THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE END OF A COIL. of " MY DESIRE. A Tale. I2mo $1.75 " Miss Warner possesses in a remarkable degree the power of vividly describing New England village life, the power of making her village people walk and talk for the benefit of her readers in all the freshness of their clear-cut originality. She has an ample fund of humor, a keen sense of the ridiculous, and a rare faculty of painting homely truths in homely but singularly felicitous phrases." Philadelphia Times. PINE NEEDLES. A Tale. lamo $1.50 THE OLD HELMET. A Tale, izmo 2.25 MELBOURNE HOUSE. A Tale, izmo 2.00 THE KING'S PEOPLE. 5 vols. $7.00. Containing : WALKS FROM EDEN .... $1.50 I THE KINGDOM OF TUDAH . . *i 50 HOUSE OK ISRAEL 1.50 | THE BROKEN WALLS .... 1.23 STA our OF JACOB $i. S o. THE SAY AND DO SERIES. 6 vols. $7.50. Containing : THE LITTLE CAMP $1.25 I THE FLAG OF TRUCE . . . i. 2S WILLOW BROOK 1.25 BREAD AND ORANGES . , 25 SCEPTRES AND CROWNS . . . 1.25 | THE RAPIDS OF NIAGARA . . 1.25 A STORY OF SMALL BEGINNINGS. 4 vols. $5.00. Containing : By Miss Anna Warner. THE BLUE FLAG AND THE CLOTH OF GOLD STORIES OF VINEGAR HILL. 3 vols. ELLEN MONTGOMERY'S BOOKSHELF. 5 vok ' LITTLE JACK'S FOUR LESSONS. ....'.'.'.'. ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, NEW YORK. .THE END OF A Coi L BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD." 'Well begun is half done.' 1 NEW YORK: ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 530 BROADWAY. i860. Copyright, 1880, BY ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS. CAMBR.DGE: ST. JOHNLAND PRESS OF STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, JOHN WIWON AND SON. SUFFOLK 315$ NOTE. As in the case of "My Desire," the turning facts of this story are fact; even to the most romantic and unlikely detail. In this is found, I hope, my jus- tification for making the hero in one place repeat something very like what was said by the hero of "Queechy" on a like occasion. I was unwilling to disturb the absolute truth of the story, so far as I had it. MART-LAKE'S ROCK, May, 1880. 1702005 CONTENTS. CHAP. . PAGB i. DOLLY'S ARRIVAL 7 II. CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER ... 24 III. THE MARINE DICTIONARY . . . .45 iv. THE "ACHILLES" 55 V. THE PIECE OF ROPE 73 VI. END OF SCHOOL TERM .... 84 VII. PLAYTHINGS 92 VIIL LONDON 102 IX. THE PEACOCKS 1 13 X. BRIERLEY COTTAGE 133 XL IN THE PARK 146 XII. THE HOUSE 167 XIII. MONEY . l8l XIV. DIFFICULTIES 2O$ xv. THE CONSUL'S OFFICE . . . t .223 XVI. A FIGHT 238 XVII. RUPERT 26l XVIII. A SQUARE PARTY 28 1 XIX. SEEING SIGHTS 306 XX. LIMBURG ....;.. 336 XXI. VENICE 354 XXII. MR. COPLEY 379 XXIII. THE WINE SHOP 405 XXIV. PAST GREATNESS 425 viii CONTENTS. CHAP. PACK XXV. CHRISTMAS EVE 444 XXVI. NAPLES 473 XXVII. SORRENTO 494 XXVIII. AT THE VILLA 512 XXIX. WHITHER NOW? . . 537 XXX. DOWN HILL ,' '' ' . " ' .' * . . . 558 XXXI. HANDS FULL . . . . . .583 XXXII. THE NURSE 607 XXXIII. UNDER AN OAK TREE 627 XXXIV. HOW IT WAS SETTLED . . . . 65! XXXV. WAYS AND MEANS V T ' . ' i - . 674 XXXVI. THIS PICTURE AND THAT .... 700 THE END OF A COIL. CHAPTER I. DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. THE door stands open of a handsome house in Walnut Street, the Walnut Street which belongs to the city of William Penn; and on the threshold stands a lady, with her hand up to her brows, shielding her eyes from the light. She is watching to see what will come out of a carriage just driving up to the curb stone. The carriage stops; there descends first the figure of a hand- some, very comfortable looking gentleman. Mrs. Eberstein's eyes pass over him very cursorily; she has seen him before ; and there is hardly a curl on his handsome head which his wife does not know by heart. What comes next? Ah, that is she! the figure of the expected one; and a little girl of some eleven years is helped carefully out by. Mr. Eberstein, and comes up the steps to the wait- ing and watching lady. A delicate little thing, delicate in frame and feature alike, with a fair, childish face, framed in by loose light brown curls, and a pair of those clear, grave, wise, light hazel eyes which have the power of looking so young 8 THE END OF A COIL. and so spiritually old at once. Those eyes are the first thing that Mrs. Eberstein sees, and they fasci- nate her already. Meanwhile kind arms are opened wide and take the little one in. " Come at last, darling ! And do you remember your Aunt Hal ? and are you half as glad to see her as she is to see you?" So Mrs. Eberstein gives her greeting, while she is drawing the child through the hall and into the parlour; gives it between kisses. "Why no," said her husband who had fol- lowed. "Be reasonable, Harry. She cannot be so glad to see you as we are to see her. She has just come from a long stage coach journey; and she is tired, and she is hungry; and she has left a world she knows, and has come to a world she doesn't know; hey, Dolly? isn't it true? Tell your Aunt Hal to stop asking questions and give you something to eat." " I have come to a world I don't know," re- peated the little girl by way of answer, turning her serious small face to her questioner, while Mrs. Eberstein was busily taking off coat and hat and mufflers. "Yes, that's what I say," returned Mr. Eber- stein. " How do you like the look of it, hey ? " "I wonder who is asking questions now!" said Mrs. Eberstein. " There, darling ! now you are at home." She finished with another kiss; but nevertheless I think the feeling that it was a strange world DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 9 she had come to, was rather prominent in Dolly. She suddenly stooped to a great Maltese cat that was lying on the hearthrug, and I am afraid the eyes were glad of an excuse to get out of sight. She touched the cat's fur tenderly and somewhat diligently. " She won't hurt you," said her aunt. " That is Mr. Eberstein's pet. Her name is Queen Mab." " She don't look much like a fairy," was Dolly's comment. Indeed Queen Mab would outweigh most of her race and' was a magnificent specimen of good feeding. "Fow do," thought Mrs. Eberstein. Aloud she asked : " What do you know about fairies ? " "01 know they are only stories. I have read about them." " Fairy tales, eh ? " "No, not much fairy tales," said Dolly, now ris- ing up from the cat. " I have read about them in ' Midsummer Night's Dream.' " " ' Midsummer Night's Dream,' you midget ! " exclaimed Mrs. Eberstein. " Have you read that ? And everything else you could lay hands on ? " She took the child in her arms again as she spoke. Dolly gave a quiet assent. "And they let you do just what you like at home ? and read just what you like ? " Dolly smiled slightly, at the obviousness of the course of action referred to ; but the next minute the smile was quenched in a mist of tears and she hid her head on Mrs. Eberstein's shoulder. Kisses 10 THE END OF A COIL. and caresses of course followed, not successfully. At last Mr. Eberstein's repeated suggestion that food, in the circumstances, would be very much in place, was acted upon. Supper was served in the next room, which did duty for a dining room ; and the little family gathered round a bounti&illy spread table. There were only those three; and naturally, the attention of the two elder was very much concentrated upon the third new member of the party; although Mr. Eberstein was hungry and proved it. The more Mrs. Eberstein studied her new acquisition, however, the more incitement to study she found. . Dolly was not like most children; one could see that immediately. Faces as pretty, and more pret- ty, could easily be found; the charm was not in mere flesh and blood form or colour. Other chil- dren's faces are often innocent too, and free from the shadow of life's burdens, as this was. Never- theless it is not often, it is very rarely, that one sees the mingling of childish simplicity with that thoughtful, wise, spiritual look into life, which met one in Dolly's serious hazel orbs. Not often that sweetness and character speak so early in the lines of the lips; utterly childish in their soft, free mobility; and yet revealing continually a trait of thoughtfulness or of strength, along with the happy play of an unqualified tender disposi- tion. " You are lovely " " you are lovely ! " was Mrs. Eberstein's inner cry; and she had to guard herself that the thought did not come to too open DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 11 expression. There was a delicate air of refinement also about the child, quite in keeping with all the rest of her; a neat and noiseless handling of knife and fork, cup and saucer; and while Dolly was evidently hungry as well as her uncle, she took what was given to her in a thoroughly high-bred way; that is, she made neither too much nor too little of it. Doubtless all the while she was using her power of observation, as Mrs. Eberstein was using hers, though the fact was not obtruded; for Dolly had heart wants quite as urgent as body wants. What she saw was reassuring. With Mr. Eberstein she had already been several hours in company, hav- ing travelled with him from New York. She was convinced of his genial kindness and steadfast hon- esty; all the lines of his handsome face and every movement of his somewhat ease-loving person were in harmony with that impression. Mrs. Eberstein was a fit mate for her husband. If Dolly had watched her a little anxiously at first, on account of her livelier manner, she soon made out to her satisfaction that nothing but kindness, large and bounteous, lodged behind her aunt's face, and gave its character to her aunt's manner. She knew those lively eyes were studying her; she knew just as well that nothing but good would come of the study. The meal over, Mrs. Eberstein took her niece up stairs to make her acquainted with her new quarters. It was a little room off the hall which 12 THE END OF A COIL. had been destined for Dolly, opening out of her aunt's own; and it had been fitted up with careful affection. A small bedstead and dressing table of walnut wood, a little chest of drawers, a little ward- robe ; it was a wonder how so much could have been got in, but there was room for all. And then there were red curtains and carpet, and on the white spread a dainty little eider down silk quilt; and on the dressing table and chest of drawers pretty toilet napkins and pin cushion. It was a cosy lit- tle apartment as ever eleven years old need delight in. Dolly forthwith hung up her hat and coat in the wardrobe ; took brush and comb out of her trav- elling bag, and with somewhat elaborate care made her hair smooth ; as smooth, that is, as a loose con- fusion of curly locks allowed; then signified that she was ready to go down stairs again. If Mrs. Eberstein had expected some remark upon her work, she was disappointed. In the drawing-room, she drew the child to sit down upon her knee. " Well, Dolly, what do you think you are going to do in Philadelphia ? " " Go to school they say." "Who says so?" " Father says so, and mother." " What do you think they want you to go to school for?" " I suppose, that I may become like other people." Mr. Eberstein burst out into a laugh. His wife's eyes went over to him adjuringly. DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 13 " Are you not like other people now, Dolly ? " The child's sweet, thoughtful brown eyes were lifted to hers frankly, as she answered, "I don't know, ma'am." "Then why do you say that? or why do they say it ? " " I don't know," said Dolly again. " I think they think so." "I dare say they do," said Mrs. Eberstein; "but if you were mine, I would rather have you unlike other people." "Why, Aunt Harry?" " Yes," said Mr. Eberstein ; " now you'll have to go on and tell." And Dolly's eyes indeed looked expectant. " I think I like you best just as you are." Dolly's face curled all up into a smile at this; brow and eyes and cheeks and lips all spoke her sense of amusement ; and stooping forward a little at the same time, she laid a loving kiss upon her aunt's mouth, who was unspeakably delighted with this expression of confidence. But then she repeated gravely, "I think they want me changed." " And pray, what are you going to do, with that purpose in view ? " " I don't know. I am going to study, and learn things; a great many things." "I don't believe you are particularly ignorant, for eleven years old." "0 I do not know anything ! " 14 THE END OF A COIL. " Can you write a nice hand ? " Dolly's face wrinkled up again with a sense of the comical. She gave an unhesitating affirma- tive answer. "And you have read Shakspeare. What else, Dolly?" " Plutarch." "Plutarch's Lives?" said Mrs. Eberstein, while her husband again laughed out aloud. " Hush, Ed- ward. Is it Plutarch's Lives, my dear, that you mean? Csesar, and Alexander, and Pompey?" Dolly nodded. "And all the rest of them. 1 like them very much." " But what is your favourite book ? " "That," said Dolly. "I have got a whole little bookcase up stairs, full of the books I used to read when I was a little girl. We will look into it to-morrow, and see what we can find. Plutarch's Lives is not there." "0 I do not want that," said Dolly, her eyes brightening. " I have read it so much, I know it all." "Come here," said Mr. Eberstein; "your aunt has had you long enough; come here, Dolly, and talk to me. Tell me which of those old fellows you think was the best fellow ? " "Of Plutarch's Lives?" said Dolly, accepting a position upon Mr. Eberstein's knee now. "Yes; the men that Plutarch's Lives tell about. Whom do you like best ? " DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 15 Dolly pondered, and then averred that she liked one for one thing and another for another. There ensued a lively discussion between her and Mr. Eberstein, in the course of which Dolly certain- ly brought to view some power of discrimina- tion and an unbiassed original judgment; at the same time her manner retained the delicate quiet which characterized all that belonged to her. She held her own over against Mr. Eberstein, but she held it with an exquisite poise of ladylike good breeding; and Mr. Eberstein was charmed with her. The talk lasted until it was broken up by Mrs. Eberstein, who declared Dolly must go to rest. She went up herself with the child, and attended to her little arrangements ; helped her undress ; and when Dolly was fairly in bed, stood still looking at the bright little head on the pillow, thinking that the brown eyes were very wide open for the cir- cumstances. " Are you very tired, darling ? " she asked.' " I don't know," said Dolly. " I guess, not very." " Sleepy ? " "No, I am not sleepy yet. I am wide awake." " Do you ever lie awake, after you have gone to bed?" "Not often. Sometimes." " What makes you do it ? " " I don't know. I get thinking, sometimes." "About what can such a midget as you get thinking ? " 16 THE END OF A COIL. Dolly's face wrinkled up a little in amusement at this question. " I see a great many things to think about " she answered. " It's too soon for you to begin that," said Mrs. Eberstein, shaking her head. Then she dropped down on her knees by the bedside, so as to bring her face nearer the child's. " Dolly have you said your prayers ? " she asked softly. The brown eyes seemed to lift their lids a lit- tle wider at that. "What do you mean, Aunt Harry ? " she replied. "Do you never pray to the Lord Jesus, before you go to sleep ? " "I don't do it ever. I don't know anything about it." The thrill that went over Mrs. Eberstein at this, happily the little one did not know. She went on very quietly, in manner. " Don't you know what prayer is ? " "It is what people do in church, isn't it ? " "What is it, that people do in church?" " I do not know," said Dolly. " I never thought about it." " It is what you do whenever you ask your father or mother for anything. Only that is prayer to your father or mother. This I mean is prayer to God." " We don't call it prayer, asking them anything," said Dolly. " No, we do not call it so. But it is really the DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 17 same thing. We call it prayer, when we speak to God." " Why should I speak to God, Aunt Harry ?* I don't know how." "Why he is our Father in heaven, Dolly. Wouldn't it be a strange thing if children never spoke to their Father ? " "But they can't, if they don't know him," said Dolly. Here followed a strange thing, which no doubt had mighty after effects. Mrs. Eberstein, who was already pretty well excited over the conversation, at these words broke down, burst into tears, and hid her face in the bedclothes. Dolly looked on in wondering awe, and an instant apprehension that the question here was about something real. Presently she put out her hand and touched caress- ingly Mrs. Eberstein's hair, moved both by pity and curiosity to put an end to the tears and have the talk begin again. Mrs. Eberstein lifted her face; seized the little hand and kissed it. "You see, darling," she said, "I want you to be God's own child." " How can I ? " "If you will trust Jesus and obey him. All who belong to him are God's dear children ; and he loves them, and the Lord Jesus loves them, and he takes care of them and teaches them, and makes them fit to be with him and serve him in glory by and by." " But I don't know about Jesus," said Dolly again. 18 THE END OF A COIL. " Haven't you got a Bible ? " '^No." " Never read it ? " " No." "Never went to Sunday School? " " No, ma'am." "Little Dolly, I am very glad you came to Philadelphia." "Why, Aunt Harry?" " Because I love vou so much ! " exclaimed Mrs. Eberstein, kissing the child's sweet mouth. " Why Dolly, Jesus is the best, best friend we have got; nobody loves us so much in the whole world; he gave his life for us. And then, he is the King of glory. He is everything that is loving and true and great and good; 'the chiefest among ten thousand.' " "What did he give his life for?" said Dol- ly, whose eyes were growing more and more intent. " To save our lives, dear." "From what?" "Why Dolly, you and I, and everybody, have broken God's beautiful law. The punishment for that is death; not merely the death of the body, but everlasting separation from God and his love and his favour; that is death; living death. To save us from that, Jesus died himself; he paid our debt; he died instead of us." "Then is he dead?" said Dolly awefully. " He was dead ; but he rose again, and now he DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 19 lives, King over all. He was God as well as man, so the grave could not hold him. But he paid our debt, darling." " You said, death was everlasting separation from God and good," said Dolly very solemnly. " For us, it would have been." " But he did not die that way ? " " He could not, for he is the glorious Son of God. He only tasted death for us; that we might not drink the bitter cup to eternity." " Aunt Harry," said Dolly, " is all that trite ? " " Certainly." "When did he do that?" " It is almost nineteen hundred years ago. And since then, if any one trusts his word and is will- ing to be his servant, Jesus loves him, and keeps him, and saves him, and makes him blessed for ever." " But why did he do that ? what made him ? " " His great love for us." " Us?" Dolly repeated. "Yes. You and me, and everybody. He just came to save that which was lost." " I don't see how he can love me," said Dolly slowly. "Why I am a stranger to him, Aunt Harry." "Ah, you are no stranger! Oh yes, Dolly, he loves you dearly; and he knows all about you." Dolly considered the matter a little, and also considered her aunt, whose lips were quivering and whose eyes were dropping tears. With a 20 THE END OF A COIL. very serious face Dolly considered the matter: and came to a conclusion with promptitude unusual m this one subject of all the world. She half rose up in her bed. "Then I love him," she said. "I will love him too, Aunt Harry." " Will you, my darling ? " " But I do not know how to be his servant." "Jesus will teach you himself, if you ask him." " How will he teach me ? " "He will make you understand his word, and let you know what pleases him. He says, * If ye love me, keep my commandments.' " "His commandments are in the Bible, aren't 'Certainly. You say you have not got a Bi- ble?" "No." "Then we will see about that to-morrow, the first thing we do. You shall have a Bible, and that will tell you about his commandments." "Aunt Harry, I would like him to know to- night that I love him." "Then tell him so, dear." " Can I ? " " To be sure you can. Why not ? " " I do not know how." " Tell him, Dolly, just as if the Lord Jesus were here present and you could see him. He is here, only you do not see him ; that is all the difference Tell him, Dolly, just as you would tell me; only DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 21 remember that you are speaking to the King. He would like to hear you say that." " I ought to kneel down when I speak to him, oughtn't I ? People do in church." " It is proper, when we can, to take a position of respect when we speak to the King; don't you think so ? " Dolly shuffled herself up upon her knees in the bed, not regarding much that Mrs. Eberstein threw a shawl round her shoulders; and waited a minute or two, looking intensely serious and considering. Then, laying her hands involuntarily together, but with her eyes open, she spoke. " O Lord Jesus Aunt Harry says you are here, though I cannot see you. If you are here, you can see, and you know that I love you; and I will be your servant. I never knew about you before, or I would have done it before. Now I do. Please to teach me, for I do not know anything, that I may do everything that pleases you. I will not do anything that don't please you. Amen." Dolly waited a moment, then turned and put her arms round her aunt's neck and kissed her. "Thank you!" she said earnestly; and then lay down and arranged herself to sleep. Mrs. Eberstein went down stairs and astonished her husband by a burst of hysterical weeping. He made anxious enquiries; and at last received an account of the last half hour. " But O Edward, what do you think ? " she concluded. "Did you ever hear anything like 22 THE END OF A COIL. that in your life? Do you think it can be gen- uine ? " " Genuine what ? " demanded her husband. " Why, I mean, can it be true religious conver- sion? This child knows next to nothing; just that Jesus died out of love to her, to save her. Nothing more." " And she has given her love back. Very logi- cal and reasonable; and ought not to be so un- common." " But it is uncommon, Edward. At least people generally make a longer business of it." " In which they do not shew their wisdom." "No, but they do it. Edward, can it be, that this child is so suddenly a Christian? Will it stand?" " Only time can shew that. But Harry, all the cases, almost all the cases, reported in the New Testament are cases of sudden yielding. Just look at it. John and Andrew took but a couple of hours or so to make up their minds. Nathanael did not apparently take more than two minutes, after he saw Christ. Lydia became a Christian at her first hearing the good news; the eunuch made up his mind as quick. Why should not lit- tle Dolly ? The trouble is caused only by people's obstinate resistance." " Then you think it may be true work ? " " Of course I think so. This child is not an or- dinary child, there is that to be said." "No," said Mrs. Eberstein thoughtfully. "Is DOLLY'S ARRIVAL. 23 she not peculiar? She is such a child; and yet there is such a wise, deep look in her brown eyes. What pretty eyes they are. There is the oddest mixture of old and young in her I ever saw. She is going to be lovely, Edward ! " " I think she is lovely now." " yes ! but I mean, when she grows up. She will be very lovely, with those spiritual eyes and that loose curly brown hair; if only she can be kept as she is now." " My dear ! she cannot be that." " O you know what I mean, Edward. If she can be kept unspoiled ; untainted ; unsophisticated ; with that sort of mixture of wisdom and simplic- ity which she has now. I wish we need not send her to school ! " "We have no choice about that. And the Lord can keep his own. Let us ask him." They knelt and did so ; with some warm tears on Mrs. Eberstein's part, and great and warm earnest- ness in them both. CHAPTER II. CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. MRS. EBERSTEIN watched during the next few days, to see, if she could, whether the sud- den resolve-taking on Dolly's part that first even- ing " meant anything," as she expressed it, or not. She remained in doubt. Dolly was thoughtful cer- tainly, and sweet certainly; "but that don't tell," Mrs. Eberstein remarked; "it is her characteristic." It was equally certain that she had attached her- self with a trustful, clinging affection to the new friends whose house and hearts had received her. Dolly's confidence was given to them, fully and heartily, from that very first day; and they saw that it was. Nearly a week passed before the school term be- gan. Meanwhile Dolly was taken about in walks and drives, to see all that her friends thought would interest her. Everything interested her, they found; and upon every subject presented to her her little head went to work; the result of which was the putting of a question now and then, which afforded her guardians perhaps as much entertainment as the ground of the ques- CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 25 tion had given Dolly. These questions however were called forth most of all by the subject which had seized hold of Dolly's mind with such force that first evening. Mrs. Eberstein had not for- gotten her promise about the Bible. One of the first expeditions undertaken the next day had been in search of one; successful, in the judgment of both Dolly and her aunt; and since then the book was very often to be seen in Dolly's hands. " What are you reading there, Dolly ? " Mr. Eberstein asked, corning in one evening just be- fore dinner. Dolly was on a low seat at the corner of the fireplace, reading by the shine of a fire of Liverpool coal, which threw warm lights all over the little figure. She looked up and said it was her Bible she was studying. "You will put out your eyes." "0 no, Uncle Edward; the print is so good, and the fire makes such a nice blaze, I can see perfectly." "And pray, what are you looking for, or what are you finding, in that book, little one ? " " I am looking for a great deal, arid I am find- ing a little," was Dolly's reply. " Different with me," said Mr. Eberstein with a short laugh. " I generally find more in the Bible than I look for." "What do you look for in it?" said Dolly, raising her head which had gone down to the reading. Mr. Eberstein laughed again. "Truly, Dolly," he said, "you have hit me there! 26 THE END OF A COIL. I believe I often open the Bible without looking for anything, in particular." " Perhaps that makes the difference," said Dolly, letting her eyes fall again to her page. "Perhaps it does; but Dolly, I should very much like to know what you are looking for ? " " I am looking to find out the will of God, Uncle Edward." " Come here, my pet," said Mr. Eberstein, coax- ing the little girl into his arms and setting her on his knee. "What do you want to find out the will of God for ? what about ? " "About me." " What do you want to know the will of God about you for ? " " I want to do it, Uncle Edward." " There couldn't be a better reason. Jesus says, ' He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me.' Do you find what you seek?" " I find some," said Dolly. " Where were you reading just now ? " "About Abraham." "Abraham! What do you find in Abraham's life, may I ask, that tells you the will of God about Dolly Copley ? You are not called upon to leave your country and go out into a strange land." "No; not that. But God said to Abraham, 'Walk before me, and be thou perfect.' And it puzzles me." " What puzzles you ? " CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 27 " I don't see how I can ' walk before him.' " " Dolly, the Lord is here, here where we are, wherever we are." "Yes. I know that." "Then if you know that and remember it, and do everything you do in his presence, and feeling that it is in his presence, you will be walking before him ; don't you see ? Just as if Jesus were here again upon earth, and you were always with him; only you do not see him now. He sees you." " And ' be perfect ' ? " said Dolly question ingly. "Yes. That means, I think, don't try to serve two masters. If you love God with all your heart, and give him your whole life and service, not a part of it, that is what the word to Abraham means, I think. A servant of God is a perfect ser- vant, if he does all the will of God that he knows, and as fast as he knows it. But you cannot do that of yourself, little Dolly." "Why cannot I ? if I want to." " Why because there come temptations and there come difficulties; and you will want to do some- thing you like and not what God likes ; and you will do it too, unless the Lord Jesus keeps fast hold of you and saves you from making such a mistake. Only he can." "Can he?" "Certainly he can." "Will he?" " If you want him to do it, and trust him to do 28 THE END OF A COIL. it, he will. He will just do all that you trust him to do." Dolly pondered. "Will he do that because he loves me?" she asked. "Just for that reason, Dolly." "Then he will do it," said Dolly confidently; " for I will trust him. Won't you shew me where he says that, Uncle Edward ? " Mr. Ebersteiu told Dolly to find Matt. xxi. 21. Dolly read eagerly. "Jesus answered and said unto them, Verily I say unto you, If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the fig tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea, it shall be done. And all things whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive." Dolly read to herself, then looked up, eager and confident, for the next reference. "Turn to John xv. 7." Again Dolly found and read, in silence. " If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you." " What next, Uncle Edward ? " " Isn't that promise enough ? " "Yes; but I thought you had more." " There is a great deal more. Look out I Thes- salonians v. 23, 24." Dolly read, slowly, aloud now, '"And the very God of peace sanctify you CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 29 wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it.' that is beautiful, Uncle Edward ! " "Do you want another? Find Jude, and read the 24th and 25th verses." With some trouble, Dolly found it. " ' Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and maj- esty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.' " Dolly slipped off Mr. Eberstein's knee and re- took her old place by the fire ; where she sat turn- ing from one passage to another of those she had been reading. Mr. Eberstein watched her, how the ribband markers of the Bible were carefully laid in two of the places, and a couple of neat slips of paper prepared for the others. " What have you been doing to-day, Dolly ? " he asked at length. "We went to see the water works." "O you did! And what did you think of the water works ? " " We went up to the top and walked about. Do the people in Philadelphia want so much water as all that ? " " They want a great deal more. The Fairmount works give only enough for part of the city." 30 THE END OF A COIL. "That is taking a great deal of trouble to get water." " It would be worse trouble to do without it." "But why don't people all live in the country, as we do at home? then they would have water for nothing." " Humph ! That would answer, Dolly, if people were contented with water; they all want wine. I mean, my child, that most people are not sat- isfied with simple doings; and for anything more they must have money ; and they can make money faster in cities. Therefore they build cities." " Is that what they build cities for ? " said Dolly. " Largely. Not altogether. A great many things can be better done where people are congregated together; it is for the convenience of trade and business, in many kinds, and in many ways. What have you been doing since you came home from the water works ? " " Uncle Edward ! " said Dolly, suddenly rising now and coming to him, " Aunt Harry has opened for me her old bookcase ! " "What old bookcase? I didn't know she had an old bookcase." " yes ; the one where she keeps the books she had when she was as old as I am." "And as young, eh? Well, what is in that bookcase ? is it a great find ? " " Uncle Edward, there is a great deal in it ! It is wonderful. Books I never saw, and they look so interesting ! " CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 31 " What, for instance ? Something to rival Plu- tarch's Lives ? " "I don't know," said Dolly; "you know I have not read them yet. There is ' Sandford and Mer- ton'; I was reading in that, and I like it very much; and the 'Looking Glass' is another; and ' Eosamond ' I am sure is interesting. there is a whole load of them." " Well I am glad of it," said Mr. Eberstein. "That is the right sort of stuif for your busy little brain; will not weigh too heavy. Now I suppose you will be reading all the time you are in the house." " Aunt Harry has begun to teach me to knit." "Very good," said Mr. Eberstein. "I believe in knitting too. That's safe." They went to dinner, and after dinner there was a further knitting lesson, in which Dolly seemed absorbed; nevertheless, before the evening was over she brought up a very different subject again. "Aunt Harry," she began, in the midst of ari arduous effort to get the loops of wool on her needles in the right relative condition, "does mother know about the Bible ? " " Yes," said Mrs. Eberstein, with a glance at her husband, " she knows about it, something." "Then why did she never tell me anything about it ? " Mrs. Eberstein hesitated. "I suppose, Dolly, her thoughts were fuller of other things." 32 THE END OF A COIL. "But how could they be?" said the little one, laying her hands with their knitting work in her lap, and looking up. Her aunt did not answer. "How could her thoughts be fuller of other things, if she knows the Bible ? " Dolly urged. "I don't think she really knows much of what is in the Bible," Mrs. Eberstein said. "She has never read it much." "I don't think she knows about Jesus," Dolly went on gravely; "for she never told me; and she would if she had known, I think. Aunt Harriet, I think /ought to tell her now." " What would you tell her, my darling ? " "01 will tell her that I know him and love him; and I will tell her I have got a Bible, and some of the things I have found in it. I will ask her to get one too, and read it. I don't believe she knows." "The reason why a great many people do not know, Dolly, is, as your Aunt Harry says, that they are so much taken up with other things." " Then I think one ought to take care not to be too much taken up with other things," said Dolly very seriously. " But you have got to be taken up with other things," Mr. Eberstein went on. "Here you are going to school in a few days ; then your head will be full of English and French and your hands full of piano keys and harp strings, from morning till night. How are you going to do ? " Dolly looked at the speaker, came and placed CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 33 herself on his knee again, and laid a hand on his shoulder; eying him steadily. " Ought I not to go to school ? " " Must ! else you cannot be the right sort of a woman, and do the right sort of work." "How then, Uncle Edward? what shall I do? " " I'll tell you one thing, Dolly. Don't study and practise to get ahead of somebody else; but to please the King ! " " The King that is Jesus ? " " Certainly." Dolly nodded, in full agreement with the rule of action as thus stated; presently brought for- ward another idea. "Will he care? Would it please him to have me play on the piano, or learn French and arithmetic ? " " Dolly, the more you know, and the better you know it, the better servant you can be ; you will have the more to use for Jesus." " Can I use such things for him ? How ? " " Many ways. He will shew you how. Do you think an ignorant woman could do as much in the world as an elegant, well-informed, accomplished woman ? " Dolly thought over this question, nodded as one who had come to an understanding of it, and went back to her knitting. "What ever will become of that child," said Mrs. Eberstein an hour or two later, when she and her husband were alone. "I am full of anxiety about her." 34 THE END OF A COIL. "Then you are taking upon you the part of Providence." "No, but Edward, Dolly will have a history." " So have we all," Mr. Eberstein responded very unresponsively. " But she will not have a common history. Do you see how open she is to receive impressions, and how fast they stay once they are made ? " " I see the first quality. I never saw a creature quicker to take impressions or to welcome affec- tions. Whether they will prove as lasting as they are sudden, that we have no means of knowing at present." "I think they will." "That's a woman's conclusion, founded on her wishes." "It is a man's conclusion too; for you think the same thing, Edward." "Don't prove anything, Harry." "Yes, it does. When two people come to the same independent view of something, it is fair to suppose there are grounds for it." " I hope so. Time will shew." " But Edward, with this extremely sensitive and affectionate nature, how important it is that Dolly should have only the right surroundings and see only the right sort of people." "Just so. And so she is going out into the world of a large school; where she will meet all sorts of people and be subjected to all sorts of in- fluences ; and you cannot shield her." CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 35 " I wish I could keep her at home, and have her taught here ! I wish I could ! " " Playing Providence again. We all like to do it." "No, but Edward, just look at her," said Mrs. Eberstein with her eyes full of tears. " I do," said Mr. Eberstein. " I've got eyes. But you will have to trust her, Harry." " Now she will go, I have no doubt, and write that letter to her mother. I wonder if Sally will get scared, and take her away from-us ? " " Why, Hal," said her husband, " your self-will is getting up very strong to-night! What if? Dolly's future does not depend upon us; though we will do what we can for it." What they did then, was to pray about it again ; for these people believed in prayer. The next day Mrs. Eberstein had invited an ac- quaintance to come to dinner. This acquaintance had a daughter, also about to enter Mrs. Delancy's school; and Mrs. Eberstein's object was to let the two girls become a little known to each other, so that Dolly in the new world she was about to enter might not feel everything utterly strange. Mrs. Thayer belonged to a good New York family ; and it likewise suited her purposes to have her daughter received in so unexceptionable a house as Mrs. Eberstein's, albeit the young lady was not without other Philadelphia friends. So the party fitted together very harmoniously. Mrs. Thayer, in spite of her good connections, was no more than a 36 THE END OF A COIL. commonplace personage. Christina, her daughter, on the other hand, shewed tokens of becoming a great beauty. A little older than Dolly, of larger build and more flesh and blood development gen- erally, and with one of those peach-blossom com- plexions which for fairness and delicacy almost rival the flower. Her hair was pretty, her features also pretty, her expression placid. Mrs. Eberstein was much struck. " They are just about of an age," remarked Mrs. Thayer. " I suppose they will study the same things. Everybody studies the same things. Well, I hope you'll be friends and not rivals, my dears." "Dolly will not be rivals with anybody," re- turned Dolly's aunt. "She don't look very strong. I should think it would not do for her to study too hard," said the other lady. "0 rivalry is necessary, you know, to bring out the spirit of boys and girls and make them work. It may be friend- ly rivalry; but if they were not rivals they would not be anything; might as well not be school girls, or school boys. They would not do any work but what they liked, and we know what that would amount to. I don't know about beating learning into boys; some people say that is the way; but with girls you can't take that way; and all you have to fall back upon is em- ulation." " Very few young people will study for the love of it," Mrs. Eberstein so far assented. CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 37 " They might, I believe, if the right way was taken," Mr. Eberstein remarked. " Emulation will do it, if a girl has any spirit," said Mrs. Thayer. " What sort of spirit ?" " What sort of spirit ? Why, the spirit not to let themselves be outdone ; to stand as high as anybody, and higher ; be No. 1, and carry off the first honours. A spirited girl don't like to be No. 2. Christina will never be No. 2." " Is it quite certain that such a spirit is the one to be cultivated ? " "It makes them study," said Mrs. Thayer, looking at her questioner to see what he meant. " What do you think the Bible means, when it tells us not to seek for honour ? " " Not to seek for honour ? " repeated the lady. " Not the honour that comes from man." 44 1 didn't know it forbade it. I never heard that it was forbidden. Why, Mr. Eberstein, it is natural to wish for honour. Everybody wishes for it." 44 So they do," Mr. Eberstein assented. " I might say, so we do." 44 It is natural," repeated the lady. 44 Its being natural does not prove it to be right." 44 Why, Mr. Eberstein, if it is natural, we cannot help it." " How then does trying to be No. 1 agree with the love that ' seeketh not her own ' ? " Dolly was listening earnestly, Mr. Eberstein saw. Mrs. Thayer hesitated, in some inward disgust. 38 THE END OF A COIL. "Do you take that literally?" she said then. "How can you take it literally? You cannot." " But Christ pleased not himself." " Well, but he was not like us." "We are bidden to be like him, though." "0 as far as we can. But you cannot press those words literally, Mr. Eberstein." "As far as we can? I must press them, for the Bible does. I ask no more, and the Lord demands no more, than that we be like our Master as far as tve can. And he 'pleased not himself,' and 're- ceived not honour from men.' " " If you were to preach such doctrine in schools, I am afraid you would have very bad recitations." " Well," said Mr. Eberstein. " Better bad reci- tations than bad hearts. Though really there is no necessaiy connection between my premises and your conclusion. The Bible reckons 'emulations,' Mrs. Thayer, in the list of the worst things human nature knows, and does." " Then you would have a set of dunces. I should just like to be told, Mr. Eberstein, how on that prin- ciple you would get young people to study. In the case of girls you cannot do it by beating; nor in the case of boys, after they have got beyond being little boys. Then emulation comes in, and they work like beavers to get the start of one another. And so we have honours, and prizes, and distinc- tions. Take all that away, and how would you do, Mr. Eberstein ? " Mr. Eberstein was looking fondly into a pair of CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 39 young eyes that were fixedly gazing at him. So looking, he spoke, "There is another sort of 'Well done!' which I would like my Dolly and Miss Christina to try for. If they are in earnest in trying for that, they will study ! " said Mr. Eberstein. Mrs. Thayer thought, apparently, that it was no use talking on the subject with a visionary man ; and she turned to something else. The party left the dinner-table, and Dolly took her new acquaint* ance up stairs to shew her the treasure contained in Mrs. Eberstein's old bookcase. "Mr. Eberstein is rather a strange man, isn't he ? " said Miss Christina on the way. " No," said Dolly. " I don't think he is. What makes you say so ? " " I never heard any one talk like that before." "Perhaps " said Dolly, stopping short on the landing place and looking at her companion. Then she seemed to change her manner of attack. " Who do you want to please most ? " she said. " With my studies ? Why, mamma, of course." "I would rather please the Lord Jesus," said Dolly. " But I was talking about school work" retorted the other. "You don't suppose HA cares about our lessons ? " " I guess he does," said Dolly. They were still standing on the landing place, looking into each other's eyes. " But that's impossible. Think ! French lessons, 40 THE END OF A COIL. and English lessons, and music and dancing, and all of it. That couldn't be, you know." " Do you love Jesus ? " said Dolly. " Love him ? I do not know," said Christina colouring. " I am a member of the church, if that is what you mean." Dolly began slowly to go up the remaining stairs. " I think we ought to study to please him," she said. "I don't see how it should please him," said the other, a little out of humour. " I don't see how he should care about such little things." " Why not? " said Dolly. " If your mother cares, and my mother cares. Jesus loves us better than they do, and I guess he cares more than they do." Christina was silenced now, as her mother had been, and followed Dolly thinking there were a. pair of uncomfortably strange people in the house. The next minute Dolly was not strange at all, but as much a child as any of her fellows. She had un- locked the precious bookcase, and with the zeal of a connoisseur and the glee of a discoverer she was enlarging upon the treasures therein stowed away. "Here is 'Henry Milner,'" she said, taking down three little red volumes. " Have you read that ? it is delightful! I like it almost best of all. But I have not had time to read much yet. Here is 'Harry and Lucy,' and 'Rosamond,' and 'Frank.' 1 have just looked at them. And ' Sandford and CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 41 Merton.' do you know ' Sandford and Merton ' ? I have just read that." "There are the 'Arabian Nights,'" said Chris- tina. "Is that good? I haven't read much yet. I don't know almost any of them." " ' The Looking Glass ' " Christina went on, " ' Pity's Gift ' ' Father's Tales ' " ' Those are beautiful," Dolly put in. " I read one, about 'Grandfather's old arm chair.' it's very interesting." " ' Elements of Morality ' " Christina read fur- ther on the back of a brown book. "That don't sound good, but I guess it is good," said Dolly. " I just peeped in. Arid ' Evenings at Home' looks pretty. Here is 'Kobinson Crusoe,' and ' Northern Regions ' ; I want to read that very much. I guess it's delightful." "Have you ever been to school before?" said Christina. The books had a faint interest for her. "No," said Dolly. "Nor have I ; but 1 know somebody who has been at Mrs. Delancy's, and she says there is one lovely thing at that school. Every month they go some- where." "They go somewhere," Dolly echoed the words. "Who go?" " Everybody ; teachers and scholars and all. There is a holiday ; and Mrs. Delancy takes them all to see something. One time it was a rope walk, I think; and another time it was a paper 42 THE END OF A COIL. mill; and sometimes it's a picture gallery. It's something very interesting." " I suppose we are not obliged to go, are we ? if' we don't want to ? " " but we do want to. 1 do." " I would just as lief be at home with my Aunt Harry," said Dolly; looking lovingly at the book- case. But Christina turned away from it. "They dress a great deal at this school," she said. " Does your mother dress you a great deal ? " " I don't know," said Dolly. " I don't know what you mean." " Well, what's your school dress? what is it made of?" "My school dress? for every day? It is grey poplin. It is not new." " Poplin will do, I suppose," said Christina. " But some of the girls wear silk ; old silk dresses, you know, but really handsome still, and very stylish." "What do you mean by 'stylish'?" said Dolly. "Why don't you know what 'stylish' means?" "No." Christina looked doubtfully at her new little com- panion. Where could Dolly have come from, and what sort of people could she belong to, who did not know that? The truth was, that Dolly being an only child and living at home with her father and mother, had led a very childish life up to this time; and her mother, owing to some invalidism, had lately been withdrawn from the gay world and CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER. 43 its doings. So, though the thing was greatly upon her mother's heart, the word had never made it- self familiar to Dolly's ear. Christina was reassured however, by observing that the little girl's dress was quite what it ought to be, and certainly be- spoke her as belonging to people who "knew what was what." So the practice was all right, and Dolly needed only instruction in the theory. "'Stylish,'" she repeated. "It means It is very hard to tell you what it means. Don't you know ? ' Stylish,' means that things have an air that belongs to the right kind of thing, and only what you see in a certain sort of people. It is the way things look when people know how." "Know how, what?" inquired Dolly. " Know how things ought to be ; how they ought to be worn, and how they ought to be done." "Then everybody ought to be stylish," said Dolly. " Yes, but you cannot, my dear, unless you hap- pen to know how." " But I should think one could always know how things ought to be," Dolly went on. " The Bible tells." " The Bible ! " echoed Christina. "Yes." "The Bible tell one how to be stylish ! " " The Bible tells how things ought to be." " Why no it don't, child ! the Bible don't tell you what sort of a hat to put on." " Yes, it does, Christina. The Bible says, ' Wheth- 44 THE END OF A COIL. er you eat or drink, or whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God.' I can shew you the words." " that is something quite different. That has nothing to do with being stylish. How shall I make you understand ? If your cravat wasn't tied in a nice bow there, it wouldn't be stylish." " Well," returned Dolly, " it wouldn't be to the glory of God either." " What has that to do with it ? " " I think it would be wrong for a Christian to be anything but nice." " it isn't being nice ! " said Christina. " Your dress wouldn't be stylish if it hadn't those flounces.!' " And is it now ? " " Yes I think it is. I should say, your mother knows what is what. It isn't very easy to be sty- lish if you are poor; but I've seen people do it, though." " I don't think I understand, quite," said Dolly. " But when I am old enough to dress myself, to choose my own dresses, I mean, I shall dress to please Jesus, Christina." " You can't," said Christina. " I never heard of such a thing. It's making religion little, I think, to talk so." " I think, if religion isn't little, it'll do so," an- swered Dolly. Whereby each kept her own opin- ion; notwithstanding which, at the end of the afternoon they separated mutually pleased each with her new acquaintance. CHAPTER III. THE MARINE DICTIONARY. AS the weeks of the first school term went on, the two girls drew nearer to each other. Every- body inclined towards Dolly indeed; the sweet, fresh, honest little face, with the kindly affections beaming forth from it, and the sensitive nature quick to feel pleasure or pain, and alive to fun in the midst of its seriousness, made such a quaint mingling and such a curious variety and such a lovely creature, that all sorts of characters were drawn towards her. From the head of the school down, teachers and pupils, there was hardly one whose eye did not soften and whose lips did not smile at Dolly's approach. With Christina on the other hand it was not just so. She was not partic- ularly clever, not particularly emotional, not spe- cially sociable; calm and somewhat impassive, with all her fair beauty she was overlooked in the prac- tical " selection " which takes place in school life ; so that little Dolly after all came to be Christina's best friend. Dolly never passed her over ; was never unsympathetic ; never seemed to know her own pop- 46 THE END OF A COIL. ularity ; and Christina's slow liking grew into a real and warm affection as the passing days gave her more and more occasion. In the matter of "style," it appears, Dolly had enough to satisfy her ; thanks to her mother ; for Dolly herself was as unconven- tional in spirit and manner as a child should be. In school work proper on the other hand, she was a pattern of diligence and faithfulness; gave her teachers no trouble ; of course had the good word and good will of every one of them. Was it the working of Mr. Eberstein's rule ? The first monthly holiday after school began was spent in Falrmount Park. A few weeks later, Dolly and Christina were sitting together one day, busy with some fancy work, when one of their school- mates came up to them. " Guess where we are going next week ! " she cried. " Next week ? " said the others, looking up. "Next holiday next week, next Saturday. Yes. Where do you think we are going? just guess. you can't guess." " I can't guess," said Dolly; " I don't know what there is to go to. The Mint ? Mrs. Delancy did speak of the Mint." " Not a bit of it ! Something else has come up. Guess again." "Something has come up. Then it must be something new." "It isn't new, either. Can't a thing come to you, that isn't new ? " THE MARINE DICTIONARY. 47 " But you're talking riddles, Eudora," the other two said laughing. " Well, I'll tell you. There's a man of war come up the river." " A man of war " Dolly repeated. "You know what that means, I hope, Dolly Copley ? " " I don't know. It means a soldier. The Bible says, Goliath was a man of war from his youth." Dolly as she spoke looked mystified, and her words were met by a shout of laughter so loud and ringing that it almost abashed the child. Some other girls had joined the group and were stand- ing around, and there were many to laugh. How- ever, Dolly was never given to false shame. She waited for more light. " It's a s/izp, Dolly," they cried. "You dear little innocent, don't you know as much as that ? " "It's a ship; and this is a big one. It is lying out in the Delaware." "Then why is it called a man of war?" said Dolly. "Because it is a war ship. Won't it be fun! just think ! the guns, and the officers, and the midshipmen ! " "What are midshipmen?" " I don't know ! " cried another. " They are somebodies that are always on a man of war; and they are young too. Baby officers, I suppose." "They are officers," said the first speaker. " Xo, they're not. They are learning to be offi- 48 THE END OF A COIL. cers. They're at school, and their school is a man of war; and their teachers are the captain, and the lieutenants, and so on." "And what are their lessons about?" said Dolly. "/don't know. they are learning to be offi- cers, you know. Eeally they are boys at school." "Some of them are old enough," remarked an- other. "Learning what, Eudora?" said Dolly. "How do I know, chicken? I've never been a midshipman myself. You can ask them if you like, when we go on board. For we are going on board, girls ! Hurrah ! We shall drive over to the Navy Yard, and there we shall get into boats, and then we shall row, I mean be rowed, out into the stream to the ship. It's a big frigate, the 'Achilles'; and Mrs. Delancy knows the captain; and she says it's a good chance and she will not have us lose it. Hurrah, girls! this is prime." "What's & frigate?" was Dolly's next question. "Dolly Copley, you are ridiculous; you want to understand every thing." "Don't you?" " No ! 1 guess I don't. I am tired enough with trying to understand a little. I'll let alone what I can. You'll know what a frigate is, when you have been on board of her." "But I think I should enjoy it a great deal more, if I knew beforehand," said Dolly. "You had best study a ship's dictionary. I am going to study what I shall wear." THE MARINE DICTIONARY. 49 "That you cannot tell yet," Christina remarked. " You do not know what sort of a day next Satur- day, I mean, Saturday week, will be. It may be cold, or " " It mayn't be hot," said the other. " It will be cold, cold enough. It's November. You can wear your prettiest winter things, young ladies." A little while after, the group had broken up, and Dolly sought out one of the teachers and begged to know where she could find a "ship's dictionary"? " A ship dictionary ? My dear, there is no such thing. What do you want to find out?" "One of the girls said I could find out about ships in a ship's dictionary. We are going to see a man of war next week." "Oh, and you want to study up the subject? It is a Marine Dictionary you are in quest of. Come to the library." The library was always open to the girls for study purposes. The teacher was good-natured, and got out a big, brown square volume, and put it in Dolly's hand. Dolly had been followed by Christina; and now the two sat down together in a window recess on the floor, with the book before them. Dolly began at the beginning, and aloud. " ' Aback ' " " That is nothing we want," remarked Christina. " yes, I think it is. It is ' the situation of the sails when their surfaces are flatted against the 50 THE END OF A COIL. masts by the force of the wind.' I do not under- stand, though. 'The sails are said to be "taken aback' I have heard mother say that. What could she mean? I have heard her say she was taken aback." " I have heard people say that too," said Chris- tina; "often. I never knew what they meant. Something disagreeable, I think." "Well you see," said Dolly, reading further, "it 'pushes the ship astern' what's that? 'See 'Backing. 1 I suppose it means pushing it back. But I don't understand ! " the little girl added with a sigh. " well ! we don't care about all that," said Dolly's companion. "Go on to something else. Find out about the midshipmen." " What about the midshipmen ? " "Nothing, only I would like to know what they are. Madeleine said they were young offi- cers; very young; not older than some of us." " Then why do you want to know about them ? " said Dolly. " We have nothing to do with young officers. We don't know any of them." " But we might," suggested Christina. " We shall see them, if we go on board the ship." "I don't care about seeing them," said Dolly. " Young officers are young men, I suppose. I un- derstand them; what I don't know about, is the ship. Let us go on in this book, and see what we come to. 'Abaft the hinder part of a ship ' " "0 Dolly," cried Christina, "we have not time THE MARINE DICTIONARY. 51 to go through everything in this way. You have not turned over one leaf yet Do get on a little." " It is good it's a holiday," said Dolly, turning the leaf. "We have plenty of time. I like this book. 'Aboard, the inside of a ship.' So when we go into the ship, we go aboard. That's it." "Go on," urged Christina. "Here's 'Admiral.'" " ' An officer of first rank and command in the fleet.' There is a great deal here about the ad- miral. I don't believe we shall see him. We'll look a little further." Dolly presently was caught by the word "Anch- or" and lost herself in the study of the para- graphs following, and the plate accompanying; after which she declared that she understood how a ship could be held by its anchor. Urged to go on again, she turned over more leaves, but got lost in the study of "boats" ; then of "cannon" ; then of the "captain" 's office and duties; finally paused at the plate and description of a ship's deck. " It's just the deck of a ship ! " said Christina im- patiently. " You will see it when we go on board the 'Achilles.'" " I want to understand it." v " You can't." "Are those guns?" said Dolly, pointing to a row of pieces delineated along the side of the deck. " Must be guns." " Well, I should like to go on board of a ship very much," said Dolly. " There are twelve guns on that side. If there are the same on this side, 52 THE END OF A COIL. that would make twenty-four. What do they want so many for, Christina, on one ship ? " " Why, to fight with, of course. To fire at other ships." " But what do they want of so many ? They would not want to fire twelve at once. I should think one would be enough." * Perhaps it wouldn't. Go on, Dolly, do ! let us get to something else." It was difficult to get Dolly on. She was held fast again by the description of a naval engage- ment; then fell to studying the directions for the "exercise" of the guns; then was interested in some plates giving various orders of the line of battle. At last in due course they came to the word "Midshipman" which was read, or the article under it, by both girls. " ' A naval cadet ' " repeated Christina. " And a cadet must be four years at sea, before he can become a lieutenant; and two years mid- shipman besides. I should think they would be tired of it." "But if they are going to be sailors all their lives, it's no use for them to get tired of it," said Christina. " They come on shore sometimes, don't they ? " "I suppose so. yes, they have houses, I know, and wives and children. I shouldn't like to be the wife of a sailor ! " " Somebody must, I suppose," said Dolly. " But I shouldn't like to have my home my principal THE MARINE DICTIONARY. 53 home, I mean on the sea; if I was a man. They must like it, I suppose." Dolly went on reading. " The midshipmen have plenty to do, Christina. They have to learn how to do everything a com- mon sailor does; all the work of the ship; and then they must learn astronomy, and geometry, and navigation and mechanics. Hydrostatics, too; oh dear, I don't know what that is. I can look it out, I suppose. The midshipmen must be very busy, Christina, and at hard work too." Christina's interest in the Marine Dictionary was exhausted. She went off; but Dolly pored over its pages still, endeavouring to take in details about vessels, and ropes, and sails, and winds, until her head was in a fog. She recurred to the book however on the next opportunity; and from time to time, as her lessons permitted, gave her time and attention to this seemingly very unnecessary subject. How much she really learned, is doubt- ful; yet as little things do touch and link them- selves with great things, it may be that the old Marine Dictionary in Mrs. Delancy's library played a not insignificant part in the fortunes of Dolly Copley. As we shall see. She studied, till a ship became a romance to her; till rigging and spars and decks and guns were like the furniture of a new and strange life, which hardly belonged to the earth, being upon the sea; and the men who lived that life, and especially the men who ruled in it, grew to be invested with characteristics of 54 THE END OF A COIL. power and skill and energy which gave them fab- ulous interest in Dolly's eyes. At home there had been a little scruple about letting Dolly join the party. She had had a cold, and was rather delicate at all times. The scruples however gave way before the child's earnest wish; and as Saturday of the particular week turned out mild and quiet, no hindrance was put in the way of the expedition. CHAPTER IV. THE "ACHILLES." IT was a very special delectation which the school were to enjoy to-day. The girls thought it always " fun," of course, to quit lessons and go to see anything; "even factories," as one of the girls expressed it, to Dolly's untold astonishment; for it seemed to her that to be allowed to look into the mystery of manufactures must be the next thing to taking part personally in a fairy tale. How- ever, to-day it was not a question of manufactures, but of a finished and furnished big ship, and not only finished and furnished, but manned. " This is something lively," Eudora opined. And she was quite right. The day was a quiet day in November, with just a spice of frost in it ; the air itself was lively, quick and quickening. The party were driven to the Navy Yard in carriages, and there received very politely by the officers, some of whom knew Mrs. Delancy and lent themselves with much kindness to the undertaking. The girls were more or less excited with pleasure and anticipa- 56 THE END OF A COIL. tion; but to Dolly the Navy Yard seemed to be already touching the borders of that mysterious and fascinating sea life in which her fancy had lately been roaming. So when the girls were all carefully bestowed in stout little row boats to go out to the ship, Dolly's foot it was which stepped upon enchanted boards, and her eye that saw an enchanted world around her. What a field was this rippling water, crisped with the light breeze, and gurgling under the boat's smooth sweep ahead ! How the oars rose and fell, all together, as if moved by only one hand. Was this a part of the order and discipline of which she had read lately, as belonging to this strange world? Prob- ably ; for now and then a command was issued to the oarsmen, curt and sharp; and obeyed, Dolly saw, although she did not know what the com- mand meant. Yes, she was in an enchanted sphere ; and she looked at the " Achilles " as they drew nearer, with profoundest admiration. Its great hulk grew large upon her view, with an absolute haze of romance and mystery hang- ing about its decks and rigging. It was a large ship, finely equipped, according to the fashion of naval armament which was prevalent in those days; she was a fine frigate; and the port holes of her guns looked in threatening ranks along the sides of the vessel. Still and majestic she lay upon the quiet river; a very wonderful floating home indeed, and unlike- all else she had ever known, to Dolly's apprehension. How she and THE "ACHILLES." 57 the rest were ever to get on board was an in- soluble problem to her, as to most of them; and the chair that was presently lowered along the ship's side to receive them, seemed a very 'preca- rious sort of means of transport. However, the getting aboard was safely accomplished; one by one they were hoisted up; and Dolly's feet stood upon the great main deck. And the first view was perfectly satisfactory, and even went far be- yond her imaginings. She found herself standing under a mixed confusion of masts and spars and sails, marvellous to behold, which yet she also saw was no confusion at all, but complicated and systematic order. How much those midshipmen must have to learn, though, if they were to know the names and uses and handling of every spar and every rope and each sail among them ! as Dolly knew they must. Her eye came back to the deck. What order there too ; what neatness ; why it was beautiful ; and the uniforms here and there, and the sailors' hats and jackets, filled up the picture to her heart's desire. Dolly breathed a full breath of satisfaction. The Captain of the " Achilles " made his appear- ance ; Captain Barbour. He was a thick-set, grizzly haired man, rather short ; not handsome at all ; and yet with an air of authority unmistakeable cloth- ing him like a garment of power and dignity. Plainly this man's word was law, and the girls stood in awe of him. He was known to Mrs. Delancy; and now she went on to present for- 58 THE END OF A COIL. mally all her young people to him. The captain returned the courtesy by calling up and intro- ducing to her and them some of his officers; and then they went to a review of the ship. It took a long while. Between Mrs. Delancy and Captain Barbour a lively conversation was carried on ; Dolly thought he was explaining things to the lady that she did not understand; but though it might be the case now and then, I think the talk moved mainly upon less technical matters. Dolly could not get near enough to hear what it was, at any rate. The young lieutenants, too, were taken up with playing the host to the older young ladies of the party. If they received in- struction also by the way, Dolly could not tell ; the laughing hardly looked like it. She and the other young ones at any rate followed humbly at the tail of everything, and just came up to a clear view of some detail when the others were moving away. There was nobody to help Dolly understand any- thing; nevertheless, she wandered in a fairy vision of wonderland. Into the cabins, down to the fore- castle, down to the gun deck. What could equal the black strangeness of that view ! and what could it all mean ? Dolly wished for her Uncle Edward, or some one, to answer a thousand questions. She had been reading about the guns; she looked curi- ously now at the realities, of which she had stud- ied the pictures ; recognized here a detail and there a detail, but remaining hugely ignorant of the whole and of the bearing of the several parts upon THE "ACHILLES." 59 each other. Yet she did not know how time flew; she did not know that she was getting tired ; from one strange thing to another she followed her leaders about; very much alone indeed, for even the other girls of her own age were staring at a different class of objects, and could hardly be said to see what she saw, much less were ready to ask what she wanted to ask. Dolly went round in a confused dream. At last the party had gone everywhere that such a party could go; Captain Barbour had spared them the lower gun deck. They came back to the captain's cabin, where a very pleasant lunch was served to the ladies. It was served, that is, to those who could get it; to those who were near enough and old enough to put in a claim by right of appearance. Dolly and one or two more who were undeniably little girls stood a bad chance, hanging about on the outskirts of the crowd, for the cabin would not take them all in ; and hearing a distant sound of clinking glass and silver and words of refreshment. It was all they seemed likely to get; and when a kindly elderly officer had taken pity on the child and given Dolly a biscuit, she concluded to resign the rest of the unattainable luncheon and make the most of her other opportu- nities while she had them. Eating the biscuit, which she was very glad of, she wandered off by herself, along the deck; looking again carefully at all she saw; for her eyes were greedy of seeing. Sails, what strange shapes; and how close rolled 60 THE END OF A COIL. up some of them were ! Hopes, what a multi- tude; and cables. Coils of them on deck; and if she looked up, an endless tracery of lines seen against the blue sky. There was a sailor going up something like a rope ladder; going up and up; how could he ? and how far could he go ? Dolly almost grew dizzy gazing at him. "What are you looking after, little one?" a voice near her asked. An unceremonious address, cer- tainly ; frankly put ; but the voice was not unkindly Or uncivil, and Dolly was not sensitive on the point of personal dignity. She brought her eyes down for a moment far enough to see the shimmer of gold lace on a midshipman's cap, and answered, " I am looking at that man. He's going up and up, to the top of everything ! I should think his head would turn." "Yours will, if you look after him with your head in that position." Dolly let her eyes come now to the speaker's face. One of the young midshipmen it was, stand- ing near her, with his arms folded and leaning upon something which served as a support to them, and looking down at Dolly. For standing so and leaning over, he was still a good deal taller than she. Further, Dolly observed a pair of level brows, beneath them a pair of wise-looking, cog- nisance-taking blue eyes, an expression of steady calm, betokening either an even temperament or an habitual power of self-control; and just now in the eyes and the mouth there was the play almost THE "ACHILLES." 61 of a smile, somewhat merry, wholly kindly. It took Dolly's confidence entirely and at once. "You don't think you would like to be a sailor?" he went on. "Is it pleasant?" said Dolly, retorting the ques- tion earnestly and doubtfully. The smile broke a little more on the other's face. " How do you like the ship ? " he asked. " I do not know," said Dolly glancing along the deck. " I think it is a strange place to live." "Why?" "And I don't understand the use of it," Dolly went on with a really puzzled face. " The use of what ? " " The use of the whole thing. I know what ships are good for, of course; other ships; but what is the use of such a ship as this ? " " To take care of the other ships." "How?" " Have you been below ? Did you see the gun decks?" " I was in a place where there were a great many guns but I could not understand, and there was nobody to tell me things." " Would you like to go down there again ? " "0 yes!" said Dolly. "They will be a good while at lunch yet. O thank you ! I should like so much to go." The young midshipman took her hand ; perhaps- he had a little sister at home and the action was pleasant and familiar; it seemed to be both; and 62 THE END OF A COIL. led her down the way that took them to the upper gun deck. " How comes it you are not taking lunch too ? " he asked by the way. "0 there are too many of them," said Dolly contentedly. " I don't care. I had a biscuit." " You don't care for your lunch ? " "Yes, I do, when I'm hungry; but now I would rather see things. I never saw a ship before." They arrived in the great, gloomy, black gun deck. The midshipman let go Dolly's hand, and she stood and looked along the avenue between the bristling black cannon. " Now, what is it that you don't understand ? " he asked, watching her. " What are these guns here for ? " " Don't you know that ? Guns are to fight with." "Yes, I know," said Dolly; "but how can you fight with them here in a row ? and what would you fight with? I mean, who would you fight against ? " "Some other ship, if Fate willed it so. Look here ; this is the way of it." He took a letter from the breast of his coat, tore off a blank leaf; then resting it on the side of a gun carriage, he proceeded to make a sketch. Dolly's eyes followed his pencil point, spell-bound with interest. Under his quick and ready fingers grew, she could not tell how, the figure of a ship, hull, masts, sails and rigging, deftly sketched in; till it seemed to Dolly she could almost see THE "ACHILLES." 