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<J 
 mother really " ; and here a twist of the firm little 
 mouth showed that Jess was on the verge of tears; and 
 a fatherly arm drew her closer. 
 
 "Tell Dad all about it, darling; we shall neither 
 of us be happy until you do." Then, with hidden face 
 and sobbing breath, Jess made her confession. She 
 had learnt her lessons badly, and when her mother had 
 told her that she must learn them again, she had snatched 
 the book out of her hand and said rude things.
 
 " Who is She, Little Bear? " 133 
 
 " What sort of things ? ** Dad wondered mildly. And 
 Jess fidgeted in rather an embarrassed manner. 
 
 ** Oh, she could not quite remember. But she was 
 quite sure she had been rude. She had stamped with 
 her foot on the ground, and muttered out loud that she 
 wanted to go to school and learn with other girls, and 
 that she did not like lessons with mother. Mother's 
 teaching always made her feel sleepy " — and so on, quite 
 a long list of transgressions for one morning. But 
 perhaps it was as well that Jess did not see the amused 
 twinkle in her father's eyes. Jess as a penitent was so 
 droll ! Her searching of conscience was so thorough — 
 no holes or corners left unvisited. But by the time 
 Jess had finished, Heath quite understood why Silence's 
 calm patience had broken down. 
 
 " There, Dad, I can't truthfully remember any more." 
 
 " I am rather glad to hear that," returned her long- 
 suffering parent cheerfully. " Now, Jess, you know what 
 you have to do next." Then Jess wriggled and squirmed 
 like a worm on a hook. 
 
 What was the use of Dad being so kind and under- 
 standing if he would not let her off this unpleasant 
 duty? He would not kiss her or tell her that he for- 
 gave her until she had asked her mother's pardon. 
 " You know what you have to do next," w 7 as all he said, 
 but there had been a quiet finality about the words 
 that afforded Jess no loophole of escape. 
 
 Now Jess, who could sin so freely with her sharp 
 tongue, was a proud little soul and hated to apologise. 
 But in her small world father was the supreme ruler, 
 and if he ordered her to walk up to a cannon's mouth 
 Jess would have to do it. So she set her teeth hard 
 until they fairly ground together, and marched out of 
 the room with her chin in the air. 
 
 Silence was still sitting by the open window. Her 
 head ached and her eyes looked heavy and a little sad, 
 but she held out a kind hand to the culprit. 
 
 " You are come to tell me you are sorry, dear? " But
 
 134 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Jess frowned and almost stamped her foot again with 
 irritation. Why was her mother forgiving her in this 
 silly way before she had said her apology ? Jess rattled 
 it off quite feverishly in her hurry to obey father. 
 
 " 1 was very rude and naughty, and I am sorry, 
 mother, and hope you will forgive me." Then Silence 
 put her arms round the stubborn little figure. 
 
 " Jess darling, mother forgives you, and always will : 
 but she is very unhappy because her little girl does not 
 love her." 
 
 Jess's blue eyes opened in quite a startled way. That 
 fond, mournful tone penetrated the wilful little heart. 
 The next moment she was on her mother's lap and her 
 thin little arms were round Silence's neck. 
 
 " Oh, mother, I do love you ! How can you say 
 that because I like being rude sometimes ! " 
 
 " Do you like hurting me, Jess ? I told your father 
 that I could not go on teaching you — that you give 
 me too much trouble." 
 
 " But I never will again — never, never ! " and Jess 
 kissed her mother's cheek remorsefully. " I will have 
 my lessons perfect to-morrow — you will see if I don't ! " 
 And Jess kept her word. 
 
 Silence had very little trouble with her after that. 
 Now and then Jess lost her temper and forgot her man- 
 ners, " but she soon got rid of Mr. Devil," as she used 
 to say in her childish days. " Mr. Devil has gone and 
 I am good now, nurse." she would observe in the most 
 matter-of-fact way, which rather appalled that worthy 
 woman. 
 
 Jess sat opposite her aunt, looking at her with ador- 
 ing eyes. " I am so glad you have come for a long, 
 long time. Aunt Joan," she said. " T lav awake think- 
 ing about it last night till quite late, it made me so 
 happy. And Wanda is glad too, though she does not 
 talk about it." 
 
 Joan smiled lovingly at her nieces. She was very 
 fond of them — thev were such dear children — but the
 
 "Who is She, Little Bear?" 135 
 
 parting with Lady Mary still depressed her. And Heath, 
 who instinctively guessed her feelings, called off Jess's 
 attentions by pointing out one of her special playfellows 
 who was coming out of the stationer's as they drove 
 past. 
 
 Even Joan, in spite of her preoccupation, looked 
 about her with a sense of quickened interest. 
 
 It was a lovely spring afternoon. The little square, 
 with its monument and quaint picturesque streets, was 
 quite crowded with motors, gigs, and light carts — all 
 the St. Breda's folks were out shopping, gossiping, 
 drinking tea ; dogs were barking, hooters sounding, every 
 now and then a motor dashed up the narrow, steep little 
 straggling street, with its old houses and overhanging 
 windows. The next moment they passed through the 
 beautiful old gateway into the Precincts, and the glorious 
 Cathedral, with its massive grey towers and graceful 
 pinnacles, rose before Joan's admiring eyes — solemn, 
 calm, majestic in the sunshine. It was like a wonderful 
 dream, thought the girl. And all around it was a peace- 
 ful environment — quiet old houses and rows of shady 
 trees, and a little green where some boys were playing. 
 Farther on were the ruins of an ancient infirmary — 
 fragments of massive walls and picturesque arches, 
 through which the passer-by had a glimpse of St. Breda's 
 Lodge. In the delicate tracery of one some tiny bird 
 was pecking at the yellow stone, the martins were flying 
 in and out of their nests, and from a garden near a thrush 
 was fluting melodiously to his mate. 
 
 " I forgot how beautiful it was," murmured Joan in 
 an awe-struck voice. 
 
 " You only saw it in winter," returned her brother, 
 " and I remember the weather was dark and gloomy. 
 But you have no idea how the beauty of it all grows 
 on one." and Heath's fine strong face lighted up as 
 he spoke. " If one could only live up to it, Joan — if 
 one only deserved this goodly heritage ! " And Joan, 
 who was always quick to respond to any emotion, gave
 
 136 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 his arm a loving little squeeze. At that moment she 
 realised how proud she was of him. 
 
 " There's mother!" exclaimed Jessica delightedly, as 
 they drove in. And then in a loud aside to her sister, 
 "Look, Wanda, doesn't she look nice; she has put on 
 her newest best dress in Aunt Joan's honour! " 
 
 " Hush, Bill, how can you be so silly — Aunt Joan 
 will hear!" But Jess took no notice of this repressive 
 speech. 
 
 As the fly stopped, Silence stood quietly in the door- 
 way, with the afternoon sunshine streaming on her fair 
 Madonna face and smooth brown hair. 
 
 " You have not been looking out for us long, Silence," 
 observed Joan, " the train was quite punctual for once." 
 But even as she said this she was wondering why Silence's 
 greeting was so much more affectionate than usual. 
 
 " Oh, no, you are not in the least late. But how tired 
 you look, Joan. Tea will be ready in a few minutes, 
 and I mean to take you to your room at once." 
 
 "May Wanda and I come too, mummie?" But 
 Silence shook her head. 
 
 " No, dear ; I think Aunt Joan would be glad of 
 a few minutes' quiet. And there is only time to make 
 yourself tidy for tea." And Jess, who was always on 
 her best behaviour in her father's presence, only shrugged 
 her shoulders pettishly as she followed Wanda to the 
 room they shared together.
 
 XVI 
 
 SILENCE 
 
 The mother is the real home-maker. It is her sweet life that 
 gives the home its atmosphere. It is through her love that God 
 comes first to her little children. The Rabbis used to say, " God 
 could not be everywhere, and therefore He made mothers." The 
 thought is very beautiful. — J. R. Miller. 
 
 Silence is the best resolve for him who distrusts himself. — 
 La Rochefoucaulb. 
 
 Silence had been a very handsome girl when Heath 
 Leigh had fallen in love with her and determined to 
 make her his wife. And she was still a striking-looking 
 woman, though critical people would complain that her 
 face was wanting in expression, and that even statuesque 
 beauty needed a little animation. But they would not 
 have said this if they had seen her with her husband 
 and children. Quiet as she undoubtedly was even with 
 them, there was a sweetness in her smile and tenderness 
 in her thoughtful grey eyes which were as eloquent as 
 speech. Silence had never been slim even as a girl — 
 she had been cast in a generous mould — and her finely- 
 proportioned figure had grown more massive, so that she 
 fully looked her thirty-six years. Her chief drawback, 
 and one which she strove vainly to overcome, was her 
 excessive shyness with strangers or in the company of 
 people who were not congenial to her. Lady Dorothy 
 could have sympathized with her on this point. But in 
 very truth it must be conceded that Lady Dorothy's 
 essays at conversation were brilliant in comparison with 
 Silence's. CaMs were Lenten penance to her soul ; a 
 neighbourly tea-party deprived the fairest afternoon of 
 its charm. 
 
 " If I had only a grown-up daughter whom I could 
 
 137
 
 138 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 take with me ! " she said once to her husband. " Even 
 now Wanda is so nicely behaved, and not a bit shy, for 
 all people say about her being so quiet." 
 
 " Oh, Wanda's all right," was his reply. " She is a 
 very observant young person — we shall be proud of her 
 some day. I wish I could spare time to go to the Deanery 
 with you this afternoon, love, but I have the proofs of 
 that pamphlet to correct." Silence looked quite shocked 
 at the idea. 
 
 " As though I would dream of such a thing, dear ! 
 I was only grumbling because it is such a lovely after- 
 noon and the children wanted me to take them for a 
 walk. And the Deanery drawing-room will be so hot 
 and crowded, and I shall feel stupid and headachy as 
 usual. But there, I will not keep you from your work, 
 Heath " ; and Silence went off to perform her penance. 
 
 "Is that the new Canon's wife?" asked one lady of 
 her hostess. 
 
 " Yes, that is Mrs. Leigh. Would you like me to 
 introduce you to her ? " 
 
 " Yes — no, I think not. I believe I introduced myself 
 just now — she seemed so out in the cold — but she cer- 
 tainly did not respond very graciously to my advances." 
 
 " Oh, that is only her manner," returned Mrs. 
 Harding good-naturedly. " Airs. Leigh is a shy woman 
 — her husband told me so. She is one of those people 
 who are worth knowing if one only penetrates through 
 the crust." 
 
 " I thought her very handsome," returned Mrs. Radly 
 — such an uncommon type; but I could not make way 
 and our conversation died a natural death." Then Mrs. 
 Harding laughed. 
 
 " Oh, you must try again, Diana ! I always do feel 
 so sorry for shy people. I am quite sure they go through 
 a martyrdom in their quiet way. But there I see the 
 Dean beckoning to me — T expect some more guests have 
 arrived " ; and Mrs. Harding hurried away. 
 
 Canon Leigh had lunched at the Deanery a few weeks
 
 Silence 139 
 
 before he took up his residence at St. Breda's Lodge, and 
 had conceived the happy idea of enlisting the sympathy 
 of the Dean's wife on behalf of Silence. 
 
 " My wife is painfully shy with strangers," he said 
 when he was alone with her after luncheon, " and I am 
 afraid she will find herself a little out of it at first." 
 Then Mrs. Harding, who was a good soul, promised to 
 hold out the right hand of fellowship to Mrs. Leigh, and 
 to make things as comfortable as possible for her. And 
 she had certainly kept her' word. 
 
 Canon Leigh knew perfectly well his wife's limita- 
 tions — it was very unlikely that she would ever be popu- 
 lar in the Precincts — but he knew that she would do her 
 best for his sake ; and as he read Lady Mary's letter, 
 he told himself that Joan's long visit would be a godsend 
 to Silence, as she could go out with her and pilot her 
 through her social difficulties. 
 
 " There is really no reason why they should not pull 
 together comfortably for five or six months," he went 
 on, with a man's easy optimism. " Silence is so sorry 
 for the girl, and means to be kind to her. If only Joan 
 shows a little tact and discretion ! I should like to give 
 her a word when she comes. But no, on second thought, 
 it is better to leave it — it might only put her back up." 
 But as Heath sat down to his writing-table, it was a fore- 
 gone conclusion that, if friction should ensue, his sympa- 
 thies would be enlisted on his wife's side, and that Joan 
 would be put in her place. 
 
 Joan had no reason to complain of any lack of 
 welcome that afternoon. Silence's kiss had been warm 
 and sisterly, and she had insisted on sending the little 
 girls away while she herself conducted Joan to her room. 
 
 St. Breda's Lodge, with its wide staircase and spacious 
 hall and handsome, well-proportioned reception-rooms, 
 was a striking contrast to the old Rectory, though there 
 was still the same homelike atmosphere which denoted 
 the presence of a home-loving woman. The drawing- 
 room, which was on the first floor, had rather alarmed
 
 140 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Silence, with its suggestions of social gatherings. But 
 it was such a charming room, with such pleasant views 
 from the windows, that she soon grew to love it, and 
 had her own little corner, as she had in every other room, 
 even in her husband's study. Heath would not have been 
 satisfied if the little work-table and low chair, and glass 
 screen to shield her from the blaze, had not found their 
 accustomed place there. 
 
 The room set apart for Joan's use was small, but 
 extremely bright and cheerful. A low window com- 
 manded a view of the side garden, with its long trim lawn 
 and wide borders filled with herbaceous plants. A green 
 door opened into a walled kitchen garden. 
 
 " I thought you meant Wanda to have this room ? " 
 observed Joan in a tone of pleased surprise. " You cer- 
 tainly said so at Christmas." 
 
 " Yes, but Heath thought the old nursery made such 
 a pleasant bedroom, and that there was no need for 
 Wanda to have a room for herself, especially as Jess is 
 so timid about sleeping alone." 
 
 " That has always surprised me," returned Joan, with 
 an admiring glance at the toilet-cover. She knew the 
 exquisite drawn-thread border was the work of Silence's 
 skilful fingers. Her lace and embroidery filled Joan with 
 secret envy. Work was Silence's one accomplishment. 
 
 " Yes, and I used to worry about it. But we have 
 found out the cause, Joan. Leah, that red-haired house- 
 maid who lived with us so long, was not as trustworthy 
 as we thought, and when nurse was out, and Leah had to 
 put Jess to bed, she told her silly tales of bogies and 
 nonsense. The moment we found it out. Heath packed 
 off the girl at once. But the mischief was done, and Jess 
 flatly refuses to sleep alone, and she will have a light in 
 the room too until Wanda goes to bed." 
 
 " What a pity." observed Joan thoughtfully, and her 
 sympathy induced Silence to enlarge on the subject. 
 
 " I have tried to reason with Jess, and Heath has 
 talked. But we have neither of us done much good.
 
 Silence 141 
 
 Jess declares that she doesn't really believe in bogies, 
 not one little bit, but that she could not forget Leah's 
 stories, and that the dark made her miserable. So we 
 must just wait until she grows more sensible." 
 
 Joan nodded and smiled as she smoothed her hair, 
 and there was a brief silence. A minute later she said 
 in her quick way : 
 
 " Silence, dear, you and Heath were very good to 
 have me like this at a moment's notice. I do hope that 
 I shall not be a trouble to you." 
 
 A faint flush crossed Silence's face. " Why should 
 you be a trouble, dear? I am sure Heath and I will 
 do all in our power to make you happy. Joan, I don't 
 know how to say it, but ever since Lady Mary's letter 
 came I have felt so sorry for you both." 
 
 " I don't think Heath ought to have shown you that 
 letter," returned the girl in a low voice. But she stiffened 
 visibly, and again Silence flushed. 
 
 " My husband never keeps anything from me," were 
 the words which rose to her lips. But she forebore to 
 utter them. She only said quietly : " He knew that any- 
 thing that concerned our sister would interest me," and 
 this prettily-worded speech touched Joan. 
 
 " Thank you, Silence, dear. Yes, I suppose he had to 
 talk things over with you. But when one is sore and 
 unhappy, everything seems to jar. I can't feel that I can 
 talk about it, even to Heath — it has just to be borne." 
 And there was such pain in Joan's voice that Silence 
 quite yearned to comfort her. 
 
 " I think I understand, dear," she said slowly. 
 " When one feels very deeply about a thing, words seem 
 so useless. One has just to live through the pain." 
 
 " That is just it," returned Joan hastily. " But I 
 know how kind you both mean to be to me." And then 
 she walked to the window as though to dismiss the 
 subject, and as at that moment the tea-bell rang, Silence 
 had no opportunity of saying more. 
 
 " It was nice of her to say that," thought Joan. " I
 
 142 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 daresay it has been my own fault, bnt I certainly never 
 found Silence so affectionate and sisterly." And Joan 
 registered a private vow that this time she would do all 
 in her power to keep the peace. 
 
 After tea the three boys and Jess went off to play 
 cricket on the little green before the house, and Joan 
 retired to her room to unpack her trunks. Wanda accom- 
 panied her. Wanda was a very neat-handed little person, 
 and her father used laughingly to call her " Fairy Order." 
 Joan, who was somewhat casual in her arrangements, 
 secretly marvelled at her young niece's methodical and 
 old-fashioned ways. 
 
 " You have creased that lovely white silk. Aunt 
 Joan ! " she exclaimed presently. "I think we had better 
 hang it up in the spare room wardrobe — it is quite empty. 
 If you will wait a moment, I will run and ask mother." 
 And Wanda went off with a flushed and serious face to 
 .state the difficulty. 
 
 " Aunt Joan's wardrobe is not big, and she has 
 brought so many things it is quite full, and so is the 
 chest of drawers ; there is not room really, mother, and 
 there are all those evening dresses." 
 
 Silence was quite equal to the occasion. 
 
 "■' Hang them all in the spare room wardrobe, we are 
 not expecting any visitors just now." And then Wanda 
 with a relieved air went back to her work. 
 
 " She is your own daughter, love," observed Heath, 
 who had overheard this brief colloquy. " One of these 
 days Wanda will make as excellent a wife and house- 
 keeper as her mother." Heath was always paying these 
 little lover-like compliments; perhaps he liked to see 
 Silence's eyes grow bright and soft with pleasure. She 
 rarely responded in words, but she never forgot one of 
 those speeches, but kept them hoarded up in her memory. 
 
 When all was ship-shape and tidy, Wanda went off 
 to feed her doves, and Joan sat down to write to Lady 
 Mary. Only a few words had passed since they had 
 parted, and yet there seemed so much to say that she
 
 Silence 143 
 
 had only just finished before the dressing-bell — which 
 was also the signal for the children's school-room supper 
 — sounded. Wanda presided over this meal, but during 
 these holidays Vere had been invited to dine with his 
 parents. 
 
 Canon Leigh never cared to linger long over his meals, 
 and these spring evenings were so light and pleasant 
 that he and Silence often strolled out into the Precincts 
 after dinner. But this evening she made some excuse, 
 and he asked Joan to accompany him. 
 
 They strolled slowly down the flagged path leading 
 to the cloisters, and then turning to their right, past 
 the baptistery and the door opening to the Deanery 
 gardens, they made their way down a low passage into 
 a wide court-way — the handsome Norman staircase lead- 
 ing to one of the school-rooms of St. Breda's school was 
 opposite to them ; then turning round, they skirted the 
 wide green, where some of the boys were still playing. 
 Here were the houses of the minor canons. 
 
 Joan was about to ask a question as they were passing 
 a small sanatorium belonging to St. Breda's school, when 
 Heath suddenly cleared his throat. 
 
 " Shall we turn back to the cloisters ; it is quiet there, 
 and there is something I want to say to you ? " And 
 Joan, who was extremely quick-witted, understood why 
 Silence had made that excuse and refused to accompany 
 them. 
 
 " I am rather tired, Heath ; could we not wait until 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " My dear, I would not tire you for worlds ; but it 
 seems strange, does it not, that some word should not 
 pass between us on this very unpleasant business?" 
 
 " I don't think talking is likely to mend matters," 
 returned Joan ungraciously. 
 
 " No, my dear, probably not," replied her brother 
 quietly ; " but all the same I want you to feel how glad 
 Silence and I are to have you with us. It has always 
 seemed to me that my home ought to have been yours,
 
 144 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 but as long as you were happy, Joan, I did not grudge 
 you to Lady Mary." 
 
 " One cannot be always happy in this world," replied 
 the girl sadly. " You and Silence are very kind, and 1 
 do not mean to be ungrateful, but there can be no home 
 so dear to me as Morningside." Then he gave her a 
 quick, penetrating look. 
 
 " I know it, Joan. But I am sure you realise as much 
 as we do that it will be impossible for you to go back 
 as long as Captain Bastow is at Aldershot." 
 
 " No, I suppose not." But Joan spoke rather sullenly ; 
 she was in no mood for the conversation. The cloisters 
 were dull and gloomy, and by mutual consent they had 
 re-entered the Precincts. 
 
 " It is very wrong that you should be placed in such 
 a position," Heath went on, " and we all feel it deeply on 
 your and on Lady Mary's account. I consider Captain 
 Bastow has been extremely selfish, and I fear I am not 
 in perfect charity with him." 
 
 Joan stood still on the flagged pathway. A fair little 
 moon had just risen and its faint beams were irradiating 
 the ruined arches. 
 
 *' ileath, I cannot bear this! Unless you wish to 
 add to my trouble, you must not say hard things of 
 Craig. He has done nothing wrong." 
 
 " My dear Joan ! " 
 
 " He has made a mistake, for which we are all suffer- 
 ing — he and I and my dear Lady Mary — but it is no 
 fault of his, only his misfortune, that he has fallen in 
 love with the wrong person. He is brave and generous 
 and true — the truest-hearted man I know — and yet you 
 are all against him. It is not fair — it is not right," 
 continued the girl passionately, " and I will not listen to 
 you, Heath! You mean well, but we do not see things 
 i-i the same light — and I am too tired to talk any more! " 
 And before Heath could recover from his astonishment 
 Joan turned quickly in at the gate of St. Breda's Lodge 
 and made her way to her own room.
 
 Silence 145 
 
 " Do you think she cares for him?" he asked, when 
 he had repeated this conversation to his wife. Silence 
 had listened quietly, without offering any interruption. 
 She had told him that Joan seemed weary and sad, and 
 had begged him to postpone his talk, but she would not 
 remind him of this. 
 
 " I am very sorry that this should occur the first 
 evening, dearest," she said gravely. 
 
 " Oh, so am I, and I was a fool not to take your 
 advice. But you have not answered my question." 
 
 " I am not sure I can answer it. But I very much 
 fear she does care for Captain Bastow, though she does 
 not mean us to know it." 
 
 Canon Leigh gave vent to a low whistle of dismay. 
 " It is a worse muddle than I thought," he muttered. 
 And again he lamented that he had not taken his wife's 
 advice. 
 
 If
 
 
 XVII 
 
 CRYPTIC PROWLS 
 
 Architecture is frozen music. — Schelling. 
 
 She was soothed into that wide-gazing calm which makes us 
 older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain 
 awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some 
 quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky, or before a steady 
 glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees 
 over a silent pathway. — George Eliot. 
 
 Canon Leigh sent a kind, brotherly message to Joan 
 by his wife later on, and Silence willingly undertook 
 the errand. " Tell her that I am sorry that I bothered 
 her with talk when she was so tired, and she is to put it 
 all out of her head and go to sleep ; and give her my 
 love." 
 
 Silence found Joan standing before the toilet-table. 
 She had just removed her hat and was smoothing her 
 roughened hair. 
 
 " Oh, why did you trouble, Silence ! " she exclaimed. 
 " I was just coming down to wish you and Heath good- 
 night." Then Silence delivered her husband's message. 
 
 " There is no need for you to come down, Joan dear. 
 You had far better go to bed and have a nice long sleep ; " 
 and Silence's tone was so motherly that it might have 
 been addressed to Wanda. 
 
 Joan, who had repented of her hastiness, was secretly 
 touched by this consideration. " I am tired, certainly, 
 so I think I will take your advice," she returned. " Will 
 you give Heath my love, and tell him, please, that I 
 did not mean to be ungracious. I only ran away because 
 I really could not talk any more, and he was worrying 
 me so dreadfully." 
 
 " I don't think I will tell him that." 
 
 146
 
 Cryptic Prowls 147 
 
 " No, of course not. That last clause was only an 
 aside, and not included in the message. But you may 
 tell him, if you like, that though he meant to be kind and 
 help me, it would be far wiser to leave me alone." And 
 as Silence gave a grave nod of assent to this, Joan con- 
 tinued hurriedly : 
 
 " It would be doing me a real kindness if you could 
 make him understand this. I have quite enough to bear 
 as it is, but it only adds to my unhappiness to see how 
 unjust they all are to Craig. They think he is to blame, 
 and call him selfish and inconsiderate — even my dear 
 Lady Mary is hard on him — and it makes me so angry 
 that I am obliged to take his part." 
 
 " Yes, I see what you mean." But something in, 
 Silence's manner brought an uneasy flush to the girl's 
 face. 
 
 " No one need wonder at that," she continued hastily. 
 " We are such old friends, Craig and I — for years we 
 have been chums — it is only natural that I should try to 
 defend him when people are so unjust to him. I would 
 do as much for any one — a mere acquaintance ; but for a 
 real friend like Craig " and here the proud young- 
 voice grew strangely soft. 
 
 " Don't trouble about it any more," returned Silence 
 gently. " I think I can make Heath understand. Go to 
 bed as quickly as you can, for you are quite worn out, 
 my dear; and perhaps things will look a little brighter 
 to-morrow." But, though Joan made no answer to this,. 
 she gave Silence a grateful kiss. 
 
 Poor child, such a wave of home-sickness and heart- 
 sickness swept over her when she was left alone that she 
 could only weep. But the tears relieved her, and as soon 
 as she laid her head on the pillow she fell asleep from 
 pure weariness. 
 
 Silence's face was a little grave as she went her 
 rounds among her sleeping children, for she never retired 
 to rest without performing this sacred duty. Any restless 
 little being unable to sleep would watch for mother's.
 
 148 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 step and shaded lamp. The next moment she would he 
 turned and bed-clothes straightened ; if necessary, the 
 burning face and hands sponged. " Now you are comfy, 
 darling ? Lie still and the angel will come to you by and 
 by." For this pretty little legend of the Angel of Sleep 
 had been Wanda's childish invention. "When will the 
 sleepy angel come, mummie ? " she used to say in her 
 baby days ; " I do want her to cuddle me." 
 
 " Joan certainly cares for Craig Bastow," Silence 
 said to herself ; " her voice betrayed her to-night. She 
 is not only fretting for Morningside and Lady Mary, 
 there is another cause for her unhappiness. She has 
 refused him ; but if I am right and she really loves 
 him, she has behaved like a heroine." 
 
 Silence certainly felt an added respect for her young 
 sister-in-law that evening. Their temperamental differ- 
 ences were so great that she had never really understood 
 her, and she had never guessed at the hidden depths of 
 the girl's nature. Joan was so tactless and trying, she 
 trampled so ruthlessly on other's people's pet hobbies 
 and fancies, her high spirits were so buoyant and her 
 tongue so sharp-edged, that Silence had shrunk into her 
 shell and left her severely alone. But this Joan with the 
 sad, pathetic eyes was quite a different person. 
 
 If Silence could have followed the dictates of her kind 
 heart she would have taken the girl in her motherly arms 
 and tried to comfort her. But she was not sure that 
 Joan would permit this. " She has always kept me at a 
 distance," she thought sorrowfully ; " she would not care 
 for me to be too demonstrative. But all the same I shall 
 do all I can to shield her from annoyance. My dear 
 Heath is a clever man, but I think in these matters 
 women understand each other best, and it will be far 
 wiser for him to leave her alone." 
 
 Strange to say, though Silence was so full of sym- 
 pathy for Joan, it never entered her head for a moment 
 that this unfortunate love affair could ever end happily. 
 Joan had behaved exceedingly well — far better than she
 
 Cryptic Prowls 149 
 
 would ever have expected — but, after all, she had only done 
 her duty. Even if she returned Craig Bastow's affection, 
 it would have been quite impossible for her to accept his 
 offer in defiance of all his people's objections. Such a 
 marriage would only prove disastrous, and Joan would 
 never be happy under such circumstances. To have all 
 her husband's relations looking down on her and holding 
 aloof from her — how could Joan's proud spirit brook 
 that ! They would never forgive her for spoiling Craig's 
 prospects — for Silence knew something of the Merriton 
 troubles. 
 
 " We must just try to distract her thoughts and make 
 her as happy as we can," she observed to her husband 
 when she gave him that word of advice about leaving 
 Joan alone for the present. 
 
 " I think I shall take her to Kenvvyn to-morrow after- 
 noon to call on Mrs. Ramsay; she and Joan have mutual 
 friends at Herondale Rectory." And Heath applauded 
 this resolution. 
 
 But this little plan for Joan's entertainment proved a 
 failure, for Canon Ramsay and his wife had gone up to 
 town for the day. 
 
 It was Silence's custom when possible to attend the 
 ten o'clock matins at the Cathedral. She said the beau- 
 tiful, restful service seemed to help her through the day. 
 She never invited any one to accompany her, and was 
 secretly surprised when she found Joan in front of her in 
 the stalls. And after that the girl was rarely absent, 
 though she never joined Silence either before or after 
 service. Joan loved to roam about at her own sweet 
 will — to wander down the grand nave with its noble 
 columns, or to linger in the side aisles and chapels. But 
 most of all the crypt fascinated her. She was never 
 weary of exploring it. The atmosphere of ancient peace, 
 of historic memories and sacred associations, seemed to 
 soothe her restlessness. She would sit for half-an-hour 
 at a time in the dim little chapel where centuries ago a 
 persecuted people had worshipped. Joan would try in a
 
 150 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 vague way to think out the puzzles and bewildering diffi- 
 culties which had so suddenly confronted her. Now and 
 then when there were no echoing footsteps to be heard, 
 she would put up a brief prayer for guidance and patience, 
 for strength to bear a pain which sometimes seemed to 
 be unbearable. How her Guardian Angel must have loved 
 to hear these faltering petitions ! Those quiet commun- 
 ings with her better nature always did Joan good, and 
 she would return to St. Breda's Lodge with a brighter 
 face. On these occasions her letters to Morningside 
 were so brave and healthy, in spite of an undercurrent 
 of sadness, that Lady Mary would lay them down with 
 a sigh of relief. 
 
 " Dear child, she is certainly doing her best to be 
 good and brave," she thought. And the answer which 
 reached Joan always rewarded her for her efforts. 
 
 One morning, just as service was about to commence, 
 Joan saw a prim, pretty-looking little woman slip rather 
 shyly into the opposite stall. Joan wondered who she 
 could be — if she were only a stranger from the town or 
 if she belonged to the Precincts. She could not help 
 noticing her, she had such a nice face and looked so 
 peaceful and happy. But her curiosity was soon to be 
 satisfied. 
 
 When service was over and they were descending the 
 steps that led to the nave, Silence whispered that she 
 meant to go out by the side door, as she wanted to speak 
 to Mrs. Ramsay. " Perhaps you will come too," she 
 suggested, " for I would like to introduce you." And 
 Joan willingly assented. 
 
 She found, however, that no introduction was needed ; 
 for as soon as Mrs. Ramsay had greeted Silence, she 
 held out her hand in quite a friendly manner to Joan. 
 
 " I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Leigh. 
 My nephew told me you were at St. Breda's Lodge; we 
 saw him the other day in town. By the bye, I was so 
 sorry to miss your kind visit," turning to Silence. " x\s 
 the maid said there were two ladies, I conclude that 
 Miss Leigh was with you ? "
 
 Cryptic Prowls 151 
 
 " Yes, I brought her as I knew you had mutual 
 friends." 
 
 *' Oh, you mean the Rutherfords ? They are dear 
 people. I wonder " — and here Mrs. Ramsay spoke rather 
 shyly — '" whether you and Miss Leigh will waive cere- 
 mony and have tea with me to-morrow, and we could 
 have a nice talk? I must not stop longer now, as I see 
 my husband is waiting for me." Then, after a moment's 
 hesitation, Silence accepted the invitation. 
 
 " I had thought of walking over to Acrefield with the 
 children to-morrow afternoon," she observed, "but it 
 was a pity to refuse, as Mrs. Ramsay was kind enough 
 to ask us. You see, Joan, I hardly know her yet, as she 
 has only just come to Kenwyn. It was really my first call 
 on Tuesday ; I was introduced to her by Mrs. Harcourt 
 when we were all taking refuge from the rain at Drum- 
 mond's Library, and I rather liked her then." 
 
 " Oh, so do I," returned Joan eagerly; " she has such 
 soft eyes, and looks such a peaceful, gentle sort of person ; 
 and I have heard so much of her from Prudence and Mr. 
 Trafford." 
 
 " In that case I am glad I did not refuse," returned 
 Silence, who was secretly much pleased with Joan's 
 obvious interest. And after this they separated, as Joan 
 wanted to go back for one of her cryptic prowls, as she 
 called them. 
 
 When she appeared at the luncheon-table a little late 
 as usual, Jess looked at her in an injured manner. 
 
 " Oh, where have you been, Aunt Joan, all these 
 hours ? " she asked reproachfully. " The new croquet set 
 has arrived from the Stores, and we wanted you to be the 
 first to see it. It is really mother's birthday present 
 from father, because the old set is so shabby and all the 
 paint worn away. The new one is boxwood and quite 
 nice and shiny." 
 
 " Oh, shut up, Bill, and go on with your luncheon," 
 observed Yere. But Jess was not to be repressed. 
 
 " Father says we must not play for another fortnight
 
 152 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 or three weeks, as the lawn is not in order. And I am 
 afraid mother does not want us to use the new set." 
 
 " Of course not, Jess ; they are for your mother and 
 her visitors," returned her father good-humouredly ; *' the 
 old set is quite good enough for the likes of you." Jess 
 tossed her head in an offended way. 
 
 " When 1 have children," she remarked severely, " I 
 shall give them the very best of everything, and all the 
 nicest and newest things, and not save them for stupid 
 old visitors." And the burst of laughter that greeted this 
 sally drove Jess to offended silence. 
 
 It was Noel who resumed the conversation. " Were 
 you walking all the time, Aunt Joan ? " he asked sol- 
 emnly ; " and aren't you very tired ? " 
 
 " Bless me, what inquisitive children ! " returned Joan 
 rather impatiently. Then, as her small nephew looked 
 alarmed at this, she relented. 
 
 " No, Noel dear, I was trying to improve my educa- 
 tion by studying architecture ; only, to my disgust, I 
 found I knew nothing — not one little bit, as Bill says 
 Heath, you must really go round with me one morning. 
 I have got so dreadfully mixed with regard to Early 
 English, Decorated, and Perpendicular styles. I heard 
 some one saying the other day to his companion, a 
 clergyman, that ' certain peculiarities and diversity of 
 styles gave a sort of mosaic-like beauty when one sur- 
 veyed the building from the choir.' " 
 
 " Well, that is true, Joan. But T understand your 
 difficulty," returned her brother, " and when I am not 
 quite so busy I will trot you round ; but, to tell you the 
 truth, I am not much of an authority. Canon Courtland 
 is the man for you." 
 
 " Oh, no, I would rather go with you, Heath. And 
 you might lend me some book to help me. I really do 
 think that architecture must be an awfully interesting 
 study — it seems to grow on one. I think, if I had been a 
 man, I would have chosen that profession." But here 
 Yere interposed.
 
 Cryptic Prowls 153 
 
 " It was only at Christmas that you told us that you 
 would like to be a doctor — a woman doctor, I think you 
 said — that it was the noblest profession in the world. 
 Don't you remember, Wanda, how Aunt Joan harangued 
 us for an hour on end ? " 
 
 " Well, I daresay I did," returned Joan, without 
 waiting for Wanda's answer. " But I have changed my 
 mind since then. I should not care to study anatomy — 
 bones must be so dry," with a gesture of disgust. " Not 
 that I don't approve of women doctors, Vere. What 
 would they do without them for Zenana work?" Then 
 she added boldly : " And I don't see why women should 
 not be architects as well as artists ; in my opinion it is 
 certainly a ladylike profession. Don't you agree with me, 
 Silence?" 
 
 " I don't think so, Joan," returned her sister-in-law 
 rather nervously. The conversation had somewhat bewil- 
 dered her ; she could not quite understand Joan's sudden 
 passion for architecture. She loved the Cathedral — it 
 always rested and calmed her — but she knew nothing 
 about Early English and Perpendicular styles. The little 
 Heath had told her had escaped her memory. She knew 
 it was all vast and beautiful ; and sometimes on Sunday 
 evenings, when she looked at the choir with its long lines 
 of light, and listened to the boys' sweet voices, she would 
 be reminded of the heavenly Temple which needed no 
 light, where she hoped to worship one day with her 
 beloved ones. 
 
 Heath had noticed his wife's embarrassment. " Come, 
 Joan," he said, linking his hand through her arm, " let 
 us go to the study and hunt for the book you want. I 
 will try to get off for an hour to-morrow to give you 
 your first lesson in architecture."
 
 XVIII 
 
 "I WILL SEE YOU THROUGH IT" 
 
 Life is made up not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little 
 •things, in which smiles and kindness, and small obligations, given 
 habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure com- 
 fort. — Sir Humphry Davy. 
 
 Keep up your spirits. — Heroditus. 
 
 The visit to Kenwyn was a great success, and even 
 Silence owned to her husband that it was the first time 
 she had really enjoyed a tea-party at St. Breda's. " But 
 Mrs. Ramsay is such a homely, comfortable sort of 
 person," she added, " that it is impossible to be shy with 
 her." 
 
 Kenwyn was an old-fashioned house with a long 
 slip of side-garden. The front windows commanded the 
 narrow green and row of elms ; but from the garden and 
 back windows there was a charming view of the Cathe- 
 dral towers, where the jackdaws built their nests. 
 
 It was rather an unpretentious-looking house, but the 
 rooms were comfortable and homelike. 
 
 When the maid ushered them into the drawing-room 
 Joan gave a little start of pleasurable surprise at the 
 sight of Dick Trafford's lean, sunburnt face. He was 
 lying back in an easy-chair with the bulldog at his feet. 
 As he jumped up, Dagon gave a little " glump " of 
 pleasure at recognising an old acquaintance ; but as 
 Silence responded to her hostess' greeting she regarded 
 the great beast with such evident nervousness that Dick 
 hastened to reassure her. 
 
 You need not be afraid of my dog, Mrs. Leigh ; 
 
 Dagon is as gentle as a lamb. I wish his master had 
 
 a tithe of his good temper. If there were such things 
 
 ugelic bulldogs, he would certainly be one. Why, 
 
 my aunt loves him. Don't you, Aunt Felicia? " 
 
 154
 
 " I Will See You Through It " 155 
 
 "Well, Dick, 1 can hardly go as far as that. As long 
 as he keeps his distance I can tolerate him." And then 
 Mrs. Ramsay settled her guests cosily near the low tea- 
 table. Dick, who had arrived unexpectedly the previous 
 evening, had assured his married " maiden aunt " that 
 Felicia Ramsay looked twenty years younger than Felicia 
 Graham. "Any stranger would take you for a woman 
 of thirty-eight years of age," he said seriously. " Really, 
 if matrimony achieves these astonishing results, it is 
 almost enough to tempt a confirmed old bachelor to 
 change his mind." 
 
 " Hear, hear, Trafford ! " observed Canon Ramsay 
 approvingly ; " I will drink your health after that " ; for 
 they were still at the dinner-table when this little speech 
 was made. 
 
 " Nonsense, Dick," returned Felicia, blushing. And 
 then she added in a coaxing voice, " Oh, Dick, if you 
 would only settle down and have a home of your own ! " 
 But Dick shook his head. 
 
 " I never loved a dear gazelle — you remember that 
 record speech of my namesake, the immortal Dick 
 Swiveller — but she w r as sure to marry the market-gar- 
 dener." But, in spite of his whimsical smile, there was a 
 queer look in Dick's eyes, as though he remembered a 
 certain fickle-minded " queen of curds and cream." "It 
 is an unhappy fact, Aunt Felicia, that if I am the least 
 attracted by any one I am sure to be told the next moment 
 that she is either married or engaged." 
 
 " Dear me, what a pity! " observed his sympathising 
 relative. But Canon Ramsay's eyes twinkled with amuse- 
 ment ; he was beginning to find his wife's nephew rather 
 original and entertaining. 
 
 " Oh, we will not despair yet." returned Dick cheer- 
 fully, as he cracked his Brazil nuts — a proceeding which 
 brought Dagon to his si :e. " That's your share, old 
 fellow," he said, picking him two of the most tempting 
 kernels. " Kittens and Brazil nuts are Dagon's pet weak- 
 nesses ; but, as you see, I am obliged to limit him with
 
 156 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 regard to nuts. No, my good aunt, where there is life 
 there is hope. Latterly 1 have had an idea of educating 
 some young orphan whose parents were known to be 
 fairly respectable and sane people. I draw the line at 
 criminality or insanity," went on Richard, frowning over 
 his words, " and it must be understood that my orphan 
 must be good-looking." 
 
 " Dick doesn't mean half he says," interposed Felicia, 
 with an anxious glance at her husband. But though 
 Canon Ramsay was quite aware of this, he chose to carry 
 on the pleasant fooling. 
 
 " The idea is not original, I suppose it has been 
 carried over and over again, and sometimes with happy 
 results. The only drawback is that it is a waiting game." 
 
 " Oh, there is no hurry, and I am only thirty-two. 
 As I have no wish to settle at my ease for ten or twelve 
 years, I have plenty of time for selection and education. 
 It might be an interesting experiment," answered Dick 
 thoughtfully, " only a trifle costly." 
 
 Felicia could not help thinking of this conversation 
 as she noticed the friendly greeting that passed between 
 Dick and Joan. Had she been one of those gazelles 
 that he had mentioned? But, as far as she knew, the girl 
 was not engaged. 
 
 Felicia certainly looked her best this afternoon, in 
 her brown dress and soft creamy ruffles. In spite of 
 her grey hair, she did not look her age. Her figure was 
 still young and girlish, and in her husband's eyes she 
 grew every day more and more like the old Felicia. Love 
 is proverbially blind, and he ceased to notice the lines and 
 fading of tints and the little primnesses and methodical 
 ways. Felicia was gentle and humble, so grateful for her 
 new happiness, so touchingly careful for her husband's 
 comforts, that Canon Ramsay regarded his second mar- 
 riage as a great success. 
 
 " If only my boys could know what a stepmother 
 they have got," he would say sometimes. " I have 
 promised Basil to send him the best photo I can get, 
 Felicia. We must have one taken without delay."
 
 " I Will See You Through It " 157 
 
 All Canon Ramsay's sons had sent pleasant little 
 greeting notes to Felicia enclosed in their letters to their 
 father. But Basil's gave her most pleasure. 
 
 " It has always been my belief that those who have 
 gone before into the other world," he wrote, " are able 
 in some way to enter into the joys and sorrows of those 
 they loved here. And if I am right, I can imagine how 
 our dear mother will rejoice to know that father has so 
 kind a companion to cheer his loneliness. I know 
 Malcolm and Walter are as relieved as I am that he 
 has some one to care for him." Felicia's eyes were wet 
 as she handed Basil's letter to her husband. 
 
 " Oh, the dear fellow ! " he murmured huskily. 
 " Felicia, you have no idea how good that boy is. He is 
 a perfect saint, and yet as manly as any of them. I 
 wonder if any father ever hard better sons ! But it is 
 Basil who never forgets his mother," he finished softly. 
 
 Felicia left Dick to entertain Joan while she talked to 
 Silence. A happy intuition led her to select the very 
 subject which most interested her guest. 
 
 " Is that exceedingly pretty little girl I saw with 
 you in the Cathedral your eldest daughter?" 
 
 " Oh, do you mean Wanda ? " returned Silence, with 
 unusual animation. " I am so glad you think her pretty. 
 Yes, she is my eldest. She is only just twelve, but she 
 has such womanly little ways already." 
 
 " My husband noticed her too." Felicia had not yet 
 learnt to pronounce these two w T ords " my husband " 
 without a faint, conscious blush. " I have to look at my 
 wedding-ring sometimes," she said once naively to him, 
 " to be sure that I am not dreaming that I am married." 
 She was always making these odd, tender little speeches 
 to him. Poor dear Felicia, her happiness had come to 
 her so late in life that she could not believe in its reality. 
 
 " He is very fond of children," she went on. " and he 
 would have liked to have had a daughter. As we walked 
 home that day he said that he had seen such a handsome 
 little girl, and that he thought she must be Mrs. Leigh's
 
 158 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 daughter. ' She was so attentive and nicely-behaved that 
 I could not help noticing her,' he went on. I must tell 
 him her name is Wanda; it is such an uncommon name." 
 
 " Yes ; it was a curious fancy of my husband's, but 
 it was a long time before I could reconcile myself to it. 
 I wanted so much to call her Mary, it is my favourite 
 name. But when Jessica was born I felt bound to give 
 her my mother's name." 
 
 " It is pretty too ; but I agree with you that there is 
 no name like Mary," returned Felicia. And then Canon 
 Ramsay joined them and there were fresh introductions. 
 
 Joan liked the look of him. She thought he had a 
 nice clever rugged face, though he stooped a good deal 
 and his white hair and spectacles made him appear fully 
 his age. It was rather difficult, certainly, to realise that 
 he had only just returned from his honeymoon. But 
 Joan's quick eyes noticed the quiet satisfaction with 
 which he regarded his wife. 
 
 " This is your first tea-party, Felicia." he said, as she 
 handed him the cup which was always reserved for him. 
 And Felicia blushed and smiled assent. 
 
 Joan was enjoying herself so much that she was quite 
 sorry when Silence gave the signal for their departure. 
 Dick Trafford walked with them across the green bare- 
 headed. He had not quite exhausted the subject that he 
 and Joan were discussing, and he only left them at the 
 gate of St. Breda's Lodge. 
 
 " What a singular person Mr. Trafford seems," 
 observed Silence dubiously. " He is very good-looking 
 and amusing, but so extremely unconventional. Fancy 
 walking all this way without his hat ! I saw Mrs. Ander- 
 son looking at us in quite a surprised way." For this 
 was before the " hatless brigade " became notable. 
 
 " I think he is delightful." returned Joan. " and I 
 hope we shall see a great deal of him. You might have 
 asked him to come in, Silence ; Heath is sure to be at 
 home." 
 
 " Oh, dear, I never thought of it ! But he had that
 
 I Will See You Through It" 159 
 
 s j 
 
 dreadful dog with him, and I should have been afraid 
 of the children." 
 
 " You know Mr. Trafford told you how gentle and 
 harmless he is," replied Joan reproachfully. " But never 
 mind, he would only think you a little stiff. And oh, 
 why did you hurry away so? Canon Ramsay and Mr. 
 Trafford and I were having such an interesting talk." 
 
 " Hurry away, my dear Joan ! Are you aware we 
 have been at Kenwyn quite an hour and a half? And 
 it was our first visit too. But," her voice changing, " I 
 am glad you enjoyed it; I thought it very pleasant 
 myself." And then they went into the study, and Joan 
 talked with so much animation of their visit that her 
 brother looked quite pleased. 
 
 " It has done her good," he said to his wife, when 
 the girl had left them; " she wants taking out of herself. 
 I have not seen Trafford yet, but I mean to call on him. 
 I tell you what, Silence, I think we had better ask him 
 to dinner. We might get the Harcourts to meet them. 
 'They have shown us a good deal of attention, and they 
 don't leave St. Breda's until the week after next." Canon 
 Harcourt was their next-door neighbour. His wife was 
 an extremely dignified person, and Silence stood greatly 
 in awe of her. 
 
 " Oh, Heath, surely that is not necessary," returned 
 Silence nervously. The idea was appalling. Thev had 
 never had people to dine at the Rectory. This was what 
 she had dreaded when they came to St. Breda's. More 
 than once Heath had hinted at such a thing, but she had 
 always changed the subject. " You know Vere is going 
 back to Winchester this week," she added. 
 
 " I was not thinking of this week, my dear," he 
 returned mildly, but something in his manner told 
 Silence that he intended to carry his point. " The 
 Harcourts do not leave until Thursday week, so next 
 Tuesday will do nicely. Come, love, don't look so 
 alarmed, the thing is not as difficult as you suppose. 
 You have good servants, an excellent cook, and Joan
 
 100 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 will be able to give you a helping hand with the menu 
 and table decorations. They often had guests at Morn- 
 ingside ; she will put you up to all the latest dodges." 
 And as Heath said this he looked at his wife's solemn 
 face very kindly. 
 
 " Heath, you know I have never given a dinner-party 
 in my life ! " 
 
 " Dinner-party — tut, nonsense ! We are only asking 
 two or three friendly neighbours to dinner. Let me see, 
 the Harcourts and Ramsays and Trafford. We shall only 
 be eight altogether. Just fish and soup and an entree 
 will be enough. Warren stews pigeons to perfection. 
 You must talk to Joan ; she will give you all the hints 
 you want. 1 don't think we shall have any reason to be 
 ashamed of our silver and entree dishes. Some of them 
 have never even seen the light." 
 
 "Do you really mean it seriously?" Silence looked 
 quite pale as she put the question. Then Heath, who 
 was standing beside her, laughed and kissed her. 
 
 " Yes, I am quite serious, love. When I came to St. 
 Breda's I knew we should have to discharge certain 
 social functions. But I do not intend to burden you 
 more than I can help. We will have no formal dinner- 
 parties or entertainments, but as far as possible we will 
 welcome our neighbours in a friendly way. Come, 
 Silence " — with the least trace of impatience in his 
 manner — " don't look at me as though 1 were inflicting a 
 hateful task on you. We must do our duty in the state 
 of life to which we are called." 
 
 Silence made no answer to this, but as the dressing- 
 bell sounded she quietly left the room. Her husband's 
 will was supreme in the household, and she had never 
 yet rebelled against it. "It almosl makes me wish to 
 be back at the dear old Rectory," she said to herself, " in 
 spite of the dismal garden and smoky atmosphere." And 
 a Silence cherished this repining thought, she knew 
 that Heath had asked nothing unreasonable; that with 
 their beautiful house and ample means he had a right to 
 expect that his friends should be entertained.
 
