavin and Captain Faucit smoke their cigarettes.' 
 
 ' That will be delightful. I shall remind you of your promise,' 
 returned Lorraine ; but as she walked swiftly, and carrying her 
 sleeping boy, she never noticed that Muriel was standing still 
 watching her until she was out of sight. Lorraine's arms were 
 aching, and she was sorely tired, but her heart was swelling with 
 tenderness. ' Poor Miss Trevor,' she thought, ' how empty her life 
 is compared to mine.' 
 
 ' She is a sweet woman,' said Muriel to herself. ' I have never 
 met any one like her ; directly she spoke to me my heart seemed 
 to go out to her. "What a smile she has ! But she has made me 
 feel uncomfortable ; I wonder why ? ' And during the rest of the 
 day Muriel continued to puzzle herself why had those few gentle 
 words made her feel as though all these years she had made some 
 terrible mistake. That night, as Colonel Trevor paced up and 
 down in the moonlight, thinking of his dead wife in her Indian 
 grave, no stream of lamp-light from the turret-room vexed hia 
 sense of propriety. Brae House was in darkness, and Muriel, 
 instead of lying awake, was actually sleeping placidly like a 
 rational woman.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE TURRET-ROOM AND ADMIRAL BYNO 
 
 'All round the room my sileut servants wait, 
 My friends in every season, bright and dim.' 
 
 BaJIUY C'OIINWAIJ. 
 
 •Away with him, away with him ; ho speaks Latin.' 
 
 HE.NRy VI. 
 
 That afternoou, as Lorraine was watching her boy as be played in- 
 the Dovecote, tlierc was a knock at the door, and Ellison entered 
 with a parcel. 
 
 'I have brought you this,' she said simjtly, opening the paper 
 and displaying the folds of rich black silk. ' It was a great 
 bargain. I got it at a sale in St Paul's Churchyard, but I could 
 not make use of it for some time to come, and you really must 
 have a nice dinner-dress. Mra Trevor and Mrs. Earnshaw are 
 always inviting their friends. Highlands is a very sociable little 
 place. I will drive you over to Dorchester one morning, there is 
 an excellent dressmaker there. You will wear black silk, will you 
 not?' looking at her doubtfully, as Lorraine did not answer — 
 perhaps because her lips were quivering. 
 
 *Ah, Ellison, how good you are to me. Forgive me, dear' — 
 for the tears could not be kept back — ' but I am not used to such 
 kindness. You think of everytliing.' 
 
 'Nonsense, how can you uiake so much of my little gift' But 
 though Ellison tried to laugh, her voice was not quite steady. 
 Lorraine's sad little speccli went to her heart As she went down- 
 stairs she told hurself that her cousin should never have cause to 
 say that again ; uudeviating thoughtful kindness should be dealt 
 to her day by day ; her life was to be protected and happy, as far 
 as she had power to influence it ; every want was to be supplied 
 and every wish gratitied. ' Poor Lorraine, she is very nice, and I
 
 74 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 shall soon get fond of her,' ahe said to herself. ' It is so pleasant 
 to like peoi)le ; and I never conkl get fond of Letty ; bnt Lorraine 
 has a dilferent sort of nature.' 
 
 Ellison felt all tlie happier as she moved about the room 
 arranging her flowers, tlie glow of benevolence seemed to warm her 
 own heart. The idea that her cousin must owe everything to her, 
 that she and her boy were already dependent on her for all their 
 comfort, seemed to give a stimulus and flavour to her own happi- 
 ness. After all, generosity is only a refined form of selfishness ; the 
 donor and recipient are etpially benefited ; the purse may be im- 
 poverished, but the heart is enriched ; it is only the niggardly and 
 the miser who are the losers. 
 
 Ellison would have been surprised, perhaps even a little annoyed, 
 if any one had told her that she was all the Iiappier for lier cousin's 
 society. It is to be feared that in those early days she would 
 have repelled such an idea witli scorn ; but, nevertheless, it was a 
 fact, that her love of power and management was secretly gratified ; 
 there was larger scope for her active mind and wider interests ; it 
 was pleasanter, for example, to ponder over the question, what 
 Lorraine would like for dinner, than to order her own solitary 
 meal. It even gave her a better appetite to see how Lorraine 
 enjoyed it. 
 
 It was too soon, far too soon, to hazard an opinion, and nothing 
 would have induced Ellison to state one ; but she could not deny 
 that her cousin had admirable tact, she was so ready to fall in with 
 everything — to talk, or read or be silent. If Ellison were busy she 
 had her work or book, but she would put down her novel, even in 
 an engrossing part, if Ellison had anything to discuss ; and there 
 was never any appearance of efi'ort in doing so. ' She is anxious to 
 please me, of course,' thought Ellison ; ' she is very grateful and 
 desirous of heljiing me, and I suppose I should feel the same in her 
 place ; but if I read her rightly she is so sympathetic that she 
 prefers to do what other people like, I might take a leaf out of 
 her bor^k there. What an example she will be to Muriel, who is so 
 self-willed, and never yields to any one.' 
 
 Ellison was secretly sorry that Mrs. Trevor had issued such an 
 early invitation to dinner ; she was anxious for her cousin to make 
 a good appearance in her neighbours' eyes, and was not at all 
 desirous of presenting her in the light of a poor relation or a 
 pensioner on her bounty ; she was far too high-minded for such 
 ideas to be welcome. 
 
 It would have been so much nicer for Mrs. Trevor to have 
 waited a little, and for Lorraine to make acquaintance with every- 
 body after the usual fashion over the tea-cups ; but Mrs. Trevor's
 
 THE TURRET-ROOM AMJ ADMIRAL HYNG 75 
 
 dinncrd were always stately little ailairs ; people dressed smartly at 
 them. It was all very well for Murii-l to talk about sackcloth robes 
 and garlands of ashes, but the liigli lands ladies were so near 
 London that they dressed very well indeed, and were somewhat 
 critical on their ntiglibours' appearance. Muriel might take 
 liberties with herself, but Mrs. Trevor and Mi-s. Earnshaw were 
 always turned out by their maids, as befitted two well-preserved 
 gentlewomen who knew they had their share of good looks. 
 
 When till! evening arrived Ellison looked at her cousin rather 
 anxiously. She had put on her plainest evening gown to keep her 
 company. It was a handsome black silk with heavy jet trimmings, 
 and was the least becoming of her dresses; but Lorraine thought 
 it very stylish. 
 
 'You must put up with me, Ellison,' she said, with a comical 
 little smile. ' I cannot do you credit this evening.' And then in a 
 shamefaced way she put down on her cousin's lap an exipiisite 
 little spray of white flowers that Ellison had arranged with much 
 taste. 
 
 'Thank you, dear, for your kind thought, but I must not wear 
 flowers ; it would not be seemly in my circumstances.' 
 
 'Of course not; it was thoughtless of me,' returned Ellison, 
 vexed at the mistake she had made, and arranging the flowers in 
 her own dress. 'Never mind, you look very nice without them'; 
 and she was right Lorraine's plain black gown seemed moulded 
 perfectly to her graceful figure, and the soft crape rouche was 
 scarcely whiter than her slender throat ; the coils of bright auburn 
 hair set off the small shapely head; and as Ellison watched her 
 cross the room at Brae House, she was struck with the undefinablc 
 air of distinction which always attracted strangers. 
 
 ' Your cousin has lived much abroad, she tells me,' observed 
 Mrs. Earnshaw in the course of the evening. ' Highlands ought to 
 give yoli a vote of thanks for introducing Mrs. Herbert to us ; she 
 seems a deliglitfiil person. Just look ! you can see for yourself 
 that the Admiral has fallen in love with her ; and as for Captain 
 Fuucit, he will go back to town a sadder and wiser man.' 
 
 Ellison laughed good - humouredly. She was unfeignedly 
 pleased that her cousin's dchiLl had been so successful ; every ono 
 seemed to like Lorraine, and to be eager to t;ilk to her ; but more 
 than once she had secretly marvelled at her assurance and ease of 
 manner. There was no shyness or gaucha-ie; no consciousness that 
 she was among strangers. Lorraine talked to every one with the 
 same friendly interest and simplicity. It was evident that she 
 was enjoying herself immensely ; to her sociable nature it was 
 delightful to find herself amongst all these pleasant kindly people.
 
 76 THE MISTRESS OE BRAE EARM 
 
 She liked tbtm all: the email, dapper Admiral witli his big 
 white moustache and loud, decided voice; and his comely wife, 
 with her dark, Spanish style of beauty and soft motherly ways ; 
 Captain Faucit, a light-hearted young officer with a handsome 
 boyish face ; and as for the Trevors, they were quite like old 
 friends now. She chatted happily with Colonel Trevor; and 
 Ellison noticed that he laughed more than once at her droll 
 original speeches. 
 
 From where Lorraine sat she could see little of Muriel ; but 
 she heard her more than once contradicting the Admiral rather 
 flatly ; but he took her rebuffs good-humouredly, and seemed bent 
 on teasing her. Muriel was certainly not looking her best that 
 evening. She Avore the obnoxious green gown, and had some 
 hea^aly cut amber beads round her throat ; the colours were ill- 
 chosen and peculiarly unliecoming. Nevertheless, Lorraine's eyes 
 noticed at once the beauty of her full white throat and rounded 
 arms; they were perfectly modelled. 
 
 ' With her advantages some women would have posed for a 
 beauty,' she thought. 'She had excellent points. I have never 
 seen a more lovely mouth, and when she lights up, her expression 
 is full of intelligence. There is no fault to be found with her 
 features ; it is her complexion, her want of animation, the un- 
 healthiness, mental and physical, of her aspect that makes people 
 call her plain. One of these days, when we know each other better, 
 I shall tell her that it is wicked to give people such a ^vrong 
 impression. Nature meant her to be beautiful, and beautiful she 
 shall be, if I can make her so ; but she must get rid of her pet 
 fiend, morbid fretfulness. Good old Mother Nature will allow no 
 such intruders to mar her wholesome handiwork.' 
 
 When the ladies returned to the drawing-room Muriel tapped 
 Lorraine lightly on the shoulder. ' Now is our opportunity,' she 
 whispered. ' The Admiral will keep them at least half an hour 
 while he tells his old stories. Gavin is used to them ; he generally 
 has a nap and wakes up towards the end. Mother has her house- 
 maid still on her mind, and only wants to talk to Ellison ; and 
 Mrs. Eamshaw, well — tell it not in Gath — but generally she has a 
 nap too.' 
 
 ' In that case we shall not be missed, certainly,' returned 
 Lorraine, smiling ; and they stole off together. On tlie first landing 
 they paused simultaneously beside the window. The gardens of 
 Brae were literally flooded with moonlight. The dark masses of 
 foliage in the Brae Woods seemed only to define more sharply the 
 alternations of light and shade. The evening was profoundly still, 
 and an ineffable peace seemed to brood over everything ; the path-
 
 THE TURRET-ROOM AMD ADMIRAL BYA'G 77 
 
 fray of silver appe.'ired to stretch away into infinite distance, and to 
 Lorraine's fancy, dark shadows, as of veiled ti^'ures, seemed to flit 
 under the trees ; surely on such nights spirits must be abroad, she 
 thought, when, even to human eyes, heaven and earth seemed 
 meeting, and wonderful ladders of light were everywhere. 
 
 ' How beautiful,' she sighed ; but even as she spoke, her thoughta 
 travelled back with curious pei"sistencc to the last moonlight she 
 had seen iu Beaumont Street How tired she had felt that 
 evening, for she had been sitting up the previous night Avith a child 
 who had croup ; but she had stood at her attic window fur a long 
 time ; she knew by the gleam of yellow light behind the stacks of 
 chimneys that the moon was shining, and indeed the street below 
 was so bathed in it that she could see the gaunt form of a thin cat 
 creep along the wall. How hungrily she had fixed her eyes on 
 the little square patch of sky, which was all she could see from 
 her window, until the great silver moon came into view ; it was 
 the same moon that she had always known, just as .«ilvery and 
 beautiful as though it were gliding over the Lake of Geneva ; but 
 what grimy surroundings. And now her attic was emiity, and she 
 was enjoying this exquisite transformation scene ; it was these 
 sharp contrasts that seemed to steady and sober her. ' I must 
 never forget,' she would say to herself at such moments ; ' I must 
 never forget that though I am happy, other women — God help 
 them ! — are suffering as I used to suH'er.* 
 
 ^furiel's first words broke on her exalted mood a little sharply; 
 when self-consciousness steps in, even a moonlight effect may be 
 pronounced stagey and a failure. 
 
 'Don't you hate dinners, Mrs. Herbert? How thankful I am 
 those tiresome two hours are over. The Admiral bores one 
 excessively ; he is terribly narrow and argumentative.' 
 
 ' I thought him so amusing,' n turned Lorraine. ' He is just 
 like a Tittle shaggy polar bear with his big white moustache and 
 thick head of hair. I never saw such hair ; it is as fine and silky 
 as a child's, and his face is so nice and brown, just what a sjiilor's 
 ought to be. He is a dear old man — at least he is not very old ; 
 and his wife is so handsome ; she would certainly niake two 
 Admirals, even Ellison looked quite .«hort be.«ido her ; but I liked 
 to look at her ; one so seldom sees that elo?>y black hair in an 
 Englishwoman.' 
 
 ' Ah, there is Spanish l^lood in her veins. All the boys have dark 
 hair and eyes; as old Mrs. Langton is so fond of saying, "They do 
 not favour their fatlier at all.' They are all big, strong men, and 
 Philip is so handsome.' 
 
 ' Ellison tells me that they are all abroad.'
 
 78 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' Yes, Philip and Dacre are with their regiment in Burmah, it ia 
 the same regiment that Percy Chessington is in. Quentin is at a 
 ranche in Colorado, and Howard is a middy.' 
 
 ' Poor Mrs. Earnshaw ; what a pity she has no daughter ! ' 
 exclaimed Lorraine sympathetically. 
 
 'They had one girl, Lucia; but she died of typhoid fever when 
 she was about fourteen. It was a great trouble, of course, and as 
 mother has lost two daughters, she and Mrs. Earnshaw can feel for 
 each other. They are very chummy, Mrs. Herbert ; they were old 
 schoolfellows, and suit each other down to the ground. Now, 
 have you had your fdl of moonlight, for we shall never get to 
 the turret-room at this rate ' ; and Lorraine reluctantly tore her- 
 self away. 
 
 The turret-room was at the extreme end of one wing, and the 
 corresponding turret had been fitted up with a large telescope, and 
 was used as a sort of observatory ; but Colonel Trevor had 
 pronounced it too draughty for a sitting-room. 
 
 Muriel was evidently fond of air and light. The turret-room, 
 although it was by no means large, had four windows, and as wall- 
 room was scanty, and completely occupied by a well-filled book- 
 case and fireplace, the window recesses had been utilised. A 
 writing-table, loaded with books, stood in one ; a revolving book- 
 table and easy chair in another ; a couch, with a reading lamp and 
 low table, in the third ; and the fourth window had a cushioned 
 seat, also covered with books, large enough to hold two people, 
 whereon slept a perfectly white Persian cat of immense size, and 
 with the bluest eyes Lorraine ever beheld. 
 
 She knelt down to caress it at once, and the creature arched 
 its shaggy back with a delighted purr of recognition. 
 
 ' What a beautiful animal. I had no idea you had a pet : do 
 you know, his coat reminds me of tlie Admiral's white hair.' 
 
 ' I am afraid his name will remind you of him still more,' 
 returned Muriel. * Admiral Byng ; he answers to his name, you 
 see,' as the cat jumped into her lap and began rubbing himself, 
 with an air of fondness, against her cheek and shoulder. 'You 
 have no conception how affectionate he is ; he is more like a dog 
 than a cat ; he will follow me right down to the farm, though he 
 hates Bairn like poison, and will sit on the roof of the stable 
 waiting for rne, even if I am there for an hour or two ; he goes 
 all over the place with me, and not a dog dares to touch him ; 
 but I am always so nervous when the shooting begins, and he is 
 never allowed to follow me then. He sleeps in my room, and 
 has an easy chair to himself ; and we are good friends — are we not, 
 Admiral ? — and I would not change you for the best dog in creation.'
 
 THE TURRET ROOM AND ADMIRAL BYNG 79 
 
 * I do not pretend to be a cat-lover, but I like all animals,' 
 replied Lorraine. * I will not say a won! of disparaf,'ement of 
 your favourite ; but I have always found the cat- nature dis- 
 appointing. They are such self-centred animals ; they prefer their 
 own comfort to your society. Now, a dog is far nobler ; he would 
 prefer to follow you on the coldest day, rather than enjoy the 
 fireside and warm rug in solitude.' 
 
 * I cannot contradict you,' replied Muriel, lifting the great cat 
 in her arms; 'but I can only assure you that Admiral is a 
 shining exception. He will follow nie on a wet or sunny day, 
 though it is pain and grief to him to wet his feet It is amusing 
 to see him stop every now and then and lift one paw and lick 
 it gingerly, and then go on again. When he has had enough of 
 it, he looks up in my fiice and mews, and then, dirty as he is, 
 T have to carry him.' 
 
 ' He is certainly a noble exception, and I respect him accord- 
 ingly. But, my dear Miss Trevor, what a charming view you 
 must have from these windows ; you are " monarch of all you 
 survey," indeed. I had no idea you could see Brae Farm, and 
 from that further window I expect you have a view of the 
 Woodlands Lodge / ' 
 
 'Yes, indeed, my views are richly diversified ; woods, meadows, 
 farms, and ornamental cottages ; you must come up here by 
 dayliglit. Let me see ; Gavin is going to drive mother to Darley 
 and Bramfield to-morrow afternoon ; will you come and have tea 
 with ine ? Yes, I know Ellison asked me, liut two is so much cosier 
 than three ; a three-cornered talk is not quite harmonious ; you 
 can never strike three notes in perfect unison. Do you know 
 what I mean 1 I am expressing myself awkwardly. What I 
 would say is this ; if you strike three random notes, one or other 
 of them will lie in a dilfLTent key. To enjoy a real conversation 
 two people must be in harmony ; there, have I made myself 
 jtlain ? ' 
 
 ' Perfectly so ; but even here there are exceptions to the rule, 
 and I maintain that our threefold conversiition would have been 
 quite satisfactory ; still, I shall like to come. Do you have tea 
 up hero, or in the drawing-room ?' 
 
 ' Wliicliover you like; but I think we should enjoy it mure 
 here ; and then I shall tell Ford that I am particularly engaged. 
 I have everything here,' opening a handsome carved chilfonier, 
 where a dainty little tea-set and melon-shapeil teapot reposed. 
 ' Mother gave me these on my la.st birtlulay. She knew I should 
 love to have a tea-set of my own ; but Gavin told her she wan 
 absurd to humour niv fads. Well — what is the matter now?'
 
 80 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 as Lorraine, who had taken up a book, put it down as though it 
 burnt her. 
 
 ' Greek — do you read Greek ? ' in an awestruck voice, for the 
 book was Plato's Dialogues — in the original. 
 
 Muriel blushed, and then tried to laugh it off. 
 
 ' Why should I not read Greek ? it is my favourite study. I 
 used to read it with poor old Mr. Yolland — he was a fine scholar. 
 We were just beginning Hebrew when he had that dreadful 
 stroke. Oh, what a loss he is to me ! He has helped me with 
 my classical studies ever since I grew up. Mother never would 
 let me go to Girton or Somerville as I wished, because she said 
 I was not strong enoiigh, and she could not spare me ; but she 
 sees her mistake now. It would have been far better for me to 
 mix with girls of my owTi age than to plod on here alone ; and 
 now I have lost my one teacher.' 
 
 'But Mr. Yolland has only gone away for a year. A year 
 will soon pass.' 
 
 ' That is what they all say ; but I am not so sanguine. 
 Perhaps I am disposed to take the dark view of things. I am 
 afraid, from what Dr. Howell said, that my dear old magister is 
 really breaking ; it is a second stroke, and I know they fear 
 that the third might be fatal. The Vicarage was my haven of 
 refuge ; when I was shut up with the vicar in his study working 
 at Hebrew roots, time simply fled ; but it is dreary work drudging 
 on alone.' 
 
 ' Could not your brother help you 1 ' — a little doubtfully. 
 
 ' Gavin,' contemptuously. ' He is always telling me that his 
 Latin and Greek have grown rusty, and that a smattering of 
 Hindustanee and Sanscrit is all he knows. I do not quite believe 
 him, for Helen — his wife I mean — used to tell us how clever he 
 was at languages ; but I should be sorry to ask his help. My 
 brother has peculiar notions ; he does not care for learned women. 
 I made mother promise not to tell him about my lessons at the 
 Vicarage. He has not a notion what my studies are ; I believe 
 that he thinks I dabble in science. Now I dare not keep you 
 any longer, or even the Admiral's stories will be over. As we 
 go downstairs I will show you my bedroom ; it is on the floor 
 below, but almost equally secluded ; my passion for solitude 
 increases.' 
 
 ' What a pity,' replied Lorraine in a low voice ; but Muriel 
 either did not hear her, or chose to make no reply. Her bedroom 
 was almost as original as her study ; the bed was hidden in 
 a recess, and curtains of Indian silk draped the recess by 
 day ; when they were drawn back, a curious corner window,
 
 THE TURRET-ROOM AND ADMIRAL BYNG 81 
 
 overloukiug the Dailey Road, caino in view. As Miirit-l lay in 
 bed, she could see the children I'lum the Lodge running with 
 their satchels to school. 
 
 The furniture, with the exception of a massive wardrobe and 
 foreign-looking washstand, was singularly unadapted to a bedroom. 
 A black Indian cabinet, very finely carved, and some low book- 
 cases to match, a writing-table, and one or two easy chairs, were 
 the most conspicuous objects. Bust-s of Shakespeare and Goethe 
 were over the fireplace, and even the toilet-table had book-slides 
 with Browning's works ; the inlaid tortoiseshell brushes that her 
 mother had given her lay in close ju.xtaposition with a volume 
 of Carlyle's French Revolution and a Surtor Resartus. 
 
 ' I wonder how I ever came to have such a daughter,' Mrs 
 Trevor had said once very plaintively to her chief confidante, Mrs. 
 Earnshaw. ' I used to tell John so sometimes, but he always took 
 her part ; he was so proud of Muriel's cleverness. I am quite 
 sure dear Maud and Florrie would have been very different. 
 Darling Flo took after me ; she waa so proud of helping me in 
 the conservatory, and ^faud was so clever with her fingers ; 
 but Muriel and 1 have not a single taste in common'; and poor 
 Mrs. Trevor sighed heavily. To this old friend of her girlhood 
 she would at times hint at the deep unspeakable sadness that lay 
 underneath her sprightliness of manner ; perhaps no one under- 
 stood her 80 well as Mrs. Earnshaw. The two women were 
 strongly attached to each other ; and in spite of great dissimilarity 
 01 character, their mutual sympathy never failed. 
 
 The gentlemen bad already returned to the drawing-room when 
 Muriel and Lorraine re-entered it. Colonel Trevor, who was 
 standing beside Ellison, exchangeil an anmsed glance with her ; 
 but Captain Faucit intercepted them at once. 
 
 'Mrs. Herbert,' he a-^ked eagerly, 'do you think you could 
 play this accompaniment for me ? Trevor has been asking me to 
 sing ; but ^lis.s Lee .says she is no mu.sician, anil I remember I 
 never could induce Miss Trevor to play.' 
 
 'I will try if you like,* returned Lorraine, taking the piece of 
 music from him ; 'but I must tell you frankly, Captain Faucit, 
 that it is three years at least since I touched a i>iano. I used to 
 be very fond of jilaying, but of course I am utterly out of 
 practice. May I try it over first ?' But though her fingers touched 
 the keys a little uncertainly, she gained more assurance after the 
 first few notes. Out of practice as she certainly was, her firm 
 light touch at once conveyed the impression that she had plaved 
 well. 
 
 The song was so successful and gave so much pleasure that 
 
 6
 
 82 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Captain Faucit was induced to sing again. At the conclusion of 
 the third song Colonel Trevor came up to the piano. 
 
 ' I am qiiite sure you sing, Mrs. Herbert,' he said persuasively, 
 ' and I do hope you will give us the pleasure of hearing you.' 
 
 Lorraine coloured and hesitated. ' I used to sing,' she returned ; 
 * but my voice must have suffered from disuse, it is so many years 
 since I tried to sing to any instrument. You must have noticed 
 how stiffly my fingers moved when I first began to play, and it 
 would be the same with my voice.' 
 
 'If you would only try,' he persist ';d. 'We are all so fond of 
 music here, my mother especially ; but neither my sister nor I am 
 able to afford her that pleasure.' 
 
 ' If you really wish it, perhaps I could recall au old song,' 
 returned Lorraine rather gravely. She had no morbid objection to 
 use the voice that nature had given her. She had so often sung 
 her boy to sleep that she knew it was still in condition ; but her 
 piano had been carried off with the rest of the furniture, and for 
 years she had been too sick at heart to care to sing. 
 
 Her choice must have seemed a singiilar one to most in the 
 room, for she selected an old favourite of her father's, ' She wore a 
 wreath of roses.' Her voice trembled a good deal during the -first 
 verse ; but after a little the dear old associations shut out ijresent 
 surroundings. They were in the old salon at Brussels ; the wax 
 candles in the tarnished girandoles lighted the room dimly ; the 
 worn red velvet couches and chairs scattered over the dark polished 
 floor looked regal in the obscurity ; her father's grey head was 
 distinct in the moonlight. 
 
 ' Bravo, my little Lorrie, that was well sung ; you must sing it 
 again.' 
 
 As the clear sweet voice grew stronger and fuller. Colonel Trevor 
 left his position by the piano and stood by the window. When the 
 song was finished, and he came forward to thank her, his face had 
 grown strangely pale. 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Herbert, you have given us a great pleasure,' 
 observed Mrs. Trevor, with a beaming smile. 'Your voice is 
 delicious ; it is so true and sweet. You must sing to us often, 
 must she not, Gavin ? ' But Colonel Trevor had already made hia 
 little speech, and had left the room.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 
 
 ' I am a parcel of vain strivings tied, 
 
 By a cliance band together, 
 
 Dangling this way and that, their links 
 Were made too loose and wide methinks 
 
 For winter weather.' 
 
 THOUKAa. 
 
 As soon as the Adiuirul aiul Mrs. Eaiiisbaw Lad taken their leave, 
 Ellison rose from her seat ; she was only waiting until Colonel 
 Trevor returned to the room that she might wish him good-night. 
 
 ' I am going with you, of course,' he said, with a grave smile, as 
 she held out her hand ; 'and Faucit will come too ; he will be glad 
 of the walk.' 
 
 ' There is no need to trouble you. Mrs. Herbert and I can i>ro- 
 tect each other,' she readied, louking at him anxiously, fur his face 
 was still a little drawn and pale. 
 
 How grieved Lorraine would have been had she known that she 
 had just sung his wile's favourite song — though Ilek-n Trevor had 
 nevur sung it with such pathos and sweetness ; but Ellison's line tact 
 guessed at once that this was the case, and she privately resolved to 
 give her cousin a hint not to .sing that song again. 
 
 She wished that C!avin had not insisted on escorting them to 
 Brae Farm, for she hardly knew what to say to him. In some 
 moods he could not bear Helen's name mentioned, and yet perfect 
 silence might seem unkind. 
 
 It was almost a relief when he dropped behind to speak to 
 Lorraine. She had asked some question about a creeper at the hall 
 door, and Ellison walked on slowly with Captain Faucit ; but she 
 was rather amused when the young olliccr began questioning her 
 eagerly about her cousin. How long had Mrs. Herbert lived at 
 Highlands ; he had never met her before ; he bad never even heard
 
 84 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 her mentioneLl, and yet he was always running down to Brae 
 House % 
 
 ' My cousin has not been here a week yet. Yes, she is a great 
 acquisition, as you say, and her voice is delightful. She has lived 
 abroad a great deal, and in Ireland ; but since her husband's 
 
 death But,' interrupting herself, ' were you wanting to ask 
 
 me a question. Captain Faucit 1 ' 
 
 ' I was only wondering how long ago Mrs. Herbert had lost her 
 husband. She was not in very deep mourning, but somehow one 
 could tell at once she was a widow. I like that sort of sensible 
 mourning; don't you, Miss Lee? there is nothing gruesome or 
 morbid about it.' 
 
 ' Certainly, my cousin is not morbid. Mr. Herbert died about 
 eighteen months ago. She has a little boy^such a nice little 
 fellow, about three years old ; but, though I would not tell my 
 cousin so for worlds, I am afraid he is delicate.' 
 
 Meanwhile Colonel Trevor was saying to his companion, with 
 an impulsiveness that suiprised himself afterwards : ' I did not 
 thank you properly for singing to us. I am sure it was an effort, 
 and we ought not to have asked you. It was a curious coincidence, 
 was it not, that you chose my dear wife's favourite song ? ' 
 
 Lorraine started — she felt suddenly hot all over. 
 
 ' Oh, Colonel Trevor, I am so sorry. Why did you not stop me ? 
 I would have sung another. I know exactly the sort of pain such 
 a thing gives, and I am dreadfully grieved about it.' 
 
 ' Why, what nonsense,' trying to turn it off. ' 1 ought not to 
 have told you, but you sang it so beautifully. My poor wife could 
 not have sung it like that ; but she was passionately fond of music, 
 and her musical at-homes were much appreciated. '' Perhaps I shall 
 not ask you to sing that song again, Mrs. Herbert, but I do hope, 
 as my mother said just now, that we sliall often have the pleasure 
 of hearing you. By ill-luck neither my sister nor cousin has any 
 musical proficiency. Little Miss Holt at Ferncliffe is our best 
 performer, and sings rather nicely ; but the Mordaunts only play 
 pas-sably.' 
 
 ' I doubt if I shall have courage to sing to you again,' returned 
 Lorraine slowly ; ' I should dread making a second mistake.' 
 
 ' You are convincing me of mine,' he said in a low voice. 
 * What a fool I was not to hold my tongue ; but I do not generally 
 talk about my own concerns. I was a bit upset, you see.' 
 
 ' Yes, and it was I who upset you. Well, I will not trouble you 
 with any more repentance. You know quite well how sorry I am. 
 Ne.xt time I sing you shall choose my songa for me, and then I shall 
 feel safe,' turning to him with a smile.
 
 THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 85 
 
 ' That is a bargain,' he returned rather abruptly ; for somehow 
 lier smile rather confused him, and yet he could not have said why. 
 Her singing had been a revelation to him ; those j)ure, deep notes 
 ringing through the great room were full of passionate yearning 
 and sweetness. True, her voice was somewhat untrained ; there 
 was an unevenness of execution, and it was not always well sus- 
 tained, but that was probably owing to want of practice. 
 
 He would have changed the subject, feeling that he had already 
 said too much ; but Lorraine had another explanation to make. 
 Colonel Trevor's speech about his wife'niadti her suddenly anxious 
 to justify her uwn choice, though a moment before she had never 
 thought of such a thing. 
 
 ' I have no associations of that sort,' she said quickly. ' My 
 husband was not at all musical, he never cared for my singing, he 
 always saitl he did not know one tune from another ; my father was 
 different I was thinking of him when I sang that song ; it was 
 the last to which he listened ; that is why I love it.' 
 
 ' I love it too,' returned Colonel Trevor gravely. ' I think men 
 and women are a little different on the subject of association; 
 women are fond of prolonging all these mournful sensations, they 
 find the pleasure counterbalances the pain, the bitter-sweet satisfies 
 Ihi'in ; but a man cannot always stand it. Some men do, but they 
 must have a touch of the feminine instinct in their nature. I 
 knew a man once who kept his wife's dresses hanging in her ward- 
 robe for years, lie uscil to look at them from time to time, but he 
 got a bit doity over it.* 
 
 ' Poor man,' replied Lorraine simjily ; and then she added, * I 
 think no two people arc alike in such matters. One needs to under- 
 stand a person v^ry thoroughly before one would dare to talk on 
 such subjects to him, you see. I am speaking of men ; women 
 have ascertain freemasonry among theiii.«olves. I would venture to 
 talk to any woman, howi-vor recent her trouble, and not fear to 
 wound her.' 
 
 * I cannot imagine you wounding anybody, you are far too 
 sympathetic. My cousin Ellison, too, has grwit tact in dealing 
 with thin-skinned humanity ; some of us, in spite of our seeming 
 sturdines.s, are wonderfully thin-skinned, and need gentle handling. 
 By the bye, Mrs. Herbert, I congratulate you on a great victory ; you 
 have completely won my sister's heart.' 
 
 'Have I?' with an amused smile. And then she said quietly, 
 ' Your sister's heart is worth winning, I am quite sure of that She 
 interests me greatly.' 
 
 Colonel Trevor seemed about to speak, and then checked him- 
 aelf. The moonlight and the music, and the deep eadne-s." of waking
 
 86 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 memories, should not betray liim into unguarded speech. Mrs 
 Herbert was a stranger, and her charm of manner and womanly 
 graces must not beguile him into a confidence that lie might repent. 
 When he next spoke it was to remark on the beauty of the night, 
 and Muriel's name was not mentioned again. 
 
 ' I need not ask you if you have had a pleasant evening, 
 Lorraine,' observed Ellison as she lighted a candle for her cousin. 
 
 ' No, indeed,' replied Lorraine, with a sigh ; * I am afraid I 
 enjoyed myself far too much. You have no idea of my social 
 tastes. When I find myself among nice friendly people, I am 
 always perfectly happy. I revel in the society of my fellow- 
 creatures. I expect I talked far too much, but I never can 
 remember to hold my tongue till I am alone in my own room.' 
 
 ' I hope not, indeed. I am quite sure that you helped Captain 
 Faucit to enjoy himself, and then they were all so charmed with 
 your singing. I must give you one hint, though, I am afraid 
 that song had some painful association for Colonel Trevor.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know,' returned Lorraine, knitting her brow at the 
 recollection. ' It was his wife's favourite song, he told me so ; and 
 of course I shall never sing it again. Oh, the mistakes one makes 
 in life ! How much happier existence would be if we could read each 
 other plainly. Please do not speak about it, it has spoiled my 
 evening. No, I won't say that ; it is too ungrateful of me.' 
 
 ' How strange that he should have told her that,' thought Ellison 
 as she prepared to go her rounds. * Gavin is so reserved ; he 
 mentions Helen's name so rarely, even to me. Well, I am glad poor 
 Lorraine enjoyed her evening ; she was certainly a success.' But more 
 than once before she slept, Ellison pondered with odd undefmable 
 surprise over the thought that Gavin should have broken through 
 his reserve with a stranger. 
 
 The next morning Lorraine began her labours in the poultry- 
 yard ; and though the work was new to her, and she had much to 
 learn about her feathered charges, she was an apt pupil, and listened 
 to Ellison's instructions with intelligent appreciation. The coop 
 with the imprisoned hen clucking with visil^le anxiety to her 
 brood of chickens just out of reach of the maternal care, the still 
 more wearing labouri^ of the speckled hen with her adoi)ted family 
 of ducklings, the careless provoking turkey mothers, were all sources 
 of interest ; it was a new little world, and a fussy one, but there 
 were plenty of wholesome object-lessons to be digested. 
 
 As in life the weaker went to the wall, there was still the sur- 
 vival of the fittest, and the struggle of life went on. The peckings 
 and Bcratchings at the dust-heap for hidden grain reminded Lorraine 
 of the harassed workers in Beaumont Street ; the loud cluck of
 
 THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 87 
 
 demonstrative joy with which an egg was laid, was a faint repetition 
 of human congratulations. Even the lordly cock, strutting at the 
 head of his obsequious harem, might have rebuked by his gentle- 
 manly courtesy the rough hectoring manners of the lords of creation — 
 many of them, alas, reeling home with empty pockets to abuse their 
 patient harassed wives. 
 
 Tedo trotted everywhere after his mother with a big basket that 
 he laboriously filled with stones. Ellison was just ministering 
 tenderly to a sick hen, jdacing her carefully in a warm hay nest, 
 and coaxing her to eat, "when a whistle reached her ear, and the 
 next moment two fat black i>uppies tumbled and rolled at Lorraine's 
 feet. Tedo drnj)ped his basket and shouted out, 'Oh, mine 'ickle 
 doggies ! ' in a voice of ecstjisy. 
 
 ' I have brought you the puppies, Mrs. Herbert,' observed 
 Colonel Trevor, leaning against the lattice-work of the poultrj^-yard. 
 ' The bigge.st and fattest is Tweedledum ; he is a finer fellow than 
 Tweedledoe, so I advise you to have him. He is a handsome little 
 chap, isn't he, Ellison ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, there is no comparison,' replied Ellison, tucking in some 
 more hay. ' Gavin, I am afraid my dear grey hen — Mrs. Muggins 
 — is very ill. I must get John Drake to look at her if she does not 
 get better.' 
 
 ' Poor Mrs. Muggins, I am awfully sorry,' returned Colom 1 
 Trevor. ' Well, Mrs. Herbert, have you made up your mind ? ' 
 But to his surprise Lorraine shook her head ; both the puppies 
 were in her lap and Tedo was evidiiitly trying to climb up too. 
 
 ' It is so dillicult to choose,' returned Lorraine, who was evidently 
 in deep perplexity. * Of course I know you are right Tweedledum 
 is very handsome, his coat is so curly and glossy ; but the other one 
 seems to want me to take him, he looks at me so pleadingly every 
 now ami then when Tweedledum lets him be quiet Look, 
 Ellison !' as the puppy licked her hand with his rough, red little 
 tongue, ' I think Twei-dledee is a dear.' 
 
 'He is certainly a nice little dog,' agreed Ellisi»n. 
 
 ' Look here, Mrs. Herbert, take them b<:)th,' interrupted Colonel 
 Trevor, ' they will make a splendid pair. And Ellison was only 
 saying the other day that Sam Brattb' wanted more dogs about the 
 place since Ilovi-r died. It would be a pity to divide them, and they 
 are handsome little beasts.' 
 
 ' I have no objection, if ynu like to keep them, Lorraine,' re- 
 turned Ellison good-humourcdly. ' They can sleep in the out-house, 
 and Daniel will look after them.' 
 
 But Lorraine woidd not hear of this, one dog was enough for 
 any woman. She was very much obliged to Colonel Trevor, but
 
 88 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 though Tweedledum was the handsomer dog she would prefer to 
 take Tweedledee. ' And I shall call him Tweed, it will be much 
 handier,' she finished, hugging the puppy as she spoke. 
 
 * Mine 'ickle doggie,' persisted Tedo with peevish dignity. 
 
 ' Yes, my darling, everything mother has is Tedo's, and Tedo's 
 is mother's'; and she made him happy by putting the curly, black 
 thing in his arms. 
 
 * Come along, Tweedledum ! ' exclaimed Colonel Trevor, pre- 
 tending to be affronted ; ' for once, good looks are in the minority. 
 I pity your bad taste, Mrs. Herbert ; though, to be candid with you, 
 I rather suspect it \\dll be the case of the ugly duckling, and that 
 Tweed has the making of a good dog in him. But I must be off, 
 as I have promised to drive Faucit into Bramfield. I have to take 
 my mother out after luncheon.' 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor looks much brighter this morning,' observed 
 Lorraine ; but Ellison Avas already out of ear-sliot. 
 
 Gavin was evidently waiting for her to walk up the meadow- 
 path with him ; and she was never too busy to pay him this little 
 attention. These desultory strolls were always enjoyed and 
 appreciated by both. It was astonishing how much they always 
 had to tell each other after even a few hour.?' absence. 
 
 Lorraine was in a little perplexity. Muriel had not mentioned 
 Tedo, and she was afraid that he might be in the way. She dared 
 not take him uninvited, and yet she was unwilling to leave him ; 
 but Ellison came to the rescue by promising to look after him. 
 
 ' I have some cutting-out to do for the maids, and shall be in 
 the dining-room until tea-time,' slie said ; ' so Tedo can play about 
 and amuse himself. If visitors call, Dorcas shall look after him.' 
 And so it was arranged ; and Lorraine went off with an easy mind. 
 
 Muriel was evidently on the look-out for her ; long before 
 Lorraine reached the hall door, she was there waiting. She 
 welcomed her with undisguised cordiality, and took her off at once 
 to the turret-room, where a low tea-table was set out in the window 
 overlooking the Brae Woods. 
 
 ' I wa.s so surprised to see you without your boy. Why have you 
 not brought him?' she began. 'Oh,' as Lorraine hesitated, 'was it 
 my fault ; ought I to have specially invited him ? How forgetful I 
 am. But it must never occur again ; bring him whenever you like ; 
 but this once I think I am glad to have you to myself.' 
 
 'I am afraid a child is a little disturbing, though Tedo is 
 wonderfully good for his age. I like this room, Miss Trevor. I 
 fancy it must be cold in winter, for it gives one the idea of being 
 in a lighthouse, so many windows in a limited space.' 
 
 ' It is cold, certainly,' a^lmitted Muriel with some reluctance ;
 
 THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 89 
 
 ' and on windy nights all the witches seem to be holding Walpurgis 
 night-revels. The shrieking and howling and wailing really affect 
 one's nerves. I often have to wrap myself in a fur-lined cloak, 
 and draw the hood over my head as I sit by the fire. ^lother saw 
 me once, and said I looked most weird and picturesque.' 
 
 Tliey chatted plea?anlly in this fashion over their tea. Muriel 
 seemetl like another person that afternoon, she was so animated. 
 She asked Lorraine a question or two about her wandering, foreign 
 life, and then grew so interested in her recital, that Lorraine was 
 led on to tell her more and more. 
 
 * What an interesting life.' she said, when Lorraine had finished 
 with a graphic description of Beaumont Street; 'and you have 
 really lived it too. Forgive nu', I know how much you have 
 suffered,' as Lorraine looked at her with reproachful surprise ; * but 
 there has been no stagnation. One can bear pain — all people have 
 to bear it more or less at some period of their life ; but stagnation 
 implies more than pain, it is an ntter dearth of interest, a lack of 
 everything that makes life wortli living ; even affection stagnates if 
 its natural flow is impeded.' 
 
 ' Life without affection is certainly not life,' returned Lorraine 
 thoughtfully, ' but we need not consider anything so abnormal. 
 With a whole world full of human beings, we must have plenty of 
 objects for our love.' 
 
 ' Oh, you are talking in the abstract ! but, please, we will leave 
 altruism alone for this afternoon. You cannot feed famished 
 creatures on husks ; and in my present condition abstract ideas are 
 mere husks. I want to get at the reality of things. I am interested 
 in you, Mrs. Herbert, simply because you seem to me so human ; 
 even in this brief acipiaintanceship, I can see that life means more 
 to you than it does to other people. I want to find out your 
 recipe : you have suffered, but your troubles have not hardened 
 you. In your place, I should have .stiffened my neck and hardened 
 my heart into a millstone, or else I should utterly have collapsed.' 
 
 ' I have no special recipe,' returned Lorraine a little sadly ; 
 'you know there is always starlight, even when the night is blackest, 
 only the clouds come between. The worst of it is, people talk and 
 act as though the clouds were all. I had my chiM. How was I 
 to lose faith and courage when I had to work for my boy ? My 
 dear Miss Trevor, don't you see, life is not so dreadfully complex 
 after all. There is always some one to love, and for whom we 
 cheerfully take up the V)urden of existence ; no one is utterly with- 
 out human ties.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; Imt family ties are not always strong enough to 
 bear severe tension. 1 know I am talking heresy, Mrs. Herbert,
 
 90 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 but it is awfully true. Some natures do not find happiness in 
 ordinary family life.' 
 
 The deep melancholy of Muriel's tones convinced Lorraine that 
 she was speaking of herself ; and with that impulsiveness and quick 
 intuition that was natural to her, she said gently : 
 
 ' I wish that I did not understand you ; but I am afraid I do, 
 too well. For some reason best known to youi'self you are not in 
 harmony with your environment. That is always disastrous and 
 fatal to true peace ; but it is possible to mould oneself to one's 
 circumstances.' 
 
 ' Possible to some natures ; but I am unfortunately constituted. 
 I demand too much.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is always a mistake ! ' but Muriel interrupted her. 
 
 ' Let me talk to you a little. If you only knew the relief it is 
 to me to speak. I have never met any one like you before ; you 
 seem to think of nothing but loving people and helping them ; I 
 saw that the first time we met !' 
 
 ' I don't think I am at all out of the common,' returned 
 Lorraine, smiling. ' I am a very ordinary sort of woman, and do 
 not pretend to be better than I am People see that I am really 
 interested in what they are telling me, and that I am sorry for 
 them. There is nothing occult in the process ; it is just giving out 
 a little more freely than usual the human sympathy that many 
 good people keep locked up in their hearts, because they are too 
 shy to show it. I am not shy ; that is the secret ! ' 
 
 Muriel shook her head. ' I do not think we have got to the 
 bottom of it. You have not yet proved to me why I find it so 
 much easier to talk to you than to Ellison whom I have known all 
 my life. Ellison and I are not on the same plane, we do not 
 speak the same language.' 
 
 * You must not ask me to solve that question!' exclaimed Lorraine 
 rather gravely ; ' I am not an unprejudiced critic. I have not 
 known my cousin long, but I already venerate her for her good- 
 ness. My dear Miss Trevor, have you ever known any one so 
 unselfish ? What other woman in her position would have opened 
 her house and heart to a perfect stranger ? It was not as though she 
 had known me ; most people would have hesitated before incurring 
 such responsibilities.' 
 
 ' I see what you mean. Ellison is very good ; my brother is 
 always telling me so. Ever since his return from India I have 
 heard her praises sung daily. But, Mrs. Herbert, you have already 
 told me that you had met twice at least Vjefore you came to Brae 
 Farm ; you may depend upon it that Ellison found out that you 
 were to be trusted ; she ia very clear-sighted, she seldom makes a
 
 THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE 91 
 
 mistake about people. I remember mother saying so to me, when 
 I was disposed to think she had been a little hasty.' 
 
 A curiously sweet smile crossed Lorraine's face, but she made 
 no response to this; but deep down in her heart she said to her- 
 self, * She shall never find it a mistake if I can prevent it ; such 
 divine charity must bring its own blessing.' 
 
 There was a brief silence, and then Muriel said a little shyly : 
 
 * Mrs. Herbert, what would you do in my place ? I have 
 already acknowledged, though rather vaguely, I am afraid, that I 
 am not in complete harmony with my environment. I ;»m cloth- 
 ing the difficulty in grand terms, but it is really a difficulty.' 
 
 ' Vagueness will not help us, I am afraid,' replied Lorraine, 
 sensibly ; 'but, Miss Trevor, at the risk of displeasing you, I am 
 going to say something very practical. If I were in your place, 
 my first endeavour would be to improve my health as much as 
 possible.' 
 
 It was evident that this answer took Muriel by surprise. She 
 coloured up and looked excessively astonished. 
 
 * It is the first duty of every one to be as well as they can,' went 
 on Lorraine. ' Work cannot be satisfactorily done when one's 
 physical machinery is out of gear. One feels intuitively that a 
 liL-althy condition of body is somehow necessary to a healthy con-, 
 dition of mind. It is really awful to think how mind and boily 
 act and react on one another. I have gained my experience very 
 painfully, I a.ssure you.' 
 
 ^Yis,, yes, I feel that you are right,' with a certain impatience 
 of tone. ' You are driving in the thin end of the wedge. I 
 know what you want to pay next, that I ought to give up my late 
 hours ; Init aflcr what I have told you it would be exacting a cruel 
 sacrifice. You would not have the heart to rob me of those happy 
 working- hours ?' 
 
 ' I know it would be a sacrifice,' hesitating over her words ; ' but 
 I am quite sure you would be richly repaid for the effort Your 
 nerves would bo stronger, your headaches less frequent, and the 
 strain lessened. You are somehow feeding oJi yoursulf. Why 
 should you not put my advice to the te.st ? Give up your night 
 studies for a time — say, three weeks or a month — and see if you 
 do not feel a different creature. Come, you have asked my opinion, 
 and I have not scrupled to tell you the truth. I have made my- 
 self as disagreeable as possible, and now I must go hom6 to my 
 boy.' 
 
 'You are leaving me just wiien I need you most; but there, I 
 will think over what you jsay. Is it not strange, Mi-s. Herbert, I 
 am allowing you to say this to me, and yet, the otlier day when
 
 92 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Gavin said exactly the same things to me, I was as cross as 
 possible ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps the moment was not propitious,' returned Lorraine, 
 rising as she spoke. ' We must take people at the right time, or 
 our efforts will be thrown away. Have I been very impertinent, 
 Miss Trevor ? But when I look at those pallid cheeks and heavy 
 eyes, I perfectly ache with the longing to do you good, if you 
 would only let me.' 
 
 She put her hands gently on Muriel's shoulder as she spoke, 
 and looked at her wistfully. 
 
 ' You shall help me,' returned Muriel in a low voice. ' Every 
 word you say, helps me.' And then as Lorraine kissed her, in the 
 sweet old words of Holy "Writ, the soul of Muriel Trevor was knit 
 to the woman whose gentle sympatliy had gone straight to her 
 heart.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTEK 
 
 • Knowledge of the world and of the sea is gained in tempests ; but in the 
 eyes of the old mariner may be seen the reflection of the death he has so often 
 braved.' — Thoughts of a Qucai. 
 
 ' A woman not understood is a woman who does not understand.' — Ibid. 
 
 The next lew weelcs [iiussed sinootlily and liappily for Lorraine. 
 Every day deepened her attaclnneul to Ellison and her love for her 
 new home ; never in her life had she known such tranquil days. 
 All her neighbours had chilled on her, and seemed disposed to be 
 friendly. She had found plenty of occupation. Time only strength- 
 ened and cemented her intimacy witli Muriel Trevor ; and there 
 were few days when she and Muriel failed to meet. 
 
 Though I^ori-aine's alfections were strongest for her cousin, she 
 responded readily and warmly to Muriel's p;is.sionate devotion. 
 She guessed intuitively that the girl had suflered terribly for the 
 want of a friend to understand her. Muriel was too peculiar to 
 invite general synijiathy ; other girls of her age were repelled by 
 her ; it had grown to be a morbid and fi.\ed idea with her that no 
 ope needed lier affection. She loved her brother ardently ; 
 but he was never able to discover this fact on account of the 
 constant friction between them. Her mother had never really 
 influenced her. Muriel's fondness for her was critical and exacting. 
 In her shallow creed it wAs the mother's duty to love her daughter 
 and to bear with her, and for the daughter to take everything 
 as a matter of course — at least she acted as though these were her 
 tenets. 
 
 ' Mother does not want me to-day ; she is quite happy alone,' 
 was a usual formula with Muriel ; and she had actually grown to 
 believe that this was the truth. Mrs. Trevor never took the trouble 
 to dispute it ; she was easy and indolent of temperament, and a dull
 
 94 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 hour or two were preferable to an argument with Muriel. ' ^\'Tiy 
 should the child be troubled by her depression V she would say to 
 herself ; ' with her weak health she had enough to bear ' , and she 
 would battle bravely with despondent memories, as she sat at her 
 embroidery ; or if the task were too difficult, she would seek new 
 cheerfulness among her beloved flowers. But if Muriel had only 
 guessed at her mother's deep inward sadness, with what repentance 
 she would have devoted herself to her. It is cruel to think how 
 wilfully we blind our eyes to the needs of those who are closest to 
 us, and how often we act upon those words that ' Evil is wrought 
 by want of thought, as well as want of heart' ; and so the tares are 
 sown that ruin a harvest. 
 
 How bitter would have been Muriel's compunction if she had 
 guessed how often and sorrowfully her mother thought of her dead 
 sisters. ' Florrie would never have left me to sit alone,' she would 
 say to herself; for Florence had been her special darling, and 
 sometimes when Muriel was at her studies in the turret-room — 
 when evening had closed in — Mrs. Trevor would fall into a half- 
 waking dream in the twilight, and it would seem to her as though 
 the sweet faces of her dead children looked jiityingly on her from 
 the shadows ; nay, .sometimes soft girlish hands seemed to touch her. 
 ' Mother, are you alone ? Shall Maud and I sit and talk to you a 
 little?' How plainly she heard the words as she started up from 
 her doze. But she was very loyal to her daughter, and would 
 never allow Gavin to say that Muriel neglected her ; she even grew 
 tearful if he persisted in repeating it. 
 
 ' It is not as though you had other daughters,' he said one day. 
 ' If those poor girls had lived, Muriel might have gone her own 
 way without selfishness ; but I hate to come in and find you always 
 alone.' 
 
 ' My dear boy, I am u.sed to it,' she returned briskly. ' Your 
 mother is not an old woman yet, I would have you remember that. 
 Why should Muriel be pottering after me from morning to night, 
 
 I should like to know, when she has her studies and ' But 
 
 he interrupted her with a frown. 
 
 ' A daughter's first study should be to make her mother happy : 
 no, it is no use arguing the point — I am not to be hoodwinked. I 
 have often spoken to [Muriel on this subject, but she only quarrels 
 with me — she disappoints me excessively.' But this unvarnished 
 opinion of her daugliter's faultiness failed to raise Mrs. Trevor's 
 .spirits. Perhaps Muriel was sometimes a little to, blame, but she 
 would rather not hear Gavin say so. 
 
 She hailed joyfully the marked improvement in Muriel's health, 
 which was the result of Lorraine's sensible advice.
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 96 
 
 ' I hope you notice the ditfcrence in your sister,' she said one 
 day to hur son. * She has really sofmcd a different creature since 
 Mrs. Herbert took her iu hand. I have not heard her complain of 
 headache for the last ten days ; and even her complexion looks 
 clearer. Ellison was remarking on it just now. She says that now 
 Muriel dresses her hair differently, that she has grown quite good- 
 looking.' 
 
 ' I liave noticed that she is far less irritable,' he returned. ' The 
 fact is, mother, ?211i.son has let me in for a thing or two. Mrs. 
 Herbert has begged her to keep earlier hours. Why, last night it 
 was only half-j)ast ten when I came back from Price's Folly, and 
 the turret-room was dark. She was half killing herself, but it was 
 no use telling her so ; but Mrs. Herbert is a privileged person. 
 You know what the old proverb says : " One person may steal a 
 sheep where another may not look over the hedge." ' 
 
 Tliere was a trace of bitterness in Gavin's speech, but Mrs. 
 Trevor hastened to soothe him. 
 
 ' Yes, dear, it is very true ; but Mrs. Herbert is such a delight- 
 fully 6ymj)athetic person. She was with me a long time this 
 morning helping me in the conservatory, and I found myt^elf telling 
 her all sorts of things.' But with her usual reserve, ^Irs. Trevor 
 i-efrained from mentioning the subject on which she had talked to 
 Lorraine. In reality she liad been speaking of her dead children ; 
 .■^he had pointed out a lovely creeper that had been planted on 
 Florence's fuiulli birthday, and somehow Lorraine's gentle sympathy 
 had drawn her to speak more fully. 
 
 It was an indulgence that she SL-ldom allowed hi-i-self ; but 
 she accused herself of selfishness when Lorraine suddenly burst 
 into tears. 
 
 'My dear Mi-s. Herbert!' she exclaimed in consternation, 'I am 
 60 ashaoied of myself. I am a selfish, egotistical old woman. I 
 have no right to inilict my troubles on other peoi)le.' 
 
 * Please do not say such things,' returned Lorraine, hurriedly 
 drying her eyes. 'It was so foolish of me to cry ; but I do feel so 
 sorry for you. You have gone through all thi.^; and yet you say so 
 little about it, and are so brave and cheerful, that no one guessea 
 how much you have had to bear.' 
 
 'Thank you, my dear, you are very good,' returned Mrs. Trevor. 
 *Ah, there is Muriel coming in search of her dear Mrs. Herbert. 
 You must not let her know that I made you cry.' And Mrs. Trevor 
 cleared her throat, and hununed a little air as she took up the 
 watering-pot again ; and Muriel, who was full of her own concerns, 
 was too anxious to explain the cause of her long absence to notice 
 anything unusual in their manner. But a few days afterwards, as
 
 96 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 they were walkiug from cliurch together, Lorraine glanced back at 
 the little group of three that were following them slowly, Mrs. Trevor 
 and her son and Ellison, and then she said half to herself and half 
 to Muriel : 
 
 ' What strange mistakes one makes about people. When I first 
 saw your mother I thought her one of the most cheerful women I 
 had ever met. Such good spirits are deceptive. No one would 
 ever guess from her manner that she had known so much trouble.' 
 
 ' Ah, mother gets over things so quickly,' returned Muriel indif- 
 ferently. ' Troubles do not go so deep with her as with other 
 people. I mean,' as Lorraine seemed surprised at this speech, ' that 
 she has a happy knack of forgetting unpleasant things.' 
 
 'Are you quite sure that she forgets?' returned Lorraine, persist- 
 ently. ' Your mother has an unselfish nature. I should not be 
 surprised if she keeps her troubles to herself on principle. Some 
 people are strong enough to do without sympathy.' 
 
 ' I do not think mother is one of them,' replied Muriel ; and then 
 she changed the subject somewliat abruptly ; but later on she 
 remembered Lorraine's words. 
 
 An evening or two after this, as Lorraine was walking up the 
 Dorchester Road towards Highlands, she saw two persons standing 
 by the gate leading to the Redlands Woods, evidently in earnest 
 conversation. One of them was Sam Brattle, and tlie other, to her 
 surprise, Asas Ruth, the handsome parlour-maid at Brae Farm. It 
 was unusual for her to be out at this hour, but perhaps she had 
 been sent on some errand. As Lorraine walked on, the girl 
 passed her very hurriedly ; and Lorraine, who had observant eyes, 
 noticed that her face was Hushed as though she had been crying. 
 
 She mentioned it to Ellison when she reached home. ' I hope 
 Ruth is in no trouble,' she said ; ' but I certainly fancied Sam 
 Brattle was speaking very angrily as I passed. I thought he was 
 such a good-tempered fellow.' 
 
 ' So he is. Sam has an excellent disposition, as you know. I 
 think most highly of him, and so does Gavin, and his opinion 
 is worth something ; but I am afraid Ruth tries him dreadfully. 
 She is not acting quite straightforwardly, and I begin to fear 
 that she is playing a double game. Sam is desperately in love 
 wth her ; but though .she likes him, he cannot induce her to 
 promise that she will marry him. She keeps putting him off 
 and making excuses, and tells him that she does not want to be 
 engaged ; but Sam is afraid that he has a rival. The fact is, Mr. 
 Edgar Yolland of Mansoule Farm, near Redlands, admires Ruth ; 
 and though he is old enough to be her father, and is not at 
 all interesting, and a widower, he is a rich man compared with
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 97 
 
 poor Sam. He is a distant cousin of our poor old vicar, and 
 calls himself a gentleman-farmer, though he is really a yeoman ; 
 and he has a good house, and a handsome balance at the Dor- 
 chester Bank.' 
 
 Lorraine looked aghast. 'Surely, Ellison, you cannot mean 
 that tall elderly man with grey hair and a stiff wooden figure, 
 who sits by the organ and sings through his nose ; he is fifty-five 
 if he is a day ; I never look at him without thinking of Noah in 
 Tedo's Noah's ark.' 
 
 'Well, he is certainly very stiff and dry, but you are wrong 
 about his age. Mr. Yolland is only forty-eight ; he is an old- 
 looking man. Gavin says he has his good points. He is an 
 excellent farmer, and very hard-working and painstaking, and he 
 rides straight across country, for he keeps a hunter ; but report 
 says the first Mrs. Yolland was not specially happy.' 
 
 ' But it is impossible that she could think of marrying that 
 stick of a man, a beautiful young girl like Ruth.' 
 
 ' Oh, of course not,' returned Ellison rather sarcastically ; for 
 the subject of her pretty maid's delinquencies always vexed her. 
 ' We know no young girl ever married an old man for his money ; 
 they are never mercenary, never alive to their own interest. 
 What a profound observer you must be of human nature.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't joke about it, it is too dreadful. Why do you not 
 talk to Ruth ? surely you could influence her.' 
 
 ' 1 have talked to her a score of times, but I can never bring her 
 to book ; she is teiribly slippery and evasive. I am convinced 
 that she really cares for Sam, but her head is turned by having 
 the attentions of a real gintleman, as she calls him. His farm is 
 his own. The YoUands have a most respectable pedigree, and 
 Edgar Yolland is honestly bent on marrying the girl. The vicar 
 was very much vexed about it, but he could say nothing. The 
 connection between them was sti-ained, and they are not very 
 good friends. You see, though Edgar Yolland is a gentleman in 
 Ruth's eyes, he is simply a rich yeoman, and leads a plain, 
 homely life ; and certainly he is not a prepossessing man.' 
 
 ' And she will marry him and be miserable ever afterwards.' 
 
 ' My dear Lorraine, Ruth will have brought her misery on 
 herself, and in that case I should not pity her ; but I cannot help 
 hoping that she will come to her senses before it is too late. Sam 
 is a little injudicious ; he gets wild with jealousy, and loses his 
 temper, and that only makes matters worse ; he should be more 
 patient with her. Ruth is not the sort of girl to be threatened. 
 The Brattles, with all their virtues, are thorns in my side. Do 
 you know that Tom Brattle is making up to Eunice. I believe 
 
 7
 
 98 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 the affair is progressing smoothly. Eunice is a perfect treasure to 
 me, and I can ill spare her ; but she will make Tom Brattle an 
 excellent wife. I do wish "Ruth would not be such a fool. If she 
 marries Sam, Giivin has promised to let them live in that pretty 
 cottage you have so often noticed ; at present the gardener lives 
 there, but it is far too good for him. Cousin Louise often says 
 she would not mind living there herself.' 
 
 Lorraine could not heljD noticing Kuth a little narrowly after 
 this conversation ; it was soon evident to her that the girl was not 
 happy, she was paler than usual, and moved about her work 
 languidly. More than once Ellison spoke to her rather sharply, 
 as though she were losing patience ; but Riith, who was devoted 
 to her mistress, took her rebukes meekl}'. It was impossible not 
 to feel interested in her ; her great beauty was evidently a snare to 
 her, and she was in danger of losing the affections of an honest, 
 true-hearted man by her foolish dallying with the attentions 
 of a richer suitor. Sam Brattle was a little masterful ; and it 
 was far too likely that he would soon lose heart, and in a sudden 
 fit of despair bring the courtship to an end. In that case Ruth 
 would certainly become the mistress of Mansoule Farm, and rue 
 her folly ever afterwards. It was very seldom that Lorraine 
 returned even from a short walk without imparting some informa- 
 tion to Ellison on her return. ' My Cousin Gossip,' Ellison once 
 playfully called her ; ' but,' she added mentally, ' if only all gossip 
 were as harmless as Lorraine's, there would be less heart-burnings 
 and no scandal ' ; for Lorraine somehow had a knack of eliminating 
 the sting from an ill-natured rejoinder ; even the speeches of Miss 
 Rebecca Potter — a sour-faced spinster who was the terror of the 
 Darley ladies — sounded quite civil and well-meaning when trans- 
 lated by Lorraine. 
 
 ' Poor old body,' she would say, ' she is a bundle of infirmities, 
 mentally and bodily, and one must not judge her harshly ; her 
 bark \a worse than her bite, and she is always very good to 
 Tedo. Tedo is quite fond of her ; he calls her " the ickle curly 
 'ooman," because of her black curls. To-day when she gave him a 
 large piece of cake it was "nicey curly 'ooman," and she really 
 seemed x^leased.' 
 
 'Well, Lorraine, what is it this afternoon?' asked Ellison, with 
 an amused smile, as Lorraine entered the sitting-room. ' I can 
 see by your face that something has happened ; besides, Gavin has 
 been here.' 
 
 ' Then you know it,' returned Lorraine in a disappointed tone. 
 ' And I meant to surprise you.' 
 
 ' Well, he certainly told me that they have settled on a locum
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 99 
 
 teiietis, and that he is coming next week. He is an Oxford man, 
 and has had a curacy in London, near Uxbridge Road, and hia 
 name is Vincent — the Reverend Eric Vincent' 
 
 ' And is that all you know about liini ? ' as Ellison paused. 
 
 ' Let me see — Gavin said something more ; yes, that he ia 
 unmarried. He certainly said nothing about his appearance or 
 capabilities.' 
 
 ' No, of course not, for only one of the church-wardens, Mr. 
 Tarrant, has seen him ; but I can tell you more about liim than 
 that^' And as Ellison looked at her inquiringly, she continued in 
 a triumi'hant tone, ' Mr. Vincent is not very well off, and has 
 not long lost his mother ; and he has a lot of young brothers 
 and sisters,' 
 
 ' How on earth did you find this outi' 
 
 ' Oh, I thought you would be interested. Well, I will tell you 
 all about it I was just walking up the village when I suddenly 
 took it into my head that I would step in at the White Cottige 
 and have a word with Jilrs. Drake — you would have done the same 
 yourself, would you not ? Well, I found the poor woman in such 
 a fuss and pucker, she looked quite harassed, poor soul. Her 
 first words were, did I know that the new young minister who was to 
 do duty for the vicar had taken her rooms ; and he had written to 
 say he had four brothers and sisters, but as there were uo other 
 lodgings to be got in the Highlands they must put up with the 
 one sitting-room, Mr, Tarrant had told him it was only a small 
 room, but they must just make the best of it.' 
 
 ' Four brothers and sisters ! ' ejaculated Ellison in a horrified 
 tone ; 'that pokey little ]>arlour will not hold them. How is he 
 to write his sermons and study ? Nay, the thing's impossible, it will 
 drive him crazy before a week is over, I do not wonder Mrs, 
 Drake was in a fuss.' 
 
 ' I assure you she looked ready to cry over it She had always 
 made her lodgers so comfortable, she said ; but, as her husband told 
 her, there was no doing impossibilities. She begged me to look at 
 the rooms, and to tell her what I thought of them : they were in 
 such nice order, and so spotlessly clean and fresh, but of course it 
 will be a terribly tight fit.' 
 
 ' There are only two good bedrooms ; the third is a mere slip 
 of a room,' returned Ellison, whose practical mind had at once 
 grasped the situation. ' They will be cooped up like so many 
 chickens. I wonder how old the children are. There is one 
 comfort that they will have Mrs, Drake to look after them ; she is 
 such a kind-hearted, motherly woman, and she is so fond of 
 children.'
 
 100 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 It was soon evident to Lorraine that EUison could talk and 
 think of nothing but the locum tenens, and that her curiosity and 
 benevolence were strangely excited. She could hardly suppress a 
 smile when Ellison suggested that they should walk over to The 
 Meadows the following afternoon, as it was so long since they had 
 called on ]\Irs. Tarrant ; but she had the tact to suppress her amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 ' The Meadows,' as it was called, v>-a,s a comfortable red brick 
 house, overlooking the vast park -like meadows, through which 
 Lorraine had been driven on the first day of her arrival. The 
 nearest house to it was Price's Folly, about half a mile off. The 
 green seclusion of The Meadows had taken Lorraine's fancy. 
 
 The house was spacious enough to hold a large family, but the 
 Tarrants had no children. Ellison was very partial to Mr, Tarrant. 
 He was a big, genial man, with a never- failing fund of good 
 humour ; but his wife was less to her taste. She was a very 
 ordinary little person, plain -featured, and with a thick, stumpy 
 figure, which she loved to adorn with the brightest and most crude 
 colours. Like her husband she was good-tempered and kind- 
 hearted ; but her benevolence was apt to degenerate in fussiness, 
 though her intentions were good. 
 
 Ellison once remarked in a moment of confidence to Lorraine, 
 that she often wondered why Mr. Tarrant had married his wife. 
 ' She must always have been ordinary-looking,' she went on ; * and 
 she told me once that she had no money ; but they seem as happy 
 as possible, and he is quite devoted to her.' 
 
 'There is no understanding these things,' returned Lorraine. 
 ' She must have had some fascination for him ; probably she was in 
 love with him, and he saw it.' And Ellison agreed that this was 
 the probable solution of the mystery. 
 
 They would both have been honestly surprised and not a little 
 touched if they had known that Eichard Tarrant so idealised his 
 homely little Dutch-built wife as to think her perfect. Like the 
 renowned Vicar of Wakefield he had chosen his wife for such 
 qualities as would wear well ; and in some respects she would have 
 rivalled Mrs. Primrose, for she was a good-natured, notable woman.
 
 CHAPTER XIU 
 
 BETWEEN THE LILIES 
 
 ' Like a dull actor now, 
 I have forgotten my part, ami I am out 
 Even to a full disgrace.' 
 
 Coriolanua. 
 
 There was no doubt of finding Mrs. Tarrant at home. She was 
 one of those women — happily rare in these hygienic days — who 
 take their exercise in trotting after their housemaids ; a walk with 
 JR'r liushand or a drive in tlie small phaeton was a treat for high- 
 days and holidays. 
 
 'What do I want with air, my dearl' she would say. 'I am 
 sure our upper windows are always open, even iu October. Every 
 room in The Meadows is as sweet and fresh as possible. Richard ' 
 — she invariably .«poke of her husband as Richard — ' is always 
 teasing me to go out with him, but I tell him my feet are ready to 
 drop oir with aching with just following Jane about with the clean 
 cretonne ; girls — even the best of them — are so stupid, and Jane is 
 such a , feckless creature ; she will stand talking to Timothy for 
 half an hour together and never heeding the time.' 
 
 Mrs. Tarrant received them with her usual cordiality, and 
 insisted on ordering up tea at once. 
 
 'Richard will be so sorry to miss you. He has gone down to 
 the Institute with the new papei-s, but he will be back soon,' she 
 said, clearing the table briskly as she spoke. There were four 
 maids at the Meadows besides the factotum Timothy, but none of 
 tliem worked harder than the mistress. 
 
 'We are so sorry to miss Mr. Tarrant,' returned Ellison, 
 coming to the point at once, after her usual fashion. ' We wanted 
 him to tell us about the locxivi tcncns; of course we are all 
 interested in the subject, and he is the only person who can give 
 us information.'
 
 102 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I wish lie were here to tell you himself,' returned Mrs. Tarrant, 
 who knew well in her wifely heart that Richard loved to tell his 
 own stories, but she was just a little bit in awe of Ellison, whose 
 quiet decision always seemed to rebuke her fussiness, and the 
 pleasure of imparting information was a temptation, so she cleared 
 her throat, after a moment's hesitation, and began her recital. 
 
 ' Richard came home quite excited from his day in London. 
 Directly he got into the house, while he was wiping his boots on 
 the hall mat, he called out to me, " We have got the right man at 
 last, Martha. Mr. Vincent seems quite up to the mark, and I 
 have booked him for St. Jude's. I shall speak to Sirs. Drake 
 to-morrow and secure the rooms, for he is coming next week." ' 
 
 ' I am glad Mr. Tarrant is satisfied. He is a very good judge of 
 people.' 
 
 ' Ah, he was more than satisfied. He says his vicar spoke most 
 highly of Mr. Vincent, and that he seems quite grieved to part 
 with him. But they are so poor at St. Barnabas that he cannot 
 aflford to keep two curates, and Mr. Vincent, being the junior, 
 must be the one to leave. Richard says he is rather young to be 
 locum tenens — at least he is afraid the Admiral and Colonel Trevor 
 may say so. But he has a good degree, and is very clever ; and 
 the vicar told Richard that he was very conscientious and hard- 
 working, and that he was greatly beloved by the poor people.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Drake informed my cousin yesterday,' interposed Ellison, 
 ' that Mr. Vincent has some young brothers and sisters.' 
 
 'Yes, is it not extraordinary? the eldest girl is only about twelve 
 or thirteen, and the boys are younger. He told Richard everything 
 as they walked from the vicarage. He is not in good spirits, for his 
 mother died recently — about three or four months ago — and he 
 said that he was quite lost without her, and that he had not an 
 idea what he was to do with the children ; they are only his step- 
 brothers and sisters, you see.' 
 
 This was news even to Lorraine, although she had suspected 
 that this might be the case. She leaned forward and asked eagerly 
 ' if his step-father were living.' 
 
 ' No, I believe not ; but I will tell you all Mr. Vincent said to 
 Richard, for of course it is better for people to know about him. 
 It seems his mother was left a widow while he was still an infant, 
 and that after a few years, when he was about ten or twelve, she 
 married again. Her second husband's name was Scott — the Rev. 
 Algernon Scott — his own father had been an officer. Richard 
 thinks he must have done very well by the boy, for though the 
 
 living was a poor one Let me see, what was the name of his 
 
 parish, Richard told me it began with C ; was it CI acton 1 Dear.
 
 BETWEEN THE LILIES 103 
 
 dear ; what a head I have ! I told Richard once, soon after we 
 were married, tliat I wislied he had endowed me with his brains as 
 well as his worldly goods, for I do muddle things eo. Why, would 
 you believe it, Miss Lee, I cannot really remember if Mr. Vincent's 
 step-father is dead ; and yet he must be, or they would have been 
 all living at Clacton, or whatever place it is. Why,' interrupting 
 herself joyfully, 'there is Richard ! I knew he would be back soon.' 
 And Ellison gave a sigh of relief as the big, fine-looking man 
 entered the room. 
 
 ' Halloa, Martha, I had no idea yon had a tea-party, or I would 
 have smartened myself a little ! ' he exclaimed, glancing at his dirty 
 gaitera. ' How do you do, Mrs. Herbert ? I am delighted to see 
 you ; you are beginning to look all the better for the air of 
 Highlands.' 
 
 ' Richaid, my dear, what was the name of the place where Mr. 
 Vincent's step-father live<l ? My head is like a sieve for names, aa 
 you know.' 
 
 ' What ! have you been poaching on my manors ? ' in rather a 
 crestfallen tone ; 'how women do love the sound of their own 
 tongues. So you have been telling them about Mr. Vincent 
 Poor fellow, isn't it a sad business. Miss Lee, having all those 
 children on his hands ? Mr. Stephenson told me that he had never 
 seen any one so cut up at losing a mother ; but ilrs. Scott was a 
 thorouglily nice woman, and he and his wife had liked her so much. 
 Pleasant people those Stephensons. Well, Martha, aren't you going 
 to give me any tea after my dusty walk ?' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, to think that I had forgotten you ; but Phebe 
 shall make you some fresh tci\, this is not fit to drink.' 
 
 ' Phe1)c will do nothing of the kind, there is plenty of excellent 
 tannin here,' taking up the tea-pot from his wife's reluctant hand 
 and helping himself liberallj". 
 
 'Oh,~ Mr. Tarrant, do tell us one thing,' pleaded Ellison inter- 
 rupting this (low of playful conjugal reproach. 'Is Mr. Scott, the 
 Rev. Algernon Scott, dead]' 
 
 'Cert;iinly he is. Poor wonian, she was unlucky to lose two 
 good husbands. He died about three years ago, before Vincent was 
 ordained deacon. He was very much attached to his slop-father : 
 he told me that he felt so grateful to him for the education he had 
 given him. " I know now how he stinted himself to do it," he said, 
 — for he is a frank, open-hearted sort of fellow. " I owe it to him 
 and to my mother to do the best I can for those poor children." 
 And then he questioned me very anxiously about Highlands, Was 
 it a healthy place 1 The children had been ill — they had had 
 measles lately, and were a little pulled down in consequence, and
 
 104 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 80 on. But I soon convinced him that our fine air would soon pick 
 them up.' 
 
 'I told Ellison and Mrs. Herbert, Richard, what a good young 
 man he was.' 
 
 ' Yes, I heard plenty to his credit at the vicarage. Yon see, I 
 lunched there, and when I was left alone in the drawing-room with 
 Mrs. Stephenson she quite opened her heart to me. I tell my wife 
 that she must not be jealous, because all the ladies do that — eh, 
 Martha 1' And with a waggish look at his sturdy little wife he 
 went on : ' She said they would all miss him so, that even in 
 these fifteen months they had become attached to him, but that 
 she was sure a change would be good for him ; that the loss of his 
 mother had tried him severely, she was a sweet woman, and had 
 kept things comfortable for him ; during her lifetime they had 
 not been so badly off, she had a wealthy sister who had made her 
 a yearly allowance ; and though the house they lived in was small 
 there was always an air of comfort about it. Mrs. Stephenson told 
 me that this lady — she did not mention her name — had quarrelled 
 with her nephew, and that he did not expect this allowance to be 
 continued. Since his mother's death it had not been paid, and she 
 had taken no notice of his letter ; " so as he has little of his own," 
 she went on, " I am afraid they will be terribly pinched, poor 
 things, for Nora is too young to manage properly." ' 
 
 ' There, I knew Eichard would tell you everything,' observed 
 Mrs. Tarrant in a relieved tone ; ' he has the best memory in the 
 world — he never forgets anything. What, are you going already. 
 Miss Lee?' for Ellison was buttoning her gloves with an air of 
 resolution that did not escape her hostess's observation. 
 
 ' Isn't it a sad story ! ' exclaimed Lorraine as they walked through 
 the meadows. ' I do not remember to have heard of such a case 
 before.' 
 
 ' I wonder what Mr. Vincent has done to offend his aunt,' was 
 Ellison's practical response to this. ' Young men have so little tact 
 sometimes in dealing with elderly relatives. Of course she ought to 
 do something for those children. Jtlrs. Tarrant said she was rich — 
 it is this jjart of the story that puzzles me most.' 
 
 ' 1 cannot help thinking of those poor, dear children,' returned 
 Lorraine. ' I wonder who took care of them when they had 
 measles? Poor little dears, I am afraid they must be terribly 
 neglected.' And in this fashion they talked until they reached 
 Brae Farm. 
 
 They found Colonel Trevor awaiting them. They had seen 
 very little of him during the last few weeks, as he had been stay- 
 ing with some friends in London. He had also been to Brighton
 
 BETWEEN THE LILIES 105 
 
 and Folkestone with Captain Faucit; but Ellison, who was used 
 to his frequent absences, took the matter very quietly ; Lut she 
 always welcomed liira back with undisguised jileasure. 
 
 ' There is Gavin,' she said, with no perceptible change of tone ; 
 but there was a Inightnesa in her eyes as she hastened to meet 
 him, and perhajjs he held hor hand a moment longer than usual. 
 
 ' I have seen so little of you lately,' lie said, ' that I thought I 
 would walk down here before dinner ; need we go in ? it is so 
 pleasant in the garden ' ; and Ellison, who generally yielded to his 
 slightest wish, sat down willingly on the garden-seat, and made 
 room for him beside her. 
 
 ' I hope you are not going to run away, Mrs. Herbert 1 ' he 
 e.xclaimed, as she manifested no intention of joining them ; but 
 Lorraine smiled and shook her head. 
 
 ' I must go to my boy ; he will never let Dorcas sing him to 
 sleep. I will come back as soon as I can leave him.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Herbert looks a different creature,' he observed when she 
 was out of hearing ; 'she hiis gained tone and vitality ; I never saw 
 such a change in any M'oman. You have done a good work there, 
 Ellison.' 
 
 ' Lorraine is very happy, she is always telling me so,' replied 
 Ellison ; 'there is something childlike in her nature. I think she 
 enjoys things more than other people do. Your mother is very 
 fond of her, Gavin. I pretended to be quite jealous the other day.' 
 
 ' And what about yourself. IIa.s Mrs. Herbert found the way 
 to your heart yet ? ' 
 
 'Oh yes' — colouring a little, for she never liked to be ques- 
 tioned about her feelings, only Gavin was a privileged person — ' I 
 have grown so used to Lorraine that I should not like to part with 
 her. She seems almost like a sister to me, and she is so sweet and 
 unselfish.' 
 
 ' Yes,' I am sure of that ; but some one else is sweet and unselfish 
 too ; eh, Ellison 1 ' 
 
 'I don't know about that,' with a charming Idush ; and then .-he 
 said hastily, ' Ah, Gavin, yi)U have no idea of all Mr. Tarrant has 
 been telling us about Mr. Vincent this afternoon. Lorraine and I 
 were so interested.' 
 
 It was shyness and an odd sort of reserve that made Ellison 
 turn oil' Colonel Trevor's pretty speeches in this manner ; she had 
 done so more than once lately, when he had shown a disposition 
 to be demonstrative. Colonel Trevor failed to understand himself 
 or her just now ; he was in that transition state when some crisis 
 seemed impending. He had made up his mind during the last few 
 weeks that it would be a good thing for himself that he should
 
 106 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 marry Ellison. "Wlieii the society of a woman is necessary to a 
 man, it is surely a desirable thing that he should make her his 
 wife.' 
 
 He had thought it all carefully out as he had paced the cliffs at 
 Folkestone. His second marriage would be very different from the 
 first ; his love for his beautiful young wife had been the passionate 
 devotion of youth ; when she had died, the best part of him had 
 died also. 
 
 "Well, he had mourned for her as truly as a man could mourn, 
 and now it remained to him to do the best he could with his life. 
 Probably he had many years before him ; a man a little over forty 
 had a right to consider himself in his prime. During these few 
 years Ellison had become very dear to him ; their friendship for 
 each other was unique, and did them both credit. If he could only 
 bring himself to the point of asking her to marry him. He knew 
 that she would make him happy. Who understood him as Ellison 
 did ? Who knew his little ways so well, or had taught herself to 
 bear with his peculiarities as this trusty friend of his ? 
 
 He had come back to Highlands two days ago with the fixed 
 intention of asking her. They had already met once ; but Ellison 
 had had some farming business on her mind, and the mention of 
 Sam Brattle had put courtship out of his mind. But this evening 
 surely the Fates propitious to lovers were in his favour. 
 
 The sweetness and serenity of the June evening were so restful ; 
 the air was fragrant with the scent of lilies ; Ellison's bees were 
 returning to their hives laden with rifled spoils ; Tedo's play- 
 fellows, the doves, were still cooing on the window-sill ; the pigeons 
 were as usual strutting and j^luming themselves on the red roof of 
 the bam ; the sweet, pungent smell of new -mown hay blended 
 with other scents ; it might have been at such an hour and amid 
 such surroundings that Adam told the first love-tale to the youthful 
 Eve. The stage was ready — the scenic decorations perfect. Even 
 the orchestra was tuning up with good-night twitterings ; it was 
 only for the actors in the great tragedy of life to perform their 
 parts, and yet why should Colonel Trevor be so backward in his 
 role ? Why should feminine gaucherie and shyness put him out ? 
 Gavin could not have answered this question. He listened silently 
 and without any special interest as Ellison talked about the locum 
 ienens. Perhaps he wondered a little that she should be so inter- 
 ested in a jjerfect stranger, and being a man, he was not very much 
 touched by her account of the children ; but he heard her out with 
 commendable patience, and asked a question or two to show that 
 he was listening. But presently, in spite of himself, his attention 
 wandered. The window of Good Rest overlooked their seat, and
 
 BETWEEN THE LILIES 107 
 
 they could plainly hear Lorraine's voice singing tx) her boy. Gavin 
 could even distinguish the words — it was some childish hymn or 
 other — 
 
 ' Every spring the sweet young flowers 
 Open bright and gay, 
 Till the chilly autumn hours 
 
 Wither them away ; 
 Tliere's a land we have not seen. 
 Where the trees are always green.' 
 
 He had not heard her sing since the evening she and Ellison 
 had dined at Brae House, and somehow the sound of her voice 
 affected him strangely. Simple as the refrain was, the pure liquid 
 notes were exquisitely sweet as they floated towards him. 
 
 Even Ellison i)aiised to listen ; her cousin's singing gave her 
 ^eat pleasure. All at once she became conscious of her com- 
 panion's mood. Gavin was inclined for silence. She dropped the 
 thread of her talk insUntly ; her fine tact was seldom at fault. 
 Perhaps the secret of her influence with him was her wonderful 
 adaptability to his moods. 
 
 Presently the voice ceased ; then to their surprise Lorraine her- 
 self appeared with Tedo in her arms. She had wrapped him up 
 warmly, and meant to try the air as a soporific. She passed them 
 with a little nod, and began pacing the long path between the 
 clumps of tall white lilies ; but they could hear her singing softly 
 to herself. 
 
 ' Gavin ! ' exclaimed Ellison, rousing herself, ' you will be too 
 late for ynur dinner. You had better stop and have supper with 
 us.' And as he hesitated, she continued, ' I shall take no refusal. 
 You have not had a meal here since my cousin came ; you were 
 far more gracious in poor Miss Elliott's day.' 
 
 ' Very well, then, I will stay, if you are sure I shall not be in the 
 way ; but I have profound faith in Mrs. Tucker, and in Mrs. Tucker's 
 mistress.' 
 
 ' If you will e.xcuse me, I will go in and tell Kutli to lay a jilace 
 for you. By the bye, Euth luis gone to Oaklands to see her 
 mother, but Dorcas really waits very nicely.' 
 
 Gavin made no attempt to keep her ; the hour had passed. 
 Perhaps his humour had changed ; a man is essentially a thing of 
 moods. As Ellison entered her house, on hospitable thoughts 
 intent, and inwardly rejoicing that Gavin would spend the evening 
 with them. Colonel Trevor rose from his seat and joined Lorraine. 
 She made a sign to him to speak softly. 
 
 'Tedo has been rather fretful the last day or two,' she said 
 * He is not a strong child, I am sorry to say, and he is often a little
 
 108 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ailing. You see the air has sent him off to sleep. Does he not 
 look comfortable ? ' lifting up the corner of the shawl for him to 
 peep. 
 
 ' He is far too heavy for you ; you are looking as tired as pos- 
 sible. Give him to me ; I will not wake him.' 
 
 Colonel Trevor spoke in a quick, authoritative voice, and Lor- 
 raine, who was a little taken by surprise, actually allowed him to 
 take the chUd out of her arms. She said afterwards, laughingly, to 
 Ellison that Colonel Trevor had a way with him that made people 
 submit to his orders. 
 
 'He was very kind, though,' interrupting herself, as though she 
 had been ungracious. ' He saw I was tired, and he did carry Tedo 
 so nicely,' 
 
 Certainly Colonel Trevor understood his business. He stood 
 still while Lorraine drew the shawl over her boy, and then he pro- 
 posed that they should take a turn in the kitchen garden. 
 
 ' There is no need to go in yet. It is a lovely evening, and 
 Ellison will be back directly, and you see the boy is fast asleep.' 
 
 'But why should I burden you in this way?' remonstrated 
 Lorraine. ' I am sure Tedo is heavy.' But Colonel Trevor had 
 sufficient kindness of heart not to contradict this statement. In 
 reality he thought the little fellow too light for his age, but he 
 would not have said so for worlds. 
 
 Some undefinable feeling made him glance compassionately at 
 the young widow ; but Lorraine, who felt very happy that evening, 
 misunderstood his grave, pitying look. 
 
 ' Some people say that a summer's evening makes them fee, 
 sad,' she said. ' I hope you are not one of them, Colonel 
 Trevor ? The evening sunset — oh, do you see those glorious silver 
 clouds ? — and the scent of the lilies, and this sweet -warm air, make 
 me feel as light-hearted as a child. On such an evening all must 
 be well with me ; that is what I say to myself.' 
 
 ' Ah, I see you agree with Browning ! Not that I profess to be 
 a student of Browning — life is not long enough, as I often tell 
 Muriel ; but I know e.xactly what you want to express — 
 
 ' " God's in His Heaven, 
 All's right with the world." ' 
 
 * Yes, that is beautiful ; you have certainly understood ray 
 meaning. When my boy grows up I hope he will love the country 
 as much as his mother does. I mean to teach him botany and 
 natural hi.story ; but,' interrupting herself with a laugh, ' I must 
 first teach myself. I am always making plans about Tedo. He is 
 to be such a good man ; so true and honourable and upright. He
 
 BETWEEN THE LILIES 109 
 
 nui8t never tell a falseliood if he does not wish to break my heart 
 All, you think me foolish, Colonel Trevor, but Tedo is all I have — 
 the one treasure that I had saved out of the wreck ! How can I 
 help setting my lieart on him ? ' 
 
 * Do not hold him too tightly,' was the grave response. * I had 
 a tretisure too, and I lost it.' 
 
 Colonel Trevor never knew what made him say this. Ptrhaps 
 the suppressed passion of Lorraine's tone instinctively induced him 
 to utter this warning. It was as though some shipwrecked mariner 
 who had lost his all were watching another toiling heavily in a 
 frail bark. But he reproached himself a moment afterwards. 
 
 'You must not let me make you melancholy with my dour 
 speeches,' he said apologetically, as she fixed her eyes on him with- 
 out speaking, though her lips parted. 
 
 Did she understand his warning ? She certainly grew a little 
 pale. The next minute he saw her lift the shawl and kiss the arm 
 of the slumbering boy. 
 
 ' He must not be out any longer,' she said quietly. ' \^'e are 
 near the house. Will you kindly give him to me now?' and, 
 without a word, he obeyed her. 
 
 'When he grows up to be a man,' he said to himself, as he 
 turned down another path. ' Poor woman, she is storing her 
 happiness in a very frail vessel, and I am sure that, from her 
 manner, Ellison agrees with me. Ah, well, who knows what is 
 for the best ? Tlmso who die young are not always to be pitied. 
 If he were to be taken, would she still agree so joyfully to the 
 words I quoted to her ? 
 
 '"God's in Ilis IKaven, 
 All's risht with the worM." '
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A NEW EXCITEMENT IN HIGHLANDS 
 
 "That unlettered small-knowing soul.' 
 
 Love's Labour s Lost. 
 
 ' I thank you for your voices : thank you : 
 Your most sweet voices.' 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 In a small place the arrival of a new inhabitant is always the 
 source of some excitement. Highlands had not yet finished dis- 
 cussing the attractions of Mrs. Herbert. Brae House, The Home- 
 stead, Price's Folly, and The Meadows had all vied with each other 
 in feting and making much of the young widow ; and even old Mrs, 
 Langton at FernclifFe, who was a chronic invalid, and was never 
 expected to call on her neighbours, had first sent her young com- 
 panion, little Miss Holt, with her card, and had then electrified her 
 friends by actually giving a tea-party in Mrs. Herbert's honour. 
 
 Lorraine had fallen in love with the placid, sweet- faced old 
 lady, and before the afternoon was over they were great friends. 
 'You must come and see me very often, my dear,' Mrs. Langton 
 said, as Lorraine sat beside her couch. ' I am a feeble old woman, 
 full of infirmities, but my friends are very good to me. Mrs. 
 Mordaunt and Mrs. Earnshaw often drop in of an afternoon to have 
 a cup of tea with me and Laura, but no one comes so often as dear 
 Ellison,' with a smile at her favourite. 
 
 * I shall come very often too,' was Lorraine's answer to this ; and 
 .she kept her word. The walk to Ferncliffe was a delightful one 
 through the Brae Woods, and then across the common at the foot of 
 Dunsford Hill ; the road winding dcliciously under shady trees, 
 between banks clothed with honeysuckle and briar roses and black- 
 berry bushes, broken ground covered with gorse and bracken 
 stretching into the distance. It was a favourite walk with Lor-
 
 A NEW EXCITEMENT IN HIGHLANDS 111 
 
 raine ; and when her pleasant chat with Mi-s. Langton was over, 
 little Miss Holt would walk back with her till they reached Duns- 
 ford Farm, where the gate led into the Brae Woods. 
 
 Everyone called her little Miss Hult She was a tiny creature ; 
 and Lily Mordaunt, a well-grown child of twelve, was considerably 
 taller. She had a pretty, babyish face, and very youthful manners ; 
 bat she was five-and-twenty, and had been engaged for the last six 
 years to a sailor ; but as far as Highlands knew about it, she was 
 not likely to be married yet She was a distant connection of Mrs. 
 Langton, and had lived with her ever since her father's death, 
 and the two were much attached to each other. Little Miss Holt 
 was a great favourite with everybody. She was a clever little 
 body, and very good-natured and unassuming, and though her 
 life was dull and monutonous, she always seemed perfectly content 
 with it. 
 
 She took a great fancy to Lorraine, and would talk to her about 
 her protracted engagement in the most confiding manner. ' You 
 see, Mrs. Ilerliert,' she said cheerfully one day, ' Frank is only second 
 officer in the P. and 0. service, and of course there is no hope of 
 our marrying yet ; but I am saving up my money to help towards 
 the furnishing, for of course he cannot put by much. Father 
 wished us not to get married until Frank was captain, and so we 
 must wait ; but I have his letters, and Mrs. Langton is like a 
 mother to me, so I ought to be happy.' 
 
 She showed his photograph to Lorraine once. Little iliss Holt's 
 ylanc^ had a big, burly figure, and a plain face that even in the 
 I)hoto beamed with good nature. * Poor Frank ; he is popular with 
 all the crew,' sighed Laura, as she gazed proudly at the clumsy 
 features of her lover. ' He is never out of temper with the men ; 
 and his captain speaks so well of him. I think I am the most 
 fortunate girl in tlie world.' 
 
 ' She is a good little soul,' observed Ellison, when Lorraine 
 repeated this conversation. 'Frank Sanderson is not liandsome, 
 certainly ; but he is an honest, straightforward fellow, and we were 
 all pleased with him. Laura makes the best of things ; but Mrs. 
 Langton is very kind to her, and I dare&iy she will remember her in 
 her will, though the bulk of her fortune must go to her two nephews.' 
 
 Diroctly the news of the locum tenens was bruited abroad, there 
 was immense excitement in Highlands ; every one called on the 
 Tarrants ; there was a perfect stream of visitors to the Meadows, 
 every one wanted to hear what Mr. Tarrant thought of Mr. Vincent ; 
 and one and all held up thuir hands and exclaimed in horror when 
 they heard of the four brotlicre and sisters. 
 
 Mrs. Mordaunt and her daughters, who lived at The Homestead,
 
 112 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 a little way down the Darley Road, were especially emphatic in 
 their expressions of disapproval and pity. 
 
 Mrs. Mordaunt was a buxom, well-preserved widow. Report 
 said, somewhat ill-naturedly, that she would not be averse to entering 
 a second time into the bonds of matrimony ; but Ellison, who dis- 
 liked gossip, always contradicted this flatly. Mrs. Mordaunt was a 
 good-natured, motherly woman, she said ; not specially refined, and 
 perhaps a little too dressy for good taste ; but she was sure she was 
 far too sensible to think of such a thing. 
 
 Amy and Constance Mordaunt were pleasant-looking girls. They 
 had inherited their mother's good-nature and love of finery. They 
 had no intellectual tastes, and Muriel could not tolerate them ; but 
 Ellison took a neighbourly interest in them — though it must be 
 owned her manner was a little patronising. Mrs. Herbert was far 
 more to their taste, and the ]\Iordaunt girls would willingly have 
 struck up a friendship with her ; but Muriel Trevor had been 
 beforehand. Besides, in spite of Lorraine's easy temperament, she 
 had a fine discrimination of character, and though she was gracious 
 to all her neighbours, she soon discovered that the Homestead was 
 not so attractive to her as Brae House and Price's Folly. Mrs. 
 Mordaunt and her daughters were inveterate gossips ; they read 
 little except novels and magazines, and were more intent on adorning 
 their persons than their minds. Tennis, and dancing, and a London 
 season were their chief interests ; and Amy and Constance Mordaunt's 
 one aim was to persuade their motlier to let the Homestead and take 
 a flat in Hyde Park Mansions. During the summer a constant 
 relay of guests kept the house lively ; and a succession of picnics 
 and tennis-parties made the Homestead the rallying-point for the 
 young people of Bramfield and Dorchester. Ellison could seldom 
 be induced to show herself at these gatherings ; the young mistress 
 of Brae Farm was far too important and busy a person to waste 
 long summer afternoons playing tennis and gossiping in the Home- 
 stead garden. And from the first Lorraine seemed disposed to 
 follow her cousin's lead ; a ramljle through the Redlands pine- 
 woods with Muriel, or a drive with Ellison, was more to her taste. 
 One fine afternoon Lorraine had been over to Redlands with her 
 cousin. Ruth's mother, who was a laundress, had been failing in 
 health lately, and Ellison had been taking her some nourishing 
 soup and jelly. Mrs. Clarke lived in a cottage overlooking the 
 Redlands pine-woods ; it was only a little distance from the Waggon 
 and, Hfjrses, and some of the fields belonging to Mansoule Farm 
 sloped down to the cottage. From the windows one could see Mr. 
 Yolland's big red house, and as he was Mrs. Clarke's landlord, he 
 had met Ruth first in her mother's cottage. They bad not had a
 
 A NFAV EXCITEMENT IX HIGHLANDS 113 
 
 pleasant visit. Mrs. Clarke was not a good-tempered woman, and, 
 as Ellison knew, she and Ruth had never got on well to^'ether ; 
 the mother was fretful and exacting,', and the girl had a jiroud 
 spirit. There had been sad scenes in the cottage until Ruth threw 
 up the laundry work and went into service. Ellison told her 
 cousin that Mrs. Clarke had never cared for Sam Brattle, and was 
 always speaking against him to her daughter. She favoured her 
 landlord, and was eager for Ruth to marry Edgar Yolland. She 
 contrived to let him know when Ruth came home for an hour or 
 two, and it was through her that things had gone so wrong between 
 her and Sam Brattle. Ruth, in spite of her proud disposition, was 
 easily inlluenced ; when her mother appealed to her vanity, and 
 told her that she was handsome enough for a lady, and could hold 
 her head as high as she chose, Ruth would succumb insensibly to 
 the flattery. Her mother's little gibes made her discontented with 
 her lover, and when he waylaid her on her return to Brae Farm, 
 she would treat him with such coldness and indiiference that she 
 drove him almost mad with jealousy. On the evening Lorraine 
 had seen them together she had goaded him until he had lost his 
 temper. It was impossible, as Ellison well knew, that things could 
 go on like this much longer ; and that afternoon she had spoken 
 very plaiidy to Mrs. Clarke. 
 
 ' All this is spoiling Ruth,' she said severely; 'she cannot do 
 her work properly unless she has her mind at rest. I am always 
 finding fault with lur now. She might make a valuable servant 
 if she chose ; she is treating Sam Brattle very badly. She baa 
 allowed him to pay her attention all this time, and now she is 
 keeping him at arm's length, and refuses to be engaged to him. I 
 cannot ludp tliinking that this state of things is somehow owing to 
 you, Mrs. Clarke ; you are encouraging Ruth in her bad behaviour 
 to Sam.' 
 
 ' I don't hold with Sam Brattle,' returned Mrs. Clarke doggedly. 
 ' The Brattles liave never been to my mind. They are a bit stuck 
 up, and think themselves better than other people. I tell my girl 
 that she could do better for herself. Mr. Yolland is a fine figure 
 of a man, and though he is no boy, he is equal to any young man 
 in vigour ; and he would marry her to-morrow. He has told me 
 so times out of iiiiud.' 
 
 ' You are a foolish, dense woman ! ' returned Elli.^on warmly ; 
 'and you are as wrong as possible. There is no better fellow living 
 than Sam Brattle, and the girl who marries him will have a good 
 and loving husband. Edgar Yolland loves no one but himself. 
 There, I have no patience to talk to you any longer ! * 
 
 ' T am sure I never meant to offend you,* returncil ^^rs. Clarke, 
 
 8
 
 114 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 putting her apron to her eyes. ' And you have been a good friend 
 to my girl, as Ruth says — for though she has a stiff neck and a 
 haughty temper, her heart is right at the bottom. Thank you for 
 your kindness, Miss Lee ; and if the souj) is like the last it will do 
 me a power of good. The housekeeper at Mansonle Farm sent me 
 some that was not near so good ; but she is a feckless sort of body, 
 and Mr. Yolland wants to get rid of her, I hear. Well, good 
 morning, and if you can spare Euth for an evening next week, I 
 will be obliged to you, Miss Lee.' 
 
 ' Rutli shall come — it is her duty to come and see her mother,' 
 returned Ellison, shortly ; ' but I cannot say which evening I can 
 spare her — we are busy just now, as you know, with the hay.' 
 
 'Well, Lorraine' — as they walked down the lane — 'what do 
 you think of Ruth's mother % ' But Lorraine shook her head. 
 
 ' I see where Ruth has got her beauty,' she rej^lied. ' Mrs. 
 Clarke has been very handsome ; but there is a hard expression 
 about her face. I never like those thin lips ; but she looks ill, 
 poor woman ! ' 
 
 ' If I do not mistake, she is very ill, though neither she nor 
 Ruth guesses it. She is a mean-natured woman — she thinks more 
 of money and creature comforts than her daughter's happiness. 
 How can any mother think that a girl could be happy with 
 Edgar Yolland ? ' 
 
 'It is very sad,' assented Lorraine. And then she said, with a 
 marked change of voice, ' Oh, do look, Ellison, at all those boxes 
 and portmanteaus piled up before the Drakes' cottage ! I do 
 believe' — with gathering excitement — 'that the locum tenens has 
 arrived.' 
 
 ' It certainly looks like it,' returned Ellison, insensibly quicken- 
 ing her pace, and they both glanced curiously towards the cottage. 
 There was a bend in the road below the forge, and unless people 
 had business at the forge or the cottage, or wished to make pur- 
 chases or to post their letters at Brattle's, they would generally 
 take the lower road, and avoid the steep climb to the forge ; never- 
 theless, such is the curiosity of women, that Ellison took the 
 upper road, which brought her directly in front of the cottage. 
 The fact was, the heap of luggage in the tiny front garden puzzled 
 her ; it was so unlike ]\Irs. Drake's methodical ways with her 
 lodgers. 
 
 They had just nodded to John Drake, who was busily shoeing a 
 cart-horse, when two little boys in sailor suits ran out of the 
 cottage and began swinging on the chains between the white 
 palings. 
 
 It was a tempting, but at the same time a somewhat dangerous
 
 A NEW EXCITEMENT IN HIGHLANDS 115 
 
 amusement, as the ground sloped steeply to the road below, and 
 if they fell, a broken or dislocated ankle might be the result For 
 young children to swin-,' on the chains was considered very unsafe, 
 and mothers in lligliland-s had been heard to say to their little 
 ones, * Now mind, Dick,' or Tom, as the case might be, * if you lets 
 Sally go nigh them chains, I'll take the stick to you'; notwithstand- 
 ing, little Ned Dash, swimming gleefully on the said chains with his 
 mouth full of butter-scotch, had been one day rudely pushed by an 
 envious schoolfellow and lost his balance, and was found lying in 
 the road below with a In-oken leg, and an inquisitive cow smelling 
 him over in a friendly I'ashion. 
 
 Ellison was just going up to speak to the boys, when a shrill 
 girlish voice called to them from the cottage. 
 
 ' Hugo — Eddie, come in this moment ! Hugo, how can you be 
 80 naughty ? ' and the next minute a girl of about twelve or 
 thirteen appeared in the porch holding a pretty fair-haired child 
 by the hand. She had a delicate, high-bred little face, but it wore 
 a most unchildlike expression of anxious weariness ; the plait of 
 soft brown hair hanging to her waist was rough and dishevelled, 
 and her black linen frock was crumpled and dusty ; she seemed on 
 the verge of tears from nervous tension and fatigue. 
 
 * Oh, Hugo, please get down ' — in an imploring tone. 
 
 ' My dear, do you not hear your sister calling to you ? ' observed 
 Ellison in her calm, authoritative voice ; * you must not lead your 
 little brother into mischief, it is not safe to swing upon those 
 chains,' and as she spoke she quietly lifted the smaller boy from 
 his perilous position. They were both handsome little fellows ; 
 but the younger boy looked delicate, as though from recent illne.«s ; 
 the eldest, Hugo, hail a bold, merry expression, and his dark eyes 
 gleamed with fun and mischief; he was evidently a pickle, and even 
 Ellison's, dignified rebuke did not make liim look at all ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 ' Oh, thank you,' returned the young girl gratefully. ' I did 
 so beg Hugo not to play so near the edge of the roatl. I am so 
 afraid for Eddie, he always docs what Hugo tells him.' 
 
