A
 
 COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS 
 
 TAUCHNITZ EDITION, 
 
 VOL. 1466. 
 
 VANESSA. 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME.
 
 ' This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water and doth lose its form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts. 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot." 
 
 The T-wo Gentletnen of Verona.
 
 VANESSA 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "STILL WATERS," "DOROTHY,' 
 
 ETC. 
 
 / COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 
 
 1874. 
 The Right of Translation is reserved.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER I. The Chrysalis 7 
 
 II. The Metamorphosis 18 
 
 III. The Mess of Pottage 25 
 
 IV. "Fresh Fields and Pastures new" .... 34 
 
 V. Crumpled Rose-leaves 43 
 
 VI. The Beetle-hunt 54 
 
 VII. Confidences 65 
 
 VIII. Butterfly-hunting 7S 
 
 IX. "The Little Rift" 85 
 
 X. Helen's Holiday 93 
 
 XI. Fair and Fickle 101 
 
 XII. The Butterfly-net 112 
 
 XIII. The Capture 122 
 
 XIV. Apples of Sodom 132 
 
 XV. The Wedding 142 
 
 XVI. A Bride's Welcome 154 
 
 - XVII. Mediation 166 
 
 XVIII. Prison Bars 175 
 
 XIX. The Ordeal of Suffering 186 
 
 - XX. Flight 198
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. Suspense =n 
 
 XXII. Certainty 221 
 
 XXIII. An Interval 233 
 
 XXIV. Renunciation 238 
 
 XXV. Nevermore 251 
 
 XXVI. Helen supplanted 263 
 
 XXVII. Constancy 274 
 
 - XXVIII. Failure 283 
 
 XXIX. A Revelation 295 
 
 XXX. The End 305
 
 VANESSA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Chrysalis. 
 
 ALLERTON is one of the small, sleepy little towns 
 which drag on an unprosperous existence in the rural 
 districts of southern England. It can boast of a 
 weekly market, and contains a decadent grammar 
 school and a County Bank, and in the High Street 
 are substantial houses with stone facings, which recall 
 the days of its earlier grandeur, when the Hunt Ball 
 was held at the "Red Lion," and was an era in the 
 lives of the county gentry, and when two mail-coaches 
 changed horses daily at the entrance of the inn-yard, 
 which is now only tenanted by two shabby flies and 
 a four-wheeled trap. Those palmy days are long 
 since gone by, and the rising generation of Allerton 
 is too far removed from them to hanker after the past, 
 however much some of its more aspiring spirits may 
 chafe against the sordid round of cares, the petty 
 trace as series, and local interests among which their lot 
 is cast. 
 
 Some such dissatisfaction may have filled the 
 hearts of the two sisters who sat at work in a small 
 
 2060883
 
 8 VANESSA, 
 
 and poorly furnished room of a house in one of the 
 back streets of Allerton, although it was not likely to 
 take precisely the same form in each case, since they 
 were as dissimilar in disposition as in appearance. 
 Amy, the elder of the two, with her oval face, deli- 
 cately cut lips, and fair hair and skin, might have 
 served as a model for the Madonnas of Raphael's 
 early style; while Helen, with an olive-brown com- 
 plexion, a low and broad forehead, shaded by heavy 
 masses of dark hair, not too smoothly braided, and 
 with a figure angular and unformed, as it is apt to be 
 at the age of sixteen, could only claim possibilities of 
 beauty which were as yet undeveloped. Both girls 
 were busily at work, Helen stitching seams in the 
 sewing-machine, while Amy applied herself to the dis- 
 couraging tak of mending the finger-tops of a well- 
 worn pair of kid gloves; and when all was done she 
 dipped a feather in ink, and smeared it over the trace 
 of stitches. 
 
 "There!" she said, with a sigh which expressed 
 as much discontent as satisfaction; "that wearisome 
 business is done; and when I have worn the gloves 
 for one Sunday, I suppose that it will be all to do 
 again." 
 
 Helen looked up, stopping the click of the machine 
 for a moment to reply: "I hope that the game is 
 worth the candle, Amy. I met Dennis in the street 
 yesterday, who was looking forward as usual to Sun- 
 jjay afternoon, but I doubt whether he would dis-
 
 THE CHRYSALIS. 9 
 
 cover whether your hands were gloved in kid or 
 cotton." 
 
 "He may not have the opportunity of discover- 
 ing," said Amy, hastily; "he assumes too much when 
 he takes it for granted that we shall walk together, as 
 if I were a maid-servant on her Sunday out except, 
 indeed, that a maid-servant is much better dressed." 
 
 "How you vex your soul on the subject of dress," 
 rejoined Helen; "my theory that shabbiness is a badge 
 of gentility is so very convenient and reassuring, and 
 Dennis has the profoundest contempt for what he calls 
 the accidents of life." 
 
 "You always quote Dennis O'Brien's opinions as 
 a law against which there is no appeal," said Amy, 
 with increasing annoyance. "I claim the right to 
 think and act for myself. You are altogether mistaken 
 if you imagine that I have given him the right to 
 dictate to me." 
 
 "I do not presume to understand your relations," 
 said Helen, setting her machine at work again with 
 an energy which gave her the advantage of the last 
 word. "I very much doubt whether you understand 
 them yourself, but perhaps Dennis is more clear- 
 sighted." 
 
 "I wonder when mamma's interview with Uncle 
 Richard will come to an end," said Amy, when the 
 next pause in Helen's work took place. "I shall be 
 so glad to escape from the noise of the machine." 
 
 "The noise will be less aggravating if you work it 
 yourself," said Helen, "If you will finish this skirt
 
 10 VANESSA. 
 
 for me, I can go and make tea. Mother is always 
 exhausted by Uncle Richard's visits, and the ap- 
 pearance of tea may have a soothing effect, and will 
 also remind him that his visit has run to length." 
 
 "I will make tea and take it in myself," said Amy. 
 "Your hair is rough, and you have no cuffs on, and 
 Sarah is still less presentable on a Saturday after- 
 noon." 
 
 Although Helen might have appreciated some 
 respite from her work, she acquiesced in this division 
 of labour, and Amy repaired to the kitchen, where 
 she prepared the tea-tray with the neatness and re- 
 finement which she so well understood, and caused 
 Sarah, the general servant, to carry it upstairs for 
 her, dismissing her again to the lower regions before 
 she opened the door of the room in which Mrs. Mer- 
 toun sat with her wealthy brother-in-law. 
 
 Amy's colour was just heightened by the exertion, 
 and her drooping eyelids were prettily expressive of a 
 desire to deprecate her intrusion; but her entrance 
 was evidently not unwelcome to her uncle, whose 
 rugged features were softened by a smile as he ad- 
 dressed her. "We have been talking of you, Amy, 
 and I do not know whether you or the tea is most 
 welcome. Talking is dry work, when people do not 
 agree." 
 
 "I hope that we shall agree," said Mrs. Mertoun, 
 with nervous timidity of manner; "the suggestion has 
 taken me by surprise, and I could not accept it with- 
 out talking the matter over with Henry."
 
 THE CHRYSALIS. II 
 
 "And why with Henry, a lad of twenty-one, hardly 
 two years older than Amy herself, who has the best 
 right to be consulted?" 
 
 "He is but young, certainly," said Mrs. Mertoun; 
 "but he is the bread-winner of the family, and so 
 good and steady, that I cannot help putting him in 
 my dear husband's place." 
 
 "Do you wish me to go away, mamma?" said 
 Amy, with so evident an inclination to linger that her 
 mother wanted resolution to dismiss her. She took 
 up a piece of fancy work, and while her ringers were 
 busily employed, she fixed her eyes anxiously on her 
 uncle, and said, "How is Eva, Uncle Richard?" 
 
 "She is well; that is no, she is far from well 
 languid and full of fancies; and the doctors tell me 
 to humour her, as if I were not at all times ready to 
 do it. The reigning whim now is that she leads too 
 lonely a life, and that if you were her companion, she 
 should never be out of spirits. What should you 
 think of it? Your mother would have one mouth 
 less to feed, and indeed would be saved expenses in 
 other ways, for of course I should give you an al- 
 lowance." 
 
 "If dear mamma can spare me, I should be very 
 happy at Leasowes," said Amy. It was prettily said, 
 and yet the mother felt as if the honest bluffness with 
 which Helen might have disclaimed the possibility of 
 leaving her home would have been more grateful to 
 her. 
 
 "Of course she can spare you," said Mr. Mertoun:
 
 1 2 VANESSA. 
 
 "she would have to do without you if you made a 
 good marriage, of which by the by there is more 
 chance at Leasowes than here. However, I am not 
 going to press as if the favour were all on your side. 
 I can only say that most girls would jump at such an 
 offer." 
 
 "And Amy, as you see, is not unwilling to accept 
 it," said Mrs. Mertoun. "You must not think that I 
 take an unreasonable time for consideration, if I defer 
 my final answer for a day. I will write by to-morrow's 
 post." 
 
 "And if the answer is such as I have a right to 
 expect, I will send the carriage for Amy early in next 
 week. Eva dislikes any delay when she has set her 
 heart on a thing, and I left her planning the arrange- 
 ments for Amy's room, which, she says, must be next 
 to her own." 
 
 "Give Eva my very best love," said Amy; and 
 though Mr. Mertoun protested with a contemptuous 
 grunt that he was never meant to be the bearer of 
 affectionate messages, he was unlikely to forget any- 
 thing which might afford a moment's pleasure to his 
 delicate and fanciful child. 
 
 Amy anxiously awaited her mother's decision when 
 Mr. Mertoun was gone, but, as she knew by ex- 
 perience, the necessity for action was ever retarded 
 by a nervous sense of responsibility. Mrs. Mertoun 
 was endowed with the ivy-like nature which clings 
 with tenacity to the first object that offers a firm sup- 
 port, and although it was twelve years since her hus-
 
 THE CHRYSALIS. 13 
 
 band had closed a life of reckless improvidence in 
 disgrace and ruin, she still deferred to his opinions 
 real or imaginary, and hesitated to take any step of 
 which he might have disapproved. Since Henry had 
 attained to manhood, his strong sense was allowed to 
 share the empire of his dead father, but he had im- 
 bibed many of the prejudices which had led to 
 estrangement between the two branches of the Mer- 
 toun family, and approved of her resolution to accept 
 no pecuniary aid at the hands of the man whom she 
 held to be responsible for his brother's ruin. Such 
 aid had indeed been indirectly given, for when Henry 
 declined the proposal that he should enter his uncle's 
 office at Bixley, Richard Mertoun' s interest procured 
 for him a clerkship in the County Bank at Allerton. 
 
 Mrs. Mertoun was a graceful, lady-like woman, 
 with great remains of beauty; and indeed it was an 
 article of the family creed that few younger women 
 could vie with her in personal attractions. Richard 
 Mertoun disliked her as heartily as near connections, 
 who do not happen to be congenial, are prone to dis- 
 like each other; but for the sake of his nephews and 
 nieces he had always refused to quarrel with her. He 
 came to Allerton at stated intervals, and the younger 
 members of the family sometimes went to Leasowes, 
 from which Henry and Helen were too apt to return 
 with prejudices confirmed against their rich relations, 
 while Amy never missed the opportunity of cementing 
 that friendship with Eva which now prompted a de- 
 sire to secure her as a constant inmate,
 
 14 VANESSA. 
 
 "I must say that Uncle Richard is right," said 
 Amy, when she had waited in vain for her mother to 
 enter on the subject: "it is unnecessary to appeal to 
 Henry unless you do it to shelter your own dislike 
 to the scheme. To me it seems the happiest escape 
 from dependence, for I have looked forward to be- 
 coming a governess or companion now that Helen is 
 old enough to be useful." 
 
 "Dependence on a near relation may be more 
 galling than the same position among strangers," 
 replied Mrs. Mertoun. 
 
 "I do not think so, mamma. Uncle Richard is 
 essentially kind to me, even when his manner is rough; 
 and you, who have scarcely seen Eva, can hardly 
 imagine her gentle caressing ways. I am sure that I 
 should be very happy at Leasowes." 
 
 "Happier than at home, Amy?" 
 
 "We should only be ten miles apart," said Amy, 
 evading a more direct reply: "we might often meet, 
 and I should be no longer a burden upon Henry." 
 
 "There is another reason why I hesitated to accept 
 your uncle's offer," said Mrs. Mertoun. "I fancied 
 that you would wish to consult Dennis O'Brien." 
 
 "To consult him?" repeated Amy, with rising 
 colour: "indeed, mamma, you altogether misconstrue 
 our relations. I deny that he has either the right or 
 the inclination to control my actions. It would be 
 affectation to deny that he admires me, and any 
 warmer feeling has grown insensibly out of our boy 
 and girl friendship; but he knows as well as I do that
 
 THE CHRYSALIS. 15 
 
 a formal engagement would be hopeless and absurd; 
 and it may be for his happiness that we should have 
 fewer opportunities of meeting." 
 
 "Possibly; and it is evident that yours will not be 
 affected by the separation." 
 
 "Indeed, mamma, I think it will be best for both," 
 said Amy, candidly: "the consciousness that the eyes 
 of Allerton are upon us, drawing inferences which the 
 facts do not justify, destroys any pleasure in meeting 
 him." 
 
 "In such a case it may be better to part," said 
 Mrs. Mertoun; "but you must also make up your 
 mind to see little of us all. There is no cordiality 
 between Henry and his uncle, and he never willingly 
 goes to Leasowes." 
 
 "I shall try to break down the barrier," said Amy; 
 "and at all events I shall be able to come here, and to 
 see more of you all than if I were a governess, per- 
 haps a hundred miles away. You need not tell me 
 that it is hard to be dependent, but surely it is still 
 harder to live on here from week to week and year 
 to year with little occupation and no interest in life, 
 except that of a round of sordid economies. You 
 may think it despicable; Helen I know despises me 
 for hankering after material comforts; but it seems to 
 me that some command of money is the sum of 
 human happiness." 
 
 Mrs. Mertoun looked doubtful and distressed, but 
 as Helen came in to condole with her mother on the 
 length of her uncle Richard's visit, the subject was
 
 l6 VANESSA. 
 
 allowed to drop; nor was it mentioned again until' 
 late in the evening, when the two girls had retired 
 for the night. Mrs. Mertoun was left alone with 
 her son Henry, and she knew how to interpret the 
 pleading tenderness with which Amy bade her good 
 night, so that she began, mother like, to urge the 
 arguments in favour of accepting Richard Mertoun's 
 proposal, which she had been at some pains to com- 
 bat when it was first made. 
 
 Henry Mertoun, whose features were marked by 
 the thoughtful and mature gravity which is acquired 
 by those on whom the burden of life has fallen early, 
 listened attentively until the story was told. "I hardly 
 like the idea," he said at last; "you know that I did 
 not like it for myself, and it was with your full con- 
 currence that I refused a similar offer. But the posi- 
 tion may suit Amy, who never seems quite congenial 
 with the family atmosphere." 
 
 "Poor child!" said Mrs. Mertoun; "she is old 
 enough to 'remember when the atmosphere was very 
 different. She was her father's darling, and he thought 
 that nothing was too good for her." 
 
 "Twelve years of penury might efface the childish 
 memory of those luxurious days, mother. But if the 
 prospect of reviving them in Uncle Richard's grand 
 house will make amends for the loss of home sym- 
 pathy, she is welcome to go." 
 
 "It is only an experiment, and, if it fails, she can 
 but come back again," said Mrs. Mertoun. 
 
 "Not if she is to come back more fastidious and
 
 THE CHRYSALIS. 1 7 
 
 intolerant of our shifts of poverty than when she 
 went: I do not think that would be well. Let it be 
 clearly understood that if she casts in her lot with 
 our rich relations, she must not complain of crumpled 
 rose-leaves. She must not barter her birthright for a 
 iness of pottage, and then expect the blessing of the 
 first-born." 
 
 Mrs. Mertoun looked wistfully at her son as she 
 replied, "If you compare Amy to Esau, Henry, the 
 tone of your speech makes me think of Ishmael. Your 
 hand is against every man." 
 
 "Was it not you who taught me to dislike and 
 mistrust my Uncle Richard?" said Henry. 
 
 "It seems time to forget the old grudge," said 
 Mrs. Mertoun. "If your Uncle Richard is conscious 
 that he wronged your father, and wishes to make 
 amends to his children, I too will try to forget the 
 past. And I may tell Amy that you consent to her 
 going?" 
 
 "If my consent is necessary. We shall miss her 
 in many ways; and, as Helen said one day, when we 
 were discussing the possibility of her marriage to 
 O'Brien, 'How horribly ungenteel you and I must be- 
 come when Amy's refining presence is withdrawn.'" 
 
 Thus the family consent was given to Amy's 
 migration to her uncle's house; but she knew, in 
 spite of her assertion to the contrary, that the matter 
 could not be considered as settled until Dennis 
 O'Brien had been taken into her confidence.
 
 1 8 VANESSA. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The Metamorphosis. 
 
 HENRY MERTOUN and Dennis O'Brien were fellow- 
 clerks at the county bank, and their intimacy dated 
 from the day of Henry's first appearance there, some 
 two years before. O'Brien, two years his senior, and 
 already accustomed to the drudgery of the office, was 
 kind to the shy, sensitive lad, and the friendship 
 between them ripened as quickly as if they had been 
 a pair of lovers. Their leisure hours, as well as those 
 devoted to work, were spent together; and since 
 O'Brien lived alone in lodgings, it was natural that 
 he should spend much of his time with the Mertoun 
 household. He was soon at home with them all, the 
 object of Mrs. Mertoun's maternal solicitude, and 
 learning to address the girls by their Christian names, 
 while he claimed their services in mounting his ento- 
 mological or botanical specimens as freely as if they 
 had been his sisters. 
 
 Dennis was of Irish extraction, as his name de- 
 noted, and possessed many of the characteristics of 
 his race. He was eager and enthusiastic, indoctrinating 
 his associates with sentiments which were always em- 
 phatically underlined, and exacting unbounded sym- 
 pathy in all his interests and pursuits.. It need scarcely 
 be added that when he divided the human race into 
 two broadly defined classes of angels and demons
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS. 1 9 
 
 Henry Mertoun's beautiful sister did not rank among 
 the demons. 
 
 There was, as Amy had said, no formal engage- 
 ment between them, for how were two young people 
 even to think of marriage without any more ample 
 provision than the salary of a junior clerk? But in 
 the sweet summer twilight of May evenings, when 
 they had listened to the singing of nightingales, and 
 on balmy days in March as they wandered through 
 the lanes together, plucked white violets from the 
 banks, Amy's hand had been pressed to her lover's 
 heart, and more soft and tender sayings had been ex- 
 changed between them than she now cared to re- 
 member. Of late, indeed, the joy of such idyllic 
 pleasures had been marred, and Amy had drawn 
 back, gently but resolutely, from the freedom of their 
 intercourse. They no longer walked together, unless 
 Henry or Helen were willing to accompany them, and 
 Amy's smiles were rarer on the evenings which Dennis 
 spent at their house than at other times. His court- 
 ship became more stormy as she grew more cautious, 
 and she said, not without truth, that he was unreason- 
 able and exacting. Still he went and came, and 
 hoped that the cloud would pass away, while Amy 
 felt that the prospect of release from a situation of 
 which she was weary was not her least potent motive 
 for leaving her mother's house. 
 
 The Sunday dinner was scarcely over when Dennis 
 O'Brien's figure flitted past the window, and in an- 
 other moment he was in the entrance passage, waiting 
 
 2*
 
 2O VANESSA. 
 
 for no response to his knock to enter the parlour. "It 
 is a perfect spring day," he said; "all the insects must 
 be abroad, and we ought to make great discoveries 
 on the heath. I hoped to find you ready, Amy." 
 
 "Helen doubts about going," replied Amy. 
 
 "I was not speaking to Helen," said Dennis, with a 
 clouded brow; "you promised to walk to Durdham 
 Copse with me on the first fine Sunday." 
 
 "Henry has made his own plans for the after- 
 noon," observed Helen, "and I object to being a bad 
 third." 
 
 "You had 'better go, Helen; you were scarcely out 
 of the house last week, and you ought to have a 
 walk," said Mrs. Mertoun. 
 
 "Then I must make Dick sacrifice himself," said 
 Helen, seizing her younger brother by the ear. "Dick, 
 I appeal to you as a man and a brother to afford me 
 the honour of your company." 
 
 "I have got to grind my Greek Testament," said 
 Dick, doggedly, and suppressing the more powerful 
 attraction of spending a lawless afternoon in bird's- 
 nesting with his schoolfellows. 
 
 "We will grind it together when we sit down to 
 rest in the copse," said Helen. 
 
 "I am not going to let you carry the lexicon 
 through the streets on Sunday afternoon," rejoined 
 Dick, loftily. His imagination was not lively enough 
 to conceive the possibility of carrying it himself. 
 
 "Most true, you slave to propriety; but is not 
 .Dennis as infallible an authority as the lexicon itself,
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS. 21 
 
 and we can appeal to him in any difficulty. Be 
 obliging for once, and you may be rewarded by falling 
 heir to a duplicate specimen of beetle or butterfly. 
 You know Dennis's luck and skill as a collector." 
 
 The prospect of being shoved through his task at 
 the least' possible expense of mental labour prevailed 
 with Dick, when it was coupled with this bait, and he 
 graciously consented to accompany his sisters. Amy 
 had awaited his decision with an air of placid in- 
 difference, but she and Helen lost no time in prepar- 
 ing for the walk, and since Dick was also dismissed 
 to brush his jacket, Dennis was left alone with Mrs. 
 Mertoun. He instantly turned upon her with a sort 
 of bridled impatience. 
 
 "Is it by your orders, Mrs. Mertoun, that Amy re- 
 fuses to walk with me?" 
 
 "She has not refused, Dennis. I have never spoken 
 to her on the subject, but I do not find fault with the 
 instinct which leads her to shun the inference which 
 our gossiping neighbours are so ready to draw." 
 
 "An inference in which I glory," replied Dennis; 
 "are we not all in all to each other? It is only for 
 the few short hours of the week which I spend in 
 Amy's company, that I can be said in any true sense 
 to live: at other times I barely exist." 
 
 Mrs. Mertoun replied by a constrained smile. 
 O'Brien had never until now spoken out his heart so 
 plainly, and before she had summoned resolution to 
 daunt his enthusiasm by a single word of discourage- 
 ment, the two girls re-entered the room, and the
 
 22 VANESSA. 
 
 opportunity was lost. Helen understood her duties 
 as a chaperon, and they walked side by side through 
 the quiet streets of Allerton; but as soon as they 
 turned into the grass fields which led to Durdham 
 Copse, she and Dick fell behind, and the lovers, if 
 lovers they were to be, knew that their colloquy was 
 to be undisturbed. Dennis made a motion to draw 
 Amy's hand within his arm, and when she demurred, 
 he said pleadingly, "For this one afternoon, Amy, if 
 never again." 
 
 Amy blushed, while she suffered the hand which 
 trembled a little to rest lightly on his grasp, and she 
 asked herself whether Henry or her mother had pre- 
 pared him for the communication which she had to 
 make. 
 
 "I must have startled your mother just now," re- 
 sumed Dennis, who was himself too much agitated to 
 observe her discomposure. "If you had been out of 
 the room for a moment longer, I should have gone 
 headlong into a matter which I was resolved that you 
 should be the first to know. I am not ungrateful to 
 a position to which I owe my acquaintance with Henry 
 and Henry's sister, but you know how I have always 
 disliked the bank drudgery, and I am perhaps absurdly 
 elated at the prospect of being transferred to a more 
 congenial atmosphere. Our common interest in beetles 
 has brought me into friendly relations with Mr. Burdon, 
 one of the bank managers, and I had the kindest letter 
 from him last night, telling me that he was authorized 
 by the other trustees to offer me the curatorship^of
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS. 23 
 
 the museum at Bixley. The immediate rise in salary 
 is not great, but the start it gives me in the only 
 career for which I am fitted would be worth a sacrifice 
 of income. I shall be brought into communication 
 with scientific men, many of whom have achieved 
 distinction from equally obscure beginnings, and I 
 need not now despair of attaining a position worthy 
 even of you, Amy." He paused, chilled by her silence, 
 and looked anxiously into her face. Amy was, in fact, 
 too much absorbed in the thought of her own new 
 career to be greatly affected by the intelligence, ex- 
 cept from one point of view. 
 
 "The museum at Bixley?" she repeated. "How 
 strange that you should be going there just now! My 
 Uncle Richard's house is close to Bixley, and it was 
 decided yesterday that I should go to live with him, 
 as companion to his only daughter." 
 
 "The Fates have ordained that we should not be 
 separated," said Dennis, triumphantly; but Amy was 
 able to put a different interpretation on the facts. 
 
 "You do not know Uncle Richard, Dennis. He 
 is a strange, cold man, with one soft place in his heart 
 for his only child, and I am to be her slave and com- 
 panion. The position will be a difficult one, and 
 since our poverty has always been an offence in his 
 eyes, I shall not venture to invite my acquaintance to 
 his house." 
 
 "True, your acquaintance," repeated Dennis, with 
 some bitterness. "I should decline to enter his doors
 
 24 VANESSA. 
 
 if I am to be designated by so cold a term. But 
 what if I come as your affianced lover?" 
 
 "It is better that we should understand each 
 other," said Amy; and the words were spoken with 
 studied calmness even while the paleness of her lips 
 betrayed the greatness of the effort. "I have wished 
 for an opportunity to declare my conviction that our 
 present relations cannot continue. As boy and girl 
 we have been happy together with no thought for 
 the future, but now that we have each to make a 
 real start in life, we must be fettered by no engage- 
 ment." 
 
 "I understand," said Dennis, fixing his eyes on 
 Amy with an expression of indignant scorn before 
 which she quailed; "we are to exercise the right of 
 free choice in our separate spheres." He paused for 
 a reply, but Amy made no attempt to contradict the 
 interpretation he had put upon her words. "And 
 this," he went on with increasing vehemence, "this is 
 the woman I have loved with no thought of the 
 future, I think you said I have lived only for the 
 hope of calling you my own, and of providing a shrine 
 fit for the idol of my fancy." 
 
 "I have spoken as much for your sake as for mine, 
 Dennis." 
 
 "You are considerate indeed," replied O'Brien 
 with cold irony, and Amy felt the impossibility of 
 continuing the conversation. She dropped his arm, 
 and waited for her brother and sister to come up with 
 them.
 
 THE MESS OF POTTAGE. 25 
 
 "Have you found a specimen?" cried Dick, run- 
 ning forward; "remember that you promised me the 
 first Painted Lady of the season." 
 
 "This is not Vanessa Cardui, but a new variety," 
 replied Dennis; "a painted lady which has just left 
 the chrysalis and intends to soar above us earth 
 worms." 
 
 "Where is it? Let me see; have you let it go?" 
 said Dick, surveying O'Brien's empty palm with a 
 puzzled air. 
 
 "I have let it go," repeated O'Brien quietly. Amy 
 declared herself to be too tired to walk to Durdham 
 Copse, and asked Helen to return home with her; nor 
 has history recorded that the other two were success- 
 ful in their entomological researches. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Mess of Pottage. 
 
 EARLY in the following week Mr. Mertoun's car- 
 riage was sent to Allerton for his niece. Eva, like 
 the petted child she had always been, was eager to 
 obtain possession of the toy she had coveted, and 
 since the family finances allowed of no unnecessary 
 outlay, Amy's preparations were soon made. The 
 parting was over, and she leaned back in the carriage 
 with a delightful sense of luxurious ease. As she was 
 whirled past the Bank, she fancied that she could dis- 
 tinguish the head of Dennis O'Brien above the wire-
 
 26 VANESSA. 
 
 blind, as he leaned over his desk, but such recogni- 
 tion scarcely dashed her pleasure. The cold estrange- 
 ment with which they had parted seemed to her the 
 only possible solution of the difficulties which beset 
 her path: if he had been importunate in his con- 
 stancy, or passionate in upbraiding her fickleness, their 
 chance encounters in the streets of Bixley must have 
 been a source of embarrassment and annoyance, but 
 as things were, she dismissed him from her mind with 
 the reflection that when his unreasonable anger had 
 subsided he would thank her for what she had done, 
 and they might once more be friends. 
 
 In order to reach Leasowes, it was necessary to 
 pass through the busy commercial town of Bixley, the 
 town in which Richard Mertoun had amassed his for- 
 tune, and in which he owned a coal and timber wharf 
 and some other thriving concerns. The place seemed 
 like a metropolis to Amy, coming fresh from sleepy 
 Allerton, and she noted the stir of life with interest, 
 and acknowledged the numerous marks of respect 
 paid to Mr. Mertoun's carriage with peculiar satisfac- 
 tion. Another mile's drive brought her to Leasowes, 
 a square substantial house, with that air of being 
 made to order which is apt to pervade the domain of 
 a self-made man of wealth. The trim pleasure 
 grounds, with their rare shrubs and brilliant flower- 
 beds, the splendid conservatories, and the luxurious 
 fittings of the house, were the pride of Bixley and an 
 object of condescending admiration when presented to 
 the notice of the more aristocratic county society. _, U
 
 THE MESS OF POTTAGE. 27 
 
 Amy was abashed by the appearance of the two 
 tall servants who came to the door to usher herself 
 and her poor little portmanteau into the hall, but her 
 position seemed to be assured by the affectionate 
 warmth of Eva's greeting. "My dearest Amy! what a 
 long dull drive you must have had! I wished so 
 much to go in the carriage, but papa said that it 
 would be too much for me. Bring tea this instant, 
 John; or will you have lunch? We do not dine till 
 seven, and it is only half-past three." 
 
 "I want nothing now; I will have a cup of tea at 
 your usual time," said Amy. 
 
 "Bring tea at once," repeated Eva with decision; 
 "is not my time yours? Come to my morning-room, 
 where we can be as lazy and as comfortable as we 
 please. I am not at home to any one this afternoon, 
 John," she added as they left the hall; and Amy felt 
 that she was already installed as a dear and honoured 
 inmate, not as the poor dependant on her uncle's 
 bounty. 
 
 It was easy to see how the conditions of intimacy 
 were to be fulfilled by the two cousins. Eva's over- 
 flowing affection had hitherto lacked an object on which 
 to expend itself, for although her father worshipped 
 her after his fashion, her caressing kitten-like ways 
 could meet with little response from a man absorbed in 
 business cares, sparing of his words, and as rugged in 
 nature as in feature. As Eva outgrew her childish pas- 
 sion for dolls, she had recourse to live creatures; but 
 the rarest of birds, the most unsightly of pugs, had
 
 ^ 8 VANESSA. 
 
 failed to satisfy the cravings of her heart, and since 
 the day, now nearly two years ago, when she first ob- 
 served her cousin's budding beauty, she had been the 
 object of her unswerving admiration. Another little 
 episode, hereafter to be mentioned, had only increased 
 her sense of loneliness, and her conviction that her 
 cousin's stronger nature might supply the strength 
 and sympathy to which she might cling; and when 
 the proposal that Amy should come to Leasowes 
 was accepted, she felt that the obligation was all on 
 her side. 
 
 There was no family likeness between the cousins. 
 Eva was short and slightly made, with great vivacity 
 of movement, a colourless skin, and large, liquid eyes, 
 which seemed to bespeak a soul too large for its 
 fragile sheath. Amy, with her statuesque grace, per- 
 fectly modelled figure, and clear, porcelain complexion, 
 reminded those who saw her of a figure in Dresden 
 china: she was as beautiful, and almost as cold. 
 
 "You must have had a trying day>" said Eva, 
 caressing Amy's plump, white hand, "saying good-bye 
 to all at home. Can Aunt Anne forgive me for wiling 
 you away?" 
 
 "She has Helen," said Amy, not without an uneasy 
 consciousness that Helen's niche in the family would 
 be less easily filled. 
 
 "True, she has Helen, but may I say it? that 
 is not precisely the same thing. I have not seen 
 Helen very often, and I think there is something anti- 
 pathetic between us which I daresay we might get
 
 THE MESS OF POTTAGE. 2Q 
 
 over if we were more together. With you it is alto* 
 gether different, although I remember that when you 
 settled at Allerton two years ago, and papa said that 
 we must ask you over, I made rather a grievance of 
 it. I loved you when you came, and I have loved 
 you ever since." Further expression of her eager 
 affection was checked by the appearance of the foot- 
 man with the tea-tray, and Eva presently dismissed 
 him with a packet of notes which were to be delivered 
 that afternoon. 
 
 "Invitations to a dinner-party," she explained to 
 her cousin. "I would not send them out until you 
 had actually arrived. These great formal entertain- 
 ments have always been a fatigue and oppression to 
 me, but now that you are here to share the responsi- 
 bility and talk over the guests with me, I fancy that I 
 shall almost enjoy them." 
 
 "You take my breath away," said Amy. "I have 
 no dress in which to appear at a regular dinner party. 
 You know our straits of poverty well enough to ex- 
 cuse my shabby dress when we are alone together; 
 and by and by, if Uncle Richard fulfils his vague 
 promise of giving me an allowance, I will try not to 
 bring discredit on you. Meanwhile I must remain in 
 the background." 
 
 "No, indeed, Amy. I have not transplanted you 
 from Allerton that you may live in obscurity. I am 
 glad that papa's arrangements were vague, for then I 
 may take my own measures to give them definite 
 shape. No outlay pleases him so well as the money
 
 30 VANESSA. 
 
 I spend at the Bixley shops, and we will go in the 
 town to-morrow to order what is necessary what I 
 think necessary for you. When you have got your 
 outfit, papa may please himself about your allow- 
 ance." 
 
 Amy faintly disclaimed the possibility of availing 
 herself of such a munificent offer, but her scruples 
 were easily overruled, and the dolls of Eva's child- 
 hood had not submitted with more smiling com- 
 placency to be decked out in the silk and satin 
 costumes which her lively fancy had devised for 
 them. 
 
 Amy did not see her uncle until she came down- 
 stairs, dressed for dinner in the simple white dress 
 which she no longer thought it necessary to husband 
 for more important occasions. Eva's gay spirits and 
 eager assurances that Amy was the gentlest, loveliest, 
 and most loveable of human beings , procured for her 
 3, cordial reception from Mr. Mertoun; he kissed her 
 cheek, and hoped that she would be happy in her 
 new home, since he was as ready to welcome another 
 daughter as Eva was to adopt her as a sister. Amy 
 could scarcely believe that this was the same Uncle 
 Richard whose infrequent visits to the little house at 
 Allerton were apt to bring constraint and gloom, and 
 to cloud her mother's face with added care. 
 
 This feeling of surprise and gratitude was partly 
 expressed by Amy when the hour of bed-time came, 
 and the two girls sat together over the bright wood 
 fire which Eva's solicitude for her comfort had caused
 
 THE MESS OF POTTAGE. 31 
 
 to be kindled in her room. It was an unnecessary 
 luxury on that mild May evening, and they left the 
 window open that they might enjoy the singing of the 
 nightingales. "How kind Uncle Richard was to me! 
 it was almost as if I had found my own dear father 
 again," said Amy; and the words were spoken out of 
 the fulness of her heart. 
 
 "I fancy that he was thinking of Uncle Henry to- 
 night," said Eva, thoughtfully. "I know that the 
 estrangement often weighs upon his mind." 
 
 "Do tell me about it, Eva; my mother will never 
 go into details. I know of course the one terrible 
 fact that distress and ruin followed, or perhaps caused 
 my father's death, but I have never been able to under- 
 stand how Uncle Richard was connected with our mis- 
 fortunes, nor why mamma has been so unwilling to be 
 under any obligation to him." 
 
 "Papa often speaks of it," replied Eva; "he thinks 
 Aunt Anne unreasonable, but of course it is natural 
 that she should still see the cause of quarrel with 
 Uncle Henry's eyes. Our grandfather was a country 
 surgeon in small practice, and his two sons had both 
 to make their way in the world. Your father, who 
 was the eldest, went into the surgery for a time, but 
 he did not take to it, and then he was articled to an 
 architect, and that did not do either. There was no 
 money forthcoming to put papa out in the world, nor 
 to give him a tolerable education, and he was glad to 
 take a sort of errand-boy's place in Edgar's coal and 
 timber-yard. He worked his way up into the office
 
 32 VANESSA. 
 
 by steady application, and when he had been ten 
 years a clerk, he married his master's daughter, and 
 old Mr. Edgar, who died soon afterwards, left every- 
 thing to him when he died. Still papa says, and I 
 think that he has a right to be proud of it, that he 
 owes all his success in life to honest hard work, and 
 not to any stroke of good luck. As soon as he was 
 his own master, he tried to help Uncle Henry, who 
 had never settled to anything, and was living on Aunt 
 Anne's small portion. Papa made him manager of 
 the coal-yard, with a sort of understanding that he 
 should have a share in the business, but they could 
 not get on together. There may have been faults on 
 both sides, but he says that Uncle Henry was reckless 
 and improvident, and would not keep accounts. At 
 last there was a regular quarrel, and papa gave him 
 money 5,ooo/. I believe .it was on condition that 
 he should leave Bixley. Uncle Henry was very angry, 
 and said that his brother had broken faith with him; 
 however, he took the money and went away." 
 
 "I can just remember leaving Bixley," said Amy. 
 "I think I was five years old. We went to a villa at 
 Twickenham, and lived in what seemed great luxury 
 and splendour, when I contrast it with these later 
 years." 
 
 "It only lasted for two years," replied Eva. "Papa 
 does not know how the money went, whether in specu- 
 lation, or if he only lived upon his capital. At the 
 end of that time Uncle Henry began to write to him 
 for help almost threatening letters he said they were
 
 THE MESS OF POTTAGE. 33 
 
 opening up the old question of the partnership. 
 Papa took no notice for some time, and at last re- 
 turned all the letters in a blank envelope. He blames 
 himself for this now, since it may have driven Uncle 
 Henry to desperation. Two days afterwards, he re- 
 ceived a letter to tell him of his sudden death, and 
 summoning him to attend the inquest." 
 
 "I remember his coming to Twickenham," said 
 Amy, shivering; "there was an execution in the house 
 and men coming in to remove the body for the in- 
 quest. Mamma was almost beside herself with the 
 shock of his death and the knowledge of our certain 
 ruin, and we children were huddled together, and 
 hunted from room to room. People talk of the hap- 
 piness of youth, but I think that from that day to this 
 our lives have been a protracted misery." 
 
 "We ought not to have revived these sad me- 
 mories," said Eva, "only I wished you to know how 
 it was with papa, that you might not begin with a 
 prejudice against him. Aunt Anne and Henry have 
 refused his help in so many ways, that he knows that 
 they still nourish the old bitterness." 
 
 "I know it; I always thought that Henry was wrong- 
 headed to refuse the offer of coming into his office, 
 and Henry was angry with me for coming here, Eva." 
 
 "I must be doubly dear to you if you have given 
 up Henry for my sake," said Eva, with a tender 
 embrace. "Now let us talk of something else, or you 
 will be haunted by bad dreams in your first night at 
 home. Let me see your hair, your beautiful golden 
 
 Vannna. 3
 
 34 VANESSA. 
 
 hair, which wound its coils around my heart on the 
 first day I ever saw you." 
 
 "Silly child!" said Amy smiling, and not unwilling 
 to let down the golden shower of glossy hair, soft and 
 fine as floss silk, which rippled over her shoulders, and 
 far below her waist. Eva toyed and trifled with its 
 untold wealth, until smiles had chased every cloud 
 from Amy's fair face, and her dreams that night were 
 not of the haunting past, but of a bright future open- 
 ing before her. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 "Fresh Fields and Pastures New." 
 
 THE two girls spent a long morning among the 
 Bixley shops, and returned to a late luncheon, and to 
 talk over purchases which had opened to Amy a 
 delightful vista of the costumes appropriate to every 
 variety of social gathering which were to take the 
 place of the thin and much- enduring silk dress that 
 was familiar to all the inhabitants of Allerton. They 
 were still in the dining-room when Eva was informed 
 of the arrival of a visitor. 
 
 "Leave the parcels here; John will tell Julia to take 
 them to your room," said Eva, as Amy was about to 
 retreat upstairs. "I see a good deal of Lady Cecilia 
 Wray, and should like you to know her; and besides 
 if I introduce you to her now, there will be one 
 stranger less at our dinner-party, for she is to be one
 
 "FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW." 35 
 
 of the guests. Never mind about your hair; it is 
 much smoother than mine." And Eva cut short 
 further remonstrance by slipping her hand within her 
 cousin's arm, as she opened the door into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Lady Cecilia Wray, a fair full-blown lady of forty 
 or thereabouts, greeted Eva with the utmost effusion. 
 "My dear Eva! I am ashamed to call so early, but I 
 wished to catch you before you went out. Of course 
 you know that Mr. Wray and I are charmed to accept 
 your invitation to dinner, and I venture to ask whether 
 your table is full , or if we may bring Lord Alan Rae. 
 You remember my nephew, who spent six weeks with 
 us last summer; he is coming on Tuesday, and I 
 should not like to leave him on the very first even- 
 ing." 
 
 "I am sure that it will give papa great pleasure to 
 see Lord Alan Rae," said Eva, as soon as Lady Ce- 
 cilia's profuse explanations admitted of a reply, "now 
 I want to introduce another Miss Mertoun to you 
 my cousin Amy, who has come to live with me." 
 
 Lady Cecilia received Amy with all politeness, but 
 her overflowing cordiality was still reserved for Eva. 
 "Any addition to our little circle is welcome, and I 
 hope my dear Eva, that you will say the same as far 
 as my nephew is concerned, or have you quite for- 
 gotten Alan?" 
 
 "I have not forgotten him," said Eva, with a slight 
 degree of agitation which did not escape her cousin's 
 
 3*
 
 36 VANfiSSA. 
 
 notice; "I did not know that he was expected at the 
 Hollies." 
 
 "He has been at home all the winter," said Lady 
 Cecilia; "a sad home it is for him, poor fellow, now 
 that my brother's health is failing, and poor Macrae, 
 the eldest son, is in a melancholy state. His head 
 was affected by some accident he had as a boy, and 
 I fear that his mind is incurably weakened. Lady 
 Raeburn writes that Alan's happy temper has cheered 
 them all, but they feel that he really needs some re- 
 laxation, and now that he is coming south, I daresay 
 that he will stay until the grouse shooting begins. I 
 should like to show you Alan's letter, but I am afraid 
 that I have left it at home. He says that it will give 
 him such pleasure to renew his acquaintance with our 
 neighbours here, since he has the happiest recollection 
 of last summers visit." 
 
 "What a strange woman to go into all these family 
 details," remarked Amy, when Lady Cecilia had taken 
 leave. 
 
 "It is Lady Cecilia's way," replied Eva: "and our 
 plebeian natures are rather gratified by such con- 
 descending frankness. She imagines that the eyes of 
 all the world are fixed on the noble house of Rae, 
 and she seldom goes through an evening without re- 
 marking that she has not forfeited her maiden name, 
 although, as she belongs to one of the oldest Scotch 
 families, and her husband is only a Berkshire squire, 
 it is merely a coincidence in sound." 
 
 "She seems to be very fond of you, Eva."
 
 "FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW." 37 
 
 "Rather too fond," rejoined Eva, with a little moue 
 expressive of dissatisfaction: "she took me up vehe- 
 mently when I came out a year ago, and I am always 
 expecting her to let me down again with a run; but 
 as she is the great lady of Bixley and the neighbour- 
 hood, Papa is flattered, and it has been impossible to 
 avoid the intimacy. She is really good-natured, and 
 amusing for a limited time." 
 
 "And what is Lord Alan like?" 
 
 "How shall I tell you? He is not like his aunt, 
 nor like people in general. You will see him on 
 Tuesday, and may judge for yourself, and after all I 
 know him very slightly." But the blush which quali- 
 fied this assertion was significant to Amy's eyes. 
 
 It appeared that even in a house of which the 
 machinery was as well oiled as that of Leasowes, the 
 giving of dinner-parties was attended by considerable 
 anxiety and trouble. Eva's finer instincts recoiled 
 from any ostentation of wealth, but she was obliged 
 to defer to her father's will on this point, and to sub- 
 mit to him the menu of the dinner, with all its details 
 of lighting and service, to satisfy him that all was ar- 
 ranged on one harmonious scale of costly splendour. 
 
 "I think there was a Roman Emperor who chose 
 to dine on nightingales' tongues," said Eva, as she sate 
 down to her writing-table to order some delicacy from 
 Covent Garden which was not yet in season: "I con- 
 sider that sort of thing barbaric and out of taste, and 
 it vexes me that Papa does not see it in the same 
 light. If it is necessary to attract fine people by a
 
 38 VANESSA. 
 
 display of expensive luxuries, in which they would not 
 dream of indulging in their own houses, they had 
 better not come at all. When I lunch with Lady 
 Cecilia, she does not apologise for sitting down to two 
 or three lukewarm slices off the servants' joint, but, if 
 she comes here, Papa thinks that three or four entrees 
 at a guinea each are indispensable." 
 
 Amy assented softly, not caring to provoke an 
 argument, but in her heart she was disposed to think 
 that such palpable proofs of Mr. Mertoun's great wealth 
 were not deserving of Eva's indignant protest. 
 
 The important evening arrived, and it seemed 
 doubly important to Amy, since she was conscious of 
 being perfectly well dressed for the first time in her 
 life. The Wray party was not the first to arrive, and 
 since Amy was already engaged in conversation with 
 Sir John Hawthorne, who was to take her in to dinner, 
 they were seated at the table before she had leisure 
 to make her observations. Lord Alan had taken Eva 
 down and was now conversing with her, but without 
 much animation. He was a tall, fair young man, as 
 fair as Dennis O'Brien, but, as Amy had no hesitation 
 in admitting, he was far more regularly handsome, 
 although there was an unsettled, vacillating expression 
 in his eyes, which might be accounted a defect. Lady 
 Cecilia had taken entire possession of Mr. Mertoun, 
 and he listened with a certain grim complacency to 
 her extravagant commendation of everything which 
 came under her notice, from the pdtls aux homards 
 to the blaze of white azalea which filled the conser-
 
 "FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW." 3Q 
 
 vatory at the lower end of the room. "And that 
 epergne! I am sure that I trace Eva's dainty hand in 
 its exquisite arrangement." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Mertoun, "I think that my niece 
 must take credit for that. Is it not so, Amy?" 
 
 "I helped Eva a little: she seemed tired this after- 
 noon," said Amy. 
 
 "She looks pale," remarked Lady Cecilia, glancing 
 down the room. "I do not say ill, for that trans- 
 parent pallor becomes her. But you must take care 
 of her, Mr. Mertoun." 
 
 "The advice is scarcely needed, Lady Cecilia; 
 since she was an hour old she has been my first 
 thought in the morning, and my last at night. Perhaps 
 I have been over-anxious, and have fostered her natural 
 delicacy." 
 
 "Nothing is more deceptive than the appearance 
 of delicacy," observed Lady Cecilia; "people tell me 
 that I am the picture of health, and yet I scarcely 
 know what it is to feel really well. You must not be 
 too anxious about dear Eva, Mr. Mertoun; let her have 
 plenty of fresh air and amusement, avoiding excite- 
 ment and late hours. I want her to come over and 
 spend a long day at the Hollies, Eva and Miss Amy 
 Mertoun," she added with a polite afterthought; "do 
 say that you can spare them." 
 
 "Settle it with Eva," said Mr. Mertoun, "I am 
 always out between breakfast and dinner, and the girls 
 can please themselves." 
 
 Sir John here engaged Amy's attention, and the
 
 40 VANESSA. ^ 
 
 rest of the dialogue was lost to her. Amy was con- 
 scious that she contributed little to the general enter- 
 tainment, for her secluded life had prevented her from 
 acquiring the ease of good society, and Sir John's 
 well-chosen topics languished and died, in spite of 
 his unremitting efforts to prolong their existence. 
 Amy felt discouraged and ashamed of her own 
 stupidity, and had yet to learn that even dulness may 
 be forgiven in a perfectly beautiful woman. It was a 
 knowledge which she acquired a little later. 
 
 There were other lady guests, but Lady Cecilia 
 continued to be the central figure when they adjourned 
 to the drawing-room. Eva sought in vain to distri- 
 bute her attentions, for Lady Cecilia was resolved to 
 talk to her, and to her only, and the rest of the party 
 sat round to listen and be edified. "My dear little 
 hostess," she said, "I must take a lesson from you 
 in the art of dinner-giving. The only alloy to my 
 pleasure in coming here to-night is the prospect of 
 hearing Mr. Wray's critical remarks on our homely 
 fare and inferior appointments. I find it impossible 
 to get a really good cook to stay with us in the 
 country, but your chef de cuisine is worth a king's 
 ransom. And the blaze of colour in your conser- 
 vatory surpasses anything I have seen at this time of 
 year." 
 
 "You should reserve your compliments for Papa," 
 said Eva, "such things are in his department, and I 
 am only the little lay figure whom it pleases him to 
 set up at the head of his household."
 
 "FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW. 4! 
 
 "Even as a lay figure you excel," said Lady 
 Cecilia: "considering the absurd fashions which are 
 now in vogue, it requires the courage of an artistic 
 taste to dress your hair in that simple and becoming 
 manner." 
 
 This last and more direct attack was too much 
 for Eva's endurance. "Do please, Lady Cecilia," she 
 said in a low voice, "leave my poor little person 
 alone, and help me to bridge over this dull interval. 
 Do you think that I may play something?" 
 
 Lady Cecilia first applauded the suggestion, and 
 then the performance, and Eva gained so far by her 
 move to the piano, that her irrepressible friend turned 
 to Lady Hawthorne, and talked of instead of to her. 
 The gentlemen soon came in, and Lord Alan offered 
 to relieve Amy of the task of turning over the leaves 
 of her cousin's music book. She retreated into the 
 recess behind the piano, and was thus a silent listener 
 to the dialogue which followed. 
 
 "Play something else, Miss Mertoun," said Lord 
 Alan as Eva struck the last chords of a passage which 
 she had played with considerable taste and execu- 
 tion, "something noisy, under cover of which we can 
 talk." 
 
 "Will this suit you?" said Eva, beginning a fresh 
 movement with a smile and a heightened colour. 
 
 "Anything will suit me which does not draw off 
 your attention. Music is a fine thing for promoting 
 conversation; observe the fresh buzz of talk which has 
 begun with your new piece."
 
 42 VANESSA. 
 
 "I know; of all social absurdities drawing-room 
 music is the most gratuitously absurd," said Eva. 
 
 "Something may be said for it, as for other 
 abuses," replied Lord Alan; "just now, for instance, 
 it serves for a bulwark between us and the company 
 at large. How dull we were at dinner!" 
 
 "I was tired, and yet I do not think that the dul- 
 ness was altogether my fault," said Eva. 
 
 "It was altogether mine, or shall I say my Aunt 
 Cecilia's. Her exuberant energies absorb the vital 
 forces of those with whom she comes in contact, 
 leaving my spirit altogether arid; but under cover of 
 your music the sponge is removed, and I am myself 
 again. And how are you, Miss Mertoun? Life seems 
 to go on here just as if I had never been away, is 
 it this summer or last ? Try to enlighten my bewildered 
 senses." 
 
 "We do not change much in Bixley, Lord Alan. 
 In one respect there is a pleasant change, however; I 
 want to introduce you to my cousin Amy." 
 
 The introduction was made, and Lord Alan 
 seemed quite as willing to talk lively nonsense to one 
 cousin as to the other. Amy showed no readiness in 
 reply, but her diffident blushes gave a new charm to 
 her beauty, and, when Lady Cecilia came to declare 
 that she must order the carriage, since Mr. Wray dis- 
 liked late hours, Eva, who had been playing rather 
 plaintive airs while the other two talked together, was 
 not sorry that the conference broke up. An early 
 day was fixed for the girls to drive over to the Hoi-
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 43 
 
 lies, and when Lord Alan said that he should take 
 care to make no other engagement for that day, the 
 words were spoken to Amy. 
 
 "A very successful evening," remarked Mr. Mer- 
 toun, who lost no time in lighting the bed-room 
 candle as soon as the last carriage had driven off; 
 "Lady Cecilia is a guest who always ensures enough 
 of talk." 
 
 "Enough, or too much," remarked Eva, as she 
 followed her cousin upstairs with lagging steps; "I 
 am so utterly tired, Amy, that I will not come to 
 your room to-night, lest I should be tempted to lin- 
 ger. We can talk over our guests to-morrow." When 
 the morrow came, however, Eva did not seem to be 
 more disposed to be communicative, at least so far 
 as Lord Alan Rae was concerned. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Crumpled Rose-leaves. 
 
