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 HEAVEN'S GATE 
 
 A STORY OF THE FOREST OF DEAN 
 
 BY 
 
 LAWRENCE SEVERN 
 
 ( ' JU* A 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 
 
 FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 
 
 144335
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. 
 
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 "PS 
 
 WITH HEARTFELT PLEASURE, 
 TO 
 
 MRS. J. H. R. MOLSON, t^^MTW 
 
 J 
 
 IN TOKEN OF THE DEEP RESPECT AND LOVE 
 OF 
 
 LAWRENCE SEVERN.

 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 A FEW words upon the locale of my story before 
 the curtain is raised and the actors are seen upon 
 the stage. 
 
 You must realize that the village you are going to 
 see belongs to a past age, to England before railways 
 had been established long enough to affect the small 
 hamlets buried away in rural districts, before emigra- 
 tion had carried away its thousands to the free life of 
 the New World, before schools had been established 
 by Government for the education of the poor. The 
 England of to-day holds out her hands to the poor, 
 with her board schools, her art, and (recently) her 
 music schools, where all are welcome to a free educa- 
 tion who have talent of a high order or genius. The 
 England of the days of which I write kept all her 
 opportunities for culture and refinement among the 
 classes of the nobly born or wealthy. Individual 
 efforts were made by the land owners to improve the 
 condition of the poor on their estates ; but the English 
 peasant inherited the instincts of the serf from whom 
 he was descended with a liberal endowment of his vices, 
 and was not to be raised to a higher level by any half 
 measures. The refinement of education had seldom 
 been tried upon his undeveloped nature.
 
 Vi PROLOGUE. 
 
 Society in the neighborhood of the village was, of 
 course, narrowed into the usual class distinctions which 
 affected also the religious denominations of the com- 
 munity. All people of refinement and culture in those 
 conservative days were supposed to attend the Estab- 
 lished Church. To dissent from this long-approved 
 course, meant social ostracism among the gentry, and 
 few among the aristrocratic county families were bold 
 enough to depart from the church of their class. Those 
 who braved popular opinion came chiefly from the 
 middle classes. Being perfectly independent in a busi- 
 ness point of view, proud of their old family tree, and 
 of their power to think as they pleased, they often 
 assumed an attitude of vigorous opposition to the Es- 
 tablished Church. They fought well for freedom of 
 opinion and exemption from taxation in form of Church 
 rates. We hardly realize, in these days of comparative 
 religious freedom, how much we owe to the staunch 
 spirit of our forefathers ; their determination not to 
 yield to unjust demands. 
 
 Amongst the sturdiest of Dissenters was the Baptist 
 community, and a history of their battles for freedom 
 in the neighborhood of which I write would make an 
 interesting volume of itself. They earned religious 
 freedom for their descendents, but brought down on 
 their own devoted heads much obloquy and contempt 
 from the Church party. It was inevitable, in the condi- 
 tion of things at that period, that the congregations of 
 Dissenters should be composed chiefly of the lower 
 classes, and I have already shown the abyss of igno- 
 rance in which those classes were plunged. The 
 Church people, in stigmatizing Dissenters as vulgar
 
 PROLOGUE. Vll 
 
 and common, had only too much ground for their criti- 
 cism, as, with the few exceptions of the gentry from the 
 middle classes who attended the Baptist Church, there 
 remained none but the ignorant and uneducated to 
 swell the ranks. Thus my description of the Baptist 
 Church in the following village scenes is no exaggera- 
 tion, it falls short of what was a very unpleasant reality. 
 But it must be understood that I do not mean to show 
 this church as one typical of the times even, merely of 
 the place and its surroundings ; for any one at all 
 conversant with the history of the Baptist Church in 
 London will know that it had long been able to hold 
 its own amongst the refined and cultured of the age. 
 The times that produced the church of which I write 
 are dead, and I imagine the possibility of a congrega- 
 tion of people whose aims were so low and ideas of 
 right and wrong so obscure is dead also. 
 
 Many of the lowest of the poor joined the Ranters, 
 whose open-air preaching attracted them, and appealed 
 to their emotional natures, but most of the people 
 found it to their interest to go to church. The Baptist 
 Chapel began service half an hour before the church 
 bells rang, in order that such as dared be true to their 
 convictions might not be confronted by their employers 
 in the streets, a meeting which would result in the 
 probable dismissal of the employe next day. 
 
 Of course, since the Church of England was the 
 established church, the food therein provided must have 
 been of the very best (?). 
 
 In the course of my story I have taken an oasis in 
 the desert, have chosen a period when a fine, noble 
 man did his best to improve the moral atmosphere of
 
 Viil PROLOGUE. 
 
 the village. Before he came, however, years had gone 
 by, finding in church, Sunday after Sunday, a man 
 whose hollow roof and consequent indistinct utterance 
 made every word of the service unintelligible. The 
 church-goers endured this for years without making any 
 protest ; the unfortunate man had been given a position 
 in the church because his infirmity made it impossible 
 for him to earn his living elsewhere. Perhaps, how- 
 ever, the people felt they might go farther and fare 
 worse, since, in the next parish, a fox-hunting rector 
 ruled supreme. He was a younger son of a royal 
 house, and was given this parish because the income 
 was large, and his relatives hoped would be enough to 
 support one of very extravagant habits. He was a 
 bold rider across country after the fox, would walk up 
 to his vestry-door on Sundays in converse with the 
 master of the hounds, and was frequently so drunk that 
 the clerk, after finding all his places for him, had much 
 ado to keep him from reading the same prayers and 
 passages through twice ; while at funerals not even the 
 prompting of the clerk at his elbow could keep him 
 from burying a dearly loved sister for a brother, much 
 to the discomfiture of the relatives. In a parish some 
 twenty miles distant was another fox-hunting clergy- 
 man, about whom many an amusing anecdote might 
 be related ; but I have said enough to show how little 
 the Established Church was able to cope with the moral 
 and spiritual needs of the community. 
 
 It would have been fairer, perhaps, had I taken one 
 of these as my type of the Church of England at that 
 time ; but these men would have been foreign to my 
 story, which, like many plants, will only turn one way 
 however you place them.
 
 PROLOGUE. IX 
 
 I can only hope that my readers will realize that this 
 is merely a local story, and that I had to take my 
 people as my fancy found them in one small village 
 near Wales, long, long ago.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 INTRODUCES THE HERO i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE 18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY is DECIDED UPON . . 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE WOMEN'S " FETE " 53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN'S GATE ... 70 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 AT "THE HOLLIES" 81 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE LOVERS' WALK . . 04
 
 Xii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS" 109 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN 125 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 PANCAKE KEAR 44 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 "JUMPING JIM" . 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A GAME OF CRICKET 167 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH ..... 179 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS IN THE LANE . . 190 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE .... 204 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE FATTED CALF is KILLED FOR WILLIAM . . . 220 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE . . . . . . . 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES 246
 
 CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH .... 258 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 THE YACHTING PARTY 275 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE .... 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT " THE HOLLIES " . 300 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 AT THE UPLAND LEVEL 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE 331 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST 339
 
 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCES THE HERO. 
 
 THE little village of K lies in the Vale of 
 Severn. It is very quaint. Built in the old 
 feudal times, its cottages have little beyond their 
 picturesque external aspect to recommend them. 
 The streets are straggling up the hillside, or 
 stretching down the shady lanes towards the 
 meads where the cattle feed by the river. Some 
 tin mills, situated about a mile from the village, 
 provide employment for a portion of the inhabi- 
 tants ; a larger part depend on treacherous Severn 
 for their livelihood ; the remainder work for the 
 farmers all the year round, hedging and ditching, 
 haymaking and harvesting. 
 
 Beyond the village stand the massive pillars of 
 the park gates which lead through an avenue of 
 oaks to the mansion owned by the " Lord of the 
 Manor," Mr. Selwyn. Far as eye can reach, this 
 side of Severn, the land is his. The farms around
 
 2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 are held by tenant farmers whose family tree bore 
 its first fruit in the days of the Conquerer, yet 
 neither they nor their forbears have ever owned 
 an acre of the land they love so well. They cannot 
 buy, for Mr. Selwyn has not power to sell these 
 entailed lands. 
 
 One bright August afternoon, some thirty years 
 ago, the park gates were thrown open to the 
 public, as a grand cricket match was being played 
 
 between the K club and the Cirencester eleven. 
 
 Tents were set up in the park, and a bevy of ladies, 
 some of them from the Mite of the county families, 
 sat watching the game, and mildly flirting with 
 any charming youths who held themselves in 
 readiness for such amusement. Marta De Clifford, 
 unlike most of the West County ladies, took little 
 interest in cricket. She had preferred the shady 
 park gardens, where, in close converse with Minnie 
 Selwyn, the afternoon hours had fled swiftly away. 
 The bell in the clock tower struck four ; Marta 
 hastily bade her friend farewell. It was time to 
 call at the school-house for her little cousins, Jennie 
 and Olga. 
 
 She drove quietly along the shady lanes, her 
 eyes resting lovingly on the ridge of the Cotswold- 
 blue in the distance, on the broad stretch of river 
 in the valley, and on the nearer view of the village 
 nestling amid the apple orchards at the foot of the 
 hills. In a few minutes the lane led into a street, 
 where ducks quacked, and children played noisily.
 
 THE HERO. 3 
 
 As Marta passed by the children stood still, and 
 dropped a meek little curtsey in answer to her 
 kindly smile. Those coming from the well with 
 pitchers of water on their heads also made their 
 curtsey, notwithstanding their burden. The fish- 
 ermen, passing with the salmon nets on their 
 shoulders, pulled a rough forelock in salutation. 
 It was evident Marta was a favorite, and she sat 
 like a queen, dispensing smiles and bows until at 
 length she stopped old Jerry at the school-house 
 door. As the children did not appear, Marta 
 knew that the school-room atmosphere must have 
 been of a stormy nature. She opened the door, 
 and went quietly up-stairs. 
 
 " Young ladies, young ladies, I will have order. 
 Silence ! " Decidedly the order must be obeyed. 
 Bang, bang! went eight slates upon the table. 
 Eight half-frightened, half-laughing faces looked 
 at the head of the table where the minister stood 
 irate, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks, whilst 
 his reverend foot stamped with rage upon the un- 
 carpeted floor. 
 
 The Rev. E. E. Graves, irate, was a spectacle 
 worthy of attention. Every careless school-girl 
 knew exactly what to expect at such a time. She 
 knew that her evil-doing would be brought home 
 to her soul in consequences which would be direful 
 in the extreme. A tiny man the minister, encased 
 in cloth which had worn its way through all stages 
 of shabbiness until it had arrived at a rusty brown,
 
 4 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 depriving the wearer of the dignified appearance 
 supplied by the glossy clerical black. This ill- 
 clothed body was surmounted by a studious, 
 intellectual head, so very bald now, that, to the ill- 
 regulated minds of the scholars, some of its bumps 
 seemed in the wrong places, and capable of im- 
 provement in a skilful modeller's hand. At this 
 moment, his face and manner were didactic, stern, 
 wrathful ; such, however, was not his normal mood. 
 Heaven only knows the provocation required to 
 break up the long-suffering calm of the studious 
 divine. See in the Rev. E. E. Graves the minister 
 of the Baptist church, passing rich on a salary of 
 sixty pounds a year. What has he to do with the 
 eight girls whose sums in all rules, from addition 
 to decimals, are half-rubbed out on their slates ? 
 
 Sixty pounds a year, a wife who gave freely 
 to the poor, and a daughter to support. Sixty 
 pounds, though doubtless an ample salary in the 
 eyes of those who paid it, changed its character 
 when considered in relation to the claims on it. 
 Miss Graves, who inherited her father's studious 
 habits, consented to educate the children of her 
 friends. She might have had a large school, could 
 she have condescended to take the daughters of 
 the trades-people ; but she refused to do so. Her 
 school, at most, numbered eight, and its renown 
 for high scholarship was spread throughout the 
 West County. Her father assisted her when she 
 was very busy, teaching arithmetic and parsing,
 
 THE HERO. 5 
 
 while his daughter gave music-lessons down-stairs. 
 The school-room was also his study. His desk 
 and a bookcase containing his manuscript sermons 
 were there ; and so absent-minded was he, that he 
 wrote his discourses day by day oblivious to the 
 shrill scoldings of his daughter's voice, or the 
 weeping and wailing of those pupils whose natural 
 stupidity prevented them from grasping the sub- 
 ject when too sharply handled. The elder girls 
 parsed from " Paradise Lost," and treated him ill. 
 If they had to recite, regardless of honour, they 
 read from the page he so artlessly held under their 
 eyes. They put their arms round his neck, and 
 coaxed him not to tell of them when they missed 
 their lesson, stroking his hair and calling him a 
 "dear, good little man," knowing that victory was 
 to the strong, and many of the girls were bigger 
 and stronger than the minister. At times, how- 
 ever, no coaxing, no endearments could silence the 
 voice in his soul which assured him that non-per- 
 formance of duty required punishment at his hands. 
 More than once during the arithmetic hour he had 
 asserted his power, and completely vanquished the 
 school-girls. He had just worked himself up to 
 the point, and was saying, " Young ladies, J shall 
 keep you in" when Marta entered the room, 
 went straight up to him, put her arms round his 
 neck, and stooped to kiss him. 
 
 "I have come for Jennie and Olga," she said 
 gently. " You will let them go, will you not ? "
 
 6 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Certainly, Miss Marta," he replied suavely. 
 All his wrath was gone : he sat down to his desk 
 and began writing again. 
 
 "Oh!" said Marta, "how I wish I were a girl at 
 school again." She passed round the room, looking 
 regretfully at the shelf that used to be hers, then 
 with a glance took in the idle girls at the table. 
 Scarcely a slate but had fancy pictures drawn on 
 it instead of sums. Jennie and Olga blushed as 
 they washed their slates, then took their hats and 
 followed Marta down to the phaeton. They 
 climbed in gleefully opposite their cousin, who 
 drove slowly through the village. At the cricket 
 field she stopped the horse, and sat with expectant 
 eyes upon the cricketers, who, the game over, had 
 gathered round the umpire at the far end of the 
 field. 
 
 " Can you see William, children ? " said Marta 
 presently, with a slight tremble in her voice. 
 
 "/can," said Olga readily. 
 
 " Go, then, dear ; tell him Marta wishes to speak 
 to him." 
 
 Olga ran lightly across the park, her curls blow- 
 ing far behind her. Very soon she reached the 
 group ,of cricketers. One came forward and lis- 
 tened to her message given in a whisper : with- 
 out delay he bounded across the field. 
 
 " I thought I would call for you, William," said 
 Marta, laying one hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " No use at all. I am wanted for the evening,"
 
 THE HERO. 7 
 
 said he. " Sit up, Marta, dear, and let me in : I 
 know I shall be late. Our side has won, and the 
 Cirencester fellows are determined I shall be at 
 the public dinner to-night." 
 
 " O William ! " said Marta anxiously, " uncle 
 will be so angry. And you you promised him, 
 William, that you would not go again to the inn." 
 
 "Did I ?" he said carelessly. "Well, what can 
 I do ? All the fellows will call me a fool. Captain 
 of the match, and not appear at the public din- 
 ner! It cannot be done, Marta." 
 
 The young man looked a little anxiously at 
 Marta as he spoke. He threw back the hair that 
 waved over his white forehead, and his beautiful 
 face showed to advantage. Marta, looking keenly 
 into that face, saw nothing of its beauty. Her 
 eyes dwelt sadly on the weak lines of the mouth 
 that changed from decision to indecision with every 
 thought. 
 
 " There is no need for you to tell the cricketers 
 more than you wish," said steadfast Marta. " You 
 made the promise knowing that you would have 
 trouble to keep it. Is it beyond your power, Wil- 
 liam, to keep your promise to uncle, and have 
 nothing to do with the dinner ? " 
 
 " Oh ! if you look on it in that light," said Wil- 
 liam, drawing himself up. " Wait, will you ? I 
 must get my coat." 
 
 Wait ! How long would not she have waited to 
 make sure William was safe ? She looked after
 
 8 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 him, saw that the men laid hold of him, deter- 
 mined that he should not escape. Cheers and 
 groans rilled the air; and, at length, some half- 
 dozen of the cricketers carried him in their rough 
 fashion across the field, followed by the others in 
 procession. 
 
 "He has made a splendid score," said one. 
 "Never saw such an inning." 
 
 " Are you going to carry him off with you ? " 
 said another. 
 
 " Miss De Clifford, you take away the light of 
 the party. Will you allow me to come too?" 
 said a voice which Marta delighted to hear for its 
 pure intonation and absence of dialectical coarse- 
 ness. 
 
 " O Dr. Herly ! you here ? I did not know. 
 Olga and Jennie will make room for you between 
 them." 
 
 William took the reins : the cricketers cheered 
 and stood back from the phaeton. Marta, with a 
 glad light in her eyes which made her more beauti- 
 ful than ever, bowed her adieux to the country 
 swains, who had rejoiced to see and speak to her 
 so unexpectedly. 
 
 " I have half a mind to give up the old collieries, 
 and take to professional cricketing," said William, 
 as he drove rapidly up the lane. " Did you ever 
 see a steadier head and hand than mine to-day, 
 Herly ? " 
 
 " Rarely ; but it was working at high pressure,
 
 THE HERO. 9 
 
 remember," said the doctor. " Your men had 
 done badly : you were intensely excited. To-mor- 
 row you will collapse ; your eye will be unsteady, 
 your head dizzy." 
 
 " That is all the credit you give me, eh ! " said 
 William, laughing. 
 
 "All I can give conscientiously," he replied. 
 " I was interested. The mixture of race saved the 
 honor of the West County Cricket Club. Yes, 
 William, your excitement, your success to-day, you 
 owe to some Celtic ancestor. Yet, I tell you, 
 man, I would not choose you on my side to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Then we may conclude to-morrow will find 
 him at work at the collieries," said Marta brightly. 
 
 Some of the excitement of the match still clung 
 to William, and he began to exert himself to amuse 
 his visitor. No sooner were they in the country 
 lanes than he began to mimic the quaint phraseol- 
 ogy of his country neighbors. His knowledge of 
 the dialect was perfect, and his sense of humor 
 keen, and Dr. Herly a man whom it was worth 
 while to entertain. 
 
 Marta began to be a little tired of it. The dia- 
 lect was always cropping up daily, and she fought 
 a hard fight to keep it outside of the family. She 
 did not know that this dialect, which was the bug- 
 bear of her life, the use of which she deemed 
 "vulgar," was worthy of study on her part. Wil- 
 liam knew this ; and Dr. Herly, amongst many
 
 IO HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 other heterogeneous studies, had given that of 
 English country dialects a good share of atten- 
 tion. 
 
 The road wound a mile and a half up the hill- 
 side, and before the latter half was reached became 
 very steep indeed. At a certain place old Jerry 
 turned and rested, as was his habit. Marta, with 
 Dr. Herly and the children, left the winding car- 
 riage-road, and took the foot-path which led over 
 the common. The doctor ran races with Jennie 
 and Olga, and played "follow the leader" over the 
 gorse bushes and tufts of heather. Marta fol- 
 lowed, happy and smiling. Hat in hand, she 
 walked in the shade cast by the stone-wall; her 
 fair hair shone in the sunlight, imprisoned sun- 
 beams flashed in and out the flaxen braids ; often 
 she called across the heather to William, who 
 sauntered on the rugged road with the reins in 
 his hands, while old Jerry meandered from side to 
 side as he willed in his climb towards Heaven's 
 Gate. 
 
 " Heaven's Gate ! " Only the caprice of the 
 country folk had given it the name. Heavy, 
 clumsy, slow, pure Saxon race, with here and there 
 maybe a slight admixture of Welsh ; yet from their 
 dull perceptions the name emanated. Hear them 
 talk : their power of expressing much in few words 
 deserves attention. " Purty, b'aint it ? " When 
 this is said, nothing more is required from their 
 vocabulary to show appreciation; after that, the
 
 THE HERO. I I 
 
 speaker will gaze his fill in silence. Such reti- 
 cence appears in the light of virtue to the true 
 lover of nature, who frets and chafes at the su- 
 perlatives which flow in a stream from the lips of 
 the commonplace. There are some things which 
 no vocabulary of words can fitly describe : we are 
 not intended to reduce every thing we see and 
 hear to words. 
 
 "The wild beauty of the situation of Heaven's 
 Gate strikes me afresh every time I come in sight 
 of it," said Dr. Herly, coming to Marta's side. 
 "That heavy pine wood at the back, and those 
 gaunt old firs standing alone keeping guard over 
 the boulders. Few country houses can have such 
 weird surroundings." 
 
 " We are quite a mile from the nearest cottage. 
 I often feel the place is lonely." 
 
 " It is better than living in the village," said 
 Dr. Herly, his thoughts adverting to William, who, 
 now perfectly happy, was singing as he drove old 
 Jerry along the brow of the hill. Olga~'ran to 
 open the gate for the carriage. Old John's cross 
 face was to be seen peeping out from behind the 
 yard gates, crosser than usual. Olga clapped her 
 hands with joy as she saw a well-known phaeton 
 tilted up near the coach-house. 
 
 " Uncle Timothy is here," she called. " Oh ! I 
 wonder if he has brought Dick." 
 
 Yes ; Dick was to be seen marching in glory up 
 and down the lawn, very manly, and even severe
 
 12 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 in the possession of his first high hat. Olga ad- 
 vanced with full appreciation of its fine effect, but 
 his elder brother Reginald quietly knocked it off 
 as a laudable effort to teach him manners. Olga 
 picked it up tenderly and smoothed it with her 
 hand, and Dick, suddenly possessed with a sense 
 of the humour of the situation, gave up aping at 
 manly dignity, and retired with his cousins to a 
 sequestered arbor where the dolls reigned supreme. 
 
 Marta came up the path under the overarching 
 trees, tall, and very fair, her plain white dress the 
 emblem of fitness to her character and appear- 
 ance. Reginald stood still with critical eye, 
 watching every step, every gesture, as he had 
 done for upwards of ten years. It was nothing to 
 Marta. She merely looked on it as a habit of 
 Reginald's : sometimes she wondered if the criti- 
 cism renewed so frequently was in her favor. 
 Reginald would have been glad to have been able 
 to reply unhesitatingly in the affirmative. The 
 state of indecision was unpleasant, and he ignored 
 the unpleasant in his path through life ; but, when 
 the cause arose within himself, he was at sea, 
 riding in a storm without a helm. 
 
 " Reginald, I expected you, somehow," said 
 Marta, standing full in the light, hat in hand, and 
 sunbeams in her clear blue eyes. 
 
 "For a Madonna," he replied, without moving 
 hand or foot, "give me a Flamande. Stand as 
 you are, Marta, white dress, serene face, cloud- 
 less, passionless"
 
 THE HERO. 13 
 
 " Flamande ? " cried William impetuously. " She 
 is all Saxon. We sink the Flamande : we only re- 
 member she is Marta." 
 
 "Yes," said Marta, calmly, "I find it impossi- 
 ble to realize that I was born in Flanders, and 
 that my mother was not William's mother, since 
 hers is the first face I remember. She is always 
 mother in my thoughts." 
 
 "To resume," said Reginald. "You are not 'a 
 De Clifford in appearance. Decidedly you are 
 Flamande." 
 
 "Are you making fresh discoveries?" said Dr. 
 Herly. " What a slow race you Saxon men are ! 
 You take ten years to think a thought that passes 
 through a more active brain in a second." 
 
 " I appreciate your remark," said Reginald, with 
 a humourous twinkle in his eye. " Be pleased, 
 worthy doctor, to look at the group under the 
 medlar-tree, and tell me at one brilliant flash what 
 is going on there. Only a life-long experience has 
 made such a meeting aught but a riddle to me." 
 
 "Your uncle, your father, and" began Dr. 
 Herly. 
 
 " The sleeping partner, Mr. Rolls." 
 
 "Thank you and Mr. Rolls, have met in a 
 neighborly way for a talk over the days of ' Auld 
 Lang Syne.' I wish I could sketch them, each 
 one smoking with such earnest deliberation, each 
 one with a glass of cider beside him, and an ab- 
 sence of all worldly care or worry in his face.
 
 14 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 Reginald, I do not know whether to pity or envy 
 such an even, placid existence." 
 
 "Sir, you have read the riddle wrong," said 
 Reginald, laughing. " I see I must interpret. 
 Those old men have met, as partners of the ' Old 
 Furnace Collieries,' on a business meeting, to re- 
 solve upon most urgent and stringent measures. 
 Each one, torn with anxiety, hates to venture a 
 iou, but loves to realize the results of a successful 
 Speculation." 
 
 " Business ! " ejaculated Dr. Herly. 
 
 "Business," repeated Reginald. "My father 
 gave up his after-dinner nap, and I drove him over 
 here. We jogged along slowly, visited one or two 
 tenants on the road, but were here as soon as Mr. 
 Rolls, who at present is living at the village inn." 
 
 "I hope nothing is wrong at the collieries." 
 
 " The colliery next to ours is for sale. Question 
 is it worth our while to buy it ? " 
 
 " How will you determine this ? " 
 
 " William is a clever mining engineer, and I am 
 a very fair one too. We are to go down and sur- 
 vey to-morrow." 
 
 " Let me accompany you. I have not been 
 down one of the mines in the Forest," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 " If you like to risk your life " began Regi- 
 nald. 
 
 The clang of a bell at the front-door buried his 
 words, and was immediately followed by the rush
 
 THE HERO. 15 
 
 of feet, and the children raced down the garden. 
 Marta, who had been twining the damask rose- 
 vines in and out the trellis-work of the veranda, 
 now said it was tea-time. 
 
 Aunt Cathy or, as William designated her, 
 the "old cat" was waiting to make tea. She 
 was very tall, thin, and prim, speaking in a hoarse 
 whisper which drove William, who had very deli- 
 cate musical perceptions, to the brink of frenzy 
 Aunt Cathy was a mistake. She had been a mis- 
 take all her life long ; for, with the best intention, 
 she had always the faculty of saying and doing 
 the wrong thing at the wrong time. 
 
 " Oh ! you are come home, William," she ob- 
 served. " I thought you might stay with those 
 godless men. Well, I am glad you did not ; but 
 no one knows where to have you, you are so fickle 
 in your ways." 
 
 Marta's pleading eye restrained the sarcastic 
 reply on William's lips. As it was, he merely ob- 
 served, "that it was always a satisfaction to his 
 mind to know that his aunt would never be sur- 
 prised at any act of folly or wickedness he chose 
 to commit." 
 
 This was decidedly unpleasant. Reginald deter- 
 mined to turn the conversation. Marta, full of 
 anxiety on William's account, imagined that all 
 must feel the responsibility of his future as heavily 
 as she did, gave Reginald credit for striving to 
 interest William. Had she expressed the thought
 
 1 6 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 in words, Reginald would have disclaimed the idea 
 with disgust. Impossible to imagine sacrificing 
 himself for another, and most distasteful. 
 
 "And now," said he, after tea, "let us go and 
 sit in the arbor ; and, William, eccentric genius 
 that thou art, bring thy lute, and come play us thy 
 last romance." 
 
 " I wish you were here every evening," said 
 Marta, as they slowly strolled up the garden. 
 ^'William would never want to go out." 
 
 " Would he not ? " said Reginald carelessly, not 
 at all interested in William's goings-out or com- 
 ings-in. 
 
 The arbor was cut out of the tall growth of 
 laurel bushes, and some rustic benches formed 
 seats. It was some time before William joined 
 the party. Reginald and Dr. Herly took up the 
 thread of an old argument concerning the growth 
 and power of the body of Dissenters as opposed 
 to the Church of England. Marta listened, her 
 fingers busied with some knitting ; she was one 
 who could never be happy without some kind of 
 work. 
 
 It grew dusk. Suddenly a strain of violin music 
 softly swelled upon the air, a voice mingled with 
 it, blending in exquisite harmony. Nearer and 
 nearer, till William at length stood in the entrance 
 to the arbor. No close proximity could rob such 
 music of its sweetness. Little Olga ran in to 
 listen ; Dr. Herly lifted her on to his knee. Very
 
 THE HERO. I/ 
 
 soon he found that she was quietly crying. He 
 made a sign to Marta that such was the case, and 
 she softly led the child away to the house ; when 
 she returned, William had finished his theme. 
 
 "Olga is passionately fond of music. I tell 
 William sometimes he must not do it ; he plays 
 upon her as easily as on his violin," said she. 
 
 " Tears do not hurt her," he said. " She is ab- 
 surdly sensitive." 
 
 " Poor little Psyche !" said Dr. Herly. "Have 
 you never thought how much the weird surround- 
 ings of Heaven's Gate influence her? They are 
 at work more quickly than you can catch and de- 
 feat them. Sensitive and impressionable as she is, 
 how will she ever learn aught but to expect more 
 of life than it can give her ? " 
 
 " Happiness, you mean ? " 
 
 " I would send her to some cheerful cottage in 
 the village, and let her grow up amongst the chil- 
 dren there. They have got the even balance of 
 character she needs." 
 
 " Who shall doctor to a mind diseased ? " asked 
 Reginald, laughing. "What a fuss over a child. 
 Children are the bugbears of modern civilization."
 
 1 8 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. 
 
 r I "HE village world, much given to minding 
 J- other people's business, marvelled much at 
 the curious fancy Mr. Rolls had taken to live at 
 the village inn. It was not as though he had 
 cared to inspect the collieries with the managing 
 partner of the firm, Mr. Reece, or to talk business 
 with Mr. Hughes, who was head of the depart- 
 ment in the village, and who, some years since, 
 had been admitted as partner in the conservative 
 old firm, De Clifford, Reece & Co., as reward for 
 faithful and life-long services. The office was 
 within a stone's throw of the inn. Mr. Rolls 
 could not avoid passing it a dozen times daily. 
 Village worthies once or twice had seen him stroll 
 idly into the office and exchange a few laughing 
 words with Mr. Hughes. 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, how is business to-day ? " 
 All mankind was addressed by Mr. Rolls as " my 
 dear fellow." 
 
 Mr. Hughes started nervously as the sleeping 
 partner stood close beside him, with one white, 
 idle hand upon the books.
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. IQ 
 
 "I have been chatting with some of our poor 
 chapel folks," said Mr. Rolls, refusing to be seated. 
 "My dear fellow, you impoverish yourself abso- 
 lutely beyond all reason. Five and thirty pounds 
 to old Howies ! A large gift, my dear sir, a large 
 gift." 
 
 "To give freely is the command," said Mr. 
 Hughes. His voice was peculiar ; it suprised the 
 hearer always afresh by its absence of fitness to 
 the body from which it emanated. From a stout 
 man of great height and breadth, whose venerable 
 head of silver-gray shared the massiveness of his 
 appearance, issued a voice of tremulous hoarse- 
 ness. The countenance, which was turned fully 
 to the penetrating gaze of Mr. Rolls, was benign, 
 calm, unruffled. But again an anomaly : eyes and 
 mouth, well known in mankind as exponents one 
 of the other, walked on different roads in the 
 countenance of Mr. Hughes. The eyes had long 
 ceased to mirror the thoughts of the cleverest 
 business man in the county, and the mouth had 
 learned to model itself in an urbane smile at the 
 will of its owner. 
 
 "Well, well, my dear fellow, you know your 
 own business best ; but I own that charity is be- 
 yond the limits of my Christianity when it touches 
 my pocket," said Mr. Rolls. 
 
 " We have different gifts," smiled Mr. Hughes, 
 shuffling over some papers until the page was cov- 
 ered immediately under the sleeping partner's eye.
 
 2O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "True enough. But now, what do you say to 
 this colliery business ? You are a practical man. 
 Which way do you vote ? " 
 
 " Are they in earnest about the purchase ? I 
 must say they have an odd way of doing business. 
 I, as a partner, have a right to be present at all 
 consultations, and I was not even aware that the 
 matter was looked upon in a serious light at all. 
 What is the purchase money to be ? " 
 
 " Seven thousand." 
 
 " Seven thousand ? " The hoarse voice became 
 hoarser still. " I shall never give my consent." 
 
 "The affair is not decided," said Mr. Rolls. 
 " We can't make up our minds it will be a good 
 speculation. Old Reece is a timorous soul." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! After all, there is not the slightest 
 danger of the bargain being concluded." Mr. 
 Hughes mechanically wiped large beads of per- 
 spiration from his brow. Mr. Rolls playfully 
 scattered the papers off the book, and as playfully 
 glanced up and down the page. 
 
 " You have an error here of twenty-five pounds 
 ha, ha!" said he. "You forget I am the clev- 
 erest accountant in Bristol. Was, I ought to say ; 
 for it's years since any business thoughts have 
 entered my head. I am now going to take our 
 clever little minister for a walk. Add your column 
 again ; you will see I am right." 
 
 Mr. Rolls strolled away, singing softly under his 
 breath. Thomas Hughes staggered to a cupboard,
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. 21 
 
 took therefrom a bottle of brandy, from which he 
 drank freely. 
 
 "What a terrible man our sleeping partner 
 would be," he muttered, "if he chose to wake up." 
 
 Mr. Rolls, as he walked arm-in-arm with Mr. 
 Graves, began to know the history of Thomas 
 Hughes by heart. Four things he ticked off in 
 his sleeping (?) brain: deacon of the church, super- 
 intendent of the sabbath school, leader at all the 
 prayer meetings, lavish in spending money to 
 advance the interests of the Baptist cause. He 
 soon had at command all he wanted to learn from 
 the single-minded little minister. 
 
 " You make friends easily," said Mr. Graves, 
 with a naive wonder at the knowledge Mr. Rolls 
 displayed of the village folk. 
 
 " I find my amusement amongst them," was the 
 reply. " What is business to a man of my age ? 
 Is not that the coach for the Forest ? Upon my 
 word, I'll just take a run up and see how the elms 
 and oaks are looking at this season." 
 
 He hailed the coach and climbed on to the box. 
 The coachman lashed the horses, and off they 
 dashed. Mr. Graves, bland and smiling with an 
 inward suavity only school-girl wickedness could 
 disturb, passed down the street, bowing to every 
 one, and shaking hands with the potato-dealer in 
 his absence of mind, already his brain being deep 
 in an abstraction of thought which made him ob- 
 livious to all things earthly. For a man who had
 
 22 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 taken the box-seat on purpose to view the foliage 
 of the renowned forest-trees, Mr. Rolls was singu- 
 larly unobservant. He passed the whole time 
 chatting affably to the coachman who knew more 
 of everybody's business than the parties them- 
 selves were ever likely to know. It was easy to 
 lead one so garrulous into speaking of Thomas 
 Hughes, and Mr. Rolls soon knew all that could 
 be known of his struggles to rise in the world, 
 his present fine position as one in the firm of De 
 Clifford, Reece Si Co., and his free-handed kindness 
 to those in the station from which he himself had 
 risen. 
 
 The coach rattled into the town, the horn 
 blowing and horses steaming, it stopped at the 
 Angel Inn. Mr. Rolls descended, and started at 
 a brisk walk up the hill towards the country house 
 where Mr. Reece, manager of the collieries, re- 
 sided. He paused, breathless, to anathematize 
 the hilly district where his unlucky fate had sent 
 him on such a warm day. Yet he might have 
 
 looked with favour at the market town of Y , 
 
 whose irregular streets led far away into the mead- 
 ows. Y is at least eight miles from the village 
 
 of K . It is built in the heart of the colliery 
 
 district amongst the hills. Mr. Recce's house was 
 built on the summit of the steepest of these hills. 
 Mr. Rolls felt that life must be one long fatigue to 
 those whose efforts to get home must always include 
 climbing stiles and hills such as these. At length
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. 23 
 
 the high boundary wall of the old house came in 
 sight, and the luxuriant growth of hollies and ever- 
 green shrubs. Mr. Rolls paused at the gate to 
 smile at the peaceful scene before him. Dick and 
 Milly were playing on the lawn. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Reece were seated in the porch, enjoying the bliss 
 of a quiet afternoon, Mr. Reece absorbing the 
 contents of his new number of the "Baptist Maga- 
 zine," together with a long churchwarden pipe and 
 flagon of cider ; Mrs. Reece busied with a basket 
 of socks and stockings which she loved to darn 
 without limit. 
 
 " Reginald is intolerable," she remarked. " He 
 cuts out my darns with his penknife." 
 
 Here she raised her smiling face, and saw Mr. 
 Rolls. In a few moments he was making himself 
 at home with a freedom highly gratifying to his 
 hostess, and imbibing smoke and cider with a 
 relish imparted by his late walk. 
 
 " I feel astonished, and, may I add without of- 
 fence, disgusted, at the drinking habits of you 
 West County people," remarked Dr. Herly, as he 
 returned from the collieries with William and 
 Reginald, and stood in the lane to look at the old 
 gentlemen in the porch. 
 
 " I do not notice it," replied Reginald ; " but I 
 ean easily imagine it would disgust a stranger." 
 
 "The old Saxon race always drank heavily," 
 said William. " We are pretty well pure Saxons 
 in the Forest of Dean."
 
 24 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " But times have changed," Dr. Herly continued. 
 "Your three-bottle men died with the advent of 
 Queen Victoria to the throne." 
 
 " My father never sits down without a cup of 
 cider beside him," said Reginald. " He does as 
 his forefathers did, but you may have observed 
 that I am of the new generation. I never drank 
 too much in my life." 
 
 " It is strange to me that you can tolerate the 
 society of those who do," replied Dr. Herly, who 
 had found that the blunt susceptibilities of the 
 Saxon invited frank dealing. 
 
 " Oh ! they are good fellows though they do 
 drink," answered he. 
 
 "The temptations lie everywhere," said Dr. 
 Herly. " If I were a drinking-man I should never 
 finish my rounds sober. At every house I am 
 pressed to drink. Sometimes I have to stop at a 
 brook for the water the cottagers are too hospi- 
 table to give me." 
 
 Dick and Milly ran forward, and Rhoda, an elder 
 sister, was seen coming from a distant part of the 
 garden. 
 
 " We are as black as colliers," cried Dr. Herly, 
 as she approached. 
 
 "I like you the better for your courage," said 
 Rhoda. "It is prejudice, I know; but I look with 
 contempt on a man who is afraid, or does not care 
 to see the underground world."
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. 25 
 
 " ' For we are the jovial Foresters, 
 
 Our trade is getting coal ; 
 You never saw the Forester 
 But was a hearty soul,' " 
 
 sang William. 
 
 Lydia laughed, and all joined in the chorus, 
 even old Mr. Reece in the porch. Then, after 
 pausing for a few moments, the gentlemen went 
 into the house to prepare for tea. William paused 
 in the kitchen for a cup of cider. Dr. Herly 
 watched him drink with disapproval. 
 
 "Why do you drink cider when you can have 
 delicious well-water ? " he remarked. " It is a bad 
 habit, Will. You will be a man behind the times 
 if you are not careful." 
 
 " Do you mean I shall be a drinking-man ? " ex- 
 claimed William flushing. 
 
 "You do fairly well in that line for a man of 
 your age." 
 
 "That is my business," said William hotly. 
 
 "And mine, as your friend," said Dr. Herly. 
 " Don't be cross. I followed all your advice and 
 kept out of danger when you warned me in that 
 horrible level to-day, though I saw no risk in the 
 paths I wanted to follow. Can't you put the same 
 faith in me, and believe I know what I am talking 
 about when I warn you ? I am older in years and 
 experience than you are, and have seen many a 
 life of talent wrecked on the miserable strand of 
 intemperance."
 
 26 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Is thy servant a dog that he should do this 
 thing?" said Reginald, with a scoffing laugh un- 
 pleasant to hear. But William gave a sudden, 
 startled look at the friend whose warning was so 
 lovingly given that he was bound to receive it in 
 the same spirit. 
 
 The clang of the tea-bell soon afterwards sum- 
 moned the guests to the table. Mr. Rolls, as he 
 looked at the Reece family, was struck with the 
 beauty of its members. Mrs. Reece, though lack- 
 ing in refinement, was a handsome matron ; Rhoda 
 and Reginald, the twins, were beautiful in coloring 
 as in feature ; Dick, the debonair, was a pretty 
 boy ; and Milly, with her large blue eyes and wav- 
 ing chestnut hair, was the acknowledged beauty of 
 the family. 
 
 " I saw our friend Hughes to-day," said Mr. 
 Rolls, when the usual topics of conversation failed, 
 owing to Mr. Recce's dislike to any subject being 
 discussed upon which he was ignorant. As he 
 was a man who read little and learned less, a 
 dearth of conversation frequently brought silence 
 during meals, unless, indeed, any one had a dish 
 of gossip to serve. He hated science, and called 
 it worldly ; but he loved gossip next to the " Bap- 
 tist Recorder." 
 
 " Hard at work, I suppose," growled Mr. Reece. 
 
 " Certainly, hard at work. Should you think 
 now he had saved much money ? " 
 
 " With a wife and seven children ? No ! " 
 laughed Reginald.
 
 THE SLEEPING PARTNER BEGINS TO AWAKE. 2/ 
 
 "Ah! you surprise me." Mr. Hughes, had he 
 been present, might have trembled again at the 
 idea of the sleeping partner waking up too suddenly. 
 
 "His wife has private property, doubtless," he 
 suggested. 
 
 " Not any. She comes of a poor family." 
 
 "William gives a bad account of the colliery, 
 father," said Reginald. " He is afraid of the 
 water from an old pit adjoining." 
 
 " Is there coal there ? " asked Mr. Reece. 
 
 " Yes ; it is richer than we thought. The 
 Swales have worked it the wrong way. Rightly 
 worked, it ought to pay well." 
 
 " But the risk is enormous," said William, with 
 a serious manner which gave Dr. Herly a glimpse 
 of the fine possibilities latent in his character. 
 "The water is certain to break in sooner or later." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! You young folks think yourselves 
 so wise," said Mr. Reece, with the greed of gain 
 in his eyes. " The gaveller thinks it quite a safe 
 speculation." 
 
 " Can there be such a thing ? " said Dr. Herly, 
 smiling pleasantly. " I wonder how William ar- 
 rived at such a profound knowledge of mines and 
 mining engineering ? " 
 
 " Part of it is inherited from his Welsh ances- 
 tors, I am convinced," said Reginald, with a laugh. 
 " They are known to have been in the colliery line. 
 I believe workingmen, eh, Will ? " 
 
 " Certainly. And I can use a pick with any 
 man."
 
 28 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " But, alas ! " groaned Reginald, " my inspec- 
 tion into our own family archives has resulted in 
 general humiliation. I followed the branches of 
 the tree with satisfaction so long as they were of 
 Forest growth ; but when I sought for informa- 
 tion as to its transplantation here, the result was 
 agonizing. Pity me, Herly, but the confession 
 must be made. The first Reginald Reece came 
 to the Forest as to a sanctuary, his highly honour- 
 able and profitable business heretofore having 
 been that of sheep-stealing in the North of Eng- 
 land. The polite archives called it ' Bordering.' 
 I give it its true name, and bemoan the bad taste 
 of my predecessor in leaving such a spirited call- 
 ing for delving in the earth." 
 
 Mr. Reece rose hurriedly. He hated to hear of 
 the old cattle-stealer. Some truths are so un- 
 pleasant they may as well be buried and called 
 dead. The young people followed him into the 
 garden.
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN, 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 
 
 THE evening was delightful ; for, as the sun 
 set, a breeze sprang up and lightly winged 
 its way from Dean. It was to be seen in the trees 
 fluttering the aspen leaves, and swaying the grace- 
 ful barley which climbed the rocks from the field 
 to the " Lovers' Walk." Dick was making a posy 
 of barley and crimson poppies. He had artistic 
 instincts : he loved all that was pleasant in life. 
 The debonair avoided with singular acuteness 
 every approach that was hostile to life's pleasures. 
 In that respect, he was his father's son. 
 
 Dr. Herly strolled with Rhoda down the Lovers' 
 Walk, whence the sun could be seen setting in 
 glorious vision of purple and gold. They talked 
 sometimes, Rhoda skilfully keeping to some care- 
 less topic. Fun and laughter amused her : talk 
 about books wearied her ; and Dr. Herly exasper- 
 ated her by not caring one whit for her beauty, 
 but by taking her from a standpoint beyond her 
 comprehension. At length they came to the 
 " Moss Cottage " at the end of the Lovers' Walk. 
 Rhoda sat on the rocky wall near by to watch the
 
 3O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 sunset. She was untouched in soul by the beau- 
 tiful sight, her nature gathered nothing from the 
 spiritual significance of the world which sur- 
 rounded her. Those hardy old trees which shel- 
 tered the Lovers' Walk from observation might 
 have become her friends, and have spoken many 
 lessons to her soul from out their deep experience ; 
 but, no ! never to her. She lived in the world 
 which shuns an experience, amongst those souls 
 which never awake because they refuse to suffer. 
 
 Reginald came down the avenue, his shoulders 
 shrugged up to his ears, his eyes on the ground, 
 and his teeth set tightly together, as was his cus- 
 tom when at war with the world ; his cheerful 
 humour had left him. He had just said some sar- 
 castic words to the old gentlemen, who were much 
 at a loss for good advice about the purchase of the 
 Swale colliery. Reginald contrived to let them 
 know that he thought them behind the times, 
 which required speculation and push ; and, finding 
 them still cautious, left them with a laugh that 
 was a sneer. He was now plunged in an abyss of 
 unpleasant thoughts. He was wroth with fate, 
 which held out two good things to him, of which 
 he was bound to choose but one. He was wroth 
 with the insane stupidity of his heart, which, 
 though it beat feebly enough in comparison with 
 that of many a deeper nature, appeared to pulsate 
 merely to annoy him by positive uneasiness. He 
 who had lived for pleasure had now begun to find
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 3! 
 
 that oft the sweet is encompassed by the bitter. 
 He held in his heart antagonistic desires : he 
 wished to possess every good without paying the 
 price of possession. He wanted a prize. It never 
 occurred to him that to win it he must be worthy. 
 
 " It was a strangely tranquil age which saw the 
 planting of these trees," said Dr. Herly, pointing 
 to the pines which made the twilight dusk in the 
 alley. 
 
 " No one would be crazy enough to lay out a 
 garden like this in these days," said Reginald, 
 with a short laugh. " People want to view results 
 during their own lives. By my faith, I believe the 
 old Borderer had a heart, and planted these trees 
 for the benefit of the love-making of his descend- 
 ants." 
 
 " Margaret Drew would not come here at this 
 hour," laughed Rhoda. 
 
 " She was always timid in shadowy places," ob- 
 served Dr. Herly, as though speaking to himself. 
 
 " What ! you know her ? How strange ! She 
 has often heard me mention your name, but she 
 did not tell me she knew you." 
 
 " Remarkable reticence," replied the doctor, 
 raising his eyebrows ; but the twilight hid a sud- 
 den contraction of the lips that bespoke pain. 
 
 " You will see her soon, for she came last week 
 to live with her brother. We find her sttc/i an ac- 
 quisition, she is so bright and merry and sarcastic. 
 But some people call her fast because she hunts 
 and shoots."
 
 32 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "Why should she not?" asked Reginald. "I 
 am tired of 'goody, goody' people." He spoke as 
 if renewing some argument with himself, and re- 
 sumed : " Margaret is rich, and an aristocrat of 
 aristocrats. She has nothing to do but amuse 
 herself, and you must grant that the Forest is a 
 dead-alive place." 
 
 " I do not grant your apologies," said Dr. Herly. 
 " No woman lives with no duty but self-amuse- 
 ment. The Forest is a large field for willing 
 workers." 
 
 "The poor are well enough off," said Rhoda, 
 shrugging her shoulders. " If they are not, it is 
 their own fault." 
 
 "You think so, Miss Rhoda? I would you 
 could accompany me to some of the homes I know 
 where there is positive want. Neither farm labor- 
 ers nor colliers are adequately paid for their work." 
 
 " I tell you what the end of it will be," said 
 William, who had joined them a little time before. 
 " No end of trouble, strikes, and want of confi- 
 dence between men and employers." 
 
 " You always side with the men," said Reginald, 
 with a chuckle of amusement. " Self-interest is 
 more in my line." 
 
 " One must be just and honorable," said Wil- 
 liam. " In the end, too, you serve your own inter- 
 est by keeping the confidence of your men." 
 
 Dick and Milly came racing from the barley 
 field.
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 33 
 
 "The sun has set, and William has composed 
 some music for us. Come and play," cried Dick. 
 
 " Delightful ! " said Rhoda. " Run on and ar- 
 range every thing, Dick." 
 
 "I must go too," said William. He went on. 
 The others followed slowly. 
 
 " It is a pity for Mr. De Clifford to oppose Wil- 
 liam so strongly in his choice of music as a pro- 
 fession," said Dr. Herly gravely. 
 
 " I heard him tell Will the other day * it was a 
 temptation of the devil, and that he ought to flee 
 from it.' 'To drink?' said Will. Uncle looked 
 frightened, for Will turned on his heel and went 
 straight down to the village inn." Reginald told 
 the story with a laugh, as if it were an amusing 
 episode. 
 
 " And Marta ? " asked Dr. Herly. 
 
 " Marta is a slave to his caprices," said he im- 
 patiently. " She makes herself miserable over his 
 failings." 
 
 "Make haste," called William. "The light is 
 going." 
 
 Every thing was ready for the impromptu con- 
 cert. William stood fondling his violin. Dick 
 had a natural faculty for the making of music, and 
 played second violin to perfection ; and Reginald 
 sat down to his violincello. The old gentlemen 
 sat in the porch amidst a cloud of tobacco-smoke. 
 Mrs. Reece strolled about, watering her plants, 
 and tying up sweet-peas near by. All was peace- 
 ful and pleasant, but twilight was falling.
 
 34 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 William began to play an air so sprightly that 
 Dick and Milly danced lightly over the lawn ; then 
 the second violin joined in harmony ; lastly, the 
 deep-voiced "'cello" broke with thrills upon the 
 air, and the refrain became deep, solemn, slow. 
 
 " Do you like it ? " asked William, when it was 
 finished. 
 
 "Yes," said Rhoda ; "only I wish you could 
 keep in the same mood for half an hour together. 
 Play that melody again. You will set the very 
 fairies dancing ; but such a mournful finale ! I 
 like consistency, even in music." 
 
 " Sing something," cried the old men, who ab- 
 horred instrumental music as something uncanny, 
 unholy. Rhoda readily began to sing a round. 
 William's tenor, rich and faultless, took it up ; 
 Reginald made a third. Dr. Herly joined at 
 times, putting each part out which he undertook 
 to help. 
 
 " You seem to sing like the birds, spontane- 
 ously," he said at length, when the twilight had 
 blended into dusk, and the western sky had lost 
 its glow. 
 
 "Singing and music are born in us," said Regi- 
 nald. "Dick has taught himself all he knows. 
 Music comes to us : it gives us no trouble." 
 
 The curfew was heard tolling in the town, foi 
 the custom had not died in the West County. 
 
 " It is time for prayers," said Mr. Reece. The 
 solemn tolling of the bell ceased, there was a stir
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 35 
 
 in the trees, an answer sent from the depths of 
 the life in Dean. The wind passed : all was still. 
 Mr. Reece seated himself in an enormous arm- 
 chair. On the table before him lay a Bible, whose 
 long j's were perpetual pitfalls to Dick and Milly, 
 who stood one on each side of their father, and 
 read the chapter verse by verse. The servants 
 filed into the hall. Dr. Herly was an interested 
 spectator. It seemed natural for religion to grow 
 out of such still, beautiful surroundings. He 
 forgot that the spiritual understanding is secondary 
 to the religious impulse. 
 
 The evening hymn was sung. The old folks, 
 without ceremony, locked the back-door and went 
 to bed. Late hours depend on light, candles only 
 show how great the darkness is ; work or reading 
 became laborious, and, when tired of talking to 
 amuse one another, the young people also retired 
 to rest. 
 
 William went to the stable-yard to see if old 
 Thomas had had the grace to saddle his horse. 
 Reginald was there, and, to William's surprise, 
 was saddling his beautiful hunter. 
 
 " I baint a-goin' to saddle no 'orses to-night," 
 growled old Thomas, whose actions no one ever 
 thought of controlling. He had lived all his life 
 on the place, and intended to do so to the end. So 
 he ruled the roost in the farmyard, varying the 
 amusement by beating Silvie his wife. 
 
 "I am going to ride home with you, Will. I
 
 36 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 hate to spend a day in the pits, the air was so bad 
 in that level. Upon my word, Will, if Herly had 
 gone a step farther, when you caught hold of him, 
 he would have been a dead man." 
 
 "My candle went out. The place is full of 
 choke-damp." 
 
 "Choke-damp!" cried Reginald. '"I cannot get 
 rid of the fusty smell. Away for a mad scamper, 
 over rock, over fell " 
 
 " Come then, said William. " Psyche will keep 
 pace with you." 
 
 But the precipitous hill made it necessary for 
 them to lead their horses to the bottom, or be 
 thrown over the hedge, for it was little better than 
 a cliff path which led to the valley. Presently 
 William laid a gentle hand on his cousin's shoulder. 
 
 "You are engineer enough to know that the 
 gaveller's report is a careless one, and that what 
 I say of the risk of water breaking in fearfully 
 true. How can you counsel the purchase of that 
 colliery ? " 
 
 " I look on it as a gigantic speculation," said 
 Reginald. " I want to make my fortune. If the 
 water does not break in our fortunes are made, as 
 we shall turn over the purchase-money very soon, 
 drawing on such splendid seams of coal. But if it 
 should " 
 
 " You will be ruined," said William quietly. 
 " The risk is doubled by the possibility that Wye 
 will be flooded as usual in the spring. You know
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 37 
 
 the consequences well. We shall have hard work 
 to keep the water from that flooding pumped out, 
 and there is a regular river rushing through that 
 one level that will rise and cause great damage. 
 Gamble with money if you will ; but with the lives 
 of men at stake " 
 
 " William, my son," said Reginald between his 
 teeth, "thy genius lies not in moralizing. Look 
 to thyself, and pluck out the mote from thy clear- 
 sighted eye." 
 
 William colored. He was very sensitive, and 
 Dr. Herly's warning recurred to his mind. He felt 
 powerless to keep from excess, when measured by 
 such a standard. He knew his weakness of char- 
 acter, and mourned over it, without exerting self- 
 control which alone could supply what was lacking. 
 Circumstances were against him ; he saw Reginald 
 mix with the wildest youths in the county, and 
 never yield an atom of his sobriety to their influ- 
 ence. Mr. Reece sat all day long in the bar-room 
 at the Angel Inn on market days, seeing friends 
 and even customers, always drinking what popu- 
 lar opinion in those days considered very moderately. 
 Why should William deny himelf society which 
 exhilarated him, when his uncle, a deacon of the 
 church, saw no harm in spending hours at the inn ? 
 Why should he become temperate when all around 
 him were self-indulgent ? Buried in melancholy 
 thoughts, he hardly noted how fleetly his horse 
 distanced the hunter over the heavy ground. 
 
 14433:)
 
 38 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Reginald, also buried in thought, rode on furiously : 
 neither drew rein until Heaven's Gate appeared 
 in view. There it stood, the night shrouding it in 
 intense stillness, a soft murmur of sound rustling 
 amid the woods behind. The door in the garden- 
 wall stood open, a figure, still and beautiful, stood 
 with wistful eyes upon the road that led from 
 Dean. It was Marta, the quiet of the summer 
 evening in her soul, her white dress catching all 
 the light from around. 
 
 " Marta, my saint," said Reginald to himself, as 
 he threw himself off his horse at her feet. But 
 the glad shining of those blue eyes was not for 
 him ; and William came, up, caught her in his arms 
 and kissed her. This done, he led Psyche to her 
 stable. He was at peace again ; Marta was near. 
 The mere fact that her strength was at his service 
 made him feel strong in himself. He hardly 
 realized how strong an influence she exerted over 
 him ; he often resisted temptation for her sake 
 and came home early, because he knew she would 
 be waiting at the gate for him. 
 