 'Then Hugo ought to take better care of his little brother,' 
 returned Ellison ; but Lorraine made a diversion at this moment, 
 for with a sudden impulse she opened the little gate. 
 
 'Is that your little sister? what a darling — may I kiss her? 1 
 have the dearest little boy of my own, and I do so love children. 
 Will you come to me, my sweet ? ' 
 
 What child could have resisted those winning tones? certainly 
 not Etlie. A broad smile came over her face ; she lixcd her blue 
 eyes in friendly inquiry on Lorraine, then fearlessly offered her lips.
 
 116 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' How old are you, my pet, and what do they call you ? ' inquired 
 Lorraine, holding the chubby hand caressingly. 
 
 ' Eflie is six years old,' returned her sister proudly. ' We call 
 her Etfie, but her name is really Phebe. She is such a good little 
 girl.' 
 
 ' Missie, what can I do about the boxes ? ' asked Mrs. Drake, 
 suddenly breaking into the conversation. ' Mr. Vincent does not 
 Beem coming back, and my master says we shall have a sharp 
 shower directly.' 
 
 ' Oh, I hope not,' in a distressed voice. ' Eric said he would 
 not b(4 long, and I cannot decide about the rooms until he comes. 
 It is so difficult to know what to do ; and yet the children are so 
 tired and want their tea.' 
 
 The weary, helpless tones went to their hearts. Lorraine 
 looked imploringly at her cousin, but Ellison's practical kindness 
 was always ready. 
 
 ' Can we help you, my dear ? ' she said at once. ' TVe are close 
 neighbours, and I hope shall soon be good friends. We live at 
 Brae Farm across there. I am Miss Lee — Mrs. Drake knows me 
 very well ; and this is my cousin, Mrs. Herbert, who lives with me. 
 If I understand the difficulty rightly, you are waiting for your 
 brother to decide on the rooms before the luggage is carried up.' 
 
 'Yes, I do so want Eric to choose,' returned the girl anxiously. 
 ' When he went off with Mr. Tarrant, he just said that Effie and I 
 were to have the best room — that is so like Eric, he never thinks 
 about himself ; but I have been thinking over it, and that will 
 never do. The sitting-room is so small, it is only half the size of 
 our old dining-room, and how am I to keep the children quiet 
 while Eric studies and writes his sermons?' 
 
 ' My dear, that is very thoughtful of you,' said Ellison, ' the 
 idea occurred to us the other day. I know all the rooms well. 
 Shall we go upstairs and look at them, while my cousin stays with 
 the children ? Don't you think that will be a good plan ? two heads 
 arc always better than one.' And this offer was gratefully accepted, 
 and Lorraine, seating herself on the biggest trunk, took Effie up on 
 her lap and proceeded to tell the boys a story.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SHADOW OP THE SWORD 
 
 • I would not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.' 
 
 Kino RiciMrd III. 
 
 As Ellison followed the girl into the little dark passage, she 
 waa surprised and touched by her suddenly turning round and 
 sayini,' : 
 
 ' How kiud you are to lake all this trouble, and you do not 
 even know us ; but I am so glad that you live near. My name is 
 Nora — Nora Scott ; but please call me Nora.' 
 
 ' Very well, dear,' returned Ellison gently ; and then the next 
 moment thoy stood in what Mrs. Drake proudly called her best 
 room. It was a fair-sized room, and in spite of its low ceiling it 
 was very pleasant ; the one window looked over the common 
 towards Ei-rnkigh Lane, but Brae Farm was not visible, as it lay 
 in a hollow. The other room had the same aspect; but it was 
 not quiie so large, and the furniture was more homely. The 
 third room waa a sliji of a jilace with a small window overlook- 
 ing the yard and the wall of the forge. 
 
 Ellison took counsel with herself for a minute, while Nora looked 
 at her helplessly ; but at last she said in the cheerful, decided tone 
 that always brought conviction to her listener : 
 
 ' I have thought it all out, and I think you ought decidedly to 
 give your brother the best room ; the other would do very nicely 
 for you and Eflie, an<l though the slip room is very small for the 
 boys, tlu-y can manage quite wull,' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so glad ! ' e.xcliiimcd Nora joyfully ; ' that is just what 
 I wanted to arrange, only Eric would not listen to me — he was in 
 such a hurry and so tired, because we ha<l been jxicking until late 
 last night. Shall I go down and ask ^Ir. Drake to carry up Erie's
 
 118 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 portmanteaus and his box of books ? — oh, there are two boxes ! 
 and they are so heavy. And where ever will he put his books ? ' 
 looking round the room as she spoke. 
 
 ' Wait a moment,' returned Ellison in a thoughtful tone ; ' there 
 is no such hurry. The shower seems passing off. This is really a 
 very nice room ; let us ask Mrs. Drake to push the bed against the 
 wall, and that will give more space. Then that toilet table — if 
 you put the glass on the drawers, you might cover the table with a 
 dark cloth, and it will make a splendid writing-table, and there is 
 wall-room over there for a bookcase. Your brother can use this 
 room as his study, and he will be (piet and undisturbed. Don't 
 you approve of my plan, Nora % ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed. Oh, how clever you are ! I should never have 
 thought of anything half as nice, and Eric never will consider his 
 own comfort; he always gives the best things to us, just as mother 
 did. May I go down now, and send Mrs. Drake up, and you shall 
 tell her what you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and John Drake and Joshua may begin bringing up the 
 boxes,' and Nora flew downstairs. When Mrs. Drake appeared, 
 Ellison gave her a few quiet hints, which the good-hearted woman 
 at once promised to carry out ; and then Ellison, feeling that she 
 had taken enough on herself, went in search of her cousin. 
 
 Meanwhile, as Lorraine sat over the big trunk laughing and 
 chatting with the children, and making them forget that they were 
 tired and hungry, she became aware of a tall young man in clerical 
 attire hurrying up the ascent to the forge. He looked at the little 
 group in the front garden with some astonishment ; but as he raised 
 his hat, Lorraine quietly rose from her seat. 
 
 'I hope you will not think we are intruding, Mr. Vincent,' she 
 said, with her bright smile; 'but my cousin Miss Lee and I 
 found your little sister in some difficulty, and we stopped to help 
 her. The children are so tired,' she continued, with the gentle 
 motherliness that was habitual to her, ' and they tell me that they 
 want their tea very badly ; but Mrs. Drake says that all these boxes 
 must be carried in first.' 
 
 ' They ought to have been carried in long ago,' returned the young 
 man in a tone of vexation. ' What is Nora thinking about % ' But 
 Ellie, who was a peacemaker by nature, slid a soft little hand into his. 
 
 ' Nora is with the kind lady upstairs, Eric,' she said gravely. 
 ' They are both kind ladies ; but I like tliis one best — she has the 
 nicest face.' 
 
 'Ah, Effie, what a little flatterer you are !' exclaimed Lorraine, 
 bursting into a merry laugh. And then Mr. Vincent, who had 
 seemed rather embarrassed by this speech, laughed too.
 
 THE SHADOW Of THE SIVORD 119 
 
 Eric Vincent was by no means handsome ; but, like his young 
 sister Nora, he had a refined, hi},'Iily-bred face, and thure was 
 unmistakable intellect in the broad, thoughtful brow. His eyes 
 were a light hazel ; but their expression was gentle, and there were 
 sensitive lines about the mouth. Young as he was, only five-and- 
 twenty, he had a worn, harassed look that went to Lorraine's heart. 
 Her life's experience had tauglit her how to read faces as well 
 as characters, and even during those first few minutes she had 
 detected the lines of care and sorrow on the young clergyman's 
 Axce. 
 
 ' Oh, Eric,' chimed in Hugo, emboldened by his big brother's 
 presence, * do tell Mrs. Drake to hurry up and get the tea ready. 
 You are awfully hungry, aren't you, Eddie?' 
 
 ' Yes, I am awfully hungry,' repeated Eddie solemnly. 
 
 ' I am hungry too, Eric,' piped Eflie, who generally completed 
 the trio of complaints; 'but the lady was telling us such a nice 
 story about thrue little bears, and the dear little cubbly one said, 
 " Who's been a-sitting in my chair ? " ' 
 
 'Lorraine, are you ready 1' asked a quick, decided voice, and the 
 next moment Ellison's fair, serious face appeared in the doorway ; 
 but she also was not in the least taken aback when she saw the 
 young clergyman. 
 
 ' You are Mr. Vincent,' she said quietly, with the air of dignity 
 that always impressed strangers. 'My cousin Mrs. Herbert and I 
 have been making friends with your sister. My name is Lee — Miss 
 Lee, of Brae Farm ' — there was unconscious pride in her tone as 
 Ellison said this. ' We are really your nearest neighbours.' 
 
 ' I have been hearing of some of Miss Lee's good works from 
 Mr. Tarrant,' returned Mr. Vincent, with a pleasant smile. ' That 
 beautiful window in St. Jude's, for example, which I have just been 
 admiring. I am greatly pleaded with the church ; it is small, 
 certainly, but my church-warden tells me it is large enough for the 
 place. He took me to the institute ; that is why I have been away 
 80 lung.' 
 
 ' ricase, Eric,' interposed Nora, 'will you ask Mr. Drake to come 
 and help with the boxes ? Mrs. Drake is waiting for them 
 upstairs.' And this broke up the part}*. 
 
 'I will go and tell him,' returned Ellison. 'John Drake is an 
 old frieiul of mine.' When she returned from the forge she found 
 Lorraine slowly sauntering towards the common with Mr. Vincent 
 and the two little boys, and Nom at the gate watching for her. 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Lee,' she said eagerly, 'I bogged Eric to take the boys 
 away for a little, for I knew we should get on faster without them. 
 Mrs. Drake says she will have the bed made in a twinkling — those
 
 120 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 were her very words ; and when the boxes are uji, I shall show 
 Eric his room, and then we shall have tea.' 
 
 ' That will be very nice. Now, I must say good-bye, dear ; but 
 I shall come to-morrow morning and see how you are getting on. 
 Go to bed early, you look very tired, Nora,' and then Ellison 
 followed the others. 
 
 They stood still and waited for her ; the boys had forgotten their 
 fatigue, and were playing hide-and-seek amongst the gorse, and 
 Mr. Vincent walked on with the ladies until they reached Fernleigh 
 Lane. 
 
 ' I am charmed with Highlands,' he said ; ' I had no idea from 
 Mr. Tarrant's description that the village was so picturesque ; those 
 fir woods and low hills give such a fine effect. I do not think I 
 could have done better for the children, as far as air and scenery 
 go ; but we shall be terribly cramped for room at the cottage.' 
 
 'The sitting-room is very small, certainly,' returned Ellison; 
 ' but Mrs. Drake is such a capital manager that I really think you 
 will be comfortable. A good landlady is such a blessing ; and she is 
 so fond of children.' 
 
 ' She has none of her own, Mr. Tarrant told me.' 
 
 * No ; their one child died when she was a baby ; but that was 
 many years ago. I am afraid, Mr. Vincent, that you wiU have to 
 make the best of things. There are no better lodgings to be got 
 nearer than Bramfield, and that is two miles away. You see, our 
 lord of the manor. Sir John Chessington, and my cousin Colonel 
 Trevor do not encourage an influx of strangers. They will not have 
 more houses built, and there are few cottages ; so of course there is 
 no help for it.' 
 
 ' No, I suppose not; and we shall muddle along somehow' — but 
 Mr. Vincent's tone was despondent. ' If we could have had the 
 Vicarage we should have been in clover ; but Mr. Tarrant says 
 there is no chance of that for the next five months ; but we shall 
 probably get in before winter. There is no expectation of the 
 Yollands coming back before June.' 
 
 ' No indeed ; but I shall be glad for you all to be housed at the 
 Vicarage before the winter. The cottage is terribly draughty, and 
 in cold weather it must be difficult to keep the children warm.' 
 
 ' I should imagine so. AVell, I must take the boys back now. 
 But I do not see any signs of Brae Farm ; and yet you say yoif are 
 our nearest neighbours.' 
 
 'Yes ; we are a trifle nearer to you than 'Brae House ; bi;t you 
 must go down that long winding lane and cross two or three 
 meadows before you reach the Farm. When you are settled you 
 must let the children come over for a long afternoon. I will send
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD 121 
 
 them home in our new donkey-cart, 60 they will not be too tired; 
 and ray cousin and I will undertake to amuse them.' 
 
 ' Tliank you very much. Hugo and Edmund, come and say 
 good-bye to these kind ladies,' and ,then Mr. Vincent shook hands 
 with them cordially. As they entered the lane, Ellison glanced 
 back. Mr. Vincent had his youngest brother on his shoulder, and 
 was climbing up the steep, broken ground manfully, with the 
 irrepressible Hugo running beside him. 
 
 * I like Mr. Vincent,' observed Lorraine impulsively, when her 
 cousin had called her attention to this ; ' he is so good to those 
 boys. AVhat a iiue little fellow Hugo is. If only my Tedo could 
 be as strong and sturdy,' and Lorraine sighed ; for in spite of the 
 new donkey the warm weatlier was making Tedo pale and languid. 
 He had lost appetite lately, and more than once Ellison liad hinted 
 that perhaps it might be as well tliat Dr. Howell should be called 
 in ; but, strange to say, Lorraine had always some excuse to offer. 
 It was just the warm weather. She had never known June so hot. 
 It was really more like August. The heat never suited Tedo ; he 
 always flagged a little ; she noticed it last year. No, there was no 
 need to speak to Dr. Howell. His donkey -rides and drives, and 
 all that delicious new milk from the Alderney, would soon 
 strengthen him ; but she never noticed that Ellison made no reply 
 to this. 
 
 Tedo was ijlaying with the puppy, under Dorcas's supervision, 
 when they reached home. He ran up to his mother at once, with 
 his usual cry of delight, and as she took him up in her arms she 
 kissed him passionately. 
 
 ' Have you wanted me, darling ? Has mother been too long 
 away ? You look tired and hot, my precious.' 
 
 * Boy wanted mammie dretfelly,' returned Tedo pathetically. 
 'Boy got tired of jilaying with Tweed. Boy wanted Tousin too' 
 — his name for Ellison. 
 
 ' He certainly looks very tired,' observed Ellison ; and then 
 Lorraine carried him indoors. As she sat down by the window 
 overlooking the farmyard, Tedo rested his head contentedly 
 against his mother's shoulder. 
 
 'Boy's quite comfy now,' he said, and then he put his arm 
 round her neck with his customary squeeze. ' Sing to boy, 
 mammie/ and she began one of his favourite baby songs. But 
 for once as she sang, Lorraine's heart felt a little heavy — a vivid 
 remembrance of Hugo's sturdy figure and bold little face came to 
 her mind. There was no disguising the fact — her boy was 
 delicate. There was a want of vitality about him that made her 
 anxious. Perhaps she was wrong not to ask Dr. Howell's opinion.
 
 122 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 If Ellison proposed it again she would not be obstinate. As 
 these thoughts passed through her mind she lifted the little hand 
 to her lips. It felt small and hot, and his eyes were certainly 
 heavy. 
 
 ' Are you well, darling ? Is my Tedo quite well ? ' she asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Boy is kite well,' replied Tedo drowsily. ' Sing " Ten little 
 nigger boys," mammie. Boy doesn't want no stupid hymns,' and 
 Lorraine obediently fulfilled his behest. 
 
 ' You are a little out of si^irits this evening,' observed Ellison, 
 as they sat in the bay later. She looked at her cousin affection- 
 ately as she spoke, for she had noticed that Lorraine had answered 
 her rather absently once or twice, as though her thoughts were 
 elsewhere. 
 
 ' No — yes — oh, I was only thinking about Tedo ! ' returned 
 Lorraine, the tears starting to her eyes. ' I cannot help worrying 
 a little over his want of strength. Somehow I fancy he is a little 
 thinner.' 
 
 ' Ah, the heat makes young children thin,' returned Ellison. 
 * Tedo is not a strong child, so anything pulls him down. I 
 think you are wrong not to speak to Dr. Howell, for perhaps he 
 only needs a tonic. Look here, I have an idea in my head. Dr. 
 Howell is sure to be at Brae House to-morrow to see Roberts. 
 Shall I send a note round and ask him to come on here ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you ; perhaps it would be as well,' replied Lorraine 
 dejectedly ; and Ellison concealed her surprise at this ready 
 acquiescence. 
 
 That night was the most miserable that Lorraine had kno"WTi 
 for years. In the dark hours a perfect panic seized her. She 
 could not sleep ; she could not reason away her fears ; she could 
 not even lie still ; a dozen times she kindled a light, and shading 
 it carefully bent over her treasure ; but Tedo was sleeping 
 sweetly. 
 
 ' "Why have I so little faith 1 ' she said to herself. ' Why do I 
 fear to trust myself and my boy to my heavenly Father ? Ah, 
 weU may Divine lips tell us that the flesh is weak ; but then 
 there is only One who knows how a mother's heart can suffer.' 
 
 There i.s no denying that imagination can inflict positive 
 torture — that the fear of trouble may be so intense and acute 
 that even the trouble, when it comes, will only be a little harder 
 to bear. 
 
 Every loving soul has its Gethseniane. Has not this been said 
 before, when, reverently be it spoken, it drinks beforehand of its 
 cup of sorrow. In some cases it may be the prophetic instinct
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD 123 
 
 warns ua of the coming evil, a pale reflection of the shadow that 
 is to darken our lives seems to envelop us. Oh, the agony of 
 such hours ! Well may we pray that at such dread moments 
 some merciful angel may he near to strengthen us, lest our human 
 heart should break, and our human faith wax low or perish. 
 
 It was dawn before Lorraine could sleep ; but though her 
 palid look told plainly of her vigil, Ellison made no remark ; she 
 kept her real sympathy to herself. Lorraine had been fretting 
 about Tedo ; but it was kinder and wiser to take no notice. She 
 kissed her a little more affectionately than usual, and talked 
 quietly on ordinary topics. 
 
 But before the morning had half passed, Lorraine became her 
 bright, hoj)eful self again. "When Dr. Howell came, he spoke 
 cheerfully about the boy. He was certainly not a strong child, 
 he observed ; many children of his age were a little weakly ; but 
 he would soon mend. There must be no fatigue and excitement 
 for the present. He must be out in the air as much as possible, 
 and lie down a good deal ; and then he mentioned a few simple 
 remedies and took his leave, and Lorraine, who was worn by her 
 terrible night, shed tears of joy as soon as she was alone with her 
 boy. Dr. Howell's face was a trille graver when Ellison questioned 
 him in the porch ; but even to her he Siiid nothing very definite. 
 
 ' He is a frail little fellow, and has not much stamina ; but 
 with care and plenty of light nourishment he will do very well, 
 as I tell his mother,' and tlien he began talking about the excellent 
 hay harvest. 
 
 Dr. Howell was rather given to reserve his opinion about his 
 patients. Unless it were absolutely necessary, he seldom touk their 
 friends into confulence. He had a strong-featured, sensible face, 
 that kept ita own counsel. His abrupt manner ^hid a kind heart, 
 and in cases of real suffering or serious illness his presence was 
 ftdt to be a blessing. 
 
 When Dr. Howell had left, Ellison went down to the cottage 
 to see Nora ; and on her way she met Muriel, who was anxious to 
 know what he said abnut Tedo. She looked much relieved when 
 Ellison repeated his words. 
 
 ' Ah, I knew you would come ! ' exclaimed Lorraine gratefully, 
 when she entered the room ; ' but I have nothing but good news 
 to tell you.' 
 
 'Is that why you have been crying?' asked Muriel gravely ; 
 and Lorraine blushed a little. 
 
 ' I think I have been crying over my own ingratitude,' she said 
 humbly. ' I am ashamed to think how I worked myself up last 
 uiglit. It was wicked of me ; but somehow there are times when
 
 124 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 one seems to let go the helm, and we drift away anywhere. 
 "What odd creatures we are ! Last night I was wading breast- 
 high in the Slough of Despond, and now the ground is firm 
 under my feet again. Directly Dr. Howell said there was very 
 little the matter with Tedo, I felt life was worth having.' 
 
 Muriel looked at her as though she perfectly understood this, 
 and then Lorraine of her o^\^^ accord began speaking of other 
 things. She told Muriel about their visit to the cottage, and 
 described Mr. Vincent graphically, and then in her old way she 
 began questioning Muriel about her doings. They were close 
 friends now, and Muriel talked to her freely about most things. 
 
 They spent the rest of the morning together in the Dovecote, 
 while Tedo sat at their feet with his bricks. 
 
 Meanwhile Ellison paid her promised visit. The little boys 
 were evidently on the watch for her, for they rushed out of the 
 gate the moment they saw her, and accosted her in the most 
 friendly way. 
 
 'Nora's expecting you. Miss Lee,' observed Hugo. 'She has 
 put the room quite tidy, hasn't she, Eddie ? and we helped her.' 
 
 ' Yes ; we helped her a lot,' chimed in Eddie. 
 
 ' Eric has gone to that queer iron room,' continued Hugo ; 
 ' but he would not take us with him. He said we talked so much 
 that we hindered him. Do you mind boys talking, Miss Lee, 
 when you ask us to your farm? — we mean to be quiet, don't we, 
 Eddie V in an insinuating voice. 
 
 ' We won't speak one word,' assented Eddie. 
 
 ' Dear me, what cheerful visitors I shall have. I shall feel as 
 though I am entertaining two tame mice.' 
 
 'When do you mean to ask us ?' demanded Hugo ; but Nora, 
 who had come to the gate, overheard this. 
 
 * For shame, Hugo. How can you say such things. Please 
 come in, Jlis.s Lee, I have been wanting you to come so much. 
 Now run away, boys, and finish your game.' And then she led 
 Ellison into the parlour, and ensconced her in the easy-chair. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, and how have you got on % ' began Ellison, 
 with a look of apjjroval at the slight, girlish figure before her. 
 Nora was certainly pretty, she thought ; her hair was plaited 
 nicely, and looked smooth and glossy ; ' but what has become of 
 Effie?' 
 
 ' Oh, Effie is trotting after Mrs. Drake, and pretending to help 
 her. Mrs. Drake has taken such a fancy to Effie, and begged to 
 have her. Oh, Miss Lee, I must tell you ; Eric was so pleased 
 with his room. He says he can write his sermons so nicely at 
 that table, and he is going to put up the book-shelves this after-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD 125 
 
 noon, and I am to help him unpack the books. lie did not seem 
 half so unhappy when he came home last night lie said you 
 were both so kind, and it was pleasant to have such nice neigh- 
 bours, and tlia't it was such a beautiful place, and that we must 
 try and make the best of things ; and he has promised to take us 
 to the pine-woods after tea, and the boys are so delighted.* 
 
 ' Your brother is very good to you, I am sure ' ; and Nora's eyes 
 filled with tears. She was a sensitive little creature, and her 
 many cares had made her precocious. 
 
 ' I think no one is quite so good as Eric,' she said simply. 
 ' Mother and I used often to say so. Poor mother, how she cried 
 at the idea of leaving him. She said it was so hard for him at 
 his age to have all us children to look after ; but Eric never let 
 her say that. I wish I were older, and knew better how to help 
 him ; but I am not thirteen yet, and I do make such mistakes. 
 Gro\\'n-up people are so much happier, I think,' finished Nora, 
 with a sigh. ' They know how to do things, and never make 
 mistakes.'
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE LOCUM TENEN3 
 
 ' WTien you are not resting, work ; 
 When you are not ill, be well ; 
 When you are not miserable, be happy.' 
 
 Carlyle. 
 
 The cloud passed, and Lorraine recovered her customary clieerful- 
 ness. Perhaps Dr. Howell's remedies were efficacious ; but 
 certainly Tedo seemed better. He played longer without weari- 
 ness, ceased to whine fretfully if his mother left him, and took 
 his food more readily, and Lorraine, who felt that she had lived 
 through some hideous nightmare, could not make enough of her 
 darling. She parted from him even for an hour or two with 
 reluctance to fulfil her social duties ; but she was inwardly 
 restless if anything detained her. The new donkey, Jenny, was a 
 great treasure, and Eric Vincent, wandering through the Oaklands 
 pine-woods with his little brother, often came upon the cavalcade — 
 Muriel Trevor with Tedo in the smart little donkey-cart, and 
 Lorraine walking beside them. Tedo would be shaking the reins 
 lustily, and shouting into Jenny's ears after his usual fashion. 
 ' Give boy the vhip, mammie,' he would cry. ' Jenny's naughty ; 
 boy must vhip hard.' But Lorraine would only shake her head. 
 She and Jenny understood each other perfectly. Boy's ' vhips ' 
 made no impression on Jenny's thick coat. She only shook her 
 long ears, and wondered placidly what curious insects were 
 buzzing about her. Tweedledee always made a third in the cart. 
 He would sit panting with his tongue out in a state of immense 
 excitement. The little boys were always delighted when they 
 came upon their friends. Since that first wonderful afternoon at 
 the Farm, when they had ridden on old Dobbin, and fed the 
 pigeons, and played hide-and-seek round the hay -stacks, they had
 
 THE LOCUAf TENENS 127 
 
 been frequent visitors to Brae Farm. Ellison, with lier usual good 
 nature, often invited tlieni. Sometimes Nora and Ellic would 
 come too, and then Lorraine would give herself uj) to their 
 amusement. She soon grew very fond of all the children ; Lut 
 Ellie remained her chief favourite ; jirobahly because Tedo had 
 taken .«uch a fancy to her. 'Buy's ittle dirl,' as he called her; 
 but she was a sweet child, with droll, solemn little w;iys and 
 speeches, and her big brother doted on her. 
 
 There was only one opinion in Hi;^'hlands as to the merits of 
 the new locum teneiis. Tom Brattle embodied this when he said 
 to his brother Sam after the evening service : 
 
 * I reckon the new minister is a grand success. I like that sort 
 of solid, jilain sermon — it makes a meal for a man ; and yet he is a 
 youngish chap too.' 
 
 ' Yes ; he has real grit in him,' was Sam's response to this. 
 ' In the ministry, education has more to do with it than age. That 
 description about Boaz's harvest -field was a fetching bit, and I 
 CDuld see Mi.s3 Lee was pleased with it. Mr. Vincent is clever ; 
 but he is none too clever to talk down to the level of plain people, 
 and that is what I like.' 
 
 Old Mrs. Langton, who seldom got to church, e.xpressed herself 
 much pleased with Mr. Vincent's visit. 
 
 ' He is very young, my dear, to have the sole charge,' she said 
 to Ellison, 'and I could not lielp telling him so. "You will 
 excuse an old woman's plain speaking, Mr. Vincent," I said ; "but 
 you are young to have such responsibility on your shouldei-s." But 
 he answered me in such a nice, earnest way, " You cannot feel 
 that more than I do myself, Mrs. Langton," he said ; " but I hope 
 you will let me try to help you as much as I can. I see you are 
 an invalid. I learnt a great deal from my own dear mother. She 
 suffered for a long time before she was taken," and then he told me 
 about her in such a simple, touching way, that I fairly cried to 
 hoar him ; but it did me good too, and I daresay he knew it would. 
 Ah, he is young ; but he has had plenty of troubles to steady him, 
 and I don't doubt that he will be a blcs.<ing to Highlands.' 
 
 Perhaps the Mordaunts were the only i)eople who owned them- 
 selves somewhat disappointed in Mr. Vincent, He was so reserved, 
 so stand-oilish, the girls said, so different from other young curates 
 that they knew. AVliy, Mr. Cartwright, the High Church curate 
 from Dorcliester, and Mr. Farren from Bramfield, who was Evan- 
 gelical, and preached such rousing sermons tliat he thrilled his 
 hearers, would come over at any time to jday tennis and make 
 themselves agreeable. Mr. Cartwright esjjecially was a constant 
 visitor to the Homestead ; but it was so difficult to get Mr.
 
 128 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Vincent ; he was always engaged or busy, and yet he played tennia 
 splendidly. 
 
 From the first, Mr. Vincent seemed inclined to give them 
 a wide berth. The young ladies and their mother, with all 
 their good looks, were not to his taste. He was too depressed and 
 careworn, too heavily weighted by past troubles and present 
 anxieties, to care for the gay gatherings at the Homestead, where 
 dress and flirtations were the chief objects of interest ; and he 
 rather wondered at INIr. Cartwright's evident admiration of 
 Constance Mordaunt. He seemed rather a good fellow, as well as a 
 clever one, and in his eyes such infatuation seemed utterly grievous. 
 
 Colonel Trevor and Mr. Vincent had at once struck up an 
 intimacy ; and there was certainly no excuse when an invitation to 
 dine at Brae House came to the cottage. 
 
 Mr. Vincent liked all the Trevors. He and ]\Iuriel soon got 
 mutually interested in each other ; but the hours that he spent at 
 Brae Farm, when he fetched Nora or the boys, were more con- 
 genial to him than any others. 
 
 The society of two such women as Miss Lee and her cousin 
 Mrs. Herbert was a great source of pleasure to him. They had 
 been his first friends in Highlands, and he never forgot their kind- 
 ness on that first evening. Colonel Trevor, who was used to a 
 monopoly of Ellison's society, professed to be jealous when he 
 heard of his frequent visits to Brae Farm. 
 
 ' I cannot have Vincent poaching on my manors,' he said once, 
 half seriously and half in fun. ' He has been here twice this week 
 already. Is it you or Mrs. Herbert who encourages him ? ' 
 
 'How ridiculous you are, Gavin,' returned Ellison placidly. 
 * Why should not Lorraine and I encourage him, as you call it, 
 when we both like him so much ? I asked him to tea this after- 
 noon, because _ Muriel was coming, and we wanted to talk to him 
 about Nora.' 
 
 'About Nora?' — in an inquiring tone. 
 
 ' Yes ; we are so troubled about her. She is nearly thirteen, 
 and her education has been so neglected. And yet how could it 
 be helped ? — their poor mother was a sad invalid for months before 
 her death, and Nora had to wait on her ; Mr. Vincent told us so, 
 and of course it is not his fault. Do you know, Gavin, he teaches 
 the little boys entirely, that is why he has so little time for tennis. 
 When Amy Mordaunt was here the other day I could not help 
 mentioning this, for they seem so put out with Mr. Vincent. But 
 Amy was so absurd ; she only tossed her head, and said in a 
 huffy tone that it was odd how Mr. Vincent could always find time 
 to call at Brae Farm.'
 
 THE LOCUM TENENS 129 
 
 ' There, you see, you are creating ill-will in the bosoms of the 
 Highlands young ladies,' returned Colonel Trevor in a teasing 
 tone. 'I am quite of Miss Amy's opinion. Mr. Vincent comes 
 here far too often.' 
 
 * I cannot think what has come over you this afternoon,' returned 
 Ellison, opening her eyes widely. She never could take these sort 
 of jokes. Mr. Vincent's visits, jdeasant as they were, were nothing 
 to her ; besides, she had already a suspicion that his preference 
 was for her cousin. Lorraine's brightness and frank womanliness 
 seemed to fascinate him. He had already told Muriel that he had 
 never seen <iny one like Mrs. Herbert, and she had repeated this 
 speech to Ellison. 
 
 ' You are very perverse,' she went on ; ' and there is no 
 talking to you seriously ; but I do want to tell you some- 
 thing tliat will please you. Actually Muriel of her own accord 
 has offered to give Nora lessons. How surprised you look, 
 Gavin. Why, you are actually frowning over my piece of good 
 news.' 
 
 * You must let me get over my surprise first. You must re- 
 collect that I have never known Muriel make herself useful to any 
 one before.' 
 
 ' Gavin, how can you be so hard on poor Muriel. I am sure 
 she is ever so much nicer than she used to be, and Lorraine is so 
 fond of her. She is a different creature when she comes to us 
 now. When I hear them laughing and talking I can scarcely 
 believe it is the old moody Muriel.' 
 
 ' Oh, she is improved, I will grant you that ! She is quite civil 
 to me now, and her health is certainly better. We have to thank 
 Mrs. Herbert for all this ; but teaching Nora Scott — well, that is u 
 new phase ! ' 
 
 ' It is to be a sort of Mutual Improvement Society,' returned 
 Ellison quietly, for she knew that with all Muriel's improvement 
 there was still a great de^l of friction and soreness between the 
 brother and sister ; • we are all to have a share. But, as I tdd Mr. 
 Vincent, I hope it will not be a case of too many cooks. Muriel is 
 to give her lessons in French and history and English literature ; 
 she is to go to her for two hours every morning. I have under- 
 taken needlework and sums, and Lorraine is to teach her music. 
 She will come to us for an hour or two, two or three afternoons a 
 week, and bring Efhe to play with Tedo. There is real, practical 
 benevolence, Gavin. I hope you approve of it ? ' 
 
 ' I approve of everything you do,' he said affectionately ; ' you 
 are the best woman I know. Wasn't Vincent properly grateful for 
 all this?'
 
 130 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I think he was a little bit upset — he did not say much at first, 
 until the others had left the room, and then he tried to thank me. 
 Oh yes, he is very grateful ; he said he was thinking of engaging 
 Miss Spenser to give Nora a few lessons, for he really had no time 
 to read with her himself ; with two sermons a week, and teaching 
 the boys, and the schools, and the institute, and visiting, his time 
 was fully occupied ; but I was glad to hear him say that Mrs. 
 Drake made them very comfortable, and that, as the boys and 
 EflBe fairly lived on the common this lovely weather, their close 
 quarters did not so much matter.' 
 
 ' He really bears it very well,' returned Colonel Trevor. ' Vin- 
 cent has a fine character ; very few men at his age have so much 
 on their shoulders. We are good friends, and he speaks to me 
 pretty plainly ; he says sometimes that it is a relief to talk over 
 his worries with some one. He was dining with us last night, and 
 we had a regular palaver in the smoking-room. Do you know, he 
 has no private income ; and he and those children live upon what 
 Mr. YoUand gives hiui.' 
 
 ' But there is some wealthy aunt, is there not, Gavin ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he was telling me all about that ; and, as it is no secret, 
 there can be no harm in me repeating it. I did not know that 
 you had heard of her. Her name is Bretherton — she was his 
 mother's sister, but at least ten years older. A rich uncle had 
 taken a fancy to her when she was a girl, and had left her a lot of 
 money. She lives in a beautiful place in Wales. She is rather 
 eccentric, and has an uncertain temper, and some of her ways were 
 so odd that people said she had a bee in her bonnet ; but Vincent 
 told me her eccentricity had arisen from a great shock when she 
 was about five-and-twenty. She was very happily engaged, and 
 the wedding-day was fixed ; but her lover's family had kept from 
 her the knowledge that he had heart disease. It was thought 
 that he was not aware liimself how precarious his life was. 
 One day as they were talking together, he suddenly put his 
 hand to his chest and feU dead at her feet. She had brain fever 
 after that, and had to go abroad, and her temper has always been 
 queer since,' 
 
 ' Oh, poor woman, what a story ! ' exclaimed Ellison. 
 
 'There are lots of such stories, I fancy,' returned Colonel Trevor. 
 ' Many a dried-up old bachelor or weazened old maid has a sensa- 
 tional story in the background ; we most of us keep our private 
 skeleton under lock and key. Happy those who have no such 
 records in their past' 
 
 ' But how has Mr. Vincent contrived to offend his aunt ? ' asked 
 Ellison, who seldom encouraged moralising.
 
 THE LOCUM TENENS 131 
 
 ' Well, in this way : when he was a child she was very fond of 
 him, he used to spend weeks at Black Nest, as it is called, playing 
 with her cats. She has a mania for Persian cats, and keeps a 
 small army of them. She used to load him with jiresents, and at 
 last she wanted to adopt him ; but nothing would induce the boy 
 to leave his mother. He could not endure his aunt ; for, in spite of 
 her affection for him, she was tyrannical and uncertain, and the 
 house was not a lively home for a boy. His mother and step- 
 father reasoned with him ; for, though neither of them wanted to 
 part with him, they knew how greatly it would be to his advantage, 
 for of course. Miss Bretherton would have made him her heir ; but 
 Vincent was not to be coerced, and he spoke his mind so plainly 
 one day to his aunt that she never forgave him, or took notice 
 of him again. After Mr. Scott died she had allowed her sister 
 two hundred a year ; but this had been discontinued since her 
 death.' 
 
 ' Has not Mr. Vincent written to her and told her how he is 
 circumstanced ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, for the children's sake he thought it right to do so ; but 
 Miss Bretherton had tiiken no notice of his letter. I am afraid it 
 is a bad business, and that her money will be left to charities. 
 She seems a crabbed, narrow-minded person ; but it is hard lines 
 for Vincent. He says himself, how is he to bring up those boys 
 properly unless he gets a living ? Ellison, if anything happens to 
 poor Mr. Yolland, do you think we could persuade Sir John 
 Chessington to give Vincent St. Jude's ? He would have a good 
 house and five hundred a year.' 
 
 ' You and Mr. Tarrant might try ; but very probably Sir John 
 will want it for one of his own nephews. But please do not 
 discuss it, Gavin ; I sliould be so grieved if anything happened 
 to our dear old vicar. Highlands is not the same place with- 
 out him.' 
 
 ' No, indeed ; and you are right to be loyal to your old friend ; 
 but the last account was not reassuring. Well, as usual, I find it 
 difficult to tear myself away ; but Tyler is coming to speak to me 
 about the new conservatory, and I positively nm.*t go.' 
 
 ' Are you really going to give in to Cou.-^in Louise's extravagance ?' 
 exclaimed Ellison in a reproving tone. * You are a good son, Gavin ; 
 you indulge your mother in all her whims, but it will cost a good 
 deal, will it not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but I can afford it,' with a good-humoured smile ; ' and 
 flowers are her hobby. We all have our hobbies ; yours is managing 
 and making people comfortable. Oh, here comes Mrs. Herbert 
 with Muriel as usual in close attendance. Upon my word, she
 
 132 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 looks positively cheerful. I feel inclined to throw up my hat and 
 say three cheers for Mrs. Herbert ; only I am afraid Muriel's face 
 would wear a less becoming expression.' 
 
 ' Now, Gavin, you shall not tease her ; I really begin to take 
 Muriel's part.' And so, laughing and jesting in the sweet evening 
 sunshine, they parted at the little gate.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 eric's little brother 
 
 ' WTio does the best his circumstance allows. 
 Does well, acts nobly ; angels could no more.' 
 
 Young's yight Thoughts. 
 
 ' May I reach that j)urest heaven, 
 Be to others the cup of strength in some great agony.' 
 
 George Euot. 
 
 Ellison was right in her surmise. Mr. Vincent had left Brae Farm 
 that afternoon, feeling as though lie had acquitted himself badly ; 
 he had made a scant response to the kindly overtures that had 
 been made to him on his young sistei-'s behalf, and yet all the 
 time his heart had been full of gratitude. 
 
 It is not always easy to express one's feelings, especially if they 
 lie deep down under the surface. Only trivial light natures bubble 
 over into instant wdrJs ; but Eric Vincent's temperament dill'ered 
 from these. 
 
 His affections were strong and deep, his love for his mother had 
 been a piission ; few mothers and sons had so entirely understood 
 each other ; from a child Eric's devotion for her had been a sort of 
 religion. She had been a cultivated, high-minded woman, and he 
 had inherited her strong unselfish nature. Ilcr death had made a 
 blank in his life ; the loss of that perfect companionship and 
 sympathy had changed his life into a wilderness ; her influence 
 had permeated even his work ; he had never preached a sermon 
 without reading it first to her ; she had helped him with his poor 
 people, and cheered him in despondent moments ; suflering and 
 weary as she might be, she had always welcomed him with a smile. 
 * How tired you look, Eric ; come and sit down and tell me what 
 you have done to-day.' That had been her usual formula ; her 
 ailments were all kept in the background ; and when her sufi"ering8
 
 134 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 could no longer be concealed from his anxious eyes, it was her 
 courage, her true Christian submission, that had braced them both 
 to meet the inijaending trial. 
 
 As he walked back from the Farm, through the long leafy lane, 
 sweet with honeysuckle and briar-roses, he was thinking of her : 
 how happy his sweet mother would have been to know he had 
 such kind friends near him. 
 
 The thought of his heavy responsibilities had for a time troubled 
 the peace of her dying hours — her human mother's love had domi- 
 nated even her strong faith ; probably physical weakness was to 
 blame for this ; when the bodily strength fails, dark clouds will at 
 times sweep over the soul. 
 
 ' Oh, Eric, my poor boy ! ' she had said once, when he had 
 relieved the nurse and taken the night-watch on himself, ' I cannot 
 help wishing to-night that it was God's will that I might be spared 
 a little longer. Is it very wicked, darling, to wish this % ' looking 
 at him wistfully. 
 
 ' No, mother,' he returned gently, ' for you are wishing it not 
 for your own, but for your children's sake. Ah ! I know you so 
 well,' as she pressed his hand in mute assent ; * you are grieving 
 and troubling in your heart about us.' 
 
 One or two tears rolled down her wan cheeks, then a sob 
 shook her feeble frame. ' Oh, my darling, it is so hard to leave 
 you, and you are so good and patient, but I cannot help fretting 
 about it. Effie is such a baby, and Nora is too young to be much 
 help to you, and then there are the boys. Eric, you must pray 
 that my weak faith may be strengthened, that I may feel even in 
 this that my Heavenly Father doetli well.' 
 
 Should he ever to his dying day forget the agony of that long 
 night ? But to his honour be it said that he put aside his own 
 bitter trouble to comfort lier in her hour of weakness, and after a 
 time, still holding his hand, she had slept while he knelt beside 
 the bed. 
 
 * Whatever happens to us, let her end be peace,' he prayed again 
 and again, as he watched the calm of repose stealing over her wasted 
 features. ' All these years she has thought of us ; but for Christ's 
 sake let this burden of care be lifted from her last hours.' And it 
 seemed to Eric as though, in different language, he prayed this 
 over and over again during that vigil. 
 
 When she woke there was a strange startled look in her eyes, 
 and then she smiled at him, 
 
 ' My poor boy, have you been with me all this time ; where is 
 nurse ? You must be worn out. Let me tell you something, and 
 then you shall go and rest. I have had such a lovely dream. I
 
 ERIC'S LITTLE BROTHER 13r, 
 
 thoufjht it was all over, unii that I was iu Paradise, and that your 
 father and my dear Richard were with me ' — Richard was his step- 
 father's name. ' Tlay were talking so happily together — but I felt 
 a little sad, for I was thinking about you ; and then all at once they 
 moved away, and Richanl said, " lie has come, as I knew He 
 would," and some one stood there in their place. It was all 
 shadowy and indistinct like a dream, but I could see one hand 
 with the nail-print quite plainly, and a voice said very softly, "Are 
 not your children mine ? Daughter, where is your faith 1 Can I 
 not be trusted with my own?" Oh, the reproachful sweetness of 
 that voice as it sounded in my ears ! and then I woke. Have you 
 been praying for me, darling ? for the load seems gone.' But, as 
 he stooped to kiss her, he could only answer with his tears. 
 
 His prayer had been answered, and though his mother lingered 
 a week or two longer there was no return of that night's anguish. 
 She spoke of her approaching death more calmly. "When the end 
 came he was alone with her, and her last word was his name 
 lovingly uttered. 
 
 V "iThe vicar and his wile had been very good to him. They had 
 taken the two younger children for the first week or two, and had 
 lightened his heavy labours as much as possilde. The long illness 
 had worn his strength, and he knew himself that some change was 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 The removal to a fresh scene of work had been extremely 
 beneficial to him, and he already slept better and looked a little 
 brighter. Kind friends had gathered round him, and seemed 
 an.xious to liclp him. To a man of Eric Vincent's temperament 
 feminine sympathy is peculiarly acceptable, especially if it be 
 applied with tact and delicacy ; and from the first Ellison had 
 stretched out a kind helpful hand to the forlorn st rangers ; ht-r 
 good sense and active benevolence tuld her exactly how far she 
 might go without ofi"ending the young clergyman's sensitive pride ; 
 and Lorraine had followed implicitly in her cousin's footsteps. 
 Their womanly finesse and management were never at fault, and it 
 was a long time before Eric discovered how much he had to thank 
 them for the smoothness with which daily life flowed on at the 
 cottiige ; he only found it out by degrees. 
 
 Nora's lessons were successfully carried out, and her three 
 teachers vied with each other in instilling knowledge into their 
 docile young pupil. As Etlie generally accompanied her sister to 
 Brae House or to the Farm, the l)oys were left in Eric's charge. 
 He tiiught them or took them with him when he went to a distant 
 parishioner. Colonel Trevor had good-naturedly brought them a 
 cricketing set from London, and they often played cricket for
 
 136 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 hours together on the common near the cottage, while their brother 
 sat writing his sermon at his window, and keeping watch over 
 them. 
 
 In the evenir^ Nora was free to relieve him a little, and he 
 could indulge himself with a solitary stroll after his day's labour 
 was over, or a dinner at Brae House or Price's Folly. The boys 
 were so happy in their free country life that even Hugo was less 
 eager to lead his little brother into mischief. An invitation to 
 Brae Farm was always the reward for a week's good behaviour ; 
 but idleness at lessons, or any wild escapade, such as riding 
 Brattle's grey mare, for example, bare-backed over the common, 
 while Eddie shouted at his heels, would immediately forfeit the 
 treat. More than once Mrs. Drake was heard to say that she could 
 not believe sometimes that there were four children in the cottage. 
 ' But then the young gentlemen are always doing their lessons with 
 Mr. Vincent,' she would say, ' or playing their cricket on the 
 common. They are seldom indoors, except for their meals ; and as 
 for little missy, she is no trouble at all. When I am washing, she 
 will make-believe that her doll's things are dirty. " I must have 
 a wash too, Mrs. Drake," she says, quite solemn like, " for Rose's 
 clothes are a shocking colour " ; and then she brings her duds and 
 rinses them out and soaps them, as she sees me doing. Mrs. 
 Herbert caught her at it one day, and how she did laugh, to be 
 sure.' 
 
 Eric secretly marvelled when he saw the boys coming to their 
 meals day after day with clean hands and faces, and nicely-brushed 
 hair, instead of rushing in dishevelled and heated after their usual 
 fashion ; but the children soon enlightened him on this point. 
 
 ' Miss Lee says only cads sit down to their meals with dirty 
 hands,' observed Hugo one day. ' She says that is one way in 
 which gentlemen are different from cads. She was quite vexed 
 when Eddie forgot to go upstairs, and called him a little cad. You 
 didn't like that, did you, Eddie ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I don't like cads,' returned Eddie sturdily ; ' but she 
 called you a cad one day, Hughie,' and then Hugo grew suddenly 
 red and changed the subject. Miss Lee had said a stinging word or 
 two that Hugo would long remember. Sarcasm is sometimes 
 .salutary, and Hugo had winced more than once under a well- 
 deserved stricture. Fairy Order had waved her magic wand over 
 the cottage even from Brae Farm, and even Eddie rushed away to 
 wash his grubby little paws when he came in from play. 
 
 Another matter puzzled Eric ; but he pondered over it in heavy, 
 masculine fashion for some time before he ventured to question 
 Nora ; but one day his curiosity got the better of him.
 
 ERICS LITTLE BROTHER 137 
 
 ' Nora,' he said suddenly, when the boys had raced each other 
 upstairs as usual, and Nora was taking the tea-caddy and jam from 
 the corner cupboard, ' I never have buttons off my things now. I 
 suppose the ladies at the Farm Iiave taught you to sew them on 
 properly ? ' 
 
 Nora hesitated a moment. * Well, no, Eric, Mrs. Drake always 
 sews on your buttons, because she does them strongly ; but I am 
 learning to darn your socks. I learnt first on Hugo's, because 
 Miss Lee said yours were too nice and new to spoil, and that Dorcas 
 had better do them until I had got clever ; but I really am getting 
 on nicely with my darning now.' 
 
 Eric gazed at her with incredulous astonishment. ' Dorcas is 
 one of the maids at Brae Farm, is she not ? ' 
 
 'Yea; and she is so nice, and works so beautifully. She is 
 making new wristbands for your old shirts. She and Ruth are 
 doing them between them ; perhaps I ought not to have told you ' 
 — regarding him doubtfully ; ' but ^liss Lee told Mrs. Herbert that 
 she had no other work for the girls, and that it would be a charity 
 to employ them ; so you see it is no trouble.' 
 
 ' And the boys' things ? ' in a quick, hard voice almost as though 
 he were displeased ; but Nora knew her brother better. Eric 
 always spoke in that voice if he were feeling anything strongly. 
 
 ' Oh, we do the boys' things between us ! ' she replied, with an 
 important air. ' Very often Mrs. Herbert does tljem ; but some- 
 times Miss Lee helps. You see it is in this way, Eric : I have to 
 take the boys' things to Brae Farm that Miss Lee may teach me 
 how to mend them ; but if they are very bad — that rent in Hugo's 
 sailor shirt, for example — Mrs. Herbert always does tliem ; because 
 she says Mrs. Drake cannot possibly have time for the boys' clothes, 
 and she rather enjoys mending. Of course it is very good-natured 
 of her — even Miss Lee says so sometimes; but she will have it that 
 she likes it' 
 
 Eric was silent. The problem was solved with a vengeance ; so 
 the poor boys and he himself owed their freedom from rags and dis- 
 comfort to those dear women at Brae Farm. Miss Lee had set her 
 maids to work secretly on his behalf, ainl Mns. Herbert, with gentle 
 mothcrliness, kept the little lads tidy ; and it was all done under 
 the plausible pretence of teaching Nora to work ; and Nora herself 
 took it all as a matter of course. They were very good to licr ; but 
 then the ladies were good to every one. It was their nature to be 
 kind — that was how Nora put it. With a child's unconscious 
 selfishness, she accepted all their kindness, and returned it by loving 
 them with all her warm little hearts 
 
 Eric knew well how many good things came to them from the
 
 138 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Farm — chickens and eggs and delicious cream and preserves ; but 
 when he thanked Miss Lee a little gravely and formally for her 
 gifts, she always smiled and said they were for the children. ' Mrs. 
 Herbert and I always spoil children,' she said, in this way 
 sheltering herself and him from any awkwardness. ' One can give 
 the children things and look after them,' she remai'ked to Lorraine 
 afterwards, * when one could not well offer them to Mr. Vincent ' ; 
 and Lorraine agreed to this. 
 
 Eric was absent and thoughtful all tea-time, until the children 
 interrupted an animated argument among themselves to apj)eal 
 to him. 
 
 ' I guess Eric will know,' observed Hugo ; ' he knows most 
 things, and I daresay he has made up his mind by this time. Eric, 
 we want you to tell us which of the ladies do you like best 1 ' 
 
 ' Of whom are you talking, old fellow ? ' asked his brother, 
 flushing a little at this sudden question ; but he knew quite well to 
 whom the boy was alluding. 
 
 ' Why, to our ladies to be sure,' and Hugo opened his eyes wider. 
 * We were not speaking of Miss Trevor, though she is awfully nice 
 too. I never knew so many nice people as there are in Highlands ; 
 they are downright splendid — aren't they, Eddie ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, they are splendidly nice,' agreed Eddie, who never 
 ventured to dissent from Hugo. 
 
 * I think them nice too,' chimed in Effie, with a caressing touch 
 of her brother's coat-sleeve. 
 
 'Well, then, you are all agreed/ returned Eric quietly, lifting 
 Effie on to his knee. 
 
 ' Yes ; but the boys were saying ' began Nora. ' Tell Eric 
 
 what you were saying, Hugo.' 
 
 ' Well, I was saying it is so funny that we all like Mrs. 
 Herbert the best, when she never gives us anything, and Miss Lee 
 is so awfully good to us, don't you know % She lets us ride Dobbin 
 and Jenny, and takes us into the dairy and gives us slices of bread 
 and cream — such thick cream ; and then she so often gives us 
 cakes and fruit — doesn't she, Eddie ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; heaps of things.' 
 
 ' Yes ; and she is going to ask Joe Brand to put up a new swing 
 in the orcliard — think of that, Eric ; and she has promised me a 
 white rabbit with pink eyes for my very next birthday. Miss Lee 
 says if Mrs. Drake does not want rabbits in her yard, that Daniel 
 shall make a hutch for it in the kitchen garden, and then I should 
 often see it. She thinks that will be the best plan.' 
 
 ' Oh, and, Eric, Miss Lee has promised me a little guinea-pig 
 too ! ' piped Eddie ; ' but my birthday is not till September.'
 
 ERICS LITTLE BROTHER 139 
 
 * It strikes me, young gentlemen, that you are making yourselves 
 pretty much at home at Brae Farm,' remarked their brother. 
 ' Why should Miss Lee have the trouMe of keeping rabbits and 
 guinea-pigs for your amusement ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, she loves them, and so does Mrs. ilerliert ; they can't have 
 too many animals, that is what they often say.' 
 
 ' And yet, in spite of all this you are so ungrateful that you like 
 Mrs. Herbert best.' 
 
 'We can't help it, can we, Eddie?' returned Hugo, a little 
 mystified at Eric's grave tone. ' We didn't mean to, of course, and 
 we are dreadfully fond of Miss Lee ; but then Mrs. Herbert is so 
 awfully jolly ; you can't think how jolly she is when she is alone 
 with us.' 
 
 ' Yes, and she tells us such jolly stories,' observed the faithful 
 Eddie, who always used his brother's expressions, and seldom 
 originated a sentiment of his own, 'fairy stories, you know, about 
 giauta' 
 
 ' And she has got such a dear face,' echoed EflSe, leaning com- 
 fortal)ly against Eric's shoulder; and some involuntary feeling made 
 him stroke the golden head with greater tenderness. 
 
 'Yes, it is odd,' sighed Nora, regarding the tea-pot reflectively, 
 ' the boys are always talking in this way ; but do you know, Eric, 
 I feel just the fame about ^Irs. Herbert. Somehow, she is so nice 
 and comfortable, that I am always happier when she is in the room. 
 Miss Lee is as kind as possible, and iliss Trevor too; but somehow 
 we all save up things to tell Mris. Herbert — don't we, Hugo? because 
 she always understands us.' 
 
 ' I don't think I care for Miss Trevor much,' returned Hugo, 
 flinging his hair out of his eyes — one thick lock that Lorraine 
 specially admired was always in his way. ' She is too clever for 
 me. Why, she reads Greek and Hebrew, Eric told us so the other 
 day ; didn't you, Eric ? She is a regular Blue-Stocking.' 
 
 ' My dear lad, what an old-fashioned term. Do you know, 
 Tlughio, boy, Miss Trevor has actually ofl"ered to road Latin with 
 you when [ am too busy ; what do you say to that ? ' — but Hugo 
 only made a face of disgust, and returned pettishly that he preferred 
 his brother's teaching. 
 
 ' You are an ungrateful monkey,' replied Eric, taking him by 
 the ear. ' There ! if you have finished tea, you may as well 
 run out. Nora, I am going to walk into Dorchester. Nicholson 
 will not be closed, and I want some sermon paper. Get the boys to 
 bed in good time ; I shall be home by supi)er. Good -night, 
 ladybird ' — his pet name for Eflie, 
 
 ' T wish you would let us go with you, Eric ; we would not
 
 140 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 bother you,' pleaded Hugo ; but Eric shook his head. His day's 
 hibours were over \ those evening hours were the most peaceful of 
 the twenty-four ; he could enjoy his own company, and his own 
 melancholy thoughts. As he strode down the village past the 
 TFaggon and Horses, and down the road bordered by the Redlands 
 Woods, he could have said with the renowned Jaques, 'It is a 
 melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted 
 from many objects, and indeed, the sundry contemplation of my 
 travels, in which my often rumination wraps me "^in a most 
 humorous sadness,' but often, alas, there was no humour in the 
 sadness. 
 
 With all his courage and unselfishness, Eric Vincent at times 
 felt as though life were too hard for endurance ; his circumstances 
 were abnormal, and all his love for his young brothers and sisters 
 could not prevent his feeling them heavy responsibilities. The 
 narrow dimensions of the cottage fretted him ; the boys' voices 
 jarred on his nerves, in spite of Brae influence, and Miss Lee's 
 hints. Nora was too young to manage, and he was far too in- 
 experienced to direct her. His motlier had taken all domestic 
 burdens on herself, and as far as Eric knew, everything had gone 
 smoothly. It worried him when Nora consulted him about the 
 dinner, and the weekly bills were always prodigal of vexation. 
 Eric had to appeal to Mrs. Drake at last ; and after that things 
 went better. 
 
 ' He is a dear young gentleman,' observed the good woman to 
 Ellison one day, ' and what's more, he is a godly minister ; but he 
 knows no more than a babe what things ought to cost, and missie 
 is as bad. " Do you think we can afford it, Mrs. Drake ? " she will 
 say to me, half crying. But there ! I do my best to help them. 
 The boys have fine appetites, to be sure, but, as I tell Mr. Vincent, 
 it is better to pay for bread and butter than send for the doctor ; 
 but he do sigh so over the bills.' 
 
 * I suppose they have their butter from Brattle's,' returned 
 Ellison. 'Brattle keeps good butter, but it is dear. Why not 
 send to the Farm for it as well as for the milk and eggs ? ' and then 
 a glance of great significance passed between them. 
 
 ' We get butter now from the Farm ; it is a sight cheaper, Mr. 
 Vincent,' remarked Mrs. Drake in an easy tone, as she cleared 
 breakfast a few days later. ' It is sweet, you may depend upon it, 
 for Eunice is a rare butter-maker, and knows her work, and you 
 will find the difference in the bills,' which Eric certainly did. 
 With four children butter was an important item, for the little 
 Scots liked their butter thick and plenty of it ; but it may be 
 doubted whether the mistress of Brae Farm made much profit.
 
 ERICS LITTLE BROTHER 141 
 
 Elric was thinking of the children's talk aa he walked rapidly 
 down the quiet road. He had listened to them and held his 
 peace ; but in his heart he knew he agreed with tlieui. He 
 admired Miss Lee immensely. Her calm stateliness and even 
 temper had made an impression on him from the first, and he Avaa 
 strongly interested in Miss Trevor, partly on account of his growing 
 friendsliip for her brother, and partly becau.se of her unique 
 personality. A community of tastes and pursuits created sympathy 
 between them. He had never met any girl before who could 
 enter into his scholarly interests and pursuits. He did not think 
 her handsome — no one at first thought ^luriei handsome ; but 
 there was something unusual about her face and style ; and then 
 she did not look happy. Tliis roused his sympathy afresh, and 
 before long Muriel felt lus though she had a second friend. 
 
 But even at this early stage of their acquaintance there could 
 be no denying that the young widow attracted Eric. It was quite 
 true, as he had said to Muriel, when she was discoursing on her 
 friend's virtues, that he had never met any one like Mrs. Herbert. 
 In a faint, far-off way she reminded him of his mother ; but Mns. 
 Scott, even in her son's partial eyes, lacked Mr.s. Herbert's bright, 
 sunshiny disposition. He thought, with a smile, of Nora's artless 
 description, and especially of her words, * We all save up things to 
 tell Mrs. Herbert.' Somehow he had lately found himself doing 
 the same. 
 
 Once he bad apologised for it. ' Here I am bothering you 
 again with my worries,' he had said, half laughing ; 'but you are 
 BO sympathetic that we all come to you for comfort.' 
 
 Ho had spoken in a light, jesting tone ; but to his surprise the 
 tears came to her eyes. 
 
 * How kind of you to aiy that, Rfr. Vincent,' she said, a little 
 tremulously. ' That is how I want people to feel. It is such a 
 privilege, such a wonderfully blessed i)rivilege, to help others ; 
 don't you think so ? ' And of course he had agreed with her. 
 
 'They have found it out ; children always do,' he .^aid to him- 
 self, as Dorchester come in sight. 'Some natures are magnetic — 
 they seem to give out and attract sympathy in a marvellous way. 
 It is a gift ; but Mrs. Herbert ha.s it. Not a child in Highlands 
 can resi.st her ' ; and then ho checked a sigh and walked on.
 
 CHAPTER XVIIl 
 
 THE REDLANDS WOODS 
 
 ' Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, 
 Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw ; 
 Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
 A little louder, but as empty quite ; 
 Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, 
 And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age ; 
 Pleased with this bauble still, as that before. 
 Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.' 
 
 Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 Hugo's birthday was in the following week, and, unknown to him, 
 Joe Brand and Daniel were busily engaged in leisure hours in 
 making a new hutch for the splendid white rabbit that Sam 
 Brattle had procured for his mistress. 
 
 With her customary good-nature, Ellison had ordered Mrs. 
 Tucker to make a large cake, with ' Hugo ' in pink sugar on the top, 
 and had it sent to the cottage. 
 
 Effie, who was down first, rushed up to her brother's door, in 
 great excitement : ' Oh, do get up, Ilughie ! ' she exclaimed ; ' you 
 are eight years old, and that is too old to lie in bed ; and Miss Lee 
 has sent you a real wedding-cake all covered with lovely white sugar.' 
 
 This was such startling news that no boy could be expected to 
 dress himself under such circumstances, and the next moment two 
 little white figures with bare, pink legs were revolving round the 
 breakfast table in wild ecstasy, much to the astonishment of a 
 passing rustic. Such a cake had never entered their imagination. 
 
 ' Isn't it lovely, Eddie ! Don't you wish it were your birthday 
 too ? But you shall have a big slice.' 
 
 *My birthday will be in September,' returned Eddie, with 
 undoubting faith that e^ual good luck would attend him ; and 
 then Mrs. Drake came in and scolded them soundly.
 
 THE REDLANDS WOODS 143 
 
 ' Now you ought to know better, blaster Hugo,' ehe said sharply, 
 ' running about with naked feet, and all those doors open, and 
 Master Edmund so delicate ' ; but Hugo only laughed, and threw 
 back his wild lock of hair. ' And for all the world they looked 
 like two cherubs,' as she told her husband afterwards, 'in their 
 white night-shirts — and nothing else on ' — which was rather a 
 batlling descriptif)n of cherubic attire. 
 
 It was hardly to be wondered at if the boys were slightly 
 demoralised that morning, for never had any previous birthday, 
 not even Eric's, known such a programme. First, they were to go 
 up to Brae Farm and sec the rabbit, and be regaled with bread 
 and cream in the dairy ; then there was to be a picnic, a real picnic, 
 in the Redlands Woods. Mi.«3 Lee had planned the whole thing, 
 though she was not to be of the party, as she had promised to go 
 up to town with Mrs. Trevor. Mrs. Herbert was to take command 
 of the expedition, and Miss Trevor was to be her lieutenant The 
 donkey-cart was to be packed with hampers of good things, and 
 Dorcas was coming to help. They were to have dinner and tea in 
 the woods, and boil a real kettle, and Eric had promised to join 
 them in the afternoon. Colonel Trevor would have come too, but 
 he had to go to his club, so they were obliged to do without him ; 
 but Daniel was to play cricket with them in the Ecdlands Meadow, 
 for the little boys were devoted to Daniel, and Xora had promised 
 to play too. 
 
 Never was there such a picnic — the whole menagerie was to 
 accompany them. Hugo could not be induced to leave Humpty 
 Dumpty, as the white rabbit was called, behind him ; so it was to 
 travel in a basket, lined with lettuce and cabbage leaves, for fear 
 it should faint by the way. Where Mrs. Herbert went Tweedledee 
 went too, and, in his mistress's absence. Bairn condescended to 
 make one of the jiarty. To every one's amusement, Muriel brought 
 Admiral Byng, and he behaved much as Fanny Kemble's cat did, 
 when she relates how he accompanied the family in their walks, 
 and how, when the dogs in their gambols rolled him over, he swore 
 at them, and, picking himself up, resumed his trot Admiral Byng 
 was too prudent to get into the dogs' way ; he and Bairn respected 
 each other, and were mutually stilf and tolerant ; but for Tweedle- 
 dee the Admiral had a vast contempt, and when the puppy 
 approached too near, his ominous swearing fdled Tweedledee with 
 terror. 
 
 \i Tedo could have had his way the doves would have come too ; 
 it was pretty to see the little fellow, with his hands stretched out, 
 talking to them in a coaxing lone — his dear coo-coo's, as he called 
 them ; but they only leered at him out of their yellow, beady eyes,
 
 144 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 and bowed and cooed, and then spread their grey wings and fled to 
 the granary, and Tedo moved sadly away. 
 
 Tedo had refused to ride in the cart unless his little love Effie 
 sat beside him ; but, as Hugo wanted to drive, there was a little 
 argument ; it ended by Lorraine carrying Tedo, and the boys driving 
 off in triumph. 
 
 ' It is Hugo's birthday, darling,' she said, as not unnaturally Tedo 
 fretted at this usurpation of his beloved Jenny. ' We must make 
 Hugo happy on his birthday. Look, Effie is walking beside us as 
 good as gold, and she wanted to ride too ; but we must all give way 
 to Hugo to-day.' 
 
 ' It won't be his birthday to-morrow, Tedo,' observed Effie with 
 solemn wisdom. 
 
 ' Boy 's glad of that,' was Tedo's answer. ' Boy hates buffdays ' ; 
 but he soon forgot to be cross as he watched Admiral Byng trotting 
 with uplifted tail after his mistress. 
 
 It was a hot July day, and Lorraine, who was weary with carry- 
 ing her boy, felt with delight the refreshing shade of the pine-woods, 
 the soft green light rested her eyes ; she put Tedo down, and he 
 walked on contentedly, holding Effie's hand. Nora was a little ahead 
 of them unth Muriel ; the donkey-cart and Dorcas and Daniel had 
 long vanished out of sight. Presently Admiral Byng got tired, and 
 Muriel had to carry him, and Nora followed suit with Tweedledee ; 
 then Tedo flagged, and Effie thought there was a funny-bone in her 
 leg ; so the whole party were unfeignedly glad when they came to 
 the trysting- place, and found Dorcas and Daniel unpacking the 
 hampers, and the little boys feeding Jenny with some carrots that 
 they had begged from Joe Brand. 
 
 It was a lovely spot, a small circular clearing in the very heart 
 of the wood, and was known to the Brae people by the name of the 
 Meeting- Place ; for of old picnics had always been held there. It 
 was not very far from the keeper's lodge, and a small pile of brush- 
 wood was generally there for the use of the picnickers ; for, by 
 the permission of the lord of the manor, good-natured Sir John 
 Chessington, the gentry of Highlands had the right of lighting fires 
 in the clearings to boil their kettle, and to wander about at their 
 will. Redlands Hall lay in the meadow below, adjoining the 
 hamlet of Picdlands ; the wood clothed the steep descent, and except 
 at certain points the house was invisible. 
 
 At the Meeting-Place there was a break in the dense foliage 
 which afforded a charming peep of the long sunshiny meadow, with 
 the great red house standing against its background of dark woods. 
 It was a view that Lorraine especially loved, and she always would 
 have it that it reminded her of the Palace Beautiful ; she loved to
 
 THE REDLANDS WOODS 145 
 
 sit there, with Tedo playing with the fir-cuius at iiei leet,breatliing the 
 sweet spicy incense of the pines, and revelling in the dark sok-nm 
 vistas, and soft indefinable green light that permeated the long aisles. 
 
 In their stillness and silence the Redlands Woods often seemed 
 to her like an enchanted forest ; and she was not alune in this feel- 
 ing, fur Muriel shared it ; she loved nothing better than a solitary 
 stroll through the pine-woods. 
 
 Luncheon was the first business of the day, and as st'<ii a- the 
 hampers were unpacked, the little party gathered round the table- 
 cloth, which Effie and Hugo had tastefully embellished with a 
 border of fir-cones. 
 
 It was a curious dinner-party, for the animals were amongst the 
 guests. Admiral Byng was soon discussing the leg of a chicken 
 with the leisurely dignity of a well-behaved cat ; Bairn was also 
 on his best behaviour ; but Tweedledce, who was young and foolish, 
 uttered short barks of excitement at every fresh course, and whined 
 dolefully when he was not helped first. Even Jenny left oflf 
 browsing on the young bracken to thrust her rough nose over 
 Hugo's shoulder in a search for more succulent food. Humpty 
 Dumpty was revelling on all kinds of delicious salads in his basket ; 
 and the whole party were enjoying themselves so much that Hugo 
 was obliged at last to roll on the ground out of sheer ecstasy, and 
 it was at once incumbent on Eddie to roll over him. 
 
 * Oh, do sit up, boys,' exclaimed Lorraine, in pretended alarm, 
 ' or Tedo will be doing the same, he is getting such a mimic ! ' 
 But she was too late. The little fellow, excited by so many 
 novelties, had already trotted after them, and flung himself down 
 on the interlaced legs and arms beneath him. 
 
 * Hold tight, Tedo ! ' exclaimed Hugo, in a smothered voice, ' and 
 we will roll iluwn into the meadow.' V>\\i this was promptly checked 
 by Lorraine. 
 
 'Talce them olF to play cricket, Daniel,' she Kiid, snatching up 
 her boy. ' Nora, you had better leave EUie with us. She and 
 Tedo will i>lay quietly together when those noisy boys are gone.' 
 
 Hugo was irrepressible. ' Let's pretend we are Indians on the 
 war-trail, and on the look-out for scalps ! ' he exclaimed ; and he 
 uttered a wild yell as a war-cry, and flew down the wood. Eddie 
 scrambled after him, shrieking with delight, and Daniel followed 
 with the wickets and bats. 
 
 * Now we shall have peace,' observed Lorraine ; ' and Dorcas can 
 clear the dinner things and light the fire for tea. "What a pickle 
 Hugo is. I am afraid one of these days he will lead Eddie into 
 mischief. Eddie never seems to have a will of his own ; he is 
 
 Hugo's slindow.' 
 
 10
 
 146 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I am afraid I am not fond of boys/ returned Muriel in a 
 fatigued voice. ' Hugo's voice has made my head ache. Girls 
 suit me better — they are quieter and not always in perpetual 
 motion. I am getting very fond of Nora. There is something very 
 sweet in her disposition. She is not specially clever ; but I find 
 her so tractable and intelligent.' 
 
 'So do I ; and Ellison says the same. We all appreciate 
 Nora ; but I confess that I have a weakness for Hugo. He is a 
 thorough little scamp, and I am afraid he will always be in hot 
 water with the authorities ; but he is affectionate and generous. 
 And then he is so good to Tedo.' 
 
 ' Ah, he has found the way to your heart, then ! ' returned 
 MurieL ' But who could help being good to Tedo ? There are 
 exceptions to every rule, and though he is a boy he is a darling.' 
 
 Lorraine smiled and looked at her boy. He and EfFie were 
 happily engaged in constructing a fir-cone mountain. The shouts 
 of the children in the meadow below were still audible, but they 
 were fast dying away. Dorcas had carried off the plates to the 
 keeper's cottage. She would come back presently with them 
 nicely washed, and her kettle full of sweet spring water. ' If your 
 head aches, why do you not have a nap ? I shall be quite happy 
 without talking.' But IMuriel negatived this at once. 
 
 ' Oh no, it is getting better already, and I would much rather 
 talk to you. Somehow, though, we are always together, we do 
 not often have one of our old talks. The children are always 
 interrupting us ; besides, you have become such a busy person.' 
 
 'My time is pretty well occupied, certainly,' replied Lorraine 
 cheerfully. ' The poultry-yard really gives me a good deal to do, 
 and then I have Nora's mu.sic and plenty of plain sewing, and 
 there are other ways in which I help Ellison. You have no idea 
 how much she does for the poor people of Bramfield. She very 
 often asks me to go to this person, or that, with a basket of good 
 things, and then Tedo and Jenny and I start off. I call myself 
 her almoner ; but really the j)oor people are so nice to me. They 
 often ask me to come again, though I tell them I am nearly as 
 poor as they. I have so little to give them ; but they do not 
 seem to mind that' 
 
 ' I think the poor people like you best, Mrs. Herbert. Ellison 
 is very much liked and respected ; but her neighbours are just 
 a little bit in awe of her. She tells them of their faults rather 
 plainly.' 
 
 'And she is right in doing so' — rather warmly, for Lorraine 
 always took up cudgels on her cousin's behalf. In her eyes 
 Ellison was as near perfection as frail human nature allowed her to
 
 THE REDLANDS WOODS 147 
 
 be. She often made Muriel smile by telling her quite seriously 
 that even Ellison's faults were grand. 'I mean,' she explained, 
 feeling her remark was somewhat Irish, 'that even her faults are 
 not little and mean as most people's are. Certainly she is right,' 
 she went on. ' Ellison has more moral courage than I have. I 
 am detestably sellish, if you only knew it. I do so love saying 
 pleasant things to people, and putting "wherret" in the back- 
 ground. Do you know that word, Muriel ? I think it so delight- 
 fully descriptive. At Bramfiekl they tell you tliat they are in a 
 pother or wherret, and that they are just heckled with the plague 
 of it. "Well, I am a foe to all " wherret." ' 
 
 ' I do not believe you, Mrs. Herbert You have ])lenty of 
 moral courage. I remember the time when you spoke pretty 
 plainly to me,' 
 
 ' Yes, and I have often wondered since at your forbearance ; 
 but, dear ' — laying her hand gently on Muriel's — ' I was so 
 troubled about you, that I could not help speaking.' 
 
 ' I am thankful you did,' was the low reply. ' Your words 
 have come true, Mrs. Herbert. I certainly feel a different 
 creature, and no longer an inanimate, useless log ; but I have 
 new interest in life now,' and Muriel's eyes were dark with 
 feeling. 
 
 ' I hope you will have many new interests,' returned Lorraine 
 in a pointed tone ; but Muriel's thoughts had travelled suddenly 
 into a new groove. 
 
 ' If only Gavin were different, .ind not persist in misunder- 
 standing me,' she sighed ; ' but I begin to lose heart. I am 
 always trying to get on with him, but he never sees it ; and yet 
 he is so nice with every one else.' 
 
 'Yes, indeed ; he is always so ]>leasnnt, no one can help liking 
 Colonel Trevor, ami he is so good to your mother ! ' Lorraine 
 paused ; this subject always puzzled her. Muriel in her confidential 
 moments would complain bittirly of her brother's want of affec- 
 tion ; but Lorraine could never see any outward coldness in his 
 manner. She thought Muriel was morbid on this subject, and 
 she was certainly wanting in tact and forbearance. 
 
 ' We never do agree on any subject, and it is so tiresome,' 
 continued Muriel. When she spoke of her brother her manner 
 always changed and grew hard. ' lie has no sympathy with my 
 pursuits, and he is always lecturing me because I do not care for 
 tennis, or riding, or dancing, like other girls.' 
 
 'He is 80 active himself, that he thinks exercise necessary for 
 every one. Colonel Trevor is right, Muriel, it is a pity that 
 you do not care for riding.'
 
 148 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' Eiding makes my back ache, I have told you that before, 
 Mrs. Herbert,' a little resentfully ; ' and I am not strong enough 
 for tennis. Gavin has no right to pronounce an opinion so 
 authoritatively on my pursuits ; if he would ask me to walk 
 with him I should be willing to do so, but he has no desire for 
 my companionship.' 
 
 A sudden light dawned on Lorraine. She had had a suspicion 
 before that a great deal of Muriel's irritability and contrariety 
 was due to jealousy ; probably she felt her place in her brother's 
 affection was usurped by Ellison. 
 
 With a sudden impulse she charged Muriel with this, and to 
 her surj)rise, instead of denying it, Muriel broke into a perfect 
 passion of tears ; and then Lorraine knew that she had put her 
 finger on the wound. 
 
 A few soothing words and a caress or two soon calmed Muriel's 
 agitation. 
 
 ' How did you find out ? ' she said, brushing away the tears. 
 ' I never meant to tell you that ; but it has been so hard to 
 bear all these years. I am his only sister, since Maud and 
 Florence died, and yet I am nothing to him.' And then, little by 
 little, by dint of judicious coaxing and questioning, it all came 
 out. 
 
 From her childhood Gavin had been her idol ; the little 
 sensitive child had worshipped from afar the big strong soldier 
 brother ; but, with her excessive shyness, not even her mother 
 had guessed this. 
 
 When he went to India, his letters were eagerly looked for 
 and perused ; and when he married, her imagination centred on 
 her unknown sister-in-law. Helen Trevor's lovely face and sweet 
 womanly letters had won her from the first. Her death had been 
 an awful shock, and when Gavin returned to England, wrecked 
 in health and happiness, a worn-out, weary invalid, her one 
 thought, her one longing had been to devote herself to him. 
 
 If, as Eric Vincent said, 'some natures are magnetic,' others 
 seem unhappily the reverse ; a shy gaucherie will often conceal 
 a heart beating with the tenderest affection, and a total lack of 
 expression will give a seeming coldness to the manner. Unhappily, 
 Gavin misunderstood his young sister from the first ; her shy, 
 timid manner repelled him ; he thought her cold and wanting 
 in natural affection, because her very excess of emotion kept her 
 silent. 
 
 He was not in a fit state to judge correctly, and Muriel's 
 complex individuality was not easy to read ; even her mother 
 misunderstood her, and reproached her for her want of attention
 
 THE REDLANDS WOODS 149 
 
 to poor Gaviii. Muriel never dcfoniled herself, but this reproach 
 nearly broke her heart ; she loved Gavin so dearly that she would 
 have died for his sake, if, by doing so, she could have brought 
 back Helen to life ; she had counted the days, and had lain awake 
 many nights before his return, and yet she was accused of want 
 of affection, 
 
 Muriel's faulty temper always made her harder under rebuke ; 
 she was too proud to explain or set herself right with either of 
 them, and so from day to day the little rift widened, and the 
 breach grew larger. 
 
 From the first Ellison's tact and gentleness had commended 
 her to Gavin ; disappointed in his own sister, he instinctively 
 turned to Ellison for comfort ; and JIuriel, set aside and voted 
 peculiar, felt that she had no share in her brother's afl'ectiona ; and 
 the bitterness of discontent leavened her daily life. ' 
 
 ' Oh, I was so miserable until you came,' finished Muriel ; ' no 
 one needed me — not even mother — and sometimes I was too tired 
 and wretched to take pleasure in my beloved books. Life was a 
 regular Sahara, and I could not find an oasis.' 
 
 ' Your low spirits were a great deal owing to bad health ; you 
 were preying upon yourself. Muriel, dear, thank you for telling 
 me all this ; that is indeed treating me like a friend. I will not 
 say anything more, for I see Mr. Vincent coming. I will go and 
 meet him, and that will give you time to recover yourself ; and 
 Lorraine moved away.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX 
 
 COLONEL TREVOR RESOLVES TO DO IT 
 
 ' How use doth breed a liabit in a mau ! ' 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 ' Those friends thou liast, and llieir adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with Ijoops of steel.' 
 
 Ilavdet. 
 
 Colonel Trevor had accompanied his mother and Ellison to 
 town. 
 
 He had an appointment to lunch with an old Indian friend at 
 his club in St. James's Street, then he intended going on to the 
 Army and Navy Stores in Victoria Street to make some purchases, 
 and would meet the ladies at the station in good time, to take the 
 last train back to Bramfield. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor and Ellison had some shopi^ing to do at Marshall 
 & Snelgrove's. Muriel, who was very lazy on such matters, had 
 given her mother several commissions to execute for her ; after 
 luncheon together in Vere Street they were to part company for an 
 hour or two. Some old friends of Ellison's, living in Portman 
 Square, had begged her to spend the afternoon with them. 
 
 The Mervyua were very intimate friends. She had known 
 them from childhood, and was warmly attached to them. No year 
 ever passed without their spending a few weeks at Brae Farm, 
 and they often invited her to share with them some delightful 
 trip that they had planned. The previous year she had gone with 
 them to Scotland, and some liints had been dropped lately of their 
 going to Switzerland in August. Ellison had never been abroad 
 with them, and she was a little excited at the prospect of an invita- 
 tion. She had not seen her friends for a good many months now. 
 Miss Mervyn had been ailing, and had not paid her usual summer 
 visit to Highlands.
 
 COLONEL TREVOR RESOLVES TO DO IT 151 
 
 She was a middle-aged woman, and delicate health and increasing 
 deafness had determined her to eschew matrimony. Her brother 
 was an elderly bachelor, and as they were devoted to each other, 
 and had plenty of nieans, the quiet household in Port man Square 
 was a very happy one. Ellison was much appreciated by both 
 brother and sister, and she was always a welcome guest. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor once told her son in rather a significant tone that 
 she thought Ellison ought to keep up such good friends. 
 
 * They are simply devoted to her, and as neither of them have 
 married, there are no nephews or nieces to inherit Mr, Mervyn's 
 property. lie gives away a great deal in chanty, and Ellison is 
 sure he will leave most of his money to the Eye and Ear Hospital, 
 as he always interests himself so much in it ; but in my private 
 opinion a good slice will come to Ellison.' 
 
 ' She will not need it Ellison is not mercenary, and she has 
 enough now for a single woman.' Colonel Trevor spoke indifferently. 
 He always hated this sort of remark. It was Mr. Mervyn's own 
 affair how he chose to leave his money. His father had made it 
 in business, and liad died before he had reaped any enjoyment from 
 his hard-earned wealth. 
 
 While Ellison had tea with her frieudt?, Mrs. Trevor was to keep 
 an appointment she had made with a physician, an old friend of 
 her husband's. 
 
 She had felt lately certain symptoms that gave her uneasiness. 
 She had mentioned this casually to Ellison one day. 
 
 ' Why do you not go up to Harley Street and talk to Dr. 
 M'Callum ? ' Ellison had said very sensibly. ' He is a friend of 
 yours ; it will not be like going to a stranger. It may be only a 
 little thing that can be set right at once. In my opinion, prevention 
 is always better than cure.' 
 
 ' I hate speaking to a doctor about myself,' sighed Mrs. Trevor. 
 'Thank heaven, my health has been so good that I have seldom had 
 occasion to do so ; but i)erhap3 I had better take your advice, 
 Ellison. Say nothing to Gavin or Muriel about it. I will go to 
 Dr. M'Callum the firi^t time I go t<j town.' And so the ajipointment 
 had been made. And when Ellison had jumped into her hansom 
 and desired the man to drive her to 11 I'ortman Square, ^Ir.^ 
 Trevor walked slowly towards Harley Street for her interview with 
 Dr. M'Callum. If Ellison had guessed how nervous she felt, she 
 would have oilorcd to keep her coni])any ; but Mrs. Trevor had 
 made light of the whole matter. Why should she do otherwise ? 
 It was only a passing ailment. It proved how little she had had 
 to bear, that a little pain and uneasiness shouhl give her so much 
 misery.
 
 152 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Dr. M'Callum was sure to do her good. He would probably 
 laugh at her for coming to him, and then she would laugh too : 
 but notwithstanding all these cheering prognostications, Mrs. Trevor 
 felt a little breathless, as though she had walked too fast, when she 
 entered the doctor's consulting-room. Most people under similar 
 circumstances know this feeling. 
 
 Colonel Trevor was the first to reach the station. He had paced 
 up and down for full ten minutes before he saw his mother and 
 Ellison hurrying down the platform. They had only just time to 
 seat themselves in an empty compartment before the bell rang. 
 
 ' You timed that rather too neatly,' observed Gavin. ' If the 
 train had not been a minute late you would have lost it.' 
 
 'Oh no ; we were only talking a moment too long in the 
 waiting-room,' replied Ellison coolly. 'Our hansoms drove up 
 together, just as you were going into the station. What lots of 
 parcels you have, Gavin. Are there any books for Muriel among 
 them, I wonder ? ' 
 
 ' Only one ; the others are for my own use. I have had a 
 pleasant day. The old General was in great force, and told yarns 
 by the score. He is a clever old boy. How did you find the 
 ^lervyns ? Mother, you look tired. You have been doing too 
 much. ^Yhere did you get your tea ? ' 
 
 ' You must hear my news first,' interrupted Ellison, for that 
 latter question was embarrassing, and must be avoided. Mrs. Trevor 
 had nearly made her lose the train by delaying her to give an 
 account of her interview with the doctor. 
 
 ' Dr. M'Callum was so nice, Ellison,' she had said, with her 
 usual cheerfulness. ' He did not laugh at me as I expected, and 
 he went into things very thoroughly. But then of course doctors 
 must earn their two guineas. He has given me some medicine and 
 a few simple directions, and I am to go to him again in about three 
 weeks' time. I wanted to get out of it, but he was very firm. So 
 I suppose I must go.' And Ellison agreed to this. 
 
 ' If one consults a doctor, one is bound to follow his advice,' she 
 said, smiling. 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose so ; and I shall not be so nervous another time : 
 but, would you believe it, Ellison, I was so breathless, and my heart 
 was thumping so that I could hardly speak ; and of course he saw 
 it — doctors see everything. He took me up to the drawing-room 
 to see Mrs. M'Callum, and she gave me some tea, and we had a 
 nice talk. Oh, my dear' — glancing at her watch — 'we shall be late 
 for the Bramfield train ! ' and then they had hurried out. 
 
 ' You must hear my news first,' observed Ellison, with good- 
 natured wilfulness. ' Your mother and the General will keep. I
 
 COLONEL TREVOR RESOLVES TO DO IT 153 
 
 have somclliiiig worth telling. Mr. Mervyn and Margaret have 
 asked me to go to Switzerland with them. They want to start in 
 a fortnight's time, and will only be away five weeks, so I shall be 
 back the first week in September. Is it not delightful, Gavin ? 1 
 have never been to Switzerland since father took me, when I was 
 sixteen. Tliut is nearly twelve years ago.' 
 
 ' My dear Ellison, you are not eight-and-twenty yet,' observed 
 Mrs. Trevor, who had the old-fashioned notion that young ladies 
 should not tell their age. Even in these enlightened days people 
 still wish to be young. Mrs. Trevor had no such weakness on her 
 own account, and would at all times state her age with patriarchal 
 simplicity, but she was unwilling that Ellison and Muriel should 
 do so. She had married so young herself, that it seemed almost 
 terrible to her that a young woman like Ellison should tell people 
 80 glibly that she had been grown up for twelve years. 
 
 'My cight-aud -twentieth birthday will be on the 10th of 
 September,' persisted Ellison remorselessly. ' Muriel and I will 
 soon be thirty. Why do not you congratulate me, Gavin ] Don't 
 you think it a charming plan V 
 
 * Yes,' he returned, a little reluctantly ; ' and I am sure you 
 will enjoy it. Mervyn has been over the ground before, and will 
 plan the best route ; and then expense ia no object to him — that 
 always ailds to the pleasure of a trip ; so you are in luck's way.' 
 
 * I am always in luck's way,' she returned cheerfully ; and in- 
 deed he had never seen her look so animated. Pleasurable antici- 
 pations hail brought brightness to her eyes and colour to her 
 cheeks. * It is so kind of Margaret and ^Ir. Mervyn to wish me to 
 go with them. I hesitated at first ; it seemed almost too much to 
 accept ; but they would take no denial. Mr. Mervyn said their 
 trip would be incomplete without me. Margaret's deafness is 
 getting worse, Gavin. She knew that it would. Even with her 
 trumpet- she never seemed to understand what her brother was 
 saying to me, poor dear. She is very patient over it ; but it is a 
 great trial to them both.' 
 
 'And you ore going in a fortnight's time?' Gavin's voice was 
 not quite so cheerful as usual. Ellison gave him a quick glance. 
 
 ' I wish you were coming too,' she said alfectionately. ' Could 
 you not meet us somewhere accidentally — at Lausanne or Miirren — 
 and join our party ? You are so fond of Switzerland, Gavin.' 
 
 'Not this year' — shaking his head. 'Perhaps we will go some 
 day together, you and I, auil — ' he paused, for as he spoke the idea 
 suddenly struck him that perhaps there might be no need to take a 
 third person. The thought made him flush slightly. He saw hia 
 mother looking at him, and changed the form of his sentence.
 
 154 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' You know I have promised to go down to Brent Park for the 
 shooting in September, and I may perhaps go on to the Merry- 
 fields. I shall go nowhere in August.' 
 
 ' That is what Muriel says,' returned his mother. ' Muriel will 
 not hear of going anywhere this summer. She says she prefers 
 staying quietly at home. The fact is, she is so infatuated with 
 Mrs. Herbert, that she thinks of nothing else ; but I am sure a few 
 weeks at Ilfracombe with the Medlicotts would have done her a 
 world of good.' 
 
 ' It is no use trying to do people good against their will,' replied 
 her son. 'Muriel has flatly refused to join the ]\Iedlicotts, so there 
 is no use saying any more about it.' 
 
 ' Muriel is a goose,' observed Ellison ; and then Bramfield was 
 reached, and they all got into the waggonette. 
 
 Muriel was in the drawing-room reading when they entered. 
 She looked up at them. 
 
 ' How late you are ! I have been back nearly an hour. Are 
 you not very tired, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; she is tired, though she refuses to own it,' returned 
 Gavin. ' Well, how did the picnic go ofi', Muriel 1 Were the boys 
 very obstreperous, or did Vincent keep them in order ? ' 
 
 'Oh, they were noisy, of course — boys always are ; but they 
 behaved very well on the whole. It has been a delightful day.' 
 And then Gavin went oflf to dress for dinner, and Muriel, laying 
 down her book, began to pace slowly up and down the conservatory. 
 To her the best part of tlie day had been the walk back from 
 Redlands with Mrs. Herbert and Mr. Vincent. The three younger 
 children and most of the animals had been packed into the donkey- 
 cart, and Nora and Hugo had walked beside them with Dorcas, and 
 they had followed slowly, talking of many things, and often 
 standing still to admire the wonderful effect of the evening light 
 gilding some distant glade. 
 
 At the entrance to Brae Farm, Eric Vincent had carried off the 
 happy, tired children ; and Lorraine, who was still as fresh as when 
 she started, walked back a few steps with Muriel. 
 
 ' I have been thinking over what you told me, dear, this after- 
 noon,' she said, with her usual frankness. * You do not mind my 
 speaking of it again, do you ? ' Muriel shook her head. ' I know 
 how easy it is for people to get sore about things, and then liow 
 difficult it is to judge rightly. You say that your brother con- 
 stantly misunderstands you, and it may be so ; but are you sure 
 that you do not misunderstand him sometimes?' 
 
 After all her confidence, Muriel felt this was just a little hard 
 She made no answer.
 
 COLOXEL TREVOR RESOLVES TO DO IT 155 
 
 ' I have never seen any coolnesa on your ljrotliL'i''jj part Hia 
 manner is always as kind as possible ; of course I see what you 
 mean about Ellison ; but once or twice I have fancied — well, never 
 luiinl, kt tliat pass' — for Lorraine felt that it would not do to put 
 a half- formulated suspicion into words. It would not be rii^ht or 
 in good taste to speak of such a thing to Muriel ; but now and then 
 she had felt a little perplexed a))out Ellison's relation to her cousin. 
 Was there anything between them ? she wondered. Colonel Trevor 
 was certainly strongly attached to his cousin. When he waa at 
 home, a day never passed without hia strolling down to the Farm to 
 consult Ellison about something ; and yet the sisterly frankness of 
 Ellison's manner seemed to contradict this surmise. Perhaps after 
 all it was only friendship. Neither Colonel Trevor nor Ellison 
 were quite ordinary people. Probably neitlier of them had any 
 leanings towards matrimony. Slie had herself heard Colonel 
 Trevor say emi>hatically tliat a man could not be in love twice, 
 though he had softened down this statement afterwards by ex- 
 plaining that he was sui)posing a case where a man had already 
 found his ideal. Ellison had agreed to this, for she and Gavin 
 were thinking about Helen ; but Lorraine, who knew the world 
 better than her cousin, had demurred. ' You must not take 
 isolated cases, Colonel Trevor,' she had said. ' In my own ex- 
 perience I have known two or three peojile who have been devoted 
 to their wives, and have sincerely mourned their loss, and who have 
 seemed equally haj>py in iheir second marriage.' 
 
 'Oh yes, they are liajjjiy enougli, I daresay,' he had returned, a 
 little contemptuously , ' but if you were to question them, they 
 would tell you that it is not the same thing. I know lots of 
 fellows who have done it, and seem perfectly content, and I dare- 
 say their wives are happy,' but here he looked at his cousin. 
 ' You know wliat I mean, Ellison ; it is not easy to explain,' and 
 Ellison answered tranquilly that .«he fully understood him. 
 
 It was doubtful whether Muriel compreheuded Lorraine's hint ; 
 for she made no answer, and Lorraine went on : 
 
 ' Ellison's nature seems to suit your brother. He has suffered 
 much ; and she is very calm and strong. lie is strong too ; but in 
 trouble a man will sometimes lean on a woman. That is what I 
 feel with Ellison. If I were in any great sorrow it would soothe 
 me to be near her. 1 fancy that is how your brother feels.' 
 
 Muriel sighed heavily. ' Yes, I see what you mean. I am no 
 comfort to him. I never have been, and it is ungenerous of me to 
 be jealous of Ellison. I know it is dreadfully small, but I struggle 
 against it.' 
 
 ' I am sure you do, dear ; but if you would only believe that
 
 156 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 your brother cares for you. He does indeed, Muriel, and you 
 wrong him Ly doubting it,' and then she had kissed her affec- 
 tionately, and turned back to the Farm. She had not said much ; 
 but those last words comforted Muriel strangely. 
 
 * Do I wrong Gavin ? ' she said more than once to herself that 
 evening. ' Can Mrs. Herbert be right when she says that he really 
 cares for me ? I try his patience terribly at times. If I could only 
 cure myself of this irritability I I answer him sharply, and that 
 puts him out, and then things get wrong altogether.' 
 
 These reflections were salutary ; but Muriel had no opportunities 
 of making amends to her brother that evening, for as soon as he 
 had taken his coffee, he bade them good-night and went off for a 
 prowl. Gavin was not quite satisfied with himself. Never before 
 in his life could he have accused himself of hesitation and difficulty 
 in making up his mind. He had always settled his own plans and 
 other people's with soldierly promptitude and decision, and yet his 
 conduct to Ellison was in utter contradiction to this. 
 
 Nearly three months had elapsed since he had come to the 
 conclusion that it would be well for him to marry Ellison ; but as 
 yet the decisive question had not been mooted. Now and then he 
 had dropped a word that seemed to point to his intention ; but 
 Ellison had not seemed to notice it. There was nothing in her 
 manner to encourage him to speak. 
 
 When a man is really in earnest there is rarely any lack of 
 opportunity. He is ready to make his own breach and storm the 
 citadel without much outward help. DilFiculties do not daunt 
 him. A lion in his path will not turn him. It is only the half- 
 hearted lover who is easily deterred by circumstances. 
 
 Gavin was not exactly half-hearted, for he dearly loved his 
 cousin ; but his love was without passion. He wished to secure 
 the monopoly of Ellison's society, to have her near him ; but his 
 pulses never stirred more quickly if he met her unexpectedly. 
 And though he always parted from her with reluctance, he never 
 found the time long until he saw her again. In plain words, he 
 was not really in love with her, and, as far as he knew himself, he 
 was not likely to be in love with any woman. This was why he 
 was for ever telling himself that second love in his case was not 
 pos.sible. 
 
 It is lamentable what mistakes even clever resolute men will 
 make. They will walk open-eyed and unfaltering into a snare 
 that a weaker person would carefully avoid. 
 
 Because his visits to Brae Farm always rested and refreshed 
 him, Gavin had come to the conclusion that Ellison was the only 
 woman who could comfort him for Helen's loss. In every way the
 
 COLONEL TREVOR RESOLVES TO DO IT 157 
 
 marriage woulil be suitable ; not because, as Mrs. Earnshaw said, 
 their lands marched together, but because Ellison would make 
 allowances for him and demand little. Trancjuil, unexacting 
 affection would 8ati.«fy them both. This made a second marriage 
 possible to him. There wuuld be no jirufuund agitation to disturb 
 him. This was how he reasoned with himself ; but if he only had 
 known it, there was weakness in his sophistry. Ellison, with all 
 her tranfjuillity, was not likely to be content with anything but 
 absolute devotion from a husband. When the white (lame of love 
 was once kindled in her heart it would burn steadily and strongly 
 to the end. A quiet nature can be deep, and there were depths in 
 Ellison unknown to himself or her. 
 
 And there was another element of danger unsuspected by either. 
 When Lorraine sang to them, as she did sometimes at Ellison's 
 request, Gavin always felt a singular emotion. Now and then he 
 had watched her, and told himself that Mrs. Herbert was almost 
 beautiful. Thoy had become great friends, and he found great 
 pleasure in talking to her ; but with her usual tact she often left 
 him alone v.ilh Ellison. ' lie will talk about his own affairs more 
 comfortably if I leave them,' slie would say to herself. ' I am only 
 an outsider, and Ellison will like to have him to herself.' And 
 Ellison always appreciated this delicacy on Lorraine's part. Three 
 people may be perfectly harmonious, but two are more confidential, 
 Lorraine often felt it rather a sacrifice to cousinly affection to go 
 away. Colonel Trevor's conversation interested her so much. 
 From the first she had liked him. ' How happy Ellison must be 
 to have such a friend,' she thought sometimes ; but there was no 
 touch of envy in this thought. Lorraine never hoped that such 
 happine.<«8 could be hers. ' Where has Lorraine gone ? I shall go 
 and fetch her bark and make her sing to us,' Ellison would say 
 presently. 'You will like that, Gavin,' and then there had been a 
 quick thfob of expectation, and his tmnquillity would be suddenly 
 merged into agil.ited recollections of his lost happine-ss. 
 
 Yes ; he had been drifting on from day to day in a ridictllously 
 aimless fashion, and now Ellison was going to leave him, the 
 prospect of five whole weeks without her was not pleasant to him. 
 Before, when she had been away, he had been also absent from 
 Highlands, and so he had not missed her ; but now he had pledged 
 himself to remain at Brae House during August, and how was he 
 to get through the day without his usual visit to the Farm \ It 
 was not likely that he would go and see ^Irs. Herbert Such an 
 idea would not enter either of their heads. He would see her 
 sometimes when she came up to Brae ; but of course daily visits 
 were out of the question. Here he stopped to cogitate a little.
 
 158 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Wliat an odd idea, he thought — fancy him sitting in the bay-window 
 chatting to Mrs. Herbert. It would be pleasant, of course ; but 
 then she was not his friend and cousin. She was charming, a 
 sweet woman, but she was not Ellison ; and here he hurried on. 
 Why should he not speak to Ellison before she left ? Why should 
 they not be engaged properly before she went to Switzerland ? 
 Yes, he would do it. The idea was an excellent one. He was 
 sick of procrastination and indecision. He would speak to her, and 
 what was more she should listen to him. He would not let her 
 turn off his speeches as she had done lately. And then he re- 
 membered that latterly he had not found himself so much alone 
 with her. It had not been Mrs. Herbert's fault. Mrs. Herbert 
 was singularly ready to efface herself on all occasions. Mr. Vincent 
 or those children had been so often in the way, or there would be 
 callers, or urgent messages from Sam Brattle. 
 
 In summer time the Farm was a busy place, and its mistress 
 was at every one's beck and call. He must think a minute what 
 he would do. 
 
 They were coming up to Brae House on Wednesday to dine, 
 and Vincent was coming too. The only other guest was Cart- 
 wright — the Rev. Eustace Cartwright being a frequent visitor to 
 Brae. 
 
 These summer evenings they generally strolled about the 
 gardens, and he would easily find an opportunity of speaking a 
 word to Ellison. He would make her understand that he had 
 something important to say to her, and that he would come down 
 to the Farm the next afternoon to say it. ' You must be alone. 
 Give the servants orders that you are specially engaged, and there 
 are to be no messages from Sam Brattle.' That is what he would 
 say to her, and of course she would understand him, and he would 
 find her alone and ready to listen to him, though perhaps her soft 
 blue eyes would have a new shyness in them. And then when he 
 had made this clear to himself, he threw away his cigar and went 
 indoors.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AT THK 'waggon AND HORSKS' 
 
 ' The lady doth protest too much, methinks.' 
 
 UamUt. 
 
 ' Tender-hauded stroke a nettle, 
 
 And it stings you for your pains ; 
 Grasp it like a man of mettle, 
 
 And it soft as silk remains.' 
 
 Aauon Hill. 
 
 TiiR day after tlie picnic Lorraine met with a curious little 
 adventure. She had only remarked that moruinr; at breakfast, iu 
 a playful way, that nothing ever happened in Highlands ; and yet 
 when evening came she had quite a sensational little tale for 
 l"]llison's ear. 
 
 Early in the afternoon she had walked over to a cottage at some 
 distance from Highlands. A child in whom Ellison took greiit 
 interest had met with a severe accident, and Lorraine had offered 
 to carry a basket of good things to the little sulfever. 
 
 The afternoon wa.s hot and cloudless, and the basket that ^frs. 
 Tucker had jiacked was unusually heavy, and by the time Lorraine 
 had rtMcliLil tlie ]\'ti(jijon and Horsts she wii^hed that she had taken 
 Ellison's advice and driven over iu the dunkey-cart. Tweedledee 
 evidently shared this opinion, for he walked languidly beside her 
 with his tongue out and his tail drooping, instead of frolicking 
 aliead and barking at every passer-by. 
 
 A gate oiipo.site the Wag<jon and Horses led down a broad wood- 
 land ]iath, l)orderetl with gorse and bracken, and Lorraine, who felt 
 immediate relief when she reached the shade of the trees, sat down 
 on a log to rest herself. She was still in sight of the inn. The 
 bow-window of the principal sitting-room had a full view of the 
 glade, and strangers who took up their c|uarters at the Waggon and 
 Horses always spoke with delight of the cliarming prospect.
 
 160 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 As Lorraine glanced in that direction she saw a little woman in 
 grey come out of the inn and cross the road. She walked in a 
 sprightly fashion, looking curiously about her, and Lorraine at once 
 saw that she was a stranger to Highlands. 
 
 A new face always interested her, and she kept her place until 
 the lady passed her. In the distance she had imagined that it was 
 a young person ; but to her surprise the jaunty step and youthful 
 figure belonged to quite an elderly woman. Under the broad, 
 shady hat, tied down in gipsy fashion with a grey gossamer' veil, 
 Lorraine caught sight of a pale, worn face, and the bluest eyes she 
 had ever seen. As Lorraine wished her a civil 'Good afternoon,' 
 the lady gave her a keen, surprised glance, and with a slight super- 
 cilious nod passed on. 
 
 Lorraine watched her until she was out of sight, then she took 
 up her basket again. She had never seen such a curious combina- 
 tion of youth and age. There was something droll and eccentric 
 in the little lady's appearance. The unusually short skirt dis- 
 played ^ pair of dainty, well-shod feet. Her grey tweed jacket 
 fitted her neat figure closely, and a mass of grey curls almost 
 touched her eyebrows. If she had only worn a cloak instead of a 
 jacket she would have been an excellent embodiment of Mother 
 Hubbard. 
 
 Lorraine forgot all about her by and by ; she paid a long visit 
 to the cottage — unpacked her basket and talked to little Susan, 
 and then set oif on her return journey, fearing that she had loitered 
 so long that Ellison would have finished her tea. 
 
 It was still too hot to walk fast, but a faint breeze had sprung 
 up and fanned her face deliciously; the warm scented air held the 
 perfume of a thousand flowers ; great brown bees were hovering 
 over some wild dainties ; the birds were voiceless, and safely 
 hidden in leafy coverts, and only the humming of insects were 
 audible ; now and then a gorgeous butterfly flitted past her, or a 
 blue or grey moth. 
 
