THE KEY OF THE UNKNOWN SECOND EDITION THE KEY OF THE UNKNOWN By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY Author of "No Friend Like a Sister," "The Household of Peter," "At the Moorings," "A Passage Perilous," etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Copyright 1909 By J. B. Lippincott Company Published September, 1909 THE KEY OF THE UNKNOWN i JOAN REFUSES TO DEFEND HERSELF Speak gently ! it is better far To rule by love than fear. Speak gently ! let no harsh word mar The good we would do here. G. W. Langford. Life is mostly froth and bubble ; Two things stand like stone — Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in your own. Lindsay Gordon. Lady Mary was silent. Outside, the lawns and tlower-borders lay in the spring sunshine ; the sweet confusion of tulips, daffodils, hyacinths, with a dark velvety background of wall- flowers, filled the air with fragrance and with a perfect riot of colour which defied rule and delighted the eyes. The outlook from the pleasant sitting-room at Morningside was fair enough ; but within there was something disturbing in the atmosphere — a sense of tension, of opposing forces, of conflicting wills. Lady Mary was deeply hurt: the lines of her fine aristocratic face had stiffened during the last few moments ; her full-toned voice, which had been soft and sweet as a ringdove's in the Brantwood copse, had ceased its per- suasive eloquence and the sudden silence made itself felt so oppressively that Cocker, the old brown and 7 8 The Key of the Unknown white spaniel, stirred uneasily on his luxurious mat and cast a sleepy glance in his mistress's direction. Clearly something was wrong with his human friends ; and an angry sob from Joan, which not all her efforts could repress, roused him in earnest, and the next moment he was in her lap trying to lick her face. But the girl pushed him away in her irritation. " Be quiet, Cocker. No," her voice softening as the old dog whined in sympathy, " you cannot help me, you dear old fellow." " No one can help you, Joan, as long as you refuse to open your eyes and acknowledge the truth." But Lady Mary's tone was somewhat chilling in its dignity ; it was evident that her patience had been sorely tried. She had been talking, arguing, persuading for nearly an hour, but Joan was impossible. She had refused almost passionately to regard herself as a culprit, or to own that she had done anything wrong. For the first time she turned on that dearly beloved friend with reproach and anger. " You are unjust to me, Lady Mary," she repeated for the second time. " Why should I submit tamely to such accusations when they are not true?" " Joan, Joan, would you tell me to my face that I am a liar?" and a delicate flush rose to Lady Mary's face. " You know such a thought never entered my head," returned the girl indignantly ; " but all the same you are utterly mistaken." " Am I mistaken in thinking that Craig has been making love to you ? " demanded Lady Mary with in- creasing sternness. " No, for it is the truth, and God forbid that T should deny it ! But am T to blnme because T have found favour in vour nephew's eyes?" And there was a naughty sparkle of triumph in Joan's own eyes as she spoke which contradicted her assumed calmness. But the next moment it was repressed. " There is no need to defend mvself with words," Joan Refuses to Defend Herself 9 she continued, " when my actions have sufficiently proved my innocence." " You mean that you have refused him?" " Yes, I mean that, though I never told you so, and I think I deserve praise instead of blame from Craig's people. I wonder what other girl in my position " — here Joan's breast heaved stormily — " would have be- haved half as well ! " A faint smile crossed Lady Mary's countenance : Joan was evidently well equipped for her defence. " Yes, but, Joan, dear child, if you could only assure me, for my own and Lady Merriton's comfort, that you are in no danger of returning Craig's affection." Then the young girl drew herself up with a haughty gesture. " How dare you or any one ask me such a question 1 When I would not even answer Craig, do you think any other person would have a chance ! Has a girl no right to be the keeper of her own heart and conscience, that you would seek to tear out her most sacred secrets f No, I will not answer you, Lady Mary; I refuse to be cross-examined and treated as a naughty child ! " Then, as she saw the pained expression on her friend's face, Joan's proud stubbornness relaxed a little. " I — I do not wish to grieve you — perhaps I had better go away. If I stayed longer I might say something which I should regret — you have been so hard on me, and I am not myself." And the girl looked so pale and drooping that Lady Mary's kind heart was touched. " I did not mean to be hard, Joan, but you have tried me sorely. Yes. you shall go, and we will finish our talk another time. There is more that I have to say " — with a heavy sigl. — " but we are not fit for it just now. You are young, my dear, and you are only thinking of your- self, but I am bound to consider my brother's interests." " If I am to be a trouble to you, you had better send me away." Then Lady Mary winced slightly. How strange that Joan should say that ! The arrow unawares^ finds its mark sometimes. 10 The Key of the Unknown " We will finish our talk later, she said gently. " I think I shall send a note to Lady Merriton and tell her that I have a headache, and ask her to excuse us this evening." She looked a little anxiously at Joan as she said this. " Yes, I think that would be best. I had certainly no intention of accompanying you to the Abbey." Joan's air was slightly defiant, but Lady Mary had no wish to renew the argument. " I am glad we are in one mind on that point. Willis shall take the note when he goes out. Do not let me keep you, Joan, the air will do you good." And, holding out her soft white hand, " We will not part in anger, my dear." But though the girl yielded to the kindly overture, the kiss of peace was given so re- luctantly that Lady Mary could not fail to notice it. Her eyes filled with tears as the door closed on Joan. She brushed them away with a hand that was not as firm as usual. She must write her note to her sister-in-law ; it need only be brief, Hildegarde would understand that the headache was only an excuse, and she would keep Merriton from making fussing inquiries. It was no falsehood, for her head had been throbbing during the last ten minutes ; she would be thankful for a little solitude to collect her thoughts. The note written and despatched. Lady Mary settled into her easy-chair and closed her eyes. A scene such as this had taxed her serenity rather heavily, there was a real ache at her heart. " This sort of thing ages one," she said to herself. But there were few signs of age about Lady Mary ; she carried her fifty-five years very gallantly. She was a handsome, well-preserved woman, and her quiet, regular life had kept her young. People were often surprised to find that she was over fifty. But she was accustomed to speak quite frankly about her age. " I am five years younger than Merriton," she would saw " Yes, we both wear well — we are neither of us afraid of air and exercise." Nevertheless, as Joan Refuses to Defend Herself 11 Lady Mary sat alone in the spring sunshine, she told herself that her interview with Joan had aged her. Joan was very dear to her ; she often spoke of her as her adopted daughter, and all these years she had treated her with the tenderness of a mother. Joan's father, the Rev. Herbert Leigh, had been a distant cousin of Lady Mary's husband ; but Sir Martin Boyle had taken very little notice of the Leigh family until after his cousin's death. He came back from the funeral looking rather grave and impressed. " I am afraid they will be left rather badly off," lie said to his wife, " so it was a mercy all those children did not live. They have actually lost five — most of them boys — and there is only one grown-up son and a little girl, Joan, left. Poor Mrs. Leigh told me all about it; she said she and her husband had never got over their loss." " Five children, I should think not ! " And Lady Mary, who was childless, thought sadly of the full nursery which death emptied. " Wait a moment," continued Sir Martin, " she said something about a baby girl — that makes six." Then, as he caught sight of Lady Mary's sad, wistful face, he hurried on. " Of course it was very rough on the Leighs ; but still, with delicate health and that narrow income, how could he have clothed and fed and educa- ted eight children?" " Of course I understand what you mean, Martin." " The boy Heath seems a very promising young fellow. He has won more than one scholarship and is doing splendidly at Oxford. His mother seems very proud of him. I was thinking, Mary, that one might hold out a helping hand to a manly young fellow like Heath Leigh who knows how to work. Vincent told me that he was a clever, pushing fellow, who would make his mark some dav." " And the child Joan? " " Oh, she is a mere babv. A taking little creature 12 The Key of the Unknown enough, not pretty, but very winning in her ways, — regularly spoilt, I should say. Why, there's eighteen or nineteen years between her and Heath." Sir Martin kept his word and did a kinsman's part by the widow and her two children. More than once Mrs. Leigh and Joan stayed at Roskill Priory, Sir Martin Boyle's place. Heath Leigh came often. Both Lady Mary and her husband thought highly of him. His career at Oxford had been brilliant. He was ordained and had a fellowship, and his friends prophesied great things of him. In his heart Heath Leigh was inclined to agree with them ; he had plenty of assurance and self-confidence, which had helped him over many a difficult place, but it must be owned that he was careful to conceal this. He was quiet and a little reserved in manner, and he and Lady Mary became great friends. But her aristocratic soul was secretly disappointed when the young fellow of Oriel threw up his fellowship to marry the only daughter of a wealthy haberdasher in Leeds, who brought her husband a rich dower. Heath would tell his wife laughingly sometimes, that he was born under a lucky star, things went so well with him. He had honestly fallen in love with Silence Wootton, and had sacrificed his fellowship without much regret ; but it was not long before a good living was offered to him. Kelmscott Rectory was only a few miles from Leeds, where Silence had lived all her life ; and if this were privately a matter of regret to Heath, he was sufficiently infatuated with his young wife to be able to sympathise with her joy in being within reach of her parents, and he certainly behaved very well on the whole, though he and his father-in-law, a pompous, purse-proud man, had nothing in common. Mrs. Wootton was less antagonistic to his taste ; she was a homely, gentle woman, rather quiet and reserved, like her daughter Silence. Ladv Mary's godson, Vere, was born at Kelmscott Rectory only a few weeks before Sir Martin Boyle Joan Refuses to Defend Herself 13 died. His nephew Rodney Boyle, a barrister in good practice, inherited the title and Roskill Priory. Lady Mary wasted no time over her flitting. Her brother, who was devoted to her, had offered her a charming house which was almost at the gate of Brantwood Abbey. " You will come back to us, Mary?" he said, look- ing at her with wistful affection ; her widow's dress and sadness seemed to invest her with a strange new dignity. " Hildegarde and I will watch over you, and Dorothy and the boys will cheer you up." " I know how good you and Hilda will be to me," returned the widow gently. " Thank you, George, I have always liked Morningside, and if you have no other tenant it will suit me perfectly, and I shall live and die among my own people " ; and Lady Mary's voice was so full of pathos that the Earl walked sud- denly to the window. He was a kind-hearted man, and hated to see people in trouble. It was such infernal luck, he muttered to himself, that poor Martin should be cut off in his prime — a strong man too ! Lady Mary mourned her husband long and sin- cerely, but she was by no means a broken-hearted widow. Her married life had been tranquil and even happy, far more so than she had dared to expect. Her husband had adored her, and she had given him plenty of wifely affection ; but only her brother and Lady Merriton. and she herself, knew that he was not the man she ought to have married. But, except to her, this was ancient history and had long been forgotten. But Lady Mary, as she yielded to Sir Martin's tempestuous woo- ing, strove vainly to make him understand that the best part of her affection had been buried in Maurice Annersley's grave. Many women have sad chapters in their young life — they have met. passed, and then lost their rightful mate — but not nil women are so tenacious in their affections and memories as Lady Mary. She had never 14 The Key of the Unknown forgotten the lover of her youth — she never would for- get — but the pride of caste, the Merriton sense of dignity, the habits of filial obedience had nerved her to sacrifice her own and Maurice's happiness. My parents and George will not hear of my marry- ing you," she said to him. " But I never, never can forget you, Maurice." And he had bowed his head to her decision and left her. The Merritons had their pride, but Maurice Anners- ley had his too ; if Lady Mary was ashamed of his poverty and humble parentage, he was far too proud to plead with her. " It was the desire of the moth for the star ! What business had I, a poor curate," he told himself bitterly, " with no hope of preferment, to fall in love with an Earl's daughter! And yet — yet we loved each other, and by all human and divine laws she is mine." Maurice Annersley was a good man, but he bore his trouble badly; his unhappiness and restlessness made him reckless of consequences, he overworked, took cold — there was pulmonary disease in the Annersley family — and before two years had elapsed since Lady Mary had shut the gates of Brantwodd Abbey behind him, Maurice lay in his grave. " Where the weary are at rest " was the epitaph he himself chose to put over it. Lady Mary had been very loyal to her husband and had kept nothing from him ; but with all his sympathy Sir Martin had been a little dense. " Poor fellow — poor fellow ! " he muttered. " But never mind, my darling, it is better so; they would never have let you marry him." " No, I suppose not ; George was very angry, I remember." But Lady Mary had shivered as she said this; for she had her moments of remorse — in the quiet dawns when day was breaking, or when the breadths of evening sky were flooded with the dying sunsets. What if she had been faithful to him and her love? They might have waited for each other for years. What Joan Refuses to Defend Herself 15 did it matter if the bloom and glory of their youth had faded, if the end crowned all ! The aftermath may not be as seductive and satisfying as the early gleaning, but it may have a manna-like sweetness to a hungry heart. If she had only kept faith with Maurice — ah! there lay the sting and the doubt — perhaps then Merriton might have believed in their sincerity, and rewarded their long patience, and consented to use his interest on Maurice's behalf! A rich living might have been found for him. But at this point Lady Mary would cover her face with her hands. Where had her thoughts carried her? Shame on her! was not the dead beautiful face hidden for ever from her sight, and was she not Martin's wife ! But as she sat there in the lonely room, the old haunting memories came thick and fast. Then a sort of inspiration came to her. Her talk with Joan was not yet finished. She had that to say which would give them both pain. What if she were to soften Joan's indignation and excite her sympathy by telling her about Maurice? Joan cared for Craig — she was certain of that, in spite of the girl's angry silence — it would be well for her to know that another woman had loved and suffered and sacrificed herself to a sense of duty. " Joan is perverse, and at times difficult, but she has a noble nature." And when she had arrived at this conclusion Lady Mary stepped through the low window and sought to regain her calmness amongst her birds and flowers. II LADY MARY'S REQUEST Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness, altogether past calculation its powers of endurance. Efforts, to be permanently useful, must be uniformly joyous — a spirit of all sunshine, grace- ful from all gladness, beautiful because bright. — T. Carlyle. A cheerful friend is like a sunny day, which sheds its bright- ness on all around ; and most of us can, if we choose, make of this world either a palace or a prison. — Sir. J. Lubbock. Joan had now lived seven years beneath Lady Mary's roof. She was sixteen when her mother died, and she was three-and-twenty now. Not that Joan looked her age ; she was one of those fortunate people whose youth- ful vivacity and superabundance of life make them appear younger than they really are. Lady Dorothy, who was two years her junior, looked mature beside her. " No one would take you for more than eighteen, Joan," Lady Mary would say sometimes, in a tone of fond rebuke, when the girl's high spirits and sense of humour had carried her too far; but in her heart she loved Joan's joyous temperament and gaite dc cceur. Lady Mary was a widow then, and had not long settled into her new home ; but, in spite of Dorothy and the boys, she had many lonely hours, when Cocker and her books were her only companions. There was no question where Joan's future home would be. Kelmscott Rectory was large, and there was abundance of loaves and fishes, and Heath Leigh was more than willing to do his duty by his young sister. "We had better do up the Porch Room for loan." he said to his wife the night aftei his mother's funeral. He had fully intended to bring Joan back with him ; but Lady Mary, in the kindness of her heart, begged that the child might come to her for a little visit. " A 16 Lady Mary's Request 17 change will do her good," she wrote ; and Joan had eageriy begged her brother's permission to accept the invitation. When Heath brought out the suggestion about the Porch Room, Silence laid down her work and regarded him with reproachful eyes. " I always intended that room for Wanda, when she is old enough to sleep alone." But the Rector, who was certainly master in his own house, pooh-poohed this. " You are previous, love ; Wanda is still in the nursery. Joan will probably occupy the room for years before our little girl will need it — who knows where we shall be by that time ? " But, though Silence sub mitted as usual to her husband's will, he was not sure in his heart that Joan's arrival as an inmate of the Rectory was entirely welcome to her. More than once he had had an uneasy conviction that she and Joan did not exactly hit it off. Silence was a little tenacious in her attachment to her belongings. She had a large heart, and as a wife and mother she was simply perfect ; but she narrowed her sympathies too much, and she was by no means devoid o-f jealousy. Young as she was, Joan had already shown a dis- position to monopolise her brother, and to make claims on his time in rather an audacious manner. She was injudicious and tactless too in the nursery, and set her sister-in-law's wise rules at defiance ; it was often necessary to read the riot act there. Silence would complain to her husband rather bitterly that the children were never so noisy and ill-behaved as when Joan was staying at the Rectory. " Wanda actually put out her tongue at nurse," she continued in a grieved tone ; but the Rector only threw back his head and laughed. "Wanda is only a baby," he observed: for he was a most indulgent and loving father. Nevertheless, he wondered how it would be when Joan came to live 2 18 The Key of the Unknown with them. Silence was a dear woman, but she had her limitations, and Joan could be perverse and difficult — if they failed to understand each other there would be ructions, and then his peace would be gone ! Happily for all their sakes, these fears were not to be realised. The Porch Room had been repapered, and Silence and nurse were busy sewing at the new cretonne curtains and bed furniture — in a few days all would be ready. And then came an urgent letter from Lady Mary, begging the Rector to come to her, as she had a very important proposition to lay before him. "If you could spare me a few hours, I should be deeply grateful, and we could talk things over at our leisure," she wrote. Then, as Heath read the letter, a glimmer of the truth crossed his mind — it was something con- nected with Joan — but he said nothing of this surmise to Silence. So, when Lady Mary unfolded her scheme, he lis- tened to her with grave attention. Lady Mary was lonely. The boys would be leaving home soon, and Dorothy, was occupied with her govern- ess and masters. " Besides, her mother has the first claim on her," she finished with a sigh. " Joan is very young, but from a child I have been fond of her," she continued presently, " and I think she is much attracted to me." " I am quite sure of that. Lady Mary." " She misses her mother sadly, Heath, and I think it comforts her a little to be with me. T — I am very fond of young people, and I think I understand them. Joan has rather a complex nature ; I am not sure — if you will pardon my frankness — that she and Mrs. Leigh get on well together." " T am afraid they don't quite hit it off," returned the "Rector ruefully. " No ! one can see that. Joan can be difficult at times, and I fear Mrs. Leigh might find her trying. The children are so young that Joan would have no Lady Mary's Request 19 companion. Now, may 1 tell you my plan ? " And as Heath bowed his head, Lady Alary, with an eagerness she could not hide, made known her scheme. Might she keep Joan, not for a visit, but permanently? She should be her adopted child. She would do everything in her power to make her happy. " Joan loves the country," she went on ; " she will be as happy as a bird roaming about the Brantwood woods. It would really be an advantage to her, for she could share Dorothy's governess, and the masters who come to the Abbey could give her lessons. She and Dorothy would study and practise together, and, as Lady Merriton says, it will be a mutual benefit. I do not think Joan's life will be dull, and she shall spend her holidays with you if you wish." Then, as Lady Mary looked wistfully at him, Heath was quite ready with his answer. It had not taken him long to weigh the pros and cons of Lady Mary's plan. Only there was one question he must ask first. " Do you think Joan is likely to agree to this, Lady Mary? Shall we have the child in and ask her?" " Yes, by all means ; but I think it would be better for you to speak to her alone." And Lady Mary would have risen from her seat, but Heath prevented her. " Then I will go to her; I know where to find her." But Heath was back in a surprisingly short time. He looked relieved, and yet there was a deprecating, half- vexed expression on his face. He loved his young sister dearly, and it was only natural that he should feel secretly hurt that Joan should prefer to stay at Morningside. " You are right, Lady Mary — Joan thinks she will be happier here than at Kelmscott. She has taken rather a dislike to the place, because she says it is ugly and smoky." It was so like Joan to state her opinions and her likes and dislikes without considering other people's feelings. And Heath remembered that Silence had never found fault with her environment. 20 The Key of the Unknown " She wants nothing but me and the children — bless her ! " he said to himself. " If Joan is willing," he continued, " I am quite ready to accept your generous offer, Lady Mary ; but it must be on one condition, that you incur no expense on Joan's behalf. I am not speaking of her mainten- ance " — as Lady Mary flushed up at this — " but with regard to her education and clothes I must certainly insist on defraying all expenses. Joan shall have a proper allowance — I will ask you to advise me on that point."' Then, as Lady Mary looked still dubious, " My dear lady, before long my wife and I will be rich people"; for Joshua Wootton's health was just then causing his wife and daughter the deepest anxiety. " Joan is my only sister ; I look upon her as a sacred charge." And then Lady Mary, in spite of her dis- appointment, did not venture to say more. She had gained her wish, and she was not to be deprived of her girlish companion, but she would have dearly loved to provide for all Joan's wants. " She would have seemed more like my own child," she said to herself. Joan rejoiced openly when Heath told her that it should be as she and Lady Mary wished ; nevertheless, her conscience felt an unaccustomed prick when she bade her brother good-bye the next day. "You are not vexed with me, Heath?" she said, fingering his button-hole restlessly. " Of course I like to be with you; but you and Silence have the children, and Lady Mary has no one. And then — then," in rather a choked voice, " I always feel that Silence does not want me." And the obvious truth of this remark made Heath answer her rather sharply. " You need not have said that, Joan ; you are old enough now to cure yourself of your awkward hnbit of treading on people's corns. A little more consideration for people's feelings, my dear child ! " Then, as Joan stared at him, blankly, alarmed bv this sternness, he kissed her with more than his usual affection. " There. Lady Mary's Request 21 there, I am not really vexed, my girlie ! But I should like to have you with me every Christmas." And Joan, who was a little subdued by her brother's unusual ten- derness, promised him again and again that nothing should prevent her from coming to the Rectory — unless she broke her leg or Lady Mary were ill. Lady Mary's plan worked excellently, and all these years nothing had disturbed the harmony between Morningside and Brantwood Abbey. Joan and Lady Dorothy were inseparable ; they studied, practised, and sketched together under the eye of the excellent finishing governess, whom Lady Mcrriton considered a treasure. As soon as they were old enough to reap the benefit of the change, they went under Miss Cresswell's wing to Paris, and the following year to Dresden, when Lady Merriton decided to pass the winter at Rome and Florence. Lady Mary offered to accompany them ; these long absences from Joan told her the girl had become indispensable to her happiness. Joan's fun and lively sense of humour, her snatches of song, her merry laugh, made the home of her widow- hood brighter. " I shall never be sufficiently grateful to you for letting me have the child," she said one day to Heath with tears in her eyes ; " she is like a sunbeam in the house." But though he heard this with much satisfaction, Heath could not help feeling that the gratitude was not all on Lady Mary's side. Joan's bi- annual visits to the Rectory, short as they were, proved to him that ?s an inmate she would be a disturbing element in his household. " When two women want to monopolise a man, and are inclined to stand on their rights, the situation is likely to be strained," he said to himself as he smoked his evening pipe in the solitude of his study. Silence did not love the odour of tobacco, and she rarely kept him company on these occasions. My Lady Nicotine was her most formidable rival. " Joan is a dear child, but she is terribly tactless sometimes ; there was de- 22 The Key of the Unknown cided friction between her and Silence last night — only I thought it better not to take any notice. I thought they parted rather coldly this morning." Meanwhile Joan, sitting on the rug at Lady Mary's feet in her favourite attitude, was giving her own version of her visit. " Oh, yes, I have enjoyed it ; but I am glad to be back at Morningside. I think Kelmscott gets uglier and smokier every year. And then Heath was so hor- ribly busy, one never was able to get him comfortably for a moment, even if one bearded the lion in his den. Silence was always fussing round, warming his slippers and bringing him cups of hot soup and tea. She cossets him just as though he were an infirm old man, and Heath is really as strong as a