 Marta had lost her own parents in her baby- 
 hood, and the De Cliffords of Heaven's Gate had 
 adopted her as their own child ; she more often 
 addressed them as mother and father than aunt 
 and uncle. A few years since Mrs. De Clifford 
 died, she left William in Marta's charge. Marta 
 accepted it as her life's work. William, always 
 William, was first in her heart and in her thoughts.
 
 AN EVENING IN DEAN. 39 
 
 "I thought I would ride home with him," said 
 Reginald carelessly. 
 
 " How good you are," said Marta gratefully. 
 She believed he had taken this long ride in order 
 to bring William safely past the attractions of the 
 
 Angel Inn at Y , where the young men were 
 
 always on the lookout for him. That she enter- 
 tained such an idea never occurred to Reginald, 
 simply because any desire of the kind could have 
 no place in his head or heart. 
 
 " You are coming up to spend some time with 
 us soon ? " he asked, with approval of Marta's 
 bearing in his tone. 
 
 " If I can be spared," said she, with a little 
 tremble in her voice. 
 
 " Who wants you so much as we do ? " he asked 
 tenderly. 
 
 "William. You know what aunt Cathy is." 
 
 "William must learn to do without you," said 
 Reginald abruptly. " He has no claim on you 
 whatever." 
 
 " Because I am Flamande ? " she said, softly. 
 "You forget that his mother adopted me. Wil- 
 liam has more claim on my good offices than if I 
 were in reality the sister I try to be." 
 
 " While you stay with us I shall convince you 
 of the falsity of your premises, and lead you to 
 see things with my eyes," said Reginald, springing 
 upon his horse. "Farewell, St. Marthe." 
 
 "What can make him ride so fast," thought
 
 4O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 Marta, as the flying hoofs of the hunter made the 
 echoes ring long after Reginald was out of sight. 
 She locked the garden-door, and softly paced 
 under the dark laurels until the veranda was 
 reached. A bright light streamed from the hall. 
 Aunt Cathy stood there, candle in hand, peering 
 out. 
 
 " Is that fiddling William home ? " she inquired, 
 in her loudest whisper. " I suppose he has stopped 
 at the Angel with some boon companions." 
 
 "He is home," said Marta sternly; "and it is 
 only half-past nine. It is not time to lock up." 
 
 Aunt Cathy looked like vinegar. She dropped 
 first her scissors, then her wool, then some socks 
 she had been darning. When Marta had found 
 these things for her, she went up-stairs grumbling.
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 4! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY IS DECIDED UPON. 
 
 MR. ROLLS returned to the inn the follow- 
 ing day, and with little delay presented 
 himself in Mr. Hughes' office. 
 
 " Oh ! by the way," he said, " the purchase is 
 decided upon." 
 
 " / have not consented," said Mr. Hughes, col- 
 ouring angrily. 
 
 "But you will, my dear fellow, you will," said 
 Mr. Rolls, with a keen look. Mr. Hughes did not 
 reply, he remained buried in thought. 
 
 " It is a great speculation," he said at length. 
 His eyes for once betrayed him, and gave forth a 
 look to the full as greedy of riches as the shrewd 
 eyes they encountered. 
 
 "It is an age of speculation," said Mr. Rolls. 
 " I dare say in my business days I might have been 
 eager to close such an advantageous purchase ; but, 
 with one foot in the grave, what are a few thou- 
 sands more or less ? " 
 
 "Less means workhouse fare," chuckled Mr. 
 Hughes ; " for if we lose, your private fortune will 
 be called upon to pay arrears, by rule, or rather law
 
 42 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 of our partnership. I repeat, Mr. Rolls, it is a 
 speculation, and by no means a safe one at that. 
 William came in just now and gave me an un- 
 favorable report of the mine. I am more than 
 willing to abide by his opinion, for I consider him 
 the best mining engineer in the Forest." 
 
 " Well, well ! but we have the written report of 
 the gaveller. My dear friend, there are two sides 
 to every question." 
 
 "The gaveller is drunk half his time, and, I 
 dare swear, could not see straight the day he went 
 down to examine the pit. So much for him. 
 The risk is ten to one, but I grant you if" 
 
 " If the water could be kept out," put in Mr. 
 Rolls. 
 
 " Our fortunes are made. But you do not real- 
 ize the terrible doubt that 'if implies." 
 
 " But you will consent to the purchase ? " sug- 
 gested Mr. Rolls. 
 
 " I will answer later. We are slow people here, 
 and take time to think." 
 
 " We shall want additional assistance. My son 
 Percy has married and lost his situation simulta- 
 neously. I'll send him up as chief clerk of the 
 new colliery. Mr. De Clifford wants to put Wil- 
 liam in, but he is too unsteady." 
 
 "No, sir; not at all, sir!" cried Mr. Hughes, 
 who loved the lad, and knew his fine parts. 
 
 "Too unsteady to entrust with so many lives 
 under his control," Mr. Rolls whined, with a dis- 
 mal shake of his head.
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 43 
 
 " A place of trust would steady him," said Mr. 
 Hughes. "/ shall want a clerk. I should like 
 to have William." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear fellow, but I have promised Mr. 
 Reece to send up my son Owen, good steady lad, 
 to take that very place." 
 
 Mr. Hughes was indignant ; for Mr. Rolls, who 
 had an unlimited supply of sons, had been unfair 
 enough to give them the best places in the busi- 
 ness. Mr. Reece, with a great effort, had estab- 
 lished Reginald in the firm ; but Mr. De Clifford, 
 after one refusal, was too proud to insist : so, 
 though William's services were always in demand, 
 he had no settled position. 
 
 Mr. Hughes made no effort ; he gave each of 
 his sons a handsome start in life and his blessing. 
 The latter gift was by no means superlative ; his 
 sons had the acuteness to translate its meaning 
 into rough and ready words ; not one would have 
 dared to squander his portion, and return to his 
 father for a further supply. De Clifford, Reece 
 & Co. might fail to-morrow, without affecting the 
 welfare of those sons one whit. 
 
 The half-yearly meeting of the partners was 
 called, and held as usual in an office attached to 
 the house at Heaven's Gate. 
 
 Reginald drove his father over from the Forest, 
 Mr. Rolls strolled up from the inn, and Mr. 
 Hughes^appeared with the books for examination. 
 The office-door was shut ; the old gentlemen sat in
 
 44 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 easy-chairs, smoking ; the air became dense with 
 the fumes of tobacco. A few words were said on 
 business, and Thomas Hughes read his report, 
 showing the advance in prices and prosperous con- 
 dition of the firm. He then with alacrity opened 
 the books, and offered them for inspection. The 
 lazy old gentlemen, with the exception of Mr. 
 Rolls, wrote the words, " examined and found cor- 
 rect," on the page, signing their names in full, 
 though absolutely ignorant of the contents. This 
 was their routine ; as men of honor, they could 
 not doubt the probity of their saintly friend 
 Thomas Hughes. 
 
 This business farce concluded, the subject of 
 the new colliery was eagerly discussed. Mr. Rolls 
 was not too much engrossed to perceive beads of 
 perspiration standing on Thomas Hughes' fore- 
 head as he hurriedly closed the books and tied 
 them up again. His voice, husky, as usual, was 
 heard cautiously advancing the opinion that the 
 seven thousand pounds purchase money would 
 only be the beginning of continual demands for 
 ready money. A large engine would be required 
 to pump the water night and day out of the pit. 
 On the other hand, if the coal proved to be as 
 good as William reported (and he knew of no bet- 
 ter authority), a year's work would repay much of 
 the money paid out. Mr. Rolls, clever and keen 
 though he was, could not discover if Hughes was 
 in favor of the speculation, or the reverse. The
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 45 
 
 matter was stated with business-like ability, but 
 with a modesty which removed all responsibility 
 from his shoulders. The other partners fell into 
 the trap laid for them, spoke of their age and ex- 
 perience, and assured Thomas Hughes he had 
 much yet to learn about the Forest collieries. 
 The purchase was decided upon, the old men 
 relapsed into quietude, and Thomas proceeded to 
 amuse them by his flow of anecdote. He was 
 clever, eloquent, witty ; they shook with laughter, 
 their pipes went out, they neglected their cider 
 cups, as they listened breathlessly to this wonder- 
 ful narrator. 
 
 Reginald had been offensively rude in rejecting 
 Thomas Hughes' scruples with regard to the new 
 purchase ; and, now that affairs had been arranged 
 according to his wishes, he abruptly left the office. 
 He walked to the drawing-room window and leaned 
 on the sill, looking for Marta. William was busy 
 with a new song of his own composition ; yet, with 
 his usual grace of manner, left his work, vaulted 
 through the window into the garden, and pointed 
 out Marta with the children far away in the fields 
 by the old Roman wall, one of the park bounda- 
 ries. Reginald hastened to join them, arriving in 
 time to help them mount the huge stones and 
 spring on to the soft turf of the park. 
 
 " We are going to the old Roman encampment," 
 said Marta. " I am glad you are come, for we are 
 afraid of the deer. The keeper sent to tell us to 
 be careful."
 
 46 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 They were ascending a miniature mountain, be- 
 yond which was a valley, where babbled a clear 
 brook. It was densely wooded, the park trees 
 its elms and oaks, chestnut and beeches, hollies, 
 pines, and yews being the pride of the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 " I hope to meet Minnie Selwyn at the encamp- 
 ment," said Marta. " We want to sketch a little 
 together." 
 
 " You are bosom friends still, I suppose," said 
 her cousin. 
 
 " We are friends," said Marta simply. " Minnie 
 has other pursuits and occupations when she is in 
 town. We seldom write, but wait until her return 
 permits us to be together as much as possible." 
 
 " You are talking in an unknown tongue to me," 
 said Reginald lightly. I like to form a friend- 
 ship and drop it again when convenient to do 
 so." 
 
 " Now you are talking in an unknown tongue," 
 said Marta, opening her eyes with simple wonder. 
 " But I know you are in fun." 
 
 " I am in earnest, I assure you. When people 
 get dismal or disagreeable, I like to drop them." 
 
 " No one for a moment doubts that Mr. Reginald 
 is a fair-weather friend," said a voice which keenly 
 emphasized the adjective; and Minnie Selwyn, 
 pushing aside some leafy branches, stood before 
 them. " If people will talk in such loud tones," 
 she continued, " it must happen that their remarks
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 47 
 
 will be overheard. Crawford, wake up : here is 
 Marta." 
 
 A huge man rose from a comfortable doze at the 
 foot of an oak, and smiled in a friendly manner as 
 he crushed Marta's hand in his immense palm. 
 
 " You have begun your sketch," said Marta. 
 
 " Yes ; I should have done more, but Crawford 
 is so hard to amuse. He is excessively tiresome 
 on warm afternoons." 
 
 Crawford accepted the imputation with bland 
 gratification, he was used to the caustic fire of his 
 little cousin's tongue. He had been her humble 
 slave since boyhood, always ready to receive and 
 execute her orders ; now, on his return from a 
 voyage round the world, he had resumed the habit, 
 and the cousins were as inseparable as they had 
 been in their childish days. 
 
 Olga and Jennie ran down to play with the 
 ripples of the brook. They made a pretty picture 
 lying on the turf, their broad hats thrown care- 
 lessly aside, the sun lighting up their white dresses, 
 and flashing gold on Jennie's yellow hair. 
 
 "We must not leave them at the brook," said 
 Minnie. " The deer are dangerous : they must 
 keep with us. Did I ever tell you how Crawford 
 saved me years ago from being gored by a stag ? " 
 
 " I remember quite well," said Marta. " He 
 lifted you up to an oak bough, and then climbed 
 the tree and lifted you still higher, while the 
 nurses screamed and ran."
 
 48 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "That was a quick-witted action," said Reginald, 
 glancing with surprise at the heavy-looking Craw- 
 ford, whose renown for prodigious strength and 
 staying power were hardly in keeping with quick 
 wit, and who did not look capable of making a 
 quick movement, mentally or physically. 
 
 " He is always so calm in any danger," said 
 Minnie aside to Marta. " He always does the 
 right thing at the right moment." 
 
 " I have often noticed that," said Marta. " Oh, 
 look ! " 
 
 A herd of deer stood on the brow of the hill, 
 still as statues, their heads raised and antlers 
 thrown back. It was a beautiful sight ; but 
 startled at the strangers, they flew down the hill- 
 side, sped lightly over the brook, and disappeared 
 in the dense shadows of the beeches. 
 
 " It is like a dream," said Olga, shyly, to Craw- 
 ford. 
 
 " I never dream," he replied seriously. 
 
 A few more steps brought them to the Roman 
 encampment. The ladies sat down to sketch. 
 
 " I have been helping papa this morning," said 
 Minnie. "As usual, he is trying to improve the 
 cottages on the estate ; but it is so hard to con. 
 vince their owners that there is need of improve- 
 ment in their way of living. Sometimes I can 
 influence some of the younger women, but the 
 middle-aged or old are beyond me." 
 
 " They have found by experience that one room
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 49 
 
 is sufficient for sleeping, cooking, and washing pur- 
 poses. Why, then, require them to use a wash- 
 house and pantry ? You introduce them to luxuries 
 which they do not know how to use," said Regi- 
 nald lightly. 
 
 " Must we accept their ignorance of comfort for 
 the best condition in which they can live ? " asked 
 Minnie earnestly. "Why does the public house 
 attract the poor man ? A little observation shows 
 that the cheerfulness, the bright fire, the clean 
 hearth, the comfortable settle form the charm. 
 When home means only dirt, confusion, and an 
 untidy, scolding wife, I am not surprised a man 
 prefers the public." 
 
 "A strong picture," said Reginald still lightly. 
 " Overdrawn, of course, as enthusiasts are obliged 
 to do to gain their ends, or their own belief in 
 their subject. It seems to me you work very 
 hard for the good of a thoroughly ungrateful 
 people." 
 
 " Ignorant, not ungrateful," said Crawford 
 slowly. " Minnie is right : she will make a good 
 landlord." 
 
 Here he relapsed into silence. Minnie continued 
 frankly, 
 
 " The bent of my mind turns rather upon prac- 
 tical work than the artificial life imposed by Lon- 
 don society, and my father honors me by making 
 me his companion." 
 
 "He believes in woman's rights, I suppose,"
 
 5O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 said Reginald, with a shrug of the shoulders in- 
 dicative of his own intense dislike of the theme. 
 He could not understand why Minnie should work 
 for the poor, unless she desired notoriety. Miss 
 Selwyn's capacity for grasping business details, 
 her ability in drawing plans for model cottages, 
 gave those who did not know her the chance of 
 calling her "strong-minded." Reginald was al- 
 ready prejudiced against her. He glanced from 
 her bright, eager face to Marta. Here he felt at 
 home, confident that no original idea ever had or 
 could emanate from that blonde head. He looked 
 at her with increasing favor : here was the placidity 
 he loved, the total absence of an enthusiasm. He 
 acknowledged to himself that this atmosphere of 
 repose in which she dwelt was the only one where 
 he could feel really tranquil and happy. 
 
 " I have found a Roman coin," said Olga, run- 
 ning to give it to Minnie ; for she knew that by 
 courtesy all such " findings " belonged to the lord 
 of the manor, even if found outside of the park 
 boundaries. 
 
 " Pray keep it," said Minnie. " Crawford and I 
 have found many on this hill." 
 
 " Have you not two old Roman gods up here ? " 
 asked Reginald. " I want to see them." 
 
 " I will show you where they stand," said Min- 
 nie, laying her sketch on Crawford's knee. 
 
 Marta was sketching the glimpse of the valley 
 which could be seen through the trees ; she drew
 
 PURCHASE OF THE COLLIERY. 5 I 
 
 with ability, but without great talent. Crawford 
 roused himself to be entertaining, and gave a 
 spirited account of a recent day's trout--fishing in 
 the park brook. 
 
 The other young people had descended the hill 
 on the western side. Here, under some oaks cen- 
 turies old, stood two roughly-hewn figures yclept 
 "Adam and Eve" by the village folk, "Priapus 
 and Flora " by antiquarians. 
 
 " This one is Priapus. It has a skin thrown over 
 its shoulder on which the hoof of a deer is cleverly 
 carved. The other is Flora. Is it not impossible 
 to realize that they may have been standing here 
 for two thousand years ? " 
 
 " The Romans did not value their gods enough 
 to carry them home with them," laughed Reginald. 
 
 " Oh ! but they evidently left this camp at a 
 moment's notice," said Minnie. " We have a fine 
 collection of Roman remains which were unearthed 
 last year at this encampment." 
 
 " I was sorry I was not in the Forest at the 
 time," he said. " I wanted to see the villas and 
 baths. Mr. Selwyn had them turfed over again, 
 did he not ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it was the only means of preserving 
 them," she replied, leading the way back to the 
 hill again. Crawford was just landing a four- 
 pounder with rod and line, and Marta was trying 
 to feel interested in his success, when the others 
 joined them. Marta rose then, and said "it was 
 time to return to Heaven's Gate."
 
 52 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Do not forget to come early to-morrow," said 
 Minnie. " You know it is the Women's Fete" 
 
 "What is this fete?" inquired Reginald, as 
 they walked homewards. 
 
 " Oh, it is the annual fete given to the village 
 mothers. It is great fun." 
 
 " Extraordinary ! You take pleasure in such 
 things." 
 
 " Ought we not to love our neighbors ? " asked 
 Marta, smiling. 
 
 Reginald was of opinion that kind of thing 
 should be considered as pictorial. One did not 
 carry it into practical life.
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 
 
 TAKE the path across the common amidst 
 gorse and heather, pause when you reach a 
 clump of firs on the brow of the hill, then look 
 back, only the upper windows of Heaven's Gate 
 can be seen. The path leads on down a precipi- 
 tous old quarry, now overgrown with ferns and 
 foxgloves ; underfoot, the wild thyme which fills 
 the air with perfume. Now you are come to a 
 double avenue of oaks, leading at one time to a 
 mansion whose owner, in a dark hour, hanged him- 
 self on one of these grand oaks ; and then, being 
 no better in spirit than in body, haunted his old 
 home in such an uncomfortable manner that no 
 one would consent to live there, and it fell into 
 decay. Beyond this avenue, another steep hill 
 leads down to the village. Apple-orchards sur- 
 round you. The fruit is hanging ripe and rich and 
 golden from the crooked, gnarled old trees. You 
 look down upon the village nestling to the foot 
 and creeping up the hill. In the market-place is 
 a Prie Dieu, a beautiful cross of gray stone, 
 built in the thirteenth century by the monks of
 
 54 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 Tintern. In olden days, the Virgin stood in one 
 of the niches ; around her, saints of lesser degree. 
 When Cromwell marched his soldiers through the 
 village, the cross at the summit was torn down, the 
 saints were broken into fragments ; but the solid 
 masonry of the base defied destruction, and stands 
 to this day. Four hundred years ago the monks 
 journeyed hither, and, the old legend tells us, 
 stood on the steps of the Prie Dieu to preach to 
 the village folk. It is a favorite resort now for 
 "ranters," or itinerant preachers; many a fine 
 evening brings a congregation to the foot of the 
 cross. Near by stand the almshouses, tiny 
 stone cottages, two-roomed, in which the worthy 
 old folks can live out a happy old age. They are 
 a gift to the village from some noble heart which 
 has lain in God's acre, mere dust, for nearly four 
 centuries. The date, 1490, is carved over the 
 lintels. To each cottage belongs a small garden 
 in which the old folk can grow " taturs " and 
 "iniuns." The parish doles them a loaf of bread 
 twice a week, and all the gentry round are inter- 
 ested in their behalf. 
 
 Marta has passed the cross, and now pauses be- 
 fore the almshouses where the old people are 
 seated on stone benches at their doors. She can- 
 not pass without a few words to each. 
 
 "Well, Miss Marta, you be a-lookin' about as 
 ornary as ever." 
 
 " That is too unkind, grannie," says Marta, try-
 
 THE WOMEN S "FETE. 55 
 
 ing to treat the old joke which she has heard from 
 childhood as a novelty. " Are not you coming to 
 the park ? " 
 
 " No, / hain't a-goin' to no parks, / hain't," says 
 grannie, whose rheumatic limbs made any such ex- 
 ertion impossible. 
 
 " No one can say as how I be a gad-about." 
 
 " Nor me, neither," says old Captain Long. 
 
 " Well, folks did say as how you 'ad no business 
 to a gone to Varmer Pierce's with the club Whit- 
 suntide. Some on 'em told we as 'ow you got a 
 drop thicky day." To get "a drop" is idiomatic ; 
 the West County folk never use the word "drunk." 
 
 Marta sees that they are interested in what 
 promises to be a lively quarrel, so she goes on her 
 way. The cottage doors all stand open, but not a 
 woman is to be seen. The men stand forlornly 
 keeping house, some idly leaning against the 
 lintel, the majority nursing the babies, and swear- 
 ing at the bad behavior of the older children, who, 
 finding out quickly the weakness of their father's 
 unwonted rule, openly perpetrate mischief for 
 which their mothers would unmercifully "whack" 
 them. The fathers have had to leave work early 
 in order to mind the house, for this is the Moth- 
 er's Fete. 
 
 For the mothers advance. 
 
 They are in the market-house, talking loud and 
 fast. The ladies of the village, with Minnie and 
 Marta, marshal them into ranks of two and two.
 
 56 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The band plays, the drum is incessant, the brass 
 instruments bray; the women are exhilarated, such 
 music cannot be too loud or too constant. The 
 two stoutest women in the village bear the flag ; 
 proud honor ! Stout they may be, but active when 
 activity is needed, comely and wholesome looking. 
 Less happy faces meet the eye within the ranks, 
 many of those forms are bent, and prematurely 
 aged by over-work. The village husband is mas- 
 ter. He can, he will, he does, at his good pleasure, 
 beat his belongings, be they wife, dog, or child. 
 
 The band plays a lively march, the procession 
 winds along the road, the fathers grin from the 
 doorstep, the children scream and try to keep up 
 with their mothers. Soon the soft turf of the 
 park replaces the hard, dusty road, and the lawns 
 are reached, where the tea-tables are comfortably 
 enclosed in tents. 
 
 The women are seated at the tables. According 
 to rule, each mother has brought her own cup ; 
 and, while waiting for tea, sits elegantly, in a criti- 
 cal attitude with regard to the cake. Some who 
 starve at home will say the cake has too much trea- 
 cle in it, and is not fit to set before a decent per- 
 son ; others will complain of the bread and butter, 
 and eat it wastefully, to show they are used to 
 abundance. They throw their crusts under the 
 table, and, with an expression of disgust, pour their 
 tea out on the grass, on pretence that it is too 
 weak to drink. Such hypercritical remarks must
 
 THE WOMEN S "FETE. 57 
 
 be expected by those who would bestow a favor on 
 the village poor. With it all, it requires little ob- 
 servation to note voracious appetites pertaining 
 even to the most critical of the dames. Many are 
 skilful in purloining cake for those at home, repre- 
 senting the act to their dull souls as one of gen- 
 erosity to their offspring, not akin to stealing. 
 The distinction is a very nice one, which strangers 
 fail to see. 
 
 The repast is finished. The mothers lay their 
 shawls, well lined with cake, in a corner of the 
 tent, and are free to wander at will through the 
 beautiful gardens and orchard houses. Meantime 
 the fathers have fought through the effort of get- 
 ting tea and putting the younger children to bed, 
 and at six o'clock repair to the park to spend the 
 rest of the day. 
 
 The ladies went into the mansion for tea. Some 
 strangers were inclined to be vexed at the ingrati- 
 tude of the mothers ; but Minnie and Marta took 
 it all as a matter of course, and were neither hurt 
 nor amused by it. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn joined in the discussion, bringing 
 Mr. Fordyce, the new vicar, with him from the 
 centre group round Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " I cannot help thinking the people ungrateful," 
 said he ; " but, as a new comer, I am at a disadvan- 
 tage. I am trying to study their habits without 
 prejudice." 
 
 " The ladies here think us prejudiced in their
 
 58 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 favor," said Minnie. "What is your opinion of 
 them as a class ? " 
 
 "I fear I shall offend those prejudices," said he, 
 smiling. " I find them a drunken, ignorant, obsti- 
 nate set of people. I can make no way with 
 them." 
 
 " That is a hasty judgement," said Marta calmly. 
 "They take a long while to know." 
 
 "The men are brutes," he continued. "They 
 beat their wives. I called on Dick Williams to-day 
 just as he was beating his wife with the poker. I 
 rushed to the rescue, and wrenched the poker from 
 him. To my surprise, and not a little to my cha- 
 grin, both parties turned upon me with blows and 
 abuse. Mrs. Williams herself inflicted a severe 
 blow on my head which slightly stunned me, and 
 when I recovered abused me roundly for my med- 
 dlesome ways ; while Dick sagely counselled me 
 'never to meddle between a man and his wife.' " 
 
 "Dick has just returned from a month's work 
 on the tread-mill ; offence, wife-beating," said Mr. 
 Selwyn, who was a magistrate. 
 
 "Dick hits well from the shoulder," said Craw- 
 ford. " I caught him poaching, and had a round 
 with him once." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " laughed Minnie. " Crawford 
 dragged him home as if he had been a bad boy ; 
 gave him his supper, and let him go." 
 
 " Dick Williams would follow him like a dog 
 ever since," remarked Mr. Selwyn. " Some men 
 are morally improved by being beaten."
 
 THE WOMEN S " FETE. 59 
 
 "It does not appear in this instance," replied 
 Mr. Fordyce. " I felt inclined to try a little 
 'muscular Christianity' on him to-day." 
 
 "Dick would have adored you if you had beaten 
 him in a fair round," said Crawford ; "and I know 
 you could have done it," with a glance at the fine, 
 muscular figure of the vicar. Mr. Fordyce met 
 his eyes with a quiet smile. He and Crawford 
 were friends from that moment. 
 
 " I wish we could raise the people to a higher 
 level," said Minnie. " All our efforts seem to be 
 so futile." 
 
 " There are many influences at work," said the 
 vicar. "To begin with, there is Jim Bryan." 
 
 " The ranter ! " exclaimed a chorus of voices 
 with utter disdain. 
 
 "Jim Bryan, the ranter. I assure you, that 
 man is doing a good work. He is coarse, un- 
 lettered, uneducated ; but he is in earnest, and can 
 teach the truth as it is revealed to him. He 
 reaches people whom I cannot influence. I often 
 listen to him on fine evenings when he preaches 
 standing on the steps of the cross. He speaks 
 entirely in the dialect. His power to awaken 
 hearts is undeniable." 
 
 "There is no need of these fellows with a church 
 in the village," said Mr. Selwyn, who liked relig- 
 ion in its place, that place, of course, being the 
 Church of England. Dissent was disloyalty to 
 the Established Church ; he had no sympathy 
 with it.
 
 60 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "I do not agree with you there," replied the 
 vicar. " I welcome any means of influencing the 
 people for good. When I am most interested in 
 my subject, my village flock sleeps placidly until 
 its discussion is over. No one sleeps when Jim 
 Bryan preaches." 
 
 There was a general laugh at the idea. 
 
 "No one sleeps," continued he, "but more than 
 one weeps. The man has power, and does much 
 and lasting good." 
 
 All people are not so much impressed by him 
 as you seem to think," said Minnie, laughing. 
 " An old woman, who lives on the common, told 
 me in great wrath one day that 'she was not 
 going to Heaven hisn way, so he need not think 
 it.' " 
 
 There was a laugh of much amusement at 
 Minnie's speech, and the conversation drifted into 
 other channels. Tea, at this unusual hour, was 
 taken without ceremony ; and Minnie and Marta 
 preferred to sit in one of the low window-seats, 
 where they could interchange a few thoughts not 
 intended for society at large. 
 
 The drawing-room was well lighted by side-win- 
 dows of modern structure. The oaken floor was 
 polished to the brightness of a mirror, and reflected 
 the antique chairs and tables standing thereupon. 
 Life in such a room would have been unendurable 
 but for the Turkish rugs and modern easy-chairs 
 Mrs. Selwyn had introduced. The ceiling was a
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 61 
 
 masterpiece, carved by a famous artist of Charles 
 II.'s reign. It pictured Sabrina, supported and 
 welcomed by the mermaids to their home under the 
 waves ; overhead, the sweet tangle of water-lilies. 
 Mr. Fordyce, who saw it for the first time, was 
 absorbed by the enchanting subject. Mrs. Selwyn 
 noticed this, and laughed. 
 
 " I must confess to a preference for modern 
 houses," she said. "The halls of your ancestors 
 have to be accepted with all the drawbacks of a 
 barbarous age, you know." 
 
 Here the bell from the clock-tower struck six. 
 Every one rose, for it was time to repair to the 
 park in search of the mothers. Crawford declared 
 it was taking needless trouble, and gave the band 
 a signal. With the first sound of the drum, the 
 stragglers appeared, and the scene became one of 
 great mirth and brightness. 
 
 Minnie was a host in herself ; she was possessed 
 with a genuine love of children's games. She 
 soon gathered all the children who had come with 
 the fathers to the fete, and played the old games 
 they loved. In truth, they would learn nothing 
 new, but clung to those which had descended to 
 them from their forefathers. Their prime favor- 
 ite was "Sally, Sally Walters." One girl kneels in 
 the centre, the children join hands and move round 
 singing, in humdrum monotone, 
 
 " Sally, Sally Walters, sprinkle in the pan ; 
 Rise up, Sally, and choose your young man."
 
 62 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 There is a pause ; Sally chooses. The two then 
 stand together while the children dance gayly 
 round them, continuing a kind of incantation 
 which showers blessings on the pair, ending with 
 the words, 
 
 " Now, young couple, kiss, and adone." 
 
 Meanwhile the young men and maidens are to 
 be seen enjoying " Kiss in the Ring," a game of 
 which they never grow weary. It also has come 
 to them from a long past. The participants 
 scream and laugh and clap their hands. 
 
 The married folks are dancing. The band plays 
 country dances, and the matrons foot it right 
 featly. Mother Stivens, despite her ponderous 
 weight, moves with grace and rhythm. It is a 
 pretty sight in the golden, autumn sunlight. What 
 can be more quaint than these old country dances, 
 these deep courtesies and bows, these careful 
 steps and quiet, decorous figures, requiring solemn, 
 earnest expression ? The men, for their part, in- 
 terpolate original steps, balance much on one foot, 
 and whistle the tune as they dance. These things 
 also come to them by tradition, and are therefore 
 "correct." 
 
 Apart from the " merrymakers " is a group of 
 the more sober, intellectual folk. In the centre 
 stands the village dress maker, whose renown is 
 great as a singer. Her marvellous repertoire is 
 gained from the book-hawkers who stroll round
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 63 
 
 the country with ballads for sale. They have read 
 her the ballads, hummed the tune, and thus she 
 has gained her musical education. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce and Marta meet at the outer ring 
 of the crowd in time to hear the touching ballad, 
 " The Turk he had an only Daughter," pronounced, 
 in dialect, " The Turkey 'ad a honly darter." 
 
 "This ballad descends from the Crusades," said 
 the vicar softly. 
 
 " How much every one was interested in it," 
 Marta suggested. 
 
 " I found it interesting also," he replied. " What 
 is coming now ? " 
 
 " Ho ! the mistletoe bough ! " 
 
 Oh, the turns and the twists of that shrill voice ! 
 the slurs, the glissando from low to high notes ! 
 With a laugh of amusement, Marta and Mr. For- 
 dyce left the circle and walked on, passing Minnie 
 who was "winding up the clock" with number- 
 less children, and a smaller group playing, 
 
 " Cobbler, cobbler, bind my shoe, 
 An' bring 'un 'ome at 'alf-past two." 
 
 A large tree overshadowing the lily pond sent 
 down its huge limbs to lie along the turf, making 
 charming seats. Marta and the vicar sat down to 
 watch the busy scene, where, for the present, their 
 efforts were not needed. Marta felt very shy. 
 She had been brought up a Baptist, and had never 
 met a clergyman of the Episcopal Church before.
 
 64 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 What would aunt Cathy say, did she know that 
 her niece was sitting side by side with a priest, an 
 enemy to true religion ? 
 
 " I have not seen you at church," he said, after 
 a long silence. 
 
 " I have never been to church in my life. I am 
 a Baptist," said Marta, shyly. 
 
 " You have a very learned minister, I hear," he 
 said quickly. " I am coming to hear him preach 
 some day." 
 
 Marta gazed at him with astonishment. Church 
 and Dissent had been in a continual state of war- 
 fare during the old vicar's life. Dissent had gained 
 the day with regard to Church rates. Church had 
 taken revenge by refusing its dead a place in the 
 church-yard. No wonder that Marta should feel 
 astonished at the attitude of the new vicar. 
 
 " I should like to come to church," she said, sud- 
 denly. " It is such a beautiful old building. I 
 think I could worship better with colored windows 
 and fine architecture around." 
 
 " Surely you are not going to develop into a 
 Ritualist," said Mr. Fordyce, smiling. "True 
 worship, as I understand it, is to come into com- 
 munion with God. Time and place are imma- 
 terial." 
 
 " I always feel that in the fields and woods," 
 said Marta softly. " The trees and mountains 
 seem to help in the service." 
 
 He gave a sudden, inquiring look at her. Here 
 was surely no ordinary woman.
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 65 
 
 The sun had set ; the water-lilies folded their 
 petals ; it was twilight. With the last stroke of 
 eight from the bell-tower, the band began to play 
 "Sir Roger de Coverley." Men, women, and chil- 
 dren, ladies and gentlemen, all entered with zest 
 into this grand finale. Mother Stivens headed the 
 dance ; and, when danced down, retired beaming, 
 ready to begin the series of dips or courtesies 
 which interlarded her thanks for the entertainment. 
 
 It was over at last. The band marched away 
 playing "God save the Queen." Parents and chil- 
 dren straggled in an irregular mass through the 
 park fields to the village. Their entertainers lin- 
 gered a while in the gardens to interchange con- 
 gratulations on the success of the fete. 
 
 It was dusk as Marta, with Minnie, Crawford 
 and the vicar, walked up the hillside to Heaven's 
 Gate. The deer could be seen herding timidly 
 under the trees. The yew-trees looked black in 
 the forest ; and the moon, rising over the Cots- 
 wold, shone with a line of silver in the dark bed 
 of Severn. 
 
 " Remember," said Minnie, as she bade Marta 
 good-night at the park wall, " I shall expect you 
 and William early on the day of the athletic 
 sports." 
 
 Mr. Fordyce and Marta walked silently onwards, 
 Marta in great perplexity, wishing that her 
 uncle, who was the soul of hospitality, did not hate 
 "pa' sons." She dared not ask the vicar to cross
 
 66 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 the threshold of Heaven's Gate, and to refrain 
 from doing so went against every fibre of her 
 kindly nature. Perhaps Mr. Fordyce guessed her 
 difficulty, for he pleaded want of time and hurried 
 away as soon as Marta had opened the garden- 
 door. 
 
 " I am coming soon to make Mr. De Clifford's 
 acquaintance," said he, smiling genially. " I want 
 to know him. The poor tell me he is their best 
 friend." 
 
 Marta found William absorbed in the composi- 
 tion of an exquisite theme. For once, he believed 
 in himself and his power to produce good work. 
 Marta knew that such faith in himself was just 
 what he needed to keep him happy and good, and 
 she cordially entered into his mood. At this mo- 
 ment the door was burst open, and aunt Cathy 
 came in. It was nothing to her that William was 
 innocently employed. He was not doing any thing 
 she could understand, therefore he was a mere 
 idler to be lashed into a higher ideal of duty. She 
 broke upon his occupation with a torrent of unjust, 
 stinging reproaches. Mr. De Clifford, drifting 
 along as usual with pipe, cider, and " Baptist Re- 
 corder," hearing the noise, suggested to William 
 " to put down his fiddle, and read the Bible for the 
 rest of the evening." 
 
 William looked from one to the other, and 
 laughed bitterly. He threw down his violin, took 
 his hat, and rushed out, tearing down the hill like 
 one goaded to madness.
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 67 
 
 " I wonder where he's off to at this time o' 
 night," said aunt Cathy, peering after him. 
 
 " To the village inn," said Marta, bowing her 
 head to hide her tears. 
 
 "There's not a scrap of principle in him," said 
 aunt Cathy, venomously. 
 
 Mr. De Clifford shook the pages of the " Re- 
 corder " uneasily. Did his conscience rebuke him 
 for his injudicious conduct to his motherless boy ? 
 
 Thomas Hughes walked into the bar-room of 
 the inn. He often strolled in to see if there were 
 not some "brand he might pluck from the burn- 
 ing." His influence had saved more than one 
 youth from going on a run to the Devil. This 
 evening he found more noise and fun were going 
 on than usual. William was there in a brilliant, 
 excited mood ; he was the centre of a group of 
 notedly wild men, who were now suggesting some 
 daring deeds to be done under cover of the title, 
 " practical jokes." William would not have spoken 
 to these men in a less wild humour ; but he had 
 been drinking, and had lost his judgement. Thomas 
 Hughes made use of his power of magnetism, and 
 William was in the street before he understood 
 how or why he had left the room. 
 
 " Go home, my boy," said Thomas. " Don't 
 sink your genius to the level of those low ruffians. 
 Think of your mother and Marta, boy, and go 
 home."
 
 68 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The wildness left William instantly. He looked 
 pitifully up at Thomas Hughes ; and then, meeting 
 that kindly eye, drooped his head in a way that 
 told its story of loss of self-respect, and walked 
 unsteadily away. 
 
 " Who is that beautiful lad ? " 
 
 Thomas Hughes, who was sadly watching Wil- 
 liam's unsteady gait, turned sharply, and recog- 
 nized the church parson. 
 
 " William De Clifford, sir, a boy of great 
 genius, but of weak character. I am afraid he is 
 lost." 
 
 " Do you mean an inveterate drunkard ? " 
 
 "That's what he will end with becoming if his 
 father continues to thwart his genius. The boy 
 has a wonderful genius for music, sir ; but the old 
 man thinks it beneath a gentleman to devote his 
 life to music." 
 
 " I must make acquaintance with the lad. I 
 can at least offer him intelligent sympathy." 
 
 " I love him as well as one of my own," said 
 Thomas Hughes. " If you can do aught for him, 
 sir, I shall thank you from my heart." 
 
 " As I thank you for showing me some work to 
 do after my own heart," said Mr. Fordyce, grasp- 
 ing the hand held out to him with a hearty shake. 
 
 They parted, and went their several ways. 
 Thomas Hughes glided into his office, shut the 
 shutters and bolted the door ; then sat down, with 
 a chuckle of content, to his books.
 
 THE WOMEN'S "FETE." 69 
 
 " If this colliery speculation succeeds it will set 
 me straight, after all," said he, as he rose. 
 
 "You work late," said Mr. Rolls, who met him 
 a minute afterwards in the street,
 
 70 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 IT was decided that Marta should spend a few 
 weeks of September with her cousins at " The 
 Hollies." She was unwilling to do so on William's 
 account, but the Recce's would take no refusal. 
 Reginald, accompanied by Dr. Herly, drove over 
 for her ; but, as the day was very warm, aunt Cathy 
 insisted the return drive should be taken in the 
 evening. The whole party, including this marplot, 
 sought the shade of the old medlar-tree soon after 
 dinner. 
 
 William was in high spirits ; a new theme had 
 occurred to him, and an original method of treat- 
 ing it. He was glad to discuss the subject with 
 Reginald, who knew enough of counterpoint to be 
 a good critic. Dr. Herly and Marta were discuss- 
 ing books, while aunt Cathy put in her word, as 
 usual, mat d propos to every thing. Suddenly a 
 figure appeared against the sky just on the brow 
 of the hill. 
 
 " The Church of England pa'son," shrilled aunt 
 Cathy. " Come to get the children christened, I'll
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN S GATE. 71 
 
 lay any thing. I'll soon send him to the right- 
 abouts." 
 
 There is no doubt that she would have done so 
 most heartily, and the imminent danger of such a 
 catastrophe fairly paralyzed the rest of the party. 
 Dr. Herly, however, with a respectful air which 
 quite disarmed aunt Cathy, suggested that " it 
 would be a far more Christian act to convince the 
 young man of his errors." 
 
 " I should like to know what church you belong 
 to," snapped aunt Cathy. " For inside a church 
 I've never heard of your being since you came to 
 the West County." 
 
 Dr. Herly was sure, that as aunt Cathy never 
 lent an ear to gossip, it was quite unlikely she had 
 heard of his being in church. As the good lady 
 did not understand the language of sarcasm, and 
 no one chose to translate it for her, she became 
 good tempered, and welcomed Mr. Fordyce with 
 becoming hospitality. 
 
 It would have been a hard task for even aunt 
 Cathy to have been rude to one so genial as the 
 vicar. An atmosphere of loving-kindness seemed 
 to pervade his being ; every one felt the brighter 
 for his presence. There was a sense of posses- 
 sion in the way he took and clasped William's 
 eager hand. The boy did not know that the sole 
 purpose of this visit was to give the stronger man 
 a foothold that he might fight with the Devil for 
 supremacy, side by side with the weak lad. Mr.
 
 72 , HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Fordyce had faith in the power of the strong to 
 help the weak. He felt eager for a battle-royal, for 
 a fitting opportunity to show William that he no 
 longer stood alone. In the mean time he had 
 found an excuse for calling at Heaven's Gate : it 
 came to him like an inspiration. 
 
 " I am come to make a very bold request," said 
 he, to William. "The musical portion of my ser- 
 vice is so unendurable that I suffer agonies every 
 Sunday." 
 
 "I have heard it," said Reginald, laughing. "I 
 was afraid I should laugh, it was so intensely ludi- 
 crous. The clerk ground a barrel organ, and a 
 few people sang. The barrel organ is the worst 
 instrument to lead church singing that I can im- 
 agine." 
 
 "You are right," said Mr. Fordyce. "Such a 
 common instrument desecrates the noble old 
 church. I am inclined to hope that the grand 
 organ there is not hopelessly out of repair. I 
 have come to ask you, William, to inspect it with 
 me. Do you play the organ ? " 
 
 ^William is a universal genius," said Reginald, 
 who felt that this was a pleasant trait in William, 
 reflecting credit on his relatives. He was above 
 any feeling of jealousy, being clever enough to 
 recognize the limitations of talent when placed 
 beside genius. 
 
 " I can play every instrument that has ever 
 come in my way," said William, quietly. " I shall
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN S GATE. 73 
 
 be delighted to examine your old organ. It ought 
 to be good, as the church was an important one 
 once. I mean good for its age." 
 
 "You will be doing me a great service," said 
 Mr. Fordyce. " I have been reduced to the ' Old 
 Hundredth ' every Sunday for a month. The 
 barrel organ has taken to wheezing, and, as you 
 may know, is such an imperfect specimen that 
 one tune must be ground out before another hymn 
 is begun. If the stanzas to be sung are few in 
 number, the congregation has to listen until the 
 clerk has ground out the rest of the barrel." 
 
 Even aunt Cathy laughed at this description. 
 
 "William will help you," said Marta, her calm 
 eyes shining with pleasure at this new interest for 
 her cousin. " He knows the villagers so well that 
 he can tell you who amongst them would be use- 
 ful in a choir." 
 
 "Ah, if he would be persuaded to take the place 
 of choir-master ! " said Mr. Fordyce, with enthusi- 
 asm. William shook his head, and glanced at 
 aunt Cathy, and then at his father, who, pipe in 
 hand, came slowly up the garden path. 
 
 " Baptists we are, and Baptists we shall remain," 
 said the aunt, with an inimical glance at the pa'son. 
 
 "By all means," said Mr. Fordyce, with a con- 
 cilatory bow. "/ believe that I have the best 
 means of worshipping God, you believe that you 
 have. Let us be friends, and agree to differ." 
 
 "Good, very good!" said Mr. De Clifford, hold-
 
 74 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 ing out his hand to Mr. Fordyce. " Glad to meet 
 you, sir. I've heard of you from Thomas Hughes." 
 
 William was thunder-struck at this cordial re- 
 ception, not knowing what to make of it. His 
 father loved him deeply, and had cudgelled his 
 brains to find some means of keeping him from his 
 downward career. Thomas Hughes broke in one 
 day on these cogitations, and showed him clearly 
 what a salutary influence the vicar's might prove 
 to William, and told him plainly he would be an 
 enemy to his son if he withheld this means of 
 grace from him. 
 
 " Suppose William should turn Episcopalian?" 
 objected Mr. De Clifford. 
 
 "That is better than becoming a hopeless drunk- 
 ard. That's what he will come to, if you can't 
 break him from the company he gets at the inn," 
 replied Thomas Hughes. 
 
 " Sit down again, sir, sit down," said Mr. De 
 Clifford, cordially. " It is a warm afternoon for 
 the first of September, is it not ? " 
 
 Before the vicar could reply, aunt Cathy resumed 
 her former theme in a most exasperating manner. 
 
 " I am convinced that you know nothing of our 
 principles," she snapped. " You Church of Eng- 
 land pa'sons never look beyond your Thirty-nine 
 Articles by which you swear." 
 
 " It is never ' too late to mend,' " said Mr. For- 
 dyce, in a cordial voice. Speech and tone were 
 received with favor. Aunt Cathy solemnly rose,
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN S GATE. 75 
 
 and went into the library ; thence she soon re- 
 turned with a well-read volume. This she placed 
 in the vicar's hands, with an injunction to read it 
 without prejudice. After one look at William's 
 eager face, he promised to make the attempt. It 
 was "Carson on Baptism." 
 
 " I hear that the singing at the Baptist Chapel 
 is very good," said he, to his host. 
 
 " We have a good choir," he replied. " Some 
 of our people have fine voices too ; so the con- 
 gregational singing is above the average." 
 
 " That is what I should like to establish," said 
 Mr. Fordyce. "But I do not know how to set 
 about it." 
 
 " Better get William to help you," said Mr. De 
 Clifford, stolidly indifferent to aunt Cathy's sig- 
 nals. " He could give you a hand Sunday even- 
 ings, for we have only morning and afternoon 
 services." 
 
 " O father, thank you ! " cried William, starting 
 up ready to embrace him with delight ; but with- 
 held by knowing his father considered any mani- 
 festation of affection in public ill-bred. 
 
 "I am very grateful to you," said Mr. Fordyce, 
 grasping his hand with a hearty shake. " I hope 
 I shall no longer be depressed by the dead-alive 
 condition of my musical services." 
 
 " I wish you success, sir," said Mr. De Clifford. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce, seeing an argument against the 
 use of the church-service in aunt Cathy's eye, 
 determined to escape.
 
 76 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "Are you ready, William?" he said. "I told 
 the clerk to be at the church-door by five o'clock." 
 
 "Come again soon," said aunt Cathy, with a 
 nod that spoke volumes. 
 
 " We will take you as far as the beech wood," 
 said Marta, with a glance at Dr. Herly and Regi- 
 nald. 
 
 "The world's come to a pretty pass," said aunt 
 Cathy, before they were well out of hearing. 
 " Our William going off with a church pa'son ! " 
 
 Mr. De Clifford's eyes were following the happy 
 group walking over the heather to the wood. Per- 
 haps his ears were there too, for he made no an- 
 swer to his sister's remarks until they became of 
 a very scathing nature. 
 
 " O Lord ! " he ejaculated in disgust, shook 
 himself, and went into the house. Aunt Cathy 
 then turned on the children ; but, at this moment, 
 Dr. Herly blew his whistle. 
 
 "That is for us," cried Olga. They vaulted the 
 wall and flew over the common. Left to herself, 
 the old lady vented her wrath on her knitting- 
 needles. 
 
 "That is a good friend for William," said Dr. 
 Herly, as they returned to Heaven's Gate. 
 
 " Yes," said Marta. " I was afraid uncle would 
 not like him." 
 
 " I was never more surprised in my life," said 
 Reginald. " But there is something very irresist- 
 ible in Fordyce's cordial manner. He is an
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN S GATE. // 
 
 Oxford man, senior wrangler, and a powerful 
 man, mentally and physically. He intended to go 
 in for literature in a dilettante way, I imagine, for 
 at that time he was wealthy. Well, his father died, 
 leaving his affairs in great confusion ; and his only 
 legacy to Fordyce was his blessing, with a step- 
 mother and three step-sisters to support. Mr. 
 Selwyn at once offered him this living, and he 
 took orders and came here." 
 
 "Was he not a religious man?" asked Marta, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "What he is I see in every case of distress 
 within a radius of thirty miles," said Dr. Herly, 
 emphatically. 
 
 " Oh ! he is well enough," said Reginald, yawn- 
 ing. "He is a first-rate cricketer and boxer." 
 
 Mr. Fordyce and William walked happily on- 
 ward. The vicar had a rare ability for seeing peo- 
 ple at their best. William instantly felt this. 
 Something, too, in the moral power of the man 
 gave him a stimulus, awakened his latent strength 
 until he felt himself no longer a weakling. Alas ! 
 for one so easily influenced, half an hour in the 
 society of the practical jokers at the inn, and 
 William would be at his worst again. 
 
 The parish clerk was sitting on a tombstone by 
 the chancel door. In private life he was carpen- 
 ter and "jack-of-all-trades," the most handy man 
 in the village. 
 
 " Halloo, thee ! " began William in the dialect. 
 " Bist thee ready for a tinkering job, eh ? "
 
 78 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Oy, lod," replied he, with a grin of delight. 
 
 William had a perfect manner to his social in- 
 feriors ; he had only to lead, and they were over- 
 joyed to follow him. Mr. Fordyce often offended 
 the people unintentionally. He wondered at Wil- 
 liam's easy, yet dignified, manner. Who but he, 
 would have dared order the clerk about in such 
 peremptory manner? Yet there was old Brink- 
 worth on the broad grin half the time, and cheer- 
 ful, though most of the work had to be done inside 
 the musty organ. Mr. Fordyce climbed about the 
 gallery from pew to pew, opening worm-eaten 
 prayer-books, curiously scrutinizing the dates. 
 His assistance had been declined when it proved 
 a hindrance. 
 
 " We have mended the bellows," called William. 
 " Brinkworth will blow while I try the keys. Get 
 as far off as you can." 
 
 Mr. Fordyce rapidly descended to the nave, and 
 then went to the end of the church. Soon the 
 melody of long-drawn chords roamed through the 
 pillared aisles, filled the vaulted roof, and died 
 away, lingering long among the echoes there. 
 The aspect of the church was changed ; every 
 thing grew harmonious. The saints in the colored 
 windows, with their golden heads, their upraised 
 eyes, their purple robes, became sentient, for a 
 moment lived and moved in spiritual existence. 
 The stone carvings from pulpit to pillar became 
 wrought with significance. Cherubim and Sera-
 
 MR. FORDYCE SETS FOOT IN HEAVEN S GATE. 79 
 
 phim blew their trumpets triumphantly, stretched 
 their winged figures in shadows from wall to wall, 
 tinted in gold, purple, and vivid red from the flam- 
 ing sunlight that streamed through the colored 
 windows into the aisle. 
 
 " Will it do ? " called William. 
 
 "Only continue; don't stop," entreated the 
 vicar. 
 
 The belfry clock struck five, the music began 
 ere its solemn voice had ceased. Mr. Fordyce 
 roamed round the church as he listened, his eyes 
 on the old monuments and the kneeling figures on 
 the brasses. 
 
 Presently he went back to the organ, and stood 
 watching William, who was absorbed in his music. 
 
 " Genius is God given," said he, laying his hand 
 lovingly on William's shoulder. 
 
 "Aunt Cathy says it is a temptation of the 
 Devil," said he, with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " Ah ! she confounds its possession with its 
 abuse." 
 
 "Them be the stiffest bellowses I everblowed," 
 said Brinkworth, mopping his bald head with a 
 yard of Turkey red. 
 
 " The instrument needs tuning and overhauling. 
 You had better send for Goddard of Gloucester. 
 But, if you like, I can play on it as it is until it is 
 repaired," said William. 
 
 They left the church and crossed the fields to 
 the village.
 
 8o HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Come and take tea with me," said the vicar. 
 "I want to consult you about the choir." 
 
 "Very well. And I see old John there with 
 the carriage. I'll send Marta word why I do not 
 return before she leaves." 
 
 William vaulted the fence and sprang over a low 
 hedge into the road and stopped the obstinate old 
 servant who was driving the more obstinate Jere- 
 miah. He was glad that Marta should know in 
 whose society he would spend the evening. 
 
 When it grew dusk the vicar accompanied him 
 a mile on his road, sending him onward with 
 happy thoughts for company. He sang in a joy- 
 ful voice that made the echoes ring as he climbed 
 the hillside. 
 
 " So you took tea with the vicar,'.' said his father, 
 meeting him on the threshold. " You had better 
 get him up here for a game of cricket some day. 
 Reginald says he is a first-rate player." 
 
 "Thank you, father," said William, grasping his 
 father's hand. 
 
 " Well, good-night, my boy," said the old man, 
 kindly.
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 8 1 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 
 
 " " I ^HE doctor does more with one lung," said 
 J- Reginald, in a lazy manner, " than I can do 
 with two." 
 
 He was watching his friend as he chased the 
 children through the shady alleys. Marta caught 
 the doctor as he ran past. 
 
 "How can you over-exert yourself so ? " she 
 cried. "What would you say if one of your pa- 
 tients behaved so rashly." 
 
 " I should think he did not value his life very 
 highly," said the doctor, quietly. " It requires 
 more courage than you know, or I perhaps pos- 
 sess, to live contentedly on one lung." 
 
 " Ah ! doctor Herly, what would the forest folk 
 do without their friend?" cried Marta. "You 
 must not throw away your life." 
 
 She threw a shawl over him as he sank breath- 
 less on the rug under the medlar. Reginald 
 strolled off to talk to Mr. Rolls, who had just 
 appeared over the brow of the hill, and the chil- 
 dren ran off to play ball, their merry voices mak- 
 ing sweet music. Sweeter far was the winged
 
 82 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 wind passing through the pine branches with a 
 roll and roar like the swell of the breakers on a 
 distant coast. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " cried Dr. Herly, rising on 
 one arm. " Miss Marta, those old pines often read 
 me a lesson. There is a grandness about their 
 aspect which gains my respect. Storm-beaten, 
 lightning-blasted, crooked though they be, how 
 strong and firm, how complaisant the gentle sway 
 of their boughs in the wind ! " 
 
 " My aunt De Clifford often drew lessons for us 
 from nature," said Marta. 
 
 " She was an intellectual woman, I imagine ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and she had genius for poetry and music, 
 as William has. Poor William ! He has missed 
 her love and care more than any of us." 
 
 " Aunt Cathy wants you, Marta," called Jennie, 
 flying past, pursued by Olga. 
 
 The gentlemen were in the drawing-room listen- 
 ing with attention to Reginald, who had some new 
 ideas about working the Swale colliery. The 
 greed for money-making was profaning the very 
 air of Heaven's Gate. Marta felt uneasy. For the 
 first time in her life she found herself in the atti- 
 tude of critic with regard to Reginald. Hitherto, 
 in all her intercourse with him, she had only seen 
 him at his best. She objected to this new phase 
 of character, developed by the fever of specula- 
 tion. She could not forgive him for caring so 
 much for money : it seemed to her a despicable
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 83 
 
 failing. While indulging in such severe criticism, 
 a sudden turn was given to her thoughts by the 
 message brought by old John. Her eyes shone 
 with pleasure as she repeated it to her uncle, and 
 she laughed with a light heart at the quips and 
 cranks between aunt Cathy and Reginald at the 
 tea-table. Reginald was delighted to make the 
 old lady talk and express her serious disapproval 
 of his careless remarks. 
 
 " Heartless and godless," muttered aunt Cathy 
 to herself. "He is not worth as much, after all, 
 as our fiddling William." 
 
 At sundown surly old John brought the phaeton 
 to the door, and the party started for " The 
 Hollies." The sun was setting as they drove into 
 the woods ; the crimson sky could be seen in 
 glimpses through the trees. Soon the over-arch- 
 ing branches made twilight, even dusk. The 
 farther they drove into the forest, the darker it 
 grew. Dr. Herly was in high spirits, and Regi- 
 nald incomparably droll ; the woodland echoes rang 
 with laughter. 
 