63 how the wind blew that was filling out the sails and floating off the streamer. "There," said the artist, "that is our enemy." " Our enemy ? " repeated Dolly. " Our supposed enemy. We will suppose she is an enemy." " But how could she be ? " "We might be at war with England suppose, or with France. This might be an English ship of war coming to catch up every merchantman she could overhaul that carried American colours, and make a prize of her; don't you see ? " " Do they do that ? " said Dolly. "What? catch up merchantmen? of course they do; and the more of value is on board, the better they are pleased. We lose so much, and they gain so much. Now we want to stop this fellow's power of doing mischief; you understand." " What are those little black spots you are mak- ing along her sides." " The port holes of her guns." " Port holes? " "The openings where the mouths of her guns look out. See," said he, pointing to the one near which they were standing, "that is a port hole." " That little window ? " " It isn't a windoAv; it is a port hole." " It is not a black spot." " Because you are inside, and looking out tow- ards the light. Look at them when you are leav- 64 THE END OF A COIL. ing the ship ; they will look like black spots then, you will find." " Well, that's the enemy," said Dolly, drawing a short breath of excitement. "What is that ship you are making now ? " "That's the 'Achilles'; brought to; with her main topsails laid aback, and her fore topsails full; ready for action." "I do not know what are topsails or 'fore top- sails," said Dolly. The midshipman explained; to illustrate his ex- planation sketched lightly another figure of a ves- sel, shewing more distinctly the principal sails. "And this is the 'Achilles,'" said Dolly, recur- ring to the principal design. "You have put her a great way off from the enemy, it seems to me." " No. Point blank range. Quite near enough." " O what is ' point blank range ' ? " cried Dolly in despair. Her new friend smiled, but answered with good humoured patience. Dolly listened and comprehended. "Then, if this were an enemy, and that the 'Achilles,' and within point blank range, you would load one of these guns and fire at her ? " The midshipman shook his head. " We should load up all of them all on that side." "And five them one after another?" "As fast as we could. We should give her a broadside. But we should probably give her one broadside after another." " Suppose the balls all hit her ? " THE "ACHILLES." 65 " Yes, you may suppose that. I should like to suppose it, if I were the officer in command." " What would they do to her ? to that enemy ship ? " " If they all hit ? Hinder her from doing any more mischief." "How?" " Break her masts, tear up her rigging, make a wreck of her generally. Perhaps sink her." "But suppose while you are fighting that she fights too ? " " Extremely probable." "If a shot came in here could it come in here?" "Certainly. Cannon balls will go almost any- where." " If it came in here, what would it do ? " " Kill three or four of the men at a gun, per- haps ; tear away a bit of the ship's side ; or perhaps disable the gun." "While you were firing at the enemy on this side, the guns of the other side, I suppose, would have nothing to do ? " " They might be fighting another enemy on that side," said the midshipman smiling. " I should think," said Dolly, looking down the long line of the gun deck, and trying to imagine the state of things described, " I should think it would be most dreadful ! " " I have no doubt you would think so." " Don't you think so ? " 5 66 THE END OF A COIL. " I have never been in action yet." " Don't you hope you never will ? " The young man laughed a little. " What would be the use of ships of war, if there were never any fighting ? I should have nothing to do in the world." "You might do something else," said Dolly, gazing at the lines of black guns stretching along both sides of the deck, so near to each other, so black, so grim. "How many men does it take to manage each gun ? You said three or four might be killed." "According to the size of the gun. Twelve men for these guns; larger would take fifteen." Again Dolly meditated; in imagination peopled the solitary place with the active crowd of men which would be there if each gun had twelve gun- ners, filled the silence with the roar of combined discharges, thought of the dead and wounded ; at last turned her eyes to the blue ones that were watching her. " I wonder if God likes it ? " she said. " Likes what ? " said the midshipman in wonder. " Such work. I don't see how he can" "How can you help such work? People can- not get along without fighting." He did not speak carelessly or mockingly or banteringly; rather with a gentle, somewhat de- liberate utterance. Yet Dolly was persuaded there was no unmanly softness in him ; she never doubt- ed but that he would be ready to do his part in THE "ACHILLES." 67 that dreadful work, if it must be done. More- over, he was paying to this odd little girl a deli- cate sort of respect and treating her with great consideration. Her confidence, as I said, had been entirely given to him before; and now some gratitude began to mingle with it, along with great freedom to speak her mind. " I don't think God can like it," she repeated. " What would you do, then ? " he also repeated, smiling. ' ' Let wicked people have their own way ? " "No." "If they are not to have their own way, you must stop them." " I think this is a dreadful way of stopping them." " It's a bad job for the side that goes under," the young officer admitted. " I don't believe God likes it," Dolly concluded for the third time, with great conviction. " Is that your rule for everything ? " " Yes. Isn't it your rule ? " " I have to obey orders," he answered, watching her. "Don't you obey his orders?" said Dolly wistfully. " I do not know what they are." "0, but they are in the Bible. You can find them in the Bible." " Does it say anything about fighting ? " Dolly tried to think, and got confused. Certain- ly it did say a good deal about fighting, but in va- rious ways, it seemed to her. She did not know how to answer. She changed the subject. 68 THE END OF A COIL. "How do you get the shot, the balls, I mean, into these guns ? I don't see how you get at them. The mouths are out of the windows. Port holes, I mean." For the upper gun deck had been put to a cer- tain extent in order of action, and the guns were run out. " You are of an inquiring disposition," said the midshipman gravely. "Ami?" "I think you are." " But I should like to know, " pursued Dolly, looking at the muzzle of the gun by which they were standing. " The guns would be run in to be loaded." Dolly looked at the heavy piece of metal, and at him, but did not repeat her question. " Now you want to know how," he said smiling. "If I were captain, I would have the men here and shew you. The gun is run in by means of this tackle, see? and when it is charged, it is bowsed out again." Seeing Dolly's wise grave eyes bent upon the subject, he went on to amuse her with a full detail of the exercise of the gun; from "casting loose," to the finishing "secure your guns"; explaining the manner of handling and loading, and the use of the principal tackle concerned. Dolly listened, intent, fascinated, enchained; and I think the young man was a little fascinated too, though his atten- tions were given to so very young a lady. Dolly's THE " ACHILLES." 69 brown eyes were so utterly pure and grave and unconscious; the brain at work behind them was so evidently clear and busy and competent; the pleasure she shewed was so unschoolgirl-like, and he thought so unchildlike, and at the same time so very far from being young-lady-like. What she was like, he did not know; she was an odd little apparition there in the gun deck of the "Achilles," leaning with her elbows upon a gun carriage, and surveying with her soft eyes the various parapher- nalia of conflict and carnage around her. Contrast could hardly be stronger. " Suppose," said Dolly at last, " a shot should make a hole in the side of the ship, and let in the water?" " Well ? Suppose it," he answered. " Does that ever happen ? " " Quite often. Why not ? " " What would you do then ? " " Pump out the water as fast as it came in, if we could." " Suppose you couldn't ? " " Then we should go down." "And all in the ship?" "All who could not get out of it." " How could any get out of it ? " "In the boats." "Oh! I forgot the boats. Would they hold everybody ? " " Probably not. The other ships' boats would come to help/' 70 THE END OF A COIL. "The officers would go first, I suppose?" " Last. The highest officer of all would be the last man on board." "Why?" " He must do his duty. If he cannot save his ship, at least he must save his men; all he can. He is there to do his duty." " I think it would be better not to be there at all," said Dolly very gravely. " Who would take care of you then, if an ene- my's fleet were coming to attack Philadelphia?" said the young officer. " I would go home," said Dolly. " I don't know what would become of Philadelphia. But I do not think God can like it." "Shall we go above, where it is more cheerful? or have you seen it all ? " Dolly gave him her hand again and let him help her till they got on deck. There they went roam- ing towards the fore part of the vessel, looking at everything by the way; Dolly asking the names and the meaning of things, and receiving explana- tions, especially regarding the sails and rigging and steering of the ship. She was even shewn where the sailors made their home in the fore- castle. As they were returning aft, Dolly stopped by a coil of rope on deck and began pulling at an end of it. Her companion inquired what she wanted? "I would like a little piece," said Dolly; "if I could get it." THE "ACHILLES." 71 " A piece of rope ? " "Yes; -just a little bit; but it is very strong; it won't break." She was tugging at a loose strand. "How large a bit do you want?" "0 just a little piece," said Dolly. "I wanted just a little piece to keep but it's no matter. I wanted to keep it." " A keepsake ? " said the young man. " To re- member us by ? They are breaking up," he add- ed immediately, casting his glance aft, where a stir and a gathering and a movement on deck in front of the captain's cabin could now be seen, and the sound of voices came fresh along the breeze. " They are going, there is no time now. I will send you a piece, if you will tell me where I can send it. Where do you live ? " "0 will you? thank you!" said Dolly, and her face lifted confidingly to the young officer grew sunny with pleasure. "I live at Mrs. De- lancy's school ; but no, I don't ! I don't live there. My home is at Uncle Edward's Mr. Edward Eberstein in Walnut St." "What number?" said the midshipman, using his pencil again on the much scribbled piece of paper; and Dolly told him. " And whom shall I send the the piece of rope, to?" "0 yes! Dolly Copley. That is my name. Good bye, I must go." "Dolly Copley. You shall have it," said he, 72 THE END OF A COIL. giving the little hand she held out to him a right sailorly grasp. And Dolly ran away. In the bus- tle and anxiety of getting lowered into the little boat again she forgot him and everything else; however, so soon as she was safely seated and just as the men were ordered to "give way," she looked up at the great ship they were leaving; and there, just above her, leaning on the guards and looking over and down at her, she saw her midshipman friend. Dolly saw nothing else till his face was too small in the distance to be any longer recognized. CHAPTER V. THE PIECE OF ROPE. IT was Saturday and holiday, and Dolly went home to her aunt's. There her aunt and un- cle, as was natural, expected a long story of the morning's experience. And Dolly one would think might have given it ; matter for the detail was not wanting ; yet she seemed to have little to tell. On the other hand she had a great 'deal to ask. She wanted to know why people could not do all their fighting on land? why ships of war were neces- sary? Mr. Eberstein tried to explain that there might be great and needful advantages attendant upon the use of them. Then Dolly begged for in- stances. Had we, Americans, ever fought at sea? Mr. Eberstein answered that, and gave her details of facts, while Mrs. Eberstein sat by silent and watched Dolly's serious, meditative face. " I should think," said Dolly, " that when there is a fight, a ship of war would be a very dreadful place." " There is no doubt of that, my little girl," said Mr. Eberstein. "Take the noise, and the smoke, the packed condition of one of those gun decks, 74 THE END OF A COIL. and the every now and then coming in of a round shot, crashing through planks and timbers, splin- tering what comes in its way, and stretching half a dozen men at once, more or less, on the floor in dead and wounded, I think it must be as good a likeness of the infernal regions as earth can give in one way at least." "In what way ? " Dolly asked immediately. "Confusion of pain and horror. Not wicked- " Uncle Ned, do you think God can like it ? " "No." " Then isn't it wicked ? " "No, little one; not necessarily. No sort of pain or suffering can be pleasing to God ; we know it is not; yet sin has made it necessary, and he often sends it." " Don't he always send it ? " "Why no. Some sorts people bring on them- selves by their own folly and perverseness ; and some sorts people work on others by their own wicked self-will. God does not cause that, though he will overrule it to do what he wants done." "Uncle Ned, do you think we shall ever have to use our ships of war again ? " " We are using them all the time. We send them to this place and that place to protect our own people and their merchant vessels and their commerce from interference and injury." " No, but I mean, in fighting. Do you think we shall ever have to send them to fight again ? " THE PIECE OF ROPE. 75 " Probably." " To fight whom ? " "That I don't know." "Then why do you say 'probably'?" "Because human nature remains what it was, and will no doubt do the same work in the future that it has done from the beginning." " Why is fighting part of that work, Uncle Ned?" "Ah, why! Greed, which wants what is the right of others; pride, which resents even a fan- cied interference with its own ; anger, which cries for revenge; these are the reasons." Dolly looked very deeply serious. " Why do you care so much about it, Dolly ? " her aunt asked at length, after a meditative pause of several minutes. " I would be sorry to have the ' Achilles ' go into battle," said Dolly; and a perceptible slight shud- der passed over her shoulders. " Is the ' Achilles ' so much to you, just because you have seen her ? " "No" said Dolly thoughtfully; "it isn't the ship; it's the people." " Oh ! But what do you know of the people ? " " I saw a good many of them, Aunt Harry." Politic Dolly ! She had really seen only one. Yet she had no idea of being politic; and why she did not say whom she had seen and what rea- son she had for being interested in him, I cannot tell you. 76 THE END OF A COIL. From that time Dolly's reading took a new turn. She sought out in the bookcases everything that related to sailors and ships, and especially naval warfare, and simply devoured it. The little life of Lord Nelson, by Southey, in two small calf-bound volumes, became her darling book. Better than any novel, for it was true, and equal to any novel for its varied, picturesque, passionate, stirring life story. Dolly read it, till she could have given you at any time an accurate and detailed account of any one of Nelson's great battles ; and more than that, she studied the geography of the lands and waters thereby concerned, and where possible the topography also. I suppose the "Achilles" stood for a model of all the ships in which successively the great commander hoisted his flag ; and if the hero himself did not take the form and features of a certain American midshipman, it was probably because there was a likeness of the subject of the Memoir opposite to the title-page ; and the rather plain, rather melancholy, rather feeble traits of the English naval captain could by no effort of imag- ination be confounded with the quiet strength and gentle manliness which Dolly had found in the straight brows and keen blue eyes and kindly smile of her midshipman friend. That would not do. Nelson was not like him, nor he like Nelson ; but Dolly had little doubt but he would do as much, if he had occasion. In that faith she read on ; and made every action lively with the vision of those keen-sighted blue eyes and firm sweet mouth in THE PIECE OF ROPE. 77 the midst of the smoke of battle and the confusion of orders given and received. How often the Life of Nelson was read, I dare not say ; nor with what reneAved eagerness the Marine Dictionary and its plates of ships and cannon were studied and searched. From that, Dolly's attention was ex- tended to other books which told of the sea and of life upon it, even though the life were not warlike. Captain Cook's voyages came in for a large amount of favour; and Cooper's "Afloat and Ashore," which happened about this time to fall into Dolly's hands, was devoured with a hunger which grew on what it fed on. Nobody knew; she had ceased to talk on naval subjects; and it was so common a thing for Dolly to be swallowed up in some book or other whenever she was at home, that Mrs. Eberstein's curiosity was not excited. Meanwhile school days and school work went on, and week succeeded week, and everybody but Dolly had forgotten all about the " Achilles " ; when one day a small package was brought to the door and handed in "for Miss Dolly Copley." It was a Saturday afternoon. Dolly and her aunt were sitting comfortably together in Mrs. Eber- stein's work room up stairs, and Mr. Eberstein was there too at his secretary. "For me?" said Dolly, when the servant brought the package in. " It's a box ! Aunt Harry, what can it be ? " " Open and see, Dolly." 78 THE END OF A COIL. Which Dolly did with an odd mixture of haste and deliberation which amused Mrs. Eberstein. She tore off nothing, and she cut nothing; pa- tiently knots were untied and papers unfolded, though Dolly's fingers trembled with excitement. Papers taken off shewed a rather small paste- board box; and the box being opened revealed coil upon coil, nicely wound up, of a beautifully wrought chain. It might be a watch chain ; but Dolly possessed no watch. "What is it, Aunt Harry?" she said in won- dering pleasure as the coils of the pretty woven work fell over her hand. " It looks like a watch chain, Dolly. What is it made of?" Mrs. Eberstein inspected the work closely and could not determine. " But who could send me a watch chain ? " said Dolly. " Somebody ; for here is your name very plainly on the cover, and on the paper." "The boy is waiting for an answer, miss." "Answer? To what? I don't know whom to answer," said Dolly. "There's a note, miss." "A note? where? here is a note, Aunt Harry, in the bottom of the box. I did not see it." "From whom, Dolly?" Dolly did not answer. She had unfolded the note, and now her whole face was wrinkling up THE PIECE OF ROPE. 79 with pleasure or fan ; she did not hear or heed her aunt's question. Mrs. Eberstein marked how her colour rose and her smile grew sparkling ; and she watched with not a little curiosity and some im- patience till Dolly should speak. The little girl looked up at last with a face all dimples. " Aunt Harry ! it's my piece of rope." " Your piece of rope, my dear ? " "Yes; I wanted a piece of rope; and this is it." " That is not a piece of rope." "Yes, it is; it is made of it. I could not think what it was made of; and now I see. Isn't it beautifully made ? He has picked a piece of rope to pieces, and woven this chain of the threads; isn't it beautiful? And how kind! How kind he is." " Who, Dolly? Who has done it?" " 0, the midshipman, Aunt Harry." " The midshipman. What one ? You didn't say anything about a midshipman." " I saw him though, and he said he would send me a piece of rope. I wanted a piece, Aunt Harry, to remember the ship by; and I could not break a bit oiF, though I tried; then he saw me try- ing, and it was just time to go, and he said he would get it and send it to me. I thought he had forgotten all about it; but here it is! I am so glad." " My dear, do you call that a piece of rope ? " "Why yes, Aunt Harry; it is woven out of a piece of rope. He has picked the rope apart a ad 80 THE END OF A COIL. made this chain of the threads. I think he is very clever." " Who, my dear ? Who has done it, Dolly ? " "The midshipman, Aunt Harry." " What midshipman ? " " On the ' Achilles.' I saw him that day." " Did you see only one midshipman ? " "No; I suppose I saw a good many. I didn't notice any but this one." " And he noticed you, I suppose ? " " Yes, a little "said Dolly. " Did he notice nobody beside you ? " " I don't know, Aunt Harry. Not that time, for I was alone." " Alone ! Where were all the rest, and Mrs. Delancy ? " " Eating lunch in the captain's cabin." " Did you have no lunch ? " " I had a biscuit one of the officers gave me." " And have you got a note there from the mid- shipman ? " " Yes, Aunt Harry." "What does he say?" Dolly unfolded the note again and looked at it with great consideration; then handed it to Mrs. Eberstein. Mrs. Eberstein read aloud. "' Ship "Achilles ," " ' Dec. 5, 18. " ' Will Miss Dolly Copley please send a word to say that she has received her piece of cable safe ? THE PIECE OF ROPE. 81 I thought she would like it best perhaps in a man- ufactured form ; and I hope she will keep it to re- member the " Achilles " by, and also '"A. CROWNINSHIELD.' " "What's all that?" demanded Mr. Eberstein now from his secretary. Mrs. Eberstein bit her lips as she answered, " Billetdoux." " Aunt Harry," said Dolly now doubtfully, "must I write an answer ? " " Edward," said Mrs. Eberstein, " shall I let this child write a note to a midshipman on board the 4 Achilles ' ? What do you think ? Come and coun- sel me." Mr. Eberstein left his writing, informed himself of the circumstances, read "A. Crowninshield's" note, and gave his decision. " The ' Achilles ' ? yes, I know Captain Bar- bour very well. It's all right, I guess. I think Dolly had better write an answer, certainly." So Dolly fetched her writing materials. Her aunt looked for some appeals for advice now on her part; but Dolly made none. She bent over her paper with an earnest face, a little flushed; but it seemed she was in no uncertainty what to say or how to say it. She did not offer to shew her fin- ished note to Mrs. Eberstein; I think it did not occur to her; but in the intensity of her concentra- tion Dolly only thought of the person she was writing to and the occasion which made her write. 82 THE END OF A COIL. Certainly she would have had no objection that anybody should see what she wrote. The simple words ran as follows, "MR. CKOWNINSHIELD, " I have got the chain, and I think it is beau- tiful, and I am very much obliged to you. I mean to keep it and wear it as long as I live. You are very kind. " DOLLY COPLEY." The note was closed and sent off; and with that Dolly dismissed the subject, so far at least as words were concerned; but Mrs. Eberstein watched her still for some time handling and examining the chain, passing it through her fingers, and regard- ing it with a serious face and yet an expression in the eyes and on the lips that was almost equiva- lent to a smile. "What are you going to do with it, Dolly?" Mrs. Eberstein asked at length, wishing to get into the child's thoughts. "I'll keep it, Aunt Harry. And when I have anything to wear it with, I will wear it. When I am old enough, I mean." "What did you do to that young fellow, to make him shew you such an attention ? " " Do to him ? I didn't do anything to him, Aunt Harry ! " "It was very kind of him, wasn't it?" " Very kind. I guess he is kind," said Dolly. THE PIECE OF ROPE. 83 "Maybe we shall see him again one of these days, and have a chance to thank him. The mid- shipmen get leave to come on shore now and then." But no such chance offered. The "Achilles" sailed out of those waters, and her place in the river was empty. CHAPTER VI. END OF SCHOOL TERM. DOLLY'S school life is not further of importance in this history ; or no further than may serve to fill out the picture already given of herself. A few smooth and uneventful years followed that first coming to Philadelphia ; not therefore unfruitful be- cause uneventful; perhaps the very contrary. The little girl made her way among her fellow pupils and the teachers, the masters and mistresses, the studies and drills which busied them all, with a kind of sweet facility; such as is born everywhere, I suppose, of good will. Whoever got into scrapes, it was never Dolly Copley; whoever was chidden for imperfect recitations, such rebukes never fell on her ; whoever might be suspected of mischief, such suspicion could not rest for a moment on the fair, frank little face and those grave brown eyes. The most unpopular mistress had a friend in Dolly; the most refractory schoolgirl owned to a certain influ- ence which went forth from her; the most uncom- fortable of her companions found soothing in her . presence. People who are happy themselves can END OF SCHOOL TERM. t 85 drop a good deal of oil on the creaking machin- ery around them, and love is the only manufactory where the oil is made. With all this smooth going, it may be supposed that Dolly's progress in knowledge and accomplish- ments would be at least satisfactory; and it was more than that. She prospered in all she under- took. The teacher of mathematics said she had a good head for calculation ; the French mistress de- clared nature had given her a good ear and accent; the dancing master found her agile and graceful as a young roe ; the drawing master went beyond all these and averred that Miss Copley would distin- guish him and herself. " She has an excellent man- ner of handling, madame," he said, "and she has an eye for colour, and she will have a style, that will be distinguished." Moreover, Dolly's voice was sweet and touching and promised to be very ef- fective. So things went on at school; and at home each day bound faster the loving ties which united her with her kind protectors and relations. Every week grew and deepened the pleasure of the in- tercourse they held together. Those were happy years for all parties. Dolly had become rather more talkative, without being less of a bookworm. Vacations were sometimes spent with her mother and father, though not always, as the latter were sometimes travelling. Dolly missed nothing; Mrs. Eberstein's house had come to be a second home. All this while the "Achilles" had never been 86 THE END OF A COIL. heard of again in the neighbourhood of Philadel- phia. Neither, though Dolly I am bound to say searched faithfully all the lists of ship's officers which were reported in any American ports, did she ever so much as see the name of A. Crown- inshield. She always looked for it, wherever a chance of finding it might be; she never found it. Such was the course of things, until Dolly had reached her seventeenth year and was half through it. Then, in the spring, long before school term ended, came a sudden summons for her. Mr. Cop- ley had received the appointment of a consulship in London; he and his family were about to trans- fer themselves immediately to this new sphere of activity, and Dolly of course must go along. Her books were hastily fetched from school, her clothes packed up ; and Dolly and her kind friends in Wal- nut Street sat together the last evening in a very subdued frame of mind. " I don't see what your father wanted of a con- sulship, or anything else that would take him out of his country ! " Mr. Eberstein uttered his rather grumbling complaint. " He has enough to satisfy a man without that." "But what papa likes is precisely something to take him out of the country. He likes change " said Dolly sorrowfully. " He won't have much change as American con- sul in London," Mr. Eberstein returned. " Business will pin him pretty close." "I suppose it will be a change at first," said END OF SCHOOL TERM. 87 Dolly; "and then, when he gets tired of it, he will give it up and take something else." "And you, little Dolly, you are accordingly to be shoved out into the great, great world, long be- fore you are ready for it." " Is the world any bigger over there than it is on this side ? " said Dolly, with a gleam of fun. " Well, yes," said Mr. Eberstein. " Most people think so. And London is a good deal bigger than Philadelphia." "The world is very much alike all over," re- marked Mrs. Eberstein; "in one place a little more fascinating and dangerous, in another a lit- tle less." " Will it be more or less, over there, for me, Aunt Harry ? " " It would be ' more ' for you anywhere, Dolly, soon. Why you are between sixteen and seven- teen ; almost a woman ! " Mrs. Eberstein said with "No, not yet, Aunt Harry. I'll be a girl yet awhile. I can be that in England, can't I, as well as here ? " "Better," said Mr. Eberstein. "But the world, nevertheless, is a little bigger out there, Ned," his wife added. "In what way, Aunt Harry? And what do you mean by ' the world ' anyhow ? " " I mean what the Lord was speaking of, when he said to his disciples, ' If ye were of the world, the world would love his own ; but because ye are 88 THE END OF A COIL. not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.' " " That means, bad people ? " "Some of them are by no means bad people. Some of them are delightful people." " Then I do not quite understand, Aunt Harry. I thought it meant not only bad people, but gay people; pleasure lovers." "Aren't you a lover of pleasure, Dolly ? " " yes. But Aunt Harry," Dolly said seriously, " I am not a ' lover of pleasures more than a lover of God.'" " No ; thanks to his goodness ! However, Dolly, people may be just as worldly without seeking pleasures at all. It isn't that." " What is it, then ? " " I don't know how to put it. Ned, can you ? " "Why Hal," said Mr. Eberstein pondering, "it comes to about this, I reckon. There are just two kingdoms in the world; upon earth I mean." "Yes. Well? I know there are two kingdoms, and no neutral ground. But what is the dividing line? That is what we want to know." " If there is no neutral ground, it follows, that the border line of one kingdom is the border line of the other. To go out of one, is to go into the other." "Well? Yes. That's plain." "Then it is simple enough. What belongs to Christ, or what is done for him or in his service, belongs to his kingdom. Of course, what is not END OF SCHOOL TERM. 89 Christ's, nor is done for him, nor in his service, be- longs to the world." There was a silence here of some duration ; and then Dolly exclaimed, "I see it. I shall know now." "What, Dolly?" "How to do, Aunt Harry." " How to do what ? " " Everything. I was thinking particularly just then ;| Dolly hesitated. " Yes, of what ? " " Of dressing myself." " Dressing yourself, you chicken ? " " Yes, Aunt Harry. I see it. If I do not dress for Christ, I do it for the world." "Don't go into another extreme now, Dolly." " No, Aunt Harry. I cannot be wrong, can I, if I do it for Christ ? " "I wonder how many girls of sixteen in the country have such a thought? And I wonder, how long will you be able to keep it, Dolly ? " "Why not, Aunt Harry?" "0 child, because you have got to meet the world." " What will the world do to me ? " Dolly asked half laughing in her simple ignorance. " When I think what it will do to you, Dolly, I am ready to break my heart. It will tempt you, child. It will tempt you with beauty, and with pleasant things; pleasant things that look so harmless ! and it will seek to persuade you with 90 THE END OF A COIL. sweet voices and with voices of authority; and it will shew you everybody going one way, and that not your way." "But I will follow Christ, Aunt Hal." "Then you will have to bear reproach." " I would rather bear the world's reproach, than His." "If you don't get over-persuaded, child, or deaf- ened with the voices ! " " She will have to do like the little girl in the fairy tale," said Mr. Eberstein; "stuif cotton in her ears. The little girl in the fairy tale was going up a hill to get something at the top what was she going for, that was at the top of the hill?" " I know ! " cried Dolly. " I remember. She was going for three things. The Singing bird and the Golden water, and I forget what the third thing was." "Well, you see what that means," Mr. Eber- stein went on. "She was going up the hill for the Golden water at the top ; and there were ten thousand voices in her ears tempting her to look round; and if she looked, she would be turned to stone. The road was lined with stones, which had once been pilgrims. You see, Dolly? Her only way was to stop her ears." "I see, Uncle Ned." " What shall Dolly stop her ears with ? " asked Mrs. Eberstein. "These words will do. 'Whether ye eat, or END OF SCHOOL TERM. 91 drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.'" There was little more talking, for as the evening drew on, the heaviness of the parting weighed too hard upon all hearts. The next day Dolly made the journey to Boston, and from there to her par- ents' house; and her childhood's days were over. CHAPTER VII. PLAYTHINGS. DOLLY did not know that her childhood was over. Every pulse of her happy little heart said the contrary, when she found herself again among her old haunts and was going the rounds of them, the morning after her return home. She came in at last to her mother, flushed and warm. "Mother, what are we going away for?" she be^an. " Your father knows. I don't. Men never know when they are well off." " Do women ? " " I used to think so." " Is it as pleasant in England as it is here ? " "Depends on where you are placed, I suppose, and how you are placed. How can I tell ? 1 have never been in England." " Mother, we have got the prettiest little calf in the barn that you ever saw." " In the barn ! A queer place for a calf to be, it seems to me." "Yes, because they want to keep it from the PLAYTHINGS. 93 cow. Johnson is going to rear it, he says. I am so glad it is not to be killed ! It is spotted, moth- er ; all red and white ; and so prettily spotted ! " An inarticulate sound from Mrs. Copley, which might mean anything. "And mother, I have been getting the eggs. And Johnson has a hen setting. We shall have chickens pretty soon." " Dolly Copley, how old are you ? " " Sixteen last Christmas, mother." "And seventeen next Christmas." "Yes, ma'am, but next Christmas is not come yet." " Seems to me, it is near enough for you to be something besides a child." " What's the harm, mother ? " " Harm ? " said Mrs. Copley with a sharp accent ; " why, when one has a woman's work to do, one had better be a woman to do it. . How is a child to fill a woman's place ? " " I have only a child's place to fill, just now," said Dolly merrily. " I have no woman's work to do, mother. "Yes, you have. You have got to go into so- ciety, and play your part in society, and be mar- ried by and by ; and then you'll know that a wom- an's part isn't so easy to play." Dolly looked grave. " But we are going to England, mother ; where we know nobody. I don't see how we are to go into much society." 94 THE END OF A COIL. " Do you suppose," said Mrs. Copley very irately, "that with your father's position his wife and daughter will not be visited and receive invita- tions? That is the one thing that reconciles me to going. We shall have a very different sort of society from what we have here. Why you will go to court, Dolly ; you will be 7 presented ; and of course you will see nothing but people of the very best circles." " I don't care about going to court." " Why not ? You are a goose ; you know noth- ing about it. Why don't you want to go to court? Your father's daughter may, as well as some other people's. Why don't you care about it ? " "It would be a great deal of fuss; and no use." " No use ! Yes, it would ; just the use I am tell- ing you. It would introduce you to the best society." " But I am not going to live in England all my life, mother." " How do you know ? " very sharply. " How do you know where you are going to live ? " " Why, father won't stay there always, will he ? " " I am sure I don't know what your father will take into his head. I may be called to end my days in Japan. But you Look here ; has your aunt made you as old fashioned as she is herself? " "How, mother?" " I am sure I can't tell how ! There are ever so many ways. There's the benevolent sort, and there's the devout sort, and there's the puritan- PLAYTHINGS. . 95 ical sort. Has she put it into your head that it is good to be a hermit and separate yourself from the rest of the world ? " Dolly laughed and denied that charge. "She's a very good woman, I suppose; but she is ridiculous," Mrs. Copley went on. "Don't be ridiculous, whatever you are. You can't do any good to anybody by being ridiculous." " But people may call things ridiculous, that are not ridiculous, mother." " Don't let them call you ridiculous, then," said Mrs. Copley, chopping her words in the way peo- ple do when impatience has the management of them. " You had better not. The world is pretty apt to be right." Dolly let the subject go, and let it go from her mind too; giving herself to the delights of her chickens, and the calf, and the nests of eggs in the hay mow. More than half the time she was dancing about out of doors; as gay as the daffo- dils that were just opening, as delicate as the Van Thol tulips that were taking on slender streaks and threads of carmine in their half transparent white petals, as sweet as the white hyacinth that was blooming in Mrs. Copley's window. Within the house Dolly displayed another character, and soon became indispensable to her mother. In all consultations of business, in emergencies of pack- ing, in perplexities of arrangements, Dolly was ready with a sweet, clear common sense, loving hands of skill, and an imperturbable cheerfulness 96 THE END OF A COIL. and patience. It was only a few weeks that the confusion lasted; during those weeks Mrs. Copley came to know what sort of a daughter she had. And even Mr. Copley began to divine it. Mr. Copley has been no more than mentioned. He was a comely, intelligent, active, energetic man; a very good specimen of a typical Yankee who has enjoyed the advantages of education and society. He had plenty of common sense, acute business faculties, and genial manners; and so was generally a popular man among his compeers. His inherited family property made him more than independent; so his business dealings were en- tered into rather for amusement and to satisfy the inborn Yankee craving to be doing something, than for need or for gain. Mr. Copley laid no special value on money, beyond what went to make him comfortable. But he lacked any feel- ing for art, which might have made him a col- lector and connoisseur; he had no love for nature, which might have expended itself in grounds and gardens; he cared little for knowledge, except such as he could forthwith use. What was left to him but business? for he was not of those softly natures which sit down at home in the midst of their families and are content. How- ever, Mr. Copley could value his home belong-; ings, and had an eye to discern things. He was watching Dolly, one day just before their departure, as she was busying herself with a bunch of violets; putting some of them in a PLAYTHINGS. 97 glass, sticking some of them in her mother's hair, finally holding the bunch under her father's nose. "Dolly," said her father, "I declare I don't know whether you are most of a child or a woman ! " "I suppose I can be both, father; can't I?" "I don't know about that." " So I tell her," said Mrs. Copley. " It's all very well as long as she is here ; but I tell her she has got to give up being a child and playing with the chickens." " Why must I ? " said Dolly. "You will find other playthings on the other side," said her father, fondly putting his arm round her and drawing her up to him. "Will they be as good as chickens? What will they be ? " "Yes, there, 'what will they be/ she asks! I do believe that Dolly has no idea," Mrs. Copley remarked. " She will find out soon enough," said Mr. Cop- ley contentedly. "What will they be, father?" Dolly repeated, making for the present a plaything of her father's head; for both her soft arms were around it, and she was touching first one side and then the other side with her own cheeks. Mr. Copley seemed to enjoy the play, for he gave himself up to it lux- uriously and made no answer. "Dolly has been long enough in Philadelphia," Mrs. Copley went on. " It is time she was away." " So I think." 7 98 THE END OF A COIL. "Father," said Dolly now, "have I done with going to school ? " There ensued a debate upon this question ; Dol- ly herself taking the negative and her mother the affirmative side. She wanted her daughter at home, she said. " But not till I am fit to be at home, mother? " " Fit ? Why are you not fit ? " said Mrs. Copley. " You know as much as I did when I was married ; and I should think that would be enough. I do not see what girls want with so much crammed into their heads, now-a-days ! It does them no good, and it does nobody else any good." " What do you think you want, Dolly, more than you have already? " her father asked. " Why father, I do not know anything. I have only begun things." " Humph ! Not know anything. I suppose you can read and write and cipher ? " " And you can play and sing," added Mrs. Cop- ley. " Very little, mother." "And your drawings are beautiful." " no, mother ! That is one especial thing that I want to do better; a great deal better." " I think they are good enough. And you have music enough. What's the use? When you are married you will give it all up." " My music and my drawing, mother ? " "Yes. Every girl does." " But I am not going to be married." PLAYTHINGS. 99 " Not just yet," said Mr. Copley drawing the soft arms round his neck, "not just yet, Dolly. But when a girl is known to have so much money as you will have, there are sure to be plenty of fellows after her. Somebody will catch you up, some of these days." " Somebody who wants my money, father ? " "Everybody wants money" Mr. Copley an- swered evasively. " They would not come and tell you so, I suppose ? " " Not exactly. That isn't the game." " Then they would pretend to like me, while they only wanted my money ? " "Mr. Copley, do you think what notions you are putting in Dolly's head ? Don't you know yet, that whatever you put in Dolly's head, stays there ? " Mrs. Copley objected. " I like that," said Dolly's father. " Most girls' heads are like paper fly traps won't hold any- thing but a fly. Dolly, in the pocket of my over- coat that hangs up in the hall, there is something that concerns you." " Which pocket, father ? " "Ay, youVe got your head on your shoulders! That's right. In the inner breast pocket, my dear. You'll find a small packet, tied up in paper." Being brought and duly opened, Mr. Copley's fingers took out of a small paper box a yet smaller package in silk paper and handed it to Dolly. It was a pretty little gold watch. "Why didn't you wait till you go to Geneva, 100 THE END OF A COIL. Mr. Copley ? " said his wife. " You could have got it cheaper and better there." " How do you know, my dear, without knowing how much I paid for this, or how good it is ? i am not going to Geneva, either. Well, Dolly ? " Dolly gave her father a mute kiss, which was expressive. " You think it will do, then. What will you wear it on ? I should have thought of that. You must have a chain.'' "01 have got a chain!" Dolly cried; and off she ran to fetch it. She came back presently with the little box which had been sent her from the " Achilles," and sat down by the lamp to put the watch on the chain. Her father's eye rested on her as she sat there, and well it might. The lamp- light fell among the light loose curls of brown hair, glanced from the white brow, shewed the delicate flush with which delight had coloured her cheeks, and then lit up the little hands which were busy with gold and wreathen work of the cable chain. The eyes he could not see; the mouth, he thought, with its innocent half smile, was as sweet as a mouth could be. Mrs. Copley was looking that way too, but seeing somewhat else. Eyes do see in the same picture such different things. " What have you got there, Dolly ? " "A chain, mother. I am so glad! I never could wear it, before. Now I am so glad." "What is it?" " A chain, mother," said Dolly holding it up. PLAYTHINGS. 101 " What sort of a chain ? Made of what ? " Dolly told her story. Mrs. Copley examined and wondered at the elegance of the work. Mr. Copley promised Dolly a chain of gold. "I do not want it, father. I like this," said Dolly, putting the chain round her neck. " Not better than a gold one ? " "Yes, father, I do." "Why, child?" " It reminds me of the time, and of the person that made it ; and I like it for all that." " Who was the person ? what was his name ? " "A midshipman on the 'Achilles.' His name was Crowninshield." " A good name," said Mr. Copley. " Why that was five and a half years ago, child. Did he make such an impression on you ? Where is he now ? " " I don't know." " You have never seen him since ? " " Nor heard of him. I could not even find his name in any of the lists of officers of ships, that I saw sometimes in the paper." " I'll look for it," said Mr. Copley. But though he was as good as his word, he was no more successful than Dolly had been. CHAPTER VIII. LONDON. MRS. COPLEY did not like London. So she de. clared after a stay of some months had given her, as she supposed, an opportunity of judging. The house they inhabited was not in a sufficiently fashionable quarter, she complained; and society did not seem to open its doors readily to the new American consul. " I suppose, mother, we have not been here long enough. People do not know us." " What do you call ' long enough ' ? " said Mrs. Copley with sharp emphasis. "And how are peo- ple to know us, if they do not come to see us? When people are strangers, is the very time to go and make their acquaintance; /should say." "English nature likes to know people before it makes their acquaintance," Mr. Copley remarked. " I do not think you have any cause to find fault." " No ; you have all you want in the way of so- ciety, and you have no notion how it is with me. That is men's way. And what do you expect to do with Dolly, shut up in this smoky old street? You might think of Dolly." "Dolly, dear," said her father, "are you getting LONDON. 103 smoked out, like your mother ? Do you want to go with me and see the Bank of England to-day ? " Dolly made a joyful spring to kiss her thanks, and then flew off to get ready ; but stopped at the door. " Won't you go too, mother ? " "And tire myself to death? No, thank you, Dolly. I am not so young as I was once." " You are a very young woman for your years, my dear," said Mr. Copley gallantly. "But I should like to know, Frank," said Mrs. Copley, thawing a little, " what you do mean to do with Dolly?" " Take her to see the Bank of England. It's a wonderful institution." " You know what I mean, Frank. Don't run away from my question. You have society enough, I suppose, of the kind that suits you; but Dolly and I ai'e alone, or as near as possible. What is to become of Dolly, shut up here in smoke and fog ? You should think of Dolly. I can stand it for myself." "There'll be no want of people to think of Dolly." "If they could see her; but they don't see her. How are they to see her ? " " I'll get you a place down in the country, if you like; out of the smoke." " I should like it very much. But that will not help Dolly." "Yes, it will; help her to keep fresh. I'll get her a pony." 104 THE END OF A COIL. "Mr. Copley, you will not answer me! I am talking of Dolly's prospects. You do not seem to consider them." "How old is Dolly?" " Seventeen." "Too young for prospects, my dear." "Not too young for us to think about it and take care that she does not miss them. Mr. Copley, do you know Dolly is very handsome ? " "She is better than that ! " said Mr. Copley proud- ly. " I understand faces, if I don't prospects. There is not the like of Dolly to be seen in Hyde Park any day." "Why don't you take her to ride in the Park then, and let her be seen?" " Do you want her to marry an Englishman ? " Mrs. Copley was silent, and before she spoke again Dolly came in, ready for her expedition. London was not quite to Dolly the disappointing thing her mother declared it. She was at an age to find pleasure in everything from which a fine sense could bring it out; and not being burdened with thoughts about " prospects," and finding her own and her mother's society always sufficient for herself, Dolly went gayly on from day to day, like a bee from flower to flower; sucking sweetness in each one. She had a large and insatiable appetite for the sight and knowledge of everything that was worth seeing or knowing; it followed, that London was to her a rich treasure field. She delighted in viewing it under its historical aspect; she would LONDON. 105 study out the associations and the chronicled events connected Avith a particular point ; and then, with her mind and heart full of the subject, go some day to visit the place with her father. What pleasure she took in this way it is impossible to tell. Mr. Copley was excessively fond and proud of his daughter, even though her mother thought him so careless about her interests; his life was a busy one, but from time to time he would spare half a day to give to Dolly, and then they went sight-seeing together. Old houses, old gateways and courts, old corners and streets, where something had happened or somebody had lived that henceforth could never be forgotten, how Dolly studied them and hung about them ! Mr. Copley himself cared for no his- torical associations, neither could he apprehend pict- uresque effects ; what he did care for was Dolly ; and for her sake he would linger hours, if need were, around some bit of old London; and find amuse- ment enough the while in watching Dolly. Dolly studied like an antiquary, and dreamed like a ro- mantic girl ; and at the same time enjoyed fine ef- fects with the true natural feeling of an artist; though Dolly was no artist. The sense had not been cultivated, but the feeling was born in her. So the British Museum was to her something quite beyond fairyland ; a region of wonders, where past ages went by in procession; or better, stood still for her eyes to gaze upon them. The Tower was another place of indescribable fascination. How many visits they made to it I dare not say ; Dolly 106 THE END OF A COIL. never had enough ; and her delight was so much of a feast to her father that he did not grudge the time nor mind what he would have called the dawdling. Indeed it was a sort of refuge to Mr. Copley, when business perplexities or iterations had fairly wearied him, which sometimes happened ; then he would flee away from the dust and confusion of present life in the city and lose himself with Dolly in the cool shades of the past. That might seem dusty to him too; but there was always a fresh spring of life in his little daughter which made a green place for him wherever she happened to be. So Mr. Copley was as contented with the condition of things at this time as it was in his nature to feel. He had enough society, as his wife had stated; he had all he wanted in that line ; he was just as well con- tented to keep Dolly for the present at home and to himself. He did not want her to be snapped up by somebody, he said; and if you don't mean to have a fire, you had best not leave matches lying about; a sentiment which Mrs. Copley received with great scorn. It would have, so far, suited the views of both parents, to send Dolly to some first rate boarding school for a year or two. Only, they could not do without her. She was the staple of Mrs. Copley's life, and the spice of life to her husband. Dolly was kept at home therefore, and furnished with masters in music and drawing, and at her press- ing request, in languages also. And just because she made diligent, conscientious use of these advan- LONDON. 107 tages and worked hard most of the time, Dolly the more richly enjoyed an occasional half day of wan- dering about with her father. She came home from her visit to the Bank of England in high glee and with a brave appetite for her late luncheon. " Well," said Mrs. Copley watching her, " now you have tired yourself out again ; and for what ? " " mother, it was a very great sight ! " said Dolly. " I wish you had been along. I think it has given me the best notion of the greatness of England that I have got from anything yet." " Money isn't everything" said Mrs. Copley scorn- fully. " I dare say we have just as good banks in America." " Father says, there is nothing equal to it in the world." " That is because your father is so taken with everything English. He'd be sure to say that. I don't know why a bank in America shouldn't be as good as a bank here, or anywhere." "It isn't that, mother. A bank might be good, in one sense ; but it could not be such a magnificent establishment as this, anywhere but in England." " Why not ? " "0 the abundance of wealth here, mother; and the scale of everything; and the superb order and system. English system is something beauti- ful." And Dolly went on to explain to her mother the arrangements of the bank, and in especial the order taken for the preservation and gradual destruction of the redeemed notes. 108 THE END OF A COIL. " I should like to know what is the use of such things as banks at all ? " was Mrs. Copley's un- satisfied comment. "Why mother? don't you know? they make business so much easier, and safer." " I wish there was no such thing as banks, then." "0 mother! Why do you say that?" "Then your father would maybe let business alone." " But he is fond of business ? " "I don't think business is fond of him. He gets drawn in to a speculation here and a speculation there, by some of these people he is always with; and some day he will do it once too often. He has enough for us all now ; if he would only keep to his consul's business, and let banks alone." Mrs. Copley looked worried, and Dolly for a moment looked grave; but it was her mother's way to talk so. "Why did he take the consulship?" "Ask him! Because he would rather be a no- body in England than a somebody in America." "Mother," said Dolly after a pause, "we have an invitation to dinner." "Who?" " Father and I." "Not me!" cried Mrs. Copley. "You and your father, and not your father's wife ! " " I suppose the people do not know you, mother, nor know about you ; that must be the reason." LONDON. 109 " How do they know about you, pray ? " " They have seen me. At least one of them has ; BO father says." "One of whom?" "One of the family." "What family is it?" "A rich banker's family, father says. Mr. St. Leger." " St. Leger. That is a good name here." "They are very rich, father says, and have a beautiful place." "Where?" "Some miles out of London; a good many, I think." " Where is your invitation ? " " Where ? it is not written* Mr. St. Leger asked father to come and bring me." "And Mrs. St. Leger has sent you no invitation, then. Not even a card, Dolly ? " " Why no, mother. Was that necessary ? " "It would have been civil," said Mrs. Copley. " It is what she would have done to an English- woman. I suppose they think we don't know any better." Dolly was silent, and Mrs. Copley presently went on. "How can you go to dinner several miles away? You would have to come back in the night." "0 no; we could not do that. Mr. St. Leger asked us to stay over till next day." "It is just like everythiiig else in this miserable 110 THE END OF A COIL. country ! " Mrs. Copley exclaimed. " I wish I was at home ! " ",0 why, mother? We shall go home by and by; why cannot you enjoy things, while we are here?" " Enjoy what ? Staying here in the house and seeing you and your father go off to dinners with- out me ? At home I am Mrs. Copley, and it means something; here, it seems, I am Mr. Cop- ley's housekeeper." " But mother, nobody meant any affront. And you will not see us go off and leave you; for I shall stay at home." ,. " Indeed you will do no such thing ! I am not going to have, you asked anywhere, really asked to a dinner, and not go. You shall go, Dolly. But I really think Mr. Copley might have managed to let the people know you had a mother some- where. That's what he would have done, if it wasn't for business. It is business that swallows him up; and I don't know for my part what life is good for so. Once I had a husband. Now, I declare I haven't got anything but you, Dolly." "Mother, you have me," said the girl, kissing her. And the caress was so sweet that it re- minded Mrs. Copley how much that one word "Dolly" signified; and she was quiet. And when Mr. Copley came home, and the subject was dis- cussed anew, she limited herself to inquiries about the family and questions concerning Dolly's dress, refraining from all complaints on her own score. LONDON. Ill "St. Leger?" said Mr. Copley. "Who is he? He's a goodish old fellow; sharp as a hawk in business; but he's solid; solid as the Bank. That's all there is about him; he is of no great count, ex- cept for his money. He'll never set the Thames on fire. What did he ask us for? Humph! Well- he and I have had a good deal to do with each other. And then " Mr. Copley paused and his eyes involuntarily went over the table to his daughter. "Do you remember, Dolly, being in my office one day, a month ago or more, when Mr. St. Leger came in ? he and his son ? " Dolly remembered nothing about it ; remembered indeed being there, but not who came in. " Well, they remember it," said Mr. Copley. " Is it a good place for Dolly to go ? " " Dolly ? O yes. Why not ? They have a fine place out of town. Dolly will tell you about it, when she has been there." "And what must Dolly wear?" pursued Mrs. Copley. "Wear? just what everybody wears. The regular thing, I suppose. Dolly may wear what she has a mind to." "That is just what you know she cannot, Mr. Copley. At home she might; but these people here are so very particular." "About dress? Not at all, my dear. English people let you go your own way in that as much as any people on the face of the earth. They do not care how you dress." 112 THE END OF A COIL. "They don't care, no," said Mrs. Copley; "they don't care if you went on your head; but all the same they judge you according to how you look and what you do. And us especially because we are foreigners. I don't want them to turn up their noses at Dolly because she is an American." "I'd as lieve they did it for that as for any- thing," said Dolly laughing; "but I hope the people we are going to will know better." "They will know better, there is no fear," an- swered her father. The subject troubled Mrs. Copley's head how- ever from that time till the day of the dinner; and even after Dolly and her father had driven off and were gone, she still debated with herself uneasily whether a darker dress would have done better, and whether Dolly ought to have had flowers in her hair, to make her very best impres- sion upon her entertainers. For Dolly had elected to wear white, and would deck herself with no ornament at all, neither ribband nor flower. Mrs. Copley half grumbled, yet could not but allow to herself that there was nothing to wish for in the finished effect; and Dolly was allowed to depart; but as I said, after she was gone Mrs. Copley went on troubling herself with doubts on the question. CHAPTER IX. THE PEACOCKS. NO doubts troubled Dolly's mind during that drive, about dress or anything else. Her dress she had forgotten indeed; and the pain of leaving her mother at home was forced to give way before the multitude of new and pleasant impressions. That drive was pure enjoyment. The excitement and novelty of the occasion gave no doubt a spur to Dolly's spirits and quickened her perceptions ; they were all alive, as the car- riage rolled along over the smooth roads. What could be better, than to drive so, on such an evening, through such a country ? For the weather was perfect, the landscape exceedingly rich and fair, the vegetation in its glory. And the roads themselves were full of the most varied life, and offered to the little American girl a flash- ing, changing, very amusing and abundantly sug- gestive scene. Dolly's eyes were incessantly busy, yet her lips did not move unless to smile; and her father for a long time would not interrupt her meditations. Good that she should forget herself, he thought; if she were recalled to the practical 114 THE END OF A COIL. present maybe she would grow nervous. That was the only thing Mr. Copley was afraid of. However, for him to keep absolute silence be- yond a limited time was out of his nature. " Are you happy, Dolly ? " he asked her. "Very happy, father! If only mother was with us." " Ah, yes, it would have been rather pleasanter for you; but you must not mind that." " I am afraid I do not mind it enough, I am so amused with everything. I cannot help it." "That's right. Now, Dolly" " Yes, father" "I should like to know what you have been thinking of all this while. I have been watching the smiles coming and going." "I do not know that I was thinking at all until just now; just before you spoke." " And of what then ? " " It came to me, I do not know why, a question. We have passed so many people who seemed as if they were enjoying themselves, like me ; and so many pretty-looking places, where people might live happy, one would think; and the question somehow came to me, father, what I am going to do with my own life ? " "Do with it?" said Mr. Copley astonished ; "why enjoy it, Dolly. Every day as much as to-day." "But perhaps one cannot enjoy life always " said Dolly thoughtfully. "All you can, then, dear; all you can. There is THE PEACOCKS. 115 nothing to prevent your always enjoying it. You will have money enough; and that is the main thing. There is nothing to hinder your enjoying yourself." "But father, don't you think one ought to do more with one's life than that ? " "Yes; you'll marry, one of these days, and so make somebody else enjoy himself." "What would become of you and mother then?" asked Dolly shyly. " We'd get along," said Mr. Copley. " What we care about, is to see you enjoy life, Dolly. Are you enjoying it now, puss ? " " Very much, father." " Then so am I." The carriage left the high road here, and Dol- ly's attention was again, seemingly, all bestowed on what she saw from its windows. Her father watched her, and could not observe that she was either timid or excited in the prospect of the new scenes upon which she was about to enter. Her big brown eyes were wide open, busy and inter- ested, at the same time wholly self-forgetful. Self- forgetful they remained when arriving at the house, and when she was introduced to the family; and her manner consequently left nothing to be desired. Yet house and grounds and establishment were on a scale to which Dolly hitherto had been entirely unaccustomed. There was a small dinner party gathered, and Dolly was taken in to table by young Mr. St. 116 THE END OF A COIL. Leger, the son of their host. Dolly had seen this gentleman before, and so in this concourse of strangers she felt more at home with him than with anybody. Young Mr. St. Leger was a very handsome fellow; with regular features and soft, rather lazy, blue eyes, which however were not insipid. Dolly rather liked him; the expression of his features was gentle and good, so were his manners. He seemed well pleased with his choice of a companion, and did his best to make Dolly "You are new in this part of the world?" he remarked to her. " I am new in any part of the world," said Dolly, dimpling, as she did when something struck her funnily. " I am not very old yet." "No, I see," said her companion, laughing a little, though in some doubt whether he or she had made the fun. "How do you like us? Or haven't you been long enough here to judge ? " " I have been in England a good many months." " Then is it a fair question ? " " all questions are fair," said Dolly. " I like some things here very much." " I should be delighted to know what." "I'll tell you," said Dolly's father, who sat op- posite and had caught the question. " She likes an old suit of armour, or a collection of old stones in the form of an arch or a gateway; and in the presence of the crown jewels she was almost as bad as that Scotch lady who worshipped the old THE PEACOCKS. 117 Eegalia of the northern kingdom. Only it was the antiquity that Dolly worshipped, you know; not the royalty." "What is there in antiquity?" said Mr. St. Leger, turning his eyes again curiously to Dolly. " Old things were young once; how are they any better for being old ? '' "Xot any better; only more interesting." " Pray tell me why." " Think of what those old stones have seen." " Pardon me; they have not seen anything." "Think of the eyes that have seen them, then. Or stand before one of those old suits of armour in the Tower, and think where it lias been. Think of the changes that have come ; and what a strange witness it is for the things that were and have passed away." " I am more interested in the present," said the young man. " I perceive you are romantic." Dolly was silent. She thought one of those halls of old armour in the Tower was in its attractions very far beyond the present ^irmer table; although indeed this amused her. Presently her companion began again and gave her details about all the guests; who they were, and how they happened to be there; and then suddenly asked her if she had ever been to the races ? Dolly inquired what races; and was informed that the Newmarket races were just beginning. Would she like to go to them ? was inquired eagerly. Dolly had no idea what was the real character 118 THE END OF A COIL. of the show she was asked about; and she an- swered in accordance with her general craving to see everything. Nevertheless she was somewhat surprised, when the gentlemen came up from din- ner, to hear the proposition earnestly made; made by both Mr. and Mrs. St. Leger ; that she and her father should go with them the next day to the Newmarket races; and she was greatly astonished to hear her father agree to the proposal, although the acceptance of it involved the staying another day away from home and the sleeping a second night at the St. Leger place. But Dolly was not consulted. The family expressed their pleasure in undoubted terms, and young Mr. St. Leger's blue eyes had a gleam of satisfaction in them, as he assured Dolly that now they would "shew her something of interest in the present." Dolly was the youngest guest in the house, and by all rules the one entitled to least consideration ; yet she went to sleep that night in a chamber the most superb she had ever inhabited in her life. She looked around her with wonder at the rich- ness of every matter of detail, and a little private query how she, little Dolly Copley, came to be so lodged? Her mother would have no reason here to complain of want of due regard. And all the evening there had been no such complaint to make. People had been very kind, Dolly said to herself as she was falling asleep. But how could her father have consented to stay another day? for any races in the world; leaving her mother THE PEACOCKS. 119 alone. But she could not help it; and no doubt the next day would be amusing; to-day had been amusing and Dolly's thoughts went no further. The next morning everybody drove or rode to the races. Dolly herself was taken by young Mr. St. Leger, along with one of his sisters, in an ele- gant little vehicle for which she knew no name. It was very comfortable, and they drove very fast; till the crowd hindered them, that is; and certain- ly Dolly was amused. All was novel and strange to her; the concourse, the equipages, the people, the horses, even before they arrived at the race grounds. There a good position was secured, and Dolly saw the whole of that day's performances. Mr. St. Leger attended to her unremittingly; he and his sister explained everything, and pointed out the people of mark within their range of vi- sion ; his blue eyes grew quite animated, and looked into Dolly's to see what they could find there, of response or otherwise. Arid Dolly's eyes were grave and wide-awake, intent, very busy, very lively; but how far they were brightened with pleasure he could not tell. They were bright, he saw that; fearless, pure, sweet eyes, that yet baffled him ; no trace of self-consciousness or self-seeking was to be found in them; and young St. Leger stood a little in awe, as common men will, before a face so uncommon. He ventured no direct ques- tion for the satisfying of his curiosity until they had returned, and dinner was over. Indeed he did not venture it then; it was his father who asked 120 THE END OF A COIL. it. He too had observed the simple, well-bred, lovely little maiden, and had a little curiosity on his own part. " Well, Miss Copley now you have seen New- market ; how do you like it ? " Dolly hesitated. "I have been very much in- terested, sir, thank you," she said gravely. " But how do you like it ? Did you enjoy it ? " Dolly hesitated again. Finally smiled and con- fessed. " I was sorry for the horses." " Sorry for the horses ! " her host repeated. " What for ? " " Yes, what for ? " added the younger St. Leger. "They were not ill treated." "No, " said Dolly doubtfully, "perhaps not, but they were running very hard, and for nothing." "For nothing! " echoed Mr. St. Leger again. " It was for a good many thousand pound. There's many a one was there to-day who wishes they had run for nothing ! " " But after all, that is for nothing," said Dolly. " It is no good to anybody." " Except to those that win," said the old gentle- man. " Except to those that win ! " Probably he had won. Dolly wanted to get out of the conversation. She made no answer. Another gentleman spoke up, and opined, were it not for the money won and lost, the whole thing would fail of its attraction. It would be no sport indeed, if the horses ran for THE PEACOCKS. 121 nothing. "Do you have no races in a your coun- try?" he asked Dolly. Dolly believed so. She had never been present at them. " Nothing like Newmarket," said her father. "We shall have nothing to shew like that for some time. But Dolly takes practical views. I saw her smiling out of the windows, as we drove along, coming here yesterday; and I asked her what she was thinking of? I expected to hear her say, the beauty of the plantations, or the richness of the country, or the elegance and va- riety of the equipages we passed. She answered me she was thinking ivhat she should do with her life ! " There was a general gentle note of amusement audible through the room, but old Mr. St. Leger laughed out in a broad " ha, ha." "What did you conclude, my dear?" said he. "What did you conclude? 1 am interested to know." " I could not conclude then, sir," said Dolly, beai-ing the laugh very well, with a pretty little peach-blossom blush coming upon her cheeks. "Tisn't difficult to know," the old gentleman went on, not unkindly watching Dolly's face play. " There is one pretty certain lot for a pretty young woman. She will manage her household, take care of her husband, and bring up her children, one of these days." " That is not precisely the ambition of all pretty 122 THE END OF A COIL. young women," remarked one of the party; while Mrs. St. Leger good humouredly drew Dolly down to a seat beside her and engrossed her attention. " You meant the words perhaps in another sense, more practical, that your father did not think of. You were thinking maybe what profession you would follow ? " " I beg your pardon, ma'am ? " said Dolly, quite perplexed now. " How do you mean, profession ? " "Yes; perhaps you were thinking of being a governess some day, or a teacher, or something of that sort ; were you ? " Dolly's face dimpled all over in a way that seemed to young St. Leger the very prettiest, wiii- ningest, most uncommon loveliness that his eyes had ever been blessed with. Said eyes were insep- arable from Dolly; he had no attention but for her looks and words; arid his mother knew as much, while she too looked at the girl and waited for her answer. "0 no," Dolly said; "I was not thinking of any such thing. My father does not wish me to do any thing of the kind." "Then what did you mean, my dear?" Dolly lifted a pair of sweet grave eyes to the face of her questioner; a full, rather bloated face, very florid; with an expression of eyes kindly in- deed, but unresting, dissatisfied; or if that is too strong a word, not content. Dolly looked at all this and answered. " I don't want to live merely to live, ma'am." THE PEACOCKS. 