horse. But she looked so offended when I told her so." "I hope you did not tell her that she was fussy?" observed Lady Mary. " You are terribly outspoken, Joan." " I am afraid I did say something of the kind." returned the girl truthfully, " for she marched out of the study in such a stiff way, as though she had just swallowed a poker. Then Heath jumped up and went after her, but she would not come back. People always say that Silence is so sweet-tempered," continued Joan, " and that nothing really puts her out; but I don't think it was sweet-tempered to sulk and refuse to speak for the rest of the evening. Even Heath could not make her talk. She said her head ached and she must be quiet." Lady Mary sighed and shook her head. She knew exactly what had happened. Joan's lamentable want of tact, her girlish impertinence, and Silence's dignified resentment. Would any devoted wife like to be told that she was fussing round and coddling her husband, or to have it implied that her room was preferable to her company? Joan had forgotten her manners, that was evident, and Silence was right to show her dis- Lady Mary's Request 23 approval. But Lady Mary had not the heart to scold her favourite on the first evening of her return. Joan, who was complacently basking in the firelight, went on in her casual way. " I wonder why Silence and I never can get on for long together. She is such a good woman, and is so chockful of virtues, but somehow she always riles me and gets on my nerves. She is so extremely limited ; she never seems to read and widen her mind. She will sit and sew contentedly for a whole evening and hardly open her lips. And there are so few things that really interest her — only Heath and the children and her Mothers' Bible Class. And yet Heath, who is so clever, never seems to find any fault with her." " Why should he, my dear ? Silence is an excellent wife and mother; I do not know any woman who manages her household better." But Joan tossed her head a little contemptuously. " Oh, I am not denying that — did I not say just now that she was a good woman? But what passes my comprehension is this — how can Heath, who is really a very clever, intellectual man, find a woman like Silence congenial to him? " But, as an interruption that moment occurred, Joan's question remained unanswered. So the years had passed, and until the last few weeks nothing more than a passing cloud had marred Lady Mary's serenity. To be sure, Joan was sometimes a little heedless. She had a quick temper, though she generally kept it under control. Now and then she did foolish things, but she was always very contrite afterwards. But surely, with all her cleverness, Lady Mary must have been short-sighted and dense, if the idea never crossed her mind that one of her nephews might possibly fall in love with Joan — that idleness and propinquity might work mischief. There were four goodlv sons at Brantwood when Joan first came to live at Morningside. To be sure, they were seldom at \hbey. The eldest. Lord Josselvn, was with his regiment in Ireland, and was a gay young lieutenant 24 The Key of the Unknown of Hussars. Most of the Bastows had been either soldiers or sailors, and Lord Josselyn's younger brothers intended to follow his example. The second son, Clyde, wished for a commission in the Lancers. The youngest son, Craig, who was the cleverest and strongest of Lord Merriton's sons, later on begged that he might enter the Royal Engineers. Archibald had chosen the navy. But though the Earl loudly lamented that not one of his sons shared his tastes for a country gentleman's life, or had any desire to take part in the legislation of their country, he was easily overruled by his head- strong youngsters. They had the fighting instinct of the Bastows, he knew that well, and but for his lame leg — the result of a boyish accident — which never troubled him now, thank goodness, unless he were over-fatigued, Lord Merriton might have had it himself. " Well, well, I suppose the lads must have their way; they have only one life to live, and they may as well get some pleasure out of it. But I tell you what it is, Hildegarde " — and here the Earl's good-natured face wore a worried expression — " if Josselyn goes this pace, there will be — eh — what ?" as Lady Merriton drew herself up. But in consideration for her feelings he refrained from finish- ing his sentence. Ill IN THE ABBEY WOODS Be honest with yourself, whatever the temptation ; say noth- ing to others that you do not think, and play no tricks with your own mind. Of all the evil spirits abroad at this hour, in this world, insincerity is the most dangerous. — J. A. Froude. It was not long after that winter spent in Rome and Florence that trouble came to Brantwood Abbey. The third son, Archibald, who was in the navy, met with a severe accident, and was lying in the hospital at Malta. The telegram which informed Lord Merriton of his son's mishap had been so cautiously worded that neither he nor his wife were prepared for the sad intelligence which reached them the next clay, that Archibald had died without recovering consciousness. It was a great and unexpected blow to the parents, and Lady Merriton took it badly. She was a devoted mother, though rather too ambitious for her children's worldly advan- tage ; but Archie, with his handsome face and high spirits, was her special darling. Nevertheless, when two years later Clyde, the second son succumbed to enteric at Johannesburg, she was equally broken-hearted and refused to be comforted. " My trouble is greater than I can bear," she said to her husband. But the Earl, who was looking worn and aged, could find no word of consolation. Clyde, who had never given his parents any anxiety, was lying in his African grave ; and Josselyn, his heir, cared for nothing but his own pleasure ; and as he had developed a passion for racing, and from time to time stories of his dissipated habits and gambling debts reached his father's ears, there was some reason for the Earl's bitter complaint " that that young fool of a Josselyn would ruin them all." 25 26 The Key of the Unknown " He has got into a bad set," Lady Merriton would reply in a dejected voice; "Arthur was such a dear good boy before he left home. If he would only marry and settle down. Lady Marjorie Colvin would be just the wife for him. She is good-looking and sensible, and has a tolerable fortune of her own." But though Lord Merriton agreed with her, it was evident that he was not sanguine on the subject. Josselyn was not disposed for matrimony; he preferred his liberty. The girls he met in society were not to his taste. He would have nothing to say to Lady Marjorie, or even to her cousin Lady Cicely, who was still more eligible. '' You may trot them out as much as you like, my lady," he said one day, " but I give you my word that I am not going to make love to any of them. A young fellow likes to have his fling. In a few years' time I will think about it." By and by there were graver anxieties. Lord Josselyn's health was seriously impaired, and his own recklessness and imprudence were to blame for it. He would have to resign his commission, as he could no longer fulfil his duties. It would be necessary for him to winter in Egypt. One specialist, who detected signs of lung trouble, strongly advocated the Black Forest and open-air treatment; but Lord Josselyn lent a deaf ear to him. He would winter at Cairo; some of his friends were going, and they would have a good time. But when Merriton and her daughter offered to join him there, his response was so discouraging that they dared not press it. " He does not want us, mother," sighed Lady Dorothy. " Arthur is so changed ; he never seems to care for anv one but himself now. And he looks so dreadfully ill too, though he will not allow us to say so." And then again the Countess had declared that no mother had ever been more troubled. Lord Josselyn's health improved so much after his In the Abbey Woods 27 winter in Egypt that his doctors spoke more hopefully of their patient. If he would spend his winters in a warmer climate — Egypt, Algiers, or even the Riviera — and lead a quiet life, free from excitement, he might live for a good many years yet ; the threatening symptoms might even disappear altogether. " But " — here the physician looked at him almost sternly — " you must not play with your health, Lord Josselyn, and you must carry out my orders, or I will not answer for the consequences." But the young man only shrugged his shoulders. " What did Sir Joseph say to you, Josselyn? " asked Craig, who was waiting for his brother outside. " Oh, he told me to buck up and that sort of thing. And he gave me no end of advice : no late hours or excitement, no crowded rooms, fresh air and plenty of exercise. And he talked a lot of rot — they all do, you know. But a short life and a merry one, that is my creed. What's the good of leading a humdrum existence like that? I would rather you wrapped me up in my old stable jacket — you know what I mean, old fellow ! " But Craig's reply to this was straight and uncom- promising, and perhaps hardly befitting a younger brother. " I know you have always played the giddy goat, Josselyn ; but I strongly advise you, for your own sake, not to play the fool now. Sir Joseph is a clever man — he is tiptop of his profession. In your place I should follow his advice." But Josselyn only turned on his heel with an impatient exclamation. " I am going to my club to have luncheon. We shall probably play bridge afterwards, so I suppose you won't come," with a half-concealed sneer which brought the blood to Craig's face. But he returned quietly that he already had an engagement. Never were there two brothers more dissimilar. Craig and Archibald had been chums, Clyde too had always been in touch with them, but Josselyn was not on their plane. 28 The Key of the Unknown Craig had attained his wish and was now in the Royal Engineers. At the present moment he was stationed at Aldershot, but it was understood that his battery was intended for India. This prospect was delightful to him, and there was only one drawback to his satisfaction, and that was that he would have to leave Joan. Joan, his old playfellow, who was the joy and torment of his life ! Oh, short-sighted Lady Mary, what was the use of locking the stable door when the steed was stolen ! When Craig Bastow set his heart on anything he was likely to persevere in his efforts until he attained it. When Lady Mary in her kind way had advised Joan to try the restorative effect of the fresh morning air, the girl had listlessly picked up her garden-hat from the hall table, but she hesitated to whistle for her usual walking companion. Rascal's feelings would be hurt, for he never allowed his mistress to stir without him ; but his restlessness and exuberance of life would jar on her present mood. Rascal was young and undis- ciplined, and the Brantwood copses were his happy hunting-grounds. Here he could bark himself hoarse at rabbit-holes, down which some white little furry tail had just whisked, or utter his war-whoop of defiant joy at the sight of a hedgehog creeping out of a ditch. Joan had laughed until the tears had run down her cheeks at the little animal's mystification when the mov- ing object became a motionless prickly ball in the grass. It was so droll to see the small terrier balancing himself on three legs with one paw raised as though to in- vestigate the perplexing thing, and yet not venturing to touch it. When his prolonged barks had no effect. Rascal had found it necessary to relieve his feelings by breathless rushes round the prickly object in ever widen- ing circles, until sheer fatigue obliged him to desist. Strange to say, whenever thev encountered a hedge- hog in their walks, Rascal always went through this pretty pantomime, much to his own and Joan's delight. Rascal was a great pet with his mistress. He had In the Abbey Woods 29 been only a young puppy when Craig brought him to her. " He is the finest of Di's litter," he had said to her, " so I begged him from father ; and you shall have him as soon as he is properly trained." Rascal was a very small fox terrier ; his parents, Joe and Diana, were pedigree dogs, and the Earl was very proud of them. Rascal was certainly a handsome little animal. His coat was like white satin, it was so smooth and glossy ; and his nose was like polished ebony. He was as playful as a kitten; but he had plenty of pluck and cleverness, and it was Craig's favourite amusement to teach him new tricks. If Joan thought she could circumvent Rascal she had reckoned without her host ; for before she had reached the garden gate Rascal was flying over the lawn, and the next moment was leaping up against her with short exultant barks. " Oh, no. I don't want you," she observed in a worried tone. Then Rascal's tail drooped and his small white body quivered with disappointment. He looked so abject and pitiful that Joan relented. " Well, you may come, then," she sighed. And then, as she opened the gate, he tore down the road like a mad thing. Joan followed him slowly. She was sore and un- happv and utterly out of harmony with the loveliness of her environment and the spring morning. And yet few prospects were fairer than that which met Joan's eyes as she left the gate of Morningside. To the left was the entrance to Brantwood Abbey. Some level meadows led to the ruins of the old monastery ; and near a wide piece of water, partially covered with water- lilies, was the Abbey itself. To the right was a picturesque cottage and the mill and a small bridge, bevond which lay the sunny water meadow, where the Earl's beautiful Alderney cows were feeding, and in the distance a background of dark firs. On any other occasion Joan would have taken her 30 The Key of the Unknown usual short cut to the Brantwood woods, but she had her own reasons for going farther afield. For once she would follow the windings of the shady road and enter the wood by a small gate almost hidden in the hedge. Here the wood was thicker and the solitude less likely to be invaded; and there was a certain little sunny glade she had once discovered, where there was a fallen tree and a bed of forget-me-nots near it. How Joan loved those woods ! But she loved still more the blue-blackness of the fir woods that clothed Sudlow Hill. Here she would wander for hours, either alone or with a chosen companion. Joan was not long in reaching her chosen retreat. The gate was a little difficult to unfasten, and the brambles caught her as she passed through — a jagged rent in her skirt was the result ; but then trifles did not vex her, and she made her way through the dark narrow woodland paths until she found the opening. Yes, there it was in its sunny loveliness, the old moss- grown trunk and the forget-me-nots carpeting the ground beside it. Here Rascal would roll with the joy of a Sybarite, till his mistress called him to order rather sternly. How warm and pleasant the sunshine was ! Joan took off her shady hat that the sweet, balmy breeze might blow round her. Oh. why was the world so lovely and she, Joan, so utterly, intolerably miserable! What had she done that all this trouble should come to her ! " Am I to blame because I have found favour in your nephew's eyes?" she had said to Lady Mary in an injured tone. Perhaps in her secret thoughts Lady Mary wondered a little at Craig's infatuation. Some little bird of the air had carried the first hint of suspicion to Lady Merriton's ear, and she had sent for her sister-in-law to come to her. " Mary," she had said in a tragical voice, " T am so unhappy and worried. Mrs. Flavel has been talking to me. She says every one is noticing that Craig and In the Abbey Woods 31 Joan are always together, that she is sure that it is not a mere flirtation and that he really admires her. And you and I know that such a thing is out of the question — especially now." But though Lady Merriton shrank from putting her meaning more clearly into words, her hearer well understood that, owing to Josselyn's increas- ing ill-health, Craig's position was likely to be changed, and that his marriage would be a matter of importance. It was in this way the bomb was sprung upon Lady Mary. Nevertheless, as she walked slowly back from the Abbey, in sore perplexity of spirit, her first feeling was one of wonder. Joan was not a pretty girl; indeed, if it had not been for her beautiful hair and her fine clear complexion, she might almost have been called plain. But her hair was glorious, though no one could exactly define its colour. It was certainly not golden, and it was too red to be auburn. It was probably a mingling of all three, only the red predominated ; and it was very thick and long. One evening Joan, who was in a frolicsome mood, had taken out her hairpins, and the great ruddy mass came tumbling over her white shoulders. " I never saw such a sight," Lady Mary had said afterwards to her sister- in-law. " Really, the child looked quite beautiful for once in her life." But the Countess had only smiled a little incredulously. She did not admire Joan's style though she allowed that her figure was good and that she held herself well. Joan's eyes were bright and expressive, though they were somewhat small. They were hazel, but in some lights they looked almost green. Archie, who loved to tease her, used to call her Becky Sharp. " Becky had green eyes," he would say. But Joan always treated these remarks with contemptuous silence. She was not vain, though now and then the wish crossed her that she could be as pretty as some of the girls who came to the Abbey. Like Lady Marjorie Colvin or Lady Cicely O'Brien, for example. Lady Cicely 32 The Key of the Unknown especially was the object of her admiration. She was clark-haired and grey-eyed, and Joan always maintained that she was far handsomer than her cousin. As Joan recalled her conversation with Lady Mary that morning, an uneasy conviction began to assail her. Was she really so free from blame after all? " I think few girls would have behaved so well under the circumstances," she had said proudly, when Lady Mary's reproachful words had goaded her to defend herself; but would her conscience acquit her so entirely? She had chosen to ignore the truth, but had she really been blind to the change in Craig's manner? She had always been on excellent terms with Clyde, Archibald, and Craig Bastow, but she had an instinctive dislike for Lord Josselyn's society. Not that he ever took much notice of Joan. She was just Aunt Mary's protege, who did not interest him in the least. " That red-headed girl," he called her once, to Craig's profound disgust. Craig had always been Joan's special chum, who fetched and carried for her and did all her girlish be- hests without grumbling. In his idle moments he would accompany her and Lady Dorothy on their sketching expeditions, and load himself with the necessary ap- paratus. He was always ready for tennis or croquet. They played croquet at Morningside, but the tennis courts were in the Abbey grounds. And then suddenly Craig's manner changed. He was still her good comrade and friend, but he treated her with greater deference. More than once, when they were alone together, a look or tone had made Joan vaguely uneasy. Why was he so much nicer than he used to be — so watchful and observant of her slightest word ? But nt this point of her retrospect and self- examination Joan was disturbed by Rascal's hysterical barking. A brown, wrinkled leg was visible under the mossy log, and Joan started from her seat as a large toad crawled out from his hiding-place. IV "HE MUST MARRY MONEY" Unnoticed, saving each to each, The look, the touch, The voiceless language, silent speech That mean so much. E. H. Keen Ah ! sure within him and without, Could his dark wisdom find it out, There must be answer to his doubt. Tennyson. Joan had no special antipathy to toads as long as they remained at a respectful distance. She always declared their jewelled eyes went far to redeem their grotesque ugliness. But it was necessary to remove Rascal before he barked himself into a fit. So she wandered off into a still more secluded nook, where a smooth tree-trunk offered a seat. Then Rascal was chidden and made to lie down beside her, which he did most unwillingly. This little episode had broken the thread of her retro- spect, but she took it up a little later. It was easy for Craig to come over from Aldershot, and he spent most of his spare time at Brant wood. If Joan failed to turn up at the Abbey, he had always some excuse — a message from his mother or Dorothy — to take him to Morningside. Though Joan chose to ignore the fact, her heart had begun to beat a little faster when she heard the garden gate swing quickly back on its hinges and the tall soldierly figure came striding over the lawn. Craig Bastow was not so handsome as his brothers Clyde and Archibald, but he was a fine-looking fellow. His features were good, and he had a frank, pleasant expression. He had dark blue eyes, which, when he S S3 34 The Key of the Unknown chose, could be sufficiently eloquent; and Joan always loved to hear him laugh, there was something so in- fectious and boyish in the sound. But during the last few weeks he had been more grave. And then — was it only ten days ago? — he had accom- panied her to the woods to gather primroses. Dorothy had arranged to join them a little later, but something had detained her. More than once Joan had suggested that he should go back to the house to fetch her, but he had refused this. Primroses were plentiful and the baskets would soon be full ; he knew a place a little higher up where they grew in profusion. And Craig was right. Joan's eyes fairly ached as she knelt on the ground and gathered her golden harvest. Her basket was overflowing now, and she rose to her feet a little weary and giddy from her pleasant work. For some minutes her inner consciousness had told her that Craig's labours had ceased also. Why was he so quiet? She did not dare to turn her head to look at him, but as she rose he was close beside her. He took the basket from her hand and set it down in rather a peremptory fashion. " There is no need to make yourself hot and tired, Joan ; Dorothy will not need any more. Why not rest on the stile a moment?" But Joan objected to this. Dorothy must surely be on her way now ; they must go and meet her. But a light firm touch on her arm detained her. " Why are you in such a hurry, Joan — I hardly ever get you alone for a moment? I want to speak to you. I must and will speak to you. You are always putting me off with some excuse." Then, as she heard Craig's masterful tone, Joan's nerve failed her. " Don't, Craig." she said imploringly, but looking away from him as she spoke. " We are so late. Oh, if Dorothy would but come! We must have taken a wrong turning and missed her." " What does it matter about Dorothy? Are you afraid " He Must Marry Money " 35 to be alone with me?" and Craig's voice was reproach- ful. " Joan, you surely do not need words to tell you how dearly 1 have grown to love you. I have always been fond of you, dear, but my affection has grown into something stronger and different. If I am ever to marry, you must be my wife." But the girl snatched away her hand, and her face was white with a great fear. " Oh, for pity's sake do not spoil everything ! " she said in a distressed voice. " We have been such dear friends, you and I. Oh, Craig " — as he looked at her in grave perplexity — " don't you understand you must never, never say such a thing to me again 1 What is the use of letting yourself care for me like that, when you know it is impossible ! " " I know nothing of the kind," he returned almost angrily ; " every man has a right to ask the girl he loves to be his wife. Should you be afraid of waiting for me if I have to leave you and go to India?" But again she stopped him. " Hush, you must not talk to me like this ; it is wrong and I will not listen ! Take back your words, Craig, and I will try to forget them, and we will go back to our old ways. I can never be your wife, and I will not let you think so for a moment ! " " But why not, Joan ? " and his eyes were full of blue fire. " Do you mean to tell me that you do not care for me sufficiently? Except from your own lips, I will never believe such a thing." " I do care for you as a dear friend," she returned unsteadily ; " you have always been so good and kind to me. But I do not wish you to say again what you did just now. I really mean it, Craig " — for Joan was growing desperate in her desire to escape. Craig's face wore an expression of bewildered pnin. He could hardly believe his ears. Joan, his sweetheart Joan, did not wish him to speak of his love — she re- pudiated his whole-hearted attachment — she only cared 36 The Key of the Unknown for him as an old friend. Good heavens, was he mad or dreaming! " I really mean it, Craig." This time Joan's tone was so hard and steady that Craig caught up the basket of primroses. " We may as well meet Dorothy," he said hoarsely, and Joan followed him meekly without a word. How could he guess in his anger that she was trembling from head to foot — that she could scarcely keep her tears back ? She was wilfully allowing him to misunder- stand her, but she dare not set him right. Not love him ! when she would have willingly thrown herself into his arms and told him that she would wait for him all her life. She had hurt him cruelly, she knew that. They had only met once since that morning, and his manner had been so grave and stiff that Dorothy had asked her if they had quarrelled. " Do I ever quarrel with any of you ? " poor Joan had answered. " But I think Craig is a little put out with me because I told him the truth. People will disagree in their opinions, Dorcas dear." Dorcas was her pet name for Lady Dorothy. " But Craig is so sweet-tempered and never takes offence. You must have treated him badly in some way, Joan." For Dorothy was very loyal to her brothers. But Joan only shrugged her shoulders ; she must brave it out as long as possible. " I did not say a word to him that was not true," she said to herself dejectedly as she recalled that scene. " How could I wish him to go on caring for me when it would only make him unhappy ! His people would never allow him to marry me. Even Lady Mary told me the other day that they all want him to fall in love with Lady Cicely. ' His parents have set their hearts on it,' those were her very words. And even Dorothy owns she would like her for a sister. ' She is as nice as she is pretty — you have often said so yourself, Joan.' " And she had assented to this with a heavy heart. " I like " He Must Many ]Money " 37 her much better than her cousin Marjorie," she had ad !ed ; " there is more go in her. Lady Marjorie is nice too, though she is a little heavy in hand." But tnough sheer honesty had obliged her to say this, the thought of Lady Cicely was a sore pain to her. She had not lied to Craig in words — Joan had never told a falsehood in her life, with all her faults she was perfectly truthful — but all the same he had gone away believing what was utterly false. " How could I have had the heart to remain silent?" she asked herself in remorseful anguish. " And yet if I had set him right lie would have found things out for himself — Craig is so quick. But he was angry and puzzled, and I played my part well. Oh, Craig, and you never guessed how hard it was ! ' And here poor Joan broke down utterly and sobbed for a little while in a heart-broken way. Her trouble was very great. She had grown to love Craig so dearly, and under other circumstances the avowal of his love would have been sweet to her ears. Oh, if she could only have put her hand in his and told him frankly that his affection was returned ! But trouble would only have come of it. They would all have treated her as though she were a culprit and had committed some unpardonable offence. Even Dorothy, with all her sweetness, had the pride of her race. They would urge Lady Mary to send her away, and the gates of her paradise would be closed upon her. Joan had been guarding her secret very carefully the last ten days; it had therefore been a shock to her that morn- ing when Lady Mary had questioned her so closely about Craig. " People notice that you two are always together, and my sister-in-law seems