 As they drew near to X the shadows were 
 
 fewer and farther between, and the rising moon 
 prolonged the light. Two figures on horseback 
 flashed past, and then suddenly reined their horses 
 a few yards distant. 
 
 " Is that you, George ? " called Reginald. 
 
 " Yes ; a word with you," said a deep voice ; and 
 a man, whom Reginald introduced as Mr. Drew,
 
 84 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 rode up to the carriage. Marta's eyes, however, 
 were fixed on the lady who was his companion. 
 She never forgot her first glance at Margaret 
 Drew. 
 
 Margaret sat motionless on her white horse, her 
 statuesque, clearly cut features seeming to grow 
 out of the faint light. Nature had endowed her 
 with a mask in that marble face over which she 
 had perfect control. She disliked the fripperies 
 of fashion in dress, and clothed her statuesque 
 beauty with nun-like simplicity. Other women 
 emulated this elegant style, but gave up the effort 
 with naive wonder that Margaret should look regal 
 in a gown which rendered them mere dowdies. 
 Popular opinion, much divided with regard to this 
 new-comer, agreed on one point of some impor- 
 tance : " she had no heart, yet possessed the power, 
 which she used with reckless pleasure, of breaking 
 and wounding other hearts." Gentlemen admired 
 her ; ladies, jealous of her power and beauty, 
 dreaded also her sarcastic, sometimes cruel, tongue. 
 The poor spoke well of her, but their opinion did 
 not affect the higher tribune, though they obsti- 
 nately obtruded their criticism. Miss Drew was 
 beloved by them, short though her stay in the 
 Forest had been. 
 
 George Drew, once as handsome as Margaret, 
 had, with a tendency to dissipation, grown stout 
 and rather coarse-looking. His nature had nothing 
 in common with hers ; his manner was effusive,
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 85 
 
 complimentary ; he was absurdly self-conscious, 
 and craved admiration. Having no opinions of 
 his own worth holding, he was a favorite with peo- 
 ple of a dogmatic tendency. He congratulated 
 himself, not altogether erroneously, on being able 
 to please all classes. " In Rome one comports 
 one's self after the manner of the Romans," was 
 the rule of his existence. Thus, when Reginald 
 introduced him to the quiet maiden at his side, he 
 chattered away with some agreeable nothings he 
 thought must please a country maid. A brief 
 answer, tinged with sarcasm, made every nerve of 
 his self-conscious body tingle. 
 
 Marta turned to speak to Dr. Herly, but ob- 
 served that his eyes were fixed on Margaret, who, 
 in her turn, was looking at him in the same intense 
 way. Both faces were white and still, perfect 
 command of countenance making that whiteness 
 and stillness the only visible signs of discomfiture. 
 Suddenly the lady wheeled her horse ; it reared 
 and plunged wildly ; she struck it sharply with her 
 whip, and dashed past the phaeton towards the 
 town. 
 
 George Drew spurred after his sister, and Regi- 
 nald drove slowly on. There was no more merri- 
 ment, for Dr. Herly was so deeply absorbed in 
 thought that he could not follow the conversation 
 between his companions. He leaned back wearily, 
 his quiet eyes following the dimly outlined road 
 on which the reckless rider had disappeared. It
 
 86 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 was dusk now with the fall of night, a dangerous 
 time to ride so wildly through the Forest. He 
 roused himself presently, as Marta said, with en- 
 thusiasm, 
 
 " What a beautiful girl ! I have seen the won- 
 derful Margaret Drew at last." 
 
 "She is very wealthy, I am told," said Reginald. 
 
 "And a girl no longer," said Dr. Herly. "We 
 were children together." 
 
 Reginald was angry with the intrusion of this 
 idea, but the doctor never spared him when he . 
 thought the utterance of a truth would benefit 
 him. He said this for Marta's sake, believing, as 
 did most of the Forest world, that the cousins 
 were engaged. He knew Reginald loved Marta ; 
 his clear-sighted eye saw, also, that he loved posi- 
 tion and money in a higher degree. As for Marta, 
 she was too good for him ; but then, women as a 
 rule were too good for their husbands. Perhaps, 
 after all, one so passionless as Marta would not 
 seek too great depths for Reginald's nature to 
 supply. 
 
 The good doctor lost himself when he tried to 
 understand Marta's character ; he had not the key 
 to its mingled sternness and loving-kindness. 
 
 " Set me down here," he asked, when they drew 
 near to his lodging-house. " I cannot go on with 
 you to-night." 
 
 "I thought you were coming up to the house 
 with me ? "
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 8/ 
 
 "Another evening," cried the doctor, hastily 
 descending from the phaeton and disappearing in 
 the dusk. 
 
 " How queer he is this evening," said Reginald, 
 as they drove on up the hill. 
 
 " He is tired," said Marta ; but she knew she 
 held a clue to this sudden change of mood. 
 
 They drove on in silence until the lights of "The 
 Hollies " came to view. At the end of the field, 
 all the family were waiting to welcome Marta. 
 The old people got into the carriage, and Marta 
 walked on with her cousins. 
 
 The most comfortable room in the old mansion 
 was a guest room, called "The Prophet's Chamber," 
 set apart for the last hundred years for the use of 
 Baptist ministers. Mr. Reece inherited reverence 
 for the priestly office from his forbears, thus the 
 prophet's chamber seldom lacked an occupant. 
 The reverend brother was as a prince in the house- 
 hold. Domestic affairs were ruled for his conven- 
 ience; his appetite, often greedy and voracious, 
 was pandered to by his hostess, the sacredness of 
 his calling covering his faults with the mantle of 
 charity. Mr. Reece revered pa' sons against the 
 dictates of his common-sense ; he would not see 
 them common, greedy, and overbearing. Mr. De 
 Clifford, on the contrary, was unjust in his con- 
 tempt for the "whole breed of pa'sons," judging 
 all by those bad specimens on which his opinion 
 was formed in youth.
 
 88 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The Prophet's Chamber, being vacant, was given 
 to Marta. She was wakened early next morning 
 by the sound of roses tapping the lattice panes. 
 She threw on a shawl ; and, curling herself up on 
 the low, cushioned window-seat, opened the lattice 
 to welcome the sweet morning air and sweeter 
 rose-buds. The birds were singing in a large elm 
 by the barley-field, and the rooks were cawing, 
 circling round and round their nests. The milk- 
 maids came up the lane, carrying their pails on 
 their heads, their wooden stools in their hands ; 
 the men went past with their horses and wagons, 
 or sang some rolicking song as they passed, carry- 
 ing their sickles, for the corn was ripe in a few 
 fields. 
 
 Marta's thoughts drifted from the outward and 
 visible to reflections on the peculiar natures of 
 her cousins, the pervading spirits of this lovely 
 home. Whence sprung this shrinking from con- 
 tact with grief or unpleasantness ? If one, strange 
 to the family idiosyncracy, were so ill advised as to 
 relate a sorrowful story, the coldness of the sur- 
 rounding atmosphere would cause him to shorten 
 or make his subject less painful. Even children, 
 thrown without experience into this family centre, 
 learned instinctively to avoid any obtrusion of 
 their small woes in hope of sympathy. They 
 found they were expected to be bright and pleas- 
 ant. Yet the Recce's gave freely of their money 
 and their goods ; what they refused to give was
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES." 89 
 
 "themselves." They could not bear to suffer, to 
 feel sorrowful for others. Had they no unfulfilled 
 desires, no ambitions which circumstance re- 
 pressed ? Their pleasure-loving natures helped 
 them even in their wishes ; idle, foolish, tiresome, 
 the habit of wishing for things out of your reach ; 
 they were quick to recognize and avoid collision 
 with what was painful. Present good was ac- 
 cepted, aspiration for a nobler existence trodden 
 under foot. Marta was troubled by this ; she 
 would take up a burden rather than ignore its 
 existence, which disposed her to be stern in her 
 judgement of less duty-loving folks. 
 
 The rising-bell rang. Doors banged down- 
 stairs, and there was a hum of preparation from 
 the kitchen. Marta hastened to dress : she ran 
 down-stairs ; the ponderous figure of Mr. Reece 
 blocked up the hall-door, and the prayer-bell was 
 ringing. The maids filed into the hall, Dick and 
 Milly raced in from the garden. Mr. Reece was 
 always too cross to be spoken with until he had 
 eaten his breakfast, so Marta silently took her 
 seat. Dick and Milly, standing beside their father, 
 read each a Psalm, stumbling, as usual, over the 
 long s's in the great-grandfather's Bible. The 
 morning hymn was sung, and Mr. Reece offered 
 a short, extempore prayer. Reginald came care- 
 lessly down when the morning's devotions were 
 over. His worldliness caused much sorrow to his 
 father.
 
 90 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 After breakfast, the placid life of the day began. 
 Mr. Reece drove over to the collieries ; his wife 
 went down-town to market, followed by a maid who 
 carried a large basket. Rhoda, after a stroll round 
 the garden, went into the kitchen to make pastry. 
 It was a comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen, the 
 enormous fireplace with hobs, where saucepans 
 stood ready for use ; over the fire a large kettle, 
 called a "fountain," was slung, always full to the 
 brim, so that any sudden call for hot water might 
 be supplied day or night ; a brass jack hung 
 before the fire, a dripping-pan underneath, and the 
 joint to be slowly turned before the fire was now 
 being larded and floured by the cook. 
 
 " How pleasant it is here ! " said Marta, following 
 Rhoda into the kitchen, where the white pastry- 
 board, the flour, butter, and rolling-pin were ready 
 on the table. " I should like to make a picture of 
 this interior." 
 
 "I wish you would," said Rhoda. "Mind you 
 put in the flitches of bacon hanging to the ceiling, 
 the strings of onions and herbs, and the brass 
 candlesticks and warming-pan over the chimney- 
 piece." 
 
 "I should only fail," laughed Marta. "It would 
 take an artist. By the way, Hubert Marshall 
 would make a perfect picture for you. Ask him." 
 
 " He has left the Forest," said Rhoda, calmly. 
 
 " How long since ? Why did he leave so sud- 
 denly?"
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES. 9! 
 
 " I suppose the monotonous life wearied him," 
 said Rhoda, with a slight hesitation and droop of 
 the eyelashes. 
 
 No need to explain the process by which a man's 
 heart was broken, his faith in woman shattered. 
 Hubert was poor ; yet so noble, so dignified, that 
 even Reginald bowed before his superiority. He 
 met with Rhoda amongst the sylvan shades, the 
 oaks and beeches of Dean, and loved her as an 
 ideal woman. He little thought that worldliness 
 could creep into this lovely Forest world, or that 
 Rhoda had a keen eye to her own interests, and 
 had no intention of losing her heart to a poor 
 man. She went away on a visit ; when she re- 
 turned, Hubert was gone. One interview with Mrs. 
 Reece, one letter from Rhoda, in answer to his 
 own impassioned appeal, had completely opened 
 his eyes. Lydia missed his brilliant, entertaining 
 society ; she was dull and out of spirits for a 
 while. Mrs. Reece was equal to the occasion. 
 
 " Law, Reginald, I wonder you don't call on the 
 new comer to ' The Pines,' and ask Mr. Drew up 
 here to smoke a pipe with you. Law, it would 
 only be kind." 
 
 Mr. Drew, with his past unclean record, his pres- 
 ent white-wash of respectability, soon supplied 
 the place left vacant by the greater man. Rhoda, 
 without a religious desire in her heart, regretted 
 that she belonged to the unfashionable Baptist 
 persuasion. In those days, the term " Dissenter "
 
 Q2 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 suggested "vulgarity" to unintelligent minds. 
 Rhoda admired George Drew for being an Episco- 
 palian ; nor would his reason for a regular attend- 
 ance at church have shocked her, merely a 
 desire to gain credit for a respectability which his 
 former life did not possess. He had persuaded 
 Margaret to come and live with him, and knew 
 that he must be on his best behaviour, or she 
 would leave him. It was his desire to be ad- 
 mitted into the best society in the Forest, and 
 he wanted his beautiful sister to be mistress of 
 the fine old mansion he had bought. Altogether, 
 he was an eligible "parti" in Rhoda's eyes; any 
 regret for the loss of Hubert Marshall died an 
 early death. 
 
 The girls were still busied in the kitchen when 
 George Drew rode into the yard. Perceiving 
 Rhoda at the open window, he boldly approached, 
 leaned his arms on the sill, deluging her with com- 
 pliments on her skill, her industry, her beautiful 
 arms which were bared for her work. 
 
 "Margaret sent me over to ask you all to join 
 us in getting up a picnic to 'The Slaughters' 
 next week," he remarked, when Rhoda had, with 
 much common-sense, parried his compliments. 
 
 " Oh, charming ! " cried she. " Marta, do run 
 up and ask Reginald to come down for a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 Mr. Reece had an office fitted up for his own 
 convenience in the same wing with the Proph-
 
 AT "THE HOLLIES. 93 
 
 et's Chamber. Marta gave her message ; then, 
 taking a sun-bonnet, went out into the garden. 
 An hour elapsed before she saw George Drew 
 ride away down the lane.
 
 94 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. 
 
 A WEEK followed of unusual dryness and 
 heat. Thomas, who represented the " oldest 
 inhabitant," said, "as how he never remembered 
 nothin' like it in all his born days." Reginald de- 
 clared that the very thought of business pros- 
 trated him, and he should devote his mind to 
 study, as long as Marta was there to assist him. 
 Marta was a fair linguist, well read in French and 
 Italian. Reginald, with no talent for language, 
 was struggling with the construction of " Le Cid." 
 Their favourite spot for this study was the Moss 
 Cottage. They set out early, Marta with her 
 sun-bonnet, its long curtain protecting her shoul- 
 ders ; Reginald carying the gig umbrella, large 
 enough to shelter a family. They passed through 
 the garden where sweet, old-fashioned flowers 
 flared in the sunshine, filling the air with fra- 
 grance. Dick and Milly were at play in the bar- 
 ley-field, gobbling at the old turkey, the despot of 
 the barn-yard, which, having escaped old Sukey's 
 clutch, was now a gentleman at large. After 
 crossing the garden, a door appeared in the stone
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. 95 
 
 wall. Reginald unbolted it, and they passed from 
 the sunny garden into complete shade. Here and 
 there were rural benches and stone seats. "Le 
 Cid " was half finished before the cousins ar- 
 rived at the Moss Cottage ; then, after a casual 
 glance into its dark interior, they preferred the 
 seats in the alley. Reginald had not noticed that 
 Marta's eyes lingered on the coloured panes of glass 
 where their names, as children, had been scribbled 
 from time immemorial, or that she had read a new 
 name, in bold writing, " Margaret Drew." It was 
 written close beside her own childish, round hand 
 of years ago. Marta was hurt that a stranger 
 should have intruded her name amongst these 
 records of childhood. Her heart was too full for 
 her to heed Reginald's reading, and he stopped, 
 surprised not to hear some severe remarks on his 
 Saxon pronunciation. 
 
 "I would not have let her write her name 
 there," said she. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " Then he understood, 
 and coloured with annoyance. 
 
 " It makes common what is sacred to our child- 
 ish days," continued Marta. 
 
 Reginald could not conceive how the brilliant, 
 aristocratic Miss Drew could make a pane of glass 
 common by inscribing her name thereupon. 
 
 " She comes from a different world," said Marta. 
 " Besides, do you remember the trouble we had in 
 climbing up outside to write our names with aunt 
 De Clifford's diamond ? "
 
 96 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 No ; Reginald had forgotten the incident. He 
 could remember more easily how beautiful Mar- 
 garet had looked as she wrote, how mercilessly 
 she had laughed at the other signatures, notably 
 Marta's round hand. He, too, had laughed with- 
 out any sensitive feeling in the matter. 
 
 He now closed " Le Cid " with a bang ; and, as 
 Milly and Dick climbed over the wall, and threw 
 themselves on Marta, he strolled away. He felt 
 uncomfortably sure that the relation between 
 Marta and himself was changing ; she who had 
 been wont to receive his opinion as final, had sud- 
 denly assumed the rdle of critic, and shown dis- 
 approval of him. 
 
 Reginald wanted to serve two masters. He 
 wanted to stand first in Marta's regard, but re- 
 jected the sole means of attaining that end, the 
 straight path of rectitude. Briefly, he desired the 
 world's admiration, his motive power was expe- 
 diency. Even his marriage must be governed by 
 this power : certainly a man of his ability ought 
 to be well mated. He intended to gain the admi- 
 ration of the Forest world by the wisdom of his 
 choice. Lately he had been mortified to find that 
 his heart, or some sensitive part of his spiritual 
 economy, rebelled against this journey on the road 
 of expediency. He was attracted by the brilliancy 
 and wealth of Margaret, but he loved Marta. As 
 he paced the shady walk, he glanced gloomily at 
 the picture she made sitting on the rough stones,
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. 97 
 
 the children clinging to her, Milly on her knee, 
 chubby Dick with his arm round her neck. The 
 sun-bonnet had slipped from her head, the shining 
 coils of hair made a fitting crown for the Madonna 
 face. Had it come to this ? Would his life be in- 
 complete without Marta ? Surely not ; he was no 
 romantic fool to set the whole happiness of his 
 life upon one throw of the dice. Expediency 
 pointed out the advantages of taking a woman of 
 the world with a large dower to wife. Marta had 
 no fortune ; her father had been a dilettante man 
 of letters ; her mother's relatives in Flanders were 
 unknown, and she was too much absorbed in her 
 relatives at Heaven's Gate. Reginald wanted his 
 wife to be his entirely. Margaret made no pre- 
 tence of love for her brother ; she assumed herself 
 to be heartless. Of course she would be devoted 
 to her husband, he should expect that of her. He 
 had been first in his Forest circle too long to take 
 into consideration that either or both ladies might 
 refuse the honour he intended to confer. Mill 
 remarks, with reference to marriage, "The true 
 virtue of human beings is their fitness to live 
 together as equals." Reginald, accustomed to 
 feel himself superior, did not expect an equal in 
 his wife. 
 
 His thoughts were still in a chaotic condition 
 when Rhoda brought Margaret and George Drew 
 into the Lovers' Walk. Amidst the fun and 
 laughter which seemed to pervade them as an
 
 98 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 atmosphere, Marta gladly withdrew, climbed over 
 the low wall, and went with the children to pick 
 flowers and peaches, afterwards consenting to sit 
 in the boat and be rowed over the pond. Reginald 
 was angry ; for he saw she disapproved of the loud, 
 fast style of conversation in which the Drews in- 
 dulged. George Drew was attracted by Marta's 
 quiet beauty, and surprised at her persistent 
 withdrawal from his presence. 
 
 "Is not Miss De Clifford very shy ? " he asked. 
 
 " Marta shy ? No, indeed ! " cried Rhoda. " The 
 children adore her, and are always dragging her 
 about. See there ! they have got her in the boat." 
 
 " How lovely she is ! " cried Margaret, suddenly. 
 " What a Madonna face ! Make her come back, 
 Rhoda, I want to know her." 
 
 " Come down to the pond," said Rhoda. 
 
 When they arrived there, however, Margaret 
 insisted on getting into the boat, Reginald must 
 row her, then, when in deep water, she leaned 
 over to see her shadow, thereby endangering both 
 their lives. Reginald gravely assured her that 
 the pond was sixteen feet deep, and he could not 
 swim. If the boat overturned, both must be 
 drowned. He spoke in vain, she moved so reck- 
 lessly that more than once the water splashed 
 over the gunwale. 
 
 "Row back to land, Reginald," called Marta's 
 clear voice. 
 
 He looked relieved as he obeyed. When they
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. C)t) 
 
 landed, Margaret was angry, and looked with 
 haughty displeasure at Marta, who was perfectly 
 unmoved by it, her own expression being a little 
 stern. 
 
 "Were you frightened?" Margaret asked coldly. 
 
 "The water is upwards of twenty feet deep, 
 fed by springs, so it is very cold." 
 
 " But I can swim like a fish." 
 
 " Could you have pulled me out as well as your- 
 self ? " asked Reginald, laughing grimly. " I can- 
 not swim. I could never be in the water long 
 enough to learn." 
 
 " He gets cramp," said Marta in Margaret's 
 ear. 
 
 Reginald shrugged his shoulders : woman was 
 created to consider others before herself. He saw 
 a flaw for the first time in this new type of 
 womanhood. 
 
 During this episode, George had been giving 
 very half-hearted attention to Rhoda. His eyes 
 roved to Marta as she stood too intent on the 
 boat to be conscious of his presence. Her abso- 
 lute indifference gave him an unwonted desire for 
 conquest. He felt sure of Rhoda, and desired a 
 pause before committing himself further ; his shal- 
 low mind was bent on charming Marta. 
 
 " Do keep that dreadful man from boring me to 
 death with small talk," cried Marta, at the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 Rhoda was sulking at George's desertion. She 
 revived.
 
 IOO HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Don't you like him, Marta ? " 
 
 " I can't endure him. I am afraid I shall say 
 something very severe to him if he continues his 
 stupid compliments." 
 
 "Oh, well," said Rhoda. "You are too hard, 
 Marta. You know that is a fault with you. I will 
 do my best, however." 
 
 The Drews stayed to dinner ; Margaret kept 
 every one laughing at her witty stories. Marta 
 noticed that her plate went away untasted ; her 
 manner was that of one living on excitement. 
 The merriment seemed forced, and jarred on 
 Malta's quiet mood, and the unrest of Margaret's 
 manner indicated something below the surface. 
 By intuition, Marta read mental suffering, some 
 cankering trouble which was eating away her 
 heart. She resolved to try and show her that she 
 wished her well, and was ready and willing to help 
 her by sympathy with her sorrow, whatever it 
 might be. 
 
 A ride was proposed after dinner. All the 
 young people mounted, and rode off into the For- 
 est, pursued by the entreaties of Mr. Reece to 
 ride slowly. They humoured him by walking 
 down the lane until out of sight of the house ; 
 then, all four abreast, followed by Dick and Milly 
 on small ponies, galloped away towards the Speech 
 House. 
 
 The Speech House is an old hostelrie where the 
 Forest Parliament was held ; that is, Forest laws
 
 THE LOVERS WALK. 101 
 
 were made, tried, enforced, within these four walls. 
 The first house was burnt down and rebuilt in the 
 reign of Charles II. The date, 1680, is carved in 
 the stone over the portal. One room is set apart 
 for the law court ; its walls and floors are of oak, 
 nearly black with age. A raised platform for the 
 judges is railed off from the rest of the room. The 
 walls are adorned with the antlers of the fallow 
 deer, fifty years since still to be found in the For- 
 est. Magnificent beeches, oaks, and hollies rear 
 their noble heads near by ; pigs devour the 
 acorns ; sheep idly nibble the short grass ; Forest 
 colts stand under the trees, tail to head, slashing 
 their long tails back and forth to keep off the flies, 
 little dreaming of a future underground in the 
 pits. 
 
 " Gently, down the hill," called Reginald, draw- 
 ing rein. George Drew cleverly rode up to Marta's 
 side, monopolizing her attention. He began by 
 introducing serious subjects leading to the irre- 
 sistible topic, himself. Seen from his own stand- 
 point, his was a deeply interesting character, above 
 the ordinary in natural gifts, but too lacking in 
 self-love to make the most of such abundance. 
 
 Marta listened politely, contrasting her compan- 
 ion with the modest William, the unselfish Craw- 
 ford. 
 
 " Excuse me," she said, when remark was nec- 
 essary, "we Forest folk are simple and practical. 
 We believe in the old saw, ' Handsome is as hand- 
 some does.' "
 
 IO2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "Ah, exactly!" said George Drew, mentally 
 crushed. He looked so crestfallen that Marta re- 
 gretted her severity. There was little variety in 
 her nature ; she went from the extreme of loving- 
 kindness to intolerance and sternness. Happily, 
 Dick and Milly made a diversion by galloping past 
 at breakneck speed. 
 
 "You young ruffians," laughed Reginald, "you 
 will kill your ponies." 
 
 Dick's merry laugh was contagious ; and Mar- 
 garet, who had listened to part of her brother's 
 monologue, with scornful eyes scrutinizing Marta's 
 face as if to read some insincere expression of in- 
 terest written thereon, now motioned to George 
 to ride on, while she took his place. 
 
 " Is he not an egotist ? " she said. " I tell him 
 he idolizes himself. But he has some good points, 
 just those qualities which have escaped his notice." 
 
 " He is very kind and obliging," said Marta, 
 with a gallant effort to be polite. 
 
 Margaret laughed with amusement, laughed 
 again, very scornfully too, at the grumbling of the 
 gentlemen at two ladies riding together. Totally 
 careless of their feelings, she permitted none 
 within earshot. At first she spoke sensibly, and 
 made herself very agreeable to Marta ; presently, 
 however, her mood changed ; she became bitter 
 and sarcastic, railing against every thing in life. 
 She possessed inimitable power of mimickry, which 
 she used with cruel freedom. Marta had never
 
 THE LOVERS WALK. 1 03 
 
 heard such flippant, giddy words before. She sat 
 quite silent ; judging by her stern rebuke to 
 George, Margaret expected, nay, perhaps desired, 
 some such reproof ; but none came. Was Marta 
 too much shocked to speak ? She scanned the 
 sweet face with a bitter, satirical smile. Marta 
 met the glance without any sternness of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "How silent you are ! I have shocked you. 
 But, O Lord ! how dull life is anyhow ! How in- 
 tolerable without free use of the tongue ! " 
 
 " A jewel may lie hidden in a mass of ctibris" 
 said Marta, under her breath. 
 
 " An enigma ! I cannot guess enigmas ; do not 
 expect it of me," cried Margaret, a sudden rush 
 of colour rising to her brow, showing how quickly 
 she had understood. 
 
 "When I know you better," said Marta, "I 
 shall find the jewel ; it is not far below the sur- 
 face. I feel you are good and noble, capable of 
 grand things, such as only very fine characters can 
 achieve." 
 
 "Hush!" cried Margaret, sharply. "You will 
 kill me, if you are kind to me. Say something 
 hard, as you did to George. Quick, child ! Do 
 you not see I am going to cry ? " 
 
 " Tears will help you. Do not restrain them," 
 said Marta, lovingly. 
 
 "Tears?" said Margaret, bitterly. "No; not 
 such tears as mine. They fall scalding hot, and
 
 IO4 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 blister my heart till it feels raw, and winces at 
 each one that falls." 
 
 She wiped her eyes, and, with great effort, con- 
 trolled her face ; but it turned to marble whiteness. 
 
 "Your words have no sting for me," she went 
 on, turning her face with a gentle smile. " If I 
 have hurt you, dear, forgive me. Do not hate me, 
 as all women so readily do." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Marta, "you attract 
 me. I am more likely to love than hate you." 
 
 " You are unlike other women," said Margaret. 
 " Perhaps you may succeed. But, alas ! dear child, 
 those I love most I often hurt the worst." 
 
 " Forewarned is forearmed," said Marta cheer- 
 fully. "I think any one who loved you would 
 have patience with your change of moods." 
 
 " I used to be so different," began Margaret, 
 then checked herself. " O Marta ! what will you 
 think of the Drew family ? First George, then 
 myself, talking in this egotistical manner." 
 
 " You, at any rate, are no egotist," said Marta. 
 
 " Lord knows that is true," said she, laughing 
 bitterly. 
 
 On their return, Margaret invited herself to 
 "The Hollies," to stay during Marta's visit. 
 Every one was charmed by this condescension ; 
 and, brilliant and bright as a fire-fly, she woke up 
 the sleepy, dreamy old place, bringing the hum 
 and buzz of the world into its charmed precincts.
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. 105 
 
 She soon observed that, though Reginald paid her 
 most devoted attention, he had eyes and ears for 
 Marta, and was unmistakably jealous of George 
 Drew's persistent efforts to monopolize her. 
 
 "Marta is too good for him," she said to herself. 
 " He only cares for himself : he shall not marry 
 her." With a few efforts she made Reginald her 
 slave, amusing herself with impaling his heart, 
 or, rather, the dense ossification surrounding it. 
 
 She joined the French studies, broke into every 
 tete-d-tete, and, it must be confessed, made time fly 
 with her merry moods. She was seldom still for 
 five minutes, often seeming to rush into the mad- 
 dest escapades simply to occupy herself. Night 
 was a time of horror to her ; she slept little, and 
 the hours must be passed in silence. Sometimes, 
 in the small hours, she would come like a ghost to 
 Marta's room, and beg for a share of her couch. 
 
 " I cannot sleep," she would say. " Let me be 
 near you, sweet." 
 
 She would lie and watch Marta's calm repose : it 
 held a fascination for her. Margaret, in her misery, 
 had no religious faith to sustain her, no God, no 
 Christ. Marta, on the contrary, lived by faith, 
 feeling God's hand directed her life, God's strength 
 sustained her in trouble, God's will was her will. 
 Margaret's half-mocking attitude to religion had 
 caused the report that she was an infidel. Are 
 there not many suffering souls faithless because 
 their souls demand more than experience shows to
 
 io6 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 be the outcome of religion ? Margaret would have 
 fallen at Christ's feet to ask him in her agony of 
 spirit, had he been present in the flesh, " Tell 
 me, is there a God ? Does he care that I suffer ? 
 Why must I live on to be so wretched ? Does he 
 know any thing about me ? " 
 
 This was the merry, madcap Margaret. 
 
 One afternoon the party sheltered in the Moss 
 Cottage from a slight storm. When the rain 
 ceased, they waited for the sunshine to dry the 
 alley, amusing themselves with reading the names 
 on the lattice panes, and in examining the old 
 moth-eaten Bible which had been laid on that 
 table by the great-grandfather a hundred years ago. 
 
 " He was found dead, his hand on the open 
 page," said Reginald. "He came here twice daily 
 to read." 
 
 Just then Dick opened the door for a new-comer. 
 
 There was a glad shout of welcome. George 
 Drew exclaimed, 
 
 " Well, Herly ! Glad to meet you again after 
 so many years." 
 
 Margaret's face gleamed white in the dark cot- 
 tage ; she put out her hand in silence. Dr. Herly 
 bowed, not seeing the action ; his eyes were not 
 accustomed to the dim light. Margaret slipped 
 out into the wet avenue, and sat down on one of 
 the stone seats. Marta followed her. 
 
 "You are faint," she said, shaking some rain- 
 drops from a twig overhead.
 
 THE LOVERS' WALK. 107 
 
 " Did you see ? " she said, with a sudden craving 
 for a woman's sympathy. " He would not take 
 my hand." 
 
 " He did not see it. He is short-sighted," she 
 replied. " He could not be rude." 
 
 " He is a man who never forgives nor forgets," 
 said Margaret, "and I wounded him cruelly once." 
 
 No more was said, for the party emerged from 
 the summer-house. 
 
 "I was at Heaven's Gate to-day," said Dr. 
 Herly, his eyes on Margaret, though he spoke to 
 Marta. 
 
 " Are all well ? " 
 
 " Very well, but William gave me a message for 
 you." 
 
 Marta walked up the alley with Dr. Herly, ear- 
 nestly discussing William's future with her friend. 
 He had received the offer of a secretaryship from 
 a friend of Mr. Selwyn's. As no position was 
 open to him at the collieries, he wished to accept 
 this situation. 
 
 Margaret roused herself to one of her wildest 
 moods ; the old rocks rang with noise. 
 
 " Let us go into the garden where we can be 
 quiet," she heard Dr. Herly say, as they left the 
 alley. 
 
 Would it be wise to send William to London ? 
 Question enough in this to keep the friends in 
 close converse. Poor, jealous Margaret rattled on 
 to hide her misery. When the tea-bell rang, Dr.
 
 loS HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Herly pleaded an excuse, and refused to come in. 
 As he bade the party adieu, he went up to Marga- 
 ret, who was carelessly pulling a rose to pieces. 
 
 " You are well, I hope. You used not to be so 
 pale." 
 
 " I am well," she replied. They stood silent, 
 looking at one another, each striving to suppress 
 all signs of feeling. Margaret yawned, and looked 
 at her watch. 
 
 "It is late," she said. "You will get no supper 
 in town." 
 
 When Rhoda pressed him a moment later to 
 stay, he accepted the invitation. He did not di- 
 rectly address Margaret again, however, though 
 Marta could see that nothing concerning her 
 escaped his notice.
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS." 109 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS." 
 
 MARGARET made wholesale preparations for 
 the picnic ; delicacies by the cart-load were 
 packed by her busy hands. George's French 
 cook was required to exhaust his repertoire for the 
 occasion. Margaret invited guests in the same 
 indiscriminate fashion, much to the disgust of her 
 friends, who could not understand how such an 
 aristocrat should choose to ask a poor little dress- 
 maker and Jones the chemist, with his large family, 
 and many others as obscure. 
 
 " Never mind, Rhoda," cried Margaret to her 
 remonstrances. "When you go to Heaven, you 
 can ask the angel Gabriel to give you a corner for 
 self and friends, and explain that you cannot be 
 happy in a place where a dressmaker also could be 
 happy. For my part, I enjoy the company of 
 workers sometimes ; and I mean to see that my 
 friends enjoy themselves to-day." 
 
 The preparations were finished, and the girls, 
 with Reginald, were strolling down the lane under 
 the overarching chestnuts. 
 
 " Most picnics divide up into sections of two
 
 I IO HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 and two, like the animals marching into Noah's 
 ark," said Reginald, laughing. "That is the best 
 of a picnic." 
 
 "Reginald!" called Rhoda, from the garden. 
 "William has come, and is breaking in the bay 
 colt for a quiet amusement." 
 
 " He is more likely to break his own neck," 
 cried he, rushing off to the house. 
 
 The girls walked on silently, until, at last, Mar- 
 garet said, 
 
 " Marta, when you bury your dead from sight, 
 and they arise and haunt you with their devilish 
 ' might have beens,' what are you to do ? " 
 
 "They cannot," said Marta, trying to catch her 
 meaning. " The dead cannot haunt you." 
 
 " You are wrong ; the dead arise stronger, more 
 powerful, for their enforced rest. They rend 
 your heart, crying, ' Surfer ! Attempt not to lay 
 us at rest again : we live forever. Expect no more 
 repose, suffer ! ' ' 
 
 " Margaret ! " 
 
 " Listen, Marta ! I have tried to pray, but I am 
 too wicked. My whole soul rises in rebellion 
 against my cruel sufferings. I ask merely, what 
 further torment lies in store for me." 
 
 Marta's reply was unheeded, for William gal- 
 loped past on the colt, his happy face flashing with 
 laughter. Margaret's mood, at present reckless of 
 aught save mental suffering, seized upon this fresh 
 excitement. She could, she would, ride the un-
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. Ill 
 
 tamed animal. William was too polite to refuse, 
 and rode back to change the saddle. When he 
 returned, Margaret mounted, leaped over the 
 hedge into the meadow, and struggled there for 
 mastery. The frightened animal tore round the 
 meadow, kicked, reared and leaped from side to 
 side. Margaret laughed ; she was amused. Her 
 hat blew away ; her loosened hair waved and curled 
 in rich brown masses, lashing the horse's hind- 
 quarters as she galloped on. Her eyes sparkled 
 wildly, and her keenly cut features were almost 
 stern with determination to master the aimless 
 colt. 
 
 Reginald came running to the field, accompa- 
 nied by Dr. Herly. The scene terrified them, but 
 how could they put a stop to this mad struggle ? 
 Dr. Herly darted forward, placing himself directly 
 in her path. She must draw rein, or ride over him. 
 Reginald seized the bit, despite the rearing and 
 plunging of the colt, and held it, while Margaret 
 entreated permission for one more gallop. 
 
 "It is like flying on the wind," she cried. 
 "There is no danger." 
 
 In the midst of her speech, Dr. Herly suddenly 
 lifted her from the saddle. 
 
 " Confine yourself to breaking hearts," he said, 
 in a low tone, as he set her down. " It is possible 
 they can be mended, but a broken neck or back 
 defies the hand of Time." 
 
 " If I choose to break my neck ? " haughtily.
 
 I 1 2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Mr. Reece would rather you did not do so on 
 his grounds," answered he, with equal hauteur. 
 " Even in committing suicide, we should avoid any 
 breach of manners." 
 
 He turned away ; his horse was tied to the gate 
 of the field ; he mounted, and rode away without 
 another glance at Margaret. 
 
 Marta came up with Margaret's hat in her hand. 
 Tears swam in her eyes ; she had been crying. 
 
 " Why do you act so madly ? " she said, drawing 
 her to the house. " Why do you show your worst 
 side in this way?" 
 
 " It amuses me," said Margaret, yawning. 
 " Don't scold, Marta. It is of no use. I am crazy, 
 dispose so of the question. From the lunatic 
 expect lunacy." 
 
 She went on in such an absurd, flighty manner 
 that Marta began to think she really could not be 
 quite sane. 
 
 The afternoon was perfect. At three o'clock the 
 woods were ringing with the merry words and 
 laughter of ttie parties winding their way to " The 
 Slaughters." The Wye was once the boundary 
 line between Saxon and fierce Briton. "The 
 Slaughters " commemorated some bloody battle, 
 in which victory was to the strong ; the Briton 
 had to retire to the rocky fastnesses of the Welsh 
 mountains. 
 
 The picnic party met with gay greeting on the
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS." 113 
 
 top of the Yat. Margaret had a carriage-load of 
 her poor friends ; such an afternoon of delight 
 was heaven to these poor souls, whose daily lot 
 was drudgery. She drove on down the carriage- 
 road, while others climbed over the rocks till they 
 found the path winding down the cliffs to the 
 ferry. 
 
 There in the valley, between her wooded heights, 
 ripples Wye. Her musical monotone blends with 
 the roar of the rapids below the ferry. Every 
 wavelet is flooded with sunshine, every shallow 
 babbles its own sweet story, every shadow is born 
 of rock, or fern, or tree. The coracles float on the 
 tide ; a girl lazily crosses the ferry, pulling herself 
 over by a rope. On the other side of Wye some 
 men idly watch the party, their barrow of stones 
 half turned over, their breakwater, by means of 
 which they hope to keep their garden from the 
 ravages of Wye at flood-tide, unfinished. The 
 ferry-boat approaches, slowly, slowly, lumber- 
 some, flat-bottomed craft, quaint and beautiful in 
 the grace of this autumn sunlight The party is 
 ready to embark, when Dr. Herly rides down the 
 cliff at breakneck speed ; he beckons the ferry- 
 man to wait. 
 
 " Ladies," he says, breathlessly, " let Bache ferry 
 me over. It is a matter of life and death." 
 
 Before answer is given, Reginald has led the 
 panting horse aboard : the other men give the craft 
 a strong push into mid-stream. In silence they
 
 114 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 watch the impatient doctor leap his horse ashore 
 and gallop out of sight. 
 
 "What is it, Bache?" asks Reginald. 
 
 " Little Joey 'Ancock. He 'ave the croup. 
 They do say a baint likely to live. A was a 
 chokin' when they sent for the doctor," said the 
 man, stolidly. 
 
 The party began to embark. Jones, the chem- 
 ist, had particularly good manners, and was polite 
 to the very obscure people, who were getting more 
 than their share of Margaret's attention just at 
 present. At last, all are on board ; the oars 
 slowly rise and fall in the clear water. Rhoda, 
 standing in the bow, with happy effect starts the 
 glee, 
 
 " See our oars with feathered spray." 
 
 Every one takes it up. The ancient hills, as if 
 amused to the very echo, ring back and forth the 
 harmonious song ; cling to its sweetness until the 
 party has landed on the other side. Then a view 
 " halloo ! " from the top of the Yat surprises the 
 echoes again into vain repetitions. 
 
 " Oh ! those troublesome children," cries Rhoda. 
 " We must send back the boat for them." 
 
 " We are hunting for the oak-leaf fern," shouts 
 Dick. "We shall climb down opposite the Slaugh- 
 ters. Send the man across for us there." 
 
 Those "troublesome children" believed them- 
 selves of the first importance ; they did not in-
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. 115 
 
 tend to be squeezed into corners, or put in the 
 background. Ferns were the chief interest of 
 their lives, as Dick had made a fernery, and meant 
 to stock it this afternoon. He had a bushel- 
 basket on his arm ; and, being fond of reptiles, had 
 two toads, two yellow frogs, a blind worm, and 
 copper-coloured lizard, hopping, crawling, wrig- 
 gling on a bed of moss in the bottom of the 
 basket. The girls, Milly, Olga, and Jennie, 
 who admired all he did, followed him with ardour, 
 climbing down precipitous cliffs unaided, while 
 Dick and the bushel-basket had many a roll and 
 tumble. Arrived in safety at the banks of the 
 river, they began anew the hunt for the visionary 
 oak-leaf. At length hunger overcame their ar- 
 dour. They wondered why no ferryman arrived. 
 Dick called ; there was no answer. In the silence 
 which followed, he cast a rueful look on his com- 
 panions, for the horn was heard. 
 
 "That is for tea," said Milly. 
 
 " Are you hungry ? " asked Dick. 
 
 " Frightfully ! " answered both girls in a breath. 
 
 A rueful rather than hearty laugh followed. 
 
 " Such a jolly tea," said Dick, in regretful tones. 
 
 " I wish you were not so fond of ferns," said 
 the girls together. 
 
 " I ain't ! I hate 'em," replied the debonair, 
 throwing aside his specimens with intense disgust. 
 Presently his spirits revived. 
 
 " If we could wade across, we should be there in
 
 n6 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 five minutes," he cried, taking off his shoes, and 
 rolling his trousers up to his knees. He danced 
 about in the shallows, the water just rippling over 
 his ankles ; but Wye is treacherous. His next 
 step precipitated him head over heels in the water. 
 He came to the surface blinking, but smiling ; and, 
 since he certainly could get no wetter, began to 
 show off his swimming, now like a duck, now a 
 dog, now a fish, and was just in the glory of tread- 
 ing water, when a boat came round the bend of 
 the river, in which sat Mr. Fordyce and Reginald. 
 Dick subsided, came ashore dripping wet, while 
 the boat party went into fits of laughter at his 
 sorry plight. The children were taken across the 
 river, and Dick left the girls in charge of the 
 bushel-basket, while he ran to the cottage for dry 
 clothes. They hated reptiles, but would not have 
 lost one of Dick's for any consideration ; nor 
 would they touch a mouthful of the jolly tea till 
 their comrade was restored to them. His reap- 
 pearance in the ferryman's Sunday suit occasioned 
 roars of laughter. 
 
 " Let 'em laugh," said Dick, sitting by his com- 
 panions, "and give me some of that 'scrumptious' 
 pigeon-pie." 
 
 Margaret's eye was on the dressmaker's plate. 
 All the choicest delicacies were, by her order, 
 handed to her poorer friends. The recital of the 
 wonderful things they tasted that day was a never- 
 ceasing source of interest to their circle hereafter ;
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. 1 1/ 
 
 and Margaret's own hands packed a basket which 
 was left with the dressmaker at her own door that 
 evening, so that next dav she had something to 
 live on besides the remembrance of the feast. 
 
 " I wish Dr. Herly would come and get some 
 tea," said Marta anxiously, as they rose from the 
 table. 
 
 "Is he anywhere at hand ? " asked Margaret, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " In the cottage upon the cliff path ; did you 
 not know ? " asked Rhoda. " I passed it before 
 tea, and could hear the child choking terribly." 
 
 "The boats are ready, ladies," said George 
 Drew. " Leave the baskets : my fellow will attend 
 to them." 
 
 There was a general stir, much laughing and 
 talking, and Margaret, as usual, was the gayest of 
 the party, making bright sallies, meeting every re- 
 mark with a quick repartee. All were grouped 
 round her, when, all at once, she became silent. 
 Her eyes, dwelling often on that cottage on the 
 cliff, saw the door flung violently open, and Dr. 
 Herly rapidly came down the cliff path. 
 
 " Hallo, old fellow ! Glad to see you. How is 
 the child ? " 
 
 The doctor made no answer ; he glanced over 
 the faces of the ladies grouped round Margaret. 
 One instant his gaze lingered at Marta, then 
 passed on ; he looked into Margaret's eyes. 
 
 " Can you come ? " he said, quietly.
 
 n8 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "As quietly she bowed an affirmative, left the 
 group, and followed him. The effort of climbing 
 the hill took all his breath. Margaret did not ask 
 a question. On entering the cottage, he bent over 
 the little sufferer, still without telling Margaret 
 what he wanted of her. Her quick eye took in 
 the situation, the worn-out mother in a fit of 
 hysterical crying ; two younger children hanging to 
 her skirts, as she ministered to their needs. The 
 doctor touched her on the shoulder. 
 
 " I know you have nerve. Come and help me." 
 
 The child was laid on the table, struggling for 
 breath. 
 
 " There is only a chance for his life, I am going 
 to try it," said the doctor, taking his instruments. 
 
 " Let me get the mother up-stairs first," said 
 Margaret. How did she manage it ? The weary 
 doctor looked on, relying on her strength to ac- 
 complish whatsoever she tried to do ; nor in vain ; 
 the woman, the two children, were left in the up- 
 stairs' chamber. Margaret was at his side again, 
 calm and observant ; every faculty of mind and 
 body on the alert to be of service. 
 
 " How little doctors can judge of a woman," 
 said the astonished Rhoda. " Of course Marta 
 was the most suitable person he could have to 
 help him. Margaret, indeed ! " 
 
 "She dresses very plainly," said a lady; "yet 
 she impresses you with the idea that her surround- 
 ings should be luxurious."
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. I IQ 
 
 / 
 
 The doctor's choice revealed to Marta, however, 
 that he knew more of Margaret's character than 
 she herself, or any one else present. 
 
 The whole responsibility of the picnic now 
 rested on George Drew, who most ably supported 
 the burden. The best of him came to the fore in 
 his treatment of his poorer guests ; he manned a 
 boat with them, handed the dressmaker on board, 
 and devoted himself to their entertainment. Small 
 boat-races were extemporized, while quieter folks 
 landed here and there in quest of ferns and flowers. 
 As the sun set and moon rose in the clear, even- 
 ing sky, the parties returned to the Slaughters, 
 and, standing in a semicircle, sang glees and 
 catches. A belated hunter, passing along the 
 cliffs on the other side of Wye, blew a blast on 
 his bugle in greeting. Cordial answers were 
 shouted across, the echoes taking them up in 
 laughable manner. This episode over, William 
 began to play a country dance on his violin, in 
 bewitching manner. George Drew led out the 
 dressmaker, an honour she never forgot, and 
 every one was soon in the spirit of the dance, and 
 who more delighted than the children ? Reginald 
 threw himself into the midst of it, ignorant of 
 steps or figures. He turned with vigour, utterly 
 devoid of skill, and bumped his partner against 
 every other couple with a regularity which had its 
 painful as well as humourous side. 
 
 Marta and Mr. Fordyce lingered under the trees
 
 I2O HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 by the river-side, talking of William. The vicar 
 was enthusiastic in his praise of the boy's genius, 
 and modest, gentle character. Then the London 
 scheme was under discussion ; would not a fresh 
 start, under strange auspices, give him a better 
 chance of building a stable character ? Then Mr. 
 Fordyce must tell Marta of a chum of his, called 
 Marcus, who was doing such noble work in Lon- 
 don ; he would doubtless befriend William. From 
 this the talk merged into details in his own work. 
 Marta, who knew the village folk so well, could 
 give him many a suggestion, could appreciate his 
 up-hill endeavours to help them. With so much 
 to discuss, it is no wonder that time sped on 
 wings. Mrs. Reece, and some other matrons, be- 
 came exercised in mind as to whether the parson 
 was trying to convert Marta to his own views. 
 
 Reginald, mean time, felt injured. Both the 
 ladies, in whom he felt an interest, had been 
 spirited away from him. He lit a cigar, and 
 solaced himself as best he could, while the merry 
 folks danced and enjoyed themselves. 
 
 " The dew is falling ; we must go, children," 
 cried Mr. Reece. 
 
 "We will drive you home," called William to 
 Mr. Fordyce. 
 
 " I intended to walk, but if you have a seat " 
 
 " Plenty of room," shouted William. " Come, 
 Jennie and Olga." 
 
 Carriages appeared on the other side of the
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. 121 
 
 river, and the ferryman carried parties across as 
 they were ready. Amongst the first was Dr. 
 Herly. 
 
 " How is the child ? " asked Marta. 
 
 "Better, much better." 
 
 "Where is Margaret?" cried George. 
 
 "She will stay with the child," replied the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Quite unnecessary," cried Rhoda. " We shall 
 not think of leaving her. It was quite too bad to 
 lose her from the picnic ; she is the life of the 
 party." 
 
 " Could not I take her place ? " said Marta, 
 knowing her own powers as a nurse. 
 
 "You? Certainly not," replied he, hastily. He 
 hurried down to the ferry, without waiting to reply 
 to the questions and greetings which besieged 
 him from every side. The man took him across ; 
 and, the instant he landed, he mounted and spurred 
 his horse to a gallop. His heart beat fast, his eye 
 saw only the face of the woman he loved, his ear 
 retained the clear tones of her voice. 
 
 " I shall return at midnight," he had said to 
 Margaret. " He sleeps now. You must join your 
 party, which I know is ready to leave." 
 
 " I am going to remain," said she, quietly. 
 " His mother must sleep to-night. To-morrow the 
 little fellow will wake very fractious ; she will be 
 able then to manage him better than I can." 
 
 " True. But you ? " He looked round the bare
 
 122 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 cottage ; there was a total absence of all the 
 comforts a lady requires. 
 
 " You may remember, perhaps," she said, coldly, 
 "that I am less dependent on my surroundings 
 than others." 
 
 " It used to be so," he answered ; " but changes 
 of circumstances often cause changes in the habits 
 of life." 
 
 Margaret coloured ; her eyes flashed a look at 
 him, found his face inscrutable, and fell. 
 
 " It is time for you to start," she said, presently. 
 " The dew is falling. You ought not to run any 
 risks." 
 
 The doctor had been coughing incessantly. His 
 cheeks were flushed, and he looked very delicate. 
 
 "A doctor cannot consider these things," he 
 said, smiling. 
 
 " I do not agree with you. There is no cause 
 for delay, nor need you return to-night. I know 
 what to do. I shall not leave until to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " The world has lost a fine nurse in you, Mar- 
 garet," he said, regretfully, as he drew a silk scarf 
 from his pocket and proceeded to tie it round his 
 neck. 
 
 "Cover your mouth," she said, anxiously, as she 
 opened the door, and saw the mist rising from the 
 river. 
 
 " I remember," he said, as he obeyed her, " you 
 used to make plans for being a nurse before your 
 uncle died."
 
 THE PICNIC TO "THE SLAUGHTERS. 123 
 
 "You mean before I, who looked forward to 
 earning my own living, inherited a fortune," said 
 Margaret, a sharp tone of pain in her voice ; for 
 she was bitterly hurt at the insinuation. 
 
 " Certainly," he said, trying to read in her im- 
 passive face the cause of that intonation, and 
 failing. "That, of course, altered your plans." 
 
 "You are mistaken," she replied, coldly. "I 
 offered myself the next spring, but was refused 
 for two reasons." 
 
 " I did you an injustice, Margaret." He paused, 
 his eyes tried to read encouragement in hers. He 
 put out his hand, took hers, and held it for an 
 instant. 
 
 " I was too young," said Margaret, raising her 
 eyes to his, " only twenty, and they said I must 
 wait five years before making another application." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! of course," said he. Then he was 
 silent, his eyes fixed on her face, which was almost 
 statuesque in its repose. 
 
 " Why do you not go ? " she said. " It is mad- 
 ness for you to linger in this mist. Do not be 
 persuaded to stay with the party by the river-side, 
 but ride home quickly." 
 
 " I do not like to leave you alone," he said, with 
 a tender intonation of which he was unconscious. 
 
 "But I am not the least afraid to be left," re- 
 plied she, the colour for an instant flushing her 
 white cheek, and making her very lovely with its 
 sudden warmth. " Go quickly," said she, laying
 
 124 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 her hand for an instant on his arm. With incon- 
 ceivable quickness he covered it with his, and held 
 it for a moment in a close clasp. A fit of cough- 
 ing interrupted the words he would have spoken, 
 and, when it was over, it left him breathless for a 
 few moments. 
 
 " You must and shall go," said Margaret, open- 
 ing the door. " Now, remember, I shall listen for 
 the sound of your horse's hoofs. I shall be very- 
 angry if you linger by the river-side." 
 
 He had to leave, and the words which would 
 have healed Margaret's sore heart were unspoken, 
 the chasm which lay between them still un- 
 bridged. 
 
 During the night a thunder-storm, with heavy 
 rains, broke over the Forest. Early next morning 
 Margaret's groom brought a note for Dr. Herly. 
 It ran thus : 
 
 " Little Joey is doing well ; I intend to remain here until 
 the afternoon. Do not come to see him until to-morrow." 
 
 The doctor put the note in his breast; he sat 
 down to breakfast with a sudden desire to eat and 
 grow strong. When he was obliged to start on 
 his rounds he carefully protected himself from the 
 rain. The one woman in the world for him had 
 shown solicitude for his health. It was as a 
 draught from the elixir of life.
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 125 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 
 
 AS time went on, Reginald saw with dismay 
 that the gulf widened between Marta and 
 himself. Some discordant element crept into 
 every conversation, making it easier to drop than 
 pursue the theme. She often regarded him with 
 a calm, scrutinizing expression, as if her eyes were 
 suddenly opened ; and he was conscious that the 
 new light thrown on his character was unfavour- 
 able to his wishes. But, then again, what were 
 his wishes ? Certainly he wished to stand first 
 with Marta, equally certain his desire for the same 
 position with regard to Margaret, as difficult as 
 ever to make a choice of one or the other without 
 losing something that he wanted in both. The 
 farther Marta retreated from him, the more ad- 
 mirable did she appear, the more keen his appre- 
 ciation of her character, as a "pearl beyond price." 
 It can be seen, therefore, that the rides and drives 
 and picnics, which to outsiders appeared so festive, 
 were not occasions of unmixed delight to Regi- 
 nald. Rhoda wondered at his lack of enthusiasm
 
 126 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 in getting up the annual moonlight ride to Tin- 
 tern Abbey. 
 
 " The harvest moon will be at its full in a day 
 or two. Do make th- arrangements, Reginald." 
 
 Thus urged, he was bound to comply ; and the 
 evening was fixed upon for the ride. 
 
 "I hope William is coming up," said he to 
 Marta. " I have begged him to come." 
 
 " Thank you," she replied, heartily. 
 
 " Oh ! we all want him. He is the life of the 
 party, and we shall be singing in the Abbey," said 
 he, honest in his appreciation of the genius which 
 made William such a delightful companion on ex- 
 cursions. 
 
 Marta was undergoing a perfect siege from 
 George Drew, who was too dense to believe that 
 the cold manner he thought so perfect was in- 
 tended to discourage his attentions. To quote 
 from himself, " he liked to see a woman look thor- 
 ough-bred ; " he particularly admired the simple 
 elegance of Marta's manner. She could not have 
 gained her desire to disenchant him more thor- 
 oughly than by accepting his attentions graciously. 
 He had been angled after so often that he was 
 charmed for the nonce to turn angler. 
 
 When the hour came for the moonlight ride, he 
 begged Marta to come and see a favourite horse of 
 his now waiting at the door, and, when she com- 
 plied, told her it was a perfect ladies' horse, and 
 that he hoped she would ride him this evening.
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. I2/ 
 
 Marta was firm in declining. She knew her uncle 
 would not have allowed her to do so ; besides 
 which, she had no coquetry of disposition ; she 
 wished George Drew to understand her dislike of 
 his attentions. 
 
 The phaeton was already starting, in which Mr. 
 and Mrs. Reece were seated, and Rhoda came to 
 the door in her habit. Anxious to make Marta 
 jealous, George entreated her to ride his horse. 
 The next instant she was in the saddle, had ridden 
 after her mother to ask permission, and came gal- 
 loping back in triumph, looking beautiful in the 
 refining light of the harvest moon. 
 
 Marta ran up to her room to dress. Margaret 
 was there. 
 