123 "Don't you? What more do you want? To live pleasantly, of course ; for not to do that, is not what I call living." " I was not thinking of pleasant living. But I do not want my life to be like those horses' run- ning to-day," said Dolly smiling; "for nothing; of no use." "Don't you think a woman is of use and fills her place, my dear, who looks after her household and attends to her family, and does her duty by society ? " " Yes," said Dolly hesitating, " but that is not enough." The girl was thinking of her own moth- er at the moment. "Not enough? Why yes, it is enough. That is a woman's place and business. What else would you do ? " Dolly was in some embarrassment now. She must answer, for Mrs. St. Leger was waiting for it; but her answer could not be understood. Her eye took in again the rich appliances for present enjoyment which filled the room, above, below, and around her; and then she said, her eye coming back, " I would like my life to be good for something that would not pass away." " Not pass away ? Why everything passes away, my child," (and there came a sigh here,) "in time. The thing is to make the best of them while we have them." Is that all? thought Dolly, as she noticed the 124 THE END OF A COIL. untested, rather sad look of her hostess's face ; and she wished she could say more, but she dared not. Then young Mr. St. Leger bent forward, and in- quired what she could be thinking of that would not pass away? His mother saw the look with which his blue eyes sought the face of the little stranger; and turned away with another sigh, born half of sympathy with her boy's feeling and half of jealousy against the subject of it. Dolly saw the look too, but did not comprehend it. She simply wondered why these people put her through the catechism so ? "What could you be thinking of?" St. Leger re- peated, sliding into the seat his mother had quitted. "Don't you know anything that will last?" Dol- ly retorted. "No," said the young man laughing. "Do you? Except that I have heard that 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.' " This, which was a remarkable flight for St. Leger, was lost upon simple Dolly. "01 know that is true," she answered; "but that is just a way of speaking. It would not be a joy to me, if I had not something else to hold to. I am sorry for you." " Really ? I wish I could think that. It would be delightful to have you sorry for me." " It would be much better not to need it." " I don't know about that. Perhaps, if you were very sorry for me, you would try to teach me better." THE PEACOCKS. 125 "Perhaps; but I shall not have time. I sup- pose we shall go away very early in the morn- ing." " I should like to shew you the gardens, first." " Haven't we seen them ? " " Why of course not. All that you have seen is a little shrubbery and a bit of the park. Suppose we go over the gardens in the morning? " "1 am sure we shall return home immediately after breakfast." " Before breakfast then ? Why not ? " This plan went into effect. It was an occasion of great pleasure to both parties. No better time could be for seeing the utmost beauty of the flow- ers; and Dolly wandered in what was to her a wilderness of an enchanted land. Breakfast was forgotten; and young St. Leger was so charmed with this perfectly fresh, simple, and lively nature, that he for his part was willing to forget it indefi- nitely. Dolly's utter delight, and her intelligent, quick apprehension, the sparkle in her eye, the happy colour in her cheeks, made her to his fancy the rarest thing he had ever seen. The gardener, who was summoned to give information of which his young master was not possessed, entertained quite the same opinion; and thanks to his admir- ing gratification Dolly went back to the house the possessor of a most superb bouquet, which he had cut for her and offered through Mr. St. Leger. There were some significant half smiles around 126 THE END OF A COIL. the breakfast table, as the young pair and the flowers made their appearance. St. Leger braved them; Dolly did not see them. Her sweet eyes were full of the blissful enchantment still. Im- mediately after breakfast, as she had said, her father took leave. Mrs. Copley had awaited their coming in a mood half irritation, half gratification. The lat- ter conquered when she saw Dolly. v "Now tell me all about it!" she said, before Dolly even could take off her bonnet. " She went to the races " said Mr. Copley. "That's a queer place for Dolly to go, Mr. Copley." " Not at all. Everybody goes, that can go." "I think it's a queer place for young ladies to go," persisted the mother. " It is a queer place enough for anybody, if you come to that; but no worse for them than for others; and it is they make the scene so pretty as it is." " I can't imagine how there should be anything pretty in seeing horses run to death ! " said Mrs. Copley. "I just said, it is the pretty girls that give the charm," said her husband. "Though I can see some beauty in a fine horse, and in good riding; and they understand riding, those Newmarket jockeys." "Jockeys!" his wife repeated. "I don't want to hear you talk about jockeys, Mr. Copley." THE PEACOCKS. 127 " I am not going to, my dear. I give up the field to Dolly." " Mother, the first thing was the place. It is a most beautiful place." " The race-ground ? " "No, no, mother; Mr. St. Leger's place. 'The Peacocks,' they call it." " What do they give it such a ridiculous name for? " " I don't know. Perhaps they used to have a great many peacocks. But the place is the most beautiful place I ever saw. Mother, we were half an hour driving from the lodge at the park gate to the house." "The road so bad ? " "So long, mother; think of it; half an hour through the park woods, until we carne out upon the great lawn dotted with the noblest trees you ever saw." " Better than the trees in Boston common ? I guess not," said Mrs. Copley. "Those are good trees, mother, but nothing to these. These are just magnificent." " I don't see why fine trees cannot grow as well on American ground as on English," said Mrs. Copley incredulously. " Give them time enough " put in her husband. " Time ! " "Yes. We are a new country, comparatively, my dear. These old oaks here have been growing for hundreds of years." "And what should hinder them from growing 128 THE END OF A COIL. hundreds of years over there ? I suppose the ground is as old as England ; if Columbus didn't discover it all at once." " The ground," said Mr. Copley, eyeing the floor between his boots, u yes, the ground; but it takes more than ground to make large trees. It takes good ground, and favouring climate, and culture; or at least to be let alone. Now we don't let things alone in America." " I know you don't," said his wife. " Well, Dolly, go on with your story." "Well, mother, there were these grand old trees, and beautiful grass under them, and cattle here and there, and the house shewing in the dis- tance. I did not like the house so very much, when we came to it; it is not old; but it is exceedingly handsome, and most beautifully furnished. I never had such a room in my life, as I have slept in these two nights." " And yet you don't like it ! " put in Mr. Copley. " I like it " said Dolly slowly. " I like all the comfort of it; but I don't think it is very pretty, father. It's very new." "New!" said her father. "What's the harm of a thing's being new ? And what is the charm of its being old ? " "I don't know," said Dolly thoughtfully; "but I like it. Then, mother, came the dinner; and the dinner was like the house." "That don't tell me anything," exclaimed Mrs. Copley. " What was the house like ? " THE PEACOCKS. 129 "Mother, you go first into a great hall, set all round with marble figures statues and with a heavy staircase going up at one side. It's all marble. But oh, the flower garden is lovely ! " " Well, tell me about the house," said Mrs. Cop- ley. " And the dinner. Who was there ? " "I don't know," said Dolly; "quite a company. There were one or two foreign gentlemen ; a count somebody and a baron somebody; there was an English judge, and his wife, and two or three other ladies and gentlemen." " How did you like the gentlemen, Dolly ? " her father asked here. " I had hardly anything to do with them, except the two Mr. St. Legers." ' " How did you like them ? I suppose, on your principle, you would tell me that you liked the old one ? " " Never mind them," said Mrs. Copley ; " go on about the dinner. What did you have ? " "0 everything, mother; and the most beautiful fruit at dessert; fruit from their own hothouses; and I saw the hothouses, afterwards. Most beau- tiful ! the purple and white grapes were hanging in thick clusters all over the vines; and quantities of different sorts of pines were growing in another hothouse. I had a bunch of Frontignacs this morning before breakfast, father; and I never had grapes taste so good." "Yes, you must have wanted something," said Mr. Copley; "wandering about among flowers 130 THE END OF A COIL. and fruit till ten o'clock without anything to eat ! " " Poor Mr. St. Leger ! " said Dolly. " But he was very kind. They were all very kind. If they only would not drink wine so ! " " Wine ! " Mrs. Copley exclaimed. " It was all dinner time ; it began with the soup, and it did not end Avith the fruit, for the gentlemen sat on drinking after we had left them. And they had been drinking all dinner time; the de- canters just went round and round." "Nonsense, Dolly!" her father said; "you are unaccustomed to the world, that is all. There was none but the most moderate drinking." " It was all dinner time, father." "That is the custom of gentlemen here. It ie always so. Tell your mother about the races." "I don't like the races." "Why not?" " Well tell me what they were, at any rate," said Mrs. Copley. " It is the least you can do." " I don't know how to tell you," said Dolly. " I will try. Imagine a great flat plain, mother, level as far as the eye can see. Imagine a straight line marked out, where the horses are to run; and at the end of it a post, which is the goal, and there is the judge's stand. All about this course, on both sides, that is towards the latter part of the course, fancy rows of carriages drawn up as close as they can stand, the horses taken out; and on these carriages a crowd of people packed as thick THE PEACOCKS. 131 as they can find room to sit and stand. They talk and laugh and discuss the horses. By and by you hear a cry that the horses have set off; and then everybody looks to see them coming, with all sorts of glasses and telescopes; and everybody is still, waiting and watching, until I suppose the horses get near enough for people to begin to judge how the race will turn out; and then begins the fear- fullest uproar you ever heard, everybody betting and taking bets. Everybody seemed to be doing it, even ladies. And with the betting comes the shouting, and the cursing, and the cheering on this one and that one; it was a regular Babel. Even the ladies betted." " Every one does it " said Mr. Copley. " And the poor horses come running, and driven to run as hard as they can; beautiful horses too, some of them ; running to decide all those bets ! I don't think it is an amusement for civilized people." " Why not ? " said her father. "It is barbarous. There is no sense in it. If the white horse beats the black, I'll pay you a thousand pounds; but if the black horse beats the white, you shall pay me two thousand. Is there any sense in that?" " Some sense in a thousand pound." " Lost " said Dolly. " It is better not to lose, certainly." " But somebody must lose. And people bet in a heat, before they know what they ought to say; 132 THE END OF A COIL. and bet more than they have to spare; I saw it yesterday." " You didn't bet, Mr. Copley ? " said his wife. "A trifle. My dear, Avhen one is in Rome, one must do as the Romans do." " Did you lose ? " " I gained, a matter of fifty pounds." " Who did you gain it from, father ? " " Lawrence St. Leger." " He has no right to bet with his father's money." " Perhaps it is his own. I will give you twenty pound of it, Dolly, to do what you like with." But Dolly would have none of it. If it was to be peace money, it made no peace with her. CHAPTER X. BRIERLEY COTTAGE. A few months later than this, it happened one day that Mr. Copley was surprised in his of- fice by a visit from young St. Leger. Mr. Copley was sitting at a table in his own private room. It was not what you would call a very comfortable room; rather bare and desolate looking; a carpet and some chairs and desks and a table, being the only furniture. The table was heaped up with papers, and desks and floor alike testified to an amount of heterogeneous business. Busy the con- sul undoubtedly was, writing arid studying ; never- theless he welcomed his visitor. The young man came in like an inhabitant of another world, as he was; in spotlessly neat attire, leisurely manner, and with his blue eyes sleepily nonchalant at the sight of all the stir of all the world. But they smiled at Mr. Copley. " You seem to have your bands full," he re- marked. "Eather. Don't I? Awfully! Secretary taken sitk confoundedly inconvenient." Mr. Copley went on writing as he spoke. 134 - THE END OF A COIL. " There are plenty of secretaries to be had." " Yes, but I haven't got hold of 'era yet. What brings you here, Lawrence? Not business, I sup- pose ? " " Not business with the American consul." " No. I made out so much by myself. What is it? I see all's right with you, by your face." "Thank you. Quite so. But you can't attend to me just now." "Go ahead," said Mr. Copley, whose pen did not cease to scribble. " I can hear. No time for any- thing like the present minute. I've got this case by heart, and don't need to think about it. Go on, Lawrence. Has your father sent you to me ? " " No." " Sit down, and tell me what I can do for you." Mr. St. Leger sat down, but did not immediately comply with the rest of the invitation. He rested his elbow on the table, looked at Mr. Copley's pen for a few minutes, and said nothing; until Mr. Cop- ley again glanced up at his face. " I do not know that you can do anything for me," said the young man then; "only you can per- haps answer a question or two. Mr. Copley, would you like to have me for a son-in-law ? " "No," said the consul shortly ; "nor any other man. I'd as lieve have yoji as anybody, Lawrence." " Thank you. I couldn't expect more. But you must allow somebody in that capacity, Mr. Copley." " Must I ? Depends on how much Dolly likes somebody." BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 135 " That is just what I want to find out about my- self," said the young man eagerly. "Then you would not put any hindrance ? " "In the way of Dolly's happiness? Not if I know it. But thafs got to be proved." "You know, Mr. Copley, she would be happy with me." " How do I know that ? I know nothing of the kind. It all depends on Dolly, I tell you. What does she think about it ? " " That's just what I don't know, and cannot find out. I have no chance. I cannot get sight of her." "Her mother's sick, you see. It keeps Dolly at home." " My mother has proposed several times to take Miss Copley out with her, and she will not go." "She's very kind, and we are grateful; but Dolly won't leave her mother." "So she says. Then how am I to see her, Mr. Cop- ley ? I can't expect her to like me if I never see her." "I don't know, my boy. Wait till better times." " Wait " is a word that lovers never want to hear; and Lawrence sat discontentedly watching the play of Mr. Copley's pen. "You know it would be all right about the money," he said at length. " Yes, yes ; between your father and her father, I guess we could make it comfortable for you two. But the thing is all the while, what Dolly thinks of you." " And how am I to find that out ? " 136 THE END OF A COIL. "Cau't tell, I declare. Unless you volunteer to become my secretary." " Does your secretary live in your family ? " " Of course he does. One of us completely." " Will you take me, Mr. Copley ? " " Yes, but you would never take the drudgery. It is not in your line." " Try me," said the young man. " I'll take it at once. Will you have me, Mr. Copley ? But she must not know what you take me for. I don't care for the drudgery. Will you let me come? On trial ? " " Why is the boy in earnest? This is Jacob and Rachel over again ! " " Not for seven years, I hope." " No, I shall not stay in this old crib as long as that. The question will have to be decided sooner. We haven't so much time to spare as those old patriarchs. But Dolly must have time to make up her mind, if it takes seven years. She is a queer little piece, and usually has a mind of her own. About this affair she certainly will. I'll give Mrs. Copley a hint to keep quiet, and Dolly will never suspect anything." Lawrence was so thoroughly in earnest that he insisted on going to work at once. And the next day he was introduced at the house and made at home there. It was quite true that Mrs. Copley was unwell ; the doctors were not yet agreed as to the cause. She was feeble and nervous and feverish, and BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 137 Dolly's time was wholly devoted to her. In these circumstances St. Leger's coming into the family made a very pleasant change. Dolly wondered a little that the rich banker's son should care to do business in the American consul's office; but she troubled her head little about it. What he did in the office was out of her sphere; at home, in the family, he was a great improvement on the former secretary. Mr. Barr, his predecessor, had been an awkward, angular, taciturn fourth person in the house ; a machine of the pen ; nothing more. Mr. St. Leger brought quite a new life into the family circle. It is true, he was himself no great talker; but his blue eyes were, eloquent. They were beau- tiful eyes; and they spoke of kindness of heart, gentleness of disposition, and undoubted liking for his present companions. There was refinement too, and the habit of the world, and the power of comprehending at least what others spoke; anol gentle as he was, there was also now and then a gleam which shewed some fire and some persistent self-will; that amount of back bone without which a man's agreeable qualities go for nothing with women. It was pleasant, his respectful attention to Mrs. Copley; it was pleasant too the assistance he was to Mr. Copley's monologues; if he did not say a great deal himself, his blue eyes gave intel- ligent heed, and he could also now and then say a word in the right place. With Dolly he took very soon the familiar habit of a brother. She liked him, she liked to pour out his coffee for him, 138 THE END OF A COIL. it amused her to hear her father talk to him, she was grateful for his kindness to her mother; and before long the words exchanged between them- selves came in the easy, enjoyable tone of a thor- ough good understanding. I don't know but St. Leger would have liked a little more shyness on her part. Dolly was not given to shyness in any company ; and as to being shy with him, she would as soon have thought of being on terms of cere- mony with Berdan, the great hound that her father was so proud of. And poor St. Leger was more hopelessly in love every day. Dolly was so fresh and cool and sweet, as she came down to break- fast in her white wrapper; she was so despairingly careless and free; and at evening, dressed for din- ner, she was so quiet and simple and graceful; it was another thing, he said to himself, seeing a girl in this way, from dancing with her in a cloud of lace and flowers in a crowded room, and talking conventional nothings. Now, on the contrary, he was always admiring Dolly's practical business ways; the quick eye and capable hand; the effi- cient attention she bestowed on the affairs of the household and gave to her father's and mother's comfort, and also not less to his own. And she was quaint; she moved curiosity. With all her beauty, she never seemed to think of her looks; and with all her spirit and sense, she never seemed to talk but when she had something to say; while yet, if anything in the conversation deserved it, it was worth while to catch the sparkle of Dolly's BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 139 eye and see her face dimple. Nevertheless she would often sit for a long time silent at the table, when others were talking, and remind nobody vol- untarily of her presence. Spring had come now, and London was filling; and Lawrence was hoping for some gayeties that would draw Dolly out into society, notwithstand- ing his secret confession about ball rooms. He wanted to see how she would bear the great world, how she would meet it; but still more he hoped to have some chance to make himself of importance to her. And then the doctors decided that Mrs. Copley must go into the country. What was to be done? Mr. Copley could not quit London without giving up his office. To any distance Mrs. Copley could not go without him. The dilemma, which Lawrence at first had heard of with dismay, turned for his advantage; or he hoped so. His father owned a cottage in a pretty part of the country, not a great many miles from London, which cottage just then was untenanted. Mr. Copley could run down there any day (so could he); and Mrs. Copley would be in excellent air, with beautiful surroundings. This plan was agreed to, and Lawrence hurried away to make the needful arrangements with his father and at the cottage. " dear ! " said Mrs. Copley, when all this was communicated to her, "why can't we go home?" "Father is not ready for that, mother," Dolly said somewhat sadly. "Where is this place you are talking of?" 140 THE END OF A COIL. " Down in shire. Mr. St. Leger says you will be sure to like it." " Mr. St. Leger doesn't know everything. Is the house furnished ? " " I believe so. I hope it will be very pleasant, mother dear. It's a pretty place; and they say it will be very good for you." "Who says so ? " " The doctors." " They don't know everything, either. I tell you what I believe would do me good, Dolly; only your father never wants what I want, unless he wants it at a different time; I should like to go travelling." "Travelling! Where?" Dolly exclaimed and in- quired. "Anywhere. I want a change. I am so tired of London, I could die ! I have swallowed dust and fog enough to kill me. I should like to go where there is no dust. That would be a change. I should like to go to Venice." " Venice ! So should I," said Dolly in a changed tone. " Well, mother, we'll go down first to this cot- tage in the country they say it's delightful there ; and then, if it does you good, youll be well enough; and we will coax father to take us to Italy." "I don't care about Italy. I only want to be quiet in Venice, where there are no carts or om- nibusses. I don't believe this cottage will do me one bit of good." " Mother, I guess it will. At any rate, I suppose we must try." BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 141 " I wish your father could have been contented at home, when he was well off. It's very unlucky he ever brought us here. I don't see what is to become of you, for my part." Dolly suppressed a sigh at this point. "You know what the Bible says, mother. 'All things shall work together for good, to them that love God.' " " I don't want to hear that sort of talk, Dolly." "Why not, mother?" " It don't mean anything. I would rather have people shew their religion in their lives, than hear them talk about it." "But mother, isn't there comfort in those words?" " No. It ain't true." " mother ! WTuxt isn't true ? " "That. There is a difference between things, and there is no use trying to make out they're all alike. Sour isn't sweet, and hard ain't soft. What's the use of talking as if it was ? I always like to look at things just as they are." " But mother ! " "Now don't talk, Dolly! but just tell me. What is the good of my getting sick just now ? just now, when you ought to be going into company ? And we have got to give up our house, and you and I go and bury ourselves down in some out of the way place, and your father get along as he can ; and how we shall get along without him to man- age, I am sure I don't know." " He will run down to see us often, mother." 142 THE END OF A COIL. "The master's eye wants to be all the while on the spot, if anything is to keep straight." "But this is such a little spot; I think my eye can manage it." " Then how are you going to take care of me ? if you are overseeing the place. And I don't be- lieve my nerves are going to stand it, all alone down there. It'll be lonely. I'd rather hear the carts rattle. It's dreadful, to hear nothing." "Well, we will try how it goes, mother; and if it does not go well, we will try somewhere else." The house in town was given up, and Mr. Cop- ley moved into lodgings. Some furniture and two servants were sent down to the cottage; but the very day when the ladies were to follow, Mr. Copley was taken possession of by some really important business. The secretary volunteered to supply his place ; and in his company Mrs. Copley and Dolly made the little journey, one warm summer day. Dolly had her own causes for anxiety, the weight- ier that they must be kept to herself. Neverthe- less, the influence of sweet nature could not be withstood. The change from city streets and crowds to the green leafiness of June in the coun- try, the quiet of unpaved roads, the deliciousness of the air full of scents from woodland and field, ex- cited Dolly like champagne. Every nerve thrilled with delight; her eyes could not get enough, nor her lungs. And when they arrived at the cottage, Brierley Cottage it was called, she was filled with a glad surprise. It was no common, close, musty, BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 143 uncomfortable little dwelling; but a roomy old house with plenty of space, dark oak wainscotings, casement windows with little diamond panes, and a wide porch covered with climbing roses and hon- eysuckle. These were in blossom now, and the air was perfumed with their incomparable sweetness. Eound the house lay a small garden ground, which having been some time without care looked pretty wild. Dolly uttered her delight as the party entered the porch. Mrs. Copley passed on silently, look- ing at everything with critical eyes. "What a charming old house, mother! so airy and so old-fashioned, and so everything nice." " I am afraid there is not much furniture in it," remarked the secretary. " We don't want much, for two people," said Dolly gayly. "But when your father brings a dinner party down," said Mrs. Copley ; " how does he suppose we shall manage then ? You must have chairs for people to sit on." Dolly did not answer; it had struck her that her father had no intention of bringing dinner parties down, and that he had made his arrangements with an evident exclusion of any such idea. He had thought two women servants enough. For the rest, leaving parties out of consideration, the house had a rambling supply of old furniture, suit- ing it well enough; it looked pretty, and quaint, and cool ; and Dolly for her part was well content. 144 THE END OF A COIL. They went over the place, taking a general sur- vey; and then Mrs. Copley lay down on a lounge while supper was getting ready, and Dolly and Mr. St. Leger went out to the porch. Here, be- yond the roses and honeysuckles, the eye found first the wild garden or pleasure ground. There was not much of it, and it was a mere tangle of what had once been pretty and sweet. It sloped however down to a little stream which formed the border of the property; and on the other side of this stream the ground rose in a grassy bank, set with most magnificent oaks and beeches. A little foot bridge spanned the stream and made a picturesque point in the view, as a bridge al- ways does. The sun was setting, throwing his light upon that grassy bank and playing in the branches of the great oaks and beeches. Dolly stood quite still, with her hands crossed upon her bosom, looking. "The garden has had nothing done to it," said St. Leger. " That won't do. It's quite distressing." " I suppose father never thought of engaging a gardener," said Dolly. "We have gardeners to spare, I am sure, at home. I'll send over one, to train those vines and put things in some shape. You'd find him useful, too, about the house. I'll send old Peters; he can come as well as not." " thank you ! But I don't know whether father would choose to afford a gardener," said Dolly low. " He shall not afford it. I want him to come for BRIERLEY COTTAGE. 145 my own comfort. You do not think I want your father to pay my gardener ? " " You are very kind. What ground is that over there ? " "That? that is Brierley Park. It is a great place. The stream divides the park from this cottage ground." " Can one go over the bridge ? " " Of course. The place is left to itself; nobody is at the house now." "Why not?" "1 suppose they like some other place better," said St. Leger shrugging his shoulders. "You would like to go and see the house and the pictures. The next time I come down I'll take you there." "O thank you! And may I go over among those grand trees ? may I walk there ? " "Walk there or ride there; you may do what you like; nobody will hinder you. If you meet anybody that has a right to know, you can tell him who you are. But don't go to the house till I come to go with you." " You are very good, Mr. St. Leger," said Dolly gratefully. But then, as if shy of what he might next say, she turned and went in to her mother. Dolly always kept Mr. St. Leger at a certain fine, insensible distance. He seemed to be very near; he was really very much at home in the family; nevertheless an atmospheric wall, felt but not seen, divided him from Dolly. It was so invisible that it was unmanageable ; it kept him at a distance. 10 CHAPTER XL IN THE PARK. THE next day was a delightful one in Dolly's experience. Mr. St. Leger went back to town early in the morning; and as soon as she was free of him Dolly's delight began. She attended to her mother, and put her in comfort; next, she examined the house and its capabilities and arranged the lit- tle household; and then she gave herself to the gar- den. It was an unmitigated wilderness. The roses had grown into irregular, wide-spreading shrubs, with waving, flaunting branches; yet sweet with their burden of blushing flowers. Lilac bushes had passed all bounds, and took up room most grasping- ly. Hawthorn and eglantine, roses of Sharon and stocky syringas, and other bushes and climbers, had entwined and confused their sprays and branches, till in places they formed an impenetrable mass. In other places, and even in the midst of this over- grown thicket, jessamine stars peeped out, lilies and violets grew half smothered, mignonette ran along where it could; even carnations and pinks were to be seen, in unhappy situations, and daisies and larkspur and scarlet geraniums, lupins and IN THE PARK. 147 sweet peas, and I know not what more old-fash- ioned flowers, shewed their fair faces here and there. It was bewildering, and beyond Dolly's powers to put in order. She wished for old Pe- ters' arrival; and meantime cut and trimmed a little here and there, gathered a nosegay of wil- dering blossoms, considered what might be done, and lost herself in the sweet June day. At last it was growing near lunch time, and she went in. Mrs. Copley was lying on an old-fash- ioned lounge; and the room where she lay was brown with old oak, quaint with its diamond paned casement windows, and cool with a general effect of wooden floor and little furniture; while roses looked in at the open window, and the light was tempered by the dark panelling and low ceil- ing. Dolly gave an exclamation of delight. " What is it ? " said Mrs. Copley fretfully. " Mother, this place is so lovely ! and this room, do you know how perfectly pretty it is ? " " It isn't half furnished. Not half." "But it is furnished enough. There are only two of us; and certainly here are all the things that we want, and a great deal more than we want ; and it is so pretty ! so pretty ! " " How long do you suppose there are to be only two of us ? " " I don't know that, mother. Lawrence St. Leger is just gone, and I don't want him back, for my part. In fact, I don't believe we have dinner enough for three." 148 THE END OF A COIL. " That's another thing. Where are we going to get anything to eat ? " "Lunch will be ready in a minute, mother." " What have we got ? " " What you like. Frizzled beef and chocolate." " I like it, but I don't suppose it is very nour- ishing. Where are we to get what we want, Dol- ly? how are we to get bread, and butter, and marketing ? " " There's a village half a mile off. And, here is lunch on the table. We shall not starve to-day." Mrs. Copley liked her chocolate and found the bread good. Nevertheless she presently began again. "Are we to live here alone the rest of our lives, Dolly? or what do you suppose your fa- ther's idea is? It's a very lonesome place, seems to me." " Why, mother, we came here to get you well ; and it's enough to make anybody well. It is the loveliest place I have ever seen, I think. Mr. St. Leger's grand establishment is nothing to it." "And what do you mean by what you said about Lawrence St. Leger ? Are you glad to have even him go away ? " " Yes, mother, a little bit. He was rather in my way." " In your way ! that's very ungrateful. How was he in your way ? " "Somebody to attend to, and somebody to at- tend to me. I like to be let alone. By and by, IN THE PARK. 149 when you are sleeping, I shall go over and explore the park." " What I don't understand," said Mrs. Copley, re- curring to her former theme, " is, why, if he wanted me to be in the country, your father did not take a nice house somewhere just a little way out of London, there are plenty of such places, and have things handsome ; so that he could entertain company, and we could see somebody. We can have nobody here. It looks really quite like poor people." " That isn't a very bad way to look," said Dolly calmly. "Not? Like poor people?" cried Mrs. Copley. "Dolly, don't talk folly. Nobody likes that look, and you don't, either." " I am not particularly afraid of it. But mother, we do not want to entertain company while you are not well, you know." " No ; and so here you are shut up and seeing no creature. I wish we were' at home ! " Dolly did not precisely wish that; not at least till she had had time to examine this new leaf of nature's book opened to her. And yet she sighed a response to her mother's words. It was all the response she made. She was too tired with her unwonted gardening exertions to go further exploring that afternoon. It was not till a day or two later, when Dolly had become somewhat more acquainted with her new life and its conditions, that she crossed the bridge 150 THE END OF A COIL. one fair, warm June evening, and set her hesita- ting steps upon what seemed to her a wonderful piece of ground. She entered it immediately upon crossing the bridge. The green glades of the park woods were before her; the old giants of the park trees stretched their great arms over her and shad- owed her footsteps. Such mighty trees ! their great stems stood as if they had been there for ever; the leafy crown of their heads was more majestic than any king's diadem, and gave its protecting shelter, each of them, to a wide domain of earth's minor growths. Underneath their branches the turf was all green and gold, for the slant sun rays came in there; and gold was in the tree tops, some of the same gold; and the green shadows and the golden bands and flecks of light were all still. There was no stir of air that evening. Silence, the stillness and solitude of a woodland, were all around; the only house visible from here was the cottage Dolly had just quitted, with its rose-covered porch. Dolly went a little way, and stood still to look and listen; then went on a few steps more. The scene had a sort of regal beauty, not like anything she had ever known in her life before, and belong- ing to something her life had never touched. For this was not a primeval forest; it was not forest at all; it was a lordly pleasure ground. A "pleas- aunee," for somebody's delight ; kept so. There was no ragged underbrush; there were no wildering bushes and briars; the green turf swept away out of sight under the great old trees clean and soft ; IN THE PARK. 151 and they, the oaks and beeches, stretching their arms abroad and standing in still beauty and maj- esty, seemed to say, ''Yes, we belong to the Fam- ily; we have stood by it for ages." Dolly could see no dead trees, nor fallen lumber of dry branches; the place was dressed, yet unadorned, except by its own magnificent features; so most simple, most lordly. The first impression almost took away Dolly's breath. She again went on, and again stood still, then went further; at last could go no further, and she sat down 011 the bank under the shadow of a great oak tree which had certainly seen centuries, and gave herself up to the scene and her thoughts. They did not fit, somehow, and took possession of her alternately. Sometimes her eyes filled with glad tears, at the wonderful loveli- ness and stateliness of nature around her; the sense of beauty overcame all other feelings; filling and satisfying, and also concealing a certain promise. It was certainly the will of the Creator that all things should be thus perfect, harmonious, and fair. What was not, could be made so. But then again a shadow would come over this sunshine, as Dolly remembered the anxieties she had brought from home with her. She had meant to let herself look at them here, in solitude and quiet ; could she do it, now she was here ? But when if not now ? Grad- ually Dolly gave herself up to thinking, and forgot where she was, or more correctly, saw the objects around her only through a veil of her own thoughts. She had several anxieties; she was obliged to 152 THE END OF A COIL. confess it to herself unwillingly; for indeed anx- iety was so new to Dolly that she had hardly en- tertained it in all her life before ; and when it had knocked at her door, she had answered, that it came to the wrong place. However, she could not but hear and heed the knock now ; and she wanted to consider the matter calmly and see whether the unwelcome visiter must be really taken in, and lodged. It was not her mother's condition. With the buoyancy of youth, and the inexperience, Dolly expected that Mrs. Copley would soon get well. Her trouble was about her father; and the worst thing about her mother's state of nervous weak- ness was, that she could not talk to her on the sub- ject or get her help and cooperation. That is, if anything were to be attempted to be done in the matter. That was another question she wanted to consider. In the first place, she could not help seeing one thing; that Mr. Copley was not flush with money as he used to be ; as he had always been, ever since Dolly could remember. It was wholly unlike him, to send her and her mother down to this cottage with a household of two women servants; barely enough for the work that was indispensably neces- sary. Evidently, Mr. Copley entertained no idea of shewing hospitality here in the country, and Dolly thought he had been secretly glad to be re- lieved of the necessity of doing it in town. Very unlike him. It was unlike him, too, to content his IN THE PARK. 153 pride with so meagre an establishment. Mr. Cop- ley loved to handle money, always spent it with a lavish carelessness, and was rather fond of display. What had made this change ? Dolly had felt the change in still other and lesser things. Money had not been immediately forthcoming when she asked for it lately to pay her rnantua maker's bill; and she had noticed on several occasions that her father had taken a 'bus instead of a hansom, or even had chosen to walk. A dull doubt had been creeping over her, which now was no longer obscure, but plainly enough revealed ; her father had lost money. How, and where ? Impossible to answer this question. But at the same time there floated before Dolly's mind two vague images; Newmarket and betting, and a green whist table at Mr. St. Leger's, with eager busy players seated round it. True, Newmarket races came but once a year; and true, she had al- ways heard that whist was a very gentlemanly game and much money never lost at it. She re- peated those facts to herself, over and over. Yet the images remained ; they came before her again and again; her father betting eagerly in the crowd of betters on the race course, and the same beloved figure handling the cards opposite to his friend the banker, at the hospitable mansion of the latter. Who should be her guaranty, that a taste once formed, though so respectably, might not be in- dulged in other ways and companies not so irre- proachable? The more Dolly allowed herself to 154 THE END OF A COIL. think of it, the more the pain at her heart bit her. And another fear came to help the former, its fit and appropriate congener. With the image of Mr. St. Leger and his cards rose up also the memory of Mr. St. Leger's decanters; and Dolly lowered her head once in a convulsion of fear. She found she could not bear the course of her thought; it must be interrupted; and she sprang up and hur- ried on up the bank under the great trees, telling herself that it was impossible; that anything so terrible could not happen to her; it was not to be even so much as thought of. She cast it away from her, and resolved that it could not be. As to the rest, she thought, poverty is not disgrace; she would not break her heart about that till she knew there, was more reason. So with flying foot she hastened forward, will- ing to put a forcible stop to thought by her quick motion and the new succession of objects before her eyes. Yet they were not very new for a while. The ground became level and the going grew easier ; otherwise it was the same lovely park ground, the same wilderness of noble trees, a re- newal of the same woodland views. Lovely green alleys or glades opened to right and left, bidding her to enter them; then as she went on the trees stood thicker again. The sun getting more low sent his beams more slant, gilding the sides of the great trunks, tipping the ends of branches with leafy glitter, laying lovely lines of light over the turf. Dolly wandered on and on, allured by the IN THE PARK. 155 continual change and variety of lovely combina- tion in which grass, trees, and sunlight played be- fore her eyes. But after a while the beauty took a different cast. The old oaks and beeches ceased; she found herself among a lighter growth, of much younger trees, some of them very ornamental, and in the great diversity of kinds shewing that they were a modern plantation. What a plantation it was ! for Dolly could not seem to get to the end of it. She went fast; the afternoon was passing, and she was curious to see what would succeed to this young wood; though it is hardly right to call it a wood ; the trees were not close to each other, but stood apart to give every one a fair chance for developing its own peculiar manner of growth. Some had reached a height and breadth of beauty already; some could be only beautiful at every stage of growth; very many of them were quite strange to Dolly; they were foreign trees, gath- ered from many quarters. She went on, until she began to think she must give it up and turn back; she was by this time far from home; but just then she saw that the plantation was coming to an end on that side; light was breaking through the branches. She pressed forward eagerly a few steps ; and on a sudden stood still, almost with a cry of delight. The plantation did end there abruptly, and at the edge of it began a great stretch of level green, just spotted here and there with magnificent trees, singly or in groups. And at the further edge of this green plain, dressed, not hidden, by these 156 THE END OF A COIL. intervening trees, rose a most beautiful building. It seemed to Dolly like a castle in a fairy tale, so bewitchingly lovely and stately it stood there, with the evening sunlight playing upon its turrets and battlements, and all that grand sweep of lawn, lying at its feet. This must be the "house" of which Lawrence had spoken; but surely it was rather a castle. The style was Gothic; the build- ing stretched along the ground to a lordly extent for a "house," and yet in the light grace and adorn- ment of its structure it hardly looked like anything so grim as a castle. The stillness was utter; some cattle under the trees on the lawn were the only living things to be seen. Dolly could not satisfy herself with looking. This w*as something that she had read about and heard about; a real English baronial residence. But was it reality? it was so graceful, so noble, so wonderful. She must go a little nearer. Yet it was a good while before she could make up her mind to leave the spot where this exquisite view had first opened to her. She advanced then upon the lawn, going towards the house and scarce taking her eyes from it. There were no paths cut anywhere ; it was no loss, for the green- sward here was the perfection of English turf; soft and fine and thick and even. It was a pleas- ure to step on it; and Dolly stepped along, in a maze, caught in the meshes of the beauty around her and giving herself up to it in willing captivity. But the lawn was enormously wider than she had IN THE PARK. 157 supposed; her eye had not been able to measure distances on this green level; she had walked already a long way by the time she had got one third of its breadth behind her. Still, Dolly did not much consider that; her eye was fixed on the house as she now drew nearer to it, busied in picking out the details; and she only now and then cast a glance to right or left of her, and never looked back. It did occur to her at last that she herself was like a mere little speck cast away in this ocean of green, toiling over it like an ant over a floor; and she hurried her steps, though she was beginning to be tired. Slowly, slowly she went; half of the breadth of lawn was behind her, and then three quarters; and the building was unfolding at least its external organisation to her curious eyes and displaying some of its fine memberment and broken sur- face and the resulting lights and shadows. Dolly almost forgot her toil, wondering and delighted; though beginning also to question dimly with herself how she was ever to find her way home ? Go back over all that ground she could not, she knew ; as little could she have told where was the point at the edge of the lawn by which she had entered upon it. That way she could not go; she had a notion that at the house or near it she might find somebody to speak to from whom she could get directions as to some other way. So she pressed on, feeding her eyes as she ap- proached it upon the details of the house. 158 THE END OF A COIL. When now more than three fourths of the lawn ground was passed, one of Dolly's side glances, intended to catch the beauty of the trees on the lawn in their evening illumination, revealed to her a disagreeable fact. That, namely, she was looked upon as an intruder by some of the cat- tle; and that in especial a young bull was re- garding her with serious and ominous bearing and even advancing slowly towards her from the group of his companions. It seemed to Dolly not desirable to stand the question, and she set off to run. Which proceeding of course confirmed the young bull's suspicions, whatever they were, and he followed on a run also. Dolly became aware of this, and now with all the strength of. muscle that remained to her fled towards the house; no longer seeing its Gothic mouldings and picturesque lights and shadows, only trying very hard to get near. She thought perhaps the creat- ure would be shy of the immediate neighbourhood of the house, and not choose to follow her so far. But just as she reached that desirable vicinity she longed for, she was met by another danger, com- ing from the quarter from whence she sought safety. An enormous stag hound dashed out from his covert somewhere with an utterance from his deep throat which sounded sufficiently awful to Dolly, an angry or a warning bay, and came springing towards her. Dolly stood still dis- mayed and uncertain, the dog before and the bull behind; then, even before the former could IN THE PARK. 159 reach her, a voice was heard calling him off and directing him to the advancing bull In another minute or two a woman had come over the grass and stood at Dolly's side. Dolly was on her feet no longer; with the first breath of respite she had sunk down on the grass; nerves and muscles all trembling with the exertion and with the fright. The woman came up with a business air; then as she stood beside Dolly her look changed. This was no common intruder, she saw; this delicate- featured girl; and her dress too, simple as it was, was the dress of a lady. Dolly on her part looked up to a face not delicate-featured; far from it; solid and sti-ong built, as was the person to which it belonged; sense and capacity and kindliness, however, were legible even at that first glance. "You've been rayther badly frightened, mum, I'm afraid," she said, in a voice which precisely matched the face; strong and somewhat harsh, but kindly in accent. " Very," said Dolly, whose face began to dimple now. " I am so much obliged to you ! " "Not in the vary least, mum. But you are worried with the fright, I fear?" "No; I'll get up," said Dolly; "I'm only tired. I believe I'm a little weak too. I haven't quite got over trembling, I find." "You haven't your colour yet again, mum. Would you come into my room and rest a bit ? " " thank you. You are very kind ! " said Dolly with sincere delight at this proposition. For now 160 THE END OF A COIL. she was upon her feet she felt that her knees trem- bled under her, and her footsteps were unsteady as she followed the woman over the grass. They went towards a small door in the long line of the building, the stag hound coming back from his chase and attending them gravely. The woman opened the door, led Dolly through a passage or two, and ushered her into a cosy little sitting room, neat as wax, nicely though plainly fur- nished. Here she begged Dolly to rest herself on the sofa; and while Dolly did so she stood considering her with a kindly anxious face. "I'm all right now," said Dolly smiling. " I beg your pardon, mum, but you're growing paler every minute. If you'll allow me, mum, I will fetch you a glass of wine." " Wine ? no," said Dolly. " I don't want any wine. I do not drink wine. I am just tired. If you'll let me rest here a few minutes " " Lie still, mum, and don't talk." She left the room, and Dolly lay still, with shut eyes, feeling very much exhausted. It was inex- pressibly good to be under shelter and on her back; how she was to get home she could not yet consider. Before that question fairly came up, her entertainer was back again; but Dolly kept her eyes shut If she opened them, perhaps she would have to talk ;- and she wanted nothing on earth at that moment but to be still After a little interval, however, she heard the door open and a second person enter; and curi- IN THE PARK. 161 osity brought her eyes open then. The second person was a maid servant with a tray. The tray was set upon a table, and Dolly heard the other woman say, " You'll bring the tea, Kitty, when I ring." Dolly took this as a signal that she must go; of course she was in the way; yet rest felt so very comfortable that for a moment she still lay where she was; and lying there, she gave her hostess a more critical examination than she had hitherto bestowed on her. Who could she be? She was very well, that is, very respectably, dressed; her manner and bearing were those of a person in au- thority; she was at home; but with gentle or noble blood she could have no connection unless one of service. Her features and her manner proved that. Nevertheless, both her face and bearing had a certain attraction for Dolly ; a cer- tain quiet and poise, an expression of acute in- telligence and efficient activity, flavoured with good will, which was all very pleasant to see. Evidently she was not a person to be imposed upon. Dolly raised herself up at last to a sitting posture, preparatory to going. " Are you recovered enough to be up, mum ? " her hostess asked, standing still to survey her in her turn. " I'm afraid not." "0 thank you, yes; I must go home. And I must ask you kindly to direct me; for I do not in the least know the way." "Have you come far, mum? I couldn't make 162 THE END OF A COIL. out by what direction it was or could have been ; for when I saw you first, you seemed to be coming right from the middle of the lawn." "Not quite that; but a little one side of the mid- dle I did cross the lawn." "I do not know, mum, anybody that lives in that direction, nor any village." " Brierley Cottage ? You know Brierley Cot- tage?" "I ask your pardon, mum; I thought that was standing empty for months." "It was, I suppose. We have just moved in. My mother wants country air, and Mr. St. Leger has let us the cottage. My mother and I are liv- ing there, and we came only a day or two ago. I wanted to see the beaiitiful ground and trees on this side the brook, and came over the bridge. I did not mean to have come so far; I had no notion of seeing the house or getting near it; but every- thing was so beautiful, I was drawn on from one point to another, till I found myself at the edge of the lawn. And then I saw the cattle, but I never thought of them." " Why, mum," said the woman looking sur- prised, "you must have walked a good bit. You must have come all through the plantations." " I should not have minded the walk so much, if I had not had the fright at the end of it. But now the thing is, to get home. Can you tell me which way? for I am completely out of my reckoning." IN THE PARK. 163 "You will take a cup of tea first, mum," said the woman, ringing the bell. " I had it made on purpose for you. I am sure you'll be the better for it. I am the housekeeper here, mum, and my name is Jersey." "The housekeeper?" said Dolly. "I thought the family were abroad." " So they are, mum ; and to be sure that makes me less to do; but enough still, to take care of the place. Put the table up by the sofa, Kitty." The girl had brought in the tea pot, and Dolly saw some magnificent strawberries on the board. The table was shoved up, a cup of tea poured out, and Mrs. Jersey cut bread and butter. " How kind you are ! " Dolly cried. " You are taking a great deal of trouble for me; a stranger." "Is it for somebody that loves my Master?" said Mrs. Jersey, looking at her with keen eyes. Dolly's face dimpled all up at this, which would have completed her conquest of Mrs. Jersey's heart, if there had been by this time any ground in that region not already subjected. " Your Master ? " she said. " You mean ? " " Yes, mum, I mean that. My Master is the Lord Jesus Christ; no other. One cannot have two masters; and I serve Lord Brierley only under Him." "And what made you think how did you know that I am his servant too ? " "I don't know, mum," said the housekeeper smiling. " I guessed it when I saw you sitting 164 THE END OF A COIL. on the grass there. It seems to me, if the Lord don't just yet write his name in their foreheads, he does put a letter or two of it there, so one can tell." " I am very glad to find I have a friend in the neighbourhood," said Dolly. "I am Dolly Copley; my father is American consul at London, and a friend of Mr. St. Leger." "I know Mr. St. Leger, mum; by name, that is." By this time Dolly's tea was poured out. The housekeeper served her and watched her as she drank it and eat her strawberries, both of which were refreshing to Dolly. " I think, mum, if you'll allow me to say it, you should not try your strength with quite such long walks." " I did no,t mean it. I was drawn on; and when I got a sight of the house from the other side of the lawn, I wanted to look at it nearer. I had no notion the distance was so much." "Ay, mum, it's a good bit across the lawn. Mebbe you'd like to come another day and see the house inside. I would shew it to you with pleasure." "0 may I?" said Dolly. "I should like it; very much ! But you are extremely kind, Mrs. Jersey ! " " It is only what I do for a great many indiffer- ent people, mum. I would think it a privilege to do it for you. My lord and lady being away, I have plenty of time on my hands." IN THE PARK. 165 " I wonder anybody can stay away from so beau- tiful a home." "They have no choice, mum; at least so the doctors say. Lady Brierley is delicate, and the air of England does not agree with her." "And she must be banished from her own home ! " said Dolly, looking out into the lovely landscape visible from the window. "How sad that is!" "There's only one home one can always keep, mum," said the housekeeper, watching her. " Heaven, you mean ? " "We are not in heaven yet. I meant what David says ; ' Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.' " " I am not sure I understand it." " Only love does understand it, mum." " How do you mean, please ? " " Mum, it is only love that can live in the life of another; and when that other is God, one lives in a secure and wealthy abode. Arid then it does not much matter where one's body is. At least, so I find it." Dolly looked very thoughtful for a minute ; then she rose up. "I am coming again," she said; "I am coming very soon, Mrs. Jersey. Now, will you tell me how I can get home ? I miist be as quick as I can." " That is provided for, mum," said Mrs. Jersey. " It's a longish way round by the road, further than even you came this afternoon; and you're not fit 166 THE END OF A COIL. for it. Far from it, I should say. I have ordered the dog cart to take you home; and it's ready." "How could you be so kind to a stranger?" said Dolly, giving her hand. But the housekeep- er smiled. "You're no stranger to me, mum," she said clasping the hand Dolly had given. " It is true, I never saw you before. But whenever I see one of my Lord's children, I say to myself, 'Jersey, there is another of the family, and the Lord ex- pects you to do what you can for him ; or for her, as the case may be.' " Dolly laughed and ran away. The adventure was taking beautiful shape. Here she was to have a charming drive -home, to end the day; a drive through the pretty country lanes. And they were charming, in the evening light. And the dog cart did not bring her to Brierley Cottage a bit too soon; for Mrs. Copley was already fidgeting about her. CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE. DOLLY did not tell all her experiences of that afternoon. She .told only so much as might serve to quiet and amuse her mother; for Mrs. Copley took all occasions of trouble that came in her way and invented a few more. Mrs. Jersey had sent along in the dog cart a basket of straw- berries for the sick lady ; so Dolly hoped her moth- er's impressions of this day at least would be favourable. "Did you ever see such magnificent berries, mother? black and red?" " Why haven't we berries in our garden ? " Mrs. Copley returned. "Mother, you know the garden has not been kept up; nobody has been living here lately." " Then why did not your father get some other house, where the garden had been kept up and we could have our own fruit and vegetables? I think, to be in the country and not have one's own gar- den and fresh things, is forlorn." "There is one thing, mother; there are plenty of markets in this country." "And plenty of high prices for everything in 168 THE END OF A COIL. them. Yes, if you have no end to your purse, you can buy things, certainly. But to look at what is around us here, one would think 'your father didn't mean us to have much of anything ! " "Mother, he means you to have all you want. We thought you just wanted country air." " And nothing to eat ? " " We are not starving yet" said Dolly smiling, end arranging the strawberries. " These are a gift. A gift I shouldn't think your father would like to take, or have us take, which comes to the same thing. We used to have enough for ourselves and our neighbours too, once, when we were at home, in America. We are nobody here." "We are just ourselves, mother; what we always were. It does not make much difference, what people think of us." " Not much difference ! " cried Mrs. Copley. " About what people think of you ! And then, what is to become of you, I should like to know ? Nobody seeing you, and no chance for anything ! I wonder if your father means you never to be married ? " "You do not want me married, mother; and not to an Englishman anyhow." "Why not? And how are you going to marry anybody else, out here? Can you tell me? But, O Dolly, I am tormented to death ! " "Don't, dear mother. That is what makes you ill. What is the matter ? What troubles you ? " THE HOUSE. 169 Mrs. Copley did not answer at once. "You are as sweet as a honeysuckle," she said. " And to think that nobody should see you ! " Dolly's dimples came out here strong. " Are you tormented to death about that ? " Another pause came, and Mrs. Copley finally left the table with the air of one who is thinking what she will not speak. She went to the honeysuckle porch and sat down, resting her head in her hand and surveying the landscape. Twilight was fall- ing over it now, soft and dewy. " I don't see a sign of anything human, any- where," she remarked. "Is it because it is so dark?" "No, mother; there are no houses in sight." " Nor from the back windows ? " "No, mother." " Where is the village you talk about ? " "Haifa mile away; the woods and rising ground of Brierley Park hide it from us." " And in this wilderness your father expects me to get well ! " " Why I think it is charming ! " Dolly cried. "My drive home to-night was perfectly lovely, mother." " I didn't have it." "No; of course; but the country is exceedingly pretty." " I can't make your father out." Dolly was hushed here. She was at a loss like- wise on this point. 170 THE END OF A COIL. " He acts just as if he had lost his money." Dolly did not know what to say. She had had the same impression. To her inexperience, this did not seem the first of evils; but she guessed it would wear another face to her mother. " And if he has," Mrs. Copley went on, " I am sure I wish we were at home. England is no sort of a place for poor folks." "Why should you think he has, mother? " " I dmt think he has," Mrs. Copley flamed out. " But if he hasn't, I think he has lost his wits." "That would be worse," said Dolly, smiling, though she felt anything but merry. " I don't know about that. Nobody'll ask about your wits, if you've got money ; and if you haven t, Dolly, nobody'll care what else you have." " Mother, I think it is good to have one's treas- ure where one cannot lose it." "I thought I had that when I married your father," said Mrs. Copley, beginning to cry. This was a very strange thing to Dolly and very ter- rible. Her mother's nerves, if irritable, had al- ways been wont to shew themselves of the sound- est. Dolly saw it was not all nerves; that she was troubled by some unspoken cause of anxiety ; and she herself underwent nameless pangs of fear at this corroboration of her own doubts, while she was soothing and caressing and arguing her mother into confidence again. The success was only partial, and both of them earned careful hearts to bed. THE HOUSE. 171 A day or two more passed without any varia- tion in the state of things; except that old Peters the gardener made his appearance, and began to reduce the wilderness outside to some order. Dolly spent a good deal of time in the garden with him ; tying up rose trees, taking counsel, even pulling up weeds and setting plants. That was outside re- freshment; within, things were unchanged. Mr. Copley wrote that he would run down Saturday, or if he could not, he would send Lawrence. " Why shouldn't he come himself? " said Mrs. Cop- ley ; and Why should he send Lawrence ? thought Dolly. She liked it better without him. She was pleasing herself in her garden ; finding little ways of activity that delighted her in and out of the house; getting wonted; and she did not care for the constraint of anybody's presence who must be treated as company. One thing she determined upon however; Lawrence should not make the next visit with her at Brierley House; and to prevent it, she would go at once by herself. She went that afternoon, and by an easier way of approach to the place. .Mrs. Jersey was very glad to see her, and as soon as Dolly was rested a little, entered upon the fulfilment of her promise to shew the house. Accordingly she took her vis- iter round to the principal entrance, in another side of the building from the one Dolly had first seen. Here, before she would go in, she stood to admire and wonder at the rich and noble effect; the beauty of turrets, oriels, mouldings and arched 172 THE END OF A COIL. windows; the wide and lofty pile which stretched away on two sides in such lordly lines. Mrs. Jersey told her who was the first builder; who had made this and that extension and addition; and then they went in. And the first impression here was a contrast. The place was a great hall, of grand proportions. There was nothing splendid here to be seen; nei- ther furniture nor workmanship called for admira- tion, unless by their simplicity. There were some old paintings on the walls; there were some fine stag's horns, very large and very old; there were some heavy oaken settles and big chairs, on which the family arms were painted; the arms of the first builder; and there were also, what looked very odd to Dolly, a number of leather fire buckets, painted in like manner. Yet simple as the room was, it had a great charm for her. It was lofty, calm, imposing, superb. She was not ready soon to quit it; and Mrs. Jersey of course was willing to indulge her. " It is so unlike anything at home ! " Dolly exclaimed. " That's in America ? " said the housekeeper. " Have you no old houses like this there, mum ? " " Why we are not old ourselves," said Dolly. "When this house was first begun to be built, our country was full of red Indians." " Is it possible ! And are there Indians there yet, mum ? " " No. yes, in the country there are ; but they THE HOUSE. 173 are driven far off, to the west; what there are of them. This is very beautiful ! " " I never heard anybody call this old hall beauti- ful before," said the housekeeper smiling. " It is so large, and high, and so simple; and these old time things make it so respectable," said Dolly. " Respectable ! yes, mum, it is that. Shall we go on and see something better ? " But her young visiter had fallen to studying the ceiling, which had curious carvings and panellings, and paintings which once had been bright. There was such a flavour of past ages in the place, that Dolly's fancy was all alive and excited. Mrs. Jer- sey waited, watching her, smiling in a satisfied manner; and then after a while, when Dolly would let her, she opened the door into another apart- ment. A great door of carved oak it was, through which Dolly went expectantly, and then stood still with a little cry. The first thing she saw was the great windows, down to the floor, all along one side of a large room, through which a view was given into the park landscape. The grand trees, the beautiful green turf, the sunlight and shadow, caught her eye for a minute ; and then it came back to the view within the windows. Op- posite this row of windows was an enormous mar- ble chimney piece; the family arms, which Dolly was getting to know, blazoned upon it in brilliant colours. Right and left of the fire place hung old family portraits. But when Dolly turned next to give a look at the side of the hall from which she 174 THE END OF A COIL. had entered, she found that the whole wall was of a piece with the great carved door; it was filled with carvings, figures in high relief, very richly executed. For a long while Dolly studied these figures. Mrs. Jersey could give her little help in understanding them, but having, as she fancied, got hold of a clue, Dolly pursued it; admiring the life and expression in the figures, and the richly carved accessories. The whole hall was a study to her. On the further side went up the staircases leading to the next story. Between them opened the entrance into the dining hall. Further than these three halls, Mrs. Jersey al- most despaired of getting Dolly that day. In the dining hall was a portrait of Queen Elizabeth ; and before it Dolly sat down, and studied it. " Did she look like that ? " she said finally. " Surely, mum, she must," said the housekeeper. " The picture is thought a deal of. It was painted by a famous painter, I've been told." " She was very ugly, then," said Dolly. "Handsome is that handsome does," said the housekeeper smiling; "and to be sure, I never could make out that her majesty was altogether handsome in her doings; though perhaps that's the fault of my stupidity." " She looks cold," said Dolly. " She looks cruel." " I'm afraid, mum, by all I have read of her, she was a little of both." "And how she is dressed! Who is that, the next to her?" THE HOUSE. 175 " Mary Stuart, mum ; Mary Queen of Scotland ; this lady's rival." " Rival ? " said Dolly. " No, I do not think she was; only Elizabeth chose to think her so. How lovely, how lovely ! " " Yes, mum, and by all accounts the portrait tells truth. They say, so she was to be sure." "She looks so innocent, so sweet," said Dolly, fixed before the two pictures. " Do you think she wasn't, mum ? " " One cannot feel quite comfortable about her. The story is ugly, Mrs. Jersey. But how a woman with that face could do anything fearfully wicked, it is hard to imagine. Poor thing." " You are very kind, I am sure, to a person of whom you hold such a bad opinion," said the housekeeper, amused. " I am sorry for them both," said Dolly. " Life wasn't much good to either of them, I should think." "Queen Elizabeth had power," said Mrs. Jer- sey; "and Queen Mary had admiration, I under- stand." " Yes, but Elizabeth wanted the admiration, and Mary Stuart wanted the power," said Dolly. " Nei- ther of them got what she wanted." "Few people do in this world, my young lady." " Do you think so ? " "Young people generally think they will," said the housekeeper; "and old people know better." " But why should that be ? " 176 THE END OF A COIL. "Does Miss Dolly Copley know already what she wants ? " the housekeeper asked. "No," said Dolly laughing out, "not at all. I do not know what I want. I do not think I want anything in particular, Mrs. Jersey." "Keep so, my dear; that is best." " Why ? Because I should be so sure to be dis- appointed ? " "You might. But it is safe to let God choose for us, Miss Copley ; and as soon as we begin to plan, we begin to work for our plans, generally ; and if our plan is not his plan, that makes trou- ble, you see, and confusion." " Of course," said Dolly thoughtfully. " Yet it seems to me it would be pleasant to have some par- ticular object that one was striving after. The days go by, one after another, one like another, and seem to accomplish nothing. I should like to have some purpose, some end in life, to be striving for and attaining." "A servant of Christ need never want that," said the housekeeper. " I have not anything in special to do," said Dol- ly looking at her. "Every servant has something special to do," the other answered. "I have to take care of mother. But that is not work; it is not work for Christ at least, Mrs. Jersey." "Dear, it may be. Everything you do, you may do for him; for he has given it to you to do for THE HOUSE. 177 him. That is, unless it is something you are choos- ing for yourself." Dolly pondered. " And if there be nothing ready to hand that you call work, there is always preparation for work to be done," Mrs. Jersey went on. " What sort ? " " The knowledge of the Bible, and the knowl- edge of Christ, to seek and win. That surely." "The knowledge of the Bible? Mrs. Jersey, I know the Bible pretty well." " And Christ also ? " Dolly mused again, with a very grave face. " I do not quite know what you mean." "Then there is something to be gained yet." " But, of course I know what the Bible says about him." " That is one sort*of knowledge," said the house- keeper; "but it is not the knowledge of him." " What then ? " " Only knowing about him, dear." " What more can we have ? " "Just himself, Miss Copley; and till you have that, dear, you don't rightly know what the Bible means." " I don't think I quite understand you." " Suppose I told you all I could about my Lady Brierley; would that make you know her as I know her ? " "No, certainly; it would not make me really know her at all." 12 178 THE END OF A COIL. "That is what I was thinking." " But for that there must be sight, and inter- course, and the power of understanding." "All that, mum," said Mrs. Jersey smiling; "and the more of that power you speak of, the more and the nearer knowledge there will be." " But, in the case you are speaking of, the knowl- edge of Christ, sight is not possible." "No, mum, not sight with the bodily eyes. It is not. And if it were, it mightn't do. Did all the people know the Lord, that saw him Avith the bodily eyes ? ' Ye have neither known my Father nor me,' he said to the Jews. ' Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip ? ' " " You are setting me a regular puzzle, Mrs. Jer- sey." "I hope not, my dear. I do 'not mean it; and it is the last thing I wish." "But without sight, how is such knowledge to be gained ? " "Do you remember, Miss Copley, it is written, 'The secret of the Lord is Avith them that fear him.' And Jesus promised to him that loves him and keeps his commandments, ' I will manifest myself to him.' Doubtless we must seek the ful- filment of the promise too." "How?" "The same way as with other things, mum. We must ask, and expect, and use the means. And no doubt one must be single eyed and true hearted. THE HOUSE. 