 " I Will See You Through It " 161 
 
 Most women would have been proud to have an 
 opportunity to show such fine and dainty napery and 
 massive silver. Warren would have been a treasure to 
 any housekeeper, and was capable of sending up a dinner 
 fit for any one. The parlour-maid understood her duties, 
 and even the housemaid could wait. With such well- 
 oiled machinery Silence had certainly no legitimate cause 
 for such sinkings of heart and failure of courage. " What 
 would you do if Heath were to be made a bishop," Joan 
 had once said to her, " and you had to entertain all the 
 clergy of the diocese and their wives ? " Silence re- 
 membered this speech as she went to her room. 
 
 Joan wondered several times that evening what could 
 be amiss with Silence, she was so exceedingly glum — ■ 
 that was the only word that occurred to her. Had 
 Heath found fault with her? had they had words? But 
 both these things were so extremely improbable that she 
 had to dismiss them from her mind. Heath rarely found 
 fault with his wife, and they certainly never quarrelled. 
 A more united couple never lived. And yet even Wanda 
 noticed her mother seemed out of sorts, the child was so 
 observant. 
 
 "Does your head ache, mother, dear?" she asked as 
 they went into the drawing-room. " You do look so 
 tired. Shall I fetch your eau de Cologne?" 
 
 " No, dearest, my head does not ache," returned 
 Silence hastily, for she was afraid her husband would 
 overhear this. And then she sat down to her work, and 
 Joan joined the children in a round game until they went 
 to bed. 
 
 " I wonder what Heath is doing," Joan observed as 
 she joined Silence in her corner. 
 
 " He has some work to finish this evening ; he will 
 come up by and by." 
 
 Joan fingered the silks on the little table. " Is any- 
 thing the matter. Silence? " she asked by and by. " You 
 look so worried." Silence put down her work with a 
 sigh. 
 
 11
 
 162 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 "It is stupid of me to be worried, and of course you 
 will only laugh at me ; but if you know how I hate the 
 idea of it." 
 
 " It — what on earth do you mean ? " inquired Joan 
 curiously. 
 
 "It is only that Heath has been talking about the 
 Ramsays, and he thinks we ought to ask them and Mr. 
 Tra fiord to dinner." 
 
 "What a nice idea! Heath is a dear old brick for 
 suggesting such a thing! Well, Silence? " 
 
 " And he wants to have the Harcourts to meet them. 
 There, I knew you would laugh, Joan. You think me 
 absurd for putting myself in a fever at the bare idea. 
 We never had people at the Rectory, and the idea of a 
 dinner-party scares me. But Heath says it must be 
 done, and that you would help me." And Silence looked 
 at her so beseechingly and helplessly that Joan bit her 
 lip to conceal her smile. 
 
 " My dear woman, of course I will help you," she 
 returned seriously. " I know all about these little infor- 
 mal dinners. The dining-room at Morningside is not 
 large, and Lady Mary never would have more than eight 
 — just two couples and Lady Dorothy and her brother. 
 Why, I remember the last one — there were Mr. Ruther- 
 ford and Prudence, and that nice old Colonel Pendleton 
 and his eldest daughter — he is a widower, you know — and 
 Dorcas and Craig. Oh, it was the nicest evening we 
 ever had, and it was so informal and easy ! " And here 
 Joan with difficulty suppressed a sigh. 
 
 " Could you — do you think you could remember 
 the menu ? " asked Silence anxiously. Then Joan broke 
 into a little laugh. There was something so droll in the 
 contrast between the grand frame and Madonna face 
 and the childlike timidity. But as Silence drew herself 
 up in rather an affronted way, Joan laughed again. 
 
 " Oh, Silence, how funny you are — you make me 
 laugh just when I want to be serious! Of course I 
 remember the menu, for I wrote them all out myself — I
 
 " I Will See You Through It " 163 
 
 always did for ' the Eights,' as I called them. And now 
 we are going to have an ' Eight ' at St. Breda's Lodge, 
 and if you want help I am your woman, and we will just 
 have the nicest little dinner-table you ever saw, if you 
 will only leave it to me." And Joan looked so sanguine, 
 so cocksure of herself, that Silence drew a relieved breath. 
 
 " Oh, Joan, if you will only see me through it ! " she 
 said solemnly. 
 
 " Of course I will see you through it ! But here 
 comes Heath, and he must not guess we have been talk- 
 ing about it — we have to surprise him, you know." And 
 though Silence was generally rather slow-witted, she 
 actually took the hint,
 
 XIX 
 
 A MEMBER OF THE HUMANE SOCIETY 
 
 If I can stop one heart from breaking, 
 
 I shall not live in vain ; 
 If I can ease one life the aching, 
 
 Or cool one pain, 
 Or help one fainting robin 
 
 Unto his nest again, 
 I shall not live in vain. 
 
 Emily Dickinson. 
 
 Canon Leigh was right. The little excitement had 
 done Joan good, and she looked more like her old self 
 the next morning than she had done since she had come 
 to St. Breda's. Joan was really so much younger than 
 her age, there was something so buoyant and childlike in 
 her nature that would not always be repressed. She was 
 too full of life, of growth, and youthful hope to allow 
 herself to be absolutely crushed by misfortune. Her 
 troubles were very real ; she could not marry the man she 
 loved, and there was a harrowing fear in her secret mind 
 that she might not be able to return to her beloved Lady 
 Mary and Morningside perhaps for years, and yet the 
 sunshine of a spring day, or the fluting of a thrush, or the 
 burgeoning of the polished chestnut buds, or the sight 
 of tasselled catkins on the limes and willows, seemed to 
 fill her with renewed life. 
 
 " One must always hope for the best," she wrote in one of 
 her letters to Lady Mary. " This morning the sky is so blue, 
 and Wanda's doves are cooing so deliciously in the sunshine, 
 that I feel as though something unexpected and pleasant must 
 happen, and that my troubles are rather like the bad dreams 
 which fade away in daylight." 
 
 " One must always hope," that was so like Joan ; but 
 probably, though she would not have owned it even to 
 164
 
 A Member of the Humane Society 165 
 
 herself, Joan's improved spirits were owing to the fact 
 that Lady Mary's letters contained no special news about 
 Lady Cicely. 
 
 " I hope Cicely O'Brien is enjoying herself," she wrote once, 
 " but tilings are rather quiet at the Abbey just now. Craig comes 
 very little ; he says he is too busy, but his mother does not seem 
 quite pleased about it. They are making up a party for Aldershot 
 to-morrow, and he has promised to come back with them for 
 the evening. Of course I see the girls every day, and the more 
 J see of Cicely, the better I like her. She is a nice, bright- 
 natured girl, and so unselfish. I am to dine with them this 
 evening, Lady Merriton insists on it." 
 
 " In vain is the snare laid in sight of the bird," 
 thought Joan, as she perused this letter. " If they had 
 only left Craig alone for a little before they hatched out 
 their little schemes. Why, even if he felt inclined, Craig 
 would be ashamed to make love to another girl quite so 
 soon ; " and Joan's lip curled a little contemptuously at 
 the thought of Lady Merriton's denseness and want of 
 perception. But all the same she waited rather anxiously 
 for the next letter. 
 
 " I am afraid I have nothing very amusing to tell you, my 
 dear Joan," wrote her faithful correspondent. " Thursday was 
 not a success. It was very wet in the afternoon, and they had 
 to take shelter in Craig's quarters. Unfortunately, his duties 
 prevented him from being with them until it was nearly time to 
 go back. Colonel Hamilton gave them tea, and two or three 
 officers were in attendance ; but Dorothy did not think Cicely 
 enjoyed herself. To make things worse, Craig had had a fagging 
 day, and was really tired, and not at all inclined to make himself 
 agreeable, though he did his best, poor boy. I thought the 
 evening a little flat myself, though Cicely sang charmingly. They 
 are dining at the Rectory to-morrow. Craig is invited, but I am 
 not sure that he will be able to go." 
 
 In her next letter Lady Mary wrote chiefly about 
 her eldest nephew. 
 
 Josselyn is so much better that he intends to make a move 
 soon. Some friends of his are going to Switzerland, and as a 
 young doctor is to be one of the party, he means to take him as
 
 166 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 his travelling physician. My brother and Lady Merriton hare 
 written : ■ entreat him to come straight to the Abbey, but he 
 will not hear of it. He has really no regard for his parents' 
 feelings, ft Josselyn bad been my son, I think his selfishness 
 and want of filial love would have broken my heart long ago. 
 lie has not even told tl. n he means to start. D< 
 
 declares that he had probably left Cairo before his last letter 
 reached them. They have quite made up 'heir minds to go to 
 him as soon as they know his address, and I think myself that 
 this is the best plan. Of course Dorothy means to go too. In 
 that case I really think I shall take a little change myself. I 
 I rather like a fortnight or three weeks at ; . I me. If 
 I carry out this little project, do you think Heath would let you 
 join me there? 
 
 It was this last clause in Lady Mary's letter that 
 •made Joan's eyes sparkle. 
 
 "Oh, how dear of her to think of it!" she said to 
 herself. " But I will not hint at such a thing to either 
 Heath or Silence, in case it does not come to pass." 
 And then she put away the letter, and went in search of 
 Wanda, who was much depressed by the fact that Yere 
 had returned to Winchester that morning. Joan had 
 promised to do some errand in the town for her sister- 
 in-law. and she thought the walk would do Wanda good. 
 The other children were painting in the school-room. 
 
 Wanda was quite willing to accompany her aunt, and 
 set off hastily, with Rascal racing ahead of them. 
 '• is a lovely May afternoon, and as soon as Joan had 
 finished her business she proposed that they should take 
 a turn on St. Michael's Parade. In summer-time it was 
 a favourite promenade for the citizens of St. Breda's. 
 The terrace on the top of the ramparts, with its pic- 
 turesque watch-towers and sheltered seats, was exceed- 
 ingly pleasant, and on warm days the trim lawns and 
 pleasant beds in the enclosure below, and the shady lime 
 avenue, offered a delightful retreat. 
 
 ( )n this afternoon it was unusually quiet: only a few 
 children were playing on the grass or running up and 
 
 ti the mounds. 4 
 
 As they walked up the lime avenue Joan drew a deep
 
 A Member of the Humane Society 167' 
 
 breath of satisfaction ; for the love of nature was strong: 
 within her, and it was a perfect joy to her to see the 
 tender green leafage turning gold in the sunshine as it 
 rippled and swayed in the fresh breeze. 
 
 " Oh, it is too delicious ! " she exclaimed, and then 
 she interrupted herself. 
 
 " "Wanda, will you sit down a moment on that bench ? 
 I must really go and speak to those boys ; I am sure 
 they are bullying the little one." And Joan went swiftly 
 across the grass ; quite unconscious that a pair of amused, 
 quizzical eyes were watching her. 
 
 A minute later, Wanda was aware that a tall, good- 
 looking man, with an ugly brindled bulldog waddling" 
 behind him, was approaching the seat. To her surprise,. 
 he raised his hat and accosted her in a pleasant voice. 
 
 " I saw you with Miss Leigh just now. I am sure 
 you are Canon Leigh's daughter." 
 
 Now Wanda, in spite of her quiet disposition, was 
 not at all shy. 
 
 " I think you must be Mr. Trafford," she returned 
 composedly, " and that must be the bulldog that fright- 
 ened mother so when she was having tea with Mrs. 
 Ramsay. Oh, please, I don't want him to come too close ,r 
 — as Dagon, breathing hard, was preparing to make 
 friendly overtures. Then Dick, with a resigned air, 
 seated himself and took the thick clumsy head between 
 his knees. 
 
 " Never mind, old fellow," he said caressingly. " No 
 one but your master appreciates you, and he knows that 
 you are worth your weight in gold. We will stick to 
 each other, Dagon, however the world may malign and 
 misunderstand us." And then, in a wheedling tone T 
 " You see I have him quite safe, and if you were to pat 
 his head I am sure he would take it kindly." And 
 Wanda, after a moment's hesitation, extended a small 
 and rather shaking hand. 
 
 " He can't help being ugly," she said half to herself. 
 
 " No, and it is a pity to hurt his feelings. Do you
 
 168 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 know, Miss Leigh, if I stay long at Kenwyn — but I am 
 rather a waif and stray, you see — I think I shall get 
 hold of some school-room and give a demonstration 
 lecture on bulldogs in general, and Dagon in particular." 
 
 " Oh, shall you really ! " But Wanda was puzzled, 
 she did not quite know whether he was joking or in 
 earnest. His expression was quite grave. 
 
 " I expect your aunt will applaud the idea. I think 
 the demonstration part will be singularly effective. I 
 shall have a basket of kittens of all ages on the platform, 
 and a paper bag of Brazil nuts, and put Dagon through 
 all his parlour tricks. " My word," breaking off sud- 
 denly, " those young rascals don't seem to be inclined to 
 let the boy go ! I shall have to go to the rescue." 
 
 " Oh, no, Aunt Joan is scolding them — there, the 
 biggest one is skulking off, and she has got hold of the 
 little one's hand. It is all right, she will be here directly." 
 
 Dick sat down again. 
 
 " I was just going to send Dagon to investigate 
 matters. Oh, he would not have touched one of them." 
 as Wanda looked alarmed at the mere idea ; " he would 
 have simply looked at them until they fled trembling. 
 He is a moral policeman, is Dagon. Ah, here comes 
 the conquering heroine ! She is sending the victim away 
 smiling; I bet you anything he is holding coin of the 
 realm in his grubby little fist." 
 
 Joan, flushed, indignant, and triumphant, came 
 towards them. 
 
 " I caught sight of Dagon," she said, smiling at Dick, 
 " when I was pitching into those little savages. Why 
 are boys such brutes sometimes? they were frightening 
 that poor child to death." 
 
 " Oh, we have all of us been brutes in our time, I 
 daresay," replied Dick cheerfully. " T am only generalis- 
 ing on the subject of boys. T never look back on my 
 voung days without uncomfortable twinges of conscience 
 for speckled eggs taken out of nests, frogs harnessed to 
 toy chariots, baby thrushes and blackbirds starved by
 
 A Member of the Humane Society 169 
 
 ignorance, not unkind intent, harrowing funeral of 
 slaughtered innocents, with nightmares of pecking and 
 outraged parents of prodigious size. Oh, I could hold 
 forth for hours on the human hoy ! " And then, warming 
 to his subject, " If, as Wordsworth says, ' heaven lies 
 about us in our infancy/ there are few celestial traces 
 to be found in the young, growing, undeveloped creature. 
 Boy is a playing, fighting animal, he is unsentimental, 
 well — if you care to state it boldly — unfeeling to the last 
 degree ; he bullies the weak, he toadies the strong. It is 
 the survival of the fittest. But one of these days Boy 
 will rub his eyes and see things in a different light ; then 
 he will understand what true manliness means. And 
 ' cherchez la femme ! ' " finished Dick, with an unscrutable 
 smile. 
 
 Wanda listened to this long harangue with a bewil- 
 dered and thoughtful expression ; then she fixed her large 
 dark eyes on Dick's face. " I don't think you meant to 
 be cruel," she said slowly, " though it was not kind to 
 take those poor little birds out of their warm nests and 
 put them in a cage. Vere and Frank never did such a 
 thing ; when they wanted eggs for their collections, they 
 always left one or two for the poor mother. I don't 
 believe they ever did really cruel things in their lives — 
 do you, Aunt Joan ? But of course you did not mean it," 
 observed Wanda graciously. 
 
 " I don't believe I did," returned Dick with a kind 
 smile. " But, don't you know, Miss Wanda, that ' evil 
 is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart ' ? 
 Not being a thrush mother, I was quite ignorant how 
 frequently the youngster needed nourishment, and it 
 never entered my head that they wanted warmth ; when 
 these facts were pointed out to me, on the eve of that 
 harrowing funeral I mentioned, I wept with remorse, and 
 refused to be comforted unless the cat and cockatoo 
 attended the function attired in long crape streamers." 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh. Then Dick, who was 
 bent on vindicating himself in the little girl's eyes, remem-
 
 170 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 bered a certain good work of his which would reinstate 
 him in her good opinion. 
 
 "I atoned for my childish sins later, when I posed as 
 a liberator of larks. Have you ever seen a newly-caged 
 lark, Miss Wanda?" And as she shook her head — 
 " Then you have been spared a painful sight. To see the 
 poor little beggar try to rise in that infamous little box of 
 a cage — oh, it got on my nerves. And I had a perfect 
 craze for haunting the Seven Dials and other mean locali- 
 ties, on my quest for larks. My maiden aunt used to 
 remonstrate with me on the shillings I spent so freely. 
 ' I am sorry enough for all caged things,' she said, ' but 
 
 when the children need bread ' But I would not 
 
 listen to her." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! " exclaimed Wanda. " Oh, do 
 please tell us what you did next ! " 
 
 " Well, then, when I had a sufficient number of little 
 boxes, I engaged a hansom and had myself driven to 
 some nice open space — Hampstead Heath or Regent's 
 Park or Wimbledon Common. I always chose a lonely 
 part where there were no onlookers. Then I opened the 
 cage doors. I remember on one occasion the driver was 
 so taken back by my humane proceedings that I heard 
 him mutter, ' Blest if he is not the rummiest cove that 
 I have seen for a long day ! Shouldn't be surprised if he 
 is from Hanwell.' But I rather fancy he had had a drop 
 too much. On another occasion my driver, a good-look- 
 ing young chap, was quite excited. ' T call that real sport, 
 sir,' he said. And I was so much pleased with his sym- 
 pathy that I gave him an additional shilling. 
 
 " Sport indeed — I should think so! If only you could 
 have seen it, the way the little creature perched palpi- 
 tating on the threshold of the cage, and then went up 
 like a rocket. Sometimes I could hear it trilling as it 
 went ; it used to make me feel quite lively." 
 
 ''What did you do with the cages?" asked Wanda, 
 for she was a practical little person. 
 
 " I used to break them to pieces with my stick, until
 
 A Member of the Humane Society 171 
 
 my sympathising friend begged me to let him take them 
 home. ' My youngsters have got a linnet, and I think 
 I could make quite a roomy cage out of all those small 
 ones.' That day I went home a proud man ; for not only 
 had I set prisoners free, but I was housing the homeless. 
 But I had to give it up after that," continued Dick regret- 
 fully. "Rutherford broke me of the habit; he said I 
 was just encouraging the bird-catchers, and that I should 
 become notorious in Whitechapel and the Seven Dials as 
 ' the larking gent.' But at least I have set a hundred 
 captives free to soar to heaven's gate," concluded Dick 
 virtuously. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Joan, I never heard anything more inter- 
 esting!" exclaimed Wanda. "I am going to write to 
 Vere to-morrow, and I shall tell him all about the larks. 
 Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Trafford. I think it was 
 so nice of you to think of it." And from that day Richard 
 Trafford, the Waif and Stray, was a hero in Wanda's 
 eyes. 
 
 " We must really go home now," observed Joan, and 
 Dick accompanied them until they had reached the 
 Precincts. 
 
 " Aunt Joan," observed Wanda, when Dick had taken 
 leave of them, " I had no idea that Mr. Trafford was 
 such a nice man. Mother said he was amusing and 
 funny, and so he is, but he has such a kind face." And 
 Joan quite coincided in this opinion. 
 
 " That is the prettiest little girl I have seen for a 
 long time," thought Dick as he strolled across to the 
 tobacconist's. " I like her stately little ways ; I should 
 not be surprised if she grows into a beautiful woman in 
 a few years' time. If she had only been an orphan ! " 
 And then Dick chuckled inwardly as he remembered 
 Aunt Felicia's expression when he propounded his views 
 with regard to his future wife's training.
 
 XX 
 
 "MY TEXT IS FROM THOMAS A KEMPIS" 
 
 Temptations are often very profitable to us, though they be 
 troublesome and grievous ; for in them a man is humbled, puri- 
 fied, and instructed. — Thomas a Kempis. 
 
 All love renders wise in its degree. — Browning. 
 
 The Harcourts and Ramsays accepted the invitation, 
 and Joan threw herself with her accustomed energy into 
 the preparations for " the Eight." 
 
 " I will see you through it," she had said to Silence, 
 and she certainly kept her word. When Canon Leigh 
 hinted to her that he feared that the number mentioned 
 would work out rather awkwardly at the table, Joan 
 refused to listen to him. 
 
 " Ask two more people! " she said indignantly. " My 
 dear Heath, how could you be so inconsiderate. I will 
 not have poor Silence put upon. She is quite nervous 
 enough already." 
 
 " One may as well be hanged for stealing a sheep 
 as for a lamb," returned her brother drily. But Joan 
 took no notice of this grim little joke. 
 
 " I would not have you suggest such a thing to 
 Silence for worlds," she replied seriously ; " it would be 
 the last straw. What does it matter if I have to sit by 
 Mrs. Ramsay, and that Mr. TrafFord will be at your 
 left hand instead of Mrs. Harcourt — they will under- 
 stand? At Morningside the table was round, and we 
 always seated our people properly. You can easily ex- 
 plain things beforehand to Mrs. Harcourt." And Joan 
 carried her point. 
 
 Silence was perfectly docile-, and accepted all Joan's 
 suggestions with the utmost meekness. Joan wrote out 
 one of the Morningside menus, and with a few necessary 
 
 172
 
 " My Text is from Thomas a Kempis "173 
 
 changes such as the season required it met with Warren's 
 approval. 
 
 " It could not be better, ma'am," she said to her 
 mistress ; '* there will be enough and to spare without 
 wasteful extravagance. You need not fear of my cook- 
 ing. Many a dinner have I sent up for twelve or fourteen 
 persons, and have been complimented afterwards by the 
 master himself." And Warren seemed to expand with 
 extreme self-satisfaction at the recollection. 
 
 Joan carried out her scheme of table decoration very 
 successfully. The pink tulips and white narcissi were 
 arranged with such effect that Heath looked at his wife 
 with marked approval. 
 
 " I never saw anything prettier," he said ; " the Har- 
 courts' table was quite ordinary in comparison." 
 
 " It was Joan's doing," returned Silence in rather an 
 embarrassed voice. " You have no idea how good and 
 helpful she has been ; " and Heath nodded, he guessed 
 far more than they suspected. 
 
 More than once, when Canon Leigh had finished 
 his talk with the happy-looking elderly bride, he glanced 
 somewhat anxiously at the stately figure and Madonna 
 face opposite to him. Joan's eyes often wandered in the 
 same direction. " How handsome Silence is ! " she said 
 to herself. " One could almost call her a beautiful 
 woman. But if she would only smile now and then. I 
 can see Canon Ramsay has hard work to keep up the con- 
 versation, and his neighbour seems so pleased with Mr. 
 Trafford that she hardly takes any notice of the poor 
 man. Canon Harcourt seems to have given up all hope 
 of interesting her, and that is why he talks to me. But 
 men are so stupid : he might have guessed that archi- 
 tecture and politics would not interest a woman like 
 Silence." 
 
 There was no doubt that Canon Harcourt found Joan 
 a far more amusing companion than his hostess. " Mrs. 
 Leigh is a most distinguished-looking woman," he said 
 to his wife as they turned in at their garden gate in the
 
 174 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 moonlight, " and I expect her husband finds her a 
 domestic treasure, but she is heavy in hand. I started 
 half-a-dozen subjects, but she did not seem to have much 
 to say in answer. It was quite a relief to talk to Miss 
 Leigh — she is so bright and original." 
 
 " Oh, and so is Mr. Trafford. I don't think I ever 
 enjoyed myself more. He amused me so much that I 
 could hardly eat my dinner. I am quite sorry that we 
 cannot ask him and the Ramsays to dinner before w r e go, 
 but it is quite impossible," and Mrs. Harcourt said this 
 regretfully. 
 
 When the guests had left, Canon Leigh returned to 
 the drawing-room. He was in high good-humour. He 
 came up to his wife, who was standing by the fireplace, 
 and put his arm round her. " Where is Joan, love? " 
 
 Silence raised her tired eyes to her husband's face. 
 " She has gone to speak to Prescott ; she will be here 
 directly. Has everything gone as you wished, Heath?" 
 
 " I should think so ! Why, the Harcourts have been 
 telling me that they have never enjoyed an evening more, 
 and I am sure that nice little body, Mrs. Ramsay, would 
 endorse that. Didn't I tell you, love, that we should 
 manage all right? Warren cooked the dinner to per- 
 fection, and the maids waited as well as possible." 
 
 " Oh, not Charlotte. I had to signal to her twice 
 to hand the vegetables, and she never would remember 
 to change the plates." 
 
 "Tut, who would have noticed such a trifle! T am 
 sure Prescott did her part well. What a pleasant fellow 
 Trafford is ! He kept us all lively with his racy stories. 
 Well, my dear, I can only tell you that I can honestly 
 congratulate you on the success of your first dinner- 
 party." But Silence's pale face did not brighten. 
 
 " You must thank Joan for that. Of course," she 
 added hastily, " I shall know better how to manage next 
 time. But 1 do not deserve any praise this evening. I 
 am afraid that Canon Harcourt thought me a very stupid 
 hostess."
 
 " My Text is from Thomas a Kempis "175 
 
 " My dear Silence ! " 
 
 "Oh, you know " — and her voice was full of pain — 
 " I am not clever like Joan, and I cannot talk. And 
 yet I tried my very best to-night." 
 
 " Do you think I do not know that ? " 
 
 " But it was no use. What is the good of trying to 
 hide the truth? I am not clever, Heath, and every day 
 I live I seem to feel my ignorance more. If we did not 
 love each other so much, I should often tell myself and 
 you that I am not the right wife for you." And then in 
 a half-whisper — " Sometimes I fear that one day you 
 will find it out for yourself.'" 
 
 Heath was very angry for a moment. " You would 
 not say such a thing to me a second time ! " he returned, 
 in a voice she had never heard before. Then, at the 
 sight of her weary, anxious face he relented. " You 
 do not deserve me to tell you, what you already know 
 to be the truth, that, clever or stupid, wise or ignorant, 
 you are the one woman in the world for me." Then 
 Silence's beautiful eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Please forgive me, dear. I was only thinking of 
 my own deficiencies — I did not mean to hurt you." 
 
 " Then I will try to forget it. But you must never 
 say such a thing again, even to yourself. Hush, here 
 comes Joan, and I am going to dismiss you to bed." 
 And Silence gladly availed herself of this permission to 
 retire. 
 
 " Silence is very tired — I don't want her to have any 
 more talking," he said, as Joan came towards him. 
 
 " She has been tired all day," returned the girl. " I 
 am afraid she did not enjoy the evening as much as we 
 did. But I think social functions will never be in Silence's 
 line." 
 
 " Oh, it is always difficult to get out of a groove." 
 returned her brother quietly. " And at the Rectory 
 we were uncommonly groovy. Mothers' Meetings 
 and Sunday School Treats were our chief dissipations. 
 Smuts and smoke, instead of chiffon and pink tulips —
 
 176 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 eh, Joan ? " And then, with a few words of grateful 
 appreciation of the trouble she had taken, Heath made 
 some excuse and retired to his study. 
 
 Nearly an hour later, when he went upstairs, he was 
 surprised to see a light burning in his wife's room. 
 
 Silence was sitting at her little table reading. The 
 book, Thomas a Kempis, lay open on her lap. She had 
 taken off her dinner-dress and was in a white wrapper, 
 and her dark hair was divided for the night in two long 
 thick plaits which reached to her knees. Joan, who had 
 seen her once like this, told Heath that she had reminded 
 her of a picture of the Madonna which she had greatly 
 admired. " It is the one with the plaits of hair on either 
 side of the face — I forget the name of the artist — and it 
 is very sweet, and with such a motherly expression." 
 Heath remembered this speech when Silence looked at 
 him with a quiet smile. 
 
 "Do you know how late it is, love?" he asked 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "Is it? I forgot the time; and this dear old book 
 always rests me so. Do you remember it, Heath? " hand- 
 ing him the worn copy. " It was your first present to 
 me, and when you laid it down beside me and told me 
 you were going away for a few weeks, I could not speak, 
 partly for the pain of missing you, and because I saw 
 how much you cared." 
 
 Heath smiled. He remembered all about it. Then 
 he glanced at the passage, a little amused. 
 
 It is a hard matter to leave off that to which we are accus- 
 tomed, hut it is harder to go against our own wills. 
 
 But if thou dost not overcome little and easy things, how 
 wilt thou overcome harder things? . . 
 
 O if thou didst hut consider how much inward peace unto 
 ;!i. elf, and joy unto others, thou shouldst procure by demean- 
 ing thyself well, I suppose thou wouldest he more careful of thy 
 spiritual progress. 
 
 ' That was the lesson ! needed to-night," said Silence 
 g( inly. " If you are not tired, Heath, will you sit down 
 beside me for a few minutes?"
 
 " My Text is from Thomas a Kempis " 177 
 
 " Am I ever too tired to talk to you, dearest ? " 
 
 " No, you are always so kind and patient. But I 
 think you could help me a little if you would. But first 
 I want to tell you how glad, how truly glad I am that 
 our little party has gone off so well. I did not say this 
 properly before, and I know I disappointed you." 
 
 Heath took his wife's hand and kissed it. 
 
 " That is spoken like my true-hearted Silence." 
 
 " No, you must not praise me," she returned, " for I 
 have not been good to-night, and I know how much I 
 tried you. I have been trying to find out why I said 
 such a strange thing to you, but I know now that my 
 heart was full of bitterness because I was so jealous of 
 Joan." 
 
 " Jealous of that child ! " he exclaimed indignantly. 
 
 " Joan is not a child, and she is very clever. You 
 must be my father confessor to-night, and let me tell 
 you what was troubling me. I think, if I could make 
 you understand, that I should feel happier about things." 
 
 Then he pressed her hand without speaking, for he 
 began to see what was needed. When she had purged 
 her mind of the perilous stuff she would take a more 
 sane and healthy view of her difficulties. 
 
 " It was during dinner," she went on. " Canon Har- 
 court was talking about that new book — the one you have 
 been reading lately." And as Heath nodded — " But I 
 told him I had not read it. And then he changed the 
 subject rather abruptly. But later on I could hear him 
 discussing it with Joan, and she seemed so interested and 
 eager about it, and talked so cleverly, that I could see he 
 was quite delighted. They renewed the conversation in 
 the drawing-room, and Mr. Trafford and Canon Ramsay 
 joined them." 
 
 "Well, my dear?" 
 
 " I was trying to talk to Mrs. Harcourt, but even 
 she was listening to the others. She said it amused her 
 to hear Miss Leigh argue with her husband. And oh, 
 Heath, I am ashamed to say it, but I know I envied Joan ! 
 
 12
 
 178 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 I had the same old bad feelings that I used to have when 
 I sat in the study of an evening and listened to you two 
 talking about things I knew nothing about. I pretended 
 not to care, but i often cried when I got upstairs for 
 sheer mortification. 1 used to long to get rid of her 
 because she always put me in the shade and I could 
 never get you to myself." 
 
 " You knew it was wrong to indulge in such feelings," 
 he said quietly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and I used to fight against them with all 
 my strength. But this evening I had such a hopeless, 
 unhappy feeling. You are such a clever man, dearest, 
 and people seem to think so much of you. But you know 
 what my education has been. Why, even Jessica at nine 
 years old knows nearly as much as I do. When the 
 children ask me questions I am obliged to tell them I 
 do not know — that my mother took me away from school 
 before I was fifteen, because she and father could not 
 part with me any longer." 
 
 " But that was no fault of yours, dearest." 
 
 " No, it was my misfortune ; and it is yours too — 
 for if you rise in the world, how am I to fit myself for any 
 high position? " 
 
 " By being simply yourself," he returned calmly — 
 " your own clear sensible self. No, it is my turn to talk 
 now. You have nothing to tell me which I do not know. 
 What is the use of crying over spilt milk? It is too late 
 for you to go to school again." 
 
 " But you once told me I ought to read more." Then 
 Heath gave an odd little laugh. 
 
 " Yes, I remember. But I soon took the books and 
 put them back on the shelves, when you told me they 
 made your head ache. Try to look at the matter in a 
 sensible light. The world of books will never be your 
 world, Silence. We might as well try to fit a round 
 thing into a square hole — the thing is impossible. You 
 will never be a bookworm or a society woman, but you 
 have your own place in the universe. To fill it wisely
 
 " My Text is from Thomas a Kempis " 179 
 
 and happily, you must first recognise your limitations. 
 You can't go through daily life comfortably if you are 
 always trying to walk on tiptoe. And as for envying 
 
 the gift of 'others " he stopped, and his manner 
 
 became impressive even to sternness. " Envy and jeal- 
 ousy are the devil's brood ; never parley with evil things 
 even for a moment. If we are to love our neighbour 
 as ourself, as my dearest mother taught me, we can hardly 
 do it properly if we are coveting our neighbour's gifts, 
 or grudging him his poor little social successes, or wish- 
 ing him twenty miles away because his presence casts 
 us in the shade. 
 
 " I think I see what you mean, Heath — it is a sin 
 against charity." 
 
 " Yes, and not a venial one either, for it robs the 
 soul of its peace. As for Joan, she is far more likely to 
 envy you. Joan has no husband to tell her that she is 
 the one woman in the world to him ; no children to think 
 there is no one like mother. O faithless woman, are 
 you not ashamed of yourself by this time?" 
 
 " Indeed I am, Heath. But you have helped me so 
 much, and I hope never to be so naughty again. Why, 
 you have preached me quite a sermon ! " 
 
 " Yes, and my text was from Thomas a Kempis. 
 Shall I sum up the three heads briefly? 
 
 " i st, Recognise your limitations. 
 
 " 2ndly, Strangle evil in its infancy, before it grows 
 strong and strangles you. 
 
 " 3rdly, Be content with your place in the universe." 
 
 Silence's only answer to this was one of those rare 
 sweet kisses of hers which told him all he wanted to 
 know.
 
 XXI 
 
 "ANOTHER LETTER FROM LADY MARY" 
 
 Pain, that to us mortals clings, 
 Is but the pushing of our wings 
 That we have no use for yet, 
 And the uprooting of our feet 
 From the soil where they are set, 
 And the land we reckon sweet. 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
 Solitude sometimes is best society. — Milton. 
 
 Silence's naive and childlike confession of her igno- 
 rance had touched her husband profoundly. And as he 
 went to his dressing-room he felt he had never loved 
 and reverenced her more. He was fully aware of her 
 deficiencies, and all their married life he had tried to 
 shield and help her in every possible way. 
 
 " What does it matter, after all," he said to himself, 
 " that her smattering of education and imperfect knowl- 
 edge make her feel shy and tongue-tied in general 
 society ? When I think of her beautiful nature and noble 
 simplicity, I would not change her for the cleverest 
 wife in Christendom. She is so absolutely truthful. It 
 is I who am not worthy of her ! " 
 
 Canon Leigh had always supervised his children's 
 education. Silence had given her little girls a few simple 
 lessons. But even in those early days at the Rectory 
 their father had instructed them in elementary Latin and 
 French. " I have taught all my children to read and 
 write," Silence said once to Joan, " but I think Heath 
 did the rest." 
 
 Wanda had attended a day-school for a year or two ; 
 but as soon as they had settled down at St. Breda's Lodge 
 an excellent governess, who had completed her educa- 
 tion in Paris and Dresden, was engaged for the mornings. 
 
 180
 
 " Another Letter from Lady Mary " 181 
 
 Jessica's idleness and pertness no longer tried her 
 mother's patience. Miss Locke, who was firm yet gentle, 
 knew how to enforce discipline, and few complaints 
 reached her father's ear. " I always know my lessons 
 perfectly now, mummie," Jess remarked once; " but Miss 
 Locke makes them so interesting, and then she always 
 answers my questions.'" 
 
 ' That must be very nice, darling," returned Silence 
 gently. But when Jess had run off, she sighed rather 
 heavily. There are plenty of thorns as well as flowers 
 in the valley of humiliation, as Silence well knew. Joan, 
 who had overheard the child's speech, looked up from 
 her writing. 
 
 " I am afraid I am like Jess," she said quaintly, " I 
 want all my questions answered. But I doubt if I shall 
 ever find a teacher wise enough to satisfy me — I shall 
 have to wait until I get hold of my Guardian Angel." 
 But this remark rather perplexed Silence. 
 
 They saw a good deal of Richard Trafford at St. 
 Breda's Lodge. One of Dick's favourite sayings was — 
 " You must always believe a man means what he says 
 until he tells you a direct lie — after that you may form 
 your own conclusions." So when Canon Leigh told him 
 that there would always be a welcome at St. Breda's 
 Lodge, Dick took him at his word. 
 
 He and Dagon were constant visitors. Dick liked to 
 stroll across between four and five. The informal family 
 ten in school-room or dining-room pleased him mightily. 
 " It is so much more satisfactory than my Aunt Felicia's 
 si >;\ dawdle, and gossip," he said once to Joan. " I hate 
 little spindle-legged tables for one's cup and plate ; there 
 i^ danger of upsetting them when one jumps up to wait 
 on the old ladies." But Joan pretended to be shocked at 
 this flippant remark. 
 
 " I am afraid it is your masculine selfishness," she 
 returned rather severely. " You do not like the trouble 
 of handing hot cakes and making yourself agreeable. If 
 the truth were known, you think the old ladies should 
 wait on you ! "
 
 182 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Oh, we shall come to that presently," replied Dick 
 with a twinkle. " The old order changeth. When lovely 
 woman stoops to- folly, yon know — joins hatless brigades, 
 and plays football and bridge — she has to step down from 
 her pedestal. In the days of our grandmothers and great- 
 grandmothers — delightfully feminine creatures, in spite 
 of their coal-scuttle bonnets and narrow skirts — there 
 were none of these little games. The dear charmers put 
 on their spencers — oh, you see I am up in the dress of the 
 Georgian age — armed themselves with huge muffs and 
 walking-sticks, and sallied forth to enjoy the air, and a 
 dish of tea with their cronies. Don't you see their minc- 
 ing steps and the ostrich plumes waving in the wintry air, 
 and the satin reticules dangling at their wrists ? " 
 
 " Oh, how ridiculous you are ! " but it was evident that 
 Joan was well amused. But Dick's next question startled 
 her. 
 
 " Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Leigh? " 
 
 " No — yes — oh, I don't know ! But if any one told 
 me a room was haunted, nothing would induce me to 
 sleep in it." 
 
 " Agnostic and illogical — well, well, we must have 
 patience with the weaker vessel ! I am not going to raise 
 any psychological questions ; I am only imagining the 
 astonishment of my great-grandmother, if that venerable 
 and long-deceased gentlewoman were permitted to revisit 
 the haunts of her youth. Would she know her London, 
 do you suppose, with its motors and taxicabs, tubes, and 
 underground railways? And what do you think would 
 surprise her most?" But Joan was quite equal to the 
 occasion. 
 
 " The twentieth century young lady," she answered 
 promptly. 
 
 " That's so,' returned Dick ; "you may go up one, 
 Miss Leigh. But I will draw a veil over the feelings of 
 the dear departed. She would go back to her circle a 
 wiser and a sadder woman." Then, with a sudden transi- 
 tion of ideas — " Are you aware that it has just chimed
 
 " Another Letter from Lady Mary " 183 
 
 the half-hour, and that my fancy is conjuring up the 
 fragrance of hot tea, alarmingly sweetened, and piles of 
 cotton-wool toast cut thick, insufficiently toasted, and 
 swimming in butter?" 
 
 Joan laughed. " Oh, how absurd you are ! Yes, my 
 sister-in-law is out, and we are going to have a school- 
 room tea this evening. The children have made their 
 father promise to join them." 
 
 " Lead on, good fairy, I am in luck's way ! " replied 
 Dick blandly. He had met Joan returning from the 
 town, and for the last quarter of an hour they had been 
 pacing up and down the cloisters. Joan always looked 
 more cheerful when she was listening to Dick's nonsense. 
 He seemed to bring with him a whiff of Brantwood air. 
 He never paid her compliments, but there was a pleasant 
 sense of camaraderie that gave them mutual pleasure. 
 
 The hour that followed Dick's entrance into the 
 school-room was usually full of enjoyment. Wanda 
 always presided at the tea-tray on these occasions, and 
 Dick sat beside her and took the sugar-bowl under his 
 supervision, and Jess and Noel brought in the cotton- 
 wool toast, over which they had scorched their faces. 
 
 " Warren says this is the very, very last time, father," 
 observed Jess in an injured tone, " and that she can't 
 be fashed with such doings in her kitchen after the 
 spring clean, so we must content ourselves with bread and 
 butter and cake. Don't take that black bit, Mr. Trafford 
 — Noel has burnt it. Here is a nice soft cotton-wool bit." 
 Then Dick helped himself with a resigned air. 
 
 "We dine at half-past seven, but I think if I walked 
 up and down the Green for an hour I might manage to 
 pick up an appetite." But, as Jess carried off the plate, 
 he surreptitiously conveyed the dainty to Dagon, who 
 always kept close to his master's chair at tea-time. 
 
 Happily, Jess did not notice this. " When are you 
 going to play croquet with us, Mr. Trafford? " she asked 
 suddenly ; " you and Wanda have never given Aunt Joan 
 ami me our revenue. "
 
 184 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Shall we say to-morrow ? " returned Dick. But he 
 looked at the demure little tea-maker as he spoke. 
 
 " We have lessons in the morning,"' observed Wanda, 
 " and except on Saturday I do not think Jess and I can 
 play until after tea. May we say to-morrow, father?" 
 But before Canon Leigh could answer, Dick interposed 
 in his airy fashion. 
 
 " We will consider it settled then, Miss Wanda. 
 There is no need to call in the dignitaries of the Church 
 to settle these trifling affairs, as too much familiarity 
 breeds contempt. I will partake of Kenwyn tea and toast 
 and join you on the lawn." And so it was arranged. 
 
 Dick played all games well. He always chose Wanda 
 for his partner. Jess would complain of this sometimes. 
 " You always beat us ; I don't think we are fairly 
 matched," she would say. " Wanda plays better than I 
 do, so I ought to be your partner." But Dick did not 
 seem to see this. 
 
 Silence seldom played unless she were alone with 
 her children. She liked better to watch her husband 
 and Joan. More than once, when Dick Trafford came 
 up to wish her good-night, with his brown, handsome 
 face flushed with exercise, the thought crossed her mind 
 — If only Joan had cared for him, how much happier it 
 would have been for every one! "They are such good 
 friends, and seem to have so much in common," she 
 thought. But she would have been surprised if she had 
 known that such an idea had never seriously entered 
 Dick's head. 
 
 Joan's cheerfulness was due to more than one cause. 
 The idea of those weeks at Folkestone had greatly raised 
 her spirits. 
 
 " I must not build upon it too much," she would say 
 to herself, " for, of course, something may come to pre- 
 vent it." But all the same Joan was grievously disap- 
 pointed when her pleasant little castle in the air was 
 dashed to the ground. 
 
 " Another letter from Lady Mary," observed Canon
 
 " Another Letter from Lady Mary " 185 
 
 Leigh in surprise one morning as he caught sight of the 
 handwriting. " Why, you only heard from her yester- 
 day, my dear " — as Joan, with rather a perturbed expres- 
 sion carried off her letter to the window. Before she 
 opened the envelope she was sure that it contained no 
 good news. 
 
 " Oh, my dearest child," wrote Lady Mary, " we had such 
 a harassing day yesterday. Dorothy came down to me before I 
 had finished breakfast. They had such bad news of Josselyn. 
 That young doctor — Dr. Hallett, I think is his name — had 
 written to his father. Poor dear Josselyn had broken a blood- 
 vessel ; he had done something imprudent, and severe haemor- 
 rhage had set in. Happily Dr. Hallett was on the spot, and the 
 proper remedies were at once applied. Josselyn was slightly 
 better when Dr. Hallett wrote. My brother read to her the con- 
 cluding passages of his letter. 
 
 ' ' I do not think it right to conceal from your lordship that 
 your son is in a very critical condition, and if there should be a 
 return of the haemorrhage, that one could not answer for the 
 consequences. We have been fortunate in securing the services 
 of an excellent English nurse, Sister Rose of Guy's. She was 
 staying at the hotel with a sister and at once undertook the 
 case. She has promised to stay until Lord Josselyn is out of 
 danger, so you may rest assured that he has every care and 
 attention.' 
 
 " My poor brother is terribly cut up, Joan, and Lady Merriton 
 looks as ill as possible. Of course they are going off to Josselyn 
 at once, and Dorothy will accompany them. They had just sent 
 for Craig and were expecting him every moment, but they 
 have no hope that he will be able to leave at present, as the 
 manoeuvres begin on Thursday. By the time this letter reaches 
 you they will be well on their way. Oh, dear Joan, what a 
 world of trouble this is ! Of course our pleasant little Folkestone 
 scheme is in abeyance. I must stay at Morningside and be ready 
 for Craig if he wants me. I am sending you their address in 
 case you would like to write to Dorothy. It was a blessing that 
 Cicely O'Brien had just left, for she would have been sadly in 
 the way just now." And then with a few loving words Lady 
 Mary concluded her letter. 
 
 Canon Leigh looked at Joan rather anxiously as she 
 handed the letter to him. The girl's face looked quite 
 pale and drawn.
 
 186 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " You had better read it for yourself," she said 
 " They are in trouble at the Abbey ; Lord Josselyn is verj, 
 ill. No, I have finished my breakfast," as Silence mutely 
 pointed to her plate ; " I am going out." Heath read the 
 letter to his wife. 
 
 " I am afraid it is a bad business," he said gravely ; 
 " Lord Josselyn is always doing something foolish, and I 
 am afraid he has done it once too often, poor reckless 
 fellow ! Joan seems to take it to heart ; but then she and 
 Lady Dorothy are like sisters." 
 
 " Yes," returned Silence in a low voice, " and she 
 knows that his brother's death would only make it still 
 more impossible for her to marry Captain Bastow." 
 
 " You seem to be quite sure in your own mind that 
 Joan cares for him," observed Heath. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am quite sure of that," she replied simply, 
 as she took up her tea-caddy and key-basket and went 
 off to give orders, leaving her husband still ruminating 
 over Lady Mary's letter. 
 
 The bells were not yet ringing for morning service 
 when Joan entered the Cathedral, but she had no inten- 
 tion of attending matins. She sought out her favourite 
 verger and asked him to unlock the door leading to the 
 crypt. How still and solemn and silent it was in the 
 morning light ! Here and there a shaft of sunlight from 
 one of the deeply-set windows slanted between the Nor- 
 man pillars. 
 
 Joan went straight to her favourite little chapel and 
 sat down on a bench in a dim corner. Overhead they 
 would soon be chanting matins. Silence would be in her 
 usual place, with Mrs. Ramsay's peaceful face in the 
 opposite choir stall. But Joan had no intention of join- 
 ing them. Her heart was too heavy to bear the sound of 
 the pealing organ and fresh boys' voices. Her corner 
 in the quiet little chapel suited her far better. She was 
 safe from intrusion for the present. No curious sight- 
 seers would be wandering in all directions until recalled 
 by a garrulous verger. Here she could sit and think,
 
 " Another Letter from Lady Mary " 187 
 
 or kneel and offer up pitiful, disconnected little petitions 
 for poor Josselyn and his unhappy parents, for Craig 
 and herself. 
 
 Poor Joan, she had never been more unhappy. " One 
 must always hope," she had written ; but it seemed to 
 her, in that dark hour, that hope had died a natural 
 death. 
 
 " Josselyn will die," she said to herself ; " he is prac- 
 tically dying - now. And then Craig will be lost to me. 
 Oh, my darling, and I love and miss you more every 
 day ! " And bitter tears of self-pity and yearning rose 
 to the girl's eyes. How real — how terribly intense are 
 the sorrows of youth ! All her life long Joan would never 
 quite forget those hours in St. Breda's crypt, when Hop? 
 shook his rainbow-tinted wings and prepared for flight. 
 .Since the days of Eve, how many of her daughters have 
 had with their own weak hands to shut themselves out of 
 their Eden ! The angels that stand sentinel there, and 
 who sternly forbid return, are known by many names — 
 Duty, Right, Self-sacrifice — but each one bears a flaming 
 sword. 
 
 " He will not come now — he dare not," she said to 
 herself. " And yet, if I could see him once and hear 
 his voice again. But it would not be right, and he will 
 not do it. If I could only be with my dear Lady Mary," 
 she thought presently, " I could bear things better." And 
 as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks, the quaint, sweet 
 verse Lady Mary had quoted to her came to her recol- 
 lection : 
 
 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." 
 
 "Shall I ever be able to say that really?" thought 
 Joan.
 
 XXII 
 
 FROM THE HOTEL DE MONTAGNE 
 
 To forget is not to be restored ; 
 
 To lose with time the sense of what we did 
 
 Cancels not what we did; what's done remains. 
 
 Clough. 
 
 Of true contrition and humbling of the heart ariseth hope of 
 forgiveness. — Thomas a Kempis. 
 
 Joan was so unapproachable that day that, though 
 Silence's good, womanly heart was full of sympathy for 
 the girl's evident unhappiness, she did not venture to ex- 
 press it. Joan shut herself up in her room and wrote a 
 long letter to Lady Mary and a shorter one to Dorothy, 
 and she posted them herself. 
 
 When Dick Trafford strolled across to St. Breda's 
 Lodge after tea, Wanda told him that Aunt Joan had 
 gone for a long walk. As usual, Jess put in her word. 
 " Aunt Joan said she was tired and did not want to talk 
 or play games. She has been quite glum all day, hasn't 
 she, Wanda? Mummie will have to take her place. If 
 you ask her very nicely, Mr. Trafford, I am sure she 
 will not refuse." And as Dick's embassage was success- 
 ful, Joan found the game in full swing when she returned 
 from her walk. 
 
 She had tired herself into that state of non-thinking 
 passivity which is like a lull after a storm. But, as she 
 stood watching the final contest, Dick's keen glance 
 noticed her weary listlessness and want of animation. 
 " There is something very much amiss," he said to him- 
 self, " she looks a bit bowled over." And then it struck 
 him how much of Joan's charm lay in her sunny, viva- 
 cious expression and lightsome, debonnaire flow of spirits. 
 