 " I came in here," she said, "for a few minutes' 
 talk with you. I do not like the set of men George 
 has brought with him. I was wrong to leave him 
 alone and come here, but I wanted to be with you, 
 Marta. I told him just now to send the men 
 away as soon as he can, for I shall return to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Will they go ? " asked Marta, who was hur- 
 riedly putting on her habit. 
 
 " Yes, they will go. But I fancy they intend to 
 have a night of it first. I heard something about 
 getting up a card-party to remain at Tintern at 
 the little inn there, while the rest of us come 
 home." 
 
 " It would be a great breach of good manners," 
 said Marta.
 
 128 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Yes. I have spoken to George very severely 
 about it. He has promised not to join in it him- 
 self, and to do all he can to keep the others from 
 carrying out their plan." 
 
 There was a long silence. Marta began to un- 
 derstand Margaret's reason for telling her this. 
 A look passed between them, and Marta' s face 
 turned white to the very lips. 
 
 " I wish we were not going to-night," she said, 
 hopelessly. 
 
 " I blame myself for leaving George alone," said 
 Margaret. " It could not have happened, but for 
 that." 
 
 Oppressed with anxious forebodings, they went 
 down-stairs. William was awaiting them, his beau- 
 tiful face bright with happiness. He was soon the 
 centre of the men George had brought, who were 
 delighted to find such an amusing companion in 
 the dull Forest world. 
 
 At a window near by stood Mr. Fordyce, his 
 watchful eye on the group, his spirit roused like a 
 war-horse hearing the bugle sound for battle. 
 Marta's anxious face grew brighter as she saw 
 him. And, in answer to his eager greeting, 
 
 " May I speak to you ? " she said, softly. 
 
 "Come and look at the beautiful moonlight," he 
 said, leading her to a distant window, and looking 
 as if his whole mind was occupied with the com- 
 ing excursion. 
 
 Marta rapidly repeated what Margaret had told
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 
 
 her, then paused with a look at William, who was 
 already "hail-fellow well met " with the men. 
 
 " I understand," said Mr. Fordyce, quietly. 
 " Put aside your fears ; and enjoy your ride. Where 
 William goes to-night, I follow ; if he remains at 
 Tintern, I, too, shall remain. Are you afraid to 
 trust him with me ? " 
 
 "Oh, how good you are!" cried Marta, clasping 
 his hand in both of hers. His other hand as quickly 
 covered hers. 
 
 It seemed to Marta as if she, drowning, had 
 found dry land beneath her feet, there was so 
 much strength in that close clasp. 
 
 "It is my work," he smiled, "and I love the 
 lad. Promise me you will not be anxious any 
 more. If I think you are not enjoying yourself, I 
 shall feel you do not trust me." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Marta, with shining eyes, "you 
 are God's good angel to William." 
 
 " Should not the strong help the weak ? Now 
 let me see you smile before I set about my battle 
 royal with those emissaries of Satan." 
 
 Under cover of the thick curtains he lifted the 
 hands he held to his lips, held Marta's sweet eyes 
 spellbound for an instant under his own eloquent 
 glance, then left her to join the noisy group. Mar- 
 garet came over and sat down by Marta. 
 
 "Do not be anxious," whispered the latter. 
 "Mr. Fordyce will take care of William." 
 
 Margaret gave one quick glance at Marta's
 
 I3O HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 shining eyes and flushed cheeks ; then she, too, 
 gave all her attention to the vicar's manoeuvres. 
 
 He had gained William's side, and was now 
 standing with his arm linked in his, laughing at 
 his gay sallies, and then, catching the moment, 
 related in a witty manner some recollection of 
 college-life. This led to William's boast that his 
 friend had been stroke-oar in one of the boat-races 
 between Oxford and Cambridge. The men sur- 
 veyed his athletic proportions with intense inter- 
 est. Question followed question on the incidents 
 of the race. 
 
 "Now, then, time to start: eight o'clock, sharp," 
 called Reginald. "Come, Marta." 
 
 " A vicar ! " ejaculated the men at Reginald's 
 answer to their whispered question as to the pro- 
 fession of "that jolly fellow." "Nothing clerical 
 about him ; not even a choker." 
 
 "Tell you," was the reply," he hits the wind out 
 of me with the gloves. I can't get near him. 
 First-rate bat, too." 
 
 " I should like to try him with the gloves," said 
 the speaker in a longing tone. 
 
 " Well, I'll speak to him. I say, Fordyce, Sim- 
 monds, here, is very anxious to have a bout with 
 you with the boxing-gloves." 
 
 " I shall be very happy," replied Mr. Fordyce, 
 in his well-bred tones. "There will be time when 
 we return from our ride, will there not ? " 
 
 "Plenty of time," said Reginald, carelessly.
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 13! 
 
 "Then we will consider it an appointment," 
 laughed Mr. Fordyce. Your friends shall be um- 
 pires, and William shall hold the light for us." 
 
 All ideas of " making a night of it " at Tintern 
 died in this new interest. Nothing would have 
 equalled the delight of seeing the vicar with the 
 gloves on opposed to their man. They rode up to 
 Mr. Fordyce, and finally kept him in their midst, 
 all being anxious to interest him in some special 
 story which they told in their best manner. A 
 desire to stand well in his eyes brought out all 
 that was best in them to-night, and his wonderful 
 power of sympathizing with the interests of others 
 drew each one of those men to him. 
 
 " If that man was pa'son of any church within 
 twenty miles of me," said Simmonds to George 
 Drew, "damned if I would not go to church." 
 
 The rest of the party was in front. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Reece had waited for the young people to 
 catch up, and now were left far in the rear. The 
 riders galloped along the level road to get an 
 impetus part way up the hills. First, they pass 
 through the town ; then come the orchards, where 
 the golden apples lie piled in heaps ready for the 
 cider-mill ; then they are on the road which winds 
 round the hill on which is poised the mighty Buck- 
 stone, a boulder weighing several tons, resting on 
 the brow of the hill on one small edge, looking as 
 if a touch might dislodge it. The awful results of 
 such an overthrow always more or less possess
 
 132 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 the minds of those who ride in the valley below ; 
 all are relieved when the Buckstone is left behind. 
 Now come the corn-fields ; the reapers are still at 
 work, for the harvest moou is rising ; soon it will 
 be as light as day. 
 
 Margaret and William rode on together, making 
 the welkin ring with laughter. They were friends, 
 almost comrades, for if Margaret aped the mascu- 
 line, William was of womanly gentleness ; thus 
 they easily met on common ground, and were very 
 merry together. As they rode slowly up the hill, 
 William would call in greeting to the reapers in 
 the fields. 
 
 " Harvest whoam," he cried. " Harvest whoam," 
 replied the men ; and " Harvest whoam," repeated 
 the laughing echoes in the hills. 
 
 The stolid men stood up from their work of 
 binding the sheaves ; in the distance were the 
 stooping figures of women and children gleaning. 
 Sometimes the narrow lanes were blocked by the 
 crowd of gleaners who were returning home, their 
 sheaves of wheat on their heads. How dainty 
 and picturesque the moonlight, touching as it did 
 those coarse faces with its loving veil ! What 
 grace it lent those homely figures, as they climbed 
 the grassy banks and stood against the hedge-rows, 
 balancing their sheaves, with eyes full of smiles at 
 William's gay greeting ! 
 
 " Here we are at St. Briavel's Castle," said Dr. 
 Herly, riding up to Margaret's side. "The strong
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 133 
 
 Norman fortress is used now as a jail, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " Can we go in ? " cried Simmonds. 
 
 "Not worth the trouble. Ride on a hundred 
 yards, and tell me what you think of the view," 
 cried Mr. Reece from the phaeton. 
 
 The party rode on, reining up at the summit of 
 the hill. Far below, winding back and forth, now 
 in shallows, now in unfathomable depths, flowed 
 limpid Wye, queen of beauty, dangerous, alluring. 
 Rising in the rocky fastnesses of Plinlimmon, it 
 purls its way o'er valley and mead, sparkling with 
 unutterable brightness ; dark and gray in the 
 shadow of the rocky cliffs and mountain ridges ; 
 here in the valley gliding a very streak of silver, 
 only the shadows of the willows on its tide. Here 
 was Wye ! the old boundary line which, aided by 
 the grim fortresses on its banks, once kept the 
 men of Wales at bay. 
 
 The party rode on down the winding road, 
 crossed the bridge at Chepstow, and drew rein 
 again at the castle walls. The castle is built on 
 solid rock washed by the tide of Wye, a grim 
 fortress and a loyal. Cromwell's Ironsides made 
 breaches in its battlemented walls ; and the ivy, 
 with its grasping arms, its beautifying vines, has 
 taken possession of this castle, setting its gray 
 grimness in luxurious green. Leaning from one 
 of the stone-framed windows, you look down inta 
 the deep-cut channel of the river, the odorous
 
 134 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 breath of the sea-weed which covers the rocks 
 rises on the breeze, and you are bidden note the 
 height from the water to the spot whence you lean, 
 while the story of the great De Wintour is told, 
 how, refusing to be taken prisoner, he leaped his 
 horse from this window down into the rushing 
 tide, and thus escaped. 
 
 No time for the castle to-night. On again 
 through the massive portals of the town gates, up 
 the paved hilly streets, on for Tintern. No time 
 for the grand view from the Wynd-cliff. No ; but 
 look ! there by the river-side, under the shadow of 
 those mighty cliffs, " The Twelve Apostles ; " 
 there, in its moonlit, ivy-clad beauty, stands the 
 Abbey. The little inn is near, and the horses are 
 left to the servants, while the party, including Mr. 
 and Mrs. Reece, stroll down to the Abbey. A 
 passing cloud covers the moon ; the Abbey looms 
 a vast, shadowy ghost from a dim past : it is of 
 no use to enter until the sky is clear. A river path 
 is followed until a grassy bank and upturned boat 
 suggest a resting-place. Dark still ! nothing can be 
 seen, not even Wye, whose waters rise with a splash 
 and gurgle amongst the sedges in the shallows. 
 
 William began to sing an old English ballad, 
 " Phillida flouts me : " - 
 
 " I gave her posies, 
 Cowslips and gilly-flowers and the sweet roses." 
 
 " Love-sick and sentimental ! but, oh ! how de-
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 135 
 
 lightful are these old English ditties," observed 
 Dr. Herly. " I love their quaint, melodious style." 
 
 " I always imagine a man of the Raleigh type, 
 lute in hand, with reproachful eyes cast on some 
 fair lady," said Rhoda, "when I hear that song." 
 
 " I like ' Once I loved a maiden fair,' it is so 
 exquisitely dismal," said Marta, laughing. " Sing 
 it, William." 
 
 William, hardly visible in the darkness, strolled 
 up and down the river path ; his rich tenor rose 
 and fell on the evening air. Those who listened 
 never forgot the experience, and, but for the 
 gloom, tears might have been seen in the eyes of 
 George's friends. 
 
 " You have made us melancholy," said Reginald, 
 with a forced laugh. "Start a glee, William, 
 there's a good fellow." 
 
 Out rang the first few bars of the "March of 
 the men of Harlech." It seemed to inspire all 
 present with desire to sing ; even the Simmonds 
 set bawling bass to the chorus without knowledge 
 of time or tune. The Twelve Apostles, sol- 
 emnly frowning from the cliffs, must have felt 
 their stony hearts scandalized by the warlike glee 
 with which this inspiriting march was rendered. 
 Silence followed. One could hear the lap, lap of 
 the tide in the sedges, and the swaying coracles, 
 which, drifting from their moorings, had been 
 caught in the boughs of the willows which over- 
 hung the river.
 
 136 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Presently the Twelve Apostles showed their 
 stony faces, the outlines of the Abbey grew dis- 
 tinct. 
 
 " Now for it," cried Reginald. " The cloud is 
 passing." 
 
 They knocked at the small oaken door, and 
 were admitted after some delay. An old man, 
 pensioner of the Duke of Beaufort, was cicerone, 
 and gained a harvest of sixpences on moonlight 
 nights. 
 
 Tintern Abbey by moonlight ! Happy the one 
 whose soul has absorbed this experience. Arch 
 beyond arch in the nave ; windows, whose delicate 
 framework of stone, all ivy-draped, seem too ex- 
 quisite for earth ; over the ruined walls the vault 
 of heaven for a roof; every pillar, arch, and wall 
 festooned with ivy. The moon rises higher, 
 higher ; now the centre of one of these windows 
 is filled with the disc of the glorious harvest moon. 
 Then all within the Abbey is a glory of moon- 
 beams, the tessellated pavement glows red and yel- 
 low. The tombs of the monks, who have lain there 
 in the nave so many centuries waiting, waiting, are 
 alight ; the carvings on the windows and walls 
 rise into relief with magic swiftness. You are 
 transported to a dream-world fettered with Old 
 World visions. From the choir comes a train of 
 monks in procession, singing as they glide amongst 
 the shadows. Floating through this vista of 
 arches, rises the sound of an organ ; the booming
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 137 
 
 of a grand chord rolls away to the Cloister Garth. 
 Has this vision lasted but a moment ? Can the 
 spirit live a hundred years, see so much, hear so 
 much, in one moment ? Alas ! it is over ; come 
 back to the present. The moon sails up into the 
 sky. The shadows glide across the greensward 
 which paves the Abbey. 
 
 " Pretty, is it not ? " cried Reginald, with a 
 chuckle of appreciation. 
 
 A sigh of delight escaped from the party gener- 
 ally. Margaret was awed into silence, she had 
 lived long, also, in that moment. She had roofed 
 the Abbey, and had knelt with the worshippers at 
 a solemn High Mass. She had wondered as to the 
 history of those who, nameless except for the 
 " Hie Jacet" and the cross, had lain for so many 
 centuries in the precincts of the Abbey. Marta 
 had seen no visions ; her simple soul had rev- 
 erently sent its message of thanks to the Creator 
 for this beautiful experience. 
 
 " It's a deuced ghostly place," muttered Sim- 
 monds to George Drew. " It's lucky we've got 
 a parson with us to lay any ghosts that turn up." 
 
 " Come and look at the tessellated pavement, 
 man," replied George. "Hallo, old buffer!" to 
 the cicerone, "what do you sell these tiles for ? " 
 
 He dared not sell stick or stone of the Abbey, 
 as his tormenter well knew. But George amused 
 himself and friends with insisting first to try to 
 buy him over, then by threatening to steal the
 
 138 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 precious pavement. The poor old creature was in 
 a panic of terror ; but William came quietly to 
 his side, and said a few words which set him at 
 ease, and spoiled all George's fun. 
 
 Then the whole party strolled over the nave to 
 the foot of the staircase which leads to the top of 
 the walls, whence can be seen superb views of the 
 valley, river, and surrounding country. Reginald 
 declared no view in the world could repay one for 
 the fatigue of climbing the corkscrew stair ; but 
 Margaret, glad to shake off an eerie feeling which 
 was creeping over her, laid a wager she would 
 reach the top before any one else. Even the quiet 
 Marta joined in the race up the steep, narrow 
 stairway. Stones, worn by the feet of saintly 
 monks, echoed back the steps of the merry young 
 people. True enough, Margaret distanced all, 
 and was seen alone on the walls waving her cap 
 in sign of victory. Dr. Herly watched from the 
 green below ; he dared not attempt such a steep 
 climb. He leaned against a pillar, his eyes intent 
 on one slight figure, so easily distinguished from 
 all others by its stately bearing. Much of the 
 noisy conversation was wafted to his ears, and he 
 imagined Margaret was much excited by her vic- 
 tory. He hoped that, after looking at the view, 
 they would all descend. Instead of this, they 
 began walking farther along the walls ; and, in 
 answer to a command from Reginald to all to step 
 carefully, he saw Margaret break away from the
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 139 
 
 rest, and, with fleet, flying footsteps, race round 
 and round the walls. It was a mad escapade, as 
 no one is permitted to venture on several walks 
 over which she so carelessly sped. Boards marked 
 " dangerous " warn the adventurous tourist of his 
 limitations. 
 
 "Catch her! stop her, George," cried Dr. 
 Herly. "Are you all mad, to let her go to her 
 death ? " 
 
 No one moved in pursuit, prevented by Regi- 
 nald, as was most wise ; for the walls would not 
 have borne more strain. 
 
 Dr. Herly called, in tones of agonized entreaty, 
 
 " I am coming, Margaret." He set off up the 
 steps at the top of his speed. She heard, flew 
 past the startled group ; and, as wildly as she had 
 raced up the stairs, tore down them again. She 
 narrowly escaped falling headlong, so difficult, even 
 in cold blood, is the descent : but she thought of 
 nothing, cared for nothing, but to prevent Dr. 
 Herly's ascent. She came upon him at last, stand- 
 ing breathless against one of the loopholes, pant- 
 ing, exhausted, his weak lungs oppressed to an 
 agonizing extent. But it was evident he scarce 
 felt this agony in his overpowering desire to pro- 
 ceed ; he seemed impatient of his weakness. 
 
 " Oh ! why did you run up those dreadful 
 steps ? " cried Margaret, in a keen tone of regret. 
 
 He looked at her, but without making any 
 reply ; indeed, words were impossible, for the
 
 I4O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 breath came in gasps from his lips. He turned 
 from her to the loophole : he only wished to hide 
 his suffering from her. Margaret suffered cruelly, 
 herself the cause of this pain which no regret on 
 her part could alleviate. She sat down on the 
 steps and wept impetuously. He was suffering 
 too acutely to move ; as soon as he dared, he 
 turned and looked at her, she looked up, her 
 eyes swimming. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said, her voice full of contri- 
 tion. Inwardly she continued, " for I suffer more 
 than you at this moment." The unspoken words 
 had power ; Dr. Herly felt them ; he was moved 
 to pity, he put out his hand, Margaret clasped 
 it, held it eagerly. 
 
 " Let us go down to a pleasanter part of the 
 Abbey," said he, feebly. 
 
 "Then you must let me help you," said she, 
 drawing his hand through her arm. " Lean on 
 me, let me feel I am helping you." 
 
 " It is like old times, Margie," said Dr. Herly, 
 taking advantage of her superior strength. 
 
 Margaret was silent ; he looked at her. Alas ! 
 her face perfectly masked her feeling of wild de- 
 light at his words. Her heart passionately craved 
 a recurrence of those old times, while her face 
 coldly bid them adieu. They passed into the 
 Cloister Garth, crossed it to the refectory. The 
 moonlight showed the long hall, carpeted with 
 grass, roofed by the changing heavens, its walls
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 14! 
 
 ivy draped, the tangled vines almost hiding the 
 niches where the saints had stood long, so long 
 ago. 
 
 William's voice was heard, ringing out from the 
 walls, 
 
 "Where the bee sucks, there suck I." 
 
 Voices took up the strain in harmony. 
 
 Dr. Herly wearily sat down on a grassy bank. 
 Margaret, to hide her emotion, climbed up into 
 one of the niches, raised her eyes, and clasped her 
 hands over her breast. 
 
 "See!" she cried, "do I not make a good 
 saint ? " 
 
 No stone figure could have been more statu- 
 esque ; her black habit draped her with nun-like 
 severity, her clearly-cut features were set in stern 
 repose. 
 
 " No ; you will never make a saint, Margie," 
 said Dr. Herly, coming towards her ; he put up 
 his hands to help her down from her pedestal. 
 " Margie, Margie," he said, tenderly, as he again 
 leaned upon her arm, " what has made you grow 
 so wild ? " 
 
 " You left me," began Margaret, brokenly. 
 
 " Did you regret your old friend ? " said he, tak- 
 ing her hand in his, and holding it to his breast. 
 She did not answer ; words trembled for utter- 
 ance on her lips, but the wild beating of her heart 
 choked her. She could only be silent.
 
 142 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "Margie" a pause. The ineffable atmosphere 
 of love surrounded them, an eternity of bliss was 
 lived in that one moment by poor, starving Mar- 
 garet. "Was it possible that I misjudged you? 
 If I had come to you again, would you have given 
 me another answer ? " 
 
 The supreme moment had come. The years of 
 misery, which she had made a nightmare of folly, 
 were about to vanish into the past ; she pressed 
 her hand to her heart to still its mad beating ; 
 words rose to her lips. 
 
 " Halloo ! You are dreadfully dull, you two," 
 cried Reginald, without an idea of the moment of 
 that quietude on which he intruded. He was fol- 
 lowed by the whole party, the bewildered pair were 
 separated, taken possession of by their friends. 
 Margaret was nearly wild with agony, a pain 
 whose bitterness had no relief. What she did or 
 said was a blank to her after this, perhaps nothing 
 unusual. She knew that they left the Abbey, 
 that they reached the hostelrie, that they were 
 riding home again. She drooped in her saddle ; 
 the miles seemed very long. 
 
 "You are tired," said Dr. Herly. She looked 
 up, he was riding beside her. 
 
 " Yes. And you ? Are you sure you will not 
 suffer from to-night ? " 
 
 " From that mad race up the stair ? No ; I 
 stopped in time." 
 
 His voice had a tender intonation, which said
 
 THE RIDE TO TINTERN. 143 
 
 much ; he only needed a little encouragement. 
 Poor Margaret was too profoundly moved to speak ; 
 her heart beat almost to suffocation, her tongue 
 was stiff and unmanageable. Enough ! Surely, 
 one who loved him would give him some outward 
 sign in answer to his spoken and unspoken words. 
 He sighed sadly, reined back his horse, and per- 
 mitted Reginald to take his place. Thus the 
 divine happiness of love drifted from them again. 
 It would be hard to say which of the two suffered 
 most cruelly in this bitter hour. 
 
 " There is no God, no after-life, no Christ ! " 
 muttered Margaret to herself that night. " I do 
 not believe in any thing, but I suffer. God help 
 me!" 
 
 Mr. Fordyce and William left the Hollies with 
 the hearty farewells of the Simmonds set ringing 
 in their ears. The boxing-match had come off, 
 and Mr. Fordyce had shown splendid "form." 
 
 " Damned if I don't come and hear you preach 
 next Sunday," was Simmond's parting farewell. 
 
 True to his oath, he was there.
 
 144 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PANCAKE KEAR. 
 
 MARGARET returned home the next day, 
 leaving a very dull house behind her ; it 
 was as if the sun had ceased to shine in her 
 absence. Marta wondered, not that her friend 
 had won so many hearts, but that any man, loving 
 her, could let pride be an obstacle to his happiness. 
 She read the riddle aright ; Dr. Herly was very 
 proud. He was descended from a poor, proud 
 family ; Margaret's money was an obstruction 
 only the excitement and witchery of that moon- 
 light hour could obliterate. Unfortunately, she 
 had inherited this fortune only a few days previous 
 to her rejection of his proposals. When he learned 
 this, he did her the injustice to believe the inher- 
 itance of wealth had influenced her. In truth, 
 Margaret was very young, elated by her sense of 
 power over him, and not aware of the place his 
 life-long devotion had had in her heart, until too 
 late, and he had left without a farewell word. 
 Had she remained poor, he would have laughed at 
 her rejection ; for who understood her changeful 
 moods so well as he ? Margaret expected him to
 
 PANCAKE KEAR. 145 
 
 return ; and when it was too evident he had left 
 her, ignorant that he made a stumbling-block of 
 her wealth, blamed herself only for her half-con- 
 temptuous ridicule of her old friend in the pose of 
 lover. 
 
 " He never forgives," she had said to Marta ; 
 and she gave up all hope. She would not have 
 suffered so cruelly but for her knowledge that he 
 required all the love and devotion wife could be- 
 stow to keep his disease from gaining ground. 
 She fancied that every time she heard him cough 
 the disease had taken deeper root ; he had been 
 ordered to go to Madeira ; not to risk the bitter 
 winds of an English winter. How was Margaret 
 to know that* he had refused to leave the Forest, 
 because here, at least, he could sometimes see the 
 woman he loved ? 
 
 One day, weary of pondering her unhappy case, 
 Margaret mounted her horse and rode into the 
 Forest. As she rode on under the beautiful trees, 
 her thoughts were busy. Was there another life 
 beyond this world ? She answered herself bitterly 
 enough ; hoped this was all, if it were any foretaste 
 of what another life might be. She rode out in 
 this humour; she returned, hoping, with all her 
 heart, for life beyond the ken of mortal eye and 
 ear. She crossed the rough tramroad, over which 
 the stalwart horses plodded day and night, drag- 
 ging the clumsy trams piled high with blocks of 
 coal. The teamsters rough Forest men of ster-
 
 146 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 ling character strode beside the horses armed 
 with whips and a vocabulary of oaths, which, 
 though lacking variety, were projected with an 
 earnestness disposing you to expect an immediate 
 catastrophe. These men were honest according 
 to their code, one still tinged with feudal ideas, 
 when the masters' property, in a way, was theirs, 
 as they in turn belonged to the master. Old men, 
 women and children, work day by day on the tram- 
 road, picking up the coal which falls from the 
 trams, to warm their own hearthstones. Are 
 these friends relatives of the teamster? He 
 whips up his horses, stops them with a surly oath 
 and whoa, the trams jostle together, in the con- 
 cussion, the coal is spilt freely on t"he tram road, 
 the gatherers reap a harvest. It being no part of 
 the teamster's business to pick up coal, he goes 
 on with an easy conscience. There is no limit to 
 his dullness of perception where coal is concerned. 
 Yet he has a clear insight for the rights of "meum 
 and tuum" where his own property is in question; 
 dull, slow-witted, perhaps, but attempt to take 
 advantage of his dull wits, and an obstinate cun- 
 ning arises, a shield of defence to the dullard. 
 
 Pancake Kear was a teamster; he lived in a small 
 cottage up in the heart of the Forest. By an old 
 Forest law, which gave a man the ground he could 
 build upon and fence round in a single night, this 
 cottage was his own. He and Sukey, his wife, had 
 lived there for upwards of fifty years. Pancake
 
 PANCAKE REAR. 
 
 was a Kear, but the appellation was not distinctive 
 in this Forest world where so many families had 
 sprung from one remote ancestor. It was incum- 
 bent on all Kears to earn some nickname by some 
 characteristic deed. All the Kears drank heavily ; 
 drunken Kear would but have doubled the diffi- 
 culty. Pancake earned his name in his youth, 
 when, on a certain Shrove Tuesday, he ate nine- 
 teen pancakes and a "clincher," a thick fritter, 
 for his dinner. 
 
 On this bright morning Pancake Kear stabled 
 his horses, and prepared to go home for his noon- 
 day dinner. But Pancake was a thirsty man ; in 
 fact, owned an unquenchable thirst which cider 
 alleviated but never assuaged. The last tram 
 always carried two large earthern jars, one of 
 oil of vitriol for greasing the tram-wheels ; the 
 other, cider for the thirsty throat of Pancake Kear. 
 His mode of drinking was adapted to his oppor- 
 tunity and the awkward vessel from which he 
 drank. Thus, this morning, as usual, he threw 
 back his head, opened wide the avenue to the 
 burning throat, swallowing in hasty gulps. To-day 
 one gulp sufficed ; he threw down the jar, cast- 
 ing a wild look of agony on the quiet Forest 
 around him. He went to his horses, saw that 
 they were safe, carefully locked up his master's 
 property ; then, with his burning tongue hanging 
 out of his mouth, Pancake Kear went home to 
 die. His cottage was near at hand, his wife stood
 
 148 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 at the door ; his dinner was on the table ; the 
 dog frolicked around him ; the sun was bright. 
 Never had he felt a keener desire for life, yet an 
 inward voice told Pancake, in his mortal agony, 
 he must die. 
 
 Margaret, a few minutes later, met poor Sukey, 
 flying as fast as her trembling limbs would carry 
 her, crying aloud, and wringing her hands as her 
 breath failed her. 
 
 " What troubles you, Sukey ? " 
 
 " Oh ! him's bin an done for "isself," she moaned. 
 " A swallowed vitriol instead of zider, an' a's dyin', 
 an' I be after the doctor." 
 
 Margaret instantly despatched her groom with 
 urgent summons to Dr. Herly, and returned with 
 Sukey to the cottage. The doctor found her 
 helping Pancake Kear to fight with death, her 
 ready wit having suggested such simple means as 
 might be procured at hand. He saw the man was 
 leaning on her strength of character, even though 
 he knew himself to be beyond hope. Dr. Herly 
 tried every possible remedy without avail. 
 
 " I be goin' to die, maister ? " 
 
 " Yes ; there is nothing more that I can do," 
 he replied, with grave kindness, " unless you will 
 let me give you something which will make you 
 unconscious of the pain you suffer." 
 
 " No, thank ye, maister," said Pancake, panting 
 in agony, his eyes on the sunlight out-of-doors. 
 " If die I be bound to, die I will. If there was a
 
 PANCAKE REAR. 149 
 
 pa'son now, as would say a prayer ; but I know 
 there baint." 
 
 He looked wistfully at his friends. No pa'son 
 was near ; but could not they ? His eyes fell dis- 
 appointed. Margaret felt bitterly sorry that she 
 could not help him. He craved no alleviation of 
 his mortal agony, only a few words of prayer to 
 help him safely cross the boundary line of life to 
 enter on eternity. 
 
 "I cannot help you," she cried, sorrowfully. 
 She coloured with shame, as she met those wistful 
 eyes, that her life heretofore had left her so un- 
 prepared for this hour of extremity. Old Sukey, 
 choked with sobs, fell on her knees and mumbled 
 the poor formula which represented all she knew 
 of prayer : 
 
 " Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed as I lies on. 
 Four postes to my bed, 
 Four angels round my bed, 
 Two to foot and two to head, 
 Four to carry me when I'm dead." 
 
 The time-worn words brought no healing to poor 
 Pancake, whose spiritual vision was growing clear. 
 Again he turned his appealing eyes on Margaret. 
 
 "Pray," she said, turning to Dr. Herly, in de- 
 spair. " You see I cannot." 
 
 The doctor, whose whole attention was given to 
 relieving the physical agony of the dying man, 
 quietly refused.
 
 150 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "You must!" she urged. "You are good. I 
 know you can say a prayer now for this poor soul." 
 
 One of the prayers for the dying came to his 
 mind. The doctor repeated it with reverent utter- 
 ance, but it was far above the understanding of 
 poor Pancake, he was not helped by it. A 
 hearty " Amen " broke from a voice at the door. 
 A gang of miners stood there, one of whom en- 
 tered the cottage. A ray of light shot from the 
 eye of the dying man ; it was Jem Bryan, the 
 ranter. Pancake had been wont to scoff at his 
 zeal, but he was welcome now as an angel to his 
 suffering soul. This rough collier, rich in faith, 
 owned a spiritual existence whose reality became 
 manifest to Margaret as something almost tangi- 
 ble. She, who had started out this day declaring 
 there was no God, no hereafter, now brought face 
 to face with death in this awful form, greedily 
 drank in the blessed words which gave hope to 
 Pancake Kear that the inhabitant of the body 
 should not die, though the mortal part should 
 perish. All that was Pancake Kear was now leav- 
 ing its rough habitation ; his parting spirit, true 
 to a life-long love, raised his lips in a farewell kiss 
 to Sukey. With that kiss the spirit passed to the 
 "unseen," leaving the face moulded in a smile 
 that was all peace. The heavy limbs, none too 
 heavy for the dull spirit which had impelled them 
 to action, now fell forward in a helpless mass. 
 
 Margaret led old Sukey away into the Forest,
 
 PANCAKE REAR. 151 
 
 while the kindly neighbours prepared the body for 
 its last long rest. The poor creature was dazed 
 with sorrow. She wept as though her floods of 
 tears must melt the Almighty to pity and to res- 
 toration. Margaret, absorbed in the effort to 
 console her, found herself asserting with absolute 
 conviction, 
 
 " Your husband lives ; you will meet him 
 again." 
 
 " But what be I to do without un now ? " 
 
 Sukey could not look beyond the present hour 
 of misery. Margaret perceived this, and desisted 
 from her efforts to give comfort ; and the old wo- 
 man wept on, until the neighbours called her back 
 to the cottage. 
 
 Dr. Herly lingered by the garden-gate. 
 
 "May I suggest a means of helping?" 
 
 "Do. All my efforts fail." 
 
 " People in this class think much of the respect 
 paid to their dead. If you would send your car- 
 riage." 
 
 " I understand. But I will do more than this. 
 I will defray the expenses of the funeral." 
 
 She called the neighbour, and gave her a few 
 directions. Sukey experienced the first feeling of 
 alleviation of her pain, in knowing that her "mon" 
 would have a fine "buryinV 
 
 There was nothing more to be done. Margaret 
 allowed Dr. Herly to assist her to mount, and they 
 rode away together.
 
 152 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Have you finished your rounds this morning?" 
 asked Margaret, breaking a long silence. 
 
 " No ; I must visit a sick woman in Lydbrook. 
 Can you ride a little way with me ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I envy you the welcome you get 
 everywhere. How delightful to have the power 
 of giving relief to those who suffer! " 
 
 " Recognize my limitations," he replied, smiling. 
 " I could do nothing for poor Kear. Let me tell 
 you, too, that the face of a certain lady of my ac- 
 quaintance is well loved, and welcome in many a 
 poor home that I know of." 
 
 Margaret coloured. He went on : 
 
 " I repeat. The world lost a fine nurse in you. 
 I wish there were more women capable of doing 
 as you have done this day. Poor Kear died the 
 easier for his reliance on your courage." 
 
 "Yet," said Margaret, with a tremble in her 
 voice, " mankind loves better the helpless type of 
 woman, who weeps and faints in a crisis." 
 
 "You think man blindly clings to the feeble 
 element in woman, prefers and cherishes it?" 
 
 "My experience shows me that it is so," she 
 replied, curling her lip. " Popular opinion inclines 
 to women of one stamp. Individuality is a crime." 
 
 " I grant you the partial truth of your state- 
 ment," said the doctor, smiling in a way that made 
 her heart beat fast ; " but except me from your 
 classification. You know, however, that what is 
 supposed by some people to be individuality is
 
 PANCAKE KEAR. 153 
 
 simply a vulgar desire to attract attention. Women 
 of this type are frequently destitute of wit, beauty, 
 or especial loveliness of character." 
 
 " Loveliness of character ! Who but Marta de- 
 serves such a characterization ? " exclaimed Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Are you going to model your life after her 
 pattern ? " he asked, with a genial smile. 
 
 " Did you not tell me I should never make a 
 saint ? " she replied, meeting his eyes with a quiz- 
 zical glance. 
 
 " There are degrees of perfection," he said, in 
 a tone that brought the colour to her cheeks, and 
 made her careless of her words, as she said, 
 
 " Reginald is not of your opinion. Perfection 
 means Mr. Reginald Reece, to his mind." 
 
 " It is not a very expansive centre," said the 
 doctor, sharply. 
 
 " But the only thinking mind I have met with 
 in this sleepy old Forest," she cried. " He ac- 
 tually reads, and" 
 
 " Yes ! he reads, and adopts other men's 
 thoughts with a certain amount of cleverness." 
 
 " He holds pronounced views on the woman 
 question," she continued, with stinging sarcasm. 
 " Woman is born to admire and adore ; and such 
 as are favoured with his acquaintance have the 
 object presented for their adoration." 
 
 " He is young, has travelled little, and been too 
 long the first man in his circle. Then comes a
 
 154 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 woman of the world, and permits him to sit at her 
 feet. Is it a wonder he loses ballast, and becomes 
 the unworthy being your sarcasm depicts ? " 
 
 " One must amuse one's self," she said, dryly. 
 "Vanity is an interesting study. Reginald pos- 
 sesses it to a marvel." 
 
 " You are amiable ! Does it ever strike you 
 that Marta may suffer from your wholesale mo- 
 nopoly of her cousin ? " 
 
 " No ! " said Margaret, with a keen flash in her 
 eye. " Neither you nor I know any thing " 
 Let me tell you, however, that the man who could 
 be allured from a woman such as Marta deserves 
 the consequences, however severe the punishment 
 may be." 
 
 The doctor made no reply. Margaret's meaning 
 puzzled him. 
 
 "I must leave you here," she said, pausing 
 under the trees. 
 
 " Must you ? " he said, rousing himself and look- 
 ing wistfully into her eyes. " You have been very 
 good to come so far." 
 
 " Au revoir" said Margaret, turning sharply 
 from the eyes that revealed so much to her, while 
 she had the bitter assurance that the lips were 
 sealed, and were quite unconscious of the be- 
 trayal of the eyes. 
 
 "God help us both," she murmured, as she rode 
 away.
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 155 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 
 
 MINNIE SELWYN had promised to teach 
 Marta's Sunday class, consisting of poor 
 cottagers' children, and such of the farmers' 
 daughters as would condescend to be taught. 
 She was not to be deterred by the heat, but told 
 Crawford sharply he need not attempt to stroll 
 away to go to sleep under the park trees, as she 
 desired his escort to Heaven's Gate. Crawford 
 meekly suggested driving her there, but Minnie 
 refused to use the ponies on Sunday. He gave 
 up the point, and armed himself with a large um- 
 brella, though he knew Minnie would not accept 
 its shelter. As usual, in such weather, she walked 
 on with a brisk, light step, looking quite cool in 
 her white dress and broad hat, holding a dainty 
 sun-umbrella, at which Crawford growled, when 
 he found sufficient energy. It was a pleasant 
 walk, under foot the velvety turf of the park ; 
 while the avenue of oaks, leading up to the Roman 
 wall, sheltered them from the sun. Ere they 
 reached Heaven's Gate, they saw the children 
 picturesquely grouped under the trees on the lawn,
 
 156 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 with Jennie and Olga anxiously on the watch for 
 Minnie. Crawford retired to smoke a cigar in the 
 laurel arbour. Unfortunately for him, this was 
 aunt Cathy's favourite retreat, where, armed with 
 Watts's Hymns, and various pamphlets of a stirring 
 nature, this redoubtable warrior read and dozed 
 away the afternoon. Ready for battle in season 
 and out of season, she began at once to probe the 
 phlegmatic Crawford with questions, finally assur- 
 ing him that "he was unregenerate, and, unless 
 he saw the error of his ways, his end would be too 
 awful to contemplate." Crawford listened with 
 polite attention, even a degree of interest ; but 
 aunt Cathy was to lose her victim just as she 
 began to warm to her theme. Minnie called to 
 Crawford. 
 
 " Four new girls are here," said Minnie. " Come 
 and hear them read a chapter in the Testament, 
 like a good Crawford." 
 
 Ere he could object, she had left him before a 
 bench where four blooming, Saxon maidens, fair- 
 haired and rosy-cheeked, sat giggling with keen 
 appreciation of the situation. They rose and 
 curtsied to the "young squire;" and he, in return, 
 took off his hat, politely begging them to be seated. 
 Very soon, Minnie, busy with her own class, saw 
 Crawford at her side. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, sharply. 
 
 "You asked me to hear the young ladies read?" 
 
 " Well ? " impatiently.
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 157 
 
 " It happens that they are all totally unac- 
 quainted with the symbols," replied he, with per* 
 feet gravity. 
 
 "Then you must inform them on that point," 
 said Minnie, smiling in spite of her earnestness. 
 " Olga will give you a primer." 
 
 Crawford went back with a much-thumbed horn- 
 book in his possession, and laboured with zeal and 
 polite tact to accustom the blooming damsels to 
 the differences between the letters of the alphabet. 
 He had a keen sympathy for slow minds, other- 
 wise his patience must soon have been exhausted. 
 
 CRAWFORD (to No. i). "What do you call this 
 letter ? " 
 
 No. i. " Thic uns a B, yunt it ? " 
 
 No. 2. " No 't yunt. A zed a was a D, not a 
 minute ago." 
 
 Crawford, delighted at this proof of intelligence, 
 turns the page and points to the same letter again. 
 
 Chorus. " Never sot eyes on it afore." 
 
 How much longer his patience would have 
 lasted was fortunately not tested, as Minnie soon 
 afterwards dismissed the school. As they strolled 
 home, she cordially praised his efforts, and prom- 
 ised to give him the same class next Sunday ; 
 then Crawford leaned his huge frame against an 
 oak-tree and laughed heartily ; the absurd side of 
 the situation was too much for his gravity. 
 
 "You see, Crawford," she said, with a quiet 
 patronage in her tone, which always intensely
 
 158 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 amused Crawford, " people cannot always do what 
 they like best." 
 
 " But they can always find some one else who 
 does it habitually," answered he, enigmatically ; 
 then he indulged in another chuckle, as he thought 
 of the four dense minds incapable of grasping the 
 alphabetical symbols. 
 
 There were none but dame schools for the poor, 
 and Sunday-school teachers devoted part of the 
 hour to teaching their scholars to read. Success 
 was considered to have crowned their efforts when 
 a chapter in the Testament could be read without 
 much stumbling. 
 
 " Uncle Selwyn must establish some schools on 
 the estate," said Crawford, presently. 
 
 " We have often tried to do so, but the parents 
 will not send the children. They keep the girls 
 at home to mind the babies, and hire out the boys 
 to the farmers to scare the crows, or drive the 
 plough-horses." 
 
 " It must be done," said Crawford, in his quiet 
 way. 
 
 "Which means it will be done," laughed Min- 
 nie. "Well, no one but yourself could accomplish 
 it." 
 
 Much to Mr. Selwyn's satisfaction, it was done 
 ere the year was out. Crawford's dogged deter- 
 mination to improve the condition of the poor, in 
 spite of their desire to be let alone, delighted the 
 squire. Crawford was a slow man ; he did not
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 159 
 
 care how long it took to establish new ways, but 
 everyone knew that, when he set his mind on any 
 one point, he never gave up. When once the 
 dull brains of the village folk had mastered this 
 fact, they did not trouble to oppose him openly. 
 When they could evade his will by cunning they 
 did so without a scruple ; but even cunning got 
 tired of continual opposition, and many improve- 
 ments Mr. Selwyn had sighed for were carried out 
 and established by Crawford. 
 
 The Hon. Crawford Rivers was third son of 
 Lord John Rivers, and a distant cousin of the 
 Selwyns. The two families had always been on 
 close terms of friendship ; and Mr. Selwyn, who 
 had no sons of his own, had early taken a great 
 fancy for this fine boy of Lord Rivers'. On the 
 death of Lady Rivers, Mrs. Selwyn had suggested 
 that Crawford should, for the future, spend his 
 holidays at the park. He grew up, therefore, 
 amongst the Selwyns, and felt more at home in 
 their house than in his father's, where a haughty 
 Lady Rivers soon took his mother's place. Craw- 
 ford, at twenty-five years of age, was inclined to 
 wish that he had not been thrown so much with 
 his cousins, since it seemed nearly impossible to 
 break up the old habit which all had of regarding 
 him as a brother. He had learned, in the time of 
 his absence the last year, that his feeling for Min- 
 nie had never been of a brotherly character, 
 he loved, he worshipped, her. How could he woo
 
 160 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 one who treated him with such absolute freedom, 
 who bade him come and go, hung on his arm, and 
 laughed at his slowness, as a sister might do ; 
 who accepted his lover-like attentions as a matter 
 of course, and suggested to him that he would do 
 well to consider how old he was getting, and find 
 a wife before he grew to be a selfish old bachelor ? 
 He had spoken to Mr. Selwyn on the subject, and 
 had received his hearty good wishes. It was, in 
 fact, the union the squire desired above all others, 
 but he was far from believing it would ever take 
 place. 
 
 Minnie had many admirers, but treated them all 
 in a dispassionate manner which quickly brought 
 them to the verge of despair. How should they 
 know that she had an ideal standard by which she 
 measured them all ? Indeed, she herself was quite 
 unconscious that she made a hero of this cousin 
 whose slowness was the cause of so many sharp 
 remarks from her caustic tongue. The men who 
 sued for her regard went down one after another 
 when judged by this ideal ; their height, breadth, 
 strength, manner, their self-esteem, she curled 
 her lip at the comparison. One, braver than the 
 rest, followed her down into the country, and 
 asked permission of her parents to try and make 
 himself acceptable to their daughter. Lord Or- 
 ford was a fine man, and worthy of a woman's 
 regard. Minnie liked him very much, but be- 
 tween liking and loving is a great, yawning chasm.
 
 "JUMPING JIM." l6l 
 
 Crawford, who was obstinately determined never 
 to give up his cousin to any other man as long as 
 any chance remained of winning her for himself, 
 was desperately jealous of Lord Orford. He 
 knew that his rival possessed all the brilliant 
 qualities of which he was himself deficient ; he 
 knew that he bore the character of being irresist- 
 ible with women. Lord Orford had a small estate 
 some twenty miles away, and spent the summer 
 there, riding over to the park as often as he could 
 find excuse to do so, making himself a most de- 
 lightful companion. 
 
 The athletic sports were to come off one day in 
 September, and Lord Orford condescendingly as- 
 sured Minnie he should join in them. They were 
 organized by Mr. Selwyn to encourage the mill- 
 hands and farmers' men to develop their physique 
 by regular practice. Handsome prizes were given 
 every year to the victors ; and, as yet, the best of 
 these had been regularly carried off by a man 
 called "Jumping Jim." The whole interest of the 
 sports hung on the feats of this village worthy, 
 and no gentleman of college training had ever 
 competed for honours with this self-taught genius. 
 Minnie tried to dissuade Lord Orford from his 
 purpose, but he did not happen to see it from her 
 point of view. He knew himself to be a perfect 
 athlete, and he enjoyed the prospect of showing 
 himself to advantage. Minnie was much preplexed. 
 Have the pleasure of the day spoilt for the vil- 
 lagers, she would not.
 
 162 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Crawford," she said, on the morning of the 
 eventful day, " I want you to enter the lists to- 
 day." 
 
 "To beat poor Jumping Jim, Minnie?" he asked, 
 with a frown. 
 
 "No," said Minnie, with a gay little laugh; "but 
 to beat Lord Orford." 
 
 " You are sure I can ? " he asked, lazily stretch- 
 ing himself. "Do you know what they said of 
 him at Oxford ? " 
 
 " I know you can," she said, calmly, her look of 
 pride at Crawford making his heart leap with sud- 
 den delight. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders without further re- 
 ply, but when the hour came he stood at the 
 starting-point equipped for action. Minnie saw 
 him take poor Jumping Jim by the arm and lead 
 him aside. 
 
 " Please, zur," says Jim, who has often tried 
 leaps with Crawford in days gone by, "there baint 
 no chance for me if you goes in." 
 
 " I am not going to beat you, Jim, understand 
 that," said Crawford, simply. A glance at the 
 elegant Lord Orford, who now approached, threw 
 light on the subject. " You must do your best, 
 you know," said Crawford. 
 
 "Can I beat him?" 
 
 "I think you can," was the reply. 
 
 The three men stood side by side, all of them 
 tall, but Crawford's head four inches above the
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 163 
 
 others, Lord Orford, a perfect Apollo ; Jumping 
 Jim an absurd figure, in comparison, with long, 
 ungainly limbs and ill-set head ; Crawford, a Her- 
 cules in height and strength. Jumping Jim was 
 nerved to do his best, knowing that his sweetheart 
 watched him from a bench under the trees ; 
 never had he jumped so far, or run so well. Lord 
 Orford looked at him with growing respect, as the 
 awkward creature out-ran and out-leaped him con- 
 tinually. 
 
 Curiously enough, Crawford was always a little 
 before Lord Orford and a little behind Jumping 
 Jim. 
 
 "Why does not Crawford do better to-day?" 
 asked Mrs. Selwyn. " He could easily beat Jump- 
 ing Jim." 
 
 " He is not there to beat him," said Minnie, 
 gayly. 
 
 " Why, then ? Do you not see that Jim is first 
 every time ? " 
 
 " He has no training, though," said Minnie. 
 " He will get tired before the end comes." 
 
 The finale was a grand steeple-chase over the 
 park, which included fences, and a deep brook 
 which had made a wide channel for itself. Jim, 
 accustomed to lead here as elsewhere in former 
 years, now felt the pace of the college men very 
 trying. He kept well ahead, but was losing his 
 wind. Crawford ran easily along a little way be- 
 hind, and Lord Orford a pace or two in the rear.
 
 164 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 All went well until the last trying leap. Poor 
 Jim made a grand effort, and landed on his feet, 
 but breathless. He cast a look of agony behind 
 him. Crawford leaped over, suddenly clasped Jim 
 in his arms, and ran on up the hill with him. 
 
 " Got my wind, zur," said Jim, in a minute or 
 two. 
 
 "Then run in," said Crawford, arriving himself 
 at the winning-post just a few steps ahead of 
 Lord Orford. A few minutes later, Jumping Jim 
 was to be seen with the other village competitors, 
 whose small feats have not been recorded, receiv- 
 ing the prizes which meant such glory to him in 
 the eyes of the villagers. Crawford emerged 
 from the tent, where he had retired to don his 
 every-day clothing, and cast a look round to find 
 Minnie. She was in the centre of a group of 
 friends, and Crawford slowly made his way to her 
 side ; Lord Orford was before him, however. She 
 took no notice of Crawford, though well aware of 
 his presence ; but as the crowd of village people 
 moved that way, and made it necessary for them 
 to stand closer together, Minnie slipped her little 
 hand unseen into Crawford's with a sudden, close 
 clasp. It was detained until a chance offered of 
 escape, then he drew it through his arm. 
 
 " Let us get out of this jostling crowd," said 
 he. 
 
 " O Crawford ! I am so proud of you," said she, 
 gayly.
 
 "JUMPING JIM." 165 
 
 He pressed her hand silently to his side, then, 
 drawing it farther through his arm, held it close 
 with the other hand. There was no one to see, 
 for they were wandering under the trees, only 
 the gentle deer, herding timidly under the beeches. 
 Minnie laid her head for an instant against his 
 arm. 
 
 "There is no one so good as my old Crawford," 
 she said, in a tone of sisterly pride most discour- 
 aging to a lover. 
 
 They sat down on a bench under an oak, whose 
 massive boughs sheltered them from observation. 
 Minnie chatted on, but Crawford maintained his 
 silence. Soon Jumping Jim and his sweetheart 
 came strolling past. Minnie called to them, and 
 they came bowing and curtseying up to the young 
 lady. 
 
 "There's something I think I ought to tell you, 
 if I mought, miss," he said, with a look at Craw- 
 ford, whose muttered " Shut up, Jim," did not es- 
 cape Minnie's notice. 
 
 " Go on," she said. " I want to hear. Now, 
 Crawford, I will hear it. What is it, Jim ? " 
 
 Thus encouraged, Jim told his story, how 
 Muster Crawford lep the ditch, and carr'd him up 
 the hill, till he got his wind again. 
 
 " Seeing as how you was sweethearts, miss, 
 like me and Molly here, I thought t'was my 
 duty like to tell you, miss." 
 
 "That will do," said Crawford, suddenly, spin-
 
 166 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 ning a couple of sovereigns at Jim. "That's to 
 help your furnishing, Jim. Don't let it go to the 
 ale-house." 
 
 " No, zur" grinned Jim, walking away, after 
 making his bow ; while Molly unceasingly dipped 
 her curtseys. 
 
 Minnie sat very still, her face turned from Craw- 
 ford, though he could see the pink flush that suf- 
 fused her cheeks. He laid his arm over the back 
 of the bench, took heart of grace, and let his 
 hand fall on her shoulder. 
 
 " Sweethearts, Minnie ? " he said, in an unmis- 
 takable tone, bending to look into her face. 
 
 " O Crawford ! " she cried, with a sudden little 
 rill of laughter, " is it not ridiculous ? " 
 
 Then, without waiting for an answer, she sud- 
 denly took to flight, leaving him to solitude.
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. l6/ 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. 
 
 THE church-bells were ringing, changing their 
 peal every five minutes of the half-hour pre- 
 ceding service. William, full of delight in his 
 position of choir-master and organist, walked 
 gayly over the fields, passing the slow village folk 
 with a bright word of greeting as he hastened to 
 take his place in good time. The calling-bell be- 
 gan to toll, the people who were talking,, grouped 
 about the church-yard, or sitting on the flat tomb- 
 stones, now went into church ; and those still 
 sauntering across the fields hurried their steps. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce gave a grateful look at William as 
 the last tones of " I will arise and go to my 
 Father" died away. The congregation, stirred to 
 interest, rose and joined in the responses. Life 
 had come into the service ; this night no one 
 slept through the sermon. How was this ? Not 
 only did the music cause the fresh interest, but 
 the vicar had found the key to his people's hearts. 
 He burned his old sermons, many of which he 
 had considered worthy of being printed. He now 
 modelled his discourses on the lessons he learned
 
 1 68 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 from the ranter Bryan. Heart can stir heart by 
 strong faith and enthusiasm ; simple words, cloth- 
 ing practical suggestions for every-day life, were 
 the foundations on which his future sermons were 
 built. 
 
 William listened eagerly. Conscious of a weak 
 character, he learned that strength would come 
 at his need ; life need not be a failure, unless he 
 chose to make it so. Poor Mr. Graves, with his 
 argumentative sermons which raised doubts for the 
 mere pleasure of disproving them, how bald and 
 useless such head-work to those whose sinful hearts 
 require tangible help ! 
 
 Alas, for William ! His aunt and father tore 
 this means of grace from his grasp when he went 
 home that evening. Mr. Graves, with all the dea- 
 cons but Thomas Hughes, had convened a church- 
 meeting, had reminded Mr. De Clifford of the 
 work his Puritan forefathers had done, and had 
 dwelt much on the weakness he now showed in 
 allowing his son to corisort with the church par- 
 son, and assist in a service which led on to popery. 
 But enough, and too much, of such pitiful strict- 
 ures. Mr. De Clifford went home in one of his 
 rages, which, of rare occurrence, were very violent 
 while they lasted. William came running to meet 
 him, his bright face beaming as he began to tell 
 of his success with the choir. A few stern words, 
 and the gladness died from his face. Aunt Cathy 
 burst in with acrid speeches ; and, between them
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. 169 
 
 both, they said so much that William, gentle as he 
 was, turned on them, told them they wanted to 
 drive him to the Devil ; and that, since they for- 
 bade him to take Mr. Fordyce for a friend, he 
 would find plenty of another kind he hoped would 
 please them better; and, since he must not at- 
 tend Church, he would not enter the doors of the 
 Baptist chapel again. 
 
 Aunt Cathy broke in with a stream of reproaches ; 
 but Mr. De Clifford, coming to his senses when 
 he saw his gentle boy roused to a fury almost 
 equal in violence to his own mad rage, silenced 
 her in a few stern words. 
 
 Forbidden to see or speak to Mr. Fordyce, Wil- 
 liam's whole soul rose in rebellion. He went to 
 Thomas Hughes with the story ; and within an 
 hour the vicar was made acquainted with it by the 
 pen of the "Co." Unfortunately, urgent business 
 called him to London for a week. He wrote Wil- 
 liam a noble letter which would have enabled him 
 to possess his soul in patience until his friend re- 
 turned. Aunt Cathy received the letter from the 
 messenger, learnt whence it came, and burned it 
 unread. William felt he was alone ; even Mr. For- 
 dyce had forsaken him ; in bitterness of soul, he 
 went back to his old companions. 
 " Where is William ? " asked Marta, on her re- 
 turn. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " sniffed aunt Cathy ; " he is a 
 dissipated young man : / see little enough of 
 him."
 
 I/O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 Marta left the tea-table, put on her hat, and 
 walked down to the village. It was a long way ; 
 but, instinctively feeling there was something be* 
 hind her uncle's silence and aunt Cathy's spite- 
 ful air, she determined to go in person to find her 
 cousin. If he were wounded in spirit, he would 
 be safe could she only have him with her again. 
 Thinking only of him, she walked up the village 
 to the inn. Thomas Hughes, standing at his 
 office-door, came down to meet her. She gave 
 one pitiful look at him, while he, understanding in- 
 stantly what she meant to do, walked on silently 
 by her side. Sounds of violin music issued from 
 a room in the inn ; Marta went straight towards 
 it ; Thomas Hughes followed her. They paused 
 before an open door which revealed a roomful of 
 the worst men in the county drinking, and shout- 
 ing applause. William still had the bow in his 
 hand, when the inn-keeper pushed a steaming 
 glass of spirits towards him. He put down his 
 violin, and raised the brandy to his lips ; as he 
 did so, silence fell on the noisy brawlers. What 
 seemed to them an angel glided, in white robes, 
 through their midst. William awoke to the real- 
 ity of his position when he saw Marta's steadfast 
 face looking up at him. He pushed aside the 
 glass, threw his arm round her, as if to hide her- 
 from the sight of these coarse men, and hurried 
 her out of the room. 
 