179 But dear, there is no knowledge like that, once get it; and no friend to be had, that can equal the Lord Jesus Christ." Dolly sat still and pondered, gazing at the two portraits. "It is very hard to think that this world is noth- ing!" she said at last. "To most people it seems everything. Just look at those two faces! How they struggled and fought; and how little good their life was to them, after all." "Ay, mum, and folks can struggle and fight for less things than what divided them, and lose all just the same. So the Lord said. ' He that lov- eth his life, shall lose it ; ' but he said too, ' He that loseth his life for my sake, shall find it.' " " You are talking riddles again, Mrs. Jersey," said Dolly laughing. " I thought I was beginning to understand you; but I do not understand that." "No, dear; and surely it is a hard saying to many. But I'll give you a key. Just you give your life to the Lord Jesus, and he will shew you what the losing it means, and the gaining it too." " Thank you. I will," said Dolly. They went on again after that, through more rooms of the house; but the afternoon did not serve for the whole. Dolly must return to her mother. Mrs. Jersey sent her home again in the dog cart. The evening was very bright and fair ; the hedge rows sweet with flowers; the light glit- tered on the foliage of trees and copsewood and shrubbery; the sky was clear and calm. Dolly 180 THE END OF A COIL. tasted and rejoiced in it all; and yet in the very midst of her pleasure an echo from Mrs. Jersey's words seemed to run through everything. It did not depress, on the contrary it excited Dolly. With all the beauty and enjoyment of this very beautiful arid very enjoyable world, there was something still better to be sought and found; somewhat still more beautiful, far more enjoyable ; and the correlative fact that the search and attain- ment were, or might be, attended with some diffi- culty and requiring some effort or resolution, was simply an additional stimulus. Dolly breathed the air with intense taste of it. Yes, she thought, I will seek the knowledge Mrs. Jersey spoke of. That must be better than anything else. CHAPTER XIII. MONEY. " O OW long you have staid, Dolly ! " was Mrs. O Copley's greeting. " I don't see what is to become of me in this lonely place, if you are al- ways trotting about. I shall die ! " Dolly took this cold water bath upon her pleas- ure with her usual sweetness. "Dear mother, I did not know I was so long away. -I will not go again, if it is bad for you." " Of course it is bad for me. It is very bad for me. It is bad for anybody. I just think and think, till I am ready to fly. What have you been doing?" "Looking at Brierley House. So beautiful as it is, mother ! " This made a diversion. Mrs. Copley asked and received a detailed account of all Dolly had seen. "It don't sound as if / should like it," was her comment. " I should never have those old chairs and things sticking about." "0 mother, yes, you would; they are most beau- tiful, and so old-fashioned; with the arms of the barons of Coppleby carved on them." 182 THE END OF A COIL. "I shouldn't want the arms of the barons of Coppleby on the chairs in my house, if I was the Earl of Brierley." "But they are everywhere, mother; they are cut and painted over the fireplace in the baron's hall." " I'd cut 'em out then and put up my own. Fire buckets too ! how ridiculous. What ornaments for a house ! " " I like them," said Dolly. " 0, you like everything. But Dolly, what does your father think is to become of us ? He in Lon- don, and we here ! Such a way of living ! " " But you wanted country air, mother." "I didn't; not in this way. Air isn't everything. Did he say, if he could not come down Saturday, he would send Mr. St. Leger ? " " I do not see why he should," said Dolly gaily. "We don't want him." " Now what do you say that for, Dolly ? " "Just because I don't want him, mother. Do you ? " " He's a very good young man," Dolly was silent. "And very rich." Dolly said nothing. "And I am sure he is very agreeable." Then as her utterances still met no response, Mrs. Copley broke out. "Dolly, why don't you say something? I have nobody to talk to but you, and you don't answer me ! I might as well talk to the wall." MONEY. 183 "Mother I would rather have father come down to see us. If the choice lies between them, I would rather have father." Mrs. Copley leaned her head on her hand. " Dol- ly," she began again, " your father acts exactly as if he had lost money." Dolly again did not answer. The repeated words gave her a very startled thrill. " As if he had lost a good deal of money," Mrs. Copley went on. " I can't get it out of my head that he has." "It's no use to think about it, mother," Dolly said as lightly as she could. "Don't you trouble yourself, at any rate." "That's foolish. How can I help troubling my- self? And if it was any use to think about it, to be sure I needn't be troubled. Dolly, it torments me day and night ! " And tears that were bitter came into Mrs. Copley's eyes. "It need not, dear mother. Money is not the only thing in the world; nor the best thing." "And that's silly too," returned her mother. "One's bread and butter may not be the best thing in the world, I am sure this bread ain't, but you can't live without it. What can you do without money ? " "I never tried, you know," said Dolly; "but I should think it would be possible to be happy." " Like a child! " said her mother. " Children al- ways think so. What's to make you happy, when the means are gone ? No, Dolly ; money is every- 184 THE END OF A COIL. thing, in this world. Without it you are of no consequence, and you are at everybody's mercy; and I can tell you one thing besides ; if the wom- en could be happy without money, the men cannot. If you don't give a man a good breakfast, he'll be cross all day ; and if his dinner don't suit him, you'll hear of it for a week, and he'll go off to the club besides." "He cannot do that without money," said Dolly, trying to laugh. " Then he'll stay at home, and torment you. I tell you, Dolly, life ain't worth having, if you haven't got money. That is why I want you to like " Mrs. Copley broke off suddenly. " I should think one might have good breakfasts and dinners, even if one was poor," said Dolly. "They say French women do." "What French women do is neither here nor there. I am talking about you and me. Look at this bread, and see that omelette. I can tell you, nothing on earth would keep your father down here if he couldn't have something better to eat than, that." Dolly began to ponder the possibility of learning the art of cookery. " What puzzles me," Mrs. Copley went on, " is, how he could have lost money ? But I am sure he has. I feel it in all my bones. And he is such a clever man about business, too ! " Dolly tried with all her might to bring her moth- er off this theme. At last she succeeded; but the MONEY. 185 question lingered in her own mind and gave it a good deal to do. After a day or two more, Mr. St. Leger came as threatened. Dolly received him alone. She was in the garden, gathering roses, at the time of his arrival. The young man came up to her, looking very glad and shy at once, while Dolly was neither the one nor the other. She was attending to the business she had in hand. " Well, how are you ? " said her visiter. " How is Mrs. Copley ? Getting along, eh ? " " When's father coming down, Mr. St. Leger ? " "To-morrow. He'll take post horses and come down early, he said." "Sunday morning?" cried Dolly, and stopped, looking at the young man. " yes. He'll come down early. He couldn't get off to-night, he told me. Some business." "What business? Anything he could not put off? What kept him, Mr. St. Leger ? " " I don't know, 'pon my honour. He'll be down in the morning though. What's the matter? Mrs. Copley isn't worse, I hope ? " " No, I think not," said Dolly, going back to her rose pulling, with a hand that trembled. "May I help you? What are all these roses for ? Why you've got a lot of 'em. How do you like Brierley, Miss Dolly? It likes you. I never saw you look better. How does your mother fan- cy it ? " " Mother has taken a fancy to travel. She thinks 186 THE END OF A COIL. she would like that better than being still in one place." "Travel! Where to? Where does she want to go ? " "She talks of Venice. But I do not know whether father could leave his post." " I should say he couldn't, without the post leaving him. But, I say, Miss Dolly ! maybe Mrs. Copley would let me be her travelling courier, instead. I should like that famously. Venice and we might run down and see Rome. Hey? What do you think of it ? " Dolly answered coolly, inwardly resolving she would have no more to say about travelling be- fore Mr. St. Leger. However, in the evening he brought up the subject himself; and Mrs. Copley and he went into it eagerly, and spent a delightful evening over plans for a possible journey; talking of routes, and settling upon stopping places. Dolly was glad to see her mother pleased and amused, even so ; but herself took no sort of part in the talk. Next day Mr. Copley in truth arrived, and was joy- fully received. " Well how do you do ? " said he after the first rejoicings were over, looking from his wife to his daughter and back again. It was the third or fourth time he had asked the question. " Pretty jolly, eh ? Dolly is. You are not, my dear, seems to me." "You are not either, it seems to me, Mr. Cop- ley." MONEY. 187 " I ? I am well enough." " You are not 'jolly,' father ? " said Dolly, hang- ing upon him. "Why not? Yes, I am. A man can't be very jolly, that has anything to do in this world." " father ! I should think, to have nothing to do would be what would hinder jolliness." "Anything to do but enjoy, I mean. I don't mean nothing to do. But it ain't life, to live for business." " Then, if I were you, I would play a little, Mr. Copley," said his wife. "So I do. Here I am," said he, with what seemed to Dolly forced gaiety. " Now how are you going to help me play?" " We help you" said his wife. " Why didn't you come yesterday ? " "Business, my dear; as I said. These are good berries. Do they grow in the garden ? " " How should strawberries grow in a garden where nobody has been living?" said his wife. " And what is your idea of play in an out of the way place like this, Mr. Copley ? " "Well not a catechism," said he, slowly put- 'ting strawberries in his mouth one after the other. "What's the matter with the place? I thought, it would just suit you. Isn't the air good ? " "Breathing isn't quite the only necessary of life," said his wife ; " and you were asking about play. I think a change would be play to me." "Well, this is a change, or I don't know the 188 THE END or A COIL. meaning of the word. You've just come, and have not examined the ground yet. Must have a good market, if this fruit is any sign." "There is no market or anything else, except what you can find in a little village. The straw- berries come from Brierley House, where Dolly goes to get Tier play. As for me, who cannot run about, on my feet, or anyway, I sit here and won- der when she will be back again. Are we to have no carriage here, Mr. Copley ? " '" We had better find out how you like it first, seems to me. Hardly worth while, if you're not going to stay." Mr. Copley rose and sauntered out to the porch, and Dolly looked furtively at her mother. She saw a troubled, anxious face, lines of nervous un- rest; she saw that her father's coming had not brought refreshment or relief; and truly she did not perceive why it should. Dolly was wholly in- experienced, in all but the butterfly life of very happy young years; nevertheless she could not fail to read, or at least half read, some signs of another sort of life. She noticed that her father's manner wanted its ordinary careless, confident ease; there was something forced about it; his face bore tokens of loss of sleep, and had a trait of uneasiness most unwonted in Mr. Copley. Dolly sat still a little while, and then went out and joined her father in the porch. Mr. St. Leger had come in, so that she did not leave her mother alone. Dolly came close and laid her arm round her father's neck, her fin- MONEY. 189 gers playing with his hair; while he fondly threw one arm about her. " How is it, Dolly ? " he asked. " Don't you like it here?" "/ do, very much. But mother finds it very quiet. I think she would like to travel, father." " Travel ! But I can't go travelling. I cannot get away from London for more than a day. Quiet! I thought she wanted quiet. I heard of nothing but her want of quiet, till I got her down here; and now she wants noise." "Not noise, exactly, but change." "Well, what is this but change? as I said. I do not know what would please her." "I know what would please me," said Dolly with her heart beating; for she was venturing on unknown ground. "A little money." " Money ! " exclaimed her father. " What in the world do you want with money down here ? " "To pay the servants, father," Dolly said low. "Margaret asked me for her month's wages, and I said I would ask you. Can you give it to nje ? " "She cannot do anything with money down here either. She don't want it. Her wages are safe, tell her. I'll take care of them for her." "But, father, if she likes to take care of them for herself, she has the right. Such people like to see their money, I suppose." - " I have yet to find the people that don't," said her father. " But really, she'll have to wait, my 190 THE END OF A COIL. child. I have not brought so much in my pocket- book with me." This also struck Dolly as very unusual. Never in her life, that she could remember, had her fa- ther confessed before to an empty purse. "Then, could you send it to me, father, when you go back to London ? " " Yes, I'll send it. Or better, wait till I come down again. You would not know how to man- age if I sent it. And Margaret really cannot be in a hurry." Dolly stood still, fingering the locks of her fa- ther's thick hair, while her mental thermometer went down and down. She knew by his whole manner that the money was not at hand even were he in London ; and where then was it ? Mr. Copley had always till now had plenty ; what had happened, or what was the cause of the change ? And how far had it gone ? and to what point might it go ? and what should she do, if she could not soon pay Margaret? and what would become of her mother, if not only her travelling projects were shattered but also her personal and household comforts should fail her where she was? What could Dolly do, to save money? or could she in any way touch the source of the evil, and bi'ing about an essential bettering of this new and evil state of things? She must know more first; and how should she get more knowledge ? There came a sigh to her ears here, which greatly touched her. Nevertheless, for the present MONEY. 191 she could not even shew sympathy, for she dared not seem aware of the need for it. Tears came to her eyes, but she commanded them back; that would not do, either. " Suppose we take a walk, Dolly, in that jolly old wood yonder ? " Mr. Copley said. " That's Brierley Park, ain't it? We might go and see the house, if you like." " It is Sunday, father." " Well, what then ? The world is pretty much the same thing Sunday that it is other days, eh? " " Yes, father the world ; but not the day. That is not the same as the rest." " Why not ? We cannot go to church to-day, if that is what you are thinking of. I took church time to come down here. And if you wanted to go to church, Dolly, you couldn't have a finer tem- ple than over yonder." "0 if you'll go to church there, father, I'll go." "To be sure I will. Get your hat." " And my Bible ? " " Bible ? " Mr. Copley looked at her. " I didn't say anything about a Bible. We are going to take a walk. You don't want a book to carry." " How are we going to church there, then?" " Think good thoughts, and enjoy the works of the good Creator. That's all you can do in any church, Dolly. Come, little Puritan." Dolly did not quite know what to do; however, she got her hat, finding that her mother was will- ing; and she and her father went down to the 192 THE END OF A COIL. bridge. There, to her dismay somewhat, they were joined by Mr. St. Leger. But not to Mr. Copley's dismay; he welcomed the young man openly. Dolly would have gone back now, but she did not dare. "Going to see the house?" Lawrence asked. " It is Sunday," said Dolly. " You cannot." " There's a way of opening doors, even on Sun- day," said the other. "No, not here. The housekeeper will not let you in. She is a Christian." "She is a Methodist, you mean," said Mr. Cop- ley. "I believe she is a Methodist. She is a good friend of mine." " What business have you to make friends with Methodists? we're all good Church people; hey, Lawrence ? What grand old woods these are ! " " How old do you suppose these trees to be, father?" "Can't guess; less than centuries would not do. Centuries of being let alone ! I wonder how men would get on, if they could have as good a chance? Glorious! Go on, children, and take your walk; I will lie down here and rest. I be- lieve I want that more than walking." He threw himself down at full length on the turf in the shadow of a giant beech. Dolly and her remaining companion passed slowly on. This was not what she had reckoned upon ; but she saw that her father wished to be left alone, and she MONEY. 193 did not feel nevertheless that she could go home and leave the party. Slowly she and Mr. St. Leger sauntered on, from the shadow of one great tree to another; Dolly thinking what she should do. When they were gotten out of sight and out of earshot, she too stopped and sat down on a shady bank which the roots of an immense oak had thrown up around its base. " What now ? " said Lawrence. " This is a good place to stay. Father wishes to be left to himself." " But aren't you going any further ? " "There is nothing to be gained by going any further. It is as pretty here as anywhere in the wood." " We might go on and see the pheasantry. Have you seen the pheasantry ? " "No." "That does not depend on the housekeeper's pleasure ; and the people on the place are not all Methodists. I fancy we should have no trouble in getting to see that. Come ! It is really very fine, and worth a walk to see. I am not much of a place hunter, but the Brierley pheasantry is some- thing by itself." " Not to-day," said Dolly. " Why not to-day ? I can get the gate opened." " You forget, it is Sunday, Mr. St. Leger." " I do not forget it," said he, throwing himself down on the bank beside her. " I came here to have the day with you. It's a holiday. Mr. Cop- U 194 THE END OF A COIL. ley keeps a fellow awfully busy, other days, if one has the good fortune to be his secretary. I re- member particularly well that it is Sunday. What about it? Can't a fellow have it, now he has got it?" The blue eyes were looking with a surprised sort of complaint in them, yet not wholly discontented, at Dolly. How could they be discontented ? So fair an object to rest upon and so curiosity-provok- ing too, as she was. Dolly's advantages were not decked out at all; she was dressed in a simple white gown ; and there were none of the formali- ties of fine ladyism about her; a very plain little girl ; and yet, Lawrence was not far wrong when he thought her the fairest thing his eyes had ever seen. Her eyes had such a mingling of the child- like and the wise; her hair curled in such an art- less, elegant way about her temples and in her neck; the neck itself had such a pretty set and carriage, the figure was so graceful in its girlish outlines; and above all, her manner had such an inexplicable combination of the utterly free and the utterly unapproachable. Lawrence lay think- ing all this, or part of it; Dolly was thinking how she should dispose of him. She could not well say anything that would directly seem to condemn her father. And while she was thinking what answer she should make, Lawrence had forgot his question. " Do you like this park ? " he began on another tack. MONEY. 195 " more than I can tell you ! It is perfect. It is magnificent. There is nothing like it in all America. At least, / never saw anything like it there." " Why not ? " said Lawrence. " I mean, why is there not anything like this there ? " Then Dolly's face dimpled all up in one of its ex- pressions of extreme sense of fun. "We are not old enough," she said. "You know when these trees were young, our land was filled with the red men, and overgrown with forests." " Well, those forests were old." " Yes, but in a forest trees do not grow like this. They cannot. And then the forest had to be cut down." "Then you like England better than America?" " I never saw in my life anything half so beauti- ful as Brierley Park." "You would be contented with such a home, wherever it might be ? " "As far as the trees went, " said Dolly, with another ripple of fun breaking over her face. "Tell me," said Lawrence, "are all American girls like you ? " " In what way ? We do not all look alike." "No, no; I do not mean looks; they are no more like you in that, than you say America resembles Brierley Park. But you are not like an English girl." " I am afraid that is not an equal compliment to me. But why should Americans be different from 196 THE END OF A COIL. English people? We went over from England only a little while ago." " Institutions ? " Lawrence ventured. "What, because we have a President, and you have a King? What difference should that make ? " "Then you see no difference? Am I like an American, now ? " " You are not like my father, certainly. But I do not know any American young men except one. And I don't know him." " That sounds very much like a riddle. Won't you be so good as to explain ? " " There is no riddle," said Dolly. " I knew him when I was at school a little girl and 1 have never seen him since." " Then you don't know him now, I should say." "No. And yet I feel as if I knew him. I should know him, if we saw each other again." "Seems to have made a good deal of an im- pression ! " "Yes, I think he did. I liked him." "Before you see him again, you will have for- gotten him," said Lawrence comfortably. " Do you not think you could forget America, if somebody would make you mistress of such a place as this ? " "And if everybody I loved was here? Perhaps," said Dolly, looking round her at the soft swelling green turf over which the trees stretched their great branches. "But," said Lawrence, lying on his elbow and watching her, "would you want everybody you MONEY. 197 love? The Bible says that a woman shall leave father and mother and cleave to her husband." " No ; the Bible says that is what the man shall do; leave father and mother and cleave unto his wife." " They work it the other way," said Lawrence. " With us, it is the woman who leaves her family to go with the man." "Mr. St. Leger," said Dolly suddenly, "father does not look well. What do you think is the matter with him ? " " Oh aw yes ! Do you think he doesn't look well ? " Lawrence answered vaguely. " Not ill but not just like himself either. What is it?" "I well, I have thought that myself sometimes," replied the young man. "What is the matter with him?" Dolly repeated anxiously. " Oh, not much, he spends too much time at at his office, you know ! " " He has no need to do that. He does not want the office not for the money's sake." " Most men want money," said Lawrence. " But do you think he does ? " "0 why not? Why, my father wants money, always wants money; and yet you would say he has enough, too. Dolly " She interrupted him. " But what did you mean ? You meant to say he spends too much time at at what ? Say what you were going to say." 198 THE END OF A COIL. Lawrence rolled himself over on the bank so that he could look up straight into her face. It was a good look of his blue eyes. "Dolly," said he, "if you will leave father and mother for my sake, fig- uratively, I mean, of course, figuratively, I will take care that neither of them ever wants anything for the rest of their lives. And you shall have a place as good as Brierley Park." Dolly's spirits must have taken one or two quick leaps, for her colour changed so ; but happily Law- rence's speech was long enough to let her get pos- session of herself again. She answered with an a plomb which, born of necessity as it was, and natural, equalled that of the most practised fine lady which should shew her artificial habit or skill. Like an instinct of self-preservation, I suppose; swift in action, correct in adjustment, taking its measures with unpremeditated good aim. She an- swered with absolute seeming calmness, "You evade my question, I observe." " I am sure you evade mine ! " said the young man, much more hotly. " Perhaps I do. Naturally, I want mine an- swered first." " And then will you give me the answer to my question ? " said he eagerly. "That would seem to be no more than good manners." " What do you want to know, Dolly ? I am sure I can't tell what to say to you." "Tell me what makes my father look unlike MONEY. 199 himself," said Dolly quietly. She spoke quietly; not as if she were greatly concerned to know the answer; yet if Lawrence had guessed how her heart beat he would have had still more difficulty with his reply. He had some, as it was; so much that he tried to turn the matter off. "You are imagining things," 'he said. "Mr. Copley seems to me very much what I have always known him." " He does not seem to me as I have always known him," said Dolly. " And you are not saying what you are thinking, Mr. St. Leger." " You are terribly sharp ! " said he, to gain time. "That's quite common among American wom- en. Go on, Mr. St. Leger, if you please." " I declare, it's uncanny. I feel as if you could see through me, too. And no one will bear such looking into." " Go on, Mr. St. Leger," Dolly repeated with an air of superiority. Poor child, she felt very weak at the time. " I don't know what to say, 'pon my honour," the young man averred. " I have nothing to say, re- ally. And I am afraid of troubling you, besides." Dolly could not speak now. She preserved her calm air of attention; that was all. " It's really nothing," St. Leger went on ; " but I suppose, really, Mr. Copley may have lost some money. That's nothing, you know. Every man does, now and then. He loses, and then he gains." 200 THE END OF A COIL. " How ? " said Dolly gravely. " well, there are various ways. Betting, you know, and cards. Everybody bets; and of course he can't always win, or betting would stop. That's nothing, Miss Copley." " Have you any idea how much he has lost? " " Haven't an idea. People don't tell, naturally, how hard they are hit. I am sure it is nothing you need be concerned about." "Are not people often ruined in that way?" Dolly asked, still preserving her outside calm. " Well, that does happen, of course, now and then, with careless people. Mr. Copley is not one of that sort. Not that kind of man." "Do not people grow careless, in the interest and excitement of the play ? " St. Leger hesitated, and laughed a little, casting up his blue eyes at Dolly as if she were a very pe- culiar specimen of young womanhood and he were not quite sure how to answer her. "I assure you," he said, "there is nothing that you need be concerned about. I am certain there is not." " Not if my father is concerned about it already ? " " He is not concerned, I am sure.. well ! there may be a little temporary embarrassment that can happen to any man, who is not made of gold but it will be all right. Now, Miss Copley She put out her hand to stop him. "Mr. St. Leger, can you do nothing to help? You are kind, I know; you have always been kind to us ; can you do nothing to help now ? " MONEY. 201 The young man rather opened his eyes. Was this asking him for an advance? It was a very cool proceeding in that case. " Help ? " he repeated doubtfully. " What sort ? " "There is only one way that you could help," said Dolly. He saw she meant what she meant, if he could know what that was; her cheeks had even grown pale; the sweet, clear brown eyes sought his face as if they would reach his heart, which they did ; but then, to assume any of Mr. Copley's respon- sibilities " I'll assume all Mr. Copley's responsibilities, Dol- ly," he said with rash decision "if you'll smile upon me." " Assume ? did you think I meant that ? " cried Dolly, while a furious flush came up into her face. "What a notion you must have of Americans, Mr. St. Leger! Do you think father would make over his responsibilities to another man? I did not mean anything so impossible as that." " Forgive me Then what did you mean ? " "Perhaps something as impossible," said Dolly sadly, while the flush slowly paled. " I meant couldn't you could you I don't know but it is just as impossible! " " Could I, what ? I could do most things, if you wished it, Dolly." " Then you must not call me that till I give you leave. I was going to say, could you perhaps do 202 THE END OF A COIL. anything to get my father away from this habit, or pleasure "Of betting?" "Betting and cards it's all the same. He never used to do it. Can you help, Mr. St. Leger ? " Dolly's face was a sort of a marvel. It was so childlike, it was so womanly; it was so innocent, and it was so forceful. Lawrence looked, and would have liked to do the impossible; but what could he? It was specially at his own father's card table, he knew, that Mr. Copley had lost money; it was wholly in his father's society that he had been initiated into the fascination of wagers and of something else. Could he go against his own father ? and how could he ? and himself a player, though a very cautious one, how should he influence another man not to play ? "Miss Copley I am younger than your father " Lawrence began. " I know. But you might speak where I cannot. Or you might do something." "Mr. Copley only does what my father does, and what everybody does." " If you were to tell your father, could not he perhaps stop it ? bring my father off the notion ? " Dolly had reached the very core of the subject now and touched what she wanted to touch; for she had a certain assurance in her own mind that her father's intercourse with the banker and his cir- cle of friends had led to all this trouble. Law- rence pondered, looked serious; and finally prom- MONEY. 203 ised that he would " see what he could do." He would have urged his own question then ; but to Dolly's great relief Mr. Copley found by this time that he had had enough of his own company; and called to them. However she could not es- cape entirely. " I have answered your question, Miss Copley," Lawrence said as they were going down the slope towards the yet unseen caller. " Hallo ! yes, we're coming. Now am I not to have the promised an- swer to mine ? " " How did you put it? the question? " said Dolly, standing still and facing her difficulties. "You know. I don't know how I put it," St. Leger said with a half laugh. " But I meant, Dol- ly, that you are more to me than everything and everybody in the world; and I wanted to know what I am to you ? " " Not tliat, Mr. St. Leger." Dolly was quiet, and did not shun his eyes; and though she did grow rosy, there were some suspicious dimples in her fair little face; very unencouraging, but absolutely ir- resistible at the same time. " What then ? " said the young man. " Of course, I could not be to you what you are to me, Dolly. Naturally. But I can take care of your father and mother, and I will; and I will put you in a place as good as Brierley Park. I am my father's only son, and his heir, and I can do pretty much what I like to do. But I care for nothing if you will not share it with me." 204 THE END OF A COIL. " I am not going to leave my father and mother at present," said Dolly, shaking her head. " No, not at present," said he eagerly, catching at her words. " Not at present. But you do not love anybody else, Dolly ? " " Certainly not ! " " Then you will let me hope ? You will let me hold myself your best friend, after them ? " " I believe you are that," said Dolly, giving him her hand; "except my old Methodist acquaint- ance, Mrs. Jersey." Which addition was a little like a dash of cold water ; but Lawrence was toler- ably contented after all; and pondered seriously what he could do in the matter of Mr. Copley's gaming tendencies. Dolly was right; but it is awkward to preach against what you practise yourself. CHAPTER XIV. DIFFICULTIES. DOLLY on her part had not much comfort in the review of this afternoon. " It was no good," she said to herself; " I am afraid it has encour- aged Lawrence St. Leger in nonsense. I did not mean that but I am afraid he took it for encour- agement. So much for, going walking Sunday. I'll never do it again." Lawrence had taken leave very cheerfully; that was certain. As much could not be said for his principal. Dolly had privately asked her father to send her down the money for the servants' wages; and Mr. Copley had given an offhand promise ; but Dolly saw that same want of the usual ready ease in his manner, and was not surprised when days passed and the money did not come. The ques- tion recurred, what was she to do? She wrote to remind her father; and she took a fixed resolve that she would buy no more, of anything, that she could not on the spot pay for. This however was not a resolve immediately taken; it ensued when after several weeks the women again pressed for their money, and again in vain. Dolly started 206 THE END OF A COIL. back then from the precipice she saw she might be nearing, and determined to owe no more debts. She wrote to her father once more, begging for a supply. And a supply came; but so meagre that Dolly could but partially pay her two servants and keep a little in hand to go to market with. Mr. Copley had not come down to Brierley in the mean while. Lawrence had. Her unaccustomed burden of care Dolly had kept to herself; therefore it startled her when one day her mother began upon the subject. "What's this about Margaret's wages, Dolly?" " She asked me for some money the other day," Dolly answered as easily as she could. " You didn't give it to her ? " " I have given her part; I had not the whole." " Haven't you any ? " " Yes, mother, but not enough to give Margaret all she wants." " Let her have what you've got, and write your father to send you some. I never like to keep ser- vants waiting. What's theirs, isn't yours; and be- sides, they never serve you so well, and you're in their power." "Mother, I want to keep a little in the house, for every day calls; till I get some more." "Your father will send it immediately. Why he don't come himself, I don't see. J'm not gain- ing, all alone in this wilderness, with nothing but the trees of Brierley Park to look at. I can't think what your father is dreaming about ! " DIFFICULTIES. 207 Dolly was silent, and hoped the subject had blown over. Yet it could not blow over for ever, she reflected. What was she to do? Then her mother startled her again. "Dolly have you told your father that you want money ? " Dolly hesitated ; had to say yes. " And he did not give it to you ? " "Yes, mother; he sent me some." "When?" " It was it must have been three weeks ago." " How much ? " "Not enough to pay all that is due to Margaret." Mrs. Copley laid down her face in her hands. A terrible pain went through Dolly's heart; but what could she say. It seemed as if pain pricked her like a shower of arrows, first on this side and then on that. She thought her mother had gained somewhat in the past weeks; how would it, or could it, be now ? Presently Mrs. Copley lifted up her head with a further question. " Is Sarah paid ? " "No, mother; not yet," said poor Dolly. " Has Peter been paid anything ? " "Not by us. We do not pay Peter at all," re- plied Dolly, feeling as if the words were stabbing hei\ " Who does ? " said her mother quickly. " Mr. St. Leger sent him here. He is their ser- vant really, and they take care of him." " I don't see how your father can content him- 208 THE END OF A COIL. self with that," said Mrs. Copley. " But I suppose, that is one of the debts that you will pay, Dolly." Dolly forced herself to speak very quietly, though every nerve and fibre was trembling and quiver- ing. She said, " How, mother ? " "I suppose you know. Mr. St. Leger knows, at any rate; and your father too, it seems." " Mother," said Dolly, sitting up a little straight- er, "do you think I will pay debts in tJiat way ? " "What other way will you pay them then, child? what do you and your father expect? What can you do, if you have not the money?" Mrs. Copley spoke bitterly. Dolly waited a little, perhaps to bite down or swallow down some feeling. "Mother," she said, somewhat lower, "do you think father would want me to pay his debts so?" " Want to ? " echoed Mrs. Copley. " I tell you, Dolly, when people get into difficulties the question is not what they want to do. They have to pocket their likings, and eat humble pie. But how has your father got into difficulties?" she burst out with an expression of frightened distress. "He always had plenty. Dolly ! tell me ! what do you know about it ? what is it ? How could he get into difficulties ! if we had staid at home ! Dolly, how is it possible ? We have always had plenty money running like water all my life; and now, how could your father have got into difficulties?" DIFFICULTIES. 209 Perhaps the difficulty was but transient and would soon pass over, Dolly faintly suggested. " It don't look like it," said Mrs. Copley miser- ably, " and your father don't look like it. Here we are down in this desert, you and I, to keep us out of the way, and where we will cost as near nothing as can be ; and we can't pay that ! Do you know nothing about it, Dolly? how it has come about ? " " I couldn't ask father such a question, mother, you know." " And what is to become of me ! " Mrs. Copley went on; "when travelling is the thing I need. And what is to become of you, Dolly? Nobody to be seen, or to see you, but St. Leger. Have you made up your mind to be content with him ? Will you have him, Dolly? and is that the way your father is going to take care of you ? " Poor Mrs. Copley, having so long swallowed her troubles in secret, dreading to give pain to Dolly, now that her mouth was once opened poured them forth relentlessly. Why not? the subject was broached at last, and having spoken, she might go on to speak. And poor Dolly, full of her own anxieties, did not know where to begin, to quiet those of her mother. " Mr. St. Leger is nothing to me," she said how- ever, in answer to Mrs. Copley's last suggestions. "He thinks he is." " Then he is very foolish," said Dolly reddening. "It is you that are foolish, and you just do not 14 210 THE END OF A COIL. know any better. I don't think, Dolly, that it would be at all a bad thing for you ; perhaps it would be the very best; though I'd rather have you marry one of our own people; but St. Leger is rich, very rich, I suppose; and your father has got mixed up with them somehow, and I suppose that would settle everything. St. Leger is hand- some, too; he has a nice face; he has beautiful eyes; and he is a gentleman." " His face wants strength." "That's no matter. I begin to believe, Dolly, that you have wit enough for two." " I am not speaking of wit; I mean strength; and I should never like any man that hadn't it; not like him in the way you mean, mother." " Strength ? what sort of strength ? " "I mean manliness; power to do right; power over himself and others ; power over the wrong, to put it down, and over the right, to lift it up and give it play. I don't know that I can tell you what I mean, mother; but that is my notion of a mati." "You are romantic, I am afraid, Dolly. You have been reading novels too much." "What novels, mother? I have not read any, except Scott's and Miss Austen's and ' The Scottish Chiefs.'" "Well, you have got romantic ideas, I am afraid. Your talk sounds romantic. You won't find that sort of man." " I don't care," said Dolly. " But if I don't, I'll never marry any other sort." DIFFICULTIES. 211 "And that is a delusion too," said Mrs. Copley. " You will do just as other girls do. Nobody marries her fancy. And besides, St. Leger thinks he has got you; and I don't know but he and your father will manage it so. He don't ask my advice." Now this was not quite true; for the subject of Mr. St. Leger had been discussed more than once between Dolly's parents; though certainly Mrs. Copley did see that matters were out of her hand and beyond her guidance now. Dolly was glad to have the conversation turn to something else; but the several subjects of it hardly left her head any more. It is blessedly true, that at seventeen there is a powerful spring of elasticity in the mind, and an inexhaustible treasury of hope ; also it is true that Mrs. Copley was not wrong in her estimate of Dolly when she adjudged her to have plenty of "wit"; otherwise speaking, resources and acute- ness. That was all true; nevertheless Dolly's sev- enteen-year-old heart and head were greatly bur- dened with what they had to carry just now. Experience gave her no help, and the circum- stances forbade her to depend upon the experience of her mother. Mrs. Copley's nerves must not be excited. So Dolly carried her burden alone, and found it very heavy; and debated her questions with herself, and could find an answer to never a one of them. How should she give her mother the rest and distraction of travelling ? The doctor 212 THE END OF A COIL. said, and Dolly believed, that it would be the best thing for her. But she could not even get speech of her father to consult over the matter with him Mr. Copley was caught in embarrassments of his own, worse than nervous ones. What could Dolly do, to break him off from his present habits, those she knew and those she dimly feared ? Then when, as was inevitable, the image of Mr. St. Leger presented itself, as affording the readiest solution of all these problems, Dolly bounded back. Not iliat, of all possible outcomes of the present state of things. Dolly would neither be bought nor sold; would not in that way even be her parents' deliverer. She was sure she could not do that. What else could she do ? She carried these questions about with her, out into the garden, and up into her room; and many a hot tear she shed over them, when she could be long enough away from her mother to let the tears dry and the signs of them disappear before she met Mrs. Copley's eyes again. To her eyes Dolly was unfailingly bright and merry; a most sweet companion and most entertaining society; lively, talkative, and busy with endless plans for her mother's amusement. Meanwhile she wrote to her father, begging him to come down to Brier- ley; she said she wanted to talk to him. Three days after that letter came Lawrence St. Leger. Mr. Copley could not spare the time, he reported. "Spare the time from what?" Dolly asked. DIFFICULTIES. 213 " business, of course. It is always business." " What sort? Not consul business." "All sorts," said Lawrence. "He couldn't come. So he sent me. What is the thing, Miss Dolly? He said something was up." " I wanted to talk to my father," Dolly said coldly. "Won't I do?" " Not at all. I had business to discuss." " The journey, eh ? " "That was one thing " Dolly was obliged to allow. " Well, look here. About that, I've a plan. I think I can arrange it with Mr. Copley, if you and your mother would be willing to set off with me, and let Mr. Copley join us somewhere say at Baden Baden, or Venice, or where you like. He could come as soon as he was ready, you know." " But you know," said Dolly quietly, " I specially want him. Himself." "But then your mother wants the journey. She really does. The doctor says so, you know, and I think he's right. And Mr. Copley won't leave London just now. He could send his secretary, you know. That's all right." " I must see father, before I can do anything," said Dolly evasively. " I will write a letter for you to carry back to him. And I will go do it at once." " And I will take a look at what Peter is doing," said the young man. " Such fellows always want looking after." 214 THE END OF A COIL. Dolly had looked after Peter herself. She paused before an upper window in her way to her room, 'to cast a glance down into the garden. Old Peter was there, at some work she had set him ; and be- fore him stood Lawrence, watching him, and she supposed making remarks ; but at any rate, his air was the air of a master and of one very much at home. Dolly saw it, read it, stood still to read it, and turned from the window with her heart too full of vexation and perturbation to write her letter then. She felt a longing for somebody to talk to, even though she could by no means lay open all her case for counsel; the air of the house was too close for her; her breath could not be drawn free in that neighbourhood. She must see somebody; and no one had poor Dolly to go to but the house- keeper, Mrs. Jersey. Nobody, near or far. So she slipped out of the house and took a roundabout way to the great mansion. She dared not take a straight way and cross the bridge, lest she should be seen and followed; so she made a circuit, and got into the park woods only after some time of warm walking through lanes and over fields. Till then she had hurried; now, safe from interruption, she went slowly, and pondered what she was going to do or say. Pondered everything, and could not with all her thinking make the confusion less con- fusion. It was a warm, still, sultry day ; the turf was dry, the air was spicy under the great trees; shadow. and sunshine alternately crossed her path, or more correctly her path crossed them. A certain DIFFICULTIES. 215 sense of contrast smote her as she went. Around her were the tokens of a broad security, sheltering protection, quiet and immoveable possession, care- less wealth ; and within her a tumult of fear, uncer- tainty, exposure, and craving need. Life seemed a very unequal thing to the little American girl. Her step became slower. What was she going to say to Mrs. Jersey ? It was impossible to determine ^ , nevertheless Dolly felt that she must see her and speak to her. That was a necessity. Through the trees she caught at last sight of the grand old house. The dog knew her by this time and she did not fear him. She found the house- keeper busy with some sewing and glad to welcome her. Mrs. Jersey was that always. To-day she looked a little closer than usual at her visiter, dis- cerning that Dolly's mind was not jiist in its wonted poise. And besides, she loved to look at her. Yet it is not easy to describe that for which our eyes seek and dwell upon a face or form. It is easy to say brown eyes and lightly curled, waving, beautiful hair; but hair is beautiful in different ways, and so faces. Can we put Dolly's charm into words ? Mrs. Jersey saw a delicate, graceful, active figure, to begin with; delicate without any suspicion of weakness; active in little quick, gra- cious movements, which it was fascinating to watch ; and when not in motion, lovely in its childlike un- consciousness of repose. Her hair was exceedingly beautiful, not on account of its mass or colour so much as for the great elegance of its growth and 216 THE END OF A COIL. curly arrangement or disarrangement around the face and neck; and the face was a blending of womanly and childlike. It could seem by turns most of the one or most of the other; but the clear eyes had at all times a certain deep inwardness, along with their bright, intelligent answer to the moment's impression, and also a certain innocent outlook, which was very captivating. And then, at a moment's notice, Dolly's face from being grave and thoughtful, would dimple all up with some flash of fun, and make you watch its change back to gravity again, with an intensified sense both of its merry and of its serious charm. She smiled at Mrs. Jersey now as she came in, but the house- keeper saw that the eyes had more care in their thoughtfulness than she was accustomed to see in them. " And how is the mother, dear ? " she asked, when Dolly had drawn up a chair and sat down ; for they were grown familiar friends by this time. " She is not getting on much, Mrs. Jersey. I wanted to talk to you about her. The doctor says travelling would be the best thing." " And you will go and travel ? Where will you go?" " I don't know yet whether we can go anywhere. Mother wants to go." Dolly looked out hard into the tree groups on the lawn. They barred the vision. " That is one sign then that the doctor is right," said Mrs. Jersey. " It is good for sick folks to have what they like." DIFFICULTIES. 217 " Isn't it good for people that are not sick ? " "Sometimes," said Mrs. Jersey smiling. "But sometimes not; or else the good Lord would let them have it, when he does not let them. What are you wanting, Miss Dolly ? " " I want everything different from what it is just now ! " said Dolly, the tears starting to her eyes. The housekeeper was moved with a great sympa- thy ; sympathy that was silent at first. " Can I help ? " she asked. " Maybe you can help with your counsel," said Dolly, brushing her hand over her eyes; "that is what I came here for to-day. I wanted to speak to somebody; and I have nobody but you, Mrs. Jersey." " Your mother, my dear ? " "I can't worry mother." " True. You are right. Well, my dear ? What do you want counsel about ? " "It is very difficult to tell you. I don't know if I can. I will try. One thing. Mrs. Jersey, is it right sometimes, is it a girl's duty ever, to sacri- fice herself for her parents ? ". The housekeeper had not expected this form of dilemma, and hesitated a few minutes. " Sacrifice herself how, Miss Dolly ? " "Marrying, for instance." " Marrying somebody she does not care for ? " "Yes." " How 'for her parents'?" " Suppose I am just supposing, suppose he has 218 THE END OF A COIL. money, and they haven't. Suppose, for instance, they are in difficulties, and by her sacrificing her- self she can put them out of difficulty? Such a case might be, you know." "Often has been; or at least people have thought so. But Miss Dolly, where is a young lady's first duty?" "To God, of course; her first duty." "And next after God ? " " To her parents, I suppose." " And besides her parents ? " "I don't know; nobody, I think." " Let us see. She owes something to herself." " Does she ? " " And do you not think she owes something to the other party concerned? don't you think she owes something to the gentleman she is to marry?" " Yes of course," said Dolly slowly. " I do not know exactly what, though; nor exactly what she owes to herself." " Before taking any course of action, in a matter that is very important, shouldn't she look all round the subject ? and see what will become of all these duties ? " " Certainly. But the first comes first." "The first comes first. How does the first look to you ? " "The first is her duty to God." " Well. What does her duty to God say? " " I don't know," said Dolly very gravely. " I am all in a puzzle. Something in me says one thing, DIFFICULTIES. 219 and something else in me cries out against it. Mrs. Jersey, the Bible says, ' Honour thy father and thy mother.'" "Yes, and it says, 'Children, obey your parents.' But the next words that come after, are 'in the Lord:" "How is that?" " So as you can without failing in your duty to him." " Can duties clash ? " "No," said the housekeeper smiling; "for, as you said, ' the first comes first.' " " I do not understand," said Dolly. " It is my duty to obey his word; and his word says, obey them." " Only not when their command or wish goes against his." "Well, how would this?" said Dolly. "Suppose they wish me to marry somebody, and my doing so would be very good for them ? The Bible says, ' Love seeks not her own.' " " Most true," said the housekeeper, watching the tears that suddenly stood in Dolly's bright eyes. " But it says some other things." " What, Mrs. Jersey ? Do make it clear to me if you can. I am all in a muddle." " My dear, I am not a very good hand to explain what I mean. But do you not think you owe it both to yourself and to God, not to do what would blast your life ? you cannot serve him so well with a blasted life." 220 THE END OF A COIL. "It seems to me," said Dolly, speaking slowly, " I have a right to give up my own happiness. I do not see the wrong of it." "In anything else," said the housekeeper. "In anything else, my dear ; only not in marriage ! My dear, it is not simply giving up one's happiness; it is a long torture ! No, you owe it to yourself; for in that way you could never grow to be what you might be. My dear, I have seen it tried. I have known a woman who married so, thinking that it would not matter so much; she fulfilled life's du- ties nobly, she was a good wife and mother and friend ; but when I asked her once, after she had told me her story, how life had been to her? I shall never forget how she turned to me and said, ' It has been a hell upon earth ! ' Miss Dolly, no good father and mother would buy anything at such a price; and no man that really loved a woman would have her at such a price ; and so, if you fol- low the rule, 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them' you will never marry in that way." There was a little silence, and then Dolly said in an entirely changed tone, "You have cleared up the mist, Mrs. Jersey." " Then there is another thing," the housekeeper went on. She heard the change in Dolly's voice, out of which the anxiety had suddenly vanished, but she was willing to make assurance doubly sure. " Did you ever think what a woman owes to the man she marries ? " DIFFICULTIES. 221 " I never thought about it," said Dolly. " What a man asks for, is that she will marry him." How Dolly's cheeks flamed up. But she was very seri- ous, and the housekeeper if possible yet more so. " Miss Dolly, she owes him the best love of her heart, after that she gives to God." " I don't see how she can," said Dolly. " I do not see how she can love him so well as her father and mother." " He expects it though, and has a right to it. And unless a woman can give it, she cannot be a true wife. She makes a false vow at the altar. And unless she do love him so, it may easily hap- pen that she will find somebody afterwards that she will like better than her husband. And then, all is lost." " After she is married ? " said Dolly. " Perhaps after she has been married for years. If she has not married the right man, she may find him when she cannot marry him." " But that is dreadful ! " cried Dolly. " The world is a pretty mixed-up place," said the housekeeper. "I want your way to be straight and clear, Miss Dolly." There was a pause again, at the end of which Dolly repeated, " Thank you, Mrs. Jersey. You have cleared up the mist for me." "I hear it in your voice," said her friend smiling. " It has got its clear sweet ring again. Is all the trouble disposed of?" "Oh no !" said Dolly, a shadow crossing her face 222 THE END OF A COIL. anew; "but I am relieved of one great perplexity. That was not all my trouble; I cannot tell you all I wish I could ! One thing, I want to see my father dreadfully, to talk to him about mother's going travelling; and I cannot get sight of him. He stays in London. And time is flying." " Write " said the housekeeper. "01 have written. And I have sent messages. I would go up to London myself but I cannot go alone." " Miss Dolly," said the housekeeper after a min- ute's thought, " perhaps I can help here too. I have to go up to London for a few days, and was thinking to go next week. If you will trust your- self to me, I will take you, and take care of you." Dolly was overjoyed at this suggestion. A lit- tle more conversation to settle preliminaries and particulars, and Dolly set off on her way home with a much lightened heart. " Ah me ! " thought the housekeeper as she stood at the door looking after her, "how hard we do make it for each other in this world ! " CHAPTER XV. THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. T3EFORE Dolly had reached home she was joined -D by Mr. St. Leger. He was still in the park. " Have you been for a walk ? " said he in aston- ished fashion. " I suppose that would be a natural conclusion," said Dolly. She spoke easily; it rejoiced her to find how easily she could now meet Mr. St. Leger. Yet the game was not all played out, either. " Why didn't you let me know, that I might go along? " he went on. "That was not in my purpose," rejoined Dolly lightly. " That is very unkind, Dolly." " Truth is never unkind." "Yes indeed, it may be; it is now." " Would you like falsehood better ? " "You need not be false." " I must be either false or true, must I not ? Which would you rather have, Mr. St. Leger ? " "It would be no good, my choosing," said he with a half laugh; "for you would never give me anything but absolute truth, I know. I believe 224 THE END OF A COIL. that is one of your attractions, Dolly. All other girls put on something, and a fellow never can tell what he is served to, the dish is spiced so cleverly. But you are like a piece of game, with no flavour but your own ; and that is wild enough, and rare enough too." "Mr. St. Leger," said Dolly gravely, "you ought to study rhetoric.'' " Have. Why ? " " I am afraid that last speech was rather mixed up." "Look here, I wish you'd call me Lawrence. We know each other quite well enough." " Is that the custom in your country ? " " It is going to be your country, as well. You need not speak in that fashion." " I am thinking of leaving the country," Dolly went on unconcernedly. "Mother is longing to travel; and I am going to bring it about." " I have tried Mr. Copley on that subject, I as- sure you." " I shall try now, and do it." "Think so? Then we will consult about plans and routes again this evening. Mrs. Copley likes that almost as well as the thing itself. For Dolly, you cannot get along without me." Which assertion Dolly left uncontroverted. A few days after Lawrence had gone back to town was the time for Mrs. Jersey's journey. Dolly told her mother her plan ; and after a deal of doubts and fears and arguings on Mrs. Copley's THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 225 part, it was finally agreed to. It seemed the hope- fullest thing to do; and Mrs. Copley could be left well enough with the servants for a few days. So early one morning Mrs. Jersey called for her, and Dolly with a beating heart kissed her mother and went off. Some business reasons occasioned the house- keeper to make the journey in a little covered carriage belonging to the house, instead of taking the public post coach. It was all the pleasanter for Dolly, being entirely private and quiet ; though the time consumed was longer. They were then in the end of summer; the weather was delicious and warm ; the country rich in flowers and grain fields and ripening i'ruit. Dolly at first was full of delight, the change anc^ the novelty were BO wel- come, and the country through which they drove was so exceeding lovely. Nevertheless, as the day went by there began to creep over her a strange feeling of loneliness; a feeling of being out on the journey of life all by herself and left to her own skill and resources. It was not the journey to London ; for that she was well accom- panied and provided; it was the real undertaking upon which she had set out, the goal of which was not London but her father. To find her father not only, but to keep him; to prevent his being lost to himself, lost to her mother, to life, and to her. Could she? Or was she embarked on an enterprize beyond her strength? A weak girl ; what was she, to do so much ! It grew and 15 226 THE END OF A COIL. pressed upon her, this feeling of being alone and busy with a work too great for her; till gradually the lovely country, through which she was passing ceased to be lovely ; it might have been a wilder- ness, for all its cheer or promise to her. Dolly had talked at first, in simple, gleeful, girlish pleas- ure; little by little her words grew fewer, her eye lost its glad life; until she sat back, withdrawn into herself, and spoke no more unless spoken to. The housekeeper noticed the change, saw and read the abstracted, thoughtful look that had tak- en place of the gay, interested delight of the morn- ing. She perceived that Dolly had serious work on hand, of some sort; and she longed to help her. For the fair, sweet, womanly thoughtfulness was as lofty and lovely in its way, as the childlike simplicity of enjoyment before had been bewitch- ing. She was glad when the day's ride came to an end. The stoppage was made at a little wayside inn ; a low building of grey stone, overgrown with ivy and climbing roses, with a neatly kept bit of grass in front. Here Dolly's interest and delight awoke ' again. This was something unlike all she had ever seen. Simple and plain enough the inn was; stone flooring and wooden furniture of heavy and an- cient pattern made it that; but at the same time it was substantial, comfortable, neat as wax, and with a certain air of well-to-do thrift which was very pleasant. Mrs. Jersey was known here and warmly received. The travellers were shewn into a cosy THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 227 little room, brown wainscoted, and with a great jar of flowers in the chimney ; and here the cloth was immediately laid for their dinner, or supper. For the supper itself they had to wait a little; and after putting off her bonnet and refreshing herself in an inner room, Dolly sat down by one of the small windows. The day was declining. Slant sunbeams shot across a wide plain and threw long shadows from the trees. The trees, especially those overhanging the inn, were old and large and fine; the lights and shadows were moveless, calm, peace- ful; one or two neighbouring fields were stocked with beautiful cattle; and a flock of geese went waddling along over the green. It was removed from all the scenes of Dolly's experience; as unlike them as her being there alone was unlike the rest of her life ; in the strangeness there was this time an element of relief. " How beautiful the world is, Mrs. Jersey ! " she remarked. " You find it so here ? " answered her friend. " Why yes, I do. Don't you ? " "I suppose I am spoiled, Miss Dolly, by being accustomed to Brierley." " O this is not Brierley ! but I am not comparing them. This is very pretty, Mrs. Jersey ! Why Mrs. Jersey, you don't despise a daisy because it isn't a rose ! " "No," said her friend; "but I suppose I cannot see the daisy when the rose is by." She was look- ing at Dolly. 228 THE END OF A COIL. "Well," said Dolly, "the rose is not by; and I like this very much. What a neat house! and what a pleasant sort of comfort there is about everything. I would not have missed this, Mrs. Jersey, for a good deal." "I am glad, Miss Dolly. I was thinking you were not taking much good of your day's ride the latter part." Dolly was silent, looking out now somewhat so- berly upon the smiling scene; then she jumped up and threw off her gravity, and came to the sup- per table. It was spread with exquisite neatness, and appetizing nicety. Dolly found herself hun- gry. If but her errand to London had been of a less serious and critical character, she could have greatly enjoyed the adventure and its picturesque circumstances. With the elastic strength of seven- teen however, she did enjoy it, even so. " How good you are to me, Mrs. Jersey ! " she said, after the table was cleared and the two were sitting in the falling twilight. The still peace outside and inside the house had found its way to Dolly's heart. There was the brooding hush of the summer evening, marked, not broken, by sounds of insects or lowing of cattle and the voices of farm servants attending to their work. It was yet bright outside, though the sun had long gone down; inside the house shades were gathering. "I wish I could be good to you, Miss Dolly," was the housekeeper's answer. "0 you are ! I do not know what in the world I THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 229 should have done, if you had not let me go with you to London now." " What can I do for you when we get there ? " " nothing ! thank you." "You know exactly where to go and what to do?" " I shall take a cab and go let me see, yes, to father's rooms. If I do not find him there, I must go to his office." " In the city ? " " Yes. Will that be very far from your house ? Why yes, of course ; we shall be at the West End. Well, all the same, near or far, I must see my father." " You must be so good as to let me go in the cab with you," said Mrs. Jersey. " I cannot let you drive all about London alone by yourself." " thank you ! " said Dolly again, with an un- doubted accent of relief. " But " That sentence remained unfinished. Dolly med- itated. So did the housekeeper. She was wise enough to see that all was not exactly clear and fair in her young friend's path ; of what nature the trouble might be she could only surmise. " What if Mr. Copley should not be in London ? " she ventured. " he must be. At least he was there a very few days ago. He never is away from London, except when he goes to visit somewhere." "It is coming towards the time now when the gentlemen go down into the country to shoot." 230 THE END OF A COIL. " Father does not care for shooting. I mean to get him to go to Venice instead, with mother and me." " Suppose you should fail in that plan, Miss Dol- ly ? is your business done then ? " " No. O no ! " said Dolly, for a moment cover- ing her face with her hands. " Mrs. Jersey, if I could not manage that, 1 do not know what I should do ! " Dolly's voice had a premonition of despair. " But I guess I can do it," she added with a re- sumption of cheerfulness. And she talked on from that time merrily of other things. When they arrived in London next day, it was already too late for Dolly to do anything. She was fain to let Mrs. Jersey lodge her and feast her and pet her to her heart's content. She was put in a pretty room in the great house ; she was enter- tained royally, as far as the viands went; and in every imaginable way the housekeeper was care- fully kind. Well for Dolly; who needed all the help of kindness and care. The whole long day she had been brooding on what she had to do, and trying to imagine how things would be. Without data, that is a specially wearisome occupation; in- asmuch as one may imagine anything, and there is nothing to contradict the most extravagant spec- ulations. Dolly's head and heart were tired by the time night came, and her nerves in an excited condition, to which Mrs. Jersey's ministrations and the interest of the place gave a welcome relief. Dolly tried to put off thought. But everything pressed upon her, now that she was so near seeing THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 231 her father; and seventeen-years-old felt as if it had a great load on its young shoulders. "Mrs. Jersey," she began, after supper, "you are quite sure that it is never right for a girl to sacri- fice herself for the sake of benefiting her parents?" "In the way of marrying a man she does not love? Miss Dolly, a Christian man would never have a young lady marry him on those terms." " Suppose he is not a Christian man ? " "Then he may be selfish enough to do it. But in that case, Miss Dolly, a Christian woman can have nothing to say to him." "Why not? She might bring him to be Chris- tian, you know." " That isn't the Lord's way, Miss Dolly." " What is his way, then?" "You will find it in the sixth chapter of II Cor- inthians. ' Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.' " " But that means " " It says Miss Dolly ; it says, do not be yoked up with one who is not following the Lord ; neither in marriage, nor in business. Two oxen in a yoke, Miss Dolly, have to pull the same way; and if they don't want to, the weakest must go with the strongest." " But might riot the Christian one be the strong- est?" "His disobeying the Lord's command just shews he isn't that." Dolly let the subject drop. She took a little 232 THE END OF A COIL. cushion and sat down by her friend's side and laid her head in her lap; and they sat so a while, Mrs. Jersey looking fondly down upon the very lovely bright head on her knees, and marvelling sorrow- fully at the fathers and mothers who prepare trouble for such tender and delicate creatures as their young daughters. The next morning she admired her charge under a new view of her. Dolly appeared at breakfast with a calm, measured manner, which, if it were iu part the effect of great pressure upon her spirits, had at the same time the grace of a very finished breeding. Mrs. Jersey looked and admired, and wondered too. How had the little American got this air ? She could not put it on herself; but she had seen her mistresses in the great world wear it ; a certain unconscious, disengaged dignity which sat marvellously well upon the gracious softness and young beauty of this little girl. The breakfast was rather silent. The drive, which they entered upon immediately after, was almost wholly so. Mrs. Jersey, true to her prom- ise, let her own affairs wait, and accompanied her young friend. Dolly had changed her plan, and went now first to Mr. Copley's office in the city. It was the hour when he should be there, and to go to his lodging would have taken them out of the way. So they drove the long miles from Grosvenor Square to the American consul's office. Dolly's mood was eager and hopeful now; yet with too much pressure to allow of her talking. THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 233 The cab stopped opposite the entrance of a nar- row covered way between two walls of houses. Following this narrow passage, Mrs. Jersey and Dolly emerged into a little court, very small, on one side of which two or three steps led to the American consul's offices. The first one they en- tered was full of people, waiting to see the consul or parleying with one or another of the clerks. Dolly left Mrs. Jersey there to wait for. her, and herself went on into the inner room, her father's special private office. In those days the office of American consul was of far more importance and dignity than to-day; and this room was a tolerably comfortable one and respectably furnished. Here however her father was not; and it imme- diately struck Dolly that he had not been there very lately. How she gathered this impression is less easy to tell, for she could hardly be said to see distinctly any one of the characters in Avhich the fact was written. She did not know that dust lay thick on his writing table, and that even the pa- pers piled there were brown with it; she did not know that the windows were fastened down this warm day, nor that an arm chair which usually stood there for the accommodation of visiters was gone, having been slipped into the outer office by an ease-loving clerk. It was a general air of for- sakenness, visible in these and in yet slighter signs, which struck Dolly's sense. She stood a moment, bewildered, hoping against sense, as it were; then turned about. As she turned she was 234 THE END OF A COIL. met by a young man who had followed her in from the outer office. Dolly faced him. " Where is Mr. Copley ? " "He ain't here." The Yankee accents of home were unmistakeable. " I see he is not here ; but where is he ? " " Couldn't say, reelly. 'Spect he's to his place. We don't ginerally expect ladies at this time o' day, or I guess he'd ha' ben on hand." The clerk grinned at Dolly's beauty, the like of which to be sure was not often seen anywhere at that, or any other, time of day. " When was Mr. Copley here, sir ? " " Couldn't say. Tairi't very long, nother. Was you wantin' to see him on an a'pintment? " " No. I am Miss Copley. Where can I find my father ? Please tell me as quick as you can." " Sartain ef I kiiowed it. Now I wisht I did ! Mr. Copley, he comes and he goes, and he don't tell me which way; and there it is, you see." "Where is Mr. St. Leger?" " Mr. Silliger ? Don't know the gentleman. Likely Mr. Copley doos. But he ain't here to say. Mebbe it ud be a good plan to make a note of it. That's what Mr. Copley allays says ; ' make a note of it.' " "You do not know, sir, perhaps, whether Mr. Copley is in London ? " " He was in London 'taint very long ago, for he was in this here office, and I see him ; but that warn't yesterday, and it warn't the day before. THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 235 Where he's betaken himself between whiles, ain't known to mo. Shall I make a note, miss ? against he comes ? " " No," said Dolly turning away ; " no need. And no use." She rejoined Mrs. Jersey and they went back to the carriage. "He is not there," she said excitedly; "and he has not been there for several days. We must go to his lodgings all the way back almost ! " " Never mind," said the housekeeper. "We have the day before us." " It is almost twelve," said Dolly, looking at her watch. " Before we get there it will be one. I am a great deal of trouble to you, I fear, Mrs. Jer- sey; more than I meant to be." " My dear, it's no trouble. I am happy to be of any use to you. What sort of a chain is that you wear, Miss Dolly ? " "Curious isn't it?" said Dolly. "It was given me long ago. It is woven of threads of a ship cable." " It is a beautiful chain," said her friend, ex- amining it admiringly. " But that is very clever, Miss Dolly ! I should never fancy it was a piece of cable. Is there an anchor anywhere ? " " No," said Dolly laughing. " Though I am not sure," she added thoughtfully. " My memory goes back along this chain a great way; back to the time when I was a little girl, quite little, and very happy at school and with a dear aunt, whom I 236 THE END OF A COIL. lived with then. And back there at the end of the chain are all those pleasant images; and one most beautiful day, when we went to visit a ship ; a great man of war. A most beautiful day ! " Dol- ly repeated with the accent of loving recollection. "And you brought back a piece of cable from the ship, and braided this?" " No, O no ! I did not do it ; I could not. It was done for me." " By a friend's fingers." "Yes, I suppose you may say so," said Dolly; "though it is a friend I have never seen since then. I suppose I never shall. But I always wear the chain. O how long that seems ago ! Is child- hood the happiest time of a person's life, Mrs. Jersey ? " " Maybe I might say yes. Miss Dolly ; but if I did, I should mean, not what you mean. I should mean the little-child life that one can have when one is old. When the heart says, 'Not my will, but thine' when it says, 'Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.' You know, the Master said, ' Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.'" "I don't believe I am just as much of a child, then, as I used to be," remarked Dolly. " Get back to it, my dear, as fast as you can." " But when one isrit a child, things are so differ- ent. It is easy to trust and give up, for a child's things; but when one is a woman " " It is just the same, dear Miss Dolly ! Our THE CONSUL'S OFFICE. 