uneasy about it; she is afraid of some silly flirtation. Young men are not always prudent. You will tell me the truth, I know. Joan." Tt was in this way Lady Mary had ex- ploded her little mine. But in her indignation Joan's temper had given way and she had refused all ex- 38 The Key of the Unknown planations. Never before had she so hurt and grieved her kind friend, and the thought of this added bitterness to her trouble. Joan was beginning to repent her girlish stubborn- ness and pride. It was no fault of Lady Mary's that fate was so cruel to her and Craig — there was no need that she should be unhappy too. " I will try to be more patient when she talks to me this evening," she thought, as she slowly retraced her steps. " I tried and worried her this morning. But then she took me by sur- prise. How could I guess people were spying on us and carrying tales to Lady Merriton? I suppose some one overheard us in the copse — Craig spoke so loudly once or twice ; " and here a hot flush came to Joan's face. Meanwhile Lady Mary had had a visitor. She had just returned to the house when the Earl was announced. He had been riding to a distant farm, and had sent his horse on. " I thought I would look in for a moment, Mary," he said, throwing himself into an easy-chair as though he were fatigued. " I know you are coming up to dinner this evening, but all the same I wanted a word with you." Then a faint blush came into Lady Mary's face; in spite of her age, her colour still varied like a girl's when she was agitated or embarrassed. " I have just sent Hildegarde a note to excuse our coming this evening. All this worry has given ine a headache, George. Tn this way Lady Mary boldly took the bull by the horns. Lord Merriton laid aside his riding gauntlets. "I am sorry to hear that," he said slowly ; for he was punctilious by nature, and rather inclined to live in a groove. Lady Mary had always dined at the Abbey on Thursdays, and he saw no reason why such an excellent rule should be broken. " Of course you know best, my dear." he said a little stiffly. " Perhaps by the evening your headache will have left you." But Lady Mary hastily interposed. " He Must Marry Money " 39 Her headache had nearly gone now, but she did not wish him to know this. " 1 have sent the note now, so Hildegarde will not expect us. I think I would rather come some other evening." And then the Earl said no more on that subject. Lord Merriton was a placid, well-preserved man, a little heavy in build, but in his younger days he had been exceedingly handsome. He had the Saxon fair- ness which his three elder sons had inherited. Craig was darker in colouring, but he had his father's blue eyes. In his earlier life he had taken some interest in politics, but he had never been a speaker, and during the last few years he had settled down to a country life, occupying himself with his farms and famous breed of shorthorns, and filling up his spare time with sport and golf. The slight lameness which at one time had hampered him had been considerably relieved by skilful treatment, and he was now able to take a tolerable amount of walking exercise, though he still preferred to be on horseback. He had no special intellectual tastes, and read little besides his paper and a few leading novels and books of travel. If the truth must be told, he was a little limited in his capabilities; but for all that he was an honest, true-hearted man, and Lady Mary dearly loved and honoured him. " I am sorry about this worry, George," she con- tinued. Lady Mary invariably called her brother by his Christian name, whereas his wife always addressed him as Merriton. Lady Mary was perfectly aware that he had come to Morningside to talk things over with her, but that he would find it difficult to begin the sub- ject — he would be afraid of giving her pain. " Hildegarde seems a good deal put out," he returned ; " but I tell her that she is making too much of it. I expect it is just a passing fancy on the boy's part. Young men, even the best of them, will have their little flirta- iO The Key of the Unknown tions. Why, I had been half-a-dozen times in love be- fore I was Craig's age. I was only telling my lady so just now. ' You should only believe half you hear ' — those were my very words — ' women are far too ready to talk and make mischief." " " But, George, Mrs. Flavel is a sensible woman and never gossips or tells tales. She only said that she thought it right for us to know that at Herondale there was far too much talk about the young people. Some- bod) saw them in the wood together and declared that Craig was making love to Joan, and that frightened Hildegarde." Lord Merriton shifted uneasily in his seat. He had buoyed himself up with the hope that Lady Mary would take a different view of the matter, but her man- ner was hardly reassuring. " Why don't you question the girl? " he said irritably ; " Joan will tell you the truth." Then Lady Alary sadly assured him that she had done her best to win the girl's confidence, but that Joan had mounted the high horse and had been extremely uncommunicative and unreasonable. " She certainly admits that lately there has been some attempt at love-making on Craig's part, and that she has done her best to put a stop to it. Indeed, I believe that Craig has gone so far as to make her an offer. I certainly understood that she had refused him." Then a frown came to the Earl's brow ; this was worse than he had expected. " I must talk to Craig," he said severely, and the sternness of his aspect filled Lady Mary with dismay. " 1 must put a stop to this. In poor Josselyn's condition we can never expect him to marry and settle down, and it would be sheer madness for Craig to entangle himself with an attachment to a penniless girl who has very little to boast of in the way of family. You must for- give me, Mary, my dear, but though Joan is your adopted child, she is not the wife for my son to choose." " He Must Marry Money " 41 Lady Mary laid her hand on her brother's arm ; it was a beautiful hand, though a little thinner than it used to be. " George," she said gently, " do you think I do not know that — that I am not aware of your difficulties, and how poor Josselyn's debts are impoverishing the estate. You have had so much trouble, my dear, and if Craig were to fail you " Then Lord Merriton rose to his feet in sudden impatience. " But he must not fail us, Mary. I will talk to him. Craig is a good lad and has a sensible head on his shoulders; he is not a selfish fool like Josselyn. He has to think of others. He must marry money. If anything happens to Josselyn, Craig must leave the army — his mother and I will want him." Here Lord Merri- ton's face worked with emotion. Then again the soft hand pressed his coat-sleeve. " George, you know me by this time. You and Hildegarde can rely on me. Speak to Craig if you will, but my mind is made up — until the boy goes to India I shall have to send Joan away." But though Lady Mary's face was sad, her voice was firm anu determined. Where her brother's interests were at stake no sacrifice was too great to be made for his sake. V "I AM PROUD OF YOU, JOAN" So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While jnst the art of being kind Is all the sad world needs. E. W. Wilcox. In the relations of the old with the young, the tenderness and sympathy may well be on the elder side, for age has known youth, but youth has not known age. — F. A. Kemble. The drawing-room at Morningside was the most com- fortable room in the house. It was not large, but it was so well-proportioned, and the two deep bay windows with their cushioned seats, half concealed by tall palms and flower-baskets, made such charming nooks and re- cesses for tetc-a-tctes. Lady Marjorie and her cousin Lady Cicely always looked a little conscious when Lady Mary would call them smilingly " the flirtation corners," but it may be doubted whether they were ever occupied for this purpose. Joan and Dorothy would sit there with their work or books, but during Craig's visits Joan had invariably turned a deaf ear to his hints. " Lady Mary cannot either see or hear us there," she would say in her decided way, as she seated herself in the low chair which she generally used. In the spring evenings, or even in summer when it was damp and cheerless, there was always a bright fire, to the infinite content of Cocker, who loved to stretch himself on the white rug. " I think I must be growing old like Cocker," Lady Mary would say sometimes when she came down from her dressing-room and saw the cheerful blaze ; but Joan would petition for a little fresh air. Lady Mary had laid aside her widow's weeds — she knew Sir Martin would have wished her to do so — but 42 " I am Proud of You, Joan " 43 she always wore black. She knew exactly what suited her, and loved rich heavy materials like velvet and satin, and she had a weakness for old lace ; and as she had an excellent maid who took a great deal of pride in her mistress's appearance, Lady Merriton was not far wrong when she said once that her sister-in-law was one of the best dressed and most distinguished looking women she knew. And yet Lady Merriton was rather cxigcante on this subject, and was always lecturing her daughter for not taking more pains with her appearance. Lady Dorothy was the greatest comfort to her parents, and she was a most affectionate sister, but she was not a social success. Though by no means a beauty, she was rather a sweet-looking girl ; but she was re- served and had no belief in her own attractions, and her want of confidence made her at times shy and abrupt. " I never can say nice things when I want to do so," she would complain to her usual confidante, Joan. " People think I am stupid or dense, because I do not laugh and say smart things as other girls do." And it must be owned that Lady Dorothy's partners found her a little stiff and serious, though she danced well and made no demands on their good-nature. Joan was always very nice and sympathetic on these occasions, for the two girls understood each other thoroughly. " You do not make enough of yourself, Dorcas, dear," she said once. " You don't set out your best wares where any passer-by can see them. Isn't there a saying that a woman is only as old as she looks? Well, I mean to coin a fresh proverb for your benefit — ' A girl is only as pretty as she looks.' No, I have not got that right. I mean, a girl can make herself pretty, if she only goes the right way about it." "Oh. Joan, how can you talk such nonsense!" " It is not nonsense really, only I can't quite express my meaning. Now. if I had been in your place last night at that delightful ball, T would not have bothered 44 The Key of the Unknown my head about my want of beauty. I would have thought of my lovely new dress — it really was a dream, Dorcas. — and how well I danced, and what a blessing it was that my skin was so white that I could wear turquoises. But no, I daresay not one of these comforting thoughts occurred to you." Dorothy smiled a little ruefully. " I am afraid not,. Joan. I never could take much comfort in clothes. I was only thinking how pretty Cicely looked, and how people seemed to like her. Why, her card was nearly full before she had been ten minutes in the room, and I had only three names down on mine." Joan looked at her affectionately ; she was very fond of Lady Dorothy, and hated to see her depressed. " You must not be so shy and serious with your partners, dear. Young men expect to be amused. You ought to have talked to Mr. Cathcart about his new motor ; Craig says that he thinks of nothing else. And Captain Mount- joy is such a splendid cricketer; he had quite an ova- tion at Lord's. I hope you congratulated him ? " But Dorothy shook her head. " I forgot all about it," she said simply. Lady Merriton would sometimes grumble to her sister-in-law over Dorothy's social failures. " It is rather hard when one's only daughter is so disappointing," she said one day. " She is a dear good girl, and I really do not know what we should do without her at home, but when I take her out to any social function it quite depresses me to watch her. She looks about as lively as though she were going to a funeral or into a den of lions." Lady Mary laughed, but she felt called upon to defend her niece. " It is only her shyness, Hildegarde. People think her reserved and unapproachable, but she only wants drawing out. She can be as merry as pos- sible when she is at her ease. Why, I've seen her look quite pretty and animated when the right sort of person is talking to her." But Lady Merriton only sighed. " I am Proud of You, Joan " 45 " I sometimes think she will never settle. Why, at her age 1 was a mother. Don't you recollect how proud I was of my first baby, Alary ? Josselyn was such a clear, with his soft fluffy curls. I don't think any of the others were so pretty. And yet look how he has turned out. Merriton was only saying last night that he perfectly dreaded opening a letter from him — that he was bringing us all to ruin." " Oh, no, my dear," interposed Lady Mary ; " I think George takes far too gloomy a view of the subject. Josselyn has promised to turn over a new leaf." " Still, things are bad enough," replied Lady Mer- riton. " And that is why her father and I are so anxious for Dorothy to marry well. But after that affair last season " and here she looked meaningly at her sister-in-law. Lady Mary was silent. Dorothy had certainly missed her chance then. Lord Angus Rother, a young- widower, had been attracted by the girl's sweetness and gentleness ; and as he had a good fortune of his own, and was the younger brother of a duke, he was one of the best partis of the season. Lady Merriton's bosom had swelled with gratified pride and exultation. But she had reckoned without her host. On the very eve of her hoped-for engagement, when Lord Angus came for his final answer, Dorothy's heart had failed her. " I like you so much," she said to him piteously, " but I do not care for you sufficiently to marry you. It is better to tell you this now, than for us both to be unhappy." And though he argued the matter with her in a very loverlike fashion, Dorothy adhered to her resolution. " I found out in time that I did not love him," she said firmly. "Why are you so angry with me, mother? If I married Lord Angus I should only be miserable. We have nothing really in common, and he would never have cared for me as he did for Lady Constance." But Lady Merriton had heard her with ill-concealed 46 The Key of the Unknown impatience, and it had been a sore subject ever since. Even Lady Mary, with all her desire to pour oil on the troubled waters, thought that Dorothy had been too hasty in her decision. " I expect she cared for Lord Angus quite as much as I did for Martin," she said to herself; "and yet we were happy enough together during our married life." And though she was very fond of Dorothy, she owned that she could not quite understand her. " It is a pity Dorothy is not a little more adaptable," she would say to her brother. " In my day girls were not so full of fads, and they still had a touching faith in the opinion of their elders." But Lord Merriton only shrugged his broad shoulders. When Lady Mary and her young companion entered the drawing-room after dinner that evening they settled themselves as usual in their favourite seats. A low table with a reading-lamp was between them, but neither of them took up their work or books. Lady Mary leant back against her cushions and looked thoughtfully at the fire. She was wondering whether she should tell her story first before they reopened the vexed question ; but Joan was too quick for her. " Dunlop told me just now that Lord Merriton had been here this morning. " Dunlop was Lady Mary's maid. " Yes," returned Lady Mary, hesitating a little at this unexpected observation, " but he did not stay long. He had lieen riding over to the Red Farm and was passing the gate. He seemed disappointed about our not din- ing there this evening." But Joan brushed this aside. She liked to take her fences boldly, and not go round in search of gates. "I suppose he came to talk to you about Craig?" she asked bluntly. " Mrs. Flavel's interference and tale- telling has raised up a perfect hornet's nest about our cars. That is the worst of living in a village — people have so much leisure to discuss their neighbours' affairs." " I am Proud of You, Joan " 47 There was a flavour of bitterness in Joan's words. She had always respected and liked Mrs. Flavel, but now she felt it would be hard work to forgive. " My brother was, of course, rather upset about all this worry. We cannot wonder at that, Joan. He says he will talk to Craig — that under the present cir- cumstances, and in Josselyn's condition, Craig's sense of duty ought to have prevented him from acting in this irresponsible manner." Joan rested her chin on her clasped hands and looked fixedly at the speaker. Lady Mary's manner was dignified, but she was certainly agitated and a little nervous. " Of course you told Lord Merriton that Craig had proposed to me and that I had refused him ? " " I told him the truth, Joan ; I thought he had a right to know, and I wished him to think as well of you as possible. He certainly seemed inclined to lay the entire blame on Craig." Then an accusing flush came to the girl's face. " I don't think that was quite fair to Craig. I ought to have understood and seen sooner. I — I — don't want Lord Merriton to be hard on him." There was such remorseful pain in Joan's voice that Lady Mary's soft heart yearned to comfort her. " Let us put it all aside for the present, dearest ; I want to tell you about an old love story of my own. You thought me a little hard and unsympathetic this morning — perhaps that was why you refused to open your heart to me. But, my dear, you need not have misjudged me. When I was young I had my own trouble. I was not in love with my husband when I married him. There was only one man I wished to marry, and he was dead. But my dear Sir Martin was so good to me, and thank Cod I can say truly that our life together was peaceful and happy." Then Lady Mary felt a warm girlish hand steal into hers. " Please tell me more — T should love to hear it." And then very simply and quietly Lady Mary turned to 48 The Key of the Unknown that page in her life's history which had been so marred and tear-stained, and told her story. But before she had finished Joan was on the stool at her feet and her face was hidden on Lady Mary's lap. " Oh, how could you — how could you give him up ! In your place I would have waited any number of years. He was so good and he loved you so ! " " I thought it was my duty to give him up," returned Lady Alary sadly ; " they all said so. But if you knew how I suffered ! When they told me he was dying I thought I should have gone out of my mind." " But you went to him — surely you went to him, Lady Mary?" " I would have gone if it had been possible ; but we were abroad, and I should have arrived too late. He sent me his love and blessing, and begged me to believe that all was for the best. But somehow life never seemed quite the same after Maurice's death." " No, you are right there," whispered Joan ; and then she looked up into her friend's face. " Dear Lady Mary, I know why you have given yourself the pain of telling me this story — you want me to follow your example and give Craig up. In your case I think the sacrifice was unnecessary — please you must let me say that — but it will be perfectly right for me. Do you think that 1 do not know that all Craig's people intend him to marry Lady Cicely? If I had not been in the way he would have proposed to her long ago, for I know he likes her; and she is so nice, and yet she is not a bit spoilt — she is one of the nicest girls I know." Then, as Joan ended a little breathlessly. Lady Mary took the girl's flushed face between her hands. " Joan, tell me the truth — whisper it in my ear if vou will — did you refuse Craig because you do not love him?" " No, Lady Mary," and Joan's voice was firm and clear; "I love Craig with my whole heart; I would be his wife joyfully and willingly to-morrow. But I never "I am Proud of You, Joan" 49 mean him to know this. I refused him because I love him far too well to spoil his life and bring trouble and disappointment to his people. There, 1 have told you my secret, because you have been so dear and good to me ; and I know it will be safe with you." Then Lady Mary smiled, but her eyes were full of tears. " I am proud of you, Joan ; you have been a brave girl/' " Have I ? I thought I played my part pretty badly ; but it was only a first rehearsal, you know ; but there was a quiver of the girl's lips as she spoke. " Yes ; but the question is, how are we to act for the future?" and here Lady Mary's voice was solemn and pregnant with meaning. " Joan, you have behaved as well as possible, and I love you all the more for your noble conduct. I trust you perfectly, but the situation is impossible ; for Craig's sake — for all our sakes — I must send you away." But though Joan's head drooped for a moment there was no reply. " We must part, my child," continued Lady Mary sorrowfully ; " at least for a few months, until Craig is safe in India. As long as he is at Aldershot, riding or motoring over here nearly every day, Morningside cannot be your home. You see that for yourself, do you not? " with an anxious glance at the downcast face. Then Joan nodded ; she could not bring herself to speak yet. In her secret thoughts she had dreaded this. Of course Lady Mary was right, the situation was impos- sible. How was she to live there and see him woo Lady Cicely, and play her part so perfectly that Craig should never have a suspicion of the truth ? "I am not strong enough to do it," she said to herself; "I should break down and disgrace myself ; the prolonged effort would wear me out." " Yes, you are quite right," she returned in a stifled voice, " it would be far better for every one that I should go away." 4 50 The Key of the Unknown " It would not be for long, dear — only five or six months — and then our old life will begin again. Shall we make the best of it, Joan? There will be no diffi- culty about arranging matters. I will write to Heath and suggest that you shall pay him a long visit. Perhaps I may have to give him a hint, but I will be very careful. There is one comfort, you will not have to go to Kelmscott Rectory." For a few months pre- viously Heath Leigh had climbed another rung of the social ladder, and he was now a canon of St. Breda's. Joan, who had paid her brother a fleeting visit at Christ- mas, had been very enthusiastic in her description of the beautiful old house in the Precincts, and of the glorious cathedral ; but on the present occasion there was no lightening of her gravity. " Of course I am thankful that they have left Kelmscott," she returned in rather a dreary voice. " But five or six months with Silence No, there is no use talking about it ; when a thing has to be done, it is better for one just to go and do it. You shall write to Heath, and I will set about packing as soon as you like." " As I like ! Oh, Joan, are you so full of your own trouble that you have no time to be sorry for me? Do you know how I shall miss your dear bright face in the mornings and evenings?" Then Joan, melted by that fond tone, threw her arms round Lady Mary's neck. " Oh, I will try to be good and brave," she sobbed. " but it is so hard for both of us ! " And after this they discussed things more calmly. VI "IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN!" Never give way to melancholy. Nothing encroaches more. I fight against it vigorously. One great remedy is to take short views of life. . . . Then why destroy a present happiness by a distant misery which may never come at all, or you may never live to see? For every substantial grief has twenty shadows, most of them your own making. — Sydney Smith. It was much later than usual when Joan bade Lady Mary good-night and went up to her room ; but, tired as she was, she felt disinclined to seek her pillow. She took off her pretty evening dress and put on her dress- ing-gown, and, as her head felt hot and heavy, she let down her hair ; then she turned down the light and sat by the open window to enjoy the refreshment of the cool night air. The moon had just emerged from the clouds, and there was a shining silvery path across the dark lawn, and only the weird sound of an owl hooting in the distance broke the deep stillness. But as Joan folded her hands behind her head — a favourite attitude with her when she felt disposed for meditation — the quiet and peace of the nocturnal hour failed to soothe her. For deep down in her heart there was an unsolved problem and a great fear, to which she dare not give utterance. More than once that evening a question had risen to her lips, but as she had looked at Lady Mary's tired face she had not the courage to ask it; but now in her solitude it pressed upon her with renewed persistence. Lady Mary had talked with forced cheerfulness of the five or six months of absence. " It is almost certain that Craig's battery will be ordered to India in November," she said, " and you shall come back to me the first possible day." But though Joan had smiled and 51 52 The Key of the Unknown assented to this, the ominous question still made itself heard — *' What if anything should happen during those months?" The last accounts of Lord Josselyn had not been good, and Dorothy had told her only the previous day that her father and mother were very anxious. "If Arthur gets worse, they mean to go out to him," she continued. " Mother has made father promise to take her; they cannot bear the idea of his being alone at a hotel, and just now Craig cannot get leave of absence, he has to train his men for the summer manoeuvres, and expects to be much engaged the next two or three months." But Joan had been fully aware of these facts. But if Josselyn were to die, how was Craig to go to India ? The Earl would give him no peace — he would be obliged to sell out and leave his beloved battery. How could his parents be deprived of all their sons? Alas, alas, under those circumstances Craig's duty would be as clear as the daylight. Road-making on the frontier was at times a risky business ; one or two of the mountain tribes threatened trouble — if Craig were the only surviving son and heir, his life would be too valu- able to be sacrificed in one of those costly little frontier wars. Craig would have to crush down his ambition and longings for a soldier's life. What was the Bastow motto? " Faithful and enduring." Would Craig be likely to shun his duty? The blood seemed to be sud- denly chilled in Joan's veins as she followed out this thought; for if Craig did not go to India, Morningside could no longer be her home. The parting between her and Lady Mary might be for years, not months, unless — unless — and here Joan shivered afresh — Craig re- nounced his old sweetheart and married Lady Cicely. Poor Joan, she could see no way out of the per- plexity and darkness ; in her heart-sick depression and trouble it seemed to her excited fancy as though some avenging angel stood at the door of her paradise with a flaming sword that turned every way. "If Anything Should Happen!" 