 Just as Lorraine turned up another woodland path she saw, to 
 her surprise, the little grey lady who had passed her earlier in the 
 afternoon ; she was leaning against a gate. As Lorraine was about to 
 walk past her, something in her attitude made her pause. 
 
 ' You are in pain,' she said impulsively ; ' can I be of any assist- 
 ance ? I trust that you have not sprained your ankle over one of 
 these tree roots % ' 
 
 * No, thank you,' replied the stranger ; ' it is only an old strain 
 that sometimes troubles me ; but I shall be unable to walk until 
 the pain passes off — even my staff will not be sufficient,' and she held 
 out a carved ebony stick with a crutch handle. She spoke with
 
 AT THE 'WAGGON AND HORSES' 161 
 
 curious abruptness and decision, but her voice was unmistakably 
 cultured. With all her eccentricity she was evidently a gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 ' If you could only sit down,' observed Lorraine sympathetically. 
 ' 1 can see by your face how much you arc sulfering. Do, please, 
 take my arm, it will give you some sort of support' ; but the little 
 woman shook her head. 
 
 ' You are very good, but I will not trouble you. I am used to 
 standing alone. I have learnt by experience that the pain will 
 pass ; it is only a question of time and patience. I hurt myself 
 rather badly some years ago. I fancy it is partly neuralgia where 
 the old mischief was : if I liad only my drops — Vmt I was a fool to 
 forget them — and Pritchard was another fool, too.' 
 
 The tone was decidedly irascible, but her lips were white with 
 pain ; it was impossible for Lorraine to see any one suffering and 
 not offer her help. 
 
 ' You are staying at the Waggon and Horses, are you not 1 ' she 
 asked anxiously. ' I think I saw you come out of the inn.' And, as 
 the lady nodded, she went on : 'It is not five minutes' walk from 
 here — let me fetch your medicine — you can easily tell me where to 
 find it ; the people at the inn know me. I am Mrs. Herbert from 
 Brae Farm.' 
 
 ' I was sure you were a widow tlie moment I saw you,' was the 
 singular response to this. ' Herbert, aye, not one of the Herberts 
 of Chillingford ' 
 
 ' No, no — simple Mrs. Herbert ; but we are losing time, and you 
 do look BO ill. Please give me the necessary directions ; Mrs, Brent 
 will help me,' 
 
 ' Well, as you are set on playing the Good Samaritan, I will not 
 hinder you,' was the somewhat churlish answer ; ' if you will be so 
 good as to ask for my maid, Pritchard — she will be about the place 
 somewhere — she will give you the drops ' 
 
 ' Thank you ; that is all I waiift-d to know,' and Lorraine 
 walked v[\' (juickly ; in fact, directly she was out of siglit she com- 
 menced running, and was soon in the inn passage and asking for 
 Pritchard. 
 
 'Pritchard? oh, you mean Miss Bretherton's maid!' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Brent loudly. ' Here, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Herbert from 
 Brae Farm is asking for you'; and a respectable elderly woman 
 came forward at once. 
 
 She looked a little anxious when Lorraine explained her errand. 
 ' My mistress in pain,' she said ; 'if you will wait a moment, ma'am, 
 I will get the drops, and be ready to come with you.' 
 
 Lorraine was about to .«ay that there was no need for this; but 
 
 11
 
 162 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 on second tliouglits she checked herself; the maid would know best 
 what to do ; so she waited patiently until Pritchard returned with 
 the remedy. But as they hurried down the path Lorraine was 
 asking herself what Miss Bretherton this could be ; was it possible 
 that she could be Mr. Vincent's aunt % What had brought her to 
 Highlands ? Perhaps after all she had relented, and meant to be 
 reconciled to him. Lorraine was in a glow of mingled heat 
 and curiosity and benevolence by the time she had reached Miss 
 Bretherton. 
 
 ' What an old fool you were, Pritchard, not to remind me of my 
 drops,' was her first greeting ; but the maid, who was evidently used 
 to her mistress's irritability, only poured out the medicine carefully. 
 
 ' You have walked too far, ma'am,' she said in the affectionate 
 reproving tone that a nurse uses to a child ; ' you would not have 
 needed your drops if you had only taken a short stroll. My mistress 
 can't stand fatigue,' she went on, turning to Lorraine. ' She had a 
 bad carriage accident, and ever since she has had a pain in her side 
 if she walks much ; it is neuralgia, as the doctor says, but it leaves 
 her as weak as a child afterwards.' 
 
 ' Don't be a goose, Pritchard ; the drops always cure me. Now, 
 Mrs. Herbert, if you will kindly give me the arm you offered 
 me before, I shall be much obliged to you, and, Pritchard, you 
 come round the other side, and I will make an attempt to reach the 
 inn. I shall be forced to limp like a lame robin ; but there is no 
 one to watch my awkward gait. Ah, I see you are laughing at me, 
 Mrs. Herbert. I believe I was born to amuse people. Not too 
 fast, Pritchard — how am I to keep up with your great clumsy strides? 
 I never knew such a woman for walking fast.' 
 
 Pritchard only grunted in answer, and all the way to the inn 
 Miss Bretherton went on in the same scolding way : sometimes 
 they walked too fast, or too slow — or the path was not wide 
 enough, or the sun was blinding her ; and after every querulous 
 speech she peeped round at Loiraiue with a comical look that 
 seemed to say, ' Have you ever seen such an od<lity before ? ' 
 
 When they entered the inn she seemed to take it as a matter of 
 course that Lorraine should assist her up the steep stairs. The 
 pleasant inn parlour looked airy and inviting, with its open windows 
 and great bowls of carnations and rose.? — the tea-things were on the 
 table. As Miss Bretherton sank down on the couch she said in the 
 same querulous tone : 
 
 * Make the tea, Pritchard ; Mrs. Herbert is going to have a cup 
 with me. Take off your hat, Mrs. Herbert. Where is the eau de 
 cologne, Pritchard? Ah, that dog. T forgot him, but never mind ; 
 it is old dogs I distrust.'
 
 AT THE ' WAGGON AND HORSES' 1G3 
 
 ' Indeed, I cannot stay,' returned Lorraine hurriedly ; ' my 
 cousin will be expecting me ; I have been out all the afternoon, 
 and it is past five.' But Miss Bretherton took no notice of this ; 
 she had removed her liat, and was patting the mass- of grey curls 
 on her forehead with two little hands twinkling with diamond 
 rings. 
 
 ' I really must go,' continued Lorraine ; but to her extreme 
 amusement Miss Bretherton only looked at her calmly. 
 
 ' You are not going, because I want to talk to you, and I have 
 got nobody but stupid old Pritchard, and she is not amusing. ^\Tiy 
 won't you stop and have a cup of tea with me, I should like to 
 know ? I am cjuite respectable. My society will not contaminate 
 you. Where is my card-case, Pritchard ? Give Mrs. Herbert my 
 card, and then she cannot say we have not been properly introduced. 
 No, take it, Mr.«. Herbert,' as Lorraine laughingly disclaimed this 
 as unnecessary; but Miss Bretherton tossed the card by easy sleight 
 of hand into her lap. There it lay before her : ' Miss Bretherton, 
 Black Nest, Nefydd Madoc' 
 
 'That is my name, aiid that is the name,' she went on, 'of my 
 house ; but though I live in Wales I am English to the backbone. 
 I was not born or bred there. It was my uncle's place. He had 
 a drop of Taffy's blood in him, and he fell in love with Nefydd 
 Madoc Live there he would until death mastered him. If there 
 is a Welsh heaven, he will have made straight for it. There, now, 
 I have shocked you. Perhaps you will condescend to drink my tea.' 
 
 Lorraine wiis not unwilling to stay. The fragrance of the t<ja 
 was very inviting, and she was tired and thirsty, and by this time 
 her curiosity and interest had been strongly excited, so she did 
 as she had been bidden — removed her hat and called Tweedledee, 
 and made him lie at her feet. 
 
 'Come, now, that is friendly,' observed her singular hostess in 
 an approving tone. ' I knew you were a sensible woman, and the 
 world is not over-full of them. Bring a little table for Mrs. 
 Herbert, Pritchard. So you live or make believe to live in this 
 little green nest of a jilace. Wliat on eiirth do you find to do in 
 this village of Sleepy Hollow?' 
 
 The tune was decididly amicable, in spite of its abruptness, and 
 Lormine responded with her usual simple directness. 
 
 ' You will be surprised to hear that I find so much to do that 
 the day is never long enough, and my cousin often says the same. 
 She is the mistress of Brae Farm, and I and my boy live with her. 
 We are busy from morning to night.' 
 
 Tliere was a singulai" change in Miss Brethertou's manner as 
 Lorraine said this.
 
 164 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' If you have a child you are not to be pitied,' she said rathei 
 harshly. 'I thought you were a lone woman like me ; buc there, 
 I am always taking up ideas about people and finding them all 
 wrong. I am a stupid old woman, as I often tell Pritchard.' 
 
 Lorraine looked at her kindly. Her soft brown eyes were full 
 of feeling. ' No, I am not lonely in the way you mean. My 
 baby boy is the joy of my life. He is such a darling ! ' And then 
 feeling that she was saying too much to a sti'anger, she changed the 
 subject. ' Is this your first visit to Highlands, Miss Bretherton ? 
 I hope Mrs. Brent takes good care of you. The inn is considered 
 very comfortable.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is comfortable enough,' she returned carelessly. 
 ' Pritchard looks after my comforts, and I am only remaining a 
 day or two. Business, not pleasure, has brought me to Highlands. 
 I hope you will come and see me again, Mrs. Herbert ; and you 
 may bring that wonderful boy of yours to see me if you like. Not 
 that I care for children ; my fondness for them has died a natural 
 death long ago.' 
 
 She spoke with undisguised bitterness, and Lorraine understood 
 the allusion. She was thinking, doubtless, of the nephew who had 
 disappointed her, and repelled her affection. But Lorraine dared 
 not mention him. 
 
 By the strangest coincidence, at this moment there was a knock 
 at the door, and to her intense surprise Mr, Vincent entered. He 
 looked flushed and nervous, and seemed still more discomposed 
 when he saw IMrs. Herbert. 
 
 ' Aunt Marion,' he said, in rather an agitated voice, ' why did 
 you not let me know that you were coming to Highlands ? I 
 have just heard from ]\Ir. Brent that you arrived last evening, and 
 you have been here all these hours, within a stone's throw of our 
 cottage.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton had been evidently unprepared for this visit. 
 At the sight of her nephew, a grey, ashen look had come over her 
 face. Pritchard thought her mistress had turned faint, and handed 
 her a vinaigrette ; but she pushed it angrily away. 
 
 ' So you have come, Eric,' she said sharply, ' though I am not 
 aware I sent for you ; but as you are here you had better sit down.' 
 She took his hand coldly as she spoke. * It is a good many years 
 since we met, and I am not sure that I should have known you. 
 Preaching and teaching do not seem to have agreed with you.' 
 
 ' You are looking ill too. Aunt Marion,' he returned nervously. 
 ' I heard all about that accident, and I am afraid it has told on 
 you. She ' — he evidently could not bring himself to mention his 
 mother — 'she was terribly alarmed about you.'
 
 AT THE 'WAGGON AND HORSES' 105 
 
 'Yes; Ella was always an alarmist,' she returned unsym- 
 pathetically. 'So, like a dutiful nephew, you feel anxious about 
 your poor old aunt.' She laughed in a most unmirthful way ; but 
 her nephew remaiiled ^'rave. 
 
 Lorraine rose, feeling the embarrassment of the situation. To 
 lier discomposure, Mi.ss Bretherton objected to her going. 
 
 ' Now, Mrs. Herbert,' she said crossly, ' there is not the slightest 
 need to curtjiil your visit. My nephew and I have no secrets to 
 discuss this evening.' She laid a stress on the la-st words. ' He 
 has come uninvited, and you had better help me entertain him. I 
 have not so many friends that I am anxious to part with you.' 
 
 The speech was ungracious, and in the worst possible taste, and 
 Lorraine would have felt extremely angry on Mr. Vincent's account., 
 only she was convinced that Miss Bretherton was in a state of 
 nervous irritability which she was unable to control. 
 
 Mr. Vincent rose hastily. 'It is I who should go,' he said 
 pointedly, and in a tone of strong indignation. 'Aunt Marion, 1 
 am sorry that I have intruded. I shall wait next time until you 
 send for me.' 
 
 'Perhaps so. It will be ijettt-r,' responded Miss Bretherton. 
 ' Well, if you must go, Mrs. Herbert, good-bye.' Lorraine waited 
 for no more ; but as she hurried out of the inn, Mr. Vincent over- 
 took her, and they walked on in silence. Lorraine dared not trust 
 herself to speak, she felt so much for him, and probably Mr. Vincent 
 was trying to curb his emotion. 
 
 At last as they crossed the common she said in a low voice, ' If 
 you only knew how sorry I am fur you, and my being there made 
 it BO much worse for you.' 
 
 He turned to her at once, and she could see the tears in his 
 eyes. 
 
 'No, I think not. You can never be in any one's way. I am 
 sure you~can never be in mine.' He paused, and then hurried on. 
 'You know the circumstances, Mrs. Herbert; Colonel Trevor has 
 told you. Is not this implacability on my aunt's i\art almost 
 incredible 1 She is punishing a man for a child's caprice — no, 
 caprice is not the right word' — speaking as though to himself. 
 ' My dislike was too absolute for caprice.' 
 
 'As a child you disliked your aunt, then V she asked, tliinking 
 that after all it would be better for him to speak out. 
 
 'Yes, I am afraid so,' he answered regretfully. ' It was horribly 
 ungrateful of me, when she loaded me with kindness ; but she was 
 very peculiar, and a child does not always understand. I have 
 often been sorry to think how I must have trampled on her 
 feelings ; but a generous-hearted woman would have condoned this
 
 166 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 long ago. "WTien I came up just now I was full of hope that my 
 aunt's presence at Highlands meant a general amnesty for past 
 offences ; but you saw how I was received. She has neither for- 
 given me nor forgotten. No, indeed '—working himself to fresh 
 wrath — ' she means just to gratify her curiosity about us, and then 
 go her way without lifting a single burden ; and yet she is my 
 mother's only sister.' 
 
 Lorraine touched his arm gently. ' Mr. Vincent, it is very 
 hard, and this evening Miss Bretherton treated you very badly. 
 She has not forgotten, certainly ; but though she is a stranger to 
 me, I should say that the sight of you gave her acute pain. When 
 you entered the room she grew quite white, and I saw her hands 
 tremble. Her visit to Highlands does not point to implacability. 
 I think it would be wiser and kinder to reserve your judgment of 
 her until you see her again.' 
 
 ' I do not mean to see her again. Please do not look at me as 
 though you think I am wrong ; amiability is not my strong point. 
 I am exceedingly proud. Do you suppose in my position ' — holding 
 his head high — ' that I shall permit myself to be badgered and 
 insulted by any woman because she is my aunt % ' 
 
 Lorraine took no notice of this little outburst. She thoiaght it 
 was quite reasonalAe that Mr. Vincent should be angry. 
 
 'You certainly will not go near her again until she sends for 
 you.' 
 
 ' I shall not go if she sends for me a hundred times.' 
 
 Lorraine shook her head reprovingly. 
 
 ' I am quite sure you will change your mind,' she said calmly. 
 ' If Miss Bretherton sends for you, you will go, not for your own 
 sake but because of the children. I know you will agree with me, 
 Mr. Vincent, that we can do for others what we cannot bring 
 ourselves to do for our own sake,' and then she looked at him very 
 kindly, and bade him good-bye.
 
 CHAPTKR XXI 
 
 MOTTII'.R III IJHAUI) A (IAIN ! 
 
 ' As hemlstroiig us an allegory on the bunks of tbe Nile.' — (Mi-s. Malaprop) 
 
 SllKKIDAN. 
 
 ' Let lis coiisiilur the leason of the case. For nothing is law that is not 
 reason.' — Siu John Fowklu 
 
 Ellison was much interested when Lorraine narrated her interview 
 with Miss Bretlierton, and questioned her minutely on the stranger's 
 appearance. 
 
 ' I never .saw any one more dillicult to describe,' was Lorraine's 
 answer. 'Miss Bretherton cannot be more than sixty, I should 
 say ; but her face is so old ; there are fine wrinkles under her eyes 
 and round her mouth, but her eyes are as blue and clear as a 
 chiUrs ; the nja.es of grey curls quite hide her forehead ; how I do 
 hate a curly crop that comes too low, it robs a woman's face of all 
 intellect. I should s;iy she had been pretty, but bad health or bad 
 temper, or both, have aged her ; she is certainly very eccentric' 
 
 ' So Gavin said ; he called her spiteful and cantankerous ; and by 
 your own account she quite insulted poor Mr. Vincent. Fancy 
 treating a chrgyman a.s though he were a schoolboy, and she has 
 not seen him lor ten or twelve y&irsi.' 
 
 * No, it was very bad ; but, somehow, I could not help pitying 
 her. I am sure she was suircring, and only wanted to get rid of 
 him ; she gave me that impression ; if you oidy knew how I 
 longed to get out of that room — but no, — she seemed to dread 
 being alone with him.' 
 
 *I think you had better leave them to quarrel comfortably, and 
 then, perhaps, there will be a chance of their making it up, a 
 third person is so in the way ' ; and, as Lorraine agreed to this, she 
 took her walk the next day in an opposite direction, and gave the 
 yVaggon and llorsej! a wide berth.
 
 168 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Late in the evening, as she and Ellison were strolling across the 
 Brae Meadow enjoj^ing the fresh coolness of the air, a respectable- 
 looking woman in black passed them ; to her surprise she recog- 
 nised Miss Bretherton's maid, Pritchard ; she looked a little confused 
 when Lorraine stopped to speak to her, and said something about 
 the fineness of the weather tempting her to take a stroll. * As I 
 am a stranger to these parts I would make bold to ask, ma'am, if 
 that great house yonder is Brae House % ' 
 
 'Yes, it is; it belongs to Colonel Trevor, and Brae Farm is 
 down there j you see that big pond, where they are washing the 
 cart-horses, those are the farm buildings beside it. Did Miss 
 Bretherton send any message to me ? ' 
 
 * Oh, dear no, ma'am, she did not think I should be seeing you ; 
 my mistress has been but poorly to-day, her long walk and talking 
 to Mr. Eric has upset her ; if she excites herself about anything 
 she is sure to be ill afterwards, her nerves are weak, and she cannot 
 stand it now ; she has been hoping you would call. I knew by 
 her sitting at the window all the afternoon that she was expecting 
 some one, though it would not have done to say so. May I say 
 you will come to-morrow, ma'am ? ' 
 
 ' No, I think not ; under the circumstances it would be better 
 not ; give Miss Bretherton my kind regards, and I hope she will 
 soon be better'; and Pritchard was evidently disappointed. 
 
 ' I like the look of that woman,' observed Ellison, as they 
 walked on. ' She has a trusty, reliable face ; but, you may depend 
 ujjon it, she was reconnoitring Brae for some purpose ; perhaps 
 she hoped to meet you. Miss Bretherton has taken a fancy to you' ; 
 but Lorraine only laughed at this ; she had no great desire to see 
 Mother Hubbard again, as she called her, though in her heart she 
 Btill pitied her. 
 
 There are strange intricacies in life ; we do not know what fate 
 ha.s in store for us. The stranger we pass in the street, whom we 
 regard carelessly, may become an important factor in our life's 
 history. Little did Lorraine guess that the tiny woman in grey, 
 whom she so playfully termed Mother Hubbard, would be a 
 weighty influence in her life ; that, already, in that chance meet- 
 ing among the furze bushes, fate was weaving the meshes of that 
 strange web that was to draw her and Miss Bretherton together. 
 Ah, if one's eyes could be opened to see the fine invisible web of 
 curious coincidence and circumstance in which we are so strongly 
 entangled, that there is no finding the way out of the maze, how 
 greatly we should marvel What a trifle had guided us — if we 
 had only walked on the other side of the street, or taken another 
 turning, or refrained from speaking, all would have been different :
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AGAIN! 1G9 
 
 true, but these chance by-patlis have been prepared for us, and 
 an overruling Providence has ordained that we should walk in 
 them. 
 
 Lorraine had decided to avoid Miss Bretherton, but fate had 
 anotlier word to say on that subject. 
 
 Tlie next morning she and Tedo were sitting under the cedars 
 in the Brae Woods ; Jenny was browsing near them. Lorraine 
 M'as making a daisy-chain for her boy, and he was standing beside 
 her, watching her with delighted eyes, while she sang to him the 
 doleful ballad of Cock Robin ; when, all at once, she looked up 
 from her work and saw Miss Bretherton. She was standing quite 
 still, leaning on her ebony staff, and regarding them with a 
 curiously fixed glance. 
 
 She gave an odd little laugh when Lorraine looked up. * Well, 
 Mrs. Herbert, so Pritchard tells me you have refused to have any- 
 thing more to do with the sour old maid ; and this is Highlands' 
 hospitality to strangers'? It is very short-sighted of you ; but then 
 good Christian people are often short-sighted ; but how do you 
 know that you might not have entertained an angel unawares ? 
 come now, answer me that.' 
 
 * If you will sit do\vn. Miss Bretherton, I will try to do so ; the 
 ground is quite dry and warm under the cedars ; I call it my cedar 
 parlour. Tedo, my sweet, ask the lady to sit down,' and the little 
 fellow held out his hand at once. 
 
 'So this is your boy?' observed Miss Bretherton, with the 
 abruptness that seemed natural to her, but there was a kindly 
 gleam in her eye ; ' he is like you, Mrs. Herbert, but he looks 
 weakly.' 
 
 ' He is not a strong child,' returned Lorraine, Hushing, for she 
 never liked these remarks on her boy : ' but he is much better, 
 every one sftys so, he rims about more, and does not seem bo 
 languid. - Dr. Howell has done him so much good.' 
 
 'Humph ! we all have our treasures in earthen vessels, I fancy,' 
 was Miss Bretliorton'fl singular retort, ' What's your name, my 
 little man ? ' 
 
 ' Theodore — the gift of God. I chose it for its derivation ; my 
 boy came to me at n very sorrowful time to comfort me ; when he 
 grows up I sliall always call him Theodore, but now I call him 
 Tedo.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton gave her a sharp glance, there was something 
 piercing in the keen incisive look, the blue eyes grew bright and 
 hard. 
 
 ' So you've known trouble,' she said rather resentfully. ' I 
 wonder it has not taught you more charity ; you only made my
 
 170 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 acquaintance yesterday, and already you are sick to death of me, 
 and all because I was a bit peppery with my graceless nephew !' 
 
 She spoke in such a hurt voice that Lorraine had to soothe her, 
 
 ' Indeed, you must not say so. I was very sorry for Mr. 
 Vincent, certainly, I am sure he meant so well ; we all think so 
 highly of him ; so many men fail to practise what they preach, 
 but I\Ir. Vincent sets us all an example.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton gave an angry snort. 
 
 ' I daresay he is a good moral young man. I know nothing to 
 the contrary ; his mother was a good woman, though she made the 
 fatal mistake of marrying again. I don't hold witli second marriages, 
 Mrs. Herbert,' regarding her severely ; ' once married is enough for 
 any woman. I have nothing to say about men, they are feckle.sa 
 creatures, and will just do as they like.' 
 
 * I think it is a pity to judge any one, man or woman,' returned 
 Lorraine quietly ; 'it is no use making new commandments for 
 people, their own conscience must guide them.' 
 
 'And yet you were ready enough to judge me,' snapj^ed Miss 
 Bretherton ; ' though you did not say a word, I knew you were 
 taking Eric's part. Now, just wait a moment, and jjut yourself in 
 my place. Listen to me, it sounds droll, but I am rather an un- 
 common person, and I ha^'e taken a liking to you ; there is some- 
 thing about you that reminds me of tliat boy's motlier. I don't 
 know where the likeness lies, for your features do not resemble 
 her in the least ; but there is something that recalls her when she 
 was young and in her widow's weeds, and before she took up with 
 Scott. I never would call him my bruther-in-law ; that is one of 
 the things that made Ella so angry, but I could not bear him — a 
 thin, starchy sort of man with his chin in the air, and a head as 
 bald as a billiard ball.' 
 
 It was evident that Miss Bretherton enjoyed speaking her mind, 
 
 ' Now my precious nephew seems to be regarded as a sort of 
 saint down here. Brent was talking about him last night, he 
 called him an excellent. God-fearing young man ; it savoured of 
 cant, but he evidently meant it^so I let it pass ; but what I want 
 to know is this,' digging her .stick angrily into the ground, 'how 
 dare he come and call on me after the way he has treated me.' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Bretherton, I think I know a little about that ; 
 he disappointed you when he was a boy, did he not, and you have 
 not forgiven him ?' 
 
 ' No, nor ever shall,' with concentrated bitterness. ' Look 
 here, Mrs. Herbert, did you not tell me the other day that that 
 child was the joy of your life ? Well, when Eric was a little 
 fellow about his age, I set my heart at him. Heaven knows
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AGAIN/ 171 
 
 I liiul not much in my life to make me happy, but I need not 
 trouble you with all that — sulHce it to say I was lonely, rich, and 
 without any interest, and I ^i.st set my aliections on Ella's child. 
 He was aa beautiful aa a little angel, and yet so full of monkey 
 tricks, and it was not a wunder that I touk to him.' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' and Lorraine pressed her boy closer to her. He 
 had grown drowsy, and was nestling to her, with his sleepy eyes 
 fixed on Miss Bretherton. 
 
 ' Whin Ella made a fool of herself with Scott I otfered to adopt 
 him, and neither of them refused me, and I look him for a time to 
 Black Nest. There was nothing I wouhl not have done for that 
 child — he had a pony, and a dog, and a garden of his own — but 
 no, nothing wuuld do, he only Iretted for his mother. lie stood 
 up and told me to my face that he would not live with me. " I 
 don't want all your fine things. Aunt Marion. I don't love you, 
 and I want to go home. If I stayed here I should get to hate you, 
 I know I should." There was a loving speech, and I just wor- 
 shipped that boy.' 
 
 'It was very hard,' murmured Lorraine; 'but it is impossible 
 not to admire his loyalty to his mother.' 
 
 ' 1 took him back myself, and I never said another word to him. 
 "Your boy hates me," I said to Ella. " He is nothing to me any 
 longer. I never wish to see him again : you and Scott can keep 
 him." And I never did see him until he walked into the inn 
 parlour the other day.' 
 
 ' Miss Bretlurton, will you listen to me now ? It was a terrible 
 disai)pointment, but surely you rlo not wi.sh the man to sutler for a 
 child's fault. Many children are capricious in their likes and dis- 
 likes. If you had continued your kindness to him he would soon 
 have become a.shamed of his ingratitmle.' 
 
 ' I never give any one a second chance,' she returned sternly. 
 ' My nature is not forgiving ; I brood over an injury until it takes 
 possession of me. When I cast olF the boy I did it utterly.' 
 
 Lorraine was silent. Her whole nature rebelled again.-^t this 
 vindictivencss. 
 
 ' I am a rich womati,' she went on, ' but Eric will never have 
 my money. He refused my love, and he shall have none of my 
 wealth. I intend to send for him and tell him so.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you have come to Highlands to tell Mr. 
 Vincent this? E.xcuse me. Miss Bretherton, if I refuse to believe 
 you. You could not be so hard to the son of your dead sist«r.' 
 
 'My sister had no right to complain of me,' she returned in the same 
 harsh voice, but a red Hush mounted to her forehead. ' Though she 
 angered me by marrying Scott I allowed her two hundred a year.
 
 172 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' Yes, and you liave withdrawn tliis allowance since her death, 
 and left poor Mr. Vincent to struggle on with these four children. 
 Do you know how poor they are^ "He has only his curacy, and 
 how is he to feed and clothe and educate his young brothers 
 and sisters ? Miss Bretherton, be just, even if you will not be 
 merciful. It could not be Mr. Vincent's fault that his mother 
 chose to marry again.' 
 
 Something like a smile came to Miss Bretherton's lips. 
 
 ' "Well, I won't deny that,' in a less aggressive tone, ' and I don't 
 say that Eric shall have nothing. If you choose to be so curious, 
 Mrs. Herbert, I don't mind telling you that I came down to High- 
 lands just to see with my own eyes how the land lies. I had a 
 curiosity to see poor Ella's children.' 
 
 Lorraine felt a little relieved when she heard this, then a sudden 
 thought made her glance at Miss Bretherton's grey tweed dress. 
 Her only sister had not been dead more than seven or eight 
 months, and yet she did not wear mourning ; but she was slightly 
 confused when Miss Bretherton answered her unspoken thoughts. 
 
 ' I don't hold with mourning,' she returned stifly. ' It is against 
 my notions of Christianity. I hate saying one thing and doing 
 another. Either we submit or we rebel ; there is nothing between. 
 When my uncle -went to his "Welsh heaven, and left me Black Nest, 
 I never wore mourning. I rather like shocking people, Mrs. Herbert, 
 it gives me a sort of pleasure when my friends draw down their lips 
 and say, " "What a very extraordinary person Miss Bretherton is." 
 Well, as I was saying, until you interrupted me by staring at my 
 gown so rudely, I mean to send for Eric and have it out with 
 him.' 
 
 ' I am afraid it will be no use sending for him.' 
 
 * Eh, why not 'i Do you mean the young gentleman is affronted, 
 and will refuse another interview with his affectionate aunt ? ' 
 
 ' I do mean something of the kind. Mr. Vincent was very much 
 hurt by the way you received him, and I fear if you do send for 
 him that he will not come.' 
 
 ' Then in that case I must call on him,' was the brisk reply. 
 ' Will you take me to the cottage, Mrs. Herbert, to - morrow 
 morning, or, better still, this afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' I — come with you ? Oh no, please do not ask me to do such 
 a thing. Miss Bretherton. Why should I thrust myself into 
 Mr. Vincent's private affairs 1' 
 
 ' I shall certainly not go alone,' was the cool reply. ' I would 
 as soon play Daniel in a den of young lions. Mr. Vincent is your 
 spjiritual pastor and meister. You have a right to be interested in 
 his affairs. If you will not undertake this kindly office for a
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AGAIN! 173 
 
 stranger, I must just go back to Nefyckl Madoc with my errand 
 unperformed, and then Eric will be the loser. I certainly had 
 some intentions of helping him, though I persist in my intention of 
 not making him my heir. But if you will not go with me there 
 is no help for it.' 
 
 ' You are making it impossible for me to refuse,' retorted Lor- 
 raine in rather a displeased tone. What could this singular woman 
 mean ? Why should she be afraid to go alone to the cottage ? 
 She had not been too nervous to browbeat her nephew, and 
 humiliate him, and probably she would do so again. 
 
 To her surprise Miss Bretherton patted her on the shoulder in 
 a most friendly fashion. 
 
 ' There, now, I knew you would be sensible, and I mean to 
 behave myself. I won't fly at Eric if I can help it ; but it makes 
 me nervous to have to hold my tongue. Well, tlien, we will go 
 this afternoon Come and have tea with me, and we will walk 
 down to the cottage afterwards.' 
 
 ' Very well, if you wish it,' was Lorraine's reluctant answer. 
 But when she went back to the farm she complained bitterly to 
 Ellison of her ill-luck. ' I do so hate mi.xing myself up in this 
 sort of thing,' she said. ' What will Mr. Vincent think of me ? * 
 
 ' He will know you cannot help yourself. It is very unpleasant 
 for you, Lorraine ; but I expect Miss Bretherton is really too ner- 
 vous to go alone. She .*eems a queer mi.vture. I can't make her 
 out. I am 80 curious that I feel as though I must call on her. I 
 wonder how she would receive me ? ' 
 
 ' 1 really could not say ; but I cannot help wishing that you 
 were in my place, I hate dancing attendance on a vindictive 
 Mother Hubbard.' 
 
 When Lorraine reached the irui at the hour appointed .«he found 
 Miss Bretherton silting in stite to receive her. She had changed 
 her travelling dres.'«, and wore a rich black silk trimmed with 
 superb black lace. Her small white hand.s blazed with diamonds 
 and emeralds. She received Lorraine with great dignity, and 
 during tea discoursed majestically on Welsh scenery. Pritchard 
 waited on them silently, and her mistress did not once address 
 her. 
 
 Lorraine sat by the open window and looked across at the 
 woodland path and the fast-yellowing bracken. Before long, it 
 would be a mass of golden and amber tints. The village street 
 below her was abnost empty — only a colt was feeding on a patch 
 of grass, and an old mastilV belonging to the Waqgtm and Horses 
 was sunning hinisolf in the road. By and by the carrier's cart came 
 up the Dorchester Road with its mottled grey horse, and the
 
 174 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 carrier went to the bar to refresh himself. Presently Miss 
 Bretherton said she would put on her bonnet, and in a few 
 minutes returned with an airy little structure of black lace and 
 grey wistaria, fastened jauntily on the grey curls. The dress 
 would have been more suitable in Hyde Park or the Botanical 
 Gardens, but it became her, and gave her small figure quite an air 
 of distinction. But the pale face with its fine wrinkles was a 
 strong contrast to the somewhat youthful cut of her garments. 
 
 ' I always put on my war-paint when I am going to have a big 
 palaver,' she said sarcastically. ' If you are ready, Mrs. Herbert, 
 we will just step down to the cottage.' 
 
 A curious line out of Hamlet came into Lorraine's head as she 
 followed Miss Bretherton down the inn stairs : 
 
 ' This is miching mallecho ; it means mischiet'.'
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MISS BnETUERTON HAS UICR SAY 
 
 ' 1 will make a Stnr-chamber matter of it.' 
 
 The Merry Wives of Windttor. 
 
 ' Je ne vous aime pas Hylas, 
 Je n'en saurais dive la cause, 
 Je sais seulement un chose ; 
 C'est que je ne vous aime pas. ' 
 
 COMTE IlK RAnAlTN. 
 
 Tea waa not over at the cottage, and even to Loiruiue's accustomed 
 ej'e.? the small low room, with its one window blocked up with 
 geraniums, looked crowded, and felt ti-rribly hot as they stood on 
 the threshold. Nora rose from her chair with wide startled eyes, 
 and there was a deep flush on Mr. Vincent's face as he made his 
 way with dilliculty to the door. 
 
 There was uniiiisfakaMe hauteui' in his look and voice as he 
 said coldly : 
 
 'Our present quarters are rather small. Do you think you 
 can manage to squeeze past Hugo, Aunt Marion, and take that 
 chair? Mrs. Herbert, there is just room for you on the other side ' ; 
 and as he spoke he julotod the ladies with careful courtesy, but 
 without oiTi'iing to shake hands with either of them ; but as 
 Lorraine took her seat, she looki-d into the deep-set eyes a moment. 
 Tlie glance said very plainly, ' Please forgive me for being here, 
 but T cannot help myiM'HV ami then she stooped over her pet Eflie, 
 ami kissed her tenderly. 
 
 Miss Bretherton's keen glance was taking in everything as she 
 settled herself and her laces in the old easy-ihair. She drew a 
 quick breath once, as though she felt stilled. Did the memory of 
 the cool rooms at Black Nest, and the fresh mountain breezes come 
 to her as she looked round the mean cottage parlour? Iler first 
 remark was a (pu-iulous one.
 
 176 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I wonder you have not the sense to get rid of those plants •, 
 they block out all the light and air. The room is positively un- 
 healthy.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Drake is very proud of her plants. We could not ask 
 her to remove them,' returned Mr. Vincent stiffly. ' One must 
 consider other people as well as oneself ; in another month or so 
 we hope to remove to the Vicarage. We shall have room to breathe 
 then.' 
 
 ' Anyhow you have not got it now,' she returned, fanning her- 
 self with nervous energy. ' Well, I suppose you are surprised to 
 see me, Eric. As the mountain would not come to Mahomet, 
 Mahomet decided to go to the mountain. So these are the children. 
 What's your name, boy ? ' — suddenly transfixing Hugo as he stood 
 staring at her. 
 
 ' Hugo,' he returned, flinging back his unruly locks, and look- 
 ing her full in the face — ' Hugo Medcalf Scott. Edmund has only 
 one name, and he is sorry for it, but I tell him it does not matter 
 — lots of people have only one name.' Then his childish curiosity 
 getting the better of him, ' You are our aunt, are you not ? ' 
 
 ' I am your step-aunt,' she returned snappishly, ' and you are 
 not like your mother a bit ; Edmund is. Come here, Edmund, 
 as you have only one name, there's a sovereign to console you. 
 Hugo Medcalf is a Scott all over ; he will help you to spend it. 
 How old are you ? ' — looking at Nora severely. ' You are Honoria, 
 are you not % ' and the girl turned crimson with shyness. 
 
 ' I am nearly thirteen,' she said timidly, and she edged a little 
 nearer to her beloved Mrs. Herbert. The sudden apparition of this 
 sharp-faced little woman, with her curt questions and severe looks, 
 overawed the children. Eddie held his golden treasure squeezed 
 tightly in his hot hand ; but even his gratitude bordered on nervous- 
 ness. Eflie had taken refuge with her elder brother and refused 
 to leave him when her aunt called her. Even the prospect of 
 golden sovereigns would not have tempted her. 
 
 Miss Bretherton gave one of her short, dry laughs. 
 
 ' I never was a favourite with children. Effie has taken a leaf 
 out of your book, Eric. Well, if the young ones have finished 
 their tea they might as well leave us to have our talk.' 
 
 * If you wish it, certainly,' returned Eric, with the same grand 
 composure. ' Hugo and Eddie, go out on the common ; Nora, 
 perhaps you and Efifie might join them for a little.' 
 
 'Shall we Bay good-bye to our aunt first?' demanded Hugo. 
 ' Oh yes, of course ! ' but Hugo only stood still and stared at 
 her. 
 
 * I wish you would tell me something first,' he said. ' Why did
 
 MISS BRKTHERTON HAS HER SAY 177 
 
 you give Eddie a whole soverei;j;n just because he had one name; 
 it inakca me feel curious somehow.' 
 
 ' And you are sorry you have two ; is that what you mean ^ ' 
 returned Miss Bretherton, looking sharply at the handsome little 
 IVllow. 'Well I can only say, Hugo Medcalf, that you are not at 
 all like your elder brother ; but as you are not above asking, I am 
 not above giving, and though Edmund is the better boy, there are 
 two sovereigns for you.' 
 
 ' Oh no, Aunt Marion, please do not give him money I' exclaimed 
 Kric. ' Hugo has no manners, he ought not to put himself so 
 forward '; but Miss Bretherton took no notice of this remonstrance. 
 
 ' There, run away, children,' she said crossly, ' and leave us in 
 peace. I have nut even the energy to quarrel in this heat. What 
 on earth made you come to this stifling little place ?' she continued 
 angrily; 'have you no thought for those poor children ?' 
 
 ' There were no other lodgings in Highlands, and the Vicarage 
 was under repair. I could not afford to drive over from Biamfield, 
 and beggars cannot be choosers ; it is not so bad aa you think, we 
 have decent bedrooms, and the children are out on the common all 
 day.' 
 
 ' Humph ! well, you have made your own bed, Eric, and you 
 must expect to lie on it.' 
 
 'Certainly, Aunt Marion, and I am not aware that I am asking 
 for sympathy.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton fidgeted, then she fanned herself fiercely, she 
 was evidently putting a strong curb on herself; for some occult 
 rea.«on the sight of her nephew irritiited her, and it cost her an 
 immense effort to speak civilly to him. 
 
 ' You are wondering that I brought Mrs. Herbert with me,' she 
 said after a few moments. ' She did not want to come, and made a 
 dreadful fuss about it, but I brought her as a sort of hostage for 
 my good behaviour. Good temper is not my strong point, and I 
 thought it might hinder (juarrelling to bring a third person. There, 
 you are more comfortable ncnv that I have made that admission, 
 are you not, Mrs. Herbert ? ' 
 
 'There is no need for Mrs. Herbert to be the least uncomfort- 
 able,' and Eric turned to her with a grave smile ; ' we can never be 
 sorry to see her here, she is far too good a friend.' 
 
 * Well, then, as the preliminaries arc so pleasantly settled, we 
 may as well go to the next stage. Eric, I was not particularly 
 gracious to you when you were so good as to giU the other after- 
 noon, but the fact is I was a bit flurried, and it made me cross ; it 
 is never my way to apologise, and you can't teach an old dog new 
 tricks ; but whatever I feel — I am going to be civil this afternoon 
 
 12
 
 178 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 — you and I will never be friends,' and there was a dangerous 
 flash of the blue eyes ; ' but it is no use quarrelling.' 
 
 'It takes two to quarrel, Aunt Marion. However you may 
 provoke me, I never intend to forget that you are my dear mother's 
 sister.' 
 
 Eric spoke with quiet dignity, and Lorraine felt she had never 
 admired him so much as she did that moment; but Miss 
 Bretherton's answer took them both by surprise. 
 
 ' Brent was right ; you are certainly an excellent, God-fearing 
 young man, Eric, and I applaud your magnanimity,' she sneered 
 slightly ; ' would that I could imitate it, but I never learned to 
 practise meekness in my youth. "Well, as you are so ready to 
 endure with Christian patience, it is a pity not to give you some- 
 thing to bear. I suppose, after all that has been done and said, it 
 will not surprise you greatly to hear that I do not intend to make 
 you my heir.' 
 
 ' I understood that long ago. Aunt Marion ; is it not a pity to 
 say this again ? You may be quite sure that I have no expecta- 
 tions of any kind.' 
 
 ' So much the better,' she returned ; ' but I only wanted to be 
 sure that we understood each other. No, Eric, I am not a Christian 
 like you. I will never leave my money to the boy who told me 
 to my face that he hated me.' 
 
 A painful flush crossed Eric's brow. 
 
 ' Aunt Marion, will you let me say something ? Leave your 
 money as you like ; I am well aware that I shall not touch a penny 
 of it ; but, all the same, I have always wanted to ask your pardon 
 for the pain I gave you in those old days. You were too hard on 
 my childish failings, you did not make allowances for a spoiled boy 
 who adored his mother. I was ungrateful and treated you badly, 
 but I have often repented.' 
 
 * Can you tell me to my face, Eric, that you did not hate 
 me?' 
 
 ' 1 did not love you, certainly ; but it was a mistake on your 
 part to force me to live witli you. You bribed me. Aunt Marion, 
 and because I was true to my childish afl'ections you threatened 
 me. When I think of those days at Nefydd Madoc, and those 
 gloomy rooms at Black Nest, I do not wonder at my hating 
 it all.' 
 
 ' Very well, very well ; we will not go back to that,' and there 
 was a sombre light in Miss Bretherton's eyes. ' Your penitence 
 has come too late, Eric ; now, let us go on, and I will tell you 
 what I am willing to do for you.' 
 
 ' You can give me nothing that I am willing to receive,' he
 
 MISS DRETIIERTON HAS HER SAY 179 
 
 lu'gan liaiiglitily, but Lorraine leant forward and whispered in bis 
 ear, 'Be patient for tlie cliildren's sake — think of the children,' 
 and the muscles of his face relaxed a little. 
 
 'Ay, she is right — think of the children, and don't be a fool, 
 Eric. Though I don't jjretend to foigive and be friends, I can't 
 quite forget you are poor Ella's boy ; look here, I stopped that 
 allowance, but I always meant to go on with it again. I have 
 already settled with my lawyer that there shall be a charge of two 
 huTuhed a year on my estate ; it is yours for life, and the two past 
 quarters shall be paid up.' 
 
 * Aunt Marion, do you mean it ? But, no, how am I to take itl' 
 but again Lorraine's light touch warned him; 'the children,' came 
 throu^'h her parted lips, and he checked himself; and then, in a 
 voice of strong emotion, he went on : 
 
 ' How am I to understand you ? You have been a perplexing 
 problem to me all my life, Aunt Marion. You are contradicting 
 yourself every moment. You tell me that we are not friends, 
 and that you will never forgive me, and yet you are dealing 
 generously with me. Do you know what two hundred a year 
 means to me ? ' 
 
 ' I sui)p()se it will keep you out of debt,' was the curt answer. 
 
 ' I have kept out of that already,' he returned gravely ; ' lait it 
 has been hard work. I used to lie awake at night and wonder 
 wl) it I should do. Yesterday Hugo told me his boots were worn 
 out, and I felt all day as it were the last straw. I am not ashamed 
 to tell you this now.' 
 
 ' Well, Well, you have not much cause to thank me,' she replied 
 ungraciously, 'It is in my jiower to make you a rich man, if I 
 chose. Two humlred a year is a paltry sum after that ; but it is 
 all you will ever get from me, Eric. There, don't interrupt me with 
 any more virtuous observations, for I have not lini.'^hed. I want to 
 know what you mean to do with that imp of mi.><chief, Hugo. He 
 will be a nice handful presently. You had better send him to 
 school.' 
 
 ' He is not quite old enough for that. I think I must keep him 
 at home for another year ; but he is certainly viiy troublesome. 
 He teaches Eddie all sorts of mischief.' 
 
 ' Yes ; he is a regular monkey. Did he not get two sovereigns 
 out of me just now with his impudence ? You had better take my 
 advice for once in your life, Eric. Choose any school you like, and 
 leave the rest to me. I will pay his .school bills, and Edmund's too, 
 when he is old enough to go ; so for the future the two boys will 
 be off your hands.' 
 
 • Aunt Marion ! And I am not to thank you for this ! '
 
 180 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 * I hate thanks ' — still more crossly. ' Words, words, words — ■ 
 they mean nothing. What I am doing is for your mother's sake, 
 not yours. I suppose I may be allowed to have some feeling for 
 my only sister. You went to Charterhouse, did you not % ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and my father was a Carthusian too.' 
 
 ' Ah, poor Vincent, so he was ! Well, Hugo Medcalf shall go 
 there too. My lawyer will manage it. The boy must have a 
 proper outfit, and look like a gentleman. Next spring, then, you 
 will hear from Mr. Morgan. He will settle everything without 
 reference to me ; please to bear that in mind. I want no letters 
 or communications of any kind. Mr. Morgan will have full 
 instructions, and any complaints can be made to him.' 
 
 ' I must accept your conditions, Aunt Marion, although they are 
 very hard ; but you shall not prevent me from thanking you. 
 You have lifted off my heaviest burdens, and I am deeply grateful ; 
 but I should be still more so if I could hear you say that in your 
 heart you forgive me.' 
 
 There was something very winning in Eric's manner, and few 
 women could have resisted him. As he spoke, the same curious 
 grey shade that Lorraine had noticed before came over Miss 
 Bretherton's face. But there was no yielding in her voice. 
 
 ' I never told a lie in my life,' she said harshly, ' and I am not 
 going to begin now, and it would be a lie to say I forgive when I 
 don't, I wish you no evil, Eric ; but we are better apart. I am 
 sorry to be so uncomplimentary ; but under some circumstances it 
 is best to tell the truth. Now, my business is done, and I shall 
 just take the next train back to Nefydd Madoc' 
 
 ' Then go, and God bless you,' was Eric's answer, as he put out 
 his hand impulsively. Miss Bretherton did not refuse it ; but she 
 made no response to the strong pressure. 
 
 ' Now, then, Mrs. Herbert,' she said, adjusting her lace cape 
 carefully, and with an imperious little nod of her head she swept 
 out of the room. 
 
 Lorraine lingered a moment. 
 
 ' You behaved nobly, Mr. Vincent,' she whispered, ' You have 
 given me a lesson that I shall never forget. Please do not trouble, 
 Mi.ss Bretherton's hard words mean nothing.-^ 
 
 He smiled, but made no answer to that, and she hastened after 
 Miss Bretherton. She was standing by the palings watching the 
 two boys playing cricket ; but she made no observation until they 
 reached the inn door. 
 
 ' There, I have eased my conscience ! ' she exclaimed, as though 
 she were flinging off a load. ' Now 1 can go back to Black Nest 
 and enjoy myself. Sit down a moment, Mrs. Herbert, it is early
 
 MISS BRETHERTON HAS HER SAY 181 
 
 still, and I am not going to part with you just yet ; it is not often 
 I find a person to suit me.' 
 
 ' But you look so tired, Miss Bretherton ' — looking kindly at 
 the pale worn face — ' you really ought to be quiet now, and I am 
 sure Pritchard would say so.' 
 
 ' Pritchard is an old fool, and I never allow her to manage me. 
 I am only suffering from an attack of moral indigestion — that boy 
 has got on my nerves — he is not nearly so good-looking as he 
 promised to be, and clerical attire does not suit him at all ; he 
 used to be far handsomer than that monkey Hugo.' 
 
 * We all tliiuk Mr. Vincent so nice-looking.' 
 
 ' Well, well, think as you like — there will always be plenty 
 of women to flatter a man, and the Highland ladies are no exception 
 to this rule.' 
 
 Lorraine bore this in silence. 
 
 ' You have all got him on a pedestal, and there he will stop ; 
 but we won't talk about Eric any more, I want to forget him — it 
 has made me sick to hear him with his "Aunt Marion" and his 
 smooth speeches. Why did he not get into a ragel any other 
 young man would have done so in his place — but no, he posed as a 
 Baint — and martyr.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton was evidently working hersL-lf up again, but 
 Lorraine took the conversation into her own hands. 
 
 ' E.xcuse me. Miss Bretherton, but I would rather not talk about 
 your nephew any more, we do not agree on this subject ; in my 
 opinion Mr. Vincent bohavcil splendidly, he was so gentle, manly, 
 and quiet ; now, I really must go.' 
 
 ' Go, if you like ; but you had far better stay. By the bye, when 
 are you coming to Nefydd Madoc 1 you must pay me a visit there 
 Bonje day.' 
 
 This invitation surprised Lorraine ; but she tried to laugh it off 
 — she had no intention of being Miss Brethorlon's guest. 
 
 *I could not have my boy — and you know childrin do not 
 suit you.' 
 
 ' No, they are plagues — the best of ihonj ; and I always vowed 
 that no boy should ever cross my threshold again. Well, I will 
 think what is to be done, and if I find I can put up with it, I will 
 write to you.' 
 
 'Yes, that will be the host plan' ; but Lorraine inwardly told 
 herself that any such invitation would be promjitly refused. 
 Mother Hubbard would not be a desirable hostess. ' Now, I must 
 bid you good-bye, Miss Bretherton,' but her hand was detained. 
 
 ' Good-bye, you are an honest woman, and I mean to see you 
 again some day. I am not sure I can put up with the boy, but I
 
 182 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 will make a bargain with you ; if you ever want a friend, or are in 
 any trouble, just write to me, and I will do what I can for you — 
 come, will you promise me this ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed I will,' returned Lorraine earnestly ; and then a 
 sudden kindly impulse made her stoop and kiss the cold soft cheek. 
 Miss Bretherton did not speak, but Lorraine was almost sure that 
 her lip quivered slightly ; as she walked up the road, she turned 
 round once — Miss Bretherton was standing in the window watching 
 her, but directly Lorraine waved her hand, she drew back, as 
 though to avoid notice.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 AN EVENING AT BRAE HOUSE 
 
 ' The pleasure of love is in loving. We are happier in the passion we feel 
 than in that we excite.' — Rochefoucadlt. 
 
 ' Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, 
 Stains the white radiance of eternity.' 
 
 Percy Bysshk Shelley. 
 
 The next morning the waggonette from the inn carried away ^liss 
 Bretherton and the faithful Pritchard. Eric Vincent, coming out 
 of the school nest door to the forge, raised his hat with a i:rave 
 smile in answer to the sharp little nod, which was all his aunt 
 vouchsafed him, and then stood looking after her until the carriage 
 had disappeared. 
 
 That evening Ellison and her cousin were to diue at Brae House, 
 and Lorraine looked forward to the evening with unusual eager- 
 ness. She was anxious to see Mr. Vincent again, and to talk 
 matters over with him, and secretly hoped that he would be beside 
 her at dinner. But in this she was disai)poiuted. The Rev. 
 EustacTj Cartwright, the High Church curate from Dorchester, took 
 her in to dinner and sat beside her. Colonel Trevor wiis on the 
 other side. Mr. Vincent came in late; but there was a ]>eculiar 
 brightness and animation in his glance as he shook hands with her, 
 and, as he sat opposite to her talking to Muriel, she could not fail 
 to sec that he was in excellent .opirits. He lucked years younger ; 
 his face had lost a certain haggardness which had betrayed the con- 
 stant pressure of anxiety. With the buoyancy of youth he seemed 
 to have thrown otf the load that had oppressed him ; and Muriel, 
 who knew nothing of what had happened, was surprised and even 
 mystified by his unu.-5ual gaiety. 
 
 Lorraine found it impossible to hear what they were saying, as 
 Mr. Cartwright demanded her whole attention. He was imparting
 
 184 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 to her his private views on the possible unity of Christendom, and 
 it needed all her intelligence to comprehend him. Colonel Trevor 
 made no attempt to distract them. He was rather silent, and talked 
 little, even to Ellison. 
 
 Ellison was looking unusually handsome that evening. The soft 
 cream silk, trimmed with fine old lace that had belonged to her 
 mother, set off her fair massive style. She had pronounced the 
 dress as far too smart for anything but a large formal dinner- 
 party ; but Lorraine, who loved to see her at her best, had pleaded 
 the change of fashions, and had urged her not to lay it by. ' On a 
 hot summer's evening one can wear anything,' she had said ; ' and 
 you really look quite lovely in it.' And Ellison had suffered herself 
 to be persuaded. 
 
 More than once Colonel Trevor glanced at her attentively, and 
 thought that she had never looked so well, and there was a grave 
 tenderness in his tone as he addressed her tliat more than once 
 excited a vague surprise in Ellison's mind, but she only smiled in 
 her tranquil way. ' Gavin was very kind,' she thought — ' kinder 
 than ever, perhaps because she was going away.' 
 
 On summer evenings it was always the custom at Brae to 
 assemble in the great conservatory leading out of the drawing- 
 room — coffee was always taken there — and the various cosy nooks 
 were occupied by couples or trios. By chance Lorraine found her- 
 self standing by Mr. Vincent. Muriel had just left them to speak 
 to her brother ; and Eric, who had been waiting for this oppor- 
 tunity, induced her to stroll with him to tlie fernery at the other 
 end of the conservatory. It was a cool, delightful little nook ; a 
 sparkling fountain played amidst the ferns, and the delicious fresh- 
 ness of the green tints was peculiarly restful. Two low hammock 
 chairs had been placed there. Lorraine seated herself in one and 
 looked smilingly at her companion. 
 
 ' I am 80 glad of this opportunity of speaking to you,' she said, 
 with the naive frankness that always put Eric immediately at his 
 ease. ' I have been longing to ask you if yf)U have seen any more 
 of Miss Bretherton ? ' 
 
 ' I only saw her start from the Wwjijon a7id Horses this morning,' 
 he returned, a momentary cloud coming over his face. ' The 
 waggonette passed me as I was coming out of the school. She just 
 nodded to me, and that was all.' Tlien he added a little bitterly : 
 ' I do not intend to delude myself, Mrs. Herbert ; my aunt is 
 terribly consistent. She is loading me with favours, but she will 
 have nothing to do with me personally.' 
 
 *Do not be too sure of that,' rej.licd Lorraine. 'It is not 
 well to take pessimistic views, and human nature gives us odd
 
 AN EVENING AT BRAE HOUSE 185 
 
 surprises now and then. Some day Miss Bretherton may change 
 her mind.' 
 
 *Ah, you do not know her!' he returned. 'Obstinacy is the 
 Bretherton failing, i^fy motlicr lias told me some queer stories of 
 dead and i^one Brethertons. By her account they were singularly 
 faillilul in love and persi.stent in hate. But does it not strike you 
 as strange and unnatural, as I said before, that my aunt should 
 punish the man for the boy's fault ? A generous nature could not 
 go the.se length.s. Think of what she is doing for me,' he con- 
 tinued, aa Lorraine looked at him sympathetically, ' I am to have 
 a sufficient income for my own needs, and the education of the boys 
 is a.-'sured. When I woke this morning I felt a free man, and as 
 though some enjoyment of life were possi])le. Can you under- 
 stand the feeling? and yet the kind word that would have enriched 
 everything was wanting. I must take her bounty and feel myself 
 in disgrace.' 
 
 *0h no, you must not feel like that,' returned Lorraine earnestly. 
 ' Rememljcr that you are dealing with a very eccentric nature. I do 
 not know Miss Bretherton suHiciently well to discuss her character. 
 She is a stranger to mo, but from the little I have seen — and I Wixs 
 a most unwilling intruder on your interview yesterday — I should 
 say that, in spite of all her hard speeches, Miss Bretherton cares for 
 you in her heart.' 
 
 Mr. Vincent shook his head. 
 
 ' I cannot Lay such liattering unction to my soul. I am afraid 
 your kind nature mi.slea<ls you. Mr.'*, llcrliert, do not say again 
 what you ob.served ju.«t now. I am thankful that you were present 
 last evening ; if I hail been alone I should have found it difficult 
 to restrain my.-elf. I do not wish to be hard on a near relative, 
 but I do not think that beauise I Wits a wayward, self-willed child, 
 and behaved badly to her, that I deserved all those gibes and 
 reproivches— at least, I am trying to do my duty now.' 
 
 ' Ves, and Miss Bretherton knows it too. Mr. Vincent, it is 
 hai'd, and you have much to bear. In my own mind 1 think it is 
 wrong and cruel for her to disinherit you. You are her nearest of 
 kin, and have a right to expect her to leave her money to yon.' 
 
 ' You arc. very kind to take my part, and it does me good to 
 hear you,' returned Eric gratefully, ' but I hold a very different 
 opinion. I think my aunt has every right to plciise herself in this 
 matter, and to leave her property as she likes. It was a mere lluke 
 that the money came to her ; it is not in any sense family ])roperty ; 
 she can turn Black Nest into an asylum for idiots if she likes. I 
 do not .«ay that I should not be glad if the money were to come to 
 me, but 1 ncvor expect to rifoivo .uiMther penny, and 1 am deeply
 
 186 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 grateful for what she has done for me. If she would only have 
 given me a kind look and word I should have been more than 
 content. There are two ways of flinging a bone to a dog, and even 
 a dog has a right to his feelings,' 
 
 Lorraine was silent. It was natural, she thought, that Mr. 
 Vincent should be mortified and hurt by his aunt's contemptuous 
 repulse. His masculine pride revolted against her injustice ; and 
 though poverty, and not his will, consented to accept the proffered 
 gifts, there Avas a bitter flavour attached to them. She could 
 understand his feelings so well ; it was no use discussing a painful 
 subject ; it would be wiser to put it aside, at least for the present, 
 and when she said something to this effect he had tacitly agreed. 
 
 It was twilight now, and some coloured lamps among the foliage 
 gave a soft, subdued light. Ellison and Colonel Trevor passed 
 them at this moment on their way to the garden, and at a little 
 distance Muriel was standing talking to Mr. Cartwright. She had 
 a slightly bored expression on her face, and more than once looked 
 longingly towards Lorraine'and her companion, as though she would 
 willingly have joined them. Lorraine noticed it at last. 
 
 ' Miss Trevor is certainly not interesting herself properly in the 
 unity of Christendom,' she said in an amused tone. ' I behaved 
 much better at dinner. Shall we go to her rescue, Mr. Vincent ? ' 
 But this proposition evidently met with no favour. 
 
 ' Cartwright is wrong to ride his hobby so perpetually,' returned 
 Eric calmly. * I daresay Miss Trevor votes him a bore in her 
 heart, but there is no need for us to be bored too. I was just 
 going to propose a turn in the garden, as Trevor has set us an 
 example ; do come, Mrs. Herbert, it is a delicious evening.' 
 
 Lorraine rose at once with her usual good-nature ; she always 
 liked to do what other people wished, if possible ; and in another 
 moment Eric would have got his way and secured her sole com- 
 pany ; but the events of the previous day had unsettled him, and 
 he was not quite on his usual guard. 
 
 Lorraine, turning to him with her pleasant smile, was a little 
 startled by the grave intensity of the glance that met hers. It was 
 no ordinary passing admiration for a congenial companion in 
 Eric's deep-set eyes, and some subtle instinct put her at once on 
 her guard. 
 
 ' I am afraid I must ask you to excuse me,' she said gently, and 
 yet quite naturally. ' I see Mrs. Trevor is all alone, and I have 
 hardly spoken to her this evening ' ; and before Eric could quite 
 realise his disappointment, Lorraine was half across the conservatory, 
 leaving him sorely puzzled. Was it only her usual unselfishness, 
 or had she quiotly repelled him ? Had he in any way betrayed
 
 AN E VENING A T BRA E HO USE 187 
 
 himaelf ? This was what bafHeil him. She had been so kind, so 
 friendly, so sweet iu her woiuauly sympathy ; and then in a 
 moment she had left him, and he saw her gaily chatting with Mrs. 
 Trevor, without another thought for him. 
 
 Poor Eric, he was yoimg enough to feel his disappointment 
 keenly ; he could so seldom get her to himself ; with all her 
 sweetness and sociability the young widow was singularly inaccess- 
 ible. He did not go so far as to think himself badly treated ; 
 but he felt moody and restless, and strolled out into the dark 
 winding walks to recover and pull himself together. ' Well, he 
 was a fool,' he told himself savagely, as he strode down one path 
 after another, 'but after all there was method and wisdom in his 
 madness. How was he to help loving such a woman ? ' Yes — 
 under the summer starlight he said it outright ; it was that ; 
 there was no good in his disguising it from himself any longer — it 
 was love, love, love ; and there Avas no need to be ashamed of it. 
 He had come to Highlands to find his fate — this sweet woman was 
 to be the blessing or sorrow of his life. It was an assured fact, 
 and, poor fellow, how he gloried in it. Most men of his age would 
 have already met with some youthful divinity whom they had 
 enshrined as their ideal, and to whom they had sworn eternal 
 fealty. But, alas, how seldom men wed their ideal. Eric was not 
 of the ordinary calibre ; his life had been too hard-working and 
 full of care to leave him leisure for love in idleness, and for a time 
 his mother had suflicid him. He had not indulged in more than 
 passing fiuicy until he saw Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 'How could he help himself 1' he reiterated passionately, as the 
 cool flower-scented air blew across his heated temples, and stray 
 night-moths fluttered across his path. He had never seen any one 
 like her. He had never a^ked himself if she were beautiful — 
 he had never thouglit about her beauty or lack of beauty ; only 
 from the first day of their meeting a mere glance of her brown 
 eyes had thrilled him throu^-h and through. 
 
 She wius so true, so womanly, so entirely herself in every word 
 and deed, so simple and natural and kindly, that from the first he 
 had been at his ease witli her. No — he was no fool ; every one 
 loved her — the children, and Miss Trevor, and her cousin. He 
 wished that he knew something about her dead husband, poor 
 fellow ; how he pitied him 1 Fancy being married to a woman 
 like that, and then being obliged to leave her. What a grisly 
 enemy death must have seemed to him ! 
 
 Had she cared very much for him ? Strange to say, this doubt 
 had come to him at the beginning of their acquaintance. Mrs. 
 Herbert's calm cheerfulness was too apparent. She was certainly
 
 188 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 no broken-hearted widow, with all her best affections buried in her 
 husband's grave ; and yet she was a woman of strong feeling. Her 
 passionate devotion to her child proved that. He wished he could 
 find out soniethinq about her previous life, but some delicacy pre- 
 vented him from speaking to Muriel Trevor. He knew from her 
 own lips that she had been very poor, for on the subject of her 
 poverty she was always very frank, and she would talk perpetually 
 of her life in Beaumont Street, and of her cousin's generosity. ' I 
 do love to owe everything to her,' she had once said to him. ' I 
 am not a bit proud when I care for any one. She is just a splendid 
 guardian angel to me, and I like to feel safely tucked up under 
 her wings. It is her nature to give, and it is my nature to receive,' 
 she had finished, with a merry laugh at her own quaint conceit. 
 And then she had lectured him playfully on his pride. 
 
 Eric was verj' happy if he had only known it— it is only youth 
 that can be so charmingly miserable. If Werther had not committed 
 suicide, and had allowed himself to live to hale and hearty middle 
 age, he would have looked back on those bread-and-butter days, 
 and his frantic admiration for the clieerful Charlotte, with some- 
 thing like regret. What splendid evenings of woe he had enjoyed 
 with the nightingale. In the retrospect of years those arid desert 
 days seem blossoming with rare roses. One can imagine the elderly 
 and sober-minded Werther saying to himself, 'What a fool I must 
 have been ! She was a nice creature, certainly, Lottchen ; but 
 fancy my destroying myself on her account. Another cup of 
 coffee, my Pauline, and then we will resume our promenade. Do 
 you hear that youngster twanging his guitar under our Carlotta's 
 window % Herz, mein Herz. Oh, the young idiot — the dolt ; but 
 at his age, seest thou, I should have done the same. 
 
 ' The world goes iip and the world goes down, and the sunshine 
 follows the rain. From one generation to another the same old 
 drama is enacted, and youth in its motley plays its perpetual merry 
 jest.' 
 
 Not that it is always a jest, heaven knows — and that youth 
 does not sometimes drink its bitter draught out of life's cup. 
 Young hearts can ache, and some, alas ! break, and some wither 
 and grow old before their time for want of proper nutriment. But 
 to youth, and youth only, belong the splendid dreams that, like 
 the rainbow, span the heavens with an arc of glory, the infinite 
 possibilities, the fragrant pains that, like crushed rose-leaves, emit 
 sweetness from their bruises, and which, rightly taken, form a 
 precious spikenard for future use. 
 
 Oh, pains and penalties inseparable from youth, how impossible 
 to imderstand them rightly, until the years have cleared the vision,
 
 A A' E VENING . / T BRA E HO USE 1 89 
 
 and luoking out over tlie wnikl we no longer 'see men like trees 
 walking.' 
 
 Lorraine, sitting in her snug corner Uilking happily to Mrs. 
 Trevor, broke ofT in her sentence now and then to wonder liow 
 long ^Ir. Vincent would choose to absent himself. Perhaps — here 
 her brow cleared at the thought — he had met Ellison and Colonel 
 Trevor, and the three were pacing the long walk together. 
 
 * It was a little hard on him, but I did it for the best,' she 
 thought, with a sort of wistful tenderness. 'Young men are so 
 odd — they need so little encouragement. Give an inch and they 
 take an ell. I like Mr. Vincent excessively — I would not hurt 
 
 him for worlds ; but — but ' Here Lorraine, blushing a little 
 
 at her own unspoken thought, interrupted herself to go on with 
 the conversation.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AT THE GATE OF WOODLANDS 
 
 "ITie cankers of a calm world and a long peace.' — Shakespeare. 
 'Tis strange, but true ; for truth is always stranger than fiction.' — Btbon. 
 
 That evening was destined to be an eventful one to others besides 
 Eric Vincent. The little drama of human life that was being 
 played out on the pretty stage of a Surrey village was steadily 
 advancing to its climax. But not one of the actors knew their 
 rCle perfectly or understood their proper part. 
 
 To Ellison, tranquil and unobservant, the stroll through the 
 Brae Woods in the soft summer starlight was no different from a 
 hundred others she had taken with Gavin. Perhaps he was more 
 silent than usual, or there was deeper stillness in the Woodlands. 
 It was a sultry evening, and Gavin had complained that there was 
 no air in the gardens, and had persuaded her to extend their walk 
 towards the Woodlands lodge. At that hour they were safe from 
 meeting any one, unless it were some groom or helper from the 
 farm on his way to the village. Ellison, wrapped in her soft fleecy 
 shawl, and walking with uncovered head, looked like some stately 
 white princess out of fairyland with her knight beside her ; for 
 Colonel Trevor's grey overcoat lent itself to the subdued harmony 
 of tones. 
 
 They had reached the gate leading to the lodge, where Gavin 
 had first met Lorraine, and Ellison, leaning indolently against it, 
 looked admiringly at the trim lodge embowered in honeysuckle 
 and roses. A bright radiance of lamp-light streamed from the open 
 window, and the doubtful fragrance of to])acco blended with the 
 fiwf-etest scents ; it reminded Ellison that Gavin had not had hia 
 usual cigarette. 
 
 As she turned to him to mention the oversight, she saw that he
 
 AT THE GATE OF WOODLANDS 191 
 
 was leaning with one arm against the gate watching her ; some- 
 thing in his expression gave her a curious thrill of mingled nervous- 
 ness and fear. 
 
 'You have forgotten your cigarette,' she said, quickly averting 
 her face and regarding the lodge window. An undefinable feeling 
 made her wish that they were back in the Brae drawing-room ; 
 but even as this thought passed through her mind, a quiet hand 
 was laid on hers, and another lightly placed on her shoulder brought 
 her face to face with Gavin. 
 
 ' Never mind the lodge,' he said with odd percmptoriness. ' It 
 looks as it always does — picturesque and cosy. I did not wish to 
 light my cigarette, fur I have rather serious work on liand to-night 
 We are lx)th of us a trifle nervous, Ellison. What makes your 
 hand so cold, and why are you afraid to look at me ? Surely you do 
 not fear what I am going to say, that I love you ? ' Then a great 
 terror suddenly took possession of Ellison's quiet soul, for she knew 
 the dreaded moment had come, and that the crisis of her life had 
 arrived. Other men had told her tliat they loved her, had patiently 
 and persistently wooed her ; but all their ardent words had not 
 disturbed her serenity. She had sent them away, with some sad- 
 ness, it is true, but no hesitation in her manner ; but no such 
 Bending away was possible now. 
 
 In a moment the heaven of her still content seemed broken up 
 with a sudden electrical storm, and her singular temperament quailed 
 like a frightened bird, who.se nest had been scorched by the lightning. 
 A rush of unknown and agitating emotions made her breathless 
 and white to her lii)S. She knew what was coming and why he 
 had lirought her here to the boundary line of his estate. He was 
 going to ask her to be his wife ; and though Helen was not for- 
 gotten, she was to be invited to fill her place. 
 
 It cannot be denied that Ellison's nature differed strangely from 
 other wpmen's ; she shrank vaguely from the vi-ry words and looks 
 that would have been like the elixir of life to an emotional nature. 
 If only she could arrest those words on his lips and prevent him 
 from saying them. How was she to explain to him that she was 
 not yet ready ; that any change in their position would be ex- 
 quisitely painful to her ; that it was necessary fur her to become 
 used to the idea before she could pledge hereelf ? No thought of 
 refusing him entered her head. Was it likely that she could refuse 
 him anything ? Imt if, without hurting him, she could explain — 
 could ward olF the dreaded question. 
 
 'Why are you so pale, dear?' he asked, still holding her steadily 
 before him, and there was a hurt tone in his voice. ' Surely — you 
 cannot really be afraid of me,' — but all the same he could read the
 
 192 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 terror in her blue eyes ; the light from the lodge window made every 
 change of expression visible to him. 
 
 ' I think I am afraid,' slie almost whisj^ered. ' Gavin, do not be 
 hurt at something I am going to say. You know I am a little odd 
 in things, and different from other women — you have often told 
 
 me so — but I want you ' And here she paused, unable to go on ; 
 
 the very grasp of those thin, sinewy hands was telling her mutely 
 that he was stronger than she, and would have his way. 
 
 Her nervousness was so excessive that it made him smile, though 
 he was a trifle nervous himself, but he was very gentle and patient 
 with lier. 
 
 ' I cannot have you look so distressed, dearest,' he said soothingly. 
 ' Tell me what it is you want, and I will see if it be possible. You 
 shall have your say first ; will that content you ? ' 
 
 ' You are very kind,' she returned, almost under her breath. 
 Never, never had the stately, self-possessed Ellison looked so sub- 
 dued. 'I want you not to say any more to-night, but to wait ' — here 
 her voice was scarcely audible—' until I return from Switzerland ; 
 it — it will give me time to get used to the idea.' 
 
 ' You are sure that you know all I was going to say,' he 
 asked, with a grave smile, and she bowed her head without speak- 
 ing. How could she fail to know, when look and touch were so 
 eloquent ? 
 
 Colonel Trevor looked disturbed ; this was plainly not what he 
 intended ; his plan had been that he and Ellison should plight 
 their troth before she left England ; but it was evident that this 
 was not her wish. 
 
 ' You are a dear woman,' he said, dropping her hands, and leaning 
 against the gate again ; ' but you are not faultless, you are dis- 
 appointing me terribly to-night.' 
 
 ' Am I ? I am so sorry, Gavin, and I should so like to please 
 you.' 
 
 ' You could please me easily by letting me finish,' he said, looking 
 alert and eager in a moment ; but she lifted her eyes \ they were 
 full of pain and entreaty. 
 
 'I am very selfish, but will you please me in this, dear Gavin? 
 it is only for five or six weeks.' 
 
 ' Only ! I don't believe you care for me in the least,' he returned 
 almost angrily — ' I mean in the way I want you to care, or you 
 would not put me off for five or six weeks.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I do,' she replied earnestly, and then grew crimson over 
 the admission. ' Gavin, you know I am a little odd ; don't be hurt, 
 please, but just give me my way for once.' 
 
 ' Does that mean that you are never to have your own way
 
 AT THE GATE AT WOODLANDS ^ 193 
 
 ag.iin ?' willi a searching j,']auce thatsoemetl to probe ker very soul , 
 liLiliaiis he was coiileiit with tlie result of his survey, for a half 
 smile cjime to his lips. 
 
 ' Very well,' he returned, taking her hand gi-ntly ; ' you are very 
 wilful, most inconveniently so, but I must yiL-ld, I suppose ; but 
 let us clearly understand each other. I am to leave you free until 
 you return from Switzerland, and not trouble you with any worry- 
 ing letters ; well, I will submit to my share of the bargain if you 
 will faithfully promise to fulfil yours ; that is, to give me the 
 earliest possible opportunity after your return to finish my inter- 
 riqited si)eech ; and lastly ' — and here he looked into her eyes — 'to 
 give me the answer that I am longing to hear.' 
 
 ' I promise,' she replied in a low voice, but she did not look at 
 him. 
 
 'Faithfully, Ellison !' 
 
 ' Yes, faithfully — and thank you — thank you for being so patient 
 with me ! ' 
 
 ' I think I dt-?erve all the thanks you choose to give me' ; and 
 then stooping over her he kissed her broad, white brow ; his touch 
 was so gentle that it did not startle her, although she had never 
 received a caress frtmi him before. 
 
 'We may as well go back now,' he said, placing her hand on his 
 arm, and vt-ry siKiitly tht-'V walked back through the Woodlaiuls. 
 
 Colonel Trevor was not unhappy after all, he knew that be had no 
 cause inr fear. Averse as she was to matrimony, and reluctant to 
 give up her treasured inde]iendeuce, he knew in his inmost heart 
 that he was much to her ; that the tranquil affection she had long 
 given him would soon be quickened and stimulated ; and though 
 the delay vexed him, he was aware that he was sure of winning her 
 at liust. Ellison might be a little cold amd reserved, but she was 
 true as steel. 
 
 Their long aV)seiu'e had been noticed by two ]>eo]ile more than 
 once. Mrs. Trevor had looked anxiously at the door leading inte 
 the garden, and Lorraine had wondered fnst to herself and then 
 aliuul what had become of Ellison. 
 
 When at last the truants made their appearance, and Ellison sat 
 down beside them, each of them made their private comment. 
 Mrs. Trevor, who was very quick-witted, saw at once that something 
 had happened. Had they (luarrelled ? Ellison certainly did not 
 look like herself ; but no, she would never quarrel with Gavin, the 
 thing Wi\s impossible ; had he — and here Mrs. Trevor's heart gave 
 a quick beat of excitement — had her wish been realised, had Cavin 
 like a sensible man asked Ellison to marry him ? She had not 
 refuseil him, certainly, fur her son looked far too placid for such 
 
 18
 
 194 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 a notion to enter her head ; very probably Ellison had asked to 
 think over it a little ; and here Mrs. Trevor certainly grazed the 
 truth very closely. 
 
 Meanwhile Lorraine was saying to herself : 
 
 ' Something is troubling Ellison ; she has a worried expression. 
 I never saw her look like that before. I do not think Colonel 
 Trevor is in his iisual spirits to-night either ; he was so silent at 
 dinner. How I wish she would confide in me ; I do so long to 
 help her, but there is no chance of that, I am afraid ; Ellison is 
 far too strong to need sympathy ' ; and then some one proposed 
 that Mrs. Herbert should sing, and the little group in the conserva- 
 tory broke up. Colonel Trevor walked home with them as usual, 
 but Eric Vincent made some excuse and left early ; they were rather 
 a silent little trio, though Lorraine made a cheerful remark now and 
 then ; but as they crossed the Brae meadow, Colonel Trevor roused 
 himself to say playfully : 
 
 'We are a very quiet party. Ellison, you remind me of the 
 enchanted princess in the fairy tale, who was compelled to be 
 dumb for a time. I remember she wore some shimmering gown 
 of cloth of silver, and in this dim light all that whiteness seems to 
 shine somehow, as though it were woven moonbeams.* 
 
 ' What a jncturesque idea,' returned Lorraine, with a merry 
 laugh ; but Ellison only smiled faintly. ' Why had she bedecked 
 herself with that bridal finery ? ' she thought, as she drew her fleecy 
 wrap round her with a little shiver she could not control. Colonel 
 Trevor noticed it, and asked anxiously if she were cold. 
 
 ' The dews are unusually heavy to-night,' he said ; and then the 
 lights of Brae Farm came in sight, and at the little gate they 
 parted. 
 
 ' Shall I see you again before I go ?' asked Ellison ; she put the 
 question with a little effort as she gave him her hand. 
 
 'I fear not,' he answered gravely ; 'you know I have to go to 
 London to-morrow evening, and then to Chichester, and you leave 
 early on Monday. No, we shall not meet again for some weeks, I 
 fear.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see — I hope you will have a pleasant time ' — and then 
 with a silent hand-pressure they parted ; there was nothing more 
 to say. For the first time in her life Ellison was glad to think 
 that there wa.9 no ]>rospect of seeing Gavin the next day. 
 
 Lorraine followed her to her room to offer her help, but Ellison 
 did not invite her to remain. * Have you had a pleasant evening? ' 
 she a.sked ; '5'ou looked as tliough you were enjoying yourself. I 
 hojie you will not mind, Lorraine, but I am too tired to talk things 
 over to-night,' and she dismissed her with a kiss.
 
 AT THE GATE AT WOODLANDS 195 
 
 Lorraine loolco<l very grave as she witlnlrew. ' WTiat can have 
 gone wren-,'?' slie eaid to herself. 'Surely — surely she cauuut 
 have refu.<e(l him. They both look ditfereut, somehow ; and she 
 seemed so .sliy and silent witli him. Oli, why Mill slm not let me 
 hclj) herl Ellison is so self-contained, she will never ask any one's 
 advice.' And then she kissed her boy, and her eyes suddenly filled 
 with tear& 
 
 Lorraine could not have explained the ruoh uf sadness that took 
 possession of her, or why the thought c;ime to her suddenly, that 
 she had not had her good things like other women. The devotion 
 of a man like Ralph Herbert had been only an unspeakable degra- 
 dation ; to a woman of her nature, a daily and hourly trial, a 
 grievous burden from which only grim death could free her. She 
 had no tender relenting memories of him ; her very pity for him 
 was bordered with contempt. For the tii-st time it crossed her 
 mind what it must be to be loved by a man like Colonel Trevor, 
 a man who was at once strong and gentle and unselGsh, who had 
 no low aim.<;, no hidden vices, and wliose very faults did not de- 
 tract from his real nobility ; a man who was never afraid to .speak 
 the truth, and to whom crooked dealings were impossible. ' He is 
 good as far as human frailty allows him to be,' she said to herself. 
 ' No one can be perfect in this life ; but as far as I can judge, he 
 is worthy of her. Surely she cannot hesit^ite ; she must know ; 
 she must surely know that the woman Colonel Trevor marries is 
 sure to be happy '; and then she laid her cheek against her boy's soft 
 hair. ' Tedo, my darling,' she whispered, 'if you do not grow up 
 a good man you M'ill break your poor mother's heart.' And then 
 she cried a little, with some curious indefinable emotion, and knelt 
 down and said lur simple prayers ; and when she aro.ve from her 
 knees the weight had lifted. 
 
 Meanwhile Ellison had drawn an easy-chair to the window, and 
 was sitting looking out into the summer darknes.s with wide un- 
 seeing e5'es. She must tliiuk thiiiL's over — tli.it wa- In.w she ])ut 
 it to herself. 
 
 Once, when she wjis a mere child, her niullicr had found her 
 sitting in a dark corner with lier face to the wall, and had fondly 
 questioned her; had she been naughty, or was something troubling 
 her thirling ? 
 
 'Oh no,' Ellison liad replied. ' Xursie says I am very gooil — 
 that .'she never did see such a good child — but I thought it would 
 be nice to shut every one out, one does have such a lot of ihought-s 
 sometimes, aiul they are so confusing, they make my head giddy.' 
 
 Ellison's thoughts were turning her giddy now — she w.-is simplv 
 dazed. She had never indulged much in introsjiection, or troubled
 
 196 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 herself about the inner workings of her mind. After the fashions 
 of some women, psychological questions did not interest her. She 
 had no curious instincts. It puzzled her how people cared to take 
 a clock to pieces in order to understand its mechanism. It was 
 suilicient for her tliat tlie clock kept good time. 
 
 Now and then Ellison felt vaguely that she was lacking in some 
 quality which was common to ordinary natures. Why was she so 
 content with her environment % Other women in her position would 
 have married long ago ; but she had never felt any desire to give 
 up her freedom. She was so happy, so entirely content. Gavin's 
 friendship had so completely satisfied her ; he was the chief 
 element in her happiness, the nucleus of all her interest. His 
 masculine opinions had endorsed and strengthened hers. In her 
 opinion there was nothing missing in her life — nothing that she 
 wished altered or improved. 
 
 The mistress of Brae Farm was a contented woman. At seven- 
 and-twenty she looked out fearlessly and happily on life ; she never 
 asked he*'self how it would be in future years ; for the present she 
 desired no change. 
 
 But now her trusty friend had sounded the keynote that was 
 bringing crashing discords and tremors to her tranquil mind. 
 Gavin cured for her — more than she had guessed — he loved her 
 well enough to wish to make her his wife;, and yet, strange to say, 
 this idea gave her more pain than pleasure. 
 
 AVith all her quiet matter-of-fact, Ellison was dimly conscious 
 of unknown capacities in her nature ; of hidden depths, of which 
 those who knew and loved her best were ignorant ; and some 
 subtle instinct warned her that she would love and suffer with an 
 intensity that would have surprised ordinary natures. 
 
 True, the ]uusic was dumb at present. Some instruments need 
 a master-hand to bring out their sound and sweetness. Until 
 Gavin .spoke, Ellison was unconscious of the extent of her affection 
 for him. Friendsliip is sometimes an elastic term, and includes 
 much, and with all her good sense and cleverness Ellison was little 
 better than a big, inexperienced child ; she had often amused 
 Gavin by her crude and unsophisticated notions of life. 
 
 ' Mrs. Herbert could tell you a thing or two, I fancy,' he liad 
 paid to her once very bluntly. ' You are as innocent as one of 
 your own field daisies ' ; and this had rather oppressed her. A 
 wise wokian like Ellison oljjects to be told that she has no know- 
 ledge of life. 
 
 So there was sadness and dismay, but no hesitation in Ellison's 
 mind that uiglit. If Gavin wanted her to marry him, it was not 
 likely that .slie \\ould refuse. But oh, if he only knew what a
 
 AT THE GATE AT WOODEAXDS 197 
 
 mistake he was making, ami how much belter it wouhl be to go 
 on as tlicy were doing, seeing encli other every day. 
 
 She did not attempt to delmle herself. Sha knew Gavin's 
 character too well to think her old independent existence possilde. 
 rjavin would be hor mastarand the master of Brae Farm ; with all 
 his kindness liis S(tldii'r's life had made him a disciplinarian. Ilis 
 wife would feel the iron curb under the velvet glove ; no doubt 
 Helen had, though she had adored him. For the first time in her 
 life Ellison would have to submit to the opinion of another, to 
 wait for another's decision, and it would be no easy lesson to her. 
 
 ' I wish I were more like other people,* she sighed at last 'I 
 ouglit to be so haj'py instead of making myself miserable. I 
 know I have dis.ippoiiited him this evening ; but how could I help 
 iti How is a woman to help her nature ? Dear Gavin, he was 
 8o good, so patient with me ; but if he only knew how he has 
 8[)oi!t things. I shall not care for Switzerland one bit now. I 
 shall only lie thinking of him, and worrying my?=elf about things, 
 and longing and dreading to see him again ' — and here a hot 
 blu-^h came to her face, for all at once the five weeks seemed a 
 weary period of absence, and her longdooked-for visit appeared in 
 the light of an e.\ile. ' I wish I were not going. I wish some- 
 thing would happen to prevent it' — and then she gave a vexed 
 little laugh at her own inconsistency. No, it was no use trying to 
 understand herself, she was far too upset to be reasonable. When 
 a person was over-excited it was safer to leave all cogitation 
 until the iniiriiing, and with this sensible rellection she wont to 
 beil, and then lay open-eyed and weary until the cheerful dawn 
 and the faint twitter of waking biitls soothed her, and she slept. 
 But thotigh she did not know it until long afterwards, it was a 
 dilferent ]Cllisi>n who rose from her bed that fair summer morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 15AIRN LOSES HIS MISTRESS 
 
 ' Put sa<lnuss away from yoii, for truly sailiicss is tlic sister of half- 
 heartedness and bitterness.' —.%t!^V(c?Y^ of Jlermas. 
 
 Em-ison's beliavionr dnrinr,' llie few ensuing days that remained 
 before her departure conlirnicd Lorraine in her conviction that 
 something serious had liappened tliat evening at Brae. Ellison 
 was certainly very unlike lierself. She was restless, distraite, and 
 seemed to dread an unoccupied moment. She was incessantly 
 roving through tlie house, or across the farm with her factotum 
 Sam Brattle and the laitiiful Baiin, and would come back for 
 meals with an uiiwontedly fagged expression on her face. 
 
 She seemed to avoid conversation, except on the most general 
 topics, and never once mentioned the Brae people. When Lor- 
 raine begged her playfully to put aside her letters and accounts 
 and be idle a little, she only shook her head with the excuse that 
 she was far too busy. Yet if Lorraine left the room for ever so 
 brief an absence, she always foujid her on her retuiii sitting with 
 her hands in her lap, and her eyes fixed on some distant object 
 as though she were lost in thought. A sudden question at such 
 a moment seemed to startle and annoy her, and she would answer 
 with an impatience bordering on irritability. 
 
 One evening, wlien she seemed unusually restless, and was 
 pacing aimlessly up and down the ganleii patlis, Lorraine put 
 down her work and joined her. 
 
 'The weather was unusually sultry, and Sam Brattle, who was 
 rather low in his spirits just then, had indulged that morning in 
 the most dreary prognostications. 
 
 'The weather's meaning mischief,' he had observed discon- 
 Holately. 'Tlicy were saying over at Darley that there is a storm 
 brewing that will do a deal of harm. There has been too long a
 
 BAIRN LOSES 11 IS MISTRESS 199 
 
 (houglit, and tlio licit of tlic sun is over-fierce, and when the 
 sloriii coiiiid it will be a rare one.' And Ellison could not help 
 cigrcein},' with liini. 
 
 She made no observation when Lorraine gently slipped her 
 hand underneath her ann and coninienced keeping pace with her ; 
 and they niaile the round of the garden in silence. 
 
 Presently Lorraine said very quietly: *I wish you would tell 
 ine what has been troubling you these last two days, dear — ever 
 since we dined at Brae. I shouM so love to help you ! ' 
 
 The question seemed to startle Ellison ; a quick flush came 
 to her faca All at once her conscience pricked her. Had she 
 been so disagreeable that Lorraine should ask that ? 
 
 ' Of course I see that you are worried, and have something on 
 your mind,' continued Lorraine impulsively. ' You are not a 
 bit like yourself — not a bit like my dear old cheerful Ellison. 
 There is nothing very wrong, is there, dear?' 
 
 This seemed almost to shock Ellison. 
 
 'There is nothing wrong at all,' she returned quickly. 'What 
 can have put such a thing in your head, Lorraine?' And then 
 her voice changed and shook a little. ' I do not like you to say 
 that. I am not troubled — I mean,' interrupting herself, 'I ought 
 not to be troubled, fur I have no real cause for anxiety.' 
 
 ' Some people are clever enough to invent their own worries,' 
 observed her cousin cheerfully ; ' but you arc no eelf-torraentor. 
 Your worries are not imaginary ones.' 
 
 ' I begin to think one may be mistaken about oneself, after all,' 
 returned Ellison in a tired voice. 'Perhaps Sam Brattle is 
 right, and tlicre is a stonn brewing. We shall feel clearer when 
 it has passed.' 
 
 ' I thought you were weather-proof,* replied Lorraine reproach- 
 fully. ' No, no, Ellison — you shall not put me off with an excuse 
 of that kiml. You may tell me in plain language to hold my 
 t(mguo, if you like, and leave you in peace, and I will submit ; but 
 no such trivial, llinisy cvcuse between you ami me.' 
 
 Then a smile did come to Ellison's face. 
 
 'Ydu arc right, Lorraine dear,' she said penitently; 'and I 
 will not throw dust in your eyes if I ci\n help it. But indeed 
 there is nothing that I can tell you. One cannot help being a 
 little thoughtful sometimes. As Gavin says, " Life is fearfully 
 coniidex." ' It was curious how she hesitatcil aa she spoke the 
 name, as though it had suddenly become dinicult to her. 
 
 Lorraine's eyes opened rather widely as she heanl it, and said 
 to herself: 'It will all come right. It is nothing after all. As 
 poor Balpli used to say, "She is only bhying at the bit."' And
 
 200 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 that night she said no more, for which forbearance Ellison was 
 secretly grateful, though she marvelled at it. 
 
 The next day Lorraine herself felt vxnaccountably depressed. 
 She had awakened so, and not all her efforts could shake it off. 
 She spent rather a solitary day, for Ellison, who was to leave 
 Highlands early the next morning, was very busy packing and 
 giving lier final orders to her household. Not only Sam Brattle, 
 but Mrs. Tucker, Joe Brand, Daniel, and Eunice had their several 
 instructions. Lorraine was to be mistress, fro tern., and Mrs. 
 Tucker and Sam were to be her chief lieutenants. ' You can 
 always consult Cousin Louise or Gavin if you are in any difficulty,' 
 she had remarked earlier in the day. 'We are going to such 
 out-of-the-way places that I fear letters may be delayed a little. 
 But you can always act safely on their advice without reference 
 to me. It will be sure to be right.' 
 
 She had spoken a little hurriedly, sorting the papers on her 
 table all the time ; but as she was leaving the room she said, in 
 lier old matter-of-fact tone : ' Sam will not trouble you much ; he 
 knows my wishes. If he is in any perplexity he will go up to 
 Brae House of his own accord. He is used to doing it when I 
 am away.' 
 
 Lorraine listened and assented. Then, as Dorcas was busy 
 helping her mistress, she went up to the Dovecote to amuse Tedo. 
 The still intense heat was trying him and making him fretful. 
 His unusual naughtiness added to Lorraine's discomfort. She 
 never punished him without suffering herself ; but she dared not 
 spoil him. Her love for her child, though it verged on idolatry, 
 never blinded her to the fact that he might possibly inherit one 
 or other of his father's faults, and it was her constant prayer that 
 she might see and check any such failing. Ralph had been a 
 petted child, and the false indulgence of a doting, injudicious 
 mother, more mindful of the outward than the inward graces of 
 the handsome lad, had fostered dangerously the ill weeds that 
 thrive in such soils. Lorraine knew this and took warning. 
 
 Wlien Tedo came out of his corner, languid with crying and 
 very contrite, Lorraine would have liked to cry herself, but she 
 refrained as she kissed him. 
 
 ' My boy is a good boy now,' she said cheerfully. And Tedo 
 laid his curly head against her shoulder in a perfectly contented 
 manner. 
 
 'Boy means always to be good now, for ever and ever, amen.' 
 For tliis was his usual formula, his sign and treaty for the future ; 
 and for once the quaint speech did not excite a smile. On the 
 contrary, she made a plaintive little response.
 
 BAIRN LOSES HIS MISTRESS 201 
 
 * I lidpc SO ; it docs tiro jioor mother dreadfully when Tcdo i& 
 uaii-^lity." 
 
 Tedo looked alarmed at this. He took his mother by the chiu 
 ami looked at her anxiously. 'You wi.n't he tired no more — 
 there 1 ' he announced triumi>hantly ; and then he went off to 
 play with Tweedledee. 
 
 Late that evening,', when Ellison came down from her room, 
 she found Lorraine sitting in the cosy nook in rather a forlorn 
 attitude, her hands clasped behind her head, and an unmistakable 
 look of depression in her eyes. She did not rouse herself, but its 
 her cousin was about to pass her, she suddenly put out one hand 
 and drew her down l>eside her. 
 
 ' Do sit down and be quiet a moment,' she said imploringly. 
 ' 1 have not seen you all day, and to-morrow you will be gone.' 
 
 ' There was so much to do,' returned Ellison apologetically, 
 'but I have (jnite fniLshed now, Lorraine, you must be very kind 
 to poor I'airn ; he is dreadfully low-spirited to-night. He will 
 ]>ersist in lying on my box. I believe he means to sleep tliere ; that 
 is always his way. lie thinks as long as my box is there I am safe.' 
 
 ' Dogs are so sagacious 1 Oh yes, Tedo and I will do our best 
 to comfort him, poor old fellow ! But, oh dear, I am dull my.self 
 to-night. I can't think what ails me. I wish you were not going, 
 Kllisun. All day long I have been wishing that ; I woke witli tiie 
 feeling this morning, and I cannot get rid of it Do you believe in 
 presentiments ?' 
 
 ' 1 suppose I do — most people do ; but I do not call every little 
 passing feeling of melancholy a presentiment.' And then she 
 looked at her cou.'^in all'ectionately. 'It is nice to think you will 
 miss mo, dear, and be glad to welcome me home. And you will 
 not be dull, Lorraine. Vou and Muriel will be togetlier all day. 
 I know you both well enough for that.' 
 
 * I iim afraid you are wrong there. I have had a fresh blow 
 this evening,' returned Lorraine dejectedly. 'Muriel has just been 
 here. The Medlicotta will tjxke no refusal. They are very oUl 
 friends of her father's, she says, and her mother seems quite hurt 
 becau.se she has declined to go to them ; so to siitisfy them all she 
 has promi.'^ed to go on Thursday for a fortnight. She declares that 
 she will not stny a day longer ; but one knows how dillicult it is 
 to keep one's resolutions in such cases.' 
 
 ' Ilfraconibe will do Muriel a world of good,' rej>lied Elli-^on 
 thoughtfully; 'and I know Gavin will be pleased. Muriel never 
 can bo maile to realise that she owes some duties to her old friends; 
 but I am sorry on your account, Lorraine, and I don't wonder you 
 feel dull.'
 
 202 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 'I don't believe I am dull on Muriel's account, though I shall 
 miss her badly ; we were going to do all manner of things together. 
 I have offered to teach Nora for an hour every morning ; I have so 
 much on my hands that I dare not undertake more ; at her age it 
 is a pity to lose even a fortnight.' 
 
 ' There I agree with you ' — but Lorraine interrupted lier. 
 
 ' There is one thing I must ask you, Ellison, before I forget it. 
 Hugo is such a monkey, that I never dare believe his tales. I 
 think he invents them now and then. Did you really give him 
 and Eddie leave to sail their boat in the big pond whenever lie 
 liked ? ' 
 
 ' Whenever he liked. Certainly not ; why, they might get 
 trampled by the cattle or horses when they come down to drink. 
 What I told Hugo was this ; that they might bring their boats 
 early in the afternoon when things are quiet. Daniel is generally 
 at leisure then, and can easily look after them. Hugo has strict 
 orders from me never to go near the pond when he and Edmund 
 are alone, and he has promised me faithfully that he never will do so ; 
 why, Lorraine, the pond is quite deep in the middle. I have told 
 Sam that I want to have some more fencing put up in one part ; 
 but he says it will be so awkward for washing the carts and 
 things.' 
 
 ' I found Hugo very near it this afternoon, but he certainly had 
 no boat I fancy he was throwing stones, for the geese looked 
 angry, and the old gander was hissing dreadfully. Hugo was a 
 little sulky when I questioned him, and not in the best of tempers. 
 He said Daniel was busy and his boat was broken, and his brother 
 liafl not had time to mend it, and Miss Lee wouldn't mind his 
 looking at the pond if he did not go near it, for she had told him 
 and Edilie that they might sail their boats whenever they liked, 
 and he made Eddie corroborate this.' 
 
 * You must just explain matters to Hugo ; a little plain speaking 
 will do him good. I hope those children will not harass you, 
 Lorraine, they seem to have the run of the farm at all hours. I do 
 not like to check them, for Mr. Vincent's sake, but I wish Hugo 
 could be at school this year.' 
 
 * I begin to wish the same,' returned her cousin with a sigh ; 
 'it is not the trouble I mind, for I love to hear the chihlren about 
 the place, and Effie is a darling, but Hugo teases Tedo sometimes; 
 lie is 80 strong and rough, and my boy is so delicate ; but he is as 
 fond as possible of Hugo, and is always wanting to play with him.' 
 
 * Tedo is getting stronger every day ; Cousin Louise and I were 
 saying so yesterday,' remarks Ellison conclusively. 'Dr. Huwell's 
 tonic suits him.' And this opinion cheered Lorraine immen.sely.
 
 BAIRN LOSES JUS .\f /STRESS 203 
 
 That siicech of Colonel Trt-vor's liail wciHlicd on her heart very 
 heavily, far more he^ivily than he cniiM have guessed ; she had 
 often lain awake at night thinking of it. 
 
 ' Do not hold him too tightly. I had a treasure too, and I lost 
 it' The peculiar gravity of the voice with whicli he sai<l it had 
 affected her strangely. 
 
 Ellison went to bed early that night, for she was to start at 
 seven ; her active day liad somehow restored her balance, and she 
 looked more like her own self as she handed the key-])a8ket to 
 Lorraine with a little speech s?he had prepared for the occasion. 
 
 'You may open every door yon like, there are no Blue Beard's 
 cu])boar(]s at Brae Farm,' she said jilay fully ; and Lorraine replied, 
 witli assumed gravity, that the sight of her cousin's metluKls and 
 contrivances would be a liberal education in housekeeping. She 
 was down in ample time to see Ellison enjoy her early breakfast ; 
 but it maybe doul)ted whether she or Bairn felt more low-spirited. 
 Wlien the actual moment came for saying good-bye. Bairn's tail 
 was limp, and flapped distressfully against the ground, and there 
 was a strained almost human look in his eyes as Ellison patted his 
 glossy head ; but Lorraine unselfishly kept herself and her feelings 
 in the background. 
 
 'Gooil-bye, Ellison darling,' she said with a semblance of 
 cheerfulness. 'I will try and t.ike care of everything and every- 
 boily ; have a real l'(mm1 time and come back ami tell us all about 
 it' 
 
 Ellison smiled and kissed her with unusual all'ection, then she 
 lifted Tedo iu her arms : ' Be a good boy and take care of mother,' 
 she said, pressing the little fellow to her heart She had no idea how 
 fond she was of him until that moment ; but Tedo's endearing 
 little ways had won her heart. .\s the waggonette turned out of 
 the gate she leant forward for a last glance. Lorraine was standing 
 in the porch in the morning sunshine, her slim girlish figure in its 
 black gown framed against the creepers ; the chiM and dog were 
 still beside her ; the light breeze had brought down some white 
 rose-leaves that fluttered on her hair, giving her a faint white halo 
 in the ilistaiKe. ' Dear Lorraine, how I have grown to love her,' 
 thought Ellison, as she settled herself with a sigh in the comer of 
 the waggonette.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 TUE TWO CULPRITS 
 
 'The ivuik is Imt tlic .yuinca stamp, 
 The iiiau's tlie gowil, for a' tliat.' 
 
 Burns. 
 
 *0 bow full of briers is this working-day world.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Muriel came down to the farm an limir or two later, and spcnl 
 most of the day tliere ; and as Lorraine declared that tlie house I'elt 
 empty and desolate without its mistress, they took their work and 
 sat in the Brae Woods with Tedo and the dogs. There was no air 
 anywhere, but the cedars afforded them a grateful shade. Muriel 
 was not in her usual spirits — the old discontented fretfulness was 
 apparent in her manner. Rome was not built in a day ; and no 
 man or woman, however earnestly he or .-ihe may desire to amend 
 these faults, can root tliem up in a moment. 
 
 Muriel chose to pose for a martyr, because her good old friends 
 had been kindly peremptory and refused to let her off. She had no 
 wi.sh to leave Highlands. She grumbled a good deal about the 
 length of the journey, and her dislike to what she termed 'a rabl)le 
 of young people of all ages.' But Lorraine only smiled a little 
 incredulously, and assured her that she was mistaken, and that the 
 change would do her good ; but Muriel's next speech amused her 
 still more. 
 
 ' You arc not a bit sympathetic this morning, Mrs. Herbert. 
 But it is really very vexatious my going away just now. I am 
 not likely to see Mr. Vincent, as Gavin is away, but I wish you 
 wouhl tell him that I really am obliged to go, and that I would 
 not neglect Nora if I could help it.' 
 
 'But we have settled that Nora is to come to me,' returned 
 Lorraine, .somewhat surprised at this, and then a sudden thought 
 made her alter her sentence. ' I shall be sure to see him ! ' she
 
 THE TWO CULPRITS 205 
 
 exclaimed soothingly. ' Dou't trouble your head about that, Muriel 
 dear. Mr. VincLiit would never accuse you of neglect, aud be 
 knows i)eojjle must have a change sometimes.' 
 
 ' I dou'l think I rcnuiru change like some iieople,' returned 
 Muriel rather i)erver.sely. ' Molhi-r does. Just fancy, she lias 
 gone up to town again this hot day ; she Bays she has some busi- 
 ness, but of course I know it is only some little fad or other. She 
 is coming back early ; I half thought of driving into Bramfield to 
 meet her if it gets a little cooler.' 
 
 ' 1 would go anyway if I were you,' returned Lorraine gently. 
 • It would be a pleiisant sur^irise for her,' but she thought it better 
 to s;iy no more. Muriel's sellishness was as transparent as a 
 child's. She never thought to disguise it ; it so seldom occurred 
 to her to pay these little attentions to her mother. 
 
 Lorraine knew well why Mrs. Trevor had gone to town so soon 
 again ; she had oU'ei-ed to accompany her, but Mrs. Trevor was 
 afraid Muriel wouhl scent some mystery. ' I should like your 
 society, my dear Mrs. Herbert,' she saitl wistfully, 'but I think 
 it will be better for me to go alune. I oBglit not to be such a 
 coward at my age,' she added, with a tremulous smile. 
 
 Muriel grew a little more cheerful as the morning wore dn, 
 and Lorraine exerted herself to make the time jiass pleasantly. 
 They had bmcheon to^^-ether, and then Muriel went back to lUae. 
 
 Lorraine hesitated over what she should do with herself that 
 evening. It was no use moping indoors. A long walk and some 
 detinite errand would be far more beneficial. Mrs. Trevor had 
 asked her to have luncheon at Brae the next day, aa Muriel was 
 to go up to town early in the afternoon to join Mr. Medlicott and 
 his eldest daughter at the liUngham, and travel down with them 
 the following morning. ' Vou will be able to bid Muriel good- 
 bye, and then we shall get a quiet chat,' Mrs. Trevor ha<l observed, 
 'The house will be so dull without Kllison at fii-st, t-o you must let 
 us »lo all we can to cheer you up.' And Lorraine had gratefully 
 assented. 
 