 " O Marta, Marta ! never come into this place
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. I /I 
 
 again," he said, bending over her with deep solici- 
 tude, as if he feared she must have tarnished her 
 white robes by contact with the air of the room 
 and sight of those men who were his chosen com- 
 panions. But, no ; the robes were unstained ; the 
 eyes, so calm and pure, swam a little with tears, 
 but the lips smiled lovingly at him. 
 
 Neither of them thought of Thomas Hughes ; 
 but he thought" for both of them, and came up 
 carelessly carrying William's hat and violin-case. 
 William snatched his hat, and crushed it down 
 over his eyes, and with trembling hands replaced 
 the violin in its case. Just then, a pony carriage 
 stopped in the road ; a voice called to Marta. She 
 turned unwillingly. Minnie and Lillian Selwyn 
 were in the low phaeton, with Crawford driving 
 from the high back seat. 
 
 " We will drive you up to the lodge gates," cried 
 Minnie. " Do get in, you and William." 
 
 William hung back, but Thomas Hughes took 
 his arm and urged him forward. Ere he had made 
 up his vacillating mind, he found himself in the 
 carriage sitting opposite to Lillian Selwyn. He 
 took off his hat, threw back his hair to feel the 
 breeze on his brow. His eyes burned ; his lips 
 were fever-parched ; all his higher nature was at 
 war with the lower which had made it possible to 
 him to spend a moment amongst the set from 
 whom Marta had rescued him. He despised, felt 
 the greatest contempt for this lower nature, men-
 
 1/2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 tally stamped it under foot. As if it were another 
 being, and could be present to view his superiority 
 under fit opportunities, he began to talk to Lillian 
 Selwyn. How readily his versatile nature found 
 fitting themes ! How eloquent he could be ! how 
 powerful in imagery ! how perfectly his words 
 were chosen ! Crawford listened from the high 
 back seat with open-mouthed admiration, and 
 nudged Minnie to attract her attention. Minnie 
 and Marta, however, were absorbed in their own 
 themes. Anyone less unselfish than Crawford 
 might have felt left out in the cold. 
 
 " Fordyce comes home to-morrow," he said at 
 length, when there was a lull in the conversation. 
 
 " When did he go away ? " asked Marta, with a 
 look at William, whose sudden look of surprise 
 gave her some key to the situation. 
 
 " He was telegraphed for on Monday," said 
 Minnie. " His little step-sister had diphtheria, I 
 believe." 
 
 William coloured. He was overcome with 
 shame at having doubted the loyalty of his friend, 
 and disgusted at his own want of self-control. 
 He longed to confess his shortcomings to one 
 whose strong hand could hold him firm when his 
 own will was so weak. 
 
 " I hope you will play the organ again," said 
 Lillian. " We enjoyed it so much." 
 
 " I cannot do so at present. Father has forbid- 
 den me, but he may modify his views in time."
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. 1/3 
 
 He looked bright and manly as he spoke. Cen- 
 turies seemed to lie between this hour and those 
 preceding it which had found him at the village 
 inn, so easily was this volatile nature impressed 
 by his surroundings. It was Marta's steadfast 
 heart which suffered most. How was this weak 
 lad ever to travel over life's rough path, and learn 
 to avoid the pitfalls in his way ? 
 
 At the brow of the hill, the Selwyns turned 
 homewards ; the cousins walked on towards Heav- 
 en's Gate. As they climbed the hill, William was 
 wrapt in enchantment with the vision of the beau- 
 tiful Lillian, forgetful of aught else ; while Marta, 
 with unshed tears welling up into her eyes, her 
 face raised to the sunset sky, made one imploring 
 prayer to God to save her dear cousin. 
 
 Her deep sigh, or half-sob, broke on the still 
 air, and recollection came to William. His dark- 
 est hour came on him, the hour in which he 
 realized the weakness which was leading him to 
 ruin. He suffered anguish of mind, and flew to 
 Marta for comfort. She suffered doubly. No 
 task is so hard as to help a weak, vacillating soul 
 which, having no power to brace itself for conflict, 
 must lean on another for strength. William pitied 
 himself with the unconscious selfishness of weak 
 characters ; and, between self-pity and self -blame, 
 without effort at self-control, made Marta's burden 
 a heavy one to bear. 
 
 The next week was indeed a weary one, relieved
 
 174 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 only by visits from Reginald, who rode over fre- 
 quently to read with Marta. He was not in a 
 mood, however, to be genial to William, for he 
 wanted his cousin all to himself. He found that 
 he could not keep her attention for a moment un- 
 less William were included in the conversation. 
 He was astute enough to perceive that Marta had 
 some secret anxiety ; but, far from desiring to share 
 her trouble, he determined to absent himself from 
 Heaven's Gate until the cloud had vanished. The 
 day on which he carried out his resolve brought 
 Mr. Fordyce back again. William met him at the 
 gate, seized his hand, and clung to it as to a rock 
 of defence. That eager greeting would have sug- 
 gested much of William's needs to the observant 
 vicar, even if Thomas Hughes had not spent an 
 hour with him on his return home to supply all 
 the incidents of the boy's downfall, and Marta's 
 brave attempts at rescue. He looked at the grace- 
 ful, slight figure by his side with a loving, deter- 
 mined expression. 
 
 " My dear boy," he said, in his deep tones, 
 "you do not know how I have missed your visits 
 since my return." 
 
 William did not reply. He would not be dis- 
 loyal to his father. 
 
 " You got my letter ? " continued Mr. Fordyce, 
 putting both hands on William's shoulders, and 
 looking keenly into his face. 
 
 "No ! " cried the boy, flushing. " Did you write 
 to me ? "
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. 1/5 
 
 " Yes ; I wrote to explain my absence. My 
 little sister had diphtheria. I hope the others will 
 escape, but I may have to go back. I have been 
 home three days, but so much business had accu- 
 mulated during my absence, I could not come to 
 look after my " 
 
 He paused, for William had taken his hands 
 again in a very agony of sharne. 
 
 " I was desperate," he said, manfully. " I thought 
 you had given me up, and I went straight to the 
 Devil." 
 
 "Oh, my poor boy, my poor boy!" said the 
 vicar. William, looking up, saw tears in his eyes. 
 Then, in a gentle firm voice he went on : "I love 
 you, William, I shall never give you up. Promise 
 to have faith in me for the future." 
 
 " I am not worth caring for," muttered William. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce only answered by a gentle shake 
 of the slight figure, and then suddenly drew him 
 into his arms and kissed him. He had no inten- 
 tion of allowing the boy to dwell in a morbid man- 
 ner in analysis of his feelings. 
 
 " I have come to see your father," he said, next. 
 
 Just then, Mr. De Clifford appeared at the office- 
 window ; he stood glowering, a heavy frown on 
 his brow, looking at the inimical pa'son. Mr. 
 Fordyce, with ready courtesy, walked up to the 
 window. 
 
 " You were good enough to ask me to come up 
 some day for a game of cricket," said he, cordially. 
 " Will you not come out and watch the game ? "
 
 176 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The old man paused, trying to find words to re- 
 fuse, but the temptation was too much for him. 
 He had heard many accounts of the fine playing 
 of the vicar. He longed to see him, bat in hand. 
 
 "Go and get the stumps, William," said he, 
 placing his hat on his head. He came out, pipe 
 in hand, pleased to find the vicar waiting for him 
 on the lawn. 
 
 " May I carry your chair to the cricket ground ? " 
 asked Mr. Fordyce, lifting the huge mahogany 
 chair, which was placed on the lawn for the old 
 man's especial use, as easily as if it were of 
 wicker-work. 
 
 " Good muscle, sir," remarked his laconic host. 
 
 " Pretty fair," replied the vicar. " It hardly 
 gets all the play it needs to keep it up to college 
 standard, though. I miss the rowing. I under- 
 stand you were the finest batter in the West 
 County, sir, some years ago." 
 
 " Yes ; I was a good steady player, never varied 
 much ; had a fine hit to leg, worth a three on any 
 strange cricket ground," replied the old man. 
 " William plays a fine game, but he is too excita- 
 ble ; gets out as often as not with a duck's egg." 
 
 Marta came into the garden with aunt Cathy 
 and the children. Imagine her amazement at see- 
 ing her uncle amicably marching along by the side 
 of the man he had declared should never again 
 cross his threshold, while William, in the joy of 
 his heart, came along singing, and playing an ac- 
 companiment with the stumps.
 
 A GAME OF CRICKET. I?/ 
 
 " Do you want to field for us ? " cried he, to the 
 children. In answer, they flew along the garden, 
 vaulting the low wall into the field. Their duties 
 were arduous for the next hour, for the vicar's 
 muscle was still equal to some tremendous hits. 
 
 The old man sat by in a state of high delight. 
 He loved cricket as the most manly of national 
 games ; and, while he despised a poor player, held 
 one who played as well as the vicar in great re- 
 spect as worth knowing. He made up his slow 
 mind, once for all, that such a manly fellow was a 
 good friend for his son. Henceforth the deacons 
 would lecture to deaf ears, Mr. De Clifford in- 
 tended to abide by his own judgement ; any one 
 who could bat so steadily must be of a steady, re- 
 liable character. Mr. Fordyce little knew how 
 much he gained in his host's estimation by his fine 
 play with the bat. 
 
 " I wish you would take the bat, sir," said the 
 vicar, at length. " I will bowl for you." 
 
 " Do, father," shouted William, across the field. 
 "Come along, Marta ; father is going to play." 
 
 Not only Marta, but the sour-visaged aunt Cathy, 
 appeared at the wall. 
 
 " You baint going to be such a fool, be you ? " 
 she called to her brother, who had already doffed 
 his coat, and was spitting on his hands preparatory 
 to giving the ball a good swipe. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce bowled with great vigour ; but ball 
 after ball was steadily blocked, until, at length, the
 
 178 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 bowler sent one that turned a little from its course. 
 A magnificent play of the bat sent it to leg, far 
 enough to make a three, even a four, if the fielding 
 were not first-rate. 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the vicar. " I never saw finer 
 play in my life." 
 
 The old man chuckled, gave up the bat, and put 
 on his coat. 
 
 " There is the tea-bell," said he. " Come along, 
 sir, and have a cup of tea with us." 
 
 The vicar cordially smiled his acceptance, as 
 he carried back the heavy chair. The children 
 climbed over the wall, and went to open the gar- 
 den-door, while the party strolled in by the easier 
 way of entrance. 
 
 What a cheerful air every thing wore at Heaven's 
 Gate this afternoon. Where was the gloom of the 
 preceding week ? Where the heart-rending anxiety 
 which had distracted poor Marta ? Not a vestige 
 of it all remained ; every one was at his best and 
 happiest. 
 
 The vicar spent the evening with his friends. 
 No one enjoyed his company more than his host, 
 who, when he left, pressed him to come again 
 when he could spare the time ; and to choose his 
 own hour, for, no matter when he came, there was 
 always to be a welcome, and a knife and fork for 
 him at Heaven's Gate.
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. 
 
 GOOD feeling was restored between William 
 and his father, and the sound of cheerful 
 whistle and song about the house brought back 
 the blithe spirit of happiness to Marta. She felt 
 no more anxiely about her cousin ; he was watched 
 over by a loving brother, in whose judicious care 
 she had absolute confidence. Reginald came 
 over to see how the land lay ; and, finding every 
 thing cheerful and bright, made himself very 
 delightful, absorbing Marta's attention without 
 hindrance. 
 
 When Sunday came, a slight cloud was seen on 
 William's face. He was determined to obey his 
 father's wishes and go to chapel, also to abstain 
 from taking part in the service at the church ; but 
 the effort to do so cheerfully was too much for his 
 weak nature. Aunt Cathy scented war, and had 
 some especially exasperating words at her tongue's 
 end, only waiting for William to give her an op- 
 portunity to utter them. Mr. De Clifford, on the 
 contrary, was genial in his efforts to draw his son 
 into conversation on topics of general interest.
 
 i8o HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Are you going to play the organ for the vicar 
 this evening, lad ? " he asked, presently, in a kind 
 tone. 
 
 " Why, brother ! " snapped aunt Cathy, " of 
 course he is not. We settled that matter Sunday 
 afore last." 
 
 William got up impatiently, and walked to the 
 window. 
 
 " Come back here, boy," said his father, half 
 turning in his chair. " I have been thinking the 
 matter over, and if the old vicar were here I 
 should keep my word ; but I like Fordyce. He 
 is a straightforward chap, nothing shilly-shally 
 about him. The more you can do for him, lad, 
 the better I shall be pleased." 
 
 " O father ! " cried William, darting forward to 
 shake hands with his father, who, for his part, had 
 an eye on aunt Cathy, whose mouth was open with 
 determination to speak her mind. The old man 
 rose with agility, and took William's arm. 
 
 " Let us go and have a look at the mountains," 
 said he. " It is clear enough to see the ' Sugar- 
 Loaf to-day." 
 
 In happy mood, all but aunt Cathy strolled 
 across the field. William could hardly contain his 
 delight. There was something almost pathetic in 
 his grateful attentions to his father, who, on his 
 part, rejoiced in the opportunity thus found of re- 
 trieving the blunder into which his blind rage had 
 precipitated him. Marta carried a small telescope,
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. l8l 
 
 but no one needed the aid of glasses this clear 
 morning to see the peak of the " Sugar-Loaf " 
 amongst the Welsh hills. 
 
 Presently old John came into the field to catch 
 Jerry, who indulged in wild gambols very unbe- 
 coming to such an old horse on a Sunday morning. 
 By the time he was caught, and led away by the 
 forelock with dejected mien, it was time to get 
 ready for chapel. Mr. De Clifford had made no 
 stipulation with regard to William's attendance, 
 and he was too proud and too generous to do so 
 now. When they returned to the house, William 
 ran up-stairs to his room. Aunt Cathy stood in 
 the hall, waiting to see him "show off," as she 
 called it. Instead of this, however, came Wil- 
 liam's cheerful voice at his father's door. 
 
 " Father, Olga and I are going to take the short 
 cut through the park. We are going to start now." 
 
 "All right, my lad," answered his father, cor- 
 dially. 
 
 No one knew how dear this beautiful lad was to 
 the father's heart, how continually he brought 
 back the one deep love of his life, the wife who 
 had faded and died just when he could spare her 
 least. 
 
 The day passed happily ; a new feeling of trust 
 in his father's love and sympathy pervaded Wil- 
 liam's heart with joy. He could laugh now at aunt 
 Cathy's most virulent speeches. After tea, he ran 
 up to his room to get ready for church. When he
 
 1 82 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 came down to the hall-door he found the phaeton 
 there. 
 
 " Halloo, John ! what's that for ? " cried he. 
 
 Old John, being tqo evil to answer civilly, held 
 his tongue. Jeremiah looked round with an ex- 
 pression of intense disgust. 
 
 " Would you rather walk, or will you drive us ? " 
 asked Mr. De Clifford, coming to the hall-door 
 struggling into his coat. Behind him was Marta 
 in her Sunday bonnet. 
 
 " O father ! " 
 
 " Come along," said he, gruffly, marching to the 
 phaeton, deaf to the objurgations of aunt Cathy 
 so volubly delivered. 
 
 William sprang up beside his father, took the 
 reins and drove off, the happiest lad in the West 
 County. 
 
 A strain of soft music fell on the ear of the de- 
 lighted vicar as he knelt at the reading-desk ; 
 then came a fear lest William had disobeyed his 
 father. This fear, however, was dissipated at his 
 first glance over the congregation, for there, in the 
 most comfortable corner of the long unoccupied 
 square pew, sat Mr. De Clifford with Marta by his 
 side. 
 
 During the sermon, Mr. De Clifford settled him- 
 self into an attitude of deep attention ; he wanted 
 to hear the arguments, that he might confute them 
 in conversation with William after service. No 
 opportunity occurred, however, for the sermon did
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. 183 
 
 not contain an idea not common to all Christian 
 churches. It was a very simple discourse, aimed 
 at the faults in the lives of his hearers, and deliv- 
 ered without elaboration of detail. If the speaker 
 were erudite, his sermon gave no token of any 
 thing beyond simple earnestness. Mr. De Clif- 
 ford listened with interest, and took home to him- 
 self some of the speaker's words, as did every one 
 present. 
 
 "What do you think of the sermon, father?" 
 asked William, as they drove up the lane to 
 Heaven's Gate. 
 
 " I think he preaches as well as he bats," an- 
 swered the old man, with deliberation. " He hits 
 right and left with good, clear strokes. He gives 
 you no chance to get a look at the weak side of 
 his position. No man of mind could read his 
 Bible, and retain belief in the baptism of infants. 
 Depend on it, the young man avoids controversy 
 on the subject." 
 
 " But he is not one to believe one thing and live 
 another," said William. " He must believe in the 
 doctrines of the Episcopal Church, or you would 
 not find him one of its parsons." 
 
 "True," said his father. "There is nothing 
 two-faced about him. Well, maybe some day he 
 will see his error." 
 
 " I like the service better than ours," said Marta, 
 calmly. " I like the prayers better." 
 
 "The prayers are good," replied her uncle,
 
 184 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 gravely. " The danger is of their becoming vain 
 repetitions when the novelty of hearing them has 
 worn away." 
 
 William checked his desire to say that Mr. 
 Graves' prayers had become "vain repetitions" to 
 him, though this might have been formulated as a 
 truth, as every one in the congregation knew cer- 
 tain turns and phrases by heart. 
 
 Reginald paid frequent visits again, congratu- 
 lating himself on the wisdom he had shown in 
 keeping out of the way until the trouble, what- 
 ever it might have been, had passed over. He 
 was not well pleased, however, to find the vicar 
 established as an intimate friend, continually pre- 
 venting him from holding any long t$te-&-tete with 
 Marta. Of course, William, and William's future, 
 were the topics which made Marta set Reginald 
 aside for the vicar. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn had offered the situation again to 
 William, and it was time the decision, one way of 
 the other, was made. Mr. De Clifford was not 
 willing to let his boy venture to London alone ; 
 and, though Mr. Fordyce thought that it was a 
 good opening for William, he exerted all his in- 
 fluence to make him be reasonable, and accept his 
 father's opinion as a command. 
 
 " Am I to idle away my whole life ? " William 
 asked, impatiently. " You know that father is too 
 proud to make the partners give me a situation in 
 the collieries. He gave me the education of min-
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. 185 
 
 ing-engineer on purpose; yet Mr. Rolls has put 
 Percy in my place. And he is not a bit of use, 
 knows nothing of mines." 
 
 Mr. De Clifford made a fresh effort, backed by 
 Thomas Hughes, who urged him to be firm in de- 
 manding a position for his son. Mr. Rolls met 
 the request with dismal shakes of the head. And 
 the other partners, one and all, declared William 
 to be too unsteady for a place of trust. The old 
 man went home indignant and perplexed. He 
 called his son, and told him the result of the effort 
 he had made. William saw his father indignant 
 for his sake, and his heart went out to him as it 
 had never done before. 
 
 "Father, let me go to London," he said. "I'll 
 see that you shall never repent giving me my way. 
 I should like to show them I am worth something 
 outside of the Forest, whatever they may think of 
 me here." 
 
 After this, Mr. De Clifford withdrew his opposi- 
 tion, and a week later William set out for London. 
 
 Mr. De Clifford felt the separation keenly, the 
 more so since Thomas Hughes had pointed out to 
 him that the real reason which actuated the part- 
 ners lay in their jealousy of William's power over 
 the miners. From a practical point of view, Wil- 
 liam's services were more valuable than those of 
 the sons of the other partners ; and his popu- 
 larity with the colliers would soon have given him 
 a position of authority to which the others would
 
 1 86 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 never attain. Even Reginald was a little jealous 
 of the ease with which William wielded the sceptre 
 ot command over the rough miners, who would, at 
 a word, have followed him to the world's end. 
 
 Before he left, Reginald came over daily to talk 
 with him about the Swale colliery, which, now the 
 water was pumped out, began to pay for working. 
 Marta was angry with him for coming. She 
 thought it very mean of him to try and get all the 
 information he could from William, when, by a 
 single word, he might have shown his fellow-part- 
 ners that William's services were too valuable to 
 be lost to the firm. Instead of doing so, he had 
 remained silent, and allowed Mr. Rolls to speak of 
 his cousin's character as untrustworthy. 
 
 "Why do you not go to the gaveller for this 
 information ? " asked Marta, calmly, one day, with 
 a look at Reginald which surprised him immensely. 
 " Why do you trouble William about the colliery, 
 when you know his opinion is of no value to the 
 firm ? " 
 
 "The gaveller was as drunk as a fiddler last 
 time I sent for him," said Reginald. " And you 
 remember I have always held that William is the 
 best mining-engineer in the Forest." 
 
 " Yet that stupid Percy Rolls is given William's 
 rightful place," said Marta, with a voice full of in- 
 dignation. "You might have prevented this, 
 Reginald." 
 
 " I ? You give me too much credit," he replied
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. l8/ 
 
 carelessly, shrugging his shoulders. " I am only a 
 junior partner." 
 
 " Yet you think it worth while to drive fourteen 
 miles to consult William," Marta continued, far 
 more indignant at the injustice with which he was 
 treated than if it had been shown to herself. 
 
 " You ought to feel proud of the compliment," 
 said he, determined not to be offended, wishing 
 William well out of the way that he might fall 
 back into his old place in Marta's regard. He for- 
 got that he had given her the fatal opportunity to 
 contrast his conduct with that of another and 
 nobler man. He could never be first again in 
 Marta's regard. 
 
 No one more openly resented William's leaving 
 the Forest than Old John. Twenty-five years of 
 service had given him a right to speak freely, 
 a right which he had never exerted until now, for 
 he was of a taciturn nature, and, though a grum- 
 bler, loved a solitary life and no listener to his 
 words. On hearing that his favourite, "Maister 
 Willum," was going to London, he became elo- 
 quent, and, as he called it, "pitched in to the 
 maister " for giving his son permission to leave 
 home. Mr. De Clifford took it in good part. In 
 truth, he was more pleased than angry. 
 
 "Heaven knows," said he, "I don't want my 
 boy to leave me." 
 
 Old John was mollified, and sank back into his 
 usual taciturn humour; but every day of William's
 
 1 88 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 absence found him more gloomy, his temper more 
 unbearable. When William was at home, there 
 was always something tangible to grumble at, 
 the gates were left open, the horses were driven 
 too fast, and brought home "all of a sweat," or he 
 was called upon to attend to stable-work at untow- 
 ard hours. His whole heart was bound up in his 
 master's children, and " Maister Willum " was the 
 light of his eyes. He had a mother, now nearly a 
 century old, who came sometimes to see her son, 
 an attention for which he was by no means grate- 
 ful. When told that she was approaching, he 
 would put his head out at the gate, swear at her, 
 and order her home, though she had walked seven 
 miles to see him, painfully hobbling, leaning on a 
 stick. Jennie and Olga looked on her as a witch ; 
 Old John as a nuisance. She would entreat per- 
 mission to come in and rest, but the inhuman old 
 man would refuse to open the gates for her. She 
 would then hobble away home, unless Marta or 
 aunt Cathy heard of her presence, when John re- 
 ceived a severe reprimand, the old mother was 
 borne tenderly to the kitchen, where she was 
 given a corner of the settle, and fed with the best 
 in the house. After this, she sat by the fire sip- 
 ping gin and water, sure of being driven home in 
 the pony carriage by the ladies. John was a 
 wicked old man ; when opportunity afforded, he 
 drank. What was good in him was sheei virtue, 
 since he had no religion, nor any conception of
 
 MR. DE CLIFFORD GOES TO CHURCH. 189 
 
 religion. Once, indeed, aunt Cathy induced him 
 to go to chapel, but he persisted in sitting in a 
 draught near the door, caught a violent cold in 
 his head, and lost all his hair. Ashamed of his 
 baldness, and too niggardly to buy a wig, he first 
 dyed the back of his head until he found the dye 
 expensive, when he resorted to black lead, with 
 which he polished his skull till it shone. Ever 
 after that one visit to chapel he refused to read 
 the tracts presented to him by aunt Cathy, openly 
 perusing the pages of " The Field " and " The 
 Gloucester Journal " on Sunday instead. He was 
 so penurious that he would hardly buy himself 
 sufficient food, but was often seen to steal the 
 meat given by the cook to the dogs. His cottage 
 by the coach-house was comfortably furnished for 
 him. On the mantle shelf were some old china 
 ornaments, and a gilt-covered gingerbread man 
 bought in his youth as a fairing for whom ? How 
 long ago ?
 
 190 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS IN THE LANE. 
 
 THE Swale colliery gave a magnificent prom- 
 ise of success. Reginald, in feverish excite- 
 ment, wrote a very interesting and glowing account 
 to William. William's reply to these hopeful 
 anticipations was expressed in a very cautious, 
 even anxious, letter. 
 
 " Look out for Wye floods," said he. " Remem- 
 ber the old pit next to ours is full of water, take 
 care the men do not work into it. I remember," 
 he continued, "that the best vein of coal runs 
 right down into that pit, so keep a good lookout, 
 and trust the word of the old foreman before that 
 of the gaveller." 
 
 "You had no right to allow William to leave 
 the Forest," said Thomas Hughes, sternly, to his 
 fellow-partners, when this letter was read. " He 
 is the man we need in Percy Rolls's place, being 
 the best engineer we have ever had in the Forest. 
 He knows what he is talking about ; and / hope, 
 for one, that his warning will not be disregarded." 
 
 Silence followed this speech. Every one felt 
 uncomfortable, with the exception of Mr. De Clif-
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. IQI 
 
 ford, who smoked his pipe stolidly, with not a little 
 pride in his heart. Had Reginald chosen to urge 
 the firm to send for his cousin, and put him in 
 charge of the mine, they would have caught at the 
 suggestion. He was withheld, however, by a 
 deeper feeling than jealousy. He feared that the 
 honest William would condemn the mine, and re- 
 fuse to have any thing to do with the working of 
 it, and he knew that, if such were his opinion, not 
 a collier would go down again into the pit. 
 
 "Did you see the huge block of coal they 
 brought up yesterday, a three-foot cube?" he 
 asked, carelessly. " The best coal in the Forest, 
 / call it." 
 
 " The quality I grant to be good," said Thomas 
 Hughes; "but I wish we had never bought the 
 mine, I feel afraid of a disaster. I never approved 
 of the speculation, as you must remember." 
 
 " I suppose you will not refuse your share of 
 the profits ? " sneered Reginald, and shrugged up 
 his shoulders, as he walked away, in a contemptuous 
 manner that concealed much real anxiety, however. 
 
 " I think with you, Thomas," said Mr. De Clif- 
 ford, suddenly. " I should never forgive myself if 
 any accident happened, and lives were lost. I 
 hope the foreman will be very careful." 
 
 "You want an engineer down there all the 
 time," grumbled Thomas, as he rose. "Gentle- 
 men, I vote we try to get William back." 
 
 With this, he, too, left the room. As he walked
 
 IQ2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 away, they noticed his drooping head and shuffling 
 gait. His shoulders stooped as with a sudden 
 accession of years. 
 
 "Thomas, like the rest of us, is growing old," 
 said Mr. Reece. 
 
 Mr. Rolls was still at the village inn. His wife, 
 a little wizened old woman, kept him company. 
 He appeared to be deeply interested in the village 
 folk, and had a singular practice of bringing the 
 name of Thomas Hughes into his conversations. 
 So deeply did he seem to admire this benevolent 
 man, that the people felt no scruple in informing 
 him on any subject. He pondered, poked, and 
 spied, put down all the evidence he had gained 
 against him, and still could not find any thing so 
 tangible as to give him cause to arouse the suspi- 
 cions of the trusting firm. 
 
 " If he had not paid the purchase-money so 
 promptly, I should have been certain," soliloquized 
 Mr. Rolls. "As it is, private speculations might 
 explain his large expenditure. If only my part- 
 ners were men of business ! At present, I dare 
 not hint my suspicions of the probity of our 
 saintly friend." 
 
 He was sauntering along the village lanes, 
 buried in thought, when a carriage passed, and 
 drew up at his side. Looking round, he saw Mr. 
 Selwyn with Mr. Smith, the manager of a Glouces- 
 ter bank, at his side. The firm had kept its sur- 
 plus funds in this bank for more than a century,
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. 193 
 
 and was justly proud of a proverbially honourable 
 position in the business world. 
 
 " May I be permitted to speak to the sleeping 
 partner of the firm on business ? " asked Mr. 
 Selwyn, pleasantly. 
 
 " Business ? Ah ! my dear fellow, at my age all 
 business thoughts and habits are buried in a long, 
 long past. Do you want to trust to any little ex- 
 perience I may have gained, I am at your service." 
 Here Mr. Rolls smiled blandly, and looked like a 
 little weather-beaten ape, and every whit as cun- 
 ning. 
 
 "Nay, I wish to speak to you with regard to 
 your own concerns," said Mr. Selwyn, gravely. 
 " I hope you will believe I mean kindly in so doing. 
 I feel myself placed in a false position when the 
 business man of your firm offers me large quan- 
 tities of coal at cost price." 
 
 " Sir ! " cried Mr. Rolls, shrilly. " Our firm ? " 
 
 " Your firm, my dear sir," answered Mr. Sel- 
 wyn, quietly. " The plea given, was lack of funds 
 wherewith to pay the workmen their weekly wage. 
 I assure you, sir, that the high position your firm 
 has justly held for over a century is materially 
 jeopardized by such an application. . If your affairs 
 are on the verge of bankruptcy, why add to your 
 expenses by the purchase of a new colliery?" 
 
 "Sir, I fail to understand you," replied Mr. 
 Rolls, with dignity. " It appears to me that you 
 are under the impression our firm is short of
 
 IQ4 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 money. Now is a favourable time for reassuring 
 you on this subject, since Mr. Smith is present to 
 corroborate my word. To say nothing of any pri- 
 vate means pertaining to members of our firm, 
 and you know our friends De Clifford and Reece 
 inherited fortunes, and the world credits me with 
 a fair amount of wealth, though, to be sure, my 
 family is a large and expensive one ; still, as I was 
 going to observe, we keep a standing capital of 
 twenty thousand pounds in our banker's hands." 
 
 The gentlemen listened to this involved speech 
 with attention. Mr. Selwyn looked relieved, the 
 banker stared at the ponies' ears without moving 
 a muscle of his face. 
 
 " Kindly corroborate my word, friend Smith," 
 said Mr. Rolls, taking from his pocket his silk 
 handkerchief which he flourished with dignity. 
 " And this week we will have the mistake printed, 
 with clear statements of the facts, in the ' Forester.' 
 It will not do for ill reports to get about the 
 country." 
 
 " Do you wish me to speak before Mr. Selwyn, 
 sir?" asked Mr. Smith, with evident astonishment. 
 
 " Most certainly ! Before the whole world, if 
 you like," replied Mr. Rolls, in an irascible manner. 
 
 "Then the firm of which you count yourself 
 sleeping partner has not a thousand pence to its 
 credit," said the banker, in an emphatic tone. 
 "The business has been carried on by clever 
 ' kite-flying ' for a long time, but it must come to
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. IQ5 
 
 an end now, as I will have nothing more to do 
 with it. Your firm has paid no less than ten 
 thousand within the year in discounting bills." 
 
 Mr Rolls looked stunned ; he stared at Mr. 
 Smith as if to read that this was some huge mis- 
 take. 
 
 " Are you in earnest ? " he cried. 
 
 " I am as much in earnest as I see you are sur- 
 prised," said he. "Your own signature has ap- 
 peared on so many of the papers " 
 
 "My signature?" Mr. Rolls fairly shrieked. 
 " Sir, you insult me by the bare idea. Our firm 
 has never, to our knowledge, done aught but 
 a .straightforward business, and / have never 
 signed " 
 
 " I assure you, your name has come before me 
 very frequently within the last ten days." 
 
 Mr. Rolls became silent in despair. 
 
 "Oblige me, gentlemen," he said presently, "by 
 keeping silence on this matter. We must be 
 wary, and leave no loop-hole of escape for " 
 
 " Thomas Hughes," said the banker, quietly. 
 
 "You are aware, sir," said Mr. Rolls, "that the 
 very hedges have ears. No names, if you please." 
 
 " Can I help you in any way ? " asked Mr. Sel- 
 wyn. " My impression that you were unaware of 
 Mr. Hughes's application to me, caused me to 
 stop you to-day. The shock has overpowered you, 
 I see. Come into the park and take luncheon, I 
 beg of you."
 
 196 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "I am an old man," said Mr. Rolls, "a self- 
 made man, who has been proud to boast of an 
 honourable business career. Sir, if you will drive 
 me up to Heaven's Gate, where I know I shall 
 find Reginald Reece, you will be doing me a real 
 act of charity, for my old legs tremble under me." 
 
 "I will accompany you, I may be of assist- 
 ance," said Mr. Smith; "and I will take charge 
 of the ponies." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn gave up his seat to the banker, as- 
 sisted Mr. Rolls into the phaeton, and walked 
 home. The two business men, in close converse, 
 drove up to Heaven's Gate. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the carriage came to the 
 school-house for the children. Old John, who was 
 driving, was crosser than usual. He sent more 
 than one message to hurry the children, and, 
 when they appeared, lifted them into their places, 
 and drove off at a furious rate. 
 
 " I always knowed as he was a bad 'un," Olga 
 heard him mutter from time to time. " I knowed 
 as how he weren't up to no good. I could a telled 
 they, only they 'ouldn't a believed me agin' him." 
 
 " What are you talking about, John ? " 
 
 " Little pitchers," he said, sourly. "A man can 
 speak, if he has a mind to, I s'pose." 
 
 When Heaven's Gate came in sight, he spoke 
 less gruffly. 
 
 "'Now don't go for to trouble Miss Marta. I
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. 197 
 
 told her as 'ow I'd come and tell you. Miss Cathy, 
 she's a screamin' in high-strikes ; and Miss Marta, 
 she's got enough to do, with your father lying there 
 not knowin' nobody." 
 
 " Is father ill ? " asked both children, in a breath. 
 
 " He's been took suddent, and pretty bad too. 
 Miss Marta she sent for me to come and help 
 carry him up-stairs. I put he to bed for her, and 
 then I come for you." 
 
 No more was said. The gate was reached ; 
 the children sprang down and rushed into the 
 house. 
 
 " Marta, O Marta ! what is it ? " they cried, as 
 they met her in the hall. 
 
 " Uncle has been very ill," she said. " But Dr. 
 Herly was here, and able to relieve him at once, 
 or I fear he would have died. You must be very 
 quiet, children." 
 
 " What made him ill ? " they asked. 
 
 " He heard some very bad news. Some one 
 whom he trusted has wronged and deceived him," 
 replied Marta, gently. "Do not ask any ques- 
 tions, children." 
 
 "We will not," they answered. 
 
 Then, when aunt Cathy's shrill voice was heard 
 screaming, Olga said at once, 
 
 " Jennie, we can wait on aunt Cathy, can't we ? " 
 
 They knew that any domestic trouble was met 
 by their aunt by a fit of hysterics, during which 
 she would scream and ring her bell, with constant
 
 198 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 demands on the distracted household for atten- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, you dear children ! you will relieve me so 
 much," said Marta, hugging them in her arms be- 
 fore she went back to her uncle's room. 
 
 It would be impossible to exaggerate the self- 
 denial required by the children in undertaking the 
 charge of this querulous old woman. They did 
 their work so well, however, that Marta could pay 
 undivided attention to her uncle, until they softly 
 came to summon her to tea. 
 
 Reginald came in, white with suppressed rage. 
 He had the books under his arm, and set them 
 down with emphasis on the side-board, coming 
 to the table too indignant to eat. Nothing but 
 the intense calm of Marta's pale face kept back the 
 bitter words he longed to say. He realized the 
 folly of the position the older partners had taken 
 in thus blindly trusting their working partner. 
 He blamed their love of ease as much as Thomas 
 Hughes's greed for speculation. 
 
 " Shall I take you back with me to-night ? " 
 asked Dr. Herly. 
 
 " Not if Marta can give me the spare-room 
 here," he replied. " Mr. Rolls is coming up after 
 tea to look into the books with me. We shall not 
 be in your way, Marta ; we shall be in the office. 
 It will save us time, and time is every thing to us 
 now." 
 
 "Then I will go," said Dr. Herly. "I shall re- 
 turn early to-morrow morning, Miss Marta."
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. 1 99 
 
 "Your cousin has wonderful self-control and 
 nerve," he said to Reginald, as they walked down 
 the garden to the carriage. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't believe she feels it much. She 
 does not care for money." 
 
 " Money ? " replied the doctor, sternly. "With 
 death in the house, do you think she could care 
 for money ? " 
 
 " Death ? " 
 
 " Apoplexy in a man of Mr. De Clifford's size 
 means that sooner or later." 
 
 " You said he was out of danger," said Regi- 
 nald, in a bored tone. 
 
 " For the time ; but any agitation of mind may 
 bring on another attack." 
 
 " It's a bad business for all of us," said Regi- 
 nald, in a surly tone. "Well, good-night." 
 
 The doctor drove away ; Reginald sauntered 
 down the road, listening for the sound of wheels. 
 At length a carriage came in sight in which were 
 Mr. Rolls, and his son Owen, who had lately been 
 assisting Thomas Hughes in the office. Mr. 
 Rolls, once famed as an accountant, threw off the 
 dilettante manner which he had of late years as- 
 sumed, and threw all his shrewd mind into unrav- 
 elling the falsified accounts. The hours of the 
 night stole on. The boy Owen fell asleep at his 
 desk, but Reginald worked side by side with Mr. 
 Rolls, bringing all his intelligence to bear upon 
 the mazes of figures.
 
 2OO HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "We shall lose thirty thousand pounds, thirty- 
 five, counting the paper Smith tells us is out in 
 our names." 
 
 "A regular case of ruin," groaned Reginald. 
 
 " Ruin ? Not quite," said Mr. Rolls, who, though 
 a mean man in trifles, was of great probity as a 
 business man. " It will be a loss of over ten thou- 
 sand pounds to each of the senior members of the 
 firm. But we are good for as much as that. We 
 shall establish our business on its old basis, and 
 keep our stand as an honourable firm. I call noth- 
 ing ruin while we can pay the accounts against us, 
 and keep our heads above water." 
 
 " It will impoverish us greatly," grumbled Regi- 
 nald. 
 
 " Well, well ! We have our own blindness to 
 thank for it," said Mr. Rolls. "I have suspected 
 him of some kind of villainy for some time." 
 
 He then proceeded to show Reginald his reasons 
 for supposing that Thomas Hughes's expenditure 
 must have been far beyond his income, and how 
 difficult the other partners had made investigation 
 by their absolute faith in their manager. 
 
 " Well, we shall have to make money now," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " We must hope the new colliery will pay," said 
 Mr. Rolls. 
 
 " It must, it shall ! " muttered Reginald, between 
 his teeth. "We are on a splendid vein of coal 
 now."
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. 2OI 
 
 "I wonder how Thomas sleeps to-night," said 
 Mr. Rolls. For Thomas Hughes was lodged in 
 Bristol jail. 
 
 The next day, with returning consciousness, Mr. 
 De Clifford implored Marta to send for Mr. Rolls. 
 Just then, that gentleman stopped at Heaven's 
 Gate on his way to "The Hollies." Marta called 
 him in, and gave him her uncle's message. 
 
 " I believe he will be more at rest when once he 
 knows every thing," said she. "Do not excite 
 him, but do not try to make him think there is 
 nothing wrong, as Reginald tells me I ought to do* 
 He remembers what has happened." 
 
 Mr. Rolls went up-stairs into the room with a 
 cheerful, brisk step. 
 
 "Keep a stiff upper lip, friend," said he. "I 
 went into the figures last night, and, though I see 
 the loss is heavy to us all, we can pay our way, 
 and establish our name as more honourable than 
 ever. That, I take it, is your chief anxiety, as it 
 is mine. My money I am willing to lose, since it 
 is too late to prevent the loss, but our position as 
 a firm " 
 
 "How much?" asked Mr. De Clifford, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " About all I have ever managed to scrape to- 
 gether; but then, you know my forbears were 
 working men, moneyless. It will cost us over 
 ten thousand apiece, partner, to right ourselves."
 
 2O2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 A look of relief passed over Mr. De Clifford's 
 countenance. 
 
 " Set things right at the bank as soon as you 
 can. I will give you a check," said he. " Marta, 
 my check-book." 
 
 "I gave Smith a check yesterday," said Mr. 
 Rolls. " Here is his receipt, so that's all right. 
 Don't trouble about the business. Reginald and 
 I are to the fore, and we shall do every thing to 
 keep up our honourable name." 
 
 A few more cheerful remarks, and Mr. Rolls 
 bade his partner farewell, and followed Marta 
 through the long corridor to the hall. 
 
 " You have done him good," said she, gratefully. 
 
 " Nothing is worse for a man in his condition 
 than suspense," he replied. "And it is for our 
 interest to put him in working-order as soon as 
 possible, for in some departments of the business 
 he has no equal. It is only within the last ten 
 years that he has put so much in Hughes's hands." 
 
 "Since the death of my aunt," said Marta, 
 softly. 
 
 " Ah ! I see," said Mr. Rolls, quickly. " Well, 
 cheer up, young lady, better days are at hand." 
 
 With these words, he mounted his hired gig and 
 drove off to "The Hollies." 
 
 Dr. Herly came soon after. He found his pa- 
 tient decidedly better. Marta told him of Mr. 
 Rolls's cheerful visit, and said this was the result. 
 
 " Don't let your cousin Reginald see him," said
 
 MR. SELWYN MEETS MR. ROLLS. 2O3 
 
 the doctor. " Mr. Rolls knows what to say, and 
 how to say it ; but Reginald is too much excited 
 over the business to be allowed admittance to a 
 sick-room." 
 
 " I see that," said Marta, sighing. 
 
 " William ought to be here to act for his father," 
 said Dr. Herly, suddenly. " Tell him so from me." 
 
 " I have not his address," said she. " He wrote 
 to me, saying that he had moved his lodgings, but 
 forgot to give the new address. He is doing so 
 well in London I should be sorry to recall him." 
 
 She took his last letter from her pocket and 
 gave it to the doctor, who read it with great inter- 
 est and pleasure. It gave a bright picture of a 
 life whose intellectual occupations suited him, and 
 was written in a healthy tone. 
 
 " All is well with him, I see ; that is a com- 
 fort," said the doctor.
 
 2O4 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " nPROUBLES never come singly," says the 
 A old saw, and "Troubles never come singly," 
 croaked aunt Cathy day by day. "I feel in my 
 bones there's more to come." 
 
 " Damn your bones ! " ejaculated her poor 
 brother, as, hour after hour, she made her ill- 
 omened prophecy. His temper was tried by find- 
 ing that his weakness prevented him from taking 
 his full share in the business of investigation, 
 where his services were needed by the firm. 
 
 " Is there no letter from William, Marta ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " No, father," she replied, cheerfully. Since 
 his illness she had called him more often "father" 
 than uncle ; she saw that he was gratified at re- 
 ceiving the more affectionate greeting. "We 
 shall hear soon, however, I am sure. Shall I read 
 you his last letter again ? " 
 
 " You may if you like," he said, gruffly. Marta 
 had read this letter to him at least once every day 
 ever since he had been ill. She took it from her
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 2O$ 
 
 uncle's breast-pocket, and began to read it again ; 
 just as she opened it, Mr. Fordyce came in. 
 
 " Do not let me interrupt you," he said, looking 
 at the letter. " I will go out and play with the 
 children until you are at leisure." 
 
 "No, no! Sit down, man," said his host. "It's 
 only an old letter from our boy ; Marta likes to 
 read it over and over, and I must say it's a good 
 letter, sir, and speaks well for the boy." 
 
 " I should like to hear it," said the vicar, turn- 
 ing to the window a very troubled glance, which 
 he felt he could not hide from Marta. The letter 
 was read, often interrupted by chuckles of satis- 
 faction from Mr. De Clifford. 
 
 "It is a very nice letter," said Mr. Fordyce, 
 heartily. " He is a fine fellow." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mr. De Clifford, proudly. "He 
 is a fine lad, my William, though I know some 
 people won't see it. I know he has principle, and 
 he is going to show us what he can do, now he is 
 away on his own responsibility." 
 
 "You must miss him very much," said Mr. 
 Fordyce. 
 
 " I miss him more than I ever thought to do, 
 sir. I miss the sound of his violin, too, and his 
 snatches of song about the house." 
 
 " Father," cried Olga, from the window, " Mr. 
 Rolls wants you in the office." 
 
 "I will come, child," he said, rising. "Don't 
 go, sir," to the vicar. " Stop and take a cup of 
 tea with us."
 
 206 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 When he had left the room, Marta said, gently, 
 
 "You have bad news for us about William, I 
 am sure. Has he written to you ? " 
 
 " No : I have not heard from him for ten days," 
 replied Mr. Fordyce ; " but I have a letter here, 
 from a son of Lord Clyde, which makes me anx- 
 ious. You cannot think how it grieves me to 
 bring you bad tidings, especially now when your 
 uncle is feeling so hopeful about him, poor boy." 
 
 He gave her the letter as he spoke. Marta sat 
 down by the window, partially concealed by the 
 heavy curtain, so that her uncle might not see the 
 letter if he came suddenly into the room. She 
 wanted, if possible, to keep the bad news from 
 him, but, try as she would, she could not keep 
 back tears of disappointment. 
 
 Olga ran up to the window to show some chrys- 
 anthemums she had just picked for Mr. Fordyce. 
 Marta waved her away, and bent over the letter. 
 The vicar stood beside her, his strong arms folded 
 over his breast, his face set with stern determina- 
 tion. Whatever William had done, or left undone, 
 he was ranged on his side against the enemy. 
 
 " We have had an extraodinary episode enacted 
 here within the last week," ran the letter. " My 
 father's new secretary turned out to be a musical 
 genius of the first water. Some of us fellows 
 found out that he played the violin in the most 
 exquisite manner. We told my Lady Clyde (who, 
 as you know, is always on the lookout for neg-
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 2O/ 
 
 lected genius), and she made a lion of him, much 
 against his will. She got up a musical party in 
 his honour, and he played and sang divinely, car- 
 rying all before him ; for, as you know, the fellow 
 is an aristrocrat in manner and looks, and as en- 
 tertaining in conversation as in his music. When 
 the party was over, we carried him off to a cham- 
 pagne supper at the club, and, what with the ex- 
 citement and the wine, we had some trouble in 
 getting him back to his room without my father 
 hearing the row. Well, of course, next day 
 brought him a flood of invitations to musical 
 parties. To our surprise, he refused them all, 
 and shut himself up in the most unsociable 
 manner. He very politely, but firmly, refused the 
 continual demands my lady made for music, and 
 utterly offended her by refusing to be made a lion 
 a second time. He would have nothing to do 
 with us, either. This, of course, was not to be 
 borne, so a jolly lot of us went to smoke him out 
 of his den one evening. We had our hands full, I 
 can tell you, before we could carry him off; and, as 
 Delia Torre was with us, I believe I may say we 
 succeeded by force at last. We adjourned to the 
 Burlington for a drink, and after that, we carried 
 him against his will (for, by my faith, he is some- 
 thing of a Puritan), to the theatre where Stella is 
 performing her famous rdle" 
 
 Marta laid down the letter, blinding tears swam 
 in her sweet eyes.
 
 2o8 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Mr. Fordyce," she said, suppressing a sob, " I 
 cannot see to read it. Will you tell me what hap- 
 pened when they took him to the theatre ? " 
 
 He sat down by her side, and gently took her 
 hand. 
 
 " The foolish boys had been drinking enough to 
 excite them," he said, " and Delia Torre is a wild 
 fellow, I expect at the bottom of all that followed. 
 They made a slight disturbance as they took their 
 seats in his box at the theatre, so that they at- 
 tracted a great deal of attention. Unfortunately, 
 something went wrong with the scenic arrange- 
 ments, and great impatience was manifested by 
 the people in the pit and galleries. The heedless 
 boys urged William to sing a song to keep the house 
 quiet. The drink which they had forced upon him 
 had taken its effect, and he was absolutely reck- 
 less of consequences. He acceded to the urgent 
 request of his companions, and stood up in the 
 box and sang the 'Death of Nelson' magnificently. 
 When he had finished (while he sang there was 
 absolute silence), the whole house, from pit to 
 gallery, demanded an encore. In vain the stage- 
 manager pronounced the play ready to proceed; 
 nothing would satisfy the audience until the encore 
 was given. William repeated the last verse ; and 
 then, suddenly sobered by the torrent of applause, 
 sat down and buried his face in his hands at the 
 back of the box. One of the boys went up to him 
 and spoke a few words ; he raised his face, which
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE.' 2OQ 
 
 tvas white and drawn, and said, ' You have ruined 
 me ; you have made me forget that I have a father 
 and sister, whose hearts will be broken by this 
 night's work. Do not speak to me again ! ' 
 
 " He rose and left the theatre, and went back to 
 his room. Unfortunately, Lord and Lady Clyde 
 had been present during the whole scene, and 
 were much exasperated at the notice William's 
 fine singing drew to the box, where Harry Clyde 
 was sitting in full view of the house. 
 
 " Lord Clyde wrote William a few lines that 
 night, saying 'he desired the services of a less 
 gifted man as his secretary.' Harry Clyde says 
 he went to his father with the whole story next 
 morning, and Lord Clyde regretted his severity ; 
 but too late, William was gone. I believe Harry 
 wrote me this long account to ease his own con- 
 science, and show me how little William was to 
 blame." 
 
 "William alone in London, and in disgrace!" 
 cried Marta, the tears driven back from her eyes. 
 In sorrow and despair she went on : " Oh, that 
 fatal weakness ! How can he let himself be ruled 
 by such men ? Poor boy ! he tried to keep straight. 
 He knew he was acting against his best nature, 
 and yet gave way to temptation." 
 
 " That consciousness will lead him to his salva- 
 tion yet," said Mr. Fordyce. " I have not the 
 heart to blame him severely for this affair. He 
 showed all through more firmness than I had given
 
 2IO -HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 him credit for possessing in making such a long 
 resistance." . 
 
 " What can we do ? " cried Marta, nearly dis- 
 tracted by such a culmination of anxieties. " Poor 
 uncle ! Can we keep it from him, do you think ? " 
 
 " I am afraid it will be impossible. The Sel- 
 wyns will hear of it, and Mr. De Clifford will soon 
 perceive that something is wrong ; and suspense 
 is worse for him than knowing the worst." 
 
 " William alone in London, hiding from us ! 
 Oh ! what can be done for him ? " cried Marta. 
 " If I could go to look for him ; if uncle will let 
 me"- 
 
 " You, who have never been in the city?-" said 
 Mr. Fordyce, hardly able to suppress a smile at 
 the idea. " No ; I am going myself. I start by 
 the night express." 
 
 " Oh, how good you are ! " said Marta, holding 
 fast to the strong hands that were put out to meet 
 hers. 
 
 " You forget," he said, gently, laying one of her 
 hands softly against his lips. " It is my work." 
 
 Then he went on to tell her that he had tele- 
 graphed to his friend, who worked for the same 
 Master in the heart of London. With the help of 
 Marcus, who knew London like a book, it would 
 not be so very difficult to find the despairing boy. 
 
 " I think we had better show this letter to your 
 uncle," said the vicar, as Mr. De Clifford was heard 
 bidding Mr. Rolls farewell at the office-door.
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVENS GATE. 211 
 
 " How cruel it is ! " cried Marta, bitterly. " How 
 hard it is to have to grieve him so ! " 
 
 The old man came into the room, looking pale 
 and dejected ; he sorrowed deeply over the in- 
 iquities of his old friend Thomas Hughes. He 
 looked from the vicar to Marta as he entered, with 
 a sudden fear of ill news. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked. 
 
 Marta could not answer. Tears welled up into 
 her eyes, and choked her voice. 
 
 " I have a letter here which I should like you to 
 read," said Mr. Fordyce, laying a kindly hand on 
 the old man's shoulder, as he put the letter into 
 his hands. 
 
 He looked surprised, took the letter, and read 
 it from beginning to end. His head sank on his 
 breast, and a look of misery crept over his genial 
 face. He was wounded too deeply for speech. 
 Aunt Cathy's voice was heard in the entry. 
 
 "Don't tell her," he roused himself to say. 
 Then his head fell again on his breast. He was 
 a long time buried in thought. 
 
 " Marta, bring me my boots and overcoat," he 
 said at last. " And tell John to bring old Jerry 
 round in the phaeton." 
 
 " But, uncle, you must not go out so late." 
 
 "Do as I say," he replied, sternly. "I am go- 
 ing to find my boy." 
 
 Mr. Fordyce quietly stepped in with his arrange- 
 ments. He explained how much more he, with
 
 212 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 his friend, could do than Mr. De Clifford could 
 hope to compass alone. It required much patient 
 persuasion and argument to induce one so obsti- 
 nate to give up his purpose, though they knew it 
 would be death to him to make the attempt. 
 
 "Well, well! if I must give it up, I must," he 
 said, angrily. " But tell my lad, sir, when you find 
 him, that his father does not blame him for what he 
 did. Tell him, sir, he is more than welcome home." 
 
 Mr. Fordyce grasped the old man's hand, and 
 shook it warmly. 
 
 "Such words as those, dear friend," said he, 
 " will do more to bring your boy home than any 
 arguments I could have used. Be hopeful and 
 trust me. I shall not return without him." 
 
 A few farewell words to Marta, and Mr. For- 
 dyce was gone on his mission. He had no clew 
 to the whereabouts of the boy he intended to find, 
 and could think of no direct plan of action. But 
 find him he must, he would. 
 
 Where was William, this weak country lad 
 cast loose on the troubled waters of the Babylon 
 of England ? 
 
 He left Lord Clyde's house in an agony of dis- 
 tress. His broken promises hitherto had never 
 caused him very real trouble, but now he was 
 heart-broken. He had liked his position, had 
 found satisfaction in proving his intellectual ability. 
 More than once his valuable services as a linguist 
 had brought forth warm encomiums from his em-
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 213 
 
 ployer. His father had given him the best educa- 
 tional advantages, and Marta's gift for language 
 had been an ever-ready assistance to him. Wil- 
 liam could have created a fine position for himself 
 could he have kept his promise to his father and 
 Marta. Not knowing or caring whither he went, 
 he walked wildly on through the busy streets. It 
 was afternoon, the autumn sun struggled to pierce 
 the mists rising from the river. William found 
 himself on Westminster Bridge, and stood there 
 looking down into the water. As he stood, the 
 Abbey bells chimed the hour. Attracted by the 
 sound he crossed the bridge again, and joined 
 the throng of people who were going to the ser- 
 vice. He entered the Abbey and took a seat, and 
 waited and listened, his brain too benumbed for 
 thought ; too miserable to try to find relief by con- 
 fession of his fault. The organ played ; its grand 
 tones thrilled through the poor boy's heart, bring- 
 ing most cruel reproaches to him with every thrill. 
 The choir sang ; their voices blended in exquisite 
 harmony ; more reproaches to William, showing 
 him the failure his life had been, while he saw, as 
 in a mirror, the career he might have made, had 
 he had more firmness of purpose. He lost all 
 courage, all hope. He felt he had no power to 
 keep himself from falling, that he was of no use, 
 never would be of any use in the world. He saw 
 his own future in its most terrible form, - - a hope- 
 less drunkard. He reeled before this mental vis- 
 ion, and turned from it with loathing.
 