 AMY had not the pen of a ready writer, and al- 
 though she wrote to her mother with dutiful regu- 
 larity, the bold statement that she was very happy, 
 and that Eva and her Uncle Richard were kindness 
 itself, left a good deal to the imagination. Helen de- 
 clared that she should have made better use of her 
 opportunities, if she had had anything more exciting 
 to record than the number of skirts and mantles 
 which she had stitched in the machine for the local
 
 44 VANESSA. 
 
 draper, by whom she was regularly supplied with 
 work, or the scraps of classical learning which she ac- 
 quired in helping her brother Richard to prepare his 
 school lessons. 
 
 "The rank and fashion of Allerton are provided 
 with summer finery," Helen said one morning to her 
 mother: "Mr. Benson (the draper before mentioned) 
 says that he shall give me nothing else to do for a 
 fortnight, when he must begin to think of the autumn 
 fashions. I am going to indulge myself with a morn- 
 ing's work over Mrs. Somerville's physical geography. 
 Did I tell you that Dennis lent me the book before 
 he went away, promising to correct my notes from it, 
 which I am to send by post. This makes me less 
 dismally sure that all chance of my liberal education 
 has departed with him." 
 
 "I wish that I could afford to give you the ad- 
 vantages you hanker after," said Mrs. Mertoun. 
 
 "You need not wish it, mother," said Helen, 
 brightly: "if I had been set up with the stock-in- 
 trade of an accomplished young lady, I should most 
 likely have been as idle and desultory as my neigh- 
 bours. Look at Dick, who has been in school for 
 five hours a day since he was eight years old, and the 
 only problem he cares to solve is how to distribute 
 an ounce of thought through a pound of work. All 
 the knowledge which I try to infuse falls off in beau- 
 tiful round drops, like water off a duck's back, and I 
 do really think that boys are stupider and more fri-
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 45 
 
 Volous than girls, always excepting Dennis O'Brien. I 
 wonder how Dennis is getting on at Bixley." 
 
 "We shall hear next week: Henry intends to 
 spend next Sunday with him," said Mrs. Mertoun, 
 and Helen took a lively interest in the intelligence. 
 
 "I am glad of that: we shall hear whether Dennis 
 has encountered Amy, and what came of it, and I 
 suppose that Henry will see Amy herself." 
 
 "He will call at Leasowes, if his uncle seems to 
 wish it: I am going to write to Amy to-day," said 
 Mrs. Mertoun, who had in fact extorted Henry's un- 
 willing consent to this measure: he said that his visit 
 to Leasowes might be distasteful to Dennis and he 
 disclaimed any desire to gratify his sister at the ex- 
 pense of his friend. 
 
 The return of post brought a budget from Lea- 
 sowes. Richard Mertoun wrote to invite his nephew 
 to join their Sunday dinner, and to bring his friend 
 with him if he liked: Eva enclosed a note for Mrs. 
 Mertoun, entreating her to allow Helen to accompany 
 her brother to Bixley, that she might spend the Sun- 
 day with them, and take home a report of Amy's 
 well-being, and there was also a letter from Amy her- 
 self to the same effect, which contained a token of 
 sisterly affection in the form of a pair of double-but- 
 ton kid gloves. 
 
 "Only look!" said Helen, displaying the gift with 
 a laugh of honest amusement; "this little fact speaks 
 volumes, and I interpret it thus. Amy means to say, 
 Come if you like, but do not bring me to discredit
 
 46 VANESSA. 
 
 by coming in thread gloves. If she had sent me the 
 three and sixpence in stamps, she knows that I should 
 have been sorely tempted to spend the money in 
 muffins and sardines, that Dick might invite a friend 
 to tea on Saturday evening." 
 
 Even while Helen disclaimed the possibility of 
 rising to the proper level of Leasowes gentility, it 
 was evident that the prospect of such a break in her 
 monotonous life was attractive, and the motive urged 
 by Eva of bringing back a report of Amy weighed 
 with Mrs. Mertoun. "It is of no use trusting to Hen- 
 ry's account of her," she said, "a man never sees the 
 things which we really care to know." 
 
 "Besides," added Henry, "I shall not have much 
 time to bestow on such researches. My visit is to 
 Dennis, and I certainly shall not desert him to dine 
 at Leasowes." 
 
 "You will call there, however," said Mrs. Mer- 
 toun. 
 
 "Oh yes, I will call, and I think it is quite right 
 that Helen should go there. Eva writes a nice, affec- 
 tionate note, and, since there is no excuse to make, 
 we ought not to vex her by declining the invitation." 
 
 Thus then the matter was arranged, and on the 
 following Saturday the brother and sister set out for 
 Bixley. Mr. Mertoun's carriage was not sent for them 
 in this instance, and they travelled second class by a 
 circuitous route, yet Helen enjoyed the journey, and 
 was especially pleased to find Dennis O'Brien waiting 
 for them on the platform at Bixley. He greeted them
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 47 
 
 warmly, but when Henry wondered whether Helen 
 could find her own way to Leasowes, he said in a 
 cold and constrained voice: "She will not have to do 
 so; Mr. Mertoun's carriage is waiting outside." 
 
 They passed out of the gate, and there in fact was 
 the light, open carriage, with Amy leaning back in it, 
 looking prettier than ever in her light summer toilette. 
 It was easy to understand why she had not gone on 
 the platform; for when Dennis emerged from the 
 doorway, and she leaned forward with an eager de- 
 termination to be recognised, he looked straight be- 
 fore him and walked past the carriage, to stand some 
 paces off while Henry greeted one sister and put the 
 other into the carriage. He lost no time in rejoining 
 his friend and they walked off, arm-in-arm, while the 
 sisters were whirled on through the streets of Bixley. 
 
 "Dennis O'Brien is really too childish and ab- 
 surd," said Amy, quite startled out of her usual pla- 
 cidity of manner: "this is not the first time I have 
 passed him in the carriage, and he has always refused 
 to see me. Two or three of our country neighbours 
 have made his acquaintance, and it will be awkward 
 and annoying to meet him at their houses while he is 
 in this irrational humour." 
 
 "Awkward indeed!" rejoined Helen, who was 
 fuming with indignation at O'Brien's wrongs, but 
 Amy was too much absorbed in the sense of her own 
 injuries to notice to which side her sympathy was 
 given. 
 
 "I must try to speak to Henry about it to-mor-
 
 48 VANESSA. 
 
 row," she continued; "he may be able to convince 
 Dennis of the folly and injustice of placing me in this 
 uncomfortable position." 
 
 "I doubt whether you will get much satisfaction 
 out of Henry. Do not let us talk of Dennis now, 
 since it is a subject on which we can never agree. 
 How nice you look, Amy! Is it all as pleasant as you 
 intended it to be?" 
 
 "Even more pleasant. I cannot tell you how kind 
 Uncle Richard is to me, and Eva and I are like sis- 
 ters together." 
 
 "Perhaps the tie is closer than that of sisters in 
 general," said Helen, who had not got all the satis- 
 faction she desired out of that relationship. "Eva 
 said the same thing in her letter to mother. It was 
 good of her to ask me here, and I have come chiefly 
 to please the mother who wants so much to hear of 
 you, but it is an extravagance which may not be re- 
 peated, even if you keep me in kid gloves. Admire 
 the shapely appearance of my hands! I began to 
 work my fingers into the trammels of civilisation when 
 I reached the Bixley junction, in order that I might 
 display them to you in unsullied glory." 
 
 Amy smiled at the thought that if Dennis O'Brien 
 were destined to be the crumpled rose-leaf in her lot, 
 any annoyance he might cause her was cheaply pur- 
 chased by her immunity from such sordid economies. 
 She laid a disapproving finger on Helen's neck-tie, 
 the only article of her dress, with the exception of 
 the gloves aforesaid, which bore any appearance of
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 49 
 
 newness, and asked, "Where did you buy that gaudy 
 thing? It goes very ill with your dress." 
 
 "I did not buy it at all, Amy: it was an offering 
 of esteem and regard from Mr. Benson , when I went 
 about my last lot of work. I had an impression that 
 it was rather vulgar, but as he assured me it was a 
 sweet, genteel thing, I could not hurt his feelings by 
 declining the gift." 
 
 "At all events you might keep it for Allerton 
 church; you will not meet Mr. Benson here." 
 
 "That is true," said Helen, as she took off the 
 obnoxious ribbon and slipped it into her pocket; 
 "you see how amenable I am, but you must not be 
 too critical of my manners and appearance, or I shall 
 become still more awkward than I am by nature. Is 
 not this Swiss cottage which has broken out in chim- 
 nies the lodge to Leasowes? please put my bonnet 
 straight while I compose myself into a becoming atti- 
 tude of lady-like ease, and assume my very properest 
 behaviour." 
 
 Helen's bantering tone, combined with the dis- 
 composure excited by O'Brien's behaviour, had ruffled 
 Amy's gentle temper, and when the two sisters entered 
 the drawing-room they were constrained and ill at 
 ease; so that Eva thought that the kindest thing she 
 could do was to suggest that they should adjourn to 
 Amy's room to finish their talk, and then join her on 
 the lawn, to drink tea under the limes. They went 
 upstairs accordingly, but the flow of talk was still 
 languid and intermittent: Amy asked sweetly after her
 
 50 VANESSA. 
 
 mother, displayed some tokens of Eva's lavish affec- 
 tion in the trinkets on her toilette table, listened with 
 faint interest to one or two items of Allerton news, 
 and then betrayed the subject which still occupied her 
 mind by the abrupt remark: 
 
 "If Henry will not stir in the matter, Helen, per- 
 haps you can speak to Dennis O'Brien." 
 
 "I do not suppose that I shall have the oppor- 
 tunity," replied Helen. 
 
 "You will probably see him at the station when 
 you go away on Monday, and I shall not be there, as 
 Henry will be sure to take the early train." 
 
 "And if I do see him, what am I to say that you 
 made a mistake in casting him off and only want to 
 be asked again?" 
 
 "I call that extreme impertinence," said Amy with 
 unwonted heat: "he has no right to cut me, because 
 I decline to see him as my lover. I am far from 
 wishing to renew our former intimacy, but he ought 
 to be able to meet me on the terms of ordinary 
 politeness." 
 
 "Cold-hearted people may be polite to those they 
 have once loved, Amy, but it is not in Dennis's nature 
 to forget. Besides you announced your intention of 
 cutting him, so at least he told Henry." 
 
 "Dennis took fire at once, and was too angry and 
 unreasonable to understand my meaning. I did say 
 that as we should live in such different sets we must 
 not expect to meet, but as it happens we are likely 
 to do so. Mr. Wray, who is a scientific man, and
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 5! 
 
 interested in the Museum, has taken a fancy to him, 
 and I know that he is invited to a croquet at the 
 Hollies this week. And if Lady Cecilia and Mr. Wray 
 take him up, he will be asked everywhere." 
 
 "So you wish me to tell him to avoid such com- 
 plications by keeping away. Perhaps you got Eva to 
 ask me to Leasowes on purpose to arrange your little 
 difficulties?" 
 
 "You take a perverse pleasure in misunderstanding 
 me, Helen. I can be shut out from no society to 
 which Eva is admitted, but it will be very much to 
 Dennis's disadvantage if the world is allowed to see 
 that there is this absurd tracasserie." 
 
 "For which, however, Dennis is not responsible. 
 But if it is likely to do him any harm, I have no ob- 
 jection to try to set matters straight between you, al- 
 though I warn you that you could not have chosen a 
 worse go-between." The concession, which was not 
 graciously made, was really gratefully received, and 
 Amy was glad to let the conversation drift from a 
 subject on which the sisters' views differed so widely. 
 
 "You like a romance, Helen, and may be in- 
 troduced to one in real life to-morrow. Since Eva 
 has not said a word to me on the subject, it is no 
 breach of confidence to tell you that I am nearly 
 sure that she feels a certain interest in Lord Alan 
 Rae, and one of her friends told me that he paid her 
 great attention last summer. He is handsome and 
 agreeable, and will one day be the Marquis of Rae- 
 burn, and as it is a poor peerage Eva's fortune will 
 
 4*
 
 J 2 VANESSA. 
 
 be very acceptable. Lady Cecilia's anxiety to bring- 
 about the match is only too apparent, and 1 believe 
 that may hold Lord Alan back." 
 
 "Do you call that a romance, Amy? I should 
 call it a commercial transaction, since Eva's fortune 
 is the equivalent for a peerage. Her noble lover will 
 expect an extra ten thousand pounds if he discovers 
 that another Miss Mertoun is journeywoman to the 
 draper of Allerton." 
 
 "Your habit of turning everything into ridicule is 
 very unsatisfactory," said Amy. "I thought that you 
 would be interested in what so nearly concerns Eva's 
 happiness, for she is evidently very much attached 
 to him." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, and Eva's," replied Helen, 
 "but you said nothing about the attachment in the 
 first instance, and I was so uplifted by the idea of 
 being cousin to a live Marchioness that I could think 
 of nothing else." 
 
 "Tea is brought out on the lawn," said Amy 
 shortly, and neither of the girls was unwilling to re- 
 join Eva there. The sweet sights and sounds of the 
 May afternoon exercised their due influence on Helen's 
 cynical spirit and she flitted from the garden to the 
 conservatory, amazing Eva by the quickness with which 
 she named the species of rare flowers which she had 
 never seen, or had seen only in illustrations, and she 
 was still more astonished when Helen mentioned 
 Dennis O'Brien as the authority for some of her 
 botanical statements.
 
 CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES. 53 
 
 "Is that the same Mr. Dennis O'Brien who is the 
 new curator of the Museum ? I did not know that you 
 were acquainted with him," said Eva. 
 
 "We have known him ever since we came to Aller- 
 ton; he is Henry's greatest friend," replied Helen 
 without pausing to consider how Amy was to account 
 for her suppression of this fact. 
 
 "Then I hope that Henry may bring him here to- 
 morrow," said Eva. "Mr. Wray and Lord Alan both 
 say that he is charming." 
 
 "He certainly will not come here," said Helen 
 bluntly, and then, looking up with a sudden per- 
 ception of Amy's embarrassment, she wandered off 
 into the conservatory, leaving her sister to explain the 
 matter if she chose. 
 
 Eva, incapable of interpreting it to Amy's disad- 
 vantage, was already prepared with an explanation. 
 "I suppose that I must not guess, Amy, why Mr. 
 O'Brien will not come here, nor why you said nothing 
 of your previous acquaintance." 
 
 "I do not mind your surmises," said Amy, relieved 
 by the unsuspiciousness which acquitted her of any 
 wilful insincerity, "if the matter does not go further. 
 Mr. O'Brien has not quite got over his disappointment, 
 and I wish that our first meeting were over." 
 
 "If it takes place at the Hollies next week, I will 
 promise to look another way," said Eva smiling, and 
 Amy felt grateful to Helen for the incautious speech 
 which had enabled her to represent the situation in 
 such a satisfactory light.
 
 54 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Beetle-Hunt. 
 
 HELEN found the evening at Leasowes long, and 
 she believed that the Sunday which was to follow 
 might be yet more tedious. She regarded the visit as 
 a thing to be done, and to talk of afterwards; but she 
 doubted whether it would bear repetition, on other 
 grounds besides those of economy. Intercourse with 
 Amy could only bring home to her the fact that their 
 lives were drifting further asunder, and her sister's 
 complicated relations with Dennis O'Brien must con- 
 tinue to be a source of irritation. Nor could Helen 
 look forward to the delivery of her sister's message to 
 Dennis with any satisfaction, believing that he might 
 resent her intervention as an impertinence, so that on 
 the whole she was disposed to wish herself back at 
 Allerton. 
 
 When Sunday came, Helen found that she was to 
 drive into Bixley for morning service , with her sister 
 and cousin. She was too much dismayed by the 
 critical glances which her uncle Richard darted at her 
 from under his shaggy eyebrows to propose to walk 
 with him; and it did not occur to the other two girls 
 that she despised the advantage of coming into church 
 cool and fresh, with a toilette unsullied by the dusty 
 road-way.
 
 THE BEETLE-HUNT. 55 
 
 The modern and unsightly parish church was 
 situated in the heart of Bixley, and the Mertoun 
 family occupied a spacious pew in the gallery con- 
 spicuous by its fittings and position, and commanding 
 a view of the whole congregation. Even at Allerton 
 Henry and O'Brien had been apt to stray in search 
 of some rural church, and Helen did not therefore 
 expect to see them in such an assembly of middle- 
 class respectability. There were, however, several of 
 Eva's acquaintance with whom she exchanged greet- 
 ings at the conclusion of the service; and a tall, fair 
 young man, whom Helen at once divined to be Lord 
 Alan Rae, was waiting for them at the foot of the 
 gallery stairs. 
 
 "Yes, I walked in," he said, in reply to Eva's in- 
 quiries: "a Sunday with one's relations is apt to run 
 to length, and I knew that I might depend on your 
 giving me luncheon. It is the only day on which I 
 can find Mr. Mertoun at home." 
 
 Mr. Mertoun heard and was not insensible to the 
 implied compliment, and urged Lord Alan to take the 
 vacant place in the carriage. 
 
 "Indeed Papa prefers walking: perhaps you would 
 like to walk with him," said Eva, when Lord Alan 
 appealed to her, and he took the place opposite to 
 her in the carriage without further demur, a fact which 
 had its due significance in the eyes of the little world 
 of Bixley. The short drive was long enough to modify 
 the democratic bias with which Helen was prepared 
 to regard the first live lord with whom she had come
 
 56 VANESSA. 
 
 in contact. His pleasant voice and manner might not 
 have subdued her, but one little speech went straight 
 to her heart. 
 
 "There is the Museum, in which I spent a most 
 agreeable hour yesterday with the new curator a 
 great contrast to poor old Jenkins who used to potter 
 over his curiosities with shaking hands, and if I asked 
 a question out of the beaten track he only stared at 
 me with his lack-lustre eyes. My uncle is delighted 
 with this young O'Brien: he says that he is better in- 
 formed than most men of twice his age and will 
 certainly make a name for himself in the scientific 
 world. And he is so modest and unassuming, really 
 a thorough gentleman, and a little unwilling to be 
 patronized. Lady Cecilia is bent on securing him for 
 her croquet on Wednesday, but he would not pledge 
 himself to come." 
 
 "I hope that I shall soon make his acquaintance, 
 even if we do not meet at the Hollies," said Eva; and 
 Helen, who had been on the point of proclaiming her 
 prior friendship, understood her cousin's guarded 
 tone, and held her peace. 
 
 After luncheon, Mr. Mertoun retreated into his 
 own room, to look over the miscellaneous correspon- 
 dence which was not allowed to interfere with the 
 more regular business of office hours, since it was 
 reserved as an occupation for Sunday afternoons. The 
 servant came in to know if the carriage would be 
 wanted again, and Eva was not unwilling to be told 
 that she looked tired, and had better not think of
 
 THE BEETLE-HUNT. 57 
 
 going to the afternoon service. They stepped out to 
 sit in the verandah, and Amy was considering the 
 expediency of withdrawing herself and Helen to some 
 other part of the lawn, when Henry Mertoun, who had 
 just been ushered into the drawing-room, came out 
 through the open window to join them. Eva would 
 have sent for her father, but Henry interposed to 
 prevent the summons. 
 
 "Do not disturb my uncle now, Eva, as I intend 
 to pay my visit later in the afternoon. I have only 
 looked in to see whether Helen would like to join 
 our walk. Dennis says," he continued, addressing 
 his sister, "that he has found some famous hunting 
 grounds for beetles, to which he wishes to introduce 
 you." 
 
 "The very thing I was wishing for!" exclaimed 
 Helen, joyously starting to her feet: "I will run up 
 to get ready, and will not keep you waiting half a 
 minute, Henry." And her expeditious movements 
 made the interval which Dennis O'Brien had been 
 forced to employ in pacing up and down outside the 
 lodge gates as brief as possible. 
 
 "That was the most heavenly idea of yours, Den- 
 nis," said Helen, with a renewed burst of exultation; 
 "I am sure that I need not give Henry the credit of 
 it; and I should have been stifled if I had been 
 doomed to sit there all the afternoon and evening, 
 with my company manners on." 
 
 "The suggestion was not wholly disinterested," 
 replied O'Brien: "Mertoun has little toleration for
 
 58 VANESSA. 
 
 what he profanely calls bug-hunting, and it is a pur- 
 suit which is much better carried on in partnership. 
 This is quite a new range for beetles, although it is 
 scarcely ten miles from our old haunts, and I hope 
 that I shall at last be able to teach you the distinction 
 between a carabus and a cicindela." 
 
 And of carabidce and cicindela the two young 
 collectors continued to talk, with an occasional ex- 
 cursion into the wider fields of physical science, until 
 Henry protested against such barren disquisition, 
 and demanded an account of Helen's proceedings at 
 Leasowes. 
 
 "The life there is just what I imagined," she 
 replied: "Eva is very gentle and nice, and Uncle 
 Richard is certainly more agreeable in his own house, 
 although still rather alarming." And here Helen 
 paused, unwilling to wound Dennis by filling in the 
 family group with any account of Amy. 
 
 "Go on, Helen," said Dennis, looking at her 
 keenly: "I am less thin-skinned than you imagine, and 
 you will not hurt my feelings." 
 
 "Then," said Helen, who was ever rash of speech, 
 "I think I ought to tell you that you have hurt Amy's 
 feelings. She cannot understand why you have cut 
 her." 
 
 "Is she so dull of comprehension? I am following 
 her injunctions to the letter." 
 
 "Then perhaps you have mistaken the spirit. I 
 am charged to tell you that you ought not to keep 
 out of her way, nor refuse to recognize her as a
 
 THE BEETLE-HUNT. 59 
 
 former acquaintance. There, I have delivered my 
 message with Homeric accuracy, and do not want to 
 hear any more of it. It is no affair of mine." 
 
 Both the young men laughed, and it was evident 
 that if disappointment still rankled in O'Brien's breast 
 he was resolved that it should not crush him. His 
 buoyancy of spirit was sustained by the success he 
 had already achieved; and he talked hopefully of the 
 future, and of the encouragement given him by Mr. 
 Wray. He spoke of Lord Alan with less enthusiasm 
 declaring him to be agreeable, but dilettante and 
 superficial. 
 
 "You are ungrateful," said Helen. "I have met 
 him at Leasowes, and he said many civil things of 
 you." 
 
 "It is the way of the family," rejoined Dennis; 
 "he brought his aunt to the Museum last week; a 
 terrible woman, who asked fatuous questions, and 
 talked fulsomely." 
 
 "Lord Alan detected your dread of being patron- 
 ized," said Helen, "and hoped that it would not 
 prevent you from accepting Lady Cecilia's invitations. 
 Her name is always coming to the surface at Leasowes, 
 and I wanted to know what she is like." 
 
 "She means to be good-natured, I really believe," 
 said Dennis, "but she is as vulgar-minded as a lady of 
 quality can be, and often is." 
 
 "You talk as if you had a wide experience of the 
 species," remarked Henry, sardonically. 
 
 "I admit that I was talking at large," said O'Brien
 
 60 VANESSA. 
 
 with a laugh: "we democrats are too apt to fancy that 
 we know things by intuition." 
 
 "I think that you ought to accept her invitations, 
 however," continued Henry: "it would not do to 
 affront Mr. Wray, and besides, there must be a cer- 
 tain relief in getting beyond the range of Bixley tea- 
 parties." 
 
 "When did you adopt the maxims of Mr. Worldly 
 Wiseman, Henry?" said Dennis, good-humouredly: 
 "they have not been your own rule of action. Since 
 I came here, I find that your uncle is in some sort the 
 king of Bixley, and, from what you told me some time 
 ago, I fancy that you had only to hold out your hand 
 to become the heir apparent." 
 
 "I do not regret my decision," answered Henry: 
 "there were painful circumstances connected with our 
 early life at Bixley which made my mother unwilling 
 to return to it; and, although my foot is now on the 
 lowest rung of the ladder, I may work my way up, as 
 my uncle has done before me." 
 
 "I wish that I could transplant you all here how- 
 ever. Do tell your mother how often I think of the 
 happy evenings we have passed together, and how 
 happy I should still be in her house although the 
 glamour of the old days has departed." 
 
 "Is not this a good beetle ground?" said Helen, 
 with a wholesome desire to escape from such allusions. 
 "I am sure that rotten old stump is worth probing." 
 Dennis took out his knife, and while Henry disposed 
 himself to the comfortable enjoyment of the "Saturday
 
 THE BEETLE-HUNT. 6 1 
 
 Review," with a pipe in his mouth and his back 
 against a tree, his companions set to work to poke 
 and probe, and burrow and potter, with an ardour 
 which left no scope for any interest in life except 
 beetles. 
 
 If Eva had witnessed this harmony of tastes, it 
 would have confirmed the surmise which she imparted 
 to Amy that afternoon. "Do you know, Amy, that I 
 am not quite so sorry for Mr. O'Brien as I was yester- 
 day. When I saw how Helen's face lighted up at the 
 prospect of walking with him, it occurred to me that 
 he might be induced to console himself." 
 
 "With Helen? there can be nothing less likely," 
 said Amy, slightly injured by the suggestion: "there is 
 a sort of tutor and pupil bond between them, and 
 Helen is much more of a schoolboy than a woman. 
 At all events she is not the woman whom Dennis 
 O'Brien will ever love." 
 
 Amy's tone of positive assurance enabled her 
 cousin's lively imagination to take a leap in a dif- 
 ferent direction, and she began to suspect that Amy's 
 rejection of Mr. O'Brien had not been final. It was 
 an inference which Eva was the more ready to draw, 
 since her peace of mind had been disturbed that 
 afternoon by a nameless fear lest Lord Alan's evident 
 admiration for Amy's beauty might further unsettle his 
 wavering allegiance to herself. He undoubtedly ap- 
 peared less gratified than Amy had intended him to 
 be by her declaration that she must go into the house
 
 62 VANESSA. 
 
 to write some letters, leaving him and Eva on the 
 lawn. 
 
 Lord Alan's eyes followed her retreating figure and 
 a sudden pang impelled Eva to ask, "Do you admire 
 my cousin's beauty as much as I do?" 
 
 "I suppose that every one must admire her. In 
 her own style she is almost faultless," said Lord Alan. 
 
 Eva faintly hoped that a less faultless style of 
 beauty might win favour in his eyes, but Lord Alan 
 did not make the most of his opportunities that after- 
 noon. He observed that his five miles walk had made 
 him lazy, and readily acquiesced in the suggestion that 
 they might sit more comfortably indoors. If, however, 
 he had been swayed by a desire for further contem- 
 plation of Amy's beauty, he was again baffled, since 
 Amy had retreated to her own room, and was at that 
 moment in the enjoyment of the peaceful slumber 
 which seemed to her the legitimate reward of Sunday 
 morning's attendance at church a slumber undis- 
 turbed by recollections of the lovers' walks among 
 the lanes and flowery coppices, which had given a 
 charm to bygone Sundays. 
 
 Lord Alan looked at his watch and observed that 
 he had a long walk before him, and that he must 
 get back to the Hollies in time to rest and cool be- 
 fore dinner. "We shall meet on Wednesday at latest 
 sooner if I can devise an errand into Bixley," he 
 said as he took leave of Eva, and his smile, and the 
 pressure of his hand, made her heart throb with 
 pleasure which seemed to her ill-grounded when she
 
 THE BEETLE-HUNT. 63 
 
 was left alone to think over the matter. She knew 
 how it was with herself, but the hunger of her heart 
 after a solution of the old, old question was as yet 
 unsatisfied seemed at this moment further from satis- 
 faction than before. A year ago there had been no 
 such questionings, and she had given away her heart 
 without a doubt that her affection was requited. A 
 girl of seventeen, still unused to attentions of which 
 she had since received her full share, she had aban- 
 doned herself to a dream of happiness; and when, 
 after a few short weeks of intimacy, Lord Alan went 
 away, and made no sign, she awoke from it to feel 
 that she had been misled by a too susceptible vanity 
 to misconstrue his transient admiration. Some secret 
 tears had been shed, some bitter moments of shame 
 and humiliation had been lived down, and she re- 
 solved to think of him no more; but Lady Cecilia's 
 influence had been exerted to keep the interest alive 
 in her heart, and, when Lord Alan himself appeared 
 once more on the scene, all her resolutions were scat- 
 tered to the winds. She could not give him up while 
 a hope remained, but she was determined to be guarded, 
 and to rely only on facts as proof of his sentiments, 
 and the fact which at this moment stared her in the 
 face was, that he had deliberately thrown away the 
 opportunity of spending a precious hour alone with her. 
 When Amy came downstairs, refreshed by her nap 
 and prepared to enjoy the afternoon cup of tea, she 
 was too discreet to express any surprise at finding Eva 
 alone. Mr. Mertoun also emerged from his den, and
 
 64 VANESSA. 
 
 almost immediately afterwards Helen and her brother 
 returned from their walk Helen still radiant with 
 pleasure, while her dusty and travel-worn appearance 
 revealed traces of the afternoon's occupation, and her 
 healthy appetite for the slices of brown bread and 
 butter threatened to interfere with her enjoyment of 
 the dinner which was to follow. Henry's manner in- 
 sensibly assumed the stiff, reserved politeness which 
 was apt to chill Mr. Mertoun's attempt to establish 
 more friendly relations: he repeated his refusal to stay 
 to dinner; and cut short his visit, on the plea that he 
 and O'Brien were going to evening service. 
 
 "After all, I do not think the worse of the lad for 
 being so stiff and independent," said Richard Mertoun 
 when he was alone with his daughter. "It is a fault 
 on the right side at any rate, and he does not take 
 after his father, who made a point of never doing any- 
 thing for himself which he could get other people to 
 do for him." 
 
 Eva was more disposed to resent Henry's deter- 
 mination to stand aloof, for she understood the strength 
 of her father's desire to see one of his own name suc- 
 ceed to the business which it had been the labour of 
 his life to create, and it seemed to her a noble and 
 legitimate ambition. 
 
 Since Henry was impracticable she resolved to 
 indoctrinate Helen with her views, and they talked 
 long and earnestly together that evening. Helen was 
 deeply interested in Eva's account of the circumstances 
 connected with her father's death, of which she, as
 
 CONFIDENCES. 65 
 
 well as Amy, had remained in ignorance, and she was 
 willing to accept the diplomatic mission with which 
 she was charged. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Confidences. 
 
 HELEN returned home in high spirits, and with 
 such a budget of lively gossip as seldom brightened 
 the even tenor of her life at Allerton. Dennis's suc- 
 cess in his new career, as well as Amy's entire satis- 
 faction with her position, were subjects on which it 
 was pleasant to enlarge; and they were almost equally 
 gratifying to Mrs. Mertoun's motherly instincts, since 
 she had adopted O'Brien as another son. Helen did 
 not, however, think fit to unfold her mission from Eva 
 until she was alone with her eldest brother. Mrs. 
 Mertoun, as well as Dick, kept early hours, and when 
 they had retired for the night, Henry was apt to give 
 himself up to hard reading, while Helen drew out a 
 basket of undarned socks which would provide her 
 with occupation for some time to come. Although 
 she had a great talent for silence, she did not on this 
 occasion scruple to interrupt her brother's studies. 
 
 "I doubt whether Dick will do any more good at 
 school, Henry. He has learned nothing for the last 
 six months." 
 
 "I doubt it too," answered Henry; "it is of no use 
 to pour more into a vessel than it will hold, and 
 
 Vanessa. 5
 
 66 VANESSA. 
 
 Dick's vessel is of small capacity. But a boy of fif- 
 teen cannot earn a livelihood, and if I were to take 
 him from school, he would only loaf about the 
 streets." 
 
 "Eva suggested that he might make a start in 
 Uncle Richard's office; and I think the vocation might 
 suit him, as he has a turn for figures, and a super- 
 ficial smartness about outside things." 
 
 "Are you going over to the Bixley faction?" said 
 Henry, looking up quickly; "why should I accept for 
 Dick a position I declined for myself?" 
 
 "Because you are of different fibre. There is no 
 self-assertion about Dick, and, if he would be steady 
 and take an interest in his work, I think that he would 
 get on with Uncle Richard. If he went to Bixley we 
 might consign him to Dennis, who would employ his 
 leisure hours in the mounting of beetles and other in- 
 nocent pastimes." 
 
 "You ride your hobby hard when you make a 
 moral engine of bug-hunting," said Henry with a 
 laugh which was readily echoed by his sister. 
 
 "It is a fact, however, even when you put it in 
 that insulting form. It is a grand resource to have a 
 definite pursuit, and it has saved me from eating my 
 heart out with vexation at the prospect of having to 
 spend the best years of my life in stitching on vulgar 
 and fussy trimmings. I imagine that the handling of 
 your neighbour's money must be nearly as dishearten- 
 ing an occupation, and you would be ever so much 
 pleasanter, both to yourself and your family, if you
 
 CONFIDENCES. 67 
 
 were to take up a science. I have thought of sug- 
 gesting chemistry, on which subject I am blankly 
 ignorant." 
 
 "Long may you remain so! If you begin to 
 dabble in chemistry, you and Dick would infallibly 
 blow us out of the house with hideous stinks." 
 
 "You need not be uneasy. Botany and beetles 
 will satisfy my aspirations for the next ten years, by 
 which time I hope to be qualified to become professor 
 at the female college of science which Dennis and I 
 intend to establish in Utopia." 
 
 "Ten years hence I predict that Dennis will have 
 abandoned his Utopian schemes for a career of pros- 
 perous common sense. If he goes on as he has begun 
 at Bixley he will become the fashion, and marry a 
 Duchess's daughter." 
 
 "If he were to marry twenty Duchesses, he would 
 never be disloyal to his old friends. However this is 
 beside the question of Dick's future, and there is no- 
 thing Utopian in my project for his advancement in 
 life." 
 
 "Scheme as you please, Helen; but there is no 
 need to make up our minds unless Uncle Richard 
 makes a bond fide offer to take the boy into his 
 office." 
 
 "Eva says that the offer will not be made unless 
 he is sure that it will be accepted. The fact is," con- 
 tinued Helen, with the tendency to moralize which is 
 apt to pervade conversation as we approach the small 
 hours of the night, "the fact is that the Mertouns are 
 
 5*
 
 68 VANESSA. 
 
 a thin-skinned family, and we must respect his little 
 feelings as well as our own. Taken all together, I do 
 not admire the family peculiarities of hardness and 
 touchiness which stamp the race. You and I know 
 our own asperities only too well, and Dick is cased in 
 a surly shell which it is very hard to penetrate." 
 
 "Amy is soft enough," said Ralph. 
 
 "On the outside; she has the softness and bloom 
 of a peach, but sooner or later you come down upon 
 the hard stone with an unpleasant jar." 
 
 "The stone being the organ which represents her 
 heart? I suppose that your resentment of O'Brien's 
 wrongs has inspired the simile. Did Amy help you 
 and Eva in the hatching of this plot?" 
 
 "Eva suggested it to me when we were alone to- 
 gether," replied Helen, "and asked me to lay it before 
 you and mother. I have begun with you because it 
 worries her to hear us wrangling over any point at 
 issue after our amiable fashion, and she likes to be 
 spared the burden of decision." 
 
 "I think that he had better go," said Henry, after 
 a pause; "it is absurd to raise objections when Amy 
 is already one of the Bixley Mertouns, and, as you 
 say, O'Brien will have his eye on the boy. I will talk 
 to my mother about it to-morrow." There was no 
 want of filial duty in the tacit assumption that the 
 matter was already decided, for Mrs. Mertoun, prema- 
 turely aged by a struggling life of anxieties and priva- 
 tions, had for some time resigned the reins to her 
 grave, resolute son, who was ready to think as well as
 
 CONFIDENCES. 69 
 
 to act for her, and before whose living presence the 
 shadowy authority of her dead husband must inevit- 
 ably wane. Helen was satisfied with the success of 
 her generalship, and felt some natural irritation when, 
 after the plan had taken shape, and it was arranged 
 that young Richard should enter his uncle's office 
 when the school broke up for the midsummer holi- 
 days, Amy took credit for the whole arrangement, and 
 hoped that Henry would now admit that her migration 
 to Leasowes had been prompted by a desire to pro- 
 mote the welfare of her family, and not for her own 
 personal benefit. 
 
 The Leasowes household was meanwhile agitated 
 by a discussion which bore no reference to Dick's fu- 
 ture career. It was on the evening preceding the day 
 of Lady Cecilia's croquet-party that Mr. Mertoun came 
 home to dinner silent and preoccupied; but he was so 
 often immersed in the cares of business that the girls 
 scarcely noticed his abstraction, and, when bed-time 
 came, Amy went up alone, Eva lingering as she was 
 apt to do for a few last words with her father. When 
 she came upstairs, after a longer interval than usual, 
 Amy did not observe that there was anything amiss 
 until Eva broke down in the attempt to reply to some 
 trivial remark, and burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 "What can I do for you, dearest? Only tell me 
 what is the matter," said Amy, when the tenderest 
 caresses failed to calm her cousin's agitation. 
 
 "It is nothing, nothing really: I was flurried by 
 what Papa said," replied Eva at last.
 
 70 VANESSA. 
 
 Amy's unromantic imagination instantly conjectured 
 that some commercial disaster had involved her uncle 
 in ruin, and she said breathlessly, "Must you also ex- 
 change riches for poverty?" 
 
 Eva almost smiled through her tears: "Oh no, 
 Amy, it is not that. It may seem absurd to say so, 
 but I hope that I should bear the loss of fortune with 
 greater fortitude. I have been grateful to you, Amy, 
 for saying nothing of Lord Alan, since I could not 
 have borne it even from you. And now it is hard to 
 find that the gossips of Bixley have been making mis- 
 chief by coupling our names together. The whole 
 thing is a revelation to Papa, though I thought he 
 might have guessed ' 
 
 "People will gossip," said Amy, who could think 
 of no more consolatory utterance than this truism, 
 and it did in fact occur to her that she would have 
 been less grievously disconcerted by any rumour which 
 might credit her with a lordly lover. 
 
 "Papa means to be kind," continued Eva with an- 
 other shower of tears: "he asked if there was any un- 
 derstanding between us, and when I said no, he said 
 that it was the greatest relief to him." 
 
 "But why?" asked Amy: "he seemed pleased to 
 see Lord Alan on Sunday." 
 
 "Only, he says now, because he has a regard for 
 Lady Cecilia and Mr. Wray, and wished to show every 
 civility to their nephew. Some one has been preju- 
 dicing him against Lord Alan, telling him that he has 
 been wild and unsteady, and I know not what besides.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 7 1 
 
 But the most terrible thing is about the insanity in 
 the family: he does not believe that Lord Macrae's 
 imbecility is caused by an accident, and he thinks it 
 probable that Lord Alan may have the same ten- 
 dency." 
 
 "Oh Eva!" exclaimed Amy, inexpressibly shocked, 
 "how can he say anything so cruel?" 
 
 "He does not intend to be cruel," replied Eva: 
 "it is Papa's way to state facts plainly, and he did 
 not, could not know how he was rending my heart. 
 He wished to open my eyes before it was too late. 
 But it is too late." 
 
 "If he is attached to you," said Amy hesitating, 
 and Eva caught up the word. 
 
 "You may say '*/",' Amy. You cannot feel more 
 doubtful than I do myself. A year ago I did not 
 doubt, and since then I have tried to forget words 
 and looks which perhaps may have meant nothing. 
 He is all the world to me, and I am not even sure 
 that he cares for me a little." 
 
 "He must care for you," said Amy: "Lady Ceci- 
 lia's manner would be very different if he were not in 
 earnest." 
 
 "I do not doubt that Lady Cecilia is in earnest. 
 She has said so much of the necessity of Lord Alan's 
 marrying well that I cannot pretend to be in doubt 
 as to her motive. And if he is in debt, as Papa says, 
 he might be driven to make me an offer, but not be- 
 cause he loves me as I want to be loved." And Eva 
 hid her face, with a moan of plaintive despair. Since
 
 72 VANESSA. 
 
 words of comfort failed, Amy tried to soothe her by 
 gesture, laying her cool finger-tips on her cousin's 
 throbbing temples. 
 
 The contrast in their moods impelled Eva to speak 
 again. "How unlike we are, Amy. You will never 
 dash yourself to pieces against the bars of fate: you 
 have the repose of strength, while I am weak and 
 storm-tossed. You must not despise me because you 
 know my secret, but help me to shield it from the 
 knowledge of others. Papa says that we must go to 
 this miserable party to-morrow, and that I must be 
 guarded in my manner to Lord Alan, as there will be 
 more gossip if I stay away." 
 
 "I will help you all I can," said Amy; and she 
 prevailed on Eva to go to bed, and only left her when 
 she declared, in the piteous tone of a child exhausted 
 by a storm of passion, that she would rather be alone 
 and in the dark. Amy went to her room, and sat up 
 late, thinking over the unreasonable prejudices which 
 induced Mr. Mertoun to thwart Eva's cherished hopes: 
 she could see nothing in Lord Alan's gay and self- 
 possessed manner to justify the fear of hereditary in- 
 sanity, and she accepted Lady Cecilia's adjustment of 
 the scales when she balanced Lord Alan's noble birth 
 against Eva's fortune. The combination of the two 
 seemed to Amy to make up the sum of earthly hap- 
 piness. 
 
 The morning brought some further explanation of 
 Mr. Mertoun's views. The maid who brought Amy 
 her hot water informed her that her master hoped that
 
 CONFIDENCES. 73 
 
 she would be able to speak a word with him before 
 breakfast, and Amy dressed in haste and repaired to 
 her uncle's study. 
 
 "Have you seen Eva this morning?" he inquired 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Not this morning, Uncle Richard: I was with her 
 last night." 
 
 "I thought that I heard you both moving about 
 late. Of course she told you what I said to her, since 
 girls always like to talk over their love affairs, real or 
 imaginary." 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Richard," said Amy timidly. She was 
 anxious to stand well with her uncle, without being 
 disloyal to her friend. 
 
 "And this affair I take to be imaginary," continued 
 Richard Mertoun, bending his keen grey eyes on Amy 
 with a searching glance. "I suppose that she told me 
 all the truth, when she assured me that there was no 
 engagement, nor even a tacit understanding between 
 them." 
 
 "I think that Eva was most pained by the discovery 
 that people were gossipping about her," said Amy: 
 "she never mentioned Lord Alan to me until last 
 night, and then she said that she did not believe that 
 he really cared for her." 
 
 "She is so shrinking and sensitive," said Mr. Mer- 
 toun: "I have not been able to sleep all night for 
 thinking how much I had wounded her, and yet it is 
 evident that the warning was not given too soon. No- 
 thing could induce me to let her marry into the Rae
 
 74 VANESSA. 
 
 family: I know from those who are well informed that 
 there has been a taint in the blood for many genera- 
 tions, and that while the women do not turn out badly, 
 the men are nearly all vicious or insane. This Lord 
 Alan is agreeable enough in society, a gentleman, and 
 with plenty to say for himself, but your fine young 
 gentlemen do not always make the best husbands, and 
 of course he is liable to break out like the rest. I 
 hear that he is a little wild in his talk even now, espe- 
 cially after dinner." 
 
 "Eva seems anxious to do all that you wish," said 
 Amy. 
 
 "She is a good child," replied the father, tenderly: 
 "I still hope that I am more to her than any hand- 
 some young lord who may have tried to turn her head 
 with a few soft sayings, without making any deep im- 
 pression on her heart. Is it not so, Amy?" 
 
 "Indeed I hope so, Uncle Richard." 
 
 "You are a sensible girl yourself," resumed Mr. 
 Mertoun, encouraged by his niece's assent; "I rely 
 upon your tact and judgment in any difficulties which 
 may arise. It is clearly better for Eva to go to this 
 party at the Hollies, or the tongues of our gossipping 
 neighbours would wag faster than before; and I would 
 not go myself, even if I could spare the time, lest 
 Eva should imagine that I distrusted and wished to 
 watch her. You may be able to do more than I can 
 to detach Lord Alan and ward off a declaration by 
 which Eva would be unreasonably distressed. I do
 
 BUTTERFLY-HUNTING. 75 
 
 not enter into particulars, since you must be guided 
 by circumstances as they arise." 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Richard," said Amy, a little perplexed 
 by instructions which were of so vague a nature. How 
 was she to aid in the process of "detachment," and had 
 the slight tokens of Lord Alan's admiration for her- 
 self, which had sent a pang through Eva's bosom, 
 been noticed by other eyes? Amy had no leisure to 
 solve this question at once, and could only resolve 
 to follow her uncle's advice in one particular, and to 
 be guided by circumstances. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Butterfly-hunting. 
 
 EVA and her cousin set out on their drive to the 
 Hollies a little late, and yet not late enough to pro- 
 voke any special comment by the tardiness of their 
 arrival. The two girls were dressed alike, in rather 
 fanciful Watteau costumes, which gave piquancy to 
 Amy's beauty, and pointed her resemblance to a por- 
 celain shepherdess; but in Eva's case the effect was 
 less successful: it may have been ill suited to her style 
 of beauty, or only have been marred by her sad and 
 anxious heart, but in any case the contrast between 
 the cousins left all the advantage on Amy's side. It 
 was Eva however whom Lady Cecilia welcomed with 
 gracious distinction. 
 
 "My dear Eva! as each carriage drew up, I trusted
 
 76 VANESSA. 
 
 that it was yours. Alan was quite in despair at hav- 
 ing to begin a game without you, as he said that you 
 promised to be here early, and at last we arranged 
 that Mr. Wray should hold your mallet." 
 
 "Perhaps you will allow my cousin to play instead 
 of me," said Eva: "I have a headache which made me 
 doubtful about coming at all, and I cannot do more 
 than sit in the shade with you." 
 
 Lady Cecilia could only assent, but when she took 
 Amy across the turf to join the knot of players, she 
 had a different arrangement to suggest: "Eva Mertoun 
 cannot play, Alan," she said in a low voice to her 
 nephew, "would you like to give up your mallet to 
 her cousin?" 
 
 "As Miss Amy Mertoun pleases," said Lord Alan 
 politely, "but I know that my uncle is dying to be 
 released." 
 
 While Amy protested that she would rather look 
 on than interfere with the game, another of the players 
 turned towards her. It was Dennis O'Brien, and, while 
 Amy changed colour, he bowed with the distant cool- 
 ness of a slight acquaintance. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Mertoun," he said quietly; 
 "I need scarcely say that you do me no favour in 
 taking my mallet. You know of old that I am no 
 croquet player." 
 
 There was nothing in the words to strike the ear 
 of strangers, but they made Amy's heart beat with un- 
 ruly vehemence which rendered her perfectly incapable 
 of reply. She took the mallet from O'Brien's hand
 
 BUTTERFLY-HUNTING. 77 
 
 without a word, angry with her own want of presence 
 of mind and with her former lover's stinging indiffer- 
 ence, but a little consoled by Lord Alan's undisguised 
 satisfaction in the arrangement which made Amy his 
 partner in the game. Mr. Wray, who had only con- 
 sented to play on the understanding that he should 
 give way to the first comer, was less gratified by the 
 unceremonious haste with which Dennis escaped from 
 his proposal to make a fresh transfer, and he took up 
 his mallet again with an air of melancholy resignation, 
 prepared to become once more the object of his young 
 lady partner's withering scorn, as he frustrated all her 
 policy by his blundering strokes. It was one of the 
 occasions on which Mr. Wray was unable to free him- 
 self from the role assigned to him among many of his 
 acquaintance, of being only Lady Cecilia's husband, 
 although his individuality was fully recognized in the 
 set of scientific men with whom he preferred to as- 
 sociate. 
 
 Amy could not at once respond with spirit to 
 Lord Alan's efforts to interest her in the game. The 
 meeting with Dennis had passed off well, and his 
 guarded manner and cool politeness were exactly what 
 she had herself prescribed, but the readiness with 
 which he had followed the prescription was not flatter- 
 ing to her self-esteem, and she felt that it was due to 
 herself to evince equal indifference by replying to 
 Lord Alan's soft sayings with a bewitching gentleness 
 of manner which had its due effect in rivetting the 
 chains in which her beauty had already begun to
 
 78 VANESSA. 
 
 enthrall his fickle affections. Mr. Mertoun could 
 scarcely have anticipated such prompt and efficient 
 co-operation when he invoked her aid in the work of 
 "detachment," and Eva watched the process with a 
 sore and swelling heart. To Lady Cecilia also it ap- 
 peared that her elaborately planned croquet-party 
 would prove an unprofitable investment, and she flitted 
 about in restless dissatisfaction, as impatient of the 
 protracted game as Mr. Wray himself; and more deeply 
 injured when Lord Alan and Amy disappeared at its 
 conclusion down a grass alley, from which they only 
 emerged again late in the afternoon. 
 
 Lord Alan then came up to address Eva for the 
 first time since her arrival: "I hope that you are feel- 
 ing better, Miss Mertoun; I am so grieved to hear 
 that you are suffering from headache. Your cousin 
 missed a good deal of lively excitement in not being 
 able to join our game," he added, appealing to Amy. 
 
 "Amy plays a better game than I do," said Eva, 
 simply; and it may have been only her cousin's un- 
 easy conscience which detected any double meaning 
 in the remark. 
 
 "She played remarkably well," said Lord Alan, 
 "and we were both exhausted with our exertions, and 
 glad to sit down and rest among the ferns. I think 
 you know the place, Miss Mertoun?" 
 
 "The fernery? yes, I know it well," replied Eva. 
 She too had spent a long afternoon in its refreshing 
 shade, with Lord Alan by her side, just a year ago. 
 
 "I am afraid that the tea and coffee are both cold:
 
 BUTTERFLY-HUNTING. 79 
 
 perhaps you would prefer an ice?" said Lady Cecilia, 
 turning stiffly to Amy. 
 
 "Let me send for a cup of hot coffee, Miss Mer- 
 toun," said Lord Alan, eagerly bending forward: "it 
 is my fault that we are so late. Unless, indeed, you 
 prefer an ice?" 
 
 "Indeed, I do," said Amy, looking prettier than 
 ever through her diffident blushes, and it is not given 
 to every woman to blush becomingly. But, as Lady 
 Cecilia remarked to her friends, there was no soul in 
 such pink and white prettiness. She was one of the 
 large-bodied women who love to talk of the soul. 
 
 Eva had not been left entirely on Lady Cecilia's 
 hands that afternoon, for Dennis O'Brien was intro- 
 duced to her and they had some talk together. His 
 eyes, as well as Eva's, followed the croquet-players 
 persistently, and a vague desire to ascertain the true 
 nature of his relations to Amy prompted Eva's remark: 
 "I think, Mr. O'Brien, you knew my cousin at Al- 
 lerton?" 
 
 "I know them all," said Dennis: "Henry is my 
 great friend, and our intimacy made me almost one 
 of the family. I miss the home life in my lodgings 
 at Bixley." 
 
 "Helen said that they missed you at Allerton," 
 said Eva: "what an odd, clever girl she is, quite un- 
 like girls in general." 
 
 "I am partly responsible for her singularity," said 
 Dennis: "it has been pleasant to teach anyone of so 
 much originality and power of research, yet I do not
 
 80 VANESSA. 
 
 altogether plume myself on the result. She might 
 distinguish herself as a man, but I doubt whether she 
 will be a popular or agreeable woman." 
 
 The critical tone of this remark convinced Eva 
 that Helen was still, as Amy had said, only a school- 
 boy in his eyes, and she ventured on the further ob- 
 servation: "The two sisters are very unlike." 
 
 "Unlike indeed," said Dennis emphatically, "and 
 not only in externals. But I know them too well to 
 discuss their peculiarities." 
 
 It was at this juncture that Mr. Wray came up to 
 congratulate himself on his tardy release from the 
 servitude of croquet, which entitled him to carry off 
 O'Brien to look over his collection of fossils, and Eva 
 was left to discover that Lord Alan did not show the 
 like eagerness to make amends for the time he had 
 lost in the fulfilment of his social duties. She had 
 honestly intended to satisfy her father by discouraging 
 his attentions, but this could not diminish the bitter- 
 ness of the admission that no discouragement was 
 necessary. Eva was among the first to order her car- 
 riage, and when Lord Alan protested against such an 
 early departure, his remonstrances were pointedly ad- 
 dressed to Amy. It was to her also that the remark 
 was made, that he should soon have occasion to go 
 to Bixley and that he would take Leasowes on the 
 way. Mr. Wray took Eva to the carriage and Lord 
 Alan followed, not too closely, with Amy; indeed there 
 were a few moments' delay, to be explained by the.
 
 BUTTERFLY-HUNTING. 8 1 
 
 freshly gathered bunch of tea-roses which he left in 
 Amy's lap after she was seated in the carriage. 
 
 They had passed through the lodge gates before 
 silence was broken by either of the girls; and 
 Eva leaned back in her corner of the carriage and 
 closed her eyes, perhaps to keep back tears which 
 were ready to fall. At last Amy ventured to take her 
 hand, and to say softly: "Is your head very bad, dear 
 Eva?" 
 