 She made up her mind at last that she would go and see Mrs. 
 riarke again. She rather disliked the woman than otherwi.-^e, 
 but it was a clear matter of charity. She would take her some 
 jelly and new-laid eggs, and the walk would do Bairn good ; 
 with a dog's unerring instinct he knew she ]>itied him, and he 
 had stuck to her closely all day, even lying on her dress when- 
 ever he had a chance of doing so. 
 
 During the summer months it was Ellison's habit to allow 
 her maids an evening walk whenever they could be spared. It 
 was Eunice's turn this evening, she knew, so she was soniewhat
 
 206 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 surprised to see her sitting quietly at her work at the open 
 window of their sitting-room. 'Are you not going out this 
 evening, Eunice ? ' she asked. ' I thought you always went out on 
 Tuesdays \ ' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am ; but Ruth asked me to change evenings with her 
 this week, she had some business she was anxious to get settled, 
 so as it was much the same to me I did not object.' 
 
 ' Ruth ought to have told me so,' returned Lorraine rather 
 gravely. ' It is necessary for me to know things in your mistress's 
 ab.sence.' 
 
 ' I never thought for a moment that Ruth had not told you, 
 ma'am,' returned Eunice respectfully. All the servants at Brae 
 Farm liked Mrs. Herbert. ' She is not generally so remiss ; but 
 I fancy something was troubling her.' 
 
 ' If she has gone to her mother's, it is no use my going there 
 too,' observed Lorraine, thinking regretfully of the basket of good 
 things that she had packed so carefully. 
 
 ' I don't fancy she is bound for Redlands,' returned Eunice ; 
 ' at least she set off in an oppo.site direction. Ruth is a bit close 
 about her movements, and does not care to be questioned. She 
 saw her mother after evening church on Sunday, for we went 
 there together. Mrs, Clarke was looking very sadly, and in a 
 deal of pain.' 
 
 ' Then in that case I had better go. You need not speak to 
 Ruth about this, I will do so myself ' ; and then Lorraine set 
 olf for the village. ' If the storm would only come,' she thought, 
 as she pushed back her hat. The strange stillness oppressed her 
 — not a leaf stirred. The birds were silent, and took short aim- 
 less flights, as though they were uneasy. The cattle returning to 
 the farm lowed piteou.sly, and the few sheep in the Brae meadow 
 had ceased to nibble dry herbage, and stood in a forlorn group 
 huddled together. 
 
 As Lorraine passed the infant school, Mr. Vincent came oi»t 
 and crossed the road on his way to the low, white cottage oppo- 
 site. He raised his hat and said ' Good evening,' when he saw 
 lier, but for the first time he did not stop to speak to her. 
 Lorraine tried to fancy that he was in a hurry — perhaps some 
 one was ill in the white house. No, he was walking slowly ; then 
 lie stopped and looked back. Lorraine, who had done the same 
 thing, felt a little foolish when he came up to her. 
 
 'Did you want to speak to me?' he asked with unusual 
 gravity. 'They have sent for me to baptize Mrs. Glover's child ; 
 it is delicate, and they fear it may not live until the morning.' 
 
 'That is what I wanted to know, if any one were ill. I am
 
 THE TWO CULPRITS 207 
 
 my cousin's almoner. Wliat name did you (?ay — Clover? Oli, 
 poor Mrs. (jIuvlt! She has lost several children. I will cull 
 and see her to-morrow. Please do not let me keep you, Mr. 
 Vincent ; that is all I w anlcJ to know ' ; and then she held out 
 her hand. 
 
 The impending storm was affecting ever}' one, for certainly 
 Mr. Vincent was not himself ; and the little encounter had not 
 tended to enliven her. 
 
 As she iKi.«;sed the cottage she saw Nora darning socks in the 
 tiny front garden, with Eilie playing beside her. She threw down 
 her work with an e.xclamation when Lorraine passed by the gate 
 and callid her. 
 
 'AViiat an industrious little woman you are, Nora! But let 
 me look at you, child. AVhy, you have been crying,' and Lor- 
 raine turned the pretty Hushed face for a closer inspection. 'I 
 must come in a moment and hear what the trouble is.' 
 
 'Oh, it is nothing,' returned Nora ha.stily ; but even as she 
 spoke, another bright tear-drop rolled down. ' It is babyish to 
 cry because it is hot, and Hugo is so troublesome ; but it dues vex 
 Eric so, and he said this evening that he thought I might manage 
 the boys better.' 
 
 'Does he think you can prevent Ilugo getting into mischief?' 
 asked Lorraine. 
 
 ' No ; but he says I am always at my books, and that I do not 
 watch them enou^^h. But don't you see, Mrs. Herbert, it is no 
 Tise watching, fur Hugo won't mind me a bit. If I tell him not 
 to do a thing, he just laughs and does it before my face. Kric 
 was 80 angry with him this afternoon that he siiit him to bed, 
 Eddie is reading fairy stories to him outside the duor.' 
 
 •Do you think I might go up and speak to him a moment? 
 Would your brother mind V 
 
 ' Ohf dear no ! Eric never minds anything you do ; he said 
 once you always did exactly the right thing.' 
 
 'Will, I linjje he will always think so,' returned Lorraine, 
 colouring a little, but she laughed too. 'Don't cry any niore, 
 Nora dear ; you are a good little sister, and no one must blame 
 you for Hugo's naughtiness. How bcautilully you have dune 
 that darn! I wish Ellison could see it'; and this simjile com- 
 jdiment cheered Nora immensely. 
 
 Eric's orders had been that no one was to go near the culjirit ; 
 but the faithful Eddie, unwilling to be separated from his play- 
 fellow, had stationed himself on a high stool by the keyhole, and 
 was reading in a loud, singsong, monotone voice : 
 
 'So the wicked old fairy turned quite green and danced with
 
 208 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 rage, because Gloriana looked inert; beautiful than ever. Her skin 
 ^vas as white as milk, and her eyes shone like Sapphira's.' 
 
 ' Sapphires, you duffer ! ' shouted an impatient voice from 
 within. ' Hui-ry on, Eddie ! You are so slow — :I never did hear 
 any one read so badly — and I want to get to the part about the 
 prince and the bloodhound.' 
 
 'I am reading as fast as I can!' whined Eddie reproachfully. 
 'You are very unkind, Hugo, and you know there are such long 
 words. I know it ought to be Sapphira.' 
 
 ' I shall kick if you don't hurry up ! ' was Hugo's unfeeling 
 remark. But here Eddie very nearly dropped his book in his 
 surprise at seeing Mrs. Herbert smiling at him. 
 
 ' That is very kind of you, Eddie,' she said, patting his hot 
 cheek. * I am afraid Hugo is not as grateful as he ought to be.' 
 
 'Are you going in?' asked Eddie, opening his eyes widely. 
 ' Eric said nobody must go in.' 
 
 ' I think I may,' returned Lorraine gently. But, as she opened 
 the door, she forgave Hugo his petulance. The small, low room 
 felt intensely hot, and Hugo, tossing on his bed, looked the 
 picture of discomfort, his hands and face hot and grimy. 
 
 The little window was nearly closed. Lorraine propped it 
 open, and straightened the bedclothes and cleared them of super- 
 fluous wraps ; then she washed his face and hands and brushed 
 his hair, to all of which he submitted with much astonishment. 
 Finally she delivered her little lecture. She almost hoped she had 
 made an impression, for he certainly listened. But when she men- 
 tioned Eric's name he frowned and tossed himself angrily. 
 
 'Eric was a tyrant ! He had no right to send him to bed and 
 treat him like a baby. He had done no harm at all. H orders 
 were stupid there was no good in obeying them. But Eric had 
 such a temper ! He had taken him by the arm and shaken him. 
 He would show Mrs. Herbert the bruise.' 
 
 But Lorraine declined to look at the bruise. She quietly 
 reiterated her speech. Hugo must learn to obey. His brother 
 was right to punish him for so daring an act of disoljcdience. 
 
 'I don't care,' muttered Hugo rebelliously. 'I like Eddie best 
 of my brothers. The sovereigns were mine. You saw the old 
 lady give them to me,' for much of the contention was caused by 
 Miss Bretherton's vmlucky gift. 
 
 Lorraine had almo.st forgotten about the pond until she waa 
 leaving the room, but Hugo was tired of all this moralising, which 
 in his own mind he voted 'cheek,' and he answered in an off-hand 
 manner : 
 
 'Oh, he knew all about that. Of course Daniel would be with
 
 THE TWO Ci'LPRirS 209 
 
 them when the}' sailed their hoats. Eric had not mended his yet. 
 It was all spite on Eric's part.' 
 
 ' Oh, if you are goini,' to talk in this way I s-hall leave you, Hugo.' 
 
 And then, indeed, Hugo's conscience pricked liim. She had 
 made him so comforUible — almost cool — and had talked to him 
 so nicely. As Lorraine rose from the bed a email lirown hand 
 clutched her dress. 
 
 ' I won't talk any way you don't like, if you will only stay. 
 But it is so horrid lying here in the daylight' ; and here Hugo's 
 voice w;is a little cliokey. 
 
 Long years afterwards, when he was with his regiment in India, 
 Hugo recalled tliat little scene. He was sitting with two or three 
 other sulialtems in the verandah of his bungalow, enjoying the 
 moonlight, and talking and laughing with his companions. 
 Rawlinson was telling them a droll incident of his childhood. 
 
 * I give you my wonl,' he was saying, * I was one of the cheekiest 
 little beggars you ever saw. I fairly doted on mischief.' 
 
 Ahil then in a moment it all came before him — the little white- 
 washed cottage room, the window that they were obliged to prop 
 opon with hair-brushes, the sloping roof of the forge across the yard, 
 and the sweet-faced woman sitting beside him and looking at him 
 with a kind smile. He could see the slim white hand, with the 
 wedding-ring on it, beside his brown little jiaw. 
 
 'What on earth has gone wrong with Scott?' exclaimed 
 Rawlinson, breaking olF in his narrative. ' Did you see his face 
 just now ? lie looked as though he had interviewed a ghost, he 
 was so white about the gills.' 
 
 ' Oh, lie is a rum sort of chap,' returned a long-legged subaltern, 
 reclining on a couple of chairs. • He is as chummy and pleasant 
 as yon like sometimes, and then he has ([uocr fits of silence. Go 
 on with yiHir tale, Jack. He will come back presently.' 
 
 Rut even as he spoke Hugo had disappeared into the bungalow, 
 and they saw him no more that night 
 
 Lorraine stayed as long as she dared, and then set off at a brisk 
 pace for the Rcdlands, but it seemed as though she were fated to 
 moot with interruptions. 
 
 As she turned off by the pine-woods .she saw Sam Rrattle lean- 
 ing against the g;ite, with his eyes fixed on the gi-ound, and a 
 moody expression on his face. He diil not appear to notice her, 
 but a moment afterwards Lorraine heard his footsteps behind her. 
 
 • I beg your pardon, Mrs. Herbert, but I am wondering if you 
 can tell me what has become of Ruth this evening. She appointed 
 to meet me at the Redlands gate an hour ago. She has not stopped 
 at home by any chancel' 
 
 14
 
 210 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' No, indeed. I am certain of tliat, for Eunice told me that she 
 had gone out. But I am sorry that I cannot give you any infor- 
 mation. I am on my way to her motlier now. Perhaps I shall 
 find her there.' 
 
 But the young bailiff shook his head. 
 
 ' There is no chance of that, ma'am. I have been on the look- 
 out for the last hour and a half, until I am fairly sick of kicking 
 up my heels. I will wait another half-hour, and then I will turn 
 in,' And Sam touched his hat and went back to the gate. 
 
 ' Ruth is playing a dangerous game,' thought Lorraine, as she 
 walked uj) the RedLxnds lane. ' There is a look on Sam Brattle's 
 face to-night as though he had made up his mind to take strong 
 measures. He is not in a pleasant temper, I am afraid. Where 
 can Ruth be ? Perhaps, after all, she has decided to avoid Sam by 
 taking the path through the plantation. It is a steep climb, but I 
 suppose she would not mind that. People who play a double game 
 cannot be too nice.' Lorraine had only surmised this out of her 
 inner consciousness. ll gave her a sort of shock, therefore, when 
 she cnu^ht sight of two people on the road before her. There was 
 no miatdving Mr. Yolland's tall, angular figure. He was walking 
 slowly with his hands behind him, and evidently laying down the 
 law in rather a peremptory fashion. One or two sentences reached 
 Lorraine's ears before they perceived her. 
 
 ' You have got to do it, then, mind that. Your mother's right. 
 There must be no more dilly-dallying. I have given yoi; the chance 
 of being a real lady, and dressing in silks and satins if you choose. 
 I am not the man to stint my wife, or to let her fash herself with 
 work. There is plenty of good hard cash in the Bramfield Bank, 
 You can ask any one if Edgar Yolland is not a safe man. I have 
 put it before you, my girl, and your mother has done the same, 
 and now you must just make up your mind to fling the fellow 
 
 over.' 
 
 'But it IS so hard to make up my mind,' returned the girl, and 
 then they heard Lorraine's footsteps behind them, and both of them 
 tumecL Ruth looked pale and worried, and as though she had 
 been crying. She gave Lorraine a quick, frightened look. 
 
 There was a distant rumble of thunder. One of Lorraine's 
 sudden impulses came to her. 
 
 ' Mr. Yolland,' she said, as he raised his hat awkwardly, ' there 
 is a storm corning on, and I want Ruth to walk back with me to 
 the farm. I have some things for your mother,' addressing Ruth. 
 ' Would you run on with them to the cottage, and then join me ? 
 I arn sure Mr. Yolland will excuse you. It is not pleasant to be 
 out in a storm alone,' continued Lorminc, in a perfectly natural
 
 riiE Tiro cuLrRiTS 211 
 
 maniRT that disarinetl tliem both. Even Ruth had no idea that 
 lidiniiiie liad any ulteriur reason. She took the basket without a 
 word, and Mr. YoUaiid locked after her willi a dissatisfied face, 
 ' Now we will w;ilk home aa fast as we can,' observed Lorraine 
 cheerfully, when lluth had rejoined them. < Good-eveninj,', Mr. 
 Yolland ; I am sorry to be taking Ruth away, but it cannot be 
 helped.' But directly Mr. Yolland was out of siyht her footsteps 
 slackened, and then she stood still. ' Ruth,' she saiil, in a grave, 
 meaning voice, 'what are you going to do? Sam Brattle is 
 waiting for you at the Kedlands gate. He luis been waiting there 
 for an hour and a half, sick at heart, and almost at the end of his 
 patience. Do you mean to i)lay him false for the sake of a poor 
 creature like Mr. Yolland?' 
 
 Ruth looked at her with terrified eyes. 
 
 * Sam waiting for me ? Why, I hoped he would have gone 
 away long ago ; that he would have thought I had made a mis- 
 take. Oh, whatever shall I do!' clas]iing her hands in unmis- 
 takable agitation. ' I dare not see him. Sam has been so 
 bad-tempered lately there is no managing him. lie ie nul a bit 
 as he used to be when we first kept company together.' 
 
 ' I daresay not. You have tried him too much. Even an easy- 
 tempered man like Sam Brattle can be roused if he feels himself 
 badly treated ; and your conscience will tell you, Rulh, if it is 
 treating him fairly to let Mr. Yolland speak I" yon as he did this 
 evening.' 
 
 * But I could not help myself, and mother egged him on,' and 
 then Ruth broke into a fit of sobbing. ' Oh, ma'am, I am so 
 uidiai)py. I don't think any girl was so unhappy before. I do 
 like Sam best. Only he is so short with me now, and that puts 
 n>y back up, for I haven't given him the right yet to lecture me 
 and keep me in order. And then mother says that if I marry him 
 I shall just drive her to her grave, for she has set her heart on 
 seeing me the mistress of Mansoule Farm. They both temjit me 
 between them, and then I forget Sam, and fancy that I had better 
 do it, and that I should be hajipier living like a lady ami having 
 
 my own way. And yet ' Here Ruth stopped, almost strangled 
 
 with her sobs. 
 
 Lorraine put her hand on the girl's shoulder ; .she had qviite 
 forgotten the impending storm ; they were still in the Reillands 
 lane, and just roiuul the corner poor Sam Brattle was keeping a 
 fruitless watch fur his sweetheart. 
 
 'Tell me eviiylhing,' she said kindly. 'We are two women, 
 Ruth, and we ought to feel for each other. Let me help you ; I 
 think I can; sometimes an outsider sees things more clearly. It
 
 212 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 seems to me that you ■would not Ih" <j[uite so uuhappy if you did not 
 care a good deal for Sam Brattle.' 
 
 ' Mother says that I do not really care for him one bit — not 
 what she calls caring ; hut I know I do. I don't mind him to be 
 near me or touch mc ; but when Mr. YoUand wanted to hold my 
 hand this evening, it made ma shiver. There are times when I 
 most hata him, and yet he has got such a way with him that at 
 other times I am bound to listen ; but I am sure that if it had not 
 been for mother I never should have given him a thought.' 
 . ' Oh, how glad I am to hear you say that,' returned Lorraine 
 joyfully. ' Ruth, what a foolish girl you are. Don't you see that 
 it is Sam Brattle who is really your sweetheart. Mr. Yolland is 
 nothing to you. You must marry Sam ; no other man will make 
 you happy. Ah,' as a vivid flash made her wince, ' we are wasting 
 time, and the storm is breaking over us.' 
 
 As they hurried round the corner, tliey came face to face with 
 Sam Brattle. He stopped short, with a frown, when he saw Kuth, 
 and then turned his back on her. 
 
 'I tliought you might be a bit nervous, Mrs. Herbert,' he said, 
 coming to her side, ' for we are going to have a rare storm ; but I 
 did not know any one was with you. You had best take refuge in 
 the Pattersons' cottage ; there is only the deaf old grannie at home, 
 but you will keep dry there.' But as Sam talked he avoided 
 glancing in Ruth's direction. 
 
 "ITiere was no time to hesitate. The next moment the heavy 
 thunder -shower pattered down on them, and they reached the 
 cottage panting and out of breath.
 
 CIIAPTHli XXVII 
 
 8AM UKATTI.K .SPEAKS HIS MIXD 
 'llow absolute the kuave is ! we must sjit-.-ik by the ciini, or equivocation 
 
 will UIkIo us.' — SHAKE.SI'EAHE. 
 
 'Dare to be true, uotliinjj can ueetl a lie ; 
 A fault which nceJ.s it most |,tow.s two tln-icliy.' 
 
 Heuuekt, The Church Porch. 
 
 Grannie Patterson, or deaf Joan, as she was commonly called, 
 was dozing in liei- l>if,' bucliive cliair, as Sam Bi-attlo iisIiltcmI in 
 Lorraine; and iUitli. She opened her eyes and stJired at them in a 
 dazed l'a.shiun until Lorraine's smile reassured her. 
 
 'Ay — ay, you are kindly welcome,' she said, in the subdued 
 voice of extreme old age. ' Meg has gone down to Brattle's to do 
 l»er chores. Sit ye down, ma'am ; I am a bit hard of he.iring,' 
 and then she looked at Sam Brattle's broad shoulders; ' that be 
 Sam r.rattle, surely. I thought I had a notion of liis face. "What 
 will }e be doing out with your sweetheart on a stormy evening 
 like this?' 
 
 ' 1 have nought to do with sweethearts,' muttered Sam sullenly, 
 as he turned to the window, blocked up as tisual with puts of 
 geraniums and musks. Kuth, silent anil ashamed, was eyeing 
 him piteously from a dark aorner, while gninnie rambled on to 
 the lady in a toothless, disconnected way from one subject to 
 another. 
 
 ' I mind Sijuire Volland's wedding seventeen years ago,' she 
 baid, 'just as though it were yesterday. He were a fine figure 
 of a man then, though a bit stilf and oneasy-like, just as though his 
 grand cluthes uiislitted him. Dauncoy — she Wiis a bonnie lass, to 
 be sure. I miud Bmttle — he be Ned Brattle 1 am thinking of — 
 coming up to me in the clii\rchyard, " Diil you ever see a bonnier 
 bride, Joan ? lie is a dry sort of stick to malcli with a rasy-
 
 214 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 cheeked maid like Dauncey Sanderson ; but he is a safe man, and 
 one must not judge too much by outsides." Dearie me, how often 
 I thought of that speech after, for she -was not bonnie long. I 
 never cared much for the Sandersons ; they were a hungry, grasj^ing 
 lot, and always looking out for tlie main cliauce. 15ut I was main 
 sorry for Sarah when she came crying up to my jilace, " I can't 
 make out what ails our Dauncey, Joan ; she seems so cowed and 
 changed, and has lost her sperrits. Yolland won't hear of having 
 a doctor to her. He says she is only sulking ; but I never knew 
 Dauncey sulk in all her born days. I have just come down from 
 Mansoule, and my girl is sitting up in her parlour, dressed in a 
 grand lilac silk, for they have got folks coming to tea ; but she 
 looks far more fit to be in her bed. ' Don't notice it, mother,' 
 she whispered, pinching my arm till I was most blue. 'Edgar is 
 always so vexed if I am not well, and I don't want him out of 
 temper to-night.'" Dearie me!' and Grannie's stick struck heavily 
 against the lloor, ' two years after that we were at her burying. 
 And a fine burying it was ; but old Dr. Howell always said she 
 ought not to have died, for she had no disease to speak of. Sarah 
 Sanderson never held up her head after that. I was with her the 
 night she passed away, and she was a bit muzzy and light-headed. 
 " Joan," she said, catching hold of me, " I'm a wicked woman. 
 Dauncey would never have wedded Edgar Yolland but for me. 
 He is as hard as a stone, and he crushed the life out of her day by 
 day. He broke her sperrit, and then he broke her heart ; but for 
 him, she would be alive now." ' 
 
 Grannie rambled on, well pleased to have a hearer ; but only 
 Lorraine and Ruth would follow her. Sam Brattle was too 
 much absorbed in his own angry thoughts to listen to old Joan's 
 palaver. It would have been no news to him, either, for he had 
 often heard his mother talk about poor Dauncey Yolland's premature 
 death. 
 
 Presently Lorraine leant forward, and laid her hand impressively 
 on lluth's arm. ' Go to him,' she whispered. ' Make it ujj with 
 him ; you may never have another opportunity. If you fall into 
 Edgar Yolland's clutches you will be a miserable woman like 
 Dauncey. Take warning, and be humble.' And she went softly 
 out into the small outer kitchen, where Meg Patterson did her 
 ■washing, and looked out into the steep little yard, where the rain 
 was pouring into the empty water-butt, under which a coujile of 
 hens were sheltering themselves. 
 
 ' Sam, aren't you ever going to speak or look at me again ? ' 
 asked a timid voice close beside him ; and the young bailiff, starting 
 violently, turned round to meet a pair of soft, imploring eyes.
 
 SAM BRATTLE SPEAKS HIS MIND 215 
 
 Ruth's face was pale and tear-staiued, but uever bofore had it 
 Worn that gentle, humble expression. ' I have tieateil you badly, 
 Sam ; I know that now, and Mrs. Herbert's been telling me so. 
 I won't blame any one else fur my own niisduings ; but if you 
 vill look over things once and try me again, you shan't have 
 any more reason to complain of me. I have made up my mind 
 to tliat.' 
 
 Sam caught his breath, and a dusky Hush came to his forehead ; 
 bat his answer was more harsh than reiissuring. ' You have said 
 tiiat to me before, and I have been a foul and hearkened ; but 
 there's limits to evtrvtliin", and vou won't find me so soft again. 
 Ilnw often have I looked over things, a.s ymi eall it, and made it 
 up with you till I was sick and sore with it all ? It is not that I 
 am so angry with you, Uuth, or that I don't care for you still ; but 
 I cannot trust you. You have given the lie to me too often. Did 
 you not jiromise to meet me at Kedlands gate this evening ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Sam ; but ' 
 
 * Let me finish,' in the f^ame stern voice. ' I shall find it diflicult 
 to stomach excuses tu-night. Just answer me one thing,' and here 
 he took her hands and held them so tightly that she winced with 
 jKiin ; ' Iduk me in the face, Ruth, and tell me if you have not been 
 walking willi Sciuire Yolland up yonder?' 
 
 'Yes, Sam, I have,' but as he dropped her hands with a look 
 almost of despair, she caught at his arm. * Sam, you must listen 
 to me ; it is not fair to shake me off like this. I will tell you 
 triithrully everytliing that passetl this evening. I have deceived 
 you before ; but I'll take my oath that I am speaking the truth 
 to-night.' 
 
 ' tio on,' he returned hoarsely, ' it may be the hist ojiportunity 
 you'll have to tell me anything, fur I am fairly sick of sweethearting.' 
 
 'Oh, Sam,' bursting into teai-s, 'how can you be so cruel as to 
 say sucJi things to me?' 
 
 ' When a man is being fooled, he is apt to turn a V>it rough. 
 Turn is a lucky fellow ; he li.os been telling n»e to-night that 
 he and Eunice are going to be cried in church soon ; his 
 courting has been as smooth as honey, and look at the life you 
 have led me ? ' 
 
 ' I know I have been contrary, Sam,' returned Ruth sadly, 
 ' but I have made myself miserable as well as you. Do, do be 
 patient a little longer, and let me tell you about this evening. I 
 meant to meet you. I had asked Eunice to change evenings, 
 because I wanted to make things right between us, and I hurried 
 out long before the time, because I had some things to take mother. 
 Just to plague Eunice, because she was so inquisitive, I took the
 
 216 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 long way through, the plantations, but I knew I had plenty ol 
 time to spare. Mother was suffering from one of her attacks, and 
 I had to stay with her until she was better ; Pef^gy Blake was 
 sitting with her when I first went in, but she sent her away, Sam. 
 I know now that she sent her with a message to Mansuule Farm, 
 that was just one of mother's crooked ways ; she has done thai 
 before, and then kept me with her on some excuse or other till she 
 had given him time to come ; but I never suspected it till this 
 evening. She looked so bad that I was frightened to leave her, 
 and I thought I would explain to you how I came to be late, but 
 I had not shut the gate behind nie before I saw Mr. YollanJ 
 walking slowly down the road.' 
 
 ' You are certain that you did not know that your mother had 
 sent for him ? ' 
 
 ' No — indeed, I never thought of such a thiug. Mother had 
 asked me to wring out some hot flannels for her to ease her paiu, 
 and when I came back Peggy had gone. But I guessed what 
 she had done the moment I saw him sauntering along the road.' 
 
 ' But you were glad enough to see him ? Come, let us have the 
 truth for once, my girl.' 
 
 ' No, Sam. I was not glad, I was a bit ilustered-like, and hot ; 
 when he put my hand on his arm and walked on with me I 
 began to feel like a poor little fly in a spider's web. He and 
 mother are so clever — they know my weak side ; and when he 
 began talking about the fine furniture he had got, and how he 
 could make me a lady if I would only marry him, I lost my head 
 a little.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see. "Well, and so you have settled with the old stick 
 and his money-bags, and you are his girl — not nune ? Well, I 
 congratulate you.' 
 
 ' Don't, Sam.' And here lluth's beautiful eyes flashed with 
 anger, and she gave his arm a little shake. ' You are trying to 
 punish me because of all the pain I have given you, but you ought 
 to see that I am humbling myself for once. I know I have been a 
 vain foolish girl, and that 1 thought it a fine thing to have a rich 
 man like Mr. Yolland to court me, but I couhl not bring myself to 
 marry him. When he put my hand on his arm I fairly shivered 
 at his touch, and felt as though I hated him. No, whatever mother 
 may say, I will never walk or talk with him again. Otlier folks 
 may be sick of sweethearting as well as yourself, Sam Brattle, 
 though they may not have the bad taste to say so.' And liutli 
 walked away with her pretty head held high, and such a weight 
 at her heart. She had found out that it is not sale to play with 
 edged tools. The wise old adage that it was well to be off with
 
 SAM BRATTLE SPEAKS HIS MIND 217 
 
 the old love licfoie j'ou arc on with the law was true in her case. 
 The haudsoniest girl in lli^'lilanda w;i3 likely to lose both hur 
 sweethearta. Lorraine was still investigating the wonders of the 
 backyard, where the rain still driiijied and the hens still cowered 
 under the water-butt. Old Juan had tired of prattling to deaf 
 cars, and had begun to doze again, and Kulh, with an aching 
 heart, seated herself in one corner of the wide oak settle. But she 
 was taken aback when the seat was occupied beside her, and Sam's 
 arm drew her close. 
 
 * Supposing we try it a bit louger, Ruthie — you and I ? We 
 have made a mighty mess of things, but maybe we shall be Miser 
 in future. AYhy should we not be cried in church as well as Tom 
 and Eunice ? Miss Lee is willing, and I know there is a liouse 
 ready. It is not as grand as Mansoule Farm, but it is big enough 
 for the likes of us. Come, I am a say and seal man ; there's my 
 hand on it. Let bygones be bygones. I will never cast it up against 
 you that you have been a bit flighty if you will say you'll marry 
 me after Michaelmas.' 
 
 'I will, if my mistress can spare me, Sam,' and tlun indeed 
 there was utter bliss in Sam Brattle's faithliil heart. Lorraine 
 came back a few minutes later to tell them the rain had ceased, 
 and smiled, well plciused when she saw their faces. There was a 
 soft tell-tale Hush on Ruth's face, and a light in her grey eyes that 
 had long been absent ; but Sam Brattle's hai)i»iuess needed the 
 relief of speech. 
 
 'Ruth and I hrive been settling matters,' he ?mA abruptly. 
 'When you write to Miss Lee, will you tell her we are thinking of 
 having our banns put up as soon aa Michaelmas is over ? she will 
 be downright jileased to hear it, for she has been wanting me to 
 settle. AVhen Eunice comes to our place, she will be glad to have 
 only Tom to fend fur, and I will feel snugger in a house of my 
 own. -Why are you nudging me, Ruth?' for Ruth, colouring 
 high, hail given him sundry ailmonishing touches. 'Mrs. Herbert 
 knows all about it ; there is imuu'lil to le ashamed of ; and Sam 
 spoke in a masterful tone. 
 
 'No indeed; and 1 wish you both joy. Ruth, this is good 
 news, and your mistress will be delighted when she hears it Now 
 we must really make our way home.' And then, as grannie was 
 still slumbering j^lacidly, they did not disturb her, but stepped out 
 into the wet fragrant ganlen. At the eiul of the villagi' Sam 
 Brattle left them, and Lorraine and Rulh walked liai)pily home. 
 * You will not let your mother interfere any moi-e, Ruth ? ' asked 
 Lorraine, when thoy had t;ilked a little. ' I will promise to tell 
 her either to-morrow or on Friday that yon have settled thingsi
 
 218 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ■with Sam Brattle ; but I am afraid you will have something to 
 be»ir.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, but I can bear it for Sam's sake ; but I will 
 never see Mr. Yolland again if I can heli) it. Oh, I don't deserve 
 to be so ha^jpy, or to have Sam so kind and forgiving ; but I will 
 make up for all my misdoings. I think I have really been true 
 to Sam all along, though I did not know it,' and Lorraine was 
 iujclined to agree with her. 
 
 The first day of Ellison's absence had not been uneventful. A 
 moral as well as a physical thunderstorm had cleared the air — in 
 more senses than one ; and Lorraine's first letter to her cousin 
 contained a graphic account of the ' wooing o't,' with deaf Joan in 
 her beehive chair sleeping peacefully through it. ' I shall never 
 see a rainy backyard and two shining hens under a water-butt, 
 without recalling Sam Brattle's radiant face ; it quite lighted up 
 the old kitchen. I never did see a man so happy. Poor dear 
 Ellison, you will lose two of your maids after Michaelmas.' 
 
 "WTien Lorraine went up to Brae the next day she found Mrs. 
 Trevor busy among her flowers as usuah Slie kissed Lorraine a 
 little hurriedly, and sent her up to the turret-room. 
 
 'Muriel wants you to sit with her until luncheon,' she said. 
 'She id going directly afterwards, so we shall have plenty of time 
 for our talk,' and though Lorraine rather marvelled at this quick 
 dismissal, she put it down to Mrs. Trevor's usual unselfishness. 
 
 ^Muriel was not in good spirits ; she had slept badly, and the 
 old inky shadows were under her eyes, but she was unwilling to be 
 questioned about her health. 
 
 ' Oh, it is nothing,' she returned imj)atiently to Lorraine's kind 
 inquiry. ' A storm generally upsets me, and I often sleep badly — 
 my head aches, and I am a little nervous.' And then she made a 
 great effort to talk on other subjects until the luncheon bell rang. 
 Lorraine was thankful when luncheon was over, for she could see 
 that Muriel and her mother were unconsciously jarring on each 
 other. Mrs. Trevor's quick talk ranging from one subject to 
 another irritated Muriel's nerves, and she grew more silent every 
 moment. She rose the moment it was over, and only came back 
 to say the carriage was at the door. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor, who was lying back on the couch as though she 
 were tired, .started up quickly. 'Oh, Muriel darling, I thought 
 you had half an hour more to wait ! ' she exclaimed as the girl 
 kissed her. Then her colour changed, and she put her hand to her 
 side. ' Will you see her off, Mrs. Herbert ? ' she said, trying to 
 speak naturally, and Lorraine nodded. She had noticed the 
 movement once or twice before, but Muriel saw nothing unusual.
 
 SAM BRATTLE SPEAKS HIS MIND 219 
 
 •Gavin will be back to-morrow, so niotln'r will not be dull,' she 
 said as she stt'iijtcd into tlit' can iago, and the next niouieiit she had 
 driven away. 
 
 ' Muiiel never noticed,' Lunaiiie said to herself as she went 
 ba«k to the niorninf,'-riion» ; but she was not in the least 6ui-j)rised 
 when she found Mrs. Trevor lying back oh the couch with her 
 eyes closed and eviJently in severe pain ; she only knelt down 
 beside her anil a^^ked gently what she could do. 
 
 ' Nothing,' replied ^Irs. Trevor in a patient voice. ' I have 
 taken my medicine, and there is nothing to be don« ; it will pass 
 directly. I shall have to get used to it.' 
 
 Lorraine mail* no rejily, but her face grew a little grave as she 
 went in search of a fan. She sat by her for some time silently 
 fanning her, or from time to time bathing her temples with eau-de- 
 cologne, and Mrs. Trevor took all her attentions gratefully. 
 
 Presently she sat up among her cushions and puslied away the 
 fan. 
 
 ' There, I am better ; you shall not fan me a moment longer. 
 I am quite a.shamed that you should see me like this, my dear Mrs. 
 ITei'bert, but the pain is so bad while it lasts.' 
 
 ' And you have kept it to yourself all this time,' observed 
 Lorraine in a reproachful voice. 
 
 • Well, not exactly ; Ellison found me out one day and scolded 
 me into going to Dr. M'Callum. I have seen him twice.' And 
 here her voice dropped, and she looked at Lorraine a little sadly. 
 ' I half wish I had not taken Ellison's advice, for he has not 
 prophesied smooth things. There is so little he can do for me, 
 and I have got to bear it, you see.' 
 
 Mrs. Trevor looked strangely wan and old at that moment. 
 The hue face had unwonted lines on it, and there were jturjde 
 shadows under the eyes and round the lips ; and though she 
 made an elfort to .spe;ik with her old sprightliness it was a 
 pitiful failure. 
 
 ' Dear friend,' whispereil Lorraine in her warni-hearted way, 
 as she passed her hand caressingly over the grey piled-up curls — 
 they felt as .soft and silky as a baby's — 'tell me exactly what Dr. 
 M'l'alUun said ; it is not good to keep such things to yourself.' 
 And after a moment's hesitation Mrs. Trevor consented. 
 
 'It is such a relief to tell you this, my dear Mrs. Herbert.' 
 Lorraine pressed her hand mutely ; speech was tlillicult just 
 
 then. How was .she to put her pity and compassion into words? 
 
 She was very tender to any form of physical or ment.il sulfering. 
 
 The mystery of i)ain Wiis at all times a complex problem to her,
 
 220 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 At times lier pity had amounted to absolute au^uisb, and Ellison 
 liad once reaisoned with Ler very seriously. 
 
 ' It is not well to be too tliiu-skinued, Lorraine,' slie had once 
 said. ' You talk sometimes as though you had tlie world on your 
 shoulders. You quite forget what Gavin calls the law of comi>en- 
 satiou. It is his belief that people get blunted and used to 
 suffering.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am glad you made me tell you,' went on Mrs. Trevor, 
 ' It is terribly lonely sometimes, having to keep things to myself, 
 and I would not have Gavin and Muriel told just yet. Oh ' — as 
 Lorraine was about to speak — ' I know exactly what you want to 
 say — that I am wrong, and tliat Muriel ought to know ! But the 
 child has enough to bear. Why should I trouble her?' 
 
 ' Because it is a daughter's duty to stand by her mother,' re- 
 turned Lorraine firmly. ' Dear Mrs. Trevor, you are making a 
 great mistake; I have told you so before. Muriel's nature is 
 peculiar. She is seK-absorbed and does not see things unless they 
 are pointed out to her. She has never felt herself necessary 
 to you or her Ijrother, and this has somehow embitteretl her. Let 
 her once feel that you are in need of her, or that she can be a 
 comfort to you, and you wcnild see a different Muriel Dear Mrs. 
 Trevor, I am as certain of this as I am of my own existence. You 
 liave promised me to confide in your son ; but you must do more 
 than that ; you must give me permission to tell MiuieL' 
 Mrs. Trevor sighed. 
 
 ' You speak strongly. I wish I knew what was best to be dune. 
 Let me think it over ; there is no hurry. Doctor M'Gallum 
 thinks I shall go on for a long time without getting much worse, 
 though, of course, as he says, no one can tell this. By and by 
 Muriel must know.' 
 
 ' Yes, when it is too late for her to retrieve a life's thoughtless- 
 ness ! Dear Mrs. Trevor, you are taking such a one-sided view of 
 the case ! If you would only try and put yourself in Muriel's 
 place, and look at things with her eyes. She is your only daughter ' 
 — here Mrs. Trevor winced — ' I mean your only living daughter. 
 What right have you to refuse to accept a daughter's attentions 
 from lier, or to treat her as a child ?' 
 
 ' Oh, if you put it in that way,' returned Mrs. Trevor wearily 
 — 'well, you shall do as you think best ! I will not be olistinate. 
 I could not have kept anything from Maud and Florrie for an hour. 
 They would liave had their arms about me, and coaxed it all out 
 moiitlis ago, and they would have cried their sweet eyes out when- 
 ever I had a fit of tlie yxuv ! Don't I remember once, when I had 
 a Ijcadache, and Florrie gave np a gaiden j)urty to which she had
 
 S/L)f BRA TTLE SPEAKS HIS MIND 221 
 
 l)een looking forwanl for a wctk, to sit with me and lathe my 
 liead ; and ^laiul wanted to stay too, and they almost quarrelled 
 over it. There would have been no question of keeping anything 
 from them ; they would have just found it out for themselves,' 
 finished Mrs. Trevor, with a faint smile. The children who were 
 gone were still living to the mother's heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 AN AXGEL UNAWARES 
 
 ' With silence only as their benediction, 
 God's angels come, 
 Where in the shadow of a great aflliction 
 The soul sits dumb.' 
 
 WlinTIER. 
 
 Lorraine soon found that Ellison's absence gave her so much to 
 do that she rarely had an unoccupied minute in the day. When 
 her labours in the house and poultry-yard were ovii-, she had her 
 lessons with Nora ; in the afternoon she generally sat for an hour 
 with Mrs. Trevor. This had become a daily duty. Her evening 
 walks were always to some cottage where sickness or trouble called 
 for neighbourly help and sympathy. The villagers were becoming 
 very much attached to her, and ' our Mrs. Herbert ' was quite as 
 often on their lips as ' the mistress up at Brae.' Lorraine always 
 took pains to point out that the jelly, or new-laid eggs, or bottle of 
 thick yellow cream, was her cousin's gift, not hers, and that she 
 had nothing to offer but sympathy and good wishes. 
 
 'Why, bless you, we all know that,' Betty Stokes once said. 
 ' T3on't you be getting it into your head, Mrs. Herbert, that we are 
 always wanting summat, for we are main glad to see you, empty- 
 handed or not. Not but what the things are kindly welcome,' she 
 went on as Lorraine unpacked her basket, ' for I never did see such 
 cream as Miss Lee's cows yield, and a bit of lier bacon is a trent as 
 never was. But if you never brought us a thing I'd like to see 
 you sitting there in the master's big chair ; it is sort of neighbourly 
 and cosy.' And there were others besides Betty Stokes who loved 
 to see the young widow. 
 
 Lorraine did not see Colonel Trevor for some days ; but one 
 afternoon as she was starting for the village, she came upon him. 
 Some workmen were putting up some new fencing in the Brae
 
 AN ANGEL UNA WARES 223 
 
 nie.i'low, ami flavin was sui)uriiiteii(lin^' tlicni. "When he niw Mrs. 
 Herbert be left lliem, ami walked on a lillle with her. She 
 thought he looked unusually grave, and even a little careworn, and 
 at once guessed the reason. His first words proved she was right 
 
 ' I am glad to have met you,' he said at once. ' I was thinking 
 of coming down to the farm to have a talk. My mother tells me 
 that you have been sitting with her.' And then he turned to her 
 and 8<iid, a little abruptly, 'She does not seem quite so well to-day. 
 I have been asking her to have Dr. M'Callum down.' 
 
 ' Oh no,' returned Lorraine quickly. ' I should not propose 
 that agiiin if I were you, it only makes your mother nervous, and 
 there is no need for the expense. Mrs. Trevor is really no worse 
 than she was a week ago.' 
 
 ' How are we to know that ? ' he returned doubtfully. ' Any- 
 how, I wish Dr. Howell to come regularly. I am afraid my 
 insisting on it has upset her a bit. I don't know how it is,' he 
 continued, in a ve.\ed voice, 'even a sensible Avoman like my 
 mother is not always reasonable, I wish you would talk to her, 
 Mrs. Herbert. She thinks so much of what you say.' 
 
 'I don't think she will object to seeing Dr. Howell now and 
 then,' returned Lorraine. 'On the contiary, I am sure his visits 
 will be a comfort to her ; but she would dislike the fuss of having 
 Dr. M'Callum down. People are constituted so differently. Colonel 
 Trevor. Your mother would not care to have her friends and neigh- 
 bours know that she is ill. If you feel at all dissatisfied, why do 
 you not go and speak to Dr. M'Callum yourself? He is an old 
 friend of your family.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I will,' he replied, as though this were a new ideii to 
 him. ' Mrs. Herbert, there is one thing I meant to ask you. Do 
 you not think it wouhl be well to have Muriel back? She is not 
 all the comfort she ought to be to my mother ; but I do think it 
 must be bad for her to sit alone and think about herself. Under 
 the (in iimstances it would ilrive mo.^t women frantic,' he finished ; 
 and his tone showed Lorraine liow deei>ly he felt for his mother's 
 alUiction. 
 
 ' Gavin is so good to me,' ^frs. Trevor said to her the next day, 
 almost tearfully. 'Really he reminds me of his father .sometimes. 
 John was so gentle when he thought there was anything nally the 
 matter. He makes a point of my seeing Dr. Howell once or twice 
 a week, so I suppose I must give in to him.' 
 
 Perhaps it was some relief in Ellison's al>sence to talk to Mrs. 
 Herbert^ for Colonel Trevor began to stroll down to tlie farm 
 towaixis evening. Lorraine took his visits very naturally, attri- 
 buting them to the riglil cause. The loss of his <>ld confidante had
 
 224 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 made him restless ; aiul with her usual good-nature Lorraine did 
 her best fur him. He never stayed long, and rarely entered the 
 house, and their brief conversation was generally carried on in the 
 garden or by the horse-block, where at that hour she would often 
 be feeding her pigeons, and she was always pleased when he went 
 away cheered. Ellison only smiled to herself when she read of 
 tliese visits, and then a soft wave of colour came to her cheek. 
 ' He will be glad to get me back,' she thought ; and in her heart 
 she knew the gladness would not be all on his side. 
 
 One afternoon things had not gone so smoothly as usual. One 
 batch of visitors after another had called at Brae Farm, and had 
 stayed so long that Lorraine had been unable to pay her usual 
 visit to Mrs. Trevor, and this omission weighed heavily on her 
 mind. She had also been obliged to send Nora away without her 
 music lesson ; and to add to her perplexities, Dorcas had a bilious 
 attack, and Ruth had to take care of Tedo, and bring up more than 
 one relay of freshly-brewed tea. 
 
 Lorraine tried to keep her boy with her while she entertained 
 hor visitors, but the little fellow was restless and clamoured for his 
 play-room and rocking-horse; and he was so fretful she was obliged 
 to let him go. 'Boy wants mine horse and a vide,' was his 
 incessant cry; and though she was afraid ilrs. IMordaunt would 
 think he was terribly spoiled, she dismissed him with a kiss. 
 ' Master Tedo has gone up to the Dovecote, Ruth,' she said a 
 moment later, when Ruth brought in some more hot scones. 
 
 As soon as the Mordaunts took their departure, Lorraine gave a 
 quick sigh of relief ; she was tired of the long, gossiping afternoon, 
 and longing to breathe the sweet evening air. She even felt a 
 momentary vexation when a tall shadow passed the window, and 
 she recognised Colonel Trevor's grey tweed. He had ridden down 
 the Stony Lane, as they called it, on his way from Darley Mill, 
 and had stopped at the Farm as he passed. 
 
 He gave a quick glance at Lorraine's face as he shook hands. 
 
 ' How tired you look, Mrs. Herbert ! Have tliose boys been 
 pla;,Miing you all the afternoon?' 
 
 ' Wli.it boys do you mean?' she asked, rather surprised at this. 
 'Yes, 1 do feel a little jaded. The Mordaunts have been here; 
 Mrs. Mordaunt and Amy and Constance, and Mrs. Turner and IMrs. 
 Earnshaw. Oh, and Laura Holt too! and it tired me rather, feeling 
 that your mother would be expecting me.' 
 
 ' Oh, you mxist not l«!t my mother be a burden,' he returned. 
 •I saw that young sc.imp Hugo racing down the farmyard some 
 time ago with Edmuml at his heels, and I thought ihey might have 
 been bothering yoiu'
 
 AN ANGEL UNAWARES 225 
 
 'Oil no; they are always here!' Ami then a thought snJJenly 
 occurred to her. 'Where did you say yoii saw them, Colonel 
 Trevor?' she asked anxiously, for she remembered all at once that 
 Daniel had gone to Branitield to see his brother, who was ill, and 
 that at this hour Ellison had forbidden the boys to be in the 
 farmyard. 
 
 Colonel Trevor was just going to answer, when Ruth appeared 
 at the door with a pu/zlt-d expression upon her face. 
 
 ' If you please, nui'am, I cannot find Master Tedo anywhere. I 
 have been looking for him and calling him for the last ten minutes, 
 so I thought he must have run down to you again.' 
 
 ' Oh no ; he is only hiding for fun ! Have you looked in my 
 big cupboard, Kuth ? He has made himself a little cubby-house 
 there. If yon will excuse me a moment, Colonel Trevor, I will 
 soon find him.' But as Lorraine turned towards the house they 
 heard a frightened scream from the direction of the farmyard, and 
 Lady Alice put back her glossy ears and strained at her bridle 
 in alarm ; even Bairn gave a hoarse bark, as though he scented 
 mi.-icliief. 
 
 ' What can that be ?' exclaimed Lorraine, turning a little ]iale ; 
 but before she and Gavin could reach the gate where Lady Alice 
 was still plunging, Eddie rushed up to them, his teeth chattering 
 and his eyes wide with terror. 
 
 ' Oh, do come — do come ! ' he screamed. ' Tedo has fallen into 
 the poiul, and Hnghie can't get him out ! ' 
 
 Lorraine uttered a scream of uncontrollable anguish; it haunted 
 Gavin long afterwardi5. Sometimes between sleei)ing and waking 
 he would fancy he heard it again, and start up from his jtillow. 
 Her grey, terror-stricken face would be before him as she pas-sed 
 him and Hew towards the pond. Quickly as he followed her he 
 w.'is not in time to ])revent her rushing into the water. She was 
 standing uj) to her waist, and in anotlier instant wouM have waded 
 up to her neck if he had not caught hold of her and drawn her 
 back. 
 
 ' Leave him to me ; I shall have him in a moment!' he sho\ited. 
 But he only spoke to deaf ears ; even wlien he laid the drij-ping 
 inanimate child in her arms, she only stood there with the water 
 reaching to her waist, clasjiing him to her bosom as though her 
 teiror had bereft her of reason. 
 
 There was a small crowd round the pond by this time ; the 
 dogs were barking and racing in and out of the water, and Hugo, 
 crying piteously, was being shaken by Joe Brand with no light 
 hand. 
 
 ' He promised he would only look and not move,' sobbed the 
 
 If.
 
 226 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 boy. 'I was holding liim on the fence; I had tight hold, and 
 then something cold touched my leg and startled me. It was only 
 the old brown cow, but I jumped and let go for an instant, and 
 Tedo fell, and it was deep, and I could not see him for a moment ; 
 and — and if he is drowned I would like to be drowned too.' 
 
 ' Bring him at once to the house, Mrs. Herbert ; we must lose 
 no time.' 
 
 Gavin's clear authoritative tones roused Lorraine. There was 
 something to be done then ; the ice round her heart and brain 
 seemed to thaw. She went to the house as quickly as her wet 
 garments would allow her to move, followed by the weeping Ruth 
 and Eunice. Gavin waited only to tell Joe Brand to ride off for 
 Dr. Howell, then he bade Mrs. Tucker heat water and flannels, and 
 followed the women upstairs. 
 
 * You must let me help,' he said quietly. ' I know all that 
 there is to be done, and we will do it before Dr. Howell comes. 
 Get off his wet things. Yes, that is right. Let me have that 
 blanket to wrap him in. Now you must rub his limbs upwards, 
 while I try to bring him to consciousness.' 
 
 Lorraine gave him no trouble ; she followed his instructions, 
 doing things as she was told with a meek obedience that went to 
 his heart ; but he could hardly trust himself to look at her. She 
 had refused to leave the room or change her wet clothes. ' When 
 Tedo wakes I will do it,' she said, and he could not compel her to 
 go ; he could only contrive that she should be kept doing some- 
 thing ; but long before Dr. Howell arrived, he knew that all their 
 efforts would be fruitless. 
 
 In vain they wrapped him in hot Ijlankets and applied water- 
 bottles to the little body. In vain did Gavin strive to restore the 
 child's breathing by artificial means, or to promote circulation by 
 rubbing his limbs ; not even a feeble l)eat of the pulse or a single 
 breath repaid his eflbrts. In his opinion life had been extinct 
 when he first placed the boy in his mother's arms ; but he dared 
 not acknowledge this. 
 
 Wlien Dr. Howell entered the room — Joe Brand had happily 
 met him on his way to Brae House — the two men exchanged a 
 look. Dr. Howell took measures into his own hands. 
 
 * You must leave me ah)ne with the patient for a few minutes,' 
 he said decidedly. ' Colonel Trevor may remain. He is an old 
 soldier and will be useful. No, Mrs. Herbert' — as she turned her 
 white, imploring face to him — 'you cannot help me until you have 
 taken off those wet clothe.", then you may come back. Take her 
 away, Mrs. Tucker.' And before Lorraine knew what had happened 
 she wa-s outMde the door, and Mrs. Tucker l.d lu'r away.
 
 AN ANGEL UNAWARES 227 
 
 Ruth had already been rummaging in the wardrobe for some 
 dry chjthca. She had acted on a hint from Colonel Trevor, and 
 Lorraine was at last persuaded to put them on. It was high time, 
 for lier teeth were chattering' witli cold ; but she refu.'^ed at fust to 
 drink the cup of hot tea that Eunice brought her, until Dr. Howell 
 took it into his own hands again. 
 
 'You must drink this, Mrs. Herbert,' he said quietly, coming to 
 her side. 'Tluie is good stulf in it that will keeji you from taking 
 cold, I hope. Yes, you slmll go back the moment you have drunk 
 it There, there' — patting her on the shoulder with fatherly kind- 
 nes-s — 'it will only take you a moment.' 
 
 'Why have you left him?' she asked indignantly. 'There is 
 no need to trouble about me. I am strong — strong. It Ls my boy 
 who is so delicate. I must go back to him. I must — I will,' for 
 the unmoved gravity on the doctor's face frightened her. 
 
 ' I will not keep you,' he returned gravely, ' but I should like 
 to tell you something beftjre you go back.' Then for the first time 
 in her life fierce unreasoning terror and rebellion took possession 
 of her soul. She jiut out her hands as though to keep the doctor 
 at bay, and then put them to her ears. ' No, no — I will listen to 
 notliing,' she said, and before he could say another word, she luvl 
 walked into the next room. 
 
 'She was prepared for it. I saw by her e.xpression that she 
 understood me, poor woman ' ; and Dr. Howell winked away the 
 moisture in his eyes. Years of practice had not hardened his 
 liiml heart, or inured him to such scenes. 
 
 When Colonel Trevor heard Lorraine's footsteps, he did not 
 move, but jiut out his hand to her. lie Wiis still standing by tlie 
 bed ; but all vestiges of the hist houi-'s work had been removed. 
 There was a straightness about the childish form and a waxen white- 
 ness on tlie tiny face that told their own tale. The yellowish curls 
 still clung damply to the temples, wailing for the mother's hand to 
 brush 'them away ; but though she grasped the fatal truth, no 
 second cry of anguish passed Lorraine's lip.% the iron grip at her 
 throat almost strangled her. She stood there by Cavin's side un- 
 conscious that he hold her hand, or that Dr. Howell was speaking. 
 
 * He did not sulfer, my dear Mrs. Herbert — not for an instant. 
 Something must have stunned him, for he was not long in the 
 water — not long enough to drown him.' 
 
 Then Lorraine sUirtled them l)oth. 
 
 'How did it happen?' she asked, in the dull, level tone of one 
 past feeling, ajul .she looked at Oavin. She had made no attempt 
 to touch her boy, though he lay there beside her with a solemn 
 baby smile on his lips. One cold hand pushed back her hair aa
 
 228 THE MISTRESS Oh BRAE FARM 
 
 she put the question, but her eyes awed him by their still 
 agony. 
 
 He looked at the doctor in some perplexity, but Dr. Howell 
 motioned him to speak. ' Mrs. Herbert wishes to know ; it will 
 not liurt her. Tell her wliat you know yourself, Colunel.' 
 
 ' No, it will not hurt me,' returned Lorraine, in the same curious 
 inward voice, as though something were numb within her. ' No- 
 thing will hurt me now.' And then he ventured to speak. 
 
 'It is a terrible business. They ought never to have been 
 allowed to play near the pond. The boy ran out, none of the 
 maids saw him ; Hugo and Eddie were sailing their boats on the 
 pond, and he begged to stay. Hugo let him climb up the fence 
 and sit there ; he says he was holding him, but something startled 
 him and he let go, and Tedo fell into the pond. It is deep near 
 the fence, and we think there must have been a stone, for he sank, 
 and ' 
 
 * Yes, I understand ; and there is nothing more to be done.' 
 
 ' Nothing — notliing ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you — thank you both ' — and then her breath came a 
 little (|uickly. ' Please let me have my way now. I must be 
 alone with my boy.' 
 
 Again Gavin appealed for instructions, and again Dr. Howell 
 bowed his head ; and the two men went out softly together and 
 closed the door behind them. 
 
 For a moment Lorraine did not stir, she seemed listening to the 
 retreating footsteps. Then she looked down at her left hand, as 
 though she wondered what that red mark across it meant, and then 
 ht-r tearless eyes rested on her boy ; and a slow quivering of her 
 nmscles showed the enforced calm was at an end. 
 
 ' Tedo, Tedo,' she whispered, and then she lay down on the bed 
 and took the little body in her arms, and pressed her face against 
 tlie soft curls. But even then she shed no tear ; only her strong, 
 convulsive sobs shook the bed. 
 
 ' Do not hold him too tightly ; I had a treasure too, and I lost 
 it.' Did those words come to Lorraine as she kept her bitter vigil 
 that night ?
 
 CIIAPTEU XXIX 
 
 A PA IN IT' I. ENIGMA 
 
 •llie living man wlio does not learn, ia dark, dark, dark, like one walking 
 in the night.' — Ming Sum Pavtt, Keen. 
 
 ' I'ity is the touch of God in human hearts.' — Walteu Smith, 
 
 ' I MUST go to her, Gavin. No — do not try to keep me ; in some 
 c:usus it is one's duty not to tliink of oneself' ; and Mrs. Trevor's 
 line face was drawn willi anxiuty, and .-he clasped her liands 
 nervously as she looked at her son. The moment the terrible news 
 had reached her, slic had asked for the little grey silk hood that 
 she always wore in the garden, and he had found her tying it with 
 tremulous fingers. 
 
 ' Mother dear,' he said, sitting down beside he-, ' you must nut 
 do this — you are not fit ; it wuuld only do you harm.' 
 
 And then she had made her jiitiful little iirdest. Three or 
 four hours had elapsed since the fatal accident, but the servants at 
 Brae had only just carried the news to their mistress. 
 
 ' I nnist go, Oavin. Would you liave me leave that poor thing 
 alone, with Kllison away, and no one but servants in the house 1' 
 
 ' She does not feel her loneliness,' he returned, with a quick 
 contraction of his lirows, as though some ronienibranco suddenly 
 stabbed him ; 'she will not leave the child — nothing will induce 
 her. Howell is going there now; he says the shock has stunned 
 her, and tliat slie does not take tilings in. Slie is quiet and listens 
 to everything, but he doubts whether she really understands ; the 
 servants say it is dreadful to see her lying there fondling the child, 
 and taking no notice of tlicni. Howell says he shall be firm and 
 j)ut a stop to it ; he means to give her a sedative of .^ome sort ; he 
 docs not like her state— rshe is too quiet, and she has not srhed a fear.' 
 
 Gavin was walking up and down as he said this, but Mrs. 
 Trevor only shook her head.
 
 230 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' How is she to cry, poor soul, when she has a ton weight just 
 crushing her heart ? Oh, I know all about it, Gavin, my dear, 
 that is why I want to go to her. When your sisters died 1 hardly 
 shed a tear for a week, but I was shedding them inwardly all the 
 while. If I had gone on much longer I sliould have died — the 
 doctors said so ; but your falker knew what to do, and he brought 
 me round. John was always so clever ! ' She finished with a 
 sigh, as though she were talking to herself. 
 
 Gavin felt a momentary surprise ; it was so seldom that she ever 
 mentioned his father to him ; something in her tone brought him 
 back to her side, for in those days the mother and son seemed 
 drawn closer together. 
 
 ' Poor mother, you have had your troubles ! ' he said, taking 
 her hand. The many-coloured brilliants, twinkling and flashing, 
 could not conceal that the fingers were strangely wasted. 
 
 'Yes, Gavin, but I have had my blessings, too — yoii must not 
 forget that. I am not like that poor young creature yonder. 
 I have still two of my children. ]\Iy dear, j^ou must let me have 
 my way for once ; it will be better for me than fretting through 
 the long night. I want to sit and watch her as I should a 
 daughter of my own, and be near her when she wakes — she must 
 not be alone then.' 
 
 ' I wonder if I dare trust you ! ' he returned anxiously. 
 ' Mother, are you sure that you are honest with me, and that 
 it will not really hurt you ? Shall I ask Howell ? I am going 
 down there directly to meet him.' 
 
 ' For pity's sake, no, Gavin,' she returned in alarm. ' Doctors 
 are all very well, but one may have too much of them sometimes ; 
 besides ' — with a return of her old quaintness — * I am not sure 
 that I should obey him or you either. My boy,' she continued 
 woefully, * do you know what often troubles nie when I sit alone ? 
 It is the thought how little I have done for other people. When 
 one looks back over one's life and counts the blessings and the 
 undeserved mercies, it makes one so terribly ashamed sometimes ; 
 such a strong wish comes over me to do just a little more before 
 I have quite finished with it all.' 
 
 Gavin nodded ; he could understand that ; it appealed to 
 his man's reason. If he had not done good work in his day — 
 if he had not felt that his life had benefited his fellow-creatures, 
 he wouhl not have regained strength and cheerfulness. He was 
 thoughtful by nature, and he had often secretly marvelled over 
 the trivial aims and low ambitions of other men. No ; his mother 
 was right, and he would not keep her back. If only Ellison 
 could be there to help them ! He would have to write to her
 
 A PAINFUL ENIGMA 231 
 
 ]>re.sently, ami trust to good huk for tlie letter to reach her ; 
 tliere wuuld be some delay, he feared, for the Mcrvyns had 
 intended to move rapidly from place to place. Oh, if Ellison 
 had never gone witli thoni ! But she Mould come back at once ; 
 she woulil not delay an hour, he was quite sure of that. 
 
 The tliought of Ellison made him siuldenly restless, and he rose. 
 
 * Well, I must leave you now, mother, but I shall be back 
 in an hour's time and will see what is to be done ' ; and then 
 he went out into the sweet, summer darkness, and walked across 
 the dewy meadow and through the silent fixrmyard, and then 
 paced patiently up and down the garden-paths until the doctor 
 joined him. 
 
 Never since his own trouble had Gavin felt so profoundly 
 agitated ; it was not so much pity for the baby-life quenched so 
 suddenly, though the child's engaging ways had won his heart, 
 as an overwhelming sense of what this meant to the mother. 
 
 What had she done to deserve this bitter trial ? All her life 
 she had tried to help people and her reward was this, that a 
 mysterious Providence — Providence — ah, it is to be feared that 
 flavin used another word — had taken her one treasure, her all. 
 Tiie widow's mite had not been proffered. What human mother 
 would desire to lose her only child] But in Lorraine Herbert's 
 case the furnace of aflliction was heated seven-fold. Few mothers 
 loved their little ones more intensely. Lorraine's heart had never 
 belonged to her worthless husband, and all her wealth of affection 
 had been poured on her child. Ordinary as he. might be to others, 
 he was jiriceless ami precious in her eyes. 
 
 ' It was so horribly unnecessary ! ' he said to himself, almost 
 fiercely, as he walked down the dark garden-paths. ' If one 
 could see any reason in slaughtering an innocent like that! 'he 
 muttered. Gavin did not mean to be profane, but from boyhood 
 he had hated to see any weak helpless thing sufl'er; it absolutely 
 tortured him to remember the young widow's face as she stood by 
 his side looking down at her dead child. No word of complaint 
 had crossed her lips, but he would rather that she had made any 
 outcry tlian have stood in that statue-like stillness, with that look 
 of despair in her eyes. 
 
 ' How is a man to understand it ? ' he went on. ' How could I 
 understand it myself, when my darling Nell cried out that sho 
 wanted to stay with mo, and not go out into the dark .' I was an 
 Agnostic for months afterwards, until the old padre gtit hold of me, 
 and then somehow I began to see things differently. I wish I 
 coulil solve this problem,' he finished ; and then the door opened 
 and closed, and he hurried to meet the doctor.
 
 232 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I am going to put up at the JVaggon and Horses to-night,' were 
 Dr. Howell's first words. 'I have had a hard day's work, and 
 Brown Bess is fagged, and I am pretty well dog-tired myself.' 
 
 ' You need not go as far as the Waggon and Horses for a 
 bed,' returned Gavin. ' We have plenty of spare rooms at your 
 service.' 
 
 But Dr. Howell was not to be persuaded ; he was used to 
 his old quarters and liked them best ; he had ordered his 
 supper in the snug room behind the bar, and he wanted to put 
 his old slippers on and enjoy his pipe. Now and then when he 
 was belated, or master and mare were worn out, he would turn in 
 at the Waggon and Horses, and he always enjoyed this return to 
 bachelor habits. He had a good wife who never fussed him or 
 herself unnecessarily. 
 
 ' Mollie would know all about it,' he thought, as he trudged 
 down the lane by Gavin's side ; and then, as he thought of I\Iollie 
 and his rosy-cheeked boys and girls, his face grew pitiful in the 
 darkness. 
 
 ' How is she now ? ' asked Gavin suddenly. 
 
 ' Mrs. Herbert, do you mean 1 She was asleep, or nearly so ; I 
 waited until the dose seemed inclined to make her drowsy. Well, 
 we shall have tided over the night, but then I shall have reached 
 my limits. " Canst thou minister to a mind diseased ? " I 
 always say that to myself in such cases ; the old bard had us on 
 the hip there. Are you going farther with me, Colonel ? ' — for 
 they had passed the gates of Brae by this time. 
 
 ' Yes, I will see you through the Woodlands, and I shall be 
 glad to have a bit of talk with you, for I never felt less inclined 
 to turn in. I shall write to my cousin to-night. We must have 
 her back as soon as possiljle.' 
 
 ' 01), she will be sure to come as soon as she hears it,' replied 
 Dr. Howell. And then they talked a little about arrangements 
 and various matters, until Gavin suddenly burst out again : 
 
 ' Look here, doctor — I must have it out with somebody — does 
 it not strike you that there is something horribly unnecessary in 
 this afternoon's tragedy ? What has a woman like Mrs. Herbert 
 done that she should be bowled over in this way ? Oh, I can't 
 exjflain myself But if one could only see the reason for such 
 things.' 
 
 ' Ah, you may well call it a tragedy,' returned the doctor. * I 
 have not heard of such a thing happening since the day they found 
 little Joan Saunderson in the brook. We need not wonder I\Irs. 
 Herbert is a bit dazed with the shock. It would have tried the 
 strongest of us. "We must just give her time, and leave her to
 
 A PAINFUL ENIGMA 233 
 
 nature a liit. If she could only have the relief of a good cry, I 
 should feel more comfortahle ahoiit lier.' 
 
 'I suppose grief scliloni kills,' replied Gavin tentatively. 
 
 ' I have never known it to do so, except in poetry or three- 
 volume novels,' returned Dr. Howell drily. ' Thou;^li, mind you, 
 there ai'e cases where the heait is weak, and the vitality low, when 
 there is no strength to bear a great troulde, and then some poor 
 creature succumbs. But Mrs. Herbert is young and healthy, and 
 she will have a fight for it.' 
 
 Gavin shuddered. He knew too well what .such fights meant. 
 
 * If one could see the necessity for such suffering,' he said again. 
 The iteration seemed to strike the doctoi-'s ears, for he looked 
 
 at his companion, but it was too dark to discern his expression. 
 
 ' There is one thing I mean to tell her when she is able 
 to bear it,' he said presently, ' though just now it would be a 
 doubtful consolation. That child's life was already doomed.' 
 
 Gavin started. ' You are quite sure of that, doctor ? ' 
 
 * I was s\ire of it the first moment I saw him, though I thought 
 it better to keep my knowledge to myself. I could patch him up 
 a bit, and the warm weather, though it made him languid, arrested 
 the course of the disease ; but he had no stamina, and the lir^t 
 
 childish ailment would have carried him ofi', even if ' Here 
 
 the doctor paused. 
 
 ' You are quite safe with me, HowelL Speak out plainh*, man. 
 It will be a relief to know what you feared.' 
 
 'Well, he was the sort of child one dreaded would have brain 
 disease — he was weak and excitable, and I always told his motlier 
 tliat he could not be kept too quiet. If she had seen some childien 
 suffer as I have, she would, barring the accident, be onh' too 
 thankful to lose him so painlessly. To be sure, she might have 
 kept him another year or two, but that would only have made the 
 parting when it came harder to bear. Depend upon it, there is not 
 only reason but mercy in this sudden accident.' 
 
 Gavin drew a deep breath. There was consolation for him in 
 the doctor's rough homely words. 
 
 * And there is another thing ' — and here Dr. Howell's voice grew 
 a little solemn. 'I don't know whether you have heard anything 
 about his father — that is another bit of knowledge I kept to myself. 
 A young brother of mine knew Ralph Herbert. He was an artist 
 — oh, I am making no mistake, there could not be two of them. 
 He was a handsome fellow, Gilbert said, and had a free hand ; but 
 a more vicious, sensual reprobate never lived. He had simply no 
 sense of honour, and told lies with a facility that would have 
 become the old gentleman.'
 
 234 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' Poor woman,' was Gavin's reply to tliis, and again the doctor's 
 eyes tried to peer tlirou<;li the daikness. 
 
 ' You may well say that. Gilbert was perfectly horrified when 
 he found he had a wife, though I believe he never saw Mrs. Herbert. 
 Well, Colonel — are you following me ? — with all our synipatliy for 
 that poor woman, how is one to regret that Ralph Herbert's child 
 should be taken 1 It is against the laws of heredity to think that 
 there would be no taint, physical or moral, in him. At best it 
 would be an open question. Is it not better for Mrs. Herbert to 
 be losing him now, a mere baby, than be weeping tears of shame 
 over him later ? Oh, well, here I am at my inn, so I will be wish- 
 ing you good-night.' 
 
 ' Good-night, and thank you,' returned Gavin a little huskily ; 
 and as he walked back ([uickly to Brae House he breathed more 
 freely, as though he had Ihmg off some weight that oppressed him. 
 
 He felt like a man who had lost his way in an unknown moun- 
 tainous region and suddenly come to a iinger-post, with familiar 
 names inscribed on it. The doctor's blunt common-sense had 
 thrown a new light on things. ' There is not only reason but 
 mercy in this sudden accident.' He coixld almost have blessed the 
 doctor fur tlio.-e words. 
 
 What a faithless traitor he had been. What if, after all, 'an 
 angel bad troubled the pool,' and pitiful, loving arms had drawn 
 the feeble child through a second baptism of painless death. 
 ' Those whom the gods love die young,' said the wise old heathen of 
 yore ; but the Christian goes farther, for he knows that the little 
 ones of the Kingdom follow the Lamb whithersoever lie goeth. 
 
 When Gavin got back to the bouse he found his mother sitting 
 patiently by the window, wrapped up in her old quilted satin cloak. 
 As she looked at him questioningly he ])ut his hand on her arm 
 without a word, and they went slowly down to the Farm. Neither 
 of them was in the mood for talking. The unwholesome oppres- 
 sion had lifted from Gavin's mind, but a sense of his own unfaith- 
 fulness and want of loyalty humbled him to the dust. Now and 
 then his mother's feeble footsteps filled him with vngue uneasiness, 
 and he could perceive that she leant more heavily upon his arm. 
 More than once she stopped to take breath, though she pretended 
 it was only to look at a bright star over the roof of Brae Farm. 
 ' The darker the night the brighter the stars,' he heard her say 
 a.s though to herself. ' They are always there, even though the 
 clouds hide thf-m.' But he could find no response to this. On the 
 tlircshohl he bade her good-night, and then went back to Brae; 
 Ijut it was long before he slept. And that night his thoughts were 
 with his dead wife, and not with Ellison.
 
 A PAINFUL ENIGMA 235 
 
 Mrs. Trevor kept vii^il beside Lorraine ; b}' tlic doctor's orders, 
 the child's crib had been removed into the Dovecote, but Lorraine, 
 drowsy from the elVects of the opiate, was unconscious of this. 
 
 She slejit heavily until morning, and Mrs. Trevor dozed litfully 
 beside her, wrapjied in her ohl satin cloak ; but at the first move- 
 ment from the bed she was wide awake in an instant. 
 
 Before Lorraine opened her eyes she stretched out her arm in- 
 voluntarily, and her fingers fluttered for a moment as they met 
 vacancy instead of resting on the iron bar of the crib. Her brow 
 contracted as though in vague wonder, and then the terrible truth 
 leapt out like a sword from its scabbard. This was the moment that 
 ^Irs. Trevor's motherly heart had dreaded. As that lilank look of 
 despair came into the large brown eye.?, she leant over her and said 
 quietly : 
 
 ' How glad you must be, dearest, that you called him Theodore.' 
 The words had come suddenly to her, without premeditation. 
 
 Lorraine looked at her without speaking. She could not have 
 uttered a word to save her life. A deadly faintness seemed to seize 
 her, and there was a cold moisture on her forehead. She srtid long 
 afterwards to Ellison that for the moment her agony was so great 
 that she thought she was dying. 
 
 'Theodore — gift of God,' went on Mrs. Trevor, in a soothing 
 monotone, as she took the cold hands in hers and rubbed them 
 gently. 'A gift is sometimes given back. Your darling is safe, 
 my poor dear ; far safer than he was in your arms ; for of such is 
 the kingdom of Heaven.' 
 
 Still silence ; only now there was a slight quivering of the 
 muscles of the face and throat, then one deej) sigh after another 
 seemed to relieve the labouring heart ; but though ^Irs. Trevor's 
 tears were flowing, Lorraine's eyes were dry, but presently she 
 said : 
 
 'You are very kind. Yes, I know all about it, and you are 
 right. "Will you go away now, plea-^e, for I must dress ?' and then 
 she leant on her elliow with a forlorn look round the room that 
 nearly broke Mrs. Trevor's heart. * They have taken him aAvay, 
 and I cannot stay here,' and then she began to tremble all over. 
 
 'They have only moved the crib into the play-room,' returned 
 Mrs. Trevor gently. ' There, I will open the door, and you can sec 
 it from there. If you will be good and drink some tea I will 
 leave you to get up, but you are too weak to move just now,' and 
 Lorraine, quieted by the view of the little crib, lay down obediently 
 and allowed ^Irs. Trevor to minister to her. 
 
 'She was so good ; she did evervthiuc; I asked her,' observcil 
 Mrs. Trevor later, to her son. ' I felt as though she were my own
 
 236 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 child. She is sitting in the play-room now arranging some flowers. 
 Tedo is looking so sweet. I never thought him pretty before. She 
 says it soothes lier to look at him. Slie asked if you would go up 
 presently, Gavin. There is something she wants you to do for her.' 
 And Colonel Trevor smothered a sigh, as he said hurriedly that he 
 would go at once.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IN THE DOVECOTE 
 
 ' God takes lliem from our liaiuls 
 
 That seeiiieil but made to cling ; 
 He sets tlieiu fur away iu tlie shade 
 01' His Car-stretch iiig wiugs.' 
 
 B. M. 
 
 Colonel Trevor was just taking down his straw hat from the peg 
 when he saw Mr. Vincent walking rapidly up the drive. As they 
 shook hands, Eric said iu a vexed tone : 
 
 ' I am so sorry tliat you are going out ; I wanted to speak to 
 you particularly, if you could spare me a few minutes.' 
 
 'My dear fellow, I will spare you half an hour if you like,' 
 returned Gavin good-lunnouredly, tliuugh, if the trutli must be told, 
 he was chafing inwardly at tlie delay. 'My mother brought me 
 word that Mr.s. Herbert wished to si)eak to me, but no time was 
 mentioned, and it is (juile early. Come to the library, no one will 
 disturb us there.' 
 
 ' I will not keep you long,' replied Eric, in a dejected tone — he 
 ha<l ])assed a miscralde night and lookccl wrctclicdly ill — 'but T 
 nmst speak to some one,' and then he tlirew himself down in a 
 chair, and shaded his face from the light. 
 
 Colonel 'I'revor put his hand on his slioulder. ' You are upset, 
 Vincent, and no wonder. It is a terrible shock to us all ; but you 
 must not take things too much to lieart ; it was no fault of yours 
 that the accident hajtpened.' 
 
 'I wisli I could think so,' returned Eric, forcing himself to speak 
 calmly. ' But I ouglit to have kept that boy in better order. 
 What am I to do with him, Trevor ? Yesterday I was so angry 
 that I dared not touch him for fear I should liave liarnied liim. I 
 give you my word, that when I was dragging the truth out of him 
 I had to liold mv hands behind mv back. Nora cried because
 
 238 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 slie said that I looked so dreadful ; but at tliat moment I felt as 
 if we were all that cliild's murderers.' 
 
 ' I daresay I should luive felt the same in your place,' replied 
 Colonel Ti-evor kindly ; ' but it won't do, Vincent. Pull yourself 
 together and look at things in a sensible light ; they are bad 
 enough, heaven knows, without making them worse by getting 
 morbid over them. Hugo is the only sinner, and must bear the 
 penalty of his sin. I suppose a good thrashing would be best ; he 
 richly deserves it ' — and here Gavin's voice grew stern ; ' by his 
 own confession he had his orders, and he chose to disobey them. 
 How dare he let that baby climb the fence. Miss Lee has for- 
 Ijidden the children to play in that part of the meadow, and he 
 knew the water was deep. I am sorry to say it, Vincent, but I 
 am an old soldier and believe in discipline ; that boy must have a 
 sound caning ! ' 
 
 ' Then you must give it to him yourself,' returned Eric, turning 
 very white. ' I tell you I dare not trust myself to lay a finger on 
 him. Wlien I think of Mrs. Herbert and all her goodness to those 
 children I feel as though I hated the siglit of him. Look here, 
 Trevor, I am not (luite myself, and I cannot put things clearly, but 
 Hugo must be punished some other way.' 
 
 ' Very well,' returned Gavin reluctantly, 'he is your brother, 
 not mine ; but you are cruel without meaning to be so. If I 
 know anything of boy-nature, Hugo would rather endure a smart 
 caning at youi hands than be sent to Coventry. He is pretty 
 miserable already ; you may depend on that. He has had a 
 lesson that will last him for life. Don't shut him up in that 
 stifling hole where the boys sleep. I do not approve of solitary 
 confinement for boys.' 
 
 ' He must have his meals alone, I have told Nora so. I could 
 not eat with him in the room. Nora may make what arrangement 
 she likes ; she was up with him half the night ; but there is one 
 thing I have decided — he shall go to school at Michaelmas. He 
 is no fit companion for Edmund, and they must be separated as 
 soon as possilde.' 
 
 'There I think you are right; I will back you up in that ; but, 
 Vincent, before Ave leave the subject, I must just say something — 
 don't be too hard on the boy ; he deserves punishment, but it must 
 not be too prolonged ; any signs of repentance should be encouraged.' 
 
 ' He is repentant enough already,' replied Eric in a strangely- 
 oppressed voice. ' Did I not say that Nora was with him half the 
 night trying to comfort him ? But what repentance will give Mrs. 
 Herbert back her child ? We have robbed her of her happiness. 
 I say we, because Hugo is my flesh and blood. Look at my
 
 IN THE DOVECOTE 239 
 
 position, Trevor ; it is perfectly unendurable. I am her clerg}'- 
 nian ; I shall have to read the service over that child ; it is my 
 duty to oiler her the consulations belonging to my office ; but I 
 dare not go near her ; she would shrink from the very sight of me.' 
 
 ' I see what you mean,' returned Colonel Trevor gravely. He 
 thought that he had grasped the reason of the young clergyman's 
 changed looks. His sensitive refined nature was shocked by the 
 awful consequences of his young brother's disobedience ; but he 
 little know the extent of Eric's pain. 
 
 His position was as he had defined it, well-nigh unendurable ; 
 the woman whom he secretly adored was in sorrow and dire 
 aftliction, and he dare not approach her. Othei-s might surround 
 her with kindly ministry and sympathy, but he, her pastor and 
 friend, must stand aloof. Even Colonel Trevor, who was no rela- 
 tion, was to be admitted to her presence — and here a fierce pang of 
 jealousy made Eric's heart throb. In his youthful enthusiasm he 
 would have been ready to lay down his life in the service of the 
 sweet woman whom he called his liege lady, and yet his own 
 brother had inflicted this life-long sorrow on her. 
 
 ' She will loathe the very sound of our name,' he had groaned 
 more than once during that long night. ' If nne could onlv atone ! 
 But the child is dead, and no such atonement is jjossible.' 
 
 Tliere was very little more talk after this. Eric had said his 
 say, but his secret wound lay too deep for masculine sympathy. 
 Colonel Trevor's friendly words only grazed the edge of his 
 trouble ; nevertheless, Eric was grateful for them. He went 
 away after this, walking with hasty strides to the village, and 
 not daring to slacken his pace or look back for fear he should 
 see Colonel Trevor turn in the direction of Brae Farm. The 
 thought that lie would see her, speak to her, and take her hand, 
 brought back that flood of bitter jealousy. Poor Eric ! He was 
 so young and his life had been a hard one, and now the slow con- 
 suming passion of hopeless love was to be added to his troubles. 
 It was not in his nature to take the disease lightly, and yet from 
 the first he had never deceived himself; the young widow's frank 
 kindneas gave him no margin of hope that his aflfection would ever 
 be returned. 
 
 * Poor fellow ! ' sighed Gavin to himselL ' He is terribly sensi- 
 tive, but I can feel for him ; in his place I should have been ready 
 to cut my own throat. I wonder if one dare mention his name?' 
 And then, as the Farm came in sight, Gavin's face grew grave and 
 sad, and he forgot Eric in the thought of seeing ^Irs. Herbert. 
 
 He knew where he should find her — in the Dovecote. Tedo's 
 beloved playmates were in their accustomed place, peering in at
 
 240 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 the window, with their round, yellow eyes, and arching their soft 
 grey necks as though in sui-prise at the unusual silence. 
 
 Lorraine had finished her work, and Tedo lay under a quilt of 
 lovely summer flowers, and now she sat beside him, holding one 
 tiny waxen hand between her hot palms. She looked up with dry, 
 weary eyes at Gavin as he entered ; their heaviness, the patient 
 oppression of her lace and attitude, filled him with unutterable 
 pity. Hardly knowing what he did he laid his hand over hers and 
 the child's. 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Herbert, ia it good for you to be here ? ' 
 Then a vague surprise came into her eyes. 
 
 ' What does it matter % ' she said in a tired voice. * Nothing can 
 be good for me now. Of course I must be with him ; does he not 
 look sweet ? He is smiling as though the angels were talking to 
 him. His mouth was always so lovely ; every one said so.' 
 
 Gavin could not answer ; his eyes felt suddenly hot and smart- 
 ing. He had not moved away his hand, but Lorraine noticed 
 nothing. Presently he stooped over her, and said rather unsteadily ; 
 
 ' You sent for me. I hope you are going to tell me that there 
 is something I can do for you.' 
 
 It was sad to see the effort she made to concentrate her 
 thoughts ; but he waited patiently until he saw that she had 
 mastered the question. 
 
 ' I am very stupid,' she said, putting wp her hand to her head, 
 ' but I do not seem to understand things clearly. Yes, I know 
 now what I want. Will you take me this evening to the chui'ch- 
 yard ? There is no one else that I cau ask, and you are so kind — 
 so kind, and my Tedo was so fond of you. He said when he grew 
 up he meant to be a soldier like the Colonel. I must-go myself 
 and choose the place for him.' 
 
 ' Do you think you are strong enough ?' he asked gently. 
 
 But she put this question by as though it did not concern her. 
 
 ' It is such a pretty churchyard ! ' slie went on. ' I remember 
 that first evening that Ellison said she meant to be buried there ; 
 and there is a corner with two may-trees and a laburnum ; that 
 would just do for my little child. You will take me, will you not'? 
 I asked your mother about it, and she said you would not refuse. 
 Tiiere is something else that I want to say to you, but everything 
 goes out of my head.' 
 
 ' Never mind, j'ou will remember it presently, and I am in no 
 hurry. Very well, then, I will bring round the close carriage at 
 half-pa-st six, if that will suit you, it is no distance, and we shall 
 not be long.' 
 
 ' Oh no, we shall not be long I I could not stay away long. I
 
 IN THE DOVECOTE 241 
 
 think I shall ask Dorcas to sit beside him while I am away, I 
 dare.-fay you thii;k me foolish, but I cannot have my baby left 
 alone. I never left you more than I could help, did I, Tedo, my 
 sweet ? ' and as she bent to ki;^s liim Gavin hastily removed his 
 hand, though Lorraine's poor confu^^ed brain hardly comprehended 
 the action. 
 
 GaviTi walked to the window, causing a fluttering of wings as 
 the frightened doves flew off to the granary roof. The position was 
 exquisitely painful to him. If she would only have wept and 
 bemoaned herself, like other women. But the sight of her pale 
 face and soft, bewildered eyes gave him positive pain. 
 
 ' She ought to cry ; she must cry ! ' ke said angiily to himself. 
 ' Her brain is getting confused, and she can find no relief. What 
 is a man to do in such a case ? If only Ellison were here. She 
 ought to have a woman near her, and my mother is not fit for it.' 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor ' — the low voice made him start — ' I know now 
 what I wanted to say. It is something about Mr. Vincent.' 
 
 ' Vincent ! Do you mean that you would like to see him ? ' 
 asked Gavin, blundering in his surprise. But a sudden grey shade 
 on Lorraine's face warned him that he had made a mistake. 
 
 'Oh no,' she returned faintly. 'I can see no one — I wish to 
 see no one but you and Mrs. Trevor.' 
 
 ^Yhy did Gavin Hush suddenly as Lorraine said this? 
 
 •It is only that I wanted you to ask him not to be hard on 
 Hugo.' She brought out the word with difliculty, and her head 
 drooped. 'Tell him I said so.' And then she turned hastily and 
 hid her face on the edge of the crib. And so he left her, and the 
 doves flew back, and all through the hot afternoon they sat and 
 coood to the dead child ; and Lorraine, drowsy with pain, seemed 
 to hear her boy's voice mingling with them. 
 
 At tlie appointed time Gavin drove to the Farm and found her 
 quite reaily for liim. Lorraine wore her little black hat, and if it 
 had not been for her siul eyes, and a certain unnatural rigidity of 
 feature that spoke of the bitter strain, he would have noticed little 
 dilference in her. But when they entered the brougham, an action 
 on her part startled him, for she suddenly pulled down the silk 
 blind. 
 
 But the next moment he understood it. She could not bear the 
 sight of the pond where her darling had met his watery grave. 
 Never again would she stand there to see the big cart-horses come 
 down to drink, or to watch the placid cattle sUinding knee-deep in 
 the shallow water. From this day forth the broad silvery pond in 
 moonlight and starlight would be a n'ghtmare to her. 
 
 During the short drive she leant back with her eyes closed, but 
 
 16
 
 242 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM ' 
 
 Le could see by her trembling lips that she had not fainted. When 
 he helped her to alight she staggered a little as though from weak- 
 ness, and as they walked up the churchyard path he was obliged 
 to give her his arm, but the fresh evening air seemed to revive 
 her. 
 
 ' This is the place I meant,' she said presently, pointing to a 
 corner of the churchyard that adjoined the playground belonging 
 to the infant school. ' It is so pretty and quiet there. No one 
 ever passes ; but the children's voices sound so cheerfully. There 
 must be no dark gloomy trees to overshadow my Tedo. May 
 blossoms — he was so fond of may — and the "golden curls," as he 
 always called laburnum. Yes — that is the place. Will you tell 
 Mr. Vincent so, and manage it for me ? ' 
 
 'Yes, yes — I will settle everything. Look, there is a seat. 
 You must sit down for a moment ; you are not able to stand.' 
 
 'The air is very sweet,' returned Lorraine, almost vacantly. 
 ' You are very kind. Colonel Trevor. I am giving you so much 
 trouble. But I have no one — no one belonging to me. Is there 
 not somebody following US'? I keep seeing a dark shadow flit round 
 the churcli. Perhaps it is my fancy. I seem full of fancies 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' I will go and look,' he said, anxious to sootlie her, for the 
 dilated briglitness of her eyes troubled him. But his search was 
 brief and perfunctory. It was only fancy; fur who would be 
 taking the trouble to dog their footsteps ? he said to liimself. But 
 for once Gavin was wrong. That very moment a slight boyish 
 figure was crouching behind the buttress within reach of his hand. 
 Hugo, wandering aimlessly about the common, had caught sight of 
 the carriage, had guessed their errand, and had followed them. 
 
 Colonel Trevor had been right in his opinion. Hugo would 
 rather have borne the pain of a tremendous thrashing than have 
 endured this isolation. Eric's white face of suppressed anger tlie 
 previous evening had been dreadful to him. Tlie very way in 
 which he had silently pointed to the door seemed to affix the mark 
 of Cain on his brow. The poor child was half-maddened with 
 remorse and misery, and the memory of the little limp, inert 
 figure lifted out of the pond was so horrible that he could with 
 difficulty prevent himself from screaming hysterically. Eric's 
 orders had been that Edmund should in future share his room, and 
 the little fellow was sobbing out his heart on his jiiilow in the 
 adjoining room. Poor Hugo had no light, and no gleam of moon- 
 light relieved the darkness. He could hear Eric walking up and 
 down the passage below, and the sound was hardly reassuring. 
 Then his door opened, and Nora, in her white night-di-ess, with
 
 IN THE DOVECOTE 243 
 
 her pretty brown hair falling' over her shoulder.*, had glided into 
 the room. Slie carried a candle carclully shaded, which .she set 
 down on the washstand. Nora's eyes were swollen with cryinf^, 
 but as .«he sat down on the bed and put her arms round him some- 
 thing like conil'ort stole into the wiM suffering heart, and Hugo 
 broke into hoarse sobs. 
 
 ' You ought not to come near me, Nora,' he gasped. ' Eric says 
 I am a murderer — I have murdered Tedo ! ' 
 
 'Oh no, no!' returned Nora, mingling her tears with hi.s. 
 'No, Hughie dear, you have been very naughty — oh, drea<lfully 
 naughty. But it is not munler. Murderers don't love the people 
 they kill, and you did love Tt-do so. Oh dear, oh dear ! We all 
 loved him. He was such a darling. Oh, Hughie, I don't want to 
 make you miserable, but why — why did you let him go near the 
 pond ? ' 
 
 ' I forgot — I did indeed, Nora. I was watching Edmund's boat, 
 and one of the little men and the cannon had fallen into the water, 
 and the old drake came up and tried to swallow them. And it 
 was so funny, and Tedo asked to look. And then he cried — I can 
 hear his voice now, I have to stop my ears I hear it so plainly — 
 "Hughie, dear, boy vants to look. Boy vill look." And I took 
 him up. It was Eddie's fault. He .^creamed so loud, ntnl I k't go ; 
 
 and then oh, that spla.'^h ! ' And here Hugo buried his face 
 
 against Nora's thin little shoulder, and clung to lier. 
 
 * Do not be too hard on the boy,' Gavin had .said. ' He has had 
 a lesson that will last him all hi.s life.' And he was right. All his 
 life long Hugo would never forget those hours of boyish agony when 
 he first leanit the meaning of those word.«, ' The wages of sin ia 
 death.' Alas, in his case, death was to the innocent.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 'IT IS A SORROWFUL WORLD* 
 
 ' Wlint time I passed 
 That (lay witliin tlie gate, the (.'hiM ainse 
 And crossed 'I'hy 'J'hrcshohl, and liclu'ld Tliy Face, 
 O God ill jicace. lie will not come to me, 
 But I will haste across the fading hills, 
 And so to Thee.' 
 
 B. M. , Ezelcid and other Poons. 
 
 When Colonel Trevor returned from liis unavailing search, he 
 found Lorraine had risen from her seat. She was standing with 
 her arms hanging loosely to her side, and her eyes fixed on the 
 daisies. The bewilderment on her face had increased. As he 
 came up to her she put her ungloved hand on his coat sleeve. 
 
 * How silent and dark it is. You have heen gone such a long 
 time' — he had been absent barely three minutes — 'and I could 
 not bear it. I want you to take me home ; it frightens me to stay 
 here, and to think of what will be done here to-morrow.' 
 
 * We will go then,' he returned gently. ' I daresay Roberts will 
 be glail not to keep the horses out any longer. You are sadly 
 oxliMUstcd, anil the dews are heavy this evening.' lie hardly 
 knew what to say, and yet he dared not be silent for a moment. 
 He was terribly anxious about her. Something told him that she 
 would be unable to bear tlie strain much longer ; the unnatural 
 calm must be broken. He noticed the difliculty with which she 
 dragged hcr.'^clf to the gate, as though her feet were weighted with 
 lead. Wlieii they reached the c;irriagc he had to lift her in. Neither 
 of them noticed a little figure gliding between the tomljstoiies, and 
 then climbing the low wall in the dusk. As the brougham door 
 closed Hugo swung himself up behind. 
 
 Gavin had meant to leave Mrs. Herbert the moment he saw her 
 safely into the houfie, but as he was about to bid her good night,
 
 ' IT IS A SORRO WFUL WORLD ' 245 
 
 Lorraine felt her dress suddenly pulled and looked vaguely round, 
 but a deadly pallor overspread her features when she saw Hugo. 
 
 Tlie poor child was in a sad plight ; his face grimy with tears 
 and dust, but as Lorraine uUerLil a low irrei)res.sible cry he flung 
 himself on the ground at her feet — still holding her dress — con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 'Oh, do let me see him, just fur one moment. I want to ask 
 him to forgive me ; you may beat me, or kick me if you like, or 
 trami>le on me. I know I deserve it, but I must see him, and tell 
 him how sorry I am ; I did so love him. I wish I had killed 
 myself and not him, poor dear Tedo.' 
 
 Lorraine tried to speak — tried to release her dress ; and then 
 Gavin suddenly lifted her, as tliough she were a child, and carried 
 her to tlie sitting-room ; as he did so he could have blessed the 
 boy, for he knew that Hugo's desjiairing words had broken the icy 
 spell. As he placed her half-fainting on the couch, she hid her 
 face in her hands, and the sound of her wild sobbing brought the 
 frightened maids from the kitchen. 
 
 Gavin waved them peremptorily away, and whispered to Mrs. 
 Tucker to bring wine, or some restorative ; then he went up to 
 Hugo, as he stood outsitle almost sick witii fright, and patted him 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 ' Don't be frightened, Hugo, you have done good, not harm ; no 
 one has been able to make her cry before ; don't let her see you, 
 she will ask for you if she feels able ; stay where you are for the 
 present'; and Hugo, for once in his life, obeyed implicitly. 
 
 When Mrs. Tucker returned with the wine Gavin took it from 
 her hand, but he made no effort to check Lorraine's tears ; those 
 deep, ditlicult sobs made his heart ache with jdty ; he was thankful 
 when they ceased, ami a passion of tears brought her relief. 'My 
 little child,' he heard her s;iy — ' my baby, my Tedo,' over and over 
 again. . Presently when she had grown calmer, and had drunk the 
 wine that he held to her lijis, she whispered, 'Thank you so much 
 — will you send Hugo to me a moment, he is outside still, is he 
 notV and Gavin at once obeyed her. 
 
 Hugo would liave Hung himself on his knees again, but Lorraine 
 put out a feeble hand to stop him. 'No, Hugo, not to me. Ask 
 God to forgive you your disobedience. As for my darling, he Ims 
 forgiven long ago. In heaven there is only love aud peace, love 
 and peace.' 
 
 Her voice was very faint, as though from exhaustion. 
 'I cannot t;ilk to-night, I feel too ill,' slie went on. 'To- 
 morrow — yes, to-morrow ymi shall see him ; there, God bless you 
 for my little angel's sake.' And as she stretched out that kind
 
 246 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 hand to tlie miserable cliild, Gavin felt as though he could have 
 kissed the hem of her garment out of sheer worship and reverence 
 for her goodness. 
 
 ' Will you help me upstairs now, Colonel Trevor % ' Gavin 
 almost groaned as he performed this brotherly ollice. How lonely 
 she was. Why had such duties devolved on him ? He was nothing 
 to her ; he was already half afhanced to her cousin, and yet in her 
 sorrow it was to him she turned. 
 
 That night, as he took Hugo back to the cottage, some stern 
 interior voice warned him of danger, bidding him walk warily for 
 fear of hidden pit-falls. 
 
 But as Lorraine lay weeping on her bed that night, with her 
 eyes fixed on the little crib, standing out so plainly in the moon- 
 light, she thought more than once of Colonel Trevor's kindness. 
 
 ' He is so patient with me. He has known trouble. He has 
 lost his treasure too ' ; and as slie lay between sleeping and waking 
 with tlie tears still wet on her face, some words she had once 
 copied for herself, came to her. 
 
 ' May I reach that purest heaven — 
 Be to others' souls the cup of strength in some great agony.' 
 
 And then a sort of dream came to her, but it was more like a 
 vision. She thought she Avas in a moonlighted garden, under some 
 grey olive-trees, and a form she recognised was kneeling there 
 with an outstretched cup in His hands. 'I am drinking it for 
 thee, and wilt thou refuse it for My sake?' she seemed to hear a 
 voice say, and as she took it fearful and trembling, she saw her 
 boy with a dazzling halo round his baby head, smiling at her over 
 a clump of white lilies, and in that sudden joy she awoke. 
 
 The following afternoon a pencilled note was brought to Eric. 
 As he saw the handwriting, a dark flush came to his brow, and his 
 hand shook as he opened it. 
 
 'Will you come to me?' it said. 'I ought to have seen you 
 before, but I shall have him such a little while, and I wanted to 
 be left ahjne with him ; please furgise me my selfishness, and come 
 now. There is something I must say to you. — Lokiiaine Herbert.' 
 
 Eric crushed up the letter in his hand with a sudden fierce im- 
 pulse ; tlien he smoothed it out and read it again. The ne.vt 
 moment he was striding across the common. As he walked up 
 the lane, he saw Misa Trevor coming out of the little gate ; she 
 stood still when she saw him, and they shook hands in silence. 
 
 Muriel looked pale and travel-stained. Slie had taken the 
 night train, and had gone at once to the Farm. 
 
 'I have been sitting witli liei-,' she said abruptly, but her voice
 
 IT IS A SORROWFUL WORLD' 247 
 
 was deep with emotion. ' She is quite calm, but she looks terribly 
 ill. Slie told mc that she was expecting,' you, so I said I would go 
 across and fetch luy things. I thought mother would be with her, 
 but she says she was alone last night.' 
 
 Muriel's tone was slightly indignant, but she was not aware that 
 Mrs. Trevor had had an attack of pain the previous evening, that 
 prevented her leaving the house. 
 
 ' I am glad you have come. Mi-s. Herbert ought not to be alone, 
 certainly,' returned Eric. His manner was constrained, and he 
 looked ill at ease. Muriel looked at him a little wistfully. Mr. 
 Vincent had never been so stiff and cold before. She hated herself 
 for having such a thought, but it was there all the same. But 
 Eric, absorbed by his own miserable sensations, was unconscious 
 of his want of friendliness. 
 
 Miss Trevor simply bored him, and though he had at the 
 moment no wish to seem ungraciou-^, he left her as soon as po.'^sible. 
 His mind was lull of the impending interview. Why had Mrs. 
 Herbert sent for him ? how was he to bear himself in her presence, 
 and in what words could he convey his sympathj' ? 
 
 lluth showed him into the sitting-room. Even after these two 
 days it had a deserted, uninhabited look ; the flowers on the table 
 were withered, and no one had carried them away ; and the closed 
 windows and blinds added to the general dreariness. Some work 
 Lorraine hail been doing that fatal afternoon as she talked to her 
 visitor had been hastily folded together on the window- seat 
 Muriel found it latt-r, and carried it away, bursting into tears as 
 she did so. That little velvet smock with its delicate embroidery 
 would not be needed now. 
 
 Eric stood still with his eyes fi.\ed on the door, but he was not 
 kept waiting long ; in another minute Lorraine entered. Eric 
 hardly dared to look at her, the very touch of her cold soft hand 
 gave h,im a shock. How fearfully pale she looked ; her eyes were 
 half extinguished with weepin^r, but she was wonderfully calm aa 
 she walked to the window and drew up the heavy Venetian blind. 
 
 ' Why have they done tins'?' she said, and there was a trace of 
 irritation in her tone. * Do they not know that he hated darkness 1 
 Will you open the window fur me, Mr. Vincent ? if I do not have 
 air, I feel as though I shouM die,' and then she seated herself on 
 the broad window-seat, and after a moment's hesitation, Eric seated 
 himself opposite to her ; as he did so, he noticed there was a grey 
 thread in her glossy brown hair. 
 
 * If you had not sent for me, I should not have dared to come,' 
 he began impulsively; 'you have not misunderstood mc, Mrs. 
 Herbert 1 '
 
 248 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 'Oh no,' slie returned wearily, 'there Avas no possibility of 
 misunderstanding : ' it vas kindness on your part that kejit you 
 away.' Her voice trembled as though slie found it difficult to 
 control it, and there was a painful quivering of the mouth ; but 
 after a moment she gathered strength to go on. 
 
 ' It is so hard not to be selfish. I feel as though I only want 
 to think of him — people tire me so, but they mean to be kind. I 
 wanted to speak to you about Hugo ; I saw him last night.' 
 Eric gazed at her in speechless consternation. 
 ' He followed us to the churchyard, and then to the house ; he 
 wanted our forgiveness. To-day he came again, and I took him to 
 see my boy. It tried me ; it was very painful, but I am glad I 
 did not refuse. It makes me almost happy to know that my little 
 child Avill have helped him to be good ; that is why I sent for you, 
 Mr. Vincent, to tell you that we have forgiven him, and that you 
 must forgive him too.' 
 
 Eric could not master himself sufficiently to speak. She was 
 putting them all to shame ; his silence, his suppressed agitation 
 seemed to trouble Lorraine ; she sighed heavily, as though her self- 
 imposed task wearied her too much. 
 
 'Promise me that you will forgive him,' she said almost 
 imploringly ; ' he is so young, such a mere child, and he suffers so.' 
 Then some words, from which he had preached the previous Sunday, 
 came into the young clergyman's mind. 'Ye ought rather to 
 forgive him and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be 
 swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.' How strange that he had 
 selected those words. 
 
 'I Avill try,' he returned. 'I think these two days I have 
 almost hated him ; I could not endure to see him. Mrs. Herbert, 
 you are a better Christian than I.' Then she shook her head. 
 
 ' No, no, you must not say that, but my boy was so fond of him, 
 Mr. Vincent. I must say one thing, and then I shall have finished. 
 Keep Hugo near you ; be kind and patient with him. I do not 
 think that he will give you any more trouble, but he must not be 
 trusted with E'lmund,' and then she rose from her seat and held 
 out her hand. 
 
 'Will you forgive me? — but I cannot stay. I am very weak, 
 and talking tries me so, and I must keep my strength for to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 ' Please wait one moment,' he implored. ' I v/anted to ask you 
 about that. Would it ])ain you less if some one else were to read the 
 service ? I could get Cartwright to come over.' But this question 
 evidently surprised her. 
 
 •Oh no ; I should not wish that. Mr. Cartwright did not love
 
 ' IT IS A SORROWFUL WORLD' 249 
 
 my boy ; he was quite a stranger to him. You need not have 
 asked nie tliat, Mr. Vincent ; but I know liow kinJly you meant 
 it' — antl then lie was obliged to let her go. 
 
 lie had not promised her that he would forgive Hugo, but he 
 knew lier word would be law to him ; his heart was full of bitter- 
 ness to the boy, but all the same he must bring him.'^clf to tolerate 
 him. Aa he walked across the common, he could see him saunter- 
 ing aimlessly among the bushes like a forlorn little Esau, and he 
 stood still and beckoned to him. 
 
 The boy ai>proached him reluctantly. 
 
 'Did you call me, Eric V he asked in a frightened sort of way. 
 
 ' Yes, I wanted to speak to you ; don't look at me as though j'ou 
 thought I was going to strike you. I have never yet hurt you, 
 have I ? ' and Hugo shook his head. ' I want to know how you 
 dared go near ilrs. Herbert — no, I am not asking in anger,' as 
 Hugo began to cry, ' I only wanted to know what put it into your 
 head to do such a thing.' 
 