 214 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 " Never, never ! " he cried aloud, as he rose and 
 left the Abbey. The service was over, and the 
 verger was waiting to close the doors. William 
 had been too much absorbed in his own emotions 
 to note the progress of the service. Unfortu- 
 nately, a clear recollection of one of Mr. Graves's 
 sermons on predestination came to his mind, and 
 added despair to his sufferings. What if he were 
 only going the way God had meant him to do from 
 the beginning? Was he one predestined from 
 eternity to be damned ? His brain reeled at the 
 thought, and, as if whipped by the scourges of in- 
 visible fiends, he rushed back to the bridge, pre- 
 pared to end the strife and fulfil his predestined 
 fate, and go at once to the Devil, whose prey he 
 was obliged, in the course of divine control, to 
 become. 
 
 "What are you about to do?" asked a grave 
 voice at his side. William turned his desperate 
 eyes on the speaker. He saw a tall, vigorous 
 man, whose eyes very keenly seemed to read his 
 soul. 
 
 " I am going to the Devil," replied William, bit- 
 terly. " I am tired of going by slow degrees. If 
 God wants me to go, the sooner the better for me." 
 
 " Strange blasphemy," said the stranger to him- 
 self; "but the lad does not mean it as such." 
 Then to William : " You are very miserable just 
 now ; confide your trouble to me. If it can be 
 remedied, I shall help you ; and if it cannot, I
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 215 
 
 think I can show you that a brave man does not 
 fly from the burdens God lays on him." 
 
 "No," said William; "but there are burdens a 
 man lays on himself." 
 
 " The hardest to bear, I grant you. But even 
 such burdens, if once assumed, must be borne 
 until such time as God sends relief," said the 
 stranger. "Tell me your name." 
 
 " My name is William," said he, bitterly. " Don't 
 ask me my surname : it is an honourable one, 
 and I have disgraced it. I am the first who has 
 borne it for a century whose word was worth noth- 
 ing " He broke off with something very like 
 a sob. 
 
 " Well, William, you must come with me ; the 
 mists are rising from the river, and it is not well 
 for us to remain longer here. My name is Mar- 
 cus, George Marcus. I am vicar of St. Giles, 
 and the brother and friend of all, who, like your- 
 self, are in sore distress." 
 
 " But you don't know any thing about me, and 
 I cannot tell you much," objected William. 
 
 " I do not want to force your confidence," re- 
 plied Mr. Marcus, smiling ; " but I do want you to 
 come with me. Is that a violin you hold so closely 
 to your heart ? " 
 
 "Yes," said William, unconsciously holding it 
 closer. "I forgot I had it with me." 
 
 " Have you a purse and watch ? " asked Mr. 
 Marcus.
 
 216 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Yes," replied William, with some surprise. 
 
 " Then give both to me. I have an errand in 
 Seven Dials, and must take you with me before I 
 go home. No one steals from me, and they might 
 spare my friend ; but it is safer not to put them to 
 the test." 
 
 So saying he put the articles in his breast- 
 pocket, and strode along so fast that William, ex- 
 hausted with emotion and long fasting, could not 
 keep up. Mr. Marcus observed this, and made a 
 sudden dive into a caft. Here he ordered coffee 
 and bread. William drank feverishly, but could 
 not eat. His companion keenly noted his beau- 
 tiful face and changing expression. Some one 
 must be suffering for this boy's sake, he felt con- 
 vinced. As they went out he said, gently, laying 
 his hand on his shoulder, 
 
 "You have parents, sisters, and brothers, have 
 you not ? " 
 
 " I have a father and Marta. I promised 
 them " Here he choked and became silent. 
 
 " You will one day show them how well you can 
 keep a promise," said Mr. Marcus. "You are 
 very young; you have yet a work to do in the 
 world." 
 
 "I have lost hope," said William. "I am 
 twenty-three years old, and I cannot keep any 
 promise I make. I mean to, and then all of a 
 sudden I find I really wish to break my word." 
 
 " My dear boy, yours is no solitary experience.
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN*S GATE. 217 
 
 The only cure for your disease is to give up your 
 will to God, and to work for, instead of against, 
 Him." 
 
 "That is what Marta says," said William. "At 
 home she helps me. I ought to have more firm- 
 ness." 
 
 " Yes ; do not pity yourself for weakness," said 
 Mr. Marcus. " Every one who sins knows that, if 
 he chose, he could do right. There is no obliga- 
 tion for a man to sin. But now keep close to me : 
 we are drawing near Seven Dials." 
 
 A few days later, a telegram reached Mr. Mar- 
 cus just as he was taking his tea. He rose and 
 went out. 
 
 " I have a summons which will keep me away 
 for a few hours ; amuse yourself with my book- 
 shelves until my return," said he to William. 
 
 It was the first time that he had left him so 
 long alone since their first meeting on Westmin- 
 ster Bridge, but Mr. Marcus was not afraid to risk 
 doing so. He no longer feared that William 
 would take his own life. He had spent the last 
 few days in showing him how much there is in 
 the world for a man to do. It was no longer nec- 
 essary for Mr. Marcus to take charge of William's 
 watch and purse : no one in Seven Dials would 
 have permitted a hair of his head to be harmed. 
 His voice and his violin (and, at Mr. Marcus's sug- 
 gestion, he had used both in his visits to the poor)
 
 218 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 had won him a place in the hearts of the worst of 
 the people. The stairs would be blocked with 
 listeners when William sang or played to some 
 suffering creature ; and sometimes, when the alleys, 
 too, would be crowded, Mr. Marcus would pause in 
 the midst of the people and ask his companion to 
 sing a hymn. 
 
 "God sent you your voice for a divine work, 
 not to bury it in the foul Thames water," said the 
 vicar, as they left the crowd. "Comfort your 
 heart, dear lad ; you have done some work in God's 
 service to-day." 
 
 Mr. Marcus made no attempt to surprise Wil- 
 liam's confidence. He knew that, when the time 
 came, the whole story would come from him vol- 
 untarily. 
 
 William began to long to go home to his father; 
 he realized how great his anxiety would be. He 
 took pen and paper, which most suggestively 
 stood ready, and wrote a full account of himself 
 and his disgrace to his father. As he wrote, re- 
 membrance of his father's goodness to him over- 
 came him ; he could hardly write for tears. He 
 did not notice how swiftly time passed until the 
 door opened. Two gentlemen entered. 
 
 " I have been writing to my father," said Wil- 
 liam, only seeing Mr. Marcus as he looked up 
 from the desk. 
 
 " William, my dear lad ! " It was Mr. Fordyce. 
 
 The telegram had been a summons from Mr.
 
 SHADOWS DEEPEN AT HEAVEN*S GATE. 2IQ 
 
 Fordyce, sent ere he carried the ill news to 
 Heaven's Gate. The old Oxford chums met at 
 Paddington, and clasped hands with mutual delight. 
 
 "You want me for something very urgent," 
 said Mr. Marcus, after a while. 
 
 " Yes ; and I had better tell my story here, as I 
 have not a moment to lose. I want your advice 
 and co-operation." 
 
 Mr. Marcus heard the story without any especial 
 signs of interest until William's name occurred; 
 then he started, and became intensely interested. 
 When Mr. Fordyce mentioned the superb voice 
 and musical genius of the lost boy, his friend sud- 
 denly darted forward and hailed a cab. 
 
 "What now?" asked Mr. Fordyce, who was ac- 
 customed to his friend's sudden movements. 
 
 "I want my supper," answered he, smiling. 
 " The rest of your story will wait." 
 
 As may be supposed, Mr. Fordyce was surprised 
 at the sudden break in his recital of the story, 
 and a little puzzled at his friend's high spirits and 
 gay speeches. The suspense was a short one, 
 however. In less than an hour he sent this mes- 
 sage to the poor old father : 
 
 " William is safe and well, and with me."
 
 220 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED FOR WILLIAM. 
 
 MR. FORDYCE sent William's letter that 
 night. He knew that the spontaneous 
 manner in which it was written would bring com- 
 fort to the father's heart. When he returned to 
 his friends, he found William in a dejected atti- 
 tude stooping over the fire ; but there was no lack 
 of manliness in his manner as he rose at the 
 vicar's entrance. 
 
 "I want to tell you what happened," he said, 
 turning to the two men who had befriended him. 
 Then, without exaggeration, or any attempt to 
 blame others for his own weakness, he told the 
 story of his fall. 
 
 " He will make a fine fellow yet," said Mr. Mar- 
 cus, in a hearty voice. " He will come out of this 
 a man, and will show us all what stuff he is made 
 of." 
 
 That was the only comment these wise men 
 made on the story. If William had learnt noth- 
 ing from this sad experience, he was not likely to 
 do so from any lectures they might read him on 
 his failings. They showed him, however, by their
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 221 
 
 manner, that they expected much of him in the 
 future. William came from London a man ; his 
 boyhood vanished from the moment he awoke to 
 find himself the centre of attraction at the the- 
 atre. 
 
 He grew very nervous on the journey home. 
 His sensitive nature shrank from the gossip which 
 would inevitably seize and twist his escapade into 
 a most exaggerated form. He dreaded, also, the 
 meeting with his father; he felt that a reproach 
 from his lips would cut him to the core. He 
 winced with dread of aunt Cathy's speeches, and 
 at the sad face which Marta would wear. 
 
 " Cheer up, my boy," said the vicar. " Here 
 we are at the station. See ! there is your father 
 in the phaeton, and Old John has your horse ; and 
 Miss Marta and the children are on the platform." 
 
 Yes, all were there ; and the next instant he was 
 in their midst receiving their cordial greetings. 
 Old John stood with the wrinkles on his face 
 widening into smiles. 
 
 " I brought your 'oss, Maister Willum," he 
 said, touching his hat. "And Miss Marta, she's 
 ridin' too." 
 
 William scarcely heard ; he was hurrying out of 
 the station to speak to his father, who, thinking 
 it the extreme of bad taste to show emotion be- 
 fore strangers, waited for his son with figure and 
 face in their usual phlegmatic setting. Only God 
 knew how his heart beat as he saw the slight fig-
 
 222 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 ure of his best beloved hurry out of the station to 
 greet him. 
 
 "Glad to see you, buoy," he cried, as William 
 grasped his hand and clung to it. "That's the 
 vicar, ain't it ? Halloo, sir ! Will you ride up 
 with us ? " 
 
 Jennie and Olga climbed into the back seat, 
 snatching a kiss from William as they stood on 
 the wheel. The vicar mounted Marta on her 
 horse, then took the seat beside Mr. De Clifford, 
 and the happy party started for Heaven's Gate. 
 Mr. Fordyce took this opportunity to give a de- 
 tailed account of what had occurred in London. 
 
 " What is the address of that pa'son that was so 
 good to my boy ? " asked the old man, taking out 
 his pocket-book. "Write it here for me, will 
 you?" 
 
 Mr. Fordyce complied ; and, in a week or two 
 afterwards, Mr. Marcus wrote him that a large 
 quantity of coal had been sent to him for distri- 
 bution to the poor. Besides this came hampers 
 of delicious country fare ; and seldom did a month 
 pass without some sign of grateful remembrance 
 from Mr. De Clifford. 
 
 At Heaven's Gate a royal tea awaited the party. 
 How sweet it was to be at home again ! William 
 felt its value keenly as he crossed the threshold. 
 He appreciated to the full the delicacy and true 
 loving-kindness of his welcome ; and, seeing that 
 his father was distressed that he could not show
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 223 
 
 more appetite for the good things provided, he 
 pretended hunger, and, by Marta's connivance, 
 kept the dog at his side ; and, between them, man- 
 aged to hide the fact that the supper vanished in 
 the capacious jaws of that ever-ready animal. 
 Even aunt Cathy was as sweet as she knew how 
 to be. Her brother had said a few stern words 
 before he went to meet William. 
 
 " He is my boy, and I don't choose a word 
 should be said to him, except from myself. And 
 those that don't like to obey my orders have got 
 my leave to quit the house." 
 
 " Oh, here you are again ! " was aunt Cathy's 
 greeting. "I thought you were not gone for 
 long." 
 
 " Cathy ! " in a growl from her brother. 
 
 " It's like old times to see you back again," she 
 continued. "And you look none the better for 
 your gadding about. Come along in to supper." 
 
 She thought she had been very gracious, and 
 could not imagine why her brother glared at her 
 throughout the rest of the evening. 
 
 ' The days and weeks following brought many a 
 bitter humiliation to William, but he bore all with- 
 out flinching. He felt that his father had full 
 faith in him, needed and loved him. Every day 
 proved to him how much he might be to his father. 
 
 The world in general chose to send William to 
 Coventry. Some village gossip had a forty-ninth 
 cousin who was present that evening at the the-
 
 224 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 atre, and had recognized him as he sang. The 
 story grew with repetition, and sins of omission and 
 commission were piled on his character until many 
 of the middle-class gentry cut him, and chose to 
 exclude him from their parties. The conduct of 
 Reginald had much to do in turning the tide 
 against his cousin. He treated him with lofty 
 contempt, and seldom spoke of him without a 
 sneer. The reasons for this cruel treatment were 
 greatly founded on policy. Reginald was aware 
 that the refusal to give William a place in the col- 
 lieries had created an unpleasant impression on 
 the generality of business men. The only ground 
 to take at this juncture was to declare him un- 
 worthy of a position of trust. Reginald had only 
 too great cause to fear lest the incompetent Percy 
 Rolls should be set aside, and the place of mining- 
 engineer given to William. He not only dreaded 
 this, but he dared not be cordial to him, for fear 
 he should by chance go down into the colliery to 
 examine its condition. 
 
 The demand was great for the fine coal which 
 that colliery yielded. Reginald taught himself to 
 believe that it was safe enough, and that William 
 was over-cautious in his opinion of the mine. 
 Such conduct towards William, however, was fatal 
 to his cause with Marta. She resented it as a 
 woman who lives for others always resents a slight 
 to one she loves. She grew so cold in her man- 
 ner that Reginald, receiving no welcome from her
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 225 
 
 lips, seldom visited Heaven's Gate except on busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Very different was the conduct of the Selwyns, 
 who had heard the whole story from Harry Clyde, 
 and fairly annihilated him with their wrath. Mr. 
 Selwyn went out of his way to be kind to William ; 
 and Crawford and William, who had always been 
 chums, now met oftener than ever. Mr. Selwyn 
 liked to have William's company when he rode 
 over his estate. If any one in the world could 
 help him to understand the idiosyncracies of his 
 tenants it was William, who seemed to divine all 
 that passed in their slow Saxon brains. 
 
 There was one other whose gentle influence held 
 William as with a magic spell. This was Lillian 
 Selwyn, who was an enthusiast in art and music, 
 and not only understood William's genius, but 
 often had power to give it new inspirations and 
 aspirations. The winter was not wholly unhappy 
 to William, even though it brought so many hu- 
 miliations in its train. 
 
 The proofs brought forward of the villainy of 
 Thomas Hughes gave him much sorrow. He re- 
 membered how many times the kind hand of this 
 man had been outstretched to save him from some 
 act of folly and wickedness. Life presents char- 
 acters complex as that of Thomas Hughes rarely, 
 one part of his being wrapt up in evil doings ; the 
 other, urging him to do good and help the weak. 
 He had ruined many, besides forging his partners'
 
 226 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 i 
 
 names and robbing them systematically. Poor 
 farmers had lent him their little savings, thinking 
 they were safer with him than in the bank ; but, 
 while betraying those whose trust in him was so 
 great, he occupied much of his time in relieving 
 the wants of the poor, and trying to make drunk- 
 ards sober, industrious men. It was difficult to 
 find any one, even amongst those whom he had 
 injured, who would give evidence in court against 
 him. His trial brought all his villainies to the 
 light. The judge censured the blind confidence 
 with which the firm had left all business details to 
 his management, telling them that such laziness 
 deserved punishment ; for, were not their signa- 
 tures, with "examined, and found correct," to be 
 seen in books which had not been examined by 
 them for years ? 
 
 Thomas Hughes passed through the court of 
 bankruptcy without even a third-class certificate : 
 he returned to the village a dishonoured man who 
 had barely escaped transportation for life. The vil- 
 lagers were divided in their opinion, the greater 
 part loving him the better for his troubles, others 
 feeling that contempt for his conduct which his 
 base betrayal of trust justified. 
 
 Many of the latter belonged to the Baptist 
 Church, and urged upon Mr. Graves the necessity 
 of turning this rascal out of the church. The 
 poor little pastor, aware that he must act with 
 firmness, convened a meeting of the members to
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 22/ 
 
 consider the case. About a hundred assembled 
 in the vestry. The little minister stood, his white 
 hair falling over his poor, shabby coat, and his 
 thin hands wiping tears away from the spectacles 
 through which he vainly strove to see his people. 
 At last, he gathered strength to state the business 
 of the evening. Thomas Hughes was present, 
 and started up to speak in his own defence. So 
 able, so wily was he, so much did he dwell on what 
 he had done for the church (omitting, however, to 
 state that it had been done with stolen money), 
 that, ere he finished, one after another was won to 
 his side. He thoroughly understood their illogical 
 minds. 
 
 " Well, Thomas Hughes, he ain't done me nor 
 mine no harm, and / don't see as 'ow I've got 
 aught agin 'im," said one who had been desirous 
 to turn him out. 
 
 "Ay, he ain't took none of my money," from 
 another ; " and I'd trust him with thousands if I'd 
 got it. /baint a-goin' to vote agin him." 
 
 The speeches of the friends who rallied around 
 Mr. Graves were in vain : the specious arguments 
 of Thomas Hughes turned all they said against 
 him to his own advantage ; and in the position he 
 gained of being an ill-used saint gained a place 
 from which he was never dislodged in the minds 
 of the greater part of the Forest folk. But one 
 thing remained for the sorrowful pastor, and this 
 was to send in his resignation. The indignant
 
 228 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 people, rallying round their saint, accepted it, 
 forgetting the long years of arduous labour their 
 good little pastor had given them. They owed 
 him a quarter's salary : it is owing to this day ; 
 but he to whom the debt is due has long since 
 laid his gentle heart at rest, and sleeps uncon- 
 scious of the cruel treatment which caused him 
 such heartache thirty years ago. 
 
 The friends of Mr. Graves were determined to 
 show their appreciation of his work by raising a 
 testimonial for him ; and, as the story was well 
 known even beyond the limits of the West 
 County, liberal donations poured in, and a fund of 
 some hundreds of pounds was collected. 
 
 The committee of management determined to 
 make the presentation of the money a public affair, 
 and arranged a gigantic tea-meeting. An enor- 
 mous tent, flanked by several smaller ones, was 
 erected in a field, and tables to accommodate 
 hundreds were laid. A tea-meeting is an event 
 of importance in the Forest, is, in fact, the 
 form of dissipation to which Forest folk incline 
 beyond any other. It means more than a tea- 
 drinking ; it means a jovial meeting with distant 
 friends ; it means hearty good-will, speeches, and 
 unlimited tea and cake. The miners will cheer- 
 fully pay their shilling for an entertainment so 
 much to their taste. The cake is not necessarily 
 choice, its ingredients being too frequently raisins 
 and treacle, but the Saxon palate clings to its
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 22Q 
 
 traditions, and eats such cake with enjoyment, 
 despising other kinds with the contempt of igno- 
 rance. 
 
 This tea-meeting was advertised by the ministers 
 of adjacent towns and villages, and friends came 
 in strong force to show their regard for Mr. Graves 
 and his adherents. 
 
 There were the kindly Welsh folk from Mon- 
 mouth and Pontypool, ready to preach, make 
 sermons, laugh or cry, as circumstance demanded. 
 Zealous and eager brother of Wales, eloquent, 
 kind-hearted, and energetic, but fickle as the wind, 
 give place to the stolid, sober-faced Saxons that 
 throng down from the Forest. Here they come 
 from the heart of Dean, terse in speech, weeping 
 seldom, laughing aloud even more rarely, ready to 
 pay their shilling, eat their cake, and absorb all 
 that happens into their inner consciousness, whence 
 to-morrow they will bring forth their opinion of 
 the whole affair. 
 
 Tea being ready at four o'clock, people take 
 their seats in the tents. Marta is at the head of 
 the minister's table, with Mr. Graves on her right 
 hand, and a loquacious Welshman on her left. 
 She is in her element, accepts the compliments of 
 the Welshman with a gravity all her own, and 
 smiles in her kindly way on her dear little pastor. 
 Suddenly a sound is heard in the distance as of 
 voices roaring, rather than singing a chorus. 
 
 Reginald puts his head in at the tent doors, and
 
 23O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 calls the visitors to come and see the colliers 
 march down. On they come six abreast, linked 
 arm in arm, two hundred hearty, burly men. Tom 
 Hale, the faithful old foreman, marches in front 
 with his heavy oaken staff in his hand. His voice 
 leads the roar that echoes for miles around, being 
 heard on the Berkeley shore across Severn. They 
 stand at the entrance to the field, while they sing 
 their song all through again, repeating the chorus 
 with keen enjoyment : 
 
 " For we are the jovial Foresters, 
 
 Our trade is getting coal ; 
 You never knew a Forester 
 But was a hearty soul." 
 
 All the visitors grew excited and joined in the 
 chorus, the effect being stupendous ; and William, 
 standing on the top of the gate-post, called out, 
 
 "Three cheers for Mr. Graves." 
 
 Oh ! the hurrah that followed from those Forest 
 throats, doubly hearty because led by their be- 
 loved " Maister Willum." 
 
 Headed still by the foreman, the colliers marched 
 into the field and took their seats in the tents. 
 Tea-drinking was then entered upon with keen 
 enjoyment and social zest ; the enormous baskets 
 of cake were emptied, but the supply was equal 
 to the demand. The Forest appetite was under- 
 stood by the purveyors, who would have felt dis- 
 graced had they ordered a loaf of bread or cake 
 too little for such an important occasion.
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 23! 
 
 Mrs. Rolls, a spare, stingy little woman, was the 
 only tea-maker who intimated to the guests that 
 there should be a limit to the number of cups of 
 tea taken at her table, and she refused to go be- 
 yond eleven to each person. The result was that 
 the men went away and took a second tea at 
 another table presided over. by Forest folk. Men 
 in the habit of drinking a pint of cider at a draught 
 are not likely to have their thirst easily assuaged 
 by mugs of tea. At length the tea-drinking was 
 over. The tents were abandoned for the open air, 
 where a small platform had been erected for the 
 speakers. The presentation was a perfect surprise 
 to the unworldly little pastor, who put on his spec- 
 tacles, and examined the silver salver and purse of 
 gold with the simplicity of a child. 'His wife, who 
 stood by his side, was equal to the occasion, and 
 quickly reminded him of his duty, and he made a 
 speech, true, simple, and quaint as himself, and 
 so full of wit and spirit that the Forest folk 
 cheered him to the echo, led on and most cordially 
 assisted therein by Mr. Fordyce, who, when silence 
 again obtained, made a fine speech in honour of 
 Mr. Graves, showing by his words, as he had here- 
 tofore done by his life, that he identified himself 
 with the Christian churches, even though their 
 form of worship differed from his own. Thomas 
 Hughes, who watched all this from afar, and heard 
 the ringing cheers, felt bitterly the disgraceful 
 circumstances which kept him from being prime
 
 232 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 mover in this affair. Would he ever regain his 
 popularity amongst the Foresters ? Once they 
 had voted for him instead of the representative 
 afterwards returned for Parliament. 
 
 " I be gwain to vote for Thomas Hughes," they 
 doggedly asserted. " I baint agwain to vote for 
 'vurriners.' " 
 
 Every thing beyond their ken was "foreign." 
 The Severn bounded their world and kept them 
 from " vurren " parts. If one travelled beyond 
 Forest boundaries he was ever after looked upon 
 as a man of great experience. 
 
 "Thee let my brother Som speak thee. Him 
 a bin t' Bristol," said one, when a wise opinion was 
 required, and many tongues clamoured for a hear- 
 ing. 
 
 To return to the platform. There was a call 
 for the young "maister," and the colliers hoisted 
 William up over their shoulders to speak to them. 
 He modestly declined ; then, when they would take 
 no refusal, said simply that he would sing for 
 them instead, and gave them the old English bal- 
 lad (whose story he knew would interest them), 
 " The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington." Speeches 
 were again the order of the evening when the 
 tumultuous applause showing appreciation of Wil- 
 liam's song was quieted down. Then the evening 
 hymn was sung by all, and, after this, Mr. Graves 
 offered up a short prayer. The foreman then ar- 
 ranged his colliers in marching order, and placed
 
 THE FATTED CALF IS KILLED. 233 
 
 himself with his oaken staff again at their head 
 and led them homewards, singing their rollicking 
 chorus of the " Jovial Foresters " as they marched 
 through the village ; and, as they mounted the hills 
 beyond, falling into the dirge-like refrain of a still 
 older song found in a cupboard of the Speech 
 House in Charles II.'s time, and supposed then to 
 have some political meaning : 
 
 " Ye stwons, ye stwons, ye stwons, ye stwons ; 
 Ye stwons that built Garge Ridler's oven," etc. 
 
 The grand tea-meeting was over, its effect being 
 just what was needed to comfort the soul of the 
 faithful pastor, and relieve the anxieties of his de- 
 voted wife ; but the previous disaffection of the 
 congregation had struck home to Mrs. Graves's 
 heart. She could not reconcile herself to the idea 
 that a new pastor was to take charge of the Bap- 
 tist Chapel ; she could not bear that her husband's 
 loving life's work should be thus set on one side. 
 She fell sick, and, ere any one realized that she 
 was dangerously ill, died. Yes ; she on whom all 
 the comfort of husband and daughter depended, 
 died, and left them helpless as babes in the world. 
 Miss Graves gave up her school, and devoted her- 
 self to her father. She took him away to a town 
 where she hoped to surround him with fresh inter- 
 ests, but the effort was vain. He lived out one 
 more year of his blameless life, and then, with 
 glad serenity of soul, surrendered himself to his
 
 234 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 Maker. During his short illness he made an 
 apology for giving trouble to those who watched 
 around his bed, and passed away in a calm sleep, 
 without even a sigh of pain. Thus the gentle, 
 unworldly little pastor never returned to the scene 
 of his life's labours. Many a year has sped since 
 Mr. Graves's death, but his memory is still revered 
 by those who knew him.
 
 MART A AND MR. FORDYCE. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 
 
 /"""CHRISTMAS came, bringing its wintry cheer, 
 v_x its spirit of peace and good-will. The family 
 at Heaven's Gate passed the day in a cheerful if 
 quiet manner. Mr. De Clifford might well rejoice 
 to think of the many poor homes whose Christmas 
 fire came from his bountiful hand. Even aunt 
 Cathy took pleasure in counting the Christmas 
 puddings, turkeys, and geese she had distributed 
 for her brother at this gala season. William's 
 happiness was enough to infect the whole house, 
 for the Christmas anthem he had composed and 
 carefully taught to his choir had been successfully 
 performed at the service, the solos being taken 
 by Marta and Olga (whose voice was a high so- 
 prano) and himself. . ; 
 
 Mr. Fordyce listened critically. He was a fair 
 musician, and perceived the music to be far above 
 the average. After service he quietly abstracted 
 a copy of the anthem and sent it to Mr. Marcus. 
 The country folk listened with rapture, and gath- 
 ered round the church-door to catch their young 
 "maister" as he passed, to beg him to let them
 
 236 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 hear that music again next Sunday. Mr. Fordyce, 
 coming by at the moment, joined heartily in the 
 request, to which William very willingly assented. 
 There was hardly standing-room in the church 
 that day. People from all the adjacent villages 
 flocked to hear the anthem. 
 
 A few weeks later, Mr. De Clifford received a 
 telegram. William was working in the office, and 
 his father looked keenly at him as, grave and si- 
 lent, he appeared concentrated on his books. < 
 
 " My boy," said he, " I want to speak to you." 
 
 William looked up and smiled. 
 
 "I want to speak to you, father," said he. "It 
 seems to me I ought to be earning my own living. 
 Would you object to my making an attempt to get 
 a situation ? " 
 
 "All in good time," said the old man. " Listen 
 first to me. I have been in correspondence with 
 Mr. Marcus about you lately. He thinks, with 
 Fordyce, that I have no right to prevent you 
 from following the bent of your genius. Genius, 
 lad," said he, with a chuckle, "that's the word 
 they use. Lord forgive me, if I should do my 
 own boy a wrong by my prejudices. He wants 
 me to send you up to a friend of his, a London 
 musician, Moschelles, they call him." 
 
 " Moschelles, father ? Oh ! " cried William, fly- 
 ing off his office-stool, wild with enthusiasm. 
 
 "This telegram is from Marcus, bidding you 
 come up to London by the afternoon train," said
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 237 
 
 Mr. De Clifford. " He has made an appointment 
 for you to-morrow; and, if Moschelles calls it 
 genius too, I shall no longer stand in your way. 
 Only you must be patient, boy, and wait here at 
 home until these money affairs are straightened 
 out. I should want you to study with the best 
 masters, boy, and that means money; but time 
 enough to arrange all that. Send Marta to me, 
 and go and pack your valise." 
 
 William went as far as the door, then came back. 
 He was alone with his father. Surely, for once, 
 he might show his gratitude by something warmer 
 than a hand-clasp. The old man looked up and 
 smiled at him ; William threw himself on his neck 
 in a warm embrace that dwelt long in his father's 
 memory. 
 
 " You'll be a good lad, I know," said Mr. De 
 Clifford, patting his shoulder. 
 
 " I will, father ; indeed, I will," cried William, 
 earnestly. 
 
 William spent a week in London, his beauty, 
 genius, and charming manners making him a fa- 
 vourite in the circle of gifted men to whom Mos- 
 chelles introduced him. Mr. Marcus wrote full 
 accounts of what he fermed William's " successes," 
 which he knew the boy would be too modest to 
 mention, and the father's heart would hunger to 
 hear. 
 
 In that one week of intercourse with artists, 
 William learned how much drill- work was neces-
 
 238 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 sary to develop even the best natural gifts. He 
 showed himself to possess the true artistic spirit 
 by the zeal with which he began the study of weari- 
 some technical work recommended to his notice by 
 Moschelles. 
 
 " He, too, calls it genius," said his father, briefly, 
 as he welcomed his son back from London. 
 
 "Did Mr. Marcus tell you that ?" said William, 
 colouring with delight as his eyes lovingly met his 
 father's proud gaze. 
 
 "That, and a good deal more,-" said the old man, 
 chuckling. " I must make up my mind to part 
 with you, I suppose," he added, soberly. 
 
 William rose early, and worked with intense ap- 
 plication, so that he might be free to assist his 
 father during office-hours. Mr. De Clifford told 
 him such devotion was unnecessary, as the firm 
 could pay clerks to do the work. William an- 
 swered, with a pathetic smile, 
 
 " I've never been of any use to you before, 
 father ; and no clerk could help you, I know, so 
 well as I. Next year I may be away from you." 
 
 " Well, well ! do as you like," said Mr. De Clif- 
 ford, trying, by curtness, to conceal his pleasure in 
 William's constant desire to be at his side. 
 
 So William worked with his father during the 
 winter months. Reginald came sometimes, and 
 showed cold displeasure at his cousin's presence 
 during his interviews with Mr. De Clifford, espe- 
 cially as he was called on several times to give his 
 opinion when the subject was important.
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 239 
 
 " I wish William to be here," said the old man, 
 noticing Reginald's manner. " If any thing should 
 happen to me, he would represent the largest in- 
 fluence in the firm. It's time some of you re- 
 membered that." 
 
 " I sha'n't trouble you long," laughed William. 
 " I am to spend next winter in the sunny South. 
 Father is going to send me to Italy to cultivate 
 my voice." 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried Reginald, heartily. " I con- 
 gratulate you, and myself," he said, inwardly. 
 What a fortunate chance it was that this matter 
 was decided. No one would feel bound to offer 
 a place in the collieries to William. 
 
 He was so much relieved by the tidings that he 
 came more frequently to Heaven's Gate, and 
 would not perceive that Marta's cold manner was 
 intensified with his every visit. Marta's nature 
 was not a forgiving one. She could not, she would 
 not, forgive Reginald for the cold contempt with 
 which he had treated William just at the time 
 when his weak nature required support from 
 friendly hands. How different from Mr. Fordyce, 
 Crawford, and the Selwyns ! 
 
 " I've brought over my 'cello ; let's have one of 
 the good old concerts," said Reginald, one day, 
 when he drove over unexpectedly. 
 
 " How sorry I am ! " said William, whose gentle 
 nature was incapable of bearing malice, "but I 
 have an engagement. I'm off now. Good after-
 
 24O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 noon ; come again, old fellow, and I'll show you 
 what I have been doing lately." 
 
 Reginald saw that Marta was smiling happily at 
 William's departure, so he asked, 
 
 " Where is he going ? " 
 
 "To the park, of course," she replied, cheerfully. 
 "Mr. Selwyn is very fond of music. William is 
 there nearly every day, and we get up such pleas- 
 ant musical parties. Father often drives over to 
 them ; it makes him very happy to see William 
 appreciated as he is by the Selwyns." 
 
 Then she went into the house ; and Reginald, 
 left alone, paced angrily about the garden until his 
 uncle joined him and asked him to come into the 
 office on business. He drove back through the 
 Forest, saying to himself that, if Marta continued 
 to make herself so disagreeable, he should certainly 
 cease caring for her. How had she drifted so far 
 from him ? It was, of course, no consequence to 
 him ; but, at the same time, a pang in the region of 
 his heart contradicted this statement. He tried to 
 think of Margaret instead, but to-night all the 
 traits he disliked in her came to his mind ; there 
 was much in her manner he should desire altered 
 ere she became his wife. The fear often oppressed 
 him that she was holding him up to ridicule. 
 
 " Sarcasm is a confounded bad habit ; you never 
 know what she means. She's got to leave it off, 
 or I shall show her my opinion of it," was his 
 mental comment.
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 24! 
 
 Soon afterwards, in calling upon Miss Drew, he 
 contrived how, he could never afterwards recol- 
 lect to make her an offer of his heart and hand. 
 Margaret was not in a good humour ; and Regi- 
 nald's proposal wounded her pride, and made her 
 tongue cruel in its sarcastic refusal. With a face 
 quite white, though otherwise unmoved, she sat 
 and laughed at him with her biting words. What 
 had she meant, then, by giving him so much en- 
 couragement ? he was unfortunate enough to in- 
 quire ; and, when she showed absolute surprise of 
 such interpretation of her conduct, he lost manners 
 and temper, and told her she was a " heartless 
 flirt." The next moment found him staring at the 
 place where she had been ; for she had risen at his 
 words, and, without a glance at him, left the room. 
 He waited for some time, expecting a message, at 
 least ; none came, so he went away in high dud- 
 geon. He avoided meeting her for some time; but 
 when such avoidance became impossible she be- 
 haved to him precisely as though she had forgotten 
 the whole occurrence. He was deeply mortified 
 that she evidently considered him of so little im- 
 portance ; his self-love was badly wounded. As 
 was natural, his heart turned with a rebound to 
 Marta. He made more frequent visits to Heaven's 
 Gate, striving to win back his place as first in her 
 regard ; but he saw that she cared little whether 
 he came or stayed away. 
 
 One afternoon he found Mr. Fordyce there. It
 
 242 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 was in the early spring ; the young people had 
 been out in the fields gathering cowslips. Mr. 
 Fordyce was at home at Heaven's Gate, that was 
 certain. One particular place at table was his ; he 
 seemed one with the wishes and interests of the 
 family circle. Mr. De Clifford called him John ; 
 so did William and the children. Reginald had 
 not dreamed of this interloper who had become so 
 intimate with his cousins. He began to wish he 
 had not been so indifferent to what was happening 
 here during the last six months. 
 
 " Is he not a splendid fellow ? " cried William, 
 as Mr. Fordyce started on his homeward walk. 
 
 " You seem to think so. Is he often here ? " 
 growled Reginald. 
 
 "As often as he can come, I fancy," laughed 
 William. " Father is very fond of him. We are 
 all glad for Marta's sake." 
 
 " Marta ! " cried Reginald, with a sudden sink- 
 ing of the heart. " What has she to do with his 
 coming or going ? " 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ! Of course you do not know. 
 They are to be married before I go away to Italy. 
 Is it not jolly ? " 
 
 "Jolly!" cried Reginald, with a harsh, grating 
 laugh. He turned on his heel, ready to eat his 
 heart out with vexation. Many a week passed ere 
 he again appeared at Heaven's Gate. 
 
 One bright day in June, Margaret rode over to 
 see Marta.
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 243 
 
 "The Selwyns have asked us to join their 
 yachting party," said she; "and we are go- 
 ing." 
 
 "I shall miss you," was Marta's tranquil answer. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you." She paused irresolute, 
 looked at Marta, and began pacing the room. 
 " Have you seen him lately, Marta ? " 
 
 "He was here to-day, Margaret." 
 
 "He was looking well, Marta? say it. You 
 think he was better, better?" She caught Mar- 
 ta's hands as she spcke, and her eyes passionately 
 demanded an affirmative answer. 
 
 " Margaret, dear, he is always weaker in hot 
 weather ; you must not fret so much. I do not 
 really think he is worse than usual." 
 
 Margaret threw herself on the bed with a bitter 
 cry. 
 
 " O Marta ! he will die, he will die ; and I can 
 do nothing to save him. This wretched wealth ! 
 Marta, if I were poor, I could dare go to him and 
 tell him I would give my life for his. I would 
 work for him, but a word of pity or sympathy from 
 me now, he resents as an insult. Oh, he does 
 not love as I love ! I would never let this pitiful 
 fortune stand between us, in his place." 
 
 " Poor Margaret ! " cried Marta, gently. " It is 
 best for you to go away for a while. But, Marga- 
 ret, you must see that there is no other woman in 
 the world to him but you. Have hope, dear ; all 
 will yet come right."
 
 244 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Hope ! Marta, do you think I should care as I 
 do did I not know that the doctor says another 
 winter in England will be his last on earth ? " 
 
 " Did he say so ? " 
 
 "Yes. I sent for Dr. Symms, the specialist, 
 you know, from London. George managed it all 
 beautifully. Dr. Herly thought he was an old ac- 
 quaintance of ours paying us a flying visit, and 
 was glad to meet him ; and George and Dr. Symms, 
 between them, turned the conversation on delicate 
 lungs and kept it there, ^and, ere the evening was 
 over, the examination was made. Marta, Dr. 
 Symms says he might live to be an old man, if only 
 he could be kept from exposure to chill, damp air, 
 and if he could have rest and winter abroad." 
 
 "Large 'ifs,'" said Marta, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Now you can understand why I am glad to go 
 away. I shall go mad if I have to live on here 
 and know this, and yet see no chance of doing 
 any thing for him." 
 
 At this moment, William called from the gar- 
 den, 
 
 " Marta, the Selwyns want us to meet them at 
 the old park wall this afternoon. They are going 
 to have tea at the Scowles to-day." 
 
 " You will stay and go with us ? " asked Marta. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! any thing for a distraction ; but I 
 have only my habit." 
 
 "You always look lovely," said Marta; "and the 
 Selwyns will be delighted to see you, that you 
 know."
 
 MARTA AND MR. FORDYCE. 245 
 
 " Yes ; they are charming. Well, Marta, I am 
 going down-stairs now to chat with your uncle, 
 who, by the way, has more brains than any of the 
 young fry in the Forest." 
 
 Margaret's polite attention to old people was 
 one of the most charming traits in her versatile 
 character. Mr. De Clifford was soon drawn from 
 his office to the garden, where Margaret let him 
 feel he was entertaining her with his Old World 
 stories. He told Dr. Herly next day that Miss 
 Drew was better medicine for him than any of the 
 doctor's concoctions.
 
 246 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 
 
 THE Scowles, or " Devil's Chapel," lies hidden 
 in the dense woods at the back of the " Old 
 Park " boundaries. Cross the moss-grown stones 
 of the fallen wall, and enter the dream-world pre- 
 cincts of a pine wood. The black soil is strewn 
 with pine needles and cones ; there is a large 
 boulder half buried in the branching fronds of the 
 bracken fern. Here and there stand formidable 
 ant-hills, around which horse-ants keep guard ; 
 over all is the flash of sunlight which has pierced 
 the dense branches of the pines. Silence seems 
 to reign over these solemn "aisles of pines," the 
 wind alone sighing or shouting at will amongst the 
 swaying branches. A winding path leads on to 
 the confines of the wood. Here are light and 
 brightness again, birds sing, rooks caw, and 
 foxes in the forest beyond bark with sharp voices. 
 Here, too, runs the brook, half hidden in ferns and 
 grasses, which passes on its way with a merry 
 babble of sound. 
 
 The party from the park come one by one 
 through the dark wood, and, emerging into the
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 247 
 
 dazzling sunshine, give a joyous "Halloo!" They 
 set down their baskets of provisions on the step- 
 ping-stones across the brook, and lean over the 
 banks to drink the clear water. Crawford carries 
 the gypsy-kettle slung over his shoulder ; Minnie 
 reminds him that he must fill it here. He sets 
 the obnoxious object in the deepest part of the 
 brook with a shrug of his huge shoulders at the 
 prospect of two miles more through the bushes, 
 and the kettle full of water. Olga has her lap 
 full of foxgloves, and her shoulders wreathed with 
 white briony ; Jennie is trimming her hat with 
 ferns and harebells ; Marta has given herself up 
 to the pursuit of tiny frogs, which she finds 
 amongst the tangle of water weeds in the shallows 
 of the brook ; Mr. Selwyn and the vicar sit like 
 school-boys on the boulder stones, throwing peb- 
 bles at the elvers and stickleback ; William wan- 
 ders up and down, making music with a small 
 flute, and singing snatches of Forest songs at in- 
 tervals. 
 
 " Time to start," cries Crawford, lifting the ket- 
 tle out of the brook. 
 
 " Is it much farther? " asks Mr. Selwyn, ruefully. 
 
 " Only a couple of miles or so, and it all lies in 
 the woods, so you will not feel it," answered Craw- 
 ford. 
 
 The path being very narrow the party breaks up 
 into little groups, which tend to subdivide again. 
 Crawford and Marta find themselves at length
 
 248 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 alone, struggling over a rough bit of scrub, with 
 the kettle as a very obnoxious third. 
 
 "This whole picnic is a piece of folly," said he. 
 " Why in the world should we walk all this way in 
 order to have an uncomfortable cup of tea in the 
 woods ? " 
 
 " I like the trouble we take for it better than 
 the tea," said Marta. " It is so delightful to be in 
 the woods at this season." 
 
 Crawford and Marta, appreciating each the fine 
 character of the other, were well pleased to be 
 companions for a time. As both were a little 
 phlegmatic, however, conversation soon failed be- 
 tween them, and they walked on in silence. The 
 rest of the party was out of sight ; but every now 
 and then Crawford gave a view " Halloo ! " which 
 was answered by one or other of the gentlemen. 
 
 " Did you see what became of Minnie ? " asked 
 Crawford, at length. 
 
 " She walked on ahead with Margaret and Lord 
 Orford," said Marta. "She went to show them 
 the way." 
 
 " But she always blunders in these woods," said 
 he, uneasily. " There are two ways to the Scowles, 
 and one leads through the most dangerous part of 
 the place. The old mines are so covered with 
 dead leaves that only great care can prevent an 
 accident." 
 
 " Lord Orford will be careful, I am sure," was 
 Marta's attempt at consolation. " But for the
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 249 
 
 kettle, we could hurry on and catch them up be- 
 fore they reach the place where the paths cross." 
 
 "Well, I hope it is all right," said Crawford, 
 gloomily. " I wish I had kept my eye on Minnie 
 instead of this confounded kettle ; she slipped 
 away as I was trying to balance it on my stick." 
 
 Crawford's fears were by no means groundless. 
 The whole of that region had been undermined by 
 the Romans ; a more dangerous spot might have 
 been sought in vain in Dean Forest. 
 
 Minnie, by this time, was leading the way, as 
 Crawford surmised, by the wrong path. The 
 dense foliage hid her party from the rest, who had 
 followed William's call of "turn to the right." 
 Margaret and Lord Orford were having a fencing- 
 match in words, and Minnie walked on alone, 
 pretending to be interested in the merry war, but 
 really with fast beating heart trying to find out 
 why she was always so anxious now to keep out of 
 Crawford's way. Not that she cared less for his 
 society than she used to do. Oh, no ! her heart 
 rebelled at the very thought ; only, when she was 
 alone with him now, he so often looked at her 
 with eyes that brought to mind " Jumping Jim's " 
 words at the athletic sports, " Seeing as 'ow you 
 was sweethearts, miss." How stupid it was for 
 such silly words to make such a difference be- 
 tween two such old friends ! Minnie could not 
 understand it ; she resolved over and over again 
 that she would be just the same, but Crawford
 
 250 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 would not meet her half-way. Had she not seen 
 him but yesterday pick up a faded rose she had 
 thrown from her girdle, and put it to his lips ; yes, 
 and he must have known that she was looking at 
 him. Did she not know, instinctively, that her 
 neglect of him wounded him cruelly. Had she 
 not taken refuge from his eloquent eyes in talking 
 more than she had done before to Lord Orford ? 
 
 "Minnie, my dear," from Margaret, "are we to 
 climb this fence ? " 
 
 She started, and looked around ; the fence 
 bounded a ploughed field. 
 
 "Oh, never mind!" said Minnie. "The Scowles 
 are just beyond this field ; we must cross it, you 
 know." 
 
 Are you sure this is the right way?" asked Lord 
 Orford, politely, when he had bungled for twenty 
 yards over the heavy clay soil which adhered to 
 his boots in fiendish clogs. 
 
 " Quite sure," she replied. " I can see the 
 miner's bridge over the pits quite well, and you 
 know Crawford will come to meet us the instant 
 he puts the kettle in a safe place." 
 
 " How do you know ? " smiled Margaret. " You 
 did not tell him you meant to bring us the wrong 
 way, did you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Minnie, carelessly, " Crawford al- 
 ways looks after people. I know he will come." 
 
 Lord Orford fervently wished he might, for he 
 found himself in a worse predicament every min-
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 25! 
 
 ute. To add to his miseries, the sun blazed on 
 him and the breeze died away. His face streamed 
 with perspiration, and his ludicrous efforts to free 
 his feet of the clay made his plight more deplora- 
 ble. As for Minnie and Margaret, experience had 
 taught them to cross such soil at full speed, never 
 standing long in one place. They were soon rest- 
 ing under a tree, trying not to laugh at their 
 comrade, and fanning themselves with their broad 
 shade-hats. Lord Orford soon fell at their feet in 
 a prostrate condition, laughing very heartily at his 
 own clumsy movements. The friends joined him, 
 and merry peals of laughter made the woods ring 
 with melody. 
 
 "What an echo there is ! " said Minnie, at length, 
 rising. 
 
 Lord Orford sat up, and, taking a delicate pen- 
 knife, began to cut away the clods of clay from 
 his boots. 
 
 "You can push it off best with a stick," said 
 Minnie, watching his futile efforts with amuse- 
 ment. " When we walk over the fields in spring, 
 or in the woods after primroses, the clay soil al- 
 ways clings to our boots, and we push it off with 
 a stick." 
 
 When Lord Orford had failed with this also, 
 Minnie rose, and he saw, with dismay, that she 
 looked a little bewildered at the many paths which 
 seemed to intersect that portion of the woods. 
 
 " I don't think it matters much which we take,"
 
 252 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 ehe said, presently, " as all lead back to the same 
 centre." 
 
 Lord Orford suggested that it did make a 
 material difference to him, if the one to be avoided 
 ended in a ploughed field. They all laughed, but 
 he began to feel a rising distaste for picnics, espe- 
 cially to the Scowles. 
 
 Suddenly came a crashing sound in the bushes, 
 as of some one speeding through the woods, mak- 
 ing a path as he went. Minnie gave a cry of 
 delight. 
 
 " Crawford is coming," she said, in a tone of 
 great relief. " I told you he would come." 
 
 Minnie's feeling of relief was as nothing com- 
 pared with that of her companions, when the smil- 
 ing face of Crawford appeared through the bushes. 
 
 "Here you are!" cried he, beaming. "You took 
 the wrong path, as usual, eh, Minnie ? I suppose 
 you had to cross the field. Hot work, Orford ? " 
 
 " It may appear so to the on-looker," he replied, 
 his eyes twinkling with amusement. " But it is a 
 mere circumstance, when you have evolved a sys- 
 tem of getting over the furrows." 
 
 Taking advantage of Crawford's long laugh, he 
 sat down again to try and get rid of more of the 
 clay. 
 
 "Here, take my jack-knife, man," cried Craw- 
 ford, opening a formidable weapon. " One always 
 needs a knife of this kind in the country." 
 
 " I shall buy one to-morrow," said Lord Orford,
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 253 
 
 with mock gravity ; " that is, if many more walks 
 are to be taken under Miss Selwyn's guidance." 
 
 "In the mean time," said Margaret, "I move 
 that we rejoin our party. Which is the path, 
 Crawford ? " 
 
 "This one," he replied, pointing to one which 
 none of them had noticed. " Follow us closely, 
 Miss Drew ; for, if you tread carelessly, you may 
 sink into some of the old pits." 
 
 " Crawford to the rescue ! " cried Lord Orford, 
 from the rear. "What a country for steeple- 
 chasing ! " 
 
 "Think so?" asked Crawford, pausing to point 
 out the old pits covered with a treacherous bed of 
 leaves. Then he took a heavy stone and hurled it 
 with all his force ; it struck the centre of the mass 
 and sank ; after a moment's breathless pause 
 there was a splash. 
 
 "The pits are half full of water," said Crawford. 
 " You see the need of being careful how you step, 
 do you not ? " 
 
 "Enough of experiment," cried Lord Orford, 
 but speaking of mines reminds me to tell you that 
 Gwynn and St. John have struck a good thing in 
 Arizona, and want you and me to join them this 
 autumn." 
 
 "St. John wrote me by this mail," said Craw- 
 ford. "I like America; eventually I may settle 
 there." 
 
 "Crawford!" a low, pained cry heard by no 
 one else.
 
 254 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "Take care, Minnie," he said, making an excuse 
 to take her hand. Her fingers closed round his 
 with a clinging pressure that set his heart beating 
 wildly. How he wished his companions at the 
 world's end at that moment, that he might be 
 alone with Minnie. 
 
 Just then Mr. Selwyn emerged from a side-path. 
 A few words acquainted him with the adventures 
 of the missing party ; and a keen look at Minnie's 
 eyes, which were suspiciously hazy, and at Craw- 
 ford, who seemed to be unaware that the safe 
 ground they stood on made his assistance unnec- 
 essary to her, and still clasped her hand, put him 
 in possession of a fact which Margaret's quick eye 
 had already perceived, that any company was de 
 trap. 
 
 "It was fortunate that Crawford met with you," 
 he said. " Orford, will you run on and tell Mrs. 
 Selwyn the ladies are safe ; and, Miss Drew, if 
 you will trust me as your pilot " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was lost. Margaret 
 had already moved on ahead, and Lord Orford was 
 out of sight in his zeal to obey Mr. Selwyn's re- 
 quest. Crawford and Minnie were left alone. 
 
 " Let us rest a little," said Crawford, pointing 
 to the gnarled roots of an oak. 
 
 " Crawford, were you in earnest ? " asked Min- 
 nie, raising her sweet eyes to his. 
 
 "About settling in America?" asked he, slowly. 
 "Yes, I mean it, Minnie."
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 255 
 
 "I thought you loved our dear West County too 
 well to leave it," said Minnie, with a little sob in 
 her voice. 
 
 "I love it too well, and Minnie. Look up, 
 sweetheart " 
 
 "O Crawford!" cried she, as he spoke, "don't 
 be foolish, please. It was only poor Jumping Jim, 
 and I thought you had more sense than to than 
 to"- 
 
 " What, Minnie ? " he asked. She looked up. 
 Was this Crawford's face, so white and stern. 
 She was half afraid that she had vexed him. 
 
 " You know we are cousins," she said, rather 
 lamely. " It is natural we should care for one 
 another." 
 
 " Cousins in the fourth degree," said Crawford. 
 " I suppose, then, Minnie, you will not care too 
 much if I go away, as I shall do next week. You 
 won't mind if I marry some American girl, and 
 never come back again. Cousins don't care, you 
 know, very deeply." 
 
 He spoke desperately ; he was determined to 
 learn his fate to-day, at this hour. Minnie must 
 learn that she had a lover in her old friend, and 
 he could see she would not accept the change 
 willingly. 
 
 She sat quite still, her face turned from him. 
 Presently, however, he saw that her tears were 
 falling, fairly raining down on her white dress. 
 
 " Shall you really go, Crawford ? " she whispered, 
 with a sob.
 
 256 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " I must go," he said, putting his arm gently 
 round her, and drawing her to his breast. " Un- 
 less, Minnie " 
 
 " I could not bear you to go," she cried, cling- 
 ing to him with both hands. 
 
 " But if I stay," said Crawford. " Minnie, what 
 Jumping Jim said was true ; we are lovers. Sweet- 
 heart, tell me I may stay and live for you." 
 
 "We are behaving very badly," said he, after a 
 long and happy interval. " We are very exclusive." 
 
 "Yes," said Minnie. "How very stupid of you, 
 Crawford, to let me forget that I promised to 
 show Lord Orford the stalactite cavern." 
 
 " Perhaps William will do so ; Orford might pre- 
 fer him as a guide," suggested Crawford, mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 They strolled back to the camping-ground, 
 which, however, was deserted. The fire was 
 nearly out, and the miserable kettle tilting gradu- 
 ally over the charred logs. Crawford renewed 
 the fire, while Minnie hastilylaid the cloth under 
 the trees and set out the cups and saucers. 
 
 Hearing voices on the other side of the rocks, 
 she peeped round, and saw her sister Lillian listen- 
 ing as one entranced to William's eager words. 
 
 " Lillian ! " she cried. 
 
 "The kettle," cried both, simultaneously. "We 
 forgot to look after the fire." 
 
 They hastened to assist Minnie in her prepara-
 
 THE PICNIC TO THE SCOWLES. 257 
 
 tions, and all was ready when the other members 
 of the party returned. The cave had been exam- 
 ined with interest. 
 
 After tea every one joined in an exploration of 
 the region particularly set apart for his satanic 
 majesty. The pulpit, formed by the deformed 
 growth of three twisted elms, was mounted; the 
 cliffs were scaled ; and a long time was given to 
 carving names, one above another, on the largest 
 tree in the chapel. 
 
 At length it was time to return home. Minnie 
 and Crawford were to bring up the rear with the 
 kettle. Baskets were packed ; and the merry 
 party, headed by William, who sang as he was 
 lost in the gloom of the forest, "to show them 
 the path," he said, started off. Minnie made a 
 pretty picture as she sat waiting for Crawford in 
 the dusk of the woods, her sweet face upraised ; 
 her large hat slung on her arm full of foxgloves 
 and harebells ; her white gown clothing her as an 
 angel in Crawford's eyes, as he came for her at 
 last, after watching the last spark of the fire die 
 out. 
 
 "Are you ready, love?" said he, taking her 
 hands in his. Blissfully happy, they set out on 
 their walk through the woods. 
 
 And the kettle ? It was found by an enterpris- 
 ing miner next day, not fifty yards from the 
 Scowles. "I had rather buy fifty kettles than 
 carry this one home to-night," Crawford had said, 
 tossing it far into the bushes.
 
 258 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 
 
 SUMMER passed only too quickly, but the au- 
 tumn months began with floods of sunshine 
 to ripen the bearded grain. Later on, however, 
 came some devastating storms, and after that 
 again warm, sunny days. It was Sunday morning. 
 The church bells were ringing, changing the chime 
 every five minutes, so that every one could tell 
 when it was time to start across the fields to 
 church. It is the event of the day for the village 
 folk, this walk to church. 
 