 " She is picturesque and taking, but she is not the 
 
 188
 
 From the Hotel De Montagne 189 
 
 least pretty," he went on ; " she cannot hold a candle to 
 her beautiful little niece." And here Dick gave a final 
 hit to his ball which finished the game and covered him- 
 self and his partner with glory. 
 
 " You and Wanda have won as usual," observed Jess 
 in an injured voice. " I knew there was no chance with 
 mummie, and I am so tired of being always on the losing 
 side." 
 
 " I am in Miss Jessica's bad books, I see," observed 
 Dick. Then Wanda looked up at him a little beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Would you very much mind having Jess just once 
 for your partner, Mr. Trafford? I know she does not 
 play well, but she would be so happy to win one game." 
 And as Dick's good-nature could not resist this appeal, 
 Jess's discontent soon changed into rapture. 
 
 She woke Noel up for the purpose of telling him the 
 good news. " I am to be Mr. Traffbrd's partner to- 
 morrow — isn't that lovely ! " 
 
 " Don't know anything about it," returned the little 
 boy drowsily. " Good-night, Bill ; shut the door." And 
 Jess flounced off to find another, more sympathising 
 auditor. 
 
 Joan pulled herself together the next day and re- 
 sumed her usual habits, though she was so grave and 
 silent that Canon Leigh more than once debated with him- 
 self whether he should speak to her ; but her manner 
 deterred him, and Silence advised him to leave her alone. 
 
 " When people are in suspense, they are often too 
 much on edge to bear any talk. T should not try to force 
 her confidence, Heath ; one can see how terribly worried 
 she is." And Canon Leigh took his wife's advice, and 
 contented himself with asking Joan if her letter from 
 Ladv Mary contained any fresh news of the invalid, and 
 Joan would give him some brief answer. 
 
 " There was a slight improvement, Dr. Hallett 
 thought, but they were not to build on it. Lord Josselyn 
 was unable to talk, but he had seemed pleased to see his
 
 190 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 parents and Dorothy." Such were the items of news that 
 Joan extracted from her daily letter from Brantwood. 
 And so it went on for the next few days. Lady Mary's 
 letters were short, for she had little to narrate. Craig 
 tvas at the manoeuvres, and she had only seen him once. 
 Me had looked tired and depressed. He had dined with 
 her, and the}- had had a good deal of talk. One sentence 
 in Lady Mary's letter had given Joan a secret satisfaction. 
 
 I am afraid the O'Brien scheme is not making much progress. 
 I asked after Lady Cicely, but Craig did not seem to know any- 
 thing about her. " I expect Dorothy keeps up a correspondence 
 with her; " but he said this so carelessly, as though the subject 
 did not interest him. Poor Lady Merriton, how disappointed 
 she must be ! 
 
 Joan's cheeks glowed as she read this. She wanted 
 to kiss Lady Mary for giving her that little bit of com- 
 fort. Then she took herself severely to task. What did 
 she mean by being so selfish? Would it not be the best 
 and happiest thing in the world for Craig if he could 
 only care enough for that sweet Lady Cicely? No one 
 could make him a better wife. Oh, if I were only not 
 in his way!" thought Joan remorsefully; "I am just 
 a stumbling-block to them all." 
 
 A few days later Lady Mary's letter contained one 
 from her niece. " I thought Dorothy's letter would in- 
 terest you," she wrote, " and she has no time to write to 
 us both. You can return it in your next." And Joan 
 carried it off to read at her leisure, in a certain quiet nook 
 in the kitchen garden which she much affected. There 
 was a rustic seat and table under a gnarle 1 old apple 
 tree, and when she sat there a robin was gcnerallv in 
 attendance. It was a quiet little corner, so shut in with 
 1 'a • and syringe bushes that am- one sitting there was 
 quite hidden. Canon Leigh often took possession of it 
 when he was studying the subject for his next sermon. 
 
 Lady Dorothy's handwriting was beautiful. It was 
 as clear and legible as print, and Lady Marv would 
 sometimes remark that it was quite an accomplishment.
 
 From the Hotel De Montagne 191 
 
 " 1 can read Dollie's letters without the aid of my lorg- 
 nette," she would observe. 
 
 " At last I have leisure for a proper letter, dearest Aunt 
 Mary," wrote Lady Dorothy, " after those scrappy notes which 
 I scribbled off so hurriedly. But you know poor dear mother 
 was so ill during the journey, with all the suspense and anxiety, 
 and not knowing what news might await us, that wc were all 
 quite troubled about her — indeed, I never saw father in such a 
 state. How I wished Craig could have been with us. 
 
 " Dr. Hallett was at the station to meet us, and his report 
 was better than we dared to expect. Arthur was no worse — 
 but I think I have told you this before, though my bulletins were 
 too brief for any details. We are all so pleased with Dr. Hallett. 
 Mother is especially taken with him. As we drove to the hotel, 
 he gave us the fullest account of poor dear Arthur's illness. He 
 had disobeyed his doctor's orders, and declaring that he was 
 quite fit for the exertion, he actually did a little bit of climbing. 
 There was some view he wanted to see ; the climb was trifling — 
 not many hundred yards — but before he had accomplished half 
 the distance he was in such a state they could scarcely get him 
 back to the hotel. Happily Dr. Hallett was on the spot, or he 
 would not have been alive now. It was the most reckless impru- 
 dence, and even his friends tried to dissuade him ; but you know 
 Arthur's obstinacy when he is set on a thing. Dr. Hallett told 
 us that he could not allow us to see him that night, as the 
 excitement might give him a bad night ; but he promised that 
 we should see him in the morning, and that he would give us 
 the latest account before we retired to rest. I never saw any 
 one so kind and thoughtful. 
 
 "The Hotel de Montagne is not so full as usual just now, 
 and we have quite a delightful suite of rooms. They are in the 
 same corridor as Arthur's — so quiet, and with such lovely views 
 from the balcony. But no one except father had time to take 
 much notice of our environment, for mother was so worn out 
 that Justine and I had to help her to bed. Later on in the 
 evening, as I was sitting with mother, there was a knock on the 
 door and Sister Rose came in. Dr. Hallett had sent her, she 
 said, to sec if there was anything she could do for our comfort. 
 She said her patient was inclined to sleep. He had no idea his 
 people had arrived, though she fancied from something he had 
 said that he was expecting us. Mother made her sit down and 
 talk to us. Oh. dear Aunt Mary, she is one of the sweetest 
 women I ever saw. and we have all fallen in love with her. Dr. 
 Hallett told us about her the next day. She is a Mountjoy. 
 Her father belongs to the younger branch of the family, and they
 
 192 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 were so poor. Then she married a certain Captain Osborne in 
 the Hussars, and about a year afterwards he was killed in a 
 frontier war, and the poor young widow was left with very little 
 to maintain her. A child, a boy, was born about three months 
 after her husband's death, but he only lived six weeks. As soon 
 as she had recovered from this second shock, .Sister Rose refused 
 to stay at home and be a burden to her father, and determined 
 to devote herself to nursing. 
 
 " You should have heard Dr. Hallett's enthusiastic praises ! 
 He declared that she had a perfect genius for nursing — that 
 her touch and voice always seemed to soothe her patient. ' Nurs- 
 ing is with her a labour of love,' he observed. ' Where the 
 invalid needs her she never seems to consider herself at all. 
 Her sister, Mrs. Wetherell, told me this,' he went on, ' and 
 begged that I would exert my authority as a medical man and 
 induce her to take a needful rest. " She has had a great deal 
 of hard work," she continued, " and has come abroad for a 
 month's holiday, and now Lord Josselyn's unfortunate illness 
 will spoil her trip." Of course, when Mrs. Wetherell said this, 
 I offered to set her free, but Sister Rose would not listen to 
 either of us ; and I think, Lady Merriton, that we cannot be too 
 thankful that Lord Josselyn has such a devoted and skilful nurse.' 
 
 " In spite of all this kindness and comfort, I don't think 
 we any of us slept much that night, and after breakfast father 
 was in such a restless, irritable condition that he went out for a 
 little stroll. But he was only just out of sight when Dr. Hallett 
 came to take us to Arthur's room. He seemed rather glad father 
 had gone out, and said that it would be better for him to see 
 his son later on ; and then he told mother that she must be as 
 quiet and calm as possible, as his patient was very weak and 
 must not talk. 
 
 " Oh, dear Aunt Mary, all Dr. Hallett's kindly warnings had 
 not prepared me for the shock of Arthur's changed appearance. 
 Tie looked so shrunken and ghastly that I could not check my 
 tear- ! But, would you believe it, mother was so beautifully calm. 
 She just went up and kissed him. 'My darling boy,' she said, 
 ' Dollie and I have come to see you, and your father will be here 
 presently. No, you must not talk — you are far too weak — but 
 I shall love to sit by you and look at you.' It was just mother's 
 nursery voice — you know what I mean. I really think for the 
 moment that she fancied Arthur was a little boy again. 
 
 " Poor fellow, he seemed quite touched, and I am sure that 
 he was pleased to see us. I heard him say in a sort of whisper, 
 so that Sister Rose should not hear him, 'that he was not worth 
 all this kindness.' But mother only kissed his hand and told 
 him that he must be good and lie still, or we should not be 
 allowed to stay.
 
 From the Hotel De Montagne 193 
 
 " 1 crept away soon after this, but mother remained there 
 for nearly an hour. Oh, Justine has come to interrupt me. 
 Mother wants me, she says, so I must leave off for the present, 
 but I shall hope to finish before post time. 
 
 '" 3 p.m. — At last I have a quiet half-hour to complete my 
 letter, so I will go on with my narrative. I know I shall not 
 weary you, dear, for you are just one of us, and all our troubles 
 are yours. As soon as Arthur had had some rest, Sister Rose 
 came to fetch father. Mother went with him. Arthur seemed 
 far more agitated when father spoke to him than he had been 
 with us. 
 
 " ' I am not worth all this trouble, father,' he said in his 
 poor husky voice. And a moment later — ' I have been nothing 
 but a disappointment to you and my mother all my life, and it 
 is my own fault that I am lying here now. If I die it will be 
 better for you all.' It was Sister Rose who told me this. She 
 said poor father was so distressed that he could not speak. But 
 mother said quietly, ' You must not upset your father, Arthur , 
 you do not mean to pain us, my dear. We can remember nothing 
 now but that our boy is suffering and needs our love. " Like as 
 a father pitieth his children " — Oh, you know the rest, my 
 darling.' Sister Rose said there was something so touching and 
 beautiful in the way mother said this that she could hardly 
 refrain from tears. 
 
 ' ' We had to get Lord Merriton away after that,' she went on. 
 ' Rut Lord Josselyn would not allow his mother to go. I have 
 left them together — he has just fallen asleep holding her hand. 
 " As one whom his mother comforteth " — Lady Dorothy, these 
 words have been haunting me all the morning.' There was such 
 a sweet smile on Sister Rose's face as she said that. 
 
 " Since that first day mother has been almost constantly in 
 the sick-room. She takes no part in the nursing, of course, but 
 she sits quietly by the bed where Arthur can see her — pretending 
 to work or read. As she gives no trouble and her presence 
 seems to soothe Arthur, Dr. Hallett makes no objection to this. 
 Father and I only go in every night and morning. But we never 
 stay long. In some strange way, father's visits seem to disturb 
 Arthur. Now and then he says a word about his father's looks. 
 ' He seems aged somehow,' he observed once ; ' he never used to 
 have those wrinkles, and he has grown so grey.' Poor mother 
 hardly knew how to answer him. ' Your father has had so much 
 trouble, Arthur. I do not think he has ever got over the loss 
 of Archie and Clyde, And now this fresh anxiety.' But Arthur 
 interrupted her. ' It is I wh© am my father's worst trouble,' 
 h<> srroaned, 'though you are too kind to tell me so, mother.' 
 
 " r- »'-nr Aunt Mary, we are all so thankful t« see real evidence 
 13
 
 194 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 of penitence and right feeling on Arthur's part. An old clergy- 
 man, Canon Morse, has just arrived at the hotel with his daugh- 
 ter. Mother knows him very well hy name. He is a very saintly 
 old man, and has done a wonderful work as a missioner. She is 
 going to ask him to see Arthur. I am not sure that Dr. Hallett 
 quite approves — he is so afraid of any excitement — but when 
 mother said she was certain it would be a comfort to Arthur, 
 he could not withhold his consent. As we find Sister Rose knows 
 Canon Morse well, there will be no difficulty about an introduc- 
 tion. She will speak to him after table d'hote. Now, I really 
 must conclude. — With love from us all, your devoted niece, 
 
 " Dorothy."
 
 XXIII 
 
 THE COMING OF AZRAEL 
 
 Pray for me, O my friends ! a Visitant 
 Is knocking his dire summons at my door, 
 The like of whom to scare me and to daunt 
 Has never, never come to me before! 
 'Tis Death — O loving friends ! your prayers ! 
 Tis He! 
 
 Newman. 
 
 Joan expressed so much gratitude for Lady Mary's 
 thoughtfulness in allowing- her to read Lady Dorothy's 
 letter that her kind friend in future made copious extracts 
 from her niece's letters before she sent them on to Craig. 
 
 " Dolly is a famous correspondent," she wrote once ; " she 
 always tells me what I most want to know. She writes so 
 naturally, and yet so clearly, that we can realise things as though 
 we were there." 
 
 One of these extracts was full of Canon Morse's visits 
 to Lord Josselyn. 
 
 Of course Arthur sees him alone. Sister Rose always remains 
 in the outer room, just out of earshot, so no one knows exactly 
 what passes between them. Arthur is so extremely reticent 
 that he does not even speak of them to mother, but she is quite 
 sure that the visits give him comfort. He said once that Canon 
 Morse was a wonderful man, and that he wished that he had 
 come across him before. Mother thinks that he is quietly getting 
 an influence over him, and there is always a calmer look on 
 Arthur's face after one of these short interviews. 
 
 Canon Morse is really splendid with father also. He takes 
 him out for walks and tries to interest him. His daughter, too, 
 is an extremely nice woman, though she is rather an invalid. 
 They are devoted to each other, and it is beautiful to see them 
 together. There is something so venerable and apostolic about 
 the dear old man. I told Dr. Hallett that he reminded me of 
 St. John in Patmos, but he only smiled in an inscrutable way. 
 Sister Rose told me afterwards that she feared that, with all 
 his cleverness and kindness, he had not much sense of religion. 
 
 195
 
 196 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 But, all the same, he seems to respect Canon Morse and to defer 
 to his opinion quite nicely. You will see by all this that things 
 are going on tolerably smoothly. I am afraid Arthur is no 
 stronger, though he seems less depressed. He talks very little, 
 but he likes father to read the paper to him when he is able to 
 bear it, and he remembers people and asks after them quite 
 kindly. Will you tell Joan when you write to her that he was 
 speaking of her yesterday? I am sure she will be pleased to 
 hear that. He called her the jolly little redhaired girl — just in 
 his old teasing way. Joan will recollect how angry I used to 
 get when Arthur said this, and I used to argue that her hair was 
 auburn or ruddy brown, not red. He was asking after Marjorie 
 Colvin the other day, and seemed surprised that she was not 
 married. And then he looked at mother. " If I had taken your 
 advice, madre, she would have been Lady Josselyn now ; but I 
 was a bad boy and did not seem to see it." And a few minutes 
 later he said such a strange thing. " Tell Craig from me that he 
 could not do better than marry the little O'Brien girl — what's 
 her name? I seem to forget everything now." Then, as I 
 reminded him — " Oh, yes, Lady Cicely — a pretty little brunette. 
 I admire her more than her cousin — got more go and animation 
 about her. Lady Marjorie is a bit heavy in hand. Tell old Craig 
 that I hope he will be a better boy than I was, and give him my 
 love." There was such a pained look on mother's face when 
 he said this. " Dollie, my dear, you must not let Arthur talk 
 so much or we shall get into disgrace with Sister Rose," she 
 observed as quietly as possible. But something in her voice made 
 Arthur give her such a curious intent look. " Poor mother," I 
 heard him say under his breath, and I am almost sure there 
 were tears in his eyes. 
 
 Joan was reading this letter at the breakfast-table, 
 and as she laid it down she addressed her brother quite 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " Heath, do you know, the accounts of Lord Josselyn 
 are reallv better to-day. Dorothy seems quite in good 
 spirits. I begin to think that he will not die after all, 
 and that Lady Merriton will have her wish granted to 
 have him at the Abbey again." 
 
 Canon Leigh looked at her rather dubiously. 
 
 "Do you think we ought to wish that, Joan? Lord 
 Josselyn will always be an invalid." 
 
 " Oh, but he would have time to make up to his 
 parents for some of the pain he has caused them," re-
 
 The Coming of Azrael 197 
 
 turned Joan eagerly. " All these years Lady Merriton 
 has longed and fretted after him, and now she seems to 
 have got him again, and Dorothy says she is so happy." 
 
 " I see what you mean," returned Heath slowly; " but 
 I have had a great deal to do with similar cases, and I can- 
 not advise you to build on any temporary improvement. 
 Very often when it is least expected there is a sudden 
 return of the mischief." And though Joan refused to be 
 disheartened, and clung to her belief, Canon Leigh proved 
 a true prophet. 
 
 Three days later there was a black-edged envelope 
 on Joan's plate, with a brief note from Lady Mary. 
 
 " The end has come,"' she wrote hurriedly. " My brother 
 has just sent me a telegram: 'Josselyn died this morning — 
 return of haemorrhage, quite sudden ; will write.' Craig had one 
 too ; he is going to them at once. I know no particulars, but 
 of course they will bring the poor dear boy home. I must write 
 to my brother and Lady Merriton, so I have no time for more." 
 
 Later in the day, as Joan was trying to combat her 
 restlessness by helping Silence with a frock for Jessica 
 which she was anxious to finis 1 .-!, Silence said suddenly: 
 
 " Do you really think that they will bring Lord Josse- 
 lyn to England ? " 
 
 " I have not a doubt of it," returned Joan wearily. 
 The girl's face was very pale and her eyes heavy, but her 
 voice was quite calm. " Lord Merriton woukl wish his 
 eldest son to be buried in the family vault. Both his 
 grandfather and great-grandfather were laid to rest in 
 Kilverton churchyard." 
 
 " Kilverton ? " murmured Silence in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Kilverton used to be the family place in the 
 palmy days of the Merritons. Only for some reason — 
 the unhealthiness of the situation probably, for the Hall 
 was in a valley, and was quite shut in by trees — Lord 
 Merriton's father took such a dislike to it that he refused 
 to live there. T believe two of the children died there 
 from diphtheria ; anyhow, neither he nor his wife would 
 ever make it their home again."
 
 198 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " I can quite understand that, Joan." 
 
 " Oh, so can I. But, all the same, it does seem such 
 a pity ; it is such a picturesque, stately old house. Brant- 
 wood Abbey cannot compare with it. Lord Merriton 
 told me one day, when he was showing me some beautiful 
 photographs of the place, that it had been discovered 
 that the Hall was built over an old, badly-drained swamp. 
 It is certainly awfully damp, and a part is no longer habit- 
 able. But the Bastows, with the exception of Clyde and 
 Archie, are all buried in Kilverton churchyard. They 
 have a huge vault there like a room, with stained-glass 
 windows. But what Lady Mary likes best is a life-sized 
 angel who seems to guard the entrance, with a scroll in 
 his hand with ' Resurgam ' on it." 
 
 " 'I will arise' — oh, yes, that was a beautiful thought." 
 
 " Lady Mary once confessed to me that she would 
 so love to be laid there. But of course the Boyles have 
 a vault at Roskill, and she considers it her duty to lie 
 with her husband. But she always seems to me to be 
 more of a Bastow." 
 
 " But surely she loved her husband, Joan ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, she loved him, and I am quite sure that Sir 
 Martin was devoted to her ; but they did not marry very 
 young. Anyhow " — and here Joan's work dropped from 
 her fingers — " I am glad to think that they are bringing 
 Lord Josselyn to Kilverton, and that the Angel of the 
 Resurrection will be guarding him there. Forgive me, 
 Silence, but I really cannot work any more. I think 
 I will walk over to Nesselwood and ask after old Mrs. 
 Atler; I shall just have time to go there and back before 
 dinner." Silence made no objection, and a few moments 
 later her husband came into the room. 
 
 " Where is Joan, love? I was just going to ask her 
 to have a stroll with me." 
 
 " Oh. I am so sorry, Heath, but she has just started 
 off for Nesselwood. She was too restless to work. Lord 
 Josselvn's death seems to have upset her a good deal, 
 though she once told me that she never cared for him."
 
 The Coming of Azrael 199 
 
 "No, she has said the same to me more than once; 
 in fact, I believe she rather disliked him than otherwise. 
 But I am afraid she is thinking of Captain Bastow. Of 
 course this clinches the business." Then Silence looked 
 up from her delicate smocking. There was rather an 
 indignant light in her grey eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Heath, what a stupid world it is ! " 
 
 " How do you mean ? " he asked in an amused tone. 
 
 " Why should not people marry as they like and be 
 happy? Do you mean to tell me that Joan, your sister, 
 is not good enough for any Bastow? Why are they all 
 setting themselves up against it and saying it is impos- 
 sible. How can it be impossible if they love each other? " 
 
 " My dear love ! " but it was evident that Canon Leigh 
 was quite pleased by his wife's unusual vehemence. 
 
 " I am afraid Captain Bastow will find himself heavily 
 handicapped," he went on. " Lady Mary told me the last 
 time I was at Morningside th t Lord Josselyn's extrava- 
 gance had so impoverished the estate that it would be 
 absolutely necessary for Captain Bastow to marry a girl 
 with a fortune. And then sh-2 spoke of Lady Cicely 
 O'Brien." 
 
 " But if he does not care for her! Oh, Heath, don't 
 you see how wrong and wicked it all is? And if he and 
 Joan are really in love ! " 
 
 " But are we sure of that ? Of course I have my grave 
 doubts on the subject. Joan is making a brave effort, 
 but I see that she is unhappy. Still, many a girl has 
 been disappointed in her first love and has in time got 
 over it." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you," returned Silence quietly. 
 " And in my opinion Joan has been hardly used. She 
 has been thrown almost daily into Captain Bastow's com- 
 pany ; he has made love, and though she has very prop- 
 erly refused to listen to him, I hear her heart is no longer 
 in her own keeping. With all her faults, Joan has 
 very deep affections, and she is not one to change. If 
 Lady Mary and the Merritons had not been culpably
 
 200 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 blind, tilings would never have come to this pass." And 
 there was quite a severe look on the Madonna face as 
 Silence delivered herself of this lengthy sentence. But 
 Heath only smiled at her. 
 
 " I am afraid you are right, love," he said, " and that 
 worldly ways are not always the wisest and happiest 
 ways. But, after all, the matter is not in our hands." 
 
 " No, that is true," she returned gravely. " But ever 
 since Joan has been with us I have been thinking over 
 things ; and I have come to the conclusion that, if only the 
 Merritons could be brought to see it, such a marriage 
 ought not to be an impossibility. There, it is time to 
 dress for dinner, so we must not talk any more." 
 
 But when Silence had left the room, Canon Leigh sat 
 still in his place, looking out at the ruined arch and even- 
 ing sky. Something in his wife's words had gone as 
 straight as an arrow to his conscience. 
 
 He knew himself to be an ambitious man — he had 
 never been indifferent to the gifts and prizes of life — but 
 he hoped his secret worldliness had been hidden from 
 every one but his Maker. Silence, in her simplicity, 
 never guessed it. In her eyes he was absolutely perfect. 
 She gloried in his successes, not because she coveted such 
 things for him, but because she saw that they added to 
 his happiness. Nothing was too good for him, no honour 
 too great, thought the fond wife. 
 
 But now a few indicant words had cast a sudden 
 flashlight which seemed to illumine his secret thoughts. 
 "Do yon mean to tell me that Joan, your sister, is not 
 good enough for any Bastow?" Why had he felt that 
 proud thrill as Silence had said that? If it had been pos- 
 sible, would he not have gloried in such a marriage for 
 his young sister? 
 
 " Worldly ways are not always the wisest and hap- 
 piest ways," he had told her. How easy to formulate 
 such an axiom, and yet how difficult to live up to the 
 spirit of it ! Could any one be more worldly than he, 
 an ordained servant of God ! Where was his singleness
 
 The Coming of Azrael 201 
 
 of aim? Was he solely intent on his life's mission — to 
 win souls, and bind up the wounds of the broken-hearted, 
 to pour in the oil of healing? or was he secretly set on 
 being- recognised in the diocese as a powerful and elo- 
 quent preacher, as an authority on ecclesiastical literature, 
 whose talents and research should win a just praise? 
 
 " Mea culpa," he groaned, and there was a shadow 
 on the fine intellectual face. " Who can understand his 
 errors? cleanse Thou me from secret faults,"
 
 XXIV 
 
 •CHARITY NEVER FAILETH" 
 
 Sweet Shepherd, not one is so far away, 
 But Thy voice to its ears must win; 
 
 And there'll be such joy in the fold that day, 
 When the last of Thy flock comes in ! 
 
 Helen Marion Burnside. 
 
 Three days later Lady Mary forwarded another letter 
 from the Hotel de Montagne. 
 
 " I have very few particulars to give you, dearest Aunt Mary," 
 wrote Lady Dorothy. " It was all so sudden that we are still 
 quite dazed with the shock. I have just left mother with father 
 sitting beside her ; but as I feel I could not sleep, I am writing 
 to you instead. Tired as I am, I know I could not close my 
 eyes. I would rather tell you the little there is to know. 
 
 "That last evening — was it only yesterday or a year ago? — it 
 was so peaceful and happy. We were all in Arthur's room. 
 He seemed unwilling for any of us to leave him. Father read 
 to him a little and then we talked, and Sister Rose joined us 
 for a few minutes. Arthur looked quite bright ; he seemed look- 
 ing forward to his visit to Brantwood. ' I suppose Hallett 
 will give me my marching orders pretty soon,' he said. ' But I 
 won't go without my kind nurse,' looking at Sister Rose quite 
 affectionately. 
 
 " ' I have heard so much of Brantwood Abbey, Lord Josselyn, 
 and it would be very nice to see it,' she answered quietly, for she 
 would not damp him by telling him that she would have to 
 go back to the Hospital. And then Arthur began making all 
 sorts of plans. He wanted us to stay later with him than usual 
 that night, because he felt so well. But Sister Rose would not 
 hear of this. When I wished Arthur good-night, he made one 
 of his teasing little speeches. ' Dollie/ he said, ' I hope you don't 
 mean to be an old maid. But I don't suppose they could spare 
 you at home, you have always been such a good little girl : ' and 
 he gave my hand a loving squeeze. There, I have blotted the 
 page, but you will understand. 
 
 " I went to bed in such good spirits, and slept more soundly 
 
 202
 
 " Charity Never Faileth " 203 
 
 than usual ; and it seemed to me the middle of the night, though 
 I believe it was only just before dawn, when there- was a loud 
 knock at my door. It opened, and father's voice-said, Arthur 
 is very ill ; there has been a return of the haemorrhage. You 
 had better get up at once.' And I threw on my dressing-gown 
 and was beside him before he had reached Arthur's room. 
 Mother was there already. 
 
 " Oh, dearest Aunt Mary, shall I ever forget that moment ! 
 Dr. Hallet was holding a sponge to Arthur's mouth ; he was 
 conscious ; there was recognition in his eyes, I am sure of it. 
 The next moment Dr. Hallet bent over him. . . . 
 
 " I remember mother said something. She thought Arthur 
 had fainted, and wanted them to give him more air. But Dr. 
 Hallett shook his head. 
 
 " ' My dear lady,' he said, ' there is nothing more to be done 
 for your son.' And then he signed to father to take her away. 
 But I thought we never should have persuaded her to leave the 
 room. You see, she could not believe that the poor boy was 
 really dead. 
 
 ' ' It is not true, Merriton — it cannot be true,' she kept saying 
 over and over again, her poor hands shaking as though she 
 had ague. It was so terrible for father. 
 
 1 ' Yes, Hildegarde, it is true ; God has taken our boy, and 
 we must try to submit to the Divine Will. We have still each 
 other, and Craig will be good to us.' And then, with such a 
 sob — 'Am I not better to thee than ten sons?' 
 
 " I saw mother creep closer to him when she heard that sob. 
 They were so engrossed with each other that they never noticed 
 me ; and I left them to comfort each other. Father came to me 
 later and told me that she was calmer and more composed, and 
 that Sister Rose was with her. 
 
 " Canon Morse had a little service in Arthur's room, and 
 I think it did us all good ; and he said such beautiful, helpful 
 things to us afterwards. Sister Rose and Miss Morse had made 
 the room so beautiful, and dear Arthur looked so peaceful, and 
 years younger. I think it nearly broke mother's heart because 
 they could not let her stay longer ; but it was impossible- — there 
 was so much to do. We expect Craig will be here before eight, 
 and we shall probably leave in the afternoon. We shall sleep one 
 night at Grosvenor Square. Arthur is to be brought there. 
 Mother has implored father to have this done, and, after all, 
 it seems the best arrangement. We shall leave quite early the 
 next morning for Kilverton. Father has asked Mr. Rutherford 
 to take the service, as the vicar is a stranger to us. He begs 
 that you will not think of undertaking the journey. We intend 
 returning straight to Brantwood. There, I must lie down now
 
 204 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 and try and get some rest. Good-night — or rather good-morning-, 
 dear. — Your loving Dorothy." 
 
 " Of course I shall not be dissuaded from going down to 
 Kilverton," wrote Lady Mary. " I have just written to Mrs. 
 Baddeley and asked her to have a room ready for me. And of 
 course Dunlop will accompany me. I shall be there to receive 
 them, and to see that everything is arranged as they wished. 
 Mrs. Baddeley will do her best, I know, but it will be far better 
 for one of the family to be there. Ah, if you could only be 
 with me, Joan ! I think I miss you more every day, my dear." 
 
 Joan sighed heavily as she read this. There was 
 nothing she could do for them, except write loving little 
 notes of sympathv to Lady Mary and Dorothy, and a 
 message of condolence to the sorrowing parents. 
 
 Lady Mary's next letter gave her an account of the 
 funeral. 
 
 " I was right to come," she wrote. " If you had only seen 
 my brother's look of relief when he saw my face in the hall ! 
 He is looking so much older, Joan, and so worn and thin. 
 But Lady Merriton is wonderful. She seems to have nerved 
 herself to go through it all — but I expect she will break down 
 when it is over. Dollie is just her sweet little self, thinking 
 of every one. They seemed very much pleased with the arrange- 
 ments of the library. We had so many beautiful wreaths and 
 crosses. I think Cicely O'Brien's was one of the best. 
 
 " Lord Templeton and Mr. Rutherford joined us at the station, 
 and there were three or four of poor Josselyn's friends. 
 
 " It was such a beautiful day, and I think the old church- 
 yard never looked more lovely. I am afraid I had a return of 
 the old longing, Joan, when I caught sight of the Angel of the 
 Resurrection. But, after all, what docs it matter where I lay my 
 old bones, when my spirit will be travelling starwards? We 
 think so much of this poor corruptible body, which, after all, 
 is nothing but a worn-out garment. 
 
 " I don't think I ever heard Mr. Rutherford read so beauti- 
 fully as he did that day. When he came to that verse, ' O death, 
 where is thy sting?' his voice rang like the sound of a clarion, — 
 the air seemed vibrant with it. And so we left him, our weak 
 and erring one, to the mercy o-f the All-Merciful. 
 
 " Dorothy and I were talking about that last evening when 
 she came down to Morningside to tell me about her mother. 
 Craig would fetch her in an hour, she said. The dear child
 
 " Charity Never Faileth " 205 
 
 looked so pale and tired, but she said it would rest her to talk- 
 to me. 
 
 " ' Aunt Mary,' she said, ' I cannot help feeling happy about 
 Arthur. I am sure, from what Canon Morse told mother, that 
 our poor boy bitterly repented his wrong-doings — that he would 
 have given much to make amends. He often made such sad 
 little speeches to mother. 1 asked Canon Morse if I were wrong 
 to be so hopeful, and he said, " Certainly not. It was the lost 
 and wandering sheep for which the Divine Shepherd sought. 
 Why should we not hope, Lady Dorothy, when there is joy in 
 heaven over one sinner that repenteth, as we trust and believe 
 your brother did?" And then he took a little shabby brown 
 book out of his pocket — Scrupoli's Spiritual Combat I found it 
 was afterwards — and read me the following passage. I have 
 copied it out for mother : — 
 
 " ' " How shall our Divine Shepherd, who followed after His 
 lost sheep for three-and-thirty years with loud and bitter cries 
 through that painful and thorny way, wherein He spilt His 
 heart's blood and laid down His life — how shall He refuse to 
 turn His quickening glance upon the poor sheep which now 
 follows Him with a desire, though sometimes faint and feeble, 
 to obey Him ! If He ceased not to search most diligently for 
 the blind and deaf sinner, the lost piece of money of the Gospel, 
 till He found him, can He abandon one who, like a lost sheep, 
 cries and calls piteously upon his Shepherd?"'' 
 
 "Is not that beautiful, Joan? You know I always share my 
 good things with you. I am glad to tell you that Craig is a 
 great comfort to his parents. He cycles or motors over every 
 day. But he looks sad and careworn." 
 
 Joan pondered over this last sentence a long- time. 
 
 She tried hard to conceal her restlessness and to 
 appear outwardly cheerful, but every day the task be- 
 came more difficult. She was pining- to be back at Morn- 
 ingside. There was trouble in her immediate circle, but 
 for the first time in her life she was shunted and treated 
 as an outsider. No one really missed her but Lady Mary, 
 and she was too much absorbed in the Merritons' sorrow 
 to think of her own dulness. 
 
 Joan could picture the daily life. Every morning 
 Dorothv would run across to Morningside to tell Lady 
 Mary how her mother had passed the night, and then 
 in all probability Lady Mary would walk over to the
 
 206 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Abbey before luncheon. Very likely she would remain 
 until after afternoon tea, or even longer, if Lady Merri- 
 ton wanted her. Then she would come back and eat 
 her solitary dinner. But possibly Craig would look in on 
 his way to Aldershot for a few minutes' chat. " They 
 will do nothing without her," thought Joan. " And as 
 for Lord Merriton, the dear thing will be fussing round 
 him from morning to night. And there will not be even 
 the smallest gap in the hedge for this little black sheep." 
 The next news that reached Joan was that Lady Mer- 
 riton was ill, and that the Earl had telegraphed for a 
 London physician. But his opinion was distinctly 
 favourable. The nerves had given way from the long 
 strain, and Sir Philip Deane strongly advised immediate 
 change to some salubrious seaside resort. 
 
 " My brother and Dorothy have gone down to look at a 
 house at Eastbourne that Lord Templeton has offered to lend 
 them for two months," wrote Lady Mary, " and I will let you 
 know their decision." 
 
 And she actually wrote again the next day. 
 
 We have been holding a family council in my brother's 
 library. He and Dorothy were delighted with Gilnockie. It is 
 a charming house, not large, but extremely comfortable, and in 
 a most pleasant situation. It is on the edge of the downs, but 
 some of the upper windows command a view of the sea and 
 Eeachy Head. Dorothy says that they can just manage to 
 squeeze me and Dunlop in ; for I must tell you, Joan, that my 
 brother refuses to go without me, and Lady Merriton was equally 
 pressing. So, my dear child, our Folkestone plan has shrivelled 
 up into nothingness. But I know that you will understand that, 
 under the circumstances, I could not well refuse. 
 
 And by return of post came Joan's impetuous answer 
 to Morningside. 
 
 " Of course you could not refuse," wrote Joan in her strag- 
 gling girlish hand, which Lady Mary always thought so frank 
 and characteristic. " Do you think you need explain that to me,
 
 " Charity Never Faileth " 207 
 
 and that I am not aware how necessary you are to them all, 
 and that there is no one like my dear Lady Mary when one is in 
 trouhle? I know Dorothy thinks you are wonderful, and it will 
 be such a help and comfort to her to have you under the same 
 roof. It will set her free to take walks and rides with her 
 father. Indeed, no arrangement could be better. 
 
 " You must not consider me for a moment. Besides, Heath 
 is thinking of taking a very nice furnished house at Revelstoke 
 for the holidays. It is a quiet little place and quite near — about 
 an hour by train. The house belongs to some people Heath 
 knows; but they are going abroad, and they would be quite 
 willing to let it for six or seven weeks. Heath took Silence over 
 to see it the other afternoon, and she seemed very pleased with 
 it. It is on the sea-front, and there is only a little strip of green 
 between it and the beach. We are to go about the 3rd of 
 August. I think Silence and the children will like it. I fancy 
 Jess needs a change ; she is growing so fast, and is so excessively 
 tiresome." 
 
 But Joan was too truthful to pretend to any enthusi- 
 asm on the subject. Lady Mary was not too much en- 
 grossed by her own people to notice this indifference, and 
 a few days later she wrote privately to Canon Leigh and 
 begged him to give her his candid opinion of Joan. " She 
 is a very faithful correspondent, and I hear from her 
 regularly three times a week ; but, all the same, I shall 
 be glad to know if she seems well and cheerful." 
 
 Canon Leigh's answer to this was fairly satisfactory 
 on the whole. 
 
 "We are very much pleased with Joan," he wrote; "she is 
 evidently home-sick and depressed, but she tries so hard to hide 
 it. She has plenty of pluck and spirit, and will not let herself 
 be beaten. 
 
 " She is certainly a little paler and thinner — Silence was 
 only saying so last night — but we think she is well. Ail this 
 sad business about Lord Josselyn worried her — she was so full 
 of sympathy for you all. 
 
 " I know Joan told you about our plans for August. Silence 
 and I have taken rather a fancy to Revelstoke. And it is just 
 at a convenient distance for me, as I have business which will 
 oblige me to take a day at St. Breda's now and then. Nothing 
 connected with the Cathedral, only with my own literary work. 
 Joan does not seem enthusiastic about Revelstoke ; but I am
 
 208 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 sure the sea air will do her good, and the boys will give her 
 plenty of occupation. Anyhow, we shall do our best to make 
 our visit as pleasant as possible. 
 
 " There is one thing which I know will please you, as you 
 were fully aware of our difficulty. Joan certainly gets on better 
 with Silence, and is much less exacting in her demands. Of 
 course, now and then there are little rubs and frictions. As 
 their natures are so dissimilar, we must expect this. But Joan 
 has herself better in hand, and is learning to be a little tactful. 
 We try to make the child happy, and you know my dear wife 
 well enough to be sure of her goodness of heart. She is always 
 planning something for Joan's comfort and pleasure. 
 
 " There, I am summoned to the Dean, and must end my 
 letter, as it is just time for the afternoon post. Silence sends 
 her kind love. — Yours Heath Leigh."
 
 XXV 
 
 "A NUT-BROWN MAYDE" 
 
 Be useful where thou livest, that they may 
 Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. 
 Kindness, good parts, great places are the way 
 To compass this. Find out men's wants and will, 
 And meet them there. All worldly joys go less 
 To the one joy of doing kindnesses. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 One morning towards the end of June, Joan crossed 
 the little green before St. Breda's Lodge on her way to 
 the Cathedral. In the early stillness and freshness the 
 Precincts looked their best. The leafage of the elms and 
 limes was still vividly green and tvnsoiled by dust. Some 
 rooks were cawing in the distance, and the jack-daws 
 were flying round the Cathedral towers; two of Wanda's 
 doves had fluttered down from the stable roof and were 
 strutting daintily across the grass ; a blackbird was trill- 
 ing from an alder bush in Kenwyn garden. 
 
 The month of roses, as Joan called it, had always 
 been a favourite season with her and Lady Mary, and she 
 used to write glowing descriptions of the garden at St. 
 Breda's Lodge. 
 
 " Heath is very proud of his garden," she wrote ; " and I 
 am glad to see that both he and Silence take a great deal of 
 interest in it, though neither of them are experienced gardeners. 
 But I think even you, dear Lady Mary, would find much to 
 admire. The Guelder roses are over, but the elders are flower- 
 ing, and the great bushes of syringa look still like big bridal 
 bouquets. But the irises are our chief pride. We have quite a 
 show in the kitchen garden and down one side of the croquet 
 lawn, and there are more growing in the front. They were 
 Canon Ramsbotham's favourite flower. He was Heath's pred- 
 ecessor, you know. I remember your saying once how many 
 fine species flower in June, and that the iris is really a plant 
 for nine months in the year. Yesterday afternoon Heath and 
 14 209
 
 210 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 I were admiring the colouring of the flag irises — some were pale 
 clear yellow, others veined and clouded with crimson and brown 
 on the petals. Then there are some grey-lavender, and purple 
 with white veining, and others that can only be defined as smoky- 
 bronze. And I am sure you would admire the wide border of 
 London pride under the row of Madonna lilies. I always think 
 ' those delicate clouds of faint pink bloom ' so charming." 
 
 Joan was doing her best to interest herself in her sur- 
 roundings : but, as she told herself somewhat bitterly, it 
 was rather like driving a springless cart over stones — 
 one got more jars than enjoyment. 
 
 The bell was ringing for service, and Joan quickened 
 her loitering pace. As she seated herself beside Silence, 
 three ladies entered the choir ; but, as they occupied the 
 stalls almost immediately behind her, she had taken no 
 notice of them. When service was over, Silence went out 
 at once. She had generally some business in the town 
 before returning home. At first she had waited for Joan 
 to join her, but she had long ceased to expect this. 
 On this occasion, however, Joan hurried after her. But 
 before she reached the steps, some one touched her on 
 the arm, and as she turned round she saw, to her intense 
 surprise, that it was Lady Cicely O'Brien. 
 
 Joan's start and exclamation made Lady Cicely smile. 
 
 " I thought you did not see me," she said, " and you 
 were walking so fast that I had almost to run after you. 
 I am with my cousins, Joan — Kathleen and Bertha Mos- 
 tyn. We motored in from Peterfield. They are going 
 round the Cathedral with the verger, but I have seen it 
 twice already, and I said I would rather stay and talk 
 to you — that is, if you are willing and at leisure? " 
 
 " T have nothing to do, and I shall be simply de- 
 lighted," returned Joan. " Would you like to go outside 
 — there is a seat nearly opposite this door, and it is so 
 quiet in the Precincts ? " And as Lady Cicely assented 
 to this, they strolled down the flagged path. 
 
 Lady Cicely chatted on in her lively way. She was 
 beautifully dressed, as usual, and looked prettier than
 
 " A Nut-Browne Mayde " 211 
 
 ever. She was a brunette, but the brown cheeks glowed 
 with health and colour. There was something piquante 
 about the small mouth and little pointed chin ; and the 
 Irish blue eyes, with the long dark lashes, were certainly 
 lovely. Joan felt a strange sinking of heart as she 
 glanced at her. How could any one long resist such a 
 bewitching young creature ? " 
 
 " I know this place well," observed Lady Cicely, un- 
 furling her white sunshade, which, with its faint pink 
 lining, made a charming background to her face. Joan 
 was quite aware that the white dress and hat, with all 
 their simplicity, had come from Paris. Lady Cicely 
 looked what she was, the spoilt child of fortune, to whom 
 money was no object. Youth, beauty, wealth — certainly 
 the fairies had been lavish of their good gifts ! Could 
 anything be lacking to this richly-dowered young 
 princess? 
 
 " I once lunched at St. Breda's Lodge with the Rams- 
 bothams," she continued. " Diana took me all over the 
 house, so you see I can picture you there." 
 
 " I had no idea of that, Lady Cicely." 
 
 " Lady Cicely ! " indignantly. " Aren't you ashamed 
 to be so stiff' and ceremonious? At Brantwood it was 
 always Cicely and Joan. But if you wish me to call you 
 Miss Leigh ! " putting on an offended air. 
 
 " No, no. Of course I will call you Cicely — I always 
 do to Dorothy." Then, at the mention of her friend, 
 Lady Cicely's charming face grew suddenly grave. 
 
 " I heard from Dorothy this morning. She says they 
 will not go to Eastbourne for another ten days, as Lady 
 Merrkon is not strong enough for the journey. You 
 know, the doctor wanted her to go away at once — in 
 these nervous breakdowns there is nothing like change — 
 but she is : o weak they are afraid to move her." 
 
 " Yes. I know ; Lady Mary told me the same thing 
 in her last letter. They cannot interest her in anything. 
 She will talk of nothing but poor Lord Josselyh. She 
 has all his old photos by her, in all stages of infancy
 
 212 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 and childhood, and she recalls his baby speeches. Lady 
 Mary says it is so pitiful to hear her." 
 
 " But we cannot wonder at it, Joan. This is the third 
 son she has lost — it is enough to break her down." 
 
 " Yes, and she has only Craig left." Then, as Joan 
 said this, the blue eyes were suddenly veiled and a tinge 
 of colour came to Lady Cicely's cheek. But Joan took 
 no notice. " I always forget that Craig is Lord Josselyn 
 now, but one will have to get used to it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I suppose so, but it sounds strange." But 
 Lady Cicely's voice had lost its gay note ; she looked pen- 
 sive, and even a little sad. " I hear Lady Mary means to 
 accompany them to Gilnockie. Dorothy hopes she will 
 remain with them until they go back to the Abbey." 
 
 " I am sure she fully intends to do that." 
 
 " Dorothy wants me to come to them before they 
 leave Kilnockie," went on Lady Cicely. " she is kind 
 enough to say that they do not regard me as a visitor, 
 and that she thinks in a few weeks' time her mother will 
 be glad to have me." 
 
 "You will go, of course?" but Joan's voice was a 
 little abrupt. 
 
 " I am not sure," returned Lady Cicely in a hesitating 
 tone. " I don't like to refuse Dorothy, but it seems to 
 me that when people are in trouble they only want their 
 own belongings. After all, I am an outsider." 
 
 " Dorothy does not seem to think so " — Joan had got 
 her voice under control again. " I think it is a very good 
 test of friendship if people in adversity are anxious for 
 one's society. If they really want to have you, there is 
 no reason for you to refuse." 
 
 " Of course I should love to go ; I am so fond of 
 them all, and Lady Mary is a special favourite of mine. 
 But I cannot quite make up my mind, and as Dorothy 
 has fixed no special time, there is no need to decide now." 
 As Lady Cicely spoke, there was a worried line across 
 her forehead which made her look years older; but Joan 
 did not see this, she was looking across the sunny green, 
 aixl her lips were pressed together.
 
 "A Nut-Browne Mayde " 213 
 
 " Dorothy has fixed no time — she is waiting until 
 Craig can join them. Cicely is aware of that, and she 
 is afraid to go, for fear of further disappointment. Poor 
 girl, I believe she is beginning to care for him ; but they 
 arc sacrificing her without any consideration for the con- 
 sequences ; " and a softer expression came to Joan's face. 
 
 " No. there is no need for you to decide now," she 
 said quite naturally; "but it would be hardly kind to 
 Dorothy to refuse." And then she changed the subject 
 by telling her companion about the house at Revelstoke ; 
 and when she had finished, Lady Cicely detailed her 
 autumn plans. She was going for a round of visits in 
 Derbyshire, Shropshire, and Scotland. 
 
 " I do not expect to be back in town until the middle 
 of December," she finished. 
 
 " What a bird of passage you are, Cicely ! " 
 
 : ' Yes, am I not — a regular wandering Jewess ! " with 
 a little laugh. " Marjorie often calls me the hare w ith 
 many friends. But, do you know, I am getting just a 
 little tired of it. Father sometimes talks of settling down 
 at Kildare — that is near Ki Harney, you know. He says 
 he is ashamed of being an absentee landlord any more, 
 and that his tenants need him. Do you know, Joan, I 
 rather like the idea." 
 
 " Your cousin Marjorie once told me that she felt 
 buried alive at Kildare ; that one saw nothing but bare- 
 footed gossoons from morning to night ; and that, in spite 
 of the beauty of the place, she found life there deadly dull 
 and triste." 
 
 " Oh, Marjorie always exaggerates. There are lots of 
 nice people round — decent farmers and bailiffs in good 
 homespun stockings. I expect she meant the children 
 living in the cottages at Eileen's Corner — they are rather 
 a ragged lot. But I was horn at Kildare, and I love every 
 stone of our old house. Tt is only mother who sets her 
 face against the place. Will you come and see me there 
 some time, Joan?" Then, as Joan smiled and nodded — 
 " Very well then, I shall hold you to your promise. I
 
 214 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 shall make Dorothy bring you, and you shall see our beau- 
 tiful lake, and make acquaintance with a jaunting-car. 
 Now," consulting the little watch on her wrist, " have you 
 any idea how late it is ? Those girls will be looking for 
 us, and our motor will be waiting." And then they went 
 back to the Cathedral, where they found the Mostyn girls, 
 limp with fatigue, resting themselves after their labours. 
 Joan was introduced to them, and then they all walked 
 down to the little square, where they found a very smart 
 motor with two chauffeurs. 
 
 " Good-bye, Joan," said Lady Cicely, with a warm 
 kiss. " It has been such a pleasure to see you. Au 
 revoir, via chore " — and she gave a gay little wave of 
 her hand. 
 
 " I don't think I ever saw hair like Miss Leigh's," 
 observed Kathleen Mostyn ; " it is very beautiful. But I 
 thought you said that she was pretty?" 
 
 " Oh, no, I never said that, Kitty ; but when you come 
 to know her you will think Joan charming." And then 
 Lady Cicely tied her gauze veil over her Paris hat and 
 settled herself comfortably. 
 
 " Did you notice that splendid motor standing before 
 Allsop's? " asked her brother, as Joan joined them at the 
 luncheon-table. " I have an idea that it belongs to those 
 three ladies who were sitting behind you and Silence. 
 One of them was an uncommonly pretty girl. I passed 
 her on my way to the vestry. She is a stranger, of 
 course, and yet I seemed to know her face." 
 
 "T once showed you her photograph," returned Joan. 
 " That was Lady Cicely O'Brien, and the motor belongs 
 to her friends, the Mostyns of Peterfield." 
 
 " Oh, T have heard of them. Peterfield Hall is quite 
 palatial. So that was Lady Cicely, whom Captain Bas- 
 
 tow ? " but here Canon Leigh pulled himself up rather 
 
 awkwardly. 
 
 " You must call him Lord Josselyn now," returned 
 Joan calmly. "Yes, that is the girl the Merritons want 
 to have for their daughter-in-law. She is very pretty.
 