 ' 1 can't tell you if you speak in that voice,' returned Hugo 
 piteously. ' I would rather you hit me than look at me as you do ; 
 every one hates me except Eddie, and I hate myself, but I could not 
 have lived if she had not forgiven me'; and here, worn out with 
 excess of emotion, Hugo flung himself on the ground in a fit of 
 sobbing. ' Go away, Eric,' he continued passionately, ' I know you 
 hate the sight of me, and I won't talk to you any more.' 
 
 For the fir.^t time Eric fflt a little softened towards the culprit. 
 
 'Get up, Hugo,' he said |ieremptorily, 'and don't make a fool of 
 yourself ; don't I tell you I am not angry now ? Mrs. Herliert told 
 me that she had forgiven you, so I must do my best to forgive you 
 too.' 
 
 Hugo looked at him as though he could not venture to believe 
 his ears ; then he left off crying, and rose slowly from the ground. 
 
 ' Do you rc^iUy mean thi.-^, Eric ; and may Eddie sleep in my 
 room again ? ' 
 
 'No,' returned his brother sliortly. 'Things can't bo as they 
 were. I dare not trust Eddie to be with you.' 
 
 'Then you have not forgiven me,' returned Hugo, in a tone of 
 such despair that Eric was touched and startled. 
 
 'Yes, Hugo, I have, at least I am trying to do so, but I cannot 
 trust you until you have proveil to me that you have learnt to 
 obey. Eddie may play with you when Nora or I am there ; but 
 he is never to be alone with you. This is the only punishment I 
 shall inflict. At Michaelmas you shall go to school — you will like 
 that, Hugo — and then you will have plenty of companions.' 
 
 But Hugo, crushed and bitter, refused tfi be consoled by this.
 
 250 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 'You are sending me to school because you are afraid for Eddie, 
 and because you hate tlie sight of me,' he began rebelliously ; and 
 then his little heart began to heave. ' I can't bear it, Eric. I 
 think you might trust me now ; I shall never, never be naughty 
 again.' 
 
 ' Won't you, Hugliie ? ' — and here Eric put his arm round his 
 young brother, and tliere was no hardness in his voice now. ' I 
 don't think any of us dare say that. I shall be able to trust you 
 again some day, I am sure of that, and until then you will be brave, 
 and try your hardest to be good, and — I will help you,' and he 
 laid his hand on the curly head. Tliat brotherly touch brought 
 comfort to Hugo, and in his childish heart he registered a vow that 
 Eric should never distrust him again. 
 
 Nora watched them timidly as they came in, but she never 
 ventured to question her elder brother. ' Hugo will have his meals 
 witli us as usual,' was all Eric said, as he threw himself down in 
 his chair. He felt terribly fagged and tired, as though he had been 
 hard at work. Eddie, who was reading disconsolately in a corner, 
 uttered a shrill little hurrah, and rushed out into the passage, and 
 flung his arms round his playmate. 
 
 ' Vou are going to have dinner with us, Hughie ! ' he exclaimed 
 ecstatically, and Eric could overhear Hugo's answer. 
 
 ' Yes ; but we are never to sleep together again, and you won't 
 often be allowed to play with me, Eddie. I am going away to 
 School ' — but here a howl of dismay from the faithful Eddie brought 
 Nora out to comfort liim. 
 
 Tlie next afternoon most of the inhal)itants of Highlands 
 gathered in the churchyard. Mrs. Trevor was unable to attend ; 
 but Muriel, who had now taken up her quarters at the Farm, 
 accompanied her brother and Lorraine. 
 
 Eric had arranged that some of the school cliildren should carry 
 the tiny coffin, and since early morning, lie and I\Iis3 Spencer, the 
 infant-schoolmistress, ajid Nora and Daniel had been busy lining 
 tlie grave with ferns and wild flowers that the children had gathered. 
 As Lorraine looked at tlie deep green nest with its fringe of ferns 
 and Late-blooming roses, her lip trembled a little, and tliere was a 
 mist before her eyes. 
 
 The cliildren standing in awestruck groups, the little bearers 
 with their innocent young faces, the white frocks of the girls as 
 they stood holding their simple posies, seemed to blend with the 
 sweet summer sunshine, and the words of consolation that Eric 
 Vincent was reading in a strained, trembling voice. ' I shall go to 
 him, but he will not return to me,' Lorraine said to herself, as the 
 children threw in their flowers one Ijy one. She stood there so
 
 ' IT IS A SORROWFUL WORLD' 201 
 
 long that Gavin took her hand at last, and placing it on his arm 
 drew her gently away. More than one person noticeil the Colunel'a 
 excessive pak-ness as he handed the young widnw into the carriage, 
 and stood harcheadud as she drove away. 'He has a feeling heart 
 has the Colonel,' observed Mrs. Drake to her gossips, as she wiped 
 her eyes. 'Maybe it reiuin<ls him ti)o closely of thu day he buried 
 his wife, eh, neighbour ? But Mr. Vincent was right when he read 
 those words — " I^lan is born into trouble." It is a sorrowful world j 
 but" we've got to live in it, and iiiure's the pity.'
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 HE MOST DREE HIS WEIRD TOO 
 
 'To shape the whole future is not our problem, but only faithfully a small 
 part of it. . . . The general issue will, as it has always done, rest well 
 with a Higher lutelligence than ours.' — Carl VLB. 
 
 'There is no steady happiness in life, save the happiness of self- forgetful ness 
 for the sake of others.' — Dean Paget. 
 
 Some one besides Mrs. Drake noticed Gavin's paleness. On his 
 return home he had gone straight to his mother's dressing-room ; 
 and Mrs. Trevor, who was lying on her couch, looked at him rather 
 anxiously as he stood beside her. Perhaps it was the strong sun- 
 light, but she fancied he looked older. She had never noticed those 
 lines before round his mouth, and his deep-set eyes were unusually 
 melancholy. 
 
 ' I am afraid all this has tried you, Gavin,' she said gently. 
 Then he sat down beside her and the gloom deepened on his brow. 
 
 'It has not been cheerful, certainly,' he returned, with an abrupt 
 laugh. ' But I suppose it was all in the day's work, and there was 
 no one else to do it.' He had said those words to himself over and 
 over again as he had walked back from the church. ' How could 
 he hell) himself; tliere was no one else?' 
 
 ' No,' she replied in a grieved voice, * it is sad that I am such a 
 broken reed just now. I longed so much to be there. Muriel 
 will do her best, but she will not understand, she has not served 
 her apprenticeship to trouble — as you and I have, Gavin, my dear 
 — and that is why we suit Mrs. Herbert best.' 
 
 Gavin boweil his head slightly as though he agreed with her. 
 Mrs. Herbert's frank dejiendence on him, her simply-expressed con- 
 fidence and tru.st were becoming sources of embarrassment to him. 
 Instinctively he felt that he was in a wrong position, and yet how
 
 HE MUST DREE HIS IVEJRD TOO 263 
 
 was he to witlulraw liiniself, or to refuse to help her — the most 
 lonely of creatures on God's earth. 
 
 ' Mother,' he said suddenly, and there was a harsh vihrating 
 note of pain in his voice, ' 1 wish to heaven that Ellison would 
 send us her address. I do not believe our telegram has reached 
 her yet. AVhat a horrible complication it is ; if she were only here 
 to look, after Mrs. Herbert.' 
 
 'Yes, indeed,' sighed Mrs. Trevor. 'I a^ree with you that 
 nothing could be more unfortunate than her absence just now. 
 Muriel, poor child, will do her best, she is devoted to ^Irs. Herbert, 
 but she has not dear JCUison's experience. She is so helpful and 
 strong in any emergency, and her calmne&s is so soothing. I miss 
 her dreadfully, especially now when I am separated from Mrs. 
 Herbert.' » 
 
 ' You do not miss her more than I do,' returned Gavin almost 
 harshly. Something in his mother's words seemed to sting him. 
 ' Nothing is as it should be ; you are being neglectdl, for of course 
 ^luiiel ought to be here. But how can we leave Mrs. Herbert to 
 that loneliness ? She is ill now, and I never saw any one so 
 changed in a few days.' 
 
 Mrs. Trevor looked alarmed ; in her weak state everything 
 trouliled her. 'I thought you said bhe was so calm, Gavin.' 
 
 * Yes, she was outwardly calm, and gave us no trouble. I 
 think it is her nature to be uns'.Hish, but one am see what she 
 sulfei's. Muriel t^ays tlie worst part is that she cannot sleep, she 
 spends half the night silling by her window. She does not like any 
 one to take any notice ; but, of course, one knows how this must wear 
 her out. And then it is so dilHcult to make her lake sullicient 
 food.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, but you must give her time, Gavin dear. You 
 and Muriel must not be too anxious. When the heart is sick, how 
 is one 'to eat and sleep as usual? When God takes away our 
 children we are bound to sulVer ; and oh, what sufleriug it is,' and 
 then she looked at him with a touching little smile. 'She must 
 dree her weird, and we must pray for her.' 
 
 ' What a heart he has,' she said to liereelf when he h.ad left her. 
 'Gavin has a noble nature, he hikes after his father. How tender 
 he is over that poor woman ; that is so like John. He was so 
 compassionate to any one in tioubte. He never could do enough 
 for them.' But Gavin would hardly have endorsed his mothei-'s 
 flattering opinion. 
 
 When lie had eaten his solitary dinner he went out into the 
 garden. There was a lime walk overlotiking a large meadow that 
 was a favourite resort of his. At this hour it would be deserted,
 
 •254 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 and no one would be likely to invade his solitude. He liad his 
 cigarette-case iu his hand, a gift from Elliscm on his last biitliday, 
 but he made no attempt to light his cigarette ; a dull weiglit of 
 pain had been oppressing him all day, and now he knew that he 
 must look things bravely in the face. 
 
 "What was this thing that had happened to him ? How had it 
 come about, and when ? Was it not monstrous, incredible, that he 
 should only have found it out now ? ' Good heavens, what a 
 fool I must have been not to have discovered it before ! ' he groaned, 
 as he brought his hand heavily down on the fence. ' How was I 
 to guess that such a misfortune should come to me — to me of all 
 men 1 Oh, Nell, Nell, why did you die and leave me, i'or I have 
 made a poor business of life ever since V 
 
 But he must look it in the face, he was no coward, and after all 
 it was more his misfortune than his fault. He had been good 
 friends with Mrs. Herbert, they had been on a pleasant footing of 
 intimacy. Her society was congenial to him, her frankness and 
 simplicity had always pleased him. But he had never j^ut her on 
 an equality with Ellison. When Ellison had been in the room he 
 had often forgotten Mrs. Herbert's existence. 
 
 Why was it, then, tliat in her sorrow she had suddenly grcnvn 
 dear to him, so dear that he hardly dared to be with licr, for fear he 
 .should betray his tenderness 1 Her very dependence on him added 
 to the danger. In a hundred touching ways she sliowed him how 
 fully she trusted him. What cruel fate had thrust this new trouble 
 in his path ? No, he would be honest ; he was no love-sick boy, 
 but a sorely-tried man, who had buried his beautiful young wife 
 long years ago, and who knew well what loneliness and pain 
 meant. He would not accuse himself of fault wlien there had 
 been none. His only error lay in the idea that his warm affection 
 ffir Ellison would satisfy him. That was the only mistake he had 
 made. 
 
 Atfection, friendship, admiration for Ellison's tranquil virtues , 
 what were these compared to the passionate pulsation of his heart, 
 when he had laid his hand over Lorraine's and her dead child's, 
 when his love and pity had been dumb within him ? 
 
 < Yes — he loved her, loved her, loved her.' He said it out loud, 
 and some meek-eyed cattle feeding near him raised their heads and 
 looked at him. For once he would own it ; crushed, broken- 
 hearted as she was, she was dearer to him than any other woman 
 living. Something in her sweetness and naive simplicity seemed 
 to remind him of his wife. True, she had not his Nell's beauty or 
 her exquisite colouring, but in tliese last few days he had thought 
 her almost hjvely. ' What other woman,' he said to himself,
 
 HE MUST DREE HIS WEIRD TOO 255 
 
 * would have borne this trouljle as she has home it — witliout a 
 word of complaint. How can any man he near her and not love 
 her? No, I am nut asliamed of it, I have no need to he ashamed 
 of anything.' 
 
 Gavin's pride and self-reliance wouhl he a tower of strength. 
 He was no puny hoy to shrink from suH'ering, hut all the same he 
 could not close his eyes to the fact tliaf he had made a terrihle 
 mistake. 
 
 Lorraine Herbert was the woman he luved — the woman whom 
 he desired most ardently to make his wife, and yet in honour he 
 was already pledged to Ellison, altliough no formal word had 
 passed between them. "What was that he had said to her that 
 evening at the gate of the Woodlands, when she had besought him 
 to say no more ? Was it possible that she had failed to understand 
 him when he had kissed her brow as a sign and earnest of his 
 affection ? Had she not promised to listen to his wooing when she 
 returned — promised faithfully ? And could he have any doubt of 
 her answer? He knew in his own heart that h^llison cared for him, 
 far more than she knew herself ; that no other man hut he would 
 ever become her husl)and. And he knew, too, that this carrying 
 out of his unspoken pledge would be pain and grief to him ; but not 
 for one moment did he try to escape his doom. 
 
 'He too must dree his weird,' he said to himself, with a forlorn 
 emile, for how could he trille with the affections of a woman so 
 dear to him as Ellison ? True, he woidd never love her as ho 
 would have loved Lorraine — to his sorrow he knew that now — hut 
 at least he could do his duty, and Ellison should never miss any 
 tenderness that was her due. 
 
 'Neither of them will ever know it,' be thought, as he paced to 
 and fro in the fast-gathering darkness. 'It is my own trouble, my 
 own pain ; it will not touch them. God helping me it shall never 
 touch them. I shall live through it — other men have, under similar 
 circumstances. \i only Ellison would come home, and then I could 
 settle it.' 
 
 Alas, there was something ominous in Gavin's feveris^h desire 
 to hurry on matters ! Truthful, honourable, and upright as he 
 was, he was relying too much on his own strength. 
 
 Gavin was no moral coward ; if he saw his duty he would try, 
 in the face of all okstacles, to do it. But he forgot, as even the 
 bravest of men will forget, that there are laws of nature that cannot 
 he .«et aside. One human being allects another ; there are unspoken 
 inlhunces that may set all our best efforts to restrain them at 
 naught. Wiiat human voice can dare to regulate the ebb and flow 
 of such inlluences, anJ say, ' Thus far shall thuu go and no further ' ?
 
 256 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Who can say that the title of our passions may not engulf some 
 other nature that has approached us too heedlessly ? 
 
 A child's hand may teach us a lesson ; the pebble flung with 
 Meak force forms the widening circles on the water ; the respon- 
 sibility of our unspoken influence, of our secret wishes, lies heavy 
 on all of us. And Avhen Gavin in his man's pride determined to 
 close his lips and bear his pain silently, taking no one into 
 confidence, and making the best of his mistake, he was reckoning 
 without two important factors — would he succeed in blinding 
 Ellison, and how would it affect Lorraine ? But, confused by his 
 own inward pain, Gavin did not ask himself such questions. His 
 daily path was too full of perplexity for him to strain his vision 
 towards imaginary troubles in the future. 
 
 When Ellison came back his course would be perfectly simple ; 
 he must induce her to consummate their engagement, and then he 
 must see as little as possible of Mrs. Herbert. It was clearly not 
 possible to hold himself aloof now ; Muriel had asked him to go 
 down early the next morning to the Farm. 
 
 ' ^Irs. Herbert will like to see you, and there is some bnsiness 
 for you to settle,' she had said to him. 'We can do nothing 
 without you, Gavin' — and then he knew he must go. No, he must 
 not shrink from seeing her just now. She needed him too much ; 
 and, after all — here he smiled bitterly in the darkness — what did 
 a little more pain signify, when he had made such a mess of his 
 lifel But not for one moment did he shut his eyes to the suffering 
 which he knew was in store for him. 
 
 The most salient point of Colonel Trevor's character was the 
 simple, direct straightforwardness that he brought to bear on every- 
 thing. As an old sergeant in the regiment once said, 'There is 
 nothing shoddy about the Colonel, it is all real grit and no mistake.' 
 
 The thought that in future there would be need of watchfulness 
 over his words and actions filled him with a sense of oppression. 
 He felt as though he were trying to breathe freely tlirough the 
 black vizor of mediaeval armour. 
 
 There could never Ije complete openness and confidence between 
 him and Ellison ; and deeply as he abhorred the idea of any 
 mental reservation from tlie woman he intended to make his wife, 
 sheer necessity would compel him to keep silence. 
 
 Again he pondered heavily over his fatal blindness, and more 
 than once the thought crossed his mind that but for his mother's 
 half- implied hints he would never have thought of m.irrying 
 Ellison. Constant dropping wears away a stone, and his mother's 
 little wistful speeches about his loneliness and dear Ellison's many 
 virtues had in time done their work.
 
 HE MUST DREE HIS WEIRD TOO 257 
 
 He tried to chase these thoughts away, and to summon to his 
 aid the old dogged endurance which had carried liini tlirough his 
 worst trouble. It was no use brooding over past mistakes, he 
 must pull himself together and think of others, and then he lighted 
 his cigar, and walked back to the house ; but before it was half 
 smoked he had thrown it away. 
 
 The next day, and each succeeding day, he went down to tlie 
 Farm, but so strong was the force he put on himself during the 
 half- hour or so that he spent there that neither Muriel nor 
 Lorraine noticed anything different in his manner. 
 
 Lorraine, indeed, withdrawn into the inner court of her great 
 sorrow, was less observant than usual of what passed round her. 
 In some indefinable way a sort of mist seemed between her and 
 outward tilings ; but Muriel, who was less absorbed, noticed that a 
 faint smile came to her pale lips when her brother entered the 
 room wliere they were sitting. 
 
 Nothing else seemed to interest or rouse her. She would sit at 
 her work silently, but after a few stitches the work would lie in 
 her lap unheeded, and she would look out at the gay beds of 
 flowers with a blank look that saw nothing. 
 
 She would sit so, while Muriel read to her, but it may be 
 doubted how much she understood of the book. Sometimes in the 
 middle of a sentence she would rise suddenly and go away, and 
 then Muriel never ventured to follow her. She would find her an 
 hour later in the Dovecote, sitting beside the crib Avilh the tears 
 rolling down her face, and some little garments on her lap ; she 
 would look up at Muriel rather piteously. 
 
 'I did not mean to be rude,' she would say tremulously, 'but 
 while you were reading I seemed to hear his voice so plainly ; and 
 though I knew it was foolish, I felt I must come up here. I do 
 love sitting here,' she said once, ' with all his things round me. 
 What do you think? I was so angry with Dorcas just now ; I fuund 
 her tidying the toy-cupboard. But I drove her away ; I told her 
 she must never enter this room again. Oh, I am afraid I was very 
 cross, for she began to cry ; but it must be my care now. Look, I 
 have been feeding the coocoos — that is what my darling always 
 called them. Do you see that one ? it was his favourite ; Mammy 
 Coocoo he always called it.' 
 
 'It seems as though I can do notliing for her,' observed Muriel 
 disconsolately, when Gavin came a little later. ' I think she likes 
 best to be alone. Oh yes, she will come down to you ! You are 
 the only person she cares to see, unless it is mother ; but mother 
 has not been near us for days.' 
 
 * She is not well. Why don't you come up to the House some- 
 
 17
 
 258 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 times, when Mrs. Herbert can spare you ? ' And then he paused, 
 and continued rather abruptly. ' We have heard from Ellison.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know ; Mrs. Herbert has had a letter too. I think it 
 has upset her ; she said it was so very very kind. Did Ellison 
 write to you, Gavin 1 ' 
 
 ' No,' he returned, walking to the window as he spoke ; ' the 
 letter was to my niother. She is awfully shocked ! She says 
 nothing has ever shocked her so much in her life. They had only 
 just received the news, the telegram had not reached her. If Mrs. 
 Herbert has had a letter, you know, of course, about Miss Mervyn's 
 illness ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, poor woman, she has rheumatic fever. Ellison thinks her 
 bed at the last inn must have been damp ; but it is impossible for 
 her to leave her. They are in such a miserable little place too, 
 but there is no moving her at present.' 
 
 ' Why did she ever go with them 1 ' returned Gavin irritably. 
 ' Think of her shut up in that bare chalet in a Tyrolean valley, and 
 having to nurse Miss Mervyu night and day. It will break Ellison 
 down, strong as she is ; but of course Mr. Mervyn will do his best 
 to get help. She says they rather like the doctor; he is a sensible 
 sort of person, and they have heard (jf an English physician who is 
 staying at a place near, and they mean to get him over.' But here 
 he broke off, as his ear caught the soft footfall outside, and the next 
 moment Lorraine entered.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Ellison's letter 
 
 ' Patience and sorrow strove 
 Who should express lier goodliest.' 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 'Tliis bud of love, by summer's ripeuing breath, 
 May prove a beauteous llower when next we meet.' 
 
 lioineo and Jnlkt. 
 
 The letter that Lorraine had read with such aii"uish tliat moniine 
 had been written by Ellison during one of her tedious night 
 watches. The sad news received earlier in the day had coni])k-telv 
 unnerved her, and for some hours she had f(nuid it impossible to 
 write a word ; but in the silence and solitude of the night some 
 degree of calmness had returned to her. Those words of womanly 
 sympathy and tenderness flowing straight from Ellison's good heart 
 were treasured by Lorraine for many a long year. 
 
 ' My dear, my own poor dear, if I were only not so far away from 
 you,' she wrote; 'to think that this awful trouble has come to 
 you, and, that I cannot take you in my arms and try to comfort 
 you. Oh, how hard it seems ! 
 
 'If I were only free, I would travel day and night to be with 
 you ; but, Lorraine dear, how am I to leave poor ilargaret ? She 
 is in such suH'eriiig, she cannot move without agony ; and we have 
 no one but an ignorant peasant woman to help us. Margaret is so 
 delicate ; her heart has always been weak, ancl of course this makes 
 us terribly anxious. Mr. Mervyn seems distracted ; he is one of 
 those men who are so helpless in an emergency — so difl'erent from 
 my cousin Gavin. There is nothing he would not do for Margaret ; 
 Init he is too nervous and incapable to be of much use in a sick- 
 room. I have to think of everything — to give ordei-s, and scold 
 him into taking proper food and exercise. Ah, if you knew how
 
 2G0 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 heart-sick and home-sick I am — how I am longing for a sight of 
 your dear face; but how am I to leave them ! I have written fully 
 to Cousin Louise. At least, dearest, you are not utterly alone. I 
 hear Muriel is with you, and I know how devoted she will be, and 
 Cousin Louise and Gavin will look after you. I must trust you to 
 them. Promise me — promise me — for are we not like sisters, you 
 and I % — that you will let them do their best for you. I cannot 
 trust myself to write more to-night. When I think of that poor 
 darling, I cannot write for tears. God comfort you, my poor 
 Lorraine ! In a day or two I will write again.' This was much of 
 the substance of her letter. 
 
 ' You will like to read it,' Lorraine said simjjly, as she handed 
 the letter to Gavin. She had not shown it to Muriel. Gavin's 
 hand shook a little as he jierused it silently. 
 
 'It is just what I e.xpected her to write,' he observed, as he 
 replaced the letter reverently in the envelope. ' She has written 
 all particulars to my mother ; but her letter is so sad that I should 
 not care for you to see it. Ellison feels it terribly. She tells my 
 mother that she cannot rid herself of the thought that in some 
 way she is responsible for the accident. One understands what 
 she means. Ellison is not the least morbid. But the idea that 
 that poor little fellow met his death in such a way wliile he was 
 under her charge, gives her exquisite pain. " It would have been 
 better if I had left them in Beaumont Street." That is what she 
 said.' 
 
 Then a flush crossed Lorraine's wan face. 
 
 ' No ; she must not think that,' she returned in a low voice. 
 ' Dr. Howell was talking to me yesterday. I know now that my 
 darling could not have been long with me ; that his little life was 
 doomed. She has made his last months so happy. Oh, what a 
 spring and summer it has been ! How he loved the birds and the 
 flowers, and those long days in the woods ! When you write to 
 Ellison you must tell her this. He was just pining away and 
 wasting to skin and bone in Beaumont Street. Dr. Howell told 
 me plainly that if I had kept him there he would not have been 
 alive now. It was kind of him to tell me all this — was it not. 
 Colonel Trevor ? It makes it easier for me to bear things. I think 
 he had not a moment's pain. Dr. Howell assures me that his little 
 heart was so weak lliat the shock of the fall and the cold water 
 must have killed him instantly. It is a comfort to know this.' 
 
 She spoke in the weak, strained voice that had become habitual 
 to her. Her eyes looked heavy as though she had slept little. 
 Even in this little time she had grown perceptibly thinner. As 
 he talked to her he noticed that her wedding-ring was almost
 
 ELLISON'S LETTER 2G1 
 
 slipping from her tiiiger. She had got into a rcsUesa habit of 
 pushing it up and down, and it somehow fascinated him ; but he 
 averteil his eyes. 
 
 * By the bye,' he said, frying to speak in his ordinary manner, 
 ' I have brought those jilans to show you. I was busy over tliem 
 yesterday. I suppose Muriel told you ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' returned Lorraine slowly; 'and your mother wrote to 
 me. What iim I to .say, Colonel Trevor?' 
 
 ' I hope you will say nothing,' for be saw how her lips were 
 quivering. 'Do you not know what a pleasure it will be to your 
 friends ? It is just what Ellison would have wished, and my 
 mother is writing this morning to tell her about it.' 
 
 ' And you will not even let me thank you. Wait a moment, 
 Polonel Trevor, I must say something before I look at those plans 
 tluit you have so kindly drawn. It does seem so wonderful. Last 
 night when I could not sleep I could not help fretting because I 
 had no money, and I did so long: to put up a little marble cross fur 
 my darling; it broke my heart to think I could not do even 
 that for liim. And I made up my mind lliat when Ellison came 
 back I would ask her to let me do without new dresses, and put 
 the money by for this. And then as we sat at breakfast Muriel 
 told me what you all intended to do. " It is my brothei-'s 
 idea, but mother and Ellison and I will all join," that is what 
 Muriel said. No, I cannot thank you ; it goes too deep for mere 
 thanks!' 
 
 'And I may fetch my plans V But he did not wait for her per- 
 mission, and very soon they were both absorbed over the drawings. 
 Gavin was no mean draughtsman, and his designs were skilfully and 
 gracefidly dona 
 
 'They are all beautiful, but I like this one best,' she said 
 presently. ' I think for a child everything should be so simple ; 
 and tli.-lt dove nestling under the cross is such a lovely idea.' 
 
 'Then it shall be carried out at once. And now about the 
 inscription. His name was only Theodore — was it not? Is there 
 any special text you have selected, or shall we wait a little V 
 
 'I have cliosen two; they are very short, so i)erhaps I may have 
 both, "Sulfer the little children to come unto Me," just those 
 words, and " He shall gather the lambs with His arm," the dove 
 and the cross will tell the rest. "Theodore Herbert, aged three 
 years and two months." Muriel agreed with me that I could not 
 do better.' And then as he rolled up the pajjcrs and prepared to 
 take his leave, she looked at him wistfully. 'ITow kind you are 
 to take all this trouble, and you have only known us such a 
 few mouths. Sometimes at night I think how I have taken
 
 262 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 all your kindness as a nialter of course, and never even thanked 
 you.' 
 
 'One does not want to be thanked for a little civility,' returned 
 Gavin lightly ; but if Loiraine knew hoAv her grateful look was 
 torturing him. Why had Muriel left them together ? it was just 
 her gaucherie and want of thought, but he darud not trust him- 
 self a moment longer. But as he walked through the farmyard 
 and long meadow he could not get her out of his thoughts. The 
 slight, tall figure swaying a little from weakness, the pale sweet 
 face, the thin hand with its loose wedding-ring, how pathetic it all 
 was. But it was her eyes that tried him most. How their sad- 
 ness seemed to appeal to him. ' Heaven help me, how am I to 
 get through the next few weeks?' he said to himself. 'There 
 seems a fatality in things ; because there are not difficulties enough, 
 there is poor Ellison eating out her heart with home-sickness and 
 worry in that Tyrolean valley.' 
 
 ' Should he go to her V The tliought came to him with a sort of 
 shock, startling him out of his apathy. 'After all, his duty was 
 more to her than to Lorraine. Should he speak to his mother 
 about it and find out her opinion ? She was very clear-headed, and 
 would tell him exactly what she thought ; but then as he remem- 
 bered her plans for him and Ellison he wavered a little. No, she 
 would not be impartial ; her own wishes would insensibly warp 
 her judgment. She would bid him go to Ellison and do all in 
 her power to remove every obstacle, and for the time Mrs. Herbert 
 would go to the wall. No, I dare not leave,' he finished, and then 
 he drew a long breath of relief ; ' my mother's state is too pre- 
 carious. Yesterday I did not like the look of lier. I must have 
 M'Callum down again and hear his opinion. Ellison would be 
 the first to tell me that I ought to remain if she knew the state my 
 mother is in ; and then in her letter she has begged us to look 
 after Mrs. Herbert. Could anything be plainer than that sentence 
 in my mother's letter ? — " If it were not for you and Gavin and 
 Muriel I should be utterly miserable about Lorraine ; but I 
 know what good friends you will be to her, and how tenderly you 
 will care for her. Tell Gavin that I leave the farm and everything 
 else in his charge. Sam Brattle must go to him for orders. 
 Lorraine cannot look after things just now. I am writing to Mrs. 
 Tucker and telling her the .same. Poor dear Lorraine must be 
 spared everything as much as possible.' 
 
 He quite understood why Ellison had written to his mother. 
 It had bcf-n part of the compact that no letters were to pass be- 
 tween them ; and though circumstances had compellerl him to break 
 the silence, and it had been his painful task to tell Ellison the
 
 ELLISON'S LETTER 263 
 
 sad news, he knew well that she would not answer him directly. 
 ' Tell Gavin how I thank him for his long kind letter, and give 
 liim my love.' That was her sole message ; but Gavin's eyes, 
 sliarpened by love and fear, read truly between the lines. 
 
 Those weeks of absence had done much for liim. Before the 
 fii-st fortnight was over Ellison was already suffering pangs of 
 home - sickness, and even the glorious sights that surrounded 
 her could not console her for her exile from all she loved best, 
 and the thought of a certain bronzed face with deep-set eyes made 
 her heart brat more quickly and brought a sudden flush to her 
 face. 
 
 That evening at the gate of the Woodlands Ellison had reached 
 the crisis of her life. From the moment that Gavin's lips had 
 touched Irt brow, her old careless maidenly content and friendshij) 
 had merged into something deeper and truer, and her heart had 
 ])assed out of her own keeping for ever. Love had come to her 
 unsought, .and certainly undesired, and had fettered even her strong 
 will. No girl in her teens waiting and longing for her lover chafed 
 more impatiently than she did at her exile. She yearned for 
 Gavin's presence, for the sight of his face and the sound of his 
 voice, as she had never yearned for mortal thing before, and at such 
 times the sound of music or even the sight of two rustic lovers 
 walking hand in hand under the pine trees brought the tears to 
 her eyes. How patient and gentle he had been with her that 
 evening, and how cowardly and unaccountably she had behaved. 
 Why had she feared so to listen to his wooing ? What foolish 
 perversity and self-will compelled her to enforce those conditions 
 of silence ? She had loved liim then if she would only have 
 owned it, and it was her own fault that they were not engaged. 
 
 ' I will never behave so focTlishly again,' she said to herself 
 night after night as she sat thinking in her bare little bedroom. 
 'He is, so honest and straightft)rward that he deserves equal open- 
 ness on my part ; I liave treated him badly, though he will never 
 tell me so. Well, if I can only get back to him I will try and 
 make up to liim fur all my perversity ; he shall never liave reason 
 to complain of me again — never — never ! ' 
 
 Ellison beguiled many weary hours in the sick-room by dream- 
 ing happily about the future. Old Mrs. Langton was breaking 
 fast, and Fernclitfe would soon be empty. She knew Mrs. Trevor 
 and Muriel would be able to live there as they had always intended 
 if Gavin married again. 'There will be no need for Lorraine to 
 leave the Farm,' she thought ; ' Gavin would never wisli me to part 
 with her. Brae House is so near that she will not feel too lonely ; 
 we must try and interest her aa much as we can ; if she could only
 
 264 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 realise that she is helping me by looking after things she will feel 
 better. I must not leave her just yet. Gavin is so thoughtful and 
 unselfish that he will never ask it ; he will know how terrible this 
 first winter will be to her. Poor Lorraine, she is so young still ; 
 she has probably a long life before her ; if she could only marry 
 again. It may be my fancy, but it has struck me once or twice 
 tliat Mr. Vincent admires her ; he is always so eager to walk or 
 talk with her. That evening at Brae he did not seem quite like 
 himself. But there, I will not weave nonsensical fancies any more ' ; 
 and Ellison took up the stout grey stocking she was knitting with 
 a resolute air. 
 
 Down in the valley below a peasant was jodelling, a goat-herd 
 with his goats was clambering down the rocky pass ; on the little 
 bridge below the chalet the flaxen-haired Elsa was knitting and 
 looking out for her lover, big burly Hans, from the mill -house 
 yonder ; her little yellow dog Fritz barked madly at the ducks in 
 the water. Just then long-legged Sejipel came round the corner 
 with the letter-bag slung round his neck and his oaken stick in 
 his hand, and instantly rosy - cheeked, demure Elsa drooped her 
 eyes and knitted furiously ; Hans and Seppel were rivals, and the 
 fair-haired Elsa was their apple of discord, their bone of conten- 
 tion. 
 
 * If I speak to Long Seppel, Hans frightens me,' pouted Elsa, 
 ' for he vows he will murder him ; he has a terrible stick loaded 
 with lead, and swings it as he says this.' 
 
 ' My Friiulein, they make my life a terror to me sometimes. I 
 tell the Mtittcrchen that I shall go over the mountain to stay 
 witlx Gretchen. It is dull there ; there are no cows coming home 
 from pasture, no goats, nothing but the mines ; but one's life would 
 be quiet, and there would be no fear of bloodshed,' and Elsa shrugged 
 her plump shoulders, and her blue eyes looked artlessly at the 
 gracious lady. 
 
 'Which do you prefer, Elsa?' asked Ellison; the village idyll 
 amused her much. Elsa's simple coquetry, her pride in her two 
 brawny lovers, her little affectations and assumed terrors were as 
 good as a play to her ; the chubby, childish face with its startled 
 eyes and flaxen eyelashes seemed no fit sul^ject for a tragedy. 
 'You cannot marry both, Elsa, you must throw the handkerchief 
 to one.' 
 
 ' Ilein, who talks of marriage ? ' returned Elsa with a blush. 
 ' Hans is my briiutigam ; we have exchanged rings ; every child in 
 the village knows that ; but Hans ought not to be a tyrant, that is 
 what the Miitterchen says. What is the harm of exchanging a 
 civil word with Seppel when he wishes me good-evening ? Last
 
 ELLISOA^S LETTER 265 
 
 night he was tired, tlie bags were heavy, and he sat down to rest. 
 Look you, Friiulein, the bridge is broad enough for both, but Hans 
 found him there, and he turned sulky and went back to the mill 
 without giving me the kerchief he had promised, and so I cried 
 myself to sleep.' 
 
 ' Hans was in a temper ! Look here, Elsa, take my advice, and 
 when Seppel comes with the letters just go in and help your mother 
 with the supper ; last evening she was calling for you, but you 
 were so busy with Seppel that you did not hear. Hans will be 
 remorseful for his bad temper and will come to apologise ; when 
 he sees Seppel resting on the bridge alone, his good-humour will 
 return ; he will find you frying pancakes ; well, nothing will 
 please him more, and you will have your fine pink kerchief.' 
 
 'Seppel will be disapiwiiited. He said he had got a fairing for 
 me too.' But in the end Elsa took the gracious lady's advice. 
 When Ellison came out into the balcony for a breath of air, she 
 saw Elsa sitting on the bridge with Hans beside her cracking nuts. 
 She had a pink silk kerchief tied loosely round her brown throat. 
 When she saw Ellison, her white teeth parted in a merry smile. 
 
 ' See, Hans, the gracious lady regards us. Is she not like a 
 picture — with her smooth hair and her white skin, and her stately, 
 grand figure ? Listen, Hans, I will whisper it in thy ear — some- 
 thing tells me the gracious lady has a lover ; there is a picture in 
 her room. He has a brown face and dark, melancholy eyes, and 
 he holds his head like a soldier, and i-he was looking at it once as 
 I look at thee when thou art in a good temper ' ; but here the 
 rosy lips were suddenly and effectually silenced. 
 
 ' How happy they are,' thought Ellison, as she went back to her 
 patient ' Elsa is a coquette ; but she is true to her red-haired 
 Hans.' And then the thought came to Ellison, what if some day 
 she should see Gavin striding up the steep little street ? what if he 
 should take her by surprise, and the rough little char-a-hanc sliould 
 set him down with his portmanteau ? The mere idea made her 
 head swim with a sort of vertigD. Well, it would be only like 
 him. She knew exactly how he would look and what he would 
 say. ' I have come to take care of you. Are you glad to see me, 
 Ellison 1' and there would be no doubt about her answer. The 
 gladness would be on her face, and they would walk down to the 
 pine woods and listen to the Angelus, and there would be no fear 
 in her heart at all, only an intense joy that her dearest friend was 
 beside her again.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE CLOUDS RETURN 
 
 'Under intense grief you shut yourself up like an oyster. To force you to 
 open your heart would be to kill you.' — Caumen Sylva. 
 
 'Gentleness is invincible.' — Marcus Aurelius. 
 
 Thrkk weeks liad passed since TeJo's death ; but Lorraine had not 
 yet fuund courage to go np to Brae. In the evening she always 
 stole out of the house, followed by the faithful Tweed, and walked 
 through the long meadow and lane to the common on her way to 
 the churchyard. Mr. Vincent met her more than once as he went 
 down to open the men's evening club ; but he never ventured to 
 accost her. She would pass him hurriedly with a gently uttered 
 ' Good- evening ' ; but something in her manner prevented him 
 from addressing her. But Hugo and Edmund had no such 
 scruples ; on most evenings they would be waiting for her at the 
 little side gate with their offerings of wild flowers. 
 
 Hugo would push his posy towards her witliout raising his eyes. 
 * They are his favourite flowers ; he once said so. Will you make 
 room for them, please?' The touch of those hot, rough little 
 hands, and the siglit of the half- withered posy, always affected 
 Lorraine strangely. 
 
 ' Tliank you, Hughie,' she would say gently. ' Have you been 
 far 1 You look so hot and tired.' Those few short moments as 
 she stood there holding his hand and looking down at him with 
 that unsteady, pitiful smile, were the sweetest in the whole day to 
 Hugo. The boy's affectionate heart clave to his friend with a 
 perfect passion of gratitude. 
 
 She never noticed Eddie. She forgot to take his flowers, and 
 he cried about it; 'but she never forgets to take mine,' he said 
 triumphantly to Nora; and wet or fine, whatever he might be
 
 THE CLOUDS RETURN 267 
 
 doiii},', lie always put liis occupation aside to keep liis trytt at the 
 yew-tree gate. 
 
 Lorraine always liid her pain bravely ; but when she left him, 
 she would often staml still and sob quietly in a heart-broken 
 maimer. The .sight of him always brought so vividly the memory 
 of that terrible afternoon. Tweed would push his long, black nose 
 affectinnately into her hand when he heard her. The faithful 
 creature seemed to share her sorrow. He would lie beside her 
 patiently for hours ; but his favourite resting-place was by the 
 emi)ty crib. If Lorraine missed him she always found him there. 
 
 Lorraine would grow calmer after she had sat by the grave a 
 little. The silence and the gathering dusk always rested her. As 
 she walked back in the soft summer gloaming it would seem to her 
 .sometimes as though a tiny figure walked beside her. It was a 
 sweet fancj', but she kept it to herself ; but Muriel, watching for 
 her by the lighted window, would wonder to see the tranquil ex- 
 pression of her face. 
 
 ' How long you have been, dear Mrs. Herbert ; but you do not 
 looked tired. Were Hugo and Eddie there as usual?' 
 
 ' Yes ; and Hugo had gathered some long sprays of traveller's 
 joy. He had been all the way to Branifield ; but they were sadly 
 withered. No, I am not tired ; the walk has refreshed me,' and 
 then she would sit down aud forget to take off her hat until Muriel 
 reminded her. 
 
 Muriel went daily to see her mother. She always brought buck 
 a good report of her. ' Mother was arranging flowers as usual,' she 
 would .«ay. 'She seemed so busy that I did not stay long. She 
 semis her love, and hopes you will not trouble about her, as she 
 and Ciavin get on very well.' 
 
 This was Muriel's usual furmula. Sometimes Lorraine wondered 
 over it in a vague sort of way. If Mrs. Trevor M-ere so well, it was 
 etrang(J that she never came down to the Farm. Aluricl was always 
 hinting her surprise ; but neither she nor Lorraine guessed at the 
 little daily drama that was enacted for their mutual benefit. 
 
 Muriel always wt-nt up to Brae at a certain hour, and Mi-s. 
 Trevor took care to be dressed and in her sitting-room by the time 
 her daughter arrived. More than once she crept into the con- 
 servatory ; but the effort wearied her too much. She would sit at 
 her table turning over her silks and embroidoi y find pretending to 
 work ; but she put in few stitches. 
 
 If Muriel had returned ten minutes later she would have found 
 her mother lying on the couch looking white and exhausted. ' Ynu 
 are not fit to be up at all, ma'am,' Collins wnuld say, with a vexed 
 look at the table. 'Why does not Miss Muriel stay with you a
 
 2G8 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 little while the master is out? I sludl be giving her a bit of my 
 mind one of these days. Mrs. Herbert is a dear lady ; but she is 
 not so close as her own flesh and blood' — for Collins was an old 
 servant and privileged to speak her mind, and in the servants' hall 
 Miss Muriel's neglect of the mistress was openly canvassed. 
 
 ' I hope you will do no such thing, Collins,' returned Mrs, 
 Trevor with quiet dignity. ' It is by my wish that my daughter 
 is still at the Farm ; she would come to me at once if I wanted her' ; 
 but Collins only pursed up her lips and shook her head incredu- 
 lously. When her mistress spoke in this tone she did not dare to 
 say any more, but she grumbled openly to the Colonel that 
 evening. 
 
 * My mistress is getting weaker,' she said dolefully, ' and being 
 so much alone is not good for her. She is not one to make a fuss 
 about herself, and she does not tell you the half of what she goes 
 through ; but asking your pardon, sir, for speaking freely, I think 
 Miss Muriel's place is here. There is no bringing the dead back, 
 but as long as the living need us they have a claim to be con- 
 sidered.' 
 
 Gavin looked a little startled ; but he knew that Collins was an 
 alarmist and took dark views occasionally. He hoped her afl'eclion 
 for her mistress had made her exaggerate matters. He got rid of 
 her by promising to do the best he couhl, and after some considera- 
 tion he made up his mind to speak to Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 So the next day when he went down to the Farm and found her 
 as usual alone, he said rather abruptly : ' Mrs. Herbert, I am going 
 to ask you to do me a favour if it will not trouble you too much ; 
 I want you to go and sec my mother.' 
 
 He saw her wince as though his words pained her, and there 
 was a distressed look on her face, but he went on as though he 
 noticed nothing. 
 
 ' CuUins is worrying herself aboiit her mistress ; she is a bit of 
 an alarmist, but she insists that she is weaker, and that we leave 
 her too much alone ' But here Lorraine interrupted him : 
 
 ' I see what you mean,' she said with nervous haste, ' I have 
 kept Muriel too long, her mother wants her, I will tell her so to- 
 night ; she must go back, of course ; why did you not mention this 
 before, Colonel Trevor ? I forget things so dreadfully. Muriel has 
 been with me for a fortniglit, has she not ?' putting up her hand to 
 push back her hair as though she were suddenly oppressed. 
 
 ' I think it ia nearer three weeks,' he returned quietly ; ' but we 
 need not go back to that, it was impossible for you to be alone. I 
 was thinking as I walked across that Nora would be a nice little 
 companion for you if Muriel went home. Vincent would spare
 
 THE CLOUDS RETURN 209 
 
 her, I know ' ; but he was sorry that he had made the proposition 
 when he saw lier turn very pale. 
 
 ' No, I woukl rather Ijc alone, I want no one — no one ' — in a 
 choked voice. ' Dear Muriel has been very good, but sometimes 
 even she has troubled nie. Oh, how selfish I have grown, I think 
 of no one but myself ! ' 
 
 ' Please do not say such things ; and now will you let me finish 1 
 To-morrow I have to go to town about some lease that has fallen in, 
 and I must see my lawyer. I could not get Itack until late, so I 
 think it would be wise for me to sleep at my club. Muriel had 
 better come back for that one night ; but I should feel easier if you 
 would pay my mother a visit too.' And then he looked at her and 
 said gently, 'Do you think yon could make the efTort?' 
 
 ' I ought to have made it before,' she returned in a low voice. 
 ' Oh, how ashamed I am of myself ; please do not say any more. 
 Colonel Trevor. To think you should have to ask nie this after all 
 you have done for me. 1 will go to-morrow morning, and Muriel 
 shall go later.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' was all he ventured to say, but he knew that he 
 could trust her, there would be no evading her promise ; the cflbrt, 
 jiainful as it was, would do her good, but he little knew how much 
 of Lorraine's reluctance to go to Brae lay in the thought that she 
 would have to pass within sight of the pond. 
 
 There was another way, but it was much longer, and Lori'aine 
 knew that she was uneciual to the walk ; the grief that preyed on 
 her was sapping her strength, and Dr, Howell had hinted more 
 than once that a change would do her good. 
 
 'Her friends must not let her gut into a low, moping state,' he 
 said to Muriel ; 'by and by she will need rousing, and occupation 
 will be good for her.' But Muriel felt sorrowfully that Ellison's 
 strong will was needed ; the only person who seemed to have any 
 inlluenqe over her was Gavin ; she always tried to carry out any 
 wish that he expressed, but for some reason best known to himself 
 he very seldom gave his opinion. Her promise to go to Brae the 
 next morning drove all sleep from Lorraine's eyes, a nervous dread 
 oppressed her until daylight, but jaded and weary as she was she 
 would not allow Muriel to dissuade her. ' I have promised,' she 
 said tremulously, and soon after that she set out. 
 
 She was early, and Mrs. Trevor was still in her dressing-room, 
 resting after the fatigue of her toilet. She was a little Hurried 
 when she heard IMrs. Herbert was there, but when her i\\x^\\ had 
 died away Lorraine was shocked to see the change in her appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor greeted her affectionately. ' How good of you to
 
 270 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 come to me,' she kept saying over and over again, and for a little 
 while she would talk of nothing but Lorraine's alVairs and the cross, 
 and how jjleased dear Ellison was with the idea, and how it was 
 Gavin's thought, and how he had sat up one night until nearly 
 three to finish his design. 
 
 ' He thought nothing was good enough ; but I am so glad you 
 were pleased,' and so on. Lorraine could hardly get in a Avord. 
 She sat there sad and silent thinking how she was to open Muriel's 
 eyes to her mother's state. 
 
 It was evident that Mrs. Trevor was anxious to avoid any 
 questioning about her owti health. When Lorraine told her that 
 Muriel was coming home she argued the point almost tearfully. 
 
 ' What are you to do without her, my dear ? ' she said sorrow- 
 full3\ ' Oh yes, I know what you are going to tell me, that 
 nothing makes a difference, and you do not mind a little loneliness ; 
 but, my dear ^Irs. Herbert, I have been tlirough it all, and I know 
 how one needs these outward helps. We do not always know 
 what is good for us, and too much solitude seems to affect the 
 nerves. I do not like the idea of Muriel leaving you, and you 
 know that Collins takes good care of me, so I am not neglected. 
 Gavin is a famous nurse too, and he is so kind and attentive. Oh, 
 there is no need to have Muriel back at all ! ' But Lorraine was 
 firm. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor could have said more, but she was far too loyal 
 to her daughter. How was she to tell Mrs. Herbert that her girl 
 failed to give her comfort ? Muriel's heart had never opened to 
 her freely ; when they talked, some barrier of reserve seemed 
 for ever between them. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor often read unspoken reproof in her daughter's grave 
 eyes. Muriel, critical and dissatisfied, took umbrage at her mother's 
 light speeches. * Mother and I talk a different language,' she had 
 once said to Lorraine ; ' we look at everything in a different light ; 
 mother often calls me a pessimist because I cannot take things 
 lightly.' _ 
 
 Lorraine was unwilling to argue ; she saw now why Colonel 
 Trevor had asked her to come ; his mother's feeble condition had 
 made him seriously uneasy. As she rose to take her leave, some 
 feeling of compunction made her kiss her with greater tenderness 
 than usuaL 
 
 'Forgive me for having been so selfish ; I ought to have come 
 to you Ijefore ; but I shall come every day now, and Muriel will 
 be with you. Yes, dear, you may trust me' — for the dim, tired 
 eyes looked at her wistfully. ' It is not right to hide things from 
 our nearest and dearest. It is not fair to them. We must do
 
 THE CLOUDS RETURN 271 
 
 unto others as we would they should do unto us. Don't you feel 
 that, dear Mrs. Trevor ? ' .But the sick woman shook her heud. 
 A mother should be able to bear anything for her children's sake — 
 that was her creed. Muriel had enough to bear without her mother 
 adding to her trouble. 
 
 Her visit had roused Lorraine. "When Collins, who was 
 waiting outside the door, questioned her anxiously about her 
 mistress's condition, she answered with something like her old 
 manner : 
 
 'She is very ill, Collins. I think Colonel Trevor is right in 
 asking Dr. M'Callum to come down again. I am very much 
 distressed about her. I am going back to speak very plainly 
 to Miss Muriel She ought not to be kept in ignorance any 
 longer.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, ma'am,' returned Collins respectfully. ' That is 
 what I have been telling my mistress ; but she will not listen to 
 me. All her life long she has considered Miss Muriel just because 
 she has weak health ; but I don't hold with such spoiling. Miss 
 Muriel must take her share of trouble like the rest of us, and it 
 won't help her through the dark days that are coming to think 
 she has never done a hand's stirring for her mother's comfort,' and 
 here a tear rolled down CoUins's hard-featured face. 
 
 ' You are right,' returned Lorraiue, in a low voice, and then she 
 hurried away. She felt as though she would never forgive herself. 
 Muriel had been absent from her mother for nearly three weeks, 
 and it was plain even to her eyes that the disease was making 
 rapid progress. 
 
 Muriel was sitting over her books as usual. She looked up 
 when Lorraine entered. 
 
 ' I did not expect you back just yet,' she said, as Lorraine 
 seated herself beside her and untied her veil. ' "Well, is it settled 
 that I am to stay there to-night ? I will do whatever you and 
 mother wish ; but I do hate to leave you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, dear ; you have been so kind. But, Muriel, it is 
 not only for this one night. I cannot let you stay here any longer. 
 Yuur mother is ill and needs you.' 
 
 Muriel raised her eyebrows. ' Mother ill ? ' she said incredu- 
 lously, ' My dear Mrs. Herbert, what can you mean ? Perhaps 
 she is not as strong as usual ; but ill ' 
 
 ' Where are your eyes, Mui'iel ? ' returned her friend mournfully. 
 ' Is it possible that you have not noticed how painfully tluTi she is \ 
 No, I will not blame you. Your mother has kept you in the dark 
 purposely. Evon this morning she said to me, " Do not tell Muriel 
 that you think me looking ill. It will only worry her." That ia
 
 •272 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 just her one thought — to keep you from worry ; but, Muriel dear, 
 it is not right. Your brother and Collins and I know that your 
 mother is seriously ill.' 
 
 A flush crossed Muriel's sallow face ; her brow contracted. 
 Lorraine's manner was making her uneasy. 
 
 ' Gavin knows that mother is seriously ill, and he has not told 
 me ! ' she exclaimed in a hurt voice. ' Mrs. Herbert, what does it 
 all mean ? Mother has never been ill in her life ; she has often 
 said so. Surely you must be mistaken. If she were ill, would not 
 Gavin send for Dr. Howell ? But I have never heard that he has 
 been at Brae.' 
 
 ' That is because your mother did not wish you to be told ; he 
 has called often ; and Dr. M'Callum is coming too. Muriel, try 
 to believe me — am I likely to jest with you just now ? If ever 
 your mother needed a daughter's tenderness and care, she needs 
 it now. Her disease is a painful one, and there is no cure 
 for it.' 
 
 But it seemed as though Muriel would hear no more. She 
 rose up hastily, pushing away her books, and walked from the 
 room. A few minutes later she re-entered in her walking dress, 
 looking pale and determined. 
 
 ' I am going now,' she said, trying to speak calmly. ' You will 
 take care of yourself, Mrs. Herbert ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ' — and here she held the girl fast. ' Muriel, dear, I 
 must say something before you leave me. You are right to go ; I 
 would not keep you for worlds ; you have been here far too long ; 
 but remember, she is very weak, she cannot bear much. You must 
 be very gentle with her.' 
 
 ' Ah, you do well to warn me ! ' returned Muriel bitterly. But 
 evidently she could not trust herself to say more. Lorraine stood 
 by the win<low and waved to her sadly as she hurried down the 
 path. 
 
 ' How cruel it seems. She is not prepared for it. One can see 
 what a blow it is for her. Poor Mrs. Trevor, and poor poor 
 Muriel,' and then, unable to bear her sorrowful thoughts or to 
 endure the sudden solitude of the house, she put on her hat again 
 and went down to the yew-tree gate to sit by her darling's grave.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 ' I HAVK NOT HAD MY SHARE OF PAIN ' 
 
 ' Nor deem the irrevocal>le jiast 
 As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 
 If rising on its WTccks at last 
 To something nobler we attain.' 
 
 LONGKKLLOW. 
 
 A WAKEFUL iii^lit of pain had exhaiisteil Mr.«. Trevor, and soon 
 after Lorraine liud left the house she he^au to doze. Collins 
 darkened the chamber carefully and then sat down to her needle- 
 work in the next room. An hour or two's sound sleep would 
 do her mistress good, she thought, and help to shorten the long 
 day. 
 
 Presently the sound of hasty footsteps outside made her hurry 
 to the door, and the next moment she came face to face wifli 
 Muriel. 
 
 * My mistress is asleep,' she began rather crossly ; but an 
 imperious gesture from the tjirl silenced her. 
 
 'Come to my room a moment, if you can leave her. I want to 
 speak to you,' she said quickly, and Collins nodded and closed the 
 door. She had never seen that look on her young lady's face 
 before. For once Collins's garrulity failed her. She followed 
 ^luriel meekly to the turret-room, and ? • .d there a little awed 
 and alarmed. There was something on. a-.s in the way Muriel 
 flung open the window and tossed off her iiat. Her face looked 
 pale and hard, and there was a sombre light in her eyes. ' Collins, 
 I want you to tell me tlie truth. I have been kept in the dark too 
 long. Every one except myself seems to know that my mctlier is 
 ill. I want you to toll me exactly what is the matter with her, 
 unless yen prefer me to nsk Dr. ll(>wel].' 
 
 Collins looked perturbed. The suppressed passiin in Murifl's 
 
 IS
 
 274 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 voice made her uneasy. In her heart she knew the girl was right ; 
 and yet how was she to disregard her mistress's injunctions *? Her 
 hesitation seemed to irritate Muriel. 
 
 ' I do not intend to sleep to-night until I know all that there i8 
 '.o know. If you will not answer me, I shall order the carriage 
 and drive to Bramfield. Dr. Howell wiU be on his rounds ; but I 
 sliall follow him. It would save time and trouble if you would 
 give me the information. There seems to be a conspiracy to keep 
 me in the dark about my mother's state, and I will not bear it, no, 
 not for an hour.' 
 
 The haughty, inflexion in Muriel's voice, and her restrained 
 emotion, made Collins waver. 
 
 * I would not say that if I were you. Miss Muriel,' she returned 
 plaintively. ' There is no conspiracy. It is nought but kindness 
 on the mistress's part. Mistaken kindness it may be ; but there, 
 we all make mistakes sometimes. Ever since you were a mite of 
 a child, the mistress has always tried to keep unpleasant things 
 from you. It was jut one of her loving ways. "We won't 
 trouble ]\Iiss Muriel." Ah, how often I have heard her say that. 
 "When things worry her, she cannot sleep, and, poor child, she has 
 enough to bear ! " She was never like that with Miss Maud or 
 Miss Florence. She would tell Miss Maud everything that troubled 
 her ; but she seemed to think that the wind mustn't blow on you. 
 Times out of number have I argued with lier ; but I could not 
 make an impression. "She can do me no good, and it will only 
 pain her to know what I suffer." Those were her words only last 
 night. She had a terrible niglit. Miss Muriel, and no one knows 
 how thankful I was when she fell asleep towards morning. Her 
 sufferings were cruel, and I have made up my mind to tell Dr. Howell 
 that she had better have a nurse. He has been wanting to send 
 one in ; but we have been fending it off until now because the 
 mistress likes me to wait on her. But I think it would be best 
 for her comfort and my ease of mind if we had a trained nurse to 
 help us.' 
 
 ' You shall have one at once, and now please answer my 
 question,' and of course Muriel had her Avay. Her strong will 
 compelled Collins to tell her the truth, that her mistress was 
 f^uffering from a painful and incurable malady ; no one had 
 suspected it until a few months ago, and it was only lately that 
 the insidious disease had shown itself so plainly. 
 
 'Everything has been done that could be done, Miss ]\ruriel ; 
 but no doctor, however clever, could cure the nii.stress ; the Colonel 
 knows that She may live for a long time yet ; there is no knowing 
 in these cases. I nursed my own mother with it, so I know.'
 
 ' 1 HAVE NOT HAD MY SHARE OF PAIN' 275 
 
 'Tliat will do, Collins, thank you.' Muriel with dilHculty 
 repressed a shudder ; this was what they liad been keejiing from 
 her. When Collins left the room she leant back in her chair and 
 closed Iier eyes ; fur a moment a sort of faintness crept over her. 
 Her strong, energetic mother, with her light-hearted ways and 
 pleasant social habits, to be doomed to this, ' If ever your 
 motlier needed a daughter's tenderness and care, she needs it now.' 
 Lorraine's words seemed ringing in her ears. 
 
 She had been a bad daughter — at least a careles.a, selfish one — 
 but it would not do to tliink of that now. She rose hastily, 
 dratik scjme cold water and bathed her face ; then she stole down 
 to her mother's dressing-room so softly that Collins did not hear 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor was still asleep, and iluriel took a seat noiselessly 
 beside the couch. 
 
 Even in the half light, through the shaded Venetians, she coiild 
 see her mother's face distinctly, and the change in it made her 
 heart stand still for a moment : the deep hollows in the temples 
 and tlie dark shadows under the eyes, the exhaustion of iier 
 attitude, and a certain wasting of the figure gave her a shock ; but 
 as she bent over her in undisguised anxiety, Mrs. Trevor oi^ened 
 her eyes ; she was still confused with sleep. 
 
 'Is that you, Maud, darling?' she said feebly. 
 
 'No, mother, it is Muriel.' And tln-n all at once her proud 
 stoicism deserted her, and she broke into a sudden storm of sobs. 
 'Oh, mother, why have you been so cruel 1 but I suppose I have 
 deserved it. I have not been good to you, not like Maud and 
 Florrie ; and so you have kept your illness from me ; but it makes 
 it doubly hard to bear.' 
 
 Mrs. Trevor was fully awake now ; she stretched out her thin 
 hands appealingly to her daughter. 
 
 'Have I been cruel, darling? I did not mean it, I was only 
 so anxious to save you pain ; don't cry so, my pour child, con>e 
 nearer to me, or how am I to comfort you there ?' Mrs. Trevor's 
 voice had a caressing note in it, and Muriel, humbled and 
 wretched, knelt down by the couch and laid her head in her 
 mother's lap. 
 
 'I'll, mother, it does seem so dreadful!' she sobbed, and the 
 hand that was stroking her hair shook a little. 
 
 'Does it, darling? well, I have not had my share of pain, you 
 must remember that. 'When your father and the dear girls were 
 alive, I think no woman was ever so happy, every day that I lived 
 was a joy and a fiast to me ; I used to tell your father so, and it 
 olien made him smile. I used to wiah you could feel the same,
 
 276 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 dearest, but your weak health seemed to deprive you of all 
 eiijoymeut; that is why I never liked to trouble you about things.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, Collins has told me. It was a sad mistake, 
 mother ; you have fostered my selfishness. How could I guess 
 that anything ailed you when you have never complained? As a 
 daughter I have been valueless to you ; Ellison and Mrs. Herbert 
 were moi'e to you than I ; even Collins, a servant, was in your 
 confidence.' And here Muriel, overcome with emotion, shed some 
 more bitter tears. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor sighed, she was beginning to think she had made 
 a mistake ; she had not suspected that Muriel had such deep feel- 
 ing, the girl had always been so reserved with her. 
 
 ' I am afraid I have done wrong,' she returned remorsefully ; 
 ' I ought not to have kept it all to myself ; don't cry, Muriel 
 dear, try to forgive me. I did it for the best. Where my children 
 are concerned I am very weak ; I want to take their share of pain 
 and my own too. Oh, there comes Collins to scold us ! Collins, 
 Miss ^huiel is hurt with us ; she thinks we have not treated her 
 well.' 
 
 ' Miss Muriel is about right there,' returned Collins a little 
 gruffly, 'but least said is soonest mended, and it is no use nursing 
 a grudge when one has done it for the best. Miss j\Iuriel, my 
 mistress must not talk too much ; she has had a fine nap, and I 
 am going to bring up her tea. Dr. Howell will be here presently, 
 and she must not be too tired beforehand.' 
 
 'I will be as quiet as a mouse, but there is no need for Miss 
 Muriel to leave me ; my tea will have a better flavour if she will 
 make it for me.' I\Irs. Trevor spoke with her old playfulness ; but 
 when Collins had retired, she looked at her daughter fondly. 
 
 ' I shall love to have you with me, Muriel dear ; it has been so 
 dull alone ! I think solitude makes me fanciful. Gavin has 
 been very good ; he has often given up his evenings to me ; but 
 someluiw I have always missed you. If it will not tire you too 
 much, I shall be so glad of your company ! ' But Muriel dared 
 not trust herself to speak. She kissed her mother's cheek hastily, 
 and rose to her feet. Her heart was full. A passion of tender- 
 ness seemed to swell it almost to bursting. If she might only 
 have time to atone for her past neglect, she would be ready to 
 bear everything. 'God grant that she may be spared to me a 
 little longer ! ' was her inward cry. 
 
 There was very little more talk between them that night. Dr. 
 Howell came, and, f-ceing his patient's exhaustion, ordered her to 
 bed without delay, and it was decided Ijctween him and Muriel 
 that a nurse should be sent in as soon as possible.
 
 '/ HA VE NOT HAD J/F SHARE OF PAIN' 277 
 
 ' Collins is a very reliable person, and knows a good deal about 
 illness,' he observed; 'Vmt Mrs. Trevor's condition will reijuire 
 trained nursing,'. I told tlie Colonel so when I was last liere. 
 You will be able to be with her as much as you wi.sli ; but we 
 must consider what is best for her comfort. Nurse Helena will 
 be invaluable. She has been nursing a case for me, and will be 
 free to-moirow.' 
 
 Wlien Lorraine came up the next day, she found Mrs. Trevor 
 still in bed, and Muriel sitting beside her. Directly she had 
 greeted her friend, Muriel laid down her book and left the room, 
 and did not re-enter it. When Lorraine's visit was over, she went 
 in search of her, and found her sitting in the turret-room, looking 
 dejectedly at the prospect. Admiral Byng was rubbing himself 
 against her to attract her attention. 
 
 Lorraine put her hand on her shovdder affectionately. 
 
 'Dear Muriel, I missed you so last night and this morning! 
 The house felt so lonely without you ; but you are in your right 
 place. Mrs. Trevor is so happy to have you, and I know how 
 you must love to be here ! Your brother is not back yet, she says.' 
 
 ' No, Gavin is not back ; he will come by his usual train, I 
 expect. Mrs. Herbert, I want to tell you something. I know 
 everything now. I made CuUiiis tell me. I was angry, and 
 frightened her, and in the evening I spoke to Dr. Howell.' 
 
 'That is why you have not slept. You are looking quite ill 
 this morning ! Poor Muriel, you have sad work before you ; but 
 you must take each day as it comes. Sleepless nights and fretting 
 over things will do no good, and will only trouble Mrs. Trevor. 
 She is BO afraid of your breaking down ! ' 
 
 ' 1 shall not break down — at least, I hope not ; but how c;in I 
 sleep with this dreadful thing hanging over me? I never knew 
 liow dear my mother was till I heard there was danger of losing 
 her. 'Oil, if I had only known it before ! If I had not neL,dectcd 
 her so cruelly ! How am I ever to be happy again ? All last 
 night such terrible thoughts seemed crowding upon me ! All my 
 hasty, hard speeches, and impatient ways, and how gently she 
 bore with them all ! I thouglit she was so strong and light- 
 hearted ; but I know now that she was often dull and out of spirits. 
 Collins came up and Uxlked to me last night How I wished 
 she had hold her tongue ! All she said only made it worse. How 
 could I know she had missed the girls so droatlfuUy, and that 
 she was always speaking of them ! They were dear girls ; but 
 they were never much to me. They were always together, and I 
 was left out in the cold. It liaB always been like that all my life. 
 No one has seemed to ijeed me — not even my mother.'
 
 278 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 * She needs you now. Dear Muriel, do let me entreat you not 
 to undermine your own strength by dwelling on past mistakes. 
 You have your mother still with you. She has not been taken 
 from you without a moment's preparation. There is still time to 
 love and cherish her.' Lorraine's voice broke, she turned hastily 
 away, and Muriel felt a little remorseful. 
 
 When she re-entered her mother's room, Mrs. Trevor looked 
 at her wistfully. ' Muriel, love, why did you leave us ? There 
 was no need. Mrs. Herbert and I have no secrets. I like to feel 
 you are near me. I never want you to go away — it is so nice not 
 to be alone any more ! ' 
 
 How often Muriel had to listen to such speeches ! Even her 
 mother's tenderness seemed insensibly to reproach her. Day after 
 day as she sat by her, sometimes talking or more often silent, she 
 learnt more and more of her mother's patience and brave endur- 
 ance. How Gavin and she had misjudged her ! They had 
 thought her sprightliness and cheerfulness were owing to a shallow 
 nature — that she took her troubles lightly ; but they had been 
 wrong. Evening after evening she listened with dismayed pity to 
 the history of sleepless nights spent in weeping for the husband 
 she had idolised and the children who were so dear to her, 
 
 ' It was my duty to be cheerful, and not to depress you,' she 
 would say ; ' but it was very hard sometimes. When I woke in 
 the morning I would say to myself, "it is all in the day's work," 
 and then I would pull myself together and pretend a little, and 
 after a time it grew easier. Don't you know what Shakespeare 
 says, Muriel, " Time and the hour run through the roughest day " 1 
 I used to say that to myself over and over again.' 
 
 It was a sad and trying ordeal for Muriel ; but years after- 
 wards she owned to a dear friend that it had been salutary 
 discipline. 
 
 'I needed my lesson,' she said humbly. 'AH my life I had 
 lived for myself, and my mother's mistaken indulgence had only 
 fostered my selfishness. Mrs. Herbert had been the first to warn 
 me against morbid introspection ; but it needed the furnace of 
 affliction to burn up the evil growth of years. For the first time 
 in my life I forgot my own troubles. Oh, if you knew the 
 agony of loving too late ! The thought of those wasted years, 
 when I miglit have cherished and comforted the best of mothers, 
 will give me pain until my dying day.' 
 
 With the unerring instinct of love, Mrs, Trevor once touched 
 on this. 'Muriel,' she said one day, when she had been com- 
 paratively free from pain, and Muriel had been reading to her, 
 ' put down your book ; your voice sounds tired, and I want to
 
 •/ HA VE NOT HAD MY SHARE OF PAIN' 279 
 
 talk a little. You are spoiling the old mother dreadfully — you 
 and Gavin. I think sometimes aa I lie awake at night that no 
 woman had two better children.' 
 
 ' I daresay you are right with respect to Gavin, mother.' 
 The sad note of pain in the girl's voice went to her mother's 
 heart. She turned a little, and looked at her with her old Learn- 
 ing smile. 
 
 * Yes, I have a good son, God bless him ! And I have a dear 
 and good daughter too. Don't draw your hand away, Muriel, 
 darling. "We aie not often alone together like this, and I want 
 to tell you what a comfort you are to me ! "When I see your 
 sisters — they will be so glad when I tell them that — oh, how 
 much I shall have to tell them ! I dream about it sometime.*. 
 Nurse says it is because I am so weak ; but I think such dreams 
 are sent in mercy.' 
 
 ' I think so too, mother.' And Mrs. Trevor smiled and went 
 on : 
 
 'Only la.st night I thought I was in some green valley. I was 
 alone ; but I could hear such beautiful singing ! And presently 
 I saw them — the girls, I mean — coming across the flowery turf. 
 They were hand in hand, and their dresses were white, and they 
 had wonderful red flowers in their hands. 
 
 * " Here is mother at last ! " — I hearil Maud say that quite 
 plainly, and Florrie clapped her hands in the old way. " Poor 
 dear mother — how old and tired she looks ! But the good angels 
 will take care of her !" — and then I woke. Was not that a beautiful 
 dream 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, and no doubt it was sent to comfort you ; but 
 mother, I am so selfish. I want to keep you with me a little 
 longer. I cannot spare you to Maud and Florence just yet' 
 
 Mrs. Trevor luoked at her wistfully. 
 
 ' Thank you, darling. It is nice to hear that ; but when the 
 Master calls we are bound to go. Muriel, I want you to thank 
 Mr. Vincent ; he has been such a comfort to me all these weeks ! ' 
 
 ' lie has been a comfort to us all,' was on Muriel's lips ; but 
 some feeling restrained her from saying this. Eric had been un 
 wearying in his attentions ; he came up to Brae daily. 
 
 ' He is an excellent young man,' returned ^Irs. Trevor, and 
 then she looked at her daughter a little thoughtfully. A mother'.^ 
 eyes are clairvoyante, and on her sick bed she had learnt to read 
 her daughter's heart perfectly. ' He is the only man who would 
 ever suit her,' she thought sadly. 'The love of a man like ^Ir. 
 Vincent would make her a happy woman ; but I am afraid he 
 cares more for Mrs. Herbert. There is a warm friend ihip be-
 
 280 THE MISTRESS OE BRAE EARM 
 
 tween hiin and Muriel ; but — but it is ouly friendship,' and tlien 
 she sighed. Those clear, bright eyes of hers had read Eric 
 Vincent's nature correctly. She knew how his strong, cultured, 
 unselfish character, trained by adversity, was just what Muriel's 
 fastidious, morbid nature needed to ripen and bring it to perfection.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVl 
 
 Gavin's decision 
 
 ' Ah wdl, for us all some sweet hope lies 
 Deeply buried from human eyes, 
 And in the hereafter angels may 
 lloU the stone from the grave away ! ' 
 
 WlllTTIER. 
 
 It was well for Eric Vincent that parish work just then en- 
 grossed him and prevented him from dwelling on his private 
 troubles. His daily ministrations in the sick-room at Brae, and 
 his long talks with his friend Colonel Trevor and with Muriel, 
 consoled him in part for the total cessation of his visits to the 
 Farm. 
 
 Except in the village or at church he never saw ^Irs. Herbert 
 The little he heard of her was from Muriel. She told him once 
 that Mrs. Herbert was trying to take up her old duties again ; 
 that she looked after the sick people at Highlands ; but that if 
 any child was ill, she always sent Ruth in her place. 
 
 ' She cannot bring herself to be with children,' Muriel adiled 
 sorrowfully ; but he knew this already. Nora never dared lake 
 Effie or Eddie to the Farm now. She always seemed so unnerved 
 at the sight of them. Slie had expressed her thankfulness openly 
 to Muriel when she heard Hugo had been sent to school. 
 
 ' He has followed me like a shadow,' she said, brushing away 
 a few tears. ' I could not go to the churchyard or the village 
 without finding him watching for me. I used to bite my lijis 
 and clench my hands sometimes to prevent my saying something 
 unkind to him ; but I am thankful I never said it. It got on 
 my nerves at last, poor boy. It is not that I have not forgiven 
 him ; but that it brings it all back, and I am not strong enough
 
 282 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 to bear it.' Nevertheless Lorraine schooled herself to write a 
 kind letter to the little exile. Hugo burst out crying as he read 
 it. For months it was under his pillow at night. When he 
 had a bad dream he would take it out and cuddle it. ' She 
 says I am to be a good boy, and that I must grow up a noble 
 man,' he wrote once to his sole confidante Nora ; ' that she trusts 
 me, and knows I shall never disappoint her ; and I never will. 
 I wish you would tell Eric this, and then perhaps he will believe 
 in me too.' 
 
 Eric felt his banishment from the Farm acutely ; but he could 
 not bring himself to go without an invitation ; but Lorraine, 
 lonely and sad as she was, seemed to dread visitors above all 
 things. 
 
 Colonel Trevor once remonstrated with her. He thought all 
 these weeks of solitude would tell on her. 
 
 ' Our kind neighbours feel that you are keeping them at a dis- 
 tance,' he said to her one day when he walked back with her from 
 Brae. Since his sister had left he very seldom went to the Farm ; 
 but he always walked back with her, taking care to put himself 
 Ijctween her and the pond. He knew instinctively the daily 
 torture it gave her to pass it. ' Mrs. Earnshaw told my mother 
 yesterday that she feared her visit had troubled you.' 
 
 ' Oh no, she was so kind to me ; every one is kinder to me 
 than I deserve ; but if you knew how it tires me to talk to people. 
 I never seem to have anything to say now. I have grown so 
 stupid ; sometimes I break off in a sentence and forget what I was 
 going to say, and then I see people look at me, and there is silence, 
 and then they go away.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see what you mean. I have gone through all that ; but 
 Mrs. Herbert, if you will take my advice you will just battle with 
 tlie feeling. It is no use giving way ; it only makes it worse. I 
 am stating my opinion rather bluntly, but I am speaking for your 
 own good.' 
 
 'Yes, and you are never blunt,' and then Lorraine turned to 
 him with a faint smile. There was a lovely dimple that he had 
 often admired. For one second he saw it again, but her eyes were 
 very sad. 
 
 ' I wonder if you do understand,' she went on slowly ; ' men 
 arc 80 different, tlieir life is so much more active than ours ; they 
 do not get drowsy and stupid sitting at home brooding over troubles. 
 When people come to me from the outside they seem to talk a 
 different language. Sometimes I have an odd fancy as though I 
 were at one end of a dark tunnel and they at the other end some- 
 where in the sunshine ; I can hear what they say, but somehow
 
 GA VIATS DECISION 283 
 
 the meaning is confused. Oli, it is so tlifliciilt to make any one 
 understand who has not been through it ! ' 
 
 'But I have Leon through it, as you know well,' he returned 
 gravely, ' that is why 1 cannot fail to understand you ' ; hut he 
 was sorry he said this when she turned to him impulsively with 
 her eyes misty with unshed tears. 
 
 ' I was very tlu)u.ij;]itk'ss to say that ; you have suffered so much, 
 and you are always trying to helj) me. Colonel Trevor, I will be 
 good, I will try to bear with people, and not feel too impatient for 
 llieiu to go away. I know I liave been selfish ; I have wanted no 
 one but you and Muriel ; — there, I have confessed my fault and 
 you must forgive me.' 
 
 She was evidently in earnest, for there was a sort of yearning in 
 her deep low voice, but he answered her lightly. 
 
 He dared not let her see how her words had alarmed liiiu ; was 
 he becoming at all necessary to her ? and then he scoffed at himself 
 for entertaining such an idea for a moniont. Her very openness 
 and 3im2)licity disarmed his suspicions. Of course, she was glad 
 to see him ; he had been with her in her trouble and she had learnt 
 to depend on him. ' I have been of use to her and she is grateful,' 
 he said to hiiiisilf, but nevertheless some doubt raiikh-d in his 
 mind ; and tliut night he took his resolution. A IVw days later 
 Ellison, sitting on her balcony overlooking the village street, re- 
 ceived the following letter, which she read and re-read many times 
 that night : — 
 
 My dear Ellison (it began), there are limits to everything, and 
 it seems to me that the time has come to break this long silence 
 that has somehow grown up between us — not by my will, you 
 know that, dear ; it was your own act — your own expressed wish 
 that you should be left in peace ; but now we have come to the 
 end of the tether, and you will not be surprised if I tell you that 
 my jtatience is at an end too. 
 
 How long are you going to be away ? You left us in July and 
 now it is October. I know how impossible it has been for you to 
 leave your sick friend ; but in your last letter to my mother you 
 were in hopes you would soon have your marching orders. 
 
 Dear Ellison, when they come I entreat you not to lose a day 
 — no, not an hour — in unnecessary preparation. I have no Avish to 
 alarm you, but our dear mother giows weaker every day. You 
 know how patient she is, but I can see how she longs for your re- 
 turn ; you have been like a daughter to her all these years, and 
 she feels your absence a sore trial. ' Is there no letter from 
 Ellison ? * : those are alwavs her first woi"ds in the morniu'' ^^'hat
 
 284 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 sad chauges there liave been in our liajjpy valley, as you always 
 call it; first poor Mrs. Herbert's trouble, and now the poor old 
 vicar is gone. Vincent had a letter this morning, and came up to 
 me at once. Muriel is writing full particulars to you. It was 
 another stroke ; Mrs. Yolland had only left him for ten minutes, 
 but when she returned to the room he was speechless. It is a great 
 grief to Muriel, and she was terribly upset when Vincent was here. 
 I had to explain to him that Mr. Yolland had been her tutor, and 
 that he and his good wfe had always made so much of her. The 
 churchwardens are writing to Sir Percy ; they want me to write 
 too and speak for Vincent ; he seems a general favourite here, and 
 the people are becoming attached to him. If Sir Percy has no one 
 else in his mind he may offer him the living. Will you let me 
 know how this strikes you ? In my opinion he is just the man for 
 Highlands. Our old vicar was the better scholar, but Vincent has 
 greater energ)\ He gets hold of the men at the club, and lliere is 
 less lounging at the Wa(j(jon and Horses on Saturday evenings. 
 
 Vincent being at the Vicarage will make a great difference in 
 my life. I have got into the habit of seeing him nearly every day, 
 and he just suits me. Muriel and I are so grateful to him for 
 his ministrations to our mother ; she often tells us that he is the 
 greatest comfort to her, and that she forgets that he is so young ; 
 be seems older somehow and graver even to me. That terrible 
 accident has sobered him ; he has taken it so much to heart. 
 
 I fear that you will find Mrs. Herbert greatly changed ; I 
 want to prepare you for that. She is very sad and drooping, and 
 we find it difficult to rouse her ; she does her duties in a half- 
 hearted perfunctory way, but for the present the old spring and 
 energy has gona My mother says we must give her time, but it 
 seems to me as though she will never be like her old self again. 
 
 I am writing to you in my old fashion — ^just everything that 
 comes into my head — the old ways are the best and sweetest ! But 
 I am keeping the real purpose of my letter to the last. 
 
 Ellison, do you remember our last walk, and what I tried to 
 say to you at the gate of the "Woodlands ? My heart was very full 
 that evening — full of unspoken love and tenderness — but you 
 forced me to keep silence. 
 
 Dear, have you found out your mistake by this tiniel — for it 
 was a mistake, was it not ? — it would have been better and hapj)ier 
 for us both if you had allowed me to finish my sentence. I want 
 you to own this frankly. It was my intention that evening to ask 
 you to become my wife. Our long friendship, my warm attach- 
 ment, gave me a right to hope for a favourable answer ; but when 
 I found you were not ready to listen to me — that it troubled you
 
 GA VJN'S DECISION 285 
 
 to give up your cherished indepcnflence — I did not press my own 
 \vi^ht'3. I think you will own that I have been more patient than 
 most men. lUit, as I said belore, there are limits to everything — 
 and even to this long letter — and I have made up my mind not to 
 wait for your return, hut to ask you to pledge yourself to me without 
 any further delay. When we meet let it be on a different footing. 
 In one sense we have been much to each other, but now the tie 
 must be closer, I would fain believe that this absence has worked 
 in my favour, and that you are ready now to be engaged to me. I 
 know you will be perfectly frank with me ; indeed I deserve such 
 frankness ! Let us thoroughly understand each other from this 
 day forward. God bless you ! — Yours, Gavin. 
 
 This was the letter that cost Gavin a sleepless night to write. 
 There were sentences that he re-wrote again and again ; but he 
 cnuld not satisfy himself. He tf)ld himself tliat it was cold, unlover- 
 like, and that it was not worthy of the dear woman whom he was 
 asking to become his wife ; but how was he to help himself 1 
 
 Gavin's direct, straightforward nature hated shams. He would 
 give Ellison all he could — his reverence, his honest affection, and 
 that worship that a good man gives to the woman he honours; 
 but he could not call her his dearest ! — not yet at least ! 
 
 But to Ellison that letter was simply perfect ; from beginning 
 to end there was no single flaw in it. 
 
 At first she believed it was just an ordinary letter like the 
 others she had received from him. He had always written to her 
 when he ha'l been away — long chatty letters that had given him 
 pleasure to write, and which she had loved to receive. Were they 
 not faithful and trusty comrades, and was he not right in saying 
 the old ways were the best and sweetest ? ' Dear Gavin — how true 
 he is ! ' she 3;xid softly, when she came to this. 
 
 But Uie next sentence maile her heart beat more quickly, and 
 she grew jialc with sudden strong emotion. She put down the 
 letter a moment, for the mist before her eyes seemed to blur the 
 woriis. Then slie took it up again and read steadily to the end. 
 
 Could any lover have written more nobly ? Every word waa 
 Gavin-like — it brought him before her. How she gloried in his 
 simple, manly directness ! 
 
 ' I think you will say that I have been more patient than most 
 men ' — ' My ilearost, no one has ever been more patient,' she 
 murmured, when she came to this. 
 
 ' I know you will be perfectly frank witli me — inileed, I deserve 
 such frankness ' — ' And you shall have it, my own,' she said softly, 
 and she pressed the paper to her lips.
 
 286 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Ellison soon wrote her answer ; but it was very short, and ta 
 the point 
 
 Dear Gavin (she wrote), you have asked me to be frank with 
 you. You are right. Such frankness is indeed your due, and I 
 will own to you that I made a great mistake in refusing to listen 
 to you that evening. You have been very patient with me, my 
 dearest — there was some attempt to erase the ' dearest,' but it had 
 not been successful — and I behaved most foolishly. What is 
 independence, after all, compared to the joy of being beloved ? A 
 woman has no right to let her pride and self-will stand in the way 
 of her happmess — your noble forbearance has taught me this lesson. 
 Dear Gavin, I will not hesitate any longer. I am perfectly willing 
 to be engaged to you ; for years your wishes have been mine. I 
 need say no more. You have conquered — your very patience has 
 won me. How sad everything is ! Our dear old vicar — but I 
 cannot write about that to-niglit — and poor suffering Cousin Louise ! 
 You will have need of all the comfort I can give you, my poor 
 Gavin — for there are dark days in store for you. What you tell 
 me about Lorraine is very sad. But she is so unselfish ; she will 
 not long suffer herself to droop hopelessly. I have confidence in 
 her strength of mind. And now, dear Gavin, you will rejoice to 
 hear that we have got our marching orders— IMargaret is so much 
 better that Dr. Strauss thinks we may safely move her. We shall 
 travel by easy stages, and if all goes well, I shall hope to reach 
 London by the 20tli. I must sleep in Portman Square that night ; 
 but Margaret's cousin, Mrs. Garcia, will be there, so there will be 
 no need for me to stay longer. 
 
 I have not dared tell you how home-sick I have been. I 
 know now what exiles feel. Since Sister Rosalie came I have had 
 too much time on my hands. I am afraid you will grumble at my 
 looks, but these weeks of nursing would have tried the strongest 
 woman. 
 
 I am writing this hastily, but I do not want to lose a single 
 post. — Yours entirely and always, Ellison. 
 
 When Gavin read this letter he sat for a long time motionless in 
 his chair. He had burnt his boats — from henceforth no retreat 
 was possible. His word, his honour were pledged, and from that 
 moment he must bring himself to look on Ellison as his future 
 wife. 
 
 If this thought brouglit him no joy, it was not his fault, or hers 
 either. ' A man must do his duty under all circumstances,' he said 
 to himself stoically; 'and no difficulty, no sense of hardship in
 
 GAVIN'S DECISION 287 
 
 performing it should deter liiin. The paths of pleasantness and 
 peace are not for me,' he said half aloud, and then for a few 
 moments Gavin's soul was wrapt in bitterness. 
 
 He had hastened on his own duoni, and had in a sense forged 
 his own fetters ; but no one but he himself knew that his sole 
 safety lay in doing so. Every day his position had become more 
 perilous and fraught with danger, as every day Lorraine became 
 dearer to him. His very manhood tempted him ; he could not 
 see her in her loneliness and helplessness without longing to shelter 
 and protect her. ' No one understands her as I do,' he would say 
 to himself, and there were times when he could even read her 
 thoughts. 
 
 But it Avas not his own fear of self-betrayal that alone deter- 
 mined him to take instant action — it was some subtle undefinable 
 change in Lorraine that roused him, and yet it was nothing 
 tangible : a consciousness at moments of unexpected meetings that 
 a faint colour would steal into her wan face — that those sweet 
 pensive smiles, more sad than any tears, were for him alone — signs 
 which first made his heart beat almost to suflbcation, and then 
 filled him with alarm ; and yet such was his reverence for her that 
 he never once asked himself how he stood with her. 
 
 ' Slie is beginning to dei)end on me too much ' — that was all he 
 would allow. * In her peculiar circumstances one is bound to pro- 
 tect her. Vincent stays away altogether, but with me — that is 
 hardly possible. Ellison has entrusted me with her all'airs, and I 
 cannot shirk my duties.' Nevertheless, by degrees he had broken 
 olF his visits, and though he and Lorraine met nearly every day, 
 their interviews were brief, and Muriel was generally with them. 
 But Ellison was coming, and things would be placed on a right 
 footing. Their engagement would be made public — he would take 
 care of that, 
 
 Lorraine had been right when she said oidy a woman can 
 endure to sit at home brooding over troubles^ Gavin's restlessness 
 demanded the relief of action. 
 
 Only his mother's precarious and declining state prevented him 
 from rushing off the next day to offer his escort to Ellison. It 
 would have done him a world of good to shake off the air of High- 
 lands for a little, but, as he phrased it a little bitterly, he was 
 chained to the galley-oar of duty. No, this relief had been denied 
 him ; but, at least, there was one thing that he could do ; and then 
 he got up quickly and went to his mother's room. Mrs. Trevor 
 never left her bed now. She was lying propped up with ])illuws. 
 She looked at her son with her usual loving smile as he sat down 
 beside her, but the next moment her expiession changed-
 
 288 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' You have something to tell me, Gavin — I can see it in your 
 eyes. I read people's faces so quickly. Nurse is in the dressing- 
 room,' — as he looked inquiringly towards the half- open door — 
 
 * but she will not hear us. It is about Ellison — she is coming 
 home.' 
 
 ' Yes, she is coming home ; the day after to-morrow they are to 
 begin their return journey ; but Miss Mervyn can only travel by 
 easy stages, so they do not expect to reach London until the 20th. 
 I am glad my news pleases you, mother ; but that is not all I have 
 to tell you ' — and as her eyes fastened anxiously on his face, he said 
 slowly, ' Ellison and I are engaged.' 
 
 A low sob broke from Mrs. Trevor's lips, and as he sat on the 
 bed beside her, she suddenly flung her feeble arms round hin?. 
 
 * Gavin, my own dear son ! Thank God for this ! ' she exclaimed. 
 ' My prayer has indeed been answered. Oh, it has been so long 
 coming, I began to think you would never make up your mind to 
 marry — that I must give up all thoughts of dear Ellison coming 
 here in my place. But I was too impatient. My dearest boy, you 
 have made me so happy.' 
 
 He bent his head and kissed her. ' I knew it would give you 
 pleasi;re. Ellison has always been like a daughter to you. Mother, 
 it is not my fault that we have not been engaged thrte months ago ; 
 but Ellison could not make up her mind.' 
 
 'Did you ask her that evening when she and Mrs. Herbert 
 dined here % Never mind,' — as his face clouded a little at the 
 remembrance. ' I will not weary you about details ; you shall only 
 tell me what you like. Does Muriel know V 
 
 ' Not yet ; I have come to you first. I think, under the circum- 
 stances, no one but you and Muriel must know. It would not be 
 well to publish things during Ellison's absence ; it might embarrass 
 her. We must get used to our position before we take our friends 
 into confidence ; but you and Muriel can write to her or send 
 messages.' 
 
 ' Very well, dear. Of course, dear Ellison will be a little shy at 
 first, and she would like a few days' quiet.' 
 
 Mr.i. Trevor talked on liapjjily. If Gavin were a little grave, a 
 little wanting in lover-like enthusiasm, his mother thought such 
 gravity was only becoming under the circumstances. ' He is no 
 love-sick boy ; one must not expect, him to indulge in raptures,' 
 she said to herself. 'That is why Ellison will suit him perfectly.' 
 And when Muriel came to her later on that night, a little excited 
 with the news, she gave vent to her joy without restraint. 
 
 'Muriel darling,' slie said impulsively, 'it seems almost too 
 good to be true. I could not help worrying a little about Gavin ;
 
 GA VIN'S DECISION ' 289 
 
 but now Ellison will make him happy, and they will Loth take 
 such care of you. You will not leave them, will you, dearest ? — it 
 would Le so dull for you living alone at the Duwcr IIou?e.' 
 
 But Muriel refused to give any opinion on this jioint. ' iluther, 
 dear,' she said imploringly, ' I have begged you so often not to 
 trouble about the future ; there is no use making up one's mind 
 beforehand. When the tin)e comes I shall know what to do ' ; and 
 as her mother continued (o look wistfully at hor, she went on 
 hurriedly, ' Gavin and Ellison will help me to decide things.' And 
 then Mrs. Trevor was satisfied. 
 
 * I can say my " Nunc Dimittis " now,' she said to herself that 
 night ; and the next day she pencilled a loving little note to 
 Ellison, which reached her in due course. 
 
 19
 
 CHAPTER XXXYII 
 
 Ellison's return home 
 
 * For so that I j'our company 
 May have, I ask uo more ; 
 From wliich to part, it maketh my heart 
 As cold as auy stone ; 
 For in my mind of all mankind 
 I love but you alone.' 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 One lovely afternoon, about a fortnight later, Ellison sat alone in 
 a second-class compartment. In another ten minutes the train 
 would reach Bramfield, and already her eyes had noted more 
 than one familiar landmark. For how many weeks had she 
 looked forward to this moment, with what heart-sick impatience 
 and longing, bravely resisted, only she herself knew. It had been 
 a sad trying time, but it was over now ; and as she had listened 
 to Margaret's faltering thanks that morning, and had heard the 
 I'cpressed emotion in her brother's voice, she felt a satisfied con- 
 sciousness of having fulfilled her duty. Nothing had tempted her 
 to desert her post. She had brought back her charge to England, 
 and had left her in her cousin's care ; and now she was free to 
 return to her own dear home and to the lover who was waiting 
 for her. Alas ! her coming back would be no unmixed pleasure. 
 There had been sad changes during those three months of absence. 
 IIow she would miss Tedo's fair little face ! And then her dear 
 old friend Mr. Yolland had gone — and the Dark Angel was even 
 now hovering over the roof of Brae ! Muriel's letters of late had 
 filled her with apprehension. ' Poor mother, we shall not keeji 
 lier long with us ! She suffers less, thank God ; but she grows 
 percej)tibly weaker every day.' Muriel had written this only the 
 previous morning. 
 
 Ellison's calm, evenly-balanced nature always shrank from any 
 strong emotion. She dreaded her first meeting \v^ith Lorraine, and
 
 ELLISON'S RETURN HOME 291 
 
 had begged her not to couie to the station ; but slie knew Gavin 
 would be there. 
 
 Nothing had been said about it on either side ; a sense of sliy- 
 nesa had prevented Ellison from hinting lier wish that their first 
 meeting should take place at the Farm. She must leave him to 
 do as he thought best. 
 
 But, as the train slackened speed, and she caught sight of his 
 well-known figure in the brown tweed shooting-coat and gaiters, 
 with Bairn beside him, she was conscious of a singular revulsion of 
 feeling — an overpowering self-consciousness that made her long to 
 hide herself. But Gavin had already seen her, and the next 
 moment he w;is at the door. 
 
 Their eyes met and then he helped her out silently, only retain- 
 ing her hand a moment longer than was necessary, and then Bairn 
 jumped on her with a hoarse bark of welcome, and putting his 
 l)aws on her shoulders tried to lick her face. Ellison caressed him a 
 little nervously. She felt Gavin's deep-set eyes were watching 
 her movements ; then she felt his hand on her arm. 
 
 ' Down, old fellow — your mistress is tired. Come, dear, let me 
 put you in the waggonette. Nicholson will look after your 
 luggage.' The old familiar voice with its rich timbre brought a 
 sudden blush to Ellison's face, and for the first time in her life the 
 young mistress of Brae Farm walked out of the station without a 
 backward glance at her belongings. Gavin helped her in, then he 
 stood by the door talking to her quietly about the journey, until 
 they had brought out the luggage and piled it up on the waggonette. 
 But as he talked he scarcely looked at her — he could see how 
 nervous and constrained she was with him, and he knew he must 
 give her time to recover herself. He was nervous himself,and he must 
 do the best for her and himself too — at least he had this advantage 
 over her, that he had time to school himself and ham his role. 
 
 But 'as he placed himself opposite to her, and Bairn bounded 
 joyously beside them, uttering jubihint barks from time to time, 
 he leant forward and took her hand. 
 
 'You are not looking fit, dear,' he said gently. 'I am not 
 satisfied with your looks — I am sure you are thinner.' 
 
 Then Ellison gave a nervous little laugh, and drew her hand 
 away. There was no one near, certainly ; but Nicholson might 
 turn round and see him holding her hand. 
 
 ' I warned you beforehand,' she sjiid, fiushing as she spoke ; 
 ' all those weeks of nursing would have tried any one. Sister 
 Rosalie was astonished at my powers of endurance. She said it 
 was English pluck that helped me.' 
 
 * It has taken the starch out of you, I can see that,' he returned.
 
 292 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 shaking his head ; ' and no wonder, it must have been a terrible 
 time.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ' — with a shudder — ' it was so dreadful to see any 
 one sufler as poor ]\Iargaret did, and to be without the means of 
 alleviating her pain. How little one knows what lies before us.' 
 And then she continued in a low voice : ' You are not looking well 
 either, Gavin ; you have grown dreadfully thin, I noticed it at once.' 
 
 But he would not allow this for a moment. He had wanted 
 her back, he said lightly, but there was nothing much the matter 
 with him; things had been depressing enough, and her absence 
 liad made it worse, ' I never intend to let you go away again 
 unless you take me with you,' he finished in a meaning tone ; 
 and Ellison's eyelids had drooped ; every look, every word made 
 her heart beat more quickly, and she feared that her changing 
 colour and silence made her agitation only too perceptible to the 
 quiet keen eyes opposite. But she need not have feared, Gavin 
 took no advantage ; he talked on about his mother and Muriel 
 until she became more at her ease, and began questioning him in 
 her old manner. As they passed Brae House, he suddenly told 
 the coachman to stop. ' I am getting out here,' he said hurriedly, 
 as Ellison looked at him in surprise. ' It will be better for 
 you to meet Mrs Herbert without eye-witnesses. I will see you 
 later on,' and he laid his hand on hers for a moment — and then 
 smiled at her and raised his hat. 
 
 She looked after him wistfully — she had scarcely spoken to him, 
 she thought ; yes, he was thinner, she was sure of it — he looked 
 somehow changed — graver and older — but how infinitely dearer. 
 If Gavin had only known the rush of womanly tenderness that 
 filled the blue eyes with tears. ' My own, my own dear Gavin,' 
 she said to herself — and then she saw Joe Brand hurrying across 
 the farmyard ; yes, there was the red roof of the granary, with the 
 doves and pigeons sitting in rows, as usual, pluming themselves. 
 The whirring and rushing of wings innumerable told Lorraine that 
 the carriage was approaching, and she laid aside the work she had 
 not touched, and went out into the porch. She was white to her 
 lijis, and her hands were shaking, as Ellison folded her silently in 
 her arms ; those warm sisterly kisses were all that passed between 
 tliem. 
 
 When Ellison had exchanged greetings with her household, she 
 followed Lorraine into the sitting-room. 'Oh, how lovely it all 
 looks ! ' she exclaimed, in a tone of deep content. ' My dear old 
 room — how glad I am to get back to it!' — and then she put 
 out her hand to her cousin, and they sat down on the window- 
 seat together.
 
 ELLISON'S RETURN HOME 293 
 
 ' You are very tired, Ellison' — Lorraine spoke in a trembling 
 voice. ' Shall I ask llutli to bring tea in now ? ' 
 
 'Thank you, dear, that will be nice' — and Lorraine hurried 
 away to give the order. Ellison's face became very grave a.s soon 
 aa she was alone. 
 
 The sight of Lorraine's changed face had given her a shock ; she 
 was not ill, but she looked dwindled somehow, her face had grown 
 smaller, ai;d her eyes larger — their intense melancholy made 
 Ellison's heart ache. "When Lorraine returned to her seat a few 
 minutes later, some uncontrollable impulse of pity made Ellison 
 take the pale face tenderly "between her hands and kiss it. ' Dear 
 Lorraine, it is time that I came back to take care of you,' she said 
 affectionately, * there has been no one to do it in my place ; but 
 you knew how I wanted to get back to you.' 
 
 'Yes, I knew — but, Ellison, indeed every one took care of me. 
 Muriel and dear Mrs. Trevor, and Mrs. Tucker — oh yes, and 
 Colonel Trevor too. I have had nothing but kindness ; but no one 
 — no one could help me, really, you know. But we must not talk, 
 talking unnerves me, and I must give you your tea, and then you 
 shall go to your room to rest a little.' 
 
 Ellison smiled, but she made no answer, she was never less 
 inclined for rest ; it w;i3 repose enough to be back in her dearly 
 loved home. But for Lorraine, she would have gone all over the 
 house and farm ; the horses and cows and pigs would all have been 
 visited, and the poultry-yard and garden inspected. It cost her 
 active nature an elfort to sit there and let Lorraine wait on her 
 and liring her her tea ; but she felt instinctively that it would do 
 Lorraine good — the only way for her to get over her trouble was 
 to forget her-self in ministering to others; but these were early 
 days yet. As Ellison drank her tea, she felt a sort of ojiprc'^ion 
 steal over her — a feeling of helple.-snes3 that was new to her — every 
 one h.-ts had ihis consciou?ncs.s when suddenly brought into the 
 presence of some great trouble — a ballled, puzzled sense of impo- 
 tence, aa though one's very tongue were palsied. At such times the 
 ordinary grooves of talk are impossible, and each toi>ic seems too 
 garish or trilling to be mentioned. The heart-break in Lorraine's 
 sad eyes made Ellison dumb with pity ; but happily speech is not 
 the only channel of communicition, and Lorraine drew immense 
 comfort from her cousin's silent sympathy. 
 
 'She is so sorry for me that she cannnl bring herself to spoak,' 
 she thought, and to Ellison's surprise and relief she began talking 
 of her own accord of the little cross that was still unlinislicd. 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor thinks it will be a pity to hurry it,' she saiil, 
 with a shade more animation in her tone ; ' he wants it to be aa
 
 294 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 perfect as possible. Ah, he lias been so good to me, Ellison ! just 
 as I should imagine a brother would be, if I had ever had one.' 
 
 ' Gavin is always kind when people are in trouble,' returned 
 Ellison ; but she wished she could help blushing so painfully when- 
 ever she mentioned his name. She had not told Lorraine yet about 
 her engagement ; until she had seen him and realised her position 
 a little she did not wish to tell peoj^le ; it was enough that Mrs. 
 Trevor and Muriel knew. They talked a little more about the 
 beauty of the design, and than Lorraine checked herself, and again 
 observed that Ellison must go and rest. ' I daresay you will like 
 to be alone a little,' she continued, trying with unconscious pathos 
 to put herself into Ellison's place. ' You have been away so long 
 that you must want to look at things. The servants have been so 
 good ; I think you will find everything right. Shall I come up 
 with you to your room, or would you prefer Dorcas ? ' 
 
 ' I should prefer you to come, but I do not need help. I am not 
 going to impack, and I am q;iite tidy ; it is only such a short 
 journey from London,' and then they went upstairs together, hand- 
 in-hand. But it was Lorraine's room — ' Good rest ' — into which 
 Ellison turned; she walked through it, still keeping Lorraine's hand 
 in hers, until they reached the ' Dovecote ' with the little crib 
 standing in the centre of the room, and then she stood still and 
 looked at it. It was Lorraine's quaint fancy always to keep a cross 
 of flowers or evergreens on the white quilt, which she kept 
 renewed. She had fashioned it this time of late oak leaves, with 
 shining red hips and haws, and the gleam of the berries looked well 
 against the spotless white ; the door of the toy cupboard was open, 
 and all Tedo's playthings were arranged carefully on the wide 
 shelves. The window overlooked the kitchen-garden, the bee- 
 hives, and a comer of the orchard. When Ellison left home the 
 trees had been bending under the weight of fruit, and the grass 
 had been strewn with windfalls ; now the leaves lay in piles and 
 heaps everywhere, and through the thinned boughs she could see 
 the Lodge roof by the Woodlands gate. 
 
 Asudden pitiful sense of the incongruity of life, of its changes and 
 clianccs, made her eyes suddenly fill. 'Lorraine, dear,' she said 
 quickly, 'don't think me unkind. I could not write, and now I find it 
 aa difficult to speak ; but it is not want of feeling — you know that.' 
 
 'No, indeed. Oh, I understand you so well; there was no 
 need for you to say that, dearest,' and, then, by a mutual impulse, 
 the two women clasped and kissed each other, and something 
 approaching to the warmth of comfort stole over Lorraine's bruised 
 and cruslied heart. 
 
 Ellison went to her room after that ; her first act, when she
 
 ELLISON'S RETURN HOME 295 
 
 finrnd herself alone, was to scrutinise her features in the glass. Hlt 
 iDoks had not satisfied Gavin ; but now, aa slie regarded herself a 
 little anxiously, she could find nothing amiss ; perhaps .she was a 
 little thinner, a little less robust, but the fresh hue of health was 
 on her cheek, and her eyes were as clear as a child's. The Mistress 
 of Brae had always been a grand-looking woman, but now she 
 had grown handsomer — Gavin told her so before the evening was out. 
 Long before she expected him she was summoned down to him. 
 
 Lorraine had gone as usual to the churchyard, and they cuuld 
 meet in comfort. Ellison looked pale and nervous when she entered 
 the room, but Gavin's lover-like greeting brought a beautiful blush 
 to her face. ' Welcome home, dear ! ' he said gently, and as she 
 seated herself, he sat down beside her, and then it seemed to 
 Ellison as though .she had nothing more to ask of life. 
 