53 She had no clue in her labyrinth of difficulty. Craig across the sea in India, and she lonely at Morningside, forbidden even to think of him except in her prayers; or else Craig at Brantwood or in London, and she at St. Breda's Lodge in an uncongenial environment. " How is one to bear it?" she sighed at last, when, worn out by a sense of hopelessness and misery, she crept to her bed and sobbed herself to sleep. Joan was no coward, she had plenty of pluck and spirit ; but in youth one suffers terribly. Age at times forgets this. The young have not learned the true pro- portion of things, their perspective is often at fault, their molehills of difficulty seem to loom out of the distance like mountains, they can find no bridges for their rivers and foaming torrents, they cannot see the wood for the trees, the sunshine has gone. Will the skies ever be blue and clear again — will their young hearts ever again sing for joy? Joan little guessed that the same thoughts had come to Lady Mary, and that she had forborne to utter them for fear of adding to Joan's trouble. " Poor little girl, she has quite enough on her mind now," she thought ; " it would be cruel to put these unsettled ideas into her head. What was the use of worrying oneself about a thing which might never happen? What was that verse Craig once repeated to them when Joan was depressed about the future of a village lad in whom she was much interested, and who had run away to sea? Joan had copied it into her ex- tract-book, and had often quoted it for her benefit. Some of your hurts you have cured, And the sharpest you still have survived; But what moments of grief you endured From evils which never arrived ! " ' There is a mine of wisdom in that, isn't there, Aunt Mary?" he had observed in his cheery way. ' That old fellow, Emerson, knew a thing or two — I 54 The Key of the Unknown call that grand philosophy. Some people seem to me as though they were always looking round the corner with a spy-glass to watch for something unpleasant to happen." " 1 must not he one of those people," thought Lady Alary, as she recalled Craig's boyish philosophy. " And, after all, poor Arthur may live for years. I daresay Craig will go out to India, and do his road-making, and fight a battle or two before he has to give up soldiering. Oh, clear, oh, dear, if only Joan had money and a long pedigree! " For the thought of these young creatures, separated by unkind circumstances, lay heavily on Lady Mary's loving heart. But not for one moment did she flinch from the course of duty which her con- science prescribed. Lady Mary had a reasonable, patient nature, and she made no great demands on life. In her youth she had had a great sorrow, and she had been slow in recover- ing from it, but the years of her married life had been like some peaceful breakwater. Then had come her widowhood, and her brother's loving care for her. She had gone back to her own people, and their cares and sorrows and joys had been hers. And then Joan had come, and the quiet rooms at Morningside had been illuminated with spring sunshine. Nevertheless, those seven years had not been free from trouble. Lady Mary's nature was extremely sympathetic. When Archie and Clyde Bastow died, there was no one who could comfort the bereaved mother as Lady Mary could. " Aunt Mary says very little, but she has such a soothing manner," Dorothy once said to her friend Prudence Rutherford, the Rector of Herondale's sister. " She never talks goody-goody like some folk, or pelts people with texts like old Mrs. Ramsden. She just makes them feel how sorry she is for them, and how she would bear it for them if she could, and that makes her such a pillow of comfort." "If Anything Should Happen!" 55 " Texts are very nice," returned Prudence thought- fully, " and one finds them useful if selected with dis- crimination ; the mistake is when they are strung to- gether loosely like beads. I remember a speech old Mrs. Gilbert made when Mrs. Ramsden had paid her a visit of condolence after her husband's death. You remember the deaf old man who was run over by a motor ? " And as Lady Dorothy nodded — " ' The texts were all very grand, but they did not seem to fit somehow, and they were buzzing in one's head like bluebottle flies. But then I have been dazed-like since my old man left me. What is the use of hooting to deaf ears, Rector, I says, and then trampling on the poor old creature ! But there, when he has got over the shock a bit, I daresay he will be fine and glad to get rid of his rheumatism, and to be able to enjoy the grand music up there/ " And Lady Dorothy had been much amused by this little anecdote. Lady Mary was very humble in her opinion of her- self. She used to take herself to task for her shyness. She had a reticent nature, and it was not easy for her to speak ; sometimes the right word failed to come, and then she would remain silent. When Josselyn began to tread the downpard path, and poor Lady Merriton confided her heart-sick anxieties to her patient hearer, Lady Mary had pressed her hand gently. "Yes, I understand; we can only pray for him, you and I — there is nothing else to be done " ; and these words had sunk deeply into the mother's heart. " Your Aunt Mary is a good woman, and I love her dearly," she had said that night to Dorothy. Then Dorothy took her mother's hand and kissed it. " And I shall love her better than ever for being so good to you, dear," she said affectionately. Lady Mary was none the better for her anxious, sleepless night, and as she dressed herself the next morn- ing she was fully aware that the penalty would be paid 56 The Key of the Unknown in the shape of a severe sick headache, but she determined to fight against it as long as possible. She had to write that letter to Heath Leigh, and there was no time to lose. She was sure that Lady Merriton would implore her to send Joan away as soon as possible, and she meant to put off dining at the Abbey until Heath's answer reached her. Joan looked at her anxiously as she entered the din- ing-room. " You are going to have one of your really bad headaches," she said reproachfully, " and you ought to be in bed." And though Lady Mary could not truth- fully contradict this statement, she only smiled faintly and rang the bell for prayers. She was not a woman to make much of a small ailment, and the letter was writ- ten, and two or three other pressing bits of business were settled, before increasing pain forced her to return to her room. Joan had had luncheon at Herondale Rectory. She had promised to help Prudence Rutherford to mark and pack some articles for a sale of work in a poor East End parish. There were two or three pinafores to finish, and it was tea-time before the parcel was ready for the carrier; but Joan, who felt Lady Mary had been left alone long enough, refused her friend's pressing invita- tion to remain another half-hour. It was a disappointment, therefore, when she reached Morningside to hear from Willis that his mistress was in bed, with Dunlop in attendance. Joan drank her solitary cup of tea, then she went up to see the invalid. She had always to be exceedingly careful when Dunlop was mounting guard. She was an excellent person and an admirable nurse, but she was somewhat tenacious of her privileges and inclined to resent any interference on Joan's part. As Joan entered the carefully darkened room, Dunlop, who was bathing Lady Mary's temples with eau de Cologne and water, looked at the girl reprovingly. " My lady is not fit to talk, Miss Joan," she said tartly. But "If Anything Should Happen!" 57 Lady Mary looked at her favourite with an attempt at a smile. " It is only one of my stupid sick headaches, Joan. I did not sleep well last night, and now the pain will have its way. You will have a lonely evening, my dear, for Dunlop is right and I cannot talk. I daresay I shall be all right to-morrow." "But I may come and wish you good-night?" But before Lady Mary could answer, Dunlop struck in. " You will excuse me, Miss Joan, that is what you may not do. In a couple of hours I shall be giving her ladyship some coffee, and later on Dr. Walton's composing-draught, and then I hope she will get some sleep." Dunlop was so decided, and so unusually snappish in manner, that Joan was forced to beat a retreat. She was certainly not in the mood for a solitary evening, and when dinner was over, and she had put Rascal through his usual programme of parlour tricks — Cocker never left his mistress when she was unwell — she was at a loss how to occupy herself. The idea of fancy-work was abhorrent to her ; the piano would dis- turb Lady Mary, as her room was over the drawing- room ; her book did not interest her ; and the house felt like a prison. If she had only Dorothy to talk to her! Then the door-bell rang, and she jumped up from her seat in some excitement. Dorothy now and then paid them a surprise visit in the evening. Good Dorcas, how delightful it would be to get her all to herself ! Then the drawing-room door opened and Craig marched in. He looked rather taken aback when he saw Joan was alone. Joan's face had grown suddenly crimson, as she silently gave him her hand. At that moment she did not venture to speak. "Where is Aunt Mary?" he asked quickly, looking round the room. "Lady Mary has a bad sick headache and has gone to bed. I wonder Willis did not tell you." 58 The Key of the Unknown " Barton let me in, and I never thought of asking him. Poor Aunt Mary ! But I expect she will soon be all right." " Oh, yes, her headaches seldom last for more than a few hours. She has just had some coffee, and by and by she will have a composing-draught, and then she will probably fall asleep." " Well, I am in luck's way, for I was just wondering how I was to get you alone for half-an-hour, and now there is no difficulty." Craig was not speaking in his usual manner ; he seemed nervous and constrained. ''Aren't you going to sit down?" But Joan shook her head. She must get rid of him. What would Lady Mary say? " It is so late," she returned ; " I think it would be better to talk another time." Poor Joan, she was feel- ing very frightened and helpless. Craig was so master- ful when he chose ; he might refuse to go. He was look- ing at her now, and there was a frown on his brow. " Look here, Joan," he said obstinately, " I am going to talk to you, and you have got to listen, and to answer one or two questions. " My father has been speaking to me. The poor old man seems as upset as possible. Somebody has let the cat out of the bag, for he told me to my face that I had proposed to you, and that you had refused me — rightly refused me were his words." Joan's head drooped as Craig's stern blue eyes were fixed on her ; a burning blush came to her cheek. " Oh, Craig, it was not my fault ! " she exclaimed, unable to endure this. " Some one had seen us in the wood, and Mrs. Flavel had talked to your mother, and then Lady Mary was told. She guessed things, and p^kcd me questions, and I could not tell a lie — it was no use trying to hide it — and so I was obliged to acknowl- edge the truth. Oh," went on Joan desperately, " you don't know how T hated it all — I never wanted any one to know ! Oh, Craig, you do believe me? " Then Craig's sternness relaxed. "If Anything Should Happen!" 59 " I am not blaming you, Joan," he said more gently. '* Did you think I was ? I was only angry with these busybodies who have forced my hand. As far as I am concerned, the whole of Brantwood and Herondale and Atherton are welcome to know the fact that I am trying to win you. But I certainly wish that they had left my father in peace a little longer." Then Joan breathed more freely. Craig was not blaming her — he knew it was not her fault. VII "WILL YOU TAKE BACK THOSE WORDS?" Something I must do individual To vindicate my nature, to give proof I also am a man. Clough. It is only with Renunciation that Life properly speaking can be said to begin. — Carlyle. There was a momentary silence. The two young people were still standing by the fireplace, but now Craig changed his position. Resting his arm against the man- telpiece, he shaded his face with his hand. He was watching Joan intently, but the girl was unconscious of this. The fire had suddenly blazed up rather fiercely, and she moved a little away from it. Joan was looking very young and girlish in her simple white dress. Lady Mary always liked her to wear white in the evening ; she said nothing else suited her so well. On her last birthday she had given her a set of turquoise pins for her hair, which looked like forget-me-nots and had a charming effect, but Joan had not cared to wear them this evening. She had fastened her pearl necklet mechanically, and without even looking at herself. The pearls had also been Lady Mary's gift. Joan always looked her best in evening dress ; she had such a pretty white neck, and her rounded arms were so finely proportioned, and in the lamplight her hair shone like gold. Without being handsome, she was very effective. Rut in Craig's eyes she was beautiful. The silence and something electric in the atmosphere were making Joan nervous. She had not yet succeeded in sending Craig away. Tn her perturbation she tried to resume her old ease and air of camaraderie, but it was a sad failure. 60 " Will You Take Back Those Words?" 61 " I hope your father was nice tp you, Craig? " But she repented her friendly overture a moment later. Lovers have their own ideas of honesty ; if you give them an inch, they take an ell. Craig's face brightened in an alarming way. " That is kind of you, Joan, and shows that you have not lost all interest in me. Oh, yes, he was nice and fatherly, but a bit heavy-handed and crushing. Oh, I did my best not to quarrel with him " — as Joan seemed rather frightened at this — " but I had to stand up for my rights as a freeborn Briton. You see, he wanted me to go his way and knock under to his ideas, which were not exactly mine. We had rather a scrimmage, and the dear old dad lost his temper and said some very unpleasant things." " Oh, Craig, I am so sorry ! " and Joan's eyes were soft with sympathy. Craig gave her a quick glance and went on. " His terms were simply impossible, and so I told him. He not only put down his foot and forbade me at my peril to renew my offer to you " — here Joan per- ceptibly started — " but he insisted that I must marry money. I had no idea that things were in such a mess," Craig continued ruefully. " I knew Josselyn was going the pace, but he must be without conscience to run up all these beastly debts. If he lives much longer we shall all be as poor as church mice. Why, the poor old governor thinks he ought to sell the Grosvenor Square house." " Oh, no, Craig, he must not think of that ! What would your mother and Dorothy do?" For Lady Merriton always took her daughter to town for the season. The Earl would accompany them, but after a fortnight or three weeks he would make some excuse and return to his beloved Abbey, only paying them fly- ing visits at intervals. Once, when his wife had ven- tured to remonstrate with him, he had answered her with unusual asperity. 62 The Key of the Unknown " If you have any wish to shorten ray life, you may press me to stay here ; but I shall certainly have an attack of gout before many days are over." And Lady Merriton was obliged to concede the point. But when Dorothy seemed inclined to follow the same track, the Countess was inexorable. " We owe our duty to society," she said firmly. " Do you think I am not tired too, sitting up night after night, and trying to make myself pleasant? We must just go through with it." And no hints thrown out by anxious friends over Dorothy's languid and weary ap- pearance changed this Spartan determination, to do her duty. Joan was very fond of the Grosvenor Square house. She had spent some very pleasant times there. Lady Mary had now and then taken her and Dorothy, when they were younger, for a week's sight-seeing. It was like a delightful picnic to the girls. All the best rooms were shrouded in holland. They took their meals in the library, which was the Earl's private sanctum. Lady Mary always said she could not face' the large dining- room. " Fancy Joan and Dollie and poor me at one end of that long table ! No, George, we are going to be comfortable. We will have cosy meals in the library, and we shall sit in Hildegarde's morning-room. There is no need for Mrs. Baddeley to uncover either of the drawing-rooms." And of course Lady Mary had her way. How Joan had loved those surprise visits ! From morning to night she had been in the seventh heaven of enjoyment. Lady Mary knew what the girls of their age would love. She took them to the Zoo, and to the Tate Gallery and the Wallace collection, as well as to concerts and theatres' Once when the weather was fine they went to TTampton Court, and another time to Kew Gardens. On Sundays they haunted the Abbey. Dorothy had a perfect passion for the place. " I wonder why vou hate the season so much, Dor- "Will You Take Back Those Words?" 63 cas?" Joan would say rather wistfully, for she often wished herself in her friend's place. " Oh, I don't know," returned Lady Dorothy frankly, " but I do hate it. It is the endless dressing-up, I sup- pose, and those tiresome balls. Just think, Joan, three in one evening" sometimes ; nothing but a crush of smart people, and hardly time for two or three dances, and then we move on to fight our way up a still more crowded stairway, with fresh programmes and introductions.'' " I should not care for three balls in one night cer- tainly," returned Joan thoughtfully. " Oh, I think the first was a dinner or reception. Of course I had nice times between. My morning rides with father were delightful, and then there was the opera and a good concert or two, and on Sundays I had the dear Abbey." Joan thought of these pleasant days regretfully when Craig repeated the Earl's speech. " I hope your father will never make up his mind to do that," she observed. " Well, I don't know," returned Craig dubiously ; " it is a huge barrack of a place, and Dorothy and I hate it. The rooms are too big for comfort, and it needs an army of servants to keep it in proper order. What is the use of keeping it just for two months in the year? We could take a furnished house for the season ; or I daresay Uncle Templeton would lend us Park Lodge, he and Aunt Miriam are not always there in the season." Viscount Templeton was Lady Merriton's elder brother, and as his wife was in bad health and they had no family, the suggestion seemed plausible, though Joan regarded it with disfavour. " I do think Lord Josselyn ought to be ashamed of himself," she remarked severely. " He has not been a credit to the family certainlv," returned Craig drily. " P.nt there, poor beggar, he's pay- ing the penalty of his sins ; he seems pretty bad, by all 04 The Key of the Unknown accounts. No wonder the governor was rather on edge. But I was not going to give in to him when he told me that I should have to marry money. 1 replied that the thing was impossible, as the only girl I wished to make my wife was absolutely penniless. You should have seen his face, Joan, when I said that. I thought he would have had a fit. He said something under his breath that I did not hear, and then remarked in an offended tone that we had better not talk any more until I had come to my senses. It was not exactly a com- fortable interview. Of course I knew all along what he was driving at. They want me to marry Lady Cicely — that is why they are always having her down here. They tried that dodge with Lady Marjorie and Josselyn, and he only laughed in their faces. But it does not amuse me," continued Craig grimly ; " I mean to let them know that I intend to choose my wife for myself." " But, Craig " — here Joan pulled herself together and made a tremondous effort — " do listen to me a moment. You must not think me unkind or ungrateful if I say that your father and mother are right, and that Lady Cicely is the girl you ought to marry." " So that's your opinion, Joan," in a hard sarcastic voice, " and you are worldly-minded like the rest of them? Because Lady Cicely has a pedigree so long that she can trace her descent to some old murderous Irish king, who, if the truth were known, was nothing hut a bloodthirsty savage, and also has a decent pile of her own, she is a suitable wife for me ! " But, though Craig's contemptuous tone was hard to bear, Joan bravely fin- ished her say. " Lady Cicely's good birth and wealth are, of course, in her favour, but she has far more to recommend her than that. Tf T were not a true friend, Craig, and did nol wish you well from the bottom of my heart, I would not tell you all this. Dorothv and I know Lady Cicely better than most girls, and she is as nice and good as she is pretty." " Will You Take Back Those Words ? " 65 " And you wish me to marry her? " Craig's keen incisive tone made Joan wince, but she did not lose her courage. " Your parents and Dorothy wish it," she returned quietly, "and that is more to the purpose; and I cer- tainly advise you to do what they desire. I think — I am sure you would not repent it." But Craig's answer to this took her by surprise. He strode across the rug that separated them and took her hands in a grasp that kept her a prisoner. " You are not straight, Joan," he said angrily, " this is a mere evasion on your part. I will take no such advice from you. Look me in the face if you can, and tell me in cold blood if you really meant what you said in the Abbey woods that morning?" " I don't think I quite understand you, Craig." But Joan was telling a fib there ; of course she understood quite well to what he was alluding, only in her flurry of mind she pretended ignorance. 11 That you only cared for me as a dear friend ? " " Oh, no, I never said that," she interrupted ; but either she spoke in a low tone or he was too excited to heed. " Yes, those were your very words, Joan. Do you think I am likely to forget them, when they hurt me so cruelly? And that you wished me never to speak to you in that way again. And I had just asked you to be my wife. You said you really meant it. Will you take back those words, Joan?" And as he said this, and she saw the intense anxiety in his eyes, Joan's heart sickened within her. She must be quick or her resolution would fail. " No, I cannot take them back," she said sadly, and there was not a vestige of colour in her face. " I really meant them, and you must believe me — and forgive me if you can." Then he dropped her hands. " Oh, that will be a hard task, I am afraid," he said bitterly. " You have 5 66 The Key of the Unknown not treated me well, Joan. I could have sworn that you cared for me. Why did you let me think so? I never could have believed that you would have flirted with me, when I love you so truly!" But this stinging accusation roused Joan. " I never flirted with you, Craig," she said proudly. "How dare you say such a thing! You were my dear friend — my very dear friend, and I delighted to be with you. Cannot a girl be friends with a man without being accused of flirting?" " Forgive me, Joan," returned poor Craig humbly ; " I ought not to have said it. But I am nearly beside myself that you should tell me to marry Lady Cicely." " I only meant it for your good," replied Joan in a choked voice. " I wanted to be kind and to help you. But please go — you must go, Willis is waiting to shut up the house." And then Craig bade her a hurried good-night. It was useless to say more. He had had his rebuff for the second time. But as he stood at the hall door looking down the dark drive, an inexplicable feeling came over him. Had she really meant it, or had some of them coached her to play a part? He would make some excuse and go back to the room. She would be taken by surprise, and perhaps the mask would drop off if it were a mask. Here Craig's brow cleared a little. If he had followed his intention, he would have found Joan kneeling by the couch trying to stifle her sobs in the cushions, and then surely the truth would have been revealed to him. But the next moment he muttered angrily to himself, " Only a dear friend — a very dear friend," and the hall door was closed behind him. And after a few minutes Joan escaped to her room to indulge her grief more freely. They had quarrelled ; Craig had misunderstood her, and she could never set him right. He had said hard things of her, and she had not borne them meekly. " Oh, if I had not mentioned Lady Cicely — it was " Will You Take Back Those Words ?" 67 that that made him so angry ! And now it will be a long time before he will care to speak to me again." And that night Joan felt as though her heart were broken. When Lady Alary came down the next day in time for luncheon, looking rather pale and languid from those hours of severe pain, she thought Joan seemed rather silent and out of spirits, but she made no remark, and only chatted on indifferent subjects until they returned to the morning-room. But Joan was beforehand with her. She had no intention of keeping Craig's visit a secret, but at the same time she intended to say as little as possible about it. She was far too sore about the matter, and no sympathy could heal the wound of that miserable misunderstanding which she could have so easily set right with a word. " Lady Mar}," she said quietly, " you will be sur- prised to hear that Craig was here last evening. He never expected to find me alone, and was so sorry when I told him about your headache." Then Lady Mary, who had just taken up the paper, laid it down again, and her face expressed concern. " Craig ! Dear me, how very awkward for you, my dear ! But of course you told him that he must not stay?" "Oh, yes, I told him so at once. But I could not get rid of him for quite a long time. His father had been talking to him, and Craig seemed terribly worried. I had to tell him at last that Willis would want to shut up the house." Joan's frankness was quite intentional ; she had no wish to conceal from Lady Mary that the interview had not been brief. But she parried her next question. " Was that all he said, Joan ? " " No, dear, he said a good deal ; but you must forgive me if T tell you that I cannot repeat even to you what passed between us. He made me very unhappy — indeed at one moment we were on the verge of a quarrel. He 68 The Key of the Unknown said hard things to me which I do not deserve ; but I think he was sorry for them afterwards. That is all I can say, Lady Mary." But though Joan's explanation was meagre, there was a look of sorrow in her eyes that told Lady Mary a good deal. Craig had behaved badly. He had taken advantage of her absence to repeat his offer. Of course he had been strongly tempted. But it was evident to her that Joan had behaved well. She had made him so angry that he had said hard things to her — this surely meant that she had refused to listen to him? For the second time she had played her part heroically ; but it had almost been too much for her strength. " If only I had not had that head- ache ! " thought Lady Mary ; and then she made up her mind that Joan must go to St. Breda's Lodge as soon as possible. VIII "SIGNED, SEALED, AND DELIVERED" How easy is the thought in certain moods of the loveliest, most unselfish devotion ! How hard is the doing of the thought in the face of a thousand difficulties ! — George MacDonald. We are never without a pilot. When we know not how to steer and dare not hoist a sail, we can drift. The current knows the way, though we do not. The ship of heaven guides itself, and will not accept a wooden rudder. — Emerson. Canon Leigh did not keep them long in suspense. On Monday morning Joan recognised her brother's large characteristic handwriting, which Lady Mary often said was as clear as print ; the tortoiseshell lorgnettes which she carried for occasional use were seldom required when one of Heath's letters was before her. Joan changed colour, but she made no remark as she took her seat, and the next minute Lady Mary handed her an enclosed note. " That is for you, my dear," she said with forced cheerfulness. " Your brother seems to have written me quite a long letter, but we will compare notes presently." Joan had no fault to find with her letter; it was brief, but perfectly kind and brotherly. " Lady Mar}- has given me a hint about the difficulty, and I think I can read between the lines," he wrote; "and I cer- tainly agree with her that, under the circumstances, it will be wise for you to pay us a long visit. Silence and I talked it over last evening, and she begs me to give you her sisterly love, and to tell you that your room shall be ready for you whenever you wish to come. We have seen very little of you the last year or two, so you owe us a lengthy visit. We will do all in our power to make your stay pleasant, my dear, and the children will lie delighted to have you. Wanda quite flushed with pleasure when her mother told her. ' I do love to have Aunt Joan,' she said, ' she is always so nice and interesting.' I hope that little compliment will please you. Now you must write by return 69 70 The Key of the Unknown and let us know when we are to expect you. I am afraid my engagements will not allow me to fetch you, but I daresay Lady Mary will arrange matters satisfactorily. — Your loving brother, Heath Leigh." Joan handed over her letter for Lady Mary's perusal, but the latter did not follow her example. " It is a very nice note," she observed, " and your brother's letter to me is both kind and sensible. Of course he is ex- tremely concerned on your account ; for, as he says, this sort of difficulty often leads to disunion and want of harmony in families, and that your present position with regard to the Abbey people must be simply in- tolerable. He thinks Craig has been extremely thought- less and wanting in consideration — that he ought not to have spoken to you until he had had it out with his father. He seems rather annoyed with him, for he says it is all his fault that this trouble has arisen. I am afraid he is right. Craig is certainly a very head- strong man." " I love him all the more for being headstrong and impulsive," thought Joan ; but happily she did not give utterance to this sentiment. Lady Mary was a little early Victorian in her ideas, and she might have been shocked. " Your brother seems to think," continued Lady Mary, " that it would be as well for you to fix as early a date as possible ; and if you do not mind, Joan, we might settle the day before I see Lady Merriton this morning. She has just sent me a note asking me to luncheon ; she reminds me that you and Dorothy are lunching at the Rectory, and that I may as well give them the pleasure of my company." 