 " A Nut-Browne Mayde " 215 
 
 is she not, Heath?" But her brother was too much 
 vexed with himself to do more than mutter an assent. 
 
 " I was just going to put my foot in it," he said to 
 his wife afterwards, " but Joan never turned a hair. I 
 never saw such a plucky girl. ' You must call him Lord 
 Josselyn now ' — just as coolly and quietly as possible. 
 Well," with a sigh, " I can only say that Lady Cicely is 
 a formidable rival. She is the prettiest little nut-browne 
 mayde I have seen for a long time." 
 
 " I thought Joan was rather nice about it all," re- 
 turned Silence ; " but then she really likes Lady Cicely. 
 I do wish this business could be settled one way or an- 
 other, Heath; for, with all her courage, Joan is looking 
 terribly thin. Mrs. Ramsay was only saying so yester- 
 day. I shall be glad when August comes and we can get 
 her to Revelstoke." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I am afraid she must just dree her 
 weird," observed her husband, " for we cannot expect 
 things to settle themselves yet. It is hardly a time for 
 marrying and giving in marriage, when they have only 
 just buried that poor fellow." And then Canon Leigh 
 went off to his study. 
 
 Joan would hardly have endorsed her brother's words. 
 She felt anything but plucky as she sauntered aimlessly 
 up and down the croquet lawn. Her talk with Lady 
 Cicely had unsettled her, and brought back the old un- 
 bearable pain, and she could not settle to any employment. 
 It was rather a relief when she saw Richard Trafford 
 w 7 ith his familiar coming towards her. 
 
 " I am come on an embassage, Miss Leigh," he said 
 persuasively. " My very much married maiden aunt is 
 likely to be a grass widow for some hours, and it will 
 be a gracious and neighbourly act on your part if you 
 will have tea with her and enliven her loneliness." 
 
 " Of course I will come ; I always enjoy having tea 
 at Kenwvn. I suppose you and Canon Ramsay are going 
 out?" 
 
 " We are," replied Dick gravely. " We are going to
 
 216 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Revelstoke, and my venerable uncle at the eleventh hour 
 decided to accompany us. I was just remarking at 
 luncheon that Dagon and I were pining for a whiff of 
 sea air, and my recently connected relation seemed to 
 applaud the idea. We are to dine at that nice little hotel 
 and come back by starlight, and the watchman will admit 
 us into the Precincts with a look of grieved surprise." 
 " You might have asked Mrs. Ramsay to go too." 
 
 " We did, Miss Leigh — yea verily, we did. For when 
 have I ever neglected my Aunt Felicia? But she said 
 she had been giddy gadding — these were her words — 
 every day for a week, and that she was tired and would 
 rather stay at home. Now I must make tracks for the 
 station or I shall be late. Au revoir." But there was 
 a kind expression on Dick's handsome face as he looked 
 at the girl, for his keen eyes had noticed her depression. 
 
 Joan was always willing to go to Kenwyn — the restful 
 atmosphere soothed her. She had become quite attached 
 to Mrs. Ramsay, who now called her by her Christian 
 name and treated her with the utmost friendliness. 
 
 " I wonder why you are looking at me so hard, 
 Joan," observed Mrs. Ramsay, smiling, as they sat facing 
 each other at the cosy tea-table. Then Joan flushed 
 slightly. 
 
 " Was I staring? Silence says that is one of my bad 
 habits. But I did not mean to be rude. I think I like 
 looking at you because you seem so happy and peaceful, 
 and — and I cannot help envying you," with a sudden 
 burst of girlish frankness. 
 
 " I was not always happy," returned Felicia, and 
 there was a thoughtful look in her eyes. " When I was 
 your age, Joan, and indeed for many years afterwards, 
 life seemed very dreary and difficult. I had lost what I 
 most prized, and I thought I should never find it again. 
 
 But if one waits long enough And then under her 
 
 breath — " The good wine of life is sometimes poured 
 out late." 
 
 " I know what you mean," returned Joan eagerly.
 
 "A Nut-Browne Mayde " 217 
 
 " But when one is young and strong and full of life, hap- 
 piness seems one's right. It does not seem natural to 
 suffer. I suppose I am self-willed and rebellious, but I 
 do so want things to go smoothly." And then Joan 
 broke off with an embarrassed little laugh; for, much as 
 she was attracted to this sweet woman, it would be 
 hardly possible to take her into confidence. " I am in a 
 naughty, discontented mood, Mrs. Ramsay, and you must 
 just scold me." 
 
 " My dear, I should never do that. But I should like 
 to help you, because I see things are somewhat wrong 
 with you. No," as Joan winced at this, " you need tell 
 me nothing; perhaps I understand more than you think. 
 Shall I talk to you a little about my old life in Regent's 
 Park and the way my erratic nephew treated me? I 
 think it will amuse you. Dick was always such a dear, 
 whimsical fellow, but with such a good heart." And 
 Felicia talked on in her gentle way, and Joan was so in- 
 terested that the dressing-bell quite startled them. 
 
 Felicia refused to part with Joan, and a message was 
 sent across to St. Breda's Lodge. After dinner they sat 
 in the garden until the dews drove them indoors. Joan 
 had not been solicited for her confidence — indeed, she ha 1 
 scarcely spoken of herself the whole evening — but Felicii 
 was glad to see that the girl's face had lost its strained, 
 tired expression. 
 
 " You have done me good," observed Joan gratefully, 
 when at last she wished her hostess good-night. And 
 she spoke the truth. But Felicia sighed a little as she 
 closed the door. How well she understood it all — that 
 passionate revoH of youth. " When one is young and 
 strong and full of life, happiness seems one's right," 
 Joan had said. And how true this was! " Poor child! 
 but she has not gone through my experience," she 
 thought. " T used to wonder how I lived through that 
 da> when T took up the paper and read the announce- 
 ment of Alick's marriage. And now I am his wife." 
 And the happy look on Felicia's face was good to see.
 
 XXVI 
 
 "SHE IS VERY MUCH CHANGED" 
 
 Let us no more contend, nor blame 
 
 Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but arrive 
 
 In offices of love, how we may lighten 
 
 Each other's burden in our hour of woe. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Who means to help must still support the load. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 About the middle of July the Merritons were com- 
 fortably settled at Gilnockie. The invalid had borne 
 the journey better than they expected, and there was 
 some improvement in her condition. But Joan noticed 
 that Lady Mary did not write with her customary cheer- 
 fulness, neither did she enter into any full particulars 
 of their daily life. The weather was very fine, she wrote 
 — unusually so for July. They had not had a wet day. 
 But her brother had been too busy to ride much with 
 Dorothy. He was a great deal harassed with some dis- 
 agreeable business connected with poor Josselyn, which 
 they were very anxious to keep from Lady Merriton, as 
 she was not in a state for more worry. Craig came over 
 wdienever he could get leave and tried to help his father, 
 and his mother generally seemed more like herself when 
 he was in the house. 
 
 Joan always felt vaguely uneasy after one of these let- 
 ters ; but she had no idea of the trying time Lady Mary 
 was having at Gilnockie. It was sad to see the Earl 
 with his broad shoulders bowed down by care and griev- 
 ous anxiety. " This will make an old man of me, Mary," 
 be would say to her sometimes of an evening, when she 
 went into the little room appropriated to his use to bid 
 him good-night. And he would look up at her with 
 tired eyes and puckered forehead. 
 
 218
 
 " She is Very Much Changed " 219 
 
 " You must pull yourself tog-ether, George," she 
 would say, laying her soft hand on his arm. " Think 
 how we all depend on you. Hildegarde was only saying 
 this afternoon what a comfort you had been to her 
 through the trouble. She leans on you so entirely." 
 But Lord Merriton only shook his head. 
 
 " She is very much changed. Sometimes," in rather 
 a husky tone, " I am afraid that she will never be quite 
 the same again. Hildegarde has more spirit than 
 strength." 
 
 " Oh, we must give her time," returned Lady Mary 
 with forced cheerfulness. But it was evident that her 
 brother's attention was wandering to the papers that 
 lay before him. 
 
 " We shall have to sell that piece of land, Mary. 
 Lathom says it is the best thing to do " — Lathom and 
 Leadbeater were the family lawyers, who had advised 
 generations of Merritons — " and as Craig is willing, we 
 shall put it up for sale at once. I don't deny that it is 
 like selling my own flesh and blood. But if I am to sleep 
 in my bed at night, I must put things straight. When 
 she is a little better I am going to talk to Hildegarde 
 about letting the Grosvenor Square house to that Ameri- 
 can millionaire who wants it for three years. Lathom is 
 very urgent with me about that. He says that we can- 
 not afford for the present to keep up two such large estab- 
 lishments — that we had better lie low until we have recov- 
 ered ourselves a bit." 
 
 " I am quite sure that Mr. Lathom is right. George, 
 and that it would be well to follow his advice. I am 
 afraid I must not talk any longer now, as Hildegarde 
 asked me to come to her." 
 
 " I do not know what we should all do without you, 
 Mary." he said affectionately. " I am afraid you are 
 not having a particularly cheerful time just now." But 
 Lady Mary only smiled and let this pass. 
 
 But if her heart ached for her brother's anxieties, it 
 was full of pity for the bereaved mother. The Earl had
 
 220 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 not exaggerated when he spoke of her changed appear- 
 ance. It was sad to see how worn and shrunken the 
 comely, well-preserve 1 woman looked. She had lost the 
 old stateliness of bearing which, in spite of the shabbiest 
 dress, made her appear the great lady. Her movements 
 were restless and uncertain, and she harped incessantly 
 on old grievances in a way that got on her listeners' 
 nerves. 
 
 " I cannot understand mother," observed Dorothy one 
 night, when she had followed her aunt into her bed- 
 room under pretext of helping her, but in reality to get 
 a little comfort. " How tired you look, Aunt Mary ! 
 It has been such a trying day, and you have borne the 
 brunt of it, while Craig and I were tramping over the 
 downs. And I know mother nearly talked you to death." 
 
 " Nearly, but not quite," returned Lady Mary with 
 a patient smile. " You must not worry about me, Dollie. 
 my dear." 
 
 " Mother never used to be so inconsiderate," went 
 on the girl ; " she always noticed directly when people 
 were tired. But she is not a bit like her oil self. At 
 the Hotel de Montagne she was so beautifully calm and 
 quiet ; she never gave a moment's trouble, and Sister 
 Rose could not say enough in her praise. She was such 
 an example to us all. And now she is so fractious and 
 complaining. She is always wanting Craig to come, and 
 yet she cannot help worrying him when he is here." 
 
 " Oh, I think you are wrong there my dear. I told 
 Joan in one of my letters that your mother was certainly 
 more like herself when Craig was in the house. The 
 fact is, your mother has had a severe shock and is not 
 in her normal condition. It is not easy to diagnose 
 nerves. She is somehow unbalanced and has lost the true 
 proportion of things. Little things appear great and 
 she is not strong enough to control her irritability. She 
 was very much hurt when Crai'jf went out of the room 
 so abruptly this morning." 
 
 " Oh, I can explain that," returned Dorothy eagerly.
 
 " She is Very Much Changed " 221 
 
 " He told me himself that he only did it to prevent an 
 awkward discussion. Mother was saying something 
 about having Cicely O'Brien down for a few days as she 
 was so cheerful and would do us good. But he was so 
 afraid of what she might say next that he fairly fled. 
 He seemed to think it so odd that she should care to 
 have a lively girl like Cicely staying at Gilnockie just 
 now." 
 
 Perhaps Lady Mary thought it odd too, though she 
 did not admit it to Dorothy. But when Lady Merriton 
 recurred to the subject the very next day, she suggested 
 mildly that it was rather soon to have visitors. 
 
 " I think we are more comfortable by ourselves," she 
 finished frankly. But Lady Merriton only stared at her 
 in surprise. 
 
 " Too soon ! " she said rather excitedly. " My dear 
 Mary, is there any way of measuring time in trouble? 
 A day is like a week, and a week a month. Why, it 
 seems at least a year ago since my boy last looked at 
 me." And here she began to sob. " It was cruel of you 
 to remind me of my sorrow — not that I forget it one 
 single waking moment — but I have still two children 
 living, and I do not wish to be a selfish mother because 
 my heart is broken." 
 
 " My dear Hildegarde, you must not mistake me, 
 or think I want to thwart your wishes ; when I said it 
 was rather soon for visitors, I was speaking conven- 
 tionally." 
 
 " We do not look upon Cicely O'Brien as a visitor 
 or an outsider," returned Lady Merriton peevishly. 
 " Dorothy is extremely fond of her and so am I. She 
 is young, but so delightfully sympathetic. It would 
 be good for Dorothy. This is such a dull household." 
 
 " Then have her by all means, dear." 
 
 " I am afraid to have her," returned Lady Merriton 
 gloomily, " for Craig is so extraordinary, and one can 
 never be sure how he will behave. He was barely civil 
 to her when she was staying at the Abbey."
 
 222 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Lady Mary was silent. 
 
 " Whv don't you say something?" continued the 
 invalid fretfully, her face and hands working with ner- 
 vousness. " You are generally ready with your advice. 
 You are not kind to me this morning, and yet you can 
 see how low and worried I am. Craig little thought 
 how he jarred my nerves when he went out of the room 
 in that rude way and slammed the door." 
 
 " Oh, not slammed the door, my dear Hildegarde ; 
 Craig is far too gentlemanly to do such a thing. He 
 only shut it firmly, because there is something defective 
 with the lock and the windows were open." 
 
 But this explanation, which was perfectly true, did 
 not satisfy Lady Merriton. She had worked herself 
 up to the belief that Craig was in a temper. Truly, the 
 poor lady was not in a normal condition. 
 
 That evening there was another consultation in Lady 
 Mary's bedroom, which ended by her saying in an un- 
 usually decided tone — " I think, after all. that it will be 
 best for you to write to Cicely without any further delay 
 and ask her to come for a fortnight. It will please your 
 mother." And as Dorothy seemed willing to follow 
 this advice, the note was soon written. And that day the 
 home atmosphere seemed a little more peaceful. 
 
 Lady Mary told herself that she had done the right 
 thing. It was therefore rather a disappointment when 
 Dorothy came to her with a long face, with an opened 
 letter in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, dear, what a world this is, Aunt Mary ! After 
 all. Cicely cannot come. She says there is nothing she 
 would love more than to come to Gilnockie and cheer 
 us up, but that Amabel has had a motor accident and 
 broken a small bone in her ankle, and as Lord Cecil 
 is detained with business at Vienna, she cannot possibly 
 leave her." 
 
 Lady Amabel was Lady Cicely's only sister, and they 
 were co-heiresses to the O'Brien property. Lady Ama- 
 bel had been considered a beauty, and had become en-
 
 " She is Very Much Changed " 223 
 
 gaged in her first season to the youngest son of the Duke 
 of Rephingham. 
 
 " Cicely says she was ready to cry with disappoint- 
 ment when she read my note," continued Dorothy ; " but 
 there, you had better read her letter — it is so nice and 
 sympathetic — while I go and break the news to mother." 
 
 But Lady Merriton, who had had a better night than 
 usual, took it more calmly than they expected. " Of 
 course she could not leave Amabel," she said in a voice 
 almost of rebuke : " I should be the very last person to 
 ask her to neglect her duty." Nevertheless, she seemed 
 a little depressed the remainder of the day. 
 
 But by and by a new difficulty put the thought of 
 Lady Cicely out of her head. 
 
 One afternoon when Lord Merriton came into the 
 drawing-room he found his wife in a state of nervous 
 agitation, which Lady Mary was vainly trying to soothe. 
 
 " Hildegarde is a little upset," she said quietly. " No, 
 there is nothing the matter, George," as the Earl looked 
 uneasy. " We had had a visitor, Mrs. Leith Williams, 
 and her talk has tired her." 
 
 " Why do you not tell your brother the truth, Mary? " 
 returned her sister-in-law excitedly. " How can I help 
 being upset when that woman told me in the most abrupt, 
 unfeeling way that Craig's battery is to leave for India 
 the first week in October! Merriton, he is coming this 
 evening; you and Mary must talk to him. There is only 
 one thing to be done — he must retire at once. His 
 colonel, every one will understand that we cannot lose 
 
 our onlv son, our " Here the unhappy mother fell 
 
 back upon her pillow with sobs that wrung her husband's 
 heart. 
 
 " Hildegarde. my love, you are making yourself ill ! 
 Of course we will speak to Craig. It shall be arranged. 
 I have had too much business even to think of the mat- 
 ter. It shall be put before him this evening." 
 
 But it was some time before Lady Merriton could be 
 calmed.
 
 224 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " You had better leave her to me, George," observed 
 Lady Mary presently. " Dorothy is waiting for you all 
 this time to go out with her." 
 
 Then the Earl reluctantly withdrew, while his sister 
 sat quietly beside the invalid, fanning her and saying 
 a comforting word from time to time. 
 
 Once a hot. shaking hand was laid on hers. " Mary, 
 how good you are to me, and I am such a trial to you 
 all, and yet you never lose patience with me." 
 
 " Because I am so sorry for you, my poor dear. 
 " Now you must not talk. I am going to read you the 
 evening Psalms, and then you must try to sleep." 
 
 Lord Merriton was so unusually silent during dinner 
 that evening that Craig watched him a little uneasily. 
 Was it his fancy that his father looked older, and that 
 he was visibly loosing flesh ? " That last bit of business 
 has been too much for him," thought the young man. 
 Then, as he rose to open the door for Lady Mary and 
 Dorothy, the former whispered, " Your father wants to 
 speak to you about something, Craig, so we shall not 
 expect you in the drawing-room just yet." And Craig 
 nodded and went back to his seat. 
 
 " We shall neither of us take any more wine," ob- 
 served Lord Merriton, " so I may as well ring for the 
 coffee and then we shall not be disturbed. I have some- 
 thing rather important to discuss with you this evening." 
 
 Then a dark flush crossed Craig's face, for he knew 
 well the subject on which his father meant to speak to 
 him. For days he had thought of little else, and now 
 the crucial moment had come. Nevertheless, Craig lit 
 his cigar, and when the coffee came he drank it with 
 apparent relish, knowing well that before many minutes 
 were over he would be asked to sacrifice the ambition 
 and work he so dearL prized. 
 
 The Earl was visibly embarrassed. He cleared his 
 voice once or twice, and fidgeted with his spoon. 
 
 "Your mother asked me to speak to you, Craig," he 
 commenced jerkilv. " Mrs. Leith Williams has been 
 here this afternoon and told her that your battery has
 
 " She is Very Much Changed " 225 
 
 been ordered to India early in October. Is this a fact ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, but I have only known it for the last 
 three days." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, there is no time to be lost. It is 
 out of the question that we can part with you. Good 
 heavens " — as Craig remained silent — " are we to be de- 
 prived of all our sons?" 
 
 " There is no need for this excitement, father," re- 
 turned Craig coldly. " It would be better for you to tell 
 me what my mother and you wish me to do. I am not 
 without some sense of duty, and though I tell you plainly 
 that my whole future happiness is at stake, I hope I am 
 capable of making some sacrifice." 
 
 " Oh, God bless vou, mv bov ! " and Lord Merrkon 
 seized his son's hand. " I think if you went to India it 
 would be your mother's death-blow. If you had seen her 
 this "afternoon, vou would know I am telling you the 
 truth." 
 
 "Then you wish me to retire from active service?" 
 There was a hard tone in Craig's voice. 
 
 " Yes, yes, send in your papers — your colonel will 
 understand. There will be no difficulty — no difficulty 
 at all. Lathom will find us the money. I shall talk to 
 your mother about letting the Grosvenor Square house, 
 and in a year or two we shall be on our legs again. 
 Good God, how grateful I feel! you have lifted a burden 
 off my shoulders. I am growing an old man, Craig, and 
 I do not bear things as I used to do." Then a softer 
 look come into the young man's eyes. 
 
 " You have always been good to us, sir, and we owe 
 you some return. I must try and make up for my 
 brothers. Father, do you know, I was going to make 
 one condition before I consented to send in my papers, 
 but I thought better of it." 
 
 " I think I understand what you mean, Craig." 
 
 " I am sure you do, sir ; there can be no mistake on 
 that point. But it seemed a shabby sort of thing to do. 
 One ought to do one's duty without looking for reward." 
 
 " You are right there, my boy." 
 
 15
 
 226 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " All the same, father, I was strongly tempted to 
 make your consent to my marriage with Joan the sole 
 condition of giving up my commission ; but my conscience 
 has got the better of me, you see." But as Craig said 
 this, the Earl looked at him in evident bewilderment. 
 
 " But we understood the girl had refused you ? " 
 
 " That does not make any difference, sir. A girl 
 does not always know her own mind. I shall not be 
 too proud to ask her again. But it is too late to discuss 
 this. I think we had better go to the drawing-room 
 and set my mother's mind at rest." And Craig spoke 
 with such quiet resolve and dignity that his father 
 looked at him with awed admiration. 
 
 " A fine, manly fellow," he muttered to himself. " He 
 is one of the fighting Bastows — every inch a soldier. 
 It is a grievous pity, but for Hildegarde's sake he must 
 not go." And the Earl shook his grey head rather sadly 
 as he followed his son more slowly.
 
 XXVII 
 
 "WHAT AM I TO DO WITH MY LIFE?" 
 
 A turn in the pathway of duty — 
 
 I stood in the perfect day's prime. 
 Close, close to the hillside of beauty; 
 
 The voice from the Silence said, " Climb ! " 
 
 The road to the beautiful regions 
 Lies ever through Duty's hard way. 
 
 Oh, ye who go searching in legions, 
 Know this, and be patient to-day. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 Craig had waited for his father to join him, and as 
 they entered the room together, Lady Merriton raised 
 herself up on her couch. She was shaking from head 
 to foot with intense anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, Merriton, how long you have been ! I was 
 just going to send Dorothy to the dining-room. I could 
 not have borne the suspense a minute longer." But be- 
 fore her husband could answer, Craig was beside her. 
 
 " It is all right, mother — don't worry. Of course, 
 under the circumstances, I cannot leave you." 
 
 Then Lady Merriton threw her arms round him. 
 " God bless you, my darling boy! " she said hysterically, 
 as she wept on his shoulder. 
 
 Craig was very gentle with her. He was shocked 
 to see the ravages that grief and nervous suffering had 
 wrought in her appearance. She had been a good and 
 loving mother to them all. and now her feebleness ap- 
 pealed to him very forcibly. He was touched by her 
 unaccustomed caresses, for she had rarely been demon- 
 strative with her sons. " You are our dear good boy," 
 she whispered. " Your father and I will never forget 
 this," kissing the hand she held. 
 
 Craig could not stav long, but she had calmed down 
 and looked more like herself before he left her. When 
 
 227
 
 228 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 he had bidden her good-night, he made a sign to Lady 
 Mary to join him outside, and she followed him at once. 
 
 " Oh, Craig, I am so thankful about this ! " she said, 
 taking his hand. " But of course I never doubted that 
 you would do your duty. Your mother will get well 
 now." 
 
 " I hope so," he returned gloomily ; " but I never saw 
 her look like this. But I have no time to talk. I only 
 want to know if you are going to tell Joan about this ? " 
 
 " Tell Joan ! " with a faint flush of surprise. " I have 
 not thought about it. Surely there is no hurry? " 
 
 " No hurry at all ; in fact, I would prefer her not 
 hearing about things until they are actually settled. All 
 right, we understand each other, Aunt Mary. We will 
 talk about this later on. And then he bade her good- 
 night. 
 
 " Joan ! It has gone deeper than I thought," she said 
 to herself, as she went back to the drawing-room. " Well, 
 there is no need for me to write for the next two or 
 three days." 
 
 But Lady Mary lay awake longer than usual that 
 night. 
 
 "Will the dear old days ever come back?" she 
 thought sadly. " Well, Craig is doing his duty, and 
 Joan and I must do ours ; and the end He knoweth." 
 And with this calming thought she fell asleep. 
 
 Joan remained for some days in rather a restless 
 state. Lady Cicely's unexpected appearance had un- 
 settled her more than she had supposed. She did all 
 in her power to hide her depression. Perhaps the close, 
 sultry weather added to her discomfort. Silence, who 
 noticed her pale cheeks and heavy eyes, was thankful 
 to remember that in another ten days they would be at 
 Revelstoke. enjoying the sea-breezes. 
 
 Joan was in such a condition of nervous tension that 
 even trifles seemed to be unduly magnified. And when 
 Lady Mary's bi-weekly letter was not on the breakfast- 
 table as usual, she conjured up all sorts of gloomy fancies
 
 " What Am I to Do with My Life? " 220 
 
 and her appetite failed her ; and when, two days later, the 
 expected letter had not yet arrived, she was so grave and 
 silent that her brother looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " What are you going to do with yourself to-day, 
 Joan ? You look a bit seedy, my dear. You had better 
 come with us to Huntsmoor. We shall be back for 
 luncheon, and the drive will do you good." But Joan 
 shook her head. 
 
 " You are very kind, Heath, but I think it is too hot 
 for driving, and the road to Huntsmoor is so exposed. 
 I thought of going over to the Cathedral, and then I 
 have letters to write." And Joan rose hurriedly to pre- 
 vent any more discussion and went out of the room. 
 
 " I hope there is nothing wrong at Gilnockie," ob- 
 served Canon Leigh ; " Joan looks worried this morning." 
 But Silence could give him no information. If they had 
 only known it, the explanation of the delay was perfectly 
 simple. 
 
 Lady Mary had fully intended to write ; had placed 
 herself at the writing-table and opened her blotting-case, 
 when a violent throbbing in her temples warned her that 
 one of her prostrating headaches was coming on, the in- 
 variable result of any protracted mental strain. No 
 remedies could ward off the enemy, and Lady Mary could 
 only creep up to bed and give herself up to Dunlop's 
 devoted ministrations. Once she thought that she would 
 ask Dorothy to send Joan a note; then the increasing 
 pain put it out of her mind. " Perhaps I shall be able to 
 write myself to-morrow," she said to herself that night. 
 But the attack was an unusually severe one, and left her 
 too weak and giddy to make the attempt. 
 
 There was a lump in Joan's throat as she put on her 
 hat, and her eyes smarted with repressed tears. She had 
 wakened with a heavy heart that morning. She had had 
 such a strangely happy dream. She thought she was in 
 
 Brantwood woods with Craig. She was sitting on a 
 bank, and he was just below her, picking primroses and 
 throwing them into her lap by handfuls. Rascal was
 
 230 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 rioting in the young bracken ; she could see his white 
 coat as he rolled over and over. It was all so real and 
 vivid. She could even feel the cool freshness of the 
 heaped-up dowers in her lap. " It is like a stream of 
 molten gold," she heard herself saw Then two strong 
 han : s gripped hers. 
 
 "Joan, how long is this to g> on? When are yon 
 goin r to tell me the truth, that you love me as I love 
 you? " Then, as she felt his onus round her, she woke. 
 
 " Oh, if I could have that dream again ! " she thou Ju. 
 as she crossed the green. How dry and brown the grass 
 looked for want of rain; even the leaves on the limes 
 and elms were wilted and dusty. The sunshine se 
 to beat fiercely down on her, and there was an oppres^iv : 
 stillness in the atmosphere which probably heralded a 
 storm before evening. Happily the Cathedral was 
 But when, at the last moment, she took her place in the 
 choir, there were not more than half-a- lozen people in 
 the stalls; and. with the exception of Mrs. Ramsay, thess 
 were strangers. 
 
 When service began, Joan tried to shake off her 1 
 tude and depression. Then she turned suddenly coll 
 and her heart beat almost to suffocation. Was this a 
 continuation of her dream, or was that young man in 
 the opposite stall really Craig? There he was loo 
 across at her. Their eyes met. Of course it was he! 
 Then Joan's head drooped over her book, and she lool 
 no more. It was a comfort when she c^uh! kneel and 
 hide her face, though it was doubtful how much she 
 attended to her devotions. He had come — he had kept 
 his promise — he had not forgotten her. Oh, how thank- 
 ful she was that neither Heath nor Silence were there ! 
 Such were the tumultuous thoughts which coursed 
 through her mind. And yet. as the boys' sweet voices 
 chanted the opening verses of the Psalm. Joan's heart 
 chimed in with a little song of joy. Whatever happened, 
 it was good to see him again. Presently she would hear 
 his dear voice, feel the grasp of his strong hand. " Oh, 
 how wicked I am," thought Joan, " I am not thinking of
 
 " What Am I to Do with My Life? " 231 
 
 my prayers ! " and then she strove bravely to control her 
 wandering thoughts. 
 
 Craig behaved very well on the whole, but then Joan's 
 appearance had given him no sudden shock. He had 
 seen her from afar, had watche 1 her as she walked 
 quietly to her place. No doubt the sight of the slim girl- 
 ish figure with its willowy grace stirred his pulses. But 
 it was not until he saw her sudden paleness and the quick 
 flash of joy in her eyes that he lost his head for a minute. 
 
 She was glad to see him ! Perhaps he had been a bit 
 too sudden. How white she had turned ! But no, when 
 he looked again her colour had returned. He must try 
 to put the whole thing aside and attend to the service ; 
 but Canon Ramsay's slow delivery, and. the length of 
 the first lesson, made him inwardly chafe. He was sure 
 Joan was thinner ; she looked different somehow, though 
 he could see nothing except the brim of her hat while 
 they were sitting down. 
 
 It may be doubted whether either of the young people 
 had been much edified by the service. When the final 
 amen rang through the sacred building, Joan was in no 
 hurry to move from her seat. She waited until Mrs. 
 Ramsay had left the choir. Then she saw Craig was 
 waiting for her near the entrance, and she walked slowly 
 towards him. He seemed to await her with impatience. 
 As he grasped her hand there was a glow in his eyes 
 which brought a quick flush to the girl's face. For the 
 moment the overmastering sense of his personality 
 seemed to dominate her, and it was only with a strong 
 effort that she cotdd regain her composure. 
 
 Craig was quite aware of her nervousness, though 
 he took no apparent notice of the fact. 
 
 " T thought the service would never end," he observe;! 
 candidly. " T am afraid I did not attend properly. 
 Where are you going to take me, Joan ? T want to find 
 some cool, quiet place where we can have a little com- 
 fortable talk." 
 
 Joan considered for a moment. She could not well 
 take him to St. Breda's Lodge in the absence of Silence
 
 232 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 and her brother, and they would not be back for another 
 two hours. Besides, Wanda and Jess would be there. 
 
 " It is too hot in the Precincts," she said, " and I do 
 not like the idea of talking in the Cathedral. If you 
 will wait a moment, Craig", 1 will speak to the head 
 verger. I know he will let us go into the library, it will 
 be quite cool and quiet there." Then Craig nodded and 
 she hurried away. 
 
 Her riotous pulses were quieting now. Craig's cool- 
 ness and easy assumption of friendliness were putting 
 her more at her ease. Of course it was natural that he 
 should want to talk to her ; so much had happened since 
 they had parted. Oh, how strong and well and brown he 
 looked, and yet somehow he seemed older and more digni- 
 fied. She must not forget he was Lord Josselyn now. 
 
 Joan had regained her old frank manner when she 
 returned. 
 
 " Mr. Stevens says there is no one in the library this 
 morning, and I think we shall find it tolerably cool 
 there." And she was right. 
 
 Craig looked appreciatively at the quaint, venerable 
 rooms, with their book-lined walls and little nooks and 
 recesses. They fixed on one with an open window com- 
 manding a view of a little green enclosure. Joan appro- 
 priated the solitary chair, while Craig took possession of 
 the low narrow window-seat. 
 
 " I call this quite a decent place," he observed. " Why 
 don't you take off your hat. Joan ? " But she shook her 
 head. " Do you know," with disconcerting abruptness, 
 " that I am not at all pleased with your appearance — 
 you are certainly thinner." 
 
 " Oh, what nonsense ! " but Joan carefullv avoided 
 bis eyes. " I think we are all feeling the heat terribly. 
 There seems no air anywhere ; even the sunshine seems 
 dusty — you know what T mean. But we shall be going 
 next week to Revelstoke." 
 
 " So Aunt Mary told me yesterday." 
 
 "Oh, were you at Gilnockie yesterday!" exclaimed 
 Joan eagerly. "Did she send me a message, Craig?
 
 " What Am I to Do with My Life? " 233 
 
 I have been worrying" myself dreadfully because she 
 has not written to me this week as usual ; but if she 
 
 has sent me a message " Then Craig laughed in 
 
 rather an embarrassed way. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, none of the home people 
 know that I have ran over here to-day; for certain 
 reasons I thought it best to keep my own counsel. But 
 of course T can give you the latest and special edition 
 of Gilnockie news." 
 
 " Oh, yes, please do 1 " 
 
 " Well, my mother is decidedly better. We are all 
 happier about her. She has had two good nights, and 
 actually went for a drive yesterday. My father and 
 Dorothy went with her." 
 
 "And Lady Mary?" 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Mary had been seedy for two or three 
 days — one of those fiendish headaches of hers, I believe. 
 But she was in the drawing-room, and declared that 
 another night's sleep would put her to rights." 
 
 " Oh, I was sure she was ill," returned Joan in a 
 distressed tone. But Craig combated this idea. 
 
 " No, not ill ; only Dorothy gave me a hint on the 
 subject. My mother has been leading them all such a 
 life. The poor soul could not help it, but the brunt 
 of it has come on Aunt Mary, and the worry and the 
 heat together quite bowled her over. I remember now, 
 she said something about writing to you to-day, so you 
 will have her letter all right to-morrow." And Joan 
 gave a sigh of relief. 
 
 "You are quite sure that is all, Craig?" Then he 
 looked at her with his honest eyes. 
 
 " That is all. to my knowledge, so there is no need 
 for that long face." But the girl's eyes suddenly filled 
 with tears. 
 
 " If you knew how I long for her sometimes ! " And 
 when Craig put his hand over hers, the action seemed so 
 brotherly that Joan did not draw it away. 
 
 " Dear, I know ; but we cannot spare Aunt Mary yet. 
 If you only realised the comfort she is to my poor mother
 
 234 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 and Dorothy, and as for my father " Then one of 
 
 Joan's bright, sudden smiles gladdened the young man's 
 heart. This pale, depressed girl with the small peaky 
 face was not like his old sweetheart Joan. What had 
 they all done to her? He would alter all that! And 
 Craig threw up his head with his old masterful air. But 
 Joan's thoughts were busy at that moment with Lady 
 Mary. 
 
 " Oh, I know what a darling she would be ! " she went 
 on. " There is no one so dear and comforting when one 
 is in trouble ; it is not what she says, but one is so sure 
 of her love and sympathy." 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Mary is a good sort when she comes out 
 of her groove " — Craig said in rather an off-hand way ; 
 " but, like all the Bastows, she has her limitations. Joan, 
 I have not come over to St. Breda's to talk about Aunt 
 Mary, much as I appreciate her. I wanted to tell you 
 myself that I have given up all idea of going to India ; 
 in fact, I have already sent in my papers." 
 
 Joan gazed at him for a moment without speaking. 
 " Does that mean that you have thrown up the battery — 
 that you are retiring on your parents' account?" And 
 as he nodded curtly — " Oh, Craig, how splendid of you, 
 but how terribly hard ! " 
 
 " There was nothing else to be done," he returned 
 gloomily. " My father gave me to understand that my 
 mother was not in a state for any more shocks, and she 
 was already breaking her heart at the idea of parting with 
 me. What could a fellow /do under such circumstances, 
 unless he acted like a selfish cad ! " 
 
 " Oh, vou were right — quite right ; you never could 
 have left those poor old people : but all the same I am 
 sorry for you." 
 
 " I think I am sorry for myself," he returned simply ; 
 " but it is no good crying over spilt milk, so I must 
 grin and bear it. But, Joan, what am I to do with my 
 iife? And as Craig said this there was a pained and 
 troubled look on his face which went to the girl's heart.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 CRAIG HAS THE LAST WORD 
 
 Constancy and faithfulness mean something else besides 
 doing what is easiest and pleasantest to ourselves. They mean 
 renouncing whatever is opposed to the reliance others have on 
 us. — Anon. 
 
 Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core — 
 All other depths are shallow. 
 
 Keats. 
 
 If Craig had come over to St. Breda's to seek comfort 
 in Joan's sympathy, he had certainly no cause for disap- 
 pointment. Joan was always a liberal giver, and she did 
 not fail him now. For the moment she had forgotten the 
 embarrassment of their mutual position. She could only 
 remember that her old playmate and comrade was in 
 grievous trouble, and that her woman's wits must find 
 some way of helping him. No one else could understand 
 him as she did. To most people Craig Bastow was only 
 a well-meaning, pleasant-tempered fellow ; an honest, 
 clean-living young Englishman, with the militant instinct 
 of his forbears. Only to Joan, and perlnps, in a lesser 
 degree, to Lady Cicely O'Brien, did he appear in the light 
 of a hero. For, alas for her peace of mind ! the petted 
 heiress was by no means indifferent to her friend's 
 brother. 
 
 As for Joan, she thought there was no one to be com- 
 pared with him. What did it matter if he were not a 
 miracle of cleverness, if he preferred soldiering to books, 
 when he was true as steel and had never been known to 
 shirk his duty or do a shabby action. If any one de- 
 served to be happy, be did; and yet, as she knew, the 
 whole plan and purpose of his life was frustrated. 
 
 " What am I to do with my life? " he had said to her. 
 
 Xo wonder Joan poured out richly of her pity and 
 
 235
 
 23() The Key of the Unknown 
 
 sympathy. " If you knew how sorry I am for you! " she 
 said softly. " But if you had gone to India and anything 
 had happened, you would never have had another happy 
 moment " ; and here Joan's expression was very sweet. 
 " 1 think Lady Mary is right when she says we must 
 just do our duty and face the consequences." 
 
 " I think a woman is always more ready to play the 
 martyr than a man," he returned rather dryly. " If you 
 knew how I hate the whole business ! But of course," 
 checking himself with an impatient sigh, " there was 
 raothing else to be done. The question is, What am I 
 to do with myself? One cannot loaf through life because 
 one has a title." 
 
 "You would not care to enter Parliament?' But as 
 Joan made the suggestion she well knew what his answer 
 would be. 
 
 " I am willing to fight for my country," he returned 
 a little fiercely, " but I should be a sorry politician. 
 Why, I could not make a speech to save my life ; and 
 as to listening to a set of old fogies half the night, and 
 bothering myself with their red tapeism and party ques- 
 tions No, Joan, that sort of thing would not suit my 
 
 constitution at all." 
 
 "Then why not try farming, Craig?" 
 
 But it was evident the young man received this sen- 
 sible proposition with scant favour. 
 
 " It is necessary to serve some sort of apprenticeship 
 if one is to be a good farmer ; and the truth is, 1 hardly 
 know a turnip from a mangel-wurzel. Now, my father 
 loves the land," went on Craig; "he will stand for half- 
 an-hour at a time admiring his prize cattle, or watching 
 the men ploughing. If he had not had the misfortune to 
 be a belted carl, he would have made a rattling good 
 farmer. Under these circum stances I should have found 
 my work cut out for me; guiding the team and plough- 
 ing would have suited me down to the ground." 
 
 "Oh, Craig, how absurd you are!" But, all the 
 same, Joan could see him do it. No manual labour would 
 have come amiss to those strong, capable hands.
 
 Craig Has the Last Word 237 
 
 "As it is, I shall just loaf round at the governor's 
 heels, help him with his accounts, and look after the 
 keepers, and do a little shooting au$/fishing on my own 
 account. A lively sort of billet 'for an active-minded 
 soldier ! " 
 
 Joan rested her chin on her hand and looked at him 
 thoughtfully. Her brain was hard at work on his be- 
 half. Then a brilliant idea came to her. 
 
 " Craig, it is no use talking to your father. With all 
 his good-will, he seems a little helpless in these matters. 
 Why don't you talk to your uncle, Lord Templeton ? " 
 
 "To my Uncle Templeton! Whatever put that into 
 your head, Joan? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. But T always liked him so much ; 
 he used to be so kind to me when I was a little girl, when 
 he and Lady Templeton came to the Abbey. Dorothy 
 told me he had been a soldier in his younger days, so that 
 he could understand things ; and besides, he is a man of 
 the world." 
 
 Craig looked at her admiringly. " You have a wise 
 little head of your own, Joan, and it is not a bad idea. 
 Uncle Templeton is rather a knowing old fellow, though 
 he and the governor have not hit it off as well as usual 
 the last year or two. I believe Josselyn behaved rather 
 badly." But here Craig reddened and hurried on. " I 
 used to stay at Templeton a good deal when I was a 
 voungster, and I recollect the handsome tips Clyde and 
 I got when we first went to Eton." 
 
 " Then why don't you go and ask his advice, Craig 2 
 He always seems so interested in you." 
 
 " Yes, but Clyde was his favourite; he was dreadfulh 
 cut up when he heard of his death. Well, T don't mind 
 running over to Templeton when the governor can spare 
 me. I daresay the old boy will take it quite as a com- 
 pliment ; and ) am rather fond of Aunt Miriam, though 
 she is a bit frumpish and old maidisb." Then Joan 
 smiled happily, for she had gained her point. 
 
 Craig knew that his uncle would give him credit for 
 disinterested motives, for neither her nor his brothers had
 
 238 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 any claim on the Templeton estate, which would be in- 
 herited by Lord Templeton's only brother, who was at 
 present with his regiment in India ; or, in the event of his 
 death, by his eldest son. And up to the present time the 
 Merritons had not been informed that Lady Templeton 
 intended to leave her fortune in equal division between 
 Dorothy and Craig". 
 
 " There is no need for your brother and'' Hubert to 
 have everything," she had said to her husband a few 
 months previously. " I am very fond of Dorothy, and, 
 as she does not seem inclined to marry, she will be glad 
 to be independent of her parents. And Craig is a fine 
 fellow." And Lord Templeton had offered no objection 
 to this. 
 
 It was at this point that Joan suddenly bethought 
 herself of Lady Cicely. 
 
 " Oh, by the bye, Craig," she said a little hurriedly, 
 " I wonder if Dorothy told you that I saw Cicely O'Brien 
 last week. She motored over with the Mostyn girls." 
 r»ut Craig, who seemed sunk in a brown study, roused 
 himself with difficulty. 
 
 " Cicely O'Brien? " he observed indifferently. " Yes, 
 I think Dollie did say something about it ; but I did not 
 take much notice." Happy Joan tried to conceal her 
 satisfaction — how little interest he showed at the mention 
 of her rival's name ! 
 
 " The Mostyn girls wanted to do the Cathedral, so 
 Cicely and I sat out in the Precincts and had a long 
 talk. T thought I never saw her look prettier, and she 
 was so kind and affectionate, and such a dear altogether. 
 Xo wonder your mother and Dorothy are so fond of her." 
 
 " They don't seem able to live without her just now," 
 he returned in rather a bored tone. " That is the worst 
 of girls: they are so hot and strong in their friendships. 
 One may have too much even of a good thing." 
 
 " Oh, Craig, how can you be so hard on poor Cicely ! " 
 
 " I don't think I am hard. Lady Cicely and I are 
 very good friends when we meet ; but in my opinion
 
 Craig Has the Last Word 239 
 
 it was a mistake to ask her to Gilnockie just now, and 
 I was awfully glad that her sister's accident prevented 
 her from coming. Neither my father nor I am in the 
 mood for visitors." And as Joan hardly knew what 
 reply to make to this, she remained silent. It would 
 not do, evidently, to say any more on that subject. She 
 was wondering- what she had to tell him next, when 
 Craig- suddenly leant forward and took her hand. 
 
 " It strikes me that we are wasting precious time 
 in family gossip which might be far more profitably 
 employed." Something in his tone put Joan on her 
 guard, and she tried gently to free herself ; but his grasp 
 tightened on her wrist. 
 
 " Don't worry," he said coolly. " I only want you to 
 answer me a question. Joan, were you telling me the 
 truth or a lie when you said in the Brantwood copse that 
 you only cared for me as a dear friend? On your 
 honour, Joan, as between man and man, you must answer 
 me that " — and Craig's blue eyes were stern and deter- 
 mined. 
 
 The crucial moment had come and had taken her by 
 surprise ; but, though she had tacitly deceived him all 
 these months, she knew that she would rather drop dead 
 at his feet than lie to him. And yet how was she to 
 compromise and evade the difficulty? 
 
 " You misunderstood — I never said that," she re- 
 turned weakly. Then he looked at her in incredulous 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Joan," he said indignantly, " how dare you pre- 
 varicate to me of all people, when I heard those words 
 with my own ears ! Did you, or did you not tell me that 
 you did not wish me to say again that I loved you and 
 wanted you to be my wife? ' I really mean it, Craig ' — 
 those were your very words, Joan." 
 
 " I do not deny them," she returned desperately, " and 
 T spoke the truth when I said that I never wished you 
 to speak to me in that way again. How could I wish to 
 ruin your life ! But, Craig, you made one mistake that
 
 240 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 day, though I thought it better for your sake not to put 
 it right. I never said — how could I ? — that I only cared 
 for you as a dear friend. The ' only' was your own in- 
 vention." Joan said this bravely, though her face was 
 burning and her hands cold as ice. But as Craig dropped 
 her hands, and with a low exclamation of endearment, 
 would have taken her in his arms, Joan drew back with 
 a gesture that forbade his approach. 
 
 "Craig — dear Craig, just listen to me a moment! 
 All these months T have been so unhappy because I dare 
 not let you know the truth, and I could not bear the idea 
 that I was deceiving you." 
 
 " I think you deserved to be unhappy, Joan. I know 
 you nearly broke my heart." 
 
 " Oh, do not speak to me in that tone, as though you 
 were angry with me." 
 
 " But I am angry — righteously angry ! I think it 
 was playing a low down game to let me believe what was 
 simply untrue. Even now I can hardly believe it of you, 
 Joan." 
 
 " I wanted to set it right," she faltered, " but for your 
 sake and the sake of your people I dared not do it. 
 Craig, can't you understand and forgive me? If you 
 had found out how much I cared, would you have taken 
 my answer? " 
 
 " By heavens, no — any more than I take it now ! " 
 But again she put her hand up to stop him. 
 
 " Wait, I have not finished ; there is more that I have 
 to say. Craig, dear, whether you forgive me or not, I 
 will go back to St. Breda's Lodge with a lighter heart, 
 because there is no longer this shadow between us, and 
 you know that, though T refused to be your wife, your 
 love was the most precious thing to me on earth." 
 
 " Oh, Joan, my darling, my true-hearted girl ! " 
 
 " You may call me that for once, and I shall be as 
 proud as though you crowned me. But, Craig, dearly as 
 I love you, nothing will induce me to be your wife." 
 
 "Joan, are you mad? Do you think I shall ever
 
 Craisr Has the Last Word 241 
 
 i ^ 
 
 marry any other woman, though she were as rich as 
 Croesus and as divinely beautiful as a young goddess?" 
 Then a faint smile flitted across Joan's pale face. How 
 s\\ eet it was to hear such words ! Could any lover be 
 more perfect! 
 
 " I can say nothing as to that," she returned hur- 
 riedly ; " the future is not in our hands, and in the years 
 to come you may see fit to change your mind. There is 
 only one thing of which I am certain — that I will not 
 marry you unless your parents ask me to do so. I will 
 do my duty, Craig, however you may fail in yours." 
 
 And though Craig stormed and argued in his most 
 masterful fashion, making light of her objections and 
 brushing down her girlish theories as easily as though 
 they were ninepins, Joan remained firm to her point. 
 She would love him all her life, but she would never 
 marry him as long as the Merritons opposed the match. 
 
 Craig's indignation knew no bounds when he realised 
 that his man's will was set at naught by this girl's obsti- 
 nacy and adherence to her narrow views of duty. He 
 was on the point of saying something particularly crush- 
 ing and sarcastic, when Joan, who had been standing 
 hitherto, suddenly dropped into her chair with an air 
 of intense weariness that appealed to his better feelings. 
 
 " Oh, Craig, do not make it too hard for me! Even 
 if we cannot agree on this one point, let me at least try 
 and do my duty in peace. Do you think I have not 
 enough to bear as it is ? " And one or two tears rolled 
 down her cheeks. " Oh, my dear, be kind to me even 
 if you think I am wrong ! " And the next minute Craig 
 was kneeling beside her and covering her hand with 
 kisses. 
 
 " Forgive me, darling; T was a brute and you are an 
 angel ! Now T will not tease you any more, and you 
 shall have your own wav for a little." 
 
 "How do you mean?" she asked timidly. Then he 
 rose to his feet with a short laugh. 
 
 " Well, we are engaged of course, though it seems I 
 
 16
 
 242 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 am not to enjoy any of the privileges and prerogatives 
 belonging to such a position. Why, how frightened you 
 look, Joan ! Cut I am speaking words of truth and 
 soberness. When two people love each other as we two 
 do, and own the fact frankly, they have certainly taken 
 each other for better or worse, although their Guardian 
 Angels are the only witnesses." 
 
 Joan, covered with confusion, implored him not to 
 talk so recklessly. " For you know quite well that I'm 
 not engaged to you," she said seriously. But Craig, 
 overjoyed at his sweetheart's confession, had taken the 
 bit between his teeth and bolted. 
 
 " All right, don't worry. Anyway, I shall tell Aunt 
 Mary that I am engaged to you, and no amount of con- 
 tradiction on your part will avail. You may refuse to 
 take me for your husband, but you cannot prevent me 
 from being your lover and waiting with what patience I 
 can muster until ' the clouds roll by.' There, that is 
 my last word, and if you do not say amen to it, that is 
 your look-out, not mine. Now, my good child, do you 
 know we have been talking for two mortal hours, and I 
 am quite faint from emotion and inanition. Do you think 
 your brother and Mrs. Leigh will be kind enough to give 
 me some luncheon ? " 
 
 Joan rose from her chair with a dazed look: Craig's 
 bold request had nearly taken her breath away. 
 
 " I think they will have returned from Huntsmoor 
 by this time," she replied hesitatingly ; " I had no idea 
 it was so late. Yes, I am quite sure that Heath and 
 Silence will be very pleased to give luncheon." Never- 
 theless Joan grew hot from head to foot at the thought 
 of that embarrassing introduction; but Craig seemed 
 quite at his ease. 
 