237 great affairs, they are but child's matters to the Lord's eyes. The difference is in ourselves when our hearts get proud, and our self-will gets up." " I wish I could be like a child now," said Dolly from the depths of her heart. " I feel as if I were carrying the whole family on my shoulders, and as if I must do it." " You cannot, my dear ! Your shoulders will break. 'Casting your care upon him,' the Bible says, 'for he careth for you.'" "One does not see him " said Dolly with her eyes very full. "Faith can see," the housekeeper returned; and then there was a long silence ; while the carriage rattled along over the streets, and threaded its way through the throng of business, or bread- seekers or pleasure-seekers. So many people ! Dolly wondered if every one of them carried his secret burden of care, as she was doing; and if they were, she wondered how the world lived on and bore the multitudinous strain. O to be a child, in the full, blessed sense of the term ! CHAPTER XVI. A FIGHT. THE cab stopped, and Dolly's heart gave a great thump against her ribs. What was she afraid of? Mrs. Jersey said she would wait in the cab, and Dolly applied herself to the door knocker. A ser- vant came, a stupid one seemingly. " Is Mr. Copley at home ? " " I dunno." " Will you find out, please." "Jemima, who's that?" called a voice of author- ity from behind the scenes. " Somebody arter the gentleman, mum. I dunno, is he in his room." The owner of the voice came forward; a portly, respectable landlady. She surveyed Dolly, glanced at the cab, became very civil, invited Dolly in, and sent the maid upstairs to make inquiries, declaring she did not know herself whether the gentleman were out or in. Dolly would not sit down. The girl brought down word that Mr. Copley was not out of his bedroom yet. " I went in the parlour, mum, and knocked, mum ; and 1 might as well ha' axed my broom, mum." "I'll go up," said Dolly hastily; and waiting for A FIGHT. 239 no answer, she brushed past landlady and maid and ran up the stairs. Then paused. " Which rooms ? on the first floor? " The woman of the house came bustling after her up the stairs and opened the door of a sitting room. It was very comfortably furnished. "You couldn't go wrong, ma'am," she said civilly " I 'ave no one in my rooms at this present, ex- cept Mr. Copley. I suppose you are his daughter, ma'am ? " " His daughter " Dolly repeated, standing still and facing the landlady, and keeping down all out- ward expression of the excitement which was con- suming her. She knew she kept it down ; she faced the woman steadily and calmly, and the landlady was more and more humbly civil. "Mr. Copley is not ill ? " Dolly went on. " dear no, ma'am ! not to call Jiitt. Mr. Cop- ley is in enjoyment of very good 'ealth; as I 'ave occasion to know, ma'am, who cooks his meals for him. I can allers tell by that. When a gentle- man, or a lady, 'as good taste for their victuals, I think it's no 'arm if they sleeps a little long in the morning; it's a trifle onconvenient to the 'ouse, it may be, when things is standing roun' but it's good for theirselves, no doubt, and satisfying and they'll be ready for their breakfast w,hen they comes li'out. And shall I wake Mr. Copley for you, ma'am ? It's time for him, to be sure." " Thank you, no ; you need not do anything. I will sit here and wait a little." 240 THE END OF A COIL. "And Mr. Copley's coffee'll be ready for him, ma'am, when he's ready for h'it. Mr. Copley, he sets a good deal by his coffee, and likes it made particular, and he gets it made particular. Didn't Mr. Copley tell you, ma'am, as his coffee was sat- isfactory ? " " I dare say it is," said Dolly; "and I will ring for it when my father wants it. You may leave me; I will wait here." The landlady had been going round the room, picking up a bit of paper here and wiping her apron over a table there, the while taking a careful view of Dolly and examining her all over. Dolly's fig- ure and manner were irreproachable ; and with re- newed proffers of service, the woman at last, hav- ing no choice, left the room. Dolly stood still a moment then, collecting herself and looking at the situation. Past one o'clock, and her father not out of his room. That was not like any of his habits, as she knew them ; and Dolly stood with the shad- ow of a nameless fear falling across her spirit. Nameless, and formless; she did not discern it clearly or attempt to examine it; the mere shad- ow of it chilled her to the bone. She stood think- ing, and trembling. Not at his office for several days, though business must be calling for him ; not out of his room at one o'clock in the afternoon, though all his old simple home habits were op- posed to such a waste of daylight. Should she try to arouse him ? Dolly did try, after a little while ; for she could not bear the still waiting ; she A FIGHT. 241 knocked at the inner door ; but she got no response. Then she went down to Mrs. Jersey at the cab, and told her the state of the case, begging her to go away and not wait any longer. She must wait, and it was impossible to say how long. "Miss Dolly, does your father often rise so late?" " They say so. Pie never used, but it seems he does now." " It's the way with a many," said the house- keeper. "Never mind me, my dear. I'll wait here, or if I get tired of that, I will come in and sit with the landlady. I shall not leave you." Inwardly thankful, Dolly went back to her post and sat down and looked around her. She could tell nothing by the room or its contents. Both were nice enough; there was a slight smell of cigars, that was all to find fault with. Dolly waited. The stillness grew dreadful. To seven- teen years old the first trouble comes hard; albeit seventeen years old has also a great fund of spirit and strength to meet and conquer trouble. But what was the trouble here? It was not the un- usual scantiness of means; that could soon be made right, if other things were not wrong which wrought to cause it. On the other hand, if her father had fallen irreparably into bad habits Dolly would not admit the "irreparably" into her thoughts. But it was bitter to her that children should ever have to find their parents in the wrong ; dreadful to have occasion to be ashamed of them. She knew, if her case proved such a one, it would 16 242 THE END OF A COIL. be only one of a great many; she had read of such things, although chiefly among another class of people who were of coarser habits and duller natures, and if they fell had less distance to fall to get to the lowest level of society. But her father ! Dolly cowered with her head down upon the back of a chair, and a cry in her heart calling upon his name. Her father? could she have to blush for him? All her nature revolted against it; the thought came over her as a thick black cloud, so thick that for the moment light was banished from all her little landscape. how can fathers do such things ! and how can daughters live under them ! Death might be borne easier; but disgrace? Death would leave the loved one still her own; disgrace seemed to have a power of annihilation. Still, Dolly knew not that such trou- ble was really come upon her; alas, she did know too well that the fear of it had. And what a descent did that alone imply ! She raised her head again, and sat with dry eyes and a beating heart, waiting. At last she was sure she heard some movement in the inner room. She heard the click of things that were moved; the fall of a chair that was knocked over, sounds of steps. Finally the door opened, and Mr. Copley appeared on the threshold. The sight of him smote his daughter. His dress was carelessly thrown on; that was not so very re- markable, for Mr. Copley never was an exact man in matters of the toilet. It was not merely that. A FIGHT. 243 But Dolly's eye saw that his step was unsteady, his face dull and flushed, and his eye had a look which even a very little experience understands. His air was haggard, spiritless, hopeless; so unlike the alert, self-sufficient, confident manner of old, that Dolly's heart got a great wrench. And some- thing in the whole image was so inexpressibly pitiful to her, that she did the very last thing it had been in her purpose to do; she fled to him with one bound, threw herself on his breast, and burst into a heartbreak of tears. Poor Mr. Copley was greatly startled and sorely perplexed. He had not been prepared to see his daughter; and though miserably conscious that he offered ground enough himself for Dolly's passion, he could not yet be sure that it concerned him. It might be wrought by some other cause; and in sore dismay and uncertainty he was not able to bring out a word of question. Dolly sobbed, and sobbed ; and putting her arms up around his neck strained him in an embrace that was most pitifully longing and tender. Mr. Copley felt the pitiful- ness; he did not know what it meant. It was not till Dolly had released him and was trying to dry her eyes that he brought out a question. "What's the matter with you, Dolly?" Dolly heard the thick and lumbering accent of his words, and burst forth in a despairing cry. " O father, wha*t is the matter with you ? " , " I'm all right," said poor Mr. Copley. " I'm all right. What are you here for ? " 244 THE END OF A COIL. " I wanted to see you. Why did you never come down? You haven't been near us." "I was coming hindered always I was com- ing, Dolly. How's your mother ? " Dolly made a great effort after voice and calmness. " She is well I mean, she is no worse than usual. Will you have your coffee, father ? " But Dolly's voice choked with a sob. Mr. Cop- ley looked at her in a helpless kind of way and made no answer. Dolly rang the bell. " How a how did you get here ? " was the next question, put in evident embarrassment. "You wouldn't come to Brierley, father; so I had to come to London. I came with a friend." " St. Leger ? " " St. Leger ! No, indeed. I came with a very nice friend, who took good care of me. Now here's your breakfast." Dolly was glad of the chance to get upon com- mon everyday ground, till her breath should be free again. She helped arrange the dishes; dis- missed the maid; poured out Mr. Copley's coffee and served him. " Better take some yourself, Dolly. Had your breakfast ? Let Mrs. Bunce do you another chop." Dolly at first said no; but presently felt that she was faint and exhausted, and agreed to the sug- gestion. She rang for another cup and plate, and ordered the chop. Meanwhile Mr. Copley drank coffee and made a poor hand of the rest of his breakfast. A FIGHT. 245 " What did you come up for, Dolly ? " "To see you, sir." "You might have waited for that." "But how long? I had waited." " What's up ? if your mother's well." " 1 wanted to talk to you, father, and I couldn't do it in letters; because there the talking was all on one side, and I wanted to hear what you would say." " Why, didn't I answer you ? " "No, sir." " Well, what do you want, Dolly ? " " I want a great deal, father. Wait, please, till I get my chop ; for I cannot talk to you till I do." " ' 111 talking between a full man and a fasting,' eh ? Well, here's your breakfast." It was only the bespoken cup and plate, how- ever, and Mr. Copley had to wait longer. It came at last, the chop; and till it came Dolly said no more. Her father watched her, and watched her, and could not take his eyes off her. The flush on her cheek and t*he sparkle in her eye, the moisture still lingering on her eyelashes, how sweet she was ! and how indefinably lovely ! Dolly had grown into a woman; she had the presence and poise that belong to" a high-bred woman ; and yet she had not lost her girlhood nor grown out of its artless graces; and as Mr. Copley looked he saw now and then a very childlike trembling of the under lip. It troubled his heart. He had been very uncomfortable ever since his meeting with 246 THE END OF A COIL. his daughter; the discomfort began now to de- velope into the stings and throes of positive pain. What was she there for? whence had come that agony of tears ? and why when those tears were pouring from her eyes did her soft arm clasp him so ? did she want help from him ? or for him ? Mr. Copley grew extremely uneasy; restless and fidget- ing. Dolly eat her chop and her potatoe, needing it I fancy; and perhaps she wanted to gain time too. Mr. Copley had no appetite. He had none to begin with, and certainly Dolly's appearance had not given him what he had not before. " You don't make much of a breakfast, father," Dolly observed. "Never do," he returned. "No time to eat, when a man has just got up. A cup of coffee is the only thing. The French way is the best." "You did not use to be up so late, in the old " Don't think it's the best time either ; but you must do as the rest of the world do; swim with the what is it? swim with the current." " How if the current goes the wrong way ? " " Can't help yourself; you must go along, if you are in it." Dolly was silent, finishing her luncheon. She eat fast and hurriedly. Then she pushed her chair away and came round and sat upon her father's knee; laying one arm round his neck and looking into his face. " Father," she said in her clear, musical voice, A FIGHT. 247 sweet as a bird's notes," father, suppose we get out of the current ? " " What current do you mean ? It makes a great confusion to try to have your meals at a diiferent hour from the rest of the world." " I don't mean that, father." " What have you come up to town for ? " " To see about it " said Dolly with a smile that dimpled her cheeks most charmingly, and covered the anxiety she did not want to shew. "To see about what? Dolly, you are grown a woman." " Yes, father." " And, I declare you're a beautiful woman, child. It's time we were thinking of getting you married." " You're not in a hurry, are you, father ? " "In a hurry?" said Mr. Copley gazing at her admiringly. " Why yes. I want you to be mar- ried while you can choose your place in the world, and enjoy it when you have got it. And you can choose now, Dolly." "What, sir?"' " Your husband." " But father ! " cried Dolly, while her cheeks covered themselves with the most brilliant roses, " I cannot choose what is not presented to my choice." "No, child; take what is. That's what I am thinking of. Good enough too. Don't you like the ticket you've drawn?" " Father," said Dolly, turning the tables now on 248 THE END OF A COIL. her side, and laying her face in his neck, " I wish you would have nothing to do with lotteries or gaming ! " " I have nothing to do with lotteries, child." " But with gaming ? " "What put such a thing into your head?" Dolly hesitated, strained him a little closer in her embrace, and did not answer directly. " Father, I wish you would ! " "What folly are you talking, Dolly?" gaid Mr. Copley angrily. " You are meddling with what you do not understand." But Dolly only clung closer, and having once broken the ice would not now give back. She must speak now. "Father," she said, half sobbing, yet command- ing the sobs down, " we are getting ruined. We are losing each other. Mother and I live alone we do not see you we are poor we have not money to pay our dues mother is not getting bet- ter and I am breaking my heart about her, and about you. father, let us come and live together again." Dolly got no answer to this outburst, and hardly was conscious that she got none, she was so eagerly trying to swallow down the emotion which threat- ened to master her voice. Mr. Copley had no an- swer ready. " Father," Dolly began again, " mother wants to travel; she wants to go to Venice. Suppose we go ? " A FIGHT. 249 "Can't travel without money, Dolly. You say we haven't any." " Would it cost more to travel than to live as we are living ? " " You say we cannot do that." " Father, do you say so ? " " I am merely repeating your statements, Dol- ly, to shew you how like a child you talk." "Answer me as if I were a child then, father, and tell me what we can do. But dorit let us go on living as we are doing ! " " I thought I had done the very best thing possible for your mother, when I got her that place down at I forget what's the name of the place." "Brierley." " I thought I had done the very best thing for her, when I settled her there. Now she is tired of it." "But father, we cannot pay our way; and it worries her." " She is always worrying about something or other. If it wasn't that, it would be something else. Any man may be straightened for cash now and then. It happens to everybody. It is noth- ing to make a fuss about." " But father, if I cannot pay the servants, they must be without cash too; and that is hard on poor people." "Not half so hard as on people above them," replied her father hastily. "They have ways and 250 THE END OF A COIL. means ; and they don't have a tenth or a hundredth as many wants, anyhow." "But those they have are wants of necessary things," urged Dolly. " Well, what do you want me to do ? " said Mr. Copley, with as much of harshness in his manner as ever could come out towards Dolly. " I cannot coin money for you, well as I would like to do it." " Father, let us take what we have got, and go to Venice ! all together. We'll travel ever so cheaply and live ever so plainly; only let us go! Only let us go ! " "Think your mother'd like travelling second class ? " said Mr. Copley in the same way. "She wouldn't mind so very much; and I wouldn't mind it at all. If we could only go." "And what is to become of my business?" Dolly did not dare give the answer that rose to her tongue, nor let her father know how much she knew. She came up on another side of the subject, and insisted that the consulate might be dispensed with. Mr. Copley did not need the office and might well be tired of it by this time. Dolly pleaded, and her father heard her with a half embarrassed, half sullen face; feeling her af- fectionate entreaties more than was at all con- venient, and conscious at the same time of a whole side of hia life that he would be ashamed his daughter should know ; and afraid of her guessing it. Alas, for father and child both, when such a state of things comes about ! A FIGHT. 251 " Come, father ! " said Dolly at last, touching her forehead to his forehead in a sweet kind of caress, "I want you." "Suppose I find somebody else to go with you instead of me?" "Nobody else will do. Come, father! Do come." " You might set off with Lawrence " said Mr. Copley as if considering, " and I might join you afterwards; at Venice, perhaps, or Nice, or some- where. Hey ? " " That won't do. I would not go with Mr. Law- ence." " Why not ? " "Too much of an honour for him." "You need not be afraid of shewing him too much honour, for he is willing to give you the greatest man can give to a woman." Dolly coloured again, and again touched her forehead to her father's forehead and sat so, lean- ing against him. Maybe with an instinct of hid- ing her cheeks. " Father, let us go to Venice ! " she began again, leaving Mr. St. Leger. "Just think what fun it would be, to go all together. We have been living so long without you. I believe it would just make mother up. Think of seeing Venice together, father! and then maybe we would go on to Geneva and get a look at Mont Blanc." " Geneva is a place for lovers," said Mr. Copley. " Why ? " "Romantic." 252 THE END OF A COIL. "Can't anybody else be romantic, except that sort of people? I am romantic, and I do not care a straw about anybody but mother and you." "Don't tell Mr. St. Leger that." " He might as well know it. Come, father ! Say you'll go." It was hard to withstand her. The pure, gentle intonations rang upon Mr. Copley's soul almost like bells of doom, because he did withstand her. She was his saving good angel; he half knew it; he was ashamed before his child, and conscience knocked hard at the door of his heart; but the very shame he felt before her made her presence irksome to him, while yet it was, so sweet ! Alas, "he that doeth evil hateth the light." He was entangled, in more than one sort of net, and he lacked moral power to break the meshes. The gentle fingers that were busy with the net, trying to unloose it, were a reproach and a torment to him. She must marry St. Leger; so his thoughts ran; it was the best thing that could happen to her; it was the best he could do for her. Then she would be secure at all events. " Dolly, why don't you like Lawrence ? " he began. " He's too handsome, father, for one thing." "I never heard of such a reason for a lady's dislike. That's play, Dolly." "And he knows it; there's another thing." " Well, of course he knows it. How can he help knowing it ? " A FIGHT. 253 " And he's too rich." " Dolly, you are talking nonsense." "And he knows that." " He doesn't know he's too rich," said Mr. Copley with a little bitterness. "No St. Leger ever did that." "Well, father, that's what he is. Very hand- some, and very rich. He is nothing else. He would suit some people admirably; but he don't suit me." " What sort of thing would suit you ? " " A very perverse sort of a person, who is called Frank Collinshaw Copley." " Well, you've got me," said her father, laughing a little at her. He could not help it. " You want something else besides." " I don't, father, indeed." "And my child, money is necessary in this world. You cannot get along without money." " Father, will you come to Venice ? and we'll get along with very little money. Father, we must go, for mother. The doctor says so, and she is just longing to go. We ought to go as soon as ever you can be ready." " You shew how much you know about it, when you talk of Venice and a little money ! You had better take Mr. St. Leger." "Father, everybody says living is cheap in Switzerland." " You talked of Venice." "And Italy. The doctor says mother ought to 254 THE END OF A COIL. stay some time at Nice, or Naples. Father, you can arrange it. Do ! Give up the consulate, and let us take mother to Italy; and then home if you like. I don't much care, so that we have you." And again Dolly's forehead bent over to give a soft impact to her father's brown brow. " Who did you come to town with ? " he said suddenly. She told him. " Well, now you had better go back with her, and I will see what I can do." " You will go, father ? " " If I cannot immediately, I will send you and come on after." "I cannot go without you, father. come, come ! " And Dolly rained kisses upon his face, and stroked his forehead and cheeks, and was so entirely delicious in her tenderness and her sweet- ness, her love and her anxiety, that the heart of ordinary man could not stand it. Anything else became more easy than to refuse her. So Mr. Copley said he would go; and received a new harvest of caresses in reward, not wholly charac- terized by the usual drought of harvest time, for some drops of joy and thankfulness still came fall- ing, a sunlit shower. "Now, my child," said her father, "you had bet- ter go back to your good housekeeper, and then back to your mother, and get all things ready for a start." " Father, I can stay here to-night, can't I ? " Mr. Copley was not sure that he wanted her; A FIGHT. 255 yet he could not refuse to make inquiry. There was no difficulty; plenty of room; and Dolly joy- ously prepared herself to gather in the fruits of her victory, through that following care and those measures of security for want of which many a victory has been won in vain. Mrs. Jersey had long since been informed that she need not wait, and had driven away. Dolly now sent for her portmanteau, and established herself in her fa- ther's sitting room. Mr. Copley looked on, helplessly ; half delighted, half bored. He would not have chosen to have Dolly there just then ; yet being there she was one of the most lovely visions that a father's eye could rest upon. Grown to be a woman yes, she was; ordering and arranging things with a woman's wis- dom and skill; ordering him, Mr. Copley felt with a queer sensation ; and yet, so simple and free and sweet in all her words and ways as might have be- come seven instead of seventeen. St. Leger might be glad if he could get her ! Yet she was incon- venient to Mr. Copley. She stood in his way, like the angel in Balaam's ; only not with a sword drawn, but with loving looks, and kisses, and graces, and wiles of affection ; and who could withstand an an- gel ? He gave up trying ; he let her have her way ; and when dinner time came, Dolly and he had an almost jovial dinner. Until Mr. Copley rose from table, unlocked a cupboard, and took out a bottle of wine. Dolly's heart gave a sudden leap that meant a throe of pain. Was there another fight 256 THE END OF A COIL. to be fought? How should she fight another fight? But the emergency pressed her. " father," she cried, "is that sherry? " " No, it is better," said her father pouring out a glass, "is is Madeira." Dolly saw the hand tremble that grasped the bottle, and she sprang up. She went round to her father, fell down on her knees before him, and laid one hand on the hand that had just seized the glass, the other on his shoulder. " Please, father, don't take it ! please don't take it ! " she said in imploring tones. Mr. Copley paused. "Not take it? Why not?" said he. " It is not good for you. I know you ought not to take it, father. Please, please, don't ! " Dolly's eagerness and distress were too visible to be disregarded, by Mr. Copley at least. Her hand was trembling too. His still held the glass, but he looked uncertainly at Dolly, and asked her why it should not be good for him ? Every gentleman in the land drank wine that could afford it. "But father," said Dolly, "can you afford it?" " Yes," said Mr. Copley. " Get up, Dolly. Here is the wine ; it costs no more to drink it than to let it alone." And he swallowed the wine in the glass at a single draught. "0 father, don't take any more! " cried Dolly see- ing a preparatory movement of the hand towards the bottle. " father, don't, don't ! One glass is enough. Don't take any more to-day!" A FIGHT. 257 "You talk like a goose, Dolly," said Mr. Copley filling his glass. "I feel better already for that. It has done me good." "You only think so. It is not doing you good. father, if you love me, put the bottle away. Don't take a drop more ! " Dolly had turned pale in her agony of pleading; and her father, conscious in part, and ashamed with that secret consciousness, and taken by surprise at her action, looked at her and did not drink. "What's the matter with you, child?" he said, trying for an unconcerned manner. "Why should not I take wine, like everybody else in the world?" " Father, it isn't good for people." "I beg your pardon; it is very good for me. Indeed I cannot be well without it." "That's the very thing, father; people cannot do without it ; and then it comes to be the master ; and then they cannot help themselves. do let it alone ! " "What's the matter, Dolly?" Mr. Copley re- peated with an air of injury, which was at the same time miserably marred by embarrassment. "Do you think I cannot help myself? or how am 1 different from every other gentleman who takes wine ? " " Father, a great many of them are ruined by it." " Well, I am not ruined by it yet." " Father, how can you tell what might be ? Fa- ther, I can't bear it ! " Dolly could not indeed ; she broke down. She sat on the floor and sobbed. 17 258 THE END OF A COIL. If Mr. Copley could have been angry with her; but he could not, she was so sweet in every plead- ing look and tone. If he could have dismissed her pleading as the whimsy of a fool ; but he could not, for he knew it was wise truth. If he had been further gone in the habit which was growing upon him, to the point of brutality ; but he was not yet ; he was a man of affectionate nature. So he did not get angry, and though he wished Dolly at Brierley instead of in his room, he could not let her break her heart, seeing that she was there. He looked at her in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two; and then the bitterness of Dolly's sobs was more than he could stand. He rose and put the bottle away, locked it up, and came back to his place. Dolly's distress hindered her knowing what he had done. " It's gone," Mr. Copley said in an injured tone, as of one oppressed and persecuted. " It is put away, Dolly ; you need not sit there any longer." Dolly looked up, rose from the floor, came into her father's arms, laid her two arms about his neck and her weary head upon his shoulder. It was a soft little head, and the action was like a child. Mr. Copley clasped her tenderly. "Dolly," he said, "my child you are giving yourself a great deal more trouble than you need." Dolly murmured, " Thank you, father ! " " You mustn't be superstitious." Alas ! Dolly had seen his face already altered by the indulgence of his new habits. Involuntarily A FIGHT. 259 her arms pressed him closer, and she only by an effort prevented a new outbreak of bitter sorrow. That was not best just now. She put a force upon herself; after a while looked up, and kissed her father; kissed him again and again. " I declare ! " said Mr. Copley, half delighted and half conscience-stricken, " you are a little witch, Dolly. Is this the way you are going to rule other folks beside me ? Mr. St. Leger, for instance ? " " Mercy, father ! no," said Dolly recoiling. " I don't believe he would be hard to manage. He's desperately in love with you, Dolly." " Father, I don't want to manage. And I don't think Lawrence is in any danger. It isn't in him, to be desperate about anything." "So much the better, I think," said her father. "What if he should want to go with us to Venice ? " " Don't let him ! We do not want him." " He would be useful, I dare say. And I should have to take my secretary, Dolly." " Take that other fellow, the one I saw in your office to-day." "What, Babbage? He's a raw article, Dolly, very raw. I put him there to answer questions. The fellow was in a forlorn state here with nothing to do." They calmed down after a while; and the rest of the evening was largely spent in considering plans and details of their projected movements. It was agreed that Dolly should rejoin Mrs. Jersey the next day, to be ready to return to Brierley with 260 THE END OF A COIL. her; that then all preparations should be made for a speedy start to the continent. Father and daugh- ter talked themselves into ordinary composure, and when they had bid each other good night, Dolly went to rest with a feeling of some hopefulness. CHAPTER XVII. RUPERT. MRS. JERSEY could not leave town the next day. Dolly had to wait. It was hard wait- ing. She half wished she had staid that day also with her father ; yet when she asked herself why ? she shuddered. To take care of him ? to watch and keep guard over him ? What use, for one day, when she could do it no longer ? Mr. Copley must be left to himself; and a feeling of 'helplessness stole over her. From the momentary encourage- ment and hope, she fell back again to take a more comprehensive view of the subject; she saw that all was not gained yet, and it might be that nothing ! And she could dp no more, except pray. Poor Dolly did that; but the strain of fear, the horror of shame, the grief of hurt affection, began to make her very sore. She was not getting accustomed to her burden; it was growing more insupportably galling; the only hope for the whole family lay in getting together and remaining to- gether, and in this journey taking Mr. Copley away from his haunts and his tempters. Yet Dolly re- flected with trembling that the temptation, both temptations, would meet them on their way; if a 262 THE END OF A COIL. man desired to drink or to play, he would never be at a loss for the opportunity or the companions. Dolly wrung her hands and prayed again. However, something was gained; and Dolly on her return reported to her mother that they were to set off for the continent in a few days. She brought down money moreover to pay off the ser- vants; and with a heart so far lightened, went bravely at the preparations to be made. " And will your father go with us to Venice ? " "Of course, mother. We cannot go without him." " What if Venice shouldn't agree with me ? " "O then we'll go on further. I think Naples would agree with you. There is a very nice house at Sorrento nice people where Lady Brierley spent a summer; and Mrs. Jersey has given me the address. Perhaps we'll go there." " But if Lady Brierley was there, I guess it's an expensive place." "No, Mrs. Jersey says not. You must have what you want, anyhow, mother dear." "I always used," said poor Mrs. Copley; "but of late I have been obliged to sing another tune." " Go back to the old tune, then, dear. If father ^hasn't got the money, I'll find some way of raising it myself. I mean you shall go to Sorrento. Mrs. Jersey says it's just charming there." " I wonder what she knows about it ! A house- keeper ! Queer person to tell you and me where to go." RUPERT. 263 " Why a finger post can do that, mother. Mrs. Jersey knows a great deal besides, about a great many things." "Well!" Mrs. Copley said again with another sigh " it is new times to me altogether. And I wish the old times would come back ! " " Perhaps they will, mother. When once we get hold of father again, we must try to charm him into staying with us." And it seemed to Dolly that they might do so much. The spirit of seventeen is not easily kept down ; and with the stir of actually getting ready for the journey, she felt her hope and courage moving also. A change at any rate was before her; and Dolly had a faint far-off thought of possibly work- ing upon her father to induce him at the close of their Italian journey to take ship for home. So she bustled about from morning till night; packed what was to go and what was to be left; grew very cheery over her work, and cheered and amused her mother. September was on its way now; it was time to be off; and Dolly wrote to her father to tell him she was ready. A few days later, Dolly was in the porch rest- ing and eating a fine pear, which came out of a basket Mrs. Jersey had sent. It was afternoon, sunny and hazy, the air fragrant from the woods, the silence now and then emphasized by a shot somewhere in the distance. Dolly was happy and hopeful; the weather was most lovely, the pear was excellent; she was having a pleasant half 264 THE END OF A COIL. hour of musing and anticipation. Somebody came on foot along the road, swung open the small lat- tice gate, and advanced up the path towards her. Who was it? Not Mr. St. Leger, which had been Dolly's first momentary fear. No, this was a different creature. A young man, but how un- like that other. St. Leger was trim built, smooth, regular, comely; this young fellow was lank, long- limbed, none of his joints played symmetrically with the others; and the face, though shrewd enough and good-natured, had no remote preten- sions to beauty. His dress had not been cut by the sort of tailor that worked for the St. Legers ; his gait, instead of the firm, compact, confident movement which Dolly was accustomed to see, had a swinging stride, which indeed did not lack a kind of confidence; the kind that makes no doubt of getting over the ground, and cares little for obstacles. As Dolly looked, she thought she had seen him before. But it was very odd, never- theless, the sort of well-pleased smile his face wore. He took off his hat when he got to the foot of the steps, and stood there looking up at Dolly in the porch. " You don't recollect me, I guess," said he. " No " said Dolly gravely. " I am Kupert Babbage. And that don't make you much wiser, does it ? " " No," said Dolly. " Not at all." " Likely. But Mr. Copley has sent me down." "Has he?" RUPERT. 265 "I recollect you, first rate," the stranger went on, feeling in his coat pocket for something and producing therefrom a letter. "Don't you know the day you came to your father's office ? " And mounting a step or two, without further preface he handed the letter to Dolly. Dolly saw her fa- ther's handwriting, her own name on the cover, and put a stop to the wonder which was creeping over her, by breaking the seal. While she read the letter the young man's eyes read her face. "DEAR DOLLY, "I can't get quit of this confounded Babel yet and you must want somebody badly. So I send Rupert down. He'll do everything you want, better in fact than I could, for he is young and spry, and as good a boy as lives. He will see to everything, and you can get off as soon as you like. I think he had better go along all the way ; his mother wit is worth a dozen stupid couriers, even though he don't know quite so much about routes and hotels; he will soon pick all that up. Will you want to stay more than a night in town? For that night my landlady can take you in ; and if you let me know when you will be ready I will have your passage taken in the packet. " Hurried, as always, dear Dolly, with my love to your mother, "F. C. COPLEY, "Consul's Office London, "Sep. 9, 182." 266 THE END OF A COIL. Poor Dolly read this note over and over, having thrown away the remainder of her sweet pear as belonging only to a time of easy pleasure-taking which was past. Was her father not coming to Brierley then ? she must get off without him ? Why? And "your passage"? why not "our" pas- sage? Dolly felt the ground giving way under her feet. No, her father could not be coming to Brierley, or he would not have sent this young fellow. And all things in the world were hover- ing in uncertainty ; nothing sure, even to hope. The eyes that watched her saw the face change, the fair, bright, young face; saw her colour pale, and the lovely lines of the lips droop for a moment to an expression of great sadness. The eyelids drooped too, and he was sure there was a glisten- ing under them. "Did Mr. Copley say why he could not come?" she asked at length, lifting her head. " He did not. I am very sorry ! " said Rupert involuntarily. " I guess he could not get his busi- ness fixed. And he said you were in a hurry." But not without him ! thought Dolly. What was the whole movement for, if he were to be left out of it? What should she do? But she must not let the tears come. That would do nobody any good, not even herself. She brushed away the undue moisture, and raised her head. " Did Mr. Copley tell you who I am ? " the young man asked. " I guess he didn't forget that." "No. Yes!" said Dolly, unable to help smiling RUPERT. 267 at the question and the simple earnestness of the questioner's face. " He told me your name." " Left you to find out the rest?" said he. " Well, what can I do first? That's what for I'm come." " I don't think there is anything to do," said Dolly. " All ready ? " "Yes. Pretty much. All except finishing." " Lots o' baggage? " "No, not so very much. We did not bring a great deal down here." "Then it'll go by the coach easy enough. How will it get to the coach ? " " I don't know. We must have a waggon from the village, I suppose, or from some farmhouse." "When do you want to go? and I'll soon fix that." Dolly reflected and said, " The day after to-mor- row." "All right." He was setting forth immediately, with a world of energy in his gait. Dolly called after him. "To-morrow will be time enough for the wag- gon, Mr. Babbage." "There'll be something else for to-morrow," he answered without pausing. "Tea'll be ready at six," said Dolly, raising her voice a little. " All right ! " said he, and sped away. Dolly looked after him, so full of vexation that she did not know what to do. Not her father, and 268 THE END OF A COIL. in his place this boy ! This boy to go with them on the journey; to be one of the party; to be al- ways on hand; for he could not be relegated to the place of a servant or a courier. And Dolly wanted her father, and was sure that the expense of a fourth person might have been spared. The worst fear of all she would not look at; it was possible that they were still to be three, and her father the fourth left out. However, for the present the mat- ter in hand was action; she must tell her mother about this new arrival before she met him at sup- per. Dolly went in. " Your father not coming ? " said Mrs. Copley when she had heard Dolly's report. "Then we have nothing to wait for, and we can get right off. I do want to see your father out of that miserable office once ! " " Well, he promised me, mother," said Dolly sighing. " Can we go to-morrow ? " "No, mother; there are too many last things to do. Next day we will." " Why can't we go and leave this young man to finish up after us ? " "He could not do it, mother; and we must let father know, besides." Rupert came back in due time and was presented to Mrs. Copley; but Mrs. Copley did not admire his looks, and the supper table party was very silent. The silence became unbearable to the new-comer; and though he was not without a certain shyness RUPERT. 269 in Dolly's presence, it became at last easier to speak than to go on eating and not speaking. " Plenty of shootin' round about here, I s'pose," he remarked. " I heard the guns going." "The preserves of Brierley are very full of game," Dolly answered; "and there are some friends of Lord Brierley staying at the house." " I engaged a waggon," Rupert went on. " It'll be here at one, sharp." " I ought to have sent a word to the post-office, for father, when you went to the village ; but I did not think till it was too late." " I did that," said Rupert. " Sent a word to father ? " " All right. Told him you'd be up Wednesday." " O thank you. That was very thoughtful." " You're from America," said Mrs. Copley. " Should think I was ! " " Whereabouts ? where from, I mean ? " " About two mile from your place Ortonville is the spot. My native." " What made you come over here ? " " Well, I s'pose it would be as true as anything to say, Mr. Copley made me come." "What for?" " Well, I guess it was kindness. Most likely." " Kindness ! " echoed Mrs. Copley. " Poor kind- ness, I call it, to take a man, or a boy, or any one else, away from his natural home. Haven't you found it so ? Don't you wish you were back there again ? " 270 THE END OF A COIL. "Well," said Eupert with a little slowness, and a twinkle in his eye at the same time, " I just don't; if I'm to tell the truth." " It is incomprehensible to me ! " returned the lady. " Why what do you find here, that you would not have had at home ? " " England, for one thing," said the young man with a smile. " England ! Of course you would not have had England at home ; but isn't America better ? " "I think it is." " Then what do you gain by exchanging one for the other?" said Mrs. Copley with heat. " That exchange ain't made yet. I calculate to go back, when I have got all I want on this side." "And what do you want? Money, I suppose. Everything is for money, with everybody. Coun- try, and family, and the ease of life, and the pleas- ure of being together nothing matters, if only one may get money ! I don't know but savages have the best of it. At least they don't live for money." Mrs. Copley forgot at the moment that she was wishing her daughter to marry for money. " I counsel you, young man," she began again. "Money won't buy everything." He laughed good-humouredly. " Can't buy much without it " he said, with that shrewd twinkle in his eye. " And what can Mr. Copley do for you, I should like to know ? " she went on impatiently. " He's put me in a likely way," said Kupert. "I RUPERT. 271 am very much beholden to Mr. Copley. But the best thing he has done for me is this by a long jump." "This? What?" " Letting me go along this journey. I do not think money is the very best of all things," the young man said with some spirit. " Letting you Do you mean that you are go- ing to Venice in our party ? " " If it is Venice you are going to." Silence fell. Mrs. Copley pondered the news in some consternation. To Dolly it was not news, and she did not mean it should be fact, if she could help it. "Perhaps you have business in Venice?" Mrs. Copley at length ventured. "I hope it'll turn out so," s'aid Rupert. "Mr. Copley said I might have the pleasure of taking care of you. I should enjoy that, I guess, more than making money." " Good gracious ! " was all the speech Mrs. Copley was capable of. She sat and looked at the young man. So, furtively, did Dolly. He was enjoying his supper; yes, and the prospect too; for a slight flush had risen to his feice. It was not a symmet- rical face, but honesty was written in every line of it. "You've got your plans fixed?" Rupert next in- quired. " Know just which way you are going ? Be sure you are right, and then go ahead, you know." 272 THE END OF A COIL. " We take the boat to Eotterdam," said Dolly. "Which way then? Mr. Copley told me so much." " I don't know," said Mrs. Copley. " If I could once get hold of Mr. Copley we could soon settle it." "What points do you want to make?" " Points ? I don't want to make any points. I don't know what you mean." " I mean, where do you want to go in special, between here and Venice ? or are there no places you care about ? " " Places ? Oh ! Well, yes there are. I should like to see the place where the battle of Waterloo was fought." " Mother, that would be out of our way," said Dolly. "Which is our way?" said Mrs. Copley. "I thought we had not fixed it." "You don't go up the Rhine, then? " said Rupert. "I'm going nowhere by boat except where I can't help myself. I like to feel land under me. No, we are not going up the Rhine. I can see mountains enough in America, and rivers enough too." Rupert had finished his supper, and took up an atlas he saw lying near. "Rotterdam" he said, opening at the map of central Europe, " that is our one fixed point, that and Venice. Now how to get from the one to the other. ". Mrs. Copley changed her seat to come nearer RUPERT. 273 the map; and an animated discussion followed, which kept her interested and happy the whole of the evening. Dolly saw it and was thankful. It was more satisfactory than the former consultation with St. Leger, who treated the subject from quite too high and lordly a point of view ; referring to the best hotels and assuming the easiest ways of doing things; flinging money about him, in imag- ination, as Mrs. Copley said, as if it were coming out of a purse with no bottom to it; which to be sure might be very true so far as he was con- cerned, but much discomposed the poor woman who knew that on her part such pleasant free- handedness was not to be thought of. Eupert Babbage evidently did not think of it. He con- sidered economy. Besides, he was not so distract- irigly au fait in everything; Mrs. Copley could bear a part in the conversation. So she and Rupert meandered over the map, talked endlessly, took a vast deal of pleasure in the exercise, and grew quite accustomed to each other; while Dolly sat by, glad and yet chafing. Rupert certainly was a comfort, for the hour; but she wished he had never been thought of, nevertheless. But he was a comfort next day again. Cheery and busy and efficient, he managed people, sent the luggage off, helped and waited upon Mrs. Cop- ley, and kept her quiet with his talk, up to the time when the third day they took their places in the coach. "Really, Mr. Babbage, you are a very handy 18 274 THE END OF A COIL. young man," Mrs. Copley once had uttered her ad- miration; and Rupert laughed. " I shouldn't think much of myself," he said, "if I couldn't do as much as that. You see, I con- sider that I'm promoted." Dolly made the journey up to town in a state between relief and disgust. Rupert did take a world of trouble off her hands; but she said to herself that she did not want it taken off. And she certainly did not want this long-legged fellow attending upon them everywhere. It was better to have him than St. Leger ; that was all you could say. The days in London were few and busy. Mr. Copley during this interval was very affectionate, very kind and attentive; in fact so attentive to supplying or providing against every possible want that he found little time to be with his family. He and Rupert were perpetually flying out and in, or- dering this and searching for that; a sort of joyous bustle seemed to be the order of the day; for he carried it on gleefully. "Why, Mr. Copley," his wife said when he brought her an elegant little leather case for holding the tinctures and medicines in which she indulged, " I thought we must economize so hard ? I thought you had no money now-a-days? How is this, and what does it mean? this case must have cost a pound." " You are worth more than a pound, my dear," Mr. Copley said with a sort of semi-earnestness. RUPERT. 275 " But I thought you were so poor all of a sud- den?" " We are going to turn a new leaf and live fru- gally; so you see, on the strength of that, we can afford to be extravagant now and then." "That seems to me a very doubtful way, Mr. Copley ! " said his wife shaking her head. "Don't be doubtful, my dear. Whatever else you do, go straight to your mark, and don't be doubt- ful. Humming and hawing never get on with anything. Care killed a cat, my dear." " It has almost killed me," said poor Mrs. Cop- ley. " Are we out of need of care, Frank ? " " You are. I'll take all the care for the family. My dear, we are going in for play, and Venice." Dolly heard this, and felt a good deal cheered. What was her consternation then, when the day of sailing came, and at the last minute, on board the packet, her father declared he must wait ; he could not leave London yet for a week or two, but he could not let them be delayed; he would let St. Leger go to look after them, and he would catch them up before they got to Venice. All this was said in a breath, in a rush and hurry, at the mo- ment of taking leave; the luggage was on board, Rupert was looking after it, Mr. St. Leger's elegant figure was just stepping across the gangway; and Mr. Copley kissed and shook hands and was off, with a word to Lawrence as he passed, before Mrs. Copley or Dolly could throw in more than an ex- clamation of dismay to stop him. Stop him ! one 276 THE END OF A COIL. might as well stop a gust of wind. Dolly saw he had planned it all; reckoned the minutes, got them off on purpose without himself, and with' Mr. St. Leger. And here was Mr. St. Leger to be spoken to ; coming up with his assured step and his hand- some, indolent blue eyes, to address her mother. St. Leger was a nice fellow; he was neither a fool nor a coxcomb ; but the sight of him was very dis- agreeable to Dolly just then. She turned away, as full of vexation as she could hold, and went to Ru- pert's side, who was looking after the luggage. " Do you want to see your berth right away ? " he asked her. " My berth ? " said Dolly. "Well, yes; your cabin state-room whatever you call it where you are to sleep. You know which it is; do you know where it is? I always like to get such things straightened out, first thing. Would you like to see it ? " "0 yes, please," said Dolly; and grasping one of the hand bags she turned away gladly from the deck. Anything for a little respite and solitude, from Mr. St. Leger. Rupert found the place, stowed bags and wraps and rugs conveniently away, and made Dolly as much at home as she could be at five minutes' notice. " How long will the passage take ? " she asked. " Well, if I knew what the weather would be, I would tell you. Shall you be sick ? " " I don't know," said Dolly. " I believe I wish I may. Mr. Babbage, are you a Christian ? " RUPERT. 277 "Well, I ain't a heathen, anyhow," said he laughing a little. "No, but that isn't what I mean. Of course you are not a heathen. But I mean do you serve the Lord Jesus, and do you love him ? " Dolly had it not in mind to make a confident of her new squire ; but in the terrible confusion and trouble of her spirits she grasped at any possible help or stay. The excitement of the minute lifted her quite out of ordinary considerations; if Eupert was a Christian, he might be a stand-by to her, and anyhow would understand her. So she asked. But he looked at her and shook his head. The thought crossed him that he was her servant, and her ser- vice was all that he was distinctly pledged to in his own mind. He shook his head. "Then what do you do when you are in trouble? " she asked. "Never been there," said Rupert. "Always find some way out, when I get into a fix. Why, are you in trouble ? " he asked sympathetically. " 0," cried Dolly, " I am in trouble to death, be- cause father hasn't come with us ! " She could bear it no longer; even seventeen years old gives out sometimes ; she burst into tears and sat down on a box and sobbed. All her hopes dashed to pieces; all her prospects dark and confused; nothing but disappointment and perplexity before her. What should she do with her mother, she alone ? What should she do with Mr. St. Leger? a still more vex- atious question. And what would become of her 278 THE END OF A COIL. father, left to himself, and at what possible time in the future might she hope that he would break away from his ties and temptations and come to rejoin his family? Dolly sobbed in sorrow and bit- terness of heart. Rupert Babbage stood and looked on wofully ; and then delicately went out and closed the door. Dolly's tears did her good. I think it was a help to her too to know that she had so efficient and faithful a servant in the despised Rupert Bab- bage. At any rate, after a half hour or so, she made her appearance on deck and met Mr. St. Leger with a calm apparent unconcern which shewed her again equal to the occasion. Circum- stances were making a woman of Dolly fast. Mr. St. Leger's talk had in the mean time quieted Mrs. Copley. He assured her that her husband would soon come after and catch up with them. Now he turned his attention to Dolly and Rupert. " Who is that fellow ? " he asked Dolly, when Rupert had left them for a minute. " He is a young man in my father's office. Did you never see him there ? " " But what is he doing here ? We do not want him, it strikes me." " He is very useful, and able." " Well aw but cannot he keep his good quali- ties to their proper sphere ? He is not an addition of much value to our society." "Take care, Mr. St. Leger! he is an American; he cannot be set down with the servants." RUPERT. 279 " Why not ? if his education and habits make that his place ? " " O but they do not." " It seems to me they do, if you will pardon me. This fellow has never been in any gentleman's society, except your father's." " He will be a gentleman himself, in all essen- tials, one day, Mr. St. Leger. There is the differ- ence. The capability is in him, and the ambition, and the independent and generous feeling. The foundations are all there." "I'll confess the house when I see it." "Ay, but you must in the mean time do nothing to hinder its building." " Why must not I ? " said Lawrence laughing. " It is not my part to lay hold on a trowel and be a social mason. Still less is it yours." " 0, there you are wrong. I think it is every- body's part." " Do you ! But fancy, what a dreadful thing life would be in that way. Perpetual rubbish and con- fusion. And pardon me, can you pardon me ? that is my idea of America." " I do not think it is a just one," said Dolly, as Rupert now drew near again. " Is there not perpetual building going on there, of this kind as well as of the more usual ? " " Perhaps. I was very young when I left home. But what then ? " "Nothing. I have a preference for order and quiet, and things in their places." 280 THE END OF A COIL. " At that rate, you know," said Dolly, " nothing would ever have been built anywhere. I grant you, the order and quiet are pleasant when your own house is all that you desire. But don't you want to see your neighbour's house come up ? " "No," said Lawrence laughing. " I have a better prospect from my windows if he remains as he is." CHAPTER XVIII. A SQUARE PARTY. 'T^HE passage was stormy and long. Mrs. Cop- 1 ley and her daughter were both soon fully occupied with attending to their own sensations; and neither Rupert nor Lawrence had any more power to annoy them till they reached quiet water again. But even in the depths of sea misery, Dolly's deeper distress broke forth. " My father ! my father ! What shall I do to save my father ! " she was crying in her heart; all the while with a sense that every hour was bringing her further from him and from the chance of saving him. Still, Dolly was seventeen ; and at seventeen one cannot be always cast down; and when rough water and troubled skies, and ship noises and smells, were all left behind, as it seemed, in the German ocean ; and Dolly found herself one morning in the hotel at Rotterdam, eating a very good breakfast, her spirits sprang up in spite of herself. The retiring wave of bodily misery carried with it for the mo- ment all other. The sun was shining again; and after breakfast they stood together at one of the windows looking out upon the new world they had come to. Their hotel faced the quay; they saw 282 THE END OF A COIL. before them an extent of water glittering in the sunshine, steamers waiting for their time of sail- ing, small craft flying about in all directions, and activity, bustle, and business filling every nook and corner of the scene. Dolly's heart leaped up: the stir was very inspiriting; and how lovely the sunshine was, and how pleasant the novelty ! And then, to think that she had but touched the shore of novelty ; that all central Europe was behind her as she stood looking out on the quay Her father would surely catch them up somewhere, and then all would go well. She was silent, in the full joy of seeing. " What's the next move ? " said Lawrence. He did not care for Rotterdam quay. He had been looking at Dolly, charmed with the delicate, fresh picture she made. The line of frank pleasure on her lips, it was as frank as a child's, and the eyes weje as absorbed; and yet they were grave wom- anly eyes, he knew, not easy to cheat, with all their simplicity. The mingling of qualities was delicious, and not to be found elsewhere in all his sphere of experience. Even her little hands were full of char- acter, with a certain precision of action and calm of repose which gave to all their movements a -cer- tain thorough-bred grace, which Lawrence could recognize though he could not analyse. Then the little head with its masses of wavy hair was so lovely, and the slim figure so full of that same cer- tainty of action and grace of rest which he ad- mired; there was nothing undecided about Dolly, A SQUARE PARTY. 283 and yet there was nothing done by rule. That again was a combination he did not know else- where. Her dress he considered that too. It was the simplest of travelling dresses, with nothing to mark it, or draw attention, or make it unfit for its special use. In perfectly good taste. How did she know? thought Lawrence; for he knew as well as I do that she had not learned it of her mother. There was nothing marked about Mrs. Copley's ap- pearance; nevertheless she lacked that harmony of simple good taste which was all over Dolly. Lawrence looked, until he saw that Rupert was looking too ; and then he thought it was time to break up the exercise. "What is the next move ? " he said. " We have not settled that," said Dolly. " We could think of nothing on board ship. Mother dear, now we are here, which way shall we go ? " " I don't know anything about ways," said Mrs. Copley. "Not here, in this strange country." "Then put it another way," said Lawrence. " Where do you want to go ? " " Why, to Venice," said Mrs. Copley looking at him. " Of course ; but you want to see something by the way ? " "I left all that to Mr. Copley," said she, half whimpering. " When do you think he will come, Mr. St. Leger? I depended on my husband." " He will come soon," said Lawrence. " But I would not recommend staying in Rotterdam to 284 THE END OF A COIL. wait for him. What do you say to our asking him to meet us in Wiesbaden? To be sure, the season is over." " Wiesbaden ? " said Mrs. Copley. "Wiesbaden?" cried Dolly. "O no, Mr. St. Leger ! Not there, nor in any such place ! " " The season is over, Miss Dolly." "I don't want to go to Wiesbaden. Mother, you wanted to see something what was it ? " " Waterloo " Mrs. Copley began. " That would take us out of the way of every- thing down into Belgium and you would not see anything when you got there, Mrs. Copley. Only some fields; there is nothing left of the battle." "But if I saw the fields, I could imagine the battle," said Mrs. Copley. " Could you ? Let us imagine something pleas- anter. You don't want to go up the Ehine ? " " I don't want to go anywhere* in a boat, Mr. St. Leger. I am going to keep on land, now I've got there. But I was thinking Somebody told me of some wonderful painted glass, somewhere near Kotterdam, and told me not to miss seeing it. Where is it?" "I know," said Dolly; "the place was Gonda; in the cathedral. But where is Gonda ? " " Nine miles off," said Rupert. " Then that's where I want to go," said Mrs. Cop- ley. " I have heard all my life of painted glass ; now I should like to see what it amounts to." A SQUARE PARTY. 285 " Perhaps that would take us out of our way too, mother." " I thought we just said we had no way settled," said Mrs. Copley in an irritated tone. " What's the use of being here, if we can't see anything now we are here ? Nine miles isn't much, anyhow." "We will go there, dear," said Dolly. "We can go so far and come back to this place, if nec- essary." " And there is another thing I want to see, now we are here," Mrs. Copley went on. " I want to go to Dresden." " Dresden ! " cried St. Leger. " What's at Dres- den?" "A great many things, I suppose; but what I want to see is the Green vaults and the picture gallery." "Mrs. Copley," said Lawrence quietly, "there are galleries of pictures everywhere. We shall find them at every step more than you will want to look at, by a hundred fold." " But we shall not find Green vaults, shall we ? And you will not tell me that the Dresden ma- donna is anywhere but at Dresden?" " I did not know you cared so much about pict- ures, mother," Dolly ventured. "I don't!" said Mrs. Copley, "not about the pictures; but I don't like to be here and not see what there is to see. I like to say I have seen it. It would be absurd to be here and not see things. Your father told me to go just where I wanted 286 THE END OF A COIL. to; and if I don't go to Waterloo, I want to see Dresden." "And from there?" said Lawrence. " I don't know. I suppose we can find our way from there to Venice somehow." "But do you not include Cologne cathedral in the things you wish to see?" " Cologne ? I don't know about cathedrals. We are going to see one now, aren't we ? Isn't one as good as another ? " " To pray in, I have no doubt," said Lawrence ; "but hardly to look at." "Well, you don't think churches ought to be built to look at, do you ? I think that is wicked. Churches are meant for something." " You would not object to looking at them when they are built? would you? Here we are now, going to see Gonda cathedral." "No, I am not," said Mrs. Copley. "I am going to see the glass windows. We shall not see them to-day if we stand here talking." Lawrence ordered a carriage, and the party set out. He wished devoutly that it had numbered five instead of four, so that Eupert could have been sent outside. But the carnage held them all comfortably. Dolly was a little uneasy at the travelling prob- lem before her; however, no uneasiness could stand long against the charm of that morning's drive. The blessed familiar sun shone on a world so very different from all the world she had ever A SQUARE PARTY. 287 known before. On every hand were flower gar- dens ; on both sides of the way ; and in the midst of the flower gardens stood pleasant looking coun- try houses; while the road was bordered with nar- row canals, over which drawbridges of extrava- gant size led to the houses. It was a rich and quaint and pretty landscape under the September sun; and Dolly felt all concern and annoyance melting away from her. She saw that her mother too was amused and delighted. Surely things would come out right by and by. The town interested three of the party in a high degree. "Well!" said Mrs. Copley, "haven't they learned here yet to turn the front of their houses to the street ? " " Perhaps they never will," said Lawrence. "Why should they?" " Because things ought to be right, if it is only the fronts of houses," said the lady. " I wouldn't mind which way they looked, if they would only hold up straight," said Rupert. " What ails the town ? " "Bad soil, most likely," returned Lawrence. "The foundations of Holland are moral, not physical." t "What doyou mean by that?" said Mrs. Cop- ley. " I am sure they have plenty of money. Is this the cathedral we are coming to ? " "St. Jans Kirk ." " W^ell if that's all ! It isn't handsome a bit ! " 288 THE END OF A COIL. "It's real homely, that's a fact," said Rupert. "You came to see the glass windows," said Lawrence. "Let us go in, and then pass judg- ment." They went in, and then a low exclamation from Rupert was all that was heard. The ladies were absolutely mute before the blaze of beauty that met them. " Well ! " said Rupert after a pause of deep si- lence " now I know what folks mean when they say something ' beats the Dutch.' That beats all / ever saw ! hollow." " But how delicious ! " exclaimed Dolly. " The work is so delicate. And oh, the colours ! Moth- er, do you see that purple? Who is the person represented there, Mr. St. Leger ? " "That is Philip the Second. And it is not likely, I may remark, that any Dutchman painted it. That broken window was given to the church by Philip." " Who did paint it, then? " " I cannot say, really." " What a pity it is broken ! " " But the others are mostly in very good keep- ing. Come on here is the Duke of Alva." " If I were a Dutchwoman, I would break that," said Dolly. " No, you wouldn't. Consider he serves as an adornment of the city here. Breaking his effigy would not be breaking At'ra, Miss Dolly." "It must be a very strange thing to live in an A SQUARE PARTY. 289 old country," said Dolly. " I mean, if you belong to it. Just look at these windows! How old is the work itself, Mr. St. Leger ? " "I am not wise in such things; I should say it must date from the best period of the art. I believe it is said so." " And when was that ? " " Really, I don't know ; a good while ago, Miss Dolly." " Philip II. came to reign about the middle of the sixteenth century," Rupert remarked. " Exactly " St. Leger said, looking annoyed. "Well, sir," Rupert went on, "I would like to ask you one thing can't they paint as good a glass window now as they could then ? " "They may paint a better glass window, for aught I know," said Lawrence ; " but the painting will not be so good." " That's curious," said Rupert. " I thought things went for'ard, and not back, in the world. Why shouldn't they paint as well now as ever ? " Nobody spoke. " Why should they not, Mr. St. Leger ? " Dolly repeated. "I don't know, I'm sure. Mrs. Copley, I'm afraid you are fatiguing yourself." Mrs. Copley yielded to this gentle suggestion; and long, long before Dolly was ready to go, the party left the church to repair to a hotel, and have some refreshment. They were all in high spirits by this time. 19 290 THE END OF A COIL. " Is it settled where we are to go next ? " Mr. St. Leger inquired as they sat at table. "I don't care where next" said Mrs. Copley; "but only I want to come out at Dresden." " But Dresden, mother " said Dolly gently. " It is not in our way to Venice." She interpreted the expression she saw in Lawrence's face. " Dolly, the Green vaults are in Dresden. I am not going to be so near and not see them. Wasn't I right about the painted windows ? I never saw anything so beautiful in my life, nor you didn't. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Now you'll see if I ain't right about the Green vaults." " What do you expect to find in them ? " Law- rence asked. " I do not remember anything about such a mysterious place." "I have heard about it in London," Mrs. Copley answered. "Somebody who had been there told me about it, and I made up my mind I'd see it if ever I got a chance. It is like having Aladdin's lamp and going down into Ms vault only you can't take away what you've a mind to ; that's the only difference." " But what is there ? Aladdin's grotto was full of precious stones, if I remember." "And so are these," cried Mrs. Copley. "There is an egg with a hen in it." At this there was a general laugh. " It's a fact," said Mrs. Copley. " And in the hen, or under it, in the hen, I believe, there is a crown of gold and diamonds and pearls, with a A SQUARE PARTY. 291 motto. it's wonderful. It's better than the Arabian Nights, if it's true." " Except that we cannot take the egg away with us," said Lawrence. " However Pray, do they let in the indiscriminate public to see these won- ders ? " " I don't know. I suppose there are ways to get in, or nobody would have been in." "No doubt; the problem is, to find the way. Influence may be necessary, possibly." " I dare say Mr. Copley can manage it. Do write and ask him what we must do, Dolly; and ask him to send us letters, or leave, or whatever we must have. Write to-day, will you? and ask him to send it right away. Of course there are ways to do things." "May 1 make a suggestion?" said Lawrence. " If we are to go on to Dresden, why should we return to Rotterdam ? We might send back to the hotel for our luggage, and meanwhile you can rest here. And then we can go on to Utrecht early to- morrow; or this evening, if you like. It would save time." This plan met approval. Eupert volunteered to go back and bring Mrs. Copley's belongings safely to Gonda. "And while you are about it, bring mine too, my good fellow, will you ? " said St. Leger as Ru- pert was about to go. He spoke somewhat super- ciliously, but the other answered with cool good humour, 292 THE END OF A COIL. "All right. I'll do that, on the understanding that you'll do as much for me next time." And he went. " Confound him ! " said Lawrence ; while Dolly smiled. " Hush ! " she said. " I am sure that is a fair bargain." " Where did Mr. Copley pick up such a green hand?" " Did you never see him at the office ? " " What office ? " "The consul's office, in London. You have been there enough." "0, ah the consul's office," said Lawrence. "True, if he was there I must have seen him. But what do we want of him here ? " " He is useful to you just now," said Dolly. But afterwards she took up the question again, and, what Lawrence did not dream of, included his name in it. Why was either of these young men there? This time of waiting at the hotel gave Dolly a chance to think ; and while she sat at the window and watched the strange figures and novel sights in the street, her mind began to go over more questions than one. She felt in a sort lost without her father. Here were she and her mother taking a journey through Europe in the care of these two young men. What were they there for? Eupert certainly for her pleasure and service, she knew ; Lawrence, she was equally sure, for his own. How should she manage them ? for Lawrence must not be encouraged, while at the same time he could A SQUARE PARTY. 