1 expect Lady Merriton wants to get you to her- self for a long talk," returned Joan quietly. " Yes, dear, we will fix the day if you like ; but there is no great hurry, is there? I shall have to pack, and see people, and say good-bye : for one cannot run jway for three or four months without telling one's friends." " Signed, Sealed, and Delivered " 71 Then Lady Alary hesitated. Heath had begged her to hasten on matters as much as possible. " It will be very painful for you to part with Joan, even for a few months," he wrote, " and I quite know her feelings on the subject; let me advise you, for both your sakes, noi to lengthen out the agony. Joan could slip away, and you could easily make excuses for her; but nothing will be gained by her staying on at Morningside." " Your brother thinks that you had better go to them as soon as possible, but of course I do not want to hurry you, Joan. This is Monday ; shall we say a week to-day — that would give you plenty of time ? " " Yes, I think that will do," but Joan's voice was a little hard ; " I shall certainly be thankful for a week's reprieve. You see, Lady Mary," and here the girl looked a little proud and stiff-necked, " when a person has done nothing wrong, and has been trying with might and main to set things right, it seems rather hard that she should be treated as though she were in disgrace. Of course I know Lady Merriton will be anxious to get rid of me : but she is Craig's mother, not mine, and I do not owe her any duty." " Oh, Joan, my child, please do not take that tone ! Lady Merriton is really very fond of you ; I am sure you have never received anything but kindness and con- sideration from her." Then, at this gentle reproof, Joan came down from her high horse. " Yes, I know. But how is one to remember past blessings when one is so miserable? To-day week — Black Monday — we will consider that settled. Now, would you like me to write to Heath? I have just time before Dorothy comes." " Yes, I think that will be best," observed Lady Mar}- cheerfully. " Tell him that T will write later on to him." Then, as they rose from the breakfast-table and Joan was about to leave the room, Lady Mary called her back. " My darling," she said fondly, as she stroked the fresh girlish cheek, " I think you are behaving very 72 The Key of the Unknown well, and sparing- me a great deal of trouble, and I am very grateful to you, my child." And then Lady Mary took up her housekeeping book and key-basket, and settled herself for a lengthy inter- view with her cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Hartley ; for noth- ing less than an earthquake or some elemental cataclysm would have induced the members of Morningside to keep that excellent woman waiting. Mrs. Hartley was Lady Mary's right hand. She had been with her all her married life, and had insisted on following- her to Morn- ingside. " It is no use your thinking your ladyship will be able to do without me," she had observed, smoothing the front of her black silk gown, " for I have no intention of leaving you." " But, my good Hartley, things will be very different at Morningside from Roskill Priory. My income will be less, and " " I am not objecting to a change, my lady," returned Mrs. Hartley firmly ; " it is good for every one now and then. And as it will be a quiet place and less work, I shall be content with half my present salary." Mrs. Hartley never used the word wages. " I have plenty of savings as it is, and when your ladyship has no more need of my services I shall just retire comfortably. But as to eating my bread and sleeping under another roof, and taking service under another mistress, the very thought seems to disagree with me. But there is his lordship at the gate, and I must not be keeping you any longer, my lady." And Mrs. Hartley beat a hurried retreat. "What am I to do, George?" asked Lady Mary piteously. But the Earl's advice was very clear and to the point. Mrs. Hartley must certainly accompany her mistress to Morningside. Neither would he hear of curtailing her salary. ' Your income will be ample," he said to her, " and " Signed, Sealed, and Delivered " 73 there will be no reason why you should not keep your old servants if they wish to stay with you. There can be no better way of spending money than in rewarding faithful service. Airs. Hartley is a trump, and 1 mean to tell her so." Joan had only finished her note to her brother when she saw Lady Dorothy coming up the drive, and opened the French window to admit her. " You had better come in this way, Dorcas," she observed. " I am just going to put on my hat. Lady Alary is still busy with Airs. Hartley. How nice you look in your new spring frock, dear — grey always suits you ; and the cowslips in your hat have such a good effect." But Lady Dorothy paid very little attention to these complimentary remarks. Her face wore a grave, perturbed expression. " Please do not be long, Joan ; I want to talk to you, and Prudence will expect us by twelve." Then Joan gave her a quick nod and ran off. " Poor Dorcas, she looks bothered," she said to her- self ; " I suppose they have been telling her things. Well, I have not much comfort in store for her. I wonder what she will say when I tell her about next Monday. I think I shall leave her to begin the subject." But she had not long to wait. Before they had passed the mill Lady Dorothy stopped in the road and looked at her solemnly. " Joan." she said in a loud whisper, though no one was within earshot, " this is a terrible thing that has happened ! " The tone and the manner seemed to jar on Joan's overwrought nerves. " Oh, don't make a Star Chamber matter of it, Dorcas, for pity's sake ! " and Joan gave a husky little laugh. " No one has committed murder, as far as I know." " And you can laugh — actually laugh ! " And Dorothy's face was so tragical that it required all Joan's strength of will to refrain from hysterical mirth. " How can I help laughing when you look at me with that woe-begone expression? I suppose you are going 74 The Key of the Unknown to tell me, like all the others, that Craig has behaved badly; but if you do, I warn you that I shall defend him through everything, in my opinion " — defiantly — " he is jusi as splendid in his pluck and daring as any paladin or knight of old." Dorothy looked at her aghast; she could hardly be- lieve her own ears. " You defend him ? You think he was right to de- ceive us all and make love to you secretly, when he knew what father and mother would say ? " " No, Dorcas, excuse me, that is certainly not my meaning. When I said 1 would defend him, I do not refuse to own that Craig has made a great mistake ; but when you accuse him of deceit, I think you are mis- judging him very cruelly. A man does not care to wear his feelings on his coat-sleeve. Still, as Heath and Lady Mary say, perhaps, under the circumstances, he ought to have spoken to his father." " There is no doubt of that," returned Lady Dorothy with unusual spirit. " Father is so hurt and downcast ; he says he can make no impression on Craig. He seems to think nothing of our opinion, but is set on taking his own way." " I think your father was a little injudicious in his management," returned Joan thoughtfully. " You may take a horse to the water, but if he is not thirsty he will not drink. It was a wrong moment to tell Craig that he must marry money — he was far too sore and unhappy. If you will only leave him alone a little to pull himself together, he will come right in time. Craig has always been so good and reasonable." Lady Dorothy listened to this speech with inward amazement. Joan was always full of surprises, but this morning she failed to understand her at all. She had come to Morningside brimful of love and sympathy for her friend. If Craig had misconducted himself. Joan had behaved as well as possible ; she had refused to listen to him. " She will not have me, Dollie. She says she will " Signed, Sealed, and Delivered " 75 never marry me," he had groaned the previous night. " But I would sooner wait for her ten years than marry any other girl." And as Craig had said this, Dorothy had marvelled at Joan's indifference to her old chum. She had always seemed so bright and happy when Craig was with them, that more than once a doubt had crossed her mind if this free and unrestrained companionship were quite prudent. " Supposing Joan were to care too much for Craig?" she would say to herself; but she had never guessed at the depth of Craig's infatuation for the girl. And now Joan was stating her opinion with the utmost coolness. But then Dorothy was no match for Joan's cleverness. Joan was still bent on defending Craig against the harsh judgment of his kith and kin, but at the same time she seemed to place herself in strange remoteness. " Of course this has made me very unhappy, Dorcas," she went on. " It is sad indeed to be the cause of all this trouble ; and if I am in any way to blame, I have certainly my full share of the punishment." " I am not blaming you, dearest ; I think you have behaved as well as possible." " If my conscience would only endorse that " began Joan ruefully, and then she checked herself. With all her longing for Dorothy's sympathy, it would not do to show her even a glimmer of the truth. Dorothy believed that she did not love Craig well enough to wish to be his wife — that she only regarded him as an old friend. Well, she must do nothing to remove this wrong impression. Lady Mary must be her only confidante. To her she had acknowledged the truth, and she knew well that the secret was safe in her keeping. So Joan broke off her sentence and set off a little breathlessly on another tack. " Dorcas, we must not waste our time lamenting other people's mistakes, there is something I must tell you. Do you know Lady Mary is going to send me away ? " But Joan saw at once by her friend's expres- sion that she had alreadv had a hint of this. 76 The Key of the Unknown " Aunt Mary said something about it to father ; but there is nothing settled surely ? " " Ah, you are wrong there ; it is ' signed, sealed, and delivered ' like the decree of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not. I am to go to St. Breda's next Monday, and, as far as I can see, the visit is likely -to be a long one." Then Dorothy's face was very sad. " Next Monday — oh, Joan, how terribly soon ! I never realised such a thing for a moment. Do you mean that you are not coming back until Craig goes to India? " Joan nodded. "And if — if he were not to go?" But there was no answer to this. Joan had turned her face aside as though something in the hedgerow had attracted her attention. " Oh, Joan, do speak ! " and Lady Dorothy's soft eyes were full of tears. " Do you mean that because Craig has done this you and Aunt Mary are to be separated, that you are to be banished from your home and made miserable, and ?" " Don't, Dorcas — what is the use of talking about it ! Don't you see the situation is impossible — that for Craig's sake, for everybody's sake, I must go, and the sooner the better? Heath has written very kindly. He says he and Silence will do all in their power to make me happy. But how can I be happy without you all, and with my dear Lady Mary missing me all day long! " finished Joan with a little sob which wrung Lady Dorothy's heart. " There, for heaven's sake do not let us talk any more about it! I shall have to tell Prudence that I am going away, and I don't want to make a goose of myself." But Joan's lips were not steady as she searched in a little mossy nook for some violets which generally bloomed there in the spring. But her quest was vain. " Some one must have been before me and picked them," she said regretfully as she came back to Dorothy ; and then for a time the two girls walked on in unbroken silence. IX "I HAVE LOST MY MAIDEN AUNT" The men of real power are always men of one idea who send all the force of their being along one line ; and it is possible for any of us to win a true success in life if we will eariy choose one sphere and persistently labour in it. — Emerson. Come home to us your ain friends ; it's better sheltering under an auld hedge than under a new planted wood. — Anon. The inhabitants of Herondale village thought them- selves especially favoured by providence when the Rev. Morven Rutherford came to the Rectory, and though five years had elapsed since then, and they had had ample time " to summer it and winter it," as they say in Westmorland, and had, in Celtic language, " tasted " the full flavour of his sermons, they had not yet changed their opinion. Indeed, it could not be denied that the Herondale folk were absurdly proud of their Rector, and that he was the ruling power of the place. When a stranger, passing through the village, asked to see the church, a low and unpretentious building standing at the upper end of the green entirely sur- rounded by trees, the Rector's name was always brought forward before five minutes were over. " No, there is not much to see, sir, and I would not deceive you into thinking it is a show place " — this from Hiram Saunders, sexton and verger. " No, there is nothing ancient about it — built in 1807. But we have a good warming apparatus ; that is the Rector's doing, he doesn't hold with chilling bodies and only warming souls. Aye, he is a gradely man." for Hiram was a Cumberland man. " No empty benches since he came to Herondale ; for he is a grand preacher, and folk come from miles round in their motors and carriages to hear him. Perhaps, if you are staying in the neighbourhood, 77 78 The Key of the Unknown sir, it would be worth your while to come over for a Sunday service. Oh, only just passing through — bird of passage like? But thank you kindly," and Hiram beamed approval of the coin in his hand. Or it might be some lady cyclist, hot and tired from a long spin down the dusty lanes, where the hedgerows were thick with the grey powdery dust, and the long straws from passing waggons floated from the lower branches of the trees, who stopped at Susan Bennet's neat-looking cottage to ask for a glass of milk. " I am sure you are kindly welcome to the drink, miss," observed Susan in her pleasant voice. " And I could not think to be taking money for a trifle like that. And there was something in Susan's expression that made the young lady hastily return the money to her purse. " My master is cow-keeper up at Herondale Farm, and we have milk in plenty without paying for it. I think I saw you up at the church just now, miss? That was the Rectory, that low white house. But maybe you did not notice it? The Rector and his sister are very hospitable to strangers. If you had asked for a drink there, you would have had some of Mr. Ruther- ford's famous Hereford cider offered you, and you would have been asked to rest in the cool porch." " Oh, I could not have taken such a liberty," ob- served the young cyclist nervously. She was a tired journalist, and the village of Herondale with its kindly- spoken folk seemed to her a veritable paradise. The little river winding across the wide open green, the two bridges with their narrow low arches, the tops of the piers overgrown with grass and flowering weeds, the grand oak which was the pride of the village, and the little white house beside it. the flocks of geese cackling in the sunshine, the trim cottages and blacksmith's forge and post office, all stamped themselves on her memory. Then, as she handed back the glass to Susan, she pointed with a smile to a tiny child in a blue pinafore with a mop of yellow curls. "How pretty!" she half mur- " I Have Lost My Maiden Aunt " 70 mured. " How I wish 1 could sketch that for a picture ! It would be a perfect idyll." For the little creature, who was too busy to notice the stranger, was indus- triously ironing some fallen and faded leaves with a toy llat-iron which was nearly lost in the small palm. " Mummie," she said presently in a tired voice, " the 'ickle leaves will crumple, but me irons them hard." " Bless your sweet innocence ! " exclaimed Susan in her motherly voice. " Don't worry, Liz; mummie is just going to iron all the pretty pinnies, and Liz shall sit at che table and watch her." And as Susan lifted the child in her arms the young journalist thanked her and mounted her bicycle. " I shall describe that little tableau to Ralph," she said to herself ; " it might come in handy." And she was right. The very next year a little picture at the Royal Academy attracted a good deal of attention. " Falling Leaves " it was called. Liz and her yellow curls and blue pinafore were there ; but the artist had added a kitten dragging an old sunbonnet by its string across the leaves. Mr. Rutherford pointed it out to his sister and Lady Dorothy. " That reminds me of dear little Lizzie Bennet." observed Prudence sadly. " Ah, the picture is sold, Morven ! " And she sighed again ; for the sweet baby face no longer gladdened the mother's eyes — Susan's cherished darling had gone to that pleasant land where the leaves never fall or fade. When the Rev. Morven Rutherford accepted the liv- ing of Herondale and Brantwood, his friends told him candidly that he was throwing himself away. He was a man who would make his mark in a London parish, and it was simply suicidal in their opinion to bury him- self in a Surrey village. And perhaps at that time Morven Rutherford was disposed to agree with them ; but only to his special chum, Richard Trafford, did he fully explain the matter. " Beggars must not be choosers, Dick. It is not a SO The Key of the Unknown Lad living, and as long as I do not marry I shall hold my fellowship. It is the only thing to do." " You mean on your mother's and Miss Prudence's account?" returned his friend thoughtfully. "Well, yes; 1 must find them a home, and the Rectory has great capabilities for comfort. My sister quite fell in love with the place. The village is very peaceful and pretty, and the country round is remark- ably fine — wide heathery commons and fir forests with sandy lanes and wild ravines and winding paths bor- dered by bracken and brambles." '' Yes, I know the sort of place ; it would be a pleasant backwater existence for a tired worker, but for a man like you, Rutherford " " My dear fellow ; if one is in earnest one can find work anywhere, and under the circumstances it was the best thing to do." And then Richard Trafford held his peace. He knew all about the family troubles — of old Mr. Rutherford's foolish and wrong-headed specula- tions, which had brought his wife and daughter to poverty. After his father's death Morven's first thought had been to find a fitting home for his widowed mother, who was an invalid and threatened with blindness ; and . two years later, the poor woman died peacefully with her son's hand in hers, the remembrance of her 1 • speech to him must often have come back to him. " God has been very good to me in giving me such a son. In spite of your poor father's death, we have been so happy. God bless my beloved children." And then, as she motioned them to kiss her, her gentle spirit passed away. No, certainly, if it had been a sacrifice, Morven Rutherford had never repented it. " Tf one is in earnest one can always find work," he had said to Richard Trafford, and his packed church and crowded services pmvcd his post was no sinecure. How could there fail to be work when Aldershot was so near? Certainly the Rector of Herondale was a busy and contented man. " I Have Lost My Maiden Aunt " 81 The friendship between him and Richard Trafford had commenced in their earliest Eton days, and in spite of long separations, owing to Richard Trafford's frequent absences from England, it had not cooled or lessened. Never were there two men more utterly un- like in character, temperament, and tastes, and yet, strange paradox, no two men could have been more con- genial companions. Dick Trafford was a born loafer — even the Rector acknowledged this. His chief duties in life were to explore hidden nooks and corners of strange countries, and to shoot big game wherever he could find it. Now he would be on the rolling prairies in search of bison, or camping out in a log hut in Canadian forests with a rough settler or two. While the novelty lasted nothing came amiss to him — cutting down wood and clearing brush were mere pastimes. Then one morning he would buckle on his knapsack and bid his good com- rades farewell. " I have a spinster aunt in England — I dreamt of her last night — I accept the omen," he would say. " Dagon, you and I have our marching orders." Dagon was a huge brindled bulldog of fear- some aspect, who kept watch over his master day and night, and had once saved his life. He was Dick's fetich, and in spite of his grim and repelling looks, he was a dog of gentle nature, and never picked a quarrel with any one unless he threatened to murder Dick. He was still young, though he looked like a canine Methuselah, and was often playful in a clumsy and lumbering fashion, and he had a singular partiality for kittens. This weakness led to a complication one day. That night Dick had dreamt of his spinster aunt, and the next morning told his mates that he was going back to the old country. He had been living with an old trapper and his deaf and dumb son in a forest clear- ing in Canada, and Dagon had conceived a warm friend- ship for a sandy cat and her family. He came at once to his master's whistle, but he looked dejected and 82 The Key of the Unknown anxious. A minute later Dick was surprised to see him slink back to the cabin ; but as he reappeared after a short interval, his master took no notice — for once he was lost in thought. Presently a weary " glump " be- hind him, followed by a strangled mew, roused him, and to his horror there was Dagon, hot, tired, and very uneasy in his conscience, looking at him with imploring eyes, while a small and unhappy kitten dangled uncomfortably from his mouth. Dick regarded him sternly. " Oh, you rascal — you confounded old thief! If you have not stolen the youngest but one baby from Mrs. Sandy!" But Dagon only dropped the kitten on the ground and thrust his big, clumsy head against his master's knee. " Now what are we going to do with that motherless brat ? " continued Dick, as the kitten, delighted with its liberty, rolled over on the leaves with intense enjoyment. " Do you suppose I am going back two miles to restore it to Mrs. Sandy — that is like your cheek? And if we leave it here it will be killed as sure as fate by some evil beast or other. Oh, you villain — you unscrupulous and unmitigated villain ! What do you say ? — that the baby's weaned, and that Mrs. Sandy does not want it, and — oh, that's your meaning?" as Dagon, with a sob of suppressed emotion, took up the kitten gently and laid it at his feet. " Confound you for an old meddler ! " And then, without further talk, Dick dropped the kitten into his huge pocket, while Dagon uttered a hoarse bark of excitement, joy, and gratitude. Dick said afterwards that he should write the story of the Canadian foundling and give the proceeds to the Waifs and Strays, but he never did it. In due time a cab conveyed him and Dagon and the sandy kitten to the house in the Regent's Park where the spinster aunt, Dick's sole remaining relative, lived. His Aunt Felicia had already made acquaintance with Dagon — though she always called him " that dreadful dog " and requested " I Have Lost My Maiden Aunt " 83 her nephew to keep him at a distance — and now he had decided to present her with the kitten. Kittens, especially when they become cats, are likely to be in- convenient travelling companions. " Well, Emma," to the respectable-looking parlour- maid who opened the door, " you see I am taking you by surprise as usual. Where is Miss Graham ? " " Miss Graham ! Oh, sir, haven't you heard the news? Mistress was married a fortnight ago, and she and the Canon have gone to Brittany for their honey- moon." Then Dick, too much amazed for words, sat down limply in the hall chair and took Dagon's thick head between his knees. Aunt Felicia married ! Did ever a maiden aunt of fifty-eight do such an unprecedented thing? " You had better come into the dining-room, sir, and Mrs. Murphy shall tell you all about it. It is a fortnight to-day, and mistress — Mrs. Ramsay her name is now — was wondering if her letter will have reached you." " No, I have heard nothing," returned Dick gloomily. " I'll just overhaul Mrs. Murphy and then go to my diggings." But when he left the modest house in the Regent's Park Miss Sandy was resting comfortably in Mrs. Murphy's ample lap. " I will look after her, sir ; she will take our old cat's place." And then Dick, drawing a long breath of relief, applied himself to the task of consoling the bereaved foster-father. Dick ate his dinner rather sulkily at his club that evening. He was ashamed to own even to himself how the news of his Aunt Felicia's marriage had bowled him over. In his casual, irresponsible way he had been very fond of the gentle little spinster who had opened her heart and home to him. Probably she would have opened her purse too if Dick had needed it, but he had a sufficient little income of his own. " There will always be a room for you, Dick, my 84 The Key of the Unknown dear," she had said to him, " a sort of pied au terre where you can rest when you are tired of wandering. It shall be kept aired and warmed, and you can take possession of it at an hour's notice." And Aunt Felicia evidently meant what she said. Dick's treasures and trophies were all housed in a big roomy attic, and were carefully dusted by Miss Graham herself. But this time there was no welcome for the wanderer, and that night Dick did not enjoy his pipe, and Dagon slept restlessly with one eye open because the sandy kitten was not reposing as usual on his huge back. The next day the Rector of Herondale received a telegram which he took to his sister. " Richard Traf- ford is in England and has wired that he will be down this evening. I suppose you could get a room ready?" Then Prudence, who was adding up her weekly bills, nodded. She was well used to these telegrams. When Dick entered the Rector's study that evening with Dagon closely following him, Morven Rutherford thought he had never seen his friend so fit or in better condition. He looked as lean and wiry as a greyhound, and his handsome face was sunburnt. " Why, Dick, old fellow, it does one's heart good to see you ! " But Richard Trafford regarded him solemnly. " My good friend," he said sadly, " I have come all these miles that you and Miss Prudence may sympathise with me in my affliction. I have had a blow, Ruther- ford — I have lost my maiden aunt ! " X AN ANCIENT IDYLL " Do you think of the days that are gone, Jeanie, As ye sit by your fire at night ? Do ye wish that the morn would bring back the time When your heart and your step were so light?" " I think of the days that are gone, Robin, And of all that I joyed in then; But the brightest that ever arose on me, I have never wished back again ! " Anon. Dick Trafford's lachrymose expression was so droll that the Rector laughed