 "Not very bad, Amy, but a headache sometimes 
 serves as a convenient excuse when one is out of 
 heart or temper." There was another silence, and 
 then Eva added: "If Papa had been here to-day, he 
 would have been satisfied that the gossips of Bixley 
 had mistaken the object of Lord Alan's attentions. Is 
 is not so, Amy?" 
 
 "Indeed, Eva, I could not help it." 
 
 "I suppose not. You can no more help being 
 lovely and lovable than I can help being sought only 
 for my father's money. We shall not quarrel, even 
 about this, Amy: to-morrow and for all days to come 
 I mean to be reasonable." Amy kissed her cousin, 
 and wisely held her peace: it was in order to hide her 
 own embarrassment that she played with the roses in 
 her lap, whilst Eva, in the unreasoning anguish of a 
 tortured heart, was ready to ascribe the unconscious 
 action to her desire to flaunt such proofs of favour in 
 the eyes of her slighted rival. 
 
 The other actor in this little drama did not escape 
 a severer criticism. Lady Cecilia had spent more. 
 
 Vanessa. 6
 
 82 VANESSA. 
 
 money than she could afford on her garden party, 
 regarding it as an investment of capital which was to 
 produce a speedy return in the shape of her nephew's 
 engagement to Eva Mertoun, and she was naturally 
 indignant at the signal failure of all her schemes. 
 When the last visitor had driven off, and Mr. Wray had 
 retreated to the peaceful seclusion of his own room, 
 for the half hour which still remained before dinner, 
 Lord Alan discovered that he was not to be left to 
 the same repose. He took up a newspaper, but Lady 
 Cecilia was too angry and too much in earnest to be 
 diverted from her object. 
 
 "I know how much latitude young men allow 
 themselves, Alan, but, even according to their lax 
 code, I imagine that it is in bad taste to flirt with a 
 pair of cousins who stand almost in the relation of 
 sisters to each other." 
 
 "What an alarming prelude, Aunt Cecilia! Pray 
 go on with your lecture," said Alan, with a lazy good- 
 humour which did not modify his aunt's displeasure. 
 
 "I really hoped, Alan, that you were in earnest 
 this time, and that you would make a marriage in 
 every way suitable and satisfactory." 
 
 "The accusation takes a different form. I hold 
 flirtation to be one of the pleasing preliminaries to 
 marriage." 
 
 "Always supposing that you flirt with the right 
 person. You know, Alan, that I have given you every 
 facility for making Eva Mertoun's acquaintance, She
 
 BUTTERFLY-HUNTING. 83 
 
 is a thoroughly nice lady-like girl, and the more you 
 know the better you will like her. Last summer you 
 paid her great attention, and now, just as all the 
 neighbourhood is aware of the fact, you slight her in 
 the most glaring manner for a girl whom you saw for 
 the first time ten days ago. I should like to know 
 what your intentions really are." 
 
 "I thought that it was only the heavy father of 
 genteel comedy who asked a man about his inten- 
 tions," said Lord Alan, suppressing a yawn. "How- 
 ever, I have no objection to tell you that I was rather 
 taken with your lovely young heiress a year ago. 
 There was a naturalness and piquancy about her man- 
 ner which I found refreshing, and, if she had come 
 on instead of going off, and also if you had flaunted 
 her money-bags less persistently in my face, I might 
 have drifted into matrimony. But the fates are against 
 it, the rich cousin has become sickly and spiritless, 
 and the poor one is lovely and bewitching and I have 
 no 'intentions,' except that I intend my three months' 
 visit here to be as agreeable as possible." 
 
 "Your levity is incorrigible," said Lady Cecilia, 
 and she pondered how the three months' visit could 
 be curtailed. It was true that she had urged her 
 nephew to come up from Scotland, and to stay at the 
 Hollies until the grouse-shooting began; but he had 
 manifestly accepted the invitation on false pretences, 
 if, instead of courting an heiress, he employed his 
 time in an idle flirtation with her penniless cousin. 
 
 6*
 
 84 VANESSA. 
 
 She broke ground that evening by suggesting to Mr. 
 Wray the expediency of leaving home for a time, but 
 his reply was vague and discouraging. Since his con- 
 jugal felicity was not perfect, he preferred to remain 
 at home where the presence of a third person blunted 
 the edge of those sharp sayings which were apt to be 
 exchanged in a domestic tete-a-tete. He said that he 
 was writing a treatise, which made it impossible for 
 him to separate from the contents of his library, but 
 that if Lady Cecilia thought that she could afford it, 
 she might take a run up to London, and he and Alan 
 would keep house together. Lady Cecilia deplored 
 the selfish apathy of mankind, and was constrained to 
 cast about for some other means of breaking off Lord 
 Alan's unprofitable pursuit of Amy Mertoun. 
 
 The account of the garden party at the Hollies 
 will scarcely be complete without the comment fur- 
 nished by the following note from Dennis O'Brien: 
 
 "My dear Helen, 
 
 "Herewith I return your notes on Somerville, in- 
 terlined with unsparing criticism, which I sum up in 
 the advice that you should avoid tall English and 
 study compression of style. Henry will be pleased to 
 learn that I can also take advice, since I acted on his 
 politic counsel to attend the aristocratic croquet. It 
 gave me the opportunity of studying the instinct and 
 habits of Vanessa Cardui, which are really interesting 
 in a scientific point of view. Perhaps this allusion 
 will be more intelligible to you than it was to Dick,
 
 "THE LITTLE RIFT." 85 
 
 on the memorable Sunday afternoon when I was dis- 
 illusioned. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "DENNIS O'BRIEN." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "The Little Rift." 
 
 LADY Cecilia's croquet served as a starting-point 
 for other gaieties in the neighbourhood, and the hot 
 June days which followed were occupied by a succes- 
 sion of garden parties. Eva was as reasonable as she 
 had engaged to be. She accepted each invitation as 
 it came without demur, although she knew that Lord 
 Alan Rae must be among the invited guests, and was 
 almost equally confident that he would distinguish 
 Amy by his exclusive attention. Amy's passive man- 
 ner seemed to endure, rather than to invite, his ad- 
 miration; and, except for one or two signs, known 
 only to themselves, the affectionate relations between 
 the cousins appeared to be unchanged. There was a 
 change, however, to be felt rather than described. 
 They no longer lingered in each other's rooms at 
 bed-time. There were no more whispered words, and 
 the playful sayings, which bespeak perfect confidence, 
 vanished before the smooth politeness which acts as 
 the veneer of mutual constraint. Amy felt that her 
 position was insecure, and that if at any time the 
 strain on Eva's endurance became too severe, a word
 
 86 VANESSA. 
 
 to her father might reveal the estrangement, and pro- 
 cure her exile from Leasowes and a return to the 
 sordid round of cares at Allerton from which she had 
 so recently escaped. Such a possibility struck upon 
 her heart with a chill of dismay, and, since mar- 
 riage offered the only certain escape from it, Amy 
 could not rise to the pitch of heroism implied in any 
 serious discouragement of Lord Alan's addresses. She 
 told herself that, even if she forbore to snatch the 
 prize, it would not be more within Eva's grasp, since 
 she had accepted her father's decision as irrevocable. 
 That the prize itself might not be worth snatching, 
 did not enter into her calculations. 
 
 Mr. Mertoun's objections to the match were 
 ascribed by her to his characteristic reluctance to 
 trust his daughter's happiness to any keeping but his 
 own, and to the natural propensity of mankind to 
 rake up frivolous accusations against those who are 
 raised above the common herd by their rank or noble 
 qualities. The fact still remained that Lord Alan was 
 of noble birth, and Amy's craving for material enjoy- 
 ment was gratified by the thought that she should 
 enter a sphere where all was harmony and brightness. 
 Besides, she liked Lord Alan for himself, though not 
 perhaps with the same warmth with which she had 
 once liked, or loved, Dennis O'Brien. That sentiment 
 still lingered in her breast, and the gentle deference 
 of Lord Alan's manner did not even now awaken the 
 same conflicting emotions which never failed to be 
 aroused by the few cold and ceremonious words which
 
 "THE LITTLE RIFT." 87 
 
 Dennis exchanged with her when they chanced to 
 meet. Amy considered that this was only due to the 
 uneasy feeling of shame with which we ever look back 
 to a dead folly, and that the grateful esteem and 
 regard with which she was prepared to devote herself 
 to Lord Alan's happiness were better calculated to 
 outwear the union of a life-time. 
 
 While Amy thus arrayed the reasons in favour of 
 accepting the offer of Lord Alan's hand, those who 
 knew him most intimately doubted whether the offer 
 would be ever made. His friends argued that, since 
 Eva's wealth had failed to allure him into repairing 
 the broken fortunes of his family by marriage, he was 
 still less likely to be in earnest in his present suit; 
 and it was chiefly from a disinterested wish to spare 
 Amy's peace of mind, and possibly with the after- 
 thought that her nephew might resume his more 
 serious courtship of Eva if his relations with her were 
 uncomplicated by this additional proof of inconstancy, 
 that Lady Cecilia applied her energies to the task of 
 diverting Lord Alan from his new pursuit. She had 
 failed in her efforts to remove him from the neigh- 
 bourhood; but there was another mode of effecting 
 her purpose, and it was with this object in view that 
 she drove into Bixley one afternoon, and, calling at 
 Mr. Mertoun's office, she sent in her card to inquire 
 whether he was at leisure and would allow her to 
 come up for a few minutes. But one answer could 
 be given to such a message, and Mr. Mertoun, after 
 the involuntary ejaculation, "What does the woman
 
 88 VANESSA. 
 
 want?" sent out a polite request to Lady Cecilia to 
 walk upstairs. He received her stiffly, anticipating an 
 appeal in Lord Alan's favour, and her opening speech 
 did not dissipate this belief. 
 
 "It is so good of you, Mr. Mertoun, to allow me 
 to take you by storm in this way. I am really ashamed 
 to trespass upon your valuable time, but the interest I 
 take in your dear Eva must be my excuse." 
 
 "Eva is infinitely obliged to you," said Mr. Mer- 
 toun, drily. 
 
 "Once before," resumed Lady Cecilia, blandly un- 
 conscious of his repelling manner, "I ventured to call 
 your attention to Eva's fragile looks. A woman's eye 
 is quick to notice any signs of delicacy, and you will 
 excuse my apparent officiousness in the case of a 
 motherless girl." 
 
 "Eva always looks delicate," said Mr. Mertoun, 
 disclaiming almost fiercely the secret anxiety by which 
 he was constantly consumed, "and the great heat we 
 have had lately is trying to her." 
 
 "Exactly so," replied Lady Cecilia; "our inland 
 summers are always relaxing. At the sea-side it is 
 different, and it occurred to me that a change of air 
 is all that is needed to restore Eva's strength and tone. 
 I know that it is difficult for you to leave home, but 
 since she has her cousin's companionship, the two girls 
 could go to some quiet sea-side place together." 
 
 "It is not a bad suggestion," said Mr. Mertoun, 
 after pausing a moment to consider whether it could 
 be prompted by any motive but that which lay on the
 
 "THE LITTLE RIFT." 8g 
 
 surface. "As you say, Amy might go with her, and I 
 would run down for a Sunday; but since I have no 
 partner, I cannot be away from my business for many 
 days at a time." 
 
 "I would gladly take Eva to the sea-side myself," 
 said Lady Cecilia, "but Mr. Wray never likes to leave 
 home; and besides, it would throw out my nephew's 
 plans, since he has arranged to stay with us for an- 
 other six weeks." 
 
 Lady Cecilia imparted this last piece of informa- 
 tion in an ingenuous tone which disarmed all Mr. 
 Mertoun's suspicions. In urging Eva's removal from 
 the neighbourhood while Lord Alan continued to 
 reside at the Hollies, she proved that she had relin- 
 quished any scheme she had entertained of promoting 
 the intimacy, if indeed Mr. Mertoun had not wronged 
 her in such a belief. His brow cleared, and he said 
 with real friendliness, "It is very good of you, Lady 
 Cecilia, to take such an interest in my little girl. I 
 am less at home than I could wish, and it is true that 
 I might not be the first to notice any failure of health 
 or spirits. I will talk over the matter with her and 
 Amy when I go home this evening, and I will send 
 them off to Swanage if I see any occasion for it." 
 
 Lady Cecilia would not trespass any longer on 
 Mr. Mertoun's valuable time, and took leave of him 
 satisfied that she had set the stone rolling and that 
 her nephew would be deprived of the pastime in 
 which he had chosen to employ the long summer 
 days.
 
 QO ' . i VANESSA. 
 
 Eva's sad eyes brightened when her father came 
 home prepared with his scheme for sending her from 
 home. There is no tread-mill more wearisome than 
 the round of gaieties which demand a smile upon the 
 lips when the spirits are , flagging and the heart is 
 sore; and to escape from such servitude to the little 
 watering-place, where she might be as silent and un- 
 social as she pleased, was a welcome prospect. But 
 the "little rift" which severed her from her cousin was 
 slowly widening, and she could not endure the thought 
 of constant and close companionship, when there 
 would be no third person present to lessen the con- 
 straint. "If you can get on without us, papa," she 
 said, "I really think that a month at Swanage would 
 do me good, but it would be dull for Amy unless I 
 may ask Helen to come with us. They might take 
 long walks together when I am only fit to sit on the 
 shore, and I should enjoy giving Helen the thorough 
 rest and holiday. I know from Mr. O'Brien, even 
 more than from what Amy has told me, how hard- 
 worked she is at home." 
 
 "Settle it as you like," said Mr. Mertoun, not 
 altogether pleased, "I see that you are determined 
 that I shall adopt the whole family. Here is young 
 Richard coming into the office next week, and I sup- 
 pose that you will soon find niches for the rest. I can 
 see the attraction to a pretty, sensible girl like Amy, 
 but this other sister has always appeared to me sin- 
 gularly deficient in outward graces." 
 
 "She is at the awkward age," said Eva, "but there
 
 "THE LITTLE RIFT." 91 
 
 is something honest and downright in her, something 
 on which I feel that I could fall back in any trouble." 
 
 "And what trouble do you anticipate?" said Mr. 
 Mertoun, looking at her keenly. 
 
 "Nothing very serious," said Eva, smiling, "but 
 there are times when my head aches and my limbs 
 tremble, and when the trouble of living seems almost 
 too great." 
 
 "A girl's nervous fancies; you certainly want 
 change of air," said Mr. Mertoun hurriedly. "And 
 you may take Helen if you like. A parcel of girls 
 together: you will be apt to get into mischief, but I 
 shall send Misbourne to look after you." Misbourne 
 was the old housekeeper who had ruled at Leasowes 
 in Eva's childhood, and with whom Eva now shared a 
 divided empire. 
 
 When Amy learned that the sentence had gone 
 forth that they were to leave Leasowes for Swanage 
 in the course of the ensuing week, her countenance 
 expressed none of the discomfiture she felt, but she 
 ventured to ask in a slightly injured tone whether it 
 were not rather early for the sea-side. "At this time 
 of year," she said, "I fancy that the place must be 
 given up to nursery-maids and children." 
 
 "Swanage is not a gay and fashionable place at 
 any time of year," said Eva. "There is nothing so 
 detestable as sea-side gaieties. The days may be too 
 glaring for us to go out much, but I shall enjoy the 
 long summer evenings on the shore, and the release 
 from housekeeping cares, and the privilege of wearing
 
 Q2 VANESSA. 
 
 shabby clothes. I hope that you will not dislike it 
 very much." 
 
 "Of course not, Eva, I think it will be delightful," 
 said Amy, not with enthusiasm. "But if you can 
 carry out your idea of taking Helen, would it not be 
 well for me to stay and keep house for Uncle Richard? 
 He will be very uncomfortable without you or Mis- 
 bourne to look after him, and I might be of some 
 use to Dick in his first independent start in life, while 
 it is near enough to Allerton to make Helen easy 
 about leaving mamma." 
 
 "The last will be only a sentimental advantage, 
 unless you migrate to Allerton for the time I am 
 away," said Eva, with the slightest shade of aigreur in 
 her tone. "The distance is too great for constant 
 intercourse, and you know that you have not been over 
 once since you came to Leasowes. I am quite sure 
 that Papa will not let you sacrifice yourself to his 
 comfort, since I often leave him in this way, though 
 not often so early in the year. He rather enjoys his 
 bachelor life, and says that he gets through twice as 
 much work as when I am at home. He dines out 
 among the Bixley people, and once in a fortnight or 
 so he runs down to spend a Sunday with me. He 
 would be rather oppressed if he felt himself respon- 
 sible for your amusement." 
 
 "I only wished to be of use. If it would bore 
 Uncle Richard, of course I would much rather be 
 with you," said Amy. The suggestion of even a tem- 
 porary return to Allerton, seemed to her sensitive-
 
 HELEN'S HOLIDAY. 93 
 
 imagination to imply a threat of her eternal exile 
 from Leasowes and all its advantages, and nothing 
 short of unconditional submission might save her 
 from such a fate. She declared herself as ready to go 
 to Swanage as to promote the scheme of adding Helen 
 to her party, although there was in fact little in the 
 note which she appended to Eva's letter on the sub- 
 ject, beyond an expression of self-gratulation over the 
 benefits which the benign influence of her presence at 
 Leasowes had procured for the other members of her 
 family. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Helen's Holiday. 
 
 "O MY prophetic soul!" exclaimed Helen, as she 
 ran her eye over the two letters which her mother 
 : handed to her without a word of comment: "I always 
 felt that Amy's promotion was only the thin end of 
 the wedge. Dick has already been sucked into the 
 vortex, and the rest of the family are commanded to 
 follow." 
 
 "A confusion of metaphors, Helen," observed 
 Henry, as he rose hastily from the breakfast-table; "I 
 shall be too late for the bank if I stay to protest that 
 there is no legitimate connection between wedges and 
 whirlpools. I only stay to declare that if Leasowes is 
 the vortex, it will find me a tough morsel to swallow." 
 
 "I am glad that Henry could not stay to bias your
 
 94 VANESSA. 
 
 decision," said Mrs. Mertoun, when the house-door 
 had closed behind him; "I have quite set my heart 
 on your taking a real holiday for the first time in 
 your life." 
 
 "Have you really, mother?" replied Helen, strok- 
 ing and fondling her mother's hand with a rare burst 
 of tenderness: "I never knew you to set your heart 
 on anything so unnatural and absurd. Do you think 
 that I am to leave you alone to vex your soul about 
 Dick's proceedings at Bixley, or Sarah's last piece of 
 stupidity in the kitchen? I hope that Henry will get 
 away for his holiday in three weeks' time, and then 
 you and I must look forward to our annual dissipation 
 at the Manor Farm. I met Miss Charlton in the 
 street two days ago, and she told me that she ex- 
 pected us to spend a long day with her as soon as 
 the worry of the hay harvest was off her mind." 
 
 "I shall not feel lonely, with Miss Charlton to 
 look in now and then," persisted Mrs. Mertoun: 
 "there is really no valid reason for refusing Eva's 
 kindness." 
 
 "I see many reasons why we should not all be- 
 come pensioners on Uncle Richard's bounty," said 
 Helen. "I do not want to unlearn the lesson of in- 
 dependence which has been the best fruit of our 
 struggling life. You know, mother, that it will take 
 me six weeks' machine-work to balance my account 
 with Mr. Benson for Dick's new set of shirts." 
 
 "I daresay that Benson would let that stand over 
 until you come back."
 
 HELEN'S HOLIDAY. 9$ 
 
 "I dare say he would; but if he had to get some 
 one else to do his machine-work, I should lose my 
 connection. You need not shock Amy's gentility by 
 bringing forward any such plebeian reasons, although 
 I think the stitching of trimmings as little degrading 
 as Uncle Richard's dealings in coal, corn, and timber; 
 but write a polite refusal, full of the vague generali- 
 ties which it is impossible to refute. I do not 
 imagine that Eva really cares about my going, and if 
 Amy had been in earnest about it, she would have 
 testified to the fact by enclosing another pair of kid 
 gloves." 
 
 "If you are set against the plan, Helen, it is of no 
 use to argue the point," said Mrs. Mertoun, with a 
 plaintive note in her voice. 
 
 "Do not worry yourself any more about it, mother," 
 rejoined Helen, brightly, "you know in your heart that 
 my going is out of the question; and I will write the 
 letter of refusal myself, lest Eva should imagine that I 
 am a victim." 
 
 The letter was, however, postponed by Helen to 
 the exigencies of her machine, although its composi- 
 tion occupied her mind while she bent over her work, 
 which was carried on in the little back parlour, in 
 order that she might be free from interruption. Mrs. 
 Mertoun meanwhile had a visit from the Miss Charlton 
 of the Manor Farm, of whom mention has been made. 
 The Charltons were substantial yeomen who had oc- 
 cupied their own land for many generations, and 
 Charlton Manor was within a walk of Allerton, It
 
 96 VANESSA. 
 
 was a picturesque old tenement, its brick walls and 
 tiled roof mellowed by the interlacing growth of moss 
 and lichens which had been undisturbed for centuries. 
 There was a flagged pathway up to the front door, 
 which was not opened once in six weeks, and a back 
 entrance through the farm and poultry yard into the 
 tiled kitchen, in which Miss Charlton pottered about 
 of a morning, much more at home than she appeared 
 to be in the low-browed parlour to which she used to 
 adjourn to receive her afternoon visitors. 
 
 Miss Charlton was a little, brisk, old lady, who 
 wore her own grey hair with her morning print 
 dresses, and arrayed herself in a brown front and a 
 black silk gown, rich in quality, but short and scanty 
 in quantity, when she went abroad or expected com- 
 pany at home. She kept house for her brother George, 
 who was several years younger than herself, and had 
 still an air of youth and comeliness about him. He was 
 reputed to be wealthy, but their style of living was 
 more in keeping with the customs of a bygone gene- 
 ration than with modern notions. They kept only 
 two indoor servants, and would have thought it an 
 unjustifiable extravagance to eat meat which had not 
 been killed on the farm: but the consumption of beef 
 and ale was great on all festive occasions, and George 
 Charlton paid away a large sum in weekly wages to 
 men whose chief claim to his service lay in the fact 
 that they were too old or infirm to obtain work else- 
 where, and that their fathers and grandfathers had 
 worked on the estate before 'them.
 
 HELEN'S HOLIDAY. 97 
 
 Amy had always attempted to ignore the acquaint- 
 ance of Miss Charlton and her brother, whom she 
 designated as "Helen's friends," but she had not been 
 insensible to the material advantages it offered in the 
 frequent tokens of regard which were so often left at 
 the door with Mr. Charlton's respectful compliments 
 the little loin of dairy-fed pork, the delicious cream 
 cheeses, the fragrant strawberries or russet apples 
 which followed in due succession. Since Amy's re- 
 moval to Leasowes, intercourse with the inhabitants 
 of the Manor Farm had been less restricted, and Miss 
 Charlton was on sufficiently unceremonious terms to 
 invade Helen's retreat, tapping lightly at the door 
 when her long visit to Mrs. Mertoun came to an end. 
 She received a cordial welcome: Helen kissed the old 
 lady's cheek, which was at once withered and ruddy, 
 like a shrivelled pippin; apologised, not unnecessarily, 
 for her own fluffy appearance, and tilted a pile of 
 work out of the only spare chair, on which she en- 
 treated Miss Charlton to make herself comfortable. 
 
 "Indeed, Miss Helen," she replied, "I have been 
 here too long already. I sat gossipping with your 
 dear mamma to cheer her up, for she looks nervous 
 and low." 
 
 "Your visits always do her a world of good, Miss 
 Charlton. She has a good many lonely hours, now 
 that Amy is gone, and I cannot sit with her while I 
 am at work because the noise of the machine worries 
 her head. You bring a whiff of country air in with 
 
 Vanessa. 7
 
 g 8 VANESSA. 
 
 you which is almost as good for her as a visit to the 
 Manor Farm." 
 
 "You have taken the word out of my mouth," said 
 Miss Charlton, "for I have almost persuaded Mrs. Mer- 
 toun to pay us a visit. A month in the country, on 
 our homely fare of good cream and whey and new- 
 laid eggs, will do her a world of good, and her only 
 difficulty is about leaving you here." 
 
 "That difficulty is easily solved," said Helen, not 
 unsuspicious of the attack to which Miss Charlton was 
 diplomatically leading the way: "Henry and I can 
 keep house together with perfect comfort and pro- 
 priety." 
 
 "As if your dear mamma would consent to take 
 her pleasure when you are as hard at work as ever. 
 No, Miss Helen, / know her better than that." 
 
 "Then, Miss Charlton, you must include me in the 
 invitation to the Manor Farm, and let one of your 
 waggons call for the sewing-machine." 
 
 "Another time, my dear, another time. I am sure 
 that I take it as a great compliment that you should 
 think of putting up with our old-world ways. If Mr. 
 Henry will condescend so far, there will be a bed for 
 him whenever he likes to come out to the farm, but 
 we cannot take all our visitors at once." 
 
 "Your duplicity amazes me," said Helen with mock 
 solemnity. "Have I not played at hide and seek at 
 the farm, through the long range of sloping attics, 
 each furnished with its oaken press and bed with 
 dimity hangings, where you might put up a regiment
 
 HELEN'S HOLIDAY. 99 
 
 or a boarding-school? Confess that you and mother 
 have been intriguing against me, and that this is 
 only a plot for sending me to Swanage against my 
 will." 
 
 "I am not at all ashamed to confess it," said Miss 
 Charlton stoutly: "I soon found out that your mamma 
 was fretting over the idea that you had given up the 
 jaunt on her account, and I wish that you could have 
 seen her face light up as soon as I saw my way out 
 of the difficulty. Do not vex her and disappoint me 
 by interfering with the arrangement I propose." 
 
 "Well, I will not at least if Henry makes no ob- 
 jection to my going," said Helen, and there was some 
 heroism in the concession, since it implied the sur- 
 render of her independence: "I must hear what Henry 
 has to say in the matter, and also Mr. Benson, and 
 if the Fates send me to Swanage, I will try to think 
 it pleasant. But I know that it would be much plea- 
 santer to drink cream and make hay at the Manor 
 Farm." 
 
 "Another time, my dear," repeated Miss Charlton, 
 mildly triumphant in the success of her mission. "I 
 am sure that George would be flattered to hear you 
 say so, though he would not approve of your taste. 
 He is a great admirer of your beautiful sister, and in- 
 deed it is quite a tender subject with him. I tell him 
 that he does not care near so much about going into 
 Allerton, now that there is no chance of meeting her 
 in the street." 
 
 Helen thought with some amusement of the scorn 
 
 r
 
 1OO , VANESSA. 
 
 with which Amy would disclaim her bucolic admirer, 
 but she was able to see the matter from Miss Charl- 
 ton's point of view and to accept George Charlton's 
 homage with gratitude, and the simple-hearted old 
 lady remarked to her brother that evening that, though 
 some people said that the Mertouns held their heads 
 too high, she should always declare Miss Helen had 
 the sweetest manner of all the girls she knew. 
 
 Mrs. Mertoun Was overjoyed, Henry only slightly 
 contemptuous, when it appeared that Helen had re- 
 considered her determination to decline Eva's invita- 
 tion, and it was accepted accordingly, with due, but 
 by no means extravagant, expressions of gratitude. A 
 few busy days of preparation followed, and, on the 
 evening before her own departure, Helen had the 
 satisfaction of seeing her mother and Henry com- 
 fortably established at the Manor Farm. Dick had 
 already preceded her on the journey to Bixley, too 
 well pleased with his new outfit of clothes and his 
 release from school tasks to feel any aversion to the 
 more monotonous drudgery of office life, to which he 
 must now devote himself. The house at Allerton 
 was to be shut up, and, since it was many years since 
 there had been so little strain on Mrs. Mertoun's 
 slender income, Henry had acceded to O'Brien's pro- 
 posal that they should start early in July, on a walk- 
 ing tour together in the south of England. "I hope 
 that you will include Swanage in the programme," 
 Helen said, more in jest than earnest, and she was 
 surprised by Henry's ready reply, that he should like
 
 FAIR AND FICKLE. IOI 
 
 to explore the Isle of Purbeck unless Dennis were 
 averse to the idea. Helen began to suspect that the 
 bitterness with which Henry had hitherto regarded his 
 uncle Richard was modified by the interest he had 
 begun to feel in his pale, gentle cousin. Under all 
 the circumstances, Helen felt that she could enjoy her 
 holiday with an easy conscience, and she set out from 
 the deserted house at Allerton in buoyant spirits. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Fair and Fickle. 
 
 HELEN had taken an early train to Bixley, since there 
 was nothing to detain her in her dismantled home 
 and she wished to avoid travelling in the sultry heat 
 of mid-day, so that the carriage which took Mr. Mer- 
 toun to his office met her at the station, and she 
 found Eva and Amy lingering over their breakfast 
 when she arrived at Leasowes. 
 
 "You have got yourself up in the most elaborate 
 style for the sea-side," said Amy, after a critical survey 
 of her sister's appearance: "that blue serge will be the 
 very thing for Swanage, although it looks hot on such 
 a day as this." 
 
 "I am glad that you approve of Mr. Benson's taste 
 this time," said Helen, quick to resent her sister's con- 
 descending note of admiration : "the dear old man 
 sent me the dress two days ago as a slight token of 
 his respectful regard. He explained that it -was one
 
 102 VANESSA. 
 
 of his Parisian patterns, for which he had no further 
 occasion, and that he should be too much honoured 
 by my acceptance of it." 
 
 "Who is Mr. Benson?" asked Eva, and, while Amy 
 ruffled up her plumes like an offended chicken, Helen's 
 reply was prompt. 
 
 "Mr. Benson is my friend and patron, the leading 
 linendraper of Allerton a little, snuffy old man , who 
 may possibly claim my acquaintance on the sands at 
 Swanage. As I work for him regularly, I expected 
 him to make difficulties about my coming away, but, 
 on the contrary, he said yesterday that every one was 
 better for a holiday, and that he had himself thought 
 of spending the month of August at Swanage, only 
 Mrs. B. was more partial to Weymouth. In the course 
 of the same evening this dress was brought in, and I 
 am so overwhelmed with his munificence that I think 
 of making myself a walking advertisement, and dis- 
 playing the shop ticket on my sleeve." 
 
 It was undoubtedly trying to a possible, Amy 
 might have said to a probable, Lady Alan Rae, to 
 hear her sister blazon abroad the favours she had re- 
 ceived from a country draper, and Amy manifested 
 her annoyance by declaring the necessity of going to 
 see about her packing, and declining Helen's offers 
 of assistance. 
 
 "Tell me about Dick," said Helen, when she was 
 alone with Eva. "We have had one letter from him, 
 illiterate but satisfied. I hope that Uncle Richard has 
 not discovered how badly he spells."
 
 FAIR. AND FICKLE. 1 03 
 
 "He will have time to improve his spelling by a 
 long course of copying before he is promoted to any 
 original composition," said Eva. "He came up here 
 the day he arrived, but he would not stay, even for a 
 cup of tea, as he was impatient to be off to Mr. 
 O'Brien's lodgings, and we have not seen him since." 
 
 "He will be quite safe with Dennis, safe and 
 happy," said Helen; "Dick has a room in the same 
 house, and I suppose that there will be nothing im- 
 proper in my going there to see that his things are 
 properly unpacked and put away." 
 
 "I suppose not," said Eva doubtfully: "Mr. O'Brien 
 is always at the Museum at this hour." 
 
 "I was not thinking of Dennis," said Helen, with 
 a laugh. " Only whether Mrs. Ball, the landlady, would 
 think that I was taking a liberty. Why, when Dennis 
 was at Allerton, he used to bring me his shirts to 
 mend and his stockings to darn." 
 
 "Oh, if he is on such brotherly terms as that office 
 implies, there is nothing to be said," said Eva, smiling 
 also. "I can see no objection to your looking after 
 Dick's comfort, and if Mrs. Ball thinks it an unwar- 
 rantable liberty we shall never know it. But it is too 
 hot to walk, and if you can wait till after lunch I will 
 drive you into Bixley." 
 
 "The walk is nothing," said Helen. "I went twice 
 as far yesterday in the hottest part of the day, walking 
 out to the Manor Farm and back." 
 
 "The farm in which Aunt Anne has arranged to 
 board while you are away?" inquired Eva.
 
 IO4 VANESSA. 
 
 "That is Amy's way of stating, or misstating, a 
 fact," said Helen, colouring. "There is no arrange- 
 ment in the sense you mean. Mr. George Charlton 
 and his sister made the offer, in the kindness of their 
 hearts, putting us under an obligation which money 
 would not repay, if we had it to give, which we have 
 not." 
 
 "I did not mean to slight your friends," said Eva, 
 who did not in truth understand where the offence 
 lay. 
 
 "I know that you did not, Eva, but I was irritated 
 by the false impression which Amy had contrived to 
 give of their generous kindness. The truth is that 
 Amy and I survey life from different planes, and you 
 cannot live with such an uncongenial pair of sisters 
 for six weeks, without being disabused of your ideal 
 of family harmony," 
 
 "Life is a series of disillusions: one more or less 
 cannot signify," said Eva in a tone of weariness and 
 dissatisfaction which still rang in Helen's ears as she 
 walked briskly down into the town. 
 
 Helen's manner, so apt to be aggressive with those 
 whom she held to be her equals or superiors, had a 
 frank and winning <charin which found its way to the 
 hearts of those with whom she had occasion to asso- 
 ciate in the class below her. If Amy had glided into 
 her brother's lodgings on a visit of inspection, Mrs. 
 Ball might have felt disposed to resent such an un- 
 necessary intrusion; but Helen was not kept standing 
 on the well-worn floor-cloth in the passage for more
 
 FAIR AND FICKLE. 1 05 
 
 than two minutes before she and the landlady were 
 on the most cordial terms, and she was ushered into 
 Mr. Richard's little attic bedroom, while Mrs. Ball de- 
 clared her intention of acting a mother's part to him 
 in the matter of shirt-buttons. Helen was emboldened 
 to relieve the desolate bareness of the room by ar- 
 ranging her brother's few possessions in more orderly 
 fashion, and Mrs. Ball stood by meanwhile, with some- 
 thing also to say of her other lodger, Mr. O'Brien. 
 "The most regular, civillest-spoken young gentleman 
 that ever I had in the house, Miss Mertoun. I have 
 lived in high families, and I know a gentleman when 
 I see him, and so I put up with his messes of bottles 
 and old stones and things, though goodness knows 
 the use of such rubbish except to harbour dust. And 
 if he had been Master Richard's own brother, he could 
 not have taken him up shorter for sitting down to tea 
 without washing his hands." 
 
 "Between you and Mr. O'Brien, Master Richard 
 ought to know when he is well off," said Helen. "Do, 
 Mrs. Ball, make him understand that he must not 
 spatter ink over the wristbands of more than one 
 shirt a week, and discourage the practice of sticking 
 his pen behind his ear, until he has learned to keep 
 it there. I imagine that great blot on his shirt-collar 
 is dtie to his ambition to acquire the clerk-like art of 
 carrying a pen." 
 
 "Law! Miss Mertoun, boys will be boys," said 
 Mrs. Ball sententiously, and when Helen had agreed 
 to the axiom with the solemnity it demanded, she felt
 
 IO6 VANESSA. 
 
 that her mission was fulfilled, and that she might wish 
 Mrs. Ball good morning. She did not, however, at once 
 retrace her steps to Leasowes, but acted on the half- 
 formed intention which had influenced her desire to visit 
 Bixley independently, and she turned into the street 
 which led to the Museum. "A free day," she remarked 
 to herself, after a glance at the notice-board. "That 
 is lucky, considering the state of my finances, although 
 I should not think sixpence an exorbitant price to 
 pay for a few minutes' talk with Dennis." 
 
 It was the dinner-hour at Bixley, and, with the ex- 
 ception of two or three artisans who had strolled in 
 on their way from work, the rooms were empty. Helen 
 walked on, glancing in a cursory manner at the rows 
 of glass cases, until she reached the closed door of a 
 room which was labelled private, and, after only a 
 moment's hesitation, she knocked, and Dennis O'Brien 
 answered the summons. 
 
 ''Why, Helen," he said, a little scandalized, "have 
 you come all alone to invade my domain? Dick told 
 me that you were expected at Leasowes to-day." 
 
 "With whom should I come, Dennis? Dick is at 
 the office, and I did not suppose you would wish me 
 to bring Amy." 
 
 "I did not imagine that Amy would be brought," 
 said Dennis. "But I am very glad to see you, and 
 you shall tell me the Allerton news while we take a 
 turn through the Museum." 
 
 "I must not stay five minutes, as I shall be late
 
 FAIR AND FICKLE. IQJ 
 
 for luncheon, but I wanted to talk to you about Dick, 
 and also to ask what you say to this Swanage scheme. 
 Of course you think me a great fool for going?" 
 
 "No, I do not, Helen. I was rather surprised 
 when Dick told me, but I am glad that you agreed to 
 go. It may prevent your sister from drifting alto- 
 gether away from the old moorings." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Helen, "I am convinced 
 that Amy never sees me without feeling a more im- 
 perative necessity for breaking away from the life she 
 despises. I get on better with Eva, but I do not ex- 
 pect to be on familiar terms with anything but the 
 algae and actiniae until I come home again. I look 
 forward to their nearer acquaintance with the most 
 lively interest, and one of my objects in coming here 
 to-day was to ask for the name of some good, cheap, 
 exhaustive manual, since I intend to live on the 
 rocks." 
 
 Here the talk became technical, but it insensibly 
 drifted back to matters of human interest. "I have 
 encountered the Leasowes party several times," said 
 Dennis: "they came in here one day; incited, as I be- 
 lieve, by Lord Alan Rae, who was with them, and he 
 called me out of my den, as you did just now, to an- 
 swer some question of your sister's about a fossil. I 
 could see that Amy did not like it.", 
 
 "Perhaps you liked it still worse, Dennis," said 
 Helen, looking at him anxiously. 
 
 "I am growing callous to that sort of thing," said 
 O'Brien, although the working of his mobile features
 
 IO8 VANESSA. 
 
 belied his professions of insensibility; "people say 
 that her engagement to Lord Alan Rae may be de- 
 clared any day." 
 
 "Then people talk nonsense, as they usually do. 
 Amy herself told me, not a month ago, that Lord 
 Alan wishes to marry Eva." 
 
 Before O'Brien could declare his reasons for a 
 different belief, the discussion was cut short by the 
 appearance of Lord Alan himself, who had just en- 
 tered the room. He came up to speak to O'Brien, 
 and it cost him the effort of a moment's recollection 
 to recognise in Helen the third Miss Mertoun, but 
 nothing could be more cordial than his greeting when 
 the effort was successful. "Forgive my hesitation," he 
 said, "since I could not expect to see you in Bixley. 
 I have been absent from the Hollies for a day or two 
 and have only learned on my return, very much to 
 my regret, that Leasowes is deserted. Pray tell your 
 sister, when you write, how much I regret that I did 
 not see her again." 
 
 "I will give your message by word of mouth," said 
 Helen: "I sleep at Leasowes to-night and go with my 
 sister and cousin to Swanage to-morrow." 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction, not unmingled with anger, 
 lighted up Lord Alan's handsome features. "I was 
 misled by Lady Cecilia," he said: "but I shall not 
 miss the opportunity of paying a farewell visit to 
 Leasowes. I hoped to have found you at leisure for 
 a scientific talk," he added, turning to O'Brien, "but 
 that is a pleasure which may be deferred, as I might
 
 FAIR AND FICKLE. TOQ 
 
 possibly fail to see the Miss Mertouns if I call too 
 late." 
 
 "You will find me here at any time, Lord Alan," 
 replied Dennis, with formal courtesy of manner. 
 
 "I must go too," said Helen, less confident than 
 before that Dennis was mistaken in the object of Lord 
 Alan's frequent visits to Leasowes: "I shall be late for 
 lunch as it is. Good-bye, Dennis: give my blessing 
 to Dick in case I do not see him this evening, and 
 cry, Turn again, Whittington, if he betrays any 
 backsliding from the career of commerce." 
 
 "I have my horse," said Lord Alan, as they went 
 down the outside steps of the Museum, and he dis- 
 covered that Helen was on foot: "I am afraid that I 
 can hardly offer to keep pace with you." 
 
 "Of course not," replied Helen: "the kindest thing 
 you can do is to ride on, and beg my cousin not to 
 wait lunch for me. I shall be hot enough as it is," 
 she added to herself, when Lord Alan had acted on 
 this suggestion, "and the process of manufacturing 
 the small talk suitable to a lord would have set my 
 face aflame for the rest of the afternoon." 
 
 Even without this additional aggravation, Helen 
 found it expedient to go at once to her room to efface 
 the traces of her hot and dusty walk before taking 
 her place at the luncheon table. Although the meal 
 was over Eva waited for her in the dining-room, but 
 Lord Alan and Amy had gone out to play croquet at 
 the shady end of the garden. Helen's conviction of 
 the unveracity of Bixley gossip was still further dis-
 
 110 VANESSA. 
 
 turbed by this combination, and she was more struck 
 than she had been on her first arrival by the anxious 
 and distressed expression of her cousin's face. "Pray 
 do not wait for me, Eva," she said imploringly; "you 
 know that this is our usual dinner-hour, and as I had 
 an early breakfast, very much in the rough, I am quite 
 ungenteelly hungry. Do let me forage for myself, 
 while you sit out to watch the croquet." 
 
 "I can see quite enough of the game from the 
 windows," said Eva, and when Helen followed the 
 direction of her cousin's eyes, she saw that the game 
 had not in truth begun. Lord Alan was speaking 
 with eager animation; while Amy listened with down- 
 cast eyes, in the prettiest attitude of wrapt attention. 
 Helen said no more, and discovered that the appe- 
 tite of which she had boasted had suddenly forsaken 
 her. 
 
 In a few minutes Amy came up to the windows: 
 "I wanted to see whether Helen had finished luncheon," 
 she said: "there is quite a fresh breeze under the 
 trees and you will find it pleasant sitting there, even 
 if you are not inclined to play croquet." 
 
 "Just as Helen likes," said Eva, indifferently. 
 
 Helen, with a determination to note, and if pos- 
 sible to baffle, the treachery of which she conceived 
 her sister to be guilty, gave her voice in favour of an 
 adjournment to the lawn. Treachery was perhaps too 
 strong a term to apply to Amy's conduct, but a for- 
 cible vocabulary is needed to express the rash judg- 
 ments of youth. Amy did what she could to depre-
 
 FAIR AND FICKLE. I IT 
 
 cate the inference which Helen was so ready to draw, 
 by the efforts which she made to disclaim Lord Alan's 
 pointed attentions. She declared that it was too hot 
 for croquet, and took the garden seat beside her cousin, 
 while Lord Alan threw himself on the turf at her feet. 
 
 "I have been deploring the break-up of our set 
 here," he said; "the Hollies will be intolerably dull 
 when Leasowes is deserted, and I think of running 
 down to Cowes next week to look at a new yacht 
 which is for sale or hire there. She is still without 
 a name, and I shall be glad to receive suggestions." 
 
 "The 'Vanessa' would not be a bad name for a 
 yacht," said Helen, when Amy and Eva remained 
 silent. If she had expected the name to implant a 
 thorn in her sister's bosom, the attempt was a failure. 
 It did not occur to Amy that Dennis O'Brien had 
 ever likened her to a Painted-lady butterfly, and she 
 was equally unconscious that Vanessa was its scientific 
 equivalent. 
 
 "The 'Vanessa' let it be," said Lord Alan. "Look 
 out for the name in the yachting intelligence, and 
 when you see that she is lying at Lymington or 
 Weymouth, you may expect the first favourable wind 
 to bring her into Swanage Bay." He spoke generally, 
 but two at least of his hearers knew for whom the 
 information was specially intended; and, while Eva 
 listened with a tightening of the heart, Amy exulted 
 in such a proof of the futility of the machinations 
 which had been devised to estrange her from her 
 noble lover,
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The Butterfty-net. 
 
 Two days later the three girls had settled down 
 to the life of laborious idleness incident to a tem- 
 porary residence in sea-side lodgings. Amy enjoyed 
 the pre-eminence of being the prettiest and the best- 
 dressed young lady visitor of the season, and she ex- 
 hibited her new costumes upon the pier or as she 
 sauntered along the cliffs which fringe the coast. Eva 
 sat chiefly on the shore, taking a languid interest in 
 the children who frequented the sands, and cementing 
 a friendship with the most attractive among them by 
 offerings of chocolate bonbons. Helen presented as 
 strong a contrast to one of her companions in the 
 homeliness of her attire, as she did to the other in 
 her superabundant energy. The glory of Mr. Ben- 
 son's present was soon tarnished by her reckless 
 scrambles over slippery sea-weed in her pursuit after 
 natural curiosities, heedless of the rock-pools in which 
 her skirts were draggled, as well as of the white dust 
 of the stone quarries. Nothing came amiss to her in 
 her zeal as a collector, and the patience of their land- 
 lady was sorely tried when the sill of every window 
 was beset with stones and fossils, when ribands of 
 sea-weed dangled from the hat-pegs in the hall, and 
 the parlour was furnished with earthen pans filled 
 with sea-water and its marine inhabitants.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY-NET. 1 13 
 
 Before Amy awoke from her first sleep, Helen had 
 walked to Tilly Whim to see the sun-rise; had groped 
 among the rocks for some addition to her assortment 
 of sea-monsters, and had been amongst the earliest 
 bathers in the bay. From such expeditions she would 
 return with a glow of health and spirits, and too 
 clamorous an appetite for breakfast to enter into 
 Eva's critical remarks on the quality of the bread or 
 the flavour of the butter. Her boots and gloves were 
 reduced to the consistency of pulp by the hard usage 
 to which she subjected them, and Amy remonstrated 
 with her in vain on the want of foresight with which 
 she allowed her slender store of pocket-money to melt 
 away in the purchase of .manuals of marine zoology 
 which she read voraciously, and generally discovered 
 to be worthless, while the various necessities of her 
 toilette remained unsupplied. 
 
 If Amy was annoyed by her sister's lawless and 
 unconventional habits, which threatened to bring dis- 
 credit on the firm, Eva took a more tolerant view of 
 Helen's peculiarities, and noted with a pleased eye 
 the bronzed and ruddy colour which soon tanned the 
 cheek that had become sallow under the influence 
 of a sedentary life. She was anxious to put the 
 largest possible amount of pleasure into Helen's brief 
 holiday, and was always willing to take a carriage to 
 explore the surrounding country; but the weather was 
 still sultry, and it was agreed to defer any more dis- 
 tant expeditions until Henry Mertoun should make 
 his appearance. The scheme for his tour with Dennis
 
 1 14 VANESSA. 
 
 O'Brien began to take shape soon after their arrival 
 at Sw.anage; and he wrote that the Isle of Purbeck 
 was to be their destination, since Dennis considered 
 that it would be a profitable field both for sketching 
 and entomology. Dennis proposed to give some days 
 to the sketching of Corfe Castle, and Henry would 
 avail himself of their halt there to come over to see 
 his sisters. Helen was only half-satisfied: she could 
 see Henry at Allerton, and had a much greater desire 
 for O'Brien's sympathy and assistance in her maraud- 
 ing excursions on the sea-shore; but they all felt that 
 the masculine element could be introduced into their 
 narrow circle with advantage, and looked forward to 
 Henry's coming as to an era. 
 
 The days lengthened into weeks, and Amy had 
 seen the white sails of several yachts furled in Swanage 
 Bay with a quickening hope, which faded again in 
 disappointment when she learned the names of their 
 owners. The "Vanessa" came not, and it was Henry's 
 arrival which made the first break in the monotony of 
 their life. He walked in one afternoon, dusty and 
 travel-worn, but full of enjoyment, and declaring 
 Dennis to be the most genial and intelligent of tra- 
 velling companions, with an emphasis which was 
 plainly designed for Amy's benefit. 
 
 "I do not doubt it," said Helen; "there are a hun- 
 dred things I want to ask him if he would only come 
 here." 
 
 "I doubt if he will do that," replied Henry, "but 
 I think that he will receive you graciously if you are
 
 THE BUTTERFLY-NET. 115 
 
 disposed to act Mahomet's part. Have you seen Corfe 
 Castle?" 
 
 "We have seen nothing," said Eva, "because we 
 waited for you to take us about. Let us order a car- 
 riage and drive over early to-morrow to spend a long 
 day among the ruins." 
 
 "An ingenious way of introducing Henry to the 
 beauties of Swanage," remarked Amy, who never went 
 willingly out of sight of the quay. 
 
 "Its beauties are soon seen," replied Henry; "it is 
 a stony aggregation of small houses, and awakens no 
 desire for more intimate acquaintance." 
 
 "Besides," added Helen, "Henry will come back 
 with us to-morrow night, and stay here as long as 
 Dennis is at Corfe Castle. In spite of his disparaging 
 remark, he will allow that the place has sketching 
 capabilities when he has walked round the coast with 
 me. We might take a turn before breakfast." 
 
 "Thank you," said Henry with a laugh; "I have 
 come here for a little respite from O'Brien's unflagging 
 energy in sight-seeing, and will not fall a prey to 
 your merciless strength. Eva has already described 
 the limits of your morning stroll, and cart-ropes will 
 not draw me out before breakfast. But we will go 
 together to bespeak my bed at the inn, and then 
 perhaps walk up to the best point of view for the 
 sunset." 
 
 Henry set out with both his sisters, but Amy was 
 not prepared to accompany him even for this limited 
 distance; and, as they retraced their steps from the
 
 1 1 6 VANESSA. 
 
 inn, she declared her intention of turning on to the 
 wooden jetty to await the arrival of the Poole steamer. 
 "Such a misguided thing to do," remarked Helen, as 
 she and her brother ascended the hill; "Amy takes 
 the deepest interest in the arrival of that steamer, 
 which she considers to be our only link with the 
 civilised world." Helen spoke at random and with 
 no prevision of the links in which passing events were 
 even now welding the chain of Amy's fate. 
 
 The "Royal Albert" was discharging its passengers 
 when Amy walked down the pier, and she did not 
 feel any lively interest in the two middle-aged spinsters 
 in blue veils who were obstinately resisting the blan- 
 dishments of the boatmen who proposed to relieve 
 them of their loose parcels; nor yet in the careworn 
 father of a family, as he stood still to count over his 
 property, which consisted of boxes of every shape and 
 size, a bath, a perambulator and a baby, not to men- 
 tion two pale-faced girls, and a miniature sailor who 
 considered his wooden spade and pail the only im- 
 portant articles in the miscellaneous pile. These were 
 the objects which first met Amy's view, and she re- 
 garded them with a languid amusement which was 
 lost in a very different feeling when she caught sight 
 of a tall, fair young man, in a yachting dress, who 
 was crossing the gangway. Their eyes met, on his 
 side with a smile of animated pleasure, on hers with 
 a blush of rosy red, and before his foot touched the 
 pier Amy had turned away with an instinctive desire 
 not to court recognition. She had gone but a few
 
 THE BUTTERFLY-NET. Il7 
 
 paces before she became conscious that Lord Alan 
 was by her side. 
 
 "Do you run away from me?" he asked, in a low 
 breathless voice. 
 
 "It looked as if I had come to meet you ," replied 
 Amy with downcast eyes. 
 
 "May I hope that you have so come? If I am 
 not ashamed to say that I have come a hundred miles 
 in the hope of seeing you again, you need not grudge 
 me a poor hundred yards." 
 
 "I began to think that you would not come at 
 all," said Amy, no longer attempting to conceal the 
 fact that she had in truth watched and waited for 
 him. 
 
 "The time has seemed long to me also, Miss Mer- 
 toun, although I have not been idle. As soon as I 
 had completed my purchase of the 'Vanessa/ I ran 
 down to Cowes, first to collect my crew, and then to 
 try and make the yacht a little more worthy of the 
 precious freight she is to carry. My arrangements 
 were only concluded yesterday, and, when the wind 
 dropped this afternoon before I could reach Swanage, 
 I ran the 'Vanessa' under Branksea and boarded the 
 steamer as she passed. I must go back by her in a 
 quarter of an hour to sleep on board the yacht, but I 
 shall be back with the first tide to-morrow, in time 
 for our promised cruise." 
 
 "We have made an engagement for to-morrow," 
 said Amy; "my cousin has arranged that we should 
 drive to Corfe Castle,"
 
 Il8 VANESSA. 
 
 "I was not thinking of your cousin, Miss Mertoun. 
 Are you bound to be of the party?" 
 
 "They expect me to go. It will seem strange that 
 I should stay here alone," said Amy. 
 
 "Surely you can plead a headache, fear of the 
 heat anything that will procure us the happiness of 
 spending some happy hours in each other's society, 
 unwatched by curious and grudging eyes. Or is such 
 a prospect distasteful?" 
 
 "Not distasteful," said Amy, and her increasing 
 embarrassment gave courage to Lord Alan's impor- 
 tunity. 
 