 The first to lead the way are the two old car- 
 penters in their Sunday best. As they are seldom 
 seen outside their workshop, they are looked upon 
 as novelties on Sundays. They step on with a 
 staid walk, inherited from their forefathers as the 
 correct pace to assume on such occasions ; next 
 come the farmers, discoursing in loud, cheery 
 voices about their sheep and crops ; their daugh- 
 ters, decked out in gorgeous array, follow with 
 their rustic sweethearts ; engaged couples walk 
 arm in arm, which meets the village approval, and 
 occasions many cordial, complimentary speeches ; 
 
 I
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 259 
 
 the old folk from the almshouses hobble along in 
 the midst of the crowd. They have little sense of 
 religion, and cannot be taught that they are sin- 
 ners ; but they feel more " comfortable like " for a 
 nap in church, and believe that the act of attend- 
 ance at divine service will be certain to score well 
 for them "aloft." Every now and then they may 
 be heard ejaculating a very hearty "dom my old 
 bones," as rheumatic twinges remind them of 
 their lost youth. Every cottage sends forth some 
 member to add to the crowd which wends its way 
 to the church-yard gates. 
 
 The silver peal ceases ; only the calling-bell is 
 heard. The De Cliffords, with Sid and Emma, 
 are seen driving down the lane. Reginald and 
 William have walked across the fields, and are 
 already in the organ gallery. 
 
 Who shall describe the peacefulness of that au- 
 tumn morning ; the quaintness of that village 
 gathering ; the glint of the sun in the cornfields ; 
 the ripple of the brook ; the song of the lark in 
 the meadows by Severn ? 
 
 Every one has entered the church with the ex- 
 ception of the almshouse poor, who seat them- 
 selves in the sunny porch, and every now and 
 again straggle into the gravel path to discover the 
 cause of some unwonted sound in the village. 
 
 The church-door stands open ; the air blows in 
 fresh and free, amber tinted till it strikes the 
 coloured windows, when it is merged in glorious 
 
 I
 
 260 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 hues that fall upon the aisles and creep around 
 the Norman pillars in the nave. The sunlight 
 gilds the font, and touches the hair of the school- 
 children, who put out their hands with idle wish 
 to catch the sunbeams. 
 
 Mr. De Clifford resigned himself to the neces- 
 sity of attending church when the complications 
 first arose which made Mr. Graves send in his 
 resignation. He did so, however, under protest, 
 as it were, and in direct opposition to aunt Cathy, 
 who assailed his ears with treatises against popery, 
 and recommended a home service at which she 
 would read her favourite discourses. Mr. De Clif- 
 ford, perhaps, was not sorry to give William free 
 license to bestow all his time on the music of a 
 church which gave him scope for the use of his 
 powers. He enjoyed hearing his boy play the 
 organ, and was proud, though he carefully con- 
 cealed his pride, that musicians from all the coun- 
 try round thought it worth their while to come to 
 hear him, and rang the praises of his modesty and 
 genius. His behaviour in church caused Mr. For- 
 dyce many a smile of amusement. He read the 
 responses as loud as the clerk, and much slower, 
 and said " Amen " in such a distinct voice that, 
 had any one but Mr. De Clifford dared so much, 
 the clerk would have laid a complaint against the 
 offender. When the " Creed " was read he main- 
 tained an erect attitude and stern silence, looking 
 upon turning to the East and bowing as devices 
 
 *
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 26l 
 
 of Satan, relics of past Catholicism. The creed 
 of St. Athanasius roused him to wrath ; he would 
 take up hat and stick and leave the church if it 
 were read. He liked Mr. Fordyce's sermons with 
 reservations ; and, having a logical brain and such 
 a knowledge of Scripture as few young men could 
 compete with, very often worsted the vicar in 
 argument, becoming a more determined Baptist 
 every time. Except for a few peculiarities, his 
 behaviour in church was marked with great deco- 
 rum ; but he was determined all others should be 
 equally decorous. Unhappy the Sunday scholar 
 who fought or played tricks during service. Mr. 
 De Clifford would leave his seat, cross the church, 
 seize the offender by the ear, and make him walk 
 beside him to his seat. He then made the un- 
 fortunate one stand in the aisle until such time as 
 was supposed sufficient to expiate the offence. 
 He then pretended not to notice him as he wrig- 
 gled his wretched body towards the free seats, 
 where he might subside into temporary oblivion. 
 He liked to see a row of boys fall asleep in 
 church, the first with his head against the wall, 
 the next leaning on the shoulder of the first, and 
 so on to the end of the row. He was satisfied 
 thea that none of them were playing with mar- 
 bles, bits of string, or otherwise breaking the Sab- 
 bath, and he could listen to the sermon in peace. 
 For himself, he took much license, knowing that 
 no one would dream of criticising his behaviour.
 
 262 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 If he spoke at all, it was aloud, despising a whisper 
 as unworthy of a man's dignity. His comments 
 on the behaviour of his children were always made 
 in an audible voice, which caused, them many a 
 throb of anguish as they encountered the amused 
 eyes of the congregation. 
 
 The sight of the Reeces on their way to 
 Heaven's Gate on Sundays was enough to fill the 
 church, for they always joined William in the 
 choir, and added pure contralto in Milly and Dick, 
 and a fine bass in Reginald ; while Marta and Olga 
 sang high soprano, and William, leaving the organ, 
 would join in with his exquisite tenor. The vil- 
 lagers for miles around would hurry to the church, 
 and sometimes there was hardly standing-room, so 
 much was the perfect choir appreciated. 
 
 "They can zing, can't "urn," was the comment 
 of the country folk. A long string of complimen- 
 tary phrases could not mean more to them. 
 
 Reginald, who was apt with his pencil, drew 
 many a caricature of the village folk, whose faces, 
 sometimes grotesquely ugly, were turned upward 
 in keen enjoyment of the music ; or, failing such 
 interest, would watch the flames of sunlight on the 
 coloured windows drift througji to the chancel in 
 superb hues of purple and crimson, while the ex- 
 aggerated outlines of the Cherubim blowing their 
 trumpets danced in the flickering shadows. 
 
 On this sweet September morning, however, 
 Reginald saw neither faces nor Cherubim ; he took
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 263 
 
 his part in the singing mechanically for his mind 
 was preoccupied. He had come to Heaven's Gate 
 to-day to make a request of which he was deeply 
 ashamed. William, whose nature was too forgiv- 
 ing to bear malice, had given him a cordial wel- 
 come on his arrival ; but Marta had been cold and 
 distant, and his uncle looked at him with an un- 
 friendly eye. He had hoped to find fitting oppor- 
 tunity to make his request as he walked to church 
 with William over the fields, but somehow it had 
 seemed out of place to begin on business topics 
 while the church bells were ringing. A feeling of 
 envy filled his soul as he watched William at the 
 organ this morning ; he looked radiant with hap- 
 piness, and more than once Reginald saw his 
 uncle turn slowly round to look up proudly at his 
 boy, who met the glance with a quick, loving 
 smile. William had grown in manliness during 
 the past year ; he had now a definite aim in life, 
 and every hope of success. Reginald, disappointed 
 in every thing on which he had set his heart, now 
 beheld with envy one who was beginning to gain 
 the realization of his heart's desires. He was a 
 man of clear perceptions ; he saw no longer the 
 boy in William who might be kept down by his 
 adverse opinion. The more clear his perception 
 of this fact, the more difficult became the task 
 which he had set for himself. 
 
 Dr. Herly joined Mr. De Clifford during service. 
 He was looking remarkably well; but the villagers
 
 264 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 all thought him a doomed man, and often told him 
 so by their pitying glances as he went amongst 
 them. 
 
 After service, while William was practising with 
 the choir, Marta slipped away to pay her usual 
 Sunday visit to a wicked old man, who lived alone 
 down the village lane. 
 
 " Come in," cried the old cracked voice, as 
 Marta stood on the threshold. " Yes, I be glad to 
 see you, you b'aint an old witch. Come in." 
 
 "I have come to read to you," said Marta, 
 cheerfully. " You like to hear me, do you not ? 
 I will read again about the New Jerusalem." 
 
 Only Marta dared to hint at religion to old 
 Billy. He was an unimaginative old man, who 
 often said "as how he liked devils better nor 
 angels." In fact, he could gain some conception 
 of the one and none of the other, until Marta 
 came, and tried to lift his poor mind to higher 
 flights. Being very selfish, he would not permit 
 any neighbour to listen while she read, swearing 
 forcibly if one but peeped into the room. He 
 proved his gratitude to Marta by making huge 
 bottles of "yarb" (herb) tea, which he presented 
 to her with solemnity as specifics against every 
 disease under the sun. Mr. Fordyce laughed to- 
 day as he met Marta returning from her visit 
 laden with two bottles. 
 
 "Billy is on the watch," said Marta. " Oh, dear! 
 these dreadful bottles ! "
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 265 
 
 " Wait till we turn the corner, and I will bury 
 them in the beds of nettles," said he, laughing as 
 he took them from her arms. 
 
 This was done ; but hedges have eyes and ears 
 in the West County, and some believing hodge 
 dug the bottles up, and thankfully drank the 
 "yarb" tea. 
 
 The phaeton had already driven on with Mr. De 
 Clifford, Dr. Herly, and the children ; the rest of 
 the party walked home. Reginald almost fever- 
 ishly kept the conversation to the subject of 
 church music, on which he had many very original 
 ideas. It tried him more than he would acknowl- 
 edge to see the perfect understanding between 
 Marta and the vicar; there was no outward mani- 
 festation of affection, but it was discernible to his 
 quick eye throughout that walk. He was thank- 
 ful when the upper windows of Heaven's Gate 
 appeared above the brow of the hill. Dinner went 
 off cheerfully enough. Mr. De Clifford was never 
 happier than when entertaining his friends ; and 
 Dr. Herly and "John" kept the conversation at 
 its brightest. 
 
 After dinner the party strolled out into the gar- 
 den, even daring to sit down a while on the rustic 
 benches. 
 
 "First of October to-morrow," cried Dick, "and 
 my birthday." 
 
 There was a laugh of amusement, during which 
 Dick vanished with the children.
 
 266 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 "You look gloomy, Reginald," said aunt Cathy, 
 as he walked past her alone, his forehead wrinkled, 
 his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. 
 
 Reginald laughed and made light of his humour, 
 but aunt Cathy was not to be shaken off. 
 
 " I suppose there is something wrong at the 
 colleries, not that I approve of worldly talk of a 
 Sunday, but if there is any thing wrong, you'd 
 better out with it, and not look as if the heavens 
 and earth were coming together." 
 
 Reginald laughed more naturally ; and just then 
 William came up and linked his arm in his cousin's. 
 
 " It's long since we have had such an opportu- 
 nity," said he. "Come and let us have some 
 music." 
 
 " Very well," replied Reginald, uneasily. " But, 
 in fact, I came over on a matter of business to- 
 day." 
 
 " Father, come here a moment," cried William. 
 " Reginald has something to tell us. If it is bad 
 news," he said, softly, " break it as gently as you 
 can, old fellow." 
 
 " Is any thing wrong at the collieries ? " asked 
 Mr. De Clifford, from his group. 
 
 "Every thing," replied Reginald, gloomily. 
 "The men have struck." 
 
 " Our men on strike?" cried William. "They 
 never did such a thing before." 
 
 " Do they want more wages ? " asked Marta, 
 who saw something behind Reginald's gloom which 
 made it more intense.
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 26/ 
 
 " No ; they refuse to work at all. The fools 
 vow the level is unsafe, the best vein of coal we 
 have struck yet. I took the gaveller down the 
 day before yesterday, and he says it is as safe as 
 many more he knows that are being worked. The 
 men heard him say it, l)ut they struck, neverthe- 
 less." 
 
 " They wouldn't believe the gaveller, if he swore 
 till he was black in the face, because he is a ' vur- 
 riner,' " laughed William. "Well, I dare say they 
 know more about it than he does. You see, Wye 
 has risen this year earlier than usual, owing to 
 those terrific storms we had a little while ago ; 
 the brooks are flooded from the Welsh hills. De- 
 pend on it, Reginald, the men are right." 
 
 " I tell you, Will, I went down myself, and I 
 saw the gaveller make a careful examination. But 
 the men turned on me, and asked 'if the young 
 "maister" (you, Will) said it was safe.' I said, 
 ' Would you go to work if he tells you it is safe ? ' 
 ' Ay,' they replied ; ' if " Maister Willum " said as 
 'ow 'twas safe, they wouldn't be afeard no longer.' 
 They trust you blindly, Will ; they would believe 
 your word against mine and a dozen gavellers." 
 
 Reginald spoke with irritation in his voice. 
 Marta linked her arm proudly in William's. 
 
 "And their vicar and doctor to boot," cried Mr. 
 Fordyce, laughing. "William, my boy, how do 
 you bear such honours ? " 
 
 William was looking thoughtfully over the com- 
 mon ; he appeared not to hear the remark.
 
 268 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " I told you before, Reginald, I did not like that 
 colliery. How can I help you now ? " he said, at 
 last, very gravely. 
 
 " I came over to ask you if you will come up to 
 the collieries to-morrow and reassure the men," 
 said Reginald, hurriedly. 
 
 " That will be of no use," said William, abruptly. 
 " I told you, at the first, it would be a risk of life 
 to work that level." 
 
 " But a whole year has passed without any thing 
 happening," said Reginald. " If you can tell me 
 the level is as safe as it was then, I shall be satis- 
 fied ; so will the men." 
 
 " To do that I must go down and make an ex- 
 amination," said William, looking gravely at his 
 father. 
 
 "That is just what I have come to ask you to 
 do," said his cousin. 
 
 Silence fell on the party. The request was a 
 most unwarrantable one, considering the treat- 
 ment which William had received from the man- 
 aging firm at the collieries. Reginald, looking 
 from face to face, realized at once how such a re- 
 quest from him was regarded. Mr. Fordyce had 
 all he could do to keep down the force of his mus- 
 cular Christianity, which demanded physical satis- 
 faction ; therefore he did not throw himself into 
 the breach, as every one expected him to do. Dr. 
 Herly looked his contempt for the speaker, but 
 kept his sarcasm for his private ear. The slowest
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 269 
 
 "brain present, however, was the first to find voice ; 
 and Mr. De Clifford, with a relapse to the forcible 
 utterances of an ungodly youth, exclaimed, 
 
 " I'll be damned if he shall ! " 
 
 "Why should William risk his life?" asked 
 Marta, with tears of indignation rising to her eyes. 
 "You have always said he was too unsteady to 
 entrust with human lives, yet now you come to 
 ask him to reassure your men. You have shut 
 him out from the management ; yet now, at this 
 crisis, come to him you have injured to beg him 
 to take the whole responsibility of those men's 
 lives on his shoulders. You are mean, mean ! " 
 
 "I agree with Marta," said Mr. De Clifford's 
 steady voice. " You have treated my boy badly, 
 sir, and you will find he is not at your beck and 
 call. He has a fine career before him, indepen- 
 dent of those damned collieries. His own genius 
 and industry, sir, have given him a place amongst 
 men of mark in the world. You can go back to 
 the collieries, and tell the men they can do as they 
 damn please ; but my boy is not going down into 
 that blasted old pit for any of them." 
 
 No one had ever seen Mr. De Clifford in such a 
 towering rage before. But there were more than 
 the vicar in the group who followed his words, and 
 found their expressiveness a relief. 
 
 William stepped across and took his father's 
 hand. 
 
 "Don't be angry, father," he said, gravely.
 
 2/O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Don't you see that it was very hard for Reginald 
 to have to come and ask me ? He could not help 
 himself." 
 
 " Thank you, William ; you are a fine fellow," 
 said Reginald, eagerly. " Uncle, I apologize with 
 all my heart for any slight I may have seemed to 
 pay him. I made a mistake, and I am sorry. 
 Whether he goes down the colliery or not, I say 
 the same thing. If I had to live over the same 
 time again, I would do very differently, that's all 
 I have to say." 
 
 "And more than enough," said William, gayly, 
 .shaking hands heartily with his cousin. He looked 
 round at the company generally, expecting them 
 to follow his example, but Mr. De Clifford and 
 Marta were not so placable. Neither found it easy 
 to forgive, and far harder to forget ; and the old 
 man turned round with a shrug of the shoulders 
 and went into the house. Marta followed, in full 
 sympathy with his mood. Of the two men left, 
 neither seemed anxious to make the first advances. 
 
 " You see the position," continued Reginald to 
 William. " The men will not do another stroke of 
 work." 
 
 " Try them again," said Dr. Herly, with a little 
 sarcastic tone in his voice. " Offer to go down, 
 and stay down with them. That is the way to 
 win their confidence." 
 
 " I have offered to do so," admitted Reginald, 
 reluctantly. " I have done all in my power to
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 2/1 
 
 induce them to go on, so has the gaveller; but 
 they all, from the foreman down, swear by Wil- 
 liam. They are as obstinate as mules ; yet they 
 believe the simplest thing he says, and would fol- 
 low him to the Devil." 
 
 "So they may," said William, merrily. "I 
 never told them a lie yet." 
 
 " Still, it seems to me," said John, laying a lov- 
 ing arm round William's shoulders, "you try to 
 put too heavy a responsibility on these young 
 shoulders, when you ask him to lead so many 
 minds by his single word." 
 
 "Ah! but you forget," cried Reginald, hastily. 
 " You have no idea what a genius he has for min- 
 ing engineering. He was educated for it, and had 
 an apprenticeship in the Northumberland mines. 
 Uncle always intended him " 
 
 He stopped, and coloured crimson. Whose fault 
 was it that William had been kept out of his right- 
 ful place ? Mr. Fordyce had no mercy ; he looked 
 steadily at him, requiring him to finish his sen- 
 tence. 
 
 "You were saying, your uncle intended "him " 
 
 Reginald turned on his heel ; William came to 
 his relief. 
 
 "I'll come up to-morrow, Regi," said he, gravely; 
 "that is, if father consents. You send word to 
 the men that I'll be there. Wait a while, I will go 
 and talk father over." 
 
 He ran off down the garden. Dr. Herly touched
 
 2/2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 the vicar on the shoulder, and they strolled off 
 together, leaving Reginald alone. He felt their 
 evident contempt most bitterly. At last, William 
 came out again. 
 
 " Don't go into the smoking-room, Regi," he 
 said, softly. " He's in an awful wax still ; but he 
 says I may go, if I will promise not to do so again." 
 
 " You are a good fellow, Will," said Reginald, 
 with emotion. 
 
 The two gentlemen, strolling down the garden 
 path, heard the conversation. 
 
 "Should /be in your way, William?" asked Dr. 
 Herly. " I learnt a great deal about the under- 
 ground world the time I accompanied you before, 
 and I should like to revisit the mine with you." 
 
 " I shall be glad of your company, though I am 
 sure you are better off above ground with that 
 delicate chest of yours," said William, cordially. 
 " Are you coming, Reginald ? " 
 
 " No ; I was down yesterday. The men will be 
 better pleased if I stay away," he muttered, bitterly. 
 
 " Well, since that matter is decided," said John, 
 "let us have some music, William." 
 
 " Let us try something new," cried Reginald, 
 eagerly. " Bring me uncle's 'cello, and call Dick ; 
 you play first violin, Will." 
 
 They found Marta in the drawing-room ; the 
 doctor and vicar sat beside her in the low, broad 
 window-seat, and sat looking out over the dark 
 woods and the silvery gleaming Severn to the lov
 
 THE VILLAGE WORTHIES GO TO CHURCH. 2/3 
 
 blue ridge of the Cotswold. William, inspired by 
 sympathy, played as he had never done before, 
 and his cousins accompanied him with exquisite 
 discernment. The deep vibrations of the 'cello 
 filled the air, sending its thrills right out to mingle 
 with the murmur of the pines. Very soon Mr. De 
 Clifford appeared ; the music proved too much 
 even for his ill-humour. He sat quietly listening, 
 gathering to his soul with pride all the encomiums 
 uttered by those present on the masterly compo- 
 sitions of his son. It was, after all, a happy hour, 
 one never forgotten by those who participated 
 in its pleasures. 
 
 " You have made great strides during the last 
 year," said Reginald, whose musical opinion was 
 of value. 
 
 " If I could once hear these pieces performed 
 by a first-class orchestra, I think I could be con- 
 tent to die of happiness," said William, tears 
 shining in his beautiful eyes. " It would be the 
 realization of heaven to me." 
 
 " Some day, I expect to hear an oratorio, com- 
 posed by you, performed in Gloucester Cathedral," 
 said Reginald, cordially. " Fordyce and I will be 
 ushers, and thus get good opportunities of hearing 
 the encomiums on your work." 
 
 " Pending that time, William and I must be off 
 for evening service," said Mr. Fordyce. 
 
 "Tea is ready," said aunt Cathy, hoarsely. "I 
 am not one to believe in your High Church fast-
 
 2/4 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 ings. A decent meal is a good thing for a man's 
 temper." 
 
 There was a general laugh, which did much to 
 restore pleasant relations. Mr. Fordyce remarked, 
 with much amusement, "that he imagined even 
 aunt Cathy could not blind herself as to the 
 healthy nature of his appetite." 
 
 Mr. De Clifford joined the party at the tea-table, 
 but his brow was still clouded. He said little, and, 
 when Reginald came to wish him "good-night," 
 gave him a very gruff response, and no offer of his 
 hand.
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 2/5 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 
 
 THE heavy storgis had driven the yachting 
 party to a harbour on the rugged coast of 
 Wales. 
 
 " It is too late in the season to start again," was 
 Crawford's verdict. "The equinoctial gales will 
 be on us and play the mischief with the yacht." 
 
 This was to Mr. Selwyn, who was so fond of 
 yachting as to be rash in running into danger, not 
 knowing how to be afraid of a rough sea. Mrs. 
 Selwyn was delighted with the scenery and the 
 quaint fishing-village where they had been forced 
 to take refuge, and suggested that the party might 
 remain for a week or so before taking the train 
 home. 
 
 The yachting party had been a great success. 
 
 " If only William and Marta could have been 
 with us, it would have been perfect," said Mrs. 
 Selwyn, smiling on the happy young people. 
 
 " I like William the better for refusing the invi- 
 tation," said Crawford, sturdily. "He wanted to 
 come very much, and, knowing this, uncle Selwyn 
 went at once to ask Mr. De Clifford to give him
 
 276 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 his permission. You know how stiff the old 
 man is when he is trying not to show any feeling. 
 'Certainly, William has my permission to join 
 you/ said he, his face impassive as a piece of 
 stone. Just then, we heard William's voice in the 
 hall ; he was singing in the gayest manner." 
 
 Crawford paused, he was not accustomed to 
 talking so much. 
 
 " Oh, go on ! " cried Minnie. " How stupid of 
 you, Crawford, to stop just when we are so much 
 interested ! " 
 
 " There is not much more to tell," said he, smil- 
 ing. " Uncle Selwyn told him our plans, and that 
 we wanted him to join us. He just gave one 
 look at his father, who showed no sign of feeling 
 one way or the other, then he laughed in his gay 
 manner. 
 
 " ' Don't think you will rid yourself of me, 
 father, by sending me to sea. I prefer an office 
 stool." 
 
 "'Rubbish!' growled Mr. De Clifford. 'You 
 are as fond of a yacht as Crawford, and as good a 
 sailor.' 
 
 " ' When I can sail on dry land,' he said, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " He followed us when we left the office, and 
 told us he found himself now able to spare his 
 father much business worry, and could not bear to 
 leave him. 
 
 " ' I am going away soon to Italy,' he said.
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 
 
 ' I've never been any comfort to my father before, 
 and now I can see he begins to depend on me so 
 much that I feel sometimes I ought to give up my 
 desire to study music.' 
 
 " We could not say any thing more, of course, 
 and he went back to his father whistling as gay as 
 a lark." 
 
 "I am afraid he works too hard," said Margaret. 
 "Dr. Herly told me that office-life does not suit 
 him, and he is in the office every moment that his 
 father is there." 
 
 "Besides that, he is composing a symphony," 
 said Lillian. " He sent .me the score to look over 
 to-day. It is splendid ; I long to hear it per- 
 formed." 
 
 " Some day we shall be proud of the genius of 
 our West County lad," said Mr. Selwyn, reflec- 
 tively. " His modest yet charming manners, too, 
 will make him a society lion only too easily." 
 
 "Father and William are great cronies," said 
 Minnie. " They ride the same hobbies. If only 
 father had a voice as well as an ear for music " 
 
 " Perhaps he would go to Italy to study," 
 laughed Lillian. 
 
 " Saucy children ! Well, I miss the lad's bright 
 face, but his poor father would have missed it 
 more, so enough of that for one day," said Mr. 
 Selwyn, who had experienced deep disappointment 
 to find his favourite could not be one of the yacht- 
 ing party.
 
 278 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The rugged cliffs rose several hundred feet 
 above the sea, and beyond their scarped heights 
 lay a ridge of mountains. This wild Welsh coast 
 gave an impetus to the artistic of the party. 
 Minnie sketched and painted for hours daily ; Lil- 
 lian wrote poems, which she sent to William to 
 set to music ; and Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn gave assist- 
 ance to both, as they needed it ; Margaret, poor 
 Margaret ! with her restless heart making such 
 quiet pursuits an agony to her, tried to still its 
 cravings, to dull its aching, by perpetual change 
 of scene. Leaving the party absorbed in artistic 
 pursuits, she would climb the cliffs, and walk over 
 the headlands with swift yet objectless step. She 
 never knew how far she went, nor what views she 
 had seen ; her whole time was swallowed up in 
 battles with herself, battles in which every as- 
 sault was directed at her heart, in which she gave 
 herself no quarter, and strove by contempt for 
 her weakness to bury her misery from sight. 
 Over and over again would recur all the details of 
 her last interview with Dr. Herly. She met him 
 riding in the rain some miles from home. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Herly ! You ought not to be out to- 
 day." 
 
 "A doctor knows no ought but duty," he had 
 replied, coughing as he spoke. 
 
 " You throw your life away," she cried, bitterly. 
 
 " Not so. I must do my work. Margie, would 
 you counsel me to neglect of duty ? "
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 279 
 
 "You know I would not, if you were able," she 
 began ; then tears of misery, which she would not 
 shed, choked her voice and made it less tender 
 when she spoke again. " It is a long time since 
 we have seen you." 
 
 "You have been well amused, I know." 
 
 The tone was one which brought all her pride 
 to the surface ; nothing hurt her so much as want 
 of faith. Dr. Herly often conveyed the idea to 
 her that he considered her life so full of interests 
 that she had no need of his friendship. He 
 meant nothing of the kind ; in truth he racked 
 his brains to find some excuse for refusing to give 
 way to the temptation (growing stronger as he 
 became physically weaker) to sun himself in Mar- 
 garet's presence. The more he needed her the 
 more distant he strove to place her from himself. 
 He magnified all the obstacles in his path, his 
 health, his poverty, her riches, and the many fine, 
 wealthy men who were ever at her beck and call ; 
 yet he knew that true-heartedness had always 
 been Margaret's characteristic, and wilfully mis- 
 judged her in thinking she could place elsewhere 
 the love which at times he had felt to be his. 
 
 Margaret had left the Forest feeling she should 
 become mad in her misery at seeing the man she 
 loved dying by inches, when her care and riches 
 might have saved him. Yet she had no sooner 
 come away than she regretted the act, and was 
 now only seeking legitimate excuse to leave the
 
 280 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 party and rush homeward. The decision to leave 
 the yacht and return by rail had been accepted by 
 her with delight. 
 
 She had been conscious throughout the summer 
 of a kindly watchfulness exercised over her by 
 Crawford. Now, as she returned from her long 
 walks, she often met him more than half-way to- 
 wards her. Few people credited the quiet Craw- 
 ford with penetration, but Minnie knew that 
 nothing escaped his watchful eye. He had known 
 for months how matters stood between Margaret 
 and Dr. Herly, and had often turned plans over in 
 his mind for making the way smooth for them. 
 He now read Margaret's mental suffering in her 
 restless movements. He was never deceived by 
 her gayety ; and his manner said often, " If you 
 want a friend, depend on me." She grew to de- 
 pend on him, as Minnie saw with delight. 
 
 " Mr. Crawford does me good," said Margaret. 
 
 " Oh ! there is no one like Crawford," Minnie 
 replied, smiling. " His repose of mind and man- 
 ner are so restful." 
 
 Margaret agreed to this. 
 
 One afternoon the party sat on the beach at 
 sundown ; the sun set stormily ; its lurid redness 
 tinged the sands, and, dying, left its light upon 
 the mountain-tops. A wind rose, the sea-pinks 
 quivered, the sand was blown into little rifts, the 
 rock-pools rippled, and the ebbing tide carried the 
 wider ripples out to sea.
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 2Sl 
 
 "Some great storm-spirit seems to pervade the 
 universe," said Minnie, shivering with dread. 
 
 "The sky looks stormy," said Crawford, rising, 
 and walking to and fro, with an anxious look at 
 the fishing-boats which were making for shore at 
 full speed. A sound of horse's hoofs on the hard 
 sand made him turn suddenly. A man, waving a 
 paper in his hand, was galloping towards him. 
 Crawford ran to meet him. 
 
 " It's a telegram for Mr. Selwyn," said the man. 
 " It's got bad news in it ; you'd better break it 
 gently like to him." 
 
 Crawford carried it slowly towards his uncle, 
 but broke the seal and read the news it contained ; 
 then, placing it in Mr. Selwyn's hands, he went to 
 the spot where Margaret sat alone, and broke the 
 news to her. She looked at him with eyes that 
 saw nothing, then out to the lurid sea, blood-red 
 it seemed to her ; then she laughed. The laugh 
 was terrible, almost insane. 
 
 " What is it ? " cried Minnie, coming near. 
 " Margaret, what hurts you so ? Tell us, that we 
 may help you to bear it." 
 
 Margaret looked at them with despair in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " When is there a train to the West County ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Not before ten o'clock to-morrow." 
 
 " O my God ! How shall I bear to wait ? " she 
 cried ; then, suddenly turning, she sped away up
 
 282 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 the well-worn cliff-path, up and up. A small 
 mountain beyond the cliffs appeared the goal of 
 her steps, and she climbed ceaselessly. Impossi- 
 ble at this moment was inaction ; but at length it 
 was forced upon her, for she gained the summit, 
 and, bracing herself against the rocks, stood breath- 
 less, waiting. Something in the lull which pre- 
 cedes hurricane stirred her pulses with eager ex- 
 pectancy. Seawards the lurid light was dying in 
 the gathering gloom ; the massive granite moun- 
 tain-peaks cast aside their veil of light and showed 
 their grimness. The coming storm sent out har- 
 bingers : up rose an eagle and circled in the air, 
 a dark, ominous creature, screaming as it flapped 
 its heavy wings ; gannets and sea-gulls darted shore- 
 wards ; the little brown mosses lay still ; but the 
 heather-bells, from out the rocky crevices, showed 
 wan, fair faces, and bent their fragile stalks at 
 every rising breath of wind ; little tufts of fern 
 beat their dainty fronds against the rock, and, 
 bruised and broken, lay waiting the stride of the 
 storm-spirit. A sigh from the wind that swept the 
 clouds in the upper air passed earthwards, seemed 
 to linger as it touched the mountain-peaks, and 
 died or fell to rest in some abyss, some ravine 
 cloven by a giant hand, or, passing onward, left 
 a monotone of wailing in the rifts. It was an in- 
 tense moment. There is nothing more awful to 
 contemplate than the working of a great power 
 which appears to wreak its will without the guid-
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 283 
 
 ance of intelligence. Up from north and west 
 rose clouds, dark, ominously black. They rose to 
 mid-heaven and lay piled in mountain heights on 
 the horizon. The grey hue of the ocean deep- 
 ened into the black of the clouds. The gloom was 
 oppressive. Then came a hush, clouds and 
 ocean waited, then a rustle amid the dry fern 
 on the hill-side. Never is more conservation of 
 force required at such a crisis than when one 
 waits. Margaret stood breathless, some great 
 force was drawing nigh. It seemed to her that 
 One must be near, of whom, if she made appeal, 
 she might expect a hearing. She uttered a loud 
 cry of agony. 
 
 " God ! " she cried. " Do you know the burden 
 which is laid on me to-night ? " 
 
 There was no answer, nothing but the hush, 
 this waiting of Nature for the coming storm. 
 Then the clouds on the horizon sent forth a sul- 
 len, broken sound which echoed in the mountains. 
 
 "Only a fiend would torment a suffering soul 
 like this," cried Margaret, in her madness. " Have 
 pity, Lord ! " 
 
 " Have pity ! " rang the echoes. The rocky 
 caverns caught the words and laughed them to 
 scorn amongst the echoing hills ; the eagle, hear- 
 ing, soared still higher, with a louder scream. 
 The hush of the silent hour was broken. The 
 foot of the storm-spirit trod the ocean, and, with 
 one long stride, broke loose the winds that lingered
 
 284 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 on the horizon. He touched the black clouds until 
 they flashed defiance, and sent his clarion tones to 
 rouse the echoes in the mountain gorges. His 
 stride was followed by the winds in hurricane, by 
 waves that rose to mountain heights. Voiceless 
 the granite peaks of the everlasting hills held their 
 grim heads above the storm. The storm-spirit, 
 however mighty, was but short-lived ; the ever- 
 lasting hills could wait. 
 
 Peals of thunder reverberated above, around, 
 and rent the air with awful crashes of sound ; 
 lightning broke the heavy clouds with a touch of 
 flame ; lurid rifts parted the mountain heights on 
 the horizon ; the roll of thunder clouds was an- 
 swered by the waves as they broke furiously on 
 the rocky coast ; rain fell, and hail. Margaret 
 was drenched, bewildered, almost blinded by the 
 fury of the tempest, yet stood there on the moun- 
 tain-top, conscious of a relief from pain in thus 
 watching the fury of the storm. 
 
 " Come home, Margaret," said a kind yet stern 
 voice at her side. " You are selfish to risk your 
 life when all your strength is required by those 
 you love." 
 
 "I cannot bear the waiting," she gasped. "No; 
 do not cover me, I like the storm. Go ; I am 
 better alone." 
 
 " You know I shall not leave you," said Craw- 
 ford. " I came to find you, and to tell you I have 
 ordered a special train, which will be ready by
 
 THE YACHTING PARTY. 285 
 
 twelve to-night; we shall reach home by day- 
 light." 
 
 " O Crawford ! " cried she, seizing his hand, and 
 pressing it passionately. " How good of you ! 
 Let us go." 
 
 " I am as anxious to return as you are," he said. 
 " I know I can be of use, I am so strong." 
 
 Margaret set out down the mountain-side as 
 wildly as she had climbed. A dangerous task by 
 daylight, its difficulties were intensified by the 
 darkness, and the descent was a precarious one. 
 Crawford insisted she should regulate her speed 
 by his own cautious step. 
 
 " If you are to be of any use," he said, bluntly, 
 "govern yourself. You can, you will, do this, I 
 know, when you are on the spot ; but now, while 
 you can do nothing else, try and get strong for the 
 time your strength is needed. Don't think I am 
 not impatient too. I envy that old eagle his 
 wings." 
 
 Thus quieting her as he went, he brought her 
 safely to the hotel. Both were wet through, but 
 there was time to resume dry clothing before the 
 train started. 
 
 "You must try and sleep, you know," said 
 Crawford, in his kindly way, as he arranged a 
 comfortable seat for Margaret ; " it will pass the 
 time, and make you more able to work to-morrow." 
 
 Margaret lay quiet in her corner ; her white face 
 was still as death. Sleep ! Could Crawford have
 
 286 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 seen the chaos of thoughts in her brain, he would 
 have been hopeless of the possibility that she could 
 sleep. 
 
 Lillian Selwyn looked like one in a hideous 
 nightmare. 
 
 "It cannot be true," she said to herself. " It is 
 an exaggeration; I will not believe it." 
 
 " It is a bad business, I fear, Crawford," said 
 Mr. Selwyn, as they stood side by side in the rain, 
 waiting for the train to start. 
 
 Crawford did not reply ; he had little hope.
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 28/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 
 
 THE mist of the October morning was scarcely 
 dispersed by the bright sunshine, as William, 
 with Dr. Herly, drove up to the Swale colliery. 
 The men who stood in sullen groups at the pit's 
 mouth raised a cheer for William as he appeared ; 
 the next instant he was in their midst, chatting 
 with one and another, listening with attention to 
 their brief remarks ; then, turning from them to 
 the old foreman, who, bluff and hearty, stood well 
 in front of his men, he put some questions to him. 
 Dr. Herly watched his manner of dealing with 
 these rough colliers with interest ; he thought it 
 was easy to understand why the young " maister " 
 was so much beloved by them. Presently, Wil- 
 liam broke away from the detaining hand of the 
 foreman, and came up to the phaeton, carelessly 
 swinging his hat in his hand. The light wind 
 stirred the waves of hair on his temples, laying 
 bare the broad, white brow. Dr. Herly was struck 
 with the beauty of his countenance anew. 
 
 "Doctor," he said gravely, "the report of the 
 foreman of the condition of things below is worse
 
 288 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 than I imagined. You know he never exaggerates 
 any thing. You had better not come down with 
 me to-day." 
 
 " Why do you risk the descent ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I am not afraid of any thing happening 
 during the few hours I shall be down there," he 
 replied. " Some of the men, the foreman says, 
 are fools enough to go on working, at any risk, for 
 the double wages Reginald has offered. Now, if 
 my report is unfavourable, not a man will be 
 allowed to pass the shaft." 
 
 "Well, if there is no danger to you, there is 
 certainly none for me," said Dr. Herly, smiling. 
 " I know I shall never have so good an opportu- 
 nity again for learning something of the coal 
 formation of the Forest." 
 
 " If you really wish to come," said William, 
 gravely; "but I don't think you ought to take any 
 risk." 
 
 " If you risk nothing, / risk nothing," said Dr. 
 Herly, gayly, as he sprang from the phaeton. 
 " Who else is going ? " 
 
 "All the men want to go," said the foreman, 
 advancing. "They think they will be safe with 
 the young ' maister,' but he won't take more than 
 half a dozen besides myself." 
 
 "Why should I?" laughed William, pushing 
 aside man after man, who came up, begging to be 
 one of those chosen for the expedition. 
 
 "Listen, mates," said he. "I'll be up in an
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 289 
 
 hour, or so, and take the whole lot of you down, if 
 all is well in the pit. You wait about here." 
 
 Then, mounting a block of coal, surrounded by 
 the colliers, whose surly, stolid faces wore a sun- 
 shine of smiles, he began talking to them in the 
 dialect, sending his chaffing, cheery words into 
 their midst, laughing at and with them, bringing 
 one and all into perfect good humour. 
 
 "The cage is ready, maister," said the foreman. 
 
 "All right then! Here thee, Billy Kear, give 
 me a hond off this 'um yeer stwon." 
 
 Half-a-dozen arms seized and lifted him to the 
 ground, and, with a merry laugh, William went up 
 to the cage. The mouth of the pit yawned dark 
 and gloomy, and the cage creaked dismally. The 
 foreman carefully assisted Dr. Herly to get in, 
 and then the men took their places. William, last 
 of all, with one long look at the bright Forest 
 world, jumped into his place, and bade the men 
 cheerily "lower away." 
 
 The descent in the cage in the Forest pits was 
 not achieved with the evenness of modern appli- 
 ances. The sensation caused by the movement 
 was akin to sea-sickness, the mental emotion al- 
 most weird. The shaft was narrow ; the clay walls 
 streamed with water ; the slight board, which stood 
 between you and the yawning depth below, shiv- 
 ered and bent under your feet. No relief was 
 gained by an upward look ; for every moment 
 made the pit's mouth more distant until, at length, 
 it was but a speck of light.
 
 2QO HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 The cage has touched the bottom ; spring out 
 and peer into the darkness ; stand aside, for a 
 ghostly footfall comes upon the ear ; some horses 
 pass with slow, solemn march ; heavy trams roll 
 behind. They disappear in turn, then a candle, 
 moulded in clay, is thrust into your hand, you 
 are considered equipped for the lower world ; its 
 phantom glories are for your vision. 
 
 Return to the exploring party, who have just 
 left the cage. Each man has a candle and box of 
 matches, his bag of "tommy," or lunch, and a can 
 of cider. Dr. Herly walks close behind the fore- 
 man, who often lays his kindly arm round his 
 shoulders to screen him from some unseen danger. 
 William uses his eyes with all his might. The 
 foreman, by request, lights a torch and holds it on 
 high ; it lights a few yards of the vaulted roof, 
 but there is a beyond and beyond in that world of 
 gloom which the eye cannot reach. Dr. Herly, 
 who is an ardent collector, exclaims at the delicate 
 perfection of the fossil ferns on that black ceiling. 
 
 " Can you get me some of those ferns ? " he 
 asked Billy Kear. 
 
 "Them viurns? No, maister! The 'ole 'ont 'ud 
 come down atop on us. I baint quite such a vool." 
 
 "I have some fine specimens I'll give you, doc- 
 tor," said the foreman. "We daren't touch these." 
 
 They came now to a door which opened into 
 another level. Usually the little door-boys sit all 
 day long in seats carved in the coal behind the
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 2QI 
 
 doors. It is their business to open the doors at 
 the approach of the trams, and close them when 
 safely through. To-day, of course, there was no 
 door-opener, and the party passed through without 
 a word. 
 
 William's face bore a stern, anxious expression ; 
 he went about his work with great caution. Pres- 
 ently he tapped what seemed to be solid walls of 
 coal, and pointed out to the foreman ominous 
 streams of water trickling from the sides. The 
 old man shook his head. " There's wuss than this 
 to come, maister." 
 
 " Stay here, Herly," said William. " The air is 
 too damp for you in this level. We are bound to 
 come back this way, so you had better come no 
 farther. Just stand on the other side of the door, 
 the air is better there. I would tell you to go to 
 the foot of the shaft, but you would lose your 
 way." 
 
 Dr. Herly, who was coughing incessantly, went 
 back to the door. He closed it and stood on the 
 other side, but was overcome by the feeling of 
 isolation ; he opened it, and stood watching the 
 faint light of the candles as they went farther and 
 farther from him. He shivered with a sudden, 
 indefinable feeling of terror, as he stood several 
 minutes waiting. The other men went steadily 
 on, coming at length in the next level to the place 
 where the men had been at work a few days be- 
 fore.
 
 2Q2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 "They had no business to work here at all," 
 cried William. " This seam of coal is thin enough 
 and too thin, for the work it has to do. Listen, 
 mates ! " 
 
 There was a dull sound of water splashing on 
 the other side of the wall. 
 
 " Another hour's work would have broken 
 through into the old pit," said William, sternly. 
 "The gaveller must have been drunk when he 
 said this level is safe. We are not safe a minute 
 here. Listen to that, and that ! " 
 
 The men looked at one another with awe-struck 
 faces. Distant moans, as of spirits despairingly 
 working for their freedom, came to their ears, 
 and the continual rush of water. Yes ; far below, 
 in the heart of the earth, alive and wild with li- 
 cense, the winds roam through the coal-mines. 
 Power is in their blast ; they touch what cannot 
 escape them, not an entry but they visit, not a 
 crack or cranny where their breath is not felt. 
 These wind-voices wander and sigh, sometimes in 
 monotone, sometimes raving and shrieking, sen- 
 tient, life-giving. 
 
 "We can't go no farther," said the foreman, a 
 few yards ahead of the party. " I be up to my 
 knees in water ; I walked right into it." 
 
 " More vool thee," said Billy, with a growl of 
 enjoyment. As he spoke, a small jet of water 
 burst from what appeared to be a solid mass of 
 coal, and douched him from head to foot.
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 293 
 
 " Run for your lives," shouted William. " Don't 
 try to reach the shaft, the water will be there first. 
 Run for the upland level." 
 
 How do men run for their lives ? Silently, in 
 breathless haste, thinking first of themselves, ac- 
 cording to God's law of self-preservation. Dr. 
 Herly, worn out by his long fight for his life, did 
 not set a very high value on the pleasures of exist- 
 ence. When the flying footsteps approached he 
 understood at once what caused the breathless 
 race. He stood waiting, with the door wide open, 
 thus giving his friends a chance of escape. Wil- 
 liam, as he passed through, stopped to close and 
 fasten it, knowing it was strong enough to keep 
 the water at bay for a few moments. Then he 
 caught the doctor by the arm and cried, " Run, 
 run ! " After a few moments the path became so 
 narrow that William went on ahead. The doctor 
 soon fell behind in a race whose deadly earnest 
 gave wings to the flying feet, but deprived him of 
 his breath. Presently he heard a report like can- 
 non, then a rush, a howl of fury from the passing 
 wind. He lighted a match, and saw a surging 
 wave advance which seemed to block up the pas- 
 sage behind him. He tried to ascend the hilly 
 level as one does in nightmare. It seemed to him 
 as if he must die, if not by drowning, from ex- 
 haustion. He was in darkness ; behind him the 
 rush of the waters and the roaring of an ocean in 
 his ears. He panted and struggled for breath ;
 
 294 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 upward, ever upward. Oh, the darkness, the hor- 
 ror of that moment ! Was the water rising faster 
 than he could climb ? He fell down, and, too 
 breathless to rise, crept on hands and knees. 
 Every yard he could climb gave him a better 
 chance of his life. Had he looked up then, he 
 must have seen a dim light by his side. A strong 
 arm uplifted him, and he felt himself carried 
 swiftly upwards, ever up. 
 
 " Put me down," he panted, presently. " I have 
 got my breath again." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said William, tenderly. " I was 
 a brute to forget you had only one lung. I thought 
 you were close on my heels. Now," setting him 
 down, "come as fast as you can, for the water 
 rises every minute." 
 
 After a few moments, they came up with the 
 rest of the party. 
 
 " We can't get no furder up, maister," said the 
 foreman. 
 
 William lighted his candle, and called out the 
 names of all who had come down into the mine. 
 
 " We are all here, thank God ! " said he. " Doc- 
 tor, we owe our lives to you for opening that door 
 for us. If we had had to wait there, the water 
 would have caught us." 
 
 " Oh ! that was nothing," said he, feebly. 
 
 " It was rare brave of you, doctor," said the 
 foreman, heartily, as he lighted his candle, and be- 
 gan carefully looking round their place of retreat.
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 295 
 
 " I don't think the water will get up here," said 
 William, cheerfully ; " there are all those lower 
 levels to fill." 
 
 "Even so, maister," said Bill. "But how be 
 we to get out ? " 
 
 There was silence. Every one but Dr. Herly 
 knew the position of the upland level. He, re- 
 clining on a bed of coal with his head on his arms, 
 was fighting a battle with his oppressed lungs. 
 His breath came in painful spasms ; he scarcely 
 heeded the question, or the marked silence fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 " We may have to stop here a long time," said 
 William. " Let us make a few arrangements for 
 our comfort. We might be worse off for space, 
 at any rate." 
 
 Stolidly the men turned over some huge blocks 
 of coal, and peered round on every side. They 
 were in a rough chamber cut in the coal, or in the 
 rock, where some ignorant workers had mistaken 
 signs of coal for a seam. 
 
 " Has thee got thy pick, Bill ? " asked the fore- 
 man. 
 
 " Ay, lod. I carr'd 'un up out of thicky level 
 we was in." 
 
 " Lucky for us then," said another man, sitting 
 down. 
 
 There was nothing fresh to find out about the 
 spot ; the men sat down to think. Their slow 
 brains as yet scarcely realized their position. A
 
 296 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 few moments of abstraction, and every thing 
 would be clearly defined to their mind, without 
 exaggeration. 
 
 William spent this interval in striving to relieve 
 Dr. Herly. He drew his thin, suffering frame to 
 his breast, and wiped the beads of agony from his 
 brow. 
 
 " I am better," panted the doctor. " Don't 
 trouble about me, Will. Good God ! what an 
 agony is shortness of breath." 
 
 William took off his coat and threw over his 
 friend, who was in a profuse perspiration, though 
 the wind was cold that blew up the level from the 
 waters below. 
 
 "You have got enough to think of without 
 troubling about me," said Dr. Herly. " I shall be 
 well again soon." 
 
 William thought sadly how improbable it was 
 that the poor doctor would ever be " well " again 
 in this world. 
 
 Just then the men stirred. The thinking was 
 done ; the worst was realized ; the chances of res- 
 cue calculated. The foreman became spokesman. 
 
 " There be four things we can do," he said, re- 
 lapsing a little into the dialect. "We can drownd, 
 and we can starve, so be we bide here long enough ; 
 or we can work our way out through twenty yards 
 of rock, or we can try to make our way into 
 Prowse's pit, as opens about as vur from this un 
 yeer level."
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 297 
 
 " Zay out what ya means," said Bill, in disgust. 
 " Thee knows as any of them ways means death." 
 
 "What does thee think, maister?" asked the 
 foreman. 
 
 " I am going to see how high the water is, mates, 
 before I give my opinion." 
 
 He knew the men would consider him their 
 chief. It was time to form some opinion as to 
 what could or could not be done. He lighted his 
 candle, and the men followed him as he walked 
 cautiously on. Not very far, alas ! for there was 
 the water creeping silently higher and higher. 
 Dark and cold, now surging now retreating, it 
 moves onward with cruel determination to climb 
 to the place of refuge. Oh, how helpless is man 
 against the world of matter ! water must find its 
 level ; man engulfed in water must die. Three 
 score years and ten ! Who said that was the limit 
 of human life ? The waters laugh at the idea of 
 such longevity, lapping higher every moment. 
 The wind, too, holds a revel ; dismal moans flit 
 through the galleries, sighs that rise to shrieks. 
 Is this to be borne for hours and days ? Better 
 face the worst at once. A few moments of des- 
 perate struggle, and all would be free of this 
 prison. Did such thoughts float through the slow 
 brain of Billy, as he said, 
 
 " I baint a goin' to be drowned by inches. If 
 drowned I must, drowned I will ; and in I goes." 
 But for the clutch of the foreman he would have
 
 298 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 thrown himself into the dark water, and thus es- 
 caped his prison. 
 
 " Don't be a coward, Bill," said William, sternly. 
 " You can bear as much as the rest of us, I should 
 hope. Put an end to yourself, and leave your 
 mates to their fate ! I am ashamed of you, Bill." 
 
 "Ay, shame, indeed!" echoed the men. "Mais- 
 ter, we sink and swim together." 
 
 "Shake hands on that," said William. "We 
 are all Foresters ; we've got the grit to die like 
 true men." 
 
 They griped each other's hands at this, then 
 slowly returned to Dr. Herly, who was now sitting 
 up, able to breathe without pain. 
 
 " I would give much for a glass of water," said 
 he, smiling. 
 
 " You'll have more water than you want soon," 
 muttered Tom Jones, as he unslung his cider keg. 
 "Take a drink of cider, doctor." 
 
 Dr. Herly was too thirsty to refuse, though he 
 disliked the acid cider. A little of it quenched 
 his thirst effectually. 
 
 " Has any one got any thing to eat ? " said the 
 foreman, suddenly. " If he has, let him hand it 
 over to the maister, and let him keep it for the 
 common good. We must spin our lives out as 
 long as we can." 
 
 The men, without a word, handed over their 
 "tommy" bags to William. 
 
 " Now the cider, mates," said the foreman, hand- 
 ing his own as he spoke to the young maister.
 
 WILLIAM AND DR. HERLY IN THE MINE. 299 
 
 "Light the candle, foreman," said William. 
 " Now, doctor, please tell us how little we may eat 
 daily, and yet keep the breath of life in us." 
 
 While the doctor carefully examined the amount 
 of food, the foreman suddenly pounced on Billy, 
 who was burrowing under the coal. 
 
 "What an uneasy beast thee bist," said he, 
 angrily. " What bist up to, lod ? " 
 
 "Jim Kear a told I as a left a's pick yeer last 
 time a was in thickee theer level, and, sure enough, 
 here a be." 
 
 " Two picks ! " cried the foreman. " Maister, 
 we must begin this very hour to work our way out. 
 Two picks and twenty yards of solid rock sounds 
 bad, don't it ? But put us at it, and its hard if we 
 don't make some way." 
 
 "I'll begin," cried Billy, springing up. "And 
 I," said another man. The foreman and William 
 told them where to begin, and they eagerly went 
 to work. 
 
 " If it don't do nothin' more than keep the men 
 busy, its worth something," said the foreman 
 gravely, to William. 
 
 Then William knew that the foreman's opinion 
 agreed with his own, that there was little hope 
 of ever seeing daylight again. The opinion re- 
 mained unspoken, however, even between these 
 staunch comrades.
 
 30O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 
 
 T3 EGINALD had spent the morning with 
 -1 V George Drew and some friends who had 
 come up for a day's shooting ; at noon the party 
 stopped at the Hollies for some lunch. The men 
 gathered round the bright coal-fire with much jovial 
 discussion of their various "bags." Rhoda was at 
 the table showing her wonderful dexterity in carv- 
 ing partridges. Reginald was out of spirits, and 
 kept wandering from room to room, glad that his 
 guests were too hungry to heed his abstracted 
 humour. 
 
 " Come to luncheon, Reginald ! " called Rhoda. 
 " Mr. Drew, pray take the seat by father. As for 
 you, Regi, you don't deserve any thing, you are so 
 late." 
 
 Reginald made a slight apology, and began to 
 help his guests, but presently got up and wandered 
 to the window. 
 
 "For whom are you looking, Regi?" called 
 Rhoda. 
 
 " I expected Herly and William to lunch," said 
 he.
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 30! 
 
 " Well, they know the way here," she answered, 
 merrily. "Come and sit down, Reginald." 
 
 He turned reluctantly; but the sound of a horse 
 galloping up the lane made him look back; the 
 next instant he rushed out of the room. 
 
 " What's wrong now ? " said Mr. Reece, in an 
 irritable tone. "Tell that man he had no busi- 
 ness to come here and disturb us at luncheon," 
 he added, severely. 
 
 Ere the words were fairly spoken, Reginald 
 returned, his face stern and haggard, impossible 
 even for him at this juncture to exclude the un- 
 pleasant from life. 
 
 "The water has burst into the pit," he said, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " What a mercy the men did not go down to- 
 day," observed Rhoda, calmly. "Of course I am 
 very sorry for you, Regi, but loss of life would be 
 terrible. Now all is right with the men, you must 
 not mind the money loss." 
 
 Reginald staggered back at her words ; he 
 caught at the door for support. Money! What 
 was money at this moment ? 
 
 " William and Herly, the foreman, and six men 
 went down the shaft this morning ; they have not 
 come up," he said, in a nightmare of horror. 
 
 " What ! " cried George Drew, rising, all the 
 man alive in him at this moment. " They cannot, 
 they shall not, be drowned like rats in a hole ! To 
 the rescue, boys, to the rescue ! "
 
 3O2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 He rushed to the stables, found and saddled his 
 horse, too intent to perceive that all the men were 
 following his example, and that Reginald, more 
 impatient of delay than the others, had mounted 
 his hunter bare-back, and ridden away across the 
 country, taking the hedges and ditches lying in 
 the way as mere trifles in his path. In a few 
 seconds he was followed by the other men, who, 
 silent with the blind horror of the news, tore away 
 in frantic haste to reach the pit's mouth. 
 
 The news had spread to the village. A black 
 mass of men and women crowded round the spot, 
 some climbed on the hillocks of coal thrown up on 
 every side. The women wept and wrung their 
 hands ; the men, with clenched fists and sullen, 
 dogged faces, stood waiting for a leader, one who 
 could suggest something whereby they could use 
 their strength to help rescue their comrades. 
 They parted on every side as Reginald came tear- 
 ing up the slope ; their sullen faces did not astonish 
 him. His keen intelligence assured him that, if 
 the men had hated him before the accident, their 
 hatred would be redoubled now, since it was by 
 his wish that the examination had been made. 
 At this moment, supreme desire to save his 
 friends overcame his morbid dislike of being un- 
 popular. 
 
 " Has any one been down the shaft ? " cried he, 
 in a voice heard by all. 
 
 "Ay, sir! I went down some ways, but the
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 303 
 
 water's thirty foot deep. Can't do nothin' that 
 way." 
 
 "We can't do any thing that way, then," said 
 Reginald ; " and if our friends were overtaken in 
 the lower levels, nothing we can do will help them 
 now, they must have been drowned at the first 
 rush of the water." 
 
 Drowned ! There was a long-drawn sob from 
 the women in the crowd, a murmur of assent from 
 the men. 
 
 " I see you are at work at the pumps, but yoti 
 know as well as I how hopeless a task that is. It 
 would be a week before that water could be 
 pumped out." 
 