 " We may as well make tracks for St. Breda's Lodge,'' 
 he said quietly. And a moment later they were crossing 
 the sunny green.
 
 XXIX 
 
 "A FIGHTING BASTOW" 
 
 I count life just a stuff 
 To try the soul's strength on, educe the man. 
 Who keeps one end in view makes all things serve. 
 As with the body — he who hurls a lance 
 Or heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike, 
 So will I seize and use all means to prove 
 And show this soul of mine you crown as yours, 
 And justify us both. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 Rascal's shrill bark of welcome advertised the arrival 
 of the new-comers ; and Canon Leigh, who was just 
 crossing - the hall on his way to the dining-room, stood 
 still with surprise at seeing the excited little animal leap- 
 ing up against a tall young man in evident joyous recog- 
 nition of an old friend. 
 
 Joan accosted her brother rather nervously. " I saw 
 Lord Josselyn in the Cathedral, Heath ; and as I thought 
 you and Silence would be back by this time, I brought 
 him in for some luncheon." 
 
 " I believe I asked myself, Canon Leigh," annotated 
 Craig in his frank way. " As your sister and I are such 
 old friends, I thought I might take the liberty." And 
 there was no want of cordiality in Heath's manner as he 
 assured him of his welcome. 
 
 Perhaps the situation was a trifle awkward, but the 
 law of hospitality was certainly paramount at this 
 moment. " I must introduce you to my wife — I think 
 you have never met," he said in his pleasantest tone : 
 " we shall find her awaiting us at the luncheon-table. 
 My love," as Silence rose in evident surprise, " this is 
 Lord Josselyn." Then Silence held out her hand with 
 the grave sedateness which generally concealed her shy- 
 ness at the unexpected approach of a stranger. 
 
 243
 
 244. The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Craig, who had heard a good deal of Mrs. Leigh's 
 idiosyncrasies from Joan, was not in the least repelled 
 by her unsmiling gravity. On the contrary, he was much 
 impressed by her stateliness and fair Madonna face. It 
 pleased him to think that Joan's belongings were so 
 creditable in appearance. 
 
 The two elder boys had not yet returned from Win- 
 chester, they were expected the following day : but 
 Wanda, with her handsome face and dainty ways, looked 
 to him a thorough little aristocrat, and Jess was always 
 attractive to gentlemen. Joan, who had disappeared to 
 take off her hat and smooth her roughened hair, now 
 returned and took her accustomed seat by her brother. 
 She was thankful that Jess was between her and Craig, 
 and that she could listen to his voice in peace without 
 taking part in the conversation, which was carried on 
 principally between the two gentlemen. 
 
 Joan made a poor luncheon, although in reality she 
 was feasting sumptuously. It seemed to her an incred- 
 ible joy that Craig should be breaking bread in her 
 brother's house. How well he and Heath seemed to 
 understand each other. Perhaps Craig was exerting 
 himself in the hope of impressing them favourably, for 
 she had never heard him talk so well. She noticed, too, 
 an awakening interest in Silence's quiet grey eves. She 
 forgot her shyness once or twice in her anxiety that 
 the guest should make a good luncheon. 
 
 " I wish every one had made as excellent a meal as 
 I have," remarked Craig. But his pointed tone made 
 Joan bend over her plate. How could she eat when 
 her heart was so full ! No, it was useless making the 
 attempt ; she could only empty her tumbler of iced 
 lemonade. 
 
 Silence, with true womanly tact, took pity on her at 
 last by rising from the table ; but, as Joan and the little 
 girls and Noel joined her, Craig, who had opened the 
 door for his hostess, closed it again and went back to 
 his place.
 
 "A Fighting Bastow " 245 
 
 " I shall be glad to explain matters to you, Canon 
 Leigh," he said quietly, " if you are disposed to listen to 
 me." And as Heath had no objection to offer to this, 
 they were soon engaging" in a momentous conversation. 
 Silence looked at her sister-in-law in some perplexity. 
 
 " Do yon think Prescott had better take the coffee 
 to them there? I thought we should have had it in the 
 garden." But Joan negatived this with great decision. 
 
 " I think Heath would prefer it in the dining-room, 
 there is so little shade everywhere. Silence " — speaking 
 evidently with an effort — " I ought to tell you how it all 
 happened." 
 
 " Yes, dear. Will you mind waiting while I speak to 
 Prescott? Jess, I will not allow you to tease Aunt Joan 
 about playing croquet — no one must think of such a 
 thing before six o'clock. If you have nothing else to 
 do, you and Wanda had better take your books into the 
 kitchen garden ; you will find a shady corner there. I 
 won't be a moment, Joan. If you will go into the study 
 I will join you there, and we shall hear when the gentle- 
 men leave the dining-room." 
 
 Joan rather repented her impulsive speech as she 
 seated herself in the low window-seat. But she felt she 
 owed some explanation to her sister-in-law for bringing 
 in an unexpected guest. So when Silence came back a 
 little flurried with unusual excitement, Joan made room 
 for her with a tolerably good grace. 
 
 " I was afraid you and Heath would think it a little 
 odd of me to bring in Lord Josselyn like that, but I really 
 could not help myself," she began ; " and, as he said at 
 luncheon, he really invited himself." 
 
 "And he was in the Cathedral?" asked Silence 
 curiously. 
 
 " Yes, but T was not aware of the fact till the service 
 had begun ; he was just opposite to me." 
 
 "Oh. dear, how surprised you must have been!" 
 
 " Surprise is hardly the right word," thought Joan. 
 Then she continued hastily:
 
 246 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " He was waiting for me when I came out, and he 
 asked me to take him to some cool, quiet place, as he had 
 a good deal to tell me. So I thought of the library, and 
 as no one was there we were not disturbed." 
 
 " Yon must have had a good long talk," remarked 
 Silence with a smile, " for it was nearly two before you 
 came into the dining-room ; but as we were late ourselves 
 it did not matter." 
 
 " I had no idea of the time," returned Joan frankly, 
 " until Craig reminded me, and asked if he might come 
 back with me to luncheon, and of course I could hardly 
 refuse." 
 
 " No, indeed ! and I think it was so nice and friendly 
 of Lord Josselyn to suggest it. Joan, I hope you won't 
 mind my saying how much I like him ; he is so pleasant 
 and simple, and does not stand on his dignity as some 
 young men would do in his position." 
 
 " I am glad you like him, Silence, for you are not at 
 all an easy person to please. And I am sure that you 
 will be sorry to hear that he is troubled because he is 
 obliged to retire from active service. His people refuse 
 to part with him, so he is compelled to make the sacri- 
 fice. He talked to me a great deal about it. He doesn't 
 seem to know what he is going to do with himself. 
 You have no idea how devoted he is to his profession." 
 
 " What a pity ! " observed Silence thoughtfully. " Of 
 course T don't see how he could leave his parents under 
 the circumstances, but it certainly seems a little hard on 
 him, poor fellow." 
 
 " Tt is more than hard," returned Joan vehemently. 
 " It was trouble enough for him to lose his brother, and 
 to have to step into his place — the very thing of all others 
 he hates. Craig is rather a democrat at heart, and fuss 
 and ceremony bore him. He wanted to go out into the 
 world, and fight for his country, and see his men in action, 
 and now he will just be a titled loafer, as he calls it; but 
 I told him he must find some congenial occupation." 
 
 " Yes, of course. There is no need for loafing, I 
 should think."
 
 " A Fighting Bastow " 247 
 
 But Silence looked a little puzzled and disappointed 
 as she said this. They had been together at least two 
 hours and a half in that musty old library. Surely their 
 conversation had noi been confined to soldiering. If 
 Lord Josselyn were still in love with Joan he must un- 
 doubtedly have made use of so golden an opportunity to 
 propose to her again ; but she feared from Joan's manner 
 that she was not to be enlightened on this point. Silence 
 could only make her own deductions. Something had 
 certainly passed between them. All through luncheon 
 Joan had been shy and silent. She could not remember 
 hearing her voice once. She looked conscious, excited, 
 but not unhappy, and Lord Josselyn seemed fairly 
 cheerful. 
 
 If only Joan would believe in her sisterly sympathy 
 and not stint her confidence ! It was almost too tanta- 
 lising. Silence was not at all sure how matters had 
 been settled. If Joan had refused him for the second 
 time, Lord Josselyn had certainly not accepted her decis- 
 ion as final, or he would hardly have eaten so hearty a 
 luncheon and appeared so much at his ease. On the othc- 
 hand, she did not believe for a moment that Joan would 
 consent to any engagement. Silence sighed with baffled 
 curiosity, but she must wait until her husband made 
 things clear to her ; at least Heath never kept anything 
 from her, and this lengthy confab in the dining-room evi- 
 dently meant business. 
 
 Joan was clearly of this opinion ; she was growing 
 restless, and seemed listening to every sound. Then she 
 looked at the clock. 
 
 " How long they are," she observed uneasily. " It is 
 half-past three now, and Craig means to take the 4.20 
 to town. He wants to get down to Eastbourne to-night ; 
 he says his mother will worry if he does not turn up." 
 
 " T don't know what Prescott will think o r being- kept 
 out of the dining-room like this," returned Silence, " and 
 I really must go and fetch my work. There, I can hear 
 them moving. I will just go and tell them we are here."
 
 248 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 But Silence did not return, and the next moment 
 Craig came quickly into the room. 
 
 " 1 have just come to say good-bye, Joan. I have 
 not a moment to spare. Your brother is going to walk 
 with me to the station — we have not quite finished our 
 talk." 
 
 " Oh, Craig, what have you been telling him all this 
 time ? " asked the girl anxiously. 
 
 " You had better ask him, dear, for I have no time 
 to explain anything ; he told me that he should have a 
 talk with you when he got back. He was awfully jolly, 
 and we got on as well as possible. I have had a rattling 
 good time, and feel more like myself than I have for 
 months — thanks to your confession, sweetheart." 
 
 " Oh, but, Craig, do wait one moment. I want you to 
 promise me that you will not say anything to Lady 
 Mary." But he only laughed, and there was a deter- 
 mined look in his eyes. 
 
 " I shall make no such promise," he returned firmly. 
 " You have taken your own line and I must take mine. 
 Don't worry, darling; it will all be right some day. All 
 comes to those who know how to wait, as poor old Clyde 
 used to say, and we are young enough to wait for any 
 number of years." And then he stooped over her, and 
 his lips just touched the soft, shining hair above her 
 temple ; but his touch was so gentle and reverent that 
 Joan hardly felt the caress. Then he smiled at her and 
 hurried away. 
 
 Joan sat still in a sort of blissful dream. No one 
 came near her. Not a sound reached the quiet room. 
 The noontide heat had lessened, and the threatened storm 
 '•nd evidently passed away or broken at a distance. A 
 baby breeze was stirring tli'" tree-tops, and a weary, over 
 burdened bee was sleeping in the heart of a red rose. A 
 sense of prevailing peace, the stirring of some strange 
 visionary hope, seemed to enfold her. " All comes round 
 to those who know how to wait " — were not those his 
 words ? Joan closed her eyes and tried to think. What
 
 " A Fighting Bastow " 249 
 
 had happened? Was she in any way to blame for Craig's 
 masterful tone? Could any girl have spoken more 
 plainly, and yet how had she found courage to say those 
 words? — " Dearly as I love you, nothing will induce 
 me to be your wife." And again : " There is only one 
 thing of which I am certain, that I will not marry you 
 unless your parents ask me to do so." Did such words 
 as these give Craig a loophole for his audacious state- 
 ment that they were virtually engaged? Joan gave a 
 little sob of happy excitement when she reached this point. 
 " You know quite well that I am not engaged to you," 
 she had assured him almost indignantly, but she might as 
 well have spoken to the wind. 
 
 Oh, how absurd and wrong-headed he was! Yet 
 could anything be more beautiful and satisfying, more 
 infinitely comforting, than such generous wrong-headed- 
 ness ! Had any girl ever had such a lover ! " Oh, what 
 will Lady Mary say ? " was her next thought. " I shall 
 not have a moment's peace until I explain matters to her, 
 and yet how is such a letter to be written? "I must 
 make her understand that I am not to blame because 
 Craig chooses to be masterful. Shall I ever forget the 
 way he looked and spoke?" and Joan hid her flushe'd 
 face in her hands. When she raised her head again the 
 crimson rose was empty — the tired bee, with its laden 
 honey-bags, was on its way to the hive. A moment 
 later she heard her brother's step outside. 
 
 He looked hot and tired, but spoke cheerfully. 
 
 " T thought I should find you still here, Joan, so we 
 may as well get our talk over before tea. My dear, your 
 young man has given me a good deal of trouble, but 
 I am bound to tell you that I consider him a fine fellow ; " 
 and Joan was at once aware from Heath's tone that he 
 was exceedingly pleased. 
 
 " Did — did he tell you everything? " 
 " Yes, my dear. He was extremeh frank and com- 
 municative, and we threshed the whole business out very 
 thoroughly. He told me all that had passed between
 
 250 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 you in the Cathedral library, he even informed me that 
 you had refused him again ; and, under the circumstances, 
 I think you acted very properly. You and I are in a 
 very awkward position, Joan." 
 
 " Do you think I do not realise that, Heath? " 
 
 " I am sure you do. And of course, though you and 
 Lord Josselyn have my fullest sympathy, I dared not 
 give a word of encouragement when he told me that he 
 considered himself engaged to you and that he intended 
 to tell Lady Mary so. I made him understand that he 
 must do it at his own risk, and that I could not counte- 
 nance such unpractical and quixotic generosity. 
 
 " ' I hope you will tell Lady Mary that Joan abso- 
 lutely refused to listen to you,' I said dryly ; and what 
 do you suppose his high and mighty lordship said in 
 reply ? ' If your sister refuses me a dozen times it will 
 make no difference. The Bastows are born fighters, and 
 they generally get their way." 
 
 " Oh, dear — oh, dear! " And then the tea-bell rang: 
 and as there w r as absolutely nothing more to say, they 
 joined the rest of the family in the dining-room.
 
 XXX 
 
 "NONE OF THAT, GOVERNOR" 
 
 It is easy enough to be pleasant 
 
 When life flows by like a song, 
 But the man worth while is the one who will smile 
 
 When everything goes dead wrong. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 Always laugh when you can ; it is a cheap medicine. Merri- 
 ment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side 
 of existence. — Byron. 
 
 Silence possessed her soul in patience until late in 
 the evening, and until then she exercised a quiet sur- 
 veillance over her young sister-in-law. 
 
 When, during tea-time, Jess renewed her entreaties 
 for Joan to play croquet, Silence magnanimously offered 
 herself in her stead. Joan gave her a grateful look. 
 
 When the family had trooped out into the garden, 
 Joan shut herself up in the cool empty drawing-room, 
 with its open windows and great bowls of roses and car- 
 nations, and wrote her letter to Lady Mary. It was not 
 an easy task, but it was accomplished at last. 
 
 Lady Mary nearly wept over that simple, girlish out- 
 pouring. 
 
 " Do not blame me more than you can help, for indeed I 
 could not prevent his coming," wrote Joan. 
 
 But she was infinitely comforted by Lady Mary's 
 reply. 
 
 " Your poor dear child," she began, " do you think for one 
 moment that I should think of blaming either you or myself 
 because a reckless, headstrong young man chooses to be self- 
 willed and take his own way in defiance of every one's advice. 
 No, dearest, I am not quite so unjust as that. But of course I 
 think it is a pity that he should upset you in this way. I was 
 very vexed with him; but I am bound to confess that my dis- 
 
 251
 
 252 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 approval made not the slightest impression. ' You may say what 
 you like, Aunt Mary,' he remarked coolly, ' but I don't repent 
 a single word I said.' Oh, I could do nothing with him. He 
 did not give me a good account of you, Joan; he says you look 
 pale and thin, and have lost your appetite. I shall be thankful 
 when you are at Revelstoke, for I am certain that the air of 
 St. Breda's is too enervating in the summer. Now, my darling, 
 I want you to put all thoughts of Craig's visit out of your mind 
 as much as possible until we can talk it over quietly together. 
 I am not without hope that I may be able to arrange a meeting 
 later on. At present I cannot get away from Gilnockie, but 
 Lady Merriton is making such good progress that in a few weeks 
 I trust I shall be no longer necessary to her. At the present 
 moment I am afraid to make any definite plans. Now the car- 
 riage is coming round, and I must put on my bonnet. God bless 
 you! — Your loving old friend, Mary Boyle." 
 
 There was only one piece of advice in Lady Mary's 
 letter that Joan found it difficult to follow. How was 
 she to put Craig's visit out of her mind, when from 
 morning- to evening she could think of nothing else? 
 It was an undercurrent of sweetness which permeated 
 her daily life. " You may say what you like, Aunt Mary, 
 but I do not repent a single word I said." Oh, how 
 perfect he was — what an ideal lover! 
 
 When the household had retired to rest that night, 
 Silence betook herself to the study. Both the husband 
 and wife looked forward to this quiet time. Silence was 
 in her white dressing-gown. She had made her rounds 
 amongst her sleeping children. The long heavy plaits 
 of hair shone in the lamplight; the soft muslin frills and 
 folds always suited her. 
 
 " I waited until Joan went upstairs," she said. " She 
 was unusually late, so I went to the children. I have 
 been longing to talk to you all the evening." 
 
 " And I to you, love," returned her husband tenderly. 
 " But I thought perhaps Joan might have forestalled me." 
 But Silence shook her head. 
 
 " She said very little, but of course I saw something 
 had happened." Then Heath told her what had passed 
 between her and Craig in the Cathedral. 
 
 " She really refused him again, and yet any one can
 
 " None of That, Governor " 253 
 
 see that she is in love with him! " and Silence spoke in 
 an awed voice. " Oh, Heath, how can she have the hearc 
 to do it? In her place I could not have done it." 
 
 " She is ver\ plucky and she has a strong will. But 
 she has met her match, my dear. Lord Josselyn does not 
 intend to give in. He has his back against the wall and 
 means fighting. He told me so very plainly ; in fact, he 
 was perfectly frank about it. ' I have given in to my 
 father about resigning my commission,' he went on ; ' but 
 I will not allow either him or my mother to dictate to me 
 in the choice of a wife. I will be as free in that matter 
 as the ploughman on my father's farm.' " 
 
 " Oh, Heath, he was perfectly right, of course. But 
 what answer did you give? " 
 
 " I cannot remember the exact words, but I made him 
 understand that I was in an awkward position, and that 
 as Joan's brother, I could say nothing to encourage him ; 
 that we owed Lady Mary a debt of gratitude ; and that 
 sheer honesty obliged me to tell him that he was very 
 deficient in worldly wisdom, and that it would be far bet- 
 ter for him to take his family's advice and marry Lady 
 Cicely O'Brien." 
 
 "You actually told him that?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I saw I had said the wrong thing, for he 
 flushed and drew himself up quite haughtily. 
 
 ' It is a pity that any lady's name should be men- 
 tioned,' he observed. ' When T have an opportunity, I 
 intend telling my old friend, Lady Cicely, that I consider 
 myself engaged to Joan. I have a sincere regard for 
 Lady Cicely, and I consider that my mother has placed us 
 both in such a position that I owe her this explanation.' " 
 
 " How strong he is to stand out against his own 
 people like this ! Do you think — do you really think, 
 Heath, that things will come right in time?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear. I hardly know what to think, more 
 improbable things have happened." But Silence was 
 sure from his manner that he was not entirely hopeless. 
 She knew, too, what he had already acknowledged to 
 himself, that he was an ambitious man, and that such
 
 254 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 a marriage would have added greatly to his sense of im- 
 portance ; and though his conscience forbade him to speak 
 a word of encouragement to the impetuous young lover, 
 he secretly applauded his fidelity. 
 
 " It is not because he is heir to an earldom that I 
 think Craig Bastow a fine fellow," he observed presently. 
 " Under any circumstances, if he were only the son of a 
 simple country 'squire, I should be thankful that Joan 
 should have such a husband " — and this was high praise 
 from Canon Leigh. And then he closed the subject a 
 little regretfully by saying that it was growing very late 
 and that they must not sit up talking any longer. 
 
 Joan's spirits improved wonderfully from that day, 
 and she set about making preparation for their flitting 
 with tolerable zest, helping Silence with the children's 
 packing and taking her share of work. 
 
 She liked Revelstoke, quiet little place as it was, and 
 the house was delightfully comfortable. Only a little 
 strip of green lay between it and the beach. And after 
 their late dinner it was very enjoyable to wander bare- 
 headed to the edge of the sea, or sit on the shingle in the 
 moonlight and listen to the waves lapping softly on the 
 pebbles. Heath always devoted himself to his boys. 
 They generally bathed early, and then walked over to 
 Thurleigh and spent their mornings boating and fishing. 
 Silence and the little girls sat on the beach. Joan gener- 
 ally gave them her company. Now and then, when the 
 heat was great, they would betake themselves to the 
 Castle garden and sit under the shady trees working or 
 reading. 
 
 Joan tried hard to be sociable. Now and then she 
 had a restless fit and went off by herself, but Silenre 
 never took any notice. In the afternoon she generally 
 Avent up to her own room. It had a wide cheerful win- 
 dow overlooking the beach, and here she wrote her let- 
 ters to Lady Mary or Dorothy, or dreamed idly until the 
 monotonous plashing of the waves lulled her into a sound 
 sleep, which always seemed to refresh her.
 
 " None of That, Governor " 255 
 
 One morning Joan and her nieces had established 
 themselves cosily under a breakwater. Silence was pay- 
 ing her weekly bills and intended to join them later on. 
 It was a lovely day. There had been rain the previous 
 evening which had tempered the intense heat, and there 
 was a refreshing breeze from the sea. The tide was com- 
 ing in and the soft rhythmic wash of the waves was pleas- 
 ant in Joan's ears, and her work lay unheeded in her lap 
 as she watched the tiny flecks of foam on the horizon. A 
 boat with white sails seemed to glide out of the distance. 
 Just below them a little group of bare-legged urchins 
 were building a stone fortress. A small Union Jack was 
 fluttering from the parapet, with half-a-dozen tin soldiers 
 to act as sentries. 
 
 " This is simply perfect weather,'' thought Joan. 
 Then she became aware of an extremely familiar figure 
 coming towards them. A tall, wiry-looking man in a 
 grey summer suit, with a Panama hat drawn over a 
 brown, sunburnt face, and closely followed by a huge, 
 clumsy-footed bulldog. 
 
 Jess uttered a joyful exclamation. " Why, there is 
 our Mr. Trafford, Wanda ! " she cried, running to meet 
 him. 
 
 Then Dick vaulted over the breakwater, leaving 
 Dagon to scramble over as he best could. 
 
 " The domestic told me I should find the young ladies 
 here," he observed, as he fanned himself with his Panama, 
 " and that her mistress had gone to the shops." 
 
 " Oh, mother will be here presently," remarked Jess. 
 " How hot you and Dagon look, Mr. Trafford." 
 
 " That's so, Miss Jess. If you will excuse me a 
 moment, I will do a little deep breathing at the edge of 
 the sea ; my lungs are atrophied for want of air." 
 
 As Jess refused to leave him, they all three went 
 down to the margin of the sea, while the other two 
 watched them with much amusement. Jess's adoration 
 was so transparent. Dick might snub her quietly as 
 much as he liked, but she remained faithful.
 
 256 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " I think he is quite the nicest man next to father I 
 ever saw," she sail once quite seriously to her aunt, and 
 Joan very naughtily repeated this speech to Dick. 
 
 " O infancy, how blessed is thy ignorance ! " returned 
 Dick, with a prodigious sigh. " Thank you for telling 
 me, Miss Leigh ; compliments have been as rare as angels 
 visits in my well-conducted and lonely existence, an i I 
 will lay up the speech in lavender and attar of roses." 
 
 Dick came back to them looking much refreshed, and 
 placed himself between Joan and Wanda, while Dagon 
 selected a sandy bit of shingle, where he curled himself 
 up with his head on Joan's dress — a proceeding which 
 Rascal evidently regarded as a liberty, though, after a 
 war-whoop or two, he decided not to engage in single 
 combat with the unmannerly brute. So he sat in surly 
 jealousy on Joan's frock on the other side, while Dagon 
 winked at him lazily. 
 
 " I have come to tell you a piece of news, ladies," 
 observed Dick, as he sent a round and exceedingly smoot'i 
 pebble spinning through his fingers. " I am leaving 
 my P.P.C. card to-day. Dagon and I make tracks to- 
 morrow. Enough is as good as a feast, so they say, 
 and I am sure my Aunt Felicia has had enough of our 
 company." 
 
 " You are going away — oh, Mr. Trafford ! " And 
 Jess laid a confiding but slightly grimy hand ora the grey 
 coat-sleeve. 
 
 " Yes. I am going away, but not where fancy leads 
 me. My mate and I have fallen out on that subject — 
 as the best of friends will sometimes." And here Dick 
 looked at his favourite severely. " Dagon and his mas- 
 ter are at loggerheads for onee." 
 
 "What do you mean. Mr. Trafford?" asked Wanda 
 curiously, looking up from her sketching-block. 
 
 " Well, I will explain matters," returned Dick with 
 cheerful alacrity. " I wanted to go to Japan, and prob- 
 ablv to Thibet, but my mate yeteod my plan so sternly 
 that I was obliged to relinquish it. 
 
 " ' None of that, governor ! ' he returned ; ' the long
 
 " None of That, Governor " 257 
 
 voyage would not suit my constitution at all. I should 
 be breaking - my heart at one end of the vessel while 
 my lawful master, who promised to be faithful until 
 death, us do part, smoked endless pipes at the other.' " 
 
 " Mr. Trafford," exclaimed Jess in an extremely 
 shocked voice, " how can you tell us all that nonsense ! 
 Aunt Joan is laughing, but I do not consider it in the 
 least amusing, for only babies think that dogs can talk." 
 
 " You are wrong, Miss Jess," returned Dick with un- 
 usual energy ; " dogs have a language of their own, 
 though few of their human friends understand them as 
 I do. I know exactly Dagon's views on most subjects, 
 and I am only translating them into English for the 
 benefit of my hearers." 
 
 " Oh, I see " ; but Jess did not look quite convinced. 
 
 " Let me prove the truth of my words. Dagon, old 
 fellow, you are only sleeping with one eye open, so just 
 answer me one question. Did you not insist that your 
 master should give up the idea of going to Japan ? " 
 Then, at the word " Japan," Dagon uncurled himself 
 and his prominent eyes were fixed uneasily on Dick's 
 face. 
 
 " Come, out with it ! You did not like the Japs, you 
 said ? " Then Dagon uttered a low and despondent growl 
 which seemed to alarm Rascal. 
 
 " All right, old chap, we are not going, so you may 
 as well finish your nap." Then Dagon, with a satisfied 
 " crhimp," laid his heavy head again on Joan's blue 
 carr.bric. 
 
 " He certainly did seem to understand," she observed : 
 " but what a pity that your nice plan should be spoiled." 
 
 " Oh, I am always a martyr to my duty," returned 
 Dick complacently ; " that is why I have such a clear 
 conscience and good digestion. My mate and I are 
 goinc: to the Highlands. A man I once knew in Canada 
 has a berth as keeper, and as he has a decent little shanty 
 with plenty of room in it, he has offered to put us up. I 
 expect I shall make my way to the Orkneys and Shet- 
 land." 
 
 17
 
 258 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " That sounds quite a nice plan," observed Joan. 
 " But I think Wanda is waiting to say something." Then 
 Wanda blushed a little shyly. 
 
 " Oh, it was Jessica's thought, not mine; but I should 
 be very willing too, if only mother and father don't mind 
 Jess wondered if you would like to leave Dagon with 
 us while you went to Japan, Mr. Trafford. We would 
 try and make him happy, and take such care of him. And 
 then you would be free to do as you like." But as Wanda 
 said this very prettily, the grateful look in Dick's eyes 
 rather surprised her. 
 
 ;< Thank you, Miss Wanda; that was spoken like a 
 true friend — I won't forget that in a hurry. But I 
 dare not accept your generous offer." 
 
 "Why not, Mr. Trafford?" 
 
 " Simply because I should find my mate had broken 
 his heart at my desertion and was in his grave, over 
 which his ungrateful master would shed bitter tears of 
 self-reproach. But thank you — thank you all the same. 
 Ah, here comes my lady hostess!" And Dick jumped 
 up from his recumbent position and assisted Silence 
 over the breakwater. 
 
 Dick spent what he called a happy day, and went 
 back by a late evening train, the boys and Jess accom- 
 panying him to the station. That night, when Dick 
 found himself alone with Felicia, he said to her in his 
 abrupt way : 
 
 " Aunt Felicia, you have always been a good friend 
 to your unworthy nephew — will it interest you to know 
 that I have discovered my orphan?" 
 
 "Oh, not really, Dick!" 
 
 "Yes. honest Injun; she is all my fancy painted her 
 and a little over. But the only trouble is she is not an 
 orphan." And with this enigmatical remark Dick 
 giavely bade her good-night and went off, leaving her, 
 as usual, in some perplexity as to his meaning. 
 
 " One never knows whether Dick is in earnest about 
 anything," she said to herself as she put aside her work 
 and extinguished the lamp.
 
 XXXI 
 
 THE LAST DAY AT REVELSTOKE 
 
 And when on the pathway I faltered, 
 
 And when I rebelled at my fate, 
 The voice, with assurance unaltered, 
 
 Again spoke one syllable, " Wait ! " 
 
 The road to the beautiful regions 
 Lies ever through Duty's hard way. 
 
 Oh, ye who go searching in legions, 
 Know this, and be patient to-day. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 One lovely September morning- Joan was busily en- 
 gaged packing up her personal effects as quickly as pos- 
 sible, that she might be free to help Silence and the 
 young people. The boys' holidays were nearly over, and 
 they were leaving Revelstoke the next day, much to every 
 one's regret. 
 
 The change had done Joan a world of good. The 
 quiet freedom of their seaside life, with its absence of 
 restraint and routine, had just suited her. Her nerves 
 had recovered their tone; she was no longer languid 
 and listless, and she woke each morning to a sense of 
 renewed hope and enjoyment, to which she had been 
 long a stranger. 
 
 Something was always happening. Who could tell 
 what the day would bring forth? Anyhow, the sun was 
 shining, the waves lapping on the shore, the glorious 
 pageantry of life was daily enacted before her eyes. In 
 spite of sin and pain and aching hearts, and all the follies 
 and mistakes of grown-up children, what a beautiful 
 old world it was ! And she was young, and, miracle of 
 miracles, she loved and was beloved! Surely this was 
 enough for the present. Craig no longer misunderstood 
 her — she could trust him, and for the rest — " He holds 
 
 S59
 
 260 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 the key of all unknown," Joan whispered reverently to 
 herself. " One can only wait and pray and hope that 
 the way may open." 
 
 Joan worked with a will that morning. She even 
 sang - under her breath as she folded her dresses, when a 
 knock at her door startled her, and the parlour-maid 
 brought her a letter. To her surprise she saw it was 
 from Gilnockie. 
 
 Another letter from Lady Mary ! This was quite 
 unexpected. Joan had heard from her only two days 
 ago. Surely Lady Merriton could not be ill again, she 
 had been so well when Lady Mary last wrote. A vague 
 sense of uneasiness made the girl hesitate to open the 
 envelope. The enclosure was thick too, quite a long 
 letter. 
 
 " Oh, what a goose I am," thought Joan ; " but I 
 felt so cheerful this morning, and " here Joan re- 
 fused to listen to any more nervous fancies, and resolutely 
 opened her letter. But she gave a little exclamation of 
 pleasure as she read the opening sentences : — 
 
 " I know you will be surprised to hear from me so soon again, 
 dear child, but our plans are all settled now, and I have much to 
 tell you which I know will interest you. 
 
 "Craig has just come back from Templeton. He seems to 
 have been very much pleased with his visit. He and his uncle 
 got on famously together, and he begged me to tell you when I 
 next wrote how glad he was that he took your advice, as Lord 
 Templeton had been most helpful and sympathetic. There, for 
 once, dearest, I have broken my rule and given you Craig's 
 message. But I know you will neither of you take advantage of 
 me, and I am so pleased that you advised him to go to Temple- 
 ton. It has done no end of good all round. That unfortunate 
 little misunderstanding, for which poor Josselyn was to blame, 
 is put right now, and both Lady Templeton and her husband 
 have written in the kindest and most affectionate manner. 
 
 " To make a long story short, our time at Gilnockie will be 
 up on Tuesday, and as the doctors do not wish Lady Merriton 
 to return home yet, it is arranged that she and Dorothy are to 
 go to Templeton for a long visit. Craig is to be their escort, 
 but will only remain two or three days, as he has a number of 
 visits to pay. He is going first to Scotland. 
 
 ■ My brother and I are to leave for Brantwood on Wednes-
 
 The Last Day at Revelstoke 261 
 
 day morning. He is to be my guest at Morningside for a week. 
 Can you not imagine how delightful that will be for me, Joan? 
 les, how could the poor dear man be left all his lone at the 
 Abbey? I should have had to go to him there, and I am so 
 longing for my own dear little home ! 
 
 " And now, my darling, I am coming to the best part of my 
 letter. My brother will only stay a week, and then he will join 
 the others at Templeton. I expect he will come backwards and 
 forwards, as there is a good deal to look after ; but as he will 
 remain three or four days at a time, he would prefer to stay 
 at the Abbey, though, of course, I shall not allow him to be 
 alone in the evenings. 
 
 " And now, my dearest child, you must come to me the very 
 day my brother leaves me. There is no reason in the world 
 why we should not be together and enjoy each other's company 
 for a whole month " — here Joan gave a little incredulous gasp of 
 delight. " It might even be longer, for we are all so anxious to 
 keep Lady Merriton away from the Abbey until she is quite 
 strong again, and the Templetons are desirous of having her 
 and Dorothy for as long as possible. But perhaps we must not 
 build on that uncertainty — still, we can be sure of a month. I 
 wish I could see your face, darling, when you read this. I do 
 not think you will refuse my invitation. Tell Heath I must 
 have you for all October, but that I will send you back to him. 
 There, I must not write on. Good-bye until our next meeting." 
 
 How was Joan to finish her packing when she had 
 to read and re-read this delightful letter ! Besides, she 
 must answer it at once. What matter if bed and table 
 and floor were strewn with garments, the window-seat 
 was free, and she could scribble hasty, disjointed sen- 
 tences which spoke of heart gladness in every line ! 
 
 " To be back with you at dear Morningside for a whole 
 month, dear, dearest Lady Mary, I can hardly believe it yet, 
 though I have read your letter three times. But it seems too 
 good to be realised. Only ten days and we shall be together " — 
 and so on. 
 
 " My dear Joan," it was Silence's voice that roused 
 her — a tired, heated Silence, who looked round at the 
 chaos with reproachful eyes. " How startled you look ! 
 Did you not hear my knock? I have just finished the 
 boys' things, with Prescott's help ; but you don't seem 
 to have begun yours, and I was wondering if you had 
 gone out."
 
 262 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " No, but I was interrupted, and I meant to have 
 helped you so much ! I am sorry, Silence. Never mind 
 my things, I will finish in the afternoon. Come and sit 
 down while I tell you something- delightful." And, as 
 Silence amiably complied with this request, Joan unfolded 
 her story. 
 
 Silence was not too tired to sympathise. " I am very 
 glad, Joan dear," she said gently, " that will be a great 
 pleasure both for you and Lady Mary; and I am quite 
 sure Heath will approve, especially as you are to come 
 back to us again." 
 
 Silence's kind voice touched Joan. " It is nice of you 
 to say that. You are sure that you are not tired of me 
 by this time ? " 
 
 " Quite sure," returned Silence, smiling, " though I 
 never thought to say that. We seem to get on so much 
 better now, Joan, and besides I have been so sorry for 
 you." 
 
 " You have been very good to me, both you and 
 Heath, returned the girl gravely. " But I know I have 
 often been extremely trying." 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear, you must not say that. You are 
 hardly ever impatient and satirical now, and when you 
 are I can make allowances because you have so much 
 to trouble you." 
 
 " But trouble ought not to make us selfish and horrid 
 to other people, Silence." 
 
 " I am afraid it often does, Joan. But there is the 
 lunch-bell, and we must go down." But a warm sisterly 
 kiss passed between them before they went downstairs 
 arm-in-arm. 
 
 It was natural that Joan's sparkling eyes and flushed 
 cheeks should excite comment ; but though Canon Leigh 
 was evidently pleased with Lady Mary's invitation, there 
 were dismayed exclamations from Wanda. ' There's an 
 end of our half-holiday sketching expeditions." 
 
 " Must you stay quite so long, Jo, dear? " in a coaxing 
 voice from Jess.
 
 The Last Day at Revelstoke 263 
 
 " Jess, Jess," observed her mother in a reproving 
 tone, " have you forgotten that I told you that aunts 
 must always be treated with respect? "' 
 
 " Don't I respect you, Jo, dear ? " continued Jess 
 sweetly. " Mummie, you are not to be cross the last 
 day. Aunt Joan told me herself that she did not mind 
 my calling her Jo! " 
 
 " I think I said Aunt Jo, Bill." 
 
 " Well, Aunt Jo, then. I don't believe, when I am 
 quite grown up and have nephews and nieces of my 
 own, that I shall be so fussy with them. They may 
 call me Bill or little Billie, or even William if they like ; 
 when I am an old, old lady they may call me Aunt 
 Jessica." 
 
 " Oh, shut up, Bill ! " observed Vere impatiently ; " no 
 one can get in a word edgeways while you are yapping 
 like Rascal at a rabbit-hole. Father, Frank and I want 
 you to come with us for a row, it is such a glorious 
 afternoon." 
 
 " Ale too," observed Noel anxiously. " Vere, you 
 won't leave me behind? " 
 
 " All right, little 'un." And then magnanimously — 
 " We might take Bill too, if she will promise to sit still 
 and hold her tongue." 
 
 " Oh, Vere, may I steer ? " exclaimed Jess eagerly. 
 " I did last time, and father said he could not have 
 done better himself." 
 
 Here Canon Leigh put up his hand for silence. " I 
 don't see any reason why your parents and Aunt Joan 
 should be deafened, even if it is the last day," he ob- 
 served drily ; " and as I wish to enjoy this excellent 
 mutton, I must insist that the strife of tongues shall 
 cease until the meal is over. I have no objection to 
 your plan, Vere, as long as you do not ask me to exert 
 myself. You and Frankie can catch as many crabs as 
 you like, and Jess shall steer if she promises to behave 
 herself ; and what will Wanda do ? " and Heath looked 
 lovingly at his quiet little daughter.
 
 264 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Oh, I shall help Aunt Joan finish her packing, and 
 then we shall sit in the Castle garden until you all come 
 back." And this programme was carried out. 
 
 Later that evening they all strolled down to the beach. 
 The children, who were in wild spirits, were amusing 
 themselves at the margin of the sea, while Silence and 
 Wanda walked up and down the narrow strip of sand 
 watching them. Canon Leigh, who was a little tired 
 from his boating expedition, had joined his sister. It 
 was one of those soft, mellow September evenings which 
 seem so calm and peaceful. The sun had set, and 
 although there was still a streak of crimson on the hori- 
 zon, the receding tide looked grey and colourless. Joan, 
 who had taken off her hat to enjoy the fresh sweet breeze, 
 was looking dreamily out to sea. 
 
 . " I won't say ' a penny for your thoughts,' my dear," 
 observed her brother in an amused tone, " for I know 
 quite well they are at Morningside." 
 
 Then Joan roused herself from her abstraction, but 
 her face was unusually grave. 
 
 " You are wrong, dear. That moment when you 
 spoke to me I was remembering my sins. Do you know," 
 speaking a little fast and nervously, " there is something 
 I want to say to you. These last few months have 
 taught me much. I know now that it was all my fault 
 that Silence and I did not understand each other better." 
 
 " My dear child, why rake up past troubles ? " 
 
 " Because it is my duty to tell you this," she replied 
 seriously. " How often you have told us in your ser- 
 mons that confession is salutary, but T was far too proud 
 to acknowledge my errors. Heath, I don't know why, 
 but I seem to realise things so much more clearly. T 
 see now how trying and provoking I often was to 
 Silence, and all the time she bore it so patiently and 
 never said a hard word to me." 
 
 " She was always very fond of you, Joan, although 
 she failed to understand you. My dear, I am glad, very 
 glad you have told me this ; but I do not want you to
 
 The Last Day at Revelstoke 265 
 
 be hard on yourself. I wonder if you have any idea 
 what a real help and comfort you have been to Silence 
 this summer ? " 
 
 " Oh, no — not really, Heath ! " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, really and truly ; she has told me 
 so herself. Don't you remember our first dinner-party 
 and how grateful she was for your help? And in a 
 dozen other ways you have done her good. My dear 
 wife's shyness is a temperamental difficulty that we can 
 hardly expect to overcome, but I can see some improve- 
 ment. Did you not notice how she talked to Lord 
 Josselyn that day you brought him in to luncheon? and 
 a tea-party in the Precincts is not nearly such an infliction 
 as it used to be." 
 
 Joan smiled more cheerfully. 
 
 " Oh, I am glad you think I have done some good. 
 Indeed, Heath, I am far more fond of Silence than I 
 ever thought I should be, and I hope when I come back 
 at the end of October that I shall be some real comfort 
 to you both." Then Heath patted the little brown hand 
 very kindly. 
 
 " You will have a warm welcome when you do come 
 back, my dear," he said affectionately. " Now I must 
 go and send those youngsters indoors." 
 
 Joan sat still with her hands clasped on her knees. 
 It was growing dark now, but the moon would soon be 
 rising. A star was twinkling over the dark water. 
 
 Joan felt at peace with herself and the world. She 
 had made her little confession to Heath and taken her 
 fair share of blame. Now her conscience was clear. 
 Heath was pleased with her ; she was no longer a dis- 
 turbing element in the household. A comforting sense 
 of brotherhood and well-being stole over her; perhaps, 
 after all, she had not done so badly this summer. " Lady 
 Mary will be glad when I tell her — she always took 
 Silence's part and thought I was hard on her. Dear 
 Lady Mary, she is a born peacemaker." And then 
 Joan gave herself up to blissful anticipations of her 
 visit.
 
 XXXII 
 
 "GOLDEN OCTOBER" 
 
 The larches' hair is golden now, 
 They stand in groves of springing flame; 
 
 Behind them, dark in leaf or bough, 
 The fir woods stretch their mighty frame. 
 
 Ah yes ! this rich autumnal gold 
 
 Is only sunshine in decay; 
 But age, forlorn and sad and cold, 
 
 The porch of life, the gate of day ! 
 
 London Spectator. 
 
 It was quite early on a lovely autumnal afternoon 
 when Joan came out of the station at Atherton, where 
 Lady Mary's barouche and pair of beautiful chestnut 
 horses were awaiting her. Joan was quite aware that 
 she was not to be met. Lady Mary had told her in 
 her last note that ske would prefer receiving her at 
 Morningside, and Joan had not been the least disap- 
 pointed. The solitary drive was full of pleasure to her, 
 as her eyes traced each familiar landmark. How sweet 
 and fragrant the air was! The hop-fields were bare, 
 but somewhere they were burning weeds, and the strong, 
 pungent odour seemed delightful to her. 
 
 Ah, the road was dipping down now and the trees 
 were nearly meeting overhead — they were entering the 
 Brantwood copses. How still and peaceful they looked 
 in the mild sunshine of the October afternoon — " golden 
 October " as Lady Mary often called it ! Some of the 
 trees were still green, but in less sheltered nooks the 
 blending of pale yellowish and russet tints with brown 
 and faded crimson made the woodlands a glory of 
 colouring ; and on the pathway lay heaps of fallen leaves, 
 which rustled crisply under the feet of the passer-by. Ah, 
 there was the littie gate which led to her favourite 
 
 266
 
 "Golden October" 267 
 
 copse, where she and Rascal had spent that long, sor- 
 rowful morning. Why, even Rascal seemed to recognise 
 it, for his little white body quivered with excitement 
 as he sat beside her in the carriage. 
 
 " Hush, Rascal, surely that is a robin's note ! This 
 is the robin's month, I know." And Joan softly repeated 
 to herself fragments of those beautiful lines in the 
 Christian Year: — 
 
 Unheard in summer's flaring ray, 
 
 Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer, 
 Wooing the stillness of the autumn day. 
 
 And again : 
 
 But none so blends, 
 As thine 
 With calm decay, and peace divine. 
 
 Joan's heart beat faster now. In another minute they 
 would reach the gate leading to Brantwood Abbey. Ah, 
 there on her left hand was the view she loved so well — 
 the sunny water-meadows, with the stream and mill, 
 and small rustic bridge, the sleepy cattle, and background 
 of red-boled Scotch firs, their bluish-green foliage con- 
 trasting with the fading yellow of the elms. 
 
 Joan bent forward eagerly as they turned the corner. 
 Yes, there was Morningside, with its stables and garden 
 wall, one crimson glory from the Virginian creeper that 
 covered them. On the house itself, only a few late 
 roses still bloomed. But from the archway that led to 
 the garden there hung blood-red persimmons in ragged 
 festoons, which seemed to feast the eyes with their glow- 
 ing loveliness. As the carriage turned in at the gate, 
 Lady Mary's tall figure appeared in the porch, and the 
 next moment Joan had sprung to the ground and was 
 folded in her arms. 
 
 " Welcome home, my darling ! " said the low fond 
 tones that had been unheard so long. But a little choking 
 sensation in the girl's throat prevented her from answer- 
 ing. Had she only been away five months ! — five months
 
 268 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 of heart- and home-sickness. It seemed at least a year, 
 but the sweetness of this moment made up for much. 
 
 " Come into the drawing-room, dearest, while they 
 bring in your luggage." Lady Mary's caressing hand 
 still rested on Joan's arm. As she moved, that faint 
 familiar fragrance, like far-off roses, which always per- 
 vaded Lady Mary's laces came in a delicious whiff to 
 the girl. Lady Mary had an old-fashioned passion for 
 attar of roses, and Joan had always loved it for her 
 sake. 
 
 "Oh, the dear room!" she exclaimed joyfully; "I 
 think it looks lovelier than ever. But I miss poor old 
 Cocker dreadfully." For Lady Mary's old favourite had 
 died peacefully during his mistress's absence, of extreme 
 old age, and a small tombstone in the kitchen garden 
 recorded his age and virtues. After tea Joan took Rascal 
 to visit it. 
 
 Lady Mary shook her head with a sigh at the men- 
 tion of Cocker. " The house felt so empty without him 
 and you, Joan," she returned sadly. " When the door 
 opened, I did so miss his wheezy bark. If my brother 
 had not been with me, I don't know how I should have 
 got through the first evening, but of course I had to 
 exert myself for his sake. I do not think," she con- 
 tinued thoughtfully, " that it is wrong to grieve for a 
 dumb creature who has been a faithful friend for six- 
 teen years. He was quite a young dog when my dear 
 Sir Martin brought him to Roskil Priory, and I loved 
 him from the first moment. He was almost as playful 
 as your little Rascal, but more gentle. Ah, well ! we 
 will not talk of Cocker this evening." But Lady Mary 
 sighed again as Joan kissed her, for the loss of her 
 favourite had been a sore grief. 
 
 Willis's entrance with the tea made a diversion, 
 and the pleasure of seeing Joan in her old place at the 
 tea-tray banished all melancholy reflections. Lady Mary 
 smiled happily when Joan, disdaining the very notion of 
 fatigue, waited on her in her old way. She could have
 
 "Golden October" 269 
 
 fancied that her tea that afternoon had a better flavour 
 because Joan had poured it out. 
 
 '" You are looking so well, dear child," she observed. 
 " Revelstoke has certainly done you good, for I had 
 rather poor accounts of you." Then Joan coloured, for 
 she knew who had been Lady Mary's informant. 
 
 " I am not quite sure that I can return the compli- 
 ment," she replied, with a reproving shake of the head. 
 " The strain and worry of those weeks at Gilnockie 
 have been too much for you." And Lady Mary could 
 not honestly deny this. 
 
 " Oh, I shall be able to rest now," she observed 
 hastily. 
 
 Joan felt vaguely dissatisfied with her friend's ap- 
 pearance. Lady Mary looked far more worn and weary 
 than she had ever seen her. She had never yet appeared 
 her age, but now there were faint lines under the sweet, 
 tired eyes, and the hair seemed greyer, though the little 
 point lace Mary Stuart caps which Lady Mary usually 
 wore somewhat concealed this. But what distressed Joan 
 most was to see how loose the sapphire and diamond 
 rings were on the slender fingers. Lady Mary had 
 beautiful hands and was quite aware of the fact. It 
 was one of her innocent vanities to enhance their beauty 
 by ruffles of priceless lace. A faint, delicate flush came 
 to her face as Joan mutely pointed to them. 
 
 " Now, Joan, don't begin worrying yourself about 
 such trifles," and Lady Mary spoke with an assumption 
 of playfulness. " What does it matter if I am a little 
 thinner? No, I don't deny it; besides Dunlop never 
 lets me forget it for a day. But you see, in spite of 
 the excellent sea air and daily drives, life at Gilnockie 
 was a little wearing." 
 
 " Do you think I don't know that ! " returned Joan 
 in a distressed tone. " All these months I have been 
 anxious about you. Your headaches were more frequent, 
 Dorothy told me so; and I knew they were all tiring 
 you out."
 
 270 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " No, no, darling, you must not exaggerate. They 
 were all so good to me — Dorothy was quite devoted — 
 but while Lady Merriton was in that nervous condition 
 none of us had much rest." 
 
 " Yes, but the strain fell principally on you. Oh, 
 I know all about it. You sent Dorothy out day after 
 day, and took her share of attendance on the invalid as 
 well as your own. It was just like your unselfishness, 
 and now you are suffering from the strain." But though 
 Lady Mary could not contradict this, she was anxious 
 to remove Joan's uneasiness. 
 
 " You know, my dear," she returned cheerfully, 
 " when people are not young they soon show signs of 
 strain and fatigue ; and you remember that I shall be 
 fifty-six this month." 
 