in his pleasant way. " Take your own seat, Dick, and help yourself from the old red tobacco- jar on the mantelpiece, and we will tell you all about Miss Graham's marriage. I suppose you have missed her letters? Ah, here comes Prudence to welcome an absent friend. Prue, my dear, Trafford is a little mystified about the Graham-Ramsay marriage. A rolling stone gathers no moss, as I often tell him, and his aunt's letters have not reached him." Then Miss Rutherford looked at Dick very kindly. " Oh, dear, what a pity ! Miss Graham told me her- self that she had written to you to inform you of her engagement to Canon Ramsay, and that she felt sure you would be intensely surprised. " I think he will under- stand everything when he reads my letter, for I have made it all quite clear to him ; and if he thinks me an old fool for marrying at my age, he will just say so, for Dick and I always tell each other the truth.' " " That's so." P>ut Dick's tone was gloomy, and Prudence went on. " Tt was a very short engagement — only six weeks ; and of course the wedding was as quiet as possible. I saw Miss Graham two or three days previously, and 85 86 The Key of the Unknown she had just written to you again, as she could not be sure of a letter finding you. She said she should write from St. Malo, and send it under cover to the Rectory." " But she has not done so yet, my dear," observed the Rector. .Morven Rutherford was not a handsome man, but he had a striking personality that always made an im- pression on people. He was tall and athletic-looking, his features were strongly marked, and his expression was good. But his voice was his chief attraction ; it was so deep and pleasantly modulated that if strangers heard it in the street they always turned round to look at the speaker. Lady Merriton, who was very cultured and had a fine ear for music, always said it was a treat to hear the Rector intone the service or read the Lessons. " He is perfectly simple," she remarked once, " and there is no straining after effect, but he evidently realises the meaning of every word. When he read that chapter about Joseph I could hardly control myself over old Jacob's lament : " For I will go down into the grave unto my son mourning." I saw poor Susan Bennet put her handkerchief to her eyes." Prudence Rutherford was a rather plain young woman ; she had slightly prominent teeth, but she had bright eyes, and such a good-humoured, animated ex- pression that people never criticised her looks. " She is a homely body," Susan Bennet would say, " but she is worth her weight in gold, and a solid lump of comfort when one is in trouble. Neither my master nor me will ever forget her goodness to us when dear baby died. She fairly cried over us both. ' T shall never have a child of my own, Susan." she said to me, " but I think T love all children more and more as T grow older. And Liz, bless her heart, was such a darling! Rut now she has all the angels to pet her instead of her mother." T do think that was so sweet of her to sav that." An Ancient Idyll 87 Prudence was one of those sensible, satisfactory people who never waste words ; she could tell a story briefly and concisely without unnecessary digressions or voluminous padding, and she soon made things clear to Dick's puzzled brain. After all, it was perfectly simple to any one conversant with Felicia Graham's past history. When she was a girl in her teens she and Canon Ramsay — only he was a hard-working young curate then — had been engaged. At that time Felicia's parents had not been averse to the engagement ; but later on, when their circumstances became involved, Cap- tain Graham, who was in the navy, expressed himself rather strongly on the subject of beggarly curates, and told his wife that she was greatly to blame in promot- ing the match, and that no daughter of his should be brought to poverty. When Captain Graham retired from the service there was an end of all peace for poor Felicia. Suppressed gout and a naturally irascible temper made the Captain a trying inmate in a small house, and Mrs. Graham had hard work to preserve peace. To make a long story short, as Prudence was doing, such pressure was brought to bear on Fecilia that the girl, who had always taken the fifth commandment literally, was induced to give up her lover ; but from that day the joy and sweetness of her girlhood were over. " You may tell my father that I will obey him, though I think he is very cruel to me and Alick, but I will never marry any one else." And Felicia kept her word. She was a pretty creature, and more than one desirable suitor came to the Captain's house, but she would have nothing to say to them. And when her father began to bluster after his usual rough fashion, she checked him with such dignity and spirit that he was as astonished as if a dove had flown in his face. " Father," she said, " there is no reason for this un- seemly language. I am no longer a child to be threatened and coerced. I have obeyed you and given up Alick, 88 The Key of the Unknown but no power on earth could induce me to marry another man while he is living." And for once in his life the Captain held his peace. Alick Ramsay was a long time getting over the loss of his sweetheart, for he had been truly and sincerely attached to her. But he was too proud to make any further attempt to change her resolution. A few years later he married the eldest daughter of his rector, and from that day his fortunes mended. He and Felicia never met, but now and then she had indirect news of him when the living of St. Saviour's, .Margate, was given to him. And she also saw in the paper the birth of his three sons. Felicia told herself humbly that it did not matter if her own life was joyless, as all was certainly well with Alick. He had a good wife, three sturdy boys, and plenty of loaves and fishes. After her parents' death Indicia's fortunes improved a little. She had some money left her, and also a small but exceedingly comfortable house in the Regent's Park. Her only brother, Dick's father, was also dead, and Felicia, who was otherwise lonely, determined to make a home for Dick. This part of Felicia's life was cer- tainly not unhappy. In a great measure she had for- gotten the trouble of her youth, and Dick's erratic visits brought plenty of interest into her life. About a year before Dick went off for his last trip to Canada, two events befel the Rev. Alick Ramsay : he was made one of the St. Breda's canons and he lost his excellent wife. As his three sons were all abroad in different professions, he was a lonely man. Then, without warning — by pure accident as some people say, or by providential guiding in the wiser opinion of others — he ?md Felicia came face to face in a crowded and difficult crossing by the Mansion House. Canon Ram- say had been a widower a twelve-month then, and they had not met for thirty-seven years. For the first minute neither recognised the other. An Ancient Idyll 89 Canon Ramsay was too busy piloting the frightened little well-dressed lady to a place of safety. Felicia, who was breathless and panting, could hardly express her gratitude fittingly to the tall, while-haired clergyman who had been her angel of deliverance from enormous dray horses and snorting motors. " There, you are all right now, but it was a near shave ! Good heavens, can it be Felicia Graham ? " in a tone of intense amazement that brought back the old girlish flush to Felicia's pale cheeks. Yes, it was Felicia without doubt ; the delicate pret- tiness was still there — a little faded and worn perhaps. The brown eyes did not sparkle as they used to do, and Felicia had grown sedate and old-maidish, while the soft, mouse-coloured hair was quite grey under the little close bonnet. Felicia was too early Victorian to indulge in toques; she liked wide bows of silk or lace under her little pointed chin. When Canon Ramsay uttered his surprised remark Felicia's startled eyes expressed no recognition. The tall stooping figure, the white hair, the deeply-furrowed brow failed to recall the vigorous, athletic young curate with his dark, closely-cropped head. " Oh, impossible," she murmured, " you cannot 'be Alick Ramsay ! " But he soon proved to her that he was. Canon Ramsay was staying in town on important business, but he found time to call frequently at the house in the Regent's Park. Now and then he would take Felicia to the Zoo to listen to the band ; there were quiet shady corners where old friends who had been long parted could talk and compare notes. Canon Ram- say had much to say about his excellent Charlotte. One day he brought Felicia a photograph which he said was lifelike. Felicia looked rather curiously at the stout, handsome woman who looked so commanding in her black velvet. It was a kind, good face, she thought, but she liked best to hear about the three sons. 90 The Key of the Unknown Canon Ramsay had plenty to say about them. They were all good, true-hearted lads, and were doing their father credit. Malcolm, the eldest, was with his regiment in India ; Walter, who had an excellent berth as Inspector of Native Schools, was also in India ; and not long before his mother's death Basil had gone out there as a missionary. " He is the one who will feel his mother's death most," observed the Canon softly, and something in his tone told Felicia that this son was his Benjamin. These confidences were very sweet to Felicia, and she did not stint her sympathy. The revival of the old friendship had brought her a strange feeling of happiness. The old sense of loneliness ceased to trouble her in Alick's presence. And then one day he spoke. " Felicia," he said, turning to her quietly, " we are growing old, you and I, and we are both lonely. Why should we not be together for our remaining years? The world may call us old fools perhaps, but it does not know that we are old lovers. Shall it be so, dear? " And though Felicia was too much agitated to give an immediate answer, she did not long withhold her consent. " I have loved you all my life, Alick," she said to him the next day ; " why should I deny myself the hap- piness of caring for you and your comfort because people may laugh at us? Are you sure that your sons will not object to a stepmother?" But Canon Ramsay reassured her on this point. After this Felicia made no more difficulty. Kenwyn, Canon Ramsay's house at St. Breda's, was ready for its mistress, and Felicia would keep her house at the Regent's Park. Alick thought it comfortable and liked the situation, and Dick could still make it his head- quarters. Felicia set about her preparations in a sen- sible, middle-aged fashion. She would not have con- fessed to anv one with what heart-beats and flutter she An Ancient Idyll 91 looked at the silvery-grey folds of her wedding dress. When Alick told her, as they drove away from the church, that she looked twenty years younger, quite a girlish flush came to Felicia's face. Was she really fifty-eight? she wondered, and were the best years of her life gone? What did it matter after all ! The vintage was late, but the wine that filled her cup was still good ; the aftermath was rich and abundant ; and though another woman had been the mother of his children, Felicia would have the privilege of walking with him hand in hand down the slow difficult slope of the hill towards the sunset. Dick drew a long breath and filled his pipe afresh with the Rector's excellent tobacco as Prudence finished her story, but he made few comments. " My maiden aunt seems to have feathered her nest very comfortably," he said cynically; "but I wonder where I come in. I must overhaul that room full of rubbish and warehouse it." But when the Rector sug- gested that he should settle down in diggings of his own, Dick did not seem to see it. He was rather thoughtful for a day or two, and loafed about the village in an aimless manner, talking to every man, woman, and child he met in his usual fashion ; and if any small boy seemed on the verge of a fit at the sight of the bulldog, he would pat his head in a friendly fashion and advise him to fetch a kitten — any kitten would do, black, white, or sandy — and the fearsome beast would be propitiated. Dick was a little puzzled one day when Jimmy Turner received this piece of advice with tempestuous weeping. " Don't want my kit eaten," he sobbed ; and with some difficulty Dick discovered that Jimmy thought that kittens furnished Dagon with his favourite food. The idea fairlv shocked Dick. " Why, bless you heart, laddie, he loves them — he would not hurt one for the world ! Just you watch and see how pleased he will be ! " Then there was 92 The Key of the Unknown quite a crowd of white-headed urchins to witness the novel sight. Dagon was in the seventh heaven after this. Ever)- cottage furnished him with a playfellow. Now and then he would steal one and appear with it at the Rectory. But his master always sternly insisted on his returning it to its rightful owner. When Dick Trafford had been at the Rectory three days the promised letter from St. Malo arrived. Prudence took it to him at once. Dick's sunburnt face reddened a little when he saw the handwriting. It was just such a letter as a warm- hearted woman could write ; and it told him all that he needed to know — that she had done the right thing and that she was perfectly happy. I tell you all this, Dick, because we are such friends, and I don't want you to be shocked or sorry the least little bit. Nothing will be changed, dear. I am keeping on the Regent's Park house, and Mrs. Murphy will take care of it. Your room will always be ready for you, and if we are not there Mrs. Murphy will do her best to make you comfortable. The only difference is that you will have two homes instead of one ; for there is a room at Kenwyn which is to be called yours — my husband insists on it. The house is not small. He never likes people to use his sons' rooms unless absolutely necessary; but he tells me there is one which will fit up nicely for you, and I mean to see about it as soon as possible. You must promise to occupy it, Dick. Do, my dear, for the sake of your ever loving aunt, Felicia Ramsay. When Dick handed this letter to his friend, the Rector perused it with much interest. " Do you know, Dick," he observed seriously as he replaced it in the envelope, " I think your aunt is an exceedingly good sort ? " "That's so," returned Dick with a satisfied smile; and then he stretched out his hand for the red tobacco- jar. XI HERONDALE RECTORY Our mental business is carried on much on the same way as the business of the State. A great deal of hard work is done by agents who are not acknowledged. In a piece of machinery, too, I believe there is often a small unnoticeable wheel which has a great deal to do with the motion of the large obvious ones. — George Eliot. Cheerfulness throws sunlight on all the paths of life. RlCHTER. As Lady Dorothy and Joan stood for a moment in the Rectory porch, they had a full view of the little square hall with its crimson carpet and old oak settles which were the admiration of all the Rector's friends. On cold wet days there was always a bright fire burn- ing in the old-fashioned tiled fireplace ; but, except in winter, the front door was never shut from morning to evening. " I am always at home to my friends and neighbours without ceremony or red tapeism," Morven Rutherford would say. And many a piece of village business was comfortably settled in the Rectory hall over a pipe or a glass of sparkling cider. As the girls crossed the hall, Prudence came through a little glass corridor full of flowering plants and ferns which led to the Rectory garden, carrying a bowl of wallflower which she deposited carefully on the side table. " You two dears," she exclaimed in her friendly way, " you are punctual to a moment ! I have just finished my household labours, and was coming to the Green to meet you. Now, shall we go to the workshop as usual until luncheon ? " But Prudence hardly needed Lady Dorothy's aod of acquiescence. She and Joan were 93 94 The Key of the Unknown busily occupied in taking out hatpins and straightening themselves and their stray locks at the oval glass which hung between the barometer and the grandfather's clock. Prudence's workshop, as she always called it, had been her mother's room, and had at one time opened into the study, but by mutual consent it had been long blocked up by bookcases. It was a very comfortable room, low, but well lighted. A tapestry cloth covered the solid oak table, where Prudence pasted and mended the broken covers of old schoolbooks, or repaired dilapidated toys and injured dolls. In the low oak cupboards which flanked either side of the fireplace Prudence kept quite a store of doll's heads and eyes, and sawdust for limp and wasted limbs. How the sad baby faces would dimple with smiles when that miracle-worker, Miss Rutherford, restored their be- loved Jemina or Susannah with new staring blue eyes and freshly-rouged cheeks, and an emaciated frame was restored to its old plumpness ! When little Tim Hal- loway received his tailless monkey with a splendid furry appendage to it fashioned out of an old stole, his awe and delight deprived him of all power of speech, and hardly needed his mother's interpretation. " He is fairly beside himself with pleasure, Miss Rutherford. You would never believe how he has been grieving for the creature. We have had to let the kitten sleep with him these two nights, for nothing else would quiet him. ' I wants my Jacko — I can't sleep without my dear Jacko ! ' was all his cry." Then Tim, hugging his newly-restored treasure in his fat arms, was borne off smiling like an infant seraph. No wonder the children of ITerondale loved the Rector's sister. A comfortable Chesterfield couch which had been appropriated to Mrs. Rutherford's use still retained its old position by the garden window, but it was seldom used except by Prudence's visitors. Miss Rutherford's robust health and energetic habits rarely needed such indulgence. But it was Lady Dorothy's favourite seat. Herondale Rectory 95 " Are you very busy this morning, Prue? " she asked, as she leant back against the cretonne-covered cushions with a sigh of content. " No, not particularly. I meant to get you both to help me cover the new library books ; but there is no hurry, and I daresay Mr. Trafford will be good-natured and come to my assistance this evening. He is the handiest man I know, and he does things so neatly." " I had no idea you had Mr. Trafford here," observed Lady Dorothy in an interested tone; and then Joan, who had been silent, looked up with some degree of animation. Both the girls liked Dick Trafford and were on excellent terms with him, and were always pleased when he paid his rare visits to the Rectory. " The men folk are out of the house just now," returned Prudence ; " they have gone up Sudlow Hill for a walk, and of course Dagon is with them. Mr. Trafford only arrived two nights ago. He was a little upset at hearing about his aunt's marriage. Miss Graham's letters had missed him, so he telegraphed and came down here as usual. He and Morven have been talking morning, noon, and night." '* Well, leave your bookbinding for the evening, Prue. A little work will be good for Mr. Trafford, and neither Joan nor I are in an industrious mood." Then Prudence, whose bright eyes had already noticed that both girls looked tired and unusually grave, brought her knitting- basket to the couch, and producing a half-finished navy blue comforter, pronounced herself ready for any amount of talk. "I hope there is nothing wrong, Dorothy?" she asked rather anxiously — " that Lord Josselyn is no worse ? " " I trust not. We have not heard since last Monday. But poor mother is sleeping badly just now. I am afraid both she and father are worrying themselves a good deal about Arthur. There is something else we have to tell you, Prue. Joan is going away next week 96 The Key of the Unknown to stay at St. Breda's Lodge, and I don't believe we shall see her back again for months." Dorothy spoke in a depressed tone. But though Joan flushed a little at Prudence's scrutinising glance, she answered quite calmly. " Dorcas is good enough to say that she will miss me; but Lady Mary thinks that I ought to accept Heath's invitation. I have certainly treated him and his wife very shabbily this year." " But what will Lady Mary do without you? " asked Prudence quietly. " Dorothy and I always notice how restless and uneasy she is during your absences, short as they are. But to leave her for months — oh, Joan, is it really necessary?" and there was such understand- ing and sympathy in her voice that Joan faltered a moment. But she was spared the necessity of answering. " Dear me, Prue," exclaimed Lady Dorothy in an annoyed tone, " there is that tiresome Miss Emma Joy coming up the front garden ! If she sees you she will keep you talking for an hour. Shall I tell her you are engaged this morning?" " It will be very kind of you, Dorothy. Tell her I could see her about the same time to-morrow." Then Lady Dorothy nodded and left the room. " Emma will be too much in awe of her ladyship to force her way in," observed Prudence. " She is a very chattering little person, and often tires my patience." Then her voice changed into unusual earnestness. " Dear Joan, while we are alone, let me tell you how grieved I am for you and Lady Mary — how truly I sympathise with you both. No," as Joan drew herself up rather proudly, " I am asking no questions. I do not need to them ; Mrs. Flavel has been here as well as to the Abbey. Poor woman, you have no idea how distressed she was. She said over and over again that you and Captain Bastow would never forgive her, but that she must do her duty. You know what a good-conscientious sort she is." But as Joan could not Herondale Rectory 97 truthfully subscribe to this, she wisely held her peace. " I must go, Prudence," she said under her breath ; " Lady Mary says it it is not possible for me to remain at Morningside just now. There, I have told you this because you seem to know things, but I do not want to talk about it. One must do what is right even if one has to suffer." Then Prudence gave the girl's hand an affectionate little squeeze. " Dear Joan, that is so brave of you ! Yes, one can only do the right thing and leave the rest with provi- dence. In this poor old world of ours one has to grope one's way sometimes, until the light comes. " Follow the gleam," as Morven says sometimes." But Joan remained silent ; she could see no gleam of hope at present and the path looked dark before her. Nevertheless, Prudence's sympathy and squeeze of the hand had done her good. At least her friends respected and trusted her. Even Dorothy, who knew so much, had no word of blame for her, and all this was very soothing to Joan. When Lady Dorothy returned a few minutes later with her errand successfully accomplished, she was fol- lowed by Richard Trafford and Dagon, who both con- sidered themselves free of the workshop. Joan's tired young face lit up with something of its wonted animation as she shook hands with her old ac- quaintance and made friendly overtures to Dagon. " I hope he and Rascal will keep the peace," she observed anxiously. But Dick assured her that Dagon regarded all small clogs with indifference bordering on contempt ; that no dog was less aggressive or of gentler disposi- tion ; that his grotesque and repellent aspect was entirely misleading, and disguised a nature brimming over with loving-kindness. Thus did Dick eulogise the faithful friend who had once saved his master from the assassin's knife. Richard Trafford admired Joan immensely — he always maintained that they were kindred spirits — but 7 98 The Key of the Unknown it had never occurred to him to fall in love with her. Dick had had one solitary romance in his wandering life, which had ended disastrously. About five years before, he had been desperately in love with the daughter of a Canadian farmer, and the attachment had been so strong on Dick's part that he seriously contemplated in- vesting his little capital in the purchase of land and settling down in Canada with Nellie Montrose as his wife. Nellie was a beautiful girl and she had many lovers, but Dick's handsome face and powers of persuasion made him a successful wooer; and if he could have married her then and there, she would certainly have made him a good wife. But business obliged him to return to England for a month or two, and during his brief absence a young farmer who had been courting Nellie induced her to marry him. It was a bad business, and Dick never cared to recall that time. When he rode up to the log house no " queen of curds and cream " smiled at him from the porch. Nellie, in her corn-blue linen gown, with her yellow hair and her breast-knot of golden buttercups, was in her husband's cottage not half a mile away. But Dick swore savagely to himself that he would never look on her fair face again. " She has fooled me, but one can't revenge oneself on a woman," thought Dick, who, in spite of his loafing propensities, was a true-hearted gentleman. Probably, though he never knew it, he had his revenge, for poor Nellie had reason to repent that hasty marriage. Bob Staplegrove was neither steady nor hard-working, and there were troub- lous da\s before Nellie and her children. Dick's entrance into the workshop had created a diversion, and before long they were summoned to the hincheon-table, where the Rector awaited them. Lunch- eon at the Rectory was always a cheerful and informal meal, and it was so on this occasion. But though Mr. Rutherford talked as much as usual — arguing with Dick Herondale Rectory 99 and discussing the last new book with Lady Dorothy — he had quietly noted two facts — first, that Joan had been shedding tears ; and secondly, that Lady Dorothy looked worried and out of spirits. He therefore took an opportunity as they rose from the table, and the other three were looking at an India-rubber plant in the dining-room window which was causing Prudence some anxiety, to ask Lady Dorothy quietly what was amiss. " I am afraid something is troubling you both," he said in his pleasant voice ; " Miss Leigh does not seem in her usual spirits." Then Lady Dorothy's eyes filled with sudden tears. Mr. Rutherford was a friend of the family, and he was so kind and sympathetic. "Oh, if only I could tell you about it!" she said impulsively. " But Joan would not like it. She made me promise not to say much even to Prudence." " Then I will ask no troublesome questions. But probably Prudence and I are not quite in the dark ; Mrs. Flavel was here the other afternoon." Then Dorothy looked at him piteously. • " Oh, I see that you know all about it ; but Joan will question me, and I must be careful. This one thing I may tell you — that poor Joan will have to go away for some time, and she and Aunt Mary are so unhappy about it. They are doing it for our sakes, and because Craig has behaved so foolishly." Then the Rector's face looked a little grave. " Do not blame your brother too much, Lady Dorothy. No doubt he was strongly tempted ; and I can answer for one thing, that he meant to be straight, although he may have tangled things a bit. Of course I see the difficulty ; but I think Miss Leigh is acting very wisely in leaving Brantwood for a time." " Oh, I was sure you would say that. Poor dear Joan, I think it must comfort her a little to feel she is doing the right thing; but it does seem so hard for her." " Doesn't it strike you that it is a bit hard on 100 The Key of the Unknown Captain Bastow too ? I confess he has a good share of my sympathy. But, dear Lady Dorothy, they are both young and \vc must not lose hope. There are hard places in life, God knows, for most of us — difficult little bits of climbing that test our strength and manhood — aye, and womanhood too. Many have to pass between lions before they can enter their Palace Beautiful, and sometimes " — here the pleasant voice grew deep and vibrating — " sometimes, dear friend, the lions are not chained." Something in the Rector's tone seemed to thrill Lady Dorothy, as though there were some occult meaning in his words. Then, as she met his quiet kindly glance, she thought it must be her fancy. " I suppose one must try to make the best of it," she said simply. " I think that would be wisest," he said, smiling at