 "In all my arrangements, my one thought has been 
 how to give you pleasure, and you are the only being 
 whom I care to see on board the 'Vanessa.' I shall 
 come ashore in the boat at ten to-morrow, and shall 
 hope to find you on the south side of the quay. 
 Come in a boating dress, for if the day be favourable 
 you need not be afraid to take a short cruise." 
 
 "I am not afraid of the sea," said Amy. 
 
 "Still less, I hope, of me," rejoined Lord Alan, in 
 accents of tenderest reproach. The steamboat bell 
 was ringing its energetic signal for departure, but he 
 still lingered at the pier gate with Amy's hand fast 
 locked in his. Unwillingly he relinquished his grasp, 
 and walked slowly away, with more than one back- 
 ward glance, and he was gone before Amy had 
 uttered a syllable of the reply in which she tried , or 
 fancied that she tried, to disclaim the possibility of 
 keeping the appointment Lord Alan had made.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY-NET. IIQ 
 
 Amy little thought that the parting, from which 
 the most uninterested bystander could read something 
 of tender sentiment, had flashed its full meaning be- 
 fore the indignant eyes of Eva. She had stepped out 
 to make some necessary purchases for to-morrow's 
 picnic, and was passing the gate at the moment when 
 Lord Alan turned away; she could not be mistaken in 
 her cousin, and a second glance was scarcely needed 
 to identify her companion. Eva turned pale and 
 hurried on, whilst Amy retraced her steps to the house, 
 unconscious of the recognition. 
 
 At the tea-table that evening, when Helen and her 
 brother were discussing some point of history in 
 connection with Corfe Castle, Amy announced her 
 intention not to join the party. "On thinking over 
 the matter," she said, "I have decided not to go with 
 you. There is no need to make a mystery of the 
 fact that Dennis and I are not on easy terms together, 
 and our mutual constraint might spoil the pleasure of 
 the rest." 
 
 "Dennis ought to feel flattered by such considera- 
 tion for his feelings," remarked Henry, "and yet I fancy 
 that he might endure some hours in your society 
 without any very acute suffering." 
 
 "Very possibly," said Amy colouring, "but still we 
 may be happier apart, and I shall enjoy a quiet day 
 upon the sands." 
 
 "It is a long day to spend alone" said Eva, with a 
 stress on the last word, intended to mark her sense 
 of her cousin's duplicity; but the shaft fell short, since
 
 120 VANESSA. 
 
 Amy was still unconscious of the chance which had 
 revealed her stolen interview with Lord Alan. 
 
 "I must observe that I shall get more good out of 
 Dennis if Amy is not there," said Helen, "and I do 
 not feel heroic enough to give up the day's pleasur- 
 ing on her account. Do let us go, Eva, and enjoy 
 ourselves without any qualms of conscience." 
 
 "My conscience is clear," said Eva, with a 
 peculiar smile, which puzzled Helen, while it alto- 
 gether escaped Amy's notice. She was satisfied to 
 have the matter arranged with so little trouble, and 
 sat working in silence and with a pre-occupied mind. 
 
 Henry talked of Dick's start in the office at Bix- 
 ley, and Eva was gratified by his frank acknowledg- 
 ment of Mr. Mertoun's great kindness to him. "The 
 Charltons invited Dick to spend a Sunday with us at 
 the farm," he said, "and I thought him improved, 
 more manly and intelligent, and interested in his 
 work. He went back on Monday to dine at Leasowes, 
 an invitation by which he was flattered, though awe- 
 struck." 
 
 "Poor Dick tete-&-tfte with Uncle Richard!" ex- 
 claimed Helen: "how stupid Uncle Richard must have 
 thought him!" 
 
 "I suspect that his uncle may be more tolerant of 
 dulness than his sister," said Eva. 
 
 "Very possibly: I know that Henry and I are both 
 intolerant," replied Helen: "the truth is, that as we 
 do not mix with people to see them as they are, we
 
 THE BUTTERFLY-NET. 121 
 
 have leisure to construct the ideal of what they ought 
 to be." 
 
 "A philosophic excuse for fastidiousness," observed 
 Henry with a smile. 
 
 Helen had never seen her brother in such happy 
 and natural spirits, and doubted whether to ascribe 
 the fact to O'Brien's genial influence, or that the sense 
 of injury which had so long rankled in his breast, 
 embittering his relations with his uncle Richard, was 
 effaced by an awakening interest in his cousin. 
 Although sometimes provoked by Eva's variable spi- 
 rits, and her fits of languor and depression, the two 
 girls had learned to love each other in the close 
 intimacy of the last three weeks, and Helen found 
 some amusement in weaving a romance between the 
 Romeo and Juliet of the rival houses. At present, 
 however, the courtship could only be suspected by a 
 very lively imagination, for Eva was gentle and indif- 
 ferent, and Henry's native roughness of manner was 
 but little softened in her favour. 
 
 Although Helen was the only one of the party 
 who felt any unwillingness to anticipate the usual 
 hour of bedtime, it was Helen again who was first 
 wrapped in sleep. Amy and Eva occupied two little 
 chambers opening into each other, and long after the 
 door of communication had been closed between 
 them, Eva could see the light of her cousin's candle 
 shining under it, and could hear Amy moving softly 
 about. Amy could not, or at all events did not, 
 account to herself for the restlessness which prompted
 
 122 VANESSA. 
 
 her to put all her possessions in perfect order that 
 night. She looked over the contents of her desk and 
 took out a little packet, containing one or two notes 
 from Dennis, and some songs which he had copied 
 for her; and, as she set a light to the papers in the 
 empty grate, and watched the flame die away in a 
 smouldering heap of ashes, Amy felt that she had in 
 truth taken leave of her old life, and was prepared 
 to face the future, which was opening* before her. 
 When, at last, she went to bed she found it possible 
 to sleep peacefully through the grey dawn of the 
 summer's morning, while Eva lay watching it with 
 worn and sleepless eyes, and tried to school her re- 
 bellious heart into the conviction that the friend who 
 had betrayed and the lover who had deceived her 
 were alike unworthy of regret. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Capture. 
 
 THE morning was still grey when the young people 
 met again at an early breakfast, but this, as Henry 
 observed, would be an advantage for their drive, and 
 he was confident that the clouds would clear away, 
 and the sun shine forth to gild the ruins of Corfe 
 Castle. While the other two were too eager in their 
 preparations to notice that anything was amiss, Amy 
 observed that Eva was pale and silent, and followed
 
 THE CAPTURE. .123 
 
 her upstairs to ask whether she were quite fit for the 
 long day's expedition. 
 
 There was a suppressed fierceness in the tone of 
 Eva's reply which was strangely at variance with her 
 habitual gentleness of manner. "Do you really wish 
 me to stay at home, Amy?" 
 
 "O no, dear Eva; I mean, not on my account," 
 said Amy, annoyed by the consciousness of rising 
 colour: "but I thought you looked ill, and I promised 
 Uncle Richard that I would take care of you." 
 
 "I mean to go," said Eva, shortly, and Amy, con- 
 scious of a disinterested motive in her suggestion, 
 and of considerable relief in its rejection, turned into 
 Helen's room with a virtuous sense of her own heroism 
 in having attempted and failed to interfere with 
 Lord Alan's scheme for their mutual enjoyment. She 
 found Helen in the highest spirits, as she collected 
 the implements for her day's pleasuring, which in- 
 cluded on this occasion a geological hammer and 
 chisel, a tin case for botanical purposes, and a butterfly 
 net and beetle-box. Amy wished to add a sun-shade 
 to this miscellaneous baggage, but Helen rejected the 
 suggestion with scorn. 
 
 "For the good of my complexion , Amy? You 
 know very well that I parted with that superfluous 
 article the day after we got here, and I do not miss 
 it in the least. You must come with us if the party 
 is to wear any air of distinction, and it is not too 
 late to think better of it." But Amy considered
 
 124 VANESSA. 
 
 that it was too late, and the carriage drove off with- 
 out her. 
 
 When Misbourne came to inquire at what hour 
 .she would be pleased to dine, Amy replied that she 
 intended to take some biscuits and spend the day on 
 the beach, and that most probably she should require 
 nothing else until the rest of the party returned from 
 Corfe Castle. Such Spartan fare was more in ac- 
 cordance with Helen's tastes and habits than with her 
 sister's, but Misbourne was on ceremonious terms with 
 "Miss Amy" and made no comment on the fact, and 
 Amy, although she told herself that she had quite 
 made up her mind to decline Lord Alan's proposal 
 of a cruise in his yacht more resolutely than she had 
 done on the preceding evening, went upstairs and ex- 
 changed her light summer cambric for a boating dress 
 before she repaired to the beach. 
 
 She established herself in the shade of a boat near 
 the jetty, but the light and variable wind on which 
 Lord Alan's movements must depend, rendered him 
 more tardy in his appearance, and Amy had leisure 
 for some anxious surmises while she bent over her 
 lace-work, and fancied that the nursery-maids in her 
 neighbourhood would guess her motive if she scanned 
 the horizon too closely. Towards noon, as the 
 weather-wise had predicted, the clouds rolled off, a 
 fresh breeze sprang up, and Amy presently descried 
 the white sails of the "Vanessa," as she rounded the 
 point, and glided gracefully into the bay. When the 
 yacht lay to, her boat was manned to bring her owner
 
 THE CAPTURE. 125 
 
 to the shore, and Lord Alan's eager glance soon fell 
 on Amy, who sat as motionless as if she wished to 
 elude observation. 
 
 "You have not come to meet me this time, Amy," 
 said he smiling. It was the first time that he had 
 dropped the more formal appellation, and although 
 Amy's womanly instinct told her that no explanation 
 had passed between them to justify such an advance, 
 she ventured on no protest. 
 
 "You are prepared for our cruise, I see," con- 
 tinued Lord Alan, "and we had better go on board 
 at once, while the wind serves for sailing." 
 
 "I have been thinking," said Amy, "that it would 
 be better to put off our cruise until to-morrow, and 
 wander along the cliffs this morning. Helen is fond 
 of sailing, and she and my brother Henry would both 
 enjoy going with you." 
 
 "Have I left the Hollies for the pleasure of taking 
 your brother and sister out yachting?" said Lord 
 Alan, with a shade of haughtiness in his tone: "must 
 I say it yet again, Amy? It is for you, and you 
 alone that all my arrangements were made, and since 
 my company is distasteful to you, I will go back as I 
 came." 
 
 The tears stood in Amy's beautiful eyes as she 
 looked up with a mute beseeching glance, ready to 
 yield, and yet trembling, as if the full meaning of the 
 step which she was about to take dawned upon her. 
 "For an hour, or two hours at the most, I will go with
 
 126 VANESSA. 
 
 you," she faltered, and Alan Rae accepted the con- 
 cession with gratitude and renewed tenderness. 
 
 "Nay, Amy; I have frightened you by my hasty 
 words. You shall not stay on board an hour nor a 
 minute longer than it seems good to you, but you 
 must give your own orders to the sailing master, 
 since I can take no note of time whilst you are by 
 my side. And you must come at once while the tide 
 serves." 
 
 Amy suffered Lord Alan to raise her from the 
 beach, and she did not withdraw her hand, though it 
 trembled a little t when he pressed it for a moment to 
 his lips. 
 
 It was necessary to embark from the pier, and as 
 they passed along it, Amy was sensible that they were 
 a mark for curious glances from the knot of idlers 
 who were gathered there, after the fashion of sea-side 
 places. It was also evident that Lord Alan observed 
 and resented the inquisition, and he waved off with a 
 haughty air the officious help of those who wished to 
 lend a hand in pushing off the boat. Amy breathed 
 more freely when they were not only on board the 
 yacht, but installed in the luxuriously fitted and airy 
 cabin in which, as Lord Alan said, she would be more 
 comfortable until the noon-day heat was over; and 
 yet her composure was of short duration, since Lord 
 Alan reclined on the cushions by her side, and 
 whispered with the assured confidence of an accepted 
 lover: "Mine now, Amy, now, and for ever." 
 
 "Not Amy," she faltered, struggling even now to
 
 THE CAPTURE. I2/ 
 
 express the conviction that it was not thus she should 
 be wooed and won. 
 
 "And why not Amy Bien-aimee Amy to me, if 
 to none other in the world beside. I take but what 
 I ask: call me Alan, and the cup of my pleasure will 
 be full." And his name was scarcely breathed through 
 Amy's scarlet lips before a lover's kiss had repaid her 
 compliance. 
 
 This was at high noon, and it was eight hours 
 later when the happy, tired party returned to Swanage 
 from Corfe Castle, returned in triumph, as Helen 
 considered, with Dennis O'Brien in the carriage. He 
 had made a successful sketch of the ruins, and was 
 not unwilling to be allured by Helen's representations 
 of the geological wealth of the rocks and stone- 
 quarries; and if Amy's image hovered in the back- 
 ground as a more powerful attraction, her name was 
 unspoken by either. Misbourne was already on the 
 door-step, awaiting their arrival with a disturbed face, 
 and the information that her other young lady had 
 gone out at ten o'clock and had not returned. There 
 had been a thunderstorm, and a squall of wind and 
 rain, and "she hoped to goodness that Miss Amy 
 might not be drowned, nor fallen over the cliff." 
 
 A chill of dismay fell on the hearts of all, and 
 Henry answered roughly, as a man speaks to disclaim 
 an over-mastering fear: "Of course you would have 
 heard if there had been any accident. Amy has 
 probably taken shelter somewhere from the storm, but 
 I will go out at once to make inquiries,"
 
 128 VANESSA, 
 
 "Miss Amy could not take shelter if she were out 
 at sea," rejoined the housekeeper: "and that is what 
 some people say, but I could not understand the 
 rights of it." 
 
 "It is absurd to suppose that she would go out 
 boating by herself, and you have said, Eva, that you 
 have not a single acquaintance here." 
 
 "It is not for me to speak," said the housekeeper, 
 after a glance at her young mistress, who seemed in- 
 capable of reply: "but some one told the landlady 
 that she was seen to get into a boat this morning 
 which came ashore to fetch her." 
 
 "Why should we waste time in this way?" said 
 Dennis impatiently; "let us go in different directions 
 to make inquiries." 
 
 The two young men were about to act on this 
 suggestion, and Helen wondered whether she might 
 also leave her cousin to take part in the search, when 
 Eva laid her trembling hand on Henry's shoulder. 
 "One word with you first," she said, and Helen drew 
 O'Brien into the passage, that the other two might be 
 left together. 
 
 "What is the mystery?" said Dennis, forgetting 
 the laws of good-breeding in his fierce anxiety. 
 
 "None that I know of," said Helen, who met his 
 troubled eyes with a steady gaze: "it must be some 
 absurdity of Misbourne's, since she considers herself 
 responsible for our health and morals, and she is al- 
 ways fussy. Certainly it is not Amy's habit to be out 
 for so many hours, but if the storm broke here with
 
 THE CAPTURE. I2Q 
 
 greater violence than it did at Corfe, and she were 
 weather-bound at any distance from home, she might 
 feel timid about walking home alone in the dusk." 
 
 While Helen sought to satisfy her own uneasiness 
 as well as that of her companion by this explanation, 
 Henry was agitated by Eva's surmise as to the true 
 cause of his sister's disappearance. "I wanted to ask 
 you to go to the pier first," she said: "the boatmen 
 will be sure to know if Amy has gone out with 
 anyone." 
 
 "With anyone, Eva? With whom could she go, 
 since you say that you have no acquaintance here?" 
 
 "I said so when you first arrived. An hour later 
 I saw Lord Alan Rae taking leave of Amy at the pier- 
 gate, and he may have brought his yacht here." 
 
 "He may have brought his yacht here," repeated 
 Henry angrily; "I can only suppose that you have 
 connived at their clandestine meeting." 
 
 "It is not so, Henry. I may have done wrong in 
 not telling you or Helen that I witnessed their meet- 
 ing yesterday evening, but I saw it by a mere chance, 
 I was not in Amy's confidence." 
 
 "Forgive me, Eva," said Henry, recollecting him- 
 self; "it is not easy for a man to be smooth-tongued 
 when he has to face the possibility of his sister's dis- 
 grace and ruin. I will go at once to the pier-head, 
 but I cannot, I dare not, tell O'Brien in what direc- 
 tion your fears point. For all his assumption of in- 
 difference, such a suspicion would wring his heart."
 
 When Henry came out into the passage Dennis 
 took his arm, saying that he would go with him. 
 
 "No, Dennis, no!" replied Henry, shaking him 
 off; "wait here whilst I go down to the quay, I shall 
 be back in five minutes." As the clock counts time 
 the interval was scarcely longer, but to the three who 
 sat looking on each other with blanched faces the 
 pause seemed almost intolerable. 
 
 When Henry returned, any consideration for his 
 friend was lost in overwhelming emotion. "It is true, 
 by Heaven!" he exclaimed, "a yacht called the 
 'Vanessa' came into the bay this morning; the 
 owner's name did not transpire, but the description of 
 his appearance tallies with that of Lord Alan. He 
 came ashore in a boat, met Amy on the beach, and 
 took her at once on board the yacht, so that I make 
 no doubt that the villainy was deliberately planned." 
 
 "There was a sudden change of wind, which may 
 have prevented them from getting back," said Helen. 
 
 "The wind changed at six o'clock, just before the 
 thunderstorm," replied Henry; "if they had intended 
 to come back at all, they would have been anxious to 
 do so before we returned from Corfe. I learned from 
 the boatmen that the 'Vanessa' is a large new yacht; 
 she came from Cowes yesterday, and stood across for 
 the Needles on leaving the bay as if to go down the 
 Solent again." 
 
 There was a little murmur, a sort of stifled sigh 
 from Eva, and Helen turned round to see that she 
 had fainted. "You had better go away," said Helen
 
 THE CAPTURE. 13! 
 
 quickly; "send Misbourne to me-, and I will join you 
 presently." Misbourne came, but the young men 
 seemed unwilling to leave the room until a faint tinge 
 of colour, and the tears which welled from beneath 
 her closed eyelids, betrayed that Eva's consciousness 
 was returning. 
 
 "We will walk up and down outside, until we 
 have decided what to do," whispered Henry; "tell 
 Eva that I blame her in nothing; I fancy that I spoke 
 roughly to her just now." 
 
 It was a dark, cloudy evening, and in the gather- 
 ing twilight which veiled the working of his features, 
 Dennis found it more easy to declare his purpose. 
 "There is but one thing to be done," he said, "let us 
 go back to catch the mail train at Wareham. One of 
 us must go to Portsmouth, and from thence to all 
 the yacht stations in the Solent; the other to Lon- 
 don, in case he has decided .to go there, or to Scot- 
 land." 
 
 "You, Dennis, will you go in pursuit of her?" said 
 Henry. 
 
 "And why not?" he replied. "Do you think that 
 I can bear to sit with folded hands while it may still 
 be possible to avert dishonour from the name of the 
 woman I have loved?" 
 
 "I will go to Portsmouth," said Henry, after a 
 pause; "since the yacht is new, and just fitted for 
 sea, I suspect that it has been part of his infernal 
 scheme to keep her on board until her ruin was com- 
 plete. It is well that you are a man, Dennis, and can 
 
 9*
 
 132 . VANESSA, 
 
 find relief in action. You see what the shock has 
 done for Eva, and I feel as if it might kill my mother 
 when she comes to hear of it." 
 
 CHAPTER. XIV. 
 
 Apples of Sodom. 
 
 HENRY MERTOUN had done Alan Rae some in- 
 justice when he imputed to him a deliberate plan for 
 Amy's ruin. He had formed no such plan, but he 
 abandoned himself to the gratification of the moment 
 without suffering it to be alloyed by any foreshadow- 
 ing of evil consequences. For a brief space it ap- 
 peared to Amy that her anticipations were fully 
 realised, and that every hour was bringing her nearer 
 to the brilliant and successful marriage which had 
 been the object of her ambition. The little vessel 
 danced gaily over the waves, and Lord Alan was con- 
 stantly by her side, whispering those tender nothings 
 in which passion first finds expression, evincing the 
 tenderest solicitude for her comfort, and drawing her 
 attention to arrangements which had been planned, 
 as he often repeated, expressly with a view to her 
 accommodation. Yet misgivings began to arise in 
 Amy's breast, when it appeared that his entire satis- 
 faction in the present left no room for any considera- 
 tion for the future; and it cost her an effort to 
 respond with a smile to the remark that Lady Cecilia 
 -had been successfully blinded by her nephew's intima-
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 133 
 
 tion of his purpose to spend a few weeks in yachting 
 with a "companion." It was a designation which 
 grated on Amy's ear. 
 
 "Where are we going?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Nowhere in particular. We are about three hours 
 out from Swanage, and it may take us twice as long 
 to beat back again." 
 
 "Then it will be dark, and the rest of my party 
 will have returned from Corfe Castle," said Amy, 
 turning pale. 
 
 "Very possibly. If they take their pleasure, why 
 should not we?" said Lord Alan, gaily. But when he 
 saw Amy's eyes fill with tears, he turned away with a 
 whistle of annoyance, and said that he would go and 
 talk to the sailing master. He was absent for some 
 minutes, which gave Amy time to recover her compo- 
 sure, and to resolve to be pleased with his decree, 
 whatever it might be. 
 
 "Berridge says that we cannot possibly get back 
 to Swanage to-night," said he; "wind and tide are 
 both against us, and there is a storm coming up." 
 
 "What are we to do?" replied Amy with a sink- 
 ing heart. 
 
 Alan thrust his hands into his pockets and looked 
 out of the cabin windows, as he answered with a 
 more successful assumption of indifference: "What 
 can we do, but spend the night on board, after run- 
 ning in for shelter somewhere?" 
 
 "Oh, Alan," said Amy, bursting into tears, and 
 hiding her face in her hands. He took her in his
 
 134 - VANESSA. 
 
 arms and soothed her with the tenderest reproaches, 
 wilfully mistaking the cause of her distress. 
 
 "So easily frightened by the mention of a storm, 
 my love! Only this morning you declared that you 
 could live on the sea, and to-morrow your nautical 
 fervour will revive with the sunshine. If you antici- 
 pate trouble in returning to Swanage, let us give up 
 the idea of returning at all. We will take a maid on 
 board at Portsmouth, with everything which is neces- 
 sary for your comfort, and run across the channel to 
 Cherbourg or Dieppe." 
 
 Before Amy could even attempt a reply, a distant 
 roll of thunder, a flutter and rustle of wind, and the 
 large drops which specked the white deck, heralded 
 the approaching storm. Lord Alan, who had already 
 taken her below, was unable to remain with her, since 
 the wind had chopped round to the east, and he felt 
 that his presence was necessary on deck in the con- 
 fusion incident to a sudden shifting of the sails. Amy 
 was left alone, feeling a little sea-sick, and very 
 frightened and miserable. As the peals of thunder 
 rolled nearer and one bright flash of lightning illu- 
 mined the cabin with its lurid glare, her terror became 
 almost uncontrollable, and it was in this pitiable state 
 that Lord Alan found her when his services were no 
 longer required on deck. He wished to be tender, 
 but there was a touch of annoyance in his attempts 
 to reassure her. 
 
 "Amy, my dear love, look up, and remember that 
 no harm can happen to you whilst I am by your side.
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 135 
 
 The thunder-storm is nothing, and will roll off in half- 
 an-hour, but since the change of wind must prevent 
 our getting further to-night, I propose to run into 
 Lymington or Yarmouth." 
 
 "Oh, I am so thankful!" exclaimed Amy, looking 
 up in sudden relief. "Let us go to Lymington. I 
 cannot stay in the yacht. I must go back to Swanage 
 to-night." 
 
 "To get back to Swanage to-night is out of the 
 question," said Lord Alan shortly. "Consider its 
 distance from any railway-station, and it may be nine 
 or ten o'clock before we get up to Lymington. To- 
 morrow, if you will " 
 
 "To-morrow will be too late," said Amy, with 
 a fresh burst of tears. "I shall not dare to meet 
 Henry." 
 
 Lord Alan made no reply until a louder clap of 
 thunder brought on another access of terror, and when 
 Amy uttered a scream, he laid his hand heavily upon 
 her shoulder: "Control yourself, Amy, for your own 
 sake, if not for mine; remember that in a small vessel 
 like this everything is heard, and let us avoid a 
 scandal if possible. I will do anything in reason to 
 satisfy you." 
 
 Amy checked her sobs, and looked up with the 
 pretty, pouting wilfulness of a petted child. "You 
 must not be unkind to me, Alan. Set me on shore, 
 and I will find my own way home." 
 
 "And you call that request reasonable, Arny? Do 
 you propose to spend the night alone on the mud
 
 136 . VANESSA. 
 
 shores of the estuary ? In a few minutes the storm 
 will be over, and then you will smile at your own 
 fears, and allow that now and always I am to think 
 and act for you. The tide will soon carry us up to 
 Lymington, where we shall be under shelter; but I 
 think it will be best to remain on board the yacht, 
 since there is no hotel fit for your accommodation." 
 
 "I do not want to go to the hotel," said Amy. "If 
 we cannot get back to Swanage, we may at any rate 
 go on on to London." 
 
 "And why to London?" said Lord Alan, fixing his 
 eyes upon her for a moment, and then turning away, 
 as if unwilling to read in her imploring gaze the de- 
 sperate hope to which she clung, that even yet her 
 good name might be saved by a hasty marriage. 
 
 "We will go to London, if you wish it," he said at 
 last. In the unreasonable state of mind to which 
 Amy's terrors had reduced her, he felt that any attempt 
 to urge her further to entertain his suggestion of re- 
 maining on board the yacht might cause a scandal, 
 which he wished to avoid. He was annoyed, and at 
 little pains to conceal his annoyance; but, with the 
 morning light and the facility for escaping the eyes of 
 the world, which could be better attained in a great 
 city than elsewhere, he felt confident that she would 
 acquiesce submissively in whatever he might decree, 
 and what that decree was to be he would not now 
 pause to decide. 
 
 Dennis O'Brien got out of the mail -train at 
 Brockenhurst, and, since the night was dark and rainy,
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 1 37 
 
 and he had travelled in the last carriage, the two 
 shrouded figures who hurried into a reserved com- 
 partment in the fore -part of the train escaped his 
 notice. He went into the office to inquire whether 
 any passengers had booked from Lymington or 
 Brockenhurst by this or by the preceding train; and, 
 since the booking clerk was short and surly in his 
 answers, as men are apt to be in the small hours of 
 the night, the train moved on before he obtained the 
 information which he sought. "A lady and gentle- 
 man," repeated the clerk; "how should I know whether 
 it were a lady? A gentleman telegraphed from Lyming- 
 ton for a reserved carriage, and drove up just in time 
 to catch the train a tall gentleman in a pea-jacket, 
 and he and they booked for London and went on by 
 this very train." 
 
 A few more inquiries satisfied O'Brien that he was 
 on the right track; and he looked hopelessly at the 
 two red lights of the receding train, and chafed through 
 the chill and weary hours which elapsed before he 
 could again start in pursuit of the fugitives. 
 
 Amy snatched an hour's troubled slumber while 
 she sat by her lover's side; and when she opened 
 her eyes to see the summer sunrise flooding the land- 
 scape with rosy light, and to hear Lord Alan's re- 
 newed expressions of devoted attachment, her scruples 
 and misgivings seemed to have fled with the darkness. 
 She made no further inquiries as to their destination, 
 and Lord Alan directed the driver of the cab which
 
 138 . VANESSA. 
 
 he hailed on their arrival at Waterloo, to take them 
 to the Charing Cross hotel. 
 
 "You require some hours' rest after all this hurry 
 and agitation," he said: "I will order a room for you, 
 and when we meet at breakfast or luncheon, as the 
 case may be, it will be time enough to decide on our 
 future plans." 
 
 Amy acquiesced in this arrangement with gentle 
 submission, and when she was shown into a bedroom 
 adjoining the private sitting-room, in which Lord Alan 
 said that he should be found whenever she required 
 him, she threw herself on the bed, and slept like a 
 tired child. Three hours afterwards, she re-appeared, 
 refreshed by a sound sleep, and by such toilette as 
 was possible in her destitute condition, but she still 
 looked pale and heavy-eyed, and her composure was 
 easily upset. Lord Alan rang for breakfast, and ordered 
 a cutlet. 
 
 "Cutlets, my lord?" said the glib waiter: "yes, my 
 lord, and for her ladyship likewise?" 
 
 "Cutlets for two," replied Lord Alan stiffly, adding 
 by way of comment as soon as the door was closed: 
 "Officious beast! I suppose that he has been studying 
 the engraved plate on my dressing-case." 
 
 Amy walked to the window, without attempting to 
 reply, and when Alan constrained her with gentle force 
 to turn her face towards him, he saw that it was 
 covered with tears. "My timid, shrinking love," he 
 said, "why should the mistake distress you? The
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 139 
 
 man has only ante-dated a title of which you shall 
 have no cause to feel ashamed." 
 
 "It is foolish of me," said Amy, smiling now at 
 the vague assurance which made her heart flutter with 
 renewed hope. 
 
 "The night journey has made you nervous," re- 
 sumed Lord Alan: "after breakfast you will take a 
 more reasonable view of life, and then I hope to charm 
 away all your fears of the sea. Once again on board 
 the yacht, which is to be in readiness for us at Cowes, 
 you will be safe from any annoyance." Amy's heart 
 sank again, and all Lord Alan's tender watchfulness 
 for her comfort and his repeated assurances that the 
 joy of her presence gave a new charm to life, failed 
 to restore her cheerfulness. 
 
 Breakfast was scarcely over, when the waiter brought 
 in a card: "A gentleman wishing to speak with you, 
 my lord." 
 
 "Bid him wait: I will see him by-and-by in the 
 coffee-room," said Lord Alan, putting the card from 
 him with a haughty gesture. 
 
 "Henry," gasped Amy, turning pale as death. 
 
 "No, my dear love, not your brother. He may 
 conceive himself entitled to see you, although I do not 
 allow that any man on earth has the right to interfere 
 between us; but this is a message from young O'Brien, 
 and if I see him at all, it will be to demand an ac- 
 count of his impertinent intrusion. Meanwhile, let him 
 wait." But, as he spoke, a knock at the door was 
 followed by O'Brien's entrance, and Lord Alan started
 
 140 VANESSA. 
 
 up in fierce anger. "Probably, sir, you are not aware 
 that this is a private room." 
 
 "I am aware of it, Lord Alan," said Dennis, stand- 
 ing his ground firmly, although scarcely able to master 
 his emotion when his eyes fell on Amy's shrinking 
 form: "it appears to me that a private room is best 
 adapted for such an interview as this must be. I shall 
 not detain you long; I will not detain you at all, if 
 Miss Mertoun is prepared to return with me to her 
 friends." 
 
 Amy turned her head away, as she sank down on 
 the sofa, trembling and speechless; and Lord Alan 
 held her hand in a grasp which trembled also with 
 suppressed fury. 
 
 "Address yourself to me, sir, if you must speak at 
 all," he said: "I must first learn the pretext for your 
 unwelcome intrusion. Do you claim the rights of a 
 discarded lover?" 
 
 "I claim no interest in the matter, except as her 
 brother's friend," said Dennis, and the words sounded 
 strangely cold, as they fell from his pale lips: "Henry 
 Mertoun empowered me to act for him , if I were the 
 first to light upon the right track. No doubt he will 
 start for London as soon as he receives the telegram 
 I have just despatched, but in the meantime I am pre- 
 pared to take Miss Mertoun to her mother's house." 
 
 "Miss Mertoun can dispense with your services, Mr. 
 O'Brien. Speak to him, Amy, assure him that your 
 choice is made, that you have cast in your lot to live 
 and die with one who truly loves you,"
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 14! 
 
 Amy's lips moved without uttering a sound, but 
 the gesture with which she clung to Alan Rae's arm, 
 and hid her face on his shoulder was significant enough. 
 To forsake her lover at Henry's bidding would have 
 been hard, but to turn from him in O'Brien's presence 
 seemed impossible. 
 
 "Now, sir, perhaps you are satisfied," said Lord 
 Alan. 
 
 "Satisfied to go back and tell her mother that one 
 who calls himself a gentleman has constrained a woman 
 to proclaim her own dishonour!" rejoined Dennis. 
 
 The stinging truth struck home, and wrung from 
 Lord Alan the avowal which had, up to that moment, 
 formed no part of his profligate scheme. "Who talks 
 of dishonour, Mr. O'Brien? If Amy is not yet my 
 wedded wife, it is because you have surprised us before 
 marriage was possible. I go from here to my banker's 
 to take the necessary steps for procuring a special 
 license, and I invite you to be present at our wedding 
 this afternoon, and will further do you the honour 
 of requesting you to give the bride away." 
 
 "I will not shrink from the task," said Dennis 
 steadily, as his eyes fell once more upon Amy. She 
 sat still with averted face, but the nervous action with 
 which she clasped and unclasped her hands seemed to 
 betray her sense of degradation in the eyes of the man 
 who had so lately esteemed her the noblest thing on 
 earth. "I doubt whether Henry Mertoun can be here 
 in time, and it will be a relief to him to find that you 
 have made the only reparation which is possible for
 
 142 VANESSA. 
 
 this night's work. I shall remain in the hotel until 
 you can fix the time and place for our meeting this 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Do you doubt my word, Mr. O'Brien, that you 
 propose to remain here as a spy upon my actions?" 
 
 "Such was not my meaning," said O'Brien, with 
 studied courtesy, divining Lord Alan's inclination to 
 pick a quarrel with him, which might vindicate his 
 liberty of action: "I have had a sleepless night, and a 
 hurried journey, and I see no necessity for further 
 exertion." 
 
 He left the room, and Lord Alan remained to 
 writhe under the conviction that he had pledged his 
 honour as a gentleman to the step from which he 
 recoiled. When Amy lifted her eyes in timid gratitude, 
 she met a very different expression in her lover's face. 
 
 "That man, that hound, Amy, who has dared to 
 come between us; did I hit the mark when I called 
 him your discarded lover?" 
 
 "If it had been Henry, he would have been even 
 more cruel in his anger," faltered Amy. 
 
 "That is not the question. I repeat, what is this 
 man to you?" 
 
 "I believe that he loved me a little once; you can 
 see for yourself that he hates and despises me now. 
 Oh, Alan, if you turn against me, you had better kill 
 me at once." 
 
 "I am to marry you instead," he replied with 
 something like a sneer. "You and O'Brien have 
 elected that it is so to be. As things were, I was
 
 THE WEDDING. 1 43 
 
 prepared to be your slave; as they are, your husband 
 must also be your master. I have a right to claim 
 perfect candour as to your relations with the past, 
 absolute submission with regard to the future. As I 
 have already said, O'Brien shall give my bride away, 
 since I could not inflict upon him more refined torture, 
 but when that part is played out I forbid you ever 
 again to see, or speak with, him. Do you understand 
 my words?" 
 
 "Yes, Alan," said Amy, low and submissively, and 
 Alan's suspicious temper was appeased for the mo- 
 ment, since he could not read the doubt and terror 
 which chilled her heart. The apple of Sodom at 
 which Amy had snatched was already crumbling to 
 ashes in her grasp. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The Wedding. 
 
 LATE in the afternoon of the same day, O'Brien 
 met Henry Mertoun at the Waterloo Station. "It is 
 you, Dennis," said Henry, as their hands met in close 
 union, and eyes that were haggard with anxiety and 
 sleeplessness were moistened for a moment: "you 
 would scarcely be here unless you had good news 
 for me." 
 
 "I hope that it is good," said Dennis. "I come 
 straight from Lord Alan's wedding, and it was I who 
 gave away the bride! Such is the irony of fate." la
 
 144 VANESSA, 
 
 few words he went on to relate his morning's work, 
 and indeed, Henry was intolerant of details. 
 
 "We will talk of it no more," he said: "it is a 
 black, heartless business, and but for you it might 
 have been infinitely worse. We shall never forget 
 what we owe you, Dennis." 
 
 "I wish that forgetfulness were possible," he replied 
 emphatically: "the haughty gloom of Lord Alan's man- 
 ner, and your sister's nervous timidity, will haunt my 
 dreams for many a day. Do you intend to see 
 them?" 
 
 "No," rejoined Henry, "Amy has chosen her own 
 lot and must abide by it; I will neither make nor mar 
 in the matter, and it will be better for me to go down 
 to Allerton before some garbled version of the facts 
 reaches my mother's ears. It is so likely that a 
 Swanage grocer will make capital out of the excite- 
 ment by sending a paragraph to the newspapers, and 
 I charged Helen not to write until she had certain 
 intelligence to give. If you feel disposed to finish 
 your tour in Purbeck, it would be a satisfaction to the 
 two girls to hear particulars from yourself. I have 
 neither heart nor funds for any more holiday-making, 
 and I shall go back to my desk at the Bank to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Dennis acquiesced in this arrangement and went 
 down to Poole that evening, in order that he might 
 take the first steamer to Swanage on the following day. 
 Helen, apprised of his movements, and of the bare 
 fact of her sister's marriage, by a few hurried lines
 
 THE WEDDING. 145 
 
 from her brother, awaited his arrival on the pier; but 
 neither seemed able to enter at once on the subject of 
 which their hearts were full, and O'Brien's first inquiry 
 was for Eva. 
 
 "She slept a little last night, but she is very low 
 and nervous, and I doubt whether she will be really 
 better until we get away from here. I thought that 
 the fresh air might revive her, but she thinks it im- 
 possible to go out, because people will stare. I say, 
 let them stare, but Eva is so thin-skinned." 
 
 "You must both wish to get away," said Dennis, 
 "and your mother will need you much." 
 
 "Poor mother! I hunger to be with her," said 
 Helen, in an unsteady voice. "I could not leave Eva 
 here alone, and I wait for Uncle Richard's answer, as 
 she has written to ask whether she may go home. Do 
 you know where they have gone, Dennis? not, I imagine, 
 to Lady Cecilia's." 
 
 "I suppose that they will go, or have already gone, 
 to Scotland," replied Dennis: "Henry sent an adver- 
 tisement of the wedding to the papers yesterday, and 
 Lord Alan may think it expedient to see his father 
 before the announcement meets his eyes." 
 
 "Tell me what you think of it all, Dennis?" said 
 Helen, looking up suddenly. 
 
 "That is a large question, and we had better sit 
 down if we are to talk the matter out," replied O'Brien, 
 throwing himself on the sands, a little in advance of 
 Helen, so that she could not see his face. "I think, 
 Helen, that Lady Alan Rae has dark days in store for
 
 146 VANESSA. 
 
 her, and that she, in her inmost heart, knows that sh$ 
 has staked her happiness on a false issue." 
 
 "For the present, at all events, I should have 
 thought that the knowledge that she is Lady Alan Rae 
 would satisfy her aspirations," said Helen. "It is his 
 conduct which puzzles me why he should risk the 
 displeasure of his family, and give up so much for her 
 sake, unless he truly loves her." And Dennis was not 
 disposed to enlighten her as to the involuntary nature 
 of the sacrifice. 
 
 "It was a strange wedding," he said, beginning to 
 find relief in relating his experiences. "They were 
 married in the room in which I found them, with no 
 attempt at bridal ceremony. Amy was still in her 
 boating dress, with her head uncovered. She trembled 
 so much that I thought she would have dropped, and 
 her answers were perfectly inaudible." 
 
 "Poor Amy!" said Helen, while the tears, which 
 she was apt to consider a sign of affectation or weak- 
 ness flowed freely. "Did she speak to you, Dennis, 
 and had she any message for us?" 
 
 "She came up to me when Lord Alan went into 
 the next room to pay the fees, and took my hand for 
 a moment, as she thanked me hurriedly for what I 
 had done for her. She said something in so low a 
 tone that I could scarcely catch it, about her ivory- 
 bound prayer-book, which you were to give me." 
 
 "The prayer-book you gave to her on one of her 
 birthdays. It is on her toilette-table at our lodgings
 
 THE WEDDING. 147 
 
 and you shall have it when we go in. Eva must 
 wonder now whether we are coming." 
 
 They lingered no longer, and Helen left Dennis 
 alone in the sitting-room, presently returning with the 
 little prayer-book, which she put silently into his hand. 
 Dennis unclasped the book to turn to the fly-leaf on 
 which, in the happy days of their* early acquaintance, 
 he had inscribed Amy's name, and, as he did so, one 
 or two dried flowers fluttered from between the pages. 
 
 "Memorials of the walks we have taken together," 
 observed Dennis, and he was more deeply moved 
 when he turned to the last leaf of the book, on which 
 a discoloured spike of flowers was gummed, with the 
 initials D. O. B., and a date inscribed below. "Look 
 here, Helen; this is a spike of habenaria, the white 
 butterfly orchis, which I picked for her, not five minutes 
 before she told me that all was at an end between us. 
 It is faded and blackened now, like our early love, 
 but the relic proves that its memory still lingered in 
 her heart, and it may be that I should have won her 
 back if I had been less deeply wounded by her fickle- 
 ness." 
 
 "That is to say, your lives might have flowed in 
 the same current, if you had been equally shallow- 
 hearted," said Helen, with characteristic vehemence. 
 "No, Dennis, it is better as it is better for you, I 
 mean. Amy has acted basely I must say it, though 
 she is my own sister and not only towards you. 
 Poor Eva is cut to the heart." 
 
 Richard Mertoun was equally distressed and shocked. 
 
 10*
 
 148 VANESSA. 
 
 by the alteration which he noticed in his daughter 
 when he met her at the Bixley station, two days later. 
 The facts in connection with his niece's elopement 
 had only been reported to him in a mitigated form; 
 and his first feeling was one of relief, since he did 
 not consider himself responsible for Amy's misconduct, 
 and believed that the ill-advised haste with which the 
 marriage had been contracted would convince Eva 
 that his objections to Lord Alan Rae were well founded. 
 In fact, he supposed that Eva must be more affected 
 by the loss of her cousin's companionship than by 
 that of her possible lover. "Why, my dear child," he 
 said, "you look worse than when you went away. We 
 must drive round by Popham's, and desire him to 
 come up and see you this evening." 
 
 "Oh no, papa," said Eva earnestly. "Do not let 
 me be worried about my health, and my appetite, and 
 Dr. Popham's prescriptions. All that I want is, to be 
 let alone." 
 
 Helen had gone on to Allerton by the same train, 
 after promising, not very willingly, to return to Lea- 
 sowes for a few days, if she found that her mother 
 could spare her. " Only for a few days," she stipulated. 
 "Dennis says that life is made up of failed experi- 
 ments, and that the only inexcusable thing is to fail 
 in the same way twice. You made a mistake in 
 adopting Amy as a sister, and you shall not do the 
 same thing over again with me." 
 
 "You have often said that no two sisters have less 
 in common," said Eva.
 
 THE WEDDING. 149 
 
 "It was said before I knew how widely our paths 
 were to diverge; and, as things are at present, I have 
 no poor lover to forsake nor will my beauty turn the 
 head of a rich one; but it would not be less fickle to 
 abandon my connection with old Benson and the 
 sewing-machine, and to leave our mother to carry on 
 the struggle of life without me. And you need not 
 regret that I have other work to do, Eva, for if I 
 were set up on a pinnacle to be worshipped, you 
 would soon be ashamed of your uncouth idol." 
 
 However that might be, Eva cried very much when 
 Helen gathered together the bulky marine and geo- 
 logical treasures with which the railway carriage was 
 littered, and disappeared into the booking-office to 
 vindicate her independence by taking a second-class 
 ticket for the remainder of the journey, instead of 
 availing herself of her cousin's intention to pay her 
 way home. This was another trait which pointed the 
 contrast between the two sisters; for Eva found herself 
 continually on the verge of giving offence by her 
 habits of lavish liberality, in which Amy had acquiesced 
 almost as a matter of course. The return to Leasowes 
 seemed doubly cheerless, when Helen was no longer 
 by her side to brace her spirits by wholesome counsel. 
 She was harassed by her father's affectionate solicitude 
 about her health; and the anticipation of Lady Ce- 
 cilia's appearance to jar her sensitive nerves by her 
 comments on their mutual injuries loomed like a night- 
 mare in the background. Dr. Popham's prescriptions 
 seemed a less evil; and Eva gave way to the lassitude
 
 150 ' VANESSA. 
 
 which oppressed her, and lay in bed for some days, 
 while Misbourne was instructed to deny to visitors any 
 access to her sick room. 
 
 Helen had not written to her mother to announce 
 her return; so that she left her goods at the station 
 and walked through the quiet streets of Allerton to 
 their own house, which she found to be still un- 
 tenanted. She set out at once for Charlton Manor, 
 enjoying the coolness and verdure of the grass-fields, 
 and the quiet beauties of the inland landscape, but 
 subdued, at once by the parting from Eva and by 
 the prospect of witnessing her mother's distress on 
 Amy's account. "If it should be my lot to be crossed 
 in love," she said to herself, "I hope that I shall bear 
 it more bravely than poor Eva. I will take Dennis 
 as my model of fortitude; he is neither crushed nor 
 embittered by his disappointment, and yet no one 
 can say that he is insensible to it." 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Helen reached 
 the farm, and the elms which surrounded it threw 
 their long shadows across the grass which the sleek 
 cows were munching with practical, if not with 
 sesthetic, enjoyment of its dewy fragrance. While 
 Helen hesitated to startle her mother by walking up 
 the flagged pathway, and entering the house without 
 preamble, her perplexity was relieved by Mr. George 
 Charlton's appearance from behind the farm buildings. 
 He was very unlike his small, brisk sister in person 
 younger by more years than she would have cared 
 to specify, tall and broad-shouldered, deliberate in
 
 THE WEDDING. 151 
 
 speech, and with the somewhat bovine cast of features 
 which is not uncommonly acquired by men whose 
 work lies among the fields and pastures of rural Eng- 
 land. He advanced to meet Helen with the broadest 
 smile of congratulation. "Mrs. Mertoun will be de- 
 lighted to see you, and so indeed are we all," he said. 
 "We have not been able to talk of anything but your 
 sister's great marriage at home, and it was just the 
 same when I went into the market yesterday. At first 
 Mrs. Mertoun was a little startled and upset by getting 
 no longer notice of it, but young people must manage 
 matters their own way, and the more we think of it 
 the better she is pleased. As my sister Anne says, 
 "Miss Amy's beauty will grace a coronet, and the 
 Marquis of Raeburn cannot fail to be charmed with 
 his daughter-in-law." 
 
 Helen was relieved, if a little surprised, to find 
 that her mother had been enabled to view the matter 
 through Miss Charlton's spectacles, and she felt no 
 desire to dispel the illusion. Mrs. Mertoun was not 
 in truth quite so free from misgivings as George 
 Charlton represented her to be, and she shed a few 
 tears when she had taken Helen to her own room, 
 acknowledging that it was very sudden, and that 
 Henry was sadly put out and vexed about it. But, 
 she added, Amy's happiness was the chief thing to be 
 considered, and, if her lover had insisted on secrecy, 
 she must not be too much blamed. There was not 
 much time for private discussion on Helen's first 
 arrival, for Miss Charlton was hovering about, eager
 
 152 VANESSA. 
 
 to enforce her welcome by making Helen sit down to 
 the substantial evening meal which was already spread. 
 The cream which had been brought in for tea, rich 
 as it was, was not considered rich enough to do her 
 honour; and fresh supplies were ordered from the 
 dairy, together with a golden slice of honey-comb. 
 Helen was quite ready to do justice to these delica- 
 cies, and although she felt like a monster of hypocrisy 
 when she was called upon to describe Lord Alan's 
 noble appearance, courtly manners, and ardent affec- 
 tion, she could abandon herself with the healthy in- 
 stinct of youth, which disdains to brood over unseen 
 griefs, to the amusement of the moment when the 
 conversation diverged to the wider subject of court- 
 ship. 
 
 "It is not much you know about it, George, the 
 more's the pity," said Miss Charlton, who believed 
 herself to be swayed by a heroic desire to abdicate in 
 favour of a young sister-in-law. 
 
 "I got over it early in life," replied George, with 
 a grim smile; "mother cured me of courting when I 
 was only a lad, and I never tried it again." 
 
 "You have kept the matter very close all these 
 years," rejoined Miss Charlton, "I never heard a word 
 of it." 
 
 "Tell us now," said Helen; and though Mr. 
 Charlton coloured and fidgetted, and said that it was 
 nonsense, he did not resist the importunity. 
 
 "I was only a lad," he repeated, "and very much 
 taken up with Molly Moggs the dairy-maid, who was
 
 THE WEDDING. 153 
 
 six years older than me, and had been keeping com- 
 pany with our carter since they went to Sunday- 
 school together, though I knew nought of it. I came 
 into the milking-house one afternoon, and, never 
 thinking that mother was in the next stall, I came be- 
 hind Moll as she bent over the milking-pail, took up 
 her face in my two hands, and gave her a smacking 
 kiss. Mother turned sharp round to say that Moll 
 was wasting her time, with her face all aflame when 
 she saw that it was I. There was Moll crying behind 
 her apron, and I stood there like a fool not knowing 
 what to do or say. 'You say that he never served 
 you so before, Moll,' said mother, 'and I'll show you 
 what to do if he ever offers to serve you so again.' 
 She pulled my head down by the hair and gave me 
 such a box on the ear as made the sparks fly out of 
 my eyes. I did not think so much of the blow, but 
 it made me mad to see Moll drop her apron and 
 forget her crying, and lay her head against the cow's 
 side to laugh. I locked myself up in my room and 
 would not have any supper, and that night I swung 
 myself out the chamber window into the garden, and 
 ran off, meaning to enlist for a soldier or go to sea. 
 I ran a mile beyond Allerton, and then I remembered 
 that I had gone to the milking-house before I littered 
 down the calves, and that the poor things would be 
 crying for their supper all night." 
 
 "And so you went back to the farm," said Helen; 
 "that is a delightful conclusion to the idyll. The 
 calf which revived your wavering allegiance to the
 
 154 VANESSA. 
 
 Manor Farm ought to have been stuffed and put in 
 a glass case." The homely talk, the country fare, 
 were alike refreshing to her harassed spirits, and she 
 was able to take a more cheerful view of Amy's future 
 when they retired for the night, and it was necessary 
 to discuss the matter with Mrs. Mertoun in all its 
 bearings. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A Bride's Welcome. 
 
 LORD ALAN, as O'Brien had predicted, only de- 
 layed his journey to the North until Amy's scattered 
 possessions were obtained from Leasowes and Swanage. 
 The interval, brief as it was, afforded scope for many 
 fluctuations of humour, and if at one moment nothing 
 could exceed the tenderness of his manner, at another 
 it was clouded by gloom and suspicion. The two 
 whom fate had linked together after so brief an ac- 
 quaintance had still much to learn of each other's 
 natures, and the attainment of more intimate know- 
 ledge did not tend to add to their happiness. 
 
 On the morning after the wedding, Amy said, 
 doubtfully, that she wished to write to her mother 
 and to Eva. 
 
 "Do not look at me as if it were necessary to ask 
 my permission," said Alan: "write by all means if you 
 think fit, but, since much depends upon the view 
 which may be taken of the facts connected with
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 155 
 
 our marriage, you will allow me to look over your 
 letters." 
 
 Such a stipulation did not diminish the irksome- 
 ness of the task, and Amy began by her letter to Mrs. 
 Mertoun, which seemed to her the easiest of composi- 
 tion. The words did not run fluently off her pen, 
 and when at last she submitted the sheet to her hus- 
 band's inspection, it was with the timidity with which 
 a schoolboy places an unsuccessful exercise before 
 the eyes of his master a timidity justified by the 
 event, for Lord Alan read it twice through with silence 
 which marked his disapprobation. 
 
 "Will it do, Alan?" Amy said at last. 
 
 "I cannot say how it may do for Mrs. Mertoun. 
 Such cold expressions of satisfaction with the lot you 
 have chosen can scarcely be gratifying to me." 
 
 "If you wish me to say more, Alan," 
 
 "Can I wish to dictate expressions of happiness 
 which are worthless unless they are spontaneous? But 
 on one point I have a right to dictate; give me your 
 pen." And taking it from his wife's hand, Alan slurred 
 with a heavy stroke through the name of Dennis 
 O'Brien, which recurred twice in the short letter. 
 "Have I not told you, Amy, that this man, of whom 
 you write so familiarly, must be to you as a stran- 
 ger?" 
 
 "Mamma would think it unnatural if I did not 
 call him by his Christian name," said Amy. 
 
 "And I," said Lord Alan haughtily, "think it 
 still more unnatural that you should disregard the
 
 156 VANESSA. 
 
 only order I have yet given you. Is O'Brien's image 
 so constantly present in your heart, that you must 
 flaunt his insolent interference in the eyes of the world?" 
 