 " What of that," indignantly, " when every one says 
 you look ten or fifteen years younger ! " 
 
 " You have not let me finish my sentence, naughty 
 child ! When life is peaceful, and there are no frets 
 and troubles, people often look younger than their actual 
 age; but with prolonged worry or fatigue, or wearing 
 troubles — and we have had all this for months — one 
 needs the elasticity of youth and its powers of recupera- 
 tion. I feel a little tired and old, that is all." But to 
 Lady Mary's surprise there were actual tears in the 
 girl's eyes. 
 
 " How am I ever to leave you again, when you need 
 me so ! " she murmured. Then Lady Mary smoothed 
 her hair caressingly. 
 
 " Hush, Joan, we won't cross the bridge before we 
 come to it ! We are going to be very happy, you and 
 I, for four weeks, and not worry ourselves about the 
 future." 
 
 "And you will get better and stronger?" 
 
 " Of course I shall ; and you must help me by letting 
 me see your dear face look bright again. How we shall 
 enjoy our evenings, Joan. And, in spite of our long 
 letters, how much we shall have to tell each other about
 
 " Golden October " 271 
 
 Gilnockie and St. Breda's Lodge ! Now, I expect Dunlop 
 will have unpacked your things. Would you like to 
 go up to your room now, or wait for the dressing-bell? " 
 
 " 1 would rather wait, if you do not mind. But I 
 am not going to talk to you any more just now; Rascal 
 and I are going to explore a little before it gets dark." 
 
 And Lady Mary smiled assent, as she seated herself 
 in her easy-chair and watched lovingly the graceful figure 
 cross the lawn with Rascal frisking round her. They 
 were on their way to Cocker's grave, as Lady Mary 
 was fully aware. 
 
 " Dear child," she said to herself, " she is looking 
 better than I ventured to hope. Craig's account made 
 me quite anxious — thinner, out of spirits, and not like 
 her old self. I know his description quite worried me. 
 But I expect Heath was right when he said the great 
 heat was trying her. I daresay Craig's visit, wrong as 
 it was, did her good. Dear! dear! how will it all end? " 
 and Lady Mary sighed wearily, for she was just in that 
 overtasked state of mind and body which makes it so 
 difficult to keep depression at bay. 
 
 Joan was Lady Mary's ewe lamb. Every year the 
 child of her adoption had grown dearer to her ; and 
 she knew that, whether they spoke of it or not, the 
 thought of the approaching winter pressed heavily on 
 them both. 
 
 " I wonder if George and Hildegarde realise how 
 hard it is on me ? " she thought. " Craig does ; I can 
 see it in his eyes. " I am awfully sorry for you, Aunt 
 Mary," he said that last evening, " but I mean to put 
 a stop to this state of things before long." Now, I 
 wonder what he meant by that ? " 
 
 Later that evening, when dinner was over, Lady 
 Mary and Joan settled themselves for a long, unre- 
 strained talk. 
 
 As usual, a bright little fire burnt cheerily, and 
 Rascal had curled himself up on the white rug that had 
 been poor old Cocker's favourite resting-place. The
 
 272 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 shaded rose-coloured lamps cast a subdued, pleasant 
 glow over the room, and the perfume of hothouse 
 flowers from the Brantwood conservatories mingled 
 with the woody fragrance of the pine-knots with which 
 Willis had rilled the grate. 
 
 When they had drunk their coffee, Joan drew a large 
 square stool close to Lady Mary's easy-chair and seated 
 herself comfortably. 
 
 " No, you are not to work," she said in a coaxing 
 voice, as Lady Mary was about to take up her knitting. 
 " We must do nothing but talk, talk, talk of anything 
 that comes into our heads, and when you are tired I 
 shall be quite content to watch those delicious blue- 
 green flames, and to realise that I am by ' my ain fire- 
 side ' again. To-morrow I will play and sing to you 
 as much as you like, but not to-night." And Lady 
 Mary smilingly assented to this programme. 
 
 It was not Joan who first mentioned Craig's name. 
 
 " Nothing shall induce me to speak of him this even- 
 ing," she had said to herself as she went downstairs. 
 " I will tell Lady Mary about Silence and the chil- 
 dren : she will love to hear about them." 
 
 But all Joan's good resolutions vanished into thin 
 air when Lady Mary quietly commenced the conversa- 
 tii .i by asking what Heath thought of Craig. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " was all Joan could say the first moment, 
 but she flushed to the roots of her hair. 
 
 " We may as well get it over," went on Lady Mary 
 calmly ; " we shall both feel more comfortable after- 
 wards. Letters tell so little, and I can't take Craig's 
 version of his visit. Tell me everything from the be- 
 ginning, dear child." And after this Joan needed no 
 further bidding. 
 
 Oh, the relief of pouring it all out into the sympathis- 
 ing ear! There was no listener to compare with Lady 
 Mary. She never interrupted or broke the sequence of 
 a narrative unless she absolutely needed to have some 
 point made clearer, and her silent interest never flagged.
 
 "Golden October" 273 
 
 If Joan paused or seemed embarrassed, a brief word of 
 encouragement or a mute caress gave her fresh impetus. 
 JBut not until the story was finished, and Joan had hidden 
 her glowing face against her friend's black gown, was 
 Lady Mary's soft voice really heard. 
 
 " Yes, I can see it all now," she said quietly. " And 
 I can only repeat what I said in my letter, Joan, that 
 you are not to blame for what has happened. You did 
 your best, you poor child. And Craig was bound to find 
 out the truth sooner or later." 
 
 " But I cannot help being glad that he knows the 
 truth ! " Then a sweet flickering smile broke over the 
 care-worn face. 
 
 " You are only human, Joan, and the counsel of 
 perfection is not easy. If we poor women try to do our 
 duty, and ask for daily strength to meet daily trials in 
 a right spirit, that is all our Guardian Angel will 
 require." 
 
 " Dearest Lady Mary, there is no one who says such 
 nice, comforting things as you do," and Joan rested her 
 fresh young cheek against the thin, blue-veined hand ; 
 " but I never thought life could be quite so difficult." 
 
 " Yes, but it is not your fault, darling. Craig's last 
 escapade has only added to the complication. I wonder 
 if the foolish boy realises that he has made it more 
 impossible than ever for you to be here? Well, we 
 will not talk about that," as a shade crossed the girl's 
 face. " I will promise you one thing, that we will not 
 be separated for another five months if I can prevent it. 
 There are ways and means, and we will arrange some- 
 thing." And with these cheering words Lady Mary 
 closed the conversation. 
 
 18
 
 XXXIII 
 
 "A LITTLE CORNER OF PARADISE" 
 
 The leaf presents to God its finished story, 
 Receiving at His hand its meed of glory ; 
 And floating gently down, with mission ended, 
 Moulders beneath the bough its life defended. 
 
 Yet are we slow to learn that death is glorious 
 Only to those who rise o'er self victorious; 
 Only to those who find the bliss of living 
 In ever, like the leaf, receiving, giving. 
 
 Nellie M. Arnold. 
 
 They were very happy those two, and Joan's only 
 complaint was that the days passed far too quickly. In 
 the mornings, when Lady Mary interviewed her factotum, 
 Mrs. Hartley, or was busy with necessary letters and 
 accounts, Joan and Rascal revisited all their old haunts. 
 They even wandered in the Abbey woods and meadows. 
 During the rest of the day she and Lady Mary were 
 inseparable. They walked or talked or took long drives, 
 and during the evenings Joan played and sang or read 
 aloud after their usual peaceful fashion. 
 
 It was pleasant to see how Lady Mary's worn spirits 
 revived in her favourite's society. The tired, harassed 
 expression was less visible. She ceased to brood over 
 the trying scenes which had sapped her strength far 
 more than any one knew. She slept better and enjoyed 
 her food, and Joan rejoiced to see the improvement. To 
 her surprise, even Dunlop seemed glad to have her back. 
 
 " It will never do for you to stay away like this 
 again, Miss Joan," she said severely. " They nearly 
 killed my lady between them. If it had lasted much 
 longer, we should have had her on a sick-bed. Night 
 after night, it would be twelve or one o'clock before she 
 came to her room, because her ladyship would not be 
 
 274
 
 " A Little Corner of Paradise " 275 
 
 left. Why, I have seen my mistress so exhausted that 
 she hardly had strength to creep to her bed. And 
 many the morning she has said to me, " I have been 
 too tired to sleep, Dunlop.'* But there, do you suppose 
 her ladyship took any heed ! " For Dunlop, like many 
 other good people, could not realise the sufferer's power- 
 lessness of will when in the grip of nervous illness, and 
 nothing would ever have convinced her that Lady Mer- 
 riton had not been selfish and exacting in her grief. 
 
 " I am afraid I shall have to go back to St. Breda's," 
 returned Joan sadly. She was quite sure that Dunlop 
 fully understood the position of affairs, although no word 
 had ever passed between her and Lady Mary. 
 
 " Then you must take the consequences, Miss Joan/' 
 replied Dunlop grimly, as she carried off an armful of 
 lace frills to her work-room. 
 
 One morning, when Lady Mary was unusually busy, 
 Joan and Rascal went over to Herondale. Prudence 
 Rutherford had only just returned from Scotland, and 
 had not yet appeared at Morningside. 
 
 As Joan wanted a long walk and only intended to 
 pay a short visit to the Rectory, she determined to 
 take the longer round by Sudlow Hill. The sandstone 
 road lay deep among the firs, and in the sunshine the 
 air was laden with the delicious aromatic scent of the 
 pines. A little higher up there was a sort of ravine 
 with banks on either side ; winding walks stretched in 
 all directions, bordered by golden-brown bracken and the 
 dull crimson of brambles. Nature seemed preparing the 
 funeral feast of the slowly dying year. As yet the 
 frost had not touched the oaks, but the larches and 
 limes were shedding golden rain on Joan's hat, and Rascal 
 bounded with shrill barks of delight over the crisp heaps 
 of the fallen leaves. The silence, the stillness, the tem- 
 pered sunlight slanting between the tree-boles seemed 
 to intoxicate Joan with new delight. " Oh, could Para- 
 dise be more beautiful than this! " she thought. " Surely 
 the new earth will be something like this! One could
 
 276 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 almost imagine those little clouds were angel wings." 
 But Joan smiled at her own fancies as she rose from 
 the mossy bank. She was almost sorry when her walk 
 was nearly over and she came in sight of the village 
 green and the little river spanned by its bridge. Five 
 minutes later she stood in the Rectory porch. As Rascal 
 uttered one of his war-whoops at the sight of a snail 
 black-and-white kitten scaling the trellis-work of an 
 arch, Prudence Rutherford came out of the kitchen in 
 her favourite old white sunbonnet with a basket of eggs 
 on her arm. 
 
 " Why, Joan," she exclaimed delightedly, and her 
 plain face beamed welcome, " what a sight for sore e'en ! " 
 and she hugged her. 
 
 " Are you going out, Prudence ? Do let us sit down 
 in the porch for a few minutes. I cannot stay more 
 than half-an-hour. I only came over for the walk and 
 to bring you a message from Lady Mary. I have been 
 all round by Sudlow Hill. When I smelt the pines, I 
 thought I was in a little corner of Paradise, and that 
 the angels had just lighted up their lamps — the sweet, 
 spicy odour always reminds me of incense." 
 
 " You romantic little person ! I must tell Morven 
 that. If you have walked all those miles you must be 
 tired and thirsty. Shall I bring you some cider or a 
 glass of milk? " 
 
 " Oh, cider, please. But do wait a moment, Prue. 
 I have to give you Lady Mary's message. She wants 
 you and Mr. Rutherford to dine with us to-morrow ; it 
 will be one of our old quartette parties." 
 
 " Oh, I am quite sure that Morven will be delighted 
 to come ; he has gone over to Aldershot, and will 
 not be back until late in the afternoon ; but I know I 
 can answer for him, for to-morrow will be a free day, 
 and at breakfast this morning he suggested our walking 
 over to Morningside ; we both so wanted to see you, 
 Joan, and I have not set eyes on Lady Mary for six or 
 seven weeks. Now sit down, and I will be back in a 
 moment."
 
 " A Little Corner of Paradise " 277 
 
 The porch seat was low and deep, and Joan settled 
 herself comfortably. Rascal was still barking himself 
 hoarse at the foot of the trellis-work, and the kitten 
 watched him with benevolent interest from the top. Pru- 
 dence soon returned with a tempting little tray — a glass 
 tankard filled to the brim with sweet yellow cider and 
 some brown buns fresh from the oven. 
 
 Joan shared her luncheon with Rascal. 
 
 " I suppose you were going to take those eggs to 
 some poor sick body, Prudence?" And her friend 
 nodded. 
 
 " Yes, to Rachel Blackburn. We have been so 
 anxious about her. Her baby is not a week old, and poor 
 Rachel is so ill. We don't think she has been properly 
 nursed. Her mother-in-law is a feckless sort of body, 
 and we are afraid that she has neglected the poor young 
 thing. I was there most of the night on Friday, for 
 Dr. Harrison thought so badly of her. Morven went 
 off to Atherton the next morning, and sent in a nice 
 woman who had been a hospital nurse before she married, 
 and both mother and child are improving now." 
 
 Joan listened to this account with unfeigned interest. 
 Rachel had been a favourite of hers. She had been 
 the village beauty before she married Steeve Blackburn, 
 the handsome young wheelwright, who had courted her 
 from a child ; and she had been under-housemaid at the 
 Abbey for two or three years, and Joan knew that Lady 
 Dorothy had promised to stand sponsor to Rachel's first 
 child. Joan had a host of questions to Prudence about 
 Susan Bennet and her own old Sunday scholars ; and 
 they were presently so deep in parochial gossip that 
 the half-hour had long elapsed before Joan bethought 
 herself that she would be late for luncheon. 
 
 " T will walk with you as far as the Blackburn's 
 cottage," observed Prudence, " if you are not ashamed 
 of my old sunbonnet. We have been so busy parish- 
 ing that I have not heard any of your news, Joan. By 
 the bye, I had a long letter from Dorothy this morning."
 
 273 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " So had Lady Mary. She has not written so cheer- 
 fully since her brother's death. She says her mother 
 improves every day, and that her Aunt Miriam is so 
 good to them, and that she wants them to stay as long- 
 as possible." 
 
 " She said much the same in my letter. I am quite 
 sure this visit to Templeton will do them both a world 
 of good." 
 
 " That was what Lady Mary said this morning. 
 Lady Templeton has always been fond of Dorothy. 
 Did she mention those new friends of hers at the Park? " 
 
 "Do you mean Viscount Helmore and his family? 
 Yes, indeed. Dorothy seems to have taken a fancy to 
 the girls. She says Violet and Bee, two younger ones, 
 are charming, so natural and unsophisticated, but she 
 seems most interested in the eldest daughter, Orma, who 
 is an invalid." 
 
 " Dorothy seems to have taken one of her impulsive 
 likings for this Orma," returned Joan. " Don't you 
 remember our telling her once that she always cared 
 most for people who had something the matter with 
 them, and she did not deny it?" 
 
 " No ; but this Orma seems rather sweet, Joan. 
 Dorothy says that though she is so young — not more 
 than nineteen — she is like a little mother to her 
 sisters, and they are so devoted to her. It does seem 
 such a sad case. It is hip disease in rather an aggra- 
 vated form, and the doctor can do so little for her. At 
 times she suffers a great deal, and cannot even move 
 from her wheeled chair or couch, but she is so wonder- 
 fully patient. The nurse, who was her foster-mother, 
 devotes herself entirely to her, and she has a lovely 
 sitting-room opening out from her bedroom on the 
 ground floor." 
 
 " Dorothy did not tell Lady Mary all that," observed 
 Joan, " because she knew that she would rather hear 
 about Lady Merriton. But she said she went frequently 
 to Helmore Park, and that her Aunt Miriam was so
 
 " A Little Corner of Paradise " 279 
 
 fond of young people that she encouraged the girls to 
 run in and out. They have no mother, you know ; she 
 died when Bee was only five." 
 
 They had reached the Blackburn's cottage by this 
 time, and Joan looked up at the small lattice-window, 
 with its snowy curtains, and thought of the young 
 mother who had only just emerged from the valley of 
 the shadow of death. 
 
 " Give my love to Rachel," she said. " I should like 
 to come and see her and the baby as soon as she is 
 well enough." 
 
 " That will not be just yet," returned Prudence re- 
 gretfully. " It is very sad to see that handsome girl 
 looking like a shadow; she has hardly strength to speak 
 or lift her hand. Morven had to baptize the child that 
 first day. As it is a boy, Steeve gave him his father's 
 name, Nathaniel. There are always a Stephen and a 
 Nathaniel in the Blackburn family, and Steeve adhered 
 to the old custom." 
 
 " When I tell Lady Mary about Rachel, she and 
 Mrs. Hartley will put their heads together, and all kinds 
 of delicious soups and jellies will be made for the 
 invalid." 
 
 " Don't we know our Lady Bountiful ? " returned 
 Prudence, smiling. " Morven sometimes declares Lady 
 Mary will pauperise the village. Don't you remember, 
 Joan, when little Nora Goldhurst made that funny speech 
 to her mother: ' Can't I be ill again soon, mummie, and 
 have some more of the cur ran ty jelly and barley-sugar 
 drink which made my sore chest well?' And then 
 they both laughed and parted. 
 
 " To be continued in our next," observed Joan gaily, 
 as she waved her hand. But Prudence did not at once 
 unlatch the little gate ; she was watching the girl's 
 graceful walk as she sped swiftly up the sunny road. 
 
 " T never told her that I saw Craig before I left Scot- 
 land." she said to herself. " But perhaps it was just 
 as well ; she might have asked me where he was stay-
 
 280 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 ing, and then perhaps she would have found out that 
 he and Lady Cicely are under the same roof. Silence 
 is golden under some circumstances." And then Prudence 
 took up her egg-basket again and let herself into the 
 cottage. 
 
 The quartette party was a great success. Morven 
 Rutherford was always a delightfully genial guest, and 
 the conversation never flagged when he was present. 
 His holiday had been spent in the Austrian Tyrol, and 
 his description of the primitive customs of some of the 
 remote villages was wonderfully interesting. He fairly 
 thrilled Lady Mary and Joan by his account of a night's 
 adventure as they were crossing the mountains. They 
 lost their guide and their way, and they had to grope 
 their way in the darkness to a place of safety, where 
 they had to remain nearly frozen until dawn. 
 
 On their return to the drawing-room, Mr. Rutherford 
 questioned Joan a little curiously about Dick Trafford. 
 
 " Dick's an erratic fellow," he said ; " he is quite a 
 modern edition of the Wandering Jew. I am quite 
 aware that he is in Scotland at the present moment, 
 for I have had three exceedingly brief letters. Dick's 
 favourite axiom is that in correspondence " brevity is 
 the soul of wit," for he seldom favours me with more 
 than four or five lines. I can give you a specimen from 
 memory : — 
 
 " Yours to hand. Thanks awfully. Hope you are as fit as 
 your humble servant, Richard Trafford. 
 
 "My dutiful respects to your sister." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know," laughed Joan ; " but he does not 
 abbreviate his conversation. I have heard him hold forth 
 for about five minutes without a break, but he is never 
 prosy." 
 
 " Oh, no, prosiness is not one of TrafTord's failings." 
 
 " We all think him so amusing," went on Joan. " We 
 
 saw a great deal of him and that nice aunt of his, Mrs. 
 
 Ramsay, at St. Breda's; and he carrfe over two or three
 
 " A Little Corner of Paradise " 281 
 
 times to Revelstoke. My nieces are quite devoted to him 
 and Dagon." 
 
 "Your nieces?" tentatively, and it was evident that 
 Mr. Rutherford was interested. 
 
 " Yes, Wanda and Jess. Jess's devotion is quite a 
 touching thing to see — she follows him about like a little 
 dog." 
 
 But at this moment Lady Mary broke in upon their 
 talk by asking Joan to sing to them, and she went at once 
 to the piano. Later that evening, when the Rutherfords 
 had taken their departure, Joan, who was kneeling on 
 the rug for a final warm before retiring to bed — for the 
 October evenings were beginning to be chilly — said sud- 
 denly in her impulsive way : 
 
 " Do you know, I often wonder why Mr. Rutherford 
 has never married." 
 
 " I have heard many people say the same," returned 
 Lady Mary, smiling. 
 
 " I remember Dorothy told me once that during his 
 mother's lifetime he was not at all well off. But since 
 then Prudence and he have both had money left them, 
 and she said they were quite comfortable now. He is 
 such a splendid man, and it seems such a pity that he 
 should not have a nice wife. I asked Dorothy if he advo- 
 cated the celibacy of the clergy, and she said certainly 
 not, and that she had heard him say more than once that 
 a country rector was better married." 
 
 " I daresay Prudence could tell us the reason, Joan." 
 
 "Oh, do you think he has cared for some one?" 
 exclaimed the girl curiously, for Lady Mary's tone was a 
 little mysterious. 
 
 " I should not be surprised," returned her friend 
 quietly ; " I have always fancied that there was some 
 trouble in the background. Perhaps he loved some one 
 who did not return his affection, or perhaps the woman 
 he wanted was above him in rank. Why do you look at 
 me like that, Joan ? This is purely guesswork ; I know 
 nothing for certain."
 
 282 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " I thought for the moment you meant Dorothy," 
 returned Joan in a startled tone. But Lady Mary shook 
 her head. 
 
 "Our demure, gentle little Dollie? What an idea, 
 Joan ! They are very much attached to each other, but 
 I am quite sure that Mr. Rutherford is not in love with 
 her. But Dorothy has charming friends, and he may have 
 met his fate at the Abbey." 
 
 " He admires Lady Cicely," observed Joan, " every 
 one does, but he never seems to take any special notice 
 of her." 
 
 " Oh, I am quite sure it is not Lady Cicely," in an 
 amused voice. 
 
 " Then it might be her cousin, Lady Marjorie," ex- 
 claimed Joan shrewdly ; " she used to stay so much at 
 the Abbey, and now she never comes." But Lady Mary 
 refused to say any more on the subject. 
 
 " I don't think we ought to try and find out our 
 friends' secrets unless they give us their confidence," she 
 observed gently but firmly ; " it never seems to me quite 
 honourable. Most lives have their secret chambers and 
 hidden mysteries, and why not Morven Rutherford? but 
 it is not for us to pry curiously into them." And, though 
 Lady Mary said no more, she had a strong suspicion that 
 Joan's arrow at a venture had grazed the truth.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 "IT IS RATTLING GOOD NEWS!" 
 
 Whichever way the wind doth blow, 
 Some heart is glad to have it so ; 
 Then blow it east, or blow it west, 
 The wind that blows, that wind is best. 
 
 Caroline A. Mason. 
 
 Those who bring sunshine to the life of others cannot keep 
 it from themselves. — J. M. Barrie. 
 
 During the following week Lord Merriton paid one 
 of his flying visits to the Abbey. Joan, who had not seen 
 him since she had left Morningside in the spring, was 
 inclined to be rather shy and reserved with him at first ; 
 but as the Earl treated her with his old kindness, and 
 seemed to take pleasure in her company, these uncom- 
 fortable feelings soon disappeared. They had always 
 been good friends, and in the old days he had paid her 
 little fatherly attentions, inviting her to ride with him 
 and Dorothy. Joan was a famous equestrian and never 
 looked to more advantage than on horseback, so he had 
 often asked her to accompany him to some outlying farm 
 when Dorothy was tired or busy, and on these occasions 
 Joan had proved herself an excellent companion. 
 
 Joan, who was sincerely attached to every member 
 of the Merriton family, was very grateful for the Earl's 
 kindness. When Lady Mary dined at the Abbey, to keep 
 him company during the long evening, he insisted that 
 the girl should accompany her. 
 
 Joan was perfectly willing to go. She knew exactly 
 when to efface herself. When they had taken their coffee 
 she would steal away to the music-room, and play or 
 sing one song after another. Now and then the brother 
 and sister would break off their low-toned talk to listen
 
 284 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 to the fresh girlish notes which rang through the big 
 empty rooms. One evening Lord Merriton looked at his 
 sister rather wistfully. " I think she seems happier, 
 Mary," he said, and Lady Mary had not the heart to 
 undeceive him ; she could read his unspoken thought : 
 " She ie young; they are both so young that they will 
 soon get over it. How few men, or women either, marry 
 their first love? Neither Hildegarde nor I did, and yet 
 no wedded couple could be happier." He had said this 
 more than once to her, and she knew it was in his mind 
 now. 
 
 Once, when Joan was playing some sweet plaintive 
 melody, Lord Merriton asked his sister rather abruptly 
 how long Joan would remain at Morningside. 
 
 " ITiat depends on circumstances," she returned 
 pointedly. " As you may imagine, I am very unwilling 
 to part with her ; but when Hildegarde comes home I 
 think it will be better for Joan to go back to St. Breda's 
 Lodge. One can never be sure of Craig's movements ; 
 but the winter will be very dull without her." 
 
 " What a confounded nuisance the whole business 
 is ! " returned the Earl testily. " It does not seem fair 
 that you should be subjected to all this inconvenience. 
 I hate to think of your having to do without Joan this 
 winter, and yet I don't see how you are going to keep 
 her." 
 
 " Neither do I." returned Lady Mary quietly. " But 
 don't worry about it, George ; I daresay I shall find some 
 way of solving the difficulty. Perhaps I shall make a 
 break for once and spend a few weeks at Torquay. Joan 
 could come to me there, or I could have her up for a 
 week now and then when the coast is clear." Lord Merri- 
 ton only shook his head with a sigh. 
 
 " You are very good about it, Mary, but all the same 
 it troubles me that you should be deprived of your 
 companion." 
 
 " In this world one has to suffer for one's mistakes," 
 returned his sister.
 
 It is Rattling Good News" 285 
 
 '.-i 
 
 " But you have made no mistake, my dear ! " 
 
 " I am afraid I have, George, though you and Hilde- 
 garde are too kind to tell me so; if I had not brought 
 Joan to Morningsidc, none of this difficulty would have 
 arisen. Do you know, the idea of one of your boys fall- 
 ing in love with her never entered my head. We none of 
 us considered her pretty enough to be a dangerous attrac- 
 tion. Don't you remember how poor Arthur called her 
 ' the red-headed girl '? " 
 
 Lord Merriton looked a little grave at the mention of 
 his son. 
 
 " Yes, T remember. But I have changed my mind a 
 bit on that subject. I was only thinking this evening 
 that there is something very taking about the girl. She 
 is no beauty, of course, but with her slim young figure 
 and that wonderful hair of hers shining like spun silk in 
 the lamplight — Arthur was wrong about the colour — 
 one could fancy a young fellow losing his head over her." 
 Lord Merriton had never said as much before, and Lady 
 Mary was much gratified by his speech. 
 
 Her brother's visit had cheered her greatly. He had 
 brought nothing but good news from Templeton Park. 
 On the last evening, when they went up to the Abbey, 
 and Joan had again wandered off to the music-room, 
 Lord Merriton was even more communicative than usual. 
 
 " Templeton and his wife are awfully hospitable. I 
 think they would be willing to keep us the whole winter. 
 That good soul Miriam said to me quite seriously, the 
 morning I came away, ' Now, Merriton, you must let 
 me keep Hildegarde and Dorothy as long as possible. 
 Hildegarde is recovering her tone more every day. It 
 would be unwise to hurry matters, and I love to have 
 them. You can go backwards and forwards as much as 
 you please, and your sister will look after you.' " 
 
 " I should take Lady Templeton's advice, George. 
 Dorothy, too, seems very happy with her aunt." 
 
 " You would say so if you saw her. Dollie is having 
 a grand time in her own quiet way. The Helmore girls
 
 286 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 are always about the place, arH she and Hildegarde are 
 always driving over to the Park to see the invalid. Hilde- 
 garde seems to have taken a fancy to ler too." 
 
 " Yes, it all sounds delightful. Then you will be 
 coming up again, George ? " 
 
 " In about ten days or so. I shall probably take 
 the inside of a week. By that time we shall know more 
 of Craig's movements. By the bye, Mary, I never told 
 you that Templeton is doing him a good turn. He has 
 advised him to join the Yeomanry, and has offered to 
 introduce him to the Colonel, who is a friend of his. 
 He says he can find plenty of work for an active young 
 officer; so there is no need for his loafing round, as he 
 expresses it." 
 
 " No, indeed, and I was sure something would turn 
 tip. Craig is not the sort of man to remain long idle ; 
 he is certain to find plenty of interests." 
 
 " I believe we have to thank Joan for this," returned 
 Lord Merriton slowly. " Craig told his mother before 
 he left that he had been to St. Breda's and seen the girl, 
 and that she had given him a lot of good advice, and 
 recommended him to talk to his uncle. Craig's pertinacity 
 about the girl worried Hildegarde a good deal, but 
 Miriam advised her to take no notice. Anyhow, Craig's 
 taken his uncle's advice and means to join the Yeomanry 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 The Earl had unconsciously raised his voice, and 
 perhaps this was the reason why neither of them heard 
 Joan's light footstep until she was close to them. And 
 so it was the last few words reached her ears — " Craig 
 has taken his uncle's advice and means to join the Yeo- 
 manry as soon as possible." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," she said a little breathlessly, 
 but her eyes were very bright, " I did not mean to inter- 
 rupt you : I will go back to the music-room." But Lord 
 Merriton would not allow this; no more kind-hearted 
 man ever lived, and with all his hereditary pride he had 
 an Englishman's sense of fairness.
 
 " It is Rattling Good News " 287 
 
 ■•e 
 
 " We are not talking secrets, Joan. I was only just 
 telling my sister that Templeton has advised Josselyn to 
 enter the Yeomanry, and that he seems to take very 
 kindly to the idea." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! " replied Joan simply. And 
 indeed she looked very happy. " Lady Mary, I heard 
 the carriage coming, and it is getting quite late." Then 
 the elder lady rose at once. 
 
 " We must go now, George, but you will come and 
 see me in the morning before you go back to Temple- 
 ton ? " And Lord Merriton promised that he would turn 
 up without fail. He would have liked to have said a 
 word to Joan to show her that he appreciated her sen- 
 sible advice to Craig, but on second thoughts he deter- 
 mined to say nothing, the less Craig's name was men- 
 tioned the better. But Joan, on her part, did not attempt 
 to conceal her pleasure from Lady Mary. 
 
 " I do think it was so nice of Lord Merriton to tell 
 me that. He really is an old dear ! " 
 
 " He is certainly very fond of you, Joan. He is 
 always saying something pretty about you." 
 
 " Oh, he does that to please you, dear, but all the 
 same I wanted to hug him this evening. You know I 
 always used to kiss him until I was in long frocks." 
 
 Lady Mary smiled. " You see he wants to be kind 
 to my adopted daughter." 
 
 " There, I must kiss you now, for it is so sweet of 
 you to call me that. I mean to sign myself ' your loving 
 child ' in my next letter. Oh, dear, I do feel so joyful 
 to-night, and it is all because that poor boy will not be 
 utterly cut off from his soldiering. He will keep his 
 horses and ride about and drill his men, and though it 
 will be play-work to him after Aldershot, it will give 
 him something to think about. Oh, how glad I am that 
 that idea jumped into my head ! " 
 
 " Yes, and we are all very grateful to you. Joan ; 
 but, my love, it is very late, and I am rather tired " ; and 
 this gentle hint was sufficient for Joan.
 
 288 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Another week passed happily away, and Joan had 
 been a month at Morningside, when, on the last day of 
 October, when the wind was stripping the trees of their 
 leaves and moaning through the Brantwood copses, a 
 telegram reached Lady Mary : 
 
 Shall take morning train. Expect you both to dinner this 
 evening. Merriton. 
 
 " Dear me," remarked Lady Man-, looking gently 
 flustered, " this is rather a surprise, Joan, for Dorothy 
 told me in her last letter that her father did not mean to 
 come home until the middle of next week." 
 
 " Probably he has some business that needs his atten- 
 tion earlier," suggested Joan. " Shall I run over to the 
 Abbey and see if we are really expected ? " 
 
 " Yes, perhaps that will be best. I wish I had had 
 the telegram an hour ago, before I gave Hartley the 
 menu for the evening. Well, it cannot be helped ; find 
 out all you can, Joan, and I will wait until you come 
 back." 
 
 But the girl had little to report on her return. The 
 housekeeper had had a telegram also, ordering dinner 
 for three. "As the carriage is to meet the 1.15 train," 
 went on Joan, " Lord Merriton will be at the Abbey in 
 time for luncheon. Of course I told Mrs. Robson that 
 we were the expected guests." 
 
 " Must you go over to Herondale this afternoon, 
 Joan?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed I must; I promised to take those scrap- 
 books to Prudence, but I will be back in good time for 
 tea. You don't know how Rascal and I will enjoy 
 battling our way through this delicious wind. It is so 
 soft with all its violence, and it is such fun to see the 
 crimson and yellow leaves waltzing and eddying round 
 one. It nearly drives Rascal crazy because he can't catch 
 them all." 
 
 "Oh, what it is to be young, Joan ! " But it may be 
 doubted whether Lady Mary's gentle, equable tempera-
 
 It is Rattling Good News " 289 
 
 'r> 
 
 ment had even in youth known the exuberant joy of life 
 which was natural to Joan, and which was one of her 
 chief charms. 
 
 When luncheon was over and Joan had gone upstairs 
 to put on her hat, Lady Mary walked to the window ; 
 but the whirling leaves and tossing branches of the trees 
 made her quite giddy. 
 
 " How tastes differ ! " she thought as she selected a 
 book and sat down by her own snug fireside. 
 
 The book was interesting, but the warmth and still- 
 ness of the quiet room had a soporific influence over the 
 reader, and Lady Mary was only roused from a refresh- 
 ing nap by the sound of the door-bell ; and as she straight- 
 ened herself in her chair and adjusted the ruffles at her 
 wrists in expectancy of some visitor, Lord Merriton 
 walked into the room. 
 
 " Why, George," in a pleased tone, as he greeted her, 
 " I never dreamt of seeing you this afternoon. It is very 
 good of you to take the trouble when we are coming to 
 the Abbey this evening." 
 
 " Well, it came into my head, when I had finished 
 luncheon, that it would be a nice thing to do," and Lord 
 Merriton settled himself contentedly in the opposite easy- 
 chair. " Are you alone, Mary? " 
 
 " Yes, Joan is out. She has gone over to Herondale, 
 but she will be back in good time to make the tea for us. 
 How well you look, dear ! How have you left Hildegarde 
 and Dorothy ? " 
 
 " Oh, they are as fit as possible," he returned a little 
 absently. " Do you know, Mary, I never come into this 
 room without thinking it is far cosier than any of our3 
 at the Abbey." 
 
 " You used to say the same of our drawing-room at 
 Roskill Priory." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember. A fine old place that ! Hilde- 
 garde says you have a knack of putting furniture in its 
 right place. She thinks you have quite a genius for 
 arrangement." 
 
 19
 
 290 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Lady Mary smiled. These little compliments always 
 pleased her. She took a great deal of pride in her house, 
 and liked to surround herself with pretty things. It was 
 certainly a very charming room, there was something 
 quaint and picturesque about it, and she and Joan loved 
 no other room so well ; but she had no wish at the present 
 moment to talk about furniture. 
 
 " You altered your arrangements, George," she re- 
 marked, as Lord Merriton took up the brass tongs to 
 adjust a log that seemed in peril ; " I understood that 
 you were not coming up until the middle of next week." 
 
 " No, but there was some difficulty about the lease 
 of the Up fold Farm. The new tenant has objected to one 
 clause, and Lathom wanted to see me about it, so we 
 changed our programme. I have only come for three 
 nights, and shall go down to Templeton on Saturday. 
 And I shall bring back the wife and Dorothy on 
 Thursday.'* 
 
 " Do you mean next Thursday? " 
 
 " Yes ; we think our visit has been quite long enough, 
 and that we have no right to trespass on their hospitality 
 any longer. Why, it will be just six weeks, and Hilde- 
 garde is quite well enough to come home. We shall pick 
 up Craig in town and come down all together, and you 
 must be at the Abbey to receive us." 
 
 " You may be quite certain that, if all is well, I shall 
 be there," she returned quietly, but she checked an inward 
 sigh. There was only another week for Joan ! Her 
 brother's next speech fairly electrified her. 
 
 " And now for my news, Mary. I came across this 
 afternoon because I could not wait until this evening — 
 that is why I am so glad to find you alone." 
 
 " Oh, what is it, George? " and a nervous flush came 
 to Lady Mary's face. " Surely nothing has happened ? " 
 
 " Nothing that is not entirely satisfactory. It is 
 rattling good news! as Craig would say. Viscount 
 Helmore has proposed to our little girl Dorothy, and 
 fihe has accepted him."
 
 XXXV 
 
 "A FINE FELLOW, JOHN HELMORE" 
 
 Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, 
 if I could say how much. — Shakespeare. 
 
 " George, my dear brother, you have taken my breath 
 away ! " Lady Mary looked quite pale. The news was so 
 surprising, so utterly unexpected, that she could hardly 
 believe her ears. 
 
 " I knew it would startle you, but it was no use beat- 
 ing about the bush. Good luck has not come our way 
 lately, so I thought I would tell you the great news with- 
 out delay." 
 
 " You are very kind ; but when — when did it 
 happen ? " 
 
 " Well, Helmore spoke to me some days ago when 
 we were on the golf-links together. I don't think I ever 
 was so taken aback in all my life as when he asked me 
 for my little girl. He is a fine fellow, John Helmore, 
 though I should have preferred a younger son-in-law 
 without incumbrances in the shape of grown-up daugh- 
 ters ; but he is only fifty, and as hale and hearty as any 
 one could wish, and he is a far richer man than Lord 
 Angus Rother." 
 
 " And Dorothy — tell me about Dorothy." 
 
 " Well, he spoke to her the day before yesterday. 
 He knew how to manage her better than Lord Angus 
 did. Having daughters of his own, I suppose, has put 
 him up to a thing or two; but anyhow the girl accepted 
 him, and went straight to her mother to tell her so." 
 
 "But is she sure of her own mind, George? Does 
 she really care for Viscount Helmore? You remember 
 how she treated Lord Angus." 
 
 ** Well, you know what a shy little mouse Dollie is. 
 
 «91
 
 292 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 I can't say I got much out of her myself ; but Hildegarde 
 declares that she is very much in love, and can hardly 
 believe in her good fortune. She certainly looked very 
 sweet when Helmore dined with us that evening, though 
 I don't remember hearing her voice. By the bye, Hilde- 
 garde and Dollie have both written to you, and there is a 
 note for Joan." 
 
 Lady Mary was too busy with her questions to read 
 her letters. They would keep, she thought, until her 
 brother had gone, and there was something else she par- 
 ticularly wished to ask him. 
 
 " George, I want you to tell me exactly how Hilde- 
 garde feels about this engagement." 
 
 " Well, she is as proud as a hen with one chick, and 
 so excited that she can talk and think of nothing else. 
 Last evening she said to me, ' I cannot honestly say that 
 I should not have preferred Lord Angus for a son-in-law, 
 as he is so much nearer Dollie's age, and though he is a 
 widower, still there are no children ; but I don't think 
 Dollie ever really cared for him.' 
 
 "'And you think Helmore has won her heart?' I 
 asked her. 
 
 " ' Oh, I am sure of it/ she returned, ' and that is 
 why I am so happy about the dear child. Dorothy is so 
 peculiar, I was beginning to fear that she would end by 
 being an old maid, and I did so want her to be happily 
 married. It is quite true,' she went on, ' that her three 
 step-daughters will look like her younger sisters, but there 
 is no son, Merriton, to inherit that fine estate.' And then 
 she looked at me, and I knew what thought was in her 
 head, and I confess the same idea had occurred to me." 
 And here the Earl rubbed his hands with a low chuckle 
 of amusement. 
 
 " What a manoeuvring, worldly old couple we are ! — 
 eh, Mary?" 
 
 " I can understand Hildegarde's pleasure in Dorothy's 
 engagement," returned Lady Mary thoughtfully ; " but I 
 suppose nothing will be settled about the marriage for 
 some time to come?"
 
 " A Fine Fellow, John Helrnore " 293 
 
 " Well, not exactly settled," replied Lord Merriton ; 
 " it is rather early days for that. But Helmore had a 
 little talk with us yesterday. He said he should like it 
 to be as soon as possible, but that he did not wish to hurry 
 us or put us to any inconvenience — that we should doubt- 
 less wish the wedding- to be a quiet one. He spoke very 
 sensibly, and showed a good deal of consideration for 
 our feelings, but it is evident that he would like to carry 
 off Dorothy as soon as we can spare her." 
 
 " Oh, that is just the difficulty, George. Dorothy is 
 an onlv daughter — what will her mother do without 
 her?" 
 
 Lord Merriton shrugged his broad shoulders with 
 rather a whimsical smile. 
 
 " Well, that is where Hildegarde surprises me. She 
 does not seem to think of herself or me at all in the 
 matter. She says Dorothy must be our chief consid- 
 eration, and that a man of Helmore's age would dislike a 
 long engagement. ' You must tell Mary that I do not 
 think the marriage ought to be later than February, 
 especially as we are all agreed that it must be quiet ; but 
 I will talk to Dorothy, and I daresay when you return on 
 Saturday we shall have come to some decision.' " 
 
 " Yes, I see, that will be in three months' time. I 
 think I comprehend Hildegarde's view. Very likely she 
 is right, but all the same I do not see how either of you 
 are to do without Dorothy. Ah, there is Joan, but we 
 have had time for a nice long talk." And then Joan came 
 in glowing with health and exercise, and a moment later 
 Willis followed with the tea-tray. 
 
 By mutual consent nothing of any moment was said 
 until Joan had poured out the tea. The Earl had ex- 
 hausted his budget and felt somewhat fatigued. But as 
 Joan presently handed him the hot tea-cakes, he said 
 abruptly : 
 
 " Dollie asked me to give you this note, with her 
 love ; I think the contents will surprise you." And Lord 
 Merriton's tone was so significant that Joan, who had
 
 294 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 been vaguely conscious of something electric in the 
 atmosphere, felt at once that something had occurred. 
 As usual, her first thought was Craig. 
 
 ''Oh, what is it — please tell me?" she said a little 
 breathlessly. " I am quite sure from your and Lady 
 Mary's manner that something has happened." 
 
 " Well, yes — Dorothy has gone and engaged herself 
 to Lord Helmore — with her parents' sanction, remember 
 — and we are all very much pleased and excited." But 
 to Lord Merriton's surprise Joan grew suddenly very 
 pale. 
 
 " Dorothy engaged — my dear Dorothy ! Oh, I am so 
 glad — so very glad ! " But her eyes were full of tears, 
 and it was evident that she could say no more, so she 
 sat down in the lamplight to read her note. 
 
 Lady Mary looked across at her anxiously. If they 
 had been alone Joan would have been kneeling on the rug 
 at her feet, and they would have read their letters 
 together. Dorothy's note was very short. 
 
 "Dearest Joan," she wrote, "I have just written to Aunt 
 Marj r . and have only time for this wee note. Father will have 
 told you the wonderful news. I have been engaged two days, 
 but I can hardly realise the fact yet, although I have seen it 
 coming and knew how it would all end. 
 
 " Oh, I am so happy, Joan, but I cannot write about it. 
 There is no one like him — there never has been ! If I could 
 talk to you about it ; but I fear there is no chance of that, as 
 we are coming home on Thursday and I believe Craig will be 
 with us. Do you know, Joan, 1 can understand y iu and Craig 
 better now, and I feel so sorry for you both. I want every 
 one I love to be as happy as I am, and when I think how you 
 are banished from your home it makes me so sad. Besides, I 
 really crave a sight of your dear face after all these months. 
 Father says I must hurry up. So good-bye for the present. — 
 Your loving Dorothy." 
 
 " Well, I must be going back ; I have some letters to 
 answer before dinner " — and Lord Merriton rose reluc- 
 tantly from his comfortable chair. " I will let myself 
 out. Au revoir, ladies. Don't be later than half-past 
 seven."
 
 "A Fine Fellow, John Helmore " 295 
 
 The room seemed strangely still for a time. Lady- 
 Mary leaned back in her chair and read her letters, and 
 Joan sat still at the tea-table with her hand shielding 
 her face from the light. She was trying to battle with 
 some rebellious thoughts which threatened to master 
 her. 
 
 " Joan darling, come here, I want to talk to you." 
 And as Joan obeyed the summons, Lady Mary made room 
 for her on the square footstool. 
 
 " I have had such delightful letters from Lady Merri- 
 ton and Dorothy ; you must read them presently." 
 
 " May I have them now? " pleaded Joan rather wist- 
 fully. Then Lady Mary handed them to her. But as 
 Joan eagerly perused them, her friend still watched her 
 rather anxiously. 
 
 Why had Joan taken it so quietly ? Something seemed 
 to have upset her and checked her gladness. She had 
 hardly spoken a word since the news had been told her. 
 But Lady Mary was a patient woman, and she could wait, 
 and after all she was not kept long in suspense. 
 
 " Thank you," observed Joan presently ; " I am so 
 glad that you let me read those letters." Then she leant 
 on Lady Mary's lap with her chin propped on her hands, 
 and looked earnestly up into her friend's face. 
 
 " Dearest, you must not think that I am not pleased 
 about this because I have been a little silent. I am more 
 glad and thankful than I can say that our dear, good 
 Dorothy will have some one to care for her all her life. 
 Oh, how happy she is — one can read it in every line — 
 but she seems hardly able to realise it." 
 
 " Oh, you must give her time, Joan." 
 
 " Yes, I know. And then it is so nice to see Lady 
 Merriton writing in her old natural way. Dorothv's 
 engagement will do her mother a world of good. She 
 will forget herself and her troubles ; it will be nothing 
 but Dorothy now." 
 
 ; ' Yes, and she seems so thoroughly satisfied with her 
 prospective son-in-law. You see what she says — that
 
 296 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Lord Helmore is a fine-looking man, and hardly appears 
 his ag-e. I think the idea of the three grown-up daughters 
 troubles her most." 
 
 " Dorothy does not seem to mind," returned Joan. 
 
 " No, indeed, and I am very glad to hear that the 
 girls are pleased about it. Even Orma, who has been 
 her father's companion, seems quite willing to welcome 
 Dorothy." 
 
 " I am glad Lady Merriton told you that. Do you 
 know, dear Lady Mary, that I am quite sure that Dorothy 
 will be an ideal step-mother. She is so gentle and yield- 
 ing, and yet she has plently of character. She will just 
 love to devote herself to that poor suffering girl." 
 
 " I agree with you, Joan ; and personally I believe I 
 shall like Lord Helmore much better than that Lord 
 Angus they talked so much about, as he seemed to me 
 rather a colourless individual." 
 
 " I thought so too from Dorothy's description, and I 
 think she was very wise to get rid of him. Perhaps 
 this has something to do with Lady Merriton not wish- 
 ing for a long engagement. But I do not think that she 
 need fear that Dorothy will change her mind this time." 
 
 " No, indeed." And then, after a moment's silence — 
 " Joan, did Dollie tell you that they are all coming home 
 on Thursday ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, she told me so, and that Craig would be 
 with them. So I suppose I shall have to go back to 
 St. Breda's Lodge on Wednesday? " 
 
 " I am afraid so, darling, I don't see w r hat else is to be 
 done. But it certainly spoils things, and it is very hard 
 on you and Dorothy." 
 
 " It is more than hard — it is absolutely cruel ! " re- 
 turned Joan in a choked voice, " and I do not know how 
 to bear it. Not to see dear Dorothy or give her one 
 
 kiss of congratulation ! " But here poor Joan utterly 
 
 broke down ; she hid her face on Lady Mary's lap and 
 sobbed like a broken-hearted child. Lady Mary nearly 
 cried too.
 
 " A Fine Fellow, John Helmore " 297 
 
 " Hush, darling ! Oh, my dear child, you must not 
 give way like this ! Don't, Joan ; for my sake try to be 
 calm ! " But it was some minutes before the girl could 
 control herself. 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry," she murmured ; " I did not 
 want to be selfish and think of my own feeling, but it 
 was too much to bear." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but, Joan, we will find some way out 
 of it. I will speak to my brother this evening. Craig 
 must stop away for a day or two, and you shall have 
 your talk with Dollie. Don't fret any more, dearest, I 
 will make it all right for you." And Lady Mary spoke 
 in such a quiet, determined tone that Joan was quite sure 
 that she meant to carry out her words. 
 
 It was time for them to dress; so, after a grateful 
 kiss, Joan hurried away to bathe her flushed face and 
 swollen eyelids and rearrange her dishevelled hair. She 
 was ashamed of her want of self-control, but the tears had 
 relieved her. And, although she was a little pale and 
 subdued for the remainder of the evening, Lord Merriton 
 would not have discovered that anything was wrong if 
 his sister had not explained things to him. 
 
 " I am sure, I don't know what is to be done," he 
 said in a perplexed tone, " for Craig telegraphed that he 
 should meet us in town and come down with us, and it 
 would never do for Hildegarde to be upset the first 
 moment she gets home." 
 
 " Certainly not, and I should be the last person to 
 advise anything that would be likely to worry her. But 
 surely neither she nor you would mind very much if 
 Craig deferred his home-coming until Monday? " 
 
 " Well, no, I suppose not," rather reluctantly ; " only 
 Craig will think it a bit strange, I am afraid." 
 
 " I think not, George. If you will give me his address, 
 
 I will write to him myself and explain matters to him, 
 
 and you will see that he will make no difficulty about it." 
 
 And Lady Mary soon proved that she was right. 
 
 Craig's answer was entirely satisfactory ; the news of
 
 298 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Dorothy's engagement had put him into a good humour, 
 he said. He quite approved of her choice, and was 
 anxious to give her his fraternal blessing. Helmore was 
 certainly an elderly brother-in-law, but he was a decent 
 fellow, and he preferred him infinitely to Lord Angus. 
 As for deferring his visit to Brantwood, Craig was quite 
 explicit on that point. 
 
 You may tell Joan that I am quite willing to stay away a 
 month if it will only keep her longer at Morningside. Of course 
 she and Dorothy will have lots to say to each other. If Monday 
 is too soon, you can just write to me and say so, and I will 
 not turn up for another week. Now, dear Aunt Mary, I don't 
 send Joan my love, first, because you will not deliver it ; and 
 secondly, because she has it already. — Your affectionate nephew, 
 
 Josselyn. 
 