 « Oh, stay, the moment is so fair ! ' Surely every true lover could 
 say that with the aged Faust ; the cup that love fills with divine 
 noclar seems so sweet as they quaff it. Whatever the future might 
 bring Ellison, at that moment she was fully, utterly content. 
 
 Gavin was very quiet and tender with her, as though he guessed 
 that she was half afraid of him, and this gentleness thrilled Ellison's 
 very soul. 
 
 * I never thought even you could be so good to nic,' she said 
 presently ; ' but, Gavin, I wish I deserved it more. I have given 
 you so much tnnibh-, and have made you wait all this time ; it is 
 dreadful to thiiik we have lost three months out of our life, and 
 all through my folly.' 
 
 'No, you must not say that, dear,' he returned, 'you were not 
 ready, ami I was bound to wait your time ; my liege lady had a 
 right to my faitliful service,' and then his tone changed into one of 
 deeper feeling. ' Ellison, I never wanted you to go away. I shall 
 never cease to be sorry that you went, but we must make the best 
 of it,' and as her eyes expressed a faint surprise at this, he continued 
 hurriedly : 'Things cannot be bright for us for a long time. My 
 poor mother's state prevents that, but, at least, I shall have you 
 near me in my trouble.' 
 
 ' I shall always be near you,' she answered softly, and she took 
 his hand as she spoke. ' Gavin, I never wish to leave you again ! 
 Ah, you drt n(^t know how I missed you, it was not nntjl all those 
 miles were between us that I rightly understood niy own feelings 
 and knew what you were to me. I do not mind telling you that 
 now ' — and here her voice sank into exquisite tenderness — ' now that 
 we belong to each other.' 
 
 He drew her gently towards him and kissed her lips. How 
 good, how loving she was to him I How nobly true and frank in
 
 296 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 the expression of lier love ! He liad won her entirely, and she had 
 given her-self without stint or reserve, and in his heart he reverenced 
 and thanked her. Slie was his friend and comrade. Never under 
 any circumstances had she disappointed him, and she did not 
 disappoint him now. Her influence Avas as great with him as ever. 
 As he sat thei'e talking to her in the soft lamplight he felt almost 
 tranquil and at rest ; perhaps, after all, things would be well Avith 
 him : when they were once married, the fever of unrest that had 
 threatened his peace M'ould pass away ; Ellison would be his dear 
 and honoured wife, and time would make her dearer. It was only 
 a delusion that he cared more for Mrs. Herbert. He would stamp out 
 the unworthy feeling. As Shakespeare wisely said, ' A little fire 
 is quickly trodden out, which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.' 
 Surely his man's strength and his sense of duty would aid him to 
 win the victory ! 
 
 Why, then, did the sound of a light footstep in the passage 
 outside, and a low voice speaking to one of the maids, suddenly 
 thrill him from head to foot. He could hear the question whether 
 Colonel Trevor had gone, and Ruth's answer. A sudden fear that 
 she would enter made him hot and then cold ; but when the loot- 
 steps passed on he felt only the chill of disappointment, and knew 
 that he had been unconsciously expecting her all this time. 
 
 ' Lorraine thinks that I shall be glad to have you to myself the 
 first evening,' observed Ellison, and then she smiled in his face. 
 ' Oh, Gavin, must you go now ? And you have been here such a 
 little time ! ' And as he held out his watch without speaking she 
 laughed and blushed in quite a girlish way. 
 
 ' Is it so late ? I had no idea of that. Yes, of course, you 
 must go, Gavin. I must send you away.' But there was no pro- 
 tracted leave-taking on Gavin's part — his quiet kiss and ' God bless 
 you, dear,' was soon over. 
 
 Ellison would not walk to the gate with him uninvited ; but 
 slie stood at the door and watched him till he was out of sight. 
 As he closed tlie little gate she waved her hand ; but Gavin was 
 looking at a distant window, and made no response. In the candle- 
 light he could see a slim, black figure plainly. Wliy was she 
 standing there, he wondered, in the chill of the October night, 
 looking out into the darkness ? There was something so forlorn 
 and lonely in her attitude. 'Heaven guard and comfort her,' he 
 muttered as he walked hastily down the farmyard and through 
 the long meadow to Brae. It was not Ellison's fair tranquil face 
 that haunted him ; the baffling spirit of unrest that he had vainly 
 exorcised was beside him again, and he knew that the fight must 
 be renewed for many a long day to come.
 
 CllAl'TEU XXXVllI 
 
 *HAVK YOU GUKSSKD IT V 
 
 ' I feci like one 
 Wlio treads alone 
 
 Some banquet liall deserted, 
 Whose lights are fled, 
 Wiose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed.' 
 
 MoouE. 
 
 It cost Lorraine a sliglit clToit to deny herself the pleasure of seeing 
 Colonel Trevor that cvenini,' ; those three mouths of unrestrained 
 intercourse with him had deepened and eidarged her liking fur 
 him into a very real friendship. She iiad not guessed herself how 
 much comfort his brief visits had given her, or how she had missed 
 theuj of late ; and the knowledge that he was in the house made 
 her long to hurry down to speak to him, and it was only the remem- 
 brance that Ellison might like to have him to herself that first 
 evening that prevented her from doing so. 
 
 She hud no idea how matters stood between them, and she had 
 almost forgotten her old suspicion ; all such thoughts seemed lost 
 in the liazy distance. In the world where Lorraine lived at pre- 
 sent, there was neither marrying nor giving in marriage. She had 
 forgotten that sucli things were; to her life meant the hunger of a 
 desolate heart crying after her little one, the stretching out of 
 empty arms, all the sad martyrdom of a bereaved mother. In the 
 worhl outside men still bought and sold, and made merry, and 
 married wives ; in the cottage homes she passed she could hear the 
 voices and laughter of tlic children ; but in the inner world, where 
 she sat apart, the grey skies seemed to hover over a strange silent 
 land, where every figure wore the garb of grief. 
 
 But that evening, as she stood at her window lost in melancholy 
 thought, she was conscious of some added discomfort, of some new
 
 298 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 feature of loss. Slie wondered in a confused sort of way why 
 Ellison did not send for her, and the thought that she and Colonel 
 Trevor were too much engrossed to remember her existence, hardly 
 consoled her. 
 
 The clant^ of the gate gave her a little shock of disappointment. 
 He had gone without one word — it was strange, it was unlike him 
 — he was always so kind, so thoughtful ; and then she chid herself 
 for being so unreasonable. Of course he had so much to tell 
 Ellison after her long absence ; about his mother's illness, and the 
 Farm ; they were sucli old friends, and the unrestrained intercourse 
 of years had sealed their intimacy. 
 
 Lorraine told herself somewhat bitterly that trouble was making 
 her selfish and exacting ; but in reality, strained and overtasked 
 and weary as she was, with the burden of a trouble too hard for 
 her to bear alone, she was just in that dangerous mood when 
 sympathy of some kind is an absolute necessity. 
 
 To her the divine right of loving and being beloved was second 
 nature. While her child lived, this passionate demand had been 
 satisfied ; her boy's caresses had healed the degradation of her 
 married life, and her outraged sensibility had gradually calmed 
 down. Her widow's mite ! how often had she called him that half 
 playfully, and j^et with infinite tenderness. Well did Lorraine 
 know, that of her own will she could never have yielded up her 
 one treasure ; but her frail ewe lamb had been taken from her at 
 a stroke. To a casual observer, to one not versed in the strange 
 idiosyncrasies of human nature, it may seem strange that Lorraine, 
 broken-hearted as she was, .should care for the society of Colonel 
 Trevor ; but the baffling instincts of a large-hearted and exuberant 
 nature like Lorraine's might well perplex them. The stream that 
 has been dammed will seek another outlet, and fret its way over a 
 thou.sand oljstacles, until it can pour its liquid riches into fresh 
 watercourses, fertilising the thirsty land as it flows. And a rare 
 nature like Lorraine's could not live on this earth without some 
 object of affection. Unknown to herself and to Ellison, jher 
 po.sjtion was one of singular peril. The wife who had never 
 loved her husband, the mother who was weeping for her little one, 
 had been the object of tender and respectful sj'^nipathy to the most 
 attractive man who had ever crossed her path ; and it was little 
 wonder if her feelings of gratitude grew warmer with every fresh 
 act of though tfulness. He had known sorrow too ; this was a 
 fresh link between them. Lorraine during the last few weeks had 
 thought often and long of that Indian grave Avhere Colonel Trevor's 
 wife and child lay. 
 
 She shook off the troublesome thoughts with a sigh as she went
 
 ' HA VE YOU G U ESS ED IT?' 299 
 
 do^vnstairs to bid Ellison good-nifjlit. ' Dear Ellison, what a shame,' 
 she said to herself, ' to begrudge her anything on the first evening 
 of her return.' 
 
 As she entered the room Ellison did not at once perceive her. 
 She was lying back on her chair, with her hands clasped under her 
 head, in an unwonted attitude of utter abandonment and comfort. 
 The soft unbent line of her lips, and the strange brightness in her 
 eyes, filled Lorraine witli a vague surprise ; she had an instinctive 
 feeling that something had happened. 
 
 Ellison looked at her for a moment smilinglv, and then stretched 
 out her arm lazily, and drew her down beside her ; but she did 
 not at once speak. 
 
 Lorraine grew more and more puzzk-d. 
 
 'Ellison, dear,' she said almost timidly, *I did not like to come 
 down before. I thought you and Colonel Trevor would have so 
 much to talk over — was I right ?' 
 
 'Quite right,' returned Ellison dreamily. 'You are always so 
 thoughtful, Lorraine ; that is why it is so easy to live with you. 
 You have never once been in my way — never once,' and then her 
 manner changed and grew hesitating. 
 
 ' Lorraine, dear, shall you be very much surprised if I tell you 
 a little secret, or have you guessed it already ] Gavin and I are 
 engaged — we have been engaged a week ; but, until we met, I 
 could not realise that fact, that is why I am glad that you left us 
 alone this evening.' 
 
 For one moment Lorraine had again the curious feeling, as 
 though she had suddenly and unexpectedly lost something ; but 
 it w;is too vague and indefinite to be grasped, and the next minute 
 she was saying hurriedly : 
 
 ' I hardly know if I am surprised. ^Months ago, at that dinner- 
 party, I had a sort of feeling that there was something between 
 you, but I forgot all about it afterwards.' And then she drew a 
 long breath, and her eyes grew sad. ' It seems a lifetime ago since 
 then.' 
 
 'lie spoke to mc that evening,' relumed Ellison in a low voice. 
 ' It Wiis my fault tiiat we were not engaged then, but I w;u3 not 
 ready. I think I am a little dilferent from other women. I have 
 never been in a hurry to marry — I have always been so .satisfied 
 with my single life that only Cavin could have persuaded me to 
 change it.' She looked very handsome as she said this, with her 
 head held higher, and the blood mantling into her cliecka. 
 ' Lorraine, are you glad about this — are you going to congratulate 
 mc ? ' 
 
 ' With all my heart, deiirest ' ; and then Lorraine clasped her
 
 300 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 close. ' May you be as happy as you deserve to Le.' And tlieu, 
 in a lower tone, ' He is worthy of you. I do not fear for your 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' Nor I. Dear Lorraine, I was half afraid to tell you this. It 
 seems so hard that I should have everything and you nothing ; but 
 Gavin and I will be so good to you. You like him, do you not, 
 dear ? You and he are great friends. You were only telling me 
 so before he came to-night.' 
 
 'Yes, we are good friends,' and then Lorraine wondered why 
 she found it so difficult to speak of Colonel Trevor. But again 
 she chid herself for her selfishness. Ellison's whole nature seemed 
 to have changed, her shy reticence had broken down under the 
 influence of her new happiness, and she seemed to find a satisfac- 
 tion in pouring into Lorraine's ears the story of Gavin's wooing 
 and her own sloAvness of response. 
 
 Lorraine listened silently. Now and then the same faint sur- 
 prise moved her, though she was careful not to wound Ellison by 
 giving expression to it. How strange and ballling it all seems ! 
 How could it be possible for any woman beloved by a man like 
 Gavin Trevor to hesitate and set up a barrier of time and distance 
 between herself and so true a lover ? For the first time Ellison's 
 love of power, her desire for freedom and independence, appeared 
 unwomanly and untrue to nature. What were the adjuncts of 
 circumstances, and a few exterior advantages, when a good man — 
 leal and trusty as Gavin Trevor — said, ' I love you and want you 
 for my wife?' Lorraine's delicate thin face showed a momentary 
 disdain, though she kept her lips closed. Only once she said 
 tremulously : 
 
 ' How could you fear to trust your life in his hands, knowing 
 him all those years ? ' 
 
 But Ellison only laughed happily." 
 
 ' You and I are very different women,' she said. ' I was never 
 one of the soft, yielding ones. I always cared for Gavin ; but even 
 
 he did not find it easy to win me. But when once I am won ' 
 
 She paused, and an exf|uisite tenderness shone in her eyes. ' Gavin 
 knows that 1 shall be true to him.' 
 
 Lorraine pressed her hand, and after a few more words they 
 parted for the night. 
 
 When Ellison lay down on her bed she told herself that she 
 wa.s the happiest woman in Highlands. ' My own Gavin, you 
 know how I love you ! You are satisfied with me now ! ' she 
 thought, as she fell asleep. 
 
 But it Wc'is long before Lorraine could rest. A vague pain to 
 which she could give no name, seemed to drive sleep from her eyes.
 
 'HAVE YOU GUESSED IT?' 301 
 
 She lay open-eyed in the darkness. Now a prayer for Ellison's 
 happiness rose to her lips, and then a petition for comfort. A 
 suililcn sense of her own poverty oppressed her. She was young — 
 in the very prime of young womanhood — and yet what did life 
 oder her ? The love for which she had unconsciously craved was 
 not for her, and friendshii) could hardly satisfy her instincts. * 
 my God ! why are women made so?' she exclaimed with a sudden 
 anguish of impatience, and she could find no answer to this per- 
 plexing problem which thousands of women have tried to solve. 
 
 Some curious instinct made Lorraine avoid Colonel Trevor, and 
 for two or three weeks after Ellison's return they did not meet. 
 She knew the hour when he was likely to walk down to the Farm, 
 and it was ea-:y to prolong her evening walk so as to leave the 
 coast clear for the lovers. She would spend solitary hours in the 
 churchyard brooding over her past life, and trying to brace herself 
 up to patience and endurance. But she paced up and down the 
 yew-tree walk in the gathering dusk, her sense of desolation was 
 almost unendurable. 
 
 But the days that were so sad and heavy to Lorraine were full 
 of exquisite happiness to Ellison j and even to Gavin, worn with 
 his strange and hidden conflict, they were days of peace. Peace — 
 that was all he asked now ; and as he sat alone with his betrothed, 
 talking quietly of the future, and saw the lovelight in her calm 
 blue eyes, and heard the satisfied tones of her voice, he said to 
 himself that the past few weeks had been a dreau), and that all 
 would be well with them in the future. Certainly Ellison missed 
 nothing. Gavin's quiet tenderness satisfied her utterly ; a more 
 passionate and exacting attachment would have bewildered her. 
 • Gavin is perfect,' she once whispered to Mrs. Trevor, as she sat 
 beside her in the short October afternoon. How bare the Brae 
 Woods were growing ! The heajis of red and yellow leaves drifted 
 into the hollows ; to the sick woman, they spoke of life's calm 
 decay, and of the eternal springtime that lay before her. Very 
 sweet and precious were those hours that she and Ellison spent 
 together. She would talk to her of Muriel's future. 
 
 ' You will be a sister to her, Ellison,' she Siiid one day. ' Dear 
 Muriel, she is wonderfully softened and improved. She is my 
 greatest comfort now, after Gavin.' And again and again Ellison 
 solemnly assured her that their home should be Muriel's too. 
 
 Lorraine still paid daily visits to Brae, but she never encountered 
 Gavin ; more than once as he sat in his library he heanl her deep 
 low voice as she and Muriel passed the door, then a sudden flush 
 would come to his brow as he bent over his paper; but he made 
 no eflbrt to see her.
 
 302 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 But one afternoon he came upon her unexpectedly, standing by 
 the gate of the Woodlands — it was aljout three weeks after Ellison's 
 return — he was climbing up the path that led from the long 
 nieadnw, when he suddenly saw her. His first impulse was to 
 draw back, but she had already seen him, and the faint welcoming 
 smile he knew so well was on her lips, though she made no move- 
 ment towards him. She seemed tired, and a basket full of yellow 
 bracken and red and withered leaves was at her feet, her old 
 black hat was pushed back, and he could see the brightness of her 
 brown liair as it lay in waves about her temples and ears ; but as 
 he came towards her slowly he noticed that her cheek had lost its 
 soft curves, and that her eyes looked large and sunken. They 
 shook hands silently — Gavin was nervous, but the mere fact that he 
 was standing beside her, and that her gown brushed his foot, filled 
 him with a strange sense of pleasure. It was so long since he had 
 seen tliat sweet sad face, alas, sweeter and dearer to him than ever ; 
 he wanted to hear her speak, and yet no words occurred to him. 
 It was Lorraine, troubled by his unusual silence and gravity, who 
 spoke first. ' I did not see you, and you startled me a little ' — 
 was that why she had flushed at the sight of him ? ' I have been a 
 long way, through the Redlands Woods, and have gathered all 
 those leaves and berries ; but the basket is so heavy.' 
 
 ' Let me carry it for you,' was his quick answer ; but as he 
 lifted it a sort of anger came into his voice. ' Why do you not 
 take better care of yourself? Is there no one to prevent your 
 doing these things ? Ellison cannot know how you tire yourself.' 
 
 'Those leaves are for Ellison,' she returned, a little taken aback 
 by the sternness of this reprimand ; ' she is so fond of all these 
 wild things. I wanted to fill her vases and surprise her. Please 
 do not let me take you back, Colonel Trevor,' — as he did not put 
 down the basket. ' I will leave it at the lodge and send Daniel 
 for it tills evening; it is certainly a little heavy and makes my 
 arms ache.' 
 
 ' I am going to carry it myself,' he returned in rather a dogged 
 voice ; ' my errand was not of the slightest consequence, and you 
 need not forl^id my rendering you this slight service. Ellison is 
 sitting with my mother and Muriel, I shaU join them by and by, — 
 and then he set down the basket and propped himself up against 
 the gate. It was in this very spot that he had spoken to Ellison, 
 when she had silenced him so abruptly. What if he had not con- 
 sidered himself bound by those few vague words — what if he had 
 held himself a.s free? but even as the thought seemed to search 
 him, he repelled it fiercely, liut as he turned to accost Lorraine 
 be was startled to see that lier eyes were full of tears.
 
 ' HA VE YOU G UESSED IT? ' 303 
 
 'Do you remember ■? ' she said tremulously, ' it was just here 
 where we saw you first, you and Lady Alice, and I opened tlie 
 gate fur you.' 
 
 ' Yes, I remember,*^' he returned, leaning towards her and re- 
 garding her fixedly. 
 
 'I can hejir him now, the darling,' she continued, 'his sweet 
 little voice, with its baby li.'^p, quite jdainly — "boy vants a vide" — 
 and then you took him up and I walked beside you. I was think- 
 ing of that when you startled me just now.' 
 
 'Do you ever think of anything; else?' he returned almost 
 impatiently ; ' it is wrong to dwell so on the past, all these 
 thoughts are making you thin and haggard ; it is only three weeks 
 since we met, and I can see the change in you. How are youi to 
 go on living if j'ou will not be comforted?' 
 
 • His tone, rough with suppressed feeling, made Lorraine wince. 
 Never had he spoken to her in tliis way before ; but this afternoon 
 his gentle chivalry seemed to have deserted him. 'Come, the 
 wind is cold, there is a touch of east in it, and you must not stand 
 here any longer,' and Lorraine, a little perplexed at this pen-mp- 
 toriness, followed him meekly down the winding path that led to 
 Brae. All at once a sudden thought made her grow hot and 
 nervous. ' Colonel Trevor,' she said hurriedly ; and then he stood 
 still and waited for her to speak. 
 
 ' It is very foigetful of me, but your words reminded me. I 
 have not seen you since Ellison's return, and I have never 
 congratulated you.' 
 
 ' Oh, is that all,' he returned, trying to speak lightly as they 
 went on together. 'In my opinion congratulations are better 
 uudei-stood than spoken. I never M'as a good hand at pretty 
 speeches.' 
 
 ' But all the same, you will allow me to wish you happiness,' 
 she said, timidly, for his manner sadly pcrjile-xed her. 'After all 
 your kindness, I can do no less' — and then her voice broke a little. 
 
 * Colonel Trevor, I do pray that you may be very hajipy, you and 
 dear Ellison.' 
 
 'Thanks awfully,' he returned; but his hand shook a little, 
 and his face looked gloomy as Lorraine looked at him. She felt 
 vaguely dissatisfied. Wjis he as happy as she had imagined him to 
 be? He had never been so wanting in geniality before ; her good 
 wishes seemed to bore him ; perhaps his mother's state was making 
 him miserable ; and with her usual tact Lorraine gently changed 
 the subject, and (hey clialte.l on indifrerent topics. He carried the 
 basket up to the door, and then to Lorraine's surprise followed her 
 into the house.
 
 304 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 'You will promise me to rest now,' lie said persuasively, and 
 with a return of his old manner. * You will not bother over those 
 weeds until you have had some tea'; and as she shook her head 
 half-smilingly, he continued : * It is not like you to be selfish— 
 you ought to have some regard for your friends' feelings — if you 
 only knew how ill ^gxx. are looking.' 
 
 ' I will rest,' she replied gently. How this thoughtfulness 
 touched her ; it was so long, so long, since she had heard him 
 speak in this kind way ; as she put out her hand to him she was 
 struck afresh by the concentrated gloom in his deep -set eyes. 
 What was troubling him ? If she could only help him — and then 
 Lorraine sighed ; the chasm between them w^as widening, his 
 marriage with Ellison could not bring him nearer, and all that 
 evening and the next day the same vague sense of loss oppressed 
 and added to her sadness.
 
 ClIArTEU XXXIX 
 SIR Percy's letter 
 
 ' The desire of the moth for the star, 
 Of the night for the morrow, 
 The devotion to something afar 
 From the sphere of our sorrow.' 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 ' fear uot in a world like this, 
 
 And thou .shalt know ere long, 
 Know how sulilime a thing it is 
 To suffer and be strong.' 
 
 Long fellow. 
 
 LoHRAlNE had seen little of Mr. Vincent all this time ; a paiulul 
 consciousness that his visits had ceased to be welcome had kept 
 liim away from the Farm. 
 
 He had called once after Ellison's return to congratulate her 
 on her engagement, but though he knew Mrs. Herbert w;is in the 
 house she had not made her appearance. The visit had been 
 an uncomfortable one ; Ellison's manner had indeed been as 
 kind as usual and as friendly, but it had been impossible to avoid 
 constraint, neither of them had liked to .allude to the past. Mure 
 than once Ellison had been on the point of saying something, 
 and had checked herself. Mr. Vincent seemed so nervous and 
 ill at ease that her courage failed, but in her heart she was full 
 of sympathy for him ; the old careworn look had returned, and 
 he looked far from happy. When, at the close of his visit, he 
 asked after Mrs. Herbert, he secmc<l to find some effort in speak- 
 ing her name. 
 
 Lorraine came downstaii-s the moment he had gone, but Ellisnii 
 noticed' with some surprise that she never mentioned him at all. 
 She was always very kind to Noia when she came to the Farm, 
 but Edmund and Effie never accompanied her. Once when 
 Ellison proposed inviting them to tiistc her blackberry jam, Lor- 
 
 20
 
 306 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 raine had burst into tears and left the room ; the chiklless woniau 
 could not yet bear the sound of young voices ; with all lier un- 
 selfishness her loss was too recent. 
 
 The day after her encounter with Colonel Trevor she was 
 sitting alone, busy with some fine darning, wlien, to her surprise, 
 she saw Mr. Vincent pass the window. She put down her work 
 in some agitation, any visitor made her nervous now ; but an 
 instant's rellection reassured her. ' When he hears Ellison is out 
 he will go away,' she said to herself, as she shrank back into the 
 shadow of the curtain ; but she was wrong, the next minute Ruth 
 announced him. 
 
 He came in hurriedly, and there was a deprecating expression 
 on his face as he shook hands with her. ' I hope I have not 
 disturbed you,' he said (piickly ; ' perhaps I ought not to have 
 come in. I know you do not care for visitors, but there is some- 
 thing I want to ask you.' 
 
 'Will you not sit down?' returned Lorraine a little stif^3^ 
 Witli all her elFurt she could not be at her ease with him ; again 
 and again she had reasoned with herself, Mr. Vincent had nothing 
 to do with her trouble, he was utterly blameless, and yet the sight 
 of him always disturbed her ; he was Hugo's brother — and Hugo 
 had led her boy into danger. 
 
 Mr. Vincent placed himself at some little distance. Mrs. Her- 
 bert's manner was not reassuring — and how ill she looked — her 
 face seemed thinner and smaller every time he saw her, aud her 
 graceful figure looked more drooping ; the keenness of his pity made 
 him silent for a moment, but Lorraine looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 'Is there any one you want me to see?' she asked. 'I am 
 always so glad to help if I can. I was at Mrs. Carson's yesterday, 
 she was worse ; but of course you know that — they would have 
 sent for you.' 
 
 ' I was there last night, and again this morning ; she died two 
 hours ago. No, there are no fresh cases that I need to trouble 
 you about ; it is only some private business on which I want your 
 advice.' 
 
 ' My advice is worth very little, I am afraid/ taking up her 
 work again ; and he could see the slight stifl'ening of her muscles ; 
 the old beautiful smile was not for him now ; his heart ached 
 again as he watched her. No, it was too evident she cared no- 
 thing for him ; her old kindness, her cordial warm-hearted parti- 
 sanship, her womanly sympathy, were things of the pafet ; her 
 sorrow had separated them utterly. Nevertheless, this once he 
 must speak to her. 
 
 ' It is worth a great deal to me,' he returned quickly. ' You
 
 S/R PERCrS LETTER 307 
 
 do iiut know the extent of your influunco, ^[r.-i. llt-ibfit, or you 
 would not put me oil' in tliat way ; It-t nic tell you what brings 
 me here this morninf^. I asked for you, and not fur Miss Lee, 
 because it was your advice tliat I wanted. Of course you have 
 heard from Colonel Trevor that they have offered me the living?' 
 
 'No,' she returned, with a manifest start; 'we have heard 
 nothing. Do you mean that you are to be our vicar ? ' And then he 
 saw that the idea was not a welcome one to her. 
 
 'They have asked me to remain here; but of course I know 
 that my friends have busied themselves on my behalf. Colonel 
 Trevor told me that he and Mr. Earnshaw had written to Sir 
 Percy Chessington, and also to the bishop. I heard from Sir 
 Percy last night ' 
 
 ' I must congratulate you,' observed Lorraine, but there was no 
 warmth in her voice — but he stojjped her. ^ 
 
 ' No ; not yet. I have not answered Sir Percy's letter. What 
 would be the good of asking advice if I had already made up my 
 mind ? Will you let me finish what I have to say 1 Of course this 
 means a great deal to me. To be sure, my aunt's unc'.\]iectcd 
 liberality has lifted us out of actual penury, but even with her 
 help we have only enough for moderate comfort. The living 
 is worth about four hundied and fifty jiounds a year, and the 
 Vicarage is roomy and comfortable, and in excellent repair ; the 
 field or two adjoining would enable me to keep a horse and trap 
 without much adilitional expense, especially as the boys' eilucatioa 
 is assured. A\'e would not be rich even then, but we should be 
 able to enjoy life.' 
 
 ' All your friends will be delighted to hear of your great fortune, 
 Mr. Vincent. I think it would be well for you to write to Miss 
 Brctherton, Surely,' looking at him in some perplexity, 'there 
 can be no need for a moment's hesitation ; you liave told me more 
 than onc^c how you liked Highlands, and how sorry you would 1 c 
 to leave.' 
 
 'That is true, and I do not take liack my words. If I hesitate', 
 it is not on my own account ; but, after all that has hapjicned, I 
 felt it was impossible to accept Sir Percy's oft'er until I had spoken 
 to you. Mis. Herbert, will you tell me frankly — you are always 
 frank — will it be painful to you to see me at the Vicarage ?' 
 
 Lorraine could scarcely believe her ears ; but when she looked 
 at him she s<\w he was quite in earnest He was actually hesitat- 
 ing to accept this good thing that had been oll'ered to him, from a 
 scrupulous sense of delicacy on her behalf. As he said those words, 
 'Will it be painful 1o you to see me at the Vicarage T his eyes had 
 been full of a widtful sadness. She was e.\tremely surprised and
 
 308 THE MISTRESS OE BRAE FARM 
 
 touched ; and aa she answered him, the friendliness of her tone made 
 the young man's heart beat. Lorraine had no clue to help her to 
 interpret the real reason for Mr. Vincent's generosity : with wonder- 
 ful self-abnegation, and absolutely shutting his eyes to his own 
 interest, he was making her the arbitress of his future. In 
 Lorraine's eyes it was the finest chivalry, and Quixotic extravagance 
 of sentiment, but nevertheless it went to her heart. She little 
 knew that the sacrifice she considered so noble seemed little in 
 Eric's eyes ! He would have been ready to do far more than this 
 to give peace of mind to the woman he loved so hopelessly — yes, 
 hopelessly. If he had never realised this fact before, he did so 
 to-day ; as he sat there hardly daring to look at the face he so 
 dearly loved, he knew that he should never dare to woo her. 
 
 On her side Lorraine was profoundly touched, the tears rushed 
 to her eyes. How good he was, and how hardly she had treated 
 him. To Eric's surprise she stretched out her hand to him, and 
 implored him to forgive her. 
 
 ' You have so much to forgive,' she said, with a little sob. ' I 
 have been so hard and cruel in my trouble ; it was no fault of 
 yours that I was so unhappy, but I have treated you as though you 
 were to blame. Why does trouble make one so wicked ? My heart 
 has never been hard before. Mr. Vincent, you are a clergyman, 
 you ought to know — why have you never told me that I was 
 wrong to be so rebellious ? ' 
 
 ' One should not break the bruised reed,' he said nervously ; 
 ' you must not be so hard on yourself, Mrs. Herbert. No one in 
 their senses could have called you wicked ; your friends know you 
 too well, you only wanted time to recover yourself.' 
 
 'No, no ; I sliall never be myself again,' with a slight shudder. 
 ' I never used to have these bitter thoughts ; even in my worst 
 times it seemed so easy to love people ; but now, I only want to be 
 alone and think of my boy. Mr. Vincent, I have not answered 
 your question ; you ou^ht not to have asked it ; bad and selfish as 
 I have been, I am not quite so selfish as that. Please write to Sir 
 Percy Che.ssington this evening.' 
 
 'You are quite sure that you mean that?' — then again her eye3 
 were misty with tears. 
 
 ' I am sure that no one else ought to be our vicar. Mr. Vincent, 
 please do not make me so utterly ashamed of myself, and — and 
 let the children come as usual ; my cousin likes to have them, 
 and I shall soon get used to it.' 
 
 ' We will see about that,' he returned, taking up his hat. 
 
 But Lorraine's repentance was very real. 
 
 'If you will not give Nora my message, I shall send her a note.
 
 S/7^ PKRCV'S LETTER 309 
 
 Tell her she is to biiii;^ E>ldiu iind Elfie to-morrow ; I am ^'oiii;^' to 
 write to Hugo to-night, 1 kuow that he loves letters. Will you 
 give me the name of his house-master ?' 
 
 'There is no need to put yourself to such tiouhle,' he replied, 
 almost shocked at llu'. edort she was making — her lips had turned 
 quite white as she mentioned Hugo's name ; nevertheless, no entreaty 
 on his part could induce her to spare herself. 
 
 'You have shown my selfishness in a true light,' she returned. 
 ' I will give way no more ; as long as we live we owe duties to 
 other people. If Nora does not come to-morrow I shall come down 
 to the cottage to know the reason why' — and as she said this, la- 
 did see the ghost of a smile. 
 
 When Eric went down to liiighy, he asked Hugo to show him 
 that letter. Hugo stared at him. 
 
 'Which do you mean; is it a special one?' he asked. 'I 
 have got a heap here' — and he fetched a little carved box that one 
 of his schoolfellows had given him, and showed him seven or eight 
 letters. The black -edged envelopes "were sadly torn ; frequent 
 reading, and perhaps tears, had defaced the neat pages : they 
 were the treasures of Hugo's heart. Eric read them every one, 
 sitting on Hugo's little bed ; they were a revelation to him ; those 
 tender warning sentences were written from a wrung and sore 
 heart, but how true and steadfast were their aim ! to lead one wild 
 young heart to believe in goodness, and the redemption of ]>enitence. 
 ' Be good, dear Hugo, be obedient, and reverence those who are in 
 authority over you. Be brave and sjieak the truth, and hate all 
 lies and deception like poison' — this was the grit and moral of 
 those letters ; he i-ead one paragraph over again and again. ' Be 
 true to me, Hugo, and I will be true to you. I have never hated 
 you, my poor child ; what can have put that into your head ? and 
 l)lease never say again that you were Tedo's murderer. Have you 
 forgot tefi how he loved you — his dear Hughie? and do you su]>po.se 
 1 could hate any one whom he loved ? Vou once said you would 
 do anything I wi.shed ; I shall hold you to that, I wish you to be 
 a brave obedient boy, of whom we can all be jiroud, and then you 
 will grow uj) a noble man, good and brave like your brother ; 
 j)romise me that you will, Hugo.' As he tied up the letters again 
 his eyes were dim ; this was the work she set herself, to redeem 
 and build up this wayward nature, for well did she know her 
 iulluence. Years afterwards Lorraine was to reaji her harvest ; 
 when Hugo showed her his Victoria Cross, he lifted her hand to hia 
 lips. ' I was glad when they gave it me, because 1 knew you would 
 be glad too, and I wanted to give pleasure to my best friend. I 
 w;is thinking of you as I carried the poor fellow out of reach of
 
 310 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 fire, I never thought I should see you or England again ; and 1 
 did so want you to know that if I played the man, it was all your 
 doing.' But Lorraine, who was looking pitifully at the empty 
 sleeve, and the mark of the sabre-cut across his tenijdes, was too 
 moved to answer. Captain Scott, the hero, was her boy Hugo ; her 
 words had come true, the brave bov had errown into the braver man. 
 
 As Eric left the Farm that afternoon he felt less Huhajjpy than 
 he had done since Tedo's death ; and yet for the first time he fully 
 realised the hopelessness of his love for the young widow. She 
 would never care for him ; he had no key to unlock the treasures of 
 that tender womanly heart, the right password would never be his ; 
 but, at least, he had one consolation. The barrier had been broken 
 down Ijetween them ; again he had met those soft, friendly glances 
 that had warmed him like sunshine, and had felt the pressure of 
 her thin hand. She had accused herself frankly of want of 
 generosity and kindness, and her last words to him had been 
 almost childlike in their contrition. 
 
 ' I have treated everybody as badly as possible, but I will 
 try and make up for it. You are going to be our vicar ; you 
 must help me to be good ; that is part of your duty.' And then she 
 had looked up in his face with a sweet sad smile that had nearly 
 broken his heart. 
 
 As he walked up the steep lane that led to the village he told 
 himself that it was his part to play the man, and that any pro- 
 longed lamentation over his disappointment would be useless and 
 puerile. 
 
 The woman whom he loved and honoured would never consent 
 to be his wife ; the pretty \'icarage, of which he was already so 
 proud, would be without a mistress. Well, he must learn to do 
 without happiness, as many a better man had done ; and then by 
 some odd transition of thought he remembered his aunt — her 
 lonely life — and the pathetic oddities that hid a whole lifetime 
 of pain. 
 
 How few people of his acquaintance had realised their ambitions, 
 he wondered ; there Avas Miss Trevor, the merest stranger would 
 have detected the marks of conflict and dissatisfaction with her 
 environment ; and as this thought passed through his mind he 
 suddenly came face to face with her. 
 
 The windings of the lane and his own thoughts had prevented 
 him from seeing her until she was quite close to him ; but Muriel 
 had already perceived him, and her colour was slightly heightened 
 as they .shook hands. 
 
 'I had only just retraced my steps to look for a small book 
 I had dropped,' she began hurriedly; then, as she caught sight
 
 S/R PERCY'S LETTER 311 
 
 of it in his hand, ' oh, thank you so much, you have found it. I 
 was just on my way to call on Miss Spencer ; I had promised to 
 lend it to her.' 
 
 ' I was just wonderinf,' to wlioni the book belonj,'cd,' he 
 returned. ' I have been over to the Farm. I wanted to speak 
 to Mrs. Herbert. Ah ! I see you are in possession of the secret,' 
 as Muriel's eyes bc<4an to brighten with animation. 
 
 * Yes, indeed. I was so glad to hear it Gavin is so delighted, 
 about it ; he was quite excited when he told mother. I think all 
 your friends are pleased, Mr. Vincent' 
 
 'All my friends are very kind; Init you must not be too 
 quick with your congratulations. I have not yet accepted Sir 
 Percy's ofl'er,' and then he told Muriel all about his interview with 
 Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 It was not the first time he had made Miss Trevor his con- 
 fidante ; they were excellent friends, and he had an immense 
 respect for her judgment. With all her faults she was so absolutely 
 true, and her standard of perfection was a high one. But to-day, 
 as he talked to her, he was almost surprised by the keenne.s3 of her 
 interest ; her colour changed, and her eyes grew misty with strong 
 feeling, and the vibrating softness of her voice illled him with 
 vague wonder. 
 
 ' It was grand ; it was noble of you to go to her,' she said. * I 
 think few men would have done that ; self-interest would have 
 prevented them. Do you see the good it has done ? it has roused 
 her by appealing to her best feelings. Mrs. Herbert is such a good 
 woman. I am linding that out more and more ; she will never 
 rest now until she has conquered her selfishness — for she will call it 
 that, although we should give it another name.' 
 
 'You need not tell me that I have found out Mrs. Herbert's 
 virtues long ago.' Eric tried to speak lightly, but the underlying 
 8;idnes3 was too evident. 
 
 He could not have brought himself to speak of his attachment 
 to Mi-s. Herbert to any human being ; nevertheless Muriel knew 
 all about it. If he had consulted her she would have told him 
 how utterly hopeless it all was. 'She will never care for you in 
 that May,' that is what she would have said. Muriel never guessed 
 at the reason for this sudden insight into Mr. Vincent's mind ; the 
 characters and even the motives of her friends seemed somehow 
 clearer to her ; she was passing through one of those crises that 
 quicken and stimuhite growth. No longer self-absorbed, she looked 
 out upon the world — her o^vn little world of human beings — and all 
 at once it seemed to her that she was surrounded by a vast 
 brotherhood and sisterhood.
 
 312 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 In spite of lier very real sorrow for her motlier's declining 
 state Muriel was happier than she ever had been ; for the first time 
 she lived, instead of dreaming away her life, and her imperious and 
 exacting tenderness met with some adequate response. Her mother 
 needed and leant on her, Gavin no longer repressed her ; their 
 mutual trouble and anxiety drew the brother and sister together. 
 Lorraine's friendshiii had created a fresh interest in her life ; but, 
 when Muriel counted up her blessings, she was careful to omit any 
 lliought of Mr. Vincent ; nevertheless, the young clergyman's 
 influence was beginning to permeate every nook and cranny of 
 her peculiar nature, and though she never owned her preference 
 even to herself, his visits and their brief snatches of conversation 
 were the chief events of the day. 
 
 Eric on his side fully appreciated Muriel's friendship, and never 
 lost an opportunity of talking to her. They had much in common. 
 Eric's fastidious scholarly taste was gratified by the girl's refined 
 intelligence ; her talents were certainly far above the average of 
 ordinary women ; she liad read deeply, and had digested all she 
 read. He did not think her pretty, and she had not l^Irs. Herbert's 
 fascination ; but now and then the brightness of her eyes and the 
 softness of her smile would give her a momentary beauty. 
 
 He always met her with pleasure, and on this afternoon she 
 appeared more attractive to him than usual ; there was something 
 liealing in her sympathy and appreciation. Eric was not vain by 
 nature, but even he could not fail to feel gratified by her warm 
 eulogium on his conduct ' It was noble of you to go to her.' 
 When she said this Eric felt himself vaguely comforted.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 'UOW AM I TO BEAR IT?' 
 
 ' From l)cni iiig right 
 Our sorest burdens comes fresh streugth to hear ; 
 And some rise again towards the light, 
 Aud <iuit the sunless depths for upper air : 
 The rocks have bruised us sore ; but angels' wings 
 Grow best from bruises, hope from anguish springs.' 
 
 r. Tlkner. 
 
 TuosE dim October days that drag;.,'od so lieavily lur J-uiraiiie were 
 days of ever-deci)eiiiiig liai)i)incss to KUison. She and Gaviu weie 
 always togetlar ; tlioy did nolliing apart. Her daily vii-its to tlie 
 invalid brought them constantly together ; and it had grown a 
 custom for Gavin to walk back with her, and to accompany her in 
 her afternoon rambles round the Farm. Ellison asked his advice 
 in everything ; the young mistress of Brae Farm no longer prided 
 herself on her sturdy independence ; it was a joy to her to abdicate 
 and divest herself of her woman's sceptre. 'The king can do no 
 wrong,', was already a foregone conclusion, and Gavin, secretly 
 amused and touched by his liege lady's submission, was always 
 ready to help her to the best of his power. 
 
 In spite of his infatuation for the young widow, Gavin was not 
 always restless and unhappy. Ellison still had the power to soothe 
 him ; in her presence he felt calm aJid even content. Men — even 
 the best of them — have strangely comjdex natures ; and it was 
 undoubtedly true that, in spite of his i>assion for Mi^. Herbert, in 
 some ways Ellison satisfied him. The ties of warm friendship 
 that united th.-m, the gratitude that he owed her for years of 
 untiring symi>alhy, his own unselfish desire for her hapjiiness — 
 were all important factoi*s in his wooing, and increased his need 
 of her. 
 
 ir Ellison had been more exacting in her demands it might have
 
 314 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 been otherwise. But the steady flame of her love was always bright 
 and serene. Never demonstrative, her manner to her betrothed 
 husband was full of an underlying tenderness that rarely rose to the 
 surface, and her shy reticence permitted few caresses. No wonder, 
 then, she satisfied the weary, passion-tossed man, and that there M^ere 
 times when he told himself that he had done well for his future. 
 And another thing, the absence of all uncertainty gave him 
 strength and confidence. He was too reasonable to cry like a spoilt 
 child for the moon. 'The love of the moth for the star' would 
 not have satisfied him. It was better to take the helpmeet that 
 was near to him. In his heart he agreed with the poet that ' not 
 enjoyment and not sorrow is our destined end or way.' To a 
 nature like Colonel Trevor's the battle of life was likely to be a 
 hard one. 
 
 But the fires of the volcano were only smouldering under the 
 thin crust of the crater ; the heated lava was ready to burst into 
 flame. An old soldier like Gavin knew where the danger lay, and 
 he avoided every occasion where he would be likely to meet Mrs. 
 Herbert. As the weeks went on, and November winds strijipied the 
 woodlands, and the rotting leaves lay in heaps, she crossed his j^ath 
 less and less. Lorraine never asked herself why she avoided him. 
 Now and then, when Ellison affectionately chid her for her absui'd 
 prudishness, she only smiled and said nothing. Ellison thought 
 that consideration for herself and Gavin kept Lorraine away. 
 ' There is no need,' she would urge ; ' we are a steady old couple, 
 and I feel as though I have been engaged years. We are not 
 always talking secrets.' But Ellison pleaded in vain ; some subtle 
 instinct warned Lorraine that it was safer for her to see as little as 
 possible of Colonel Trevor. 
 
 Early in December Mrs. Trevor grew rapidly worse ; but her 
 constitution was a good one, and it was the doctor's opinion that 
 there would be another rally, and that she might possibly live for 
 some weeks. 
 
 But the end came very suddenly wdien they least expected it. 
 Ellison, who had spent the previous evening at Brae House, was so 
 deceived by the temporary rally that she decided to go up to town 
 the following morning and spend a few hours with her friend 
 Margaret Mervyn. 
 
 ' Margaret is longing to see me,' she said, as Gavin walked back 
 with her. He had a lantern in his hand to guide them through 
 the wintry darkness, for there was no moon. Years afterwards 
 Ellison reinembered tliat short walk — the bright light thrown by 
 the lantern, and the blackness that encompassed them. Gavin had 
 wrapped her in an old fur -lined coat of his, for the wind was
 
 ' JWIV AM I TO BEAR IT?' 315 
 
 I)iercing. 'You are making a niuimny of me,' ebe liail remoii- 
 etraleil laugliingly ; ' my cloak is quite warm.' 
 
 But he had only laughed rather derisively. 
 
 *You must not presume on heing stronger than most woiuen. 
 You are mortal like the rest of us.' And then he had told her not 
 to talk, and to cover up her mouth. 
 
 Ellison obeyed him. But the winter -wind might have been the 
 softest of breezes to her, and those dark lields the Klysian ni' ailow.«. 
 Once, as she pressed closer to him, he put out his arm and drew 
 lier nearer. As he raised the lantern they seemed to walk in a 
 patli of shining light. 
 
 The same thought seemed to strike Gaviu. 
 
 'Is this emblematical of our future life, Ellison ?' he said as he 
 stopped to open tlie gate for her. Tlien in the darkness she crept 
 closer to him and laid her cheek against his coat. 
 
 ' I shall not mind any number of dark days if I only have you 
 near me, Gavin,' she said, and her voice trembled with strong 
 feeling. 'You are my light — you know that.' 
 
 ' I know one thing — that I do not deserve you,' he returned as 
 lie kissed lier brow. ' Since Helen's death you have always been 
 my best blessing.' And then IsUi^on sighed ha])pily as though her 
 cup was filled to the brim. Tliis is what she had wanted — to be 
 Gavin's comforter. 
 
 Gavin ha<l promised to drive her over to Bram field the next 
 morning, and, if ])0ssible, to meet her by the early al'ternoon train. 
 In all outward observance and service his behaviour was perfect. 
 He never spared himself any trouble. 
 
 ' You must let me do everything for you,' lie said to her more 
 than once. ' You cannot give me greater pleasure than to let me 
 feel that I am of some use to you.' And in tho.se sweet early days 
 of their engagement Ellison often invented little errands. In 
 spite of" her outward serenity she was often restless in liis absence, 
 and was glad of any trilling excuse that wou'd bring him to the 
 Farm, 
 
 They set out for Bramfield quite happily. Gavin spoke almost 
 cheerfully of his mother. She had had a better night. She cer- 
 tainly sull'ered less pain. He lioped — he could not lielp hoping — 
 that she Avould see the new year in. Ellison listened sym- 
 pathetically, and said nothing to disturb those comfortable 
 convictions. On her own part she had no illu>iDns ; she felt 
 assured that Mrs. Trevor's rally would be brief. 
 
 But little did she and Gavin guess, as they drove rapidly 
 down the Bramfield Boad, that at that moment Lorraine had 
 sent olV an urgent message for their return. A sudden collapse
 
 316 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 had taken place, and it was doubtful if she would live through the 
 
 morning. 
 
 Unfortunately, tlie groom missed his master. The fineness of 
 the day had tempted Gavin to drive round by Darley. There was 
 a horse he wanted to see, and his mare was fresh ; he liad left the 
 station ten minutes before Davis reached it. The next thing 
 was to go in search of Dr. Howell. Happily the man met him 
 coming out of the Vicarage, and he drove off to Brae at once. 
 
 Lorraine had gone up to Brae unusually early, and without 
 waiting to speak to i\Iuriel, who was giving the housekeeper the 
 orders for the day, she went iip unannounced to the sick-room. 
 The nurse had only just left the bedside, and was busy in the 
 dressing-room, when a sudden cry from Lorraine startled her. 
 
 'Nurse, come here, Mrs. Trevor looks faint. Slie is trying to 
 speak to me and cannot say a word.' 
 
 ' Send for Dr. Howell and Miss Muriel,' was all the nurse said. 
 But Lorraine read tlic trutli in the woman's eyes. Slie was dying, 
 and Gulonel Trevor and Ellison were away. 
 
 She rushed down to find Muriel, and to send off that message 
 that never reached Gavin, and tlien with an aching heart watched 
 as the nurse tried vainly to revive her patient. Mrs. Trevor was 
 sinking fast. She had looked at her daughter when she entered, 
 and had tried to move her hand. As Muriel with a despairing cry 
 flung herself upon the bed there was again tliat fruitless attempt 
 to sjieak ; but Lorraine, moved to her very soul by the anguish of 
 that heli)le.ssness, bent over them both. 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Trevor, do not try to speak ; you are too weak. 
 You want Muriel to know how mucli vou love her, and to wish 
 her good-bye. There, I am guiding your hand ; it is resting on 
 her head. If you had strength to speak you would say " God bless 
 her," would you not ? ' 
 
 A slight, scarcely perceptible, quiver passed over the dying 
 woman's face, and showed that she understood ; but Lorraine 
 knew instinctively that the dim eyes were searching for some one 
 else. She stooped over her again. 'You are looking for your son. 
 I have sent fur him. He has gone out with Ellison. We hope he 
 will Ije in time to bid you good-bye. I will give him your mes- 
 sage' — and here her voice trembled. ' Oh, do not try to speak, I 
 know quite well what you would wish to say ; you want him to 
 have your love and blessing' — and then something like a smile 
 came to her i>allid lip-s. For some time she seemed unconscious, 
 but even after Dr. Howell's entrance there was another unexpected 
 rally. Some strong stimulant made her open her eyes with a 
 shudder, and then she said faintly, 'Yes, tell him that' ; and a
 
 * noil' AM I TO BEAR ITP 317 
 
 little while afteiwanls, when the sinking had returned, she looked 
 at tliem rather strangely. 
 
 'John,' they heard her whi.«por. 'John and the children' — 
 those were her last words. Half an hour later she drew her last 
 breath, just as the wheels of the phaeton sounded on the gravel 
 path. 
 
 Muriel was still kneeling with her mother's hand cla-sjied in 
 hers, but Lorraine rose hastily and left the room ; the phaeton 
 was still coming up the drive as she stood bare-headed in the 
 porch. 
 
 Gavin .saw her, and a prevision of evil crossed his mind. Why 
 was she standing there waiting for him ? and then he saw how 
 pale she was. 
 
 'My mother is worse; let me go to her!' he exclaimed, trying 
 to pass her ; but Lorraine's soft hand held him firmly. 
 
 ' Let me .«ipeak to you first ; there is no hurry. It will be 
 bettor for you to wait a little. Your dear mother has left us.' 
 Then lie stared at her incredulously. 
 
 ' It is impossible,' she heard him say, and then he staggered 
 slightly as though he were giddy, the long drive in the cold and 
 the shock together seemed to numb him. 
 
 ^\'lien Lorraine put her liand again on his arm and guided him 
 to the library, he did not resist. His limbs seemed to totter under 
 him. Perhaps it would be wiser to sit down for a moment before 
 he went upstairs. 
 
 The next moment Lorraine brought him some wine. 
 
 'You must drink that,' she said with gentle firmness. 'You 
 are cold, your teeth are chattering, and this is such a dreadfid 
 coming home. Please do not refuse it, Colonel Trevor,' as he 
 motioned it away with some impatience. 'When Iwaa in trouble 
 I let you help me more than once.' Then he drank the wine and 
 the colour returned to his lips. 
 
 'Tell me about it When did it happen ?' he asked hoarsely. 
 • I have not been away more than two or three houi-s.' 
 
 • It was a sudden failure, a sort of collajise. She became worse 
 almost directly you and Ellison left the house. When I went up 
 I saw how it was, and sent Davis after you ; but you have been so 
 long that lie must have missed you.' 
 
 ' I came round by Darley.' As she stood beside him a fold of 
 her black dress brushed his knee, and unconsciously his hand closed 
 upon it ; the touch of her gown gave him a feeling of comfort 
 Lorraine took no notice, and went on — 
 
 ' There was only ^luriel ; but she was wanting you. She could 
 not speak until ju^t at the last ; but we knew she was looking for
 
 318 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 you. Just before she passed away I heard her wliisper, " Julm and 
 the children," and such a happy look came over her face.' 
 
 'That was my father's name; she was (liinking of him and the 
 girls. Oh, if I had only been there !' and tlicn his hand lightened 
 on her dress. Lorraine saw the marks of his fingers afterwards. 
 He sat still for a few more minutes, and Lorraine wailed patiently 
 beside him. When the silence had grown painful she said, softly : 
 
 ' Muriel is upstairs. Should you not like to see her?' And 
 then he released her, and rose stiffly. 
 
 Later in the day, when he had transacted all necessary business, 
 he entered the library and found Lorraine waiting for him. She 
 had her hat and jacket on. 
 
 'Are you going away?' he asked, somewhat surprised. 'I 
 thought you would have stopped with Muriel.' 
 
 ' I thought it would be better for me to meet Ellison,' she 
 returned quietly. ' I knew you meant to send her a note by 
 Davis ; but it seemed kinder not to let her have that long drive 
 alone ; she will be so terribly shocked when she reads the note.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; you are very good to have thought of that,' he 
 said gratefully. ' But are you sure you ought to go 1 it is bitterly 
 cold.' 
 
 ' It cannot possibly hurt me ; I am warmly wra]iped up. I do 
 not like leaving Muriel, she seems so prostrate ; Init nurse pro- 
 mised to look after lier.' 
 
 ' I will go up to her,' he returned ; and then the brougham came 
 round. Gavin lingered in the porch a moment, until the carriage 
 wheels were no longer audible. A sudden memory of Lorraine, 
 as she had stood there, came across him. How sweetly and piti- 
 fully she had looked at him ; he could feel the touch of her warm 
 soft hand as she drew him in. She had said so little ; but the 
 mere fact of her presence beside him had seemed to soothe him. 
 How few women would have stood there not speaking to him in 
 that silent but tender ministry. The wine he drank from her hand 
 seemed to strengthen him, and made it possible for him to enter 
 the chamber of death. 
 
 As he went up to the turret-room, he said, ' God bless her !' 
 under his breath. 
 
 Muriel was lying on a couch by the fire ; but she started up 
 when she saw her brother. As he kissed her and said a kind word 
 or two, she suddenly clung to him. 
 
 'Oh, Gavin, Gavin, how am I to bear it?' 
 
 'We must bear it tfigether,' he said gently, sitting down beside 
 lier. 'My dear girl, why do you look at me like that? Surely it 
 Ls my sorrow as well as yours ? '
 
 W/OIV AM I TO BEAR ITf 319 
 
 ' Yes, of course ; Irnt — oh, how am I to make you uuderstaml 1 
 You have always been so good to her, you have never given her a 
 moment of pain ; but when I think how little I ever did fur her' 
 — and here Muriel broke into choking sobs. 
 
 ' My dear child,' he returned gently, ' one always reproaches 
 oneself in such cases. Even with my darling Helen I found reason 
 to torment myself. At such moments one's focus seems all wrong ; 
 little errors of manners, a few tlioughtless words, are magnified four- 
 fold. If I chose to be morbid I could easily accuse myself of a 
 hundre<l failures.' 
 
 ' Oh no, you were always so good and thoughtful ; but, Gavin, 
 you must not try to comfort me. I was selfish. I only considered 
 myself. I never troubled myself to think how dull she must be 
 sitting alone ; but I know now. She has told me how much she 
 has missed Maud and Flo.' 
 
 Gavin was silent. It was impossible to contradict this. How 
 often he had quarrelled with Muriel because in his opinion she had 
 neglected her mother. No ; it would do her no good to cheat her 
 with false comfort. He wondered as he sat there, chaling her cold 
 hands, what Mrs. Herbert would have found to say to her. 
 
 'Oh, Gavin, do say something to comfort me !' It was almost 
 a cry, and then he put his arms round her. 
 
 * Poor child,' he said tenderly, ' you have been keeping all this 
 to yourself; but, indeed, there is no reason for this despair. Our 
 dear mother would be sorely troubled if she could see you now. 
 Granted that you were not always all that a daughter should 
 be, has she not forgiven that long agol All these weeks j you 
 have been devoted to her. How often she has said to me, " Dear 
 Aluriel is such a comfort." I have heard that from her lips a dozen 
 times.' 
 
 The fixed look of anguish in Muriel's eyes relaxed a little. 
 During these last few weeks she had certainly striven to atone for 
 the past. As the worn-out girl rested her aching head on Gavin's 
 shoulder a faint comfort seemed to steal over her. She would 
 never fu-give herself, but her motlfer had forgiven her. Yes, after 
 all God had been good to her ; time had been given to her. Slie 
 had been allowed to minister to her dying mother, and there had 
 been many hours of sweet converse. Gavin was right, and she 
 ought not to abandon herself to this despair. Could she forget how 
 tenderly her mother had provided fur this hour ? 
 
 ' You must not fret too much when I leave you, Muriel,' she had 
 said once. 'Promise me, my dear child, that you will try not to 
 be morbid. I know you so well, my darling, and how you will 
 exaggerate things. I only want you to s;iy to yourself, " My mother
 
 320 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 loved me dearly, and I will try to be bajipy for her sake." ' Often 
 she had said something of this kind. 
 
 Yes, her mother, her sweet mother, had forgiven her ; and Gavin 
 had forgiven her too. But for long years ^luriel would carry that 
 secret load of remorse within her heart. If one sows the wind, one 
 must reajj the •whirlwind ; if tares of unkiiidness and selfishness 
 mar the fair home harvest, the sheaves will be less abundant. 
 Alas, what fruitless tears fall on many a dead face ! What 
 passionate appeals for forgiveness are poured in the deaf ears that 
 would have rejoiced to hear them ' 
 
 ' If we had known,' that is what we toll ourselves ; ' if \\^ had 
 guessed that our beloved would have been taken from us, our words 
 would have been kinder and less grudging ; but now there only 
 remains an infinite remorse.' 
 
 Muriel's conscience was awake at last. Her mother's death-bed 
 had taught her the bitterest of all lessons, that, like Esau, there 
 may be no adequate ' room for repentance, though we seek it care- 
 fully with tears.' Others may forgive us, may speak kindly to us, 
 may try to heal our hurt, but we do well not to forgive ourselves. 
 Through pain we may rise, perchance, purified, to lead a nobler 
 future that may fit lis to meet our dear one again.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 'it is only bates' 
 
 • When Time will suffer no delay, 
 But tlrives us on from day to day ; 
 Wlieu Duty at the cross roads stands, 
 And, stretching right and left her hands. 
 Bewildered seems.' 
 
 Annie Matheson. 
 
 Ellison was somewhat taken aback when she saw Lorraine waiting 
 for her on the platform ; she had been looking forward to the long 
 drive home with Gavin ; but she grew very pale aa she read his 
 note. Gavin's mother, bright genial Cousin Louise, was very dear 
 to her ; her first words as the brougham drove off from the station 
 door were : ' I ought not to have gone, we were both too sanguine ' ; 
 and ill a voice of deeper distress, 'all my life I shall be sorry for 
 tliis, that you were there and not L' She meant no unkindness by 
 lliis speech, and Lorraine did not misunderstand her ; nevertheless 
 she winced in the darkness ; it was not her fault that she had been 
 obliged to take Elli.sou's place — that Colonel Trevor's mother had 
 died literally in her arms — that it had been her mission to comfort 
 and strengthen him, Ellison said no more ; most likely she felt 
 that worils were futile and inadequate at such momenta. She 
 leant back in tlie carriage and shed quiet tears, while Lorraine, 
 ulert and miserable, watched the dark wimling of the road. Why 
 was imagination so pitiless? Why was she compelled to recall 
 against her will those minutes when she had stood silently beside 
 him in the library with that tightening grasp upon her dress ? She 
 had had no wish to move, and yet it had given her a strange feeling 
 of embarrassment to be so detained. If Ellison had been in her 
 place — and then for one brief instant she seemed to picture it all ; 
 she could see them going upstairs hand in. hand, and standing 
 
 21
 
 322 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 txjgether by tlie dead woman's side. Ellison would have the right 
 
 to comfort him, she but here Lorraine checked herself. Where 
 
 were her thoughts carrying her % Was it any business of hers ? 
 She grew hot and then cold. How interminable the drive seemed 
 to her as well as to Ellison. 
 
 Ellison went straight to Brae House, but Lorraine begged to be 
 set down before they reached the lodge. She walked through the 
 dark meadow, finding her way with dilHculty. Once an instinctive 
 sense of danger made her pause ; in the darkness she had strayed 
 from the path and was at the edge of the pond ; another step and 
 she would have been in the water. Ellison, preoccupied with her 
 sad thoughts, had forgotten to warn her ; all the inhabitants 
 of the Farm carried lanterns when they crossed the Brae meadow. 
 Lorraine shuddered as she retraced her steps ; her nerves had 
 experienced a shock, but there was no warm glow of thankfulness 
 in her heart for a peril escaped. What if she had died the same 
 death as her boy, would it have been so terrible after all ? They 
 would have known how it happened, that in the darkness she had 
 stumbled into the pond ; she would have been too confused to find 
 her way out, and her heavy fur-lined cloak would have dragged her 
 down. It was not the death she would have chosen — the icy 
 water on a winter's evening — but was life so sweet to her that she 
 cared to preserve it % She had good friends, but was she absolutely 
 necessary to any human being ? Perhaps Muriel would miss hey 
 most, but Ellison would have her lover to console her. Lorraine 
 was in a strangely abnormal state, or she would not have harrowed 
 up her feelings by imagining the tragedy ; her sweet, wholesome 
 nature had been crushed by trouble, and had not yet recovered its 
 healthy tone ; her nerves were not in order either, for a dark figure 
 coming close to her in the lane made her scream. Dorcas, who 
 was at the side door, ran out to her. 
 
 ' It is only Bates, ma'am,' she said hurriedly, ' George Bates who 
 works in the stables at Brae House ; he ought to be ashamed of 
 himself for startling you in this way' — raising her voice purposely 
 — but the man took no notice, and went on. ' He knows he has no 
 call to be loafing about our place ' ; and Dorcas spoke in a tone of 
 deep resentment. 
 
 ' Oh, it was Bates, was it ? ' returned Lorraine, with a little 
 laugh. ' I thought it was a tipsy man, for he lurched against me, 
 but I suppose it was the darkness,' and then she gave another little 
 laugh strangely unmirthful — fiirst the pond and then George Bates ! 
 
 Dorcas tossed her pretty little head as she turned up the lamp 
 and stirred the fire into a cheerful l>laze. Lorraine sank down in 
 an easy-chair and let the girl wait on her. Dorcas removed her
 
 'IT IS ONL V BA TES ' 323 
 
 wraps, and brouylit her a cup of Lot coffee, and warmed her 
 slippers. 
 
 ' Dear heart, ma'am, your feet are like ice ! ' she exclaimed ; ' and 
 your boots are sopping wet.' 
 
 ' I went a little too near the pond, Dorcas,' returned Lorraine 
 wearily ; but her tone was so matter of fact that the girl took no 
 alarm. 
 
 ' Drat that fellow,' she was saying to herself as Bhe knelt in the 
 firelight rubbing Lorraine's feet. All the servants at Brae Farm 
 loved to wait on Mrs. Herbert. Poor Dorcas had some cause for 
 her displeasure. George Bates was her h^te noir. Two years ago 
 he had been in Ellison's service, but she had dismissed him on 
 account of a flagrant act of disobedience. The man had complained 
 to Colonel Trevor, and had been so plausible in his excuses that 
 he had been induced to take him on as a stable helper. 
 
 'He is a clever fellow, and I think "Williams will find him 
 useful,' he had said to Ellison, but she had shaken her head in- 
 credulously. 
 
 ' Bates is a ne'er-do-weel,' she said decidedly. ' Oh, he is clever 
 enough, but I am afraid you will repent your soft-heartedness, 
 Gavin. Sam Brattle begged me more than once to dismiss him, as 
 he and Joe Brand got on so badly together. He has given us no 
 end of trouble ; he has taken a fancy to Dorcas's rosy cheeks, and 
 pesters the poor girl with his attentions. She will have nothing to 
 say to him, and very rightly too, for his character is none of the 
 best, if we are to believe Sam.' 
 
 * Give a dog a bad name and hang him ; that is what all you 
 good women do,' grumbled Gavin obstinately. ' I don't believe 
 there is much harm about the fellow, though he does not hit 
 Dorcas's fancy. I told him I would give him a month's trial, so I 
 must keep my word.' 
 
 'Very well ; only make him understand that he is to keep 
 away from Brae Farm,' returned Ellison with a good-natured slu'ug at 
 Gavin's perversity. She never argued with him ; one day he would 
 come round to her opinion and repent of his misplaced clemency, 
 and then she would be magnanimous and not crow over him. 
 
 George Bates had kept his place at Brae House ever since, and 
 Williams assured his master that he was a decent fellow and earned 
 his wages. ' Ho understands horses as well as I do myself, colom-l,' 
 he answered, 'and I have never seen the stables in better order, 
 Davis will tell you the same. He is a bit surly at times, but none 
 of us takes any notice. I suppose most of us have our tempers.' 
 
 So George Bates kept his place ; but, unfortunately for Dorcas's 
 peace of mind, he still sneaked down to the Farm. Dorcas could
 
 324 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 not be induced to listen to him ; she detested the very sight of 
 him. ' I hope I shall do better than that, or I would sooner be a 
 maid to the end of my days,' she would say to Mrs. Drake. ' The 
 idea of my keeping company with a surly, ill-conditioned fellow 
 like Bates.' But alas ! Bates could not be made to take a final no. 
 He was in grim earnest ; he had good wages, he had given up 
 drinking at the IVaggon and Horses, he had a tidy cottage, and he 
 was bent on having a wife ; and all Dorcas's contemptuous speeches 
 and head -tosses could not prevent him from loafing about the 
 farmyai'd. 
 
 'They are all a bit skittish at first,' he said to Davis in a 
 moment of confidence, as they smoked their pipes together in the 
 stable-yard. 'It is just like that new mare of the Colonel's ; she is 
 a bit playful and stand-offish, but she has got no vice.' 
 
 ' There I differ. Bates,' returned the groom ; ' me and Williams 
 don't hold that opinion at all. She is not exactly nasty tempered, 
 but she is nervous, and a trifle upsets her. I hope the Colonel 
 won't drive that mare when he goes out with Miss Lee. Williams 
 said to me, the day Madge Wildfire came home, " She is awkward 
 and touchy, and I don't half like the looks of her." These were 
 Williams's very words.' 
 
 ' Then Williams is a duffer, and you are another, Davis,' re- 
 turned Bates crossly. ' Do you think the Colonel cannot judge a 
 horse's temper by this time ? he is no chicken, and knows a thing 
 or two. But there — when you and Williams get a maggot in 
 your heads there is no good contradicting you,' and Bates laid down 
 his pipe in a dudgeon, and went into the stables to attend to the 
 maligned animal. 
 
 ' I know some one who is awkward and touchy too,' muttered 
 Davis, with a grin. ' They are about a pair of them, Madge Wild- 
 fire and Bates,' and then he strolled off to his cottage. 
 
 Lorraine kept her own counsel and said nothing about the 
 pond and George Bates. Ellison had quite enough to worry her 
 just then, and was less observant than usual of her cousin's looks ; 
 it was natural that Gavin's trouble should occupy her, and she was 
 grateful to Lorraine for discharging her household tasks, and so 
 setting her free to be with him. Lorraine herself spent an hour 
 or two daily with Muriel — who continued utterly prostrate — but 
 she saw nothing of Colonel Trevor. During the funeral she re- 
 mained closely shut up in the turret-room ; but Ellison took her 
 rightful place that day, and her deep mourning was more for the 
 juother-in-law than for the cousin. 
 
 ' It is a blessing the Colonel has Miss Lee to look after him, 
 now the mistress has gone,' remarked Mrs. Crane the housekeeper
 
 ' IT IS ONL V BA TES ' 325 
 
 to her crony, Mrs. Williams ; for all the household were slightly 
 contemptuous of Miss Muriel's fads. ' What docs she want with 
 all that book-learning and those outlandish languages, when she 
 has not her living to get ? ' remarked Mrs. AVilliam.?. * I don't hold 
 witli so much learning myself ; • why, Williams was only saying 
 this morning that Mi.ss Muriel has a good fifteen thousand of her 
 own. She is no beauty, as he says, and is a sickly body at the 
 best of times ; but fifteen thousand is not to be despised, and many 
 a man would be glad to have her ' ; and to this Mr.?. Crane agreed. 
 
 In the servants' hall there was plenty of plain speaking. They 
 had dearly loved their kindly, genial mistress ; but human nature 
 delights in every form of excitement, and the stately funeral with 
 its long line of private carriages was felt to be a great consolation. 
 That evening, though Mrs. Crane's eyes were red with the tears she 
 had shed since morning, there was a subdued cheerfulness in her 
 voice as she and Mrs. Williams discussed the probable date of the 
 Colonel's wedding ; and the opinion was general that Miss Muriel 
 — poor, dear, young lady — would live at the Farm with Mrs. 
 Herbert The idea had originated with Mrs. Crane, and had been 
 received with acclamations. 
 
 Christmas Day was spent as quietly as possible at Brae House 
 and Brae Farm ; the usual feasting was carried on in the servants' 
 halls, but the brother and sister dined alone. Muriel had proposed 
 that Ellison should join them ; she thought the tite-a-tite dinner 
 would be too oppressive to Gavin, but he negatived this at once. 
 Mrs. Herbert could not be left alone ; he wondered that Muriel 
 should proix)se such a thing. They must get through the day as 
 best they could. Gavin spoke with unusual irritability, but 
 Muriel for once had tact, and held her peace. 
 
 Finally, Ellison of her own accord suggested that she and 
 Lorraine should walk up to Brae after dinner. It would make a 
 break in' the day for Gavin ; and Muriel thankfully agreed. 
 
 Lorraine pleaded to be left at home, but Ellison would not hear 
 of this. ' If you stay at home, I shall remain too,' she replied 
 witli calm decision ; and Lorraine felt herself obliged to yield. 
 
 Gavin's countenance was a little inscrut-able when Muriel in- 
 formed him of Ellison's tlioughtfulne.<;s. 'They will come up to 
 coffee ; it will make such a nice break in the long evening,' she 
 said ; but Gavin made no reply to thi.«>. In his heart he thought 
 even the long, monotonous evening alone with Muriel would have 
 been more conducive to his comfort He had not seen Mrs. 
 Herbert for a fortnight, but he too had remembered Itir too 
 vividly those silent minutes in the library. 
 
 Ellison thought Gavin more restless and out of spirits than ever
 
 326 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 that evening j as they sat together at one end of the long, aoftlf- 
 lighted room, she noticed that he was unusually absent, and that 
 more than once he answered her at random ; but her manner only 
 grew more tender. ' My poor, dear Gavin,' she said to herself, 
 ' Cousin Louise was right when she begged me to marry him as 
 soon as possible ' ; and then in the depths of her true, womanly 
 heart, she vowed that no delay on her part should keep him wait- 
 ing. ' If he were to ask me to marry him to-morrow I would do 
 it,' she thought, with a sudden rush of tenderness. But no such 
 thought was in Gavin's mind, as he sat there beside his betrothed ; 
 even as he talked to her, his restless glances roved to the firelit 
 corner, where Mrs. Herbert lay back in the deep easy-chair talking 
 to Muriel. 
 
 He was unable even to hear a word, their voices were so 
 subdued, and from where he sat he could not see Lorraine's face ; 
 but the graceful folds of her black drapery, and the smoothly coiled 
 brown hair, and the line of cheek and brow were distinctly 
 perceptible, he could even see the slender foot in its neat slipper 
 resting on the rug. The sight of that fair womanly presence re- 
 posing by his hearth filled him with restlessness and vague trouble ; 
 he longed with intensity of longing to cross the room and put some 
 question to her — that he might look in the depths of her soft, sad 
 eyes — but he held himself by main force in his place. 
 
 ' Did you hear me, Gavin ? I was telling you about Margaret 
 Mervyn's jdan for the summer.' 
 
 ' Were you, dear ? Oh yes, I know, and I think the scheme 
 excellent ; but she will not have you this time,' turning to her 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Oh no, Margaret will not expect that,' replied Ellison, with a 
 sudden blush that became her well. Margaret was going to the 
 baths in July, but by that time she would have been Gavin's wife 
 for months. 
 
 * You will not wait longer than Easter,' Mrs. Trevor had said to 
 her, * the wedding can be as quiet as you and my boy wish ; but 
 you must marry him then '; and Ellison had promised that it should 
 be as Gavin wished. Gavin played his part of fmnc4 bravely that 
 evening. He left Mrs. Herbert's entertainment to Muriel ; it was 
 Ellison who at last gently recalled him to his duty. 
 
 ' It is getting quite late, Gavin,' she said presently, ' and. we shall 
 soon be going home. I ought not to monopolise you so completely, 
 you have not even spoken to poor Lorraine.' 
 
 ' Then I will speak to her now,' he returned slowly, rising to 
 his feet ; for the last hour he had fought with the temptation, but 
 now Ellison had sent him from her.
 
 ' IT IS ONL Y BA TES ' 327 
 
 Muriel gave liiin up lier place, but he made no attempt to sit 
 duwu. Lorraine looked up at him a little shyly, as he stood 
 there witli one arm resting,' against the manteli)iuce. In lier secret 
 thoughts she had wondered more than once that he had addressed 
 no word to her — a silent handshake on entering, and a profl'ered 
 chair, and then a general remark on the wetness of the weather, 
 this had been the extent of his conversation, and then he had left 
 her to Muriel and seated himself beside Ellison. 
 
 It was just as it should be, and yet — as Muriel had talked on — 
 more than once her attention had wandered ; again she was 
 standing bare-headed in the wintry wind, she could see his fixed 
 look as he tried to i>ass her, and then there were those minutes in 
 the library, he had needed her then ; did he know that he was 
 j^reveiiting her fruin leaving hiui, as he sat there silently with 
 bowed head ? there was something sacred, indescribably sacred, to 
 Lorraine in that little scene. 
 
 Was he going to speak to her now ? But at that moment Gavin 
 turned to her abruptly, and their eyes met. ' Are you tired 1 you 
 are looking very pule ; but of course the day has tried you, it has 
 tried us all. This is not a merry Christmas for any of us ; but 
 it was good of you and Ellison to come.' Tiien a wan smile came 
 to Lorraine's face. 
 
 'I wanted to stay away,' she half whispered; 'but Ellison 
 would not le;rve me.' 
 
 ' it would have been kinder if she had,' he returned in a 
 curiously guardi.d tone, and then he turned on his heel and left her 
 wondering what he had meant by that vague speech. That night 
 Gavin carried the lantern, and Ellison walked beside him ; as the 
 footway was narrow Lorraine followed them, but just before they 
 came to the pond, Gavin waited for her. 'There is room on this 
 side,' he said in a kind voice, as he shifted the lantern to his left 
 hand, and put his right hand gently on her arm, ' please do not 
 walk behind us any more, you as well as Ellison are under my 
 care'; and then Lorraine knew that he had purposely placed himself 
 and Ellison between her and the pond. It was his old kind care for 
 lier, and in the darkness the tears rushed to her eyes — how she had 
 missed her friend ! but to-night, for this moment at least, he Wiis 
 beside her again.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 MADGE WILDFIRE 
 
 ' And yet, because I love thee, I obtain 
 From that same love this vindicating grace, 
 To live on still in love, and yet in vain, — 
 To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.' 
 
 Elizabkth Barrett Browning, 
 
 The following afternoon Lorraine and her faitliful escort TM'eed 
 walked rapidly up the Biarafield lload ; it was hardly a day for a 
 long country walk, the wind was intensely cold and nipping, and 
 Sam Brattle had informed them that morning that there would be 
 a fall of snow before night. 
 
 When Lorraine announced her intention of walking to Bramfield, 
 Ellison had tried gently to dissuade her : ' These long solitary walks 
 are not good for you,' she said in her sensible way ; ' if they 
 exhilarated and refreshed you, I would not say a word, but you 
 always come back so dead tired.' 
 
 ' One must be either tired or restless,' returned Lorraine rather 
 impatiently. Ellison's kind solicitude only vexed her. * How is she 
 to understand?' she said to herself as she left the room; 'if one had 
 X»leasaat thoughts it would be easy to sit by the fireside ; but that 
 bright, cheerful room seems to stifle me. I suffer less when I am 
 battling with the wind, and even the greyness that Ellison thinks 
 so dismal seems to soothe me.' 
 
 But an hour later Lorraine was forced to own that she would 
 have been wise to have taken Ellison's advice and stayed quietly 
 at home — the bitter wind seemed to lash her mercilessly as she 
 toiled down the long roads ; never in her life had she felt such cold, 
 and particles of snow were already beginning to fall, Tweed's black 
 coat was powdered with them as he stalked on bravely by his 
 mistress's side.
 
 MADGE WILDFIRE 329 
 
 Lorraine was beginning to wish herself at home — that softly- 
 lighted room with its glowing fire and circle of easy chairs 
 seemed unusually alluring. In another half-hour Ruth would be 
 drawing the heavy curtains over the window, and the lamps would 
 be lighted. It was early still, but the afternoon was unusually 
 sombre. Lorraine was beginning to fear that the darkness would 
 overtake her, and yet it was impossible to walk faster in the teeth 
 of such a wind. Perhaps she was not as strong as she used to be ; 
 her breath seemed shorter, and her legs ached terribly. Now and 
 then she stood still to recover herself, and during one of these 
 pauses she heard the sound of wheels coming rapidly behind her. 
 Fearing recognition — for probably it was some one from Price's 
 Folly — she walked on as quickly as she could, but the next 
 moment a familiar voice arrested her. 
 
 ' Mrs. Herbert, what on earth has brought you all this distance 1 
 it is not fit for a dog to be out. Do you know that a snowstorm is 
 coming on ? ' Colonel Trevor's tone was remonstrant, almost dis- 
 pleased, as he checked his spirited mare and bade Bates go to her 
 bead. 
 
 ' I wanted a walk, and I never thought it would be as bad as 
 this,' she stammered ; ' but I am making all the haste I can ; please 
 drive on, Colonel Trevor, your mare seems fidgotty ' ; for Mailge 
 "WiUlfire was backing the phaeton on to the path in rather an 
 alarming manner. 
 
 ' She does not like standing ; keep her steady for a moment, 
 Bates, while Mi-s. Herbert gets in. Good heavens ! ' rather 
 irritably, as Lorraine timidly drew back and shook her head, ' do 
 you suppose I am going to drive on and leave you two miles from 
 home with a snowstorm impending?' 
 
 ' I would much rather walk,' returned Lorraine, with a pleading 
 look : she had the greatest reluctance to be driven home by Colonel 
 Trevor.' Ellison would think it so strange, and then she was a 
 little afraid of the mare ; she did not like the way she laid back 
 her ears and lifted her feet ' Do let me walk,' she finished a little 
 tamely. 
 
 'if you walk, I sliall walk too,' replied Gavin, throwing down 
 the reins with an impatient frown — women, even the best of them, 
 could try a man's patience, he thought, for he was not in the best of 
 tempers. Mrs. Herbert was not behaving with her usual good 
 sense this afternoon — any child could have seen that a snowstorm 
 was coming on, even he found the wind cruelly cutting, and how 
 was a delicate woman to brave it with impunity ; he had no right 
 to coerce her, but if she chose to persist in her foolhardiness he 
 must keep her company, that was all.
 
 330 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Lorraine gave a little cry as she saw him prepare to sj^ring to 
 the ground. She had no chance of getting her own way ; his will 
 was stronger than hers. ' Don't jump down, Colonel Trevor,' she 
 exclaimed. ' I will do as you wish— if — if you are sure — the mare 
 is safe.' 
 
 ' She is safe enough,' he answered shortly, and then Lorraine clam- 
 bered into the high phaeton ; when Gavin tucked the fur-lined rug 
 round her, the soft warmth was very grateful to her. Tweed gave a 
 reproachful whine, and his tail drooped disconsolately — he was left in 
 the cold ; then Bates gave the mare her head and she started with 
 a playful plunge or two, Tweed jumping up and barking beside 
 her. ' Don't be afraid, Madge is only in a hurry to get to her 
 stable,' observed Gavin, as he noticed the startled look in Lorraine's 
 eyes. ' There is no vice in her, but, like the rest of her sex, she 
 needs a strong hand.' And then his voice changed into reproachful 
 tenderness as he stooped to adjust the rug more comfortably. ' Is 
 this the way you take care of yourself, Mrs. Herbert ? have you no 
 regard for your health ? I wonder Ellison allows you to do these 
 mad things.' 
 
 In spite of her nervousness, an amused smile came to Lorraine's 
 lips. 'Ellison and I have agreed to bear with each other's little 
 idiosyncrasies,' she replied. ' Neither of us could endure control. 
 Ellison looked at me in a shocked way when I told her I was 
 going out. She evidently thought me crazy.' 
 
 ' No wonder ; you have gone down ten per cent in my opinion. 
 I used to think you a sensible woman, Mrs. Herbert. I never 
 imagined you could have behaved so recklessly. Do you set no 
 value on your health ? one has to live, you know, so one may as 
 weU grease the chariot wheels. I could not believe my eyes when 
 I saw you just now, but of course I recognised my old friend 
 Tweed : it was no business of mine, but I felt tremendously angry — 
 I do stilL' 
 
 ' Angry with me.' Poor mi-sguided Lorraine ! those curt, dis- 
 pleased sentences were sweet as the softest music to her ears ; he 
 cared enough for her, then, to scold her for her recklessness ; never 
 had she seen him so put out. The calm, suave Colonel Trevor 
 was unmistakably out of temper. 
 
 ' Yes, I am angry with you,' turning round with a keen, pleading 
 glance. * I am angry and hurt that you have so little regard for 
 your friends, that you are trying to kill yourself. Oh, there are 
 a hundred ways of committing suicide,' as she stared at him 
 with wide-open eyes, 'it is not always sudden. There are slow 
 processes — over-fatigue, cold, want of patience with your life — a 
 cowardly refusal to endure your troubles ; oh, one can go on
 
 MADGE WILDFIRE 331 
 
 enumerating for ever ; but ' — his voice again breaking into tender- 
 ness — ' I could never Lave believed that you — you could have done 
 such thiiigi?.' 
 
 The pitiless lash of the north wind was less stinging than this 
 well - deserved rebuke. Lorraine's face grew hot. Yes, he was 
 right, and she had done ill, her aching limbs and short breath 
 ■were signs that she was using herself too hardly. ' A cowardly 
 refusal to bear your troubles,' that was where the lash cut deepest. 
 Gavin was speaking the truth roughly to the woman he loved, but 
 the sight of her pinched face and blue lips as she stood by the road- 
 side had filled him with impotent rage. He would have given 
 ten years of his life to be able to protect and cherish her ; 
 and honour and loyalty to his betrothed compelled him to stand 
 apart and do nothing. His angry words were only the outcome of 
 his hopeless love — a despairing appeal to be saved from the misery 
 of seeing this waste of a sweet life. 
 
 What Lorraine would have answered she never knew, for at that 
 moment the hideous braying of a lonely donkey from a field near 
 proved too much for Madge Wildfire's nerves. The uncouth grey 
 monster in the distance had disturbed her from a delicious vision 
 of her warm stall and the crisp, toothsome oats that awaited her. 
 Madge's four feet seemed in the air at once as she plunged madly 
 across the road, and then back against a heap of Hint stones. In 
 another instant the phaeton was overturned, and Gavin, scrambling 
 out of a deep ditch, saw to his horror that Mrs. Herbert, who had 
 been flung into the road, was still lying motionless and inert, with 
 Tweed licking her face. 
 
 The mare was still on her feet, and Bates, who was unhurt, had 
 her firmly by the head, but the phaeton was on its side against the 
 heap of stones. A cold sweat of agony broke out on Gavin's brow 
 as he knelt down by Lorraine j his hands shook as though with the 
 palsy a^ he rai.^ed her head on his arm. How white her face looked, 
 and her eyes were closed. Good huavens, if he had killed her ! 
 In the anguish of that fear he lost all self-control. 
 
 ' Oh, my darling, my darling ! have I killed you ?' he exclaimed 
 in a low but audible voice of intense emotion. ' Speak to me, 
 Lorraine — one word — or I shall go mad. Let me see your sweet 
 eyes, if only for an instant. Do you hear me, darling 1' And, 
 alas for her own peace of mind, Lorraine had heard every word. 
 The shock luid stunned her for a moment, but she had not wholly 
 lost consciousness. She had felt Tweed's rough tongue licking her 
 face, and had recognised Gavin's touch. ' Darling, darling ! just 
 one word.' But how was she to answer him 1 His voice thrilled 
 through and through her as she lay there with her cheek against
 
 332 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 his coat sleeve. The next minute she felt his lips upon her hair, 
 and then she tried to rise. 
 
 ' Let me get up. I am not hurt, only stunned,' she whispered, 
 and his ' Thank God ! ' was distinctly audible to her. Gavin said no 
 more as he assisted her to rise, and guided her gently to a fallen 
 trunk. For the moment the bliss of hearing her voice, of knowing 
 that she was alive and unhurt, prevented him from entertaining 
 any embarrassing recollections. 
 
 ' Sit there while I get the phaeton up,' he said in the same 
 moved tones ; and then he wrapped the warm rug tenderly round 
 her and left her. 
 
 Life was still precious to him, must always be precious as long 
 as she lived beside him. That instant of mutual danger had lifted 
 his love into a higher plane. She could never be his, his faith was 
 pledged to another woman ; but as long as her slender feet walked 
 this earth he would not refuse comfort. Loss, disappointment, was 
 no new thing to him — the furnace of affliction had been heated 
 sevenfold wlien he had stood in the light of the Indian moon 
 beside his wife's grave. Meanwhile Lorraine sat shivering and 
 huddled up in the fur-rug. She was still a little dizzy from the 
 shock. Had she been dreaming ? but no, it was far too real — those 
 broken sentences, the agitated tone, and the gleam of tenderness in 
 the deep-set eyes, had revealed the truth to Lorraine. She, and not 
 Ellison, was the beloved of his heart. 
 
 And then a curious thing happened ; for the same instant that 
 she grasped this fact she told herself that she had known it long 
 ago, that as surely as she was sitting there with her poor dizzy 
 brain whirling from the sudden revulsion, so surely did she know 
 with absolute certainty tliat they loved each other as only two such 
 natures can love. ' God help us both ! ' broke from Lorraine's pale 
 lips. And as she drew the fur closer a strange numbness seemed 
 to deaden all sensation, the snow-flakes falling round her only in- 
 creased her giddiness. She felt weak, stunned, and yet intensely 
 alive. There was something for her to do, if she could only know 
 what it was. Poor Lorraine ! Love the Pilgi'ini had met her suddenly 
 at the partings of the way, and had shown her His wounded side. 
 There was no garland of red roses in his bruised hands, and some- 
 thing like a thorny crown encircled his pallid brow. Suffering and 
 not roses, and the deep dark stain of martyred affections. The 
 Divine Master that she had followed all her short, troubled life 
 was demanding a further sacrifice. 
 
 The brown eyes gi-ew strained and wistful as they followed 
 Gavin's movements. How strong and capable he looked as he put 
 bis shoiJfler to the wheel. Bates was still at the mare's head, but
 
 MADGE WILDFIRE 333 
 
 Gavin unassisted had moved the phaeton off the stones. He was 
 still breathing heavily from the eflort as he crossed the road. 
 
 *It is all riglit now,' he said, trying to speak cheerfully. 'The 
 phaeton is uninjured ; only one wheel got caught on tlie stone 
 heap. Do you feed a little better ? Let me help you up, for there 
 is no time to lose ; the Hakes are getting thicker.' 
 
 ' I am very foolish, very unrea.soiiable,' returned Lorraine, ner- 
 vously. * Please forgive me, Colonel Trevor, but I cannot get into 
 that pluieton again ; the idea terrifies me.' 
 
 ' The mare is quite quiet,' he urged. * She will go like a lamb 
 now. It was only that ass braying that startled her. Do you 
 tliiuk I would expose you to any danger ? Will you not trust to 
 nie this once ? ' with dangerous persuasiveness. 
 
 Lorraine's answer was to put her hand in his, and rise slowly 
 from her seat, but as he stooped to assist her he saw her face. 
 ' You will do it to please me,' he said kindly ; ' but it will 
 frighten you to death ! No, you shall walk, and I will send Bates 
 on.' And without waiting for Lorraine's answer, he threw the rug 
 into the phaeton and told the man to drive on. ' Mrs. Herbert is 
 too nervous to get in again,' he said coolly. ' Handle the mare 
 carefully, Bates ; she is in rather a touchy mood.' The man 
 touched his hat and moved awa)*. 
 
 ' A pretty kettle of fish,' muttered Bates, as he drove off. ' Did 
 ever any one hear the likes of that ? I wonder what my lady up at Brae 
 Farm would say to such goings on. It would take her down a peg or 
 two, I warrant. " I won't have you loafing about the place, George 
 Bates, and making love to my maids," — as lioighty-toightyas you like. 
 Well, here's a rum go ; to think Davis should be laid up, and me 
 taking his place, and for this to happen,' and Bates grinned 
 ominously, for those impassioned sentences had reached his cars. 
 
 'Now let us walk on as fast as possible,' observed Gavin, 
 as he put Lorraine's hand upon his arm — the touch of that light 
 liand resting reluctantly on liis coat sleeve seemed to thrill 
 tlirough him. If only the walk would not hurt her, it would 
 be bliss to him to be alone with her ; and the white, whirling 
 snow-flakes, shutting them into a new, strange world, gave him a 
 sort of vertigo. 
 
 ' Are you sure this will not hurt you ? ' he said suddenly ; the 
 caressing voice made Lorraine i^hiver, and tingle down to her 
 finger-ends. 
 
 'Colonel Trevor,' and then' she stopped, and he could feel 
 her hand tremble ; ' oh, do not speak to me in that voice,' she 
 bur.*t out, ' it hurts me somehow — it seems wrong — wrong to you 
 and me, and,' in a lower voice, ' to Ellison ' ; then he knew that
 
 334 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 he had betrayed himself. Good heavens ! perhaps she had not 
 lost consciousness ; she must have heard his frantic words. 
 
 ' What do you mean % ' he stammered ; ' how have I had the 
 misfortune to offend you ? Lorraine, is it possible that you 
 heard all I said ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she returned gently. ' I wish you to know that — but you 
 have not offended me ; you were frightened, you thought I was 
 hurt or dying, or you would never have spoken so' — and then a 
 great sigh burst from her : how sweet, how passing sweet, death 
 would have seemed to her at that moment. 
 
 ' What can I say % ' he returned hoarsely. ' I cannot take back 
 those words. Lorraine, you have my secret, but I never meant you 
 to know. Forgive me, dearest, or I shall never know peace again.' 
 
 ' Hush, hush, for pity's sake ! ' she pleaded, ' there is nothing 
 to forgive, and you are safe with me. It is not your fault. Oh 
 I know that well ; it is a great misfortune ; a sad trouble that 
 has come to both of us.' Then a man's fierce joy of possession 
 seized mightily on Gavin. 
 
 ' You care for me, then ? ' he asked eagerly ; ' you love me, as I 
 love you ? Lorraine, my darling, let me hear that once from 
 your lips.' 
 
 ' You are wrong to ask me that,' she returned with grave 
 tenderness ; ' it will make you no happier to know that I care. 
 How could I help it when you were so good to me ? — hush, let me 
 speak ; there is nothing you ought to say, nothing that I ought 
 to hear. There has been too much said already; Colonel Trevor, 
 you will always be a dear friend ; I shall pray daily that this 
 may pass, and that you may love Ellison as she deserves to be 
 loved. You will be noble, will you not? you will keep your 
 faith to her ; you will try to make her happy ; and I — I must go 
 away for a little while until all this grows easier.' 
 
 ' Easier for you or for me, do you mean ? ' holding her hands, 
 and speaking with fierce insistence. It was growing dark, they 
 could not see each other's faces ; they two stood alone hand in 
 hand, and heart to heart, in a film of white snow-flakes. Lor- 
 raine made no effort to withdraw her hands from that strong grasp, 
 but her sweet voice went out to him with a tremble in it: 
 
 ' I am a weak woman, and I am very vmhappy ; as you are 
 strong, be merciful and spare me.' A world of confession was in 
 these words — they appealed to Gavin's higher nature. 
 
 ' God bless and t;ike care of you, and help me to do the 
 right,' he returned in a low voice ; and then very humbly, 
 ' Lorraine, it will be no disloyalty to Ellison — will you let me 
 ki?s you once before we part ? '
 
 MADGE WILDFIRE 335 
 
 For one moment there was silence, and he took it for consent 
 and stooped over lier ; but very gently she put his face aside. 
 
 'No,' she said, with a sweetness of tone that even at that 
 moment gave him exquisite pleasure. ' I must not have that 
 kiss ; it would be robbing Ellison. Let me give you something 
 instead,' and before he could guess her intention, she had brought 
 his hand to her lips. 
 
 ' This is for the friend who was true to himself and me,' she 
 said gently, and then she took his arm again, as though slie 
 needed suppoit, and they walked on to Erae Farm almost in 
 ailence.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 POST-MARK, NEFYDD MADOC 
 
 * M. My fate, my fate is lonely ! 
 J. So it is — 
 
 I know it is. 
 M. And pity breaks my heart.' 
 
 Jean Ingelow; 
 
 'If thou hadst strength, 'twas heaven that strength bestowed.' 
 
 Homer, Iliad. 
 
 All their life long Lorraine and Gavin Trevor remembered that 
 walk ; but in after days they never spoke of it. That silence, 
 so all-pervading, so pregnant with intense meaning, the mysterious 
 whiteness of the snow-flakes, that seemed to envelop them in a 
 softly-folding shroud, the icy coldness of the atmosphere, all lent 
 a vagueness, a dim, nebulous obscurity to the hour at once unde- 
 finable and uncommunicable ; and yet, strange paradox of lovers, 
 no speech covild have been so lucid and explicit as that long silence. 
 
 A trifling action on Gavin's part showed that nothing escaped 
 his notice. Lorraine had just discovered that the hand resting on 
 his arm wa.s growing numb with the cold, when she suddenly felt 
 a warm, enveloping pressure. Gavin had placed his right hand 
 over hers, and Lorraine understanding the kindly motive made no 
 resistance. 
 
 At the little green gate they paused by mutual consent, but 
 Gavin showed no intention of entering. 
 
 ' Will you tell Ellison that I cannot come in this evening, but 
 that I will see her to-morrow?' he said hurriedly; and then as 
 Lorraine bowed her head, and mutely extended her hand, he 
 detained it. ' Wait a moment ; I want to ask you a question. 
 You will not go away yet ? '
 
 POST-MARK, NEFYDD MA DOC 337 
 
 ' I do not kuow. J cannot settle things in a moment,' she returned 
 quickly. Why had he asked her this? Did he not kuow that 
 she wuuld only feel safe when she was a hundred miles away ? 
 After the revelatinn this eveniug no human power would have 
 kept her in Iligliliinds. Already she had vowed to herself that 
 she would never return until Ellison had become Gavin's wife. 
 The question seemed futile to her ; it was unnecessary, it was 
 cruel of him to ask it. But Gavin had no selfish purport in his 
 inquiry; he was thinking solely of her comfort; it would lie 
 heavily on his conscience if through his recklessness she were driven 
 away from home in this inclement weather. But he little knew 
 the strength and tenacity that lay under Lorraine's softness. 
 
 ' Promise me one thing,' he urged, as his grasp tightened in- 
 sensibly, ' that you will go to no place where you cannot expect 
 reasonable and sullicient comfort. You have had hardships enough 
 already. I will not endure any repetition of your former life.' 
 
 Lorraine shuddered. Did he really fear that she would go back 
 to Beaumont Street, to those hideous streets where the children 
 played all day long in the gutter, where the shrill voices of women 
 seemed to sound in her ears day and night? Beaumont Street 
 without Tedo — never — never ! 
 
 ' I think I can promise you that,' she returned. ' Will you let 
 me go now, Colonel Trevor ? ' 
 
 ' You shall go in a moment ; but there is one more word to 
 s;iy. Do nothing in a hurry ; yon are safe from me ; yon can 
 trust me to keep out of your way as long as you remain at 
 Highlanils. I respect you too highly ; I love you far too well to 
 harass you with my presence. After to-night I shall make no 
 attempt to speak to you, or to interfere with your future. Do you 
 believe this ?' 
 
 'I believe you implicitly.' 
 
 'And "you will do nothing rashly. You will be kind to me, and 
 take care of yourself. Lorraine — Lorraine, for God's sake promise 
 me this 1' 
 
 'I will take aire of myself. Good -night, Colonel Trevor, and 
 thank you for all your goodness ' ; and then she turned resolutely 
 away. What was the use of prolonging such painful moments ? 
 Could anything lessen her misery ? She loved this man, and 
 he knew it ; and the knowledge coiUd give neither of them happi- 
 ness. 
 
 The moment Lorraine rang the bell Ellison came to the door. 
 Her fair face looked flushed and anxious. 
 
 'Oh, Lorraine dear,' she exclaimed, 'how late you are! I 
 have been so fidgetty about you the last hour. I was so afraid 
 
 22
 
 338 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 you had missed your way.' And theu as tlie liglit showed hei 
 Lorraine's pallid face and dishevelled appearance, she uttered a 
 shocked exclamation. ' "What has happened 1 Why do you look 
 like this ? ' 
 
 ' Let me come in and I will tell you,' returned Lorraine a little 
 breathlessly. Ellison's scrutiny made her nervous. She turned 
 away hastily, and entered the sitting-room. It looked just as she 
 had imagined it ; a .great log was sputtering and hissing and 
 diffusing tiny blue flames, the curtains were drawn, the lamps 
 lighted, tea was on the round table. Tweed sniffed ajiprovingly at 
 the i^ile of muiiins frizzling comfortably on the little brass tripod, 
 and then lay down stiffly on the rug before the fire. Lorraine 
 sank into the big easy-chair, and drew off her old gloves hurriedly ; 
 she had folded them away and thrust them into her pocket before 
 Ellison had finished stirring the fire ; she would never wear them 
 again, they should be sacred to her — relics to be hoarded and 
 treasured. 
 
 Ellison did not at once repeat the question ; she unfastened her 
 cousin's fur cloak, and unpinned her hat. As she did so she noticed 
 the battered and torn brim ; then she gently smoothed the dis- 
 hevelled hair, and brought her a cup of hot tea. ' Drink this, and 
 then you shall tell me ; you are too numbed with cold to talk just 
 now. I shall ring for Dorcas to bring your slippers. I hope she 
 has a good fire burning in your room.' 
 
 Lorraine tried to answer, but something impeded her speech, 
 and the tears rushed to her eyes ; she was worn out with emotion, 
 and Ellison's sisterly care filled her with passionate gratitude. 
 Ellison saw two drops rolling slowly down her cheeks, but she 
 took no notice. ' Could I 'hurt a hair of her head ? ' Lorraine was 
 saying to herself a little wildly. ' I would rather die — I would 
 die ten times over to spare her trouble.' 
 
 But presently, when the choking sensation had passed, she began 
 to speak of her own accord. 
 
 * You were right, Ellison, I ought not to have been so reckless ; 
 but I have had my punishment. Oh how cold it was, and then it 
 began to snow, and my breathing got oppressed, and I could not 
 walk fast ; that Bramfield road is so long too. I was standing still 
 for a moment to recover my breath when Colonel Trevor drove up in 
 his phaeton.' Here Ellison uttered a low exclamation, but Lorraine 
 went on hurriedly. 'He was driving Madge Wildfire, and Bates, 
 not Davis, was with him. He seemed rather vexed to see me such 
 a distance from home ; and as the snow was beginning to fall fast, 
 he insif^ted on my getting into the phaeton.' 
 
 'Of cour!?e he did,' in a matter-of-fact tone. 'Gavin is not the
 
 POST-MARK, NEFYDD MADOC 339 
 
 man tu drive on when any one is in difficulty. I daresay he gave 
 you a good lecture on your rash behaviour.' 
 
 * Yes,' returned Lorraine, and her head drooped. ' He was 
 rather put out, and I daresay he thought me very foolish ; but 
 the worst was to come. Just at the corner near Brook's Farm a 
 donkey brayed, ami ]\Iadge w;is frightened. She plunged dread- 
 fully, and then backed against a stone heap, and we were all thrown 
 out Colonel Trevor was landed in a ditch, but it was full of 
 dead leaves, and he Avas not a bit hurt I think I must have 
 been stunned for a moment, and of course I am badly bruised ; 
 and — and — I could not get into the phaeton again — so we walked 
 home.' 
 
 'Why did not Gavin come in and tell me all this himself?' 
 observed Ellison abruptly. She had turned pale at Lorraine's 
 narration, and there was an uneasy look in her eyes. 'You are 
 not keeping anything back from me, Lorraine ? You are sure Gavin 
 is not hurti It is so strange' — knitting her brows; 'it is not like hia 
 usual thoughtfulness. He might have known it would have made 
 me liappier to have seen him for a minute.' 
 
 ' He was cold and tired, and he wanted to see after the mare,' 
 returned Lorraine, speaking with nervous haste. ' He is not hurt 
 at all — as I told you, the ditch was full of dead leaves ; but he has 
 torn his coat' — some inspiration induced Lorraine to say that. 
 ' And he was dreadfully splashed, for the ditch was not quite 
 dry. He told me to say that he would see you to-morrow ' ; 
 and then Ellison's brow cleared, and she tunied her attention 
 to Lfirraine. 
 
 * I shall tell Dorcas to warm your bed, and take up some hot 
 water ; you must go to bed at once, you do not look fit to be up ; 
 let me give you some more tea.' Lorraine did not refuse the tea, 
 but she could cat nothing ; she was l>adly bruised — as she had told 
 Ellison — -'and her head was beginning to ache. When she had 
 finished her tea she went upstairs, and Ellison followed her. 
 Lorraine would willingly have dispensed with her help, but she 
 dared not say so ; reluctance would only have excited Ellison's 
 suspicion. The fire burned brightly. Lorraine could not refrain 
 from a sigh of satisfaction as i^he laid her head on the lavender- 
 scented pillows. Ellison looked at her pale face anxiously ; Lorraine 
 was certainly much thinner, she thought, as she went downstairs to 
 write a note to Gavin. 
 
 'My dearest, why did you not come in for one moment 1' she 
 wrote, ' it would have saved me so much anxiety, and I would not 
 have detained you. Lorraine assures me that you are not hurt, 
 but I cannot be ca!?y; send me one line by Daniel to tell me you are
 
 340 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 all right. I hope you will get rid of Madge Wildfire — I never 
 trusted her — you remember I told you so, and Sam Brattle 
 agreed with me. If you want to please me you will not drive her 
 again. 
 
 ' Dearest Gavin, do, do be more careful of yourself, you must be 
 prudent for my sake now. Lorraine looks sadly knocked up, and 
 has gone to bed, her bruises are very painful ; I think I shall send 
 for Dr. Howell to-morrow if slie is not better — she has gone through 
 80 much that even a slight shock may be too much for her.' 
 