 Amy took back her letter in silence, and made a 
 fresh copy, in which any mention of O'Brien was 
 omitted; and she asked her mother to believe that the 
 great happiness of knowing herself to be beloved by 
 Alan had swept away all other considerations. This 
 second draft was allowed by her husband to pass 
 without comment; yet its reception was not so en- 
 couraging as to dispose her to risk a fresh subject of 
 irritation in the wording of her explanation to Eva, 
 and this other letter remained unwritten. 
 
 Amy did not fully understand that the source of 
 Lord Alan's vindictive animosity towards O'Brien was 
 due to his intervention on her behalf, which had left 
 Alan no loophole of escape from an unwelcome 
 and imprudent marriage. Such 'a marriage had 
 formed no part of his profligate scheme of pleasure; 
 and Lady Cecilia, in her systematic depreciation of 
 Amy, had led him to believe that the exertions by 
 which Richard Mertoun had raised himself from ob- 
 scurity to wealth had not affected the position of the 
 other members of his family; and that they still 
 ranked among the smaller tradespeople of Allerton, 
 so that, whatever indignation his conduct might excite 
 there, would fail to penetrate the circle in which he 
 moved. Lord Alan's calculations had been over- 
 thrown by O'Brien's plain dealing rather than by 
 Amy's personal efforts to break through his toils, and,
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 157 
 
 indeed, the fatal facility with which she had consented 
 to risk her good name at his bidding left a profound 
 distrust of her future conduct to rankle in his breast. 
 Since the bond which united them was indissoluble, 
 he conceived it necessary for his honour that his wife 
 should submit without reserve to the claims of a sus- 
 picious and exacting affection. The past must, as he 
 said, be dead to her, except so far as he required it 
 to be laid open before him; old ties were severed 
 without remorse, and her one object must be to fit 
 herself for the station to which he had, however in- 
 voluntarily, exalted her. To begin life anew under 
 such conditions might seem hard to any woman, but 
 to Amy, whose sweet serenity of manner had owed all 
 its charm to the consciousness that she never failed 
 to please, the prospect was dark indeed. 
 
 "Will my father be angry?" Alan replied to her 
 inquiry, as they approached Raeburn Castle: "why, 
 yes: of course he will be angry, but he is a gentle- 
 man, and will not vent his displeasure upon you. My 
 mother, who is ambitious, and has always intended 
 me to make a great marriage, will be less easily ap- 
 peased, aod we can scarcely escape a bad quarter of 
 an hour on our first arrival. If the life at Raeburn 
 becomes altogether intolerable, we must anticipate the 
 twelfth by going a little earlier to the shooting lodge 
 at Cuchullin, there to reign over the gillies, and to 
 teach you to ride and fish." 
 
 They had driven through the lodge gates, and the 
 carriage was now winding slowly up the wild and
 
 158 VANESSA. 
 
 woodland ascent which led to the castle. Even at 
 such a critical moment, Helen would have been drawn 
 out of herself at the first glimpse of the bright brown 
 stream which marked the windings of the valley by 
 its turbulent course. The steep banks were fringed 
 with silver-stemmed birch trees and by a sweep of 
 purple heather, stretching away to the background of 
 yet more purple mountains; but Amy saw it all with 
 unseeing eyes, and she looked more often at her hus- 
 band than at the landscape. Just as a turn in the 
 road brought them within sight of the castle, the car- 
 riage-wheel almost brushed the skirts of two men, the 
 one tall and gaunt, with a stooping figure, 'and a va- 
 cant, melancholy stare: the other, who was evidently 
 his attendant, took him by the arm, and drew him 
 aside with a gesture of authority. 
 
 "Yes," said Lord Alan, observing Amy's involun- 
 tary shudder; "that is poor Macrae. You might be 
 here for weeks without encountering him again. He 
 has his own set of rooms, and only walks out at an 
 hour when people are unlikely to be about. Look at 
 the castle, which has quite an imposing effect from 
 here." 
 
 Amy expressed due admiration of the grey, weather- 
 beaten, pile, which, like many of the old Scotch 
 houses, resembled a French chateau in its general 
 features. Tall and narrow, with a roof-line broken 
 by twisted chimnies and pepper-pot turrets, the build- 
 ing was not out of keeping with the wild picturesque- 
 ness of the situation, but it wanted the trim, well-kept
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 159 
 
 air of an English country-house. There was no flower- 
 garden, the offices lay open to view, and sheep fed 
 up to the front door. 
 
 "I must have a word with our old servant Hugh 
 before you get out," said Lord Alan: "If they are still 
 in ignorance, I propose to try the effect of 'a coup de 
 theatre. My mother knows that Lady Cecilia was 
 moving heaven and earth to make a marriage between 
 your cousin and myself, and, if they choose to ima- 
 gine that I came home in triumph with the rich Miss 
 Mertoun, they will be more apt to receive you gra- 
 ciously and cannot for very shame draw back when 
 the mistake is discovered." 
 
 The carriage drew up as he spoke, and after a 
 few moments' earnest conversation with old Hugh 
 Lord Alan returned to Amy. "As far as I can make 
 out," he said, " my aunt's malignity has not paved the 
 way for a charming reception. Stay where you are 
 until I come back for you." 
 
 Amy sat still in the fly, with two servants survey- 
 ing her from the open door, her feelings of nervous 
 wretchedness gathering strength in the long interval 
 which elapsed before Lord Alan's return, and when 
 he came at length, his words were scarcely reassuring. 
 "Yes, you may take the things out of the carriage, 
 Hugh," he said as he helped Amy to alight, and he 
 added in a low but authoritative voice as they crossed 
 the hall: "How can you look so white and scared, at 
 a moment when so much depends upon your pre-
 
 1 6O VAXESSA. 
 
 sence of mind? Exert yourself, and remember that I 
 expect you to make a favourable impression." 
 
 He threw open the drawing-room door, and pre- 
 sented his bride to the two pale, melancholy women 
 whom he named to her as his mother and his sister 
 Janet. Each advanced one step off the hearthrug on 
 which they were standing, and murmured some in- 
 audible words of greeting, while extending a limp 
 hand. A military movement could not have been 
 executed with greater precision, and Amy felt con- 
 fident that the terms of her reception had been pre- 
 arranged. 
 
 "Sit down, Amy, and take off your hat," said 
 Alan, after waiting in vain for the suggestion to come 
 from Lady Raeburn. 
 
 Amy complied, with the prompt obedience which 
 had been the first lesson inculcated on her married 
 life, and when she removed her hat, her hair, released 
 from confinement, fell in a golden shower over her 
 shoulders. "We have been travelling all night," said 
 she, blushing, with the prettiest gesture of depreca- 
 tion. 
 
 Lord Alan assured her that the disorder was not 
 unbecoming, and appealed to his mother to confirm 
 the assertion, but the compression of Lady Raeburn's 
 thin lips seemed to declare the remark as unseemly 
 as the exhibition itself. 
 
 "I think I had better go and put my hair in or- 
 der," said Amy, struggling with a hysterical sensation 
 in her throat.
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 161 
 
 "You shall do so as soon as your room is ready," 
 said Lady Raeburn, and she rang the bell, and de- 
 sired that the north room might be prepared at once. 
 
 "And Hugh," said Lord Alan, "tell the housemaid 
 to light a good fire, and to see that everything is 
 thoroughly aired. Amy is not used to our northern 
 climate, and that north room always feels like a char- 
 nel house," he added, resentfully. 
 
 "I am sorry that you find it necessary to give 
 your own orders," said Lady Raeburn: "you should 
 have given notice of your coming if you wished us to 
 make due preparations." 
 
 "We could not give notice of what we did not 
 know ourselves, could we, Amy?" said Lord Alan 
 smiling. Lady Raeburn still remained grimly silent; 
 and the presence of mind which she had been en- 
 joined to display altogether deserted Amy, for she 
 burst into tears, striving to check her sobs like a 
 chidden child, when she became conscious that her 
 husband's eyes were fixed upon her in severe dis- 
 pleasure. "I am at a loss to understand the source 
 of your distress," he said, impatiently. 
 
 Such an un-lover-like address was gratifying to 
 Lady Raeburn, as it indicated that her son was al- 
 ready weary of the toy for which he had sacrificed his 
 worldly interests; and, with the strange complexity of 
 human motives, she instantly began to regard her 
 daughter-in-law with more favourable eyes. "Your 
 wife's feelings of shame and distress seem to me more 
 excusable than your own levity, Alan," she said: "let 
 
 yanfssa. 1 1
 
 1 62 VANESSA. 
 
 Janet take her to her room, while you and I talk this 
 matter over, and by dinner time I hope that she will 
 be able to rejoin us." 
 
 Amy rose to follow Lady Janet, who led the way 
 up the staircase in silence, and ushered her into a 
 large room, imperfectly lighted by two tall and nar- 
 row windows, and obscured by ponderous furniture 
 which had once, perhaps, been rich and handsome, 
 but which was now subdued by time to one uniform 
 tint of ashen grey. The blinds were half-drawn down, 
 and the freshly-lighted fire was feebly smouldering. 
 When Lady Janet had remarked that the evening was 
 wet and chilly, and had volunteered to send her up a 
 cup of tea, she left Amy a prey to her own melancholy 
 thoughts. She walked to the window to shiver at a 
 dreary prospect of bare hills and moorland, shrouded 
 by mist and driving rain, and returned to cower over 
 the fire which seemed only to add to the chilliness of 
 the room, as the rain fell down the wide chimney and 
 sputtered into it with a hissing sound. Amy did not 
 know how long she had sat there, in a stupor of 
 fatigue and misery, when she was roused by the sound 
 of Alan's approaching footsteps, a sound which al- 
 ready, alas, made her heart beat with more of fear 
 than pleasure. There was a degree of irritation in 
 his manner which argued that he had obtained little 
 satisfaction from his conference with Lady Raeburn, 
 and he glanced with annoyance from Amy to her 
 unopened boxes. 
 
 "Have you not begun your preparations for din-
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 163 
 
 ner, Amy? Unpunctuality is one of the unpardonable 
 sins in this house." 
 
 "The maid brought me a cup of tea, and since 
 that I have been nearly asleep," said Amy. "I am so 
 miserably tired that I thought of going to bed instead 
 of dressing for dinner." 
 
 "Leaving me to fight your battle alone, no, Amy, 
 that will scarcely do. Such palpable cowardice must 
 prejudice my father against you, and with him every- 
 thing depends on the first impression. Had you been 
 guided by me, we should now have been cruising in 
 the 'Vanessa,' without a care in the world; but since 
 we are here, we must remain until my father thinks 
 fit to provide us with the means necessary for a se- 
 parate establishment. You cannot sit with folded 
 hands until good fortune comes 1 , and I must entreat 
 you to dress in all your bravery, and to exert those 
 powers of fascination in which you were not deficient 
 when we met at Leasowes." 
 
 Amy knew that such entreaty could only be inter- 
 preted as a command, and she exerted herself to such 
 purpose that she was ready before Lord Alan returned 
 from his dressing-room to conduct her downstairs. 
 The other ladies had not been equally expeditious, 
 but Lord Raeburn was there, with another gentleman, 
 who proved to be his agent, Mr. M'Clintock. His 
 presence seemed to diminish the awkwardness of the 
 introduction, and Lord Raeburn took her by both 
 hands and kissed her cheeks with as much well-bred 
 courtliness as if she had been the daughter-in-law of
 
 164 VANESSA. 
 
 his choice. He was a broken-down man, prematurely 
 aged by the early dissipation which had impoverished 
 his estate and ruined his health, but the instinct of 
 good breeding had survived the failure of his powers 
 of mind and body, and his first desire was to relieve 
 Amy's overwhelming embarrassment. 
 
 "A little startled, and nervous, eh, my dear? We 
 shall soon make you feel at home with us. What's 
 your name? Amy a very pretty name it is, too. We 
 shall be better acquainted by and by, and if Alan has 
 been reckless and imprudent, I am sure that we 
 must all admit the potency of the attraction, eh, 
 M'Clintock?" 
 
 Mr. M'Clintock, a little, sharp-featured man, with 
 bushy red whiskers, and a manner at once fussy and 
 subservient, replied to this appeal by a bow which 
 seemed to denote absolute agreement and as much 
 admiration as his inferior position entitled him to ex- 
 press. 
 
 How Amy got through the ordeal of that first 
 evening, she herself scarcely knew. Lord Raeburn 
 took her in to dinner, and still endeavoured to reas- 
 sure her by his easy flow of talk, and by inquiries 
 about her former home, and Amy smiled mechanically 
 and tried to appear interested, and to make such 
 answers as might not offend her husband, whose eyes 
 were, as she was conscious, constantly fixed upon her. 
 There was nothing to draw off his attention, for 
 although Mr. M'Clintock and Lady Janet conversed a 
 little about the weather and the crops, Lady Raeburn
 
 A BRIDE'S WELCOME. 165 
 
 maintained the most frigid silence. Amy looked for- 
 ward with desperation to the moment when the move 
 should be made for the ladies' return to the drawing- 
 room, and was profoundly grateful to Lord Alan for 
 sparing her from this further trial. "I think, Janet," 
 he said, as he held open the door, "that you had 
 better show Amy up to her room at once. She is 
 quite worn out by our night journey." 
 
 Lady Janet lighted a candle, disclaiming Amy's 
 timid offer to find her own way upstairs, and led the 
 way for her sister-in-law, who felt, as before, as if a 
 gaoler were conducting her to her cell; and, indeed, 
 a prisoner would not have envied her the desolate 
 and home-sick yearnings which kept sleep from her 
 pillow that night. The wind moaned and whistled 
 round the house, arousing the creaking and mysterious 
 sounds which are apt to infest old woodwork, and 
 which, in this instance her nervous and excited fancy 
 connected with the lunatic, whose face, as she had 
 seen it that afternoon, still haunted her waking dreams. 
 The long hours of darkness and solitude seemed al- 
 most intolerable, and yet, when Lord Alan came 
 upstairs, Amy feigned to be asleep, conscious that 
 any attempt to reply to words either of reproof or 
 tenderness would end in a fit of hysterical sobbing.
 
 'l66 VANESSA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Mediation. 
 
 "Mv dear Eva! you must forgive me for forcing 
 my way in," said Lady Cecilia Wray, entering the 
 Leasowes drawing-room with the rustle and flutter 
 which characterised all her movements: "I called 
 twice before, when you were in your bed-room, and 
 as I understood from your servants that you were 
 better, and able to come downstairs, I would not be 
 denied. I feel sure that when the first awkwardness 
 of meeting is over, it will be a relief to you to know 
 how completely I acquit you of blame in this unfor- 
 tunate affair." 
 
 "Thank you," said Eva, in a tone which did not 
 express profound gratitude for this assurance. 
 
 "I am really grieved to see you look so ill and 
 suffering," continued Lady Cecilia, "you ought not to 
 be left so much alone." 
 
 "My cousin Helen is coming for a few days next 
 week; in the meantime I think that I am best alone," 
 said Eva, too sore at heart to be polite. 
 
 "Your cousin Helen; another of the sisters I 
 think," said Lady Cecilia. "Then this marriage has 
 caused no breach between the two families?" 
 
 "Why should it, Lady Cecilia? Why should I not 
 see my cousin Helen, because her sister is married to 
 Lord Alan Rae?"
 
 MEDIATION. 167 
 
 "Forgive any seeming impertinence in the ques- 
 tion, my dear Eva; the interest I take in Alan must 
 be my excuse: I have no children of my own, and his 
 position as the probable head of the family gives him 
 a special claim on my regard. The marriage has been 
 a terrible shock to us all, involving the ruin of all his 
 prospects, as well as family disunion, for Lady Rae- 
 burn does not seem at all able to reconcile herself to 
 it. Have you heard from your cousin since their ar- 
 rival at Raeburn?" 
 
 "No," said Eva, "I do not imagine that I shall 
 hear from her now." 
 
 "Indeed it is natural that she should shrink from 
 any communication after treating you with such in- 
 gratitude and duplicity; and yet, my dear Eva, I fancy 
 that you will agree with me that it is wise to make 
 the best of an accomplished fact. That is my poor 
 brother's view; he admires Lady Alan's beauty and 
 her pleasing manners, and so on; and he believes that 
 Alan is really attached to her. That is a great point, 
 as he has always been so volage, and, if he will settle 
 down and give up his extravagant habits, Lord Rae- 
 burn will do what he can for them. But, with poor 
 Macrae to consider, on whose comfort no expense is 
 spared, and with many other claims upon him, the 
 allowance which he can make to Alan is certainly in- 
 adequate to his wants as a married man, and it has 
 occurred to me that Mr. Mertoun might be induced 
 to come forward." 
 
 "To come forward?" repeated Eva, with wilful ob-
 
 1 68 VANESSA. 
 
 tuseness, since she could scarcely fail to understand 
 Lady Cecilia's meaning. 
 
 "To make them an allowance, to settle something 
 on his niece, dear Eva. However much we may de- 
 plore the way it was done, it is really a brilliant mar- 
 riage for her. She must, humanly speaking, one day 
 be the Marchioness of Raeburn, and her income ought 
 to be in some degree proportioned to her future posi- 
 tion." 
 
 "Would it not be better to talk to papa on such 
 a matter of business?" said Eva after a pause. 
 
 "I will gladly do so, when I have secured your 
 kind interest. It cannot be merely a matter of busi- 
 ness between you and me, and as I know that you 
 were sincerely attached to your cousin, you must 
 allow me to consult you on a matter which concerns 
 her happiness. Her position in the family is an awk- 
 ward and distressing one, and, as Lady Raeburn 
 writes, there are times when Alan himself seems to 
 repent of the rash step which he has taken. All this 
 would be changed if a fair competence were secured 
 to the young couple, so that they might have their 
 own establishment, and I will answer for it that Lord 
 Raeburn will meet Mr. Mertoun half way, if he is dis- 
 posed to do anything for them." 
 
 "I will talk to papa about it when you have made 
 such a proposal," said Eva, but even this concession 
 did not satisfy Lady Cecilia. 
 
 "Indeed, Eva, the proposal will come better from 
 you. I feel such perfect confidence in the generosity
 
 MEDIATION. l6g 
 
 and nobleness of your disposition, and though Mr. 
 Mertoun might distrust my motives, yours are beyond 
 suspicion. And now, dear child, let us speak of your 
 own health. I fear that you have allowed this sad busi- 
 ness to worry you more than it ought." 
 
 "It is the constant anxiety about my health which 
 worries me," said Eva: "I believe that I am to be sent 
 away somewhere, to Switzerland first, then to the 
 south of France. I wish, Lady Cecilia, that you would 
 give my love to Amy in your next letter to Raeburn, 
 and say that I have not felt well enough to write, but 
 that I should like to hear from her." 
 
 "I will not fail to give your message," said Lady 
 Cecilia: "I left a letter half-finished on my table, for 
 I knew that it would be a satisfaction to her to hear 
 of Leasowes." She embraced Eva, with the most 
 demonstrative affection, and, as she threw herself back 
 in the carriage, she was disposed to take a less gloomy 
 view of Alan's imprudent marriage. The transparent 
 thinness of Eva's hands, her laboured breathing and 
 hectic colour, were very alarming symptoms, and if 
 Mr. Mertoun were doomed to lose his only child, his 
 large fortune must devolve on the other branch of the 
 family. 
 
 It was with some such conviction that Eva applied 
 herself to the task which Lady Cecilia had imposed 
 upon her. Her father came home about an hour be- 
 fore dinner, for his application to business was now 
 postponed to his increasing solicitude about his
 
 1 70 VANESSA. 
 
 daughter, and he grudged every moment he spent 
 away from her side. 
 
 "How goes it, my child?" he said, tenderly: "you 
 look a little flushed this afternoon." 
 
 "I am not worse, papa: only rather flurried by a 
 visit from Lady Cecilia Wray, who forced her way in." 
 
 "Just like her assurance," growled Mr. Mertoun, 
 "she drove to the office twice last week, but I refused 
 to see her. What account does she give of her hope- 
 ful young couple?" 
 
 "They are at Raeburn, and I am afraid things are 
 not made smooth for poor Amy there." 
 
 "Pity is wasted on her, Eva. She went into the 
 thing with her eyes open; for it was here> in this very 
 room, that I told her what I knew of Lord Alan a 
 plausible, profligate young fellow. And now, I sup- 
 pose, she wants to be off her bargain." 
 
 "I do not think that it is as bad as that, papa. 
 Lady Cecilia says her position would be very different 
 if she had a home of her own, and I want you to 
 make a settlement on her." 
 
 "Fou want me to make a settlement," repeated 
 Mr. Mertoun; "you mean that Lady Cecilia has in- 
 sisted on your asking it." 
 
 "She did not insist, papa, but certainly she sug- 
 gested it, and I have made up my mind that it is the 
 right thing to do. Supposing that I do not get well, 
 and you must let me talk of that which is in your 
 mind night and day, what is to become of all your 
 money?"
 
 MEDIATION. 171 
 
 "It may go to the dogs, for what I care," said Mr. 
 Mertoun gruffly: "it will go to the dogs if Alan Rae 
 is to have the handling of it." 
 
 "I ask you to help Amy, not her husband," said 
 Eva, with rising colour: "if she had not come to live 
 with me, they would never have met, and she might 
 have been happily married to a man who truly loved 
 her. Now I want to feel that I have not wholly 
 wrecked her happiness." 
 
 "I will do anything you please, if you can honestly 
 say that she has not wholly wrecked yours." 
 
 "Not in the way you think," said Eva, after a mo- 
 ment's pause: "the marriage was a great shock to me, 
 and, if I am to tell all the truth, I will confess that it 
 is more than a year since I first thought that Lord 
 Alan loved, and might one day ask me to marry him. 
 But that is all past and gone, and I can see now that 
 I have had a great escape." 
 
 "You speak like a brave and true woman, Eva, 
 and now, my dear, you have nothing to do but to get 
 well." 
 
 "If I can, papa. But you know that, long before 
 I was old enough to think of being crossed in love, 
 the doctors used to shake their heads over me and 
 say that I was hard to rear. Doctor Popham says that 
 the Engadin now, followed up by a winter at Men- 
 tone, will quite set me up; and, as I have nothing to 
 do as I lie here but to make plans, I have a scheme 
 cut and dry of which you shall hear when Amy's 
 business is settled."
 
 172 VANESSA. 
 
 "Settle it then," replied Mr. Mertoun, almost cheer- 
 fully, as he noted Eva's more healthy and hopeful 
 tone: "at what price does Lady Cecelia rate the 
 honour of our noble connection? Will five thousand 
 pounds, ten thousand pounds, or nothing short of 
 half-a-million be considered a fitting portion?" 
 
 "I should think ten thousand pounds might do," 
 said Eva, doubtfully, since she was as profoundly 
 ignorant of the value of money as people are apt to 
 be who have never known what it is to have a wish 
 ungratified. 
 
 "I am glad that you are so modest in your ideas," 
 said her father, smiling: "I am to give away five hun- 
 dred pounds a year to reward Amy for running away 
 after she has been five weeks under my roof. I will 
 not do this, but, as I have left each of my brother's 
 children five thousand pounds in my will, I shall be 
 prepared to pay over the interest of Amy's portion 
 into the hands of trustees for her separate use and 
 benefit. Do not trouble your little head further in 
 the matter: I will put the offer into writing, and if it 
 is declined by Lord Raeburn or his son, there is no 
 great harm done. But perhaps you had better men- 
 tion to Helen that I do not undertake to pension more 
 than one runaway niece at a time." 
 
 "You must not be unjust to Helen, nor hurt her 
 feelings just as you are going to ask a favour of her. 
 You know, papa, that I have set my heart on her 
 going abroad with me." 
 
 "I know: and I thought that she had declared it
 
 MEDIATION. 173 
 
 to be out of the question. I fancy that helpless mother 
 of hers cannot keep house for herself." 
 
 "Aunt Anne would be perfectly happy living with 
 or near the Charltons, but Helen says that Henry 
 would be dull and uncomfortable, unless he had some 
 one to quarrel with. And do you know I fancy that 
 he would find the excitement which he needs here in 
 Bixley." 
 
 "Do you expect me to renew the offer of partner- 
 ship which he refused so uncivilly four years ago?" 
 said Mr. Mertoun. 
 
 "Yes, papa, I do, if I could ascertain first that it 
 will not be refused again. Ask Henry to come here 
 next Sunday, on business Amy's business I mean 
 and let me have him to myself in the afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Mertoun was very tractable about this second 
 scheme of Eva's, and she had hardly understood be- 
 fore how much his heart was set on keeping together 
 the business in which his fortune was embarked. Nor 
 was Henry indisposed to listen to Eva's arguments in 
 favour of abandoning his desk at the bank for a 
 .career which would not only give him material wealth 
 but a wider range of interests, and he scarcely con- 
 fessed to himself that the desire to bring a smile into 
 his cousin's pale, wasted face was a stronger motive 
 for concession than those which lay on the surface. 
 Helen was very much surprised and even a little in- 
 dignant when he returned to Allerton with his plans 
 cut and dry, and assumed as a matter of course that 
 the only obstacle to her going abroad with Eva was
 
 174 VANESSA. 
 
 removed. The terms on which he was to enter Mr. 
 Mertoun's office were so liberal that he could make 
 his mother comfortable wherever she might choose to 
 live, and when Helen declared that it was hard to 
 demand the sacrifice of her independence, he said 
 with a laugh: 
 
 "Dennis warned me that you would trot out Mr. 
 Benson and the sewing-machine, and he advised me 
 to ratten you by cutting off the band of the machine 
 after you went to bed." 
 
 Helen coloured with a deep sense of mortification. 
 She was impervious to her brother's raillery, but could 
 not so easily tolerate O'Brien's ridicule of her ex- 
 aggerated estimate of the nobility of manual labour. 
 She thought, and said rather hotly, that if Henry and 
 his friend chose to be inconsistent, she should still 
 stick to her principles; nevertheless she terminated her 
 business relations with Mr. Benson, and devoted her 
 energies to the study of the Swiss Flora. 
 
 Amy was not forgotten, and indeed the silence 
 with which her name was passed over did not indicate 
 forgetfulness. Helen had been indignant and Mrs. 
 Mertoun had been sorrowful over the only letter which 
 had reached them, and it was Henry who read be- 
 tween the lines, declaring that the composition was 
 dictated, and that, unless Mrs. Mertoun wished to cor- 
 respond with her noble son-in-law, the letter might 
 remain unanswered.
 
 PRISON BARS. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Prison Bars. 
 
 MR. MERTOUN put into writing the terms on which 
 he proposed to make his contribution to Lord Alan's 
 income, and Lady Cecilia received the statement with 
 warm expressions of gratitude and forwarded it at 
 once to Raeburn Castle. His offer was discussed in 
 family conclave a council from which Amy was ex- 
 cluded, since she scarcely, even in her husband's eyes, 
 ranked as a member of his family and it did not 
 awaken any great enthusiasm. Lord Alan considered 
 himself insulted by the precautions which had been 
 devised to secure both interest and principal to his 
 wife's separate use; and Lady Raeburn remarked that, 
 to judge by her present costly style of dress, the 
 greater part of the allowance would be swallowed up 
 by her personal expenses. Lord Raeburn, who had 
 all his life been expecting a windfall which was to 
 repair his broken fortunes, took a more sanguine view 
 of the transaction, regarding the 5,ooo/. as only an 
 instalment of the wealth which must devolve on his 
 daughter-in-law on Eva's death; and Amy was a little 
 perplexed by the interest which the old Marquis ap- 
 peared to take in her uncle's family affairs, his in- 
 quiries about Eva's health and the cause of Mrs. 
 Richard Mertoun's early death. It was probable, aS 
 he said, that the consumptive tendency was inherited.
 
 176 VANESSA. 
 
 Lady Cecilia had faithfully transmitted the for- 
 giving little message which it had cost Eva some 
 effort to send, but Lord Alan did not think it neces- 
 sary to pass it on to his wife. He thought it might 
 have the bad effect of unsettling her mind, which ought 
 not to be diverted from the task assigned to her of 
 raising herself to the level of her new associates, and 
 he discouraged any reminiscences of her former life. 
 No efforts, however, seemed to break down the con- 
 straint of Amy's intercourse with her mother and 
 sister-in-law, although she continued to be on toler- 
 ably easy terms with Lord Raeburn. Silence and 
 gloom brooded over the family party, and Amy's 
 fancy was constantly haunted by the unseen presence 
 of the unhappy lunatic, whom she did not again en- 
 counter in her walks but whose apartment was only 
 separated from them by a corridor shut off by double 
 doors. His name was never mentioned in her pre- 
 sence, and when she occasionally met Lady Raeburn 
 coming from that part of the house she swept by with 
 a more stately air of chilling reserve. 
 
 By her husband's desire, Amy spent her time 
 chiefly in the drawing-room, however little she was 
 made welcome there, but she was apt to retreat to 
 her own room when Alan was not by to mark her 
 absence. On one of these occasions, he returned 
 from his ride earlier than usual and followed her 
 upstairs. "I have been looking for you," he said. 
 "Why are you moping here?" 
 
 "I have not been upstairs very long," said Amy.
 
 PRISON BARS. 177 
 
 "Some visitors came, and, as Lady Raeburn did not 
 introduce me to them, I thought it best to come 
 away." 
 
 "It was exceedingly ill-judged," said Alan, with 
 displeasure. "You ought to have stayed, and taken 
 a part in the conversation. Such morbid sensitiveness 
 to petty slights is quite out of place, and will never 
 vindicate your position in my mother's eyes. You 
 should take pains to win her regard, instead of bestow- 
 ing all your powers of pleasing on my father and 
 M'Clintock." 
 
 If Amy made the prescribed efforts, they were so 
 evidently unsuccessful that Lord Alan shortly after- 
 wards announced his intention of going at once to 
 the lodge at Cuchullin, where he and Amy were to 
 reside during the season of grouse-shooting; and the 
 change was welcomed by Amy, who felt that it might 
 be more possible to win her husband's favour when 
 she was withdrawn from Lady Raeburn's disapproving 
 eyes. 
 
 The appointments of the shooting-lodge, which 
 had never been intended for a lady's accommodation, 
 were rude and meagre; and Lord Alan was gratified 
 by his wife's indifference to her personal comfort, 
 and her anxiety to minister to his own. He was 
 not displaced from the occupation of the only easy 
 chair, and Amy spent a whole morning in papering 
 over the crevices in the wall, through which insidious 
 draughts had whistled to disturb his repose. In re- 
 quital for such attentions, he devoted the first week 
 
 Vanessa. ' 12
 
 178 VANESSA. 
 
 of their stay at Cuchullin to her amusement. He 
 taught her how to throw a fly, or, at all events, to 
 admire his own dexterity in the art, and he placed 
 her on a Highland pony, and walked by her side over 
 moss and moorland, to discover where the grouse lay 
 thickest. It was while he was in this happy mood that 
 Amy found courage to enter on a subject which lay 
 very near her heart. 
 
 "I have been thinking, Alan, that I never gave 
 mamma our address, nor even told her that we were 
 going to Scotland, and that must be the reason why I 
 have had no answer to my letter." 
 
 "Mr. Mertoun is aware that we went to Raeburn, 
 and the post-town can always be found in the peer- 
 age," replied Alan. 
 
 "Still," said Amy, with greater timidity, "mamma 
 may think that you did not wish her to write, as I 
 gave no address." 
 
 "Such a surmise would not be far from the truth, 
 Amy. At all events, the next advances must come 
 from your family, and when they are made it will be 
 time enough to decide whether they are to be ac- 
 cepted." Such an answer was not calculated to ap- 
 pease the hunger of home-sickness, but it taught Amy 
 the necessity of restraining its expression. 
 
 Two days later, however, when Amy came down 
 to breakfast, she saw among the letters which lay be- 
 side her husband's plate one directed to herself in her 
 mother's handwriting. She saw, and almost seized it, 
 but at that moment Alan entered the room, and she
 
 PRISON BARS. 170 
 
 retreated behind the urn, conscious that the involun- 
 tary action might be reckoned against her as an of- 
 fence. Lord Alan read his own letters as he ate his 
 breakfast, and took up the envelope which bore the 
 Allerton post mark from time to time, without making 
 any comment on it. Amy's heart sank, and she felt 
 an increasing difficulty in replying to indifferent re- 
 marks with any semblance of ease. 
 
 At length Lord Alan approached the subject: "A 
 letter for you, Amy, has come up from the castle 
 which has the Allerton postmark." 
 
 "I suppose it is from mamma," said Amy, and she 
 could not, with all her efforts, control the tremour of 
 her voice. Since Lord Alan did not offer to hand her 
 the letter, she said timidly: "Will you read it first, 
 Alan?" 
 
 "If you really wish to be guided by my advice, 
 Amy," said Lord Alan, pausing for a moment as if to 
 give greater force to his words by weighing them care- 
 fully, "the letter will be burnt un-read: you have been 
 talking at random ever since you came down; and, 
 since you are so much agitated by the very idea of 
 receiving news from your former home, its effect will 
 probably be to unsettle your mind altogether." 
 
 "I hope to feel more settled when I have heard of 
 them all," said Amy. 
 
 "I presume that you mean that you will be more 
 settled in your discontent with your new surround- 
 ings," replied Alan, fixing his eyes upon his wife with 
 a singularly wild and stern expression which made her 
 
 12*
 
 1 80 VANESSA. 
 
 feel, as she had so often felt before, that submission 
 was the only course which lay open to her. 
 
 "If you think so, Alan, I will not ask to read the 
 letter." 
 
 "Do not answer as if I required an abject and 
 slavish obedience," rejoined Alan with increasing irri- 
 tability: "your compliance is nothing to me, unless it 
 is the result of conviction." 
 
 "I wish you to burn the letter," said Amy, and her 
 husband took her at her word, and threw it on the 
 logs which were blazing on the hearth. He waited 
 until it was consumed, before he turned round to 
 raise Amy's drooping face to his own. 
 
 "After all, Amy, I believe that you value that 
 worthless piece of paper more than my love." 
 
 Amy laid her head on his shoulder and forced 
 herself to smile, even as a dog will fawn upon the 
 hand of his cruel master. "Your love is all the world 
 to me, Alan." 
 
 He kissed her again before he left the room; but 
 when he passed the windows a moment afterwards, 
 whistling to his dogs, Amy abandoned herself to a 
 passion of tears. In her happy days at Leasowes, the 
 correspondence with her family had been only an irk- 
 some duty; but now her heart yearned for the mo- 
 ther's love and tender forbearance from which Alan 
 had decreed that she should be for ever estranged: 
 and, indeed, a stouter heart than Amy's might have 
 recoiled from the prospect of being cut off from hu- 
 man sympathy which would have afforded some little
 
 PRISON BARS. l8l 
 
 relief from the incessant exaction of her husband's 
 jealous and exclusive passion. But her part was taken 
 and must be played out; and when Lord Alan re- 
 turned to the house an hour later, Amy was able to 
 meet him with a smiling and unruffled face. 
 
 Then came the twelfth, that era in Highland life, 
 and Lord Raeburn came up to the lodge with Mr. 
 M'Clintock to stay for a few days. Amy took pains 
 to see that the dinner was tolerably dressed and served, 
 and did the honours prettily; but the complimentary 
 remarks of Lord Raeburn appeared to irritate his son, 
 and he spoke sharply to his .wife after they went up- 
 stairs for the night. "It is all very well to please my 
 father, Amy, but your very easy manners with M'Clin- 
 tock are not to my taste. No doubt you have been 
 accustomed to associate on equal terms with that 
 stamp of man when you were living at Allerton, but 
 I wish you to remember that my wife is not to place 
 herself on a level with my father's factor." 
 
 At breakfast next morning, Amy scarcely dared to 
 reply to Mr. M'Clintock's remarks on the weather, nor 
 to ask him if he took sugar in his tea, and again her 
 husband found an opportunity of saying that she was 
 always in extremes; he had been seriously annoyed by 
 her want of proper courtesy, and especially since 
 M'Clintock's influence over Lord Raeburn made his 
 good-will a matter of importance to himself. 
 
 Now that the grouse-shooting had begun, Amy had 
 many lonely hours; she was not adventurous, and, on 
 the only occasion when she wandered to any distance
 
 1 82 VANESSA. 
 
 from home, she was considerably alarmed by the sud- 
 den apparition of two or three bare-legged boys who 
 sprang out of the heather, and signified to her with 
 the signs and Gaelic vociferation which were needed 
 to help out their imperfect English, that she must go 
 back at once; and it took some time to discover that 
 they had no sinister intentions, and were placed there 
 to prevent anyone from crossing the scent of the deer 
 which Lord Alan was stalking. After this adventure, 
 her walks were restricted to "the policy," which con- 
 sisted of a few ruinous outhouses, and a garden chiefly 
 stocked with kale, and a wilderness of gooseberry 
 bushes, so laden with fruit as to afford a new ex- 
 perience to her English taste. 
 
 The factor's house was situated half-way between 
 Raeburn and Cuchullin, and Mrs. M'Clintock drove up 
 the valley to visit Lady Alan at her husband's instiga- 
 tion. Amy was cheered by the sight of a kindly 
 woman's face, and by some innocent prattle about the 
 great people of the county, and told her husband of 
 the visit as a pleasant incident when he returned to 
 dinner; adding that Mrs. M'Clintock had asked her to 
 spend an afternoon at her house. 
 
 "I suppose that you did not accept the invitation 
 without reference to me?" said Lord Alan. 
 
 "No, Alan; I said that I was not sure whether you 
 could spare Alick to drive me down in the car." 
 
 "I am glad that you showed that remnant of dis- 
 cretion. I certainly shall not be able to spare Alick." 
 
 "Your sister Janet went to drink tea with Mrs,
 
 PRISON BARS. 183 
 
 M'Clintock while we were at Raeburn," said Amy, ra- 
 ther plaintively. 
 
 "The cases are altogether different. My sister is 
 a lady by birth, while you have still your position to 
 achieve: and it will not be done by mixing yourself 
 up with a lot of middle-class people." 
 
 Amy humbly accepted the statement of her infe- 
 riority, even if it occurred to her to wonder whether 
 the subtle aristocratic essence lay in Lady Janet's frigid 
 manners, her pronounced Scotch accent, or in the bad 
 taste which distinguished her dress. 
 
 "We will go back to the Castle next week, since 
 you cannot live without society," resumed Lord Alan 
 after a pause. It was a severe punishment for so 
 slight an offence, but the grouse were becoming scarce, 
 the weather was bad, and Lord Alan had begun to 
 find his wife's gentle and submissive devotion some- 
 what monotonous. 
 
 In the presence of a third person, Lord Alan still 
 restrained the display of his irritable and capricious 
 temper; but Hector M'Clintock was a shrewd observer, 
 and it was in his mind that the suspicion which had 
 more than once flashed across the unhappy wife, only 
 to be rejected with horror, first took definite shape. 
 "I am not easy about Lord Alan," he said one after- 
 noon to his wife, when he returned from taking lunch 
 at the Castle. "He used to be a happy, genial-tem- 
 pered young fellow, and I begin to be afraid that his 
 brain is in an irritable state. He was speaking to 
 Lady Alan in a strange wild way when I went into the
 
 184 VANESSA. 
 
 library this morning; and though his manner changed" 
 in a moment, and he seemed confused by his violence, 
 I could see that she did not dare to meet his eye, and 
 that he was constantly watching her." 
 
 "Poor thing; I fancied that she had a very care- 
 worn expression when I went up to see her at Cuchul- 
 lin," said Mrs. M'Clintock, compassionately. "What 
 can you do, Hector?" 
 
 "I wish that I knew what was for the best. If I 
 say a word to the Marquis he will fuss and fidget, 
 and talk of it all over the neighbourhood, and if I go 
 to my lady I shall be called an officious old fool for 
 my pains. And yet I cannot see the last hope of the 
 family cast away when a timely warning may avert 
 the calamity which threatens him." M'Clintock had 
 spent his life in the hopeless task of bolstering up the 
 broken fortunes of his employers; and, if he had 
 amassed a sufficient, although not an ample com- 
 petence in the course of his labours, loyalty to the 
 house of Rae was still his prevailing motive. He had 
 been treated with contumely when he remonstrated 
 against extravagance or mismanagement, and with 
 respectful consideration when money could only be 
 obtained by his aid, and still worked on with unabated 
 zeal, looking forward to Lord Alan's succession to in- 
 augurate a new era of prosperity; he had, indeed, 
 been more remarkable for his quick parts than for 
 his correct morals, but M'Clintock had expected his 
 early marriage to supply the ballast in which his 
 nature was deficient. He laid the case before Lady
 
 PRISON BARS. 185 
 
 Raeburn as delicately as he could, only suggesting 
 that it would be well for Lord and Lady Alan to go 
 to London for a few weeks, as Lord Alan appeared 
 to be out of health and spirits, and might benefit by 
 change of scene and the best medical advice. 
 
 The unhappy mother could not, would not see in 
 what direction his fears pointed, and declared that 
 Alan was in excellent health, though perhaps a little 
 oppressed in spirits by the society of his inane wife. 
 M'Clintock apologised with his usual deference for 
 obtruding unnecessary advice, but he was satisfied 
 that he had made an impression, and found it dif- 
 ficult to appear surprised at the intelligence which 
 Lord Raeburn imparted to him a day or two after- 
 wards. 
 
 "We have settled to let our young couple go up 
 to town for November, as they can turn out at any 
 time if we get a winter let for the house in Eaton 
 Square. What do you think of the plan, M'Clintock?" 
 
 The agent expressed his cordial approval, and 
 Lord Alan graciously accepted the suggestion. The 
 short days and bad weather had cut off the resources 
 of out-door amusement, and although he had his mis- 
 givings as to his wife's fitness for society, he allowed 
 that the dissipations of London in November were not 
 very seductive. But he took the precaution, with his 
 mother's full concurrence, of engaging a middle-aged 
 Scotchwoman as Amy's maid, who was rigid in her 
 views and unattractive in her person, and with whom 
 Lady Alan might walk out when he was unable to
 
 1-86 VANESSA. 
 
 accompany her. The preparations for departure were 
 soon made, and when a turn in the road hid the 
 Castle from her view Amy felt as if years instead of 
 months had elapsed since the day when she first 
 caught a glimpse of the grey pile. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Ordeal of Suffering. 
 
 HOPE had so nearly died out. of Amy's breast, that 
 it was scarcely any shock to her to discover that the 
 contact with strangers revived her husband's injurious 
 suspicions with added force. Twice in the course of 
 their railway journey to the south he ordered her to 
 change places with him, and on reaching Carlisle he 
 declared his intention of moving into another com- 
 partment. "Could you not see," he said irritably, 
 "that I wished you to avoid the insolent stare of that 
 young man who sat opposite to you?" 
 
 "I did not notice that he stared at me," replied 
 Amy. 
 
 "Possibly not; a modest woman would have been 
 conscious of it in a moment." 
 
 Instead of resenting the insult implied by these 
 words, Amy sought to disarm her husband's anger by 
 greater docility, and, although the only other occupant 
 of the compartment was an elderly gentleman who 
 alternately read his newspaper and slept over it, she
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. 1 87 
 
 kept down her veil, and looked sedulously out of 
 window. 
 
 On the evening after their arrival in town, Amy 
 accepted with gratitude the suggestion that they should 
 go to the theatre, but the same unhappy delusion pur- 
 sued her there. Just as she was becoming interested 
 in the performance, Lord Alan inquired whether it 
 were necessary to her happiness to occupy such a 
 conspicuous position, and he so disposed the curtains 
 of their private box that she might neither see nor be 
 seen. As they were driving home he informed her 
 that her levity of conduct had made it impossible for 
 him to take her to any other place of public resort. 
 Any one might have seen when she dropped her fan 
 in the lobby, and allowed a stranger to return it to 
 her, that it was only a flimsy pretext for attracting 
 attention. Amy shed a few tears, but it did not occur 
 to her to rebel, even in thought, against the dictates 
 of her husband's capricious humour; and indeed one 
 source of her wretchedness lay in the conviction that 
 since her most trivial acts could be interpreted in such 
 a sense, they must in truth be blame-worthy. 
 
 The outward circumstances of her life soon be- 
 came even more cheerless than they had been at Rae- 
 burn. Their establishment was on the narrowest foot- 
 ing, and Lord Alan said that as the house was pre- 
 pared for letting, it was not expedient to make use of 
 the drawing-rooms, and that they must inhabit the 
 room behind the dining-room; but Amy soon dis- 
 covered that his real motive was a fear lest she should
 
 1 88 VANESSA. 
 
 be guilty of the indecorum of showing herself at the' 
 windows which commanded a view of the square. The 
 town housemaid undertook to cook for them, with 
 such indifferent success that Lord Alan, ascribing a 
 succession of failures to Amy's bad housekeeping, 
 seldom took his meals at home; but he veiled his 
 movements in studied uncertainty, and she never 
 knew whether to expect him or not, except that after 
 a time she began to interpret his assertions by con- 
 traries. When he said that he was going out for the 
 afternoon he often returned after a short interval, as 
 if for the purpose of ascertaining that she was taking 
 no unworthy advantage of his absence; and if he said 
 that he should only be away for a few minutes she 
 sometimes ventured to indulge in the relief of tears 
 with less dread lest he should return in time to detect 
 their traces, and overwhelm her with the bitterest re- 
 proaches. He regulated her movements in his absence 
 with rigorous exactness. There were days when he 
 only permitted her to take exercise within the railings 
 of the Square gardens, escorting her across the road 
 himself, and returning with the exactness of a gaoler 
 to unlock the gate when the hour of exercise had ex- 
 pired. In his happier moods he required her to go 
 with her maid, Elspeth, in a cab to the gate of Ken- 
 sington Gardens, there to pace the broad walk fre- 
 quented by nursery-maids and children; and he in- 
 formed her that he should probably walk or ride 
 round the park at the same hour, but that she was on 
 no account to look out for him, from which Amy
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. 
 
 understood that this indulgence was to be forfeited if 
 her head was even once turned in the direction of the 
 ride. If visitors ever came to the house they were 
 not admitted; and in after years when Amy looked 
 back to those weeks of wretchedness she wondered 
 how it was that her own brain had not given away 
 beneath the protracted torture, which was often height- 
 ened by physical terror; although Alan still refrained 
 from any expressions of violence, and there was even 
 a studied deference in his manner to her in the pre- 
 sence of his servants. But Amy knew well that they 
 did not regard her as the mistress of her house, but 
 rather as some abject creature whose conduct had 
 rendered it necessary that she should, in her own 
 interests, be hedged in by such restraints. 
 
 On one occasion, when Amy, with a transient im- 
 pulse of independence, put on her bonnet with the 
 intention of walking to Arabella Row to match a skein 
 of Berlin wool, she found Elspeth waiting for her in 
 the hall. "I understood from his lordship," she said, 
 "that you would require me to walk out with you 
 whenever you did not take the Square key." 
 
 "Certainly," said Amy, convicted of a grave mis- 
 demeanour, nor did she ever again attempt to evade 
 the vigilance of her attendant. 
 
 Nearly three weeks had passed, each day seeming 
 to give fresh colour to the suspicions which clouded 
 Alan's brain, and consequently to add to the rigour 
 of the thraldom in which he held his unhappy wife, 
 when Lord Alan one evening returned from his club
 
 I go VANESSA. 
 
 and informed her that he had accepted an invitation 
 for her as well as for himself to dine at Sir John 
 Hawthorne's. "They are friends of the Wrays," he 
 said, "and I think he said that he had met you at 
 dinner." 
 
 "Yes," said Amy, smiling faintly, as the memory 
 -of a time that seemed very far off returned to her: 
 "he dined at Leasowes, the first time I ever saw 
 you." 
 
 "True," said Alan gloomily: "he said that Lady 
 Hawthorne would call, but I told him that you never 
 saw visitors; and then he said that she would leave 
 cards with an invitation, and he made me name a 
 day, so that altogether I did not see how we were to 
 get out of it. So you are to accept the invitation, 
 and I really trust that, after all that has passed, you 
 begin to see the necessity of being more circumspect 
 in your conduct." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Alan," said Amy very submissively, 
 and although she had abandoned all hope of averting 
 his displeasure and suspicion she looked forward to 
 the sight of human kind as to an era in her mono- 
 tonous existence. She wore full evening dress for the 
 first time since her marriage, and presented herself 
 before her husband's eyes with the timid hope of 
 meeting a glance of transient admiration; but Alan 
 found more to criticise than to approve and twice 
 sent her back to her room to make some alteration in 
 her coiffure and trinkets. Consequently they were 
 late, and, as the party was a large one, and dinner
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. IQI 
 
 was announced almost at once, it was only as she 
 was passing out of the drawing-room again, that Amy 
 descried with a thrill of very mingled feelings, the 
 fair head of Dennis O'Brien in the centre of a knot 
 of gentlemen. His face brought back all the hunger 
 of home-sickness by which she was now constantly 
 consumed, but only for a moment, and she glanced 
 at Lord Alan with a tightening of the heart, remem- 
 bering his fierce denunciations on their wedding day; 
 but his calmness was not disturbed, and her experience 
 of his fluctuating humour inclined her to hope that 
 O'Brien was no longer an object of his resentment. 
 
 They took their places at the dinner-table, and 
 then Amy discovered that Dennis was her right hand 
 neighbour, and that her husband was exactly opposite 
 to her, but partly screened from her sight by an 
 epergne of flowers. In a sort of desperation, Amy 
 kept her face turned towards the toothless old peer 
 who had taken her down, and who desired nothing so 
 much as to be allowed to eat his dinner in peace, un- 
 distracted by Lady Alan's disjointed remarks about 
 the weather and the winter exhibitions. Her resources 
 were soon exhausted, and when she began to cut her 
 bread into dice, Dennis felt that his turn was come. 
 "Are we not to recognise each other, Lady Alan?" he 
 said, quietly. 
 
 "Oh yes," replied Amy, dropping her voice below 
 the general hum of conversation. "But I never ex- 
 pected to see you here to-night." 
 
 "The coincidence is not so very surprising. I
 
 1 92 . VANESSA. 
 
 came to town on business connected with the museum, 
 and Mr. Wray gave me an introduction to Sir John, 
 who is one of his scientific friends. I am going down 
 to Allerton next week, and it will be a pleasure to 
 your mother to hear that I have seen you." 
 
 "Give her my very best love," said Amy. 
 
 At that moment there was a lull in the conversa- 
 tion, and Lord Alan said, with such distinct utterance 
 that it was plain for whom his words were intended, 
 "I have met Mr. O'Brien, Miss Hawthorne, but neither 
 Lady Alan nor myself have the honour of his ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 Dennis gave one rapid glance at Amy, and saw 
 that light and colour had faded out of her face, and 
 that the brilliant beauty which had struck him on her 
 entrance, was exchanged for a miserable, anxious, 
 hunted expression, which awakened his deepest com- 
 passion. He turned hastily away, and did not address 
 another syllable to her, but Amy knew too well the 
 relentless nature of her husband's suspicions to hope 
 that she could escape reproach. 
 
 It was an infinite relief to both of them when the 
 move was made for the ladies to leave the dining 
 table; and Amy began to breathe more freely, little 
 dreaming that her ordeal of suffering was only begun. 
 Five minutes afterwards, Lord Alan entered the draw- 
 ing-room, and went straight up to Lady Hawthorne 
 without looking at his wife. "You must excuse our 
 taking a hurried departure, Lady Hawthorne. I ob- 
 served that my wife looked ill at dinner, and as she
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. 1 93 
 
 must wish to go home at once, I have taken the 
 liberty of ordering a cab, instead of waiting for our 
 carriage." 
 
 While Lady Hawthorne expressed civil regret, Amy 
 stood up with pale and agitated looks, which justified 
 the plea of indisposition, and Lord Alan cut short the 
 leave-taking, standing at the open door until she fol- 
 lowed him out. They left an uncomfortable impres- 
 sion behind them, and Miss Hawthorne remarked on 
 the strange tone of Lord Alan's reply when she told 
 him that they had arranged that Mr. O'Brien should 
 sit next to Lady Alan, as they both belonged to the 
 Leasowes neighbourhood. 
 
 "Ah well, the Rae's are all strange," said Lady 
 Hawthorne significantly: "it does not do to interfere 
 between husband and wife, and especially as I had 
 only once seen Lady Alan before, but I pity her, poor 
 thing. Remind me, Bessy, to send to Eaton Square to 
 inquire for her to-morrow morning." 
 
 The conversation rippled away to other subjects, 
 before Lord Alan had placed his wife in the cab. Her 
 spirits sank lower when she found that he was going 
 outside, for she understood that he could only trust 
 himself to express the violence of his anger in the 
 privacy of their own apartment. It was a rainy night, 
 and, as they passed a gin-shop with its brilliant gas- 
 lights flashing on the wet pavement, Amy noticed a 
 squalid, thinly-clad woman who crept past the shop, 
 drawing her scanty shawl more closely around her, 
 and then after a moment's irresolution, she turned 
 
 Yantssa. ' 13
 
 I Q4 VANESSA. 
 
 back, pushed open the swing door and went in. Amy 
 did not pity that woman, she only thought of her as 
 of a being less wretched and degraded than herself. 
 