 Of course Lady Mary kept the contents of this letter 
 to herself. Being a prudent and conscientious woman, 
 she only told Joan that everything had been comfortably 
 arranged. Craig was quite willing to remain in town 
 until Monday, or even longer if they wished ; " but, under 
 the circumstances," she continued, " I do not think he 
 ought to stay away more than those three days. We 
 will ask Dorothy to spend the whole day with us on 
 Friday. I shall very likely dine at the Abbey again that 
 evening, and leave you two young things to have a cosy 
 time together." 
 
 But Joan would not hear of this for a moment. It 
 was her last evening and Lady Mary must not absent 
 herself. She and Dorothy would have plenty of time for 
 talk, and they would enjoy their cosy evening all three 
 together. " You know. Dorothy and* I never find you in 
 the way and that we love to have you," she finished. 
 And Lady Mary was only too willing to remain by her 
 own fireside.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 "DON'T SAY ANY MORE, DOLLIE" 
 
 Now I would face the world with my new life, 
 With my new crown. 
 
 How soon a smile of God can change the world ! 
 How we are made for happiness — how work 
 Grows play, adversity a winning fight ! 
 
 Browning. 
 
 Prudence Rutherford had promised to come over 
 the following afternoon, and of course she was at once 
 informed of Dorothy's engagement. To Lady Mary's 
 and Joan's surprise she took it far more quietly than they 
 expected. She was intensely interested, questioned them 
 eagerly on every possible detail, and showed lively tokens 
 of pleasure in her friend's good fortune, but there was 
 no expression of wonder. 
 
 " Why, Prudence, you don't seem a bit surprised ! " 
 exclaimed Joan. " Surely you were not in Dorothy's 
 confidence ? " Prudence laughed and shook her head. 
 
 " No, indeed. Dorothy is the last person to write 
 about such things ; she never mentioned Lord Helmore 
 in any of her letters, though she generally alluded to the 
 girls, especially Orma. The fact is," as Joan looked at 
 her inquiringly, " I think I take after my great-grand- 
 mother, Grizel MacDonald. She was a Highland woman,, 
 and had the gift of second sight. She was rather a 
 wonderful person, and though I don't pretend to inherit 
 her gift, I might almost say, as old Dame Willey does 
 sometimes, ' I feel happenings in my bones,' for certainly 
 I have the most curious presentiments. I had quite an 
 odd feeling about Dorothy when she went to Templeton. 
 I remember saying to myself one night, ' Now, I wonder 
 if anything will happen? ' " 
 
 " But you did not even know of Lord Helmore's 
 existence ? " observed Joan in a puzzled tone. 
 
 299
 
 300 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " No, my dear ; and even when Lady Mary mentioned 
 him one day, and said how pleasant it was for Dorothv 
 to have cheerful young companions, I only pictured 
 him to myself as a sturdy John Bull — the sort of pater- 
 familias so dear to Leech — with side whiskers and a 
 generally prosperous, uninteresting exterior. But from 
 Lady Mary's description he seems a very different type of 
 person." 
 
 " You may be quite sure of that," returned Joan ; 
 " but oh, I do wish he were a few years younger ! " 
 
 " I don't think I shall say amen to that. Dorothy is 
 just the sort of girl to be perfectly happy with a man old 
 enough to be her father. Oh, Lady Mary, it really is too 
 delightful ! I am dying to tell Morven, he will be so 
 pleased." And Prudence's plain face beamed until it 
 was quite transfigured. 
 
 And after that they gathered round the fire and talked 
 as only three simple, kind-hearted women can talk, until 
 the gathering darkness warned Prudence that it was 
 time to go- home. Not that she minded her solitary walk, 
 for every one knew her and she was absolutely fearless — 
 on winter afternoons she would carry a lantern to prevent 
 her from stumbling over snags and tree-trunks — but she 
 knew if she were later than usual Morven would leave 
 his comfortable, warm study to come in search of her. 
 
 After that Lady Mary and Joan made the most of 
 their few remaining days. Lord Merriton was too busy 
 to give them much of his company, and they only saw him 
 in the evenings. Dorothy wrote again very briefly to 
 express her pleasure at hearing that Joan would remain 
 at Morningside until Saturday afternoon. 
 
 Tell Aunt Mary that I shall be delighted to spend Friday 
 with you both. We must have a long walk, Joan — you and I 
 and Rascal. Of course I am very sorry to leave Templeton ; 
 I don't think I have ever been happier anywhere. Aunt Miriam 
 is such an old dear. She and Uncle Rupert spoil me dreadfully, 
 and they are so pleased to think that I shall be their neighbour 
 one of these days. Now I have promised to go out with mother, 
 as Aunt Miriam has to stay in and nurse a cold, so I cannot 
 write more.
 
 " Don't Say Any More, Dollie " 301 
 
 When Thursday arrived, Lady Mary went up to the 
 Abbey to receive the travellers, and as she intended to 
 remain to dinner, she had begged Prudence to keep Joan 
 company, and they spent a very pleasant evening together. 
 The carriage which brought Lady Mary back would take 
 Prudence to the Rectory. But both she and Joan ex- 
 claimed at the shortness of the evening when they heard 
 the carriage wheels outside, and Prudence hurried off to 
 put on her hat, that the horses might not have to stand too 
 long in sight of their stable. 
 
 Lady Mary threw off her evening wrap with its costly 
 border of sable. She looked tired but happy. " It has 
 been such a pleasant evening, Joan," she began when 
 Prudence had gone. " Lady Merriton looks so well ; 
 she has certainly gained flesh, and she had quite a nice 
 colour. Of course she was a little upset at first, that 
 was quite natural, but we made her lie down and have 
 some tea, and then she talked quite cheerfully." 
 
 " And Dorothy?" 
 
 " Oh, Dollie looked really pretty. Justine had done 
 her hair in some new way which suits her. I never saw 
 her so well dressed, and her engagement ring is beautiful. 
 Of course they showed me Lord Helmore's photograph. 
 I am sure you will like it, Joan ; it is such a strong, sen- 
 sible face, full of character, and with such kind eyes. He 
 has iron-grey hair, and has never worn a moustache. 
 Lady Merriton says his mouth is his best feature." 
 
 " Did Dorothy talk much about him ? " 
 
 " Well, dear, she had no opportunity — we were not 
 alone for a single minute — so she listened while her 
 mother talked, or went off to help her father; you know 
 what a good, unselfish little soul Dollie is. But she looks 
 wonderfully happy — oh, there is no doubt of that." 
 
 " I suppose she will come quite early to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Well, not as early as she intended. Lady Merriton 
 would like to see you, Joan ; so Dollie wants you to go 
 across after breakfast, and she will take you up to her 
 mother's dressing-room for half-an-hour or so, and then 
 she will come back with you."
 
 302 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Oh, dear," sighed Joan, " I wish I could have had 
 Dorothy all to myself. I am so afraid Lady Merriton 
 will keep us talking until the best part of the morning is 
 over." 
 
 Lady Mary smiled at Joan's petulant tone, but she 
 was well aware that this would probably be the case. 
 When Lady Merriton was interested in a subject she 
 often tried her listener's patience. 
 
 " Oh, I have guarded against that," she said quietly. 
 " Dorothy suggested a walk over Sudlow Hill, so I 
 promised that I would take my work and sit with her 
 mother until luncheon." 
 
 " Oh, how nice of you ! " And Joan smoothed her 
 puckered brow. " Well, I won't keep you up talking, 
 for you look dreadfully tired, in spite of your pleasant 
 evening." And as Lady Mary could not deny this, they 
 went upstairs together. 
 
 Directly breakfast was over the next morning, Joan 
 put on her hat, and whistling for Rascal, hurried over 
 to the Abbey ; but to her chagrin she heard that Lord 
 Merriton and his daughter were only half-way through 
 their meal. Joan would have waited in another room, 
 but the servant told her he had orders to show her into 
 the breakfast-room directly she came ; and as the door 
 opened,- Dorothy jumped up to greet her in the most 
 loving manner. 
 
 " We are shamefully late, Joan ; father only came in 
 a quarter of an hour ago; but you won't mind sitting 
 down and talking to us while we finish, and then we will 
 go up to mother? " 
 
 Joan smiled and nodded assent. She was quite content 
 to sit in the sunny room and look at Dorothy, and to 
 listen to the Earl's good-natured platitudes. 
 
 Lady Mary was right, she thought, Dorothy had 
 certainly grown prettier. Her features had always been 
 nice, but they had lacked expression and animation, and 
 her shyness and want of assurance often gave her a 
 diffident, uneasy manner. Lady Merriton, who was a
 
 " Don't Say Any More, Dollie " 303 
 
 very stately and imposing dame, always seemed to over- 
 shadow her daughter, and Dorothy was only too willing 
 to remain in the background. 
 
 It was not only that the peacock blue serge set off 
 her fair hair and delicate complexion, there was some 
 subtle change in her, a gentle dignity, a new air of repose 
 and confidence ; and Joan, who read her friend like a 
 book, needed no word to tell her that, whatever the 
 difference in age might be between her and her affianced 
 husband, Dorothy had found her rightful mate. 
 
 So much she could take for granted, but all the same 
 she longed to find herself alone with her old companion, 
 but she knew it was useless to attempt to hurry the Earl. 
 He had a wonderfully hearty appetite for a man of his 
 age, and he liked to open his letters and grumble audibly 
 over their contents, or skim the newspaper that lay beside 
 his plate, reading out any paragraph which took his fancy. 
 And he saw no reason to alter his habits on this particu- 
 lar morning. The girls looked at each other — it was 
 impossible for them to talk at such a disadvantage. But 
 Dorothy, who had been disciplined in the Early Victorian 
 school, would never have dreamt of begging her father 
 to finish his breakfast. She took away his cold coffee 
 and gave him another cupful, fresh and hot, while Joan 
 fidgeted and muttered under her breath. She was saying 
 to herself, " Oh, you tiresome old dear, why don't you 
 see that politics is not interesting us a bit, and that we 
 want to be out — out, where we can talk to each other? " 
 But, happily for Joan's patience, at that moment Justine 
 entered with a message from her mistress. She had heard 
 that Joan had arrived. 
 
 " My lady is up, and in her dressing-room, and will 
 be enchanted to see Mademoiselle Joan," observed Jus- 
 tine, and this at once made a diversion. 
 
 " Why, Dollie, my dear, I had no idea it was so late, 
 and that leading article is so good. Run along, girls, 
 don't keep my lady waiting," with playful mimicry of 
 Justine's mincing accents.
 
 304 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Lady Merriton received Joan very kindly, even affec- 
 tionately, and when she had asked her a civil question 
 or two about herself and her belongings, she plunged 
 into the subject which was nearest her heart. But for 
 Lady Mary's thoughtful punctuality, the girls would 
 certainly have been late for their walk ; for once Lady 
 Mary took things into her own hands. 
 
 " Let them go out now, Hildegarde," she said quietly ; 
 " it is Joan's last day, and she wants to talk to Dorothy." 
 And Lady Merriton was induced to let them go. 
 
 Joan seemed as though she could not breathe freely 
 until they were out of sight of the Abbey; then she 
 consented to slacken her pace. 
 
 " Oh. Dorothy, you sweet thing," she said affection- 
 ately, " I thought I should never get you to myself ! " 
 
 " Father was rather trying," returned Dorothy 
 placidly. " Since mother has been upstairs he dawdles 
 far more over his breakfast than he used to do. I always 
 have some knitting beside me, so as not to waste time. 
 But I was up quite early this morning, Joan, and had 
 written my letter before I left my room." 
 
 "Your letter? Oh, of course, to Lady Templeton." 
 
 " No ; mother will write to Aunt Miriam " — and here 
 Dorothy blushed in rather an embarrassed way. " I 
 meant my letter to Lord Helmore." Then Joan laughed 
 and gave her friend's arm a loving little squeeze. 
 
 " But you don't intend to write to him every day 
 surely, Dollie? " 
 
 " I don't know — I am not sure — but I think he would 
 like it. He will be coming down in another ten days or 
 so. He says he wants to see the Abbey and Aunt Mary. 
 She was so pleased when T told her that. He will only 
 stay for two or three days, but I shall get mother to 
 ask Prudence and Mr. Rutherford to dinner." 
 
 " You are very proud of your lover, Dorothy, I can 
 see that." 
 
 " Proud of him ! I should say so. Any girl would 
 be proud of such a man " — and here Dorothy's sweet
 
 " Don't Say Any More, Dollie " 305 
 
 face seemed suddenly illuminated. " He has the noblest 
 and the kindest and the best heart in the world — Orma 
 will tell you that. And to think he has chosen me ! " 
 
 " Well, dear, I think Lord Helmore has done rather 
 a wise thing for himself, and Lady Mary thinks the 
 same." 
 
 " Oh, that is because you both love me ; but I shall 
 never consider myself worthy to be his wife. When we 
 go back I must show you his photograph. Mother says 
 I shall look like his eldest daughter, but I don't mind her 
 saying that one bit. You know, I never cared for young 
 men, Joan ; they always seemed so vapid and tiresome." 
 
 " There are exceptions sometimes," remarked Joan 
 drily. 
 
 " Oh, you are thinking of Craig ! Yes, I grant you 
 that he is not in the least vapid." But Joan did not want 
 to speak of Craig just then, her face burnt at the mere 
 mention of his name. She changed the subject rather 
 abruptly. 
 
 " There is one thing I want to ask you, Dorothy — 
 are you sure that the girls will not be in your way ? " 
 
 " In my way ! " in quite an astonished tone. " Why, 
 my dear Joan, I shall love to have them. We are already 
 quite on sisterly terms. Even Bee, who is only fifteen, 
 and such a darling, calls me Dorothy. And as for Orma, 
 it will be quite a privilege to be allowed to care for her. 
 You know " — and here Dorothy's manner was intensely 
 earnest — " I never did want to lead a gay, idle life. Lord 
 Helmore and I certainly agree on that point ; he loves 
 his library and his books, and he hates London almost 
 as much as I do." 
 
 " I am glad you have told me all this, Dollie ; you 
 said so little in your note." 
 
 " No, I could not write about it, and it was all so 
 fresh then. Joan, I must tell you that we are really to 
 be married in the middle of February ; mother does not 
 wish us to wait longer, and Lord Helmore seemed so 
 grateful to her. It is to be a very quiet wedding. Violet 
 
 80
 
 306 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 and Bee have set their hearts on being bridesmaids, and 
 as their father does not mind, there is no reason to dis- 
 appoint them, and of course I must have Marjorie and 
 
 Cicely, they will expect it, and, Joan " here Dorothy 
 
 stopped and looked extremely uncomfortable. 
 
 " Well, what of Joan ? " in rather a low voice. 
 
 " Oh, you know — the old promise — surely you cannot 
 have forgotten it ? " 
 
 " Do you suppose I shall hold you to that now ? " 
 flashed Joan in quite a fiery tone, but oh, the pain at 
 her heart as she said it ! — " that, under the circumstances, 
 I should expect to be present at the wedding, much less 
 to be one of your bridesmaids? Oh, don't say any more, 
 Dollie, it hurts me too much, and it is no fault of yours ! " 
 and Joan had to bite her lip until it nearly bled for fear 
 her emotion should overmaster her. 
 
 Dorothy looked at her sorrowfully. No, it was not 
 her fault, she knew that. She would gladly run the risk 
 if she could only have Joan with her on that day, but she 
 knew also it would be useless to plead with her mother. 
 " Oh, my poor Joan ! " was all she could find to say, but 
 her tone was full of loving sympathy.
 
 XXXVII 
 
 "I SHALL SEE YOU BEFORE CHRISTMAS" 
 
 It is easy enough to be pleasant 
 
 When life flows by like a song, 
 But the man worth while is the one who will smile 
 
 When everything goes dead wrong. 
 
 For the test of the heart is trouble, 
 
 And it always comes with the years ; 
 And the smile that is worth the praises of earth 
 
 Is the smile that shines through tears. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 The walk to which the two girls had looked forward 
 so eagerly threatened to end sadly, but Joan with an 
 effort pulled herself together. " I won't be selfish — I 
 won't spoil things for Dorothy," she said to herself. 
 Then aloud — " Let us put all that out of our minds, 
 Dollie, and only talk of pleasant things. There is so much 
 I want to know, and it may be some time before we are 
 together again. I expect you will be going up to town 
 in another week or two about your trousseau ? " 
 
 " I suppose so ; mother says there is no time to lose." 
 
 " What a pity you cannot go to the Grosvenor Square 
 house, now it is let to that American millionaire." 
 
 " Oh, no, I am rather glad than otherwise ; I did so 
 hate that dismal old house. Uncle Rupert and Aunt 
 Miriam have been so good to us. Mother and I are to 
 go to their house at Albert Gate and stay as long as we 
 like. They never go up to town at this time of year, and 
 we shall take some of our servants and make ourselves 
 quite at home. Father and Craig will come backwards 
 and forwards. It is such a big- house, Joan, and so bright 
 and cheerful, so nothing could be better." 
 
 " But you will spend Christmas at the Abbey, as 
 usual ? " 
 
 S07
 
 308 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " I imagine so ; I should be very sorry to spend it 
 anywhere else. Mother said something to Aunt Mary 
 about joining us for a week or two, but she said she 
 never liked to be in town in November." 
 
 The subject of the trousseau occupied them until 
 they reached home. Lady Mary had just returned from 
 the Abbey, and luncheon was nearly ready, so they had 
 hardly removed their walking things before the gong 
 summoned them to the dining-room. Lady Mary left 
 the two girls alone until tea-time, and excusing herself 
 on the plea of fatigue, went up to her room to rest. 
 
 Joan sat on the rug in the firelight, listening with 
 rapt interest while Dorothy gave her a vivid description 
 of her future home, and then discoursed quite eloquently 
 on the idiosyncrasies and good qualities of the Helmore 
 girls. If Violet was charming and Bee bewildering and 
 a perfect dear, it was Orma who was evidently closest 
 to Dorothy's heart. " I never knew any one so good 
 and patient and so utterly unselfish," she was saying as 
 Lady Mary re-entered the room. 
 
 "Were you talking of Orma, Dollie?" inquired her 
 aunt in an interested tone. " Oh, don't stop, I believe 
 I want to hear about her as badly as Joan does " ; and 
 then the conversation flowed on again. Tea was brought 
 in and the lamps lighted, and still Dorothy's budget 
 seemed inexhaustible. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, Joan thought, when she 
 recalled it afterwards. She and Dorothy sang their 
 favourite songs, while Lady Mary knitted baby socks, or 
 looked lovingly at the two fair heads, which were so 
 close together. 
 
 When Dorothy had taken her leave and gone back 
 to the Abbey, Joan took her old place. 
 
 " Have you had a happy day, darling? " asked Lady 
 Mary, as she put aside her knitting-basket. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and Dorothy has been such a dear, she 
 has told me all I wanted to know." 
 
 " I am glad of that. Now you will leave us more 
 happily." Then Joan checked a sigh.
 
 " I Shall See You Before Christmas " 309 
 
 " I will try my best to be cheerful," she said a little 
 soberly. " But of course I shall want to be here all the 
 time ; all the more, I am afraid, when I think of your 
 beings here alone, while they are all at Albert Gate." 
 
 " Oh, I shall have my brother to look after me ; I 
 don't think he or Craig will be much in town." Lady 
 Mary said this purposely, that Joan might not think 
 there was any possibility of even a short visit. But Joan 
 cheated herself with no such hope. Craig was too evi- 
 dently on the war-path, and she would only be considered 
 safe under her brother's custody. 
 
 It had been arranged that Joan should take a mid-day 
 train from Atherton, and that Dunlop should accompany 
 her. They would drive from Waterloo to Charing Cross, 
 and be in good time for the 4.30 train. As Lady Mary 
 had old-fashioned notions on the subject of young ladies 
 travelling alone, Dunlop would put her in charge of the 
 guard. Lady Mary had arranged all this most carefully, 
 and intended to drive to Atherton with Joan ; but when 
 the girl joined her at breakfast the next morning, she 
 told her that Dunlop had suffered all night with raging 
 toothache, and would be quite unfit to travel. 
 
 " I shall have to send Willis," she said ; " I hope you 
 won't mind, dear?" And Joan professed herself quite 
 indifferent as to her escort. 
 
 " There is not the least need for either of them to go; 
 I could manage quite well by myself, and the St. Breda's 
 guard knows me." But Lady Mary negatived this so 
 decidedly that Joan said no more. 
 
 Joan was very quiet during the drive. She had found 
 plenty to do that morning, finishing off her packing to 
 spare the suffering Dunlop, and then she had to go over 
 to the Abbey to say good-bye. Dorothy walked back with 
 her. She had filled a basket with beautiful flowers for 
 her, and there was a box of grapes for Canon Leigh from 
 the Abbey vinery, with the Earl's compliments. Lord 
 Merriton loved to pay these little attentions. Joan ex- 
 pressed her gratitude rather hurriedly.
 
 310 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 They were so kind, and yet — but no, she would not 
 think of that ! She would have plenty of time for thought 
 at St. Breda's ; but she could not talk even to Lady Mary. 
 
 " I know you will tell me about everything," was all 
 she said, as they stood on the windy platform at Atherton. 
 When the train came in sight, and Willis went off to look 
 after the luggage, they embraced almost silently, and the 
 next moment Joan was waving her farewell from the 
 carriage window. There was only one other passenger 
 in the compartment. Willis had settled his charge com- 
 fortably, and had withdrawn to the farther corner with 
 his paper, and Joan watched the flying hedgerows 
 absently. How long was this to go on, she thought — 
 this dreary game of hide and seek? How different her 
 lot was from Dorothy's — dear sweet Dorothy — who was 
 going to marry the man she loved and idealised ! But 
 no — there should not be one grudging thought of her 
 happiness ! 
 
 Joan reasoned with herself, but nothing could lift 
 the weight of depression off her; not even the remem- 
 brance of yesterday could soothe her. To think that 
 Dorothy, who was like her own sister, would be married, 
 and she, Joan, would not be allowed to be present ! " I 
 wonder what Craig will say when he knows of it." she 
 thought ; and then the train showed signs of slackening, 
 and Willis took down the packages from the rack. 
 
 " This is Waterloo, ma'am," he said. " I will find a 
 four-wheeler, and then go after the luggage." Joan as- 
 sented wearily. The porters were keeping pace with the 
 train, one of them had his hand on the door, w T hen some 
 one else took his place. 
 
 " Oh, you are there, Joan ! I thought you would take 
 this train." Craig's hand was holding hers tightly. 
 " Halloo, Willis, so you have come to look after Miss 
 Leigh? Suppose you go after the luggage while I put 
 her into a cab. You are going to Charing Cross, of 
 course? " 
 
 tl Oh, yes," returned Joan. She was so dazed by
 
 " I Shall See You Before Christmas " 311 
 
 Craig's sudden appearance that she hardly knew what 
 she was about. The half-tender, half-mischievous smile 
 with which he had greeted her had warmed her through 
 and through like a ray of sunshine. O, what would Lady 
 Alary say? But no, she could not think of that now. 
 The present moment was too precious to be lost ! 
 
 " Oh, Craig," she murmured, as they crossed the plat- 
 form, " how could you guess I should come by this 
 train ? " 
 
 " Well, I could not be sure, of course, but it came 
 into my head I should like to meet you. I was here two 
 hours ago, but you had not come by that earlier train." 
 Craig stated this fact in an easy tone, as though he 
 were performing quite a meritorious action. " Jump in, 
 Joan ; I am going with you as far as Charing Cross. 
 You will have quite half-an-hour to wait, if not longer, 
 and I will get you some tea. All right, cabby, the man 
 is looking after the luggage, it will be here directly." 
 And Craig took the place beside Joan. 
 
 Willis took things in a very matter-of-fact way as he 
 directed the porter to put the dressing-bag, the box of 
 grapes, and flower-basket inside the cab, and mounted 
 the box. He had been young himself, and, as he some- 
 times observed to the excellent Mrs. Hartley, " Nature 
 is nature, and young men will be young men, and act up 
 to their lights, and small blame to them ! " 
 
 The young couple were a little silent at first, the mere 
 fact of being together seemed to content them. Joan 
 was thinking how nice Craig looked. He had still a smart, 
 soldier-like appearance, and looked so well groomed and 
 aristocratic in his well-cut clothes. Without being a 
 dandy, he was always well-dressed, and that faint deli- 
 cate aroma of a lately smoked cigarette, hastily thrown 
 away, was simply delicious to Joan. 
 
 " I call this luck ! " observed Craig cheerfully. " How 
 fit you look, Joan. I don't believe I have ever seen that 
 fetching hat before. I wonder if you are half as pleased 
 to see me as I am to see you ? "
 
 312 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 "Oh, Craig - !" was all Joan could say, but she was 
 blushing in the most becoming way. 
 
 " But you might tell me so," in a wheedling tone. 
 " Think of the hours I have been kicking up my heels at 
 this confounded station ! " 
 
 " Oh, not hours, surely? " 
 
 " Well, I went backwards and forwards — my hotel is 
 quite close ; but I have been on a sort of treadmill since 
 my early breakfast, so I think I deserve an answer to my 
 question." 
 
 " Oh, Craig, you know quite well ! " As Joan looked 
 hastily out of the window he could see the pink flush 
 was suffusing her fair throat and ear. Had he any idea 
 how pleased she was to see him ! she thought. But prob- 
 ably by this time Craig had formed his own ideas on the 
 subject. 
 
 They were both a little sorry that Charing Cross was 
 so near ; but Craig wasted no time, Willis had his orders, 
 and then Joan was whirled away to the farthest end of 
 the refreshment-room, and settled in a cosy corner, where 
 tea was brought to them. 
 
 It was Joan who began the conversation as she 
 unbuttoned her gloves. She was eager to know whether 
 Craig was really satisfied with Dorothy's prospects ; and 
 he assured her without a moment's hesitation that in his 
 opinion nothing could be more satis factory. 
 
 " I think Helmore is a good fellow," he went on, 
 " and that he will suit Dorothy down to the ground. 
 Dollie is rather an old-fashioned little person, and, except 
 in appearance, she is not particularly young. And Hel- 
 more does not look his age, so they are better matched 
 than people would suppose. One could dispense with 
 the step-daughters, of course ; but then nothing is perfect 
 in this best of worlds — eh, Joan? " 
 
 " Dorothy seems quite devoted to the girls." she re- 
 turned seriously. " I don't think she would like to be 
 without them. She seems to look upon Orma as her 
 mission in life. You should only hear her talk about
 
 " I Shall See You Before Christmas " 813 
 
 her, Craig!" But Craig was not* particularly interested 
 in Dorothy's prospective step-daughters. 
 
 " The mater tells me that the wedding is fixed for 
 the middle of February, and that they are going up to 
 town in another fortnight for frocks and finery. That 
 was rather a decent idea of Uncle Rupert's, asking them 
 to stay at the Albert Gate house. It will just suit my 
 book too, for I did not want to be at the Abbey just now. 
 Isn't it droll the way we play at Box and Cox, Joan? 
 It is a trifle too funny sometimes ! " But Joan had no 
 opinion to offer on this subject, and certainly the comic 
 side had not struck her; so she only answered sedately 
 that she was glad that Craig liked the idea of being in 
 town. 
 
 " Yes, I have a good many engagements, and of 
 course I shall be glad to see as much of Dollie as pos- 
 sible, but I expect she and the mater will be awfully 
 busy. By the bye, you will be one of the bridesmaids, 
 Joan — that was an old promise, I remember; so for one 
 day there will be an amnesty and the hoisting up- of the 
 white flag." Craig spoke in all good faith, and really 
 believed what he said, but Joan stared at him blankly. 
 
 " Why, Craig,"' she faltered, " of course I have let 
 Dorothy off her promise. How can I expect her to keep 
 it under the circumstances? Lady Mary and every one 
 knows that I cannot be at the wedding." 
 
 There was an ominous flash in Craig's blue eyes, 
 but he did not speak, and Joan went on hurriedly : 
 
 " We had a long talk about it yesterday. Dorothy is 
 very sorry, and so am I, but it cannot be helped, and 
 there is no use worrying over it. Lady Marjorie and 
 Cicely, and Violet and Bee Helmore will be the four 
 bridesmaids; for, of course, it would be no use asking 
 Prudence ; I believe nothing in the world would induce 
 her to be any one's bridesmaid." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " was the sole remark that Craig vouch- 
 safed, but it was evident to Joan that he was very angry, 
 and she tried to throw oil on the troubled waters.
 
 314 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Craig, please, you must not think of speaking- about 
 this to Dorothy. It is quite settled, and I will not have 
 the dear thing worried. Please, please promise me this." 
 But Craig's face might have been carved in stone, it had 
 grown so suddenly hard. 
 
 " I never make impossible promises," he replied ; 
 " but we have no time to discuss this now, I shall have to 
 put you in your train." Then, as Joan rose from the 
 table, she looked at him so pleadingly that he relented 
 a little. 
 
 " Look here, don't you worry your head about it, 
 Joan," he said as they walked down the platform. " I 
 don't mean to quarrel with Dollie, even if I have it out 
 with her. She is a good soul, and it is not her fault, 
 for I know how much she cares for you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, and I would not have her vexed for the 
 world, and just when she is so happy too." 
 
 " Oh, it won't hurt her to rumple her rose-leaves a 
 bit," returned Craig calmly. " Ah, there is old Willis, 
 and he is beckoning us to make haste, we have cut it 
 rather fine." And then they hurried towards him. 
 
 Joan was assisted into the compartment and the door 
 shut before she could say a parting word to Willis, and 
 as the guard waved his flag, Craig put his elbows on the 
 door and looked squarely into Joan's face. " Don't worry, 
 dear, life is not long enough. We will talk about this 
 again, for I mean to see you before Christmas." 
 
 " Before Christmas ! but I am not coming home," 
 exclaimed Joan, and just then the train moved on and 
 Craig stepped back. 
 
 " Never mind, T shall turn up all right." Joan could 
 just catch the words as she leant forward. Craig's hat 
 was still lifted ; he waved it with a final flourish of adieu, 
 and Joan sank back into her seat with a happy laugh. 
 though the tears were in her eyes. All through her 
 journey the words haunted her like a sort of refrain, 
 which seemed to keep time with the hurrying train — " I 
 shall see you again before Christmas — before Christmas 
 I shall see you again."
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 CRAIG BIDES HIS TIME 
 
 'Twere well to wait — 
 The pears upon my trees are still but green, 
 But they will ripen in the summer sun. 
 Our vanity would do all things at once ; 
 God takes His time, and puts us all to shame. 
 I am for trust, for working with a will, 
 And waiting long to see what comes of it. 
 
 Aaron Watson. 
 
 Canon Leigh was at St. Breda's station to meet his 
 sister, and he greeted her with such warmth, and seemed 
 so glad to get her back, that the girl was quite touched. 
 
 Joan was too frank by nature, and had too much 
 good sense, to make any secret of her meeting with 
 Craig; at the same time she meant to say as little as 
 possible about it, so she took advantage of the opening 
 her brother gave her as they drove through the lighted 
 streets. 
 
 " I suppose Lady Mary sent her maid as usual with 
 you to Waterloo ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, no ; poor Dunlop had had no sleep all night 
 from toothache, so Willis escorted me. I was so sur- 
 prised to see Lord Josselyn at Waterloo ; he came with 
 us to Charing Cross." 
 
 " Lord Josselyn ! I did not know he had returned to 
 town," observed Canon Leigh. " Now I wonder if the 
 meeting was accidental on his part? " he said to himself. 
 But as Joan vouchsafed no information on this point, he 
 did not like to question her. 
 
 " He seemed very pleased about Lady Dorothy's 
 engagement," she went on ; " indeed, they are all de- 
 lighted about it." And then Heath took his cue, and they 
 were still discussing the impending marriage as they 
 
 315
 
 316 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 entered the Precincts, and they drove through St. Breda's 
 Lodge gates while Joan was informing her brother that 
 she would certainly not be at the wedding. 
 
 "' That must be a great disappointment, my dear, 
 both to you and Lady Dorothy ? " 
 
 '* Well, yes," sighed Joan, " but we both know it 
 cannot be helped." And then the carriage stopped, and 
 Silence came out into the porch to receive her. 
 
 Joan had certainly no reason to be dissatisfied with 
 her welcome. Silence's sisterly kiss spoke volumes. And 
 the young people received her with affectionate hugs, 
 and assurances that they had missed her dreadfully, and 
 that she had stayed away far too long. 
 
 It was all very pleasant and home-like, and Joan 
 tried her best to be cheerful, and succeeded so well that 
 she deceived every one but Silence. But then it is always 
 the silent onlooker who sees most of the game. 
 
 As Joan drank her tea, Wanda and Jess told her all 
 the local news that they thought would interest her. 
 
 " Mr. Trafford and Dagon are at Kenwyn, Aunt 
 Joan," Jess informed her presently. " But they are going 
 away again almost directly, but I don't know where. Do 
 you, Daddv ? " Canon Leigh shook his head. 
 
 " I did not ask him. The fact is, Joan, one of Canon 
 Ramsay's sons is coming home on sick-leave and Trafford 
 thinks he would be in the way." 
 
 " I wonder which son it is, Heath — surely not Basil? " 
 
 " Well, I believe that was the name. It is the one 
 who is a missionary. He has broken down from over- 
 work and is coming home for a long rest." 
 
 " Then it is certainly Basil," returned Joan in a tone 
 of great interest. " Oh, how delighted his father will 
 be ! I must run round and talk to Mrs. Ramsay, to- 
 morrow." And Joan kept her word. 
 
 She found Mrs. Ramsay and her nephew together; 
 Dagon, as usual, making a sonorous third. But the 
 sleeping partner belonging to Trafford and Co. roused up 
 at the entrance of a friend, and the visitor had quite an 
 ovation.
 
 Craig Bides His Time 317 
 
 Joan thought that Mrs. Ramsay looked younger and 
 happier than ever. 
 
 " Oh, have you heard the news, Joan? " she asked at 
 once. '* Basil is actually coming home ; he will be here 
 the day after to-morrow. The poor dear fellow has been 
 so terribly overworked, and his doctor says he must 
 rest for at least three months, or he will have a serious 
 breakdown, but we shall soon nurse him well " ; and 
 Felicia spoke with quite a motherly air. 
 
 " I hear that Canon Ramsay is very excited about it." 
 
 : * Yes, indeed ; but that badly-behaved nephew of 
 mine only laughs at us both. He is actually going away, 
 Joan, because he declares that he will be bored to extinc- 
 tion. Did you ever hear anything so rude ? " 
 
 " Broken-down missionary at breakfast, luncheon, 
 and dinner — couldn't stand it ! " murmured Dick, unfold- 
 ing his paper. 
 
 " Oh, don't listen to him, Joan, he does not mean a 
 word he says. You have no idea how pleased my hus- 
 band is at the idea of seeing Basil ; he is devoted to all 
 his sons, but I am quite sure that Basil is nearest his 
 heart." 
 
 " He is Joseph and Benjamin rolled in one, with the 
 virtues of both," remarked the irrepressible Dick. Then 
 Felicia gave her visitor a despairing glance. 
 
 " I shall have to take you upstairs, Joan. We shall 
 never be able to talk with Dick in his present mood." 
 
 " Oh, my prophetic soul," groaned Dick, " as though 
 anything could check that unruly member, especially 
 when its owner is a female ! 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to babble, 
 And finds too late tbat tongues betray, 
 
 What use to hush the chattering rabble. 
 Which like a stream will have its way ! " 
 
 " Come, Joan ! " Felicia spoke in a gentle, but firm 
 voice. 
 
 " Pcccavi, oh my aunt!" and Dick's brown face 
 peered over his paper. " Mum's the word, as sure as 
 my name is Richard TrafFord. Look here, I will not
 
 318 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 speak until I have read the leading article from beginning 
 to finish, honest Injun!" and here Dick buried himself 
 behind a wall of paper. And Joan and the much-enduring 
 Felicia sat side by side and talked in low voices of the 
 preparations they were making for the invalid. 
 
 Felicia took Joan up presently to see Basil's room in 
 all its glory of new carpet and curtains. As she passed 
 Dick's chair she laid her hand lovingly on the dark, 
 closely-cropped head. " Good boy," she said approvingly. 
 
 Dick's face looked as impassive as a heathen Chinee's 
 as he opened the door for the ladies. 
 
 " Of course I intend to leave my card on the mission- 
 ary," he remarked. " In early life I was taught manners, 
 and I have never departed from that admirable code of 
 minor morals. Never cut your bread with a knife at 
 dinner. Conundrum number one — why at dinner? Shut 
 the door, but do not slam it. Leave a card on any fellow- 
 creature, provided he is not a ticket-of-leave man or too 
 vulgar for recognition." But the rest of these words of 
 wisdom were lost as they mounted the stairs. 
 
 Mr. Trafford dined at St. Breda's Lodge that even- 
 ing, and Joan never enjoyed his society more. He talked 
 to her a great deal about Lady Dorothy's engagement, 
 and seemed very interested, and informed her of his 
 plans in the most friendly way. 
 
 He thought of running down to Herondale Rectory 
 first, and then spending two or three weeks at Brighton. 
 Later he intended to go to Engelberg for ski-ing and 
 sleighing. " A fellow I know, and who is rather a chum 
 of mine, has been ordered by his doctor to go there after 
 Christmas; and as he wants a companion, and I hear 
 there is capital sport to be had, I shall be able to combine 
 benevolence with pleasure ; and the missionary can re- 
 main cock of the walk ! " finished Dick with his whimsical 
 smile. 
 
 Joan soon found that she had her work cut out for 
 her. The morning after her arrival at St. Breda's Lodge, 
 Silence told her in her grave way that Heath found it 
 necessary to entertain his friends, and that a dinner-party
 
 Craig Bides His Time 319 
 
 and an afternoon musical c and reception were to be given. 
 
 " Of course I could not refuse, Joan, and I knew 
 you would be here to help me. As we want to get them 
 over before Advent, I have already sent out the invitations 
 for the ' At Home ' — Heath and I made out the list 
 together — and we are to have the dinner-party a few days 
 afterwards." And then they plunged into an animated 
 discussion which lasted until luncheon. 
 
 Joan knew that all this business was good for her, 
 and that it was far better for her to be helping Silence 
 than fretting over her own private troubles ; besides, she 
 had Craig's parting words to comfort her. He had 
 promised to see her again before Christmas, and when 
 had he ever failed to keep his word? Joan in her secret 
 heart knew without doubt that, in spite of their separa- 
 tion, Craig never forgot her, that he was absolutely true 
 and faithful, and at times this thought made her perfectly 
 happy. " There can be no real love without trust," she 
 would say to herself, " and I mean to trust him whatever 
 happens." 
 
 Lady Mary had been very much taken aback when 
 Willis informed her on his return that Lord Josselyn had 
 met them at Waterloo and accompanied Miss Leigh to 
 Charing Cross, but she concealed her dismay to the best 
 of her power. Craig was too much for her! she could 
 only hope that this last escapade of his would not reach 
 his mother's ears. 
 
 When she encountered him next in the Abbey draw- 
 ing-room, he gave her one of his keen, quizzical glances. 
 
 " I am afraid I am rather in disgrace, Aunt Mary? " 
 he said in a low tone. 
 
 " I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself," she 
 returned with unusual spirit. " How could you be so 
 naughty, Craig, when you know I trusted you? " 
 
 ' Put not trust in princes or in any other sons of 
 men ' — when they are in love," he returned, quite una- 
 bashed by this rebuke ; and Lady Mary- was too much 
 shocked by what she termed his irreverent quotation to 
 think of any adequate reply.
 
 320 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Craig, Craig, you are incorrigible ; I will have noth- 
 ing more to do with you ! " But Lady Mary looked at the 
 hardened culprit very kindly. Certainly Craig was one 
 of the fighting Bastows, she thought. 
 
 " What are you two quarrelling about? " asked Lady 
 Merriton placidly. " Come and sit down, Mary ; Dorothy 
 and I have so much to tell you. We have not heard 
 from Marjorie yet, but that dear child Cicely has prom- 
 ised to be here on the 14th." Then, at the mention of the 
 nut-browne mayde, Craig beat a speedy retreat. 
 
 Craig was biding his time ; in fact, he was pursuing 
 a Machiavelian palicy — masterly inaction was his present 
 plan. There was no hurry ; even one of those mediaeval 
 saints — he had no idea which — had said " make haste 
 slowly," and another old Johnnie had remarked in rather 
 forcible language that " haste is of the devil." 
 
 Craig had a cool head ; he was a bold strategist, but 
 he wished to marshal his forces and to be sure of his 
 ground before he offered battle. It would be a mistake 
 to hasten matters too much ; besides, the present moment 
 was not propitious. 
 
 Dorothy's thoughts were occupied with delightful 
 anticipations of her fiance's approaching visit, and her 
 father and mother were busying themselves in prepara- 
 tion for his reception. The hot-houses were visited and 
 the gardeners interviewed ; the principal guest-chamber 
 was to be renovated and freshened up. Both Lady Mer- 
 riton and her daughter were surprised to find, on a closer 
 inspection, that the carpet was faded and decidedly worn. 
 
 " I had no idea it was as bad as this," observed Lady 
 Merriton with much solemnity to her sister-in-law. " I 
 am afraid several of the bedrooms require doing up. 
 But you know there has been so little money to spend on 
 
 mere decoration. That poor dear boy " But here 
 
 her voice was a little choked. 
 
 It ended by Lady Mary offering to go up to town the 
 next morning with Dorothy, to select a carpet and some 
 warm hangings for the South Room, as it was called.
 
 Craig Bides His Time 321 
 
 " You might write out a short list of anything else you 
 require, Hildegarde, as we will sleep one night in town." 
 
 And so it was arranged. Even Lord Merriton made 
 no complaint. The Grosvenor Square house was let, and 
 things were gradually righting themselves, there was no 
 need to grudge a little outlay. 
 
 " Hildegarde has been very good," he said to his 
 sister ; " she has not asked me to do up any of the rooms 
 for the last three or four years, and I am afraid some of 
 them are a bit shabby." 
 
 Lady Mary had made up her mind to go to Maple's. 
 There would be no difficulty in the selection ; she and 
 Dorothy knew exactly what they wanted. Lord Helmore 
 had been obliged to put off his visit a couple of days, 
 and with pressure there would just be time. 
 
 It was a near shave though, for the new carpet was 
 only in its place and the hangings adjusted an hour before 
 the carriage went to Atherton station to meet the expected 
 guest ; but the result filled Lady Merriton with admiration. 
 
 " You have done splendidly, Mary," she said, " and I 
 am ever so much obliged to you. Really, Dorothy, the 
 South Room is quite the prettiest in the house. It always 
 was a favourite room with our visitors." 
 
 Lord Helmore's visit was a complete success. He 
 was charmed with the Abbey and the woods, and made 
 himself so agreeable when the Rector of Herondale and 
 his sister dined at Brantwood, that Prudence quite fell 
 in love with him. 
 
 " He is my ideal of a nobleman," she said quite 
 seriously, " and one can see he is a good man. I have 
 no fear for your happiness, Dorothy " — and Prudence 
 gave her a loving hug. 
 
 A day or two after their guest had left them the whole 
 family migrated to town. And as soon as they were 
 settled comfortably in Lord Templeton's luxurious house, 
 the mother and daughter occupied themselves with the. 
 important business of the trousseau. 
 
 And Craig still bided his time. 
 
 SI
 
 XXXIX 
 
 "THE WORDS OF THE WISE* 
 
 The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : . . . 
 We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Ask thy lone soul which laws are plain to thee, 
 Thee and no other ! stand and fall by these ! 
 That is the part of thee. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 " It is astonishing how much one can do in three 
 weeks," observed Lady Dorothy in a triumphant tone. 
 " But then mother and I have worked so hard." 
 
 " Have we only been three weeks in town ? it seems 
 much longer " — and Craig's manner was a trifle bored. 
 He had felt rather out of it all these weeks while his 
 women-folk were rushing from milliner to dressmaker 
 most of the day, and were far too weary in the evening 
 to pay him much attention. Craig had to find his own 
 amusements and look up his old friends at the club. 
 Perhaps he was losing patience, or had decided in his own 
 mind that the moment for action had come, for, on learn- 
 ing from Dorothy that there were no business appoint- 
 ments that day, he had rather peremptorily signified his 
 wish that she should go out with him. 
 
 It was not a specially fine morning, somewhat dull 
 and cold, not an unusual thing in the middle of December, 
 and Dorothy, who had been very hard-worked, seemed 
 rather dubious. 
 
 " The Park looks dismal, Craig, and I have letters to 
 write." But Craig refused to listen to these flimsy objec- 
 tions. 
 
 " Never mind the letters ; I want to talk to you. You 
 won*t feel cold in your sealskin, and a walk will do you 
 
 828
 
 11 The Words of the Wise " 323 
 
 good." Craig's tone was coaxing, and Dorothy yielded 
 without further protest ; she would not have many more 
 walks with him, she thought, and he had had rather a 
 dull time of it lately. So she determined to make herself 
 pleasant. 
 
 They crossed the road and entered the Park, which 
 seemed quite empty and deserted at that hour, and, as 
 they walked on quickly, Dorothy answered her brother's 
 remark about the length of their stay. 
 
 " Well, it cannot be much over three weeks, as it is 
 only the 14th, and I think we came on the 21st of Novem- 
 ber. But we have certainly got through a great deal of 
 business." 
 
 " And you have quite decided to go back on the 
 18th?" 
 
 " Yes, father is getting fidgety, and if it comes to the 
 worst I am quite sure Aunt Mary would come up to town 
 with me for a few days after the New Year; not that I 
 think it will be necessary, even-thing has gone so well, 
 and no one has given me any trouble except that tiresome 
 Marjorie." 
 
 " Oh, I was going to speak to you about that. Just 
 wait one moment. Father told me, to my surprise, that 
 Helmore is coming down again this evening." 
 
 " Yes," returned Dorothy, blushing, " but only for 
 two nights; he has to see his lawyer. He thought of 
 going to his club this time, but mother would not hear of 
 it, with all those spare rooms empty." 
 
 " That's all right. And now about Lady Marjorie. 
 Mother told me that, though she is coming to the wed- 
 ding, she still refuses to be one of the bridesmaids. The 
 mater declared that you would have to fall back on 
 Prudence Rutherford." 
 
 " It is no use mother saying that," returned Dorothy, 
 with a frown of utter perplexity. " Prudence is impos- 
 sible, and the dresses Cicely and I have chosen would 
 certainly not suit her. But I think it is very ridiculous of 
 Marjorie to say she is too old, when she is only twenty-
 
 324 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 seven, and she is so handsome too! Of course it is only 
 an excuse." 
 
 " What do you intend to do then ? " asked Craig 
 quietly. 
 
 "Oh, Marjorie will have to give way! Cicely has 
 promised to talk to her, and I am going to write an 
 imploring letter ; we shall carry our point in the end. 
 Nil desperandum — eh, Craig?" and Dorothy smiled up 
 at him. But Craig's face remained grave. 
 
 " I thought it was an old promise that Joan was to be 
 your bridesmaid ? " Then Dorothy gave him an uneasy 
 glance. Why should Joan's name be mentioned between 
 them? 
 
 " Am I not right?" Craig asked the question a little 
 sternly. 
 
 " Yes," faltered Dorothy. " And of course we are 
 both dreadfully disappointed ; I would rather have had 
 Joan than any one." 
 
 " Then why not have her? " Nothing could be cooler 
 or more matter-of-fact than Craig's tone. Dorothy stared 
 at him helplessly. 
 
 " Why, Craig, you know mother would not allow me 
 to have her, even Aunt Mary never expected such a 
 thing. Joan and I had a long talk about it ; and though 
 we both felt it dreadfully, and it really has made me very 
 unhappy, we settled that nothing more must be said 
 about it." 
 
 " I am afraid a good deal more will be said about it, 
 Dollie, unless you can induce the mater to change her 
 mind." 
 
 " I induce her ! " turning very red. " My dear boy, 
 what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that when you go home, or on the first pos- 
 sible opportunity, you must have it out with mother. Tell 
 her that you wish — that you ask it of her as a favour, that 
 Joan should be one of your bridesmaids — that the idea 
 of your oldest and dearest friend being absent on such an 
 occasion makes you feel quite sad. Pluck up spirit, 
 Dollie, for once in your life and dare to assert yourself."
 
 " The Words of the Wise " 325 
 
 " Oh, Craig, how can you ask me to do such a thing? " 
 returned poor Dorothy, in a despairing voice. " As 
 though anything I could say would make mother change 
 her mind ! She knows quite well how much I want Joan ; 
 but if I talked for hours, nothing would induce her to 
 consent. If only I could make you see that! " 
 
 " You might as well ask a blind horse to see the man 
 who is leading him ! The thing may be difficult, but it 
 is certainly not impossible. Listen to me, Dollie. If 
 Joan is not at your wedding, I shall not be present either." 
 
 " Oh, Craig, what do you mean ? " Dorothy could 
 hardly believe her ears. What dreadful thing would he 
 say next ! 
 
 " I am quite serious, and, like my mother, when I 
 make up my mind about a thing, the united efforts of 
 the family would not move me. If this insult is put on 
 Joan — on Aunt Mary's adopted daughter and my future 
 wife — I shall certainly manifest my displeasure by absent- 
 ing myself from the Abbey and the church." 
 
 Dorothy was almost in tears by this time. Craig's 
 manner was so stern and unyielding that it was impos- 
 sible not to realise that he was in earnest. 
 
 " How can you be so dreadfully unkind, Craig — as 
 though you thought it was my fault ! " 
 
 " I mean no unkindness to you, Dollie dear, and I 
 shall be sorry enough to hurt you ; but I am bound to 
 consider my own interest and hers. You know I am 
 engaged to Joan." 
 
 " Engaged ! " Dorothy stood still on the path. Hap- 
 pily they were in a secluded part of the Park, and there 
 was no one within sight. 
 
 "Yes," returned Craig calmly; "but she is not en- 
 gaged to me. Nothing would induce her to be until my 
 father and mother give their consent, but on my side 
 I am absolutelv bound. I told Lady Cicely so. 
 
 "Oh, Craig!" 
 