293 not be sent away. At least, not yet. Careful, and cool, and womanly, she must be; and that was not so very difficult, for poor Dolly felt as if glad child- ish days were past for her. Another question was, how she should get the most good of her journey, and how she could help Rupert, who she could see was on the watch to improve himself. Dolly had a sympathy for him. She resolved that she would study up every sub- ject that presented itself, and set Rupert upon doing the same. St. Leger might take care of himself. Yet Dolly's conscience would not let him go so. No; one can be nobody's travelling companion for days or weeks, without having duties to fulfil towards him; but Dolly thought the duties were very difficult in this her particular case. If her father would but come ! And there- with Dolly sat down and wrote him the tender- est, lovingest of letters, telling him about their journey, and the glass windows; and begging him to meet them in Dresden or before, so that they might see the fabulous Green vaults together. In any case, she begged him to make such provi- sion that Mrs. Copley might not be disappointed of seeing them. All Dolly's eloquence and some tears were poured out upon that sheet of paper; and as she sealed it up she felt again that she was surely growing to be a woman ; the days of her childhood were gone. Not so far off however, but that Dolly's spirits sprang up again after the letter was despatched, 294 THE END OF A COIL. and were able to take exquisite pleasure in every- thing the further journey offered. Even the un- attractive was novel, and what was not unattrac- tive was so charming. She admired the quaint, clean, bright, fanciful Dutch towns; the abundance of flowers still to be seen abroad ; the smiling coun- try places surrounding the towns; the strange carvings and devices on the houses; the crooked streets. "You are the first person I ever saw," Lawrence said admiringly, "who found beauty in crooked streets." " Do you like straight ones ? " said Dolly. " Certainly. Why not ? " "You look from end to, end; you see all there is at once ; walk and walk as you may, there is no change, but the same wearisome lines of houses. Now when streets are not straight, but have wind- ings and turnings, you are always coming to some- thing new." " I suppose you like them to be up hill and down too ? " " very much ! " " You do not find that in Holland." "No, but in Boston." " Ah, indeed ! " said Lawrence. " I wonder," Dolly went on, " what makes one nation so different from another. You are on an island ; but here there is only a line between Hol- land and Germany, and the people are not alike." " Comes from what they eat," said Lawrence. A SQUARE PARTY. 295 " Their food ? " said Dolly. "Yes. The Scotchman lives upon porridge, the Englishman on beef and porter, the German on sausages and beer." "The French?" " 0, on soup and salad and sour wine." " And Italians ? " " On grapes and olives." "That will do to talk about," said Dolly; "but it does not touch the question." " Not touch the question ! I beg your pardon but it does touch it most essentially. Do you think it makes no difference to a man what sort of a dinner he eats ? " "A great difference to some men; but does it make much difference in him ? " "Yes," said Eupert; and "Yes! " said Lawrence, with a unanimity which made Dolly smile. " I can tell you," the latter went on, "a man is one thing or another for the day, according to whether he has had a good breakfast or a bad one." " I understand. That's temper." "It is not temper at all. It is physical con- dition." " It's feeling put to 'rights, I think," said Ru- pert. " I suppose all these people are suited, in their several ways," said Dolly. "Will mother like Venice, Mr. St. Leger, when we get there ? What is it like ? " "Like a city afloat. You will like it, for the 296 THE END OF A COIL. strangeness and the beautiful things you will find there. I can't say about Mrs. Copley, I'm sure." " What do they drink there ? " said Rupert. " Water ? " "Well, not exactly. You can judge for your- self, my good fellow." " But that is Italy," said Dolly. " I suppose there is no beer or porter ? " " Well, you can find it, of course, if you want it; there are people enough coming and going that do want it ; but in Venice you can have pure wine, and at a reasonable price, too." " At hotels, of course," said Dolly faintly. "Of course, at some of them. But I was not thinking of hotels." " Of what then ? " "Wine shops.'' "Wine shops! Not for people Avho only want a glass, or two glasses ? " "Just for them. A glass or two, or half a dozen." " Restaurants, you mean ? " " No, I do not mean restaurants. They are just wine shops; sell nothing but wine. Odd little places. There's no show; there's no set out; there are just the casks from which the wine is drawn, and the glasses mugs, I should say; queer things; pints and quarts, and so on. Nothing else is there, but the customers and the people who serve you." " And people go into such places to drink wine ? merely to drink, without eating anything." A SQUARE PARTY. 297 "They can eat, if they like. There are street venders, that watch the custom and come in im- mediately after any one enters; they bring fruit and confections and trifles." "You do not mean that gentlemen go to these places, Mr. St. Leger?" " Certainly. The wine is pure, and sold at a reasonable rate. Gentlemen go of course if they know where to go." Dolly's heart sank. In Venice this ! where she had hoped to have her father with her safe. She had known there was wine enough to be had in hotels ; but that, she knew too, costs money, if peo- ple will have it good; and Mr. Copley liked no other. But cheap wine shops, " if you know where to go," therefore retired and comparatively pri- vate places, were those to be found in Venice, the goal of her hopes? Dolly's cheeks grew percep- tibly pale. " What is the matter, Miss Dolly ? " Lawrence asked, watching her. But Dolly could not answer; and she thought he knew, besides. " There is no harm in pure wine," he went on. Dolly flashed a look at him upon that, a most involuntary, innocent look ; yet one which he would have worked half a day for if it could have been obtained so. It was eloquent, it was brilliant, it was tender; it carried a fiery appeal against the truth of his words, and at the same time a most moving deprecation of his acting in consonance with them. She dared not speak plainer, and she 298 THE END OF A COIL. could not have spoken plainer, if she had talked for an hour. Lawrence would have urged further his view of the subject, but that look stopped him. Indeed the beauty of it put for the moment the occasion of it out of his head. Thanks to Rupert's efficient agency, they were able to spend that night at Utrecht, and the next day went on. It seemed to Dolly that every hour was separating her further from her father ; which to be sure literally was true ; nevertheless she had to give herself up to the witchery of that drive. The varied beauty and the constant novelty on every hand were a perpetual entertainment. Mrs. Copley even forgot herself and her grievances in looking out of the carriage windows; indeed the only trouble she gave was in her frequent chang- ing places with Dolly to secure now this and now that view. " We haven't got such roads in Massachusetts," remarked Rupert. "This is Avhat I call first-rate going." "Have you got such anything else there?" Law- rence inquired smoothly. " Not such land, I'm bound to say." " No," said Dolly, " this is not in the least like Massachusetts, in anything. mother, look at those cattle! why there must be thousands of them; how beautiful! You would not find such an immense level green plain in Massachusetts, Mr. St. Leger. I never saw such a one anywhere." Mrs. Copley took that side of the carriage. A SQUARE PARTY. 299 " It wouldn't be used for a pasture ground, if we had it there," said Eupert. "Perhaps it would. I fancy it is too wet for grain," St. Leger answered. " Now here is a lake again," said Dolly. " How large, and how pretty. Miles and miles, it must be. How pretty those little islands are, Mr. Bab- bage." Mrs. Copley exchanged again, and immediately burst out "Dolly, Dolly, did you see that woman's ear- rings? I declare they were a foot long." "I beg your pardon half a foot, Mrs. Copley." "What do you suppose they are made of?" " True gold or silver." "Mercy! that's the oddest thing I've seen yet. I suppose Holland is a very rich country." "And here come country houses and gardens again," said Dolly. "There's a garden filled with mai-ble statues, mother." Mrs. Copley shifted her seat to the other side to look at the statues, and directly after went back to see some curiously trimmed yews in another garden. So it went on ; Dolly and her mother get- ting a good deal of exercise by the way. Mrs. Copley was ready for her dinner, and enjoyed it ; and Dolly perceiving this enjoyed hers too." Then they were delighted with Arnheim. They drove into the town towards evening; and the quaint, picturesque look of the place, lying bright in the sunshine of a warm September day, took the 300 THE END OF A COIL. hearts of both ladies. The odd gables, the endless variety of building, the balconies hung with climb- ing vines; and above all, the little gardens, gay with fall flowers and furnished with arbours or some sort of shelter, under some of which people were taking tea, while in others the wooden tables and chairs stood ready though empty, testifying to a good deal of habitual out-of-door life ; they stirred Dolly's fancy and Mrs. Copley's curiosity. Both of them were glad to spend the night in such a pretty place. After they had had supper comfortably, Dolly left her mother talking to St. Leger and slipped out quietly to take a walk, having privately sum- moned Rupert to attend her. The walk was full of enjoyment. It lasted a good while; till Dolly began to grow a little tired, and the evening light was dying away; then the steps slackened which had been very brisk at setting out, and Dolly began to let her thoughts go beyond what was immediately before her. She was very much in- clined to be glad now of Rupert's presence in the party. She perceived that he was already devoted to her service; not with Mr. St. Leger's pretensions, but with something more like the adoration a hea- then devotee pays to his goddess. Rupert already watched her eyes and followed her wishes, some- times before they were spoken. It was plain that she might rely upon him for all to which his powers would reach; and a strong element of good will began to mix with her confidence in him. What A SQUARE PARTY. 301 could she do, to help make this journey a benefit to the boy. He had known little of good or gentle influences in his life ; yet he was gentle himself and much inclined to be good, she thought. And he might be very important to her yet, before she got home. " I don't know the first thing about this country," he broke the silence. " It was always a little spot in the corner of the map that I thought was no sort of count. Why it's a grand place ! " " You ought to read about it in history." " I never read much history, that's a fact," Rupert answered. " Never had much to read," he added with a laugh. "Fact is, my life up to how has been pretty much of a scrimmage for the needful." " Knowledge is needful," said Dolly. ".That's a fact; but a fellow must live first, you see. And that warn't always easy once." " And what are your plans or prospects ? What do you mean to be or do ? what do you mean to make of yourself? " Rupert half laughed. " I haven't any prospects to speak of. In fact I don't see ahead any further than Venice. As to what I am to be, or do, I expect that will be settled without any choice of mine. I've got along, so far, somehow; I guess I'll get along yet." "Are you a Christian?" Dolly asked, following a sudden impulse. " I guess I ain't what you mean by that." " What do you mean by it ? " 302 THE END OF A COIL. " Well where I come from, they call Christians, folks that have j'ined the church." " That's making a profession " said Dolly. "Yes I've heard folks call it that." " But what is the reality ? What do you think a man professes when he joins the church." " I'll be shot if I know," Rupert answered, look- ing at her hard in the fading light. "I'd like first rate to hear you say." " It is just to be a servant of Christ," said Dolly. " A true servant, ' doing the will of God rom the heart.' " " How are you going to know what his will is ? I should be bothered if you asked me." " he has told us that," said Dolly surprised. " In the Bible." "Then I s'pose you've got to study that consid- erable." " Certainly." " Well, don't it say things pretty different from what most folks do ? " " Yes. What then ? " "Then it wouldn't be just easy to get along with it, I should think." " What then ? " "Well!" said Rupert, "how are you going to live in the world, and not do as the world do ? " " Then you have studied the Bible a little ? " "No, fact, I haven't," said Rupert. "But I've heard folks talk now and again; and that's what I think about it." A SQUARE PARTY. 303 " Suppose it is difficult ? " said Dolly. " But it is really not difficult, if one is a true servant of God and not only make-believe. Suppose it were dif- ficult, though. Do you remember what Christ said of the two ways, serving him and not serving him ? " Eupert shook his head. " Have you got a Bible of your own ? " " No," said Eupert. "That's an article 1 never owned yet. I've always wanted other things more, you see." "And I would rather want everything else in the world," said Dolly. " I mean, I would rather be without everything else." " Surely ! " said Rupert. "Because I am a servant of Christ, you see. Now that is what I want you to be. And as to the question of ease or difficulty this is Avhat I was going to repeat to you. Jesus said, that those who hear and obey him are like a house planted on a rock ; fixed and firm ; a house that when the storms come and the winds blow, is never so much as shaken. But those who do not obey him are like a house built on the sand. When the storms blow and the winds beat, it will fall terribly and all to ruins. It seems to me, Mr. Babbage, that that is harder than the other." " Suppose the storms do not come ? " said Eupert. " I guess they come to most people," said Dolly soberly. " But the Lord did not mean these storms merely. I don't know whether he meant them at 304 THE END OF A COIL. all. He meant the time by and by. Come, we must go home," said Dolly, beginning to go for- ward again. " I wish you would be a servant of Christ, Mr. Babbage ! " "Why?" " because all that is sure and strong and safe and happy is on that side," said Dolly, speaking eagerly. "All that is noble and true and good. You are sure of nothing, if you are not a Christian, Mr. Babbage; you are not sure even of yourself. Temptation may whirl you, you don't know where, and before you know it and before you can help it. And when the storms come, those storms your house will go down in the sands " And to Kupert's enormous astonishment, Dolly's voice broke here, and for a second she stood still, draw- ing long sobs; then she lifted her head with ail effort, took his arm and went swiftly back on the way to the hotel. He had not been able to say one word. Eupert could not have the faintest notion of the experience which had pointed and sharpened Dolly's last words; he could not imag- ine why, as they walked home, she should catch a hasty breath now and then, as he Knew she did, a breath which was almost a sob; but Rupert Bab- bage was Dolly's devoted slave from that day. Lawrence himself marvelled somewhat at the appearance and manner of the young lady in the evening. The talk and the thoughts had roused and stirred Dolly, with partly the stir of pain, but partly also the sense of work to do and the A SQUARE PARTY. 305 calling up of all her loving strength to do it. Hei cheek had a little more colour than usual, her eye a soft hidden fire, her voice a thrill of tender power. She was like, Lawrence thought, a most rare wild wood flower, some spiritual orchis or delicious and delicate geranium; in contrast to the severely trained, massive and immoveable tulips and camel- lias of society. She was at a vexatious distance from him, however; and handled him with a calm superiority which no woman of the world could have improved upon. Only it was nature with Dolly. CHAPTER XIX. SEEING SIGHTS. THE next day's journey was uninteresting and slow. Mrs. Copley grew tired; and even din- ner and rest at a good hotel failed to restore her spirits. "How many more days will it be before we get to Dresden ? " she desired to know. " Keep up your courage, Mrs. Copley," said Law- rence. " Remember the Green vaults ! We have some work before us yet to gBt there." " We shall not get there to-morrow ? " "We shall hardly do more than reach Cassel to-morrow." " I don't know anything about Cassel. Will it be nothing but sand all the way, like to-day? We have left everything pretty behind us in Hol- land." " I think the way will mend a little," Lawrence allowed. "What place is next to Cassel?" "As our resting place for the night? I am afraid it will take us two days to get to Weimar." " And then Dresden ? " " No, then Leipzig." SEEING SIGHTS. 307 "01 should like to see Leipzig," cried Dolly. "What for?" said her mother. "I am sure all these places are nothing to us, and I think the country is very stupid. And I like travelling where I know what the people say. I feel as if I had got five thousand miles from anywhere. What do you suppose keeps your father, Dolly ? " " I don't know, mother." "You may write and tell him, if he don't come to us in Dresden I shall go back. This isn't my notion of pleasure." " But it is doing you good, mother." " I hadn't anything I could eat this evening. If you don't mind, Dolly, I'll go to bed." Dolly did mind, for she longed for a walk again among the strange scenes and people. As it was not to be had this time, she sat at her window and looked out. It was moonlight, soft weather; and her eye was at least filled with novelty enough, even so. But her thoughts went back to what was not novel. The day had been dull and fatiguing. Dolly's spirits were quiet. She too was longing for her father, with a craving, anxious longing that was more full of fear than of hope. And as she thought it over again, she did not like her position. Her mother was little of a shield be- tween her and what she wanted to escape, Law- rence St. Leger's attentions; and she could but imperfectly protect herself. True, she knew she gave him no direct encouragement. Yet he was constantly with her, he had the right of taking 308 THE END OF A COIL. care of her, he let her see daily what a pleasure it was, and she was not able to turn it into the re- verse of pleasure. She could not repulse him, unless he pushed his advances beyond a certain point; and Lawrence was clever enough to see that he had better not do that. He took things for granted a little, in a way that annoyed Dolly. She knew she gave him no proper encouragement ; nevertheless, the things she could not forbid might seem to weave a tacit claim by and by. She wished for her father on her own account. But when she thought of what was keeping him, Dolly's head went down in agony. "O father, father ! " she cried in the depths of her heart " why don't you come ! how can you let us ask in vain ? and what dreadful, dreadful entanglement it must be that has such power over you to make you do things so unlike yourself ! what shall I do ? what shall I do ? I cannot reach him now only by letters." Mrs. Copley got up next morning in renewed spirits. "Dolly," she inquired while she was dress- ing, in which business Dolly always helped her, " is anything settled between St. Leger and you ? " "Settled, mother? He is father's secretary, at least so he calls himself, taking care of us in father's absence. There is nothing else settled; nor to be settled." "You know why he is here, child." " Because father isn't, mother; and I should like to make the exchange as quickly as possible." SEEING SIGHTS. 309 " What's the matter with him, Dolly ? " "The principal thing is, he won't take a hint." "No, no; I mean, what fault do you find in him ? " "That, mother. Nothing else." " He worships the ground you tread on." " Mother, I think that is a pity. Don't you ? " " 1 think you ought to be very glad of it. I am. Dolly, the St. Legers are very well off; he is rich, and his father is rich; and there is that beautiful place, and position, and everything you could desire." " Position " Dolly repeated. " Mother, I think I make my own position. At any rate, I like it better than his." " Dolly ! the St. Legers" "They are not anything particular, mother. Eich bankers; that is all." " And isn't that enough ? " "Well, no," said Dolly laughing. "It would take a good deal more to tempt me away from you and father." " But child, you've got to go. And Mr. St. Leg- er is as fond of you as ever he can be." " He will not break his heart, mother. He is not that sort. Don't think it." " I don't care if he did ! " said Mrs. Copley half crying. "It is not him I am thinking of; it is you." "Thank you, mother," said Dolly, putting her arms round her mother's neck and kissing her repeatedly. "But I am not going to leave you 310 THE END OF A COIL. for any such person. And I don't think so much of money as you do." " Dolly, Dolly, money is a good thing." "There is not enough of it in the world to buy me, mother. Don't try to fix my price." The rest of that day Dolly was gay. "Whether from the reaction of spirits natural to seventeen, or whether she were lightened in heart by the explicitness of her talk with her mother in the morning, she was the life of the day's journey. The road itself mended; the landscape was often noble, with fine oak and beech woods, and lovely in its rich cultivation; meadows and ploughed fields and tracts of young grain and smiling villages al- ternating with one another. There was no tedium in the carriage from morning to night. St. Leg- er and Rupert laughed at Dolly, and with her; and Mrs. Copley, in spite of chewing the cud of mortification at Dolly's impracticableness, was be- guiled into forgetting herself. Sometimes this happy effect could be managed; at other times it was impossible. But more days followed, not so gay. " I'm as tired as I can be ! " was Mrs. Copley's declaration, as they were approaching Leipzig. " We'll soon get to our hotel now," said Lawrence soothingly: "'Tain't that," said Mrs. Copley; "I am tired of hotels too. I am tired of going from one place to another. I should like to stay still somewhere." " But it is doing you good, mother." SEEING SIGHTS. 311 " I don't see it," said Mrs. Copley. " And what do you mean by its doing me good, Dolly ? What is good that you don't feel ? It's like something handsome that you can't see; and if you call that good, I don't. I wonder if life's to everybody what it is to me ! " "Not exactly," said Lawrence. "Not every- body can go where he likes and do what he will, and have such an attendant handmaiden every- where." " Do what I will ! " cried Mrs. Copley, who like other dissatisfied people did not like to have her case proved against her, "much you know about it, Mr. St. Leger ! If I had my will, I would go back to America." " Then you would have to do without your hand- maiden," said Lawrence. " You do not think that we on this side are so careless of our own ad- vantage as to let such a valuable article go out of the country?" It was said with just such a mixture of jest and earnest that Dolly could hardly take it up. The words soothed Mrs. Copley, though her answer hardly sounded so. " I suppose that is what mothers have to make up their minds to," she said. "Just when their children are ready to be some comfort to them, off they go, to begin the same game on their own account. I sometimes wonder whether it is worth while to live at all ! " " But one can't help that," said Rupert. 312 THE END OF A COIL. " I don't see what it amounts to." "Mother, think of the Dresden Green vaults," said Dolly. "Well, I do," said Mrs. Copley. "That keeps me up. But whten I have seen them, Dolly ; what will keep me up then ? " " Why Venice, mother." " And suppose I don't like Venice ? I some- times think I shan't." "Then we will not stay there, dear. We will go on to Sorrento." "After all, Dolly, one can't keep always going somewhere. One must come to a stop." " The best way is not to think of that till one is obliged to do it," said Lawrence. " Enjoy while you have to enjoy." "That ain't a very safe maxim, seems to me," said Rupert. "One's rope might get twisted up." " It is the maxim of a great many wise men," said Lawrence, ignoring the figure. " Is it wise ? " said Dolly. " Would you spend your money so, like your time ? spend to the last farthing, before you made any provision for what was to be next ? " "No, for I need not. In money matters one can always take care to have means ahead." " So you can in the other thing." " How ? " said Eupert, and " How ? " said Law- rence, in the same breath. "You cannot always, as Mrs. Copley said, go on finding new places to go to and new things to see." SEEING SIGHTS. 313 "I'd have what would put me above the need of that." " What ? Philosophy ? Stoicism ? " " No " said Dolly softly. " Have you discovered the philosopher's stone ? " said Lawrence; "and can you turn common things into gold for your purposes ? " " Yes," said Dolly in the same way. " Let us hear how, won't you ? Is it books, or writing, or art perhaps? You are very fond of that I know." "No," said Dolly slowly; "and I cannot shew it to you, either, Mr. St. Leger. It is like the golden water in the story in the Arabian Nights, which was at the top of a hill, and people went up the hill to get it; but on the way so many strange voices sounded in their ears that they were tempted to look round; and if they looked round they were turned to stone. So the way was marked with stones." " And nobody got the golden water ? " "Yes. At last one went up, who being fore- warned, stopped her ears and never looked round. She got to the top and found the golden water. We in these times give it another name. It is the water of life." " What are you talking about, Dolly ? " said her mother. "Must one go up the hill with one's ears stopped noiv, to get the wonderful water?" Lawrence asked. Dolly nodded. 314 THE END OF A COIL. "And when you have got it what then?" "Then you have got it," said Dolly. "It is the water of life. And you have done with this dry wilderness that mother is complaining of, and you are recommending." Lawrence stroked and pulled his moustache, as he might have done if a lady had spoken to him in polite Sanscrit. Rupert looked gravely out of the carriage window. Neither answered, and nobody spoke another word, till Mrs. Copley exclaimed, "There's Leipzig!" "Looks sort o' peaceful now " remarked Ru- pert. " Peaceful ? Why, ain't the place quiet ? " Mrs. Copley asked anxiously. "Quiet enough," said Lawrence; "but there was a time, not so long ago, when it wasn't exactly so." " When was that ? " " When all the uniforms of Europe were chasing through it," said Dolly; "some chased and some chasing; when the country was covered with ar- mies; when a half a million of men or so fought a long battle here, and the suburbs of Leipzig were full of dead and wounded and sick and starving; there was not much peace then in or out of the city; though there was some rejoicing." "0," said Mrs. Copley, " you mean " " When Napoleon was beaten here, mother." " War's a mean thing ! " said Rupert. " That's not precisely the view civilized peoples take of it," said Lawrence with a slight sneer. SEEING SIGHTS. 315 " True, though," said Dolly. " Mean ? " said Lawrence. " Do you think it was a mean thing for Germany to rise up and cast out the power that had been oppressing her? or for the other powers of Europe to help ? " " No; but very mean for the side that had given the occasion." " That's as you look at it," said Lawrence. " No, but how God looks at it. You cannot possibly think," said Dolly slowly, going back to her old childish expression, " that He likes it." Lawrence could not help smiling at this very original view. " Very few people that make war ask that question " he said. " God will ask them, though," said Dolly, " why they did not. I think few people ask that ques- tion, Mr. St. Leger, about anything." "It is not usual, except for a little saint here and there like you," he allowed. " And yet it is the only question. There is nothing else to be asked about a matter; almost nothing else. If that is settled, it is all settled." " If we were only all saints," Lawrence put in. " Why are not we ? " " I don't know. I suppose everybody is not cut out for such a vocation." " Everybody ought to be a saint" " Do you mean that ? " cried Rupert. " I thought, I mean, I thought it was a special gift." " Yes," said Dolly with a smile at him, " but God gives it to every one that wants it. And when the 316 THE END OF A COIL. King comes, Mr. St. Leger, he will gather his saints to him, and none others; don't yon want to be counted among them then ? I do ! " I don't know what had wrought up Dolly to this sudden burst; but she dropped her veil upon eyes all alight, while some soft dripping tears were fall- ing from them like diamonds. Everyone knows the peculiar brilliancy of a sunlit shower; and the two young men remained fairly dazzled. Kupert however looked very grave, while the other wore a cloud on his brow. Dolly was as matter of fact as possible when she came out from under her veil again ; and declared she should not go to a hotel in Dresden, but take a lodging. "Why?" Lawrence enquired. " Cheaper. And pleasanter. And much quieter. We shall probably have to stay several days in Dresden. We must get letters there." "But you do not know where to go, to find lodgings." " Yes, I do. Or I shall. I hope so. I have sent for the address of the woman with whom Lady Brierley had lodgings a whole winter." " Where do you expect to receive this address ? " " In Leipzig, I hope." " Eeally, Dolly, you take a good deal upon you, considering how old you are," said her mother. "Don't you think Mr. St. Leger knows best?" " No, mother, not for you and me. O he can go to a hotel. He will, of course." SEEING SIGHTS. 317 However this Mr. St. Leger did not desire. He was obliged to do it nevertheless. The letter was found at Leipzig, the lodgings were found in Dres- den, but not roomy enough to hold them all. Mrs. Copley and her daughter and their attendant Ru- pert were very comfortably accommodated; and to Dolly's great joy found themselves alone. Frau Wetterhahn was all obligingness, hearing Lady Brierley's name, and made them right welcome. This Frau Wetterhahn ! She was the most lively, active, capable, talkative, bright -eyed, good-hu- moured, free and easy little woman that you can imagine. She was really capable, and cooked them a nice supper. Dolly had unpacked a few things, and felt herself at home, and the three sat down comfortably to their meal. " Now, mother dear," said Dolly, " this is pleas- ant!" ' " Well," said Mrs. Copley, " I think it is. If you only hadn't sent Lawrence away ! " " He couldn't stay, mother. Frau Wetterhahn sent him away not I. Change will be good for him. And for me too. I am going to make be- lieve we are at home for a little while. And you are going to see the Green vaults; and I am going to see everything. And these rooms are so cosy ! " "Aren't you going to see the Green vaults too?" " Indeed I hope so. But we may have to wait a day or two, dear mother ; that will be good, and you can have a rest." " I'm sure I'm glad of it," said Mrs. Copley. " I 318 THE END OF A COIL. am just tired of riding, and more tired yet of see- ing everlasting new things. I am aching for some- thing I've seen before in my life." " Well, here's a cup of coffee, mother." Mrs. Copley tasted. " If you think that's like anything I used to have at home, I'm sorry for you ! " she said with a re- proachful look. " Don't you like it ? I do. I like it because it is different. But I think it is very good, mother. And look here is some delicious bread." " It's like no bread I ever saw till I came to Ger- many. mercy ! why must folks have so many ways ? I wonder how things will be at Venice ? " "Stranger than ever, mother, I'm afraid." " Then I shall get tired of it. Isn't this a very roundabout way that we are going to Venice? round this way by Dresden ? " "Why yes, mother, of course; but the Green vaults are here, and you were bound to see the Green vaults." " I wouldn't have come, if I had known it was so far," said Mrs. Copley. But she relished her supper, and was not ner- vous, and slept well; and Dolly was somewhat in hopes that Dresden was not a bad move after all. They had to wait, as she said, for letters, and for the sight of the glories that had attracted them hither. Several days passed by. They passed in delights, for Dolly. Two morn- ings were spent in the great picture gallery. Mrs. SEEING SIGHTS. 319 Copley's desires and expectations having focussed upon the Green vaults, were hardly able to see anything else clearly ; indeed she declared that she did not think the wonderful Madonna was so very wonderful after all; no woman could stand upon clouds in that way, and as she was a woman, she did not see why the painter did not exhibit her in a possible situation; and those little angels at the foot of the picture, where was the other half of them supposed to be ? she did not like half of any- thing. But Dolly dreamed in rapture, before this and many another wonder of art. Mrs. Copley made processions round the rooms constantly, draw- ing of course St. Leger with her; she could not be still. , But Dolly would stop before a picture and be immoveable for half an hour, drinking in pleas- ure and feeding upon knowledge; and Eupert gen- erally took post behind lier and acted as body-guard. What he made of the show, I do not know. Dol- ly asked him how he liked it? He said, "first- rate." " Well, what do you think of it, Rupert ? " Dolly asked gaily. " Well, I guess I don't just see into it," was the dubious answer. " If these are likenesses of folks, they ain't like my folks." "0 but they are not likenesses; most of them are not." "What are they, then? and what is the good of 'em, if they don't mean anything ? " "They are out of people's imagination; as the 320 THE END OF A COIL. painter imagined such and such persons might have looked, in such situations." " How the painter imagined they might have looked ! " cried Rupert. "Yes. And they mean a great deal; all that was in the painter's mind." "I don't care a red cent how a man fancies somebody looked. I'd like the real thing, if I could get it. I'd go some ways to see how the mother of Christ did look; but you say that ain't it?" " No," said Dolly smiling. Rupert surveyed the great picture again. " Don't you think it is beautiful, Rupert ? " Dolly pursued, curious to know what went on in his thoughts. " I've seen as handsome faces and handsomer," he said slowly; "and I lik^ flesh and blood a long sight better than a painting, anyhow." " Handsome ? " said Dolly. " it is not that it is so much more ! " What is it, Miss Dolly ? " said Lawrence just then coming up behind her. " 1 should like to hear your criticism. Do put it in words." "That's not easy; and it is not criticism. But I'll tell you how it seems to me; as the paint- ing, not of anybody's features, but of somebody's nature spirit. It is a painting of the spiritual character." " Mental traits can be expressed in words, though," said Lawrence. "You'll go on, I hope?" SEEING SIGHTS. 321 " I cannot," said Dolly. " It is not the lovely face, Mr. Babbage; it is Thought and Feeling, Love, and Purity and Majesty but the majesty of a person who has no thought of herself." Dolly could not get out of that one room; she sat before the Raphael, and then stood fixed before the "Notte" or the "Magdalene" of Correggio; and would not come away. Eupert always attended on her, and Mrs. Copley as regularly made progresses through the rooms on Lawrence's arm, till she de- clared herself tired out. They were much beholden to Lawrence and his good offices thbse days, more than they knew; for it was past the season when the gallery was open to the public, and entrance was obtained solely by the influence of St. Leger's mediation and money ; how much of the latter they never knew. Lawrence was a very good escort also; his address was pleasant, and his knowl- edge of men and things sufficient for useful pur- poses; he knew in general what was what and who was who, and was never at a loss. Rupert followed the party like a faithful dog, ready for service a,nd with no opportunity to shew it; Law- rence held the post of leader and manager now, and filled it well. In matters of art, however, I am bound to say, though he could talk more he knew as little as Rupert himself. "What is to be done to-morrow?" he asked, in the evening of that second day. " We haven't got our letters yet," said Mrs. Cop- ley. " I can't see why they don't come." 21 322 THE END OF A COIL. "So the Green vaults must wait. What else shall we do ? " " 0," said Dolly, " might we not go to the gal- lery again ? " "Another day?" cried her mother. "Why you have been there two whole mornings, child. Ain't that enough?" " Mother, I could go two months, I think." "Then you'd catch your death," said Mrs. Cop- ley. " That inner room is very chill now. For my part, I do not want to see another picture again in days and duys. My head swims with looking at them. I don't see what you find in the old things." Dolly could not have told. She sighed, and it was agreed that they would drive about the city and its environs next day; Lawrence assuring them that it was one of the pleasantest towns in Ger- many. But the next morning early came the let- ters from Mr. Copley; one to his wife and one to Dolly. Dolly read them both and pondered them ; and was unsatisfied. They were rather cheerful letters ; at the same time Mr. Copley informed his wife and daughter that he could not join them in Dresden ; nor at any rate before they got to Venice. So much was final; but what puzzled and annoyed Dolly yet more than this delay was the, amount of money he remitted to her. To her; for Mrs. Copley, as an invalid, it was agreed, should not be burdened with business. So the draft came in the letter to Dolly ; SEEING SIGHTS. 323 and it was not half large enough. Dolly kept the draft, gave the letter to her mother to read, and sat in a mazed kind of state, trying to bring her wits to a focus upon this condition of affairs. What was her father thinking of? It is one thing to be short of funds at home, in one's own country and in one's own house ; it is bad enough even there; what is it when one is in a strange land and dependent upon the shelter of other people's houses, for which an equivalent must be paid in money? and when one is obliged to travel from one place to another, and every mile of the way demands another equivalent in money ? Mr. Cop- ley had sent a little, but Dolly knew it would by no means take them to Venice. What did he in- tend ? or what did he expect her to do ? Apply to Lawrence ? Never ! No, not under any pressure or combination that could be brought to bear. He would demand an equivalent too ; or worse, think that it was guarantied, if she made such an appli- cation. How could Mr. Copley place his child in such a predicament ? And then Dolly's head went down in her hands, for the probable answer crushed her. He never would, he never could, but for yield- ing to unworthy indulgences; becoming entangled in low pleasures; taken possession of by the influ- ence of unprincipled men. Her father ! Dolly felt as if her heart would break or her head burst with its burden of pain, " a father never should let his child feel ashamed for him ! " was the secret cry down in the depths of her heart. Dolly would 324 THE END OF A COIL. not speak it out ever, even to herself, but it was there, all the same; and it tortured her, with a nameless, exquisite torture, under which she men- tally writhed, without being able to get the least relief. Every surge of the old love and rever- ence broke on those sharp rocks of pain more hopelessly. " father ! father ! " she cried si- lently, with a pitiful vain appeal which could never be heard. And then the practical question came back, taking away her breath. What was she to do? If they did not stay too long in Dresden they would have enough money to pay their lodging bill and go, she calculated, half the way to Venice. What then ? And if Mr. Copley met them in Venice, according to promise, who would assure her that he would then come provided with the necessary funds? and what if he failed to come? Dolly started up, feeling that she could not sit any longer thinking about it; her nerves were getting into a hard knot. She would not think; she busied herself in making her mother and her- self ready for their morning's excursion. And Lawrence came with a carriage; and they set off. It was a lovely day, and certainly the drive was all it had promised ; and Dolly barred off thought, and would look and enjoy and talk and make others enjoy; so the first part of the day passed very well. Dolly would make no arrangements for the afternoon, and Mrs. Copley was able for no more that day. SEEINe talked to ; she knew nobody else. Her father had let her come on this journey, had sent her forth, tnd now left her unprovided even for the barest necessities. No doubt he meant that she should be beiolden to Mr. St. Leger, to whom he could retun the money by and by. " Or not at all," thought tolly bitterly, "if I would give him myself instead. father, could you seU me ! " Then came the thought of the entanglements and indulgences which h\d brought Mr. Copley to do other things so unlife himself; and Dolly's heart grew too full. Shj could not bear it; she had borne up and foughi it out all the morning; now feeling and truth must SEEING SIGHTS. 327 have a minute for themselves ; her head went down on her hands and she burst into quiet sobs. Quiet, but deep. Eupert, looking on in dismayed alarm, saw that this outbreak of pain had some deep grounded cause; right or wrong, it came from Dolly's very heart and her whole nature was trembling. He was filled with a great awe; and in this awe his sympathy was silent for a time; but he could not leave the girl to herself too long. " Miss Dolly," he said in a pause of the sobs, " I thought you were such a Christian ? " Dolly started, lifted her quivering, tearful face, and looked straight at him. "Yes," she said, " what then ? " "I always thought religious folks had something to comfort them." "Don't think they haven't," said Dolly. But there she broke down again, and it was a storm of a rain shower that poured from her eyes this time. She struggled to get the better of it, and as soon as she could she sat up again, brushing the tears right and left with her hands and speaking in a voice still half choked. "Don't think they haven't! If I had not that, my heart would just break and be done with it. But being a Christian does not keep one from suffering sometimes." Her voice failed. "What is the matter? No, I don't mean that you should tell me that; only can't I do some- thing ? " " No, thank you ; nobody can. Yes, you are do- 328 THE END OF A COIL. ing a great deal, Rupert ; you are the greatest com- fort to me. I depend upon you." Rupert's eyes glistened. He was silent for sheer swelling of heart. He gulped down something and went on presently. "I was thinkin' of something my old mother used to say. I know I've heard her say it, lots o' times. I don't know what the trouble is, that's a fact so maybe I hadn't oughter speak; but she used to say that nothing could happen to Chris- tians that would do 'em any real hurt." " I know," said Dolly, wondering to herself how it could be true; "the Bible says so." And then conscience rebuked her. "And it is true," she said lifting up her head; " everything is true that the Bible says, and that is true; and it says other things ' " What ? " said Rupert ; more for her sake I con- fess than for his own. " It says ' Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is staid upon thee ' ; I was reading it this morning. You see 1 must be a very poor Christian, or I should not have doubted a minute. But even a Christian, and the best, must be sorry sometimes for things he cannot help," said Dolly. "Then you were not troubled about yourself just now ? " said Rupert. "Yes, I was! I was indeed, in spite of all those words and a great many others. I believe I forgot them." "I should think, if God gives people promises, SEEING SIGHTS. 329 he would like them to be trusted," said Kupert "That's what ice do." Dolly looked at him again as if he had said something that struck her; and then she got up, and taking his arm set off this time at a business pace. She knew, she said, where to find what she wanted; however, she had gone out of her way, and it cost her some trouble and time to get to the place. It was a store of artists' materials among other things; and here Dolly made careful pur- chases of paper, colours, and camel's hair pencils. Rupert was reassured as to a suspicion that had crossed him, that part of Dolly's trouble might have been caused by want of means; seeing that she was buying articles of amusement with a free hand. Then Dolly went straight home. All the rest of that afternoon she sat drawing. The two next days, the weather was unfavourable for going out, and she sat at her work persistently, whenever she was not obliged to be reading to her mother or attending upon her. The day following the long-planned visit to the Green vaults was made. In the evening Lawrence came to see them. "Well, Mrs. Copley; tired?" he began. " I don't know which part of me's rn^st tired," said the lady; "my eyes, or my head, cr my feet." " Did it pay, after all ? " "Pay! I wouldn't have missed it for a year's length of life! It went ahead of all lever thought of or dreamt of. It was most like Altddin's lamp 330 THE END OF A COIL. or what he saw, I mean, when he went down into fairyland. I declare, it was just as good." " Only that you could not put things in your pockets. What would you have brought, Mrs. Copley, if it had been safe and allowable? The famous egg ? " "Mercy, no, Mr. St. Leger ! I shouldn't have a min- ute's peace of my life, for fear I should lose it again." " That's about how they say the first owner felt. They tell of him, that a lady once coaxed him to let her have the egg in her hand ; and she kept it in her hand; and the prince forgot; and she drove back to Dresden with it." " Where was he, the prince ? " "At some hunting castle, I believe. It was night before he found out his loss; and then he booted and spurred in hot haste and rode to Dres- den in the middle of the night, to fetch the egg from the lady again." "What's the use of things that give folks so much trouble ? " said Rupert. "A matter of taste!" said Lawrence, shrug- ging his shoulders. "But I am glad to have been through those rooms myself; and I never should, but for you, Mrs. Copley. I suppose there is hardly the like to be seen anywhere else." " What delicious things there were in the ivory room," said Dolly. "Those drunken musicians, mother, of .Albert D'urer; and some of the vases; how beautiful they were ! " " I did not tee the musicians," said Mrs. Copley. SEEING SIGHTS. 331 " I don't see how drunken musicians, or drunken anything, could be pretty. Odd taste, I think." "Then perhaps you didn't like the piece with the fallen angels?" said Rupert. "That beat me!" " How could there be peace with the fallen an- gels?" Mrs. Copley asked scornfully. At which however there was a great burst of laughter. " I liked best of all the room where the egg was, I believe. But the silver room was magnificent." " I liked the ivory better than the silver, mother." " Who does it all belong to ? " Rupert asked. " The reigning house of Saxony," Lawrence an- swered. "The whole of it?" "Yes." " And that big picture gallery into the bargain ? " " Yes." "That's bein' grasping, for any one family to have so much," was Rupert's conclusion. "Well you see," said Lawrence, "we get the good of it, and they have the care." " I don't see how we get the good of it," said Mrs. Copley. " I suppose if I had one of those golden birds, now, with the eyes of diamonds; or one of those wonderfully chased silver caskets; I should have enough to keep me in comfort the rest of my life. I think things are queer, somehow. One sin- gle one of those jewels that lie heaped up there, and I should want for nothing more in this world. And there they lie, and nobody has 'em." "Do you want for anything now, mother dear?" 332 THE END OF A COIL. asked Dolly. She was busy at a side table, arrang- ing something in a little frame, and did not look up from her work. " I should think I did ! " was Mrs. Copley's re- joinder. "What don't I want, from breath up?" "Here you have had one wish fulfilled to-day you have seen the Green vaults and now we are going to Venice to fulfil another wish what would you have ? " "I don't like to think I am going away from here. I like Dresden best of all the places we've been in. And I would like to go through the Green vaults but why they are called so I can- not conceive about once every month. I would never get tired." " So you would like to settle in Dresden ? " said Lawrence. " I don't think it would be safe to let you go through the Green vaults often, Mi-s. Cop- ley; you would certainly be tempted too much for your principles. Miss Dolly, we had better get her away. When do we go, by the by ? " Instead of answering, Dolly rose up and brought him something to look at; a plain little oval frame of black wood, within which was a head in light water colours. "Mrs. Copley ! " exclaimed Lawrence. "Is it like?" " Striking ! Capital. I'm not much of a judge of painting in general, but I know a friend's face when I see it; and this is to the life. To the life! Graceful, too. Where did you get it ? " SEEING SIGHTS. 333 " I got the paper and the paints at a little shop in I forget the name of the strasse; and mother was here to my hand. Ecco ! " "You don't mean you did it?" said Lawrence, while the others crowded near to look. " I used to amuse myself with that kind of thing when I was at school, and I had always a knack at catching likenesses. I am going to try you, Rupert, next." " Ah, try me ! " cried Lawrence. " Will you ? and we will stay in Dresden till it is done." "Suppose I succeed," said Dolly softly, "will you get me orders ? " "Orders?" "Yes. To paint likenesses, like this, in minia- ture. I can take ivory, but I would not waste ivory on this one. I'll do yours on ivory if you like." " But orders ? " said Lawrence, dumbfounded. "Yes," said Dolly nodding. "Orders; and for as high pay as you think I can properly ask. Hush ! say nothing to mother " "Is that like me?" Mrs. Copley asked, after studying the little picture. " Capitally like you ! " Lawrence cried. "Then I've changed more'n I thought I had, that's all. I don't think I care about your painting me any more, Dolly, if that's the best you can do." " Why Mrs. Copley," said Lawrence, " it's beau- tiful. Exactly your turn of the head, and the deli- cate fresh colour in your cheeks. It's perfect ! " 334 THE END OF A COIL. " Is it ? " said Mrs. Copley in a modified tone. " So that's what you've been fussing about, Dolly, these two days. Well, take Mr. St. Leger next.. I want to see what yoii'll make of him. She won't natter you," the lady went on ; " that's one thing you may lay your account with; she won't natter you. But if we're going away, you won't have much chance; and seems to me, we had better settle which way we are going." Lawrence did not take up this hint. He sat gazing at the little miniature, which was in its way very lovely. The colours were lightly laid in, the whole was rather sketchy; but the grace of the delineation was remarkable, and the likeness was perfect; and Dolly had shewn a true artist's eye in her choice of position and point of view. " I did not know you had such a wonderful tal- ent " he remarked. Dolly made no answer. " You'll do me next ? " " If you like my conditions." " I do not understand them," he said, looking up at her. " I want orders " Dolly said almost in a whis- per. " Orders ? To paint things like this ? For mon- ey ? Nonsense, Dolly ! " " As you please, Mr. St. Leger ; then I will stay here a while and get work through Frau Wetter- hahn. She wants me to paint Jier." " You never will ! " SEEING SIGHTS. 335 " I'll try." " As a favour, then ? " Dolly lifted her eyes and smiled at the young man; a smile that utterly and wholly bewitched him. Wilful ? yes, he thought it was wilful, but sweet and arch, and bright with hope and pur- pose and conscious independence; a little defiant, a great deal glad. " Paint me," said he hastily, " and I'll give you anything you like." "Dolly nodded. "Very well," said she; u tnoi you may talk with mother about our route." CHAPTER XX. LIMBURG. LAWRENCE did talk with Mrs. Copley; and the result of the discussion was that the decision and management of their movements was finally made over to him. Whether it happened by design or not, the good lady's head was quite confused among the different plans suggested ; she could understand nothing of it, she said ; and so it all fell into Lawrence's hand. I think that was what he wanted, and that he had views of his own to gratify; for Dolly, who had been engaged with other matters this time, expressed some surprise a day or two after they set out, at finding herself again in Weimar. "Going back the way we came?" she cried. " Only for a little distance a few stages," ex- plained Lawrence ; " after that it will be all new." Dolly did not much care, nor know enough to correct him if he was going wrong; she gave her- self up to hopeful enjoyment of the constantly vaiying new scenes and sights. Mrs. Copley on the contrary seemed able to enjoy nothing beyond the shortening of the distance between her and LlMBURG. 337 Venice. If she had known how much longer than was necessary Lawrence had made it ! So it happened that they were going one day down a pleasant road which led along a river val- ley, when an exclamation from Dolly roused her mother out of a half nap. "What is it?" she asked. " Mother, such a beautiful, beautiful old church ! Look see how it sits up there grandly on the rock." " Very inconvenient, I should think," said Mrs. Copley, giving a glance out of the carriage win- dow. "I shouldn't think people would like to mount up there often." " I believe," said Lawrence, also looking out now, "that must be a famous old church isn't this Limburg? yes. It is the cathedral at Lim- burg ; a very fine specimen of its style, Miss Dolly, they say." " What is the style ? it's beautiful ! Gothic ? " "No, aw not exactly. I'm not learned my- self, really, in such matters. I hardly know a good thing when I see it never studied antiquities, you know; but this is said, I know, to be a very good thing." / " How old ? It does not look antiquated." " it has been repaired and restored. But it is not Gothic, so it dates further back; what they call the Transition style." " It is very noble," said Dolly. " Is it as good inside as outside ? " 22 338 THE END OF A COIL. " Dou't know, I declare ; I suppose so. We might go in and see ; let the horses feed and Mrs. Copley- take a rest." This proposition was received with such joy by Dolly that it was at once acted upon. The party sought out an inn, bespoke some luncheon, and arranged for Mrs. Copley's repose. But chancing to hear from Lawrence that the treasures of art and value in the church repositories were both rich and rare, she gave up the promised nap and joined the party who went to the dome. After the Dresden Green vaults, she said, she supposed nothing new could be found; but she would go and see. So they went all together. If Lawrence had guessed to what this chance visit would lead ! But that is precisely what people can never know. Dolly was in a condition of growing delight, which every step increased. Before the great front of the cathedral she stood still and looked up, while Kupert and Mrs. Copley turned their backs and gazed out upon the wide country view. Lawrence as usual when he could, attended upon Dolly. " I did not know you were so fond of this kind of thing," he remarked, seeing a little enviously her bright, interested eyes. " It lifts me almost off my feet ! " said Dolly. "My soul don't seem big enough to take it all in. How grand, how grand ! Whose statues are those ? " " Oh each side ? " said Lawrence, who had been LlMBURG. 339 collecting information. " That on the one hand is Heinrich von Isenburg, the founder; and the other is the architect, but nobody knows his name. It is lost. St. George is on the top there." " Well," said Dolly, " he is just as well off as if it hadn't been lost ! " " Who ? the architect ? How do you make that out ? He loses all the glory." " How does he lose it ? Do you think," said Dolly smiling, " he would care, in the other world, to know that you and I liked his work ? " " The other world ! " said St. Leger. " You believe in it, don't you ? " "Yes, certainly; but you speak as if "As if I believed in it!" said Dolly merrily. "You speak as if you didn't." "I do, I assure you; but what is fame then?" " Nothing at all " said Dolly. " Just nothing at all; if you mean people's admiration or applause given when we have gone beyond reach of it." " Beyond reach of it ! " said Lawrence, echoing her words again. " Miss Dolly, do you think it is no use to have one's name honoured by all the world for ages after we have lived ? " "Very good for the world," said Dolly, with a spice of amusement visible again. " And nothing to the man ? " "What should it be to the man?" said Dolly, seriously enough now. "Mr. St. Leger, when a man has got beyond this world with its little cares and interests, there will be just one question for 340 THE END OF A COIL. him, whether he has done what God put him here to do; and there will be just one word of praise that he will care about, the ' Well done ! ' if he may have it, from those lips." Dolly began quietly, but her colour flushed and her lip trembled as she went on, and her eye sparkled through a sudden veil of tears. Law- rence was silenced by admiration, and almost for- got what they were talking about. " But don't you think," he began again, as Dolly moved towards the church door, "that the one thing I mean, the praise here, will be a sort of guaranty for the praise there ? " " No," said Dolly. " ' That which is highly es- teemed among men, is abomination in the sight of God,' often, often." She pushed open the door and went in. Only a little way in ; there she stood still, arrested by all the glory and the beauty that met her eye. The nobleness of form, the wealth of colour, the multiplied richness of both, almost bewildered her at first entering. Pillars, arches, vaultings, niches, galleries, arcades a wilderness of harmonized form; and every panel and fair space filled with painting. She could not see de- tails yet; she was lost in the greatness of the whole. "Whom has Mrs. Copley picked up?" asked Lawrence in an undertone. After all, if the ar- chitect's posthumous fame had depended on him, it would not have been worth much eifort. Mrs. Copley, it may be mentioned, had passed on while LlMBURG. 341 Dolly and St. Leger had stood talking outside; and now she was seen in the distance the centre of a group of lively talkers; at least there was one lady who was free to exercise her gifts in that way. Lawrence and Dolly slowly advanced, even Dolly's attention taken for a moment from the church by this extraordinary combination. Yes, Mrs. Copley had found acquaintances. The talker was a lady of about her own age ; a gentleman stood near, a little behind was a younger lady, while Ku- pert balanced the group on the other side. "There's something uncommon over yonder," whispered Lawrence. "Do you see that blond girl? riot blond neither, for her hair isn't; but what an exquisite colour! and magnificent fig- ure. Do you know her?" "No " said Dolly, "I think not. Yet I do. Who can it be ? I do not know the one talking to mother " "And this is she?" the elder lady was saying as Dolly now came up, looking at her with a smiling face. " It's quite delightful to meet friends in the midst of a wilderness so; like the print of a man's foot on the sands in a desert; for really, in the midst of strange people one feels cast away. She's handsomer than you were, Mrs. Copley. My dear, do you know your old schoolfellow ? " " Chiistina Thayer ! " exclaimed Dolly, as the other young lady came forward; and there was a joyful recognition on both sides." " Who is your friend? " Mrs. Thayer next went on. 342 THE END OF A COIL. " Won't you introduce him ? St. Leger ? Don't I know your father? Ernest Singleton St. Leger? Yes ! Why he was a great beau of mine once, a good while ago, you know," she added nodding. "You might not think it, but he was. I know him very well; I know him like a book. You must be my friend. Christina, this is Mr. St. Leger; my old friend's son. Mr. Thayer." Mr. Thayer was nothing remarkable. But Chris- tina had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood and developed into a magnificent beauty. Her skin shewed the richest, clear, creamy white tints, upon which in her cheeks and lips the carmine lay like rose leaves. Her hair was light brown and abun- dant, features regular, eyes sweet; she was one of those fair, full, stately, placid Saxon types of beauty, which are not very common in America and re- markable anywhere. Her figure was roundly and finely developed, rather stately and slow moving; which characteristic harmonized with all the rest of her. The two girls were as unlike each other as possible. It amused and half fascinated Lawrence to watch the contrast. It seemed to be noon of a summer day in the soul of Christina, a still breadth of light withoiit shadow; there was a murmur of content in her voice when she spoke, and a ripple of content in her laugh when she laughed. But the light quivered on Dolly's lip, and gleamed and sparkled in her brown eyes, and light and shadow could flit over her face with quick change ; they did so now. LlMBURG. 343 Meanwhile people had forgotten the old cathe- dral. Christina seemed unaffectedly glad at the meeting with her friend of the school days. " I'm so delighted," she said, drawing Dolly a little apart. " Where are you? where do you come frftm, I mean ? how come you to be here ? " " We come from Dresden; we are on our way " " You are living in London, aren't you ? I heard that. It's too good to meet you so ! for Europe is full of people, no doubt, but there are very few that I care for. O tell me where you are going ? " " Venice, first ' "And further south? you are going on into Italy?" "Yes, I think so." "That's delightful. there's nothing like Italy! It is not your wedding journey, Dolly ? " with a glance at the very handsome young man who was standing in waiting a few paces off. ,"What are you thinking of!" cried -Dolly. "Christina, we are travelling for mother's health ' " well, I didn't suppose it; but it might be, you know; it will be, before you know it. It isn't mine, either ; though it only wants two things of it. I want to tell you all about myself, Dolly, and I want to shew you somebody; I have got somebody to shew, you see. You will come and make us a visit, will you not? you must! I must have you." "You said it wanted only two things of being your wedding journey ? What things ? " 344 THE END OF A COIL. "The presence of the gentleman, and the per- formance of the ceremony." And as Christina said it, a delicate peach-blossom bloom ripened in her chee'ks ; you could hardly say that she blushed. " the gentleman is somewhere, though he is not here," she went on, with that ripple of laughter; "and the ceremony is somewhere in the distance, too. I want you to see him, Dolly. I am proud of him. I think everything in the world of him." " I suppose I may know his name ? " "Christina," cried Mrs. Thayer, "where are you? My dear, we cannot stand here and talk all the af- ternoon; our friends have got to see the church. Isn't it a delicious old place ? Just go round and examine things; I could stay here forever. Ev- ery little place where there is room for it is filled with the quaintest, queerest, charmingest paintings. Where there is room for it, there is a group; and where there is not a group, there is an apostle or a saint ; and where there is not room for that, there is something else, which this unintelligible old guide will explain to you. And think for years and years it has held the richest collection just wait and see ! it is better than the church itself. My dear, the riches of its treasures are incalcula- ble. Fancy, a mitre, a -bishop's mitre, you know, so heavy with precious stones that the good man cannot bear it on his head but a few minutes; over three thousand pearls and precious stones in it; and the work, the work of it is wonderful; just in the finest renaissance " LIMBURG. 345 " We have just come from the Green vaults at Dresden," put in Mrs. Copley. " I suppose that goes ahead of everything else." " O my dear, I don't know ; I don't see how any- thing can be superior to the show here. Is Mr. St. Leger fond of art ? " "Fonder of nature," Mr. St. Leger confesses with a bow. " Nature. well, come to see us at Naples. We have got a villa not far from there you'll all come and stay with us. we cannot let you off; it is such a thing to meet with one's own people, from home. You will certainly want to see us, and we shall want to see you. Venice, O yes, after you have seen Venice, and then we shall be at home again ; we just set off on this journey to use up the time until the "Red Chief" could come to Naples. We are going back soon, and we'll be all ready to welcome you. And Mr. St. Leger, of course. Mr. St. Leger, I could tell you a great deal about your father. He and I flirted dreadfully once ; and you know, if flirting is properly carried on, one always has a little sneaking kindness for the people one has flirted with." " No more than that ? " said St. Leger with a po- lite smile. "Why what would you have? after one has grown old, you know. You would not have me in love with him ! Here is my husband, and my daughter Don't you have a kindness for the people you flirt with ? " 346 THE END OF A COIL. " I must not say anything against flirting, in the present company ' Lawrence began. " No, of course you mustn't. We all flirt, at a certain age. How are young people to get ac- quainted with one another and find out what they would like ? You never buy cheese without tast- ing it, you know; not in England. Just as well call things by their right names. I don't think anybody ought to deny flirting; it's nature; we must do it. Christina flirts, I know, in the most innocent way, with everybody; not as I did; she has her own style ; and your daughter does it too, Mrs. Copley. I can see it in her eyes. Ah, me, I wish I was young again ! And what a place to flirt in such an old church is ! " " Oh mamma ! " came from Christina. " Very queer taste, I should say," remarked Mrs. Copley. "It isn't taste; it is combination of circum- stances," Mrs. Thayer smiling went on. " You see if I don't say true. My dear, such a place as this is full of romance, full ! Just think of the peo- ple that have been married here; why the first church was built here in 814; imagine that ! " " Enough to keep one from flirting for ever," said Dolly, on whom the lady's eye fell as she ended her sentence. " Just go in and see those jewels and hear the stories," said Mrs. Thayer nodding at her. " That old woman will tell you stories enough, if you can understand her; Christina had to translate for me; LlMBURG. 347 but my dear, there's a story there fit to break your heart ; about a blood jasper. It is carved ; Mr. Thay- er says the carving is very fine, and I suppose it is ; but all I thought of was the story. My dear, the stone is all spotted with dark stains, and they are said to be the stains of heart's blood ; it is as trag- ical as can be. You see, the carver, or stone-cutter, the young man who did the work, loved his master's daughter it's a very romantic story and she" "Flirted?" suggested St. Leger. "Well I am afraid she did; but it is the old course of things; her father thought she might look higher, you know, and she did; married the richest nobleman in Verona; and the young man had been promised her if he did his work well, and the work is magnificently done ; but he was cheated ; and he drove a sharp little knife into his heart. Christina, what was the old master's name?" " I forget, mamma." "You ought not to forget; you will want to tell the story. Of course / have forgotten; I did not understand it at the time, and I never remember anything besides; but he was very famous, and everybody wanted the things he did, and he could not execute all the commissions he got; and this young man was his best, favourite pupil." "How came the stains upon the stone?" asked Lawrence. " Did it bleed for sympathy ? " " I don't know ; I have forgotten. yes ! the stone was in his hand, you know." 348 THE END OF A COIL. ' "And it was sympathy?" said Lawrence quite gravely, though Dolly could not keep her lips in order. " No, it was the blood. Go in and you'll see it, and all the rest. And there, "Where are you go- ing ? to Venice ? We are going on to Cologne and then back to Rome. We shall meet in Rome ? You will stay in Venice for a few weeks, and then be in Rome about Christmas; and then we will make ar- rangements for a visit from you all. yes, we must have you all." Lawrence accompanied the lady to the door, and Christina following with Dolly earnestly begged for the meeting in Rome, and that Dolly would spend Christmas with her. " I have so much to tell you," she said; "and my the gentleman I spoke of will meet us in Rome, and he will spend Christmas with us; and I want you to see him. I admire Mr. St. Leger very much ! " she added in a confidential whisper. " Mr. St. Leger is nothing to me," said Dolly steadily, looking in her friend's face. " He is fa- ther's secretary, and is taking care of us till my father can come." " well, if he is not anything to you noiv, perhaps you never know what will be," said Christina. " He is very handsome ! Don't you like him ? I long to know how you will like Mr. Shubrick." " Who is he ? " said Dolly, by way of saying- something. " Didn't I tell yon ? He is first officer on board LlMBURG. 349 the ' Red Chief,' one of our finest vessels of war; it is in the Mediterranean now; and we expect him to come to us at Christmas. Manage to be at Rome then, do, dear; and afterwards you must all corne and make us a visit at our villa, near Naples, and we'll shew you everything." " Christina," said Mrs. Thayer, when she and her daughter and her husband were safe in the privacy of their carriage, "that is a son of the rich Eng- lish banker, St. Leger; they are very rich. We must be polite to him." " You are polite to everybody, mamma." " But you must be polite to him." " I'll try, mamma if you wish it." " I wish it, of course. You never know how use- ful such an acquaintance may be to you. Is he en- gaged to that girl ? " " I think not, mamma. She says not." "That don't prove anything, though." "Yes, it does, with her. Dolly Copley was al- ways downright not like the rest." - "Every girl thinks it is fair to fib about her lovers. However, I thought he looked at you, Christina, not exactly as if he were a bound man." " He is too late," said the girl carelessly. " I am a bound woman." "Well, be civil to him," said her mother. "You never know what people may do." "I don't care, mamma. Mr. St. Leger's doings are of no importance to me." 350 THE END OF A COIL. Mrs. Thayer was silent now; and her husband remarked that Mr. St. Leger could not do better than pick up that pretty, wise-eyed, little girl. " Wise-eyed ! she is that, isn't she ? " cried Chris- tina. "She always was. She is grown up won- derfully pretty." " She is no more to be compared to you, than Well, never mind," said Mrs. Thayer. " I hope we shall see more of them at Christmas. Talk of eyes, Mr. St. Leger's eyes are beautiful. Did you notice them ? " Dolly on her side had seen the party descend the rocks, looking after them with an odd feel- ing or mixture of feelings. The meeting with her school friend had brought up sudden contrasts never so sharply presented to her before. The gay carelessness of those old times, the warm shelter of her Aunt Hal's home, the absolute trust in her father and mother, where was all that now? Dolly saw Christina's placid features and secure gayety, saw her surrounded and shel- tered by her parents' arms, strong to guard and defend her; and she seemed to herself lonely. It fell to her to guard and defend her mother; and her father? what was he about? There swept over her an exceeding bitter cry of desolateness, unuttered, but as it were the cry of her whole soul ; with again that sting of pain which seemed un- endurable, how can a father let his child be ashamed of him ! She turned away, that St. Leger might not see her face; she felt it was terribly LlMBURG. 