 An odd refrain rang in Gavin's ears as he read this note. 
 Where had he seen the fragment 1 — 'But he killed her down at the 
 brook'; and then again, 'Lorraine, Lorraine, Lor^e.' And 'Lorraine, 
 Lorraine, Lor^e,' seemed to haunt him persistently. Her bruises 
 were painful, sweet soul ; but what of his, would they ever 
 cease to ache and throb, would there be any balm of Gilead for 
 him? 
 
 How thankful Lorraine was when the door closed on her cousin, 
 and she could lie there staring at the fire, and thinking out the 
 problem of the future. ' There is only one right and one wrong,' 
 she said wearily to herself. ' The right thing is for me to go away, 
 and then he will come back to her and do his duty, and find 
 peace.' And then the urgent prayer went up from her troubled 
 heart, ' Help me to right the wrong ; to do what is just and noble, 
 and not to think of myself ; and then again, 'it is not his fault, 
 neither he nor I am to blame ; but from to-day, the responsibility 
 of her happiness will rest on us both. God do so to me, and more 
 also, if I cause her a pang of sorrow that could be avoided ; 
 rather than that, I would shake off the dust of this dear place and 
 never see my boy's grave again.' And strong in her pure recti- 
 tude and sense of right, Lorraine meant every word she said ; 
 there waa no specious reserve in her prayer, no cowardly wish for 
 delay, for procrastination. From this day, from the hour of Gavin's 
 self-betrayal, the responsibility of Ellison's peace would rest heavily 
 upon them. 
 
 Before she sank into an exhausted sleep, Lorraine had made her 
 plans ; and though the next day she was unable to rise from her 
 bed, and Dr. Howell had prescribed perfect rest for her, Dorcas 
 had posted a letter in Lorraine's handwriting when she went down 
 to the village, and it was directed to ' Miss Bretherton, Black Nest, 
 Nefydd Madoc' 
 
 The letter was as follows : — 
 
 Dear Miss Bretherton — Do you remember what you said tc 
 me that afternoon when I ba'le you good-bye? — we had been to the
 
 POST-MARK, NEFYDD MA DOC 341 
 
 White Cottage together, and we were standing at the sitting-room 
 window at the Waggon and Horses looking down the bracken 
 path. 'If you ever want a friend or are in any trouble, just write 
 to me, and I will do what I can for you ; will you promise me 
 this?' Those were your very words; and my answer was, 'Certainly 
 I will ' ; and now I am going to keep my word. I am in great 
 trouble — my child is dead — and my heart is almost broken ; 
 but that is not all, there are reasons why I want to leave High- 
 lands for a little. I cannot explain, I shall never be able to explain ; 
 but I must have change immediately. Once you asked me to visit 
 you ; if you renew that invitation I shall not refuse. You see 
 that I am a woman of my word, and that I believe in you. — Yours 
 very sincerely, Lorraine Herbert. 
 
 ' Put the letter in the post yourself, Dorcas,' Lorraine had said ; 
 and Dorcas had done her errand so discreetly that no one guessed 
 it. The reply came by return of post ; Lorraine was still in bed ; 
 and her bruises still ached. Ellison placed it on the breakfast 
 tray. '" Nefydd Madoc ! " that must be from Jilother Hubbard,' she 
 said to herself. ' How surprised Lorraine will be at getting a 
 K'tter from her funny old lady.' But she forgot to question 
 Lorraine about it until Dr. Howell had paid his visit upstairs. 
 Lorraine flushed when she saw the post -mark; she took it up 
 languidly and looked at the angular, sprawling characters. She had 
 masteretl the contents before she touched her breakfast 
 
 Dear Mrs. Herbert (it began) — If I had not guessed you 
 were a woman of your word, I would not have troubled my head 
 about you. The world is so full of fools and idiots that it is a comfort 
 to meet with a sensible person. It is a blessing some one believes 
 in me. I have not made many friends during my pilgrimage of 
 sixty-five- odd yeare — sixty-five I was last birthday — but that 
 stupid old Pritchard is always telling me ' a woman is only as old 
 as she looks,' so we may as mcU deduct fifteen years. So your boy 
 is dcadl My dear soul, he is in the safest place, if you will onlv 
 believe it I saw in a moment that he had no constitution ; you 
 would never have been free from anxiety about him. Which of 
 the ministering spirits — croup or convidsions — carried him off ? 
 Ah ! they have rough disguises these good angels, but they mean 
 well, or else so many children would not die. There is a small 
 boy down here at the Lodge — little Llewellyn — who died this 
 morning, and his mother, Reliecca, is fretting herself nearly sick 
 al)out him. He was a red-licadeil, impudent little Celt ; but you 
 would never get Rebecca to believe that I have been talking to
 
 342 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 her for au hour, and feeding her with good broth ; but hei 
 idiot of a husband only cries over her and makes her worse. And 
 they have five other torments alive and well — but then how is a 
 cross-grained old maid to know how a mother feels under such 
 circumstances ? So you mean to pay Black Nest a visit ? Well, 
 come, then, and Pritchard and I will make you as comfortable as 
 we can. If you are not afraid of snow-capped mountains and clear 
 dry cold, we can promise yon snug quarters, and fires that would 
 roast an ox. 
 
 Just telegraph the day and hour of your arrival. There is a 
 capital fast tram tliat leaves Euston at 10.55. You must sleep in 
 the hotel and take that ; the carriage shall meet you at Croes-flf'ord, 
 and bring you to Nefydd Madoc. It will be a three miles' drive 
 in the dark ; but David Fechan knows the road well, and so do 
 Moll and Brown Ben. 
 
 Your room will be ready the day after to-morrow. Betty and 
 Beckie are busy at it already, so don't keep it waiting. — I remain, 
 my dear Mrs. Herbert, always yours sincerely, 
 
 Marion Bretherton. 
 
 Lorraine replaced the letter in the envelope, but she said 
 nothing about it when Ellison came up to wish her good-morning. 
 Muriel found her unusually silent when she paid her daily visit. 
 She lay and listened with an abstracted look, as Muriel unfolded her 
 budget of news. The Vincents had moved into the Vicarage, and 
 Edmund and Effie were staying up at Brae House. Mr. Vincent 
 had been so grateful when she had proposed it ; he and Norah 
 were coming to dinner that evening. She had asked them chiefly 
 on Gavin's account. He seemed so out of spirits, and it was so 
 difficult to rouse him. ' He misses dear mother so much,' she went 
 on, her eyes filling with tears ; ' it makes my heart ache to see 
 him walking up and down the room of an evening. I do hope 
 Ellison will marry him as soon as possible. I told ]\[r. Vincent 
 so, and he agreed with me. He said the other evening that 
 marriage always seemed to him .such a solemn thing, that he 
 could not understand any one postponing a wedding because some 
 relative had died. For his own part he regarded it as a sacrament. 
 He would not think it a desecration to go from the funeral of any 
 one he loved straight to the altar. "The pity is that people 
 regard it from such a different standijoint," he finished.' 
 
 ' I think Mr. Vincent is right,' returned Lorraine, moving her 
 head restlessly on the pillow. ' When we are young we think far too 
 lightly of it, and yet even Death is not more .solemn — " for better, 
 for worse " — and when it is for worse ! ' and Lorraine shivered as
 
 POST-MARK, NEFYDD MA DOC 343 
 
 she pressed her tliin hands together. Had any woman drunk 
 the bitterness of wedded misery as she had to the very dregs ? 
 
 How all this talk wearied her ; if Muriel would only go away ; 
 how was she to t;ike interest in Mr. Vincent and the Vicara^'e 1 
 She could think of nothing but those snowcapped mountains and 
 of those months of exile. 
 
 Poor daughter of Eve, she too had lasted of the forliidden 
 fruit, and must forfeit her earthly Paradise. The angel with the 
 llaming sword, who drove her out, was named Duty — stern, 
 inexorable, pitiless Duty ! 
 
 When Muriel at last left her, she lay with closed eyes, absorbed 
 in the saddest reflections. Later in the afternoon, when Ellison 
 entered, she thought she was asleep, and would have stolen gently 
 away, only Lorraine grasjjcd her dress. 'Why are you going 
 away ? I am not asleep, Ellison ; sit down here ' — pointing to her 
 bed — ' I have been wanting to talk to you all day.' Then, as 
 Ellison seated herself with an unsuspecting smile, Lorraine propped 
 herself up on the pillows, and, with hesitating speech and downcast 
 eyes, told her of Miss Bretherton's invitation.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 ' DID you TELL HIM ? ' 
 
 * Could we blame him \vith grave words, 
 
 Thou and I, dear, if we might ? 
 Thy browTi eyes have looks like birds, 
 Flying straightway to the light.' 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 The following evening Ellison was standing by tlie fire listening 
 to Gavin as he scraped the snow off his boots in the porch. The 
 snow lay deep round Brae Farm, and he had ploughed his way 
 with dilficulty across the Brae meadow. The Woodlands looked 
 like a fairy forest in the pale moonlight, and the red glow of 
 Lorraine's fire shone in his eyes as he plodded down the lawn. 
 
 There would be no danger of meeting her this evening, the 
 firelight told him that ; he would be spared the deep embarrassment 
 of looking at her and speaking to her. He was grateful for this ; 
 but his anxiety about her had forced him to stop Dr. Howell that 
 very morning to inquire after her. 
 
 It struck him that Dr. HoweU spoke in a guarded way. ' Mrs. 
 Herbert was suffering from nervous exhaustion ; it was a break- 
 down of the nerves ; the shock had only hastened matters ; it was 
 due to other causes, and was of long standing. She had fretted too 
 much about her boy ; she was extremely sensitive ; she wanted a 
 change. It would be good for her to go away. He had told Miss 
 Lee so. Those visits to the churchyard were only feeding the 
 mi.schief; he had been obliged to interdict them. She needed 
 firmness and bracing ; she had given way long enough.' Gavin 
 ])Ondered heavily over the doctor's curt sentences. Dr. Howell 
 was extremel}' interested in his jiatient ; he had taken a great deal 
 of notice of her since Tedo's death, and had spoken to his wife 
 more than once of Mrs. Herbert's pluckiness. It was no light
 
 'DID YOU TELL HLM?' 345 
 
 cause that maile him veer round now, and talk of firmness and 
 bracing. 
 
 Ellison did not go out into the porch as usual to greet Gavin. She 
 stood quite still with one h:ind resting on the mantelpiece while he 
 til lew (jir his ulster ; but as he stooped to kiss her he saw she was 
 not looking as calm as usual. He was very quick at noticing any 
 change of expression, and as he held her hand he asked at once 
 what was troubling her. 
 
 ' Out with it, Ellison,' he said, trying to speak cheerily. ' You 
 have a bothered look, and confession is good for the soul.' 
 
 ' I know it is,' she returned, smiling at him, for liis presence 
 and the touch of his hand soothed her. ' I have been wanting you 
 all day, Gavin. Are you not a little later than usual ? Sit down 
 in this comfortable chair beside me wbile I talk to you. Oh what 
 a comfort it is to have some one to whom one can grumble !' 
 
 ' If you think that such a privilege, I am at your service to-day 
 and every day. I like you in that black velvet, Ellison ; it makes 
 you look more qiieenly than ever. What a stately woman you are 
 growing ! ' 
 
 ' Am I ? I am glad you like my new gown ; but it is not velvet, 
 you foolish fellow, it is only velveteen.' But she made a mental 
 note that Gavin liked velveteen. She must have a real velvet in 
 her trousseau — should it be green or dark heliotrope 1 either would 
 suit her. These little feminine vanities occupied her for a moment. 
 It was no light matter to Ellison that Gavin's taste should be 
 pleased. Even in tiilles she would be a model wife. 
 
 ' Well, dear, how long are you going to keep me waiting ? ' he 
 said at last as he rested his arm comfortably on the cushions of 
 her easy-chair. Her hand with the emerald and diamond gipsy 
 ring was already in his. ' What is the grievance, Ellison ?' 
 
 ' It is about Lorraine,' she returned ; and then his face grew 
 grave, ahd he drew back a little. * What do you think, Gavin ? 
 she wants to go away for a long change. That odd Miss Brctlierton 
 has been writing to her, and has invited her to Nefydd Madoc. 
 Fancy going to Nefydd Madoc this weather ; but Lorraine is bent 
 on it. I never knew her so obstinate before, and, what is worse. 
 Dr. Howell sides with her.' 
 
 ' You have talked to him, then ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I captured him on his way from Lorraine's room, and 
 had it out with him this morning ; but I did no good at all. I 
 told him that Lorraine was as weak as a baby ; that she had not 
 strength to dres;: herself; and that she was perfectly unfit for that long 
 cold journey ; and though he seemed to agree with me he actually 
 said it was the least of two evils. Mrs. Herbert's nervous system was
 
 346 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 seriously deranged — slie had lost tone and flesh. Highlands was 
 not the place for her just now ; she would never regain strength 
 until she had had change of scene. AVales was not the best place, 
 of course, at this season of the year ; Imt the dry cold of Nefydd 
 Madoc would not hurt her ; and it would be good for her to be 
 with strangers. He was so positive that I had not a word to say.' 
 
 ' I think you may be satisfied with his advice ; Howell is a 
 sensible man.' 
 
 ' I let him go at last. One cannot argue with him ; he is as 
 obstinate as a certain gentleman I know. A word of 02:)position 
 makes him put his foot down at once. When I went upstairs I 
 found Lorraine crying pitifully. She wanted to go ; she felt she 
 must go ; but she was so afraid that I should think her unkind. 
 I had quite a piece of work with her, poor dear. She got 
 almost hysterical at last. I could only quiet her by telling her 
 that I thought she was quite right to go ; that Dr. How^ell 
 had prescribed change of scene for her ; and that it was not the 
 xcast necessary to cry one's eyes out when one was going to pay a 
 pleasant visit. " Write and accept Miss Bretherton's invitation, and 
 I Avill take you up to Euston myself," I said to her, and when I 
 settled matters she grew calm. Her nerves must be in a sad state, 
 Gavin, for I never knew Lorraine give way so much before. It 
 made me feel quite sad to hear her sob, and say how wretched she 
 was, and beg me over and over again to forgive her.' 
 
 Gavin's arm was still resting on her chair, but he had drawn 
 back so that Ellison could not see his face. He sighed heavily once 
 or twice, but made no response. At that moment speech was im- 
 possible. Those tears, what did they mean ? Was she suffering too ? 
 Ill as she was, she was going away because she dare not trust her- 
 self in his neighbourhood, and he must let her go and make no sign. 
 
 ' Is it not sad?' continued Ellison, smoothing his coat sleeve with 
 her free hand — she had shy, loving little ways of her own, ' I 
 shall feel so dull without Lorraine. I have grown so fond of 
 her during these few months. It has been nice to have her ready 
 to talk at all hours. She is so gentle and unselfish that one never 
 finds her in the way.' 
 
 ' Of course you will miss her.' 
 
 ' How coldly you speak, Gavin. You are not a bit sympathetic 
 this evening. I do wish you liked poor dear Lorraine better. I 
 must say I wonder at your bad taste,' and Ellison's tone was 
 decidedly aggrieved. 
 
 Gavin started and drew his hand away. 
 
 ' Good heavens, Ellison, what can you mean ? I have always 
 liked Mrs. Herbert.'
 
 'DID YOU TELL HIM?' 347 
 
 ' You were very good to her in lier trouble. I know that, dearest ; 
 but you never seem to care to talk to her, and yet she is very in- 
 telligent and well read. It is very important to me that you should 
 like Lorraine. By and by, when we are married ' — and here Ellison 
 blushed like a young girl — ' you will see so much of lier, fur of course 
 we shall always be together. 1 have thought of such a nice plan,' 
 she continued — turning her long neck to look round at him. - * Why 
 are you prowling about the room, Gavin, in that polar bear fashion ? 
 conversation is so much more comfortable when people sit down' ; 
 and at this very plain rebuke Gavin seated himself on the broad, 
 cushioned arm of her chair, and as she leant against him he kissed 
 the coil of bruwn hair that rested against his shoulder ; but even 
 as he did so in remorseful tenderness, another speech was sound- 
 ing in his ears. * No. I must not have that kiss ; it would be 
 robbing Ellison. Let me give you something else instcail,' and 
 again he felt the touch of those soft lips on his hand. With what 
 exquisite grace and humility she had done it. ' This is for the 
 friend who was true to himself and me.' He could hear that sad 
 sweet voice distinctly. 
 
 Ellison smiled happily ; she loved to feel that strong, protecting 
 arm round her — gentleness and strength, those were the salient points 
 of Gavin's character, she thought. 
 
 ' What is the planT he asked presently. 
 
 'You are certainly not in a talking mood this evening,' she 
 returned, laughing. ' I am sure ton minutes have elapsed since my 
 last speech. I was only thinking how nice it would be if Lorraine 
 were to live on here, and Muriel were to keep her company ; they 
 arc such friends, and suit each other so admirably, and we could 
 see them every day. What does your masculine wisdom say 
 to that?' 
 
 ' My masculine wisdom would prefer to think it over ; it is not a 
 bad iilail' — hastily, as she looked a little disappointed ; 'but would 
 not Muriel prefer the Dower House — Ferndale I mean — when Mrs. 
 Langton leaves if? Mrs Herbert could join her there.' Gavin had 
 already made up his mind that Muriel must go to the Dower 
 House. Ellison would like her house to herself ; aijd he thought 
 ^Irs. Herbert would easily be persuaded to bear Muriel company. 
 To live at Brae Farm — no — that would not be possible either for 
 himself or for her. 
 
 ' Ferndale ! ' responded Ellison in an astonished tone of voice ; 
 ' dear Gavin, why should you wish to banish poor Muriel to that 
 distance, when Brae Farm will be standing empty?' 
 
 'Sam Brattle could live there,' he returned quickly ; 'and this 
 room and a couple of bedrooms might be kept for London friends.
 
 348 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Muriel always liked the idea of Ferndale ; she and the mother were 
 going there, you know. The walk is nothing ; you could still meet 
 every day if you wished.' 
 
 'Perhaps so, except in bad weather, and then those dripping 
 woodlands would be hardly pleasant. You must think it over, Gavin, 
 as you smoke your pipe this evening. I maintain that my plan is 
 far better than yours. Brae Farm will be j^our property, of course, 
 but Lorraine will be a splendid manager. I have taught her lots 
 of things ; she is already very clever with the poultry, and Mrs. 
 Drake will manage the new dairymaid ; it is such a bore that Ruth 
 and Eunice have decided to be married on the same day.' 
 
 ' What a hard-hearted speech, you naughty woman ; Tom Brattle 
 was only talking about it yesterday. He took me all over the house ; 
 it is in splendid order ; Eunice has feathered her nest nicely by 
 taking Tom ; he is a warm man, as they call it, and Brattle's is a 
 safe concent Eunice will be better off than your handsome Ruth ; 
 but Sam is getting things ship-shape at the cottage. By the bye, 
 Ellison,' rather gravely, ' did we settle the day ? I know June is 
 our month ; we told the dear mother so.' 
 
 ' There is no need to settle the day yet,' returned Ellison with 
 a sudden thrill in her voice ; ' it is only January now ; Lorraine will 
 be away some weeks, but she will come back in time to help me. 
 I think of going to the Mervyns in March to do my shopping and 
 get my presents for Eunice and Ruth. I am going to give them 
 their wedding dresses, and some nice table linen ; pale grey silk, 
 rather a pearly soft grey, is to be the colour ; how handsome Ruth 
 will look in it.' 
 
 ' But they are not to be married before their mistress V persisted 
 Gavin. 
 
 ' No, a fortnight later ; Lorraine and I have planned that already. 
 Surely you are not going, Gavin ? ' as he rose ; but he returned a 
 little hurriedly that he had letters to write. 
 
 The last hour had dragged heavily with Gavin, though to Ellison 
 it had seemed only a few minutes. ' Would it be always so,' he asked 
 himself bitterly, ' this sense of effort and oppression, these futile 
 attempts to pl^y the devoted lover?' Even Ellison, happy as she 
 was in his society, felt that something was lacking in Gavin's 
 manner lately ; but as usual she put down his absence of mind to 
 his recent trouble, and generously exonerated him. He had asked 
 her to fix the day ; but her slight demur had been suflticient, and 
 he had not repeated the request ; even as he took her in his arms 
 and embraced her, any other woman would have missed the total 
 absence of passion in his kiss ; it was almost the same that he gave 
 Muriel each morning. Ellison's deeply stirred aflection would have
 
 'DID YOU TELL HIM?' 349 
 
 responded readily to greater urgency and warmth ; more than once 
 the thought had crossed her mind that Helen had had a different 
 wooing, but she always checked these thoughts as disloyal to Gavin. 
 She knew well that the love of his youth had been given to 
 his beautiful young wife, that she must be content with a calm 
 esteem and affection, and with the happiness of being necessary to 
 him. Ellison never guessed that Gavin was capable of loving again 
 with the old passion ; she could not have believed it possible. 
 When she was his wife, she would not be ashamed of letting him 
 know how dearly she loved him, how his very faults were dear to 
 lier because they were Gavin's faults. ' What will it matter then if 
 I love my husband more than he loves me ? ' she said with warmest 
 self-effacement 'I know how good he will be to me, and how 
 happy he will make me.' 
 
 Ellison sat for some time without occupying herself when Gavin 
 had left her. She was thinking a little perplexedly over his un- 
 expected opposition to her cherished plan, to instal Lorraine aa 
 mistress of Brae Farm ; she had gone so far as to sound Muriel 
 very cautiously, and had seen a sudden flash of joy in her eyes. 
 ' Oh, Ellison, do you really mean it ? do you think ^Irs. Herbert 
 would be glad to have me % ' But Ellison had put up a warning 
 hand. 
 
 ' Hush, we must not speak too decidedly ; I have not con- 
 sulted Gavin yet; it is for our master to decide, Muriel'; and 
 Ellison smiled blissfully. Her master — yes, he was that, she knew 
 well — her chosen, dearly loved master, and his word was law to 
 her. 
 
 ' I should think Gavin would approve,' returned the girl thought- 
 fully ; ' he knows that Mrs. Laugton will not k-ave for another 
 nine months ; and then Ferndale is so far away, Mrs. Herbert 
 might be dull ; and Brae Farm would be fai- better. I could still 
 teach Nora, and we shall have your daily visits, dear Ellison. 
 Please convince Gavin that it will be far far better than Ferndale.' 
 And yet Ellison felt as she eat there that she had somehow failed in 
 convincing him. 
 
 Gavin had not seemed to approve of the plan at all ; he wanted 
 Sam Brattle to live there, and to keep the best rooms for his 
 friends. Strange to say, he seemed anxious to banish Muriel to 
 the Dower House. It was not so much his words as his manner 
 and the tone of his voice that told Ellison the idea was repugnant 
 to him ; and with all her faith in Gavin, she found herself a little 
 porplexud. * He might g\ies3 how I should love to have them both 
 there,' she said to herself. ' Sam Brattle is only my servant, but 
 Lorraine is like a sister to me'; and then the tears started to her
 
 350 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM ■ 
 
 eyes. How liappy she had been in this room ; only Gavin's love 
 could make her happier. What had she ever lacked % All her life 
 her lines had fallen in pleasant places. ' I have not deserved my 
 blessings,' she said humbly, as she rose at last to see after Lorraine. 
 
 Lorraine was lying on her bed ; the red firelight shone full on 
 her face, which was turned towards the uncurtained windows ; two 
 feverish spots burnt on her cheeks ; her eyes were bright and looked 
 a little sunken ; there were hollows in the temples. ' Have I left 
 you too long alone, dear % ' asked her cousin anxiously ^ ' Gavin has 
 been here, but he did not stay as long as usual, he had business 
 letters to write.' 
 
 * I thought I heard some one,' returned Lorraine with a restless 
 movement. She did not tell Ellison that she had crept to the door 
 that she might hear the sound of his voice ; she had sat for more 
 than an hour curled up on the window seat that she might see the 
 dark outline of his figure as he tramped through the snow ; her 
 heart was saying good-bye to him all the time. And then she had 
 grown hot, and then suddenly cold ; for in the whiteness she had 
 seen him stand motionless for more than a minute, with his head 
 raised as though he were looking up at her window ; it was im- 
 possible for him to see her, and yet Lorraine had trembled all over 
 with apprehension. 
 
 ' I thought I heard some one,' she had faltered ; and then she 
 said hesitatingly, 'Did you — did you tell him about Nefydd 
 Madoc ? ' 
 
 She was feverishly anxious to know what he thought of her 
 plan ; but Ellison was sorry she had put the question. Gavin had 
 said so little, Lorraine would think he was wanting in interest. 
 
 ' Of course I told him ; I never keep anything from Gavin. He 
 seemed to think that we ought to act on Dr. Howell's advice. He 
 has never been to Nefydd Madoc — I remember he told me so 
 some time ago ; so he cannot judge of the place. I told him that I 
 should take you up to Euston, and that you would probably be away 
 some weeks.' Some weeks ! Lorraine almost wrung her thin hands 
 under cover of her shawl. The weeks would probably be months. 
 
 ' Thank you, dear,' she returned wearily ; ' I shall tell Muriel 
 myself to-morrow.' 
 
 'Gavin will be sure to tell her to-night. How tired you are, 
 Lorraine ; Dorcas must help you to go to bed, you have been up 
 too long. I am going to send you up some nice slices of pheasant 
 for your supper, and you must promise me to eat it. No, I am not 
 bidding you good-night yet, you will not get rid of me so easily,' 
 as Lorraine suddenly flung her arms round her neck. ' I shall 
 come up presently and read you to sleep.'
 
 'DID YOU TELL HIM?' 351 
 
 ' Dear Ellison, how good you are ; I love you — oh how i love 
 you ! ' But Ellison looked a little grave as she returned the kiss. 
 Lorraine was decidedly feverish, she thought ; she was still a 
 little hysterical. 'She has lust her balance,' she said to herself. 
 * Lorraine was always emotional, but during these last few days she 
 has been more excitable than usual. I begin to think Dr. Howell 
 is right, and that she really wants a change.' And then Ellison, 
 true to her practical nature, showed her affection by carving 
 delicate slices from the breast of the pheasant. 'Tell Mi's. 
 Herbert that I shall be dreadfully disappointed if she does not 
 enjoy her su])per,' she said, as rosy-cheeked Dorcas carried away 
 the tray.
 
 CHAPTEK XLV 
 
 ' IT IS FOU YOU TO DECIDE ' 
 
 ' And sometimes, by still harder fate, 
 The lovers meet, but meet too late. 
 — Thy heart is mine ! — True, true ! ah, true ! 
 — Then, love, thy hand ! — Ah no ! adieu ! ' 
 
 Matthew Aknold. 
 
 In spite of Lorraine's ardent desire to leave a place so fraught with 
 peril to her, it was some time before she could carry out her resolu- 
 tion. She remained in her room another ten days ; and even when 
 she was strong enough to come down to Ellison's sitting-room for a 
 few hours each day, she always made an excuse to retire before 
 Colonel Trevor paid his evening visit. Ellison never persuaded 
 her to remain ; she had got it into her head that Gavin and 
 Lorraine failed to understand each other, and that it would be 
 wiser to keep them apart. Gavin's manner always became cold 
 and constrained when she mentioned her cousin, while Lorraine 
 hardly mentioned him at all. More than once Ellison had spoken 
 of her scheme, but Gavin had not been responsive ; once when she 
 had pressed him he had answered rather curtly, that he had not 
 changed his opinion ; he waa sorry to diflfer from her, but he still 
 thought the Dower House would be best for Muriel, unless she 
 would prefer remaining at Brae ; and then he had added with 
 forced composure, ' In my opinion it would be wiser for Mrs. 
 Herbert to be away from the Farm. I know she has a morbid 
 dislike to passing the pond ; the Dower House is very retired, and 
 the rooms are snug and comfortable, it would be a most suitable 
 residence for two ladies.' 
 
 Ellison felt vexed and disappointed, more so, indeed, than she 
 ventured to own ; it was the first time that their wills had 
 clashed, and the young mistress of Brae had to fight a hard battle
 
 'IT IS FOR YOU TO DECIDE' 353 
 
 with herself before she wuulil answer pleasantly, Gavin was quite 
 aware how he had hurt her ; her flushed cheek and the impatient 
 sparkle in her blue eyes warned hiiii that he was puttin<5 her to a 
 severe test, but his own peace of mind and Lorraine's also were 
 at stake. His sense of riglit compelled him to be firm, he would 
 never yiild to her in tliis — never. Muriel should go to the Dower 
 House or remain at Brae. 
 
 ' Very well, it is for you to decide,' she answered, a little 
 coldly ; though she loved him so dearly, she blamed him in her 
 heart for this perversity. Gavin had no right to maintain his 
 opinions so stillly. Brae Farm was her property ; it would Lave 
 been better taste to have given way to her in this. 
 
 Ellison was too proud to stoop to any entreaties ; she had 
 stated her wishes, and Gavin was simply disregarding them. He 
 and Muriel might settle their own plans now, and she would not 
 interfere, but all the same she was determined that she would 
 take no steps about the Brattles ; Sam should put the cottage in 
 order for his bride, and Giivin should settle things later. 
 
 ' It is for you to decide,' was all that she could bring herself 
 to say. 
 
 ' Thank you, dear. I think you may trust me to do what is 
 best,' he returned gratefully, but he made no further attempt to 
 bring her round to his opinioiu That evening he spoke to Muriel, 
 and she was astonished and disappointed to hear him say that he 
 could not sanction lier going to the Farm. 
 
 ' I have other plans,' he said evasively. ' When we are 
 married, Ellisox> and I will talk them over more fully. I think 
 it would be best for Sam Brattle to live at the Farm, but we 
 should retain the best rooms for our friends. The Dower House 
 is in capital order, and the furniture perfectly good ; if ilrs. 
 Herbert will consent to live with you, I should think you would 
 be very cojnfortable. You shall have the jiony carriage, and t];e 
 brougham anil bay mare for your exclusive use, and I shall make 
 over Davis to you — he is a steady capable fellow ; and lie and 
 his wife can occupy the rooms over the coach-house.' 
 
 ' Oh, Gavin, how good of you to have thought of all that,' she 
 returned, with tears in her eyes. In her heart Muriel was excess- 
 ively disappointed, though she would not have told her brother 
 so for worlds ; she was not fond of the Dower House, it was very 
 old-fashioned, the rooms were low, and the windows small, and it 
 was shut in and had no sjiecial view. The Farm was delightful ; 
 and only the day liefore, she and Ellison had planned that sho 
 should have Ellison's room ' Peace,' for no power on earth would 
 have induced Lorraine to give up ' Good rest' and the 'Dovecote.' 
 
 23
 
 354 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 She must resign Nora's lessons, the child could not walk all 
 that distance ; and of course she could not expect to see half so 
 much of Ellison. She would have to drive to church and to the 
 village, for the walk was Leyond her strength. The Dower 
 House was a good half-mile from the Woodlands, and lay on the 
 Darley Road ; her nearest neighbours would be the Mordaunts. 
 Homestead was only a quarter of a mile farther, but she had no 
 special interest in the Mordaunts. 
 
 In spite of her disappointment, Gavin had no difficulty with 
 Ikluriel, she was perfectly submissive and grateful. She allowed 
 him to fix the number of her servants, two maids and a handy 
 man for the garden. Muriel must have a cow and a good poultry- 
 yard, it must be stocked from the Farm. LIrs. Herbert was very 
 clever with poultry, and the man could milk the cow. Dorcas 
 might come to them if Ellison approved, but Mrs. Drake would 
 still live at the Farm. Muriel got enthusiastic at last as Gavin 
 planned it all : the brother and sister sat up quite late that night. 
 She forgot all about the small-paned windows and the rhododendron 
 bed that shut out the view. If only Mrs. Herbert would consent 
 to live with her, she thought she could be very happy at the 
 Dower House. 
 
 Muriel felt almost cheerful for the first time since her mother's 
 death. Gavin had kissed her affectionately and thanked her 
 warmly for falling in with his views. He remembered the cloud 
 on Ellison's brow, and the chilly tone in which she had signified 
 her acquiescence, with something like displeasure — but neither 
 of them imagined what a miserable evening Ellison was spending. 
 
 It was 'the little rift within the lover's lute,' that marred the 
 sweet harmony, the first chill breath of autumn that spoilt the 
 downy peach-bloom of her full content. Gavin had been incon- 
 siderate, almost unkind, and she was grievously hurt. Poor Lor- 
 raine, lying on her couch upstairs, little thought what an apple of 
 discord f^he had become. 
 
 A strong, self-reliant nature like Ellison's is also strong to 
 suffer. For the first time since her engagement she slept rest- 
 lessly and rose unrefreshed. The conflict between her will and 
 her affection had been long and obstinate, but affection had gained 
 the mastery. 
 
 When Gavin saw her next, she met him with a sweet smile, 
 and there was no trace of wounded feeling in her manner. As 
 he kissed her, she whispered, ' Forgive me, dearest. I ought not 
 to have wanted my o^vn way so badly. If I cannot agree, I can 
 at least hide my disagreement. You thought so yesterday, did 
 you not ? '
 
 ' IT IS FOR YOU TO DECIDE' 355 
 
 'Never mind what I thought yesterday,' he said, as he put 
 his arm round her tenderly. ' I think you now one of the 
 sweetest of women.' Not the sweetest. Even at the moment of 
 their reconciliation he could not tell her that ; for in word he was 
 ever truthful, and then sittinf^ down beside her he repeated the 
 sulistance of his conversation with Muriel. 
 
 Ellison listened with downcast eyes, but she offered no objections ; 
 only a pang crossed her as she saw how determined he was. Well, 
 she must be content not to understand Gavin ; for she failed utterly 
 to comprehend him. ' Muriel had better have Daisy the brown 
 and white Alderney, she gives the best milk,' she said in a quiet 
 matter-of-fact tone ; ' and of course she must have the black Spanisli 
 poultry, and the little speckled hen, and the bantams too, Lorraine 
 is so fond of them ; and it is a good idea of yours, Gavin, that Dorcas 
 should go to them ; we must try and get Mrs. Earnshaw's Jenny to be 
 their cook, she is an excellent kitchenmaid, and cooks quite well.' 
 
 ' Thanks, dear, that will be very nice.' 
 
 ' But, Gavin, do you not think that Lorraine ought to be con- 
 sulted without delay ? ' Then Gavin shook his head. 
 
 ' If you ask me, I should suggest that nothing should be said to 
 her at present ; let her go to Nefydd Madoc and get strong ; you 
 and Muriel could write to her there. Believe me,' as Ellison looked 
 decidedly dubious at this, ' she is not in the state to like anything. 
 I judge of this from what you tell me ; she is too weak to grasp 
 .things properly, and she might take a dislike to the whole scheme, 
 and then Muriel would be disappointed.' 
 
 ' If you think so, of course we had better leave it,' returned 
 Ellison slowly ; she thought Gavin reasonable in this. In the end 
 nothing was said to Lorraine ; and Muriel was obliged to see her 
 depart, without knowing whether she would consent to share her 
 home. The uncertainty tried both her and Ellison, but Gavin had 
 proved himself their master, and his directions were fully carried out. 
 
 The day for Lorraine's departure was at last fixed for the Thir- 
 tieth of January, nearly a month after Sladge Wildfire's escapade. 
 Madge was still in the Brae stables, and Gavin still occasionally 
 drove her. But it was understood between him and Ellison that 
 Bates should have notice to quit. The man's manner had been 
 rather insolent on one occasion when Colonel Trevor had found 
 fault with him. Gavin told Ellison that he was sure he had been 
 drinking. ' He is a clever groom, but he is shifty and quarrelsome,' 
 he said ; ' in short, he is an awkward customer, and I shall be glad 
 to get rid of him ; but I shall keep him a few weeks longer for ray 
 own convenience.' 
 
 Ellison privately thought this a mistake ; Gavin had done wrong
 
 856 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 in taking him at all, and it was a still greater mistake to keep him 
 on after his insolent behaviour ; he was a perfect plague to Dorcas, 
 and the girl seemed afraid to stir out for fear of meeting him, he 
 was an ill-conditioned, surly fellow, and his fellow-servants were 
 getting sick of him; but since that little disagreement with Gavin, 
 Ellison was rather chary of giving her opinion, perhaps she recog- 
 nised the futility of any argument, when Gavin had once made up 
 his mind. Somehow since their engagement, her influence had 
 not seemed so great with him. Gavin was altered in some way, 
 he was not so ready to defer to her judgment, he settled things for 
 himself in a masterful, off-hand way, and it was no longer a necessity 
 with him to tell her every little detail of his daily life. Yes, in 
 spite of her happiness, Ellison missed some sweet ingi-edient in their 
 long twilight talks ; now and then she questioned herself, what could 
 it be ? — what was the difference % — did she really understand Gavin 
 as well as she thought she did ? Could any woman really understand 
 such a complex being as man. ' Half angel, half devil, and wholly 
 child,' as an old Swiss Professor once described him. 
 
 Ellison with her usual thoughtfulness had made all possible 
 arrangements for Lorraine's comfort ; she and Dorcas had done all 
 her packing, and she had ordered rooms at the Euston Hotel ; they 
 were to go up to London earlj' in the afternoon, that Lorraine 
 might have a long rest ; and she intended to give her in charge to 
 the guard ; he would go as far as Chester, Lorraine must have her 
 luncheon-basket and her tea ; she put aside her own fur-lined rug 
 for Lorraine's use. Lorraine might well look on with dumb 
 gratitude as she watched the strong, capable hands fulfil their work. 
 It was always a pleasure to watch Ellison do anything, there was 
 such firm decision in her movements ; busy as she might be, slie 
 was never hurried. ' Every moment has its own work,' she would 
 say. * There is no good crowding things in ; hurry is a proof of an 
 undisciplined mind.' 
 
 Lorraine had no intention of seeing Colonel Trevor before she 
 left ; they had mutually decided to avoid each other, but on the 
 afternoon before she left, visitors had called. Mrs. Earnshaw and 
 her son Dacre, who had just returned from Canada, had detairicd 
 Lorraine downstairs beyond her usual hour. They had just gone, 
 and she M'as resting for a few minutes in her chair, looking very 
 white and weak, when Ellison entered the room, followed by 
 Colonel Trevor. 
 
 Lorraine flushed crimson, but a screen between her and the 
 firelight prevented Ellison from noticing her extreme nervousness. 
 Gaviii's face was rather rigid as he shook hands with her, and asked 
 after her health.
 
 'IT IS FOR YOU TO DECIDE' 357 
 
 ' If Madge Wildfire is to blame for this, I shall certainly send 
 her away,' he said abruptly ; and Ellison again felt herself a little 
 hurt. How she had begged him to get rid of :»»Iadge, and lie had 
 only laughed at her ; but of course it was natural that Lorraine's 
 delicacy shuidd shock him ; and after all, no doubt the accident had 
 caused most of the mischief. Ellison calmed down when she 
 remembered that Lorraine had been ill a month, and that this was 
 the first time Gavin had seen her. 
 
 To tell the truth, Gavin was so disturbed by Lorraine's fragile 
 appearance that he could hardly bring himself to talk at all. 
 She was terribly wasted, and the hand he had taken felt thin and 
 hot. If he could only be alone with her for five minutes, if he 
 could only question her ; and as thougli in answer to his unspoken 
 wish, Ellison suddenly announced that old Mrs. Pierce was waiting 
 to speak to her. 
 
 ' You will entertain Gavin until I come back, will you not 1 ' 
 she observed cheerfully as she left the room, and Lorraine, who 
 had risen from her chair, sat down again reluctantly. She thought 
 it was cruel that she should be subjected to this. 
 
 Gavin hardly waited for the door to close ; he crossed the room 
 with nervous abruptness, and stood on the rug near her ; his 
 anxiety was too overwhelming to allow him to see how he was 
 embarrassing her. 
 
 'Tell me,' he said quickly, almost peremptorily, 'is Madge 
 Wildfire really to blame for your illness'? I am shocked to see the 
 change in you ; if Madge is really the cause, I will have her shot 
 at once.' 
 
 'Please do not say such things,' returned Lorraine in a 
 trembling voice, 'how could poor Madge help being startled by 
 that horrible bray ? it quite frightened me for the moment ; 
 indeed— indeed it was not only that — Dr. Howell said so. 1 
 have not been well since — since that dreadful day,' and then she 
 stopped, unable to say more for the sob in her throat ; but he 
 understood her ; her strength and spirit had failed from the hour 
 he had laiil her dead child in her arms. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know,' his voice growing dangerously tender, ' you 
 need not tell me ; it will be good for you to be away from here, 
 but you must not stay away too long ; if Nefydd Madoc is too 
 cold, if it does not suit you, you must let us find you some other 
 place.' 
 
 ' It will suit me as well as any other place,' she returned. 
 
 The weary tone of indifference with which she spoke brought a mist 
 before his eyea He could not bear to hear her speak so, and yet 
 what could he say? 'Lorraine — Lorraine,' he wliispered huskily,
 
 358 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' do not speak so ; you are young, and so patient and good that 
 life must have some sweetness in reserve for you.' 
 
 Her lip quivered, but she had no answer ready. 
 
 ' Do not make things too difficult for me,' he went on. ' If 
 you have any regard for my peace of mind, you will take care of 
 yourself ; it is the one thing you can do for me.' 
 
 Then for the first time she looked at him, and her beautiful 
 brown eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ' I will do the best I can, indeed I will. I will promise you 
 that. Do you think,' her voice thrilling a little, 'that I will 
 not do my part when you are doing yours so nobly ? ' and then 
 she rose from her chair and held out her hand to him. ' Good- 
 bye, Colonel Trevor, please forgive me, but I cannot stay ; I am 
 
 not strong yet — and ' Then he lifted her hand reverently to his 
 
 lips, and as she turned away, she heard him say ' God bless you.' 
 
 "When Ellison returned to the room a few minutes later she 
 was surprised to see that Lorraine's seat was empty. Gavin waa 
 warming his hands at the fire, and his back was towards her. 
 
 ' Was Lorraine tired 1 I had no idea you were alone,' she 
 said, coming to his side. 
 
 'Yes, she was tired, and I thought it kinder to let her go.' 
 Gavin spoke a little moodily. ' She looks terribly ill, Ellison ; 
 worse than I imagined. Dr. Howell was perfectly right when he 
 said she needed a long change,' and then with curious abruptness 
 he changed the subject. 'Muriel asked me to bring you some 
 patterns for the new curtains,' he said hurriedly. ' They are in 
 my ulster pocket, I believe,' but he was rather a long time 
 finding them, and during the rest of his visit he was strangely 
 absent, more so than usual, Ellison thought, as she looked at 
 him wistfully ; did he not remember that she was going away for 
 two nights ? and yet he had taken leave of her without mentioning 
 tlie fact ; he had not even offered to drive them to the station. 
 Ellison felt a little dull as she went back to the fireplace. How 
 many solitary evenings she would spend there while Lorraine was 
 regaining strength at Nefydd Madoc.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 BLACK NEST 
 
 ' The bleak, stern hour, 
 Whose severe moments 
 I would annihilate. 
 Is pass'd by others 
 In warmth, light, joy.' 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 TiiERR are .lays in one's life that seem unending, when the hours 
 drug slowly and heavily like Sisera's chariot-wheels of old — 
 revolving and grinding in perpetual pain and monotony. Such a 
 day came to Lorraine when she left Ellison standing on the plat- 
 form at Euston that wintry morning, and sat alone in the 
 luxurious first-class compartment, watching the grey landscape, 
 and the frost-blackened hedges and ploughed fields fly swiftly 
 by, while each hour her lie;irt grew heavier and more oppressed. 
 
 Alas, each milestone only told her that she was farther away 
 from those she loved best ; and as the day wore on, and bodily 
 weakness increased her mental discomfort, she felt a growing 
 horror of her approaching visit. Nefydd Madoc — Black Xest — 
 Miss Brethertou, with her sarcastic speeches — how was she to 
 endure it all ? The very thought of the mountains closing round 
 her gave her a stilling sense of perpetual imj)risonnient ; what if her 
 nerves should give way ; what if she should break down utterly ! 
 when the shrill whistle sounded as they entered a tunnel ; Lorraine 
 could have shrieked aloud with nervous tension. Later on, a 
 dull, torpid insensibility seemed to benumb her faculties ; her 
 warm rugs and freshly filled hot-water tin relieved the feeling of 
 deadly cold that had been creeping over her ; a cup of steaming 
 coffee acted as a narcotic, and she slept a little. She was still 
 drowsy when the train stopped, and the guard informed her that
 
 360 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 tliey Lad reached Croes-fFord ; the next moment the burly station- 
 master stood at the carriage door. 
 
 ' David Fechan is asking for the lady that's bound for Black Nest, 
 Nefydd Madoc,' he said, looking inquisitively at Lorraine's pale 
 face. 
 
 She started up at once. ' Is it Miss Bretherton's carriage % 
 please help me to find my luggage,' and the man nodded and 
 called up a porter. Evidently Miss Bretherton was considered a 
 person of some importance; half-a-dozen porters seemed to 
 surround her in a moment. The lighted station made Lorraine 
 feel giddy, and she was glad to take refuge in the carriage, and to 
 sink back into the nest of warm rugs that had been provided for 
 her comfort. 
 
 She was wide awake now, but the black darkness filled her with 
 dismay until she got used to it a little. The moon was obscured 
 by heavy clouds, and a wild moaning wind seemed to fill the 
 valleys. Now and then there was a passing gleam, that showed 
 her patches of whiteness by the roadside. 
 
 Tlie road seemed to ascend somewhat steeply. Once, when the 
 horses paused for a moment, she could hear the dull roar of a cata- 
 ract, that only added to the weird desolation. 
 
 Lorraine never thought of that long drive without a shudder ; 
 but in happier days it became a favourite walk with her, and she 
 could not say enough for its beauty. The magnificent waterfalls, 
 the luxuriant wildness of the overhanging trees, the dark solemn 
 colour of the rocky walls, and the forms of the rugged basins into 
 which the water rushed, the richly wooded banks of the river 
 foaming and chafing over the huge boulders, and the glorious 
 mountain range, gave it a loveliness that was almost sublime. 
 How often in future days Lorraine opened the small gate and 
 wandered down the winding path leading to the rapids, and sat on 
 one of the rough benches in pensive enjoyment of the scene. The 
 carriage had evidently turned off the main road, and the horses 
 were climbing slowly a steep rough road that looked to Lorraine 
 like a chasm of darkness. Presently they stopped, and a lantern 
 was fia-ihed into the carriage by a man in groom's undress, and 
 then Lorraine saw some open gates, and a dark shrubbery path 
 that seemed to ascend and wind for some little distance, then they 
 turned a comer sharply. There was an open door, a gleam of 
 ruddy firelight and lamplight, and one or two dark figures stand- 
 ing in the porch. 
 
 ' You will be sadly tired, ma'am, with your long journey,' 
 observed a woman's voice, and Lorraine at once recognised Prit- 
 chard waiting by the carriage to help her out. As she entered the
 
 BLACK NEST 361 
 
 house a tiuy figure iu black velvet came out of tbe sLadow. ' ily 
 dear soul, what an age you have been,' observed Aliss Bretlierton 
 in the clear, .shrill tones that Lorraine remembered so well. ' I 
 thought you and David Fechan and the horses were all buried 
 under the snowdrift in How-Bwlch, and that we should have had 
 to di^ you out. Come to the tire, you must be starved with cold,' 
 and Miss Bretherton's small, soft hands jdaced Lorraine in the curious 
 beehive cliair, loaded with eider-down cushions, that stood by the 
 hall fire, while her sharp voice bade Pritchard and Morwyn close 
 the door, and let Qwilym take up the luggage. 
 
 Lorraine glanced round her half fearfully. She was dazed by 
 the light and the voices, and felt as though she were dreaming. 
 She was in a Inrge, square hall, wainscoted in black oak ; the place 
 seemed full of shadows, and only one corner was fully lighted by 
 the blazing fire of huge faggots, and some curiously-shaped lamps 
 against the wainscot ; a tiger's skin lay before the hearth, and in a 
 deep basket a pure white Persian cat was reposing witli two 
 kittens. 
 
 Miss Bretherton stood on the rug with her hands behind her 
 looking at her guest, a weird, picturesque little figure with her 
 ermine tippet and her crutch-handled stick, and her pile of fuzzy 
 grey curls — a regal Mother Hubbard. Her eyes were as briglitly 
 blue as ever ; she had given the servants her orders iu a curious 
 medley of Welsh and English ; but after her first abrupt greeting 
 she had said no word of welcome, only, as she watched Lorraine's 
 face, the cloud gathered on her brow. 
 
 'Why did you not tell me how bad you wercl' she said at 
 last, 'and I would have sent Pritchard to Chester. You are no 
 more fit to have taken the journey alone than a new-born baby. 
 What were your people thinking about to trust you, I wonder?' 
 her wrath evidently rising. * Didn't I say that the world is packed 
 with fools and knaves ? ' 
 
 ' My cousin seemed very uneasy about me,' returned Lorraine 
 in a feeble, deprecating voice, 'but it was impossible to send any 
 one with nie. I am better; indeed, I am belter, ^liss Bretherton, 
 but the journey has tired mo.' 
 
 'There is no need to tell me that,' retni-ued Miss Bretherton 
 impatiently. ' I have my eyesight, thank Heaven ; though I am 
 bound to say that I should hardly have known you. We have 
 plenty of ghosts at Black Nest, so you will find yourself in good 
 company ; and there will be two white ladies to glide and moan 
 about the passages and frighten the silly girls to fits.' 
 
 Lorraine tried to smile, but the tears came to her eyes instead. 
 She was terribly ashamed of herself as they brimmed over hej
 
 362 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 cheeks, but to her surjn-ise Miss Bretherton putted her shoiildei 
 kindly. 
 
 * There, there, don't try to talk. I am a cross old woman, but 
 my heart is not quite a millstone. Take Mrs. Herbert to her 
 room, Pritchard, and don't leave her until she is safe in bed. 
 Morwyn, go with them, and help them. You can send Betty to 
 me. Let her cry if she has a mind to. Women know best what 
 eases theni, and when they are weak there is no fighting power left 
 in them,' and then Miss Bretherton sat down in the beehive chair, 
 and her forehead was a mass of wrinkles as she stared at the cat, 
 who was at that moment washing her kittens in the casual upside- 
 down fashion common to that animal. A remoustrative mew from 
 one of the victims roused her ire. 
 
 ' It is all very well for you, Winnie Fack,'she grumbled,' to be lying 
 at your ease and rolling those snow-balls about at your pleasure ; 
 family cares you call it — as if Puff and Pomp are not as clean as 
 they possibly can be — only you are so absurdly proud of them. 
 Let them be a moment while I talk to you, I hate to hear Puff 
 squeak, it upsets my nerves ; what business have you to be flaunt- 
 ing those babies of yours before that poor thing's eyes ? could you 
 not have the decency to hide them until she had gone ? I am not 
 pleased with you, Winnie Fack, and I will not have you jumping 
 into my lap to make it up.' Nevertheless, slie smoothed the cat's 
 glossy coat affectionately as she spoke. 
 
 'So we have another ghost in this lively old place, Trump?' as 
 a still larger white cat stole out of a dark corner and took up his 
 position at her feet; 'white spirits and grey — our cheerfulness is 
 increasing. What do you say. Trump, that you have no patience 
 witli lier Ijreakiiig her heart about tliat little pale-faced, ordinary 
 child ? Oh, but he was her only one you see ; that is the droll 
 part of mothers, they think their children beautiful ; look at 
 Rebecca Fechan — do you suppose she considered Llewellyn a tangle- 
 headed, snub-nosed brat ? not she — he had the beauty of all the 
 angels in her eyes — cherubims were nothing to him ; but you and 
 I could not understand that.' 
 
 Miss Bretherton's voice died away into silence, and only the 
 loud purring of the petted cats and the crackling of the logs broke 
 the stillness ; then the keen, incisive voice began again. 
 
 ' Ah, you may purr with satisfaction, Winnie Fack ; you have 
 got your little ones to cuddle and wash and feed, life is not a 
 blank to you, but it makes me sick and sorry and bitter to see the 
 change in that poor thing ; don't I remember her coming up the 
 bracken path, with her light step, and the look of her brown eyes, 
 and the smile that seemed to warm me through and through ; and
 
 BLACK NEST 363 
 
 now she is hanging her head and drooping like a flower that haa 
 been broken off close to the root.' 
 
 ' Oh, I dun't say she's going to die, Trump ; don't get that into 
 your stupid cat head ; people don't die because something in their 
 life has gone wrong, and their heart is half broken, but it goes 
 against me to see that crushed look on any woman's face. Don't I 
 know what it is to love a little child and then to lose him ; I can feel 
 the pain of it now.' And here Miss Bretherton sighed, and grasp- 
 ing the handle of her stick she rose stiffly and disappeared into the 
 shadows, while Winnie Fack returned to her basket and her 
 kittens. 
 
 Meanwhile Lorraine's tired feet had climbed the slippery oak 
 staircase. Black Nest certainly deserved its name ; most of the 
 rooms and passages were wainscoted with shining dark oak, and 
 the long narrow corridor leading to her room was so dimly lighted 
 that even Betty in her white apron and pretty coquettish cap 
 looked ghust-like round the corner. 
 
 It was a relief when a door in the darkness opened, and Lorraine 
 fouml herself in a large, cheerful bedroom ; even there the furniture 
 was all of heavy dark oak, but the warm crimson curtains, the 
 blazing fire, and some wax candles on the toilet -table gave it a 
 cosy aspect. A comfortable -looking couch was drawn up to the 
 lire, and a table with a reading-lamp was beside it ; there were 
 easy -chairs, some hanging shelves full of gleaming china, and a 
 copy of the San Sisto Madonna admirably painted in oils. It waa 
 indeed a liaven of rest to poor, weary Lorraine. 
 
 Pritchard, who was an autocrat in her way, sent off I^Iorwyn 
 and took things in her own hands, and in a short time the worn- 
 out traveller was reposing comfortably in bed. It was only rest 
 Lorraine wanted, and it was dillicult to her to do justice to the 
 delicately served supper that Pritchard placed before her. * You 
 will sleep better if you eat a morsel of this partridge, ma'am,' she 
 said coaxingly, ' and my mistress insists on your drinking this glass 
 of champagne.' 
 
 Lorraine took it all obediently ; she had fallen into kind hands ; 
 Ellison need not fc-ar for her comforts. If warmth and luxury and 
 kindly ho?iiitality could lift the burden from her oppressed heart, 
 all would be well. She thanked Pritchard gratefully as the 
 woman carried oft' the tray with a dissatisfied look. She was tired 
 to death, but a feeling of strangeness would not permit her to close 
 her eyes. The stillness of the house, the absence of all sounds, 
 seemed to oppress her : ghosts — of course there were ghosts gliding 
 along those narrow, dark passages ; ghosta of dead and gone griefs, 
 of women's hopes, of all sorts of innocent anticipations. She almost
 
 364 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 started when a light tap came to her door, and Miss Bretherton's 
 tiny figure appeared on the threshold. Mother Hubbard had laid 
 aside her velvet dress and ermine cape ; she wore a trailing dress- 
 ing-gown of grey quilted satin, and a tiny lace hood tied over her 
 fuzzy grey curls, her pale face had a softened and kindly expression 
 on it, as she stood in her erect fashion beside the bed. 
 
 Lorraine put out her weak hand. ' How kind of you to come to 
 me. Miss Bretherton. Pritchard has been so good, she has helped 
 me so nicely, and this bed is so comfortable. But you must not 
 let me be a trouble to you ; I am not ill, only very very tired.' 
 
 ' Then you must stop there till you are rested,' was the abrupt 
 answer. ' My dear Mrs. Herbert, if you only knew the blessing 
 you will be to me and Pritchard, we have nothing but cats here to 
 pet, and a human being will be such a treasure -trove. I am a 
 woman of my word, as you know, and yon and I are going to be 
 close friends. I have been wanting you for months, and now I 
 have got you I mean to keep you as long as I can. Black Nest is 
 a trifle dull, until people get used to it, but it is not a prison ; do 
 as you like, and be as happy as you can, is our motto. You shall 
 be as free as the birds of the air, and have your own way in every- 
 thing if you will only stay with me, my dear.' Was it her fancy, 
 Lorraine wondered, or was there really a break in her voice as 
 she said this % 
 
 , ' Dear Miss Bretherton, thank you so much for saying this. 
 Why is every one so good to me ? If you knew how little I deserve 
 it all.' 
 
 ' My dear child,' rather quaintly, ' I don't doubt your unworthi- 
 ness for a moment ; don't we call ourselves miserable sinners every 
 Sunday of our lives ? I hate folk who flaunt their virtues before 
 one's eyes in an aggressive manner ; you and I will get on very 
 comfortably. I am a cross-grained, vindictive old woman, but I 
 know when a person suits me. Now I am not going to talk to 
 you any more to-night, it is nearly ten o'clock, and we are early 
 birds in Black Nest. Do you see that door near the big wardrobe ? 
 I daresay you thought it was a cupboard, but it is no such thing ; 
 most of the rooms here are oddly connected ; that door leads into 
 Pritchard's room, and Pritchard's room opens into mine, so you 
 need not want for company. I always sleep with one ear open, 
 and so does Pritchard, so if the Grey Lady makes her appearance, 
 or you have a nightmare, just call out and one of us will be with 
 you in a twinkling. I don't believe in haunted rooms myself,' she 
 went on, as Lorraine smiled in answer ; ' all rooms are haunted 
 when one has lived long in them ; the country people here are 
 superstitious ; they have got up a bogey or two out of their own
 
 BLACK NEST 365 
 
 imaginations. WTien I fust came they called me the Crazy Lady 
 up at Black Nest ; as mad as a March hare, they used to say — but, 
 bless you, they would vouch for my sanity now ' ; and patting the 
 bedclothes with a reassuring nod the little lady glided away. 
 
 It was long before Lorraine could compose herself to sleep, and 
 theii she had confused, troubled dreams. She thought she was 
 walking through the Woodlands on a grey, autumnal evening, when 
 Ellison suddenly came up to her with menacing looks. 'You are 
 a thief — you have stolen my lover — you are an ungrateful, selfish 
 woman ! ' she cried, grasping her arm ; and then she saw Colonel 
 Trevor beckoning to her. She thought she tried to go to him, but 
 that Ellison held her too firmly. She could hear his voice calling 
 Badly to her from the distance, ' It is you that I love, not Ellison, 
 why do you not come to me 1 ' but she had no power to answer or 
 to move. 
 
 ' My dear, you are only dreaming ; wake up, and let me settle 
 your pillows more comfortably ' ; and Miss Bretherton raised hei 
 gently. 
 
 'Am I a thief?' murmured Lorraine, with a drowsy sob ; 'can 
 one be innocent and yet a thief? how could I help loving him 
 when he was so good to my boy ? ' Then Miss Bretherton's face 
 changed, and she shook her a little. 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Herbert, you are feverish and have the night- 
 mare ; Pritchard often tells me I have nightmare ; drink this warm 
 lemonade, it will refresh you.' But Lorraine's band shook a little 
 as she took the glass. 
 
 Was it late ? she wondered ; the room was still ruddy with fire- 
 light. Miss Bretherton still wore her grey satin dressing-gown, but 
 her curls had been smoothed away. 
 
 ' I used not to dream so much,' she said plaintively. ' Dr. Ilowell 
 says it is only weakness and nerves ; go to bed, Miss Bretherton, 
 please, t am so sorry to have disturbed you, I shall sleep now 
 more quietly.' But though Lorraine kept quiet, more than once 
 that night the little grey figure glided into the room, and stood 
 there for a minute listening to her soft breathing.
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AT HOME 
 
 ' And though she be but little, she is fierce.* 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ' The will to neither strive nor cry, 
 The power to feel ^\'ith otliers give ! 
 Calm, calm me more ! nor let me die 
 Before I have begun to live.' 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 No one seemed in the least surprised when Lorraine found herself 
 unable to rise the next morning. Pritchard brought her her 
 breakfast as a matter of course, and Betty lighted her fire. When 
 she pulled up the blind, Lorraine uttered an exclamation. The 
 faint wintry sunshine lighted up a wonderful prospect ; trees, rocks, 
 dark crags, and a foaming water-spout, and in the distance the 
 snow-capped peak of Moel-Nefydd. Raising herself on her elbow, 
 Lorraine could see the garden terraces merging into winding 
 shrubbery walks. On one side a fir wood closed in the prospect, 
 and, as she found out later, a rustic bridge had been thrown over 
 the little brawling stream that foamed and chafed night and day 
 among the grey boulders, until it poured itself into a dark, still 
 pool at the entrance of the wood. The scene was indescribably 
 wild and picturesque, and in winter time the sound of the ghyll 
 was distinctly audible as it poured down the face of the crag and 
 made channels for itself. Black Nest was perched on the shoulder 
 of a crag, and with the exception of a broad terrace-walk under- 
 neath the windows, the ground shelved steeply to the bridge, 
 then rose again abruptly. 
 
 ' How beautiful it must be in summer time,' thought Lorraine, 
 and then her hostess entered. Miss Bretherton looked more like 
 Mother Hubbard than ever in the daylight. She wore her 
 ordinary morning costume, a dark red cashmere, with a velvet
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AT HOME 367 
 
 tippet to match, trimmed with black fur. She had a peaked black 
 hat perched jauntily on her grey curls, which nhc explained was 
 for the birds' breakfast-table. Seeing that Lorraine looked slightly 
 mystified, she condescended to explain that she dispensed hospi- 
 tality on rather a large scale to the feathered inhabitants of 
 Nefydd Madoc, and that it was her usual habit to give breakfast 
 parties on a smooth bit of rock under the west wing at a certain 
 hour in the morning. 
 
 ' 1 gu there in all weathers,' she continued ; ' the birds begin to 
 know me now, and will pick up the corn at my feet. I have very 
 strange visitors sometimes ; when the winter is severe a stray 
 sea-gull will find its way to Craig-Du, and once I had a grey parrot 
 that had escaped from the hotel at Croes-fFord. No one but 
 Morwyn ever accompanies me, the birds have got used to her too, 
 but a stranger always scares them. I have a bell that I ring 
 to tell them when the meal is ready,' she continued, ' but they are 
 generally sitting in rows on the face of the rock ; now and then, if 
 I go earlier, it is droll to hear the scurry and flapping of innumer- 
 able wings. It is rather a steep climb for an old woman, bxit the 
 birds' feeding-time is the most interesting to me in the twenty-four 
 hours.' 
 
 ' Dear Miss Bretherton, how nice it all sounds. You must take 
 me one morning instead of Morwyn,' and then Lurraine sighed 
 and looked dejected ; ' if only I were not so weak and good for 
 nothing.' 
 
 * Nonsense, child,' was the bri.sk retort ' You will soon be as 
 strong as ever. There is no air like Nefydd Madoc, that is what 
 I always tell people, dry cold will hurt no one. Don't give way 
 to low spirits ; there is nothing so wearing as worry. I am going 
 to send you up "Winnie Fack and her kittens to amuse you ; when 
 one is weak and low there is nothing like a dumb animal — my 
 cat-angels I call them ' — and Miss Bretherton jerked her head a 
 little more on one side, and patted her curls in the soft sunliglit ; 
 her small, thin face seemed a jjcrfect network of wrinkles, and the 
 baby blue of her eyes seemed almost startling by contrast. 
 
 Throughout the day she trotted in and out on a dozen dillVrent 
 errands — to put on another pine log, to bring her some red winter 
 berries she had found in a sheltered nook in the garden, or an egg 
 she had beaten up with wine herself, or some books and pictures 
 to amuse her ; she never stayed long, however much Lorraine 
 pressed her. 
 
 ' Little and often,' she said decidedly ; ' you are not fit for 
 solitude, and you arc not fit fur talking either. "When you have 
 taken that egg you will have a nap.' And .<he was right : Lorraine
 
 368 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 dozed most of the afternoon away. She woke refreshed, and was 
 able to write a few lines to Ellison in the evening. 
 
 Dr. Howell had judged wisely in prescribing change for hia 
 patient. Lorraine would never have gained strength or tone at 
 Highlands. The close neighbourhood of Brae House, the con- 
 stant effort to be on her guard and to avoid any interview with 
 Colonel Trevor, were all wearing on her nerves ; the sudden tran- 
 sition to a place she had never seen was a healthful tonic, and 
 even Mother Hubbard, original, keen and caustic, and yet brimming 
 over with secret kindliness, was the best companion for her in her 
 present state. 
 
 The next day Lorraine felt more rested, and in the afternoon 
 she crept downstairs piloted by Pritchard. Miss Bretherton was 
 busily engaged in tearing red flannel into breadths for children's 
 petticoats. She looked up and nodded approvingly when she saw 
 Lorraine ; then she went on tranquilly with her business, while 
 Pritchard settled her guest on the couch and brought her a glass 
 screen. 
 
 ' Is this the drawing-room % — what a lovely old room ! ' asked 
 Lorraine, when Pritchard had left them ; 'and what beautiful 
 china. Miss -Bretherton,' glancing round her with open-eyed ad- 
 miration. 
 
 ' "We call it the China-room,' was the answer. ' There is no 
 drawing-room at Black Nest ; my great aunt Bretherton was crazy 
 about china. There is a fortune wasted on it in this room alone ; 
 do you see that cabinet? that is all Dresden, and over yonder is 
 the S6vres cabinet, that on your left is old Chelsea. I don't know 
 that I care for china myself, but it gives a nice colouring to this 
 dark old room.' 
 
 ' I tliink it is perfectly lovely,' replied Lorraine, and then the 
 thouglit crossed her how Ellison would love this room ; it was 
 long and somewhat narrow for the length, and the ceiling was low, 
 but the arched recesses with their quaint old cabinets teeming 
 with treasures, the oddly-shaj)ed tables and carved high-backed 
 chairs, the oak settle before the fire loaded with cushions, gave it the 
 look of an antique picture; the three high, narrow windows opened 
 on the terrace, and a break in the shrubbery gave a view of the 
 stream that rushed through the grounds. 
 
 ' Is that work for the poor ? I hope you will let me help 
 you,' asked Lorraine presently, and Miss Bretherton graciously 
 signified her consent. 
 
 ' I don't do much sewing myself,' she observed. ' I like the 
 tearing and cutting out best, the maids do most of the work. 
 When you are stronger and want occupation, you shall see my
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AT HOME 309 
 
 Dorcas cupbuaiJ, and Lei]) yourself. If you like I will read 
 aloud to you while you wurk. I often read aloud to Pritthard. 
 I have plenty of books, and you can take your choice, only 1 
 warn you. I never read a book with a sad ending, it makes me 
 nervous and jumpy.' 
 
 ' That will be delightful,' returned Lorraine ; but in spite of 
 herself there was a sad ring in her voice. How often Ellison 
 had read to her in the evening. A sudden pang of home-sickness 
 seemed to turn her faint. What was Ellison doing ? Ah, there 
 was no need to ask ; in imagination she could hear the clang of 
 the little green gate, and the quick, steady footsteps on the gravel 
 walk. It was the twilight hour when Colonel Trevor paid his 
 daily visit. She knew well the contented look with which Ellison 
 would lay aside her work to welcome him. 
 
 Lorraine tried to dismiss these thoughts, but Miss Lietherton's 
 keen eyes had detected the weary droop of the lip, and the tear- 
 ing of tlaimel ceased at once. 
 
 * I am going to ring for tea,' she said abruptly. ' Winnie Fack 
 wants her milk, and she must not be kept waiting.' And when 
 Morwyn entered she bade the girl close the shutters and bring 
 lights. 'I don't hold with twilight,' she said quickly, 'it brings 
 ghosts behind one's chair, and healthy human flesh and blood won't 
 stand a ghost. When we are cosy I am going to read the paper 
 to you ; there is a grand debate going on in the House. And 
 Lorraine found the debate so interesting that she first nodded and 
 then fell into a sound sleep, while Miss Bretherton tranquilly 
 droned on. 
 
 The China-room was mellow with lamplight, the sleeping cats 
 lay on the black bearskin rug, the two kittens nestled close to 
 their mother, the pine logs splintered and sputtered with spicy 
 perfume, there was a faint smell of rose puurri and lavender. 
 Mother Hubbard sitting bolt upright in her high-backed chair, 
 leant her pointed chin on lar hand, and perused pityingly the thin 
 white face before her. 
 
 ' It is no business of mine,' she muttered, ' and I am not going 
 to meddle in other folks' troubles, but they have only sent her here 
 just in time'; and then still more softly, ' Poor thing, poor thing, it 
 is easy to read between the lines there.' And then she crept away 
 and summoned Pritchard, and had a long confab with her. 
 It ended in Miss Bretherton's usual fashion. 
 * You are not such a fool as you look, Pritchard,' she observed 
 with good-natured abruptness, ' and I am glad you agree with me ; 
 not that your opiuiun matters in the least ; thank goodness I have 
 made up my own mind about most things ever since I was a chit, 
 
 24
 
 370 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 and I never cared for second-hand opinions. Like most cheap finery, 
 they won't wash. Of course it is no good asking Dr. Meredith to 
 call — doctors are all very well in their way when there are broken 
 bones to mend, or you want poulticing ; but there is no prescription 
 for broken hearts that I can find out.' 
 
 ' I don't know about that, ma'am,' returned Pritchard respect- 
 fully ; ' when I was a child and things went wrong, mother would 
 say, " Take a patience powder, Molly, and put a grain of common- 
 sense into it " — how well I remomber her saying that.' 
 
 ' Your mother was a sensible woman, Pritchard. I wish I could 
 have made her acquaintance. Dear, dear, what a world it is, 
 RachiJs for ever weeping for their children.' Miss Bretherton 
 wrink'ed her forehead until her eye-brows were nearly lost in the 
 fuzzy curls, then she said testily : 
 
 ' I wish I knew how the child died ; one can never answer for 
 those anaemic children. If he had been brought up in a cellar one 
 would not have wondered at his washed-out ai:)pearance ; but tliere, 
 if she stays here till Christmas I shall never ask her. I may be 
 curious, but I know my manners better than that' 
 
 ' Indeed, ma'am, no one could be more considerate. Mrs. 
 Herbert has come to the right place, as I shall make bold to tell 
 her some day. She is a dear young lady, and it goes to my heart 
 to see the marks of fretting on her poor face ; but you must not 
 let it worry you too much '; and Pritchard, who adored her flighty 
 little mistress, patted her gently, as though she were a child. 
 
 ' We are a couple of old fools,' grumbled Miss Bretherton ; * but 
 I know who is the biggest,' and then she trotted down to the Lodge 
 to scold Rebecca Fechan for not eating more of her good broth and 
 jelly, and to argue and wrangle with poor disconsolate David, 
 who had taken his child's death sadly to heart. ' Such non- 
 sense ; why, it is flying in the face of Providence,' she grunted 
 in an audible aside, ' when there are four hulking lads and another 
 coming.' 
 
 ' But they aren't Llewellyn,' sighed Rebecca in soft guttural 
 English. ' My man was so fond of Llewellyn ; he was daddy's boy, 
 and he was mine too ; and if we had a dozen eons we would miss 
 him just as badly, David and I.' 
 
 ' My dear soul, what deplorable sentiments,' and then Miss 
 Bretherton turned red and peevish. * If they were only girls,' she 
 fumed ; ' but it is very inconsiderate of you, Rebecca, when you 
 know my aversion to boys. I give you warning that I shall pack 
 them all ofi' to Croes-fi"ord as soon as they are in jackets — Owen 
 will soon be old enough to clean knives. I won't have a lot of 
 mischievous lads hunting my poor cats and taking the wrens' nests ;
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AT HOME 371 
 
 BO you and David had better look out ' ; and then she took up her 
 empty basket, and trotted away. 
 
 It waa not to lie expected that Lorraine would recover her 
 8tren<;th quickly ; but a sense of duty and sheer gratitude to her 
 kind-hearted hostess made her struggle bravely with her depression. 
 
 She would not think ; she would not succumb. As soon as it 
 was possible to e.\ert herself, she found occupations for every hour. 
 Miss Bretherton pretended to grumble when slie found her mending 
 some lace for Pritchard, or sewing at some childish gai-ment ; but 
 Lorraine refused to be idle. 
 
 Ellison was much cheered by the letters that reached her. If 
 they had cost Lorraine an effort her coxxsin never knew it ; she 
 would read passages aloud to Gavin as they sat together. They 
 were very full of description, Gavin thought. The China-room and 
 the Oak-room, where she and Miss Bretherton took their meals, 
 were faitli fully photographed; Craig-Du, the birds' feeding-rock, 
 and the wild, steep garden leading to .the stream, and the silent 
 l)Ool — he could see it all. By and by came descriptions of her 
 drives, or of her solitary strolls throiigh the village ; her first 
 service in the little white church ; and her visit to the vicarage and 
 the venerable white-haired pastor and his homely wife. 
 
 ' I begin to feel at home at Black Nest,' she wrote once ; ' it is 
 not like my own dear home, of course, but in its way it is a nest of 
 comfort. I am becoming warmly attached to Miss Bretherton ; 
 she is very original, certainly, and her manners are decidedly 
 brusque, but one so plainly sees the good heart beneath. No 
 words can express her kindness to me. In her own home Mother 
 Hubbard is a very stately little person, and the villagers round 
 seem to respect her greatly. She is very good to them ; she is 
 always helping some one or other. If their cow dies, or they want 
 a pony to carry their market produce, she is always ready to 
 help them. Just now the family at the Lodge are in trouble, 
 and we go there daily to sit with the poor mother. The other day 
 Rebecca Fechan whispered to me to come alone, and I contrived to 
 do so, and we had a long long talk ; you see we can feel for each 
 other, Kebecca and I. " It is a pity David and I have only boys, 
 for the mistress dislikes them so," she confided to me ; " they all rim 
 out of the cottage when they liear the rap of her stick on the door ; 
 they think she is a witch because she frowns at them and scolds 
 them. They do say up at the house that she had once set her 
 heart on a nephew, and that he hated her and couldn't be induced 
 to stay with her, and so she has had a grudge against boys ever 
 since " ; and of course Rebecca is right. 
 
 ' It is so odd when we walk through the village ; she will smile
 
 372 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 and look pleased when the little girls drop their curtsey, and she 
 will go into the school to hear them sing ; but if a boy crosses her 
 path she frowns and looks away, and if one shows his face at 
 Black Nest there is such a hubbub, and he is sent off with a good 
 scolding. There is actually a board at the entrance of the shrub- 
 bery written in English and Welsh — " No boys allowed to go up 
 to the house." ' 
 
 ' Lorraine must be w^onderfully better, or she would not write 
 like this,' observed Ellison tranquilly as she folded up the sheet ; 
 but Gavin made no reply. The letters were interesting, they were 
 graphic and amusing, but they struck him as rather laboured and 
 forced ; and how little she said about herself. 
 
 Lorraine took great pains with these letters; Ellison never 
 guessed at the sinkings of heart with which they were written. 
 She and Muriel wrote constantly ; but their letters, brimming over 
 with affection and interest, only added to Lorraine's pain ; and 
 Gavin's friendly messages, sent at long intervals, always drove the 
 blood from her face. She could not read his name without emotion 
 — the thought of seeing him again terrified her. Nothing, nothing 
 on earth, she vowed, should take her back to Highlands until the 
 w^edding was safely over. Ellison had promised to abide by 
 Gavin's advice, and for some weeks Lorraine was ignorant of the 
 arrangements that had been suggested; when at last Ellison mooted 
 it, Lorraine was conscious of intense relief. 
 
 All this time, her chief fear had been that Ellison would expect 
 her to live at Brae Farm. The Dower House was a mile away, 
 and there would be no danger of daily visits from Brae. She 
 would be free to lead her own life, and then as she re-read the 
 letter in the solitude of her own room, she suddenly burst into 
 tears. 
 
 It was all his doing, she knew that. She did not need Ellison 
 to tell her that Gavin had planned it. ' He has set his heart on 
 your keeping Muriel company in the old Dower House,' Ellison 
 wrote. ' He thinks you will be happier there than at Brae Farm. 
 I do hope he is right, dear ; but you know how determined Gavin 
 is. He and Muriel have planned everything. You are to have 
 Cowslip and the bay pony, and the pick of the poultry-yard, and 
 Davis and Dorcas and Mrs. Earnshaw's Jenny. Directly you have 
 signified your consent, he and Muriel are going up to town to 
 buy carpets. You should see how happy and important Muriel 
 looks, she gives herself all the airs of a chatelaine already. Do 
 write and tell us what you tliink of this proposal It will relieve 
 my mind greatly if you really approve of Gavin's plan. I don't 
 mind owning to you that I am rather disappointed about it. I
 
 MOTHER HUBBARD AT HOME 373 
 
 had set my mind on having you at Brae Farm ; you would be bo 
 close to me there, and we should have had you safely under our 
 wing; but my lord and master says, no — that Sam Brattle 
 must live there, and that you will be far more comfortable in 
 the Dower House.' 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor is right, and I accept his generous proposal 
 most gratefully,' wrote Lorraine in answer to this. Grateful 1 how 
 was she to express her gratitude? The thought that he had 
 planned her future, that his care had provided her with this 
 safe retreat, filled her with secret joy. How well he under- 
 stood her. The life he had mapped out was the only possible 
 one for her under the circumstances. Surely she would regain 
 strength and calmness at the Dower House; merciful time would 
 heal her deadly wound. She would find her peace in ministering 
 to others ; no life, however sad, need be empty. ' I have done the 
 right thing,' thought Gavin, as he read those few hastily scrawled 
 lines — *^Vhen one feels most, one can write least. Dear, dearest 
 Ellison, if you only knew how intensely grateful I feel to 
 you all ! ' 
 
 Ellison felt herself a little puzzled by Lorraine's expressions of 
 passionate gratitude. Why should she dread the idea of living at 
 the Farm 1 then she remembered what Gavin had said about the 
 pond. Perhaps, after all, his suggestion was the wi.sest. The 
 Dower House had no distressing associations connected with it. 
 Lorraine would forget her trouble more quickly when she had 
 nothing to remind her of it. 
 
 When Muriel proposed illuminating ' Good rest ' above the 
 pleasant room allotted for Lorraine's use, Ellison negatived it at 
 once. 'It has not been good rest to her,' she said sadly ; 'give it 
 some other name, ^luriel ' ; and it was finally decided to call it 
 the Porch-room.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION 
 
 * For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter of tlie Eternal's language ; on Earth 
 it is called Forgiveness.' — Longfellow. 
 
 One morning, when Lorraine had been at Black Nest about three 
 weeks, she was sitting in the roomy window-seat, busy with some 
 sewing, when Miss Bretherton came into the room and sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 She wore her little peaked hat, and carried her crutch-handled 
 walking-stick ; the birds' feeding- time was just over — but her 
 face had a restless dissatisfied expression. Lorraine, who guessed 
 the reason, wisely held her peace. She knew that the post-bag 
 that morning had brought a letter from Eric Vincent, but Miss 
 Bretherton had carried it off unread. 
 
 There was unbroken silence for some minutes, and then Miss 
 Bretherton suddenly burst forth in an aggressive voice, ' I have had 
 a letter from my precious nephew this morning ; as usual he is 
 posing as a saint and martyr. The good young man in the Gospels 
 was nothing to him, he fairly bristles over with virtues ; really, 
 Mrs. Herbert, I ought to congratulate you on your model vicar. 
 As I said before, Highlands is a favoured parish.' 
 
 ' So we all think,' returned Lorraine quietly ; ' we consider 
 ourselves very fortunate. I suppose,' sewing with much composure, 
 ' that Mr. Vincent has written to .share his good fortune with you.' 
 
 'Yes, and to shame me with his unworldliness. There, you 
 may read it for yourself — and Miss Bretherton threw the letter 
 on her lap. 'Pritchard is wanting me for some foolery or other, 
 but I will be back to hear your opinion ' ; and then Mother 
 Hubbard trotted away, and Lorraine could hear her shaq) voice and 
 quick footsteps dying away in the distance. Lorraine thought 
 the letter very touching. In a few concise words, Eric informed
 
 ^1X UNEXPFXTED LWJTATION 375 
 
 his aunt that the living of Highlands had been offered him, and 
 that they had moved into the Vicarage. 
 
 'Tliis has made a great difference in my income,' he wrote, 
 'and I feel it only right to tell you tliis, in case you should wish 
 to discontinue my allowance. Your kind generosity, with regard 
 to Hugo's and Edniumrs education, has so lightened my burdens 
 that it is no longer absolutely necessary to me. True, the living is 
 only moderate, but I have a good house, and can easily take pupils. 
 It is only fair to tell you this, and to leave matters in your hands. 
 I hope, dear Aunt Marion, that you will understand my motives, 
 and that it is not any reluctance in accepting your generous gifts 
 that has caused me to write to you. If you would only allow me 
 to explain things to you personally, how willingly I would come 
 to Nel'ydd Madoc' ; and then he signed himself, 'Your ever grateful 
 and affectionate nephew, Euic' 
 
 'It is just like him, just what I would have expected him to 
 say,' observed Lorraine, when Miss Bretherton returned, and 
 Lorraine's voice was tremulous with feeling. 'Dear Miss Bretherton, 
 in your heart how you must admire him for this ; so few people 
 would be so scrupulously honest. I am afraid he has made a 
 mistake about taking pupils, though ; Nora is far too young and 
 inexperienced.' 
 
 A sarcastic expression played round Miss Bretherton's lips, but 
 she set her chin obstinately. 
 
 ' Eric is a very clever young man,' she replied in a meaning tone ; 
 ' he knows that he will lose nothing by his honesty ; he has only 
 done it for effect. Don't shake your head, Mrs. Herbert, you have 
 your opinions and I have mine. I shall just write to Eric, and put 
 the matter as bricffy a^ possible. I will write it now, and you shall 
 see what I say'; and Jliss Bretherton marched off to her writing- 
 table, and scrawled a few sentences with a noisy quill, then she 
 brought the letter to Lorraine. 
 
 Nephew Euic (it began), there is no use in unsettling things ; 
 the lawyer has my instructions, and he may as well carry them 
 out Two hundred a year is all you have to expect from me, and 
 Nora and Etlie will each have five hundred ; as I am a rich 
 woman, you have not much cause for thankfulness, so please spare 
 me your expressions of gratitude. 
 
 As there is nothing that needs explanation, I will not trouble 
 you to take this long journey — you have no love for Nefydd ^ladoc, 
 I know well. I am glad you have a decent house to live in. 
 I suppose you will stop at Highlands till they make you a dean 
 or a bishop — lawn sleeves are very becoming. I shall keep Mrs
 
 376 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Herbert as long as I can, she suits me exactly. — I remain, yours 
 truly, Marion Bretherton. 
 
 Lorraine gave it back a little sadly. ' A few kind words would 
 have enhanced the value of your gift,' she said in a tone of regret. 
 ' I know Mr. Vincent so well ; this letter will pain him so ' ; but 
 her remonstrance fell on deaf ears. Miss Bretherton folded it up 
 and placed it in the post-bag ; but for the remainder of the day she 
 was not a pleasant companion, she found fault with the maids, and 
 was a little nipping in her answers to Lorraine ; the demon of 
 unrest seemed to have seized on her, and she was perpetually going 
 in search of Pritchard. 
 
 ' My mistress will have a bad night,' observed Pritchard later 
 in the evening ; ' she never sleeps a wink after one of Mr. Eric's 
 letters. She has been hankering after him all her life, but she will 
 never bring herself to own it ; she has a grudge against him that 
 makes her bitter and hard, but it is my belief that in her heart 
 she cares as much as ever for him.' And as Lorraine shared this 
 opinion, the two women were very soft and pitiful over Miss 
 Bretherton's ill-humour. Lorraine had long ago given her hostess 
 a full account of her own trouble ; Miss Bretherton had listened to 
 the history of the accident with intense and painful interest, but 
 she never alluded to it again. They had become fast friends, and 
 in her kindly, erratic way Miss Bretherton showed Lorraine in 
 every possible manner that she was a welcome guest. 
 
 A few days after Eric's letter Pritchard entered Lorraine's room 
 with an unusually solemn face. Her mistress had been ill all 
 night, she informed her ; it had been one of her usual attacks, only 
 the pain had been more severe, and David had gone off for Dr. 
 Meredith. 
 
 ' She has taken her draught and is sleeping now,' continued 
 Pritchard ; ' when she wakes she will be as weak as an infant. 
 Yes, you may go and look at her if you make no sound, for she is 
 sleeping as heavily as possible' ; and Lorraine crept into the next 
 room and looked anxiously at the pallid face and dark lips. The 
 grey curls looked damp and dishevelled from last night's agony ; 
 one thin hand was still tightly clenched on the quilt. 
 
 Wlicn Dr. Meredith came he said little, but Lorraine thought 
 his cheerfulness was rather forced. It was a sharp attack, he said, 
 and she would have to keep her bed for a day or two. ' Keep her 
 warm and quiet and give her plenty of light nourishment,' he said 
 to Pritchard. ' I shall send her the usual medicine, and we shall 
 soon have her right again.' But when Lorraine questioned him as 
 to the cause of the pain, he seemed on his guard at once.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION 377 
 
 It was nothing serious — at least he hoped not. Miss Brether- 
 ton might outlive them both, for the matter of that ; but of coarse 
 such severe pain was wearing ; and a sudden chill might work 
 serious harm. 
 
 ' Miss Bretherton leads too solitary a life,' he continued. ' I 
 am always telling her so ; she ought to go away for a time and see 
 peoi>le ;' she is clever and imaginative, and feeds too much on 
 herself. A solitary life is never a healthy one. Miss Bretherton 
 needs young life about her.' And then the busy doctor hurried off 
 to the next case. 
 
 Lorraine saw very little of the invalid for the next two or three 
 days. Pritchard never allowed any one to share her nursing, and 
 as Miss Bretherton was too weak and confused by the strong 
 opiates she had taken to bear conversation, Lorraine only went in 
 at intervals to say a few kind words. 
 
 But one evening Mi?s Bretherton sent for her. She was lying 
 back in an easy-chair looking very white and frail, but she held 
 out her hand with her droll smile. 
 
 ' Sit down, Mrs. Herbert ; I have been wearying for you the last 
 hour. I get so tired of only seeing Pritchard's face. Go down- 
 stairs and get your tea, Pritchard, and then you may go to the 
 Lodge and have a chat with Rebecca Fechan. Mrs. Herbert will 
 slay with me imtil bed-time.' And thus dismissed, Pritchard 
 withdrew somewhat reluctantly. 
 
 ' Pritchard is a good creature, but she is a bit of a tyrant, 
 though I do not let her know that I think so ; she and Dr. 
 Meredith play into each other's hands. "You can't cure me, so 
 you may as well let me alone. Doctor," I said to him yesterday ; 
 " I shall not die until my time comes, in .spite of all your medi- 
 cines " ; but he only laughed and rubbed his hands. But I mean 
 to have my way in spite of him ; I am coming downstairs to-morrow. 
 Now sit down and talk to me, I want to know what you have been 
 doing with yourself all day.' 
 
 Lorraine began her recital. She had been to the village and 
 made two or three new acquaintances ; but as she talked on cheer- 
 fully, Miss Bretherton hardly seemed to listen — there was an 
 absent expression in her keen blue eyes, and as soon as Lorraine 
 had fini?;lied her narrative she said abruptly : 
 
 ' I have sent for my lawyer. I am going to alter my will ' ; 
 and then with a touch of wistfiilncss in her voice, ' I wish you 
 would make up your mind to stay here altogether ; I do not believe 
 that Highlands suits you. Miss Trevor could live with her brother, 
 and I need you far more than she does. Come, Mrs. Herbert ; 
 why should we not jog on comfortably together 1 No one has ever
 
 378 THE MISTRESS OE BRAE EARM 
 
 suited me before. Stay with me, and j^ou shall be as free as one 
 of my birds, and after my death Black Nest shall be yours. Why 
 should I not make you a rich woman if I like ? My money is my 
 own. I have done my duty to Eric, and he will not touch another 
 penny of my money.' 
 
 For one moment intense surprise kept Lorraine silent ; then her 
 face flushed with emotion, and kneeling down by the couch she 
 put her arms round the slight little figure. 
 
 ' Dear Miss Bretherton,' she said softly, ' if you knew how I 
 loved you for this ; how have I ever deserved such generosity % 
 This is the third home that has been offered to me, if I could only 
 accept it ' ; and here she sighed heavily. ' But indeed I cannot 
 disivppoint poor Muriel, I have jiledged my word to her and 
 Ellison. I will come and stay with you as often as you ask me ; 
 but it is not possible for me to do more.' 
 
 ' Very well, then, we will say no more about it,' returned Miss 
 Bretherton decidedly ; ' you are a woman of your word, and I 
 respect you for it ; all the same, I mean to leave you Black Nest 
 on condition that you live here six months in the year, and that 
 you keep on my list of pensioners. Well, what now ? ' as Lorraine 
 shook her head decidedly. 
 
 ' Dear, dearest Miss Bretherton,' she replied in a shocked voice, 
 * are you quite mad ? Do you think that I would ever accept such 
 misplaced generosity ? I will never have Black Nest — never, 
 never — Mr. Vincent is your rightful heir. I am nothing to you 
 but an attached and grateful friend ; before I would allow you to 
 do such an injustice I would go away to-morrow and never see 
 you again. But you cannot mean it ; you would not leave this 
 world unreconciled to your nephew.' 
 
 ' He has made his bed and must lie on it,' returned Miss 
 Bretherton doggedly ; ' why should I leave him Black Nest when 
 he has hated it all his life ? I would sooner leave it to Nora.' 
 
 ' Leave it to Nora, thfn, and make Mr. Vincent her guardian. 
 No one could find fault with you for doing that. Nora is youi 
 sister's child — think over it, Miss Bretherton, there is plenty of 
 time. But if you want to die peacefully you will forgive Mr. 
 Vincent his boyish offences ; he has long ago repented of his way- 
 wardness to you. Let me plead for him,' she continued earnestly ; 
 ' he is longing to be friends with you. Let me write to him and 
 tell him that he will be welcome. There is no need to make him 
 your heir if you do not desire it, but you must not continue to 
 treat him as your enemy. In your heart you love him dearly 
 Pritchard and I know that well. Be true to yourself and him ; 
 and God help you to do the right thing with the wealth entrusted
 
 /?.V UNEXPECTED IXVITATION 379 
 
 to you.' And Lorraine kissed her gently on the brow and left the 
 room. 
 
 She felt profoundly agitated, and it was a relief to sit down 
 alone in the firelit twilight and think over things quietly. 
 
 Black Nest might have been her home, if only she had not 
 given her word to ^luriel ; but it was too late now. She must 
 not think of it a^ain. In a few weeks she would leave her safe 
 retreat among the Welsh mountains and take up her work again. 
 Miss Brethcrton's proposal to make her the future mistress of Black 
 Nest only brought a smile to her lips. Such a thought could not 
 be entertained seriously for a moment ; it was just a whimsical 
 idea. If she should fix on Nora, well and good ; but she would 
 say no fuilher word on the subject. She did not see Miss 
 Bretherton again that night, and for some days there was no further 
 allusion to the subject. One thing was evident to Lorraine, that 
 Miss Bertherton bore her no grudge for her plain speaking ; and to 
 all appearance they were better friends than ever. 
 
 The next Sunday ^liss Bretherton was well enough to drive to 
 church. By some strange coincidence the sermon that morning 
 was on the forgiveness of injuries. Lorraine, who was listening 
 attentively, felt Miss Bretherton wince more than once. Nothing 
 was said as they drove home ; but all that afternoon Miss Bretherton 
 seemed uneasy and out of spirits. Later in the evening, as they sat 
 together with Winnie Fack and her kittens basking on the rug 
 in the firelight, Lorraine saw her look at her with strange inten- 
 sity. At last she laid down her book. 
 
 ' Would you like to talk a little ? ' she said gently. * I am 
 rather tired of reading myself, and I fancied you looked dull.' 
 But Miss Eretheiton's answer took her by surprise. 
 
 ' I suppose you are right and the vicar is right, and I am an 
 obstiua,te, cross-grained old woman. You may write and tell Eric 
 to come here if you like, and bring Nora with him. It goes 
 against me to forgive him ; but I suppose I shall have to do 
 it before I take my long journey — and perhaps I have kept it up 
 long enough ; but you had better tell him that he need not look 
 for Black Nest, for it will never be his — " a black prison," he called 
 it, " only fit for cats to live in." ' 
 
 * But he may come, and you will welcome him kindly,' returned 
 Lorraine, and Miss Bretherton nodded ; and before she slept that 
 night the letter was written. Pritchard came in later to talk over 
 things. 
 
 ' I knew my mistress was coming round,' she said. ' I have had 
 plenty of signs to tell me that her heart was softening to the poor 
 young gentleman. She has a picture of him hidden away some-
 
 380 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 where, and to my belief it was under her pillow all the time she 
 was ill, though she never allowed me to get a glimpse of it. My 
 mistress has odd whimsies sometimes ; but when she once likes a 
 person she never changes, and she has never changed to Mr. Eric. 
 You have told her the truth, ma'am, and it has done her a power 
 of good. Black Nest has been a brighter place since you entered 
 it, and my mistress has been a happier woman. God bless her, 
 for she has had a hard time of it ' ; and the faithful creature wiped 
 away a tear. 
 
 Two or three days elapsed and then Eric's letter came. It 
 was addressed to Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 ' Will you tell Aunt Marion,' he wrote, ' that I am delighted 
 with her invitation for Nora and myself? but I cannot possibly 
 come until next Monday, and then only for three or four days ; 
 but Nora can stay if she wishes her to do so. You do not name 
 any time, so I am making my own arrangements. I need not tell 
 you that the invitation has greatly surprised me, and I cannot help 
 suspecting that it is owing to your friendly offices ; but you know 
 how greatly I desire to be reconciled to my sole remaining relative.' 
 
 ' Mr. Vincent is coming on Monday evening,' she said quietly, 
 ' and will bring Nora with him. He seems very much pleased 
 with his in\atation.' But Miss Bretherton only reddened a little 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Pritchard brought Lorraine little scraps of news from time to 
 time. 
 
 ' Mr. Eric is to have his old room, ma'am,' she said one day, 
 ' and Miss Nora is to have the blue room. My mistress is looking 
 after everything herself She has big fires lighted in both rooms 
 to be sure they are airecL' And another time, ' She has been order- 
 ing in a stock of provisions from Croes-fford that would feed a 
 garrison. It is my belief that the fatted calf will be provided for 
 Mr. Eric' 
 
 Miss Bretherton never opened her lips on the subject ; but early 
 on Monday morning she asked Lorraine if she would mind driving 
 into Croes-fford that evening to meet the travellers, and Lorraine 
 assented cheerfully. 
 
 'There is Mrs. Herbert!' exclaimed Nora joyfully, and the next 
 moment she threw herself into her friend's arms. Eric followed her 
 more slowly. He looked a little flushed and excited. 
 
 ' What does this mean ? ' he said as he shook hands with her. ' I 
 could scarcely l^elieve my eyes when I read your letter. Three 
 weeks ago Aunt I^Iarion wrote to me in the stifTest way and begged 
 me not to come.' 
 
 ' Ladies change their minds sometimes,' returned Lorraine,
 
 AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION 381 
 
 smiling at him, and the young man felt a little giddy as he followed 
 the slim, graceful figure across the station. Lorraine was holding 
 Nora's hand. The two were whispering eagerly together. 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Herbert, hoAv lovely it seems to see you again,' cried 
 the girl ecstatically. 'We have all wanted you so much, haven't 
 we, Eric ? ' and all the way to Nefydd Madoc she held Lorraine's 
 hand tightly. 
 
 Eric said very little. He sat staring out in the darkness trying 
 to recall old memories. ' What a young ass I must have been,' he 
 muttered to himself once. 
 
 Directly the carriage stopped Miss Bretherton's tiny figiire was 
 distinctly visible. She stood in the centre of the hall, rigid and 
 immovable, leaning on her stick. Pritchard was looming in the 
 background. 
 
 ' So you have come, Eric,' was all she said as she held out her 
 hand to him. 
 
 * Yes, I have come. You might be sure I should do so when 
 you sent for me,' and then Eric stooped and kissed her gently on 
 the cheek. * Dear Aunt Marion, if you only knew how glad I am to 
 see Black Nest again.' 
 
 ' Take them to their rooms, Pritchard,' observed Miss Bretherton a 
 little hoarsely ; ' dinner will be ready directly. Dear me, Nora, 
 how tall you have grown ; you will be a woman soon.' 
 
 ' I shall SOOT, be fourteen,' returned Nora. She was still 
 nestling against her old friend ; but as she spoke her delicate re- 
 fined little face lit up with innocent pride. ' I must be a grown- 
 uji woman as soon as I can for Eric's and the children's sake.' 
 
 'She will do,' observed Miss Bretherton, half to herself, and 
 then she sat down in the high-backed chair and stared into the fire. 
 ' Shall I do it V she thought ; ' it is not a bad idea,' and then in 
 the red cavernous hollow she seemed to see a boyish face with rough 
 curly hair tossing wearily upon his pillow. 
 
 ' I will not stop here, Aunt Marion. I hate it all ; and I shall 
 hate you too if I stay. I want my mother and not you. Mothers 
 are better than anything in the world, at least mine is ; and I shall 
 break my heart if you do not let me go.' 
 
 ' It hurts still wlicn I think of it,' she muttered ; ' but I have 
 been over hard ; I know that now. But to have him sleeping in 
 his old room again,' — she sighed, and there was a mist before her 
 eyes. The next moment she struck her stick sharply against the 
 door, and summoned Pritchard.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 nora's holiday house 
 
 ''Twere all one 
 
 That I should love a bright particular star 
 And think to wed it.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The evening passed quietly. During supper Miss Bretlierton treated 
 her nephew with marked civility, as though she were entertaining 
 some distinguished stranger whose acquaintance she was only 
 then making, but to Nora she was perfectly friendly. Her heart 
 seemed to open to the girl's involuntary artlestness and uncon- 
 scious innocence. Her soft, wide-open glances appealed irresistibly 
 to the lonely woman ; the very sight of Nora kneeling on the 
 rug with the kitten in her arms brought a smile to her lips. 
 
 ' Oh, auntie, how happy you must be to live in such a lovely 
 place ! ' exclaimed Nora suddenly. * Eric never told us how 
 beautiful it was. I feel as though I could not wait until the 
 morning to see the garden and the river, but I could hear it all so 
 plainly from my room. Mrs. Herbert wants me to go to bed now, 
 because she says I must be so dreadfully tired ; but I am as much 
 awake as possible.' 
 
 ' Ah, you are young, Nora ; make the most of your youth, my 
 dear. So you think I must be happy living alone with ray cat 
 angels in my mountain nest ? Wait a moment, child, I want to ask 
 you something,' and Miss Bretherton laid a small jewelled hand on 
 the girl's shoulder, the diamonds and rubies and emeralds seemed 
 a blaze of red and green light in Nora's dazzled eyes. The little 
 pale face and pointed chin reminded her of the white witch in one 
 of Hugo's story-books. ' Listen to me, Nora, you are a wise child, 
 I can see that. If Black Nest were yours, your very own, would you 
 like to live here always ? '
 
 NORA'S HO LI DA Y HOUSE 383 
 
 Nora nodtlud vigorously, tlien her face grew grave. 
 
 ' I would love it, auntie ; but then I could not leave Eric,' 
 glancing at him as he stood on the rug talking to Mrs. Herbert. 
 Neither of them had heard Miss Bretherton's question, for she had 
 spoken in a low voice. 'I should never care to live anywhere 
 without Eric and the children.' 
 
 ' Tut, child, Eric will be marrying some day, and then he will 
 be glad to get rid of you,' and as Nora's face fell at this she gave 
 her a friendly pu.sh. ' There, go off to bed, I was only joking. 
 Of course Eric will marry, and you and Effie will have to look out 
 for yourselves ; if only some fairy godmother were to turn up and 
 leave you a snug home like Black Nest.' 
 
 'Would not that be deliglitfuU' and Nora's face flushed with 
 excitement. 'Hugo and I often make up stories like that If 
 I ever had a home like Black Nest, I will tell you what I would do, 
 auntie ; I would turn it into a Holiday house, and we would all live 
 here in the summer, Eric should have a locum tenens, and fish and 
 climb mountains and enjoy himself, and in the winter we would 
 all live at Highlands : just fancy how splendid it would be,' and 
 Nora's eyes sparkled. 
 
 * There, go off and dream of your Holiday house ' ; and Miss 
 Bretherton turned her cold, smooth cheek to the girl's kiss : when 
 Nora M'eut off chattering happily ^vith Lorraine, ^liss Bretherton 
 rose too. ' I daresay you are tired Eric,' she said quickly. ' We 
 are early folk at Black Nest — " Early to bed and early to rise," is 
 our motto, so I am going to wish you good-night,' and then she 
 nodded to him and trotted off. 
 
 Eric had an odd experience that night ; he M'oke up from his 
 first sleep with a curious fancy that some one was moving about 
 Dis room ; the moon was streaming full into his window, and the 
 next moment he plainly distinguished a tiny grey figure standing 
 at the foot of his bed. 
 
 He had never heard that Black Nest was haunted, and he was 
 rather incredulous on the subject of ghosts. Could it possibly be 
 his Aunt Marion 1 she might be walking in her sleep, and it would 
 never do to startle her. He lay still and watched her silently, and 
 after a few minutes she glided to the door. He sprang out of bed 
 to see that no harm came to her, but to his relief the gleam of a 
 candle shone in the passage. * It is all right, Mr. Eric,' whispered 
 Pritchard's voice ; * lock your door and go to sleep.' And Eric was 
 thankful to take her advice. 
 
 As he dressed himself the next morning he determined to question 
 Pritchard about last night's occurrence. As he left his room he met 
 her face to face ; she stopped at once and looked at him inquiringly.
 
 384 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 ' I hope you were not mucli disturbed, Mr. Eric,' she said 
 anxiously. ' When my mistress is a little excited she often walks 
 in her sleep, it is an old habit of hers ; but I am generally on the 
 look-out and watch her until she is safe in her bed again.' 
 
 ' What made her come to my room, Pritchard ? ' he asked 
 curiously. 
 
 ' Well, sir, that is always where she goes first ; times out of 
 number I have missed her, and found her in the north room stand- 
 ing by the bed ; now and then I have seen her smooth the pillow 
 as though some child lay there, and have heard her sigh as she 
 turned away. You see, Mr. Eric, she got into the habit when you 
 were a child and stayed at Black Nest. She never would go to 
 her bed if you seemed at all restless or uneasy. All of us servants 
 knew how she doted on you, and how my mistress's heart was 
 half broken when you fretted so to go home.' 
 
 ' I wonder she did not hate such an ill-conditioned little brute. 
 I was a wretched cub in those days, Pritchard.' 
 
 ' But she did not think so, Mr. Eric. She would have lain 
 down on the ground and let you trample on her if you would only 
 have said a kind word to her. And she treated you like a prince 
 too. Do you remember the grey pony and the fine new saddle and 
 bridle she bought you, and the young jackdaw that you fancied, 
 and the white rats with pink eyes ? If you opened the cupboard 
 in your room, Mr. Eric, you would find all your old toys, not one 
 of them missing; but then it was all no use, nothing would make you 
 take to the place, aud my poor mistress had to bear her disappoint- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' Does she care for me still, do you think ? ' asked Eric in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' As much as ever, Mr, Eric. That is why she could not rest 
 last night with the joy of knowing you were in your old room. 
 No one understands my mistress except David Fechan and myself ; 
 she is like one of our wild-wood nuts — they have a rough, hard 
 shell, but when you get to the inside they have a sweet, sound 
 kernel There, I must not talk any longer ; for I must be carrying 
 my mistress her breakfast, she is a little weakly this morning after 
 last night's excitement, and I have persuaded her to rest for an 
 hour or two.' 
 