her. And at this moment the others rejoined them. The girls did not stay long after this. Joan had promised to be back for tea and Lady Dorothy had an engagement. The two gentlemen walked across the Green with them, and before they parted Mr. Rutherford found an opportunity of saying a word to Joan. " I hear that I am to lose one of my workers," he said, as they crossed the little bridge. " I need not tell you that all your Herondale friends will miss you sadly." " You and Prudence are very kind," returned Joan in a low voice. " I shall not stay away longer than I can help, you may be sure of that." " Lady Dorothy seemed to think that you would be away for three or four months. I heard her tell Mr. TrafTord so." " Yes, I suppose so." " Then we must do all in our power to cheer Lady Mary up. After all. Miss Leigh, it is an ill wind that blows no one any good — your brother will be the gainer." But Joan made no audible response to this. They had Heron dale Rectory 101 paused here, for the Rector was on his way to the school. Lady Dorothy and her escort were walking slowly towards them. " I must leave you now," he said, putting out his hand to the girl. "If I do not see you again before you go, you will let me wish you God-speed now, and tell you how gladly we shall welcome you back ? " and his firm, kind pressure was very comforting to Joan. He had not said much to her, but something in his tone and manner seemed to signify that he understood and approved her course of action. As soon as they were alone Lady Dorothy linked her arm in Joan's. " I hope Mr. Rutherford was nice to you, dear? " she said affectionately. Joan nodded. " He is never anything else, Dorcas ; and I think he is sorry to lose me. I don't suppose I shall be at the Rectory again before I go." And then by tacit consent the subject dropped, and for the remainder of the walk Lady Dorothy talked chiefly of their increasing anxiety on Lord Josselyn's account. XII "IT IS THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT" Just a path that is sure, thorny or not . . . Just plain duty to know, irksome or not, And truer and better to grow in doing the duty I know. Just to keep battling on, weary or nol ; Sure of the Right aione as I keep battling on, True to my thought. VValtek Smith. Joan had other visits to pay. She and Lady Mary had a good many friends in Atherton and some of the neighbouring villages. As there were few houses within walking distance, Lady Mary proposed that they should drive to them together. " You know I owe Mrs. Ogilvie and the Farquharsons a visit," she said by way of excuse. But in reality she conld hardly bear the girl out of her sight those lasl few clays, and Joan was far too thankful for her com- pany to offer any objection to this. 1 ,ady Alary, with all her other worldlinesses, had plenty of savoir-faire and tact; she knew how to pilot her young companion across any awkward bit of road. When Mrs. Ogilvie. a good-natured, rather stupid woman, asked curious questions which made Joan's cheeks burn. Lady Mars- changed the subject so deftly that no one suspected her cleverness. But she was very severe on Mrs. Ogilvie afterwards. " She is an amiable, good-hearted woman," she ob- served, as the carriage turned out of the gate, " but it is a pity that she is not better bred. Tt is the hair on the foot, as my dear Sir Martin used to say, and every one knows that she is not her husband's equal." And Joan assented to this quite warmly, for she and the courtly old General were on excellent terms. Joan had one ordeal to face — the Thursday dinner 102 " It is the Wisdom of the Serpent " 103 at the Abbey. Lady Alary had brought her a gracious message from Lady Merriton, that she would expect to see her as usual. "Are you quite sure she really wishes me to go?" asked Joan anxiously. And Lady Mary had assured her that nothing could have been kinder than Lady Merriton's manner. " She seems very much pleased with you," she con- tinued, looking fondly at her favourite ; for nothing gave her greater pleasure than to say smooth, comfort- able things when she could do' so truthfully. But if this were impossible she always held her peace, which proved not only her wisdom but her real Christianity, it being a known fact that we cannot love our neighbour and do him mischief at one and the same time. Joan showed no special gratitude for Lady Merriton's kind message. She had not seen her for more than ten days, for the Countess rarely came to Morningside except by special invitation. " If only one could get a sick headache when one needed an excuse ! " she said rather ungratefully to Lady Dorothy on Thursday morning. But her friend looked a little hurt. " Oh, Joan, what a thing to say, when we all mean to be so kind to you ! " But Joan was not in the least penitent. " I can't help it, Dorcas ; I perfectly dread the even- ing. I feel bristling all over with nerves like a fretful porcupine. I know I shall contradict your mother or do something dreadful." " But, my dear child, why should you put yourself into such a state? Of course Craig will not be there — mother has taken good care of that." But this was only like flinging the proverbial red rag in the eyes of an infuriated young bull. " Tf Craig were to be there, nothing would induce me to cross the threshold of the Abbey ! " returned Joan shortly, and she walked away without another word. 104 The Key of the Unknown Dorothy had said the wrong thing. " Did they think — did they really think that she expected to meet him ! " thought Princess Joan, with a toss of her head. Lady Dorothy wisely took no offence at Joan's brusqucrie and snappishness, which she knew were noth- ing but nervous irritability. " Poor dear Joan," she sighed, as she walked back to the Abbey. " I shall have no one but Prudence," she thought regretfully. And then she remembered that her mother had invited Lady Cicely to stay with them until they went up to town. She had forgotten to mention this to Joan. Joan tried to walk off her restlessness by taking Rascal for a long walk, but she only succeeded in tiring herself. As for Rascal, he burrowed so deeply in a rab- bit-hole that his mistress was obliged to drag him out by his hind legs, and his appeara-nce was so disgraceful that he was consigned to the stable by way of punish- ment. " One good thing is, there are no rabbit-holes at St. Breda's, and Rascal will have fewer temptations to mis- behave," she observed to Lady Mary as they sat at luncheon. " Ra will have to behave more rationally if Silence is to regard him with any degree of favour. I fancy from something Heath said in his letter that she is not quite pleased that I insist on bringing him." " You know, Joan, that I advised you to leave him under my care." But the girl shook her head. " If I go, Ra must go too ; T made Heath under- stand that. We should both be miserable without each other." And Joan's manner was so decided that Lady Mary said no more. As soon as the meal was over, Joan went off to a little upstairs sanctum of hers, where she kept her books and treasures, to pack up some of her cherished possessions which she wished to take with her ; and she was still busy when the arrival of visitors summoned her to the drawing-room. Some old friends of Lady " It is the Wisdom of the Serpent " 105 Mary's had driven over from Michael's End, and as the horses required rest, they remained for nearly two hours, and then there was only time to dress for the Ahhey. A little later, as Joan stood before her glass in her white dress, there was a light tap at her door and Lady Mary entered. As there were no other guests dining at the Abbey, Joan was rather surprised to see that she wore her heliotrope velvet, but it never entered her mind that Lady Mary had selected it because it was the gown the girl liked best. The dark rich tints of the velvet, with its trimming of priceless lace, always gave her a regal appearance, and Joan looked at her with admiring eyes. But before she could speak Lady Mary put a morocco case in her hand. " I want you to wear this to-night, Joan. It is a little parting gift, a keepsake, which I know you will prize all the more because I wore it when I was younger." But as Joan opened the case her eyes were wide with surprise. " Oh, Lady Mary, you cannot mean me to keep this ! Your beautiful diamond and sapphire cross, which Dorothy always admires so ! Oh, what will she and Lady Merriton say?" But Lady Mary only smiled at the girl's consternation. " It was one of my dear Sir Martin's gifts to me," she said softly. " He generally gave me jewellery on the anniversary of our wedding day or on my birthday. I always meant to leave this to you, Joan; but yester- day, as I was turning out my jewel-case with Dunlop, I made up my mind that you should have it now. You need not hesitate to take it, my child. You are not robbing Dorothy. There is plenty for her and Craig's wife when he marries. Besides, Dorothy will have her share of her mother's jewels." Joan's eyes sparkled with something like their old brightness as she lifted the little cross from the case. It was attached to a twisted gold necklet of foreign workmanship. Then, as Lady Mary clasped it round 106 The Key of the Unknown the girl's neck, Joan's fresh young lips gave her silent thanks. "I am so glad you are pleased, dear! It certainly looks very nice." " I think I like it best of all your things," returned Joan. " But, dear, dearest Lady Mary, I feel as though I do not deserve it. I have been so horrid and disa- greeable, and have given you so much trouble." But her friend only smiled. " If we were only to be rewarded according to our deserts, I am afraid some of us would be in a sad plight. There, I hear the carriage, and Dunlop will be waiting with my wrap, and we must not be late." But as Joan went to the wardrobe in search of her cloak, her eyes were dim with tears. Lady Mary's loving generosity had touched her to the heart. This little episode had done Joan good, and as she followed Lady Mary into the Abbey drawing-room her expression was far more natural. And as Lady Mer- riton's greeting was as pleasant and friendly as usual, there was no opening for even her sensitive pride to take offence. The Earl's shake of the hand, too, was as cordial as ever. And though Lady Dorothy at once noticed the sapphire cross, there was nothing but sym- pathetic appreciation in her tone. Lady Dorothy never coveted her neighbour's possessions, and she was singu- larly indifferent to personal ornaments. She preferred her friends to give her books and pictures. "How nice of Aunt Mary to give you that!" she said in quite a pleased voice. " And it looks so well with your white silk. Mother and I always admired it so. But Aunt Mary has not worn it for years." " No, it is too young and girlish for me, Dollie," observed her aunt, smiling. And then Lady Merriton beckoned Joan to the seat next her, and she too had n pleasant word or two to say about the girl's now ac- quisition : and this well-bred kindness softened Joan all the more though inwardly she was still on guard. " It is the Wisdom of the Serpent " 107 Lady Merriton had been a society beauty when the Earl had married her ; and though the brilliancy of her youthful bloom had long ago faded with the trials and sorrows of life, and her finely-proportioned figure had become a little too ample of late years, she was still a very good-looking woman, and her husband admired her as much as ever. " Few women can compare with my wife and sister in looks," he said once to an old friend who had been complimenting him on Lady Merriton's appearance in her court dress ; and the old friend, who had known them both from childhood, assented to this. " But Mary Boyle wears the best," she said to herself. " Her temperament is calmer, and since her widowhood her life has been a sort of backwater existence. Poor dear Hildegarde has never got over the loss of those boys. That sort of trouble ages a woman." Lady Merriton always wore her old gowns in the evening, unless they had guests staying at the Abbey or some of the county people drove over to dinner ; and she insisted that Dorothy, who was careless in such matters, should follow her example. Privately she thought Lady Mary's velvet dress a piece of unwarrantable extravagance ; but she would not have hinted at such a thing for the world, except to point a moral to her daughter. " Why don't you tell her not to dress so grandly, mother?" asked Dorothy. "Aunt Mary is so good- natured and never minds anything that one says." But the Countess seemed quite shocked at the idea. " I should be very sorry to take such a liberty," she said gravely. " I daresay your aunt would take my interference in good part, but none the less she would resent it in her quiet way.' ' And Lady Merriton was right. In spite of hei gentleness, Lady Mary would have regarded any such remark on her sister-in-law's part as uncalled for and not in srood form. 108 The Key of the Unknown To Joan's surprise, the hour spent at the dinner- table passed as smoothly and pleasantly as usual. There were no awkward subjects broached, and Craig's name was only mentioned once by Dorothy. Joan, who was a little bewildered by a sense of loss and unhap- piness, felt as though she must be dreaming some evil dream. These kind people were not treating her as though she were a culprit. But she' failed to see the meaning which they so delicately tried to convey to her, or to realise how grateful they were to her for refusing Craig's offer. Later on she understood more clearly. When they returned to the drawing-room, Lady Merriton left Dorothy to entertain her aunt and invited Joan to occupy the other end of the couch. " I shall not see much of you after this evening," she said in quite a motherly tone, " so we may as well have a little talk now. Lady Mary tells me that she and Dunlop are going up to town with you on Monday morning." " Yes, it is so kind of her. But I could have man- aged quite well with Dunlop." " It is a pity that your brother could not have fetched you. You see, Lady Mary and I are a little behind the times. We have an objection to girls travelling alone. Of course you young people laugh at us and say chaperons are going out of fashion. But I am conservative and cling to my own ideas." Joan smiled ; she was not inclined to enter into an argument on the subject. Lady Merriton was rather an autocrat, and she was apt to resent contradiction. If Dorothy differed in opinion from her mother, she was generally told that at her age girls ought not to be so opinionated. " I should think my year? must have given me some experience and knowledge of the world," she would sav severely, " unless you consider your mother a fool!" And this crushing remark certainly spoilt the argument. " It is the Wisdom of the Serpent " 109 But on this occasion Joan declined to tread on the thin ice, and Lady Merriton went on placidly. " I need not tell you, my dear Joan, that we shall miss you sadly. Dorothy was quite upset at the idea of losing you for so long. I don't know whether to be more sorry for her or for Lady Mary." " Lady Mary will miss me most," returned Joan, putting up her hand to her little cross, and her voice was rather unsteady. " You see, we are so much to- gether, and the house will seem so lonely." " Dorothy and I have been talking about that," returned Lady Merriton, " and we have made rather a nice little plan. You know we are going up to town later this year. The fact is " — in a burst of unusual confidence — " we are too much worried about poor Josselyn's condition to be in the mood for gaiety : and as Lady Cicely is coming to us " Then an un- comfortable flush came to Joan's cheek. " Dorothy never told me she was coming," she said in a surprised voice. " Did she not ? Very likely you were talking of other things and it slipped her memory. Cicely's visit fits in rather nicely just now, as her grandmother has just died and they are not going to their town house this season ; so she is quite delighted to come to us for a few weeks." " I am glad for Dorothy's sake," replied Joan in a dull voice. But inwardly she was saying to herself: " How soon — how very soon ! But it is the wisdom of the serpent. Craig is so unhappy that a little kind- ness and sympathy will win his gratitude. And then Oh yes, how is he to stand up against them all ! " And in spite of her effort a low shuddering sigh escaped Joan's lips. But though Lady Merriton heard it, she said in the same cheerful voice: " Yes, we have made our plan. Dorothy means to go over to Morningside every afternoon about tea-time and spend at least an hour with Lady Mary. And she 110 The Key of the Unknown must come to us on Tuesdays as well as Thursdays, we shall insist on that. Oh, we shall cheer her amongst us ; and, after all, five months will soon pass." " Oh, yes, I suppose so." But Joan's tone expressed such despondency and weariness that Lady Merriton felt a little troubled. " St. Breda's is such an interesting place," she went on, " and I hear Canon Leigh's house is quite delightful. It will be a pleasant change for you to share your brother's home life for a little ; for, as I sometimes say to Dorothy, Morningside must be rather quiet for a lively girl." " Oh, no — no, I am never dull there — not for an instant ! It is the dearest home a girl could have, and I have been so happy " — here the tears started to Joan's eyes ; and as Lady Merriton's large soft hand covered one of hers, the little cold fingers fluttered helplessly in that motherly grasp. " My dear child, if you knew how we all grieve for the necessity of your going! Oh, the mischief caused by that foolish, reckless boy of mine ! Joan, let me say this before you go. My husband and I think you have behaved so well. So far from disappointing us or be- traying our trust, your conduct has been quite admirable. You have entered into our feelings with a delicacy and sense of propriety quite surprising at your age." But Joan tore her hand away and started up from the couch ; she could bear no more. " Don't, please, Lady Merriton ! If you knew all, you would not praise me. I have not been as good as you think, or I should not be so unhappy. But I wish to do right, and I think you may trust me." But at this crucial moment the door was flung open in rather an impetuous manner and Craig walked into the room. XIII CRAIG HAS HIS INNINGS The courage by which love, like honour, starts to the post of noble danger and maintains it, till by such fidelity it becomes a place of danger no more. . . . — Robertson. I have no show of wealth, my wealth is you. — Sir Philip Sidney. It would have been evident to the most casual on- looker that Craig's abrupt entrance into the room was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. The Earl's good- natured face clouded over in a moment. Lady Dorothy uttered a shocked little exclamation, and Lady Merriton assumed her most dignified and severe aspect. "What does this mean, Craig?" she asked coldly, as her son stooped to kiss her cheek. But Craig, who quite understood that he had been sent to Coventry and was expected to remain at a respectful distance, took no notice of his chilling reception. " I have been dining at the Rectory, mother," he returned quietly, " and as something has gone wrong with the motor, I came in search of a spare bicycle. How are you, Aunt Mary? I had an idea you and Joan were dining here to-night, and I hoped I should be in time to see you before you left." Craig was looking at Joan as he spoke ; but the girl, who was still standing by the couch, had turned her flushed face aside and he could not see her expression. " It is getting late, Craig ; I think we must be going now," observed Lady Mary, who was somewhat alarmed at the ominous frown on her brother's brow. " Shall we ring and tell them to send the carriage round. George?" But before Lord Merriton could answer. Craig negatived this in his masterful way. ill 112 The Key of the Unknown " Why are you in such a hurry this evening, Aunt .Mary ? Collins will be round at his usual time ; it is only a quarter to ten." And Lady Alary, with rather a disconcerted air, tried to look pleased at this information. " I thought it was much later," she murmured in Dorothy's ear. " But 1 suppose it is no use hurrying Collins, he always will take his time." Meanwhile Craig, who seemed in a somewhat aggressive mood, walked straight up to Joan. " What is this that Miss Rutherford tells me ? " he asked abruptly — " that you are going away, and for months? " and his tone compelled Joan to look at him. " My brother has invited me to pay a long visit to St. Breda's Lodge," she stammered. " It has all been settled so hurriedly; Heath's letter only came on Monday." But Joan's explanation did not seem to satisfy Craig. " But you spent Christmas with your brother. Is it not rather soon to be paying him another visit? And how is it possible for you to leave Aunt Mary for months? There is something underneath all this, or why have I been left so much in the dark ? " and Craig's tone of hurt resentment frightened Joan. " It was all so hastily settled," she faltered ; " it was only arranged on Monday, and as I was going over to the Rectory, I told Prudence. It is all quite simple, Craig " — but Joan paled visibly under the angry blue fire of Craig's eyes. " Heath wishes me to pay them a nice long visit. And as Lady Mary is willing to part with me " But before Joan could finish her sen- tence Lady Mary came to the girl's side. " Why are you catechising Joan in this peremptory fp'-hion, Craig?" she asked mildly. "What she says is perfectly true. Her brother wishes her to pav him a long visit, and I am quite ready to spare her." " You are always ready to do your duty, are you not, Aunt Mary?" but Craig's tone was hardly con- ciliatory. Then I will not tease you with any more Craig Has His Innings 113 questions, Joan ; 1 see it all quite clearly now. A nice little family scheme has been hatched. Yes, father," as the Earl rose heavily from his chair, " I will talk to you presently, but before Aunt Mary goes I will have my say for once. Do you think I am a child to be blind- folded in this fashion? Joan, I know why you are going away. You and poor Aunt Mary are both to be sacrificed. You will not be allowed to return to Morningside until the real scapegrace is safe in India. Do you think I do not understand all that?" And then he took her hand. " It is good-bye now, dear, but I shall see you again soon " — and the pressure of his hand on hers comforted Joan not a little. At least he was not angry with her — all his indignation was re- served for those who had formulated the little scheme, and were sending Joan away in the hope that time and absence would cure his infatuation. " I think we had better wish you good-night, Hilde- garde," observed poor Lady Mary. Then the Countess rose in her most stately manner. " I am very sorry our pleasant evening should be spoilt by Craig's singular behaviour, but I hope you will excuse it. Joan, my dear, I will see you after church on Sunday, so this is not good-bye. Dorothy, love, will you go with your aunt ? " Thus did Lady Merriton clear the deck for action ; but Craig took no notice as he walked across the room to open the door. As Joan passed him he whispered in her ear, " I am so sorry, darling, it is all my fault." And if her life had depended upon it Joan could not have refrained from giving him that smile. It was so sweet and sad that it stirred the young man's pulses with renewed hope. Was it possible, after all, that she cared for him? And as he turned back into the room he registered an inward vow that he would not leave England until he had found out the truth. " And now, sir, what does this strange behaviour on your part mean ? " and the Earl confronted his son with 8 114. The Key of the Unknown a lowering brow. He was an easy-tempered man, but he could be roused to fierceness or sullenness when he was tried too severely. " You know what your mother and I feel on the subject of your conduct to Joan Leigh, and yet before our faces you could make love to her!" " Oh, no, Merriton, Craig could hardly be accused of that " — for the Countess, who was not without tact, felt this was going too far — " he was only bidding Joan good- bye." But Lord Merriton could be obstinate as well as aggressive when he chose. " He was holding her hand for quite a long time, and he told her, in defiance of our known wishes, that he would see her again, and when he opened the door he was whispering in her ear. We used to call that sort of thing making love in my time, my lady." Then the glimmer of an amused smile crossed Craig's face. " Really at times the governor was too funny ! " " I do not deny that I said so, sir," he returned quietly, " and if I live I shall certainly keep my word. Canon Leigh is a gentleman — I suppose he will not turn me out of his house. And if he does, there are other ways and means. Thank heaven, we don't live in the dark ages, when parents were jailers and recreant daughters were consigned to nunneries ! " And Craig laughed in rather a scoffing fashion. " My dear boy, that is hardly the way to talk to your father, especially as you can see how vexed and worried he is." " There is no particular reason for my father to be either vexed or worried," returned Craig in a loud, fierce voice. " I am committing no crime in wanting to marry Joan. If I had fallen in love with a music-hall singer or a ballet dancer there might be some reason for my father's anger. "But Joan Leigh is a gentlewoman, and her brother is in a good position, and even if her pedigree is nothing particular. T should not be the first Bastow who has not married in his own rank. Joan's want of money is the difficulty — oh, yes, I grant you Craig Has His Innings 115 that. But she is Aunt Mary's adopted daughter, and " But here the Earl angrily interposed. " Your Aunt Mary has very little money to leave. I have seen Sir Martin's will. The greater part will go to Sir Rodney Boyle, and was only for her use during her life. I have also been led to believe that some of this will come to Dorothy, and only a com- paratively small sum will be left to Joan." " I don't see that that matters, father " — and now Craig spoke more civilly — " we shall have to wait rather a long time, that is all. I am not afraid of being poor," continued the young man, " I am only afraid of losing the girl I love. Now, mother, I must not stay any longer, as my time is up. I must go round to the bicycle-house and make tracks for Aldershot." " We shall see you next week, Craig ? " asked his mother anxiously. But he would not be induced to name any special evening. He might look in for an hour or two one of these days, unless he were too busy ; and Lady Merriton was obliged to be content with this vague assurance. " You were a little too heavy-minded, Merriton," observed his wife, as soon as they were left alone. " Boys of Craig's age are apt to be touchy and to mount the high horse. He is behaving in a most ridiculous fashion ; but if we quarrel with him we shall only make things worse, and he won't keep near us." " Then let him keep away," returned the Earl testily. But his wife looked at him reproachfully. " Oh, Merriton, how can you say such a thing, when you know Cicely will be here and we want him to come as often as possible!" " And what good will that do when the lad is in this humour?" replied her husband. "He will as likely as not affront the girl with his sulkiness and inatten- tion, just to pay us out for sending his sweetheart away." But Lady Merriton refused to admit this. "Craig is a gentleman," she said calmly; "he will 116 The Key of the Unknown not treat our guest so discourteously. Besides, he and Cicely are very good friends, and they always get on so well together. You must not be too anxious, my dear, and spoil my nice little plan. Young people will have their fling — they kick up their heels like young colts at grass, and run away from their own shadows — but we must bide our time. Joan, poor child, will be safely out of the way, and when Craig comes you may depend upon it that he will be quite pleased to see his old friend. And as for Cicely, it is my belief that she is more than half in love with Craig now, though only Dorothy and I have found it out." And then, as her husband seemed somewhat impressed by