 " Ay, and the rest," was the surly assent of a 
 man near. 
 
 A woman beside him sat down on the ground, 
 hiding her head on her knees, rocking back and 
 forth in a misery too deep for words, too awful for 
 expression. Only the drawn face, the depth of 
 woe in the eyes, could attest to her agony. 
 
 " Her mon be down there," said a kindly woman. 
 " Her takes it quiet, don't 'ur ? " 
 
 " I should say there was no chance at all of our 
 doing any thing for them," said Reginald, speaking 
 with rapid energy, " but Mr. William is down with 
 them. You all know what he is." 
 
 " Ay, ay, master ! " came in hearty response. 
 
 "He is as much at home underground as any 
 man among you," continued Reginald. "I am
 
 304 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 convinced his first thought would be that the 
 lower levels would be flooded before his party 
 could reach the cage, and so he would be sure to 
 make for the upland level." 
 
 "The upland level," burst in a roar from the 
 crowd. Surly faces softened ; there was a return 
 of cordiality towards Reginald for the bright 
 thought. 
 
 " If they got safely to that level, the seam 
 runs up, you know, there they are now ; and the 
 only question is, can we get at them ? " 
 
 "We can, we will!" cried a voice from the 
 crowd. Reginald saw Mr. Fordyce amongst the 
 men. "Come on, some of you, and show me 
 where this upland level lies." 
 
 No need of his inspiriting words to give life to 
 the eager men ; they but waited to shoulder their 
 picks, and then marched in a body after Reginald, 
 who rode on rapidly for the upland level. The 
 rock there had been quarried out for stone with 
 which to mend the roads. Impenetrable rock it 
 seemed to be, hard, defiant. A kind of rage 
 came over the men as they faced it. 
 
 Reginald consulted with the gaveller, who was 
 present and sober in the face of this terrible 
 calamity, as to the best place to begin the work ; 
 and, when this point was decided, the men, led by 
 Mr. Fordyce, fell to with furious blows. Reginald 
 arranged the men into gangs, as only a few could 
 work at once. The women and children would
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 305 
 
 not be sent away, but implored to be allowed to 
 help ; so he set them to pick up and wheel away 
 the broken bits of stone in barrows, thus keeping 
 the road clear where the men were working. 
 
 " It is a useless effort," said Mr. Reece, calmly, 
 as he drove up to the spot. " There are twenty 
 or thirty yards of stone between you and the 
 mine, and, ten to one, the men nev^r reached the 
 upland level in time to escape the water." 
 
 There were groans and hisses at these discour- 
 aging words. Several stones were flung at him 
 by some women, and that with no gentle hand. 
 Finding himself in the minority, he got out of his 
 phaeton and walked up to the working gang, with 
 the intention of explaining to them how great 
 their folly was in wasting labour in this way. He 
 was silenced, however ; for his eyes fell upon the 
 vicar, who, hatless, and without coat or vest, was 
 dealing fierce blows on the impassive rock. No ; 
 a collier there could rival him in swinging the 
 pick ; nature had moulded him for an athlete. 
 
 " Friends, we must, we will, save them, God 
 helping us," he cried, when it was time to give up 
 to the next gang. Then, walking into the midst 
 of the waiting crowd, he held up his hands, say- 
 ing, 
 
 " Friends, we are doing all in our power, let us 
 now ask God to help us in our efforts to save our 
 dear ones. I will speak for us all, but see to it 
 that each man makes his own appeal in his heart 
 of hearts."
 
 306 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " Amen to that," said the voice of Jim Bryan, 
 from the crowd. The colliers followed the earnest 
 words with intense feeling ; the hearts of all gave 
 one imploring cry for help in this extremity. 
 
 "That is what I call religion," said George 
 Drew, respectfully. " The man acts and prays 
 both : see how the colliers believe in him. I de- 
 clare, man, if he is not walking off now arm in 
 arm with Jim Bryan, the ranter." 
 
 It was even so. Side by side the two teachers 
 of Christ's words had worked to save their friend's 
 lives ; side by side now they sat clown to rest, and 
 help one another and others by their comforting 
 words. 
 
 " I say, Fordyce," said Reginald, reluctantly ; 
 "bad news travels fast. I am afraid some one 
 may tell them too suddenly at Heaven's Gate." 
 
 " What ! do they not know ? " 
 
 " I hope not ; I think not. Might we keep it 
 from them a day longer ? " he asked, looking down. 
 
 "They must know," said the vicar. "I only 
 hope it may not have been blurted out to them 
 already." 
 
 " If you will go," began Reginald, eagerly, " my 
 horse is here at your service." 
 
 " I see that I had better do so. I will start at 
 once." 
 
 Then the vicar turned to Jim Bryan, explaining 
 to him the sad mission on which he was leaving, 
 saying he did not mean to desert his post.
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 307 
 
 "There are plenty to work without you," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " But as long as my friends are in the mine, my 
 right arm shall work for their deliverance," replied 
 the vicar. 
 
 This spirited reply was repeated to the colliers 
 by Bryan, and a cheer arose for Mr. Fordyce as he 
 rode away. The poor man rode slowly. It was 
 the second time he had been the bearer of ill news 
 to his friends at Heaven's Gate. As he rode, 
 evening approached. Storm-clouds rose on the 
 horizon and stretched across the sky, but the 
 moon shone as yet unshadowed by the climbing 
 clouds. 
 
 Heaven's Gate came in view, standing clearly 
 defined in the moonlight. Very still, very restful 
 to the eye, was the old place to-night. Mr. For- 
 dyce dismounted, and led his horse slowly along, 
 striving, as he went, to find words gentle enough 
 to use in breaking this terrible news. He realized 
 the impossibility of any human aid to spare the 
 sufferers a single pang. 
 
 A sudden gust of wind bowed the heads of the 
 forest-trees ; it was like the rush of a wild spirit 
 overhead. It seemed to belong to the storm- 
 clouds, coming like a voice full of woeful prognos- 
 tications. In marked contrast lay the smiling 
 valley, the moonlit Severn gliding like a streak of 
 silver through the meads. 
 
 Night is calm and still ; yet joy or sorrow com-
 
 308 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 ing at night has its joy intensified, its sorrow 
 deepened. Struggle with the oppression caused 
 by the darkness ! My God ! Pray for light, poor 
 suffering soul ! 
 
 " My God, give me words ! " prayed the vicar, 
 as he drew near the house. 
 
 Something white and still stood in the gate-way, 
 the moonbeams shining on it, the wind sweeping 
 past. Mr. Fordyce knew that it was Marta stand- 
 ing there to watch for William, as she always did 
 when he was late in coming home. The hour was 
 come when he must deal this cruel blow. Seven 
 miles away he had thought he could do it ; now, 
 his tongue clove to his mouth. 
 
 "John, dear, is it you?" she began, cheerfully, 
 putting out her hands in welcome. " I am wait- 
 ing for William ; have they kept him for the night 
 at the Hollies ? " 
 
 " It was not his fault that he did not come," 
 said John, with an effort. "He was prevented." 
 
 Marta was silent ; then she reflected that all 
 must be well, or the vicar would not have left 
 William. 
 
 " I did not know you were to be in the Forest 
 to-day," she said at last, cheerfully. 
 
 " Nor was I, love," he replied slowly, desper- 
 ately forcing himself to begin his mission. " The 
 rumour of an accident took me to the spot." 
 
 " Not at our collieries ? " she cried, in a quick 
 tone. He came near and put his arms round her,
 
 THE ACCIDENT MADE KNOWN AT THE HOLLIES. 309 
 
 drawing her silently to his breast. She was shiv- 
 ering from head to foot. 
 
 " Can you bear to hear," he said, unsteadily. 
 
 " For God's sake, tell me the worst ! This sus- 
 pense is awful," she cried. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce, as gently as he could, told her all. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, in agony; "and I can do 
 nothing, nothing ! " 
 
 " You can pray, dearest," he said. 
 
 He would have said more, but a slight sound 
 behind him betrayed a listener. He turned 
 sharply ; there on the door-step stood Mr. De 
 Clifford. 
 
 "Are you speaking of my boy, my William, 
 John ? " 
 
 Mr. Fordyce bowed his head, words would not 
 come ; the old man looked into his face, an expres- 
 sion of agony in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, my boy, my boy ! " he cried. Then he stag- 
 gered forward into the road ; he caught at the neck 
 of the horse, and tried to pull himself up into the 
 saddle. He turned his eyes as if to entreat aid. 
 John came forward, blinded by tears so that he 
 did not see the sudden, ghastly change in the face 
 of the old man. Marta saw it, and darted forward, 
 and Mr. Fordyce put his arm round him just in 
 time to lay him on the ground. 
 
 "O John, John! It has killed him," cried 
 Marta. 
 
 The cry brought all the household to the spot,
 
 310 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 and the poor, paralyzed old man was carried to his 
 chamber. The old servants, hearing the bad news, 
 went about their work weeping. Old John was 
 broken-hearted.
 
 AT THE UPLAND LEVEL. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AT THE UPLAND LEVEL. 
 
 THE vicar returned to the "upland level, weary 
 with his heavy night's work ; but he doffed 
 his coat, and joined the next relay of workers. 
 Bryan, however, observed his tired looks, and 
 gave Mr. Drew a hint, which resulted in a rather 
 forcible abduction of the vicar to the shelter im- 
 provised for the night. Here he yielded to per- 
 suasion, and lay down to snatch a few hours' sleep. 
 He woke at dawn, and soon was ready to join the 
 workmen, who had steadily continued all night in 
 relays. 
 
 " Dear friends," said he, simply. " Let us 
 begin our work to-day with prayer." 
 
 The men set down their picks, and knelt on the 
 dewy sward. The vicar, standing in their midst, 
 prayed for power to rescue their friends from their 
 prison of rock ; then he entreated that those 
 enduring the horror of this impiisonment might 
 have strength to endure until human aid could 
 deliver them. 
 
 The earnest prayer was followed by a hearty 
 "Amen" from the colliers. Mr. Fordyce, refreshed
 
 3 I 2 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 by his rest, grasped a pickaxe as though he loved 
 the implement. 
 
 "The rock is as hard as iron," grumbled a 
 woman. "The men have worked all night, and 
 yet have made little way." 
 
 This was only too true. Mr. Fordyce felt his 
 heart sink, as he reflected on the number of yards 
 yet unbroken. He worked with redoubled energy; 
 it was time at sunrise to change gangs. 
 
 "I am not tired," he said, without stopping. "I 
 am going to keep my place." He felt, somehow, 
 that his blows told more than those of the colliers. 
 Presently he became aware of a stroke beside his, 
 before which the rock appeared as wax. He 
 turned to see whose arm could wield the axe with 
 such power, and his eyes fell on the gigantic frame 
 of Crawford. The men paused, then griped each 
 other's hands. 
 
 " You are the man I have longed for," said the 
 vicar. 
 
 " Ay ! I can use a pick with any man," said 
 Crawford. 
 
 H'e caught up the heavy tool, and hurled it 
 against the face of the rock with blows that made 
 the sparks fly. He took the lead ; Mr. Fordyce 
 followed as near him as he could keep. Crawford 
 had been unrivalled as an athlete at Oxford ; his 
 pluck and endurance had never been fathomed ; 
 he came of a race of fighting men. While the 
 university men kept on without a break, the
 
 AT THE UPLAND LEVEL. 313 
 
 colliers, according to their habit, stopped con- 
 tinually, now to change position, to rub their hot 
 foreheads in their sleeves, or to ask for a drink. 
 Not that they lacked eagerness, only training. 
 The wives of the entombed men came up to the 
 rocks and plucked at them till their fingers bled ; 
 they felt their helplessness in all its bitterness. 
 
 Margaret, with a face immobile as marble, moved 
 amongst them. By a strange kind of sympathetic 
 relation the suffering women gathered about her. 
 
 "Oh, miss ! you be very kind to try to comfort 
 we, but you don't know nought about it," was the 
 answer given by one poor woman to her words of 
 consolation. 
 
 " Do I not ? " muttered Margaret, as she walked 
 away. " My God ! do I not ? " 
 
 She rode to her brother's residence, and, when 
 she returned, brought two wagons in her wake. 
 One contained provisions, the other bedding, and 
 a large tent, which had been ruthlessly torn up by 
 her order from the archery grounds. She then 
 proceeded to organize a regular system for the 
 meals and necessary rest of the workmen. No 
 one could have imagined she, too, was enduring 
 agonies, ay ! worse agonies of sorrow than those 
 which made the poor wives give themselves up to 
 bemoanings, who could have watched her as she 
 skilfully planned every thing. 
 
 When Crawford and Mr. Fordyce left their 
 work, they found a table laid in the sunshine. A
 
 314 HEAVENS GATE. 
 
 huge fire blazed near at hand, and a warm break- 
 fast was ready for them. Margaret waited on 
 them with swift, silent service. Crawford forbore 
 making any remark on her arrangements, and, 
 when the vicar began to speak of the improbability 
 of Dr. Herly's surviving many days in the atmos- 
 phere of the mine, he interrupted him with words 
 of cheer. Yet nothing he could do could save 
 Margaret from torture a dozen times in an hour. 
 He did not know how often already she had been 
 detained by the women, as they bemoaned their 
 hard lot in losing such a friend as Dr. Herly. 
 Over and over she had to hear that, though the 
 others might be saved, there was no hope for one 
 so delicate as he. "He was at death's door when 
 he went down," said more than one pessimist. 
 " He was marked for death, any one could see 
 that," was a frequent remark. 
 
 George Drew was invaluable at this crisis. It 
 gave him scope for using his inventive talents. 
 He continually thought of some fresh comfort he 
 could bring to the spot for the people. The 
 women constantly blessed his generous hand. He 
 kept close watch on the health of the workers, 
 and, fearing the men were flagging one day from 
 over-work, he brought a hundred colliers from a 
 distant part of the Forest, in order that the weary 
 workers should have one night of unbroken rest. 
 He took the whole expense of feeding the men 
 from the beginning, and would have poured out
 
 AT THE UPLAND LEVEL. 315 
 
 money like water if it could have advanced the 
 cause. 
 
 When it grew dusk large fires were lighted. 
 The scene became ghostly, horrible. The colliers, 
 with their blackened faces, looked like ghouls. 
 The women, whose wails rose on the night air, 
 might have been " Banshees " as they stood wring- 
 ing their helpless hands. 
 
 " We are making progress," said Crawford, one 
 evening, to Margaret, as she set food before him ; 
 "and if, as we hope, they are working their way 
 to us, we may, in a few hours, be able to hold 
 some kind of communication with them." 
 
 "Four days have passed," said Margaret, in a 
 cold, intense voice that thrilled Crawford by its 
 terrible despair. 
 
 " People have been known to live for ten or 
 fourteen days in such a position," said he, trying 
 to speak cheerfully. "' By the by, do you know 
 how Marta bears it ? " 
 
 " Nobly, like herself ! But hers is a hard lot. 
 Duty keeps her at home while she longs so to 
 be here. And poor Mr. De Clifford ! " She 
 paused, then continued, " He is able to speak 
 again now, and sit up. His first signs were made 
 for his hat ; he ceaselessly implores Marta to bring 
 him here, but he could not be moved yet." 
 
 " I fear he has got his death-blow," said Craw- 
 ford. " William was the apple of his eye. People 
 used to think he did not care for him, but I never 
 believed that for a moment."
 
 316 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Crawford went to his work, and sent Mr. For- 
 dyce to Margaret for his supper. Tireless, she 
 waited on the workers, rich and poor, with the 
 same kindly service. 
 
 " Do yon never need refreshment and rest ? " 
 asked the vicar, kindly. " I fear this suspense is 
 wearing on you, who do so much for others. You 
 are the centre of comfort to us all during this 
 time of trial." 
 
 " I shall rest sometime," said she. " At least, 
 I suppose so. If there be in some far distant 
 world, a short space of oblivion permitted to weary 
 souls, I can believe that I shall rest." 
 
 The vicar had not the key to this strange 
 speech. He pondered over it. Presently he 
 said, 
 
 " Such rest would not be worth having. Trust 
 in God's will makes our lives full of rest, because 
 we know that all is well." 
 
 "Will you say all is well if they," pointing to 
 the rock, " never come forth alive ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I shall say it, I shall believe it. As years 
 go on, I shall know it still more clearly. But I do 
 not mean to preach to you, whose noble heart and 
 unselfish life animates us all." 
 
 " Pray then," she said, in her intense voice. 
 " God will hear your prayers. Tell him how we 
 suffer." 
 
 Before he could answer, she was gone.
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 
 
 IN the darkness, in the night, shake yourself, 
 awake sleeper ; the night must be passing, the 
 autumn dawn approaches, rises over the Forest 
 trees, lingers rosy-tipped upon the Cotswold. Ah ! 
 the sun, it is day ! 
 
 No dawn, no sun ! The open eyes peer into the 
 gloom, blinded, see nothing ; but the spirit, im- 
 petuous, zealous, full of intense life, has eyes, 
 wings, and ears, eyes that, piercing the gloom, 
 read despair on the faces around ; wings that take 
 flight to the wild, free forest ; ears that recall the 
 exigencies of the present in the dull splash of the 
 water as it rises and falls, driven by the dirge-like 
 wind. 
 
 " Hallo ! Billy, mun, wake up. It's thy turn at 
 the pick," said William's cheery voice, as he bent 
 over a recumbent figure. The men turned their 
 faces towards the speaker as though a ray of sun- 
 light had penetrated the dismal level. Billy rose 
 slowly. The air is damp, and heavy with gases ; it 
 has become difficult to breathe, yet more difficult 
 to work in such a foul atmosphere. Heavier than
 
 318 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 the air broods the spirit of despair. Exasperated 
 by hunger and thirst, all but William have suc- 
 cumbed to its fell influence. His gay laugh is 
 heard as he calls over the names of all present, 
 and hands over the rations. 
 
 "Come for thy breakfast, Billy," he cries. 
 " Here is at least half an inch of candle for each 
 of us." 
 
 " What shall we do to-morrow ? " asked the 
 foreman, under his breath. He was used to fore- 
 casting. When to-day was arranged for, to him 
 there was always to-morrow. 
 
 "Play the men," said William, bravely. "If it 
 comes to starving, we will do that. Let us work, 
 meantime ; who knows but we shall hear the wel- 
 come sound of picks from the other side of us ? " 
 
 " My old 'ooman, she'll be in a purty way, a 
 thinkin' I be dead," said a collier. He had made 
 this speech on and off for days, it afforded some 
 gratification to his poor wandering mind. 
 
 Dr. Herly stirred, and spoke feebly ; his breath- 
 ing was laborious, most painful to hear ; his cough 
 made havoc with his enfeebled frame. Nothing 
 could exceed the tender care of his fellow-pris- 
 oners ; they vied with one another in attempting 
 things for his comfort. Many of their relatives 
 owed their lives to his unwearied care, and, since 
 they could by no means pay him for his services, 
 they gave him their heart's devotion. He sur- 
 prised his comrades now by his patient cheerful-
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 319 
 
 ness. The uneducated mind dwells with gusto on 
 the details of pain ; the educated regrets its pres- 
 ence as detracting from perfection of mind and 
 body, and bears it with silence and fortitude. 
 
 " I have been dreaming," said Dr. Herly. " I 
 was talking to our friends outside. Cheer up, 
 lads, we shall have good news to-day." 
 
 " I expect we have all been out of this hole in 
 our dreams," said the foreman. 
 
 "Ay," said a collier, in a surly tone of assent. 
 " I dreamt as how I was having a round wi' Joe 
 Stivins. I hit 'un a black eye, I did." 
 
 " So you 'ould," said another man, in a tone of 
 admiration. 
 
 "You are fond of hitting one another about," 
 said Dr. Herly, in his kindly way of ridiculing 
 their faults. " I am glad you never tried your 
 hand on me." 
 
 " No, doctor ; we don't want to fight with such 
 as you," said the men, in a chorus. 
 
 Silence fell on them when they had eaten their 
 slender meal. A violent fit of coughing hindered 
 Dr. Herly from trying to amuse the men by some 
 anecdotes, as he had several times managed to do, 
 and William could not speak for sobs, which 
 choked his throat as he felt afresh that Dr. Herly's 
 hours in this atmosphere must be numbered. 
 Taking the pick, he dashed afresh at the rock, and, 
 standing in the midst of the men when his turn 
 was over, inspirited them to fresh endeavor. But
 
 32O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 the weary hours dragged on. Surely the sun must 
 almost have made his descent to the horizon, and 
 night must be near ! Over and over William laid 
 his ear to the rock and listened. Alas ! he heard 
 nothing but the wash of the water and the moan- 
 ing of winds. 
 
 The Selwyns drove up to the Forest late in the 
 afternoon. They had been there all the morning, 
 but had gone home for various comforts that Mar- 
 garet had wanted for the people. When they 
 drew near to the tent two men came forward and 
 stopped the horses, demanding " Silence," franti- 
 cally. Silence ! hundreds of people stood breath- 
 lessly bending forwards ; the crowd might have 
 been carved in stone, so motionless it stood. 
 Presently those nearest the workers, who had been 
 bending their ears to the rocky wall, turned and 
 spoke. A shout of joy rent the air, followed by 
 sobs and confused murmurs of delight, then si- 
 lence again obtained ; and, as the glad news was 
 spread through the ranks, Crawford was seen mak- 
 ing his way towards the carriage. 
 
 " They are alive ! " he cried, shaking hands right 
 and left as he parted the crowd. " They are try- 
 ing to work their way out. I heard the sound of 
 the pick." 
 
 He was black as a collier, but Minnie grasped 
 his hands, and met his loving glance with one of 
 such deep admiration that the modest Goliath 
 blushed with pleasure.
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 32! 
 
 " I can't stay a moment," he said. " I'm aw- 
 fully hungry, and, as soon as I've got something to 
 eat, I'm going back to work." 
 
 Minnie said she would go with him and wait on 
 him as he ate ; so, hand in hand, they skirted the 
 crowd and arrived at the tent. 
 
 The ghost of Margaret was there, Margaret 
 in the spirit rather than in the flesh. Minnie 
 watched her as she carried the food to the hungry 
 men ; she took from her hands Crawford's meal, 
 which he ate with hearty appetite. When all was 
 over she saw that Crawford went quietly up to 
 Margaret, and forced her to give him her attention 
 in his gentle way. 
 
 " In a few hours we shall have them safely with 
 us," he said, cheerily. 
 
 She gave him one look of agony ; he turned 
 away with tears in his eyes ; he saw she had given 
 up all hope that Dr. Herly could still be living. 
 He went back to his work, and Minnie watched 
 his vigorous blows from a distance. 
 
 A girl, now a mere shadow of her former 
 strength, crouched in a corner of the tent. As 
 Margaret passed in her kindly work, Minnie 
 touched her arms and pointed to the girl. 
 
 " Her lover is in the mine ; she was to have 
 been married to-day," said Margaret, in a cold, 
 hard voice, her eyes dry, burning with the fever 
 nothing but sleep can allay, sleep ! which had 
 long since refused to come to her relief.
 
 322 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " She will die of grief," said Minnie, pityingly. 
 " Can we do nothing for her ? " 
 
 " No ; she will not die," said Margaret, bitterly. 
 "She can weep. God has pity on her." 
 
 With gentle patience she stooped over the girl, 
 and fed her with soup ; soon, at her tender touch, 
 the ready tears overflowed. Minnie began to 
 understand that such tears must be a relief. 
 Margaret went back to her work ; the women 
 came thronging around her, pouring out their 
 hopes and fears, their dismal prophecies as to Dr. 
 Herly. Margaret lent her sympathy, and listened 
 to all they had to say to her. She trod upon her 
 own heart with bitter sarcasms, bitter revilings. 
 
 " Dost thou then weep tears of blood, my heart ? " 
 she moaned to the solitude of night, as she watched 
 for the first streaks of dawn. " That were to steal 
 a privilege that does not belong to you. Become 
 petrified ! Cease to annoy by such keen pangs ! " 
 
 To the girl she lent consolation. " Weep," she 
 cried. "It will relieve your burdened heart. Be- 
 sides this, your lover is strong ; there is hope that 
 you will see him again." 
 
 The sun went down amidst wild excitement, 
 the sound of the picks was again heard ; signals 
 had been made and understood. The strain was 
 awful, it seemed a sin to breath ; yet, amidst it 
 all, Margaret thought of Marta. Without a word, 
 she set forth and walked straight on to Heaven's 
 Gate. Was she tired ? She knows not ; she was
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 323 
 
 beyond feeling physical pain. It was a cold night, 
 a stormy wind rent the Forest with loud bemoan- 
 ings ; she was unconscious of its power. The 
 wind fell as she left the Forest ; at Heaven's Gate 
 all was still. What is the stillness of nature to 
 one whose soul is at war? Margaret, in this cruel 
 fire of suffering, had learned her lesson. She pos- 
 sessed a soul, a spirit, no suffering of the body 
 could approach the sufferings of soul. 
 
 She entered Heaven's Gate, trying to simulate 
 joy. She smiled, unconscious of her ghastly looks ; 
 said warm, kindly words with frozen, pallid lips. 
 Marta understood, and, while weeping with joy at 
 the good tidings, felt the deepest sympathy for the 
 unselfish woman who had thought of her in the 
 midst of the excitement at the level. She brought 
 her food, coaxed her to eat, and made her lie down 
 to rest. Then she went to tell her uncle the 
 news, and, when she returned, found Margaret 
 gone. A note was pinned to the table. 
 
 " Dear Marta, forgive me ! I cannot breathe so 
 far away." 
 
 The walk of seven miles back again has ever 
 been a blank in her remembrance. She must have 
 accomplished it very quickly, for she was back in 
 her place in the tent by the time the men came 
 for their midnight repast. 
 
 " We are working on hands and knees," said 
 Crawford. " It is frightful, we make so little way. 
 We have made them understand our signals."
 
 324 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 " Are all living ? " asked Margaret, wondering 
 how her keen intellect kept always on the alert to 
 assert its supremacy over any feebleness of heart, 
 which, at that moment, apparently ceased to beat. 
 Crawford answered very reluctantly. 
 
 "We signalled their number, hoping they would 
 understand," said he; "and they answered" 
 
 " By the same ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 There was a pause ; Margaret saw tears standing 
 in his kindly eyes. 
 
 " No ; one less." 
 
 "Yes," cried Reginald, coming up, intensely 
 excited. "We spelt out Herly's name and asked 
 if it were he, and they answered by three taps. 
 Poor fellow ! he could not, of course, survive such 
 privations." 
 
 "Your lover is living!" said Margaret, stooping 
 to raise the girl, now exhausted with weeping, 
 from the ground. "Yes," she said, kindly. "He 
 is safe. Help me now to prepare for the poor 
 fellow when he is brought into the air ; he will be 
 very weak, you know." 
 
 Every preparation was made. Crawford came 
 soon to say, however, he almost feared they were 
 too late ; it was vain to signal any longer, no an- 
 swer could be heard. It was night. Large fires 
 were built, casting ruddy flames of light on pallid, 
 anxious faces. 
 
 " My God ! " cried Margaret, standing alone 
 upon the summit of a heap of cinders, with face
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 325 
 
 upraised to the lowering sky. " Where Thou art 
 I know not. Pity one that suffers. Send obliv- 
 ion ; take away the agony of an eternity so desolate 
 as mine. Oblivion would be mercy." 
 
 Thus she stood, wrestling with an agony that 
 rent her heart, and paralyzed her intellect for the 
 moment. A moan passed through the air from 
 the women who surrounded the foot of the rocks. 
 Margaret roused herself, forgetting her own mis- 
 ery in the necessity of consoling others. As she 
 climbed down the hillock, the women clung to her 
 with their miserable forebodings. 
 
 " O miss ! my old man, married twenty year and 
 die like this." 
 
 "To go without a word like," said another; 
 "not even my love to ye, Mary." 
 
 " O miss ! You never know'd what it was to 
 lose a son," wept another. "There's my Billy." 
 
 These utterances seemed to give comfort to the 
 speakers ; they drew freely from the sympathy of 
 their friends ; they emphasized their sufferings 
 with many a moan. The refinement of suffering 
 is that which cannot be uttered. "The heart 
 knoweth its own bitterness." True, O king. At 
 length a hush of anticipation quieted the speakers ; 
 no one cared to listen if another spoke. All 
 crowded as near as possible to the rock, where a 
 tunnel had been cut by the workers. The last 
 part of it was so low that the men had to lie down 
 at their work, and every stroke was made in physi-
 
 326 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 cal discomfort. It was dangerous work, no man 
 lay there and wrought at that tunnel without 
 knowing that he did so at the risk of his life. 
 Foul air, the falling of loosened blocks of stone 
 or coal, might at any moment destroy him ; yet 
 those who waited their turn at the dangerous work 
 were jealous of those who were doing service. 
 Some of the women, rendered desperate by long 
 waiting, tore again at the grim rock with their fin- 
 gers ; but the rock felt nothing. 
 
 Oh, impotence of wrath when wielded against 
 matter ! The rock stands ; it hears nothing, feels 
 nothing. Over it climb the wild clematis vines ; 
 in spring the primrose tufts bloom at its sheltered 
 base ; over it storms break, it bears all, un- 
 changed in aspect. Yet within these rocky walls 
 imprisoned spirits strain their all for liberty. 
 They have hurled their blows at this prison in 
 vain hope of escaping its grim walls ; but it is 
 matter, dense, impenetrable, abate one atom 
 of its power it cannot. Still this rock has lost a 
 prisoner, this prison-house so guarded had an 
 open door no power of matter could lock. At 
 this portal stood the angel of life, behind him 
 opened up the realms of bliss. Smiling, the pris- 
 oner, clinging to this angel hand, floated from out 
 the rocky prison, and escaped. Ah ! rock can 
 pride itself no longer that its fastness is imper- 
 vious ; it is but matter, it can hold in its clasp but 
 matter.
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 327 
 
 The night passed, the sun rose, still the work 
 went on. Is there no tidings ? no sign of life ? 
 
 " It is an agony to work now," said Crawford, 
 in one of his brief breathing spaces ; for he and 
 the vicar toiled harder than any of the colliers. 
 Their power of endurance at this crisis was worth 
 much. 
 
 " It is worse to do nothing," said Margaret, her 
 white face still as a statue, a marble mask which 
 successfully hid her sufferings from the vulgar 
 eye. 
 
 " You have been every thing to those poor souls 
 who have got relatives in the mine," said he, sim- 
 ply. " It must be very hard work," and he gladly 
 escaped the tearful approach of one of the women, 
 by returning to his arduous task. 
 
 Reginald was there, clear-headed and clear- 
 sighted, the brain of the rescuing party. He had 
 gained the respect of all ; no one could have han- 
 dled the body of workmen better except their own 
 beloved "Maister Willum." 
 
 " We shouldn't like no harm to happen to he," 
 the rough men would say in their undemonstrative 
 way, as they girded themselves for the work. 
 
 With the afternoon the clouds came up with 
 the tide of the Severn, and floated on, drifting 
 with the wind currents till, tinged with black, 
 they veiled the sun. Then rose the wind in Dean ; 
 its voice broke the stillness with the ominous 
 sound of tempest ; the bracken fern were stirred ;
 
 328 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 the oaks, old dwellers on the soil, raised loud 
 voices ; and the yews, as ancient, broke into dirges, 
 for their song was ever funereal. 
 
 Is there no sign yet ? None. 
 
 Upon the summit of the rock, beneath the 
 shadow of an oak, a wild spirit, clothed as woman, 
 with arms upraised, sent on the wind the thrilling 
 cry, " Let me die ! " There was no answer. The 
 wind sobbed, the rain fell. 
 
 " Death would be too good for me," said Mar- 
 garet, bitterly. 
 
 The men and women, surly and hopeless, joined 
 forces in making a huge fire. In spite of the rain 
 it burned. They sat round it, black, ghastly, 
 wretched, from time to time moving restlessly 
 to the entrance of the tunnel for news. 
 
 No news yet ? None. 
 
 "This is terrible," said Mr. Fordyce, to Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 "It is terrible," said she. "To-night must end 
 it." 
 
 " A few minutes will end the suspense," said he. 
 " Reginald reports that a small hole has been 
 made. It will soon be large enough to admit the 
 body of a man." 
 
 " Every thing is in readiness," said Margaret. 
 " A doctor is here from Gloucester ; we have every 
 thing prepared for the living and the dead." 
 
 "The living? Can any be alive?" asked he, 
 gently.
 
 INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE MINE. 329 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Margaret, in a hard, strained 
 voice. " God will be- good to the poor here, and 
 to Marta." 
 
 " He is good to all," replied the vicar, looking, 
 with eyes that began to understand, at the woman 
 whose marble mask had so long misled him. 
 
 "No!" she cried wildly. "I will be honest. 
 No cruel demon could torture the soul as He does. 
 He rends the heart with hopeless sense of loss. 
 He does not answer the most earnest prayer that 
 lips ever uttered ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " cried Reginald, from the entrance of 
 the tunnel. 
 
 Silence fell on the assembled crowd, which 
 moved noiselessly nearer to the rock. 
 
 " Stand back ! " cried the doctor in attendance. 
 " Not a word, not a cry." 
 
 Then, in a silence that a deep-drawn breath 
 would have broken, two men appeared, carrying a 
 feeble, helpless figure to the light of day. Mar- 
 garet, noiseless as a spirit, glided to the doctor's 
 side with the restoratives he had bidden her hold 
 in readiness. She- saw not who it was. The doc- 
 tor, kneeling beside the rescued one, laid his head 
 on his heart. 
 
 " He lives," he said. "We shall save him yet." 
 
 Then he gave Margaret some rapid directions, 
 and left her. She bent over the wasted form to 
 put the restorative to the parched lips through 
 which the breath of life feebly fluttered.
 
 33O HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 It was Dr. Herly ! 
 
 As Margaret was absorbed in her efforts to re- 
 store consciousness to the beloved form at her 
 feet, she saw and heard nothing beside. Mr. For- 
 dyce touched her gently on the shoulder, and, 
 looking up, she saw that even strong men were 
 weeping ; for there, with starvation written on 
 his face, and peaceful eyes upraised to heaven, lay 
 the body of the young " Maister." 
 
 For he was dead !
 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE. 331 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 IT is night ; the rain has ceased ; the gray clouds 
 roll back, and the moon rises in the heavens. 
 The winds hold revel in that distant cloud world, 
 sending airy messengers to drift across the face 
 of the moon, or away to build a heavy mass upon 
 the horizon. The Forest trees are nearly still ; 
 yet, at times, a voice rises and passes like one great 
 wave of sound ; then, again, only the drip of rain- 
 drops from the leaves is to be heard. At last, 
 from the heart of the Forest, out of the depths 
 that eye cannot pierce, a voice is born in those 
 solemn shades ; it gathers force as it passes on- 
 ward on the winged winds, whence ? whither ? 
 
 The drifting masses of cloud obscure the moon ; 
 the gloom deepens in th,e Forest. Listen ! Some- 
 thing approaches ; look intently into the darkness, 
 can you see nothing ? Tramp ! Tramp ! steady 
 and slow; the tread of many feet. It comes 
 nearer ; it passes by, and there is a sound as of a 
 long-drawn sob from the ranks. In their midst 
 they carry a bier upon their shoulders. The men 
 press jealously close to those whose turn it is to
 
 332 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 bear the burden, for it is one whom they love and 
 reverence, and they are all taking him home to- 
 night. With tender hands they have covered his 
 face, for the dead eyes, half-open though they be, 
 cannot see ; the ears are deaf to the harmonies the 
 wild wind weaves to-night in the trees of Dean. 
 The Forest voices swell upon the breeze ; he loved 
 their songs. The noble oaks, the pride of Dean, 
 stand up against the sky ; he loved to see them out- 
 lined thus. But his friends have covered his face ; 
 they know too well that he is dead. He whom they 
 bear so lovingly, sees not, hears not ; the wailing 
 wind that sweeps the strings of countless, invisible 
 harps might well be playing a requiem for the 
 dead this night. Now upon the open road, so 
 near to Heaven's Gate, the tramp of the hun- 
 dred feet disturbs the silent world. A fox barks 
 in shrill voice from his lair in the old park woods. 
 The voice that often gayly mocked him is silenced 
 for aye. The dogs at Heaven's Gate break into a 
 melancholy howl. Do they know that the hand 
 they loved best lies still in death ? 
 
 A figure, still and white, is standing at the 
 postern door. The men uncover their heads and 
 stand in silence ; then one among them, in a few 
 rude words of prayer, implores Almighty God to 
 help this sorrowing family in their distress. 
 
 Then the men lay down the bier for a moment 
 at the gate. Marta kneels beside it, and softly 
 uncovers the face. The moon sheds its rays on
 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE. 333 
 
 the hillside, and lingers on that face so white and 
 still, makes still more radiant that smile which 
 tells its patient story of the safe passage through 
 the river of Death to realms of light, in spite of 
 sufferings heroically endured. The men stand 
 back as Marta stoops to kiss those smiling lips, 
 and smooths the hair from the broad, white brow. 
 She has welcomed his home-coming for the last 
 time ; God has taken her charge out of her hands. 
 
 " Is it wrong to pray for the dead ? " she asked 
 the vicar, as her heart sent up still the burden of 
 its old cry, "Father in heaven, take care of 
 William ! " 
 
 " Wrong ? " he replied. " Not wrong, but how 
 needless when we realize the love of God." 
 
 The men came forward, one by one, to take their 
 last farewell. Some kissed his brow (they had 
 known him as a little lad) ; some his hand ; but 
 many only looked and turned away to hide their 
 tears. 
 
 Oh for the sound of that merry voice that had 
 known so well how to cheer them, and give them 
 heart for their work ! 
 
 "He sang for them, miss, they do say, the very 
 day he died. They was all very low, and he said 
 as how he'd sing for them. He'd done it all along 
 to cheer them up, but all of a sudden, as he were 
 a-singing, he stopped. 'I can't sing no more 
 to-day, mates,' he said. He didn't tell them then 
 as he was hurted in the breast by that piece of
 
 334 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 coal as caved in. No ; all he says, was, ' I can't 
 sing no more to-day, mates,' " said Bryan. 
 
 " Thank you," said Marta, whose tears were 
 falling like rain. She made a sign to them, and 
 they raised the bier and carried him up the stairs 
 his light foot had trod since childhood, to the 
 room that had always been his. 
 
 They laid him tenderly on the bed, and went 
 away, clumsily striving to make no noise. Blinded 
 by tears, they stumbled along to the gate, and 
 returned to their homes in the Forest. 
 
 Silence again fell on Heaven's Gate. How still, 
 how silent, the one sleeping figure, beside which 
 Marta knelt, weeping in bitter sorrow ! 
 
 His violin and bow lay on their accustomed rest, 
 just as he had laid them ere he left his room ; some 
 pages of his symphony were scattered on the table. 
 
 "He is in God's hands," said the vicar. "Marta, 
 love, can you not trust him in such care?" Then 
 he, too, broke down. " He gave his life for the 
 others," he said, brokenly. "All say that." ' 
 
 Outside his window grew some pines : they were 
 old, blasted, weather-beaten, still they lived, while 
 he whose genius had caught many an inspiration 
 from the monotone of these old trees, now lay 
 deaf, even to the tapping of their bare arms 
 against the window-pane. 
 
 In the middle of the night, when all the house 
 was still, a door was opened and a feeble form
 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE. 335 
 
 crept forth into the corridor. Clinging to the 
 walls, and leaning on his stick as he went, the 
 poor father dragged himself to the room where his 
 son, the image of his wife, lay dead. He did not 
 weep, his sorrow was too deep for such expression, 
 the light of his life was extinguished ; but he hung 
 over the fragile form as if he could never part with 
 it again. He touched the thin hand, and gazed at 
 the hollow cheeks. " O my boy, my own lad ! " 
 he moaned. 
 
 The moon shone into the room. It seemed to 
 the father, in the soft light, that those smiling, 
 half-open eyes rested on the violin on the table. 
 
 "You shall have it, boy," said he. "No one 
 shall part you from it again." 
 
 With infinite difficulty he dragged himself to 
 the table, and took thence the violin and bow and 
 brought them to the bedside. He laid the violin 
 lovingly on his boy's breast, placed the bow in his 
 hands. 
 
 The vicar came softly into the room. The old 
 man pointed solemnly to what he had done. 
 
 "Your wishes shall be carried out," said he, 
 when he could find words. 
 
 "He loved you," said the father. "I should 
 like you to bury him in the church-yard yonder, 
 in the village. He shall not be shut up in the 
 chapel vault." 
 
 Thus it was that William was laid to rest in the 
 village, within sound of the organ whose music 
 he had so much loved.
 
 33$ HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 The colliers had petitioned to be permitted to 
 carry him to his last resting-place ; and all who 
 had ever known the young " Maister " marched 
 down from the Forest, and stood in silence before 
 the house. 
 
 The sun shone brightly as the funeral proces- 
 sion left Heaven's* Gate. Afar the purple Cotswold 
 were outlined against the sky ; below, in the vale, 
 flowed Severn ; the cattle were lowing in the 
 meads. 
 
 The poor father, stricken again by paralysis, 
 showed he was conscious that the hour had come 
 by the agonized looks he cast at the door as the 
 coffin was being carried down-stairs. Marta was 
 in a carriage with the children. She would not 
 be hindered from keeping watch over her darling 
 to the last. It was a long procession, and doubled 
 ere they came to the village by another quite as 
 large. Never before had such a funeral passed 
 through the country lanes. The village women 
 wept as they talked among themselves. 
 
 "A starved hisself for t'others, just like un 
 to do it, and then a hurted hisself with the pick. 
 And a piece of coal struck his breast, and broke 
 it, they do say." 
 
 "The foreman says as how he spoke just avore 
 a died, a said, ' Jim, thee take care of Dr. Herly. 
 I don't want my coat no more ; take it, man, and 
 cover u n over.' And when next foreman spoke to 
 un, a didn't answer, an' Jim, he cried out, ' Our
 
 THE RETURN TO HEAVEN'S GATE. 337 
 
 maister's dead!' An' the men they all gin up 
 workin', and Dr. Herly he fainted ; and foreman 
 says as how he and t' men was all a cryin' as if 
 their hearts was broke." 
 
 "/ am the Resurrection and the Life," read 
 Mr. Fordyce, as he stood in his white robes at the 
 church-yard gates. Marta heard little else. It 
 uplifted her soul, and she repeated the words again 
 and again. Yet she knew how hard it was for 
 Mr. Fordyce to read the service, heard his voice 
 tremble, and even break so that he often had to 
 pause. But it was all like a dream to her. The 
 foreman was there weeping bitterly, and the words 
 of hope were interrupted by many a long-drawn 
 sob ; but Marta's tears seemed dried by sudden 
 realization of the meaning of the beautiful prom- 
 ises. 
 
 The bell was tolling at long intervals, its mourn- 
 ful reverberations filled the air with solemn sound. 
 Marta felt that the vicar's arm was round her, and 
 that she was nearly back at Heaven's Gate. All 
 was a blank to her since she had heard his voice 
 reading the service. The strain had been too 
 great, and she had fainted. When she got home 
 she crept wearily up to her uncle's room. He was 
 lying as she had left him, with his face to the door. 
 Was he sleeping, with that glad smile on his face ? 
 
 "John!" she cried, with sudden fear. "John, 
 come to me ! " 
 
 The vicar gave one glance, and paused.
 
 338 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 " It is well with him," he said, gently. " I thank 
 God." 
 
 Then he led Marta away from the chamber of 
 death. 
 
 The old yew spread out its branches ; its gnarled 
 roots glowed in the sunset. The church-bell tolled. 
 Ah ! mourners, look up, above the belfry, above 
 the purple ridges of the everlasting hills, up, 
 up. 
 
 "What thou seekest is not here. It has risen."
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST. 339 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST. 
 
 TWO years have passed away. 
 It is summer again. The village lies in the 
 sunshine, its quaint, red-tiled roofs glowing, its 
 old-fashioned gardens full of roses and flaunting 
 tulips. The hay-makers have carried in their last 
 load, and the rick-yards are well filled with corpu- 
 lent mows. The labourers have some of them, as 
 usual, given up farm-work for salmon-fishing ; and 
 women and children are kept busy shelling shrimps 
 for sale. 
 
 It is a warm July afternoon, and the whole vil- 
 lage assumes a festive appearance. The people 
 are in gala attire, and move in straggling groups 
 along the road to the park. As they draw near 
 the gates they are met by the brass band, which 
 marches in front of them, playing a martial strain. 
 The delighted villagers follow the music until the 
 slope of the hill behind the park house is reached. 
 Here the band subsides into temporary oblivion, 
 while the village folk watch from the heights for 
 the first sight of the train from London. 
 
 Ah, here it is ! The bells ring out their silver
 
 34O HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 peals of welcome, and the air is full of the sound 
 of hearty " hurrahs ! " from Forest throats. The 
 excitement grows intense as the " hurrahs ! " draw 
 near; and a crowd of colliers, headed by the old 
 foreman, march in good order across the park. In 
 their midst they are drawing a carriage from which 
 the horses have been detached, all the men eager 
 to lay a hand to the stout ropes with which the 
 men are harnessed. 
 
 Who is this that the undemonstrative Foresters 
 thus treat with such honour? Who, indeed, but 
 their old friend, Dr. Herly, who, with his wife, has 
 just returned from his sojourn in Madeira. 
 
 As the carriage stops, even the Selwyns have 
 to give way to the eager crowd that gathers round 
 with outstretched hands to the doctor and his wife. 
 
 "We never expeced to see you alive amongst us 
 again," cried many a hearty voice in affectionate 
 greeting. "We thought you were marked for 
 death." 
 
 Dr. Herly laughed in his genial manner, as he 
 descended from the carriage, and then was sur- 
 rounded by his old friends, many of whom owed 
 life or limbs to his skill. The old foreman kept 
 his place at the doctor's right hand. 
 
 " We went through a dale together, we did," he 
 managed to say in the doctor's ear. 
 
 " Yes ; we are tried comrades," replied the 
 doctor. 
 
 "And when I die, sir," he went on, "they've
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST. 34! 
 
 promised me as I shall lie at the feet of the young 
 'maister.' Miss Marta, she says as no one else 
 shall lie there but me. I was the last as he spoke 
 to in this world, maybe I'll be the first to see his 
 face again." 
 
 All this was said in the foreman's usual jovial 
 tone. Dr. Herly saw that he was intensely proud 
 of the place that was to be his after death. 
 
 Presently, Mr. Selwyn, seeing that the men 
 crowded more closely than ever round the doctor, 
 sent Crawford into their midst with orders to carry 
 Dr. Herly bodily away from them, if he could not 
 otherwise be persuaded to leave the crowd. He, 
 himself, set forth to rescue Margaret, who was sur- 
 rounded by the women who had lived on her brave 
 spirit while their friends were in danger. Outside 
 the crowd stood the Selwyns, waiting their chance 
 to welcome their friends ; and, with them, Marta, 
 Olga and Jennie, and Mr. Fordyce. 
 
 " It was so good of you to come back on pur- 
 pose to please these children," said Mrs. Selwyn, 
 affectionately. 
 
 Marta and Minnie blushed smilingly. To-mor- 
 row was to be their wedding-day. From the first, 
 Minnie had determined that they should be mar- 
 ried on the same day ; but Marta, who desired a 
 very quiet wedding, had not been willing to con- 
 sent to Minnie's plan. 
 
 "Dear Marta," said Mr. Fordyce, "I cannot see 
 any reason why you should refuse so small a thing
 
 342 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 to Minnie. What though the church be crowded ? 
 it will be with friends who love you, and come to 
 see you married with no common curiosity. The 
 village folk have known you from babyhood, and 
 they love you for your uncle's sake as well as your 
 own, for he was a good friend to them." 
 
 After this, Marta made no further objection to 
 Minnie's wishes. 
 
 " How natural it seems to be here again ! " said 
 Margaret, as she entered the house. " Nothing 
 seems to change in the West County." 
 
 " A superficial opinion," laughed Crawford. 
 " We have prided ourselves on many moral revolu- 
 tions in our way of living since you left us." 
 
 As Margaret turned laughingly away, Crawford 
 scrutinized her appearance closely. The same 
 Margaret, doubtless, but yet so different from the 
 unhappy woman, whose restless movements had 
 called forth his help in her need. She was more 
 beautiful than ever, and her expression was that 
 of one at perfect peace. 
 
 "God has given me my heart's desire," Marga- 
 ret had written to him soon after her marriage. 
 " O Crawford ! is it mean of me now to desire to 
 give Him my love and duty? If it had been other- 
 wise, I fear I should have hated Him ; but now, 
 oh, how easy it is to desire to fulfil His will! " 
 
 Margaret had always been good to the poor ; 
 but now it seemed as if her life was consecrated 
 to the desire to help those who suffered.
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST. 343 
 
 While the travelling party dined, the band 
 played merry country dances, and the hour passed 
 pleasantly until sundown, when Dr. Herly again 
 appeared amongst the people. He made them a 
 speech, to which they responded with hearty 
 cheers ; and, when he thanked them for their cor- 
 dial welcome, they answered by striking up, " For 
 he's a jolly good fellow;" and the band took up 
 the strain, and the colliers marched away, roaring 
 the chorus, their foreman, as usual, heading the 
 party. 
 
 When quiet was again restored, the gentlemen 
 left the ladies to the thousand preparations for the 
 morrow, and strolled up under the park trees, 
 where the deer were timidly herding, having been 
 much terrified by the loud singing. 
 
 Dr. Herly was thinking of William. How he 
 missed his gay greeting ! It seemed at every turn 
 as though his light form must come bounding into 
 sight. Then his thoughts drifted to his own long 
 illness, to that first moment when consciousness 
 restored him to sight and to Margaret. 
 
 "Are we in Heaven, Margie?" he had asked, 
 feebly, waiting long enough to hear her soft reply 
 of " Yes, love," ere he had fallen back again into 
 unconsciousness; and he had literally lived in 
 Heaven ever since, if perfect love and happiness 
 could constitute a Heaven. 
 
 " You miss William, I see," said Crawford, in an 
 undertone. "Don't mention his name to uncle;
 
 344 HEAVEN S GATE. 
 
 he can't get over his death, and it would upset 
 him for the evening." , 
 
 But Mr. Selwyn, coming up, mentioned the lad 
 himself. 
 
 " He would have been the life of our wedding 
 party," he said, regretfully. Then, with a sigh, 
 "God knows best." 
 
 The bells rang out in glad tones, over the 
 meads to the bed of Severn, where the salmon- 
 fishers, standing knee-deep in the tide, awaited the 
 coming of the "Boar;" over the hills, till their 
 vibrations lingered amongst the pines of Heaven's 
 Gate, and brought aunt Cathy to the open door, 
 all dressed in a festive robe for the occasion. The 
 phaeton was ready, and she bade Old John drive 
 her to the church. 
 
 " Not that I approve of such Popish weddings, 
 but what can a body do ? " she muttered, with a 
 sour look. 
 
 Marta, with her cousins, who were to do duty as 
 bridesmaids, was at the Park House. Mr. Selwyn 
 was to give her away, and made little difference in 
 his manner from that which he held to Minnie ; he 
 had always liked Marta. 
 
 Aunt Cathy was pleased, in a grim way, to find 
 that even her arrival caused an excitement amongst 
 the villagers. She alighted at the church-yard gate 
 and walked past a double row of school-children, 
 who stood, with baskets of roses and forget-me-nots,
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST. 345 
 
 ready to strew the path of the brides with flowers. 
 When she entered the church the clerk met her 
 and marshalled her right up to the seats in the 
 chancel. Here she sat and waited, and watched 
 the nave of the church as it grew more densely 
 packed every moment. 
 
 The hour arrived for the wedding. The bishop 
 of Gloucester, assisted by the Rev. Mr. Marcus, 
 stood ready in his lawn sleeves. Aunt Cathy eyed 
 him severely, but the good man was innocent of 
 her scathing opinion of him. 
 
 The organist of Gloucester Cathedral, who had 
 been sent for to grace the occasion, now began to 
 play Mendelssohn's Wedding March ; the school- 
 children were heard singing in clear, shrill voices 
 as they cast their flowers at the feet of the lovely 
 brides ; then Mr. Selwyn entered with Minnie and 
 Marta on either arm, Jennie and Olga, Lillian, 
 and several of Minnie's little sisters (the youngest, 
 being only three years old, was carried behind the 
 rest by the nurse), following as bridesmaids. 
 
 It was indeed a fine sight ; and so impressive was 
 the ceremony that aunt Cathy, in spite of herself, 
 felt tears trickling down her cheeks. 
 
 The sunlight gleamed through the coloured win- 
 dow, dashing the white dresses of the wedding 
 party with flames of purple and gold. An aureole 
 of gold encircled Marta's fair head, making her 
 more than ever the saint of his ideal to one on- 
 looker, who, acting as best man to Crawford, had
 
 346 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 to see the woman he had desired for his wife happy 
 in the husband of her choice. Never had Craw- 
 ford and Mr. Fordyce looked more full of manli- 
 ness than at this hour ; never had a wedding more 
 approbation from the village folk. 
 
 " Miss Marta she was always made for a clergy- 
 man's wife." "Miss Minnie, she and Maister 
 Crawford be just made for one another; we seen 
 that years ago." 
 
 Such remarks were whispered amongst the 
 crowd. 
 
 " I feel so strangely sure that William is here 
 amongst us," whispered Marta to her husband, as 
 they turned from the altar on their way to the 
 vestry. 
 
 " I have had the same feeling all day," he replied. 
 
 Margaret and Dr. Herly took aunt Cathy into 
 the vestry ; and Reginald, shrugging his shoulders 
 in disgust at the pain he felt in the region where 
 a heart should have beaten, followed. In pure 
 mischief, he introduced aunt Cathy to the bishop, 
 and the pair shook hands. 
 
 " I grant, sir, your marriage-service sounds a 
 good deal ; but the constant use of it must take 
 away from its effect," she began. 
 
 "But, bless me, madam, people don't expect to 
 be married often enough to grow used to it ! " he 
 ejaculated. 
 
 " I, sir, am a Baptist," began aunt Cathy. 
 
 " Stop her," cried Marta, in a tone of agony to
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FOREST.. 347 
 
 Margaret, who, with a skilful interpolation, de- 
 livered the bishop into other hands. 
 
 As the wedding-party left the church they passed 
 again amidst the school-children, and stepped on 
 flowers to the church-yard gate amidst showers of 
 roses and sweet, old-fashioned posies. The bless- 
 ings of the village poor followed them as they 
 drove away to the Park House, where the wedding 
 breakfast was awaiting the party. 
 
 Large marquees in the park, and the presence 
 of the brass-band, gave token of further feasting 
 during the day ; and, ere the couples had departed 
 on their wedding tour, all the village folk had as- 
 sembled in the park, and were ready to sit down 
 to a dinner of the roast beef of old England. 
 
 " It is so nice for you all to feel that you are 
 coming back to make your home in the West 
 County," said Margaret. 
 
 " Will you not do so also ? " asked Minnie. 
 
 " I fear we cannot. Dr. Herly must spend the 
 next two winters in a dryer climate. After that, 
 he hopes to be strong enough to live in England 
 again ; but we shall be here very often. Rhoda 
 and George are eager to have us at their home, 
 but we shall build a house for ourselves." 
 
 " O Margaret ! it is sweet to see you so happy," 
 cried Marta, clinging to her friend ere she bade 
 her good-by. 
 
 The sun has set. Aunt Cathy sits alone at
 
 348 HEAVEN'S GATE. 
 
 Heaven's Gate ; a light wind, springing from 
 Dean, sets the pines to singing in their monotone. 
 
 " Strange," said aunt Cathy, " I do nothing but 
 think of poor William with his fiddle." 
 
 She went to the door, and looked out yearn- 
 ingly. Only the setting sun with its glory, only 
 the wind from Dean, and the river shining in the 
 valley. 
 
 " I am an old fool ! " said aunt Cathy, and she 
 went in-doors. 
 
 THE END.
 
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