 The morning passed i;)leasantly to Eric, rambling about the 
 garden and village with Mrs. Herbert and Nora. AVhen they 
 returned to luncheon they found Miss Bretherton busily engaged 
 in mincing chicken for Winnie Fack. She greeted her nephew 
 with cool civility, and then beckoned Nora to sit beside her. 
 
 ' Sit down there, little girl, and tell me what you think of Black
 
 NORA'S HO LI DA V HOUSE 385 
 
 Nest now'; and Nora, nothing loth, poured out the history of 
 their dcli'ditful wanderings. 
 
 Mr3. Herbert had taken them everywhere — to ihc birds' break- 
 fast table, and the lodye, and then to the church and the vicarage 
 and the villaf,'e. ' It is far lovelier than I thought it last night, 
 auntie,' she finished breathlesslj'. 
 
 Miss Bretherton looked gratified, and during the remainder of 
 the day she kept Nora beside her. Eric smiled a little sadly as he 
 listened to his young sister's chatter ; she seemed in no awe of her 
 rich unknown relative. Once he saw the brown girlish head very 
 close to the grey curls. ' Auntie, I think it is you who are our 
 fairy godmother,' she said once. ' Eric never looks worried now 
 when I tell him ITughie wants new hoots ; he used to sigh so 
 dreadfully, as though he had the whole world on his shoulders ; it 
 used to make me ache to hear him. I do believe he never had 
 enough to eat ; he would say, " Give it to the boys, growing lads are 
 fiAways so hungry," but I know he wanted it himself. I have seen 
 him often, when we had finished dinner, cut himself a hunch of 
 dry bread and eat it as he went on with his sermon.' 
 
 There was an odd flash in the blue eyes, and some of Miss 
 Bretherton's stitches were dropped. As she picked them up her 
 hands trendjled a little. More than once that evening Eric found 
 her keen, penetrating glance fixed on him, as though she were 
 trying to read his very thoughts. 
 
 The next morning as he was looking over his letters, while Mrs. 
 Herbert and Nora were putting on their hats, he heard ]\Iis3 
 Bretherton's sharp voice call him. 
 
 ' If you have nothing particular to do I want to talk to you,' 
 she said with her usual abruptness. ' I am too rheumatic to go 
 out myself, but if you don't mind staying with me for an hour we 
 could have our talk, and I will tell Mrs. Herbert not to wait for you ; 
 shall I ? ' and as he assented to this in some surprise, she trotted 
 off. "Wlien she returned she seated herself in her favourite high- 
 backed chair, and motiuncd him to the settle. 
 
 She was about to speak when Eric leant forward and took her 
 hand. 
 
 'One moment^ Annt Mariim. "We are friends, are we not?' 
 and as she reddened and tried to draw lier hand away he held it 
 fast. ' I have slept under your roof two nights, but I still feel 
 myself a stranger. For my mother's sake — the sister whom you 
 so deeply loved — will yon not say one kind word to me ?' 
 
 ' Soft speeches never come easy to me,' she said, wincing 
 a little under his clear, candid glance, ' But I mean to be 
 friendly, Eric. I will not deceive you. I want to be kind, and 
 
 25
 
 38G THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 to make up for my past hardness ; but I cannot: — I cannot give you 
 Black Nest.' 
 
 ' My dear Aunt Marion, I do not expect it. We have settled 
 all that long ago.' 
 
 ' Nothing is settled in this world of change,' she answered 
 wearily. ' You are very generous, Eric. If I ever called you 
 mercenary, I never meant it for a moment. But it vexed me to 
 see you so blameless. God forgive me for a wicked old woman, 
 but I grudged you even your virtues ! You had done nothing 
 really to forfeit your rights, but, all the same, I was determined not 
 to make you my heir. Let me tell you everything. I wanted to 
 leave Black Nest to Mrs. Herbert. I would have made her my 
 adopted daughter, and left her a rich woman, but she refused to 
 touch my money.' 
 
 ' You could not have chosen any one more worthy,' he returned 
 quietly. But something in his tone made her glance at him 
 sharply. For the moment Eric was not completely master of him- 
 self. He could not hear Lorraine's name unmoved. The next 
 moment Miss Bretherton's tiny hand rested on his shoulder. 
 ' Eric,' she said softly, ' you care for her ' ; and as his eyes dropped 
 as though he were abashed, she stroked his arm gently. ' My poor 
 boy, I never dreamt of this ; if I had known it ' — and then she 
 paused and looked wistfully at him. ' Is there anything I can 
 do, Eric ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he said, almost impatiently, ' there is nothing that you 
 or any one can do. She will never care for me — never. 
 Why did you make me speak, Aunt Marion ? I hoped no one 
 but myself would ever guess my secret. There, let us never men- 
 tion it again- She is the sweetest creature on God's earth, and the 
 most unhappy ; but no love of mine could comfort her.' 
 
 ' Eric, are you sure % ' 
 
 ' Quite sure. For heaven's sake. Aunt Marion, let us talk of 
 something else. If she would have accepted Black Nest I should 
 have been glad. I hate to know she is poor, and living on th-^ 
 bounty of others. Surely you could leave her some of your 
 money, Aunt Marion ? ' 
 
 ' Shall I give her your two hundred ? That would be a 
 nice little income ! Now let me finish wliat I was going to say. 
 You would never care for Black Nest as I have cared for it ; 
 besides, it is too far away from your work, so I mean to leave 
 it to Nora. It will be a home for her and Eilie, and if you marry 
 — don't look so shocked, Eric, there are other women in the world 
 besides Mrs. Herbert, and you are young enough to be consoled — if 
 you marry, my dear, Nora can make a home for the boys. I have
 
 NORA'S NOLI DA V HOUSE 387 
 
 thought over it well, and this seems the best arrangement I will 
 take care that Nora shall have sufficient income to keep up the 
 place properly, and you must act as her guardian. Your share will 
 be seven hundred a year. Will that content you, Eric ? It is not 
 as much as you had a right to expect, but Nora is your mother's 
 child too.' 
 
 Eric tried to answer, but his lips suddenly quivered. The good 
 things of life were being heaped on him without measure, but the 
 one gift he desired was as remote from him as ever. In vain he 
 endeavoured to speak. Something like a low sob broke from him. 
 The next moment a tender hand was laid on his head. 
 
 ' Say nothing, Eric. My poor poor boy ! Do you think I do 
 not understand ? You are good and brave, and you have fought 
 your hard battle nobly.' And then, as her arras went round him, 
 and he felt her motherly kiss, something like comfort stole into the 
 young man's heart. 
 
 That night, as Lorraine sat by her bedroom fire brushing out 
 her long auburn, hair, there was a tap at her door, and the next 
 moment Miss Bretherton entered. 
 
 ' I want to speak to you,' she began abruptly. ' You put the 
 idea into my head, and you ought to be the first person to know 
 that I mean to carry it out. Eric and I have settled things. 
 Nora is to have Black Nest, and make a home for Effie and the 
 boys, and Eric will have seven hundred a year and act as guardian. 
 Nora is nearly out of her wits with delight, and I don't believe she 
 will sleep for hours. She has been crying and hugging Eric for 
 fear he is disappointed, but he has assured her that he woiald not 
 have things otherwise. Nora is going to spend all her holidays 
 with me, and Eric has promised me three weeks in September.' 
 
 ' Dear Miss Bretlierton, this is good news indeed. Black Nest 
 ■will be a veritable nest.' But to this Miss Bretherton made no 
 reply. She stood leaning on her ivory crutch with her eyes fixed 
 on the fire, evidently in deep meditation. Then she said suddenly, 
 ' Look here — I am a fool to say it, but I never could hold my 
 tongue — Mrs. Herbert, do you know that boy cares for you ? My 
 dear, I am an old woman, and my time will not be long. I think 
 I should leave this world more hajipily if I thought you would be 
 good to him.' 
 
 A startled look came into the brown eyes, and then Lorraine 
 grew very pale. ' Dear friend,' she said gently, ' you must not ask 
 me that. I like Mr. Vincent ; there is no one I respect more, but ' 
 — her delicate throat trembling a little — *I could never care for 
 him in that way.' 
 
 ' Then I will not say any more. Poor Eric ! He must just
 
 388 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 bear liis trouble. He would be dreadfully hurt if he knew that 1 
 had betrayed his secret. Ah, he was right. Do you know what he 
 said to me ? " She is the sweetest creature on God's earth, and the 
 most unhappy ; but no love of mine could comfort her." There, I 
 did not mean to make you cry. You have shed tears enough, but 
 I could have cried myself when Eric said that.' 
 
 ' Why did you tell me 1 ' sobbed Lorraine. ' But I knew — 
 something in his manner made me guess it. That is why I left 
 off going to the cottage. Dear Miss Bretherton, why did I ever go 
 to Highlands ? Nothing but mischief has come of it. If I could 
 only stay here quietly with you. If you only knew how I 
 dread going back.' 
 
 'As long as I live. Black Nest w'ill be open to you,' returned 
 Miss Bretherton, looking at her with tender compassion. 'And 
 when I die you will find that you have not been forgotten. If I 
 could care for you more I should do so now when I kiiow my poor 
 boy has set his heart on you. But he will get over it. It is not 
 in the nature of men to spend their lives fretting after the wrong 
 woman. He will be unhappy for a time, and then some one your 
 very opposite will console him.' 
 
 ' I hope you may be right,' returned Lorraine wearily. But 
 when Miss Bretherton left her she wept long and bitterly. Eric 
 Vincent's attachment infused new bitterness in her already brimming 
 cup of sorrow. No one was happy except Ellison. ' God keep her 
 eo for all our sakes,' prayed Lorraine from her heart.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 REVENGE 18 SWEET 
 ' Do not slay him who deserves alone a whipping for the fault he has done.' 
 
 — flOllACE. 
 
 All these weeks Ellison Lad missed Lorraine sorely. And when 
 two months had elapsed, and there was still no word of her return, 
 a I'aint surprise, almost amounting to uneasiness, assailed her. Her 
 wedding had been fixed for the last day of April Colonel Trevor 
 had indeed i)leaded for an earlier date, but she had convinced him 
 that it would be wiser to wait a little. She was now busy with 
 preparations and the cares of her trousseau, and Lorraine's help an^I 
 sympatliy would have been a great relief. In spite of her intense 
 and ever-deepening happiness tliere were moments when an unde- 
 linable sense of sadness stole over her. Gavin was strangely 
 depressed at times ; and though Ellison put down his gravity and 
 absence of mind to his mother's recent death, a chill sense of 
 discomfort and oppression would creep over her sometimes during 
 tliose.long silent evenings. 
 
 But this vague uneasiness never troubled her when Gavin was 
 beside her. No lover could have been more tender or considerate. 
 Her slightest wish seemed a law to him, and he brought his 
 masculine judgment to bear even on the colour of a gown if she 
 needed his advice. 
 
 ' Dear,' she said apologeticaUy one evening, ' I am almost 
 ashamed to trouble you with these details, but I want you to be 
 satisfied with your wife's appearance.' One of her rare blushes had 
 come to her face as she said this, and she looked at him lovingly ; 
 and then as he pressed her closer to him without speaking, she 
 whispered, ' All my life it will be my first thought to please you 
 in everything.' 
 
 He had been in one of his gi-ave moods that evening, and as
 
 390 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 she spoke, the sadness of his eyes almost startled her. ' You must 
 not be too good to me, Ellison,' he said in a low voice. ' I am 
 not worthy of it ; there is not a man living who is worthy of 
 a good woman's love.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Gavin ; I will not allow you to talk such heresy ; 
 but indeed I have no right to tease you with all these trifles. 
 If only Lorraine would come home ; Muriel is useless in such 
 matters — our opinions clash on every point. Does it not seem a 
 little strange, Gavin, that Lorraine does not speak of her return % 
 Mr. Vincent and Nora both say that she is quite strong now, 
 and can take long walks, and that she seems cheerful and like 
 herself ; and yet she takes no notice of all my hints.' 
 
 ' Why should you hurry her % ' returned Gavin, stooping to 
 replace a faggot that had fallen on the hearth. ' It is far better 
 for her to stay where she is. Highlands has never been the same 
 place to her since that poor child's death. She is so unselfish that 
 she will come at once if you tell her that you want her ; but if 
 you will take my advice, you will not let her know that.' 
 
 ' Gaviu, I cannot help thinking sometimes that Lorraine's 
 absence is a relief to you' ; and as Ellison said this, a dark flush 
 came to Colonel Trevor's face. 
 
 ' When Mrs. Herbert is away, I get you more to myself. Is 
 not that a sufhcient reason, dearest ? ' he said, with an attempt at 
 playfulness ; but he almost loathed himself as he felt the falsity of 
 his speech. Why did she compel him to say such things ? why 
 would she not leave Mrs. Herbert alone ? ' Ellison,' he continued, 
 ' when we are married I hope you mean to be satisfied with me. 
 I warn you beforehand, that I shall want my wife to myself.' 
 There was a touch of peremptoriness in Gavin's tone as he said 
 this, but Ellison only felt the sweetness of the compliment. How 
 dearly he had loved her ; well, when she was once his wife he 
 should know that she wanted nothing earthly in comparison with 
 his love. 
 
 Gavin took his leave soon after this. March had set in like a 
 lamb that year, and the evening was soft and spring-like ; already 
 the crocuses were bursting into flower. As Ellison strolled with 
 him up the farmyard, only wrapped in a soft, fleecy shawl, she 
 noticed with delight the budding foliage ; the crisp, sweet air was 
 balmy with promise ; as she parted from Gavin with a mute hand- 
 shake, the soft serenity of her eyes struck him afresh. 
 
 ' At least I shall make her hapi)y,' he said to himself. * My 
 trouble is not unbearable as long as I know that.' 
 
 Ellison was unwilling to re-enter the house ; the clear light, the 
 refreshing air tempted her to stroll a little farther up the lane.
 
 REVENGE IS SWEET 391 
 
 She was just in sif,'ht of the white cottages, wheu, to her surprise, 
 she saw Dorcas talking to her hila noir, George Bates. Bates had 
 been dismissed from Gavin's service, but he was still hanging about 
 the place ; his voice sounded angry and excited, and Dorcas was 
 crying bitterly. When she saw her mistress she darted towards 
 her as though for protection. 
 
 'Oh, ma'am, do send him away,' she said hysterically. 'He 
 knows that I hate him, and that I won't believe any of his lies, 
 lie is a bad, wicked man to say such things,' and Dorcas began 
 sobbing afresh. 
 
 ' Lies do you call them ? ' shouted Bates. He had evidently 
 been drinking, and the girl's angry contempt had excited him 
 still more. 'You need not put on these cursed airs, just because 
 a respectable man offers to marry you. I am not like the Colonel. 
 I have not got two sweethearts, and I only make love to one lass 
 at a time. Turns me away from his service, does he, because I 
 know a little too much of his goings on 1 ' 
 
 ' Bates, if you do not at once hold your tongue and leave us, 
 it will be the worse for you,' returned Ellison in strong indigna- 
 tion. ' Dorcas, you may run home ' ; but, as the girl obeyed her 
 gladly. Bates, half maddened by Dorcas's repulse, only laughed 
 derisively, and kept his place. 
 
 ' You turned me away too, Miss Lee, and I will have my 
 revenge,' he went on. 'Look here, I am telling no lies. You 
 may ask the Colunel. Bring me face to face with him and I will 
 say it over again. I was with them wheu Madge Wildfire played 
 that trick, and Mrs. Herbert was thrown out of the phaeton, and I 
 heard every word the Colonel said when he was kneeling on the 
 road beside her. " My darling, my darling, have I killed you?" I 
 will take my oath those were his words. " Lorraine — one word. 
 Let me see your sweet eyes." Ah, I treasured up the words in 
 case I might find them handy. He is a grand man, the Colonel ; 
 one sweetheart at a time is nut enough for him.' 
 
 'Bates, if you do not let me pass, I will call for Joe Brand !' 
 cried Ellison ; her blue eyes were blazing with contempt. ' Do you 
 suppose your truiiii)cd-up story troul)les mel' And as the man, 
 scared by that conunaiiding voice, slunk out of her path, she walked 
 down the lane, carrying her fair head higher than ever. Dorcas 
 was waiting for her in tlie porch. The girl's eyes were red with 
 crying, and she was trembling like a leaf. 
 
 Ellison spoke very gently to her. ' You foolish girl,' she said 
 in a reassuring tone, ' there is nothing so dreadful after all. 
 Bates has been drinking, and has lost his temper, but he would 
 not have harmed you. Perhaps it would be wiser for you not to
 
 392 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 go out aloue just now. I must talk to Colonel Trevor and Mr. 
 Vincent, and see what is to be done. He is a loafing, ill-con- 
 ditioned fellow, and when he has had a drop too much he is 
 positively dangerous.' 
 
 <He had not been drinking when he followed me home last 
 week,' returned Dorcas in a frightened tone. ' He was as sober 
 as any man could be, and he said it then. He declared he would 
 publish if through the village, and that he would have his revenge 
 on the Colonel. He is just mad, because the Colonel has given 
 him notice ; and he is angry with you, ma'am, too. I told him 
 then that I would not believe his lies.' 
 
 ' Of course not.' But Ellison shivered as she spoke, as though 
 a cold wind had passed over her. 'Come in here, Dorcas,' in a 
 quick, peremptory voice. ' Come in, and shut the door. I want 
 you to tell me exactly what Bates said to you the other evening, 
 and why you are sure that he had not been drinking.' 
 
 •'Because he was quite pale, and spoke in a subdued sort of 
 sensible way. But indeed, ma'am, I could not bring myself to 
 repeat his nasty, mischievous speeches; they are not fit for 
 your ears.' 
 
 'You must let me be the best judge of that,' returned her 
 mistress quietly. ' I am sorry to distress you, Dorcas, but I must 
 get to the bottom of this. It will never do to allow Bates to 
 spread these reports ; we could have him taken up and punished.' 
 
 ' If he would only go away,' sobbed Dorcas, ' for he is like a 
 nightmare to me.' The girl was evidently reluctant to speak, but 
 Ellison was firm and persistent. A good deal of questioning 
 elicited a confused account of the accident, and how Bates had 
 overheard the Colonel making love to Mrs. Herbert as she lay 
 senseless. ' Why should he invent such things ? ' asked Dorcas 
 indignantly. ' It is cruelly hard of him to say them, and every 
 one knows what a kind master the Colonel is.' 
 
 ' Yes, but we do not know how sweet revenge is to an evil 
 mind. Bates is anxious to make mischief, and a little invention 
 does not trouble his conscience. Dorcas, just put all this out of 
 your liead. I need not ask you not to mention it to your fellow- 
 servants, for I know I can rely on you. You can tell them that 
 Bates has frightened you, but nothing more. I will see what can 
 be done to get rid of him. I think I will send a note to Colonel 
 Trevor and ask him to come down this evening.' 
 
 'Yes, ma'am,' and Dorcas withdrew, half consoled by her 
 mistress's calmness. ' She does not believe it, that's evident,' she 
 said to herself as she cro.ssed the passage. 
 
 Ellison stood by the fire h moment, knitting her white brows ;
 
 REVENGE IS SWEET 393 
 
 there was a puzzled expression in her eyes. A speech of Gavin's 
 liad suddenly come into her mind, and she could not banish it. 
 ' You nuiy depend up(jn it, that there is never smoke without a 
 fire,' he had once said. ' Most lies, if patiently investigated, will 
 be found to hold some shred of the truth.' ' There are e.vceptions 
 to every rule,' she said aloud, ' for there is neither smoke nor fire 
 here, in Bates's malicious inventions ' ; but there was a trace of 
 irritation in her manner as she sat down and wrote her note : — 
 
 Dear Gavin — Could you possibly come down to the Farm after 
 dinner ? I want to ask your advice. Bates has been drinking and 
 misbehaving himself; he is frightening poor little Dorcas out of her 
 wits by his unmanly persecution. It would be a relief to talk it 
 over with you. — Yours always, Ellison. 
 
 There were two hours before she could expect Gavin, so she 
 dressed herself with unusual care, and then ate her solitary supper. 
 Iluth waited on her as usual, and Ellison spoke to her about Dorcas's 
 fright. She was a kind and sympathetic mistress, and took a great 
 deal of interest in her servants ; but this evening Ruth was less 
 communicative than usual. She expressed strong indignation 
 against that low fellow, Bates, as she called him ; but more than 
 once when Ellison's attention was diverted, she locked at her 
 mistress a little strangely, and even pityingly. Dorcas had sup- 
 pressed the fact that she had already confided Bates's strange story 
 to Ruth's ear, under a strict pledge of secrecy ; and Ruth, who was 
 clever and sharp-sighted, had her own ideas on the subject. Ellison 
 was a little restless when she returned to the sitting-room ; the whole 
 affair had annoyed her excessively ; how dare a tijtsy groora spread 
 these infamous reports about his master. Gavin would be so angry, 
 he would be ready to horse-whip the fellow, ' he is so chivalrous,' 
 she said to herself; 'for Lorraine's sake, he will have no mercy on 
 Bates.' 
 
 It was a relief when slie heard the click of the little gate, and 
 saw Gavin's tall figure pass the window ; he only waited to throw 
 off his overcoat, and then he came in. Ellison rose from her chair 
 to meet him. 
 
 * Oh, Gavin, it is so cood of you to come, but I hardly expected 
 you so soon.' 
 
 ' Of course I came when you wanted me,' he said, looking at her 
 with his usual kind smile ; ' my liege lady has a right to my service. 
 So that fool of a Bates has been kicking up a row again ; well, we 
 must put a stop to that' 
 
 'Yes; and he has done more than frighten Dorcas. Gavin,
 
 394 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 would you believe it, he has actually had the audacity to publish 
 scandalous reports about you ? I hate to repeat such things,' and 
 Ellison reddeued with annoyance, 'but you ought to know what 
 he has dared to say.' 
 
 ' Of course I ought to know, so you had better tell me every- 
 thing from the beginning,' and Colonel Trevor drew her down 
 beside him on the couch ; 'you look quite fierce, Ellison, as though 
 you would like to thrash him yourself.' There was a spark of 
 amusement in his eyes as he said this ; but at her first words it 
 died away. 
 
 ' Don't joke, Gavin. I am afraid you will be terribly annoyed ; 
 the wretched fellow has dared to insinuate things about you and 
 Lorraine. Ah, no wonder you start ! He actually had the audacity 
 to tell me — to my face — that you made love to poor Lorraine when 
 she lay senseless on the ground that night of the accident. He asked 
 me to bring him face to face with you, and he would repeat your 
 very words. Does he not deserve a horsewhipping, Gavin ? ' and 
 Ellison gave a musical little laugh ; ' you and Lorraine, my poor 
 dear Lorraine, of all people.' 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence, and then Colonel Trevor 
 sprang up from the couch and walked to the fireplace. He had 
 tried to echo the laugh, but no sound passed his lips. ' Good 
 heavens ! ' was all he said, and he shuddered visibly. 
 
 Ellison followed him. She was prepared for indignation, but such 
 excessive anger alarmed her ; she put her hand caressingly on his 
 arm, 
 
 ' Don't trouble so, Gavin, it is not worth it ; Lorraine will never 
 know of his senseless speeches, and you will find some way of 
 making him hold his tongue. How dare he tell these lies of his 
 master — you of all people,' she repeated, as she looked up in his 
 face with a trustful smile ; but the next moment she recoiled. Why 
 was Gavui looking at her so strangely, his lace was pale, and there 
 was an agonised expression in his eyes. They gazed at her with 
 dumb beseeching misery, but there was no anger, no righteous 
 indignation in them. A curious sensation of faintness came over 
 her, a chill dizziness ; it was only with an effort that she could 
 rally lier energies. ' Gavin ! ' she exclaimed, and there was anguish 
 now in her voice. ' You frighten me. Why are you so strangely 
 silent ? How can the lies of a discharged groom affect you so 
 strangely ? Speak to me ; you must — you shall speak ' ; and her 
 firm grasp tightened on his arm. 
 
 ' They are no lies,' he returned with a groan. ' Ellison, if you 
 make me speak, I can only tell you the truth — not even for your 
 sake can I tell an utter falsehood. How can I punish a man for
 
 REVENGE IS SWEET 896 
 
 slanderous reports when he is stating a fact? I thought Mrs. 
 Herbert was dead, and I knelt down by her side in the snow. In 
 my terror I lost my self-control, and spoke as I ought not, and 
 Bates heard me. That is all ' ; and Gavin smiled bitterly. 
 
 Ellison's limbs trembled under her ; only that grasp of Gavin's 
 arm gave her support ; certain words were surging through her 
 brain witli haranier-like insistence as he spoke — ' My darling, my 
 darling, have I killed you ? Lorraine — only one word ; let me see 
 your sweet eyes.' Then she hid her face on his shoulder with a 
 low moan, as of one stricken to the heart ' Gavin, tell me the 
 whole truth,' she whispered ; ' it is Lorraine, not me, whom you love.' 
 Then he turned on her almost fiercely. 
 
 * It is cruel of you to say that. Good heavens, do you not see 
 what I am suffering ? Am I not already humiliated in your eyes 1 
 AU these months I have wrestled with the temptation ; but, Ellison, 
 I can look you in the face still. If I have cared for Mrs. Herbert 
 too much for my peace of mind, I have been absolutely true to you 
 also ; never, never, except under the provocation of that moment's 
 terror, have I ever said one word that you would not have approved. 
 Do you think,' laying his cold hand on hers, * that I could be guilty 
 of disloyalty to my promised wile? I may be weak as other men 
 are weak, but on my soul, I have ever honoured you, and treasured 
 the very hairs of your head as sacred to me.' 
 
 It spoke much for Ellison's trust in hiir. '.Lat in that hour of 
 agony and humiliation she still clung to him. Yes, he was good, she 
 knew that ; even at that moment, when he had slain her happiness 
 for ever, she did not wrong him by any unworthy suspicion. If he 
 loved Lorraine, it was through no fault of his, or hers either. The 
 misery that had overtaken them, and that had dashed the cup of 
 joy from her lips, was dealt by the hand of Fate, and was not 
 his doing. 
 
 ' Gavin ! ' and she spoke with her face still hidden, ' there is one 
 thing more you must tell me ' — her voice shook, and she steadied it 
 with difficulty — 'does Lorraine know that you care? is this why 
 she is staying away so long?' 
 
 ' Yes, she knows,' he returned reluctantly; 'because in my foolish 
 terror I betrayed myself. Do not let us speak of her, my dear one ; 
 she was like an angel of consolation sent to strengthen me in the 
 hour of temptation ; and as an angel, a saint, not as a woman, I 
 shall ever regard her for the future. Dear, you have nothing to 
 fear from either of us ; your happiness is her first consideration, as 
 it is mine.' 
 
 ' That is aU I need to ask.' And then Ellison raised her weary 
 head. She was white to her lips ; but there was a tortured look in
 
 39G THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 her eyes. ' Gavin, you must go away now, I cannot talk any more. 
 No, I am not ill, not bodily ill, but I have had a shock. Do you 
 think ' — with the saddest smile possible — ' that it is a light shock 
 to know that another woman has your love ? But I am not angry 
 with her or you. Why should I be angry because I am unhappy ? 
 But you must go,' pushing him from her with gentle force. 
 
 ' I cannot go,' he answered, rousing up at this. ' Ellison, you 
 must not ask me to leave you. Dear, can I not see what I have 
 made you suffer ? How am I to go away until I have tried to staunch 
 the wound that I have made ] ' And he would have put his arms 
 round her, but she drew away from him, 
 
 ' There is no healing possible to-night,' she returned sadly. 
 ' Gavin, if you care for me, if you honour me as you say you do, 
 grant me this favour — let me be alone this evening. In your presence, 
 looking at your dear face, I feel as though I can believe and realise 
 nothing ; when you are gone, perhaps I shall be able to think.' 
 
 ' Will you see me again to-morrow ? Will you let me talk to yon, 
 and make my peace ? ' and he looked at her anxiously. 
 
 ' To-morrow ! oh yes, why not ?' she answered, but her voice was 
 low and weak ; she seemed like one bewildered by some terrifying 
 vision ; then her gaze softened. 
 
 ' Poor Gavin, how miserable you look ; but we cannot help it, 
 can we ? ' and then she raised her head, and kissed his forehead. 
 How worn and M'eary he looked. He had suffered so much when 
 Helen had died, and now this strange sorrow had overtaken him. 
 ' God help us all,' she whispered ; and then she pointed with mute 
 entreaty to the door. He dared not disobey her ; he waited for one 
 moment to see if there were any yielding in her face ; then with 
 bowed head he left the room.
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 'there is always light' 
 
 ■'I struggle towards the light — and ye, 
 Once loiig'd-for storms of love ! 
 If with the light ye cannot be, 
 I bear that ye remove.' 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 There are horn's in one's life — but thank God they are rare — when 
 the furnace of allliction seems heated seven-fold ; and such an hour 
 had come to Ellison, when the door closed upon Gavin, and she 
 was left alone. 
 
 Yes, he was gone, her well-beloved. The moment before he had 
 been standing opposite to her, with a dumb pleading for forgiveness 
 in his deep-set eyes, but she had sent him from her. Now the awful 
 silence and blaukness seemed to crush her, and a choking sob broke 
 from her lips ; she sank down on the couch, feeling that all strength 
 had deserted her. 
 
 Many years afterwards, when peace had returned to her, she 
 said to one who loved her greatly, 'I knew then what it meant to 
 long for death ; life without Gavin's love seemed to me the 
 abomination of desolation. God forgive me my want of faitli, ivr I 
 know better now ; but when the iron enters a woman's soul, as it 
 entered mine that day, and I saw the desire of my eyes taken 
 from me at a single stroke, the anguish seemed greater than I could 
 bear.' 
 
 And yet, though the fiery blast of disappointed love seemed to 
 scorch her through and tlnough, tliere was no anger in her faithful 
 heart against the two who had wronged her. ' Gavin was not to 
 blame, or Lorraine either, it was Kismet^ fate ; the cloudy veil that 
 had suddenly overshadowed them, and wliich had obscured her 
 heaven of content, had bee^ drawn by some sorrowful angel.'
 
 398 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 But the ordeal was a bitter one, and for sonne time Ellison 
 shrank from the awful cup of suffering that was held to her lips. 
 
 "Was it for this that he had taught her to love him, that he 
 had stirred her calm nature to its very depths ? She had never 
 wished to love or marry ; Gavin's friendship had completely 
 satisfied her ; but now — now — he had won her, and her tardy love 
 burnt with the purest and most ardent flame. 'No woman, not 
 even Lorraine, could love him better,' she said to herself as she 
 paced the room with rapid uneven steps; 'but Lorraine must not 
 have him, he is mine — mine — he has pledged his word, and I 
 know him too well. Gavin, my Gavin, will never be disloyal to me.' 
 
 And again — and now her face was pallid with misery — 'It 
 was my own miserable blindness. Why was I so eager to bring 
 them together ? If I had not gone to Switzerland Lorraine would 
 not have learnt to depend on him so utterly. Oh, I can see it all ; 
 there is no need for either of them to tell me anything ; it was 
 Gavin's good heart, his very tenderness of nature, that led him 
 into danger. Lorraine's sorrow, her very helplessness, would ajjpeal 
 to him too forcibly ; and then there is a charm about her — some- 
 thing indescribable — that would be fatal to a man like Gavin ; and 
 I, fool that I was, left him to be tempted all those months.' A 
 heart-broken sigh escaped from her lips. ' But I will not reproach 
 him,' she went on ; ' but for this wretched man I should never 
 have known of all this trouble : no, I cannot, I will not give him 
 up ; Gavin would not wish it, he is very proud, and he has 
 pledged his faith to me. There are some things too hard for flesh 
 and blood to bear ; I could do anything but this ; I will be patient, 
 very very patient with him, and he will love me yet' 
 
 And so the battle raged on, until Ellison's very soul was sick 
 with misery. Hours had passed, and all the household was sleeping 
 peacefully, but no rest was possible to her ; rest, when she was 
 stretched on this rack of anguish, when all her woman's kingdom 
 was in utter chaos ! ' God, that women are made so ! ' was her 
 inward cry, as it had been Lorraine's ; ' that they must suffer like 
 this.' 
 
 Once, as she paced the room restlessly, a step on the gravel- 
 path outside her window made her shiver with sudden apprehen- 
 sion. She knew whose step that was ; surely he was not so mad as 
 to think she would admit him at this hour, for it was long past 
 midnight. TTie next moment there was a quiet tap, and then she 
 heard the gate close again ; and as she peeped through the blind 
 cautiously, she saw something white lying on the window ledge ; 
 but it was some minutes before she could summon up courage to 
 open the window and take up the packet.
 
 ' THERE IS ALIVA YS LIGHT' 399 
 
 He had written to her. Poor Gavin, he had found it impossiblo 
 to rest too. And tlien she sat down and opened his letter. 
 
 My own dear Ellison (it began) — I am writing to you to- 
 night, because there is much that I must say to you, and much 
 that you ought to hear ; but this evening I was too utterly abashed 
 to speak. How is a man to defend himself when a woman looks 
 at him as you looked at me, Ellison ? If I could have been base 
 enough to tell vou a lie, that lie would have seemed white to me 
 at that moment. I am a guilty man, for I have suffered another 
 woman to usurp your rightful place in my heart ; but that is the 
 whole sum and substance of my guilt. Oh, my dear, why did you 
 go away ? Did I not warn you that you were making a mistake ? If 
 you had stayed, all this mischief would not have happened, for I 
 was true to you then, absolutely and entirely true. Let me explain 
 myself more fully — I will be perfectly frank with you ; but for 
 that miserable fellow Bates I should have guarded my secret safely 
 to the end, and you would not have had to siiffer so cruelly. You 
 are a proud woman, Ellison, and you have been bitterly humiliated 
 to-night ; but if my life-long service can efface the memory of that 
 shameful hour, you will forget it yet. My one desire, my one 
 prayer is that you will be merciful, and suffer me to atone for the 
 wrong I have unwittingly done you. 
 
 I cannot tell you when I began to care too much for Mrs. 
 Herbert. I think from the first she had a singular attraction for 
 me ; somehow at times she reminded me of my darling Nell, and 
 yet they were not in the least alike. But I should never have 
 succumbed to her fascinations but for the accident. You were far 
 away, my Ellison, and I had to take your place in ministering 
 to her ; no man with a heart could have seen any creature so 
 utterly, crushed and heart-broken, and not have tried to comfort 
 her. I need say no more. You know me well enough to be sure 
 that I should not weakly succumb to such a misfortune ; with the 
 exception of those lew moments, when in my terror I lost all self- 
 mastery, I have been perfectly true to you in word and deed. 
 Shall I tell you what she said to me that night ? ' There is nothing 
 to forgive ; it is not your fault, it is a great misfortune, a sad 
 trouble, that has overtaken us both,' and she was right. That is 
 what I want to impress upon you, that it is just a trouble that we 
 must bear together ; for you will be patient with me, Ellison, will 
 you not, until I can pull myself together'? You will nut regret 
 your forbearance, I can promise you that ; for no wife shall be 
 more loved and honoured. There is only one thing I must ask 
 you to arrange, that !Mrs. TTorbert shall remain away until after
 
 400 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 our marriage. Why need we embarrass ourselves unnecessarily ? 
 when we meet she will have taken her rightful place, as Muriel's 
 companion and friend. You know now, my dear one, why I did 
 not wish her to live at Brae Farm. 
 
 Now I will end this letter. When I see you to-morrow you 
 will not shrink from me again, will you ? Dear, you hardly knew 
 how acutely you pained me then. With all my faults I am still 
 your betrothed ; in a few weeks I shall be your husband. 
 Remember that you are very dear to me, and always will be. — 
 Yours now and for ever, Gavin. 
 
 Ah, the tears were falling now ! As she finished the letter she 
 buried her face in her hands and Avept long and bitterly. Yes, she 
 was dear to him, she knew that well ; but what prospect of happiness 
 could there be for either of them, when this shadow lay between 
 them ? ' You know now why I did not wish her to live at Brae 
 Farm.' But was not the Dower House too near for a favoured rival ? 
 ' God help us all, for I do not know what to do ! ' she cried aloud ; 
 but no other prayer rose to her lips that night ; yet in her dumb 
 anguish she had never prayed so well. Just as the day was break- 
 ing, she went to her writing-taVjle and wrote a few hurried words. 
 
 I have read your letter, Gavin ; it is like yourself. Do you think 
 there is any danger of my misunderstanding you % never — never — 
 I can trust you utterly. A man is not always master of his own 
 heart ; and, dear, though you have loved me well, you have never 
 loved me enough. W"hy did you ever think of marrying me % That 
 is the one great mistake that you have made. But I am not going 
 to reproach you ; you are far too dear to me for that ; but I must 
 ask you a great favour. Do not come to me to-morrow (I ought to 
 say to-day, for the day is dawning), you must give me time to get 
 over all this. I could not speak to you with calmness, and a 
 scene would be abhorrent to us both. I know you will be vexed 
 that I say this, but I have a right to some little consideration. 
 You have called me proud, and you are right ; but I have never 
 been proud with you ; even now I am asking you most humbly to 
 do me this favour. Leave me alone for a day or two, and when I 
 have recovered my calmness I will send for you. — Yours lovingly 
 and sorrowfully, • Ellison. 
 
 Ellison's will was strong, but Gavin's was equally so. When 
 he read these last words his face became as iron, and he muttered 
 between his teeth. ' No, by heaven, I will not do this thing ! She 
 shall see me, and I will make her listen to reason.' And as soon as 
 he had eaten his breakfast he went down to the Farm.
 
 • THERE IS AL WA YS LIGHT' 401 
 
 He walked iutu the sitting-room as usual, but the young mistress 
 of Brae Farm was not at her bureau ; then he rang the bell, and 
 Ruth looked at him in some surprise as he questioned her. 
 
 Her mistress had gone up to town by the early train for some 
 shopping, she said, and she was not expected home for a day or 
 two. No, she had not left her address ; but she supposed she had 
 gone to Portman Square as usuaL Her mistress had been very 
 hurried, and looked far from well. She had read her letters, and 
 then sent for Dorcas to pack her bag. 
 
 ' And she left no message for me ? Perhaps there is a note 
 somewhere.' 
 
 ' No, sir ; but my mistress did say, that if you called I was to 
 tell you that she had gone to town on business. I daresay you 
 will hear from her by the last post.' But to this Gavin made no 
 answer ; his brow was black with anger as he walked throuqh tlie 
 farmyard. She had gone to town to avoid an interview with him ; 
 and he knew well that she had not taken refuge at the Mervyns'. 
 It was no use his following her ; it was not likely that he would 
 be able to find her. She had gone to some out-of-the-way hotel 
 or lodging, and probably the !Mervyns would not know she was 
 even in town. 
 
 For the first time in his life he felt desperately angry with her. 
 She had condemned him to days of misery, knowing all the time 
 how he would chafe at her absence. She could trust him utterly, 
 and yet treat him in tliis heartless way, and that after a frank 
 and manly confession. ' My one desire, my one prayer is that 
 you will be merciful and suffer me to atone for the wrong I 
 have unwittingly done you,' had been his words, and he had 
 written them out of the fulness of his heart. In spite of his 
 infatuation for the young widow, he did desire to do his duty 
 to his betrothed ; no idea of shirking his engagement entered his 
 head for a moment ; but as he walked back through the long meadow 
 the thought of Ellison's sorrowful indignation struck chill to his 
 heart. In spite of her letter he felt that only displeasure could 
 have driven her to take such a decided step. She never acted from 
 impulse, her nature was too evenly balanced for that ; but for the 
 first time he realised that he might have dilViculty with her; at 
 least she had found a way to punish him effectually. 
 
 Muriel felt vaguely that there was something amiss. Gavin was 
 so silent at meals, and so very unapproachable, lie was out all 
 day, and he spent his evenings shut up in his study ; even when 
 Mr. Vincent dined with them, he made some excuse about answering 
 some business letters, and left his sister to entertain tlieir guest 
 
 Five days passed, ami each morning Gavin glanced anxiously 
 
 26
 
 402 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 at his letters, but no envelope bore Ellison's handwriting. At last, 
 when a week had elapsed, he saw a tiny trianj^ular note lying on 
 his plate. * Dear Gavin, will you come to me this afternoon ? I 
 shall tell Ruth to admit no one else. — Yours affectionately, Ellison.' 
 Nothing more ; not a word of extenuation and apology. Gavin 
 was so moody during breakfast that morning that Muriel hardly 
 dared to accost him ; he scarcely glanced at the rest of his letters, 
 and ate and drank mechanically. All the morning he tramped 
 about the place, finding fault with the workmen who were making 
 some alterations in the stables. ' I wonder what has put out the 
 Colonel,' observed one of them to the under-groom, ' he is generally 
 as pleasant>spoken as can be ; but this morning he is just ramping 
 about the place like a bear with a sore head.' As soon as luncheon 
 was over, he walked down to the Farm. He meant to speak plainly 
 to Ellison, and to tell her that she had treated him badly. He 
 would take a high hand with her ; he Avas in that sore, touchy state 
 when even a scene would have acted as a safety-valve. A week ago 
 he would have humbled himself before her, and would have stooped 
 to the most abject entreaties, but now he would stand on his rights. 
 
 There was an aggressive stiffness in his manner as he entered 
 the sitting-room ; but Ellison, who was writing at her bureau, rose 
 at once and came quickly towards him, holding out both her hands. 
 
 ' Gavin, are you very angry wdth me 1 ' she said, looking him full 
 in the face ; ' are you going to tell me that I have behaved badly ? 
 Dear, you must forgive me, for I could not help running away.' 
 
 'I would not have treated you so,' he returned rather bitterly. 
 Then she sighed heavily, and her hands fell from his. He had not 
 offered to kiss her, and there was no attempt to take her in his 
 arms ; only as he stood lookiug at her with that moody displeasure 
 in his eyes, he asked himself what the change in her could mean. 
 She was very calm, with a sort of forced calmness that struck him 
 as unnatural, and she looked years older, as though some blight 
 had passed over her ; but she was not ill, only a shade under her 
 eyes spoke of broken rest. 
 
 * Gavin,' she said gently, ' we will have our talk now ; I could not 
 have spoken to you before, it was necessary to think over things 
 and make up my mind ; somehow,' looking at him with strange 
 earnestness, ' even in one's worst troubles there is always light, 
 if oneSvaits a little and prays for it. At first I could not see the 
 right path, something seemed to blur my vision, but I have found 
 it now.' 
 
 ' Then we will walk in it together,' he returned quickly ; * your 
 path and mine are the same.' 
 
 ' No, dear, I think not.' And then, as she rested her head on hia
 
 ' THERE IS ALWA YS LIGHT' 403 
 
 arm, wth a mute caress, he saw that her betrothal ring was not in 
 its usual place, and his face hardened again. ' Gavin, I am not 
 angry. I have never been angry for a moment since you told me 
 that ; and I love you as dearly as ever, but I cannot marry you. 
 Nothing on earth would induce me to do so.' Then, as she pressed 
 upon him gently, he almost flung her from him. 
 
 * Ellison, you dare to tell me tliis to my face ! But there are two 
 persons to make a bargain. \ mean to keep you to your word. I 
 will nut allow you to jilt me.' 
 
 * Oh, Gavin, what a word ! ' and Ellison's face grew crimson ; but 
 she held her fair head higher than ever. ' You are exceedingly angry, 
 or you would not say such things to your best friend. If I loved 
 you less — if I did not prefer your happiness before my own — 
 should I be asking you now to give me back my freedom ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I am only certain of one thing — that you are 
 treating me shamefully. What have I done that you should put 
 me to such cruel humiliation ? Do you not understand that my 
 one longing is to atone to you by a lifetime of love and service ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Gavin, I understand that well. You are so good and 
 noble that I could trust my future to you without any misgiving. 
 As far as you are concerned, I have nothing to dread.' 
 
 * Do you mean that you distrust Mrs. Herbert, Ellison ? Do 
 you know what you are saying ? That woman has the soul of an 
 angel. She would bear martyrdom sooner than give you a 
 moment of uneasiness.' 
 
 ' Neither do I distrust Lorraine,' but she grew a little pale as 
 the name passed her lips. ' Dear Gavin, it is only myself that I 
 fear. Are you sure that you understand my nature ? I am less 
 demonstrative than most women, and I am slow to love. Even 
 you, Gavin,' looking at him' with wistful tenderness, ' found me 
 difficuljt to win ; but there is one thing I know, that the man I 
 marry must give me his whole heart, or he could not make me 
 happy.' Then she saw him wince, and the hard, proud expression 
 on his face changed to one of pain. 
 
 ' That went straight,' he muttered. ' You had me there, 
 Ellison ; but surely you have generosity enough to forgive my 
 wavering in my allegiance. If you could only read my heart, my 
 one wish is to marry you to-morrow.' 
 
 A stifled sigh broke from her lips. He was pressing her hard, 
 but no yielding was possible to her. She knew now that no 
 wretchedness would equal the misery of marrying him with the 
 shadow of another woman for ever between them. The fierce 
 jealousy that burnt in her veins at the mere thought told her that 
 it would be too dangerous an experiment
 
 404 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 If she yielded to liim — if she ever consented to bear the sacred 
 name of wife — she knew that Lorraine could never enter their 
 house — that even the bare fact of Gavin speaking to her in 
 ordinary civility would drive her almost to madness. ' At least I 
 know I could not bear that,' she had said to herself more than once. 
 But how was she to convince him ? Gavin was so obstinate, so 
 tenacious of his opinions ; his idea of honour called upon him to 
 sacrifice himself and Lorraine ; no other course would seem possible 
 to him. 
 
 ' Dear, let me put on that ring again,' he whispered with in- 
 sinuating gentleness ; but she shook her head. 
 
 ' No, Gavin, never. In my turn I must say that I will not 
 allow you to inflict such humiliation on me. I have told you before, 
 and I tell you again, that your one great mistake was ever asking 
 me to marry you. Why did you, dear % We were so happy in 
 our friendship. I was so utterly contented ; but you have taught 
 me many things, Gavin, and amongst them, that even the tenderest, 
 truest friendship will not make a happy marriage. I am your 
 friend still ' — oh the love in her eyes as she said this — ' to my 
 dying day I will keep that title of honour, but when you marry — 
 Lorraine, not I, must be your wife — the woman whom you love, 
 
 and who loves you ' and then she left him and sat down, as 
 
 some sudden weakness assailed her ; and Gavin, leaning against the 
 mantelpiece, buried his face in his hands. 
 
 What had she left him to say ? Did not his conscience convict 
 him? He knew that it was the truth, and that he had never 
 loved her. One hair of Lorraine's head was dearer to him than all 
 Ellison's fair comeliness ; the thought of a caress from her even 
 at this moment turned him giddy ; and however he might 
 refuse to own it, Ellison's proud, pure womanliness and utter 
 unselfishness were saving them from a great mistake.
 
 CHAPTER LII 
 
 ROYAL ARMS, CROES-FFORD 
 
 ■ WTiatevcr's lost, it first was won ; 
 Wo will not struggle nor impugn. 
 Perhaps the cup was broken here, 
 That Heaven's new ^\^ne might show more clear. 
 I praise Thee while my days go on.' 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browmno. 
 
 Another lialf-liour passed, and tlien they parted j but Ellison had 
 her way — Gavin had given her back her freedom. 
 
 He had not yielded without a final protest. There had been a 
 long ahd painful silence between them, and then he had placed 
 himself beside her. 
 
 ' Let us talk of it calmly and dispassionately,' he said. ' You 
 have not looked yet at my side of the question,' aud then he 
 pointed out to her the painful position in which her refusal to 
 carry out their enj.,'agement would place him. ' You are punishing 
 me most unmercifully,' he went on. '"What have I done that you 
 should condemn me to a single life ; for how could I ever bring 
 another woman to Brae as my wife ? ' but she shook her head sadly 
 at this sophistry. 
 
 ' I do not ask you to marry yet,' she said quietly. ' I know 
 that for my sake you will wait a little. It will take time to get 
 used to our changed position. If I dared ask another favour, Gavin, 
 it would be that you would go away for a month or two ; it would 
 make things easier for me ; and then when you come back you will 
 find the old Ellison ready to welcome you.' 
 
 Then he looked at her almost indignantly. 
 
 ' I am to go away and leave you to bear the brunt of everything. 
 Do you think that likely, Ellison 1 ' 
 
 ' I think it would be wiser,' she returned gently. ' Gavin, I 
 have thought it all out, and there will not be anything to bear.
 
 406 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 "When you go home you must speak to Muriel ; tell her every- 
 thing, it will be safe with her ; aud then ask her to speak to Mrs. 
 Earnshaw. There is no need to satisfy our neighbours' curiosity. 
 I have broken off my engagement ; that is all. Mrs. Earnshaw is 
 a sensible woman ; she will know what to say. Before Sunday all 
 Highlands and Bramley and Dorchester will know, and there will 
 be a nine days' wonder ; but it will not aflfect me,' and she lifted 
 her head a little proudly. 
 
 ' You really wish me to go away ?' 
 
 ' Oh, if you would,' and for the first time her lip quivered ; * it 
 would be the truest kindness, Gavin. Why do you not go to 
 Holland as you once planned ? I shall not be alone. Muriel will 
 be at Brae.' Then he looked at her very keenly, and a smothered 
 sigh burst from him. There was something to him almost 
 superhuman in her calmness. Did she not remember that lie 
 had suggested the Forest of Ardennes and Holland as their wedding 
 trip? 
 
 ' Yes, I will go,' he returned slowly ; ' I have no right to 
 make things harder for you. Ellison, you are stronger than I, 
 after all.' 
 
 ' It is not that,' she answered in a low tone ; but she said no 
 more. Did he not know that his happiness and his wellbeing 
 were her first thought ? It would be better for him, as well as 
 for her, that he should go away until things should be less strained 
 between them. Just now the pain was too acute ; neither of them 
 could have borne to meet constantly. 
 
 Gavin had relapsed into embarrassed silence again ; he dare not 
 ask if Mrs. Herbert would return to the Farm ; but Ellison. 
 answered his unspoken question of her own accord. 
 
 ' I mean to see Lorraine soon,' she said by and by ; 'it will be 
 easier to talk to her than to write ; but I shall beg her to 
 remain at Nefydd Madoc for the present. You will not mind 
 that — will you, Gavin ?' 
 
 ' Do you think I have a right to oliject to anything that you 
 do V he a.sked a little bitterly ; but the sorrowful tenderness in her 
 eyes disarmed him. 
 
 ' You are so good ; I know you would bear anything sooner than 
 give me pain ; but I mean to be generous too. Lorraine shall 
 not stay away long. When I am ready for her I will tell you so, 
 and then you shall fetch her. I mean to say this to her when we 
 meet.' 
 
 ' Ellison, you shall do nothing of the kind,' rousing up at this. 
 ' Do you suppose that I will allow you to heap coals of fire on my 
 head in this fashion ?'
 
 ROYAL ARMS, CROES-FFORD 407 
 
 'How arc you to prevent itl' with a sad smile. 'But, Gavin, 
 dear friend, I tliink we have talked long enough. Now, will you 
 forgive me if I send you away again V And then as he saw the 
 look of utter exhaustion on her face, he was ready to curse himself 
 for the sorrow he had brought on her ; in spite of her self-command 
 and calmness, he knew that her heart was almost broken, and the 
 thought was torture to him. 
 
 He took hi-r hands between his, and pres.'^ed tliem in mute 
 reverence, but he dared not venture on a caress ; but to his sur- 
 prise she suddenly released them, and threw her arms round his 
 neck. 
 
 'Will you kiss me once more, Gavin?' she said with exquisite 
 tenderness in her voice, and as he stooped over her there were 
 tears in his eyes. Why — why could he not have loved this woman 
 as she deserved to be loved ? Wliy had fate been so cruelly hard % 
 \i Lorraine had not come between them he would have married her. 
 and his friendship would have developed in time into something 
 warmer. Even at this final moment he Avould have prayed her to 
 reconsider her decision ; but he knew her proud, truthful nature 
 would never accept any compromise. 
 
 The woman's generosity had triumphed, and the sacrifice had 
 been consummated. Two days later Colonel Trevor started for 
 London en route for Greece. He was in no mood for Holland ; the 
 very idea was abhorrent to him. He had long wished to visit 
 modern Athens, and he thouglit he might possibly extend his trip 
 to Sicily, and even to Constantinople ; he had an old friend living 
 at Palermo, and he had long promised to pay liim a visit. 
 
 And Ellison remained to take up her changed and marred life 
 as best she could. It was the saildest spring she had ever known, 
 not even her father's dcatli had left her so utterly blank and 
 purpqseless. For the first time nature refused to sympathise with 
 her. The budding beauties of hedge-rows and garden borders, the 
 joyous songs of mating birds prepai-ing their nests, the delicious 
 trills of the thrushes and nightingales in the Woodlands only added to 
 her numb anguish ; for her, in all this wide world of living, sentient 
 liuman beings, there was no mate ; and God's purposes, and the 
 meaning of life, and the mystery of pain so seemingly useless, 
 weighed on her with a sense of doubt that was positive torture. 
 Again and again, on balmy evenings, or in the cold serene moon- 
 light, as she walked to and fro witli her faithful Bairn, in the 
 attempt to ease her re>tlessness, the same speech rose to her lips — 
 ' O God, that women are made so, that thev should sufl'er like 
 this ! ' 
 
 It was a cruel ordeal, and even Ellison's strong vitality sulFered
 
 408 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 under it, and for a few days she was obliged to give up the con- 
 test and own herself ill ; but she did not long indulge in the 
 luxury of remaining in her own room. When Muriel paid her 
 first visit she was sitting at her bureau as usual, looking over Sam 
 Brattle's accounts, and looking wretchedly pinched and worn. 
 Muriel could not speak. But as Ellison looked at her with an 
 attempt at a smile, the girl suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 ' Don't, dear Muriel,' was all Ellison said ; ' we must make the 
 best of a bad business,' and that was all that ever passed between 
 them. 
 
 To Ellison's strong, reticent nature no expression of pain was a 
 relief ; she neither craved for nor desired sympathy. Could any 
 sympathy give her back her love, her lost delight, the paradise 
 that she had forfeited % It was Gavin whom she wanted, and for 
 whom she suffered these pangs of heart-sickness ; but indeed no 
 words could express the bitter aridity of Ellison's soul during these 
 first few weeks. 
 
 Lorraine felt a little puzzled. Ellison had never written so 
 seldom ; her letters were mere notes, and told her nothing. She 
 had been to town, and was very busy ; Lorraine must forgive her 
 long silence. There was no mention of Gavin, no allusion to her 
 trousseau ; a scrap of local gossip and an affectionate inquiry after 
 her health comjjleted her letter. 
 
 Muriel was equally reticent. The Dower House was now ready 
 for occupation, and a care-taker had been put in, and the garden was 
 being altered ; but Muriel wrote as though she had lost all interest 
 in it. ' It is so stupid doing things all alone,' she wrote ; ' and, as 
 you know, Gavin is away.' This last clause in Muriel's letter made 
 her vaguely uneasy. Why had not Ellison mentioned that Colonel 
 Trevor was away ? There were only five weeks to the wedding, 
 and it seemed a little strange that he should absent himself. To 
 judge by the tone of Ellison's and Muriel's letters, things seemed 
 rather at a stand-still ; neither of them had alluded to her pro- 
 tracted absence ; there were no pressing entreaties for her return ; 
 and Lorraine's uneasiness increased. 
 
 One morning she was unusually absent ; she had been watching 
 Miss Bretherton sort out the contents of the post-bag, but there was 
 no letter with the Highlands post-mark on it, and she felt a keen 
 sense of disappointment. It was ten days since Ellison's last hurried 
 letter had reached her, and she could hardly credit the fact that 
 there was nothing for her. 
 
 ' How strange — what can it mean ?' she was saying to herself, 
 when Morwyn entered the room with a note. 
 
 ' A man from the Royal Arms Hotel, Croes-fford, has brought
 
 ROYAL ARMS, CROES-FFORD 409 
 
 this,' she said, ' and he is to take back an answer, ma'am.' But as 
 Lorraine in some surprise took the note from the salver, a sort 
 of shock passed through her, for she recognised Ellison's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 With a sudden sense of foreboding, for which she could not 
 account, she tore open the note. 
 
 Dear Lorraine — I am at the Royal Arms Hotel, Croes-fFord ; 
 will you come down to me ? I have a great deal that I want to 
 say to you, and I am sure Miss Bretherton will spare you to me 
 for the remainder of the day. — Yours affectionately, Ellison. 
 
 ' I must go at once and find out what this means ! ' she exclaimed, 
 rising from her seat ; but she first laid the open note on Miss 
 Bretherton's plate. She was very pale, for an intuitive instinct told 
 her that there was something seriously wrong. 
 
 Miss Bretherton nodded approvingly as she read the note. 
 
 * Of course you must go, my dear ; but the question is, how ? 
 Did the man ride or drive over from Croes-fford, Morwyn ? ' 
 
 ' He drove a sort of high phaeton, ma'am, with a piebald horse.' 
 
 'Ask him to wait for me, and I will be ready in a moment,' 
 replied Lorraine hurriedly ; and in an incredibly short time she 
 returned equipped for the journey. 
 
 Miss Bretherton folluwed her out into the porch. 
 
 ' I shall not expect you back till I see you,' she said, with a 
 brisk nod ; ' but you had better have a sensible fly for your return 
 journey. These ^lardi evenings are cold,' and Lorraine made a 
 gesture of assent. ' I wonder what has gone wrong ?' she thought 
 as she went indoors again ; ' but there, it is a stupid muddling 
 sort of world. Why should Eric have lost his heart to her, poor 
 fellow, when she does nut care a pin about him ? It is my opinion 
 there is some one else ; it is not only her boy that that sweet young 
 creature is missing. Don't I know how a woman looks when she 
 is in love ? ' And in spite of her sixty-three years. Miss Bretherton 
 sighed. 
 
 That drive seemed interminable to Lorraine ; and not even the 
 rapid pace of the piebald mare could content her. It seemed ages 
 before they reached the falls and heard the phxsh of the water upon 
 the boulders ; they were only half-way to Croes-fi'ord by that time, 
 but the remainder of that lovely drive seemed like an hour in 
 purgatory to Lorraine, struggling with a hundred half-formed fears 
 and surmises. 
 
 At last they crossed the river, and the fine buildings of the 
 Royal Arms, with its pleasant gaixiens, came in sight. At this
 
 410 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 season of the year it would be almost empty, and only a solitary 
 waiter was in the hall. He led Lorraine down a long corridor, 
 and then ushered her into a small but pleasant sitting-room. A 
 bright fire was burning, and some one had evidently been sitting in 
 the easy^chair beside it, for a book lay on the seat. When the 
 man had gone, Lorraine took it up ; it was a tiny edition of 
 Thomas d Kempis, and it had Gavin's name inside. One paragraph 
 with a pencil-mark attracted her notice — ' For all men recommend 
 patience ; few, however, they are who are willing to suffer.' The 
 ne.xt moment the sound of a footstep outside made her hurriedly 
 close the book. Sometimes in life a door opens and all fate is 
 changed for us, or we dread some unknown evil, and in a moment 
 we find it is a fact ; for days some dull insistent voice had 
 been foreboding ill to her inner consciousness ; something had 
 happened — was happening — all was not well with those loved ones 
 she had left behind. True, it was only a presentiment, but when 
 the door opened and Ellison came quietly out from the shadows 
 into the sunlight and stood before her there were no words needed ; 
 they only looked at each other, and Lorraine grew white to her 
 very lips. 
 
 Then Ellison took her hand very gently. ' Lorraine, dear,' she 
 said in tone of forced calmness, ' I cannot help it being a shock to 
 you. I know how my sudden appearance must frighten you, but 
 I could not bring myself to write ; you can guess what I have to 
 tell you.' 
 
 ' Yes,' returned Lorraine, but there was despair in her eyes ; 
 ' tlie first look at your face has told me everything.' 
 
 ' Am I so changed ? ' with a sad smile ; ' but I was always a poor 
 actor, Lorraine. Gavin and I have broken off our engagement ; it 
 was all my doing ; he was very angry with me at first, and accused 
 me of jilting him, but I brought him at last to own that I was right. 
 Dearly as I loved him — as I must always love him — that was one 
 thing I could not do even for him. I could not marry him, know- 
 ing that his heart belonged to another woman.' 
 
 A low cry burst from Lorraine, and fhen she hid her face in 
 her trembling hands ; but Ellison put her sisterly arms around her. 
 
 ' Hush, Lorraine ; there is no need for all this agitation. 
 Thank God that for me the worst is over. There were a few terrible 
 days, when all seemed doubt and darkness, and I suffered — ah, 
 how I Buff"ered ! and then the liglit came, and I left off groping for 
 the path, and I knew strength would be given me to do the right. 
 Then I went home and sent for Gavin.' 
 
 ' Ellison, will you let me speak 1 ' 
 
 * Yes ; but not yet. You must let me finish first.' And then in
 
 ROYAL ARMS, CROES-FFORD 411 
 
 a few concise words she explained how George Bates' report ha<l 
 reached her. 
 
 ' I did not believe hini,' she went on ; 'it was Gavin's face that 
 brought conviction to me. He is so true, Lorraine ; a lie is not 
 possible to him, and he owned his affection for you frankly.' 
 
 'Ellison, you must hear me' ; but F.!Ii.*on shook her head and 
 went on. 
 
 ' It is a great misfortune, but I have no one to blame but my- 
 self ; I would not be engaged to him, and I went away all those 
 weeks, and then that terrible accident happened. Lorraine, do 
 you think that I do not understand it all — the comfort Gavin 
 was to you, and how the love grew up in your heart almost un- 
 consciously ? lie has owned to me that you attracted him from the 
 first ; but it has not been so with you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' returned Lorraine, almost inaudibly. Then she took her 
 cousin's hands and kissed them passionately. ' God bless you for 
 saying that — for thinking it — but it is true, true as heaven above 
 us. It was only when he left off coming, that I began to discover 
 how much he was to me. I think I was just a little sorry when I 
 heard of your engagement ; it made me feel dull and out in the 
 cold ; but I did not understand until ' — and then she shivered and 
 hid her face again. Day and night — in darkness and early dawn 
 — those words sounded in her ears, 'ily darling, my darling, 
 have I killed you ? Open your sweet eyes and look at me.' 
 
 ' You need not defend yourself,' returned Ellison softly ; ' you 
 poor thing, do I not know all? It is no fault of yours that this misery 
 has come upon me. Let me say something more, Lorraine ; you 
 know how noble Gavin is ; though he confessed to me that he 
 loved you, he begged me with tears in his eyes to marry him. 
 For the moment he really wished it, and if I could have brought 
 myself to do so, he would have been so good to me. " The very 
 hairs of your head are sacred to me 1 " he actuall}' said that But, 
 Lorraine, I would rather have dropped dead at his feet than have 
 stoojied to such humiliation, even for his dear sake.' 
 
 ' Ellison,' and here Lorraine lifted up her pallid, tear-stained 
 face, ' why did you ever shelter us ? I have been your curse instead 
 of your blessing.' 
 
 ' You must not say that ; this trouble has been sent for some 
 wise purpose. Lorraine, why do you shrink from me so, as though 
 you had been guilty of some wrong against me ? Sit down beside 
 me and let us talk it out quietly ; we must consider the future. I 
 will do anything for Gavin but marry him.' 
 
 ' Not now, perhaps, but in a year or two's time. Dear Ellison, 
 let me speak now. I will never come back to Highlands — never.
 
 412 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 I am quite strong, and can work for my own living ; besides, Miss 
 Bretherton will only be too thankful to keep me. You shall live 
 in peace in your beautiful home, and after a time Colonel Trevor 
 will forget his fancy, and then he will come back to yon, and 
 3'ou will be generous and forgive him, and consent to make him 
 happy.' 
 
 ' Never,' was Ellison's answer ; and now there was a strange 
 flash from the blue eyes. ' Dear Lorraine, put this dream out of 
 your head, for it will never come to pass. Gavin will marry, of 
 course, but it is you who can alone make him happy. Do you 
 know what I said to him ? "Lorraine shall come back soon ; when I 
 am ready for her, I will send you to fetch her." Lorraine, when 
 Gavin comes he will ask you to marry him ; and if my life is to 
 know any peace you must promise me to say yes.'
 
 CHAPTER LIII 
 
 RECALLED 
 
 And yet, because I love thee, I obtain 
 From that same love this vindicating grace, 
 To live on still in love, and yet in vain — 
 To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.' 
 
 Elizabeth Baurktt Browning. 
 
 After all, Lorraine did not return to Black Nest tliat day ; in 
 the afternoon the piebald made another journey to Nefydd Madoc, 
 and a pencilled note begged that jNIorwyn would pack the few 
 things that were necessary for the night 
 
 ' Ellison wishes me to stay here,' she wrote, * and has promised 
 to bring me back to-morrow. I know you will not mind, dear 
 Miss Bretherton ' ; and Miss Bretherton'a answer was as curt as 
 usual. 
 
 'Please yourself, and you please me. "Welcome the coming, 
 speed the parting guest," is the motto at Black Nest. "Why do 
 you- not ask your friend to stay a week with usl — Yours aflection- 
 ately, Marion Bretherton.' 
 
 It was Lorraine's sudden indisposition that made Ellison 
 anxious to keep her for the night They had been talking quietly 
 and with greater calmness over all that had passed, when she saw 
 Lorraine's face grow suddenly white, and the next moment her 
 head fell forward on her breast 
 
 It was only a passing faintness. Ellison placed her comfortably 
 on the couch and bathed her forehead with eau de cologne, and in 
 a few minutes the dizziness passed, and she tried to sit up ; but 
 her teeth chattered, and she looked so wan that Ellison insisted 
 on her lying down all the afternoon. 
 
 ' You are not as strong as you make out,' she said. * You must 
 let me take care of you to-night, and to-morrow you will be aU
 
 414 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 right.' And then she said in a low voice, ' Don't make things 
 worse for me ; do not let me liave the pain of knowing that I 
 have made you ill ' ; but Lorraine disclaimed this eagerly. 
 
 ' I have had this faintiicss once or twice before, it is nothing ; 
 your voice sounded a hundred miles away, and then I seemed to 
 hear the sea booming, and I felt you lay me down. I can write 
 the note now, if you will send it ' ; and then she had pencilled the 
 few words. 
 
 That day it was Lorraine who suffered ; and Ellison, who had 
 di-unk her own bitter potion to the dregs long ago, sat beside ber 
 trying to comfort her. 
 
 More than once she repeated the same words : ' For me the 
 worst is over. If I live to be an old woman, I shall never suffer 
 such pain again ; I ought to be thankful for that. When a great 
 sorrow comes, it seems to swallow up all minor ones.' 
 
 And presently, ' If one waits for the light, it will certainly 
 come, and then one must follow it closely ; if only one can discern 
 the right path, half the difficulty is over ; and unless one's eyes are 
 blinded by self-will, one can always see it.' 
 
 * Dear Ellison, are you sure of that ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure of it now ; I have the testimony of my own ex- 
 perience. One night, when I was at that hotel in Weymouth 
 Street, I could not sleep, and everything seemed dark and wretched. 
 It was like one of my old nightmares, as though I were walking 
 doNNTi long, endless roads that led nowhere, or traversing a sleeping 
 city at midnight, that seemed like the city of the dead. I was in 
 sore perplexity, and then all at once the words came to me, almost 
 as though some one had spoken them — but of course that was only 
 my sleepless fancy — " This is the way, walk ye in it " ; and I 
 knew then that if I married Gavin I should be making a fearful 
 mistake.' 
 
 Lorraine was silent ; she had exhausted her arguments, and 
 there was nothing more to say. Ellison's strong will bafSed her 
 finest intentions ; she left no margin for generosity. ' Dear 
 Ellison, if you would only see things as I see them ' ; but EUison 
 shook her head. 
 
 ' I prefer my own point of view. Ah, you think I am obstinate, 
 but I am only speaking the soundest common-sense. You and 
 Gavin have taught me a good deal, Lorraine. Wben you first 
 came to Highlands, how little I knew in comparison with you ; 
 you were a wife, a mother, a widow, — you had seen the dark, 
 seamy side of life ; but I was nothing but a grown-up, ignorant 
 child. All that is changed now,' and she sighed as she spoke. 
 ' I know and feel what other women have known and felt before me ;
 
 RECALLED 415 
 
 and iu the lit;;lit ol" that uew kiio\vledj,'e — aud out of the very love 
 he tauj^ht me — I say that if I raarried Ga\dn there would not be a 
 day that I should not wish myself dead.' 
 
 * Ellison ! ' aud Lorraine trembled ; that note of passion iu 
 Ellison's voice startled her very soul. 
 
 ' I must have all or none,' she went on. ' I will accept no 
 compromise, no patched-up pretence of happiness ; other women 
 may be content with a portion of their husband's heart ; other 
 women may be satisfied with kindness aud friendship and good- 
 fellowship, with the crumbs and shreds of a spent passion, but I 
 am not one of these. I will not pretend to be humble. I know 
 my own value, and the worth of all I have to offer. Gavin knows 
 it too, but he is not his own master ; he respects me too much to 
 try and coerce me in any way, and by this time he knows I aui 
 right.' 
 
 ' But, Ellison,' in a timid voice, and Lorraine flushed painfully 
 as she spoke, ' there is one thing I cannot understand ; you had 
 no scruple in accepting Colonel Trevor, and yet he had been 
 married before.' 
 
 'I see what you mean ; but that never presented any difficulty 
 to me. Helen was my dear unknown friend ; I never thought of 
 her as a rival. Lorraine, I am sure you understand me. You 
 know, as Gavin knows, that I am only speaking the truth in all 
 soberness. Though I am not an imaginative woman like you and 
 Muriel, I have my ideals, and I will not lower them. I will be 
 true to myself and true to him, and I will not be afraid of a lonely 
 life.' 
 
 ' Oh, Ellison, if I could only be as good as you ' ; and then a 
 smile came to Ellison's lips. 
 
 ' You should call things by their right name — I am afraid there 
 is more pride than goodness ; but all the same, I like you to think 
 well of me. Do you feel better now, you poor thing ? Lorraine, 
 whatever happens, remember I shall never think less of you — it is 
 not in my nature to change ; when once I care for a person, I care 
 for ever ; aud you and I are like sisters.' 
 
 * You are dearer to nie than any sister,' returned Lorraine with 
 tearful carnestnuss. 'Ellison, how am I to say good-bye to you 
 to-morrow ? the very idea breaks my heart.' 
 
 ' Give me the promise that I asked you to give me, and I will 
 spend a week with you at Black Nest Come, that is a bargain, 
 Lorraine ; I really mean it. I should be glad of a few days' quiet 
 in this lovely place ; but I must go back for Sam Brattle's marriage. 
 Oh, it is all iu the day's work,' as Lorraine looked at her wistfully. 
 ' I do not mean to be soft with myself, and shrink from every little
 
 416 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 painful duty. My dear, how is one to endure life unless one doggedly 
 does everything as it comes % Do you know what I have got into 
 the habit of saying to myself ? — 
 
 " Come what come may, 
 Time and the hoiir run through the roughest day." 
 
 Cousin Louise so often quoted that.' 
 
 Lorraine never knew when she gave that promise, or whether 
 she ever gave it, but the next morning Ellison quietly announced 
 her intention of spending the week at Nefydd Madoc. ' I am rather 
 curious to make Mother Hubbard's acquaintance,' she said, as 
 she cut some delicate slices of tongue and laid them on Lorraine's 
 plate ; she spoke and moved so naturally that Lorraine looked at 
 her almost startled. No one would have guessed from Ellison's 
 manner that she had lain awake most of the night battling with 
 another wave of despair ; but with the morning light calmness 
 had returned to her. 
 
 They started for Nefydd Madoc early in the afternoon, and 
 reached Black Nest by tea-time. Miss Bretherton received her 
 new guest with great empressement. ' All Mrs. Herbert's friends 
 are welcome,' she said, with old-fashioned courtesy, ' but none so 
 welcome as the Mistress of Brae Farm ' ; and she made much of her. 
 
 Ellison admired everything. ' Nora's Holiday house is very 
 much to my taste,' she observed, when Lorraine came into her 
 room to wish her good-night. ' And Mother Hubbard herself is a 
 stately little person ; what keen eyes she has — they seem to bore 
 one through and through.' 
 
 ' I have grown to love her dearly,' replied Lorraine. ' Is it not 
 tiresome that she will never call me anything but Mrs. Herbert? 
 that is one of her whimsies.' 
 
 ' Oh, she is as full of whims as a nut is of meat ; but her heart 
 is in the right place. Lorraine, do you think you can be content 
 here for two or three months?' And then Ellison put her strong 
 white hands on her shoulders and looked full at her. ' I shall want 
 you long before that ; but I think that for many reasons it will be 
 wiser for you to stay here. Miss Bretherton will love to have you, 
 and then the air is so bracing.' 
 
 * Of course I will stay if you wish it ; Ellison, you must know 
 that my one wish is to please you in everything ; just now all places 
 are the same to me, and I shall carry a heavy heart wherever I go.' 
 
 ' Oh, that will pass,' returned Ellison hastily ; and then she 
 kissed Lorraine's cheek and gently dismissed her. It had been a 
 long day — the days were all so terribly long now ; Ellison longed 
 for night and the darkness — when she might unbuckle her armour
 
 RECALLED 417 
 
 and think her own bitter tliouglits in peace ; even Lorraine's 
 presence was irksome to her; her very sweetness and sadness only 
 told her in forcible language that it was no wonder that Gavin 
 loved her best. 
 
 But each returning day found her as calm and self-sustained aa 
 ever, and quietly ready to fall in with any little plan. There 
 were long walks with Lorraine, and afternoon drives with Miss 
 Eretherton ; there were desultory rambles in the garden and woods, 
 and in the evening she would take her share of the reading aloud. 
 
 One morning, when Miss Bretherton had taken her to the birds' 
 break fiist-tublo, and all the little feathered gue?ts had partaken of 
 Mother Hubbard's bounty, Ellison proposed that they should stroll 
 down by the rivulet. 
 
 'There is .something I want to ask you,' she continued, 'and 
 yet my request needs explanation. Miss Bretherton, in life one 
 sometimes i)lays a game of cr-ss-purposes — the wrong couples get 
 mixed up — and the right person somehow strays away. Lorraine 
 and I and another person I need not name have all been taking 
 part in that game.' 
 
 ' Yes, 1 know,' and a significant gleam came into Miss Bretherton's 
 keen eyes. ' Oh, you are a brave woman. Miss Lee, and my dear 
 Mrs. TIerbert is brave too, and if this world were not such a 
 muddling place, you ought both of you to be happy.' 
 
 'There are diflerent kinds of happiness,' returned Ellison with 
 a si'di, 'mine and Lorraine's will not be the same. If she has more 
 in her life than I am ever likely to have, one must remember that 
 she has sufTeretl more too. Think what awful dej^ths of humiliation 
 and sorrow her married life must Ivave covered ; and then the loss 
 of her only child, and sha has borne it all so patiently. If any 
 one deserves to be happy it is Lorraine.' 
 
 ' Well, I won't contradict you there.' 
 
 ' Of course you will not contradict me ; do I not know how j'ou 
 love her? Dear Miss Bretherton, things cannot come right all at 
 once ; a tangled skein takes time to unravel. Will you do me this 
 one kindness ? — will you keep Lorraine until I send some one to 
 fetch her ? — that is the favour I have to ask.' 
 
 'TliL-n it is one that is easy to grant; send for her when you 
 will, summer, or autumn, or winter, and yon will take away the 
 best of my sunshine, but she shall not stay one hour longer for 
 that.' 
 
 And then, when Ellison had left her to join Lorraine in a walk 
 to the village, Miss Bretherton stood still for a long time leaning 
 on the crutch handle of her stick and pondering deeply. 'She is 
 a brave woman,' she muttered at Uist ; ' few would have the courage 
 
 27
 
 418 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 to do what she has done for that sweet young creature's sake. It 
 was just cutting off the right hand and plucking out the right eye. 
 Heaven help her, it will be a weary world to her as long as her 
 youth lasts ; but when she is old, and blessings come home to roost 
 at Brae Farm, she will know what a peaceful heart means.' And 
 then Mother Hubbard trotted to the house, where "Winnie Fack 
 was awaiting her. 
 
 The next day Ellison left them. Lorraine drove with her to the 
 station, but on the way they said little to each other ; perhaps 
 Ellison noticed that Lorraine's eyes were full of tears, and that 
 every now and then she brushed them away. Just as they reached 
 Croes-fford and the station Avas in sight, Ellison laid her hand on her 
 cousin's arm. 
 
 ' Lorraine, remember you have not promised me in words, but 
 there was a look in your eyes that told me you understood me. 
 When the time comes, when I send him, you must be good to him 
 for all our sakes. Gavin must have the woman he loves, or life 
 will be worthless to me ; for his sake — for my sake — I will not 
 say for your own — give him the answer he wants.' And then, as 
 she said this in a tone of intense agitation, the two women clung 
 to each other, and Ellison's face was wet with Lorraine's tears. 
 
 Those spring days that followed were sorrowful ones to Lorraine ; 
 to her loving, sensitive nature the idea that she had innocently 
 supplanted her cousin was a source of exquisite torment. Ellison's 
 very nobility, the absence of all reproach, the boundlessness of 
 her generosity only added to Lorraine's compunction and regret. 
 And there were hours when she would thankfully have given up 
 her own hopes to restore to Ellison her lost happiness. 
 
 ' If I could only undo it all and put things straight between 
 them,' she would say to herself ; but even as she uttered the words 
 she knew that it was too late fur any such reparation. But she 
 suffered acutel}', and it was no wonder that, as the spring merged 
 into summer, she grew thin and pale with that ceaseless fret- 
 ting. Miss Brethorton scolded and petted her by turns. 
 
 Lorraine tried vainly to battle with her depression ; she had 
 many humble friends at Nefydd Madoc, and a few sick people 
 whom she visited almost daily. But when Muriel arrived for a 
 long visit, she was grievously disappointed with her friend's looks. 
 
 ' The mountain air has done little for Mrs. Herbert,' she wrote 
 to Ellison ; 'she will have it that she is quite well, but she looks sadly 
 thin and frail,' and Ellison's face grew very grave as she read this. 
 
 Muriel stayed at Black Nest for a month, and then Eric Vincent 
 came down with Nora and Eflie. Miss Bretherton pretended to 
 gninible when he told her that he could only stay a Aveek. ' I will
 
 RECALLED 419 
 
 pay you a loiif^er visit by and by, Aunt Marion,' he said to lier, 
 'but just now my presence is needed at lliyblands.' Poor Eiic, 
 it was not yet possible for him to remain in the same house with 
 Mrs. Herbert without misery to himself. 
 
 P>ut Nora and Eftie remained bLdiind, and Lorraine forgot her 
 lassitude and depression as she watched Tedo's little sweetheart 
 at her play ; very soon Effie could coax her into joining them 
 in aU sorts of delightful (lower-gathering or blackberry-picking 
 expe<litions. 
 
 * Her dear Herbert,' as she called her, was soon her willing 
 slave, for Lorraine's motherly nature could not long remain 
 closed to any child. ' Ellic was always a darling,' she said to 
 Miss Brotherton, ' but I love her doubly because my boy was so 
 fond of her.' 
 
 Muriel would have been happier in her mind if she could 
 have seen Lorraine a few weeks later. How could her face fail 
 to brighten with response when Nora hung on one arm lovingly, 
 and I'^ttie kissed and fondled the hand she held ? 
 
 ' I do love my dear Herbert,' Effie would say ; ' is she not the 
 beautifullest woman in the world, Nora ? ' and at this childish flattery 
 Lorraine broke into a low laugh, Effie's beautifullest woman 
 had pale cheeks and dark tired lines round her eyes ; neverthe- 
 less Miss Brethertou and her faithful Pritchard mutually con- 
 gratulated each other on the improvement in ^Irs. Herbert's looks. 
 
 'She has taken a turn at last, and it is tliose blessed children 
 that have done it,' obseivcd Pritchard tearfully. ' Some women 
 must be mothering some young creature or other, it comes natural 
 to them, and you can see that her poor heart is just starved to 
 death ' ; and Pritchard was right. 
 
 Meanwhile the mistress of Prae Farm was passing the summer 
 days as usual, superintending her household, or going over the 
 farm with Sam Brattle. No one ever saw her idle or un- 
 occupied for a moment, and the work she got through between 
 breakfiist and supper would have kept two ordinary women busy, 
 but to Ellison's strong vitality work was her only safety-valve. 
 
 After a time she went among her neighbours as usual. She 
 was a little statoly perhaps, and carried her head higher, but 
 even her most intimate friends could not notice any iiercejitible 
 difference in her. Her fair face was as serene as ever, and yet to 
 those who loved her — to Lorraine, and to Gavin when he saw her 
 — there was a marked change. 
 
 Gaviji was at Lucca dawdling away the early autumn days 
 when Ellison's first Utter reached him. He was sitting in the 
 loggia of the palazzo where lio wns staying when it was brought
 
 420 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 to liiin, and at the siglit of the familiar handwriting the blood 
 sufl'used his face. 
 
 It was cue of Ellison's old letters, and everj' sentence breathed 
 the old tenderness. But when he had finished it Gavin's eyes 
 were full of tears. But the gist of the whole was in the j^iost- 
 scri.pt. ' Why do you stay away so long ? Surely you must have 
 grown weai'y of your wanderings by this time ? Muriel is want- 
 ing lier brother and Brae its master, and there is a friend at Brae 
 Farm ready to welcome you. You know that, dear Gavin, do 
 you not ? ' It was this sentence that made him start, for he knew 
 he had his recaU. The next day he had set his face homewards, 
 and three days later his foot was on English soil again. 
 
 He had telegraphed to Muriel, and he knew that she would 
 carry the news to Brae Farm ; but as he drove down from the 
 Woodlands, he looked across at the farm buildings with suppressed 
 emotion. Would Ellison expect him that evening ; how was he 
 to go to her as usual ? But when he reached Brae House he found 
 the question solved for him. 
 
 Muriel welcomed him affectionately, and then she asked him 
 if he were tired. 
 
 ' Wliy, of course not,' he returned, evidently surprised by the 
 niestion. ' You know I slept at the Grosvenor last night.' 
 
 ' Then will you go down to the Farm this evening % ' she re- 
 turned quickly. ' Ellison said if you were tired I was not to 
 give you the message ; but you look as fresh as possible.' 
 
 Gavin muttered something in answer, and a moment later he 
 left the room ; but as soon as dinner was over, he took up his hat 
 and walked down to Brae Farm. It was best to get it over as 
 (piickly as possible, he told himself ; if one had to go up to a 
 cannon's mouth, it was no use hanging back. Gavin was certainly 
 no coward, but there are some things that would try any man, and 
 the first meeting with Ellison was one of these. 
 
 He had not expected for one moment that she would be at 
 the gate, but aa he unlatched it he saw her coming to meet him ; 
 an] the next moment both her hands were in his, and she was 
 saying to him : 
 
 ' Gavin, why have you stayed away so long % How could you 
 think I meant that ? I was obliged to send for you at last, and 
 now there is something you must do for me. Gavin, I want Lor- 
 raine home. You must go to her and tell her so ' ; and as she said 
 lhi.s, quietly and without faltering, he knew that she was chaTiged 
 iu'leed ; that it was not the old Ellison, but a nobler, truer, gentler 
 Ellison who stood before him, hohling his hands and looking at 
 Liiu with those clear-eyed glances.
 
 CHAPTER LIV 
 
 aur.EN TASTUUES AND STILL WAIiniS 
 
 'Tliou coniest ! all is s;iid without a wonl. 
 I .sit ])cne.itli tliy lonks, as children do 
 In tlie noou-snn, with souls that treinljlc tliruugh 
 Theii- happy eyelids from au uuaverred 
 Yet prodigal inward joy.' 
 
 Elizabeth Baurett Browning. 
 
 In the pardcn at Black Nest tliere was a certiiin sheltered seat 
 miller a jutting crag of rock that went by the name of the Lady's 
 liowcr, and there on sultry afternoons Lorraine and her young 
 conipaniiius would sit with their work or book until tlie gong 
 summoned them to tea. 
 
 AVhcn David Brelherton built Black l^-st, some of the wild 
 moorland had been reclaimed for a garden, and had been laid out 
 in quaint jiicturesijue terraces. 
 
 The view from the Lady's Bower was very varied ; the ter- 
 races, gay with llowers, led down to a rustic briih^e, under which 
 a clear fijiarkling little stream gurgled and foamed over grey 
 boulders. Standing on the bridge one could see now and then the 
 silvery Hash of some small fish as it rose to the surface of the 
 water, or the gorgeous tints of the dragon-lly skimming over the 
 I>ond, while the sudden splash of a water rat would invade the 
 silence. 
 
 A little below the bridge the stream entered tlie woikI, and on 
 summer afternouns it was Nora's and Eliie's delight to hunt for 
 ferns and strange mosses. The river was shallow and the current 
 small, and there was no possilde risk. As Lorraine sat in the 
 Lady's Bower, she could hear their voices plainly or see one or 
 other of them as they emerged out on the ojtcn moorland. One 
 afternoon they had left her as usual, but Lorraine, who had opened 
 her book, let it lie on her la[) unread, as her eyes rested on the
 
 422 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 purple moorlands and grey boulders. Above her bead hung 
 clusters of dark-red rowan berries, while the humming of bees 
 feasting on the heather honey, and the tinkling and babbling of 
 the rivulet, seemed to blend with all manner of musical sounds — 
 the soughing of the summer breeze in the tree-toj^s, and the 
 flutter of innumerable leaves ; the whirring of wings, from pewits 
 and grouse on the moor ; or the scurry of tiny feet as some 
 small furred thing ran from one hiding-place to another. Garden 
 and moorland seemed alive with sofX resonant music, an under- 
 tone of gladness seemed to pervade the deep summer stillness ; 
 gauzy insects and beautifully tinted butterflies quivered and danced 
 in the sunny ambient air ; while the spicy breath of carnations and 
 the sweet scents of innumerable flov/crs mingled with the thymy 
 fragrance from the herb garden, and the damp odours of hidden 
 mosses and water-plants. 
 
 Lorraine began to feel a drowsiness steal over her, the droning 
 of a wasp near her seemed magnified a hundredfold, then the 
 sound of a footstep on the bridge below struck sharply on her ear, 
 and she sti'aighlened herself and opened her eyes. And then it 
 seemed to her as though she were still dreaming, as though some 
 illusion had crossed the threshold of her thoughts, and stood like 
 an actual embodiment in the sunlight ; but the next moment her 
 heart began to beat more violently and she grew suddenly breath- 
 less ; it was no vision ! some one in a grey tweed coat, with an 
 erect soldierly figure and a thin brown face, was crossing the 
 V)ridge and coming rapidly up the steps that led from one 
 terrace to another, and as she rose from lier seat a little dizzily. 
 Colonel Trevor stood before her, and in his deep-set eyes there was 
 a gleam of intense joy. 
 
 ' Lorraine,' he said in a trembling voice — and then, before she 
 could do more than look at him with a faint, welcoming smile, his 
 arms were round her, and he was holding her closely to his breast. 
 ' My darling, my darling,' was all he said ; but the next moment 
 she had freed herself. 
 
 ' Colonel Trevor,' she said reproachfully ; but he only smiled 
 at her, and drew her down beside him. 
 
 ' Darling,' he .said gently, ' I have brought my credentials with 
 me,' arKl he laid a letter in her lap. ' You know that writing ; 
 you know who has sent me to you, and wliy I am here. Lorraine, 
 are you going to be very good to me?' 
 
 The passionate pleading in his eyes made Lorraine busy herself witli 
 her letter ; but the words danced mistily before her, and her hand 
 shook so that she was obliged to put it down. The next moment 
 Gavin had taken possession of both hand and letter. ' Dearest,
 
 GREEX PASTURES AMD STILL WATERS 423 
 
 we will read it together ])y aiul liy. You will need my inter- 
 pretation. But there is one thing I must know lirst. Lorraine, 
 are you still mine, as I have been yours all these weary months ? 
 I8 your heart faithful to me ? Darling, surely there is no need 
 for any explanation ? we know that we love each other. The 
 love that was our sorrow is now to be our joy. Lorraine, 
 put your dear hand in mine, and tell me that you will be my 
 wife.' 
 
 ' But Ellison,' she whispLied. 
 
 ' Ellison has given you to me. Lorraine, why do you shiver 
 and tremble so ? The time has gone by for hesitation. You are 
 mine already by every law, human and divine — mine, because I 
 am yours in body and soul — and mine, because,' and here he 
 stooped and looked into her eyes, 'you have already owned that 
 you care for me ' — and then, as he said this, Lorraine hid her face 
 on his shoulder, and broke into a passion of tears. 
 
 Yes, he had won her ; how could she resist him, who was 
 already so dear to her ? Were not Ellison's words for ever echoing 
 in her ear ? * When tlie time conies, when I send him, you must 
 be good to him for all our sakes. Gavin must have the woman 
 he loves, or life will be worthless to me ; for his sake — for my 
 sake — I will not say for your own — give him the answer he wants.' 
 But, alas fur Lorraine, tliat answer could only be wrung from 
 her with bitter tears. The sweetness of love had come to her, 
 abundant sheaves gathered in tlie rich, ripe aftermath ; but the 
 tares of sorrowful regret were hers too ; it would be years before 
 she or Gavin either would tliink of Ellison's self-sacrifice and 
 devotion without pain. 
 
 Gavin may be forgiven if, at that moment, he forgot everything 
 in his passionate joy, when the woman he worshipped consented 
 to be his wife ; but to Lorraine's unselfish nature no such forget- 
 ful ness was jiossible. 
 
 lie was beside her, her well-lieloved ; and the voice that had 
 been her music in many a dark hour was breatliing hiving words 
 into her ear. And she knew, and gloried in the knowledge, that 
 the man whom she had 'held as half divine' was hers, and 
 would be hers through time and eternity. And yet, Lorraine's 
 eyes held a deep sadness in their brown depths. ' Dear,' she 
 said presently, ' you must be patient with me ; you must never 
 misunderstand me for a moment. I love you as much as any 
 woman should love the man she has promised to marry ; but if 
 I do not seem as glad and happy as I ought to be, it is because 
 my happiness means another woman's loss ; and that even in my 
 joy,' and then she looked at him with great sweetness, 'it troubles
 
 424 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Bie to think of Ellison ' ; and when she said this, Gavin's face grew 
 also grave. 
 
 ' 1 do not forget her,' he said in a low voice, and he thought 
 he was sjieaking the truth ; but how was he to remember, when 
 the soft clinging of Lorraine's palm to his hand, and the 
 remembered touch of her sweet lips, sent his pulses throbbing ? 
 how could he be true to his manhood, and remember Ellison at 
 the supreme moment of his life ? But as Lorraine spoke her name, 
 he uncovered his head as though some regal presence were passing. 
 
 'Darling, I love you all the better for saying that. Ko, I 
 shall never misunderstand you ; that fair handwriting is far too 
 di-stiuct and legible,' and here he kissed her brow, and the ruddy 
 brownness of her hair. 'All. our life long, Ellison shall be our 
 household saint, and her happiness and wellbeing shall be our 
 mutual care. Now, love, shall we read her letter together? I 
 must tell you honestly that I know the contents. Ellison con- 
 sulted me before she wrote it.' And then, as Lorraine looked 
 greatly mystified at this, he put it in her hand, and begged her 
 to read it ; Avhile he strolled down to the bridge again. Perhaps 
 he knew that she would give it better attention if he Avere not 
 beside her. 
 
 Lorraine grew very pale over the letter, for Ellison begged her 
 to marry Gavin without delay. 
 
 ' When Gavin brings you back, it must be to Brae House as 
 its mistress. He and I have both made up our minds to that,' 
 she wrote. ' And after all, why should you keep him waiting ? 
 Gavin is not a young man, and this second engagement in a 
 place like Highlands would be terribly embarrassing ; in- 
 deed, neither he nor you could stand it, and though I am ready 
 to do anything for Gavin's happiness and yours, I know that 
 neither of you would regard a wedding from Brae Farm as possible 
 or desirable. In a case like this, where there are wheels within 
 wheels, perfect simplicity and straightforwardness will be the 
 wisest and the best, and " doe the nexte thing " must be your motto. 
 
 'Talk matters over quietly with Gavin and Miss Bretheiton. 
 Why should you not be married from Black Nest without fuss or 
 ceremony, and in a few weeks' time 1 Miss Bretherton could give 
 you away, and she and (savin's best man would be suflicient 
 witnesses. I thought of this when I stood in that tiny church at 
 Nefydd Madoc; when you and Mr. Meredith were showing me 
 that altar-piece, I said to myself, " One day Lorraine and Gavin 
 will take each other for man and wife, and it will be most likely 
 in this very church." Gavin will aixange it all, and I am writing 
 to Miss Bretherton. Dear Lorraine, you once said that you wished
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS 425 
 
 to I'lease nic in everything ; it was one of your t>l(l pretty 
 speeches, but I shall hulJ yuu to this. 
 
 ' I am longing to see you, Init I shall not welcome you unless 
 you return as Gavin's wife. .Show liim this letter ; he will endorse 
 every word. The rest I can safely leave to him.' 
 
 'Well, have you read your letter?' and Gavin looked at her 
 meaningly ; but Lorraine crumpled it in her liand and rose 
 quickly ; she was very flushed, and her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ' Yes, I have read it, but I cannot talk about it now — oh, 
 not to-day,' and here her eyes grew .still more pathetic, ' surely we 
 have happiness enough for to-day ' ; and perhaps the sweetness of 
 that answer reconciled Gavin to tlie delay. 
 
 They went back to the house after this, and when Miss 
 Bretherton saw them walking silently side by side, a doubtful smile 
 crossed her lips. 'So that tangle has been unravelled,' she said to 
 herself, ' and the right couple has got sorted ' ; but when she 
 looked at her favourite, and saw the moved, humble expression on 
 her face, and the luveliglit in her eyes, her mood changed. 
 
 * Colonel Trevor,' she said abruptly, ' you are welcome. If 
 there is one thing I love to see, it is the right man in the right 
 place,' and the grip of her hand finished the sentence. 
 
 That night Nora made one of her old-fashioned speeches. 
 '1 am so glad, auntie,' she whisjiered to Mi.ss Bretherton, 'about 
 what you told me just now, that our dear Mr.^. Herbert is going 
 to marry Colonel Trevor, for I can't lielp thinking that he likes 
 her ever so much better than he liked Miss Lee.' 
 
 'Now, Nora, you little wiseacre, who could have put such a 
 notion in your headl' 
 
 'Oh, I don't know, auntie, but even children notice things 
 sonietimes ; besides, I am growing up now. AVhen Miss Lee went 
 out of the room. Colonel Trevor never seemed to mind much ; but 
 just how, wlien Mrs. Herbert went up to speak to Pritchard, and 
 was away ([uite a long tiine, he never took his eyes olf the door 
 until she came back again.' 
 
 Gavin did not get his way at first ; and for two or three days 
 Lorraine could not be induced to yield to his wishes, but he 
 brought her round at last. 
 
 ' How am I ever to hold my own against two such strong wills ?' 
 she said, with an attempt at i)layfulness ; but her lip trembled as 
 she spoke, and he soothed her with words of grave tenderness. 
 
 Five weeks later they were married in the little grey church at 
 Xefydd Madoc, and Jliss Bretherton gave the bride away. \Wq\\ 
 the ceremony was over Lorraine took leave of her friend, and she 
 and Gavin drove to Croes-fford, en route for the English Lakes.
 
 426 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 When Ellison received her cousin's first letter — frona Ambleside 
 — and saw the signature, Lorraine Trevor, she grew a little pale ; 
 ' Thank God that it is over,' she said inwardly ; and then she 
 resolutely set herself to bury the past in oblivion. 
 
 • • ■ ■ * 
 
 Four years later the Mistress of Brae Farm was standing at the 
 little green gate, with her faithful Bairn beside her as usual. It 
 was early afternoon, and the cows were still in the pastures, even 
 the cocks and the hens were abroad rooting in distant dust-heaps, 
 and only Tedo's beloved playmates were consorting with the 
 pigeons on the red roof of the granary. 
 
 Ellison stood looking up tlie farmyard path, with one hand 
 shading her eyes from the sun. In these four years the Mistress of 
 Brae Farm had grown a little stouter, and a little more sedate ; 
 and more than one person had been heard to say that Miss Lee 
 looked older than her age. But her fair face was as placid as ever ; 
 and there was a quiet expression in the blue eyes that spoke of a 
 deep underlying peace. Miss Bretherton's proj^hecy had been 
 verified, and blessings had come home to roost at Brae Farm. 
 Suddenly her face brightened, as a slim graceful figure in 
 white turned the comer by the pond, and came swiftly towards 
 her. 
 
 Ellison unlatched the gate and hurried to meet her, and a 
 warmer kiss than usual passed between them. ' Dear Lorraine, a 
 thousand good wishes for your birthday, but I did not expect to 
 see you alone. What has become of Gavin and my godson ? ' 
 
 ' They will be here presently. Jack is having his first riding 
 lesson on Midge. Ellison, how sweet of you to send me that 
 picture, it was the very thing I wanted. Gavin must have turned 
 traitor, or you would not have guessed it. He has been hanging 
 it in its place this morning, and now the Lady's Bower is com- 
 plete.' ' And Gavin's present V and then'-Lorraine stretched out her 
 hand and pointed mutely to a magnificent sapphire and diamond 
 ring. 'You both spoil me,' she murmured. 'Ellison, do you 
 know I am actually five-and-thirty to-day? Gavin refuses to 
 l>elieve it. He says I grow younger every year.' And, indeed, 
 in her white dress and black Spanish hat, Lorraine looked 
 almost girlisli. There was an animated flush on her face, and 
 a clear sparkle in her eye, that made Ellison glance at her 
 keenly. 
 
 ' Lorraine, there is something you have to tell me. I can read 
 good news in your face. Some one is going to be married ; oh, I 
 was sure of it,' as Lorraine beamed and nodded, for the Mistress of 
 Brae was an inveterate and incurable matcli-makcr.
 
 GREEN PASTURES AM) STILL WATERS 427 
 
 'Guess who it is,' but as Ellison pondered and knit her brow?, 
 Lorraine suddenly lost patience. 
 
 ' No, I cannot wait, I see you have no suspicion. It is our dear 
 Muriel. Mr. Vincent spoke to Gavin ycslerday. He is so pleased 
 about it, and congratulated Muricd so waiiuly. He thinks most 
 highly of Mr. Vincent, and so do we all.' 
 
 *I am very glad,' returned Ellison slowly; 'but you have 
 taken me completely by surprise. I had no idea that Mr. Vincent 
 careil for her.' 
 
 ' Oh, it has been coming on for a long time. They have always 
 been great friends, but now she is absolutely necessary to him. 
 Gavin was so gratified by the way he spoke of her ; he said 
 licr high - uiindedness and un\vorMlinc'.<;s had fir.st won him, 
 and that he had woke up tu realise the rare beauty of her 
 character.' 
 
 * Muriel is very much improved certainly,' returned Elli.-ou, in 
 her sedate way ; ' she has grown far more womanly lately.' 
 
 ' Muriel was always womanly, only she declined to move in 
 other women's grooves ; dear tiling, she is wonderfully happy.' 
 Lorraine said no more than this, but for years she had guessed 
 and guarded Muriel's secret — she knew that all these years 
 Muriel had cared for the young vicar far too much for her own 
 peace of mind. ' I never expected Eric to love me, I never thought 
 myself worthy of him,' she had said to her one close friend ; ' and 
 the wonder of it will last me my life. But it is all your doing, 
 Lorraine,' looking at her gratefully, 'you shamed me out of my 
 self-will and indolence, and liftcil me to higher ground, and 
 there Eric found me ' ; but Lorraine only laughed with tender 
 scorn at this speech. 
 
 Ellison and Lorraine had not moved away from the gate, and 
 the nqxt moment a little cavalcade came in sight : first Tweedle- 
 dum frolicking and barking, then a brown Shetland pony with his 
 mano almost swcejiing tlio grouml, with a beautiful dark-eyed l)oy 
 in a white sailor suit holding himself erect in the saddle. Colonel 
 Trevor walked beside him. Tliis was John Ellis Trevor, Ellison's 
 godson and pet, and a baby girl was at that moment sleeping 
 in her bassinette in the Brae nursery. It was these two children 
 and her husband's ever- deepening love that had brought back 
 Lorraine's youth. 
 
 ' Have you told Ellison the news ?' was Gavin's first question, as 
 he lilted his boy olY the puny. 'There, go to your godmother, 
 Jack. Yon wdl make a capital horseman in time' ; and the sturdy 
 little fellow ran towards her. 
 
 'Yes, she has told me; I am very very glad, G.iviu'; and
 
 428 THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM 
 
 Ellison looked at him with Iier old kind smile. 'I suppose 
 Mr. Vincent will be at the birthday dinner to-night V 
 
 ' Why is you glad, Cousin EUic— Jack's glad too,' and the beauti- 
 ful little face looked up at her with childish wistfulness. 'Midge 
 was not glad when Jack whipped him ; Midge does not like to 
 be whipped, and Jack must be kind to him' ; and then, as she 
 took the boy up, two little arms squeezed her tightly round the 
 neck. ' It is Mover's buITday,' confided Jack, ' and I gived her a 
 picture and a big kiss, and she loved me for it. Baby gived her 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' Look at them, sweetheart,' whispered Gavin ; and then the 
 husband and wife exchanged a glance of full understanding and 
 sympathy, as they moved slowly towards the house. Ellison was 
 still standing in the sunlight, listening with a tender smile to 
 her godson's prattling confidences. Gavin ■^^'as right when he 
 said Jack had two mothers ; from a mere bal)y. Cousin Ellie 
 had been Jack's fond and devoted slave. ' Our boy shall be 
 yours too,' Gavin had said to her Avhen he had gone down to 
 the Farm to tell her of the birth of their son ; and both he and 
 Lorraine had nobly redeemed this promise. 
 
 We may leave Ellison happily standing in the sunlight, a willing 
 victim to Jack's throttling embraces, with loving eyes watching her 
 from the threshold of her peaceful home ; for her, too, there was 
 a goodly heritage ! 
 
 In this world we see darkly, and the clearness of our vision is 
 obscured by earthly vapours ; and so to many of us it seems that 
 the prizes of life are dealt out unequally, and that many sweet 
 souls gather blanks and suffer I09S ; andrin one sense it may be so, 
 and to many of God's heroines some hard task or toilsome j^ath 
 in the wilderness may be assigned. But their reward is not here ; 
 in the higher life, perchance in one of the many mansions, they 
 shall sit down amongst the nobles at the eternal feast, and in the 
 gladness of that day they too shall reali.<c and 
 
 ' Smile to thiuk Oorl's greatness flowed around our incompleteness, 
 llouud our restlessness, His rest,' 
 
 THE END 
 
 7. D. &■ Ca. 
 PrintCit by It. £: K. Claijk, Li.miti.d, Edinbu?i^li
 
 
 
 THE NOVELS 
 
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 Carey. 
 
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