 Their early return to Eaton Square caused some 
 little commotion among the servants, and Lord Alan 
 once more calmly declared the cause: "Lady Alan is 
 unwell, and will go at once to her room. Send Els- 
 peth up to her. In a quarter of an hour," he added, 
 without looking at his wife, although the information 
 was intended for her, "I shall come upstairs." 
 
 Amy hurried through her undressing in the brief 
 interval allotted to her, and Elspeth, with grim com- 
 passion for her pale and shivering looks, advised her 
 to go at once to bed, but she declined to do this, 
 saying that she would lie down on the sofa in her 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 "Here is his lordship coming up," said Elspeth, as 
 if his approaching footsteps had not already found an 
 echo in Amy's fluttering heart: "Is there nothing I 
 can get for you before I go, my lady?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Amy, but she added in tremulous 
 accents, "I may want you at any moment. Come at 
 once if I ring." 
 
 "Certainly, my lady," said Elspeth, and when she 
 went back to her supper with renewed appetite, she 
 too remarked that something had gone very wrong 
 between my lord and my lady. 
 
 Lord Alan entered the room as the maid quitted 
 it, and as he turned the key in the lock Amy resisted 
 with difficulty the inclination to scream. She did re-
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. 1 95 
 
 sist it, however, and lay still, scarcely conscious of 
 anything but her own palpitating heart. After looking 
 at her for a moment, Lord Alan spoke: 
 
 "It is at least some relief to see you stripped of 
 the finery Jin which you had arrayed yourself to meet 
 your former, shall I say, or your present lover. I 
 know now with what object that elaborate toilette was 
 made." 
 
 "Mr. O'Brien was the last, the very last person I 
 expected to see, Alan; how could I guess that he was 
 in town?" 
 
 "That is the very point on which I demand infor- 
 mation. You have found means to communicate with 
 him." 
 
 "It is not so, Alan. I have never heard his name 
 since you forbade me to speak of him." 
 
 "The transparent evasion does not blind me to 
 the truth," said Lord Alan, with increasing vehe- 
 mence; "confess that you made this appointment by 
 letter." 
 
 "Such a confession would be untrue, Alan. Since 
 the day of our marriage I have not written nor re- 
 ceived a letter which has not passed under your eyes. 
 The servants know and respect your orders to carry 
 every letter to your room before it is delivered to me." 
 
 "How can I trust my servants, when I do not 
 trust my wife?" said Alan, gloomily. Up to this mo- 
 ment he had been standing before her, but now, at 
 his gesture of command, she raised herself into a sit- 
 ting posture, so that he might take a place by her 
 
 13*
 
 196 VANESSA. 
 
 side, and this permitted him to feel that she was 
 trembling in every limb. "Words are not needed," 
 he resumed, "so long as your own cringing fears pro- 
 claim your guilt." 
 
 "I fear your displeasure, Alan, even when it is 
 undeserved, but it is hard indeed to hold me respon- 
 sible for the unhappy accident which placed me next 
 to Mr. O'Brien this evening." 
 
 "Do not call it an accident. Say rather that 
 Heaven so willed it, lest I should be the last to know 
 that my wife is false and shameless. Say now what 
 passed between you; low as the words were spoken, I 
 caught the name of love." 
 
 "I only sent my love to my mother, the mother 
 from whom you have estranged me. O, Alan, that is 
 all my crime," said Amy, bursting into tears. Alan 
 caught at the words with the eager jealousy of his 
 diseased mind. "You admit that it was a crime, 
 that you are guilty in your own eyes." 
 
 "I have never wronged you, never, in word or 
 thought. If I erred in speaking to him , it is a fault 
 which need not be repeated." 
 
 "Which cannot be repeated," said Alan, in a voice 
 which chilled poor Amy's blood with terror. 
 
 "Forgive me this time, Alan," she said, as she 
 caught at his hand, and tried to carry it to her lips, 
 but he shook her off, as if her touch were hateful. 
 
 "It is enough, go now to bed." 
 
 "Yes, Alan," said she, but she paused to raise her
 
 THE ORDEAL OF SUFFERING. 1 97 
 
 swimming eyes to his face in piteous supplication, 
 "may I first say my prayers?" 
 
 "It is well thought of. Since you have asked my 
 forgiveness, it only remains to implore the mercy of 
 God." 
 
 The tenor of his words conveyed to Amy's ter- 
 rified imagination permission to send up to Heaven 
 the silent, desperate prayer which springs from the 
 heart of the wretch who knows that a violent death 
 must cut him off from the light of another sun. She 
 knelt by the bedside for a few moments, and then 
 laid herself down. There was an old-fashioned bell- 
 rope hanging by the bed, and the instinct of self- 
 preservation prompted her to pass her hand through 
 the ivory ring which was fastened to the cord. Lord 
 Alan, whose eyes were constantly fixed on her, must 
 have seen the action, but he made no comment on 
 it; he extinguished the candles, stirred up the fire to 
 a blaze, and sat brooding over it. Once he spoke to 
 her, when a brighter flame shot up and was reflected 
 in Amy's eyes. "You appear to be wakeful, Amy; 
 if you wish me to read you to sleep, I will read 
 Othello." 
 
 Amy shuddered, and hid her face in the bed- 
 clothes to stifle a half-uttered cry of wailing fear. Her 
 fingers were more tightly clenched round the bell- 
 handle, and, if her husband made one step towards 
 the bed, she resolved to pull it, even at the risk o 
 falling a victim to his insane fury before help could 
 come. But the long miserable hours of the night
 
 198 VANESSA. 
 
 wore away, and Alan still sat by the fireside. Once 
 or twice Amy fell into a doze from which she was 
 aroused in an agony of fear by the fall of a coal 
 upon the hearth, or by the slightest change in her 
 husband's position. As the night wore on, the ten- 
 sion of her nerves could no longer be maintained, 
 even although she believed that her life depended 
 upon her wakefulness, and her eyes closed in a heavy 
 dreamless sleep. When she awoke, the fire was out, 
 the light was beginning to struggle through the closed 
 curtains, and Lord Alan was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Flight. 
 
 THE reaction soon followed the first feeling of 
 relief and thankfulness. The danger was past for the 
 moment, but Amy recoiled from the thought of hav- 
 ing to live through such another night of terror. She 
 pulled the bell-cord, which had not left her hand 
 even in her soundest sleep, and Elspeth promptly an- 
 swered the summons. 
 
 "I have slept late, Elspeth," said Amy, still striv- 
 ing to mask her fears by speaking in her ordinary 
 tone: "will you ask my lord not to wait breakfast for 
 me?" 
 
 "William wished me to ask whether his lordship 
 intended to breakfast out," replied the maid: "my 
 lord must have walked out quite early, for the chain
 
 FLIGHT, 199 
 
 was taken off the front door before any of us were 
 up." 
 
 "You cannot be sure that he has gone out; he 
 may be somewhere in the house," said Amy, as a 
 fresh dread possessed her mind: "go and tell William 
 to look in every room, but come back to me directly: 
 I cannot be alone." 
 
 Elspeth obeyed both injunctions, returning to her 
 mistress with the least possible delay. "Indeed my 
 lady, William is sure that his lordship has gone out, 
 for he has taken his hat and coat. There is no fear 
 but what he will soon come back," she added, in a 
 reassuring tone. 
 
 "No fear," repeated Amy, no longer able to be 
 alone with her sad secret: "I tell you, Elspeth, that I 
 see nothing but fear and wretchedness before me, 
 whichever way I look. My only doubt is, whether he 
 will destroy me or himself." She was sitting up in 
 bed with her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, 
 and her maid could see that its pale gold colour had 
 been streaked with silver by the mental agony of the 
 last few hours. 
 
 "Dear heart! is it come to that?" said Elspeth: 
 "we have said down stairs that my lord looked strange 
 and wild at times, like the young lord at the castle. 
 Mr. M'Clintock will be the best man to guide him till 
 he comes round again." 
 
 "I might send for him," replied Amy, accepting 
 the suggestion, since she had lived long enough at 
 Raeburn to know that the agent's aid was invoked in
 
 2OO VANESSA. 
 
 every possible emergency, "but even if I telegraph, he 
 will not be here until to-morrow, and if Lord Alan 
 is to come and go, and brood over his fancied 
 wrongs for twenty-four hours more, I shall not live to 
 see it." 
 
 "There is another thing which her ladyship men- 
 tioned to me before we left the castle," said Elspeth, 
 producing a scrap of written paper: "She said that if 
 his lordship was in any way out of sorts, this was 
 the name of the doctor whom she wished him to con- 
 sult." 
 
 Amy took the paper, and read the name and ad- 
 dress of Dr. Curran, a physician only consulted in 
 diseases of the brain. She drew back, declaring that 
 she should never dare to tell Lord Alan that she had 
 sent for medical advice without his permission; but 
 Elspeth overruled her scruples, and took the respon- 
 sibility on herself. 
 
 "She cannot think for herself, no more than a 
 baby," said Elspeth as she went down stairs to despatch 
 the two messages. "She is all of a tremble if there 
 is a rustle in the passage, and, if so be that we can, 
 we must keep my lord from seeing her. You will tell 
 all the lies you can think of to keep him down stairs, 
 William." 
 
 The footman grinned, but with a due sense of the 
 urgency of the case, for the father of Elspeth M'Grath 
 was an elder of the United Presbyterian church, and 
 a pillar of his congregation; and her soul had been 
 grievously vexed by the ungodly ways of her English
 
 FLIGHT. 201 
 
 fellow-servants. An hour later, Dr. Curran was shown 
 up to Lady Alan's room, where she had judged it 
 safer to remain. Since her husband had not returned 
 she might relate her trouble without restraint; yet the 
 tale did not run easily off her stammering tongue, 
 although she gathered confidence from the old doc- 
 tor's kindly sympathy, and his acuteness in supplying 
 the details which she was ashamed to give. "And 
 yet, indeed, I am innocent," said Amy, raising her 
 anxious eyes to his face, for it seemed a matter of 
 course that her actions should be misconstrued, and 
 her words wrested out of their true meaning. 
 
 "Who can doubt it, Lady Alan? Such delusions 
 are unhappily too common in the cases which come 
 before me every day, and it is essential to the re- 
 covery of the patient that the subject of his morbid 
 suspicions should be withdrawn from his society. On 
 your own account also it is necessary; for I will not 
 disguise from you that you have escaped a great danger, 
 and one to which you must not be again exposed. 
 Will it not be possible for you to leave the house be- 
 fore Lord Alan-Rae returns to it?" 
 
 "I think perhaps he has resolved to see me again 
 no more," said Amy: "he never lay down last night, 
 and it was strange that he should go out so early 
 without telling any of the servants when he was likely 
 to return." 
 
 "It is probable that he was partly conscious of the 
 fever in his brain , and hoped to work it off by fresh 
 air and exercise. I will take steps to trace him when
 
 2O2 VANESSA. 
 
 I have provided for your safety. Can you go to any 
 of Lord Alan's relations?" 
 
 "Oh no!" said Amy, turning paler, as she thought 
 of the reception she must meet with at Raeburn if 
 she returned to it without her husband. 
 
 "Then you must go to your own family; have you 
 a father and mother living?" 
 
 "I have a mother," said Amy, "but I do not know 
 whether she can receive me, and Lord Alan has not 
 wished me even to write to her." 
 
 "You must have some friend to advise and make 
 arrangements for you," continued Dr. Curran: "is 
 there no one in town who knows the family circum- 
 stances?" 
 
 "There is one friend, one acquaintance," replied 
 Amy, catching up her words as if Lord Alan had 
 been by to denounce the more familiar term: "we 
 met him at dinner last night, but I do not know 
 where he is to be found, except that I heard him say 
 that he was to be all to-day at the British Museum." 
 
 "His name?" said Dr. Curran, taking out his 
 tablets to note it down; "it is not a public day at the 
 Museum, so that it will not be hard to hunt him up; 
 and to save time I will drive there myself and bring 
 him back with me." 
 
 "Not here, not to this house," said Amy, filled 
 with horror at the suggestion: "I thought perhaps tha, 
 you might see him, to ask what I had better do; 
 but you do not understand that it is the same gen 
 tleman whom I have been forbidden ever to meet
 
 FLIGHT. 2O3 
 
 When my husband comes to know of what' I have 
 done, he will think that his worst suspicions are justi- 
 fied." 
 
 "Be composed, Lady Alan. He need never know 
 it until the balance of his mind is restored, and then 
 he will look back to these delusions, if he remembers 
 them at all, as the baseless fancies of an uneasy dream. 
 I will take measures to secure you from any risk in 
 my absence, or, if you prefer it, you might go at once 
 into a lodging with your maid." 
 
 "No: I cannot do that," said Amy, colouring as 
 she reflected that she was even unprovided with the 
 means of paying the physician's fee. One of the 
 ways in which Lord Alan's want of confidence in his 
 wife had early declared itself, had been in denying 
 her any command of money; and when she received 
 a cheque at Michaelmas for the first quarter's interest 
 on the sum which Mr. Mertoun had settled on her, 
 Lord Alan had directed her to pay it into his account, 
 since he considered it more satisfactory that all her 
 bills should be sent in to him. In the aggravated 
 temper of suspicion with which he had lately re- 
 garded her, he had even put the money for her cab- 
 fares into Elspeth's hands and at this moment Amy 
 was penniless. 
 
 "I shall be as well pleased if you can do without 
 your maid," continued Dr. Curran; "she seems to be 
 a confidential sort of person, and may be useful as 
 an attendant on Lord Alan. I have little doubt that 
 Mr. O'Brien will agree with me that your mother's
 
 204 VANESSA. 
 
 house is the best place for you, and under all the 
 circumstances you must allow me to act for you; and 
 remember that I am not afraid of the responsibility. 
 Put your things together, so as to be ready to leave 
 the house at any moment." 
 
 "I will be ready," said Amy. It was so long since 
 she had been allowed to think or act for herself, that 
 a tone of decision was all that was needed to settle 
 her resolution. 
 
 Dennis O'Brien had set about his work at the 
 British Museum with a distracted mind: his interest 
 in the classification of new species of beetles being 
 considerably modified by the haunting recollection of 
 Amy's wretched face; and he had just decided to cut 
 short his work for that day, and to return to his 
 lodgings to write fully to Henry Mertoun on the sub- 
 ject, when Dr. Curran's card was brought in, with the 
 request that Mr. O'Brien would see him at once on 
 urgent business. 
 
 "I have been hunting you all over the place," said 
 Dr. Curran, when they met in the lobby: "I never 
 thought of asking which was your special department, 
 and I sent in vain to the fishes, and the minerals, and 
 the Elgin marbles, before I thought of trying the in- 
 sects. I have lost a precious morning, and you must 
 get into my carriage at once, and come off with me 
 to Lady Alan Rae's. I will tell you about it as we 
 go along." 
 
 "Excuse me," said Dennis, drawing himself up 
 with an air of haughty displeasure: "since it was only
 
 FLIGHT. 2 05 
 
 last night that Lord Alan disclaimed the honour of 
 my acquaintance, I have not the slightest desire to 
 visit his wife." 
 
 "I know, I know all about it," said Dr. Curran 
 impatiently, "what does it signify? Here is this poor 
 woman, alone and friendless in London, with her 
 nerves shattered by the mental torture to which she 
 has been subjected, and you refuse to stretch out 
 your hand to help her!" 
 
 "Her brother is the only person who is entitled to 
 interfere in her behalf," said Dennis: "I had resolved 
 to write to him of what I observed last night, and 
 now I will send off a telegram to summon him to 
 town." 
 
 "Do so, do so by all means," said the irritable 
 doctor, "and before he can be on the spot, his sister 
 will have fallen a victim to the jealous frenzy of her 
 husband, and I will have you summoned to attend the 
 inquest." 
 
 "Lord Alan is insane?" said Dennis, turning pale. 
 
 "Not legally insane. There is the difficulty of the 
 situation. He went out early this morning, and I have 
 left two stable helpers in the hall, with directions that 
 he is to be restrained by force if he offers to go up 
 to his wife; but men are such fools., that heaven 
 knows what mischief may ensue in my absence." 
 
 "Let us go," said O'Brien, less patient of delay 
 than Dr. Curran himself. 
 
 "It is almost a hopeless case," said the physician 
 as they drove through the streets at a rapid pace. "I
 
 2O6 VANESSA. 
 
 heard a good deal about the family tendency to in- 
 sanity when I was called in to see Lord Macrae some 
 years ago, and he is now perfectly imbecile. But this 
 young man is evidently in a phase of madness more 
 dangerous either to himself or others." 
 
 "If he had really intended mischief, I do not 
 understand his motives in leaving the house," said 
 Dennis. 
 
 "Who can understand the motives of a maniac? 
 Probably he could not nerve himself to the deed on 
 which his mind was brooding, and wandered out in 
 restless misery, or it may be to provide means for its 
 execution. A costermonger would have beaten or 
 kicked his wife to death in the first fury of his 
 jealousy; but the instincts of refinement survive after 
 the mind has lost its balance, and even a razor might 
 seem too brutal an implement of his vengeance, so 
 that nothing but a pistol would serve for him." 
 
 Dennis shuddered, and thought that no carriage 
 had ever taken so long to traverse the distance be- 
 tween Bloomsbury and Belgravia. When at length 
 they reached Eaton Square, there was a commotion 
 in the hall which aroused anxiety, but the story which 
 the three men waiting there were eager to tell relieved 
 his worst fears. About half an hour after Dr. Curran 
 left the house, Lord Alan Rae had opened the door 
 with his latch key and entered the hall. He took a 
 small case out of the breast-pocket of his upper coat, 
 and had just laid it on the hall-table, when his eye 
 fell on the two stable helpers who, paralysed by
 
 FLIGHT. 207 
 
 personal fear, or by the dread of incurring respon- 
 sibility, would probably have offered no opposition to 
 his will. But the object with which they were placed 
 there, must have flashed across him, for he instantly 
 turned and left the house without uttering a word. 
 
 "And you did not follow him?" exclaimed Dr. 
 Curran. 
 
 "Oh no, sir: your orders were precise that we 
 should on no account leave the house," said the two 
 men in chorus. 
 
 Dr. Curran shrugged his shoulders at such a proof 
 of the truth of the assertion he had frequently made, 
 that the imbecility of those who had the credit of 
 being of sound mind at least equalled that of the 
 insane. He took up the case which still lay on the 
 hall-table, and opened it to disclose its contents to 
 O'Brien, consisting of a small new revolver, ready for 
 use. O'Brien turned pale as death, and any lingering 
 misgivings as to the propriety of withdrawing Amy 
 from her husband's roof were set at rest. She re- 
 mained in ignorance of Alan's having entered the 
 house and left it again, and she was ready, as she 
 had promised to be, when a message was sent to 
 summon her down stairs. She came down, dressed 
 for a journey, and closely veiled, as it was her hus- 
 band's pleasure that she should appear when she 
 went abroad. She gave a startled glance at the two 
 men who were still keeping guard in the hall; but 
 Dr. Curran reassured her, and drew her into the 
 dining-room. "Lord Alan, is not here, but we know
 
 2O8 VANESSA. 
 
 that he is safe, and he will probably return in the 
 course of a few hours; Mr. O'Brien has got a cab and 
 is waiting for you outside." For Dennis was already 
 on the pavement, looking up and down the street, to 
 make sure that Lord Alan was not lurking near to 
 intercept his wife's flight by violence. 
 
 "Where will he take me?" said Amy, trembling. 
 
 "To your mother's house; he did not think that 
 the matter admitted of a doubt." 
 
 "If Lady Raeburn comes up, and finds me gone, 
 she will think that I have neglected my duty." 
 
 "Let her think so," said Dr. Curran, who spent too 
 much of his tim& in combating the delusions of the 
 insane, to tolerate the scruples of those who were of 
 sound mind: "it is under my orders that you leave 
 this house, and without my sanction you must not 
 think of returning to it." 
 
 The servant announced that the cab was ready, 
 and Dr. Curran's increasing anxiety about Lady Alan's 
 personal safety would admit of no delay. Dennis was 
 waiting on the pavement and followed Amy into the 
 cab when he had given directions to the driver, but 
 on neither side was there any inclination to break 
 silence. When they were seated in the railway-car- 
 riage, and Amy was relieved from the immediate 
 dread of an encounter with Lord Alan, she found 
 voice to speak. "Have you telegraphed to my mother 
 or to Henry?" 
 
 "I had no time to do so," replied Dennis, "even 
 if it had been advisable. However startled Mrs-
 
 FLIGHT. 20g 
 
 Mertoun may be when you appear, the shock will 
 soon be lost in the pleasure of having you once more 
 with her." 
 
 "I know that mamma will be good to me," said 
 Amy, "but I shrink from seeing Henry and Helen, 
 and from the curious eyes of Allerton." 
 
 "None of the three will trouble you," answered 
 Dennis, realising the gulf which her marriage had 
 placed between Amy and her family; "it is two months 
 since Henry resigned his clerkship at the bank and 
 went into his uncle's office. Helen is wintering abroad 
 with Miss Mertoun, and since the idea of returning to 
 Bixley was evidently distasteful to your mother, Henry 
 has rented for her the little thatched cottage outside 
 the Manor Farm. Henry and Dick spend alternate 
 Sundays with her, and I was there last Sunday. She 
 was looking so well, and in easy, cheerful spirits." 
 
 Amy was a little drawn out of herself by her 
 interest in these details, but as they approached the 
 Allerton station she relapsed into silent dejection. 
 She looked up for a moment when they reached a 
 turn in the line, skirting a copse in which she had 
 often walked with Dennis by her side, but there was 
 nothing in its associations which seemed to alter the 
 gentle, yet distant, courtesy of his manner. Although, 
 by a strange revolution of fate, they had been once 
 more brought into outward contact, 
 
 The unplumb'd , salt , estranging sea, 
 
 still flowed between their hearts. 
 
 Vanessa. 14
 
 2IO VANESSA. 
 
 "Do you wish me to drive with you to the cot- 
 tage?" he asked, as they reached the platform. 
 
 "Unless it is very inconvenient to you," said Amy, 
 humbly, for she felt the impossibility of meeting her 
 mother alone. And yet how little formidable it was! 
 Dennis went in first, and before the tale was half told, 
 Mrs. Mertoun had hurried to the door. Amy flung 
 herself into her arms with the half-stifled cry: "O 
 mamma! I wish, I wish that I had never left you!" 
 and Mrs. Mertoun's only thought was of how the 
 fatted calf was to be killed for her. Dennis was un- 
 ceremoniously dismissed without a word of acknow- 
 ledgment for that day's services, as Amy afterwards 
 remembered with some remorse, to intercept Miss 
 Charlton and warn her not to drop in, as she often 
 did, at four o'clock in the afternoon. Mrs. Mertoun 
 must have Amy to herself, to comment with the 
 tenderest pity on her changed looks, to chafe her 
 chilled hands, and fondle and purr over her. like a 
 cat over its recovered kitten. Amy's exhaustion was 
 so great that she could not respond to such endear- 
 ments, and when she lay and cried silently her 
 mother's instinct was not at fault, and she refrained 
 from any inquiries about the terrible necessity which 
 had driven her to seek refuge at her old home, 
 although O'Brien's brief intimation of Lord Alan's un- 
 settled state of mind had left much in obscurity.
 
 SUSPENSE. i 1 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Suspense. 
 
 THE next morning's post brought a letter from 
 Elspeth, informing her that since the afternoon was 
 far advanced without bringing further tidings of Lord 
 Alan, Dr. Curran had put the matter into the hands 
 of the police. She also enclosed a telegraphic com- 
 munication from Mr. M'Clintock to the effect that he 
 and Lady Raeburn would take the night-mail to the 
 south, and adding the advice, which Amy had anti- 
 cipated, that she should send at once for Dr. Curran. 
 "By this time they are in London," she thought, "and 
 they must think my conduct strange and heartless 
 in leaving the house while Alan's fate is still un- 
 certain." 
 
 Amy was not long left in doubt of the nature of 
 Lady Raeburn's sentiments. That day passed with- 
 out events, but on the following morning when she 
 came downstairs, harassed with anxiety because the 
 post had brought her no further tidings, her mother 
 met her in great agitation, and informed her that Lady 
 Raeburn was in the dining-room. 
 
 "She will not* come upstairs," continued Mrs. 
 Mertoun, "and the fly is waiting which brought her 
 from the station. Oh, Amy! you must not let her take 
 you away." 
 
 H*
 
 -212 VANESSA. 
 
 The same dread was repeated in Amy's blanched 
 face as it occurred to her that Lord Alan had re- 
 turned to Eaton Square, and had sent his mother to 
 summon her to his presence. "I must see her; per- 
 haps she will believe what Dr. Curran said to me," 
 said she, and since delay only added to her fears, 
 she put Mrs. Mertoun aside with a kiss, and entered 
 the dining-room. 
 
 Lady Raeburn was sitting by the fire, and spoke 
 with the same ceremonious politeness with which she 
 might have addressed a stranger: "You will excuse 
 my rising, Lady Alan; I am an old woman, aged even 
 more by sorrow than by years." 
 
 "I too have suffered," said Amy, in the faint hope 
 that their common sorrow might soften the heart of 
 the wretched mother towards her. 
 
 "You have suffered?" repeated Lady Raeburn, 
 bitterly; "true, you have suffered from the selfish fear 
 which prompted you to fly from your husband's house, 
 although it is still doubtful if he is among the living. 
 You have suffered disappointment also in your 
 schemes for advancement by this fatal marriage 
 returning to the obscurity from which my son's mis- 
 placed love exalted you, with nothing but your empty 
 title. But what is your sorrow to mine, who am 
 doomed to see my beloved son, the last hope of our 
 ill-fated family, sink into imbecilfty or a dishonoured 
 grave?" 
 
 Amy remained silent, wondering whether Lady 
 Raeburn had come down to Allerton only for the pur-
 
 SUSPENSE. 213 
 
 pose of loading her with such reproaches, until she 
 spoke again. "I have come this morning, Lady Alan, 
 partly from the restless misery which will not suffer 
 me to be still, partly from the hope that you may be 
 able to give some clue to the search for Alan. Mr. 
 M'Clintock has been summoned by the police to see 
 two disfigured corpses, in neither of which he can 
 recognise my unhappy boy, and they are altogether 
 at fault. Did he say nothing by which he might be 
 traced?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Amy, bursting into tears; "you 
 know yourself how little confidence he reposed in 
 me." 
 
 "The discreditable facts connected with your mar- 
 riage had made confidence impossible," continued 
 Lady Raeburn, with relentless severity; "I date the 
 unsettling of his mind from the day that he was first 
 ensnared by you. His eyes were opened too late to 
 his irretrievable mistake, and he brooded over it until 
 his senses gave way. Even within the last few weeks 
 the calamity might have been averted by a woman of 
 courage and resource; but you have sat still to see 
 his mind gradually lose its balance, and only ask for 
 help when your personal safety is at stake." 
 
 Amy felt that it was as impossible to attempt her 
 justification in Lady Raeburn's eyes as in those of her 
 son. "I have been very wretched," she said, "but I 
 would suffer even more to restore Alan to you." 
 
 "The fact that you have voluntarily left his roof 
 must of course relieve you from any future interest in
 
 214 VANESSA. 
 
 his welfare," replied Lady Raeburn. "Mr. M'Clintock, 
 however, thinks it possible that if my son is wander- 
 ing aimlessly from place to place, he may come here 
 in search of you." 
 
 "And what do you wish me to do in such a 
 case?" said Amy, to whom the possibility had not 
 suggested itself. 
 
 Lady Raeburn remarked her look of terror, and 
 went on with increasing severity: "I trust, Lady Alan, 
 that you will 'prepare yourself for the emergency* 
 instead of allowing your fears to paralyse exertion. 
 You must receive him with such tenderness as your 
 nature is capable of displaying, and detain him until 
 Mr. M'Clintock can be upon the spot. I return to 
 London, with faint hope of receiving any tidings of 
 my son; and, if my worst fears are realised, and he 
 is now beyond the reach of human care, it is little 
 likely that you and I will meet again in this life." 
 Amy understood that Lady Raeburn disclaimed by 
 these words any future interest in her daughter-in- 
 law, whose other offences were aggravated in her eyes 
 by the fact that her marriage with Alan Rae afforded 
 no prospect of an heir to the Raeburn peerage; and 
 yet, to those who knew even a little of the ordeal 
 through which Amy had passed, it might seem a 
 matter of rejoicing that the taint of hereditary in- 
 sanity, which clung like a curse to her husband's race, 
 was not to be perpetuated through another gene- 
 ration. 
 . Mrs. Mertoun was infinitely relieved to see Lady
 
 SUSPENSE. 2 1 5 
 
 Raeburn drive off alone: she had hovered round the 
 door with the half-formed intention of summoning 
 George Charlton to detain her by force if she had 
 proposed to take Amy with her. 
 
 "You need not be uneasy, mamma," said Amy, 
 sadly: "I think that I am an outcast from all love 
 but yours, Lady Raeburn bitterly resented our mar- 
 riage, and she now holds me responsible for Alan's 
 loss of reason." 
 
 "I could see that she was a proud, cruel woman 
 when she swept by me so haughtily; and yet she is a 
 mother, and ought to pity my child as well as her 
 own." 
 
 "She said some hard things which were true as 
 well as hard," replied Amy; nor could all her mother's 
 tenderness relieve her spirits from their weight of care 
 and self-reproach. 
 
 Each day, as it went heavily by, added its weight 
 of uncertainty to the previous burden of suspense. 
 Amy had been for four days at the cottage before 
 she saw Henry Mertoun; since his uncle had gone 
 abroad to join Helen and Eva for a' few weeks, leav- 
 ing everything in his charge, and he was absorbed in 
 business cares. When he came he was tender and 
 good to his sister, but her sense of restraint and 
 misery was greater in his presence, and she was re- 
 lieved when Monday morning took him back to Bix- 
 ley. But Miss Charlton's visits were, after the first 
 recoil from a fresh face, some relief to the monotony 
 of the day; and Amy could submit to the knowledge
 
 2 1 6 VANESSA. 
 
 that her unhappy circumstances were the subject of 
 much confidential talk between Mrs. Mertoun and her 
 friend, although no allusion was made to them in her 
 presence. 
 
 "Lady Alan has such pretty manners," Miss 
 Charlton observed to her brother after one of her 
 visits to the cottage: "she was not always so gracious 
 when I used to see her as a girl. Poor thing! it is 
 difficult to remember that was only six months ago 
 when I look at her now, with all her fine bloom gone, 
 and her hair put away under a lace cap. I saw the 
 silver threads glistening for myself to-day, although I 
 would not believe Mrs. Mertoun when she said that 
 her hair had turned grey. I wonder what little delicacy 
 we can send her that she would fancy, George? Her 
 mother says that she hardly eats anything." 
 
 George Charlton was soon permitted to testify his 
 sympathy and good-will in another mode, for Amy 
 asked Miss Charlton if her brother could spare the 
 time to call upon her, and he obeyed the summons 
 with a due sense of the honour done to him. 
 
 "It seems a strange thing to ask," said Amy, with 
 a wistful look in her eyes, "but Lady Raeburn said 
 that if her son was wandering about, he might come 
 here; and I cannot sleep at night for thinking what I 
 shall do if he comes, and how much it will terrify my 
 mother." 
 
 "Send for me at any hour of the day or night," 
 said George Charlton. "I will have a bell fixed to the 
 roof of the cottage, and one warning stroke will bring
 
 SUSPENSE. 217 
 
 me here. Or you know what pleasure it would give 
 us to receive you and Mrs. Mertoun at the farm, if 
 you would prefer it." 
 
 Amy declined this offer, but she felt less nervous 
 now that she had secured Mr. Charlton's protector- 
 ship; and such was the vigilance of his guard, that 
 Mr. M'Clintock narrowly escaped being arrested as a 
 dangerous lunatic when he walked out from Allerton 
 to the cottage a few days after this conversation. It 
 was true that he was a short man and middle-aged, 
 but the appearance of a red-haired stranger who spoke 
 with a Scotch accent when he enquired his way to the 
 cottage seemed to justify suspicion, and George Charl- 
 ton followed him to the door, to ascertain that Lady 
 Alan had really given orders that he should be ad- 
 mitted as soon as he sent in his card. 
 
 Amy had, in fact, been corresponding with Mr. 
 M'Clintock, and his visit was a matter of appointment. 
 He persisted in recognising her claims as Lord Alan's 
 wife, which Lady Raeburn was equally resolved to 
 ignore, and he wrote to inform her that, as he was on 
 the eve of returning to Scotland, he proposed to do 
 himself the honour of waiting on her. 
 
 "It was good of you to come, Mr. M'Clintock," 
 said Amy, "and especially since I know from the news- 
 papers that there is no news of my husband." 
 
 "If the papers would let the matter rest, instead 
 of putting in their sensation paragraphs about the 
 mysterious disappearance of a young nobleman, we 
 should have more chance of getting hold of the right
 
 2 1 8 VANESSA. 
 
 clue, Lady Alan. It is simply mischievous to cross 
 the scent with so many confused and contradictory 
 suggestions. I am pestered with anonymous letters 
 by every post, and so is the superintendent of police. 
 I am sent for here, there, and everywhere to see or 
 hear of men whose appearance does not correspond 
 with Lord Alan's in a single particular; sometimes it is 
 an old gentleman in hiding from his creditors, some- 
 times an idle apprentice who has run off to sea. Only 
 yesterday I was sent for into Norfolk to identify a 
 swindler, well known to the London police, who had 
 passed himself off as a lord to some fool of an inn- 
 keeper." And Mr. M'Clintock flourished his silk hand- 
 kerchief across his bald forehead with an air of ir- 
 ritation. 
 
 "And do you go back to Raeburn because you 
 give up the search as hopeless?" enquired Amy. 
 
 "Not exactly that, Lady Alan. Of course I shall 
 be summoned to return if there is anything to be 
 done, and Lady Raeburn remains in Eaton Square 
 with Lady Janet, who is coming up this evening. But 
 we do not think it well to bring the Marquis under 
 the influence of all this excitement and anxiety; and 
 as he is getting restless, I am wanted at Raeburn on 
 that as well as on other accounts." 
 
 "I would go and stay with him at Raeburn if it 
 would be of any use," said Amy, but M'Clintock shook 
 his head. 
 
 "No, Lady Alan, I do not think it would do. The 
 Marquis would be pleased to see you; he sent you a
 
 SUSPENSE. 21$ 
 
 kind message in his last letter to me; but you know 
 that Lady Raeburn's temper is rather peculiar, and in 
 this sad trial we must defer to her wishes in every 
 possible way." 
 
 "I wish to be guided by them," replied Amy. "Can 
 you tell me what she would like me to do about wear- 
 ing mourning?" 
 
 "Not at present, Lady Alan, certainly not weeds 
 just at present. That simple black dress is quite suf- 
 ficient, and from what Lady Raeburn said I do not 
 think she will put on mourning for another three 
 months: that will give us time to make enquiries in 
 other parts of the world." 
 
 "You think that he has gone out of the country?" 
 said Amy. 
 
 "I tell you that I am quite at a loss what to think, 
 and am never in the same mind for two minutes to- 
 gether. But he was not without money, for I find that 
 he cashed a cheque for 2ol. on the day you dined at 
 Lady Hawthorne's, and he was always fond of the sea. 
 One of the London Dock labourers tells us of a young 
 man who was hanging about the docks on Tuesday 
 afternoon the day he was missing and he got into 
 a boat belonging to one of three foreign ships which 
 had gone out of dock, and were going to drop down 
 with the tide. He says that the young man went on 
 board one of the three, but it may have been the 
 Swede, the Italian, or the New Orleans boat. It is a 
 sad, confused tale altogether, and so many men have 
 come to us who were ready to swear anything for the
 
 $2O VANESSA. 
 
 chance of getting a few shillings that I do not credit 
 the story. Poor lad! If he is to come back to us 
 like his brother, I would as soon have certain news 
 of his death." 
 
 As M'Clintock rose to go, Amy said timidly that 
 he must thank Lord Raeburn for thinking of her. 
 "And that reminds me, Lady Alan, that I only gave 
 you half his message, for the Marquis went on to say 
 something about making a suitable provision for his 
 daughter-in-law. But I do not see my way to it I 
 really do not, Lady Alan. The embarrassment of the 
 estate was bad enough before, and now, with this un- 
 certainty as to the fate of the heir presumptive, I do 
 assure you that I hardly know how to lay my hands 
 on a 5/. note for the current expenses of the search." 
 
 "Lord Raeburn is very good to think of me," said 
 Amy; "and you must tell him that the provision made 
 for me by my uncle is amply sufficient for all my 
 wants. I do not consider that I have any claim on 
 him." 
 
 The agent pronounced such a declaration to be 
 very "handsome," and they parted with mutual ex- 
 pressions of good will; and, on M'Clintock's part, with 
 a certain consciousness of disloyalty towards his aris- 
 tocratic clients, because he could not forbear to con- 
 trast their frigid and haughty bearing somewhat un- 
 favourably with the gentle deference of Lady Alan's
 
 CERTAINTY. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Certainty. 
 
 THE months which brought Amy so much fresh 
 experience in suffering had been full of the keenest 
 enjoyment for Helen. She had gone abroad with her 
 cousin, with her mind in a state of revolt against the 
 seductions of art and scenery, protesting that they 
 could not make amends for the sacrifice of her inde- 
 pendence. But it soon appeared that it was not 
 Helen, but Eva, who had surrendered her liberty of 
 action and of judgment to her cousin's stronger will. 
 It was Helen who arranged their route and selected 
 the hotels, with lofty disregard of the advice of Murray 
 and of Baedeker, and who was never so happy as when 
 she had established their party in some secluded valley, 
 where material comforts were at such a low ebb as to 
 secure them from the irruption of tourists. When the 
 shortening days obliged them to exchange Switzerland 
 for the Riviera, it was Helen whose republican soul 
 was vexed by the restrictions of imperialism and of 
 French bureaucracy, and who decreed their removal 
 from Cannes to Nice, from Nice to Mentone, until 
 they were fairly beyond the French frontier, and had 
 established themselves for the winter months in a 
 small white villa on the outskirts of Genoa. It was in 
 vain for Misbourne to deplore the difficulties of keepr
 
 222 VANESSA. 
 
 ing house after the English fashion when her tools 
 and her materials were alike foreign; Helen replied 
 that it was their duty and privilege to live on mac- 
 caroni and parmesan cheese, and on fritturas which 
 were redolent of olive oil, and that it was only the 
 perverted appetite of a Philistine which could hanker 
 after an English leg of mutton. 
 
 It was in favour of domestic harmony that Helen 
 had too many engrossing interests to interfere with 
 Misbourne in the housekeeping department. Her taste 
 for natural science was postponed to artistic pursuits, 
 and she rushed into the wide field of Italian literature, 
 and drew Eva with her so far as to induce her to 
 take lessons in the Italian language. Helen's object 
 .was to read and understand Dante, and her grasp of 
 the subject made her an afflicting pupil to her old 
 Florentine teacher, who did not consider that it lay 
 within his province to explain obscure astronomical or 
 historical allusions, and who wished to substitute the 
 amenities of Metastasio for the Divina Commedia, 
 declaring that they were better adapted to display the 
 genius of the Lingua Toscana. But Helen was in- 
 exorable, and got up her canto for the afternoon's 
 lesson with research which enabled her to convict 
 Signer Cantani of ignorance, although he could take 
 his revenge in the severity of his criticisms on her 
 halting Italian. 
 
 Helen found another scope for her energy in the 
 study of modern politics, which necessarily developed 
 the most ardent zeal for Italian unity. She incited
 
 CERTAINTY. 223 
 
 her cousin to take drawing lessons from an eminent 
 republican, and reproached her ungenerous want of 
 sympathy when Eva ventured to assert that he was 
 greater as a patriot than as an artist, and that he 
 would be a more acceptable teacher if he did not in- 
 variably dine on garlic. 
 
 Eva's spirits revived under this stimulating treat- 
 ment, and when her father joined the two girls at the 
 Villa Nervani, a few weeks before Christmas, he was 
 delighted by her look of health and animation. "Yes, 
 papa," said Eva brightly; "I am really well, stronger 
 than I have ever been. Travelling has agreed with 
 both of us. Helen was always the picture of health, 
 but now she is remarkably handsome." 
 
 "I must look at her from that point of view," said 
 Mr. Mertoun. "I have not yet had time to look at 
 any one but you." 
 
 "Your tone is disparaging, papa," said Eva. "But 
 if you do not admire her, your taste must be in fault. 
 She had always a striking face, and now that she has 
 fined down, and dresses in better taste, I can assure 
 you that she makes a great impression." 
 
 "So much the worse, Eva. One elopement in the 
 family is enough, and I shall have to send out a 
 chaperon to look after you both." 
 
 " Helen errs on the side of misanthropy," said Eva, 
 laughing, "and especially since our Swiss adventure. 
 We went over a pass with mules I wish that you 
 could see Misbourne's wretchedness under such cir- 
 cumstances but Helen walked the whole day, and we
 
 224 VANESSA. 
 
 were joined by a young Englishman and his tutor, 
 both very gentlemanlike and agreeable. They took an 
 interest in her botanising, put up at the same inn, and 
 got up at some unearthly hour next morning to get 
 her some Edelweiss, which grows on higher summits 
 than we could reach. I told Helen that they were 
 very attentive, but she denied it strenuously, and said 
 that we should see no more of them. However, they 
 drifted back to our inn three days afterwards, and 
 then the thing was too palpable. They waylaid us in 
 our walks, bribed the Kellner to keep places for them 
 at our end of the table at dinner, and were always 
 bringing in botanical specimens, which Helen rejected 
 as worthless, in the most summary manner. She was 
 as rude as only Helen can be, and when at last they 
 went off disconsolate, I asked her which of the two 
 had made her an offer. Helen coloured all over, and 
 said with the deepest mortification, 'My dear, it was 
 both of them.' And since that adventure she has 
 hardly liked to speak to anyone under sixty." 
 
 "At all events she is in less haste to get married 
 than Amy," observed Mr. Mertoun. 
 
 "What have you heard of Amy, papa?" said Eva, 
 with a slight change of tone, but no embarrassing 
 consciousness. 
 
 "Nothing, except that I met Lady Cecilia in Bixley 
 the other day, and she told me that the young couple 
 were in London." 
 
 "Amy often said how much she should enjoy a 
 London season," said Eva. "I hope that they will
 
 CERTAINTY. 225 
 
 come to stay with the Wrays after we go home, for I 
 wish you to see that I am quite, quite satisfied with 
 things as they are. Helen is my young man now; she 
 gives me the sense of strength and stability on which 
 I have always wished to lean." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Mertoun thoughtfully, as it oc- 
 curred to him that Helen's brother might be a yet 
 more efficient support. He had been attracted by the 
 sturdy independence of Henry's character, even when 
 it conflicted with his own peculiarities, and now that 
 their interests were united, he found that his nephew's 
 acuteness and capacity for business surpassed his ex- 
 pectations. Richard Mertoun had himself married his 
 master's daughter, and he did not look higher for his 
 only child. 
 
 Shortly after this, the budget of English letters 
 arrived which clouded the enjoyment of the little party 
 at Villa Nervani. Mrs. Mertoun wrote, and Henry, 
 and Dennis O'Brien, each giving their version of the 
 circumstances which had driven Amy to take refuge 
 at her mother's house; only from Amy herself there 
 was nothing but a contrite little message, that she 
 would send her love to Eva if she dared, but must 
 first wait to hear that she was forgiven. 
 
 Eva's tears flowed fast as she read these words in 
 Mrs. Mertoun's letter, and she pressed her father's 
 hand, who understood the direction of her thoughts. 
 "You see that I was right, my little one, to warn you 
 against courting Amy's fate. I hardly like to think of 
 
 Vanessa, 1 5
 
 226 VANESSA. 
 
 what the poor thing has suffered, and that she has 
 lost her husband by such a terrible end." 
 
 "You think that he is dead?" 
 
 "It seems the most probable way of accounting 
 for his disappearance; but very few days must put the 
 ..matter out of doubt, since people do not in our time 
 succeed in shrouding their fate in mystery." 
 
 Dennis O'Brien wrote to Helen, thinking, as he 
 said, that she had a right to know the particulars 
 which he alone could give, and in all that he said of 
 Amy there was a tone of deep but repressed feeling, 
 ^revealing itself most plainly in his concluding words: 
 "It is easy to see how much she has suffered, Helen; 
 she is so changed that I believe you would hardly 
 know her." Helen was very much agitated, remorseful 
 for the hard thoughts she had nourished against her 
 sister, and anxious to return at once to England. But 
 however little Eva's opposition might have served to 
 detain her, Mr. Mertoun exerted his authority, declar- 
 ing that there was nothing for Helen to do, that Mrs. 
 Mertoun was evidently content to be alone with Amy, 
 and that in any emergency which might arise his pre- 
 sence was more likely to be required; so that it was 
 expedient for Helen to remain with Eva. Helen ac- 
 quiesced in the verdict, but she was very restless and 
 unhappy; Signor Cantani was no longer oppressed by 
 her unreasonable energy as a pupil, and her interest 
 in her private readings in Vasari and Sismondi was 
 altogether lost in the hunger for news which sent her 
 on many fruitless errands to the Genoa post-office.
 
 CERTAINTY. 227 
 
 It was after one of these expeditions, on which 
 she had been accompanied by her uncle Richard, that 
 they turned aside into one of the busy streets leading 
 to the quay. They both enjoyed the stir and anima- 
 tion of the sea-faring population, and Helen was never 
 tired of watching the little knots of sailors, as they fell 
 into picturesque groups, and talked together with 
 eager gestures, their black eyes flashing from under 
 their scarlet caps. Her attention was arrested by the 
 way in which the bystanders collected round one 
 animated speaker, and she was startled to see him 
 break through the circle and advance towards her, 
 cap in hand, and with a pleading smile, which be- 
 trayed his row of glittering teeth. "Siete Inglese?" he 
 said in a tone of enquiry. 
 
 "Si," replied Helen, resisting her uncle's attempt 
 to draw her from the spot, and smiling at his whis- 
 pered warning that the fellow only meant to be in- 
 solent. Her knowledge of spoken Italian was imper- 
 fect, and the speaker's Genoese dialect was by no 
 means classical in its purity, so that the tale had to 
 be twice repeated before she caught even a glimmer- 
 ing of its meaning. At last her face lighted up with 
 the most eager excitement, and she was able to satisfy 
 her uncle's impatient enquiries as to what the fellow 
 was jabbering about. 
 
 "He wants us to go on board his ship to see a 
 sick compatriot sick in mind, I think he says who 
 has come with them from Livorno, or London I 
 cannot make out which and3 they do not know
 
 228 VANESSA. 
 
 where to bestow him. Andiamo," she said, turning to 
 the Italian. But her uncle again caught her by the 
 arm. 
 
 "Absurd, Helen! Do you suppose that I shall let 
 you go among a parcel of Italian ruffians , who would 
 as soon stick a knife into you as look at you? The 
 story is probably a blind to decoy you into the ship 
 to plunder you." 
 
 "What a wild idea, Uncle Richard! The man 
 will discover your unjust suspicions, though he does 
 not know a word of English. Come with me, if you 
 think it dangerous, although I should not in the least 
 mind going alone." 
 
 Mr. Mertoun, who did not consider that the risk 
 would be diminished by his sharing it, was more pro- 
 voked than amused by the suggestion. 
 
 "Indeed, Helen, you will neither go alone nor in 
 company, unless we have a policeman at our heels." 
 
 "I believe that the police are the only untrust- 
 worthy class in Italy," replied Helen, who never 
 omitted an opportunity of airing her liberal sentiments. 
 She turned again to the Italian, and his reply to her 
 enquiries gave colour to the suspicion which had 
 flashed through her brain. "Listen to this, Uncle 
 Richard: it is the ship which is called the 'Livorno,' 
 and she comes from the port of London. She sailed 
 on November 25, and that was the very day of Lord 
 Alan's disappearance. This sick man is a young, fair- 
 haired English milord, as they say that they have dis- 
 covered from the papers he" has about him, and I do
 
 CERTAINTY. 22Q 
 
 not see that it is possible to doubt that it is Lord Alan 
 himself." 
 
 Mr. Mertoun admitted the justice of the inference, 
 and although he held back as long as he imagined 
 that Helen was actuated by a Quixotic desire to be 
 of service to a vague Englishman, he was now nearly 
 as eager as herself to follow up the clue. His mis- 
 givings were renewed when the half-dozen men who 
 had watched the issue of the conference trooped after 
 them across the gangway, to see what the English 
 people purposed to do with their countryman; but it 
 occurred to him that if they were indeed to be de- 
 coyed to their death, the participators of the plunder 
 must be content with small gains. The "Livorno" 
 had only just come into harbour, and lay outside of 
 two other vessels, which it was necessary to cross in 
 order to reach her. They were all encumbered with 
 cordage and merchandise, and Mr. Mertoun con- 
 gratulated himself, with British complacency, on the 
 more trim appearance of the barges which were un- 
 loaded at his wharf in Bixley. 
 
 It was the mate of the "Livorno" who had con- 
 ducted them on board, and the captain now came for- 
 ward, with a few words of English at his command, 
 in which he invited Mr. Mertoun to go below and see 
 the gentleman for himself. 
 
 "A milord," he added, as he noticed Richard Mer- 
 toun's momentary hesitation, "as I can show by these 
 papers, of which I have taken charge." Helen was 
 the first to glance at the address of the bundle of
 
 23O VANESSA. 
 
 letters which he produced, and she exclaimed with 
 agitation: 
 
 "There is an envelope directed to Lord Alan Rae! 
 Oh, poor Amy!" 
 
 Mr. Mertoun hesitated no longer, and left Helen 
 on the deck, surrounded by a group of sailors, who 
 spoke with greater volubility and less distinctness as 
 they observed her over-mastering excitement. She 
 gathered from the various accounts that Lord Alan 
 had offered gold to the boat's crew of the "Livorno" 
 to row him out to any one of the three ships which 
 were to be towed down the river that morning, and that 
 the captain of the "Livorno" received him on board 
 with reluctance, and with the intention of putting him 
 ashore at Gravesend. The milord, however, who in- 
 sisted on going below before the pilot came on board, 
 succeeded after a long and earnest conversation with 
 the captain in inducing him to take his passage 
 money. He solemnly declared that it was no fault of 
 his own which made him an outcast from his home 
 and country, but that the unnatural treachery of a 
 woman had plotted his confinement in a mad-house, 
 in order to screen her own guilt. He spoke with such 
 rational calmness that no suspicions were entertained 
 of his sanity; but after he had been for a few days 
 on board the vessel, his increasing gloom, his haggard 
 looks and restless muttering, awakened uneasiness, 
 and he was constantly watched, and secured by force 
 at a moment when he was about to throw himself 
 into the sea. A period of acute mania followed,
 
 CERTAINTY. 2$t 
 
 during which, as Helen hoped, he was treated with 
 such kindness as was possible, although he was under 
 restraint, and without skilled attendance or medical 
 aid. For some days he had been sinking into a state 
 of unconscious exhaustion, from which he could with 
 difficulty be roused to take nourishment, and his end 
 appeared to be approaching. 
 
 Mr. Mertoun presently returned to confirm the 
 sailors' story. "It is Alan Rae," he said, "but so 
 changed that his own mother might not recognise 
 him. I must get a doctor at once to decide what can 
 be done, and you must go home, Helen, and tell Eva 
 as gently as you can." 
 
 "Shall we prepare a room for him?" said Helen. 
 
 "Do nothing until I come or write," replied Mr. 
 Mertoun; "so far as I can judge the end is not far 
 off, and it may be impossible to move him." 
 
 "I should like to stay, if I can be of any use," 
 said Helen, her voice trembling a little, in spite of her 
 desire to betray no nervousness. 
 
 "You can be of use to Eva, none here. Indeed 
 my dear, the scene is not fit for a girl of your age, 
 but you may rely on my doing all that can be done 
 in such a case. Go home now." 
 
 There was something in Richard Mertoun's tone 
 which enforced obedience, and Helen obeyed at once. 
 They left the quay together and Mr. Mertoun put 
 Helen into a carriage to return to the Villa Nervani, 
 while he went in search of the physician who had at- 
 tended Eva, and who had some knowledge of English.
 
 232 VANESSA. 
 
 It was late in the evening before the two girls had 
 any further tidings, and they were on the point of 
 sending Misbourne into the town, escorted by their 
 Genoese man-cook, when Mr. Mertoun came in. "It 
 is over," said Eva, reading the truth in her father's 
 face. 
 