 " I thought it only fair to tell her the truth, and she 
 was awfully nice about it; she is a jolly little girl," and 
 here Craig frowned for a moment — he never cared to
 
 326 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 recall that evening. Lady Cicely had been very friendly 
 and sympathetic, had made pretty speeches and sent her 
 love to Joan, but he had seen a sudden shadow cloud her 
 bright face for a moment, and there had been a little 
 quiver of the lip which told him something he did not 
 wish to know. 
 
 " If there be any trouble, it is all the mater's fault," 
 he said rather savagely to himself. " Lady Cicely is a 
 dear, brave little soul, and she knows that I never said 
 a word to her that the whole world might not hear." 
 
 Dorothy was too aghast to say anything for a few 
 minutes. She was shivering, but not with cold, and 
 no sealskin could make her feel inwardly warm and 
 comfortable. Craig considered himself engaged to Joan ! 
 He had told Cicely so ! Oh, what would her mother say ? 
 
 " Craig," she said at last quite piteously, " you are 
 making me so unhappy. I did so hope that things would 
 be peaceful just now." And a tear rolled down her face, 
 though she brushed it hastily away. 
 
 " Poor little Dolly," and Craig patted her shoulder 
 kindly. " But, from all I can judge of Helmore, I fancy 
 you will have a peaceful time presently." Then a sudden 
 inspiration came to him. " Look here, my dear child, 
 take my advice — when Helmore comes, tell him all about 
 it, and see what he says. I am quite sure he will lend you 
 a helping hand. I had an idea of saying something to 
 him myself in the way of apology, if I did not turn up 
 for the ceremony, but you had far better explain the whole 
 thing to him." 
 
 Dorothy pondered over her brother's advice very 
 seriously on her return to the house, and the result was, 
 she determined to follow it. 
 
 It would be far easier for her to confide in her future 
 husband than to have to face her mother's indignation 
 and shocked remonstrances. Besides, she had already 
 told him of Craig's infatuation for Joan Leigh, and it 
 had appeared to her that he had been rather sorry for the 
 young lovers.
 
 " The Words of the Wise " 327 
 
 " If Miss Leigh is a gentlewoman, and, as you tell 
 me, Lady Mary Boyle's adopted daughter, it does not 
 seem such a mesalliance," he had observed. 
 
 " Yes, but Joan is poor, and father says Craig ought 
 to marry a girl with money." But, though Lord Helmore 
 said no more, and only shrugged his shoulders, Dorothy 
 had an impression that he did not wholly side with her 
 father. 
 
 Dorothy's unusual seriousness that evening told Lord 
 Helmore than something was amiss with her — she was 
 pale and silent — so after dinner he made some excuse 
 and carried her off into the small inner drawing-room. 
 
 " What is the trouble, dearest? " he asked as he placed 
 himself on the couch beside her. And Dorothy, who 
 needed no pressing, repeated the substance of her con- 
 versation with Craig that morning. 
 
 " He really meant it," she finished. " And oh, John, 
 if he is not at the wedding, mother will never get over 
 it, and it will spoil things so! " 
 
 " Of course your brother must be there, and Miss 
 Leigh too, and you and I must bring it about. Don't 
 look so sad, darling; it only wants a little determination 
 and courage. Do you know, I rather admire Josselyn 
 for sticking to the girl ; I think he is a manly fellow. 
 However, we have no time to discuss it more to-night ; 
 besides, you are far too tired. You must get a good 
 night's sleep, and to-morrow, while I am at my lawyer's, 
 you must talk to your mother. Tell her everything 
 plainly and simply as you have told me; and, above all, 
 make her clearly understand that Josselyn refuses to 
 attend our wedding unless Miss Leigh is present." 
 
 " But mother will be so angry with him, and very 
 likely she will make herself ill." 
 
 " We must risk that, I am afraid, for it would never 
 do for your only remaining brother to be absent on such 
 an occasion. And, however indignant Lady Merriton 
 may be, she will certainly have to yield to the condition." 
 
 " Oh, do you think so, John ? " rather doubtfully.
 
 328 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " I am sure of it, dearest. Now you must go and rest, 
 and I will tackle your father; I will give Josselyn a hint 
 to leave us together." And then he dismissed her half 
 comforted. Timid as she was by nature, she felt an 
 infusion of courage now she had Lord Helmore's strong 
 arm and wise brain upon which to rely for guidance and 
 help. 
 
 " Oh, how good he is," she thought as she went up to 
 her room ; " he is taking all my troubles and difficulties 
 on himself. I hope father will not be too trying. Some- 
 times he gets so excited when things go wrong and he 
 does not know how to put them right." Then her 
 thoughts went off on another tack. " I think it is so 
 splendid of John not to care about money; I have heard 
 him say that mercenary marriages are generally loveless 
 ones." " I don't want my girls to marry poor men," he 
 had said to her, " but I shall certainly not make wealth 
 my first consideration. Luxury is the sin of the age. 
 If any good fellow who is a gentleman comes after her 
 and tells me he has enough to maintain her in comfort, 
 I shall not refuse my daughter to him because he is not 
 a millionaire's son." 
 
 " I love John all the better for his unworldliness," she 
 thought. But Dorothy's conscience pricked her when she 
 remembered how easily she had acquiesced in the family 
 verdict that Craig must marry money. 
 
 No one ever knew how Lord Helmore contrived to 
 tackle his future father-in-law, but the conversation 
 lasted long between the two men, and by the time it was 
 finished he had shown Lord Merriton a thing or two 
 which rather astonished him. 
 
 " Such an idea never entered my head," he muttered 
 more than once to himself. " Now, I wonder what 
 Hildegarde will say " ; and once he said this aloud. 
 
 " You must give her time to get used to the idea, and 
 1 expect she will take to it very kindly," returned Lord 
 Helmore with a smile which was at once shrewd and 
 humorous.
 
 XL 
 
 "IT SHALL BE AS YOU ALL WISH" 
 
 You have too much respect upon the world: 
 They lose it that do buy it with much care. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 " Dorothy, what is this you are telling me ? you must 
 certainly have misunderstood your brother," and Lady 
 Merriton spoke in a tone of unusual severity. " My 
 son — my only remaining son refuses to attend his sister's 
 wedding unless we comply with this preposterous 
 condition ! " 
 
 " Dear mother, he really means it." 
 
 " Then he is either mad or wicked ! " with strong 
 indignation. " Why should a little country girl like Joan 
 disturb the peace of our family life ? " 
 
 " He says he is engaged to her, though she refuses 
 to listen to him — he told Cicely so. He says he does not 
 intend it to be a secret any longer; that although Joan 
 is free on her side, he considers himself absolutely bound 
 to her." 
 
 " He told Cicely that ! " in an agitated voice, and 
 Lady Merriton grew suddenly very pale. 
 
 " Yes ; he said it was only fair to her to let her know 
 the truth — that Joan was the only girl he ever could or 
 would marry. And, mother dear, I am quite sure he 
 intends to keep his word." 
 
 Dorothy was discharging her commission nobly. Like 
 many gentle, timid natures, she was averse to thrust 
 herself into any altercation or argument. As Craig often 
 remarked, " she was too fond of taking a back seat," but 
 
 329
 
 330 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 Lord Helmore's sympathy and advice had fortified her, 
 and she had worked herself up into a feverish condition 
 which passed for courage. " I am going up to mother 
 directly after breakfast," she had said to Craig the next 
 morning, " John advised me to do so, and I will do my 
 best for you." 
 
 " You are a little brick, Dollie," he returned grate- 
 fully ; " mind you buck up and have your say ; the mater's 
 bark is worse than her bite, and she will have to give 
 way, you know." But Dorothy shook her head mourn- 
 fully. She could not share Craig's optimistic view. Her 
 mother was not the woman to change her mind easily. 
 Even years of anxiety and trouble had not humbled her 
 naturally domineering spirit. 
 
 Dorothy had kept back nothing — had not sought to 
 soften or explain away the truth. When her mother's 
 face grew pale and her lips twitched with angry invec- 
 tives, she gently reiterated her speech. Craig believed 
 himself engaged to Joan — actually engaged. He consid- 
 ered Joan's absence at the wedding would be a direct 
 insult to her and him too, and nothing would induce him 
 to be present. 
 
 " If you think I am going to tell your father this, 
 you are mistaken, Dorothy; I should be ashamed to do 
 so. 
 
 " There is no need," returned Dorothy quietly. 
 " John talked to him last night. Craig wished me to 
 explain things to him, so I did, and then John said he 
 would talk to father." 
 
 " An explanation was certainly needful. I am afraid 
 Lord Helmore must feel justly offended by Craig's extra- 
 ordinary behaviour." 
 
 " No, mother, he was only very kind and concerned. 
 He is so sorry for Craig; he seems to think he is so deeply 
 in love and needs help. So he offered to talk to father, 
 but I have not heard the result of the conversation. " 
 
 " Your father has said nothing to me." Lady Merri- 
 ton spoke in rather a bewildered way. If Lord Helmore
 
 " It Shall Be as You All Wish " 331 
 
 were not offended, it must surely mean that he had taken 
 Craig's part? If all her men-folk were leagued against 
 her, and Dorothy also, how was she to maintain her point 
 single-handed ? There was no hope of Cicely now. The 
 nut-browne mayde and her money would not belong to 
 Craig. Lady Merriton could have wept as she thought 
 of this. 
 
 " It was very late when father came upstairs ; he 
 would not have disturbed your night's rest for the world. 
 Very likely he is only waiting to finish his business letters 
 before he comes to you." For, unless they went out, 
 Lady Merriton spent her mornings in her sister-in-law's 
 pleasant sitting-room, which opened out of her bedroom. 
 Dorothy's surmise was quite correct, for at that moment 
 Lord Merriton was dashing off his last business letter 
 at a great rate, in his anxiety to join his wife. 
 
 " Well, Dorothy," observed her mother in a tired 
 voice, " I don't see that there is any good in going on 
 talking ; it is very hard that you are to be upset by your 
 brother's selfishness just now. I will hear what your 
 father has to say." And she would have risen, but Dor- 
 othy suddenly knelt down b i side her and held her fast. 
 
 " I have not quite finished, mother dear. I want to 
 tell you how happy — how more than happy, it will make 
 me if you will only let Joan come to the wedding, and be 
 good to her and Craig. Oh, I want to tell you some- 
 thing, only I don't know how to express myself ; but ever 
 since Arthur died, and John asked me to be his wife, I 
 seem to see things differently. I never quite believed that 
 Craig was so much in earnest, I thought as you did that 
 he might in time care for Cicely ; but I see now that I 
 was wrong. If he does not marry Joan his life will be 
 spoiled. And oh, mother darling, don't be angry, but 
 John and I think he ought to be allowed to choose his 
 own wife. What does it matter if they are poor. What 
 is monev, after all, compared with happiness and a faith- 
 ful love'? " 
 
 " Eh, what — bless my soul, Dollie, have you stolen
 
 332 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 a march on me ! " and Lord Merriton came fussily into 
 the room. " I promised Helmore that I would talk things 
 over with you, Hildegarde, and now the girl's been 
 beforehand with me." But the Earl's eyes twinkled as 
 he looked at his daughter. Perhaps in his heart he was 
 not sorry that his way had been smoothed for him. 
 
 " Then I will go downstairs and leave you and mother 
 together." And as Dorothy kissed her mother's hands, 
 a faint smile answered the mute appeal for forgiveness. 
 Never but once before had Dorothy dared to assert her 
 opinion, or to contradict the home ruler, but it was evi- 
 dent that her boldness had given no offence, and she 
 withdrew with a light heart. She had done her best for 
 Craig, and she must leave the rest in her father's hands. 
 
 " Well, Hildegarde, my love," and Lord Merriton sat 
 down beside his wife, " I have lots to say, but I hardly 
 know where to begin, or what Dorothy has told you." 
 
 " There is no need for you to repeat that," returned 
 Lady Merriton coldly. " Dorothy has been sufficiently 
 explicit. Our son has set his parents at defiance," and 
 there was a trembling of the muscles under her chin 
 as she said this. " He has told Lady Cicely that he is 
 engaged to Joan Leigh, and that he absolutely refuses to 
 attend the wedding unless Joan is there too. Now, 
 Merriton, will you kindly inform me without any further 
 loss of time what Lord Helmore thought of this insolence 
 on his future brother-in-law's part? " 
 
 Lady Merriton did not always measure her words 
 when she was talking to her husband. She was also 
 accustomed to check him a little peremptorily when he 
 was inclined to wander from the main point. She had no 
 wish for recapitulation, and she was intensely anxious 
 to know Lord Helmore's opinion. 
 
 " Well, my dear, Lord Helmore did not seem to take 
 it seriously at all. There was a smile on his face when 
 he said of course Josselyn must be present, and that we 
 must put our heads together to see what could be done, 
 as the young man would certainly not give way."
 
 " It Shall Be as You All Wish " 333 
 
 " He must be made to give way, Merriton " — but 
 there was no assurance in Lady Merriton's tone. 
 
 " Tut, tut, that's easier said than done," returned the 
 Earl good-humouredly. " Craig has a pretty strong will 
 of his own ; he takes after you in that, my dear. But 
 let us leave this for the moment, there is something inter- 
 esting I want to tell you." 
 
 Lady Merriton looked as though she were inclined to 
 doubt the interest, but her husband hurried on. 
 
 " Of course Helmore told me in confidence, but when 
 I said I had no secrets from my wife — that's true, isn't 
 it, old lady? — he begged that it should go no farther." 
 
 " Yes, I understand ; go on, my dear." 
 
 " Well, it seems he and Templeton had a talk the last 
 time Helmore dined there. You know what a nice fortune 
 Miriam has of her own, and so well invested too. We 
 have often spoken of it, and said what a pity it was that 
 there were no children to inherit all these good things." 
 And as Lady Merriton nodded in assent — "Well, Temple- 
 ton told Lord Helmore that Miriam had just made a 
 fresh will, and that her money was to be divided equally 
 between Dorothy and Craig." 
 
 " Oh, Merriton, is this really true ? " And Lady 
 Merriton sat up erect on the couch in her excitement. 
 
 " It is as true as that I am sitting here. The girl has 
 always been a favourite with Miriam, and she seems to 
 have taken a great fancy to Craig. Just think, Hilde- 
 garde, what a relief this would have been to our minds 
 if Dorothy had remained single ; and even now it wall 
 come in handy if she has children of her own." Then 
 a softened look came into Lady Merriton's eyes. 
 
 " I hope she will. Think what a joy it would be, 
 Merriton, to have children's feet pattering about the old 
 corridors at the Abbey ! " 
 
 Lord Merriton patted his wife's hand kindly. " You 
 were always a baby-lover, Hilda — but it will make old 
 folks of us! But you must not think only of Dorothy, 
 Craig needs his share of the money even more."
 
 334 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course — I know that." 
 
 " Poor Josselyn's extravagance has impoverished the 
 estate sadly, and of course Craig has to suffer for his 
 brother's improvidence. But Lathom tells me that, now 
 the Grosvenor Square house is let, and that bit of land 
 sold, and all poor Josselyn's debts cleared, we shall soon 
 get to rights ; only there must not be two establishments 
 for the next three or four years." 
 
 " My dear Merriton " — rather impatiently — " this is 
 all ancient history." 
 
 " Yes, I know, but I am repeating it for a purpose. 
 Helmore gave me an idea last night which rather took my 
 breath away, and kept me awake half the night. We 
 were talking about Dorothy, and he was saying how 
 much we should both miss her, and what a devoted and 
 unselfish daughter she was, and so on. And then he 
 said suddenly, what a pity it was that we should not 
 consent to Craig's marriage with Miss Leigh, that his 
 heart was set on the girl, and that Dorothy loved her like 
 a sister. ' She seems to have grown up amongst you all.' 
 were his words. ' Why should not Josselyn marry her 
 and bring his wife to the Abbey ? she would be a daughter 
 to you both when Dorothy has left.' Now, Hilda, my 
 love, what do you say to Helmore's suggestion? I tell 
 you honestly that I see no objection.' Then Lady Mer- 
 riton tried to summon up her indignation, but it fell a 
 little flat. 
 
 " Merriton, you surely cannot be serious, and it was 
 you who said that Craig must marry money ? " 
 
 " I do not deny it, my dear, and I meant it too ; but 
 you may take a horse to the water, but you cannot make 
 him drink if he is not thirsty. Craig refuses to marry 
 money, or to marry any one but Joan, and he is a good 
 lad — the best of all my sons," continued the Earl in a 
 voice of strong emotion. " And he has given up his 
 soldiering to please us, and I hate to see him restless 
 and unhappy." 
 
 " Oh, Merriton, Merriton ! " in a worn-out voice.
 
 " It Shall Be as You All Wish " 335 
 
 " Let him have Joan, peace is better than money," 
 continued the Earl. " And the Abbey will be so dull 
 and empty when Dollie has gone. I am fond of Joan 
 and so are you, and it would make Mary so happy, poor 
 thing. They could have their own rooms and their own 
 servants, and I will keep a hunter or two in the stables 
 for Craig. Templeton would lend them his house when 
 they want to go up to town. Oh, I was awake for hours 
 planning it all. Think of it, dear love, and I am sure 
 you will see the advantages, and consent to make the 
 boy happy." 
 
 Lady Merriton pressed her husband's hand. " I will 
 think of it, I promise you that," she said faintly. " But 
 I cannot talk any more just now. Will you tell them to 
 leave me alone a little ? " Then the Earl kissed her 
 forehead and left the room, tiptoeing as he went. 
 
 Lady Merriton lay back on the pillows of her couch 
 and closed her eyes. But she was not sleeping. Never 
 had her mind been clearer or more active. They were all 
 against her ; one by one Craig had won them over to his 
 side. He would marry Joan, and nothing she could do 
 would prevent it. It was clear to her that Merriton 
 wished it — that the thought of the young couple making 
 their home with them at the Abbey was delightful to 
 him. 
 
 " I am fond of Joan," he had said to her, " and so are 
 you," and she could not deny this. And yet the thought 
 that Joan should take Dorothy's place as the daughter 
 of the house gave her no pleasure. Joan was not sweet 
 and docile like Dorothy ; she had a will of her own and 
 plenty of spirit, though she had her good qualities too. 
 
 She stopped at this point to marvel again over Craig's 
 infatuation. If only Joan had been beautiful instead or 
 being only graceful and distinguished-looking? Oh, yes, 
 she was certainly that. And then how pleasant it used to 
 be to hear her singing like a bird as she ran down the 
 corridors ! 
 
 And then, all at once, she thought of Josselyn's death-
 
 336 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 bed. As she watched her boy die, was there any room 
 in her agonised soul for worldly schemes and thoughts? 
 In the valley of that shadow one treads solemnly as 
 though on holy ground. 
 
 " I was a better woman when I prayed beside my 
 Arthur," she said to herself, " and when I followed him 
 to his grave. What has made me so set on my own will 
 since then? Does the devil tempt us in our hours of 
 weakness? It seems to me as though I would have done 
 anything to bring about a marriage between Craig and 
 Cicely. But it was not to be. 
 
 " God forgive me, for I have been a selfish, mercenary 
 mother, and made my boy unhappy. I have sacrificed 
 them all. Poor Mary, who has been so good and patient, 
 and Dorothy, who has been missing her friend. Merri- 
 ton is right — peace is better than money." And then 
 Lady Merriton's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 An hour later she entered her husband's study, and 
 as he would have risen in his astonishment at seeing her 
 there, she put her hand on his broad shoulder. 
 
 " Merriton, I have been thinking about it, and I have 
 made up my mind that it shall be as you all wish. 
 Dorothy shall have Joan for her bridesmaid, and if Craig 
 will consent to bring his wife to the Abbey, I will try 
 to make them as happy as I can." 
 
 " God bless you, Hilda ! And I am to tell him this ? " 
 
 " Yes, and you may tell Dorothy too, for all this has 
 exhausted me." And then Lady Merriton gave her hus- 
 band a loving look and went back to her room.
 
 XLI 
 
 "I NEVER SAID WHERE!" 
 
 Yet out of the gloom the morning star 
 
 Shines on the sky ; 
 And deep in the heart is the hope always, 
 That there may be better and brighter days 
 
 In the bye-and-bye. 
 
 Adela Wilkins. 
 
 " Only four days to Christmas, and Craig has made 
 no sign," Joan said to herself rather dejectedly as she 
 dressed to go to the Cathedral as usual. It was a clear, 
 cold December morning, " seasonable and not unpleas- 
 antly chill," as Canon Leigh had remarked at breakfast. 
 " But all the same, my love," addressing his wife, " I 
 should advise you to remain at home, as you have not 
 quite lost your cold." And Silence submitted to her hus- 
 band's dictate with her usual amiability. 
 
 Marital authority had been exercised successfully, but 
 no amount of fraternal advice would have kept Joan 
 away from the Cathedral that morning. She could not 
 have controlled her restlessness indoors. Each day she 
 had a vague hope that she might see a certain tall sol- 
 dierly figure take possession of the opposite stall in the 
 <^hoir. 
 
 Craig had promised that he would see her before 
 Christmas, and not for one moment did she distrust his 
 word, although his continued silence somewhat perplexed 
 her. She knew he was at Brantwood, for he had dined 
 tete-a-tete with Lady Mary one evening, and the latter 
 had remarked in her letter that he seemed in good spirits. 
 " I think we both enjoyed our evening," she observed. 
 
 "Well, it was very puzzling, thought Joan ; but there 
 were still four days before Christmas. And then she 
 hurried down, as she knew Heath was expecting her to 
 walk with him. 
 
 22 337
 
 338 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 There were not more than half-a-dozen people at 
 matins, and Craig was certainly not amongst them. Joan 
 tried to forget her disappointment and to attend to her 
 prayers without distraction, but it was not easy. Poor 
 human nature is weak, and wandering thoughts are as 
 bad to combat as a host of midges on a summer's day. 
 
 Canon Leigh was going into the town after service, 
 but Joan felt too depressed to accompany him. So she 
 slipped away and took a solitary walk, which made her 
 feel a little better. But it was hardly twelve when she 
 entered St. Breda's Lodge. Prescott, who admitted her, 
 had an unwonted air of excitement. 
 
 " There's visitors in the study, Miss Joan," she said. 
 " The drawing-room fire wasn't lighted and I was forced 
 to put them there, as it was warm. They asked for you 
 — there are the cards." And Prescott presented them 
 almost with awe. Joan tingled with nervous excitement 
 from head to foot as she read the names — " The Earl of 
 Merriton " and " Lady Dorothy Bastow." 
 
 " Yes, they asked for you, Miss Joan," continued 
 Prescott ; " but my mistress is with them." But Joan 
 could wait for no more. Prescott had wished to explain 
 to her that the drawing-room fire was burning splendidly ; 
 and that she had had orders to lay two more places at 
 the luncheon-table. But Joan could not have taken it in. 
 Lord Merriton and Dorothy ! What could have brought 
 them to St. Breda's? Something had happened or was 
 about to happen ! Joan's knees were shaking and she 
 was a little pale as she entered the study, but Lady 
 Dorothy's affectionate hug and the Earl's unusually warm 
 greeting soon brought the colour back. 
 
 " I see we have taken you by surprise, my dear," he 
 said, kissing her in his old fatherly fashion. " We have 
 been half-an-hour talking to your good sister-in-law, and 
 she has been kind enough to ask us to have luncheon." 
 
 " If Lady Dorothy and Lord Merriton will kindly 
 excuse me, I think I will leave you to talk to your friends, 
 Joan." Silence spoke rather nervously and seemed a
 
 " I Never Said Where " 339 
 
 little excited and agitated ; but Lord Merriton looked 
 after her admiringly. 
 
 " A fine woman, Mrs. Leigh," he observed — " un- 
 commonly handsome too ! She was a bit shy at first, but 
 Dollie soon thawed her. Now, Joan, come and sit down 
 by me, for I have rather an important message to you 
 from my wife, and we have come all this way to deliver 
 it. Eh, what, Dorothy ? " rather irritably, for the Earl 
 hated to be interrupted. 
 
 " Oh, father, don't you remember " — rather reproach- 
 fully — " that we arranged that I was to give my own 
 message first ? " Then Lord Merriton burst into an 
 apologetic laugh. 
 
 " I quite forgot ; I am getting a bit doity, I am afraid. 
 Well, fire away, Dollie." 
 
 " You shall have mother's message afterwards, Joan 
 dear," went on Dorothy, with a sweet, earnest look, " but 
 no one but myself must ask you to be my bridesmaid. 
 You and Cicely will be together. It is all arranged, and 
 I mean to see about your dress to-morrow. We are 
 spending the night in town, father and I." 
 
 " I am to be your bridesmaid ? " faltered Joan. " Oh, 
 do you really mean it, Dorothy? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, we all wish it — mother and every one ; and 
 Aunt Mary is so pleased. Now it is your turn, father." 
 
 " Well, Joan," recommenced the long-suffering Earl, 
 " my wife sends her dear love to you, and begs me to 
 say that she is very desirous of having a talk with you ; 
 and as she is not strong enough to undertake a journey 
 to St. Breda's, she is sure that you will not refuse to 
 go to her." 
 
 " Refuse to go to Lady Merriton ! " with a deep flush. 
 
 " No, of course not, you are far too good and well- 
 behaved a little girl for that. So you will just pack up 
 your things and come back with us to-morrow. Your 
 room is all ready — Lady Mary told me this morning — 
 and you will come up to the Abbey and get your talk 
 over with my lady, and then we shall be all ready for a 
 peaceful Christmas."
 
 340 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Do you mean, I am not to come back here? " in an 
 astonished voice. 
 
 " Come back ! Of course not. Don't I tell you we 
 ^11 want you, and don't mean to let you go again ? " But 
 he had told her nothing of the kind. " I can't have Lady 
 Mary left alone like this. I told Mrs. Leigh so, and she 
 quite agreed with me, and said she would have you all 
 ready packed for the early train. Sensible woman that ! " 
 
 " Father wishes you to join us in town as early as 
 possible to-morrow, Joan," explained Dorothy gently, as 
 she saw the girl's bewilderment. " We are at the 
 Metropole, as it is more central. If you come up by the 
 early train we will meet you at the station, and you can 
 leave your luggage there ; and as I have made an appoint- 
 ment with Madame Flaubert, there will be just time for 
 her to take your orders. We need not trouble about the 
 milliner, as Aunt Mary is sending up one of your hats. 
 We shall get a hurried lucheon somehow, and father is 
 sure to order a tea-basket — he always does on the shortest 
 journey — so we shall not be starved." 
 
 Dorothy's feminine tact made her mention all these 
 minute details ; she thought it would make things more 
 real to Joan, who still wore a dazed and bewildered 
 expression. What did it all mean? Joan was asking her- 
 self. There had been no mention of Craig — his name 
 had not been breathed — but Lady Merriton had sent her 
 dear love and wanted to see her, and she was going 
 home for good, and she was to be Dorothy's bridesmaid 
 and pair with Lady Cicely ! And surely this was suffi- 
 cient joy for the present. 
 
 Canon Leigh's entrance at that moment interrupted 
 the conversation, and Joan, suddenly remembering her 
 duties, carried off Lady Dorothy to her room to refresh 
 and straighten herself after her journey. But the two 
 girls had hardly time to exchange a word before the 
 gong summoned them. 
 
 Joan paused on the staircase. 
 
 " You are sure it is quite true, Dollie ? "
 
 " I Never Said Where " 341 
 
 " Absolutely true. Oh, I know so well what you are 
 feeling, dear, but you will wake up presently. John was 
 wondering who would have the pretty sapphire and dia- 
 mond bangle, and he was so pleased when he heard it 
 would come to you." 
 
 But even this pleasant piece of intelligence did not 
 restore Joan to her normal condition. She ate her lunch- 
 eon in a sort of dream, and yet nothing escaped her 
 observation. She noticed with secret pride the perfect 
 ease with which her brother entertained his distinguished 
 guests, and the alert brightness of his aspect assured 
 her of his satisfaction ; and she also observed Silence's 
 shy pleasure in Lady Dorothy's conversation. Nothing 
 could exceed the Earl's affability ; he talked to the Win- 
 chester boys and asked Noel's age, and made pleasant 
 speeches to Wanda and Jessica. Jess was on her good 
 behaviour for once — a real live Earl inspired her with 
 awe. " Though, after all," as she remarked afterwards to 
 her mother, " he was only a nice red-faced old gentleman, 
 who looked more like a farmer than a nobleman." 
 
 As soon as luncheon was over, Lord Merriton hurried 
 his daughter away. A few final directions were given 
 to Joan, which Canon Leigh privately noted ; and as he 
 had a call to make in that direction, he drove with them 
 to the station. 
 
 Joan woke up in reality as the carriage wheels were 
 lost in the distance. The children were gathered round 
 her in a bunch, full of noisy lamentations that she was 
 going away, and that their Christmas would be quite 
 spoilt without Aunt Joan. But their mother promptly 
 silenced them. 
 
 " Don't be selfish, children ; your aunt would far 
 rather be at Brantwood. Now there is no time to waste 
 in talk. I am coming to your room, Joan, to help with 
 your packing." 
 
 Joan was truly thankful for her assistance. Silence 
 was always so collected and capable when there was any 
 business on hand. She never fussed or talked as some
 
 342 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 workers do. Joan had other things to think about besides 
 her packing. She had to entrust to Silence's care all 
 the gifts she had been preparing for Christmas for the 
 children and servants, not omitting Heath and Silence 
 herself. There was even a pretty little remembrance for 
 Mrs. Ramsay. 
 
 When the packing was over she went across to 
 Kenwyn to bid her friends good-bye, but she had no 
 time to linger in the pleasant fireside circle. " I have 
 promised tbe children to be back for tea," she said a 
 little breathlessly. She had seen a good deal of Basil 
 Ramsay, and liked him very much. He was leaning back 
 in the luxurious easy-chair that Dick Trafford had appro- 
 priated for his own use, and looked contentedly at his 
 stepmother, who was sitting opposite him. Canon Ramsay 
 had evidently been reading aloud. 
 
 " Dick is coming back to us for Christmas and the 
 New Year," observed Felicia placidly, when Joan had 
 hurriedly stated her errand. " He and Basil get on very 
 well together — don't they, Alick ? " Canon Ramsay 
 smiled in rather a humorous way. " He says that the 
 missionary is more highly flavoured than he expected, 
 and that there is some spice of fun about him." 
 
 " Dick little knows what a pickle you were in your 
 young days — eh, lad?" But there was a tender, fatherly 
 gleam in Canon Ramsay's eyes as they rested on his 
 son's face. 
 
 When Joan took her leave Felicia followed her out 
 into the hall. 
 
 " I am so glad, dear," she whispered ; " you will have 
 a happy Christmas at Morningside with your dear old 
 frien " 
 
 "Oh, yes. T hope so; but" — blushing — "we always 
 spend the evening at the Abbey — it is an old custom, yon 
 know." 
 
 ' Yes, and T love old customs — yule logs, and mistle- 
 toe boughs, and, above all, family gatherings at Christ- 
 mas. There, I will not keep you. The happiest of all
 
 " I Never Said Where " 343 
 
 New Years to you, Joan dear ! " But though Joan 
 thanked her for her good wishes, her heart was too full 
 for much speech. What would the new year bring to 
 her and Craig? 
 
 Joan did her best to make the children happy that 
 evening, but she was thankful when bed-time came. 
 When she wished her brother good-night, he put his 
 hand under her chin and looked at her very kindly. 
 
 " Silence says that I must not talk to you to-night 
 or you will not sleep. But I want to say this, Joan, 
 whether things go smoothly or not — and in my opinion 
 there is little doubt that Lady Merriton has changed her 
 mind — I mean to come soon and see you and Lady Mary, 
 and then we will have a grand palaver." 
 
 " Oh, Heath, will you really — how kind of you ! W T e 
 shall love to have you ! " and Joan's eyes sparkled with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Then I will not fail to turn up. There, God bless 
 you, dear child ! " and he kissed her with real brotherly 
 tenderness. 
 
 Silence followed her into her room, which looked very 
 cheery with its blazing fire. 
 
 " Dear Joan," she said softly, " we shall all miss you 
 very much, but I would not have it otherwise for the 
 world, and I am more glad than I can say that things 
 seem coming right. Now I want you to promise me to 
 go quickly to bed, and try not to think. Remember what 
 an early breakfast you will have, and the day will be so 
 long and fatiguing." 
 
 Then Joan assured her that she would do her best. 
 But the fire had died down to a smouldering red mass 
 before she sank into a sound sleep, and it seemed the 
 middle of the night when the housemaid came with her 
 morning cup of tea. 
 
 The hurried breakfast was soon over and the good- 
 byes said. Canon Leigh, who was aware of Lady Mary's 
 old-fashioned notions, had fully intended from the first 
 to accompany Joan to Charing Cross. But he said noth- 
 ing to her until he took his place in the compartment.
 
 344 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 " Oh, Heath," she exclaimed in distress, " the idea of 
 putting yourself out in this way for me ! " 
 
 " I am not putting- myself out in the least," he returned 
 coolly. " As soon as I have seen you safely with your 
 friends and have settled about your luggage, I am going 
 to the S.P.G. for those books I wanted, and then on to 
 the Army and Navy Stores. I have quite a formidable 
 list to work off. And if there is time, I shall interview 
 my tailor. You know I am always rather glad of an 
 excuse for spending a day in town." And as Joan knew 
 this was the truth, she said no more. 
 
 Lord Merriton, who was always punctual, was on 
 the platform, and Dorothy was waving from a cab win- 
 dow. Joan had hardly time to bid her brother good-bye 
 before she was hurried into the vehicle and the order 
 given to drive as fast as possible to Madame Flaubert's. 
 Lord Merriton was always fussy on these occasions, but 
 Dorothy assured her privately that they had ample time. 
 Joan was fitted and everything settled before Lord Merri- 
 ton turned up again to escort them to the restaurant. But 
 Joan, who had small appetite for her luncheon, was glad 
 when it was over and they were on their way to Waterloo. 
 
 "There, didn't I tell you so?" remarked Dorothy 
 triumphantly, as they overheard Lord Merriton give an 
 order for a tea-basket. 
 
 " You need not laugh, Dollie," he returned good- 
 humouredly, unfolding his Graphic; " Joan has eaten next 
 to nothing, and she will be glad of a cup of tea by and 
 by." And he was right. 
 
 It was quite dark when they reached the station. As 
 Lord Merriton put the two girls into the carriage, he 
 gave some order to the footman which Joan could not 
 hear, and the man's answer, " The cart is here, my lord — 
 Fenton will take the luggage on to Morningside," also 
 failed to reach her. 
 
 It was useless to try and discern anything in the 
 darkness, so Joan leant back and closed her eyes. How 
 delightful to think that she would be with Lady Mary in
 
 " I Never Said Where " 345 
 
 a few minutes! She had to keep her thoughts concen- 
 trated on that one point, for anything else made her 
 giddy. Then she suddenly opened her eyes. Surely they 
 were turning in through the Abbey gateway? 
 
 " What does this mean," she faltered ; " I thought I 
 was going to Morningside first?" Then Dorothy took 
 her hand. 
 
 " No, dear, Aunt Mary is not expecting you yet. She 
 knows mother wished us to bring you straight to the 
 Abbey — we thought you understood that." But Joan 
 mutely shook her head; she was trembling now with 
 nervousness. 
 
 In another moment the carriage stopped, the door was 
 flung open, and she could see the brightly-lighted hall, 
 and two or three servants came forward. But it was not 
 one of these who assisted Joan to descend, and whose 
 strong warm grasp she would have recognised anywhere. 
 
 " You are punctual as usual, father," observed Craig 
 in his genial voice. " Good evening Dollie, I nearly over- 
 looked you. Now then, Joan," with a change of tone 
 intended for her ear alone, " will you come with me, 
 please, for I have promised to take you straight to 
 mother?" and Craig quietly took the little trembling 
 hand and placed it on his arm. " Don't be nervous, the 
 mater is all right." Then in a still lower tone — " Joan 
 dear, were you not wondering a little at my silence ? But 
 I have kept my word — I said I would see you before 
 Christmas, but I never said where ! "
 
 XLII 
 
 "WILL YOU COME TO US, MY CHILD?" 
 
 Take joy home, 
 And make a place in thy great heart for her, 
 And give her time to grow, and cherish her ; 
 Then will she come, and oft will sing to thee, 
 When thou art working in the furrows, ay, 
 Or weeding in the sacred hour of dawn. 
 It is a comely fashion to be glad — 
 Joy is the grace we say to God. 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
 " Mother, I have brought Joan ! " Craig's clear 
 voice quite resounded through the large, lofty room. 
 Then a faint flush rose to Lady Merriton's cheek as she 
 came forward with stately step to meet them. 
 
 " It is very good of you to come to me, my dear," 
 she said, as she kissed the girl kindly. 
 
 " I think the goodness is on your side, Lady Merri- 
 ton " — in a low voice ; " you know I am always ready 
 to come to you." But Joan spoke with such evident 
 nervousness and embarrassment, and the small white 
 face looked so young and appealing, that Lady Merriton's 
 good motherly heart responded at once. 
 
 " She looks tired, Craig ; you had better bring her 
 some tea." But Joan negatived this very decidedly. 
 
 " I do not need any ; Lord Merriton was so kind, he 
 ordered a tea-basket in the train. And I am not really 
 
 tired at all, only " here Joan looked up shyly at Craig 
 
 from under her long eyelashes. She was conscious that 
 he was watching her, and it added to her embarrassment. 
 Oh, if she could only be alone with him and ask him 
 what it all meant ! But Lady Merriton had decided 
 otherwise. 
 
 " Then we will have our little talk, dear, and I will 
 send Craig away. Tell your father and Dorothy," ad- 
 
 346
 
 " Will You Come to Us, My Child? " 347 
 
 dressing her son, " that I will see them later on, but just 
 now Joan and I do not wish to be disturbed." 
 
 " All right, mater," and Craig gave Joan a quick 
 glance which she could not meet. But as he closed the 
 door his mood was so joyful that he broke into a boyish 
 whistle which reached the girl's ear and made her tingle 
 with delight. 
 
 " Take off your hat and your stole, my child, you will 
 feel more comfortable." And Joan mechanically obeyed. 
 Then she took the low seat, so snugly screened from the 
 fire, which stood beside the couch, and waited for Lady 
 Merriton to begin the conversation. 
 
 Her first speech rather surprised the girl. 
 
 " I hope Madame Flaubert fitted you nicely, Joan, 
 and that you like the dresses." 
 
 " I thought them lovely — nothing could be in better 
 taste. Oh, Lady Merriton, I think it is so good of you 
 to allow me to be one of dear Dorothy's bridesmaids ! " 
 
 " I mean to be more good to you than that, Joan. 
 My dear, will you listen to me a moment? I want you 
 to understand that Lord Merriton and I had no personal 
 objection to you when we refused our consent to Craig's 
 marriage with you." 
 
 " Dear Lady Merriton, do you think I did not know 
 — that I ever expected anything so impossible ! " And 
 Joan, in spite of her glass screen, flushed to the roots of 
 her hair. 
 
 " I don't know about the impossibility, Joan ; but at 
 that time it seemed to us that it was Craig's duty to marry 
 some girl who had a fortune of her own. You know, 
 of course," in rather a hesitating manner, " that we hoped 
 that he might have chosen Lady Cicely." 
 
 " Oh, yes," returned Joan with painful eagerness, 
 " and no one could have been more desirable. It seems 
 to me that she has everything that one could wish — 
 beauty, rank, wealth, and the most delightful tempera- 
 ment." 
 
 " You are right," with a regretful sigh. " But it was
 
 348 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 not to be ; Craig- had set his heart on some one else. You 
 know whom, Joan." 
 
 The girl hung her head. " I did all I could to dis- 
 courage him, Lady Merriton." 
 
 " My dear, you behaved as well as a girl could ; Lord 
 Merriton and I have always said so. But circumstances 
 have altered. Our daughter is leaving us, and we no 
 longer think it right to stand in the way of our son's 
 happiness — our only remaining son." 
 
 Joan was silent. Her head was bowed still lower, but 
 she was listening so keenly that she could have heard a 
 pin drop. 
 
 " Dorothy is leaving us, and we shall be very lonely. 
 Dear Joan, will you let bygones be bygones and com- 
 mence afresh ? Will you come to us, my child, and be our 
 daughter in Dorothy's place?" 
 
 " How do you mean ? " in a startled voice ; " I am 
 Lady Mary's adopted child." 
 
 "Yes, I know," with an indulgent smile; "but you 
 need not to be afraid that Lady Mary will offer any 
 objection. When I consulted her about the arrangement, 
 she actually shed tears of joy." 
 
 "But what arrangement do you mean? I am very 
 dense, but I do not feel able to understand." 
 
 " I mean that, if she will only consent," and here 
 Lady Merriton took the girl's cold, clammy hand in hers, 
 " Craig should bring his wife here and make the Abbey 
 their home. Will you come, Joan, and cheer two lonely 
 old people, my love? We will do all in our power to 
 make it a real home for you, and you shall be our own 
 dear child. Only tell me you will come." Then Joan 
 raised her face and her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " I will come if Craig wishes it," she faltered, " and 
 if you really, really mean it." Then she felt herself 
 drawn into a motherly embrace. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear; then that is settled as far as 
 you and I are concerned," returned Lady Merriton in 
 a tone of relief, as she rose from the couch. " Now we
 
 "Will You Come to Us, My Child?" 349 
 
 have only to ascertain Craig's wishes " — and she rang 
 the bell, rather to Joan's dismay. Surely she did not 
 intend to question Craig in her presence? But Lady 
 Merriton's next speech relieved her. 
 
 " Of course I am aware of his wishes, or I should not 
 have mentioned my plan, but I am sure you would like 
 a little talk with him." And then, as the servant entered, 
 she bade him ask Lord Josselyn to come to her, and as 
 the man withdrew she followed him. 
 
 Joan was thankful to be left alone even for a minute ; 
 she left her corner and stood by the fire, and tried to 
 calm her tumultuous thoughts. She did not move or turn 
 her head when the door opened and Craig crossed the 
 room. The next moment he had put his arms round 
 her and was drawing her gently towards him. 
 
 " I am not going to propose to you a third time, 
 Joan," he said in her ear; " it is your turn now to say 
 something." 
 
 "Oh, Craig!" 
 
 " I shall want more than that," kissing the soft hair 
 that rested against his shoulder, " so you may as well 
 be quick about it." 
 
 " Oh, Craig, I don't know what to say ! " 
 
 " Then I will tell you, and you can repeat it after 
 me, as they do in the marriage service. I, Joan Leigh, 
 promise in all good faith and sincerity to take Craig 
 Bastow as my wedded husband, and to love him all the 
 days of my life." And he would not let her off, and Joan 
 had actually to say the words, though he could hardly 
 hear them. 
 
 Craig laughed a little triumphantly as he kissed her. 
 " Joan, what a darling you are, but I never saw you 
 quite so shy with me before." 
 
 " Tt is your fault," she said unsteadily. 
 
 " Come and sit down and let us talk comfortably," 
 he said coaxingly. for he wished to put her at her ease. 
 It was sweet to make love to her, but he wanted her to 
 be her old frank self, and above all it was necessary for
 
 350 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 him to find out what she thought of his mother's plan; 
 so he put the question to her. 
 
 Joan hesitated for a moment. 
 
 " I told Lady Merriton that I would do what you 
 wished. Are you sure that it will suit you, Craig? " 
 
 " It will suit me down to the ground," he said cheer- 
 fully, " for it will enable us to get married as soon as 
 we like. We might have had to wait a year or two if 
 there had been a question of a second establishment." 
 
 " I think your mother really wishes it," she whispered. 
 
 " I am sure of it. Think of this great house and all 
 those empty rooms, and the poor old people sitting like 
 Darby and Joan on each side of the fireplace." 
 
 " But you would be there, Craig? " 
 
 " Should I ? " mischievously ; " I think I should be 
 oftener at Morningside. What a nuisance Aunt Mary 
 would have found me ! By the bye, Joan, did the mater 
 tell you how charmed Aunt Mary is with the arrange- 
 ment? She can't speak of it without tears in her eyes." 
 
 "Dear Lady Mary! I am so glad." 
 
 " We were talking about it when I dined there," went 
 on Craig, " and she told me that she regarded it as provi- 
 dential. ' I was always so afraid of Joan marrying some 
 day,' she said, ' and living far away from me. But if 
 she is at the Abbey we shall be together every day, for 
 I know you will not begrudge your wife to me some- 
 times.' By the bye, darling, you will have to call her 
 ' Aunt Mary ' soon." 
 
 " Oh, no, T like the old name, Craig," caressing his 
 coat-sleeve. " You won't mind if I love her best, will 
 you?" 
 
 "Better than me?" with a sudden flash of his blue 
 eyes. " I should think I would mind ! " 
 
 "Oh, don't be so absurd, Craig! Of course T did 
 not mean you ; I was speaking of your mother." Then 
 Craig burst into a fit of boyish laughter that was delight- 
 ful to hear. 
 
 " I only meant that Lady Mary has been a mother to
 
 " Will You Come to Us, My Child? " 351 
 
 me ever since dear mother died, and she calls me her 
 adopted child. We do love each other so dearly, Craig - , 
 and I could not put any one else in her place." 
 
 " Of course not ; the mater would not expect it, 
 darling. But I know you will be good to the old people 
 for my sake." 
 
 " Yes, indeed " ; and here Joan gave him a shy, sweet 
 look which made the young man's pulses beat more 
 quickly. " Somehow it seems too wonderful to be true, 
 as though I have done nothing to deserve such happiness. 
 No, please let me finish, there is something I want to say. 
 You have been so faithful, Craig, but sometimes I ask 
 myself how you can care for me so much when I am not 
 pretty or charming like Lady Cicely." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know," returned Craig frankly, 
 " I never was good at definitions. I cared for you, as 
 you call it, just because you were Joan, and it was Joan 
 I wanted and not Lady Cicely or any one else. You 
 are charming enough in my eyes. It is Joan and Joan 
 only whom I love with my whole heart." 
 
 " How nice," murmured the girl, nestling closer to 
 him. " Oh, Craig, you must help me to be worthy of my 
 position ; I want to justify your choice if I can." 
 
 "I have no fear on that score," he returned; "you 
 will do grandly, sweetheart, and astonish them all. By 
 the bye, when you are Lady Josselyn my mother or Lady 
 Mary will have to present you." 
 
 " Don't, Craig, I can't think of all that just now." 
 Joan's cup of joy was full to the brim — very little would 
 cause it to overflow. 
 
 It was the man, not his position she loved. The idea 
 that she would one day be a countess hardly weighed 
 in the balance at all. At the present moment the thought 
 of her prospective glories rather alarmed her than other- 
 wise. Her one idea was that Craig and she would never 
 be separated. 
 
 " God has been very good to me," she whispered, as 
 later on they sat hand in hand in the firelight ; " I do
 
 352 The Key of the Unknown 
 
 not deserve to be so very happy." But before Craig 
 could answer this Dorothy came into the room. 
 
 " I am so sorry to interrupt you dear people," she 
 said, " but you have evidently no idea how late it is. 
 Aunt Mary has just sent across to ask if you are dining 
 here." Then Joan rose in some confusion. 
 
 " Don't flurry yourself, Joan," observed Craig calmly ; 
 " I will walk across with you, and we will make our 
 apologies together. Aunt Mary is a good sort, and she 
 will understand all about it." And he was right 
 
 It was early in June — the month of roses — and the 
 eve of Joan's wedding day. It had been a long, exciting 
 day, for Canon Leigh and his wife and daughters had 
 arrived at Morningside, and Richard Trafford and the 
 three boys had taken up their quarters at Herondale 
 Rectory. The Abbey was full to overflowing, for Lady 
 Helmore and her husband, the Templetons, and other 
 distant relations of the Merritons had taken possession 
 of the spare rooms ; amongst them Lady Cicely and her 
 cousin, Lady Marjorie Colvin, now engaged to the Rev. 
 Morven Rutherford. 
 
 Lady Mary, who was a little weary with all the excite- 
 ment and bustle, had excused herself to her guests and 
 gone up early to her dressing-room, and after a short 
 interval Joan had followed her. Evidently Lady Mary 
 was expecting her, for she pointed smilingly to a low 
 ottoman which stood beside her easy-chair. 
 
 " You are sure Heath and Silence do not mind spar- 
 ing you to me this evening? " she asked a little anxiously. 
 
 " No, indeed, they quite understand. Silence has 
 gone upstairs with Jess, and Heath is reading as com- 
 fortably as possible. They know we want to be alone 
 together this last evening." 
 
 " The last evening you will be Joan Leigh ! " smooth- 
 ing the fair hair fondly. 
 
 " Yes," returned the girl dreamily. " Doesn't it seem
 
 " Will You Come to Us, My Child? " 353 
 
 wonderful! When I think of to-morrow and all those 
 people at the Abbey, it makes me quite giddy." But to 
 herself she was saying softly — " To-morrow I shall be 
 Craig's wife." 
 
 " Yes, it is wonderful," replied Lady Mary gently. 
 " How little we thought last June, darling, that our 
 troubles would end so happily! I have just been reading 
 the evening Psalm; it is so sweetly appropriate, Joan. 
 ' Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in 
 Him : and He shall bring it to pass.' Has not that been 
 true, my child, and you and Craig have your heart's 
 desire? " 
 
 " Indeed it is true, dear Lady Mary. That is my 
 favourite Psalm, but I forgot it would be the one for 
 to-night. " Dearest, you must promise not to be dull 
 to-morrow when we have gone. You will have Heath 
 and the children." 
 
 " Dull ! when my child is so happy." 
 
 " No, you are too unselfish," kissing her hand, " and 
 I know how good they will all be to you. And you must 
 not be dull either when I go to my new home, for we 
 shall see each other every day and have our dear old 
 talks. I shall be more than ever your child then." 
 
 " I know it, darling, and I am perfectly satisfied and 
 happy. Do you remember, Joan, those quaint verses I 
 repeated to you one night when we were both sad at 
 heart and the future looked rather gloomy — ' He holds 
 the key of all unknown ' ? And as Joan smiled assent, 
 Lady Mary went on — " Surely you and I may be glad. 
 If the key had been put into our hands, we might only 
 have bungled the work and done the wrong thing. But 
 now all is well, my darling, for ' He has brought it to 
 pass.' " And Joan softly murmured " Amen " under 
 her breath. 
 
 THE END
 
 
 
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