this view of the case, Lady Merriton announced her intention of re- tiring, as the hour was late. Merriton would recover his good temper over his pipe, she thought. My Lady Nicotine is an unfailing peacemaker. His heart would soften to Craig, and he would think more leniently of his obstinacy and wrong- headedness. " After all, there is some excuse for the poor boy," she said to herself. " Joan is certainly a very taking little person ; I could not help admiring her myself to-night. But there. Cicely will soon make him forget her ! " There was no word exchanged between Lady Mary and Joan until they entered Morningside, when Lady Mary made her usual Thursday night speech. " We won't keep Dunlop out of her bed while we talk. As soon as she has brushed my hair T will come to vour room and bid you good-night." This was a slight deviation from the ordinary routine, as Joan gen- erally went to Lady Mary's room. But she made no remark on this, she was far too preoccupied to notice trifles; but all the same she would have preferred dis- pensing with the usual talk altogether. When Lady Mary came about twenty minutes later, she expressed some surprise at seeing Joan still in her evening dress. Craig Has His Innings 117 "Do you know it has just struck eleven?" she said in a tone of mild rebuke. " Has it? " returned Joan indifferently. " But it does not matter, for 1 am not a bit sleepy. I have been having a tremendous think, as Wanda used to say." But Lady Mary only shook her head rather sadly. " Dunlop wanted to talk, but I was obliged to tell her I was too tired. I hope it was the truth," she con- tinued anxiously ; for she was very scrupulous, and always took herself to task if her conscience told her that she had in any way exaggerated the truth. " Craig, foolish fellow, has given us enough to think about. How unfortunate that he should have dined at the Rector\ r to-night ; for of course Prudence would naturally suppose that he was aware of your going away." " I do not know why Prudence should take that for granted." " Very likely the Rector or Mr. Trafford may have mentioned it first, and Craig would probably turn to her for an explanation. But I think it was a pity he should come straight to the Abbey, as he certainly expected to find us there, and make such an uncom- fortable scene. I don't think he ought to have put you in such a painful position." " It was certainly very awkward," observed Joan. " But I don't see that Craig was to blame. I think the Earl and Lady Merriton were very hard on him." " They thought he had no right to come, Joan, when his mother had begged him to remain away for a few days. There was nothing to be gained by making his father angry." '' T think it was for Craig to be angry," returned Joan in her clear young voice. " They are treating him like a child, as he said — keeping him in the dark and making uncomfortable plots and mysteries. People can be too clever and overreach themselves," continued the girl. " How much wiser it would have been for his mother to tell Craig the simple truth — that they 118 The Key of the Unknown thought it would be better for me to go to St. Breda's for the present! He would have been just as sorry, of course, but he would not have been so hurt and angry. ' " I see what you mean, dear." " Craig is very straightforward and he hates little crooked paths, and you have no idea how proud he is, and they are taking him just the wrong way. I thought," went on Joan indignantly, * that Lady Merriton would know better, but she is making mistakes too. Did they tell you that Lady Cicely is coming to the Abbey for a long visit ? " " Yes, they told me on Monday. I think I was rather sorry to hear it, though, of course, she will be a nice companion for Dorothy." " Lady Merriton was not thinking of Dorothy," re- turned Joan with a scornful laugh. " But she is making a grievous mistake. It is far too soon to weave these pretty little plots. Craig is so clearsighted, he will read between the lines at once, and his visits to the Abbey will be few and far between, and poor dear Lady Cicely's feelings will be hurt." And Lady Mary sighed, for she knew Joan was speaking the truth. She was by no means certain that Lady Merriton was pursuing a wise policy. "You are sorry that they have invited Cicely?" she said very gently. But Joan would not allow this. " I am only sorry that the invitation has been given so soon," she returned rather proudly. " I think if they had waited a little they would have had more chance of success. Do not misunderstand me, dear, or think for a moment that T would ever consent to stand in Craig's way. Tf he can bring himself to love Lady Cicely, T am quite sure that it would be far better for him to marrv her, and T should be the first to tell him so." " You are a dear, generous child, Joan, and T believe you," returned Lady Man-, taking the girl's hand as she spoke. " But the marrying and giving in marriage of those we love are not in our weak hands, and I think Craig Has His Innings 119 we may thank God for that, for some of us would-be wise folk would make a rare muddle of things." And then a sweet, serious smile came to Lady Mary's lips. " Don't you remember those lines that struck us both so much? They begin: He holds the key of all unknown, And I am glad ; If other hand should hold the key, Or if He trusted it to me, I might be sad. What if to-morrow's cares were here Without its rest? I'd rather He'd unlocked the day, And as its hours swung open say, " My will is best." " Oh, yes, that is so beautiful ! " " Then we will just think of it to-night, you and I, and not trouble ourselves about other people's mistakes. There, good-night, my child, and God bless you ! " When Lady Mary left the room, Joan was in no haste to seek her couch — she had not quite finished her thinking. As she brushed out the masses of her glorious hair, her mind dwelt on that strange scene in the Abbey drawing-room, and once she laughed aloud, but the tears were in her eyes. " Oh, you darling," she said softly, " how I love you ! " But she was not speaking of her dear Lady Mary. XIV " AUF WIEDEltSEHEN ! " Surely it is not true blessedness to be free from sorrow, while there is sorrow and sin in the world ; sorrow is then a part of love, and love does not seek to throw it off. — George Eliot. And when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from Heaven like a creeping cloud, Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies. Keats. Both Lady Mary and Joan had secretly hoped that their friends would have left them in peace during those last three days. But nothing seemed further from their intention. From morning to evening they were never alone. Lady Dorothy perfectly haunted the house. She came in the morning to help Joan with her packing, and there was generally some urgent reason why she should look in at tea-time. And she was so sweetly affectionate to Joan, and so anxious to do all in her power to soften the pain of parting, that no one could have the heart to hint that she was wasting valuable time. Then on Saturday afternoon Prudence called, and brought her brother and Mr. Trafford with her; and as Lady Dorothy was there also, there was quite a cheerful tea-party. And they slaved so long that Lady Dorothy had to hurry off for fear she should be late for dinner. But to Joan's chagrin she turned up again in the evening with a age from her mother. Lady Merriton had one of her tiresome sore throats and would not be able to go to church the next day; and she begged, as a special favour, that Lady Mary and Joan would come up to luncheon, and then she could bid Joan good-bye. 120 "Auf Wiedersehen!" 121 " Oh, dear ! " sighed Joan. But Lady Mary gave her a warning glance. The invitation was as unwelcome to her as it was to Joan, but it would never do to refuse it. " Your mother is very kind, Dorothy, and I am so sorry she has caught cold. As she wishes it so much, we will drive straight from Herondale. But we shall not be able to stay to tea. " But why not, Aunt Mary? Joan has finished her packing, and there is nothing else to do." " I should prefer to come home early in the after- noon," returned Lady Mary quietly. " Then I will come back with you," returned Lady Dorothy impulsively ; " for I want to see as much of Joan as I possibly can." "I think I must ask you not to do that, Dollie," returned her aunt, with a smile. " Perhaps I am selfish, but I want Joan all to myself the last evening." Then Lady Dorothy coloured slightly and said no more. She was very amiable and loving, but she was a little dense at times, and her want of perception some- limes tried Joan. " I was so glad you said that to Dorothy," she ob- served later. ' The dear thing really gives us too much of her company just now. I don't think it is quite kind of Lady Merriton to ask us to luncheon to-morrow, when she knows you like to stay quietly at home on Sundays." " But she means to be kind, dear. She wants to make up for that contretemps on Thursday. She is only paying you a little attention." But Joan smiled rather ruefully. What was the good of escaping Scylla if there were still a danger of Charybdis! But Lady Mary, who quite understood the girl's feelings, went on in a soothing manner: " We will not stay long. I will promise you that, love. We will have one of our nice quiet Sunday even- ings. You will not mind giving up church for once?" Then Joan protested quite vehemently that she never intended to go that last evening. 122 The Key of the Unknown " 1 thought not. You shall sing some of my favourite hymns, and we will have a nice talk. 1 mean to tell \\ liiis not to admit any one." And then Joan was pacified. Joan tried hard to be bright the next day, for Lady Mary's sake, but her heart was as heavy as lead. And though she did her best to enter into the beautiful ser- vice, and listen to the Rector's helpful sermon, her thoughts would wander to forbidden subjects, and she would ask herself how long it would be before she occupied her old seat in Herondale Church. " If I could be sure that I shall only be exiled for five months," she thought ; " but how is one to be certain of anything under such circumstances? " Prudence had bidden her good-bye the previous day, but she hurried after them for a final hand-shake in the porch. " We shall have you back before long," she said, with a kind smile. " And Dorothy and I mean to write and tell you all the parish news. Mr. Trafford is going to take your class this afternoon ; I expect his stories will amuse the children." And these few cheerful words brightened Joan's pale face. Mr. Trafford put them into the carriage. " I expect we shall meet before long, Miss Leigh," he observed. " I shall have to pay my respects to my new uncle, and judge for myself the effects of a late matrimonial alliance on my maiden aunt. I believe Kenwyn is not far from St. Breda's Lodge?" " Oh, no, it is just across the green. I expect my sister-in-law will soon make Mrs. Ramsay's acquaintance ; of course everv one in the Precincts know each other." And Mr. Trafford professed himself delighted to hear this. Luncheon at the Abbey was rather a dull meal that day. The Earl was not in good spirits, and Lady Mer- riton was so unwell that she offered no objection when Lady Mary rose to take leave. "Auf Wiedersehen!" 123 " You are only fit to be in your room, Hildegarde," she said sympathetically, " and talking is only making you hoarse." And the Countess was obliged to own that she was right. " I must not kiss you, Joan," she said, holding the girl's hand affectionately, " I always think sore throats are infectious ; but I hope you will have a pleasant visit, my dear." " I suppose I may run across after breakfast for five minutes to wish you good-bye." And Lady Dorothy's voice was rather reproachful. " Of course you may, Dorcas dear ; we shall not leave until after ten ; " and then Dorothy seemed content. That last evening was a strangely peaceful memory to Joan during the next few months. There were no troublesome intruders to disturb them. Joan sang all Lady Mary's favourite hymns, and played her best loved selections from Handel and Bach and Mendelssohn. And then, as the soft spring twilight stole over the garden, she joined Lady Mary in the window recess, where she often sat to watch the sunset. It had faded now. and only a faint pink streak, like a fading scarf, lay across the great breadths of evening sky. Lady Mary did not speak as she made room for the girl, but when a shy little hand stole into hers she held it fast. It was Joan who broke the silence. " Next Sunday," she said softly, " you will be sitting here alone." Lady Mary sighed. " Oh, I knew we should be both thinking of that ! I shall be missing my child sadly, but I comfort myself by remembering that she will not be far awav. Join dear, if you should need me, or be in any difficulty, you have only to tell me so and I will come to you at once." " How sweet of you to say that ! " and Joan nestled against her so closely that her ruddy locks brushed Lady Mary's shoulder. " Do you know what is troub- ling me this evening? It is the fear that you might be 124 The Key of the Unknown ill and wanting me, and that they would not allow you to send for me.'' " My dear, what could have put such an absurd idea into your head ! If I were ill and really wanted you, I should certainly send for you without asking- any one's permission. Why," as a low sob reached her ear, " my darling, you must not give way to these morbid fancies. Surely you can trust me ? " " Entirely, implicitly — you have never disappointed me yet," exclaimed the girl passionately. " It is only other people's influence that I am fearing." " No one will ever come between us, Joan. If you were my own child I think I could not love you better." " And yet you can send me away from you ? " mur- mured the girl. " No, forgive me, dearest, I ought not to have said that. I know that it is right for me to SO." " I am glad that you can say that. And though we are both rather sad at heart this evening, I do not for one moment regret the step we have taken. I would far rather part with you for a time, and feel that you were on the path of duty, than keep you with me for my own pleasure. We are both trying to save our dear boy from making a great mistake, and to restore peace to a troubled household, and even if we fail we have done our best." " Oh, yes, I hope so." But for the moment Joan was unable to say any more. A sudden thought had flashed through her mind, almost turning her giddy. Was Lady Mary right, after all? Were any of them right? What if the sacrifice were unnecessary, and they were all making a grievous mistake? What if, after all, it would not be the best and wisest thing for Craig to marry the girl he loved ? " Joan clenched her disengaged hand as this doubt assailed her. "Lady Mary is a good woman," she said to herself, " but good people make sad mistakes sometimes. I am " Auf Wiedersehen ! " 125 sure she did in her own case, when she gave up Maurice Annersley. How is she sure that Lady Cicely will be the right wife for Craig — that she will make him happy ? What right have we short-sighted human creatures to try and make or mar our neighbor's life — to remove his landmarks or take from him his dearest posses- sion under pretence of giving him something better ? Money is not everything, it cannot buy happiness or peace of mind or any of Heaven's best gifts," went on the girl despondently. But at this moment Lady Mary's soft tones arrested her attention. By some singular transmission of thought she seemed to have guessed Joan's perplexity, for she was repeating to herself softly the lines she had quoted on Thursday night: " He holds the key of all unknown, And I am glad ; If other hand should hold the key, Or if He trusted it to me, I might be sad." And then Joan resolutely threw off the tormenting doubt which threatened her peace. After this they talked quietly of many things — little everyday arrangements such as women love to discuss. " I do not wish you to write to me oftener than you like, Joan," observed Lady Mary presently. " Much as I shall love your letters, I do not want them to be a burden. And I will not expect them on any special day — I always think that is such a mistake. " Then in that case our letters will cross sometimes, and I shall have to write off by the next post to answer your questions. Not that I shall mind that," continued Joan hastily, " for writing to you will be one of my chief pleasures, and I shall not grudge either time or trouble." Then Lady Mary looked pleased. There was something that Joan wanted to say, though she hardly knew how to clothe her meaning in 126 The Key of the Unknown words. But Lady Mary, who was very clear-sighted, read the girl's troubled expression correctly. "There is something you want to ask me, Joan? Don't be afraid to tell me if there is anything 1 can do to make you happier." But Joan shook her head. " No. I was not thinking of myself. I was only going to ask you to be perfectly frank with me in your letters, and not to hide things for fear of giving me pain." " Oh, I understand now ! You mean that I am to let you know how matters progress between Craig and Lady Cicely?" " Yes, I mean that," and Joan's voice was quite steady. " It would be far better for me to be prepared than to be told suddenly that they were engaged. There is no one else whom I can ask to do this." After a moment's consideration, Lady Mary prom- ised that nothing of importance should be kept back. " But I shall expect equal confidence on your side," she finished. Then Joan, who was much relieved on gaining her point, assured her that her letters should be faithful records of her doings and feelings. " I shall tell you how I get on with Silence, and when I am naughty to her." But as a grave look came to Lady Mary's face at this — " I really do mean to be as. good as possible." " And you won't laugh at her for being a little fussy over Heath and the children ? " " No, I will only call her an early Victorian wife ; she will consider that a compliment. Silence is very enthusiastic about our Queen of blessed memory; she thinks that there never has been, and never will be, any queen to compare with her." " T think many of us will agree with her in that." " Oh, but she carries her hero-worship to such an extent! Do you know, there is a large framed picture of the old Queen in every room in the house, even in the children's bedrooms. And in the dining-room there "Auf Wiedersehen!" 127 are two: the youthful Victoria Regina in her corona- tion robes, with her girlish face and plaited hair; and the aged widow Queen, at the date of her Diamond Jubilee." " 1 like Silence all the better for her true-hearted loyalty." " Yes," returned Joan with a touch of her old mis- chief, " and it is a comfort to feel that there is one subject on which we really agree ! " Then Lady Mary laughed and patted her cheek. " You must be careful Joan. A little tact and for- bearance are the sweeteners of daily life. Never forget for one moment that Silence is the mistress of the house and your brother's wife, and that, however you may wonder at the fact, he dearly loves and honours her." Lady Mary's quiet tone conveyed such occult meaning to Joan's ear that the girl flushed uneasily. " Con- science, which makes cowards of us all," most certainly did not exonerate her. And then, as the gong announced the evening meal, there was no further allusion to St. Breda's Lodge. Two hours later, when Joan entered her room, she was surprised to find a tiny bouquet lying beside her brushes on the toilet-table. A beautiful crimson rose which she knew had come from the conservatory at the Abbey was surrounded by sprays of forget-me-not which she also knew had grown in a sheltered corner of the kitchen garden. " How sweet of Dorcas to think of that ! " she said to herself. And then she saw there was a word or two written on the slip of paper round the flowers — " Auf Wiederse- hen ! " and her heart beat a little faster, for she knew the handwriting was not Dorothy's. Craig had sent them, but how and in what way had he contrived that that floral message should reach her? And this question puzzled Joan for a long time. But if she had only known, it was perfectly simple. Craig had walked over to Herondale for the evening 128 The Key of the Unknown service. Lady Dorothy was also there. The Ogilvies had offered her a seat in their waggonette. As there was a spare seat, Craig proposed driving back with them to the Abbey, as he was anxious to know how his mother was. And the farewell message was a sudden inspira- tion which came to him; the only difficulty was to find a messenger. But fortune often favours the brave ; at the gate of Morningside he came upon Anne, the under housemaid, who had been trained to service under the Abbey housekeeper, and he asked her in a cool, matter- of-fact voice to place them in Miss Leigh's room. Anne, with all a young girl's love of mystery and love-making, readily promised to do so ; and the next moment she hid the flowers under her jacket, as Willis overtook her. "What was the Captain saying to you, Annie?" he asked suspiciously. But Anne tossed her head in rather a pert manner. " Law, Mr. Willis, there is no call for you to be so inquisitive. The Captain was only sending his respects to the ladies. But there, I must hurry on as I am a bit late." And then she quickly accomplished her errand. Joan's hand trembled a little as she held the flowers, and by and by a great bright tear rolled down her cheek and fell into the very heart of the crimson rose, where it lay like a dewdrop. " Darling — darling, and I must not even thank you ! " she whispered. But Craig never guessed how that silent message comforted her; and neither then nor afterwards did Joan mention the little episode to Lady Mary. XV WHO IS SHE, LITTLE BEAR?" I held it more human, more heav'nly, first By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear. Milton. Gently I took that which ungently came, And without scorn forgave. Do thou the same. A wrong done to thee, think a cat's eye spark, Thou would'st not see, were not thine own heart dark. S. T. Coleridge. Easter was unusually early that year, and as the train slackened at St. Breda's station Joan was not surprised to see her brother on the platform with all his five children round him, and for the moment the pleasant sight banished the girl's sadness. " Oh, how nice of you all to come and meet me ! " she exclaimed, and Canon Leigh smiled as he helped her out. " They insisted on coming, and I thought you would not object." And then Joan kissed them all round, not excepting her eldest nephew — a proceeding which seemed to embarrass Vere, who, being thirteen and a Winchester boy, was inclined to stand on his dignity. Even Joan's innocently surprised remark, " Why, how tall you have grown, Vere ! " failed to atone for that indiscretion. " A fellow hates to be kissed in a public place " ; he confided afterwards to Frank. " You saw yourself that father only shook hands with her." But Frank, who had not yet attained to the glories of a public school, grinned dubiously. He was devoted to Vere, and during the holidays he followed him about like his shadow; but he was a warm-hearted boy, and 9 129 130 The Key of the Unknown much attached to his young aunt. " Well, I don't know," he returned slowly. " You see, I am not so grown-up as you, Yere, and I don't a bit mind Aunt Joan kissing me — any more than Noel does." " Oh, Noel's a baby — and you are not much better yourself! " he was going to add. But Frank's face was so red and his brown eyes so appealing that Vere forgot his hurt dignity. " Oh, never mind, little 'un, we can't all have the same tastes! Now, if you like to race me to the next lamp-post for two big bull's-eyes ? " And Frank was alert at once. " And me too, Yere," almost screamed Noel, a solemn- faced, delicate little fellow of seven years old — " me too, Vere!" " Shut up, Noel," remarked his elder brother severely. " Little boys of your age should be seen, not heard. Come on, Frankie, you may take the usual start — only play fair — one, two, three, and away." But though Frank ran as though a bull were after him, Vere was first at the winning-post. " That's not so bad," he said encouragingly. " But you can't expect to beat me for the next year or two. Look here, you and Noel can have the bull's-eyes. I don't want to spoil my tea, for I know there is going to be strawberry jam and no end of cakes in Aunt Joan's honour." And then the three brothers walked on amicably. Meanwhile, Canon Leigh had managed to pack Joan, his two girls, himself, and Rascal into the roomy fly, leaving the heaviest part of the luggage for the carrier's cart. Canon Leigh had become rather a dignified person- ality of late years. In his younger days he had been somewhat thin, but he had filled out and was now quite portly. He was a good-looking man, with a strong face and fine dark eyes, and his wife thought that no dignitary of the Church could compare with him. And "Who is She, Little Bear?" 131 though Joan did not exactly share Silence's adoration, she felt a natural admiration for her brother. " I want him to be a dean," she said once to Lady Mary ; " he would look quite lovely in gaiters." But Lady Alary only smiled at this frivolous remark, though it was her private opinion that Heath Leigh would one day have a bishopric offered him. " He was born under a lucky star," she observed once, " and he has that infinite capacity for taking pains which they call genius. Was it not Carlyle who said something of the kind? It is my belief that, if he had been a politician instead of taking holy orders, he would have ended his days as prime minister." And Lady Mary really meant what she said. Wanda, who was a year younger than Vere, was rather like her father in outward appearance, though she had her mother's reticent nature. She had a hand- some little face and dark hair, which she wore in a wide plait to her waist. Jessica — alias Bill — was not such a good-looking child, but in spite of her freckles and snub nose she was rather an interesting little person. She had curly fair hair, and mischievous blue eyes, which could be very irresistible at times. Bill, as they called her, was her brothers' torment and delight. She played monkeyish tricks which goaded them to fury, but when she was on her good behaviour and tilings went smoothly, Bill could be angelic enough. No one but her father could really control her. With him she was always docile and amenable ; but Silence, though a devoted mother, sometimes failed to understand her. Some months previously, Heath Leigh had found his wife in tears. Jessica had been very naughty over her lessons, and she could do nothing with her. She had been so pert and rude that she had been obliged to send her to her room. " I am afraid I shall not be able to teach her any longer," she continued sadly. " I endeavour to do my 132 The Key of the Unknown best and be patient with her, but she tries me so terribly. I am afraid Jessica does not love me, as all the other children do." " Nonsense, dear; Jess is a very affectionate little person. But she is at a troublesome age, and being so much with the boys has made her rough and hoydenish. She will come all right in time." " But Wanda was with the boys too, and she has never been the least rough or unmanageable." " No, indeed, Wanda has a different temperament — at least you have one prettily-behaved daughter!" And then Heath smiled at his wife and went off to interview the culprit. He found Jess at the open window whistling to an enraptured robin ; but she broke off directly she saw her father and knit her brows together pettishly. " Of course she's told you, Dad ! " Then Heath laid his white massive hand on the rough mane. " Who is she, little bear ? " Then Jess grew suddenly red. " Oh, you know who I mean, Daddy. Of course mother has gone and told you I was naughty ! " " And all the time you were really good ? Dear me, what an ill-used little bear! I must set this right with your mother at once." But as Canon Leigh moved to the door, Jess followed him and begged him not to go. " But I can't have you punished for nothing, Jess ! it is quite against my principles." Then a hot little hand clutched his sleeve. " It wasn't for nothing, Dad. I was naughty t