351 grave ; and betook herself now to the examination of the church. And the still beauty and loftiness of the place wrought upon her by and by with a strange effect. Wandering along among pillars and galleries and arcades, where saints and apostles and martyrs looked down upon her as out of past ages, she seemed to be surrounded by a " great cloud of wit- nesses." They looked down upon her with grave, high sympathy, or they looked up with grave, high love and trust ; they testified to work done and dan- gers met and suffering borne, for Christ, and to the glory awaiting them, and to which they then looked forward, and which now they had been en- joying how long? What mattered the little troubled human day, so that heaven's long sun- shine set in at the end of it? and that sun "shall no more go down." Dolly roved on and on, going from one to another sometimes lovely sometimes stern old image ; and gradually she forgot the nine- teenth century, and dropped back into the past, and so came to take a distant and impartial view of herself and her own life ; getting a better stand- ard by which to measure the one and regulate the other. She too could live and work for Christ, what though the work were different and less noteworthy; what matter, so that she were doing what He gave her to do ? Not to make a noise in the world, either by preaching or dying; not to bear persecution; just to live true and shine, to comfort and cheer her mother, to reclaim arid save 352 THE END OF A COIL. her father, to trust and be glad! Yes, less than that latter would not do full honour to her Master or his truth; and so much as that he would surely help her to attain. Dolly wandered about the ca- thedral, and mused, and prayed, and grew quiet arid strong she thought; while her mother was viewing the church treasures with Mr. St. Leger. Dolly excused herself, preferring the church. "Dolly, Dolly," said Mrs. Copley when at last she came away, " you don't know what you have lost." " It is not so much as I have gained, mother." "I'm glad we have seen it, Mr. St. Leger; and I'm glad we have done with it ! I don't want to see any more sights till we get to Venice. Where are the Thayers going, Dolly ? " "To Cologne, mother, and to Nice and Mentone, they said." " I wish they were coming to Venice. How fat Christina has grown ! " "0 mother! She is a regular beauty she could not do with less flesh; she ought not to lose an ounce of it. She is not fat. She is perfect. Is she not, Mr. St. Leger ? " Lawrence assented that Miss Thayer had the symmetry of a beautiful statue. "Too fat," said Mrs. Copley. "If she is a statue now, what will she be by and by? I don't like that sort of beauties. Her face wants life." "It does not want sweetness," said Lawrence. " It is a very attractive face." LlMBURG. 353 " I am glad we stopped here, if it was only for the meeting them," said Mrs. Copley. "But I can't see how you could miss all those diamonds and gold and silver things, Dolly. They were just wonderful." "All the Green vaults did not give me the pleas- ure this old church did, mother." CHAPTER XXL VENICE. " VTOU and your friend are the most perfect con- 1 trast," remarked Lawrence as they were driving away. " She is repose in action and you are activity in repose." "That sounds well," Dolly answered after a pause. " I am trying to think whether there is any meaning in it." "Certainly; or I hope so. She is placidity itself; one wonders if she could be anything but placid; while you ' " Never mind about me," said Dolly hastily. " I am longing to know whether mother will like Venice." "Shall you?" "01 like everything." Which was the blissful truth. Even anxiety did not prevent its being the truth; perhaps anxiety- even at times put a keener edge upon enjoyment ; Dolly fled from troublesome thoughts to the beau- ties of a landscape, the marvels of a piece of medi- aeval architecture, the bewitchment of a bit of painting from an old master's hand; and tasted, VENICE. 355 and lingered, and tasted over again in memory, all the beauty and the marvel and the bewitch- ment. Lawrence smiled to himself at the thought of what she would find in Venice. "There's one thing I don't make out," Kupert broke in. " Only one ? " said Lawrence. But the other was too intent to heed him. " It bothers me, why the people that could build such a grand church, couldn't make better houses for themselves." "Ah!" said Lawrence. "You manage that bet- ter in America ? " " If we didn't I'd emigrate ! We don't have such splendid things as that old pile of stones," looking back at the dome, "but our farmhouses are a long sight ahead of this country." "I guess, Rupert," Dolly remarked now, "the men that built the dome did not build the farm- houses." " Who built the dome, as you call it, then ? But I don't see any dome; there's only a nest of towers." "The nobles built the great cathedrals." "And if you went through one of ihzir houses," said Lawrence, " you would not think they neglect- ed number one. You never saw anything like an old German schloss^ in America." " Then the nobles had all the money ? " "Pretty much so. Except the rich merchants in some of the cities; and they built grand churches and halls and the like, and made themselves happy 356 THE END OF A COIL. with magnificence at home in other ways; not architecture." "I am glad I don't belong here," said Eupert. "But don't the people know any better?" " Than what ? " "Than to let the grand folks have it all their own way ? " "They were brought up to it," said Lawrence. "That's just what they like." " I expect they'll wake up some day," said Ru- pert. Which observation Lawrence did not think worthy of answer ; as it was ahead of the time and of him equally. They made no unnecessary delay now in going on to Venice. I think Lawrence had had a secret design to see some one of the great gaming water- ing places; and they had come back to the banks of the Ehine on purpose. But however both Dolly and her mother were in such haste that he could not induce them by any motive of curiosity or in- terest to stop. Dolly indeed had a great horror of those places, and did not want, she said, to see how beautiful they were. She hoped for her father's coming to them in Venice; and Mrs. Copley with the nervous restlessness of an invalid had set her mind on that goal and would not look at anything short of it. So they only passed through Wies- baden and went on. It was evening and rainy weather when they came to the last stage of their journey, and left the carriage of which Mrs. Copley had grown so weary. VENICE. 357 "What sort of a place is this?" she asked presently. " Not much of a place," said Lawrence. " We will leave it as fast as possible." "Well, I should hope so. What are these things? and is that a canal ? " "We should call it a canal in our country," said Rupert; "but there there'd be something at the end of it." "But what are those black things?" Mrs. Copley repeated. "Do you want me to get into one of them? I don't like it." "They are gondolas, mother; Venetian gondolas. We must get into one, if we want to go to Venice." "Where is Venice?" said Mrs. Copley, looking over the unpromising landscape. "I don't know," said Dolly laughing, "but Mr. St. Leger knows. We shall be there in a little while mother, if you'll only get in." "I don't like boats. And I never saw such boats as those in my life," said Mrs. Copley, holding back. "I would rather keep the carriage and go on as we came; though all my bones are aching. I would rather go in the carriage." "But you cannot, mother; there are no carriages here. The way is by water; and boats are the only vehicles used in Venice. We may as well get ac- customed to them." " No carriages ! " " Why surely you knew that before." " I didn't. I knew there were things to go on 358 THE END OF A COIL. the canals; I never knew they were such forlorn- looking things; but I supposed there were car- riages to go in the streets. Are there no carts, either ? How is the baggage going ? " "There are no streets, mother. The ways are all water ways, and the carriages are gondolas; and it is just as lovely as it can be. Come, let us try it." " What are the houses built on ? " " Mother, suppose you get in, and we'll talk as we go along. We had better get out of the rain, don't you think so ? It is falling quite fast." " I had rather be in the rain than in the sea. Dolly, if it isn't too far, I'll walk." "It is too far, dear mother. You could not do that. It is a long way yet." Lawrence stood by, biting his lips between im- patience and a sense of the ridiculous; and withal admiring the tender, delicate patience of the girl who gently coaxed and reasoned and persuaded, and finally moved Mrs. Copley to suffer herself to be put in the gondola, on the forward deck of which Kupert had been helping the gondoliers to stow some of the baggage. Dolly immediately took her place beside her mother; the two young men followed, and the gondola pushed oft'. Mrs. Copley found herself comfortable among the cush- ions, felt that the motion of the gondola was smooth, assured herself that it would not turn over; finally felt at leisure to make observations again. VENICE. 359 " We can't see anything here," she remarked, peering out first on one side, then on the other. " There is nothing to see," said Lawrence, " but the banks of the canal." "Very ugly banks, too. Are we going all the way by water now ? " "All the way, to our hotel door." " Do the boatmen know where to go ? " " Yes. Have no fear." " Why don't they have streets in Venice ? " " Mother, don't you remember, the city is built on sand banks, and the sea flows between? The only streets possible are like this. Could anything be better? This motion will not fatigue you; and are not your cushions comfortable ? " "The sea, Dolly?" cried Mrs. Copley, catching the word. " You never told me that. If the sea comes in, it must be rough sometimes." " No, mother ; it is a shallow level for miles and miles, covered at high tide by a few feet of water, and at low tide bare. Venice is built on the sand banks of islands which rise above this level." " What ever made people choose such a ridic- ulous place to build a city, when there was good ground enough ? " "The good ground was not safe from enemies, mother, dear. The people fled to these sand islands for safety." " Enemies ! What enemies ? " So the history had to be further gone into; in the midst of which Mrs. Copley burst out again. 360 THE END OF A COIL. " I'm so tired of this canal ! -just mud banks and nothing else. How much longer is it to last?" "We shall come to something else by and by. Have patience," said Lawrence. But the patience of three of them was tried, before they fairly emerged from the canal and across a broader water saw the lines of building and the domes of Venice before them. " You'll soon be out of the gondola now, mother dear," said Dolly delightedly. For the rain clouds had lifted a little, and the wide spread of the la- goon became visible, as well as the dim line of the city; and Dolly's heart grew big. Mrs. Copley's was otherwise. "I'll never get into one again," she said, refer- ring to the gondolas. " I don't like it. I don't feel as if I was anywhere. There's another, there's two more. Are they all painted black ? " " It is the fashion of Venetian gondolas." " Well ! there is nothing like seeing for yourself. I always had an idea gondolas were something romantic and pretty. Is the water deep here ? " "No, very shallow," Lawrence assured her. " It looks just as if it was deep. I wouldn't have come to Venice if I had known what a forlorn place it is." But who shall tell the different impression on Dolly's mind, when the city was really readied and the gondola entered one of those narrow wa- ter ways between rows of palaces. The rain had VENICE. 361 begun to come down again, it is true; a watery veil hung over the buildings, drops plashed busily into the canal; there were no beautiful effects of sunlight and shadow; and Lawrence himself de- clared it was a miserable coming to Venice. But Dolly was in a charmed state. She noted eagerly every strange detail; bridges, boats, people; was hardly sorry for the rain, she found so much to delight her in spite of it. " What's our man making such noises for ? " cried Mrs. Copley. "Just to give warning before he turns a cor- ner," Lawrence explained, "lest he should run against another gondola." " What would happen then ? Is the water deep enough to drown? It would be horrid water to be drowned in ! " said Mrs. Copley shuddering. "No danger, mother; we are not going to try it," Dolly said soothingly. " Nobody is ever drowned in Venetian canals," said Lawrence. "They will carry us safe to our hotel, Mrs. Copley ; never fear." " But hasn't the water risen ? " she exclaimed presently. "It is up to the steps of that house there." " It is up to all the steps, mother, so that peo- ple can get into their gondolas at their very door; don't you see ? " " It goes ahead of everything ! " exclaimed Eu- pert, who had scarce spoken. " It's like being in a fairy story." 362 THE END OF A COIL. " I can't see much beside water," said Mrs. Cop- ley. " Water above and water below. It must be unhealthy. And I thought Venice had such beau- tiful old palaces. I don't see any of 'em." "We have passed several of them," said Law- rence. " I can see nothing but black walls except those queer painted sticks; what are they for?" " To tie gondolas in waiting." " What are they painted so for ? " "The colours belonging to the family arms." "Whose family ? " "The family to whom the house belongs." "Dolly," said Mrs. Copley, "we shall not want to stay here long. W T e might go on and try Eome. Mrs. Thayer says spring-time is the best at Naples." "It will all look very different, Mrs. Copley, when you see it by sunlight," said Lawrence. "Wait a little." Dolly would have enjoyed every inch of the way, if her mother would have let her. To her eyes the novel strangeness of the scene was en- trancing. Not beautiful certainly; not beautiful yet; by mist and rain and darkness how should it be ? but she relished the novelty. The charmed stillness pleased her; the gliding gondolas; the but half revealed houses and palaces; the odd con- veyance in which she herself was seated; the wonderful water ways, the strange cries of the gondoliers. It was not half spoiled for her, as it VENICE. 363 was ; and she trusted the morning would bring for her mother a better mood. Something of a better mood was produced that evening, when Mrs. Copley found herself in a warm room, before a good supper. But the next morning it still rained. Dark skies, thick atmos- phere, a gloomy outlook upon ways where no traveller for mere pleasure was to be seen; none but people bent on business of one sort or another. Yet everything was delightful to Dolly's eyes; the novelty was perfect, the picturesqueness unde- niable. What she could see of the lagoon, of the vessels at anchor, the flying gondolas, the canals and the bridges over them, and the beautiful Biva, put Dolly in a rapture. Her eye roved, her heart swelled. "0 mother!" she exclaimed, "if father would only come ! " " What then ? " said Mrs Copley dismally. "He would take us away, I hope." U but not until we have seen Venice." "/have seen Venice enough to content me. It is the wettest place I was ever in in my life." "Why it rains, mother. Any place is wet when it rains." "This would be wet at all times. I think the ground must have sunk, Dolly; people would never have built in the water so. The ground must have sunk." "No, mother; I guess not. It has been always just so." " What made them build here then, when there 364 THE END OF A COIL. is all the earth beside? What did they take to the Avater for ? And what are the houses standing on, anyway ? " " Islands, mother, between which these canals run. I told you before." "I should think the people hadn't any sense." And nothing would tempt Mrs. Copley out that day. Of course Dolly must stay at home too, though she would most gladly have gone about through the rainy, silent city in one of those silent gondolas, and fed her eyes at every step. How- ever, she made herself and made her mother as comfortable as she could; got out her painting and worked at Rupert's portrait, which was so suc- cessful that Lawrence begged she would begin upon him at once. " You know the conditions " she said. "I accept them. Finish one of me so good as that, and I will send it to my mother and ask her what she will give for it." " But not tell her ? " " Certainly not." " I find," said Dolly slowly, " that it is a very great compliment for a lady to paint a gentleman's likeness." "Why?" " She has to give so much attention to the lines of his face ! I shouldn't like to paint some people. But I'll do anybody, for a consideration." " Your words are not flattering," said Lawrence, "even if your actions are." VENICE. 365 " No," said Dolly. " Compliments are not in my way." And though she made a beginning upon St. Leger's picture, and studied the lines of his face accordingly, he did not feel flattered. Dolly's clear, intelligent eyes looked at him as steadily and as un- movedly as if he had been a Titian. The next day brought a change. If Dolly had watched from her balcony with interest the day be- fore, now she was breathless with what she found. The sun was shining bright, a breeze was rippling the waters of the lagoon and gently fluttering a sail and a streamer here and there; the beautiful water was enlivened with vessels of all kinds and of many lands, black gondolas darted about; and the buildings lining the shores of the lagoon stood to view in their beauty and magnificence and va- riety before Dolly's eye ; the doge's palace, here and there a clock tower, here and there the bridge over a side canal. "O mother," she cried, "we have seen nothing like this ! nothing like this ! " " I am glad it don't rain at least," said Mrs. Copley. "But it can't be healthy here, Dolly; it must be damp." And when they all met at breakfast and plans for the day began to be discussed, she declared that she did not want to see anything. " Not St. Mark's ? " said Lawrence. " What is St. Mark's ? It is just a church. I am sure we have seen churches enough." " There is only one St. Mark's in the world." 366 THE END OF A COIL. " I don't care if there were a dozen. Is it better than the church we went to see at that village near Wiesbaden ? " "Limburg? Much better." "Well that will do for me." "There is the famous old palace of the doges; and the Bridge of sighs, Mrs. Copley, and the prisons." " Prisons ? you don't think I want to go looking at prisons, do you ? Why should I ? what's in the prisons ? " "Not much. There has been, first and last, a good deal of misery in them." " And you think that is pleasant to look at ? " Dolly could not help laughing, and confessed she would like to see the prisons. " Well, you may go," said her mother. " / don't want to." Lawrence saw that Dolly's disappointment was like to be bitter. " I'll tell you what I'll shew you, Mrs. Copley, if you'll trust yourself to go out," he said. " I have got a commission from my mother which must take me into one of the wonderful shops of curiosities here. You never saw such a shop. Old china, of the rarest, and old furniture of the most delightful description, and old curiosities of art out of decayed old palaces, caskets, vases, trinkets, mirrors, and paintings." Mrs. Copley demurred. " Can we go there in a carriage ? " VENICE. 367 " No such thing to be had, Except a gondola car- riage. Come ! you will like it. Why, Mrs. Copley, the streets are no broader than very narrow alleys. Carriages would be of no use." Mrs. Copley demurred, but was tempted. The gondola went better by day than in the night. Once out, Lawrence used his advantage and took the party first to the Place of St. Mark, where he delighted Dolly with a sight of the church. Mrs. Copley was too full of something else to admire churches. She waited and endured, while Dolly's eyes and mind devoured the new feast given to them. They went into the church, up to the roof, and came out to the Piazza again. "It is odd," said Dolly "I see it is beautiful; I see it is magnificent; more of both than I can say; and yet, it does not give me the feeling of respect I felt for that old dome at Limburg." " But ! " said Lawrence ; "that won't do, you know. St. Mark's and Limburg ! that opinion cannot stand. What makes you say so ? " "I don't know," said Dolly. "I have a feeling that the people who built that were more in ear- nest than the people who built this." " More in earnest ? I beg your pardon ! " said Lawrence. " What can you mean ? I should say people were in earnest enough here, to judge by the riches of the place. Just see the adornment everywhere, and the splendour." " Yes," said Dolly, " I see. It is partly that. Though there was adornment, and riches too, at 368 THE END OF A COIL. the other place. Biit the style of it is different. Those grave old towers at Limburg seemed striv- ing up into the sky. I don't see any striving here ; in the building, I mean." "Why, there are pinnacles enough," said Law- rence, in comical inability to fathom her meaning, or answer her. "Yes," said Dolly; "and domes; but the pin- nacles do not strive after anything, and the cupo- las seem to settle down like great extinguishers upon everything like striving." Lawrence laughed, and thought in his own mind that Dolly was a little American, wanting culture, and knowing nothing about architecture. " What is that great long building ? " Mrs. Cop- ley now inquired. " That, mother ? that is the palace of the doges. where is the Bridge of sighs ? " They went round to look at it from the Ponte della Paglia. Nearer investigation had to be de- ferred, or Dolly saw, it would be too literally a bridge of sighs to them that morning. They turned their backs on the splendours, ecclesiastical and secular, of the Place of St. Mark, and proceeded to the store of second hand curiosities St. Leger had promised Mrs. Copley, the visit to which could no longer be deferred. Dolly was in a dream of delight all the way. Sunlight on the old palaces, on the bridges over the canals, on the wonderful carvings of mar- bles, on the strange water ways ; sunlight and col- our; ay, and shadow and colour too, for the sun VENICE. 369 could not get in everywhere. Between the beauty and picturesqueness, and the wealth of old historic legend and story clustering about it everywhere, Dolly's dream was entrancing. " I do not know half enough about Venice," she remarked by the way. " Rupert, we must read up. As soon as I can get the books," she added with a laugh. However, Dolly was susceptible to more than one sort of pleasure ; and when the party had reached the Jew's shop, she was perhaps as much pleased though not so much engrossed as her mother. For Mrs. Copley, figuratively speaking, was taken off her feet. This was another thing from the Green vaults and the treasure chamber of Limburg ; here the wonders and glories were not unattainable, if one had the means to reach them, that is; and not admiration only, but longing, filled Mrs. Copley's mind. " I must have that cabinet," she said. " I sup- pose we can do nothing till your father comes, Dolly. Do write and tell him to bring plenty of money along, for I shall want' some. Such a chance one does not have often in one's life. And that cup! Dolly, I must have that cup; it's beyond everything I ever did see ! " "Mother, look at this ivory carving." "That's out of my line," said Mrs. Copley with a slight glance. " I should call that good for noth- ing, now. What's the use of it ? But O Dolly, see this sideboard ! " 24 370 THE END OF A COIL. "You don't want that, mother." " Why don't I ? The price is not so very much." "Think of the expense of getting it home." " There is no such great difficulty in that. You must write your father, Dolly, to send if he does not come, at once. I should not like to leave these things long. Somebody else might see them." "Hundreds have seen them already, Mrs. Cop- ley," said Lawrence. " There's time enough." " I'd rather not trust to that." " What things do you want, dear mother, se- riously ? Anything ? " Dolly's voice carried a soft insinuation that her mother's wanting anything there was a delusion ; Mrs. Copley flamed out. "Do you think I am coming into such a place as this, Dolly, and going to let the chance slip ? 1 must have several of these things. I'll tell you. This cup, that isn't much. Now that delicious old china vase I do not know what china it is, but I'll find out ; there is nothing like it, I don't be- lieve, in all Boston. I have chosen that sideboard ; that is quite reasonable. You would pay quite as much in Boston, or in London, for a common, handsome bit of cabinet maker's work; while this is -just look at it, Dolly; see these drawers, see these compartments, that's for wine and cordials, you know " We don't want wine and cordials," said Dolly. "See the convenience and the curiousness of these arrangements; and look at the inlaying, VENICE. 371 child ! It's the loveliest thing I ever saw in my life. I must have that. And it would be a sin to leave this screen, Dolly. Where ever do you suppose that came from ? " " Eastern work," said Lawrence. " What eastern work? " " Impossible for me to say. Might have be- longed to the Great Mogul, by the looks of it. Do you admire that, Mrs. Copley ? " " How should it come here ? " " Here ? the very place ! " said Lawrence. " What was there rare or costly in the world, that did not find its way to Venice and into the palaces of the old nobles ? " " But how came it here ? " " Into this curiosity shop ? The old nobles went to pieces, and their precious things went to auc- tion; and good master Judas or master Levi bought them." "And these things were in the palaces of the old nobles ? " " Many of them. Perhaps all of them. I should say, a large proportion." "That makes them worth just so much the more." " You need not tell master Levi that. And you have admired so much this morning, Mrs. Copley, if you will take my advice, it will be most discreet to come away without making any offer. Do not let him think you have any purpose of buying. I am afraid he will put on a fearful price, if you do." 372 THE END OF A COIL. "Whether Lawrence meant this counsel seriously, or whether it was a feint to get Mrs. Copley safely out of the shop, Dolly was uncertain; she was grateful to Lawrence all the same. No doubt he had seen that she was anxious. He had been in fact amused at the elder lady not more than in- terested for the younger one; Dolly's delicate at- tempts to draw off her mother from thoughts of buying had been so pretty, affectionate and re- spectful in manner, sympathizing, and yet steady in self-denial. Mrs. Copley was hard to bring off. She looked at Lawrence, doubtful and antagonistic, but his suggestion had been too entirely in her own line not to be appreciated. Mrs. Copley looked and longed, and held her tongue; except from ex- clamations. They got out of the shop at last, and Dolly made a private resolve not to be caught there again if she could help it. In the afternoon she devoted herself to painting Lawrence's picture. Her first purpose had been to take a profile or side view of him; but St. Leger declared, if the likeness was for his mother she would never be satisfied if the eyes did not look straight into her eyes; so Dolly had to give that point up; and accordingly, while she studied him, he had full and equal opportunity to study her. It was a doubtful satisfaction. He could rarely meet Dolly's eyes, while yet he saw how coolly they pe- rused him, how calmly they studied him as an ab- stract thing. He wanted to see a little shyness, a little consciousness, a little wavering, in those clear, VENICE. 373 wise orbs; but no! Dolly sat at her work and did it as unconcernedly as if she were five years old, to all appearance; with as quiet, calm poise of manner and simplicity of dignity as if she had been fifty. But how pretty she was ! Those eyes of hers were such an uncommon mingling of child- hood and womanhood, and so lovely in cut and colour and light; and the mouth was the most mobile thing ever known under that name, and charming in every mood of rest or movement. The whole delicate face, the luxuriant brown hair, the little hands, the supple, graceful figure, Lawrence studied over and over again ; till he felt it was not good for him. "Painting a person must make you well acquaint- ed with him " he began after a long silence, dur- ing which Dolly had been very busy. " Outside knowledge " said Dolly. " Does not the outside always tell something of what is within ? " "Something " Dolly allowed in the same tone. " What do you see in me ? " "Mrs. St. Leger will know, when she gets this." " What you see in me ? " "Well, no, perhaps not." " Couldn't you indulge me and tell me ? " "Why should I?" " Out of kindness." "I do not know whether it would be a kindness," said Dolly slowly. "You see, Dolly, a fellow can't stand everything 374 THE END OF A COIL. for ever ! I want to know what you think of me, and what my chances are. Come ! I've been pretty patient, it strikes me. Speak out a bit." Mrs. Copley was lying down to rest, and Rupert had left the room. The pair were alone. " What do you want me to say, Mr. St. Leger ? " " Tell me what you see in me." "What would be the good of that? I see an Englishman, to begin with." " You see that in me ? " " Certainly." " I am glad, but I didn't know it. Is that an advantage in your eyes?" " Am I an Englishwoman ? " "Not a bit of it," said Lawrence, "nor like it. I never saw an English girl the least like you. But you might grow into it, Dolly, don't you think ? " She lifted her face for an instant and gave him a flashing glance of fun. " Won't you try, Dolly ? " "I think I would just as lieve be an American." " Why ? America is too far off." "Very good when you get there," said Dolly contentedly. " But not better than we have on our side ? " "Well, you have not all the advantages on your side," said Dolly, much occupied with her drawing. "Go on, and tell me what we have not." " I doubt the wisdom." " I beg the favour." VENICE. 375 "It would not please you. In the first place, you would not believe me. In the second place, you would reckon an advantage what I reckon a disadvantage." "What do you mean?" said Lawrence, very curi- ous and at the same time uneasy. Dolly tried to get off, but he held her to the point. At last Dolly spoke out. "Mr. St. Leger, women have a better time in my country." "A better time? Impossible. There are no homes in the world where wives and daughters are better cared for or better loved. None in the world ! " "Ah," said Dolly, "they are too well cared for." " How do you mean ? " " Too little free." " Free ? " said Lawrence. " Is that what you want?" " And not quite respected enough." " Dolly, you bewilder me. What ever did you see or hear to make you think our women are not respected ? " " I dare say it is a woman's view," said Dolly lightly. But Lawrence eagerly begged her to ex- plain or give an instance of what she meant. " I have not seen much, you know," said Dolly, painting away. " But I heard a gentleman once, at his own diniiertable, and when there was com- pany present, I was not the only visiter, I heard him tell his wife that the soup was nasty." 376 THE END OF A COIL. And Dolly glanced up to see how Lawrence took it. She judiciously did not tell him that the house was his own father's and the gentleman in question Mr. St. Leger himself. Lawrence was silent at first. I presume the thing was not so utterly unfamiliar as that he should be much shocked; while he did perceive that here was some difference of the point of view between Dolly's standpoint and his own, and was not ready to answer. Dolly glanced up at him significantly; still Lawrence did not find words. " That didn't mean anything ! " at last he said. Dolly glanced at him again. " I suppose the soup ivasrit good. Why not say so ? " "No reason why he should not say so, at a prop- er time and place." " It didn't mean any harm, Dolly." " I suppose not." " Then what's the matter ? " " It is not the way ive do," said Dolly. "In Amer- ica, I mean. Not when we are polite." " Do you think husband and wife ought to be polite to each other ? in that way ? " " In what way ? " "That they should not call things by their right names ? " Here Dolly lifted her sweet head and laughed; a merry, ringing, musical, very much amused laugh. " Ah, you see you are an Englishman," she said. " That is the way you will speak to your wife." VENICE. 377 " I will never speak to you, Dolly, in any way you don't like." " No " said Dolly gravely and returning to her work. "Aren't you ever going to give me a little bit of encouragement ?" said he. " I have been wait- ing, as patiently as I could. May I tell my mother who did the picture, when I send it ? " " Say it was done by a deserving young artist, in needy circumstances; but no names." "But that's not true, Dolly. Your father is as well off as ever he was; his embarrassments are only temporary. He is not in needy circumstances." " I said nothing about my father. Here, Mr. St. Leger, come and look at it." The finished likeness was done with great truth and grace. Dolly's talent was an extraordinary one, and had not been uncultivated. She had done her best in the present instance, and the result was a really delicious piece of work. Lawrence saw himself given to great advantage; truly, delicate- ly, characteristically. He was delighted. " I will send it right off," he said. " Mamma has nothing of me half so good." " Ask her what she thinks it is worth." "And I want you to paint a duplicate of this, for me; for myself." " A duplicate ! " cried Dolly. " I couldn't." " Another likeness of me then, in another view. Set your own price." " But I shall never make my fortune painting 378 THE END OF A COIL. you," said Dolly. " You must get me some other customers; that is the bargain." "What notion is this, Dolly ? It is nonsense be- tween me and you. Why not let things be settled? let us come to an understanding, and give up this ridiculous idea of painting for money ; if you are in earnest." " I am always in earnest. And we are upon an excellent understanding, Mr. St. Leger. And I want money. The thing is as harmonious as pos- sible." CHAPTER XXII. MR. COPLEY. LAWRENCE could get no more satisfaction from Dolly. She left him, and went and stood at the window of her mother's room, looking out. The sun- set landscape was glorious. Bay and boats, ship- ping, palaces, canals and bridges, all coloured in such wonderful colours, brilliant in such marvellous lights and shades, as northern lands do not know, though they have their own. Yet she looked at it sadly. It was Venice ; but when would her father come ? All her future seemed doubtful and cloudy ; and the sunshine which is merely external does not in some moods cast even a reflection of brightness upon one's inner world. If her father would come, and Lawrence would go, if her father would come and be his old self, but what large "if's" these were. Dolly's eyes grew misty. Then her mother woke up. " What are you looking at, Dolly ? " " The wonderful sunset, mother. it is so beau- tiful! Do come here and see the colours on the sails of the boats." 380 THE END OF A COIL. " When do you think your father will be here ? " " soon, I hope. He ought to be here soon." " Did you tell him I would want money to buy things? I must not lose that sideboard." "There was no need to write about that. He can always get money, if he chooses, as well here as in London. If he has it, that is ; but you know, mother " " I know," Mrs. Copley interrupted, " that is all nonsense. He has it. He always did have it. He has been spending it in other ways lately; that's what it is. Getting his own pleasure. Now it is my turn." "You shall have it, dear mother, if I can manage it. You are nicely to-day, aren't you ? Venice agrees with you. I'm so glad ! " "I think everything would go right, Dolly, if you would just tell Mr. St. Leger that you will have him. I don't like such humming and haw- ing about anything. He really has waited long enough. If you would tell him that, now, or tell me, then he would lend me the money I want to get those things. I am afraid of losing them. Dolly, when you know you are going to say yes, why not say it ? I believe I should get well then, right oif. You would be safe too, any way." Dolly sighed imperceptibly, and made no answer. "You don't half appreciate Mr. St. Leger. He's just a splendid young man. I don't believe there's such another match for you in all England. You should have seen how keen Mrs. Thayer was to MR. COPLEY. 381 know all about him. Wouldn't she like him for her daughter, though ! and she is handsome enough, ac- cording to some taste. I wish, Dolly, you'd have everything fixed and square before we meet the fhayers again ; or you cannot tell what may hap- pen. He may slip through your fingers yet." Dolly made as little answer as possible. And further, she contrived for a few days to keep her mother from the curiosity shops. It could be done only by staying persistently within doors; and Dolly shut herself up to her painting, and made excuses. But she found this was telling unfa- vourably on her mother's spirits, and so on her nerves and health; and she began to go out again, though chafing at her dependence on Lawrence, and longing for her father exceedingly. He came at last; and Dolly to her great relief thought he looked well; though certainly not glad to be in Venice. " How's your mother? " he asked her when they were alone. "I think she will be well now, father; now that you have come. And I have so wanted you ! " " I have no doubt she could have got along just as well without me till she went to Sorrento, if she had only thought so." " I don't think she could. And I could not, father. I do not like to be left so much to Mr. St. Leger's care." " He likes it. How has he behaved ? " " He has behaved very well." 382 THE END OF A COIL. "Then what's the matter? " "1 don't want him to think he has a right to take care of us." " He has the right, if I give it to him. And you know you mean to give him the right, Dolly, in permanence. What's the use of fighting shy about it? girls, girls! You must have your way, I suppose. Well, now I'm here to look after you." And the business of sight-seeing was carried on from that time with unabating activity. They went everywhere, and still Mr. Copley found new things for them to see. Mrs. Copley took him into the curiosity shops, but as surely he took her out of them, with not much done in the way of purchases. Dolly enjoyed everything during the first week or two. She would have enjoyed it hugely, only that the lurking care about her father was always present to her mind. She was not at rest. Mr. Copley seemed well and cheery; active and hearty as usual; yet Dolly detected something hollow in the cheer and something forced in the activity. She thought him restless and uneasy, in spite of all the gayety. One day after an excursion of some length the party had turned into a restaurant to refresh them- selves. Chocolate and coffee had been brought; and then Mr. Copley exclaimed, "Hang it! this won't do. Have you drunk nothing but slops all this while, Lawrence?" And he ordered the waiter to bring a flask of Greek wine. Dolly's heart leaped to her mouth. MR. COPLEY. 383 " Oh no, father ! " she said pleadingly, laying her hand on his. " Oh no what, my child?" " No wine, please, father ! " There was more intensity in Dolly's accents than perhaps anybody knew but Mr. Copley; he had the key; and the low quaver in Dolly's voice did not escape him. He answered without letting himself meet her eyes. "Why not? Hasn't Lawrence given you any vino dolce since you have been in foreign parts. One can get good wine in Venice; and pure." "If one knows where to go for it," added St. Leger. " So I am told." "You have not found out by experience yet? "We will explore together." "Not for wine, father ? " murmured Dolly. " Yes, for wine. Wine is one of the good things. What do you think grapes grow for, eh ? Certain- ly wine is a good thing, if it is properly used. Eh, Lawrence ? " " 1 have always thought so, sir." " Cheer your mother up now, Dolly. I believe it would do her lots of good. Here it is. We'll try." Dolly flushed with pain and anxiety. Yet here, how could she speak plainly? Her father was opening the bottle, and the waiter was setting the glasses. "We have it on good authority, Miss Dolly," Lawrence said, looking at her and not sure how far he might venture, "that wine 'maketh glad the heart of man.' " 384 THE END OF A COIL. "And on the same authority we have it that 'wine'is a mocker.'" " What will you do with contradictory authority ? " " They are not contradictory, those two words," said Dolly. "It is deceitful; it gets hold of a man, and then he cannot get loose from it. You knoiv, Mr. St. Leger, what work it does." " Not good wine," said her father, tossing off his glass. " That's fair; nothing extra. I think we can find better. Letitia, try it; I have a notion it will do you good; ought to have been tried before." And he filled his wife's glass, and then Dolly's, and then Rupert's. Dolly felt as nearly desperate as ever in her life. Her father had the air of a man who has broken through a slight barrier between him and comfort. Mrs. Copley sipped the wine. Lawrence looked observingly from one face to an- other. Then Dolly stretched out her hand and laid it upon Eupert's glass. " Please stand by me, Rupert ! " she begged. " I will ! " said the young man smiling. " What do you want me to do ? " "Do as I do." " I will." Dolly lifted her glass and poured the contents of it into the nearly emptied chocolate jug. Rupert immediately followed her example. ., " What's that for ? " said her father, frowning. "It's waste," added her mother. "I call that waste." "Don't make yourself ridiculous, Dolly!" Mr. MR. COPLEY. 385 Copley went on. " My child, the world has drunk Avine ever since before you were born, and it will go on drinking it after you are dead. What is the use of trying to change what cannot be changed? What can you do ? " " Father, I will not help a bad cause." " How is it a bad cause, Miss Dolly ? " said Law- rence now. " It is a certain pleasure, but what harm ? " " Do you ask me that ? " said she, with a look of her clear, womanly eyes, which it. was not very pleasant to meet. "Well, of course, if people misuse the thing," he began. "Do they often misuse it, Mr. St. Leger?" "Well, yes; perhaps they do." " Go on. What are the consequences, when they misuse it ? " "When people drink too much bad brandy of course but wine like this never hurt anybody." Dolly thought, it had hurt her that day ; but she could not trust her voice to say it. Her lips trem- bled, her beautiful eyes filled, she was obliged to wait. And how, there before her father whom the fruit of the vine had certainly hurt grievously, and before Mr. St. Leger who knew as much and had seen it, could she put the thing in words? Her father had chosen his time cruelly. And where was his promise? Dolly fought and swallowed and struggled with herself; and tried to regain command of voice. 25 386 THE END ,OF A COIL. " It's a narrow view, ray dear," said Mr. Copley, filling his glass again, to Dolly's infinite horror; "a narrow view. Well-bred people do not hold it. It is always a mistake to set yourself against the world. The world is generally right." " father, do you think so! " "Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Copley, sipping the wine and looking from one to another of the faces in the little group. " Dolly is a foolish girl, Ru- pert; do not let her persuade you." " It certainly is not the wine that is to be con- demned," said Lawrence, " but the immoderate use of it. That's all." " What do you call immoderate use of it ? " Ru- pert asked now, putting the question in Dolly's interest. " More than your head can bear," said Lawrence. " Keep within that limit, and you're all right." " Suppose your neighbour cannot bear what you can ? " said Dolly, looking at him. " And suppose your example tempts him ? " "It's his business to know what he can take," said Lawrence. " It isn't mine." " But suppose he is drawn on by your example, and drinks more than he can bear? What follows, Mr. St. Leger ? " Dolly's voice had a pathetic clang, which touched Rupert and I think embarrassed Lawrence. " If he is so unwise, of course he suffers for it. But as I said, that is his business." " And not yours ? " MR. COPLEY. 387 " Of course not ! " Mr. Copley broke in. " Dolly, you do not understand the world. How can I tell St. Leger how much he is to drink ? or he tell me how much I must ? Don't be absurd, child ! You grow a little absurd, living alone." "Father, I think the world might be better than it is. And one person helps on another, for good or for evil. And St. Paul was not of your opinion." "St. Paul? What did he say about it? That one must not drink wine? Not at all. He told Timothy, or somebody, to take it, for his stomach's sake." " But he said, that if meat made his brother to offend, he would eat no meat while the world stood, lest he made his brother to offend. Arid meat is certainly a good thing." " Well, there are just two things about it," said Mr. Copley; "meat is not wine, and I am not St. Paul. A little more, Lawrence? If it is not a man's duty to look after his neighbour's potations, neither is it a woman's. Dolly is young ; she will learn better." If she did not, Lawrence thought, she would be an inconvenient helpmeet for him. He was very much in love; but certainly he would not wish his wife to take up a crusade against society. Perhaps Dolly would learn better; he hoped so. Yet the lit- tle girl had some reason too; for her father gave her trouble, Lawrence knew. " I'm sorry," he thought, " deuced sorry ! but really I can't be ex- 388 THE END OF A COIL. pected to take Mr. Copley, wine and all, on my shoulders. Eeally it is not my look-out." Dolly went home very sober and careful. It is true, not much wine had been drunk that day. Yet she knew a line had been passed, the passing of which was significant of future license and in- troductory to it. And that it had been done in her presence was to prove to her that her influence could avail nothing. It was bravado. What lay before her now ? "Rupert," she said suddenly, as they were walk- ing together, "let us make a solemn pledge, you and I, each to the other, that we will never drink wine nor anything of the sort; unless we must, for sickness, you know." " What would 'be the good of that ? " said the young man laughing. " I don't know," said Dolly, from whose eyes on the contrary hot tears began to drop. " Perhaps I shall save you, and you may save me ; how can we tell ? " " But we could keep from it just the same, with- out pledging ourselves ? " said Rupert, soberly enough now. "Could; but we might be tempted. If we do this, maybe we can help other people, as well as each other." The tears were coming so thick from Dolly's eyes that Rupert's heart was sore for her. She was brushing them away, right and left, but he saw them glitter and fall ; and he thought the man MR. COPLEY. 389 who could for the sake of a glass of wine cause ' such tears to be shed, was I won't say what he thought he was. He was mad against Mr. Copley and St. Leger too. He promised whatever Dolly wanted. And when they were at home and an opportu- nity was found, the agreement above mentioned was written out, and Rupert made two copies, and one of them he kept and one Dolly kept; both signed with both their names. So Rupert was safe. From that day, however, things went less well with Mr. Copley. He began by small degrees to withdraw himself from the constant attendance upon his wife and daughter which he had hitherto practised, leaving them again to Lawrence's care. By little and little this came about. Mr. Copley excused himself in the morning, and was with them in the evening; then after a while he was missing in the evening. Dol- ly tried to hold him fast, by getting him to sit for his picture ; and the very observation under which she held him so, shewed her that he was suffering from evil influences. His eyes had lost something of their frank, manly sparkle ; avoided hers ; looked dull and unsteady. The lines of his whole face in- explicably were changed; an expression of feeble- ness and something like humiliation taking place of the alert, bold, self-sufficient readiness of look and tone which had been natural to him. Dolly read it all, with a heart torn in two, and painted it as she read it; making a capital picture of him. 390 THE END OF A COIL. But it grieved Dolly sorely, while it delighted everybody else. " What is it worth, father ? " she asked, conceal- ing as well as she could what she felt. " Worth ? it's worth anything you please. It is glorious, Dolly ! " " I work for money," she said archly. " Upon my word, you could turn a pretty penny if you did. This is capital work," said he turning to Lawrence. " If this had been done on ivory, now " " I did a likeness of Mr. St. Leger for his mother that was on ivory. She sent me ten pounds for it." "Ten pounds to her. To anybody else, I should say it was worth twenty, well," said Mr. Copley. " So I say, sir," Lawrence answered. " I am going to pay that price for my copy." " Then will you pay me twenty pounds, sir ? " "I?" said Mr. Copley. "Not exactly, Dolly! I am not made of money, like your friend Law- rence here. Wish I could, and you should have it." " Will you get me customers, then, father ? " " Customers ! " echoed Mr. Copley. " Yes. Because you are not made of money, you know, father; and I want a good deal of money." " You ! " said Mr. Copley, looking at her. For indeed Dolly had never been one of those daugh- ters who make large demands on their father's purse. But Dolly answered now with a calm prac- tical tone and manner. MR. COPLEY. 391 u Yes, I do, father; and mother has a longing for some of those Arabian Nights things in the curi- osity shops. You know people enough here, father ; shew them your picture and get me customers." "Don't be ridiculous, Dolly," said her father. " We are not at the point of distress yet. And," he added in a graver tone, as Lawrence left the room, "you must remember, that even if I were willing to see my daughter working as a portrait painter, Mr. St. Leger might have a serious objec- tion to his wife doing it or a lady who is to be his wife." " Mr. St. Leger may dispose of his wife when he gets her," said Dolly calmly. "I am not that lady." "Yes, you are." "Not if I know anything about it." " Then you don't ! " said Mr. Copley. " It is pro- verbial, that girls never know their own minds. Why, Dolly, it would be the making of you, child." " No, father; only of my dresses." Mr. Copley was a little provoked. " What's your objection to St. Leger ? Can you give one ? " he asked hotly. " Father, he doesn't suit me." " You don't like him, because you don't like him. A real woman's reason ! Isn't he handsome ? " " Very. And sleepy." " He's wide awake enough for purposes of busi- " Maybe; not for purposes of pleasure. Father, beautiful paintings and grand buildings are noth- 392 THE END OF A COIL. ing to him; nothing at all; and music might be the tinkling of tin kettles for all the meaning he finds in it. Father, dear, do get me some customers ! " " You are a silly girl, Dolly ! " said her father, breaking away, and not very well pleased. Nei- ther did he bring her customers. Those were not the days of photographs. Dolly took to painting little bits of views in Venice; here a palace; there a bridge over a canal; the pillars with the dragon and St. Theodore, the Place of St. Mark, bits of the Kiva with boats; she finished up these little pict- ures with great care and delicacy of execution, and then employed Eupert to dispose of them in the stationers' and fancy shops. He had some diffi- culty at first in finding the right market for her wares; however, he finally succeeded; and Dolly could sell as many pictures as she could paint. True, not for a great price; they did not pay so well as likenesses; but Dolly took what she could get, feeling very uncertain of supplies for a time that was coming. Mr. Copley certainly was not flush with his money now; and she did not flatter herself that his ways were mending. Less and less did his wife and daughter see of his company. "Rupert," said Dolly doubtfully one day, "do you' know where my father goes, so much of the time ? " "No," said Eupert; "that's just what I don't. But I can find out, easy." MR. COPLEY. 393 Dolly did not say " Do " ; she did not say anything; she stood pondering and anxious by the window. Neither did Rupert ask further; he acted. It came by degrees to be a pretty regular thing, that Mr. Copley spent the evening abroad, excused himself from going anywhere with his family, and when they did see him wore an uncertain, purpose- less, vagrant sort of look and air. By degrees this .began to strike even Mrs. Copley. " 1 wish you would just make up your mind to marry Mr. St. Leger ! " she said almost weepingly one day. " Then all would go right. I believe it would make me well, to begin with; and it would bring your father right back to his old self." " How, mother ? " Dolly said sadly. "It would give him spirit at once. It is because he is out of spirits that he does so." (Mrs. Copley did not explain herself.) "I know. If he were once sure of seeing you Mrs. St. Leger, all would come right. Lawrence would help him ; he could help him then." " Who would help me ? " " Nonsense, Dolly ! Who would help you choose your dresses and wear your diamonds; that is all the difficulty you would have. But all's going wrong ! " said Mrs. Copley, sinking into tears ; " and you are selfish, like everybody else, and think only of yourself." Dolly bore this in silence. It startled her, how- ever, greatly, to find her own view of things held 394 THE END OF A COIL. by her much less sharp-sighted mother. . She pon- dered on what was best to do. Should she sit still and quietly see her father lost irretrievably in the bad habits which were creeping upon him ? But what step could she take ? She asked herself this question evening after evening. It was late one night, and Lawrence as well as her father had been out ever since dinner. Mrs. Copley, weary and dispirited, had gone to bed. Dolly stood at the window looking out, not to see how the moonlight sparkled on the water and glanced on the vessels, but in a hopeless sort of expectancy watching for her father to come. The stream of passers-by had grown thin, and was growing thinner. " Rupert," Dolly spoke after a long silence, " do you know where my father is ? " "Can't say I do. I could give a pretty fair guess, though, if you asked me." " Could you take me to him ? " " Take you to him ! " exclaimed the young man starting. " Can you find the way ? Where is it ? " " I've been there often enough," said Rupert. " What place is it ? " "The queerest place you ever saw. Do you recollect Mr. St. Leger telling us once about wine shops in Venice ? You and he were talking " "Yes, yes, I remember. Is it one of those? Not a cafe?" "Xot a cafe at all; neither a cafe nor a trattoria. MR. COPLEY. 395 Just a wine shop. Nothing in it but wine casks, and the mugs or jugs of white and blue crockery that they draw the wine into ; it's the most ridicu- lous place altogether I ever was in. I haven't been in it now, that's a fact." " What were you there for so often, then ? " "Well," said Rupert, "I was looking after things " "Drink wine and eat nothing!" said Dolly again. "Are there many people there?" " Well, you can eat if you've a mind to, there are folks enough to sell you things; though they don't belong to the establishment. They come in from the street, with ever so many sorts of things, directly they see a customer sit down; fish and oysters, and cakes, and fruit. But the shop sells nothing but wine. Mr. St. Leger says that is good." " Not many people there ? " Dolly asked again. " No ; not unless at a busy time. There won't be many there now, I guess." " What makes you think my father is there ? " " I've seen him there pretty often," Rupert said in a low voice. Dolly stood some minutes silent, thinking, and struggling with herself. When she turned to Ru- pert at the end of those minutes, her air was quite composed and her voice was clear and calm. "Can you take me there, Rupert? Can you find the way ? " "I know it as well as the way to my mouth. 396 THE END OF A COIL. You see, I didn't know but maybe I couldn't tell what you might take a notion to want me to do ; so I just practised, till I had got the ins and outs of the thing. And there are a good many ins and outs, I can tell you. But I know them." "Then we will go," said Dolly. "I'll be ready in two minutes." It was a brilliant moonlight night, as I said. Venice, the bride of the Adriatic, lay as if robed in silver for her wedding. The air was soft, late as the time of year was ; Dolly had no need of any but a light wrap to protect her in her midnight expedition. Rupert called a gondola, and pres- ently they were gliding along, as still as ghosts, under the shadow of bridges, past glistening pal- ace fronts, again in the deep shade of a wall of buildings. Wherever the light struck it was like molten silver; facades and carvings stood sharply revealed; every beauty of the weird city seemed heightened and spiritualized; almost glorified; while the silence, the outward peace, gave still more the impression of a place fai^-like and unreal. It was truly a wonderful sail, a marvellous passage through an enchanted city, never to be forgotten by either of the two young people; who went for some distance in a silence as if a spell were upon them too. At Dolly's age, with all its elasticity, some aspects of trouble are more overwhelming than in later years. When one has not measured life, not learned yet the relations and proportions of MR. COPLEY. 397 things, one imagines the whole earth darkened by the cloud which is but hiding the sun from the spot where our feet stand. And before one has seen what wonders Time can do, the ruin wrought by an avalanche or a flood seems irreparable. It is inconceivable, that the bare and torn rocks should be clothed again, the choking piles of rubbish ever be anything but dismal and unsightly, the strip- ped fields ever be green and flourishing, or the torn-up trees be ever replaced. Yet Time does it all. Come after a while to look again, and the traces of past devastation are not easy to find; nature's weaving has so covered and nature's em- broidery has so adorned the bald places. In hu- man life there is something like this often done; though as I said, youth wots not of it and does not believe in it. So Dolly this night saw her little life a wilderness, which had been a garden of flowers. Some flowers might be lifting their heads yet, but what Dolly looked at was the de- struction. Wrought by her own father's hand ! I cannot tell how that thought stung and crushed Dolly. What would anything else in the world have mattered, so she could have kept him? help could have been found ; but to lose him, her father, and not by death but by change, by dishonour, by loss of his identity Dolly felt indeed that a storm had come upon the little garden of her life from the sweeping ruin of which there could be no re- vival. She could hardly hold her head lip, for a long distance of that midnight sail; yet she did, 398 THE END OF A COIL. and noted as they passed the fairy glories of the scene. Just noted them, to deepen if possible the pangs at her heart. All this beauty, all this out- ward delight, mocked the inner reality; and made sharp the sense of it with the contrast of what might have been. As they went along, Venice became to her fancy a grave and monument of lost things; which floated together in her mind's vi- sion. Past struggles for freedom, beaten back or faded out; vanished patriotism and art, with their champions; extinct ambitions and powers; histori- cal glories evaporated as it were, leaving only a scent upon the air; what was left at Venice but monuments? and like it now her own little life gone out and gone down ! For so it seemed to Dolly. Even if she succeeded in her mission and brought her father home, what safety? what se- curity could she have ? And if she did not bring him then all was lost indeed. It was lost any- how, she thought, as far as her own life was con- cerned. Her father could not be what he had been again! "0 father ! my father !" was poor Dolly's bitter cry, " if you had taken anything else from me, and only left me yourself! " After a long time, when she spoke to Rupert, it was in a quiet, unaltered voice. " Is this the shortest way, Rupert ? " "As like as not it's the longest. But, you see, it's the only way I know. I've always got there starting 'from the Place of St. Mark; and that way I know what I am about; but though I dare say MR. COPLEY. 399 there's a short cut home, I've never been it, and don't know it." Dolly added no more. "It's a bit of a walk from St. Mark's," Kupert went on. " Do you mind ? " " No," said Dolly sighing. " Rupert, I wish you were a Christian friend ! You are a good friend, but I wish you were a Christian ! " " Why just now ? " " Nobody else can give one comfort. You can- not, Rupert, with all the will in the world ; there is no comfort in anything you could tell me. I have only one Christian friend on this side of the At- lantic; and that is Mrs. Jersey; and she might as well be in America too, where Aunt Hal is ! " Dolly was crying. It went to Rupert's heart. " What could a Christian friend say to you ? " he asked at length. "Remind me of something, or of some words, that I ought to remember," said Dolly, still weeping. "Of what?" said Rupert. "If you know, tell me. Remind yoursefr; that's as good as hav- ing some one else remind you. What comfort is there in religion for a great trouble ? Is there any ? " " Yes," said Dolly. " What then ? Tell us, Miss Dolly. I may want it some time, as well as you." " I suppose everybody is pretty sure to want it, some time in his life," said Dolly sadly, but trying to wipe away her tears. 400 THE END OF A COIL. " Let's have the comfort then," said Eupert, " if you've got it." "Why, are you in trouble, Rupert?" she said rousing up. " What about ? " " Never mind ; let's have the comfort ; that's the thing wanted just now. What would you say to me now, if I wanted it pretty bad ? " "The trouble is, it is so hard to believe what God says," Dolly said, speaking half to herself and half to her companion. "What does he say? Is it anything a fellow can take hold of and hold on to ? I never could make out much by what I've heard folks tell ; and 1 never heard much anyhow, to begin with." " One of the things that are good to me," said Dolly bowing her face on her hand, "is that Jesus knows." " Knows what ? " "All about it everything my trouble, and your trouble, if you have any." " I don't see the comfort in that. If he knows, why don't he hinder? I suppose he can hinder?" "He does hinder whatever would be real harm to his people; he has promised that." " Well, ain't this real harm, that is worrying you? " said Rupert. " What do you call harm? " " Pain and trouble are not always harm," said Dolly, "for his children often, have them, I know; and no trouble seems sweet at the minute, but bitter; and the sweet fruits come afterward. it's so bitter now ! " cried poor Dolly, unable to MR. COPLEY. 401 keep the tears back again; "but he knows. He knows." " If he knows," said Rupert, wholly unable to un- derstand this reasoning, "why doesn't he hin- der? That's what I look at." " I don't know, " said Dolly faintly. "What comforts you in that, then ?" said Eupert almost impatiently. "That's too big a mouthful for me." " No, you're wrong," said Dolly. " He knows why. I have the comfort of that, and so I am sure there is a why. It is not all vague chance and confusion, with no hand to rule anything. Don't you see what a difference that makes ? " " Do you mean to say, that everything that hap- pens is for the best ? " "No," said Dolly. "Wrong can never be as good as right. Only, Rupert, God will so manage things that to his children to his children, good shall come out of evil, and nothing really hurt them." " Then the promise Is only for them ? " " That's all. How could it be for the others ? " " I don't see it," said Rupert. " Seems to my eyes as if black was black and white white; it's the fault of my eyes, I s'pose. It is only moonshine, to my eyes, that makes black white." "Rupert, you do not understand. I will tell you. You know the story of Joseph. Well, when his brothers tried to murder him, that was what you call evil, wasn't it ? " 26 402 THE END OF A COIL. " Black, and no moonshine on it." "Yet it led to Iris being sold into Egypt." " What was the moonshine on that ? He was a slave, warn't he ? " "But that brought him to be governor of Egypt; he was the means of the plenty in the land through those years of famine ; and by his power and influ- ence his family was placed in the best of the land when starvation drove them down there." " But why must he be sold a slave to begin with ? " " Good reasons. As a servant of Potiphar he learned to know all about the land and its produce and its cultivation, and the peasant people that cultivated it. If it had not been for the knowl- edge he gained as a slave, Joseph could never have known what to do as a governor." " I never thought of that," said Eupert, his tone changing. "Then when he was thrown into prison, you would have said that was a black experience too?" " I should, and no mistake." " And there, among the great prisoners of state, he learned to know about the politics of the country, and heard what he never could have heard talked about any where else; and there, by interpreting their dreams, he recommended him- self to the high officers of Pharaoh. Except through the prison, it is impossible to see how he, a poor foreigner, could ever have come to be so distinguished at the king's court; for the Egyptians hated and despised foreigners." MR. COPLEY. 403 " I'll be whipped if that ain't a good sermon," said Rupert dryly; "and what's more, I can under- stand it, which I can't most sermons I've heard. But look here, do you think God takes the same sort of look-out for common folks? Joseph was Joseph." " The care comes of his goodness, not out of our worthiness," said Dolly, the tears dripping from her eyes. " To him, Dolly is Dolly, and Rupert is Rupert, just as truly. I know it, and yet I am so ungrateful ! " " But tell me then," Rupert went on, " how comes it that God, who can do everything, does not make people good right off? Half the trouble in the world comes of folks' wrong^headedness ; why don't he make 'em reasonable ? " "He tries to make them reasonable." " Tries ! Why don't he do it ? " " You, for instance," said Dolly. " Because he has given you the power of choice, Rupert; and you know yourself that obedience would not be obedience ifit were not voluntary." On this theological nut Rupert ruminated, with- out finding anything to say. "You have comforted me," Dolly went on pres- ently. " Thank you, Rupert. You have made me remember what I had forgotten. Just look at that palace front in the moonlight ! " The world's a queer place, though," said Rupert, not heeding the palace front. " What are you thinking of? " 404 THE END OF A COIL. " This city, for one thing. I've been, reading that book you lent me. Hasn't there been confu- sion enough, though, up and down these canals and in and out of those palaces ! and the rest of the world is pretty much in the same way. Only in America it ain't quite so bad. I suppose be- cause we haven't had time enough." CHAPTER XXIII. THE WINE SHOP. IT was past twelve by the clock tower when the two left the gondola and entered the Place of St. Mark. The old church with its cupolas, the open Place, the pillars with St. Theodore and the dragon, the palace of the doges with its open stone work, shewed like a scene out of another world; so unearthly beautiful, so weird and so stately. There had been that day some festival or public occasion which had called the multitude together, and lingerers were still to be seen here and there, and the windows of cafes and trattorie were lighted, and the buzz of voices came from them. Dolly and Eupert crossed the square however without more than a moment's lingering, and plunged presently into what seemed to her a laby- rinth of confused ways. Such ways! an alley in New York would be broad in comparison; two women in hoops would have been obliged to use some skill to pass each other; they threaded the old city in the strangest manner. Eupert went steadily and without hesitation, Dolly wondered how he could, through one into another, up and 406 THE END OF A COIL. down over bridge after bridge, clearly knowing his way; yet it was a nervous walk to her, for more than one reason. Sometimes the whole line of one of these narrow streets, if they could be called so, would be perfectly dark; the moonlight not getting into it and only glittering on a palace cornice or a street corner in view; others, lying right for the moonbeams, were flooded with them from one turning to another. Most of the shops were closed ; but the sellers of fruit had not shut tip their windows yet, and now and then a cook- shop made a most peculiar picture, with its blazing fire at the back and its dishes of cooked and un- cooked viands temptingly displayed at the street front. Steadily and swiftly Rupert and Dolly passed on; saw these things without stopping to look at them, but yet saw them so that in all after life those peculiar effects of light and shade, fire shine and moonlight, Italian fruits and vegetables and fish coloured by the one or the other illumina- tion, were never lost from memory. Here there would be a red Vulcanic glow in the interior of a shop, where the furnace fire was flaming up about the pots and pans of cookery; and at the street front, at the window, the moonlight glinting white from the edge of a dish or glancing from a pane of glass; and then again reflected from the still waters of a canal. The two saw these things, and never forgot ; but Dolly was silent and Rupert did not know what to say. Yet he thought he felt her arm tremble sometimes, and would have given a THE WINE SHOP. 407 great deal to be able to speak to purpose. Perhaps Dolly at length found the need of distraction to her thoughts, for she it was that first said anything. " I hope mother will not wake up ! " "Why?" "She would not understand my being away." " Then she does not know ? " " I did not dare tell her. I had to risk it. I do not want her ever to know, Rupert, if it can be helped." " She'll be no wiser for me. What are you going to do now, Miss Dolly ? We ain't far off the place." " I am going to get my father to go home with me. You needn't come in. Better not. You go back to the gondola and wait there for a little say a quarter or half an hour ; if I do not come be- fore that, then go on home." " But you cannot go anywhere alone ? " "0 no; I shall have father; but I cannot tell which way he may take to get home. You go back to the gondola, or no, be in front of St. Mark's; that would be better." " I am afraid to leave you, Miss Dolly." " You need not. One gets to places where there is nothing to fear any more." Rupert was not sure what she meant; her voice had a peculiar cadence which struck him. Then they turned another corner, and a few steps ahead of them saw the light from a window making a strip of illumination across the street, which here was Tin visited by the moonbeams. 