 "Yes: he died an hour ago, with no struggle nor 
 return of consciousness. Indeed the doctor thinks that 
 although his life might have been prolonged by medi- 
 cal care at an earlier stage of the attack, nothing 
 would have restored his reason. He had sunk into a 
 state of complete imbecility. The funeral will take 
 place to-morrow, and then I shall return home; it may 
 be better to spare Amy the shock of receiving the 
 news by letter, although I shall write to Henry and to 
 Lady Cecilia." 
 
 Eva had recovered from her first agitation and 
 was very composed and quiet in her father's pre- 
 sence, smiling a little when he said that she must not 
 allow the matter to prey on her mind, but when they 
 had gone upstairs for the night, and she was alone 
 with Helen, she cried bitterly. "It is very dreadful," 
 she said: "it is such a little while since I thought him 
 the wisest, brightest, most true-hearted of men, and I 
 found it hard to forgive Amy who had robbed me of 
 his love, and now I am selfish enough to think more 
 of what I have escaped, than of what she has suffered." 
 
 "I am such an unfeeling person," replied Helen, 
 although her red eyes belied the assertion, "that since 
 I knew hardly anything of Lord Alan personally, I
 
 AN, INTERVAL. 233 
 
 cannot help feeling relieved that his wretched life has 
 ended as it did. Even if she had loved him, it would" 
 have been terrible to think of her having to live with 
 him again, or that she was to live on alone and 
 hardly recognised by his family while he was in con- 
 finement." 
 
 "And what will she do now?" 
 
 "I hope that she will live on with mother for the 
 present. When the year or two years' mourning is 
 over, of course she will marry Dennis." 
 
 "Of course?" repeated Eva. 
 
 "He loves her still: it is easy to read between the 
 lines of his letter to me. And Amy must know now 
 what such love is worth." Helen's voice broke down 
 suddenly, in spite of her late parade of want of feel- 
 ing, but the passion of tears which she found it hard 
 to check, did not owe their source to grief for her 
 brother-in-law's death; 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 An Interval. 
 
 "THE year or two years of mourning," glided over 
 the heads of the Mertoun family with few outward 
 incidents to mark their course. When Helen returned 
 to England with her cousin, she found that her niche 
 in her mother's house was filled, and she admitted 
 that there was as little cause as she now felt inclina- 
 tion to resist her cousin's desire to retain her at
 
 234 VANESSA. 
 
 Leasowes. Amy and Mrs. Mertoun were so satisfied 
 with each other, and with the local interests of their 
 still, rural life, which did not range further than the 
 calving of Guernsey cows, the prospects of the apple 
 crop, and Miss Charlton's difficulties with her dairy- 
 maids, that Helen was conscious that her aspirations 
 towards a fuller intellectual life would introduce an 
 element of incongruity. In the earlier days at Allerton 
 she had worked off her superfluous energy in manual 
 labour, and had spent her hardly earned hours of 
 recreation in the society of Henry and Dennis O'Brien; 
 but now that the contribution which Amy was able to 
 make to her mother's income placed them above 
 pecuniary anxiety, Helen felt that the idyllic life of 
 Charlton Manor, which had been very welcome as an 
 occasional refreshment, would pall upon her active 
 spirit. It was agreed, therefore, that Helen should 
 reside at Leasowes, but she made frequent visits to 
 the cottage and to the Manor farm, and the two 
 Charltons, listened with unflagging interest to her ac- 
 counts of Swiss dairies, and of the Italian mode of 
 cultivating the soil; while Miss Charlton dilated in 
 turn on dear Lady Alan's pretty ways, and on the 
 satisfaction it gave her brother and herself to see her 
 look less sadly worn, and pale than she had done 
 through the winter. To Helen the improvement was 
 less evident; Amy was silent and spiritless, ill at ease 
 in her sister's company, and shrinking from the sug- 
 gestion that she might spend a few days quietly at 
 Leasowes; but Mrs. Mertoun declared that she was
 
 AN INTERVAL. 235 
 
 cheerful when they were alone together, and that the 
 kind and sociable natures of Miss Charlton and her 
 brother supplied all the society she needed. 
 
 At Leasowes the masculine element was more 
 liberally introduced, since Henry was almost as much 
 at home in his uncle's house as at his office, and was 
 apt to bring O'Brien as well as the younger Richard 
 in his train. But before the two girls left England to 
 spend another winter in the south, which the doctors 
 considered necessary in Eva's case, O'Brien had also 
 left the country on a more lengthened absence. Mr. 
 Wray's interest procured for him an appointment at- 
 taching him to an expedition which was to be sent 
 out to the Himalayas with the view of ascertaining 
 the best mode of turning the forests to account. The 
 whole matter was arranged before he even mentioned 
 it to Henry; and if his friend was surprised, Helen 
 was more deeply wounded by such reserve: but they 
 were both gratified by an appointment which launched 
 him in a wider sphere, and Dennis himself wrote from 
 London that although he had much to do in the brief 
 interval allowed him to complete his preparations, he 
 could not deny himself the indulgence of spending 
 the last evening with them at Leasowes. 
 
 It was a lovely summer night, and the young 
 people went out into the verandah to watch the full 
 moon as she appeared above the tops of the trees, 
 but Mr. Mertoun's caution presently forbade Eva to 
 expose herself to the night air, and Henry re-entered 
 the house with her. Helen remained standing beside
 
 236 . VANESSA. 
 
 Dennis, who seemed as unwilling as herself to ex- 
 change the dewy freshness of the outer air for the 
 lamp-lit drawing-room. "I suppose," he said, thought- 
 fully, "that the next full moon will find me under the 
 eaves of an Indian bungalow." 
 
 "How long shall you be away, Dennis?" 
 
 "My chief says not less than a year, and he hopes 
 not much more." 
 
 "Will you take Allerton on your way to-morrow?" 
 said Helen, finding it easier to ask questions than to 
 say anything original. 
 
 "No; you must tell your mother how much hur- 
 ried I have been, and that I could not find time to 
 wish her good-bye." 
 
 "I will tell her and Amy," said Helen, almost as 
 if she were annoyed by the studied omission of her 
 sister's name; "by the time you come home, Amy will 
 be able to go out a little in society." 
 
 "I suppose so; you must write to me sometimes, 
 Helen; now that Henry is such a busy man, I doubt 
 whether he will give me much home news." 
 
 "I will write after my visits to the cottage," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 "And why only then?" 
 
 "Why? I suppose because unless I fix an era I 
 shall not write at all," replied Helen, a little surprised 
 by the question. While she was convinced that 
 O'Brien's love for Amy was unchanged, it was evident 
 that he would allow no expression of it; and it was 
 only the effort at concealment which would account
 
 AN INTERVAL. 237 
 
 for the reserve and constraint that had altered his 
 whole nature, since his earlier love for her had been 
 proclaimed without a shadow of reticence. 
 
 When Dennis O'Brien had sailed for India, Helen 
 permitted herself few distractions from the course of 
 study she had laid down. Eva, who had been con- 
 sidered a docile, and a far from incapable pupil in 
 her schoolroom days, was amazed by the depths of 
 ignorance which were continually revealed to her by 
 Helen's higher attainments; but she was not allowed to 
 sit down content with her own deficiencies. Although 
 she and Helen were of an age when most girls aban- 
 don themselves to the career of frivolous pleasure-seek- 
 ing which is assumed to be the inalienable privilege 
 of young ladyhood, they led a studious and secluded 
 life, even at Leasowes, and were still more absorbed 
 in their course of self-culture in the second winter 
 which they spent in Italy. 
 
 Mr. Mertoun was too well satisfied with Eva's 
 immunity from the morbid fancies which had injured 
 her health and clouded the happiness of her opening 
 girlhood, to find any fault with the close bond of 
 friendship which united the two girls; although it 
 seemed to leave no room for the intrusion of any 
 softer sentiment in Eva's relations with her cousin 
 Henry. Generally on pleasant terms together, Eva was 
 more prone than Helen to resent his unsparing cri- 
 ticism of any incongruity in their theory of life, or 
 extravagant unconventionalism in practice; and a 
 stranger who was introduced into the family party
 
 238 VANESSA. 
 
 might have found it hard to determine to which of 
 the two Miss Mertouns he bore the relation of elder 
 brother. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Renunciation. 
 
 IT was at the Hollies that Dennis O'Brien was first 
 seen on his arrival in England. Mr. Wray, faithful to 
 the opinion he had formed of the young man when 
 .he was first presented to his notice as curator of the 
 Bixley Museum, wrote cordially to invite him to come 
 at once to his house, and Lady Cecilia, who had not 
 always made him welcome in the early stage of his 
 career, considered that his name had appeared in suf- 
 ficiently conspicuous type in paragraphs relating to 
 the Himalayan expedition, to give prestige to her 
 dinner-parties. When she mentioned in an uncon- 
 cerned manner that she had invited the Mertouns and 
 half a dozen other guests to dinner on the very even- 
 ing of O'Brien's arrival, Mr. Wray looked unutterable 
 things, since he had proposed to enjoy a family din- 
 ner and a quiet talk with O'Brien in the study where 
 all his happiest hours were spent. 
 
 "I never yet asked a few friends to dinner that 
 -you did not make a grievance of it," said Lady 
 Cecilia, with a deep sense of injury: "since you do 
 not- like the trouble of entertaining my guests yourself, 
 it is necessary to invite them when there is some
 
 RENUNCIATION. 23Q 
 
 third person to take the trouble off your hands. Poor 
 Alan was invaluable on these occasions." And there 
 was something in her tone which implied that her 
 nephew's life and senses ought to have been spared, 
 in order that he might fill that important niche in the 
 social gatherings at the Hollies. 
 
 "Is Lady Alan coming to dinner?" inquired Mr. 
 Wray. 
 
 "O dear no, William. You forget that Alan has 
 scarcely been dead eighteen months, and his widow 
 has shown some proper feeling by living in the 
 strictest retirement. I do not think that she has even 
 been to Leasowes, and, though I might call upon her 
 there quite in a formal way, I do not intend to do 
 more than barely recognise the connection which is 
 altogether dropped at Raeburn. I do inquire for her 
 now and then, but that is only to do away any little 
 coolness between Eva and myself." 
 
 "In which you are not altogether successful, Ce- 
 cilia. We have never dined at Leasowes since Alan's 
 death." 
 
 "They do not entertain as they used to do," 
 
 replied Lady Cecilia: "I believe that eccentric Helen 
 
 Mertoun sways Eva just as the other sister used to 
 
 do. The poor girl has great sweetness, but no strength 
 
 of character, and if she had not unfortunately fallen 
 
 under her cousin's influence, I should have moulded 
 
 -her completely, and carried out the scheme in which 
 
 -I was frustrated." 
 
 "If you mean your plan for marrying her to Alan,
 
 240 VANESSA. 
 
 Era Mertoun can scarcely regret your failure," replied 
 Mr. Wray; and his wife was so painfully affected by 
 the want of feeling shown in such a reference to her 
 family misfortunes, that he really believed himself to 
 be responsible for introducing the subject into their 
 discussion. 
 
 If Lady Cecilia wished to secure the Mertoun 
 family at her dinner-party, she was wise to throw out 
 O'Brien's name as an allurement. Henry was keen to 
 go, Eva and her father not unwilling, but Helen drew 
 back, saying that she supposed that Dennis was not 
 too great a man to come and see them next day, 
 which would be more satisfactory than meeting at a 
 formal dinner-party. 
 
 "Will he not be hurt by your refusal to meet 
 him?" asked Eva. 
 
 "He must be very much altered if his feelings are 
 so easily wounded," replied Helen. 
 
 "Besides I think it would be better to accept on 
 Amy's account: I mean," Eva added, as Helen looked 
 up with a vivid blush, "that Lady Cecilia cannot be 
 moderately civil to us without recognising the con- 
 nection with Amy, whom she is anxious to slight. I 
 make a point of talking of Lady Alan Rae, whenever 
 I see her in general society." 
 
 "Your worldly wisdom is truly edifying," observed 
 Helen: "on that account then I will go, since you and 
 Henry think it expedient." Although sometimes ac- 
 cused of brutal sincerity, her assumption of in- 
 difference on this occasion was hypocritical, since she
 
 RENUNCIATION. 24! 
 
 was burning with impatience to see Dennis once 
 more. 
 
 The eccentricity condemned by Lady Cecilia be- 
 trayed itself in Helen's dress, which was not modelled 
 after the fashion of other young ladies. On the oc- 
 casion of this dinner-party she wore a cinnamon 
 coloured silk, closed at the throat and wrists by an 
 edging of old Roman lace, which had been Eva's 
 gift, and the only ornament of her dark hair was a 
 natural scarlet rose, a perfect specimen of General 
 Jacqueminot. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks a 
 little flushed, but the composed stateliness of her 
 manner betrayed none of the excitement which she 
 felt, and Lady Cecilia remarked to her dearest friend, 
 Lady Ashford, that it was really absurd to see the 
 poor dependent on her cousin's bounty give herself 
 the airs of a tragedy queen. Eva, on her side, seemed 
 quite content to fall into the shade, and watched 
 Helen with great admiration, and no suspicion that 
 her own graceful, diffident manners might be more 
 generally popular. 
 
 "We are to go in to dinner without waiting for 
 Mr. O'Brien," Lady Cecilia explained; "he begged that 
 it might be so, as the train was late, and he has only 
 just arrived." 
 
 "Rather hard on a man who has come straight 
 out of the Indian forests to have to rush into the 
 fetters of evening dress," observed Mr. Wray to Henry 
 Mertoun, who appeared to him the only person present 
 likely to sympathise in such a grievance. 
 
 Vanessa. 1 6
 
 242 VANESSA. 
 
 "I hope that O'Brien is sufficiently loyal to his 
 friends to make the sacrifice cheerfully," replied Henry, 
 "it lias been a great pleasure to me to come here to 
 meet him this evening." 
 
 "His friends?" repeated Mr. Wray: "except your- 
 self, there is not a soul here to-night with whom he 
 has anything in common." 
 
 "Myself and my sister Helen. When we lived at 
 Allerton we were constantly together, and he developed 
 Helen's taste for natural history, although he found 
 me an unpromising disciple." 
 
 "In that case," said Mr. Wray, "I will see that his 
 empty chair is kept next to Miss Helen Mertoun's. 
 Since I cannot enjoy his conversation myself, I am 
 magnanimous enough to give her the benefit of it." 
 
 Helen heard, and profited by this benevolent 
 purpose, which it was the more easy to execute since 
 she entered the dining-room last as the most in- 
 significant person of the company; and gratitude 
 prompted her to exempt Mr. Wray from her sweeping 
 condemnation of the Rae family, and especially since, 
 as she reflected, he spelled his name with a W, 
 
 Dinner was half over before Dennis O'Brien ap- 
 peared to fill his vacant chair, and as he did so he 
 greeted Helen by her Christian name after a momentary 
 hesitation. Yet he was the most changed of the two, 
 bronzed and travel-worn, and with his mouth con- 
 cealed by the silky brown beard of which there had 
 been little trace when he left England : but then, as he
 
 RENUNCIATION. ^43 
 
 explained, he had not expected to meet Helen, while 
 she was prepared for his appearance. 
 
 "You cannot be more surprised to see me here 
 than I am myself," said Helen: "if any one had told 
 us two years ago that we should meet again, almost 
 like strangers, and at Lady Cecilia Wray's house of 
 all places in the world, I should have derided the 
 prediction." 
 
 "Turn fortune, turn thy wheel," rejoined Dennis: 
 "I daresay that she has stranger revolutions in store 
 for us." 
 
 "When I look back to all our buried projects, I 
 feel that we have been only children digging in the 
 sand," resumed Helen, "it is since you went away that 
 I have discovered that the pursuit of beetles will not 
 satisfy all my aspirations, although it may serve as the 
 by-play of life." 
 
 "That is fickleness indeed," said Dennis smiling. 
 "The intensely technical tone of your correspondence 
 conveyed a different impression, and I have thought 
 of returning the series to you with the suggestion of 
 publishing it in the Entomological Journal." 
 
 "Were my letters so dull?" said Helen, evidently 
 piqued. 
 
 "I did not say dull, only instructive. I confess 
 that I sometimes wished for information on matters of 
 more human interest." 
 
 "I never forgot to tell you of my visits to Allerton, 
 and the cottage," said Helen. 
 
 "No: you proved yourself to be a true woman by 
 
 16*
 
 244 VANESSA. 
 
 throwing all the interest of your letters into the post- 
 script. How is Mrs. Mertoun?" 
 
 "Mother grows younger every year; she and 
 Amy are so happy together. When shall you see 
 them?" 
 
 "Soon, I hope. And how is Dick? Henry looks 
 prosperous." 
 
 "Oh yes: we are all prosperous now; prosperous 
 and uninteresting. I often look back to the old, de- 
 lightful days when you used to drink tea with us in 
 the sordid little parlour, and I did the honours of the 
 tin of sardines which I had bought out of my own 
 earnings." 
 
 "Those were the days of Mr. Benson and the 
 sewing-machine," said O'Brien: "do they still flourish?" 
 
 "Mr. Benson is growing old, and is not half so 
 pleasant as when he used to patronise me and pay 
 me wages. I do believe, Dennis, that although I used 
 to think that you sympathised with me, you were 
 laughing at me all the while." 
 
 "Not at all: those days were good, but I hope 
 that there are better in store for us. How much 
 stronger Miss Eva Mertoun is looking!" 
 
 "Yes: that is the only satisfactory bit of work I 
 have to show for all these months. I take the credit 
 of her improved health and spirits, and keep her up 
 to the mark, when she is inclined to flag." 
 
 "And is that to be your mission in life?" 
 
 "Unless Eva finds a more efficient prop: she must 
 lean on someone," said Helen.
 
 RENUNCIATION. 245 
 
 They went on to talk of O'Brien's Indian ex- 
 periences, and Helen asked what was to be his next 
 move. 
 
 "I have a good deal to wind up before it is ne- 
 cessary to decide," said Dennis: "all my cases of in- 
 sects and botanical specimens are coming to Bixley, 
 and it will take me some time to classify the collec- 
 tion. I shall go back to my old quarters at Mrs. 
 Ball's if she has a vacant room." 
 
 Lady Cecilia felt that her guests had been invited 
 on false pretences if O'Brien reserved all his conversa- 
 tion for Helen Mertoun, and she called upon her lion 
 to roar and wag his tail for the benefit of the com- 
 pany at large. He answered good-humouredly when 
 she declared that she was "dying to hear all about 
 the Himalayan range," but the amount of information 
 which she extracted was not very valuable. He and 
 Helen had little more talk that evening, but, before 
 the Mertoun carriage was announced, Dennis had re- 
 ceived and accepted an invitation to lunch at Lea- 
 sowes on the following day. 
 
 Helen was very silent during the drive home, tak- 
 ing no part in the discussion between Henry and his 
 cousin as to the change which had taken place in 
 O'Brien's looks and manners. Henry observed that 
 he was quite as pleasant, but not quite so unreserved 
 as formerly: he fancied that he would thaw in a tte- 
 d-tele, and readily accepted Eva's invitation to luncheon, 
 provided his uncle Richard could spare him. And 
 Mr. Mertoun, who preferred to do the duties of hos-
 
 246 VANESSA. 
 
 pitality by deputy, saw no objection to Henry's absence 
 from the office for an hour or two, since people did 
 not come home from India every day. 
 
 "You look tired, Helen," said Eva, when they 
 reached Leasowes, and the light of the hall lamp fell on 
 her cousin's face. 
 
 "Do I? I suppose that the dissipation has been 
 too much for me," said Helen, and she was willing to 
 act on Eva's suggestion of going at once to her room. 
 When there, however, she was in no haste to go to 
 bed, but sat down by the open window to allow the 
 soft air of the summer night to play round her heated 
 temples. A great struggle was going on in her breast, 
 caused by the discovery that the pleasant relations of 
 tutor and pupil which had subsisted between Dennis 
 O'Brien and herself were now exchanged for a 
 softer sentiment, on her side certainly, and possibly 
 on his; and that it would be impossible for them to 
 meet on the old familiar terms, without revealing the 
 truth. History must not repeat itself, nor should the 
 treachery of which her sister was guilty, in attracting 
 to herself the attentions of which Eva had been the 
 object, be renewed in her own case, since she was 
 confident that Amy still cherished the memory of her 
 first love, with a truer sense of its value than in the 
 days when she had put it from her. Amy, gentler, 
 more lovable, and no less lovely than she had been in 
 those early days, would unquestionably win back 
 O'Brien's allegiance if they were brought in contact, 
 and Helen was filled with an indignant sense of her
 
 RENUNCIATION. 247 
 
 own baseness in hesitating as to the sacrifice required 
 of her. 
 
 "If I cannot fight, I can fly," she thought: "I will 
 go out into the world, away from this idle, pleasure- 
 seeking life, which dulls all the nobler instincts. Dennis 
 shall not see me again until he has met Amy, and then 
 the glamour of her presence will revive." Helen's re- 
 solution was taken, cemented by tears in the sleepless 
 watches of the night, and executed with characteristic 
 promptitude. Eva was startled by her early appear- 
 ance by her bedside, prepared for a journey. "I am 
 going to take mamma and Amy by surprise this morn- 
 ing," she said, "the early train will take me to Allerton 
 to breakfast, so that I shall have the whole day be- 
 fore me." 
 
 "I did not know that you thought of going there 
 to-day," said Eva. 
 
 "I did not know it myself last night." 
 
 "Then you have some bad news," said Eva, start- 
 ing up in sudden alarm, but Helen laughed at her 
 fears. 
 
 "You have not the heart of a mouse, Eva. How 
 could I have bad news, since I have seen no one since 
 last night? When I give mother and Amy notice of 
 my coming, they are too apt to burden me with com- 
 missions which Mr. Benson could execute just as well 
 at Allerton, for I have no genius for shopping and 
 always choose the wrong thing." 
 
 "Since they do not expect you, you may as well
 
 248 VANESSA. 
 
 put off your visit till to-morrow: you forget that Mr. 
 O'Brien is coming to luncheon." 
 
 "I do not forget, but Henry is coming to entertain 
 him. Good-bye, Eva: if I do not appear by the six 
 o'clock train, you will know that I have settled to sleep 
 at the cottage." There was a wistful reproach in Eva's 
 eyes which recalled Helen after she had reached the 
 door, and she returned to give her cousin another and 
 a warmer kiss: "good-bye my little Evie: do not vex 
 your soul about me, for it is all perfectly right." And 
 again she turned away in haste, lest Eva should see 
 the tears which strangled further speech. 
 
 Helen's appearance at the cottage gave rise to 
 some pleasant commotion, but no inconvenient curiosity. 
 Breakfast was nearly over and Amy busied herself to 
 make fresh tea and to procure a new-laid egg, while 
 Mrs. Mertoun had so many incidents of local interest 
 to impart, that Helen had only to listen and admire. 
 There was a pony which played an important part in 
 the Charlton society at this time, a pony of which Mr. 
 Charlton was the nominal owner, although he had re- 
 quested Lady Alan Rae to drive it for him in a little 
 carriage which he provided for the purpose, since he 
 had no leisure to drive his sister out and the pony 
 was positively eating his head off in the stable. It 
 did not transpire why the animal was kept at all under 
 such circumstances, but Amy accepted the office of 
 exercising it with a good grace, and every afternoon 
 the pony and carriage, with suspiciously new harness, 
 and a whip which was better adapted for a lady's
 
 RENUNCIATION. 249 
 
 fingers than for those of its professed owner, was to 
 be seen at the garden-gate. Sometimes Mrs. Mertoun 
 drove with Amy, and sometimes Miss Charlton; and 
 George was generally at hand to start them, and to 
 accept with complacency the praises bestowed on the 
 sleekness of his favourite's coat, the excellence of its 
 mouth, and the sagacity which induced it to stop short 
 at those places where Amy was accustomed to alight. 
 
 When the merits of the pony had been discussed 
 in all points of view, and Helen had declared her 
 willingness to prove them by personal experience, and 
 to drive with Amy instead of returning to Leasowes 
 that evening, Mrs. Mertoun went away to give orders 
 about her room, and Helen glanced at her sister, who 
 was bending over her lace- work. "Dennis O'Brien is 
 in England again, Amy: we met him at the Wrays last 
 night." 
 
 There was a little sigh, a faint tinge of colour in 
 Amy's face, as she replied: "I knew that he was ex- 
 pected about this time." 
 
 "He asked after you; I daresay that he will come 
 here soon," continued Helen; and the signs of her 
 sister's agitation were now more easy to read, for she 
 could see that Amy's hand trembled as she drove the 
 needle in and out: "Not to-day, however, for he is 
 engaged to lunch at Leasowes." 
 
 "And you came away, Helen!" 
 
 "Yes, he and Henry will have a good talk, and I 
 have something on my mind which I want to discuss 
 with you and mother. I am not wanted at Leasowes,
 
 25O VANESSA. 
 
 now that Eva is strong and well, and so I may make 
 my own way in the world, as I always intended to do. 
 How does one set about to find a governess's place?" 
 
 "Have you quarrelled with Eva?" said Amy. "If 
 you are not happy at Leasowes, there can be no reason 
 why you should not make your home here." 
 
 "There is every reason why I should not live upon 
 other people, when I have brains and hands of my 
 own. As to quarrelling with Eva, I should like to 
 know who could quarrel with her, but it will be very 
 much to her advantage that she should learn to stand 
 alone. She will be dismayed at first, and so perhaps 
 wiH Uncle Richard, but I have quite made up my 
 mind." 
 
 "And this is what you call discussing the matter," 
 said Amy smiling: "I do think that Uncle Richard's 
 kindness to us all entitles him to be consulted before 
 you take any rash step." 
 
 "I have thought out the question," replied Helen 
 resolutely, "and when the thing is done you will all 
 be satisfied that there is nothing wrong nor disgraceful 
 in my desire to earn my own livelihood. I wanted 
 you to break ground with mother because she is some- 
 times distressed by my vehement way of putting things, 
 but if you will not help me, I must act for myself." 
 
 "I also thought I must act for myself when I left 
 Allerton for Leasowes two years ago," said Amy: 
 " mamma was unwilling, and Henry was displeased, and 
 I deluded myself into the belief that it would be best 
 for all, as I set about weaving the tissue of haunting
 
 NEVERMORE. 251 
 
 memories which will cling to my life and cloud it 
 with humiliation and shame." 
 
 "But not for ever," said Helen: "even now they 
 are fading into the dim past. There is such a thing 
 as being purified through suffering, and I look forward 
 to the happiness which is still in store for you." She 
 kissed her sister, but Amy did not catch the note of 
 exultation; and her pensive attitude as she sat motion- 
 less, with the tears stealing down her cheeks, fortified 
 Helen's resolution to complete her renunciation of the 
 bright prospects which the subtle influence of O'Brien's 
 manner, even more than his spoken words, had seemed 
 to open before her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Nevermore. 
 
 HELEN'S determination to exchange the luxurious 
 ease of her position at Leasowes for the drudgery of 
 governess life was flung like a shell into the midst of the 
 Mertoun family. Eva was the most distressed, Henry 
 the most indignant, and Richard Mertoun, after the 
 first moment of irritation, was shrewd enough to see 
 that her estrangement from Eva might further the 
 project which he had at heart. 
 
 "Give her her head," he said, when Henry urged 
 him to exert the authority of a guardian: "after lord- 
 ing it over us as she has done here she will not find 
 her first step on the road to independence as easy as
 
 252 VANESSA. 
 
 she thinks, and we shall have her back in six months 
 quite content with domestic life at Leasowes, or the 
 cottage." 
 
 Mr. Mertoun left his daughter and Henry to con- 
 tinue the discussion, and Eva turned back to the 
 letter in which Helen announced her resolution: 
 "Since Helen always says what she thinks, I must be- 
 lieve her when she says that we must continue to be 
 equally dear to each other; and yet I doubt whether 
 she would have decided to go away unless I had in 
 some way failed to satisfy her." 
 
 "You may be sure that the cause is to be found 
 in her own restless nature," replied Henry, "or that 
 she is inspired by a desire to vindicate her consis- 
 tency in O'Brien's eyes. He told me that she seemed 
 to regret the old Allerton days, when we three used 
 to glorify our self-reliance." 
 
 "It is Helen's desire to be consistent which has 
 given nobility to her character," said Eva. 
 
 "There is no true consistency in clinging to crude 
 theories which will not hold water. I am not ashamed 
 of having abandoned them when I accepted the hand 
 which my uncle held out to me, and I hope, Eva, 
 that you are not ashamed of me." 
 
 "No, indeed, Henry," said Eva, blushing, "but I 
 know that it was a sacrifice at the time, and I have 
 felt grateful to you ever since." 
 
 "It was only a sacrifice because I was eaten up 
 by an over-weening sense of my own importance, and 
 that is, as I take it, the constraining motive of Helen's
 
 NEVERMORE. 253 
 
 desire to shake herself free of family ties." And it 
 was in such a sense that his remonstrances were ad- 
 dressed to his sister. 
 
 Helen did not disown, and scarcely resented, the 
 motives imputed to her, but she was more affected by 
 Eva's tender reproaches, who wondered that it should 
 cost her so little to snap asunder the bond of sisterly 
 love by which they had been united. Although none 
 of her family would countenance her project, she did 
 not allow it to cause any open breach between them; 
 and set about her inquiries in a practical manner, 
 sending her name to two governess institutions and 
 advertising for a situation, with due mention of the 
 mastery of modern languages which she had obtained 
 in the course of her residence abroad. She staid on at 
 Charlton, where the opposition to her wishes had taken 
 a less aggressive form than it had done at Leasowes. 
 Mrs. Mertoun had always admitted her children's 
 right to make themselves happy in their own way; 
 and Amy, after she had remarked that Helen's way 
 was more likely to end in disappointment, withdrew 
 any further objections. Miss Charlton adduced Lady 
 Alan Rae's acquiescence as a fresh instance of her 
 singular sweetness of temper, for all confusion of 
 classes was annoying, and the contrast between her 
 own exalted rank and her sister's position as a gover- 
 ness was painful to contemplate. 
 
 "I doubt whether Lady Alan thinks as much of 
 her title as you do," said George Charlton, rather
 
 254 VANESSA. 
 
 gruffly: "from what she said to me the other day, I 
 fancy that she would be glad enough to drop it." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" said Miss Charlton, thoughtfully. 
 Her brother George was not of a very susceptible 
 nature, and she had never had cause to Yeel uneasy 
 about the security of her position at the Manor farm, 
 since that little episode with the dairy-maid had been 
 carefully suppressed from her, together with other 
 youthful follies: now that it crossed her mind that 
 she might be called upon to abdicate in favour of a 
 young wife, she was too loyal, both to her friends and 
 to her brother, to allow the suspicion to alter the 
 cordiality of her relations with Mrs. Mertoun and her 
 daughters. 
 
 So few visitors found their way to the cottage that 
 a ring at the door-bell was apt to cause some little 
 excitement; and Helen could see that Amy was most 
 affected by the flutter of expectation, as well as the 
 most ready to subside into despondency, when the 
 chance visitor proved to be one of their Allerton ac- 
 quaintance, who found the cottage a pleasant object 
 for a country walk. Dennis O'Brien did not come, 
 and Helen had been at Charlton for a fortnight be- 
 fore she learned from one of Eva's letters that he had 
 been summoned to London on the very day she left 
 Leasowes, to help his chief in drawing up the report 
 of the Himalayan expedition, and that he had not as 
 yet returned to Bixley. It was about this time that 
 one of the negotiations into which Helen had entered 
 was crowned with success. Mrs. Wentworth, a lady
 
 NEVERMORE. 255 
 
 residing in the neighbourhood of Windsor, replied to 
 her advertisement, proposing that Miss Mertoun should 
 come and reside with her for a few weeks, as a tem- 
 porary arrangement which might become permanent 
 if it proved satisfactory to both parties on further ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Amy advised her sister to accept the offer, as af- 
 fording her greater freedom of choice, while Helen 
 was disposed to object to the loophole for escape. 
 "I would rather be bound," she said, "since all dog- 
 ged and thorough work is done under the lash of the 
 inevitable, and I do not want to be treated as a sort 
 of visitor on sufferance. However, I must take this, 
 since nothing better offers, and one advantage is that 
 Mrs. Wentworth wants me to go to her next week." 
 
 "Are you so tired of your life here?" said Amy. 
 
 "Well, yes: I have brushed up my German and 
 Italian Grammar, and put my governess trousseau in 
 order, and I do not take kindly to lace work. I can- 
 not even rise to the proper pitch of enthusiasm about 
 the pony, although I might attain to it in the course 
 of another month." 
 
 "You think that our interests are shallow and tri- 
 vial?" said Amy, a little hurt. 
 
 "I think that you are a wonder of placid content, 
 but this sort of thing cannot go on for ever, can it, 
 Amy?" 
 
 "I do not know," replied Amy with tears in her 
 eyes: "after all that I have suffered, placid content
 
 256 VANESSA. 
 
 must satisfy my aspirations; I do not think that I can 
 ever face the world again." 
 
 But Helen thought otherwise, and when she wrote 
 to tell Eva that she had accepted Mrs. Wentworth's 
 offer and was to go to Earlston Lodge within a few 
 days, she added a request that Eva would try and 
 persuade Amy to visit her at Leasowes. The invita- 
 tion had been given and declined on former occa- 
 sions, but this time she hoped that it would be ac- 
 cepted. 
 
 It was on the very day that Helen left Charlton 
 Manor for Windsor, that Dennis O'Brien paid his 
 long expected visit. Amy, who had driven her sister 
 into Allerton in the morning, was at home and alone, 
 sitting by the open window, when he came across 
 the little garden. Although the months which had 
 elapsed since Dennis brought Lady Alan Rae back to 
 her mother's house could not restore the freshness 
 and brilliancy of her early youth, they had given 
 grace to her movements and a pleasing softness to 
 her expression, and the glow which overspread her 
 features when she became aware of O'Brien's approach 
 only added to their charm. 
 
 "Will you come in this way, Dennis?" said she, 
 his name trembling a little on her tongue: "it will 
 save any waiting at the door." 
 
 "I have come straight from London," said Dennis, 
 "and intend to go on to Bixley this evening. I have 
 been hoping to get away from day to day, never so 
 sure of it as to announce my intentions."
 
 NEVERMORE. 257 
 
 "You have just missed Helen, and must in fact 
 have crossed her on the road: she went to Windsor 
 to-day," said Amy. 
 
 "To-day! I had set my heart on being in time to 
 prevent her going at all. I know of course that it is 
 no affair of mine, but Henry wrote to me on the sub- 
 ject, fancying that I had some little influence over 
 her." 
 
 "We are all sorry about it," said Amy. 
 
 Dennis turned from the subject, and as if conscious 
 of abruptness in his first greeting, he began to ask for 
 Mrs. Mertoun. Amy's heart sank within her, when he 
 addressed her as Lady Alan, and she acknowledged the 
 folly of imagining that any lapse of time, or change 
 of circumstances, could bridge over the gulf which her 
 own act had placed between them. She might have 
 known that the help which he had given her in her 
 hour of extreme need would have been afforded with 
 equal readiness to any other forlorn woman; and that 
 now that the necessity was past the only terms on 
 which they could meet were those of the constraint 
 caused by the memory of buried love. But such dis- 
 coveries are made every day without rippling the sur- 
 face of our outer life, and Amy's self-possession was 
 undisturbed. "Mamma is very well, and would be 
 sorry to miss you," she said: "I fancy that she will 
 soon be home with Miss Charlton." 
 
 "This is pleasanter than the house at Allerton," 
 said Dennis, sitting down with a manifest effort to 
 make conversation. 
 r<m**a. 17
 
 258 VANESSA. 
 
 "Yes: we are well off with such kind neighbours 
 as the Charltons, and you know that I was never 
 fond of Allerton. But Helen says that our country 
 life is narrow and dull." 
 
 "Helen used not to be so intolerant of dulness," 
 said Dennis: "I wish that I had seen her to clear up 
 this and some other points." 
 
 "I hope that it may not be long before you see 
 her here or at Leasowes. Since she has only made a 
 temporary engagement with Mrs. Wentworth, Henry 
 thinks that she will drift back to us." 
 
 "And what do you think, Lady Alan?" 
 
 "I do not think that Helen will drift anywhere. 
 If she undertakes to do a thing, she is certain to 
 carry it out." 
 
 "True: when I knew her first, she was dogged and 
 stiff-necked in her opinions, but never fickle," said 
 Dennis. He was far from intending any personal 
 application, but where there is mutual constraint the 
 tongue is apt to stumble on the very words which 
 should be left unsaid, and when he stopped short and 
 coloured, the tears rushed into Amy's eyes. 
 
 "I will go and meet Mrs. Mertoun if you can tell 
 me in what direction they have walked," continued 
 O'Brien, snatching up his hat, but there was no need 
 to go off the grass-plat. "Here they are now, coming 
 up to the gate. How well Miss Charlton wears!" 
 
 "She is younger than any of us," said Amy: "do 
 tell her that you are here." 
 
 "Lady Alan hopes that you will come in, Miss
 
 NEVERMORE. 259 
 
 Charlton," said Dennis gaily: "I want to see as many 
 of my old friends as possible, and I shall not have 
 time to call at the farm." Miss Charlton and Mrs. 
 Mertoun were enthusiastic in their reception of their 
 young favourite, and their effusion only just stopped 
 short of embracing him. Their hospitality was shocked 
 by the discovery that he had been for some minutes 
 in the house without receiving any offer of refresh- 
 ment, and tea was ordered at once, and the pony- 
 carriage to take him back to the station. "Our man 
 shall go with you to bring back the carriage, unless 
 Lady Alan would like the drive," said Miss Charlton. 
 
 "No," Amy said quickly: "I do not care to drive 
 again to day." 
 
 "How fortunate that you staid at home, Amy! 
 And how do you think that my dear child is looking?" 
 said Mrs. Mertoun, with serene unconsciousness that 
 the remark might be embarrassing to the persons 
 addressed. Dennis looked out of the window as he 
 replied that he was glad to find that Lady Alan was 
 well. 
 
 "At first, you know, she was sadly changed," 
 continued Mrs. Mertoun, "but every month makes a 
 difference, and indeed Mr. Charlton remarked only 
 yesterday that he had never seen her looking so well. 
 Helen is much more altered." 
 
 "Not for the worse, however," said Dennis: "you 
 know that I met Helen at the Hollies." 
 
 "So you did: I wish that you had seen her here, 
 but she was so possessed by her scheme of becoming
 
 260 .VANESSA* 
 
 a governess that we could not keep her at home; and 
 it is quite unnecessary, now that their uncle is so 
 liberal and kind to them. I cannot help hoping that 
 Eva may be a little delicate this autumn again, for 
 if she has to go abroad, of course Helen must go 
 with her." 
 
 "Is not that wish an unhandsome return for Mr. 
 Mertoun's kindness?" said Dennis, smiling. 
 
 "Perhaps it is, when one comes to think of it. 
 Really, Dennis, it is quite like old times to have you 
 here to laugh at me again. Helen does not do it so 
 much as she used to do, and as for Amy, it never 
 comes into her head." 
 
 When Amy found that the conversation was drift- 
 ing back to her peculiarities, either of person or of 
 mind, she slipped out of the room; and Dennis could 
 not help wishing that Mrs. Mertoun's recollection of 
 old times had been accurate enough to inform her 
 that any other subject would have been more wel- 
 come to him. "It is one of the marks her trouble 
 has left on her that she is always shrinking from 
 notice," said Mrs. Mertoun, "when we are alone to- 
 gether, her spirits are even and good." 
 
 "Gentle and simple have all the same good word 
 for her," echoed Miss Charlton, "the labourers' chil- 
 dren run out to give her flowers or to get a smile or 
 a nod from her as she goes by." 
 
 But it was not of Amy that Dennis had come to 
 talk, and he reverted to another topic. "Can you 
 give me Helen's address, Mrs. Mertoun? Since she
 
 NEVERMORE. 26 1 
 
 was my correspondent in India, I suppose that I may 
 ask her not to leave me in ignorance of her doings 
 now that she is only in the next county." 
 
 "Amy shall write down the address," said Mrs. 
 Mertoun, "I should like you to write to her, and to 
 insist on her telling you if she is unhappy, for I am 
 certain that she will never tell us. Poor child! I hope 
 that her pupils are clever, for nothing annoys Helen 
 like stupidity." 
 
 "How can you say so?" said Miss Charlton, 
 "Helen is always pleasant to me, although I am 
 stupid about everything but the dairy and the poultry 
 yard." 
 
 "Learned people are not always the best com- 
 pany," observed Dennis; "I have been wearied by the 
 discussions of my scientific brethren, which kept me 
 in London at a time when I was longing to be here 
 or at Bixley." 
 
 "That reminds me to ask you how you liked 
 India," said Mrs. Mertoun, inconsecutively, "I suppose 
 that it was very hot." 
 
 "In some parts," replied Dennis with laudable 
 gravity, "my work lay chiefly on the limits of eternal 
 snow, and the only serious difference I had with my 
 colleague was about an odd blanket to which we both 
 laid claim when we were camping out." 
 
 "And what are you to do next? I suppose science 
 will call you to some other hemisphere." 
 
 "She has not called me yet, Mrs. Mertoun, but I
 
 262 VANESSA. 
 
 promise to give you the earliest information when I 
 obtain an appointment." 
 
 Dennis spoke pointedly, but Mrs. Mertoun was 
 only gratified by his recognition of the interest she 
 had always taken in him. "Do not accept anything 
 rashly," she said; "as you have only yourself to con- 
 sider, it is better to wait for something really desir- 
 able." 
 
 "How do you know that I have only myself to 
 consider?" said Dennis, laughing; "I shall be mer- 
 cenary enough to accept any appointment which pro- 
 vides me with a settled income." 
 
 Amy came back to make tea, a little paler than 
 usual, but placid and smiling, and she wrote down 
 Helen's address for Dennis, and shook hands with 
 him when he went away a ceremony with which 
 they had dispensed when they met under four eyes 
 only. 
 
 "How pleasant and nice Dennis is," said Mrs. 
 Mertoun, when Miss Charlton was also gone; "his 
 frankness was always winning, and if we had been 
 alone together, I daresay that he would have told me 
 all about his engagement." 
 
 "His engagement?" repeated Amy, colouring. 
 
 "Yes! he is evidently anxious to settle, but as 
 Miss Charlton was there I could not ask more about 
 it. I daresay that he has fallen in love with some 
 one on the way home from India." 
 
 "Very likely," said Amy, surrendering in this 
 assent her last hope that O'Brien's passion for her
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 263 
 
 might revive. She was magnanimous enough to de- 
 sire that his choice might fall or had fallen on one 
 more able to come up to his high standard of right, 
 and to respond to his quick sympathies, than she had 
 ever been; and for herself, she hoped to sit down 
 content with the neutral tints of her quiet and secluded 
 life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Helen Supplanted. 
 
 HELEN had a courageous spirit, and an honest 
 conviction that it was expedient for her to leave some 
 mark on the world, even if she could find no higher 
 vocation than that of a governess, and she did not 
 enter on her new career with any intention of being 
 incomprise. Mrs. Wentworth was at first doubtful 
 what to think of the tall, handsome girl, who moved 
 so well and replied to all inquiries without hesitation 
 or diffidence; but when she found that Helen never 
 cared to enter the drawing-room, was ascetic in her 
 preference of the plainest school-room fare, and much 
 more willing to do her own errands than to ring for 
 a maid, she loudly proclaimed that she had found a 
 treasure the most amiable, accomplished, and un- 
 assuming young person whom she had ever had as a 
 governess and she did not speak without having a 
 wide experience of the species.
 
 264 VANESSA. 
 
 The two girls, Harriet and Fanny, were less sen- 
 sible of the advantages offered to them, and would 
 have quoted the saying " Surtout point de ztte" if girls 
 of their age had been capable of applying a quotation. 
 Helen's efforts to spur their sluggish minds into action 
 involved a new and unpleasant experience : other gover- 
 nesses had been content with the ten pages of Rol- 
 lin's ancient history, or of Macaulay, which they were 
 in the habit of reading on alternate days, the mark 
 being moved on beforehand and the book closed with 
 a clap as soon as it was reached; other governesses 
 had never taken such an unfair advantage of their 
 ignorance as to ask any question of which the answer 
 was not to be found in the lesson for the day; nor 
 had they been expected to exercise the mind instead 
 of the memory. At the end of a month Helen herself 
 had gauged the depths of ignorance which are con- 
 sistent with the acquirements of a modern young lady, 
 and had so far moderated her expectations that there 
 was an armed neutrality in the school-room. Miss 
 Mertoun was at little pains to conceal her contempt 
 for her pupils' perfunctory work, and they were equally 
 convinced that it was "professional" and unladylike 
 to care so much more about things than persons; to 
 expect them to take any interest in the analogy of 
 language, instead of translating the prescribed passage 
 with the help of a dictionary; and to prefer to spend 
 a leisure afternoon in dissecting a beetle or prying 
 into an ant-hill, when their last governess would have 
 asked for the pony-carriage to drive into Windsor with
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 265 
 
 the delightful object of buying a skein of Berlin wool, 
 or two yards of cherry-coloured ribbon. 
 
 Helen's study of natural history found more favour 
 in the eyes of the school-boys who were at home for 
 the holidays; they were very willing to supply her with 
 objects for the microscope, and to help her to mount 
 her specimens; and her toleration of litter and noise 
 entitled her to the high praise that she was "awfully 
 jolly." When Helen wrote to Eva that she found her 
 life quite as tolerable as she had expected, it may only 
 have meant that her expectations were not set very 
 high; and Eva was forced to be content with this 
 brief intimation of her satisfaction, for Helen's letters 
 were few and short. She was partly influenced by the 
 feeling that it would be a breach of honour towards 
 her employers to reveal the details of their family life, 
 and partly from a desire to wean herself from a cor- 
 respondence which was now her only medium of com- 
 munication with Dennis O'Brien. Dennis had indeed 
 once written to her, expressing his regret that she 
 should have exchanged a position of assured useful- 
 ness for one of which the advantages were at least 
 doubtful, and his letter remained unanswered. Helen 
 thought that his rather dogmatic tone might possibly 
 have been tolerated in a brother-in-law, but that, as 
 things were, his interference was impertinent and un- 
 necessary. Amy's simple statement that Dennis had 
 spent an afternoon with them, and that he was look- 
 ing very well, had left a good deal to the imagination; 
 and, since Helen's imagination was lively, she decided
 
 266 VANESSA. 
 
 that they had come to a happy understanding, and 
 that a formal declaration of the engagement was only 
 deferred until Amy had completed her two years of 
 widowhood. 
 
 However much Helen was mistaken in this in- 
 ference, her anticipation of the way in which the rela- 
 tions between Henry and his cousin would be affected 
 by her removal from Leasowes, was justified by the 
 event. Henry marked his sense of his sister's wrong- 
 headed behaviour in leaving Eva to spend her days 
 alone, by greater assiduity in his evening visits; and, 
 since Helen was no longer at hand to regulate her 
 course of reading, to criticise her sketches, and select 
 her songs, it was natural that such direction should 
 devolve upon Henry. Eva had not believed it pos- 
 sible that she should miss Helen so little, and felt 
 some pangs of self-reproach at her own want of pro- 
 per feeling, until the day came when this pleasant 
 order of things came to a sudden conclusion. Three 
 days passed without a visit from Henry, and on the 
 fourth, which was a Sunday and might, therefore, 
 have been wholly given to Leasowes it appeared that 
 he had gone to Allerton, to spend it with his mother 
 and Amy. Then Eva discovered that she missed He- 
 len terribly. She could not sleep, had no appetite for 
 breakfast; and Mr. Mertoun, who was doubly quick- 
 sighted where his daughter was concerned, saw trouble 
 in her face when she came down stairs on Monday 
 morning. 
 
 "I am afraid that you are feeling dull, Eva," said
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 267 
 
 he. "Shall we send the carriage over for Amy, and 
 ask her to spend a few days with you?" 
 
 "No, thank you, papa. I did ask her here last 
 week, but she evidently dislikes the idea of coming. 
 Perhaps she is afraid to venture within the range of 
 Lady Cecilia's critical eyes, who might discover some- 
 thing in her mourning or her manners inconsistent 
 with the respect due to the Rae family. And really I 
 am not sorry, for though I wish to be on cordial 
 terms with Amy, she is not Helen by any means." 
 
 "If you cannot get on without Helen, I shall write 
 to insist on her returning at once." 
 
 "What a wild idea, papa!" said Eva, smiling. "If 
 you knew Helen as I do, you would be confident that 
 such an order would make her draw off from us alto- 
 gether. Neither she nor Henry will ever submit to 
 dictation, and I have been wondering whether matters 
 are quite smooth between you and Henry." 
 
 "How should they be otherwise than smooth? I 
 have never had a fault to find with him since he came 
 into the office." 
 
 "He has not been here very lately," said Eva, 
 colouring. 
 
 "It seems to me that he is always here; he cer- 
 tainly dined with us three days ago." 
 
 "Five days ago," said Eva, her eyes dropping be- 
 fore her father's look of amusement at her accurate 
 memory. 
 
 "Well," said he, after a pause; "it is his own fault 
 if he does not come oftener, for I always make him
 
 268 VANESSA. 
 
 welcome. At all events, you may expect him this 
 evening." 
 
 On the strength of this assurance Eva ordered a 
 particularly elaborate little dinner; but as she first 
 cried until her eyes were red, and then had to wait 
 until they recovered their normal appearance, it was 
 some time before she was able to see Misbourne to 
 give the order. 
 
 When the hour for closing the office approached, 
 Mr. Mertoun proposed that Henry should walk up with 
 him toLeasowes; but Henry replied that he had work 
 to do which must oblige him to spend the evening at 
 his lodgings. 
 
 "Are you setting up business on your own ac- 
 count?" said Mr. Mertoun, looking sharply at his ne- 
 phew; "for otherwise, you can keep my work for of- 
 fice hours. Eva says that you have quarrelled with 
 us." 
 
 "Does she?" replied Henry, forcing a smile; but 
 Mr. Mertoun could see that he turned over the papers 
 on his desk with a shaking hand. After watching him 
 for a moment in silence he rang to dismiss his clerks, 
 saying that they might close the outer office. 
 
 "Come, Henry," he said, not unkindly; "we may 
 as well have it out at once. I suppose that you have 
 done nothing to be ashamed of." 
 
 "Yes, I have," said Henry, fiercely. "I cannot go 
 on meeting Eva day after day without making a fool 
 of myself; and I have made up my mind to decline 
 your offer of taking me into the business as a junior
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 269 
 
 partner, and to look out for a clerkship somewhere 
 abroad." 
 
 "But why do you object to make a fool of your- 
 self? It is not the first time that an apprentice or 
 clerk has married his master's daughter without faring 
 the worse for it." 
 
 Henry looked up in dumb amazement. "If I had 
 been very much afraid of such a catastrophe do you 
 think I should have made you so completely at home 
 at Leasowes?" continued Mr. Mertoun. "My only 
 doubt has been whether Eva, who likes you so well as 
 a cousin, can be brought to look at you in a nearer 
 relationship." 
 
 If the doubt really existed, it was solved before 
 many hours were over. Henry had still to protest 
 that his poverty, and the necessity of supporting his 
 mother and sister, must preclude any thoughts of mar- 
 riage; but such objections were soon set aside, and it 
 only remained that he should hear his fate from Eva's 
 own lips. 
 
 Eva herself knew what was impending, when she 
 saw her father coming up the approach leaning on 
 Henry's arm for such a combination had not been 
 seen before and although she was dressed for dinner, 
 she resisted with difficulty the inclination to evade the 
 declaration by escaping to her own room. They met, 
 however, with less appearance of outward cordiality 
 than usual; and the inexorable laws of routine con- 
 strained them to go in to dinner together, and to 
 prattle inanities through all the courses with suitable
 
 2 7 VANESSA. 
 
 calmness of demeanour. Eva wished now that one 
 or two of the courses had been spared, for, while 
 Mr. Mertoun praised the vol-au-vent and criticised the 
 flavour of the salmon, Henry's appetite was not better 
 than her own. She left the room almost as soon as 
 dessert was on the table, and sat down in a dark cor- 
 ner of the sofa, thinking that Henry would at least 
 give her flushed cheeks time to cool; and yet she was 
 not so very much surprised when he entered the draw- 
 ing-room two minutes afterwards, and entered it alone. 
 Henry was almost equally agitated, and it was in an 
 unsteady voice that the first avowal was made. 
 
 "My uncle has been very good to me, Eva; he 
 has permitted me to ask a question which I have 
 been on the point of asking a hundred times without 
 permission." 
 