408 THE END OF A COIL. " That is the place," said Bupert. Dolly slackened her walk, and the next minute paused before the window and looked in. The light was not brilliant, yet sufficient to shew sev- eral men within, some sitting and drinking, some in attendance; and Dolly easily recognized one among the former number. She drew her arm from Eupert's. " Now go back to St. Mark's," she whispered. " I wish it. Yes, I would rather go in alone. Wait for me a little while in front of St. Mark's." She stood still yet half a minute, making her ob- servations or getting up her resolution ; then with a light, swift step passed into the shop. Rupert could not obey her and go at once ; he felt he must see what she did and what her reception promised to be; he came a little nearer to the window and gazed anxiously in. The minutes he stood there burned the scene for ever into his memory. The light shone in a wide, spacious apartment which it but gloomily revealed. There was noth- ing whatever of the outward attractions with which in New York or London a drinking saloon, not of a low order, would have been made pleasant and inviting. The wine had need to be good, thought Rupert, when men would come to such a place as this and spend time there, simply for the pleasure of drinking it. Yet several men were there, taking that pleasure, even so late as the hour was; and they were respectable men, at least if their dress could be taken in testimony. They sat with mugs THE WINE SHOP. 409 and glasses before them ; one had a plate of olives also, another had some other tit-bit or provocative; one seemed to be in converse with Mr. Copley, who was not beyond converse yet, though Rupert saw he had been some time drinking. His face was flushed a little, his eyes dull, his features over- spread with that inane stupidity which comes from long continued and purely sensual indulgence of any kind, especially under the fumes of wine. To the side of this man, Rupert saw Dolly go. She went in, as I said, with a light, quick step, looked at nobody else, made straight to her father, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. With that she threw back her head covering a little, it was some sort of a scarf, of white and brown worsted knitting, which lay around her head like a glory, in Rupert's eyes, and shewed her face to her fa- ther. Fair and delicate and sweet, bright and grave at once, for she did look bright even there, she stood at his side like his good angel, with her little hand upon his shoulder. No wonder Mr. Copley started and looked frightened; that was the first look; and then confused. Rupert under- stood it all, though he could not hear what was said. He saw the man was embarrassed. " Dolly ! " said Mr. Copley, falling back upon his first thought, as the easiest to speak of, " what is the matter ? " "Nothing with me, father. Will you take me home?" " Where's your mother? " 410 THE END OF A COIL. " She is at home. But it is pretty late, father." " Where's Lawrence ? " " I don't know." " Where is Rupert, then ? " " He is out, somewhere. Will you go home with me, father ? " " How did you come here ? " said Mr. Copley, sitting a little straighter up and now beginning to replace or conceal confusion with displeasure. " 1 will tell you. I will tell you on the way. But shall we go first, father? I don't like to stay here." " Here ? What in the name of ten thousand devils ! Who brought you here ? " " I am alone," said Dolly. " Hadn't we better go, father? and then we can talk as we go." At this point a half tipsy Venetian arose and stepping before the pair with a low reverence said something to Mr. Copley, of which Dolly only un- derstood the words, " La bella signorina;" they made her however draw her scarf forward over her face and brought Mr. Copley to his feet. He could stand, she saw, but whether he could walk very well was open to question. "Signer, signor " he began stammering and incensed. Dolly seized his arm. " Shall we go, father ? It is so late, and mother might want me. It is very late, father. Never mind anything, but come ! " Mr. Copley was sufficiently himself to see the necessity; nevertheless his score must be paid; THE WINE SHOP. 411 and his head was in a bad condition for reckon- ing. He brought out some silver from his pocket and stood somewhat helplessly looking at it and at the shopman alternately; then with an awkward movement of his elbow contrived to throw over a glass, which fell on the floor and broke. Every- body was looking now at the father and daughter, and words came to Dolly's ears which made her cheek burn. But she stood calm, self-possessed, waiting, with a somewhat lofty air of maidenly dignity; helped her father solve the reckoning, paid for the glass, and at last got hold of his arm and drew him away; after a gentle, grave saluta- tion to the attendant which he answered profound- ly and which brought everybody in the little shop to his feet in involuntary admiration and respect. Dolly looked at nobody, yet with sweet courtesy made a distant sign of acknowledgment to their homage, and the next minute stood outside the shop in the dark little street and the rnild still air. I think, even at that minute, with the strange, star- tling inappropriateness of license which thoughts give themselves, there flashed across her a sense of the ironical contrast of things without and with- in her; without, Venice and her historical past and her monumental glory; within, a trembling little heart and present danger and a burden of dishon- our. But that was only a flash ; the needs of the minute banished all thinking that was not con- nected with action; and the moment's business was to get her father home. She had no thought 412 THE END. OF A COIL. now for the picturesque revealings of the moon- light and obscurings of the shadow. Yet she was conscious of them, in that sharp flash of contrast. At getting upon his feet and out into the air and gloom of the little street, Mr. Copley's head was very contused; or else he had taken more wine than his daughter guessed. He was not fit to guide himself, or to take care of her. As he seemed utterly at a standstill, Dolly naturally and unconsciously set her face to go the way she had come; for one or two turnings at least she was sure of it. Before those one or two turnings were made, however, she was shocked and scared to find that her father's walk was wavering; he swayed a little on his feet. The street was empty ; and if it had not been, what help could Dolly ask for ? A pang of great terror shot through her. She took her father's arm, to endeavour to hold him fast; a task rather too much for her little hands and slight frame; and feeling that in spite of her he still moved unsteadily and that she was an insufficient help, Dolly's anguish broke forth in a cry; natural enough in its unreasoningness " father, don't ! remember, I am all alone ! " How much was in the tone of those last words Dolly could not know; they hardly reached Mr. Copley's sense, though they went through and through another hearer. The next minute Eupert stood before the pair, and was offering his arm to Mr. Copley. Not trusting his patron, in the cir- cumstances, to take care of his young mistress, THE WINE SHOP. 413 Rupert had disobeyed her orders so far as to -keep the two figures in sight; he had watched them from one turning to another, and had seen that his help was needed, even before he heard Dolly's cry. Then, with a spring, he was there. Mr. Copley leaned now upon his arm, and Dolly fell behind, thankful unspeakably for the relief. She knew by this time that she could never have found her way ; and it was plain her father could not. " Rupert," said Mr. Copley, half recognizing the assistance afforded him "you're a good fellow! and always in the way when you aren't wanted; by George ! " But he leaned on his arm heavily. Dolly followed close; she could not well keep beside them ; and felt in that hour more thorough- ly lonely perhaps than at any other of her life be- fore or after. Rupert was a relief; and yet so the shame was increased. She stepped along through moonlight and shadow, through moonlight and shadow, feeling that light was gone out of her path- way of life forever, as far as this world was con- cerned. What was left, when her father was lost to her ? her father ! and riot by death, that would not have been to lose him utterly; but now his very identity was gone. Her father, wliorn all her life she had loved; manly, frank, able, active, taking the lead in every society where she had seen him, making other men do his bidding al- ways, until the passion of gaining and the lust of drink got hold of him ! Was it the same, that figure in front of her, leaning on somebody's arm 414 THE END OF A COIL. and glad to lean, and going with lame unsteady gait whither he was led, so like the way his mental course had been lately ? Was that her father ? The bitterness of Dolly's feeling it is impossible to put into words. Tears could bring no relief, and na- ture did not summon them to the impossible ser- vice. The fire at her heart would have burnt them up; for there was a strange passion of resistance and sense of wrong mixed with Dolly's bitter pain. The way was not short, and it seemed threefold the length it was; every step was so hard, and the crowd of thoughts was so disproportionately great. They were rather ruminating thoughts of grief and pain, than considerative of what was to be done. For the first, the thing was to get Mr. Cop- ley home. Dolly did not look beyond that. She was glad to find herself arrived at St. Mark's again ; and presently they were all three in the gondola. Mr. Copley leaned in a corner, laid his head against a cushion, and slept, or seemed to sleep. The other two were as silent; but I think both felt at the moment as if they would never sleep again. Eu- pert's face was in shadow ; he watched Dolly's face which was in light. She forgot it could be watched ; her eyes stared into the moonshine, not seeing it, or looking through it ; the sweet face was so very grave that the watcher felt his heart ache. Not the gen- tle gravity of young maidenhood, looking into the vague light; but the anxious, searching gaze of older life looking into the vague darkness. Ru- pert did not dare speak to her, though he longed. THE WINE SHOP. 415 What would he not have given for the right and the power to comfort ! But he knew he had nei- ther. He had sense enough not to try. It was customary for Mr. Copley, after he had been late out at night, to keep to his room until a late hour the next morning; so Dolly knew what she had to expect. It suited her very well this time, for she must think what she would say to her father when she next saw him. She took care that a cup of coffee such as he liked was sent him; and then, after her own slight breakfast, sat down to plan her movements. So Rupert found her, with her Bible in her lap, but not reading; sitting gazing out upon the bright waters of the lagoon. He came up to her, with a depth of understanding and sympathy in his plain features which greatly dig- nified them. " Does that help ? " said he, glancing at the book in Dolly's lap. " This?" said Dolly. "What other help in the world is there ? " " Friends ? " suggested Rupert. " Yes, you were a great help last night," Dolly said slowly. " But there come times and things when friends cannot do anything." " And then what does the book do ? " " The book ? " Dolly repeated again. " Rupert, it tells of the Friend that can do everything ! " Her eyes flushed with tears and she clasped her hands as she spoke. "What?" said Rupert; for her action was elp- 416 THE END OF A COIL. quent and he was curious; and besides he liked to make her talk. Dolly looked at him and saw that the question was serious. She opened her book. " Listen. ' Let your conversation be without covetousness ; and be content with such things as ye have ; for he hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.' " " That makes pretty close work of it. Can you get hold of that rope ? and how much strain will it bear ? " "I believe it will bear anything," said Dolly slowly and thoughtfully; "if one takes hold with both hands. I guess the trouble with me is, that I only take hold with one." " What do you do with the other hand ? " " Stretch it out towards something else, I sup- pose. For see here, Rupert; 'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee ; because he trusteth in thee.' I am just ashamed of myself!" said Dolly breaking down and bursting into tears. " What for ?" said Rupert. "Because I do not trust so." " I should think it would be very difficult." " It ought not to be difficult to trust a friend whose truth you know. There ! that has done me good," said the girl, sitting up and brushing away the tears. " Rupert, if there is anything you want THE WINE SHOP. 417 to see or to do here in Venice, be about it ; for I think we shall go off to Eome at once." She told the same thing to St. Leger when he came in; and having got rid of both the young men set herself anew to consider how she should speak to her father. And consideration helped nothing; she could not tell; she had to leave it to the moment to decide. It was late in the morning, later than the usual hour for the dejeuner a la fourchette, which Mr. Copley liked. He did not want anything to-day, his wife said; and she and Dolly and Rupert had finished their meal. Dolly contrived then that her mother should go out under Eupert's convoy, to visit the curiosity shop again, (nothing else would have tempted her) and to make one or two little purchases for which Dolly gave Rupert the means. When they were fairly off, she went to her father's room; he was up and dressed, she knew. She went with a very faint heart, not knowing in the least what she would do or say, but feeling that something must be said and done, both. Mr. Copley was sitting listlessly in a chair by the window; miserable enough, Dolly could see by the gloomy blank of his face; looking out, and caring for nothing that he saw. His features shewed traces of the evening before, in red eyes and pale cheeks; and yet worse, in the spiritless, abased expression, which was more than Dolly could bear. She had come in very quietly, but when she saw this she made one spring to his side 27 418 THE END OF A COIL. and sank down on the floor before him, hiding her face on his knee. Mr. Copley's trembling hand presently lifted her up into his arms, and Dolly sat on his knee and buried her face in his breast. Neither of them was ready to speak; neither did speak for some time. It was Mr. Copley who began. " Well, Dolly, I suppose you will say to me that I have broken my word ? " " father ! " it came in a sort of despair from Dolly's heart, " what shall we do ? " Mr. Copley had certainly no answer ready to this question ; and his next words were a departure. " How came you to be at that place last night ? " " I was afraid you were there ' " How did you dare come poking about through all those crooked ways, and at what time of night ? " " Father," Dolly said without lifting her head, "that was nothing. I dared nothing, compared with what you dared ! " "I? You are mistaken, child. I did not run the slightest risk. In fact I was only doing what everybody else does. You make much of nothing, in your inexperience." " Father," said Dolly, with a great effort, " you promised me. And when a man cannot keep his promise '' She had meant to be perfectly quiet; she had begun very calmly; but at that word, suddenly, her calmness failed her. It was too much; and with a sort of wailing cry, which in its forlorn- THE WINE SHOP. 419 ness reached and wrung even Mr. Copley's nerves, she broke into a terrible passion of weeping. Ter- rible ! young hearts ought never to know such an agony; and never, never should such an agony be known for the shame or even the weakness of a father. The hand appointed to shield, the love which ought to shelter, when the blow comes from that quarter, it finds the heart bare and de- fenceless indeed, and comes so much the harder in that it comes from so near. No other, more dis- tant, can give such a stroke. And to the young heart, unaccustomed to sorrow, new to life, not knowing how many its burdens and how heavy; not knowing on the other hand the equalizing, tempering effects of time; the first great pain comes crushing. The shoulders are not adjusted to the burden, and they feel as if they must break. Dolly's sobs were so convulsive and racking that her father was startled, and shocked. What had he done? Alas, the man never knows what he has done; he cannot understand how women die, before their time, that death of the heart which is out of the range of masculine nature. " Dolly ! Dolly ! " Mr. Copley cried, " what is the matter? Don't, Dolly, if you love me. My child, what have I done ? Don't you know, every- body takes a little wine ? Are you wiser than all the world ? " "You promised, father! " Dolly managed to say. " Perhaps I promised too much. You see, Dolly, 420 THE END OF A COIL. dont cry so ! a man must do as the rest of the world do. It isn't possible to live a separate life, as you would have me. It would make me ridic- ulous. It would not do. There's no harm in a little wine, child." " Father, you promised ! " Dolly repeated, cling- ing to him. She was not shrinking away; her arms of love were wrapped round his neck as tenderly as even in old childish days; they had power over Mr. Copley, power which he could not quite resist nor break away from. He returned their pressure, he even kissed her, feeling, I am happy to say, a little ashamed of himself. " You don't want me to be ridiculous, Dolly ? " he repeated, not knowing what to say. What should she answer to that ? No, she did not want him to be ridiculous; and as he spoke she recalled the staggering, impotent figure of last night, in its unmanly feebleness and senseless idiocy. A sense of the difficulty of her task and the vanity of her representations came over Dolly ; it gave her new food for tears, but the present effect was to make her stop them. I suppose de- spair does not weep. Dolly was not despairing, either. "What shall we do, father?" she asked, ignor- ing all his remarks and suggestions. " Do, Dolly ? About what ? " " Don't you think we will not stay any longer in Venice ? " " For all I care ! Where then ? " THE WINE SHOP. 421 " To Rome, father ? " '.' I thought you were to be in Rome at Christ- mas ? " " It is not so very long till Christmas." "Is your mother agreed ? " " She will be, if you say so." " If it pleases you, Dolly I don't care." " And father, dear father ! won't you keep your promise to me? What is to become of us, father?" Some bitter tears flowed again as she said this ; quietly, but Mr. Copley knew they were flowing and he had an intuitive sense that they were bitter. They embarrassed him. "I'll make a bargain, Dolly," he said after a pause. " I'll do what you want of me, anything you want, if you'll marry St. Leger." "But, father, I have not made up my mind to like him enough for that." "You will like him well enough. If you were to marry him you would be devoted to him. I know you." " I think the devotion ought to come first." " Nonsense. That is romantic folly. Novels are one thing, and real life is another." " I dare say ; but do you object to people's being a little romantic ? " " When it interferes with their bread and butter, I do." " Father, if you would drink no wine, we could all of us have as much bread and butter as we choose." 422 THE END OF A COIL. " You are always harping on that ! " said Mr. Copley frowning. " Because, our whole life depends on it, father. You cannot bear wine as some people can, I sup- pose; the habit is growing on you; mother and I are losing you, we do not even have but half a sight of you ; and father, we are wanting neces- saries. But I do not think of thai," Dolly went on eagerly; "I do not care; I am willing to live on dry bread, and work for the means to get it; but I cannot bear to lose you, father! I cannot bear it! and it will kill mother. She does not know; I have kept her from knowing; she knows nothing about what happened last night. father, do not let her know! Would anything pay you for break- ing her heart and mine? Is wine more to you than we are ? father, father ! let us go home, to America, and quit all these people and associations that make it so hard for you to be yourself. I want you to be your dear old self, father! Your dear self, that I love " Dolly's voice was choked, and she sobbed. Mr. Copley was not quite insensible. He was silent a good while, hearing her sobs, and then he groaned ; a groan partly of real feeling, partly, I am afraid, of desire to have the scene ended ; the embarrass- ment and the difficulty disposed of and behind him. But he thought it had been an expression of deeper feeling solely. "I'll do anything you like, my dear child," he said. " Only stop crying. You break my heart." THE WINE SHOP. 423 Father, will you really do something if I ask you Anything ! Only stop crying so." "Then, father, write and sign it, that you will not ever touch wine. Rupert and I have taken such a pledge already." "What is the use of writing and signing? I don't see. A man can let it alone without that." " He can, if he wants to let it alone ; but if he is very much tempted, then the pledge is a help." " What did you and Rupert do such a thing as that for?" " I wanted to save him." " Make him take the pledge then. Why you ? " "How could I ask him to do what I would not do myself? But I've done it, father; now will you join us ? " " Pshaw ! " said Mr. Copley, displeased. " Now you have incapacitated yourself from appearing as others do in society. How would you refuse, if you were asked to drink wine with somebody at a dinner-table?" "Very easily. I should think all women would refuse," said Dolly. "Father, will you join us? and let us all be unfashionable and happy together ? " " Did St. Leger pledge himself? " " I have not asked him." "Well, I will if he will." " For him, father ? and not for me ?" said Dolly. "Ask him," said Mr. Copley. "I'll do as he does." 424 THE END OF A COIL. " Father, you might set an example to him." " I'll let him set the example for me," said Mr. Copley rising. And Dolly could get no further. But it was settled that they were to leave Ven- ice. What was to be gained by this step Dolly did not quite know; yet it was a step, that was something. It was something, too, to get out of the neighbourhood of that wine shop, of which Dol- ly thought with horror. What might await them in Rome she did not know ; at least the bonds of habit in connection with a particular locality would be broken. And Venice was grown odious to her. CHAPTER XXIV. PAST GREATNESS. THEY went to Rome. Dolly had little comfort from her conversa- tion with her father. She turned over in her mind his offer to quit wine if St. Leger would do the same. St. Leger would not give any such pledge, Dolly was very clearly aware; except indeed she paid him for it with another pledge on her part. With such a bribe she believed he would do it, or anything else that might be asked of him. Smooth and quiet as the young gentleman was outwardly, he had a power of self-will; as was shewn by his persistence in following her. Dolly was obliged to confess that his passion was true and strong. If she would have him, no doubt, at least she be- lieved there was no doubt, Lawrence would agree to be unfashionable and drink no more wine to the day of his death for her sake. If he agreed to that, her father would agree to it; both of them would be saved from that danger. Dolly pon- dered. Ought she to pay the price ? Should she sacrifice herself, and be the wife of a rich banker, 426 THE END OF A COIL. and therewith keep her father and all of them from ruin ? Very soberly Dolly turned the whole thing over in her mind; back and forward; and always she was certain on one point, that she did not want to be Lawrence's wife; and to her simple, childlike perceptions another thing also seemed clear; that it is a bad way to escape one wrong by doing another. She always brought up with that. And so, she could not venture and did not venture to attack Lawrence on the wine question. She knew it would be in vain. Meanwhile they were in Rome. Two of the gen- tlemen being skilled travellers,- they had presently secured a very tolerable apartment; not in the best situation indeed, but so neither was it of the most expensive sort; and clubbing their resources, were arranged comfortably enough to feel quite at home. And immediately Dolly began to use her advantage and see Rome. Mrs. Copley had no curiosity to see anything; all her wish was to sit at her win- dow or by her fire and talk to her husband; and as Mr. Copley shared her lack of enterprize and something withheld him from seeking either gam- bling or drinking shops, Dolly could go out with an easy mind, and give herself undividedly to the intense enjoyment of the place and the time. Yes, undividedly; for she was eighteen, and at eigh- teen one has a power of, for a time, throwing off trouble. Trouble was on her, she knew ; and nevertheless, when Dolly found herself in the streets of Rome, or in presence of its wonders PAST GREATNESS. 427 of art or marvels of antiquity, she and trouble parted company. She forgot all but the present; or even if she did not forget, she disregarded. Her spirit took a momentary leap above all that ordinarily held it down, and revelled, and rejoiced, and expanded, and rose into a region of pure ex- quisite life. Rupert, who always accompanied her, was rather opening the eyes of his mind and open- ing them very wide indeed, and as is the case' with eyes newly opened, not seeing very clearly; yet taking great pleasure in what he did see. St. Leger, her other companion, had a certain delight in seeing Dolly's enjoyment; for himself, alas, it was too plain that art said little to him, and an- tiquity nothing. One afternoon, when they had been perhaps a week in Rome, Dolly declared her intention of taking Rupert to the Museo Capitolino. " You were there the day before yesterday," St. Leger remarked, rousing himself from a comfort- able position and a magazine. "Yes, thank you; and now I am going to do for Mr. Babbage what you did for me; introduce him to a scene of delights. You know, one should al- ways pass on a good thing that one has received." " Don't you want me ? " " No indeed ! I wouldn't bore you to that ex- tent." " But you will allow me, for my own pleasure " said Lawrence getting up. "No, I will not. You have done your part, as 428 THE END OF A COIL. far as that museum is concerned; and besides, I have heard that a lady must not dance too many dances with one gentleman. It is Mr. Babbage's turn." And with a merry little nod of her head and smile at the irresolute St. Leger, Dolly went off. Eupert was generally of the party when they went sight-seeing, but it had happened that it was not the case when the visit to the Capitoline Museum had been made. " You are not going to this place for my sake ? " Rupert said as Dolly hurried along. " For your sake, and for my sake," she answered. " 1 was there for about two minutes, and I should like two days. Rome, Rome ! I never saw any- thing like Rome." " Why ? " said Rupert. " It hasn't got hold of me so." " Wait, and it will. I seem to be touching the history of the world here, till I don't know where- abouts in the ages I am. Is this the nineteenth century ? Here we are." Half an hour later, the two found themselves in the Hall of the Emperors. " Do you know Roman history, Rupert ? " " A little. Not much. Not far down, you see. I know about Romulus and Remus." " Then you know more than anybody else knows. That's a myth. Look here. Let us begin at the beginning. Do you know this personage ? " " Julius Caesar ? Yes. I have read about him." PAST GREATNESS. 429 "Did you ever read Plutarch's Lives? They used to be my delight when I was a little girl. I was very fond of Julius Csesar then. I know better now. But I am glad to see him." " Why, wasn't he a great man ? " "Very. So the world says. I have come to perceive, Rupert, that that don't mean much." "Why not? I thought the world was apt to be right." "In some things. No doubt this man might have been a very great man; he had power; but what good did he do to the world ? He just worked for himself. I tell you what the Bible says, Rupert; 'the things which are highly es- teemed among men, are abomination in the sight of God.' Look, and you will see it is so." " If you go by that Who is this next man ? Augustus. He was the first Roman emperor, wasn't he ? " "And all around here are ranged his succes- sors. What a set they were ! and they look like it." " How do you know they are likenesses ? " " Know from coins. Do you know, almost all these men, the emperors, died a violent death '<* Murdered, or else they killed themselves. That speaks, don't it, for the beauty and beneficence of their reigns, and the loveliness of their characters ? " " I don't know them very well. Some of them were good men, weren't they ? " "See here, Nos. 11 and 12. Here are Caligula 430 THE END OF A COIL. and Claudius. Caligula was murdered. Then Clau- dius was poisoned by his wife Agrippina; there she is, No. 14. She was killed by her son Nero; and Nero killed himself; and No. 13, there is another Avife of Claudius whom he killed before he mar- ried Agrippina; and here, No. 17, was a wife of Nero whom he killed by a kick. And that is the way, my dear Rupert, they went on. Don't you wish you had belonged to the Imperial family? There's greatness for you ! " " But there were some really great ones, weren't there ? Which are they ? " "Well, let us see. Come on. Here is Trajan. He was not a brute; he was a philosopher and a sceptic. He was quite a distinguished man in the arts of war and peace. But, he ordered that the profession of Christianity should be punished with death. He legalized all succeeding persecutions, by his calm enactments. Do you think he was a great man in the sight of God ? " " Were the Christians persecuted in his reign ? " "Certainly. In Asia Minor, under the good gov- ernor Pliny. Simon the son of Cleophas was cru- cified at that time." " Perhaps Trajan did not know any better." , " He might have known better, though. Ignor- ance is no plea that will stand, when people have the means of knowledge. But come on. Here is Marcus Aurelius; here, Eupert, Nos. 37 and 38. He was what the world calls a very great man. He was cultivated, and wise, and strong, a great gov- PAST GREATNESS. 431 ernor, and for a heathen a good man ; and how he treated the Christians! East and west, and at Rome here itself, how they were sought out and tortured and killed ! What do you think the Lord thinks of such a great man as that? Remember, the Bible says of his people, ' He that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of his eye.' What do you think the Lord thought of Marcus Aurelius' great- ness? Look here, Rupert here is Decius, and here is Diocletian." " Were they persecutors too ? " "Great. It is so strange to look at their faces here, in this museum, after so many centuries. I suppose they will stand here, maybe, till the end of the world. Come away we have been so long in this gallery we have -not left time enough for the other rooms." They went to the Hall of the Gladiator; and there Dolly studied the figure which gives name to the place, with a kind of rapt intensity. She described to her companion the meaning of the marble; but it was not the same thing to them both. Dolly was lost in delighted contemplation. Rupert looked on with a kind of incredulous scorn. "You don't care for it?" she said suddenly, catching a sight of his face. " What's it good for ? " said Rupert. "This ain't a likeness of anybody,, is it ? " " It is a likeness of a great many people. Hun- dreds and hundreds died in such fashion as that, for the pleasure of the Roman people." 432 THE END OF A COIL. "Well, would it have been any satisfaction to you to see it ? " " Why no ! I hope not." " Then why do you like to see it here now ? " " I don't ! this is not reality, but an image." " I can't see why you should like to look at the image, when you couldn't bear the reality." "Why Rupert," Dolly began, but her further words were cut oft'. " Met again ! " said a soft voice. " You here ! we did not know you would be in Rome so soon." " Dolly ! " exclaimed Christina, who followed her mother. "That's delightful. Dolly Copley in Rome ! and in the Museo Capitolino. Who is with you ? " "We are all here," said Dolly smiling. "Yes, yes, in Rome, of course; but you are not in the museum alone ? " Dolly presented Mr. Babbage. " And how is your mother ? " Mrs. Thayer went on. "Better. I am so glad. I thought she would be better in Italy. And what have you done with your handsome cavalier o servente Mr. St. Leger ? " " I left him at home with a magazine, in which . I think there was a story," said Dolly. " Impossible ! his gallantry allowed you to come alone?" " Not his gallantry, but perhaps his sense ' of weakness," Dolly answered. "Of weakness, my dear? Is he a weak young man ? He does not look it." PAST GREATNESS. 433, "Very good muscular power, I dare say; but when we talk of power of will, you know ' weak- ness' is relative. I forbade him, and he did not dare to come." " You forbade him ! and he obeyed ! But Chris- tina, I do not think you have Mr. Shubrick in such training as that. Would he obey, if you gave him orders ? " " Probably the relations are different," said Dolly obliging herself to keep a grave face. " I am in a happy independence of Mr. St. Leger which allows me to command him." " Independence ! " said Mrs. Thayer, with an air half curious, half confounded, which was a severe trial to Dolly's risible muscles. " I know young ladies are very independent in these days I don't know whether it is a change for the better or not but I do not think Christina would boast of her independence qf her knight errant." " No," said Dolly. " The cases are different as I said. Mr. St. Leger does not stand in that par- ticular relation to me." " Doesn't he ! But my dear, I hope you haven't quarrelled ? " " Not at all," said Dolly. " We do not like each other well enough to quarrel." " But he struck me as a most* delightful young man." " I believe he generally makes that impression." " I used to know his father," said Mrs. Thayer. " He was a sad flirt. I know, you see, my dear, 28 434 THE END OF A COIL. because I was one myself. I am glad Christina does not take after me. But I used to think it was great fun. Is Mr. St. Leger anything of a flirt?" " I have had no opportunity of knowing, ma'am," said Dolly gravely. " Well, you will bring him to see us ? You are all coming to make us a visit at our villa, at Sorren- to; and Mr. Shubrick is coming; Christina wants to shew him to you; you know a girl is always proud of her conquests; and then we will go everywhere and make you see everything. You have just no notion how delightful it is at Sorrento in the spring and summer. It's Paradise ! " "But you are coming first to spend Christmas with me, Dolly," said her friend, who until now had hardly been able to get in a word. " I have five thousand things to talk to you about. My sailor friend has promised to be here too, if he can; and his ship is in the Mediterranean some- where, so I guess he can; and I want you to see him. Come and spend Christmas eve with me do ! and then we shall have a chance to talk be- fore he comes. Of course there would be no chance after," she added with a confident smile. Dolly was not much in a mood for visiting, and scantly inclined to mix in the joyous circle which must be breathing so different an atmosphere from her own. She doubted besides whether she could leave her watch and ward for so long a time as a night and a day. Yet it was pleasant to see Chris- PAST GREATNESS. 435 tina, and the opportunity to talk over old times was tempting; and her friend's instances were very ur- gent. Dolly at last gave a conditional assent; and they parted; Dolly and Kupert taking the way home. " Is that lady a friend of yours ? " Rupert en- quired. "The daughter; not the mother." "The old lady I meant. She has a mind to know all about us." "Why?" " She asked me about five hundred and fifty ques- tions, after she quitted you." " What did you tell her ? " " I told her what she knew before," said Kupert chuckling. " Her stock of knowledge hasn't grown very much, I guess, by all she got out of me. But she tried." Dolly was silent. After a short pause, Rupert spoke again in quite another tone. " Miss Dolly, you've put me in a sort of a puzzle. You said a little while ago, or you spoke as if you thought, that all those grand old Roman emperors were not after all great men. Then, if ihey were not great, what's a fellow to try for ? If a common fel- low does his best, he will not get to the hundredth or the thousandth part of what those men did. Yet you say they were not great. What's the use of my trying, for instance^ to do anything, or be any- thing ? " " What did they do, Rupert ? " 436 THE END OF A COIL. " Well, you seem to say, nothing ! But don't you come to Rome to admire what they did ? " "Some of the things they did, or made. But stand still here, Rupert, and look. Do you see the Rome of the Caesars? You see an arch here and a theatre there ; but the city of those days is buried. It is under our feet. The great works of art here, those that were done in their day, were not done by them. Do you think it is any good to one of those old emperors in the other world, take the best of them is it any good to him now that he had some of these splendid buildings erected ? or marbles carved ? Or that his armies conquered the world, and his government held order where- ever his arms went ? If he is happy in the pres- ence of God, is it anything to him, now, that we look back and admire his work ? and if he is un- happy, banished that Presence, is it anything to him then ? " "Well, what is greatness then?" said Rupert. " What is worth a man's trying for ; if these great- est things are worth nothing ? " " I do not think anything is really great or worth while," said Dolly, " except those things that God likes." " You come back to religion," said Rupert. " I did not mean religion. What are those things ? " "I do not think anything is worth trying for, Rupert, except the things that will last." " What things will last ? " said he half impa- tiently. PAST GREATNESS. 437 " Look here," said Dolly. " Step a little this way. Do you see the Colosseum over yonder ? Who do you think will remember, and do remember, that with most pleasure ; Vespasian and Titus who built it, or the Christians who gave themselves to the lions there for Christ's sake ? " "Yes " said Rupert, "of course; but that isn't the thing. There are no lions here now." "There are lions of another sort," said Dolly, standing still and with her eyes fixed upon the wonderful old pile in the distance. " There is al- ways work to be done for God, Rupert, and dan- gers or difficulties to be faced; and to the people who face any lions for his sake, there is a promise of praise and honour and blessing that will last forever." " Then you would make all a man's work to be work for God ? " said Rupert, not satisfied with this view of the question. " What is to become of all the rest of the things that are to be done in the world ? " " There ought not to be anything else done in the world," said Dolly, laughing as she turned and be- gan to walk on again. " It ought all to be done for him. Merchants ought to make money for his service ; and lawyers ought to strive to bring God's order between man and man, and justice to every one, and that never wrong should be done or op- pression exercised by anybody. ' Break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free.' And soldiers ought to fight for no other reason but to protect weaker 438 THE END OF A COIL. people from violence and wrong. And so on of everything else. And Eupert, God has promised a city, of his own preparing, for his people ; it will be a place of delights; and I am thinking of that word, 'Blessed are they that do his commandments; that they may have a right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city. I don't believe anybody that is left outside will think much of what we call greatness in that day." " Why the world wouldn't be the world, at that rate," cried Eupert. "Think it wouldn't be altered for the better? " " But a few people can't make it like that." "Suppose they make only a very little piece of it like that ? But then comes the end, Eupert, and the King's ' Well done ! ' " " Then you wouldn't have a man make as much as he can of himself " said Eupert after a dissatis- fied pause. "Certainly I would." "What use?" " 0, to be a better servant to his Master, the best he possibly can ; and to do more work for him ; the most he can do." " It seems to me, Miss Dolly, if you are right, pretty much all the rest of the world are wrong." "Yes, Eupert; don't you remember the Bible says that the wrong way is the broad way, where almost all the people go ? " Eupert's meditations this time held him till they got home. PAST GREATNESS. 439 The days that intervened before Christmas were filled full with delightful business. Dolly had her anxieties, it is true ; but she was in Eome. What could stand against the witchery of the enchantress city? Anxieties fell into the background; and with all the healthy, elastic spring of her young years Dolly gave herself to the Present and the Past, and rejoiced, hour by hour and step by step, in what the Present and the Past opened up to her. True, her father and mother hardly shared in her pleasure; Mr. Copley's taste was blunted, I fear, for all noble enjoyment; and Mrs. Copley cared mainly to be comfortable in her home quar- ters, and to go out now and then where the motley world of fashion and of sight-seeing did most con- gregate. Especially she liked to go to the Pin- cian Hill Sunday afternoon and watch the inde- scribable concourse of people of all nationalities which is there to be seen at that time. But there Dolly would not go. " It is very absurd of you, Dolly ! " cried her mother, greatly disappointed; for she had a pride in seeing the universal attention which was drawn to Dolly in every public place; "what harm should there be in looking at the beautiful view and hearing music ? we are not going to do any- thing." " It's the Lord's day, mother," said Dolly, look- ing up at her sorrowfully. " You went to church this morning all right," her mother said. "There is no church for you to 440 THE END OF A COIL. go to at this time of day, that I know of; and if there were, I should think it very ridiculous to go again. If you want to think, 'you could think about good things, I should hope, on the Pincian. What is there to hinder you ? " " Only everything I should see and hear, mother." " Hinder you from thinking about good things ! " " Hinder me from thinking about anything," said Dolly, laughing a little. " Seriously, Miss Dolly," said Lawrence, who stood by, hat in hand, ready to go; the Pincian Hill Sunday evening was something he quite ap- proved of; "seriously, do you think there is any- thing wrong in sitting up there for an hour or two and seeing the beautiful sunset colours, and hear- ing the miisic ? " " She's a little Puritan," said her father; " and the Puritans were always an obstinate set, Lawrence; always, and in every nation and people. I won- der why the two things should go together." " What two things, father ? " "What you call Puritanism, and Obstinacy." " I suppose, because those you call Puritans love the truth," said Dolly; " and so hold to it." "And do you not think other people, who are not Puritans, also love the truth, Miss Dolly ? " Lawrence asked. " I don't think anybody loves the truth he dis- obeys," Dolly said with a gentle shake of her head. " There ! " said her mother. " There's Dolly all PAST GREATNESS. 441 over. She is right, and nobody else is right. I wonder what she supposes is to become of all the rest of the world ! Every body in Rome will be on the Pincian to-night, except Dolly Copley. And every other mother but me will have her daughter with her." In answer to which Dolly kissed her, pulled the strings of her bonnet into a prettier bow, and looked at her with sweet shining eyes which said as plainly as possible, without words that Mrs. Cop- ley knew better. The party went off, neverthe- less; and Lawrence lingering till the others had turned their backs, held out his hand to Dolly. " Will you tell me," said he, " as a favour, what you think is the harm of what we are doing ? " " You are just robbing the King of heaven and earth," Dolly answered gravely. "Robbing! Of what?" " Of time which he says is his, and of honour which he says ought to be his." "How?" " ' The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God.' " "This is not the seventh; it is the first." " Quibbling, Mr. St. Leger. It is not the seventh from Monday, but it is the seventh from Sunday; it is the one day set apart from the seven." " And what ought we to do with it ? Sabbath means rest, does it not? What are we going to do but rest, up there on the Pincian? only rest most delightfully. You will not rest so here." 442 THE END OF A COIL. "I suppose your bodies will rest," said Dolly. " Your minds will have most uncommon powers of abstraction if they do." " But you are putting yourself out of the world, Dolly." "I mean it," said she with a little nod at him. " The Lord's people are not of the world, Mr. St. Leger; and the world does not like their ways. Never did." " I wonder if all Puritans are as quaint as you," said he, kissing the hand he held. But then he went off to the Pincian. And there, surely, was a most wonderful, rich and varied scene; a concourse of people of all characters and nationalities except the small party in the world which Dolly represented; a kaleidoscope view of figures and costumes, classes and callings, most picturesque, most diversified, most changeful. There were the Thayers, amongst others ; and as they joined company with the Cop- ley party, of course Mrs. Copley's pleasure was greatly increased; for in a crowd it is always pleasant to know somebody. Mr. Copley knew several people. Mrs. Thayer had leisure to tell and ask whatever she had a mind with Mrs. Cop- ley, and to improve her acquaintance with Mr. St. Leger; who on his part managed to get some conversation with the beautiful Christina. It was a distinction to be talking to such a beauty, and he felt it so; and Christina on her part was not insensible to the fact that the young man was PAST GREATNESS. 443 himself very handsome, and unexceptionably well dressed, and the heir to many thousands; therefore a person of importance. The time on the Pincian Hill that evening was very pleasantly spent; and so Mrs. Copley told her daughter on their return. " Mrs. Thayer said she was very sorry not to see you," Mrs. Copley added. " I am much obliged to her." " You are not obliged to her at all, for she didn't mean it. That's what you get by staying behind." "What?" said Dolly dimpling up. "That woman had it all her own way; talked to Mr. St. Leger, and let him talk to her daughter. You see, Dolly, Christina is very handsome when you are not by." " Mother, she is at any time. She's beautiful. You must not set me up in comparison with her." " Well, she's engaged," said Mrs. Copley. " I wish you were. You let everything hang by the eyelids, Dolly; and some fine morning what you look for won't be there." CHAPTER XXV CHRISTMAS EVE. pHRISTMAS eve came, and Rupert attended Dol- w ly to the Piazza di Spagna where her friends had apartments in a great hotel. Dolly was quite prepared to enjoy herself; the varied delights of the foregoing days had lifted her out of the quiet, pa- tient mood of watchful endurance which of late had been chronic with her, and her spirits were in a flow and stir more fitted to her eighteen years. She was going through the streets of Rome ! the forms of the ages rose before her mind's eye continually, and before her bodily eye appeared here and there tokens and remains which were like the crumblings of those ages; tangible proofs that once they had been, and that Rome was still Rome. Dolly drew breaths of pleasure as she and Rupert walked along. " You are going to stay all night ? " said Rupert. "Yes, they want me." " And they have asked nobody but you ? " said Rupert, who was not conventional. " They wanted nobody but me. It is not a par- ty; it, is my old school-friend only, who wants to shew me her future husband." CHRISTMAS EVE. 445 Rupert grunted his intelligence, and at the same time his mystification. "What for?" he asked. And Dolly laughed. " I don't know ! It is natural, 1 suppose, to some people. Here we are. Good night/' The Thayers were very well lodged indeed. Dolly found herself in really charming rooms, well furnished and well lighted. She was joyfully re- ceived, and Christina led her forthwith through saloon and dining room to the sanctuary of her own chamber. A certain feeling of contrast be- gan to fall upon Dolly already, Christina looked so very fresh and fair and well kept; the lightest veil of anxiety had never shadowed her bloom ; the most remote cloud of embarrassment or need had never risen on her horizon. Careless, happy, se- cure, her mind knew no burden. It made Dolly feel the pressure of her own ; and yet she was glad, for a little, to get into this atmosphere of peace and confidence, and enjoy it even by the contrast. Christina's room looked like a curiosity shop. It was littered with recent purchases; all sorts of pretty things, useful and useless. " One cannot help buying," she said, excusing herself. ,"\ see something at every step that I want; and I must get it when I see it, or I may never see it again, you know. It is great fun, but sometimes I almost get tired. Here, dear, I can lay your things here. Isn't my fire nice? Now sit down and warm yourself. It's too delightful to have you ! It is like a bit of home, and a 446 THE END OF A COIL. bit of old times. Those old school days were pleasant ? " " Very pleasant ! " said Dolly, sitting down and looking into the queer but bright fire of small sticks which burned in Christina's chimney. " Very pleasant ! I was with my dear Aunt Hal, in Phil- adelphia." " But these days are better, Dolly," Miss Thayer went on. "That wasn't much compared to this." "I don't know," said Dolly. "There was no care in those times." " Care ? " exclaimed Christina, as if she did not know the meaning of the word. " What care have you, Dolly ? I have none, except the care to make my money buy all I want which it won't, so I may as well make up my mind to it, and I do. What have you been getting in Eome ? " "0 more pleasure than I knew so many days could hold," said Dolly, laying some of the sticks of the fire straight. " Isn't it wonderful ? I think there's nothing like Eome. Unless perhaps, Paris." " Paris ! " said Dolly. " What's at Paris ? " " Ah, you don't know it, or you wouldn't ask ! Everything, my dear. Eome has a good deal, cer- tainly, but Paris has everything. Now tell me, are you engaged?" "1? No. Of course not." " I don't see why it's of course. Most people are at one time or another ; and I didn't know but your time had come." CHRISTMAS EVE. 447 "No," said Dolly. "Neither the time nor the man. I've come to hear about yours." "If he's good, you'll see him; the man, I mean. He promised to be with us at Christmas, if he could; and he always keeps his promises." " That's a good thing," said Dolly. . "Ye-s," said Christina, "that is of course a good thing. One likes to have promises kept. But it is possible to have too much of a good thing." " Not of keeping promises ! " said Dolly in un- feigned astonishment. " I don't know," said Christina. " Sandie is so fixed in everything; he holds to his opinions and his promises and his expectations; and he holds a trifle too fast." " He has a right to hold to his expectations, surely," said Dolly laughing. " Not too much," said Christina. " He has no right to expect everybody to keep their promises as precisely as he does his! People aren't made alike." "No; but honour is honour." " Come now, Dolly," said Christina laughing in her turn, " you are another ! You are just a little bit precise, like my Sandie. You cannot make all the world alike, if you try ; and he can't." " I am not going to try, and I think it would be a very stupid world if I could do it; but nobody ought to raise expectations he is not prepared to gratify." " Like a sentence out of a book ! " cried Christina. 448 THE END OF A COIL. " But Sandie is the most unchangeable person ; he will not take any views of anything but the views he has always taken ; he is as fixed as the rock of Gibraltar, and almost as distinct and detached from the rest of the world." " And don't you like that ? " "No; confess I do not. I'd like him to come down a little from his high place and mix with the rest of us mortals." " What expectations does he indulge which you are not willing to meet ? " " That's the very thing ! " cried Christina, in her turn stooping to arrange the little sticks and pile more on; "he is unreasonable." " How ? " " Wants me to marry him." " Is that unreasonable ? " " Yes ! till things are ready for such a step, and I am ready." " What things ? " " Dolly, he is only the first officer of his ship. He was distinguished in the last war, and he has the prospect of promotion. I don't want to marry him till he is a captain." " Why ? " said Dolly. " Why ? Don't you understand ? He would have a better position then, and better pay; and could give me a better time generally; and mam- ma thinks we ought to wait. And I like waiting. It's better fun, I do think, to be engaged than to be married t I know I shouldn't have my head CHRISTMAS EVE. 449 near so much if I was married to Sandie. I do just as I like now; for mamma and I are always of a mind." " And are not you and Mr. Shubrick of a mind ? " "Not about this," said Christina, getting up from the hearth, 'and laughing. " Pray, if one may ask, how long have you and he been waiting already ? " "0, he thinks it is a great while; but what is the harm of waiting ? " " Well, how long is it, Christina ? " " Dolly, we were engaged very young. It was before I left school ; one summer when I was home for the vacation. I was sixteen ; that is four years ago, and more." " Four years ! " cried Dolly. "Yes. Of course we were too young then to think of marrying. He was home on furlough, and I was home for the vacation ; and our houses were near together; and so we made it up. His people were not very well off, but mine were; so there was nothing in the way, and nobody objected much; only mother said we must wait." " What are you waiting for now, Christina ? " "I told you. I am in no hurry, for my part. I want Sandie to get his ship; and in the mean while it is just as nice to be as we are. We see each other when we can ; and Italy is Italy ; and I am very contented. Unfortunately, Sandie isn't." " How long do you propose to go on waiting ? " 29 450 THE END OF A COIL. " I don't know. O I don't know ! and I don't care. What is the harm of waiting ? " "That depends on what you promise yourselves in being married." " Dolly,' : said Christina thoughtfully, " I don't promise myself anything much better than I have got now. If Sandie would only be content, I could go on so forever." " And not be married ? " "Besides, Dolly, I don't want to keep house in a small way. I do not ! and if I married a lieuten- ant in the navy, I couldn't do anything else. You see, Sandie would not live upon papa's money; though papa would do anything for me ; but Sandie won't; and on his means we should live on a very small scale indeed." " But you would have enough ? " " Enough for what ? We should have enough to eat. But Dolly, I do not like to have to think of economy. I have never been used to it. Look at my room; see the things I have got together these last few days. Look here this is a ring I want you to wear for me. Isn't it delicious ? It is as old as the best time of cameo-cutting, they say, but I do not remember when that was; it's rather large for a lady's ring, but it is an undoubt- ed beauty. Jupiter's eagle, with the thunderbolts. Just look at the plumage of the bird, and its fierce eye.!' Dolly was greatly delighted. Of all the pretty things she had seen during the weeks past, she CHRISTMAS EVE. 451 had bought nothing, save one or two bits for her mother. This gift was vastly more to Dolly than Christina could imagine. She had so literally everything she wanted, that no further acquisition could give her great pleasure. It lacked the en- hancement of difficulty and rarity. I suppose the ring was more to Dolly than her whole room-ful beside to Christina. It was in truth a very exqui- site cameo. Dolly put it on her finger, and looked at it in different lights, and admired it and enjoyed it hugely ; while at the same time it gave an odd grace of setting-off to her simple dress. Dolly was in a plain black silk, with no adornment at all, un- til she put the ring on. Unless her quaint old cable chain could be called such. That Dolly al- ways wore. She was a sweet quaint figure, illu- minated by the firelight, as Christina observed her; girlish and graceful, with a fair face and beautiful hair; the sober dress and the true, womanly eyes making a certain hidden harmony, and the cameo setting a seal of daintiness and rareness to the whole. Christina was seized with admiration, that had a good deal of respect blended with it of a sudden. '.' You don't agree with me, Dolly," she said after a little, when Dolly's thanks and the beauty of the ring had been sufficiently discussed, and a pause had brought the thoughts of both back to the former subject. " What do you want, Christina ? " " I just want to be happy and comfortable," 452 THE END OF A COIL. said the girl, "as I always have been. I don't want to come down to pinching. Is that un- reasonable ? " "You would not have to pinch, Christina." "Yes, I should; to live like the rest of the world." " Are you obliged to do that ? " " Live like the rest of the world ? Yes, or be out of the world." " I thought you were a Christian " said Dolly softly. "A Christian! Yes, so I am. What has that got to do with it?" " A good deal, I should say. Tiny, you cannot follow Christ and be like the world." " I don't want to be like the world, in bad things; but I mean things that are not bad. One must be like the world in some ways, if one can. Don't you set up for being any better than me, Dolly, for I won't stand it; we are all really just alike." " The world and Christians ? " " Yes ; in some things." " Ways of living ? " "Yes, in some ways." " Christina, did you use to think so, in old times?" " I was young then ; I did not know the world. You have gat to do as the world do, in a measure, Dolly." Dolly was silent a bit. She too on her part ob- CHRISTMAS EVE. 453 served her friend. Fair and handsome she was; very handsome; with the placid luxuriance of na- ture which has never known shocks or adverse weather. Dolly felt the contrast which Christina had also felt, but Dolly went deeper into it. She and her friend had drifted apart, not in regard for each other, but in life and character; and Dolly in- voluntarily compared their experiences. Trouble to Christina was a word of unknown meaning; to herself it was become daily bread. Had that made the difference? Christina was living on the sur- face of things; skimming a smooth sea in a gilded gondola; shelter and adornment were all about her life, and plenty within. Dolly had been, as it were, cast into the waves and was struggling with them ; now lifted on a high crest, and now brought down to the bottom. Was that how she had learned to know that there were wonderful things of preciousness and beauty at the bottom of the sea? and must one perhaps be tossed by the storm to find out the value and the power of the hand that helps? It did smite Dolly with a kind of pain, the sense of Christina's sheltered position and security; the thought of" the father's arms that were a harbour for her, the guardianship that came between her and all the roughness of the world. And yet, Dolly along with the bitterness of this, was tasting also something else which did not enter Christina's cup of life ; a rarer sweetness, which she would not have exchanged for Chris- tina's whole draught. She had found jewels more 454 THE END OF A COIL. precious at the depth of the sea than ever Chris- tina could pick up in her pleasure sail along shore. Christina with all her luxury, was missing some- thing, and in danger of losing more. Dolly re- solved to speak. " Do you know, Tiny," she said, " if I were Mr. Shu brick, I should not be satisfied." " Why not ? " said Christina carelessly. " Why you are preferring the world to him." " I am not ! No such thing, Dolly. I love him dearly." " By your own shewing, you love what shall I say ? luxuries and position, more." " I only want to wait a little." "And Christina I don't believe God likes it." "Likes what?" " Your wanting to do as the world do." " How do you know I do ? " " You said so." " I like to have a nice house, and servants enough, and furniture to please me, and means to entertain my friends; and who doesn't? That's all I ask for." " And to do what everybody else does." " Yes," said Christina smiling. "Who don't?" "You were on the Pincian Hill Sunday after- noon." "Yes," said Christina suddenly looking up. " Why not ? Why weren't you there ? " " If you will read the last two verses of the fifty- eighth chapter of Isaiah, you will know." CHRISTMAS EVE. 455 " I can't read in this light," said Christina, look- ing round the room, "and I don't know just where I have laid my Bible. Everybody goes to the Pincian. It's no harm." " Would Mr. Shubrick go ? " "Who told you he wouldn't?" said Christina. " I declare, if you are going to help him in his crochets, I won't let you see much of him ! San- die ? he's just an unmanageable, unreasonable bit of downrightness. And uprightness," she added laughing. "Dolly, he can have his own way aboard ship; but in the world one can't get along so. One must conform a little. One must." " Does God like it ? " said Dolly. "What queer questions you ask! This is not a matter of religion; it is only living." Dolly remembered words which came very in- conveniently across Christina's principles; yet she was afraid of saying too much. She reflected that her friend was breathing the soft air of lux- ury, which is not strengthening, and enveloped in a kind of mist of conventionality, through which she could not see. With herself it was different. She had been thrown out of all that; forced to do battle with necessity and difficulty, and so driven to lay hold of the one hand of strength and deliver- ance that she could reach. What wonder if she held it fast and held it dear? while Christina seemed hardly to have ever felt the need of anything. "Now, Dolly, tell me all about yourself," Chris- tina broke in upon her meditations. 456 THE END OF A COIL. "There isn't much to tell." " What have you been doing ? " " Painting miniatures one of the last things." " delightful ! Copies ? " " Copies from life. May I take you ? and then perhaps, if I succeed, you will get me work." "Work!" repeated Christina. Dolly nodded. "Yes. I want work." " Work ! " cried Christina again. " Dolly, you don't mean that you need it ? Don't say that ! " " I do. That's nothing so dreadful, if only I can get it. I paint miniatures for I have had ten and I have had twenty pounds," said Dolly, with a laugh ; " but twenty is magnificent. I do not ask twenty." Christina exclaimed with real sorrow and inter- est, and was eager to know the cause of such a state of things. Dolly could but give her the bare facts, not the philosophy of them. " You poor, dear, lovely little Dolly ! " cried Christina. "A thought strikes me. Why don't you marry this handsome, rich young English- man ? " Again Dolly's face dimpled all over. " The thought don't strike me," she said. " But he's very rich, isn't he ? " " Yes. That is nothing to me. I wouldn't give my father and mother for him." " But for your father and mother's sake ? " There was a knock at the door here. " What is it? din- ner? Come, Dolly; we'll reason afterwards." CHRISTMAS EVE. 457 The dinner was excellent. More than the ex- cellence, however, went to Dolly's enjoyment. The rare luxury of eating without having to think what it cost, and without careful management to make sure that enough was left for the next day's breakfast and lunch. It was great luxury ! and how Dolly felt it, no one there could in the least guess. With that, however, as the evening went on and the unwonted soft atmosphere of ease was taking effect upon her, Dolly again and again drew the contrast between herself and her friend. How sheltered and guarded, arid fenced in and fenced off, Christina was; how securely and safely blooming in the sacred enclosure of fatherly and motherly care ! and Dolly Alas, alas ! her defences were all down, and she herself, delicate and tender, forced into the defender's place, to shield those who should have shielded her. It pressed on her by degrees, as the sweet unaccustomed feeling of eas,e and rest made itself more and more sensible, and by contrast she realized more and more the absence of it in her own life. It pressed very bitterly. The girls had just withdrawn again after dinner to the firelight cosiness of Christina's room, when Mrs. Thayer put her head in. " Chi'istina here's Baron Kramer and Signor Count Villa Bella, come to know if you will go to the Sistine Chapel." "Mother! how you put titles together! O, I remember; there is music at the Sistine to-night. But Sandie might come ? " 458 THE END OF A COIL. "And might not," said Mrs. Thayer. "You will have time enough to see Sandie ; and this is Christ- mas eve, you know. You may not be in Home next Christmas." " Would you like to go, Dolly ? " said Christina doubtfully. Dolly's heart jumped at the invitation ; music and the Sistine Chapel ! But it did not suit her to make an inconvenient odd one in a partie carree, among strangers. She declined. " I said I would go," said Mrs. Thayer. " Since the gentlemen have come to take you, I think you had better. Dolly will not mind losing you for an hour or two." Which Dolly eagerly confirmed ; wondering much at the same time to see Christina hesitate, when her lover, as she said, might come at any minute. She too finally resolved against it, however; and when Mrs. Thayer and the gentlemen had gone and Mr. Thayer had withdrawn, as his custom was, to his own apartment, the two girls took possession of the forsaken drawing-room. It was a pretty room, very well furnished, and like every other part of the present home of the Thayers, running over with new possessions in the shape of bits of art or antiquity, pictures, and trinkets of every kind, which they were always picking up. These were an infinite amusement to Dolly; and Christina was goodhumouredly pleased with her pleasure. " There's no fun in being in Eome," she remarked, " if you cannot buy all you see. I would run away if my purse gave out." CHRISTMAS EVE. 459 " But there is all that you cannot take away," said Dolly. "Think of what your mother has gone to this evening." "The Sistine Chapel," said Christina. "I don't really care for it. Those stupid old prophets and sybils say nothing to me; though of course one must make a fuss about them; and the picture of the Last Judgment, /think, is absolutely frightful." But here Dolly's eyes arrested her friend. "Well, I tell you the truth; I do think so," she said. " I may tell the truth to you. I do not care one pin for Michael Angelo." " Mayn't you tell the truth to anybody ? " " Not unless I want to be stared at; and I do not want to be stared at, in that way. I am glad I did not go with mamma and those people; if Sandie had come, I do not think he would have altogether liked it. Though I don't know but it is good to make men jealous. Mamma says it is." "0 no!" said Dolly. "Not anybody you care for." "What do you know?" said Christina archly. Before she could receive an answer, then, she had started and sprung up; for the door gently opened and on the threshold presented himself a gentle- man in naval uniform. " Sandie ! " cried Christina. " Didn't you expect me ? " he said with a frank and bright smile. Dolly had heard enough about this personage to make her very curious; and her eyes took keen 460 THE END OF A COIL. note of him. She saw a tall, upright figure, with that. free poise of bearing which is a compound of strength and ease; effortless, quiet, graceful and dignified. Though in part the result of a certain symmetry of joints and practised activity in the use of them, this sort of bearing refers itself also, and yet more surely, to the character, and makes upon the beholder the impression again of strength and ease in the mental action. It is not common ; it struck Dolly in the first five steps he made into the room and in the manner of his greeting his be- trothed. Out of delicate consideration, I suppose, for the company in which they found themselves, he offered only a look and a hand clasp; but Chris- tina jumped up and kissed him. She was not short, yet she had to make a little spring to reach his lips. And then, quietly putting an arm round her, he gave her her kiss back. Christina was rosy when she turned to present him, and both were smiling. Letting her go, he bowed low before Christina's friend; low and gravely; with such ab- solute gravity that Dolly almost felt herself in the way; as if he wished her not there. Then they sat down around the fire; and the same feeling came over her again with a rush. They Avere three ; they ought to have been but two; she was one too many; they must wish her away. And yet, Christina had asked her precisely and specially that she might be one of the company that night. Dolly would have wished herself away nevertheless; only that she was so very much interested, and could not. The new CHRISTMAS EVE. 461 comer excited her curiosity greatly and provoked her observation ; and if the truth must be told, ex- ercised also a powerful attraction upon her. He sat before the fire, full in her view, and struck Dolly as different from all the people she had ever seen in her life. She took glances from time to time, as she could, at the fine, frank, manly face, which had an unusual combination of the two qualities, frank- ness and manliness; was much more than usually serious, for a man of his age ; and yet, she saw now and then, could break to tenderness or pleasure or amusement, with a sweetness that was winning. Dolly was lascinated, and could not wish herself awaj; why should she, if Christina did -not? In all her life she never forgot the images of two of the people around the fire that evening. "Sandie" in the middle, in front of the blaze; Christina on the other hand of him. She was in a glistening robe of dark blue silk, her fair hair knotted and wound gracefully about her head; a beautiful creature; looking at her lover with com- placent looks of possession and smiles of welcome. Dolly never knew what sort of a figure the third was; she could not see herself, and she never thought about it. Yet she was a foil to the other two, and they were a foil to her, as she sat there at the corner of the hearth on a low cushion, in her black dress, and with no ornament about her other than the cameo ring. A creature very different from the beauty at the other corner of the fireplace; more delicate, more sensitive, more 462 THE END OF A COIL. spiritual; oddly and inexplicably, more of a child and more of a woman. That's a rare mixture. There was something exceedingly sweet and sim- ple in her soft brown eyes and her lips; but the eyes had looked at life, the brow was grave, and the lips could close into lines of steady will. The delicate vessel was the shrine of a soul, as large as it could hold, and so had taken on the transparent nobility which belongs to the body when the soul is allowed to be dominant. One point of the con- trast between the two girls was in the character and arrangement of their hair. Christina's was smooth, massed, and in a sort massive; Dolly's clustered or was knotted about her head, without the least disorder, but with a wilfulness of ele- gant play most harmonious with all the rest of her appearance. To characterize the two in a word, Christina was a beautiful pearl, and Dolly was a translucent opal. They sat down round the fire. "Well, Sandie, you naughty boy," Christina began, " what has kept you away all this time ? " " Duty." "Duty! I told you so, Dolly; this man has only two or three words in his vocabulary, which he trots out on all occasions to do general service. One of them is 'duty'; another is 'must.'" " ' Must ' is the true child of ' duty,' " the gentle- man remarked. "0 no, I don't allow that; it is a marriage con- nection, which may be dissolved by a dispensation." CHRISTMAS EVE. 463 " Is that your idea of the marriage connection ? " said he with a smile. " But Sandie ! don't you want something to eat?" " No, thank you." " Because you can have it in a moment." "I have dined, Christina." "Where have you been all this while? weeks and weeks." " Have you not received any letters from me ? " " Yes indeed ! but words are so different spoken and written. We have been half over Europe. I wish you could have been along ! Sandie, we went to Baden-Baden." "What for?" " What for! Why, to see it. And we saw the gaming." " How did you like it? " " It is fascinating. I never saw such a scene in my life; the people's faces; and then the mad eagerness with which they went at it; old men and young men, and women. it was astonish- ing to see the women ! " " What was the effect upon you ? " "I don't know; astonishment! " " How did Mrs. Thayer like it ? " " Do you know, I think she half wanted to try her hand ? I was so amazed at mother ! I told her she must not." " You observe, Miss Copley, Miss Thayer knows the use of one of my words." It was a strange, novel, absorbing experience to 464 THE END OF A COIL. Dolly. Sitting at one corner of the hearth, quiet, and a little as it were a one side, she watched the play and the people. She was so delightfully set free for the moment from all her home cares and life anxieties. It was like getting out of the cur- rent and rush of the waves into a nook of a bay, where her tossed little skiff could lie still for a bit, and the dangers and difficulties of navigation did not demand her attention. She rested luxuriously and amused herself with seeing and hearing what went on. And to tell the whole tmth, Dolly was more than amused; she was interested; and watched and listened keenly. Christina was a lovely figure in her bright dress and bright beauty, a little excited, arid happy, not too much; not too much to make Dolly's presence desirable and agreeable; just enough to make her more lovely than usual. The other figure of the little party was more interesting yet to Dolly. She thought he was very peculiar, and unlike any one she had ever seen. His repose of demeanour was striking; he seemed to make no unnecessary move- ment ; he sat still ; neither hand nor head nor foot betrayed any restlessness either of mind or body; and yet when he did move, were it only hand or foot or head, the impression he gave Dolly was of readiness for the keenest action, if the time for action once came. How the two seemingly con- tradictory impressions were conveyed together, Dolly did not stop to think; she had no time to moralize upon her observations; however, ( this CHRISTMAS EVE. 465 mingling of calm and vigour was very imposing to her ; it attracted and fascinated. No man could sit more quiet in company; and yet, if he turned his head or shifted the position of his hand, what Dolly saw was power and readiness to move with effect if there were anything to be done ; and the calm intensified the power to her mind. And then, apart from all this, the room in which