 The question was not asked after all, yet the an- 
 swer was given when Eva allowed her cousin to clasp 
 her little, trembling hand, and cover it with kisses. 
 "Do you really care for such a poor silly thing as I 
 am?" asked Eva; and when that doubt was satisfied, 
 she said playfully, yet not without a secret anxiety, "I 
 have an uneasy suspicion that papa has arranged it 
 all. When I look back through the vista of years to 
 babyhood, I do not remember an unreasonable wish 
 which he has not tried to gratify all but one," she 
 added, with a sort of sigh of relief, for on the only 
 occasion when Mr. Mertoun had thwarted her inclina- 
 tion, he forbade her to think more of Alan Rae. 
 
 "In one sense Uncle Richard has arranged it all,"
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 271 
 
 replied Henry, "for I still wonder at my own pre- 
 sumption in thinking myself worthy of you, but it is 
 two years since I determined never to marry unless I 
 were in a position to ask you to be my wife. You 
 remember that Sunday afternoon when I left Dennis 
 at the gate, and came in to ask Helen to walk 
 with us?" 
 
 Eva remembered it well, and also with what a 
 sore heart she had watched Lord Alan's evident ad- 
 miration for Amy's beauty. 
 
 "You were dressed in white, with a knot of blue 
 ribbon at your throat," continued Henry; "and my 
 backslidings from the path I had marked out for my- 
 self date from that afternoon. I was to make my own 
 way in the world, and persistently refuse Uncle 
 Richard's offer to give me a start; but the hope of 
 seeing you again first drew me to Swanage, and then 
 transferred me from the bank at Allerton to Bixley." 
 
 Eva was satisfied that she was not only a living 
 chattel to be made over to Henry with other pri- 
 vileges of partnership; but she did not object to hear 
 the assurance repeated once or twice that love for her 
 had been the constraining motive of all his actions, 
 and that he had cherished the hope of calling her his 
 own long before such a possibility had presented it- 
 self to her mind. 
 
 "What will Helen say to our engagement?" Henry 
 asked presently. 
 
 "Oh, Helen will be delighted," said Eva, so con- 
 fidently that he was inclined to accuse her of having
 
 272 VANESSA. 
 
 obtained his sister's sanction before giving him any 
 encouragement. 
 
 Helen was delighted, and her delight took the 
 form of a great hunger of home-sickness. It was only 
 a slight relief to her feelings to express her enthusiastic 
 approval in a letter to the pair of lovers, for she was 
 convinced that they were too happy in each other to 
 value her sympathy; and she pictured to herself their 
 wanderings through the gardens and shrubbery of 
 Leasowes in these last bright days of September, with- 
 out a thought to bestow on the absent. When the 
 news first reached her she felt the imperative need of 
 imparting it to some one, and her choice fell upon 
 Fanny, as the most intelligent of her two pupils; but 
 she would have obtained nearly as much satisfaction 
 if she had followed the example of King Midas, and 
 whispered her secret to the reeds. Fanny opened her 
 round eyes, and said, "It seems so odd for cousins to 
 marry; one would not feel really married, without 
 changing one's name." 
 
 Helen worked off her irritation by criticising the 
 composition of the remark, declaring that it was con- 
 trary to the genius of the English language to make 
 such a use of the impersonal pronoun. She knew how 
 unreasonable it was to resent any want of interest in 
 the communication, and reminded herself that the 
 intermarriage of an army of Wentworth cousins would 
 have made as transient an impression upon herself; 
 but the fact was brought home to her that she was 
 only a hireling among strangers; and she never found
 
 HELEN SUPPLANTED. 273 
 
 it so hard to keep her temper unruffled by the petty 
 irritation of imperfectly learned lessons, and little 
 ungainly tricks of gesture and accent, as she did that 
 morning. 
 
 The time had arrived when Helen was to decide 
 whether she should enter on a permanent engage- 
 ment; and she knew that Mrs. Wentworth was willing 
 and even eager to secure her services, but she was 
 strongly tempted to throw up the situation and go 
 home, if only she could determine where her home 
 was to be. Not at Leasowes, while Dennis O'Brien 
 still occupied his lodgings in Bixley; and to return to 
 the cottage seemed still less expedient, so long as it 
 remained uncertain how matters stood between Dennis 
 and her sister. She resolved to stay where she was 
 until their engagement was declared, or until Dennis 
 had obtained employment elsewhere; and Mrs. Went- 
 worth accepted her decision with gratitude, and politely 
 expressed her sense of the benefits her daughters must 
 derive from Miss Mertoun's assiduous culture. Helen 
 had just worldly wisdom enough to repress the reply 
 which rose to her lips, to the effect that the obligation 
 was all on her side since she received a liberal salary 
 for labour which was more irksome than productive, 
 and the process of informing the minds of her pupils 
 could only be likened to that of pouring water into a 
 sieve. She remembered the saying which she had 
 once quoted to Eva, that "life was a series of failed 
 experiments," and she now felt that the disappoint- 
 ment of her lofty ideas as to the mission of a gover- 
 
 Vanessa. 1 8
 
 274 VANESSA. 
 
 ness might be docketed and pigeon-holed as one of 
 the series. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Constancy. 
 
 EVA'S engagement was a matter of greater satis- 
 faction than surprise to the inmates of the Cottage at 
 Charlton. Mrs. Mertoun reverted to what her hus- 
 band might have thought or said; but his possible 
 objections did not weigh heavily on her mind, and in 
 fact her unwillingness to revisit Leasowes, which was 
 now an unwillingness founded merely on sentiment, 
 was the last lingering trace of the estrangement which 
 had embittered the relations of the two branches of 
 the Mertoun family. Such an objection rather con- 
 duced to the maintenance of harmony, since the less 
 Mr. Mertoun saw of his sister-in-law the better he was 
 likely to agree with her: their natures were uncon- 
 genial, and he was accustomed to declare that she 
 had no more mind than a piece of blotting-paper 
 which had imbibed, and retained, her husband's mis- 
 taken impressions. The letters which were exchanged 
 between them were friendly but stiff; and it was Henry 
 who brought Eva to spend a day at the cottage, and 
 who stood by in shy and proud happiness to watch 
 the effect of Eva's gentle efforts to win her way to his 
 mother's heart. 
 
 Mr. Mertoun had decreed that there was nothing 
 to wait for, and it was already settled that the mar-
 
 CONSTANCY. 275 
 
 riage should take place in the course of the autumn. 
 The young couple were to spend the winter abroad, 
 and then set up house with him at Leasowes; and 
 they had begun to plan their route, and to talk of 
 what "we" were to do, almost as if they were old 
 married people, for their previous intimacy and rela- 
 tionship seemed to make the transition into a new 
 phase of life comparatively slight. Amy sought to 
 shake off the sadness which crept over her as she 
 listened to them; she felt lonely and shut out from 
 their happiness, although Eva hung about her and 
 kissed her with the conviction that her own satis- 
 faction with her lot must blot out all traces of the 
 past. She wished to see Miss Charlton, of whom 
 Helen had talked so much, and asked Amy to walk 
 with her to the farm, and on the way she still spoke 
 of Henry, and of her father's affection for him. "I 
 hope, Amy," she added, "that you will go and stay at 
 Leasowes for a few days at a time while we are 
 abroad. He had Henry to keep him company when 
 Helen and I were away before." 
 
 "I hope that before winter sets in we shall have 
 persuaded Helen to come home, who will suit him 
 much better," said Amy. 
 
 "Helen must come home to be my bridesmaid, 
 and then the united forces of the family may restrain 
 her from going back to those horrible Wentworths; 
 but it is a mistake to think that she gets on with papa 
 better than you do, Amy; he was always very fond of 
 you. You cannot shut yourself up for ever, and ought 
 
 18*
 
 276 VANESSA. 
 
 now to try to cut those few terrible months out of 
 your life." 
 
 "If I could," said Amy, in a low voice. 
 
 "You cannot while you sit still and brood over 
 them; I long to rouse you to new interests and 
 hopes." 
 
 They had reached the farm, and the discussion 
 which had been interrupted was not again renewed; 
 but Eva's words had made an impression, although 
 not in the precise direction in which they were aimed. 
 It was now some months since Amy had been made 
 aware of the nature of George Charlton's feelings to- 
 wards her, and had observed that he worshipped her 
 with a dumb and canine fidelity, watching for every 
 opportunity of doing her a service, and amply rewarded 
 by a smile or a gracious word. At first she had been 
 amused, and then slightly annoyed, and now there 
 was a fresh revulsion of feeling. She was true to the 
 instinct of the butterfly nature which O'Brien had 
 once ascribed to her in one particular, for she could 
 only expand in the sunshine of approval, and she 
 began to think that if she were able to requite his 
 loyal and true-hearted affection as it deserved, she 
 might still regain her peace of mind. Mr. Charlton 
 was not intellectual, he was fully twenty years her 
 senior, and his yeoman extraction was glozed over by 
 no outward refinements of dress and breeding. But 
 he loved her, and believed her to be faultless, and he 
 was good, and kind, and true, while she was weak, 
 and dissatisfied with her aimless life.
 
 CONSTANCV. 277 
 
 When such a thought enters the heart it rapidly 
 attains maturity, and only three days after Eva's visit 
 to the cottage George Charlton was struck by a slight 
 alteration in Lady Alan's manner. They were walking 
 home from church together, and her little flutter of 
 consciousness when he addressed her awakened cor- 
 responding emotions in his own breast. With a happy 
 inspiration of audacity he proposed that they should 
 turn into the orchard, instead of keeping to the church 
 path which crossed the meadows surrounding the 
 Manor farm. The gnarled and twisted trees, laden 
 with their wealth of autumn fruit and standing knee- 
 deep in herbage, were the pride of George's heart, 
 but he only thought at that moment of the way in 
 which his material possessions might serve to further 
 his suit to the woman whom he loved. 
 
 "My sister and I are the last of our race," he said 
 abruptly: "it seems hard that the old name should die 
 out, and the place go to strangers." 
 
 "Yes," said Amy, and George drew further en- 
 couragement from the bashful assent 
 
 "Can you pardon my presumption, Lady Alan, if 
 I say that there is one woman at whose feet I would 
 lay all that I possess, and feel myself repaid by a 
 smile?" 
 
 "Oh George!" said Amy, and if the smile came, 
 it was through a shower of tears; "the woman who is 
 rich in your love will look for nothing more." 
 
 The tone in which Amy pronounced his name, the 
 confiding gesture with which she slipped her hand
 
 278 .VANESSA. 
 
 within his arm, left little room for doubt, and yet 
 George could scarcely trust the evidence of his senses. 
 "You must not place such happiness within my grasp 
 only to snatch it again," he said, "my age, my sta- 
 tion, almost everything is against me. Have you con- 
 sidered?" 
 
 "Yes," said Amy, "I have considered whether I 
 am fit to be the wife of so good a man; I made a 
 grievous mistake in my marriage and now that all the 
 world looks coldly on me, I turn to you for strength 
 and comfort." 
 
 The coldness of all the world was summed up in 
 O'Brien's altered demeanour; but if pique had driven 
 Amy, like many another woman, to fill up the void in 
 her heart by a fresh attachment, the sentiment itself 
 was genuine and George Charlton himself was not 
 better satisfied with the lot she had chosen. She did 
 not wish that their engagement should be declared 
 until she had been two years a widow, but, as far as 
 their immediate neighbourhood was concerned, the 
 secret was kept in an ostrich-like fashion. Miss Charl- 
 ton was doubly affectionate to Amy, and tried, although 
 without success, to obtain an opinion from her as 
 a guide to the modern improvements which were 
 straightway set on foot to embellish the old Manor 
 house; and Mrs. Mertoun never heard the click of the 
 garden-gate without discovering that her presence was 
 required elsewhere than in the drawing-room, in order 
 that George might enjoy the pleasant surprise of find- 
 ing Amy alone. The very labourers on the estate
 
 CONSTANCY. 279 
 
 knew that their master was courting; and hoped that 
 a young mistress might make him, and them, as com- 
 fortable as Miss Charlton had done. At Leasowes, 
 however, where the other pair of lovers were absorbed 
 in each other, there was no surmise of the truth; and 
 Helen was the last person who was likely to be in- 
 formed of it, since Amy was sensitive to her sister's 
 criticism, and believed that Helen might note, with a 
 surprise bordering on contempt, the very brief interval 
 which had elapsed between her acceptation of the fact 
 of O'Brien's indifference, and her encouragement of 
 George Charlton's addresses. 
 
 Helen herself was at this time embroiled in an 
 affair which did not leave her mind disengaged for 
 the consideration of her family concerns. There was 
 a certain Uncle Edmund whose name was continually 
 turning up in the Wentworth school-room and who 
 was an object of interest to his nephews and nieces 
 for several reasons. In the first place he was ever so 
 many years younger than their mother, and com- 
 parative youth was a decided point in his favour, and 
 then he was very good looking, rich, and open-handed. 
 "He is always good for a tip," as the school-boys 
 repeated, without the slightest compunction, even after 
 Helen had reviled their mercenary spirit. The young 
 ladies cast a veil over their expectations, but they 
 took pleasure in exhibiting the trinkets which their 
 uncle had presented to them, and took care to wear 
 the prettiest among them on the day of his arrival at 
 Earlston. Fanny came into the school-room when
 
 28O VANESSA. 
 
 Helen was sitting alone that evening, to ask for her 
 collection of dried flowers, as she wished to show it 
 to her uncle Edmund, who took an interest in botany. 
 The same request had been made on a former occa- 
 sion, and Helen acceded to it without hesitation. 
 Fanny came in to restore the portfolio on her way to 
 bed, and lingered for a moment to say with an air of 
 curiosity: "Uncle Edmund was very much interested 
 in the collection, and especially in the Swiss flowers, 
 as he has travelled so much in Switzerland himself. 
 He says that he has made a memorandum on the 
 sheet which has a bit of Edelweiss fastened on it, 
 which you will understand." Helen showed no dis- 
 inclination to gratify Fanny's curiosity, for she turned 
 to the page in question while she was still speaking. 
 Her colour rose as she read the words, "Picked by 
 E. H., August 17," and she took up a pen-knife and 
 deliberately erased the inscription before Fanny's eyes 
 had been quick enough to read it. 
 
 "What did you say was your uncle's name?" said 
 Helen. 
 
 "Horton: Edmund Horton. You know that he is 
 only mamma's half-brother." 
 
 "Well: you can tell Mr. Horton how I have served 
 his memorandum if he asks about it to-morrow. I do 
 not allow any one to make notes on my collection 
 except myself. Good night, Fanny; Mrs. Wentworth 
 would not like you to stay any longer, for it is already 
 late." 
 
 Fanny felt mortified that she should be dismissed
 
 CONSTANCY. 28 1 
 
 in such a summary manner; but, after all, it was 
 nearly as delightful to know that a mystery existed, 
 as to be permitted to unravel it, and she looked for- 
 ward to obtaining the clue from her uncle on the 
 following day. 
 
 It cost Helen an effort of memory to associate the 
 name of Edmund Horton with one of the two men 
 whose impetuous suit, at the end of a week's ac- 
 quaintance had so much annoyed her that she had 
 put the whole episode aside as a thing to be forgotten, 
 and buried out of sight. It was necessary to recall 
 all the incidents of that week among the mountains 
 before she could determine whether Mr. Horton were 
 the tutor or the pupil; but she finally identified him 
 as the younger of the two men, the most ardent in his 
 suit, and also the least disheartened by failure for 
 when they parted, he declared that he could not ac- 
 cept his rejection as final, and should take the first 
 opportunity of trying again. And such an opportunity 
 he appeared to have found or made, after a fashion 
 which proved that the lapse of two years had not 
 matured his judgment. 
 
 Helen was at a loss how to act, and resisted her 
 first impulse to lay the matter before Mrs. Wentworth 
 and to assign it as a cause for her immediate return 
 home. Such a step seemed to attach too much weight 
 to an act of boyish folly, and might expose her to the 
 imputation of running away to avoid a declaration of 
 love which would never have been repeated. She 
 resolved to rely on the weapons of her own discretion
 
 282 VANESSA. 
 
 to avert any unseasonable display of constancy, and 
 not to recognise their previous acquaintance if it were 
 possible to avoid it. 
 
 Although Edmund Horton was not addicted to 
 early hours, he came down in excellent time for family 
 prayers that morning ; but Helen and her two pupils 
 only came in with the servants, and disappeared by 
 the same door. 
 
 "Do not the girls breakfast with you?" inquired 
 Edmund. 
 
 "Not since Miss Mertoun came," said Mrs. Went- 
 worth: "she likes to keep early hours, and they break- 
 fasted in the school-room an hour ago. It is a better 
 arrangement in every point of view, as the girls are at 
 that dangerous age when they take everything in, and 
 pick up all sorts 'of gossip." 
 
 "It is better for them, no doubt," said Mr. Horton, 
 "since I have always understood that the process of 
 education was salutary in direct proportion to its un- 
 pleasantness; but their governess must lead a secluded 
 life, if she does not come down either in the morning 
 or evening." 
 
 "It was Miss Mertoun's own suggestion," said Mrs. 
 Wentworth, "she has so many resources in herself that 
 I really believe she prefers to be alone." 
 
 Edmund Horton had come to Earlston for shoot- 
 ing, and went out accordingly after breakfast, and he 
 made a great point of obtaining a holiday for his 
 nieces that they might meet him with his luncheon at 
 a certain cover; he even proposed that he should go
 
 FAILURE. 283 
 
 to the school-room to ask the favour in person, but 
 that, as Mrs. Wentworth assured him, was quite un- 
 necessary, since Mrs. Mertoun was not at all un- 
 willing to give the children an occasional indulgence, 
 and she could easily arrange it. The two girls kept 
 the appointment, but they were only accompanied by 
 their brothers; and, as two days passed over without 
 any embarrassing recognition, Helen felt that she 
 might congratulate herself on having kept her own 
 counsel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Failure. 
 
 HELEN'S tactics might possibly have been success- 
 ful if Sunday had not intervened to relax the routine 
 of school-room life. The young Wentworths were in 
 the habit of going to the chapel in Windsor Park on 
 fine Sunday afternoons; and although Mr. Horton was 
 usually content to go to morning service, he was 
 evidently anxious to attach himself to the school-room 
 party on this occasion. 
 
 "Would you not rather drive with me in the pony- 
 carriage, Edmund?" said Mrs. Wentworth. 
 
 "Thank you, Minny, I should prefer the walk 
 through the park if one of the girls will go with you." 
 Fanny was by no means unwilling to make the ex- 
 change, and when they were in the carriage, she 
 remarked to her mother, with a shade of malice:
 
 284 VANESSA. 
 
 "1 hope that Uncle Edmund is satisfied now, for 
 I know that he had set his heart on walking with Miss 
 Mertoun." 
 
 "That is a very unworthy remark, Fanny," said 
 Mrs. Wentworth, with due maternal severity; "I do 
 not think he even knows Miss Mertoun by sight, and 
 you have not the smallest right to misinterpret the 
 interest he takes in you all into an inclination to flirt 
 with your governess." 
 
 Fanny looked red and uncomfortable, but was 
 only more eager to justify her assertion : " Well, mam- 
 ma, he may not have spoken to Miss Mertoun since 
 he came to Earlston, but I am sure that he knows 
 something about her, for he made such a point of 
 seeing her dried flowers as soon as he heard her 
 name; and he wrote a message for her on one of the 
 sheets in the portfolio, which Miss Mertoun rubbed 
 out in a great hurry, for fear I should read it." 
 
 "The thing is perfectly absurd," said Mrs. Went- 
 worth, but her peace of mind was grievously dis- 
 turbed, and she was distracted between her anxiety to 
 ascertain the truth and a dislike to encouraging her 
 daughter in a taste for frivolous and underhand gossip. 
 
 The walking party had started half an hour before, 
 consisting only of Harriet and her governess and Mr. 
 Horton. It was the last Sunday of the holidays, a 
 circumstance which entitled the school-boys to shirk 
 afternoon service, and they were not to be found when 
 the time came for setting out. Helen came down 
 stairs, looking paler than usual, and stern enough to
 
 FAILURE. 285 
 
 discourage the most enterprising of suitors. She baf- 
 fled Edmund Horton's first attempt to walk by her 
 side by placing his niece between them, who was a 
 very substantial barrier against any interchange of 
 confidential remarks. But fortune favoured the gentle- 
 man, for they had scarcely entered the park when 
 Harriet descried one of her fifteen female friends 
 walking a few paces in advance of them, and eagerly 
 asked Miss Mertoun's leave to run on and join her 
 party. 
 
 "I am sure that Miss Mertoun can have no ob- 
 jection," said Mr. Horton, and in another moment he 
 had taken his niece's place and his eyes met Helen's. 
 "Now, Miss Mertoun, perhaps you will not refuse to 
 recognise me." 
 
 "If we are to renew our former acquaintance, I 
 should prefer to do so in Mrs. Wentworth's presence," 
 said Helen gravely. 
 
 "I have been willing and even eager to do so, 
 Miss Mertoun; but, after the way in which you have 
 shunned me, I could only suppose that you had some 
 reason for wishing that we should meet as strangers." 
 
 "The same reason will apply with greater force to 
 our meeting when there is no one present to prevent 
 the renewal of an acquaintance which would be dis- 
 tasteful to me in any case, and which is dishonourable 
 to yourself when you try to make your niece the 
 medium of a clandestine correspondence." 
 
 "The most innocent actions may be wrested out 
 of their true meaning by such wilful prejudice," said
 
 286 VANESSA. 
 
 young Horton, deeply hurt by the imputation: "in the 
 fever of my impatience and delight at finding myself 
 under the same roof with you, I could think of no 
 other means of making my presence known. I have 
 only hesitated to pay my addresses openly from the 
 fear of compromising your position here, if they 
 should still prove unacceptable to you." 
 
 "My position is compromised already," said Helen, 
 "as soon as I return home, I shall inform Mrs. Went- 
 worth of what has passed between us, and request her 
 to release me from my present engagement." 
 
 "At least," said Horton, "you will hear what I 
 have to say, and not torture me by the knowledge 
 that I have been the means of injuring you, when my 
 only desire has been to make you happy. I admit 
 that you may have done well to discourage the boyish 
 admiration by which I was carried away when I first 
 saw you, but it is a sentiment which has deepened 
 and gained strength with time; and since I am my 
 own master, with ample means at my disposal, you 
 will surely pause before rejecting me." 
 
 Edmund Horton was very much in earnest, but 
 there was still something boyish in his tone, which 
 diminished the difficulty of Helen's task. "Since my 
 feelings are also unchanged," she said, "I cannot give 
 my answer too soon, nor too plainly: I have no 
 doubt that you will get over your disappointment 
 the sooner, when you know that my decision is irre- 
 vocable."
 
 FAILURE. 287 
 
 "You mean that your heart is no^ longer in your 
 own keeping?" said Edmund Horton; and there was an 
 angry flush on Helen's face, which expressed her scorn 
 even more plainly than her words. 
 
 "You were premature in boasting of the judgment 
 which ought to come with years, Mr. Horton, for only 
 a very young man would presume to offend taste and 
 feeling by such an insinuation." 
 
 "Then let us suppose the words unsaid. Miss 
 Mertoun, it is hard for a man who is embittered by 
 disappointment to be measured in his speech, and I 
 now only desire to hear that we part friends." 
 
 "Let us say so, if that will afford you any satis- 
 faction; but it can be only a hollow friendship at the 
 best, and when you get over this fancy you will dis- 
 like me heartily, while I shall look back to an un- 
 pleasant afternoon's work with pain and irritation." 
 
 They went into the chapel, not in the most devo- 
 tional frame of mind, and had been too much ab- 
 sorbed in discussion even to notice the pony-carriage 
 which overtook and passed them five minutes before. 
 Fanny glanced at her mother, mildly triumphant, but 
 her vivacity was so far repressed by the late reproof 
 that no remark was made on either side. 
 
 When they came out of church, Mrs. Wentworth 
 requested Miss Mertoun, in a tone which could only 
 be interpreted as a command, to drive home with 
 her. She reflected that she could not have a better 
 opportunity for uninterrupted discourse, and went at 
 once to the point: "Is it a fact, Miss Mertoun, that
 
 288 VANESSA. 
 
 you have had any previous acquaintance with Mr. 
 Horton?" 
 
 "I saw something of him when I was travelling in 
 Switzerland two summers ago," replied Helen. 
 
 "And may I ask further why you did not mention 
 this circumstance before?" 
 
 "It might be more to the purpose to ask why 
 Mr. Horton has mentioned it now," said Helen, her 
 spirit roused by the suspicion implied in Mrs. Went- 
 worth's inquiries: "I purposely kept out of the way, 
 because I did not wish to renew the acquaintance." 
 
 "My brother has said nothing to me on the sub- 
 ject, but you will allow that I have some cause for 
 anxiety when I find that Fanny has been carrying 
 notes or messages between you; and there is an ap- 
 parent want of candour in the whole transaction which 
 makes me very uneasy." 
 
 "I understand that I have forfeited your con- 
 fidence," replied Helen, disdaining to justify herself, 
 "and therefore our engagement cannot terminate too 
 abruptly. I trust that you will not object to my re- 
 turning home to-morrow." 
 
 "You are too hasty, Miss Mertoun," said Mrs. 
 Wentworth, possessed by the fear that such a step 
 was only preliminary to the declaration of an engage- 
 ment, or even of a secret marriage with Edmund 
 Horton; "I am most willing to make every allowance 
 for the difficulties of your position, and to receive any 
 explanation which you have to offer."
 
 FAILURE. 289 
 
 "I have none to offer," said Helen, stiffly: "Mr. 
 Horton may, as I said before, have something to 
 explain, but I only desire to return to my mother's 
 house." 
 
 "If you insist on leaving me, I shall pay you a 
 quarter's salary in advance," said Mrs. Wentworth, 
 but Helen rejected this offer with superb indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 "Certainly not, Mrs. Wentworth: I will take my 
 wages" Helen disdained to make use of any more 
 elaborate term "up to the day I leave your service, 
 and not a farthing beyond it. I will never have it 
 said that I was bought off with a bribe, to save you 
 from the disgrace of having a governess for a sister- 
 in-law." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Wentworth felt as much dismayed by 
 Helen's indomitable spirit as if a kitten had suddenly 
 developed the claws and ferocity of a tiger: "The 
 offer was kindly meant," said she, "and if it is really 
 necessary that your engagement to me should ter- 
 minate, I can speak most highly of your qualifications 
 for any other situation." 
 
 "Including my apparent want of candour," retorted 
 Helen. Mrs. Wentworth wisely held her peace, and 
 in a few moment's Helen's irritation had subsided, 
 and she apologised for it with characteristic frank- 
 ness. "I believe I spoke insolently," she said, "and 
 you have a right to feel annoyed , although I do not 
 consider myself to blame in the matter. Let us part 
 on the understanding that I have not temper nor judg- 
 
 Fartessa. 19
 
 ment to make a model governess, and that I must 
 cast about for some other vocation." 
 
 "Indeed, Miss Mertoun, I have had the highest 
 opinion of you," said Mrs. Wentworth, with tears in 
 her voice, but Helen had never felt less disposed to 
 cry. 
 
 "I do not think that I have done anything to for- 
 feit that opinion, Mrs. Wentworth, and I shall always 
 remember your kindness; but I suspect that the girls 
 will be happier, and may even learn more, with some 
 hum-drum, conventional teacher, who has never gone 
 off the beaten track." 
 
 "I have been entirely satisfied with your teaching," 
 said Mrs. Wentworth, "and I only regret that you 
 should withhold the explanation which might clear 
 away all difficulties." 
 
 But Helen said no more, and the rest of their 
 drive was taken in silence. Soon after her return 
 home Mrs. Wentworth had to endure a still worse 
 quarter of an hour, although she had not the same 
 reserve to contend with. Edmund Horton did not 
 hesitate to inform her that although Miss Mertoun 
 had refused his offer of marriage for the second time, 
 he should never rest until he had induced her to be-, 
 come his wife; and when he learned that she had 
 resolved to leave Earlston on the following day, he 
 raved against the harsh suspicions which had driven 
 her to take such a ^tep, and insisted that his sister, 
 should try to make her reconsider her decision. Mrs. 
 Wentworth declared that it was impossible for her to
 
 FAILURE. 2QI 
 
 countenance Edmund's infatuated folly, but when he 
 said that he would cease to persecute Miss Mer- 
 toun with his attentions, and would leave Earlston 
 that very evening, if she could be induced to stay, 
 Mrs. Wentworth started on her mission to the school- 
 room. 
 
 Helen was in her own room, engaged in packing 
 her goods, and she continued to stow away her books 
 and clothes in the open trunk, while Mrs. Wentworth 
 took a chair by the bedside, feeling that such an 
 aspect of things was not encouraging. She began by 
 asserting that her brother's full explanation had com- 
 pletely satisfied her of Miss Mertoun's honourable and 
 disinterested conduct; but Helen had stopped her ears 
 and hardened her heart against such allurements, and 
 she rammed down another article of clothing between 
 two books, with rather unnecessary vigour. 
 
 "I wish that you would let me send a maid to 
 pack for you, or, better still, to unpack your box 
 again," said Mrs. Wentworth. "I must do my brother 
 the justice to say that he suffers more in the know- 
 ledge that he has deprived you of your position here, 
 than from a sense of his own disappointment." 
 
 "Do you not think that he deserves to suffer a 
 little?" said Helen. 
 
 "It is an ill-judged affair indeed; poor Edmund 
 was always so impetuous. But he is young, and as 
 soon as he can be brought to see that, you do not 
 reciprocate his attachment, I trust that he will get 
 over it." 
 
 19'
 
 2 92 VANESSA. 
 
 "I do not doubt that he will get over it," said 
 Helen. 
 
 "And in that case," continued Mrs. Wentworth, as 
 her conviction gathered strength that Helen was in 
 earnest in her refusal, and was not playing a double 
 game; "in that case, Miss Mertoun, your leaving us in 
 this way seems to attach more importance to the 
 affair than it deserves." 
 
 "I do not want to attach any importance to it," 
 said Helen, "but since I have got into a scrape, the 
 easiest way of getting out of it is to go home. If I 
 were to stay, Fanny's lively imagination would con- 
 strue every letter I receive into an offer of mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I be- 
 lieve that your high tone will be of the greatest service 
 in weaning Fanny of her taste for idle gossip." 
 
 "I shall never influence any one in that sort of 
 way," said Helen. "I have not toleration nor sym- 
 pathy enough for a governess, and if I do happen to 
 do the right thing, it is sure to be done in an aggres- 
 sive way. Besides, I have just discovered that I am 
 really home-sick, and I could not settle down again 
 to my life here in a satisfactory manner." 
 
 "At any rate, Miss Mertoun, I should like to be 
 able to tell my brother that you will not take the 
 first train to-morrow. He is going up to London 
 this evening, so that you will not be annoyed by see- 
 ing him again; and the delay in your departure will
 
 FAILURE. 293 
 
 encourage him to hope that you have given up the 
 intention of leaving me." 
 
 "I will take the mid-day train, if you like; al- 
 though, if it is for the sake of sending Mr. Horton 
 away under a false impression, it may imply an 'ap- 
 parent want of candour/" said Helen, unable to 
 resist the temptation to fire a parting shot, even al- 
 though she had a hearty liking for Mrs. Wentworth, 
 and was determined that they should part on good 
 terms. 
 
 Before her packing was concluded, Helen found it 
 necessary to return to the school-room, since Fanny 
 was receiving hard measure from her brothers, Tom 
 and Alfred. The discovery that she had pulled the 
 wires which set the machinery in motion for exiling the 
 only governess whom they had ever liked aroused their 
 indignation, and they upbraided her for being "the 
 meanest sneak who ever ate bread and butter." 
 
 Such contumely reduced Fanny to the lowest 
 depths of misery and remorse, and it was in vain for 
 Helen to assure her that she was as glad to go as her 
 pupils could be to part with her. "But I am not at 
 all glad," whimpered Fanny: "I am very sorry that I 
 ever said a word to mamma." 
 
 "Do not believe her crocodile tears, Miss Mer- 
 toun," said Alfred. "Fanny has spited you ever since 
 you came, and if she ever has a governess she likes, I 
 shall take precious good care to find out that she is 
 flirting with somebody, and get her bundled out of 
 her house."
 
 2Q4 VANESSA. 
 
 "Then you will be the meanest sneak who ever ate 
 bread and butter," said Helen promptly, and as the 
 laugh was turned against Alfred, Fanny escaped further 
 obloquy.
 
 A REVELATION. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 A Revelation. 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon before Helen reached 
 the cottage at Charlton. She had felt tempted to go 
 first to Leasowes, but had sternly told herself not to 
 be misled into the belief that she was only desirous 
 to see Eva and Henry in the first flush of their hap- 
 piness, when her real object was to hear or see some- 
 thing of Dennis O'Brien. He had altogether dropped 
 out of sight in Eva's letters, but she resolved to as- 
 certain that he had left Bixley before she could go to 
 Leasowes with a clear conscience. The maid who 
 opened the door to Helen informed her that Mrs. 
 Mertoun was not in the drawing-room, and since 
 she felt that no preparation for her sudden arrival 
 was necessary in Amy's case, she walked in unan- 
 nounced. 
 
 It was growing dusk, but the room was not shut 
 up; and as, in the uncertain firelight, Helen could see 
 that Amy was not alone, her first thought was that it 
 must be Dennis who fell back into the shade, while 
 her sister came forward to wonder and exclaim. But 
 she smiled at her own mistake when a second glance 
 revealed the much more substantial form of George 
 Charlton. 
 
 "You like to take us by surprise," said Amy. "If
 
 2Q6 VANESSA. 
 
 I had known of your coming, I would have driven in 
 to meet you." 
 
 "I did not know of it myself twenty-four hours 
 ago," said Helen. She shook hands with Mr. Charl- 
 ton, while she asked after his sister, and the warmth 
 with which he returned the pressure conveyed to her 
 the first suspicion of the truth. She looked again at 
 Amy, and noticed that her usually placid manner was 
 fluttered and disturbed, but still the notion which 
 had entered her brain seemed too wildly improbable 
 to be accepted. Mr. Charlton bade the sisters good 
 evening, and went away, and Helen asked for her 
 mother. 
 
 "I think that mamma must be in the dining-room," 
 said Amy. 
 
 "Has she taken to sit there?" 
 
 "Sometimes, in the afternoon," said Amy. 
 
 Helen felt that suspense was intolerable, and she 
 stirred the fire to a blaze, so that its fitful light might 
 fall on her sister's face, before she asked significantly, 
 "Has anything happened since I went away, Amy?" 
 
 "A few things, Helen. I see that you guess how 
 it is with us. George and I are engaged." 
 
 "You are engaged to Mr. Charlton!" repeated 
 Helen. She dared not express the joyous feeling of 
 relief with which she received the announcement, and 
 Amy mistook her measured tone for disapproval. 
 
 "I knew that it would surprise you very much, 
 Helen, and I did not mean to tell you just yet But 
 you must ^not think that I am ashamed of the en-
 
 A REVELATION. 297 
 
 gagement. George is only too good for me, and I 
 have not known before the happiness of being truly 
 loved." 
 
 If she had not known it, Helen thought that the 
 ignorance which had slighted O'Brien's passion must 
 have been wilful, but she would not pause to think 
 of that now, and only sought to declare her entire 
 satisfaction with this new order of things. "I am at 
 least as much delighted as surprised, Amy, for I 
 always liked George Charlton, and I think it a de- 
 lightful and perfectly satisfactory arrangement. But 
 how did it all come about? I am sure that you must 
 have given the final shove, or George would have 
 gone on nursing his silent adoration to the end of the 
 chapter." As the fire had died down again, Helen 
 could not see how rosy a blush confirmed this sur- 
 mise, and besides she was too intent on working out 
 her excitement in talk to be very observant. "And 
 how does Miss Charlton take it?" 
 
 "Miss Charlton is not supposed to know anything," 
 said Amy, "but she is particularly kind and affec- 
 tionate; and, if you do not come to live at home, I 
 believe that she and mamma are to keep house to- 
 gether here, in the cottage." 
 
 "I have come home, however," said Helen, and 
 at this moment Mrs. Mertoun entered, saying in an 
 apologetic tone that, until she heard voices as she 
 opened the door, she thought that Mr. Charlton was 
 gone. Helen made her presence known, which turned 
 the conversation into a fresh channel, and she had to
 
 298 VANESSA. 
 
 confess that her first attempt to make her own way 
 in the world had been a failure; and to justify Mrs. 
 Wentworth from the charge of caprice and injustice, 
 without accounting too minutely for the circumstances 
 which had obliged her to return home at a day's 
 notice. She was glad when the talk drifted back to 
 matters of domestic interest, and Mrs. Mertoun inter- 
 spersed her open satisfaction in Henry's bright pro- 
 spects, with furtive allusions to Amy's recovered health 
 and spirits allusions which Helen might have mis- 
 interpreted, if she had not already received the clue. 
 When they spoke of Leasowes, she found it easier to 
 ask her mother than Amy whether they had seen any- 
 thing of Dennis. 
 
 "Not since he came over here, the very day you 
 left us. He still has his lodgings in Bixley, but Dick, 
 who was here yesterday, says that he has been going 
 to and fro to London; and Henry told us that he 
 was a good deal altered, so reserved and almost 
 .morose." 
 
 "I suspect that Henry is too much absorbed in his 
 courtship to see much of him," said Amy, "I am sure, 
 mamma, that you thought him quite as frank and 
 pleasant as ever." 
 
 "So he was that day I saw him. But he hinted 
 that he was wishing or going to be married I really 
 forget which it was and if the affair is not going 
 quite smooth, it would account for his being out of 
 spirits." 
 
 Helen accepted this interpretation of O'Brien's
 
 A REVELATION. 2QQ 
 
 state of mind with equanimity, perhaps because she did 
 not rely implicitly on her mother's discernment. "Be- 
 fore I settle down here," she said, "I must pay a 
 visit to Leasowes. I want so much to see Eva 
 again." 
 
 "I doubt whether you will ever settle down at 
 all," remarked Mrs. Mertoun, "you have had such a 
 roving spirit since you travelled with Eva." 
 
 "Henry has cut me off from any future travelling 
 companionship," replied Helen, "and I doubt whether 
 he will be nearly as good a courier as I was. Eva 
 and Misbourne may both live to regret my beneficent 
 despotism." 
 
 Helen was in the highest spirits, and it was 
 evident that if she had been subjected to any slights 
 and mortification at Earlston they did not weigh 
 heavily on her mind. The little veil of reserve which 
 had been cast over Amy's engagement did not resist 
 the influence of her frankness, and before the evening 
 Was over, all their plans for the future had been freely 
 discussed; but Helen, with the secret conviction that 
 Miss Charlton's constant companionship would be 
 more acceptable than her own, declined to abandon 
 all intention of going out again as a governess, until 
 she had talked over the 'matter with Henry. She 
 went to Leasowes on the following day, giving notice 
 of her intention and Eva met her at the station. 
 
 Eva's new found happiness had not weakened her 
 affection for Helen, and it gave additional warmth to 
 its expression. "I was so charmed to get your note
 
 300 VANESSA. 
 
 this morning, Helen, and to hear that you have done 
 with the Wentworths. Your coming was all I wanted 
 to make me perfectly happy, and I almost quarrelled 
 with Henry for saying that he should congratulate you 
 on having come to your right senses." 
 
 "I am used to such fraternal amenities," replied 
 Helen, "and I might retort that if I had staid on at 
 Leasowes you two would never have come to a happy 
 understanding." 
 
 "How can you say so, Helen? as if I had not 
 room in my heart for both." 
 
 "Still we cannot both have the first place, and you 
 will have an easier time under Henry's rule. The 
 only good I have got out of my governessing, is the 
 conviction that I want to be broken in myself." 
 
 "I met Mr. O'Brien on my way to the station," 
 said Eva, with a legitimate sequence of ideas, "he 
 and Dick are coming to dine with us this evening." 
 
 "I shall be glad to see Dick," said Helen: her 
 sentiments about the other guest were not expressed. 
 
 At Leasowes there were the old servants to greet, 
 with whom Helen was an especial favourite, the wed- 
 ding-presents to admire, and the half-finished trous- 
 seau to inspect, and Henry came in with his uncle an 
 hour before dinner. They were both merciful in their 
 comments on Helen's admission of failure as a gover- 
 ness, but rather, as she felt, from the fact that other 
 interests were more absorbing than out of special con- 
 sideration for her. She felt that she was transported 
 into a fresh world, and could hardly realise the fact
 
 A REVELATION. 301 
 
 that only three days before, the difficulty of fixing 
 Harriet Wentworth's attention, and of moderating the 
 disputes between Fanny and her brothers, had been 
 matters of paramount importance. 
 
 Henry and Eva lingered for more last words when 
 Helen went up to dress, and consequently she was 
 the first to come down and was still alone when 
 Dennis and young Richard came in together. Richard 
 had some papers to deliver to his uncle, and, after 
 greeting his sister with that air of complete detach- 
 ment from family ties which it is the pleasure of 
 British youth to assume, he went into Mr. Mertoun's 
 room. 
 
 "Dick has quite a mercantile air about him," said 
 Helen, "I hope that he will add to the fame of the 
 house of Mertoun and Co. What do you think of 
 Henry's engagement?" 
 
 "I think that he is a very happy man," said 
 Dennis, gravely. 
 
 Eva came in, and no more could be said at that 
 time, but the alteration in Dennis of which others 
 had spoken, struck with a chill on Helen's heart. 
 When they met at Lady Cecilia's dinner-party, she had 
 felt it necessary to be on her guard lest his evident 
 solicitude to renew their former intimacy should pro- 
 voke too quick a response, but no such necessity now 
 existed. He did not express any curiosity as to the 
 cause of her return to Leasowes, and he made no allusion 
 to the letter which she had refrained from answering, 
 although Helen was panting for an opportunity to
 
 302 VANESSA. 
 
 tell him how completely his warning was justified. 
 Dennis took his share, but no more than his share in 
 the general conversation at the... dinner-table, and 
 Helen was bitterly conscious that he. was less prompt 
 to reply to her remarks', than to those addressed to 
 him by others. 
 
 The autumn evenings were dark and cold, and 
 there could be no wandering in, the garden after din- 
 ner, nor was Eva even permitted to linger in the con- 
 servatory, although a lamp was hung there. She sat 
 down by the piano, with Henry by her side, to turn 
 over the leaves of her music-book, and select the 
 songs which he wished to hear. Mr. Mertoun took 
 up the "Times," and subsided into his arm-chair, 
 while Dick occupied himself with the volume of 
 Leech's series which served for his study on those 
 evenings which he spent at Leasowes. Dennis and 
 Helen had no resources but in each other, and while 
 Helen was engaged in cutting open the leaves of a 
 new book, she glanced from time to time at O'Brien, 
 who stood on the hearth-rug, fingering the china on 
 the mantel-piece in an abstracted manner. He would 
 not look at her, he did not care to ask what she was 
 reading, and the book might have been Greek or 
 Sanscrit for all the sense which it conveyed to Helen: 
 the letters danced before her eyes, and at last she 
 closed the volume with a clap which made Dennis 
 start, and look towards her. 
 
 "Your book does not seem to interest you/' he 
 said.
 
 A REVELATION. 303 
 
 "I am not in the humour for reading," replied 
 Helen. "I shall go into the conservatory to see if 
 there are any new plants." Her look invited him to 
 follow her, but she had been for some minutes in the 
 conservatory, watering a plant with hot tears, before 
 she became aware that Dennis was by her side. 
 
 "Is there anything new?" he asked. 
 
 "No: yes. I do not think that I have looked. I 
 intended to tell you, Dennis, that you were quite 
 right in what you wrote in your letter to me. It was 
 an accident indeed which obliged me to come home 
 at once, but I have quite made up my mind that I am 
 not fit to be a governess." 
 
 "And what is to be the next move? Shall I look 
 out for a female professorship for you? I believe that 
 such things are to be had in the States." 
 
 "Are you going to start on another long journey, 
 Dennis?" 
 
 "Not on a journey this time. I am going out for 
 life. I have received the offer of an appointment in 
 Boston, and am to sail in ten days." 
 
 Helen was silent for a moment, and then the 
 shock deprived her of all power of reticence: "The 
 news of Amy's engagement has driven you to this," 
 said she. 
 
 "I know nothing of Lady Alan's engagement," 
 replied Dennis, with a look of surprise which drew 
 Helen from one blunder to another. 
 
 "Then I ought not to have mentioned it. It is a 
 secret, but Miss Charlton said that the neighbours
 
 304 VANESSA. 
 
 were beginning to gossip about it, and now it would 
 not be fair to keep you in suspense. She is engaged 
 to George Charlton." 
 
 "I do not know why you should be so much 
 afraid of keeping me in suspense," said Dennis, al- 
 though at that moment a light was breaking upon 
 him which gave a new aspect to life: "of course I am 
 interested in all which concerns Lady Alan Rae, and I 
 am rejoiced to hear that she has so fair a prospect of 
 happiness, after her former unfortunate marriage. Did 
 you imagine that the news must affect me more 
 nearly?" 
 
 "I think that tea is coming in," said Helen, turn 
 ing away. 
 
 "No, Helen: or if it is, you can give me five 
 minutes. Let us sit down here." 
 
 Helen obeyed in silence, and now that the moment 
 for explanation arrived, which she had so much de- 
 sired, she longed to defer it indefinitely.
 
 THE END. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The End. 
 
 "You have not answered my question, Helen: 
 Why did you suppose that Lady Alan's marriage must 
 exile me from England?" 
 
 "What does it signify, since it seems that I thought 
 wrong?" replied Helen, with some petulance. 
 
 "To me it signifies a good deal. For if we have 
 been at cross purposes all this while, it is not too late 
 to set it right." 
 
 Helen's heart leaped at that saying, but she reso- 
 lutely set her face to betray none of the agitation 
 which she felt. 
 
 "From the day that Amy retracted her promise," 
 continued Dennis, "and trampled my love underfoot 
 as a worthless thing, I put it out of my heart at once 
 and for ever. It was not her that I had loved, since 
 she was faithless to the ideal I had formed of her, 
 and I believed that I should never love woman more. 
 I think that it was when I came to you at Swanage, 
 with a heart softened by pity for the wretched fate 
 she had worked out for herself, that the possibility of 
 winning the affections of one who was sometimes 
 rugged, but always true, and transparent to a fault, 
 first occurred to my mind."
 
 306 VANESSA. 
 
 "You mean," said Helen, smiling a little, as she 
 recovered her self-possession, "that you thought me, 
 what I know myself to have been, the most uncouth* 
 unlovely girl you had ever seen." 
 
 "I did not think you perfect," replied Dennis, "but 
 we both know the law of nature, that the higher 
 organism takes longer to attain perfection." 
 
 "If I follow that law, Dennis, I shall be a perfect 
 organism by the time I am sixty-eight, for it will take 
 another fifty years to smooth away all my rugged 
 edges." 
 
 "7 shall find out that tea is getting cold if you do 
 not intend to listen to me," said Dennis: and he was 
 allowed to continue his explanation. 
 
 "When I saw you again, after your winter abroad, 
 my mind was quite made up, but since I had agreed 
 to join the Himalayan expedition, and there were the 
 risks of climate and my uncertain income to consider, 
 I determined not to declare myself lest you should be 
 fettered by any engagement. I asked you to write to 
 me; but I often chafed against the constrained and 
 guarded tone of your letters, and when I looked over 
 them the other day, I destroyed the whole collection 
 in my vexation." 
 
 "After you promised to restore them to me for the 
 Entomological Journal," said Helen. 
 
 "That evening," continued Dennis, resisting all 
 her efforts to introduce a lighter vein into the con- 
 versation, "your manner at dinner led me to hope 
 that you were less indifferent than you wished to ap-
 
 THE END. 307 
 
 pear. I came here next day and was bitterly dis- 
 appointed to find you gone, as if for the very purpose 
 of avoiding me. I had to go to London next day; 
 and when I returned to Bixley and heard of your in- 
 tention to go out as a governess, I followed you to 
 Charlton, only to find you gone again. Then I wrote 
 to you, and you never answered my letter." 
 
 "It was such a letter," replied Helen, "that if you 
 were to read it again, you would allow that it also 
 deserves to be destroyed. The hard, dictatorial tone 
 seemed intended to rouse my spirit of opposition, and 
 especially as I thought that you were presuming on 
 our future relationship." 
 
 "Probably it was disagreeable. I was disappointed 
 and sore at heart, and at war with all the world. My 
 friendship with Henry, which had not been weakened 
 by my first disappointment, could not survive this 
 fresh shock; for I thought that he must be selfishly 
 absorbed in his own happiness, not to discover the 
 truth and help me to come to a right understanding 
 with you." 
 
 "As if brothers ever did take any interest in their 
 sisters' love affairs," said Helen. 
 
 "And so, Helen, when I found that you did not 
 intend to answer my letter, I gave it all up; and, be- 
 cause I did not think England wide enough to contain 
 us both, I determined to seek employment abroad. I 
 closed with this offer from Boston, although I might 
 have done as well or better here, because a young 
 New Englander whom I met at Bombay had interested
 
 308 VANESSA. 
 
 himself to get the appointment for me; and it would 
 not be acting fairly by him to throw it up now." 
 
 "The moral of the whole is, that I must answer 
 the next letter which you write," said Helen. 
 
 "Answer the next question, and it will be enough. 
 I am not now afraid to ask whether you love me well 
 enough to be my wife." 
 
 "Certainly I do, Dennis: I have never loved any 
 one else, and so long as I can be with you it matters 
 little in which hemisphere it is." The statement was 
 frank enough to satisfy the most exacting lover, but 
 Dennis did not object to hear it repeated once or 
 twice in different words. It was many months since 
 the unconscious freedom of their youthful friendship 
 had given place to the knowledge that happiness must 
 be attained by filling the void in the heart, as well as 
 by expanding the powers of intellect; and their mutual 
 self-control added strength to the passion which was 
 now at length to find expression. 
 
 "It is strange," said Helen, presently, "to think 
 how widely we have departed from the programme of 
 the parts we were to play in life. Before Amy went 
 to live at Leasowes, she thought that we were losing 
 caste if I even stopped to speak to Mr. Charlton in 
 the street, and Henry opposed her going to live with 
 Eva, chiefly because he was determined that we 
 should none of us be beholden to Uncle Richard. 
 And I" 
 
 "And you," said Dennis, smiling, "may still become 
 a candidate for a female professorship at some college
 
 THE END. 309 
 
 in the States, with the further advantage of getting a 
 free passage out, if you go out to America as my 
 wife." 
 
 Helen's was the last of the three Mertoun mar- 
 riages to be arranged, but it was the first to take place. 
 O'Brien, who was determined to take his bride with 
 him, transferred his passage to a ship which was to 
 sail a fortnight later, and the preparations for the 
 wedding were hurried on with what Lady Cecilia Wray 
 considered to be most unseemly haste. Mr. Mertoun 
 shook his head over the imprudence of the marriage, 
 and reminded O'Brien that he had nothing to depend 
 upon but his own health and exertions; but the force 
 of his objections was modified by the settlement which 
 he proposed to make on Helen. Mrs. Mertoun had 
 no misgivings, since she had always liked Dennis 
 nearly as well as her own children, and was also well- 
 pleased to declare that she had been the first to 
 discover his matrimonial intentions. 
 
 Helen lost no time in announcing her engagement 
 to Mrs. Wentworth, and her satisfaction was perhaps 
 the most heartfelt. Her affectionate congratulations, 
 accompanied by a present of costly plate, seemed to 
 belie Helen's assertion that her career at Earlston 
 Lodge had been a signal failure; but Helen herself 
 accepted the gift with moderate enthusiasm, regarding 
 it as a testimonial of gratitude for the effectual ex- 
 tinction of Mr. Horton's misplaced affection. 
 
 Lady Cecilia had consistently depreciated "the 
 Allerton Mertouns," as she designated them, and found
 
 3IO VANESSA. 
 
 as much to blame in the mercenary spirit evinced in 
 Henry's successful suit to his cousin, as in his sister's 
 indecorous haste to get married to O'Brien: but the 
 climax of her indignation was only reached when the 
 report of Lady Alan Rae's engagement reached her 
 ears. George Charlton was, as she wrote to Lady 
 Raeburn, "an elderly man, rich of course, but of the 
 farmer class, positively a mere farmer," she repeated, 
 with the adjective carefully underlined. It need 
 scarcely be said that her strictures received the fullest 
 assent at Raeburn Castle. When it was necessary to 
 make any allusion to her son's widow, Lady Raeburn 
 spoke of her as a "creature," and she was apt to add 
 that since it was no longer possible to recognise Mrs. 
 George Charlton while she lived, the Raeburn family 
 must decline to wear mourning for her when she died. 
 But as the placid tenor of Amy's life at the Manor 
 farm has been hitherto unclouded by sickness, or 
 sorrow, or death, such a mode of testifying to her de- 
 gradation in the eyes of her aristocratic connections, 
 has not been put in practice. 
 
 THE END.
 
 PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
 
 A 000033005 o